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Page 8
"Yes, I remember seeing him once about then, but I didn't know if
he had been back since."
"No. Not to my knowledge." Mark, still obviously upset,
returned to his letter.
"Personally," said Bill, "I think relations are a great mistake."
"All the same," said Betty a little daringly, "it must be rather
fun having a skeleton in the cupboard."
Mark looked up, frowning.
"If you think it's fun, I'll hand him over to you, Betty. If
he's anything like he used to be, and like his few letters have
been--well, Cay knows."
Cayley grunted.
"All I knew was that one didn't ask questions about him."
It may have been meant as a hint to any too curious guest not to
ask more questions, or a reminder to his host not to talk too
freely in front of strangers, although he gave it the sound of a
mere statement of fact. But the subject dropped, to be succeeded
by the more fascinating one of the coming foursome. Mrs.
Calladine was driving over with the players in order to lunch
with an old friend who lived near the links, and Mark and Cayley
were remaining at home--on affairs. Apparently "affairs" were
now to include a prodigal brother. But that need not make the
foursome less enjoyable.
At about the time when the Major (for whatever reasons) was
fluffing his tee-shot at the sixteenth, and Mark and his cousin
were at their business at the Red House, an attractive gentleman
of the name of Antony Gillingham was handing up his ticket at
Woodham station and asking the way to the village. Having
received directions, he left his bag with the station-master and
walked off leisurely. He is an important person to this story,
so that it is as well we should know something about him before
letting him loose in it. Let us stop him at the top of the hill
on some excuse, and have a good look at him.
The first thing we realize is that he is doing more of the
looking than we are. Above a clean-cut, clean-shaven face, of
the type usually associated with the Navy, he carries a pair of
grey eyes which seem to be absorbing every detail of our person.
To strangers this look is almost alarming at first, until they
discover that his mind is very often elsewhere; that he has, so
to speak, left his eyes on guard, while he himself follows a
train of thought in another direction. Many people do this, of
course; when, for instance, they are talking to one person and
trying to listen to another; but their eyes betray them.
Antony's never did.
He had seen a good deal of the world with those eyes, though
never as a sailor. When at the age of twenty-one he came into
his mother's money, 400 pounds a year, old Gillingham looked up
from the "Stockbreeders' Gazette" to ask what he was going to do.
"See the world," said Antony.
"Well, send me a line from America, or wherever you get to."
"Right," said Antony.
Old Gillingham returned to his paper. Antony was a younger son,
and, on the whole, not so interesting to his father as the cadets
of certain other families; Champion Birket's, for instance. But,
then, Champion Birket was the best Hereford bull he had ever
bred.
Antony, however, had no intention of going further away than
London. His idea of seeing the world was to see, not countries,
but people; and to see them from as many angles as possible.
There are all sorts in London if you know how to look at them.
So Antony looked at them--from various strange corners; from the
view-point of the valet, the newspaper-reporter, the waiter, the
shop-assistant. With the independence of 400 pounds a year
behind him, he enjoyed it immensely. He never stayed long in one
job, and generally closed his connection with it by telling his
employer (contrary to all etiquette as understood between master
and servant) exactly what he thought of him. He had no
difficulty in finding a new profession. Instead of experience and
testimonials he offered his personality and a sporting bet. He
would take no wages the first month, and--if he satisfied his
employer--double wages the second. He always got his double
wages.
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