“I wish myself backt if I have anything to do with it!” declared Mr. Mimms violently. “I’ve kept this boozing-ken, and my father before me, and never any more trouble than would trouble a hen, but mix myself up with Dooks I won’t! I’m an honest fence, I am, and I make a decent living, as you have cause to be thankful for; and Nat here will tell you I give him a fair price for any gewgaws he may happen to bring me, like this little lot—”
“Well—” temporized Mr. Shifnal. “I don’t know as how I’d say—”
“As fair a price as any fence this side of London,” said Mr. Mimms firmly. “And I don’t have no barmen poking and prying round this ken, so that them as earns a living at the rattling-lay, or the lift, or the High Toby, can lay up here, and not fear no one! But meddle with no Dooks I will not, for, mark my words, if we was to lay so much as a finger on such as him, we should have them Bow Street Runners here before the cat can lick her ear!”
Mr. Shifnal was still thoughtfully watching Mr. Liversedge. “It’s a good fish if it were but caught,” he said slowly. “He’s a well-blunted young cove, I daresay?”
“Able to buy an abbey!” Mr. Liversedge assured him.
“Well,” said Mr. Shifnal, “I was meaning to lope off again, but what Joe says is the truth: a cull can lay up here, and no one the wiser. Maybe I’ll lay up till I see which way the wind will blow. You get off to Baldock in the morning, Sam!”
This, in spite of his brother’s protests, was what Mr. Liversedge did; but owing to the late hour to which he and Mr. Shifnal sat up, and the quantity of brandy they consumed, he did not make an early enough start to reach Baldock before the Duke and his small party had left it. After carefully reconnoitering the White Horse, and ascertaining that the Duke was not within sight, Mr. Liversedge walked boldly up to that hostelry, and entered the taproom. Here he encountered the tapster, who was engaged in wiping down the bar; and after passing the time of day with him, and consuming a glass of porter, he ventured to make some guarded enquiries. The tapster said: “If it’s the gentleman in No. 1 you’re meaning, he ain’t here, nor that doxy what came a-looking for him neither. Gone off in a chaise to Hitchin not half an hour past. Rufford, his name was.”
Mr. Liversedge did not wait for more. Draining his glass, and throwing down upon the table a coin wrested from his unwilling relative, he left the inn, and made haste back to Mr. Mimms’s cart. His brain seethed with conjecture all the way back to the Bird in Hand, and when he reached that hostelry, he left Walter to stable the horse, and himself hurried up to his parlour. Mr. Shifnal and Mr. Mimms, who had been on the look-out for him, lost no time in following him. They found him pawing over the leaves of a well-thumbed volume. This work, published by Thomas Goddard of No. 1 Pall Mall, was entitled A Biographical Index to the Present House of Lords, and it constituted Mr. Liversedge’s Bible. His hands almost trembled as he sought for Sale amongst the various entries. He found it at last, ran his eye down the opening paragraph, and uttered an exclamation of triumph. “I knew it!”
Mr. Shifnal peered over his shoulder, but not being a lettered man found the spelling out of the printed words a slow business. “What is it, Sam?” he asked.
“ Sale, Duke of, ” read out Mr. Liversedge in a voice of suppressed excitement. “ Names, Titles and Creations: The Most Noble Adolphus Gillespie Vernon Ware, Duke of Sale and Marquis of Ormesby (March 12th, 1692); Earl of Sale (August 9th, 1547); Baron Ware of Thane (May 2nd, 1538); Baron Ware of Stoven and Baron Ware of Rufford (June 14th, 1675)— Baron Ware of Rufford, mark you! I thought my memory had not erred! And our young greenhorn, my masters, has been putting up at the White Horse under the name of Mr. Rufford! I can want no further proof!”