Sir Hilton's Sin Part 17

"Ha!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the baronet, again, drawing a deep breath, as he changed into the little, wiry, alert man, with a regular horsey look coming over his face, and tightening lips. "All right, Hetty," he cried. "I'm on."

"Hurrah!" cried Lady Tilborough, waving her whip about her head, and then stroking it down softly on first one and then on the other side of her old friend, before making believe to hold a pair of reins and work them about, jockey fas.h.i.+on. "Sir Hilton up--he's giving her her head-- look at her--away she goes--a neck--half a length--a length--two lengths! Sylphide wins! Sylphide wins--a bad second, and the field nowhere."

"Ha!" breathed Sir Hilton, with his eyes flas.h.i.+ng.

"What about your silk and cap?"

"All right."

"Get 'em; come on, then, Hilt. I'll gallop back to the paddock like the wind. There'll be some scene-s.h.i.+fting there by now, and the bookies working the oracle, for the news was flying when I came away that my mare was to be scratched."

"Ha," cried Sir Hilton. "We'll scratch 'em, old girl. She must--she shall win."

"Three cheers for the gentleman-rider!"

"But my wife--my election?"

"What! Win the race, and you'll win the seat, old man. Can't you see?"

"Only the saving of the money we have on."

"What! Not that the popular sporting rider who won the cup will win no end of votes to-day?"

"Ah, to be sure. Yes, of course," cried Sir Hilton, excitedly. "Be off. I'll join you at the hotel. My word! I seem to be coming to life again, Hetty. I can hear the buzzing of the crowd, the beating of the hoofs, the whistling of the wind, and see the swarming mob, and yelling of the thousand voices as the horse sweeps on with her long, elastic stride."

"First past the post, Hilt."

"Yes, first past the post."

"Now, get all you want and drive over at once. I'll go round to the stables, shout for Mark, and tell him the news. Then I'll gallop back at once."

The "at once" came faintly, for Lady Tilborough was already pa.s.sing through the door.

"Phew!" whistled Sir Hilton. "By George! it sends a thrill through a man again. La Sylphide. My first old love."

He stood motionless, staring after his visitor for a few moments, and then dashed through the opposite door.

The next moment a fis.h.i.+ng-rod was thrust in at the window, dropped against the table, and Syd, with a creel hanging from its strap, vaulted lightly through into the room, to give vent to what sounded like the tardy echo of his uncle's whistle.

"Phe-ew!" And then he said softly, with a grin of delight upon his features: "Auntie seems to be very much out. The ball's begun to roll, gentlemen, so make your little game."

CHAPTER EIGHT.

THE OTHER WOMAN IN THE CASE.

Syd Smithers ran to the door through which Lady Tilborough had pa.s.sed, went through the hall to the other side of the house, and stopped to listen, just as there was the pattering of a pony's feet, and he caught a glimpse of a dark-blue riding-habit, which was gone the next moment.

"Scissors!" he exclaimed. "Here, I must be on in this piece."

He darted back into the hall, to come full b.u.t.t upon Mark Willows.

"Hallo, Marky! What's up now?"

"Dunno, sir. Message for the guv'nor, I think. Someun must be ill."

"Awfully," said the lad, and he grinned to himself as the man ran through the hall to the back staircase so as to get to his master's dressing-room.

"I'm not such a fool as I look," said Syd, as he entered the breakfast-room and stood in the middle picking up his fly-rod and thinking. "Marky's going to the race. Driving, I bet. Well, I was going to n.o.bble one of the ponies and ride, but I seem to see a seat alongside of the old man on the dogcart if I play my cards right. Oh, scissors!"

He started back for a step or two, and then ran to the window, to gaze out with starting eyes at a handsome-looking youth in a loose, baggy knickerbocker suit, mounted upon a bicycle, which he cleverly manipulated with one hand as he thrust open the swing gate, rode through, and escaped the rebound by pus.h.i.+ng onward, riding right up to the window, leaping down with agility, leaning the bicycle against the wall, and, as if in imitation of Syd, vaulting lightly into the room to fling arms round the lad's neck.

"Oh, Syd darling!" came from a pair of rosy lips, in company with a sob.

"Oh, Molly!" cried the boy, excitedly, beginning to repel his visitor, but ending by hugging her tightly in his arms.

"Got you again at last, dear," cried the very boyishly-costumed young lady.

"Yes, but--oh, here's a jolly s.h.i.+ne!"

"Yes, dear, awful. But now I am come, don't send me away from you. I feel as if we must part no more."

"What are you talking about, pet?" cried the boy. "You must be off at once."

"Oh, no, I shan't. I've come, never to leave you any more."

"You're mad, Molly. A March hare isn't in it with you. Auntie'll be here directly."

"Gammon! I met her ever so long ago, in the carriage and pair. She looked at me, and turned up her nose and sniffed."

"Did she know you?"

"Not she. I should have been here before, only Lady Tilborough galloped by me on her pony, and I followed and saw her come in, and I've been hiding in the copse till she came away, for I knew she wouldn't stop, as your aunt was out. As soon as she galloped off I came on. If it hadn't been for that I should have been here before. So no fudge; everybody's out, and we can talk. Oh, ain't you jolly ready to get shut of me?"

"But everybody isn't out, p.u.s.s.y. Uncle's at home."

"Is he? Come out, then. Let's get into the woods."

"But I can't, dear."

"Oh, why don't you tell them? You must now."

"I can't, dear. It's impossible yet. Oh, why did you come?"

"Because I wanted to see you pertickler."

"But I was coming over to the races, and you'd have seen me then."