The Black Moth. Georgette Heyer

that you, a Carstares, should find it—amusing."

      John was silent for a moment, and when he at length spoke it was defiantly and with a bitterness most unusual in him.

      "The world, Mr. Warburton, has not treated me so kindly that I should feel any qualms of conscience. But, an it gives you any satisfaction to know it, I will tell you that my robberies are few and far between. You spoke a little while ago of my probable—ah—fate—on Tyburn Tree. I think you need not fear to hear of that."

      "I—It gives me great satisfaction, my lord, I confess," stammered the lawyer, and found nothing more to say. After a long pause he again produced the bulky roll of parchment and laid it down before the Earl with the apologetic murmur of:

      "Business, my lord!"

      Carstares descended from the clouds and eyed the packet with evident distaste. He proceeded to fill his and his companion's glass very leisurely. That done, he heaved a lugubrious sigh, caught Mr. Warburton's eye, laughed in answer to its quizzical gleam, and broke the seal.

      "Since you will have it, sir—business!"

      Mr. Warburton stayed the night at the Chequers and travelled back to Wyncham next day by the two o'clock coach. He played piquet and ecarte with my lord all the evening, and then retired to bed, not having found an opportunity to argue his mission as he had hoped to do. Whenever he had tried to turn the conversation that way he had been gently but firmly led into safer channels, and somehow had found it impossible to get back. My lord was the gayest and most charming of companions, but talk "business" he would not. He regaled the lawyer with spicy anecdotes and tales of abroad, but never once allowed Mr. Warburton to speak of his home or of his brother.

      The lawyer retired to rest in a measure reassured by the other's good spirits, but at the same time dispirited by his failure to induce Carstares to return to Wyncham.

      Next morning, although he was not up until twelve, he was before my lord, who only appeared in time for lunch, which was served as before in the oak parlour.

      He entered the room in his usual leisurely yet decided fashion and made Mr. Warburton a marvellous leg. Then he bore him off to inspect his mare, Jenny, of whom he was inordinately proud. By the time they returned to the parlour luncheon was served, and Mr. Warburton realised that he had scarcely any time left in which to plead his cause.

      My lord's servant hovered continually about the room, waiting on them, until his master bade him go to attend to the lawyer's valise. When the door had closed on his retreating form, Carstares leaned back in his chair, and, with a rather dreary little smile, turned to his companion.

      "You want to reason with me, I know, Mr. Warburton, and, indeed, I will listen an I must. But I would so much rather that you left the subject alone, believe me."

      Warburton sensed the finality in his voice, and wisely threw away his last chance.

      "I understand 'tis painful, my lord, and I will say no more. Only remember—and think on it, I beg!"

      The concern in his face touched my lord.

      "You are too good to me, Mr. Warburton, I vow. I can only say that I appreciate your kindness—and your forbearance. And I trust that you will forgive my seeming churlishness and believe that I am indeed grateful to you."

      "I wish I might do more for you, Master Jack!" stammered Warburton, made miserable by the wistful note in his favourite's voice. There was no time for more; the coach already awaited him, and his valise had been hoisted up. As they stood together in the porch, he could only grip my lord's hand tightly and say good-bye. Then he got hurriedly into the coach, and the door was slammed behind him.

      My lord made his leg, and watched the heavy vehicle move forward and roll away down the street. Then with a stifled sigh he turned and walked towards the stables. His servant saw him coming and went at once to meet him.

      "The mare, sir?"

      "As you say, Jim—the mare. In an hour."

      He turned and would have strolled back.

      "Sir—your honour!"

      He paused, looking over his shoulder.

      "Well?"

      "They're on the look-out, sir. Best be careful."

      "They always are, Jim. But thanks."

      "Ye—ye wouldn't take me with ye, sir?" pleadingly.

      "Take you? Faith, no! I've no mind to lead you into danger. And you serve me best by remaining to carry out my orders."

      The man fell back.

      "Ay, sir; but—but—"

      "There are none, Jim."

      "No, sir—but ye will have a care?"

      "I will be the most cautious of men." He walked away on the word, and passed into the house.

      In an hour he was a very different being. Gone was the emerald ring, the foppish cane; the languid air, too, had disappeared, leaving him brisk and businesslike. He was dressed for riding, with buff coat and buckskin breeches, and shining top boots. A sober brown wig replaced the powdered creation, and a black tricorne was set rakishly atop.

      He stood in the deserted porch, watching Jim strap his baggage to the saddle, occasionally giving a curt direction. Presently Mr. Chadber appeared with the stirrup-cup, which he drained and handed back with a word of thanks and a guinea at the bottom.

      Someone called lustily from within, and the landlord, bowing very low, murmured apologies and vanished.

      Jim cast a last glance at the saddle-girths, and, leaving the mare quietly standing in the road, came up to his master with gloves and whip.

      Carstares took them silently and fell to tapping his boot, his eyes thoughtfully on the man's face.

      "You will hire a coach, as usual," he said at length, "and take my baggage to—" (He paused, frowning)—"Lewes. You will engage a room at the White Hart and order dinner. I shall wear—apricot and—h'm!"

      "Blue, sir?" ventured Jim, with an idea of being helpful.

      His master's eyes crinkled at the corners.

      "You are a humorist, Salter. Apricot and cream. Cream? Yes, 'tis a pleasing thought—cream. That is all—Jenny!"

      The mare turned her head, whinnying as he came towards her.

      "Good lass!" He mounted lightly and patted her glossy neck. Then he leaned sideways in the saddle to speak again to Salter, who stood beside him, one hand on the bridle.

      "The cloak?"

      "Behind you, sir."

      "My wig?"

      "Yes, sir."

      "Pistols?"

      "Ready primed, sir."

      "Good. I shall be in Lewes in time for dinner—with luck."

      "Yes, sir. Ye—ye will have a care?" anxiously.

      "Have I not told you?" He straightened in the saddle, touched the mare with his heel, and bestowing a quick smile and a nod on his man, trotted easily away.

CHAPTER II

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MY LORD AT THE WHITE HART

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      "Sir Anthony Ferndale" sat before the dressing-table in his room at the White Hart, idly polishing his nails. A gorgeous silk dressing gown lay over the back of his chair, and, behind him,