65+ Masterpieces of Detective Fiction Classic Collection. Illustrated - Wilkie Collins - E-Book

65+ Masterpieces of Detective Fiction Classic Collection. Illustrated E-Book

Wilkie Collins

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Beschreibung

Some of the greatest detective stories every wrote are collected in this massive anthology. This book contains the stories and novels by Arthur Conan Doyle, G. K. Chesterton, Emile Gaboriau, E. W. Hornung, M. McDonnell Bodkin, Guy Boothby, Jacques Futrelle, Melville Davisson Post, Ethel Lina White, Baroness Emmuska Orczy, Arthur Morrison, Edgar Wallace, Algernon Blackwood, Wilkie Collins, Maurice Leblanc, Edgar Allan Poe, Charles Dickens, Gaston Leroux, Anna Katharine Green, Fergus Hume, Fyodor Dostoevsky, Robert Louis Stevenson, Dorothy L. Sayers, R. Austin Freeman. Contents: Wilkie Collins - The Moonstone Edgar Allan Poe - The Gold-Bug,The Murders in the Rue Morgue, The Mystery of Marie Roget. A Sequel to "The Murders in the Rue Morgue.", The Purloined Letter Charles Dickens - Hunted Down Arthur Conan Doyle - The Hound of the Baskervilles, A Study in Scarlet, The Sign of Four, The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes G. K. Chesterton - The Man Who Was Thursday: A Nightmare, The Innocence of Father Brown, The Wisdom of Father Brown Emile Gaboriau - The Lerouge Case by Emile Gaboriau, Monsieur Lecoq, The Mystery of Orcival E. W. Hornung - The Amateur Cracksman, Dead Men Tell No Tales, The Crime Doctor M. McDonnell Bodkin - The Capture of Paul Beck Guy Boothby - The Red Rat's Daughter Jacques Futrelle - The Problem of Cell 13, The Chase of the Golden Plate Melville Davisson Post - Walker of the Secret Service, The Sleuth of St. James's Square Ethel Lina White - The Man Who Loved Lions Baroness Emma Orczy (Emmuska Orczy) - The Old Man in the Corner, The Scarlet Pimpernel Arthur Morrison - Chronicles of Martin Hewitt, Martin Hewitt, Investigator Edgar Wallace - The Angel of Terror Algernon Blackwood - Three More John Silence Stories, Three John Silence Stories Maurice Leblanc - The Extraordinary Adventures of Arsene Lupin, Gentleman-Burglar Gaston Leroux - The Mystery of the Yellow Room Anna Katherine Green - The Leavenworth Case Fergus Hume - The Mystery of a Hansom Cab Fyodor Dostoevsky - Crime and Punishment Robert Louis Stevenson - The Suicide Club, The Rajah's Diamond Dorothy L. Sayers - Whose Body? A Lord Peter Wimsey Novel R. Austin Freeman - John Thorndyke's Cases, The Mystery of 31 New Inn

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65+ Masterpieces of Detective Fiction Classic Collection: The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, The Murders in the Rue Morgue, The Moonstone, Hunted Down, The Blue Cross, Crime and Punishment and others. Illustrated

Some of the greatest detective stories every wrote are collected in this massive anthology. This book contains the stories and novels by Arthur Conan Doyle, G. K. Chesterton, Emile Gaboriau, E. W. Hornung, M. McDonnell Bodkin, Guy Boothby, Jacques Futrelle, Melville Davisson Post, Ethel Lina White, Baroness Emmuska Orczy Orczy, Arthur Morrison, Edgar Wallace, Algernon Blackwood, Wilkie Collins, Maurice Leblanc, Edgar Allan Poe, Charles Dickens, Gaston Leroux, Anna Katharine Green, Fergus Hume, Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Robert Louis Stevenson, Dorothy L. Sayers, R. Austin Freeman.

