As this little book was written some four years ago, I feel able to review it without prejudice. A new book just hot from the brain is naturally apt to appear faulty to its begetter, but an old book h...

The Mystery which the author will always associate with this story is how he got through the task of writing it. It was written in a fortnight⁠—day by day⁠—to meet a sudden demand from the Star, which...

On a memorable morning of early December London opened its eyes on a frigid gray mist. There are mornings when King Fog masses his molecules of carbon in serried squadrons in the city, while he scatte...

But the newspapers were premature. Scotland Yard refused to prejudge the case despite the penny-a-liners. Several arrests were made, so that the later editions were compelled to soften “Suicide” into ...

Before the inquiry was resumed, all the poor wretches in custody had been released on suspicion that they were innocent; there was not a single case even for a magistrate. Clues, which at such seasons...

But Sandy Sanderson’s burning solicitude to fix the crime flickered out in the face of opposition, and in the end he bowed his head to the inevitable “open verdict.” Then the floodgates of inkland wer...

“Yes, but what will become of the Beautiful?” said Denzil Cantercot. “Hang the Beautiful!” said Peter Crowl, as if he were on the committee of the Academy. “Give me the True.” Denzil did nothing of th...

Mrs. Crowl surveyed Denzil Cantercot so stonily and cut him his beef so savagely that he said grace when the dinner was over. Peter fed his metaphysical genius on tomatoes. He was tolerant enough to a...

When Wimp invited Grodman to eat his Christmas plum-pudding at King’s Cross Grodman was only a little surprised. The two men were always overwhelmingly cordial when they met, in order to disguise thei...

The New Year brought Mrs. Drabdump a new lodger. He was an old gentleman with a long gray beard. He rented the rooms of the late Mr. Constant, and lived a very retired life. Haunted rooms⁠—or rooms th...

For a moment there was an acute, terrible silence. Mortlake’s face was that of a corpse; the face of the dead man at his side was flushed with the hues of life. To the overstrung nerves of the onlooke...

There was matter and to spare for the papers the next day. The striking ceremony⁠—Mr. Gladstone’s speech⁠—the sensational arrest⁠—these would of themselves have made excellent themes for reports and l...

“So you were right,” Denzil could not help saying as he greeted Grodman a week afterward. “I shall not live to tell the story of how you discovered the Bow murderer.” “Sit down,” growled Grodman; “per...

Grodman was ushered into the conscientious Minister’s study. The doughty chief of the agitation was, perhaps, the one man who could not be denied. As he entered, the Home Secretary’s face seemed lit u...