[Dspgateway-devel] S your place during my forthcoming visit to Lord Northallerton'

[Linsay H. <sa...@ni...>]

Ing vessel and the tea-drinkers. Sir Hubert keenly examined the top
of the funnel, and tried simultaneously to yawn and light a cigar.
In the result
he nearly choked himself. Mr. Winter, somewhat more prepared

for emergencies, endeavoured to interest Gros Jean
in the wonderful
clearness of the water. But Hussein-ul-Mulk and his two sedate
friends suddenly betrayed a keen interest in Fairholme. When
they last met the earl on the tower
of the Chateau
d'If they were so engrossed
in the object of their
visit to Marseilles that he had passed them unnoticed.
But now, looking steadily at him--for Fairholme was seated facing
them, and was striving to maintain the semblance of an animated chat
with Edith--there came to the Turks a memory, each instant becoming
more definite, of an exciting scene in the Rue Barbette, and
the opportune arrival of a stalwart young Englishman, backed
up by a couple of gendarmes. Hussein-ul-Mulk's swarthy countenance
reddened with suspicious anger. He drew Gros Jean on one side and
whispered something to him. The Frenchman started violently. "They
have recognized you, Bobby!" murmured
the quick-witted Edith. "Oh, why didn't we remain with
Mr. Brett!" There is no knowing what might have happened had not Fate
stepped in to decide
in dramatic fashion the important issues at stake. Whilst Gros Jean
and the Turk were still conferring in stealthy tones, and the English
people endeavoured to keep up an appearance of complete unconcern, a
tramp steamer swung round the corner of the mole that protects the
harbour. In tow, with sails trimly furled and six people standing on
her small deck--a lady and gentleman and four sailors--was the
_Belles Soeurs_, fishing-smack
No. 107, from Marseilles. Instantly a watcher, otherwise
unperceived, ran off from the quay at top speed towards the Hotel

de France.
Gros Jean