Sir Hilton's Sin Part 32

The agent dropped into a chair, looking as if he were going to have a fit.

"Gent's a bit poorly. Excitement. That'll do, my gals. Stop, one of you bring him a nip of my gin and bitters."

The two maids, well accustomed to such scenes, retired into the bar, one of them returning with a gla.s.s upon a tray, and waiting to be paid, as Trimmer seized the liquor and gulped it down.

"All right, my dear; my treat," said the trainer, and the next minute the two men were alone.

"Then it's true?" faltered the agent, as he set down the gla.s.s.

"Yes, all true. Your guv'nor's going to ride La Sylphide, and a hundred to one he wins."

"And you never told me, an old friend," said Trimmer, reproachfully.

"No friends.h.i.+p in betting, sir. I stand to lose a pile over the job, and I must make a bit back. Did I ask you to put your money on Jim Crow?"

"No--but--"

"No, but!" said the trainer, scornfully. "Take it as I do. You don't hear me 'owl."

Trimmer, who was as white as a sheet, sat panting, as he stared hard at the trainer, and then glanced up over his shoulder at the gallery.

"C'rect card, gentlemen--all the runners, sir," came from the outside to break the silence, backed up by the murmur from the course.

"Sam," whispered the agent at last, and he leant towards the trainer, "do you really stand to lose five thou'?"

"Every penny of it," growled the trainer, with a terrible oath, and a look which bespoke his sincerity. "What's your twopenny bet to that?

This is your somethinged guvnor's doing. Confound him! I'd poison him if I could."

"Ha!" sighed Trimmer.

"It was a dead certainty, as you know. They would have scratched La Sylphide at the last moment, for no one could ride her but Josh Rowle, and he's in a strait weskit, with two nurses from the 'sylum. Dead certainty it was, when in comes your guv'nor to spoil as fine a thing as was ever planned."

"But he mayn't win, after all."

"Tchah! I know the mare, don't I? All he's got to do is to sit still in the saddle, give her her head, and talk to her as he always knew how, and she'll romp in past the lot. The game's up, Mr Trimmer, and you must make the best of it. Here, don't bear no malice. Have another drink, and take one of these."

"C'rect card, gents; all the runners!" came again from the outside.

Simpkins's outer breast-pocket formed his cigar-case, and he took out a couple from where they lay loose, and offered them to the agent. But the latter paid no heed, for he glanced up at the gallery and then at the bar, beyond which the two maids could be seen, busy serving.

"Sam," whispered Trimmer at last; "quick, before it's too late. The mare must be got at."

Crack! went a match, and the trainer bit off the cigar end and lit up quickly.

"Here, ketch hold," he growled. "Be sharp, or it'll be out," and he offered the burning match. "You talk like a fool. How?"

"You know. Such a little thing would do it. What about King d.i.c.k?"

"Hold your cursed row," growled the trainer, threateningly.

"I can't," whispered the agent. "I've too much at stake. Get to the mare at once. You, a trainer, can manage that."

"You talk like a fool, I tell you. Close upon the time like this."

"Can't you work it with the guv'nor or Lady T.?"

"No. If I could should I be sitting here jawing? Tried it on, and failed."

"Think of your five thousand pounds."

"I tell you you can't get at the mare."

"C'rect cards, gents," came again from without, in Dandy Dinny's raucous voice. But his cry was unheard within, where Trimmer, with a peculiar Mephistophelian smile upon his face, gave another glance upwards at the gallery, before leaning forward till his lips were quite close to the trainer's great red ear, into which he whispered--

"No, of course not; but you could get at the man."

The trainer started to his feet, the cigar he had just lit falling from his gaping mouth, just as Dandy Dinny pa.s.sed the window, leering in, and then hurried out of sight with his hawking cry, for there was the sound of carriage wheels approaching the hotel.

Trimmer rose too, and laid his hand softly upon Simpkinss arm, as he gazed hard in his companion's rolling eyes, now directed towards the gallery.

"Eh?" said the trainer at last, as his eyes dropped to gaze in those that were searching his, and he began to pa.s.s his big hand over his mouth again and again.

Then he lowered it, still gazing hard at the agent, and lifted it once more to his lips, but now closed as if it were holding a drinking vessel, which he made believe to hold to his lips and drink therefrom.

The look had now become questioning.

A slowly given nod from Trimmer's head was the answer.

The big door-bell was pulled sharply, and gave forth a peal which made the trainer start. "Someone coming," he said, rus.h.i.+ng to the window and thrusting out his head, to draw it back sharply.

"The missus!" he whispered.

"Lady Lisle!" gasped Trimmer, excitedly. "She mustn't see me here."

"Come in my office. Quick!"

Simpkins half-thrust his companion quickly through the door in the corner, just as the boots pa.s.sed through the porch and the barmaid came to her door, and the next minute Lady Lisle was ushered by the boots into the hall.

"I'll tell master, my lady," said the man, and he went to the office, while the barmaid drew back into her highly-glazed sh.e.l.l.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

RATHER EQUIVOCAL.

Lady Lisle gave an angry, shuddering look of disgust as she glanced round the sanctuary of the high priest of sport, noting the pictures and hunting trophies, and then holding her highly-scented handkerchief to her delicate nostrils, which were sharply a.s.sailed by spirituous exhalations and the fumes of the noxious weed.

"Oh," she mused, "that it should come to this--a publican's daughter, a low-bred wench. Oh, Hilton, Hilton! But--ah! I am determined. I will see it to the end."