Produced by Al Haines

THE RIDER IN KHAKI

A NOVEL

BY

NAT GOULD

NEW YORK

FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY

PUBLISHERS

Copyright, 1918, by

FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY

All rights reserved

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

I. "WILL HE MARRY HER?" II. TRENT PARK III. "HE'S A SPY" IV. THE AUSTRALIAN GIRL V. ROBIN HOOD'S SPEED VI. A FLYING FILLY VII. A WALK AND A TALK VIII. FRASER'S INFORMATION IX. THE MAN UNDER THE LAMP X. CARL MAKES LOVE XI. THE BARON'S TIP XII. A FINE FINISH XIII. ALAN IS BLIND XIV. INSIDE THE KEEP XV. A SUDDEN PROPOSAL XVI. JANE'S LOVE AFFAIR XVII. THE LAY OF THE LAND XVIII. TOM'S WEAKNESS XIX. HALF A HEAD XX. TWO STAYERS XXI. THE RAID XXII. JANE SUSPECTS XXIII. ALAN'S DANGER XXIV. TAKEN PRISONER XXV. ALIVE AND WELL XXVI. THE RIDER IN KHAKI XXVII. THE STEEPLECHASE XXVIII. JANE'S DISCLOSURES XXIX. A SPLASH IN THE DARK XXX. NEWS FROM HOME

THE RIDER IN KHAKI

CHAPTER I

"WILL HE MARRY HER?"

"Do you think he will marry her?" asked Harry Morby.

"Does anybody know what he will do," replied Vincent Newport, discussing their host Alan Chesney, of Trent Park, a beautiful estate in Nottinghamshire, close to the Dukeries, Sherwood Forest, and the picturesque village of Ollerton.

In the billiard room they had just finished a game of a hundred up, it was an even battle but Morby won by a few points; they were Chesney's friends, captains in the same regiment—the Guards—from which Alan Chesney resigned his commission some twelve months ago. Why he resigned was best known to himself; they had not heard the reason; nobody in the regiment appeared to have any idea.

"She's a splendid woman," said Harry, with a sigh.

"Granted, perhaps one of the most conspicuous of the reigning beauties. It may not be a question of will he marry her but whether she will have him if he asks her," answered Vincent.

Harry Morby shook his head.

"She'll marry him right enough. Why not? By Jove, Vin, what a handsome couple they'd make!" he said.

"Yes, but I doubt if it would be a happy union," said Vincent.

"Good Lord, man, why shouldn't it be? They'd have everything they wanted: money on both sides, estates close together, many things in common, love of racing, sport in general, hunting in particular; they're made for each other."

"What about temperaments?"

"All right in that way. No doubt there'd be some friction at times, but very few married people go through life without jars."

"Evelyn Berkeley has had one or two affairs."

"Nothing to her discredit. She's always been allowed to have her head; her father was proud of her in his way, but he was a selfish man, thought more of his pleasures than anything, a bit of an old rip too, if all one hears be correct. As for her mother—you know the story—possibly Berkeley drove her to it."

"Yes, I've heard it. Of course everybody blames her; they always do, the woman pays," said Vincent.

"Marcus Berkeley left her his riches; everything he had went to her.
She can't be thirty, at least I should think not," said Harry.

"Is her mother dead?" asked Vincent.

"I don't know; if alive she is not likely to come into her life again," said Harry.

Alan Chesney generally had friends staying with him at Trent Park; it was a hospitable house, where everything was done well. His father was a successful man, head of a great brewery firm, a wonderful manager, a staunch sportsman, the owner of a famous stud, and a conspicuous figure on the turf; his death was a blow to racing, his colors were popular, and his outlay lavish.

