"You are right; that is what I cannot understand," replied the Squire, thinking at the sametime Warren Courtly was a much more likely man to do so.
"Irene told me you thought I was foolish to accept ten thousand for the Holme Farm," said Warren.
"And I still think so. Why did you sell it?"
"I had to, I owed a lot of money."
"Betting?"
"Mostly, but I am out of the mire now, and intend to keep so," he replied.
"A good resolution. Why did you not offer me the Farm? I would have given you a better price for it."
"Because, to tell you the truth, I was ashamed to."
"You ought to have come to me, Warren," said the Squire, kindly, as he placed one hand on his shoulder. "I gave you Irene, and you ought to trust me. She was confided to my care by my old friend, Carstone, and I do not want to think I have made a mistake in placing her happiness in your hands. You do not look easy in your mind, or happy. If you are in any difficulty tell me, and I will do all in my power to help you for her sake and your own."
These words struck the right chord in Warren Courtly, but he had not the courage to confess what he had done.
"I am upset over selling Holme Farm," hereplied, "but there is nothing else, except the barefaced audacity of such a man as Felix Hoffman writing to Irene."
"You know the man?"
"Yes, and I told her he was a scoundrel. He shall feel my stick across his shoulders the next time we meet."
"Better to have no scenes," said the Squire. "Avoid him in the future, but give him to understand there must be no more letters written, or he will be handed over to the police."
"That will probably be the best way. I met him casually at Hurst Park, and he gave me some very good information."
"And on the strength of that," said the Squire, "I suppose he has stuck to you like a leech. I know these men, they ought to be ducked in a horsepond, they are pestilential nuisances, but unfortunately there is no way of killing them off."
Warren Courtly rode home, where another unpleasant surprise awaited him. Irene had received a second letter from Felix Hoffman, returning the five pounds and thanking her for the loan.
"There," said Irene. "I am right, and the Squire is wrong. I felt sure from the tone of his letter he would return the money, so he cannot be quite so black as you painted him."
"I am very much surprised, I assure you," said Warren, "but the return of the money does not do away with the fact that it was a gross piece of impertinence on his part to write to you, and I shall call him to account for it."
This letter, returning the money, caused Warren Courtly much uneasiness. He knew it meant that Felix Hoffman was playing some clever game, and that trouble was brewing at no distant date. It was seldom Hoffman allowed a five-pound note to leave his possession, no matter how he obtained it. When he did so, it was generally with the certainty of getting many times its value in return.
WhenUlick Maynard returned to London after his brief visit to Eli Todd at Hazelwell, he went to his rooms in West Kensington. Here he had a comfortable flat, and lived as happily as possible under the circumstances. He missed his father's company; they were always together, and there had never been angry words between them until the night he left home. He sometimes wondered had he done right to leave Hazelwell in a sudden burst of anger, but he could not have remained under such a cloud of suspicion as his father enveloped him in.
If his father believed him guilty, what would the neighbours think? They would naturally one and all condemn him, so it was no doubt for the best he had gone away for a time.
London is the safest place in the world for a man to come to if he wishes to keep away from his friends and relations. It is a difficult matter to find anyone in the midst of the huge whirl of traffic and millions of people constantly pouring along its myriad thoroughfares.
Ulick avoided no one, nor did he shun anyplaces he wished to visit, lest he might be recognised. He went about the same as any casual visitor to the city, and although he had been to London many times he had never become so well acquainted with it before.
At first time hung heavily on his hands. He missed all his country pursuits; the noise of the city jarred upon him, and he longed for the murmur of the stream, the sough of the wind amongst the trees, the rustle of the grass, the songs of birds, the lowing of cattle, the bleating of sheep and lambs, and, more than all, the merry neighing of the horses, and the joyous bark of Bersak. He felt cramped, cooped up, unable to breathe freely, and his whole being revolted at the scenes around him. For hours he roamed the vast city, watching the human wrecks, the flotsam and jetsam of mankind, being tossed about in the whirlpool of London life, and wondered what became of them all, where they housed at night, where they ended their days, how they died, and if any living soul mourned their departure.
Christmas came soon after his arrival in London. It was the most dismal one he ever spent, and he knew at Hazelwell there would be a corresponding gloom. His heart was hardened against his father then, and it was with some amount of equanimity that he thought the Squire alsosuffered alone and in silence. Christmas Eve he spent in the city, and watched the children returning home ladened with toys and a variety of parcels, their little arms clasped round their treasures, holding them tight, fearful lest some mishap should befall them. He saw the worn faces of hard-working parents glowing with pride and joy at the thought that out of their toil they had been able to save something for their little ones' pleasure. Late that night he saw sights that made him shudder, and as he passed woman after woman he was half afraid to look at them, so utterly abandoned were their faces.
As he crossed Trafalgar Square he heard a faint moan, and looking in the direction from whence it came he saw a tiny boy and girl huddled close together on a seat. It was a bitterly cold night, and London was clothed in a dirty, drizzling sleet. He crossed over to the children, and the boy, pulling the girl closer to him, looked at him with big, starving, staring eyes. He questioned them and found they had no home, no place wherein to lay their heads, and they meant to remain there for the night, unless the policeman moved them on, or took them away. He asked if they could find lodgings if he gave them the money, and the boy said he could, but looked incredulous at the prospect of such good fortune.
Ulick gave him ten shillings in silver, and when the lad saw it in his hand he cried for joy and roused his sister to look at the harvest. She inquired what the coins were, and he said shillings, and that they would last them for many days, until long after Christmas.
They showered thanks upon Ulick in their childish way, and then trudged across the Square with their arms round each other. They looked back as they reached the Strand, and he waved his hand to them. That night he slept badly, he wondered why there was so much misery in the world.
Time passed on, and early in the spring he commenced to think a little racing would be a pleasant recreation. He had no occasion to hide from his fellows, for he had done no wrong, and could hold his head high with the rest of them.
