chin. Daughters with lopsided ribbons -
He pushed such thoughts away and paid attention. The accusation had been stated, and the accuser was explaining his complaint. Stringle, the horse trader.
Rothgar assessed the man. Not local but not obviously suspicious, either. A good, solid Englishman, but then D'Eon would hardly use a Frenchman for this.
Middling height, middling build, square face, and wearing decent but well-worn clothes. He told his story simply, and with a suitable sorrow at being caught up in such events.
If he was the villain, he was good. Very good.
Three other men stepped forward to attest to the truth about the card game - that young Georgie Ufton had played, and lost. These were local men, and not happy to be telling their incriminating tale, though two of them he judged to be lazy troublemakers. Could one of them be a hired liar? And yet they all told the same tale.
Georgie and his father had turned pale, for this hung together well, and horse stealing was a hanging matter. Rothgar had no doubt that in the end he could save the young man from the worst of his folly, if even only by force of rank. He wanted more, however. He wanted one of D'Eon's men wriggling on a hook.
When the magistrates had questioned the witnesses, Georgie was given the chance to speak.
"I didn't do it, good sirs," he protested. "I lost the money, yes, which was stupid, but I didn't steal the horse. This Stringle asked me to take the horse to Cobcott as part of the debt."
Sir Hadley addressed the room. "Did anyone else hear about this?"
Silence.
"We were in the stables, sir," Georgie said.
"In the stables? But Mr. Grigson said that you begged for time to pay, and Mr. Stringle refused on the basis that he must travel on to the next town. You then left, promising to return soon with the money. Mr. Stringle was never in the stables."
"Yes, he was," Georgie protested.
The magistrate turned to the group of men who'd testified, but they all agreed that Stringle had remained at the table.
Rothgar watched the interplay, and made up his mind. It had to be Stringle, and it was time to take a hand. "With your permission, Sir Hadley."
"Honored, my lord!" said the magistrate, looking smugly certain of the case.
Rothgar looked at Stringle, and saw the little shift in the eyes when the man recognized possible danger. Rothgar almost smiled. It was pleasant to have his suspicions confirmed. Now to hook the man.
He turned to Georgie. "Mr. Ufton, when you went to the stables, was your horse ready?"
Georgie frowned at that. "How could it be, my lord? I hadn't ordered it."
"So you saddled it yourself?"
"Yes, my lord. There was no one there just then."
"That wouldn't have taken long, though."
"No, my lord, though someone had moved the blanket and tossed it with some others, so I had to find it."
"And how ready were you when Mr. Stringle found you?"
"I was just about to mount, my lord."
Rothgar nodded and turned to the honest witnesses.
"Gentlemen, if you would be so kind, perhaps we can go over the last part of the incident again. You were all playing at cards?"
One of the younger men said nervously, "Nat and me were, milord." He indicated the man by his side. "The others were just watching."
"And how much did you lose?"
"A few shillings, milord. The play ran pretty even. Or I wouldn't have stayed in. I know my limit."
Rothgar asked the other man and received a similar answer. "Play didn't seem even for young Mr. Ufton, did it?" he observed. "Was he wild in his play?"
"A little, milord," said the first man. "But just sunk in bad luck."
Rothgar turned to gaze at Stringle. "Very persistent bad luck."
A murmur went through the room at the implication that the play hadn't been entirely fair. He saw Stringle's eyes shift. He was the stranger here, and it wouldn't go well with him if he was thought to be a cheat. The first prick of the hook.
Rothgar turned back to the witnesses. "Now, when Mr. Ufton left the table, Mr. Stringle stayed behind, yes?"
They chorused agreement.
"For how long?"
That brought an attack of puzzlement, and the five men looked at each other.
"He stayed a while," said one.
"Still there later when my daughter came to find me. Waiting for Mr. Ufton."
"Didn't move, milord."
"What was he drinking?" Rothgar asked.
"Ale, milord."
"How many pints, would you say?"
Again they looked at each other as if shared wisdom might be better, but then one