“Yes, fellows drive down there, dine, and play chemin de fer. On these occasions I’m afraid Ronnie tells you that he’s on guard, or dining at some mess. He is not our old Ronnie; no, he has come under some bad influence this last year. Don’t you notice how he has changed and aged, and that he’s not half as cheery as he used to be? He has become so terribly restless, and seems always in a condition of feverish excitement. I believe he and that chap Fox, of the Tea-Green Lancers, who has loads of coin, cable home and back horses, and lately I fancy they have both been rather badly hit.”
“This is terrible!” I gasped at last. “I knew that Ronnie was short of money lately, and he certainly does not look himself; but I never dreamt of what you have just told me.”
“It’s partly the fault of Fox,” he replied, “who eggs him on and has a bottomless purse. I think there is a sort of rivalry between them. Ronnie has always been so popular, with his polo and rackets, quite a celebrity in his way, and inclined to be a bit extravagant. Then he went home last year and, apparently, got hold of a good sum of money. Well, I’m afraid from all I hear that he has come to the end of that now. The colonel has had hints of his debts and I am told is rather uneasy in his mind, and if something, or someone, does not interfere, Ronnie will find himself in hot water. I believe he has borrowed money from that fellow Balthasar.”
I felt so shaken that I could not speak—only stare at my companion with what, no doubt, was a face of horror.
“Always remember you can rely on me, Miss Lingard,” continued Roger. “Whatever happens I will stick by him—and here he is now,” as Ronnie cantered up behind us with his pony in a lather.
“You look as if you’d come far and fast,” said Roger, with a quick change of manner.
“Yes, I’ve just been down to Chudderghat,” he answered, “something to do with the next gymkhana on the Futeh Maidan.”
I felt positively certain that this was an untruth. Ronnie had been down to interview Balthasar. As I rode towards home I made no attempt to join in the conversation. My mind was in a tumult. What was I to say to Ronnie? How could I economise and help him? I would send away the dirzee and one of the table servants. I had nearly a thousand rupees with Bunsi Lal the banker. I must speak to Ronnie about his affairs without delay, and was screwing up my courage to the sticking-point—as Ronnie was always so irritable whenever I mentioned money. But as it happened I need not have troubled myself, for as soon as Roger Arkwright had cantered off towards his own quarters Ronnie turned and attacked me.
“I know what’s coming!” and his face was livid; “you and that fellow Arkwright have been laying your heads together about me.”
“Do you mind if we did?” I rejoined courageously—but my voice was shaking.