Lost Sir Massingberd: A Romance of Real Life. v. 2/2Payn, James
General
Lost Sir Massingberd: A Romance of Real Life. v. 2/2
Payn, James
Detective and mystery stories; Fiction
This intelligence astonished us all immensely, and my tutor and myself,
who knew the farmer, more than the rest. Such news would have been
itself sufficient to have taken the rector home at once; besides, he was
not only anxious, as usual, to get back to his own parish, but somewhat
grudged our long-continued absence and intellectual holiday. There did
not seem, too, to be any sort of necessity for my remaining longer with
Marmaduke, who had found, it was impossible to doubt, a companion far
more capable of upholding and encouraging him than I. The Bow Street
runner's offer was therefore accepted by both of us; and in a few hours
we took our seats in the same vehicle for Midshire. The chaise was as
roomy a one as could be procured, but still, as there was but one seat,
I had to assume the position of "bodkin" between my two companions.
Their conversation was at first entirely confined to the subject of our
expedition, namely, Farmer Arabel, concerning whom the detective
expressed his suspicions the more darkly, the more extravagantly he was
eulogized by Mr. Long. So vehement was their dispute, that I did not
like to interrupt it for a considerable period, during which I endured
great inconvenience from sitting upon a substance at once both sharp and
hard, contained in one of Mr. Townshend's pockets. If he had been a lady
of the present day, I should have known what it was, and perhaps have
modestly suffered on without remonstrance; but since he was not of the
softer sex, and certainly did not wear crinoline, I ventured to ask what
it was which inflicted such torture.
"I beg your pardon, young gentleman," observed the Bow Street runner,
removing the article objected to; "you was only sitting upon a pair of
bracelets with which I may have perhaps to present Mr. Richard Arabel."
"You don't mean to say that you carry handcuffs in your pocket!"
observed my tutor, with a shudder of disgust.
"I mean to say I do, and should as soon think of moving about without
'em, as without my hat and breeches," returned the runner, with a
coolness that froze us both into a protracted silence.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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