THE

SOUTHERN MAGAZINE

JANUARY, 1875.

THE ODD TRUMP.

BOOK III.- THE BANK'S GAME.

CHAPTER XXX.

THE SOUTH TERRACE.
HE gentlemen resumed their seats after the departure of the

a

those of them who had merely risen as the ladies retired. Clinton and Wailes were both meditating an escape to the drawing-room, and the former eagerly inquired of Wailes as to the proper mode of retreat.

“You know, Wailes,” he said, “neither of us wants any wine, but I am not certain about the proprieties. Would it do for a fellow just to slip out without apology?”

“But there are two fellows who would like to slip. Suppose you wait here, and I will go ask Mother about it.” “And how soon will you bring her reply, you old deceiver? No,

I shall go and ask Miss Sybil. Would you mind saying, if they ask for me, that I have a splitting headache, or something of the sort?

“Yes; I think I must decline. But you may go; they are all talking about that Dorado Mine, and will not miss you. I shall privately ask Mr. Grippe to let me follow you. Now is your opportunity — away with you!”

As Clinton promptly obeyed, Aitting through the door like a ghost,

sir;

Trumpley slipped into the vacant seat next the banker. At the same moment James approached with a note for his master. As he tore open the envelope, Wailes saw that it was a telegram. Mr. Grippe read it twice, and bidding James order the carriage, arose from the table.

“Squire,” he said, "please take my seat and maintain order until I return. Gentlemen, you will excuse me a few minutes ; I have just received a telegram that requires immediate attention. Squire, you are lord of Halidon in my absence ; see that your guests lack nothing. Mr. Wailes, please lend me your arm." And supported by the stalwart youth, Mr. Grippe hobbled out — not through the door that led to the drawing-room, alas! but by a side-passage into the library.

A light suspended from the ceiling lighted the spacious apartment, aided somewhat by the moonlight streaming in at the bay-window. Mr. Grippe fell into his arm-chair, and reposing his lame leg upon the stool that stood within reach, began to strangle in a paroxysm of asthma. Trump stood by not knowing what to do, and wondering if the old gentleman would live through the spasm.

“Shall I ring, sir ?" said he at last.

Mr. Grippe nodded his head; he was past speaking apparently. James appeared in a minute.

"James,” gasped the banker, "put a shawl and rug in the carriage. When it is ready, come tell me. Get a lot of cigars from Dipperly a dozen at least. Bring them at once.”

When the cigars came Mr. Grippe pushed the salver over to Wailes.

"Light one, please," he said, “and put the rest in your pocket. Here is a match. Now let me light a cigarette. You must smoke to drown the odor of my stramonium.”

While they blew two rival clouds, Mr. Grippe meditated profoundly, glancing at Wailes with sharp eyes now and again, as if to assure himself that he was doing his share of the smoking.

"Have you any money?" he asked, suddenly. “Yes, sir

a pound or two." “It is very rude in me, Mr. Wailes," said Grippe, "to take you away from the table ; you got no Maison Rouge either.”

“Yes I did, sir; I drank the ladies' health. The wine is incomparable. But I was just going to ask you to let me slip out to the ladies, when you received your telegram. I hope it is nothing serious?"

“Very serious.”
"Indeed! Can I be of any service ?"

"Read it and judge for yourself,” said Mr. Grippe, handing the despatch. Trump unfolded it, and read :

" From Harding, London, to Anthony Grippe, Esq., Gloucester. B and Z are the men beyond a doubt. If you are in, get out."

“Do you know what it means? " said the banker. “No, sir. Who is Harding?"

?' “A detective. Have you any idea who B and Z are?"

Wailes paused, while a multitude of thoughts rushed through his mind. Mr. Grippe watched him, his eyes twinkling.