THE NAD TREMAYNES.

Otago Witness, Issue 3595, 6 February 1923, Page 52

THE NAD TREMAYNES.

THE NOVELIST.

[PVBLISHBD BT SfECIAI \RBANCKMKNT.]

A SERIAL STORY OF LOVE AND SPORT.

By

E. C BULEY.

CHAPTER XVI. “Joyce, Joyce,’’ cried the old lady, sen ously alarmed, “What is all this? Tell me, my dear, what has upset you so strangely?” “I am so glad, and I cannot help it,’ Joyce sobbed. “Oh, I know such things ought to lie beneath ray notice, and I'm a little fool. It’s over now, and I’m going to punish myself by telling you all about it. lou must think what you please of me; I cannot keep it to myself any longer.” Forthwith she poured out to her aunt’s astonished ears her adventure with Frank Croll, and the sequel she had contrived to bring about. 'And he's a gentleman, aunt, and so unhappy,” she went on incoherently. He lost his mother, the onlv relative he had in the world, and J think it must have broken his heart. I wrote a silly letter, because I was sorry for him. And if he had not been a gentleman he would have taken some advantage of that, wouldn t he?” “Suppose .he is a gentleman, returned her aunt, gently, “what does it matter to you? He has made himself a prizefighter, Joyce. You have not forgotten that. “Lionel will not let me forget it,” Joyce flashed, raising her head. “He has found out somehow that I know him; oh, Lionel is very cute —and. he keeps taunting me about it. He wouldn’t let me forget when I wanted to. And now that he has lost a lot of money he, will be worse than ever. I am frightened of him. auntie ; and I’m beginning to hate him.' “Jf you feel like that you must give him up at once.” “It is going to be difficult, auntie; unless Mr Francis Tremayne is right. He says it will all be done for me, somehow ; and that Lionel is going to be disgraced. Oh. I know it is horribly wrong and selfish to wish such a thing; I do not want him to be disgraced. Rut I cannot marry him, I simply cannot: and I do not know what to do.” “What's this about Francis Tremayne? Lady Carfax asked. “Yes,” said a harsh voice, “what about Francis Tremayne? Why are vou discussing him, and what is the matter with you, Joyce ?” The two women had been so engrossed in their conversation that they had failed to notice the entrance of Lionel Tremayne, who was inspecting the girl’s tear-stained face with frowning displeasure and wonder. . “You ought not to be crying, Joyce,” he continued, rapidly losing a mastery of himself which he had preserved through a trying evening, but onlv at a 'to.i.eridous expenditure of effort. “Your friend. Croll, won, and he's the popular idol of the moment. Aren’t you glad?” “If I am, it is entirely your own fault,” Joyce answered, with an admirable return to dignity. "You call Mr Croll my friend ; and it was true he was an acquaintance. He ceased to be that when you made him a prize fiehter; but my "slight knowledge of- him showed him to have a consideration and delicacy you .would do well to imitate. If - your illmanners to me have given me an interest in this boxing match, it is only naural.” “Does Croll’s slight acquaintance with you entitle him to honour me with a venomous hostility on your account? Lionel asked ironically. “He made a public display of his hatred to-night.” “This has gene far enough, Mr Tremayne,” interposed Lady Carfax. “Joyce may be better to-morrow, when we shall have the Measure of seeing vour father and yourself.” “Before I go,” replied Tremayne doggedly, “I want to know what you were saying about Francis.” Durant’s narrative had frightened him more than he had realised at the moment, and he found the . mention of Francis Tremayne at that moment of his visit to Joyce an ominous circumstance. “Mr Francis Tremayne called upon me.” Joyce answered defiantly. “He began, to make accusations against you, which I reminded him should be made to you'r face. He. said that to-morrow would prove them true, and that, if you did not stand ruined and dishonoured he would face you and prove his words.” Staggered bv this direct confirmation of his worst fears, Lionel remained mute, glaring with wild .eyes at the girl, who faced him, pale and resolute. “Francis said that,” he muttered. “He dare not say it to my face; he would rot five to tell the tale. ” . .. , “Come, come, Mr Tremayne,” said the old lady sensibly. “If threatened men live long, Mr Francis Tremayne should reach a happy old age. First your father,, and then yourself. You see that Joyce has been loyal to yon in her -dealing with your cousin.; Pray show her the same consideration.” ... ./-. '1 H-.i V: ’ : : j Once more Tremayne achieved mastery of himself. j “You ate right; l Lady Carfax'” he'said in his best manlier. “I have to thank Joyce; there is nothing'l desire more than to meet him face to face and to cram his mad lies down bis, tlfroat; Sir Ralph dskfld me to say that he was sending the bar at half-past eleven to-morrow morning. Good flight, Lady "Ciirfax; good flight, Joyce-”

