CHAPTER XITEARAWAY AND OTHERSTHERE was no occasion for Picton to travel to Bridlington. Captain Ben arrived next day and was very pleased to see him."He's much better," said Ben; "making a wonderful recovery. He's quite sane, remembers everything, but his health is terribly shattered and a long rest on theSea-mewwill do him a world of good. He has no desire to come to Haverton, or to leave the yacht; he thinks he is safer where he is, and he is right. There was no need to caution him to be careful, he knows what it means for all of us if there is the slightest suspicion about theSea-mew. Glovey will attend to him, so will Mac, and the crew to a man have sworn to keep everything secret. Don't worry yourself about it, Picton; it will do no good; and I will return in a week or so to see how he is going on.""Mrs. Yeoman knows," said Picton."She can be trusted, and it is better she should; it will prepare her for his coming," said Ben.It was no use worrying, as Ben said, and as Brant Blackett was anxious to put the horses through the mill, several trials took place on the moor.Tearaway proved herself a veritable flyer; she easily disposed of the lot pitted against her, and fully bore out the trainer's opinion of her, that she was as fast as the wind. She was a beautiful mare, black as coal, not a white speck on her, and stood sixteen hands high. No fault could be found with her; she was sound in her wind and limb, possessed terrific speed and was also a stayer. Blackett idolized her; he was desperately cut up that she had not been entered in any of the classic events, with the exception of the St. Leger. How she came to be entered in the great Doncaster race was peculiar. Her breeder, a Yorkshire squire, always entered his youngsters freely in the classic races. Somehow Tearaway had been overlooked until the last moment and a telegram was sent to enter the filly by King Charles—Far Away, in the St. Leger only. This was Tearaway, who was named afterward.Picton bought her at the sales at Doncaster for five hundred guineas, at which price she was a bargain.She ran only once as a two-year-old because Blackett saw she was growing fast and requiredtime; to hurry her thus early in her career might, he said, ruin her.Picton was immensely proud of her, and desirous of bringing off a great coup by winning the St. Leger. It had been the Admiral's ambition to win the Doncaster event, and more than once he had been within an ace of doing so. Every Yorkshire owner of horses, on any pretensions to a large scale, is anxious to win the Leger, the greatest race in the North.Tearaway was practically an unknown quantity and Picton decided she should not run in public before September. With some fillies this would have been a risky policy to pursue, but Tearaway was so quiet and docile that there was no fear of her being frightened by a crowd, no matter how large, or by any amount of noise. The trainer agreed with this plan: Blackett was quite as anxious to win a Leger as his master. He was a Yorkshireman, and patriotism was strong within him.Brant Blackett was intended by his father for an auctioneer and had been sent to a local firm in Whitby. He hated office work and was always slipping away and going out to sea on one of the fishing boats. The firm declined to have anything to do with him, and in some way or other he drifted to Middleham and took a situation in aracing stable. He was small, weighed under eight stone, and soon learned to ride well. He never rode in public but was considered as good as the best of them in getting the strength of a trial. He was recommended to the Admiral, when he wanted a private trainer, and came to Haverton, where he had been for many years. He was much attached to the family, and the place, and, like the rest of them, he was cut up over Hector Woodridge's trial. He had won many races during the time he had been at Haverton, but vowed no such flier had been in his hands as Tearaway. He was fond of the breed, and fond of the mare, and she repaid his kindness by being as obedient as a child."She's the sweetest-tempered filly I ever handled," he said. "Her temper's just lovely. She never flares up, or misbehaves; a perfect lady, that's what she is."Everybody who saw the filly agreed with him, and in the Haverton district Tearaway was regarded as a good thing for the St. Leger."It's a long way off to September," said Picton as he and Ben sat on their hacks and looked at her after a morning gallop. She had been two miles at a fast pace and pulled up without the slightest sign of blowing. Her glorious black coat shone like satin in the sunlight; she tossed her head proudly,looking round with intelligent eyes that took in all her surroundings."No need to hurry her," said the trainer; "and there's nothing will happen to her, I'm sure. A sounder mare never stepped.""We have hardly anything good enough to try her," said Picton."That's a fact," said Blackett. "It takes something out of the common to extend her."There were a dozen horses at work, some cantering, others having spins over five and six furlongs.As Picton rode back with Ben and the trainer he said: "What with one thing and another I forgot to tell you Mr. Langford is sending The Rascal here and he says I am at liberty to do what I like with him. He's a real good 'chaser, the same I won the double on at Torquay. It would be rather a joke if we won the St. Leger with Tearaway, and the National with The Rascal. I wonder if a trainer ever accomplished that feat?" said Picton, smiling."Never heard of it," said Blackett; "but I don't see why it should not be done. We've a pretty good schooling ground here.""The Rascal is one of the best horses I have ridden over fences. He's a bit queer-tempered, butonce he settles down to his work you can depend upon him to do his best," said Picton."Then, if he'll do that, he must be a good horse no matter what his temper may be," said the trainer.During the week The Rascal arrived at Haverton and the white-faced chestnut created a favorable impression.Picton found the same difficulty in mounting him, but once in the saddle all went well, and the way the horse took the stiffish fences on the Haverton schooling ground convinced the trainer there was a good race in him; but whether The Rascal was up to National form was another matter.Picton wrote to Dick Langford, stating The Rascal had arrived safely, and saying he wished he, Dick, had come with him.When Dick received this letter he said to his sister: "This is as good as an invitation. I'll avail myself of it and go down to Haverton for a few days. You don't mind, Rita?""Indeed, no; I think Mr. Woodridge is a very good friend," she replied."He is, and he'll make a very decent sort of brother-in-law," said Dick."Don't be silly," said Rita, her cheeks glowing."Is it silly? Not a bit of it—you know it's not. Picton's fond of you, and you're fond of him—thatends the matter. I wonder he hasn't asked you before.""Asked what?""To be his wife."Rita laughed as she said: "I think you spoilt an opportunity when you called to us in the garden that night. You remember?""Yes, I remember, and I also recollect I thought what a fool I was at the time," he said.Picton was glad when Dick Langford arrived at Haverton; it gave Ben a chance to go back to theSea-mewfor a few days.Dick always enjoyed a visit here, and small wonder, for such a lovely place could not fail to attract. He was fond of horses and Brant Blackett liked him."I hate showing a fellow round who pretends he knows a heap and knows nothing," said the trainer. "With Mr. Langford it's different; he's a very fair judge, and he's willing to learn; he's never cocksure about anything. He makes some shrewd remarks too, and he's clever—yes, I like Mr. Langford; there's grit in him."Mrs. Yeoman gave Dick the hall-mark of her approval."He's a cheerful soul, not given to moping, and he's easily pleased; he always cheers Mr. Pictonup, and he wants it at times—more than ever now," she thought.It had come as a shock to her when Picton told her Hector had escaped and was on board theSea-mew. She wondered if he were safe there. Picton told her Hector would be so changed when he left the yacht that no one would recognize him, and that he would change his name. Hector Woodridge would be dead to the world."Unless he can prove his innocence," he said."Oh, I wish that could be done!" she said. "Some day I think it will come to pass. He's innocent, I'm sure of it. Do you know what I think, Mr. Picton?""No; what is it?""I believe Mrs. Elroy killed her husband.""Good heavens!" exclaimed Picton. "What makes you think that?""I read every scrap of evidence at the trial. I am almost certain Mr. Hector was shielding her; he's just the sort.""If your surmise is correct his innocence will never come to light, because he will never betray her," said Picton."Perhaps not, but she can't stand that on her conscience forever, she'll have to confess sooner or later, the burden is more than any woman or man can bear," she said."She may have done it," said Picton. "Her punishment must already be great if she did.""If I were Mr. Hector, I'd seek her out and make her own up to it," she said."That's all very well, but you may be mistaken. In any case it is in Hector's hands, and he will not allow any one to interfere," said Picton.CHAPTER XII"I THINK HE'S DEAD"IT was Lenise Elroy who was supping at the Torbay Hotel when Hector Woodridge looked through the chink in the blind and saw her with her friends. The man who brought her the wrap to put on her shoulders was Fletcher Denyer.Denyer lived mainly on his wits. He was a dark, handsome man, about ten years younger than Mrs. Elroy, and made her acquaintance some two years back at a ball at a large London hotel. He was a man likely to attract such a woman. He was unscrupulous; of his morals the less said the better; he possessed unlimited confidence in himself. Who he was, or where he came from, no one appeared to know, but he had wormed himself into a certain class of society, had become known on the racecourse, and in financial circles, and acted as a kind of tout to more than one firm of wine merchants, also to a big turf commission agent, who treated him liberally when he introduced business. His address was Marine View, Hove, Brighton, and hewas frequently to be seen in the gay city by the sea.Marine View was a small house off one of the main streets, comfortably furnished, and Denyer was the sole tenant. Two half caste servants, a man and his wife, looked after the place. The man's name was Antonio Tobasco, his wife's Lucille, and they knew more about their master than any one.Tobasco seemed devoted to Denyer; so did his wife; they attended to his wants, and looked after the house during his absence. Tobasco's father was an Italian emigrant who went to America in the fifties, and gradually drifted to Mexico, where he married a native woman. Lucille's mother was an Italian, her father a dark man in the Southern States. There was plenty of black blood in them, and with it mingled a certain amount of treachery. Denyer had lived in Mexico; it was here he became acquainted with them, through Lucille, whom at one time he admired—it was his moneythatgave Tobasco the chance to marry her, but the man did not know of the relations which at one time existed between Denyer and Lucille. She was quite contented to marry him, and the union had proved satisfactory for several years.It was Lucille who persuaded Denyer to bring them to England with him. At first he refused,but she knew how to handle him and succeeded in having her way.Lenise Elroy had seen Hector's face at the window, just a glimpse, but sufficient to frighten her. She thought she recognized him, then wondered why she had been such a fool; he was safe in Dartmoor, and not likely to come out again. At the same time she could not get rid of the impression, nor could she make an excuse for her sudden alarm.She came to Torquay with Denyer at his request; he said he wanted a change, and her society. There was no question of love on his side, although Lenise was a handsome woman, but he was to a certain extent infatuated with her, and proud of being seen in her company. What her feelings were toward him she hardly knew. She was at a critical age, when a woman sometimes loses her head over a man much younger than herself. She would have been very sorry to lose Denyer's friendship, but she had no intention of letting her inclinations run away with her common sense. She kept on the right side, there was nothing wrong between them; they were familiar, but it had been carried no farther, and she was determined to be his wife, if she wished—at present she did not wish it.She tormented him, but at the same time attracted him; moreover, she was useful to him. Shehad a settled income, he had not; occasionally he found himself short of money, hard up. She helped him, he pocketed the cash and felt grateful for a few days. She did not despise him for taking the money from her; she wished to bind him to her, and this was a sure way.It was during her brief stay at Torquay that Lenise Elroy came across Brack. She was fond of the sea, had a liking for rowing in small boats."Can't understand what you see in 'em," said Denyer; "beastly cockly things, might go over at any moment.""Well, I do like them, and I'm not going to explain why. If you don't care to go out, stay here until I come back; I'm going to have a row round the men-of-war," she said."Please yourself, but it's a waste of time. Why not go for a motor drive instead?""I prefer the row; you take the motor.""I will. Brady's doing business, so I'll take his wife for a spin; she's good company.""Very," said Lenise. "She's not at all a bad sort."She knew very well Mrs. Brady would not go out alone with him; if he didn't know