Lost sheep

Chapter I

J IM LINGARD closed the pass-book which he had been examining, and threw it on his desk. The perusal had not been exhilarating. The pass-book showed to the credit of James Lingard Esq., 31st Hussars, a sum of £809 6s. 2d., and he knew that there were other cheques which had not yet been presented. He opened his cheque-book and examined the counterfoils : Twenty pounds for his mess bill three days ago, thirty-seven to his tailor, and a host of smaller ones. Altogether he had a balance left of about £700 out of the £10,000 he had received under his father's will seven years ago — that meant that at most he could put in another nine months in the regiment and then, if fortune were still crossgrained, leave he must.

Lingard rose from his chair, lit a pipe and stood with his elbows on the narrow mantelpiece of his quarters, thinking hard. His head was aching, and his thoughts revolved in an interminable cycle around the one fact, that he was “ broke.” Should he chuck the whole thing now — send in his papers, or try and exchange to an infantry regiment ? No, that would be no good. If he stuck to the Service at all, it meant the Army Service n

Corps or a West African Regiment. But luck would be sure to change. No chap could go on having the rotten time he had had for the last couple of years without something decent turning up. There was last year’s National — £1,500 gone in one wallop, and he had got on at tens, to what he thought was a dead certainty, and then the damned brute had fallen at the third fence. Oh, the luck must turn somehow, and in the meanwhile there was enough to go on with.

Jim put his pipe on the mantelpiece and yawned. He was a dark, tall man of twenty-eight, with a pair of rather startlingly blue eyes under dark eyebrows, which gave a peculiar though not unpleasant expression to his face. It was only at a second glance that one noticed the rather heavy jaw, the extreme breadth of his shoulders, and the length of his arms. He was popular in the regiment, on the whole, but had acquired the reputation of being " a funny devil in some ways, and with the hell of a temper if he is crossed.” He had now served seven years in the 31st, and up to the present his life had been that of any cavalry subaltern — made up of a good deal of hard routine work, varied by polo, and as much leave as he could procure.

The only fly in Lingard’s ointment of life was the want of cash. His father, General Lingard, had left him £10,000, and this, properly invested, would have brought in an income of about £400 a year. Now £400 a year, which in some walks of life, or in any infantry regiment, represents luxury, is the minimum sum which a careful man can manage on and keep out of debt in a cavalry regiment, and Jim Lingard was not a careful man. His father and mother were dead, he had no relations except his father’s brother, Colonel Lingard, whom he cordially detested, and at the age of twenty-one he had become absolutely his own master. For the last seven years Lingard had gone the pace with the richer members of the regiment, living all the while on his capital, and now he was almost face to face with the finish.

He swore savagely again under his breath; then shouted, “ Come in,” in reply to a knock at the door of his room, and nodded, as a man of about his own age entered, and seated himself on the bed.

The new-comer opened the conversation.

“ Goin’ strong, Sikes ? ” he queried.

Lingard’s sobriquet of Sikes had been given to him three days after joining because some one had professed to find a likeness in him to the burglar type.

Lingard laughed a little. “ Oh yes,” he said, “ all right. Nothing much doing. Just been looking up my accounts, and balancing them a bit ! What have you been doing, Toad ? ”

“ Toad,” otherwise Lieutenant Heming, blew several rings of smoke from his cigarette before answering. " Me ? ” he said, “ nothin’. Never do if I can help it; at least, I’ve been paying the men. Snipey shoved it on to me ; said he wanted to go to town ! The selfish devil, so did I. He’ll be back to-morrow though, and I’m going to ask for leave. Care to come up? ”

Lingard shrugged his shoulders. “ Oh, I don’t know,” he answered. “ What for ? There isn’t much to do in town. Are you going up for anything special. Toad ? ”

The other shook his head. “ Nothing special,” he said. “ Just to have a look at the lights of London. I’m so damn sick of this hole, and it’s not much sport

M going by oneself. You might be a pal and come, Sikes. We could have some dinner and do a show of sorts, and, I say, Snipey told me of a place in Lancaster Gate where we could have a flutter if we wanted to ; we might have a look in there if you like. Anyhow you may as well come up ! ”

Lingard nodded. “ All right,” he said, “ I’ll put in for leave with you to-morrow. But about this place, what did Snipey say ? ”

Heming lit another cigarette. “ Oh, he said it was top-hole,” he answered. “ Private house, servants in livery, lashings of fizz and pegs, and Snipey said there was some devilish smart women there. Some chap he met in town introduced him, and the woman who runs the show — it’s run by a woman — told him to send any of his brother officers, and they could get in by showing Snipey’s card. I think it will be rather a lark. That’s all right, then. Well I’m off to dress for mess. So long ! ” and he left the room whistling.

