Читать книгу The House with the High Wall - Arthur Gask - Страница 3

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THE aftermath of war is always terrible. Peace is only for the dead, while unrest and disillusionment are the portion of the living. With the bloodshed dying down, the highways of the world are thronged with bewildered men and women walking aimlessly where once they trod with such resolution and such strength. To so many all ideals have gone, their old-time rules and values of life are shattered, and they understand best now only the language of the bayonet, the bullet and the bomb. Man is no longer their brother, and the battle is for the ruthless and the strong. To nations and individuals alike the tendency is to become beasts of prey.

Undeniably good-looking and naturally of a bright and happy disposition, Robert Selby Willoughby had always been a likeable sort of boy. Full of fun and go, with a great love of adventure and never lacking in courage, he had always been popular with most of his companions. In some ways, however, reckless and irresponsible, his moral code was certainly not one to be approved of by everybody, as it was a strange mixture of honourable observances and very lax appreciation of correct dealings with others.

Scorning to tell a downright lie to shield himself, he would yet cheerfully indulge in plenty to save someone else whose plight had happened to arouse his sympathy. With him, too, while to steal from another boy or a shop was unthinkable, to raid hen-roosts and orchards of neighbouring farmers was quite all right. Poaching, also, he considered quite a meritorious act and to snare a rabbit or, better still, a pheasant off someone else's land was something to which he thought no reasonably-minded person should object.

He was the only child of an amiable old clergyman in a little village in Devonshire, and these traits in his character, when they became uncovered—which, however, was not very often, as Robert was both cunning and resourceful—were most distressing to his parents. Indeed, it had been one of the most humiliating experiences of the reverend gentleman's whole life when he had to plead for leniency for his son in the local police-court when Robert had been caught red-handed by Lord Skelton's gamekeeper, instructing some village boys how to smoke down a lordly cock-pheasant from a tree with a torch of brown paper and powdered sulphur.

Just before he was eighteen Robert left Winchester College for Oxford, to study for a medical career. He liked his work and it seemed to steady him quite a lot. However, he had only just started to gain hospital experience at St. Jude's, in London, when he was drawn into the seething whirlpool of the war, and for nearly six years participated in dealing out to the unspeakable Hun every form of violence and horror of which the best brains in the Empire could conceive.

Bold and fearless, he had been early picked for commando work and upon the several occasions when he had been engaged in hand-to-hand encounters with the enemy the stark brutality of the unpleasant forms of death he had meted out to him had certainly done nothing to arouse or foster any respect for the sacredness of human life. At other times he had acquired no added respect, either, for the property of other people, as whenever and wherever he got the chance he had been accustomed to 'scrounge' and 'souvenir', putting the widest interpretation possible upon the latter word.

Any anti-social tendencies to which Robert had been inclined before the war, therefore, were in the way of being accentuated by the experiences of those dreadful days, and so, when he eventually donned civilian clothes again, his general outlook upon life was something of both a selfish and lawless one. Each for himself, he would say, and no need to keep strictly within the law unless there was a possibility of being caught if one did not.

Yet—with these unsocial leanings he continued to appear as nice a young fellow as anyone could want to meet. Charming manners and a winning smile upon the background of the proved courage of one who had fought well and bravely for his country were always irresistible when he particularly wanted to please.

With the war over and his mind most unsettled, he had no inclination for the long years of waiting to qualify as a doctor. Rather, he determined he would choose something easier where he could depend straightaway upon his own mother-wit to get rich quickly. He was helped to this decision by his coming into a few hundreds by the deaths of both his parents, who had been killed in an air-raid when upon a visit to some friends in Exeter. Of his mother he had been particularly fond and her loss was a great grief to him, stirring up more than ever his hatred of Germans and everything German.

Resolving to take a long holiday to make up for the hardships of his war years, he rented a small flat of three rooms in a little by-street in Bloomsbury and, among other diversions, started attending race-meetings. Following upon one very profitable afternoon at Sandown Park when he won more than £100, as with so many hopeful get-rich-quick dreamers before him, the idea suddenly took possession of him that he had found an ideal occupation and could easily make his living on the Turf.

