Produced by Al Haines [Frontispiece: He went without a backward glance . . . and I knew what the parting meant to him.] JACQUELINE OF GOLDEN RIVER BY H. M. EGBERT FRONTISPIECE BY RALPH PALLEN COLEMAN DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY GARDEN CITY ---------- NEW YORK 1920 COPYRIGHT, 1920, BY DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THAT OF TRANSLATION INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN COPYRIGHT, 1915, BY THE FRANK A. MUNSEY COMPANY CONTENTS I. A DOG AND A DAMSEL II. BACK IN THE ROOM III. COVERING THE TRACKS IV. SIMON LEROUX V. M. LE CURE VI. AT THE FOOT OF THE CLIFF VII. CAPTAIN DUBOIS VIII. DREAMS OF THE NIGHT IX. THE FUNGUS X. SNOW BLINDNESS XI. THE CHATEAU XII. UNDER THE MOUNTAINS XIII. THE ROULETTE-WHEEL XIV. SOME PLAIN SPEAKING XV. WON--AND LOST XVI. THE OLD ANGEL XVII. LOUIS D'EPERNAY XVIII. THE LITTLE DAGGER XIX. THE HIDDEN CHAMBER XX. AT SWORDS' POINTS XXI. THE BAIT THAT LURED XXII. SURRENDER XXIII. LEROUX'S DIABLE XXIV. FULL CONFESSION XXV. THE END OF THE CHATEAU JACQUELINE OF GOLDEN RIVER CHAPTER I A DOG AND A DAMSEL As I sat on a bench in Madison Square after half past eleven in the evening, at the end of one of those mild days that sometimes occur in New York even at the beginning of December, a dog came trotting up to me, stopped at my feet, and whined. There is nothing remarkable in having a strange dog run to one nor in seeing the creature rise on its hind legs and paw at you for notice and a caress. Only, this happened to be an Eskimo dog. It might have been mistaken for a collie or a sheepdog by nearly everybody who saw it, though most men would have turned to admire the softness of its fur and to glance at the heavy collar with the silver studs. But I knew the Eskimo breed, having spent a summer in Labrador. I stroked the beast, which lay down at my feet, raising its head sometimes to whine, and sometimes darting off a little way and coming back to tug at the lower edge of my overcoat. But my mind was too much occupied for me to take any but a perfunctory interest in its manoeuvres. My eight years of thankless drudgery as a clerk, following on a brief adventurous period after I ran away to sea from my English home, had terminated three days before, upon receipt of a legacy, and I had at once left Tom Carson's employment. Six thousand guineas--thirty thousand dollars--the will said. I had not seen my uncle since I was a boy. But he had been a bachelor, we were both Hewletts, and I had been named Paul after him. I had seen for some time that Carson meant to get rid of me. It had been a satisfaction to me to get rid of him instead.