THE HAZARD OF THE RACE

Pukekohe & Waiuku Times, Volume 4, Issue 69, 13 August 1915, Page 4 (Supplement)

THE HAZARD OF THE RACE

Complete Shert Story

(Copyright.) " Surely Nightstar will win the Cup to-day. There is nothing in the field to beat him, and ho is in the very pink of condition, ready to race for the proverbial King's ransom. He carries high hopes with him; his victory or defeat will decide the destiny of two—my own, and that of the girl I love, the girl I hope to make my wife." Richard Warren muttered the words lialf-aloud, stealing si sideways glance at the girl seated a little distance from liim on the grand-stand at Goodwood — the girl in his thoughts. To win her well, it would change his whole world into Paradise, yet if his horse should fail, he would never dare to speak to her words that only honour ljad kept back so long. For how could a ruined man dare ask her to share his bankrupt life ? Handsome, reckless Richard Warren was bitterly regretting the muddle lie had made of his life during the last few years that had passed since his inheritance of a fortune that he had squandered right and left. He had been a fool, not realizing his follies until the awakening came in that hour when, meeting Sylvia Worsfold tor the first time, something in the grave, sweet, questioning look in those deep, pure eyes had seemed to rouse him as from some ugly dream in which cards and the Turf and the fast, idle set with whom he had associated all figured. A sudden loathing for them all swept over him; love had worked its old spell, changing him. Yet he was so far involved that there was no way to financial security without plunging still deeper. But Dick had resolved that this present race should witness his severance from all that his old, wasted life represented. The favourite for the Goodwood Cup, Nightstar, was his own horse, a beauti ful chestnut, whose career had hitherto been unfortunate, owing to minor aeci dents, a bad start, a strained fetlock, so that he had been able to back his horse at a good price, although that price had shortened, day by day, until now Nightstar was hot favourite. Indeed, it would gain for its owner a small fortune should it carry his colours first past the winning-post. And of its triumph held no doubt. Yet his hand shook a little as, drawing his eyes away from that girl s face, he lifted his glasses and swept the course. It was crowded with a huge mass of human beings, a wonderful, shifting tide. „ , Suddenlv Dick Warren s fingers tightened on the glasses, and ho focused them more steadily. Upon the outskirts of the crowd, close to where the horses were stabled, two figures had detached themselves, slinking away with something furtive, almost guilty in their movements. The powerful lens revealed their faces distinctly to Richard, and he recognized in the younger of them a lad employed by Fred Olton, his trainer, and the lad's companion, although he was dressed in attire so utterly unlike his usual habiliments as almost to suggest a disguise, he could also identify as Marmaduke Maltravers. This last was a man only too well known to Richard, for through his fingers much of his fortune had passed. He was an unscrupulous moneylender, in whose clutches Warren was still held. What was this man doing here in apparently secret companionship with one of Fred Olton's most trusted stable lads? Dick gave a harsh, nervous little laugh as he watched them vanish; then his attention was claimed by the sudden wave of excitement that swept over the crowd. The race for the Cup was about to start. The course was cleared, and in a moment, it seemed, the horses were off. A hush fell over the crowd, subduing its clamour, but only for a second or two, then the din rase once more, the bookies shouting out in their hoarse, penetrating tones, offering the odds to the very last moment. Nightstar was well to the fore, conspicuous by reason of his bright chestnut coat, and the crowd began to shout the favourite's name. Nightstar was going to romp home an easy winner. Dick's face wns clear of shadow once more, as he let his gaze wander towards Sylvia, but this straying attention was brought back to the race by the sudden, sinister hush that had silenced all that babel of sound, a hush that was succeeded almost immediately by a savage roar, the cry of a cheated crowd that seemed to find'its full expression in one significant word that flew from mouth to mouth—" Doped." With tense gaze Dick saw that Nightstar was in difficulties. Hie horse had fallen back, leaving others to sweep past him —a pitiable object, faltering in its stride, trembling in every limb, beaten before the course was half-run —the race ultimately going to a rank outsider. Forcing his way through the crowds that were surging against the rails, his face white and haggard, Dick found himself, a little later, by his trainer's side. Tough old Fred Olton, a veteran amongst trainers and a man honest as tho day, looked almost broken-hearted as ho surveyed the sweating, dejected horse.

"In all my career no horse of mine has ever been 'got at!' " he exclaimed. " Doped? Yes, without doubt. Besides, if the horse's condition didn't proclaim the fact, one of the stable lads lias tied, the lad who had chief charge of Nightetar, a lad 1 trusted, too, as my own son. Led away by some older villain's bribe, I suppose; some villain interested in Nightstar's losing." Dick's face was white with fury as he turned to Olton. " 1 know the man who led your boy away —1 sow them together," he said, in a voice choking with rage. "It was Marmaduke Malt ravers. Leave me to deal with liini, Olton. By Heaven! this hand of mine shall leave its mark upon him —a bnand that lie shall carry to the grave."

