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Robert W. (Robert William) Chambers
Robert William Chambers (1865-1933) was an American artist and writer best known for his collection of weird and supernatural short stories, "The King in Yellow" (1895). This work influenced the horror genre, blending gothic fiction with elements of mystery and psychological horror. Chambers also wrote numerous romance and adventure novels, achieving commercial success during his lifetime.
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AT THE TELEGRAPH On the third day of August, 1870, I left Paris in search of John Buckhurst. On the 4th of August I lost all traces of Mr. Buckhurst near the frontier, in the village of Morsbronn. The remainder of the day I spent in acquiring that “general information” so dear to the officials in Paris whose flimsy systems of intelligence had already begun to break down. On August 5th, about eight...
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THE REPAIRER OF REPUTATIONS I "Ne raillons pas les fous; leur folie dure plus longtemps que la nôtre…. Voila toute la différence." Toward the end of the year 1920 the Government of the United States had practically completed the programme, adopted during the last months of President Winthrop's administration. The country was apparently tranquil. Everybody knows how the Tariff and...
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CHAPTER I CUP AND LIP The case in question concerned a letter in a yellow envelope, which was dumped along with other incoming mail upon one of the many long tables where hundreds of women and scores of men sat opening and reading thousands of letters for the Bureau of P. C.—whatever that may mean. In due course of routine a girl picked up and slit open the yellow envelope, studied the enclosed...
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PROLOGUE ECHOES OF YESTERDAY His Excellency's system of intelligence in the City of New York I never pretended to comprehend. That I was one of many agents I could have no doubt; yet as long as I remained there I never knew but three or four established spies with residence in town. Although I had no illusions concerning Mr. Gaine and his "Gazette," at intervals I violently suspected Mr....
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A YOUNG MAN IN A HURRY “Soyez tranquilles, mesdames.… Je suis un jeune homme pressé.… Mais modeste.”—Labiche. AT ten minutes before five in the evening the office doors of the Florida and Key West Railway Company flew open, and a young man emerged in a hurry. Suit-case in one hand, umbrella in the other, he sped along the corridor to the elevator-shaft, arriving in time to catch a glimpse of...
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No undue liberties with history have been attempted in this romance. Few characters in the story are purely imaginary. Doubtless the fastidious reader will distinguish these intruders at a glance, and very properly ignore them. For they, and what they never were, and what they never did, merely sugar-coat a dose disguised, and gild the solid pill of fact with tinselled fiction. But from the flames of...
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CHAPTER I. ACQUAINTANCE The speed of the train slackened; a broad tidal river flashed into sight below the trestle, spreading away on either hand through yellowing level meadows. And now, above the roaring undertone of the cars, from far ahead floated back the treble bell-notes of the locomotive; there came a gritting vibration of brakes; slowly, more slowly the cars glided to a creaking standstill...
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I Like a man who reenters a closed and darkened house and lies down; lying there, remains conscious of sunlight outside, of bird-calls, and the breeze in the trees, so had Drene entered into the obscurity of himself. Through the chambers of his brain the twilit corridors where cringed his bruised and disfigured soul, there nothing stirring except the automatic pulses which never cease. Sometimes, when...
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To R. T.Three Guests at dinner! That's the life!—Wedgewood, Revere, and Duncan Phyfe! IIYou sit on Duncan—when you dare,—And out of Wedgewood, using care,With Paul Revere you eat your fare.From Paul you borrow fork and knifeTo wage a gastronomic strifeIn porringers; and platters rareOf blue Historic Willow-ware. IVBanquets with cymbal, drum and fife,Or rose-wreathed feasts with riot rifeTo...
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CHAPTER I There was a long, brisk, decisive ring at the door. He continued working. After an interval the bell rang again, briefly, as though the light touch on the electric button had lost its assurance. "Somebody's confidence has departed," he thought to himself, busy with a lead-weighted string and a stick of soft charcoal wrapped in silver foil. For a few moments he continued working,...
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