When the Sea Gives Up Its Dead: A Thrilling Detective StoryCorbett, George, Mrs.
General
When the Sea Gives Up Its Dead: A Thrilling Detective Story
Corbett, George, Mrs.
Detective and mystery stories; Jewelry theft -- Fiction; Women detectives -- Fiction
The latter, slightly carried away by his success, was losing his
habitual caution, and was inclined to play as long as he could find
anyone to play with him. Nor did he observe the angry scowls with which
his triumphs were now being greeted by two or three of the men whom he
had despoiled of their pocket money, until a warning hand was laid for a
moment on his shoulder, and a voice whispered in his ear:--“Take care;
you have enemies in the room.”
Glancing swiftly round, he saw a slightly-built young fellow of medium
height looking at him meaningly. His own glance betrayed some
nervousness, for he never lost sight of the possibility of being tracked
by the friends of Harley Riddell. But he was speedily reassured on that
score, and looked upon this young stranger as a new arrival, who might,
possibly, prove profitable to him.
“Enemies?” he inquired, in the same low tone used by the stranger. “What
reason have you for supposing that I have enemies, either here or
elsewhere?”
“Success always provokes enmity. You have been extraordinarily
successful to-night. Losers generally imagine their losses due to
anything but bad play, and I just now accidentally overheard something
that is of importance to you.”
“Another moment. Wait for me outside, if I am not asking too great a
favour. I will follow you presently. Then we can discuss this matter
more fully.”
Annie was only too thankful to escape from the rank atmosphere, in
which she felt almost choked, although she successfully managed to hide
her discomfort from others. She was soon pacing about the front of the
hotel, which was a frequent resort of Englishmen, and conducted very
much upon the lines of an English institution of like status.
“Good heavens!” she muttered, “what am I made of that I can look at this
man, and speak to him, without denouncing him to his face, and tearing
from him the pitiful mask of respectability he still makes a show of
wearing? Had I dreamt of all this a year ago, I could not have believed
myself strong enough to show self-control like this. Ah! here he comes.
I hope it will be easy to cultivate just the necessary amount of
acquaintanceship with him. It will make my task easier, perhaps.”
Shortly after this, Gregory Staines joined the individual who sauntered
in the same direction, which chanced to be homewards for both of them,
although the former little dreamed how closely his fate was linked with
that of his companion. An earnest conversation now ensued, during which
Mr. Staines was persuaded that certain words had been exchanged in the
cardroom of the hotel, which promised anything but safety to him, in the
event of his being caught out alone.
“And why should you interest yourself particularly in me?” he queried
suspiciously, and received for answer, “Thereby hangs a tale, my dear
sir. I have an idea that you are, like myself, not too squeamish about
trifles. Pray excuse me if I am mistaken. Perhaps I am not such a good
judge of character as I fancy myself.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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