The Mystery of a Hansom Cab | Page 5

they called "The Hansom Cab Publishing
Company." Taking the book to London, they published it there with
great success, and it had a phenomenal sale, which brought in a large
sum of money. The success was, in the first instance, due, in no small
degree, to a very kind and generous criticism written by Mr. Clement
Scott. I may here state that I had nothing to do with the Company, nor
did I receive any money for the English sale of the book beyond what I
sold it for; and, as a matter of fact, I did not arrive in England until a
year after the novel was published I have heard it declared that the plot
is founded on a real criminal case; but such a statement is utterly
without foundation, as the story is pure fiction from beginning to end.
Several people before and since my arrival in England, have assumed
the authorship of the book to themselves; and one gentleman went so
far as to declare that he would shoot me if I claimed to have written it. I
am glad to say that up to the present he has not carried out his intention.
Another individual had his cards printed, "Fergus Hume. Author of
'The Mystery of a Hansom Cab,'" and also added the price for which he
was prepared to write a similar book. Many of the papers put this last
piece of eccentricity down to my account.
I may state in conclusion, that I belong to New Zealand, and not to
Australia, that I am a barrister, and not a retired policeman, that I am

yet two decades off fifty years of age, that Fergus Hume is my real
name, and not a nom-de-plume; and finally, that far from making a
fortune out of the book, all I received for the English and American
rights, previous to the issue of this Revised Edition by my present
publishers, was the sum of fifty pounds. With this I take my leave, and
I trust that the present edition may prove as successful as did the first.


CHAPTER I.

WHAT THE ARGUS SAID.
The following report appeared in the Argus newspaper of Saturday, the
28th July, 18--
"Truth is said to be stranger than fiction, and certainly the extraordinary
murder which took place in Melbourne on Thursday night, or rather
Friday morning, goes a long way towards verifying this saying. A
crime has been committed by an unknown assassin, within a short
distance of the principal streets of this great city, and is surrounded by
an inpenetrable mystery. Indeed, from the nature of the crime itself, the
place where it was committed, and the fact that the assassin has escaped
without leaving a trace behind him, it would seem as though the case
itself had been taken bodily from one of Gaboreau's novels, and that his
famous detective Lecoq alone would be able to unravel it. The facts of
the case are simply these:--
"On the twenty-seventh day of July, at the hour of twenty minutes to
two o'clock in the morning, a hansom cab drove up to the police station
in Grey Street, St. Kilda, and the driver made the startling statement
that his cab contained the body of a man who he had reason to believe
had been murdered. "Being taken into the presence of the inspector, the
cabman, who gave his name as Malcolm Royston, related the following

strange story:--
"At the hour of one o'clock in the morning, he was driving down
Collins Street East, when, as he was passing the Burke and Wills'
monument, he was hailed by a gentleman standing at the corner by the
Scotch Church. He immediately drove up, and saw that the gentleman
who hailed him was supporting the deceased, who appeared to be
intoxicated. Both were in evening dress, but the deceased had on no
overcoat, while the other wore a short covert coat of a light fawn colour,
which was open. As Royston drove up, the gentleman in the light coat
said, 'Look here, cabby, here's some fellow awfully tight, you'd better
take him home!'
"Royston then asked him if the drunken man was his friend, but this the
other denied, saying that he had just picked him up from the footpath,
and did not know him from Adam. At this moment the deceased turned
his face up to the light of the lamp under which both were standing, and
the other seemed to recognise him, for he recoiled a pace, letting the
drunken man fall in a heap on the pavement, and gasping out 'You?' he
turned on his heel, and walked rapidly away down Russell Street in the
direction of Bourke Street.
"Royston was staring after him, and wondering at his, strange conduct,