Chapter XX: The Adventures of a Snuff-Box

It may or may not be remembered by the reader that in an early chapter of this veracious history mention was made of a certain Sir Peter Warrendale, and of his unavailing pursuit of his runaway niece and her lover when on their way to Gretna Green. It was also told how, on his return journey, he was stopped by a highwayman, whom, under the title of "Colonel Delnay," he had met before under rather peculiar circumstances, and was politely relieved of his purse, snuff-box, and other trifles.

No one need have wished for a worse character than that borne by Sir Peter Warrendale for a score miles round Whatton Ferris. His private life would not bear examination; as a landlord he was mean and close-fisted to a degree, and in his magisterial capacity he was never known to temper mercy with justice, but always to make a point of inflicting the maximum penalty allowed by law on any poor wretch who might have the misfortune to be haled before him.

Notwithstanding his irascibility of temper and the bluster in which he indulged when in pursuit of his runaway niece, Sir Peter was an arrant poltroon at heart, and into such a fright did he fall when his chaise was stopped by the sham Colonel Delnay that, happening to have his snuff-box in his hand, he proffered it on the impulse of the moment, together with his purse, if only his life might be spared.

The box was studded with brilliants, and Dare--for he was the "gentleman of the road"--being well aware of the mean and avaricious nature of the man, and how the loss of it would grieve him to the soul, took it, with the intention of returning it anonymously after the lapse of a few weeks. But when, about a month later, he caused certain inquiries to be made with a view to the restitution of the box, he found that Scrope Hall was shut up, and that Sir Peter and his family had taken their departure for Bath, and from thence were expected to go to town. Then, somewhat later, came the news that Scrope Hall was to let and that the baronet had taken up his permanent residence in London.

It may here be noted that it was Captain Nightshade's invariable practice to limit his attentions to hard cash and bank-notes--to the purse of the well-to-do traveller by chaise or coach, and the plethoric money-bag of the wealthy landowner on its way to or from the local bank. Watches, snuff-boxes, rings, and other trinkets he put politely aside as "unconsidered trifles" with which he did not choose to concern himself.

Dare at the time troubled himself no further about Sir Peter's snuff-box, but when he next went to London he took it with him, with the intention of ascertaining Sir Peter's address and forwarding it to him by a trusty messenger. But it was found that Sir Peter was on the Continent, and when Dare went back to the North the box went with him.

Once more he had brought the box to town, hoping on this occasion to be able to rid himself of it. But before he had an opportunity of doing so, the news of Evan's abduction reached him, and he at once hurried off to Chelsea, and for the next two or three days his time and thoughts were taken up with far more important matters than the baronet's snuff-box. Meanwhile, with the carelessness, hardly removed from recklessness, that was characteristic of him, he carried the box about with him in his waistcoat pocket.

Now, it so happened that in the course of the forenoon of the day following that of his second interview with Miss Baynard, as he was taking a short cut to his lodgings through one of the narrow and not over savory lanes which divided Holborn from the Strand, he came on a crowd of people gathered round a man who had fallen down in a fit, either real or simulated. Dare had pushed his way steadily, through the crowd and had got some yards beyond it, when some instinct, so to call it, caused him to clap his hand to his waistcoat. Sir Peter's jeweled snuff-box was gone!

For Geoffrey Dare such an experience was certainly a novel one. No sooner did he realize his loss than he broke into a cynical but not unamused laugh. "Confound the rogue's impudence!" he exclaimed half aloud. "Where were his eyes that he failed to recognize a gentleman of his own kidney? It is to be feared that he will find himself landed at Tyburn one of these days."

He was still standing with his hand pressed to his empty pocket, and staring at the fluctuating crowd, when a hand was laid on his shoulder and a voice said in his ear: "What's the matter, Mr. Dare? You look as if you had just lost something."

Dare, turning, recognized the speaker for John Tipway, a famous Bow Street runner, whose acquaintance he had made a couple of days before when reporting the abduction of the young heir.

"That's exactly what I have done," replied Dare.

"Pocket picked, eh?"

Dare nodded.

"Anything of consequence?"

"A very valuable snuff-box."

"Ah-ha! A noted neighborhood this for petty larceny. Hardly a worse anywhere. But come along with me to the office--I'm on my way there--and lodge a description of the missing property. Who knows but we may be able to recover it for you from the pawnbroker's or somewhere else."

Dare hesitated, and well he might, considering under what circumstances the box had come into his possession. But in the company of Mr. Tipway to have hesitated over a matter of that sort would have tended to provoke suspicion, and that was what he could not afford to do. So he accompanied the runner to Bow Street--not without a certain relish for the comedy of the situation--and there furnished a description of the stolen box, leaving an address, that of a humble lodging in a back street in Bloomsbury, at which any tidings of it might be communicated to him.

By that night's coach he started for the North in order to take up the quest to which he had vowed himself.

About a fortnight later the snuff-box was found in the possession of a swell-mobsman who had been arrested for another offence.

Now, it so fell out that Sir Peter Warrendale, who was much put about by the loss of his box--although he had himself almost thrust it into the hands of the self-styled Colonel Delnay--not only because it was intrinsically valuable, but because it was a cherished heirloom, had, on his arrival in town some weeks after his encounter with the highwayman, given a description of it at Bow Street, on the faint chance that it might turn up at one of the London pawnshops, or in some other fashion. A peculiarity of the box was that it had a false bottom, a fact which Dare had failed to discover. But it was a feature which Sir Peter, in his account of the box, had not forgotten to specify, so that the Bow Street official, who happened to be blessed with a good memory, found himself in possession of an article which was claimed by two different owners and was stated to have been stolen from both!

Sir Peter Warrendale was communicated with, and at once identified the box as his property, and explained the mystery of the false bottom, under which lay _perdu_ a miniature of his great-grandmother when a beauty of eighteen.

The question that now put itself was by what means had the box come into Dare's possession? It was a question which only himself could answer. So a messenger was sent to his lodgings with a request that he would go to Bow Street and identify the box. But Dare was not there, and all the information his landlady could supply was that he had gone into the country and that the date of his return was uncertain.

Accordingly, a message was left requesting his presence at Bow Street immediately upon his return to town. Meanwhile the snuff-box remained in the hands of the authorities.