Just as he seemed to himself to be losing possession of his senses, the grip slackened, and a voice he was learning to hate, said softly: “Your error, Mr Yarde!”
He felt himself shaken and suddenly released, and, being quite powerless to help himself, fell to the floor and stayed there, making odd crowing noises as he got his wind back. By the time he had recovered sufficiently to struggle on to one elbow, Sir Richard had cast off the coverlet, and sprung out of bed. He was dressed in his shirt and breeches, as Mr Yarde’s suffused eyes saw, as soon as Sir Richard had relit the candle by his bed.
Sir Richard laid aside the tinder-box, and glanced down at Mr Yarde. Jimmy’s vision was clearing; he was able to see that Sir Richard’s lips had curled into a somewhat contemptuous smile. He began gingerly to massage his throat, which felt badly bruised, and waited for Sir Richard to speak.
“I warned you that I was a shockingly light sleeper,” Sir Richard said.
Jimmy cast him a malevolent look, but made no answer.
“Get up!” Sir Richard said. “You may sit on that chair, Mr Yarde, for we are going to enjoy a heart-to-heart talk.”
Jimmy picked himself up. A glance in the direction of the window was enough to convince him that he would be intercepted before he could reach it. He sat down and drew the back of his hand across his brow.
“Don’t let us misunderstand one another!” Sir Richard said. “You came to find a certain diamond necklace, which you hid in my nephew’s coat this morning. There are just three things I can do with you. I can deliver you up to the Law.”
“You can’t prove I come to fork the necklace, guv’nor,” Jimmy muttered.
“You think not? We may yet see. Failing the Bow Street Runner—but I feel he would be happy to take you into custody—I fancy a gentleman of the name of Trimble—ah, Horace Trimble, if my memory serves!—would be even happier to relieve me of you.”