Mr. Marx's Secret

by E. Phillips Oppenheim

  CHAPTER XXX. ECARTE WITH MR. FOTHERGILL.

  At a little before eight o'clock de Cartienne, Cecil, and I presentedourselves at the bar of the "Bull" Hotel, and inquired for Mr.Fothergill. We were shown at once by a waiter into a small privatesitting-room, brilliantly illuminated and unmistakably cosy. Under thechandelier was a small round table glittering with plate and flowers;and, standing upon the hearthrug, critically surveying it, was amiddle-aged, dapper-looking little man, in well-cut evening clothes, witha white camellia in his buttonhole.

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

  Directly we entered the room he moved forward to meet us, with a smilewhich revealed a very fine set of teeth. I watched him closely as henoted the addition to the party, but he betrayed no surprise orannoyance. On the contrary, when Cecil had introduced me as his friendand fellow-pupil at Borden Tower, he welcomed me with a courtesy whichwas a little effusive. On the whole, I decided that his manners were inhis favour.

  There was some casual conversation, an explanation rather more elaboratethan seemed to me necessary of his flying visit to Little Drayton, andthen dinner was announced. Everything had evidently been carefullyordered and prepared and was of the best. Mr. Fothergill, whatever hisshortcomings, made a capital host; and his talk, though a trifle slangyand coarse at times, was amusing in the extreme. Altogether, the dinnerwas a success in every respect save one. For four men, two of whom wereunder twenty, there was a great deal too much wine drunk.

  I think I scarcely noticed it until the cloth was removed and dessertplaced upon the table. Then a curious sense of exhilaration in my ownspirits 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 withhim. His hair, which he always kept rather long, but carefully parted,was disarranged and untidy; his neat tie had become crumpled and hadslipped up on one side; his eyes were sparkling, as though with someunusual excitement, and there was a glow of colour in his cheeks almosthectic in its intensity.

  At the head of the table our host was still smiling and debonair, lookingas though he had been drinking nothing stronger than water; and oppositeto him de Cartienne was leaning back in his chair with a faint tinge ofcolour in his olive cheeks and a peculiar glitter in his dark eyes whichwas anything but pleasant to look upon. Altogether, the appearance of thetrio was like a cold douche to me and brought me swiftly back to myformer 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 outto-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 thinkof something else to do?"

  "Yes; hang cards!" muttered de Cartienne.

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

  "Oh, let's have a chat and a few more glasses 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--sothere! 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 noalternative. But, mind, I warn you beforehand, Silchester, I'm bound towin! I don't want to win your money--I had enough last time I washere--but if we play I shall win, whether I care about it or not. I'm ina tremendous vein of luck just now."

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

  "Or, rather, don't let's play here at all," interrupted de Cartienne."The people are awfully old-fashioned and particular and may want to turnas out at eleven o'clock."

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

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

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

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

  "A splendid idea!" I exclaimed, taking him at his word and linking hisarm 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 onearth would Fothergill think of us serving him such a trick as that?"

  "Oh, hang Fothergill!" I cried. "He only wants to win your money. Iwouldn't play with the fellow if I were you, Cecil. Can't you see he's acad?"

  He looked at me, confounded.

  "Why, hang it all," he said, "how can you refuse to play with a man afteryou've eaten his dinner? Besides, can't you see that it isn't he whowants to play at all? It was I who proposed it and even then he wasn'tkeen."

  "All beastly cunning!" I muttered angrily. But I could say no more, forde Cartienne and Mr. Fothergill had retraced their steps to look for usand Cecil had started off towards them.

  In a few moments we reached the "Rose and Crown" and walked straight intothe little parlour at the back. Miss Milly was sitting there by herselfin semi-darkness, with a very disconsolate face. She brightened up,however, at our entrance.

  "All by yourself, Milly?" exclaimed Cecil, letting go my arm and movingto her side. "In tears, too, I believe! No news, I suppose?"

  She shook her head sadly.

  "None! I have almost lost hope," she added.

  Then she glanced questioningly at Mr. Fothergill, and Cecil introducedhim in an informal sort of way and explained our visit.

  "We've come to drink up all your wine and have a quiet game at cardsinstead of staying all the evening at the 'Bull.' You can put us in thesitting-room out of the way, can't you?"

  "Oh, yes!" she answered eagerly. "How good of you to come here! We'vebeen dreadfully quiet the last few days--scarcely anyone in at all, and Ihave been so dull. Come this way, please. I'm so glad I had the firelit."

