compose a discreet wire, indicative at once of my esteem, anxiety, and remorse. Tears will start to the eyes of all who see it.”
“Dear fool,” said his wife, putting up her face to be kissed. “I do love you so. And now I must go and get ready. I ordered the car for half-past.”
“Wearing apparel?” said Bill.
Betty nodded.
“Just a few things, you know. Summer things. Don’t forget you’ve got to get—”
“Chorus,” said her husband. “He forgot to get what he’d got to get together to get to Rih. Pom.”
“Idiot,” said Betty. “Some tennis-balls, I was going to say. And, if you’re going to get any clothes, do see about them today. You know what it is if you leave everything till the last minute.” And she moved towards the door.
“All right, m’dear. Let’s see. What do I want? Gent’s half hose, fancy neck-wear, flannel trouserings – which reminds me…”
But Betty had gone.
For the next two hours Fairie busied himself with correspondence. A large estate in the country took some managing and a lot of time. Also he was a vigilant and conscientious trustee. For a man of leisure, he worked unusually hard. Indeed, his labour was worth a good six hundred a year. More than that, really, for no one else would have done the work so well.
It was past one o’clock before he laid down his pen. Suddenly he remembered the telegram. Quickly he reached for a form and wrote a reply. Then he crossed to the fireplace and rang the bell. To the footman who answered it:
“I shall be in to lunch,” he said. “And let that wire go at once. Perhaps it had better be telephoned.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And tell William to come upstairs. I want to see him about my clothes.”
The telegram was very short. It ran:
“Bowed with grief.”
By the time he had been to his tailor’s, purchased two dozen tennis-balls, and bought twice as much hosiery as he had intended, Fairie was getting cold. After a moment’s hesitation, he decided to go to the Club. There would be vast fires there, at any rate: once warm, gentle exercise about the billiard-table for, say, half an hour… Clearly the idea was a good one. He quickened his steps.
As he passed into the Club, the clock of St James’s Palace proclaimed the hour. Four o’clock. Five minutes later he was in an easy chair before the smoking-room fire.
Suddenly the door opened, and Marlowe came in – excitedly rather. For a moment he looked round; then he saw Fairie and came to his side.
“Well?” said the latter expectantly. “Let’s have it.”
“You shall,” said Marlowe, drawing up a chair. “What about a hundred and thirty-five pounds in one afternoon, my son?”
“Rot,” said Fairie.
But he sat up. There was that in the other’s face which there was no mistaking.
“Fact,” said Marlowe, leaning forward to ring the bell. “Of course, I know it’s only dross, still… Have a ninepenny drink?”
His brother-in-law regarded him.
“Is this the confidence trick?” he said.
“Two winners,” said Marlowe. “One at seven, the other at twenty. Thanks very much. Twenty. Think of it.”
Fairie groaned.
“And you had–” he began.
“A fiver to win on both. Five times twenty-seven equals one-three-five. Am I right, sir?
“Good Heavens!” said Fairie. “How did you spot them?”
“Old Long gave me them.”
“Jerry Long?” cried Fairie. “Well, why the blazes didn’t he let me know?”
“I don’t know,” said Marlowe. “I tried to ring you up twice, as a matter of fact, but I couldn’t get on. Anyway, he sent me a wire from Cheltenham this morning, just giving the names. Where’s a paper?”
He rose and crossed to a table, returning a moment later with an evening paper. Quickly he turned to the ‘stop-press.’ Then:
“Here you are,” he said. “‘2.30 Cheltenham, Peterill.’”
“Peterill!” gasped Fairie. “Peterill!”
“Yes,” said Marlowe. “Queer name, isn’t it? I’ve never