Mr. Marx's Secret Part 24

"Well, I don't know," he said slowly. "I fancy. Fothergill is a bit too good for us. I shan't be very keen on cards to-night, I can tell you. I lost more money than I cared about last time he was here."

Cecil laughed carelessly.

"You didn't lose as much as I did," he remarked. "But, then, Fothergill had all the luck. I never remember such a run of trumps as he held in that last deal; and you played villainously, you know--gave him no end of tricks."

The very faintest suspicion of a smile--an evil smile it was--trembled on de Cartienne's lips, and he turned away towards the window as though to hide it.

"I wasn't in very good form that night," he acknowledged. "I must make up for it to-night, if we can get Fothergill to give us our revenge."

Cecil drummed upon the table with his fingers and raised his eyebrows slightly.

"He can't very well refuse if we ask for it, can he?"

"I suppose not," de Cartienne answered, lounging across the room towards the door. "I'll go and see James and let him know that we shall want the latchkey."

"All right. And I say, Len," Cecil continued, "we must take Morton with us, of course."

De Cartienne turned round with an angry frown upon his dark face.

"I scarcely see how that would be possible," he said stiffly. "I think it would be taking rather a liberty with Fothergill. He only asks us two."

In other circ.u.mstances I should promptly have refused to be one of the party, especially as the invitation appeared to come from a friend of de Cartienne's. But the darkening shade which I had seen flash across de Cartienne's face reawakened all my suspicions with regard to him and I instantly determined that, by some means or other, I would go. His evident reluctance to invite me only strengthened my intention, so, although he looked at me as if expecting to hear me express my indifference as to whether I went or not, I purposely refrained from doing anything of the sort.

"Oh, that's all rot!" Cecil protested. "We can't go off and leave Morton boxed up here by himself."

"I don't suppose Morton would care much about it," said de Cartienne sullenly.

"On the contrary, I should enjoy it very much indeed," I interposed; "although, of course, I don't wish to go if you think that your friend would object," I added blandly. "It's rather dull here by oneself."

"Of course it is! Morton, old chap, you shall go with us, never fear!"

Cecil declared vigorously. "Tell you what, Len, if you won't do the agreeable and make things right with Fothergill--as you can, if you like, of course--I shan't go, so there! Which is it to be--both or neither?"

"Both, of course," de Cartienne answered, with as good grace as possible.

"I shouldn't have thought Morton would have cared about it, that's all.

Be ready punctually at half-past seven, you men."

"All right!" exclaimed Cecil, delighted at getting his own way for a change. "Good old Len! Morton, pitch that beastly Livy into the drawer and come and change your things. We'll have some fun to-night!"

CHAPTER x.x.x.

ECARTe WITH MR. FOTHERGILL.

At a little before eight o'clock de Cartienne, Cecil, and I presented ourselves at the bar of the "Bull" Hotel, and inquired for Mr.

Fothergill. We were shown at once by a waiter into a small private sitting-room, brilliantly illuminated and unmistakably cosy. Under the chandelier was a small round table glittering with plate and flowers; and, standing upon the hearthrug, critically surveying it, was a middle-aged, dapper-looking little man, in well-cut evening clothes, with a white camellia in his b.u.t.tonhole.

His hair was slightly tinged with grey, but his moustache was still jet-black and elaborately curled and waxed. His forehead was low and his full red lips and slightly hooked nose gave him something of a Jewish appearance. He had just missed being handsome, and, similarly, had just missed being good form; at least, so it seemed to me from my first rapid survey, and I did not afterwards change my opinion.

Directly we entered the room he moved forward to meet us, with a smile which revealed a very fine set of teeth. I watched him closely as he noted the addition to the party, but he betrayed no surprise or annoyance. On the contrary, when Cecil had introduced me as his friend and fellow-pupil at Borden Tower, he welcomed me with a courtesy which was a little effusive. On the whole, I decided that his manners were in his favour.

