that I'd care if they were. I'd be glad. Those two sneaking cowards
have bolted, leaving the rest of us to take what's coming, and it'll be
mighty unpleasant, unless----"
"Will they put you in prison, Jimmy?" said Mary.
"They may. I don't know, and I don't much care. It won't be for very
long, anyhow. What I mind is the infernal mess Uncle Evie will be in,
and your aunt, and the bishop, a thoroughly decent old boy that bishop,
and all the rest of them. They'll never be able to hold up their heads
again. What I mean to say is, it doesn't matter about a fellow like me.
But how can Uncle Evie go on being a leading statesman and all that?
How can the bishop go on preaching the way bishops do? How can your
aunt go on being a vicar's wife, if once it comes out that they've all
been deliberately defrauding the revenue on a large scale?"
"Do you mean to say that Aunt Agatha will have to give up being married
to Uncle Timothy?" said Beth. "She never will, whatever they say or do
to her."
"She'll have to," said Jimmy. "Either that or he'll have to resign the
parish, unless we can pull them out of the mess they're in."
"Then let's do it," said Beth. "I'm on for anything to save Aunt Agatha
and your old pet of an uncle whom I love. And the bishop. I've always
liked bishops, and this one seemed particularly nice. You'll help too,
Mary, won't you?"
"Of course I will. I may not be as keen on bishops as you are, Beth,
but there are very few things I wouldn't do for the sake of three dozen
pairs of silk stockings."
"The first question," said Jimmy, "is, can we persuade your uncle to
chip in and stand by us?"
"He'd do anything for Aunt Agatha," said Beth. "He's just as fond of
her as she is of him."
"I wonder would he do the sort of thing that some people might call
wrong?"
"Of course he would," said Mary. "Anybody would. All really nice and
exciting things are wrong, but everybody does them."
Beth was doubtful.
"Uncle Timothy," she said, "isn't like you, Mary, or like most other
people. He has a conscience, rather a queer kind of conscience, quite
different from Aunt Agatha's, though hers is pretty silly too. The way
it takes her is, making her do things, for the parish and all that;
whereas it works the other way round with Uncle Timothy, and won't let
him do anything hardly. Queer things consciences are, aren't they?"
"Glad I haven't got one," said Mary.
"Well," said Jimmy, "we'll try him. But I tell you plainly that if he
won't, we're in an ugly place. Whether he helps or not, we're in an
ugly place; but it'll be much uglier if he won't stand in with us. I'm
not going to ask him to do much; but I must be able to count on his not
giving us away. I think I'd better go up to the church and tackle him."
Chapter XVIII
While he was speaking Mrs. Eames came up the drive holding the vicar's
hand. She was trying to walk much more quickly than he wanted to,
and it looked as if she was dragging him after her, a prisoner, but
apparently not an unwilling one, for his face expressed a kind of
puzzled delight.
"Beth," she shouted, "you naughty girl! And you're just as bad, Lord
Colavon. Fancy your knowing all about it for days and days and never
saying a word to me, either of you."
"I've just been showing her our little discovery," said the vicar in a
tone of mild apology. "You remember, Beth, the passage from the church
to the cave."
"Aunt Agatha," said Beth, "I want to tell you----"
"You were a wicked girl not to tell me before," said Mrs. Eames. "It's
the most exciting thing that's ever happened in Hailey Compton. We'll
get down the Royal Society of Antiquaries--I suppose there is a Royal
Society of Antiquaries. If there isn't we'll get down the whole British
Association, all sorts of learned men from everywhere. You remember the
fuss that there was over that skull they dug up somewhere a few years
ago. That will be nothing to what this will be. Hailey Compton will be
famous all over the world. I always said you ought to do something for
the parish, Timothy, and you have at last."
"I'm so glad you're pleased," said the vicar with a wavering little
smile.
"Aunt Agatha----" said Beth again.
"Don't interrupt your uncle, Beth, when he's just going to tell us all
about his discovery."
"Mrs. Eames," said Lord Colavon, "I really must speak to the vicar for
a minute. It's about a serious business and dashed unpleasant."
Even Mrs. Eames was silenced for a moment by the gravity of his tone.
When he began to tell the story of the smuggling she grew excited and
indignant.
"So that's what James Hinton had in his mind all the time," she
said, "and he was only pretending to be interested in the pageant.
Guaranteeing fifty pounds! And all the time I thought---- He has----"
here she stamped her foot, "he has had the insolence to make a fool
of me, he and that nasty Linker, a man I always hated, though I did
deal at his shop. But I never will again, or with Hinton. I'll get any
beer I want somewhere else, or I'll do without beer altogether. Lord
Colavon, do you mind not having any beer for luncheon to-day? Timothy,
you must promise me never to have Hinton for your churchwarden again."
"The worst of it is," said Jimmy, "that the Inland Revenue people have
found out."
"I'm glad to hear it," said Mrs. Eames.
"And now," said Jimmy, "I'm very much afraid that there may be arrests."
"The policeman at the mouth of the cave!" said Mrs. Eames. "So that's
why he was there. I don't care. I'm glad. Let him arrest James Hinton
as soon as he likes. I'd like to see him in prison. After the way he
made fools of us all he deserves it."
"Hinton has run away," said Beth, "and the policeman will arrest you."
"That's ridiculous," said Mrs. Eames. "He can't arrest me. I haven't
smuggled. They can't touch me, can they, Lord Colavon?"
"I don't think they can arrest you," said Jimmy, "but they may arrest
me. And anyhow, there are other things to consider besides arrests.
There's your reputation, Mrs. Eames, and Uncle Evie's, and the
bishop's, and--well, all the people who've been down here, patrons of
the pageant and so forth. When this scandal comes out----"
Even Mrs. Eames, though conscious of complete innocence, saw that a
scandal would be most unpleasant for everyone, and very damaging for
men like Sir Evelyn and the bishop.
"But Jimmy has a plan," said Beth. "If only Uncle Timothy will agree to
it. Jimmy, what is your plan?"
Jimmy explained a simple but promising scheme. The examination of the
cave and the seizure of the smuggled goods would not take place until
the next day. If, in the meanwhile, all the brandy, wine and silk could
be removed from the cave the Customs officers would find no smuggled
goods. There would therefore be no evidence that contraband goods had
been landed or that any smuggling had actually been done. Whatever
suspicions might be entertained there would be no sort of proof.
"But we can't get the things out of the cave with a policeman on
guard," said Beth. "Unless---- Oh, Jimmy, the hole from the church into
the cave! Could we?"
"We can," said Jimmy, "if the vicar will let us."
"I won't have poor darling Timothy mixed up in it," said Mrs. Eames.
"He's never done anything wrong in his life."
"I don't think this is very wrong," said Beth.
