The Victorian Mystery Megapack: 27 Classic Mystery Tales Read online

  Table of Contents

  COPYRIGHT INFO

  A NOTE FROM THE PUBLISHER

  THE MEGAPACK SERIES

  A NOTE FROM THE EDITORS

  THE LENTON CROFT ROBBERIES, by Arthur Morrison

  THE HOUSE OF CLOCKS, by Anna Katharine Green

  MISSING: PAGE THIRTEEN, by Anna Katharine Green

  A JURY OF HER PEERS, by Susan Glaspell

  THE DONNINGTON AFFAIR, by G.K. Chesterton and Max Pemberton

  INTRODUCING MR. RAFFLES HOLMES, by John Kendrick Bangs

  THE ADVENTURE OF THE HERALD PERSONAL, by John Kendrick Bangs

  THE BIG BOW MYSTERY, By Israel Zangwill

  THE BURGLAR’S STORY, by W.S. Gilbert

  CHEATING THE GALLOWS, by Israel Zangwill

  THE RETURN OF IMRAY, by Rudyard Kipling

  THE GREAT RUBY ROBBERY, by Grant Allen

  PROBLEM OF THE STOLEN RUBENS, by Jacques Futrelle

  MURDER BY PROXY, by M. McDonnell Bodkin

  THE BLACK BAG LEFT ON A DOOR-STEP, by Catherine Louisa Pirkis

  THE MYSTERY OF THE FIVE HUNDRED DIAMONDS, by Robert Barr

  THE GREAT PEGRAM MYSTERY, by Robert Barr

  THE CASE OF ROGER CARBOYNE, by H. Greenhough Smith

  THE LAWYER’S STORY OF A STOLEN LETTER, by Wilkie Collins

  THE PURLOINED LETTER, by Edgar Allan Poe

  THE LEOPART MAN’S STORY, by Jack London

  THREE ‘DETECTIVE’ ANECDOTES, by Charles Dickens

  THE CROOKED TELLER, by J.P. Buschlen

  THE PROBLEM OF DEAD WOOD HALL, by Dick Donovan

  THE BISHOP’S CRIME, by R.C. Lehmann

  THE MOONSTONE, by Wilkie Collins (Part 1)

  THE MOONSTONE, by Wilkie Collins (Part 2)

  THE MOONSTONE, by Wilkie Collins (Part 3)

  THE MOONSTONE, by Wilkie Collins (Part 4)

  THE MOONSTONE, by Wilkie Collins (Part 5)

  THE HOUND OF THE BASKERVILLES, by Arthur Conan Doyle (Part 1)

  THE HOUND OF THE BASKERVILLES, by Arthur Conan Doyle (Part 2)

  COPYRIGHT INFO

  The Victorian Mystery Megapack is copyright © 2012 by Wildside Press LLC. Cover art © Konradbak / Fotolia.

  For more information, see www.wildsidepress.com,

  or contact us through the Wildside Press forums at:

  http://movies.ning.com/forum.

  A NOTE FROM THE PUBLISHER

  Over the last year, our “Megapack” series of ebook anthologies has proved to be one of our most popular endeavors. (Maybe it helps that we sometimes offer them as premiums to our mailing list!) One question we keep getting asked is, “Who’s the editor?”

  The Megapacks (except where specifically credited) are a group effort. Everyone at Wildside works on them. This includes John Betancourt, Carla Coupe, Steve Coupe, Bonner Menking, Colin Azariah-Kribbs, A.E. Warren, and many of Wildside’s authors…who often suggest stories to include (and not just their own!).

  * * * *

  A NOTE FOR KINDLE READERS

  The Kindle versions of our Megapacks employ active tables of contents for easy navigation…please look for one before writing reviews on Amazon that complain about the lack! (They are sometimes at the ends of ebooks, depending on your reader.)

  RECOMMEND A FAVORITE STORY?

  Do you know a great classic science fiction story, or have a favorite author whom you believe is perfect for the Megapack series? We’d love your suggestions! You can post them on our message board at http://movies.ning.com/forum (there is an area for Wildside Press comments).