He went to Epsom and saw the City and Suburban, and while there he met his father's old trainer, Fred May, who was delighted to see him again. The Squire had not raced much during the past few years, generally selling his yearlings at Newmarket. Fred May had won him many good races, and trained Honeysuckle when she won her big event.
Ulick did not tell the trainer that he had left Hazelwell, he saw no necessity for it. Theychatted about old times, and May made many inquiries about the Squire.
"Do you think he will ever race again?" asked May.
"I don't fancy he will, but I shall, and I should not mind speculating in something useful and handing it over to your care," replied Ulick.
"You really mean it?" said Fred May.
"Of course I do," laughed Ulick.
"Then I know where you can buy a youngster that will come out at the top of the tree, and if he is well-trained will make a grand three-year-old."
"A two-year-old now?" asked Ulick.
"Yes; he is by Father Confessor out of Hilda, and is known as the Saint. He has not run yet, but you can accept my word for it he is a flyer. He's at Epsom, at Lowland Lodge, and we can have a look at him after the races."
"Is the figure high? I do not wish to give a big price, and I would have rather bought a three or four-year-old," said Ulick.
"Buy the Saint if you can, you will never regret it," said the trainer.
After the races they walked down to Lowland Lodge and inspected the Saint.
"Why, he's a grey!" exclaimed Ulick, in a disappointed tone, as the door of the box was opened.
"And there's been many a good grey racehorse," replied Fred May. "Never mind the colour. Look him over, and fancy he is a bright bay, or brown, or a chestnut, or anything you like, only forget he's a grey, and then I'm sure you will not find a fault in him."
Ulick was no mean judge of blood horses, and, acting on the trainer's advice and ignoring the colour, he looked the Saint carefully over. He was rather anxious to find an excuse for declining to buy him, but he failed; he was unable to "fault" the colt in any way. He was well shaped all over. His legs were sound and clean, also his feet, well let down behind, tapering off like a greyhound; he had also a strong back and loins, and muscular thighs. There was plenty of him in front of the saddle, and his shoulders sloped well, his neck set on perfectly, and his head denoted courage and endurance. He seemed to be shaped for speed, and evidently possessed staying powers. His colour was not prepossessing, for he was not a good grey, and this was the only fault Ulick could find with him.
"Well!" exclaimed the trainer, with a smile, when he saw he had finished his inspection, "what do you think of him?"
"He is perfect in everything except his colour. I must say he is about as bad a colour as a racehorse well could be," replied Ulick.
"Granted that is so, his colour will not prevent him winning. Do you recollect Buchanan winning the Lincolnshire Handicap? No, of course not, what am I thinking of? You were a little chap then, I expect. Well, he was a funny looking grey, something after the style of the Saint, but he spread-eagled his field that day, and no mistake. The race was run in a snowstorm, and he faced it like a lion; it blew straight down the course, and it was no light thing for a horse to meet it in his teeth. He was a good grey, and I have known others; it is all prejudice, the colour is all right if the horse is good enough."
Ulick hesitated. He felt tempted to buy, for he knew Fred May's judgment was sound, and that he seldom made mistakes. He had not yet asked the price, perhaps it would be prohibitory—he almost hoped so.
The owner of the Saint was anxious to sell him for the same reason that Ulick hesitated about buying; he did not like his colour. On this account he asked a price that he thought would tempt a wavering purchaser.
Two hundred guineas was the price placed upon the Saint, and Ulick was forced to acknowledge it was reasonable. He had seen yearlings sold for five times the amount that had turned out utter failures, and here was a two-year-old that in all probability would make a clinker.
Fred May made no remark when he heard the price asked for the Saint, but he was determined if Ulick did not buy him he would.
"The figure is reasonable," said Ulick, "but I abominate the colour. That is the only reason I do not feel inclined to buy him."
"Then you will not have him?" asked the owner.
"No, thanks, and I am very much obliged to you for showing him me and placing him on offer," said Ulick.
The owner laughed, and said, "I am not surprised; I want to sell him because he is such a confoundedly bad colour."
"Have you quite made up your mind?" asked Fred May.
"Yes," replied Ulick.
"Then I'll take him at that figure," said Fred, much to their surprise. "I don't care twopence about his colour, there's the make and shape of a great horse there, and, grey or no grey, he'll win races."
"When will you take delivery?" asked the seller.
"He can return home with the horses I have at Epsom. They are at Tom Lucas's boxes. I'll send a lad round for him this evening," said May.
The bargain was completed; and Fred Mayinvited Ulick to accompany him to the house where he was staying for the races.
Nothing more was said about the Saint until after dinner, when Fred May remarked that they might as well go and see if the ugly-coloured customer looked any better in his new box.
"I am afraid the change of boxes will not improve him," said Ulick, "but we can go and see."
The Saint was quite at home in his quarters, and the lad who brought him from Lowland Lodge said he was as quiet as an old sheep.
"That is another point in his favour," said May. "There will be no trouble with the starting machine in his case."
Ulick half wished he had bought him, more especially as the trainer seemed so satisfied with his bargain.
"Do you really think he will make a good horse?" asked Ulick, when they were in the house again.
"I am as certain of it as anyone can be over such ticklish things as racehorses. I never saw a much better shaped colt, and he's cheap enough at the price."
"I almost wish I had bought him," said Ulick.
"You can have him at the price I paid if you wish," said May.
"That would hardly be fair to you," replied Ulick. "I must give you something for your trouble. If you had not had the courage to buy him, despite his colour, I should not have the chance perhaps now."
"If you really want him, pay me the two hundred guineas for him, and let me train him," said May.
"That goes without saying," replied Ulick. "Of course, you will train him; I should not think of sending horses elsewhere."
"Then let us conclude the bargain."
"Very well. I will give you the two hundred guineas and leave him in your charge," replied Ulick, and in this way he became the owner of the Saint.
