countered.
A flash of illumination lit her face.
“You must mean Julian?”
She paused to consider the idea further, then shook her head.
“I don’t believe it; he has a fondness for me, after all. I only half credited that he would indeed ever make use of the letter in the way that I feared, but you must realise that I could not afford to take a chance. I truly believe, knowing him as I do, that he would play fair, and relinquish all claim to the note once he had obtained his price.”
It was his turn to look contemptuous.
“Upon my word, you have a very pretty idea of affection and fair dealing! I see now why I never made any headway with you!”
She gave him a guileless look from her deep blue eyes. “What makes you think you did not?” she asked softly.
He held her glance for a moment, then his eyes flickered uneasily away from her face.
“Well, I persist in thinking that he has it,” he said. “It all happened a deal too neatly for coincidence. It’s my belief he gave that man of his — a shifty-eyed individual if I ever saw one! — the tip to lie in wait for me along my road home. I was admittted to the house by the fellow, but there was no sign of him when I left; and all along, I have had the oddest notion that he is in some way connected with this affair. I cannot positively say that I remember being set upon, but it is obvious that I must have been; granted that, I would be ready to believe that he was the man who did it. Call it an inner conviction, and sneer at it if you will, but it is nevertheless very strong.”
“Can you really not remember being set upon?” asked Celia. “One would fancy you might at least recall that much.”
He shook his head. “I remember perfectly riding off down the drive and through the gates of Farrowdene on my way back. It was snowing hard, and the wind was keen. I found it rough going along the lane which joins the house to the main coaching road, and my mare was picking her way like a cat.”
He spoke slowly. It was evident that he was tracing the journey step by step in his mind.
“I turned into the main road, and we made better progress, though the snow was driving into my face so that I had my work cut out to see properly. I was thinking of that scoundrel I had left behind me, and of you, Celia — of the whole damned mess.”
He broke off, and was silent for a space.
“That’s all,” he finished. “I’ve been over it many a time in my mind, and there is nothing more I can recall. It’s as though I suddenly fell asleep there in the midst of it all.”
There was a conviction in his voice that impressed even Celia’s incredulity. She stared at him for a moment without speaking, then lightly shrugged her shoulders.
“You may be right; it is possible Julian has the letter. But why did he give me no hint of it when I saw him at the theatre?”
“Perhaps he means to wait a little,” said Richard grimly, “until he has exhausted his ill-gotten profits. Then he will apply to you once more.”
“I must say,” said Celia, tartly, “you are both ready to believe the worst of each other. He suggested that you might be playing the same game.”
“The damned scoundrel!”
“Perhaps; we shall soon know. I will ask him if he has it,” said Celia, decisively.
His face hardened. “No, I’ll do that. It will be a pleasure.”
“Richard, I’ve told you before that you cannot call him out!” exclaimed Celia, laying a hand on his arm.
“We can find a good enough excuse. I don’t care for his waistcoats — never have done, as a matter of fact!”
“Do you think anyone is deceived by such shifts? They have been smoked out before,” replied Celia, scornfully. “And I won’t take the chance of the affair coming to Bordesley’s ears — I dare not!”
He reflected for a moment.
“There’s only one thing for it, then!” he said. “To recover that letter in spite of Mr. Julian Summers.”
“How will you set about that?” she
A flash of illumination lit her face.
“You must mean Julian?”
She paused to consider the idea further, then shook her head.
“I don’t believe it; he has a fondness for me, after all. I only half credited that he would indeed ever make use of the letter in the way that I feared, but you must realise that I could not afford to take a chance. I truly believe, knowing him as I do, that he would play fair, and relinquish all claim to the note once he had obtained his price.”
It was his turn to look contemptuous.
“Upon my word, you have a very pretty idea of affection and fair dealing! I see now why I never made any headway with you!”
She gave him a guileless look from her deep blue eyes. “What makes you think you did not?” she asked softly.
He held her glance for a moment, then his eyes flickered uneasily away from her face.
“Well, I persist in thinking that he has it,” he said. “It all happened a deal too neatly for coincidence. It’s my belief he gave that man of his — a shifty-eyed individual if I ever saw one! — the tip to lie in wait for me along my road home. I was admittted to the house by the fellow, but there was no sign of him when I left; and all along, I have had the oddest notion that he is in some way connected with this affair. I cannot positively say that I remember being set upon, but it is obvious that I must have been; granted that, I would be ready to believe that he was the man who did it. Call it an inner conviction, and sneer at it if you will, but it is nevertheless very strong.”
“Can you really not remember being set upon?” asked Celia. “One would fancy you might at least recall that much.”
He shook his head. “I remember perfectly riding off down the drive and through the gates of Farrowdene on my way back. It was snowing hard, and the wind was keen. I found it rough going along the lane which joins the house to the main coaching road, and my mare was picking her way like a cat.”
He spoke slowly. It was evident that he was tracing the journey step by step in his mind.
“I turned into the main road, and we made better progress, though the snow was driving into my face so that I had my work cut out to see properly. I was thinking of that scoundrel I had left behind me, and of you, Celia — of the whole damned mess.”
He broke off, and was silent for a space.
“That’s all,” he finished. “I’ve been over it many a time in my mind, and there is nothing more I can recall. It’s as though I suddenly fell asleep there in the midst of it all.”
There was a conviction in his voice that impressed even Celia’s incredulity. She stared at him for a moment without speaking, then lightly shrugged her shoulders.
“You may be right; it is possible Julian has the letter. But why did he give me no hint of it when I saw him at the theatre?”
“Perhaps he means to wait a little,” said Richard grimly, “until he has exhausted his ill-gotten profits. Then he will apply to you once more.”
“I must say,” said Celia, tartly, “you are both ready to believe the worst of each other. He suggested that you might be playing the same game.”
“The damned scoundrel!”
“Perhaps; we shall soon know. I will ask him if he has it,” said Celia, decisively.
His face hardened. “No, I’ll do that. It will be a pleasure.”
“Richard, I’ve told you before that you cannot call him out!” exclaimed Celia, laying a hand on his arm.
“We can find a good enough excuse. I don’t care for his waistcoats — never have done, as a matter of fact!”
“Do you think anyone is deceived by such shifts? They have been smoked out before,” replied Celia, scornfully. “And I won’t take the chance of the affair coming to Bordesley’s ears — I dare not!”
He reflected for a moment.
“There’s only one thing for it, then!” he said. “To recover that letter in spite of Mr. Julian Summers.”
“How will you set about that?” she
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