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Updated: May 19, 2025
"I list!" said Diggle suddenly. "There are footsteps again. Is it Burke coming back? The door's open, Job." The innkeeper went to the door and peered into the dark. A slight figure came up at that moment a boy, with a bundle in his hand. "Is that you, Grinsell? Is Mr. Diggle in?" "Come in, my friend," said Diggle, hastening to the door. "We were just talking of you.
Again the song broke off; the singer addressed a question to Grinsell. Desmond waited a moment; he felt an odd eagerness to know what Governor Pitt was; but hearing now only the drone of talking, he once more turned his face homeward. His curiosity was livelier than ever as to the identity of this newcomer, who addressed the landlord as he might his own familiar friend.
It was only an instance that occurred to me. She was step-daughter to Lord Grinsell: he married Mrs. Teveroy for his second wife. There could be no possible allusion to you." "Oh no," said Celia. "Nobody chose the subject; it all came out of Dodo's cap. Mrs. Cadwallader only said what was quite true. A woman could not be married in a widow's cap, James." "Hush, my dear!" said Mrs. Cadwallader.
"I we have we have looked for the other villain, Sir Willoughby," he stammered. "We can't find him." "Ah! 'Twas you gave the alarm. Good boy; zeal, excellent; but a little mistake; yes, Grinsell explained; a mistake, Desmond." The squire spoke hurriedly, disconnectedly, with an embarrassment even greater than Desmond's. "But, sir," the boy began, "I saw " "Yes, yes," interrupted the old man.
Desmond had not the heart to intrude his concerns on one so bowed with grief. "Good night, Sir Willoughby!" he said. The squire paid no heed, and Desmond, vexed, bewildered, went slowly from the room. At the outer door he found Dickon awaiting him. "The squire has let Grinsell go, Dickon," he said; "he says 'twas all a mistake."
Burke hastily departed, and Grinsell, after long, loud fumbling with the bolts, threw open the door and gave admittance to the squire. "Ah, you are here both," said Sir Willoughby, standing in the middle of the floor, his riding whip in his hand. "Now, Mr. Diggle, I think you call yourself, I'm a man of few words, as you know.
It was clear that he must be the singer, for Job Grinsell had a voice like a saw, and Tummus Biles knew no music save the squeak of his cartwheels. It surprised Desmond to find the stranger already on the most friendly, to all appearance, indeed, confidential terms with the landlord. "Hale, did you say?" he heard Grinsell ask.
"Grinsell, you hear that, too?" "I hear 't," growled the man. "Remember it, for, mark my words, you'll share his fate." The squire was gone. Grinsell scowled with malignant spite; Diggle laughed softly. "Quanta de spe decidi!" he said, "which in plain English, friend Job, means that we are dished utterly, absolutely. I must go on my travels again.
And yet, sir, I remember now that I heard Diggle and Grinsell talking about the squire the night I first saw them together at the Four Alls." "And you were with this Diggle, in London, Mr. Burke?" "Yes, sir." Desmond began to feel uncomfortable. Clive had evidently not recognized him before, and he was hoping that the unfortunate incident in Billiter Street would not be recalled.
The corridors and staircase were dark, but by the time the squire had mounted on his gouty legs, candles had been lighted, and the face of the housebreaker was for the first time visible. Two servants held the man; the others, with Desmond and Dickon, looked on in amazement. "Job Grinsell, on my soul and body!" cried the squire. "You villain! You ungrateful knave! Is this how you repay me?
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