During the season the Saint fully endorsed the good opinion formed of him by Fred May. He won four races, in one of which he beat the best of his year, much to the delight of Ulick and the trainer.
The Saint went into winter quarters with an unbeaten record, and racing men thought it a pity he was not in any of the classical events, but they were determined to keep an eye upon him in handicaps.
Eli Todd was surprised when he learned that Mr. Lanark, the owner of the Saint, was none other than Ulick Maynard. The Squire wouldhave been still more astounded had he been enlightened upon the subject.
It was Ulick's firm determination to find Janet Todd and induce her to return home. He was thoroughly tired of being away from Hazelwell, and he meant to force Janet, if necessary, to tell her father the truth, and then Eli could impart it to the Squire. He puzzled his brains to think what Eli meant by saying it would cause even more trouble than had already occurred if what he partly suspected turned out true.
Ulick, however, did not believe that Eli would withhold a confession from Janet from his father.
"He wants more than mere suspicion to act upon," said Ulick to himself, "and he shall have it if I can find Janet. I can deal with the man who allowed the blame to fall upon me when I discover his name, and I shall not spare him."
He often thought about Irene, and wondered how she and Warren Courtly got on together. He had never liked Warren, although he had nothing against him, except his constant attentions to Irene, and as a result his marriage with her. This, however, he knew was partially his own fault, although he doubted if he would ever have succeeded in winning her. He left thecourse clear for Warren, and therefore rendered it a comparatively easy task for him.
It never occurred to Ulick that Warren Courtly had anything to do with the disappearance of Janet Todd. Had it been suggested to him he would have laughed at the idea as absurd.
TheSaint's first appearance as a three-year-old was at Kempton Park in the Pastures Handicap, a mile race on the Jubilee course. Having wintered well, as the trainer anticipated, he developed into a fine three-year-old, and in the early spring had a real good trial with some first-class handicap horses. Fred May was exceedingly anxious to place the colt well, and decided upon the Pastures Handicap because the distance was suitable, and the class of horses he was likely to meet in a five hundred pound race would not trouble him much.
Ulick agreed with him, and accordingly the Saint was entered.
Contrary to their expectations, there were some good horses in the race, including the winner of the Lincolnshire Handicap, and a four-year-old named Pinkerton, who had won the Jubilee Stakes the year before.
"We are in better company than I fancied we should be," said Fred May, when he glanced down the entries, "and I expect we shall get abiggish weight. We can strike him out if he is badly in."
The handicap, however, proved to be a good one, and although the Saint had eight stone, a big weight early in the year for a three-year-old, both Ulick and the trainer considered he had a chance. Pinkerton had eight stone twelve, and this horse they considered the most dangerous. There are few more enjoyable places than Kempton Park for racing in the spring, or, in fact, at any time of the year.
Although the Pastures Handicap was not the principal race of the day, it attracted the most attention, mainly on account of the Saint being a runner. His two-year-old performances placed him almost on a par with the Derby horses, and the favourite for that race would have been regarded as a certainty in the handicap with eight stone. It was generally acknowledged by the "clever division" that a four-year-old like Pinkerton ought to be able to give the Saint twelve pounds. Mulgar, Kit Cat, and Ringbell were also fair performers, and Kit Cat had been booked as a "rod in pickle" for some time past. As she had only seven stone, it was regarded as her "day out"—in other words, that the weight was right and she was going for the money.
The ring was kept busy when betting was opened on the Pastures Handicap. Four to one bar one, was first shouted, Pinkerton being the favourite, but these odds soon expanded until it was four to one on the field.
In the paddock the Saint was the great attraction. Everyone knew his two-year-old performances, and his remarkable colour always caused a mild sensation. He was "washy" enough as a two-year-old, but this spring he was almost white with a few "flea-bitten" spots on him.
"Looks as if he'd been powdered with black pepper and salt," was one characteristic remark, which certainly hit the mark.
Despite his colour, there was no mistaking the quality and fitness of the horse. He had been perfectly trained, hard and clean in his coat, no dandified polish on it, but a real glow of health.
"He'd make the Derby horses go if they ran against him now," said a well-known pressman.
"You are right, Harry. I fancy he'd start pretty near favourite. I think I shall back him," was the answer of a brother scribe.
The ladies crowded round "the curiosity," as the Saint was nicknamed, and a horse with a nickname is as popular as a rosy-cheeked schoolboydubbed "apples." A nickname is a sure sign of something out of the common in man, boy, or horse.
"The curiosity" took the mobbing in good part, it troubled him not at all, although he condescendingly glanced round the ring from time to time, and, as Fred May saddled him, made playful snaps at his coat, and once succeeded in securing his hat.
Ben Sprig was to ride the Saint; a good jockey with a reputation for honesty. He was a miniature man, about thirty-five, capable of riding seven stone if necessary. His face was a study. Ben Sprig seldom smiled outwardly; he seemed to conceal all expressions of joy inside his small frame, and the only signs of pleasure experienced were sundry chuckles that sounded like the cracking of nuts. He spoke jerkily, shooting out his words like darts, and taking time to consider between each one. His complexion was bronze, and his eyes were small and brown. He had beautifully-shaped small hands and feet, of which he was very proud. He was dapper in his dress, and always clean and spruce. His humour was proverbial, and as he always had a solemn countenance it proved the more effective. A man who laughs at his own jokes is like an advertiser who stares at his own advertisements.There was none of the advertising agent about Ben Sprig.
"Where's Ben?" asked May, as the bell rang.
"I'll hunt him up," said Ulick, as he hurried off towards the jockey's room.
Ben Sprig was a thorn in the side of all clerks of the course. They invariably had to hurry him up, and in nine cases out of ten he was always the last to leave the paddock. He had a habit of sneaking his mount up the course when the majority of the spectators thought all the horses were at the post.
"Come along, Ben," said Ulick. "I never saw such a fellow, you are always last."
"Leaving the paddock," said Ben, solemnly.
Ulick laughed as he replied, "Not always in that position at the finish, I grant you."