"It's helping a fraud," said Mrs. Eames, "and that is wrong. What is it
called? Accessory after the fact or something. Anyhow it's wrong and
Timothy mustn't do it. They can arrest me if they like and put me in
prison, but I won't have Timothy dragged into it."
She put her arm round his neck and stood beside him, her free hand
tightly clenched, the fire of defiance in her eyes.
"What do you say yourself, sir?" said Jimmy.
The vicar said nothing for a while. He may have been trying to make
up his mind what he ought to say, or it may have been simply that his
wife's clasp on his neck was so tight as to make speech impossible.
Jimmy, _advocatus diaboli_ in the matter, put the case for wrong-doing
as strongly as he could. The reputations of many eminent men were
threatened by a scandal from the defilement of which none of them would
ever be able to get wholly clear. The good name of the Church was in
peril. The prospects of a great party in the State were in jeopardy.
Every man, institution or party has enemies. The enemies of religion,
atheists and mockers, would fasten on the bishop and through him would
injure the Church and Christianity itself. The enemies of the State,
socialists and communists, would swarm round Sir Evelyn and work
incalculable mischief. The scandal would give them the opportunity they
wanted. He pleaded earnestly. Beth backed his appeal; but Mrs. Eames's
eyes still flashed righteous indignation and her fist was still tightly
clenched.
"Agatha, dear, do let me speak," said the vicar in a hoarse whisper.
Mrs. Eames slightly relaxed her hold on his neck.
"You've often said," the vicar began addressing his wife, "You've often
said that I would be a better man if----"
"You couldn't be better, Timothy darling. I've always said that."
"----that I would be a better man if only I would do something wrong."
"Timothy, dearest one, I never said that."
"You did, Aunt Agatha," said Beth. "I've heard you often."
"I rather think I have, too," said Jimmy, "once or twice."
"I should like to be a better man," said the vicar. "I've always wished
to be that."
"And you will be," said Jimmy. "If you help us in this you'll be---- By
Jove! you'll be the best man I've ever met."
"And it isn't very wrong," said Beth.
"It isn't wrong at all," said Mary eagerly. "When anyone is wicked
enough to make a law against silk stockings it isn't wrong to break it,
it's right."
"The wronger it is the better man the vicar will be afterwards," said
Jimmy. "That's what Mrs. Eames says, and she knows."
"If I ever said any such thing----" said Mrs. Eames.
"You have," said the vicar. "My dear Agatha, you often have."
"I may have," said Mrs. Eames unwillingly. "But if I did, I certainly
never meant the sort of wrong thing you could be put in prison for."
"But he won't be," said Jimmy, "or if he is, we'll all be there with
him."
"I've always known you were quite right, Agatha, dear," said the vicar
plaintively, "and that I ought to do something wrong. My difficulty was
to find out something that I could do. I really didn't want to restore
a church or write a book about heretics, and nothing else seemed to
offer itself. But now---- Lord Colavon, I'm greatly obliged to you, and
I regard this as just the opportunity I wanted. Agatha dearest, don't
say anything more."
But that was asking too much of Mrs. Eames. She did say a great deal
more, though nothing to dissuade the vicar from his determination to
pursue the crown of sainthood through the ways of wrong-doing. Having
withdrawn her opposition to Jimmy's plan she flung herself eagerly
into a discussion of the best ways of carrying it out. There were a
great many details to be arranged. Young Bunce's tackle, for instance,
which was still in the church, was plainly insufficient for the work
of hoisting things out of the cave. The rope was not long enough. As
the police were blocking the ordinary entrance to the cave someone
would have to be let down to the cave and afterwards hoisted up. Jimmy
volunteered for the work but objected to trusting his life to young
Bunce's frayed rope. He proposed to buy a new outfit of ropes and
blocks, some materials for the erection of a derrick in the church
and perhaps a windlass. It was regarded as undesirable to make such
purchases in Morriton St. James, where the suspicions of the police
might easily be aroused. Here the Pallas Athene proved its value. With
such a car it would be possible to rush off to Southampton, thence to
Portsmouth, afterwards, if necessary, to Plymouth, places in which such
gear might be purchased, a rope here and a block there, without giving
rise to inquiries.
There was the question, a much more difficult one, of the disposal of
the smuggled goods after they had been lodged in the church.
"They can be piled up in the old pew in the chancel," said Mrs. Eames,
"and the curtains drawn. No one ever goes there."
"But they can't always stay there," said the vicar. "I shouldn't like
the feeling that the church was full of brandy."
"I don't see how we could possibly take all that stuff away," said
Beth, "or where we could put it if we did."
Here Mary made a suggestion, though not a very helpful one.
"I'll carry my stockings away with me," she said, "and I'll take yours,
too, if you like, Beth."
"Couldn't we leave it to Hinton and Linker to take away their own
things?" said Beth.
"Certainly not," said Mrs. Eames vindictively. "It was Hinton and
Linker who got us into this trouble, and I'll never agree to their
being rewarded for it."
"Besides," said Jimmy, "they've both run away and we can't get at them."
It was, oddly enough, the vicar who hit on the solution of the
difficulty.
"This is only Tuesday," he said. "As long as the things are taken out
of the church before Sunday it will be all right. Suppose we lower
them all down into the cave again on Friday or Saturday. The Customs
officers will have given up searching by that time."
"Splendid!" said Beth. "No one ever goes into the cave except you, Aunt
Agatha. I should think the brandy and other things might stay there for
ever without anybody knowing."
"It does seem a pity about the silk," said Mary. "Such waste."
"And I did hope----" said Mrs. Eames, with a deep sigh.
Everyone understood and sympathised with her. She was called upon to
renounce her ambition, to surrender a great hope at the very moment
of fruition. The cave had been advertised by the pageant, would be
re-advertised by the vicar's discovery. Crowds of people would come
to see it. Antiquaries would explore its depths. Picnic parties would
shout hilariously to its echoing walls. Just one effort, scarcely an
effort, merely the allowing of things to take their course and all this
would be realised. Hailey Compton would be famous. Wealth would pour in
upon its inhabitants. A great and glorious work for the village would
be accomplished. But all this, so it seemed, must be given up. The
cave must lapse into a solitude again and the village remain as poor
and primitive as it had ever been. It was a bitter disappointment to
Mrs. Eames; but she bore it bravely, sustained by the thought that her
beloved Timothy was at last doing something, though something in itself
undesirable.
For the rest of that morning and all the afternoon the Pallas Athene
raced at incredible speeds, east and west on the great main roads of
the south of England. Jimmy, at the steering-wheel, broke record after
record and rejoiced. Beth, beside him, glowed with a satisfaction not
unlike her aunt's. Like the Reverend Timothy Eames, Jimmy, her lover,
was proving himself a worthy man, actually doing something of real
usefulness. He was breaking laws with reckless daring all day long
in order to be able to break other laws all night. But--Beth thrilled
with the thought, he was saving the honour of men and women, the good
name of the church, the constitution of the State, the majesty of the
Empire.
