CHAPTER XIX
MRS. PREVOST'S DILEMMA
There was a tough skirmish when Nicholl met Craig Bellshaw at Hadwin's, but eventually the owner of Barellan gave way, mainly owing to his trainer's representations and persuasion, and settled with the jockey to ride both his horses, Flash at Caulfield, and Barellan at Flemington, for two hundred, win or lose, five per cent. on the stakes, and five per cent. on any sweep money that might be forthcoming. Having fixed this up, with a good deal of grumbling, Bellshaw set out for Manley to see Mrs. Prevost, who was not aware he was in Sydney.
Bellshaw was in a bad temper. Things were all awry, and even the thought of winning the Melbourne Cup with Barellan did not soothe him. It was a disagreeable surprise to Mrs. Prevost when she heard who her visitor was.
Bellshaw made no bones about the matter. He asked her what she meant by writing him such a letter after all he had done for her; he upbraided her in no measured terms, used harsh names, and behaved somewhat brutally. It was his way with women.
She resented his conduct and replied forcibly. He saw she was determined, and this angered him still more. There was a scene, they lost their tempers, and mutual recriminations were the result. Mrs. Prevost was expecting Glen Leigh for lunch and wished to get rid of Bellshaw before he arrived. She dreaded their meeting, not on his account, but for the effect it might have on Leigh, and her influence with him. Bellshaw, however, did not seem in any hurry to go. He was loth to give her up; in his way he liked her.
"The fact is," he said, "you've taken up with someone else. I warn you he shall know all about you."
"You are cad enough to do that?" she asked.
"You can call me names if you wish; I don't care, but I'll make it mighty unpleasant for you," he said.
There was a ring at the front door. Mrs. Prevost was at her wits' end how to act. It was no doubt Glen Leigh.
She left the room hurriedly, and opened the door herself. It was Glen Leigh. She took him into the front room, and said her maid had just gone out; she promised to return in a few minutes, and left him.
Glen thought this strange. She was agitated; something must have upset her. He wondered what it was.
Craig Bellshaw also wondered why she had gone out of the room. He heard her open the door, and someone come in. Who was it? The voice sounded like a man's.
She gave him a hint that he had better be going.
"Not until I have seen who your visitor is," he said.
"If I have a visitor it is no business of yours," she retorted.
"It is. I am still interested in you even if you treat me badly," he said.
What was she to do? How could she prevent a meeting between him and Glen Leigh? She cudgelled her brains but was at a loss to find a plan. Bellshaw did not seem inclined to move.
Glen Leigh waited a quarter of an hour and became restless. What detained her? He heard voices in the next room, but could not distinguish who was speaking. Perhaps she had a visitor. If so, why did she not tell him?
"I must ask you to leave my house," she said desperately.
Bellshaw laughed.
"Your house?" he sneered.
"Yes, mine. You did not know I had bought it."
"Have you paid for it?"
"I have, if that's any consolation to you."
"And you wish me to believe that? I wonder where you got the money from?"
"It was my money. I am not without means," she answered indignantly.
He laughed as he got up, but there was an evil look in his eyes.
"I'll go. I don't wish to interfere with your pleasures, or any conquests you may make, but I've not done with you, I promise you that," said Bellshaw.
He took up his hat and opened the door. She followed him. Would he go into the front room?
Her heart beat fast. She felt faint. It was a trying moment.
Glen Leigh might see him leave the house, but he would not know who he was; if Bellshaw saw him there was no telling what might happen.
Bellshaw passed the door of the room, opened the front door, and walked away without saying another word, or even raising his hat. It was a tremendous relief now he was gone; she waited a few minutes to regain her composure, and then with a faint smile, entered the front room.
Glen Leigh was looking out of the window; he recognised Craig Bellshaw and was so astonished he did not hear her open the door. Scores of questions crowded into his mind as he saw the owner of Mintaro walking away; the main questions were how came he to Mrs. Prevost's, and for what purpose?
