Hard Pressed

CHAPTER XXIV

A STRANGE VISITOR

INTEREST as well as sympathy lit up Alice Carden's eyes. She looked with something more than curiosity at the well-set-up young man who came striding across the turf towards them. May reached over and laid an impressive hand upon her friend's arm.

"I am not sure I meant to tell you so much," she whispered. "I spoke on the spur of the moment. Harry came back to England unexpectedly a little time ago, and I met him by accident in London. It was a bit romantic in its way, but I'll tell you about that later. He came down here to his old home to get some of his belongings, and, to his surprise, nobody recognized him. I was the only person who knew him, excepting an old stud-groom who had been in the employ of the Fieldens for the last fifty years. When he found that no one knew him, he thought he might procure some congenial occupation in his own neighbourhood. It was part of the same romance that he should obtain this employment at the hands of Mr. Copley. But, of course, he does not pass in his own name. Please to recollect that he is Mr. Field. Now, my dear, you have the whole story in a nutshell. It is like the plot of a novel. I am the beautiful heroine, beloved by the rich bounder, while my heart is given to the handsome penniless young man of good family who is in the villain's employ. Don't think me heartless because I speak so lightly of it, and don't forget to behave as if I had not told you this story. Mr. Field is an old friend of ours, and that's the only thing you have to remember."

Alice Carden promised to act discreetly. There was no time to say more, for Fielden was beside them, and Alice found herself bowing to him as if he were a new acquaintance.

"You have not been here before?" he asked.

"This is my first visit to Haredale," Alice said. "But I have seen you before, Mr. Field. Don't you remember you were with my father and Sir George at Mirst Park a day or two ago? We were not introduced then."

"Oh, I have not forgotten it," Fielden laughed. "I understand you are an old friend of May's, I mean Miss Haredale's. Would you mind if I came over to-night after dinner?"

May flashed a glance at the speaker.

"We shall be delighted," she said. "I fancy my father told me he expected Mr. Copley, too."

Fielden said nothing for a moment or two; then it suddenly occurred to him that he had forgotten an important matter which would detain him that evening. He understood what May had hinted to him. He knew it was hardly prudent for him to be much at Haredale Park whilst Copley was in the neighbourhood. By way of turning the conversation, he suggested that the girls should dismount and inspect the stables.

"Nothing I should like better," Alice cried.

"Then come on," Fielden said eagerly. "Let me help you down. You will find the stables everything to be desired. They are modern, luxurious, and nothing appears to have been overlooked. From first to last they must have cost about twice as much as the house. We have a dozen helpers more than are necessary; indeed, things are conducted on a most lavish scale."

"And the horses?" Alice asked. "Are they – "

"Well, as to the horses, the less said about them the better. They are a pretty moderate lot. Perhaps later we may weed them out a bit. But come and see for yourself."

It was growing dusk by the time the inspection was over. Then the two girls walked back towards the archway which led into the wide stable-yard. Outside the gate two of the stable helps were engaged in an altercation with a seedy-looking tramp in an advanced state of intoxication.

"Excuse me for a moment," Fielden said, "I must see what is wrong. Now, my man, what are you doing here?"

It was easy for the girls to notice what was going on and to hear every word that was said. At the tones of authority in Fielden's voice the tramp looked up and made a ludicrous effort to pull himself together. Over his right eye there was a fresh cut, from which the blood was trickling. The helpers, too, showed signs of punishment, and a desire to fling out the stranger, but they dropped back as Fielden appeared.

"I came to see Mr. Copley," the tramp said.

"Mr. Copley isn't here," Fielden said curtly. "Still, if you want him, it would be as well to ask for him in a proper manner. What do you mean by pushing yourself forward in this fashion?"

"I didn't," the tramp said sulkily. "I never said nothing to these men till they ordered me out, and one of them shoved up against me. I don't stand that from any one, guv'nor, and so I tell you. If you don't believe me, try it on yourself."

Fielden was conscious that the blood was mounting into his cheeks. He returned for a moment to where the two girls were standing and walked with them into the road.

"I think you had better leave us," he said. "I must give that fellow a lesson, and this is no place for either of you."

"I hope you won't get hurt," Alice Carden said. "It is curious, but I know that man quite well by sight. He used to be in my father's regiment; in fact, he was his servant. He comes to our rooms in London occasionally and my father helps him with a few coppers and some clothes now and again. I am afraid it is another case of degradation caused by drink."

"It looks like it," Fielden said. "This man was probably one of the Major's racing-touts, one of those broken-down creatures occasionally employed on more or less shady jobs. But he must be taught decent manners. I don't think you need be afraid for me. I'll try to come over to lunch to-morrow."

