[CHAPTER II]
IN WHICH A BRITISH OFFICER LOSES A FINE HORSE
"I wish to learn the present whereabouts of Richard Stanbury," said Mr. Waxpenny, slowly and deliberately. "Under that name he came from England to America in 1760, and a year later he was known to be residing in Philadelphia with a wife and infant son. Can you give me any information about him?"
With a heightened color Jenkins stared first at the ceiling, and then shot a glance of apprehension at the hall door. "Stanbury ain't a common name," he replied, by way of gaining time, "but it seems like I've heard it somewheres or other. It might'n be Stanwix, now?"
"No, Stanbury—Richard Stanbury."
The landlord propped his elbows on the counter and looked meditatively into vacancy. "I've heard of Bow Street runners," he said to himself, "and I misdoubt but this chap is one of the snaky varmints in disguise. It ain't likely Dick Stanbury is wanted over in England, but there's no telling. What am I going to do about it? I'll bet a ha'penny the lad's listening out yonder with both ears. I'll just lie low till I get my bearings—that's the safest plan."
During the course of this mental soliloquy he was cocking his head this way and that, and now he shook it in a manner that indicated profound and hopeless ignorance.
"If a golden guinea would jog your memory, why, here it is," suggested Mr. Waxpenny, displaying the coin.
"The gold wouldn't come amiss," said Jenkins, with a sigh, "but it ain't possible for me to earn it."