Sir Richard seemed to be rather bored, and merely nodded. Jimmy Yarde fixed him with a twinkling eye, and said: “And no splitting to any harman about poor old Jimmy boning your lobb, because he never did, and you know well it’s in your pocket at this wery moment. What’s more,” he added handsomely, “I wouldn’t fork you now I has your measure, gov’nor, not for fifty Yellow Boys!”
“I’m glad of that,” said Sir Richard.
“No splitting?” Jimmy said, his head on one side.
“Not if I am allowed to eat my breakfast in peace,” replied Sir Richard wearily.
“All’s bowman then!” said Jimmy, “and not another word will you hear from me, guv’nor, till we gets to Bristol. Damme if I don’t ride outside the rattler, just to oblige you!”
Sir Richard looked meditatively at him, but said nothing. Pen sat down facing the window, and watched the road for signs of a Bow Street Runner.
Contary to the landlady’s expectations, the Runner did not reach the inn until some little time after the breakfast covers had been removed, and Jimmy Yarde had strolled out to lounge at his ease on a bench set against the wall of the hostelry.
The Runner entered the inn by way of the yard at the back of it, and the first person he encountered was Sir Richard, who was engaged in settling his account with the landlord. Miss Creed, at his elbow, drew his attention to the Runner’s arrival by urgently twitching his coat sleeve. He looked up, with raised brows, saw the newcomer, and lifted his quizzing-glass.
“Beg your pardon, sir,” said the Runner, touching his hat. “Me not meaning to intrude, but being wishful to speak with the landlord.”
“Certainly,” said Sir Richard, his brows still expressive of languid surprise.