it, he was not quite so wide awake as she imagined.She went to the harbor, and, seeing Brack, took a fancy to him."Want to go for a row?" he asked."Yes, round the warships.""I'm yer man. I get a lot of patronage from ladies; they're safe with me, I'm a steady goin' old 'un."He took his blackened pipe out of his mouth and slipped it into his pocket."This is my boat,The Dart," he said. "Wait till I put the cushion right for you."She got in. Brack thought what a handsome woman she was.He was about to push off when he looked up and saw Carl Hackler."So yer here still, messin' about! Wonder yer not tired of it," he said."I am," said Carl. "Dead tired of it! Nothing can be done here. My belief is he's dead.""And mine too; he couldn't have stood it all this time, wandering about the moor," Brack said.When they were out in the bay she asked:"Who is dead? What were you talking about?""It's a long story, mum, a sad story; I don't suppose it would interest you.""Who was that man on the quay?" she asked."He's from Dartmoor, from the prison," said Brack.He did not see the look of interest on her face as he spoke."A warder?" she asked."Not exactly that; I fancy he's one of the fellows turned on for special duty at times.""And what is he doing at Torquay?""A week or so back a man escaped from Dartmoor prison. They've not caught him yet; it's my opinion they never will," he answered with a chuckle.She felt that peculiar feeling come over that she experienced when she fancied she saw Hector's face looking through the window of the hotel."What nonsense!" she thought. "There are hundreds of prisoners there; why should he be the one to escape?"She was restless, all the same, and wished Brack would tell her more."I suppose it is no uncommon thing for a prisoner to escape?" she asked."No; they do a bolt sometimes. They're generally caught inside twenty-four hours.""But this man is not taken?""No, and Hackler's been mooning about Torquay looking for him for a week, just as though the fellow would be likely to come here," said Brack."I wonder who he was?""Don't know, but he was a good plucked 'un,"said Brack, and proceeded to tell her all about the throttling of the hound."He must be a very desperate character," she said."It's enough to make a man desperate," said Brack."What was he in prison for?" she asked."Murder, so I've heard," said Brack.She started."What murder, where?""Somewhere up in Yorkshire, I believe," said Brack, who was now watching her. He saw her turn pale and clutch the side of the boat with one hand."Takes an uncommon interest in it," he thought. "Wonder who she is?""Do you know anything about the murder—the trial I mean? You come from Yorkshire, do you not—I can tell by your accent," she said with a faint attempt at a smile."Yes, I'm fra Yorkshire," said Brack. "Used to be at Scarborough some years ago.""I come from Yorkshire too," she said. "I remember some years ago there was a celebrated trial there, a murder case, the man who was convicted shot the husband of some lady he had been compromised with. It was a very sad case, a very old Yorkshire family, I forget the name, it was Woodsomething—oh, I have it, Woodridge, that's it. Do you recollect it?"Brack was on the alert. She knew a good deal more about it than she pretended; he was sure of it. Who was she?"I remember it; most folks up our way will remember it to their dying day," he said."Why?""Because no one believed him guilty.""But he was found guilty and sentenced.""Many an innocent man suffers for another's crime," said Brack."Perhaps it was this man who escaped," she said."If it were, the poor fellow's dead by now," said Brack. "They did say at the time it was the woman, the wife, that got him into his trouble. Women's generally at the bottom of these things. I believe she was a mighty fine woman too; but she must have been wicked."Lenise was restless."Don't you think we had better put back?" she said."I thought you wanted to row round the men-o'-war," he said."It is too far; I want to be back for lunch.""Shall I turn round?""Yes, please.""Do you think they'll catch the man who escaped?" she asked before they reached the landing steps."I think he's dead or they'd have got him afore now," said Brack.She gave a sigh of relief, as she handed him half a sovereign."I haven't got any change," said Brack."You can keep that; you interested me in your conversation. What did you say was the name of the man from the prison?""Carl Hackler," said Brack."Thank you; if I wish to go out again I will take your boat.""Very good, my lady, always at your service," said Brack; adding to himself, "I'd like to find out who she is, and why she's so mighty interested in it all."CHAPTER XIIIA WOMAN'S FEARLENISE ELROY was troubled; she felt uneasy, afraid of something, she hardly knew what; she had a presentiment that a calamity hung over her, that much trouble was in store.Fletcher Denyer was irritated. She was not at all like the gay woman of a few days back; what ailed her? He questioned her, received no satisfactory reply."I want to go to town," he said."I don't; I like being here.""But I must return to London, I have a lot of business to see to."She smiled; when he talked about business it amused her.He noticed it and said angrily: "You never think I do anything in the way of business.""I judge by results," she answered."And I don't show any, is that it?"She nodded."Look here, Len, we've been together for a coupleof years and been good friends; we don't want to quarrel now.""I'm sure I've no wish to do so.""There's a good deal more in me than you imagine. Why didn't you speculate in those Mexican shares I told you about? You'd have made a pile.""I should; you were right in that instance. It has always struck me you know a good deal about Mexico.""Perhaps I do; it's a great country, I'm told.""I suppose you have not been there?" she said."If I had, I should probably be better off.""If you must go to London, go. I'll follow in a few days," she said."You seem to have suddenly taken an interest in the place.""I have, I like it. It is my first visit. I think it beautiful," she said.He wondered why she wished to remain, but did not question her further. In the afternoon he went to London. She was glad to be alone; she wanted to be quiet and think. Supposing Hector Woodridge had escaped from Dartmoor, and was not dead, what would happen? What would he do to her? She trembled, felt faint; there was no telling to what lengths such a man infuriated at the cruelty and misery he had suffered, might go. Shemust find out more about it. The man to see was Carl Hackler, but how to approach him?She meant to converse with him at any cost, and went out with that intention.Carl had nothing to do but idle time away; he was quite certain the prisoner had either got clear off, or was lying dead on the moor. He saw Mrs. Elroy coming toward him, and recognized her as the lady Brack had taken out in his boat. She evidently intended speaking to him."You are Mr. Hackler, I believe?" she asked."I am; at your service.""The boatman told me who you were. You come from the prison at Dartmoor?""I do.""A man has escaped, I want to know more about it. The boatman gave me to understand he was tried for murder in Yorkshire some years ago. If this is the man who escaped I know him, I know the family," she said."What name?" asked Hackler."Woodridge. Hector Woodridge," she said."I believe it's the same man," said Hackler, interested."Will he be caught?""If he's alive he's sure to be taken.""But you think it probable he is dead?" she questioned."I think it quite possible.""Are you here on the lookout for him?""Yes.""Surely he would not be likely to come to Torquay.""I don't know so much about that. You see he might be able to get away by sea if he had friends, or some one willing to help him," said Hackler."Who would help him? The risk would be too great.""There's many men take risks for each other. You seem interested in him.""I am. I know him, a dangerous man, I should not care to meet him again," she said."He had not that reputation at Dartmoor. He was quiet and inoffensive, about the last man we'd have thought would try to escape," he said."And you have no doubt he is Hector Woodridge?""No, I don't think there's much doubt about that; in fact none at all. It is improbable he will meet you again. Even if he has got away he'll go out of the country into some safe hiding-place; he's not likely to roam about England," he said.She thanked him, asked him to accept a sovereign, which he did not refuse.Carl Hackler watched her as she walked away;she looked stately, carried herself well, what he called a "stunner."Carl wondered why she was so anxious to find out who the escaped prisoner was. She must have some personal interest in him; she did not seem like a woman who wasted her time over trifles. He determined to see Brack and hear what he had to say about the lady. He had a good deal of regard for Brack, also a shrewd idea that in some way or another the boatman had the better of him.Brack was nothing loath to chat when Carl came up."All the ladies seem fond of you, Brack," he said."Yes, I don't say as they're not; I often has ladies in my boat," he said."Rather a smart woman you took out to-day.""A very pretty craft, built on fine lines," said Brack."I've had a talk with her. She's interested in the man I'm on the lookout for.""Is she?""You know she is. Didn't she speak about him when you took her out?""Maybe she did, maybe she didn't."Carl laughed."You're a sly old sea dog," he said. "Now Brack, listen to me. That lady is interested in Hector Woodridge, No. 832; that's his name, certainof it, no mistake. Another thing, she's afraid of him; afraid he'll do her some bodily harm if he comes across her. Now why should he? There must be some good reason.""Afraid of him, is she? By gad, I thought the same thing.""Then you talked about him in the boat?""Yes, that's so.""What did she say?""Not much; she knew the family, his family, knew all about the trial.""Did she now? What was the woman like?""Which woman?""The wife of the man Woodridge shot."Brack was thoughtful."What yer drivin' at, Carl, my boy?""I've got a kind of notion she must have been mixed up in the case," said Carl."There was only one woman in it—the wife," said Brack. "Gosh!" he exclaimed, and looked at Carl with a startled expression."Well?" said Carl."I thought I'd seen her face somewhere afore, pictures of her, photos, or something.""Yes; go on.""I may be mistaken; I'd not like to say as much without being certain.""You can trust me; it shall go no farther.""She's like the wife, the woman whose husband he shot," said Brack."You've hit it," said Carl. "That accounts for it; she is the woman, no doubt.""Don't hurry; it may be only a likeness.""You'd not have remembered it if she'd not been the woman," said Carl. "It's stuck in your memory.""If she's the one, no wonder she's afraid to meet him—he'd do for her.""I don't think so. He must have been precious fond of her, or he'd never have done time for her.""Come home with me and have a talk," said Brack, and Carl went.Mrs. Elroy found it slow at night, but her thoughts were busy. She was restless, ate very little dinner, hardly spoke to Mrs. Brady, or her husband, and left them as soon as she could decently do so."Seems out of sorts," said Brady."Fletcher Denyer has gone to town," was Mrs. Brady's comment, and she spoke as though that explained everything."Do you think she's fond of him?" he asked."Yes, but she hardly knows it.""Is he fond of her?""He's not in love with her; he's infatuated, that'sall. Lenise has a way with the men that's hard to resist," she said.Mrs. Elroy, for want of something better to do, looked over some back copies of the TorquayTimes, and came across an account of the races. She saw Picton Woodridge had ridden four winners, which surprised her not a little; she had not seen him for years, had no desire to meet him.Then she read about the escape from Dartmoor; there was not much about it, she gleaned very little fresh information.A paragraph that attracted her close attention was about Picton Woodridge's yacht, theSea-mew. A description of it was given and at the end it stated, "She left the bay during the night, her departure was rather unexpected."Picton Woodridge's yacht in Torbay at the time Hector escaped from Dartmoor. Was this a coincidence, or was it part of a well-laid plan? She shivered, felt cold, a chill passed over her. She rang the bell and ordered a brandy; this put new life into her for the moment. Her brain worked actively; she was piecing things together. TheSea-mewleft in the night unexpectedly. Why? Had Hector Woodridge contrived to board her? Had Picton and Captain Ben Bruce helped him?The thought tormented her, she could not sleep, she tossed uneasily on her bed."He's dead! Hackler says so, the boatman says so; he could not live on the moor. It is impossible. How could he reach theSea-mew? Supposing he seeks me out, what would he do?"A cold perspiration broke out over her body."He'd kill me if I didn't speak," she said with a shudder.CHAPTER XIVNOT RECOGNIZEDTHESea-mewcruised about from one place to another and Hector Woodridge recovered his health and strength; but he was a changed man. Even Picton thought it difficult to recognize him; he would not have done so had he met him in the street.Captain Ben said: "It is quite safe for you to go ashore. You are supposed to be dead; you must take another name.""William Rolfe—how will that do?" said Hector."As good as any other," said Picton. "We'll test it. You come to Haverton as William Rolfe to look at the horses, and if Sarah Yeoman and Blackett don't recognize you it will be proof positive there is no danger."It was early in August when Hector Woodridge, as William Rolfe, came to Haverton. Mrs. Yeoman did not