  Produced by Al Haines. [image] Cover [image] "The next moment her eyes had seen the tell-tale broad-arrow on the boot and trousers." (Chapter BLACKTHORN BY ARTHUR APPLIN Author of "Her Sacrifice," "Love Conquers All Things," WARD, LOCK& CO., LIMITED First published in 1915. CONTENTS. CHAPTER I.— BLACKTHORN FARM. CHAPTER I. RUINED! Rupert Dale sat at the writing-table before the open windows of his sitting-room in Clanton Street, Westminster. It was a glorious summer morning. The sun had torn aside the grey mantle from the face of London. The roofs and spires of the city shone. The trees rustled their leaves in the warm breeze. The roar of traffic echoed in his ears. Rupert stretched himself, sighed, and leant back in his chair. His table was littered with papers. There were letters, bills, advertisements—principally from tipsters and bookmakers—and the examination papers which had been set him at his third attempt to pass the final examination of the School of Mining Engineers. The result was due to-day, and Rupert had intended going down to the hall to find out whether he had passed or not. But he was afraid. He had failed twice already. He could not afford to fail a third time. If he failed ruin faced him, and disgrace. His father had warned him that the money he had saved for his education had come to an end. Ruin for his father and his little sister! He had no idea how deeply Rupert was in debt. Rupert himself had only just realised it. And in desperation he had gambled to save himself. He had backed a horse on the big race to be run that day for more money than he possessed. He had staked honour and love on a horse he had never even seen. If it won he was saved. He could face his father, pay his debts, and, supposing he had failed, go up yet once again for his final examination. If it lost——? On the table a letter lay from his father in Devonshire enclosing a cheque—the last he would be able to send him. There was also a letter from Ruby Strode, reminding him that he had promised to take her to see the big race that day. Rupert picked up his father's letter and looked at the cheque. For five pounds only. It was drawn by Reginald Crichton, of Post Bridge Hall, made payable to John Allen Dale. His father had endorsed it. Rupert smiled and fingered the cheque thoughtfully. Five pounds! Quite a lot of money—to his father; probably he did not spend as much in a month. And Rupert's conscience pricked him. He set his teeth and swept aside the accumulation of unanswered letters and bills. Ruin! An ugly word. He repeated it aloud—and laughed. It savoured of the melodramatic. Yet here was ruin facing him. He looked up and saw it blotting out the sunshine. It had come upon him stealthily, like a thief in the night. And at the same time Love had come, too! Again Rupert laughed. He had only known Miss Strode seven months, but six weeks after their meeting outside the stage-door of the Ingenue Theatre they had been engaged to be married. As Miss Strode's income—including two matinees—was exactly the same as Rupert's, marriage was out of the question. Being young and lighthearted and having no idea of the value of time, money or life, they had taken all the gods offered them, living for the day, careless of the morrow. But the to-morrow and the day of reckoning had unexpectedly arrived. For himself Rupert did not care. He could face poverty, failure, even disgrace. But it was of his father he was thinking, and of his sister Marjorie. His father, the old yeoman farmer who had pinched and scraped for seven years now, denying himself and even his daughter the ordinary necessities of life that he might give this only son a good education and make a man and a gentleman of him. As he stood before the dressing-table in his bedroom and commenced to shave it was not the reflection of his own face he saw in the mirror. A vision rose before his eyes of Blackthorn Farm, his humble home in the middle of the wild moorlands, of his father, aged and worn with toil and poverty; of his sister, a girl on the eve of beautiful womanhood. For centuries the Dales had lived at Blackthorn Farm, and when with the passage of time the homestead decayed and threatened to crumble to dust and disappear, so, in the same way, the family of Dales dwindled and decayed, too. For there was no money in Blackthorn Farm. It was difficult enough to grow pasture to feed the few cattle. And so John Allen Dale had determined to make a gentleman of his only son. He had been studying now for over three years in London—ever since he had left Taunton Grammar School. It was two years since John Dale had even seen his first-born, and his heart thrilled with pride and expectation when he thought of the homecoming. It would make up for all the years of grinding and scraping. He had been even forced to mortgage a small part of the unproductive land in which an old tin mine was situated, unworked for many years now and valueless—though once it had promised to retrieve the fortunes of the Dales. It had hurt his pride at the time, and he had not told Rupert. For the mortgagee was Sir Reginald Crichton, of Post Bridge Hall, who had gradually bought up all the land lying in the valley; a rich man and influential, yet a stranger to Dartmoor and therefore unwelcome. But John Dale consoled himself with the thought that when his son was a gentleman he would have no use for the old homestead of Blackthorn. It would just sink into oblivion and disappear, and there would be nothing left but memory—and the everlasting morass and moorlands. But the grand old name of Dale would rise phoenix-like from the ashes and be handed down to future generations by his son. Just as Rupert finished dressing there was a knock at the outer door and Ruby Strode burst into the sitting-room bringing with her the sunshine and the breath of summer. The vision that had been conjured before Rupert's eyes disappeared: he was glad enough to dismiss the thoughts and memories that it had brought. Ruin! He looked at Ruby, and advanced to meet her with open arms. "Be careful, you mustn't crush me," she laughed. "What do you think of my new frock?