Chapter XX
Herr Bjornston, the eminent Swedish sculptor, to this day blames himself mightily for what happened; so do Woolgast, the Chief of Police, Prince Zeula, Mr. Neville, and others, whereas the only person to blame is myself, and I don’t blame myself over-much. Perhaps I was negligent, since I had been warned; it may have been conceit on my part not to take precautions, but, as I have already stated, I knew of no one who bore me a grudge with reason.
On this occasion I had, as was my habit, gone alone to the settlement to pass an hour before settling down to a bout of work with Zeula. I did not know then that, every time I did this, my dear old servant Bauen kept me under surveillance. He always shadowed me from the Palace to the settlement, watched where I entered and waited patiently until I reappeared; so often had he done this that he knew I never stayed more than fifteen minutes in any studio. It is to this knowledge of his that I owe my life.
It was a glorious evening, and I wandered down to the house in which Herr Bjornston had his studio. How wonderful it is that everything seems mapped out in life; I remember hesitating on the door-step, undecided whether to go in there or to some other studio. I was in two minds whether I should not go to a young Englishman’s place to order a small picture which I wanted to give away, but I decided that the morrow would do for that, as the artist might be out; I therefore rapped at Bjornston’s door.
It was flung open, and I stepped in. The door was closed behind me. I was in what was perhaps the finest studio in the place, a really magnificent room, but it was empty save for the man who had admitted me and myself.
“Is not Herr Bjornston in, then?” I asked.
“I expect him every minute, your Majesty. He had a message which called him away an hour ago; he told me that he would return at half-past nine.”
I looked at my watch, it was already past the quarter.
“You think he will return then?”
“Undoubtedly, your Majesty; Herr Bjornston is never late.”
“Then I will wait.”
There was a wooden chair placed near a table upon which was a lamp and various sketch-books, so I sat down and commenced to turn some pages at random. I had not given any particular attention to the man who had admitted me, but glancing at him casually I noticed that his eyes were covered or rather veiled by a green shade; he was a bearded, thick-set fellow. He advanced towards me with a portfolio in his hands.
“Perhaps your Majesty might be interested in these sketches?”
“Thank you,” I said, smiling. “You suffer with your eyes?”
“Nothing serious, your Majesty, a trifle weak, that is all.”
“I have not seen you before, have I?”
“I only came here last week, your Majesty.”
“You assist Herr Bjornston perhaps?”
“He was kind enough to give me employment when one of his regular men fell sick.”
“Oh, indeed, you are not a student then?”
“I was once, your Majesty; but fortune deserted me, and I became through necessity a labourer.”
“That is sad, perhaps your luck may improve in the future.”
“I hope so, your Majesty.”
“What made you come to Karena?”
“I had heard of your Majesty’s generosity to all artists, and thought that there might be work for me. I always like to be at work in some studio.”
“Have you any of your own efforts with you?”
“Unfortunately, no, your Majesty.”
“Well, we must see what you can do; there is always room for talent here.”
“I thank your Majesty most sincerely.”
I opened the portfolio, and the man withdrew. The sketches were of absorbing interest, most of them being the slight personal things an artist sometimes values more than his finished pictures. All were good; evidently Herr Bjornston had spent a great many years getting them together, as some of them were dated ten or twelve years previously. Most of them bore signatures famous throughout the world. I was so interested that I forgot all about the time, and it was only when I had looked at the last sketch, that I remembered, and pulled out my watch—good heavens, it was a quarter to ten! I closed the portfolio, and sat back in the chair to push it away from the table. Herr Bjornston was very late in spite of his man’s assurances; still, it did not matter, I had had a pleasant visit, and there was nothing of importance that I wished to say to him.
Something seemed to be entwining my feet. I bent forward to see what it was, and immediately was pulled violently back into the chair. My surprise was so great that for a moment I could do nothing, and that moment was the finishing touch to my undoing, for the noose which had been slipped over my shoulders was pulled tight and fresh coils made round me; then I felt my feet being drawn together and realised that I was helpless.
I turned my head round and glared at my assailant, but the sight of his eyes—which he had now uncovered—caused Carruthers’ warning to recur to me, and I understood without any further assault that I was in a devil of a fix.
