Page:The Strand Magazine (Volume 3).djvu/205



To Mrs., London. From, New York.

Found! Took advertisement about Alice to office. Scream from lady behind counter—Alice herself. Just going on steamer Victoria to Southampton, direct to London.

Telegram of The Times.

Fearful disaster! Incalculable consequences! Passenger ship Victoria, bound for Southampton from New York, arrived this morning. Shortly before landing an explosion took place on board. Four stokers wounded. Kitchenmaid missing. Origin supposed to be a Fenian dynamite plot. Two passengers—a gentleman and lady—suspected, and immediately arrested.

Telegram of The New York Herald.

The Times report of the dynamite explosion on the steamer Victoria of course exaggerated. It appears that some samples of American tow had caught fire. The suspected passengers were, with many apologies, at once set free.

The telegraph-wire had spoken these last words rather faintly. Now he ceased entirely. "Not bad," said I; "the adventures of the worthy George have interested me deeply. Of course, the style of your story is a little abrupt, the development perhaps too rapid, and the matter does not seem to me quite original. All the same, your memory is marvellous. But now for the conclusion. We have landed safely in the harbour of old England, have sailed round the cliff of dynamite, but we are anxious to know if 'he and she' arrive happily in the haven of matrimony?"

A long pause ensued.

"What, you are going to leave me in the lurch at the critical moment? I wish to know if I have won my bet? You continue silent. Possibly the young people have left London, and your lines may not reach further. Am I right?" Instead of an answer there is a knock at the door.

"My worthy reporter," said I, stepping to the window, "now I can supply the last chapter to your novel. Listen." And I read in a loud voice:—

To, New York. From, Sorrento.

Blue sky. Sunshine. Sitting with my young wife on the terrace. Glorious honeymoon. Give us your blessing. You were right.

"Well, what do you think of that?" asked I, folding up the bit of paper.

But the Wire still said nothing, and when I looked more narrowly I understood his silence—he had fallen asleep.

"Come in." A telegraph boy appeared and handed me a telegram. I tear it open. It is from—by Jove, it is

"Stop. Hi!" The boy was already downstairs.