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Harry Blount, the Detective by T. J. Flanagan
Harry Blount, the Detective Chapter 1 No.1
It was a beautiful May morning-the more especially in that part of Lancashire, immediately surrounding Hanley Hall, the magnificent residence of Mr. St. George Stafford. Yet Mr. Stafford-though an ardent lover of nature, sat down to breakfast, on this particular morning, with a frown on his brow. He was expecting an important letter, and the mail had been delayed-hence the frown.
Just as the coffee was brought in, the mail arrived, and with the receipt of the expected letter the frown vanished; to be replaced by an expression of surprise, as Mr. Stafford noticed an envelope bearing an American stamp, and curiosity led him to open this first.
It was not a long letter, and when he had finished, he found his wife and daughter, whose attention had been attracted, looking at him inquiringly.
Addressing the latter, a pretty, dark-eyed girl of about nineteen, he said, with great gravity:
"Well, Kate! You can prepare to receive your husband-to be-at almost any minute! This letter, mailed only two days prior to his departure from New York, informs me that he is coming to claim you."
"Why, papa! What do you mean?"
"Why, George! What do you mean?"
The astonishment expressed in the tones, and depicted in the features, of his "women folks," as he called them, was too much for Mr. Stafford. He could no longer retain his gravity, and burst into a hearty laugh.
Mrs. Stafford looked perplexed, Kate pouted, and as this only served to increase Mr. Stafford's merriment, it was with difficulty he replied:
"I mean exactly what I said: Kate's future husband may arrive at any time to-day or to-morrow!"
Mrs. Stafford looked still more perplexed and rather serious, while Kate looked exceedingly curious.
"Come, George!" said Mrs. Stafford. "Don't tease poor Kate! Tell us what this means-I'm sure I cannot understand you!"
"Well, my dear, I will relieve the terrible suspense. You, of course, remember my old partner Hall. Poor Dick is dead and gone, but a better friend or truer man never lived! But, no matter. When we decided to give up business, and had wound up all our affairs, we-that is, you and I and a little girl we called Kate-spent the night before we left New York for England at Dick's house. Well, Hall had a little boy, and he and this little girl of ours were great friends; and, as they played about the floor, Dick made some remark about it being a pity to part them; that it was probably their last night together-something of that sort. I, never dreaming he would take it seriously, said that we had better betroth them, as was done with children in olden times; but Dick seemed taken with the idea, and-well, the upshot of the matter was, that you, Miss Kate, and that little boy, were engaged before we left the topic, and although your mother and Mrs. Hall sat only a few feet away, they knew nothing about it. I looked upon it as a joke, but poor Dick apparently took it in sober earnest; for next day, as he bade me good-bye, he put a ring in my hand-'For the little one,' he said, and showed me the mate of it. He's dead many a year, poor fellow; but his son is still living, and appears to be ready and willing to fulfill his part of the contract."
Mr. Stafford finished with a sly look at Kate, causing her to blush furiously, although she laughed merrily.
"What a ridiculous idea!" she exclaimed, while Mrs. Stafford, looking very serious, asked:
"Is this really true, or are you still jesting? I can scarcely credit what you say."
"Quite true-even to the ring Kate is now wearing!" and Mr. Stafford pointed to a pretty little amethyst on his daughter's finger.
Mrs. Stafford no longer doubted the story. She looked troubled, and during the remainder of the meal remained very quiet. Not so the father and daughter, who carried on a merry war-Kate declaring she was not at all curious, and certainly not anxious to see him, and scouting the idea of a ready-made husband, while Mr. Stafford kept teasing her on these points. Yet, when she retired to her room immediately after breakfast, and looked at her reflection in the glass, she did "wonder what he was like."
It was a beautiful form, and a face not only beautiful, but essentially good, that she gazed upon, and any he might be proud to have a claim upon it; but she was accustomed to the features before her, and not especially interested in any man. So wasting no time upon either, she set about that mysterious performance (to men) known as "changing her dress." This, at all events, must be a matter requiring time, for a full half-hour had elapsed when she appeared before her father in the library, arrayed in full out-door costume, and with a saucy smile invited his criticism, adding as she swung round before him:
"You can now see how curious I am to behold him!"
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Harry Blount, the Detective
T. J. Flanagan
Literature
Chapter 1 No.1
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Chapter 2 No.2
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Chapter 3 No.3
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Chapter 4 No.4
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Chapter 5 No.5
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Chapter 6 No.6
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Chapter 7 No.7
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Chapter 8 No.8
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Chapter 9 No.9
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Chapter 10 No.10
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Chapter 11 No.11
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Chapter 12 No.12
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Chapter 13 No.13
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Chapter 14 No.14
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Chapter 15 No.15
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Chapter 16 No.16
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Chapter 17 No.17
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Chapter 18 No.18
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Chapter 19 No.19
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Chapter 20 No.20
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Chapter 21 No.21
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Chapter 22 No.22
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Chapter 23 No.23
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Chapter 24 No.24
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Chapter 25 No.25
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Chapter 26 No.26
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Chapter 27 No.27
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