At ten o'clock that night, Jimmy, seated in the loop of a carefully
tied knot, was lowered slowly, turning giddily round, from the squire's
pew in Hailey Compton church into the profound darkness of the cave
below. Clinging tightly to the rope, paying it out inch by inch were
Mrs. Eames, Mary Lambert, Beth Appleby and the vicar. Their muscles
were tense, their faces set with anxious determination. A distant sound
of rolling stones and a sharp twitching of the rope told them that the
ordeal was safely over. The rope was hauled up again and Beth, with
white face and clenched teeth, took her seat in the loop. She grasped
the rope above her firmly. The descent began. She bumped against the
sides of the hole and was bruised. She grew giddy as the rope swung
round and round. But her courage held. She was received at last in
Jimmy's arms.
Then began for the whole party a night of desperate toil. Jimmy and
Beth, sweating and half smothered in the close air of the cave, dragged
the bales and cases to the gaping hole. Their fingers bled where the
skin was rubbed off them. Their nails were broken. Their muscles were
strained to utter weariness. Far above them, the vicar, Mrs. Eames
and Mary hauled at the rope. The slowly raised weights seemed to
grow heavier and heavier. They moved uneasily in a space which became
gradually narrowed and less sufficient as bales and cases were piled
up in the square pew. How fortunate that the eighteenth century lord
of the manor, who designed and built the pew, should have liked ample
space for his devotions! He planned largely, a room rather than a pew,
intending perhaps to use the place not only for worship but for just
such purposes as it was used for that night.
All night long--such are the curious inequalities of the human lot--a
policeman stood at the mouth of the cave. While others toiled, he
wearied of utter idleness. While others gasped for air, the sea breeze
blew round him. While others sweated, he stamped his feet and swung
his arms to keep himself warm. In the new society of which we dream,
for which we strive, things must be better ordered. No longer must
our souls be vexed by the contrast between excessive toil and listless
idleness.
Yet--and here again we have an instance of the oddness of human
affairs--the leisured policeman, yawning and stretching himself, missed
something which came to the perspiring toilers in the cave--a thrill,
a joy, a rapture which more than compensated for bleeding knuckles,
broken nails and aching limbs.
The last case was secured in its sling and ascended slowly into the
darkness. The work of the night was finished. In a few minutes Beth
would be following the case, seated in the loop, clinging to the rope.
Then Jimmy would follow her, and after that---- He hoped that Mrs.
Eames had some beer in the vicarage. He believed she had. He thought
she must have. No woman would be so foolish as to forget to have beer
ready at the end of such a night. Beer! Not since the day when Sir
Evelyn first drove down the hill into Hailey Compton had any man wanted
beer so much as Jimmy wanted it then.
But Beth, it seemed, was not thinking of beer, or even of tea, which
for some women takes the place of beer.
"Jimmy," she said softly, "do you remember the last time we were here?"
"Of course I do. A smuggler's ghost threw stones at us."
"And I said----"
Beth paused for a while. Then the darkness, a wonderful solvent of
maiden modesty, helped her to go on again.
"I think I said---- I mean, after you said---- You remember what you
said----"
"I said what I've been saying for the last two years," said Jimmy. "And
what you said was 'No.'"
"But I told you why," said Beth.
"You've always been telling me why."
"Jimmy," she burst out, "are you going to make me propose to you?
Don't you see, you silly old dear, that that isn't a why any longer?
You've been perfectly splendid to-night. You've thought of things and
done things--and---- Oh, Jimmy, only for you where would everybody be
to-morrow when the horrid Customs officers come to search the cave?"
Then, though very thirsty, Jimmy forgot about the beer. Ben Jonson, a
dramatist and a poet who knew something about human nature and could
express himself very prettily, says that kisses are to be preferred
sometimes "even to Jove's nectar." Jimmy, tired, sore and grimy, in
a stuffy cave, at the horrible hour of 4 a.m., found them more to be
desired than much beer.
Chapter XIX
A good conscience is a priceless possession. Sir Evelyn had not broken
the laws of his country by bringing into it forbidden things. With
all his admiration for the smugglers of the eighteenth century, whose
lives he studied, it would have been impossible for him to imitate
them. Nor would he willingly have associated with a man who smuggled
anything more than a box of cigars after a trip to the Channel Islands.
The accusation of the egregious Mr. East left Sir Evelyn untroubled.
Some incredibly absurd mistake had been made for which in due time
an apology would be forthcoming. It was impossible that a pageant, in
itself a highly commendable thing--a pageant under the patronage of a
bishop, of a judge, of a man who had been Prime Minister, of Sir Evelyn
Dent--should have been in reality a smuggling raid. Was he to suspect
Mrs. Eames, a transparently honest though too talkative lady, of being
a smuggler? And she had managed the whole affair from the beginning.
Could he think that James Hinton, the very type of superior upper
servant, that Linker, a most respectable shopkeeper with a taste for
politics, had deliberately planned a disgraceful fraud? The idea was
preposterous. And had not his own nephew, Lord Colavon, to whom the
petty gains of illicit trading could be no temptation--had he not been
in command of--had he not actually steered the lugger?
Someone in a Government office in London had blundered badly, and the
ridiculous, tremulous Mr. East with his ultimatum and his threats could
be forgotten as quickly as possible.
Nevertheless, Sir Evelyn could not quite forget Mr. East, and after a
while he rose and rang the bell.
"If Lord Colavon is anywhere about the place," he said, "ask him to be
so good as to come and speak to me here for a few minutes."
A servant searched for Lord Colavon in the house. A gardener sought him
in the grounds. A man who cleaned the boots and carried coal reported
that the Pallas Athene was not in the garage. It was surmised that Lord
Colavon had not yet returned from the railway station to which he had
conveyed the judge.
"Very well," said Sir Evelyn, "as soon as he does return ask him to
come here."
The morning passed, not unpleasantly for Sir Evelyn, who found much to
interest him in the press-cuttings. Luncheon-time came and he ate it
alone. Lord Colavon had not yet returned and the Pallas Athene was not
yet in the garage. The servant, surmising again, suggested that his
lordship might have gone to Hailey Compton to visit the young ladies.
Sir Evelyn thought this very likely, and ate his luncheon peacefully.
Tea-time came, and after that dinner, but Lord Colavon did not appear.
Sir Evelyn was slightly annoyed but not much surprised. His nephew was
a young man of irregular habits.
The servant, bringing whisky and a siphon into the study at half-past
nine, ventured on a further guess.
"His lordship's car may have broken down somewhere."
This, too, seemed probable.
"Very unreliable, these high-powered cars," said the servant. "So I've
always been led to believe."
"Don't sit up for him," said Sir Evelyn. "He's not likely to return
to-night. I shall go to bed as usual."
