The Master of the Ceremonies Part 90

Volume Three, Chapter III.

MR BARCLAY IS BUSY.

Josiah Barclay sat at his writing-table, looking about the most uncompromising specimen of humanity possible, when the door was softly opened, and his man-servant came in.

"And nine's seventy-three," muttered Barclay, making an entry. "Hang the woman! I wish she'd come down and go on with these accounts. Well, Joseph?"

"Lady Drelincourt, sir."

"Humph! Bless her! Let her wait. Seen that monkey again, Joseph?"

"Isaac, sir? Denville's Isaac?"

"Yes, him. Dropped any more hints?"

"Saw him last night, sir, at the Blue Posts."

"Well?"

"Went on dropping hints again, sir, as soon as he had had a gla.s.s or two. 'Fraid he's a fool, sir."

"Nothing to be afraid of in a fool, Joseph, so long as you keep him at a distance. So he chatters, eh?"

"Yes, sir. Professes to have a mystery. He could speak if he liked, and there's a deal he could say if he pleased, and lays his finger on the side of his nose, and all that sort of thing, sir. That's been going on for months, and it's what he calls confiding in me; but it never goes any further."

"And what do you think of it, Joseph?"

"Nothing, sir," said Barclay's confidential man drily. "I believe it's all to make him seem important. Lived a long while in an artificial soil, sir, and goes in for shams."

Barclay chuckled.

"Don't give him up, Joseph. I think he does know something, and it may be worth hearing. I find we can't know too much. Does he confide in anyone else?"

"No, sir, I think not."

"Well, don't give him up. Now you can show Lady Drelincourt in: and while she is here run on to Moggridge's. He has sent me a hint that a chaise or two are ordered for to-night. Find out who are going."

Joseph nodded and went out, while Barclay was muttering to himself that he liked to make sure none of his sheep were going astray, when Lady Drelincourt was shown in.

"Humph! I must send for my wife," said Barclay to himself. "It is dangerous when Venus invades one's home;" and he looked gravely at the overdressed, painted-up old woman, with his thoughts dwelling upon her likeness to Lady Teigne--the murder, the missing jewels--and Isaac's mysterious communications to his servant when they met at the Blue Posts to smoke a pipe.

"Ah, doctor," cried her ladyship playfully, "I've come to let you feel my pulse."

"Your pulse, Lady Drelincourt?" said Barclay. "Surely your ladyship's circulation is not low?"

"Horribly, Barclay. I am fainting for want of the circulating medium."

"But your ladyship's lawyers?"

"Oh, I can't go to them again, and be bothered about deeds."

"Your ladyship wants acts, eh?"

"To be sure, and at once, Barclay. I want five hundred pounds."

"A large sum, my lady," said Barclay warily.

"Stuff! A trifle. Just enough to take me on the Continent and back."

"Humph!" said Barclay aloud; and to himself: "One of the post-chaises."

"Now, no nonsense, Barclay, or I shall be compelled to whip you severely with my fan."

"That ought to be a pleasure, madam," said Barclay politely. "But what security do you offer for five hundred pounds?"

"Security! and from me, you wicked ogre!" said her ladyship playfully.

"Why, you ought to feel honoured."

"I do, my lady, greatly; but--"

"There, I don't want to waste my time listening to stuff. I know what a close-fisted, miserly old wretch you are, and so I came prepared."

"Prepared, Lady Drelincourt?"

"Of course. I only want a temporary loan, and here are my diamonds."

She drew a morocco case from the large reticule hanging on her arm, and pa.s.sed it across the table.

Barclay opened the case, took out a glittering necklet, breathed upon it, glanced at the rest of the contents of the case, replaced the necklet, and closed it.

"Well, monster," said her ladyship playfully, "will that do?"

"Admirably, my lady," said Barclay, taking a cash-box from a drawer, and counting out, with deft fingers, a number of notes. "Four fifty-five,"

he muttered, as he pa.s.sed the rustling bundle across to his visitor, and slipped the case and cash-box back.

"I must have no nonsense about those diamonds, Barclay," said her ladyship, "when I want them back."

"Your ladyship has only to sign this paper," replied Barclay, "and hand me 600 pounds, and the gems come back to their owner."

"Ah, Barclay, you are a dreadful ogre," she sighed, as she slipped the notes into her reticule. "You are quite as bad as a highwayman."

"Only more useful, my lady," chuckled Barclay. "Well, Joseph?"

The servant bent down and whispered:

"Lord Carboro'."

"Humph!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Barclay. "Would your ladyship object to meet Lord Carboro'?"