Alan Chesney inherited his love for horses and racing, but the immense business of William Chesney & Company, Limited, did not appeal to him, although the bulk of his wealth came from that source. It was a disappointment to his father when Alan elected to go into the army, but as he was bent on it he gave way on condition he resign his commission when he died and become the head of the firm. This was the real reason for Alan's leaving the army; there were others also weighed with him. He had the makings of a good soldier in him but "the piping times of peace," did not bring out his best qualities; there was more pleasure than work and the calls of duty were not very arduous for a rich man.

The manager of William Chesney & Company was Duncan Fraser, a Scotsman, whose whole life had been spent in England, the bulk of it with Chesney. An upright, honorable, keen man of business, Duncan Fraser was a tower of strength in the firm. Force of character was stamped on him; he was unyielding when he felt he was in the right, and many tussles William Chesney had with him about fresh moves connected with new departments in the company's procedure. The two men were, however, friends, and had respect for the abilities they both possessed.

It was Duncan Fraser's opposition to Alan Chesney going into the army induced William Chesney to protest against it and give way only upon the stipulation stated.

"He is your only son, and his place is at the head of the firm when you think fit to retire," said Duncan. "He has no right to neglect his responsibilities, and he ought to be trained for the position; if he goes into a crack cavalry regiment he'll never settle down to the work here."

William Chesney agreed with Duncan Fraser, but made excuses for Alan.

"I fancy he considers you will be capable of looking after things when
I am gone," he said.

"That's not the point. I'm capable now, but you are the head, and he ought to take your place."

Alan Chesney and Duncan Fraser did not agree well, the former knew of Fraser's opposition to his joining the army and resented it as an impertinence.

"After all he's a servant of the company," he said to his father.

"And the best servant a company ever had. He's a big shareholder too; don't forget that important fact, Alan," was the answer.

Duncan Fraser was a careful man; he had a large salary, and, being a bachelor, saved most of it and bought shares in the brewery. When William Chesney died he held the second interest to Alan, which gave him considerable power.

To do Fraser justice he always desired, was anxious, that Alan Chesney should be the active head of the firm; but his disinclination for the work threw more and more responsibility on the manager, and although Alan was nominally the head, Duncan Fraser was the man everybody looked to.

Alan recognized this and resented it, although he knew it was his fault.

Duncan Fraser had the tact to handle the situation delicately; he treated Alan with almost the same deference as his father, but did not consult him to the same extent, or take so much notice of his suggestions.

Fraser was a good-looking man, verging on fifty, tall, well-built, an athlete in his younger days, a good shot and an enthusiastic angler. He was a frequent visitor at Trent Park, and to all outward appearances he and Alan were the best of friends; there was a rift in the lute which they concealed.

Alan was popular in the county, his liberality was great, appeals to him always met with a response. His fine commanding presence made him noticeable, his military training had done him good, he was strong, powerful, a good boxer, and no man could ride better. Despite his height and strong frame, he could ride a reasonable weight on the flat, and over fences, and he often mounted his horses and those of his friends. Exercise kept his weight down; he walked miles at a stretch, through the glorious forest, or over his estates.

He had known Evelyn Berkeley since she was in her teens, and when he came home from Harrow, and she was at "The Forest" for her holidays, they were often together; their love for the country was strong and they explored every nook and corner of Sherwood Forest.

When Evelyn Berkeley was five and twenty it was reported, with some semblance of authority, that William Chesney, the wealthy brewer, was anxious to make her his wife, that he would willingly have done so but she refused him. There was truth in this, but the whole facts were not known. Evelyn Berkeley liked William Chesney but she was very fond of Alan, and it seemed to her ridiculous that she should wed the father when she admired the son, although Marcus Berkeley strongly urged her to accept the brewer's offer.

"You'll be safe with him, Eve," said her father. "He's a good sort; he idolizes you. Oh yes, I know you prefer Alan, that's perhaps natural, but he's not sown his wild oats yet and you'll have a long time to wait before you can get him to the post. You're young, marry William Chesney, and before the bloom's off your cheeks you'll be the richest and handsomest widow in the land."

