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Updated: June 14, 2025
Gideon took the letter, and spreading it out on his knee, read as follows: DEAR JULIA, I write you from Browndean, where we are stopping over for a few days. Uncle was much shaken in that dreadful accident, of which, I dare say, you have seen the account.
He was one of the first to come to himself and scramble to his feet after the Browndean catastrophe, and he had no sooner remarked his prostrate nephews than he understood his opportunity and fled.
Women were screaming, men were tumbling from the windows on the track, the guard was crying to them to stay where they were; at the same time the train began to gather way and move very slowly backward toward Browndean; and the next moment , all these various sounds were blotted out in the apocalyptic whistle and the thundering onslaught of the down express.
But these were not honest arguments, or not wholly honest; there was a struggle in the mind of Morris; he could not disguise from himself that his brother John was miserably situated at Browndean, without news, without money, without bed-clothes, without society or any entertainment; and by the time he had been shaved and picked a hasty breakfast at a coffee tavern, Morris had arrived at a compromise.
What I don' like's total disappearance of an uncle. Not business-like." And he wagged his head. "It is all perfectly simple," returned Morris, with laborious calm. "There is no mystery. He stays at Browndean, where he got a shake in the accident." "Ah!" said Michael, "got devil of a shake!" "Why do you say that?" cried Morris sharply. "Best possible authority.
What I don' like's total disappearance of an uncle. Not businesslike. And he wagged his head. 'It is all perfectly simple, returned Morris, with laborious calm. 'There is no mystery. He stays at Browndean, where he got a shake in the accident. 'Ah! said Michael, 'got devil of a shake! 'Why do you say that? cried Morris sharply. 'Best possible authority. Told me so yourself, said the lawyer.
Not many hundred yards beyond Browndean, however, a sudden jarring of brakes set everybody's teeth on edge, and there was a brutal stoppage. Morris Finsbury was aware of a confused uproar of voices, and sprang to the window.
But here, in real life, I might walk the streets till I dropped dead, and none of the criminal classes would look near me. Though, to be sure, there is always Pitman, he added thoughtfully. Anxiety the Third: The Cottage at Browndean; or, The Underpaid Accomplice. For he had an accomplice, and that accomplice was blooming unseen in a damp cottage in Hampshire with empty pockets.
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