ON THE WATCH.
When Alfred was clear of the crowd, he paused for a moment, and looked
around with a vacant stare. In that moment his eyes fell upon Mr.
David Sheldrake, who accosted him gaily. Alfred's parched lips moved
in response, but no sound came from them. He thought he had spoken
aloud, however, and his eyes, after the first swift recognition of Mr.
Sheldrake, sought the ground miserably. Mr. Sheldrake made a pretence
of not observing Alfred's uneasiness, and he went on to say airily,
that he had had a slice of good luck in the City and Suburban, and
that he had strolled away from the betting-ring to cool his
excitement.
"I was looking for you before the race," he said: "I wanted to give
you the tip. I was told by the best jockey of the day that Digby Grand
could not be beaten, and I backed the horse, and I wanted you to back
it also. But perhaps you did."
He paused for a reply, but Alfred said no word. He was in a stupor of
despair. Mr. Sheldrake continued,
"You'll be able to square up now, I suppose. I don't care so much for
myself, although, of course, the money will come acceptable, but Con
Staveley swears he'll be down on you to-morrow. He says he'll go to
your place of business, and if you don't pay, he'll split on you to
your employers. That would be serious, wouldn't it? I should advise
you not to have anything more to do with Con; he's a hard nail. How
much have you won? A couple of monkeys at least, I hope. You must let
me into the secret of that new system of yours."
Still no reply from Alfred. Mr. Sheldrake's tone grew grave. He laid
his hand upon Alfred's arm, and Alfred shivered at the touch, and
feebly endeavoured to shake off the grasp.
"I must insist upon an answer, Alf. Have you won or lost?"
"Lost!" muttered Alfred hoarsely.
"How much?" demanded Mr. Sheldrake.
"Every shilling I had in the world. Let go my arm."
"Be still, or I'll set the police on you! Be still, and tell me," said
Mr. Sheldrake with distinct emphasis, "how you are going to replace
the money you have taken from your office?"
Alfred trembled violently, but did not raise his eyes.
"You wonder how I know, I daresay," pursued Mr. Sheldrake; "but I know
more than you are aware of. What are you going to do?"
"I don't know," replied Alfred, and moved away slowly, Mr. Sheldrake
following him thoughtfully.
They were not the only actors in this the last act of the sad drama.
An old man, whose eyes never left them, was following them watchfully
and warily. A pause of several moments ensued. Then Mr. Sheldrake
said, weighing every word,
"I don't like to desert an old friend, even when he has behaved
shabbily to me, as you have done. It seems to me that, unless
something is done for you at once, it is all up with you. You daren't
go back to the office until your accounts are squared, and you daren't
go home. The detectives will be on the look out for you. I daresay if
Tickle and Flint could get back a portion of the money you have--we
may as well speak plainly--stolen, they would be inclined to let you
off. I'll see if I can serve you."
Alfred's white face was raised imploringly at this glimpse of hope.
"But I must have authority," continued Mr. Sheldrake, "I must have
something to show your people, and to prove to them, if necessary,
that they may trust me. Here--write as I dictate."
He tore a leaf from his pocket-book, and handed it to Alfred, with a
pencil.
"Put the date first--that's right; and the place--Epsom. Now write: 'I
am in great trouble and danger, and cannot come home; my friend, Mr.
Sheldrake, is the only man I can trust, and the only man who can save
me. Put full faith and trust in him.--ALFRED.'"
Alfred, dazed and helpless, wrote the words, and Mr. Sheldrake took
the paper, and placed it in his pocket.
"I must get back to the ring now," he said, with a friendly nod; "you
know where to find me when you want me."
With these words he turned away: the old man who had been watching him
and Alfred tried to avoid him, but Mr. Sheldrake had left Alfred very
suddenly, and the old man's movements were not quick enough. Mr.
Sheldrake's sharp eyes lighted upon him instantly.
"Hallo, Muzzy!" he exclaimed. "What brings you here?"
"I came to see the race run," said Mr. Musgrave, standing before his
employer in a submissive attitude. "It's my favourite race, and I've
not missed a year. I was at the first City and Suburban in 1851, when
Elthiron won; and the next year, when Butterfly won; and the next,
when Ethelbert ran a dead heat with Pancake. I lost a hatful of money
over Pancake, at the very moment I thought I had made a fortune."
