A Secret of the Sea: A Novel. Vol. 1 (of 3)Speight, T. W. (Thomas Wilkinson)
General
A Secret of the Sea: A Novel. Vol. 1 (of 3)
Speight, T. W. (Thomas Wilkinson)
English fiction -- 19th century
Here and there in some quiet city nook may still be found one of
those homely, old-fashioned taverns, innocent of lacquer-work and
gilding--panelled, not with looking-glass, but with substantial
mahogany, dark with age, such as were common in the days when Charles
Lamb or Washington Irving were peripatetics about the streets of
London, but which are becoming rarer with each recurring year. To
several of these taverns is attached a dining-room, where a fried sole
or a cut off a wholesome joint may be obtained as late as six or seven
o'clock, and where any one who is known to the house may have a chop
or a steak done to a turn up till midnight. There is no bustle and
confusion here; you are not hurried over your meals; you need not
quit your seat the moment you have swallowed your last mouthful, in
order to make room for some one else. Day after day the same people
come--punctual to the minute, as a rule. They are all on hob-nobbing
terms with each other, and fresh faces are rarely seen.
It was over against such a tavern as this that our three conspirators
now stationed themselves. The street was very narrow, and exactly
opposite the tavern was a dark passage leading to sundry suites of
offices, now silent and deserted. Within the shelter of this passage
they took their stand. Not long had they to wait. Presently the swing
doors were pushed open from the inner side, and the man whom they had
come to see issued forth into the street--a man of fifty, or perhaps
fifty-five, broad-chested, strongly built, and with a face that might
have been carved out of lignumvitæ, so hard, resolute, and determined
was it in every line. He stood for a moment in the full light of the
lamp over the doorway, and then he walked slowly down the street.
Gerald felt Murray's grasp on his arm tighten suddenly as the man came
out.
"Is that the man you wanted me to find? Is that Max Jacoby?" asked
Byrne, in a low voice.
"That is Max Jacoby!" answered Murray, in a whisper.
"We must give him time to get clear away," said Byrne, "and then I
will show you the place where he lives."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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