Genre - Mystery & Crime. You are on the page - 6
Radnor frowned slightly. "He doesn't forgive," he returned. "What was the trouble with Jeff?" I ventured. "I have never heard any particulars." "He and my father didn't agree. I don't remember very much about it myself; I was only thirteen when it happened. But I know there was the devil of a row." "Do you know where he is?" I asked. Radnor shook his head. "I sent him some money once or twice, but my father found it out and shut down on my
asked."In Room B, away from the crowd. She is not alone. A young lady detained with the rest of the people here is keeping her company, to say nothing of an officer we have put on guard." "And the victim?" "Lies where she fell, in Section II on the upper floor. There was no call to move her. She was dead when we came upon the scene. She does not look to be more than sixteen years old." "Let's go up. But wait--can we see that section from here?" They were
IN SEARCH OF A RELIGION.BY MR. BENJAMINS. CHAPTER I. "I remember him a little boy," said the Duchess. "His mother was a dear friend of mine; you know she was one of my bridesmaids." "And you have never seen him since, mamma?" asked the oldest married daughter, who did not look a day older than her mother. "Never; he was an orphan shortly after. I have often reproached myself, but it is so difficult to see boys." This simple yet first-class conversation
indeed. I noticed it when I ventured to address monsieur on the steps of the Opera House."I remained gloomily silent. It was one thing to avail myself of the society of a very popular little maitre d'hotel, holiday making in his own capital, and quite another to take him even a few steps into my confidence. So I said nothing, but my eyes, which travelled around the room, were weary. "After all," Louis continued, helping himself to a cigarette, "what is there in a place like
ly thing which appeared black and was not black. Spike shuddered. He had never liked the sight of blood.The match spluttered and went out. Spike looked around. He felt hopelessly alone. Not a pedestrian; not a light. The houses, set well back from the street, were dark, forbiddingly dark. He saw a street-car rattle past, bound on the final run of the night for the car-sheds at East End. Then he was alone again--alone and frightened. He felt the necessity for action. He must do