She saw Glen with his back turned to her, and knew he had seen her visitor; she was not aware Leigh knew him, and of his doings elsewhere of which she was in ignorance; she had, as yet, no conception of the depths of infamy to which Bellshaw had sunk.
"I am sorry to keep you waiting so long, but I had a visitor," she said.
"I saw him leave the house," said Glen, turning sharply round.
"He's an old friend; I have known him many years." She could not make him out. He was looking at her steadily; his eyes seemed to pierce her.
"I know him," said Glen quietly. "I did not expect to see him in your house."
"You know him!" she exclaimed aghast, the colour deserting her cheeks.
"Yes. Do you know him well?" he asked.
"Yes, but why do you ask in such a strange way?"
"I do not think you know what Craig Bellshaw really is. I am sure you do not. If you did he would never have been admitted to your house," said Glen.
What was she about to hear? She must learn more; how was she to excuse herself to him? What if he and Bellshaw met? There would be revelations, her backsliding would be magnified a hundred times; she must have the first say no matter what it cost her.
"What is he?" she asked.
"A bad man, almost a murderer. I dare not tell you what has happened at Mintaro. You would be overwhelmed with shame to think you ever had dealings with, or ever took the hand of such a man," said Glen seriously.
She looked very charming in her distress. Even Glen Leigh would have been very dense had he failed to see the appeal in her eyes, or to recognise that she liked him very much indeed.
No woman had ever appealed to him quite in the same way as Mrs. Prevost; he had thought a good deal about her since he saw her last.
"Tell me about him," she said.
"What was he doing here?" asked Glen who doubted everything where Craig Bellshaw was concerned.
"He came to see me, not at my request, but I was not surprised. I had written to him at Mintaro telling him – " she hesitated.
Glen waited. Should he help her out? He thought he could. Rage was surging up in him, not against Mrs. Prevost, but against Bellshaw. Was she another of his victims?
That was hardly possible; yet there were unmistakable signs of acute distress at the situation in which she was placed. As Glen thought, a sudden wave of feeling overwhelmed him, and would not be beaten back. He loved this woman. By some strange fatality Bellshaw was connected with her as he had been with the other woman. He felt a mad desire to rush after Bellshaw and kill him. This passed in a few seconds; then he said, in answer to her hesitation, "Telling him you never wished to see him again."
She looked at him in great surprise, feeling intense relief. This man understood her, because he knew Craig Bellshaw for what he was. Already he had forgiven her without the asking. He did not blame her, but the man. In that case he guessed some of the truth and the rich blood crimsoned her cheeks. She bowed her head; then she looked straight at him and said, "That is what I wrote him – that I never wished to see him again. I ordered him to leave the house, my house, when you saw him go. I will never admit him again."
"I am glad of that," said Glen. "Very glad. When did you write to him?"
It was the truth she would tell him.
"The day after you came here with Jerry," she said.
Glen smiled.
"What decided you to write?" he asked.
"You did."
Again he smiled.
"I wonder how that happened?" he said.
"Can't you guess?" she answered in a low voice.
"No, at least not yet. Later on I'll try – with your permission."
"You have it now. I want a friend – like you."
"You don't think he'd dare to come here again?" asked Glen savagely.
"There is no telling what he might do. Try and avoid him."
"Why should I?"
"He's a dangerous man."
Glen laughed.
"I'm more than a match for him in many ways," he replied.
After lunch she asked him to tell her about Craig Bellshaw.
"I will tell you one terrible thing which I believe to be quite true," he said. "I am waiting to find out. It is a matter of time, and you must promise not to repeat what I tell you."
She readily gave her promise and he told her in a graphic narrative all about the woman who came to his hut, what happened there, and since her recovery. He concealed nothing, not even about Lin Soo. He thought, in justice, she ought to know what manner of man Craig Bellshaw was.
As she listened, horrified, believing every word, she felt deeply humiliated when she thought what Bellshaw had been in her life; she shuddered with repulsion.