“Untie these ropes at once.”
“Your Majesty is pleased to jest.”
“You will find it no jesting matter.”
“You speak of the future; perhaps your Majesty will have a clearer vision to appreciate this position.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t quite know, never having been to the place to which your Majesty is going.”
“Don’t be foolish, my man; untie this rope and I will be lenient with you.”
He drew up another chair in front of me and sat gazing into my eyes. I returned stare for stare, but I will confess to feeling very much afraid. The situation was so very unpleasant. What a fool I had been not to take precautions, I should have known that all of Ivan’s breed were dangerous. I was flabbergasted, I did not know what to say to the fellow, what argument can one use to a madman? More important still was how to get away, how to be rescued, for it was quite impossible for me to loosen the ropes that bound me. I could call for help, but no one would hear me. Still, there was always a chance that some one would; so I let out a yell that ought to have awakened the settlement.
Unfortunately it did not; and the only good I got from it was a gag, which effectively put an end to my making sufficient noise to attract attention. Luck was against me, for only a few minutes after the gag had been applied some one rapped at the door. I tried hard to make some kind of appeal for assistance, but it was futile, and I had to sit there and listen to the knocking. Presently the person, whoever it was, gave up, and with a sinking heart I heard the sound of his footsteps dying away.
The man still sat facing me, with a beastly smile on his lips; no doubt he was overjoyed to see my struggles. Presently, however, he began to speak in a low voice hardly above a whisper; and somehow that added to the horror of my position.
“I am glad I stopped your mouth in time; it would have hurt me to have finished everything before you have realised things more fully. And if my time had been cut short by any interruption from outside, your Majesty would naturally never have known all that I intend telling you, all those details which will make your journey to Paradise so pleasant.
“Have you any preference as to where I should begin? Perhaps you would like to know who I am. Well, that is soon told; I am the son of the man you had murdered, you did not know that Ivan the King had a son, did you? He had, perhaps more than one, for he was rather given to promiscuous love affairs; but only one need worry you—I shall be quite sufficient.
“I know how my father died, Prince Alexis told me; I know he was always a liar, but he told the truth about this. When I heard, I swore that you should pay for it. Since then your debt has been mounting up, for I was left destitute, and think how long that was ago, and imagine my misery all those years, having to do any manual labour that I could obtain, in order to keep from starving. You have to pay for all that.
“The most difficult thing I ever had to do was to keep my face from portraying my delight when you walked in so sweetly this evening. I have been trying to get near you for years, and at last luck has been kind to me; nothing could have worked out so well if it had been planned. To begin with, that old fool Bjornston is out for the night, out of Karena even, and the other two assistants are after their lady-loves. It is hardly likely that the two fair Karenians will allow them to return, or at any rate until our little business is over.”
He stood up and moved away behind my chair, so that I could not see what he was doing; but I heard him moving about. Then he came back again, in his hands a rope, and at the end of the rope a heavy mass of stone.
“Do you see this, your Majesty, can you guess what it is for?”
I looked at it, then at him, and raising my eyebrows turned my head aside, then quickly back again. God! how lucky that he was examining the knot in the rope, for had he been looking at me he must have noticed my nervous start, a movement that I could not control, for I could have sworn that I had seen a face at the window. I shook my head from side to side, and caught another glimpse of the window, but there was no face there, and my spirits, which had gone bounding up, dropped like a stone. So, then, there was really no hope for me, there was no way out, and I was doomed to die just when life was at its fullest, just when the greatest of all my hopes was to be fulfilled. I turned sick with despair at the thought of the effect my disappearance would have upon my wife. The man was talking again:
“It will serve a good purpose, and keep you down nicely.”
His cursed calmness caused the most beastly twinges of an unpleasant nature, which I can only call fear, I do not think there is anything to be ashamed of in confessing it. I was young and did not wish to die, and yet I must give no sign which would add to his delight, he must not perceive that I was frightened. I had strained at the rope which held me until I found that all my efforts seemed to make it tighter, and so I gave up and sat still to wait for death.
“I hope you have confessed yourself lately. Personally, I do not believe in a God; but your Majesty has the reputation of being devout. Perhaps you have some little message you would like to leave; if that is the case you must give me your promise not to call out, and I will remove the gag; is it to be so?”
