



Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by the Web Archive










Transcriber's Notes:
   1. Page scan source: Web Archive
      https://ia800506.us.archive.org





THE GIRL FROM MALTA

BY FERGUS HUME.

AUTHOR OF

"_THE MYSTERY OF A HANSOM CAB_,"
AND "_MADAME MIDAS_."




TORONTO:
THE NATIONAL PUBLISHING COMPANY






=======================================================

Entered according to the Act of the Parliament of Canada in the Office
of the Minister of Agriculture by the NATIONAL PUBLISHING COMPANY,
Toronto, in the year one thousand eight hundred and eighty-nine.

========================================================






CONTENTS.

CHAPTER.

I.      A RUINED LIFE
II.     IN THE STRADA REALE
III.    FOUND DEAD
IV.     THE NEW PASSENGERS
V.      A DAY AT "GIB"
VI.     MRS. PELLYPOP TALKS
VII.    THE END OF THE VOYAGE
VIII.   COUNSEL'S OPINION
IX.     VERSCHOYLE _v_. VERSCHOYLE and MACGREGOR
X.      A CONFERENCE OF THREE
XI.     AN ARTISTIC EVENING
XII.    THE MISSING LINK
XIII.   THE APPLE OF DISCORD
XIV.    A LETTER FROM MALTA
XV.     MARCHESE MATTEO VASSALLA
XVI.    CARMELA IS QUESTIONED
XVII.   MAN AGAINST WOMAN
XVIII.  THE SECRETS OF THE PENNY POST
XIX.    WOMAN AGAINST MAN
XX.     JULIAN ROPER REPORTS
XXI.    AT MARLOW REGATTA
XXII.   THE TESTIMONY OF THE DAGGER
XXIII.  A LOOK INTO THE PAST
XXIV.   MRS. VERSCHOYLE PAYS A VISIT
XXV.    GUILTY OR NOT GUILTY
XXVI.   CARMELA SAYS "YES"
XXVII.  EXIT MRS. VERSCHOYLE
XXVIII. A SCRAP OF PAPER





THE GIRL FROM MALTA.



CHAPTER I.

A RUINED LIFE.


It was a calm southern night, with a silver moon shining serenely in a
cloudless sky, and over the glittering expanse of ocean steamed the P.
and O.'s vessel "Neptune" on her way from Brindisi to Malta. Every
revolution of her powerful engines sent her plunging through the blue
waters, with the waves breaking in tumbling masses of white foam from
her towering sides. The passengers, numbering about three hundred,
were all in high spirits, having had a most delightful voyage from
Australia, and were looking forward, with pleasure, to their arrival
at Valletta on the morrow.

Can there be anything in the world more pleasant than sea life on a
steamship with jolly people? Anyone, who is a good sailor, will answer
"No," though perhaps Ulysses, who travelled over these same waters,
might not agree, but then the wandering Greek had not a P. and O.
steamer at his command.

On this charming night a dance was in progress on the hurricane deck,
and the immense area had been draped with brilliantly  flags,
thus turning it into an admirable ball-room. Miss Kate Lester, the
belle of the ship,--a position she knew she occupied, and, by the way
took full advantage of all benefits to be derived therefrom,--was the
pianist, and was playing the "Venetia Valse," to which a number of
young people were dancing. The white dresses of the ladies, the darker
costumes of the men, and the vivid tints of the flags, all seen under
the powerful radiance of the electric lights, made up a very pretty
picture.

Ronald Monteith thought so, at all events--and Mr. Monteith was a very
good judge of beauty, especially if it were feminine. He leaned lazily
against the bulwarks and surveyed the festive scene with a smile on
his handsome face, but--Joseph like--took no notice of the many
glances he received from bright eyes. Tall and sinewy, with fair hair
and mustaches, blue eyes, and a skin bronzed by exposure to the hot
southern sun, Monteith was decidedly good-looking, and by no means
undervalued his personal appearance. His father was a wealthy
Australian squatter, who owned large stations in the Riverina
District, and, being a liberal-minded and liberal-handed man, had sent
his son forth to see the world. Master Ronald, nothing loth, departed
with a goodly supply of money, several letters of introduction, and a
huge capacity of enjoyment; so, as can easily be seen, this lucky
young man's lines were cast in pleasant places. There were lots of
pretty girls on board who would have liked to marry him, nevertheless,
his highness threw his handkerchief to none of them, yet flirted with
all. He was not a clever man by any means, but he could ride, shoot,
swim and box to perfection, all of which athletic accomplishments
found favour in the eyes of women; he was, moreover, an honourable
gentleman, with a kind heart and a generous spirit.

As he stood there in a meditative attitude, wondering if he could
summon up sufficient courage to dance with the thermometer at
somewhere about eighty, a young fellow who rejoiced in the name of
Patrick Ryan, came up and took him by the arm.

"Come and have a drink, me boy," said Mr. Ryan, with a slight touch of
the brogue. "I'm half dead with dancin', not to mention the way I've
to talk to the girls, and tell 'em enough lies to make me recordin'
angel take to shorthand."

"Then why the deuce don't you stop it?" retorted Ronald, as he
accepted this bacchanalian invitation, and they went down to the bar.

