The Hunt Ball Mystery | Page 2

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."
"Any relation to Gervase Henshaw?" Gifford asked.
"He is my brother. You know him?"
"Only by reputation at my profession, the Bar. And I came across a book of his the other day."
"Ah, yes. Gervase scribbles when he has time. He is by way of being an authority on criminology."
"And is, I should say," Gifford added civilly.
"Yes; he is a smart fellow. Has the brains of the family. I'm all for sport and the open-air life."
"And yet," thought Gifford, glancing at the dark, rather intriguing face opposite to him, "you don't look a sportsman. More