Dark Hollow - Anna Katharine Green - E-Book

Dark Hollow E-Book

Anna Katharine Green

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Beschreibung

Anna Katharine Green was an American poet and novelist. She was one of the first writers of detective fiction in America and distinguished herself by writing well plotted, legally accurate stories. Green has been called "the mother of the detective novel."

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Dark Hollow

by

Anna Katherine Green

To the best of our knowledge, the text of this

work is in the “Public Domain”.

HOWEVER, copyright law varies in other countries, and the work may still be under

copyright in the country from which you are accessing this website. It is your

responsibility to check the applicable copyright laws in your country before

downloading this work.

Book 1: The Woman in Purple

1.Where is Bela?

2.Was he Living? — Was he Dead?

3.Bela the Redoubtable

4.“And where was I when all this happened?”

5.“She Wore Purple”

6.Across the Bridge

7.With Her Veil Down

8.With Her Veil Lifted

9.Excerpts

10.The Shadow

11.“I will think about it”

12.Sounds in the Night

Book 2: The House and the Room

13.A Bit of Steel

14.All is Clear

15.The Picture

16.“Don’t! DON’T!”

17.Unwelcome Truths

18.Reflections

19.Alanson Black

20.What had Made the Change?

21.In the Court Room

22.Before the Gates

23.The Misfortunes of My House

24.One Secret Less

25.“What Do You Think of Him Now?”

26.The Telegram

Book 3: The Door of Mystery

27.He Must Be Found

28.The First Effort

29.“There is but One Thing to Do”

30.Tempest Lodge

31.Escape

32.The Vigil

33.The Curtain Lifted

34.Dark Hollow

35.Sunset

Book 1

The Woman in Purple

1

Where is Bela?

A high and narrow gate of carefully joined boards, standing ajar in a fence of the same construction! What is there in this to rouse a whole neighbourhood and collect before it a group of eager, anxious, hesitating people?

I will tell you.

This fence is no ordinary fence, and this gate no ordinary gate; nor is the fact of the latter standing a trifle open, one to be lightly regarded or taken an inconsiderate advantage of. For this is Judge Ostrander’s place, and any one who knows Shelby or the gossip of its suburbs, knows that this house of his has not opened its doors to any outsider, man or woman, for over a dozen years; nor have his gates — in saying which, I include the great one in front — been seen in all that time to gape at any one’s instance or to stand unclosed to public intrusion, no, not for a moment. The seclusion sought was absolute. The men and women who passed and repassed this corner many times a day were as ignorant as the townspeople in general of what lay behind the grey, monotonous exterior of the weather-beaten boards they so frequently brushed against. The house was there, of course — they all knew the house, or did once — but there were rumours (no one ever knew how they originated) of another fence, a second barrier, standing a few feet inside the first and similar to it in all respects, even to the gates which corresponded exactly with these outer and visible ones and probably were just as fully provided with bolts and bars.

To be sure, these were reports rather than acknowledged facts, but the possibility of their truth roused endless wonder and gave to the eccentricities of this well-known man a mysterious significance which lost little or nothing in the slow passage of years.

And now! in the freshness of this summer morning, without warning or any seeming reason for the change, the strict habit of years has been broken into and this gate of gates is not only standing unlocked before their eyes, but a woman — a stranger to the town as her very act shows — has been seen to enter there! — to enter, but not come out; which means that she must still be inside, and possibly in the very presence of the judge.

Where is Bela? Why does he allow his errands — But it was Bela, or so they have been told, who left this gate ajar . . . he, the awe and terror of the town, the enormous, redoubtable, close-mouthed negro, trusted as man is seldom trusted, and faithful to his trust, yes, up to this very hour, as all must acknowledge, in spite of every temptation (and they had been many and alluring) to disclose the secret of this home of which he was not the least interesting factor. What has made him thus suddenly careless, he who has never been careless before? Money? A bribe from the woman who had entered there?

Impossible to believe, his virtue has always been so impeccable, his devotion to his strange and dominating master so sturdy and so seemingly unaffected by time and chance!

Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!

Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!