"She sent this round half an hour ago."

Baring read the note with bent brows. It merely stated that the writer had been working all the morning and was a little tired. Would Mrs.

Latimer kindly understand and excuse her?

He handed it back without comment.

"Where is young Carteret?" he asked. "Have you seen him yet?"

"No," she answered. "Somebody was saying he was late. Ah! There he is, surely--just going into the weighing-tent. What a superb horse that is of Mr. Hyde's! Do you think he will win the Cup?"

Baring thought it likely, but he said it with so preoccupied an air that Mrs. Latimer smiled, and considerately refrained from detaining him.

She watched him walk down towards the weighing-tent; but before he reached it, she saw the figure of young Carteret issue forth at the farther end, and start off at a run with his saddle on his shoulder towards the enclosure where the racers were waiting. He was late, and she thought he looked flurried.

A few minutes later Baring returned to her.

"The boy is behindhand, as usual," he remarked. "I didn't get near him.

Time is just up. I hear the Rajah thinks very highly of Hyde's Waler."

Mrs. Latimer looked across at the Indian Prince who was presenting the Cup. He was seated in the midst of a glittering crowd of natives and British officers. She saw that he was closely scanning the restless line of horses at the starting-point.

Through her gla.s.ses she sought the big black Waler. He was foaming and stamping uneasily, and she saw that his rider's face was deadly pale.

"I don't believe Ronnie can be well," she said. "He looks so nervous."

Baring grunted in a dissatisfied note, but said nothing.

Another two minutes, and the signal was given. There were ten horses in the race. It was a fair start, and the excitement in the watching crowd became at once intense.

Baring remained at Mrs. Latimer's side. She was on her feet, and scarcely breathing. The black horse stretched himself out like a greyhound, galloping splendidly over the shining green of the course.

His rider, crouched low in the saddle, looked as if at any instant he might be hurled to the earth.

Baring watched him critically, his jaw set and grim. Obviously, the boy was not himself, and he fancied he knew the reason.

"If he pulls it off, it'll be the biggest fluke of his life," he muttered.

"Isn't it queer?" whispered Mrs. Latimer. "I never saw young Carteret ride like that before."

Baring was silent. He began to think he understood Hope's failure to put in an appearance.

Gradually the black Waler drew away from all but two others, who hotly contested the leadership. He was running superbly, though he apparently received but small encouragement from his rider.

As they drew round the curve at the further end of the course, he was galloping next to the rails. As they finally turned into the straight run home, he was leading.

But the horse next to him, urged by his rider, who was also his owner, made so strenuous an effort that it became obvious to all that he was gaining upon the Waler.

A great yell went up of "Carteret! Carteret! Wake up, Carteret! Don't give it away!" And the Waler's rider, as if startled by the cry, suddenly and convulsively slashed the animal's withers.

Through a great tumult of shouting the two horses dashed past the winning-post. It seemed a dead heat; but, immediately after, the news spread that Hyde's horse was the winner. The Waler had gained his victory by a neck.

Hyde was leading his horse round to the Rajah's stand. His jockey, looking white and exhausted, sat so loosely in the saddle that he seemed to sway with the animal's movements. He did not appear to hear the cheering around him.

Baring took up his stand near the weighing-tent, and, a few minutes later, Hyde and his jockey came up together. The boy's cap was dragged down over his eyes, and he looked neither to right nor left.

Hyde, perceiving Baring, pushed forward abruptly.

"I want a word with you," he said. "I've been trying to catch you for some days past. But first, what did you think of the race?" He coolly fastened on to Baring's elbow, and the latter had to pause. Hyde's companion pa.s.sed swiftly on; and Hyde, seeing the look on Baring's face, began to laugh.

"It's all right; you needn't look so starched. The little beggar's been starving himself for the occasion, and overdone it. He'll pull round with a little feeding up. Tell me what you thought of the race! Splendid chap, that animal of mine, eh?"

He kept Baring talking for several minutes; and, when they finally parted, his opportunity had gone.

Baring went into the weighing-tent, but Ronnie was nowhere to be seen.

And he wondered rather grimly as he walked away if Hyde had detained him purposely to give the boy a chance to escape.

X

THE ENEMY'S TERMS

It was nearly dark that evening when Hope stood again on the veranda of the Magician's, bungalow, and listened to the water running through the reeds. She thought it sounded louder than in the morning--- more insistent, less mirthful. She shivered a little as she stood there. She felt lonely; her uncle was away for a couple of days, and Ronnie was in his room. She was bracing herself to go and rouse him to dress for mess.

Slowly, at last, she turned to go. But at the same instant a voice called to her from below, and she stopped short.

"Ah, don't run away!" it said. "I've come on purpose to see you--on a matter of importance."

Reluctantly Hope waited. She knew the voice well, and it made her quiver in every nerve with the instinct of flight. Yet she summoned all her resolution and stood still, while Hyde calmly mounted the veranda steps and approached her. He was in riding-dress, and he carried a crop, walking with all the swaggering insolence that she loathed.

"There's something I want to say to you," he said. "I can come in, I suppose? It won't take me long."

He took her permission for granted, and turned into the drawing-room.

Hope followed him in silence. She could not pretend to this man that his presence was a pleasure to her. She hated him, and deep in her heart she feared him as she feared no one else in the world.

He looked at her with eyes of cynical criticism by the light of the shaded lamp. She felt that there was something worse than insolence about him that night--something of cruelty, of brutality even, from which she was powerless to escape.

"Come!" he said, as she did not speak. "Doesn't it occur to you that I have been a particularly good friend to you to-day?"

Hope faced him steadily. Twice before she had evaded this man, but she knew that to-night evasion was out of the question. She must confront him without panic, and alone.

"I think you must tell me what you mean," she said, her voice very low.

He shrugged his shoulders indifferently, and then laughed at her--his abominable, mocking laugh.

"I have noticed before," he said, "that when a woman finds herself in a tight corner, she invariably tries to divert attention by asking unnecessary questions. It's a harmless little stratagem that may serve her turn. But in this case, let me a.s.sure you, it is sheer waste of time. I hold you--and your brother, also--in the hollow of my hand. And you know it."

He spoke slowly, with a confidence from which there was no escape. His eyes still closely watched her face. And Hope felt again that wild terror, which only he had ever inspired in her, knocking at her heart.