“That don’t surprise me,” said Mr Stubbs. He put his empty tankard down and regarded the valet narrowly. “What’s your interest in this Loodervic Lavenham? What makes you so unaccountable anxious to have him laid by the heels?”
The valet folded his lips closely, but after a moment replied: “Well, you see, Mr Stubbs, that is my business. I have my reasons.”
The Runner eyed him with growing disfavour. “Lookee!” he pronounced. “When I go ferreting for news of a desprit criminal, that’s dooty. When you does the same thing, Mr Gregg, it looks to me uncommon like Spitefulness, and Spitefulness is what I don’t hold with, and never shall.”
“That’s right,” agreed Mr Peabody.
The valet smiled again, but unpleasantly, and said in his silky way: “Why, you may say so if you choose, Mr Stubbs. And I hope I may ask whom you saw at the Red Lion?”
“I didn’t see no desprit criminal,” answered Mr Stubbs. “It’s my belief there ain’t no desprit criminal. Is it likely the place would house such with a Justice of the Peace putting up there?”
“You went into the little back bedchamber? They let you go there?”
“I went into two back bedchambers, one which is the landlord’s and the other which the young French lady’s maid has.”
The valet’s eyelids were quickly raised. “Her maid? Did you see her maid?”
“Ay, poor wench, I saw her right enough, and I heard Miss a-scolding of her all for breaking a bottle.”