“Pulling the—” Words failed Sir Hugh. He rose, flinging down his napkin, and strolled from the parlour towards the taproom and the cellar stairs.
Fifteen minutes later Miss Thane, entering the room, was mildly surprised to find her brother’s chair empty, and inquired of Nye what had become of him.
“It was on account of them Runners, ma’am,” said Nye.
“What! are they here again?” exclaimed Miss Thane.
“Ay, they’re here, ma’am, a-hunting for the way into my hidden cellar. Oh, Mr Ludovic’s safe enough! But on account of my mentioning to Sir Hugh how them Runners was disturbing the wine downstairs, he got up, leaving his breakfast like you see, and went off in a rare taking to see what was happening.”
Miss Thane cast one glance at Nye’s wooden countenance, and said: “You were certainly born to be hanged, Nye. What was happening?”
“Well, ma’am, by what I heard in the taproom they had pulled my kegs about a thought roughly, and what with that and Sir Hugh getting it into his head they was wishful to tap the Nantes brandy, there was a trifle of a to-do. Clem tells me it was rare to hear Sir Hugh handle them. By what I understand, he’s laid it on them not to move my kegs by so much as an inch, and what he told them about wilful damage frightened them fair silly—that and the high tone he took with them.”
“They didn’t ask him what he knew of Lord Lavenham, did they?” said Miss Thane anxiously.
“They didn’t have no chance to ask him, ma’am. He told them they might look for all the criminals they chose, so long as they didn’t tamper with the liquor, nor go nosing round his bedchamber.”
“But, Nye, what if they find your hidden cellar?” said Miss Thane.