Ben was walking slowly along, the olive green jacket adopted by Ulick being almost hidden beneath a coat which came down to the heels of his boots.
Ulick was striding along in front; the clerk of the course gesticulating furiously at Ben, who took no notice whatever of him.
"Hurry up," he said, as he rode up to the jockey. "You're always last, I wonder you are not fined every time for being late at the post."
Ben pointed solemnly to the clock, and said—
"They are always behind time when you are clerk of the course."
Ben was quickly in the saddle, and rode the Saint quietly out on to the course, which was cleared of the crowd. He sidled up to the rails, and slipped along past the stands. He was almost rounding the bend before the people recognised the colours.
"I thought the Saint had gone down long ago?" said one.
"That's a trick of Ben Sprig's, he generally goes up last," was the reply.
The noise at Tattersall's was deafening, and although Pinkerton was a slight favourite, the money had poured in for Kit Cat to such an extent that she was about the worst runner in many of the books.
The Saint stood at six to one, and Ulick had succeeded in obtaining a point longer for his money.
There was no delay at the post, Mr. Coventry sending them off in his usual style.
Kit Cat was quickly on her legs, and came along at a great pace, the golden stars on the black jacket of her rider glittering in the sunlight. Mulgar's white jacket also showed prominently, and after a gap came Pinkerton, and the olive green on the Saint.
From the start the pace was fast, and Kit Cat was making the most of her light weight. She had an easy style of going, and looked strong enough to carry a couple of stone more. Her owner had not waited in vain to get in with seven stone, and the money proved the mare could go when required. He was regarded, not without reason, as a very smart man. His name, Conrad Rush, had often figured against large winning accounts in Monday's settlement, and the ring had a wholesale dread of him. He never did anything underhand, but he possessed an amount of patience that fairly wore the handicappers out.
The golden stars leading in a mile race meant mischief, and already backers of Kit Cat were on good terms with themselves. The mare rounded the bend going in grand style, revelling in her light weight, and pulling hard. So far, it was a one-horse race, but creeping up on the rails not far behind were Pinkerton's blue jacket, the Saint, and Mulgar. To these four horses it soon became evident the race belonged; which would win?
Already the murmur of many voices could be heard in the rings. The sound gradually increased until it swelled into a roar, and louder and louder it became as the horses drew nearer.
Kit Cat still held a commanding lead, andit seemed almost impossible she could be caught.
"They don't win there," said Fred May to Ulick, "and the Saint has a rare turn of speed."
"It's a lot of ground to make up," he replied, "but I hope he'll do it. Pinkerton is running well, but Kit Cat has such a light weight she ought to last it out."
"I fancy Conrad Rush has overshot his mark this time. I have never seen the mare cover a mile. She may do it, but I doubt it. Look at her now—by Jove, she's done, I felt pretty sure of it."
Ulick saw the rider on Kit Cat "niggling" at her, and a second or two later he raised his whip as he heard the horses behind drawing nearer.
The bookmakers were jubilant and howled with delight.
Kit Cat responded to the call, but it was a mere flash in the pan.
Pinkerton was the first to tackle her on the outside, and as he drew level she swerved towards him and bored him out. This left an opening on the rails, which looked dangerous to squeeze through. Ben Sprig never flinched when he got a chance, however small he took it. He did so on this occasion. He was watching the two horses in front of him with keen eyes, and no sooner did Kit Cat swerve than he slid the Saint forward with one great effort and secured the lead.
It was a clever bit of jockeyship on the part of the rider, a marvellous run on the part of the horse, and the combined effort drew forth a hearty cheer.
The rider of Pinkerton had not expected this; he fancied the Saint was shut in on the rails, and would have to go round him on the outside. When he saw the olive green jacket on the other side of Kit Cat, it is needless to say he was surprised.
Pinkerton was not beaten, and as the pair cleared Kit Cat a tremendous race home ensued. It was a thrilling moment. Pinkerton had won over this course, and that was in his favour. The Saint had not run on it before. The four-year-old and the three-year-old struggled gamely on, with a difference of twelve pounds between them.
Ulick was excited; he had not seen the Saint in such a tight place before, and he hoped he would get out of it.
The horses were close to the winning post, a few more strides would decide it. They fought out every yard of the ground. Ben Sprig was a great finisher. He graduated in a good school, and he clung to the old tradition that a bit left for a finish is worth a hundred yards at any other part of the race.
His face was set, and his little eyes gleamed.His small hands gripped the reins firmly, his knees pressed the Saint's sides, and he helped the horse all he knew how. The olive jacket and the blue were level, the next few strides would do it; which would win?
A moment of suspense, a second or two of breathless silence, then a mighty shout.
"The Saint! The Saint!"
Ulick echoed the cry.
"The Saint wins!" he shouted.
Ben Sprig's immovable face showed no signs of the triumph within. He knew he had ridden one of his best races, he felt much of the success was due to his horsemanship, and he was pleased with himself. He slid past the judge's box about three parts of a length in front of Pinkerton, with Kit Cat a bad third.
The Saint's performance was acknowledged on all sides to be a great one, and "the curiosity" was mobbed as Ben rode him in amidst cheers. Mr. Lanark was not well known, but the Saint had made the olive green jacket popular.
"You rode a splendid race, Ben," said Ulick. "I think the best you ever rode on him."
Ben Sprig had ridden the Saint throughout his two-year-old career.
"I agree with you," jerked Ben. "I did ride a good race, the saints be praised."
"I expect you felt a bit uneasy when you squeezed through on the rails?" laughed Ulick.
"Not at all; I'm used to squeezing. I've been squeezing all my life to make both ends meet," said Ben.
"Then from all accounts you have squeezed to some purpose," said Ulick, for Ben Sprig was reported to be rich.
"I could lend some of 'em a trifle, I have no doubt," he replied, "but look at the time I have been at it."
They joined Fred May in the paddock, and looked at the Saint walking round.
