Red Money

Red Money

The Project Gutenberg EBook of Red Money, by Fergus Hume This
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Title: Red Money
Author: Fergus Hume
Release Date: March 14, 2005 [EBook #15356]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
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RED MONEY
BY FERGUS HUME
Author of "The Mystery of a Hansom Cab," "The Solitary Farm," "The
Peacock of Jewels," "The Red Window," "The Steel Crown," etc.
1911

CONTENTS

CHAPTER
I. THE DRAMA OF LITTLE THINGS
II. IN THE WOOD
III. AN UNEXPECTED RECOGNITION
IV. SECRETS
V. THE WOMAN AND THE MAN
VI. THE MAN AND THE WOMAN
VII. THE SECRETARY
VIII. AT MIDNIGHT
IX. AFTERWARDS
X. A DIFFICULT POSITION
XI. BLACKMAIL
XII. THE CONSPIRACY
XIII. A FRIEND IN NEED
XIV. MISS GREEBY, DETECTIVE
XV. GUESSWORK
XVI. THE LAST STRAW
XVII. ON THE TRAIL
XVIII. AN AMAZING ACCUSATION

XIX. MOTHER COCKLESHELL
XX. THE DESTINED END
XXI. A FINAL SURPRISE

RED MONEY


CHAPTER I.
THE DRAMA OF LITTLE THINGS.
"Gypsies! How very delightful! I really must have my fortune told. The
dear things know all about the future."
As Mrs. Belgrove spoke she peered through her lorgnette to see if
anyone at the breakfast-table was smiling. The scrutiny was necessary,
since she was the oldest person present, and there did not appear to be
any future for her, save that very certain one connected with a funeral.
But a society lady of sixty, made up to look like one of forty (her maid
could do no more), with an excellent digestion and a constant desire,
like the Athenians of old, for "Something New!" can scarcely be
expected to dwell upon such a disagreeable subject as death.
Nevertheless, Mrs. Belgrove could not disguise from herself that her
demise could not be postponed for many more years, and examined the
faces of the other guests to see if they thought so too. If anyone did, he
and she politely suppressed a doubtful look and applauded the
suggestion of a fortune-telling expedition.
"Let us make up a party and go," said the hostess, only too thankful to
find something to amuse the house-party for a few hours. "Where did
you say the gypsies were, Garvington?"
"In the Abbot's Wood," replied her husband, a fat, small round-faced
man, who was methodically devouring a large breakfast.

"That's only three miles away. We can drive or ride."
"Or motor, or bicycle, or use Shanks' mare," remarked Miss Greeby
rather vulgarly. Not that any one minded such a speech from her, as her
vulgarity was merely regarded as eccentricity, because she had money
and brains, an exceedingly long tongue, and a memory of other people's
failings to match.
Lord Garvington made no reply, as breakfast, in his opinion, was much
too serious a business to be interrupted. He reached for the marmalade,
and requested that a bowl of Devonshire cream should be passed along.
His wife, who was lean and anxious-looking even for an August
hostess, looked at him wrathfully. He never gave her any assistance in
entertaining their numerous guests, yet always insisted that the house
should be full for the shooting season. And being poor for a titled pair,
they could not afford to entertain even a shoeblack, much less a crowd
of hungry sportsmen and a horde of frivolous women, who required to
be amused expensively. It was really too bad of Garvington.
At this point the reflections of the hostess were interrupted by Miss
Greeby, who always had a great deal to say, and who always tried, as
an American would observe, "to run the circus." "I suppose you men
will go out shooting as usual?" she said in her sharp, clear voice.
The men present collectively declared that such was their intention, and
that they had come to "The Manor" for that especial purpose, so it was
useless to ask them, or any one of them, to go on a fortune-telling
expedition when they could find anything of that sort in Bond Street.
"And it's all a lot of rot, anyhow," declared one sporting youth with
obviously more muscle and money than brains; "no one can tell my
fortune."
"I can, Billy. You will be Prime Minister," flashed out Miss Greeby, at
which there was a general laugh. Then Garvington threw a bombshell.
"You'd better get your fortunes told to-day, if you want to," he grunted,
wiping his mustache; "for to-morrow I'm going to have these rotters
moved off my land