recognize him, nor did the trainer, although the former thought his face familiar.The change in Hector was extraordinary. Not only was his appearance entirely different, but his voice, manner, everything about him was that of another man.Mrs. Yeoman and Blackett were not enlightened as to his identity. Hector was glad they did not recognize him; he was careful to give them no clue to his identity, although occasionally when off his guard he almost betrayed himself by showing his knowledge of the house and its surroundings. Amos Kidd, the head gardener, as he saw him walking about, thought: "He must have been here before, but I don't recollect seeing him."It was a sore trial to him to come back to the old home as a stranger. Everything revived recollections of the misery he had caused, and of the Admiral's death, and at last these became so vivid and painful that he told Picton he could stand it no longer."I shall go mad if I stay here," he said. "I must get away.""Where will you go?" asked Picton."To London for a time; it is a safe place—such a vast crowd—and probably I am forgotten at Dartmoor. There is an advantage in being dead, is there not?" he said, smiling grimly."Perhaps it will be for the best. In London you will see so many sights, your attention will betaken away from the past. I quite understand how you feel about Haverton, but you will grow out of it in time," said Picton."Never; at least not until my innocence is proved.""You think it will be?""Yes, it must; I mean to prove it.""How?""Leave that to me. I have a plan which may prove successful, but it will be risky; everything will depend on the first bold step.""Don't rush into danger," said Picton. "Where's the use? You may fail; you may be recognized; and then, think what would follow.""You fear I might be sent back to prison," he said, smiling. "There is no fear of that. I promise you I will never go back to Dartmoor.""You must have all the money you require, Hector," said his brother."I shall want money; there is plenty for both.""Ample; it costs a lot to keep up Haverton, but half of what I have is yours.""Too generous, Pic; you always were. I shall not want half, nothing like it. Place a few thousands to my credit in a London bank.""That would not be safe. I will draw ten thousand pounds in notes, and you can use it as you think best," said Picton."Very well. That is a large sum, but I shall probably require it. The scheme I have in my mind will cost money, a lot of it, but I'd sacrifice all I have to prove my innocence," said Hector."And I will help you. I want to keep up Haverton, but you shall have the rest. I'll tell you what. Hector, I'm going to back Tearaway to win a fortune in the St. Leger. Already money is going on at forty to one; I may get a thousand on at that price, perhaps more," said Picton."I'd like to see her have a spin before I leave," said Hector."And you shall. Blackett has obtained permission from Sir Robert Raines to use his famous Cup horse Tristram in a trial gallop. The horse will be here to-morrow, and we can put them together with one or two more the next morning. Sir Robert is coming over to see it. He takes a great interest in her; he owns her sire King Charles.""Sir Robert coming?" said Hector doubtfully."He'll never recognize you—no one would, not even——"Picton pulled himself up short. He had spoken unthinkingly and stopped just in time; but Hector was not satisfied."Not even—whom did you mean?" he asked."Never mind; it was a slip; I forgot.""Lenise Elroy?" asked Hector calmly."Yes, I thought of her.""And you think she, even that woman, would not recognize me?""I am certain she would not. She might have done so when you escaped, but not now. Your illness has changed you in a very strange way. I can hardly believe you are Hector sometimes," said Picton."Then I must be safe," he said, smiling. "Speaking of Mrs. Elroy," he went on, "did I tell you I saw her in Torquay?""No," said Picton surprised. "Where? Are you sure?""I was passing a hotel when something prompted me to cross the road and look in at the window. I saw her seated at the supper table, laughing gayly with people, a man beside her, probably her lover, he seemed infatuated with her. She is still very beautiful, the same luring smile, and eyes like stars; you can imagine how I felt. The sight was too much for me, as I contrasted her position with mine. I raised my hands and appealed to God for justice. My prayer was answered, for a little farther on, as I staggered down the road, I came across that great-hearted fellow Brack. You know the rest.""Yes, I know the rest," said Picton.They were in the study and could talk freely. No one ventured in except Captain Ben, and he cameat this moment. He saw something serious was going on; shutting the door quietly he sat down."Hector is going away, to London. He can't stand the associations at Haverton. It is not to be wondered at," said Picton."I'm surprised he stood it so long; I know what it must have cost him. You're brave, Hector, far braver than we are. By God, you're a man if ever there was one!" said Ben in his straight manner."A man can bear far more than he imagines. Torture of the mind is greater than torture of the body," said Hector."You're right, no doubt," said Ben. "But why London, why go there?""I have my reasons; they are powerful. On board theSea-mewI laid my plans; I think I shall succeed," said Hector."Would you like Ben to go with you?" asked Picton."No—he'd be too merciful," said Hector calmly.They looked at him; he spoke quietly, but there was that in his voice and face boded ill for somebody."When are you going?" asked Ben."After Tearaway has had her trial with Tristram," said Hector."That will be worth seeing," said Ben."And the filly will beat Sir Robert's horse," said Picton."I doubt it," said Ben. "Think what he's done, and Ascot Cup winner, Doncaster Cup Cesarewitch, Metropolitan, Northumberland Plate—he must be the best stayer in England.""So he is," said Picton, "but Tearaway will beat him for speed at the finish. Blackett says he'll put them together over two miles, with only seven pounds between them. I suggested level weights but he doesn't want to take the heart out of her.""If she can beat Tristram at seven pounds she's the best filly ever seen," said Ben."And I believe she is," was Picton's enthusiastic comment.Hector Woodridge sat in his room, when everything was still in the house, and thought over his plans. No one recognized him, Picton said even Lenise Elroy would not recognize him; so much the better, for he had dealings with her.How he hated this woman, who had fooled him to the top of his bent and done him so great an injury! She must suffer. Did she suffer now? She must, there was some sort of conscience in her. Her beauty appealed to him once; never would it do so again. She knew he was innocent, the only person who did, and he intended wringing a confession from her.Fortunately he had money. His brother was generous, and offered him more than he had a right to expect; he would make it up to him some day, when he had completed the work he intended.There was a man on Dartmoor, and there was Brack: they must be rewarded for their kindness, for the help they had given him. And there was that gracious lady who assisted him as he tramped to Torquay. He had not forgotten her face, it was engraven on his memory. He was thinking of her now, how she gave him the coat, the boots, food, and spoke kindly to him. When times were changed, and his work done, he would seek her out again and thank her. His heart warmed toward her; he contrasted her purity with that of the other woman, and wondered how he could have been caught in Lenise Elroy's toils.Elroy was a weak-minded, foolish fellow; she married him for his money. He recalled his first meeting with her; they were mutually attracted, and so it went on and on, from bad to worse, until the end, when the fatal shot was fired.And since then? He could not bear to think of it all. He vowed Lenise Elroy should pay the penalty as he had, that her tortures of mind should equal his; then she would know what he had suffered; no, not a tenth part of it; but even that would overwhelm her.CHAPTER XV"THE ST. LEGER'S IN YOUR POCKET"TRISTRAM arrived at Haverton; Sir Robert Raines came the same day; everything was in readiness for the trial next morning.Sir Robert was a great racing man, came of a sporting family, had a fine seat about forty miles from Haverton, called Beaumont Hall, where he kept a stud of horses and about thirty or forty racers. He was well known as a plunger, and had landed some big stakes; occasionally he was hard hit, but so far the balance had been on the right side. He and the Woodridges had been friends for years; he had known the Admiral and admired him. He had also known Raoul Elroy and his wife, and been present at Hector's trial, on the grand jury, and after. Sir Robert was loath to believe Hector guilty, but on the evidence could arrive at no other conclusion. The result of the trial made no difference in his friendship with the Admiral and Picton; when the former died he helped his son to the best of his ability. He had a great liking for Captain Ben, which was returned.It was a critical moment when Hector was introduced to him as William Rolfe, "a friend of mine from Devonshire," said Picton.Sir Robert shook hands with him; it was easy to see he had no idea it was Hector Woodridge, and all breathed more freely."So you imagine you've got the winner of the St. Leger at Haverton, eh, Pic?" he said as they sat smoking after dinner."It's more than imagination. I think Tearaway is the best filly I ever saw; so does Blackett; he says she's as fast as the wind," said Picton."Is she? The wind blows at a pretty pace over the wolds sometimes, sixty miles an hour or more; she's not quite up to that," said Sir Robert."No, not quite," laughed Picton; "but she has a rare turn of speed, and can stay as long as she's wanted.""I haven't seen her for some time," he said."She's improved a lot, a real beauty; I'm sure you will say so. You ought to back her to win a good stake.""I'm told Ripon will win. They fancy him a lot at Newmarket; they also think he had bad luck to lose the Derby.""Suppose Tearaway beats Tristram in the morning at seven pounds difference?" said Picton."It will be the biggest certainty for the St. Leger ever known," said Sir Robert.Hector joined in the conversation. Sir Robert liked him, but no look or word reminded him of Hector Woodridge."I'm safe," thought Hector. "Sir Robert ought to have been one of the first to recognize me."Next morning they were all on the moor early. Four horses were to take part in the trial: Tristram, Tearaway, Rodney and Admiral, and the filly was giving weight to all except Sir Robert's great horse."By jove, she has grown into a beauty!" exclaimed the baronet when he saw the beautiful black filly with Fred Erickson, the popular Yorkshire jockey, in the saddle. Erickson lived at Haverton village, but was not often at home, as he had an enormous amount of riding, going to scale under eight stone easily."Good morning, Fred," said Sir Robert. "You're on a nice filly.""She is, Sir Robert; one of the best.""Can she beat Tristram? You've ridden him.""I wouldn't go so far as that, but she'll give him a good race," said the jockey.Abel Dent came from Beaumont Hall to ride Tristram in the gallop. He was always on the horse's back in his work and knew him thoroughly."You'll have to keep him going, Abe," said Sir Robert, smiling."I'll keep 'em all going," was the confident reply.Rodney and Admiral were more than useful; the latter was to bring them along for the last mile, it was his favorite distance.Brant Blackett greeted them as he rode up on his cob. He was brimful of confidence as to the result of the spin. He set Tearaway to give Rodney and Admiral a stone each."I'll send them down to the two-mile post," he said."This is the best long gallop anywhere, I should say," said Sir Robert. "I often envy it you, Pic, my boy. Fancy four miles straight—it's wonderful."It was indeed a glorious sight. The moor stretched away for miles, undulating, until it was lost in the hill in the distance. The training ground had been reclaimed from it, snatched from its all-devouring grasp, and been perfected at great expense. Beside the somber brown of the wild moorland it looked a brilliant, dazzling green.Haverton Moor harbored vast numbers of birds, and the grouse shooting was among the best in Yorkshire. Picton Woodridge owned the moor; it was not profitable, but he loved it, and would sooner have parted with fertile farms than one acre ofthis brown space. It was not dull this morning; the sun touched everything, and as far as the eye could see there were billows of purple, brown, green, yellow, and tinges of red. A haze hung over it when they arrived, but gradually floated away like gossamer and disappeared into space. The air was bracing; it was good to be out on such a morning, far away from the noise and bustle of the busy world; a feeling of restfulness, which nature alone gives, was over all.To Hector, however, it recalled memories which made him shudder. He thought of that great moor he had so recently been a prisoner on, and of his escape, and the privations he suffered. There was not the cruel look about Haverton, and there was no prison in its space.Blackett sent his head lad to start them. Looking through powerful glasses he saw when they moved off and said, "They're on the way; we shall know something."The three were galloping straight toward them at a tremendous pace.Rodney held the lead; he would be done with at the end of the first mile, then Admiral would jump in and pilot them home.Abe Dent meant winning on Tristram; he had little doubt about it. How could Tearaway be expectedto