Adrien Leroy | Page 3

"She's a beautiful creature, though, and I'd like to buy her."
"You can have her, my dear Stan, for a mere song," said Leroy
cordially.
"I'm afraid that's impossible," interposed Jasper with suavity. "She's
sold."
Adrien looked up in surprise.
"Sold! To whom?" he asked.
"To the knacker," was the calm reply. "Don't you remember, Adrien,
that she threw Fording and broke her leg over the last hurdle?"
Leroy's race resumed its usual air of bored indifference.
"Ah, yes, so you told me. My dear Stan, I'm awfully sorry! I had
completely forgotten." He looked round the table. "Any of you seen the
papers?" he inquired. "Last night was the first of the new comedy at the
Casket--how did it go?"
Frank Parselle laughed. "I was there," he admitted. "Ada played finely,
but they hissed once or twice."
"Lost on my horse and on my new play. That is bad luck!" exclaimed
Adrien, looking, however, very little disturbed by the news. "It must be
withdrawn."
"Certainly," agreed Vermont amiably. "Certainly."
"By Jove! what did you tell me the mounting cost?" asked Parselle,
addressing Vermont, but glancing significantly at the others.

"Three thousand pounds," answered Vermont glibly, while Adrien ate
his fish with the most consummate indifference.
"Three thousand for four nights, that's about it. The public ought to be
grateful to you," said Shelton with a tinge of sarcasm in his voice, as he
nodded across at Leroy.
Adrien laughed.
"Or I to them," he said cheerfully. "It's no light thing to sit through a
bad play. But how is that, Jasper? You said it would run."
"I?" protested Vermont, with a pleasant smile. "No, Adrien, not so
certainly as that. I said I thought the play well written, and that in my
opinion it ought to run well--a very different thing. Eh, Shelton?"
"Ah!" replied Shelton, who had been watching him keenly. "So you
were out in your reckoning for once. It is to be hoped you didn't make
the same mistake with the colt. I think you were also favourably
inclined to that, weren't you?"
"Yes," admitted Vermont, leaning back with an admirable air of
content. "I laid my usual little bet, and lost--of course."
"You should have hedged," said Shelton, who knew as a positive fact
that Vermont had done so.
"I have no judgement," Vermont responded deprecatingly. "I am a man
of no ideas, and I admit it. Now Adrien is all acuteness; without him I
should soon go astray. I am supposed to look after his interests; but, by
Jove! it is he who supplies the brains and I the hands. I am the
machine--a mere machine, and he turns the handle!" He laughed gently
at his own joke, and held up his glass for replenishment.
"A pretty division of labour," commented Shelton, with a faint sneer.
"Now we give you the credit for all the tact and business capacity."
"Ah, what a mistake!" replied Vermont, spreading out his fat hands

with a gesture of amusement. "Well, since you give me credit, I will
assume the virtue, though I have it not."
He changed the subject adroitly to one of general interest; and as the
wine came and disappeared with greater rapidity, the talk ran on with
more wit and laughter, Vermont always handling the ball of
conversation deftly, and giving it an additional fillip when it seemed to
slacken. Adrien Leroy spoke little; though when he did make a remark,
the rest listened with an evident desire to hear his opinion.
At length Vermont rose, with a lazy look round.
"Well, I must be off," he said smoothly. "Good-night, Adrien. I shall be
with you to-morrow at twelve."
Having bade the rest of the company a hasty adieu, he turned once
more to his host.
"Good-night, Shelton," he said smilingly. "Thanks for the excellent
dinner. Rome would not have perished had you lived with the last of
Cæsars."
"And Adrien Leroy would not go to the dogs so quickly, if you did not
show him the way," murmured Shelton inaudibly, as Vermont departed,
with the bland smile still hovering round his thin lips.

CHAPTER II
Outside the club door, Vermont's motor was drawn up at the side
waiting for him. He looked at his watch, and was surprised at the
lateness of the hour. Stepping hastily into the vehicle, he held up two
fingers to the chauffeur, who apparently needed no other instructions;
for the car glided off, and Vermont, as he passed the club, looked up at
the windows with an ugly smile.
As Lord Standon had said, few knew his origin or his business; but, in

reality, his antecedents were of a very ordinary nature. He was the son
of a solicitor who had lived with but one object in his sordid life,
namely,