PRICE, 25 CENTS. =No. 61.=
THE SUNSET SERIES.
By Subscription, per Year, Nine Dollars.
August 16, 1893.
Entered at the New York Post-Office as second-class matter.
Copyright by J. S. OGILVIE.
HARRY BLOUNT, The Detective.
BY T. J. Flanagan.
NEW YORK:
J. S. OGILVIE PUBLISHING COMPANY,
57 ROSE STREET.
* * * * *
Harry Blount, the Detective;
OR, THE MARTIN MYSTERY SOLVED.
BY T. J. FLANAGAN.
COPYRIGHT, 1891, BY J. S. OGILVIE.
NEW YORK:
J. S. OGILVIE PUBLISHING COMPANY,
57 ROSE STREET.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
CHAPTER I 3
CHAPTER II 8
CHAPTER III 14
CHAPTER IV 19
CHAPTER V 23
CHAPTER VI 33
CHAPTER VII 39
CHAPTER VIII 48
CHAPTER IX 55
CHAPTER X 64
CHAPTER XI 68
CHAPTER XII 74
CHAPTER XIII 82
CHAPTER XIV 89
CHAPTER XV 96
CHAPTER XVI 101
CHAPTER XVII 108
CHAPTER XVIII 115
CHAPTER XIX 121
CHAPTER XX 133
CHAPTER XXI 140
CHAPTER XXII 146
CHAPTER XXIII 152
CHAPTER XXIV 161
CHAPTER XXV 168
CHAPTER XXVI 172
CHAPTER XXVII 181
HARRY BLOUNT, THE DETECTIVE;
OR, THE MARTIN MYSTERY SOLVED.
BY T. J. FLANAGAN.
CHAPTER I.
It was a beautiful May morning--the more especially in that part of
Lancashire, immediately surrounding Hanley Hall, the magnificent
residence of Mr. St. George Stafford. Yet Mr. Stafford--though an ardent
lover of nature, sat down to breakfast, on this particular morning, with
a frown on his brow. He was expecting an important letter, and the mail
had been delayed--hence the frown.
Just as the coffee was brought in, the mail arrived, and with the
receipt of the expected letter the frown vanished; to be replaced by an
expression of surprise, as Mr. Stafford noticed an envelope bearing an
American stamp, and curiosity led him to open this first.
It was not a long letter, and when he had finished, he found his wife
and daughter, whose attention had been attracted, looking at him
inquiringly.
Addressing the latter, a pretty, dark-eyed girl of about nineteen, he
said, with great gravity:
"Well, Kate! You can prepare to receive your husband--to be--at almost
any minute! This letter, mailed only two days prior to his departure
from New York, informs me that he is coming to claim you."
"Why, papa! What do you mean?"
"Why, George! What do you mean?"
The astonishment expressed in the tones, and depicted in the features,
of his "women folks," as he called them, was too much for Mr. Stafford.
He could no longer retain his gravity, and burst into a hearty laugh.
Mrs. Stafford looked perplexed, Kate pouted, and as this only served to
increase Mr. Stafford's merriment, it was with difficulty he replied:
"I mean exactly what I said: Kate's future husband may arrive at any
time to-day or to-morrow!"
Mrs. Stafford looked still more perplexed and rather serious, while Kate
looked exceedingly curious.
"Come, George!" said Mrs. Stafford. "Don't tease poor Kate! Tell us what
this means--I'm sure I cannot understand you!"
"Well, my dear, I will relieve the terrible suspense. You, of course,
remember my old partner Hall. Poor Dick is dead and gone, but a better
friend or truer man never lived! But, no matter. When we decided to give
up business, and had wound up all our affairs, we--that is, you and I
and a little girl we called Kate--spent the night before we left New
York for England at Dick's house. Well, Hall had a little boy, and he
and this little girl of ours were great friends; and, as they played
about the floor, Dick made some remark about it being a pity to part
them; that it was probably their last night together--something of that
sort. I, never dreaming he would take it seriously, said that we had
better betroth them, as was done with children in olden times; but Dick
seemed taken with the idea, and--well, the upshot of the matter was,
that you, Miss Kate, and that little boy, were engaged before we left
the topic, and although your mother and Mrs. Hall sat only a few feet
away, they knew nothing about it. I looked upon it as a joke, but poor
Dick apparently took it in sober earnest; for next day, as he bade me
good-bye, he put a ring in my hand--'For the little one,' he said, and
showed me the mate of it. He's dead many a year, poor fellow; but his
son is still living, and appears to be ready and willing to fulfill his
part of the contract."
Mr. Stafford finished with a sly look at Kate, causing her to blush
furiously, although she laughed merrily.
"What a ridiculous idea!" she exclaimed, while Mrs. Stafford, looking
very serious, asked:
"Is this really true, or are you still jesting? I can scarcely credit
what you say."
"Quite true--even to the ring Kate is now wearing!" and Mr. Stafford
pointed to a pretty little amethyst on his daughter's finger.
Mrs. Stafford no longer doubted the story. She looked troubled, and
during the remainder of the meal remained very quiet. Not so the father
and daughter, who carried on a merry war--Kate declaring she was not at
all curious, and certainly not anxious to see _him_, and scouting the
idea of a ready-made husband, while Mr. Stafford kept teasing her on
these points. Yet, when she retired to her room immediately after
breakfast, and looked at her reflection in the glass, she did "wonder
what _he_ was like."
It was a beautiful form, and a face not only beautiful, but essentially
_good_, that she gazed upon, and any _he_ might be proud to have a
claim upon it; but she was accustomed to the features before her, and
not especially interested in any man. So wasting no time upon either,
she set about that mysterious performance (to men) known as "changing
her dress." This, at all events, must be a matter requiring time, for a
full half-hour had elapsed when she appeared before her father in the
library, arrayed in full out-door costume, and with a saucy smile
invited his criticism, adding as she swung round before him:
"You can now see how curious I am to behold him!"