I nodded, there might be a chance if I could talk. I could at least try to bribe him, try to ransom myself. If he were not too mad, there might be a chance. His fingers were busy and a moment later I was free to talk.
He looked at his watch. By this time Prince Zeula must be awaiting me. I wondered what he would do—and Mr. Neville? They would never give up the search for me, my body would doubtless be discovered, but what good would that do me? None whatever.
“You will observe, your Majesty, that I have given you ample time to make your peace with your God. Would it please you to give me any message to deliver? I assure you that I will be a faithful messenger.”
“You are determined then to murder me?”
“A rough word, surely your Majesty means execute.”
“I give you my word that your father died a natural death.”
“He naturally died, you mean.”
“I mean what I said.”
“Then, for the first time in my life, I call a King a liar to his face; it is quite an amusing sensation.”
“I am not a liar; but no matter, now listen to me. You are going to murder me——”
“Execute.”
“Execute, then, if you will. What I wish to know is—how will it benefit you, will you be any the less destitute? No! whereas if you allow me to ransom myself——”
“Ransom yourself? Well, I should have to dictate the terms.”
“Of course, what are they?”
“The remaining years of your life.” He laughed. “Now I think that is enough; what message do you wish to send?”
“A hundred thousand pounds would make you very comfortable for the rest of your life.”
“But not as comfortable as your death.”
“Two hundred thousand and no questions asked, with absolute freedom.”
“No terms except the ones I mentioned. Come now, the message for the Queen; it is for her, eh? Not that it is much good, because you will be able to give it to her yourself in a little while.”
“What do you mean?”
“Softly, softly! That was very like a shout, and remember you gave your word; my kind thought of sending your wife to you seems to have upset you somewhat.”
“You cursed devil!”
This was the final stroke, and I strained like a madman at my bonds. My head was turned away with the effort, and the window again came within my range of vision; but this time I closed my eyes, so that he could not read the hope which must have been in them. I could have shouted with the terrible exertion I had to make to avoid giving any sign, for the window, which before had been closed, was now wide open, and my old Bauen creeping through it. To this day, I cannot imagine how he had managed to open the window without betraying his presence. Another struggle, and through my half-opened eyes I saw Bauen come creeping slowly up behind. I realised that I must make as much noise as I could to hide any sound he might make, as he had only a knife, and the other his revolver.
“I will give you one minute more,” I heard him say, and he began to count.
Ten—twenty—thirty—at ninety I toppled the chair over sideways, coming down with a crash, and losing sight of him. There was the sound of a terrific struggle on the other side of the table; the revolver barked three times, I felt a stinging in my leg and heard curses, the sound of blows, and moans. Then there was silence.
“Bauen, Bauen,” I called.
“Your Majesty?” came the answer, to my joy.
“Are you hurt, Bauen, can you come and cut me free?”
“No, your Majesty, I cann——” There was a little sigh and then silence again.
A loud, insistent knocking at the door now drew my attention, and I raised my voice:
“Break down the door.”
I lay quiet after that, and presently round the table crawled Bauen. He dragged his leg painfully, and his face was covered with blood; but he kept on until he reached my side, when he put his lips to my hand and rolled over motionless.
There was a tremendous crash, another, and the door flew open. For a moment those outside hesitated to enter, but when I called to them to cut me loose they swarmed in. Very carefully they lifted Bauen, and placed him on a settee in a corner of the studio.
The moment that I was free I gave orders for a surgeon to be sent for, also I gave orders that no one was to leave the settlement, for I did not wish any false rumour to reach the Palace.
The surgeon came almost before I could turn to see how Bauen was. A few minutes sufficed to allay my anxiety; his wounds were serious but not dangerous, and under the skilful treatment he received he recovered sufficiently to recognise me, and seeing me safe would, I knew, go a long way towards effecting his speedy recovery.
