CHAPTER XIII

AN IDEA

The triumph was complete. But of a truth the game was waxing dangerous.

Lady Sue Aldmarshe had promised to marry her prince. She would keep her

word, of that Sir Marmaduke was firmly convinced. But there would of

necessity be two or three days delay and every hour added to the

terrors, the certainty of discovery.

There was a watch-dog at Sue's heels, stern, alert, unyielding. Richard

Lambert was probing the secret of the mysterious prince, with the

unerring eye of the disappointed lover.

The meeting to-night had been terribly dangerous. Sir Marmaduke knew

that Lambert was lurking somewhere in the park.

At present even the remotest inkling of the truth must still be far from

the young man's mind. The whole scheme was so strange, so daring, so

foreign to the simple ideas of the Quaker-bred lad, that its very

boldness had defied suspicion. But the slightest mischance now, a

meeting at the door of the pavilion, an altercation--face to face, eye

to eye--and Richard Lambert would be on the alert. His hatred would not

be so blind, nor yet so clumsy, as that of his brother, the blacksmith.

There is no spy so keen in all the world as a jealous lover.

This had been the prince's first meeting with Sue, since that memorable

day when the secret of their clandestine love became known to Lambert.

Sir Marmaduke knew well that it had been fraught with danger; that every

future meeting would wax more and more perilous still, and that the

secret marriage itself, however carefully and secretively planned, would

hardly escape the prying eyes of the young man.

The unmasking of Prince Amédé d'Orléans before Sue had become legally

his wife was a possibility which Sir Marmaduke dared not even think of,

lest the very thought should drive him mad. Once she was his wife! ...

well, let her look to herself.... The marriage tie would be a binding

one, he would see to that, and her fortune should be his, even though he

had won her by a lie.

He had staked his very existence on the success of his scheme. Lady

Sue's fortune was the one aim of his life, for it he had worked and

striven, and lied: he would not even contemplate a future without it,

now that his plans had brought him so near the goal.

He had one faithful ally, though not a powerful one, in Editha, who,

lured by some vague promises of his, desperate too, as regarded her own

future, had chosen to throw in her lot whole-heartedly with his.

He was closeted with her on the following day, in the tiny

withdrawing-room which leads out of the hall at Acol Court. When he had

stolen into the house in the small hours of the morning he had seen

Richard Lambert leaning out of one of the windows which gave upon the

park.

It seemed as if the young man must have seen him when he skirted the

house, for though there was no moonlight, the summer's night was

singularly clear. That Lambert had been on the watch--spying, as Sir

Marmaduke said with a bitter oath of rage--was beyond a doubt.

Editha too was uneasy; she thought that Lambert had purposely avoided

her the whole morning.

"I lingered in the garden for as long as I could," she said to her

brother-in-law, watching with keen anxiety his restless movements to and

fro in the narrow room, "I thought Lambert would keep within doors if he

saw me about. He did not actually see you, Marmaduke, did he?" she

queried with ever-growing disquietude.

"No. Not face to face," he replied curtly. "I contrived to avoid him in

the park, and kept well within the shadows, when I saw him spying

through the window.

"Curse him!" he added with savage fury, "curse him, for a meddlesome,

spying cur!"

"The whole thing is becoming vastly dangerous," she sighed.

"Yet it must last for another few weeks at least...."

"I know ... and Lambert is a desperate enemy: he dogs Sue's footsteps,

he will come upon you one day when you are alone, or with her ... he

will provoke a quarrel...."

"I know--I know ..." he retorted impatiently, "'tis no use

recapitulating the many evil contingencies that might occur.... I know

that Lambert is dangerous ... damn him! ... Would to God I could be rid

of him ... somehow."

"You can dismiss him," she suggested, "pay him his wages and send him

about his business."

"What were the use? He would remain in the village--in his brother's

cottage mayhap ... with more time on his hands for his spying work....

He would dog the wench's steps more jealously than eve.... No! no!" he

added, whilst he cast a quick, furtive look at her--a look which somehow

caused her to shiver with apprehension more deadly than heretofore.

"That's not what I want," he said significantly.

"What's to be done?" she murmured, "what's to be done?"

"I must think," he rejoined harshly. "But we must get that love-sick

youth out of the way ... him and his airs of Providence in disguise....

Something must be done to part him from the wench effectually and

completely ... something that would force him to quit this neighborhood

... forever, if possible."

She did not reply immediately, but fixed her large, dark eyes upon him,

silently for a while, then she murmured:

"If I only knew!"

"Knew what?"

"If I could trust you, Marmaduke!"

He laughed, a harsh, cruel laugh which grated upon her ear.

"We know too much of one another, my dear Editha, not to trust each

other."

"My whole future depends on you. I am penniless. If you marry Sue...."

"I can provide for you," he interrupted roughly. "What can I do now? My

penury is worse than yours. So, my dear, if you have a plan to propound

for the furtherance of my schemes, I pray you do not let your fear of

the future prevent you from lending me a helping hand."

"A thought crossed my mind," she said eagerly, "the thought of something

which would effectually force Richard Lambert to quit this neighborhood

for ever."

"What were that?"

"Disgrace."

"Disgrace?" he exclaimed. "Aye! you are right. Something mean ... paltry

... despicable ... something that would make her gracious ladyship turn

away from him in disgust ... and would force him to go away from here

... for ever."

He looked at her closely, scrutinizing her face, trying to read her

thoughts.

"A thought crossed your mind," he demanded peremptorily. "What is it?"

"The house in London," she murmured.

"You are not afraid?"

"Oh!" she said with a careless shrug of the shoulders.

"The Protector's spies are keen," he urged, eager to test her courage,

her desire to help him.

"They'll scarce remember me after two years."

"Hm! Their memory is keen ... and the new laws doubly severe."

"We'll be cautious."

"How can you let your usual clients know? They are dispersed."

"Oh, no! My Lord Walterton is as keen as ever and Sir James Overbury

would brave the devil for a night at hazard. A message to them and we'll

have a crowd every night."

"'Tis well thought on, Editha," he said approvingly. "But we must not

delay. Will you go to London to-morrow?"

"An you approve."

"Aye! you can take the Dover coach and be in town by nightfall. Then

write your letters to my Lord Walterton and Sir James Overbury. Get a

serving wench from Alverstone's in the Strand, and ask the gentlemen to

bring their own men, for the sake of greater safety. They'll not

refuse."

"Refuse?" she said with a light laugh, "oh, no!"

"To-day being Tuesday, you should have your first evening entertainment

on Friday. Everything could be ready by then."

"Oh, yes!"

"Very well then, on Friday, I, too, will arrive in London, my dear

Editha, escorted by my secretary, Master Richard Lambert, and together

we will call and pay our respects at your charming house in Bath

Street."

"I will do my share. You must do yours, Marmaduke. Endicott will help

you: he is keen and clever. And if Lambert but takes a card in his hand

..."

"Nay! he will take the cards, mine oath on that! Do you but arrange it

all with Endicott."

"And, Marmaduke, I entreat you," she urged now with sudden earnestness,

"I entreat you to beware of my Lord Protector's spies. Think of the

consequences for me!"

"Aye!" he said roughly, laughing that wicked, cruel laugh of his, which

damped her eagerness, and struck chill terror into her heart, "aye! the

whipping-post for you, fair Editha, for keeping a gaming-house. What? Of

a truth I need not urge you to be cautious."

Probably at this moment she would have given worlds--had she possessed

them--if she could but have dissociated herself from her

brother-in-law's future altogether. Though she was an empty-headed,

brainless kind of woman, she was not by nature a wicked one. Necessity

had driven her into linking her fortunes with those of Sir Marmaduke.

And he had been kind to her, when she was in deep distress: but for him

she would probably have starved, for her beauty had gone and her career

as an actress had been, for some inexplicable reason, quite suddenly cut

short, whilst a police raid on the gaming-house over which she presided

had very nearly landed her in a convict's cell.

She had escaped severe punishment then, chiefly because Cromwell's laws

against gambling were not so rigorous at the time as they had since

become, also because she was able to plead ignorance of them, and

because of the status of first offense.

Therefore she knew quite well what she risked through the scheme which

she had so boldly propounded to Sir Marmaduke. Dire disgrace and infamy,

if my Lord Protector's spies once more came upon the gamesters in her

house--unawares.

Utter social ruin and worse! Yet she risked it all, in order to help

him. She did not love him, nor had she any hopes that he would of his

own free will do more than give her a bare pittance for her needs once

he had secured Lady Sue's fortune; but she was shrewd enough to reckon

that the more completely she was mixed up in his nefarious projects, the

more absolutely forced would he be to accede to her demands later on.

The word blackmail had not been invented in those days, but the deed

itself existed and what Editha had in her mind when she risked ostracism

for Sir Marmaduke's sake was something very akin to it.

But he, in the meanwhile, had thrown off his dejection. He was full of

eagerness, of anticipated triumph now.

The rough idea which was to help him in his schemes had originated in

Editha's brain, but already he had elaborated it; had seen in the plan a

means not only of attaining his own ends with regard to Sue, but also

of wreaking a pleasing vengeance on the man who was trying to frustrate

him.

"I pray you, be of good cheer, fair Editha," he said quite gaily. "Your

plan is good and sound, and meseems as if the wench's fortune were

already within my grasp."

"Within our grasp, you mean, Marmaduke," she said significantly.

"Our grasp of course, gracious lady," he said with a marked sneer, which

she affected to ignore. "What is mine is yours. Am I not tied to the

strings of your kirtle by lasting bonds of infinite gratitude?"

"I will start to-morrow then. By chaise to Dover and thence by coach,"

she said coldly, taking no heed of his irony. "'Twere best you did not

assume your romantic rôle again until after your own voyage to London.

