St. George Rathborne
Old Broadbrim Into the Heart of Australia or, A Strange Bargain and Its Consequences
Published by Good Press, 2019
EAN 4064066138295
Table of Contents
CHAPTER I.
OLD BROADBRIM'S STRANGE BARGAIN.
The 12th of April, 189—, as Old Broadbrim, the famous Quaker detective, will ever remember, fell on a Thursday.
Just after the noon hour on that day he received a letter asking him to come to one of the most elegant private residences on Fifth Avenue.
He was sure no crime had been committed, and he was puzzled to guess just what the invitation meant.
The owner of the mansion was Custer Kipp, one of the richest and best-known dwellers on the avenue, a man who counted his wealth almost by the tens of millions, so it was said at least, and the detective had seen him often on the street and in his elegant turnout in the parks.
Old Broadbrim answered the letter in person, as was his wont.
He reached the door of the mansion, and his ring was answered immediately, as if he was expected, and a servant conducted him into the library.
In an armchair at the mahogany desk sat the millionaire.
Custer Kipp was a man of sixty-three, a tall, slim, but handsome, person, and withal a person who was approachable to a fault.
He was a widower at the time, and his only child was a son named Foster.
This young man was not in at the time of the detective's call, and the only other person in the house who belonged to the household was the nabob's ward, Miss Nora Doon, a young lady just quitting her teens and the pet of the mansion.
Custer Kipp smiled drearily when the figure of the Quaker crossed the threshold, and invited him to a seat near the desk.
"I am glad you came," said he. "I sent word to my friend, the inspector, to send me one of his best men, and I am rejoiced that he saw fit to send you, of whom I have heard."
Old Broadbrim bowed and waited.
"My case is a peculiar one, and, perhaps, a little out of the line of your business. Do you ever play the part of Cerberus, Mr. Broadbrim?"
"Not very often."
"I thought not," smiled the millionaire. "I have no crime for you to unravel, but if things are permitted to drift as they are going just now, you will have a first-class mystery on your hands ere long."
"You do not want me to wait, I see," said Old Broadbrim.
"That is it exactly. I don't care to wait to be foully murdered."
"I would think not. It isn't a very pleasant prospect, but perhaps it is not as bad as you suppose."
"It is very bad. I am in the shadow of death, but I don't care to go into details just now. I want you to guard my person for one year, and if at the end of that time I am still in the land of the living, why, your work ceases."
"It's a strange commission," replied the detective.
"I thought you would call it such. I am to be guarded against an enemy insidious and merciless. I am on the 'black list.'"
"On the black list, eh?"
"Exactly," and the rich man turned a shade paler. "I will give you twenty-five thousand dollars if you guard me for one year. You will not be required to make your home under my roof—I could not ask that—but you will be asked to take care of my foe if he should prove too aggressive."
"But, sir, to be able to do that I shall have to know something about this enemy."
"Just so. You don't know him now—have never seen him, perhaps, although you may have passed him fifty times on the street within the last six months since he landed in this city."
"Oh, he's a foreigner, is he?"
"I can't say that he is, though he has passed some years under a foreign sky. This man is not alone in his dark work; he has a confederate, a person whose beauty years ago nearly proved my ruin."
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