Evelyn Berkeley was very sorry when William Chesney died. He proved a better guide than her father, and her refusal of his offer made no difference in his manner toward her.

Alan Chesney knew of his father's partiality for Evelyn Berkeley but did not know he proposed to her, and the rumors of it had not reached him. He admired Evelyn, but was not at all certain he loved her, and so far had not considered it conducive to his happiness that he should take a wife; he was fond of his freedom, of the bachelor life he was leading, he did many things that would be impossible if he married.

He had a habit of doing unexpected things, and this was the reason
Vincent Newport said, "Does anybody know what he will do?" in answer to
Harry Morby's question.

Alan Chesney came into the billiard room.

"Did you beat him, Harry?" he asked.

"Just pipped him on the post," was the answer.

"I'm just going to have a look at the horses; will you come?" he said.

"Only too pleased," said Vincent, and Harry acquiesced eagerly.

"Think we'll drive; horses are more enjoyable than motors—that's if you haven't to go any distance."

A pair of beautiful bays were brought round, the shooting wagon was spic and span, almost new, the groom smart and dapper, everything in perfect style.

Alan handled the reins and they drove along the well-kept road in the direction of Trent Stud.

Their way skirted past "The Forest" and as they passed the gates Evelyn Berkeley came out in her motor. Alan pulled up, she stopped the car, and greetings were exchanged.

"We're going to see the horses. Will you come?" asked Alan.

She thanked him, said she had an appointment in Nottingham, and from there had to go to Newark.

"You'll be in town for the Derby, I suppose?" said Alan.

"Yes. Are you running anything at the meeting?"

"Three or four. Might pick up a race or two."

"You'll not forget to put me on," she said, smiling.

"Oh no, I'll not forget. I'll call and see you and give you all particulars; shall you have a house full?" said Alan.

"Half a dozen single friends and two married couples; you can stay with me if you like, it will be quite proper," she said, laughing.

Alan did not give a direct answer; he merely repeated that he would call.

"By Jove, she is handsome!" said Harry enthusiastically.

"Not a doubt about that," said Alan placidly, as he touched the horses with the whip and they went along at a fast pace.

CHAPTER II

TRENT PARK

Trent Park was a wonderful place; the house was modern, the new mansion having been built by William Chesney, but the park was full of ancient trees and there were some old buildings. A venerable keep, surrounded by a moat full of water and only reached by a boat, there being no bridge, was not far from the stud buildings.

It was a picturesque spot and many visitors came to see it. History attached to it, romance threw a halo round, there were many stories associated with it, some true, others doubtful, the more doubtful the more interesting. Murder had been committed within its walls in the time of the first Edward; and even down to the Georges; it possessed an unenviable reputation for dark deeds and mysterious crimes.

It was used as a prison in the Tudor times and tradition said many a man had been done to death there without just cause.

Men employed at Trent Park in various capacities reported having seen weird sights: shadowy, wailing figures, mostly women, flitting about, even rising out of the moat where, it was said, bodies had been found, or, to be more correct, skeletons.

The villagers of Little Trent shunned it after nightfall; youngsters were frightened into obedience by threats to bring the moat ghosts after them.

It was a round keep, built of massive stone, the walls ivy-covered, the base green with moss, damp and age.

A massive oak door studded with large-headed nails creaked on its rusty hinges when opened, which was seldom.

A visitor from New York received permission to examine the keep, tower, and moat in search of historical data and facts. He stayed at the Sherwood Inn at Little Trent. One evening he returned from his explorations with a white, frightened face; when questioned he shivered but gave no answers. He hurriedly took his departure and, from stray bits of paper in the fire-grate in his room, it was surmised he had burnt his copious notes about the keep, no doubt being terrified by some ghostly warning to destroy them.

The ruins of a monastery stood at the other end of the Park. A stately pile of crumbling mortar, and stones shifting from places they occupied for centuries. The outer walls stood and inside the square was a keeper's cottage hidden in a warm snug corner, concealed from prying eyes, unnoticeable until the ruin was entered.