He went away, leaving the two women looking doubtfully at one another. “You have burned your boats, now, Joyce,” said her aunt; “unless Mr Francis Tremayne can prove his allegations, you have bound yourself afreah. Mv poor-girl! Of all the Mad Tremavnes, Francis is surely the maddest.” “I liked him and could trust him,” ■Joyce replied. “He meant well by me, and 1 am sure he believed he was speaking the truth.” “We shall soon know. Good night, now. Try to sleep, for it is likely to be a trying day to-morrow.’’ Epsom racecourse, Lord Salisbury once said, is the place where people go on Derby Day to learn whether one animal can run a little faster than another. One might go from that extreme of cynicism and lack of emotion to the other end of the scale, and find a complex problem of analysing the wide divergence of interest which draws a quarter of a million people to Epsom Downs on the first Wednesday in every June. It is an English croud, and does not mirror its emotions in its face. There are more tragic faces to be seen any night among the handful of continentals in the casino at Monte Carlo than one could discover amid all the vast Derby Day crowds. One great rear at the end of the great race shows that Lord Salisbury was basically accurate; the desire common, to them all is to know and acclaim the finest horse of his year. Rut suppose one could gauge the emotions these typical Britons conceal under their stolid faces and nonchalant manner! The man who stands next to you, for all you know, may have in his pocket a Calcutta sweep ticket which has drawn the favourite horse ; a ticket which may well be worth £50,000 in ten minutes’ time. And it cost a few shillings. Somewhere on tire course that man 'is watching the race, but from his demeanor before and after, win or lose, bis neighbours are never likely to know. Nobody could guess, on this particular Derby Day, that Bernard Durant, as he swaggered to the paddock in his Bond Street clothes, was conscious of nothing but the dogging footsteps of Sloggett, never conspicuous, but always behind him. Nobody could suppose that Frank Croll, unmarked by the fight, and one among the few who were truly the observed of all observers, had come there for any other reason than to bask in his new fame and popularity. Yet Fi-ank loathed the curious looks and familiar greetings he received everywhere, and wished something stronger than himself had not drawn him to Epsom. He wanted to torture, him self with one glance at Joyce Winter, and to feed the hatred for which he existed by marking her in company with one of the detested race v,chose blood, he believed, flowed in his own veins, although neither they nor he would admit it. Nobody could dream that Sir Ralph Tremayne was the prey of hopes and fears which .centred about the foiled ambition of a lifetime; that his son moved under the shadow of impending dishonour and ruin ; and that' the beautiful girl who accompanied them trembled for her whole future, even while she sat by her aunt’s side, apparently radiant with beauty and young happiness. There was one other figure there who drew upon himself even more curious glances and gave cause for more mysterious whispers than Frank Croll, the new English boxing champion. Alone in a box in solitary state, in the scrupulous dress demanded by the place and the occasion, sat a well-preserved gentleman with a chestnut beard and whimsical grey eyes. He paid no attention to the glasses turned upon him, nor to the comments and smiles. He sat unmoved, until Sir Ralph Tremayne and his party happened to pass before his box. Then,"as his eves encountered those of the owner of the Derby favourite, he smiled a moc-kiTm smile. b “See who’s there, Lionel,” Sir Ralph exclaimed. that mongrel F rancis has come to a racecourse for the first time in his life, only to mock at us.” CHAPTER XVII. Lionel made no reply, but both Joyce Winter and her aunt were aware that he was more profoundly disturbed than ..his fathei by the unexpected presence of Francis Tremayne. Sir Ralph’s unconcealed anger seemed an honest emotion compared to the furtive sullen hatred betrayed by his son. It was an uncorn forte,We moment, which left its influence on the party when they had settled themsjelves in Sir Ralph’s box. “He expects to win with Bonanza.” Sir Ralph said grimly. “He lias let himself in for a disappointment this time.” Bonanza had . appeared in the morning s list of Derby entrants with the star against his name which indicated that lie was a doubtful, starter. The colt had no quotation ili the betting, for there had been no information obtainable about mm. The few allusions made to Francis Tremayne’s candidate described him as a .mystery horse, and. for that, reason alone he had his supporters, drawn from those facing .cranks who are attracted more by an’ atmosphere of mystery than bv a horse’s genuine performance. The appearance of Francis Tremavne on - the course- was the beginning of abundant gossip about his colt. It" became known that Bonanza was a certain starter, and that a leading jockey, who had been .deprived of a mount in the'race, owing tq the breakdown of the - colt lie had -ejected to tide, wa« engaged to steer the cOjt.- More Ilian that, Jevoiis, his :traiper> opgii-ly Bonanza fit and [well, aiid ready; to; run the race of Ids jlifei-..:.’" M - L ' : In' a few minutes he had created a seWatfqri " ill ’ tlie betting market. There 'was. .a ru'shf to-back him, led by those canny folk' Who are known on the facecourse as the “heads.” Points were ciit off his price, but. backers swarmed to take the reduced odds.

"Whatever you do, you must not leave ] Bonanza out, ’ was the stock piece of ad- i vice. It was heard in the mouths of the most knowledgeable men on the racecourse ; I it was repeated fatuously by men who could not tell a two-year-old from a selling steeplechaser. In the woids of the ringnieu. Bonanza was a “springer,” and came into the Derby market with a rush and a whoop never before heard in connection with the great classic race. From forlorn odds he became second favourite; and many of the bookmakers, tired of laying against him’, refused to write his name in their books auv more. “My worst, sir; I cannot offet you a fair price. But you can have seven to four Scapegrace, and he ought, to be an odds-on chance.” All this happened earlv in the day, so that the race-goers who lunched in the long interval after the first race were able to discuss this new Derby sensation to their hearts' content. The race at Liverpool during the first week of the season was recalled, and the story of Sir Ralph s wild threat was told in every corner of the course. It gave an extra tang ot excitement to an exciting day, and revived all the old stories of the Tremayne feud. Sir Ralph Tremayne, after the first shock of discovery, gripped himself in an iron control which bore testimony of his splendid nerve. He was conscious of an approaching disappointment, but refused to admit the possibility even to himself. Gillespie had reported Scapegrace to be a marvellously improved colt, and refused to hear of defeat: and Sir Ralph had been confident enough to issue invitations to a dinner, which would serve to celebrate the fulfilment of his ambition. He felt he must win : but every time he glanced a.t the mocking face of his detested cousin, which could be seen tn profile from his place in the box, his heart sank within liim. As Sir Ralph cooled and regained composure, his son abandoned biniself to fury. His black glances at Francis I remayne made Joyce and her aunt uneasy, and when he noticed them exchanging timorous looks he could not refrain from comment. “There’s your friend. Francis Tremayne, Joyce,” he said bitterly. "Before to-day is over he shall answer to me for the slanders you reoeated last night. T am going to make him eat his words betore he is many hours older. “You will not be so foolish as to make a scene here,” .toyce said quietly. “What purpose would that serve?” “I will do it.” Lionel said doggedl/ . but he remained where he was, listening to the shouts from the betting ling, which told of the favour - in - which Bonanza was regarded. Joyce herself was hardlv more composed than the lwo men of the party, although she was able better to conceal her confusion. She was nainfully aware of the presence in the crowd before her of Frank Croll, whom she baa noticed without seeming to see him. She knew that he was standing not very far away, looking from time to time at her with hungry eyes. No man looked leg* like the athletic hero of the hour than Frank, whose patent unhappiness was remarked even by careless observers. He looked more like a man who had received a lasting humfiia tion instead of the• boxer who was ac claimed by the newspapers as the first Englishman, for a decade or more, worthy to be matched against the world’s champions. He was gloomy and dejected, and the girl, noting all these things, while he imagined her entirely unconscious of his presence, thought the more kindly of him for his black looks. They .were in keeping with her first conception of the man. and they supported the romantic suppositions her imagination supplied to account for the position he now occupied in life. “He must have wanted money very badly, poor fellow,” Joyce . reflected. “Perhaps be had to nay some heavy debt contracted by his dead mother.” None of her companions guessed what occupied the girl’s thoughts, for outwardly she was smiling and interested in the great panorama of Epsom on Derby Day. Croll midit have passed unnoticed by them, if the sight of Francis Tremayne in his box had not drawn the young fellow like a magnet. His trainer, Westwood, was with him. and did not divine the purpose of his charge until Frank was directly before Tremayne’s box, regarding him malignantly. Francis Tremayne acknowledged liis scrutiny with a.nod, and if there was any expression on his face it was one jol-sym-pathy and toleration. Westwood, recalling "the threat Frank had used when Francis Tremayne had visited him. seized the new champion bv the arm and almost forced him. away. “Have a bit of sense. Frank,” lie said impatiently. “I’ve seen men nut off the course for less than that. How did that man get your goat, the very sight of him drives you crazy ' “Sitting there like an emperor,” Croll muttered, “the black villain, the maddest and worst of them all. “Well, you leave]; him alone,” Westwood insisted, “or vOtiTl be figuring id the police court. You threatened to kill hi, m once, for no reason in the world, and lie,icould bring half a dozen witnesses lo prove" it. 1 Come to the paddock and look,at the horses.” There was one more among the spectators who seemed to be entirely fascinated by the sight of Francis Tremayne. Durant, dogged everywhere, and conscious that .Nemesis, was upon’ his heels, had serious business, ip the ring. From .time to time he would produce a roil of notes, jjnd accept the extending odds against Scapegrace. His wdgets - amounted to. thousands, but still the price' of the favourite eased. :i After each visit to the ring he betaine more dejected and apprehensive. He would take up . a position from which he icoujd gaze at the rdlita.ry occupant pf that box, and ntat'e’ at him as though

compelled against his will l>v some power stronger than himself. At last Francis 'iremayne. perhajie attracted by a glimpse of the patient Mr •Sloggett, always discreetlv in the background, was drawn to notice the uncertain regard of the ad venturer. When he did so, be learned forward, and beckoned imperiously to Durant. At. first the man stood unheeding, but a second summons could not be disregarded, and with a feeble attempt at jauntiness he obeyed the call. “You have not forgotten what 1 told you,” Tremayne said. “It was true, you see. Half your ruin was accomplished last night. Are you so dense that- you do not vet know by whose instrumentality that was brought about? Think of the name of a wronged woman—it ought to haunt you.” “She is dead twenty years ago, Durant answered. “She and the child died together.” "So you thought., because it was well you should be made to believe it. They both lived : you have good reason now to know that the son lived." “Her son? Tt is a lie.” The tone belied the bold words. Durrant reeled under tlie shock of belief; he had to clutch the railing of tile box to support hinisclf. “But she is dead,” Tremayne went on mercilessly. “So there is no longer any reason why you should escape, punishment. The gods are just ; they have selected as instillments the two men you lvave wronged most. Go now, and expect no mercy from me.” CHARTER XVIII. All Durant’s jauutiness had fallen from him like a garment as he walked away at Tremavne’s bidding. The watchful Sloggett, "who had marked the interview, kept close to his elbow, as Durant wandered like a blind man through the thronged bars and out of the stand. The sleuth did not know what his patron had been saying to the man under his observation, but he thought he detected the sign he expected of a mad bolt for escape. Durant moved stealthily in the direction of the paddock, where a great crowd was overlooking the candidates for the race of the day, now being finally prepared for the contest. Durant joined the press about the favourite, and then wandered about until be came to a crowd just as large which had gathered about Bonanza. After that Durant made his wav to the bar, and gulped down a tumbler of champagne. He had eyes for nobody at all, as Slotfvett anxiously noted. Wiping his brow! he next elbowed his way to a position in the ling from which part at least half of the course could be seen. Sloggett stationed himself very close; he did not care now if the man observed hl The police had cleared the course, and the crowd waited on the tiptoe of expectation for the parade Presently the score of horses appeared in s '\ lgl « /’ f’ a murmur of comment arose Fomth m the line Scapegrace -araded, a picture of what a Derby coit should be toth in behaviour and in condition H-isi stolid and imperturbable demeanour had become a bye-word now ; his admirers knew that he laid it aside as soon as it came to the business of racing, when he was all fire and dash. For the preliminary ordeals of parade and* wait at the starting p , his nlaciditv was accounted an extra vir tue, and lie was acclaimed for it accordU 1 Just as much attention was devoted to Bonanza conspicuous in his jacket of Ugh and dark blue and bis bright clieiry cap A grander and more massive type of thoroughbred than the handy Scape-o-race he "too, was admired for his appearance^and air’of thorough training fhe experts took the liberty to doubt whether so fine a colt was as well suited to the gradients of thatas handier Amoved away to the fronts seat and excused himself to Lady Carfax and J °“i e shall see the rae* from the owners’ stand,” he said. “I. shall be handy, then, to lead in the winner. He spoke with the confidence of an iron man, and it was impossible to withhold admiration from him for his nerve and self-control under trying conditions. When he had gone Lionel Tremayne also r °‘J couldn’t choose a better time for a word with Cousin Francis, be said to Jovce. “He is entitled to reap the full reward for his malice, here and now. Joyce made no reply, for she assumed that "the speech was braggadocio on Lionel s part and that he was really seeking an excuse, like Sir Ralph, for witnessing the race from some point where his emotions could not be observed bv herself and Lady Carfax. She watched Francis lrernaylie's box for -a minute, and as her fiance did not appear there she decided that her first inference was a correct one, and reverted to the panorama before For now the horses had gathered round the post, and all eyes were turned m that diretion. The roar of the betting ring was stilled and glasses were focussed upon the point where the white flag showed that the field was already in the hands of the starter. The silence grew as they waited: a man upon a coach opposite playing a long horn seemed to have a monopoly of noise for a moment. About the surging, plunging horses a dense mob had gathered, so that little could be seen except tlie bright jackets uf the jockeys, shifting and changing in a whirl of brilliant colour. The favourite, drawn near the rails, was standing very still, a model of good behaviour, which few of his rivals imitated. Among the most restless of all was Bonanza, who .was evidently handicapped by the inexperience of facing which his trainer deplored. They milled and whirled about for what appeared an eternity to the watching crowd ; and then, just as weary watchers

had lowered their glasses to ease the strain of close observation, they shot away from the post. A great inarticulate cry arose from all over the course—the race was on at last. A louder cry followed almost immediately, which testified to general observation of the fact that the favourite was already iii front, having benefited by his steady behaviour to make an excellent start. On the rails he stole along with perfect action, followed hotly by a bunch of seven or eight horses. Four or five followed these, and then a group of those who had fared badly >n the start. Conspicuous among these was the cherry cap of Bonanza, one of the very worst away from, the starting (rate. For the first' half-mile of the Epsom Derby, or rather more, the horses race up hill; but the pace is none the less severe for that reason. Dalling, on the unbeaten Scapegrace, knew that his mount liked to be in front, and had won all his races from the start to finish. He made the most of his advantage, racing up the gradient as though he could never tire of it. The others had perforce to be extended at their top speed, or drop out of the race in its initial stages. Sanders, the experienced rider who had received a chance mount upon Bonanza, found himself in no enviable position. He knew no more of the colt than what the trainer had told him. "Don’t be afraid to make plenty of use of him, he had been instructed. “He stays for ever, and could not be made a pound fitter. ’ in any case the jockey had no choice. His only’ chance before they had gone a furlong was to steer his mount wide on the outside, dnd try to drive him into a better position for the later stages of the race. He affected this very skilfully, and had the satisfaction of feeling Bonanza answer his first call like an honest colt and a good one. He strode out magnificently on the uphill stage, and worked his way past one after another of the laggards with whom he had begun the race. Sanders had lost, rather than gained, on the leader, since the race began ; but that was the penalty he had to pay for a bad start. He had to cover more ground, and to balance his horse when he was clear of the tangle following the rise of the barrier. Scapegrace was still out clear, with two or three racing side by side just behind him, and Dalling was making the very best of his way home. So they raced up the hill, and turned to the left, where gorse bushes partially obscured the view of the field from the stands. Bonanza was now tenth, with a widelyspread bunch of horses before him, through which Sanders must find a way, or make a still wider circuit on the outside. It was level galloping now, and Bonanza was doing all that was asked of him. Two horses immediately before him opened out, and like a flash Sanders pressed the willing colt into the gap. He had retrieved much of his ill-fortune at the' start, but had (rambled the limit on Jevons’s assertion that the colt would stay for ever. He could, see the favourite a long way ahead, going as though nothing on earth would stop him, and he could hear the roar from the stands, which proclaimed in advance the victory of the unbeaten winner of the Two Thousand. . With hand and heel he drove his mount along. He must get a fighting position at Tottenham Corner, or all was lost. They had now began the descent to that critical turning point, and the jockey felt his spirits rise as he learned that Bonanza could come down an incline as well as he could climb one. He was fifth, fourth: he was challenging two more colts for second place. Again the access of that murmur from the stands: thev could see him now, and could know that he was hot in pursuit of the flving favourite. Slowly he forged past the pair of struggling horses who kept- him wide from the rails, and, taking second nlace, prepared- -to make the sharp turn into the home stretch. Dalling on Scapegrace, was riding like the genius of race-riding he was on Epsom course. He came round the turn so clow to the rails that he seemed glued to .them.. Making a wider sweep, but still the second horse in the field to head home, Bonanza came. Sanders eased him a trifle, and balanced him for the great effort before him. Still three lengths to the bad, and the gallant leader was showing no sign of distress or of slacking his phenomenal sneed.

(To be Continued.)