_ CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR. "TOO LATE! TOO LATE!"
It was about ten o'clock that evening, after the officers had left the mess-room, that one of the subalterns sauntered up to Lacey's quarters, where he found the latter waiting for his guests.
"Cigarette?" said Lacey.
"Thanks!" replied the young officer.
"Light?" continued Lacey.
"Thanks!" said the guest; and they two sat smoking in silence, for Lacey's thoughts were upon Dick Smithson, and upon the night of the ball and the gallantry which had saved the lives of both him and his betrothed.
They did not wait long, for, before their cigarettes were finished, Mark Frayne knocked at the door, and was admitted by Jerry, who stood back for him to enter, looking very quiet, and then noting that Mark gave a start, but took no further notice of Draycott's old servant, entering the room, to be frankly welcomed.
Five minutes later a brother-officer of Mark arrived, and before long, at the latter's suggestion, the card-table was sought, and the game went on for a couple of hours in a very quiet, natural way.
Then came an interval for refreshments, and a little chat that was far from lively. After this the play was resumed, with Jerry seated in the outer lobby, thinking over the state of affairs.
"She ought to be told of it, and try to stop him," he said to himself. "He's a baby at cards, and that Mark Frayne fleeces him as hard as ever he can. I wish something would happen."
Then he thought of Richard's disappearance, and of how glad Mark would be when he found that his cousin had gone, unless Dick had gone up to town to consult with some lawyer, who might perhaps put him in the way of regaining his rights.
"How could he have been such a young donkey to do as he did?" muttered Jerry; and then, feeling exceedingly drowsy, he refreshed himself with a cup of strong coffee to make him wakeful.
After about another hour he took in some of the hot coffee, and saw that the last new pack of cards had been opened and the wrapper tossed upon the floor; while the players looked hollow-cheeked and pale, too intent upon their game to care for the refreshment, and impatiently bidding him be off.
"It's a bad complaint that men ketches--that gambling," said Jerry; "and when they've got it, they gives it to others, who have it worse. I've no call to talk, for I've been bad enough. How precious white and seedy young Mark looks! Anyone would think he had been up to some game of his own. Every time I opened the door he give quite a jump in his chair, and, though he laughed it off, he's as nervous as nerves. Wants to win, I s'pose."
Jerry had a good long walk up and down the lobby--that is to say, he walked up and down for a long time--and, feeling that he must rest himself for a while, he slowly subsided into a chair, let his head sink back, turned it sideways so as to arrange it comfortably, and then he opened his eyes directly after--as it seemed to him--to find it was daylight. The candles had burned down very low, and two of his master's guests were standing at his side.
"Let us out, my lad," said the elder of the two; and as soon as he had handed them their hats and coats, and closed the door, he gave his eyes a rub.
"I wonder where S'Richard is?" he thought. "Why, I must have been asleep a good two hours. Has young Mark gone?"
He went softly through the outer room, to find the door of the inner one just ajar, and there, at a table, he could see his master writing.
"Young Mark must have let himself out," muttered Jerry. But he altered his opinion directly, for Lacey turned the paper he had written, folded it, and held it up to someone on the other side of the table and invisible from where the man stood.
"There you are!" said Lacey.
"Really, dear boy, I'm almost ashamed to take it. But, there, I'm only acting as your steward. You'll have to come to my quarters and win it all back. The wheel of fortune goes round, eh?"
"Yes," said Lacey, laconically. "Take anything else?"
"No, really--no thanks!" said Mark. "Good-night--morning, or whatever it is. Can I let myself out?"
"The man is there," said Lacey, coldly.
But Jerry did not remain there, to wait just outside, but made his way quickly back into the lobby, where he stood, ready to hand Mark his large Inverness cloak and hat, and then open the door.
"Looks as if he were going to be hanged," muttered Jerry very sourly, as he stood watching the young officer descend in the grey morning light. "Wonder how much he has won, and whether it makes him feel better? I know one thing: it makes me feel a deal worse, and as if I should like to pitch him over the banisters. I 'ate that chap--that's what's the matter with me--and I'd tell him so to his face as soon as look at him, that I would!"
Jerry closed the door and went across the lobby, hearing the heavy pace of his master as he walked restlessly up and down the room.
"The scoundrel!" Lacey muttered. "He is a scoundrel, and I'm a fool--a pigeon, and he has plucked me. I swear he cheated. He played that very trick I was once warned about. Serve me right! But it's the last time."
He continued his hurried pace, growing sterner and more decisive as he walked.