  Note: we only consider stories that have already been professionally published. This is not a market for new works.

  TYPOS

  Unfortunately, as hard as we try, a few typos do slip through. We update our ebooks periodically, so make sure you have the current version (or download a fresh copy if it’s been sitting in your ebook reader for months.) It may have already been updated.

  If you spot a new typo, please let us know. We’ll fix it for everyone. You can email the publisher at [email protected] or use the message boards mentioned above.

  THE MEGAPACK SERIES

  The Adventure Megapack

  The Christmas Megapack

  The Second Christmas Megapack

  The Cowboy Megapack

  The Craig Kennedy Scientific Detective Megapack

  The Cthulhu Mythos Megapack

  The Ghost Story Megapack

  The Horror Megapack

  The Macabre Megapack

  The Martian Megapack

  The Military Megapack

  The Mummy Megapack

  The Mystery Megapack

  The Science Fiction Megapack

  The Second Science Fiction Megapack

  The Third Science Fiction Megapack

  The Fourth Science Fiction Megapack

  The Fifth Science Fiction Megapack

  The Penny Parker Megapack

  The Tom Corbett, Space Cadet Megapack

  The Tom Swift Megapack

  The Vampire Megapack

  The Western Megapack

  The Wizard of Oz Megapack

  AUTHOR MEGAPACKS

  The Andre Norton Megapack

  The B.M. Bower Megapack

  The Murray Leinster Megapack

  The Second Murray Leinster Megapack

  The Andre Norton Megapack

  The Rafael Sabatini Megapack

  A NOTE FROM THE EDITORS

  The theme of this Megapack is classic mystery and crime fiction from the Victorian era. We have taken the liberty of extending the qualifying publication dates to the end of World War I, since that event marked more of a turning point in world literature than the advent of the Edwardian Age. Certainly the spirit of Victorian crime fiction continued beyond Queen Victoria.

  This volume contains 25 stories and 2 bonus novels, offering hours of reading pleasure.

  SHERLOCK HOLMES

  We include only one Sherlock Holmes story herewith, The Hound of the Baskervilles. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s works are readily available; if you haven’t read them, we urge you to do so.

  Experienced Holmesians will surely pardon us for having fun with Sherlock and including a few rare parodies and pastiches, as they are “of the era.” There is even a Holmes-Raffles “crossover” story, as the son of Sherlock Holmes (who also happens to be the grandson of A.J. Raffles) has an adventure in New York City, as only John Kendrick Bangs could tell it! (Bangs also contributes an adventure featuring Mrs. Raffles.)

  BEYOND HOLMES

  Other stories of interest include two of Violet Strange’s cases, penned by Anna Katharine Green (who has the distinction of being the first American woman to write detective novels); “The Donnington Affair,” by G.K. Chesterton and Max Pemberton, a rare Father Brown mystery which is omitted from most collections of Chesterton’s works; and “The Lenton Croft Robberies,” by Arthur Morrison, the first of “Martin Hewitt’s Chronicles,” which were originally collected in 1896.

  We also include a humorous tale of a burglar by W.S. Gilbert (half of the Gilbert & Sullivan team, of whose collaborative work we remain fond), and Wilkie Collins’ enduring classic, The Moonstone, which every mystery fancier must read at some point.

  Enjoy!

  —The Editors

  THE LENTON CROFT ROBBERIES, by Arthur Morrison

  Those who retain any memory of the great law cases of fifteen or twenty years back will rem
ember, at least, the title of that extraordinary will case, “Bartley v. Bartley and others,” which occupied the Probate Court for some weeks on end, and caused an amount of public interest rarely accorded to any but the cases considered in the other division of the same court. The case itself was noted for the large quantity of remarkable and unusual evidence presented by the plaintiff’s side—evidence that took the other party completely by surprise, and overthrew their case like a house of cards. The affair will, perhaps, be more readily recalled as the occasion of the sudden rise to eminence in their profession of Messrs. Crellan, Hunt & Crellan, solicitors for the plaintiff—a result due entirely to the wonderful ability shown in this case of building up, apparently out of nothing, a smashing weight of irresistible evidence. That the firm has since maintained—indeed enhanced—the position it then won for itself need scarcely be said here; its name is familiar to everybody. But there are not many of the outside public who know that the credit of the whole performance was primarily due to a young clerk in the employ of Messrs. Crellan, who had been given charge of the seemingly desperate task of collecting evidence in the case.