A curious place to build a cottage, and nobody seemed to know who put it up or for what purpose the place was selected. It was there when William Chesney bought the estate and it was a long time before he knew of its existence.

Tom Thrush, head gamekeeper at Trent Park, occupied it, living there with his daughter Jane, a pretty girl of twenty, a lonely place for her; yet she liked it and loved to wander in the woods and roam about in the great forest bordering on the Park.

Tom Thrush, for many years, was employed at Chesney's Brewery; it was at his own request he was sent to Trent Park and installed as second keeper and then raised to head keeper in the course of a few years. He was a strange man, lonely, taciturn, passionately fond of his daughter, and spent the bulk of his time in the forest, where he studied wood-craft and the habits of all wild birds and animals. There was something almost uncanny in the way he made friends with the wild things of the woods and forests; no living bird or animal seemed to fear him, and he taught Jane much wild lore and how to make friends with the denizens of the woods.

The preserving of game was strictly carried out at Trent Park and thousands of birds were killed every season; in this Tom Thrush was most successful, a prince among keepers.

The Park abounded with massive oaks, and no doubt at one time had been part of Sherwood Forest, and these were ancient trees that had been spared when others fell. Centuries old some of them, with vast trunks and huge gnarled, twisted branches which seemed to have suffered from terrible convulsions of nature, been put on the wrack, as it were, and come forth mutilated in a hundred deformities.

There were deer in the Park, and white cattle, almost wild, sometimes dangerous, they were confined in a strong ring fence.

One part of the Park was laid out in paddocks for the blood stock, and here the young thoroughbreds from the Trent Stud galloped about and played their games until it was time for them to be broken in and sent to the trainer.

Well-kept roads ran in various directions through the Park, there was plenty of water, a minor river running through on its way to join the Trent. It was indeed a glorious place and Alan Chesney might well be counted a lucky man to own it.

His two friends had gone, after staying a week, and it was arranged they should meet at Epsom for the Derby.

It was seldom Alan Chesney was alone in the big house; many times he wished it smaller, not so roomy, more cosy, in keeping with his bachelor habits. There were parts of it he had only been in once or twice. The long picture gallery he shunned, although some exquisite modern paintings hung there.

When he came into possession he had some of the smaller and brighter pictures removed into the living rooms and the spaces were still left vacant. The windows in this gallery overlooked the Park, in the distance the keep could be seen, and farther away a corner of the monastery. There were large reception-rooms, and bedrooms the size of the ground floor of a small house. The dining-room was oak panelled, the ceiling oak, and it was furnished with massive chairs and a huge table. There was a great sideboard, carved by Gibbons, which cost an enormous sum, carvings adorned the wood mantelpiece over the open fireplace. It was a room in which fifty guests might sit down with ease.

Alan had his favorite rooms, the smallest in the house; his study was a model of comfort, and there was another room opening from it which contained all his sporting paraphernalia. There were guns of various makes, over a dozen; Harry Morby had tested some of them and expressed the opinion that a bad shot might kill birds with such weapons.

A case of fishing-rods occupied one side of the room. Half a dozen saddles, some racing jackets, bridles, dog collars, boxing gloves, foils, whips, boots, spurs, miscellaneous tools handy for sporting purposes.

Pictures of racing and hunting scenes hung on the walls; there was a life-like painting of Fred Archer, the beautiful eyes being perfect, also another of Tom Cannon, Mornington Cannon, George Fordham, portraits of Maher, Frank Wotton and several well-known gentleman riders who were friends of Alan's.

This was the room where guests were wont to congregate and talk over the day's shooting, or discuss the merits of horses and jockeys.

Alan had breakfast, and came into this room to read the papers before going for his customary ride; he was always ready and fit to accept a mount in a welter race, or ride over the sticks in the hurdle and chasing season.

