This request was so much in accordance with the Runners’ own wishes that they both looked hopefully at Sir Hugh, and gave him to understand that if he cared to order them back to London, they would be very glad to obey him. The day’s disasters had succeeded in convincing them that their errand was futile; and their main concern now was not to arrest a fugitive from the Law but to induce Sir Hugh to refrain from complaining of them to his friend, Sampson Wright. They were not drunk, and their motives had been of the purest, but against the testimony of Sir Hugh, and his sister, and Sir Tristram, and the landlord, they did not feel that they had any hope of being attended to in Bow Street.
Somewhat to their surprise, Miss Thane came to their support, saying magnanimously that for her part she was ready to let the matter rest.
“Wright ought to know of it,” said Sir Hugh, shaking his head.
“Very true, but you forget that they have been punished already for their stupidity. Sir Tristram was very rough with them, you know.”
Sir Hugh was slightly mollified by this reflection. After telling the Runners that he hoped it would be a lesson to them, and warning them that if he ever caught sight of their faces again within the portals of the Red Lion it would be the worse for them, he waved them away. They assured him they would go back to London by the night mail, and with renewed apologies to Miss Thane, bowed themselves out of the inn as fast as they could.
“Well, now that they’ve taken themselves off,” said Nye, “I’ll go and let Mr Ludovic out of the cellar.”
Sir Hugh was not at the moment interested in Ludovic’s release. He was regarding Shield in a puzzled way, and as soon as the landlord had left the room, accompanied by Eustacie, said: “I dare say Sally knows what she’s about, but I don’t think you should appoint her to meet you like that. It’s not at all the thing. Besides, there’s no sense in it. If you want to see her, you can do it here, can’t you? I’ve no objection.”
“I fear you can have no romantic leanings,” said Shield, before Miss Thane could speak. “A star-lit sky, the balmy night breezes—”
“But this is February! The breeze isn’t balmy at all—in fact, there’s been a demmed north wind blowing all day,” pointed out Sir Hugh.
“To persons deep in love,” said Sir Tristram soulfully, “any breeze is balmy.”