Even Mr. Mimms was impressed by this, but he reiterated his desire to have nothing to do with Dukes. His brother paid no heed to him, but fixed Mr. Shifnal with an unwinking stare, and demanded, in a rhetorical spirit, to be told why the Duke had gone to Hitchin. Neither of his hearers was able to enlighten him, nor, after profound thought, could he discover for himself any very plausible explanation. But since Hitchin, as he unanswerably declared, could not be said to lie on the road to London, he soon decided not to allow this trifling enigma to worry him. The Duke had directed the post-boy to drive to the Sun Inn, where it would seem reasonable to suppose that he meant to spend at least one night. His taking Belinda with him precluded the possibility, Mr. Liversedge thought, of his having gone to visit friends in the neighbourhood.
Mr. Mimms, whose uneasiness was rapidly increasing, brought his fist down with a crash on the table, and demanded to be told what his brother had in mind. Mr. Liversedge glanced at him indifferently. “If Nat is willing to lend me his assistance,” he replied, “I consider that it would be flying in the face of Providence not to make a push to capture this prize.”
Mr. Shifnal nodded, but said: “How much money is there in it, by your reckoning?”
Mr. Liversedge shrugged. “How can I say? Thirty thousand—fifty thousand—almost any sum, I daresay!”
Mr. Shifnal’s eyes glistened. “Will the cove bleed as free as that?” he asked, awed.
“He is one of the richest men in the land,” responded Mr. Liversedge. “I have devoted much study to his affairs, for it has always seemed to me that for a young and inexperienced man to be the possessor of so large a fortune was a circumstance not to be overlooked or hastily set aside. But even so brilliant an exponent of the art of plucking pigeons as Fred Gunnerside—a genius in his way, I assure you, and one of whom I am not to proud to learn—has never to my knowledge succeeded in coming within hailing distance of him. In fact, poor Fred was sadly out of pocket on his account, for he expended quite a large sum of money in following him on the Continent. All to no purpose! He was closely attended, not only by his servants, but by a military gentleman to whom Fred took a strong dislike. I myself had abandoned any thought of approaching him, until my late little disagreement with the magistrates at Bath forced me to sharpen my wits. I again turned my mind towards Sale. I flatter myself that my research into his family history, and every circumstance of his own life, was at once thorough and profitable. To have laid a snare for his cousin was a subtle stroke, and one that must have succeeded but for a slight error which I freely admit to have made.”
Unable to contain himself Mr. Mimms growled: “That after-clap won’t be nothing compared with what will happen if you meddle any more with a Dook! I tell you, Sam, the glue won’t hold!”
“It might,” Mr. Shifnal said. “It might, Joe. By God, if there’s thirty thousand pounds in the game, it’s worth a push! Is it ransom you have in your mind, Sam?”
It was evident from the visionary look in his eye that large ideas were fast gaining possession over Mr. Liversedge’s brain. He replied grandly: “I might consider the question of ransom. And yet who shall say that there may not be a still more profitable way of turning this Duke to good account? Had either of you ever looked beyond the narrow confines of the bare existence which you eke out in ways which I, frankly, consider contemptible, you would know that this Duke is an orphan, and one, moreover, who has neither brother nor sister to bear him company. His guardian, and, indeed, his present heir, is his uncle.” He paused. “I have considered the question of approaching Lord Lionel Ware, and it may be that this is the course I shall decide to pursue. One cannot, however one might wish to, doubt that Lord Lionel—a very worthy gentleman, I daresay—is too stiff-necked, or possibly too bacon-brained to perceive where his best interests lie. He might, one would have supposed, have found the means in all these years to have disposed of his nephew, had he had the least common-sense. I am forced, therefore, to assume that for the particular purpose I have in mind, his lordship would be of little or no assistance to me. But his lordship has a son.” He paused impressively. “A son, gentlemen, who stands next to him in the succession to a title and to vast wealth. I am not myself acquainted with this young man: it did not appear to me that there could be much profit in seeking him out. But the horizon has broadened suddenly. Immense possibilities present themselves to me. This Captain Ware is in the Lifeguards: I daresay an expensive young man: all guard-officers are so! What, I put it to you, might he be willing to pay to a man who would ensure his succession to wealth and honours which it would be idle to suppose he does not covet? Consider his position!—In fact, the more I consider it myself the more convinced do I become that in seeking merely a ransom I should be acting foolishly. He exists upon a paltry pittance; the future can hold little for him beyond an arduous military career; for he cannot doubt that his cousin will shortly marry, and beget heirs of his own body. He must think his chances of succeeding to the Dukedom so slim as not to be worth a farthing. Picture to yourselves what must be his sensations when suddenly a way is shown to him whereby he can be rid of his cousin, without the least suspicion falling upon himself! Really, I do not know why I permitted myself to waste as much as a moment on such a paltry notion as a mere ransom!”
Mr. Shifnal, who had followed this speech with some difficulty, interrupted at this point. “Sam, are you saying as you mean to put that young cove away?” he demanded.