"He's the rummiest coloured beggar I ever rode or saw," said Ben.
"Bar his colour, what do you think of him?" asked May.
"He's an out-and-out good one, and as game as they make 'em. If it came to a match between him and the Derby winner I would back him, provided I rode him."
"That's a pretty tall order," said Ulick.
"It would come off, you can take my word for it," he replied.
A friend came up to Ulick, and they walked away together. After some conversation as to the merits of the Saint's victory, he said—
"How are you going back to town—by train?"
"Yes," replied Ulick.
"I have to go on to Windsor. Drive with me to Feltham and go to Waterloo from there, unless you will come with me?"
Ulick thanked him, said he would drive to Feltham, but declined to go to Windsor.
After the races they took a carriage to Feltham, driving through Hanworth Park, and down the High Street.
They were chatting over racing matters, when his friend exclaimed—
"By Jove! there's a pretty girl—well dressed, too."
Ulick looked up and gave a start of surprise.
It was Janet Todd. She had not seen him, of that he felt sure. She was going down the street, and he resolved to leave his friend at the station, walk back, and meet her. It was a lucky chance that caused him to come this way back from the races.
"Do you know her?" asked his friend, smiling, as he saw him start.
"I fancy I do; I am almost sure of it. I think I'll walk back and meet her after I leave you," he replied.
"I don't blame you, my friend," he said,laughing. "Does she come from your part of the world?"
"I am almost sure of it," replied Ulick; "at any rate, I mean to find out."
"Good luck to you," laughed his friend, as he shook hands and went into the station.
Ulickwalked out of the station yard and along the High Street. He saw Janet coming down on the opposite side of the road, and wondered whether it would be best to stop her or to watch where she went. He would, no doubt, surprise her if he spoke to her in the street, and perhaps the suddenness of his appearance might cause a scene. He decided it would be the better plan to allow her to pass, and then follow her. He went into a shop, made a trifling purchase, and saw her pass by.
When he went out she was turning round by the church, and he followed some distance away. He saw her enter a house, where she probably lived, but he waited some time in case she came out again. When she did not he went up to the door and rang the bell.
As he heard it ring he wondered who to ask for. She would not be living there under her own name, at all events it was unlikely.
Fortune favoured him, for Mrs. Hoffman was out and Janet was alone in the house.
She opened the door and stood face to face with Ulick.
The shock was great; she felt faint and giddy, and caught hold of the door, but, recovering herself, gasped out—
"Mr. Maynard, what are you doing here? How did you find me out?"
"I saw you as I drove from Kempton Park to Feltham, and came back from the station to meet you. I thought, however, it would be better to see you in your house, as I might have startled you in the street."
"I am very glad you did," she replied. "Will you come in?"
"Thank you, I should like to have a little conversation with you," he replied.
"I wonder if he knows?" thought Janet, and quickly decided he could hardly do so. Then arose the question should she tell him? No, it would be better to keep her secret for the present.
"You will not be offended if I put some plain questions to you, I hope," said Ulick. "I have suffered a good deal on your account; that must be my excuse."
"Ask me anything you like, and I will try and answer it," she replied.
"Are you living alone here?" he said.
"Yes," replied Janet. "Mrs. Hoffman andher son are the only other occupants of the house."
"I am glad of it," he replied; "it will make my task less difficult."
"What do you wish to do?" she asked, timidly.
"I saw your father early in the New Year, on New Year's Day, and I promised him I would find you, and persuade you to return home," he replied.
"I cannot do that," said Janet, firmly. "It is impossible. You would be the first to say so, if you knew all."
"Tell me all, and let me judge what is best to be done," he replied.
"That, also, is impossible, I know you mean well, and I thank you for your kindness."
"Your father will be very glad to have you back; he will forget the past; he has long since forgiven you, but not the man who tempted you to leave home. I wish I had known what you were about to do the night I left home. I would have stopped you and saved you at any cost."
Janet Todd shuddered. She was glad he had not met her and Warren Courtly, or there was no telling what might have happened.
"I cannot undo all I have done," she said. "Some day it may be possible for me to go backto my father without any danger or trouble to others, but at present I cannot. Believe me, I would do so if it were possible."
"Consider well what you are saying," he said. "If I give your father your address he will come and take you away, you cannot refuse to go with him."
"You must not do it—indeed you must not," pleaded Janet, earnestly. "Oh, if you only knew, you would leave the house at once. It is better for you to go and forget you have seen me." He was surprised at her agitation, which he saw was genuine. There was something in the background he could not understand, and her father had thrown out hints in the same way. What was the mystery, and why was it necessary to keep him in the dark?
"Janet, will you tell me who the man is you ran away with? I will not mention it to anyone if you desire me not to do so. If I know, I may be better able to help you," said Ulick.
"I cannot tell you; it is impossible," she replied. "Please do not ask me?"
"It must have been someone in the neighbourhood, but I cannot think who would do such a cowardly action," he said.
This was dangerous ground, and Janet said quickly—
"You can tell my father you have seen me, that I am well, and will come to him as soon as I possibly can."
"That is not sufficient. It is my duty to let him know where you are."
"If you do I must leave here, and I am very comfortable. Mrs. Hoffman is kind to me, and has always been so. Please allow matters to remain as they are."
Ulick looked at her, and thought his friend was right in describing Janet as a pretty woman. She evidently lived a regular life, and he was glad to see a healthy glow on her cheeks. Whatever her faults in the past, she was living a decent, quiet life now, of that he felt certain. It would be a great consolation to Eli to know this.
"If you feel compelled to remain hidden here for a time," he said at last, "I will keep your secret, but you must allow me to write to your father and tell him you are well and living a respectable life. That will ease his mind, and he will wait for your return more patiently. It is right he should know, for he has suffered much on your account."
She thanked him, and gave the permission he required, again entreating him not to mention her address.