In the following up of this idea he had sense enough to realise that he knew nothing about race-horses and must in consequence depend upon the knowledge of those who did. Then he argued that the daily papers would not employ writers at big salaries to supply their readers with information unless to some extent, at least, they delivered the goods. So, with a contemptuous disregard of all the hundreds and thousands of others who must have tried the same thing and made no success of it, he started to work out what he was confident would turn out to be a highly remunerative system.

For long hours in a public library he pored over the back files of three leading daily newspapers, methodically tabulating the racing selections of their sporting advisers during the previous many months. He noted they averaged slightly less than two winners in every six selections, and he drew up a graph showing in which particular races, one to six on the programme, they had met with their successes.

Then, upon going to the race-meetings, guided by this graph, he made his investments upon particular horses. If no winner had been given for race number one at six successive meetings—then it was reasonable to expect a success at the seventh. If all three sporting writers had failed in the same race during the same period of time—then the chances in favour of a win mounted accordingly.

It all seemed so very simple to him and at first, to his great delight, his system panned out well. Betting carefully and never plunging, six weeks found his bank account going up. He took no one into his confidence, always went to the races alone, and made a point of never getting into conversation with anyone on the course.

Upon the seventh Saturday afternoon, however, he had to break this last invariable rule, as in the pound enclosure at Hurst Park he ran into an old school-fellow of his at Winchester College by name of Arnold Ransome, and to his great annoyance, was accosted by him.

About his own age and in the same class at Winchester, he had never, however, been friendly with him or mixed in his set, as, his mother being the Honourable Mrs. Ransome and the daughter of a peer, young Ransome had never been anything but a bad snob. His family was an old county one, with a large estate in Hampshire, and reputed to be very wealthy. Robert had not seen Ransome since they had both left Winchester, almost together, but knew he had joined the Air Force and, later, had seen in the newspapers that he had been awarded the D.S.O.

They met after the third race, and for the moment it seemed they were not going to recognise each other. Then Ransome, nodding curtly, said, "Willoughby, isn't it? Ah, I thought so," but he did not offer to shake hands.

Robert nodded back equally as curtly, taking in covertly the other's expensive-looking get-up, his so-well-cut clothes, his fashionable panama hat, his beautiful gold wristlet watch, and the costly race glasses suspended over his shoulder.

After a few minutes' general conversation Ransome asked casually, "Doing any good?"

"Not too badly," replied Robert in as off-hand a tone as he could make it. "I got fives about the Doncaster Bell gelding and had quite a decent little win there."

Ransome pursed his lips. "Well, I'm doing rottenly," he frowned. "I was told Ginx's Baby was a good thing, but, as you saw, the beast ran like a pig." He eyed Robert intently. "Know anything for this race?"

Robert, really, did not. He had backed one of his system horses and, with it going down, was uncertain whether he was going to have another bet. However, outside his system, he had been thinking quite a lot about a horse called Tor Cross, not because he had heard anything good about him, but just on account of the name. Tor Cross was a little fishing village in Devonshire and he had once spent a nice holiday there. Superstitious, as are nearly all racing men, he had been thinking of having a pound on it.

Now, partly with the idea of impressing Ransome he was 'in the know', and partly because if the horse lost, as he probably would, he'd like to see this so-well-dressed snob lose a tidy bit of money, the sudden thought came to him that he'd pretend it was a good thing.

"Yes, it happens I do," he said, regarding Ransome very solemnly, "and I don't mind telling you if you promise not to back him until just before the start. He's being supported away from the course, and we want the starting price to be a good one." He warmed up in pretended enthusiasm. "He's almost a certain winner. He's Tor Cross and he's been especially saved for this race. You ought to get twenties."

Ransome expressed his thanks and they parted, arranging to meet again by the rails after the race, Robert, however, intending to give his old school-fellow a wide berth if the horse lost, which, as we have said, he was pretty confident he would.

Still, he told himself with some irritation, he did not now dare to leave the animal unbacked. If he won it would be damnable to think the stuck-up Ransome had perhaps picked up a nice packet, while he, Robert, had got nothing.

So, grudging what he thought was wasted money, he took £12 to 1 about Tor Cross and went up on the grandstand to watch the race, a welter of a mile.