—and isn't this a duck of a hat, straight from Paris?" Rupert stepped back and gazed at her. "By Jove, how beautiful you are," he whispered. "You look simply——" He searched for an adjective in vain. Ruby gave a satisfied smile. She was really in love with Rupert, and she valued his opinion as much or more than she would have valued the opinion of a woman friend—or enemy. Remarkably good-looking, of a type of beauty rather unusual, she had found the stage an excellent matrimonial market. But life had taught her that love was to be given, not sold. Unfortunately, she had given it to a penniless young man whose heritage was as unstable as the bog on which his house was built. But he was strong, he was clean, he was young. And he had won her. "We shall have to hurry up or we shall miss the train," she cried. "I wish we could motor down, but I suppose that's impossible." Rupert laughed light-heartedly and emptied the contents of his pockets on to the table. "Every penny I possess in the world is on Paulus. I've backed it at 'sevens' already, you know. It'll cost a couple of pounds to get on to the stand. We shall have to train it, my dear, and walk down the course." Ruby glanced ruefully at her long narrow shoes and silk stockings. "Right ho! I believe I'd walk through your Devonshire bogs if you asked me. But I say, Rupert, suppose Paulus doesn't win? What on earth are we going to do?" Rupert shrugged his shoulders. "Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof. If I pass my final—well, I suppose I shall get a job somewhere and the old man will be so pleased that he'll forgive me.... I'll manage somehow. Find tin in an old disused mine we've got on our property, and float a company." He spoke lightly, but a shadow crossed his face. He looked at Ruby again and found himself wondering how much her clothes had cost, how much money they had managed to waste together during the happy months they had known one another. And then, again, he saw the queer eerie little farmhouse lying tucked between the granite tors: on one side of it the Dart purred to the sea; stretching away to the left a few fields surrounded by stone walls and the cattle standing in the green grass. And beyond, the vast peat bogs with the rushes flinging their white seed to the wind, and creeping up the hills the purple heather with patches of wild gorse; and little Marjorie milking the cows, scalding the cream, and making the butter. If he had failed in his final examination? His body grew suddenly cold, he shuddered. He could not face his father then. "What's the matter?" Ruby stepped forward and took Rupert's hand. "I was wondering, if Paulus didn't win?" he stammered. "But, of course it will. Come along, or we shall miss the train!" Rupert slung his race-glasses over his shoulder, put on his hat, and together they ran downstairs. At the front door the landlady of the lodgings met him. She drew Rupert aside and reminded him that his bill was three weeks overdue. "You said you would let me have something to-day, sir. I'm sorry to trouble you, but——" "Of course, I forgot. I'll pay you to-night without fail," he cried cheerfully. Then, slamming the front door behind him, he slipped his arm through Ruby's. Hailing a passing taxi-cab they drove to Waterloo Station. * * * * * Epsom Downs looked like a vast ant-hill. The very air seemed to shake and quiver with the cries of the multitude. The great race of the day was due to start. Paulus was a hot favourite. It was difficult to get bookmakers to lay two to one against it. "By gad, it can't lose," Rupert kept on saying. "I shall win enough, Ruby, to pay my debts, with a little to spare." Ruby slipped her hand into his. She looked into his face a trifle uneasily: "You mean if it were to win? Would it be very serious for you if Paulus were to lose?" Rupert forced a laugh. Again, at this moment of tense excitement, he realised what it would mean if the horse lost. Ruin! Not just for himself, that was nothing. But disgrace! That was something his father would never face. The blasting of the old man's hopes. All that he had lived for and dreamed of. Unsteadily Rupert counted out five sovereigns. "I'd better stick this on the brute as well, it's all or nothing," he said, forcing a smile. And he began to fight his way to the rails where the bookmakers shouted the odds. Ruby laid her hand on his arm. "Give it to me, I'll do it. You always say I'm lucky to you—and I may get better odds." Rupert nodded and made a passage for her. "All right. If you smile at the beggar like that he'll lay you fives, I should think." The crowd swallowed her up. She forced her way to the rails at Tattersall's Ring. Rupert saw the long black plume of her French hat nodding in the breeze. He saw her hand the money to a bookmaker and receive a ticket in exchange. Then a cry like a great chorus rent the air. "They're off!" Rupert leapt to his position on the stand and putting up his glass watched the race. A good start, though one horse was left. It was not Paulus, so he did not care. One horse out of the way! He