TABLE OF CONTENTS
Wilkie Collins
The Moonstone A Romance
PROLOGUE
THE STORY
FIRST PERIOD THE LOSS OF THE DIAMOND (1848) The Events related by Gabriel Betteredge, house-steward in the service of Julia, Lady Verinder.
CHAPTER I
CHAPTER II
CHAPTER III
CHAPTER IV
CHAPTER V
CHAPTER VI
CHAPTER VII
CHAPTER VIII
CHAPTER IX
CHAPTER X
CHAPTER XI
CHAPTER XII
CHAPTER XIII
CHAPTER XIV
CHAPTER XV
CHAPTER XVI
CHAPTER XVII
CHAPTER XVIII
CHAPTER XIX
CHAPTER XX
CHAPTER XXI
CHAPTER XXII
CHAPTER XXIII
SECOND PERIOD THE DISCOVERY OF THE TRUTH. (1848-1849.) The Events related in several Narratives.
FIRST NARRATIVE. Contributed by Miss Clack; niece of the late Sir John Verinder
CHAPTER I
CHAPTER II
CHAPTER III
CHAPTER IV
CHAPTER V
CHAPTER VI
CHAPTER VII
CHAPTER VIII
SECOND NARRATIVE Contributed by Mathew Bruff, Solicitor, of Gray’s Inn Square.
CHAPTER I
CHAPTER II
CHAPTER III
THIRD NARRATIVE. Contributed by Franklin Blake.
CHAPTER I
CHAPTER II
CHAPTER III
CHAPTER IV
CHAPTER V
CHAPTER VI
CHAPTER VII
CHAPTER VIII
CHAPTER IX
CHAPTER X
FOURTH NARRATIVE. Extracted from the Journal of Ezra Jennings.
FIFTH NARRATIVE. The Story resumed by Franklin Blake.
SIXTH NARRATIVE. Contributed by Sergeant Cuff.
SEVENTH NARRATIVE In a Letter from Mr. Candy.
EIGHTH NARRATIVE Contributed by Gabriel Betteredge.
EPILOGUE. THE FINDING OF THE DIAMOND
Edgar Allan Poe
The Gold-Bug
The Murders in the Rue Morgue
The Mystery of Marie Roget. [3] A Sequel to “The Murders in the Rue Morgue.”
The Purloined Letter
Charles Dickens
Hunted Down
Arthur Conan Doyle
The Hound of the Baskervilles
Chapter 1 — Mr. Sherlock Holmes
Chapter 2 — The Curse of the Baskervilles
Chapter 3 — The Problem
Chapter 4 — Sir Henry Baskerville
Chapter 5 — Three Broken Threads
Chapter 6 — Baskerville Hall
Chapter 7 — The Stapletons of Merripit House
Chapter 8 — First Report of Dr. Watson
Chapter 9 — Second Report of Dr. Watson
Chapter 10 — Extract from the Diary of Dr. Watson
Chapter 11 — The Man on the Tor
Chapter 12 — Death on the Moor
Chapter 13 — Fixing the Nets
Chapter 14 — The Hound of the Baskervilles
Chapter 15 — A Retrospection
A Study in Scarlet
Part I Being a Reprint from the Reminiscences of John H. Watson, M.D., Late of the Army Medical Department
Chapter 1 Mr. Sherlock Holmes
Chapter 2 The Science of Deduction
Chapter 3 The Lauriston Garden Mystery
Chapter 4 What John Rance Had to Tell
Chapter 5 Our Advertisement Brings a Visitor
Chapter 6 Tobias Gregson Shows What He Can Do
Chapter 7 Light in the Darkness
Part 2 The Country of the Saints
Chapter 1 On the Great Alkali Plain
Chapter 2 The Flower of Utah
Chapter 3 John Ferrier Talks with the Prophet
Chapter 4 A Flight for Life
Chapter 5 The Avenging Angels
Chapter 6 A Continuation of the Reminiscences of John Watson, M.D
Chapter 7 The Conclusion
The Sign of Four
Chapter 1. The Science of Deduction
Chapter 2. The Statement of the Case
Chapter 3. In Quest of a Solution
Chapter 4. The Story of the Bald-Headed Man
Chapter 5. The Tragedy of Pondicherry Lodge
Chapter 6. Sherlock Holmes Gives a Demonstration
Chapter 7. The Episode of the Barrel
Chapter 8. The Baker Street Irregulars
Chapter 9. A Break in the Chain
Chapter 10. The End of the Islander
Chapter 11. The Great Agra Treasure
Chapter 12. The Strange Story of Jonathan Small
The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes
ADVENTURE I. A SCANDAL IN BOHEMIA
ADVENTURE II. THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE
ADVENTURE III. A CASE OF IDENTITY
ADVENTURE IV. THE BOSCOMBE VALLEY MYSTERY
ADVENTURE V. THE FIVE ORANGE PIPS
ADVENTURE VI. THE MAN WITH THE TWISTED LIP
ADVENTURE VII. THE BLUE CARBUNCLE
ADVENTURE VIII. THE SPECKLED BAND
ADVENTURE IX. THE ENGINEER’S THUMB
ADVENTURE X. THE NOBLE BACHELOR
ADVENTURE XI. THE BERYL CORONET
ADVENTURE XII. THE COPPER BEECHES
The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes
I. Silver Blaze
II. The Adventure of the Cardboard Box
III. The Yellow Face
IV. The Stockbroker’s Clerk
V. The “Gloria Scott”
VI. The Musgrave Ritual
VII. The Reigate Squires
VIII. The Crooked Man
IX. The Resident Patient
X. The Greek Interpreter
XI. The Naval Treaty
XII. The Final Problem
G. K. Chesterton
The Man Who Was Thursday: A Nightmare
CHAPTER I. THE TWO POETS OF SAFFRON PARK
CHAPTER II. THE SECRET OF GABRIEL SYME
CHAPTER III. THE MAN WHO WAS THURSDAY
CHAPTER IV. THE TALE OF A DETECTIVE
CHAPTER V. THE FEAST OF FEAR
CHAPTER VI. THE EXPOSURE
CHAPTER VII. THE UNACCOUNTABLE CONDUCT OF PROFESSOR DE WORMS
CHAPTER VIII. THE PROFESSOR EXPLAINS
CHAPTER IX. THE MAN IN SPECTACLES
CHAPTER X. THE DUEL
CHAPTER XI. THE CRIMINALS CHASE THE POLICE
CHAPTER XII. THE EARTH IN ANARCHY
CHAPTER XIII. THE PURSUIT OF THE PRESIDENT
CHAPTER XIV. THE SIX PHILOSOPHERS
CHAPTER XV. THE ACCUSER
The Innocence of Father Brown
The Blue Cross
The Secret Garden
The Queer Feet
The Flying Stars
The Invisible Man
The Honour of Israel Gow
The Wrong Shape
The Sins of Prince Saradine
The Hammer of God
The Eye of Apollo
The Sign of the Broken Sword
The Three Tools of Death
The Wisdom of Father Brown
ONE. The Absence of Mr Glass
TWO. The Paradise of Thieves
THREE. The Duel of Dr Hirsch
FOUR. The Man in the Passage
FIVE. The Mistake of the Machine
SIX. The Head of Caesar
SEVEN. The Purple Wig
EIGHT. The Perishing of the Pendragons
NINE. The God of the Gongs
TEN. The Salad of Colonel Cray
ELEVEN. The Strange Crime of John Boulnois
TWELVE. The Fairy Tale of Father Brown
Emile Gaboriau
Monsieur Lecoq
I
II
III
IV
V
VI
VII
VIII
IX
X
XI
XII
XIII
XIV
XV
XVI
XVII
XVIII
XIX
XX
XXI
XXII
XXIII
XXIV
XXV
The Lerouge Case
CHAPTER I
CHAPTER II
CHAPTER III
CHAPTER IV
CHAPTER V
CHAPTER VI
CHAPTER VII
CHAPTER VIII
CHAPTER IX
CHAPTER X
CHAPTER XI
CHAPTER XII
CHAPTER XIII
CHAPTER XIV
CHAPTER XV
CHAPTER XVI
CHAPTER XVII
CHAPTER XVIII
CHAPTER XIX
CHAPTER XX
The Mystery of Orcival
I
II
III
IV
V
VI
VII
VIII
IX
X
XI
XII
XIII
XIV
XV
XVI
XVII
XVIII
XIX
XX
XXI
XXII
XXIII
XXIV
XXV
XXVI
XXVII
XXVIII
Ernest William Hornung
Dead Men Tell No Tales
CHAPTER I. LOVE ON THE OCEAN
CHAPTER II. THE MYSTERIOUS CARGO
CHAPTER III. TO THE WATER'S EDGE
CHAPTER IV. THE SILENT SEA
CHAPTER V. MY REWARD
CHAPTER VI. THE SOLE SURVIVOR
CHAPTER VII. I FIND A FRIEND
CHAPTER VIII. A SMALL PRECAUTION
CHAPTER IX. MY CONVALESCENT HOME
CHAPTER X. WINE AND WEAKNESS
CHAPTER XI. I LIVE AGAIN
CHAPTER XII. MY LADY'S BIDDING
CHAPTER XIII. THE LONGEST DAY OF MY LIFE
CHAPTER XIV. IN THE GARDEN
CHAPTER XV. FIRST BLOOD
CHAPTER XVI. A DEADLOCK
CHAPTER XVII. THIEVES FALL OUT
CHAPTER XVIII. A MAN OF MANY MURDERS
CHAPTER XIX. MY GREAT HOUR
CHAPTER XX. THE STATEMENT OF FRANCIS RATTRAY
The Amateur Cracksman
THE IDES OF MARCH
I
II
A COSTUME PIECE
GENTLEMEN AND PLAYERS
LE PREMIER PAS
