“Gammon!” replied Mr. Shifnal scornfully. “You could draw the bustle to twice that figure!”
“Not until I am twenty-five,” said the Duke.
The tranquility in his voice took Mr. Shifnal aback slightly. It seemed very wrong to him that this frail young swell should not be made to realize the dangerous nature of his position. He pointed it out to him. The Duke smiled at him absently, and went on sipping his gruel. “It ain’t no manner of use bamming me you ain’t as well-breeched a cove as any in the land, because I knows as how you are!” said Mr. Shifnal, nettled.
“Yes, I am very rich,” agreed the Duke. “But I do not yet control my fortune, you know.”
“There’s them as does as would pay it, and gladly, to have you back safe!”
The Duke appeared to consider this. “But perhaps they don’t want to have me back,” he suggested.
Mr. Shifnal was nonplussed. It began to seem as though his colleague’s notions, which he had been inclined to think fanciful, were not so far-fetched. Yet although Mr. Liversedge might return loaded down with money-bags given him by the Duke’s grateful cousin, Mr. Shifnal had a strong suspicion that his share in that wealth might not be commensurate with his deserts. It would, he thought, be a very much better plan for him to remove the Duke from his dungeon, and to pocket a ransom, before Mr. Liversedge could return from his mission. He would have the support of Mr. Mimms, he knew, because although Mr. Mimms would undoubtedly claim a share of any blood-money there might be, he did not want the Duke to be murdered on his premises; and he was mortally afraid of coming into serious contact with the Law. He shook his head at the Duke, and told him that he did not know what lay before him. But the Duke could not perceive any advantage to his captors in killing him, and considered that Mr. Shifnal’s references to the likelihood of his sudden taking-off were designed merely to frighten him into agreeing to the payment of an extortionate ransom. He finished the gruel, and set down the bowl.
“You better think it over, guv’nor!” Mr. Shifnal said. “You won’t have nothing else to do, so take your time! I’m striking the gigg now, and you won’t see no more of me, nor anyone, till I brings you your supper. I daresay you’ll be thinking different by then.”
He rose from the floor, picked up the bowl and the lantern, and went away, locking the door behind him. The Duke lowered himself on to his unpleasant pillow again, and bent his mind to the problem of how he was to escape. For he had made up his mind that escape he must and would.
No method immediately presented itself to him, and he wasted some time in cursing himself for not having gone armed to the Fair. His only weapon was his malacca cane, which had been propped against the broken chair, with his curly-brimmed beaver poised on top of it, and a malacca cane pitted against Mr. Shifnal’s pistol would stand little chance of success. The possibility of taking Mr. Shifnal off his guard seemed remote: he plainly held the Duke to be of little account, but he did not look as though he were in the habit of being taken off his guard. Moreover, the Duke was still feeling extremely battered, and he doubted whether he would have the physical strength to stun Mr. Shifnal. He thought that the most pressing need was to recruit his forces, and with this end in view he closed his eyes, and tried so hard to go to sleep that he did so at last through sheer exhaustion.