“I fear he must have been speaking with a little exaggeration,” said the Beau. “I trust Nye will never find himself compelled to submit to a search being made for his secret cellar. Such things are very well while no one knows of their existence, but once the news of them gets about it becomes a simple matter to discover them.”
Miss Thane, listening to this speech with an air of the most guileless interest, exclaimed: “How odd that you should say that! I must tell you that my brother said at the very outset that he was convinced Nye must possess some hidden store!”
“I felicitate you, ma’am, upon being blessed with a brother of such remarkable perspicacity,” said the Beau in a mellifluous voice. He turned towards his cousin. “My dear Eustacie, I wonder if I may crave the indulgence of a few moments’ private speech with you? Miss Thane will readily understand that between cousins—”
Miss Thane interrupted him at this point, with an affected little cry. “Oh, Mr Lavenham, no, indeed! It is not to be thought of! You must know that I am this dear child’s chaperone—is it not ridiculous?—and such a thing would not do at all!”
He looked at her with narrowed eyes, and after a moment, said: “I do not recollect, ma’am, that these scruples weighed with you so heavily when you visited my house not so long since.”
Miss Thane looked distressed, and replied: “It is very true. Your reproach is just, sir. I’m such a sad shatterbrain that I forgot my duties in admiration of your library.”
He raised his brows in polite scepticism. Eustacie said: “I do not have secrets from mademoiselle. Why do you wish to see me alone? Je n’en vois pas la necessité! ”
“Well,” said the Beau, “if I may speak without reserve, my dear cousin, I desired to drop a word of warning in your ear.”
She looked him over dispassionately. “Yes? I do not know why I must be warned, but if you wish to warn me, I am perfectly agreeable.”
“Let us say,” amended the Beau, “that I desire you to convey a warning to the person most nearly concerned. You must know that I am aware—have been aware from the outset—that you are concealing—a certain person in this house. I do not need to mention names, I am sure. Now, I wish this person no harm; in the past I think I may say that I have been very much his friend, but it will not be in my power to assist him if once his presence in this inn becomes known. And I fear—I very much fear—that it is known. You have already been a trifle discommoded, I collect, by two Runners from Bow Street. They seem, by all accounts, to have been a singularly stupid couple. But you must remember that all the Runners are not so easily—shall we say, duped?” He paused, but Eustacie, contenting herself with gazing at him blankly, said nothing. He smiled slightly, and continued: “You should consider, dear cousin, what would happen if someone who knows this person well were to go to Bow Street and say: ‘I have proof that his man is even now lying in a hidden cellar at the Red Lion at Hand Cross.’”