The Black Moth. Georgette Heyer

hovering anxiously over the coat and waistcoat that were waiting to be donned.

      Carstares left off polishing his nails, yawned, and leaned back in his chair, a slim, graceful figure in cambric shirt and apricot satin breeches. He studied his cravat for some moments in the mirror, and lifted a hand to it. Salter held his breath. With extreme deliberation the hand moved a diamond and emerald pin the fraction of an inch to one side, and fell to his side again. Salter drew a relieved breath, which brought his master's eyes round to himself.

      "No trouble, Jim?"

      "None at all, sir."

      "Neither had I. 'Twas most surprisingly easy. The birds had no more fight in them than sparrows. Two men in a coach—one a bullying rascal of a merchant, the other his clerk. Gad! but I was sorry for that little man!" He paused, his hand on the rouge pot.

      Salter looked an inquiry.

      "Yes," nodded Carstares. "Very sorry. The fat man would appear to bully and browbeat him after the manner of his kind; he even blamed him for my advent, the greasy coward! Yes, Jim, you are right—he did not appeal to me, ce M. Fudby. So—" ingenuously, "I relieved him of his cash-box and two hundred guineas. A present for the poor of Lewes."

      Jim jerked his shoulder, frowning.

      "If ye give away all ye get, sir, why do ye rob at all?" he asked bluntly.

      His whimsical little smile played about my lord's mouth.

      "'Tis an object for my life, Jim: a noble object. And I believe it amuses me to play Robin Hood—take from the rich to give to the poor," he added, for Salter's benefit. "But to return to my victims—you would have laughed had you but seen my little man come tumbling out of the coach when I opened the door!"

      "Tumble, sir? Why should he do that?"

      "He was at pains to explain the reason. It seems he had been commanded to hold the door to prevent my entering—so when I jerked it open, sooner than loose his hold, he fell out on to the road. Of course, I apologised most abjectly—and we had some conversation. Quite a nice little man. … It made me laugh to see him sprawling on the road, though!"

      "Wish I could have seen it, your honour. I would ha' liked fine to ha' been beside ye." He looked down at the lithe form with some pride. "I'd give something to see ye hold up a coach, sir!"

      Haresfoot in hand, Jack met his admiring eyes in the glass, and laughed.

      "I make no doubt you would. … I have cultivated a superb voice, a trifle thick and beery, a little loud, perhaps—ah, something to dream of o' nights! I doubt they do, too," he added reflectively, and affixed the patch at the corner of his mouth.

      "So? A little low, you think? But 'twill suffice—What's toward?"

      Down below in the street there was a great stirring and bustling: horses' hoofs, shouts from the ostlers, and the sound of wheels on the cobble-stones. Jim went to the window and looked down, craning his neck to see over the balcony.

      "'Tis a coach arrived, sir."

      "That much had I gathered," replied my lord, busy with the powder.

      "Yes, sir. O lord, sir!" He was shaken with laughter.

      "What now?"

      "'Tis the curiousest sight, sir! Two gentlemen, one fat and t'other small! One's all shrivelled-looking, like a spider, while t'other—"

      "Resembles a hippopotamus—particularly in the face?"

      "Well yes, sir. He do rather. And he be wearing purple."

      "Heavens, yes! Purple, and an orange waistcoat!"

      Jim peered afresh.

      "So it is, sir! But how did you know?" Even as he put the question, understanding flashed into Jim's eyes.

      "I rather think that I have had the honour of meeting these gentlemen," replied my lord placidly. "My buckle, Jim. … Is't a prodigious great coach with wheels picked out in yellow?"

      "Ay, your honour. The gentlemen seem a bit put out, too."

      "That is quite probable. Does the smaller gentleman wear somewhat—ah—muddied garments?"

      "I can't see, sir; he stands behind the fat gentleman."

      "Mr. Bumble Bee. … Jim!"

      "Sir!" Jim turned quickly at the sound of the sharp voice.

      He found that my lord had risen, and was holding up a waistcoat of pea-green pattern on a bilious yellow ground, between a disgusted finger and thumb. Before his severe frown Jim dropped his eyes and stood looking for all the world like a schoolboy detected in some crime.

      "You put this—this monstrosity—out for me to wear?" in awful tones.

      Jim eyed the waistcoat gloomily and nodded.

      "Yes, sir."

      "Did I not specify cream ground?"

      "Yes, sir. I thought—I thought that 'twas cream!"

      "My good friend, it is—it is—I cannot say what it is. And pea-green!" he shuddered. "Remove it."

      Jim hurried forward and disposed of the offending garment.

      "And bring me the broidered satin. Yes, that is it. It is particularly pleasing to the eye."

      "Yes, sir," agreed the abashed Jim.

      "You are excused this time," added my lord, with a twinkle in his eye. "What are our two friends doing?"

      Salter went back to the window

      "They've gone into the house, sir. No, here's the spider gentleman! He do seem in a hurry, your honour!"

      "Ah!" murmured his lordship. "You may assist me into this coat. Thanks."

      With no little difficulty, my lord managed to enter into the fine satin garment, which, when on, seemed moulded to his back, so excellently did it fit. He shook out his ruffles and slipped the emerald ring on to his finger with a slight frown.

      "I believe I shall remain here some few days," he remarked presently. "To—ah—allay suspicion." He looked across at his man as he spoke, through his lashes.

      It was not in Jim's nature to inquire into his master's affairs, much less to be surprised at anything he might do or say. He was content to receive and promptly execute his orders, and to worship Carstares with a dog-like devotion, following blindly in his wake, happy as long as he might serve him.

      Carstares had found him in France, very down upon his luck, having been discharged from the service of his late master owing to the penniless condition of that gentleman's pocket. He had engaged him as his own personal servant, and the man had remained with him ever since, proving an invaluable acquisition to my Lord John. Despite a singularly wooden countenance, he was by no means a fool, and he had helped Carstares out of more than one tight corner during his inglorious and foolhardy career as highwayman. He probably understood his somewhat erratic master better than anyone else, and he now divined what was in his mind. He returned that glance with a significant wink.

      "'Twas them gentlemen ye held up to-day, sir?" he asked, jerking an expressive thumb towards the window.

      "M'm. Mr. Bumble Bee and friend. It would almost appear so. I think I do not fully appreciate Mr. Bumble Bee. I find his conduct rather tiresome. But it is just possible that he thinks the same of me. I will further my acquaintance with him."

      Jim grunted scornfully, and an inquiring eye was cocked at him.

      "You do not admire our friend? Pray, do not judge him by his exterior. He may possess a beautiful mind. But I do not think so. N-no, I really do not think so." He chuckled a little. "Do you know, Jim, I believe I am going to enjoy myself to-night!"

      "I don't doubt it, your honour. 'Twere child's play to trick the fat gentleman."

      "Probably.