Ivan’s son was dead, Bauen’s knife had reached his heart. I cannot bring myself to feel the least pity for the man, he must have been bad to the core. His crime would have been carried out to a successful conclusion, had he not overlooked or forgotten one small incident. A barge had been moored up against the house to unload a big block of marble, otherwise Bauen could never have reached the window. As it was, upon obtaining no reply to his knocking, he had run along the bank of the canal and swum across to the barge, from where he could look into the room. Upon seeing my predicament, for a moment he had intended to raise the alarm, but, fearing that by doing so he might cause my instant death, he had resolved instead to try and rescue me himself, single-handed. His great fear had been that some noise would betray him; luckily for both of us it didn’t, and he sprang, just as the man’s finger was about to pull the trigger.
As soon as the surgeon had made Bauen comfortable, I got him to look at my own leg, and found that the ball had gone through the calf, a clean flesh wound which would heal without trouble. It had been a random shot, for the table-cloth had prevented my being seen, but it shows the terrible hatred that the man had borne me, for him to have wasted a shot on the off-chance of causing my death, and only a moment before Bauen’s knife had done its work.
Directly I was bandaged, leaning on the arm of a student, I hobbled into the Palace gardens. I shall never forget the enthusiasm of the crowd—of every nationality—who had gathered in the settlement, to evince their joy at my escape; it was very nice to have the affection of all those good fellows. Luckily, I met Woolgast coming to seek me, Zeula having thought it necessary; into his hands I put the affair, but first I sent him back to the Palace to warn Zeula and others not to make a fuss when I appeared. I did not wish even the faintest hint of alarm to reach Irma’s ears. This done, I fainted. It was perhaps unnecessary, but the strain of the evening had been great enough to try the nerves of a bull; I had also lost a quantity of blood.
And so it ended; the last adventure of a career which had not been an empty one. That is up to the present, for it only happened within the year in which I am writing. I think Bauen was the most honoured man in my realm for some time; before a stranger came to overthrow him, a little fellow with a lusty voice, and as Bauen never spoke much the new-comer naturally won. I may say that there were other reasons as well, one of which was that, God being willing, he would one day rule over Rudarlia.
Carruthers came to Karena for his christening; and I can remember that upon that occasion, when we all were dining together—my mother, Mr. Neville, Prince Zeula, all those whom I love—Carruthers proposed a toast:
“Victor II., the finest King Rudarlia ever had, Her Majesty Queen Irma, the finest Queen, and—er—I forget his name, but that jolly baby, the finest baby in the world.”
Then Irma said quietly:
“And Bauen, who saved them all.”
Now, as this was a private dinner, there was a great deal of fun at the quiet way Irma had accepted Carruthers’ compliments, only Zeula and Mr. Neville refusing to be consoled, because they had not been included as the finest Prime Minister and the finest Tutor.
That I should remember this incident is in no way strange, for it was only to-day that it happened.
Now I am seated in my study, I have said good night to every one, except Woolgast, who, as usual, is on duty. Presently I shall summon him and tell him to get to his bed; it is our regular custom, every night. I say a few words to him, and then dismiss him with:
“Well, good night, General.”
And he always gives the same reply:
“Good night, God bless your Majesty!”
JOHN LANE’S LIST OF FICTION
BY ARTHUR H. ADAMS A TOUCH OF FANTASY
GALAHAD JONES—A TRAGIC FARCE
GROCER GREATHEART BY W. M. ARDAGH THE KNIGHTLY YEARS
THE MAGADA BY WILLIAM ARKWRIGHT THE TREND BY H. F. PREVOST BATTERSBY THE LAST RESORT
THE LURE OF ROMANCE
THE SILENCE OF MEN BY PETER BLUNDELL LOVE-BIRDS IN THE COCO-NUTS
OH, MR. BIDGOOD
THE FINGER OF MR. BLEE BY GERARD BENDALL THE ILLUSIONS OF MR. & MRS. BRESSINGHAM
THE PROGRESS OF MRS. CRIPPS-MIDDLEMORE BY PAUL BERTRAM THE FIFTH TRUMPET
THE SHADOW OF POWER BY ALICE BIRKHEAD SHIFTING SANDS BY WALTER BLOEM THE IRON YEAR. Translated from the German by STELLA BLOCH BY FRANCIS ADAMS A CHILD OF THE AGE BY SHELLAND BRADLEY ADVENTURES OF AN A.D.C.
