“Sam Mamble never trusted no one!” announced Mr. Mamble comprehensively. “Where’s my son, villain?”
The Duke opened his mouth, and shut it again. He had taken an instant dislike to the unctuous Mr. Snape, and felt that to betray Tom’s whereabouts at this stage would be a dastardly act.
“Ha! So you think you won’t say, do you? We’ll see to that!” said Mr. Mamble.
“On the contrary, I am perfectly willing to restore your son to you,” replied the Duke. “But I have a few things to say to you first!”
“If I have to listen to any more of this fellow’s impudence, I’ll bust!” said Mr. Mamble. “What the devil makes you stand there like a fool, Snape? Go and call up a hack!”
Mr. Snape said obsequiously that he had only been awaiting a command to do so, and hurried off. The Duke tried to remove the constable’s hand from his shoulder, failed, and said wearily: “You are making a mistake, you know. If you must have it, I’m the Duke of Sale!”
This disclosure produced anything rather than the desired effect. Both his auditors were for the moment struck dumb by such effrontery, and then combined to revile him. Upon reflection, he was obliged to own that their disbelief was not surprising. Several passers-by had by this time gathered round, and rather than run the risk of creating a scene in the street the Duke abandoned the attempt to argue with his captors. When Mr. Snape presently reappeared in a hackney, he got into it without protest, and allowed himself to be driven to the Roundhouse. Mr. Mamble was urgent with the constable to seek out a magistrate directly, but the constable seemed to think that the matter first called for closer investigation. So the whole party trooped into the Roundhouse, where the Duke speedily learned that he was being accused of having (with or without accomplices) laid a cunning plot to kidnap Tom, felled Mr. Snape to the earth, and made off with his charge with intent to hold him to ransom. He glanced contemptuously at the tutor, and said: “Yes, I had thought from what Tom told me that you were a shabby, mean sort of a fellow, and I suppose it might be expected that you would concoct some such tale to protect yourself! It was Tom who hit you on the head, and I think you know that, and are hoping that he will be too much frightened to tell the truth.”
“Sir, I am persuaded I have no need to deny such a wicked charge!” said Mr. Snape, looking appealingly at his employer.
“The truth,” said the Duke, ignoring him, “is that I came upon your son, sir, near Baldock. He informed me that he had escaped from his tutor, and was desirous of going either to London, or to the sea-coast, where he had some notion of shipping on a barque as cabin-boy. He had had the misfortune to fall in with a couple of foot-scamperers, who had manhandled, and robbed him. He was in a sad case, and I took him back to the inn where I was putting-up.” He smiled. “Perhaps I should have insisted on his returning to you then and there, but I had a great deal of sympathy with him, for I was much beset by tutors myself.” He added reflectively: “And I don’t know that I could have made him do it, for he would undoubtedly have run away had I suggested any such thing. Altogether it seemed to me that he would be safer in my company than wandering alone about the country. I had intended to have taken him to London, but various unforeseen circumstances arose which made it imperative for me to come instead to Bath. That is the whole matter in a nutshell.”
Mr. Mamble, who had listened in fulminating wrath, expressed the opinion that he was a practised rogue, and besought the constable to do his duty. The constable, who had been slightly impressed by the Duke’s manner, said in an aloof way that he knew his duty without being told it, and asked the Duke for his full name.
“Adolphus Gillespie Vernon Ware,” responded the Duke coolly. “Would you wish me also to recite my titles to you?”
Mr. Mamble roared out: “Stow that foolery, will you? Your name’s Rufford!”
“No, that is merely one of my minor titles,” said the Duke.
The constable laid down his pen. “Now, look’ee here!” he said mildly. “If so be you’re his Grace of Sale, you’ll have to prove it, because it don’t seem a likely tale, and you don’t look like no Duke, nor you wouldn’t be staying at the Pelican!”
Mr. Snape smiled with malign satisfaction. “No doubt you have your visiting-card upon you, sir?” he said.
“Ay, that’s the dandy!” agreed the constable, brightening, and looking hopefully at the Duke.
The Duke, now quite confirmed in his dislike of Mr. Snape, said, flushing slightly: “No. I have not. I—I am travelling strictly incognito.”
Mr. Mamble gave a crack of sardonic mirth. “Ay, I’ll be bound you are! How much more time am I to waste kicking my heels here?”
“But I have got my watch!” suddenly remembered the Duke, drawing it from his pocket, and laying it upon the table. “You will perceive that it is engraved with my arms on one side, and with the letter S on the other.”
All three men closely inspected the timepiece, and the constable began to look uneasy. However, Mr. Snape pointed out that such a daring rogue would make nothing of picking pockets, and was felt to have scored a point. The constable then had a happy thought, and said with some relief: “It’s easy settled, and it won’t do for me to go making no mistakes. I’ll have a man go out to Cheyney, which is his Grace of Sale’s place, and if this gentleman is the Duke he can easy be identified by them as knows him!”
Mr. Mamble, who had watching the Duke, said shrewdly: “Don’t like the sound of that, eh, my fine fellow?”
The Duke did not like the sound of it at all. It seemed to him more than probable that those in charge of Cheyney would spurn with contumely the suggestion that he might be in the Roundhouse at Bath; while if it was disclosed to them that he had come to Bath with one coat and no attendants they would quite certainly refuse to believe it. He was not really at all anxious that they should believe it, either, for they would be very much shocked, and he would find himself obliged to enter into long and fatiguing explanations.
“No, I do not like it,” he said. “I’ve no desire to sit here for the rest of the day, while someone goes to Cheyney and back. I have a better notion than that.” He turned to the constable. “Are you familiar with Lord Gaywood?” he asked.
The constable said bitterly that he was very familiar with Lord Gaywood, and added some pungent criticisms on high-spirited young gentlemen’s notions of amusement.
“Does he box the watch?” asked the Duke sympathetically. “I don’t do it myself, but I feel sure Gaywood does, when he isin his cups. Let me have a pen and some paper, if you please.”
Mr. Mamble at once protested against this further waste of time, but the constable, on whom (for all his dislike of that young gentleman) Lord Gaywood’s name was working powerfully, fetched some writing materials, and told Mr. Mamble it would be as well not to act hasty.
The Duke drew up his chair to the table, and began to write a note to his betrothed.
“My dear Harriet,” he scrawled rapidly, “J fear you will utterly cast me off, for I am now under arrest for being a dangerous rogue. Unless I can convince Mr. Mamble that I am indeed myself, nothing short of my instant incarceration in a dungeon will satisfy him. I beg your pardon for putting you to so much trouble, but pray tell Gaywood the whole, and desire him, with my compliments, to come to the Roundhouse and identify me. Ever yours, Sale.”
He folded this missive, wrote Harriet’s name and direction upon it, and handed it to the constable with instructions to have it conveyed immediately to Laura Place. The constable said he would do this, and added apologetically that duty was duty, and he hoped, if he should have made a mistake, that it would not be held against him.
The Duke reassured him on this head, but Mr. Mamble exploded with wrath, and said that all this tomfoolery was not helping him to find his boy.