Red Money

  Produced by Suzanne Shell, Mary Meehan, and the PG Online DistributedProofreading Team.

  RED MONEY

  BY FERGUS HUME

  Author of "The Mystery of a Hansom Cab," "The Solitary Farm," "ThePeacock of Jewels," "The Red Window," "The Steel Crown," etc.

  1911

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER

  I. THE DRAMA OF LITTLE THINGS

  II. IN THE WOOD

  III. AN UNEXPECTED RECOGNITION

  IV. SECRETS

  V. THE WOMAN AND THE MAN

  VI. THE MAN AND THE WOMAN

  VII. THE SECRETARY

  VIII. AT MIDNIGHT

  IX. AFTERWARDS

  X. A DIFFICULT POSITION

  XI. BLACKMAIL

  XII. THE CONSPIRACY

  XIII. A FRIEND IN NEED

  XIV. MISS GREEBY, DETECTIVE

  XV. GUESSWORK

  XVI. THE LAST STRAW

  XVII. ON THE TRAIL

  XVIII. AN AMAZING ACCUSATION

  XIX. MOTHER COCKLESHELL

  XX. THE DESTINED END

  XXI. A FINAL SURPRISE

  RED MONEY

  CHAPTER I.

  THE DRAMA OF LITTLE THINGS.

  "Gypsies! How very delightful! I really must have my fortune told. Thedear things know all about the future."

  As Mrs. Belgrove spoke she peered through her lorgnette to see if anyoneat the breakfast-table was smiling. The scrutiny was necessary, sinceshe was the oldest person present, and there did not appear to be anyfuture for her, save that very certain one connected with a funeral. Buta society lady of sixty, made up to look like one of forty (her maidcould do no more), with an excellent digestion and a constant desire,like the Athenians of old, for "Something New!" can scarcely be expectedto dwell upon such a disagreeable subject as death. Nevertheless, Mrs.Belgrove could not disguise from herself that her demise could not bepostponed for many more years, and examined the faces of the otherguests to see if they thought so too. If anyone did, he and she politelysuppressed a doubtful look and applauded the suggestion of afortune-telling expedition.

  "Let us make up a party and go," said the hostess, only too thankful tofind something to amuse the house-party for a few hours. "Where did yousay the gypsies were, Garvington?"

  "In the Abbot's Wood," replied her husband, a fat, small round-facedman, who was methodically devouring a large breakfast.

  "That's only three miles away. We can drive or ride."

  "Or motor, or bicycle, or use Shanks' mare," remarked Miss Greeby rathervulgarly. Not that any one minded such a speech from her, as hervulgarity was merely regarded as eccentricity, because she had money andbrains, an exceedingly long tongue, and a memory of other people'sfailings to match.

  Lord Garvington made no reply, as breakfast, in his opinion, was muchtoo serious a business to be interrupted. He reached for the marmalade,and requested that a bowl of Devonshire cream should be passed along.His wife, who was lean and anxious-looking even for an August hostess,looked at him wrathfully. He never gave her any assistance inentertaining their numerous guests, yet always insisted that the houseshould be full for the shooting season. And being poor for a titledpair, they could not afford to entertain even a shoeblack, much less acrowd of hungry sportsmen and a horde of frivolous women, who requiredto be amused expensively. It was really too bad of Garvington.

  At this point the reflections of the hostess were interrupted by MissGreeby, who always had a great deal to say, and who always tried, as anAmerican would observe, "to run the circus." "I suppose you men will goout shooting as usual?" she said in her sharp, clear voice.

  The men present collectively declared that such was their intention, andthat they had come to "The Manor" for that especial purpose, so it wasuseless to ask them, or any one of them, to go on a fortune-tellingexpedition when they could find anything of that sort in Bond Street."And it's all a lot of rot, anyhow," declared one sporting youth withobviously more muscle and money than brains; "no one can tell myfortune."

  "I can, Billy. You will be Prime Minister," flashed out Miss Greeby, atwhich there was a general laugh. Then Garvington threw a bombshell.

  "You'd better get your fortunes told to-day, if you want to," hegrunted, wiping his mustache; "for to-morrow I'm going to have theserotters moved off my land straight away. They're thieves and liars."

  "So are many other people," snapped Miss Greeby, who had lost heavily atbridge on the previous night and spoke feelingly.

