Fred M. White

Hard Pressed

Warsaw 2018

Contents

A Modern Sportsman

An Unexpected Meeting

A Living Fortune

A Great Temptation

The Shadow Of Doubt

A Trial Spin On The Downs

A Leaf From The Past

Rogues In Council

In The Toils

Confession

On The Edge

A Lion In The Path

An Officer And A Gentleman

The Post Club

Jolly & Co

The Nook

A Fair Day’s Sport

An Evening Visit

The Empty House

Inside

The Eavesdroppers

A Soldier Of Fortune

A Change Of Air

A Strange Visitor

The Derelict

A Second Trial

Driving It Home

Honour Bright

Acting The Friend

An Ultimatum

A Point-Blank Refusal

An Easy Fall

The Five Baskets

No. 5

A Poisonous Atmosphere

Fielden Intervenes

Between Two Fires

Loosening The Grip

A Dramatic Exit

Caught!

Home Again

First Past The Post

I. A MODERN SPORTSMAN

It was a gala night at the National Opera House, and the theatre was crammed from floor to roof, for Melba was sustaining a new part, and all London had gathered to listen. It was rarely indeed that so fashionable an audience assembled in February. The boxes were ablaze with diamonds. On the grand tier, however, there was one box which was not filled with gaily garbed women and which attracted attention by the fact that its sole occupants were a girl and two men. Though she was quietly dressed and wore no ornaments except flowers, nevertheless a good many women envied May Haredale; for the box belonged to Raymond Copley, who was quite the last thing in the way of South African millionaires. He was a youngish, smart-looking Englishman of the florid type, was becoming known as a sportsman and, according to all accounts, was fabulously rich. He was supposed to have discovered diamonds in Rhodesia, a stroke of fortune which put him in a position, it was alleged, practically, to dictate terms to the De Beers Company, and those “in the know” in the City declared he had come out of a negotiation for amalgamation with two millions of money in his pocket.

Be that as it may, he had purchased a fine old estate within twenty miles of London, and lavished large sums upon his racing stud, and people began to court his acquaintance. He was on very friendly terms with his near neighbour, Sir George Haredale, of Haredale Park, which accounted for the fact that the Baronet and his only daughter were availing themselves of Copley’s hospitality that evening.

May Haredale ought to have been enjoying herself. She did not have many opportunities for pleasures of this kind, for, sooth to say, Sir George Haredale was a poor man. He had a constant struggle to keep up appearances, and most of his friends wondered how he managed to pay the expenses of his racing stable. But the Haredales had been kings of the turf for a hundred years or more, and Sir George clung desperately to this last vestige of the family greatness. The whole estate was going to rack and ruin, the gardens and grounds were neglected, the conservatories were empty, the carpets and old furniture were faded and worn. But the stables left nothing to be desired. How near they were to the verge of collapse only Sir George himself knew.

He had few rich and influential friends. He did not care for moneyed men, as a rule, and so the old county families were surprised to see the intimacy that had grown up between him and Raymond Copley. They professed not to understand it, but one or two shrewd observers declared that May Haredale was at the bottom of it, and that Copley was over head and ears in love with the girl.

It would have been strange were it otherwise. She was just the sort of girl to attract a man like Copley. She was tall, well formed and exceedingly pretty, though cold and haughty at the mere suggestion of a liberty.

What she thought of Copley she had never been heard to say. She had not many friends in her own circle. She was perfectly happy and contented so long as she had a good horse and the promise of a day with the hounds. Most people deemed her rather distant and reserved, but a few hinted that May Haredale could be chummy enough when she chose. Others, however, had noticed a great change in the girl during the past two years. There was a time when she had been one of the merriest madcaps, and then, all at once, she seemed to grow up and become staid and dignified. And it was not altogether the weight of family trouble which bore her down, for, as a matter of fact, she had no idea how desperate Sir George’s fortunes were.

She appeared on friendly terms with Copley, but, though for the past twelve months he had been a familiar visitor at Haredale Park, he did not think that he was making much progress in her good graces. Clever as he was, the girl managed to keep him at a distance without wounding his pride, and as time went on he found himself more and more infatuated with May Haredale.

He belonged to the class of man who never counts the cost of anything and is ready to go any lengths in the pursuit of a fancy. He thought he had been extremely patient, and told himself earlier in the evening that before the week was out things would have to be settled one way or the other. And he was not without weapons, either. Sir George could have unfolded a tale in that respect had he chosen to do so. The Baronet was proud, but there are times when pride has to take a second place, and such a crisis in his affairs had arrived. May would have been surprised to learn that Copley could at any moment sell the old home over their heads and turn them out to shift as best they might.

She sat with her face on her hand, looking at the stage, but she was not listening to Melba’s marvellous voice. Her mind had gone back to a somewhat similar scene two years ago when she was last in the same opera house. How different things had seemed then! How much happier she had been in those days! She roused herself presently to find that Copley was addressing her.

“Oh, I beg pardon,” she said. “I suppose the singing carried me away. What were you saying?”

Copley uttered something appropriate. There was a hard look in his eyes as he took in the details of May’s fresh beauty. She was just the wife for him. She had a fine appearance and good breeding and would take him into certain houses the entrée of which had as yet been denied him. They were going on afterwards to supper at the Carlton, and before he slept that night Copley would know his fate; indeed, he knew it already. He had a kind of instinct that May disliked him. But that, after all, was a small matter. When she learned the truth there would be no alternative. That her dislike might turn into hatred mattered nothing to Copley. He bent down already with an air of possession which brought a faint flush into May’s cheeks. She was feeling rebellious.