Fielden saluted the two girls and returned to the spot where the tramp was swaying about defiantly.

"Now what do you want?" he demanded once more.

"What do I want?" the fellow sneered. "Well, I want a sovereign, and I am not going till I get it. If Mr. Copley was here I could have ten sovereigns. Yes, and he would be glad to pay me, too. You think, because I have been unfortunate that I can't get any money. You are wrong, young man, you are wrong."

"Well, you won't get any here," Fielden said. "If you have anything to say to Mr. Copley you had better wait. He will be here at five o'clock, but you must wait outside."

"Me wait outside! Who are you talking to? I don't wait for no man, not even for Raymond Copley. I have got to get back to London to-night anyhow. You just give me a sovereign or two and tell Mr. Copley you've done it. Tell him if I have any more of this sort of thing he had best look for somebody else to play building houses with fruit baskets in Covent Garden. Tell him that. If I have any more of this to put up with he can get somebody else to monkey with his fruit baskets. You needn't say more than that."

In spite of the man's intoxication he knew what he was talking about, and was plainly desirous of conveying something definite. There was a malignant look in his eye which Fielden did not fail to notice.

"Oh, be off," he said impatiently. "I won't have any row here. Are you going, or shall I turn you out?"

The intruder answered with a furious oath. He was anxious, he said, to see any man on the face of the earth who could do a job like that. He lurched violently at Fielden, and the next moment was sprawling on his back with the haziest knowledge of what had happened. Then, at a sign from Fielden, the two helpers took him by the shoulders and legs and carried him into the road. He rose muttering and threatening. He shook his fist towards the stables and lurched off until he was swallowed up by the darkness. Quite unconscious that his knuckles were cut and bleeding Fielden went about his work. It was only when Copley himself appeared and asked what had happened that Fielden looked at his damaged hand.

"Oh, that's nothing," he laughed. "A tramp came here not long since asking for you and demanding a sovereign or two as if you were his banker. The fellow was insolent, and I had to knock him down, but I had no idea my knuckles were cut. Needless to say the man didn't get his sovereign, though he did leave a queer message for you. It is astonishing what strange things men say when they are in liquor."

"And what did this one say?" Copley asked.

"Oh, he said if he could see you he would get as many pounds as he liked. He went on to remark that if he had to put up with any more of this you could find somebody else to monkey with your fruit baskets at Covent Garden. Idiotic, wasn't it?"

Fielden spoke carelessly, but he kept an eye upon Copley. He saw the latter start, remarked the queer look on his face, and how his eyes gleamed with anger.

"Absurd," he said. "I suppose the fellow thinks I am interested in Covent Garden. But there is no accounting for the vagaries of a drunken man. Anyway, it's not worth thinking about. Anything fresh to report?"

CHAPTER XXV

THE DERELICT

RAYMOND COPLEY went back into the house in a thoughtful mood. The much-envied and much-talked-of millionaire was not particularly happy. He had a good deal to occupy his attention and had reached a crisis in his affairs which was likely to prove awkward unless something turned up speedily. It was easy, as he often cynically observed, to obtain almost unlimited credit upon the strength of his fictitious wealth, but exceedingly difficult to raise even a hundred pounds in the City. He had practically no security to offer his bankers, and dared not do anything that would suggest to an outsider that he was in want of ready cash. One or two of his schemes lately had ended in failure, and, so far as he could see, it was almost impossible for him to hold out for the month which intervened between now and the next meeting at Mirst Park.

Now here was a fresh cause of annoyance which he had not anticipated. Unfortunately for the ultimate success of Copley's schemes, they necessitated the employment of more than one subordinate, and these subordinates had to be paid. Moreover, they were drawn unavoidably from the refuse of the population, so that they were a standing source of danger, for it is hazardous to depend upon people who are usually ready to sell their services to the highest bidder. One of them had been so audacious as to turn up at the very gates of Seton Manor and demand money. Luckily, he had not said enough to rouse suspicions. His remarks to Fielden might easily be ignored as the ravings of a drunken wretch. Certainly they did not convey much intelligence. So far all was safe.

But it was a warning, and a warning that Copley did not care to disregard. Happily, he thought, Fielden was not a curious man, or he might have inquired farther into the incident. He might even have been disposed to speculate a sovereign or two, and the tramp might have been in a sufficiently reckless mood to sell information at that price. The thing must be looked into at once.

Foster sprawled in the library with a copy of the Sportsman in his hand and a cigarette in his mouth. He looked up carelessly at his employer, but seeing there was something amiss put down the paper and waited for Copley to speak.

"What has gone wrong?" he asked.