You can give me some money I presume. I can do nothing with an empty

purse."

"You shall have the whole contents of mine, gracious Editha," he said

blandly, "some ten pounds in all, until the happy day when I can place

half a million at your feet."

PART II

CHAPTER XIV

THE HOUSE IN LONDON

It stood about midway down an unusually narrow by-street off the Strand.

A tumble-down archway, leaning to one side like a lame hen, gave access

to a dark passage, dank with moisture, whereon the door of the house

gave some eighteen feet up on the left.

The unpaved street, undrained and unutterably filthy, was ankle-deep in

mud, even at the close of this hot August day. Down one side a long

blank wall, stone-built and green with mildew, presented an unbroken

frontage: on the other the row of houses with doors perpetually barred,

and windows whereon dust and grit had formed effectual curtains against

prying eyes, added to the sense of loneliness, of insecurity, of unknown

dangers lurking behind that crippled archway, or beneath the shadows of

the projecting eaves, whence the perpetual drip-drip of soot water came

as a note of melancholy desolation.

From all the houses the plaster was peeling off in many places, a prey

to the inclemencies of London winters; all presented gray facades, with

an air of eeriness about their few windows, flush with the outside

wall--at one time painted white, no doubt, but now of uniform dinginess

with the rest of the plaster work.

There was a grim hint about the whole street of secret meetings, and of

unavowable deeds done under cover of isolation and of darkness, whilst

the great crooked mouth of the archway disclosing the blackness and

gloom of the passage beyond, suggested the lair of human wild beasts who

only went about in the night.

As a rule but few passers-by availed themselves of this short and narrow

cut down to the river-side. Nathless, the unarmed citizen was scared by

these dank and dreary shadows, whilst the city watchman, mindful of his

own safety, was wont to pass the mean street by.

Only my Lord Protector's new police-patrol fresh to its onerous task,

solemnly marched down it once in twenty-four hours, keeping shoulder to

shoulder, looking neither to right nor left, thankful when either issue

was once more within sight.

But in this same evening in August, 1657, it seemed as if quite a number

of people had business in Bath Street off the Strand. At any rate this

was specially noticeable after St. Mary's had struck the hour of nine,

when several cloaked and hooded figures slipped, one after another, some

singly, others in groups of two or three, into the shadow of the narrow

lane.

They all walked in silence, and did not greet one another as they

passed; some cast from time to time furtive looks behind them; but

every one of these evening prowlers seemed to have the same objective,

for as soon as they reached the crippled archway, they disappeared

within the gloom of its yawning mouth.

Anon when the police-patrol had gone by and was lost in the gloom there

where Bath Street debouches on the river bank, two of these heavily

cloaked figures walked rapidly down from the Strand, and like the others

slipped quickly under the archway, and made straight for the narrow door

on the left of the passage.

This door was provided with a heavy bronze knocker, but strangely enough

the newcomers did not avail themselves of its use, but rapped on the

wooden panels with their knuckles, giving three successive raps at

regular intervals.

They were admitted almost immediately, the door seemingly opening of

itself, and they quickly stepped across the threshold.

Within the house was just as dark and gloomy as it was without, and as

the two visitors entered, a voice came from out the shadows, and said,

in a curious monotone and with strange irrelevance:

"The hour is late!"

"And 'twill be later still," replied one of the newcomers.

"Yet the cuckoo hath not called," retorted the voice.

"Nor is the ferret on the prowl," was the enigmatic reply. Whereupon

the voice speaking in more natural tones added sententiously:

"Two flights of steps, and 'ware the seventeenth step on the first

flight. Door on the left, two raps, then three."

"Thank you, friend," rejoined one of the newcomers, "'tis pleasant to

feel that so faithful a watch guards the entrance of this palace of

pleasure."

Thereupon the two visitors, who of a truth must have been guided either

by instinct or by intimate knowledge of the place, for not a gleam of

light illumined the entrance hall, groped their way to a flight of stone

stairs which led in a steep curve to the upper floors of the house.

A rickety banister which gave ominously under the slightest pressure

helped to guide the visitors in this utter darkness: but obviously the

warning uttered by that mysterious challenging voice below was not

superfluous, for having carefully counted sixteen steps in an upward

direction, the newcomers came to a halt, and feeling their way forward

now with uttermost caution, their feet met a yawning hole, which had

soon caused a serious accident to a stranger who had ventured thus far

in ignorance of pitfalls.

A grim laugh, echoed by a lighter one, showed that the visitors had

encountered only what they had expected, and after this brief episode

they continued their journey upwards with a firmer sense of security; a

smoky oil lamp on the first floor landing guided their footsteps by

casting a flickering light on the narrow stairway, whereon slime and

filth crept unchecked through the broken crevices between the stones.

But now as they advanced, the silence seemed more broken: a distinct hum

as of many voices was soon perceptible, and anon a shrill laugh,

followed by another more deep in tone, and echoed by others which

presently died away in the distance.

By the time the two men had reached the second floor landing these many

noises had become more accentuated, also more distinct; still muffled

and subdued as if proceeding from behind heavy doors, but nevertheless

obvious as the voices of men and women in lively converse.

The newcomers gave the distinctive raps prescribed by their first

mentor, on the thick panels of a solid oak door on their left.

The next moment the door itself was thrown open from within; a flood of

light burst forth upon the gloomy landing from the room beyond, the

babel of many voices became loud and clear, and as the two men stood for

a moment beneath the lintel a veritable chorus of many exclamations

greeted them from every side.

"Walterton! begad!"

"And Overbury, too!"

"How late ye come!"

"We thought ye'd fallen a victim to Noll's myrmidons!"

It was of a truth a gay and merry company that stood, and moved,

chatted and laughed, within the narrow confines of that small

second-floor room in the gloomy house in Bath Street.

The walls themselves were dingy and bare, washed down with some grayish

color, which had long since been defaced by the grime and dust of

London. Thick curtains of a nondescript hue fell in straight folds

before each window, and facing these there was another door--double

paneled--which apparently led to an inner room.

But the place itself was brilliantly illuminated with many wax candles

set in chandeliers. These stood on the several small tables which were

dotted about the room.

These tables--covered with green baize, and a number of chairs of

various shapes and doubtful solidity were the only furniture of the

room, but in an arched recess in the wall a plaster figure holding a

cornucopia, from whence fell in thick profusion the plaster presentments

of the fruits of this earth, stood on an elevated pedestal, which had

been draped with crimson velvet.

The goddess of Fortune, with a broken nose and a paucity of fingers,

dominated the brilliant assembly, from the height of her crimson throne.

Her head had been crowned with a tall peaked modish beaver hat, from

which a purple feather rakishly swept over the goddess's left ear. An

ardent devotee had deposited a copper coin in her extended, thumbless

hand, whilst another had fixed a row of candle stumps at her feet.

There was nothing visible in this brilliantly lighted room of the sober

modes to which the eye of late had become so accustomed. Silken doublets

of bright and even garish colors stood out in bold contrast against the

gray monotone of the walls and hangings. Fantastic buttons, tags and

laces, gorgeously embroidered cuffs and collars edged with priceless

Mechlin or d'Alençon, bunches of ribands at knee and wrists, full

periwigs and over-wide boot-hose tops were everywhere to be seen, whilst

the clink of swords against the wooden boards and frequent volleys of

loudly spoken French oaths, testified to the absence of those Puritanic

fashions and customs which had become the general rule even in London.

Some of the company sat in groups round the green-topped tables whereon

cards or dice and heaps of gold and smaller coins lay in profusion.

Others stood about watching the games or chatting to one another. Mostly

men they were, some old, some young--but there were women too, women in

showy kirtles, with bare shoulders showing well above the colverteen

kerchief and faces wherein every line had been obliterated by plentiful

daubs of cosmetics. They moved about the room from table to table,

laughing, talking, making comments on the games as these proceeded.

The men apparently were all intent--either as actual participants or

merely as spectators--upon a form of amusement which His Highness the

Lord Protector had condemned as wanton and contrary to law.

The newcomers soon divested themselves of their immense dark cloaks,

and they, too, appeared in showy apparel of silk and satin, with tiny

bows of ribands at the ends of the long curls which fell both sides of

their faces, and with enormous frills of lace inside the turned-over

tops of their boots.

Lord Walterton quite straddled in his gait, so wide were his boot tops,

and there was an extraordinary maze of tags and ribands round the edge

of Sir James Overbury's breeches.

"Make your game, gentlemen, make your game," said the latter as he

advanced further into the room. And his tired, sleepy eyes brightened at

sight of the several tables covered with cards and dice, the guttering

candles, the mountains of gold and small coin scattered on the green

baize tops.

"Par Dieu! but 'tis a sight worth seeing after the ugly sour faces one

meets in town these days!" he added, gleefully rubbing his beringed

hands one against the other.

"But where is our gracious hostess?" added Lord Walterton, a

melancholy-looking young man with pale-colored eyes and lashes, and a

narrow chest.

"You are thrice welcome, my lord!" said Editha de Chavasse, whose

elegant figure now detached itself from amongst her guests.

She looked very handsome in her silken kirtle of a brilliant greenish

hue, lace primer, and high-heeled shoes--relics of her theatrical days;

her head was adorned with the bunches of false curls which the modish

hairdressers were trying to introduce. The plentiful use of cosmetics

had obliterated the ravages of time and imparted a youthful appearance

to her face, whilst excitement not unmixed with apprehension lent a

bright glitter to her dark eyes.

Lord Walterton and Sir James Overbury lightly touched with their lips

the hand which she extended to them. Their bow, too, was slight, though

they tossed their curls as they bent their heads in the most approved

French fashion. But there was a distinct note of insolence, not

altogether unmixed with irony, in the freedom with which they had

greeted her.

