“No, sir. Oh no, sir!” said the butler very chapfallen.
“You are, for once, quite right,” said Shield.
Five minutes’ later he joined Ludovic in the park and dismounted from Clem’s horse. Clem had by this time reached the scene of activity, having walked from the Court, and Ludovic was already in the saddle, looking rather haggard and spent. Sir Tristram gave his bridle into Clem’s hand, and looked shrewdly up at his young cousin. “Yes, you are feeling your wound a trifle,” he remarked. “I am not in the least surprised, and not particularly sorry. If you had your deserts for this night’s folly you would be in gaol.”
“Oh, my wound’s well enough!” replied Ludovic. “Do you want me to say that you were in the right, and there was a trap? Well, then, you were damnably right, even to saying that I’d not find my ring. I haven’t found it. What else?”
“Nothing else. Go back to Hand Cross, and for God’s sake stay there!”
Ludovic let the reins go, and stretched down his hand. “Oh curse you, Tristram, I am sorry, and you’re a devilish good fellow to embroil yourself in my crazy affairs! Thank you for coming tonight!”
Shield gripped his hand for a moment, and said in a softer voice: “Don’t be a fool! We will find your ring, Ludovic. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“I’ll try and keep out of trouble till then,” promised Ludovic. He gathered the reins up again, and the irrepressible twinkle crept back into his eyes. “By the way, my compliments: a nice shot!”
Shield laughed at that. “Was it not? Gregg thought you must have fired it.”
“Extravagant praise, Tristram: you shouldn’t listen to flattery,” retorted Ludovic, grinning.