William Le Queux - Collected Works of William Le Queux

The Collected Works of

WILLIAM LE QUEUX

(1864-1927)

Contents

Delphi Classics 2020

Version 1

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The Collected Works of

WILLIAM LE QUEUX

By Delphi Classics, 2020

Collected Works of William Le Queux

First published in the United Kingdom in 2020 by Delphi Classics.

Delphi Classics, 2020.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form other than that in which it is published.

ISBN: 978 1 78877 947 0

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William Le Queux was born in London on 2 July 1864, the elder son of the late William Le Queux, a Frenchman, of Chteauroux, the capital of Indre. His childhood days were spent in England and one of his earliest friends was the famous preacher Charles H. Spurgeon of the Metropolitan Tabernacle.

Guilty Bonds was first published in England in 1891 and in America a few years later. Le Queux was the son of a French draper and an English mother. He was educated in various cities of Europe, including for a significant amount of time in Paris. He began his career as a journalist writing for a plethora of French newspapers, while he travelled across Europe. He returned to London in the 1880s when he was in his mid-twenties, where he edited two magazines, before securing the position of parliamentary reporter for The Globe in 1891. This was a popular British newspaper published between 1803 and 1921. It was founded by the coal mining businessman, Christopher Blackett and was considered a radical paper during the 1820s when it was owned by economist and former military officer, Robert Torrens. However, by the time Le Queux was working there, it was owned by a Tory group and the politics of the periodical reflected that.

Guilty Bonds is an example of an early espionage novel, which centred on political conspiracy in Russia and was subsequently banned from publication in that country. The novel follows the travails of Frank Burgoyne, who is newly rich from an inheritance, and subsequently falls in love with a beautiful and mysterious Russian woman, Vera Seroff. He quickly becomes entangled in a web of intrigue and assassinations. Burgoyne endures a series of bizarre and humiliating experiences, as he struggles to understand the motivations and desires of Vera.

Le Queux as a young man

The first edition

The first editions title page

The Mystery of Bedford Place.

C OME , HAVE ANOTHER hand, Burgoyne.

Ill have my revenge to-morrow, old fellow, I replied.

Why not to-night?

Its past two, and Ive a long walk home, remember.

Very well; as you wish.

My friend, Robert Nugent, a journalist, was young man, tall and dark, twenty-seven at the outside, with a pleasant, smiling face. His wavy hair, worn rather long, and negligence of attire gave him a dash of the genial good-for-nothing.

It was in the card-room of that Bohemian but, alas, now defunct institution, the Junior Garrick Club, where we had been indulging in a friendly hand. Having finished our game, we ordered some refreshment, and seated ourselves upon the balcony on Adelphi Terrace, smoking our last cigarettes, and watching the ripple of the stream, the broken reflection of the stars, and many lights that lined the Thames. All was dark in the houses on the opposite shore; the summer wind whispered in the leafy boughs on the Embankment, and a faint cold grey in the east showed that night was on the edge of morn.

For some time we sat chatting, until Big Ben boomed forth three oclock; then we rose, and wishing good-night to the men who were still playing, sought our hats and left the club.

We walked together as far as Danes Inn, where we parted, Nugent entering the Inn, while I continued my homeward walk alone. From the Strand to Torrington Square is a considerable distance; but I did not feel inclined for sleep, and sauntered along in the steely light, enjoying the silence and solitude of the deserted streets, absorbed in my own thoughts.

What need I say about myself? Some envied me, I knew, for I chanced to be the only son of a wealthy man who had died a few months before, leaving me a handsome fortune, together with a stately old mansion in Northamptonshire. In the choice of a profession I had not altogether pleased my father, the result being that the old gentleman was somewhat niggardly regarding my allowance, and in consequence of this I had lived a devil-may-care Bohemian life, earning a moderate living by my pen. But upon my fathers death a change came, and now, instead of a hand-to-mouth existence, I found myself with an income which far exceeded my wildest expectations. This sudden affluence might have turned the head of many a man, but it made very little difference to me. My friends, for the most part struggling artists and literary men, congratulated me upon my good fortune, probably believing that now I was rich I should cut them. They were mistaken; I continued to live pretty much as before, though I gave up literary work and devoted more time to pleasure.