"A lesson to me!" he muttered. "A dishonourable scoundrel! At Miss Deane's, too! I swear he has been trying to oust me, and the old lady has encouraged him. Anna told me of his words to her. One can't call a man out now; and if I spread it abroad about the cards there'll be no end of a row, and he'd be indignant. No, I won't speak. It's a lesson to me for being such an easy-going fool."
He turned thoughtful now, but was ready to look up sharply as Jerry entered.
"Want me any more 'smornin', sir?"
"No, Brigley, no. You have heard no more news of poor Smithson?"
"No, sir, not a word."
"Strange how I have been thinking of him all the night."
"So have I, sir. I went to sleep, too, out in the lobby, and I've just recollected, sir, I was dreaming all about him and wondering where he'd gone."
"Ah, it's a bad business, Brigley. He ought to have known better. But we all do things we are sorry for sometimes and repent of them afterwards. There, be off to bed."
"Shan't I clear up a bit, sir, first?"
"No: that will do."
Jerry went out of the room and shut the door after him--to stand looking back, as if he expected to be able to see through the panels everything that was going on. His brow was wrinkled up, his nostrils twitched, and his ears moved slightly, for he was listening intently; and a looker-on would have seen that he was intensely excited.
For Jerry was thinking about cases he had read of in the papers, and, being somehow naturally prone to fancy people in trouble likely to make away with themselves by jumping into flooded rivers, he now took up the idea that the lieutenant, after a disastrous night of play, had some reason for desiring to get rid of him.
"There's two double centre-fire breech-loaders in the case," he said to himself, "and there's his revolver and his sword, besides that old hunting-knife in the shark's-skin case--there's every temptation for a young man to do it. Oh, what a world this is! Why, that there Mark Frayne's been the cause of all the trouble, and driven S'Richard away-- blow him!--Dick Smithson. I won't think of him by that name. But if I went and did good to everybody by knocking Master Mark on the head, or holding him under water till he was full and wouldn't go any more, they'd try me for it, and then--Never mind: I won't think what. I haven't patience with such laws."
Jerry stood listening, but all was very silent inside, and he grew more uneasy.
"I won't go," he said to himself. "He means something, or he wouldn't have been in such a jolly hurry to get rid of me. Phew! how hot it is turned, and my hands and feet are like ice."
He wiped his damp forehead, and stood gazing at the door, shaking his head mournfully, and with the dread of something wrong on the increase. But all was still, and even that Jerry looked upon as a bad omen.
"I know," he muttered. "He has been and lost all his tin, and he's making his will; and I don't want him to, even if he's going to leave me that horse-shoe pin with diamonds in for nails. Here! I can't stand this--I'll go in!"
Jerry hesitated for a few minutes, and then, unable to control the intense desire to see what was going on, he was about to take hold of the handle of the door, but he paused in doubt, for he had no excuse.
The next minute the excuse had come, and he entered quickly, to find Lacey writing, and ready to look up inquiringly.
"Beg pardon, sir, thought you might be in your bedroom. Didn't happen to see a little pig-skin purse, did you?"
"No!" said the lieutenant, gruffly.
"Sorry to have interrupted you, sir. Don't see it lying about, sir. Thank ye, sir!"
Jerry had a sharp look round, and then he backed out again to close the door after him, and stand hesitating and shaking his head.
"I don't like it," he muttered. "He ought to be tired out and glad to jump into his bed; and here he is writing! He isn't a writing sort of chap! Never hardly puts pen to paper! What's he writing for at a time like this?"
Jerry shook his head very solemnly, and sat down to wait, with all drowsiness gone and a nervous state of irritation steadily on the increase as he sat on for a time that seemed to be interminable, always on the _qui vive_, and expecting moment by moment to hear something which would give him ample excuse for rushing in.
"And what good will that do?" he argued, as his spirits grew lower and lower. "It'll be too late then, for I ought to be there to stop him. He's half-mad, and if I was there I might prevent it; but he would not have it. He'd tell me I was mad to think of such a thing, and kick me out!"
"Well," he said to himself, after waiting for an interminable time, all worry and indecision, "I've a good mind to risk his being angry; for I'm sure he wants something to eat. I will, before it's too late."
He rose from his seat once more, and was in the act of crossing the lobby, when a piteous cry escaped his lips, for there was a sharp concussion, the windows of the place he was in rattled, and he heard the sound of a heavy fall!
Crying out "Too late! too late!" he dashed at the door, flung it open, and entered. _