The Talisman Ring

She checked for an instant on the threshold, for the room was not, as she had expected to find it, empty. A powerful-looking man in a blue coat and buckskins was seated on the settle beside the fire, warming his feet and refreshing himself from a mug of ale. He turned his head as Miss Thane came in, and although he did not look at her for more than a couple of seconds, she had an uncomfortable feeling that the look was not quite as casual as it seemed to be. She caught Eustacie’s eye, and found it brimful of warning. Comforting herself with the reflection that even if the stranger were in Beau Lavenham’s pay, there was no fear of either of them finding the quizzing-glass, she tripped forward to the fireplace. “I know just where he put it,” she informed the Beau over her shoulder. “This end it was—no! Well, that is the oddest thing! I could have sworn—Do you reach up your arm, Mr Lavenham: you are taller than I am.”

The Beau, who did not need this encouragement, ran his hand the length of the mantelpiece. “You are mistaken, ma’am,” he said, his voice suddenly harsh. “It is not here!”

“But it must be!” she said. “I am positive it was put there. Someone must have moved it!” An idea seemed to strike her. She said: “I wonder, did your valet take it? He was here this morning, you know, and stayed for quite some time. I could not imagine what he was about! Depend upon it, he must have discovered it, and you will find it awaiting you at the Dower House.”

He had turned pale, and said with his eyes fixed on her face: “My valet? You say my valet was in this room today?”

“Yes, indeed he was,” averred Miss Thane unblushingly. “Of course, I never dreamed the glass was what he was looking for, or I would have shown him at once where it was. All’s well that ends well, however. You may be sure he has it safe.”

Eustacie, lost in admiration of Miss Thane’s tactics, watched the smile vanish completely from the Beau’s face. An expression half of doubt, half of dismay took its place; it was plain that while he suspected Miss Thane of prevaricating, he was unable to banish from his mind as impossible the thought that his valet, guessing that the quizzing-glass held a vital secret, might have come to search for it on his own account. She saw his hand open and close, and his lips straighten to a thin, ugly line, and was observing these signs of mental perturbation with critical interest when she became aware of being addressed by the stranger on the settle.

“Very cold day, ma’am,” he remarked, with the unmistakable air of one whose habit it was to enter into chat with anybody who crossed his path.

Eustacie glanced at him with a certain amount of misgiving. She supposed that the landlord of an inn could hardly refuse to allow a customer to drink his ale in the coffee-room if he wished to, but she could not help feeling that Nye might have contrived on this occasion at least to have lured him into the tap-room and to have kept him there under his own eye. On the other hand, it was, of course, possible that the man was known to Nye. She replied civilly: “Yes, very cold.”

“Bitter wind blowing outside,” pursued the stranger. “Ah well, it’s seasonable, ain’t it, ma’am? We hadn’t ought to complain. Begging your pardon, sir, if I might put another log of wood on the fire—Thank you, sir!”

The Beau, who was standing by the basket containing wood, moved to allow the stranger to approach it.

“That’s the worst of a wood fire,” said the stranger, selecting a suitable log. “They fall away to nothing in less than no time, don’t they, sir? But we’ll have a nice blaze in a minute, you’ll see.” He bent to pick up another log, and said in a surprised tone: “Well! and what might this be, all amongst the wood?” He straightened himself as he spoke, and Miss Thane saw that he was holding the Beau’s quizzing-glass in his hand.

For a moment it seemed to her that she could neither speak nor think. While her eyes remained riveted to the glass her brain whirled. Had not Sir Tristram taken charge of the glass? Could he have been guilty of the unpardonable carelessness of mislaying it? How did it come to be in the woodbasket? And what in heaven’s name was one to do?

She pulled herself together, met Eustacie’s eyes across the room, and saw them as startled as she felt sure her own must be. She became aware of the stranger’s voice, marvelling with amiable fatuity at the queer places things would get to, to be sure, and suddenly realized why Nye had left a stranger alone in the coffee-room, and what his purpose must be. She shot a warning frown at Eustacie, still standing at the foot of the stairs, and said: “Why, there it is! Well, of all the fortunate happenings!”

The Beau held out his hand. It was shaking a little. He said: “Thank you. That is mine.”