“That’s what I thought,” said Jimmy, transferring his gaze to the long coat which had been flung across one of the tables. “Might that be your toge, young shaver?”
“Yes, but I didn’t need it after all. It is much warmer outside than I thought it would be.”
He picked it up, shook out its folds, and gave it to her. “Don’t you go leaving things about in common taprooms!” he said austerely. “There’s plenty of files—ah, even in these quiet parts!—would be glad to get their dabblers on to a good toge like that.”
“Oh yes! Thank you! I’ll take it upstairs!” said Pen, glad of an opportunity to escape.
“You couldn’t do better,” approved Jimmy. “Then we’ll have a bit of food, and though I don’t hold with harmen in general—which is to say, with Law-officers, young shaver—why, I’m a peaceable man, and if any such be wishful to search me, they’re welcome.”
He strolled into the parlour, with the air of one whose conscience is clean, and Pen hurried off upstairs, to tap urgently on Sir Richard’s door.
His voice called to her to come in, and she entered to find him putting the finishing touches to his cravat. He met her eyes in the mirror, and said: “Well, brat?”
“Sir, we must leave this place instantly!” said Pen impetuously. “We are in the greatest danger!”
“Why? Has your aunt arrived?” asked Sir Richard, preserving his calm.
“Worse!” Pen declared. “A Bow Street Runner!”