The Argosy — page 63: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

50 The Night Boat from Boulogne. The little English lady was very self-possessed ; at all events out- wardly. The official at the small custom-house was reading a telegram when Janet addressed him. ‘‘Monsieur, I could not go by the boat last night; I heard there was no stewardess on board. ‘There ought to be one. I shall com- plain about it. The sailor who took me to some lodgings brought this bag to me; he thought it was my luggage. It is not mine, and I have to pay this man for bringing it back.” “A bag—Ah, a bag—yellow—a Gladstone bag. Here is a telegram about this. It is fortunate you brought it. But there! it should have been registered.” ‘May I see the telegram, monsieur? Iam sorry the gentleman is anxious. Would it be well to telegraph to him? I will pay for the message.” The official showed her the telegram. Janet noted the address. She meant to follow that trace; at least, of course, the firm would. How they would praise her! ‘Tired—not much, this morning; why, she felt inclined to dance. “T must go by the next boat ; when does it start? May I use this ticket ?” ‘No, madame, you must take another; this one only holds good for the night service.” Janet remained long enough to see that the telegram was sent. “Bag all right; will follow by next boat.” Janet sent another telegram to Frank and directed it to Mr. Harris at his office. ‘ Do nothing more till you see me. Crossing by Boulogne boat.” It was only afterwards that Janet fully realised the weary waiting at Boulogne till the starting of the afternoon boat, and the stormy crossing. What she did fully realise at the time was the passing glimpse of a man with fair hair and gentlemanly appearance hurrying on to the boat at Folkestone to make inquiries for a lost Gladstone bag, and the agony she endured till the train steamed out of Folkestone, en route for London. The next thing to be always remembered was Frank’s face at the station: it was so pale and anxious. ‘Janet, dearest, you are safe! What news? Tell me quickly. Mr. Harris is here waiting to know.” He dared say no more. And then Janet cried and laughed as she answered : “Oh, Frank, I have turned detective, and I have found them; I have them here. Aren’t you glad?” In spite of the public place, she held out the small boxes which she had concealed in her dress. “Look, Frank, are they all here? Is the Kenite safe?” “Yes, thank God! Janet, you have saved us! My clever little wife! But I can’t understand. Where is the thief; is he caught? But wait! Where is the proof against him P—for we have all the dia- monds here. Did the police keep nothing? If so he will escape us.” ECORNIELOOL KS, EC)