It was night and the race-course lay deserted and silent beneath the
pallid moon. The noisy crowd had tramped and driven its way back to
London. But there was one whom the noise and bustle of a race meet would
never rouse again--Peacock the jockey, who lay dead in the stable house.
His death had cast a depression over the entire Castle, and though both
Adrien and his father--to say nothing of Jasper--had striven their
utmost to keep the minds of the guests away from the unhappy event, it
was yet an almost gloomy party that gathered after dinner in the silver
drawing-room.
Nearly all had lost heavily through the fall of poor "King Cole." They
had had such entire faith in their champion, that his loss of the race
had come like a thunder-bolt; and most of all to Adrien himself. The
actual monetary loss did not seem to trouble him; indeed, it was
probable that he himself was unaware of the immensity of the sum
involved. Only Jasper knew, Jasper who wore his usual calm, serene
smile, and certainly worked hard to banish all regrets concerning such a
trifle as a dead steeplechaser, as well as any lingering memories of his
dying words.
"One thing is certain," said Lord Standon to Lady Constance, who had
been sighing over the defeat. "Adrien will not allow any one to ride the
'King' again but himself. I heard him say so."
"He has lost heavily, I'm afraid," the girl said in a low voice.
"Immensely," replied Lord Standon, who himself had, lost more than he
could afford--indeed, there was little doubt that this race would almost
prove his ruin; but, nevertheless, his inordinate good humour and
optimistic nature triumphed above every other consideration. Certainly,
no word of blame or self-pity would he allow to pass his lips. "Yes, he
has lost more heavily than any of us, as Mr. Vermont knows; I'll be
bound," he broke off, as that gentleman approached.
Jasper Vermont smiled, as he did at every question or assertion made to
him.
"I'm afraid he has plunged deeply this time," was his smooth reply.
"Unfortunately, he only has himself to blame, though I deplore the fact
that I was not with him at the time."
Both Lady Constance and Lord Standon looked up, startled by his tone as
much as by his words; and Jasper continued glibly:
"He gave the jockey a ten-pound note last night, and, of course, the man
got drunk. Consequences--an unsteady hand this morning, a hasty push at
the last rise, and a clear loss of the race, not to mention the colossal
sum in bets. All his own fault! If he will be so recklessly generous,
what is to be done? But, as I said before, I blame myself for not
watching him more closely."
"No one blames you, Mr. Vermont," said Lord Standon coldly, for even he,
the least suspicious of men, seemed to detect the false sorrow in the
speaker's voice.
Lady Constance looked at him gratefully; and Lord Standon was encouraged
thereby to proceed:
"Adrien is generous to a fault; and if in this case it has had
disastrous results, it is usually a fault which few imitate."
Jasper raised his eyebrows; then, with a low bow to Lady Constance, and
a gentle, deprecatory shrug of his shoulders, walked away.
The girl waited till he was out of earshot, then turned impulsively to
Lord Standon.
"I hate that man," she said in a low voice; "and sometimes I believe he
hates Adrien too."
"So do I," returned Lord Standon, looking with intense admiration into
her lovely, troubled face.
"Do you?" she murmured. "Oh, if you would only try to open my cousin's
eyes to his friend's falseness--I know he's false, but Adrien is so
blind."
It seemed as if he were blind in more than one direction; for at that
minute Leroy himself crossed the room, with an aspect that, in any other
man, would have been termed glum. The sight of the girl with whom he was
so rapidly falling in love, sitting in rapt conversation with Lord
Standon--even though that young man was his friend--had roused a strong
feeling of resentment within his heart. He restrained himself, however,
though it was in a rather cold, forced voice that he asked Lady
Constance if she would sing. She rose demurely enough; for his very
coldness and jealousy, slight as it was--careless as she knew it to
be--proved to her that the love she so ardently desired was awakening at
last.
The evening passed quietly. Adrien himself refused to sing, though he
stayed close by his cousin's side, and turned over the pages of her
music with such a devoted air that at last the ladies of the party began
to whisper knowingly amongst themselves.
Luckily for Adrien's peace of mind--for he loathed and dreaded scenes of
any description--Lady Merivale had not returned with the party to the
Castle, much as Miss Penelope had wished it. Eveline Merivale was only
too cognisant of what was passing between Lady Constance and her cousin;
and though she knew that Adrien and herself had merely played at love,
and greatly against his will, at that, still she was just as unwilling
to see him the devoted slave of another woman, who was younger, if not
more beautiful, than herself.
After the ladies had retired for; the night, Adrien gave himself up to
unaccustomed reverie. The tenor of his life had been changed. The inane
senseless round of dissipation had begun to tire him; the homage and
flattery cloyed on his palate. And now, with his newborn love for
Constance filling his heart and mind, had come the overwhelming failure
of his beloved horse, and the death of his jockey; the last causing him
more pain than the light-hearted companions around him would have
believed possible. Neither had the half-defined charge made against
Jasper escaped his notice, though he had disdained to make any mention
of it.
Shelton noticed his absent manner, as they smoked their last cigar
before going to bed.
