Eustacie pulled herself together. “He must instantly go into the cellar. I will talk to the Runners while you take him there.”
“It’s too late, miss! Whoever it was sent them knew about the cellars, for there’s one of them standing over the backstairs at this very moment! I never knew they was even on the coach till they come walking into the place, as bold as brass!”
“They may be searching the house now!” exclaimed Eustacie in sudden alarm. “You should not have left them! Oh dear, do you think my cousin will shoot them? If he does we must bury them quickly, before anyone knows!”
“No, no, miss, it ain’t as bad as that yet! What they wants is to see Mr Nye. They daresn’t go searching the place afore ever they tell him what they’re here for. They think I’ve gone to look for him, but what I’ve got to do is to hide the young master, and lordy, lordy, how can I get upstairs without them knowing when one of ’em’s lounging round the backstairs, and’t’other sitting in the coffee-room?”
“Go immediately, and find Nye!” ordered Eustacie. “He must think of a way. I will talk to these Runners, and if I can I will coax the one in the coffee-room to come into the parlour.”
With this praiseworthy resolve in mind, and an uncomfortable feeling of panic in her breast, she sallied forth from the parlour and made her way to the coffee-room. Here, at a table in the middle of the room which commanded a view of the staircase and the front door, was seated a stockily-built individual in a blue coat and a wide-brimmed hat, casually glancing over the contents of a folded journal, which he had extricated from one capacious pocket. Eustacie, surveying him from the open doorway, noticed that his figure was on the portly side, a circumstance which afforded her a certain amount of satisfaction, since it seemed improbable that a stout, middle-aged man would have much hope of catching Ludovic if that young gentleman were forced to take to his heels.
Summoning up a smile, and a look of inquiry, Eustacie said, as though startled: “Oh! Why, who are you?”
The Bow Street officer looked up, and finding that he was being addressed by a young and enchantingly pretty female, laid the journal down upon the table and rose to his feet. He touched his hat, and said that he was wishful to see the landlord.
“But yes, of course!” said Eustacie. “You have come on the mail coach, sans doute, and you want a drink! I understand!”
By this time the Runner had assimilated the fact that she was not English. He did not care for foreigners, but her instant grasp of his most pressing need inclined him to regard her with less disapproval than he might otherwise have done. He did not precisely admit that he wanted a drink, but he said that it was a very cold, raw day to be sure, and waited hopefully to see what she would do about it.