Then followed for him some most unhappy moments, with his mouth going dry in his discomfiture. Tor Cross got off well from the barrier, was never farther back than fourth, and won easily.

His disgust was too deep for words. He had missed the chance of a lifetime and, worse than that, had no doubt put a fat wad of notes into the detested Ransome's pocket. However, he somewhat recovered his equanimity very quickly. At any rate, for one thing, he had won £12, and for another he would certainly get a good drink out of Ransome.

And certainly he did get a good drink, indeed, much better than he had ever expected, as Ransome, meeting him with a beaming face, linked his arm in his in the most friendly fashion, and escorted him straightaway into the bar under the grandstand to crack a large bottle of champagne. The wine cost five guineas, but Ransome was so pleased with himself that in his present mood he would not have minded if it had been ten.

"I got a hundred to six, my boy," he chortled over the sparkling drink, "and took it twice. Then I heard another bookie shouting twenties and couldn't help putting on a couple more quid." He patted his breast pocket. "Two hundred and forty in one hit's a decent little win."

Robert had all the appearance of being a happy man, too, as, according to his tale, he had had £25 on at starting price and hoped to get twenties at least. Apparently upon the best of terms now, the two remained together for the rest of the afternoon and then returned to town in Ransome's beautiful Bentley car. Not only that, but that same night Ransome stood a sumptuous dinner at the Rialto, with more champagne.

Discarding all his snobbishness, Ransome turned out to be a very pleasant companion. He could not have been more friendlily disposed towards Ransome, and was eager they should go to Kempton Park together upon the following Saturday. Accordingly he called for Robert then and drove him down. With their two heads together, though Robert mentioned nothing about his system, they managed to pick two winners. Ransome swore Robert had brought him luck and continued to be more grateful than ever. Very soon, too, he had an added reason for feeling grateful towards his newly-made friend.

One afternoon he got into an altercation at Hurst Park with a man who was roughly pushing everyone out of his way to get close up to the rails to watch the start of a race; the man threatened to punch Ransome's head, and looked like starting upon the business, too. The fellow was big and burly, and Ransome, being on the small side and of slight physique, would have stood little chance if the dispute had actually come to blows.

However, Robert at once interfered and, to the delight of the crowd, without the slightest hesitation, with a sharp push, sent the man sprawling on to the ground. The fellow sprang up in a blaze of fury and for the moment it looked as if a fight would ensue, but seeing Robert standing calm and contemptuous, and, apparently, in the poise of a well-seasoned boxer quite ready for anything that might happen, the man at once calmed down and walked muttering away.

After that afternoon, whenever Ransome was in town upon any Saturday, it became the usual thing for him to call for Robert and drive him down to any race-meeting that was on. With any luck, too, the day invariably ended with a dinner at some expensive restaurant or at Ransome's hotel, with Ransome always, as a favour, insisting upon paying.

Then came a moment of great triumph for Robert, and he had difficulty in suppressing the exaltation he felt. Ransome invited him to join the house-party his parents were giving for the racing of the Goodwood week. Their place, Waltham Chase, was not far from the race-course and, as they were one of the best county families and reputed to be very wealthy, Robert knew he would meet some of the tip-top Society people there. He expected, too, there would be some knowledgeable racing men among the other guests, with the chances in consequence being quite good for some nice winners.

He accepted the invitation with what he thought was just the right amount of enthusiasm and, accordingly, with the house-party starting on that day, one Saturday morning Ransome drove him down into Hampshire.

"As with most people now who've got any dough," confided Ransome on the way down, "my dad's living on his capital. The blasted taxes prevent anyone having a good time on his income, but Dad says he's going to have a bit of comfort as long as he's able to enjoy it."

And certainly Robert found the elder Ransome's idea of a bit of comfort was the best of everything money could buy. The Chase, standing in a big park of several hundreds of acres, was an old Elizabethan mansion, but in the course of time it had been much added to and modernised, no expense apparently having been spared. Its furnishings and appointments were on a lavish scale and, when Robert was shown into his room, with its beautiful tiled bathroom en suite, he could not help feeling a little awed.

He had learnt from Ransome that some thirty guests were expected and, reaching the Chase in time for luncheon, he found a number of them already arrived, including a few elderly people and a good sprinkling of pretty girls.

