Detective and mystery stories; Women journalists -- Fiction
They had a smooth and speedy passage across from Calais to Dover, and
the train drew in at Charing Cross Station exactly on time. Lord Donal
recognized his uncle’s brougham waiting for him, and on handing the
young lady out of the railway carriage he espied the old man himself
closely scrutinizing the passengers. Sir James, catching sight of him,
came eagerly forward and clasped both his nephew’s hands.
“Donal,” he cried, “I am very glad indeed to see you. Is everything
right?”
“As right as can be, uncle.”
“Then I am glad of that, too, for we have had some very disquieting
hints from the East.”
“They were quite justified, as I shall tell you later on; but meanwhile,
uncle, allow me to introduce to you Miss Baxter, who has done me the
honour of promising to be my wife.”
Jennie blushed in the searching rays of the electric light as the old
man turned quickly towards her. Sir James held her hand in his for some
moments before he spoke, gazing intently at her. Then he said slowly,
“Ah, Donal, Donal, you always had a keen eye for the beautiful.”
“Oh, I say,” cried the young man, abashed at his uncle’s frankness, “I
don’t call that a diplomatic remark at all, you know.”
“Indeed, Sir James,” said the girl, laughing merrily, “it is better than
diplomatic, it is complimentary, and I assure you I appreciate it. The
first time he met me he took me for quite another person.”
“Then, whoever that person is, my dear,” replied the old man, “I’ll
guarantee she is a lovely woman. And you mustn’t mind what I say; nobody
else does, otherwise my boy Donal here would be much higher in the
service than the present moment finds him; but I am pleased to tell
you that the journey he has now finished will prove greatly to his
advantage.”
“Indeed, uncle, that is true,” said the young man, looking at his
betrothed, “for on this journey I met again Miss Baxter, whom, to my
great grief, I had lost for some time. And now, uncle, I want you to
do me a great favour. Do you know Mr. Hardwick, editor of the _Daily
Bugle_?”
“Yes, I know him; but I don’t like him, nor his paper either.”
“Well, neither do the Russians, for that matter, by this time, and I
merely wish to tell you that if it hadn’t been for his action, and for
the promptness of a member of his staff, I should have failed in this
mission. I was drugged by the Russian police and robbed. Miss Baxter,
who was on the train, saw something of what was going forward, and
succeeded, most deftly, in despoiling the robbers. I was lying
insensible at the time and helpless. She secured the document and handed
it back to me when we had crossed the frontier, leaving in the hands of
the Russians a similar envelope containing a copy of the _Daily Bugle_;
therefore, uncle, if in future you can do anything to oblige Mr.
Hardwick, you will help in a measure to cancel the obligation which our
family owes to him.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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