" The man has fled from my fury, afraid to face me." Richard spoke the words in a lioarso tone, and ho glanced across the diningtablo at his cousin, I'ldgar Warren, at whose flat he was dining, an apology for a meal so far a.s he was concerned, since lie had eaten nothing; indeed, he had scarcely basted food since the morning, though ho had emptied his glass many times, for a consuming thirst was upon him, and, whilst usually an abstemious man, to-night he had drunk too much champagne, and it had mounted to his head, inflaming his already excited brain. Surely it was the wine which was playing strange tricks with his vision, else the pallid, rather saturnine face of hits cousin was lighted by a sardonic smile. "What nt Sylvia Worsfohl?" '1 hat soft, even voice put the question rather abruptly, but without betraying any particular interest. Richard looked across tlx 4 table at bini with .suddenlyflaming eyes. "What d'ye mean?" lie demanded. "Why do you mention Miss Worsfold's name?" ".My dear fellow, it is sufficiently evident what your feelings are in that quarter. Still, we needn't pursue the

subject if it irritates you. Only I was' wondering how your present desperate ( condition will affect the matter. I suppose you can scarcely hope now to muko her your wife ?" "What the dickens has that to do with you ?" But his flash of temper died at once. " No; I've given up all thought of that," ho muttered, dully. "Yet, but for that confounded scoundrel—oh, I mustnt' think of it!" He fell into ugly, brooding thoughts, from which he was roused a few moments liter by the sound of voices outside in the hall of the flat. He started forward in an alert attitude. Could his ears deceive him, or had Fate been kind, sending his enemy to him here —the man he had sought vainly since he had returned from Goodwood P He started ya little unsteadily to his feet. For the first time he was disconcertingly conscious of the wine he had drunk. What a fool he had been not to keep his senses clear. He felt at a disadvantage. He did not observe how pallid his cousin's sallow face had become, nor yet the strange glaam which had come into his eye*. The door was suddenly flung open to admit the ungainly figure of Marniadukc Maltravers. " Nonsense —I tell you I will see your master!" He brushed aside the expostulating servant who would have kept him back, and shut the door upon him with a bang. Then he marched into the room. But the colour fled from his face also, and all the threatening fury which liad been visible there was sponged out. He looked for a moment as if prompted to turn and bolt from that room he had so unceremoniously entered. But to defeat such purpose Richard had leapt upon him, holding him in la grip from which it was impossible to escape. "Release me, Mr. Warren!" gasped Maltravers, as they swayed together. "I am a dangerous man to-night. My own blood is up, and 1 warn you!" "Silence, you cur! Keep your lips shut until you open them to whine for mercy." . ~ And in silence for some moments they swayed together. Despite his clouded brain, there was no question of Dick s physical superiority over the moneylender's, yet the latter managed to release one hand that when to a hip-pocket, and drew from it a small revolver. "For Heaven's sake release me, Mr. Warren," Maltravers gasped, as Dick caught that wrist. "If 1 was responsible for the doping of your horse, 1 and the lad who actually administered it, wo were forced to it by a villain in the background. His name " But Dick saw red. " I will hear no word from you! he hissed between clenched teeth. Then all seemed a mist, in which he saw the flame of the revolver as it spurted fire, followed by a sound that was like thunder in his cars, and the figure fell from lils slackened hold on to the carpet, a crumpled heap, whilst the distorted face twisted in death-agony, and he knew that this nuan was dead % "Good heavens 1 What have )Oii done?" It was Edgar's voice which spoke in his ear. Richard turned to him a face that was filled with horror. As m a dream he saw bis cousin hasten across and lock the door; the simple act seemed changed with a horrible significance. Then Edgar bent over the inert form, placing his hand over the man's waistcoat' , , , i "He's dead. Richard, you've killed him." The latter passed a hand across his dazed eyes. "It —it was an accident." . "Yes, yes; but who would belia.'e if"' Edgar appeared to be thinking swi'.tly. " Your threats against this man, toe injury he had done you —who vvoulJ l.elicvfr it was an accident?" "There would be your corroboration?" "It would carry no weight. J am your cousin. It would be only natural that 1 should shield you. My testimony would scarcely count."' "But —but the man's own revolver?' Edgar frowned. The favouring circumstance seemed to anger rather iJ'an relieve him. "True," he said, slowly. "Oi coursr-, I'm not suggesting there would i e a murder charge, but a charge of n anslaughter. Yes—and following that charge all the ignominy of a pi! lie trial, our name in the mire of tlie criminal courts. What an ordeal, not alone for yourself, Richard, but for all your friends." He paused a 'iiomont, letting the words sink in, then, with a more emphatic intonation, lie adjed. "There is but one way out of it—flig.it.' Unnerved, flurried, Richard gave oar to that voice, listening whilst it mot his own arguments that sounded so feeble, though lie felt them to be sane enough. And presently lie yielded to the sense of panic it produced, for with somes still obscured he was like a child, r: sfcive beneath a stronger will than his own. He could scarcely have told whouter it was hours or merely days when liter lie found himself in an express ti.nr., bpin<* borne towards the coast, a •m;.ll valise, packed with some clothing, by his side. He bad secured a compartment to himself, and was engaged in reviewing the dreadful hours of that day, culminating in the tragedy oi Maltravcr's death. Sylvia—he dare not think of her, or, since thought could not be quite controlled, it was with an unspeakable anguish whose only small consolation was that no engagement existed between them. Her name would not be linked in any way with that of a man whose hands were stained, albeit inadvertently, with" a fellow-creature's blood.