WILFUL MURDER
NINE POINTS OF THE LAW
THE RETURN MATCH
THE GIFT OF THE EMPEROR
I
II
III
The Crime Doctor
I. THE PHYSICIAN WHO HEALED HIMSELF
II. THE LIFE-PRESERVER
III. A HOPELESS CASE
IV. THE GOLDEN KEY
V. A SCHOOLMASTER ABROAD
VI. ONE POSSESSED
VII. THE DOCTOR'S ASSISTANT
VIII. THE SECOND MURDERER
M. McDonnell Bodkin
The Capture of Paul Beck
Chapter I. A Proposal
Chapter II. A Friend in Need
Chapter III. Boom and Crash
Chapter IV. A Rescue
Chapter V. A Transformation
Chapter VI. Lost And Found
Chapter VII. A Rich Revenge
Chapter VIII. Attack
Chapter IX. Defence
Chapter X. The Signed Photograph
Chapter XI. To The Rescue
Chapter XII. A False Alarm
Chapter XIII. Turning the Tables
Chapter XIV.A Warning
Chapter XV. “Love’s Young Dream”
Chapter XVI. A Game of Bridge
Chapter XVII. An Armistice
Chapter XVIII. Plotting
Chapter XIX. Counter Plotting
Chapter XX. An Encounter
Chapter XXI. Outwitted
Chapter XXII. Triumphant
Chapter XXIII. A Truce
Chapter XXIV. A Woman’s Will
Chapter XXV. Trapped
Chapter XXVI. In A Hurry
Guy Boothby
The Red Rat's Daughter
CHAPTER I
CHAPTER II
CHAPTER III
CHAPTER IV
CHAPTER V
CHAPTER VI
CHAPTER VII
CHAPTER VIII
CHAPTER IX
CHAPTER X
CHAPTER XI
CHAPTER XII
CHAPTER XIII
CHAPTER XIV
CHAPTER XV
CHAPTER XVI
CHAPTER XVII
CHAPTER XVIII
CHAPTER XIX
CHAPTER XX
CHAPTER XXI
CHAPTER XXII
CHAPTER XXIII
CHAPTER XXIV
CHAPTER XXV
CHAPTER XXVI
CHAPTER XXVII
CHAPTER XXVIII
CHAPTER XXIX
CHAPTER XXX
Jacques Futrelle
The Chase of the Golden Plate
PART I. THE BURGLAR AND THE GIRL
CHAPTER I
CHAPTER II
CHAPTER III
CHAPTER IV
CHAPTER V
CHAPTER VI
CHAPTER VII
CHAPTER VIII
PART II. THE GIRL AND THE PLATE
CHAPTER I
CHAPTER II
CHAPTER III
CHAPTER IV
CHAPTER V
CHAPTER VI
CHAPTER VII
CHAPTER VIII
PART III. THE THINKING MACHINE
CHAPTER I
CHAPTER II
CHAPTER III
CHAPTER IV
CHAPTER V
CHAPTER VI
CHAPTER VII
CHAPTER VIII
The Problem of Cell 13
THE PROBLEM OF CELL 13
I
II
III
IV
V
VI
THE SCARLET THREAD
I
II
III
IV
V
VI
THE MAN WHO WAS LOST
I
II
III
IV
V
VI
THE GREAT AUTO MYSTERY
I
II
III
IV
V
VI
THE FLAMING PHANTOM
I
II
III
IV
V
VI
THE RALSTON BANK BURGLARY
I
II
III
IV
V
VI
THE MYSTERY OF A STUDIO
I
II
III
IV
V
VI
Melville Davisson Post
The Sleuth of St. James's Square
I. The Thing on the Hearth
II. The Reward
III. The Lost Lady
IV. The Cambered Foot
V. The Man in the Green Hat
VI. The Wrong Sign
VII. The Fortune Teller
VIII. The Hole in the Mahogany Panel
IX. The End of the Road
X. The Last Adventure
Walker of the Secret Service
Chapter I. The Outlaw
Chapter II.The Holdup
Chapter III. The Bloodhounds
Chapter IV. The Secret Agent
Chapter V. The Big Haul
Chapter VI. The Passing of Mooney
Chapter VII. The Diamond
Chapter VIII. The Expert Detective
Chapter IX. The “Mysterious Stranger” Defense
Chapter X. The Inspiration
Chapter XI. The Girl in the Picture
Chapter XII. The Menace
Chapter XIII. The Symbol
Ethel Lina White
The Man Who Loved Lions (The Man Who Was Not There)
I. REUNION
I
II
III
IV
V
VI
VII
II. “SULLIED SOULS”
I
II
III
IV
V
VI
VII
III. A SAGACIOUS BEAST
I
II
III
IV
V
VI
VII
IV. A LOST HAND
I
II
III
IV
V
VI
V. “TIGER BURNING BRIGHT”
I
II
III
IV
V
VI
VII
VI. A MAN WHO WASN'T THERE
I
II
III
IV
V
VI
VII. SEEING SNAKES
I
II
III
IV
V
VI
VIII. AMBUSH
I
II
III
IV
V
VI
IX. THE MONKEY AND THE SNAKE
I
II
III
IV
V
VI
VII
X. ONE CAME BACK
I
II
III
IV
V
VI
XI. TWELVE GOOD MEN AND TRUE
I
II
III
IV
Baroness Emma Orczy (Emmuska Orczy)
The Old Man in the Corner
CHAPTER I. THE FENCHURCH STREET MYSTERY
CHAPTER II. A MILLIONAIRE IN THE DOCK
CHAPTER III. HIS DEDUCTION
CHAPTER IV. THE ROBBERY IN PHILLIMORE TERRACE
CHAPTER V. A NIGHT'S ADVENTURE
CHAPTER VI. ALL HE KNEW
CHAPTER VII. THE YORK MYSTERY
CHAPTER VIII. THE CAPITAL CHARGE
CHAPTER IX. A BROKEN-HEARTED WOMAN
CHAPTER X. THE MYSTERIOUS DEATH ON THE UNDERGROUND RAILWAY
CHAPTER XI. MR. ERRINGTON
CHAPTER XII. THE LIVERPOOL MYSTERY
CHAPTER XIII. A CUNNING RASCAL
CHAPTER XIV. THE EDINBURGH MYSTERY
CHAPTER XV. A TERRIBLE PLIGHT
CHAPTER XVI. “NON PROVEN”
CHAPTER XVII. UNDENIABLE FACTS
CHAPTER XVIII. THE THEFT AT THE ENGLISH PROVIDENT BANK
CHAPTER XIX. CONFLICTING EVIDENCE
CHAPTER XX. AN ALIBI
CHAPTER XXI. THE DUBLIN MYSTERY
CHAPTER XXII. FORGERY
CHAPTER XXIII. A MEMORABLE DAY
CHAPTER XXIV. AN UNPARALLELED OUTRAGE
CHAPTER XXV. THE PRISONER
CHAPTER XXVI. A SENSATION
CHAPTER XXVII. TWO BLACKGUARDS
CHAPTER XXVIII. THE REGENT'S PARK MURDER
CHAPTER XXIX. THE MOTIVE
CHAPTER XXX. FRIENDS
CHAPTER XXXI. THE DE GENNEVILLE PEERAGE
CHAPTER XXXII. A HIGH-BRED GENTLEMAN
CHAPTER XXXIII. THE LIVING AND THE DEAD
CHAPTER XXXIV. THE MYSTERIOUS DEATH IN PERCY STREET
CHAPTER XXXV. SUICIDE OR MURDER?
CHAPTER XXXVI. THE END
The Scarlet Pimpernel
CHAPTER I. PARIS: SEPTEMBER, 1792
CHAPTER II. DOVER: “THE FISHERMAN'S REST”
CHAPTER III. THE REFUGEES
CHAPTER IV. THE LEAGUE OF THE SCARLET PIMPERNEL
CHAPTER V. MARGUERITE
CHAPTER VI. AN EXQUISITE OF '92
CHAPTER VII. THE SECRET ORCHARD
CHAPTER VIII. THE ACCREDITED AGENT
CHAPTER IX. THE OUTRAGE
CHAPTER X. IN THE OPERA BOX
CHAPTER XI. LORD GRENVILLE'S BALL
CHAPTER XII. THE SCRAP OF PAPER
CHAPTER XIII. EITHER — OR?
CHAPTER XIV. ONE O'CLOCK PRECISELY!
CHAPTER XV. DOUBT
CHAPTER XVI. RICHMOND
CHAPTER XVII. FAREWELL
CHAPTER XVIII. THE MYSTERIOUS DEVICE
CHAPTER XIX. THE SCARLET PIMPERNEL
CHAPTER XX. THE FRIEND
CHAPTER XXI. SUSPENSE
CHAPTER XXII. CALAIS
CHAPTER XXIII. HOPE
CHAPTER XXIV. THE DEATH-TRAP
CHAPTER XXV. THE EAGLE AND THE FOX
CHAPTER XXVI. THE JEW
CHAPTER XXVII. ON THE TRACK
CHAPTER XXVIII. THE PÈRE BLANCHARD'S HUT
CHAPTER XXIX. TRAPPED
CHAPTER XXX. THE SCHOONER
CHAPTER XXXI. THE ESCAPE
Arthur Morrison
Chronicles of Martin Hewitt
THE IVY COTTAGE MYSTERY
THE NICOBAR BULLION CASE
THE HOLFORD WILL CASE
THE CASE OF THE MISSING HAND
THE CASE OF LAKER, ABSCONDED
THE CASE OF THE LOST FOREIGNER
Martin Hewitt, Investigator
I. THE LENTON CROFT ROBBERIES
II. THE LOSS OF SAMMY CROCKETT
III. THE CASE OF MR. FOGGATT
IV. THE CASE OF THE DIXON TORPEDO
V. THE QUINTON JEWEL AFFAIR
VI. THE STANWAY CAMEO MYSTERY
VII. THE AFFAIR OF THE TORTOISE
Edgar Wallace
The Angel of Terror
CHAPTER I
CHAPTER II
CHAPTER III
CHAPTER IV
CHAPTER V
CHAPTER VI
CHAPTER VII
CHAPTER VIII
CHAPTER IX
CHAPTER X
CHAPTER XI
CHAPTER XII
CHAPTER XIII
Chapter XIV
Chapter XV
Chapter XVI
Chapter XVII
Chapter XVIII
Chapter XIX
Chapter XX
Chapter XXI
Chapter XXII
Chapter XXIII
Chapter XXIV
Chapter XXV
Chapter XXVI
Chapter XXVII
Chapter XXVIII
Chapter XXIX
Chapter XXX
Chapter XXXI
Chapter XXXII
Chapter XXXIII
Chapter XXXIV
Chapter XXXV
Chapter XXXVI
Chapter XXXVII
Chapter XXXVIII
Chapter XXXIX
Chapter XL
Chapter XLI
Algernon Blackwood
Three More John Silence Stories
CASE I: SECRET WORSHIP
CASE II: THE CAMP OF THE DOG
I
II
III
IV
V
CASE III: A VICTIM OF HIGHER SPACE
