A River Runs Through It Read Free Page B

him as if all the wisdom of Solomon would spill from his lips
and lost what little wit he possessed. Truth be told, it was to be, had he but
known it, his bravest hour. He pressed the hand on his arm, thrust away from
the table, and strode into the next room. “I shall take care of this, Kate,
have trust in me.”
    Kate hurried to the doorway, unwilling to miss the ensuing
scene for all the five thousand pound rewards in the kingdom.
    Adam Weilmunster strode to the middle of the room, pointed to
the gentleman in black, and shouted, “You, sirrah! You are the Grey Cavalier!”
    A collective gasp rang out. The musicians stopped tuning for
the next set. All conversation ceased. The ladies even stopped plying their
fans. No one wanted to miss the spectacle which was to come.
    Mr. Dalrymple, meanwhile, watched in obvious stupefaction as
his accuser continued his tirade.
    “You, sirrah, have pulled the wool over our eyes, accepting
the hospitality of our village, while secretly robbing us blind! Your cohorts
in crime, paid with your ill-gotten gains, have promulgated your story of being
held up! You, sirrah! I accuse you of violating of laws of man, and the laws
of God!”
    With that, he turned and ran up the stairs, calling loudly for
constables! dragoons! Bow Street Runners!
    There was a moment of stunned silence, then a buzz of noise
rose higher and higher. Those in the supper room raced back to the ballroom,
to pretend not to gaze at Mr. Dalrymple, and whisper behind fans and raised
hands.
    Meanwhile, the accused, stunned, glared at Kate, who smiled
smugly and wiggled her fingers in his direction.
    Constable Mackey stepped heavily down the stairs, followed by
Mr. Weilmunster. The crowd parted swiftly, conversation ceasing once more.
    The constable stopped in front of Mr. Dalrymple, standing
beside his chair, miraculously restored to health.
    “Mr. Frederick Dalrymple?”
    The accused nodded stiffly.
    The constable, clearly wishing he was anywhere but here, doing
Adam Weilmunster’s bidding, pulled out a bit of paper. “Can you account for
your whereabouts on any of these dates?”
    Mr. Dalrymple shot Kate a look so black she stepped back, a
thrill of apprehension rippling up her spine.
    “Twenty-sixth April, eighth of May, twenty-second May, third
June, seventeenth of July, four August, ten September?”
    “On September 10 th , in that it was yesterday, I can
safely say I was resident at the Lady and the Scamp. While out for an evening
drive, my coach was waylaid by the ruffian called the Grey Cavalier. I was
subsequently beaten and robbed,” he replied coldly. “As to the other dates, I
could not say. My time is rarely my own.”
    Constable Mackey looked as unhappy as it was possible for a
man of the law, on the track of a famous criminal, to be.
    “In that case, lad, I hereby detain you in the name of His
Majesty, King George, on the grounds of highway robbery.” The constable pulled
out a pair of wrist irons and clapped them on the prisoner.
    The accused went quietly, and with much more dignity than
displayed by his accuser. Heady with excitement, Mr. Weilmunster dogged the
constable’s footsteps, giving directions and making suggestions until Mackey
turned and said sharply, “Mr. Weilmunster, I’m the constable here, I’ll thank
you to remember.” Mr. Dalrymple, with one last fulminating glance at Kate which
promised retribution of the worst kind, followed the constable across the dance
floor, his mince gone in favor of a manly stride, his head held straight
instead of at a foppish angle. Just as he placed his foot on the lowest step,
the crowd burst into a spontaneous round of applause. Surprised, he turned to
look and a voice rang out: "Three cheers for the Grey Cavalier!”
    “Hip hip, hoorah! Hip hip, hoorah! Hip hip, hoorah!” The
applause grew louder, continuing so he could hear it down the street to the
Constable’s small office, where he was relieved of his valuables in preparation
for being