[Frontispiece: Without a word she glided from the room (page 47)]
COPYRIGHT, 1911, BY DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY
I N. H. C. II A Business Consultation III In Which a Certain Momentous Question is Asked IV Which Relates to a Newspaper Suicide V Count Poltavo Offers His Services VI A Stranger Comes to Burgos VII Some Disappearances VIII The Ambassador Takes a Hand IX Introducing T. B. Smith X The Anticipators XI At Bronte's Bank XII Murder XIII Hyatt XIV Sir George Dines XV The Dancing Girl XVI Mary Brown XVII Deportation XVIII In the "Journal" Office XIX The Book XX At the Admiralty XXI Poltavo Strikes XXII The Convict from Ceuta
It was a bad night in London, not wild or turbulent, but swathed to the eyes like an Eastern woman in a soft grey garment of fog. It engulfed the walled canyons of the city through which the traffic had roared all day, plugged up the maze of dark side streets, and blotted out the open squares. Close to the ground it was thick, viscous, impenetrable, so that one could not see a yard ahead, and walked ghostlike, adventuring into a strange world.
Occasionally it dispersed. In front of the opera house, numbers of arc-lights wrought a wavering mist-hung yellow square, into which a constant line of vehicles like monstrous shiny bugs emerged from the outer nowhere, disgorged their contents, and eclipsed again. And pedestrians in gay processional streamed across the ruddy glistening patch like figures on a slide.
Conspicuous in the shifting throng was a boy, ostensibly selling violets, but with a keen eye upon the arriving vehicles. Suddenly he darted to the curb, where an electric coupe had just drawn up. A man alighted heavily, and turned to assist a young woman.
For an instant the lad's attention was deflected by the radiant vision. The girl, wrapped in a voluminous cloak of ivory colour, was tall and slim, with soft white throat and graceful neck; her eyes under shadowy lashes were a little narrow, but blue as autumn mist, and sparkling now with amusement.
"Watch your steps, auntie," she warned laughingly, as a plump elderly little lady descended stiffly from the coupe. "These London fogs are dangerous."
The boy stood staring at her, his feet as helpless as if they had taken root in the ground. Suddenly he remembered his mission. His native impudence reasserted itself, and he started forward.