"I met de Chavasse in town to-day," said Lord Walterton, over his

shoulder before he mixed with the crowd.

"Yes! he will be here to-night," she rejoined. Sir James Overbury also

made a casual remark, but it was evident that the intention and purpose

of these gay gentlemen was not the courteous entertainment of their

hostess. Like so many men of all times and all nations in this world,

they were ready enough to enjoy what she provided for them--the illicit

pastime which they could not get elsewhere--but they despised her for

giving it them, and cared naught for the heavy risks she ran in keeping

up this house for their pleasure.

CHAPTER XV

A GAME OF PRIMERO

At a table in the immediate center of the room a rotund gentleman in

doublet and breeches of cinnamon brown taffeta and voluminous lace cuffs

at the wrists was presiding over a game of Spanish primero.

A simple game enough, not difficult of comprehension, yet vastly

exciting, if one may form a judgment of its qualities through watching

the faces of the players.

The rotund gentleman dealt a card face downwards to each of his

opponents, who then looked at their cards and staked on them, by pushing

little piles of gold or silver forward.

Then the dealer turned up his own card, and gave the amount of the

respective stakes to those players whose cards were of higher value than

his own, whilst sweeping all other moneys to swell his own pile.

A simple means, forsooth, of getting rid of any superfluity of cash.

"Art winning, Endicott?" queried Lord Walterton as, he stood over the

other man, looking down on the game.

Endicott shrugged his fat shoulders, and gave an enigmatic chuckle.

"I pay King and Ace only," he called out imperturbably, as he turned up

a Queen.

Most of the stakes came to swell his own pile, but he passed a handful

of gold to a hollow-eyed youth who sat immediately opposite to him, and

who clutched at the money with an eager, trembling grasp.

"You have all the luck to-night, Segrave," he said with an oily smile

directed at the winner.

"Make your game, gentlemen," he added almost directly, as he once more

began to deal.

"I pay knave upwards!" he declared, turning up the ten of clubs.

"Mine is the ten of hearts," quoth one of the players.

"Ties pay the bank," quoth Endicott imperturbably.

"Mine is a queen," said Segrave in a hollow tone of voice.

Endicott with a comprehensive oath threw the entire pack of cards into a

distant corner of the room.

"A fresh pack, mistress!" he shouted peremptorily.

Then as an overdressed, florid woman, with high bullhead fringe and

old-fashioned Spanish farthingale, quickly obeyed his behests, he said

with a coarse laugh:

"Fresh cards may break Master Segrave's luck and improve yours, Sir

Michael."

"Before this round begins," said Sir James Overbury who was standing

close behind Lord Walterton, also watching the game, "I will bet you,

Walterton, that Segrave wins again."

"Done with you," replied the other, "and I'll back mine own opinion by

taking a hand."

The florid woman brought him a chair, and he sat down at the table, as

Endicott once more began to deal.

"Five pounds that Segrave wins," said Overbury.

"A queen," said Endicott, turning up his card. "I pay king and ace

only."

Everyone had to pay the bank, for all turned up low cards; Segrave alone

had not yet turned up his.

"Well! what is your card, Master Segrave?" queried Lord Walterton

lightly.

"An ace!" said Segrave simply, displaying the ace of hearts.

"No good betting against the luck," said young Walterton lightly, as he

handed five sovereigns over to his friend, "moreover it spoils my

system."

"Ye play primero on a system!" quoth Sir Michael Isherwood in deep

amazement.

"Yes!" replied the young man. "I have played on it for years ... and it

is infallible, 'pon my honor."

In the meanwhile the doors leading to the second room had been thrown

open; serving men and women advanced carrying trays on which were

displayed glasses and bottles filled with Rhenish wine and Spanish

canary and muscadel, also buttered ale and mead and hypocras for the

ladies.

Editha did not occupy herself with serving but the florid woman was

most attentive to the guests. She darted in and out between the tables,

managing her unwieldy farthingale with amazing skill. She poured out the

wines, and offered tarts and dishes of anchovies and of cheese, also

strange steaming beverages lately imported into England called coffee

and chocolate.

The women liked the latter, and supped it out of mugs, with many little

cries of astonishment and appreciation of its sugariness.

The men drank heavily, chiefly of the heady Spanish wines; they ate the

anchovies and cheese with their fingers, and continually called for more

refreshments.

Play was of necessity interrupted. Groups of people eating and drinking

congregated round the tables. The men mostly discussed various phases of

the game; there was so little else for idlers to talk about these days.

No comedies or other diversions, neither cock-fighting nor bear-baiting,

and abuse of my Lord Protector and his rigorous disciplinarian laws had

already become stale.

The women talked dress and coiffure, the new puffs, the fanciful

pinners.

But at the center table Segrave still sat, refusing all refreshment,

waiting with obvious impatience for the ending of this unwelcome

interval. When first he found himself isolated in the crowd, he had

counted over with febrile eagerness the money which lay in a substantial

heap before him.

"Saved!" he muttered between his teeth, speaking to himself like one

who is dreaming, "saved! Thank God! ... Two hundred and fifty pounds ...

only another fifty and I'll never touch these cursed cards again ...

only another fifty...."

He buried his face in his hands; the moisture stood out in heavy drops

on his forehead. He looked all round him with ever-growing impatience.

"My God! why don't they come back! ... Another fifty pounds ... and I

can put the money back ... before it has been missed.... Oh! why don't

they come back!"

Quite a tragedy expressed in those few muttered words, in the trembling

hands, the damp forehead. Money taken from an unsuspecting parent,

guardian or master, which? What matter? A tragedy of ordinary occurrence

even in those days when social inequalities were being abolished by act

of Parliament.

In the meanwhile Lord Walterton, halting of speech, insecure of

foothold, after his third bumper of heady sack, was explaining to Sir

Michael Isherwood the mysteries of his system for playing the noble game

of primero.

"It is sure to break the bank in time," he said confidently, "I am for

going to Paris where play runs high, and need not be carried on in this

hole and corner fashion to suit cursed Puritanical ideas."

"Tell me your secret, Walterton," urged worthy Sir Michael, whose broad

Shropshire acres were heavily mortgaged, after the rapine and pillage

of civil war.

"Well! I can but tell you part, my friend," rejoined the other, "yet

'tis passing simple. You begin with one golden guinea ... and lose it

... then you put up two and lose again...."

"Passing simple," assented Sir Michael ironically.

"But after that you put up four guineas."

"And lose it."

"Yea! yea! mayhap you lose it ... but then you put up eight guineas ...

and win. Whereupon you are just as you were before."

And with a somewhat unsteady hand the young man raised a bumper to his

lips, whilst eying Sir Michael with the shifty and inquiring eye

peculiar to the intoxicated.

"Meseems that if you but abstain from playing altogether," quoth Sir

Michael impatiently, "the result would still be the same.... And suppose

you lose the eight guineas, what then?"

"Oh! 'tis vastly simple--you put up sixteen."

"But if you lose that?"

"Put up thirty-two...."

"But if you have not thirty-two guineas to put up?" urged Sir Michael,

who was obstinate.

"Nay! then, my friend," said Lord Walterton with a laugh which soon

broke into an ominous hiccough, "ye must not in that case play upon my

system."

"Well said, my lord," here interposed Endicott, who had most moderately

partaken of a cup of hypocras, and whose eye and hand were as steady as

heretofore. "Well said, pardi! ... My old friend the Marquis of

Swarthmore used oft to say in the good old days of Goring's Club, that

'twas better to lose on a system, than to play on no system at all."

"A smart cavalier, old Swarthmore," assented Sir Michael gruffly, "and

nathless, a true friend to you, Endicott," he added significantly.

"Another deal, Master Endicott," said Segrave, who for the last quarter

of an hour had vainly tried to engage the bank-holder's attention.

Nor was Lord Walterton averse to this. The more the wine got into his

head, the more unsteady his hand became, the more strong was his desire

to woo the goddess whose broken-nosed image seemed to be luring him to

fortune.

"You are right, Master Segrave," he said thickly, "we are wasting

valuable time. Who knows but what old Noll's police-patrol is lurking in

this cutthroat alley? ... Endicott, take the bank again.... I'll swear

I'll ruin ye ere the moon--which I do not see--disappears down the

horizon. Sir Michael, try my system.... Overbury, art a laggard? ... Let

us laugh and be merry--to-morrow is the Jewish Sabbath--and after that

Puritanic Sunday ... after which mayhap, we'll all go to hell, driven

thither by my Lord Protector. Wench, another bumper ... canary, sack or

muscadel ... no thin Rhenish wine shall e'er defile this throat!

Gentlemen, take your places.... Mistress Endicott, can none of these

wenches discourse sweet music whilst we do homage to the goddess of

Fortune? ... To the tables ... to the tables, gentlemen ... here's to

King Charles, whom may God protect ... and all in defiance of my Lord

Protector!"

CHAPTER XVI

A CONFLICT

In the hubbub which immediately followed Lord Walterton's tirade, Editha

de Chavasse beckoned to the florid woman--who seemed to be her

henchwoman--and drew her aside to a distant corner of the room, where

there were no tables nigh and where the now subdued hum of the voices,

mingling with the sound of music on virginal and stringed instruments,

made a murmuring noise which effectually drowned the talk between the

two women.

"Have you arranged everything, Mistress Endicott?" asked Editha,

speaking in a whisper.

"Everything, mistress," replied the other.

"Endicott understands?"

"Perfectly," said the woman, with perceptible hesitation, "but ..."

"What ails you, mistress?" asked Editha haughtily, noting the

hesitation, and frowning with impatience thereat.

"My husband thinks the game too dangerous."

"I was not aware," retorted Mistress de Chavasse dryly, "that I had

desired Master Endicott's opinion on the subject."