The train was carrying him towards a port from which he could sail to some other country, never to return to England; that must henceforth be a. place forbidden to him. Such reflections as these were passing through a brain not yet quite clear when suddenly there was a hideous, grinding noise, and immediately after the verv floor of the carriage twisted and n-i'.ic-beneath his feet, whilst the walls and roof fell in upon him in the shock of collision. He had but ia moment to realize that some frightful accident- I..id occurred, when the shutters of darkius' fell over his senses, blotting out everything. The newspapers the following o.ty contained three separate sensations that were yet linked together. First of all, nil, the doping of the favourite for the Goodwood Cup, and later in the day the shooting of the man suspected of the outrage by Nightstar's owner. AMiat had actually occurred at that meeting between the two was not quite clear, neither then, nor later at the inquest upon the dead moneylander, at which ftdgar Warren made such contradictory and confusing statements that, whilst his object was clearly to exculpate his cousin, it was left in considerable doubt as to whether the tragedy was an accident or actual homicide. Not that it very much mattered, for the fugitive was amongst flic unidentified victims who had lost their lives in the wreck of the boat e\*pre> —a catastrophe which formed the third sensational incident. Everyone felt sympathy for Edgar Warren's unfortunate position, and although it was singular that a person usually so self-possessed should limit and blunder so ill what .should have been a simple statement, all lelt be had intended doing the best lie could towards protecting his cousin's memory, though the effect of his evidence had been absolutely the reverse.

Y'et people were sorry for lum, and even the police were lenient, for nothing was said about his own culpability u.i accessory after the tact.

Sylvia Worsfold looked across tho brilliant spaces of a garden ablaze with July flowers. Two years had passed by since that disastrous day of the Goodwood Cup, when she had last seen the man she loved, the man whom she had known had loved her, but who was now dead, lying in a dishonoured grave. She was herself almost upon the eve of marriage with Sir Edgar Warren, tho dead man's cousin, who had unexpectedly come into the family title a lew months before, in default of his dead cousin, as next-of-kin. But she was a woman with a dead heart, and she loathed the very thought of marriage with this man who had stepped into his unhappy cousin's shoes. She had refused him many times, and it was nothing but an appeal to her pride that had at last wrung consent from her —the knowledge that her father was very heavily in debt to Sir Edgar—« debt whose discharge was only possible by her consent to become his wife. " It is nothing but a bargain, and 1 am the price demanded," she murmured to herself; then she glanced up as the door opened and a small boy bounced into the room—a young nephew of her*, a child whom she loved. He had come now to demand her eecort to a picture palace in the sleepy neighbouring town a mile away. He was insistent, and, realizing the uselessness ot brooding thought, Sylvia consented to go witn liim. The pictures were not of first-rate quality, but the child was delighted. But suddenly she started forward in her seat. A picture had flashed upon the screen, clearer than any that had yet appeared, a picture not ot paramount appeal to that audience, which was mainly composed of children—a squadron of Chasseurs on parade in an African town—the famous Foreign Legion. But it was the face of one of trie Chasseurs, clearly visible to her, tliat made Sylvia's heart leap with an emotion that brought her near to swooning in the intensity of bewilderment and upleaping hope that it evoked. It could not be—and yet the face of this soldier that remained clearly depicted upon the Bcreen for some seconds was the face of a dead man, the face of Dick Warren. Dead? No, he was not dead, but living. The amazing fact pierced her consciousness, a miracle that had to t>« accepted, for love could not be deceived, and this was Dick Warren; she was convinced of it. Trembling, yet with every puiso throbbing with a new vitality, she hurried back. She must go to air Edgar at once, reveal to him her amazing discovery. She made her way at once into his presence, and there, in slow yet unfaltering words, 6he made lier disclosure. His face whitened, went pale to the very lips, but he said nothing, waiting until she had finished. " What difference does this make, Sylvia? " he said, at last. "Oh. but surely you understand that I cannot marry you now? No words were spoken between us, it is true, but I Jovod your cousin, and he loved me, I and whilst he is living I can marry no other man." His face hardened. She wondered she had never noticed how cruel its lines were until now. He had risen to his feet and, stretching out his hand, he seized her wrist.