beat him at a difference of only seven pounds? It was absurd!Rodney fell back, and Admiral took command with a six lengths' lead. The lad on him had instructions to come along at top speed, and was nothing loath; he knew his mount was a smasher over a mile.Tearaway was in the rear, Erickson keeping close behind Tristram. When Admiral took Rodney's place the jockey knew the filly was going splendidly; he felt sure he could pass Tristram at any time.Dent saw Admiral sailing ahead and went after him; the gap lessened, Tristram got within three lengths and stopped there. Sir Robert's horse was a great stayer, but he lacked the sprinting speed for a lightning finish. This was where Tearaway had the advantage."What a pace!" exclaimed Sir Robert. "By jove, Pic, you've got a wonder in that filly, but she'll not beat my fellow.""They have half a mile to go yet," said the trainer. "There'll be a change before long."So great was the pace that Admiral ran himself out at the end of six furlongs and came back to Tristram. Fred saw this, and giving Tearaway a hint she raced up alongside the Cup horse.When Dent saw her head level with him he set to work on his mount. Tristram always finishedlike a bulldog, and had to be ridden out. He gained again.Sir Robert saw it and said: "He'll come right away now."So thought the others, with the exception of the trainer; he sat on his cob, a self-satisfied smile on his face."Wait till Fred turns the tap on," he thought.Erickson was not long in doing this. He knew Tearaway's speed was something abnormal; in his opinion nothing could stand against it.In answer to his call, Tearaway swooped down on Tristram again, drew level, headed him, left him, and was a length ahead before Dent recovered from the shock. On came Tearaway. They looked in amazement. Sir Robert could hardly believe his eyes. What a tremendous pace at the end of a two-mile gallop."What did I tell you!" exclaimed the trainer triumphantly. "Fast as the wind, you bet she is."The black filly came on, increasing her lead at every stride; she passed them a good couple of lengths ahead of Tristram, Admiral toiling in the rear."Wonderful!" exclaimed Sir Robert. He seemed puzzled to account for it. Was Tristram off color? He must ask Dent.The pair pulled up and came slowly to the group."Anything wrong with my horse?" asked Sir Robert."No, sir; he galloped as well as ever, but that filly's a wonder, a holy terror, never saw anything like it, she flew past him—her pace is tremendous," and Dent looked at Tearaway with a sort of awe."Won easily," said Fred. "Never had to press her. I had the measure of Tristram all the way; I could have raced up to him at any part of the spin. Look at her now. She doesn't blow enough to put a match out; you can't feel her breathing hardly. She's the best racer I ever put my leg across.""Pic, the St. Leger's in your pocket," said Sir Robert, as he shook him heartily by the hand.CHAPTER XVIHOW HECTOR FOUGHT THE BLOODHOUNDTHE night before Hector was to leave Haverton he sat with his brother and Captain Ben in the study. They had been talking over Tearaway's wonderful trial, and Picton said he should back her to win the biggest stake he had ever gone for."And you shall have half if she wins, as I feel sure she will," he said to Hector."You are too good," said Hector; "but I won't refuse it. I may want it. I have a difficult and expensive game to play.""Don't run into danger," said Ben."I'll avoid it where possible," said Hector."You have not told us how you escaped from prison," said Picton. "Perhaps it is too painful a subject.""Painful it is, but I fully intended telling you. I may as well do it now. I want to recompense the man on the moor, also Brack, without whose assistance I should not have boarded theSea-mew. Iprotested but he insisted on taking me there. I thought my presence on board might compromise you. Brack asked me what I would do if you and I changed places and I confessed to myself I would help you to escape.""Did you doubt what I would do?" asked Picton."No, but I did not wish you to run any risk for my sake.""That was unkind; you know I would do anything for you," said Picton."Anyhow, I am glad Brack insisted on my going on theSea-mew," said Hector, smiling. "I had some luck in getting away. I do not think the warders thought I would try to escape—I had been quiet and orderly during the time I had been there. When the gang I was in returned to the prison I managed to creep away and hide in some bushes. I had no irons on, I had a good deal of liberty, most of the men liked me, one or two of them were kind and pitied me. It was much easier to slip away than I anticipated. When I was alone I ran as fast as I could across the moor. They were not long in discovering I was missing, and as I fled I heard the gun fired, giving warning that a prisoner had escaped. The sound echoed across the moor; I knew every man's hand was against me but I meant making a fight for liberty. Even the hour's freedom I had enjoyed helped me. I was out of prison,alone on the moor, I determined not to be taken back—I would sooner die. I knew there were many old disused quarries, and limekilns, about. Could I not hide in one of these? No; they would be sure to search them. I must get into densely wooded country, among the bushes and undergrowth, and hide there. I was weak in body, for my health had broken down, but I kept on until nightfall, when I sank down exhausted in a mass of bracken and fell asleep. The sun was up when I awoke. I looked cautiously round, starting at every sound; a bird in the trees, or a rabbit scuttling away made me nervous. I saw no one about, so I hurried along, taking advantage of every bit of cover. I passed the back of a huge Tor, which reared its granite head high above the country, like a giant hewn in stone. It looked cold, bleak, forbidding, had a stern aspect, made me shudder; I hurried away from it across more open country. How to get rid of my clothes and obtain others puzzled me. I had no money; if it came to the worst I must watch some farm house where there was a chance of making an exchange. I dare not face any one; when I saw a man coming toward me I hid until he passed. I knew the trackers were after me, that a thorough search would be made, and the feeling that I was being hunted down almost overwhelmed me. I had nothing to eat except a few berries androots; the nights were cold and I lay shivering, ill, and worn out. Two days passed and I began to think I had a chance. My prison clothes were the great hindrance. I could not leave the moor in them: it meant certain capture. I did not know in which direction I was traveling; my one object was to go on and on until an opportunity offered to rid myself of the tell-tale garments."Almost done up for want of food, and the long tramp, I sat down to rest on a rock, from which I had a good view of the moor, although I was hidden from sight. I knew telescopes and glasses would be used, and that I should be discovered if I showed myself."I saw no one about, but about a mile distant was a farm house. It was in a lonely, bleak spot. I wondered if the people in it were as cold as the country; they could hardly be blamed if their surroundings hardened them, made them callous to human suffering. I don't know what it was, but something prompted me to go toward this house. I walked along, keeping under cover where possible, until half the distance had been traversed."As I walked I fancied I heard a peculiar sound behind me. It chilled my blood in me; it made me tremble. I dare not look back, I stood still, panting with horror. It was not the sound of human footsteps, and yet something was coming after me;I distinctly heard the thud on the ground, and whatever it was it must be drawing nearer."I cannot convey to you any idea of the peculiar unearthly sound I heard, no description of mine could be adequate, but you can imagine something of what I felt, weak and overtaxed as I was, my mind in a whirl, my legs deadly tired and numbed, every part of my body aching. The sound came nearer. Then a noise which increased my horror—I had heard it before, near the prison—it was the bay of a hound—a bloodhound was on my track. I knew what such a brute would do, pull me down, tear me, fasten his teeth in me, worry me to death. In desperation I turned and stood still. I saw the bloodhound coming along at a fast pace, scenting the ground, then baying from time to time. He lifted his huge head and saw me. I fancied I saw fire flash in his eyes, his mouth looked blood red, his huge jaws and cheeks hung massively on each side. He was a great beast, savage, with the lust of blood on him, and he came straight at me. There was a chain attached to his collar, so I judged he must have wrenched away from the man who held him in leash. He was within fifty yards of me and I prepared to grapple with him; I had no intention of allowing my weakness to overcome me. Fight him I must. It was his life or mine; but how could I wrestle with so much brute strength in my feeblecondition? He came at me with the ferocity of a lion. He leaped upon me, and I caught him by the collar. He bit and scratched my hands, but I did not let go. For a moment I held him, his savage face glared into mine, his huge paws were on my chest, he stood on his hind legs, the incarnation of brute strength. We glared at each other. Like a lightning flash it crossed my mind that I must loose my hold on the collar and grasp his throat with both hands, throttle him. This was easier thought than done, for once I loosened my grip on the collar he might wrench himself free and hurl me to the ground; then his teeth would be at my throat instead of my hands at his. I did it in a second. He almost slipped me; he was very cunning—the moment I loosened my hold on the collar he seemed to know my intention. But I had him, held him, put all my strength with it and felt his windpipe gradually being crushed closer and closer. At that moment I think I was as great a savage as the bloodhound, I felt if it had been a man I held by the throat I should have done the same to free myself. How he struggled! We fell to the ground and rolled over, but I never loosened my hold and hardly felt the pain in my hands. He tore me with his feet, scratching, striving to bite me and failing. We rolled over and over but I did not let go. I was almost exhausted when the hound's struggle relaxed—ina few minutes he was dead. No one can imagine the feeling of relief and thankfulness that came over me. I offered up a prayer for my delivery from a terrible death, then sank down in a faint by his side."When I came to I thought what I should do. There would be another hound on the track, I must put it off the scent. The smell of my clothes was what they were following; I knew this from what I had been told in the prison. I must get rid of the clothes. I stripped them off and laid them on the bloodhound, then I tied my coarse vest round my loins and started toward the farm house. As I went I saw a man come out at the gate with a gun. I determined to face him, risk it, throw myself on his mercy. He saw me and stood still, staring in amazement—and well he might. At first I think he thought I was mad."I sank down at his feet, utterly overcome, and I saw a look of pity in his somewhat stern face and eyes."'You are an escaped convict,' he said."I acknowledged it and pleaded my innocence."He smiled as he said: 'They are always innocent.'"I asked him to come and see what I had done."'Here, put this coat on,' he said."He wore a long coat, almost to his heels, andit covered me. We walked to where the hound lay. I explained what had happened, that I had wrestledwiththe brute and after a long struggle throttled him. He was amazed and said I was a good plucked 'un. There was no one in the house but himself, he said; the others had gone to Torquay; would I come with him and tell my story? I went, and made such an impression upon him that he said he believed my tale and would help me. He gave me some old clothes, food and drink, then hurried me on my way. He advised me to go to Torquay and try and communicate with some friends. He promised to put the searchers off the scent if they made inquiries. I said he would reap a reward for what he had done, but he did not seem to care about this. He urged me to get off the moor as quickly as possible."Before I left he filled my pockets with cheese, meat, and bread, and gave me an old cap, and worn-out boots. I said I should never forget him; he answered that he hoped he had done right in helping me."I tramped to Torquay, I—" he hesitated. No, he would not tell them of the gracious lady who assisted him and treated him as a man, not a tramp."I found Brack. He took me to his home, concealed me there until he contrived to smuggle meon board theSea-mew," said Hector, as he finished his story."What an awful experience!" exclaimed Ben."Terrible!" said Picton with a shudder."Can you wonder that I hunger for revenge?" said Hector; and they understood him.
THERE was no occasion for Picton to travel to Bridlington. Captain Ben arrived next day and was very pleased to see him.
"He's much better," said Ben; "making a wonderful recovery. He's quite sane, remembers everything, but his health is terribly shattered and a long rest on theSea-mewwill do him a world of good. He has no desire to come to Haverton, or to leave the yacht; he thinks he is safer where he is, and he is right. There was no need to caution him to be careful, he knows what it means for all of us if there is the slightest suspicion about theSea-mew. Glovey will attend to him, so will Mac, and the crew to a man have sworn to keep everything secret. Don't worry yourself about it, Picton; it will do no good; and I will return in a week or so to see how he is going on."