"It's always the way, Muzzy. You're a regular walking racing calendar!
Did you back the winning horse this time, old man?"
"No, sir; I had nothing on."
"Found out the error of your ways, eh? Well, now the race is over, you
can do a little business for me. You see that young fellow," pointing
to Alfred, who was walking away with hanging head.
Mr. Musgrave shaded his eyes with his hand.
"My eyes are not so good as they used to be, but I fancy I know him."
"O, you know him well enough. It's Alfred, Lizzie's young man."
"Ah, yes; to be sure, to be sure. I recognise him now."
"Keep your eye on him; watch him; don't let him go out of your sight.
I want to know what he's up to, and where he is going to."
"I suppose he'll go home to-night," said Mr. Musgrave.
"I am not so sure of that; and if he doesn't, you must see where he
puts up, and keep near him. I may want him."
"For what?"
"What's that to you?" retorted Mr. Sheldrake. "Perhaps he owes me
money, and I don't intend that he shall give me the slip. Perhaps he's
lost on the race and can't pay, and I want to do him a service."
"For the sake of his pretty sister," suggested Mr. Musgrave humbly.
"You dog, you!" retorted Mr. Sheldrake, half angrily, half
approvingly. "Whatever it is, it's my business, and not yours. Mind
that, old man. If you don't want to be turned off at a moment's
notice, do as you're told, and ask no questions. And look here, old
man, you know the Myrtle Inn? Well, inquire there the first thing in
the morning for a note. I may have to write to you, to give you
instructions. And if the place is handy, you can put up there
to-night."
Mr. Musgrave nodded submissively, and crept away in the direction that
Alfred had taken.
"Mind," said Mr. Sheldrake, overtaking him, "he's not to see you, and
not to know that you are watching him. You can drop me a line
to-night, telling me where he puts up. Here's a sov. to pay ex's."
Although the old man took the sovereign in silence, his manner did not
seem to please Mr. Sheldrake, who muttered, as he looked at the
slouching figure creeping away,
"I'd give him the sack if I could; but I must get things straight
first. He knows too much. I'll square up the concern, and get rid of
him this year. I'll have all the books and vouchers moved from Ivy
Cottage this very week."
While this scene was being enacted, Alfred pursued his sad way. His
great desire was to escape from the crowd, among which probably there
were persons who were acquainted with him. He must get to some place
and among people where he could hide himself and would not be known.
Mr. Sheldrake had rightly said that he dared not show his face at the
office. To-morrow all would be discovered. It had been his unhappy
fortune yesterday to receive an uncrossed cheque, payable to bearer,
in settlement of a large account due to his employers. This cheque he
had cashed, and had used the proceeds in backing the horses of the
false prophet upon whom he had placed all his hopes. This was not the
only money he had used; for some time he had pursued a system of
falsifying the books of the firm, and of appropriating such payments
as would be the least likely to be missed. Discovery was imminent
every day, every hour. All this money had been lost in betting,
and in vainly striving to recover what had gone before. Even in the
midst of his despair he groaned to himself that he had done his best,
that he had tried system after system, prophet after prophet, with the
same result; and that ill-fortune, and not he, was to blame. There was
some special reason for each fresh loss--some special reason
applicable to that case alone, and which could not by any exercise of
forethought have been anticipated or avoided. It brought that smallest
of consolation to him which consists in the reflection that the same
thing would have happened to anybody else placed in his position; but
it brought sharp stings also in the reflection that he might have
known, or ought to have known, that such and such a thing might have
been anticipated, or suspected, or guessed, and the unfortunate result
avoided. No consideration of this description, however, intruded
itself in what had occurred to-day in his speculations on the City and
Suburban race. Here was a prophet, whose name was known to every
betting boy and man in the kingdom, who had actually named five horses
as the winner of the race, and not one of these five horses came in
among the first three. In the eyes of a reasonable being such a
circumstance would be sufficient to stamp this prophet as the veriest
impostor and incapable that ever put pen to paper; and he might feel a
natural indignation that such mischievous utterances should be openly
allowed to lead weak men to acts of folly and crime. Even Alfred,
never given to moralising, caring only for himself, and not one jot
for the public, cursed this false prophet as he staggered over the
Downs, and gave vent to weak imprecations against the man whose cruel
prophecies had brought him to this stage of infamy and disgrace.