watched the horses climb the hill, the colours of the jockeys made brilliant blots against the blue sky. The great human ant-hill was still now, silent, too. The whole thing looked like a cinematograph picture; the horses like clockwork animals. They neared Tattenham Corner. Rupert held his breath. The vast crowd began to murmur now. A strange sound as if emanating from the lips of one man. The sound rose and fell like distant thunder. Presently he heard the thunder of the horses' hoofs. They had rounded the corner and were coming down the straight. He took a deep breath, and for a moment the scene was blotted from his eyes. And again he saw the black Devon moorlands, neither purple heather nor golden gorse now, just granite tors and bogland; and an old man standing at the entrance of a thatched-roofed little farmhouse staring out over the grey hills—as if waiting for one who never came. "Nimbo wins! A monkey to a pea-nut on Nimbo!" The storm broke now. First the name of one horse was shouted, then another. The field had strung out, but there were half a dozen horses locked together. "Paulus wins! I'll back Paulus!" Rupert took a deep breath, and for the moment put down his glasses. Then he heard his own voice shrieking hysterically, "Paulus! Paulus!" A sudden silence fell, more terrifying than the thunder of ten thousand voices. The leading bunch of horses was within a hundred yards of the winning post now. Paulus led, then fell back suddenly challenged by a rank outsider, Ambuscade. Neck and neck they ran, first one, then the other, getting the advantage. Rupert was conscious of Ruby clinging to his arm. He was conscious of the great crowd on the hill, of the crowd surrounding him, swaying to and fro; of the perfume of the girl's hair—the girl he loved; the colours of the jockeys as they lay almost flat on the horses' backs. The race was over now. The winning-post was reached. Thunder-clap after thunder-clap of human voices. "Paulus wins! ... Paulus! Paulus! Paulus!" Rupert was shouting at the top of his voice as he was carried by the crowd he knew not whither, Ruby clinging to his arm. He waved his hat in the air and he laughed as he shouted. He was saved, and for a moment he forgot all he had learned. He could not control himself, he just shouted with the crowd, his crowd. Still the excitement was not over. There were a few moments more of tension until the numbers went up and they saw on the telegraph board that Paulus had won by a short head. Rupert found himself standing alone at the bottom of the enclosure. He wiped the perspiration from his face. Ruby had disappeared—yet a moment ago she had been hanging on his arm. He heard the "All right" called and he realised she had gone to draw the money from the bookmaker. After a while he saw her hemmed in by the crowd near the rails. He fought his way to her and in answer to his queries she showed him her purse. "Come along, let's go back," he whispered. "There's nothing else to wait for now." Once clear of the crowd they walked up the hill to the railway station, caught the first train returning to London, and drove straight to Rupert's rooms. A telegram was waiting for him on the table. He picked it up and gave it to Ruby. "Open it, you always bring me luck," he laughed. "It's the result of the exam. I told one of my pals to wire me. Still, I don't care twopence now——" He broke off as Ruby tore open the little buff envelope and looked at the message. The next moment she had dropped it and taken him in her arms, heedless now of the damage to her French toilet. Her black, sweetly-scented hair brushed his face, her soft cheek was pressed against his own. She mothered him as if he were her child instead of her lover. He had failed. "What does it matter?" he cried with bravado. "I'm rich now. I can pay my bills; we can have a jolly good time before I go home." "But your father, Rupert?" she whispered. "Don't you remember—all you told me about him, his dreams, his ambitions for you? Oh! don't think I'm a prig, but he'll be disappointed, so disappointed. I think I'd rather you had passed your exam, and lost your money——" He broke away from her angrily. "You don't know what you're saying. If Paulus hadn't won!" The raucous cries of a newsboy from the street interrupted him. They both listened, then Rupert smiled. "Forgive me, it's ripping of you to think of father and all that. I know it'll knock the old man sideways: he'll be awfully sick about it. But I've got one more chance, and now I can afford to take it. If I hadn't won this money I couldn't have. I should have had to go home and stop there, shut up in that crumbling hole in the midst of those beastly moors. But I'll try again and, by gad! I'll win. I swear I'll pass next 'go.' It was the worry of thinking of the beastly money which upset me this time." Another newsboy ran shrieking down the street. "Result of the great race. Sensational result! All the winners—Sensation——" Rupert moved towards the door. "Let's get a paper and see the starting price." Ruby followed him. "Wait a moment, Rupert. Tell me honestly, how much you would have owed if Paulus hadn't won?" "Oh, I don't know. What does it matter now?" he cried carelessly. "A hundred or two, I think. What does it matter now? I can go on working until I pass. And I'll send the guv'nor that last fiver he posted me, old Crichton's cheque. Those brutes at Post Bridge Hall are absolutely rolling in money, but, by gad! they shall see we've got some, too. Come on, let's get a paper." Smiling at his excitement Ruby followed him out of the room. From the doorstep they