“I am going to put that beast out of his misery,” he answered.
Frontispiece. [See page 132.]
CONTENTS.
[CHAPTER] PAGE [I.—News from the Pacific] 11 [II.—Mr. Francis] 15 [III.—The Murder at the Slate-Pits] 18 [IV.—My Mother’s Warning] 23 [V.—Ravenor of Ravenor] 27 [VI.—A Doubtful Visitor] 39 [VII.—A Meeting and a Metamorphosis] 43 [VIII.—An Abode of Mystery] 49 [IX.—Mr. Marx] 58 [X.—Lady Silchester] 65 [XI.—The Cry in the Avenue] 70 [XII.—A Dark Corner in the Avenue] 76 [XIII.—The Cloud Between Us] 81 [XIV.—A Meeting in the Coffee-Room] 85 [XV.—A Tête-à-tête Dinner] 89 [XVI.—Miss Mabel Fay] 93 [XVII.—Behind the Scenes at the Torchester Theatre] 98 [XVIII.—At Midnight on the Moor] 103 [XIX.—A Strange Attack] 111 [XX.—The Monastery Among the Hills] 115 [XXI.—A Message from the Dead] 124 [XXII.—For Life] 127 [XXIII.—My Guardian] 135 [XXIV.—My First Dinner Party] 138 [XXV.—Mr. Marx’s Warning] 144 [XXVI.—A Lost Photograph] 148 [XXVII.—Leonard de Cartienne] 157 [XXVIII.—“As Rome Does”] 164 [XXIX.—A Dinner Party Sub-rosa] 169 [XXX.—Écarté with Mr. Fothergill] 174 [XXXI.—A Startling Discovery] 182 [XXXII.—Forestalled] 190 [XXXIII.—A Gleam of Light] 195 [XXXIV.—Dr. Schofield’s Opinion] 199 [XXXV.—An Invitation] 204 [XXXVI.—A Metamorphosis] 209 [XXXVII.—Mr. Marx is Wanted] 218 [XXXVIII.—I Accept a Mission] 223 [XXXIX.—My Ride] 225 [XL.—My Mission] 229 [XLI.—The Count de Cartienne] 232 [XLII.—News of Mr. Marx] 240 [XLIII.—About Town] 246 [XLIV.—A Midnight Excursion to the Suburbs] 252 [XLV.—A Mysterious Commission] 258 [XLVI.—A Brush with the Police] 261 [XLVII.—Light at Last] 264 [XLVIII.—A Page of History] 269 [XLIX.—I will Go Alone] 278 [L.—I Meet my Father] 280 [LI.—Dawn] 284 [LII.—Where is Mr. Marx?] 287 [LIII.—Messrs. Higgenson and Co.] 293 [LIV.—A Raid] 299 [LV.—The Mystery of Mr. Marx] 304 [LVI.—The End of It] 308
MR. MARX’S SECRET
CHAPTER I.
NEWS FROM THE PACIFIC.
My home was a quaint, three-storeyed, ivy-clad farmhouse in a Midland county. It lay in a hollow, nestled close up against Rothland Wood, the dark, close-growing trees of which formed a picturesque background to the worn greystone whereof it was fashioned.
In front, just across the road, was the boundary-wall of Ravenor Park, with its black fir spinneys, huge masses of lichen-covered rock, clear fish-ponds, and breezy hills, from the summits of which were visible the sombre grey towers of Ravenor Castle, standing out with grim, rugged boldness against the sky.
Forbidden ground though it was, there was not a yard of the park up to the inner boundary fence which I did not know; not a spinney where I had not searched for birds’ nests or raided in quest of the first primrose; not a hill on which I had not spent some part of a summer afternoon.
I was a trespasser, of course; but I was the son of Farmer Morton, an old tenant on the estate, and much in favour with the keepers, by reason of a famous brew which he was ever ready to offer a thirsty man, or to drink himself. So “Morton’s young ’un” was unmolested; and, save for an occasional good-humoured warning from Crooks, the head-gamekeeper, during breeding-time, I had the run of the place.