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The Death Room by Edgar Wallace is a spine-chilling thriller that plunges readers into a world of terror and mystery. In an ancient mansion shrouded in secrecy, a room exists where no one enters and leaves alive. When a series of gruesome deaths linked to the room starts to unfold, a determined investigator is drawn into the web of horror. As he delves deeper into the mansion's dark history, he discovers that the true horror lies not in the room itself, but in the malevolent forces that guard its secrets. Will he uncover the truth before he becomes the next victim? This gripping tale of suspense will keep you riveted from beginning to end.
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A Short Story
Author: Edgar Wallace
Edited by: Seif Moawad
Copyright © 2024 by Al-Mashreq eBookstore
First published in Cassell's Magazine, March 1923
No part of this publication may be reproduced whole or in part in any form without the prior written permission of the author
All rights reserved.
The Death Room
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The Council of Justice
Cover
'DO you believe in spiritualism, Mr Gillette?'
Detective-Inspector John Gillette now frowned a little terrifyingly at the girl who sat on the opposite side of his desk. When an official of Scotland Yard receives a newspaper reporter he does not expect to be cross-examined on his hobbies. And spiritualism was a hobby of this dour man.
'You see,' Ella Martin broke in eagerly, 'I have taken up a case for the paper. The editor did not like the idea at all, and said that my job was to write nice, chatty little pars about what Lady So-and-So wore at the Devonshire House ball, and all that sort of thing, but I rather insisted.'
John Gillette concealed a smile—and he very seldom felt the inclination to smile. She was very young and very pretty, and very unlike any newspaper reporter he had ever seen.
'How did you know I was interested in spooks?' he asked.
'From the evidence you gave in the Marriot case years and years ago. It was amongst the cuttings in the library.'
Detective-Inspector John Gillette was not an easy man to interview. Against that, however, was the fact that very few, other than those officials at police headquarters whose business brought them in touch with him, regarded him as worth interviewing. His name rarely appeared in print, for he was an 'office man' and a consultant rather than a practitioner in the art of crime detection.
He was a man of thirty, and a bachelor in a double sense of the word, for he held a degree from the London University.
'Spiritualism?' he repeated slowly, 'Well, yes and no. Certain phenomena are inexplicable. Animal instinct, for example. I have seen sheep terrified before the door of a new slaughter-house, and one that has never been used before. I have known dogs to be frantic with fear hours before an earthquake. In fact, I have seen my old terrier shivering with fright three hours before a raid warning was received. Explain that! It is as easy to explain as spirit manifestations. There is a something. The mediums feel it, and, dissatisfied with its faint message, they must interpret the whisper as a shout! They see things dimly, and in their impatience or enthusiasm they insist that you shall see plainly. With this result—that they fake. They rip along ahead of the thing they should pursue, and are mad with you when you prove that all that is following them is their own silly shadows! But why are you so interested? It doesn't seem a very healthy subject for a young lady to discuss with a police officer! What is the stunt behind your question?'
She smiled.
'Have you ever heard of Mr Jean Bonnet?' she asked.
The inspector's forehead puckered.