  The Express Series.—No. II. A GIRL OF GRIT CHAPTER I MY AMERICAN MILLIONS It was the middle of the night (as I thought) when Savory—my man, my landlord, valet, and general factotum—came in and woke me. He gave me a letter, saying simply, "The gentleman's a-waiting, sir," and I read it twice, without understanding it in the very least. Could it be a hoax? To satisfy myself, I sat up in bed, rubbed my astonished and still half-sleepy eyes, and read it again. It ran as follows:—
"Here, Savory! who brought this? Do you say he is waiting? I'll see him in half a minute;" and, sluicing my head in cold water, I put on a favourite old dressing-gown, and passed into the next room, followed by Roy, my precious golden collie, who began at once to sniff suspiciously at my visitor's legs. I found there a prim little old-young gentleman, who scanned me curiously through his gold-rimmed pince-nez. Although, no doubt, greatly surprised,—for he did not quite expect to see an arch-millionaire in an old ulster with a ragged collar of catskin, with damp, unkempt locks, and unshorn chin at that time of day,—he addressed me with much formality and respect. "I must apologise for this intrusion, Captain Wood—you are Captain Wood?" "Undoubtedly." "I am Mr. Quinlan, very much at your service. Pardon me—is this your dog? Is he quite to be trusted?" "Perfectly, if you don't speak to him. Lie down, Roy. I fear I am very late—a ball last night. Do you ever go to balls, Mr. Quinlan?" "Not often, Captain Wood. But if I have come too early, I can call later on." "By no means. I am dying to hear more. But, first of all, this letter—it's all bon fide, I suppose?" "Without question. It is from our firm. There can be no possible mistake. We have made it our business to verify all the facts—indeed, this is not the first we had heard of the affair, but we did not think it right to speak to you too soon. This morning, however, the mail has brought a full acknowledgment of your claims, so we came on at once to see you." "How did you find me out, pray?" "We have had our eye on you for some time past, Captain Wood," said the little lawyer smilingly. "While we were inquiring—you understand? We were anxious to do the best for you"— "I'm sure I'm infinitely obliged to you. But still, I can't believe it, quite. I should like to be convinced of the reality of my good luck. You see, I haven't thoroughly taken it in." "Read this letter from our New York agents, Captain Wood. It gives more details," and he handed me a type-written communication on two quarto sheets of tissue paper, also a number of cuttings from the New York press. The early part of the letter referred to the search and discovery of the heir-at-law (myself), and stated frankly that there could be no sort of doubt that my case was clear, and that they would be pleased, when called upon, to put me in full possession of my estate. From that they passed on to a brief enumeration of the assets, which comprised real estate in town lots, lands, houses; stocks, shares, well- The Express Series.—No. III. A DESPERATE VOYAGE CHAPTER I In Carey Street, Chancery Lane, on the ground floor of a huge block of new buildings facing the Law Courts, were the offices of Messrs. Peters and Carew, solicitors and perpetual commissioners of oaths. Such was the title of the firm as inscribed on the side of the entrance door in the middle of a long list of other names of solicitors, architects, and companies, whose offices were within. But the firm was now represented by Mr. Carew alone; for the senior partner, a steady-going old gentleman, who had made the business what it was, had been despatched by an attack of gout, two years back, to a land where there is no litigation. Late one August evening Mr. Henry Carew entered his office. His face was white and haggard, and he muttered to himself as he passed the door. He had all the appearance of a man who has been drinking heavily to drown some terrible worry. His clerks had gone; he went into his own private room and locked the door. He lit the gas, brought a pile of papers and letters out of a drawer, and, sitting down by the table, commenced to peruse them. As he did so, the lines about his face seemed to deepen, and beads of perspiration started to his forehead. It was for him an hour of agony. His sins had found him out, and the day of reckoning had arrived. One might have taken Henry Carew for a sailor, but he was very unlike the typical solicitor. He was a big, hearty man of thirty-five, with all a sailor's bluff manner and generous ways. His friends called him Honest Hal, and said that he was one of the best fellows that ever lived. We have it on the authority of that immortal adventuress, Becky Sharp, that it is easy to be virtuous on five thousand a year. Had Mr. Carew enjoyed such an income, he would most probably have lived a blameless life and have acquired an estimable reputation; for he had no instinctive liking for crime; on the contrary, he loathed it. But one slight moral flaw in a man's nature—so slight that his best friends smile tolerantly at it—may, by force of circumstance, lead ultimately to his complete moral ruin. It is an old story, and has been the text of many a sermon. The trifling fault is often the germ of terrible crimes. Carew's fault was one that is always easily condoned, so nearly akin is it to a virtue; these respectably connected vices are ever the most dangerous, like well-born swindlers. Carew was a spendthrift. He was ostentatiously extravagant in many directions. He owned a smart schooner, which he navigated himself, being an excellent sailor, and the quantities of champagne consumed by his friends on board this vessel were prodigious. When his steady old partner died, Carew began to neglect the business for his pleasures. Soon his income was insufficient to meet his