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 wildcanard.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 ofyours. 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 thefirst 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.
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 wildcanard.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 ofyours. 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 thefirst 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 cansearch 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 ifyou 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."
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 werenot 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 andconfident, 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 ofthe 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."
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 upwith 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 thewives 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 CURWOODFirst 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," etcPhilip 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 weretaboo. 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 startlingdénouement, 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. PUBLISHERSWARWICK SQUARE :: :: LONDON E.C.4
Transcriber's Note:Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation in the original document have been preserved.
Transcriber's Note:
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation in the original document have been preserved.