Three John Silence Stories
CASE I: A PSYCHICAL INVASION
I
II
III
CASE II: ANCIENT SORCERIES
CASE III: THE NEMESIS OF FIRE
Maurice Leblanc
The Extraordinary Adventures of Arsene Lupin, Gentleman-Burglar
I. The Arrest of Arsène Lupin
II. Arsène Lupin in Prison
III. The Escape of Arsène Lupin
IV. The Mysterious Traveller
V. The Queen’s Necklace
VI. The Seven of Hearts
VII. Madame Imbert’s Safe
VIII. The Black Pearl
IX. Sherlock Holmes Arrives Too Late
Gaston Leroux
The Mystery of the Yellow Room
CHAPTER I. In Which We Begin Not to Understand
CHAPTER II. In Which Joseph Rouletabille Appears for the First Time
CHAPTER III. “A Man Has Passed Like a Shadow Through the Blinds”
CHAPTER IV. “In the Bosom of Wild Nature”
CHAPTER V. In Which Joseph Rouletabille Makes a Remark to Monsieur Robert Darzac Which Produces Its Little Effect
CHAPTER VI. In the Heart of the Oak Grove
CHAPTER VII. In Which Rouletabille Sets Out on an Expedition Under the Bed
CHAPTER VIII. The Examining Magistrate Questions Mademoiselle Stangerson
CHAPTER IX. Reporter and Detective
CHAPTER X. “We Shall Have to Eat Red Meat-Now”
CHAPTER XI. In Which Frederic Larsan Explains How the Murderer Was Able to Get Out of “The Yellow Room”
CHAPTER XII. Frederic Larsan’s Cane
CHAPTER XIII. “The Presbytery Has Lost Nothing of Its Charm, Nor the Garden Its Brightness”
CHAPTER XIV. “I Expect the Assassin This Evening”
CHAPTER XV. The Trap
CHAPTER XVI. Strange Phenomenon of the Dissociation of Matter
CHAPTER XVII. The Inexplicable Gallery
CHAPTER XVIII. Rouletabille Has Drawn a Circle Between the Two Bumps on His Forehead
CHAPTER XIX. Rouletabille Invites Me to Breakfast at the Donjon Inn
CHAPTER XX. An Act of Mademoiselle Stangerson
CHAPTER XXI. On the Watch
CHAPTER XXII. The Incredible Body
CHAPTER XXIII. The Double Scent
CHAPTER XXIV. Rouletabille Knows the Two Halves of the Murderer
CHAPTER XXV. Rouletabille Goes on a Journey
CHAPTER XXVI. In Which Joseph Rouletabille Is Awaited with Impatience
CHAPTER XXVII. In Which Joseph Rouletabille Appears in All His Glory
CHAPTER XXVIII. In Which It Is Proved That One Does Not Always Think of Everything
CHAPTER XXIX. The Mystery of Mademoiselle Stangerson
Anna Katherine Green
The Leavenworth Case
BOOK I. THE PROBLEM
I. “A GREAT CASE”
II. THE CORONER’S INQUEST
III. FACTS AND DEDUCTIONS
IV. A CLUE
V. EXPERT TESTIMONY
VI. SIDE-LIGHTS
VII. MARY LEAVENWORTH
VIII. CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE
IX. A DISCOVERY
X. MR. GRYCE RECEIVES NEW IMPETUS
XI. THE SUMMONS
XII. ELEANORE
XIII. THE PROBLEM
BOOK II. HENRY CLAVERING
XIV. MR. GRYCE AT HOME
XV. WAYS OPENING
XVI. THE WILL OF A MILLIONAIRE
XVII. THE BEGINNING OF GREAT SURPRISES
XVIII. ON THE STAIRS
XIX. IN MY OFFICE
XX. “TRUEMAN! TRUEMAN! TRUEMAN!”
XXI. A PREJUDICE
XXII. PATCH-WORK
XXIII. THE STORY OF A CHARMING WOMAN
XXIV. A REPORT FOLLOWED BY SMOKE
XXV. TIMOTHY COOK
XXVI. MR. GRYCE EXPLAINS HIMSELF
BOOK III. HANNAH
XXVII. AMY BELDEN
XXVIII. A WEIRD EXPERIENCE
XXIX. THE MISSING WITNESS
XXX. BURNED PAPER
XXXI. “THEREBY HANGS A TALE.”
XXXII. MRS. BELDEN’S NARRATIVE
XXXIII. UNEXPECTED TESTIMONY
BOOK IV. THE PROBLEM SOLVED
XXXIV. MR. GRYCE RESUMES CONTROL
XXXV. FINE WORK
XXXVI. GATHERED THREADS
XXXVII. CULMINATION
XXXVIII. A FULL CONFESSION
XXXIX. THE OUTCOME OF A GREAT CRIME
Fergus Hume
The Mystery of a Hansom Cab
PREFACE
CHAPTER I. WHAT THE ARGUS SAID
CHAPTER II. THE EVIDENCE AT THE INQUEST
CHAPTER III. ONE HUNDRED POUNDS REWARD
CHAPTER IV. MR. GORBY MAKES A START
CHAPTER V. MRS. HAMILTON UNBOSOMS HERSELF
CHAPTER VI. MR. GORBY MAKES FURTHER DISCOVERIES
CHAPTER VII. THE WOOL KING
CHAPTER VIII. BRIAN TAKES A WALK AND A DRIVE
CHAPTER IX. MR. GORBY IS SATISFIED AT LAST
CHAPTER X. IN THE QUEEN'S NAME
CHAPTER XI. COUNSEL FOR THE PRISONER
CHAPTER XII. SHE WAS A TRUE WOMAN
CHAPTER XIII. MADGE MAKES A DISCOVERY
CHAPTER XIV. ANOTHER RICHMOND IN THE FIELD
CHAPTER XV. A WOMAN OF THE PEOPLE
CHAPTER XVI. MISSING
CHAPTER XVII. THE TRIAL
CHAPTER XVIII. SAL RAWLINS TELLS ALL SHE KNOWS
CHAPTER XIX. THE VERDICT OF THE JURY
CHAPTER XX. THE “ARGUS” GIVES ITS OPINION
CHAPTER XXI. THREE MONTHS AFTERWARDS
CHAPTER XXII. A DAUGHTER OF EVE
CHAPTER XXIII. ACROSS THE WALNUTS AND THE WINE
CHAPTER XXIV. BRIAN RECEIVES A LETTER
CHAPTER XXV. WHAT DR. CHINSTON SAID
CHAPTER XXVI. KILSIP HAS A THEORY OF HIS OWN
CHAPTER XXVII. MOTHER GUTTERSNIPE JOINS THE MAJORITY
CHAPTER XXVIII. MARK FRETTLBY HAS A VISITOR
CHAPTER XXIX. MR. CALTON'S CURIOSITY IS SATISFIED
CHAPTER XXX. NEMESIS
CHAPTER XXXI. HUSH-MONEY
CHAPTER XXXII. DE MORTUIS NIL NISI BONUM
CHAPTER XXXIII. THE CONFESSION
CHAPTER XXXIV. THE HANDS OF JUSTICE
CHAPTER XXXV. THE LOVE THAT LIVES
Fyodor Dostoevsky
Crime and Punishment
Translator’s preface
Part I
Chapter I
Chapter II
Chapter III
Chapter IV
Chapter V
Chapter VI
Chapter VII
Part II
Chapter I
Chapter II
Chapter III
Chapter IV
Chapter V
Chapter VI
Chapter VII
Part III
Chapter I
Chapter II
Chapter III
Chapter IV
Chapter V
Chapter VI
Part IV
Chapter I
Chapter II
Chapter III
Chapter IV
Chapter V
Chapter VI
Part V
Chapter I
Chapter II
Chapter III
Chapter IV
Chapter V
Part VI
Chapter I
ChapterR II
Chapter III
Chapter IV
Chapter V
Chapter VI
Chapter VII
Chapter VIII
Epilogue
I
II
Robert Louis Stevenson
The Suicide Club
STORY OF THE YOUNG MAN WITH THE CREAM TARTS
STORY OF THE PHYSICIAN AND THE SARATOGA TRUNK
THE ADVENTURE OF THE HANSOM CABS
The Rajah’s Diamond
STORY OF THE BANDBOX
STORY OF THE YOUNG MAN IN HOLY ORDERS
STORY OF THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN BLINDS
THE ADVENTURE OF PRINCE FLORIZEL AND A DETECTIVE
Dorothy L. Sayers
Whose Body? A Lord Peter Wimsey Novel
CHAPTER I
CHAPTER II
CHAPTER III
CHAPTER IV
CHAPTER V
CHAPTER VI
CHAPTER VII
CHAPTER VIII
CHAPTER IX
CHAPTER X
CHAPTER XI
CHAPTER XII
CHAPTER XIII
R. Austin Freeman
John Thorndyke's Cases
PREFACE
I. THE MAN WITH THE NAILED SHOES
II. THE STRANGER'S LATCHKEY
III. THE ANTHROPOLOGIST AT LARGE
IV. THE BLUE SEQUIN
V. THE MOABITE CIPHER
VI. THE MANDARIN'S PEARL
VII. THE ALUMINIUM DAGGER
VIII. A MESSAGE FROM THE DEEP SEA
The Mystery of 31 New Inn
Preface
Chapter I. The Mysterious Patient
Chapter II. Thorndyke Devises a Scheme
Chapter III. “A Chiel's Amang Ye Takin' Notes”
Chapter IV. The Official View
Chapter V. Jeffrey Blackmore's Will
Chapter VI. Jeffrey Blackmore, Deceased
Chapter VII. The Cuneiform Inscription
Chapter VIII. The Track Chart
Chapter IX. The House of Mystery
Chapter X. The Hunter Hunted
Chapter XI. The Blackmore Case Reviewed
Chapter XII. The Portrait
Chapter XIII. The Statement of Samuel Wilkins
Chapter XIV. Thorndyke Lays the Mine
Chapter XV. Thorndyke Explodes the Mine
Chapter XVI. An Exposition and a Tragedy