"Mrs. Yeoman knows," said Picton.
"She can be trusted, and it is better she should; it will prepare her for his coming," said Ben.
It was no use worrying, as Ben said, and as Brant Blackett was anxious to put the horses through the mill, several trials took place on the moor.
Tearaway proved herself a veritable flyer; she easily disposed of the lot pitted against her, and fully bore out the trainer's opinion of her, that she was as fast as the wind. She was a beautiful mare, black as coal, not a white speck on her, and stood sixteen hands high. No fault could be found with her; she was sound in her wind and limb, possessed terrific speed and was also a stayer. Blackett idolized her; he was desperately cut up that she had not been entered in any of the classic events, with the exception of the St. Leger. How she came to be entered in the great Doncaster race was peculiar. Her breeder, a Yorkshire squire, always entered his youngsters freely in the classic races. Somehow Tearaway had been overlooked until the last moment and a telegram was sent to enter the filly by King Charles—Far Away, in the St. Leger only. This was Tearaway, who was named afterward.
Picton bought her at the sales at Doncaster for five hundred guineas, at which price she was a bargain.
She ran only once as a two-year-old because Blackett saw she was growing fast and requiredtime; to hurry her thus early in her career might, he said, ruin her.
Picton was immensely proud of her, and desirous of bringing off a great coup by winning the St. Leger. It had been the Admiral's ambition to win the Doncaster event, and more than once he had been within an ace of doing so. Every Yorkshire owner of horses, on any pretensions to a large scale, is anxious to win the Leger, the greatest race in the North.
Tearaway was practically an unknown quantity and Picton decided she should not run in public before September. With some fillies this would have been a risky policy to pursue, but Tearaway was so quiet and docile that there was no fear of her being frightened by a crowd, no matter how large, or by any amount of noise. The trainer agreed with this plan: Blackett was quite as anxious to win a Leger as his master. He was a Yorkshireman, and patriotism was strong within him.
Brant Blackett was intended by his father for an auctioneer and had been sent to a local firm in Whitby. He hated office work and was always slipping away and going out to sea on one of the fishing boats. The firm declined to have anything to do with him, and in some way or other he drifted to Middleham and took a situation in aracing stable. He was small, weighed under eight stone, and soon learned to ride well. He never rode in public but was considered as good as the best of them in getting the strength of a trial. He was recommended to the Admiral, when he wanted a private trainer, and came to Haverton, where he had been for many years. He was much attached to the family, and the place, and, like the rest of them, he was cut up over Hector Woodridge's trial. He had won many races during the time he had been at Haverton, but vowed no such flier had been in his hands as Tearaway. He was fond of the breed, and fond of the mare, and she repaid his kindness by being as obedient as a child.
"She's the sweetest-tempered filly I ever handled," he said. "Her temper's just lovely. She never flares up, or misbehaves; a perfect lady, that's what she is."
Everybody who saw the filly agreed with him, and in the Haverton district Tearaway was regarded as a good thing for the St. Leger.
"It's a long way off to September," said Picton as he and Ben sat on their hacks and looked at her after a morning gallop. She had been two miles at a fast pace and pulled up without the slightest sign of blowing. Her glorious black coat shone like satin in the sunlight; she tossed her head proudly,looking round with intelligent eyes that took in all her surroundings.
"No need to hurry her," said the trainer; "and there's nothing will happen to her, I'm sure. A sounder mare never stepped."
"We have hardly anything good enough to try her," said Picton.
"That's a fact," said Blackett. "It takes something out of the common to extend her."
There were a dozen horses at work, some cantering, others having spins over five and six furlongs.
As Picton rode back with Ben and the trainer he said: "What with one thing and another I forgot to tell you Mr. Langford is sending The Rascal here and he says I am at liberty to do what I like with him. He's a real good 'chaser, the same I won the double on at Torquay. It would be rather a joke if we won the St. Leger with Tearaway, and the National with The Rascal. I wonder if a trainer ever accomplished that feat?" said Picton, smiling.
"Never heard of it," said Blackett; "but I don't see why it should not be done. We've a pretty good schooling ground here."
"The Rascal is one of the best horses I have ridden over fences. He's a bit queer-tempered, butonce he settles down to his work you can depend upon him to do his best," said Picton.
"Then, if he'll do that, he must be a good horse no matter what his temper may be," said the trainer.
During the week The Rascal arrived at Haverton and the white-faced chestnut created a favorable impression.
Picton found the same difficulty in mounting him, but once in the saddle all went well, and the way the horse took the stiffish fences on the Haverton schooling ground convinced the trainer there was a good race in him; but whether The Rascal was up to National form was another matter.
Picton wrote to Dick Langford, stating The Rascal had arrived safely, and saying he wished he, Dick, had come with him.
When Dick received this letter he said to his sister: "This is as good as an invitation. I'll avail myself of it and go down to Haverton for a few days. You don't mind, Rita?"
"Indeed, no; I think Mr. Woodridge is a very good friend," she replied.
"He is, and he'll make a very decent sort of brother-in-law," said Dick.
"Don't be silly," said Rita, her cheeks glowing.
"Is it silly? Not a bit of it—you know it's not. Picton's fond of you, and you're fond of him—thatends the matter. I wonder he hasn't asked you before."
"Asked what?"
"To be his wife."
Rita laughed as she said: "I think you spoilt an opportunity when you called to us in the garden that night. You remember?"
"Yes, I remember, and I also recollect I thought what a fool I was at the time," he said.
Picton was glad when Dick Langford arrived at Haverton; it gave Ben a chance to go back to theSea-mewfor a few days.
Dick always enjoyed a visit here, and small wonder, for such a lovely place could not fail to attract. He was fond of horses and Brant Blackett liked him.
"I hate showing a fellow round who pretends he knows a heap and knows nothing," said the trainer. "With Mr. Langford it's different; he's a very fair judge, and he's willing to learn; he's never cocksure about anything. He makes some shrewd remarks too, and he's clever—yes, I like Mr. Langford; there's grit in him."
Mrs. Yeoman gave Dick the hall-mark of her approval.
"He's a cheerful soul, not given to moping, and he's easily pleased; he always cheers Mr. Pictonup, and he wants it at times—more than ever now," she thought.
It had come as a shock to her when Picton told her Hector had escaped and was on board theSea-mew. She wondered if he were safe there. Picton told her Hector would be so changed when he left the yacht that no one would recognize him, and that he would change his name. Hector Woodridge would be dead to the world.
"Unless he can prove his innocence," he said.
"Oh, I wish that could be done!" she said. "Some day I think it will come to pass. He's innocent, I'm sure of it. Do you know what I think, Mr. Picton?"
"No; what is it?"
"I believe Mrs. Elroy killed her husband."
"Good heavens!" exclaimed Picton. "What makes you think that?"
"I read every scrap of evidence at the trial. I am almost certain Mr. Hector was shielding her; he's just the sort."
"If your surmise is correct his innocence will never come to light, because he will never betray her," said Picton.
"Perhaps not, but she can't stand that on her conscience forever, she'll have to confess sooner or later, the burden is more than any woman or man can bear," she said.
"She may have done it," said Picton. "Her punishment must already be great if she did."
"If I were Mr. Hector, I'd seek her out and make her own up to it," she said.
"That's all very well, but you may be mistaken. In any case it is in Hector's hands, and he will not allow any one to interfere," said Picton.
IT was Lenise Elroy who was supping at the Torbay Hotel when Hector Woodridge looked through the chink in the blind and saw her with her friends. The man who brought her the wrap to put on her shoulders was Fletcher Denyer.
Denyer lived mainly on his wits. He was a dark, handsome man, about ten years younger than Mrs. Elroy, and made her acquaintance some two years back at a ball at a large London hotel. He was a man likely to attract such a woman. He was unscrupulous; of his morals the less said the better; he possessed unlimited confidence in himself. Who he was, or where he came from, no one appeared to know, but he had wormed himself into a certain class of society, had become known on the racecourse, and in financial circles, and acted as a kind of tout to more than one firm of wine merchants, also to a big turf commission agent, who treated him liberally when he introduced business. His address was Marine View, Hove, Brighton, and hewas frequently to be seen in the gay city by the sea.
Marine View was a small house off one of the main streets, comfortably furnished, and Denyer was the sole tenant. Two half caste servants, a man and his wife, looked after the place. The man's name was Antonio Tobasco, his wife's Lucille, and they knew more about their master than any one.
Tobasco seemed devoted to Denyer; so did his wife; they attended to his wants, and looked after the house during his absence. Tobasco's father was an Italian emigrant who went to America in the fifties, and gradually drifted to Mexico, where he married a native woman. Lucille's mother was an Italian, her father a dark man in the Southern States. There was plenty of black blood in them, and with it mingled a certain amount of treachery. Denyer had lived in Mexico; it was here he became acquainted with them, through Lucille, whom at one time he admired—it was his moneythatgave Tobasco the chance to marry her, but the man did not know of the relations which at one time existed between Denyer and Lucille. She was quite contented to marry him, and the union had proved satisfactory for several years.
It was Lucille who persuaded Denyer to bring them to England with him. At first he refused,but she knew how to handle him and succeeded in having her way.
Lenise Elroy had seen Hector's face at the window, just a glimpse, but sufficient to frighten her. She thought she recognized him, then wondered why she had been such a fool; he was safe in Dartmoor, and not likely to come out again. At the same time she could not get rid of the impression, nor could she make an excuse for her sudden alarm.
She came to Torquay with Denyer at his request; he said he wanted a change, and her society. There was no question of love on his side, although Lenise was a handsome woman, but he was to a certain extent infatuated with her, and proud of being seen in her company. What her feelings were toward him she hardly knew. She was at a critical age, when a woman sometimes loses her head over a man much younger than herself. She would have been very sorry to lose Denyer's friendship, but she had no intention of letting her inclinations run away with her common sense. She kept on the right side, there was nothing wrong between them; they were familiar, but it had been carried no farther, and she was determined to be his wife, if she wished—at present she did not wish it.
She tormented him, but at the same time attracted him; moreover, she was useful to him. Shehad a settled income, he had not; occasionally he found himself short of money, hard up. She helped him, he pocketed the cash and felt grateful for a few days. She did not despise him for taking the money from her; she wished to bind him to her, and this was a sure way.
It was during her brief stay at Torquay that Lenise Elroy came across Brack. She was fond of the sea, had a liking for rowing in small boats.
"Can't understand what you see in 'em," said Denyer; "beastly cockly things, might go over at any moment."
"Well, I do like them, and I'm not going to explain why. If you don't care to go out, stay here until I come back; I'm going to have a row round the men-of-war," she said.
"Please yourself, but it's a waste of time. Why not go for a motor drive instead?"
"I prefer the row; you take the motor."
"I will. Brady's doing business, so I'll take his wife for a spin; she's good company."
"Very," said Lenise. "She's not at all a bad sort."
She knew very well Mrs. Brady would not go out alone with him; if he didn't know it, he was not quite so wide awake as she imagined.
She went to the harbor, and, seeing Brack, took a fancy to him.
"Want to go for a row?" he asked.
"Yes, round the warships."
"I'm yer man. I get a lot of patronage from ladies; they're safe with me, I'm a steady goin' old 'un."
He took his blackened pipe out of his mouth and slipped it into his pocket.
"This is my boat,The Dart," he said. "Wait till I put the cushion right for you."
She got in. Brack thought what a handsome woman she was.