He looked carelessly at half a dozen papers but his attention wandered, he could not concentrate his thoughts on anything he saw, he read bits here and there but they were not fixed in his mind. He tossed the papers in a heap on the table, filled his pipe and smoked dreamily.

There were a dozen servants in the house but he was the only occupant of the owner's quarters. He did not feel exactly lonely, but he liked somebody to talk with, and having been a few days by himself he wished for company.

Evelyn Berkeley was at The Forest and he thought he would ride over and see her; she was always good company and he liked her, but she was dangerously charming and he acknowledged he felt the influence when in her presence.

Why not marry her? He was sure she would accept him if he proposed, and there was no woman more fitted to be the mistress of Trent Park.

More than once he had been on the verge of putting the question to her but something prevented him and he was rather glad he had escaped.

Over and over again he had asked himself if he loved her and found no satisfactory answer.

He knew many of his male friends accepted it as a foregone conclusion he would marry Evelyn Berkeley, and he smiled as he thought how they discussed him and his matrimonial prospects.

It pleased him to think she preferred his society to that of other men, it flattered him when he recalled she might have been a countess had she wished. He asked her why she did not accept the titled suitor and she replied that titles had no attraction for her, that her mind was made up; there was somebody she liked very much, he might ask her to be his wife some day and she would wait.

He rode several miles at a fast pace in the Park before turning his horse's head in the direction of The Forest.

As he was passing the monastery ruins he saw Jane Thrush. She looked very sweet and winsome in her plain brown frock which matched the color of her hair; she had no hat, and its luxurious growth added to her rather refined rustic beauty.

Alan was always courteous to women, and Jane was one of his favorites; so was her father, he had a sincere regard for the sturdy, silent gamekeeper.

"Beautiful morning, Jane," he said. "You love to be out in the sun?"

She smiled at him. How handsome he looked on his horse, and how well he sat the animal!

"I am going to Little Trent to buy a few things for the house. I generally go through the wood," she said.

"You and your father live quiet lives here. Wouldn't you like to be in the village?" he asked.

"Oh no. I love the old ruin, and the cottage is so sweet I couldn't bear to leave it, and I'm sure Father would sooner be here than anywhere," said Jane eagerly.

Alan laughed as he replied:

"Don't be alarmed, you shall live in the cottage as long as you like.
Do you ever feel afraid when you are alone at night?"

"No; why should I? No one ever comes here, and there's Jack always on guard."

"Wonderful dog, Jack," said Alan smiling.

"He is. It's three years since you gave him to me. He is my constant companion."

"He's a well-bred dog anyway; these black retrievers are hard to beat."

"If anything happened to him I don't know what I'd do," she said.

"I do," he answered. "I'd give you another in his place."

"That wouldn't be the same at all," she said.

"You prefer old friends?"

"Yes, indeed."

"Then I hope Jack will live a long time to be your faithful companion," said Alan.

CHAPTER III

"HE'S A SPY"

Evelyn Berkeley was at home, instructions were given that Mr. Chesney was to be admitted when he called. She greeted him cordially; he saw she was pleased to see him.

"You bring the fresh air in with you. I suppose you have been riding in the Park?" she said, as she gave him her hand and a bright smile.

"It's the best part of the day for riding. I wonder you do not go out more on horseback, you are a good rider."

"You really think so?"

"Yes—really."

"I have no one to ride with."

"There's me, won't I do?" he asked laughing.

"Oh yes, you'll do very well indeed, but I have to be careful; I'm a lone woman and people talk."

"Let 'em," said Alan.

"That's all very well from your standpoint; you're a man, that makes all the difference."

"Not in these days. Women are taking a hand in most things, giving the men a lead. They are independent; probably they are right."

"Yes, I think they are, but still there are some things they cannot do; women are more likely to be talked about than men, it matters more to them."

"Why should it?"

"Because women are women, I can't give you a better answer," she said laughing.

