The Man from Archangel E-Book

Arthur Conan Doyle

• Herausgeber: SAMPI Books
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 45

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

"The Man from Archangel" follows a reclusive and meticulous scholar whose quiet, solitary life is shattered when unexpected visitors arrive after a mysterious accident on the nearby coast. As he is drawn into their troubles, layers of suspicion, moral ambiguity, and psychological tension begin to surface. What starts as a seemingly simple rescue gradually reveals the darker impulses of the human mind, culminating in a chilling and unsettling twist typical of Doyle's lesser-known Gothic tales.

Leseprobe

The Man from Archangel

Arthur Conan Doyle

SYNOPSIS

“The Man from Archangel” follows a reclusive and meticulous scholar whose quiet, solitary life is shattered when unexpected visitors arrive after a mysterious accident on the nearby coast. As he is drawn into their troubles, layers of suspicion, moral ambiguity, and psychological tension begin to surface. What starts as a seemingly simple rescue gradually reveals the darker impulses of the human mind, culminating in a chilling and unsettling twist typical of Doyle’s lesser-known Gothic tales.

Keywords

Suspense, Deceptive, Isolation

NOTICE

This text is a work in the public domain and reflects the norms, values and perspectives of its time. Some readers may find parts of this content offensive or disturbing, given the evolution in social norms and in our collective understanding of issues of equality, human rights and mutual respect. We ask readers to approach this material with an understanding of the historical era in which it was written, recognizing that it may contain language, ideas or descriptions that are incompatible with today's ethical and moral standards.

Names from foreign languages will be preserved in their original form, with no translation.

The Man from Archangel

On the fourth day of March, in the year 1867, being at that time in my five-and-twentieth year, I wrote down the following words in my notebook, the result of much mental perturbation and conflict:—

"The solar system, amidst a countless number of other systems as large as itself, rolls ever silently through space in the direction of the constellation of Hercules. The great spheres of which it is composed spin and spin through the eternal void ceaselessly and noiselessly. Of these one of the smallest and most insignificant is that conglomeration of solid and of liquid particles which we have named the earth. It whirls onwards now as it has done before my birth, and will do after my death—a revolving mystery, coming none know whence, and going none know whither. Upon the outer crust of this moving mass crawl many mites, of whom I, John McVittie, am one, helpless, impotent, being dragged aimlessly through space. Yet such is the state of things amongst us that the little energy and glimmering of reason which I possess is entirely taken up with the labors which are necessary in order to procure certain metallic disks, wherewith I may purchase the chemical elements necessary to build up my ever-wasting tissues, and keep a roof over me to shelter me from the inclemency of the weather. I thus have no thought to expend upon the vital questions which surround me on every side. Yet, miserable entity as I am, I can still at times feel some degree of happiness, and am even—save the mark!—puffed up occasionally with a sense of my own importance."

These words, as I have said, I wrote down in my notebook, and they reflected accurately the thoughts which I found rooted far down in my soul, ever present and unaffected by the passing emotions of the hour. Every day for seven months I read over my words, and every day when I had finished them I said to myself, "Well done, John McVittie; you have said the thought which was in you. You have reduced things to their least common measure!" At last, however, came a time when my uncle, McVittie of Glencairn, died—the same who was at one time chairman of committees of the House of Commons. He divided his great wealth among his many nephews, and I found myself with sufficient to provide amply for my wants during the remainder of my life, and became at the same time owner of a bleak tract of land upon the coast of Caithness, which I think the old man must have bestowed upon me in derision, for it was sandy and valueless, and he had ever a grim sense of humor. Up to this time I had been an attorney in a midland town in England. Now I saw that I could put my thoughts into effect, and, leaving all petty and sordid aims, could elevate my mind by the study of the secrets of nature. My departure from my English home was somewhat accelerated by the fact that I had nearly slain a man in a quarrel, for my temper was fiery, and I was apt to forget my own strength when enraged. There was no legal action taken in the matter, but the papers yelped at me, and folk looked askance when I met them. It ended by my cursing them and their vile, smoke-polluted town, and hurrying to my northern possession, where I might at last find peace and an opportunity for solitary study and contemplation. I borrowed from my capital before I went, and so was able to take with me a choice collection of the most modern philosophical instruments and books, together with chemicals and such other things as I might need in my retirement.