'I don't know what you mean!' chattered Mr Drelincourt. 'A brooch? I know nothing about it, nothing!'

The Viscount pressed the muzzle of his pistol into the pit of Mr Drelincourt's stomach. There's a mighty light trigger on this pistol of mine,' he said. 'It only needs a touch to send it off.

Don't move. I know you took that brooch. What did you do with it?'

Mr Drelincourt was silent, breathing rather fast. Sir Roland replaced his toothpick carefully in its gold case, and pocketed it. He strolled forward, and tucked his fingers into the back of Mr Drelincourt's neck-cloth, and twisted it scientifically. 'Take the pistol away, Pel. Going to choke it out of him.'

Mr Drelincourt, his throat already bruised from his cousin's crushing grip, gave a strangled shriek. 'Yes, I took it! I didn't know how it came to be there - indeed, I had no notion!'

'You carried it to Rule? Answer!' snarled the Viscount.

'No, no, I didn't. I swear I didn't!'

Captain Heron, watching him closely, nodded. 'Don't choke him, Pommeroy, I think he's speaking the truth.'

'If you didn't take it to Rule, where is it?'

'I haven't got it!' gasped Mr Drelincourt, his eyes on the Viscount's pistol.

'Can't expect us to believe that,'said Sir Roland, impersonally. 'Went off to Meering with it, didn't you?'

'Yes, I did, but I never gave it to Rule. Lord Lethbridge has it!'

Sir Roland was so surprised that he released him. 'd.a.m.ned if I can make head or tail of this!' he said. 'How the deuce did he come by it?'

'He - he overtook me, and wrested the brooch from me. I couldn't stop him. I swear I'm telling the truth!'

'There, that's what all your talk of great-aunts brought about, Pom*!' said the Viscount bitterly.

'It's a good thing,' said Sir Roland. 'Now we know who has got the brooch. Makes it simple. Find Lethbridge - get the brooch - whole affair settled.'

The Viscount turned to Mr Drelincourt. 'Where is Lethbridge?'

Mr Drelincourt said sullenly: 'I don't know. He said he should sleep the night in Maidenhead.'

The Viscount was thinking fast. 'Maidenhead? That's a matter of twenty-six or seven miles. Call it a three-hour run.

We'll get him.' He slipped the pistol back into his pocket.

'Nothing more to be done here. As for you-' he rounded on Mr Drelincourt, who shrank perceptibly,'-the next time you cross my path will be the last. Come on, Pom; come, Edward.'

When they were once more in the street Captain Heron began to shake with silent laughter.

'What the devil's the matter with you?' said the Viscount, pausing to frown at him.

Captain Heron grasped the railing. 'His face!' he choked.

'You breaking in in the middle of his breakfast - oh lord!'

'Ha!' said Sir Roland. 'Middle of his breakfast, was he?

Dashed amusing!'

Suddenly the humour of the situation dawned upon the Viscount. He went off into a crack of laughter. Mr Drelincourt, peering from between the curtains of his room, was infuriated by the sight of his three visitors doubled up with mirth on the pavement.

Captain Heron let go the railings at last. 'Where now?' he asked faintly.

'White's,' decided the Viscount. 'Won't be anyone there at this hour. We must think this out.'

'I'm not a member, you know,' said Captain Heron.

'What's that matter? Pom ain't either. I am, though,' replied the Viscount, and led the way up the street.

They found the coffee-room in the club deserted, and took possession of it. The Viscount stretched himself in a chair, and thrust his hands into his breeches pockets.

'Say Lethbridge started from Maidenhead at ten,' he mused.

'He'll arrive about one. Maybe earlier. Drives fast horses.'

Sir Roland was inclined to cavil at this. 'Wouldn't start at ten, Pel. Too early.*

'What's to keep him?' asked the Viscount. 'Nothing to do in Maidenhead that I ever heard of.'

'There's a bed, ain't there? Do you ever get up before nine?

Lay you odds he don't either. Call it eleven.'

'Does it signify?' inquired Captain Heron, adjusting his sash.

'Signify? Of course it signifies!' replied the Viscount.

'We've got to intercept the fellow. Does he take his luncheon on the road, Pom?'

'Takes his lunch at Longford - King's Head,' said Sir Roland.

'Or Colnbrook,' said the Viscount. 'They do you a very good dish of mutton and broiled mushrooms at the George.'

'No, no, Pel,' said Sir Roland gently. 'You're thinking of the Pigeons at Brentford.'

The Viscount devoted some thought to this, and came to the conclusion that his friend was right. 'Well, then, call it Longford. Lunches at noon. Won't get to London before two.'

'I wouldn't say that, Pel,' objected Sir Roland.

'Damme, you must give the fellow time to sit a bit over his wine!'

'Not at Longford,' said Sir Roland simply. 'He won't sit over his wine at the King's Head.'

'Well, if it's like that, he won't take his luncheon there,' said the Viscount. 'That puts us out.'

Captain Heron sat up. 'Stop talking about his luncheon!' he begged. 'He'll eat it somewhere, and that's all that concerns us.

How are you going to intercept him?'

The Viscount let his chin sink into his cravat, and pondered deeply.

'Short of holding him up, you can't do it,' said Captain Heron. 'You can only wait for him at his house.'

The Viscount jerked himself in his chair. 'You've hit it, Edward! That's a devilish good idea of yours! We'll do it.'

'What, wait for him in Half-Moon Street? I don't say it's a good idea, but-'

'Lord no!' interrupted the Viscount. 'No sense in that. We'll hold him up.'