Wilkie Collins

The Moonstone

A Romance

PROLOGUE

THE STORMING OF SERINGAPATAM (1799):

(Extracted from a Family Paper.)  

I

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 family whose good opinion I cannot consent to forfeit. I request them to suspend their decision until they have read my narrative. And I declare, on my word of honour, that what I am now about to write is, strictly and literally, the truth.

The private difference between my cousin and me took its rise in a great public event in which we were both concerned—the storming of Seringapatam, under General Baird, on the 4th of May, 1799.

In order that the circumstances may be clearly understood, I must revert for a moment to the period before the assault, and to the stories current in our camp of the treasure in jewels and gold stored up in the Palace of Seringapatam.

II

One of the wildest of these stories related to a Yellow Diamond—a famous gem in the native annals of India.

The earliest known traditions describe the stone as having been set in the forehead of the four-handed Indian god who typifies the Moon. Partly from its peculiar colour, partly from a superstition which represented it as feeling the influence of the deity whom it adorned, and growing and lessening in lustre with the waxing and waning of the moon, it first gained the name by which it continues to be known in India to this day—the name of THE MOONSTONE. A similar superstition was once prevalent, as I have heard, in ancient Greece and Rome; not applying, however (as in India), to a diamond devoted to the service of a god, but to a semi-transparent stone of the inferior order of gems, supposed to be affected by the lunar influences—the moon, in this latter case also, giving the name by which the stone is still known to collectors in our own time.

The adventures of the Yellow Diamond begin with the eleventh century of the Christian era.

At that date, the Mohammedan conqueror, Mahmoud of Ghizni, crossed India; seized on the holy city of Somnauth; and stripped of its treasures the famous temple, which had stood for centuries—the shrine of Hindoo pilgrimage, and the wonder of the Eastern world.

Of all the deities worshipped in the temple, the moon-god alone escaped the rapacity of the conquering Mohammedans. Preserved by three Brahmins, the inviolate deity, bearing the Yellow Diamond in its forehead, was removed by night, and was transported to the second of the sacred cities of India—the city of Benares.

Here, in a new shrine—in a hall inlaid with precious stones, under a roof supported by pillars of gold—the moon-god was set up and worshipped. Here, on the night when the shrine was completed, Vishnu the Preserver appeared to the three Brahmins in a dream.

The deity breathed the breath of his divinity on the Diamond in the forehead of the god. And the Brahmins knelt and hid their faces in their robes. The deity commanded that the Moonstone should be watched, from that time forth, by three priests in turn, night and day, to the end of the generations of men. And the Brahmins heard, and bowed before his will. The deity predicted certain disaster to the presumptuous mortal who laid hands on the sacred gem, and to all of his house and name who received it after him. And the Brahmins caused the prophecy to be written over the gates of the shrine in letters of gold.

One age followed another—and still, generation after generation, the successors of the three Brahmins watched their priceless Moonstone, night and day. One age followed another until the first years of the eighteenth Christian century saw the reign of Aurungzebe, Emperor of the Moguls. At his command havoc and rapine were let loose once more among the temples of the worship of Brahmah. The shrine of the four-handed god was polluted by the slaughter of sacred animals; the images of the deities were broken in pieces; and the Moonstone was seized by an officer of rank in the army of Aurungzebe.

Powerless to recover their lost treasure by open force, the three guardian priests followed and watched it in disguise. The generations succeeded each other; the warrior who had committed the sacrilege perished miserably; the Moonstone passed (carrying its curse with it) from one lawless Mohammedan hand to another; and still, through all chances and changes, the successors of the three guardian priests kept their watch, waiting the day when the will of Vishnu the Preserver should restore to them their sacred gem. Time rolled on from the first to the last years of the eighteenth Christian century. The Diamond fell into the possession of Tippoo, Sultan of Seringapatam, who caused it to be placed as an ornament in the handle of a dagger, and who commanded it to be kept among the choicest treasures of his armoury. Even then—in the palace of the Sultan himself—the three guardian priests still kept their watch in secret. There were three officers of Tippoo’s household, strangers to the rest, who had won their master’s confidence by conforming, or appearing to conform, to the Mussulman faith; and to those three men report pointed as the three priests in disguise.

