“It would kill Mrs. Gladwyne,” Nasmyth declared.
There was silence for a while, and then Lisle spoke again.
“I’m badly worried; any move of mine would lead to endless trouble—and yet there’s the black blot on the memory of the man to whom I owe so much; I can’t bring myself to let it remain. Besides all this, there’s another complication.”
“Young Crestwick’s somehow connected with it,” Nasmyth guessed.
Lisle did not deny it.
“That crack-brained lad seems to be the pivot on which the whole thing turns. Curious, isn’t it? I wish the responsibility hadn’t been laid on my shoulders. Just now I can’t tell what I ought to do—it’s harassing.”
“Don’t force things; wait for developments,” Nasmyth advised him. “I’m not trying to extract information; the only reason I mentioned the subject is that a man in the home counties has asked me to come up for a few weeks and bring you along. He’s a good sort, there’s fair sport, and it’s a nice place; but I don’t mind in the least whether I go or not.”
“Then I’d rather stay. I’ve a feeling that I may be wanted here.”
“I’m quite satisfied, for a reason I’ll explain. You have ridden that young bay horse of mine. He comes of good stock and he’s showing signs of an excellent pace over the hurdles. Now I couldn’t expect to enter him for any first-rate event—he’s hardly fast enough and it’s too expensive in various ways—but there’s a little semi-private meeting to be held before long at a place about thirty miles off. I might have a chance there if we put him into training immediately. You know something about horses?”
“Not much,” responded Lisle. “I’ve made one long journey in the saddle in Alberta; but you’ve seen our British Columbian trails. Our cayuses have generally to climb, and as a rule I’ve used horses only for packing. Still, I’m fond of them; I’d be interested in the thing.”