THE CRYSTAL BEADS MURDER (Murder Mystery for Inspector Stoddart). Annie Haynes
confidently. "Wait a minute, Nan. There's young Ranger. I must have a word with him." He darted off.
Robert Saunderson looked after him with a curious smile. Saunderson was well known in racing circles and was usually present at all the big meetings. He was sometimes spoken of as a mystery man. Nobody knew exactly who he was or where he came from. But as a rich bachelor he had made his way into a certain section of London society. At the present moment he, as well as the Courtenays, was staying at Holford Hall with the Courtenays' cousin, Lord Medchester.
Rumour had of late credited Lady Medchester with a very kindly feeling for Saunderson. Holford was within an easy driving distance of Doncaster, and the house-party to a man had come over on Lord Medchester's coach and a supplementary car to see the St. Leger run. The Courtenays were the grandchildren of old General Courtenay, who had held a high command in India and had been known on the Afghan frontier as "Dare-devil Courtenay". His only son, Harold and Anne's father, had been killed in the Great War. The Victoria Cross had been awarded to him after his death, and was his father's proudest possession. The young widow had not long survived her husband, and the two orphan children had been brought up by their grandfather.
The old man had spoilt and idolized them. The greatest disappointment of his life had been Harold's breakdown in health and resultant delicacy, which had put the Army out of the question. General Courtenay was a poor man, having little but his pension, and the difficulty had been to find some work within Harold's powers. The Church, the Army and the Bar were all rejected in turn. Young Courtenay had a pretty taste in literature and a certain facility with his pen, and for a time he had picked up a precarious living as a journalistic freelance. For the last year, however, he had been acting as secretary to Francis Melton, the member for North Loamshire.
Earlier in the year Anne Courtenay had become engaged to Michael Burford, Lord Medchester's trainer. It was not the grand match she had been expected to make, but Burford was sufficiently well off, and the young couple were desperately in love.
There was no mistaking the admiration in Saunderson's eyes as he looked down at Anne.
"You could not persuade the General to come to-day?"
Anne shook her head.
"No; it would have been too much for him. But he is quite happy talking over old times with his sister."
"He was a great race-goer in his day, he tells me."
"I believe he was an inveterate one. He still insists on having all the racing news read to him."
Anne moved on decidedly as she spoke. She did not care for Robert Saunderson. She had done her best to keep out of his way since his coming to Holford. Unfortunately the dislike was not mutual. Saunderson's admiration had been obvious from the first, and her coldness apparently only inflamed his passion. He followed her now.
"The Leger horses are in the paddock. What will Harold say if you don't see Battledore?"
Anne quickened her steps. "I don't know. But we shall see them all in a moment. And I must find my cousins."
Saunderson kept up with her, forcing their way through the jostling crowd round the paddock.
"Lord Medchester's filly ran away with the nursery plate, I hear. The favourite Severn Valley filly was not in it," he began; then as she made no rejoinder he went on, "We shall see a tremendous difference here in a year or two, Miss Courtenay. There will be an aerodrome over there"--jerking his head to the right--"second to none in the country, I will wager. And a big, up-to-date tote will be installed near the stand. Altogether we shan't know the Town Moor."
"I heard they were projecting all sorts of improvements," Anne assented. "But it will take a long time to get them finished and cost a great deal of money. Harold is frightfully keen on the tote, I know."
"Ah, Harold!" Saunderson interposed. "I wanted to speak to you about Harold. I am rather anxious about him. I don't like this friendship of his with the Stainers. He ought never to have introduced them to you. They've had the cheek to put up at the 'Medchester Arms'--want to get in touch with the training stables, I'll bet! Stainer's no good--never has been--he is a rotter, and the girl--well, the less said about her the better."
Anne recalled the red-haired girl who had seemed so friendly with Harold just now, but she let no hint of the uneasiness she felt show in her face.
"I am sure Harold does not care for her. Of course she is very good-looking. But why do you trouble about Harold?"
Saunderson looked at her.
"Because he is your brother," he said deliberately.
Anne's eyes met his quietly.
"A very poor reason, it seems to me."
"Then suppose I say, because I love you, Anne?" he said daringly.
Anne held up her head.
"I am engaged to Michael Burford."
"To Burford, the trainer!" Saunderson said scoffingly.
"No; to Burford, the man," she corrected.
A fierce light flashed into Saunderson's eyes. A whirl of sound of cheering, of incoherent cries rose around them. The St. Leger horses were coming up to the post.
"Battledore! Battledore!" Harold's choice was easily favourite. Masterman's scarlet and green were very conspicuous. Under cover of the tumult Saunderson bent nearer Anne.
"Michael Burford. Pah! You shall never marry him. You shall marry me. I swear it."
Anne's colour rose, but she made no reply as she hurried back to the Medchester coach. Most of the party were already in their places, but Lady Medchester stood at the foot of the steps. She was a tall, showily-dressed woman, whose complexion and hair evidently owed a good deal to art. Her mouth was hard, and just now the thin lips were pressed closely together.
"I hope you have enjoyed your walk and seeing Battledore," she said disagreeably.
Anne looked at her.
"I did not see Battledore."
Lady Medchester laughed, but there was no merriment in her pale eyes.
"I can quite understand that. Oh, Mr. Saunderson"--turning to the man who had come up behind her young cousin--"will you show me--"
Anne did not wait for any more. She ran lightly up the steps. Her brother hurried after her.
"I believe one gets a better view from the top of this coach than from the stand," he said unsteadily.
Anne looked at him with pity, at his flushed face, at his trembling hands.
"Harold, if you--"
She had no time for more. Harold sprang on the seat. There was a mighty shout. "They're off! They're off!" Then a groan of disappointment as the horses were recalled. A false start--Battledore had broken the tapes. Bill Turner, his Australian jockey, quieted him down and brought him back to the post.
"Goldfoot was sweating all over in the paddock just now," young Courtenay announced to nobody in particular. "He was all over the place, too, taking it out of himself. Doesn't stand an earthly against Battledore--he's a real natural stayer--isn't a son of Sardinia, a Derby second and Greenlake the Oaks winner for nothing--"
His voice was drowned by a great roar as the horses flashed by, Battledore on the outside.
"Better than too near the rails," Harold consoled himself. "The luck of the draw's been against him, but he doesn't want it. He'll do, he'll do!"
"Battledore! Battledore!" the crowd exulted.
But now another name was making itself heard--"Goldfoot! Goldfoot! Come on, Jim!"--"Goldfoot leads--No--Partner's Pride!--No--Battledore!--Battledore!" Harold Courtenay yelled. "Come on, Bill! He's winning, he's winning! Partner's Pride is nothing but a runner-up."
Followed a moment's tense silence, then a mighty shout: "Goldfoot's won! Well done, Jim Spencer! Well done!"
Anne dared not look at her brother's