The valley of ghosts

Fate and an easy-running Spanz brought Andrew Macleod to the environs of Beverley. The town itself is at the end of a reluctant branch line, and has no visible excuse for existe...

With Scottie lodged in the inadequate lock-up, Andy discovered that there were certain formalities that need be gone through before his prisoner could be transferred to the area...

Stella Nelson left the post office in a panic. Though she did not turn her head, she was conscious that the good-looking, strong-faced man she had seen in the telephone box was...

Nelson was standing at an easel examining a picture, and his face was hidden from her. But there was no need to see his face. The attitude was eloquent. He turned and surveyed h...

“You think that you’re tolerably well acquainted with all the dirt of life, Macleod; because you know the hot spots in town, the Chink pipe cellars, and the silk curtains and di...

Stella Nelson was at breakfast when her father came down. He was no longer a haughty dismisser of servants, but an ashamed and humble man. His whole attitude was an apology.

Andy spent two unprofitable days at Beverley Green—unprofitable because the person he had come to meet had studiously avoided him. Once he saw a girl walking on the other side o...

The days went on. Andy extended his stay for another week. He consulted Dr. Granitt, and that physician had called upon Nelson, and though he had not discovered the alarming ane...

The butler had heard nothing. His master had sent the servants to bed early. He had said that he would put out the lights and lock up. He often did this, so the butler did not s...

Her face was white; there were shadows under her eyes. But—more damning evidence to him—she was wearing the grey silk stockings she had worn on the previous day, and a woman doe...

“Who was the woman in Mr. Merrivan’s room? The butler of the deceased man heard a woman’s voice distinctly. Mr. Merrivan had received no visitors that evening. The butler had ad...

Scottie’s installation at the Nelsons served a double purpose. It recruited to Andy a shrewd if unprincipled, lieutenant, and it gave him a more comfortable feeling about leavin...

Scottie rarely went abroad in the daylight, not because of any secretiveness on his own part, but in deference to the wishes of Andy. If he were visible in the daylight, it was...

Mr. Boyd Salter was sitting at a small table drawn up near the open window of his library, a window which commanded an extensive view of the valley and a corner of Beverley Gree...

It was no exaggeration to say that since his uncle’s death Arthur Wilmot had lived under a strain that he thought at times would drive him mad. Neither his character nor his tra...

“A good deed,” said Scottie sententiously, “brings its own reward, and I am merely acting in consonance with all the high-class literature I’ve read, dealing with reformed crimi...

It was a novel experience for Andrew Macleod to find himself standing up in a court of law committing wilful perjury. He could hardly believe that it was he who was speaking so...

Andy Macleod had ordered all the morning newspapers, and they were brought up to him whilst he was in bed. He ran his fingers over their folds and chose the _Megaphone_ because...

It was the last day the police were in occupation of the house, and he was fortunate in finding the sergeant who had been there when Arthur Wilmot had paid his visit.

At this hour Scottie might have been out, but it happened that he was helping Stella prepare Kenneth Nelson’s newest picture for transportation, and he had not left the house al...

“Nothing, except the general moral tone of this community,” said Scottie, sitting down. “I am going up to town, Macleod. This place is a bit too exciting for me, and, anyway, yo...

The day was hot and breathless. It seemed that unless he employed his umbrella to relieve him of the pitiless glare of the sun it was a superfluity. But Mr. Downer would no more...

Andy was glad when Downer had gone. The news the reporter had brought was startling. He had neither seen nor heard from Stella since he had left Beverley. A letter from her fath...

Andy waited whilst the girl impressed upon Scottie for the twentieth time the necessity for dressing his hand twice a day and drilled into him the medicinal value in an array of...

Mr. Downer was passing the police station at Sea Beach on the way to his bungalow when his eye was attracted to a notice that was pasted on the board outside the station.

Scottie was sitting on his bed in the little house in Castle Street, and his companion was that same attendant who had scuttled upstairs at the sound of Andy’s knock. He was not...

“My Dear Macleod (wrote an attaché at the American Embassy),—I do not know Mrs. Crafton-Bonsor personally, but I have heard quite a lot about her. As you rightly surmise, Crafto...

“My nerves have all gone to pieces since this murder,” said Johnston. “I get that jumpy I can hardly keep still, and I never go to sleep until three o’clock in the morning.”

This time Andy decided he would not wait till the morning for an explanation. It would probably be a very simple one, and—a light had appeared in the hall-room. He only tapped g...

“My name is Mirabel Hilda Crafton-Bonsor. I am not sure whether that was my late husband’s real name. I believe that it was Michael Murphy. He was of Irish extraction, and when...

There was one person to whom the statement of Hilda Masters should be shown, thought Andy. For some time he had had a suspicion that Mr. Boyd Salter could have thrown more illum...