  In less than a week’s time I was master of the state of affairs at Borden Tower. Dr. Randall, with the best possible intentions, was the worst possible man that could have been chosen for the guardianship of two such pupils as Lord Silchester and Leonard de Cartienne. He was a scholar and a pedant, utterly unsuspicious and ignorant of the ways of the world, himself so truthful and honourable that he could scarcely have imagined deceit possible in others, and certainly not in his own wards. Of the servants, James and his wife were the only ones in authority, and they were the tools of de Cartienne. The latter I could not quite understand. The only thing about him perfectly clear was that he was just the worst companion possible for Silchester. For the rest, he was so clever that his presence here at all as a pupil seemed unnecessary. He appeared to be rich and he took a deep interest of some sort in Cecil. Seemingly it was a friendly interest, but of that I did not feel assured. At any rate, it was an injurious association for Cecil, and I determined to do everything in my power to counteract it. To strike at once, to attempt to show him the folly of the courses into which he was being led, I saw would be futile. I must have time and opportunity. Any violent measures in such a case would be worse than useless. My only course, obnoxious though it was, was to join them in their pursuits and try to gain some sort of influence over Cecil, while I kept him as far as possible from falling into further mischief. Accordingly, on the first evening after my arrival at Borden Tower, I was initiated into the mysteries of poker and Prussian bank, and on subsequent occasions I either joined them or looked on. The result in the main was pretty much as I had expected. de Cartienne won always when the stakes were very large, and Lord Silchester when they were scarcely worth having. The earlier part of the day was by far the pleasanter to me. In the morning we worked with Dr. Randall; in the afternoon we always walked or rode—in either case, a visit to the “Rose and Crown” was an invariable part of the programme—and in the evening, after dinner, we were supposed to read until ten o’clock, although the manner in which we really spent that portion of the day was far less profitable. I had intended paying a special visit to Miss Milly Hart on my own account; but either by accident or design—at the time I was not sure which—de Cartienne always seemed to frustrate my plans. Even to myself I would not acknowledge that I had any other motive save pure curiosity; but I was still determined by some means or other to see a photograph of the missing Mr. Hart. The strange disappearance of the one in the sitting-room at the inn—it had never been found—puzzled me, and whenever I caught myself thinking of the incident, it was always in connection with Leonard de Cartienne. It seemed very absurd, when I considered the matter calmly, but nevertheless I could not escape from it. It haunted me, as ideas sometimes will. One afternoon, about two months after my arrival at Borden Towers, Cecil and I were reading together in the study—or, rather, I was endeavouring to encourage one of his rare fits of industry by helping him through a stiff page of Livy—when the door opened suddenly and de Cartienne entered with an open telegram in his hand. Seeing me, he stopped short and frowned. “Hallo, Len! What’s up?” Cecil exclaimed. “What have you got there? A telegram?” de Cartienne nodded and, after a moment’s hesitation, handed it over. “It’s from Fothergill,” he explained. “He is coming over to-night, and wants us to dine with him.” “Should like to awfully,” Cecil said, “but I don’t see how we can. Old Grumps wouldn’t let us go, of course, and I don’t see how we can manage it without his knowing.” “Don’t you? Well, I do,” de Cartienne remarked drily. “Grumps is going over to Belscombe this evening to take the chair at the literary society there. He’ll have to dine at six and leave at a quarter to seven. I know that, because I heard him give his orders. That will leave us plenty of time to get down into the town by eight o’clock; and we shall be all right for coming back, of course.” “That’s capital!” declared Cecil, shutting up his Livy with a bang. “We will have our revenge on old Fothergill to-night. Just what I’ve been looking forward to.” de Cartienne shrugged his shoulders. “Well, I don’t know,” he said slowly. “I fancy. Fothergill is a bit too good for us. I shan’t be very keen on cards to-night, I can tell you. I lost more money than I cared about last time he was here.” Cecil laughed carelessly. “You didn’t lose as much as I did,” he remarked. “But, then, Fothergill had all the luck. I never remember such a run of trumps as he held in that last deal; and you played villainously, you know—gave him no end of tricks.” The very faintest suspicion of a smile—an evil smile it was—trembled on de Cartienne’s lips, and he turned away towards the window as though to hide it. “I wasn’t in very good form that night,” he acknowledged. “I must make up for it to-night, if we can get Fothergill to give us our revenge.” Cecil drummed upon the table with his fingers and raised his eyebrows slightly. “He can’t very well refuse if we ask for it, can he?” “I suppose not,” de Cartienne answered, lounging across the room towards the door. “I’ll go and see James and let him know that we shall want the latchkey.” “All right. And I say, Len,” Cecil continued, “we must take Morton with us, of course.” de Cartienne turned round with an angry frown upon his dark face. “I scarcely see how that would be possible,” he said stiffly. “I think it would be taking rather a liberty with Fothergill. He only asks us two.” In other circumstances I should promptly have refused to be one of the party, especially as the invitation appeared to come from a friend of de Cartienne’s. But the darkening shade which I had seen flash across de Cartienne’s face reawakened all my suspicions with regard to him and I instantly determined that, by some means or other, I would go. His evident reluctance to invite me only strengthened my intention, so, although he looked at me as if expecting to hear me express my indifference as to whether I went or not, I purposely refrained from doing anything of the sort. “Oh, that’s all rot!” Cecil protested. “We can’t go off and leave Morton boxed up here by himself.” “I don’t suppose Morton would care much about it,” said de Cartienne sullenly. “On the contrary, I should enjoy it very much indeed,” I interposed; “although, of course, I don’t wish to go if you think that your friend would object,” I added blandly. “It’s rather dull here by oneself.” “Of course it is! Morton, old chap, you shall go with us, never fear!” Cecil declared vigorously. “Tell you what, Len, if you won’t do the agreeable and make things right with Fothergill—as you can, if you like, of course—I shan’t go, so there! Which is it to be—both or neither?” “Both, of course,” de Cartienne answered, with as good grace as possible. “I shouldn’t have thought Morton would have cared about it, that’s all. Be ready punctually at half-past seven, you men.” “All right!” exclaimed Cecil, delighted at getting his own way for a change. “Good old Len! Morton, pitch that beastly Livy into the drawer and come and change your things. We’ll have some fun to-night!” |
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