"You know he's not Lord Quorn, and you know I am."

"I've told you already, not being in the know of the Heralds' College, I'm not in a position to say anything about it."

"Aren't you?" sneered Quorn. "I know all about it, though. When I drank that loaded stuff that sent me to sleep that was your chance, and you took it."

"Did I?"

"You did. And I don't blame you. But I've woke up now."

"Then," rejoined Peckover sarcastically, "since you are so wide-awake, perhaps you can explain why I didn't take the t.i.tle myself?"

"I suppose," Quorn replied nastily, "you didn't feel you could fill the part."

"Of a British n.o.bleman?" Peckover laughed scornfully. "Too steady and respectable, eh? My highly creditable record wouldn't have stood in my way if I'd had a chance of n.o.bbling the coronet."

Quorn brought his fist down with a bang on the table. "D--n it, man, who is this fellow?"

"Lord Quorn," Peckover maintained.

"Lord Quorn!" The real man could not find words to express his disgust. "How did you pick him up?" he demanded, seeing the uselessness of arguing the question of ident.i.ty.

"He picked me up," Peckover replied coolly.

"How? When? Where?"

"I'll tell you all about it, if you won't make such a noise," Peckover said suavely. "He came to the _Quorn Arms_ just after you had made that little mistake in the refreshment, and announced himself as Lord Quorn; and who was I to say he was not Lord Quorn?"

"Funny," remarked Quorn, "that he should have brought you along here."

"Fact is," was the ready explanation, "he was afraid of being caught by those Hemyock terrors who straightaway began tumbling over one another to get him. Brought me along here as a chaperon, or an umbrella, if you like, and I've made myself useful."

"I see," said Quorn suspiciously. "And how about being a millionaire?"

"That," replied Peckover, "is how we worked the trick. Lady Agatha is a nailer. She wouldn't have wasted board and lodging on a poor man.

And as a rich chap I can whistle the dear girls off when they get closer to Quorn than he cares about."

The a.s.sumption of the t.i.tle irritated its real holder. "Quorn?" he repeated resentfully. "I like that. There's only one Quorn, and I'm going to show everybody where he is."

"Lalage and all?" was the pertinent objection.

"Oh, confound Lalage!"

"Just so--confound Lalage," was the hearty response, "Only take care Lalage does not confound you."

For a few moments Quorn preserved an aggrieved and discomfited silence.

"You don't suppose," he said at length, "I am going to stand being humbugged like this."

"I don't reckon anything about it," replied Peckover with wise mendacity. "You two Quorns had better fight it out between yourselves.

Only----"

"Only what?" the other snapped.

"If I were you I should wait until the ring's clear before I put up my hands."

Quorn stared in front of him in gloomy silence. "Pretty darned mess it is," he remarked presently.

"It is. But it will clear up," said Peckover cheerfully. "That is if you give it time."

Quorn made a sour face. "Nice position for me----"

"If you will go engaging the affections of ladies from the Bush with short hair and muscular brothers," put in Peckover. "It's a mercy as it is that this other claimant cropped up. He has saved you a lot of worry."

"So they're after him?" asked Quorn with grim amus.e.m.e.nt.

"You bet. He had to stay in bed for a week to keep out of their way.

Lalage has crossed over to be Lady Quorn, and she means business."

"The devil she does!" exclaimed Quorn uneasily.

"Just think," urged Peckover with telling plausibility, "what this other Quorn has saved you from. Dear old Carnaby has a rare hankering after experiments on people's physiognomies; trying how a man looks with his nose bent, his eye closed, and a tooth or two smudged out. He fitted his dooks once round my throat, and I can feel 'em there now."

"What was that for?"

"Just to keep his hand in. He is uncommonly keen on meeting you, and he has got a bagful of funniments ready for the occasion."

"Pleasant fellow," e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Quorn ruefully.

"Yes," pursued Peckover, "it's providential this chap, t'other Quorn, turned up. And if you take my advice you'll let him sit where he is till the Leos have eaten their heads off at _The Pigeons_ and turned the game up."

"Looks as though I'd better," Quorn agreed reluctantly.

"It will be bad enough if Carnaby catches you about as it is,"

continued Peckover, encouraged by the success of his argument. "He may do something distinctly unpleasant, but, not being for the moment Lord Quorn, you won't have to marry old Lalage into the bargain."

"That's something," murmured Quorn.

"Everything, almost," said Peckover cheerfully. "If you wriggle out of that matrimonial spring-trap, you won't mind leaving half of your tail behind. You may lose a feature or two, but you'll be saved a life-time of bother."

"To get quit of Lalage would be gratifying," Quorn admitted gloomily.

"But with my nose sliced off----"

"If," urged Peckover encouragingly, "you keep away from the looking-gla.s.s you'll never miss it."

"But other people will," Quorn objected, clearly discomposed by the idea.

"Well, then," Peckover summed up, "if you don't feel equal to tackling the gentle Carnaby either as Quorn or Jenkins, you had best lie low till they cart themselves away. The other Quorn won't be particular, since you saved his life, and Treacher doesn't go for a month. We'll fix you up a room in one of the lodges, and you can spend your time in keeping out of Lalage's way. Give out you are surveying the estate, which, if it should turn out to be yours, won't be trouble thrown away.

I'll look after you, and back you up. You can trust me."