"I am Mr. Quinlan, very much at your service. Pardon me--is this your dog? Is he quite to be trusted?"

"Perfectly, if you don't speak to him. Lie down, Roy. I fear I am very late--a ball last night. Do you ever go to b.a.l.l.s, Mr. Quinlan?"

"Not often, Captain Wood. But if I have come too early, I can call later on."

"By no means. I am dying to hear more. But, first of all, this letter--it's all _bona fide_, I suppose?"

"Without question. It is from our firm. There can be no possible mistake. We have made it our business to verify all the facts--indeed, this is not the first we had heard of the affair, but we did not think it right to speak to you too soon. This morning, however, the mail has brought a full acknowledgment of your claims, so we came on at once to see you."

"How did you find me out, pray?"

"We have had our eye on you for some time past, Captain Wood," said the little lawyer smilingly. "While we were inquiring--you understand? We were anxious to do the best for you"--

"I'm sure I'm infinitely obliged to you. But still, I can't believe it, quite. I should like to be convinced of the reality of my good luck. You see, I haven't thoroughly taken it in."

"Read this letter from our New York agents, Captain Wood. It gives more details," and he handed me a type-written communication on two quarto sheets of tissue paper, also a number of cuttings from the New York press.

The early part of the letter referred to the search and discovery of the heir-at-law (myself), and stated frankly that there could be no sort of doubt that my case was clear, and that they would be pleased, when called upon, to put me in full possession of my estate.

From that they pa.s.sed on to a brief enumeration of the a.s.sets, which comprised real estate in town lots, lands, houses; stocks, shares, well-

_The Express Series--No. III._

A DESPERATE VOYAGE

CHAPTER I

In Carey Street, Chancery Lane, on the ground floor of a huge block of new buildings facing the Law Courts, were the offices of Messrs. Peters and Carew, solicitors and perpetual commissioners of oaths. Such was the t.i.tle of the firm as inscribed on the side of the entrance door in the middle of a long list of other names of solicitors, architects, and companies, whose offices were within. But the firm was now represented by Mr. Carew alone; for the senior partner, a steady-going old gentleman, who had made the business what it was, had been despatched by an attack of gout, two years back, to a land where there is no litigation.

Late one August evening Mr. Henry Carew entered his office. His face was white and haggard, and he muttered to himself as he pa.s.sed the door. He had all the appearance of a man who has been drinking heavily to drown some terrible worry. His clerks had gone; he went into his own private room and locked the door. He lit the gas, brought a pile of papers and letters out of a drawer, and, sitting down by the table, commenced to peruse them. As he did so, the lines about his face seemed to deepen, and beads of perspiration started to his forehead. It was for him an hour of agony. His sins had found him out, and the day of reckoning had arrived.

One might have taken Henry Carew for a sailor, but he was very unlike the typical solicitor. He was a big, hearty man of thirty-five, with all a sailor's bluff manner and generous ways. His friends called him Honest Hal, and said that he was one of the best fellows that ever lived. We have it on the authority of that immortal adventuress, Becky Sharp, that it is easy to be virtuous on five thousand a year. Had Mr. Carew enjoyed such an income, he would most probably have lived a blameless life and have acquired an estimable reputation; for he had no instinctive liking for crime; on the contrary, he loathed it.

But one slight moral flaw in a man's nature--so slight that his best friends smile tolerantly at it--may, by force of circ.u.mstance, lead ultimately to his complete moral ruin. It is an old story, and has been the text of many a sermon. The trifling fault is often the germ of terrible crimes.

Carew's fault was one that is always easily condoned, so nearly akin is it to a virtue; these respectably connected vices are ever the most dangerous, like well-born swindlers. Carew was a spendthrift. He was ostentatiously extravagant in many directions. He owned a smart schooner, which he navigated himself, being an excellent sailor, and the quant.i.ties of champagne consumed by his friends on board this vessel were prodigious.

When his steady old partner died, Carew began to neglect the business for his pleasures. Soon his income was insufficient to meet his expenses. Speculation on the Stock Exchange seemed to him to be a quicker road to fortune than a slow-going profession. So this man, morally weak though physically brave, not having the courage to curtail his extravagances, hurried blindly to his destruction. He gambled and lost all his own property; for ill-luck ever pursued him. Even then it was not too late to redeem his position. But he was too great a coward to look his difficulties in the face; therefore, having the temptation to commit so terribly easy a crime ever before him in his office, he began--first, timidly, to a small extent; then wildly, in panic, in order to retrieve his losses--to speculate with the moneys entrusted to him by his clients. He p.a.w.ned their securities; he forged their names; he plunged ever deeper into crime--and all in vain.

When it was too late, he swore to himself, in the torments of his remorse, that if he could but once win back sufficient to replace the sums he had stolen, he would cut down all his expenses, forswear gambling and dishonesty, and stick to his profession.