"Mayhap not," rejoined the other, equally dryly, "but you did desire his

help in the matter ... and he seems unmindful to give it."

"Why?"

"I have explained ... the game is too dangerous."

"Or the payment insufficient?" sneered Editha. "Which is it?"

"Both, mayhap," assented Mistress Endicott with a careless shrug of her

fat shoulders, "the risks are very great. To-night especially...."

"Why especially to-night?"

"Because ever since you have been away from it, this house--though we

did our best to make it seem deserted--hath been watched--of that I feel

very sure.... My Lord Protector's watchmen have a suspicion of our ...

our evening entertainments ... and I doubt not but that they desire to

see for themselves how our guests enjoy themselves these nights."

"Well?" rejoined Editha lightly. "What of that?"

"As you know, we did not play for nigh on twelve months now.... Endicott

thought it too dangerous ... and to-night ..."

She checked herself abruptly, for Editha had turned an angry face and

flashing eyes upon her.

"To-night?" said Mistress de Chavasse curtly, but peremptorily, "what of

to-night? ... I sent you orders from Thanet that I wished the house

opened to-night ... Lord Walterton, Sir James Overbury and as many of

our usual friends as were in the town, apprised that play would be in

full progress.... Meseems," she added, casting a searching look all

round the room, "that we have singularly few players."

"It was difficult," retorted the other with somewhat more diffidence in

her tone than had characterized her speech before now. "Young Squire

Delamere committed suicide ... you remember him? ... and Lord Cooke

killed Sir Humphrey Clinton in a duel after that fracas we had here,

when the police-patrol well-nigh seized upon your person.... Squire

Delamere's suicide and Sir Humphrey's death caused much unpleasant talk.

And old Mistress Delamere, the mother, hath I fear me, still a watchful

eye on us. She means to do us lasting mischief.... It had been wiser to

tarry yet awhile.... Twelve months is not sufficient for throwing the

dust of ages over us and our doings.... That is my husband's opinion and

also mine.... A scandal such as you propose to have to-night, will bring

the Protector's spies about our ears ... his police too, mayhap ... and

then Heaven help us all, mistress ... for you, in the country, cannot

conceive how rigorously are the laws enforced now against gambling,

betting, swearing or any other form of innocent amusement.... Why! two

wenches were whipped at the post by the public hangman only last week,

because forsooth they were betting on the winner amongst themselves,

whilst watching a bout of pell-mell.... And you know that John Howthill

stood in the pillory for two hours and had both his hands bored through

with a hot iron for allowing gambling inside his coffeehouse. ... And

so, mistress, you will perceive that I am speaking but in your own

interests...."

Editha, who had listened to the long tirade with marked impatience, here

interrupted the voluble lady, with harsh command.

"I crave your pardon, mistress," she said peremptorily. "My interests

pre-eminently consist in being obeyed by those whom I pay for doing my

behests. Now you and your worthy husband live here rent free and derive

a benefit of ten pounds every time our guests assemble.... Well! in

return for that, I make use of you and your names, in case of any

unpleasantness with the vigilance patrol ... or in case of a scandal

which might reach my Lord Protector's ears.... Up to this time your

positions here have been a sinecure.... I even bore the brunt of the

last fracas whilst you remained practically scathless.... But to-night,

I own it, there may be some risks ... but of a truth you have been well

paid to take them."

"But if we refuse to take the risks," retorted the other.

"If you refuse, mistress," said Editha with a careless shrug of the

shoulders, "you and your worthy lord go back to the gutter where I

picked you up ... and within three months of that time, I should

doubtless have the satisfaction of seeing you both at the whipping-post,

for of a truth you would be driven to stealing or some other equally

unavowable means of livelihood."

"We could send _you_ there," said Mistress Endicott, striving to

suppress her own rising fury, "if we but said the word."

"Nay! you would not be believed, mistress ... but even so, I do not

perceive how my social ruin would benefit you."

"Since we are doomed anyhow ... after this night's work," said the woman

sullenly.

"Nay! but why should you take so gloomy a view of the situation? ... My

Lord Protector hath forgot our existence by now, believe me ... and of a

surety his patrol hath not yet knocked at our door.... And methinks,

mistress," added Editha significantly, "'tis not in _your_ interest to

quarrel with me."

"I have no wish to quarrel with you," quoth Mistress Endicott, who

apparently had come to the end of her resistance, and no doubt had known

all along that her fortunes were too much bound up with those of

Mistress de Chavasse to allow of a rupture between them.

"Then everything is vastly satisfactory," said Editha with forced

gayety. "I rely on you, mistress, and on Endicott's undoubted talents to

bring this last matter to a successful issue to-night. ... Remember,

mistress ... I rely on you."

Perhaps Mistress Endicott would have liked to prolong the argument. As a

matter of fact, neither she nor her husband counted the risks of a

midnight fracas of great moment to themselves: they had so very little

to lose. A precarious existence based on illicit deeds of all sorts had

rendered them hard and reckless.

All they wished was to be well paid for the risks they ran; neither of

them was wholly unacquainted with the pillory, and it held no great

terrors for them. There were so many unavowable pleasures these days,

which required a human cloak to cover the identity of the real

transgressor, that people like Master and Mistress Endicott prospered

vastly.

The case of Mistress de Chavasse's London house wherein the ex-actress

had some few years ago established a gaming club, together with its

various emoluments attached thereunto, suited the Endicotts'

requirements to perfection: but the woman desired an increase of payment

for the special risk she would run to-night, and was sorely vexed that

she could not succeed in intimidating Editha with threats of

vigilance-patrol and whipping-posts.

Mistress de Chavasse knew full well that the Endicotts did not intend to

quarrel with her, and having threatened rupture unless her commands were

obeyed, she had no wish to argue the matter further with her henchwoman.

At that moment, too, there came the sound of significant and methodical

rappings at the door. Editha, who had persistently throughout her

discussion with Mistress Endicott, kept one ear open for that sound,

heard it even through the buzz of talk. She made a scarcely visible

gesture of the hand, bidding the other woman to follow her: that gesture

was quickly followed by a look of command.

Mistress Endicott presumably had finally made up her mind to obey. She

shrugged her fat shoulders and followed Mistress de Chavasse as far as

the center of the room.

"Remember that you are the hostess now," murmured Editha to her, as she

herself went to the door and opened it.

With an affected cry of surprise and pleasure she welcomed Sir Marmaduke

de Chavasse, who was standing on the threshold, prepared to enter and

escorted by his young secretary, Master Richard Lambert.

CHAPTER XVII

RUS IN URBE

One or two of the men looked up as de Chavasse entered, but no one took

much notice of him.

Most of those present remembered him from the past few years when still

with pockets well filled through having forestalled Lady Sue's

maintenance money, he was an habitual frequenter of some of the smart

secret clubs in town; but here, just the same as elsewhere, Sir

Marmaduke was not a popular man, and many there were who had unpleasant

recollections of his surly temper and uncouth ways, whenever fickle

Fortune happened not to favor him.

Even now, he looked sullen and disagreeable as, having exchanged a

significant glance with his sister-in-law, he gave a comprehensive nod

to the assembled guests, which had nothing in it either of cordiality or

of good-will. He touched Editha's finger tips with his lips, and then

advanced into the room.

Here he was met by Mistress Endicott, who had effectually thrown off the

last vestige of annoyance and of rebellion, for she greeted the newcomer

with marked good-humor and an encouraging smile.

"It is indeed a pleasure to see that Sir Marmaduke de Chavasse hath not

forgot old friends," she said pleasantly.

"It was passing kind, gracious mistress," he responded, forcing himself

to speak naturally and in agreeable tones, "to remember an insignificant

country bumpkin like myself ... and you see I have presumed on your

lavish hospitality and brought my young friend, Master Richard Lambert,

to whom you extended so gracious an invitation."

He turned to Lambert, who a little dazed to find himself in such

brilliant company, had somewhat timidly kept close to the heels of his

employer. He thought Mistress Endicott vulgar and overdressed the moment

he felt bold enough to raise his eyes to hers. But he chided himself

immediately for thus daring to criticize his betters.

His horizon so far had been very limited; only quite vaguely had he

heard of town and Court life. The little cottage where dwelt the old

Quakeress who had brought him and his brother up, and the tumble-down,

dilapidated house of Sir Marmaduke de Chavasse were the only habitations

in which he was intimate. The neighboring Kentish Squires, Sir Timothy

Harrison, Squire Pyncheon and Sir John Boatfield, were the only

presentations of "gentlemen" he had ever seen.

Sir Marmaduke de Chavasse had somewhat curtly given him orders the day

before, that he was to accompany him to London, whither he himself had

to go to consult his lawyer. Lambert had naturally obeyed, without

murmur, but with vague trepidations at thought of this, his first

journey into the great town.

Sir Marmaduke had been very kind, had given him a new suit of grogram,

lined with flowered silk, which Lambert thought the richest garment he

had ever seen. He was very loyal in his thoughts to his employer,

bearing with the latter's violence and pandering to his fits of

ill-humor for the sake of the home which Sir Marmaduke had provided for

him.

To Lambert's mind, Sir Marmaduke's kindness to him was wholly

gratuitous. His own position as secretary being but a sinecure, the

young man readily attributed de Chavasse's interest in himself to innate

goodness of heart, and desire to help the poor orphan lad.

This estimate of his employer's character Richard Lambert had not felt

any cause to modify. He continued to serve him faithfully, to look after

his interests in and around Acol Court to the best of his ability; above

all he continued to be whole-heartedly grateful. He was so absolutely

conscious of the impassable social barrier which existed between himself

and the rich daughter of the great Earl of Dover, that he never for a

moment resented Sir Marmaduke's sneers when they were directed against

his obvious, growing love for Sue.