AN AMERICAN GIRL AT THE DURBAR
MORE ADVENTURES OF AN A.D.C. BY GERTRUDE ATHERTON A WHIRL ASUNDER
SENATOR NORTH
THE ARISTOCRATS
THE DOOMSWOMAN BY EX-LIEUT. BILSE LIFE IN A GARRISON TOWN BY MRS. CHARLES BRYCE MRS. VANDERSTEIN’S JEWELS
THE ASHIEL MYSTERY BY JAMES BRYCE THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY BY WILLIAM CAINE BILDAD THE QUILL-DRIVER
BUT SHE MEANT WELL
HOFFMAN’S CHANCE
THE IRRESISTIBLE INTRUDER BY DANIEL CHAUCER THE NEW HUMPTY-DUMPTY
THE SIMPLE LIFE LIMITED BY MAUD CRUTTWELL FIRE AND FROST BY SIDNEY DARK THE MAN WHO WOULD NOT BE KING BY THEODORE DREISER THE GENIUS
THE TITAN BY MARION FOX APE’S FACE
THE BOUNTIFUL HOUR BY WILLEM DE VEER AN EMPEROR IN THE DOCK
BATTLE ROYAL BY CARLTON DAWE THE REDEMPTION OF GRACE MILROY
THE SUPER-BARBARIANS
THE WORKS OF ANATOLE FRANCE IN ENGLISH
Edited by FREDERIC CHAPMAN DEMY
AT THE SIGN OF THE REINE PEDAUQUE A Translation by Mrs. WILFRID JACKSON BALTHASAR A Translation by Mrs. JOHN LANE CRAINQUEBILLE A Translation by WINIFRED STEPHENS JOCASTA AND THE FAMISHED CAT A Translation by Mrs. FARLEY MOTHER OF PEARL A Translation by the EDITOR MY FRIEND’S BOOK A Translation by J. LEWIS MAY ON LIFE AND LETTERS A Translation by A. W. EVANS. Series I and II PENGUIN ISLAND A Translation by A. W. EVANS PIERRE NOZIERE A Translation by J. LEWIS MAY THAÏS A Translation by ROBERT B. DOUGLAS THE AMETHYST RING A Translation by BERENGERE DRILLIEN THE ASPIRATIONS OF JEAN SERVIEN A Translation by ALFRED ALLINSON THE CRIME OF SYLVESTRE BONNARD A Translation by LAFCADIO HEARN THE ELM TREE ON THE MALL A Translation by M. P. WILLCOCKS THE GARDEN OF EPICURUS A Translation by ALFRED ALLINSON THE GODS ARE ATHIRST A Translation by ALFRED ALLINSON THE MERRIE TALES OF JACQUES TOURNEBROCHE. A Translation by ALFRED ALLINSON THE OPINIONS OF JEROME COIGNARD A Translation by Mrs. WILFRID JACKSON THE PATH OF GLORY A Translation by A. R. ALLINSON THE RED LILY A Translation by WINIFRED STEPHENS THE REVOLT OF THE ANGELS A Translation by Mrs. WILFRID JACKSON THE WELL OF ST. CLARE A Translation by ALFRED ALLINSON THE WHITE STONE A Translation by C. E. ROCHE THE WICKER-WORK WOMAN A Translation by M. P. WILLCOCKS BY EVELYN BRENTWOOD HECTOR GRAEME
HENRY KEMPTON BY JOHN BUCHAN JOHN BURNET OF BARNS
SCHOLAR GIPSIES BY G. K. CHESTERTON THE NAPOLEON OF NOTTING HILL BY A. R. GORING THOMAS MRS. GRAMERCY PARK
THE LASS WITH THE DELICATE HAIR
THE STRONG HEART
WAYWARD FEET BY GERALD GROGAN A DROP IN INFINITY BY GERALD CAMPBELL THE JONESES AND THE ASTERISKS BY FREDERICK BARON CORVO IN HIS OWN IMAGE BY VICTORIA CROSS THE WOMAN WHO DIDN’T BY GEORGE EGERTON DISCORDS
