“Won’t stand by me?” John said. “Bab!”
“Well, what I mean is——No, confound you, Jack, I’m not queer in my attic, if you are!”
“You come and see my horse, old fellow!” said John soothingly. “Cut some ham, Ben, and put the sausages in the pan! I’m only going as far as the barn.”
Half an hour later, when they re-entered the kitchen, Mr. Babbacombe wore the look of one resigned to his fate, and there was a decided twinkle in the Captain’s eye. They were greeted by the pleasant aroma of sausages sizzling over the fire, and the intelligence that Joseph Lydd had passed through the gate not five minutes earlier, driving the gig.
“Driving the gig?” John said. “Where was he bound for? Did he tell you?”
“No. He asked me where you was, and I told him you was up at the barn, and he said as he’d be back presently. And I didn’t say nothing to him about the swell cove,” added Ben, with conscious rectitude.
“That’s the dandy! Don’t you say anything to anybody about the swell cove! Did Lydd leave any message for me?”
But Joseph had apparently not seen fit to entrust a message to Ben. With his assurance that he would be back presently, John had to be satisfied. Leaving Mr. Babbacombe to superintend the cooking of supper, he went off to make himself presentable, and to speculate upon the nature of the errand that could have taken Lydd, driving the gig, towards Crowford at such an hour. The doctor, as John knew, lived five miles to the east of the gate; he could think of no other person who might be wanted at the Manor.
He had just arranged his cravat to his satisfaction when the gig returned. He heard Ben go out, and followed him, trying to perceive, in the darkness, who was the man seated beside Lydd. A low-brimmed hat, and a dark cloak, were the only things he could distinguish, until the man turned a little, to look at him, and he saw the gleam of white bands. At the same moment, Joseph spoke.
“You’re wanted up at the Manor, Mr. Staple. But I got to drive the Reverend back to Crowford presently.”