The afternoon turned out to be wet and cold, and it was apparent there would be only indoor amusements for that day. When luncheon was over, Ransome's mother, whom Robert found to be a very charming woman and most anxious that all her guests should enjoy themselves, came up and asked him if by any chance he could play chess. When he replied that he did and, indeed, was rather fond of the game, she exclaimed with great relief, "Oh, I'm so glad. I didn't know what to do with old Colonel Roxbury. He is a second cousin of mine and just hates cards. He won't play billiards either. All he cares for is chess."

So Robert was introduced to the colonel, a rather grumpy and frowning old man in the middle sixties, who, from his fiery red face, had all the appearance of not being averse to plenty of alcoholic refreshment. An enthusiastic chess player, once he had got possession of Robert, he was not disposed to let him go, and the games proceeded right up to dinner-time.

Nearly all the invited guests had arrived by then and they sat down, a big party, in the spacious old-world banqueting hall. Robert was thrilled with his surroundings, realising to the full what a mighty power money was in a stricken and impoverished world. Wherever he turned his eyes everything spoke of luxury and comfort; the soft and shaded candle-lights, the beautiful glass and silver, the delicious food and the sparkling wine. Then there was the service, with the butler as dignified and important as a Cabinet Minister, and the army of smartly-dressed maids ready at every moment to anticipate every diner's needs.

He was greatly impressed, too, with the appearance of some of the other guests. They all looked refined and well-bred, and there were some really pretty girls among them. Many of the women were wearing beautiful pieces of jewellery, especially, he noticed, the elder ones.

After dinner when everyone was gathered in the lounge, the old colonel plumped himself down beside him. Robert had seen him imbibing plenty of drink at dinner, but apparently the good wines had had no softening influence and his face was more frowning than ever. A few of the ladies had now got their little pet dogs with them and he commented sneeringly about it.

"No business to bring the smelly little beasts," he scowled, "when they're on a visit. Notice, too, how disgustingly some of the old women have got themselves up, much more even than the young girls." He nudged Robert with his elbow. "See the old bird there, that one by the ebony table?" He crinkled up his face. "What do you think of her?"

Robert looked in the direction he indicated and smiled. The woman he was referring to was decidedly more than elderly, and 'downright ugly' would by no means have been an uncharitable description of her appearance. Yet her dress was cut every bit as low as that of any of the young girls present, exposing a most generous amount of yellow and skinny bosom, upon which was strung a beautiful scintillating emerald necklace. This piece of jewellery, Robert thought, must surely be as valuable as that which any other woman was wearing.

Upon the colonel repeating his question with some irritation at having to ask it twice, Robert said laughingly, "What do I think of her? Well, not much. With that big nose of hers she looks like an old hawk and she shouldn't be wearing such a gorgeous necklace." He grinned. "It only draws attention to what's underneath."

"That's what I think," growled the colonel, "but you'll see she'll be wearing the damned thing every night she's here." He sneered. "The old ninny thinks it gives her sex appeal."

"Well, some of her people ought to tell her it looks bad on her," said Robert. He smiled. "And if she won't take any notice they might hide it away somewhere until we've all gone off again."

The colonel's eyes opened very wide. "Not a bad idea that," he nodded vehemently. "By Jove, no, it isn't."

"Do you know her?" smiled Robert, amused at the old man's decidedly vicious tone.

"Know her!" snarled the colonel. "I damned well ought to, seeing that she's my sister. Her late husband was that old Benjamin Nairne. He had pots of money and was always buying jewellery as an investment," and Robert was most annoyed at having been led to speak his mind so freely.

The next day it had fined up and in the morning the guests were able to have some tennis. The three courts were at the side of the house and protected from the north winds by a high grass bank running their whole length. On the top of the bank were a number of tall trees.

Nearly all the house-party had come out to watch the games, and were seated comfortably upon chairs and forms round the courts. Presently, a player returned a ball very high and, to everyone's amusement, it was seen to have become wedged among the branches of one of the trees upon the bank.

