The Hunt Ball Mystery | Page 2

is before you go for him, Harry,"
Gifford said deprecatingly as he followed. He knew his masterful
friend's quick temper, and anticipated a row.
"If you don't mind, this is my fly, sir," Kelson was saying as Gifford
reached him.
"The porter told me it was the Golden Lion conveyance," a strong,
deeply modulated voice replied from the fly.
"And I think he told you it was engaged," Kelson rejoined bluffly.
"I did not quite understand that," the voice of the occupant replied in an
even tone. "I am sorry if there has been any misunderstanding; but as I
am going to the hotel--"
"That is no reason why you should take our fly," Kelson retorted, his
temper rising at the other's coolness. "I must ask you to vacate it at
once," he added with heat.

"How many of you are there?" The man leaned forward showing in the
doorway a handsome face, dark almost to swarthiness. "Only two?
Surely there is no need to turn me out. You don't want to play the dog
in the manger. There is room for all three, and I shall be happy to
contribute my share of the fare."
"I don't want anything of the sort--"
Kelson was beginning angrily when Gifford intervened pacifically.
"It is all right, Harry. We can squeeze in. The fellow seems more or
less a gentleman; don't let's be churlish," he added in an undertone.
"But it is infernal impudence," Kelson protested.
"Yes; but we don't want a row. It is not as though there was another
conveyance he could take."
"All right. I suppose we shall have to put up with the brute," Kelson
assented grudgingly. "But I hate being bounced like this."
Gifford took a step to the carriage-door. "I think we can all three pack
in," he said civilly.
"I'll take the front seat, if you like," the stranger said, without, however,
showing much inclination to move.
"Oh, no; stay where you are," Gifford answered. "I fancy I am the
smallest of the three; I shall be quite comfortable there. Come along,
Harry."
With no very amiable face Kelson got in and took the vacant seat by
the stranger. His attitude was not conducive to geniality, and so for a
while there was silence. At length as they turned from the station
approach on to the main road the stranger spoke. His deep-toned voice
had a musical ring in it, yet somehow to Gifford's way of thinking it
was detestable. Perhaps it was the speaker's rather aggressive and, to a
man, objectionable personality, which made it seem so.

"I am sorry to inconvenience you," he said, more with an air of saying
the right thing than from any real touch of regret. "On an occasion like
this they ought to provide more conveyances. But country towns are
hopeless."
"Oh, it is all right," Gifford responded politely. "The drive is not very
long."
"A mile?" The man's musical inflection jarred on Gifford, who began to
wonder whether their companion could be a professional singer. One of
their own class he certainly was not.
"I presume you gentlemen are going to the Hunt Ball?" he asked.
"Yes," Gifford answered.
"Rather a new departure having it in a private house," the man said.
"Quite a sound idea, I have no doubt Morriston will do us as
well--much better than we should fare at the local hotel or Assembly
Rooms."
"Are you going?" They were the first words Kelson had uttered since
the start, and the slight surprise in their tone was not quite
complimentary. It must have so struck the other, seeing that he replied
with a touch of resentment:
"Yes. Why not?"
"No reason at all," Kelson answered, except that I don't remember to
have seen you out with the Cumberbatch."
"I dare say not," the other rejoined easily. "It is some years since I
hunted with them. I'm living down in the south now, and when I'm at
home usually turn out with the Bavistock. Quite a decent little pack,
_faute de mieux_; and Bobby Amphlett, who hunts them, is a great pal
of mine."
"I see," Kelson observed guardedly. "Yes, I believe they are quite good

as far as they go."
The stranger gave a short laugh. "They, or rather a topping old dog-fox,
took us an eleven mile point the other day, which was good enough in
that country. Being in town I thought I would run down to this dance
for old acquaintance' sake. Dare say one will meet some old friends."
"No doubt," Kelson responded dryly.
"As you have been good enough to ask me to share your fly," the man
observed, with a rather aggressive touch of irony, "I may as well let
you know who I am. My name is Henshaw, Clement Henshaw."