Remember that he had no cause to suspect Sir Marmaduke de Chavasse of

any nefarious projects or of any evil intentions with regard to himself,

when he told him that together they would go this night to the house of

an old friend, Mrs. Endicott, where they would derive much pleasure and

entertainment.

They had spent the previous night at the Swan Inn in Fleet Street and

the day in visiting the beautiful sights of London, which caused the

young lad from the country to open wide eyes in astonishment and

pleasure.

Sir Marmaduke had been peculiarly gracious, even taking Richard with him

to the Frenchman's house in Queen's Head Alley, where that curious

beverage called coffee was dispensed and where several clever people met

and discussed politics in a manner which was vastly interesting to the

young man.

Then when the evening began to draw in, and Lambert thought it high time

to go to bed, for 'twas a pity to burn expensive candles longer than was

necessary, Sir Marmaduke had astonished his secretary by telling him

that he must now clean and tidy himself for they would proceed to the

house of a great lady named Mistress Endicott--a friend of the ex-Queen

Henrietta Maria and a lady of peculiar virtues and saintliness, who

would give them vast and pleasing entertainment.

Lambert was only too ready to obey. Enjoyment came naturally to him

beneath his Quaker bringing-up: his youth, good-health and pure,

naturally noble intellect, all craved companionship, with its attendant

pleasures and joys. He himself could not afterwards have said exactly

how he had pictured in his mind the saintly lady--friend of the unhappy

Queen--whom he was to meet this night.

Certainly Mistress Endicott, with her red face surmounted by masses of

curls that were obviously false, since they did not match the rest of

her hair, was not the ideal paragon of all the virtues, and when he was

first made to greet her, a strange, unreasoning instinct seemed to draw

him away from her, to warn him to fly from this noisy company, from the

sight of those many faces, all unnaturally flushed, and from the sounds

of those strange oaths which greeted his ears from every side.

A great wave of thankfulness came over him that, his gracious

lady--innocent, tender, beautiful Lady Sue, had not come to London with

her guardian. Whilst he gazed on the marvels of Westminster Hall and of

old Saint Paul's he had longed that she should be near him, so that he

might watch the brilliance of her eyes, and the glow of pleasure which,

of a surety would have mantled in her cheeks when she was shown the

beauties of the great city.

But now he was glad--very glad, that Sir Marmaduke had so sternly

ordained that she should remain these few days alone at Acol in charge

of Mistress Charity and of Master Busy. At the time he had chafed

bitterly at his own enforced silence: he would have given all he

possessed in the world for the right to warn Sir Marmaduke de Chavasse

that a wolf was prowling in the fold under cover of the night. He had

seen Lady Sue's eyes brighten at the dictum that she was to remain

behind--they told him in eloquent language the joy she felt to be free

for two days that she might meet her prince undisturbed.

But all these thoughts and fears had fled the moment Lambert found

himself in the midst of these people, whom he innocently believed to be

great ladies and noble gentlemen, friends of his employer Sir Marmaduke

de Chavasse. It seemed to him at once as if there was something here--in

this room--which he would not wish Lady Sue to see.

He was clumsy and _gauche_ in his movements as he took the hand which

Mistress Endicott extended to him, but he tried to imitate the salute

which he had seen his employer give on the flat--not very

clean--finger-tips of the lady.

She was exceedingly gracious to him, saying with great kindliness and a

melancholy sigh:

"Ah! you come from the country, master? ... So delightful, of a

truth.... Milk for breakfast, eh? ... You get up at dawn and go to bed

at sunset? ... I know country life well--though alas! duty now keeps me

in town.... But 'tis small wonder that you look so young!"

He tried to talk to her of the country, for here she had touched on a

topic which was dear to him. He knew all about the birds and beasts, the

forests and the meadows, and being unused to the art of hypocritical

interest, he took for real sympathy the lady's vapid exclamations of

enthusiasm, with which she broke in now and again upon his flow of

eloquence.

Sir Marmaduke de Chavasse, who was watching the young man with febrile

keenness, had the satisfaction to note that very soon Richard began to

throw off his bucolic timidity, his latent yet distinctly perceptible

disapproval of the company into which he had been brought. He sought out

his sister-in-law and drew her attention to Lambert in close

conversation with Mrs. Endicott.

"Is everything arranged?" he asked under his breath.

"Everything," she replied.

"No trouble with our henchmen?"

"A little ... but they are submissive now."

"What is the arrangement?"

"Persuade young Lambert to take a hand at primero ... Endicott will do

the rest."

"Who is in the know?" he queried, after a slight pause, during which he

watched his unsuspecting victim with a deep frown of impatience and of

hate.

"Only the Endicotts," she explained. "But do you think that he will

play?" she added, casting an anxious look on her brother-in-law's face.

He nodded affirmatively.

"Yes!" he said curtly. "I can arrange that, as soon as you are ready."

She turned from him and walked to the center table. She watched the game

for a while, noting that young Segrave was still the winner, and that

Lord Walterton was very flushed and excited.

Then she caught Endicott's eye, and immediately lowered her lashes

twice in succession.

"Ventre-saint-gris!" swore Endicott with an unmistakable British accent

in the French expletive, "but I'll play no more.... The bank is broken

... and I have lost too much money. Mr. Segrave there has nearly cleaned

me out and still I cannot break his luck."

He rose abruptly from his chair, even as Mistress de Chavasse quietly

walked away from the table.

But Lord Walterton placed a detaining, though very trembling hand, on

the cinnamon-colored sleeve.

"Nay! parbleu! ye cannot go like this ... good Master Endicott ..." he

said, speaking very thickly, "I want another round or two ... 'pon my

honor I do ... I haven't lost nearly all I meant to lose."

"Ye cannot stop play so abruptly, master," said Segrave, whose eyes

shone with an unnatural glitter, and whose cheeks were covered with a

hectic flush, "ye cannot leave us all in the lurch."

"Nay, I doubt not, my young friend," quoth Endicott gruffly, "that you

would wish to play all night.... You have won all my money and Lord

Walterton's, too."

"And most of mine," added Sir Michael Isherwood ruefully.

"Why should not Master Segrave take the bank," here came in shrill

accents from Mistress Endicott, who throughout her conversation with

Lambert had kept a constant eye on what went on around her husband's

table. "He seems the only moneyed man amongst you all," she added with a

laugh, which grated most unpleasantly on Richard's ear.

"I will gladly take the bank," said Segrave eagerly.

"Pardi! I care not who hath the bank," quoth Lord Walterton, with the

slow emphasis of the inebriated. "My system takes time to work.... And I

stand to lose a good deal unless ... hic ... unless I win!"

"You are not where you were, when you began," commented Sir Michael

grimly.

"By Gad, no! ... hic ... but 'tis no matter.... Give me time!"

"Methought I saw Sir Marmaduke de Chavasse just now," said Endicott,

looking about him. "Ah! and here comes our worthy baronet," he added

cheerily as Sir Marmaduke's closely cropped head--very noticeable in the

crowd of periwigs--emerged from amidst the group that clustered round

Mistress Endicott. "A hand at primero, sir?"

"I thank you, no!" replied Sir Marmaduke, striving to master his

habitual ill-humor and to speak pleasantly. "My luck hath long since

deserted me, if it e'er visited me at all. A fact of which I grow daily

more doubtful."

"But ventre-saint-gris!" ejaculated Lord Walterton, who showed an

inclination to become quarrelsome in his cups, "we must have someone to

take Endicott's place, I cannot work my system hic ... if so few

play...."

"Perhaps your young friend, Sir Marmaduke ..." suggested Mistress

Endicott, waving an embroidered handkerchief in the direction of Richard

Lambert.

"No doubt! no doubt!" rejoined Sir Marmaduke, turning with kindly

graciousness to his secretary. "Master Lambert, these gentlemen are

requiring another hand for their game ... I pray you join in with

them...."

"I would do so with pleasure, sir," replied Lambert, still unsuspecting,

"but I fear me I am a complete novice at cards.... What is the game?"

He was vaguely distrustful of cards, for he had oft heard this pastime

condemned as ungodly by those with whom he had held converse in his

early youth, nevertheless it did not occur to him that there might be

anything wrong in a game which was countenanced by Sir Marmaduke de

Chavasse, whom he knew to be an avowed Puritan, and by the saintly lady

who had been the friend of ex-Queen Henrietta Maria.

"'Tis a simple round game," said Sir Marmaduke lightly, "you would soon

learn."

"And ..." said Lambert diffidently questioning, and eying the gold and

silver which lay in profusion on the table, "there is no money at stake

... of course? ..."

"Oh! only a little," rejoined Mistress Endicott, "a paltry trifle ...

to add zest to the enjoyment of the game."

"However little it may be, Sir Marmaduke," said Lambert firmly, speaking

directly to his employer, "I humbly pray you to excuse me before these

gentlemen ..."

The three players at the table, as well as the two Endicotts, had

listened to this colloquy with varying feelings. Segrave was burning

with impatience, Lord Walterton was getting more and more fractious,

whilst Sir Michael Isherwood viewed the young secretary with marked

hauteur. At the last words spoken by Lambert there came from all these

gentlemen sundry ejaculations, expressive of contempt or annoyance,

which caused an ugly frown to appear between de Chavasse's eyes, and a

deep blush to rise in the young man's pale cheek.

"What do you mean?" queried Sir Marmaduke harshly.

"There are other gentlemen here," said Lambert, speaking with more

firmness and decision now that he encountered inimical glances and felt

as if somehow he was on his trial before all these people, "and I am not

rich enough to afford the luxury of gambling."

"Nay! if that is your difficulty," rejoined Sir Marmaduke, "I pray you,

good master, to command my purse ... you are under my wing to-night ...

and I will gladly bear the burden of your losses."