He did, at the sober hour of eleven o'clock. He was by that time
seriously annoyed and a little uneasy--not because he feared that any
harm had come to his nephew. Whatever might have happened to the car,
Jimmy himself was sure to be safe. Accidents do not happen to that
kind of young man, though they ought to. Yet, Sir Evelyn reflected, it
would have been satisfactory to have heard him deny---- No. It would be
ridiculous to expect a formal denial of Mr. East's accusation. It would
have been satisfactory to have laughed over the matter with his nephew.
To make jokes about it and hear jokes made before going to bed. Yet, in
spite of annoyance, Sir Evelyn slept quietly that night.
Next morning at eight o'clock he was called and his letters laid beside
him. Sir Evelyn glanced at them as he poured out his tea. There was
a thick bundle of press-cuttings, more comments on the pageant. There
were several circulars. There were one or two bills. There was just one
envelope which looked as if it contained a letter. It came from a very
important political personage, one of those gentlemen whose names do
not appear prominently in the newspapers, who seldom make speeches on
full-dress occasions, but are powerful in the councils of parties and
have a great deal to do with the administration of funds.
Sir Evelyn opened the envelope with a vague feeling of uneasiness.
The premonition was justified at once. The letter was startling and
disquieting.
You've no doubt heard the gossip which has been flying round
the clubs for the last two days. I heard it yesterday and
regarded it as nothing but an unusually wild canard. This
morning I was forced to change my opinion. The Inland Revenue
people have, or believe they have, information which points
to the fact that smuggling on a large scale was successfully
carried out at that pageant of yours. By the way, I
congratulate you on the success of the affair. I couldn't
manage to get down to it, but I hear it was brilliant. I
need not say that I do not for a moment suspect you of trying
to defraud the revenue. The suggestion is absurd. But could
anything of the sort have been going on without your knowing
it? That seems difficult to believe; but the Inland Revenue
people are very confident. They say--I have this in strict
confidence--that they know where the smuggled goods are
hidden and can put their hands on them whenever they like. I
need scarcely remind you that the consequences of an exposé
of this kind would be serious. No sane person would believe
that you and the Chief had combined together to smuggle
brandy into the country. But you know the sort of mud that
is slung at Election times--we may be in for one any day
now--and how much of it sticks no matter how carefully we
wash each other's faces. If you can give a perfectly clear
and unqualified denial to the rumour, or accusation, for it
comes to that, please telegraph to me and I'll see that it
gets proper publicity. It won't be the first time that these
permanent officials have turned out to be too clever. But if
by any chance they can prove their case--not against you, but
against anyone connected with your pageant--that is to say,
if they can put their hands on a case of brandy or a dozen of
champagne, then for heaven's sake pacify them in some way.
They're going to give you the chance, I understand. Pay up.
Apologise. Do anything you can; but do not let us have any
publicity. I need scarcely say that I shall pull every string
I can to keep the matter out of the courts, and I'll threaten
any of the papers that have been hinting at it, but I must
know definitely how things stand.
Sir Evelyn, without waiting to drink his cup of tea, rose and rang the
bell.
"Is Lord Colavon in the house?"
"His lordship," said the servant, "is at present in bed. I
understand that he returned about six o'clock this morning. The under
housemaid who was sweeping the hall at the time informed me that his
lordship----"
"Send him to me at once," said Sir Evelyn.
"Very good, sir."
But he did not do so. He returned five minutes later to say that he
found it quite impossible to waken Lord Colavon.
"I used every endeavour, sir, but his lordship is in a very sound
sleep."
"Use more endeavours," said Sir Evelyn. "Pour cold water over him if
necessary, but bring him here."
This time the man was successful. Jimmy, yawning and dishevelled,
walked into his uncle's room in his pyjamas.
"Read that," said Sir Evelyn, handing him the letter.
Jimmy, rubbing his eyes occasionally, read it through.
"Now," said Sir Evelyn, "tell me plainly, is there anything in it?"
"If you mean the cave, Uncle Evie, there isn't. Not a blessed thing
except stones. They've had three policemen watching the entrance, turn
about, since yesterday, but there isn't a thing in it except stones."
"Are you perfectly certain about that?"
"Dead sure thing," said Jimmy. "They can search till they're blue
in the face. I'm told that they're going to search to-day. But they
won't find anything. If I were you, Uncle Evie--of course, it's not my
business to offer advice to you or any other big pot like the johnny
who wrote this letter. But, if I were in your shoes or his, I'd tell
the Customs people to search and be damned. In fact I rather thought of
doing that exact thing myself, meeting them at Hailey Compton when they
turn up and then gloating afterwards. I dare say it would be beneath
your dignity to gloat, except in private. But if you care to run down
with me this morning and watch this blessed search of theirs, I can
promise that you'll be in a position to rub it in afterwards."
"I won't do that," said Sir Evelyn. "But----"
"I hardly thought you would. That sort of thing wouldn't suit your
style."
"But I'll wire a definite denial of the whole story to London," said
Sir Evelyn, "if you give me your assurance that I can do so."
"Pitch it as strong as you like. Pithy and straight from the shoulder.
Not too long. It only looks as if you'd something to conceal if you go
spreading yourself over five bob's worth of telegram. My idea would be
'Damned lies,' or words to that effect."
"I hope you really are perfectly certain, Jimmy," said Sir Evelyn.
"This is a serious business. If it turns out afterwards that you're
mistaken--if they find so much as one case of brandy----"
"They won't," said Jimmy. "I'll make over the Pallas Athene to an idiot
asylum for the use of the inmates if they find anything worse than a
half smoked cigarette in that cave."
"You'd know--you'd be certain to know if----"
"I steered the old lugger myself," said Jimmy, "and I know all there is
to know about what happened."
Chapter XX
From a very early hour in the morning a sense of impending disaster
hung over the village of Hailey Compton. The older Bunce stood at
his cottage door with a sulky scowl on his face. The members of the
lugger's crew, morose and anxious men, sought comfort at the Anchor
Inn. They found the two policemen who were not on duty at the cave,
and went away again uncomforted. The younger Bunce, Tommy Whittle,
and others who had taken part in landing the cargo, wandered about
disconsolate and miserable. No one knew what was going to happen.
James Hinton, from whom it was natural to seek advice, had disappeared
and no one knew where he had gone. There was some talk, low growling
talk, about sending a deputation to the vicarage to ask Mrs. Eames
for advice, or information, or anything else she might be inclined to
give. No one believed that Mrs. Eames's advice would be any use, or her
information the least reliable; but it would have been a comfort even
to hear her talk.
At ten o'clock Gladys hurried down from the vicarage to visit her
aunt. She reported excitedly that Mrs. Eames was still in bed and fast
asleep, that the two young ladies were in bed so sound asleep that no
noise wakened them. The village felt that its last prop and stay had
been removed and settled down into gloomy silence.
