Alone in his own room he opened Anthony Royce's letter, a letter written, no doubt, when there was no thought in the writer's mind of the fate that awaited him.
"My dear Mostyn," so he read, "You have bound yourself to-day to win a Derby in five years. I suggested ten—but that is immaterial. Well, I have my own reasons for wishing to help you to do so. I am going out of town to-night, but I shall return to-morrow; come and see me the day after, and we will discuss ways and means. I have not the smallest doubt that when your father learns of your escapade to-day he will turn you out—cut you adrift—but if he does not do so, my offer may still be acceptable to you.
"You have the true instincts of the sportsman in you, I have seen that for myself. Besides, you are your mother's son and I took to you instinctively from the first. That is why I feel justified in helping you to a sporting career. I don't know what we may decide between ourselves, but since I am a man who takes no chances, I have this evening added a codicil to my will, and what I shall propose to you will be much upon the same lines."
Here followed a recapitulation of the codicil. "You will see from this," the letter continued, "that I have no intention of making things too easy for you. It is a hard task for any man—even with unlimited capital—to pull off one of these races in a year. But if you succeed, well—you will earn a big fortune, and you may be able to manage the Derby within the stipulated time. In any case it gives you a sporting chance.
"You will ask why I do this, and if it is only out of regard for yourself and for your mother's memory. It is not only that, Mostyn. I will confess that it is by way of revenge upon your father, whom I have good cause for hating. You will understand this when I tell you that he lied about me to the girl to whom I was engaged—your mother; that he took advantage of my absence from England to spread a calumny which he, better than anyone else, knew to be absolutely false. I returned to England to find my good name injured and the woman I loved the bride of the very man who had wrought me this wrong. I could do nothing at the time, there were reasons which made me helpless—I was driven from England, and became a naturalised American.
"But my hatred endured, and, through you, I may obtain the kind of revenge that is dear to my heart—no very bitter revenge perhaps, but one that appeals to my sense of humour. Narrow-minded Pharisee as is your father, nothing will gall him more than that a son of his should become known in the world of sport—and if you accept my offer you will have to steep yourself in racing. However, we will talk this over when we meet—it is not very likely that you will be bound by the terms of a will drawn up by a man in rude health like myself. I hope to live to see you win your Derby, my boy—and for many years after that. But, as a safeguard to yourself, it is just as well that the will is there."
A few words of friendship followed, and the letter closed with Anthony Royce's bold signature. Mostyn, having read it through several times, threw himself back in his armchair and gave himself up to reflection.
He realised that the plot was aimed against his father. He remembered how Royce's sides had shaken with silent laughter—the American was just the sort of man to devise so subtle a revenge. Had Royce been still alive—had John Clithero been kinder—Mostyn might have hesitated before accepting, but now he had no compunction.
"Anthony Royce loved my mother," he muttered to himself, "and she—my father killed her by his cruelty. Yes, I'll steep myself in racing—I'll do all that is desired of me. I'll keep my word to Rada, too, and win the Derby. She won't scoff at me again. Ah, Miss Rada, it will be my turn to laugh!"
Suddenly he sprang to his feet and clapped his hands boyishly together. "Castor!" he cried. "Captain Armitage's colt! The very thing—entered for the Derby and all! Rada thinks a lot of the horse—I heard her say so. So does Sir Roderick. And the captain wants to sell—fifteen hundred pounds—what's fifteen hundred pounds to me now?"