He was about to push off when he looked up and saw Carl Hackler.
"So yer here still, messin' about! Wonder yer not tired of it," he said.
"I am," said Carl. "Dead tired of it! Nothing can be done here. My belief is he's dead."
"And mine too; he couldn't have stood it all this time, wandering about the moor," Brack said.
When they were out in the bay she asked:
"Who is dead? What were you talking about?"
"It's a long story, mum, a sad story; I don't suppose it would interest you."
"Who was that man on the quay?" she asked.
"He's from Dartmoor, from the prison," said Brack.
He did not see the look of interest on her face as he spoke.
"A warder?" she asked.
"Not exactly that; I fancy he's one of the fellows turned on for special duty at times."
"And what is he doing at Torquay?"
"A week or so back a man escaped from Dartmoor prison. They've not caught him yet; it's my opinion they never will," he answered with a chuckle.
She felt that peculiar feeling come over that she experienced when she fancied she saw Hector's face looking through the window of the hotel.
"What nonsense!" she thought. "There are hundreds of prisoners there; why should he be the one to escape?"
She was restless, all the same, and wished Brack would tell her more.
"I suppose it is no uncommon thing for a prisoner to escape?" she asked.
"No; they do a bolt sometimes. They're generally caught inside twenty-four hours."
"But this man is not taken?"
"No, and Hackler's been mooning about Torquay looking for him for a week, just as though the fellow would be likely to come here," said Brack.
"I wonder who he was?"
"Don't know, but he was a good plucked 'un,"said Brack, and proceeded to tell her all about the throttling of the hound.
"He must be a very desperate character," she said.
"It's enough to make a man desperate," said Brack.
"What was he in prison for?" she asked.
"Murder, so I've heard," said Brack.
She started.
"What murder, where?"
"Somewhere up in Yorkshire, I believe," said Brack, who was now watching her. He saw her turn pale and clutch the side of the boat with one hand.
"Takes an uncommon interest in it," he thought. "Wonder who she is?"
"Do you know anything about the murder—the trial I mean? You come from Yorkshire, do you not—I can tell by your accent," she said with a faint attempt at a smile.
"Yes, I'm fra Yorkshire," said Brack. "Used to be at Scarborough some years ago."
"I come from Yorkshire too," she said. "I remember some years ago there was a celebrated trial there, a murder case, the man who was convicted shot the husband of some lady he had been compromised with. It was a very sad case, a very old Yorkshire family, I forget the name, it was Woodsomething—oh, I have it, Woodridge, that's it. Do you recollect it?"
Brack was on the alert. She knew a good deal more about it than she pretended; he was sure of it. Who was she?
"I remember it; most folks up our way will remember it to their dying day," he said.
"Why?"
"Because no one believed him guilty."
"But he was found guilty and sentenced."
"Many an innocent man suffers for another's crime," said Brack.
"Perhaps it was this man who escaped," she said.
"If it were, the poor fellow's dead by now," said Brack. "They did say at the time it was the woman, the wife, that got him into his trouble. Women's generally at the bottom of these things. I believe she was a mighty fine woman too; but she must have been wicked."
Lenise was restless.
"Don't you think we had better put back?" she said.
"I thought you wanted to row round the men-o'-war," he said.
"It is too far; I want to be back for lunch."
"Shall I turn round?"
"Yes, please."
"Do you think they'll catch the man who escaped?" she asked before they reached the landing steps.
"I think he's dead or they'd have got him afore now," said Brack.
She gave a sigh of relief, as she handed him half a sovereign.
"I haven't got any change," said Brack.
"You can keep that; you interested me in your conversation. What did you say was the name of the man from the prison?"
"Carl Hackler," said Brack.
"Thank you; if I wish to go out again I will take your boat."
"Very good, my lady, always at your service," said Brack; adding to himself, "I'd like to find out who she is, and why she's so mighty interested in it all."
LENISE ELROY was troubled; she felt uneasy, afraid of something, she hardly knew what; she had a presentiment that a calamity hung over her, that much trouble was in store.
Fletcher Denyer was irritated. She was not at all like the gay woman of a few days back; what ailed her? He questioned her, received no satisfactory reply.
"I want to go to town," he said.
"I don't; I like being here."
"But I must return to London, I have a lot of business to see to."
She smiled; when he talked about business it amused her.
He noticed it and said angrily: "You never think I do anything in the way of business."
"I judge by results," she answered.
"And I don't show any, is that it?"
She nodded.
"Look here, Len, we've been together for a coupleof years and been good friends; we don't want to quarrel now."
"I'm sure I've no wish to do so."
"There's a good deal more in me than you imagine. Why didn't you speculate in those Mexican shares I told you about? You'd have made a pile."
"I should; you were right in that instance. It has always struck me you know a good deal about Mexico."
"Perhaps I do; it's a great country, I'm told."
"I suppose you have not been there?" she said.
"If I had, I should probably be better off."
"If you must go to London, go. I'll follow in a few days," she said.
"You seem to have suddenly taken an interest in the place."
"I have, I like it. It is my first visit. I think it beautiful," she said.
He wondered why she wished to remain, but did not question her further. In the afternoon he went to London. She was glad to be alone; she wanted to be quiet and think. Supposing Hector Woodridge had escaped from Dartmoor, and was not dead, what would happen? What would he do to her? She trembled, felt faint; there was no telling to what lengths such a man infuriated at the cruelty and misery he had suffered, might go. Shemust find out more about it. The man to see was Carl Hackler, but how to approach him?
She meant to converse with him at any cost, and went out with that intention.
Carl had nothing to do but idle time away; he was quite certain the prisoner had either got clear off, or was lying dead on the moor. He saw Mrs. Elroy coming toward him, and recognized her as the lady Brack had taken out in his boat. She evidently intended speaking to him.
"You are Mr. Hackler, I believe?" she asked.
"I am; at your service."
"The boatman told me who you were. You come from the prison at Dartmoor?"
"I do."
"A man has escaped, I want to know more about it. The boatman gave me to understand he was tried for murder in Yorkshire some years ago. If this is the man who escaped I know him, I know the family," she said.
"What name?" asked Hackler.
"Woodridge. Hector Woodridge," she said.
"I believe it's the same man," said Hackler, interested.
"Will he be caught?"
"If he's alive he's sure to be taken."
"But you think it probable he is dead?" she questioned.
"I think it quite possible."
"Are you here on the lookout for him?"
"Yes."
"Surely he would not be likely to come to Torquay."
"I don't know so much about that. You see he might be able to get away by sea if he had friends, or some one willing to help him," said Hackler.
"Who would help him? The risk would be too great."
"There's many men take risks for each other. You seem interested in him."
"I am. I know him, a dangerous man, I should not care to meet him again," she said.
"He had not that reputation at Dartmoor. He was quiet and inoffensive, about the last man we'd have thought would try to escape," he said.
"And you have no doubt he is Hector Woodridge?"
"No, I don't think there's much doubt about that; in fact none at all. It is improbable he will meet you again. Even if he has got away he'll go out of the country into some safe hiding-place; he's not likely to roam about England," he said.
She thanked him, asked him to accept a sovereign, which he did not refuse.
Carl Hackler watched her as she walked away;she looked stately, carried herself well, what he called a "stunner."
Carl wondered why she was so anxious to find out who the escaped prisoner was. She must have some personal interest in him; she did not seem like a woman who wasted her time over trifles. He determined to see Brack and hear what he had to say about the lady. He had a good deal of regard for Brack, also a shrewd idea that in some way or another the boatman had the better of him.
Brack was nothing loath to chat when Carl came up.
"All the ladies seem fond of you, Brack," he said.
"Yes, I don't say as they're not; I often has ladies in my boat," he said.
"Rather a smart woman you took out to-day."
"A very pretty craft, built on fine lines," said Brack.
"I've had a talk with her. She's interested in the man I'm on the lookout for."
"Is she?"
"You know she is. Didn't she speak about him when you took her out?"
"Maybe she did, maybe she didn't."
Carl laughed.
"You're a sly old sea dog," he said. "Now Brack, listen to me. That lady is interested in Hector Woodridge, No. 832; that's his name, certainof it, no mistake. Another thing, she's afraid of him; afraid he'll do her some bodily harm if he comes across her. Now why should he? There must be some good reason."
"Afraid of him, is she? By gad, I thought the same thing."
"Then you talked about him in the boat?"
"Yes, that's so."
"What did she say?"
"Not much; she knew the family, his family, knew all about the trial."
"Did she now? What was the woman like?"
"Which woman?"
"The wife of the man Woodridge shot."
Brack was thoughtful.
"What yer drivin' at, Carl, my boy?"
"I've got a kind of notion she must have been mixed up in the case," said Carl.
"There was only one woman in it—the wife," said Brack. "Gosh!" he exclaimed, and looked at Carl with a startled expression.
"Well?" said Carl.
"I thought I'd seen her face somewhere afore, pictures of her, photos, or something."
"Yes; go on."
"I may be mistaken; I'd not like to say as much without being certain."
"You can trust me; it shall go no farther."
"She's like the wife, the woman whose husband he shot," said Brack.
"You've hit it," said Carl. "That accounts for it; she is the woman, no doubt."
"Don't hurry; it may be only a likeness."
"You'd not have remembered it if she'd not been the woman," said Carl. "It's stuck in your memory."
"If she's the one, no wonder she's afraid to meet him—he'd do for her."
"I don't think so. He must have been precious fond of her, or he'd never have done time for her."
"Come home with me and have a talk," said Brack, and Carl went.
Mrs. Elroy found it slow at night, but her thoughts were busy. She was restless, ate very little dinner, hardly spoke to Mrs. Brady, or her husband, and left them as soon as she could decently do so.
"Seems out of sorts," said Brady.
"Fletcher Denyer has gone to town," was Mrs. Brady's comment, and she spoke as though that explained everything.
"Do you think she's fond of him?" he asked.
"Yes, but she hardly knows it."
"Is he fond of her?"
"He's not in love with her; he's infatuated, that'sall. Lenise has a way with the men that's hard to resist," she said.
Mrs. Elroy, for want of something better to do, looked over some back copies of the TorquayTimes, and came across an account of the races. She saw Picton Woodridge had ridden four winners, which surprised her not a little; she had not seen him for years, had no desire to meet him.
Then she read about the escape from Dartmoor; there was not much about it, she gleaned very little fresh information.
A paragraph that attracted her close attention was about Picton Woodridge's yacht, theSea-mew. A description of it was given and at the end it stated, "She left the bay during the night, her departure was rather unexpected."
Picton Woodridge's yacht in Torbay at the time Hector escaped from Dartmoor. Was this a coincidence, or was it part of a well-laid plan? She shivered, felt cold, a chill passed over her. She rang the bell and ordered a brandy; this put new life into her for the moment. Her brain worked actively; she was piecing things together. TheSea-mewleft in the night unexpectedly. Why? Had Hector Woodridge contrived to board her? Had Picton and Captain Ben Bruce helped him?
The thought tormented her, she could not sleep, she tossed uneasily on her bed.
"He's dead! Hackler says so, the boatman says so; he could not live on the moor. It is impossible. How could he reach theSea-mew? Supposing he seeks me out, what would he do?"
A cold perspiration broke out over her body.
"He'd kill me if I didn't speak," she said with a shudder.
THESea-mewcruised about from one place to another and Hector Woodridge recovered his health and strength; but he was a changed man. Even Picton thought it difficult to recognize him; he would not have done so had he met him in the street.
Captain Ben said: "It is quite safe for you to go ashore. You are supposed to be dead; you must take another name."