"Bring her here," she said. "Let her be my companion. I may be able to call back her lost memories. I will love her for all she has suffered. You will trust her with me, will you not?"
CHAPTER XX
THE DRAWER OF BARELLAN
They decided to allow Clara to go to Mrs. Prevost's, and Glen took her there. She was given a kindly welcome. Mrs. Prevost was glad to have her, liked her at once. The feeling was mutual. Glen felt he had left her in good hands, that she would be happy and comfortable.
"Don't let Bellshaw see her if by any chance he calls," said Glen, "but he will be going to Melbourne for the Cup meetings, and our show leaves to-morrow. I shall not see you again for several weeks."
"I shall look forward to your return. I hope you will do well there," she answered.
"I think we shall. There is no reason why we should not do even better than in Sydney."
As Glen was leaving, having bid good-bye to Clara, he said, "On my return I may have something to tell you; something which I hope will be for our happiness."
She smiled brightly, guessing what he meant. There was a prospect of sailing into a peaceful harbour after a stormy life. Glen Leigh was indeed a man. He had not even questioned her about the past, or her relations with Bellshaw.
The horses, and all the paraphernalia of the show, went to Melbourne by steamer, Glen and Jim going with them. During the short voyage Glen thought Jim taciturn and ill-tempered. He asked him the cause.
"I'm sick of life," said Jim, "I never seem to get anything out of it. You and Bill have all the luck."
"I don't think you've done so badly," objected Glen, "and now you have a share in the show. What more do you want?"
"A good deal more. I want happiness, and I don't seem in the way of getting it."
"Why not? What troubles you? Tell me, lad; I may be able to help you."
Then, as they sat on deck, Jim poured out the vials of his ill-tempered wrath on Glen's head. He told how he loved Clara, but that she avoided, shunned him. He complained that it was very hard lines he, Glen, should come between them. For a long time he went on grumbling, and Glen listened to him patiently not saying a word. He let him exhaust himself before he made any reply.
"Jim, you're a fool," said Glen. "When she first came across my path and found her way to my hut, as I sat and nursed her back to life, you helping me, I thought I loved her. I was sure of it. That same feeling possessed me when we came to Sydney. It remained with me until something happened which opened my eyes, something totally unexpected. She put her arms round my neck and kissed me."
"I know," said Jim. "I know. She always does. She loves you."
Glen smiled as he said, "You're a bit shallow, Jim. You can't see far. I knew when she kissed me she would never love me like that, so I gave it up. She regarded me as a father, that was all, and I'm quite contented she should. I've found out the feeling I had for her was not that of a lover. I love her, I always shall, because I rescued her from death. It's only natural. You've no need to fear me as a rival. I love another woman, not her."
Jim's face brightened. He knew Glen spoke the truth; he always did. It clouded again as he thought how she avoided him.
"The reason she doesn't kiss you," said Glen, "is because she feels different towards you. She doesn't think it would be right. I've watched her, and I think if she does not love you now she will in days to come. She'll miss you when you are away from her in Melbourne. Probably she'll talk to Mrs. Prevost about you. Wait till you come back and then see how the land lies. She's not fit to marry yet, not strong enough. It will be better to wait until she recovers her memory."
"She may never recover it," said Jim.
"She will, I'm sure of it, and through Mrs. Prevost, who will help her. She's a sympathetic woman, and I told her all about it, everything. She'll do all in her power to bring back her lost memory; she said she would," Glen answered.
After this conversation Jim was a different man.
All along he had been jealous of Glen; now the cause was removed. Sometimes he gave a thought to Joe Calder, but he felt no regret for what he had done; the man had brought it on himself.
"If I hadn't shot him he'd have done for me," said Jim to himself.
The show arrived safely in Melbourne, and opened in a large tent on the St. Kilda Road. Crowds flocked to it, and before the first week was over Glen knew they were in for an even better season than in Sydney. They started business the Saturday before the Caulfield Cup. The tent was packed every night, and sometimes twice a day.
