THE NOOK
On second thoughts, Phillips deemed it more prudent to remain in town
overnight. There would be no difficulty in reaching Mirst Park to-morrow
in time to open his campaign. Besides, when he came to think it over
there were a good many things yet to be done. He ate his modest dinner
in his modest lodgings and then sat down over a cigarette to think out
the result of his day's work. The more he cogitated the more satisfied
he was with his rate of progress.
He had got past the age when a man burns for revenge and that sort of
thing. He infinitely preferred to make Copley smart and put money in his
own pocket at the same time. As for his diamond-mining adventure, he
expected to hear no more of that. He had been robbed of his precious
plans and had no hopes of seeing his missing portmanteau again, but,
like a prudent man, he was not inclined to cry over spilt milk.
He had thought it all out before morning, and shortly after ten o'clock
set out to call upon Major Carden again. To his surprise he found that
the Major had already breakfasted and was making preparations for going
out. A big fur coat was carelessly thrown across an arm-chair, and
Phillips smiled when he saw it. Probably the Major had struck a
prosperous line. Possibly some of the ten-pound note had been laid out
at an adjacent pawnbroker's.
"I didn't expect to see you this morning," the Major said genially.
"Most infernally cold, isn't it? Looks like snow, too. Still, one must
take the rough with the smooth when one goes racing."
"So you are going racing?"
"Well, I had thought of it. I don't often get the chance of treating
myself, and my idea was to run down to Mirst Park this afternoon. You're
going, aren't you?"
"Oh, yes, I am going down on business. But I wanted you to stay in town
and do a little commission for me."
The Major's florid face fell.
"That is very awkward," he muttered. "You see, I promised to take my
daughter with me. She is fonder of that kind of thing than I am, and the
poor child seldom has an outing. In the old days of my prosperity Alice
had her own horse, and deuced good across country she was. Can't you
manage to put it off till to-morrow, Phillips? I shall be greatly
obliged if you can."
Phillips reflected for a moment.
"Very well," he said. "I daresay it can be managed. I will see you on
the course this afternoon and let you know what my address is. If you
are discreet and cautious over this little matter there is a fair sum of
money in it for you. You can drop me a note to-night, because there is
no pressing hurry, and you can get the information this evening or early
to-morrow. What you have to do is to go round to the Post Club and find
out all the heavy bets which were made there with Selwyn in connexion
with to-day's racing at Mirst Park. You must let me know with whom the
bets were made and who made them. I think that is all. But I shall see
you on the course later, and if anything crops up in the meantime I
shall let you know."
There was nothing to prevent Phillips from making his way to Mirst Park.
Half an hour later he took train from Waterloo and, arrived at his
destination, proceeded to look out for lodgings. He had his own reasons
for preferring rooms to an hotel. He needed to keep himself as quiet as
possible. This matter satisfactorily settled, he turned his steps to the
course, which was as yet practically deserted. There was little to
indicate that a race meeting was in progress, excepting the shows and
roundabouts and booths outside the stands and paddocks. There were the
usual loafers picnicking on the grass, the usual litter of torn
betting-tickets and papers scattered far and wide. Phillips passed
along, looking eagerly about him. He wanted somebody who could give him
certain information. He stood on the centre of the course, some four or
five hundred yards from the ring. He appeared to be admiring the
landscape, which was pleasant enough under the brilliant sunshine,
though this was interspersed now and then by ominous-looking clouds
which seemed to threaten snow later.
As most people know, Mirst Park course is situated in a kind of theatre,
with rising ground behind the stands, so that it is possible for
everybody to obtain a perfect view of a race from start to finish.
Peeping out of the trees here and there were a few good-class houses,
one of which, standing higher than the rest, towered over the top of the
grand stand. There was the suggestion of a smile on Phillips' face as he
adjusted his racing-glasses and made a close inspection of the house in
question. He could see that it possessed a flat roof with a parapet
around it. Phillips was still intent upon his examination when a
policeman with a fine air of detachment strolled by.