  This Mr. Martin Hewitt had, however, full credit and reward for his exploit from his firm and from their client, and more than one other firm of lawyers engaged in contentious work made good offers to entice Hewitt to change his employers. Instead of this, however, he determined to work independently for the future, having conceived the idea of making a regular business of doing, on behalf of such clients as might retain him, similar work to that he had just done with such conspicuous success for Messrs. Crellan, Hunt & Crellan. This was the beginning of the private detective business of Martin Hewitt, and his action at that time has been completely justified by the brilliant professional successes he has since achieved.

  His business has always been conducted in the most private manner, and he has always declined the help of professional assistants, preferring to carry out himself such of the many investigations offered him as he could manage. He has always maintained that he has never lost by this policy, since the chance of his refusing a case begets competition for his services, and his fees rise by a natural process. At the same time, no man could know better how to employ casual assistance at the right time.

  Some curiosity has been expressed as to Mr. Martin Hewitt’s system, and, as he himself always consistently maintains that he has no system beyond a judicious use of ordinary faculties, I intend setting forth in detail a few of the more interesting of his cases in order that the public may judge for itself if I am right in estimating Mr. Hewitt’s “ordinary faculties” as faculties very extraordinary indeed. He is not a man who has made many friendships (this, probably, for professional reasons), notwithstanding his genial and companionable manners. I myself first made his acquaintance as a result of an accident resulting in a fire at the old house in which Hewitt’s office was situated, and in an upper floor of which I occupied bachelor chambers. I was able to help in saving a quantity of extremely important papers relating to his business, and, while repairs were being made, allowed him to lock them in an old wall-safe in one of my rooms which the fire had scarcely damaged.

  The acquaintance thus begun has lasted many years, and has become a rather close friendship. I have even accompanied Hewitt on some of his expeditions, and, in a humble way, helped him. Such of the cases, however, as I personally saw nothing of I have put into narrative form from the particulars given me.

  “I consider you, Brett,” he said, addressing me, “the most remarkable journalist alive. Not because you’re particularly clever, you know, because, between ourselves, I hope you’ll admit you’re not; but because you have known something of me and my doings for some years, and have never yet been guilty of giving away any of my little business secrets you may have become acquainted with. I’m afraid you’re not so enterprising a journalist as some, Brett. But now, since you ask, you shall write something—if you think it worth while.”

  This he said, as he said most things, with a cheery, chaffing good-nature that would have been, perhaps, surprising to a stranger who thought of him only as a grim and mysterious discoverer of secrets and crimes. Indeed, the man had always as little of the aspect of the conventional detective as may be imagined. Nobody could appear more cordial or less observant in manner, although there was to be seen a certain sharpness of the eye—which might, after all, only be the twinkle of good humor.

  I did think it worth while to write something of Martin Hewitt’s investigations, and a description of one of his adventures follows.

  At the head of the first flight of a dingy staircase leading up from an ever-open portal in a street by the Strand stood a door, the dusty ground-glass upper panel of which carried in its center the single word “Hewitt,” while at its right-hand lower corner, in smaller letters, “Clerk’s Office” appeared. On a morning when the clerks in the ground-floor offices had barely hung up their hats, a short, well-dressed young man, wearing spectacles, hastening to open the dusty door, ran into the arms of another man who suddenly issued from it.

  “I beg pardon,” the first said. “Is this Hewitt’s Detective Agency Office?”

  “Yes, I believe you will find it so,” the other replied. He was a stoutish, clean-shaven man, of middle height, and of a cheerful, round countenance. “You’d better speak to the clerk.”