"Counting up the losses, Adrien?" he asked casually.
Adrien started at the question, and smiled.
"Not I," he said, "I leave that to Jasper--I call him my walking
account-book. I'm sorry you fellows were let in though; I can't
understand it; although"--with a rueful laugh--"I suppose it was my
fault with that tenner. Yet, I must say, I noticed the man as he
galloped past, and saw no, signs of anything wrong."
"Nor I," put in Vermont. "I was in the weighting-room, and saw him
scaled. He was all right then. He always was white and seedy-looking. I
saw nothing wrong."
"Nor I," echoed the others.
Adrien lit another cigar, and the light fell full on his grave face.
"The losses are heavy all round; yet, speaking for myself," he said, "I
would have rather dropped treble the amount than that poor fellow should
have lost his life by a horse of mine."
"His own fault. It was absolutely a case of suicide," declared Lord
Standon angrily. "He put the 'King' to that last hurdle half a minute
too soon. The horse was not to blame; he would have taken the hedge, and
another on top of that, but for that unlucky spurt. 'Pon my soul," he
concluded hotly, "if I didn't know how well he'd been cared for, I
should have said it was done on purpose!"
Unlucky youth! he little knew the harm he had done his empty pockets by
this rash speech. Jasper Vermont's eyes narrowed, as was their wont when
anything occurred to annoy him, and he registered a mental note against
the unfortunate peer's name.
Adrien frowned, as he rose with the rest.
"That is impossible," he said, almost sternly; "Jasper saw to that too
well. But, in future, no one shall ride the 'King' but myself; he's just
up to my weight," he concluded. "Jasper, enter him for the Cup. We will
give him a chance to retrieve this day's failure."
Jasper had risen with him, and amid a volley of good-nights, the two men
passed into the corridor. As Adrien was about to ascend the stairs to
his own apartment, he turned to Vermont, and said quietly:
"Jasper, I should like that poor fellow to have a Christian burial in
the private chapel; and if there are relations, find them out----" He
broke off abruptly. "There, you know better than I what to do, and how
to do it. Oh! just one word more; of course, I shall see that no notice
is taken of his delirious ravings. Good-night, old man."
Jasper thanked him and returned his "good-night" with sympathetic
cordiality; then turned softly to his own apartment. Having reached it,
he gave himself up to a spasm of silent laughter.
"Christian burial!" he chuckled. "Oh, yes, he shall have Christian
burial in the family vaults. Lucky job for me the hound died, or the
game would have been all up. As it is, that fool--that popinjay, almost
guessed. Well, deny everything and demand proof, that's my line. After
all, it's the very risks and chances that make the game so fascinating."
He sat down and drew out a little note-book--only a very ordinary penny
note-book; for it was wonderful how mean this man could be when he had
to expend his own money. Save clothes, which necessarily had to be of
good material, though quiet in colour, he never failed to buy the
cheapest article obtainable; unless, of course, when, on the principle
of "throwing a sprat to catch a herring," he stood to make a profit.
In this little book there lay the records of fortunes. A fortune spent
by Leroy--a fortune gained by Jasper Vermont. He smiled to himself, as
he closed one eye, and counted up the gains he had netted through this
day's work.
"Eight--ten, with Yorkshire Twining's last little touch--ten thousands
pounds. Ah, if those fools knew how the 'intruder' was stripping them of
golden plumes, how mad they would be! Ten thousand pounds! But Twining
was too risky," he muttered, frowning at the recollection, "My grand
knight might have smelled a rat. Just like his noble lordship; two to
one, because some stranger doubts the strength of the animal's legs."
He chuckled again as he thought how carefully he had stage-managed the
day's comedy. Of the tragedy into which it had been turned by the death
of his poor tool and accomplice, Peacock, he gave no thought, his whole
mind was bound up in his jealous hatred of Leroy. Just why he hated him
so he, himself, could hardly have explained; but with men of Jasper
Vermont's calibre, the mere fact that one possesses so much--wealth,
position, and popularity--while the other must perforce live by his
wits, is quite sufficient to arouse all the evil passions of which he is
capable.
"A mighty regal way he has with him," he muttered again, as he put away
his book. "Ten thousand pounds! Go on, Jasper, my boy--persevere! The
game starts well, the winning cards are yours. Gentlemen, make your
game, the ball is rolling."
With this invitation to mankind in general, and his titled and wealthy
acquaintances in particular, Mr. Jasper Vermont made his preparations
for the night. He kept no valet; men of his type seldom care to have
another in such close relations as must necessarily happen when one man
holds the keys of another. It has been said by some cynic, that "the man
who takes off your coat sees what is passing in the heart beneath it,"
and with this statement Mr. Vermont probably agreed.
"I am a simple-minded, rough-and-ready creature," he often assured his
friends; "a man to worry my tie, and force me to buy a new coat, because
he desires my old one, would drive me mad."
So he undressed himself slowly, reckoning up his gains, smiling at his
mask of a face in the large mirror, and hatching his little plots every
knot he untied, every button he released. At last he got into bed, and
slept as easily and serenely as any simple-minded farmer.