Category: Mystery & Detective

William Makepeace Thackeray – Catherine A Story

Introducing to the reader the chief personages of this narrative. At that famous period of history, when the seventeenth century (after a deal of quarrelling, kingkilling, reforming, republicanising, restoring, re-restoring, play-writing, sermon- writing, OliverCromwellising, Stuartising, and Orangising, to be sure) had sunk into its grave, giving place to the lusty eighteenth; when Mr. Isaac Newton […]

William Le Queux – The Sign of Silence

“Then it’s an entire mystery?” “Yes, Phrida.” “But it’s astounding! It really seems so utterly impossible,” declared my well-beloved, amazed at what I had just related. “I’ve simply stated hard facts.” “But there’s been nothing about this affair in the papers.” “For certain reasons the authorities are not exactly anxious for any publicity. It is […]

William Le Queux – Hushed Up

“And he died mysteriously?” “The doctors certified that he died from natural causes—heart failure.” “That is what the world believes, of course. His death was a nation’s loss, and the truth was hushed up. But you, Phil Poland, know it. Upon the floor was found something—a cigar—eh?” “Nothing very extraordinary in that, surely? He died […]

William Hope Hodgson – Carnacki, The Ghost Finder

In response to Carnacki’s usual card of invitation to have dinner and listen to a story, I arrived promptly at 427, Cheyne Walk, to find the three others who were always invited to these happy little times, there before me. Five minutes later, Carnacki, Arkright, Jessop, Taylor and I were all engaged in the “pleasant […]

Wilkie Collins – The Moonstone

Extracted from a Family Paper I address these lines—written in India—to my relatives in England. My object is to explain the motive which has induced me to refuse the right hand of friendship to my cousin, John Herncastle. The reserve which I have hitherto maintained in this matter has been misinterpreted by members of my […]

Wilkie Collins – No Name

THE hands on the hall-clock pointed to half-past six in the morning. The house was a country residence in West Somersetshire, called Combe-Raven. The day was the fourth of March, and the year was eighteen hundred and forty-six. No sounds but the steady ticking of the clock, and the lumpish snoring of a large dog […]

Wilkie Collins – Armadale

It was the opening of the season of eighteen hundred and thirty-two, at the Baths of Wildbad. The evening shadows were beginning to gather over the quiet little German town, and the diligence was expected every minute. Before the door of the principal inn, waiting the arrival of the first visitors of the year, were […]

Wadsworth Camp – The Abandoned Room

The night of his grandfather’s mysterious death at the Cedars, Bobby Blackburn was, at least until midnight, in New York. He was held there by the unhealthy habits and companionships which recently had angered his grandfather to the point of threatening a disciplinary change in his will. As a consequence he drifted into that strange […]

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