  When I awoke it was with the dulled senses and aching head which usually follow either a drugged sleep or an unnaturally heavy one. I sat up on the sofa, rubbing my eyes and staring around in blank surprise. Daylight was streaming in through the chinks of the drawn blinds, but the gas was still burning with a dull, sickly light. The table betrayed all the signs of an all-night orgie. Several packs of cards were lying strewn over the crumpled, ash-scattered cloth. There were half-a-dozen tumblers—one nearly full, another broken into pieces—and several empty soda-water bottles lay on the floor. But the most ghastly sight of all was Cecil’s face. He sat on a chair drawn up to the table, his chin fallen upon his folded arms, dark rims under his eyes, and without a single vestige of colour in his ashen face. There was no one else in the room. I sprang to my feet and hurried to his side. “Cecil! Cecil!” I cried. “What’s the matter, old chap? Wake up, for Heaven’s sake, and tell me what has happened!” He pulled himself together and struggled to his feet. Then he looked round the room and finally into my anxious face, with an odd little laugh, strained and unnatural. “I’ve about done it this time,” he said. “By George! Let’s clear out of this before Milly comes down. I shouldn’t like her to know that we’ve been here all night. Poor little girl! She’d never forgive herself for letting us play here at all.” “Where are the others?” I asked. “Fothergill has gone back to his hotel and Leonard went with him. I said I’d wake you and we’d follow directly, but I think I must have been dozing.” “We must go, and at once,” I said, “or we shall never be back before the doctor gets down. Come, Cecil! Don’t tell me anything yet.” I linked my arm in his and drew him out of the room. We crept softly down the passage and out at the back door. I was afraid to ask him questions and he seemed in no hurry to disclose what had happened, so we hurried along in silence, Cecil baring his head to the strong sea-breeze which blew in our teeth when we had left the town behind us and had all the effect of a strong, invigorating tonic. At every step I felt my head grow clearer, and, glancing at Cecil, I saw the colour creeping back into his cheeks with every breath he took of the salt air which came sweeping across the sandy, barren country between us and the sea. When at last we reached our destination and had cautiously made our way up to the back entrance, he hesitated. Opposite to us was the pine-plantation, which led down to the sea, and between the thickly growing black trunks a curious light shone and glistened. I had lived all my life in the country and knew well what it was, but Cecil turned round and watched it with amazement. “Look, Phil!” he whispered. “What’s that light? It seems as though the plantation were on fire!” “It’s the sunrise,” I answered. “Shall we go and see it?” He nodded, and we stole across the lawn, through the wicket-gate and along the narrow, winding path, thickly strewn with dried leaves and fir-cones, down towards the shore. We were just in time to see the final effect. A rim of the sun had already crept into sight, casting brilliant, scintillating reflections upon the dancing waves, and the eastern sky was tinged from the arc of the heavens to the horizon with streaks of brilliantly-hued, fantastically-shaped cloudlets, strewn upon a background of the lightest transparent blue. Far off the sails of a few fishing-smacks glittered like gossamer wings upon a fairy ocean; and farther away still, where the banks of orange and azure clouds seemed to sink into a blazing sea of polished glass, the white funnel of a passing steamer shone like a pillar of fire. It was a sight so new to Cecil that he stood spellbound, with a look of wondering awe upon his pale face. And it was not until we had gazed to the full and were retracing our steps in silence through the plantation that I cared to speak of the events of the night. “Philip,” he said solemnly, when I mentioned the subject, “there’s no one to blame for this night’s work but myself. To do Leonard and that fellow Fothergill justice, they both continually urged me to leave off playing, but I wouldn’t. It seemed as though the luck must change at every deal and so I went on, and on, and on. What a fool I was!” “And the result?” I asked anxiously. “I owe Fothergill between six and seven hundred pounds and I haven’t as many shillings.” I stopped short and looked at him in horror. “Seven hundred pounds! Why, Cis, how on earth came you to play up to that figure and with a man you know so little of?” “Oh, the man’s all right—at least, he’s no sharper, if you mean that!” Cecil answered doggedly. “It was my own fault altogether. He’s a better player than I am, and, of course, won.” “But he ought not to have gone on,” I protested. “I don’t know much about such matters, but I feel sure that a gentleman wouldn’t sit down and win seven hundred pounds from a boy of your age. You’re not eighteen yet, you know, Cis.” “I don’t quite see what age has got to do with it,” he answered gloomily. “As regards Fothergill, I don’t feel particularly sweet on him just now, as you may imagine; but it wasn’t his fault at all. I made him go on, and, you know, the winner is a great deal in the hands of the loser in a case of that sort. He kept on wanting to go and he went at last. I should have gone on playing till now, I think, if he hadn’t.” “When does he expect you to settle up?” I asked. “I’ve got to see him this afternoon. I say, you’ll come down with me, old chap, won’t you?” he pleaded. “I