  She led us into the little sitting-room, where we had gone to look forMr. Hart's photograph on my first visit to the place. I pointed to thespot where it had been.

  "You haven't found the portrait yet?" I remarked.

  She shook her head and looked distressed.

  "Please don't talk about it," she said. "It seems as though it must havebeen spirited away and it makes me feel uncomfortable even to think aboutit."

  We seated ourselves around the table and Mr. Fothergill, producing twopacks of cards from his pocket, began to deal. At the end of an hourCecil had won nearly fifty pounds, I was as I had started, and deCartienne and Mr. Fothergill were about equal losers.

  "I'm getting sick of this!" I declared. "Leave me out of this deal, willyou?"

  They assented and I crossed the room to where Milly was sitting.Pretending to examine the fancy-work upon which she was engaged, I bentclose over her.

  "Miss Milly
, I want to ask you a question, without letting the othershear," I said softly. "Do you understand?"

  She nodded. Her large blue eyes, upturned to mine, were filled withinnocent wonder.

  I glanced towards the table. As I had expected, de Cartienne was watchingus, and I could see that he was straining every nerve to overhear ourconversation.

  "I think I'm about tired of it, too!" he exclaimed, suddenly throwingdown his cards and rising; but Cecil laid his hand on his shoulder andforced him down.

  "Nonsense, man! You must play out your hand, at any rate. Then you mayleave off as soon as you like."

  De Cartienne resumed his seat with evident reluctance. I bent over Millyagain.

  "Has anyone else one of those photographs of your father?" I asked. "Isthere anyone from whom you could borrow one?"

  She shook her head and looked towards the empty frame.

  "That was the only one," she answered.

  "Where did he have them taken?"

  "At Lawrence's, just across the way."

  "And when?"

  "About nine months ago, I think it was. Why do you ask, Mr. Morton?" sheadded anxiously.

  "I will tell you another time," I answered, in a low tone.

  I glanced towards the table as I said this and was just in time to see deCartienne bend over towards Cecil and whisper something in his ear. Thelatter looked round at us at once.

  "You two seem to have found something interesting to talk about," heremarked, glancing towards Milly as though requiring an explanation.

  "We haven't," she answered, with a sigh.

  "Mr. Morton was just asking me---- Oh, Mr. Morton, you're treading on myfoot!"

  I withdrew my foot and tried the effect of a warning glance, but it wasof no avail.

  "Mr. Morton was asking me," she continued, "whether I had not another ofthose photographs."

  "And have you--has anyone?" interrupted de Cartienne, fixing his piercingblack eyes upon her.

  She shook her head.

  "No; but perhaps I can get some. They were taken at Lawrence's and Isuppose he has the negative."

  I glanced quickly at de Cartienne. He seemed profoundly uninterested andwas trying to build a house of the cards he had thrown down. Either hemust be a perfect actor, or my vague suspicions were very ill-founded atthat moment. I could not decide which.

  "Had enough cards, Cis?" he asked abruptly.

  "Not I. We'll leave you out for a bit, though. Fothergill and I are goingto play ecarte."

  De Cartienne shrugged his shoulders and threw himself on the sofa.

  "I pity you, then," he said drily. "You'll soon see the back of thatlittle pile of winnings. Fothergill's a bit too good for you."

  "Well, we shall see," Cecil answered, laughing confidently. "I'm not abad hand at ecarte myself."

  They began to play. Presently de Cartienne left the room and returnedwith two glasses in his hand.

  "Have a lemon-squash, Morton?" he asked carelessly. "There's only a dropof whisky in it."

  I accepted, for I was thirsty, and half emptied at a draught the tumblerwhich he handed me. As I put down the glass I caught a grim smile on deCartienne's sallow face. But what it meant I could not tell, although itmade me strangely uneasy.

  I watched the play for a few minutes and, to my surprise, Cecil was stillwinning. Then gradually a powerful, overmastering sleepiness crept overme. I tried to stave it off by walking about, by talking to Milly, byconcentrating my thoughts upon the play. It was useless. I felt my eyesclosing and the sounds and voices in the room grew dimmer and lessdistinct. For a while I remained in a semi-conscious state--half awakeand half asleep--by sheer force of will. But in the end I was conquered.A mist hung before my eyes and all sound died away. I fell asleep.