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Bell's Indian and Colonial Library




JONAH'S LUCK






JONAH'S LUCK


BY
FERGUS HUME

AUTHOR OF
"_The Mystery of a Hansom Cab_," "_The Guilty House_,"
"_The White Room_," "_The Wooden Hand_,"
"_The Fatal Song_," "_The Scarlet Bat_,"
_etc., etc_.




LONDON
GEORGE BELL AND SONS
1906


_This Edition is issued for circulation in India and the Colonies
only_.






CONTENTS

CHAP.

I.        THE ADVENTURE OF THE INN
II.       A RECOGNITION
III.      CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE
IV.       WHAT HAPPENED NEXT
V.        HUE AND CRY
VI.       THE CARAVAN
VII.      KIND'S OPINIONS
VIII.     MISS MAUD TEDDER
IX.       THE SOLICITOR
X.        THE INQUEST
XI.       LOVERS
XII.      THE STRANGE WORD
XIII.     A MEXICAN BEAUTY
XIV.      AN UNEXPECTED ARRIVAL
XV.       A FRIEND IN NEED
XVI.      M. GOWRIE'S PLOTTING
XVII.     MAUD'S INHERITANCE
XVIII.    A SURPRISING DEFENCE
XIX.      MRS. MOUNTFORD'S ACCUSATION
XX.       AT THE "MARSH INN"
XXI.      ON BOARD THE YACHT
XXII.     ANOTHER MYSTERY
XXIII.    AN EXPLANATION
XXIV.     STARTLING NEWS
XXV.      THE CAPTAIN'S STORY
XXVI.     THE BEGINNING OF THE END
XXVII.    THE END






JONAH'S LUCK




CHAPTER I
THE ADVENTURE OF THE INN


It was the close of a chilly autumn day; and under a lowering grey sky
the landscape of river and marsh and low-lying hills looked
forbiddingly forlorn. White mists veiled the wet earth; the road,
running between withered hedgerows, was ankle-deep in mud, and the
stubbled fields held streaks of water between their ploughed ridges.
Occasionally the pale beams of a weakened sun would break through the
foggy air: but the fitful light, without warmth or power, only served
to accentuate the depression of the scene. The most cheerful of men
would have succumbed to the pessimism of the moment.

As it was, the solitary creature who trudged along the miry highway
accepted his misery with sulky resignation. At intervals he lifted a
hopeless face to the darkening clouds: sometimes he peered idly to
right and left, and twice he halted, breathing heavily, a monument of
wretchedness. But usually, with his hands in the pockets of a thin
jacket, and with a bent head, he plodded doggedly onward, bearing
submissively a situation which he could not mend. In his gait there
was the hint of the pedestrian who aims at no goal. Without eagerness,
without resolution, with slack muscles and a blank expression, he
toiled like a hag-ridden dreamer through those dreary, weary, eerie,
Essex marshes, a derelict of civilisation.

Yet his face, when revealed by the wan sunshine, appeared young and
handsome and refined, though sadly worn and lean. The skin, bronzed to
a clear brown by wind and rain and sunshine, was marred by unexpected
wrinkles, less the work of time than of care. His closely-clipped hair
and small moustache exhibited the hue of ripe corn; his eyes possessed
the fathomless blue of Italian skies; his thin nose, slightly curved,
his firm chin and set lips revealed character and determination. Also,
he had the frame of a wiry athlete, the spring-gait of a long-distance
walker, and the expansive forehead of a student. Such a man should not
have been ploughing through the mud of a lonely country road, with but
a threadbare suit of blue serge to protect him from the inclement
weather. Something was wrong: and none knew that better than the tramp
himself. But whatever might be the cause of his misery, he kept it in
his heart, being by nature reticent, and by experience, suspicious.

At sunset the air became darker, the mists thicker, the scene even
more dreary. Still he laboured onward, but now, for the first time,
with a hint of resolution in his movements, bracing himself, as it
were, for a final spurt, to attain a newly-guessed-at end. On the
right he could hear the lapping of the Thames against its weedy banks,
on the left a dull dripping of water from leafless boughs, saluted his
ears. Sometimes there sounded the cry of a belated bird; again would
come the shrill whistling of trains, and not infrequently the hooting
of a siren, as steamers passed each other on the blind river. And,
between pauses, he could hear his own weary breathing, and the
squelching of the water in his well-worn shoes. None of these sounds
tended to raise his spirits, which were, at the moment, as low as the
tide of the unseen stream.

Only when a dim light glimmered through the mists did he show any
signs of interest in the physical, and then he heaved a sigh of
relief. A jingle of money came from his right-hand pocket as he moved
his fingers, and a gleam of satisfaction flitted across his sullen
face. The light, as he surmised, must come from some cottage, or
farm-house, or inn, and there he would be able to obtain bed and board
for the night. It had been his intention to push on to Tarhaven, in
search of a friend, but the rapid closing in of the night and the
increasing gloom of the fogs, forced him to spend his last few pence
in rest and food. The evil of to-day he could no longer endure: the
morrow would, and must, look after itself--a true beggar's philosophy,
and what was he but one of the unemployed.

