"Hello, Hargate," said his lordship. "Isn't it coming down, by
Jove!"
Hargate glanced up, nodded without speaking, and turned his
attention to the cards once more. He took one from the pack in his
left hand, looked at it, hesitated for a moment, as if doubtful
whereabouts on the table it would produce the most artistic effect;
and finally put it face upward. Then, he moved another card from the
table, and put it on top of the other one. Throughout the
performance, he whistled painfully.
His lordship regarded his guest with annoyance.
"That looks frightfully exciting," he said, disparagingly. "What are
you playing at? Patience?"
Hargate nodded again, this time without looking up.
"Oh, don't sit there looking like a frog," said Lord Dreever,
irritably. "Talk, man."
Hargate gathered up the cards, and proceeded to shuffle them in a
meditative manner, whistling the while.
"Oh, stop it!" said his lordship.
Hargate nodded, and obediently put down the deck.
"Look here." said Lord Dreever, "this is boring me stiff. Let's have
a game of something. Anything to pass away the time. Curse this
rain! We shall be cooped up here till dinner at this rate. Ever
played picquet? I could teach it you in five minutes."
A look almost of awe came into Hargate's face, the look of one who
sees a miracle performed before his eyes. For years, he had been
using all the large stock of diplomacy at his command to induce
callow youths to play picquet with him, and here was this--admirable
young man, this pearl among young men, positively offering to teach
him the game. It was too much happiness. What had he done to deserve
this? He felt as a toil-worn lion might feel if some antelope,
instead of making its customary bee-line for the horizon, were to
trot up and insert its head between his jaws.
"I--I shouldn't mind being shown the idea," he said.
He listened attentively while Lord Dreever explained at some length
the principles that govern the game of picquet. Every now and then,
he asked a question. It was evident that he was beginning to grasp
the idea of the game.
"What exactly is re-piquing?" he asked, as his, lordship paused.
"It's like this," said his lordship, returning to his lecture.
"Yes, I see now," said the neophyte.
They began playing. Lord Dreever, as was only to be expected in a
contest between teacher and student, won the first two hands.
Hargate won the next.
"I've got the hang of it all right now," he said, complacently.
"It's a simple sort of game. Make it more exciting, don't you think,
if we played for something?"
"All right," said Lord Dreever slowly, "if you like."
He would not have suggested it himself, but, after all, dash it, if
the man really asked for it--It was not his fault if the winning of
a hand should have given the fellow the impression that he knew all
there was to be known about picquet. Of course, picquet was a game
where skill was practically bound to win. But--after all, Hargate
probably had plenty of money. He could afford it.
"All right," said his lordship again. "How much?"
"Something fairly moderate? Ten bob a hundred?"
There is no doubt that his lordship ought at this suggestion to have
corrected the novice's notion that ten shillings a hundred was
fairly moderate. He knew that it was possible for a poor player to
lose four hundred points in a twenty minutes' game, and usual for
him to lose two hundred. But he let the thing go.
"Very well," he said.
Twenty minutes later, Hargate was looking some-what ruefully at the
score-sheet. "I owe you eighteen shillings," he said. "Shall I pay
you now, or shall we settle up in a lump after we've finished?"
"What about stopping now?" said Lord Dreever. "It's quite fine out."
"No, let's go on. I've nothing to do till dinner, and I don't
suppose you have."
His lordship's conscience made one last effort.
"You'd much better stop, you know, Hargate, really," he said. "You
can lose a frightful lot at this game."
"My dear Dreever," said Hargate stiffly, "I can look after myself,
thanks. Of course, if you think you are risking too much, by all
means--"
"Oh, if you don't mind," said his lordship, outraged, "I'm only too
frightfully pleased. Only, remember I warned you."
"I'll bear it in mind. By the way, before we start, care to make it
a sovereign a hundred?"
Lord Dreever could not afford to play picquet for a soverign a
hundred, or, indeed, to play picquet for money at all; but, after
his adversary's innuendo, it was impossible for a young gentleman of
spirit to admit the humiliating fact. He nodded.
"About time, I fancy," said Hargate, looking at his watch an hour
later, "that we were going in to dress for dinner."
His lordship, made no reply. He was wrapped in thought.
"Let's see, that's twenty pounds you owe me, isn't it?" continued
Hargate. "Shocking bad luck you had!"
They went out into the rose-garden.
"Jolly everything smells after the rain," said Hargate, who seemed
to have struck a conversational patch. "Freshened everything up."
His lordship did not appear to have noticed it. He seemed to be
thinking of something else. His air was pensive and abstracted.
"There's just time," said Hargate, looking at his watch again, "for
a short stroll. I want to have a talk with you."
"Oh!" said Lord Dreever.
His air did not belie his feelings. He looked pensive, and was
pensive. It was deuced awkward, this twenty pounds business.
Hargate was watching him covertly. It was his business to know other
people's business, and he knew that Lord Dreever was impecunious,
and depended for supplies entirely on a prehensile uncle. For the
success of the proposal he was about to make, he depended on this
fact.
"Who's this man Pitt?" asked Hargate.
"Oh, pal of mine," said his lordship. "Why?"
"I can't stand the fellow."
"I think he's a good chap," said his lordship. "In fact,"
remembering Jimmy's Good Samaritanism, "I know he is. Why don't you
like him?"
"I don't know. I don't."
"Oh?" said his lordship, indifferently. He was in no mood to listen
to the likes and dislikes of other men.
"Look here, Dreever," said Hargate, "I want you to do something for
me. I want you to get Pitt out of the place."
Lord Dreever eyed his guest curiously.
"Eh?" he said.
Hargate repeated his remark.
"You seem to have mapped out quite a program for me," said Lord
Dreever.
"Get him out of it," continued Hargate vehemently. Jimmy's
prohibition against billiards had hit him hard. He was suffering the
torments of Tantalus. The castle was full of young men of the kind
to whom he most resorted, easy marks every one; and here he was,
simply through Jimmy, careened like a disabled battleship. It was
maddening. "Make him go. You invited him here. He doesn't expect to
stop indefinitely, I suppose? If you left, he'd have to, too. What
you must do is to go back to London to-morrow. You can easily make
some excuse. He'll have to go with you. Then, you can drop him in
London, and come back. That's what you must do."
A delicate pink flush might have been seen to spread itself over
Lord Dreever's face. He began to look like an angry rabbit. He had
not a great deal of pride in his composition, but the thought of the
ignominious role that Hargate was sketching out for him stirred what
he had to its shallow bottom. Talking on, Hargate managed to add the
last straw.
"Of course," he said, "that money you lost to me at picquet--what