Читать книгу Queen of Hearts - Fred M. White - Страница 4

Table of Contents

Meanwhile, Sir Walter had returned to the sacred enclosure as if the subject recently under discussion had been settled once and for all. It was the first time that he had ever spoken freely to his sole surviving relative on the subject of the latter's future, and, from his point of view, there was no more to be said. Tom Gilchrist was entirely dependent upon him and he was not in the least likely to imperil his future and ruin his prospects for the sake of a romantic attachment to a girl who was no more than a mere shop assistant. Of course, Maudie Vascombe was a lady and all that sort of thing, but it was ridiculous to imagine that she could fly that little kite of hers to the detriment of a scheme which Sir Walter had had in his mind since the day, twenty years ago, when his only sister had died and he had made up his mind to see to the future of his nephew, for even in the midst of his activities in china, where he had remained for upwards of forty years without a break, there had always been one object uppermost in his mind.

And that object was the restoration of the family estate. A considerable portion of it had remained to him after his father's death, subject to heavy mortgages, and these he had gradually paid off, but the old family residence and the home park had been sacrificed to strangers, and, unless luck stood him in very good stead, they had gone for ever.

And then, a few years before had come the news that the new man, Catesby, was dead, leaving an only daughter to inherit the property that Sir Walter so coveted. And when he returned to England, he found that the girl was much more presentable than he had expected, that she was single and unattached and by no means averse to fall in with his scheme which had shaped in his mind directly he had discovered how the land lay.

It seemed to him to be an excellent plan and one, moreover, which he could bring about without any expense to himself. He was quite prepared to buy the old homestead, but if it came back into the family through a marriage between his nephew and the present owner, so much the better. It almost looked as if the whole thing were providential.

And when once Sir Walter made up his mind to a thing, he carried it through. In his way, he was a kindhearted, genial man, but a business one to his finger tips and not inclined to allow sentiment to stand between him and his ambitions. And now he had warned his heir and if Tom liked to defy him, then that foolish young man must take the consequences. He had spoken his mind and there was an end of it.

It was characteristic of the man that, once having come to this decision, he could turn aside to other and lighter things without giving it a second thought. He strode through the crowded enclosure in search of somebody he knew with a view, presently, to getting up to the top of the stand and watching the great race of the day, for it was nearly 3 o'clock and before long the numbers of the starters in the Gold Cup would go up on the board opposite.

It was just at that moment that Sir Walter came face to face with the one individual who had been recently uppermost in his thoughts. Here was Mona Catesby herself, beautifully dressed and strikingly handsome and alone.

"Oh, Sir Walter," she cried. "You are quite a godsend to me. I have been deserted by my party because I didn't want to go into that wretched paddock to see the horses. They are all very well when they are racing and you have a bet on, but otherwise I dislike the creatures extremely."

"Ah, the modern touch," Sir Walter laughed. "You, of course, prefer cars."

"Of course I do. Who wouldn't?"

"Oh, well, it is all a matter of taste. Now, if my ancestors had preferred cars to horses, if such a thing had been possible, you would never be in the happy possession of my ancestral home, and I should not have had the pleasure of being your faithful cavalier. Now, what do you say to coming to the top of the stand with me and watching the race?"

"Nothing would be more delightful," the girl said. "I suppose you have made all your bets?"

"I have made my modest one," Sir Walter explained. "You see, I have no use for gambling. And that is where I differ from those who preceded me. I have backed Comus for a modest five pound note and that is the extent of my wager. Just sufficient to have an interest in the race, you know."

"And I have got my money on The Palmer," Mona said. "Only I have gone a bit further than you have; in fact, I have a whole hundred on the horse. Disgraceful, isn't it?"

"Oh, well, a bet is a relative thing, after all. What's gambling with one person is merely a pastime with another. Now supposes we have a little bet on between us. I'll back my horse against yours—"

"For how much?" Mona asked eagerly.

"Oh, it need not be for money. Didn't you tell me a night or two ago that you were going to The Twin Arts Ball and that you couldn't think of a really original costume?"

"Fancy you remembering that!" Mona cried.

"So you are still undecided to your mind?" Sir Walter asked. "Very well, then. You bet me a dinner at the Carlton against an absolutely original design for your dress, the loser to pay. If you win, I supply you with a dress design that has never before appeared in public, and if I win, you shall stand me a dinner at the Carlton and give me the pleasure of your company. What do you think of that for a new—"

Sir Walter broke off abruptly as he caught sight of a man a few yards away who took off his grey top hat to Mona as he passed in the direction of the paddock. It was almost as if someone had struck Vanguard a blow.

"I am rather short-sighted," he said huskily. "But that man who saluted you strongly reminds me of an individual who some years ago, struck a note of tragedy in my life. I may be wrong, but would you mind telling me who he is?"

"Oh, that," Mona said with some surprise. "His name is Heek. I have met him once or twice lately. Not an Englishman. I think, in fact, it would be rather difficult to say what nationality he is. But everybody says he is enormously rich and within the last few months he has been seen everywhere. You know how those sort of people get taken up."

Sir Walter seemed to control himself with an effort.

"I may have been mistaken," he said, more quietly. "Come along to the top of the stand and watch the race."

It was a fine race for the Cup and, by a strange coincidence the two horses which were the subject of the wager between Sir Walter and his brilliant companion finished first and second. As they flashed past the post Mona turned to her companion with a smile of triumph.

"There you are, Sir Walter," she said. "What did I tell you? I knew that The Palmer would win, so I not only get my money, but your wonderful design as well. Do tell me what it is. I hope it is something oriental."

"That much I can promise you," Sir Walter said. "But I don't want to spoil your pleasure by telling you too much in advance. Who is your dressmaker?"

"Why, Ninette, of course," Mona said.

The sight of the dark, foreign-looking man who had bowed so politely to Mona Catesby had stirred up a whole train of unpleasant memories. For Sir Walter had not lived for the best of 40 years in the heart of China without coming face to face with more than one thrilling tragedy. And amongst these, outstanding like some nightmare, was one horror which, in all the passing years he had been unable to forget. Why, then, had that man who was obviously a stranger to him, brought the whole thing back so vividly to him.

"Very well, then. I will meet you at her establishment tomorrow morning at 12 o'clock and bring the design with me. I am not going to part with it because it is beyond price, but one of those bright young designers of Ninette's can make a sketch of it which will serve the same purpose."

The two drifted apart presently, and for the rest of the afternoon Sir Walter saw nothing of the girl whom he designed to play so important a part in his future plans. Truth to tell he was just a little ruffled in his his mind? And why had it happened at the very moment when he had just promised to give Mona Catesby that wonderful design? Because the design itself had practically been at the bottom of the whole ghastly business.

Sir Walter was still thinking it over when he reached his flat in Mayfair where, for the most part, he lived in bachelor state with one trusty servant to look after him. Once arrived there, he went into the library and locked the door behind him.

Then, from a safe in the corner, he took out of a carved ivory case a pack of playing cards.

They were not cards in the ordinary sense of the word, but each was etched on a sheet of the thinnest ivory. And each bore on the back a different design in amazing colours of gold and green and blue, in fact, a pack of cards which dated back the best part of three centuries. Amazingly beautiful they were, and the work of a great artist.

From these 53 lovely objects Sir Walter selected one particular card and placed it carefully away in his gold cigarette case. There was a grave look on his face as he did so, and his eyes were troubled.

"Foolish thing to do," he murmured. "Very foolish."

He gave one last glance at the card in his case.

It was the Queen of Hearts.