At last it came to this. He sold his yacht and everything else he possessed of value. He realised what remained of the securities under his charge, and then placed the entire sum as cover on a certain stock, the price of which, he was told, was certain to rise. It was the gambler's last despairing throw of the dice. The stock suddenly fell; settling day arrived, and his cover was swept away--he had lost all!

So he sat in his office this night and faced the situation in an agony of spirit that was more than fear. For this was no unscrupulous, light-hearted villain. An accusing conscience was ever with him, and every fresh descent in crime meant for him a worse present h.e.l.l of mental torture.

He felt that it was idle to hope now, even for a short reprieve. Clients were suspicious. In a day or two at most all must be known. Disgrace and a felon's doom were staring him in the face. It would be impossible for him to raise even sufficient funds to escape from England to some country where extradition treaties were unknown. Carew realised all this. He had forced himself to look through his

_Autumn 1898_

LIST OF NEW & RECENT BOOKS PUBLISHED BY JOHN MILNE AT 12 NORFOLK STREET, STRAND, LONDON

The Express Series.

This Series is designed to meet the taste of readers who desire a swiftly-moving, well-written, dramatic tale, of moderate length, without superfluous descriptive or other literary "padding," but with continuity and action from the first page to the last. It contains only specially-written and selected stories, mostly by well-known writers, and each volume consists of about 224 pages, crown 8vo. The First Edition, for the Library, is bound in red cloth, with gilt top, and published at 2s. 6d. The Second and subsequent Editions are issued in handy form for the Pocket or the Train, in stout cardboard covers, ill.u.s.trated in colours, at 1s.

_The following have been published:--_

I. THE ROME EXPRESS. By Major ARTHUR GRIFFITHS. [_Sixth Edition_

II. A GIRL OF GRIT. By Major ARTHUR GRIFFITHS. [_Just published._

III. A DESPERATE VOYAGE. By E. F. KNIGHT. [_Just published._

_CURRENT LIST._

A Desperate Voyage.

A Desperate Voyage. By E. F. KNIGHT, Author of "The Cruise of the Falcon," "Where Three Empires Meet," etc. A novel by the well-known _Times_ war-correspondent and author, describing the escape of an absconding debtor from the river Thames in a twenty-eight ton yawl, and his subsequent desperate experiences by sea and land in the South Atlantic. 224 pages, crown 8vo, red cloth gilt, gilt top, uniform with the above, 2s. 6d.

A Girl of Grit.

A Girl of Grit. By Major ARTHUR GRIFFITHS, Author of "The Rome Express."

An Anglo-American story of a gigantic scheme of fraud and attempted abduction. 217 pages, crown 8vo, red cloth gilt, gilt top, 2s. 6d.

"If you wish for an exciting story--a story which will hold you fascinated for three pleasurable hours by the intricacies of a cleverly conceived plot, and the human interest of varied character--read Major Arthur Griffiths' new book, 'A Girl of Grit.'

The whole story of the pursuit of the rascal Duke of Buona Mano and the rescue of Captain Wood in mid-Atlantic carries you on with a rush through a series of dramatic scenes and thrilling adventures to a climax which is as novel as it is satisfactory. 'A Girl of Grit' is a better told story than even 'The Rome Express,' which is saying a good deal."--_Daily Mail._

The Rome Express.

The Rome Express. By Major ARTHUR GRIFFITHS. A notable Detective Story of much ingenuity and interest. 215 pages, crown 8vo, red cloth gilt, gilt top, Library Edition, 2s. 6d.; in coloured wrapper, Sixth Edition, 1s.

"It is safe to say that the reader who glances at the first page of Major Arthur Griffiths' detective story, 'The Rome Express,' will certainly not skip one single word until he reaches the end. 'Who could have done the deed?' is the question which absorbs the reader from first to last, and in his eagerness to answer this question he will start on at least four different scents, confident each time that now he has the clue, but only to return baffled and bewildered again and again. It is General Collingham whose shrewd wit first hits upon the right track, and puts to confusion all the theories and red-tapeism of the Quai de l'Horloge. But until the last chapter we are as much in the dark as any one of them; the mystery is inscrutable until it pleases the author to lift the veil and inform us that one of the pa.s.sengers was requested to continue his journey in the direction of New Caledonia, and that another was married at the British Emba.s.sy to Sabine, Contessa di Castagneto."--_Daily Telegraph._

"Any reader who opens this book with the resolution that he will read a chapter of it and then resume his ordinary occupations, is likely to be surprised speedily out of such good intentions. The story grips you like a vice. There is not a superfluous word in the 215 pages."--_Sketch._

**_The next volume of The Express Series will be a story from the pen of Mr. David Christie Murray, and others are in preparation._