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Updated: June 1, 2025
Because, too," he went on, "it is my very earnest belief that at somewhere in the small hours of this morning there will be another message, and Mr. Jocelyn Thew will be on deck to receive it." The captain knocked out the ashes of his pipe a little apprehensively. "If half what you suspect is true, Mr.
I think I must have been lonely." They went arm in arm down-stairs and lunched cheerfully. Towards the end of the meal, he asked the question which had been on his lips more than once. "Heard anything of Jocelyn Thew?" "Not a word." Richard sighed thoughtfully. "What a waste!" he exclaimed. "A man like that ought to be doing great things.
"He's been operated upon for appendicitis, but I fancy there are complications. Not much chance for him, from what I have heard." The little crowd of men melted away. Jocelyn Thew smiled to himself on his way out, as he watched four of them climb into a taxicab. "That establishes Phillips all right as Miss Beverley's protege," he murmured, as he turned into Fifth Avenue. "And now "
"Anything gone wrong, indeed! Listen. The police have made themselves free of my house. My beautiful wireless it was only a hobby it has gone! They open my letters. They will ruin me. Never did I think that this would arrive! There has been some terrible bungling!" "And you," Jocelyn Thew retorted, "seem to have been the arch bungler." "I? But what have I done?"
"There were three or four of them went up to the Adelphi to sleep. Some of them came back for their baggage this morning, but I haven't seen Mr. Jocelyn Thew." Katharine rose to her feet. Her tone and expression were impenetrable. "Am I still suspect?" she asked. Crawshay glanced at Brightman, who shook his head. "There is no charge against you. Miss Beverley," he admitted stiffly.
"That ought to give them something to think about. They only know just what they are told. The last batch of prisoners that were brought in firmly believed that one of their armies had landed in England and that London was on the point of falling." "All war," Jocelyn Thew said didactically, "is carried on under a cloud of misconception." The young man stretched himself out.
"We are going to have a great performance to-night," he observed. "Exactly what time does your train go, Richard?" "Ten o'clock from Charing Cross." Jocelyn Thew thrust his hand into his pocket, and Richard, rising to his feet, stepped back into the shadows of the box. Something passed between them. Katharine turned her head and clutched nervously at the programme which lay before her.
"I promise," she murmured. "Here comes Mr. Crawshay." Jocelyn Thew raised his hat, smiled at Nora and strolled away. He smiled also a little to himself, but not so pleasantly. The man from whom Crawshay had just parted, and with whom he had been in close conversation, was the man who had been bidding against him for Box A at the Alhambra that night.
Crawshay listened but shook his head. "Can't hear a thing," he declared laconically. "I've a cold in my head coming on, and it always affects my hearing." Jocelyn Thew stepped on tiptoe across the deck as far as the rail and returned in a few minutes. "There's a steamer calling, away on the starboard bow," he announced. "She seems to be getting nearer, too. I wonder we don't alter our course."
"Why not?" he asked. "There is a great benefit performance there on Monday night," she told him. "The house is closed now for rehearsals. All the stalls have gone already, and the boxes are to be sold by auction at the Theatrical Fete." Jocelyn Thew was for a moment grave.
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