Robert, who was not playing at the moment, at once proceeded to climb the tree to retrieve it and, in doing so, got a good view of the country over the other side of the bank. Having climbed high enough to shake the ball free, as he turned to come down again he happened to catch sight of a man kneeling down at the foot of a big oak tree some couple of hundred yards or so away and, from the clothes and figure, recognised him at once as Colonel Roxbury.

Subconsciously he wondered what the old fellow was doing there, but at the moment the incident did not impress him sufficiently to cause him to mention it to anyone.

The game proceeded, but about a quarter of an hour later a dreadful bombshell burst among the assembled house-party when Mrs. Nairne came running out from the house with the startling news that her beautiful emerald necklace had suddenly disappeared. She was sure, she cried, that it had been stolen.

Everyone at once stopped playing and crowded round her to learn how it had happened, but she was so hysterical that it was some minutes before she could explain coherently.

Then it appeared she had been alone in her room, polishing up some pieces of her jewellery, and she had just finished the necklace and replaced it in its case, when she went into the adjoining bathroom to wash her hands.

She could not have been gone three minutes, she went on, when returning to her bedroom, she knew instantly that someone had been there in her absence, as the door was ajar and she was positive she had left it closed.

Added to that, one of her shoes was out upon the carpet in the middle of the room and—she almost choked in her distress here—the case with the emerald necklace had gone!

Mrs. Ransome spoke up at once. "But you must have made a mistake, Clara," she said sharply. "Who would want to take your necklace?"

"I don't know," wailed Mrs. Nairne, "but it's gone. Someone must have come in and taken it. We've searched everywhere and it isn't to be found."

"Who's we?" asked Mrs. Ransome, now beginning to look most uncomfortable.

"Your housekeeper and my own maid," was the tearful reply. "I rang for my maid at once and she fetched Mrs. James. We looked in every possible place, but there were no signs of it." She gulped down a big breath and added hesitatingly, "I am afraid one of your servants must have come in and taken it."

"Nonsense!" exclaimed Mrs. Ransome almost angrily now. "All my servants are perfectly honest and I know they'd never interfere with anything."

"Well, someone's taken it," insisted Mrs. Nairne, her tone taking on a note of anger, too, "and we mustn't lose a moment before calling in the police."

Mrs. Ransome had calmed down, and spoke persuasively, as if speaking to a little child. "I don't believe there'll be any need for that, dear," she said. "Come up with me now and we'll find it somewhere," and linking her arm in that of Mrs. Nairne, she started to lead her back to the house.

A sudden interruption, however, came from Colonel Roxbury, who had been listening open-mouthed to everything that had been said. "Here, you just wait a moment," he called out, "I can tell you what happened. I know who's taken it."

Instantly, all eyes were turned upon the colonel in amazement and it was evident from his broad smile that he was enjoying the sensation he had created. "Yes," he went on with a grin, "I saw the thief going off with it only a few minutes ago, but it wasn't one of the servants or one of us either." He chuckled. "It was a four-legged thief, one of those damned dogs the ladies have brought down here. I saw him going off with it through the hall door as I was sitting in the lounge, about a quarter of an hour ago."

The intense relief of everyone was apparent and, from anxiety, Mrs. Ransome's face became at once all smiles. "There you are, Clara," she exclaimed brightly. "I knew the mystery would be cleared up. Now we understand why one of your shoes was on the carpet in the middle of the room. Little dogs always go for shoes."

"But where's the necklace now?" almost shrieked Mrs. Nairne. "Didn't you take the case from him, Thomas?"

"Take it from him?" queried her brother, as if very surprised at being asked such a question. He shook his head. "No, not I. I didn't know what he was carrying in his mouth. I thought it was a bone."

"But the case wouldn't have looked like a bone," cried Mrs. Nairne furiously. "It's a green colour and oblong shaped."

"Just so," nodded the colonel, "and now I know what's missing, I remember it did look something like that."

"Oh, you fool, Thomas," snarled his sister. "Tell us at once where he took it."

Her brother shrugged his shoulders. "I can't," he said irritably. "I didn't follow him out. I just remained on sitting in the lounge."

"But whose dog was it?" asked Mrs. Ransome.

"Don't know that, either," replied the colonel. "All the little brutes look the same to me."

"Well, all the five dogs are here now," said Mrs. Ransome after a quick look round. "So whichever one took it can't have been away long. He'll have dropped the case close by."

