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The surviving Nihilists have condemned the Russian General Trebassof to death for the crimes he and his troops committed against the revolution. Three attempts on his life have failed,
but the Czar is determined to keep him alive. The Czar assigns the redoubtable, French detective reporter, Rouletabille to the case. It quickly becomes apparent that one of the General's own retinue
is in league with the assassins! Why?
Matrena Petrovna was listening to Ermolai, the faithful country servant who wore always, even here in the city, his habit of fresh nankeen, his black leather belt, his large blue pantaloons and his boots
glistening like ice, his country costume in his master's city home. Madame Matrena rose, after lightly stroking the hair of her step-daughter Natacha, whose eyes followed her to the door, indifferent apparently
to the tender manifestations of her father's orderly, the soldier-poet, Boris Mourazoff, who had written beautiful verses on the death of the Moscow students, after having shot them, in the way of duty, on
their barricades.
In the early part of the 20th century, Craig Kennedy was an enormously popular character, "the American Sherlock Holmes" as he was dubbed. Novels and short stories featured this fearless scientific detective.
Movies were made about him. Why has the character dropped off the radar?
A good explanation may be that the Kennedy stories focused on science, and in our age the "groundbreaking" discoveries that were featured in the Kennedy stories are, well, mundane.
Lie detectors? Seismographs? Oxyacetylene torches? Gasp!
"It has always seemed strange to me that no one has ever endowed a professorship in criminal science in any of our large universities."
Craig Kennedy laid down his evening paper and filled his pipe with my tobacco. In college we had roomed together, had shared everything, even poverty,
and now that Craig was a professor of chemistry and I was on the staff of the Star, we had continued the arrangement. Prosperity found us in a rather neat bachelor apartment on the Heights,
not far from the University.
The Street of Seven Stars (1914) By: Mary Roberts Rinehart
To save money, two American friends -- a struggling young doctor doing a residency in Vienna and a lovely, indigent violin student -- unconventionally set up housekeeping, together with an older woman
for propriety and a sick young boy. But when their chaperone must leave, an evil-minded, scandal-making, "good" woman makes trouble. Meanwhile, another doctor, living more or less openly with an Austrian
girl in a matter-of-fact arrangement, falls in love with an upright American woman.
The chandelier was not lighted on this rainy November night. Outside in the garden the trees creaked and bent before the wind, and the heavy barred gate, left open by the last comer,
a piano student named Scatchett and dubbed "Scatch"--the gate slammed to and fro monotonously, giving now and then just enough pause for a hope that it had latched itself, a hope that was always
destroyed by the next gust.
The Tempting of Tavernake (1912) By: E. Phillips Oppenheim
A best-selling author of novels, short stories, magazine articles, translations, and plays, Oppenheim published over 150 books. He is considered one of the originators of the thriller genre,
his novels also range from spy thrillers to romance, but all have an undertone of intrigue.
They stood upon the roof of a London boarding-house in the neighborhood of Russell Square--one of those grim shelters, the refuge of Transatlantic curiosity and British
penury. The girl --she represented the former race was leaning against the frail palisading, with gloomy expression and eyes set as though in fixed contemplation of the
uninspiring panorama. The young man --unmistakably, uncompromisingly English-- stood with his back to the chimney a few feet away, watching his companion. The silence
between them was as yet unbroken, had lasted, indeed, since she had stolen away from the shabby drawingroom below, where a florid lady with a raucous voice had been
shouting a music-hall ditty. Close upon her heels, but without speech of any sort, he had followed. They were almost strangers, except for the occasional word or two of greeting
which the etiquette of the establishment demanded. Yet she had accepted his espionage without any protest of word or look. He had followed her with a very definite object. Had
she surmised it, he wondered? She had not turned her head or vouchsafed even a single question or remark to him since he had pushed his way through the trap-door almost at
her heels and stepped out on to the leads. Yet it seemed to him that she must guess.
A railroad Vice President and and his chauffeur have sudden and mysterious seizures on the way to work; a family in New York city undergoes an epidemic of beri-beri; the American consul
in the Virgin Islands collapses and dies for no apparent reason; a Wall Street speculator is apparently stabbed to death--with a rubber dagger. Who other than Craig Kennedy, armed with his knowledge
of chemistry, technology and Freudian psychology could solve these mysteries?
