  We all three stood and looked at one another for a moment, Milly Hart with her finger still pointing to the vacant place where the photograph had been. Then Cecil broke into a short laugh. “We’re looking very tragical about it,” he said lightly. “Mysterious joint disappearance of Leonard de Cartienne and a photograph of Mr. Hart. Now, if it had been a photograph of a pretty girl instead of a middle-aged man, we might have connected the two. Hallo!” He broke off in his speech and turned round. Standing in the doorway, looking at us, was Leonard de Cartienne, with a slight smile on his thin lips. “Behold the missing link—I mean man!” exclaimed Cecil. “Good old Leonard! Do you know, you gave us quite a fright. We expected to find you here and the room was empty. Are you better?” “Yes, thanks! I’m all right now,” he answered. “I’ve been out in the yard and had a blow. What’s Milly looking so scared about? And what was it I heard you say about a photograph?” “Father’s likeness has gone,” she explained, turning round with tears in her eyes. “It was there on the mantelpiece this afternoon and now, when we came in to look at it, it has gone!” “I should think that, if it really has disappeared,” de Cartienne remarked incredulously, “the servant must have moved it. Ask her.” Miss Hart rang the bell and in the meantime we looked about the room. It was all in vain. We could find no trace of it, nor could the servant who answered the summons give us any information. She had seen it in its usual place early in the morning when she had been dusting. Since then she had not entered the room. “Deuced queer thing!” declared Cecil, when at last we had relinquished the search. “Deuced queer!” he repeated meditatively, with his hands thrust deep down in his trousers’ pockets and his eyes resting idly upon de Cartienne’s face. “But we can’t do anything more, that’s certain. We really must be off, Milly. We’ve been here almost an hour already, and Brandy and Soda must be getting restless, and you must be famished, I’m sure, Morton. Come along! Good-bye, Milly! Keep your spirits up, old girl! The governor’ll be bound to turn up again in a day or two. And don’t you worry about the photograph. It must be somewhere.” “But it isn’t!” she declared tearfully. “We’ve looked everywhere! Oh, what shall I do?” Cecil assumed a most lugubrious expression and looked down sympathetically into her tear-stained face. She certainly was uncommonly pretty. “You go on, you fellows,” he said. “I’ll be out in a minute. I’ll drive, Leonard. Don’t think you’re quite up to it.” de Cartienne nudged my arm and we went off together and made our way up the street to the inn, under the covered archway of which the trap was drawn up. In a few minutes Cecil joined us. “Hope I haven’t kept you waiting,” he said, as he lighted a cigarette and clambered up to the box-seat. “No, you come in front, Morton. That’s right. Very odd about that photograph, isn’t it? It’s gone and no mistake. We’ve been having another look round.” “Nonsense!” exclaimed de Cartienne impatiently. “What a fuss about a trifle! A girl has no memory at all! I expect she moved it herself. Bet you it turns up by the morning.” “I think not,” Cecil replied quietly, as he gathered up the reins. “Now then, hold on behind!” We rattled off down the street and out into the open country again at a pace which precluded any conversation. The low hedges and stunted trees by the roadside seemed to fly past us, and a sudden turn, which almost jerked me from my seat, brought us in sight of a wide semi-circle of twinkling lights, which seemed to stretch right across the horizon. “What are they?” I asked, pointing forward. “Those? Oh, fishing-smacks!” answered Cecil. “Is that the sea, then?” I asked eagerly. He burst out laughing. “Why, what else do you suppose it is?” he exclaimed. “Can’t you hear it?” I bent my head and listened. The faint night breeze was just sufficient to carry to our ears the dull, monotonous roar of an incoming tide. “Not a very cheerful row, is it?” observed Cecil. “Cheerful! I call it the most infernally miserable sound I ever heard!” growled de Cartienne, from the back seat, “enough to give a fellow the horrors any day!” “See that bright light close ahead?” said Cecil, pointing with his whip. “That’s Borden Tower, where we hang out, you know. We shall be there in a minute or two.” “Perhaps!” growled de Cartienne from behind, making a nervous clutch at the side of the trap, “Cis, my dear fellow, you’re not driving a fire-engine, and there’s nothing to be gained by this confounded hurry. George! I was nearly out that time.” We had turned round a sharp corner into a winding drive, devoid of trees, and planted only with stunted shrubs. On one side, between us and the shore, was a long, irregular plantation of small fir trees, through which the night wind was moaning with a sound not unlike the more distant roar of the sea. Directly in front loomed a high dark building, standing out with almost startling abruptness against a void of sky and moor. “Here we are!” exclaimed Cecil, pulling up with a flourish before the front entrance. “John, help down the poor, nervous invalid behind, and take Brandy and Soda round to the stable at once. They’re too hot to stand still in this damp air a second.” We