The Countess of Lowndes Square, and Other StoriesBenson, E. F. (Edward Frederic)
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The Countess of Lowndes Square, and Other Stories
Benson, E. F. (Edward Frederic)
English fiction -- 20th century; Short stories, English
MY LORD,--While congratulating your lordship on the well-deserved
honour which the King has paid you, I feel it my duty to let your
lordship know that the events which took place between August 2 and
August 10 of the year before last are completely in the possession
of the undersigned, and are supported by documentary evidence of
such sort that nobody who saw it could ever doubt its authenticity.
I am prepared to give up to you all such papers as are in my
possession for the sum of £2,000.
I am a poor man, and a desperate one, but am strictly honourable in
all business matters such as this, and on receipt of that sum _in
gold_ I will strictly carry out my obligations. Should your
lordship take no notice of this communication or refuse to comply
with my request, the whole affair will be made public.
I am well aware that I put myself within reach of the law in thus
addressing you, but I would ask your lordship carefully to consider
the results to yourself if you prosecute me. The circumstances of
which I am possessed will then all come out, and while it matters
very little to me whether I pass the next few years in prison or
not, I think that the consequences to you will not be so lightly
regarded by self and family. You have a great deal to lose; I have
nothing.
Kindly communicate with me at Martin’s Library, Wardour Street, by
to-day week at latest. Having no club or settled address at
present, I call there daily for letters and occasional
parcels.--Faithfully yours,
GEORGE LORING.
In obedience to the business-like qualities which had raised him to the
position of multi-millionaire his mind instantly went into committee
over details. It was but very rarely that he employed his own hand in
writing, for his correspondence was entirely dealt with by secretaries
and typewriters, but it would be well to disguise his ordinary
caligraphy. Or, stop--there was a safer way, and the next minute the
Remington typewriter which stood in the corner of the room was opened
and gleamed with bared keys. He was no adept at this clattering
finger-exercise, but after a few abortive trials he made a clumsy
transcript of the letter, and directed an envelope by the same
mechanical device.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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