'Good G.o.d, that wasn't my idea!' said Captain Heron, alarmed.

'Of course it was your idea; you thought of it, didn't you?

And one thing I will say, Edward, I never expected it of you.

Always thought you too devilish respectable.'

'You were right,' said Captain Heron firmly. 'I am as respectable as can be. I won't be a party to any hold-up.'

'Why not?' No harm in it. Shan't hurt the fellow -much.'

'Pelham, will you have some sense? Consider my uniform!'

Sir Roland, who had been pensively sucking the end of his cane, raised his head. 'Got a notion,' he said. 'Go home and change it. Can't hold a man up in regimentals. Wouldn't be reasonable to expect it of him, Pel.'

'Lord, you don't suppose we'll any of us do it dressed like this, do you? We want greatcoats and masks.'

'I've got a roquelaure,' said Sir Roland helpfully. 'Had it made for me last month by Grogan. Meant to show it to you, Pel. Pretty shade of grey - silver b.u.t.tons, but I don't know about the lining. Grogan was all for a Carmelite silk, but I'm not sure I care for it, not at all sure.'

'Well, you can't hold up a chaise in a silk-lined roquelaure.

We've got to have frieze coats and m.u.f.flers.'

Sir Roland shook his head. 'Can't be done, Pel. You got a frieze coat, Heron?'

'No, thank G.o.d, I haven't!' said Captain Heron.

'Nor have I,' said the Viscount, springing up. 'And that's why we must get hold of that fellow we left at Lethbridge's.

Come along! We've no time to waste.'

Sir Roland rose, and said admiringly: 'Dashed if I should ever have thought of that. It's you who have the head, Pel, not a doubt of it.'

'Pelham, do you realize that in all probability it was that ruffian who kidnapped your sister?' demanded Captain Heron.

'Do you think so? Yes, by G.o.d, I believe you're right! Said he was waiting for twenty guineas, didn't he? Well, if Lethbridge can hire him so can we,' declared the Viscount, and strode out.

Captain Heron caught him up in the street. 'Pelham, it's all very well, but we can't do a hare-brained thing like that! If we're caught I'm like to be broke.'

'Well, it always beat me why you ever wanted to go into the Army,' said the Viscount. 'But if you want to rat, Pom and I can do it without you!'

Sir Roland, shocked, said: 'Pel, dear old boy, Pel! Think what you're saying! Heron ain't ratting. Only said he'd be broke if we was caught. Mustn't jump down a man's throat just because he makes a remark.'

'If it were for anyone but Horry, I would rat,' said Captain Heron. 'Why in thunder don't you wait for Lethbridge to come home, Pelham? If three of us can't get the brooch away from him without masquerading as highwaymen-'

'Because this is a better way!' said the Viscount. 'Great thing is to avoid a scandal. If I put a pistol to the fellow's head, and he calls me out, where are we then? Worse off than ever!

Affair's bound to come to Rule's ears, and if you think he won't suspect Horry's in it, you don't know him. This way, we'll have the brooch without a breath of scandal, and no one the wiser. Now, are you with me, or not, Edward?'

'Yes, I'm with you,' said Captain Heron. 'There is something in what you say, if it doesn't go awry!'

'It can't go awry, man - unless that rogue's left Lethbridge's house.'

'Can't have done that,' said Sir Roland. 'Said he was going to stay there till he had his twenty guineas. Lethbridge not back - can't have had 'em. Must be there still.'

Sir Roland proved to be right. When they arrived once more in Half-Moon Street, the burly man was still seated in the hall.

The porter, as soon as he saw who it was on the doorstep, made a spirited attempt to slam the door. This was frustrated by Sir Roland, who hurled himself against it with great presence of mind, and nearly knocked the breath out of the porter by jamming him between the door and the wall. When he had extricated himself he found all three gentlemen inside the hall again, and groaned. However, as soon as it was explained to him that they only wanted to take away the burly man, he brightened considerably, and even permitted them to hail that worthy into the saloon for a little private conversation.

The burly man, confronted by the Viscount's pistol, flung up his hands. 'Don't you go for to let off that pop, your honour!' he said huskily. 'I ha'n't done you a mite o' harm!'

'Not a mite,' agreed the Viscount. 'What's more, I won't do you any harm if you behave yourself. What's your name?

Come on, man, I've got to call you something, haven't I?'

'You call me Ned. Ned Hawkins,' replied the burly man. 'It ain't the name, but it's one I got a fancy for. Edward Hawkins, that's me, at your service, gen'lemen.'

'We don't want another Edward,' objected Sir Roland.

'Heron's name's Edward, and we shall only get 'em mixed up.'

'Well, I don't mind being Frederick - to oblige the company,' conceded Mr Hawkins.

'Hawkins will do,' replied the Viscount. 'You're on the High Toby, aren't you?'

'Me?' exclaimed Mr Hawkins virtuously. 'Cross me heart if-'

'That'll do,' interrupted the Viscount. 'Blew the hat off your head on Shooter's Hill six months ago. Now I've got a piece of work for you to do. What do you say to twenty guineas, eh?'

Mr Hawkins recoiled. 'Dang me if ever I works with a flash cull again, that's what I says!'

The Viscount lifted his pistol. 'Then I'll hold you, while my friend there goes for a constable.'

'You da.s.sn't!' grinned Mr Hawkins. 'You get me put in the Whit, and I takes his peevy lordship with me - ah, and how'll you like that?'