passed across a large but somewhat dreary hall into a warm, comfortable dining-room. A bright fire was blazing in the grate, and a table in the centre of the room was very tastefully laid for dinner. “Make yourself at home, Morton!” exclaimed Cecil, standing on the hearthrug and stretching out a numbed hand to the blaze. “Draw an easy-chair up to the fire while James unpacks your traps and sees to your room. Leonard, ring the bell, there’s a good fellow, and let them know we’re ready for dinner.” “Thanks; I think I’ll go upstairs at once,” I remarked. “All right! Here’s James; he’ll show you your room. One servant between three of us now. Good old James! I say, Morton, no swallow-tails, you know.” I nodded and followed the man, who was waiting in the doorway, to my room. After my bare-floored, low-ceilinged attic at the farm, the apartment into which I was ushered seemed a very temple of luxury. There was a soft carpet upon the floor, many easy chairs, an Oriental divan, mirrors, and solid, handsomely carved furniture. Leading out of it on one side was a bath-room and on the other a small, cosy sitting-room, or study. “Is there anything more I can do for you, sir?” inquired the man, after he had poured out my hot water and set out the contents of my portmanteau. I shook my head and dismissed him. After a very brief toilet I hastened downstairs. The dinner was remarkably good and I was very hungry; but I found time to notice two things. The first was that Cecil drank a great deal more wine than at his age was good for him; and the second, that de Cartienne, who drank very little himself, concealed that fact as far as he was able and passed the bottle continually to Cecil. This did not much surprise me, for I had already formed my own opinion of de Cartienne. After dinner the man who waited upon us brought in some coffee and withdrew. Cecil, whose cheeks were a little flushed, and whose eyes were sparkling with more than ordinary brightness, rose and stretched himself. “I say, Leonard,” he exclaimed, “let’s adjourn to your room and have a hand at cards! Shall we?” de Cartienne shrugged his shoulders, but did not offer to move. “I’m not particularly keen on cards to-night,” he remarked, with a yawn. “I believe, if you had your own way, you’d play from morning to night.” “Oh, hang it all, there’s nothing else to be done!” Cecil answered. “If we stay down here we can’t smoke, and we shall have old Grumps back bothering presently.” “I forgot we couldn’t smoke,” de Cartienne said, rising. “Come along, then!” “You don’t mind, Morton, do you?” Cecil asked, turning towards me. “It’s awfully cosy up in Len’s room.” “Certainly not,” I answered, finishing my coffee. “I’ll come, but I can’t play.” “Oh, that doesn’t matter! You can watch us for a bit, and you’ll soon pick it up. Hi, James!” Cecil sang out, as that worthy showed himself at the door for a minute, “bring us up some whisky and half a dozen bottles of seltzer water into Mr. de Cartienne’s room, will you? Look sharp, there’s a good fellow!” de Cartienne’s rooms, especially his study, were furnished far more luxuriously than mine and in excellent taste. The walls and chimney-piece were covered with charming little sketches, a few foreign prints, photographs, and dainty little trifles of bric-a-brac. Except for the photographs, some of which were a little risque, it was more like a lady’s boudoir than a man’s sitting-room. de Cartienne and Cecil seated themselves at a small round table and began to play almost immediately. I drew an easy chair up to the fire, and closed my eyes as though I intended going to sleep. As a matter of fact, I meant to watch the game, and closely, too. But Fate decided otherwise. I was really very sleepy, and, though I struggled against it, I was obliged to yield in the end. I fell asleep, and it must have been nearly two hours before I was awakened by a touch on my arm. “Wake up, Morton, old chap! It’s time we were off to our rooms.” I sat up and looked at my watch. It was past midnight. Cecil was leaning against the table, with his hands in his pockets, looking pale and weary, but exultant. “I’ve been in rare luck to-night!” he exclaimed. “Won a couple of ponies from poor old Len, and a whole hatful of I O U’s. Here they go!” And he swept a little pile of crumpled papers into the fire. I glanced at de Cartienne to see how losing had affected him. Not in the ordinary way, at any rate. He was sitting back in his chair, with his arms crossed, a cigarette between his teeth and an inscrutable smile upon his thin lips. Somehow I did not like his expression. There was something a little too closely approaching contempt in it as he watched Cecil’s action and listened to the exultant ring in his tone—something which seemed to express a latent power to reverse the result with ease at any time he thought proper. It was rushing to conclusions, no doubt; but as I glanced from Cecil’s boyish, handsome face, a trifle dissipated just now, but open and candid, to the pale, sallow countenance, the large black eyes, and cynical, callous expression of his friend, it seemed to me that I was looking from the face of the tempted to the face of the tempter. The one seemed like the evil genius of the other. |
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