"Oh, I don't know so much about that," remarked the colonel unpleasantly. "He was going pretty fast as he went out of the door."

Robert was choking back his amusement, quite certain it was all a trumped-up story about any dog having run off with the case.

Of course, it was the case itself the colonel had been hiding when he was kneeling down at the foot of that big tree. He had adopted his, Robert's, suggestion, and was intending to give his sister a good fright, as well as prevent her wearing the necklace during the rest of her stay.

Robert tried to catch the old man's eye and exchange a couple of knowing winks with him, but, a startling idea having come into his mind, he was immediately relieved that the colonel would not look his way.

His heart beat quickly at the possibilities which, all in a flash, he saw might now lie before him. What if he got hold of the jewel-case and hid it away in a different place where only he could find it again? Then later, when it was quite safe for him to do so, he could pick it up and have a ready-made fortune in his hands! What a glorious souvenir it would be! The old woman would not miss it much, either. She had plenty more jewellery to deck her skinny old body with, and she should remember she wouldn't be having any of it at all if he, and others like him, hadn't fought to keep the Hun away! They would have taken everything if they had only got to England! No, it wouldn't be a very wrong thing after all if he helped himself to some reward from one who could very well afford to give it!

In the meantime, no one for one moment doubting the colonel's story, the tennis was abandoned and everyone joined in a rigorous search all over the grounds adjacent to the house. They were confidently expecting the dog would have just dropped it somewhere so that it would be lying naked to the eye. However, as the case was of the same colour as that of the grass, they knew they would have to be very careful not to pass it over.

No success being at once forthcoming, the search was broken off for lunch, but resumed directly after the meal and continued all the afternoon. By then, nothing still happening, everyone was becoming disheartened, believing that either the little dog had carried the case on to the high road where it had been picked up by some dishonest person or, as an alternative, that he had dropped it into the River Arun which flowed through the grounds about half a mile away.

Mrs. Nairne kept on reiterating her demand that the police should be called in at once, but, to the great relief of everyone, because of the scandal that would have ensued, her brother would not hear of it.

"Don't be so silly, Clara," he insisted angrily. "If the police do come—what can they do more than we are doing now? No, we'll have another look round to-morrow. We're certain to pick it up somewhere if we keep on searching."

All the afternoon Robert had given the colonel a wide berth, fearful that he might want to let him into the joke and so spoil all his, Robert's, plan. However, by dinner-time he realised he need not worry there, as the old man appeared to be studiously avoiding him, evidently intending to have all the fun for himself.

Determined to lose no time in getting hold of the necklace, directly dinner was over and before any of the amusements of the evening had been started, Robert slipped out of the house. There was no moon showing, but by the light of the stars he had no difficulty in picking out the tree he wanted. Its gnarled roots were well exposed and, thrusting his arm among them, his heart beat tremulously as his hand came in contact with a small, hard object. There was no doubt what it was and, wrapped round in a piece of brown paper, there had been no attempt to bury it under the earth.

During the afternoon when searching with the others he had carefully considered where the new hiding-place should be, and had picked out a little rustic bridge spanning a small stream which emptied itself into the river farther down. It was quite a quarter of a mile from the house and had the added advantage that it was not visible from any of the windows.

He was thinking well ahead there, of the time when he would come to retrieve it. Certainly he would not dare to take it away with him, when, with the house-party ended, he would be leaving the Chase. Rather, he would wait weeks, and perhaps even months, and then come back one night and get it. Playing for such a high stake, he must not be the least bit impatient.

Hastening to the little bridge he had marked down in the afternoon, he thrust the packet well down under the supporting planking upon the bank of the stream, and wedged it in tightly there with some stones. However heavily any rains might fall, he was confident it would not get wet. Back in the house, he heaved a big sigh of relief that the worst of the adventure was over, and that he was quite safe.

The search was resumed the next morning, though it was obvious that hopes of success had now completely gone, with everyone sick of the whole business. Mrs. Nairne, however, looking as miserable as if she were going to be hanged, pleaded plaintively with them to go on. Her brother seemed to derive intense amusement in watching her wandering here, there and everywhere, hardly ever lifting her eyes from the ground.

