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HARD PRESSED
BY
FRED M. WHITE
AUTHOR OF
"THE CRIMSON BLIND"
"THE CORNER HOUSE"
"THE YELLOW FACE"
ETC., ETC.
NEW YORK
R. F. FENNO & COMPANY
18 EAST 17th STREET
WARD, LOCK & CO., LONDON
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
I A MODERN SPORTSMAN 11
II AN UNEXPECTED MEETING 18
III A LIVING FORTUNE 25
IV A GREAT TEMPTATION 32
V THE SHADOW OF DOUBT 39
VI A TRIAL SPIN ON THE DOWNS 47
VII A LEAF FROM THE PAST 54
VIII ROGUES IN COUNCIL 62
IX IN THE TOILS 70
X CONFESSION 78
XI ON THE EDGE 86
XII A LION IN THE PATH 94
XIII "AN OFFICER AND A GENTLEMAN" 102
XIV THE POST CLUB 110
XV JOLLY & CO. 117
XVI THE NOOK 124
XVII A FAIR DAY'S SPORT 132
XVIII AN EVENING VISIT 139
XIX THE EMPTY HOUSE 146
XX INSIDE 153
XXI THE EAVESDROPPERS 160
XXII A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 167
XXIII A CHANGE OF AIR 174
XXIV A STRANGE VISITOR 181
XXV THE DERELICT 188
XXVI A SECOND TRIAL 195
XXVII DRIVING IT HOME 202
XXVIII HONOUR BRIGHT 209
XXIX ACTING THE FRIEND 216
XXX AN ULTIMATUM 223
XXXI A POINT-BLANK REFUSAL 230
XXXII AN EASY FALL 238
XXXIII THE FIVE BASKETS 246
XXXIV NO. 5 253
XXXV A POISONOUS ATMOSPHERE 260
XXXVI FIELDEN INTERVENES 268
XXXVII BETWEEN TWO FIRES 276
XXXVIII LOOSENING THE GRIP 283
XXXIX A DRAMATIC EXIT 291
XL CAUGHT! 298
XLI HOME AGAIN 305
XLII FIRST PAST THE POST 312
CHAPTER I
A MODERN SPORTSMAN
It was a gala night at the National Opera House, and the theatre was
crammed from floor to roof, for Melba was sustaining a new part, and all
London had gathered to listen. It was rarely indeed that so fashionable
an audience assembled in February. The boxes were ablaze with diamonds.
On the grand tier, however, there was one box which was not filled with
gaily garbed women and which attracted attention by the fact that its
sole occupants were a girl and two men. Though she was quietly dressed
and wore no ornaments except flowers, nevertheless a good many women
envied May Haredale; for the box belonged to Raymond Copley, who was
quite the last thing in the way of South African millionaires. He was a
youngish, smart-looking Englishman of the florid type, was becoming
known as a sportsman and, according to all accounts, was fabulously
rich. He was supposed to have discovered diamonds in Rhodesia, a stroke
of fortune which put him in a position, it was alleged, practically, to
dictate terms to the De Beers Company, and those "in the know" in the
City declared he had come out of a negotiation for amalgamation with two
millions of money in his pocket.
Be that as it may, he had purchased a fine old estate within twenty
miles of London, and lavished large sums upon his racing stud, and
people began to court his acquaintance. He was on very friendly terms
with his near neighbour, Sir George Haredale, of Haredale Park, which
accounted for the fact that the Baronet and his only daughter were
availing themselves of Copley's hospitality that evening.
May Haredale ought to have been enjoying herself. She did not have many
opportunities for pleasures of this kind, for, sooth to say, Sir George
Haredale was a poor man. He had a constant struggle to keep up
appearances, and most of his friends wondered how he managed to pay the
expenses of his racing stable. But the Haredales had been kings of the
turf for a hundred years or more, and Sir George clung desperately to
this last vestige of the family greatness. The whole estate was going to
rack and ruin, the gardens and grounds were neglected, the
conservatories were empty, the carpets and old furniture were faded and
worn. But the stables left nothing to be desired. How near they were to
the verge of collapse only Sir George himself knew.
He had few rich and influential friends. He did not care for moneyed
men, as a rule, and so the old county families were surprised to see the
intimacy that had grown up between him and Raymond Copley. They
professed not to understand it, but one or two shrewd observers declared
that May Haredale was at the bottom of it, and that Copley was over head
and ears in love with the girl.
It would have been strange were it otherwise. She was just the sort of
girl to attract a man like Copley. She was tall, well formed and
exceedingly pretty, though cold and haughty at the mere suggestion of a
liberty.
What she thought of Copley she had never been heard to say. She had not
many friends in her own circle. She was perfectly happy and contented so
long as she had a good horse and the promise of a day with the hounds.