Shortly before twelve o'clock the Pallas Athene, hooting constantly,
came down the hill, and the sight of Jimmy's face, smiling and
confident, brought a momentary cheerfulness to the village. But behind
the Pallas Athene, close behind it, came another car, and in it, very
soon discernible by the anxious eyes of the watchers, were men in
uniform, that neat, half naval uniform of customs officers. The gloom
of undefined dread settled down on everyone again. Old Bunce growled
sulky curses. Younger men muttered threats, which they knew they dare
not fulfil. Only Jimmy offered the officers any kind of welcome, but
his manner made amends for the sullen hostility of everyone else.
He was gay and jocular. He handed round his cigar case. He suggested
draughts of beer to be drawn at his expense. He offered to act as guide
to the cave. He accompanied the party along the street, over the green
and across the loose white stones of the beach.
He would have gone with them into the cave but was stopped. The
senior officer fully appreciated Jimmy's courtesy and friendliness. No
Englishman is indifferent to the friendliness of an earl, and Jimmy had
introduced himself. But no Englishman, when on duty, will allow even an
earl the smallest privilege. Duty, especially duty done in uniform, is
a very sacred thing. Jimmy was obliged to wait outside at the mouth of
the cave.
He waited there for half an hour and smoked four cigarettes. He waited
there another half-hour, smoking a pipe instead of cigarettes. After
an hour and a half he sent the mentally deficient Whittle, the only
villager who ventured near the cave, back to the Anchor Inn for beer.
While he was drinking the beer the officers appeared again.
"Interesting place that cave," said Jimmy cheerfully. "Did you find
anything inside?"
"You'll excuse my reminding you, my lord," said the senior officer,
"that what we found and what we didn't find is no affair of yours."
"Of course not," said Jimmy. "Have a cigarette and some beer. You must
want beer."
The senior officer did want beer. So did the others, all four of them.
Jimmy's manner was engaging, and Jimmy, after all, was a real earl.
"Duty is duty, my lord," said the officer apologetically.
"And duty when done," said Jimmy, "deserves beer."
That was true, and duty when done permits of the relaxation of official
dignity. The beer in Jimmy's jug was finished, and Whittle, grinning
foolishly, fetched some more. That was drunk. Jimmy's cigarettes were
finished. The senior officer thawed into a confidence.
"I didn't never expect to find anything in the cave, my lord, not me.
It stands to reason that gentlemen like yourself and Sir Evelyn Dent
wouldn't be trying those sort of tricks. But duty is duty."
"It is," said Jimmy, "always was, and I hope always will be."
"And when I got my orders, my lord, I obeyed them. But, in a manner
of speaking, I knew pretty well we were after a mare's nest. The
fellow that sent the information from France--well, I never did trust
foreigners much, and of course it's from foreigners that sort of
information mostly comes."
Chapter XXI
James Hinton waited in Paramé for three weeks anxiously expecting news
from Hailey Compton. When he got none he supposed, quite rightly, that
nothing sensational had happened and that he was in no danger of arrest
and imprisonment. He returned to the Anchor Inn and now carries on his
business there as courteously and efficiently as before.
But James Hinton is a changed man. He has suffered disillusion.
He speaks, with mysterious nods, and often in whispers, of a great
financial loss which once fell on him. He goes into no details, but
hints that he, an innocent and confiding man, was swindled by people
whom he thought he could trust. He very nearly, but not quite, gave me
his confidence when I was in Hailey Compton a fortnight ago and had a
chat with him over a glass of beer.
"You wouldn't think, sir," he said, "that a lady like Mrs. Eames,
a vicar's wife, would have stooped to such meanness. Though of
course, Mrs. Eames does not belong to that class in which I have been
accustomed to live, as a servant, you understand, sir. But I did think
that his lordship, the present earl, would have been above it. The
late earl would never have done such a thing. But there---- It's better
not to talk about it. I can put up with the loss. It isn't that I mind
most, but I've been a believer in our aristocracy all my life and it's
a sad thing--a knock out, sir, if you'll allow me to express myself
in such a way--a blow to my faith, sir, to find that----" He sighed
heavily. "But I'd rather say no more about it, sir, if you'll excuse
me."
Mr. Linker, who also returned to his business after a time, spoke much
more plainly, and I regret to say more bitterly, when I called on him
under pretext of buying some socks.
"I don't set up to be a gentleman myself," he said, "but I say that
if a man is a gentleman he ought to behave as such. And that's what
some gentlemen I know didn't do. I don't care to go into details. It
wouldn't suit a man in my position to talk too much about the matter.
But when a gentleman like Lord Colavon takes advantage of my temporary
absence from home to convert to his own use property with regard to
which he occupied a fiduciary position---- As for the lady associated
with him--I refer to Mrs. Eames--well, I always was a Nonconformist,
and if that is the sort of conduct we are to expect from the wives of
the clergy of the Church of England, I shall remain a Nonconformist. I
don't want to be accused of setting up too high a standard of conduct,
but I do think that common honesty might have been expected of a lady
in Mrs. Eames's position."
It was scarcely possible to miss the point of these reproaches. James
Hinton and Linker believed that Mrs. Eames and Lord Colavon, probably
Beth and Mary, possibly the vicar (I am not sure that Sir Evelyn
escaped suspicion) had combined together to secure for their own use
the whole cargo smuggled into Hailey Compton. Mrs. Eames and the girls
were supposed to be wearing silk which belonged to Mr. Linker. Jimmy
and the vicar--perhaps Sir Evelyn--were drinking Hinton's brandy
and champagne. And the law--this was the hardest thing about the
case--offered no redress to the injured men.
Old Bunce and his friends, indeed the whole village, believe just what
Hinton and Linker do. There is naturally a little soreness, for the
village had looked forward to a share of the spoil. But there is no
deep resentment. Mrs. Eames has even risen in everybody's opinion. She
is more respected than she used to be and Lord Colavon is regarded as
an exceedingly clever man.
"To look at him," said old Bunce, "you wouldn't think there was much
in him. And as for Mrs. Eames, anybody would think she was silly--what
with her plays and her nonsense, just as silly as they make them. I was
wrong about that, and I'm not one to be ashamed of owning up when I am
wrong. That young fellow with the motor-car, Lord Colavon or whatever
his name is, is as smart as paint, and Mrs. Eames isn't a fool, not by
any manner of means."
Mrs. Eames, who knows exactly what is said and thought about her, feels
her position acutely, and is trying to induce her husband to seek an
exchange to some other parish. She cannot defend herself by telling the
truth. To do that would be to invite raids on the cave with all sorts
of evil results. She has, for many years, been doing all in her power
for the village. She has devoted her unusual powers of mind and body to
the service of the people of Hailey Compton, and now----
"It's very hard to bear," she said to me. "Not that I mind for myself.
I don't, not a bit. But it's cruel to have poor darling Timothy
misunderstood. Especially just when he really has done something for
the village at last."