“You are enjoying it?” he asked.

“Oh, yes. I should be a strange creature if I didn’t. I have so few treats like this.”

“Isn’t that your own fault?” Copley returned. “Surely, you must know that if you only liked to say the word–”

A sudden outburst of applause drowned the rest of his speech, but to all intents May heard everything that he had to say. She blamed herself that she had not shown this man earlier that her feelings towards him were merely conventional. And now she would have to make up her mind one way or the other. Copley stood with a smile upon his face, evidently very sure of his ground. A longing to get away, to be alone with herself, came over May Haredale. In a way she was grateful to Copley for saying no more. She was glad when the performance was over and they began to move towards the stairs. Here a stranger bustled up and touched Copley on the arm. As he turned to the intruder his face changed. May thought he looked almost alarmed, but it was a trifle and she only noticed it vaguely. The recollection was to come back to her later.

“One moment, Sir George,” Copley said. “Would you mind waiting for me in the vestibule? It is a little business affair which won’t detain me five minutes.”

Sir George passed on with his daughter, leaving the two men together. Copley turned sharply round upon his companion.

“Now what is it?” he asked curtly.

“Oh, I thought you would like to know,” the other said. “I only got back last night. The first man I met this morning in the City was Aaron Phillips.”

“You don’t mean that,” Copley exclaimed.

“I do, indeed. It is a thousand pities I haven’t managed to find you before to-day. I have been chasing you from place to place in the most maddening fashion. However, Phillips is here, and so I thought I would come and warn you. No, no, I have made no mistake.”

“But the thing is impossible, Foster. You know as well as I do that Phillips was killed–”

“Well, so we imagined. Anyway, the beggar’s back again, and there’s no getting away from it. And if he is allowed to talk, and we don’t square him–”

“Square him! Why, it would cost half a million!”

“Well, suppose it does. Won’t it be cheap at the price? Wouldn’t it be better for us to plank that money down than be standing in–but you know what I mean. It’s a most infernal piece of ill luck, but, after all, your position is by no means a bad one. You go everywhere, you are eagerly sought after. Besides, who is to know whether you are a millionaire or a pauper? You’ve got the reputation of being a rich man, and with brains like yours–”

“I can’t stop now,” Copley said hurriedly. “I have some people supping with me at the Carlton, and it is impossible to put them off.”

The other man grinned.

“I understand,” he said. “I guessed who the lady was. I’ll come round to your rooms at half-past twelve or a quarter to one, and then we can talk the thing over quietly. You can see for yourself that the matter won’t keep.”

II. AN UNEXPECTED MEETING

Meanwhile, Sir George and his daughter were waiting impatiently for Copley. As they stood, the fashionable stream hurried by them. The road outside was crammed with cabs and ‘buses and motors, for all the theatres were discharging their audiences. The street was one seething mass when Copley joined his friends. They pressed together towards the pavement, and Copley could scarcely conceal his annoyance that his car was not in attendance. He supposed there was some misunderstanding and suggested that it would save time if they took a cab.

“We might have some difficulty in getting two cabs,” he said. “One of us had better walk.”

“I’ll walk,” Sir George answered. “I haven’t had any exercise to-day, and it will give me an appetite for supper.”

May looked up vaguely alarmed. She had no fancy for a drive to the Carlton in the company of Raymond Copley.

“Wouldn’t it be better to walk along till we come to the end of the street?” she proposed. “There would be more chance of getting a cab when we are out of the crush.”

Without waiting for a reply she stepped on to the pavement. In his aggressive way Copley elbowed a clear path. The road seemed to be fuller than ever of vehicles. Then there rose the quick cry of a woman’s voice, the sound of clashing metal, and before any one could realize it two motors had overturned. Instantly all was confusion, and five minutes later May found herself on the other side of the street alone and presenting a somewhat conspicuous figure in her evening dress and cloak.

She was not frightened or alarmed. She had too much pluck and courage for that. She thought the best thing would be to turn down this dark side street and make her way to the Haymarket.

She walked quietly and fearlessly along, the road getting narrower as she went. She passed one or two men who made audible remarks upon her appearance, but she did not heed them. And, then, almost before she knew what had happened, a man by her side began to pester her with remarks which brought the blood flaming to her face. That the nighthawk was not sober did not tend to improve the situation.

She looked about for some one to appeal to, and with sudden thankfulness heard steps hurrying behind. Next moment she saw her tormentor lying on his back in the gutter with another man standing over him.

“I am glad to be of assistance to you,” the stranger said. “If you will allow me to walk with you as far as the corner of the street I will call a cab. I suppose you got separated from your party and this fellow followed you.”

“That is so,” May replied. “I cannot sufficiently thank you.”

She paused in the midst of her speech, for her rescuer’s face was shining out clear and distinct in the lamplight. At the same instant the stranger turned and their eyes met.

“Harry,” the girl murmured, “Harry!”

“Well, yes,” the stranger laughed awkwardly. “This is rather an unexpected meeting, isn’t it?”

May made no reply at the moment. She was studying her companion intently. She noticed how white his handsome face was. There was the suspicion of suffering in his eyes. His dress was neat, but worn and shabby, and yet there was an unmistakable air about Harry Fielden which proclaimed that he had been accustomed to better things. He stood half-defiant, half-smiling, and yet he held up his head as if he had nothing to be ashamed of.

“Where have you been for the last two years?” May asked.

Harry Fielden shrugged his shoulders.

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