First Person Paramount.
by Ambrose Pratt.
SUCCESSFUL NOVELS
By AMBROSE PRATT.
VIGOROUS DAUNT, BILLIONAIRE.
The Newcastle Journal.--"Mr. Ambrose Pratt has with conspicuous success followed up his previous ventures in the world of romance with a tale that for sensation and daring originality goes to the furthermost limit. "Vigorous Daunt" is an amazing creation."
The Sheffield Telegraph.--""Vigorous Daunt, Billionaire," is worthy of a place among the best of its kind. The book is capital reading."
The Scotsman.--"The novel is at once fresh, witty, ingenious, and full of entertainment. In his portrayal of character and the creation of incidents and situations, Mr. Pratt"s audacity simply defies criticism; he has given free rein, with literary taste, to a vivacious imagination."
The Dundee Courier.--"If you want innocent excitement read "Vigorous Daunt." His wild adventures will make you grasp your chair-arms as you read."
The Hull Weekly News.--"Well written, this book is one that can be well recommended. It is certain to keep the attention and to prove attractive."
JAN DIGBY.
Financial Times.--"The book is written in a clear, lively style, and as the interest is well sustained to the end, it should enhance the author"s already considerable reputation."
People"s Sat.u.r.day Journal.--"A tale in no wise lacking in human interest. From the first page to the last the tale grips, and its pleasant humour is well handled and its cynicism will appeal to all who like a breezy tale well told."
The Bristol Times.--"Mr. Ambrose Pratt has given us of the best of his work in this tale. We have not for some time read a novel that interested and held us right through as this has done."
Glasgow Herald.--"The very considerable merit of the story lies in its vivid picture of the resolutely adverse and conflicting forces. Besides ill.u.s.trating the author"s grip of characterization, the story gives fresh evidence of his descriptive vigour and his literary accomplishment."
Northern Whig.--"A tale at once cleverly told and absorbingly interesting throughout. It will appeal to all readers who relish rapid movement and imaginative sweep of a writer who evidently closely observes men and manners."
THE COUNTERSTROKE.
The Daily Telegraph.--"Mr. Pratt is nothing if not startling. In this story he unfolds amazing experiences in such a dauntless and effective manner that he almost succeeds in making such curious and furiously exciting adventures appear to be real."
The Daily Graphic.--"In "The Counterstroke" the author has surpa.s.sed his previous efforts and given us a tale which is daring in its conception and powerful in its narration. From the first page, on which we are introduced to the "Academy of ex-Amba.s.sadors" and Mr. Perigord, their mysterious master, down to the last, the book never loses its hold upon the reader."
Dundee Advertiser.--"Ambrose Pratt is to be heartily congratulated on the imaginary gifts and the marvellous ingenuity displayed in his book.
It is one of absorbing interest, and the reader pursues with almost breathless eagerness the many and varied experiences of Lord Francis Crossingham, the brave hero of the book."
The People"s Journal.--"There have been many Nihilist novels written, but few which contain the grip and strength of Mr. Ambrose Pratt"s story. His plot is daring to a degree. It is worked out with an ingenuity which cannot but appeal to all those readers who like a cleverly-constructed romance in which the interest is kept up to the end."
The Evening News.--"A novel never to be forgotten."
Belfast Northern Whig.--"A story which keeps the reader absorbed all the time."
The Dublin Daily Express.--"A novel which should be eagerly read, and anyone who reads it will look eagerly for further books from Mr.
Pratt"s pen."
The Newcastle Chronicle.--"Tremendously exciting."
Southport Visitor.--"Crowded with incident, is full of excitement, and abounds in dramatic and delicate situations."
Leeds Mercury.--"Written in vigorous and dashing style, the story will certainly commend itself to a wide circle of readers."
FIRST PERSON PARAMOUNT
I
THE HOUSE IN CURZON STREET
My name is Agar Hume. My mother died when I was two years old. My father was the first violin in a second-rate music hall orchestra at Birmingham. He had once been a gentleman. He taught me French and how to play the flute. Between whiles he treated me like a dog. He wished me to become a member of his orchestra. My tastes, however, inclined to the stage. From early childhood I had possessed an almost perfect talent for mimicry. When I was nineteen years old, there was not an artist I had ever seen whom I could not represent to the life. One morning, about that time, in a fit of drunken rage my father gave me a terrible beating. I was then somewhat undersized--the result of irregular meals and bad food. I could neither retaliate nor defend myself. That night, as soon as my father had set off for the theatre, I ran away from home. I walked to Liverpool, and easily obtained employment at a music hall, where for three years I nightly imitated every actor and person of note whom the Liverpudlians wished to see.
They grew tired of me at last and ceased to applaud my turn. I was promptly discharged by the management. Not caring to return to Birmingham, as my father had never forgiven me for deserting him, I made my way to London. I had saved a little money, and I thought that before it was spent I should procure a new engagement. The London market, however, was simply glutted with mimics, and before three months had pa.s.sed I was penniless and still without a place. I haunted the theatres and employment agencies to no purpose. I was obliged to p.a.w.n my wardrobe, and at last a day came when I stood in the Strand owning nothing in the world but the suit of decent black I wore and my make-up box, which I carried in my hand because I had been turned out of my lodging-house that morning. I had not tasted food for four-and-twenty hours. I mentioned the latter fact ten minutes later to the manager of the next employment agency I visited. He had seen me so often that he knew me well, and he sympathized with my misfortune.
"Look here," said he, "if you are so hard up as all that, your only hope is to try your hand at something else. There is no chance for you at the theatres."
"I"m ready to turn boot-black!" I a.s.sured him.
"Well, well," said he, "a client of ours inquired yesterday for a valet. If you are really willing to put your pride in your pocket, I shall personally recommend you."
"I have no pride," I answered, "but I have also no experience."
He gave me a pitying smile. "Certainly not, but I believe that you are hungry--you look it!"
I was so hungry indeed that I thanked him warmly, and a few minutes afterwards I was walking as fast as I could towards Piccadilly with a letter in my pocket which bore the following address:--"Sir William Dagmar, Bart., 22a Curzon Street."
It was a small two-storied house, but it looked good, and I raised the knocker tremblingly.
A footman opened the door, to whom I gave my precious letter. He was civil because my clothes were well cut, and because I have the appearance of a gentleman. He invited me to a seat in an anteroom, and went off with my letter. When he returned, he carried his nose in the air, and his bearing was unaffectedly contemptuous.
"Huh!" he sniffed. "Step this way, but wipe your shoes on that mat first, please!"
I obeyed. He led me to a room on the first floor, opened the second door and announced in an oily voice
"The valet--Sir William."