Agatha Webb , livre ebook

The Floating Press - Katharine Green Anna

Découvre YouScribe en t'inscrivant gratuitement

Je m'inscris

Obtenez un accès à la bibliothèque pour le consulter en ligne
En savoir plus

225 pages

English

Vous pourrez modifier la taille du texte de cet ouvrage

Obtenez un accès à la bibliothèque pour le consulter en ligne
En savoir plus

A propos
Informations
Extrait

Description

Celebrated as one of the most important early female writers of detective fiction, Anna Katherine Green was lauded for her meticulous plotting and attention to detail. In this classic mystery novel, Agatha Webb and a household servant are found dead. Detective Caleb Sweetwater works to untangle the plot that involves blackmail, family secrets, and murder.

Informations

Publié par	The Floating Press
Date de parution	01 septembre 2010
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781775418870
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0134€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

AGATHA WEBB
* * *
ANNA KATHARINE GREEN

*

Agatha Webb First published in 1899 ISBN 978-1-775418-87-0 © 2010 The Floating Press
While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in The Floating Press edition of this book, The Floating Press does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. The Floating Press does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. Many suitcases look alike.
Visit www.thefloatingpress.com
Contents
*
BOOK I - THE PURPLE ORCHID I - A Cry on the Hill II - One Night's Work III - The Empty Drawer IV - The Full Drawer V - A Spot on the Lawn VI - "Breakfast is Served, Gentlemen!" VII - "Marry Me" VIII - "A Devil that Understands Men" IX - A Grand Woman X - Detective Knapp Arrives XI - The Man with a Beard XII - Wattles Comes XIII - Wattles Goes XIV - A Final Temptation XV - The Zabels Visited XVI - Local Talent at Work XVII - The Slippers, the Flower, and What Sweetwater Made of Them XVIII - Some Leading Questions XIX - Poor Philemon XX - A Surprise for Mr. Sutherland BOOK II - THE MAN OF NO REPUTATION XXI - Sweetwater Reasons XXII - Sweetwater Acts XXIII - A Sinister Pair XXIV - In the Shadow of the Mast XXV - In Extremity XXVI - The Adventure of the Parcel XXVII - The Adventure of the Scrap of Paper and the Three Words XXVIII - "Who Are You?" XXIX - Home Again BOOK III - HAD BATSY LIVED! XXX - What Followed the Striking of the Clock XXXI - A Witness Lost XXXII - Why Agatha Webb Will Never Be Forgotten in Sutherlandtown XXXIII - Father and Son XXXIV - "Not When They Are Young Girls" XXXV - Sweetwater Pays His Debt at Last to Mr. Sutherland Endnotes
BOOK I - THE PURPLE ORCHID
*
I - A Cry on the Hill
*
The dance was over. From the great house on the hill the guestshad all departed and only the musicians remained. As they filedout through the ample doorway, on their way home, the first faintstreak of early dawn became visible in the east. One of them, alank, plain-featured young man of ungainly aspect but penetratingeye, called the attention of the others to it.
"Look!" said he; "there is the daylight! This has been a gay nightfor Sutherlandtown."
"Too gay," muttered another, starting aside as the slight figureof a young man coming from the house behind them rushed hastilyby. "Why, who's that?"
As they one and all had recognised the person thus alluded to, noone answered till he had dashed out of the gate and disappeared inthe woods on the other side of the road. Then they all spoke atonce.
"It's Mr. Frederick!"
"He seems in a desperate hurry."
"He trod on my toes."
"Did you hear the words he was muttering as he went by?"
As only the last question was calculated to rouse any interest, italone received attention.
"No; what were they? I heard him say something, but I failed tocatch the words."
"He wasn't talking to you, or to me either, for that matter; but Ihave ears that can hear an eye wink. He said: 'Thank God, thisnight of horror is over!' Think of that! After such a dance andsuch a spread, he calls the night horrible and thanks God that itis over. I thought he was the very man to enjoy this kind ofthing."
"So did I."
"And so did I."
The five musicians exchanged looks, then huddled in a group at thegate.
"He has quarrelled with his sweetheart," suggested one.
"I'm not surprised at that," declared another. "I never thought itwould be a match."
"Shame if it were!" muttered the ungainly youth who had spokenfirst.
As the subject of this comment was the son of the gentleman whosehouse they were just leaving, they necessarily spoke low; buttheir tones were rife with curiosity, and it was evident that thetopic deeply interested them. One of the five who had notpreviously spoken now put in a word:
"I saw him when he first led out Miss Page to dance, and I saw himagain when he stood up opposite her in the last quadrille, and Itell you, boys, there was a mighty deal of difference in the wayhe conducted himself toward her in the beginning of the eveningand the last. You wouldn't have thought him the same man. Recklessyoung fellows like him are not to be caught by dimples only. Theywant cash."
"Or family, at least; and she hasn't either. But what a prettygirl she is! Many a fellow as rich as he and as well connectedwould be satisfied with her good looks alone."