"William Rolfe—how will that do?" said Hector.
"As good as any other," said Picton. "We'll test it. You come to Haverton as William Rolfe to look at the horses, and if Sarah Yeoman and Blackett don't recognize you it will be proof positive there is no danger."
It was early in August when Hector Woodridge, as William Rolfe, came to Haverton. Mrs. Yeoman did not recognize him, nor did the trainer, although the former thought his face familiar.
The change in Hector was extraordinary. Not only was his appearance entirely different, but his voice, manner, everything about him was that of another man.
Mrs. Yeoman and Blackett were not enlightened as to his identity. Hector was glad they did not recognize him; he was careful to give them no clue to his identity, although occasionally when off his guard he almost betrayed himself by showing his knowledge of the house and its surroundings. Amos Kidd, the head gardener, as he saw him walking about, thought: "He must have been here before, but I don't recollect seeing him."
It was a sore trial to him to come back to the old home as a stranger. Everything revived recollections of the misery he had caused, and of the Admiral's death, and at last these became so vivid and painful that he told Picton he could stand it no longer.
"I shall go mad if I stay here," he said. "I must get away."
"Where will you go?" asked Picton.
"To London for a time; it is a safe place—such a vast crowd—and probably I am forgotten at Dartmoor. There is an advantage in being dead, is there not?" he said, smiling grimly.
"Perhaps it will be for the best. In London you will see so many sights, your attention will betaken away from the past. I quite understand how you feel about Haverton, but you will grow out of it in time," said Picton.
"Never; at least not until my innocence is proved."
"You think it will be?"
"Yes, it must; I mean to prove it."
"How?"
"Leave that to me. I have a plan which may prove successful, but it will be risky; everything will depend on the first bold step."
"Don't rush into danger," said Picton. "Where's the use? You may fail; you may be recognized; and then, think what would follow."
"You fear I might be sent back to prison," he said, smiling. "There is no fear of that. I promise you I will never go back to Dartmoor."
"You must have all the money you require, Hector," said his brother.
"I shall want money; there is plenty for both."
"Ample; it costs a lot to keep up Haverton, but half of what I have is yours."
"Too generous, Pic; you always were. I shall not want half, nothing like it. Place a few thousands to my credit in a London bank."
"That would not be safe. I will draw ten thousand pounds in notes, and you can use it as you think best," said Picton.
"Very well. That is a large sum, but I shall probably require it. The scheme I have in my mind will cost money, a lot of it, but I'd sacrifice all I have to prove my innocence," said Hector.
"And I will help you. I want to keep up Haverton, but you shall have the rest. I'll tell you what. Hector, I'm going to back Tearaway to win a fortune in the St. Leger. Already money is going on at forty to one; I may get a thousand on at that price, perhaps more," said Picton.
"I'd like to see her have a spin before I leave," said Hector.
"And you shall. Blackett has obtained permission from Sir Robert Raines to use his famous Cup horse Tristram in a trial gallop. The horse will be here to-morrow, and we can put them together with one or two more the next morning. Sir Robert is coming over to see it. He takes a great interest in her; he owns her sire King Charles."
"Sir Robert coming?" said Hector doubtfully.
"He'll never recognize you—no one would, not even——"
Picton pulled himself up short. He had spoken unthinkingly and stopped just in time; but Hector was not satisfied.
"Not even—whom did you mean?" he asked.
"Never mind; it was a slip; I forgot."
"Lenise Elroy?" asked Hector calmly.
"Yes, I thought of her."
"And you think she, even that woman, would not recognize me?"
"I am certain she would not. She might have done so when you escaped, but not now. Your illness has changed you in a very strange way. I can hardly believe you are Hector sometimes," said Picton.
"Then I must be safe," he said, smiling. "Speaking of Mrs. Elroy," he went on, "did I tell you I saw her in Torquay?"
"No," said Picton surprised. "Where? Are you sure?"
"I was passing a hotel when something prompted me to cross the road and look in at the window. I saw her seated at the supper table, laughing gayly with people, a man beside her, probably her lover, he seemed infatuated with her. She is still very beautiful, the same luring smile, and eyes like stars; you can imagine how I felt. The sight was too much for me, as I contrasted her position with mine. I raised my hands and appealed to God for justice. My prayer was answered, for a little farther on, as I staggered down the road, I came across that great-hearted fellow Brack. You know the rest."
"Yes, I know the rest," said Picton.
They were in the study and could talk freely. No one ventured in except Captain Ben, and he cameat this moment. He saw something serious was going on; shutting the door quietly he sat down.
"Hector is going away, to London. He can't stand the associations at Haverton. It is not to be wondered at," said Picton.
"I'm surprised he stood it so long; I know what it must have cost him. You're brave, Hector, far braver than we are. By God, you're a man if ever there was one!" said Ben in his straight manner.
"A man can bear far more than he imagines. Torture of the mind is greater than torture of the body," said Hector.
"You're right, no doubt," said Ben. "But why London, why go there?"
"I have my reasons; they are powerful. On board theSea-mewI laid my plans; I think I shall succeed," said Hector.
"Would you like Ben to go with you?" asked Picton.
"No—he'd be too merciful," said Hector calmly.
They looked at him; he spoke quietly, but there was that in his voice and face boded ill for somebody.
"When are you going?" asked Ben.
"After Tearaway has had her trial with Tristram," said Hector.
"That will be worth seeing," said Ben.
"And the filly will beat Sir Robert's horse," said Picton.
"I doubt it," said Ben. "Think what he's done, and Ascot Cup winner, Doncaster Cup Cesarewitch, Metropolitan, Northumberland Plate—he must be the best stayer in England."
"So he is," said Picton, "but Tearaway will beat him for speed at the finish. Blackett says he'll put them together over two miles, with only seven pounds between them. I suggested level weights but he doesn't want to take the heart out of her."
"If she can beat Tristram at seven pounds she's the best filly ever seen," said Ben.
"And I believe she is," was Picton's enthusiastic comment.
Hector Woodridge sat in his room, when everything was still in the house, and thought over his plans. No one recognized him, Picton said even Lenise Elroy would not recognize him; so much the better, for he had dealings with her.
How he hated this woman, who had fooled him to the top of his bent and done him so great an injury! She must suffer. Did she suffer now? She must, there was some sort of conscience in her. Her beauty appealed to him once; never would it do so again. She knew he was innocent, the only person who did, and he intended wringing a confession from her.
Fortunately he had money. His brother was generous, and offered him more than he had a right to expect; he would make it up to him some day, when he had completed the work he intended.
There was a man on Dartmoor, and there was Brack: they must be rewarded for their kindness, for the help they had given him. And there was that gracious lady who assisted him as he tramped to Torquay. He had not forgotten her face, it was engraven on his memory. He was thinking of her now, how she gave him the coat, the boots, food, and spoke kindly to him. When times were changed, and his work done, he would seek her out again and thank her. His heart warmed toward her; he contrasted her purity with that of the other woman, and wondered how he could have been caught in Lenise Elroy's toils.
Elroy was a weak-minded, foolish fellow; she married him for his money. He recalled his first meeting with her; they were mutually attracted, and so it went on and on, from bad to worse, until the end, when the fatal shot was fired.
And since then? He could not bear to think of it all. He vowed Lenise Elroy should pay the penalty as he had, that her tortures of mind should equal his; then she would know what he had suffered; no, not a tenth part of it; but even that would overwhelm her.
TRISTRAM arrived at Haverton; Sir Robert Raines came the same day; everything was in readiness for the trial next morning.
Sir Robert was a great racing man, came of a sporting family, had a fine seat about forty miles from Haverton, called Beaumont Hall, where he kept a stud of horses and about thirty or forty racers. He was well known as a plunger, and had landed some big stakes; occasionally he was hard hit, but so far the balance had been on the right side. He and the Woodridges had been friends for years; he had known the Admiral and admired him. He had also known Raoul Elroy and his wife, and been present at Hector's trial, on the grand jury, and after. Sir Robert was loath to believe Hector guilty, but on the evidence could arrive at no other conclusion. The result of the trial made no difference in his friendship with the Admiral and Picton; when the former died he helped his son to the best of his ability. He had a great liking for Captain Ben, which was returned.
It was a critical moment when Hector was introduced to him as William Rolfe, "a friend of mine from Devonshire," said Picton.
Sir Robert shook hands with him; it was easy to see he had no idea it was Hector Woodridge, and all breathed more freely.
"So you imagine you've got the winner of the St. Leger at Haverton, eh, Pic?" he said as they sat smoking after dinner.
"It's more than imagination. I think Tearaway is the best filly I ever saw; so does Blackett; he says she's as fast as the wind," said Picton.
"Is she? The wind blows at a pretty pace over the wolds sometimes, sixty miles an hour or more; she's not quite up to that," said Sir Robert.
"No, not quite," laughed Picton; "but she has a rare turn of speed, and can stay as long as she's wanted."
"I haven't seen her for some time," he said.
"She's improved a lot, a real beauty; I'm sure you will say so. You ought to back her to win a good stake."
"I'm told Ripon will win. They fancy him a lot at Newmarket; they also think he had bad luck to lose the Derby."
"Suppose Tearaway beats Tristram in the morning at seven pounds difference?" said Picton.
"It will be the biggest certainty for the St. Leger ever known," said Sir Robert.
Hector joined in the conversation. Sir Robert liked him, but no look or word reminded him of Hector Woodridge.
"I'm safe," thought Hector. "Sir Robert ought to have been one of the first to recognize me."
Next morning they were all on the moor early. Four horses were to take part in the trial: Tristram, Tearaway, Rodney and Admiral, and the filly was giving weight to all except Sir Robert's great horse.
"By jove, she has grown into a beauty!" exclaimed the baronet when he saw the beautiful black filly with Fred Erickson, the popular Yorkshire jockey, in the saddle. Erickson lived at Haverton village, but was not often at home, as he had an enormous amount of riding, going to scale under eight stone easily.
"Good morning, Fred," said Sir Robert. "You're on a nice filly."
"She is, Sir Robert; one of the best."
"Can she beat Tristram? You've ridden him."
"I wouldn't go so far as that, but she'll give him a good race," said the jockey.
Abel Dent came from Beaumont Hall to ride Tristram in the gallop. He was always on the horse's back in his work and knew him thoroughly.
"You'll have to keep him going, Abe," said Sir Robert, smiling.
"I'll keep 'em all going," was the confident reply.
Rodney and Admiral were more than useful; the latter was to bring them along for the last mile, it was his favorite distance.
Brant Blackett greeted them as he rode up on his cob. He was brimful of confidence as to the result of the spin. He set Tearaway to give Rodney and Admiral a stone each.
"I'll send them down to the two-mile post," he said.
"This is the best long gallop anywhere, I should say," said Sir Robert. "I often envy it you, Pic, my boy. Fancy four miles straight—it's wonderful."
It was indeed a glorious sight. The moor stretched away for miles, undulating, until it was lost in the hill in the distance. The training ground had been reclaimed from it, snatched from its all-devouring grasp, and been perfected at great expense. Beside the somber brown of the wild moorland it looked a brilliant, dazzling green.
Haverton Moor harbored vast numbers of birds, and the grouse shooting was among the best in Yorkshire. Picton Woodridge owned the moor; it was not profitable, but he loved it, and would sooner have parted with fertile farms than one acre ofthis brown space. It was not dull this morning; the sun touched everything, and as far as the eye could see there were billows of purple, brown, green, yellow, and tinges of red. A haze hung over it when they arrived, but gradually floated away like gossamer and disappeared into space. The air was bracing; it was good to be out on such a morning, far away from the noise and bustle of the busy world; a feeling of restfulness, which nature alone gives, was over all.