"Oh, everything," Copley said savagely. "Has a single thing gone straight since the Mirst Park meeting? Here am I in a big house, furnished regardless of expense, with scores of tradesmen tumbling over one another to serve me, and yet I haven't a ten-pound note to call my own. As if that was not bad enough, that blackguard Chaffey has turned up here."

"I suppose he wants money," Foster asked.

"Well, that was the idea, no doubt. I didn't see him myself, but I understand he was drunk and objectionable, and Field turned him out. They had a bit of a scrimmage, and I hope Field gave the fellow a lesson. At any rate, he went off quietly in the end."

"Then why worry?" Foster said.

"Why worry? What a question! I forgot to tell you the worst. Chaffey came here demanding money. He said if I had been at home he could have got as much as he wanted. Imagine what Field must have thought. He would conclude that I was under obligations to the scamp, but, as you know, I haven't exchanged a dozen words with him. Everything has been done through you, and I must say I can't congratulate you on your choice."

"You never do when things go wrong," Foster retorted. "Would you have had me employ a gentleman? Did you want a man of intelligence, who would have asked many questions of himself. Chaffey is the man for us. But you are making a great fuss about nothing."

"Well, what do you think of this? Chaffey told Field that if he had any more of this sort of thing I could get somebody else to monkey with my fruit baskets in Covent Garden. Ah, I thought you would change your tune. Imagine a remark like that in a sporting public-house! Scores of people would smell a rat instantly. They would get on the track of money-making, especially if Chaffey happened to mention my name in connexion with the affair. If they only found him with money and plied him with drink, he would tell them all he knew."

"Which is precious little," Foster said coolly, as he lighted a fresh cigarette. "Chaffey doesn't really know anything. Still, we must make him understand that we won't stand this kind of thing. What do you propose to do?"

"Why, follow him, of course. He can't be far away. He is sure to have gone to some pothouse. He went down the London Road, and the best thing is to go after him at once. Let us take the car and make excuses that we shan't be back in time for dinner. You think I am making much ado about nothing. But my nerves are not what they used to be. Come along."

Foster made no objection. In truth he was almost as uneasy as his employer. By and by they were rolling along the road in a car, stopping under some pretext or other at every public-house. They came presently to a small place where they heard news of the man they were after. He had left a short time before; in fact, he had been violently ejected, because he had no money to pay for the drink he had consumed. Half a mile farther on the motorists espied a shadowy outline staggering down the middle of the road and lurching from side to side, singing as he went.

"That's the man," Foster whispered. "Stop the car and I'll get out and tackle him."

The tramp paused when he found himself within the radius of the powerful lights. He stood trying to collect his scattered senses, until, finally, he got some hazy idea of whom he was talking to. His face grew hard and sullen, and he looked none the better for a swollen eye and a cut forehead.

"Oh, it's you, is it?" he said. "This is a nice way to treat a gentleman. Here am I, miles away from my happy home and not a penny in my pocket."

"What are you doing here?" Foster asked.

"That, sir," said the tramp with great dignity, "is my business. I have private occupations of which you know nothing. You are taking advantage of my poverty. Don't forget that I was in as good a position as yourself at one time."

"You might easily be better," Foster said contemptuously. "Still, you haven't told me what brings you here, and why you made a disturbance at Seton Manor."

"I was at the Lington Meeting," Chaffey answered. "I lost all I had and was tramping back to London when I recollected that Mr. Copley lived close by. I thought I would borrow a pound or two from him, and that's why I called. It would have been all right but for those stable men. Would you care to be treated like a dog? I lost my temper. You'd have lost yours if you had been in my place. And that's all about it. I don't want to make any trouble if you treat me properly. Give me a few pounds and I'll go back to London the first thing in the morning."

"I'll give you money if you return to-night," Foster said curtly. "Get in the car and we'll drive you as far as Maley Junction. Come on."

"I will not come on," Chaffey said with an assumption of his old dignity. "You give me the money and I'll go to town early in the morning. I can't go before, because I have heard something. There's a trial coming off here to-morrow morning, and I am bound to see it. You don't suppose I live on what I get from you. If the trial turns out as I hope it will, it will put a lump in my pocket. Now what is the good of standing frowning at me like that? I tell you I'm not going back to London to-night. I won't go till eight o'clock to-morrow morning. If you don't help me, I know a man who will give me a tenner cheerfully to hear how I monkey with the fruit baskets in Covent Garden. But do as you please. I don't mind lying in a ditch till morning, and I don't mind tramping to town to-morrow. It wouldn't be the first time I've done both. Not that I want to quarrel with you, Mr. Foster; if you do the fair thing by me, I'll do the fair thing by you. Give me a quid or two so that I can get some supper and a bed, and I'll promise not to come near Seton Manor again. What's more, if the trial turns out all right, I'll send a message to Mr. Copley."