beckoned to a passing newsboy, who thrust a paper into Rupert's hands. Chucking him sixpence Rupert made his way upstairs again. He opened the paper in the sitting-room, and Ruby bent over his shoulder. "Well?" she said. Then she heard Rupert catch his breath, she saw his face change colour, grow deadly white. The paper began to shiver and tremble between his hands. She looked at the stop press news. She saw the result: Paulus first, Ambuscade second—then in huge black type underneath: OBJECTION! "The stewards objected to the winner for bumping and not keeping a straight course. An enquiry was held and Paulus was disqualified. The outsider, Ambuscade, is therefore the winner. The starting price is a hundred to one." Rupert crunched the paper in his hands, and staggering forward fell into the chair in front of the writing-table. He stretched his arms out, sweeping off the litter of papers, and his head fell forward between his hands. Ruby bent over him and tried to raise him. "Rupert—perhaps it's not true. Rupert!" She lifted him up, but he fell back into the chair half fainting. Putting her arms around him she dragged him into the bedroom, and laying him on the bed loosened his collar. She found some brandy and forced a little between his lips. Then she sat beside him, holding his hand tightly. Presently the colour returned to his cheeks, his eyes opened. He lay quite still, staring at the ceiling. "It'll be all right," she whispered. "It'll all come right, Rupert. I—I love you, dear, I'll help you. It'll all come right." The muscles of his face twitched convulsively. "Leave me," he whispered. "For pity's sake leave me for a little while." Drawing down the blind, she crept out of the room and shut the door behind her. She heard someone coming up the stairs—the landlady bringing tea. Stooping down she commenced to pick up the papers scattered on the floor. Among them she found the cheque Rupert had received that morning from his father, the cheque drawn by Reginald Crichton. She looked at it curiously, a sudden instinct telling her how much that little sum meant to the old father who had sent it. Five pounds! Scarcely the value of the hat she wore. Folding it up she slipped it into her gloved hand, then sat down at the writing-table waiting until the landlady left the room. She had a few pounds in her purse which she had drawn over Paulus before the objection was made. A few pounds in the Post Office Savings-bank. Between them they might collect twenty or thirty pounds: and Rupert confessed to owing a hundred or two. That might mean five hundred—the price of his father's honour and happiness, his little sister, the house, everything. And she loved Rupert Dale. Now that ruin faced him she knew how much she loved him. She would give her life to save him. She poured herself out a cup of tea and drank it. The little sitting-room felt hot and stuffy, her brain felt numb, she wanted air. She crept downstairs and commenced to walk to and fro up and down the pavement trying to think what she would do. Twelve pounds in her purse and a cheque for five pounds in her gloved hand. How lightly Rupert had thrown aside that cheque a few hours ago. Probably he did not know what he had done with it; would think he had lost it. Scarcely thinking what she was doing she took it out and looked at it closely. And she remembered Reginald Crichton's name. She had heard men at the theatre speak of him in connection with mining investments. The clock struck the hour—six—and she made her way back to the lodging-house, and very quietly opened the door of the sitting-room. Then she stopped short, frozen with terror. Rupert was standing at the writing-table. The blinds were drawn down. In his hand he held a revolver. She saw him slowly turn it until the muzzle was pointing at his breast. CHAPTER II. FIVE HUNDRED POUNDS. "Rupert!" Ruby's voice scarcely rose above a whisper. Slowly Rupert turned the revolver from his breast. Very slowly his arm dropped until it hung limply by his side. His grip relaxed and the revolver fell to the floor. Ruby crossed to his side, and, stooping down, picked it up. Extricating the cartridges, she put the revolver away in a drawer of the writing-table and locked it up. Then she drew a chair forward and sat down, facing the man whose life she had just saved, the man she loved. It was a long time before either of them spoke. Rupert Dale had meant to kill himself. Ruby had arrived at the critical moment. Thirty seconds more and she would have been too late. The crisis had passed now, but the shock had left the woman unnerved and weak. Rupert merely felt vaguely surprised that he was still alive. The idea of suicide was horrible to him because normally he was a healthy, sane young man, but the news of his failure for the third time in his final examination, coming upon the victory and subsequent disqualification of Paulus, had made him see the hopelessness of his position. It was a lightning flash; illuminating the horizon of Hope. The instant's flash had shown him himself, his career ruined before it had started, and his father beggared—not merely of his home and his money, but of his dreams: of all that was left him. Ruby watching him, holding his cold hand in hers, saw what was passing, and what had passed, in his mind. Of a sudden she felt her responsibility. She had never considered the word before in her life. She understood it now because she loved. Rupert was the first to speak. "It's no use, old girl; it's the only way out—the only way." She shook her head. "A coward's way." Rupert gave a dry laugh. "I'm not afraid to