Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by Google Books (the University of Wisconsin-Madison) Transcriber's Notes: 1. Page scan source: https://books.google.com/books?id=0CT7dv6IKAEC (the University of Wisconsin-Madison) Bell's Indian and Colonial Library JONAH'S LUCK JONAH'S LUCK BY FERGUS HUME AUTHOR OF "_The Mystery of a Hansom Cab_," "_The Guilty House_," "_The White Room_," "_The Wooden Hand_," "_The Fatal Song_," "_The Scarlet Bat_," _etc., etc_. LONDON GEORGE BELL AND SONS 1906 _This Edition is issued for circulation in India and the Colonies only_. CONTENTS CHAP. I. THE ADVENTURE OF THE INN II. A RECOGNITION III. CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE IV. WHAT HAPPENED NEXT V. HUE AND CRY VI. THE CARAVAN VII. KIND'S OPINIONS VIII. MISS MAUD TEDDER IX. THE SOLICITOR X. THE INQUEST XI. LOVERS XII. THE STRANGE WORD XIII. A MEXICAN BEAUTY XIV. AN UNEXPECTED ARRIVAL XV. A FRIEND IN NEED XVI. M. GOWRIE'S PLOTTING XVII. MAUD'S INHERITANCE XVIII. A SURPRISING DEFENCE XIX. MRS. MOUNTFORD'S ACCUSATION XX. AT THE "MARSH INN" XXI. ON BOARD THE YACHT XXII. ANOTHER MYSTERY XXIII. AN EXPLANATION XXIV. STARTLING NEWS XXV. THE CAPTAIN'S STORY XXVI. THE BEGINNING OF THE END XXVII. THE END JONAH'S LUCK CHAPTER I THE ADVENTURE OF THE INN It was the close of a chilly autumn day; and under a lowering grey sky the landscape of river and marsh and low-lying hills looked forbiddingly forlorn. White mists veiled the wet earth; the road, running between withered hedgerows, was ankle-deep in mud, and the stubbled fields held streaks of water between their ploughed ridges. Occasionally the pale beams of a weakened sun would break through the foggy air: but the fitful light, without warmth or power, only served to accentuate the depression of the scene. The most cheerful of men would have succumbed to the pessimism of the moment. As it was, the solitary creature who trudged along the miry highway accepted his misery with sulky resignation. At intervals he lifted a hopeless face to the darkening clouds: sometimes he peered idly to right and left, and twice he halted, breathing heavily, a monument of wretchedness. But usually, with his hands in the pockets of a thin jacket, and with a bent head, he plodded doggedly onward, bearing submissively a situation which he could not mend. In his gait there was the hint of the pedestrian who aims at no goal. Without eagerness, without resolution, with slack muscles and a blank expression, he toiled like a hag-ridden dreamer through those dreary, weary, eerie, Essex marshes, a derelict of civilisation.