  Her host paid no attention to her. "There's been a lot of burglaries inthis neighborhood of late. I daresay these gypsies are mixed up inthem."

  "Burglaries!" cried Mrs. Belgrove, and turned pale under her rouge, asshe remembered that she had her diamonds with her.

  "Oh, it's all right! Don't worry," said Garvington, pushing back hischair. "They won't try on any games in this house while I'm here. If anyone tries to get in I'll shoot the beast."

  "Is that allowed by law?" asked an army officer with a shrug.

  "I don't know and I don't care," retorted Garvington. "An Englishman'shouse is his castle, you know, and he can jolly well shoot any one whotries to get into it. Besides, I shouldn't mind potting a burglar. Greatsport."

  "You'd ask his intentions first, I presume," said Lady Garvingtontartly.

  "Not me. Any one getting into the house after dark doesn't need hisintentions to be asked. I'd shoot."

  "What about Romeo?" asked a poetic-looking young man. "He got intoJuliet's house, but did not come as a burglar."

  "He came as a guest, I believe," said a quiet, silvery voice at the endof the table, and every one turned to look at Lady Agnes Pine, who hadspoken.

  She was Garvington's sister, and the wife of Sir Hubert Pine, themillionaire, who was absent from the house party on this occasion. As arule, she spoke little, and constantly wore a sad expression on her paleand beautiful face. And Agnes Pine really was beautiful, being one ofthose tall, slim willowy-looking women who always look well and actcharmingly. And, indeed, her undeniable charm of manner probably hadmore to do with her reputation as a handsome woman than her actualphysical grace. With her dark hair and dark eyes, her Greek features andivory skin faintly tinted with a tea-rose hue, she looked very lovelyand very sad. Why she should be, was a puzzle to many women, as beingthe wife of a superlatively rich man, she had all the joys that moneycould bring her. Still it was hinted on good authority--but no one everheard the name of the authority--that Garvington being poor had forcedher into marrying Sir Hubert, for whom she did not care in the least.People said that her cousin Noel Lambert was the husband of her choice,but that she had sacrificed herself, or rather had been compelled to doso, in order that Garvington might be set on his legs. But Lady Agnesnever gave any one the satisfaction of knowing the exact truth. Shemoved through the social world like a gentle ghost, fulfilling herduties admirably, but apparently indifferent to every one andeverything. "Clippin' to look at," said the young men, "but tombs totalk to. No sport at all." But then the young men did not possess thekey to Lady Agnes Pine's heart. Nor did her husband apparently.

  Her voice was very low and musical, and every one felt its charm.Garvington answered her question as he left the room. "Romeo or noRomeo, guest or no guest," he said harshly, "I'll shoot any beast whotries to enter my house. Come on, you fellows. We start in half an hourfor the coverts."

  When the men left the room, Miss Greeby came and sat down in a vacantseat near her hostess. "What did Garvington mean by that last speech?"she asked with a significant look at Lady Agnes.

  "Oh, my dear, when does Garvington ever mean anything?" said t
he otherwoman fretfully. "He is so selfish; he leaves me to do everything."

  "Well," drawled Miss Greeby with a pensive look on her masculinefeatures, "he looked at Agnes when he spoke."

  "What do you mean?" demanded Lady Garvington sharply.

  Miss Greeby gave a significant laugh. "I notice that Mr. Lambert is notin the house," she said carelessly. "But some one told me he was near athand in the neighborhood. Surely Garvington doesn't mean to shoot him."

  "Clara." The hostess sat up very straight, and a spot of color burned oneither sallow cheek. "I am surprised at you. Noel is staying in theAbbot's Wood Cottage, and indulging in artistic work of some sort. Buthe can come and stay here, if he likes. You don't mean to insinuate thathe would climb into the house through a window after dark like aburglar?"

  "That's just what I do mean," retorted Miss Greeby daringly, "and if hedoes, Garvington will shoot him. He said so."

  "He said nothing of the sort," cried Lady Garvington, angrily rising.

  "Well, he meant it. I saw him looking at Agnes. And we know that SirHubert is as jealous as Othello. Garvington is on guard I suppose,and--"

  "Will you hold your tongue?" whispered the mistress of the Manorfuriously, and she would have shaken Miss Greeby, but that she hadborrowed money from her and did not dare to incur her enmity. "Agneswill hear you; she is looking this way; can't you see?"