expenses. Speculation on the Stock Exchange seemed to him to be a quicker road to fortune than a slow-going profession. So this man, morally weak though physically brave, not having the courage to curtail his extravagances, hurried blindly to his destruction. He gambled and lost all his own property; for ill-luck ever pursued him. Even then it was not too late to redeem his position. But he was too great a coward to look his difficulties in the face; therefore, having the temptation to commit so terribly easy a crime ever before him in his office, he began—first, timidly, to a small extent; then wildly, in panic, in order to retrieve his losses—to speculate with the moneys entrusted to him by his clients. He pawned their securities; he forged their names; he plunged ever deeper into crime—and all in vain. When it was too late, he swore to himself, in the torments of his remorse, that if he could but once win back sufficient to replace the sums he had stolen, he would cut down all his expenses, forswear gambling and dishonesty, and stick to his profession. At last it came to this. He sold his yacht and everything else he possessed of value. He realised what remained of the securities under his charge, and then placed the entire sum as cover on a certain stock, the price of which, he was told, was certain to rise. It was the gambler's last despairing throw of the dice. The stock suddenly fell; settling day arrived, and his cover was swept away—he had lost all! So he sat in his office this night and faced the situation in an agony of spirit that was more than fear. For this was no unscrupulous, light-hearted villain. An accusing conscience was ever with him, and every fresh descent in crime meant for him a worse present hell of mental torture. He felt that it was idle to hope now, even for a short reprieve. Clients were suspicious. In a day or two at most all must be known. Disgrace and a felon's doom were staring him in the face. It would be impossible for him to raise even sufficient funds to escape from England to some country where extradition treaties were unknown. Carew realised all this. He had forced himself to look through his Autumn 1898 LIST OF NEW Mr. JOHN MILNE'S CURRENT LIST. The Express Series. This Series is designed to meet the taste of readers who desire a swiftly-moving, well-written, dramatic tale, of moderate length, without superfluous descriptive or other literary "padding," but with continuity and action from the first page to the last. It contains only specially-written and selected stories, mostly by well-known writers, and each volume consists of about 224 pages, crown 8vo. The First Edition, for the Library, is bound in red cloth, with gilt top, and published at 2s. 6d. The Second and subsequent Editions are issued in handy form for the Pocket or the Train, in stout cardboard covers, illustrated in colours, at 1s. The following have been published:— I. THE ROME EXPRESS. By Major Arthur Griffiths. [Sixth Edition II. A GIRL OF GRIT. By Major Arthur Griffiths. [Just published. III. A DESPERATE VOYAGE. By E. F. Knight. [Just published. A Desperate Voyage. A Desperate Voyage. By E. F. Knight, Author of "The Cruise of the Falcon," "Where Three Empires Meet," etc. A novel by the well-known Times war-correspondent and author, describing the escape of an absconding debtor from the river Thames in a twenty-eight ton yawl, and his subsequent desperate experiences by sea and land in the South Atlantic. 224 pages, crown 8vo, red cloth gilt, gilt top, uniform with the above, 2s. 6d. A Girl of Grit. A Girl of Grit. By Major Arthur Griffiths, Author of "The Rome Express." An Anglo-American story of a gigantic scheme of fraud and attempted abduction. 217 pages, crown 8vo, red cloth gilt, gilt top, 2s. 6d.
The Rome Express. The Rome Express. By Major Arthur Griffiths. A notable Detective Story of much ingenuity and interest. 215 pages, crown 8vo, red cloth gilt, gilt top, Library Edition, 2s. 6d.; in coloured wrapper, Sixth Edition, 1s.
The Evolution of a Wife. The Evolution of a Wife, a Romance in Six Parts, by Elizabeth Holland. The life-story of Marie de Hauteville, a young girl of noble Swiss family. It contains many charming pictures of Conventual and village life in the Bernese Oberland, with a strong love interest of the non-modern school. 398 pages, large crown 8vo, cloth, Second Edition, 6s.
The Passion for Romance. The Passion for Romance. By Edgar Jepson, Author of "Sibyl Falcon." Describes the remarkable love affairs of Lord Lisdor, a young and susceptible nobleman of wealth and leisure. 378 pages, large crown 8vo, cloth, Second Edition, 6s.
Saint Porth. Saint Porth. The Wooing of Dolly Pentreath. By J. Henry Harris. A homely tale of life and love in a Cornish village. 320 pages, crown 8vo, cloth gilt, gilt top, 6s.
Paradise Row. Paradise Row, and some of its Inhabitants. By W. J. Wintle. A series of powerfully painted sketches of North Country life. 240 pages, crown 8vo, cloth, gilt top, 3s. 6d.
Butterfly Ballads. Butterfly Ballads and Stories in Rhyme. By Helen Atteridge. With Sixty-five Illustrations by Gordon Browne, Louis Wain, H. R. Millar, and others. 142 pages, foolscap 4to, designed cover, cloth gilt, gilt edges, 3s. 6d.
The English Stage. The English Stage. Being an Account of the Victorian Drama, by Augustin Filon. Translated from the French by Frederic Whyte, with an Introduction by Henry Arthur Jones. 320 pages, demy 8vo, cloth, 7s. 6d.
Verdi: Man and Musician. Verdi: Man and Musician. His Biography, with Especial Reference to his English Experiences, by F. J. Crowest, Author of "The Great Tone Poets." With Photogravure Frontispiece of Verdi, and several full-page Portraits. The only recent and authoritative English Biography of the famous Composer. 320 pages, demy 8vo, cloth, 7s. 6d.
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