"Good looks!" High scorn was observable in this exclamation, whichwas made by the young man whom I have before characterised asungainly. "I refuse to acknowledge that she has any good looks. Onthe contrary, I consider her plain."
"Oh! Oh!" burst in protest from more than one mouth. "And why doesshe have every fellow in the room dangling after her, then?" askedthe player on the flageolet.
"She hasn't a regular feature."
"What difference does that make when it isn't her features younotice, but herself?"
"I don't like her."
A laugh followed this.
"That won't trouble her, Sweetwater. Sutherland does, if youdon't, and that's much more to the point. And he'll marry her yet;he can't help it. Why, she'd witch the devil into leading her tothe altar if she took a notion to have him for her bridegroom."
"There would be consistency in that," muttered the fellow justaddressed. "But Mr. Frederick—"
"Hush! There's some one on the doorstep. Why, it's she!"
They all glanced back. The graceful figure of a young girl dressedin white was to be seen leaning toward them from the open doorway.Behind her shone a blaze of light—the candles not having been yetextinguished in the hall—and against this brilliant backgroundher slight form, with all its bewitching outlines, stood out inplain relief.
"Who was that?" she began in a high, almost strident voice,totally out of keeping with the sensuous curves of her strange,sweet face. But the question remained unanswered, for at thatmoment her attention, as well as that of the men lingering at thegate, was attracted by the sound of hurrying feet and confusedcries coming up the hill.
"Murder! Murder!" was the word panted out by more than one harshvoice; and in another instant a dozen men and boys came rushinginto sight in a state of such excitement that the five musiciansrecoiled from the gate, and one of them went so far as to startback toward the house. As he did so he noticed a curious thing.The young woman whom they had all perceived standing in the door amoment before had vanished, yet she was known to possess thekeenest curiosity of any one in town.
"Murder! Murder!" A terrible and unprecedented cry in this old,God-fearing town. Then came in hoarse explanation from thejostling group as they stopped at the gate: "Mrs. Webb has beenkilled! Stabbed with a knife! Tell Mr. Sutherland!"
Mrs. Webb!
As the musicians heard this name, so honoured and so universallybeloved, they to a man uttered a cry. Mrs. Webb! Why, it wasimpossible. Shouting in their turn for Mr. Sutherland, they allcrowded forward.
"Not Mrs. Webb!" they protested. "Who could have the daring or theheart to kill HER?"
"God knows," answered a voice from the highway. "But she's dead—we've just seen her!"
"Then it's the old man's work," quavered a piping voice. "I'vealways said he would turn on his best friend some day. 'Sylum'sthe best place for folks as has lost their wits. I—"
But here a hand was put over his mouth, and the rest of the wordswas lost in an inarticulate gurgle. Mr. Sutherland had justappeared on the porch.
He was a superb-looking man, with an expression of mingledkindness and dignity that invariably awakened both awe andadmiration in the spectator. No man in the country—I was going tosay no woman was more beloved, or held in higher esteem. Yet hecould not control his only son, as everyone within ten miles ofthe hill well knew.
At this moment his face showed both pain and shock.
"What name are you shouting out there?" he brokenly demanded."Agatha Webb? Is Agatha Webb hurt?"
"Yes, sir; killed," repeated a half-dozen voices at once. "We'vejust come from the house. All the town is up. Some say her husbanddid it."
"No, no!" was Mr. Sutherland's decisive though half-inaudibleresponse. "Philemon Webb might end his own life, but not Agatha's.It was the money—"
Here he caught himself up, and, raising his voice, addressed thecrowd of villagers more directly.
"Wait," said he, "and I will go back with you. Where isFrederick?" he demanded of such members of his own household asstood about him.
No one knew.
"I wish some one would find my son. I want him to go into townwith me."
"He's over in the woods there," volunteered a voice from without.
"In the woods!" repeated the father, in a surprised tone.
"Yes, sir; we all saw him go. Shall we sing out to him?"
"No, no; I will manage very well without him." And taking up hishat Mr. Sutherland stepped out again upon the porch.
Suddenly he stopped. A hand had been laid on his arm and aninsinuating voice was murmuring in his ear:
"Do you mind if I go with you? I will not make any trouble."
It was the same young lady we have seen before.
The old gentleman frowned—he who never frowned and remarkedshortly:
"A scene of murder is no place for women."
The face upturned to his remained unmoved.
"I think I will go," she quietly persisted. "I can easily minglewith the crowd."
He said not another word against it. Miss Page was under pay inhis house, but for the last few weeks no one had undertaken tocontradict her. In the interval since her first appearance on theporch, she had exchanged the light dress in which she had dancedat the ball, for a darker and more serviceable one, and perhapsthis token of her determination may have had its influence insilencing him. He joined the crowd, and together they moved down-hill. This was too much for the servants of the house. One by onethey too left the house till it s