MR. ELY'S ENGAGEMENT [Illustration: "THIS TIME I SUCCEEDED IN WARDING HIM OFF." (_Page_ 102.)] THE WOMAN WITH ONE HAND AND Mr. Ely's Engagement BY RICHARD MARSH _Author of "Frivolities," "Tom Ossington's Ghost," "In Full Cry_." _"The Beetle: a Mystery," etc_. _WITH FRONTISPIECE BY STANLEY L. WOOD_ SECOND EDITION London JAMES BOWDEN 10, HENRIETTA STREET, COVENT GARDEN, W.C. [_All rights reserved_.] The Woman with One Hand CHAPTER I AN "AGONY" It caught my eye at once. When a man is dining off his last half-crown he is apt to have his eyes wide open. Having just disposed of a steak which, under the circumstances, did not seem to be so large as it might have been, I picked up a paper which, as he had laid it down, the diner in front appeared to have done with. As it was folded, the agony column stared me in the face. And among the "agonies" was this:-- "If James Southam, at one time of Dulborough, will apply to the undersigned, he will hear of something to his advantage.--Messrs. Cleaver and Caxton, Solicitors, Thirteen, Bacup Street, London, S.E." Now, I am James Southam, at one time of Dulborough, but, although I do answer to that description, a very clear something told me that if I did hear of anything to my advantage by applying to anybody, then the age of miracles was not yet done with. Still, as, when a man has spent on a doubtful meal one-and-sevenpence out of his last half-crown, something to his advantage is exactly what he wants to hear of, I clipped that advertisement out of the paper under the waiter's nose, and put it in my waistcoat pocket. On referring to a directory in a convenient post-office, I found that Bacup Street was in the neighbourhood of the Old Kent Road. That did not seem to be a promising address, and, so far as appearances went, it fulfilled its promise. It struck me that Bacup Street, speaking generally, looked more than a trifle out at elbows, and Number Thirteen seemed to be the shabbiest house which it contained. An untidy youth received me. After keeping me waiting for a quarter of an hour in what might have served as an apology for a cupboard, he ushered me into a room beyond. In this inner room there were two men. One was seated at a table, the other was standing with his hat at the back of his head in front of the empty fireplace. They looked at me, then they looked at each other; and, unless I am mistaken, they exchanged a glance of surprise. The man at the table addressed me, without evincing any desire to rise.