  "As if I cared," laughed Miss Greeby, pushing out her full lower lip ina contemptuous manner. However, for reasons best known to herself, sheheld her peace, although she would have scorned the idea that the hintof her hostess made her do so.

  Lady Garvington saw that her guests were all chattering with oneanother, and that the men were getting ready to leave for the day'sshooting, so she went to discuss the dinner in the housekeeper's room.But all the time she and the housekeeper were arguing what LordGarvington would like in the way of food, the worried woman wasreflecting on what Miss Greeby had said. When the menu was finallysettled--no easy task when it concerned the master of the house--LadyGarvington sought out Mrs. Belgrove. That juvenile ancient was sunningherself on the terrace, in the hope of renewing her waning vitality,and, being alone, permitted herself to look old. She brisked up with akittenish purr when disturbed, and remarked that the Hengishire air waslike champagne. "My spirits are positively wild and wayward," said thewould-be Hebe with a desperate attempt to be youthful.

  "Ah, you haven't got the house to look after," sighed Lady Garvington,with a weary look, and dropped into a basket chair to pour out her woesto Mrs. Belgrove. That person was extremely discreet, as years ofsociety struggling had taught her the value of silence. Her discretionin this respect brought her many confidences, and she was renowned forgiving advice which was never taken.

  "What's the matter, my dear? You look a hundred," said Mrs. Belgrove,putting up her lorgnette with a chuckle, as if she had made an originalobservation. But she had not, for Lady Garvington always appeared wornand weary, and sallow, and untidy. She was the kind of absent-mindedperson who depended upon pins to hold her garments together, and whowould put on her tiara crookedly for a drawing-room.

  "Clara Greeby's a cat," said poor, worried Lady Garvington, hunting forher pocket handkerchief, which was rarely to be found.

  "Has she been making love to Garvington?"

  "Pooh! No woman attracts Garvington unless she can cook, or knowssomething about a kitchen range. I might as well have married a souptureen. I'm sure I don't know why I ever did marry him," lamented thelady, staring at the changing foliage of the park trees. "He's a pauperand a pig, my dear, although I wouldn't say so to every one. I wish mymother hadn't insisted that I should attend cooking classes."

  "What on earth has that to do with it?"

  "To do with what?" asked Lady Garvington absentmindedly. "I don't knowwhat you're talking about, I'm sure. But mother knew that Garvington wasfond of a good dinner, and made me attend those classes, so as to learnto talk about French dishes. We used to flirt about soups and creams andhaunches of venison, until he thought that I was as greedy as he was. Sohe married me, and I've been attending to his meals ever since. Why,even for our honeymoon we went to Mont St. Michel. They make splendidomelettes there, and Garvington ate all the time. Ugh!" and the poorlady shuddered.

  Mrs. Belgrove saw that her companion was meandering, and would nevercome to the point unless forced to face it, so she rapped her knuckleswith the lorgnette. "What about Clara Greeby?" she demanded sharply.

  "She's a cat!"

  "Oh, we're all cats, mewing or spitting as the fit takes us," said Mrs.Belgrove comfortably. "I can't see why cat should be a term ofopprobrium when applied to a woman. Cats are charmingly pretty animals,and know what they want, also how to get it. Well, my dear?"

  "I believe she was in love with Noel herself," ruminated LadyGarvington.

  "Who was in love? Come to the point, my dear Jane."

  "Clara Greeby."

  Mrs. Belgrove laughed. "Oh, that ancient history. Every one who wasanybody knew that Clara would have given her eyes--and very ugly eyesthey are--to have married Noel Lambert. I suppose you mean him? Noelisn't a common name. Quite so. You mean him. Well, Clara wanted to buyhim. He hasn't any money, and as a banker's heiress she is as rich as aJew. But he wouldn't have her."

  "Why wouldn't he?" asked Lady Garvington, waking up--she had beenreflecting about a new soup which she hoped would please her husband."Clara has quite six thousand a year, and doesn't look bad when her maidmakes her dress in a proper manner. And, talking about maids, mine wantsto leave, and--"

  "She's too like Boadicea," interrupted Mrs. Belgrove, keeping hercompanion to the subject of Miss Greeby. "A masculine sort of hussy.Noel is far too artistic to marry such a maypole. She's six foot two, ifshe's an inch, and her hands and feet--" Mrs. Belgrove shuddered with agratified glance at her own slim fingers.

