Stretton Street Affair , livre ebook

Pub One Info - William Le Queux

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142 pages

English

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The whole circumstances of the Stretton Street Affair were so complicated and so amazing from start to finish that, had the facts been related to me, I confess I should never have for a moment given them credence.

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Publié par	Pub One Info
Date de parution	23 octobre 2010
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9782819905967
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0100€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

PROLOGUE
IS ABOUT MYSELF
The whole circumstances of the Stretton StreetAffair were so complicated and so amazing from start to finishthat, had the facts been related to me, I confess I should neverhave for a moment given them credence.
That they were hard, undeniable facts, presenting aproblem both startling and sensational, the reader will quicklylearn from this straightforward narrative – an open confession ofwhat actually occurred.
In all innocence, and certainly without any desireto achieve that ephemeral notoriety which accrues from having one'sportrait in the pictorial press and being besieged by interviewersin search of a "story," I found myself, without seeking adventure,one of the chief actors in a drama which was perhaps one of thestrangest and most astounding of this our twentieth century.
I almost hesitate to set down the true facts, soutterly amazing are they. Indeed, as I sit in the silence of thisold brown room in a low-built and timbered Surrey farmhouse, withpen and paper before me, I feel that it is only by a miracle that Ihave been spared to narrate one of the most complex and ingeniousplots which the human mind, with malice aforethought, everconceived.
I ought, I suppose, in opening to tell you somethingconcerning myself. Hugh Garfield is my name; my age twenty-nine,and I am the son of the late Reverend Francis Garfield, rector ofAldingbourne and minor canon of Chichester. In the war I servedwith the Royal Air Force and obtained my pilot's certificate. Iwent to France and afterwards to Italy, and on being demobilizedreturned to my work as an electrical engineer in the employ ofMessrs. Francis and Goldsmith, the well-known firm whose palatialoffices are in Great George Street, Westminster, quite close to theInstitute of Electrical Engineers.
Though I had obtained my Degree in Science I was atthe time employed a good deal upon clerical work. Five years of warhad, of course, been something of a set-back to my career, but inour reputable firm our places had been kept open for us – for thosewho returned, and we were, alas! only three out oftwenty-eight.
Perhaps it was that having done my duty and obtainedmy captaincy and a Military Cross, the loyal, old-fashioned firmregarded me with considerable favour. At any rate, it set its faceagainst anything German, even in the post-war days when the enemysent its Ambassador to the Court of St. James, and we weakheartedlyreopened trade with the diabolical Huns and allowed them to dump intheir cheap and nasty goods just as though no war had happened.
Messrs. Francis and Goldsmith was a private firm,and the principals were both fine, patriotic Britons. Thoughelectrical appliances were coming from Germany wholesale, and beingput in to the market at prices with which British firms could neverhope to compete, yet they stuck to their old resolution when in1918 they had joined the Anti-German Union of "No GermanGoods."
Would that all other firms, electrical andotherwise, had done likewise!
Before I describe the amazing adventures whichbefell me I suppose I ought to tell you the exact circumstances. Ihad an excellent business appointment, with a salary which wasquite adequate for my modest needs as a bachelor. Further, my AuntEmily had died and left me quite a comfortable little fortune inaddition. I shared a small flat in Rivermead Mansions, just overHammersmith Bridge, with another bachelor, a young solicitor – adark-haired, clean-shaven, alert fellow named Henry Hambledon, whohad created quite a good practice, with only small fees of course,at the Hammersmith Police Court and its vicinity.
I first met Hambledon at the front – years ago itseems in these days when events march on so rapidly. For nearly ayear we were brother-officers, until I was sent to Italy. We metagain after the Armistice and set up housekeeping together, ourfemale "Kaiserin" being a sharp-featured, grey-haired young lady ofabout fifty-five, who "looked after us" very well, and though shepossessed many idiosyncrasies, did not rob us quite so openly as domost housekeepers of the London bachelor's home.
Harry was one of the best of good fellows. He hadseen a lot of service ever since he had responded to his country'scall and joined up as a private. We always got on excellentlytogether, so we had furnished our pleasant little six-roomed,second-floor flat quite comfortably, and as Harry had looked afterthe artistic side of its furnishings – aided by a pal of his, animpecunious artist who lived in Chelsea – it certainly was a verypassable bachelor's snuggery.