live, not afraid to face the music; not afraid to take off my coat and work in the gutters, if need be. But I've ruined and disgraced my father. The shame will fall on him. I'm his only son, and he was going to turn me into a gentleman. Well, when a gentleman has done a shameful thing, a thing that prevents him from meeting his friends, his relatives, he just goes out ... as I'm going.... They'll get on better without me, father and Marjorie." Ruby's hands tightened their grip. She had aged in an hour; changed. The little, light actress had become merged, as it were, in the woman. Mother instinct had taken the place of the lover instinct. She was fighting for the life of some other woman's son, and for the moment he was her son. "You can't do it!" "My mind is made up." Ruby closed her eyes for a moment. He spoke quietly and calmly. She knew it had not been a sudden resolve, but that his mind had been made up. There was a long silence between them. Outside the newsboys still shouted the sensational result. At last Ruby rose. She crossed the room and stood with her back to Rupert for a little while. When she turned she was smiling, and she looked more like her old self—as if she had not a care in the world. "Rupert," she whispered, and her voice, though a little unsteady, had a glad ring in it. He picked up a letter lying on the table. The ink was scarcely dry on it. It was lying on a sheet of clean white blotting-paper. It was to his father—saying good-bye. "The old man sent me a cheque," he mumbled. "I can't find it anywhere. Must have lost it this afternoon. I suppose some beggar will cash it. Don't much matter now, but it would have been useful to the old man: five pounds——" Again he laughed. "Rupert!" He turned then and looked at her. Perhaps something in her voice attracted him. "You remember giving me five pounds to put on Paulus? Well, I didn't do it." He shook his head to and fro. "It doesn't make any difference. I owe hundreds." "I put it on Ambuscade." He turned right round now staring at her, frowning. He did not understand. "Ambuscade started at a hundred to one." Ruby was laughing now. She moved toward him unsteadily. "Don't play the fool," he said unsteadily. "It's no use trying to—hoodwink me." "I put the five pounds on Ambuscade at a hundred to one. I didn't dare tell you, dear—in fact, when the news of the objection came I couldn't realise it. I've—I've got the ticket in my purse." The frown on Rupert's face deepened. "I saw you draw some money—you had it in your purse." "I put a couple of my own sovereigns on Paulus. I backed Ambuscade with Barrett. They have an office in Piccadilly, London. If I go down to-morrow morning they'll pay me five hundred pounds." Rupert rose and tottered towards her. His legs gave way at the knees like a drunken man. "Five hundred pounds!" He kept muttering to himself over and over again. "Five hundred pounds!" He poured himself out a glass of water from the sideboard and tossed it down his throat. Then he seized Ruby roughly by the shoulders. "You're not fooling me. You swear it. If it was with Barrett they'll pay up all right. They're a big firm, they'll pay up to-morrow." She managed to assure him she was speaking the truth. He began to laugh, then checked himself with an effort. "Why the devil didn't you tell me before?" he cried savagely. "I might have——" He seized his hat and put it on. "I must get out of this. I must think it over. I want air. I can't realise it.... My God, five hundred pounds! I'm saved." He opened the door. "Wait until I come back. I shan't be long. Wait there until I come back." She listened to his footsteps descending the staircase. She heard the front door bang. She stood at the window and watched him walk down the street. He held himself erect, his face turned to the sky now. Ruby closed the window and drew down the blind. Then she sat down at the writing-table, and taking off her gloves picked up a pen. The cheque drawn by Reginald Crichton lay just inside one of the long white gloves. Picking it up she unfolded it and laid it on the white sheet of blotting paper. Five hundred pounds! CHAPTER III. SALVATION. There was a ring at the front door bell followed by a loud double knock. But Ruby Strode did not hear. She was still seated at the writing-table bending over the large pad of white blotting-paper, in the fingers of one hand a pen. She sat very still, scarcely seeming to breathe. It looked as though she were writing: not a sound disturbed the silence of the little room. The blinds were still drawn down. Presently, outside, footsteps could be heard ascending the staircase. Somebody knocked on the door, which was instantly opened, and the landlady put her head into the room. "A gentleman to see you, sir." She stopped abruptly, as, gazing round the room, she saw only Ruby Strode bending over the writing-table. "Beg pardon, I thought Mr. Dale was here. There's a gentleman to see him." Ruby started and jumped to her feet. She laid her pen down. In her hand she held a slip of paper which she had just blotted. She folded it up with unsteady fingers. "Mr. Dale went out just now—for a few minutes—he won't be long." She spoke rapidly in jerks, and turning round faced the door, her hands clasped behind her back. "Oh, it doesn't matter! I suppose I can wait." And the visitor entered the room. "That sounds like Miss Strode's voice." Robert Despard crossed to Ruby's side and held out his hand. He was a dark, well-set-up man, some years Ruby's senior. He was faultlessly dressed in a brown lounge suit, a light-coloured bowler placed jauntily on the back of his