On the afternoon of the next day two officers of the 31st Hussars were in the ante-room, discussing afternoon tea and the hundred pieces of small gossip which go to make the inner life of a regiment. One of them was Carstairs, Lingard’s captain, and the other a close friend of his — one Anstruther — recently promoted to the command of a squadron.

“ I see Lingard’s off to town again with Heming,” said Anstruther. “ He seems to be rather going it generally. Between you and I and the table, old chap, I fancy there’s going to be an almighty smash in that quarter and before very long.”

Carstairs raised his eyebrows. “ Think so ? ” he queried. “ Why ? ”

Anstruther leaned forward. " For lots of reasons,”

he said. “ First place, I know something about Lingard’s private affairs. His people used to live close to mine in Hampshire, you know, before the old man died. You know the way Master Jim has been living ever since he came to us. Well, the old General, his father, was an awful rum bird, with a passion for litigation. He dropped no end of cash over it, and though the boy got all he had when he went out, I don’t think it was a lot — not enough, anyhow, for him to live on as he has been living. The General died when Sikes was about fifteen, and when he wasn’t at school the boy lived with his uncle. He’s a retired Colonel of Sappers, and as mad as a March hare on religion. Has family prayers about seven times a day, and all that sort of thing, don’t you know. I fancy Sikes had a pretty rotten time of it until he came to us. Do you know anything about his affairs ? ”

Carstairs shook his head. “No,” he said, “ Sikes isn’t an expansive person. I knew of course that he’s been living pretty freely, but I thought it was all right. He’s been keeping rather to himself lately, but I fancy he’s been running some girl in town, and things haven’t been going quite as smoothly as they might. He’s one of those funny devils that sometimes take that sort of thing seriously, but he never says a word. Anyhow, I hope things will go all right with him. He’s not half a bad chap.”

Anstruther nodded. “ No,” he said, “ but he’s a queer fish. As I say, his father was a funny bird, and his mother was French. That may account for him getting in tow with a girl, and taking it seriously. The French are rather given that way, you know. Anyhow it’s not our business. I say, I wanted you to i6 come and have a look at a new gee Eve got,” and the two proceeded to talk horse of the most pungent and abstruse variety.

That evening, Lingard and Heming, after dining sumptuously, had spent another couple of hours at the Empire. They had exchanged excessively fullflavoured jests with the houris of the promenade, and at the end of the performance had with difficulty shaken off two ladies of foreign extraction and easy manners, who had wished to entertain them at their respective flats. The two subalterns hailed a taxi in Leicester Square, and Heming, giving the order “ Lancaster Gate,” threw himself back on the seat and turned to his companion. “ Devilish good job you can jabber French as you do, Sikes,” he remarked. “ If you hadn’t been able to, we’d never have got rid of those two. Where did you learn it ? I never could ! ”

Lingard smiled. “ Oh, my mother was French, he said, “ and I learned to talk it before I did English, I think. It’s useful sometimes. If you can’t talk a language you get rooked so damnably when you get abroad. I say, though, here we are at Lancaster Gate, and the chap wants to know where to stop. Where’s this place ? ”

Heming opened the door. " Just here,” he said. " Let’s pay the chauffeur and let him go. This way, come on.”

They turned into one of the streets running off Lancaster Gate, halted before a house some hundred yards up the street and ascended the steps. Heming rang, and almost immediately the door was opened by a servant in a quiet livery. Heming took the lead.

* Mrs. — er — er ? ” he inquired.

The man bowed. “ Yes, sir,” he answered, “ what name shall I say, sir ? ”

“ Mr. Lingard and Mr. Heming,” returned the other, and the servant, bowing again, showed them into a small room opening off the hall, and disappeared.

In about five minutes the door opened, and a tall, dark woman of extremely ripe charms entered. “ Mr. — er — Heming,” she inquired. “ I don’t think I have had the pleasure ? ”

Heming bowed. “ No, I think not,” he answered smoothly, “ but Captain Bowen asked us to call, and so ”

The woman smiled. “ Oh,” she said, “ of course. Only too delighted to see any friends of Captain Bowen’s. Won’t you come upstairs, and have some supper or somethin’ to drink ? We’ve got some people in, and after supper perhaps we might have a hand of bridge — what ? Anyhow, do come upstairs. So glad you came ! ”

As they followed their hostess upstairs Heming whispered to Lingard behind his hand " Oh, my fat Aunt Maria ! Bridge ! — here ! Chemin de fer more likely. Anyhow, we’ll see.”

