Max Pemberton - Murder Mysteries Boxed-Set - 40+ Books in One Edition

"Hide myself," said he; "and for what? Because I have shot a man who struck me in the face? Bah, I would do the same for him to-morrow, and for his friends too!"

I was not going to trouble myself to argue with him; and truth to tell, there did not appear to be any thing to fear. The platform of the station Mas deserted, save for a pompous-looking man in a gold-braided hat. Outside there were only a couple of old women selling tea, and a bit of a youth skylarking with them. I left my man in perfect confidence while I went to get the tickets; and when I returned to the waiting-room, he was still sitting on the seat where I had left him. It was only when I came quite close to him that I saw how queer his eyes looked, and how stiff his attitude was.

"Halloa!" said I; and as I said it, I noticed that blood was running down his shirt, "what's the matter now?"

But he did not answer me. He was dead, with a dagger through his heart. There was no longer a boy skylarking with the women outside the station.

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It was exactly one month after I had left the body of Count Fédor Uspensky in the hands of the local authorities at Malo that I received a letter from Sir Nicolas Steele—the last I ever had from him. I was then in Paris, whither I had gone direct, as he had told me; and I learned there, for the first time, that he was about to marry the daughter of Field-marshal Pouzatòv, and to settle down for good. At the same time he enclosed me a draft for a thousand pounds, and hinted that henceforth we would do well, perhaps, to take different roads through life.

"You have been a good man to me," said he in that letter, "and it goes to my heart to think that this is the end of it all. Whatever comes, I shall never forget the years in which you have been my servant and my friend. But I know your whims, and that such a life as I now propose to lead would not be the life for you. Accept the enclosed draft as a small token of a great gratitude, and be assured that wherever you are, or whatever you may do, my help will be there for you as you need it."

A fortnight after I received this letter, I was on board a ship bound for America. It was not until many months later that I heard the name of the man who struck down Fédor Uspensky. That name I don't intend to disclose; but this I may say, that the boy I saw skylarking outside the station at Malo was a subaltern in General Strolitzoff's regiment. And how did he know that the count would be at Malo, you ask? Why, Sir Nicolas Steele sent a messenger to tell him, of course.

THE END

Table of Contents Table of Contents Novels NOVELS Table of Contents A Gentleman's Gentleman A GENTLEMAN'S GENTLEMAN Table of Contents The Diamond Ship THE DIAMOND SHIP Table of Contents The Sea Wolves THE SEA WOLVES Table of Contents The Lady Evelyn Aladdin of London White Motley Short Stories Jewel Mysteries, from a Dealer's Note Book Signors of the Night The Man Who Drove the Car Tales of the Thames Barbara of the Bell House The Carousal: A Story of Thanet Jack Smith—Boy The Donnington Affair The Devil To Pay

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Chapter I. The Preface of Timothy McShanus, Journalist.

Chapter II. In which Harriet Fabos Tells of Her Brother’s Return to Deepdene Hall in Suffolk.

Chapter III. In which Harriet Fabos Continues Her Narrative.

Chapter IV. Ean Fabos Begins His Story.

Chapter V. The Man with the Three Fingers.

Chapter VI. A Challenge from a Woman.

Chapter VII. My Friend McShanus.

Chapter VIII. We Visit Africa.

Chapter IX. The Night is Not Silent.

Chapter X. The Vision of the Ship.

Chapter XI. Dead Man’s Raft.

Chapter XII. Santa Maria.

Chapter XIII. The Cave in the Mountain.

Chapter XIV. Valentine Imroth.

Chapter XV. The Alarm.

Chapter XVI. At Valley House.

Chapter XVII. The Nine Days of Silence.

Chapter XVIII. Down to the Sea.

Chapter XIX. In the Meantime.

Chapter XX. The Skies Betray.

Chapter XXI. A Pillar of Light.

Chapter XXII. The Crimson Rocket.

Chapter XXIII. We Defy the Rogues.

Chapter XXIV. Dawn.

Chapter XXV. The Thrasher and the Whale.

Chapter XXVI. Seven Days Later.

Chapter XXVII. Dr. Fabos Boards the Diamond Ship.

Chapter XXVIII. The Strong Room of the Ocean.

Chapter XXIX. The Bridge and Afterwards.

Chapter XXX. Joan Tells Her Story.

Chapter XXXI. The End of the Diamond Ship.

Chapter XXXII. We Hear of the Jew Again.

Chapter XXXIII. The Master Card.

Epilogue. The Epilogue of Timothy McShanus, Journalist.

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It would have been at the Fancy Fair and Fête at Kensington Town Hall that my friend, Dr. Fabos, first met Miss Fordibras. Very well do I recollect that he paid the price of it for the honourable company of the Goldsmith Club.

“McShanus,” said he, “if there’s anyone knows his way to a good supper, ’tis yourself and no other. Lead forth to the masquerade, and I follow. Spare no expense, McShanus. Your friends are my friends. I would have this a memorable night—the last I may be in London for many a year.”

There were seven of us who took him at his word and got into the cab together. You must know that he had paid for a little dinner at the Goldsmith Club already, and never a man who did not justice to his handsome hospitality. The night was clear, and there were stars in the heavens. I mind me that a little of the dulce and the desipere moved us to sing “Rule, Britannia” as we went. ’Tis a poor heart that never rejoices; and Ean Fabos paid for it—as I took the opportunity to remark to my good friend Killock, the actor.

“Shall we pay for the cab?” says he.

“Would you insult the most generous heart in Great Britain this night?” says I.

“On reflection,” says he, “the man who does not pay will have no trouble about his change,” and with that we went into the hall. It is true that we were a remarkable company. My old comrade, Barry Henshaw, had come in a velvet shooting coat and a red neckcloth that was not to the taste of the officials at the box-office. Killock himself, the darling of the ladies, God bless him, had diamonds strewn upon his vest thick enough to make a pattern of chrysanthemums. My own cravat would have been no disgrace to the Emperor Napoleon. And there we stood, seven members of seven honourable professions, like soldiers at the drill, our backs to the wall of the dancing room and our eyes upon the refreshment buffet.

“’Tis time for a whisky and soda,” says Barry Henshaw, the famous dramatist, directly his coat was off his back.

“Shame on ye,” says I,—“you that were lapping the poison they call ‘kummel’ not the half of an hour ago. Beware of the drink, Barry—the secret habit.”

“Oh,” says he, “then you’re coming with me, I suppose?”

And then he remarked:

“If Fabos were a gentleman he would join the procession and pay for it. But that’s the worst of these shows. You always lose the man with the money.”

I passed the observation by as impertinent, and we went to the buffet. What they called the Fancy Fair was in full swing by this time; though devil a wig on the green for all their money. Slips of beauty dressed as shepherdesses mistook me and my friend for their sheep, and would have fleeced us prettily; but our lofty utterance, coming of a full heart and two shillings and tenpence in the purse, restrained their ardour, and sent them to the right-about. ’Twas a fair, be it told, for the sailor boys at Portsmouth; and when you had bought a bunch of daisies for ten shillings, of a maid with blue eyes and cherry lips, you could waltz with the same little vixen at five shillings a time. My friend Barry, I observed, turned very pale at this suggestion.