 | IX Steadfast Falters |  |
9. IX
As soon as he was alone, Fairfax despatched a letter to the jockey's headquarters at Sheepshead Bay, and spent the rest of the day in impatient perturbation awaiting his reply; but when the answer came, it was a hurried scrawl from his sister.
DEAR MR. CARY:
Pat's been hurt awful bad in the steeplechase this afternoon.
Come as quickly as you can.
MOLLY DELANEY.
Fairfax grasped his hat and rushed to the elevator. When he reached the street he jumped into a taxi and told the chauffeur he would double the fare if he reached the Pennsylvania Station in time for the six seventeen train. Fairfax got his train and the man his fare, and the young lawyer settled himself with as much patience as he could command to pass the interval which must elapse before he could reach Pat.
Molly had evidently left word at the office of his coming, for when Cary reached the cheap hotel where the Delaneys had their rooms a small boy took him in charge. The guide conducted him at once up the
"He's in there!" he said in a hoarse, terror-stricken whisper and fled precipitately.
Cary knocked softly, and the door was immediately opened by a thin youth with furtive eyes.
"It's him!" said this individual in a sepulchral voice and disappeared into the corridor.
Cary stepped into the dim room and closed the door. On the iron bedstead he could just distinguish the indistinct outline of the jockey's figure. Out of the bandages that swathed his head burned two bright eyes, feverishly restless. He pressed the boy's hand as it lay motionless on the counterpane.
"I'm very sorry for this, Pat!" he said gently.
A little smile stole over the blanched, freckled face.
"The jig's up, I guess, Mr. Cary. That steeplechasin's pretty sure ter git us sooner or later. Mr. Crosby wouldn't never let me do it, but — Well, I'm mighty glad ye got here in time. I've been wantin' ter see ye."
A spasm of pain passed over his face.
"Are they doing everything they can for you?" asked Cary, bending solicitously over him.
"Oh, yep! Sit down, Mr. Cary. I told Jim ter put a chair fer ye; ain't he done it?" Then, as Cary sat down, Pat went on faintly: "They had a couple of doctors here, an' they patched me up some, but there ain't nothin' ter be done, I guess. Kind o' tough, ain't it? I'd 'most got me pile tergether fer that little home fer Molly. I don't like the way things is goin'!"
For a moment he searched the sympathetic face before him, and then, as if satisfied with what he saw, he continued confidentially:
"Mr. Norman's begun hangin' round again. He's in there with her now." With a quick glance of his eyes he indicated the door opposite the bed, whence issued the low rumble of a man's voice punctuated by the shrill tones of a woman. I don't like it!" he concluded hoarsely. When gents like him comes followin' up girls like Molly, ye kin jest betcher sweet life it ain't fer no good!"
"Has it been going on for long?" asked Cary.
"Off an' on. He went ter Newport fer a while, an' I wuz hopin' it wuz all off, but fer the past few weeks he ain't hardly lef' her fer a minute. Now ye kin see why I wuz so set on gettin' a quiet little place off somewhere. Race-tracks ain't no place fer a girl. If I could only ha' got that fixed, an' ha' felt Steadfast under me once agin, it wouldn't ha' been so hard ter go. Gee, Mr. Cary!" A film came over the bright eyes. "Ye don't know how I felt ter see that lout Burns ridin' that hoss! Why, he's got hands like a plowman!"
"I'm sure it must have been hard," Cary said softly. "I want to ask you about Steadfast and that race for the Withers Stake, Pat. Have you ever suspected that there was anything wrong with the horse that day?"
"Yer mean he'd been doped? I didn't think so then, Mr. Cary; but lately, from things Molly's let drop, I've kind o' suspicioned — well, I dunno. Ye see, when a girl gits jealous, she says all kinds o' things. When Mr. Norman went off ter Newport, Molly got it inter her nut that he wuz rushin' some queen there, an' one night she had sort o' high-strikes, an' she said if he wuzn't goin' ter make good she'd peach. Then she said somethin' about what happened before the Withers race; but all of a sudden she stopped, an' I couldn't git nuttin' more out o' her."
The weak voice trailed off and stopped, and the eyes closed.
A feeling of compunction came over Cary. He could see that the boy's strength was ebbing very fast, but he felt that he must do all that he could to get some clue to the mystery of Elizabeth's hiding-place.
"Pat," he said, bending over the limp form, "do you know where Miss Crosby is now?"
"Miss Crosby? Miss Betty?" The blue eyes opened suddenly and stared into his.
"Why, ain't she at Newport?"
Cary shook his head.
"She left about a month ago."
"That's queer! Don't he know?"
Pat glanced meaningly at the door between the two rooms. Again Cary shook his head. Pat stared thoughtfully at him.
"Well," he said at last, "it ain't fer the likes o' me ter be sizin' up gents like Mr. George Crosby an' Mr. Norman; but in me own mind I allays puts 'em in a pretty low class, an' I knows Mr. Tutney thinks the same. I ain't a bit surprised she couldn't stan' 'em! "
"Tutney?" repeated Cary. Barney Tutney?"
"Yep; owns them big diamond-mines in South Africky — least, him an' Mr. Crosby does together."
"Where can I find him?"
"Dunno jes' where; he's down there now, wherever they are."
"I wonder how I can get hold of him!" mused Cary.
The boy's head moved restlessly on the pillow. The short twilight had darkened into night, and the little room was shrouded in shadows. Outside, an indistinct murmur of voices floated up from the group of youths that Cary had noticed standing on the bedraggled plot of grass before the hotel steps, but the words were indistinguishable.
"Mr. Cary!" came in a frightened whisper. "Mr. Cary! Are ye there?"
"Yes, Pat; what is it?"
Cary's hand closed over the cold fingers.