They entered a long room, one corner of which was arranged like a buffet, with bottles of various wines and spirits, salads and cold meats set out on it. From another room, of which the door stood half ajar, came a regular hum of conversation, then dead silence, broken by a click and whir, and then again the sound of voices.

Heming nudged his companion. “ Bridge,” he murmured, “ a new sort, played with a wheel and ball — what a time we’re going to have, Sikes ! ”

The woman put her hand on his arm. “ Now you i8 boys want a peg, I expect,” she said. “ Just help yourselves and have something to eat, and then if you’ll come into the — er — card-room I’ll see if I can’t get you partners for a rubber. You’ll excuse me, won’t you ? I must look after my other guests, you know ! ” and she rustled through the door into the “ card-room.”

The two subalterns looked at each other. Then Heming remarked, “ Well, there don’t seem to be any waiters here — Liberty Hall — what ? Let’s help ourselves. First of all, what is there to drink — fizz, whisky, hock ! I say, Sikes, let’s split a bottle of bubbly. Here we are ! Two tumblers ! I always think fizz tastes best out of tumblers. Well, here’s chin-chin, old man ! ”

The two drank deeply, and Lingard emitted a pleased sigh. “ I wanted that,” he remarked. “ Damned good fizz it is, too. I say, Toad, do you think that the profits of the house pay for this sort of thing ? Because if they do, you know it doesn’t look as if the — er — visitors took much away ! ”

Heming took another drink and lit a cigarette. " Don’t know,” he answered. “ Anyhow, as you say, it’s damn good liquor, and somebody must win, or else they wouldn’t get people to come here. Hullo ! Here’s our hostess ! ”

The woman who had received them had entered the room again, and approached the table, smiling.

“ Well,” she said, “ have you two boys had a peg and something to eat ? That’s right. Now if you’ll come with me into the drawing-room I’ll see if I can’t find some girls for you to talk to, and if you care for

a little game This way ! ” She led the way into

the next room and the two subalterns followed her.

The room was a large one, and down the centre of it ran a long table, around which were seated and standing quite thirty people, both men and women. All were in full evening dress, and were so occupied with what was going on that they hardly spared a glance for the new-comers. The table was covered with a cloth painted with numbered squares, and at the head of the table was a wheel presided over by a man with a short, pointed beard.

Their hostess turned to her companions. “ Roulette/* she remarked. “ We sometimes have a game when we have a few friends in. You see we play Zero, and double Zero. Also we sometimes play an ‘ eagle.* That means an extra chance in favour of the bank, of course, but if you do happen to put your money on it and it turns up, well, then, you get seventy times your stake, which is very comforting, isn’t it ? Now I must really leave you. I have no end to do. Amuse yourselves just as you like; play if you like or look on. Have what you like to eat and drink. If you should care about playing, remember a sovereign is the lowest stake we ever use. Au revoir ! ”

The room was thick with smoke. Lingard lit a cigarette, and offered one to his companion. “Going to have a flutter ? *’ he asked.

Heming shrugged his shoulders.

“ Don’t know,” he said, “ are you ? ”

“ Yes. Might as well.”

" Right you are.”

They went towards the table and waited for several turns of the wheel, then Heming said to Lingard, “ Well, what are you going on, Sikes ? ”

Lingard looked at the table.

“ Well,” he said, " she said something about an eagle and seventy times your stake that sounded interesting. I think I’ll take a turn on the gay eagle bird for a start/’

He produced a sovereign and placed it on the square painted with the figure of an eagle. The man who held the bank said in a loud voice : “ Game made ? Nothing more goes,” and the wheel started. As it slowed down the pea went bumping and rattling round the numbered compartments, and finally came to rest in one of them.

Heming smote his companion violently in the ribs with his elbow.

'* You lucky devil,” he said. “ Pulled it off first time ! Seventy quid ! Try again ! ”

A man seated at the table pushed back his chair and offered it to Lingard with a slight bow.

“You seem to be in luck to-night, sir,” he remarked. “ Personally, I am quite the other way ! Have had about all I want to-night, as a matter of fact. Will you take my chair ? ”

Lingard thanked him, seated himself, and then settled down to serious play. Heming stood at the table for a little and then wandered off, finally getting into conversation with a girl in a secluded corner of the room.

Lingard played for some time with varying luck, and then the chance of the game began to set against him finally. Whatever he backed, passe or manque , pair or impair , red or black, it was always the opposite that turned up. At the end of an hour and a half’s play he rose from the table having lost the £70 he had won, and also about £14, all the ready money he had on him.