The small front room commanded a view over the riverwith works, wharves, and high factory chimneys on the Middlesexshore. To the left, across the long suspension bridge, was Chiswickand Kew, while to the right lay Putney and Chelsea. Before thehouse flowed the great broad muddy river where once each year theUniversity eights flashed past, while ever and anon, year in, yearout, noisy tugs towed strings of black barges up and down thestream.
Away across the high-road to the left were the greatreservoirs of London's water works, a huge open space always freshand breezy even within a stone's throw of stifled Hammersmith, withits "tubes" and its dancing-halls. Used as we both had been toyears of roughing it, the spot had taken our fancy, and we got onfamously together. On most evenings we were out, but sometimes,before we turned in, we would sit and smoke and laugh over ourstirring adventures and humorous incidents in the war, and the"scraps" we had been safely through.
Since his demobilization Harry had fallen deeply inlove with an extremely pretty girl named Norah Peyton, who lived ina house overlooking the Terrace Gardens at Richmond, and whosefather was partner in a firm of well-known importers in MincingLane. As for myself, I was "unattached." Like every other young manof my age I had, of course, had several little affairs of theheart, all of which had, however, died within a few shortweeks.
Now it happened that on the evening of the day priorto the opening of this strange series of adventures which befellme, I was in the city of York, whither I had gone on business forthe firm, and as my old-fashioned employers allowed first-classtravelling expenses, I entered an empty first-class compartment ofthe London express which left York at six-twenty-three, and was dueat King's Cross at ten-thirty.
A few moments later a fellow-passenger appeared, awell-dressed, middle-aged man, who asked me in French if the trainwent to London, and on my replying in the affirmative, he thankedme profusely and joined me. "I regret, m'sieur, that I, alas! knowso very leetle of your Engleesh," he remarked pleasantly, andcontinued in French: "Sometimes my ignorance places me in greatdifficulty when en voyage here."
Knowing French fairly well we soon commenced to chatin that language. He struck me as a man of considerable refinementand education. Therefore it was no surprise to me when he told methat, as an official at the head office of the Crédit Lyonnais inParis, it was his duty sometimes to visit their correspondents inthe chief commercial centres of Great Britain. "I am on my way fromGlasgow back to Paris," he said. "But I had to break my journey inYork this morning. I shall leave London for Paris to-morrow. Ishall travel by the air-route," he added; "it is so much quicker,and far less fatiguing. I have been backwards and forwards to theCroydon Aerodrome quite half a dozen times of late." "Yes," Iremarked. "Travel by aeroplane must be of very considerableadvantage to really busy men."
And thus we chatted until dinner was announced, andwe went together along the corridor to the restaurant-car, where wesat opposite each other.
As the train sped along over the flat fertilecountry through Doncaster and Grantham on that moonlit winter'snight we sat gossiping pleasantly, for I had looked forward to alonely journey back to London.
I have "knocked about" ever since the commencementof the war, but I abhor a lonely four-hour railway journey. I hadhad enough of slow railway journeys in France and elsewhere. But onthat evening I confess I was greatly taken with myfellow-traveller.
He had all the alertness and exquisite politeness ofthe Parisian, and he compelled me to have a Benedictine at hisexpense. Then, as a quid pro quo , he took one of mycigarettes.
Later, when we had concluded the usual andnever-altering meal provided by the Great Northern Railway Company– I often wonder who are the culinary artists who devise thosemenus which face us on all English trains – we returned to ourcompartment to stretch ourselves in our corners and to smoke.Grantham we had passed and we were approaching Peterborough, theold fen town with the ancient cathedral.
In French my friend the banker kept up a continuouschatter, even though I was tired and drowsy. He had told me muchconcerning himself, and I, in turn, told him of my profession andwhere I lived. I did not tell him very much, for I am one of thosepersons who prefer to keep themselves to themselves. I seldom givestrangers any information. After a time, indeed, I tired ofhim.
At last we entered King's Cross – a little late, asis usual on a long run. "I have to get to the Carlton," mycompanion said. "Of course there will be no taxis. But are not youin London very badly served in that respect? We, in Paris, havetaxis at any hour. When your stations close I find always a greatdifficulty in getting a conveyance. By the way! Could you not dinewith me to-morrow night?" "I am sorry," I replied. "But I havearranged to visit my uncle in Orchard Street."
Two minutes later the train drew up slowly, andwishing my fellow-traveller bon soir , I expressed a hopethat one day, ere long, we might meet again. I had not given him mycard, as our acquaintance was only upon chance, and – well, afterall, he was only a passing foreigner.
Half an hour after I had stepped from the train, Iwas back again in my