Ivor Hadwin arrived at Caulfield with his horses, Barellan, Flash, and a couple of others.
Betting on the two Cups was brisk, and Barellan was well backed by the public at a hundred to eight.
Bellshaw had been laid a fair sum to nothing by the drawer of Flash in the Caulfield Cup Sweep.
The first Hundred Thousand Pound Sweep on the Melbourne Cup was to be drawn in Sydney on Monday night.
When Glen Leigh was informed he laughed, and said, "I don't set much account on it. A fellow can't expect to get anything with one ticket in a hundred thousand."
There was a tremendous race for the Caulfield Cup, and Flash ran third, being beaten by Roland and Mackay.
Flash ran a remarkably fast race. Ivor Hadwin hardly thought him good enough to win and he died away a furlong from the post. Knowing what Barellan could do with Flash on the track, the trainer told Nicholl he thought the Melbourne Cup was pretty nearly as good as won.
The result of the drawing for the Hundred Thousand Pound Sweep on the Melbourne Cup was made public on the Wednesday. Glen Leigh received a wire from Bill Bigs which fairly astonished him.
"You have drawn Barellan. Good luck, Bill."
This was astounding news indeed. He had only one ticket in the sweep, number 33444, and it had drawn Barellan, third favourite for the great race. Was there ever such a stroke of luck! Glen could hardly believe in his good fortune. Barellan was Bellshaw's horse which made it more remarkable still. All his friends connected with the show crowded round congratulating him. He was regarded as a kind of hero. The first prize was close upon twenty-five thousand pounds, and there were numerous other large and small sums to be divided. He was bound to get one of the first three big prizes with such a horse as Barellan running for him, so said everybody who knew him.
Ivor Hadwin heard the news with mixed feelings; he was glad Leigh had drawn the horse, but wondered what would happen if he declined to give Craig Bellshaw a cut out of the sweep money. It was impossible to keep the fact that Leigh had drawn Barellan a secret, nor had he any wish it should be so.
"I've drawn the horse; where's the harm in people knowing it?" said Glen.
Bill Bigs arrived in Melbourne, and consulted with Glen as to what was best to be done.
Bill advised him to lay some of it against Barellan. He could stand to win a large sum to nothing, and if the horse lost he would also be a winner. Glen, however, was adamant on this point. He declared he would not lay off a penny; he'd stand the thing right out.
"It's only cost me a pound," he said. "That's not much, and I'd sooner go the whole hog and win the lot, if Barellan wins. If he loses I shall not grumble."
"Please yourself," said Bill. "From all I hear you stand a good chance of pulling it off at the first time of asking. It's an extraordinary piece of luck, that's what it is. I know fellows who have been going in for sweeps for years and have never drawn a horse. I've been doing it for a dozen years, and all I ever got was a non-starter."
"You shall have a couple of hundred if Barellan wins," said Glen. "So shall Jim, and I'll see Hadwin and Nicholl have a trifle."
"You're distributing the cash before you've won," laughed Bill.
"Half the fun of things is to anticipate, and plan out what you'll do with the money," Glen laughed back.
"So it is. I've drawn some nice little pictures myself, but they've always been rubbed out, not so much as a daub remaining," said Bill.
When Glen met Hadwin, the trainer asked, "I suppose you've not heard from Bellshaw?"
"No. What do I want to hear from him for?" replied Glen.
Hadwin smiled.
"You've not had much experience of sweeps. Owners generally expect a good slice out of them," he said.
"If Bellshaw expects to get me to lay him a big slice he's mistaken. I shan't lay him a penny," replied Glen determinedly.
"For goodness' sake don't say that," expostulated Hadwin in genuine alarm.
"Why not? I mean it."
"It will ruin me, Leigh, ruin me. I've backed Barellan for all I'm worth, or nearly so," said the trainer.
"Well, my drawing him in the sweep won't stop him winning."
"No, I don't mean that. I think he will win, but if you don't lay Bellshaw a fair sum, there's no telling what he'll do."