shall have to ask for a little time, of course.” “Yes, I’ll go with you,” I promised. “How shall you try to raise the money?” “I haven’t the faintest idea,” he acknowledged gloomily. “I’ve overdrawn my allowance already several hundreds. The mater is as poor as a church mouse and I simply daren’t ask my Uncle Ravenor, though he’s as rich as Croesus. He might disinherit me.” We reached the house and stole softly up the back stairs to our rooms. Cecil threw himself, dressed as he was, upon the bed. But I was in no humour for sleep, and after a cold bath I dressed and got downstairs in time for breakfast. To my surprise, de Cartienne was in the morning-room, carefully dressed as usual and with no sign in his appearance or manner of having been out all night. He was chatting lightly with Dr. Randall about some trivial matter connected with the meeting which the latter had attended the previous evening. “Cecil is late again,” remarked the doctor, with a frown, as we began breakfast. “James, go to Lord Silchester’s room and ask him how long he will be.” James retired and reappeared in a few minutes with a grave face. “Lord Silchester desires me to beg you to excuse him this morning,” was the message which he brought back. “He has a very bad headache and has had no sleep.” Dr. Randall, who was one of the kindest-hearted men breathing, looked compassionate. “Dear me!” he said. “I’m very sorry to hear that! Certainly we will excuse him. Will he have anything sent up?” “A cup of tea, sir, only. I have ordered it in the kitchen.” “Poor fellow! It’s strange how he suffers from these attacks! I’m afraid he can’t be very strong,” remarked the doctor absently, as he buttered himself a piece of toast. de Cartienne and I exchanged glances, but we said nothing. Directly after breakfast the doctor took us into the study and we began the morning’s labours. It happened that, in working out a series of algebraic questions, de Cartienne and I used a great deal of paper, and when the doctor looked for a piece to explain the working of a rather stiff quadratic, the rack was empty. “Have either of you a piece of wastepaper in your pockets?” he asked. “The back of an envelope, or anything will do. I see it is lunch-time, so it is scarcely worth while sending for any.” I felt in all my pockets, but they were empty. de Cartienne drew an envelope from his pocket and handed it to the doctor. The moment he had parted with it, however, I saw him give a sudden start and he seemed as though about to make an effort to regain possession of it. But he was too late, for the doctor was already fast covering it with figures. de Cartienne quitted his seat and stood looking over his shoulder, probably hoping that I should do the same. But I remained where I was, taking care to manifest my interest in the problem by asking frequent questions. The moment the doctor had finished his rapid figuring and solved the equation, I stretched out my hand for it eagerly. “May I see it, sir?” I begged. “I fancy you’ve made a mistake in the values.” He handed it across the table at once, with a quiet smile. “I think not, Morton,” he said. “Examine it for yourself.” de Cartienne moved round to my side, with nervously twitching lips and an ugly light in his eyes. “One moment, Morton,” he said. “I won’t keep it longer.” I laid a hand upon it, and pushed him back with the other. “My turn first, please. Isn’t that so, Dr. Randall?” He nodded genially, not noticing the suppressed excitement in de Cartienne’s manner. “Certainly. I’m glad to find you both so interested in it. Let me know about this mistake at lunch-time, Morton,” he added, smiling. “I’m going for a stroll round the garden now, and I should advise you to do the same. We’ve had a close morning’s work.” He rose and left the room. de Cartienne watched the door close and then turned to me. “Morton,” he said quickly, “I want that envelope. There are some memoranda on the reverse side which concern my private affairs. I need not say more, I suppose.” “Keep your hands to yourself, de Cartienne!” I answered, shaking him off. “I shall not give you the envelope till I have examined it.” “You cad!” he hissed out, his voice shaking with fury. “How dare you attempt to pry into my private affairs? Give me the envelope, or I’ll——” “You’ll what?” I answered, standing up, putting the envelope in my pocket and facing him. “Look here, de Cartienne, I’m not going to attempt to justify my conduct to you. On the face of it, it may seem to be taking a mean advantage, but I don’t care a fig about that. I’ve made up my mind what to do, and all the blustering in the world won’t make me alter it. I am going to look at the reverse side of this envelope. You——” I ceased and with good reason, for, with a sudden, panther-like spring, he had thrown himself upon me, and his slender white fingers were grasping at my throat. It was a brief struggle, but a desperate one, for he clung to me with a strength which seemed altogether out of proportion to his slim body and long, thin arms. I was in no mood for trifling, however, and, suddenly putting forth all my strength, I seized him by the middle, and sent him backwards, with a crash of fallen furniture, into a corner of the room. Before he could recover himself, I drew out the envelope from my pocket and looked at it. There was nothing on the reverse side but the address and the postmark. They were quite sufficient for me, however. The postmark was Mellborough and the handwriting was the peculiar, cramped handwriting of Mr. Marx. |
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