"Saved!" he muttered between his teeth, speaking to himself like one who is dreaming, "saved! Thank G.o.d! ... Two hundred and fifty pounds ...

only another fifty and I'll never touch these cursed cards again ...

only another fifty...."

He buried his face in his hands; the moisture stood out in heavy drops on his forehead. He looked all round him with ever-growing impatience.

"My G.o.d! why don't they come back! ... Another fifty pounds ... and I can put the money back ... before it has been missed.... Oh! why don't they come back!"

Quite a tragedy expressed in those few muttered words, in the trembling hands, the damp forehead. Money taken from an unsuspecting parent, guardian or master, which? What matter? A tragedy of ordinary occurrence even in those days when social inequalities were being abolished by act of Parliament.

In the meanwhile Lord Walterton, halting of speech, insecure of foothold, after his third b.u.mper of heady sack, was explaining to Sir Michael Isherwood the mysteries of his system for playing the n.o.ble game of primero.

"It is sure to break the bank in time," he said confidently, "I am for going to Paris where play runs high, and need not be carried on in this hole and corner fashion to suit cursed Puritanical ideas."

"Tell me your secret, Walterton," urged worthy Sir Michael, whose broad Shropshire acres were heavily mortgaged, after the rapine and pillage of civil war.

"Well! I can but tell you part, my friend," rejoined the other, "yet 'tis pa.s.sing simple. You begin with one golden guinea ... and lose it ... then you put up two and lose again...."

"Pa.s.sing simple," a.s.sented Sir Michael ironically.

"But after that you put up four guineas."

"And lose it."

"Yea! yea! mayhap you lose it ... but then you put up eight guineas ...

and win. Whereupon you are just as you were before."

And with a somewhat unsteady hand the young man raised a b.u.mper to his lips, whilst eying Sir Michael with the shifty and inquiring eye peculiar to the intoxicated.

"Meseems that if you but abstain from playing altogether," quoth Sir Michael impatiently, "the result would still be the same.... And suppose you lose the eight guineas, what then?"

"Oh! 'tis vastly simple--you put up sixteen."

"But if you lose that?"

"Put up thirty-two...."

"But if you have not thirty-two guineas to put up?" urged Sir Michael, who was obstinate.

"Nay! then, my friend," said Lord Walterton with a laugh which soon broke into an ominous hiccough, "ye must not in that case play upon my system."

"Well said, my lord," here interposed Endicott, who had most moderately partaken of a cup of hypocras, and whose eye and hand were as steady as heretofore. "Well said, pardi! ... My old friend the Marquis of Swarthmore used oft to say in the good old days of Goring's Club, that 'twas better to lose on a system, than to play on no system at all."

"A smart cavalier, old Swarthmore," a.s.sented Sir Michael gruffly, "and nathless, a true friend to you, Endicott," he added significantly.

"Another deal, Master Endicott," said Segrave, who for the last quarter of an hour had vainly tried to engage the bank-holder's attention.

Nor was Lord Walterton averse to this. The more the wine got into his head, the more unsteady his hand became, the more strong was his desire to woo the G.o.ddess whose broken-nosed image seemed to be luring him to fortune.

"You are right, Master Segrave," he said thickly, "we are wasting valuable time. Who knows but what old Noll's police-patrol is lurking in this cutthroat alley? ... Endicott, take the bank again.... I'll swear I'll ruin ye ere the moon--which I do not see--disappears down the horizon. Sir Michael, try my system.... Overbury, art a laggard? ... Let us laugh and be merry--to-morrow is the Jewish Sabbath--and after that Puritanic Sunday ... after which mayhap, we'll all go to h.e.l.l, driven thither by my Lord Protector. Wench, another b.u.mper ... canary, sack or muscadel ... no thin Rhenish wine shall e'er defile this throat!

Gentlemen, take your places.... Mistress Endicott, can none of these wenches discourse sweet music whilst we do homage to the G.o.ddess of Fortune? ... To the tables ... to the tables, gentlemen ... here's to King Charles, whom may G.o.d protect ... and all in defiance of my Lord Protector!"

CHAPTER XVI

A CONFLICT

In the hubbub which immediately followed Lord Walterton's tirade, Editha de Chava.s.se beckoned to the florid woman--who seemed to be her henchwoman--and drew her aside to a distant corner of the room, where there were no tables nigh and where the now subdued hum of the voices, mingling with the sound of music on virginal and stringed instruments, made a murmuring noise which effectually drowned the talk between the two women.

"Have you arranged everything, Mistress Endicott?" asked Editha, speaking in a whisper.

"Everything, mistress," replied the other.

"Endicott understands?"

"Perfectly," said the woman, with perceptible hesitation, "but ..."

"What ails you, mistress?" asked Editha haughtily, noting the hesitation, and frowning with impatience thereat.

"My husband thinks the game too dangerous."

"I was not aware," retorted Mistress de Chava.s.se dryly, "that I had desired Master Endicott's opinion on the subject."

"Mayhap not," rejoined the other, equally dryly, "but you did desire his help in the matter ... and he seems unmindful to give it."

"Why?"

"I have explained ... the game is too dangerous."

"Or the payment insufficient?" sneered Editha. "Which is it?"

"Both, mayhap," a.s.sented Mistress Endicott with a careless shrug of her fat shoulders, "the risks are very great. To-night especially...."

"Why especially to-night?"

"Because ever since you have been away from it, this house--though we did our best to make it seem deserted--hath been watched--of that I feel very sure.... My Lord Protector's watchmen have a suspicion of our ...

our evening entertainments ... and I doubt not but that they desire to see for themselves how our guests enjoy themselves these nights."

"Well?" rejoined Editha lightly. "What of that?"

"As you know, we did not play for nigh on twelve months now.... Endicott thought it too dangerous ... and to-night ..."

She checked herself abruptly, for Editha had turned an angry face and flashing eyes upon her.

"To-night?" said Mistress de Chava.s.se curtly, but peremptorily, "what of to-night? ... I sent you orders from Thanet that I wished the house opened to-night ... Lord Walterton, Sir James Overbury and as many of our usual friends as were in the town, apprised that play would be in full progress.... Meseems," she added, casting a searching look all round the room, "that we have singularly few players."

"It was difficult," retorted the other with somewhat more diffidence in her tone than had characterized her speech before now. "Young Squire Delamere committed suicide ... you remember him? ... and Lord Cooke killed Sir Humphrey Clinton in a duel after that fracas we had here, when the police-patrol well-nigh seized upon your person.... Squire Delamere's suicide and Sir Humphrey's death caused much unpleasant talk.