The Nine of Hearts

I have no intention to describe the race. It presented all the usual features of a Derby, to which I paid but little heed, my attention being concentrated upon Miss Ida White. She was greatly excited. There were some book-makers on the Grand Stand shouting out the odds, and she must have invested at least a dozen sovereigns on different horses, the odds against which ranged from 40 to 60 to 1.

The race was over. Melton was hailed the winner. I knew that Miss White had not backed Melton for a shilling, and I watched the effect the result of the race had upon her. Her lips quivered, her eyes glared furiously about. "Ida is an angel, is she?" thought I. "Ah! not much of the angel there."

A stampede commenced to the lower ground. The Grand Stand was half empty. Then it was that I saw a man who had just come up give a secret look of intelligence to Fowler, after which he strolled a few paces away, and stood with his back towards Miss White. Fowler joined him with a negligent air, and very soon returned.

"I am very sorry you lost," he said to Miss White, "and quite as sorry that I must wish you good-by."

He took her aside, and had a brief conversation with her, in the course of which he slipped something into her palm, upon which her fingers instantly closed. Shaking hands with her, he beckoned to me, and we left the Grand Stand.

"What did you give her?" I asked.

"Only a card," he said, "with an address in London, to which she could write to me if she felt inclined. I told her that I had never seen a lady I admired so much, and that I hoped she would give me the opportunity of becoming friends with her. In an honorable way-oh, quite in an honorable way!" he added, with a laugh.

"And what are you leaving her for now?" I inquired.

"Because I know where Mr. Eustace Rutland is to be found," he replied. "It will take two or three hours to get to the place, and I suppose it is best to lose no time."

"Decidedly the best," I said "but how about Ida White?"

"She is safe enough. My men are all around her. She won't be left for an instant, wherever she may go. The gentleman I entered into conversation with in the train was one of my fellows. You are a great lawyer, sir, but I think I could teach you something."

"I have no doubt you could. Where does Eustace Rutland live?"

"In Croydon, at some distance from the station."

We did not reach Croydon until past six o'clock, and it was nearly another hour before we arrived at the address which Fowler had received.

"That is the house, sir," he said, pointing to it. "It doesn't look very flourishing."

It was one of a terrace of eight sad-looking tenements, two stories in height, and evidently occupied by people in a humble station of life.

"Before we go in, sir," said Fowler, "I must put you in possession of the information I have gained. Mr. Eustace Rutland does not live there" – I started-"but Mr. Fenwick does. The young gentleman has thought fit to change his name that is suspicious. He has lived there the last two weeks, having come probably from some better-known locality, the whereabouts of which I shall learn by-and-by. When I say he came from some better-known locality I am not quite exact it will be more correct to say that he was brought from some better-known locality. He was very ill, scarcely able to walk, and is still very weak, I am given to understand. Now, sir, what do you propose to do? Do you wish me to go in with you, or will you see this young gentleman alone, without witnesses?"

"You are the soul of discretion, Fowler," I said, "and of shrewdness. I must see the young gentleman alone, and without witnesses. Meanwhile you can remain in the house, ready at my call, if I should require you. Keep all strangers from the room while I am closeted with him."

I knocked at the door, and inquired of the woman who opened it for Mr. Fenwick. She asked me what I wanted, and who Mr. Fenwick was.

"Mr. Fenwick lodges here," I said. "I am a friend of his, and I wish to see him."

"How do you know he lodges here?" asked the woman.

"Simply," replied Fowler, "because we happen to have received a letter from him with this address on it. What's your little game, eh, that you want to deny him to us?"

As he spoke he pushed his way into the passage, and I followed. The woman looked helplessly at us, and when Fowler said, with forefinger uplifted warningly, "Take care what you are about," she replied, "I don't know what to do; I am only following out my instructions."

"Your instructions," said Fowler, "were not to prevent Mr. Fenwick's friends from seeing him."

"I was told to admit no one," the woman said.

"And pray who told you?" demanded Fowler. "The lady?"

"Yes, sir," said the woman. "Miss Porter."

"Oh, Miss Porter," exclaimed Fowler. "A friend of ours also. Dark-skinned. Black hair. Black eyes. Red lips. White hands. Rather slim. About five foot four."

"Yes, sir," said the woman.

Fowler had given a pretty faithful description of Miss Ida White.

"Well, then," said Fowler, whose ready wit compelled my admiration, "there is no occasion to announce us to Mr. Fenwick. Show this gentleman the room, and while they're chatting together I will have a little chat with you."

"It is on the first floor," said the woman.

"Of course it is," said Fowler; "the first floor front, the room with the blind pulled down. Do you think I don't know it? How is the young gentleman?"

"Not at all well, sir."

I heard this reply as I ascended the stairs, in compliance with a motion of Fowler's head. When I arrived at the door of the room occupied by Fenwick, otherwise Eustace Rutland, I did not knock, but I turned the handle and entered. A young gentleman who had been lying on the sofa jumped up upon my entrance, and cried,

"Who are you? What do you want?"

I closed the door, and turned the key in the lock.

"What do you do that for?" he exclaimed.

"You will very soon know," I replied. "I am here for the purpose of having a few minutes' conversation with Mr. – shall I say Fenwick?"

"It is my name."

"If I did not come as a friend I should dispute it, and even as a friend I shall venture to dispute it. Your proper name is Eustace Rutland."

He fell back upon the sofa, white and trembling.

"What do you mean? Why are you here?" he gasped.

"I will tell you," I said. "The time for evasion and concealment is past. Your sister-"

"My sister!" interrupted Eustace. "I do not understand you."

"You do understand me. You have a sister-a twin-sister-whose name is Mabel. She lies at the point of death, and you have brought her to it."

He covered his face with his hands, and I judged intuitively that there sat before me a young man who, weak-minded and easily led for evil as he might be, was not devoid of the true instincts of affection.

"Did you know of her condition?" I asked.

"No," he replied, in a trembling voice. "Is it true? Is it true?"

"It is unhappily true, and it may be that it lies in your power to rescue from the grave the innocent young girl who has devoted her life and happiness to you."