"The best natural course I have ever seen," Phillips said with
enthusiasm. "Have you got many like this in these parts, officer?"
"Not that I know of," the policeman said. "I suppose you have never been
here before."
"I am from South Africa," Phillips said. "We've got nothing like this
out there. I should like to have one of those houses yonder. It must be
nice to sit in your own house and be able to watch all the races,
especially in weather like this. Now there's that place at the back of
the stand. I suppose you know who that belongs to. Some man with money,
I expect?"
"I can't tell you, sir," the policeman replied. "I've lived here most of
my life, but that house yonder has been empty for a long time. I
understood it was taken by some Colonial gentleman last autumn, but I
don't think he has been in it yet. Of course, I don't know for certain,
because my beat is on the other side of the Common, and I am only on
duty here on race days."
"Just so. What is the name of the house?"
"Let me see," the policeman said, reflectively. "Oh, I know. I think
they call it The Nook."
The officer passed on, and Phillips replaced the racing-glasses in their
case. Fortune was still on his side. He made his way through the woods
up into the road which ran in front of the houses, and came at length to
a pair of iron gates with the name of the house, The Nook, painted on
them in gilt letters. The place appeared to be fairly well looked after.
The paths were trim, but, so far as Phillips could see, there was little
traffic through the gates and no sign whatever of wheels, either of cabs
or motors. Peering through the shrubs, he noticed that the windows were
fitted with curtains and blinds as if the house were inhabited. There
was, perhaps, some risk in what Phillips was about to do, but he was
prepared to take the consequences. He walked briskly up the drive until
he came in front of the house. Most of the blinds were up. He saw
evidences of refinement and luxury in the blinds and curtains, though it
struck him as rather significant that the gardens had not had much
attention bestowed upon them. Phillips hesitated before ringing the
bell. It was an old-fashioned bell, with a drop-handle, and he could
hear it clanging through the house with a hollow sound which suggested
emptiness. As he expected, no reply came, though he rang two or three
times. It was impossible for any one to see into the living-rooms, for
the house was built upon a slope and the front door was approached by a
flight of steps. Just as Phillips was turning away a man emerged from
behind a belt of shrubs, followed by a truculent-looking bull-terrier.
He looked like a gardener, though there was in his appearance that
faint, intangible something which suggested a close familiarity with the
turf. He eyed Phillips sourly and suspiciously, and none too politely
requested to know his business.
"Are you employed here?" Phillips asked.
"Yes, I am," the man growled. "I am the gardener. And there's no one at
home, if you want to know."
Phillips' assumption of annoyance was artistic. He turned away
impatiently.
"Then Mr. Ronaldson is not here now?" he asked.
"Never heard the name," the gardener responded.
"But he used to live here. I knew him well in South Africa. He gave me
his address two years ago and asked me to look him up if ever I came to
England. I suppose he has gone somewhere else then. Do you happen to
know the name?"
"No, I don't," the gardener said sulkily. "We've only been here a few
months, and my master hasn't come into the house yet. He's a stranger,
too. You had better make inquiries in the village."
Phillips expressed his thanks. He had found out pretty well all he
wanted to know, and felt that if this repellent person had entertained
any suspicions they were lulled to sleep by this time. He stood
examining the repulsive-looking bull-terrier. He alluded to the animal's
points approvingly. He spoke, too, as a man who knew what he was talking
about. One or two remarks elicited the assent of the gruff gardener, who
smiled slightly.
"Yes, he's a good dog," he said. "And capital in the house."
"Keeps the burglars away," Phillips laughed.
"Oh, I daresay he would if I left him here. But I don't live on the
premises. I only look round to see that things are all right. I believe
the servants are coming in next week."
"But why not have a caretaker?" Phillips asked.
"Oh, there's no occasion for that. They're more trouble than they're
worth."
Phillips nodded and walked leisurely away.