“Well,” said Mr. Liversedge reasonably, “one must live, sir, after all.”
“Be sure you have not long to do so!”
“I see what it is!” said Mr. Liversedge. “But you mistake, sir! I don’t ask ransom of you! It will be nothing to his Grace: I daresay he will be very glad to pay it, for, you know, he might expect his price to be higher.”
“Let me tell you this!” said Gideon. “His Grace is not going to be bled for as much as a farthing by any such fellow as you! Instead, Mr. Liversedge, you are going to go with me to where his Grace is! If I find him safe and unhurt, you may escape your deserts—though I don’t vouch for it!”
Mr. Liversedge leaned back, and crossed one leg over the other. “Now, indeed, Captain Ware, it is of no use to fly into your high ropes!” he said. “Do but consider for a moment! I daresay you would like to have me clapped up in Newgate, but if you were so unwise as to call in the Law, his Grace would perish. I will be open with you. If I were not to return—and that speedily—to the unworthy habitation which now shelters his Grace, I very much fear that there are those, less mild in nature than myself, who would put a period to his existence. And that, you know, would be very shocking! Yet how could you prevent it? You might indeed clap me into some disagreeable gaol, but you cannot force me to divulge his Grace’s whereabouts. One dislikes to be obliged to use vulgar expressions, but I must permit myself to say that you are at a stand, sir!”
“Down to every move on the board, are you not?” said Gideon, smiling unpleasantly.
“Sir,” said Mr. Liversedge impressively, “if a man would succeed in carrying out large enterprises, he must be so! I have heard it related that the Duke—I refer, Captain Ware, to his Grace of Wellington, not his Grace of Sale—once said that he made his campaigns with ropes. If anything went amiss, he said, he tied a knot, and went on. A valuable maxim, sir, and one on which I have striven to mould my own campaigns. I tie a knot, and go on!”
“Very well, if the knot holds,” replied Gideon. “This one won’t! If I had to search the whole of England for my cousin, I own I might find myself obliged to come to terms with you. But I have not, Mr. Liversedge. There is a card in my hand I fancy you had not thought I possessed. I received a letter from my cousin today. He wrote to me from the White Horse at Baldock. You and I, my engaging rascal, are going to Baldock to-morrow.” He observed, with satisfaction, his guest’s suddenly stricken countenance. “And when we reach Baldock, either you are going to conduct me to my cousin’s prison, or I am going to conduct you to the nearest magistrate. And let me further inform you, sir, that if it took every Runner at Bow Street, and every constable in Hertfordshire, and the militia beside to do it, I would see to it that not a house nor a barn was left unsearched within twenty miles of Baldock!”
Mr. Liversedge, gazing in chagrin at his host’s purposeful face, found no difficulty in believing him. Captain Ware appeared to him to be one who would not have the slightest hesitation in employing measures as extreme as they were disagreeable. He would probably, reflected Mr. Liversedge bitterly, enjoy setting Hertfordshire by the ears. And he would do it, too, for no magistrate, or constable, or Colonel of Militia would refuse to search with the utmost stringency for so important a personage as the Duke of Sale. Mr. Liversedge thought of Mr. Mimms’s feelings, if a search-party were to descend upon the Bird in Hand, as it unquestionably would. Mr. Mimms’s protests, when the lifeless body of the Duke had been placed in one of his cellars, had been as pungent as they were unavailing. He was not a man who courted notoriety, but he had not quite escaped the notice of Hertfordshire authorities, and there was little doubt that his hostelry would be one of the first houses to be visited. Nor could Mr. Liversedge place the smallest reliance on the faulty memories of Post Office officials. Ten to one, some busybody of a clerk would recall that he had handled letters addressed to a Mr. Liversedge. One thing would lead to another, and several things, once added together, might even lead to Bath, where there were incensed persons only too anxious to lay their hands upon Mr. Liversedge. He was not a man much given to self blame, but he was inclined to own, at this moment, that he had made several mistakes. It was not, of course, his fault that Captain Ware should have proved to be blind to his best interests, but it might have been wiser to have abandoned his Grand Stratagem in favour of the simpler one of extracting ransom from the Duke himself. It was a painful reflection that had he done this he might even now bear in his pocket the Duke’s draft for a handsome sum. He looked at the Captain with dislike, and could not imagine what could have induced the Duke to confide his secrets to such a repellent person. It seemed unlikely that Captain Ware had any proper feelings at all, so that it was in a voice lacking in conviction that he said at last: “I am persuaded you would not create such an ungenteel stir!”
Captain Ware laughed. It was not an infectious laugh, and it drew no answering gleam from Mr. Liversedge. It even grated upon his ear unpleasantly.