"I met Jane Thrush as I came past the monastery," he said. "Pretty girl, is she not? She seems to like her lonely life at the cottage, at least she says so."

"A very pretty girl, and a good girl," was her reply.

"Do you see her sometimes?" he asked.

"Yes, very often; she comes here when she likes, Hannah is fond of her."

"You're lucky to have Hannah Moss."

"I am; she's a treasure."

"Been at The Forest for years, hasn't she?"

"She nursed me, that's a long time ago."

He laughed as he said:

"Not so very long ago, Eve; we were playmates, I am not very ancient."

"Well, it seems a long time since I was a girl and you a boy."

"We were good pals."

"Always."

"And we are now?" he questioned.

"Pals? Does that fit the case?" she asked.

"I hope so; I trust it always will."

She hoped not, she wanted a deeper feeling to develop.

Alan looked well, such a fine healthy man, strong, athletic, and she loved him; he little knew the strength of her feelings for him, how she longed to be his, to be conquered by him, to feel his strength pitted against her woman weakness. She kept herself in check, there was very little outward show of her love for him, although sometimes it would not be banished from her eyes, and they were beautiful eyes, eloquent, expressive, and this morning as she looked at him the love-light shone there, and he felt its power.

She was a beautiful woman, he would not have been the man he was had he not felt her charm. She was a woman well developed in mind and body, her taste in dress was exquisite, she knew what suited her and declined to be fashioned by her dressmaker. She stood facing him, close to him, and his senses were intoxicated by her fragrance. The scent she used was delicate, the perfume exquisite, it was peculiar to her; a very dangerous woman when she cared to exercise her powers.

"By Jove, Eve, you do look splendid!" he exclaimed with genuine enthusiasm.

She flushed slightly. It was a tribute to her charm and she accepted it; there could be no doubt about his sincerity.

"Do I look better than usual?" she asked.

"You always look well, but this morning you excel yourself, you are grand! I mean it. What a prize for some lucky man to win!"

She laughed.

"The lucky man has not come along yet apparently; I am near thirty," she said.

"At the height of your charms; you'll meet the right man one day and he'll be carried off his feet and surrender at once, he'll have no option."

"Can't he see, oh, can't he see he is the right man! I'd fling myself into his arms if he asked me," she thought with longing.

"He will have to hurry up," she answered smiling.

He remained an hour or so and then left.

"Be sure and come to my house in town in Derby week," she said.

"I'll be there. You asked me to stay."

"Will you?"

"I dare not," he said with a laugh, as he mounted his horse and rode away. She stood on the steps watching; at the gate he turned and raised his hat, she waved her hand, and with a sigh, went into the house.

Hannah Moss, at one of the upstairs windows, saw him ride away.

"Drat the man," she murmured, "why doesn't he marry her; they're made for each other."

Eve went for a walk after lunch and her way took her to the village of Little Trent. She was popular with the villagers, the lady bountiful of the district, and gave with a liberal hand.

Abel Head stood outside the Sherwood Inn as she came along, he touched his cap, she stopped.

"We're having glorious weather," she said. "I suppose you are going to the Derby?"

"Never miss if I can help," he replied. "What's going to win, Miss
Berkeley?"

"Merry Monarch," she answered promptly.

"No!" exclaimed Abel. "Who told you?"

"That's a secret," she said laughing.

"He's at a good price."

"A hundred to eight."

"I'll risk a trifle on him," said Abel.

"Don't back him because I've told you," she said; "he may lose."

"He belongs to Baron Childs; he's a straight 'un."

"He's as straight as they make them," said Eve. "How's Richard? Have you heard from him?"

"Not lately, thank you for asking. I wish he'd not joined the army; he'd have done better to stay here and help me," said Abel.

"Why did he join?" she asked.

"Got restless, I suppose and——" he hesitated.

"And what else?"

"He was very fond of Jane Thrush," said Abel.

"And Jane did not give him much encouragement?"