  In the little outer office the visitor was met by a sharp lad with inky fingers, who presented him with a pen and a printed slip. The printed slip having been filled with the visitor’s name and present business, and conveyed through an inner door, the lad reappeared with an invitation to the private office. There, behind a writing-table, sat the stoutish man himself, who had only just advised an appeal to the clerk.

  “Good-morning, Mr. Lloyd—Mr. Vernon Lloyd,” he said, affably, looking again at the slip. “You’ll excuse my care to start even with my visitors—I must, you know. You come from Sir James Norris, I see.”

  “Yes; I am his secretary. I have only to ask you to go straight to Lenton Croft at once, if you can, on very important business. Sir James would have wired, but had not your precise address. Can you go by the next train? Eleven-thirty is the first available from Paddington.”

  “Quite possibly. Do you know any thing of the business?”

  “It is a case of a robbery in the house, or, rather, I fancy, of several robberies. Jewelry has been stolen from rooms occupied by visitors to the Croft. The first case occurred some months ago—nearly a year ago, in fact. Last night there was another. But I think you had better get the details on the spot. Sir James has told me to telegraph if you are coming, so that he may meet you himself at the station; and I must hurry, as his drive to the station will be rather a long one. Then I take it you will go, Mr. Hewitt? Twyford is the station.”

  “Yes, I shall come, and by the 11.30. Are you going by that train yourself?”

  “No, I have several things to attend to now I am in town. Good-morning; I shall wire at once.”

  Mr. Martin Hewitt locked the drawer of his table and sent his clerk for a cab.

  At Twyford Station Sir James Norris was waiting with a dog-cart. Sir James was a tall, florid man of fifty or thereabout, known away from home as something of a county historian, and nearer his own parts as a great supporter of the hunt, and a gentleman much troubled with poachers. As soon as he and Hewitt had found one another the baronet hurried the detective into his dog-cart. “We’ve something over seven miles to drive,” he said, “and I can tell you all about this wretched business as we go. That is why I came for you myself, and alone.”

  Hewitt nodded.

  “I have sent for you, as Lloyd probably told you, because of a robbery at my place last evening. It appears, as far as I can guess, to be one of three by the same hand, or by the same gang. Late yesterday afternoon—”

  “Pardon me, Sir James,” Hewitt interrupted, “but I think I must ask you to begin at the first robbery and tell me the whole tale in proper order. It makes things clearer,
and sets them in their proper shape.”

  “Very well! Eleven months ago, or thereabout, I had rather a large party of visitors, and among them Colonel Heath and Mrs. Heath—the lady being a relative of my own late wife. Colonel Heath has not been long retired, you know—used to be political resident in an Indian native state. Mrs. Heath had rather a good stock of jewelry of one sort and another, about the most valuable piece being a bracelet set with a particularly fine pearl—quite an exceptional pearl, in fact—that had been one of a heap of presents from the maharajah of his state when Heath left India.

  “It was a very noticeable bracelet, the gold setting being a mere feather-weight piece of native filigree work—almost too fragile to trust on the wrist—and the pearl being, as I have said, of a size and quality not often seen. Well, Heath and his wife arrived late one evening, and after lunch the following day, most of the men being off by themselves—shooting, I think—my daughter, my sister (who is very often down here), and Mrs. Heath took it into their heads to go walking—fern-hunting, and so on. My sister was rather long dressing, and, while they waited, my daughter went into Mrs. Heath’s room, where Mrs. Heath turned over all her treasures to show her, as women do, you know. When my sister was at last ready, they came straight away, leaving the things littering about the room rather than stay longer to pack them up. The bracelet, with other things, was on the dressing-table then.”

  “One moment. As to the door?”

  “They locked it. As they came away my daughter suggested turning the key, as we had one or two new servants about.”

  “And the window?”

  “That they left open, as I was going to tell you. Well, they went on their walk and came back, with Lloyd (whom they had met somewhere) carrying their ferns for them. It was dusk and almost dinner-time. Mrs. Heath went straight to her room, and—the bracelet was gone.”

  “Was the room disturbed?”

  “Not a bit. Everything was precisely where it had been left, except the bracelet. The door hadn’t been tampered with, but of course the window was open, as I have told you.”