The Mystery Queen

The Mystery Queen

Fergus Hume

This page copyright © 2002 Blackmask Online.

http://www.blackmask.com

  • Chapter I. A STRANGE VISITOR
  • Chapter II. A COMPLETE MYSTERY
  • Chapter III. DUTY BEFORE PLEASURE
  • Chapter IV. AN AMATEUR DETECTIVE
  • Chapter V. MUDDY WATER
  • Chapter VI. THE INVENTOR
  • Chapter VII. THE HERMIT LADIES
  • Chapter VIII. AVIATION
  • Chapter IX. MAHOMET’S COFFIN
  • Chapter X. ANOTHER MYSTERY
  • Chapter XI. ON THE TRAIL
  • Chapter XII. AN AMAZING ADVENTURE
  • Chapter XIII. A BOLD DETERMINATION
  • Chapter XIV. A BUSY AFTERNOON
  • Chapter XV. ABSOLUTE PROOF
  • Chapter XVI. DAN’S DIPLOMACY
  • Chapter XVII. AT BAY
  • Chapter XVIII. THE FLIGHT
  • Chapter XIX. TREACHERY
  • Chapter XX. QUEEN BEELZEBUB’S END
  • Chapter XXI. SUNSHINE
  •  


    Chapter I. A STRANGE VISITOR

    “A penny for your thoughts, Dad,” cried Lillian, suppressing a school-girl desire to throw one of the nuts on her plate at her father and rouse him from his brown study.

    Sir Charles Moon looked up with a start, and drew his bushy grey eye-brows together. “Some people would give more than that to know them, my dear.”

    “What sort of people?” asked the young man who sat beside Lillian, industriously cracking filberts for her consumption.

    “Dangerous people,” replied Sir Charles grimly, “very dangerous, Dan.”

    Mrs. Bolstreath, fat, fair, and fifty, Lillian’s paid companion and chaperon, leaned back complacently. She had enjoyed an excellent dinner: she was beautifully dressed: and shortly she would witness the newest musical comedy; three very good reasons for her amiable expression. “All people are dangerous to millionaires,” she remarked, pointing the compliment at her employer, ‘since all people enjoy life with wealth, and wish to get the millionaire’s money honestly or dishonestly.”

    “The people you mention have failed to get mine, Mrs. Bolstreath,” was the millionaire’s dry response.

    “Of course I speak generally and not of any particular person, Sir Charles.”

    “I am aware of it,” he answered, nodding; and showed a tendency to relapse into his meditation, but that his daughter raised her price for confession.

    “A sixpence for your thoughts, Dad, a shilling—ten shillings—then one pound, you insatiable person.”

    “My kingdom for an explicit statement,” murmured Dan, laying aside the crackers. “Lillian, my child, you must not eat any more nuts, or you will be having indigestion.”

    “I believe Dad has indigestion already.”

    “Some people will have it very badly before I am done with them,” said Sir Charles, not echoing his daughter’s laughter: then, to prevent further questions being asked, he addressed himself to the young man. “How are things going with you, Halliday?”

    When Sir Charles asked questions thus stiffly, Dan knew that he was not too well pleased, and guessed the reason, which had to do with Lillian, and with Lillian’s friendly attitude to a swain not overburdened with money—to wit, his very own self—who replied diplomatically.