“The ways of Providence be uncommon curious!” he piped. “Shouldn’t wonder if what Ben there say be of the nature of truth. Revenge be a mighty strong weapon in a man’s right hand, and it do grow all the stronger wi’ keeping, like good ale. Aye, sure, it med be a matter o’ revenge——” Blick presently went away, to think over this suggestion. Grimsdale came to him again, looking mysterious. “There’s a young man out there in the garden wants to see you—alone, in secret,” he said. “Who is he?” asked Blick. Grimsdale gave him a knowing glance. “One of Mrs. Tretheroe’s grooms,” he answered. CHAPTER XIII WILLIAM PEGGE The detective instinct which was Blick’s second nature rose, strong and eager, when he heard this announcement. He, too, glanced at Grimsdale in knowing fashion. “Something to tell?” he suggested. “Didn’t say as much to me,” answered the landlord, “but I should say so. Came hanging round our side-door till he got a sight of me, and then asked if you were in, and if he could see you, all to yourself—didn’t want anybody else to know.” “Bring him in—and tell him nobody will know anything whatever about it,” commanded Blick. “Strictly private, eh?” Grimsdale glanced at the window, and crossing over to it, drew its curtains. He left the room—to return a minute later with a young man in whipcord clothes and smart Newmarket gaiters; a shrewd-eyed, keen-faced fellow who regarded the detective pretty much as he might have regarded a slippery fox just breaking cover. “William Pegge, Mr. Blick,” said Grimsdale. Blick nodded affably to his shy and watchful visitor, and pointed to a chair close to his own by the cheery fire. “Good evening, Pegge,” he said. “Sit down—will you have a drink?” Pegge slid into the easy chair, put his hat on the ground, and grinned sheepishly. “Well, thank you, sir,” he answered. “Don’t mind a drop of ale.” Blick looked at Grimsdale, who went out and returned with a frothing tankard, which he set down at the groom’s elbow. “See that we’re not disturbed, Grimsdale,” said Blick. “If anybody—never mind who it is—wants me, say I’m engaged.” The landlord withdrew and closed the door and Blick pushed his tobacco pouch over to his visitor, who was fingering his pipe. “Try a bit of that,” he said hospitably, “and light up. Well—you wanted to have a talk with me, Pegge. What is it?” Before Pegge replied to this direct invitation, he filled and lighted his pipe, got it fairly going, and lifting the tankard of ale to his lips, murmured an expression of his best respect to his entertainer. Then, with a look round his surroundings, indicative of a desire for strict privacy, he gave Blick a shrewd glance. “I shouldn’t like to get into trouble,” he remarked. “Just so!” agreed Blick. “You won’t—through anything that you say to me.” “Nor yet to get anybody else into trouble,” continued Pegge. “That is—unless so be as they’re deserving of it!”