"That's about the strength of it," said Abel.

"Jane is devoted to her father," said Eve.

"No doubt about that, but she'll wed someday, and Dick's not a bad sort," said Abel.

"He'll make a good soldier, Abel."

"Perhaps he will; he'll be a fighter, and it looks to me as though there'll be a burst up before long."

"You think so?"

"Certain sure I do; there'll be no peace anywhere until the Germans are licked."

Eve laughed.

"I understood we were better friends than ever with Germany," she replied.

"Some folks will tell you that, but don't you believe them, Miss
Berkeley. They're a nasty spying lot, I'd trust none of 'em," said
Abel.

"I hope you are wrong, war is a terrible thing," she said.

"So it is in a way, but we've been asleep too long, it won't do us any harm to be roused up," said Abel. "There's a man staying at my place I have my doubts about," he said mysteriously.

"What sort of doubts?" she asked.

"He goes by the name of Carl Meason, but he's a German, I'm sure of it, and he's a spy," said Abel.

She looked surprised as she said:

"What would a German spy find to do in Little Trent?"

"That's more than I can tell; probably he's spying out the land."

She laughed.

"What sort of a man is he?" she asked.

"Not a bad-looking chap, talks well, but there's something suspicious about him.

"Does he speak with a foreign accent?"

"No; speaks English as well as I do," said Abel.

Eve smiled: Abel's English was at times a trifle weird.

"Then I'm sure he's not a German if he speaks as well as you, Abel," she said.

"Now you're chaffing me," he replied.

"Not at all; I am sure you speak very well."

"If he's not a German he's a spy of some sort I'm certain. He's always looking at maps, drawing plans, making notes and figuring up things. It's my belief he's hit on Little Trent by chance and came to my place because it's quiet and out of the way. There's something wrong with him; if he's not German he's in the pay of somebody connected with 'em. I'd bet my last bob he's a spy of some sort, and I'll keep my eye on him," said Abel.

When Abel went into the Inn he found a map spread on the table in the room occupied by Carl Meason. He glanced at it and saw small pins stuck in various places where lines were printed. Putting on his glasses he saw these were road lines and noticed most of them in which the pins were sticking ran from the coast inland; he had no time for further observation, as Meason entered the room.

"Rather a good map, is it not?" asked the man.

"Should think so; I don't know much about maps," said Abel. "What's all these pins for?"

"I am a surveyor. I am going through some of the roads on this map; I shall have to inspect them shortly. I came here to do my work quietly. I daresay you wondered what I was at Little Trent for?" said Carl.

"I have been wondering," said Abel. "So you're a surveyor?"

"Yes; I'm considered clever at the work."

"You're a Government surveyor?" asked Abel.

"I am."

"I notice most of the roads you have marked run from the coast inland."

"That's my division; I am doing this for army purposes."

"Oh!" exclaimed Abel. "For our Government?"

Carl Meason looked at him quickly; Abel's face made him smile, he did not look extra sharp.

"I'm not likely to survey roads for army purposes for any other
Government," he said.

"No, I suppose not. It must be interesting work."

"It is, very; the more you get into this business, the better you like it," said Carl.

Abel left him bending over the map. When Carl heard the door closed he looked up, a scowl on his face. "Curse the old fool," he muttered. "Wonder why he asked me if it was our Government I was working for?"

He rolled up the map carefully, ticking the place where he had left the pins in red ink.

CHAPTER IV

THE AUSTRALIAN GIRL

Derby week, London hummed and bustled with excitement. Sport was in the air, racing; everybody talking about the great event. There were thousands of visitors in the city; it was easy to pick out the strangers.

Evelyn Berkeley's house overlooked Regent's Park. It was some way out of town, but she found this recompensed by the view, and it was easy to get about in her motor. Alan Chesney called when he arrived in London, before her visitors came.

Conversation turned on the Derby and the Epsom meeting generally.

