that he was to be the memoirs' guardian made the hairs at the back of Jack's neck rise. Unfortunately, he could contrive no reason for declining the honour that did not sound discourteous or cowardly, especially after Mr. Desmond pointed out Jack's advantages as custodian.
Jack was fully aware that everyone in the world knew he was bookish. He always carried volumes about with him. He might carry this tome wherever he went and not arouse the least speculation. He was, in short, doomed.
"It was Destiny brought you to the Black Cat the other night, sir," said the Devil, as though he had read Jack's mind. "The gods knew we wanted help and wisely sent the perfect man for the job."
Having bent Mr. Langdon to his will, Mr. Desmond was next confronted with the more onerous task of pacifying his daughter, who appeared moments after Mr. Langdon had dazedly departed. In fact, judging from her high colour, she had probably collided with that young man in the hall.
"Oh, he is impossible!" she snapped, slamming the billiard room door behind her.
"Not at all. Mr. Langdon is most accommodating. He has agreed to assist us, Delilah, so I recommend you mind your manners with him. From his expression earlier, I guessed you had treated him to a tantrum, then apologised with the usual fit of self-flagellation. Never before has a young man seemed so relieved at my untimely entrance. I thought he would collapse, weeping, in my arms."
"He is stupid and obstinate. What on earth were you thinking of, to leave him with your book? He had it with him just now. How could you, Papa?"
Mr. Desmond unperturbedly explained precisely how he could, and turned an amiable deaf ear to all her ensuing protestations. He pointed out that Lord Streetham's was an enormous old house which would crumble to pieces if not constantly kept in repair. Of the hired labourers who frequently came on this mission, any one might be Atkins's accomplice. Until the Desmonds were securely housed at Lady Potterby's and could safeguard against further intrusions, Mr. Langdon must keep the manuscript.
His daughter replied that they had better leave immediately for Elmhurst, because she would not sleep a wink until the manuscript was back in her father's possession. Mr. Langdon would be sure to bring the book to dinner, where he would inevitably drop it into his soup. Miss Desmond had never met such a muddled, stupidly oblivious person in her whole life. With these closing remarks, she stormed out of the billiard room.
Mr. Atkins had been told he would not be welcome at Streetham Close while the earl's guests remained. The publisher had therefore taken rooms in a small, uncomfortable inn nearby. The inn's main asset was its tap-room, a gathering place for all the local idlers and gossips. Virtually all that occurred at Streetham Close was a matter of public information within hours.
Mr. Atkins was swallowing a mug of ale he was certain had been made with his hostess's laundry water when he learned the Desmonds had departed for Rossingley. An hour later, the publisher was in Lord Streetham's study, ostensibly to seek his lordship's advice regarding the memoirs.
His lordship was decidedly ungracious. This did not disturb Mr. Atkins, who was accustomed to being treated like the lowest species of insect. He knew less noble investors might be more amiable, but they were not likely to prove useful when a libel suit was imminent. In these litigious times, when a royal whim might land a man in prison for sedition, a wise businessman sought as backers not merely men of wealth, but men of influence. Lord Streetham being such a man, his lack of amiability might be overlooked.
What did disturb the publisher, however, was the earl's curt announcement that Mr. Atkins need not concern himself about the manuscript, since Lord Berne had been charged with "persuading" the Desmonds to relinquish the work.
"With all due respect, My Lord," said Mr. Atkins, "why should they do that? Lord Berne has
Jack was fully aware that everyone in the world knew he was bookish. He always carried volumes about with him. He might carry this tome wherever he went and not arouse the least speculation. He was, in short, doomed.
"It was Destiny brought you to the Black Cat the other night, sir," said the Devil, as though he had read Jack's mind. "The gods knew we wanted help and wisely sent the perfect man for the job."
Having bent Mr. Langdon to his will, Mr. Desmond was next confronted with the more onerous task of pacifying his daughter, who appeared moments after Mr. Langdon had dazedly departed. In fact, judging from her high colour, she had probably collided with that young man in the hall.
"Oh, he is impossible!" she snapped, slamming the billiard room door behind her.
"Not at all. Mr. Langdon is most accommodating. He has agreed to assist us, Delilah, so I recommend you mind your manners with him. From his expression earlier, I guessed you had treated him to a tantrum, then apologised with the usual fit of self-flagellation. Never before has a young man seemed so relieved at my untimely entrance. I thought he would collapse, weeping, in my arms."
"He is stupid and obstinate. What on earth were you thinking of, to leave him with your book? He had it with him just now. How could you, Papa?"
Mr. Desmond unperturbedly explained precisely how he could, and turned an amiable deaf ear to all her ensuing protestations. He pointed out that Lord Streetham's was an enormous old house which would crumble to pieces if not constantly kept in repair. Of the hired labourers who frequently came on this mission, any one might be Atkins's accomplice. Until the Desmonds were securely housed at Lady Potterby's and could safeguard against further intrusions, Mr. Langdon must keep the manuscript.
His daughter replied that they had better leave immediately for Elmhurst, because she would not sleep a wink until the manuscript was back in her father's possession. Mr. Langdon would be sure to bring the book to dinner, where he would inevitably drop it into his soup. Miss Desmond had never met such a muddled, stupidly oblivious person in her whole life. With these closing remarks, she stormed out of the billiard room.
Mr. Atkins had been told he would not be welcome at Streetham Close while the earl's guests remained. The publisher had therefore taken rooms in a small, uncomfortable inn nearby. The inn's main asset was its tap-room, a gathering place for all the local idlers and gossips. Virtually all that occurred at Streetham Close was a matter of public information within hours.
Mr. Atkins was swallowing a mug of ale he was certain had been made with his hostess's laundry water when he learned the Desmonds had departed for Rossingley. An hour later, the publisher was in Lord Streetham's study, ostensibly to seek his lordship's advice regarding the memoirs.
His lordship was decidedly ungracious. This did not disturb Mr. Atkins, who was accustomed to being treated like the lowest species of insect. He knew less noble investors might be more amiable, but they were not likely to prove useful when a libel suit was imminent. In these litigious times, when a royal whim might land a man in prison for sedition, a wise businessman sought as backers not merely men of wealth, but men of influence. Lord Streetham being such a man, his lack of amiability might be overlooked.
What did disturb the publisher, however, was the earl's curt announcement that Mr. Atkins need not concern himself about the manuscript, since Lord Berne had been charged with "persuading" the Desmonds to relinquish the work.
"With all due respect, My Lord," said Mr. Atkins, "why should they do that? Lord Berne has
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