"There's not much of that about," said William. "We seem to be losing all
round. I'd like to know where the money goes. I think it is the 'ouse;
it's gone unlucky, and I'm thinking of clearing out."
"We may live in a 'ouse a long while before we find what its luck really
is," said Ketley. "I've been in my old 'ouse these twenty years, and it
ain't nothing like what I thought it."
"You are that superstitious," said Journeyman. "If there was anything the
matter with the 'ouse you'd've know'd it before now."
"Ain't you doing the trade you was?" said Stack.
"No, my butter and egg trade have fallen dreadful lately."
The conversation paused. It was Stack who broke the silence.
"Do you intend to do no more betting 'ere?" he asked.
"What, after being fined £100? You 'eard the way he went on about Sarah,
and all on account of her being took here. I think he might have left
Sarah out."
"It warn't for betting she took the plate," said Journeyman; "it was
'cause her chap said if she did he'd marry her."
"I wonder you ever left the course," said Stack.
"It was on account of my 'ealth. I caught a dreadful cold at Kempton,
standing about in the mud. I've never quite got over that cold."
"I remember," said Ketley; "you couldn't speak above a whisper for two
months."
"Two months! more like three."
"Fourteen weeks," said Esther.
She was in favour of disposing of the house and going to live in the
country. But it was soon found that the conviction for keeping a
betting-house had spoiled their chance of an advantageous sale. If,
however, the licence were renewed next year, and the business did not in
the meantime decline, they would be in a position to obtain better terms.
So all their energies should be devoted to the improvement of their
business. Esther engaged another servant, and she provided the best meat
and vegetables that money could buy; William ordered beer and spirits of a
quality that could be procured nowhere else in the neighbourhood; but all
to no purpose. As soon as it became known that it was no longer possible
to pass half a crown or a shilling wrapped up in a piece of paper across
the bar, their custom began to decline.
At last William could stand it no longer, and he obtained his wife's
permission to once more begin book-making on the course. His health had
begun to improve with the spring weather, and there was no use keeping him
at home eating his heart out with vexation because they were doing no
business. So did Esther reason, and it reminded her of old times when he
came back with his race-glasses slung round his shoulder. "Favourites all
beaten today; what have you got for me to eat, old girl?" Esther forgot
her dislike of racing in the joy of seeing her husband happy, if he'd only
pick up a bit of flesh; but he seemed to get thinner and thinner, and his
food didn't seem to do him any good.
One day he came home complaining that the ring was six inches of soft mud;
he was wet to the skin, and he sat shivering the whole evening, with the
sensation of a long illness upon him. He was laid up for several weeks,
and his voice seemed as if it would never return to him again. There was
little or no occupation for him in the bar; and instead of laying he began
to take the odds. He backed a few winners, it is true; but they could not
rely on that. Most of their trade had slipped from them, so it did not
much matter to them if they were found out. He might as well be hung for
an old sheep as a lamb, and surreptitiously at first, and then more
openly, he began to take money across the bar, and with every shilling he
took for a bet another shilling was spent in drink. Custom came back in
ripples, and then in stronger waves, until once again the bar of the
"King's Head" was full to overflowing. Another conviction meant ruin, but
they must risk it, so said William; and Esther, like a good wife,
acquiesced in her husband's decision. But he took money only from those
whom he was quite sure of. He required an introduction, and was careful to
make inquiries concerning every new backer. "In this way," he said to
Ketley, "so long as one is content to bet on a small scale, I think it can
be kept dark; but if you try to extend your connection you're bound to
come across a wrong 'un sooner or later. It was that room upstairs that
did for me."
"I never did think much of that room upstairs," said Ketley. "There was a
something about it that I didn't like. Be sure you never bet in that jug
and bottle bar, whatever you do. There's just the same look there as in
the room upstairs. Haven't you noticed it?"
"Can't say I've, nor am I sure that I know exactly what you mean."
"If you don't see it, you don't see it; but it's plain enough to me, and
don't you bet with nobody standing in that bar. I wouldn't go in there for
a sovereign."
William laughed. He thought at first that Ketley was joking, but he soon
saw that Ketley regarded the jug and bottle entrance with real suspicion.
