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Fred M. White. The Midnight Guest
The Midnight Guest
Table of Contents
CHAPTER I. AT WHOSE HAND?
CHAPTER II. NO. 1 FITZJOHN SQUARE
CHAPTER III. THE MARK OF THE BEAST
CHAPTER IV. A WOMAN'S FACE
CHAPTER V. VERA RAYNE
CHAPTER VI. A VOICE IN THE DARK
CHAPTER VII. THE YELLOW HAND-BILL
CHAPTER VIII. THE MYSTERY DEEPENS
CHAPTER IX. THE CONFIDENTIAL AGENT
CHAPTER X. ROPES OF SAND
CHAPTER XI. THE EXPRESS LETTER
CHAPTER XII. A SPEAKING LIKENESS
CHAPTER XIII. A STRIKING LIKENESS
CHAPTER XIV. RETROSPECTION
CHAPTER XV. DALLAS MAKES A DISCOVERY
CHAPTER XVI. STRONG MEASURES
CHAPTER XVII. LOOKING BACKWARDS
CHAPTER XVIII. AFTER MANY YEARS
CHAPTER XIX. CARLOTTA'S STORY
CHAPTER XX. VALDO IN A NEW LIGHT
CHAPTER XXI. TO BE IN TIME
CHAPTER XXII. THE WORTH OF A NAME
CHAPTER XXIII. THE NEXT MOVE
CHAPTER XXIV. A BLOOD RELATION
CHAPTER XXV. BRED IN THE BONE
CHAPTER XXVI. A FAITHFUL SERVANT
CHAPTER XXVII. FLIGHT!
CHAPTER XXVIII. VERA'S WARNING
CHAPTER XXIX. THE MESSAGE
CHAPTER XXX. LOST
CHAPTER XXXI. A MISSING LINK
CHAPTER XXXII. WHAT DOES IT MEAN?
CHAPTER XXXIII. THE MIDNIGHT MESSAGE
CHAPTER XXXIV. A STRANGE HOME-COMING
CHAPTER XXXV. MOTHER AND CHILD
CHAPTER XXXVI. IN THE DEAD OF NIGHT
CHAPTER XXXVII. AN UNEXPECTED FRIEND
CHAPTER XXXVIII. IN THE HOUSE
CHAPTER XXXIX. THE HOUND AGAIN
CHAPTER XL. BROKEN WINGS
CHAPTER XLI. A RAY OF LIGHT
CHAPTER XLII. RUN TO EARTH
CHAPTER XLIII. THE WHOLE TRUTH
CHAPTER XLIV. THE STORY OF A CRIME
CHAPTER XLV. COUNT FLAVIO'S DIARY
CHAPTER XLVI. A WOMAN'S HEART
CHAPTER XLVII. THE PASSING OF THE VENGEANCE
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Fred M. White
A Detective Story
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A door opened at that moment, and a young man entered, and came eagerly across the room in the direction of the speaker. Walter Lance might have been Lord Ravenspur as he had been twenty years ago. As a matter of fact, they were uncle and nephew, Lance being the son of Ravenspur's favorite sister, who had died some years before. For the rest, he was a barrister eagerly waiting his chance of success, and, in the meantime, occupied himself in the capacity of Ravenspur's private secretary. He seemed to have heard all that had taken place. He was warm in his sympathy as he piloted Sir James Seton to his own room. They were going down again almost before the dinner gong had ceased to sound, and by this time a knot of dinner guests were discussing ordinary topics again.
To the casual observer there was no sign of trouble or tragedy here. Everything was perfect in its way. The oval table glittered with silver and old Bohemian glass. The banks of flowers might have been arranged by the master hand of an artist. Ravenspur sat there gaily enough now, his conversation gleaming with wit and humour, the most perfect host in London. There was no sign whatever of his earlier agitation. And yet, strive as he would, from time to time the name of Louis Delahay crept into the conversation. It was in vain that Lord Ravenspur attempted to turn the stream of thought into other channels. He was glad enough at length when the dinner came to an end, and the party of guests broke up into little groups. The host approached Seton presently with a request to know whether he would care to play bridge or not.
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