A Bid for Fortune

糎
A Bid for Fortune, by Guy Boothby

The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Bid for Fortune, by Guy Boothby This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
Title: A Bid for Fortune or Dr. Nikola's Vendetta
Author: Guy Boothby
Release Date: May 29, 2007 [EBook #21640]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A BID FOR FORTUNE ***

Produced by Marilynda Fraser-Cunliffe, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net

A BID FOR FORTUNE
DR. NIKOLA'S VENDETTA
By GUY BOOTHBY
Author of "Dr. Nikola," "The Beautiful White Devil," etc., etc.

WARD, LOCK & CO., LIMITED LONDON, MELBOURNE AND TORONTO 1918

[Illustration: "Again she turned her face from me."]

CONTENTS.

Part I.
PROLOGUE--Dr. Nikola
CHAPTER I.
I determine to take a Holiday,--Sydney, and what Befel me there
CHAPTER II.
London
CHAPTER III.
I Visit my Relations
CHAPTER IV.
I Save an Important Life
CHAPTER V.
Mystery
CHAPTER VI.
I Meet Dr. Nikola again
CHAPTER VII.
Port Said, and what Befel us there
CHAPTER VIII.
Our Imprisonment and Attempt at Escape
CHAPTER IX.
Dr. Nikola permits us a Free Passage

Part II.

CHAPTER I.
We reach Australia, and the Result
CHAPTER II.
On the Trail
CHAPTER III.
Lord Beckenham's Story
CHAPTER IV.
Following up a Clue
CHAPTER V.
The Islands, and what we found there
CHAPTER VI.
Conclusion

A BID FOR FORTUNE


PART I

PROLOGUE
DR. NIKOLA
The manager of the new Imperial Restaurant on the Thames Embankment went into his luxurious private office and shut the door. Having done so, he first scratched his chin reflectively, and then took a letter from the drawer in which it had reposed for more than two months and perused it carefully. Though he was not aware of it, this was the thirtieth time he had read it since breakfast that morning. And yet he was not a whit nearer understanding it than he had been at the beginning. He turned it over and scrutinized the back, where not a sign of writing was to be seen; he held it up to the window, as if he might hope to discover something from the water-mark; but there was nothing in either of these places of a nature calculated to set his troubled mind at rest. Then he took a magnificent repeater watch from his waistcoat pocket and glanced at the dial; the hands stood at half-past seven. He immediately threw the letter on the table, and as he did so his anxiety found relief in words.
"It's really the most extraordinary affair I ever had to do with," he remarked. "And as I've been in the business just three-and-thirty years at eleven a.m. next Monday morning, I ought to know something about it. I only hope I've done right, that's all."
As he spoke, the chief bookkeeper, who had the treble advantage of being tall, pretty, and just eight-and-twenty years of age, entered the room. She noticed the open letter and the look upon her chief's face, and her curiosity was proportionately excited.
"You seem worried, Mr. McPherson," she said tenderly, as she put down the papers she had brought in for his signature.
"You have just hit it, Miss O'Sullivan," he answered, pushing them farther on to the table. "I am worried about many things, but particularly about this letter."
He handed the epistle to her, and she, being desirous of impressing him with her business capabilities, read it with ostentatious care. But it was noticeable that when she reached the signature she too turned back to the beginning, and then deliberately read it over again. The manager rose, crossed to the mantelpiece, and rang for the head waiter. Having relieved his feelings in this way, he seated himself again at his writing-table, put on his glasses, and stared at his companion, while waiting for her to speak.
"It's very funny," she said. "Very funny indeed!"
"It's the most extraordinary communication I have ever received," he replied with conviction. "You see it is written from Cuyaba, Brazil. The date is three months ago to a day. Now I have taken the trouble to find out where and what Cuyaba is."
He made this confession with an air of conscious pride, and having done so, laid himself back in his chair, stuck his thumbs into the armholes of his waistcoat, and looked at his fair subordinate for approval. Nor was he destined to be disappointed. He was a bachelor in possession of a snug income, and she, besides being pretty, was a lady with a keen eye to the main chance.
"And where is Cuyaba?" she asked humbly.
"Cuyaba," he replied, rolling his tongue with considerable relish round his unconscious mispronunciation of the name, "is a town almost on the western or Bolivian border of Brazil. It is of moderate size, is situated on the banks of the river Cuyaba, and is considerably connected with the famous Brazilian Diamond Fields."
"And does the writer of