"What can he do?" asked Glen, surprised.
"Scratch him," said Hadwin in a low tremulous voice.
CHAPTER XXI
LAME
Craig Bellshaw soon heard who was the drawer of Barellan in the great Melbourne Cup Sweep. Glen Leigh held the ticket. He smiled wickedly. He had found out that Glen had been a welcome visitor at Mrs. Prevost's. So this was the man who had supplanted him. He wished him joy of his bargain; he'd find it pretty expensive. No doubt it was Leigh who called when he, Bellshaw, was ordered out of the house. If he had only known he would have enlightened him there and then; he intended doing so at the first favourable opportunity. He'd make it particularly hot and sultry for Mrs. Prevost, put a spoke in her wheel that even Glen Leigh would not care to try and pull out. A keeper of the fence, a common showman, a rider of buckjumpers, to be ousted by such a man – it made Craig Bellshaw writhe. He did not call at Sea View before he left for Melbourne; there was time enough. He'd put in an appearance when he had fairly choked Leigh off, made him sick of the whole business. He hated him, he hated Mrs. Prevost for throwing him over, and he vowed vengeance against them. Leigh had thwarted him in many ways when he had been on the fence. Bellshaw recalled how on one occasion he had given him the lie direct at a meeting held at Boonara, and had proved his statement up to the hilt. This had lessened the owner of Mintaro's prestige considerably, and he had not forgiven it.
Glen Leigh had drawn Barellan. Bellshaw chuckled, a curious gurgling sound, more like the growling of a dog. This decided him. He had returned to Sydney after the Caulfield Cup; he didn't care for Melbourne. He took train back again as soon as he heard who had drawn Barellan in the sweep.
He always stayed at Scott's. He walked there from Spencer Street Station, along Collins Street.
"Hallo, Bellshaw, back again?"
It was Nick Gerard who, for a wonder, was in that part of the town.
"You, Nick. What's the news?"
"I expect you know it all; you're never much behind the times where your interests are concerned. By Gad, perhaps you don't know; it only happened this morning. When did you arrive?"
"I've just come in by the express. What's up?"
"Your horse, Barellan."
"Well?"
"He went lame on the track at Flemington this morning, limped away badly, and it's the week before the race. He'll not have much time to pull round. I'm sorry for you. It's deuced bad luck, but you can stand it. I'm more sorry for that chap, Glen Leigh, who drew him in the sweep. It's rough on him. I like him; he's the best roughrider I ever saw. I'm open to bet there isn't a bucker in Australia can get rid of him in a quarter of an hour. I told him I'd bet a level thousand, two thousand if anybody wanted it, and give him half if he won," said Nick.
"My horse lame!" exclaimed Bellshaw, ignoring the latter part of Nick's remarks.
"Dead lame, from all accounts. I didn't see him, but I met Luke Nicholl in Bourke Street, and he told me. He was on his back, so he ought to know," said the bookmaker.
"Damn him! He'd no right to say anything about it, especially to a bookmaker," cried Bellshaw angrily.
"And pray why not? What have I done? The fact will be in all the evening papers. Most men I met at the Club were talking about it."
"Were they? It's a den of thieves," almost shouted Bellshaw, in his anger.
"You're talking rot," said Nick, who knew his man. He also had a fairly thick skin, and such remarks failed to penetrate it. "Have you been playing 'solo' all the way from Sydney and losing, or what's ruffled you?"
"I never play 'solo' or hazards," sneered Bellshaw.
"Well, I do, and I'm considered a fairly good hand at the former. As to hazards, I'll not say much about that. I'm out on the green cloth, out a biggish sum, but I can't leave off. It's in my blood. I must throw the dice sometimes," said Nick.
"More fool you. Where are you going?"
"To the Federal."
Bellshaw smiled grimly.
"What have you got there? Is she nice? bewitching? or just an ordinary filly?" he asked.
