The Hunt Ball Mystery Part 3

"Why, Hugh!" he exclaimed in surprise. "Still up?"

"I didn't feel like sleeping," Gifford answered, "and if I'm to keep awake I'd rather stay up."

Kelson looked at him curiously. "I hope the visit to your old home hasn't been too much for you," he remarked with the limited sympathy of a strong man whose nerves are not easily affected.

"Oh, no," Gifford a.s.sured him. "Although somehow I did feel rather out of it. I have had rather a teasing day, but I shall be all right in the morning, and am looking forward to a run round the scenes of my childhood."

"Good," Kelson responded, relieved to think his friend's visit was not after all going to be as dismal as he had begun to fear. "Well, Hugh," he added gaily. "I have a piece of news for you."

"Not that you are engaged?"

Something, an almost apprehensive touch, in Gifford's tone rather took his friend aback.

"Why not?"

"To Miss--the girl you were dancing with?"

Again Gifford's tone gave a check to Kelson's enthusiasm.

It was with a more serious face that he replied, "Muriel Tredworth, the best girl in England. I hope, my dear Hugh, you are not going to say you don't think so."

"Certainly not," Gifford answered promptly. "I never saw or heard of her before to-night."

Kelson laughed uncomfortably. A man in love and in the flush of acceptance wants something more than a lukewarm reception of the news.

"I'm glad to hear it," he responded dryly. "From your tone one might almost imagine that you knew something against Muriel."

"Heaven forbid!" Gifford e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed fervently.

"You don't congratulate me," his friend returned with a touch of suspicion.

Gifford forced a laugh. "My dear Harry, you have taken my breath away.

You deserve the best wife in the kingdom, and I sincerely hope you have got her," he said, not very convincingly.

His half-heartedness, not too successfully masked, evidently struck Kelson. "One would hardly suppose you thought so," he said in a hurt tone. "I wish," he added warmly, "if there is anything at the back of your words you would speak out. I should hope we are old friends enough for that."

Gifford glanced at the worried face of the big, simple-minded sportsman, more or less a child in his knowledge of the subtleties of human nature, and as he did so his heart smote him.

"We are, and I hope we always shall be," he declared, grasping his hand.

"You are making too much of my unfortunate manner to-night, and I'm sorry. With all my heart I congratulate you, and wish you every blessing and all happiness."

There was an unmistakable ring of sincerity in his speech now, and, without going aside to question its motive, as a more penetrating mind might have done, Kelson accepted his friend's congratulations without question.

"Thanks, old fellow," he responded, brightening as he returned the grasp of Gifford's hand. "I was sure of your good wishes. You need not fear I have made a mistake. Muriel is a thorough good sort, and we shall suit each other down to the ground. We've every chance of happiness."

Before Gifford could reply there came a knock at the door. The landlord entered.

"Beg your pardon, captain," he said, "I'm sorry to trouble you, but could you tell me whether they are keeping up the Hunt Ball very late?"

"No, Mr. Dipper," Kelson answered. "It was all over long ago. I was one of the last to come away. We left to the strains of the National Anthem."

Mr. Dipper's face a.s.sumed a perplexed expression.

"Thank you, captain," he said. "My reason for asking the question is that Mr. Henshaw, who has a room here, has not come in."

"Not come in?" Kelson repeated. "Too bad to keep you up, Mr. Dipper."

"Well, captain," said the landlord, "you see it is getting on for four o'clock, and we want to lock up. Of course if the ball was going on we should be prepared to keep open all night if necessary. But my drivers told me an hour ago it was over."

"So it was. I wonder"--Kelson turned to Gifford--"what can have become of the egregious Henshaw. I don't think, as I told you in the ball-room, I have seen him since ten o'clock."

Gifford shrugged. "Unless he has come across friends and gone off with them."

"He couldn't well do that without calling here for his things,"

Kelson objected. "I suppose he did not do that, unknown to you?" he asked the landlord.

"No, captain. His things are all laid out in his room, and the fire kept up as he ordered."

"Then I don't know what has become of him," Kelson returned, manifestly not interested in the subject. "I certainly should not keep open any longer. If Mr. Henshaw turns up at an unreasonable hour, let him wait and get in when he can. Don't you think so, Hugh?"

Gifford nodded. "I think, considering the hour, Mr. Dipper will be quite justified in locking up," he answered.

"Thank you, gentlemen; I will. Goodnight," and the landlord departed.

Kelson turned to a side table and poured out a drink.

"Decent fellow, Dipper, and uniformly obliging," he said. "I certainly don't see why he should be inconvenienced and kept out of his bed by that sw.a.n.ker, who has probably gone off with some pal and hasn't had the decency to leave word to that effect. Bad style of man altogether. Hullo!

What's this?"

"What's the matter?"

Gifford crossed to Kelson, who was looking at his s.h.i.+rt-cuff.

"What's this?"

A dark red streak was on the white linen.

"Hanged if it doesn't look like blood," Kelson said, holding it to the light.

Gifford caught his arm and scrutinized the stain.

"It is blood," he said positively.

CHAPTER IV

THE MISSING GUEST