The gate opened, and Mrs. Hoffman came intothe house. She was surprised to see Ulick, and looked at him sharply, thinking to herself, "I wonder what he is doing here? Perhaps he is a friend of Mr. Warren's?"
Mrs. Hoffman always addressed Janet as Mrs. Warren; it sounded more respectable.
Janet was at a loss what to say; she did not wish to give Ulick's name, in case Warren Courtly might hear he had called.
"A friend of yours, Mrs. Warren?" said Mrs. Hoffman, with a smile.
"Yes," said Janet, "a very old friend. I knew him when I was a little girl."
"Mrs. Warren," thought Ulick, thinking the name sounded familiar, but never dreaming of connecting it with Warren Courtly.
Mrs. Hoffman was fond of hearing herself talk, and launched out upon a variety of topics until Ulick wished her anywhere but in his presence. He thought, however, it was diplomatic, for Janet's sake, to be polite, and Mrs. Hoffman was delighted to find such an attentive listener. As a rule, her tirades were cut short with scant ceremony.
She pressed him to have a cup of tea, and, thinking this was the only way to get rid of her for a time he consented.
He went to the window and looked out into the street and saw someone walking down. He couldhardly believe his eyes when he recognised Warren Courtly.
"What on earth is he doing here?" he thought.
Janet followed him, and when she saw Warren she turned as pale as death, standing almost rigid, unable to move.
They must not meet. Whatever happened they must not meet. That was her one thought, her sole desire.
Ulick's eyes were fixed upon Warren. She pulled his sleeve. When he turned round and saw her face it told him all.
"Good God," he exclaimed. "Irene, what about Irene?"
He seized Janet's wrist, and pressed it so tightly that she almost screamed out with pain.
"Irene, his wife; good heavens, his wife, she must never know! Do you hear, she must never know; it would kill her. Do you hear me?"
"Yes," said Janet.
"Promise you will never breathe a word to her of this."
"I promise. You will help me if I require help?"
"I will, Janet. He must not see me," he said.
Janet pulled him towards the door and led him into the kitchen.
"Well, I never!" exclaimed Mrs. Hoffman.
"There is no time for any explanation," said Ulick. "Mr. ——"
"Mr. Warren is coming," put in Janet, "and Mr. Hazelwell"—it was the name that came first to her mind—"does not wish to meet him; they are not friends."
The door bell rang.
"Keep him here until Mr. Warren is gone," said Janet. "I will attend to the door."
Mrs. Hoffman was shocked. Why was it necessary for Mr. Hazelwell's visit to be concealed from Mr. Warren? She would not allow these goings on in her house. One thing, however, there was no getting over, and that was there was a gentleman in her kitchen, and she had asked him to have some tea. He was a good-looking gentleman into the bargain, and Mrs. Hoffman flattered herself there were considerable remains of her early beauty left.
"I am sorry this has occurred," said Ulick; "but I really do not wish to meet Mr. Warren."
"Didn't you know it was Mrs. Warren who lived here?" she asked.
"No, I saw her in Feltham. She was a playmate of mine years ago. I had no idea she was married."
"It is strange you should know Mr. Warren, too," said Mrs. Hoffman, curiously.
"Remarkable, I call it," he replied, as he accepted the cup of tea handed him.
He heard voices in the next room and the tones were angry.
Ulick was dumbfounded at the discovery he had made. He saw now, and understood Janet's reason for not wishing to return home, and he appreciated her delicacy. It was some consolation to think Warren Courtly got into this mess before he married Irene, not after; and yet, judging from his presence here, he was keeping up the connection. His feelings can be better imagined than described. He loved Irene, he had found out the truth ever since he lost her. She must never know it was Warren Courtly who tempted Janet away from her home and allowed all the suspicion to fall upon himself. At the thought of Warren's perfidy, his blood boiled, and he would have gone into the next room with pleasure and called him to account, There was no reason why he should not do so. No reason? Only one, and that everything to him. He could bear the blame cast unjustly upon himself, the separation from his father, the loss of all the pursuits he loved, and a hundred times more, for Irene's sake. Irene was the one reason why he would not call Warren Courtlyto account. He knew her nature, and how she would suffer if the truth reached her ears. She was not likely to hear it from anyone except himself or Janet, and she had promised not to tell. Did Eli suspect Warren Courtly? He thought of his words, and felt he meant that if what he suspected turned out true, it would cause great trouble at Anselm Manor. Eli would not be the man to cause that trouble.
The voices in the next room grew louder, and Mrs. Hoffman said, "I am afraid they are quarrelling. Mr. Warren is a very irritable man."
"Does he come here often?" asked Ulick.
"No, he leaves her too much alone. He ought to be thankful he has me to look after her. Mrs. Warren is young, pretty, and inexperienced; he has no business to neglect her."
Ulick was glad to hear he neglected her; it was a sign he wished to spare Irene's feelings.
Warren remained about half an hour, and then left. He would have been very uneasy had he known Ulick Maynard was on the premises, and still more that he knew all about his connection with Janet. He had, as usual, quarrelled with her over money matters, but she had won in the end, as she was bound to do, considering the hold she had over him. She did not mean to let him shirk his responsibilities and he had no ideashe would not have betrayed him to Irene under any circumstances.
She came into the kitchen and said, "You may come in now, Mr. Hazelwell—the coast is clear."
Ulick was glad to escape from Mrs. Hoffman, and when she was left alone that good lady commenced to sum up the situation to her own satisfaction.
"They are rivals, that's what it is," she said; "and this one is worth half-a-dozen Mr. Warrens. There's no telling what men will do where a pretty face is concerned. I know what it is myself, and to think I should have thrown myself away on such a fellow as Hoffman when I might have had anybody in those days. Mrs. Warren's in my charge, and she must be careful; but I like a little bit of romancing, and it strikes me I'm likely to get it in this situation."
Ulick had a serious talk with Janet.
"Is it because Warren Courtly is the man who took you away from home that you decline to return to your father's house?" he asked.
