Freeman Crofts – The Cask (страница 2)
Chapter XVIII: Lefarge Hunts Alone
Chapter XIX: The Testing of an Alibi
Chapter XX: Some Damning Evidence
Chapter XXI: A New Point of View
Chapter XXII: Felix Tells a Second Story
Chapter XXIII: Clifford Gets to Work
Chapter XXIV: Mr Georges La Touche
Chapter XXVII: La Touche’s Dilemma
Chapter XXVIII: The Unravelling of the Web
Chapter XXIX: A Dramatic Dénouement
MESSRS COLLINS have done many things which have delighted me—notably their acceptance of the MS of
They have asked me to write a foreword, describing briefly how the book came into being, and this is it.
Well, unhappily for the foreword, nothing could have been more prosaic and uninteresting. I did not retire from the world, and with a plentiful supply of wet towels for my head and strong coffee at two-hourly intervals, cover the floor of my room with sheet after sheet of closely-written manuscript. Instead, I got ill and had a period of convalescence. During this period I became so bored that I didn’t know what to do, and to try to fill the time I asked for a pencil and a few sheets of notepaper. I began to write down what seemed the most absurd and improbable things I could think of. Before I knew what was happening, a whole morning was gone.
This was eminently satisfactory, and I was even more pleased when the second morning passed equally quickly. At last a chapter was finished. As a sort of joke I read it to my wife. She expressed delight (unhappily, mingled with amazement). I remember so well finishing up: ‘Harkness and the cask were gone!’ and her enthusiastic approval. However, her praise made me persevere, and I continued writing till I was well enough to take up again my normal job of railway engineering.
The manuscript was put away and almost forgotten, but some time later I re-read it. Rather to my surprise it seemed as if something might be made of it and I began to revise and re-write. In this a kindly neighbour (to whom I dedicated the book) gave me immense help. I read each chapter to him as it was finished, and he would stop me and say: ‘I don’t like that. No one but a complete idiot would have done any such thing. You’ll have to alter it.’ Most salutary: it made the book a deal better than it would otherwise have been.
At last it was finished, and in fear and trembling, yet with a thrill, I sent it to Messrs A. P. Watt, the literary agents. Then ensued a breathless period of waiting. Eventually there came a letter—one of the kindest I have ever received—from Mr J. D. Beresford, the distinguished novelist and critic, who had read the story on behalf of Messrs Collins. He said that he and Messrs Collins liked Parts I and II, but they didn’t think that Part III was so satisfactory. Would I consider rewriting this last part on a different basis?
I should have explained that the original Part III was the account of the actual trial for murder. The truth was reached by the breaking down of the real criminal in the witness box, with his subsequent confession and suicide. Having recently re-read that old Part III, I can see how completely justified Mr Beresford was. I don’t know a great deal about murder trials now, but I have learnt enough to appreciate that no trial like that I described has ever taken place, either in this or any other country.
Needless to say, I jumped at the idea of doing a new Part III, and I suppose there was no more amazed and delighted person in existence, when some time later Mr Watt wrote that Messrs Collins had accepted the book and were going to publish it immediately.
With Dickens in my mind I had called the great work
The whole episode represented such a thrill that, as may be imagined, it was not long before I was at work on a second book,
I’m afraid I cannot claim for
Were I writing
FREEMAN WILLS CROFTS
1946
MR AVERY, managing director of the Insular and Continental Steam Navigation Company, had just arrived at his office. He glanced at his inward letters, ran his eye over his list of engagements for the day, and inspected the return of the movements of his Company’s steamers. Then, after spending a few moments in thought, he called his chief clerk, Wilcox.
‘I see the
‘She has,’ replied the chief clerk, ‘I’ve just rung up the dock office to inquire.’
‘I think we ought to have it specially checked from here. You remember all the trouble they gave us about the last lot. Will you send some reliable man down? Whom can you spare?’
‘Broughton could go. He has done it before.’
‘Well, see to it, will you, and then send in Miss Johnson, and I shall go through the mail.’
The office was the headquarters of the Insular and Continental Steam Navigation Company, colloquially known as the I. and C., and occupied the second floor of a large block of buildings at the western end of Fenchurch Street. The Company was an important concern, and owned a fleet of some thirty steamers ranging from 300 to 1000 tons burden, which traded between London and the smaller Continental ports. Low freights was their speciality, but they did not drive their boats, and no attempt was made to compete with the more expensive routes in the matter of speed. Under these circumstances they did a large trade in all kinds of goods other than perishables.
Mr Wilcox picked up some papers and stepped over to the desk at which Tom Broughton was working.
‘Broughton,’ he said, ‘Mr Avery wants you to go down at once to the docks and check a consignment of wines for Norton and Banks. It came in last night from Rouen in the
‘Right, sir,’ replied Broughton, a young fellow of three-and-twenty, with a frank, boyish face and an alert manner. Nothing loath to exchange the monotony of the office for the life and bustle of the quays, he put away his books, stowed the invoices carefully in his pocket, took his hat and went quickly down the stairs and out into Fenchurch Street.