"I love you!" His voice was lioar.se with passion. "I have loved you for years, for long, long year*, ion cannot draw back now. 1 shall keep you to your word." "No, no! it cannot lie." "And I say it must. My cousin is dead; if not in actual fact, he is dead to you as he is dead to the world. Do you think that he is immune from the consequences of his crime merely because he has enlisted in the Foreign Legion? There is such a thing as an extradition warrant, you know." "That is a threat?" "Sylvia, don't use harsh words." "But —but you would hunt him down if—if I persist in my refusal? Thwt is what you mean?" "No; the police would have to do their own work. All I should do would be to place this information you have given into their hands." Sylvia drew back with a sense of loathing. But she knew there was 110 escape. He would hold her to her word that had been given to save her father's honour, and must now be kept to spare one even dearer to her than he. Sylvia stood staring at the mirror, where her double looked back at her with mournful eyes, although she was garbed as a bride. Within an hour she would be Edgar Warren's wife. She was quite alone, having pleaded for a few last moments of solitude. But lost in painful thoughts, the flight cf time was forgotten, and she started almost violently when someone touched the door-handle, rapping gently 011 the panels. In a strangled voice she made an almost inarticulate answer, then bent to take up her bouquet, ready now to play her part. But at the touch of a hand upon her arm she began to tremble, her lirart beating wildly, but that touch was bold, and in a moment she was held in a man's strong ela.sp, looking up with incredulous gaze into well-remembered eyes that were yet so changed in their steadfast depths from those of the heedless Dick Warren. They were the eyes .t a man cleansed by the tires of advereity, a man who had mastered himself.

" Dick —oh, Dick, is it you!" Then she wrenched lierseli' away. Suddenly she remembered. She was pledged to another man. He interpreted her action aright. "Sylvia, there will he 110 wedding today," he said in a voice that had curiously deepened. He paused a moment —it was so good to see the relief that came into her face. "Now that I have come back to claim my own, it is my cousin's turn to wander forth into the wide world. Sylvia"—he came close to her once more —"after 1 fled that fatal night, I thought it well for people to .suppose I had perished in that railway disaster. I did not realize until long after I had enlisted in the Foreign Legion the full extent of my folly in acting on Edgar's advice, for 1 became a fugitive upon his suggestion, when J should hav» stayed to lacc the music. ".But even then I did not understand how utterly I had been his dupe, nor might T ever have done, but for the fact that a former man-servant of his. travelling in Algiers with another master, hot-rayed Edgar, who had acted shabbily towards him. I was able to do this man ti service—in short, 1 saved his life. In gratitude, he told me that 1 might return to England without any fear, j whenever 1 liked.

"Ho was present in Edgar's flat that very night, the only other occupant. It was he who admitted Malt-ravers and, himself unseen, witnessed from a door be had noiselessly opened the whole titfair, and could thus .substantiate the fact that Maltravers was .shot inadvertently, the weapon discharged in the struggle between us whilst he was endeavouring to it aeniint me." "Why—why did Maltravers spoil your horse's chance ul winning the iioodwood Cup?" "This man enlightened me upon that point as well. My cousin had deceived

Maltravers into believing that I was the one who had ruined a life dear to the moneylender, whereas it was Edgar who had acted the scoundrel, using my uame. But I fancy that very night Maltravers had discovered the truth. Edgar has had an easy time, but now everything has gone wrong with him. He has lost all his money in disastrous speculations, and has dipped heavily into mine as well. As for his hatred towards myself, you can guess the reason for that?" " You —you mean it was because " "Because he wanted to win you—yes. I3ut be knew he had no chance unless he could drive me from England, a ruined man. And Fate played into his hands. " But. now that I have returned in time to prevent this marriage, which 1 rightly guessed to be a sacrifice, in company with this witness, whose evidence when tho affair is reopened, will satisfy the police, let us think no more of Edgar. We are together, you and I, and she world is ours." She nestled closer to him, and what el-e there was to slay between those two was spoken in love's own language—words not to be recorded.