A Mysterious Disappearance E-Book

Louis Tracy

• Herausgeber: Gordon Holmes (louis Tracy)
• Kategorie: Poesie und Drama
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2015

Beschreibung

Louis Tracy (1863 - 1928) was a British journalist, and prolific writer of fiction. He used the pseudonyms Gordon Holmes and Robert Fraser, which were at times shared with M. P. Shiel, a collaborator from the start of the twentieth century. He was born in Liverpool to a well-to-do middle-class family. At first he was educated at home and then at the French Seminary at Douai. Around 1884 he became a reporter for a local paper - 'The Northern Echo' at Darlington, circulating in parts of Durham and North Yorkshire]; later he worked for papers in Cardiff and Allahabad. During 1892-1894 he was closely associated with Arthur Harmsworth, in 'The Sun' and 'The Evening News and Post' (font: Wikipedia)

Leseprobe

A Mysterious Disappearance

Louis Tracy

CONTENTS

I "Last Seen at Victoria!"

II Inspector White

III The Lady's Maid

IV No. 61 Raleigh Mansions

V At the Jollity Theatre

VI Miss Marie le Marchant

VII In the City

VIII The Hotel du Cercle

IX Breaking the Bank

X Some Good Resolutions

XI Theories

XII Who Corbett Was

XIII A Question of Principle

XIV No.Raleigh Mansions

XV Mrs. Hillmer Hesitates

XVI Foxey

XVII A Possible Explanation

XVIII What Happened on the Riviera

XIX Where Mrs. Hillmer Went

XX Mr. Sydney H. Corbett

XXI How Lady Dyke Left Raleigh Mansions

XXII A Wilful Murder

XXIII The Letter

XXIV The Handwriting

XXV Miss Phyllis Browne Intervenes

XXVI Lady Helen Montgomery's Son

XXVII Mr. White's Method

XXVIII Sir Charles Dyke's Journey

XXIX How Lady Dyke Disappeared

XXX Sir Charles Dyke Ends His Narrative

XXXI Valedictory

CHAPTER I

"LAST SEEN AT VICTORIA!"

Alice, Lady Dyke, puckered her handsome forehead into a thoughtful frown as she drew aside the window-curtains of her boudoir and tried to look out into the opaque blackness of a November fog in London.

Behind her was cheerfulnessin front uncertainty. Electric lights, a nice fire reflected from gleaming brass, the luxury of carpets and upholstery, formed an alluring contrast to the dull yellow glare of a solitary lamp in the outer obscurity.

But Lady Dyke was a strong-minded woman. There was no trace of doubt in the wrinkled brows and reflective eyes. She held back the curtains with her left hand, buttoning a glove at the wrist with the other. Fog or no fog, she would venture forth, and she was already dressed for the weather in tailor-made costume and winter toque.

She was annoyed, but not disconcerted by the fog. Too long had she allowed herself to take things easily. The future was as murky as the atmosphere; the past was dramatically typified by the pleasant surroundings on which she resolutely turned her back. Lady Dyke was quite determined as to her actions, and a dull November night was a most unlikely agent to restrain her from following the course she had mapped out.

Moving to the light again, she took from her pocket a long, closely written letter. Its details were familiar to her, but her face hardened as she hastily ran through it in order to find a particular passage.

At last she gained her objectto make quite sure of an address. Then she replaced the document, stood undecided for a moment, and touched an electric bell.

"James," she said, to the answering footman, "I am going out."

"Yes, milady."

"Sir Charles is not at home?"

"No, milady."

"I am going to Richmondto see Mrs. Talbot. I shall probably not return in time for dinner. Tell Sir Charles not to wait for me."

"Shall I order the carriage for your ladyship?"

"Will you listen to me and remember what I have said?"

"Yes, milady."

James ran downstairs, opened the door, bowed as Lady Dyke passed into Portman Square, and then confidentially informed Buttons that "the missus" was in a "rare old wax" about something.

"She nearly jumped down my bloomin' throat when I asked her if she would have the carriage," he said.

Her ladyship's mood did not soften when she drifted from the fixed tenure of Wensley House, Portman Square, into the chaos of Oxford Street and fog at 5.30 on a November evening.

Though not a true "London particular," the fog was chilly, exasperating, tedious. People bumped against each other without apology, 'buses crunched through the traffic with deadly precision, pair-horse vans swept around corners with magnificent carelessness.

In the result, Lady Dyke, who meant to walk, as she was somewhat in advance of the time she had fixed on for this very important engagement, took a hansom. In her present mood slight things annoyed her. Usually, the London cab-horse is a thoughtful animal; he refuses to hurry; when he falls he lies contented, secure in the knowledge that for five blissful minutes he will be at complete rest. But this misguided quadruped flew as though oats and meadow-grass awaited him at Victoria Station on the Underground Railway.

He raced down Park Lane, skidded past Hyde Park Corner, and grated the off-wheel of the hansom against the kerb outside the station within eight minutes.

In other words, her ladyship, if she would obey the directions contained in the voluminous letter, was compelled to kill time.