“Simon, I’m up against it.”
The man braced himself. The time was not yet.
“Hush, my lady. Let’s talk about something else.”
“Listen. You don’t understand. It’s—it’s not what you think, Simon.”
The man looked at her sharply. “I’m in the most awful trouble. I’m—I’m
being blackmailed.”
“Blackmailed?”
The girl slid a letter into his hand.
“Read that,” she said. “Sit down here and read it. And then come and
find me again. I’ll be in front of the weighing-room.”
Simon lifted his hat and turned away.
Mechanically he took a few steps: then he sat down on a seat and tilted
his hat over his eyes.
_12, Clock Lane,_
_Crutched Friars._
_July 29th._
_DEAR MISS BOHUN_,
_The object of my visit to Castle Breathless two evenings ago
was, as our valuable Press has rightly surmised, to obtain
possession of your pearls. That I failed was not my fault. My
arrangements were perfect, but the car bringing three of my men
broke down on the way, so that two had to try to perform the
duties of five. It seems I might still have succeeded if I had
used my eyes. Indeed, that the rope was awaiting collection
would be a disturbing thought, but for my foresight in taking
with me the letter which lay in the drawer which I had time to
force. You remember. The one addressed to Mr. Beaulieu._
_I think you would like this back. At least, I do not think you
would like it to go to Mr. Persimmon. You may have it for ten
thousand pounds._
_If the money is not paid on or before the seventh of August,
upon August the ninth the original will be received by Mr.
Persimmon and copies by your aunt and uncle and twenty of your
intimate friends._
_Just three points more._
_If you call in the Law or seek to avoid my conditions the
several communications will be dispatched at once._
_Secondly, overtures are useless. I will not extend the time,
nor will I accept one penny less than ten thousand pounds in
Bank of England notes._
_Thirdly, I will deal with you or Mr. Beaulieu, but no one else.
His production of this note will accredit him: and his
production of the ten thousand pounds will bring him a letter
which I am sure he will value, as well as twenty-two typed
copies, which, if he pleases, I will burn before his eyes._
_I shall be at the above address daily from eleven a.m. until
noon._
_Yours faithfully_,
_THE MASTER_.
_Miss Patricia Bohun,_
_Castle Breathless,_
_Surrey._
Simon put the letter into a breast-pocket and returned to Patricia like
a man in a trance.
His brain was trying to cope with too much for a brain to control.
Dreams, hopes, mountainous fears—the powers of light and darkness
fought like mad to be considered.
The runners were going down, for the Stewards’ Cup.
Simon watched them dazedly.
Grey Ruby was moving well.
“Let’s go to the Lyvedens’ box,” said Simon Beaulieu. “They won’t be
there, and I want to see this race.”
Patricia shot him a glance.