"Don't you be such a worry-mutton, Clara," he laughed. "You'll get it back right enough. Most probably the dog will bring it back himself in the end. He knows where he has hidden it and, sooner or later, will dig it up like one of his buried bones."

Mrs. Nairne was not, however, to be comforted and, when she showed signs of hysterics at lunch, her host became desperate. So, in spite of all the colonel's protests, he drove into Chichester and brought back the Superintendent of Police with him.

The superintendent listened attentively to the whole story and, after questioning the colonel with some sharpness, gave it as his opinion that the first routine thing to be done now was to search the luggage of all the guests and the boxes of all the servants. To this, however, again because of the scandal, Mrs. Ransome was very averse, and she was most strongly backed up there by Colonel Roxbury, the latter stating angrily that he would rather buy his sister another necklace of equal value than have such an insult put upon his fellow-guests.

So the matter ended in the superintendent shrugging his shoulders, having two stiff drinks with Mr. Ransome, and then being driven back to Chichester.

Mrs. Nairne had given him a full and lengthy description of almost every stone in the necklace, averring tearfully she had cleaned it so many times that she would be able to recognise each particular emerald even if it were taken out of its setting. She valued the whole necklace at over £5,000, and the superintendent had assured her steps would at once be taken to catch anyone who might try to sell it. All pawnbrokers and dealers in precious stones would have received warning within forty-eight hours.

The succeeding days were most enjoyable ones for Robert. Thanks to three good winners given to the house-party by an owner among them, he came out well on the right side of the racing. Added to that, he was in a continual state of thrill at the very thought of the fortune which lay ready to his hand whenever it was perfectly safe to take it. He refused resolutely to let his conscience trouble him.

The colonel was giving him a lot of amusement. The old man seemed to have lost most of his grumpiness and was merry and full of jokes. While all the others wanted to abstain from talking about the missing necklace, he kept on bringing the matter up, always confidently predicting that it would be found before the house-party broke up.

He continued to annoy everyone by his tactlessness until the very moment when, upon the Thursday morning, the last day but one of the races, he saw them all start off for the race-course. Pleading that he felt an attack of lumbago pending, he was not going with them, but wished them all good luck and stood waving cheerfully as the cars drove away.

When they all returned home late in the afternoon, however, somewhat to his uneasiness, Robert instantly perceived that a great change had come over the practical joker. He looked very worried, and as if he were feeling really ill. He had no more jokes in him, either, and was grumpy and did not want to talk. The others noticed something wrong, too, but putting it down to the lumbago, suggested various remedies, which suggestions, however, were received most ungraciously by the sufferer.

At dinner, with the colonel hardly eating anything and, contrary to his usual habit, entering into none of the conversation, Robert began to feel rather scared. Of course he guessed what had happened.

The old man, undoubtedly with the intention of having the necklace found in some way or other, had gone to its hiding-place to get it and discovered to his horror that it was no longer there.

So what, Robert asked himself rather palpitatingly, was going to happen now? If the colonel's conscience forced him to confess what he had done, it might possibly be recalled by someone that about the very time when the necklace was being hidden, he, Robert, had been up in the branches of that tree shaking down the tennis ball and, in consequence, in a splendid position to see exactly where the hiding-place had been.

So he might, not unreasonably, become suspected and though, of course, nothing could ever be proved against him as long as he never attempted to get the necklace into his possession—what good would that be to him?

He must come for it some day and, when he did, if by any chance someone who knew him by sight, one of the many servants of the Chase for instance, reported his having been in the neighbourhood—why, detectives might be put upon his tracks at once, his flat might be searched and he might be caught, as it were, red-handed, with the necklace in his possession.

Yes, certainly the position was disturbing, with unpleasant possibilities of danger!

However, as that evening passed and the next day as well, with the colonel saying nothing and continuing to look in the very depths of depression, Robert began to feel fairly safe again. The loss of the necklace had caused everyone, and particularly, of course, the host and hostess, so much anxiety that it was evident the old man dared not face the telling of what he had done. He must be realising so clearly that if he made a clean breast of his cruel practical joke he would be roundly condemned by everyone, and stigmatised as being anything but an officer and a gentleman.

