The New Tenant. E. Phillips Oppenheim

       SIR ALLAN BEAUMERVILLE VISITS THE COURT

       CHAPTER XXIX

       THE SCENE CHANGES

       CHAPTER XXX

       BENJAMIN LEVY RUNS HIS QUARRY TO EARTH

       CHAPTER XXXI

       BENJAMIN LEVY WRITES HOME

       CHAPTER XXXII

       A STRANGE TRIO OF PASSENGERS

       CHAPTER XXXIII

       VISITORS FOR MR. BERNARD MADDISON

       CHAPTER XXXIV

       ARRESTED

       CHAPTER XXXV

       COMMITTED FOR TRIAL

       CHAPTER XXXVI

       MR. LEVY PROMISES TO DO HIS BEST

       CHAPTER XXXVII

       BERNARD A PRISONER

       CHAPTER XXXVIII

       "THERE IS MY HAND. DARE YOU TAKE IT?"

       CHAPTER XXXIX

       MR. BENJAMIN LEVY IS BUSY

       CHAPTER XL

       A STRANGE BIRTHDAY PARTY

       CHAPTER XLI

       INNOCENT

       CHAPTER XLII

       AT LAST

CHAPTER I

       Table of Contents

FALCON'S NEST

       Table of Contents

      Thurwell Court, by Thurwell-on-the-Sea, lay bathed in the quiet freshness of an early morning. The dewdrops were still sparkling upon the terraced lawns like little globules of flashing silver, and the tumult of noisy songsters from the thick shrubberies alone broke the sweet silence. The peacocks strutting about the grey stone balcony and perched upon the worn balustrade were in deshabille, not being accustomed to display their splendors to an empty paradise, and the few fat blackbirds who were hopping about on the lawn did so in a desultory manner, as though they were only half awake and had turned out under protest. Stillness reigned everywhere, but it was the sweet hush of slowly awakening day rather than the drowsy, languorous quiet of exhausted afternoon. With one's eyes shut one could tell that the pulse of day was only just beginning to beat. The pure atmosphere was buoyant with the vigorous promise of morning, and gently laden with the mingled perfumes of slowly opening flowers. There was life in the breathless air.

      The sunlight was everywhere. In the distance it lay upon the dark hillside, played upon the deep yellow gorse and purple heather of the moorland, and, further away still, flashed upon a long silver streak of the German Ocean. In the old-fashioned gardens of the court it shone upon luscious peaches hanging on the time-mellowed red-brick walls; lit up the face and gleamed upon the hands of the stable clock, and warmed the ancient heart of the stooping, grey-haired old gardener's help who, with blinking eyes and hands tucked in his trousers pockets, was smoking a matutinal pipe, seated on the wheelbarrow outside the tool shed.

      Around the mansion itself it was very busy, casting a thousand sunbeams upon its long line of oriel windows, and many quaint shadows of its begabled roof upon the lawns and bright flower-beds below. On one of the terraces a breakfast-table was laid for two, and here its splendour was absolutely dazzling. It gleamed upon the sparkling silver, and the snow-white tablecloth; shone with a delicate softness upon the freshly-gathered fruit and brilliant flowers, and seemed to hover with a gentle burnished light upon the ruddy golden hair of a girl who sat there waiting, with her arm resting lightly upon the stone balustrade, and her eyes straying over the quaint well-kept gardens to the open moorland and dark patches of wooded country beyond.

      "Good morning, Helen! First, as usual."

      She turned round with a somewhat languid greeting. A tall, well-made man, a little past middle-age, in gaiters and light tweed coat, had stepped out on to the balcony from one of the open windows. In his right hand he was swinging carelessly backwards and forwards by a long strap a well-worn letter-bag.

      "Is breakfast ready?" he inquired.

      "Waiting for you, father," she answered, touching a small handbell by her side. "Try one of those peaches. Burdett says they are the finest he ever raised."

      He stretched out his hand for one, and sinking into a low basket chair, commenced lazily to peel it, with his eyes wandering over the sunny landscape. A footman brought out the tea equipage and some silver-covered dishes, and, after silently arranging them upon the table, withdrew.

      "What an exquisite morning!" Mr. Thurwell remarked, looking up at the blue cloudless sky, and pulling his cap a little closer over his eyes to protect them from the sun. "We might be in Italy again."

      "Indeed we might," she answered. "I am going to imagine that we are, and make my breakfast of peaches and cream and chocolate! Shall I give you some?"

      He shook his head, with a little grimace.

      "No, thanks. I'm Philistine enough to prefer devilled kidneys and tea. I wonder if there is anything in the letters."

      He drew a key from his waistcoat pocket, and, unlocking the bag, shook its contents upon the tablecloth. His daughter looked at the pile