  "You know the nonsense that Garvington was talking; about shooting aburglar," said the other woman vaguely. "Such nonsense, for I'm sure noburglar would enter a house filled with nothing but Early Victorianfurniture."

  "Well? Well? Well?" said Mrs. Belgrove impatiently.

  "Clara Beeby thought that Garvington meant to shoot Noel."

  "Why, in heaven's name! Because Noel is his heir?"

  "I'm sure I can't help it if I've no children," said Lady Garvington,going off on another trail--the one suggested by Mrs. Belgrove's remark."I'd be a happier woman if I had something else to attend to thandinners. I wish we all lived on roots, so that Garvington could dig themup for himself."

  "My dear, he'd send you out with a trowel to do that," said Mrs.Belgrove humorously. "But why does Garvington want to shoot Noel?"

  "Oh, he doesn't. I never said he did. Clara Greeby made the remark. Yousee, Noel loved Agnes before she married Hubert, and I believe he lovesher still, which isn't right, seeing she's married, and isn't half sogood-looking as she was. And Noel stopping at that cottage in theAbbot's Wood painting in water-colors. I think he is, but I'm not sureif it isn't in oils, and the--"

  "Well? Well? Well?" asked Mrs. Belgrove again.

  "It isn't well at all, when you think what a tongue Clara Greeby has,"snapped Lady Garvington. "She said if Noel came to see Agnes by night,Garvington, taking him for a burglar, might shoot him. She insisted thathe looked at Agnes when he was talking about burglars, and meant that."

  "What nonsense!" cried Mrs. Belgrove vigorously, at last having arrivedat a knowledge of why Lady Garvington had sought her. "Noel can comehere openly, so there is no reason he should steal here after dark."

  "Well, he's romantic, you know, dear. And romantic people always preferwindows to doors and darkness to light. The windows here are soinsecure," added Lady Garvington, glancing at the facade above heruntidy hair. "He could easily get in by sticking a penknife in betweenthe upper and lower sash of the window. It would be quite easy."

  "What nonsense you talk, Jane," said Mrs. Belgrove, impatiently. "Noelis not the man to come after a married woman when her husba
nd is away. Ihave known him since he was a Harrow schoolboy, so I have every right tospeak. Where is Sir Hubert?"

  "He is at Paris or Pekin, or something with a 'P,'" said Lady Garvingtonin her usual vague way. "I'm sure I don't know why he can't take Agneswith him. They get on very well for a married couple."

  "All the same she doesn't love him."

  "He loves her, for I'm sure he's that jealous that he can't scarcelybear her out of his sight."

  "It seems to me that he can," remarked Mrs. Belgrove dryly. "Since he isat Paris or Pekin and she is here."

  "Garvington is looking after her, and he owes Sir Hubert too much, notto see that Agnes is all right."

  Mrs. Belgrove peered at Lady Garvington through her lorgnette. "I thinkyou talk a great deal of nonsense, Jane, as I said before," sheobserved. "I don't suppose for one moment that Agnes thinks of Noel, orNoel of Agnes."

  "Clara Greeby says--"

  "Oh, I know what she says and what she wishes. She would like to getNoel into trouble with Sir Hubert over Agnes, simply because he will notmarry her. As to her chatter about burglars--"

  "Garvington's chatter," corrected her companion.

  "Well, then, Garvington's. It's all rubbish. Agnes is a sweet girl,and--"

  "Girl?" Lady Garvington laughed disdainfully. "She is twenty-five."

  "A mere baby. People cannot be called old until they are seventy oreighty. It is a bad habit growing old. I have never encouraged itmyself. By the way, tell me something about Sir Hubert Pine. I have onlymet him once or twice. What kind of a man is he?"

  "Tall, and thin, and dark, and--"

  "I know his appearance. But his nature?"

  "He's jealous, and can be very disagreeable when he likes. I don't knowwho he is, or where he came from. He made his money out of penny toysand South African investments. He was a member of Parliament for a fewyears, and helped his party so much with money that he was knighted.That's all I know of him, except that he is very mean."

  "Mean? What you tell me doesn't sound mean."

  "I'm talking of his behavior to Garvington," explained the hostess,touching her ruffled hair, "he doesn't give us enough money."

  "Why should he give you any?" asked Mrs. Belgrove bluntly.