Jimmy, with whom I had a chance of talking the matter over yesterday,
takes a different line.
"They think that of me, do they? By Jove!" he said. "Well, I dare say
it's just as well they do. Unless they were satisfied that I had the
stuff safely tucked away somewhere they'd go on searching for it till
they found it. But, look here, you know, if I'm to be regarded as a
thief I may as well do something to deserve it. I don't want to upset
your aunt, Beth"--the Countess, looking very charming, was present
during our talk--"and I wouldn't worry your uncle for the world, but
as soon as they're safely out of Hailey Compton I'll go and get hold of
that brandy. The silk will be ruined, of course, but the brandy will be
all right, and I expect I could manage to hoist it up into the church
again."
"Jimmy," said the Countess anxiously, "you wouldn't steal that brandy,
would you?"
"Not for my own use," said Jimmy. "My idea would be to send it
anonymously to the bishop for distribution among the country clergy.
Those poor fellows must want cheering up and they get little enough
of it. Just think of what your uncle Timothy's life would have been if
he hadn't happened to marry your aunt. And there can't be many vicars'
wives like her. That's why I think a few bottles of brandy and a dozen
or so of fizz would be good for them. Their lives want brightening.
Besides, the bishop would enjoy distributing it. He's a most benevolent
old boy, and we owe him something. Uncle Evie told me he was in a
dreadful state when he heard about the smuggling."
THE END
Hodder & Stoughton
Some New and Forthcoming Novels
THE DANCING FLOOR
By JOHN BUCHAN, author of "John Macnab," "Greenmantle," etc.
Sir Edward Leithen, who played a leading rôle in "John Macnab," gained
the confidence of a young Englishman, haunted all his life by a dream,
and of a girl, the heiress to a Greek island, whose quixotic sense of
honour made her face alone a great peril. The inseverable connection
between the destinies of the two, with the high test to which the
courage of each was put, makes a great love story, a stirring, original
adventure, and a fine study of modern youth.
HALF A SOVEREIGN
By IAN HAY, author of "A Knight on Wheels," "Paid with Thanks," etc.
Colonel Leslie Miles, naturally bashful and none too surely recovered
from shell-shock, accepts the hospitality of Sir James Rumborough,
his lawyer, and finds himself, much against his will, included in a
yachting party of dull, cranky, and otherwise uncompanionable people,
for a cruise in the Mediterranean. During the cruise, in which the
sites of ancient cities are visited, he finds himself reconstructing
the old barbaric scenes as if he were himself a living part of them. It
is all very embarrassing for Leslie, but it is when he gets in touch
with Dido Queen of Carthage, who for the occasion assumes the body of
the youthful widow, Mrs. Hatton, with whom he is in love, that his real
troubles begin.
THE PROPER PLACE
By O. DOUGLAS, author of "The Setons," "Pink Sugar," etc.
A story of the New Poor and the New Rich. Lady Jane Rutherford and her
daughter, who sold their beautiful home in the Borders, and Mr. and
Mrs. Jackson of Glasgow, who bought it, and struggled to live up to it,
are some of the living characters that O. Douglas knows so well how to
draw, and of whom she writes with such humour, pathos, and philosophy.
WORD OF HONOUR
Stories by "SAPPER," author of "Bull-Dog Drummond," "The Final Count,"
etc.
"Sapper" on top of his form. Here is another glorious volume of
stories by the author of "Bull-Dog Drummond." Its note is swift drama,
culminating into seeming irresistible crisis. More marked than ever is
"Sapper's" peculiar attribute, whereby trivialities assume such potency
in his hands that a tin of seccotine that didn't "stick" proves a far
more dynamic weapon than all the knives and blunderbusses that ever
draped the most bloody-minded buccaneer. A camera, boiling springs
of Solfatara, an avenging Mamba, "a matter of voice," all play their
volcanic rôles; and though there is never a word too many, there is
always a story too little in a "Sapper" collection.
LITTLE MRS. MANINGTON
By CECIL ROBERTS, author of "Scissors," "Sails of Sunset," etc.
Disaster was prophesied for the marriage of Richard Manington, a young
English politician, with an American heiress. But Manington knew deep
in his heart that he had not married for money, as Helen knew she had
not married for position. Yet both these adjuncts of their love-match
are there. The situation is subjected to Mr. Roberts' searching powers
of analysis; the scenes have all his wizardry of description; while the
dominating note is the sympathetic treatment of the actions and motives
of enchanting Mrs. Manington.
THE PIGEON HOUSE
By VALENTINE WILLIAMS author of "The Man with the Club-foot," "The Red
Mass," "Mr. Ramosi," etc.
Rex Garrett, rising young painter and adventurous soul, who once served
in the Foreign Legion, vanishes on the night of his wedding to Sally
Candlin, a beautiful American girl, companion to Marcia Greer, a rich
widow. Mrs. Greer took Sally from a New York dressmaker's, but lets
Rex think that his bride is an heiress. Sally lacks the courage to
speak the truth until their wedding night, and immediately after her
confession Rex disappears. Mystery is piled on mystery: thrill treads
on the heels of thrill. As in all Valentine Williams's novels real
people carry the tale along.
PRODIGALS OF MONTE CARLO
By E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM, author of "The Golden Beast," "Stolen Idols,"
etc.
Mr. Oppenheim is still "the Prince of Storytellers" and "Prodigals of
Monte Carlo" is a princely story with a real Oppenheim plot and a real
Oppenheim thrill. After a nasty toss in the hunting field Sir Hargrave
Wendever consulted a heart specialist who implied that the Baronet
might have only six or eight months more to live. Asking three of his
friends hypothetically what each would do under the circumstances, he
was told that one would try to execute a spectacular financial coup,
another would spend the time in continuous pleasure at Monte Carlo,
and a third would endeavour to make happy some people who could not be
reached by ordinary charity. Sir Hargrave vowed to do all three.
THE SQUARE EMERALD
By EDGAR WALLACE, author of "The Crimson Circle," etc.
The three sisters Druze, around whom Mr. Wallace's amazing new book
revolves, could not be described as living a quiet, normal life.
They formed themselves into a gang for the fulfilment of multifarious
activities not unconnected with forging, blackmail, impersonations,
and anything that led to money and excitement. How the identity of
these three enterprising women is established and their questionable
proceedings laid bare by a slip of a girl detective forms an absorbing
mystery story, bristling with the unexpected from start to finish.
SEA WHISPERS
By W. W. JACOBS, author of "Captains All," "Ship's Company," etc., with
illustrations by BERT THOMAS.
A new volume of the inimitable stories which have made Mr. Jacobs
famous all over the world. It is some years now since Mr. Jacobs
has added to the world's humour and gaiety with such a volume,
and we feel sure the night watchman and his friends--longshore and
others--will make a triumphal return. It is impossible to imitate Mr.
