The Hunt Ball Mystery. Sir William Magnay

house looked picturesque enough in the moonlight as he approached it. All the windows in the main building were lighted up, and there was a pleasant suggestion of revelry about the ivy-clad pile. Standing some dozen yards from the house, but connected with it by a covered way, was a three-storied tower, the remains of a much older house, and from the lower windows of this lights also shone.

      Gifford entered the well-remembered hall and made his way, almost in a dream, to the ball-room, where many hunting men in pink made the scene unusually gay. Unable for the moment to catch sight of Kelson, he had to introduce himself to his host, who had heard of his mishap and gave him a cheerily sympathetic welcome. Richard Morriston was a pleasant-looking man of about five or six-and-thirty, the last man, Gifford thought, he would bear a grudge against for possessing the old home of the Giffords.

      "I'm afraid you must look upon me rather in the light of an intruder here," Morriston said pleasantly.

      "A very acceptable one so far as I am concerned," Gifford responded with something more than empty civility.

      "It is very kind of you to say so," his host rejoined. "Anyhow the least I can do is to ask you with all sincerity to make yourself free of the place while you are in the neighbourhood. Edith," he called to a tall, handsome girl who was just passing on a man's arm, "this is Mr. Gifford, who knows Wynford much better than we do."

      Miss Morriston left her partner and held out her hand. "We were so sorry to hear of your annoying experience," she said. "These railway people are too stupid. I am so glad you retrieved your luggage in time to come on to us."

      Gifford was looking at her with some curiosity during her speech, and quickly came to the conclusion that Kelson's description of her had certainly not erred on the side of exaggeration. She looked divinely handsome in her ball-dress of a darkish shade of blue, relieved by a bunch of roses in her corsage and a single diamond brooch. Statuesque, too statuesque, Kelson had called her; certainly her manner and bearing had a certain cold stateliness, but Gifford had penetration enough to see that behind the reserve and the society tone of her welcome there might easily be a depth of feeling which his friend with a lesser knowledge of human nature never suspected. An interesting girl, decidedly, Gifford concluded as he made a suitable acknowledgment of her greeting, and, I fancy, my friend Harry takes a rather too superficial view of her character, he thought, as strolling off in search of Kelson, he found himself watching his hostess from across the room with more than ordinary interest.

      He soon encountered Kelson coming out of a gaily decorated passage which he knew led to the old tower. He had a pretty girl on his arm, tall and fair, but with none of Miss Morriston's dignified coldness. This girl had a sunny, laughing face, and Gifford thought he understood why his friend had not been enthusiastic over the probable Lady Painswick.

      Kelson, receiving him with delight, introduced him, with an air of proprietorship it seemed, to his companion, Miss Tredworth.

      "Have you been exploring the old tower?" Gifford asked.

      "We've been sitting out there," Kelson answered with a laugh. "They have converted the lower rooms into quite snug retreats."

      "In my uncle's day they were anything but snug," Gifford observed. "I remember we used to play hide-and-seek up there."

      He spoke with preoccupation, his eyes fixed on a bunch of white flowers which the girl wore on her black dress. They were slightly blotched and sprinkled with a dark colour in a way which was certainly not natural, and Gifford, held by the peculiar sight, looked in wonder from the flowers to the girl's face.

      "You must give Gifford a dance," Kelson said, breaking up the rather awkward pause.

      "I'm afraid my card is full," Miss Tredworth said, holding it up.

      Kelson laughed happily. "Then he shall have one of mine."

      But Gifford protested. "Indeed I won't rob you, Harry," he declared. "I'm tired, and should be a stupid partner."

      "Tired?" Kelson remonstrated. "Why, you have been resting at the Lion waiting for your things while we have been dancing our hardest."

      "Resting? No; I went out for a walk," Gifford replied.

      "The deuce you did! Where did you go to?"

      "Oh, nowhere particular," Gifford answered rather evasively. "Just about the town."

CHAPTER III

       Table of Contents

      THE STREAK ON THE CUFF

      Hugh Gifford did not stay very long at the dance. He took a mouthful of supper, and then told Kelson that he had a headache and was going to walk back to the Golden Lion.

      Kelson was distressed. "My dear fellow, coming so late and going so early, it's too bad. This is the best time of the night. I hope the old place with its memories hasn't distressed you."

      "Oh, no," was the answer. "But something has upset me. I'll get back and turn in. By the way, I don't see that man Henshaw."

      "No," Kelson replied casually; "I haven't seen him lately. But then I've had something better to think about than that ineffable bounder. He was here all right in the early part of the evening. One couldn't see anything else."

      "Dancing?"

      "More or less. Well, if you will go, old fellow, do make yourself comfortable at the Lion and call for anything you fancy. I'm dancing this waltz."

      Gifford left the dance and went back to the hotel. He seemed perplexed and worried, so much so that for some time he paced his room restlessly and then, instead of turning in, he went back to the sitting-room, lighted a pipe, and settled himself there to await his friend's return.

      It was nearly three o'clock when Kelson came in.

      "Why, Hugh!" he exclaimed in surprise. "Still up?"

      "I didn't feel like sleeping," Gifford answered, "and if I'm to keep awake I'd rather stay up."

      Kelson looked at him curiously. "I hope the visit to your old home hasn't been too much for you," he remarked with the limited sympathy of a strong man whose nerves are not easily affected.

      "Oh, no," Gifford assured him. "Although somehow I did feel rather out of it. I have had rather a teasing day, but I shall be all right in the morning, and am looking forward to a run round the scenes of my childhood."

      "Good," Kelson responded, relieved to think his friend's visit was not after all going to be as dismal as he had begun to fear. "Well, Hugh," he added gaily. "I have a piece of news for you."

      "Not that you are engaged?"

      Something, an almost apprehensive touch, in Gifford's tone rather took his friend aback.

      "Why not?"

      "To Miss—the girl you were dancing with?"

      Again Gifford's tone gave a check to Kelson's enthusiasm.

      It was with a more serious face that he replied, "Muriel Tredworth, the best girl in England. I hope, my dear Hugh, you are not going to say you don't think so."

      "Certainly not," Gifford answered promptly. "I never saw or heard of her before to-night."

      Kelson laughed uncomfortably. A man in love and in the flush of acceptance wants something more than a lukewarm reception of the news. "I'm glad to hear it," he responded dryly. "From your tone one might almost imagine that you knew something against Muriel."

      "Heaven forbid!" Gifford ejaculated fervently.

      "You don't congratulate me," his friend returned with a touch of suspicion.

      Gifford forced a laugh. "My dear Harry, you have taken my breath away. You deserve the best wife in the kingdom, and I sincerely hope you have got her," he said, not very convincingly.