head, a pair of race glasses slung across his shoulders, and he wore a pair of highly-polished tan boots. "I thought I might find you here," he continued, looking at Ruby with a familiar smile and giving a nervous twirl to his black moustache when she did not take his hand. "I saw you both at the races, but I couldn't get near you for the crowd. Thought I would look in and see how Rupert had done. I bet he came a nasty cropper over that disqualification. Can't say you're looking exactly jolly." Ruby stepped back and forced a smile to her lips. "Oh, we're all right!" she said unsteadily, commencing to fold up the slip of paper she had been holding in her hand behind her back. "We won." Despard raised his eyebrows and gave a dry laugh. "I don't think! Rupert told me he plunged, on Paulus. As a matter of fact, I came round to condole with him. I knew he was pretty hard hit and all that sort of thing." "Well, you are wrong! He doesn't want your sympathy, as it happens." Ruby spoke almost defiantly. The colour had returned to her cheeks now. They were scarlet and her eyes were bright. There was defiance in them, too. Despard watched her closely, and the expression on his face gradually changed. A cynical smile still played about his lips. "You're a loyal little devil!" he said between his teeth. "By gad! I admire you for it. But let me tell you that poor old Rupert Dale is ruined. Broke to the world, and he's failed in his final, too. I'm awfully sorry for him—and all that, but there you are." "Yes, you sound as if you were sorry," Ruby replied sarcastically. She commenced to pull on one of her gloves, then slipped the strip of folded paper underneath the glove into the palm of her hand. Despard was watching her with his small, bright eyes. "Is that your winnings you're hiding away?" he sneered. He threw his hat on to the table and seated himself on the arm of a chair close to Ruby. "I wanted to see you more than I did Rupert," he said, lowering his voice. "Of course, it's all over between you two now? You wouldn't be mad enough to marry a pauper, even if he were cad enough to want you to. So don't forget that I'm just as keen on you as ever." He stretched out his arm and pulled Ruby towards him. "I knew my turn would come if I waited long enough." Quietly but firmly Ruby released her arm, and, moving away, stood with her back to the window so that her face was in shadow. Though she despised Robert Despard, she feared him. "You call yourself Rupert's friend, and yet you choose the very moment when you believe he is ruined to make love to the woman to whom he was engaged to be married, and under his own roof, too." "Dash it all, it's only a lodging house!" Despard replied brutally. "But, go on, I love you when you get angry. You look as if you were a leading lady earning a hundred pounds a week instead of a show girl walking on at a couple of guineas." "A show girl has a heart and a conscience, which is more than you've got, anyway," Ruby replied fiercely; "and Mr. Dale shall know the kind of friend he's got in you." Despard shrugged his shoulders and suppressed a yawn. "So that's all the thanks I get. Dash it all, isn't it proof that I love you, when, directly I know your man has got the kick, I hurry down to tell you I'll take his place—look after you, pay your bills—make you my wife, anything you like in the world! I loved you long before he ever met you. I told you I didn't mean to give you up. I told you no one else should take you from me. Rupert is all right, of course; I am fond of him, but he isn't the right man for you. Now that he's come a cropper and failed in his exam., he'll have to go back to his Devonshire bog and leave me to look after you." Ruby tried to speak, but she could not trust herself for some seconds. Despard watched her with an amused smile. Suddenly she crossed the room and opened the sitting-room door. "I'll go out and find Rupert. You had better say to his face what you've just said to me," she cried. She hurried downstairs out into the street. She saw Rupert coming slowly towards her and she ran to meet him. Meanwhile, Despard left alone in the sitting-room, lit a cigarette, and rising from his chair glanced casually at the evening newspaper lying on the writing-table. Ruby had left the letter Rupert had written to his father lying on the white sheet of blotting-paper. Almost unconsciously, Despard commenced to read it. Then he picked it up and glanced hurriedly towards the door; he read it through from beginning to end. He gave a long, low whistle of astonishment, and carefully replaced the letter. He noticed the place where the first page had been blotted on the new sheet of white blotting-paper. And just below it his quick eyes saw one small word, underneath it a couple of naughts. There was nothing particularly strange or remarkable about this. He would probably never have noticed it if the blotting-paper had not been clean. But, gradually, as he stared at the one undecipherable word with the two naughts he began to feel as if there were significance about them. They stood out on the white sheet of blotting-paper. There was a small mirror standing on the mantel-piece. He took it up and held it over the blotting-pad. And he read reflected the single word between the two naughts. It was "hundred." A little way beyond it he noticed a single letter "s." Replacing the mirror he stood with his back to the fireplace, his hands deep in his trousers pockets, thinking. "Hundred," "s," and two naughts. He had seen that the slip of paper which Ruby tucked into her glove was a cheque. He was quite sure