Jacobs--he has no imitators. His fun and his laughter are unique. The
delicious illustrations of Mr. Bert Thomas do justice even to "Jacobs"
characters.
THE UNDERSTANDING HEART
By PETER B. KYNE, author of "Cappy Ricks," "The Pride of Palomar," etc.
A tale of the early mining days in the West. "The Understanding Heart"
tells of a man who braved persecution, and it records a wonderful love
story and a deathless friendship.
RACHEL
By BEATRICE HARRADEN, author of "Spring Shall Plant," etc.
The "roving spirit" possessed Rachel, and she abandoned husband
and family. She left consternation and fear of a scandal behind her
among an array of relations, and Mrs. Harraden has some good-tempered
fun at their expense. Rachel's husband narrowly escaped "designing"
housekeepers, his Victorian sister was with difficulty prevented from
practising her good works on the home. Meanwhile Rachel went her way,
and her motives and justification receive keen-sighted and sympathetic
treatment.
YESTERDAY'S HARVEST
By MARGARET PEDLER, author of "The Vision of Desire," etc.
The consequences of an unpremeditated theft and a chivalrous gesture
belonging to the past cropped up again in the present. A new name, it
appeared, did not give a new lease of life. Yesterday's harvest stood
unreaped between Blair Maitland and Elizabeth when Elizabeth's father
knew his story and refused him her hand in marriage. A tale of such
romance, such dramatic intensity, and withal such dignity that it will
be second to none among Mrs. Pedler's vibrant, enthralling books.
THE VOICE OF DASHIN
By "GANPAT," author of "Harilek," etc.
A fresh, fascinating book of adventure and action, picturesquely and
vividly set in the Hinterlands of the Karakorum. In plot and in scene
this travelled author departs from the beaten track. His City of
Fairy Towers, fantastic though gruesome, the delightfully colloquial
relations of the two young British officers who find their way thither,
an unusual love interest (and all of it set off with a capital sense
of fun), these are some of the elements in an up-to-date, adventurous
romance of an unusual character.
WHAT IS TO BE
By J. C. SNAITH, author of "Thus Far," etc.
A romance of chivalrous adventure, moving surely towards its
fore-ordained conclusion. John Rede Chandos married Ysa, an exiled
young queen. Subsequent developments found him a Prince Consort in
a European State, feeling slightly ridiculous and consistently,
though gallantly, out of his depth. He tells his own story, in a
self-deprecating, humorous manner, from the moment when he left his
lawyer's office until the last phase, on a mountain-top, of "a battle
he was born to lose."
THE SMUGGLER'S CAVE
By GEORGE A. BIRMINGHAM, author of "The Search Party," "Spanish Gold,"
etc.
This is the story of the Hailey Compton Village Pageant. The people
who organised it, the vicar's wife and the local innkeeper, were
unknown to fame. It had, at first, little or no backing in the press or
aristocratic patronage. It was started in a casual, a most accidental
way. Yet the Hailey Compton Pageant excited England from end to end,
set every club in London gossiping, inspired a spate of articles in the
daily papers, gravely affected the reputation of one of our oldest and
most honoured families, and went near wrecking the prospects of one of
our historic political parties.
THE BLACK HUNTER
JAMES OLIVER CURWOOD
First Reviews: "James Oliver Curwood, one of the best of the romantic
translators of the life of the Canadian wilderness, has given us a
fine historical novel.... His tale is a great love story, strongly
dramatic in its episodes, and the fight at the end of the book
is Homeric."--_Liverpool Daily Courier._ "This stirring novel....
This story of the tragic love of David Rock and Anne St. Denis and
the treachery of the Intendent Bigot makes a memorable period live
again."--_Daily Mail._ "An historical novel of much distinction. It
takes us back to the days when old Quebec was in the hands of the
French, and when the great struggle between French and English was
about to begin.... Mr. Curwood has given us an informative, thrilling
and finely written book."--_Edinburgh Evening News._
DAVID WILDING
By RICHMAL CROMPTON, author of "The House," "The Wildings," etc.
Another friendly and humorous inquiry into the family life of the
Wildings, handled with a touch so deft that the Wildings will be
recognised in many a home. David's problem had become acute, with a
wife who flaunted the family tradition, and a baby at whose christening
and subsequent receptions all sorts of incompatible Wildings had
to meet. There are rebellions and declarations of independence. But
David's mother never lost her hold on the situation.
THE AMAZING CHANCE
By PATRICIA WENTWORTH, author of "The Black Cabinet," "The Dower House
Mystery," etc.
Anton Blum, a deaf and dumb German peasant, came to after an accident,
and spoke--in English. He gave conclusive evidence that he was a
Laydon, though changed beyond recognition. But which of the supposedly
dead brothers he proved to be; whether he knew himself; and whether
Evelyn, who had married Jim Laydon, could tell, makes a most romantic,
enthralling problem, at whose solution the reader is kept guessing all
the time.
THE PLANTER OF THE TREE
By RUBY M. AYRES, author of "The Man the Women Loved," "The Marriage
Handicap," etc
Philip Sanderson, a "waster" who spends his days in third-rate London
clubs and cabarets, is in love with a dancer, Sally Lingfield, who
cares nothing for him, but loves another man who is only amusing
himself at her expense. One night, when the worse for drink, Philip
knocks her down with his car, hopelessly crippling her so that she will
never be able to dance again. The shock sobers him and brings all his
better nature to the front.
THREE PEOPLE
By MABEL BARNES-GRUNDY, author of "Sleeping Dogs," etc.
For this most fascinating story Mabel Barnes-Grundy has created "three
people" who will remain clear and distinct in the minds and memories
of her readers. All the beauty of the love and devotion which can
bind together a brother and sister shines forth from the pages of this
book. Then two people become three people. There steps into the lives
of this brother and sister, a man, a German by birth, but with the
blood of his English grandmother in his veins. Ronnie has a hatred of
Germans amounting almost to an obsession. He has sworn an oath that
never--knowingly--will he speak to a German again. The story works up
to a dramatic climax; the atmosphere is delightful. There is wit and
sparkle in the conversation.
THE STRANGE FAMILY
By E. H. LACON WATSON.
Here is a chronicle of rare charm. It has about it the unsensational
suggestion of authenticity. In quiet fashion it relates the early
years of the children of a country rector. It gives an amusing
picture of types and incidents in a village community. It passes with
Rudolf Strange to Cambridge and becomes an illuminating record of the
University in the 'eighties. A penetrating observation of character and
period.
THE THIRD MESSENGER
By PATRICK WYNNTON, author of "The Black Turret."
Trapped in a thieves' den, shut in with the corpse of a former victim,
with death imminent, Hugh Carr, in his extremity, promises Providence
that if he escapes he will make his life a worthier thing. In "The
Third Messenger" Patrick Wynnton relates the result of that promise.
