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- Herausgeber: Diamond Book Publishing
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023
This classic story of romance and intrigue in a Brooklyn bookstore is one of the most beloved mysteries of all time Aubrey Gilbert stops by The Haunted Bookshop hoping to sell his services as an advertising copywriter. He fails to accomplish his goal, but learns that Titania Chapman, the lovely daughter of his most important client, is a store assistant there. Aubrey returns to visit Titania and experiences a series of unusual events: He is attacked on his way home from the store, an obscure book mysteriously disappears and reappears, and two strange characters are seen skulking in a nearby alleyway. Aubrey initially suspects the bookstore’s gregarious owner, Roger Mifflin, of scheming to kidnap Titania, but the plot he eventually uncovers is far more complex and sinister than he could have ever imagined. A charming ode to the art of bookselling wrapped inside a thrilling suspense story, The Haunted Bookshop is a must-read for bibliophiles and mystery lovers alike.
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Christopher Morley
The Haunted Bookshop Preview
A Classic Thriller
Table of contents
FOREWARD
CHAPTER I. THE HAUNTED BOOKSHOP
By
Christopher Morley
Table of Contents
FOREWARD
CHAPTER I. THE HAUNTED BOOKSHOP
CHAPTER II. THE CORN COB CLUB
CHAPTER III. TITANIA ARRIVES
CHAPTER IV. THE DISAPPEARING VOLUME
CHAPTER V. AUBREY WALKS PART WAY HOME—AND RIDES THE REST OF THE WAY
CHAPTER VI. TITANIA LEARNS THE BUSINESS
CHAPTER VII. AUBREY TAKES LODGINGS
CHAPTER VIII. AUBREY GOES TO THE MOVIES, AND WISHES HE KNEW MORE GERMAN
CHAPTER IX. AGAIN THE NARRATIVE IS RETARDED
CHAPTER X. ROGER RAIDS THE ICE-BOX
CHAPTER XI. TITANIA TRIES READING IN BED
CHAPTER XII. AUBREY DETERMINES TO GIVE SERVICE THAT'S DIFFERENT
CHAPTER XIII. THE BATTLE OF LUDLOW STREET
CHAPTER XIV. THE "CROMWELL" MAKES ITS LAST APPEARANCE
CHAPTER XV. MR. CHAPMAN WAVES HIS WAND
FOREWARD
Be pleased to know, most worthy, that this little book is dedicated to you in affection and respect.
The faults of the composition are plain to you all. I begin merely in the hope of saying something further of the adventures of ROGER MIFFLIN, whose exploits in "Parnassus on Wheels" some of you have been kind enough to applaud. But then came Miss Titania Chapman, and my young advertising man fell in love with her, and the two of them rather ran away with the tale.
I think I should explain that the passage in Chapter VIII, dealing with the delightful talent of Mr. Sidney Drew, was written before the lamented death of that charming artist. But as it was a sincere tribute, sincerely meant, I have seen no reason for removing it.
Chapters I, II, III, and VI appeared originally in The Bookman, and to the editor of that admirable magazine I owe thanks for his permission to reprint.
Now that Roger is to have ten Parnassuses on the road, I am emboldened to think that some of you may encounter them on their travels. And if you do, I hope you will find that these new errants of the Parnassus on Wheels Corporation are living up to the ancient and honourable traditions of our noble profession.
CHRISTOPHER MORLEY. Philadelphia, April 28, 1919
CHAPTER I. THE HAUNTED BOOKSHOP
If you are ever in Brooklyn, that borough of superb sunsets and magnificent vistas of husband-propelled baby-carriages, it is to be hoped you may chance upon a quiet by-street where there is a very remarkable bookshop.
This bookshop, which does business under the unusual name "Parnassus at Home," is housed in one of the comfortable old brown-stone dwellings which have been the joy of several generations of plumbers and cockroaches. The owner of the business has been at pains to remodel the house to make it a more suitable shrine for his trade, which deals entirely in second-hand volumes. There is no second-hand bookshop in the world more worthy of respect.
It was about six o'clock of a cold November evening, with gusts of rain splattering upon the pavement, when a young man proceeded uncertainly along Gissing Street, stopping now and then to look at shop windows as though doubtful of his way. At the warm and shining face of a French rotisserie he halted to compare the number enamelled on the transom with a memorandum in his hand. Then he pushed on for a few minutes, at last reaching the address he sought. Over the entrance his eye was caught by the sign:
PARNASSUS AT HOME R. AND H. MIFFLIN BOOKLOVERS WELCOME! THIS SHOP IS HAUNTED
He stumbled down the three steps that led into the dwelling of the muses, lowered his overcoat collar, and looked about.
It was very different from such bookstores as he had been accustomed to patronize. Two stories of the old house had been thrown into one: the lower space was divided into little alcoves; above, a gallery ran round the wall, which carried books to the ceiling. The air was heavy with the delightful fragrance of mellowed paper and leather surcharged with a strong bouquet of tobacco. In front of him he found a large placard in a frame:
THIS SHOP IS HAUNTED by the ghosts
Of all great literature, in hosts;
We sell no fakes or trashes.
Lovers of books are welcome here,
No clerks will babble in your ear,
Please smoke--but don't drop ashes!
----
Browse as long as you like.
Prices of all books plainly marked.
If you want to ask questions, you'll find the proprietor
where the tobacco smoke is thickest.
We pay cash for books.
We have what you want, though you may not know you want it.
Malnutrition of the reading faculty is a serious thing.
Let us prescribe for you.
By R. & H. MIFFLIN,
Proprs.
The shop had a warm and comfortable obscurity, a kind of drowsy dusk, stabbed here and there by bright cones of yellow light from green-shaded electrics. There was an all-pervasive drift of tobacco smoke, which eddied and fumed under the glass lamp shades. Passing down a narrow aisle between the alcoves the visitor noticed that some of the compartments were wholly in darkness; in others where lamps were glowing he could see a table and chairs. In one corner, under a sign lettered ESSAYS, an elderly gentleman was reading, with a face of fanatical ecstasy illumined by the sharp glare of electricity; but there was no wreath of smoke about him so the newcomer concluded he was not the proprietor.
