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Updated: June 24, 2025
Something told her why Lablache and her uncle were discussing her future. "Why, of course she is," said Lablache, "and when that happy event is accomplished I hope it will not be with any improvident harum-scarum man like like " "The Hon. Bunning-Ford I suppose you would say, eh?" There was a somewhat sharp tone in the old man's voice which Jacky was not slow to detect.
"Not half bad. Seven thousand dollars for two thousand dollars, and every cent of it realizable." He shook with inward mirth. "The Hon. William Bunning-Ford will now have to disgorge every stick of his estate. Good, good!" Then he relapsed into deep thought. Presently he roused himself from his reverie and prepared for bed. "But I'll give him a chance.
Now he removed the scarf from his neck and proceeded to wipe the yellow grease from his face and neck. Lablache, with dismay in his heart, saw the white skin which had been concealed beneath the paint. The truth flashed upon him instantly. And before Bill had had time to remove his wig his name had passed the money-lender's lips. "Bunning-Ford?" he gasped.
And in that expression was a world of moral fear. "Yes, Bunning-Ford, come to settle his last reckoning with you." Bill eyed the murderer steadily and Lablache felt his last grip on his courage relax. A terrible fear crept upon him as his courage ebbed. Slowly Bill turned his eyes in the direction of the still kneeling Jacky.
Bunning-Ford refused to commit himself. He contented himself with blowing the ash from his cigarette and crossing over to the window, where he stood looking out. He had come there that afternoon with a half-formed intention of telling this girl something which every girl must hope to hear sooner or later in her life.
"It's getting late, Margaret," he said, pausing before her. "I am told it is rather gusty outside. The weather prophets think we may have a blizzard on us before morning." "I shouldn't be at all surprised," put in the Hon. Bunning-Ford. "The sun-dogs have been showing for the last two days. I'll see what Jacky says, and then hunt out old John."
He moved to Lablache's right. The money-lender was dealing. "Lord" Bill lit a cigarette. The cards were dealt round. Then the draw. Then Lablache laid the pack down. Bunning-Ford had noted these things mechanically. Then something caught his attention. It was his very indifference which caused his sudden attention.
He drummed thoughtfully with his finger-tips upon the arms of his chair. No, why should he give her up? Something of his old nerve was returning. He held all the cards. He knew he could, by foreclosing, ruin "Poker" John. Why should he give the girl up, and see her calmly secured by that cursed Bunning-Ford?
Bunning-Ford looked across at the clock the hands pointed to half-past one. He was silent for a minute. Then he said, "I'll be with you at four if if you'll tell me all about " "Peter Retief yes, I'll tell you as we go, Bill. What are you going to do until then?" "I'm going down to the saloon to meet 'Pickles, your pet aversion, Pedro Mancha, and we're going to find a fourth." "Ah, poker?"
For answer, Bunning-Ford stepped to the French window and closed it, having first glanced up and down the veranda to see that it was empty. Not a soul was in sight. The tall pines, which lined the approach to the house, waved silently in the light breeze. The clear sky was gloriously blue. On everything was the peace of summer. The man swung round and came towards the girl.
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