The house-party broke up on the Saturday, with Robert bidding a long good-bye to young Ransome, as the latter was going shortly to the United States on a visit to some relatives, and might be away a whole year.

Robert was rather sorry about that, as he had been hoping to hear through him of any further news there might be as to how Mrs. Nairne was continuing to take the loss of her necklace. Naturally, any wide publicity of its disappearance would make it more dangerous to dispose of, and he devoutly hoped no reward was going to be offered for its recovery.

As it happened, his fears as to publicity were quickly realised and, moreover, in a fashion that he saw was going to make things much more awkward for him than the mere offering of a reward. Somehow, a Sunday newspaper came to learn all that had taken place, undoubtedly, Robert surmised, through one of the servants in the Chase, and in its next issue made a most interesting story about it.

It was headed, "Good Win in Goodwood Week," and went on to detail how a little Pekinese dog had 'struck it lucky' at a certain fashionable house-party by going off with more than £5,000 in his mouth. It pictured the dreadful consternation of the house-party, their frantic searching in the grounds round the house, and with its lack of success, their probable uncomfortable suspicions of one another.

Altogether, it was a snappy little story which Robert had sense enough to realise would linger in people's memories for far longer than the mere offering of any reward. He scowled angrily. Now he would have to wait for months, perhaps even for years, before he would dare to attempt to dispose of his booty. Also, it would have to be a long time, and not just the couple of weeks or so he had intended, before it would be reasonably safe to steal back to that little rustic bridge and obtain possession of it.

About a week after the article appeared in the newspapers he had a letter from Ransome, just when the latter was upon the eve of sailing for the U.S.A. It was half a cursing letter and half a very amused one.

The grounds of the Chase, he wrote, were now worse than Hampstead Heath upon a Bank Holiday, with scores of trespassers climbing over the fence to chance their luck of finding the necklace! They came by night as well as by day, and after dark one could pick up the flashes of hundreds of little electric torches all over the grounds! The 'Guv'nor' was furious, and hurrying down from town a couple of fierce Alsatian dogs to put a stop to the prowlers! There might be sudden death for some of them pretty soon!

Robert had to laugh as he read the letter, but for all that he didn't quite like the thought of the crowd of searchers about, thinking it quite possible one of them by a lucky chance might happen to poke a stick under the planking of that little bridge. However, he sighed, he could do nothing.

Three months went by, with Robert still working upon his system, though by no means very happily now. Something seemed to have gone wrong with the beautiful machine he had built up with such care, and the wheels were no longer turning smoothly.

The great turf prophets seemed to have lost their punch and were not coming out true to label. Their winning selections were far between and, even when they did crop up, their prices were so poor that they by no means made up for the preceding losses.

Thus, with financial troubles looming up so very close, he became very worried, with his thoughts turning more and more to that little handful of green stones which held out to him such a rich and tempting prospect of easy salvation.

Now regarding the necklace as his own property, he thought disgustedly that he did not even know of how many stones it consisted. Indeed, he had only a very hazy idea of what the whole necklace looked like, as he had only seen it in that one cursory glance he had given when the old colonel had called his attention to its wearer, across the whole width of the big lounge.

Brooding so much about it, in time it became an obsession with him to get it into his possession as speedily as possible. Even if he did not at once try to sell any part of it, it would be a great thrill for him to hold it in his hands. He wanted to feel how heavy it was and see its stones flashing back the light. He wanted to realise such a fortune was already his.

He had long since to some extent mapped out how he would realise upon his booty. Not in his wildest dreams did he ever think of selling it as it was. Instead, he would pick out the emeralds and sell them one by one to different jewellers. It would be so easy to make up some sort of plausible tale about the one stone he was now selling as having come out of a ring belonging to some long-dead relation of his, and surely no one, he told himself, would be likely to be suspicious about a single stone.

With these last thoughts so often recurring to his mind, when his money was down to a little over £50, quite confident that the selling of even one emerald would put him on his feet again, he decided to wait no longer, but to go down into Hampshire with no further delay and put his good fortune to the test.

Accordingly, upon one unusually warm and pleasant day, for the end of November, he set off on a hired push-bicycle upon what he described to himself as the second phase of his great adventure.