"Yes."
"I think you are right, now I know the facts. It will be better for me not to mention having seen you; it will only make Eli uneasy and anxious to know more."
She agreed with him, and promised to write to him if necessary.
"Were you quarrelling?" he added.
"We had some words, as usual, about money matters."
"He makes you an allowance still?"
"Yes, I could not live here without, and he has a right to do it," she replied.
"Mrs. Hoffman says he seldom comes here?"
"That is true."
"I am glad," said Ulick.
"So am I. When he married Miss Carstone I made up my mind to see as little of him as possible. He promised to marry me when I ran off with him," said Janet.
"He deceived you, and deserves to suffer for it, but his wife must not be dragged into it," he said.
"She will never learn anything from me," Janet answered, earnestly.
Ulick went back to London thinking over the varied chances of the day, and wondering at the strange discovery he had made.
So it was Warren Courtly who had robbed Eli of his daughter, and allowed the blame to rest on him. He would let Warren see that he knew the truth, that much satisfaction he meant having, but Irene must be shielded no matter what happened. How different events might haveturned out had he stuck to his guns and won Irene, in spite of Warren Courtly, and the suspicions surrounding himself. Had he done so, no doubt the truth would have come to light in a very short time; as it was, he must trust to his luck to clear the way for him.
TheSquire noticed an estrangement had taken place between Irene and her husband. She was too proud to allow her real feelings to appear on the surface, but he saw below it and knew there was discord somewhere.
Redmond Maynard, since his son's departure, had led a lonely life. Everyone in the county sympathised deeply with him, but he was not a man to be soothed with kindly words; on the contrary, they irritated him. He went about his daily avocations as usual, but it was evident he had lost much of the interest in his surroundings. Dr. Harding ordered a change, but the Squire protested he was in a perfect state of health, and that there was no occasion for him to leave Hazelwell. The doctor was an old and valued friend, in addition to being his medical attendant. He practised in various parts of the county, his connection being select and extensive. Dr. Harding's was a familiar figure in the hunting field, and when he could spare the time he was nothing loth to attend a race meeting. He was an excellent shot, and always had a standinginvitation to join the parties at Hazelwell. Of late, however, visitors there had been few and far between, and Dr. Harding saw the Squire was gradually falling into a fit of despondency which boded ill for his health. He spoke to Irene about it, knowing the influence she had over him, and requested her to persuade him to go south for a time. This she did in her own winning way, promising Warren and herself would accompany him if he thought well.
"That is an inducement certainly, to have your company," he said. "I will think it over. I expect Harding has been putting you up to this," he added, smiling.
"Dr. Harding is only anxious about your health, and I am sure he advises you for the best," she said.
"I am aware of that," replied the Squire; "but we do not always follow the advice we ask. It is foolish, of course, and we ought to obey the doctor when we call him in. I rather fancy a change would do you good, Irene, you are not happy."
She looked troubled and said quickly—
"You are mistaken, I am perfectly happy; I have everything to make me contented."
"Has Warren been behaving himself lately?" he asked.
"He always behaves himself," was her answer.
"I am glad you think so; I do not," he said gruffly. "Warren is going the pace, and you know it."
His anxiety about Irene caused him for a time to forget his own troubles.
Eli Todd watched the Squire, and noted how worn and aged he was growing. This caused him many qualms of conscience; he knew the cause, and would have liked to remove it. He wrote a long letter to Ulick, telling him how his father's health suffered, and begging him to return. This caused him to wonder if he was doing right in remaining away. Now that he knew everything connected with Janet's disappearance from home, he felt it was impossible for him to go to Hazelwell and meet Irene, as he was sure to do. He wrote to Eli, explaining as well as he could that it was impossible for him to return at present, but circumstances might arise which would enable him to do so at no distant date. With this Eli had to rest contented, but he would have preferred something more definite.
It was shortly after the Saint's great race with Pinkerton at Kempton that the Squire came into Eli's cottage and sat down for a chat. Eli gave him full particulars of all the mares and youngsters in the stud, and said there would be some good prices realised at Doncaster in September.
"Honeysuckle's foal will be a tip-topper," said Eli. "He'll run well into four figures."
"I shall not sell him," replied the Squire.
Eli was glad to hear this; it meant the Squire thought of racing again.
"Shall you have him trained?" he asked.
"Yes, it is some time since I gave Fred May a turn. By the way, he has got hold of a champion in the Saint. That must have been a splendid race at Kempton. I wonder who Mr. Lanark is?"
"A new recruit to the turf," said Eli, smiling, "and he has made a rare good start." "He little thinks his son owns the Saint," thought Eli.
"He has got into the right hands. Fred May is thoroughly honest. Mr. Lanark, whoever he is, may congratulate himself. I wonder if he would sell the Saint?" said the Squire, half to himself.
Eli smiled; he thought it would be a curious thing if the Squire bought his son's horse. It occurred to him this might be the means of bringing them together.
"I should think it would be a difficult matter to induce him to part with him," said Eli.
"There can be no harm in trying," said the Squire. "I like the Saint's breeding; he would do well for the stud."
"Why not run down to Fred May's and seewhat can be done?" said Eli. "It will be a change for you."
"I think it will, and you had better come with me. I ought to write and let him know we are coming."
"I will do it to save you the trouble," said Eli.
"Very well, fix it for next Thursday, if that will suit Mr. Lanark, providing he is willing to sell," replied the Squire.
Eli cudgelled his brains how to bring about the meeting he desired. If Ulick knew his father was coming to Newmarket to see the Saint he would not be present, of that Eli felt certain. The only plan that suggested itself to him was to take Fred May into his confidence, for it was evident to Eli the trainer knew nothing of the misunderstanding between father and son. He wrote his letter after much deliberation, and anxiously awaited the reply. It came by return of post, and in it the trainer plainly showed how astonished he was at the breach between them.