"I thank you, Sir Marmaduke," said the young man, with quiet dignity,"

and I entreat you once again to excuse me.... I have never staked at

cards, either mine own money or that of others. I would prefer not to

begin."

"Meseems ... hic ... de Chavasse, that this ... this young friend of

yours is a hic ... damned Puritan ..." came in ever thickening accents

from Lord Walterton.

"I hope, Sir Marmaduke de Chavasse," here interposed Endicott with much

pompous dignity, "that your ... hem ... your young friend doth not

desire to bring insinuations doubts, mayhap, against the honor of my

house ... or of my friends!"

"Nay! nay! good Endicott," said Sir Marmaduke, speaking in tones that

were so conciliatory, so unlike his own quarrelsome temper, quick at

taking offense, that Richard Lambert could not help wondering what was

causing this change, "Master Lambert hath no such intention--'pon my

honor ... He is young ... and ... and he misunderstands.... You see, my

good Lambert," he added, once more turning to the young man, and still

speaking with unwonted kindness and patience, "you are covering yourself

with ridicule and placing me--who am your protector to-night--in a very

awkward position. Had I known you were such a gaby I should have left

you to go to bed alone."

"Nay! Sir Marmaduke," here came in decisive accents from portly

Mistress Endicott, "methinks 'tis you who misunderstand Master Lambert.

He is of a surety an honorable gentleman, and hath no desire to insult

me, who have ne'er done him wrong, nor yet my friends by refusing a

friendly game of cards in my house!"

She spoke very pointedly, causing her speech to seem like a menace, even

though the words betokened gentleness and friendship.

Lambert's scruples and his desire to please struggled hopelessly in his

mind. Mistress Endicott's eye held him silent even while it urged him to

speak. What could he say? Sir Marmaduke, toward whom he felt gratitude

and respect, surely would not urge what he thought would be wrong for

Lambert.

And if a chaste and pure woman did not disapprove of a game of primero

among friends, what right had he to set up his own standard of right or

wrong against hers? What right had he to condemn what she approved? To

offend his generous employer, and to bring opprobrium and ridicule on

himself which would of necessity redound against Sir Marmaduke also?

Vague instinct still entered a feeble protest, but reason and common

sense and a certain undetermined feeling of what was due to himself

socially--poor country bumpkin!--fought a hard battle too.

"I am right, am I not, good Master Lambert?" came in dulcet tones from

the virtuous hostess, "that you would not really refuse a quiet game of

cards with my friends, at my entreaty ... in my house?"

And Lambert, with a self-deprecatory sigh, and a shrug of the shoulders,

said quietly:

"I have no option, gracious mistress!"

CHAPTER XVIII

THE TRAP

Richard Lambert fortunately for his own peace of mind and the retention

of his dignity, was able to wave aside the hand full of gold and silver

coins which Sir Marmaduke extended towards him.

"I thank you, sir," he said calmly; "I am able to bear the cost of mine

own unavoidable weakness. I have money of mine own."

From out his doublet he took a tiny leather wallet containing a few gold

coins, his worldly all bequeathed to him the same as to his brother--so

the old friend who had brought the lads up had oft explained--by his

grandmother. The little satchel never left his person from the moment

that the old Quakeress had placed it in his hands. There were but five

guineas in all, to which he had added from time to time the few

shillings which Sir Marmaduke paid him as salary.

He chided his own weakness inwardly, when he felt the hot tears surging

to his eyes at thought of the unworthy use to which his little hoard was

about to be put.

But he walked to the table with a bold step; there was nothing now of

the country lout about him; on the contrary, he moved with remarkable

dignity, and bore himself so well that many a pair of feminine eyes

watched him kindly, as he took his seat at the baize-covered table.

"Will one of you gentlemen teach me the game?" he asked simply.

It was remarkable that no one sneered at him again, and in these days of

arrogance peculiar to the upper classes this was all the more

noticeable, as these secret clubs were thought to be very exclusive, the

resort pre-eminently of gentlemen and noblemen who were anti-Puritan,

anti-Republican, and very jealous of their ranks and privileges.

Yet when after those few unpleasant moments of hesitation Lambert boldly

accepted the situation and with much simple dignity took his seat at the

table, everyone immediately accepted him as an equal, nor did anyone

question his right to sit there on terms of equality with Lord Walterton

or Sir Michael Isherwood.

His own state of mind was very remarkable at the moment.

Of course he disapproved of what he did: he would not have been the

Puritanically trained, country-bred lad that he was, if he had accepted

with an easy conscience the idea of tossing about money from hand to

hand, money that he could in no sense afford to lose, or money that no

one was making any honest effort to win.

He knew--somewhat vaguely perhaps, yet with some degree of

certainty--that gambling was an illicit pastime, and that therefore

he--by sitting at this table with these gentlemen, was deliberately

contravening the laws of his country.

Against all that, it is necessary to note that Richard Lambert took two

matters very much in earnest: first, his position as a paid dependent;

second, his gratitude to Sir Marmaduke de Chavasse.

And both these all-pervading facts combined to force him against his

will into this anomalous position of gentlemanly gambler, which suited

neither his temperament nor his principles.

With it all Lambert's was one of those dispositions, often peculiar to

those who have led an isolated and introspective life, which never do

anything half-heartedly; and just as he took his somewhat empty

secretarial duties seriously, so did he look on this self-imposed task,

against which his better judgment rebelled, with earnestness and

determination.

He listened attentively to the preliminary explanations given him sotto

voce by Endicott. Segrave in the meanwhile had taken the latter's place

at the head of the table. He had put all his money in front of him, some

two hundred and sixty pounds all told, for his winnings during the last

half hour had not been as steady as heretofore, and he had not yet

succeeded altogether in making up that sum of money for which he yearned

with all the intensity of a disturbed conscience, eager to redeem one

miserable fault by another hardly more avowable.

He shuffled the cards and dealt just as Endicott had done.

"Now will you look at your card, young sir," said Endicott, who stood

behind Lambert's chair, whispering directions in his ear. "A splendid

card, begad! and one on which you must stake freely.... Nay! nay! that

is not enough," he added, hurriedly restraining the young man's hand,

who had timidly pushed a few silver coins forward. "'Tis thus you must

do!"

And before Lambert had time to protest the rotund man in the cinnamon

doublet and the wide lace cuffs, had emptied the contents of the little

leather wallet upon the table.

Five golden guineas rested on Lambert's card. Segrave turned up his own

and declared:

"I pay queen and upwards!"

"A two, by gad!" said Lord Walterton, too confused in his feeble head

now to display any real fury. "Did anyone ever see such accursed luck?"

"And look at this nine," quoth Sir Michael, who had become very sullen;

"not a card to-night!"

"I have a king," said Lambert quietly.

"And as I had the pleasure to remark before, my dear young friend," said

Endicott blandly, "'tis a mighty good card to hold.... And see," he

continued, as Segrave without comment added five more golden guineas to

Lambert's little hoard, "see how wise it was to stake a goodly sum ...

That is the whole art of the game of primero ... to know just what to

stake on each card in accordance with its value and the law of

averages.... But you will learn in time, young man you will learn...."

"The game doth not appear to be vastly complicated," assented Lambert

lightly.

"I have played primero on a system for years ..." quoth Lord Walterton

sententiously, "but to-night ... hic ... by Gad! ... I cannot make the

system work right ... hic!"

But already Segrave was dealing again. Lambert staked more coolly now.

In his mind he had already set aside the original five guineas which

came from his grandmother. With strange ease and through no merit of his

own, yet perfectly straightforwardly and honestly, he had become the

owner of another five; these he felt more justified in risking on the

hazard of the game.

But the goddess of Fortune smiling benignly on this country-bred lad,

had in a wayward mood apparently taken him under her special protection.

He staked and won again, and then again pleased at his success ... in

spite of himself feeling the subtle poison of excitement creeping into

his veins ... yet remaining perfectly calm outwardly the while.

Segrave, on the other hand, was losing in exact proportion to the

newcomer's winnings: already his pile of gold had perceptibly

diminished, whilst the hectic flush on his cheeks became more and more

accentuated, the glitter in his eyes more unnatural and feverish, his

hands as they shuffled and dealt the cards more trembling and febrile.

"'Pon my honor," quoth Sir Marmaduke, throwing a careless glance at the

table, "meseems you are in luck, my good Lambert. Doubtless, you are not

sorry now that you allowed yourself to be persuaded."

"'Tis not unpleasant to win," rejoined Lambert lightly, "but believe me,

sir, the game itself gives me no pleasure."

"I pay knave and upwards," declared Segrave in a dry and hollow voice,

and with burning eyes fixed upon his new and formidable opponent.

"My last sovereign, par Dieu!" swore Lord Walterton, throwing the money

across to Segrave with an unsteady hand.

"And one of my last," said Sir Michael, as he followed suit.

"And what is your stake, Master Lambert?" queried Segrave.

"Twenty pounds I see," replied the young man, as with a careless hand he

counted over the gold which lay pell-mell on his card; "I staked on the

king without counting."

Segrave in his turn pushed some gold towards him. The pile in front of

him was not half the size it had been before this stranger from the

country had sat down to play. He tried to remain master of himself, not

to show before these egotistical, careless cavaliers all the agony of

mind which he now endured and which had turned to positive physical

torture.

The ghost of stolen money, of exposure, of pillory and punishment which

had so perceptibly paled as he saw the chance of replacing by his

unexpected winnings that which he had purloined, once more rose to

confront him. Again he saw before him the irascible employer, pointing

with relentless finger at the deficiency in the accounts, again he saw

his weeping mother, his stern father,--the disgrace, the irretrievable

past.

"You are not leaving off playing, Sir Michael?" he asked anxiously, as

the latter having handed him over a golden guinea, rose from the table

and without glancing at his late partners in the game, turned his back

on them all.

