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CHAPTER XVI--CRAWLEY DOWNS - Rodney Stone| Set Display | Please Turn On Your Virtual Bookmarks | Help Support This Site | Table of Contents | Sir Arthur Conan Doyle |
Page 121 of 163
CHAPTER XVI--CRAWLEY DOWNS - Rodney Stone
Standing up on our curricle, we could see the cavalcade approaching over the Downs. In front came a huge yellow barouche, in which sat Sir Lothian Hume, Crab Wilson, and Captain Barclay, his trainer. The postillions were flying canary-yellow ribands from their caps, those being the colours under which Wilson was to fight. Behind the carriage there rode a hundred or more noblemen and gentlemen of the west country, and then a line of gigs, tilburies, and carriages wound away down the Grinstead road as far as our eyes could follow it. The big barouche came lumbering over the sward in our direction until Sir Lothian Hume caught sight of us, when he shouted to his postillions to pull up.
"Good morning, Sir Charles," said he, springing out of the carriage. "I thought I knew your scarlet curricle. We have an excellent morning for the battle."
My uncle bowed coldly, and made no answer.
"I suppose that since we are all here we may begin at once," said Sir Lothian, taking no notice of the other's manner.
"We begin at ten o'clock. Not an instant before."
"Very good, if you prefer it. By the way, Sir Charles, where is your man?"
"I would ask YOU that question, Sir Lothian," answered my uncle. "Where is my man?"
A look of astonishment passed over Sir Lothian's features, which, if it were not real, was most admirably affected.
"What do you mean by asking me such a question?"
"Because I wish to know."
"But how can I tell, and what business is it of mine?"
"I have reason to believe that you have made it your business."
"If you would kindly put the matter a little more clearly there would be some possibility of my understanding you."
They were both very white and cold, formal and unimpassioned in their bearing, but exchanging glances which crossed like rapier blades. I thought of Sir Lothian's murderous repute as a duellist, and I trembled for my uncle.
"Now, sir, if you imagine that you have a grievance against me, you will oblige me vastly by putting it into words."
"I will," said my uncle. "There has been a conspiracy to maim or kidnap my man, and I have every reason to believe that you are privy to it."
An ugly sneer came over Sir Lothian's saturnine face.
"I see," said he. "Your man has not come on quite as well as you had expected in his training, and you are hard put to it to invent an excuse. Still, I should have thought that you might have found a more probable one, and one which would entail less serious consequences."
"Sir," answered my uncle, "you are a liar, but how great a liar you are nobody knows save yourself."
Sir Lothian's hollow cheeks grew white with passion, and I saw for an instant in his deep-set eyes such a glare as comes from the frenzied hound rearing and ramping at the end of its chain. Then, with an effort, he became the same cold, hard, self-contained man as ever. 
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