“Coate don’t need warning: he knows who you are. If Stornaway were in his confidence, he’d know that too. If you are right in your suspicions, neither of them will stir an inch. But if you are wrong, Stornaway will do what he can to save himself from being arrested as an accomplice,. and so bringing his name into dishonour.”
“I’ll allow he might—if I am wrong,” acknowledged Stogumber. “P’raps you’ll tell me, sir, how he could set about convincing me—me not being easy to convince?”
“Yes, I’ll tell you,” John answered. “The hiding-place of your sovereigns would occur only to those who know this country well, remember! Jerry knows it, and it plainly occurred to him very speedily. Well, Stornaway knows it too! He may think I am telling him a Banbury story, but if he is innocent he won’t hesitate to go with me to this hiding place, to discover what truth there may be in my tale.” Mr. Stogumber thought this over. After a lengthy pause, he demanded: “And how would that bring Coate next or nigh the hiding-place?”
“Stogumber, when you set a trap, do you tell people where it lies, and what you have baited it with?”
“No,” said Stogumber, staring at him. “I can’t say as I do.”
“Nor do I!” said the Captain, with the flash of a disarming grin.
Chapter 16
TOWARDS midday, Mr. Babbacombe strolled down the road to the toll-house. Saturday was a busy day on the road, and he found the Captain very much occupied, and did not for some time venture to approach nearer to the tollhouse than the gate opening into Huggate’s big meadow, against which he leaned negligently while his friend opened the pike to several vehicles, exchanged bucolic witticisms with a cattle drover, forced the driver of a large waggon to dismount from the back of the fore-horse, and drew the attention of an indignant gentleman to the over-laden condition of his cart. During a lull in these proceedings, Mr. Babbacombe, deeply appreciative, seized the opportunity to enter the toll-house. He had marshalled some powerful arguments, which he faintly hoped might dissuade the Captain from whatever fell scheme he had in mind, but as his masterly delivery of these was continually interrupted by calls of Gate! much of their force was lost, and he could not feel that the Captain, though amiable, was lending more than half an ear to them. Discouraged, he presently withdrew to the kitchen, where several covered pots, left by Mrs. Skeffling round the clear fire, simmered gently, and a large pie, flanked by a fresh-baked loaf of bread and a cheese, stood on the table.
Mr. Babbacombe was surveying through his quizzing-glass these preparations for the Captain’s dinner when a footfall sounded in the garden, and a shadow darkened the open doorway. He looked up, and found himself confronting quite the tallest woman he had ever beheld. She was dressed for riding, her whip in her hand, and the tail of her dress caught up over her arm. A startled exclamation broke from her. “Oh—!”
Mr. Babbacombe, showing rare acumen, proved himself instantly equal to the situation. Bowing gracefully, he said: “Beg you will come in, ma’am! Ah—Mrs. Staple, I apprehend?”