Perhaps this story does not belong with my other tales of the Special Patrol Service. And yet, there is, or should be, a report somewhere in the musty archives of the Service, covering the incident. Not accurately, and not in detail. Among a great mass of old records which I was browsing through the other day, I happened across that report; it occupied exactly three lines in the log-book of the Ertak:... more...

CHAPTER I. INTRODUCTORY. I think that is the way my father would begin. My name is Ethelwyn Percivale, and used to be Ethelwyn Walton. I always put the Walton in between when I write to my father; for I think it is quite enough to have to leave father and mother behind for a husband, without leaving their name behind you also. I am fond of lumber-rooms, and in some houses consider them far the most... more...

Detective Sergeant Fitzgerald found a package before his door that morning, along with the milk. He took it inside and opened it. It was a remarkably fine meerschaum pipe, such as the sergeant had longed irrationally to own for many years. There was no message with it, nor any card. He swore bitterly. On his way to Headquarters he stopped in at the orphanage where he usually left such gifts. On other... more...

CHAPTER I. SIXTY-THREE YEARS SINCE. The 24th of May, 1819, was a memorable and happy day for England, though like many such days, it was little noticed at the time. Sixty-three years since! Do many of us quite realise what England was like then; how much it differed from the England of to-day, even though some of us have lived as many years? It is worth while devoting a chapter to an attempt to recall... more...

In a provincial town of northern Germany there is a street in which the ancient, high-gabled houses bear, inscribed in Gothic letters, upon the lintels of their doors or upon little sandstone tablets, such honorable or fanciful names as "The Good Shepherd," "Noah's Dove," "The Palms of Peace," "The Rose of Sharon," and underneath, the date of their erection. In... more...

THE BLACKBERRY GIRL. PART I. "Why, Phebe, are you come so soon,  Where are your berries, child?You cannot, sure, have sold them all,  You had a basket pil'd." "No, mother, as I climb'd the fence,  The nearest way to town,My apron caught upon a stake,  And so I tumbled down." "I scratched my arm, and tore my hair,  But still did not complain;And had my... more...

When William Wetherell and Cynthia had reached the last turn in the road in Northcutt's woods, quarter of a mile from Coniston, they met the nasal Mr. Samuel Price driving silently in the other direction. The word "silently" is used deliberately, because to Mr. Price appertained a certain ghostlike quality of flitting, and to Mr. Price's horse and wagon likewise. He drew up for a... more...

LECTURE I INTRODUCTORY WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 25, 1916 I In the third book of the "Ethics", and in the second chapter, Aristotle, dealing with certain actions which, though bad in themselves, admit of pity and forgiveness because they were committed involuntarily, through ignorance, instances 'the man who did not know a subject was forbidden, like Aeschylus with the Mysteries,' and... more...

PART I—BOOK I THE MASTERPIECE On marriage and at what age young men and virgins are capable of it: and why so much desire it. Also, how long men and women are capable of it. There are very few, except some professional debauchees, who will not readily agree that "Marriage is honourable to all," being ordained by Heaven in Paradise; and without which no man or woman can be in a capacity,... more...

CHAPTER IThe Lady in the Stage Box "Hullo, old chap! Who would ever have thought of seeing you here to-night? What's brought you back to civilisation again?" I turned suddenly, surprised by the sound of a familiar voice in my ear. It was the night of Christmas Eve, and I was just entering the lobby of the St. James's, the first time, as it happened, I had seen the inside of a theatre... more...