"Par Dieu!" he retorted, speaking roughly, and none too civilly over his

shoulder, "my pockets are empty.... Like Master Lambert here," he added

with an unmistakable sneer, "I find no pleasure in _this_ sort of game!"

"What do you mean?" queried Segrave hotly.

"Oh, nothing," rejoined the other dryly, "you need not heed my remark.

Are you not losing, too?"

"What does he mean?" said Lambert with a puzzled frown, instinctively

turning to his employer.

"Naught! naught! my good Lambert," replied Sir Marmaduke, dropping his

voice to a whisper. "Sir Michael Isherwood hath lost more than he can

afford and is somewhat choleric of temper, that is all."

"And in a little quiet game, my good young friend," added Endicott,

also in a whisper, "'tis wisest to take no heed of a loser's vapors."

"I pay ace only!" quoth Segrave triumphantly, who in the meanwhile had

continued the game.

Lord Walterton swore a loud and prolonged oath. He had staked five

guineas on a king and had lost.

"Ventre-saint-gris, and likewise par le sang-bleu!" he said, "the first

time I have had a king! Segrave, ye must leave me these few little

yellow toys, else I cannot pay for my lodgings to-night.... I'll give

you a bill ... but I've had enough of this, by Gad!"

And somewhat sobered, though still unsteady, he rose from the table.

"Surely, my lord, you are not leaving off, too?" asked Segrave.

"Nay! ... how can I continue?" He turned his breeches pockets

ostentatiously inside out. "Behold, friend, these two beautiful and

innocent little dears!"

"You can give me more bills ..." urged Segrave, "and you lose ... you

may not lose after this ... 'tis lucky to play on credit ... and ... and

your bills are always met, my lord ..."

He spoke with feverish volubility, though his throat was parched and

every word he uttered caused him pain. But he was determined that the

game should proceed.

He had won a little of his own back again the last few rounds.

Certainly his luck would turn once more. His luck _must_ turn once more,

or else ...

"Nay! nay! I've had enough," said Lord Walterton, nodding a heavy head

up and down, "there are too many of my bills about as it is.... I've had

enough."

"Methinks, of a truth," said Lambert decisively, "that the game has

indeed lasted long enough.... And if some other gentleman would but take

my place ..."

He made a movement as if to rise from the table, but was checked by a

harsh laugh and a peremptory word from Segrave.

"Impossible," said the latter, "you, Master Lambert, cannot leave off in

any case.... My lord ... another hand ..." he urged again.

"Nay! nay! my dear Segrave," replied Lord Walterton, shaking himself

like a sleepy dog, "the game hath ceased to have any pleasure for me, as

our young friend here hath remarked.... I wish you good luck ... and

good-night."

Whereupon he turned on his heel and straddled away to another corner of

the room, away from the temptation of that green-covered table.

"We two then, Master Lambert," said Segrave with ever-growing

excitement, "what say you? Double or quits?"

And he pointed, with that same febrile movement of his, to the heap of

gold standing on the table beside Lambert.

"As you please," replied the latter quietly, as he pushed the entire

pile forward.

Segrave dealt, then turned up his card.

"Ten!" he said curtly.

"Mine is a knave," rejoined Lambert.

"How do we stand?" queried the other, as with a rapid gesture he passed

a trembling hand over his burning forehead.

"Methinks you owe me a hundred pounds," replied Richard, who seemed

strangely calm in the very midst of this inexplicable and volcanic

turmoil which he felt was seething all round him. He had won a hundred

pounds--a fortune in those days for a country lad like himself; but for

the moment the thought of what that hundred pounds would mean to him and

to his brother Adam, was lost in the whirl of excitement which had risen

to his head like wine.

He had steadily refused the glasses of muscadel or sack which Mistress

Endicott had insinuatingly and persistently been offering him, ever

since he began to play; yet he felt intoxicated, with strange currents

of fire which seemed to run through his veins.

The subtle poison had done its work. Any remorse which he may have felt

at first, for thus acting against his own will and better judgment, and

for yielding like a weakling to persuasion, which had no moral rectitude

for basis, was momentarily smothered by the almost childish delight of

winning, of seeing the pile of gold growing in front of him. He had

never handled money before; it was like a fascinating yet insidious toy

which he could not help but finger.

"Are you not playing rather high, gentlemen?" came in dulcet tones from

Mistress Endicott; "I do not allow high play in my house. Master

Lambert, I would fain ask you to cease."

"I am more than ready, madam," said Richard with alacrity.

"Nay! but I am not ready," interposed Segrave vehemently. "Nay! nay!" he

repeated with feverish insistence, "Master Lambert cannot cease playing

now. He is bound in honor to give me a chance for revenge.... Double or

quits, Master Lambert! ... Double or quits?"

"As you please," quoth Lambert imperturbably.

"Ye cannot cut to each other," here interposed Endicott didactically.

"The rules of primero moreover demand that if there are but two players,

a third and disinterested party shall deal the cards."

"Then will you cut and deal, Master Endicott," said Segrave impatiently;

"I care not so long as I can break Master Lambert's luck and redeem mine

own.... Double or quits, Master Lambert.... Double or quits.... I shall

either owe you two hundred pounds or not one penny.... In which case we

can make a fresh start...."

Lambert eyed him with curiosity, sympathetically too, for the young man

was in a state of terrible mental agitation, whilst he himself felt

cooler than before.

Endicott dealt each of the two opponents a card face downwards, but even

as he did so, the one which he had dealt to Lambert fluttered to the

ground.

He stooped and picked it up.

Segrave's eyes at the moment were fixed on his own card, Lambert's on

the face of his opponent. No one else in the room was paying any

attention to the play of the two young men, for everyone was busy with

his own affairs. Play was general, the hour late. The wines had been

heady, and all tempers were at fever pitch.

No one, therefore, was watching Endicott's movements at the moment when

he ostensibly stooped to pick up the fallen card.

"It is not faced," he said, "what shall we do?"

"Give it to Master Lambert forsooth," quoth Mistress Endicott, "'tis

unlucky to re-deal ... providing," she added artfully, "that Master

Segrave hath no objection."

"Nay! nay!" said the latter. "Begad! why should we stop the game for a

trifle?"

Then as Lambert took the card from Endicott and casually glanced at it,

Segrave declared:

"Queen!"

"King!" retorted Lambert, with the same perfect calm. "King of diamonds

... that card has been persistently faithful to me to-night."

"The devil himself hath been faithful to you, Master Lambert ..." said

Segrave tonelessly, "you have the hell's own luck.... What do I pay you

now?"

"It was double or quits, Master Segrave," rejoined Lambert, "which

brings it up to two hundred pounds.... You will do me the justice to own

that I did not seek this game."

In his heart he had already resolved not to make use of his own

winnings. Somehow as in a flash of intuition he perceived the whole

tragedy of dishonor and of ruin which seemed to be writ on his

opponent's face. He understood that what he had regarded as a

toy--welcome no doubt, but treacherous for all that--was a matter of

life or death--nay! more mayhap to that pallid youth, with the hectic

flush, the unnaturally bright eyes and trembling hands.

There was silence for a while round the green-topped table, whilst

thoughts, feelings, presentiments of very varied kinds congregated

there. With Endicott and his wife, and also with Sir Marmaduke, it was

acute tension, the awful nerve strain of anticipation. The seconds for

them seemed an eternity, the obsession of waiting was like lead on their

brains.

During that moment of acute suspense Richard Lambert was quietly

co-ordinating his thoughts.

With that one mental flash-light which had shown up to him the hitherto

unsuspected tragedy, the latent excitement in him had vanished. He saw

his own weakness in its true light, despised himself for having yielded,

and looked upon the heap of gold before him as so much ill-gotten

wealth, which it would be a delight to restore to the hand from whence

it came.

He heartily pitied the young man before him, and was forming vague

projects of how best to make him understand in private and without

humiliation that the money which he had lost would be returned to him in

full. Strangely enough he was still holding in his hand that king of

diamonds which Endicott had dealt to him.

CHAPTER XIX

DISGRACE

Segrave, too, had been silent, of course. In his mind there was neither

suspense nor calm. It was utter, dull and blank despair which assailed

him, the ruin of his fondest hopes, an awful abyss of disgrace, of

punishment, of death at best, which seemed to yawn before him from the

other side of the baize-covered table.

Instinct--that ever-present instinct of self-control peculiar to the

gently-bred race of mankind--caused him to make frantic efforts to keep

himself and his nerves in check. He would--even at this moment of

complete ruin--have given the last shreds of his worldly possessions to

be able to steady the febrile movements of his hand.

The pack of cards was on the table, just as Endicott had put it down,

after dealing, with the exception of the queen of hearts in front of

Segrave and the lucky king of diamonds on which Lambert was still

mechanically gazing.

He was undoubtedly moved by the desire to hide the trembling of his

hands and the gathering tears in his eyes when he began idly to scatter

the pack upon the table, spreading out the cards, fingering them one by

one, setting his teeth the while lest that latent cry of misery should

force its way across his lips.

Suddenly he paused in this idle fingering of the cards. His eyes which

already were burning with hot tears, seemed to take on an almost savage

glitter. A hoarse cry escaped his parched lips.

"In the name of Heaven, Master Segrave, what ails you?" cried Endicott

with well-feigned concern.

Segrave's hand wandered mechanically to his own neck; he tugged at the

fastening of his lace collar, as if, in truth, he were choking.

"The king.... The king of diamonds," he murmured in a hollow voice. "Two

... two kings of diamonds...."

He laughed, a long, harsh laugh, the laugh of a maniac, or of a man

possessed, whilst one long thin finger pointed tremblingly to the card

still held by Richard Lambert, and then to its counterpart in the midst

of the scattered pack.

