Lord John in New York

								


Produced by Al Haines

LORD JOHN
IN NEW YORK

BY
C. N. & A. M. WILLIAMSON

AUTHORS OF "THE LIGHTNING CONDUCTOR"

METHUEN & CO. LTD.
36 ESSEX STREET W.C.
LONDON

First Published in 1918

  BY THE SAME AUTHORS


The Lightning Conductor
The Princess Passes
My Friend the Chauffeur
Lady Betty Across the Water
The Car of Destiny
The Botor Chaperon
Set in Silver
Lord Loveland Discovers America
The Golden Silence
The Guests of Hercules
The Demon
The Wedding Day
The Princess Virginia
The Heather Moon
The Love Pirate
It Happened in Egypt
A Soldier of the Legion
The Shop Girl
The War Wedding
The Lightning Conductress
Secret History
The Cowboy Countess
This Woman to this Man

CONTENTS

EPISODE I
THE KEY

EPISODE II
THE GREY SISTERHOOD

EPISODE III
THE GIRL ON THE THIRTEENTH FLOOR

EPISODE IV
THE DEATH TRYST

EPISODE V
THE BENEFIT OF THE DOUBT

EPISODE VI
THE CLUE IN THE AIR

EPISODE VII
THE WATCHING EYE

EPISODE VIII
THE HOUSE OF REVENGE

EPISODE IX
THE BELL BUOY

TO A CERTAIN KING
OF A CERTAIN CINEMA COMPANY
WHO PUT
"LORD JOHN IN NEW YORK"
ON THE SCREEN

LORD JOHN IN NEW YORK

EPISODE I
THE KEY
"More letters and flowers for you, Lord John," said my nurse.
Not that I needed a nurse; and, above all things, I needed no more
letters or flowers.  The waste-paper basket was full.  The room smelt
like a perfume factory.  The mantelpiece and all other receptacles
having an army of occupation, vases and bowls were mobilising on the
floor.  This would, of course, not be tolerated in hospital; but I was
off the sick list, recovering in a private convalescent home.  I was
fed up with being a wounded hero; the fragrance of too many flowers,
and the kindness of too many ladies, was sapping and mining my brain
power; consequently, I could invent no excuse for escape.
The nurse came in, put down the lilies, and gave me three letters.
My heart beat, for I was expecting a note from a woman to whom somehow
or other I was almost engaged, and to whom I didn't in the least wish
to be engaged.  She would not have looked at me before the war, when I
was only a younger brother of the Marquis of Haslemere--and the author
of a successful detective story called The Key.  Now, however; simply
because I'd dropped a few bombs from a monoplane on to a Zeppelin
hangar in Belgium, had been wounded in one arm and two legs, and
through sheer instinct of self-preservation had contrived to escape, I
was a toy worth playing with.  She wanted to play with me.  All the
women I knew, not busy with better toys, wanted to play with me.  My
brother Haslemere, who had been ashamed of my extremely clever, rather
successful book, and the undoubted detective talent it showed, was
proud of me as a mere bomb-dropper.  So, too, was my sister-in-law.  I