Part 34 (1/2)
”Oh?” said Barnabas, ”pray, what circ.u.mstances?”
”Sir, as I told you, the mail--”
”John Peterby, speak out--what is troubling you?”
But now, even while Peterby stood hesitating, from the open cas.e.m.e.nt of the inn, near at hand, came the sound of a laugh: a soft, gentle, sibilant laugh which Barnabas immediately recognized.
”Ah!” said he, clenching his fist. ”I think I understand.” As he turned towards the inn, Peterby interposed.
”Sir,” he whispered, ”sir, if ever a man meant mischief--he does. He came back an hour ago, and they have been waiting for you ever since.”
”They?”
”He and the other.”
”What other?”
”Sir, I don't know.”
”Is he a very--young man, this other?”
”Yes, sir, he seems so. And they have been drinking together and--I've heard enough to know that they mean you harm.” But here Master Barnabas smiled with all the arrogance of youth and shook his head.
”John Peterby,” said he, ”learn that the first thing I desire in my valet is obedience. Pray stand out of my way!” So, perforce Peterby stood aside, yet Barnabas had scarce taken a dozen strides ere Clemency stood before him.
”Go back,” she whispered, ”go back!”
”Impossible,” said Barnabas, ”I have a mission to fulfil.”
”Go back!” she repeated in the same tense whisper, ”you must--oh, you must! I've heard he has killed a man before now--”
”And yet I must see and speak with his companion.”
”No, no--ah! I pray you--”
”Nay,” said Barnabas, ”if you will, and if need be, pray for me.” So saying he put her gently aside, and entering the inn, came to the door of that room wherein he had written the letter to his father.
”I tell you I'll kill him, Dalton,” said a soft, deliberate voice.
”Undoubtedly; the light's excellent; but, my dear fellow, why--?”
”I object to him strongly, for one thing, and--”
The voice was hushed suddenly, as Barnabas set wide the door and stepped into the room, with Peterby at his heels.
Mr. Chichester was seated at the table with a gla.s.s beside him, but Barnabas looked past him to his companion who sprawled on the other side of the hearth--a sleepy, sighing gentleman, very high as to collar, very tight as to waist, and most ornate as to waistcoat; young he was certainly, yet with his first glance, Barnabas knew instinctively that this could not be the youth he sought.
Nevertheless he took off his hat and saluted him with a bow that for stateliness left the ”stiff-legged gentleman” nowhere.
”Sir,” said he, ”pray what might your name be?”
Instead of replying, the sleepy gentleman opened his eyes rather wider than was usual and stared at Barnabas with a growing surprise, stared at him from head to foot and up again, then, without changing his lounging att.i.tude, spoke: