The Knave of Diamonds by Ethel May Dell (book recommendations for teens TXT) 📖

within and yet was surely the voice of a devil jeering a devil's tattoo in time to his horse's hoof-beats, telling him he was mad, mad, mad!
Three minutes later he rode heavily into his own stable-yard.
A group of servants scattered dumbly before him as he appeared. The glare of lights dazzled him, but he fancied they looked at him strangely. He flung an oath at the groom who stepped forward to take his horse.
"What are you staring at? What's the matter?"
The man murmured something unintelligible.
Sir Giles dismounted and scowled around. His limbs were stiff and not over steady.
"What's the matter with you all?" he growled. "You look like a crowd of death's heads. Hullo! What's this?"
He had caught sight of something he had not seen before, something that sent him striding furiously forward. For there in the centre of the yard, standing huddled on three legs, was the grey horse his wife had ridden. Limp and draggled, plastered with mud and foam, with a great streaming gash on the shoulder, and head hanging down in utter exhaustion, stood the grey.
"What's this?" demanded Sir Giles again. "Where's her ladyship?"
A shudder seemed to run through the assembled men. There was a moment's silence. Then old Dimsdale, the butler, who was standing in the doorway that led to the servants' quarters, stumped forward and made reply.
"The animal's come home alone, Sir Giles."
"What?" thundered his master.
The old man faced him with respectful firmness. No one had ever seen Dimsdale agitated.
"As I said, Sir Giles," he answered, with a certain deferential obstinacy. "The animal's come back alone."
"Only just come in, sir," chimed in a groom. "We was just beginning to wonder when he came limping in in this state. Looks as if her ladyship had met with a accident."
Sir Giles rounded upon him with a violence that brought his surmisings to an abrupt end. Then, having worked off the first heat of his fury, he turned again to Dimsdale.
"What the devil is to be done? I never saw her after the first kill."
"And where might that be, Sir Giles?" questioned Dimsdale.
"Up Baronmead way. It was hours ago."
Dimsdale considered. "Shall we send and make inquiries at Baronmead, Sir Giles?"
"No, I'm damned if I do!" said Sir Giles.
Dimsdale considered again. "Was her ladyship riding with anyone in particular?" he asked next.
"No, I don't think so. Stay! I believe I saw that Errol bounder talking to her--the one who was here the other day. But I forget when. Anyhow"--his voice rising again--"I won't have any traffic with them. I've said I won't, and I won't!"
Dimsdale grunted. "Seems to me the only thing to do, Sir Giles. You can't leave her lady ship to die under a hedge maybe, and not do anything to find her."
He spoke very deliberately, looking straight into his master's bloodshot eyes as he did so.
"It wouldn't be hardly right, Sir Giles," he pointed out gravely. "It's likely that young Mr. Errol will be able to give us a clue, and we can't leave any stone unturned, being such a serious matter. I'll send on my own responsibility if you like, Sir Giles. But send we must."
The bystanders glanced uneasily at one another in the silence that followed this bold speech. The old butler's temerity was unheard of. Not one among them would have dared thus to withstand the master to his face. They waited, nervously expectant, for the vials of wrath to descend.
Old Dimsdale waited too, still firmly watching Sir Giles. If he felt any anxiety on his own account, however, it was not apparent. Nor did he display any relief when the unpleasant tension passed and Sir Giles with a shrug turned away from him.
"Oh, go your own way, and be damned to you! I don't care what you do. Don't stand gaping there, you fools! Get to your work! Better send for the vet. Can't afford to have a valuable animal spoilt. Dimsdale, take some brandy and hot water up to my room at once, before you do anything else. Do you hear?"
And with that he tramped within, leaving an atmosphere of mingled relief and indignation behind him.
But if his words were callous, the soul of the man was far from easy as he mounted to his room. He flung himself into the nearest chair when he arrived there and sat with eyes fixed sullenly before him. He ought to go in search of her, of course, but he was powerless. His brain was a smouldering furnace in which anxiety and anger strove luridly for the mastery. But through it all he sat there torpidly staring. His body felt as though it were weighted with leaden fetters.
He heard a step in the passage, but did not turn his head. Someone knocked discreetly. He heard, but he took no notice. The door opened softly, and old Dimsdale entered.
"We have news, Sir Giles."
Sir Giles neither looked at him nor spoke. He continued to glare heavily into space.
Dimsdale paused beside him. "A messenger has just come from Baronmead in their motor, Sir Giles," he said, speaking very distinctly. "Her ladyship has had a fall, and has been taken there. Mr. Errol begs that you will go back in the motor, as her ladyship's condition is considered serious."
He stopped. Sir Giles said nothing whatever.
"The messenger is waiting, Sir Giles."
Still no response of any sort.
Dimsdale waited a moment, then very respectfully he bent and touched his master's shoulder.
"Sir Giles!"
Sir Giles turned slowly at last, with immense effort it seemed. He glowered at Dimsdale for a space. Then, "Bring some brandy and water," he said, "hot!"
"But the messenger, Sir Giles!"
"What?" Sir Giles glared a moment longer, then as anger came uppermost, the smouldering furnace leapt into sudden seething flame. "Tell him to go to the devil!" he thundered. "And when you've done that, bring me some brandy and water--hot!"
As Dimsdale departed upon his double errand he dropped back into his former position, staring dully before him, under scowling brows.
When Dimsdale returned he was sunk in the chair asleep.


CHAPTER IX
THE HEAD OF THE HOUSE

"Hullo, Lucas! Can I come in?"
Nap Errol stood outside his brother's door, an impatient frown on his face, his hand already fidgeting at the handle.
"Come in, old chap," drawled back a kindly voice.
He entered with an abruptness that seemed to denote agitation.
The room was large and brilliantly lighted. In an easy chair by the fire the eldest Errol was reclining, while his valet, a huge man with the features of an American Indian half-breed and fiery red hair, put the finishing touches to his evening dress.
Nap approached the fire with his usual noiseless tread despite the fact that he was still in riding boots.
"Be quick, Hudson!" he said. "We don't want you."
Hudson rolled a nervous eye at him and became clumsily hasty.
"Take your time," his master said quietly. "Nap, my friend, hadn't you better dress?"
Nap stopped before the fire and pushed it with his foot. "I am not going to dine," he said.
Lucas Errol said no more. He lay still in his chair with his head back and eyes half-closed, a passive, pathetic figure with the shoulders of a strong man and the weak, shrunken limbs of a cripple. His face was quite smooth. It might have belonged to a boy of seventeen save for the eyes, which were deeply sunken and possessed the shrewd, quizzical intelligence of age.
He lay quite motionless as though he were accustomed to remain for hours in one position. Hudson the valet tended him with the reverence of a slave. Nap fell to pacing soundlessly to and fro, awaiting the man's exit with what patience he could muster.
"You can go now, Tawny," the elder Errol drawled at last. "I will ring when I want you. Now, Boney, what is it? I wish you would sit down."
There was no impatience in the words, but his brows were slightly drawn as he uttered them,
Nap, turning swiftly, noted the fact. "You are not so well to-night?"
"Sit down," his brother repeated gently. "How is Lady Carfax?"
Nap sat down with some reluctance. He looked as if he would have preferred to prowl.
"She is still unconscious, and likely to remain so. The doctor thinks very seriously of her."
"Her husband has been informed?"
"Her husband," said Nap from between his teeth, "has been informed, and he declines to come to her. That's the sort of brute he is."
Lucas Errol made no comment, and after a moment Nap continued:
"It is just as well perhaps. I hear he is never sober after a day's sport. And I believe she hates the sight of him if the truth were told--and small wonder!"
There was unrestrained savagery in the last words. Lucas turned his head and looked at him thoughtfully.
"You know her rather well?" he said.
"Yes." Nap's eyes, glowing redly, met his with a gleam of defiance.
"You have known her for long?" The question was perfectly quiet, uttered in the tired voice habitual to this man who had been an invalid for almost the whole of his manhood.
Yet Nap frowned as he heard it. "I don't know," he said curtly. "I don't estimate friendships by time."
Lucas said no more, but he continued to look at his brother with unvarying steadiness till at length, as if goaded thereto, Nap spoke again.
"We are friends," he said, "no more, no less. You all think me a blackguard, I know. It's my speciality, isn't it?" He spoke with exceeding bitterness. "But in this case you are wrong. I repeat--we are friends."
He said it aggressively; his tone was almost a challenge, but the elder Errol did not appear to notice.
"I have never thought you a blackguard, Boney," he said quietly.
Nap's thin lips smiled cynically. "You have never said it."
"I have never thought it." There was no contradicting the calm assertion. It was not the way of the world to contradict Lucas Errol. "And I know you better than a good many," he said.
Nap stirred restlessly and was silent.
Lucas turned his eyes from him and seemed to fall into a reverie. Suddenly, however, he roused himself.
"What does the doctor say about her?"
Nap frowned. "He says very little. After the manner of his tribe, he is afraid to commit himself; thinks there may be this injury or there may be that, but says definitely nothing. I shall get someone down from town to-morrow. I'd go tonight, only--" he broke off, hammering impotently with his clenched fist on the arm of his chair. "I must be at hand to-night," he said, after a moment, controlling himself. "The mater has promised to call me if there is any change. You see," he spoke half-apologetically, "she might feel kind of lonely waking up in a crowd of strangers, and mine is the only face she knows."
Silence followed the words. Lucas had closed his eyes, and there was nothing in his face to indicate the trend of his thoughts.
Nap sat with his face to the fire, and stared unblinkingly into the red depths. There was no repose in his attitude, only the tension of suppressed activity.
Softly at length his brother's voice came through the silence. "Why not dine, dear fellow, while you are waiting? You will do no good to anyone by starving yourself."
Nap looked round. "In Heaven's name, don't talk to me of eating!" he said savagely. "You don't know what I've been through." Again he paused to control himself, then added in a lower tone, "I thought she was dead, you know."
"It was you who picked her up?" Lucas asked.
"Yes. There