What would they think at home? Would they guess the truth? What would
Lizzie do? He thought mostly of her. If he could get to some new
country with her, where they could commence a new life, what happiness
it would be! If he could undo the past! In the midst of all these
repinings and vain repentances, the terrible thought intruded itself
that there was no escape for him. He had but five shillings in his
pocket; every article of jewellery he possessed had been mortgaged to
raise money to swell the fatal stake he had played this day. The
detectives would soon be after him. Could he disguise himself in any
way, so as to escape detection? His nerves were strung up to such a
high pitch that the slightest unexpected sound was sufficient to
terrify him, and the roar from the distant race-course which
proclaimed that another race had been decided was converted by his
fears into the shouts of pursuers on his track. He quickened his
steps instinctively, preparing for flight, but the next his reason
returned, and he ascribed the shouts to their correct cause. With a
faint smile on his lips, he turned his head in the direction of the
cries, and as he turned he suddenly saw Mr. Musgrave. The sight of the
old man gave Alfred a shock, and the first thought which flashed
through his mind was that the old man had been set to watch him. That
this presumption was the correct one was due, not to Alfred's
perspicacity, but to his fears. In his condition, every face that was
familiar was a face to be suspected. Alfred cast furtive glances at
the old man, who, having seen Alfred's recognition of him, looked
about listlessly in every direction but that in which Alfred was. He
seemed to have come to the spot entirely by accident, and Alfred was
partly thrown off his guard by the old man's manner. "But I will make
sure," thought Alfred, and he set traps, into which the old man
unconsciously fell. Alfred slunk behind a hedge, which was not thick
enough to hide him completely from sight, and remaining there for
fully a quarter of an hour, watched and waited, and when he emerged
into the open plain, the old man was still there, looking about him
with ill-concealed listlessness. "He _is_ watching me!" thought
Alfred, trembling in every limb. "Who set him on? How can I escape?"
He had no thought of addressing the old man to ascertain his purpose.
No cordiality had grown between them during their acquaintanceship;
Alfred knew that in some way Mr. Musgrave was connected in business
with Mr. Sheldrake, and this circumstance was sufficient to convert
the old man into a spy, if not into an enemy. Faint, despairing, and
weary, Alfred stumbled on across the Downs, and stopped at a quiet
inn. The old man was still on his track. Alfred called for brandy, and
tried to eat, but the food almost choked him, and he put it aside,
sick at heart, and drank more brandy. "Can you give me a sheet of
paper and an envelope?" he asked of the girl who served him. She gave
him what he required, and pen and ink as well, and he sat down in the
parlour, looking at the blank paper, and trying to think. A voice at
the bar roused him. It was Mr. Musgrave's voice asking for
refreshments. For a moment Alfred thought of going boldly to the old
man, and appealing to him, for Lizzie's sake; but he dismissed the
thought immediately. "It will be betraying myself," he muttered; "but
I must let Lizzie know. How can I get a letter to her?" He went to the
rear of the inn, and asked an ostler if he knew any one who was going
to London that afternoon. Yes, the ostler said, a man from the yard
was going to London by the next train, which would start in a quarter
of an hour. The ostler pointed out the man to Alfred. Returning to the
parlour, Alfred wrote:
"I have been miserably unfortunate to-day, and I dare not come home. I
am at Epsom, and I don't know where to turn for safety. At this very
moment I am being watched by an enemy; you know him well, but I will
not pain you by naming him. I have done you injury enough already, and
I can never, never atone for it. All hope has left me, and I wish my
miserable life were ended. I can only ask you to think kindly of me
and to forgive me. If I did not love you, I should not be as unhappy
as I am. I am afraid to think of the future.--I send this by a
stranger. I want you to get it to-night, and the post would not arrive
in time. No one must know that you have heard from me. God knows what
will happen to me. I have brought shame and disgrace upon all.--A."
Alfred enclosed and addressed the letter, and seeing the man going to
the railway station, ran after him, and bargained with him to deliver
the letter for four shillings, which was all the money he possessed.
"Don't deceive me," said Alfred imploringly.
"Do you take me for a thief?" was the surly answer. "The young woman
shall have the letter all right. You look as if you've been backing
the wrong horse, young fellow."
Alfred did not reply, and when the man was out of sight, walked to a
quiet spot, and threw himself on the ground, waiting for night to hide
himself and his despair from the sight of man.