“I feel better for that,” he said, “it clears my head. The other thing would have cleared my head too.”
“Oh, don’t!” I expostulated. “How can you?”
“Come on, then. Shall we sit in the veranda?”
I rather shrank from this suggestion, remembering my happy half-hour with Brian. That had been a love tale; now I was probably about to listen to a history containing the elements of life and death.
“No, let us go into the compound and walk up and down—it is a lovely warm night.”
“Day,” he corrected. “In another half-hour we shall see the dawn.”
We strolled to the gate in silence, and came to a full stop. Kip, who had accompanied us, much astonished at our proceedings, settled down on the tail of my dressing-gown and curled himself up for sleep.
“Well, Sis,” said Ronnie, drawing a long breath, “I’ll tell you everything now. You and I have always been such tremendous pals, that I suppose you think you know me, but you’ve only seen my best side. Even as a small boy I had a taste for gambling and betting—if the stake was only a few coppers or stamps. All the same, I did well at school and at Sandhurst, where, as you know, I passed out first, and got the sword. Before I was launched upon my own, Uncle Horace gave me a tremendous talking-to; told me our family history and warned me that the vice of gambling was in the Lingard blood. Cards were my father’s curse—betting is mine! Even in my teens I followed racing with the deepest interest, and could have passed a pretty stiff examination in ‘Ruff’s Guide to the Turf.’ The first few years I spent out here I was just as happy as a king. I was awfully keen and liked the Service; I’d heaps of friends, four hundred a year besides my pay, and I took to polo like a duck to water. At gymkhanas and small race meetings I was extraordinarily lucky, riding my own ponies and winning all before me. Racing people offered me mounts—you see I’m a light weight and can ride—so I got mixed up with the turf and was gradually sucked into the whirlpool. I backed horses at Lucknow and Calcutta, and on the whole did well. This regiment is not a racing one—they go in for cricket and polo—but I found a kindred spirit in Fox of the Tea-Green Lancers. He has tons of money, is mad keen about racing, and we used to go shares in cables and expenses—for we both backed horses at home. Once I pulled off a double event on the Lincolnshire and Grand National, and bought new ponies, gave champagne dinners at the club, and made a great splash. Well, I wasn’t long a winner, but had some truly awful facers.”
He paused for a moment and then continued:
“It was one of these facers that took me home last year. I’d been nibbling at my capital for some time, and, as I wanted to handle ready coin, I sold out a lot of stock. Naturally I made the most of my leave in England—at Ascot and Goodwood. Lately my luck has been dead out, and yet, like all gamblers, I have been fighting and striving like mad to get my own back, and have gone in up to my neck!”