His throat was hot and dry, and he went into the next room for a whisky-and-soda, which he drank greedily.

As he put the tumbler down, some one tapped him on the arm, and turning round he saw his hostess)

“ Finished already ? ” she asked, with a smile.

Lingard laughed somewhat awkwardly. “ Yes,” he said. “Fact is, I came out without much money, and Fve dropped that. But I’ve had a delightful evening, thanks.”

The woman lowered her voice.

“You know,” she said, “ if you care to go on, we — I — could change a cheque for you. Any friend of Captain Bowen’s — or, for that matter, any officer of the 31st ? ”

Jim reddened a little.

“ It’s very good of you,” he replied. “ I should like to go on, and if it’s not too much trouble I should be very much obliged. How much shall I make it out for ? ”

The woman looked at him keenly. “ Well,” she said, “ that all depends, you know. How much do you want ? And do you want it to play with or not ? Look here, if you want to go on playing, why not do it with counters ? I give you the counters — blue are worth £5, red £ 1 — and you give me your cheque. Then, when you’ve had enough of play, just bring your counters back here, and I’ll give you your cheque back, and buy any others you have over and above for cash. Does that suit you ? ”

Jim nodded. “ Perfectly, thanks,” he replied, “but unfortunately I haven’t got a cheque-book with me — it’s a nuisance ! ”

The woman opened a desk. “ Don’t let that worry ydu,” she remarked. “ Let’s see, 31st Hussars — oh, yes, your agents are Cox’s. Well, I happen to have an account there, and can let you have a cheque if you like. Now, how much do you want ? Better take £100 worth.”

Lingard filled in the cheque as requested, and then, with a few polite words of thanks, re-entered the gambling room and seated himself at the table.

Three hours afterwards he rose from the table. His head was aching badly, and he had a vile taste in his mouth. He went to the buffet in the next room and mixed himself a final peg. His brain was clogged with drink and the fumes of tobacco, and was not working clearly, but one thought seemed to take possession of it to the utter exclusion of everything else : £500 out ! What a triple fool he had been. Why the devil had he ever been fool enough to change those cheques ? Well, this was the dead finish. After he had sold his effects and paid his most pressing debts, that would hardly leave him a hundred or so in hand. He drained the glass and turned slowly from the table. As he left the room his hostess stopped him.

“ I’m afraid you’ve had a bad evening,” she remarked. “ Never mind, you know the luck is bound to change. Come again some night, and really I’ll be only too glad if you can make up to-night’s losses. I think your friend’s waiting for you downstairs. Well, good night — or rather good morning — and, I hope, au revoir ! ”

Jim descended the stairs. In the hall he found Heming waiting for him. The latter was in fairly good spirits. “Hello!” he remarked, “you have been making a night of it, Sikes ! What luck— break the bank ? ”

Lingard laughed a little grimly. “ No,” he answered, “ I didn’t. Au contraire, as the Frenchman remarked on the Channel boat when asked if he had had lunch. Well — we’d better get down to Charing Cross. Our leave’s up at ten, and it’s nearly six now.”

The two walked across the park. It was a perfect morning in early summer, and Hyde Park looked at its best, with the curiously countrified air which it sometimes assumes in the early morning. Beyond the liver brigade in the Row, the park was almost deserted ; and, as the two left the path and struck off across the grass under the trees, they might have been miles deep in the country for any suggestion of town life around them. The morning wind was rustling the branches, and the birds were conducting their breakfast quarrels, but to Lingard both birds and breeze simply formed an accompaniment to the words which were still obsessing his brain : “ £500 out ! £500 out ! ”

Half-way across the park he roused himself, and became aware, for the first time, that his companion was speaking to him. “ I say, Sikes,” he was saying, “ do wake up. I’ve been gassin’ for the last ten minutes and you haven’t said a word. Had a good time ? ”

“ Very,” responded the other shortly.

" Lose much ? ”

“ Fairish lot.”

Heming looked hard at his friend. “ You know, Sikes,” he said gruffly, “ it was 1 brought you to this show, and if — well, if — you’re in any hole, you’ve only got to come to me, you know ! ”

Lingard smiled. “Thanks, old man,” he said; “ you’re a damned good sort — always were, but it’s no use. Eve got to take my medicine. Anyhow, it was bound to come before very long, and as well now as in six months ! And now, if you don’t mind, I want to think things out a bit.”

They walked together past the Palace, and down Birdcage Walk without a word being exchanged, and then Lingard shook himself.

Heming looked at him. “ Well ? ” he queried.

