One Little Thread of Life E-Book

E. Phillips Oppenheim

• Herausgeber: Ktoczyta.pl
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018

Beschreibung

Edward Phillips Oppenheim (1866 1946), an English novelist, was a major and successful writer of genre fiction, particularly thrillers. Among his books are „The Betrayal”, „The Avenger”, „The Double Life of Mr. Alfred Burton”, „The Devil’s Paw”, and „The Evil Shepherd”. Many of Oppenheim’s works appeared as newspaper or magazine serials before they were published in book form. The serial versions of his novels were often syndicated for publication in periodicals in the USA and other English-speaking countries. „One Little Thread of Life” made its first appearance in 1899 in The Weekly Telegraph, Sheffield, England. Mr. Oppenheim can be depended upon to give his plots that turn which is as admirable as it is unexpected, and this is one of the best of his many good and exciting books.

Leseprobe

Contents

CHAPTER I

CHAPTER II

CHAPTER III

CHAPTER IV

CHAPTER V

CHAPTER VI

CHAPTER VII

CHAPTER VIII

CHAPTER IX

CHAPTER I

“IT is,” the man said thoughtfully, “a very great question to solve, and it should be very interesting. I wish that I could focus my thoughts. The more I try to think of eternity, the more I find myself wondering whether that black water will be as cold as it looks and what particular little patch of it I shall strike. It is very annoying!”

There was no one to listen, and the man was only mumbling. Besides, a nasty yellow fog had stolen unexpectedly down, and everyone was anxious to get home. The figures of the passers-by were vague and misty, appearing and vanishing like weird shadows passing across an ill-stretched canvas: the lamps from the crawling cabs shone with a weak and sickly light, every now and then a hoarse shout, followed generally by an oath, discovered two carts with locked wheels, or a cab horse making patient endeavours to step into an omnibus. It was not a night for curiosity or sympathy. If a man chose to loiter in an arm of the bridge and spend his time peering down at the water below–well there was nobody who felt it his special mission to seek out the reason for such Quixotism. As for the policemen, every moment of their time, and every effort of which they were capable, was absorbed in the disentanglement of a much involved traffic. The young man, who looked into the water and speculated dimly as to his approaching departure from the world, was unsuspected and ignored. It was not the fashionable hour for suicides, and the weather was all against it. A glance into his face might, perhaps, have awakened the suspicions of an observant policeman, but the murky, yellow darkness had folded him round, and from where he stood be was only a shadow. There was no one who had any time or inclination to wonder why he was not, like themselves, hastening homewards out of the choking, unwholesome darkness.