III

So, as told in our camp, ran the fanciful story of the Moonstone. It made no serious impression on any of us except my cousin—whose love of the marvellous induced him to believe it. On the night before the assault on Seringapatam, he was absurdly angry with me, and with others, for treating the whole thing as a fable. A foolish wrangle followed; and Herncastle’s unlucky temper got the better of him. He declared, in his boastful way, that we should see the Diamond on his finger, if the English army took Seringapatam. The sally was saluted by a roar of laughter, and there, as we all thought that night, the thing ended.

Let me now take you on to the day of the assault.

My cousin and I were separated at the outset. I never saw him when we forded the river; when we planted the English flag in the first breach; when we crossed the ditch beyond; and, fighting every inch of our way, entered the town. It was only at dusk, when the place was ours, and after General Baird himself had found the dead body of Tippoo under a heap of the slain, that Herncastle and I met.

We were each attached to a party sent out by the general’s orders to prevent the plunder and confusion which followed our conquest. The camp-followers committed deplorable excesses; and, worse still, the soldiers found their way, by a guarded door, into the treasury of the Palace, and loaded themselves with gold and jewels. It was in the court outside the treasury that my cousin and I met, to enforce the laws of discipline on our own soldiers. Herncastle’s fiery temper had been, as I could plainly see, exasperated to a kind of frenzy by the terrible slaughter through which we had passed. He was very unfit, in my opinion, to perform the duty that had been entrusted to him.

There was riot and confusion enough in the treasury, but no violence that I saw. The men (if I may use such an expression) disgraced themselves good-humouredly. All sorts of rough jests and catchwords were bandied about among them; and the story of the Diamond turned up again unexpectedly, in the form of a mischievous joke. “Who’s got the Moonstone?” was the rallying cry which perpetually caused the plundering, as soon as it was stopped in one place, to break out in another. While I was still vainly trying to establish order, I heard a frightful yelling on the other side of the courtyard, and at once ran towards the cries, in dread of finding some new outbreak of the pillage in that direction.

I got to an open door, and saw the bodies of two Indians (by their dress, as I guessed, officers of the palace) lying across the entrance, dead.

A cry inside hurried me into a room, which appeared to serve as an armoury. A third Indian, mortally wounded, was sinking at the feet of a man whose back was towards me. The man turned at the instant when I came in, and I saw John Herncastle, with a torch in one hand, and a dagger dripping with blood in the other. A stone, set like a pommel, in the end of the dagger’s handle, flashed in the torchlight, as he turned on me, like a gleam of fire. The dying Indian sank to his knees, pointed to the dagger in Herncastle’s hand, and said, in his native language—“The Moonstone will have its vengeance yet on you and yours!” He spoke those words, and fell dead on the floor.

Before I could stir in the matter, the men who had followed me across the courtyard crowded in. My cousin rushed to meet them, like a madman. “Clear the room!” he shouted to me, “and set a guard on the door!” The men fell back as he threw himself on them with his torch and his dagger. I put two sentinels of my own company, on whom I could rely, to keep the door. Through the remainder of the night, I saw no more of my cousin.

Early in the morning, the plunder still going on, General Baird announced publicly by beat of drum, that any thief detected in the fact, be he whom he might, should be hung. The provost-marshal was in attendance, to prove that the General was in earnest; and in the throng that followed the proclamation, Herncastle and I met again.

He held out his hand, as usual, and said, “Good morning.”

I waited before I gave him my hand in return.

“Tell me first,” I said, “how the Indian in the armoury met his death, and what those last words meant, when he pointed to the dagger in your hand.”

“The Indian met his death, as I suppose, by a mortal wound,” said Herncastle. “What his last words meant I know no more than you do.”

I looked at him narrowly. His frenzy of the previous day had all calmed down. I determined to give him another chance.

“Is that all you have to tell me?” I asked.

He answered, “That is all.”

I turned my back on him; and we have not spoken since.

 

IV

 

I beg it to be understood that what I write here about my cousin (unless some necessity should arise for making it public) is for the information of the family only. Herncastle has said nothing that can justify me in speaking to our commanding officer. He has been taunted more than once about the Diamond, by those who recollect his angry outbreak before the assault; but, as may easily be imagined, his own remembrance of the circumstances under which I surprised him in the armoury has been enough to keep him silent. It is reported that he means to exchange into another regiment, avowedly for the purpose of separating himself from me.

Whether this be true or not, I cannot prevail upon myself to become his accuser—and I think with good reason. If I made the matter public, I have no evidence but moral evidence to bring forward. I have not only no proof that he killed the two men at the door; I cannot even declare that he killed the third man inside—for I cannot say that my own eyes saw the deed committed. It is true that I heard the dying Indian’s words; but if those words were pronounced to be the ravings of delirium, how could I contradict the assertion from my own knowledge? Let our relatives, on either side, form their own opinion on what I have written, and decide for themselves whether the aversion I now feel towards this man is well or ill founded.

Although I attach no sort of credit to the fantastic Indian legend of the gem, I must acknowledge, before I conclude, that I am influenced by a certain superstition of my own in this matter. It is my conviction, or my delusion, no matter which, that crime brings its own fatality with it. I am not only persuaded of Herncastle’s guilt; I am even fanciful enough to believe that he will live to regret it, if he keeps the Diamond; and that others will live to regret taking it from him, if he gives the Diamond away.

THE STORY

FIRST PERIOD
 THE LOSS OF THE DIAMOND (1848)
The Events related by Gabriel Betteredge, house-steward in the service of Julia, Lady Verinder.
CHAPTER I

In the first part of Robinson Crusoe, at page one hundred and twenty-nine, you will find it thus written:

“Now I saw, though too late, the Folly of beginning a Work before we count the Cost, and before we judge rightly of our own Strength to go through with it.”

Only yesterday, I opened my Robinson Crusoe at that place. Only this morning (May twenty-first, eighteen hundred and fifty), came my lady’s nephew, Mr. Franklin Blake, and held a short conversation with me, as follows:—

“Betteredge,” says Mr. Franklin, “I have been to the lawyer’s about some family matters; and, among other things, we have been talking of the loss of the Indian Diamond, in my aunt’s house in Yorkshire, two years since. Mr. Bruff thinks as I think, that the whole story ought, in the interests of truth, to be placed on record in writing—and the sooner the better.”

Not perceiving his drift yet, and thinking it always desirable for the sake of peace and quietness to be on the lawyer’s side, I said I thought so too. Mr. Franklin went on.

“In this matter of the Diamond,” he said, “the characters of innocent people have suffered under suspicion already—as you know. The memories of innocent people may suffer, hereafter, for want of a record of the facts to which those who come after us can appeal. There can be no doubt that this strange family story of ours ought to be told. And I think, Betteredge, Mr. Bruff and I together have hit on the right way of telling it.”

Very satisfactory to both of them, no doubt. But I failed to see what I myself had to do with it, so far.

“We have certain events to relate,” Mr. Franklin proceeded; “and we have certain persons concerned in those events who are capable of relating them. Starting from these plain facts, the idea is that we should all write the story of the Moonstone in turn—as far as our own personal experience extends, and no farther. We must begin by showing how the Diamond first fell into the hands of my uncle Herncastle, when he was serving in India fifty years since. This prefatory narrative I have already got by me in the form of an old family paper, which relates the necessary particulars on the authority of an eye-witness. The next thing to do is to tell how the Diamond found its way into my aunt’s house in Yorkshire, two years ago, and how it came to be lost in little more than twelve hours afterwards. Nobody knows as much as you do, Betteredge, about what went on in the house at that time. So you must take the pen in hand, and start the story.”

In those terms I was informed of what my personal concern was with the matter of the Diamond. If you are curious to know what course I took under the circumstances, I beg to inform you that I did what you would probably have done in my place. I modestly declared myself to be quite unequal to the task imposed upon me—and I privately felt, all the time, that I was quite clever enough to perform it, if I only gave my own abilities a fair chance. Mr. Franklin, I imagine, must have seen my private sentiments in my face. He declined to believe in my modesty; and he insisted on giving my abilities a fair chance.

