CHAPTER II.—THE JACOBITE.
‘Where did you place the saddle-bags, Derrick?’ asked Sir Carnaby, when Hobb Dipping had quitted the old wainscoted apartment in which his distinguished visitor was about to partake of supper.
Speech was a gift which nature had bestowed very sparingly upon the attendant; moreover, he was possessed of a rough, unmelodious voice. Pointing towards a chair in one corner, he slowly ejaculated: ‘There, sir—underneath.’
‘Good!’ said Sir Carnaby, seating himself at the table.—‘By the way, Derrick, I think it would be just as well to look after the innkeeper: his glances are a trifle too curious to please me. When I have finished my supper, you had better descend into the public room and try to ascertain his opinion of us.’
‘Right, sir,’ replied the attendant.
‘Come from behind my chair, you varlet,’ said the baronet, motioning him at the same time with his hand. ‘Draw up to the table and break your fast with me; we shall gain time by so doing.’
Derrick sat down respectfully at the farther end of the board, and gazed in a thoughtful way at a dark patch of sky which could be seen through the diamond-shaped panes of glass in a window opposite him.
‘You seem in no hurry to refresh the inner man,’ remarked Sir Carnaby. ‘What are you thinking of, Derrick?’
‘A dream, sir.’
‘A what?’