When pressed to explain, he told Journeyman that it wasn't that he was
afraid of the place, he merely didn't like it. "There's some places that
you likes better than others, ain't they?" Journeyman was obliged to
confess that there were.
"Well, then, that's one of the places I don't like. Don't you hear a voice
talking there, a soft, low voice, with a bit of a jeer in it?"
On another occasion he shaded his eyes and peered curiously into the
left-hand corner.
"What are you looking at?" asked Journeyman.
"At nothing that you can see," Ketley answered; and he drank his whisky as
if lost in consideration of grave and difficult things. A few weeks later
they noticed that he always got as far from the jug and bottle entrance as
possible, and he was afflicted with a long story concerning a danger that
awaited him. "He's waiting; but nothing will happen if I don't go in
there. He can't follow me; he is waiting for me to go to him."
"Then keep out of his way," said Journeyman. "You might ask your bloody
friend if he can tell us anything about the Leger."
"I'm trying to keep out of his way, but he's always watching and
a-beckoning of me."
"Can you see him now?" asked Stack.
"Yes," said Ketley; "he's a-sitting there, and he seems to say that if I
don't come to him worse will happen."
"Don't say nothing to him," William whispered to Journeyman. "I don't
think he's quite right in 'is 'ead; he's been losing a lot lately."
One day Journeyman was surprised to see Ketley sitting quite composedly in
the jug and bottle bar.
"He got me at last; I had to go, the whispering got so loud in my head as
I was a-coming down the street. I tried to get out into the middle of the
street, but a drunken chap pushed me across the pavement, and he was at
the door waiting, and he said, 'Now, you'd better come in; you know what
will happen if you don't.'"
"Don't talk rot, old pal; come round and have a drink with us."
"I can't just at present--I may later on."
"What do he mean?" said Stack.
"Lord, I don't know," said Journeyman. "It's only his wandering talk."
They tried to discuss the chances of the various horses they were
interested in, but they could not detach their thoughts from Ketley, and
their eyes went back to the queer little sallow-faced man who sat on a
high stool in the adjoining bar paring his nails.
They felt something was going to happen, and before they could say the
word he had plunged the knife deep into his neck, and had fallen heavily
on the floor. William vaulted over the counter. As he did so he felt
something break in his throat, and when Stack and Journeyman came to his
assistance he was almost as white as the corpse at his feet. Blood flowed
from his mouth and from Ketley's neck in a deep stream that swelled into a
great pool and thickened on the sawdust.
"It was jumping over that bar," William replied, faintly.
"I'll see to my husband," said Esther.
A rush of blood cut short his words, and, leaning on his wife, he walked
feebly round into the back parlour. Esther rang the bell violently.
"Go round at once to Doctor Green," she said; "and if he isn't in inquire
which is the nearest. Don't come back without a doctor."
William had broken a small blood-vessel, and the doctor said he would have
to be very careful for a long time. It was likely to prove a long case.
But Ketley had severed the jugular at one swift, keen stroke, and had died
almost instantly. Of course there was an inquest, and the coroner asked
many questions regarding the habits of the deceased. Mrs. Ketley was one
of the witnesses called, and she deposed that he had lost a great deal of
money lately in betting, and that he went to the "King's Head" for the
purpose of betting. The police deposed that the landlord of the "King's
Head" had been fined a hundred pounds for keeping a betting-house, and the
foreman of the jury remarked that betting-houses were the ruin of the
poorer classes, and that they ought to be put a stop to. The coroner added
that such places as the "King's Head" should not be licensed. That was the
simplest and most effectual way of dealing with the nuisance.
"There never was no luck about this house," said William, "and what there
was has left us; in three months' time we shall be turned out of it neck
and crop. Another conviction would mean a fine of a couple of hundred, or
most like three months, and that would just about be the end of me."
"They'll never license us again," said Esther, "and the boy at school and
doing so well."
"I'm sorry, Esther, to have brought this trouble on you. We must do the
best we can, get the best price we can for the 'ouse. I may be lucky
enough to back a few winners. That's all there is to be said--the 'ouse
was always an unlucky one. I hate the place, and shall be glad to get out
of it."
Esther sighed. She didn't like to hear the house spoken ill of, and after
so many years it did seem a shame.