KEYNOTES
SYMPHONIES BY CYRIL HARCOURT FIRST COUSIN TO A DREAM
THE WORLD’S DAUGHTER BY HENRY HARLAND COMEDIES AND ERRORS
GREY ROSES
MADEMOISELLE MISS
MY FRIEND PROSPERO
THE CARDINAL’S SNUFF BOX
THE LADY PARAMOUNT BY FRANK HARRIS ELDER CONKLIN
GREAT DAYS
MONTES THE MATADOR
UNPATH’D WATERS BY E. CROSBY HEATH HENRIETTA TAKING NOTES BY A. C. FOX-DAVIES THE FINANCES OF SIR JOHN KYNNERSLEY
THE MAULEVERER MURDERS BY ELIZABETH GODFREY THE CRADLE OF A POET BY JOHN GORE THE BARMECIDE’S FEAST
THE SILLY SEASON BY HANDASYDE FOR THE WEEK-END BY ALICE HERBERT GARDEN OATS
THE MEASURE OF OUR YOUTH BY MURIEL HINE APRIL PANHASARD
EARTH
HALF IN EARNEST
THE INDIVIDUAL
THE MAN WITH THE DOUBLE HEART BY ADELAIDE HOLT OUTSIDE THE ARK BY FORD MADOX HUEFFER THE GOOD SOLDIER BY VIOLET HUNT and FORD MADOX HUEFFER ZEPPELIN NIGHTS BY KEBLE HOWARD MERRY-ANDREW
THE GREEN FLAG BY WILLIAM BERTAL HEENEY PICKANOCK BY WILFRID SCARBOROUGH JACKSON TRIAL BY MARRIAGE BY CECIL STARR JOHNS VICTOR VICTORIOUS BY MRS. JOHN LANE ACCORDING TO MARIA
BALTHASAR AND OTHER STORIES
KITWYK
MARIA AGAIN
THE CHAMPAGNE STANDARD
TALK OF THE TOWN BY STEPHEN LEACOCK ARCADIAN ADVENTURES WITH THE IDLE RICH
BEHIND THE BEYOND
LITERARY LAPSES
MOONBEAMS FROM THE LARGER LUNACY
NONSENSE NOVELS
SUNSHINE SKETCHES OF A LITTLE TOWN BY VERNON LEE LOUIS NORBERT BY RICHARD LE GALLIENNE THE QUEST OF THE GOLDEN GIRL
THE ROMANCE OF ZION CHAPEL
LITTLE DINNERS WITH THE SPHINX
PAINTED SHADOWS
PROSE FANCIES
SLEEPING BEAUTY AND THE PROSE FANCIES
THE BOOK BILLS OF NARCISSUS
THE WORSHIPPER OF THE IMAGE BY AGNES GORDON LENNOX A GIRL’S MARRIAGE BY WILLIAM J. LOCKE A STUDY IN SHADOWS
AT THE GATE OF SAMARIA
DERELICTS
IDOLS
JAFFERY
SIMON THE JESTER
STELLA MARIS
THE BELOVED VAGABOND
THE DEMAGOGUE AND LADY PHAYRE
THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA WING
THE FORTUNATE YOUTH
THE JOYOUS ADVENTURES OF ARISTIDE PUJOL
THE MORALS OF MARCUS ORDEYNE
THE WHITE DOVE
THE USURPER
WHERE LOVE IS BY INGRAHAM LOVELL MARGARITA’S SOUL BY CECIL CHAMPAIN LOWIS FASCINATION BY LAURA BOGUE LUFFMAN A QUESTION OF LATITUDE BY A. NEIL LYONS ARTHUR’S
CLARA; SOME CHAPTERS IN THE LIFE OF A HUSSY
COTTAGE PIE
KITCHENER CHAPS
MOBY LANE AND THEREABOUTS
SIMPLE SIMON
SIXPENNY PIECES BY FREDERICK NIVEN THE LOST CABIN MINE BY ALLAN McAULAY BEGGARS AND SORNERS BY KARIN MICHAELIS ELSIE LINDTNER A SEQUEL
THE DANGEROUS AGE
THE GOVERNOR BY IRENE MILLER SEKHET BY HECTOR H. MUNRO (Saki) BEASTS AND SUPER-BEASTS
THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVIS
THE UNBEARABLE BASSINGTON
WHEN WILLIAM CAME BY MADGE MEARS THE JEALOUS GODDESS BY PIERRE MILLE BARNAVAUX
JOFFRE CHAPS
LOUISE AND BARNAVAUX
TWO LITTLE PARISIANS
UNDER THE TRICOLOUR BY LOUIS N. PARKER POMANDER WALK BY JOHN PARKINSON OTHER LAWS BY MRS. C. S. PEEL MRS. BARNET-ROBES
THE HAT SHOP BY F. INGLIS POWELL THE SNAKE BY F. J. RANDALL SOMEBODY’S LUGGAGE
THE BERMONDSEY TWIN BY SIDNEY SCHIFF CONCESSIONS BY HUGH DE SÉLINCOURT A FAIR HOUSE BY VERE SHORTT LOST SHEEP BY GERTRUDE STEIN THREE LIVES BY DORIS SOMERVILLE GREEN CHALK BY GEORGE STEVENSON JENNY CARTWRIGHT
TOPHAM’S FOLLY BY HERMANN SUDERMANN THE SONG OF SONGS (Das Hohe Lied)
THE INDIAN LILY AND OTHER STORIES
REGINA; or THE SINS OF THE FATHERS BY SIR FRANK SWETTENHAM ALSO AND PERHAPS BY MARCELLE TINAYRE MADELEINE AT HER MIRROR BY MRS. HORACE TREMLETT CURING CHRISTOPHER
LOOKING FOR GRACE BY GEORGE VANE THE LIFTED LATCH
THE LOVE DREAM
THE SNARE BY SYDNEY TREMAYNE THE AUCTION MART BY L. VAIL THE HOUSE IN LITTLE ITALY BY DUDLEY STURROCK THE DISTANT DRUM BY CLARA VIEBIG ABSOLUTION
THE SON OF HIS MOTHER BY H. B. MARRIOTT WATSON THE TOMBOY AND OTHERS BY H. G. WELLS THE NEW MACHIAVELLI
SELECT CONVERSATIONS WITH AN UNCLE BY MARGARET WESTRUP ELIZABETH’S CHILDREN
ELIZABETH IN RETREAT
HELEN ALLISTON
PHYLLIS IN MIDDLEWYCH
THE YOUNG O’BRIENS BY EDITH WHARTON THE GREATER INCLINATION BY DEMETRA VAKA A CHILD OF THE ORIENT BY EDITH WHERRY THE RED LANTERN BY M. P. WILLCOCKS A MAN OF GENIUS
THE WAY UP
THE WINGLESS VICTORY
WIDDICOMBE
WINGS OF DESIRE BY F. E. MILLS YOUNG ATONEMENT
A MISTAKEN MARRIAGE
CHIP
GRIT LAWLESS
MYLES CALTHORPE, I.D.B.
SAM’S KID
THE GREAT UNREST
THE PURPLE MISTS
VALLEY OF A THOUSAND HILLS BY FRANCES FENWICK WILLIAMS A SOUL ON FIRE
POPULAR CHEAP EDITIONS
BY H. G. WELLS THE NEW MACHIAVELLI BY GERTRUDE ATHERTON THE ARISTOCRATS BY MRS. JOHN LANE ACCORDING TO MARIA BY WILLIAM J. LOCKE A STUDY IN SHADOWS
AT THE GATE OF SAMARIA
DERELICTS
IDOLS
SIMON THE JESTER
THE BELOVED VAGABOND
THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA WING
THE MORALS OF MARCUS ORDEYNE
THE USURPER
THE WHITE DOVE
WHERE LOVE IS BY A. NEIL LYONS ARTHURS
KITCHENER CHAPS BY M. P. WILLCOCKS THE WINGLESS VICTORY BY F. E. MILLS YOUNG CHIP BY ANATOLE FRANCE THE CRIME OF SYLVESTRE BONNARD
THE RED LILY BY HANDASYDE FOR THE WEEK-END BY PIERRE MILLE JOFFRE CHAPS BY CAPTAIN BLACKALL SONGS FROM THE TRENCHES BY THOMAS O’TOOLE THE WAY THEY HAVE IN THE ARMY BY G. K. CHESTERTON GEORGE BERNARD SHAW