es; at risk
even of defying those who have threatened my life should I dare speak
the truth, I have resolved to recount the whole amazing affair, just
as it occurred to me, and further, to reveal completely what has
hitherto been regarded as a mystery by readers of the daily
newspapers.

You already know my name--Owen Biddulph. As introduction, I suppose I
ought to add that, after coming down from Oxford, I pretended to read
for the Bar, just to please the dear old governor--Sir Alfred
Biddulph, Knight. At the age of twenty-five, owing to his unfortunate
death in the hunting-field, I found myself possessor of Carrington
Court, our fine Elizabethan place in North Devon, and town-house, 64a
Wilton Street, Belgrave Square, together with a comfortable income of
about nine thousand a year, mostly derived from sound industrial
enterprises.

My father, before his retirement, had been a Liverpool ship-owner,
and, like many others of his class, had received his knighthood on the
occasion of Queen Victoria's Jubilee. My mother had been dead long
since. I had but few relatives, and those mostly poor ones; therefore,
on succeeding to the property, I went down to Carrington just to
interview Browning, the butler, and the other servants, all of them
old and faithful retainers; and then, having given up all thought of a
legal career, I went abroad, in order to attain my long-desired
ambition to travel, and to "see the world."

Continental life attracted me, just as it attracts most young men.
Paris, with its glare and glitter, its superficial gaiety, its bright
boulevards, and its feminine beauty, is the candle to the moth of
youth. I revelled in Paris just as many a thousand other young men had
done before me. I knew French, Italian and German, and I was vain
enough to believe that I might have within me the making of a
cosmopolitan. So many young men believe that--and, alas! so many fail
on account of either indolence, or of narrow-mindedness. To be a
thorough-going cosmopolitan one must be imbued with the true spirit
of adventure, and must be a citizen of all cities, a countryman of all
countries. This I tried to be, and perhaps--in a manner--succeeded. At
any rate, I spent nearly three whole years travelling hither and
thither across the face of Europe, from Trondhjem to Constantinople,
and from Bordeaux to Petersburg.

Truly, if one has money, one can lead a very pleasant life, year in,
year out, at the various European hea