"Satan's helped you then. Where is she?"

"At her mother's house in the Old Bailey."

"That's a lie."

"Sir!"

"I tell you it's a lie. Her mother visited me at my chambers yesterday.

She'd got the story pat of Lavinia's running away with me from school and all the rest of it. The old woman's not much better than Mother Needham. Faith, she's a shade worse. She agreed to let me have the girl for fifty guineas. She'd got the chit locked up she said. I went to her Old Bailey hovel to-day--gad, I've got the smell of the cooked meats and boiled greens in my nostrils at this minute--and d.a.m.n it, she said the girl had run away. And now you tell me she's there."

"I do, sir. With these eyes which I flatter myself don't often mistake when they rest on a well turned ankle, a trim waist and a pretty face. I swear I saw her go into the house."

"Ecod, I suppose I must believe you," rejoined Dorrimore sullenly. "But what do you make of it all? Did the old woman lie?"

"Without a doubt she did. If she's of Mother Needham's tribe she can lie like truth. Lies are half of the trade and the other half is to squeeze the cull of as much gold as he can be fooled out of. Can't you see sir, that her trick is to spring her price? I'll wager her fifty guineas has swollen to a hundred when next you see her. With traffickers in virgins the price grows as rapidly as Jonah's gourd."

"Aye, it may be so. Well, what then? Have you got a plan?"

Captain Jeremy Rofflash placed a dirty forefinger by the side of his nose, slowly closed one eye and a greasy smile widened his thick, red moist lips.

"Have I a plan, sir? Trust Jeremy Rofflash for that. By G.o.d, sir, I'll swear there's no man in the world readier with a plan when its wanted.

Look ye here, Mr. Dorrimore, I've the whole thing cut and dried in the hollow of my hand. To come to the point. The old harridan means to fleece you. _I_ don't. Damme sir, I'm a man of my word. For a hundred guineas I'll let you into a secret and if I fail I won't ask you for a stiver. Is that fair or isn't it?"

"I'll swear you're no better than Mother Fenton, but I'd rather deal with a man than a woman. Done with you for a hundred. Say on."

"It's just this. I was within earshot when the loving pair were in Paul's Churchyard. They're to meet at Rosamond's Pond to-morrow evening at seven. Now what's to prevent you being beforehand with the spark? The park's lonely enough for our purpose and you have but to have your coach ready and a man or two. A gag whipped over her mouth and we'll have her inside the coach within a second and not a soul be the wiser."

"Sounds mighty well, faith. But will she come? What of her mother? Will the woman trust her out of sight?"

"I'll back a wench against her dam for a thousand guineas if she's set her heart on a man. Odds bodikins, if she comes not you won't lose. _I_ shall and it'll be the devil's own bad luck. No have, no pay. D'ye see that my young squire?"

Dorrimore could offer no contradiction. All that remained to be discussed was what would follow supposing fortune favoured them, and they subsided into a whispered conference which was after a time interrupted by some of Dorrimore's boon companions, who carried him off to a wild revelry in the Covent Garden taverns with the last hour at the "Finish," the tavern of ill-repute on the south side of the market.

Rofflash would have accompanied the party but that a hand was laid on his arm and a masked lady whispered:--

"One moment, captain, I want you."

He turned. He recognised the speaker by the lower part of her face, the round, somewhat prominent chin, the imperious mouth with its sensual lower lip, the bold sweeping contour from the chin to the ear.

"Sally Salisbury--the devil!" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed.

"Not quite, but a near relative may be," rejoined Sally with a sarcastic laugh. "Who's the spark you're so thick with?"

"The fool who's mad to get hold of the prettiest wench in town--Lavinia Fenton."

"That little trollop! I hate the creature. But there's no need to talk of her. What of the man I paid you to track? Have you found him?"

Rofflash watched her face, what he could see of it, for she had not unmasked, and noted the slight quiver of the lips and the rise and fall of her bosom.

"Faith mistress," he chuckled with a drunken leer, "if you're not as crazy over the beggarly scribbler as my young gallant is over the Fenton girl who lives in the Old Bailey--at a coffee house, forsooth! Why, to see the pother you're in one would think the hussy had put your nose out of joint. Perhaps she has. She's fetching enough."

Sally seized the captain's arm with a vigorous grip that showed the intensity of her feelings. He winced and muttered an oath.

"S'life," he burst out, "save your nails for the girl who's cut you out with the scribbler."

"She? You lie. What has he to do with the minx?"

"As much as he need have to start with. Didn't he help her to escape from Dorrimore's arms when the fool thought he had her safe?"

"What!" screamed Sally, "Was _he_ the man?"

"Aye. I've not yet plucked the crow between him and me for that, but by gad, I mean to pluck it."

"It won't be by fair means then. You're too much of a coward. See here, you devil. Lance Vane's mine, and if you dare so much as to lay a finger on him you will know what _I_ can do. There's but one road for gentry of your profession--the road to Tyburn--and you'll take it if you cross me.

It'll be as easy as _that_."

She dealt the braggart a blow across the nose and eyes with her closed fan. The sticks snapped and in a white heat of pa.s.sion she broke them again and again and flung the fragments in the discomfited captain's face.

Her fury and his smarting nose somewhat sobered Rofflash. He knew well enough that when Sally was in her cups she was capable of any deed of violence. Years after, indeed, her temper led to her undoing when inflamed by drink and jealousy she stabbed the Honourable John Finch at "The Three Tuns" in Chandos Street.

Rofflash hastened to mollify the enraged beauty, and did so effectually when he suggested a plan by which she could mortify her rival.

Sally heard him almost silently. Jeremy's plan was so much to her taste that in a measure she was able to control herself, though her arms, rigid by her sides, and her tightly clenched hands showed that her nerves were still unstrung.

"You see, mistress, you did me an injustice," growled Rofflash. "I have worked for you, aye and right well. What do _I_ get for doing it?"

"You shall have all the coin that old miser Mountchance gives me for your next haul of trinkets. I won't touch a farthing for my trouble."

Rofflash stipulated for money down.

"You won't get a stiver," retorted Sally. "I'm as cleaned out as a gutted herring. That cheating cat Anastasia bagged every shilling I had."

Rofflash had no reason to doubt Sally's word. He knew the phenomenal luck which attended Lady Anastasia's play and he had to be contented with promises.

Thus they parted.

CHAPTER XVII

"THERE ARE SO MANY WAYS OF MAKING LOVE"

Rofflash was right. He _had_ seen Lavinia enter the Old Bailey coffee house. Hannah was sitting up expecting her--she had arranged as much with Lavinia--and she became terribly uneasy when midnight sounded from half a dozen church clocks and the girl still absent.

Hannah's bedroom overlooked the Old Bailey and now and again she leaned out of the window, her eyes towards Ludgate Hill. Lavinia was bound to come in this direction. Sure enough about half-past twelve Hannah caught sight of a cloaked figure stealing along in the centre of the roadway.

It was the safest way; the overhanging storeys and the sunk doorways offered lurking places for ill-conditioned fellows on the scent for mischief. Hannah indeed caught sight of a man in the deep shadow of the houses who looked very much as if he were following Lavinia, and she raced softly down to the shop, opened the door and beckoned the girl to hasten.