CHAPTER III.
A Woman comes to the Rescue.
While Sir Hew Mainfly and Billy Platt were plotting the ruin of Ivan Moordown, the fair Duchess of Wincastle was busy arranging her house for a grand ball to be given that evening. All the county magnates had accepted, and amongst the "contents" were her Grace's two reputed suitors, Sir Hew Mainfly and Mr. Moordown, so it will be perceived that there were other interests linked with the winning of the new prize instituted by the duchess, which did not at first meet the eye.
Rumour alleged that of her two lovers the duchess preferred Moordown, but that the reckless life he led prevented her giving him any encouragement. As has been already seen, the two men are very dissimilar in character—the one resembling a lion, and Sir Hew more of a tiger.
The duchess herself had been a Blanche Wintour, the daughter of a wealthy commoner. She had been and was still a great beauty, and the earl duke married her not because he cared for her, but to spite his brother and please his other relations, and secure an heir to the title and estates. A baby came, but, unfortunately, it was a girl, and the earl, thinking himself shamefully ill-used, went off in a hot temper to the North Pole, where he caught a severe cold, which, settling on his lungs, ultimately led to his death. Her first marriage had been entirely one of convenience, but in selecting a second husband the duchess was at liberty to be guided by her heart.
All the guests at the ball were more or less interested in the Silver Gauntlet, and the chances of the various candidates were freely discussed. Other ladies besides the duchess had lovers going to take part in the race.
From the commencement of the betting till that night Mr. Moordown's horse had been the favourite, followed a point or two off by Sir Hew Mainfly's Springtrap, and Lord Piershore's Eye of Night, but no sooner had the dancing begun, when it was whispered about that there was something wrong with Highdrift.
One man had seen Billy Platt lay six ponies, and offer to go on; a second was told that the horse was actually scratched on account of an accident to his fetlock joint, and a third had heard that the retrograde movement in the betting was only got up for the easier working of a large commission.
On approaching a knot of these gossips, the question was put point blank to Moordown whether there was anything the matter with his horse, and his answer was reassuring enough.
"When I left him a few minutes ago," he said, "he was as well as any horse in England."
Still there were men who shook their heads, believing that where the smoke is the fire is not far distant, and they noticed that Moordown looked terribly dejected and ill at ease.
Later in the night it became generally known that Platt had finished Highdrift's business for him by offering 10 to 1 as often as anyone would take it, and everyone concluded the horse would not run.
Disquieting rumours about the favourite had reached the duchess from time to time, but she could not ask Moordown for an explanation, as he kept out of her circle. When, however, she overheard this remark, "They say Moordown is hard up, and has given a laying commission to Billy Platt," she went in search of him. She found him leaning against a pillar at the entrance to the conservatory.
"Truant," she exclaimed, with an enchanting smile, and striking him a smart blow on the shoulder with her fan. "Why have you deserted me?"
"I was not vain enough to think I would be missed."
"You were in error. I have come in quest of you."
"I wish I could believe that, flatterer."
"You may; it is the truth. I was really anxious about you. Now tell me everything. What is the matter with Highdrift?"
"Nothing whatever; the horse was never better."
"Then what means these scandalous reports?"
"All I can say is that I don't originate them."
"But why is it, Moordown, certain low bookmakers are offering such long prices against Highdrift, and openly boasting that he is as good as dead for the race to-morrow?"
There was no reply.
"You must answer me," putting her hand on his arm. "This concerns your honour."
"I cannot tell you."
"But you must," stamping her little foot, "Is it money?"
"If you must know, it is. I have had a run of bad luck, and am in difficulties, and the scoundrels plot to drag my name in the gutter. I cannot remain to be disgraced. If I never see you again, Blanche, think as kindly of me as you can."
"Nonsense; that is not like you. You will stop and face the difficulties when I tell you. I cannot remain any longer from my guests, but promise to see me in the morning at ten punctually; and, remember, if Highdrift does not win to-morrow you are to expect no more flowers from me," and she gave him a rose out of her magnificent bouquet.
Moordown did not feel so depressed after this interview.
Next morning the word went round that Highdrift had passed a bad night. Anyone seeing the clear eye and glossy coat of that horse as he stood in his loose box would, perhaps, have formed a different opinion.
Outside the Black Bull Billy Platt and his chums were early at work to earn a few more sovereigns out of the "dead 'un." Nobody could understand the determined hostility displayed against the quondam favourite, as he was known to be all right, and people began to look suspiciously at and talk in a way the reverse of complimentary about Moordown. As the town clock struck ten the betting on the Silver Gauntlet stood thus:—
6 to 4 agst Sir Hew Mainfly's Springtrap (taken).
5—2—Lord Piershore's Eye of Night (taken).
5—1—Col. Heapland's Idol (taken and offered.)
8—1—Capt. Moretown's Conqueror (t. freely).
12—1—Mr. Moordown's Highdrift (offered).
As some of the largest bookmakers from London and the provinces were present the betting was extensive, and any particular horse could easily be backed to win a few thousands.
Platt had been fortunate enough to find another creditor of Moordown's, and the two "pals" were working together. Up to eleven o'clock there was no change of any moment in the betting, but at that hour Billy and his chum were startled out of their false security by a Captain Wardlock readily accepting all the long prices proffered against Highdrift. The captain booked all the money he could get at 12, 10, and 8 to 1, and, to Billy Platt's utter amazement, he closed with his offer of six hundreds. He was also prepared was the captain to take slight odds that Highdrift beat Springtrap wherever they finished.
This unlooked-for movement was a crushing blow to Platt, and quite knocked him out of time; and he retired with his friend to the hotel, to see how he stood and discuss the altered position of affairs. They had scarcely sat down before Sir Hew Mainfly joined them, consternation visibly written on his face.
"Has he paid you?" he asked Platt before he had well got into the room.
"Not a sixpence, and here is another creditor who is acting with me. The documents are ready for the stewards."
"Then what the devil means this reaction in the betting?"
"I have not the least idea, Sir Hew. Who is Captain Wardlock?"
"An intimate friends of Moordown's, and a dangerous man. He is not working in the dark."
At this instant there was a loud knock at the door, and, to the no small surprise of the three conspirators, Moordown entered the room.
"In good company, Sir Hew," said Moordown sarcastically.
"Like you, I have some business with Platt."
"Mine won't take a minute." (Turning to Platt and throwing down a bundle of notes on the table.) "You and your confederates are baffled this time. There is your money."
"If I had not been so short, Mr. Moordown, I would not have troubled you. No inconvenience I hope."
"If you ever presume to speak to me again, you know from last night what to expect."
"As you are settling with everybody, Mr. Moordown, you may as well pay me my small claim," said Platt's friend.
"Certainly. How much is it?"
"Only £145."
"There. Now, Sir Hew, you will be able to resume the business which I am sorry to have interrupted," said Moordown, as he left the room.
"Good morning, Mr. Moordown, we will meet on the course," replied Sir Hew, who little knew that ere the sun set he would be lying where he was now sitting—a dead man.