Mystery & Detective Books

I IN WHICH THE DESTINY THAT PLAYS WITH MEN MOVES THE PIECES ON THE BOARD Dust lay thick along the road that led through the very heart of the native quarter of Mangadone; dust raised into a misty haze which hung in the air and actually introduced a light undernote of red into the effect. Dust, which covered the bare feet of the coolies, the velvet slippers of the Burmese, which encroached everywhere... more...

CHAPTER I. A MIDNIGHT SUMMONS "When did you last hear from Nayland Smith?" asked my visitor. I paused, my hand on the syphon, reflecting for a moment. "Two months ago," I said; "he's a poor correspondent and rather soured, I fancy." "What—a woman or something?" "Some affair of that sort. He's such a reticent beggar, I really know very little about... more...

CHAPTER I. THE KING OF THE YEGGMEN. Four men were seated around a camp fire made of old railroad ties, over which a kettle was boiling merrily, where it hung from an improvised crane above the blaze. Around, on the ground, were scattered a various assortment of tin cans, some of which had been hammered more or less straight to serve for plates, and it was evident from the general appearance of things... more...

CHAPTER I. JIMMY TORRANCE, JR.   The gymnasium was packed as Jimmy Torrance stepped into the ring for the final event of the evening that was to decide the boxing championship of the university. Drawing to a close were the nearly four years of his college career—profitable years, Jimmy considered them, and certainly successful up to this point. In the beginning of his senior year he had captained... more...

CHAPTER I The Rome Express, the direttissimo, or most direct, was approaching Paris one morning in March, when it became known to the occupants of the sleeping-car that there was something amiss, very much amiss, in the car. The train was travelling the last stage, between Laroche and Paris, a run of a hundred miles without a stop. It had halted at Laroche for early breakfast, and many, if not all the... more...

THE TWENTY-FIFTH OF SEPTEMBER Monsieur Aristide Brisson, the fat little proprietor of the Hotel du Nord—a modest house facing the Place Puget at Toulon—turned uneasily in his sleep, as though fretted by a disturbing dream; then he awoke with a start and rubbed his eyes. A glance at the dark windows showed that the dawn was yet far distant, and he was about to turn over and go thankfully to sleep... more...

CAUGHT IN THE ACT. "Help! Police! Murder!" It was a dark, rainy night in March when this thrilling cry, in a man's voice, came from a house in West Thirty-sixth street, New York. Two detectives were passing along from Seventh avenue, toward Broadway, when the wild appeal brought them to a sudden pause. "Hark, Old King Brady!" one of them exclaimed. "Did you hear that cry?"... more...

RED LIGHT. Mr. Gryce was melancholy. He had attained that period in life when the spirits flag and enthusiasm needs a constant spur, and of late there had been a lack of special excitement, and he felt dull and superannuated. He was even contemplating resigning his position on the force and retiring to the little farm he had bought for himself in Westchester; and this in itself did not tend to... more...

CHAPTER I When Sir Arthur Byrne fell ill, after three summers at his post in the little consulate that overlooked the lonely waters of the Black Sea, he applied for sick leave. Having obtained it, he hurried home to scatter guineas in Harley Street; for he felt all the uneasy doubts as to his future which a strong man who has never in his life known what it is to have a headache is apt to experience at... more...

CHAPTER I "Hallo! Is that Hampstead Police Station?" "Yes. Who are you?" "Detective-Inspector Chippenfield of Scotland Yard. Tell Inspector SeldonI want him, and be quick about it." "Yes, sir. Hang on, sir. I'll put you through to him at once." Detective-Inspector Chippenfield, of Scotland Yard, waited with the receiver held to his ear. While he waited he... more...