that neither she nor Rupert Dale had a hundred pounds in the world. Indeed, he knew the state of the latter's finances better than the girl did. For only a few months ago, he had lent Rupert twenty-five pounds. He stroked his black moustache thoughtfully. Before he could solve the little problem Dale himself entered the room, followed a few minutes later by Ruby. "I came to tell you how devilish sorry I was that you had backed a loser and got plucked," Despard said; "but, hang it all, you look cheerful enough!" "So would you," Rupert cried, slapping him on the back, "if you had had a fiver on Ambuscade at a hundred to one." The frown deepened on Robert Despard's forehead. "Look here, is this a joke or what?" "It's no joke," Rupert laughed hysterically. "Ask Ruby, she did it for me! I'll tell you what we'll do. We'll all go out and have a bit of dinner together and break a bottle of wine on the strength of it." As Rupert spoke he caught sight of the letter to his father lying on the writing-table. Picking it up quickly he tore it into a dozen fragments and threw them into the waste-paper basket. Despard watched him, and his frown deepened. "You mean to say you backed Ambuscade at a hundred to one and got paid!" "We didn't know the result until we left the course," Rupert replied lightly. "Luckily, Ruby kept the ticket. We're going to draw the money to-morrow. By gad, she's saved my life! I've had a narrow squeak." "Who did you do the bet with?" Despard asked. "I forgot the man's name. I've got the ticket safely in my pocket. We shall get the money all right to-morrow." Ruby spoke quickly. She could not conceal her nervousness and anxiety. She, who had been so calm a little while ago when Rupert, believing that ruin had overtaken him, had been on the point of committing suicide. He noticed that she seemed flustered and ill at ease, but he put it down to the sudden reaction. For himself he had forgotten all his troubles. They no longer existed. Death had stood at his elbow less than an hour ago. Now life was beckoning him to join in her revels. Curiously enough, he did not seem to realise the debt he owed to Ruby Strode: yet he would never have thought of backing Ambuscade himself. As a matter of fact, he was too excited to think of anything. He only knew that he could pay his debts, go down to Devonshire for his holidays and face his father with a light heart. In due time he would have another fling at the examination, pass it, obtain an appointment somewhere, and then he would be able to marry Ruby and they would live happily ever after. But for the moment he just wanted to enjoy his good fortune; to dance, to sing, to feast, to love. "Come on, if you're both ready to start!" he cried excitedly. "Where shall we dine? Trocadero, CafÉ Royal, Savoy? We'll make a night of it." "The Savoy's good enough for me," Despard laughed over his shoulder. "Do you mind if I wash my hands and make myself look a bit presentable in your room, Rupert?" Ruby waited until the bedroom door had closed on Despard. Then she put her arms around Rupert's neck. "Do you mind very much if I don't come with you to-night?" she whispered. "I'm feeling so tired. I think the excitement has been too much for me." Rupert looked at her with amazement. "Why, it will be no fun without you. I don't want Despard! Rather wish he hadn't come down to see me. You'll feel as fit as a fiddle when you've had a glass of wine." But she shook her head, and held him tightly. He felt her arms trembling. He saw tears swimming in her eyes. "My dear, my dear, what a selfish brute I've been!" he cried with a sudden revulsion of feeling. "Good heavens, you've saved my life—you've done more than that—and I've not even thanked you." Ruby stepped back and put her fingers over his mouth. "Not another word," she whispered. "I'm so happy, really. It's just nerves. I want to be quite alone. I want to realise our good fortune." "Of course, if you would really not come," Rupert said; "or shall I tell Despard we don't want him? I know you're not keen on him." Ruby longed to tell Rupert what had taken place between them a few moments ago. But fear of the man she loved and wanted sealed her lips. She knew that the two men were friends. She knew that Despard had it in his power to injure her. He had some influence with the manager of the Ingenue Theatre, and there were other reasons. So she said nothing. Despard rejoined them and they all went out together. "We'll drive you home first," Rupert said to Ruby. "I would rather you dropped me at the Tube," she replied. "I have nearly two hours before I need go to the theatre. I'm not on until the second act." Despard pretended to be bitterly disappointed that Miss Strode was deserting them. Ruby surreptitiously handed Rupert the money she had in her purse and whispered to him that she would get their winnings in the morning and bring them round to his rooms. She had no reason for secrecy, and so he asked her to give him the ticket she had received from the bookmaker when she had backed Ambuscade. "I don't like the idea of your going round to the bookmaker's offices. It's possible they'll dispute it, or make a fuss," he said. Despard agreed and suggested that they should meet at ten o'clock in the morning and all go round in a body. But Ruby was obstinate and refused to give up the ticket. "I backed the horse myself. I am going to get the money and bring it round to Rupert!" She got quickly out of the cab as it stopped at the Piccadilly Tube Station and, blowing a kiss to Rupert, she disappeared in the crowd. The two men drove to the grillroom of the Savoy. "You are a lucky devil," Despard said, "if there's no mistake, and Miss Strode really backed Ambuscade." "Why should there be a mistake?" Rupert asked curtly. "Oh, I don't know!"