A Poached Peerage Part 48

"At any rate you can't blame me for this pleasing little episode,"

returned Peckover dispiritedly.

"I like your swearing you are not the rightful Quorn," said Gage huffily.

"I'm not, whoever else may be," maintained his late confederate with a glance at the real man, who met it by an irresponsive glare.

"I only took it for as long as I fancied," urged Gage.

"A bargain's a bargain," observed Peckover. "You can't take on a t.i.tle and give it up as though it were a furnished house."

"Can't I?" his friend rejoined vehemently. "Anyhow, I mean to. I've had too much of it. I didn't suppose it included Spanish bullies and Australian bush-rangers."

"You can do as you like about giving it up," retorted Peckover. "Only it don't come back to me I promise you. I didn't sell it on appro."

Quorn, who had been ruminating on the events just past in glowering silence, looked up quickly.

"Sell?" he demanded suspiciously. "What do you mean by sell?"

"Mind your own business," returned Gage snappishly. "That's the worst of men like you. You do a fellow a service and then there's no end to the advantage you take of it. Thrusting yourself in and talking absurd rot to the girl. If you don't keep in your place I shall have to put you there."

"That's what I'm going to trouble you to do before you're much older,"

retorted Quorn darkly.

Gage looked puzzled. "What was your reason," he demanded, turning to Peckover, "for sticking out that he was Lord Quorn? Were you pulling that infernal little fire-brand's short leg, or did you mean it?"

Peckover considered a moment, then replied with a nod at Quorn, "You'd better ask him."

Gage did accordingly ask him.

"Mind your own business," was the unsatisfactory answer. "If you are Lord Quorn n.o.body else can be. But it would be interesting to know how you came into the t.i.tle."

"What the deuce does it matter," Peckover protested. "That conundrum will keep. That little devil will be back here directly. What we've got to talk about is how we are going to tackle him."

The suggestion was so profoundly to the point that a depressing silence fell on the trio. They all three jumped when Bisgood came in softly to announce that dinner had been ready half-an-hour.

"Dinner?" cried Gage. "No dinner for me. I'm off."

"Don't be silly," Peckover remonstrated. "We'll have our dinner first.

A bottle of champagne is the stuff to bring us into condition. Come on, Jenkins, old man. You're dining with us to-night."

An exacting afternoon had left the trio in a state so low that sustenance was imperative, wherefore they went gloomily in to dinner.

The meal was taken hurriedly, and, with regard to the wine, copiously.

So by degrees they began to feel in a less abject state of panic.

"Why did we let that fool of a detective talk himself off the premises?" said Peckover regretfully. "Anyhow, we had better have the local man up here in case that nuisance of a duke tries his 'Come into the garden, Maud,' again with us."

"What good will that chaw in uniform be against that little devil?"

objected Gage drearily.

"He's somebody," urged Peckover. "And he's got the law behind him."

"And the traditions of the Saloljas in front of him," rejoined Gage.

Nevertheless, to strengthen the garrison, the local constable was sent for, and the three resumed their repast with a slightly enhanced appet.i.te. They had arrived at the sweets stage, and Peckover was wondering whether it was the last apple-tart he was destined to taste, when a clangorous peal at the bell followed by a thundering knock at the door sent the diners' hearts into their mouths.

"If--if that is the Duke of Salolja," said Gage, sick with fear, to Bisgood, "show him into the library. Don't let him--that is, his grace, come in here."

"Very good, my lord," responded Bisgood, whose imperturbability--and immunity--he would have given a fortune to possess.

None of the three men could sit quiet. Gage, after a restless turn round the table, went to the door and listened. As he did so a shade of relief came over his face. "That's not the little brute's voice,"

he declared hopefully.

"Isn't it? He has got so many," Peckover said dubiously. They scuttled back to their places as the men returned.

"Mr. Carnaby Leo, my lord," Bisgood announced in a tone which suggested a month's notice on his part.

"Has he gone?"

"No, my lord. He said he must see your lords.h.i.+p, so I showed him into the library."

"Miss Leo is not with him?" Quorn asked anxiously.

"No, sir," answered the footman, the great Bisgood declining to notice the question.

"Better turn the key on him," suggested Peckover.

This unheard-of order Bisgood took upon himself to ignore likewise. In the abnormal state of affairs the strain on his dignity was nearly at breaking point.

A footman who looked like going to put the suggestion into practice was loftily, but _sotto voce_, rebuked by his superior, and abandoned his intention.

"I'll go and do it, by Jove," exclaimed Quorn, jumping up and leaving the room, at which action the scandalized Bisgood made no effort to hide his disgust.

Quorn returned. "Got him safe," he said.

"Is the library safe, though?" Peckover suggested shrewdly.

"As if," remarked Gage bitterly, "we hadn't got our hands full without that great nuisance turning up to complicate matters. Let's get on with the wine while we've got any taste left in us," he added, filling his own gla.s.s and sending round the decanters.

As Bisgood and his satellites withdrew, eager to find vent for their disgust in the servants'-hall, Peckover jumped up. "An idea!" he cried, brightening. "What do you say having this beast, Leo, in, and pa.s.sing him off to the duke as Lord Quorn?"

"Not a bad idea," responded Gage, thinking it out.

"Dashed good one," Peckover insisted.

"How can you pa.s.s him off," objected Quorn. "He'll say he is not Quorn."

"We've all said that," rejoined Peckover shrewdly. "All the same, one of us is that n.o.ble lord. We'll tell the duke that he is incog. for certain private reasons, and let 'em fight it out between themselves."

"If any one can tackle that little spit-fire it's Carnaby," said Gage.