"I thought ye'd gone!" There was a world of relief in the weak voice. "It's all right — only I wuz kin' o' lonesome. I s'pose I wuz light-headed fer a minute, an' I thought I wuz alone. It's kind o' hard ter die when ye ain't never really lived!"
Cary bent over the slight figure, motionless in the glow of the electric light which flickered up from the street below.
"Is there anything you'd like me to do for you, Pat?" he asked gently.
"If ye could — I don' hardly like ter ask it o' ye, but ye're so kind — if ye could" — there was infinite entreaty in the ashen face — "look after Molly a bit? Ye see, there won't be any one after — after — "
With a lump in his throat, Fairfax promised to do everything in his power for the girl.
"I've got to go now, Pat," he added regretfully. "I told Major Barry I would meet him at eleven o'clock in town. He's trying to find Miss Betty, too, but I'll be down again the first thing in the morning."
The boy's fingers tightened for a moment around the sinewy hand; then he released it.
Good-by!" he whispered huskily. "Ye're on the level — I kin trust ye. I've tried ter be straight, too," he added wistfully.
"You've tried, and you've succeeded, Pat!" Cary stooped over him, his voice deep with feeling. "That's what Mr. Crosby used to say — `That boy's as straight as a string; I'd trust him anywhere!'"
"Did he say that?" came in a hoarse, eager whisper.
"Often."
"He ain't never said it ter me — "
"He will soon, Pat. I know he's waiting now to tell you."
A slow smile flitted over the boy's face.
"It's kind o' comfortin', ain't it," he faltered, "ter think there's some one ye know out there?" He raised his eyes to the window, open at the top to admit as much as possible of the night air. The new moon shone through the blackness, and Pat fixed his eyes on it. "Do ye really think he is?"
"I'm sure of it," answered Cary confidently. "Now shall I call Molly?"
"All right, an' thank ye fer comin'!"
Cary knocked at the door between the two rooms, told Molly Delaney that he had to leave, and with a last clasp of Pat's limp hand let himself out into the hall. He glanced at his watch as he passed the gas-jet, and, startled at the lateness of the hour, hurried down the stairs and through the group of loungers still loitering in the front yard. Jumping into a hack that stood at the curb, he directed the driver to make all possible speed to the station.
"Wonder if Pat's dead?" remarked one of the group in a hushed voice. "That cove's just lef' him. Mike said his name is Cary, an' he took him up ter see Pat."
"He looked kind o' cut up," answered another of the crowd. "I guess he's pretty close ter gone, poor old Pat!"
Cary, in the mean time, was hurrying to the train, which was just pulling out as they reached the station. He darted across the platform and swung upon the last car. He was still panting a little when he walked down the aisle and came face to face with George Crosby, who had entered the car from the other end.
"Oh — ah — Cary — how-do?" he hesitated and held out his hand. "Was it you I saw making that flying leap for the train?"
Crosby was evidently trying to speak with his old-time lightness.
"Close shave!" replied Cary laconically.
"Come and speak to Mrs. Crosby," continued the other, and Fairfax followed him somewhat reluctantly to where Maude Crosby sat.
"I thought it was you," she exclaimed as she put out her hand; " but I've never seen you in such mad haste before, and I couldn't quite reconcile it — "
"With my usual Southern laziness?" supplemented Cary, with a little laugh.
As usual when he was with Mrs. Crosby, he was possessed by an intense desire to irritate her by voicing her insinuations, and then watching her discomfiture; but in his present frame of mind the mood did not last long.
"I've just come from Pat Delaney," he said quietly to Mr. Crosby. "He's been dreadfully smashed up in a steeplechase, and I'm afraid he's done for, poor little chap!"
He looked past Mrs. Crosby to the dim outlines of the plain, stretching unbroken and dark to meet the star-flecked sky.
"Too bad!" ejaculated Crosby. "He was a nice boy."
"Who's that — Randolph's jockey?" asked Mrs. Crosby of her husband.
He nodded and sank down beside her.
"How's Miss Crosby?" asked Fairfax in as careless a voice as he could command.
"Quite well, thank you," answered Mrs. Crosby quickly. She looked straight into the keen, dark eyes, and added with the least possible quiver of her eyelashes: "It has been a great pleasure to have her with us this summer."
"I'm sure of it," agreed Fairfax. "Will she be with you this winter?"
He experienced a curious sensation, almost of admiration, as he watched the skill with which she met his thrusts. Crosby, on the contrary, had sunk farther into his seat, and the unnatural pallor of his skin had become more accentuated.
"Yes, indeed!" replied Mrs. Crosby. "We're devoted to the child, and can't possibly get along without her!"
"Please remember me to her," said Cary gravely.
With a word of farewell he walked through the car into the one ahead, in search of a vacant seat. He settled himself in it with the thought:
"The major's right — George Crosby looks twenty years older than he did in June. Too bad! Well, it happens that way sometimes. Mrs. Crosby, too, doesn't look quite as youthful as she did. I wonder if they're really so worried over Betty's disappearance! I wouldn't have given them credit for so much heart. They weren't going to let me in on the secret. They evidently thought I didn't know!"
The muscles of the firm chin tightened, and unconsciously he straightened his shoulders.
"Well, they're right — I don't know much; but I'm going to know more before long! I'll find Betty Crosby, if I have to search every inch of the way between here and San Francisco; and when I do, there won't be any more shilly-shallying! There isn't any reason for it, now that the money's gone. I'm almost glad of it!" A half smile curved the proud lips. "And if what the major says is true, then — "
It still lacked a few minutes to eleven when Cary entered the door of the Sussex Club, but, knowing the major's unusual punctuality, he went at once to the room where they had arranged to meet.
| IX Steadfast Falters | |