Genre - Mystery & Crime. You are on the page - 13
congratulate you upon----""No, no," Beatrice cried quickly. "Please don't. Perhaps if you tell me your name I may be in a position to help you to find anybody you may chance----" The stranger shook her head as she stood in the doorway. Her voice was low and sweet as she replied. "It does not in the least matter," she said. "You can call me the Slave of the Bond." CHAPTER II The guests had assembled at length, the dinner was in full swing. It would
invariable custom of the house; and sat in a dead silence, that seemed natural to the great sober room.This, however, was not for want of a topic; on the contrary, they had a matter of great importance to discuss, and in fact this was why they dined tete-a-tete. But their tongues were tied for the present; in the first place, there stood in the middle of the table an epergne, the size of a Putney laurel-tree; neither Wardlaw could well see the other, without craning out his neck like a rifleman
strate woman and look in her face. "This woman is not dead.""What!" they both cried, bounding forward. "See, she breathes," continued the former, pointing to her slowly laboring chest. "The villain, whoever he was, did not do his work well; she may be able to tell us something yet." "I do not think so," murmured Mr. Orcutt. "Such a blow as that must have destroyed her faculties, if not her life. It was of cruel force." "However
bably rewards for his capture which, in the aggregate, offered immense inducement to deliver Anthony Trent to justice. How was Trent to know that Sutton the adjutant was financially secure enough to make the sacrifice? Undoubtedly he had seen Sutton and made the desperate leap.Sutton determined to safeguard his interests. The baggage for instance, that should not be searched. There might be in it evidence as damaging as that which the brothers of Joseph put into the younger's sack. It would be
th whom personally I had but a slight acquaintance, although I knew them somewhat by reputation. The younger one, Clinton Browne, is a young artist whose landscapes were beginning to attract wide attention in Boston, and the elder, Charles Herne, a Western gentleman of some literary attainments, but comparatively unknown here in the East. There is nothing about Mr. Herne that would challenge more than passing attention. If you had said of him, "He is well-fleshed, well-groomed, and
Miller said irritably."Lots of silly things there's no accounting for," the agent replied. "And you can't realise the reputation the island's got around this part of the country. And, see here! Don't you be putting me down as foolish too. I've told you what they say. I don't know anything about spooks--never saw one. All I do claim is, there's a kind of a spell on Captain's Island that reaches out for you and--and sort of scares you. That's all I say--a sort of spell you want to