The Young Duchess; or, Memoirs of a Lady of Quality — page 85: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

| | | | THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. Gaffney now drew forth a small bottle of oil: he | poured some upon a little piece of sponge, by means of which he ejected that oil into the lock, —thus lubricating all its wards. He then took from beneath his gaberdine a peculiar kind of in- strument made of very strong wire, and consist- ing partly of a pair of pincers and partly of a skeleton key. This he introduced into the lock in such a way that it seized upon the key that was already there: it griped it fast—it turned it—not the slightest sound was heard—and the door was unlocked. Then, having withdrawn the skeleton key, Gaffney again listened for upwards of a minute; and still the deep regular breathing which came from within the chamber, assured him that it was a man who occupied it and that he continued to sleep. He also ascertained that a light was burning in the room. Gaffney now made a sign to Jack Peppercorn, who furnished himself with a pistol in one hand | and a clasp-knife in the other. As for Gaffney himself, he merely took out his handkerchief, which he rolled in a peculiar manner to serve a special purpose. He then noiselessly opened the door: a lamp was burning on the toilet-table—its beams revealed the countenance of the sleeper— . and this was Squire Ponsford. It was profoundly that he slept: the burglars entered silently with their shoeless feet; and while Gaffney paused an instant to close the door, Jack Peppercorn glided up to the bed, where the ghastly blade of his clasp-knife was at once placed within half an inch of Ponsford’s throat. The next moment Gaffney joined his companion there : he leant over the couch—he applied his folded kerchief to the Squire’s mouth—he then touched him on the shoulder—and as he opened his eyes with a sudden start, Tim Gaffney, half-dexterously, half-forcibly, drove the kerchief completely in between his teeth, thus gagging him at once. At the same instant Jack Peppercorn laid the cold blade of the knife flat upon the Squire’s throat; and Gaffney said in a quick low voice, ‘‘ Be quiet, or you are a dead man !” Squire Ponsford was broad awake in a moment, and at the same instant smitten with the hideous consciousness of his position, gagged and power- Jess in the hands of two ruffians with black masks and white gaberdines. He was a man of nerve and courage: but to be startled up from one’s sleep to such a state of things as this, was suffi- ‘cient to daunt the bravest and to paralyse the energies of the most self-possessed. “Now I tell you what it is, sir,” Gaffney, at once, “we don’t want your life—we don’t want to rob you. We will explain our business in due course: but in the first place it will be as well to let you know that we feel we are doing 4 desperate thing—and so if you try to: give any alarm or make a disturbance, you'll be the sufferer.” “This here is a knife,” said Jack Peppercorn, : making the back of the blade indent itself some- what into the Squire’s neck—a process whereat a hideous cold shudder passed through his entire ‘frame ; which would do your work in a jiffey if so be the knife should happen to fail.” “Now look you,” said Gaffney, ‘if you mean to take your salvation oath to hold your tongue ‘and not cry out, just lift up your right hand as a “and this here is a pistol the butt-end of. 71 sign, and then Tn take the gag from your mouth. But if so be you won't agree to no civil terms, then lay still and we shall know what to do.” The Squire raised his right hand; and Gaffney at oncé withdrew the folded kerchief from ' between his teeth; but at the same instant the horrid cold steel again pressed upon his throat, and the-butt- end of the pistol was tapped against his temple. “Wait a moment,” said Tim Gaffney, “and hold on, mate !” With these words he drew forth his own clasp- knife; and mounting a chair, cut down the bell- pull which was by the side of the couch. ““For God’s sake what do you require of me?” . asked Ponsford. “You have declared that you do not want my life? I beseech you to relieve me from suspense !” ‘All in good time,” responded Tim Gaffney, now seating himself on one side of the bed, while Jack Peppercorn was performing the part of sen- tinel on the other with his poniard-like knife and his pistol. ‘* Stand away from me,” said the Squire; ‘t stand away from me, I entreat!—and I swear that I will not ery out!” “We'd rayther not trust you,” said Jack Pep- percorn: “there’s nothing like the precaution of a cold blade and a pistol’s butt-end.” Ponsford could scarcely repress a groan, as he said, “Be quick then, and tell me what you re- quire of me, I beseech you!” ‘Don’t be in a hurry,” replied Tim Gafiney: ** but lay quite at your ease while I discourse to you a bit. It’s a matter of twenty-five year ago that acertain Rupert Pringle left this country through fear of you.” ‘“* Ah!” said Ponsford, electrified by an allu- sion to a matter the revival of which was so ut- terly unexpected. “Not too loud!” said Jack Peppercorn; and again the cold blade was ominously pressed against the magistrate’s throat. ‘Who are you?” -he asked, looking up ear- nestly at Tim Gaffney’s masked countenance. ‘You cannot be——” ‘““No, no—I’m not Pringle: that’s sure and sartain enough! But don’t talk except to answer my questions. Upwards of twenty-five years ago you and Pringle was intimate. Pringle got into difficulties—he wanted money—he was ashamed to tell you of his needs—but in his desperation he forged your name to a bill, which he got dis- | counted atthe Dorchester Bank. Wasn’t that true?” said Tim ** Perfectly true,” replied Ponsford. ‘‘ Pringle ‘was a villain i ‘“‘T dessay he was,” answered Gaffney coolly ; ‘*T ain’t here to defend his character. “But let’s goon. Pringle hoped to be able to take up the bill before it came due, as he told the bankers some tale to prevent them putting it into circula- tion id “He told them,” interjected’ Ponsford, “that I had done it for his accommodation, and that I ‘would not have the thing known for the world.” “Well, you discovered what he had done,” con- tinued Gaffney; “ and-you found out at the same time that he had seduced your mistress, of ‘whom you were passionately fond.” ‘ That is also true,” said Ponsford. ‘But why this questioning? You seem to know all the facts ” :