There was some casual conversation, an explanation rather more elaborate than seemed to me necessary of his flying visit to Little Drayton, and then dinner was announced. Everything had evidently been carefully ordered and prepared and was of the best. Mr. Fothergill, whatever his shortcomings, made a capital host; and his talk, though a trifle slangy and coa.r.s.e at times, was amusing in the extreme. Altogether, the dinner was a success in every respect save one. For four men, two of whom were under twenty, there was a great deal too much wine drunk.

I think I scarcely noticed it until the cloth was removed and dessert placed upon the table. Then a curious sense of exhilaration in my own spirits warned me to be careful and I looked round at once at the others.

Cecil sat directly opposite to me and I saw at a glance how it was with him. His hair, which he always kept rather long, but carefully parted, was disarranged and untidy; his neat tie had become crumpled and had slipped up on one side; his eyes were sparkling, as though with some unusual excitement, and there was a glow of colour in his cheeks almost hectic in its intensity.

At the head of the table our host was still smiling and debonair, looking as though he had been drinking nothing stronger than water; and opposite to him de Cartienne was leaning back in his chair with a faint tinge of colour in his olive cheeks and a peculiar glitter in his dark eyes which was anything but pleasant to look upon. Altogether, the appearance of the trio was like a cold douche to me and brought me swiftly back to my former watchfulness. I felt instinctively there was mischief brewing.

"I say, Fothergill, let's have a hand at cards!" Cecil exclaimed, breaking a momentary silence. "You owe us a revenge, you know! George!

didn't you clean us out last time we played! We'll clean you out to-night, hanged if we won't! What shall it be?"

Mr. Fothergill shrugged his shoulders deprecatingly.

"Cards--cards! It's always cards!" he answered lightly. "Can't you think of something else to do?"

"Yes; hang cards!" muttered de Cartienne.

"All right, I'm agreeable! But what the mischief else is there to do in this dull hole?" asked Cecil discontentedly.

"Oh, let's have a chat and a few more gla.s.ses of wine!" suggested Mr.

Fothergill. "I'm so lucky that I hate to play at cards. I always win."

"Do you?" remarked Cecil, a little pettishly. "Well, look here, Fothergill! I'll play you at any game you like to-night and beat you--so there! I challenge you! You owe me a revenge. I want it!"

Mr. Fothergill looked a little bored.

"Of course, if you put it in that way," he said, "you leave me no alternative. But, mind, I warn you beforehand, Silchester, I'm bound to win! I don't want to win your money--I had enough last time I was here--but if we play I shall win, whether I care about it or not. I'm in a tremendous vein of luck just now."

"We'll see about that," Cecil answered doggedly. "Let's ring for some cards."

"Or, rather, don't let's play here at all," interrupted de Cartienne.

"The people are awfully old-fas.h.i.+oned and particular and may want to turn as out at eleven o'clock."

"By George! we'll go round to the 'Rose and Crown!'" exclaimed Cecil. "I haven't been there for two days. It's a decent little place and we can do what we like there," he added, turning to Mr. Fothergill. "You don't mind, do you?"

"Not the least in the world!" declared our host, rising and stretching himself. "Any place will do for me. The sooner the better, if we are going, though. I don't want to be particularly late."

We all rose, despatched the waiter for our overcoats and sallied out into the cool night air. After the heated atmosphere of the room in which we had been dining, the wintry breeze came as a sudden swift tonic. At the corner of the street, looking seaward, Cecil and I stopped simultaneously and bared our heads.

"By George! how delicious a walk would be!" he exclaimed, fanning himself with his cap. "I say, Phil, old chap, suppose we bolt and do the seash.o.r.e as far as Litton Bay?"

"A splendid idea!" I exclaimed, taking him at his word and linking his arm in mine. "Let's do it!"

He burst out laughing.

"Why, Phil, you know we can't!" he said. "I was only joking. Why, what on earth would Fothergill think of us serving him such a trick as that?"