—Despard shrugged his shoulders—"but she seemed rather mysterious about it. Perhaps that's a woman's way. They are queer cattle." "Ruby is one in a thousand," Rupert said quietly. "Look here, I'm off to Devonshire to-morrow evening. I don't want the old man to hear I've been plucked. I must tell him myself. I shall have to find some reason, too, for my sudden wealth." "One of the old-fashioned sort, eh?—don't approve of betting or pretty girls. Will you keep Miss Strode dark, too?" Rupert frowned. He did not reply at once. "I thought you knew we were engaged to be married," he said at last. "I shan't tell the guv'nor until I've passed my final, so if you come down you needn't mention her." Rupert suddenly found himself regretting the invitation he had given to Despard some time ago to spend his holidays at Blackthorn Farm. Too late, instinct warned him that he was not quite the sort of man he would like to introduce to his sister. "So you're really coming?" he said. "Rather! I want to throw a fly for those trout you've spoken about, and pot the rabbits. I'm a bit fed-up with town. If it's quite convenient I'll meet you at Paddington Station to-morrow afternoon." Rupert nodded. "The train leaves at eight-thirty. I must wire in the morning and tell the guv'nor we're coming. I expect Marjorie will meet us at Moreton with the trap." "How old is she?" Despard asked. Rupert did not reply, and the cab drew up outside the Savoy. Dawn was beginning to break over the City before he returned to his rooms. He switched on the electric lights. Curiously enough, he felt wide-awake and not in the least tired. Yet the day had been a long and eventful one, every hour filled with excitement. Lighting a pipe, Rupert sat down at the writing-table, and went through the bills and letters that lay in a heap beneath the paper-weight. Including the money he had borrowed, he owed close on three hundred pounds. He felt a shudder run through his body. In the morning when he had gaily set out to the races he had not known it was as bad as that. But for the inspiration which had made Ruby back Ambuscade where would he have been now? And again a shiver passed through his body. He saw himself sitting in that very chair holding a revolver to his breast, his finger on the trigger. How near he had been to disgrace and death! A photograph of his father stood in a little silver frame near a vase of flowers. He picked it up and looked at it, a mist rising before his eyes. "He trusted you, he believed in you," his conscience whispered. "Trusted you to bear the old name bravely and proudly; trusted you to retrieve the fallen fortunes of the family. How nearly you failed him!" A cold sweat broke out on his forehead. If Ruby had made a mistake? Supposing she had only told him she had backed Ambuscade in order to save him from taking his life? Or, if she had backed the horse, what guarantee had they that the bookmaker would pay up? He rose to his feet, and walking to the windows opened them wide. A cold breeze swept his face. A peculiar light grey outlined the trees and houses. The street lamps glittered dimly before the coming dawn. London was very still, and almost silent. Rupert raised his eyes to the sky. It was grey and the stars had all disappeared; half unconsciously he prayed as he had done when he was a boy. And he swore that if his prayer were answered and he was able to discharge his debts, he would remember his responsibilities in the future, and live his life according to his father's wishes. Switching off the lights he went to bed. When he awoke the sun was high in the sky. It was past ten o'clock. Hurriedly dressing and without waiting for breakfast, he drove to the flat Ruby shared in Baker Street with another girl. But the housekeeper told him that she had gone out nearly an hour previously. In spite of the late night, Rupert felt strangely elated and excited. The sunshine of the new day made him optimistic. He knew she had gone down to the bookmakers to draw the money they had won. He waited a little while thinking she might return. Then he remembered she had told him that she would bring him the money to his rooms. He hurried back to Westminster. But she was not there, and he felt a thrill of apprehension. He rang for a cup of tea; when his landlady brought it she again reminded him of his bill. "I'm just waiting for some money to come from the bank," he said with exaggerated carelessness. "I'm leaving town to-night for a week or two, but I shall keep my rooms on. I'll pay for them in advance." He swallowed his tea and smoked a cigarette. He could not eat. Ruby had had plenty of time to draw the money and reach his rooms! Perhaps the bookmaker was away, or refused to settle until Monday. He heard Big Ben chime the hour—twelve o'clock. He lit another cigarette and stood on the balcony outside the window waiting. At last he saw a taxi-cab draw up outside his front door and Ruby Strode alight. He ran down the staircase to meet her. "Is it all right, have you got it?" he cried. His only thought was the money now. The money that meant salvation. She did not reply, but brushed past him upstairs and he followed her. He heard her breath coming in quick, hard gasps, and following her into the sitting-room he locked the door. "Tell me, is it all right, have you got it?" Rupert stretched out his hands imploringly. |
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