To Hector, however, it recalled memories which made him shudder. He thought of that great moor he had so recently been a prisoner on, and of his escape, and the privations he suffered. There was not the cruel look about Haverton, and there was no prison in its space.
Blackett sent his head lad to start them. Looking through powerful glasses he saw when they moved off and said, "They're on the way; we shall know something."
The three were galloping straight toward them at a tremendous pace.
Rodney held the lead; he would be done with at the end of the first mile, then Admiral would jump in and pilot them home.
Abe Dent meant winning on Tristram; he had little doubt about it. How could Tearaway be expectedto beat him at a difference of only seven pounds? It was absurd!
Rodney fell back, and Admiral took command with a six lengths' lead. The lad on him had instructions to come along at top speed, and was nothing loath; he knew his mount was a smasher over a mile.
Tearaway was in the rear, Erickson keeping close behind Tristram. When Admiral took Rodney's place the jockey knew the filly was going splendidly; he felt sure he could pass Tristram at any time.
Dent saw Admiral sailing ahead and went after him; the gap lessened, Tristram got within three lengths and stopped there. Sir Robert's horse was a great stayer, but he lacked the sprinting speed for a lightning finish. This was where Tearaway had the advantage.
"What a pace!" exclaimed Sir Robert. "By jove, Pic, you've got a wonder in that filly, but she'll not beat my fellow."
"They have half a mile to go yet," said the trainer. "There'll be a change before long."
So great was the pace that Admiral ran himself out at the end of six furlongs and came back to Tristram. Fred saw this, and giving Tearaway a hint she raced up alongside the Cup horse.
When Dent saw her head level with him he set to work on his mount. Tristram always finishedlike a bulldog, and had to be ridden out. He gained again.
Sir Robert saw it and said: "He'll come right away now."
So thought the others, with the exception of the trainer; he sat on his cob, a self-satisfied smile on his face.
"Wait till Fred turns the tap on," he thought.
Erickson was not long in doing this. He knew Tearaway's speed was something abnormal; in his opinion nothing could stand against it.
In answer to his call, Tearaway swooped down on Tristram again, drew level, headed him, left him, and was a length ahead before Dent recovered from the shock. On came Tearaway. They looked in amazement. Sir Robert could hardly believe his eyes. What a tremendous pace at the end of a two-mile gallop.
"What did I tell you!" exclaimed the trainer triumphantly. "Fast as the wind, you bet she is."
The black filly came on, increasing her lead at every stride; she passed them a good couple of lengths ahead of Tristram, Admiral toiling in the rear.
"Wonderful!" exclaimed Sir Robert. He seemed puzzled to account for it. Was Tristram off color? He must ask Dent.
The pair pulled up and came slowly to the group.
"Anything wrong with my horse?" asked Sir Robert.
"No, sir; he galloped as well as ever, but that filly's a wonder, a holy terror, never saw anything like it, she flew past him—her pace is tremendous," and Dent looked at Tearaway with a sort of awe.
"Won easily," said Fred. "Never had to press her. I had the measure of Tristram all the way; I could have raced up to him at any part of the spin. Look at her now. She doesn't blow enough to put a match out; you can't feel her breathing hardly. She's the best racer I ever put my leg across."
"Pic, the St. Leger's in your pocket," said Sir Robert, as he shook him heartily by the hand.
THE night before Hector was to leave Haverton he sat with his brother and Captain Ben in the study. They had been talking over Tearaway's wonderful trial, and Picton said he should back her to win the biggest stake he had ever gone for.
"And you shall have half if she wins, as I feel sure she will," he said to Hector.
"You are too good," said Hector; "but I won't refuse it. I may want it. I have a difficult and expensive game to play."
"Don't run into danger," said Ben.
"I'll avoid it where possible," said Hector.
"You have not told us how you escaped from prison," said Picton. "Perhaps it is too painful a subject."
"Painful it is, but I fully intended telling you. I may as well do it now. I want to recompense the man on the moor, also Brack, without whose assistance I should not have boarded theSea-mew. Iprotested but he insisted on taking me there. I thought my presence on board might compromise you. Brack asked me what I would do if you and I changed places and I confessed to myself I would help you to escape."
"Did you doubt what I would do?" asked Picton.
"No, but I did not wish you to run any risk for my sake."
"That was unkind; you know I would do anything for you," said Picton.
"Anyhow, I am glad Brack insisted on my going on theSea-mew," said Hector, smiling. "I had some luck in getting away. I do not think the warders thought I would try to escape—I had been quiet and orderly during the time I had been there. When the gang I was in returned to the prison I managed to creep away and hide in some bushes. I had no irons on, I had a good deal of liberty, most of the men liked me, one or two of them were kind and pitied me. It was much easier to slip away than I anticipated. When I was alone I ran as fast as I could across the moor. They were not long in discovering I was missing, and as I fled I heard the gun fired, giving warning that a prisoner had escaped. The sound echoed across the moor; I knew every man's hand was against me but I meant making a fight for liberty. Even the hour's freedom I had enjoyed helped me. I was out of prison,alone on the moor, I determined not to be taken back—I would sooner die. I knew there were many old disused quarries, and limekilns, about. Could I not hide in one of these? No; they would be sure to search them. I must get into densely wooded country, among the bushes and undergrowth, and hide there. I was weak in body, for my health had broken down, but I kept on until nightfall, when I sank down exhausted in a mass of bracken and fell asleep. The sun was up when I awoke. I looked cautiously round, starting at every sound; a bird in the trees, or a rabbit scuttling away made me nervous. I saw no one about, so I hurried along, taking advantage of every bit of cover. I passed the back of a huge Tor, which reared its granite head high above the country, like a giant hewn in stone. It looked cold, bleak, forbidding, had a stern aspect, made me shudder; I hurried away from it across more open country. How to get rid of my clothes and obtain others puzzled me. I had no money; if it came to the worst I must watch some farm house where there was a chance of making an exchange. I dare not face any one; when I saw a man coming toward me I hid until he passed. I knew the trackers were after me, that a thorough search would be made, and the feeling that I was being hunted down almost overwhelmed me. I had nothing to eat except a few berries androots; the nights were cold and I lay shivering, ill, and worn out. Two days passed and I began to think I had a chance. My prison clothes were the great hindrance. I could not leave the moor in them: it meant certain capture. I did not know in which direction I was traveling; my one object was to go on and on until an opportunity offered to rid myself of the tell-tale garments.
"Almost done up for want of food, and the long tramp, I sat down to rest on a rock, from which I had a good view of the moor, although I was hidden from sight. I knew telescopes and glasses would be used, and that I should be discovered if I showed myself.
"I saw no one about, but about a mile distant was a farm house. It was in a lonely, bleak spot. I wondered if the people in it were as cold as the country; they could hardly be blamed if their surroundings hardened them, made them callous to human suffering. I don't know what it was, but something prompted me to go toward this house. I walked along, keeping under cover where possible, until half the distance had been traversed.
"As I walked I fancied I heard a peculiar sound behind me. It chilled my blood in me; it made me tremble. I dare not look back, I stood still, panting with horror. It was not the sound of human footsteps, and yet something was coming after me;I distinctly heard the thud on the ground, and whatever it was it must be drawing nearer.
"I cannot convey to you any idea of the peculiar unearthly sound I heard, no description of mine could be adequate, but you can imagine something of what I felt, weak and overtaxed as I was, my mind in a whirl, my legs deadly tired and numbed, every part of my body aching. The sound came nearer. Then a noise which increased my horror—I had heard it before, near the prison—it was the bay of a hound—a bloodhound was on my track. I knew what such a brute would do, pull me down, tear me, fasten his teeth in me, worry me to death. In desperation I turned and stood still. I saw the bloodhound coming along at a fast pace, scenting the ground, then baying from time to time. He lifted his huge head and saw me. I fancied I saw fire flash in his eyes, his mouth looked blood red, his huge jaws and cheeks hung massively on each side. He was a great beast, savage, with the lust of blood on him, and he came straight at me. There was a chain attached to his collar, so I judged he must have wrenched away from the man who held him in leash. He was within fifty yards of me and I prepared to grapple with him; I had no intention of allowing my weakness to overcome me. Fight him I must. It was his life or mine; but how could I wrestle with so much brute strength in my feeblecondition? He came at me with the ferocity of a lion. He leaped upon me, and I caught him by the collar. He bit and scratched my hands, but I did not let go. For a moment I held him, his savage face glared into mine, his huge paws were on my chest, he stood on his hind legs, the incarnation of brute strength. We glared at each other. Like a lightning flash it crossed my mind that I must loose my hold on the collar and grasp his throat with both hands, throttle him. This was easier thought than done, for once I loosened my grip on the collar he might wrench himself free and hurl me to the ground; then his teeth would be at my throat instead of my hands at his. I did it in a second. He almost slipped me; he was very cunning—the moment I loosened my hold on the collar he seemed to know my intention. But I had him, held him, put all my strength with it and felt his windpipe gradually being crushed closer and closer. At that moment I think I was as great a savage as the bloodhound, I felt if it had been a man I held by the throat I should have done the same to free myself. How he struggled! We fell to the ground and rolled over, but I never loosened my hold and hardly felt the pain in my hands. He tore me with his feet, scratching, striving to bite me and failing. We rolled over and over but I did not let go. I was almost exhausted when the hound's struggle relaxed—ina few minutes he was dead. No one can imagine the feeling of relief and thankfulness that came over me. I offered up a prayer for my delivery from a terrible death, then sank down in a faint by his side.
"When I came to I thought what I should do. There would be another hound on the track, I must put it off the scent. The smell of my clothes was what they were following; I knew this from what I had been told in the prison. I must get rid of the clothes. I stripped them off and laid them on the bloodhound, then I tied my coarse vest round my loins and started toward the farm house. As I went I saw a man come out at the gate with a gun. I determined to face him, risk it, throw myself on his mercy. He saw me and stood still, staring in amazement—and well he might. At first I think he thought I was mad.
"I sank down at his feet, utterly overcome, and I saw a look of pity in his somewhat stern face and eyes.
"'You are an escaped convict,' he said.
"I acknowledged it and pleaded my innocence.
"He smiled as he said: 'They are always innocent.'
"I asked him to come and see what I had done.
"'Here, put this coat on,' he said.
"He wore a long coat, almost to his heels, andit covered me. We walked to where the hound lay. I explained what had happened, that I had wrestledwiththe brute and after a long struggle throttled him. He was amazed and said I was a good plucked 'un. There was no one in the house but himself, he said; the others had gone to Torquay; would I come with him and tell my story? I went, and made such an impression upon him that he said he believed my tale and would help me. He gave me some old clothes, food and drink, then hurried me on my way. He advised me to go to Torquay and try and communicate with some friends. He promised to put the searchers off the scent if they made inquiries. I said he would reap a reward for what he had done, but he did not seem to care about this. He urged me to get off the moor as quickly as possible.
"Before I left he filled my pockets with cheese, meat, and bread, and gave me an old cap, and worn-out boots. I said I should never forget him; he answered that he hoped he had done right in helping me.
"I tramped to Torquay, I—" he hesitated. No, he would not tell them of the gracious lady who assisted him and treated him as a man, not a tramp.
"I found Brack. He took me to his home, concealed me there until he contrived to smuggle meon board theSea-mew," said Hector, as he finished his story.
"What an awful experience!" exclaimed Ben.
"Terrible!" said Picton with a shudder.
"Can you wonder that I hunger for revenge?" said Hector; and they understood him.