For Providence gives Carr his chance, and gives her chance also to
Kitty Magen, the luxury-sickened daughter of a millionaire. The final
triumphant pageant of courage and love unconquered--all go to make this
swift, keen story a more than worthy successor to "The Black Turret."
OUT OF THESE THINGS
By JAMES A. MORLEY.
The title of this novel, "Out of These Things," is actually an
adaptation of a quotation from Hugh Walpole's works--"Of these things
... cometh the making of man,"--and it really fits the story, a story
which has to do with the affairs of youth and age--a twelve-year-old
and a man in love, scientific research and a secret passage, etc.
There is a great deal of truth to human nature, and of sincerity to the
influences of scenery in this book. The very inconclusiveness of its
ending gives it a plausibility, and artistry which a more conventional
finale would not exhibit. It has literary style and is a story of
unusual character, of fine quality. "Out of These Things" is a first
novel, very strongly endorsed by an eminent literary authority, and its
author should have a great future.
THE PENDULUM
By MRS. BURNETT-SMITH.
This story is an intimate and considered study of the growth,
development and extraordinary phases of experience through which so
many individuals and families had to pass during the most testing
years of British history. It is told in the form of a woman's diary,
and presents a vivid picture, both of family life and that deeper,
more intimate life of the heart which is the determining factor in the
majority of lives.
BEVIL GRANVILLE'S HANDICAP
By JOSEPH HOCKING, author of "The Wagon and the Star," etc.
Bevil Granville, a young fellow of good name and a fine, generous
nature, is accused of forgery and embezzlement. At the end of seven
years of penal servitude he had become hard, sullen, cruel, vindictive.
His one thought on leaving prison was to find out the person who had
really committed the deed for which he was punished and to wreak his
revenge. The narrative describes in a series of quick moving events his
endeavours to discover the guilty person, the forces which were brought
to bear on his life, his love and his hatred, the battle between
good and evil and the final result of his schemes. There are fine
descriptions of Cornish scenes and Cornish life and character, with all
their simplicity and charm.
HER PIRATE PARTNER
By BERTA RUCK, author of "The Pearl Thief," "The Dancing Star," etc.
Miss Berta Ruck states the case for a girl of to-day who is restricted
by a Victorian guardian's opinion that a good home should be enough.
Young men and outside friends were _taboo_. How Dorothea took the
law into her own hands, how she was extricated from a series of
difficulties, makes a delightful story that is modern in the best sense
of the word.
IT HAPPENED IN PEKIN
By LOUISE JORDAN MILN, author of "In a Shantung Garden," etc.
Another opportunity for Western eyes to see a little farther, penetrate
a little deeper into the mysterious heart of China. The brilliant
author of "Ruben and Ivy Sen" wields a searchlight which falls direct
upon Chinese traditions and customs, joys and sorrows, hopes and fears.
MASTER VORST
By "SEAMARK," author of "Love's Enemy," "The Silent Six," etc.
Somewhere along the River, down past the Pool, the Death Maker has
a laboratory--a germ-farm crawling alive with all the most hideous
disease cultures you can think of. The maker of death has cultivated
enough sudden death in this germ-farm to wipe out London in a night,
and all Britain in a week. As we follow the intrepid Maine through
the inner heart of Chinatown, there comes a feeling that sandbags
descending from upper windows upon the passer-by are by no means
beyond the range of possibility. It is all very well done--very
convincing--and the reader will give thanks for Scotland Yard and men
like Kellard Maine.
THE DESERT THOROUGHBRED
By JACKSON GREGORY, author of "Desert Valley." "The Wilderness Trail,"
etc.
In Jackson Gregory's latest and greatest story two lonely souls on
their respective oases--widely separated by miles of burning desert
sand--found one another after much adventure and tribulation. They came
within an ace of disaster and death; Lasalle, outcast from his fellow
men for a supposed murder, Camilla, bereft of protection, wandering in
the desert. A powerful drama of the open spaces.
THE D'ARBLAY MYSTERY
By R. AUSTIN FREEMAN, author of "The Red Thumb-mark," "The Singing
Bone," etc.
The discovery of a murdered man; the criminal unknown; the complete
absence of clues; everything, in fact, which brings Thorndyke into his
own, opens this absorbing mystery. He accumulates unnoticed evidence
in his best manner, and leads his investigations up to a startling
_dénouement_, which comes as a complete surprise.
SECRET HARBOUR
By STEWART EDWARD WHITE, author of "Arizona Nights," etc.
"X. Anaxagoras, Healer of Souls," found that his cure for indifference
to life must be repeated on his brother-in-law, Roger Marshall.
So he prescribed strenuous living and furious excitement. In that
extraordinary and mysterious manner of his, he got to work, and
deciding that Marshall would benefit by becoming a criminal, he
arranged a neat crime for him. Stewart Edward White, whose own life
has consisted mainly of action and excitement, has surpassed himself in
this story of adventure in Canadian waters.
COUSIN JANE
By HARRY LEON WILSON, author of "Ruggles of Red Gap," etc.
Harry Leon Wilson's humour and charm find new and productive investment
in "Cousin Jane." She was a young woman ill-suited to settle down among
relatives who lived on the departed glory of a Californian fortune made
in the 'sixties. Jane had inherited something of the pioneer spirit
which found that fortune, and she salved something of the wrecked
estate and gained for herself a place in the new age which had come
while she worked.
THE LAW OF THE TALON
By LOUIS TRACY, author of "The Gleave Mystery," etc.
A wonderfully absorbing story, which opens in the Hudson Bay district
and is played out in the Scottish Highlands, with all their weird
colour and eerie charm. To secure his cousin's fiancée Eileen, and
the succession to Inverlochtie, which should go to Lord Oban's son,
John Panton, the specious Alastair had bribed Sergeant Ferdinand
Conington to drug his superior officer just before an engagement.
Court-martialled as a drunkard and a coward, Panton is cast off by his
father, and for seven years he disappears. But news percolates at last
even to Hudson Bay, and, accompanied by his only friend, the Canadian
husky, "Spot," Panton dashes homewards in the hope of saving the woman
he loves from a disastrous marriage.
THE PASSIONLESS QUEST
By CHARLES CANNELL, author of "The Guardian of the Cup."
John Francis Algernon de Courci Delourede, one of the Worcestershire
Delouredes, comes up against something new--a girl, little more
than a school-girl, to whom his wealth and influence make no appeal!
Elsie Farrar goes straight to the heart not only of John, but also of
every reader who starts out to follow her on the "passionless quest."
Enriquez is a sheer delight; and the famous trio, Mackenzie, Martin
Kent, and Wally Evans, are men who forge ahead and get things done
in that quiet and undemonstrative fashion which we like to regard as
wholly British.
HODDER & STOUGHTON LTD. PUBLISHERS
WARWICK SQUARE :: :: LONDON E.C.4
* * * * * *
Transcriber's note:
Inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the original document have
been preserved.
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.