  "Well, you see, dear, Garvington would never have allowed his sister tomarry a nobody, unless--"

  "Unless the nobody paid for his footing. I quite understand. Every oneknows that Agnes married the man to save her family from bankruptcy.Poor girl!" Mrs. Belgrove sighed. "And she loved Noel. What a shame thatshe couldn't become his wife!"

  "Oh, that would have been absurd," said Lady Garvington pettishly."What's the use of Hunger marrying Thirst? Noel has no money, just likeourselves, and if it hadn't been for Hubert this place would have beensold long ago. I'm telling you secrets, mind."

  "My dear, you tell me nothing that everybody doesn't know."

  "Then what is your advice?"

  "About what, my dear?"

  "About what I have been telling you. The burglar, and--"

  "I have told you before, that it is rubbish. If a burglar does come hereI hope Lord Garvington will shoot him, as I don't want to lose mydiamonds."

  "But if the burglar is Noel?"

  "He won't be Noel. Clara Greeby has simply made a nasty suggestion whichis worthy of her. But if you're afraid, why not get her to marry Noel?"

  "He won't have her," said Lady Garvington dolefully.

  "I know he won't. Still a persevering woman can do wonders, and ClaraGreeby has no self-respect. And if you think Noel is too near, get Agnesto join her husband in Pekin."

  "I think it's Paris."

  "Well then, Paris. She can buy new frocks."

  "Agnes doesn't care for new frocks. Such simple tastes she has, wantingto help the poor. Rubbish, I call it."

  "Why, when her husband helps Lord Garvington?" asked Mrs. Belgroveartlessly.

  Lady Garvington frowned. "What horrid things you say."

  "I only repeat what every one is saying."

  "Well, I'm sure I don't care," cried Lady Garvington recklessly, androse to depart on some vague errand. "I'm only in the world to lookafter dinners and breakfasts. Clara Greeby's a cat making all this fussabout--"

  "Hush! There she is."

  Lady Garvington fluttered round, and drifted towards Miss Greeby, whohad just stepped out on to the terrace. The banker's daughter was in atailor-made gown with a man's cap and a man's gloves, and a man'sboots--at least, as Mrs. Belgrove thought, they looked like that--andcarried a very masculine stick, more like a bludgeon than a cane. Withher ruddy complexion and ruddy hair, and piercing blue eyes, andmagnificent figure--for she really had a splendid figure in spite ofMrs. Belgrove's depreciation--she looked like a gigantic Norse goddess.With a flashing display of white teeth, she came along swinging herstick, or whirling her shillalah, as Mrs. Belgrove put it, and seemedthe embodiment of coarse, vigorous health.

  "Taking a sun-bath?" she inquired brusquely and in a loud baritonevoice. "Very wise of you two elderly things. I am going for a walk."

  Mrs. Belgrove was disagreeable in her turn. "Going to the Abbot's Wood?"

  "How clever of you to guess," Miss Greeby smiled and nodded. "Yes, I'mgoing to look up Lambert"; she always spoke of her male friends in thishearty fashion. "He ought to be here enjoying himself instead of livinglike a hermit in the wilds."

  "He's painting pictures," put in Lady Garvington. "Do hermits paint?"

  "No. Only society women do that," said Miss Greeby cheerfully, and Mrs.Belgrove's faded eyes flashed. She knew that the remark was meant forher, and snapped back. "Are you going to have your fortune told by thegypsies, dear?" she inquired amiably. "They might tell you about yourmarriage."

  "Oh, I daresay, and if you ask they will prophesy your funeral."

  "I am in perfect health, Miss Greeby."

  "So I should think, since your cheeks are so red."

  Lady Garvington hastily intervened to prevent the further exchange ofcompliments. "Will you be back to luncheon, or join the men at thecoverts?"

  "Neither. I'll drop on Lambert for a feed. Where are you going?"

  "I'm sure I don't know," said the hostess vaguely. "There's lots to do.I shall know what's to be done, when I think of it," and she driftedalong the terrace and into the house like a cloud blown any way by thewind. Miss Greeby looked after her limp figure with a contemptuous grin,then she nodded casually to Mrs. Belgrove, and walked whistling down theterrace steps.

  "Cat, indeed!" commented Mrs. Belgrove to herself when she saw MissGreeby's broad back disappear behind the laurels. "Nothing half sopretty. She's like a great Flanders mare. And I wish Henry VIII wasalive to marry her," she added the epithet suggesting that king, "ifonly to cut her head off."