Mr Peabody gave it as his opinion that it was a most unlikely story. They discussed the question for a little while, Mr Stubbs contending that had Eustacie spoken of six candles, he might have believed her, and Mr Peabody, a more practical man, distrusting the entire story on the grounds that there was no sense in firing at candles at all.
They had, by these divergent paths, arrived at the same comfortable conclusion when their privacy was disturbed by the arrival of a visitor, who turned to be none other than Gregg, Beau Lavenham’s discreet valet. He came into the taproom with a prim little bow and a tight-lipped smile, and ordered a brandy with hot water and lemon. Until this had been procured for him, he stayed by the bar, only glancing once out of the corners of his eyes at the two Runners snugly ensconced in the ingle-nook by the fire. When his glass had been handed to him, however, he walked over to the fireplace, drew up a chair close to the high-backed settle, and bade the Runners good evening.
They returned this civil greeting without showing any marked degree of cordiality. They were aware that he was the man to whom they were indebted for what information they had, but although they would be grateful for any further information that he might be able to give them, they had a prejudice against informers as a race, and saw no reason to make an exception in this one’s favour. Accordingly, when Gregg leaned forward in his chair, and said in a keen but subdued voice: “Well?” it was in chilly accents that Mr Stubbs replied: “It ain’t well. We’ve been fetched down for nothing, that’s what.”
“So you didn’t find him!” said Gregg, frowning.
“Nor him, nor any sign of him. Which I will say didn’t surprise me.”
“But he was there, for all that,” said Gregg, tapping his front teeth with one finger-nail. “I am sure he was there. You looked everywhere?”
“There now!” said Mr Stubbs, with scathing irony. “If you haven’t put me in mind of it! Dang me, if I didn’t forget to look inside of one of the coal-boxes!”
Gregg, perceiving that he had offended, smiled and made a deprecating movement with his hand. “It is an old house, and full of nooks and hidden cupboards. You are sure—I expect you are sure—that he had no opportunity to seek safety in the cellars?”
“Yes,” replied Mr Stubbs. “I am sure. By the time I was in by the front door, Mr Peabody here was in by the back. And not so much of a sniff of any criminal did we get. What’s more, we had very nice treatment from the landlord, very nice indeed we had. There are plenty as would have behaved different, but Mr Nye, he made no bones at all. ‘It’s not what I like,’ he says, ‘but I don’t blame you, nor I’m not one to stand in the way of an officer what is only executing his dooty.’”
The valet’s light eyes flickered from one stolid face to the other. “He had him hidden. When I went he was not hidden. The tapster would not let me set foot outside the tap-room. They did not wish me to go anywhere inside the house. It was most marked.”