That laugh seemed to echo all round the room. Dames and cavaliers,

players and idlers, looked up to see whence that weird sound had come.

Instinctively the crowd drew nigh, dice and cards were pushed aside.

Some strange drama was being enacted between two young men, more

interesting even than the caprices of Fortune.

But already Endicott and also Sir Marmaduke de Chavasse had followed the

beckonings of Segrave's feverish hand.

There could be no mistake in what they saw nor yet in the ominous

consequences which it foretold. There was a king of diamonds in the

scattered pack of cards upon the table, and yet the card which Lambert

held, in consequence of which he had just won two hundred pounds, was

also the king of diamonds.

"Two kings of diamonds ... by all that's damnable!" quoth Lord

Walterton, who had been the first to draw nigh.

"But in Heaven's name, what does it all mean?" exclaimed Lambert, gazing

at the two cards, hearing the comments round him, yet utterly unable to

understand.

Segrave jumped to his feet.

"It means, young man," he ejaculated in a wild state of frenzy, maddened

by his losses, his former crime, his present ruin, "it means that you

are a damned thief."

And with frantic, excited gesture he gathered up the cards and threw

them violently into Richard Lambert's face.

A curious sound went round the room--a gasp, hardly a cry--and all those

present held their breath, silent, appalled at the terrible tragedy

expressed by these two young men standing face to face on the brink of a

deathly and almost blasphemous conflict.

Mistress Endicott was the first to utter a cry.

"Silence! silence!" she shouted shrilly. "Master Segrave, I adjure you

to be silent.... I'll not permit you to insult my guest."

Already Lambert had made a quick movement to throw himself on Segrave.

The elemental instinct of self-defense, of avenging a terrible insult by

physical violence, rose within him, whispering of strength and power, of

the freedom, muscle-giving life of the country as against the

enervating, weakening influence of the town.

He knew that in a hand-to-hand struggle with the feverish, emaciated

townsman, he, the country-bred lad, the haunter of woods and cliffs, the

dweller of the Thanet smithy, would be more than a match for his

opponent. But even as his whole body stiffened for a spring, his muscles

tightened and his fists clenched, a dozen restraining hands held him

back from his purpose, whilst Mistress Endicott's shrill tones seemed to

bring him back to the realities of his own peril.

"Mistress Endicott," he said, turning a proud, yet imploring look to the

lady whose virtues had been so loudly proclaimed in his ears, "Madam, I

appeal to you ... I implore you to listen ... a frightful insult which

you have witnessed ... an awful accusation on which I scarce can trust

myself to dwell has been hurled at me.... I entreat you to allow me to

challenge these two gentlemen to explain."

And he pointed both to Segrave and to Endicott, The former, after his

mad outburst of ungovernable rage, had regained a certain measure of

calm. He stood, facing Lambert, with arms folded across his chest,

whilst a smile of insulting irony curled his thin lips.

Endicott's eyes seemed to be riveted on Lambert's breast.

At mention of his own name, he suddenly darted forward, and seemed to be

plunging his hand--the hand which almost disappeared within the ample

folds of the voluminous lace cuff--into the breast pocket of the young

man's doublet.

His movements were so quick, so sure and so unexpected that no

one--least of all Lambert--could possibly guess what was his purpose.

The next moment--less than a second later--he had again withdrawn his

hand, but now everyone could see that he held a few cards in it. These

he dropped with an exclamation of loathing and contempt upon the table,

whilst those around, instinctively drew back a step or two as if fearful

of coming in contact with something impure and terrible.

Endicott's movements, his quick gestures, well aided by the wide lace

cuffs which fell over his hand, his exclamation of contempt, had all

contributed to make it seem before the spectators as if he had found a

few winning cards secreted inside the lining of Richard Lambert's

doublet.

"Nay! young sir," he said with an evil sneer, "meseems that explanations

had best come from you. Here," he added, pointing significantly at the

cards which he had just dropped out of his own hand, "here is a vastly

pleasing collection ... aces and kings ... passing serviceable in a

quiet game of primero among friends."

Lambert had been momentarily dumfounded, for undoubtedly he had not

perceived Endicott's treacherous movements, and had absolutely no idea

whence had come those awful cards which somehow or other seemed to be

convicting him of lying and cheating: so conscious was he of his own

innocence, that never for a moment did the slightest fear cross his mind

that he could not immediately make clear his own position, and proclaim

his own integrity.

"This is an infamous plot," he said calmly, but very firmly. "Sir

Marmaduke de Chavasse," he added, turning to face his employer, who

still stood motionless and silent in the background, "in the name of

Heaven I beg of you to explain to these gentlemen that you have known me

from boyhood. Will you speak?" he added insistently, conscious of a

strange tightening of his heartstrings as the man on whom he relied,

remained impassive and made no movement to come to his help. "Will you

tell them, I pray you, sir, that you know me to be a man of honor,

incapable of such villainy as they suggest? ... You know that I did not

even wish to play ..."

"That reluctance of yours, my good Lambert, seems to have been a pretty

comedy forsooth," replied Sir Marmaduke lightly, "and you played to some

purpose, meseems, when you once began.... Nay! I pray you," he added

with unmitigated harshness, "do not drag me into your quarrels.... I

cannot of a truth champion your virtue."

Lambert's cheeks became deathly pale. The first inkling of the deadly

peril of his own situation had suddenly come to him with Sir Marmaduke's

callous words. It seemed to him as if the very universe must stand still

in the face of such treachery. The man whom he loved with all the fervor

of a grateful nature, the man who knew him and whom he had wholly

trusted, was proving his most bitter, most damning enemy.

After Sir Marmaduke's speech, his own employer's repudiation, he felt

that all his chances of clearing his character before these sneering

gentlemen had suddenly vanished.

"This is cruel, and infamous," he protested, conscious innocence within

him still striving to fight a hard battle against overwhelming odds.

"Gentlemen! ... as I am a man of honor, I swear that I do not know what

all this means!"

"It means, young man, that you are an accursed cheat ... a thief ... a

liar!" shouted Segrave, whose last vestige of self-control suddenly

vanished, whilst mad frenzy once more held him in its grip. "I swear by

God that you shall pay me for this!"

He threw himself with all the strength of a raving maniac upon Lambert,

who for the moment was taken unawares, and yielded to the suddenness of

the onslaught. But it was indeed a conflict 'twixt town and country,

the simple life against nightly dissipations, the forests and cliffs of

Thanet against the enervating atmosphere of the city.

After that first onrush, Lambert, with marvelous agility and quick

knowledge of a hand-to-hand fight, had shaken himself free of his

opponent's trembling grasp. It was his turn now to have the upper hand,

and in a trice he had, with a vigorous clutch, gripped his opponent by

the throat.

In a sense, his calmness had not forsaken him, his mind was as quiet, as

clear as heretofore; it was only his muscle--his bodily energy in the

face of a violent and undeserved attack--which had ceased to be under

his control.

"Man! man!" he murmured, gazing steadily into the eyes of his

antagonist, "ye shall swallow those words--or by Heaven I will kill

you!"

The tumult which ensued drowned everything save itself ... everything,

even the sound of that slow and measured tramp, tramp, tramp, which was

wafted up from the street.

The women shouted, the men swore. Some ran like frightened sheep to the

distant corners of the room, fearful lest they be embroiled in this

unpleasant fracas ... others crowded round Segrave and Lambert, trying

to pacify them, to drag the strong youth away from his weaker

opponent--almost his victim now.

Some were for forcibly separating them, others for allowing them to

fight their own battles and loud-voiced arguments, subsidiary quarrels,

mingled with the shrill cries of terror and caused a din which grew in

deafening intensity, degenerating into a wild orgy as glasses were

knocked off the tables, cards strewn about, candles sent flying and

spluttering upon the ground.

And still that measured tramp down the street, growing louder, more

distinct, a muffled "Halt!" the sound of arms, of men moving about

beneath that yawning archway and along the dark and dismal passage with

its hermetically closed front door.

CHAPTER XX

MY LORD PROTECTOR'S PATROL

Alone, Sir Marmaduke de Chavasse had taken no part in the confused

turmoil which raged around the personalities of Segrave and Richard

Lambert. From the moment that he had--with studied callousness--turned

his back on his erstwhile protégé he had held aloof from the crowd which

had congregated around the two young men.

He saw before him the complete success of his nefarious plan, which had

originated in the active brain of Editha, but had been perfected in his

own--of heaping dire and lasting disgrace on the man who had become

troublesome and interfering of late, who was a serious danger to his

more important schemes.

After the fracas of this night Richard Lambert forsooth could never show

his face within two hundred miles of London, the ugly story of his

having cheated at cards and been publicly branded as a liar and a thief

by a party of gentlemen would of a surety penetrate even within the

fastnesses of Thanet.

So far everything was for the best, nay, it might be better still, for

Segrave enraged and maddened at his losses, might succeed in getting

Lambert imprisoned for stealing, and cheating, even at the cost of his

own condemnation to a fine for gambling.

The Endicotts had done their part well. The man especially, with his

wide cuffs and his quick movements. No one there present could have the

slightest doubt but that Lambert was guilty. Satisfied, therefore, that

all had gone according to his own wishes, Sir Marmaduke withdrew from

further conflict or argument with the unfortunate young man, whom he had

so deliberately and so hopelessly ruined.

And because he thus kept aloof, his ears were not so completely filled

with the din, nor his mind so wholly engrossed by the hand-to-hand

struggle between the two young men, that he did not perceive that other

sound, which, in spite of barred windows and drawn curtains, came up

from the street below.

At first he had only listened carelessly to the measured tramp. But the

cry of "Halt!" issuing from immediately beneath the windows caused his

cheeks to blanch and his muscles to stiffen with a sudden sense of fear.