"Merry Monarch is my tip," she said. "I had it from the Baron; he fancies his horse tremendously."

"It would be a popular win," answered Alan.

"Have you heard anything?"

"The tip at the club last night was Gold Star," he said.

"The favorite?"

"A very hot favorite. I fancy he'll be even money on Wednesday. Have you known Baron Childs long?"

"Some months; I was introduced to him at Goodwood last year, in fact he was one of the house party at Colonel Buxton's."

"Very rich man, is he not?" asked Alan.

"A millionaire I believe; he is very unassuming, I like him," she said.

Alan smiled as he said:

"He is a bachelor, the head of a great banking firm, I wonder he does not marry."

"He has a wide choice, many lovely women would be glad of a chance to accept him."

Alan wondered if the Baron had given a thought to Evelyn Berkeley; it was highly probable.

"The all-scarlet jacket has won many big races but not a Derby; perhaps it's his turn this year," said Alan.

"I hope so, I have backed Merry Monarch," she said.

"I called to give you some information about my horses. I am likely to win three races, so my trainer says, and he is not an over-confident man."

"Lucky fellow, three races in Derby week; your colors will be worth following."

"On the opening day Robin Hood should win the Epsom Plate," said Alan.

"That will be a good beginning. We shall all have our pockets filled for Derby Day," laughed Evelyn.

"He's a pretty good horse, make a note of him."

"I shan't forget, no need to write down the names of your horses," she replied.

"The Duke has a big chance in the Royal Stakes; I have a first-class two-year-old running in the Acorn Stakes. It will be her first appearance; she's a splendid creature, a real beauty," said Alan.

"That's Robin Hood, The Duke, and what's this wonderful two-year-old's name?"

"Evelyn," he replied.

Of course she knew it was named after her and she was gratified.

"Oh, Alan!" she exclaimed, "that's splendid of you."

"If she were not a real flyer, with every prospect of winning at the first time of asking, I'd not have named her Evelyn. I waited until Skane pronounced her one of the best before risking it," he said.

"And you think she'll win?" asked Evelyn.

"I shall be very disappointed if she fails. With such a name she can't fail," he said, smiling.

Alan stood near the window; he saw a lady coming up the walk.

"A visitor," he said. "I'll be off."

Evelyn laughed.

"It is Ella Hallam; I don't think you have met her. She's an Australian girl, I went to school with her. She returned to Sydney when she finished her education, and only came to London a month ago. We have corresponded regularly. I like her very much; perhaps you may have heard me speak of her."

"I don't think I have," he said.

"Please don't go, I want to introduce you. She is coming to stay with me at The Forest when the Epsom meeting is over; her father races in Australia, I believe he once won the Melbourne Cup," she said.

Ella Hallam came into the room. When she saw Alan she said:

"I did not know you had a visitor. I ought to have asked. It is rude of me."

"Alan Chesney is an old friend," said Eve. "Allow me to introduce you."

They shook hands, their eyes met, and Ella Hallam felt something in her life was changed from that moment; as for Alan, he seemed quite unconscious he had created any interest out of the common.

"Yes, I come from Sydney," replied Ella, in answer to his question about Australia.

"And your father owns racers?" he asked.

"Yes; racing is his chief amusement. He's always saying it is a very expensive hobby, and exhorts me to economize in order that he may keep things going," she replied, laughing. "He is coming to England. I expect him in about a month. He may bring one or two horses, he was thinking of doing so I know. He has a very high opinion of our thoroughbreds, thinks they are equal to your best."

Alan laughed as he replied:

"I have seen some of your horses run here. They are good, but equal to our best, no; at least I do not think so. I have two I'd like to match against any colonial-bred horse."

"Perhaps my father will give you a chance if he brings Rainstorm," she said.

"Is he a good horse?"

"Rather, he won the Melbourne Cup," she replied.

"Then I shall be taking something on if I tackle him?" he said.

"You will—and you'll be beaten," she answered confidently.