The light became stronger as he drew near, and he found himself
unexpectedly on the outskirts of what he presumed was a small village,
and within a yard or so of the inn. The hostel was pretentious, seeing
that it consisted of two storeys, and yet it was mean in appearance,
as the walls were merely of whitewashed mud, and the roof of sodden
grey thatch. Over the low, broad door, flanked by dripping benches,
appeared a sign advertising, in rude black letters, that the house was
"The Marsh Inn." Through the windows on either side of the closed
door, gleamed a ruddy light telling of comfort and warmth within,
obtainable, doubtless, at a small charge. With his hand on the latch,
since the entry was free to all comers, stood the tramp, while a
shrill voice objurated within, without pause or grammar.

"Jus' slip out t' git water, y' bloomin' silly. Pope wants 'is tea,
bein' took with poetry. I don' keep y' fur show nohow. But thet's fine
lydies all over: ho yuss. I want y' fur a glarse cupboard, in corse,
y' lazy Jezebel, 'Eaven forgive me fur bringin' y' int' 'Oly Writ, es
the parsin torks of."

Before the end of this pleasant admonition the door flew open so
suddenly that the stranger started back. Past him, shot a girl of
small stature, with a white, haggard face, firmly closed lips and
defiant eyes. She was scarcely a woman, and weak in her appearance, so
the zinc bucket she swung at her side was undeniably too heavy for her
frail strength. The tramp heard her gasp as she sprang into the mist,
and with the unconsidered haste of a kindly heart, he followed
impulsively. Her laboured breathing guided him to a well, encircled
with rough stone-work and surmounted by an iron wheel. Down dropped
the jangling bucket, and the girl, breathing with exhaustion, strove
to bring it to the surface again, weighty with water. The effort
extorted a low, heart-breaking sob.

"This is too much for you," said the tramp in a refined and pleasant
voice. "Allow me!" and he fell to work.

The girl started when he spoke, but she did not cry out. Evidently she
was accustomed to command her feelings. In the mist she could scarcely
see the face of her assistant, but his voice sounded like that of a
gentleman, and there lurked a quality in its tones which gave her
confidence. In a moment or so he had the filled bucket in his grip,
and was walking towards the inn. At the door the girl silently took
his burden from him with a nod of thanks, and entered with a word of
gratitude. And her voice was also refined, by no means the voice of a
servant. Howsoever this girl came to occupy so menial a position, the
tramp guessed that she was a gentlewoman. However, he was too weary to
weave romances about beggarmaids, and was no King Cophetua to do so.
He sighed and walked in.

The room was small and ancient, with a low ceiling and a gigantic
fire-place, in which glowed a noble driftwood fire. On either side of
this stood settles, and in the centre of the room, was an oblong deal
table, upon which appeared pewter tankards, and clumsy china mugs. The
floor was sanded, the smoke-panelled walls were decorated with cheap
hunting pictures, vilely, and with illustrations cut from
_The Graphic_. Also there was an old horse-hair sofa, of the ugly
Albert period, a cumbersome chair or two, and spittoons. A dingy
paraffin lamp dangled from the grimy, whitewashed ceiling, blackening
it with smoke, and diffusing a dull yellow glare. In fact this
especial tap-room was of the kind usually to be found by the dozen in
agricultural districts, unlovely, dirty, cheap, and vulgar, yet
comfortable enough in an animal way.

On one settle, sat a lean, loosely-knit youth of of twenty, with a
slack, foolish face, and a drooping underlip, revealing small serrated
teeth. His hair was long and unbrushed, his clothes were of well-worn
tweed, extremely untidy, and badly fitting. Book in hand he stared at
the ceiling, with lack-lustre eyes, oblivious to his surroundings.
Opposite to him, and watching sneeringly, sat an elderly man, with a
strong square face, much inflamed with drink. His apparel was
disreputable, his head bald, and his beard untrimmed. Yet he had the
thoughtful eyes of a scholar, and his hands, though dirty, were white
and slender, and eloquently emphasised the fact to the observant, that
he worked less with them than with his brain. Undoubtedly he had been
gently reared, and the cause of his falling into this mire, could be
discerned only too plainly in his red nose and shiny skin, and in the
affectionate way in which he grasped a glass of what looked like
water, and which was really gin.

Lastly, the new-comer's eyes wandered to the landlady, and in her he
beheld the representative Whitechapel virago, so well-known in the
police-courts of that district. She was tall and lean, fierce in
looks, vehement of tongue, prodigal of gestures: a slattern in dress
and a tyrant in manner. Having chased the girl with the bucket into
the back parts of the house, she strode forward with the swing of a
grenadier, and the insolence of a bully, to face the new guest.

"An' wot may y' want?" she demanded, harshly scornful.

"Bed