Most people deemed her rather distant and reserved, but a few hinted
that May Haredale could be chummy enough when she chose. Others,
however, had noticed a great change in the girl during the past two
years. There was a time when she had been one of the merriest madcaps,
and then, all at once, she seemed to grow up and become staid and
dignified. And it was not altogether the weight of family trouble which
bore her down, for, as a matter of fact, she had no idea how desperate
Sir George's fortunes were.
She appeared on friendly terms with Copley, but, though for the past
twelve months he had been a familiar visitor at Haredale Park, he did
not think that he was making much progress in her good graces. Clever as
he was, the girl managed to keep him at a distance without wounding his
pride, and as time went on he found himself more and more infatuated
with May Haredale.
He belonged to the class of man who never counts the cost of anything
and is ready to go any lengths in the pursuit of a fancy. He thought he
had been extremely patient, and told himself earlier in the evening that
before the week was out things would have to be settled one way or the
other. And he was not without weapons, either. Sir George could have
unfolded a tale in that respect had he chosen to do so. The Baronet was
proud, but there are times when pride has to take a second place, and
such a crisis in his affairs had arrived. May would have been surprised
to learn that Copley could at any moment sell the old home over their
heads and turn them out to shift as best they might.
She sat with her face on her hand, looking at the stage, but she was not
listening to Melba's marvellous voice. Her mind had gone back to a
somewhat similar scene two years ago when she was last in the same opera
house. How different things had seemed then! How much happier she had
been in those days! She roused herself presently to find that Copley was
addressing her.
"Oh, I beg pardon," she said. "I suppose the singing carried me away.
What were you saying?"
Copley uttered something appropriate. There was a hard look in his eyes
as he took in the details of May's fresh beauty. She was just the wife
for him. She had a fine appearance and good breeding and would take him
into certain houses the _entree_ of which had as yet been denied him.
They were going on afterwards to supper at the Carlton, and before he
slept that night Copley would know his fate; indeed, he knew it already.
He had a kind of instinct that May disliked him. But that, after all,
was a small matter. When she learned the truth there would be no
alternative. That her dislike might turn into hatred mattered nothing to
Copley. He bent down already with an air of possession which brought a
faint flush into May's cheeks. She was feeling rebellious.
"You are enjoying it?" he asked.
"Oh, yes. I should be a strange creature if I didn't. I have so few
treats like this."
"Isn't that your own fault?" Copley returned. "Surely, you must know
that if you only liked to say the word----"
A sudden outburst of applause drowned the rest of his speech, but to all
intents May heard everything that he had to say. She blamed herself that
she had not shown this man earlier that her feelings towards him were
merely conventional. And now she would have to make up her mind one way
or the other. Copley stood with a smile upon his face, evidently very
sure of his ground. A longing to get away, to be alone with herself,
came over May Haredale. In a way she was grateful to Copley for saying
no more. She was glad when the performance was over and they began to
move towards the stairs. Here a stranger bustled up and touched Copley
on the arm. As he turned to the intruder his face changed. May thought
he looked almost alarmed, but it was a trifle and she only noticed it
vaguely. The recollection was to come back to her later.
"One moment, Sir George," Copley said. "Would you mind waiting for me in
the vestibule? It is a little business affair which won't detain me five
minutes."
Sir George passed on with his daughter, leaving the two men together.
Copley turned sharply round upon his companion.
"Now what is it?" he asked curtly.
"Oh, I thought you would like to know," the other said. "I only got back
last night. The first man I met this morning in the City was Aaron
Phillips."
"You don't mean that," Copley exclaimed.
"I do, indeed. It is a thousand pities I haven't managed to find you
before to-day. I have been chasing you from place to place in the most
maddening fashion. However, Phillips is here, and so I thought I would
come and warn you. No, no, I have made no mistake."
"But the thing is impossible, Foster. You know as well as I do that
Phillips was killed----"
"Well, so we imagined. Anyway, the beggar's back again, and there's no
getting away from it. And if he is allowed to talk, and we don't square
him----"
"Square him! Why, it would cost half a million!"
"Well, suppose it does. Won't it be cheap at the price? Wouldn't it be
better for us to plank that money down than be standing in--but you know
what I mean. It's a most infernal piece of ill luck, but, after all,
your position is by no means a bad one. You go everywhere, you are
eagerly sought after. Besides, who is to know whether you are a
millionaire or a pauper? You've got the reputation of being a rich man,
and with brains like yours----"
"I can't stop now," Copley said hurriedly. "I have some people supping
with me at the Carlton, and it is impossible to put them off."
The other man grinned.
"I understand," he said. "I guessed who the lady was. I'll come round to
your rooms at half-past twelve or a quarter to one, and then we can talk
the thing over quietly. You can see for yourself that the matter won't
keep."