"It's a man, a dashed clever fellow, but he's one failing, and it's got fairly hold of him since he's been in Melbourne this time. I've known him come here and never touch a drop the whole blessed time, but he's been knocked out this trip. I'd like to find out the beggar who led him on. I'd give him a piece of my mind," said Nick hotly.
"Haven't you enough to do without wasting your time over a boozer?"
"He's always been a friend of mine; he's done all his expenses in, and hasn't a bean. I mean to see him through, if he'll promise to keep straight until the meeting's over."
"And do you suppose he will?" sneered Bellshaw.
"Yes, if he gives me his word," replied Nick.
"You're blessed with an uncommon amount of faith," said Bellshaw.
"And you've got none, not even in yourself. If you'd any pluck you'd not squeal because Barellan's gone lame. He may pull round. Hadwin's a clever man with dicky horses."
"He's an ass or he'd not have galloped the horse to a standstill. I told him he was giving him too much work."
"I'm more sorry for him than you," said the bookmaker.
Bellshaw laughed cynically, ignored the remark and asked, "Who's your sick friend at the Federal?"
"Jerry Makeshift, of 'The Sketch,' one of the best, the very best, a jewel with only one flaw in it."
"A gem of the first water, with whiskey in it," jeered Bellshaw.
"And supposing he is? That's better than being a grinding, snarling, miserable money-grubber," retorted Nick.
"Who's in a bad temper now?" asked Bellshaw.
"You're enough to rile a parson," said Nick.
"I never tried. I don't know much about 'em. I haven't got a chaplain at Mintaro."
"By all accounts you ought to have."
"What for?"
"To marry you," said Nick laughing.
Bellshaw swore and left him. Nick looked after him.
"He's a rotter if ever there was one, but he's been straight with me so far, and he'd better continue to walk the line. The first time he steps off it I'll push him right down," he thought, then went into the Federal.
"Is Mr. Makeshift in?" he asked the young lady presiding over the entry book in the desk, on the right hand side near the door.
"Oh, it's you, Mr. Gerard. Yes, he's in. He's been asking for you," and she told him where to find him.
Nick ascended the stairs, knocked at the door.
"Come in," said a thick voice.
Nick entered and found Jerry struggling with a sketch.
"I don't feel a bit humorous," said Jerry.
"You're a pretty specimen," began Nick.
"Look here, Old Nick, if you've come here to upbraid me I don't want to see you. What I want is ten pounds to see me through."
Nick laughed.
"I'll let you have it if you promise to keep all right."
"Snakes alive. You don't suppose I want to be sacked, do you?" exclaimed Jerry.
"I'd be sorry if you were, so would thousands of people. We'd all miss you, Jerry. 'The Sketch' wouldn't be the same paper," answered Nick.
"That's awfully good of you," said the repentant Jerry. "It means a lot to me. I'll not go back on you, Nick, I promise you, and you shall have some good stuff to amuse you next week."
"That's right, old boy. Buck up. Here's the cash. Have you heard the latest?"
"I haven't been out for days."
"Barellan's lame; Nicholl told me this morning. I've just met Bellshaw. He's in a towering rage, cursing everybody, and everything. He can handle some language when he likes. He's a heavyweight at it," said Nick.
"Bellshaw's a beast," replied Jerry. "I'm not sorry for him, but I am for Leigh and Hadwin."
"So am I, and I told him so," said Nick.
"What'll happen?" asked Jerry.
"I suppose he'll scratch him if there's no chance of getting him to the post."
"Lame horses have gone to the post and won a Melbourne Cup," said Jerry.
"I'd sooner have one with four legs sound."
"I say, Nick?"
"Yes."
"What do you fancy?"
"If Barellan gets right I think he'll win."
"And if not?"
"Roland."
"The Caulfield Cup winner?"
"Yes. He's a good horse – better than folks imagine."
"But his penalty?"
"He's a weight carrier. His trainer says he'd a stone in hand at Caulfield."
"That settles it," said Jerry.