"I will do all in my power to help you to heal it," he wrote, "but I am afraid we shall get into trouble. Neither the Squire nor his son like being dictated to, and they will probably think we have taken a liberty. However, we will risk it. Bring him on Thursday, and I'll see that his son is here, you can leave that to me. If we can effecta reconciliation we shall have done much good. The Saint is an extraordinarily good colt, equal to the best Derby form, and I am very glad I advised Mr. Maynard to buy him. Tell the Squire there is no price upon him, but that Mr. Lanark will be delighted to see him and show him his champion, and one or two more he has in my stable."
Eli sent a note up to the Squire stating the matter was arranged, and they had better go to London on the Wednesday, and on to Newmarket next day.
To this arrangement he agreed, and sent Bob Heather with a letter to tell Irene of his intention.
"If you and Warren come to town I will meet you at the Walton Hotel on Friday."
Irene sent back a reply to the effect that they would be there, as Warren had to go up to town again at the end of the week.
When Ulick received a letter from his trainer requesting him to go to Newmarket on Wednesday, he hastened down at once, fearing something might have gone wrong with the Saint.
"He's all right," said Fred May, in reply to Ulick's anxious inquiries, "but I have some rather startling news for you. A gentleman is coming to see him to-morrow; he wishes to buy him. I thought you would have no objection to showing him the Saint yourself."
Ulick laughed as he replied, "He is coming on a useless errand; I would not sell him at any price."
"Never refuse a good offer," said Fred May.
"Surely you would not like to lose him?" he replied.
"Certainly not, but I should advise you all the same to take a stiff price."
"Don't you think he will stand training?"
"Not a shadow of doubt about that," was the trainer's reply.
"Then I shall not part with him. Who is the gentleman?"
"I am not quite sure, but I fancy he is rather an exalted person," said Fred, mysteriously.
"You have brought me down on a wild-goose chase," laughed Ulick. "You don't even know the name of the intending purchaser. I am surprised at you, Fred; however, I forgive you. I am always glad of an excuse to run down to Newmarket and have a gallop on the Heath."
The Squire and Eli came by an early train, and arrived at Stanton House, the trainer's residence, unseen by Ulick, who happened to be reading the paper in Fred May's room.
After a few words of welcome with his old patron, the trainer said he would tell Mr. Lanark they were here, and left the room. Eli felt veryuncomfortable; he wondered if there would be an explosion. He had agreed with Fred May that it would be better to leave them alone together.
The door opened, and the trainer said, "This is Mr. Lanark, I think you know him?"
Father and son were face to face, and, taking advantage of their astonishment and consternation, the trainer and Eli beat a retreat, wondering how their plot would succeed.
For a few moments neither of them spoke. Both knew they had been brought together by Eli and the trainer. At last a smile came over the Squire's face, and he said, as he held out his hand, "We have been caught cleverly, Ulick, and I trust it is all for the best; it is a long time since we met, my boy." His voice shook at the finish, and this touched Ulick; he noticed how his father had changed, he seemed much older, and his face more worn. He clasped his hand and said—
"We have both suffered; it was all a mistake." He seemed at a loss for words. Had his father decided to do him justice, or did he still suspect him? It would be impossible for him to return to Hazelwell at present, and be constantly meeting Warren and his wife; that was more than he could endure, and yet he was unable to explain the reason to his father.
"So you are Mr. Lanark," said the Squire,laughing more heartily than he had done for many a day.
Eli and the trainer, listening like two guilty schoolboys in the hall, heard him, and the former said, joyfully—
"It's all right, Fred, that's the Squire's laugh, and right glad I am to hear it."
"It's splendid," said Fred, as he rubbed his hands in high glee; "we must crack a bottle over this, Eli, come along."
"I am Mr. Lanark," said Ulick, "and I own the Saint, but he is not for sale," he added, smiling.
"Never mind the horse at present; tell me what you have been doing," said the Squire.
"Living quietly in a flat in West Kensington, and doing a little racing," replied Ulick.
"Not quite so pleasant as Hazelwell?" inquired his father.
"There is no place quite like Hazelwell to my mind," said his son. "I was fearfully dull and miserable at first, but I have become fairly used to it now."
"You will come back to our home?" was the next question.
Ulick looked troubled; what could he say, how make an excuse?
"There is no occasion to hesitate," said the Squire. "Return with me to-day; the flat can look after itself."
The temptation was great. He thought of Hazelwell and all it meant to him; then he thought of Irene. If he was constantly in Warren's company he felt he must betray himself. Better to stay away, far better for all of them.
"I cannot return to-day, father," he said, quietly. "I have very good reasons for not doing so. Trust me, believe in me; I am acting for the best, as one day you will discover."
The Squire's face clouded. "He dare not face us all after what he has done," was his thought. He sighed heavily, and his son knew what it meant.
"You still believe me guilty," he said. "You are wrong, quite wrong. I can prove my innocence, but you ought not to require that of me. Cannot you trust me, father?"
The appealing tone in his voice was unmistakable, there was a ring of sincerity in it, and the Squire wavered. Ulick had not been accustomed to deceiving him. If he could only bring himself to believe in his innocence; but the evidence was damning, and now his refusal to return to Hazelwell confirmed it.
"Do you know who took Janet Todd away from home?" he asked.
"Yes," replied Ulick, in a low voice.
"Ah!" exclaimed the Squire, in a tone ofsatisfaction. "Then why have you not given me his name long ago?"
"Because I only discovered it the other day, and that quite by accident."
"Who is the scoundrel?"
"I cannot tell you."
"You must," thundered the Squire.
Ulick remained silent, nothing his father might say would make him break his resolve. It was hard, very hard, and at that moment he hated Warren Courtly heartily.
"Come, my boy," said his father, in a milder tone, "let there be no more differences between us. Are you satisfied if I say I am convinced of your innocence, and ask you to forgive me for my unjust suspicions? I regret the hasty, angry words I said that night. Come back home with me, and let bygones be bygones."