"A bit stiff, but otherwise right as a trivet, Bev. But now--about yourself, my dear fellow,--what on earth possessed you to lay Carnaby such a bet? What a perfectly reckless fellow you are! Of course the money is as good as in Carnaby's pocket already, not to mention Chichester's--damn him! As I told you in my letter, the affair has gone the round of the clubs,--every one is laughing at the 'Galloping Countryman,' as they call you. Jerningham came within an ace of fighting Tufton Green of the Guards about it, but the Marquis is deuced knowing with the barkers, and Tufton, very wisely, thought better of it. Still, I'm afraid the name will stick--!"
"And why not, Dick? I am a countryman, indeed quite a yokel in many ways, and I shall certainly gallop--when it comes to it."
"Which brings us back to the horses, Bev. I 've been thinking we ought to get 'em away--into the country--some quiet place like--say, the--the 'Spotted Cow,' Bev."
"Yes, the 'Spotted Cow' should do very well; especially as Clemency--"
"Talking about the horses, Bev," said the Viscount, sitting up in bed and speaking rather hurriedly, "I protest, since the rascally attempt on 'Moonraker' last night, I've been on pins and needles, positively,--nerve quite gone, y'know, Bev. If 'Moonraker' didn't happen to be a horse, he'd be a mare,--of course he would,--but I mean a nightmare. I've thought of him all day and dreamed of him all night, oh, most cursed, y'know! Just ring for my fellow, will you, Bev?--I'll get up, and we'll go round to the stables together."
"Quite unnecessary, Dick."
"Eh? Why?"
"Because I have just left there."
"Are the horses all right, Bev?"
"Yes, Dick."
"Ah!" sighed the Viscount, falling back among his pillows, "and everything is quite quiet, eh?"
"Very quiet,--now, Dick."
"Eh?" cried the Viscount, coming erect again, "Bev, what d' you mean?"
"I mean that three men broke in again to-night--"
"Oh, Lord!" exclaimed the Viscount, beginning to scramble out of bed.
"But we drove them off before they had done--what they came for."
"Did you, Bev,--did you? ah,--but didn't you catch any of 'em?"
"No; but my horse did."
"Your horse? Oh, Beverley,--d'you mean he--"
"Killed him, Dick!"
Once more the Viscount sank back among his pillows and stared up at the ceiling a while ere he spoke again--
"By the Lord, Bev," said he, at last, "the stable-boys might well call him 'The Terror'!"
"Yes," said Barnabas, "he has earned his name, Dick."
"And the man was--dead, you say?"
"Hideously dead, Dick,--and in his pocket we found this!" and Barnabas produced a dirty and crumpled piece of paper, and put it into the Viscount's reluctant hand. "Look at it, Dick, and tell me what it is."
"Why, Bev,--deuce take me, it's a plan of our stables! And they've got it right, too! Here's 'Moonraker's' stall marked out as pat as you please, and 'The Terror's,' but they've got his name wrong--"
"My horse had no name, Dick."
"But there's something written here."
"Yes, look at it carefully, Dick."
"Well, here's an H, and an E, and--looks like 'Hera,' Bev!"
"Yes, but it isn't. Look at that last letter again, Dick!"
"Why, I believe--by God, Bev,--it's an E!"
"Yes,--an E, Dick."
"'Here'!" said the Viscount, staring at the paper; "why, then--why, Bev,--it was--your horse they were after!"
"My horse,--yes, Dick."
"But he's a rank outsider--he isn't even in the betting! In heaven's name, why should any one--"
"Look on the other side of the paper, Dick."
Obediently, the Viscount turned the crumpled paper over, and thereafter sat staring wide-eyed at a name scrawled thereon, and from it to Barnabas and back again; for the name he saw was this:
RONALD BARRYMAINE ESQUIRE.
"And Dick," said Barnabas, "it is in Chichester's handwriting."
CHAPTER L
IN WHICH RONALD BARRYMAINE SPEAKS HIS MIND
The whiskers of Mr. Digby Smivvle were in a chastened mood, indeed their habitual ferocity was mitigated to such a degree that they might almost be said to wilt, or droop. Mr. Digby Smivvle drooped likewise; in a word, Mr. Smivvle was despondent.
He sat in one of the rickety chairs, his legs stretched out to the cheerless hearth, and stared moodily at the ashes of a long dead fire. At the opening of the door he started and half rose, but seeing Barnabas, sank back again.
"Beverley," he cried, "thank heaven you're safe back again--that is to say--" he went on, striving to speak in his ordinary manner, "that is to say,--I mean--ah--in short, my dear Beverley, I'm delighted to see you!"
"Pray what do you mean by safe?"
"What do I mean?" repeated Mr. Smivvle, beginning to fumble for his whisker with strangely clumsy fingers, "why, I mean--safe, sir,--a very natural wish, surely?"
"Yes," said Barnabas, "and you wished to see me, I think?"
"To see you?" echoed Mr. Smivvle, still feeling for his whisker,--"why, yes, of course--"
"At least, the Viscount told me so."
"Ah? Deuced obliging of the Viscount,--very!"
"Are you alone?" Barnabas inquired, struck by Mr. Smivvle's hesitating manner, and he glanced toward the door of what was evidently a bedroom.
"Alone, sir," said Mr. Smivvle, "is the precise and only word for it. You have hit the nail exactly--upon the nob, sir." Here, having found his whisker, Mr. Smivvle gave it a fierce wrench, loosed it, and clenching his fist, smote himself two blows in the region of the heart. "Sir," said he, "you behold in me a deserted and therefore doleful ruminant chewing reflection's solitary cud. And, sir,--it is a bitter cud, cursedly so,--wherein the milk of human kindness is curdled, sir, curdled most damnably, my dear Beverley! In a word, my friend Barry--wholly forgetful of those sacred bonds which the hammer of Adversity alone can weld,--scorning Friendship's holy obligations, has turned his back upon Smivvle,--upon Digby,--upon faithful Dig, and--in short has--ah--hopped the mutual perch, sir."
"Do you mean he has left you?"
"Yes, sir. We had words this morning--a good many and, the end of it was--he departed--for good, and all on your account!"
"My account?"
"And with a month's rent due, not to mention the Spanswick's wages, and she has a tongue! 'Oh, Death, where is thy sting?'"
"But how