“ Well ? ” answered the other. “ I’m afraid it’s not well, but it’s about all I can do. As soon as we get to Shorncliffe, in go my papers. After that, the Lord knows! No good crossin’ bridges till you come to them. Here we are at Charing Cross. Feel like a cup of coffee ? You’ll have to pay, old man. I’m broke.”

Chapter II

I T was nearly six months from the day that Jim Lingard had sent in his papers and left the Service. He was seated on a bench in that little garden in Paris which nestles between the railings of the Avenue de La Motte-Picquet, and the old grey wall of the Invalides. He was still well and carefully dressed, but a close observer would have noticed that his collar was frayed at the edges, that his boots were worn, and also that there was a drawn look at the corners of the mouth.

Lingard had found on leaving the Service that his position was very much as he had calculated that summer morning in Hyde Park. After he had settled the most pressing of his debts and disposed of his couple of polo ponies and effects, he had found himself in possession of about £150. On leaving the regiment he had established himself in a small, private hotel in the West End, and after a sojourn there of a fortnight, with some hazy notion of economy, had removed to a boarding-house in Princes Square, Bayswater. This latter had been a species of purgatory. Jim had never stinted himself, and the cheap, pretentious food, and the equally pretentious stodginess of Bayswater had got on his nerves. His fellow 25 boarders had for the most part been quick to discover that he was of a different social grade from them, and resented it, a state of things which was by no means improved by the open contempt with which he had seen fit to treat the unwritten laws of boarding-house society. There is no more narrow-minded precisian, within certain limits, than the British officer, and at this period of his career the world, to Jim Lingard, was divided into two classes — those who were in the Service or had relatives in it, and those who hadn’t. The first were to be treated as equals, not effusively — that was Anathema Maranatha, the Unclean Thing — but still to be treated as human beings and the others simply did not exist in his scheme of things as they ought to be.

He had had a violent quarrel with his uncle, Colonel Lingard, when he announced the fact that he had sent in his papers, and had been forbidden the gloomy old house in South Kensington. Jim had few acquaintances in London, and since he had left the Service had not troubled about them. Then the awful loneliness of London had taken hold of him and he would spend days in the boarding-house speaking to no one. These fits of seclusion were invariably followed by a wild plunge in the other direction, a plunge which took the form of visits to night clubs and West End musichalls.

Lingard was no more inherently vicious than any other man of his type and training, but to the publicschool and Service man many things are quite natural, and done quite openly, which, to the middle-class business man, are “vice,” and only to be indulged in in the strictest secrecy. The women at the Bayswater boarding-house, passee widows for the most part, bored him exceedingly, and he found his feminine society in the Empire promenade, or in the lounge of certain West End hotels. Then for no very special reason a disgust of London had seized on him, and he had packed up and gone to Paris.

He had been there about three months now, and his funds were getting woefully low. As he sat on the bench in the Square des Invalides he put his hand into his pocket, took out his purse and counted the contents. There were five crumpled notes for 100 francs each, and three or four gold pieces — altogether considerably less than £25 English. Jim Lingard used an extremely bad word under his breath. How the devil was he going to manage when that was finished ? The future stood up before him as hard and grey and unpromising as the stone wall facing him. Business training he had none, and, if he had, what chance had a stranded and penniless Englishman in Paris ? Lingard had been long enough in Paris to know the hardness that lies underneath the glitter and tinsel of the “ City of Light.” He replaced his purse in his pocket, and swore again, but this time the oath tailed off into a sigh.

It was now five o’clock, and Lingard awoke to the fact that he was extremely hungry. For the past week he had gone without his midday meal from motives of economy, making his morning " cafe complet ” take the place of breakfast and lunch, and having an early dinner at one or another small restaurant, of which there are so many in Paris. He had taken up his quarters at a small hotel in the Avenue Bosquet close to the Ecole militaire — the great military quarter in Paris — and used to spend many hours hanging about outside the barracks of the two regiments of Cuirassiers stationed there, instituting mental comparisons between the French and English cavalryman — to the detriment of the former.

Lingard left the little garden and turned up the Avenue de La Motte-Picquet. At the top he hesitated for a moment, then turned into a cafe, and seated himself at a table outside. When the gargon appeared, Lingard ordered an absinthe, lit a rank French cigarette, and then tried to forget his thoughts in one of those boulevard papers which purvey the news of the day before yesterday under to-morrow’s date. The effort was not a success, and after a few minutes he placed the paper on the table, and stared gloomily in front of him, thinking. £25 in the world ! — that was the burden of his thoughts. Jim Lingard since he had left the Service had — as many a better man has — found out the bitter truth that a man without money is an excrescence on the face of our modern social system.