Genre Mystery & Crime. Page - 13

u see. He has swallowed a glass of port, but that is all. The other glasses have had no wine in them, nor have the victuals been touched.""Seats set for three and only one occupied," murmured Mr. Sutherland. "Strange! Could he have expected guests?" "It looks like it. I didn't know that his wife allowed him such privileges; but she was always too good to him, and I fear has paid for it with her life." "Nonsense! he never killed her. Had his love been

suffering from lameness; let me look at your foot."Mr. Neal's malady, however serious it might be in his own estimation, was of no extraordinary importance in a medical point of view. He was suffering from a rheumatic affection of the ankle-joint. The necessary questions were asked and answered and the necessary baths were prescribed. In ten minutes the consultation was at an end, and the patient was waiting in significant silence for the medical adviser to take his leave. "I cannot

hat far-reaching and intimate knowledge of inner historywhich has perennially astonished his readers. The Crimes werepublished in Paris, in 1839-40, in eight volumes, comprising eighteentitles--all of which now appear in the present carefully translatedtext. The success of the original work was instantaneous. Dumaslaughingly said that he thought he had exhausted the subject offamous crimes, until the work was off the press, when he immediatelybecame deluged with letters from every province in

Rozaine, gloomy and reserved, and thought of the double role that he was playing, I accorded him a certain measure of admiration.On the following evening, the officer on deck duty heard groans emanating from the darkest corner of the ship. He approached and found a man lying there, his head enveloped in a thick gray scarf and his hands tied together with a heavy cord. It was Rozaine. He had been assaulted, thrown down and robbed. A card, pinned to his coat, bore these words: "Arsène Lupin

oking for them here."March thought of asking him what he was looking for; but, feeling unequalto a technical discussion at least as deep as the deep-sea fishes,he returned to more ordinary topics. "Delightful sort of hole this is," he said. "This little delland river here. It's like those places Stevenson talks about,where something ought to happen." "I know," answered the other. "I think it's because the place itself,so to speak, seems to happen and not

Paul sighed and dug into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. "I've only got $600 on me," he said as he leafed through the bills. "That was going to be my bribe money for the night.""If you can spare it, it'd help. I've already doled out all my cash on hand to secure the place and get the liquor. But we still need..." "I know, I know," said Paul, handing the money to Sandee. "Let's just try and make tonight kick ass so we can earn that back as quick

and the villainy which rendered us more than ever impatient of delay. In my fly-blown blankets I dreamt of London until I hankered after my chambers and my club more than after much fine gold. Never shall I forget my first hot bath on getting back to Melbourne; it cost five shillings, but it was worth five pounds, and is altogether my pleasantest reminiscence of Australia.There was, however, one slice of luck in store for me. I found the dear old Lady Jermyn on the very eve of sailing, with a

mine, and tonight--and why shouldn't you have ten pound as well as another?""There's nothing to do but what you say?" I asked. "Nothing--not a thing!" he affirmed. "And the time?" I said. "And the word--for surety?" "Eleven o'clock is the time," he answered. "Eleven--an hour before midnight. And as for the word--get you to the place and wait about a bit, and if you see nobody there, say out loud, 'From James Gilverthwaite as is sick

ave in me the instinct of the chase. Were I a man I should be a trapper of criminals, trailing them as relentlessly as no doubt my sheepskin ancestor did his wild boar. But being an unmarried woman, with the handicap of my sex, my first acquaintance with crime will probably be my last. Indeed, it came near enough to being my last acquaintance with anything.The property was owned by Paul Armstrong, the president of the Traders' Bank, who at the time we took the house was in the west with his

e building, divided into apartments or flats of a dismal and dingy sort. We found the landlady in the basement: a gaunt woman in soiled gray, with a hard, thin-lipped mouth and pale, suspicious eyes. She was rocking vigorously in a creaking chair and sewing on a pair of overalls, while three dirty kids tussled with a mongrel puppy up and down the room.Dean showed his badge, and told her that we wanted to speak to her in privacy. She got up to chase the kids and their dog out, and then stood