This House to Let Part 21

"One word before you go," said the young man finally. "Is there much cheating going on at Elsinore Gardens?"

Esmond turned and looked the speaker straight in the face. This time he certainly seemed to be speaking the truth, but he might be a most accomplished liar.

"None at all, except when I and my partner were there. If there had been, I should have spotted it. I'm awfully sorry for Mrs L'Estrange, for it having happened at her house, for I daresay people will hint nasty things."

"She didn't suspect anything, then?"

"Not a bit," replied Esmond. "We didn't play there more than about twice a week, and we never went in for high stakes. And, of course, we had to lose pretty often, to make things look square."

"And Miss Keane suspected nothing either." As he remembered the girl's beautiful face, and sad history, Spencer felt almost ashamed of himself for putting the question.

"Bless your soul, no, a thousand times no." The little rogue seemed to speak with unusual warmth. "Why, she loathes cards, she never can be got to join in. She has suffered too much from gambling."

He went out of the room slowly and into the night. Spencer half pitied the poor devil who had made such a hash of his life through his desire to step out of his own cla.s.s. He sat down and ruminated a long time over the strange history which had been unfolded to him.

The next morning, the fugitive, Tommy Esmond, caught the morning train from Charing Cross. He looked very sad and woebegone, a pitiable figure, friendless and alone.

But not quite friendless. A young woman closely-veiled and dressed very plainly rose up from one of the seats as he came on the platform, and touched him lightly on the arm. He recognised her, and glanced round anxiously.

"It was very dear and sweet of you to come, Stella, but very imprudent.

You might be seen by half a dozen people."

"I know," answered Miss Keane, for the closely-veiled woman was she. "I got your letter this morning and could not bear you should go without a last good-bye. Well, I can see you are anxious. I will say it, and get back."

She lifted the veil for a second, and held up her face. The little man kissed her hastily, and then made for his train.

It was evident he had one friend left in the London he was flying from as a fugitive and outlaw, one woman who pitied him.

And, at the same time that Stella was walking swiftly from the station, Guy Spencer was making up his mind that he would pay a visit to Elsinore Gardens in the afternoon, to see how the land lay there.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

About five o'clock on the afternoon of the day following Esmond's confession, Guy Spencer rang the bell at Mrs L'Estrange's flat in Elsinore Gardens.

The decorous-looking butler opened the door. He seemed to wear a sad and chastened demeanour, as if overborne with the tragic events of the previous night. Of course, all servants know what is going on in the house of their employers. A scandal such as this must have quickly penetrated to them.

"Is Mrs L'Estrange at home?"

The sad-faced butler answered at once; he could tell a lie with as much grace as anybody, but here there was no need to lie.

"Mrs L'Estrange is at home, sir, in a manner of speaking, but she is very ill, as a matter of fact in bed. Of course she cannot see any visitors."

"Oh, I quite understand," said Spencer hastily. "Is Miss Keane in? If so, I would like to see her for a few moments."

The melancholy man in black opened the door a few inches. "Miss Keane is in, sir, but I am afraid she is not very well, either. Will you kindly step in, sir, and I will find out if she can see you?"

It was evident that Tommy Esmond and his equally nefarious partner had cast a gloom over the whole establishment. Spencer was ushered into the pretty drawing-room. In a few moments, Stella Keane came in. She was evidently under the stress of great emotion. There were dark shadows round the eyes, as if she had pa.s.sed a sleepless night. Even her perfect mouth had a listless droop.

But, in spite of her pallor, the dark shadows round her eyes, and that pathetic droop, she was still very beautiful. Pathos became her. Guy Spencer's heart gave a great leap as he saw her. There was about her an overpowering, an irresistible fascination.

She advanced towards him with outstretched hands. She spoke in a broken voice, the perfectly moulded lips trembled:

"It is so sweet of you to come. Of course you have heard? It is all over the town by now. Oh, this thrice-accursed gambling, the love of which induces decent men to cheat, and become outcasts from their world."

She spoke with the deepest emotion, her bosom heaving, her voice broken by the catchings of the breath.

"He was such a good little man, he was always so kind to me," she went on. "And last night those awful happenings. Branded a cheat, he and his friend, and they could not deny it. They had to slink out. I have hardly closed my eyes during the night, Mr Spencer; my poor cousin is prostrated." She added with a shudder: "My girlhood was pa.s.sed amidst a gambling set, but I never had an experience like this."

She collected herself, and rang for tea. "You will sit down," she said.

"You can understand I should have denied myself to anybody but you, I am so terribly upset. It is still like a nightmare."

Spencer sat down as he was bidden. "I had a visit from Esmond last night," he said briefly. "He came straight on from Elsinore Gardens.

He told me what had happened, he told me the whole history of the terrible thing, how he has been making his living by cheating at cards, since he was a young man." Miss Keane raised her hands in mute deprecation. "How awful! That, of course, I did not know. I had a letter from him this morning, apologising, if one can apologise for such a thing, telling me he was going to live abroad under an a.s.sumed name.

It was a very short letter. His chief concern seemed to be that he had, incidentally, made it unpleasant for Mrs L'Estrange."

"How does Mrs L'Estrange take it?"

Miss Keane shrugged her shoulders. "She is a little bit hysterical, you know. One moment, she vows she will shut up the flat and go abroad, for fear of the nasty things that people will say. The next moment, she says that, confident in her perfect innocence, she will stay and face the music, and give her parties as usual."

"Has she asked your advice?" queried Spencer.

"She has, and my advice is to go on as usual. It is not her fault that blacklegs have crept into her circle. They creep into the best houses, the best clubs. So long as this cursed gambling goes on, there will be sharpers."

"That's true," remarked Spencer, remembering a few episodes that had occurred in his time. "And, I suppose, you will still cast in your lot with her?"

The look on the beautiful face grew more pathetic than ever.

"What can I do, Mr Spencer? I have told you my position. I wish my cousin were a different woman altogether, I wish she were not so infatuated with this horrible gambling. But I cannot influence her.

She is too old and set to turn over a new leaf."

Every moment the girl's fascination took a deeper hold of him. She was so very beautiful, so very seductive. But he still kept himself in check.

"Tell me what actually happened last night. How were Esmond and his partner found out?"

There was a little interruption by the solemn-faced butler who brought in tea. Miss Keane busied herself amongst the cups before she replied.

"It is, as I told you, all a nightmare to me. I was wandering aimlessly about; as I have told you before, I never play, I loathe cards too much.

Suddenly there was a scene at the table where Mr Esmond and his partner were playing. Three men were standing watching the game, they had come here often, I knew their names."

"They were friends of Mrs L'Estrange?" queried Spencer.

Just a faint shade of hesitation crept into the low voice.

"Oh yes, friends of my cousin."

"Straight sort of chaps, of course."