Two hours have passed since Mr. Franklin left me. As soon as his back was turned, I went to my writing-desk to start the story. There I have sat helpless (in spite of my abilities) ever since; seeing what Robinson Crusoe saw, as quoted above—namely, the folly of beginning a work before we count the cost, and before we judge rightly of our own strength to go through with it. Please to remember, I opened the book by accident, at that bit, only the day before I rashly undertook the business now in hand; and, allow me to ask—if that isn’t prophecy, what is?

I am not superstitious; I have read a heap of books in my time; I am a scholar in my own way. Though turned seventy, I possess an active memory, and legs to correspond. You are not to take it, if you please, as the saying of an ignorant man, when I express my opinion that such a book as Robinson Crusoe never was written, and never will be written again. I have tried that book for years—generally in combination with a pipe of tobacco—and I have found it my friend in need in all the necessities of this mortal life. When my spirits are bad—Robinson Crusoe. When I want advice—Robinson Crusoe. In past times when my wife plagued me; in present times when I have had a drop too much—Robinson Crusoe. I have worn out six stout Robinson Crusoes with hard work in my service. On my lady’s last birthday she gave me a seventh. I took a drop too much on the strength of it; and Robinson Crusoe put me right again. Price four shillings and sixpence, bound in blue, with a picture into the bargain.

Still, this don’t look much like starting the story of the Diamond—does it? I seem to be wandering off in search of Lord knows what, Lord knows where. We will take a new sheet of paper, if you please, and begin over again, with my best respects to you. 

CHAPTER II

I spoke of my lady a line or two back. Now the Diamond could never have been in our house, where it was lost, if it had not been made a present of to my lady’s daughter; and my lady’s daughter would never have been in existence to have the present, if it had not been for my lady who (with pain and travail) produced her into the world. Consequently, if we begin with my lady, we are pretty sure of beginning far enough back. And that, let me tell you, when you have got such a job as mine in hand, is a real comfort at starting.

If you know anything of the fashionable world, you have heard tell of the three beautiful Miss Herncastles. Miss Adelaide; Miss Caroline; and Miss Julia—this last being the youngest and the best of the three sisters, in my opinion; and I had opportunities of judging, as you shall presently see. I went into the service of the old lord, their father (thank God, we have got nothing to do with him, in this business of the Diamond; he had the longest tongue and the shortest temper of any man, high or low, I ever met with)—I say, I went into the service of the old lord, as page-boy in waiting on the three honourable young ladies, at the age of fifteen years. There I lived till Miss Julia married the late Sir John Verinder. An excellent man, who only wanted somebody to manage him; and, between ourselves, he found somebody to do it; and what is more, he throve on it and grew fat on it, and lived happy and died easy on it, dating from the day when my lady took him to church to be married, to the day when she relieved him of his last breath, and closed his eyes for ever.

I have omitted to state that I went with the bride to the bride’s husband’s house and lands down here. “Sir John,” she says, “I can’t do without Gabriel Betteredge.” “My lady,” says Sir John, “I can’t do without him, either.” That was his way with her—and that was how I went into his service. It was all one to me where I went, so long as my mistress and I were together.

Seeing that my lady took an interest in the out-of-door work, and the farms, and such like, I took an interest in them too—with all the more reason that I was a small farmer’s seventh son myself. My lady got me put under the bailiff, and I did my best, and gave satisfaction, and got promotion accordingly. Some years later, on the Monday as it might be, my lady says, “Sir John, your bailiff is a stupid old man. Pension him liberally, and let Gabriel Betteredge have his place.” On the Tuesday as it might be, Sir John says, “My lady, the bailiff is pensioned liberally; and Gabriel Betteredge has got his place.” You hear more than enough of married people living together miserably. Here is an example to the contrary. Let it be a warning to some of you, and an encouragement to others. In the meantime, I will go on with my story.

Well, there I was in clover, you will say. Placed in a position of trust and honour, with a little cottage of my own to live in, with my rounds on the estate to occupy me in the morning, and my accounts in the afternoon, and my pipe and my Robinson Crusoe in the evening—what more could I possibly want to make me happy? Remember what Adam wanted when he was alone in the Garden of Eden; and if you don’t blame it in Adam, don’t blame it in me.

The woman I fixed my eye on, was the woman who kept house for me at my cottage. Her name was Selina Goby. I agree with the late William Cobbett about picking a wife. See that she chews her food well and sets her foot down firmly on the ground when she walks, and you’re all right. Selina Goby was all right in both these respects, which was one reason for marrying her. I had another reason, likewise, entirely of my own discovering. Selina, being a single woman, made me pay so much a week for her board and services. Selina, being my wife, couldn’t charge for her board, and would have to give me her services for nothing. That was the point of view I looked at it from. Economy—with a dash of love. I put it to my mistress, as in duty bound, just as I had put it to myself.

“I have been turning Selina Goby over in my mind,” I said, “and I think, my lady, it will be cheaper to marry her than to keep her.”

My lady burst out laughing, and said she didn’t know which to be most shocked at—my language or my principles. Some joke tickled her, I suppose, of the sort that you can’t take unless you are a person of quality. Understanding nothing myself but that I was free to put it next to Selina, I went and put it accordingly. And what did Selina say? Lord! how little you must know of women, if you ask that. Of course she said, Yes.

As my time drew nearer, and there got to be talk of my having a new coat for the ceremony, my mind began to misgive me. I have compared notes with other men as to what they felt while they were in my interesting situation; and they have all acknowledged that, about a week before it happened, they privately wished themselves out of it. I went a trifle further than that myself; I actually rose up, as it were, and tried to get out of it. Not for nothing! I was too just a man to expect she would let me off for nothing. Compensation to the woman when the man gets out of it, is one of the laws of England. In obedience to the laws, and after turning it over carefully in my mind, I offered Selina Goby a feather-bed and fifty shillings to be off the bargain. You will hardly believe it, but it is nevertheless true—she was fool enough to refuse.

After that it was all over with me, of course. I got the new coat as cheap as I could, and I went through all the rest of it as cheap as I could. We were not a happy couple, and not a miserable couple. We were six of one and half-a-dozen of the other. How it was I don’t understand, but we always seemed to be getting, with the best of motives, in one another’s way. When I wanted to go upstairs, there was my wife coming down; or when my wife wanted to go down, there was I coming up. That is married life, according to my experience of it.

After five years of misunderstandings on the stairs, it pleased an all-wise Providence to relieve us of each other by taking my wife. I was left with my little girl Penelope, and with no other child. Shortly afterwards Sir John died, and my lady was left with her little girl, Miss Rachel, and no other child. I have written to very poor purpose of my lady, if you require to be told that my little Penelope was taken care of, under my good mistress’s own eye, and was sent to school and taught, and made a sharp girl, and promoted, when old enough, to be Miss Rachel’s own maid.

As for me, I went on with my business as bailiff year after year up to Christmas 1847, when there came a change in my life. On that day, my lady invited herself to a cup of tea alone with me in my cottage. She remarked that, reckoning from the year when I started as page-boy in the time of the old lord, I had been more than fifty years in her service, and she put into my hands a beautiful waistcoat of wool that she had worked herself, to keep me warm in the bitter winter weather.

I received this magnificent present quite at a loss to find words to thank my mistress with for the honour she had done me. To my great astonishment, it turned out, however, that the waistcoat was not an honour, but a bribe. My lady had discovered that I was getting old before I had discovered it myself, and she had come to my cottage to wheedle me (if I may use such an expression) into giving up my hard out-of-door work as bailiff, and taking my ease for the rest of my days as steward in the house. I made as good a fight of it against the indignity of taking my ease as I could. But my mistress knew the weak side of me; she put it as a favour to herself. The dispute between us ended, after that, in my wiping my eyes, like an old fool, with my new woollen waistcoat, and saying I would think about it.

