Thriller: Stories to Keep You Up All Night

"My tongue hasn't wagged so in years," he said, looking a might done in. "My apologies."

"You do yourself credit, sir. Is there more?"

"Soon enough, the barky was under way again, and she had a fine heel to her, and, looking aloft, I saw clouds of billowing white canvas towering above, pulling hard for England. A corps of drummers dressed with magnificent battle drums launched into a stately military tattoo that rolled across our decks. Merlin was a fine, weatherly ship and I recall thinking that, if this breeze held, we'd have no trouble completing our do-or-die mission. We'd reach Portsmouth in time to personally warn Nelson of the intended ambush."

"And you did, did you not?"

The old fellow leaned forward as if he had a further confidence to impart, and I saw his eyes welling.

"We did, sir, and I was honored to be present at St. James's Palace on the occasion. Afterward, Lord Hawke himself came over to me, Alex in his arms. He bent down and looked me straight in the eye.

"'Magnificently done, young Mr. Hornby,' he said, and handed me a canvas packet, but my eyes were too blurry to know then what it was. Years later, I hung it there, on the wall there beside the hearth. D'you see it?"

I rose from my chair and went to inspect the item, glinting in the shadowy firelight.

"Yes, I see it, Mr. Hornby," I said. I reached up and fingered the old leather strap, careful lest it crumble under my touch.

Lord Hawke's gift that day to the young powder monkey, Mar-tyn Hornby, once a shining treasure, was now a tarnished memory of glory hung by the hearthside. It was Lord Nelson's spyglass.

"Go on, Mr. Tolliver, put it to your eye. That's history there in your hands, sir!"

I lifted the glass from the nail where it hung, and that's when it happened. The strap parted and the glass slipped from my fingers and smashed against the hearthstone. The lens popped into the air, spi

"Sir!" I cried as I bent to retrieve the dented tube. "I'm dreadfully sorry!"

"No worry, Mr. Tolliver," he replied kindly. "It's seen far worse. Look closely, you can see Bill's inscription there by the eyepiece."

But something far more intriguing had fallen from the tube. A thin, yellow roll of parchment, tied with a black ribbon.

"Mr. Hornby," I said, trying to control my emotions, "there appears to have been a message of some kind inside. Were you aware of it?"

"A message, sir?" he said, getting slowly to his feet. "Let's have a look."

I untied the ribbon with utmost care and spread the letter upon a table. We both looked down in utter disbelief. The letter was signed and dated by Napoleon himself! Here is what it said:

Captain Blood,

Make for Cadiz at once under a full press of sail. Once our fleets are united with Spain's, England is ours! Surprise Nelson en route to Trafalgar and all will be over. Six centuries of shame and insult will be avenged. Lay on with a will! His Majesty counts as nothing the loss of his ships, provided they are lost with Glory… N.

I said in a daze, "Astounding, sir. And proof of the tale!" "Yes. Proof enough, I should think."

We were both silent, staring down at the remarkable document. "How much is the Globe's prize then?" Hornby asked, puffing his pipe in a contemplative fashion. "Seventy-five pounds, sir." "A goodly sum."

I took a deep breath and said, "Mr. Hornby. There is one last piece of business I must discuss with you. Cecily and I-well, Cecily and I are to be married. Sorry. What I mean to say, sir, is that I've come here because I should very much like your permission to ask for your daughter Cecily's hand in marriage!"

He stared into the embers and made no reply. I was sure he found me, shabby as I was, a poor match for his beautiful daughter. It seemed he couldn't even summon the energy to deny me my hopes. I got to my feet and stretched my weary bones. I closed the notebook and slipped it inside my breast pocket, patting my jacket, finding some measure of hope and reassurance for my future there.

I was about to head upstairs in search of an empty bed, for I was sorely tired, when Hornby got to his feet.

"You're a good man, Pe

"Take the Napoleon letter, lad, as your proof. You'll win the prize, all right. It's yours. I've always wondered these many years whether or not it was worth anything. Now I see that it is worth a great deal, indeed."

"You knew of the letter?"

"Of course. It's how Captain McIver and Hawke proved the existence of the plot to Lord Nelson himself!"

"But, Mr. Hornby, this letter is worth thousands of pounds! Ten thousand at least! Perhaps more! I ca

He put the battered glass into my hands and closed my fingers around it.

"Take it, lad."

"And, about Cecily, sir? I don't mean to push, but-I do love her very much, sir, and I can only pray that in time you could come to accept me as someone who only has her best-"

"I'd be honored to have you in the family, Mr. Tolliver."

The old man put his head back against the cushion and was fast asleep before I was halfway up the stairs, flying up them, a happy man, determined to get a bright and early start next morning.

After all, I was a young man with a future.

M. Diane Vogt

Legal thrillers have always provided high drama and intense conflict. As a child, M. Diane Vogt was a devoted fan of Perry Mason. Every week, Vogt and her dad would watch Erle Stanley Gardner's Mason outsmart the bad guys on television, matching wits with Mason in the process. Those evenings were at least in part responsible for Vogt becoming a lawyer and, many years later, writing legal thrillers. She is the author of the highly acclaimed and popular Judge Wilhelmina Carson series.

Vogt believes that fictionalization of the legal world is necessary to good stories. But, like Gardner, she takes little dramatic license with the lawyers she portrays and the world they inhabit. From an insider's perspective, she shows what actually happens in lawsuits, courtrooms and lawyers' offices, not just in criminal matters, but in civil cases-where most people collide head-on with the law.

Karen A