The well-known yacht _Deerhound_, which last year won the queen's cup at
the Cowes regatta, has just arrived at Monaco. The owner, a certain Mr.
Howell, sold the yacht, as he had lost all his money at the tables. He
afterward continued to play, with the result that this morning he was
found in the park with a bullet-hole in his head and a discharged pistol
in his hand.
* * * * *
It was full summer, and the fruit trees stood white with blossoms, in
the garden of Villa Ballarat.
A party of five people sat in the cool shade of the museum, while the
warm summer air blew in at the open door.
"The hand of justice reached him sooner than we had expected," said I,
when Monk had read these lines aloud.
"Peace be with his bones!" said old Frick, with unction. "Old Davis was
a big scoundrel; but upon my soul, I think the son was worse."
"But what are you going to do now?" said Clara. "Cannot the matter be
taken up again? I think it would be a great shame if the world did not
get to know of all that has taken place; especially those who at the
time threw stones at Sigrid."
"No one was found guilty," said Monk; "and I do not believe we could get
the matter taken up again, except--" Here Monk glanced at his wife.
"All the people whose opinion I value," answered Mrs. Monk, softly,
"know my story as well as I know it myself, and I shudder at the thought
of appearing again in court."
"I have an idea," I exclaimed, "which solves the difficulty. I will
write a novel about old Frick's diamond! The whole town will read it,
of course. And then everybody will know about the affair."