The perturbation in my mind, in regard to thinking about it, being truly dreadful after my lady had gone away, I applied the remedy which I have never yet found to fail me in cases of doubt and emergency. I smoked a pipe and took a turn at Robinson Crusoe. Before I had occupied myself with that extraordinary book five minutes, I came on a comforting bit (page one hundred and fifty-eight), as follows: “Today we love, what tomorrow we hate.” I saw my way clear directly. Today I was all for continuing to be farm-bailiff; tomorrow, on the authority of Robinson Crusoe, I should be all the other way. Take myself tomorrow while in tomorrow’s humour, and the thing was done. My mind being relieved in this manner, I went to sleep that night in the character of Lady Verinder’s farm-bailiff, and I woke up the next morning in the character of Lady Verinder’s house-steward. All quite comfortable, and all through Robinson Crusoe!

My daughter Penelope has just looked over my shoulder to see what I have done so far. She remarks that it is beautifully written, and every word of it true. But she points out one objection. She says what I have done so far isn’t in the least what I was wanted to do. I am asked to tell the story of the Diamond and, instead of that, I have been telling the story of my own self. Curious, and quite beyond me to account for. I wonder whether the gentlemen who make a business and a living out of writing books, ever find their own selves getting in the way of their subjects, like me? If they do, I can feel for them. In the meantime, here is another false start, and more waste of good writing-paper. What’s to be done now? Nothing that I know of, except for you to keep your temper, and for me to begin it all over again for the third time. 

CHAPTER III

The question of how I am to start the story properly I have tried to settle in two ways. First, by scratching my head, which led to nothing. Second, by consulting my daughter Penelope, which has resulted in an entirely new idea.

Penelope’s notion is that I should set down what happened, regularly day by day, beginning with the day when we got the news that Mr. Franklin Blake was expected on a visit to the house. When you come to fix your memory with a date in this way, it is wonderful what your memory will pick up for you upon that compulsion. The only difficulty is to fetch out the dates, in the first place. This Penelope offers to do for me by looking into her own diary, which she was taught to keep when she was at school, and which she has gone on keeping ever since. In answer to an improvement on this notion, devised by myself, namely, that she should tell the story instead of me, out of her own diary, Penelope observes, with a fierce look and a red face, that her journal is for her own private eye, and that no living creature shall ever know what is in it but herself. When I inquire what this means, Penelope says, “Fiddlesticks!” I say, Sweethearts.

Beginning, then, on Penelope’s plan, I beg to mention that I was specially called one Wednesday morning into my lady’s own sitting-room, the date being the twenty-fourth of May, eighteen hundred and forty-eight.

“Gabriel,” says my lady, “here is news that will surprise you. Franklin Blake has come back from abroad. He has been staying with his father in London, and he is coming to us tomorrow to stop till next month, and keep Rachel’s birthday.”

If I had had a hat in my hand, nothing but respect would have prevented me from throwing that hat up to the ceiling. I had not seen Mr. Franklin since he was a boy, living along with us in this house. He was, out of all sight (as I remember him), the nicest boy that ever spun a top or broke a window. Miss Rachel, who was present, and to whom I made that remark, observed, in return, that she remembered him as the most atrocious tyrant that ever tortured a doll, and the hardest driver of an exhausted little girl in string harness that England could produce. “I burn with indignation, and I ache with fatigue,” was the way Miss Rachel summed it up, “when I think of Franklin Blake.”

Hearing what I now tell you, you will naturally ask how it was that Mr. Franklin should have passed all the years, from the time when he was a boy to the time when he was a man, out of his own country. I answer, because his father had the misfortune to be next heir to a Dukedom, and not to be able to prove it.

In two words, this was how the thing happened:

My lady’s eldest sister married the celebrated Mr. Blake—equally famous for his great riches, and his great suit at law. How many years he went on worrying the tribunals of his country to turn out the Duke in possession, and to put himself in the Duke’s place—how many lawyer’s purses he filled to bursting, and how many otherwise harmless people he set by the ears together disputing whether he was right or wrong—is more by a great deal than I can reckon up. His wife died, and two of his three children died, before the tribunals could make up their minds to show him the door and take no more of his money. When it was all over, and the Duke in possession was left in possession, Mr. Blake discovered that the only way of being even with his country for the manner in which it had treated him, was not to let his country have the honour of educating his son. “How can I trust my native institutions,” was the form in which he put it, “after the way in which my native institutions have behaved to me?” Add to this, that Mr. Blake disliked all boys, his own included, and you will admit that it could only end in one way. Master Franklin was taken from us in England, and was sent to institutions which his father could trust, in that superior country, Germany; Mr. Blake himself, you will observe, remaining snug in England, to improve his fellow-countrymen in the Parliament House, and to publish a statement on the subject of the Duke in possession, which has remained an unfinished statement from that day to this.

There! thank God, that’s told! Neither you nor I need trouble our heads any more about Mr. Blake, senior. Leave him to the Dukedom; and let you and I stick to the Diamond.

The Diamond takes us back to Mr. Franklin, who was the innocent means of bringing that unlucky jewel into the house.

Our nice boy didn’t forget us after he went abroad. He wrote every now and then; sometimes to my lady, sometimes to Miss Rachel, and sometimes to me. We had had a transaction together, before he left, which consisted in his borrowing of me a ball of string, a four-bladed knife, and seven-and-sixpence in money—the colour of which last I have not seen, and never expect to see again. His letters to me chiefly related to borrowing more. I heard, however, from my lady, how he got on abroad, as he grew in years and stature. After he had learnt what the institutions of Germany could teach him, he gave the French a turn next, and the Italians a turn after that. They made him among them a sort of universal genius, as well as I could understand it. He wrote a little; he painted a little; he sang and played and composed a little—borrowing, as I suspect, in all these cases, just as he had borrowed from me. His mother’s fortune (seven hundred a year) fell to him when he came of age, and ran through him, as it might be through a sieve. The more money he had, the more he wanted; there was a hole in Mr. Franklin’s pocket that nothing would sew up. Wherever he went, the lively, easy way of him made him welcome. He lived here, there, and everywhere; his address (as he used to put it himself) being “Post Office, Europe—to be left till called for.” Twice over, he made up his mind to come back to England and see us; and twice over (saving your presence), some unmentionable woman stood in the way and stopped him. His third attempt succeeded, as you know already from what my lady told me. On Thursday the twenty-fifth of May, we were to see for the first time what our nice boy had grown to be as a man. He came of good blood; he had a high courage; and he was five-and-twenty years of age, by our reckoning. Now you know as much of Mr. Franklin Blake as I did—before Mr. Franklin Blake came down to our house. 

The Thursday was as fine a summer’s day as ever you saw: and my lady and Miss Rachel (not expecting Mr. Franklin till dinner-time) drove out to lunch with some friends in the neighbourhood.

When they were gone, I went and had a look at the bedroom which had been got ready for our guest, and saw that all was straight. Then, being butler in my lady’s establishment, as well as steward (at my own particular request, mind, and because it vexed me to see anybody but myself in possession of the key of the late Sir John’s cellar)—then, I say, I fetched up some of our famous Latour claret, and set it in the warm summer air to take off the chill before dinner. Concluding to set myself in the warm summer air next—seeing that what is good for old claret is equally good for old age—I took up my beehive chair to go out into the back court, when I was stopped by hearing a sound like the soft beating of a drum, on the terrace in front of my lady’s residence.

Going round to the terrace, I found three mahogany-coloured Indians, in white linen frocks and trousers, looking up at the house.

The Indians, as I saw on looking closer, had small hand-drums slung in front of them. Behind them stood a little delicate-looking light-haired English boy carrying a bag. I judged the fellows to be strolling conjurors, and the boy with the bag to be carrying the tools of their trade. One of the three, who spoke English and who exhibited, I must own, the most elegant manners, presently informed me that my judgment was right. He requested permission to show his tricks in the presence of the lady of the house.