"I am not by nature a spy, Professor Kennedy, but--well, sometimes one is forced into something like that." Maude Euston, who had sought out Craig in his laboratory, was a striking girl,
not merely because she was pretty or because her gown was modish. Perhaps it was her sincerity and artlessness that made her attractive.
She was the daughter of Barry Euston, president of the Continental Express Company, and one could readily see why, aside from the position her father held, she should be among the most-sought-
after young women in the city.
It was more than a month before the legend of the peacock trees was again discussed in the Squire's circle. It fell out one evening, when his eccentric taste for meals in the garden that gathered the
company round the same table, now lit with a lamp and laid out for dinner in a glowing spring twilight.
Squire Vane was an elderly schoolboy of English education and Irish extraction. His English education, at one of the great public schools, had preserved his intellect perfectly and permanently
at the stage of boyhood. But his Irish extraction subconsciously upset in him the proper solemnity of an old boy, and sometimes gave him back the brighter outlook of a naughty boy. He had a bodily
impatience which played tricks upon him almost against his will, and had already rendered him rather too radiant a failure in civil and diplomatic service. Thus it is true that compromise is the key
of British policy, especially as effecting an impartiality among the religions of India; but Vane's attempt to meet the Moslem halfway by kicking off one boot at the gates of the mosque, was felt not
so much to indicate true impartiality as something that could only be called an aggressive indifference.
Collins explores the themes of 'destined spirits' and supernatural visions. He acknowledges taking the second idea from a case reported in Robert Dale Owen's Footfalls on the Boundary of another World.
This describes how a ship's captain is convinced to change course after seeing an apparition and saves the passengers of a wrecked ship, including the person in the vision.
The month was March. The last wild fowl of the season were floating on the waters of the lake which, in our Suffolk tongue, we called Greenwater Broad.
Wind where it might, the grassy banks and the overhanging trees tinged the lake with the soft green reflections from which it took its name. In a creek at the south end, the boats were kept--
my own pretty sailing boat having a tiny natural harbor all to itself. In a creek at the north end stood the great trap (called a "decoy"), used for snaring the wild fowl which flocked every winter,
by thousands and thousands, to Greenwater Broad.
The Unspeakable Perk (1916) By: Samuel Hopkins Adams
Mystery thriller from the prolific American author best known for his investigative journalism
The man sat in a niche of the mountain, busily hating the Caribbean Sea. It was quite a contract that he had undertaken, for there was a large expanse of Caribbean Sea in sight to hate;
very blue, and still, and indifferent to human emotions. However, the young man was a good steadfast hater, and he came there every day to sit in the shade of the overhanging boulder,
where there was a little trickle of cool air down the slope and a little trickle of cool water from a crevice beneath the rock, to despise that placid, unimpressionable ocean and all
its works and to wish that it would dry up forthwith, so that he might walk back to the blessed United States of America. In good plain American, the young man was pretty homesick.
The Vanished Messenger (1914) By: E. Phillips Oppenheim
The Vanished Messenger is a war story full of action, adventure and intrigue. A group of American financiers are trying to prevent war with England. The predictions Oppenheim makes concerning Europe''s
future are very accurate.
There were very few people upon Platform Number Twenty-one of Liverpool Street Station at a quarter to nine on the evening of April 2 - possibly because the platform in question is one of the most remote
and least used in the great terminus. The station-master, however, was there himself, with an inspector in attendance. A dark, thick-set man, wearing a long travelling ulster and a Homburg hat, and carrying
in his hand a brown leather dressing-case, across which was painted in black letters the name MR. JOHN P. DUNSTER, was standing a few yards away, smoking a long cigar, and, to all appearance absorbed in
studying the advertisements which decorated the grimy wall on the other side of the single track. A couple of porters were seated upon a barrow which contained one solitary portmanteau. There were no signs
of other passengers, no other luggage. As a matter of fact, according to the time-table, no train was due to leave the station or to arrive at it, on this particular platform, for several hours.
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