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The Man from Manchester - ebook
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The Man from Manchester - ebook
The book, written in the 19 c. by British journalist and author of mystery and horror fiction J. E. Preston Muddock. For a time his detective stories were as popular as those of Arthur Conan Doyle. It is about a married gentleman, first accused of murder of his lover and later acquitted due to brilliant investigation by police in spite of alleged heavy evidence against the gentleman. The real murder, ex-husband of the victim, is pretty evident to the reader.
| Kategoria: | Kryminał |
| Język: | Angielski |
| Zabezpieczenie: |
Watermark
|
| ISBN: | 978-83-8292-513-5 |
| Rozmiar pliku: | 2,8 MB |
FRAGMENT KSIĄŻKI
Contents
I. THE LONDON EXPRESS
II. THE TWO LADIES
III. HOT BLOOD
IV. VINDICTIVENESS
V. A LITTLE MYSTERY
VI. ENDEAVOURS TO EXPLAIN IN WHAT WAY MR. HIPCRAFT WAS LIKE A SNAKE
VII. THE FAITHFUL SLEUTH-HOUND
VIII. 'ERRORS, LIKE STRAWS, UPON THE SURFACE FLOW!'
IX. 'WAS IT AN UNKIND FATE?'
X. DRIFTING ON THE SILENT TIDE TOWARDS THE MAELSTROM
XI. MRS. NEILSEN'S STORY
XII. 'TRULY, HUMAN NATURE IS A RIDDLE AND A MYSTERY!'
XIII. SOWING THE WHIRLWIND
XIV. THE STORM BREAKS
XV. THE MAN IN THE BOX AT THE THEATRE
XVI. MR. VECQUERARY AND MRS. NEILSEN PART FOREVER
XVII. 'THE ALARM BELL THAT WITH BRAZEN CLAMOURING PROCLAIMED SOME DIRE EVENT.'
XVIII. HATE
XIX. DESPAIR
XX. LOVE
XXI. EPHRAIM SLARK, THE CHRISTIAN!
XXII. A STRANGE AND STARTLING THEORY
XXIII. ENTER A NEW CHARACTER
XXIV. MR. RICHARD HIPCRAFT HAS A SOMEWHAT UNFLATTERING OPINION OF HIMSELF
XXV. EXPLAINS A GOOD DEAL
XXVI. PRIDE IS HUMBLED AND SORROW REIGNS
XXVII. AN UNEXPECTED MEETING
XXVIII. MASTER AND MAN
XXIX. STRIFE
XXX. THE RAVELLED SKEIN
XXXI. TELLS HOW CRAFT WAS BEATEN WITH ITS OWN WEAPON
XXXII. BETWEEN HOPE AND FEAR
XXXIII. STRIKING A NEW TRAIL
XXIV. A NEW THREAD
XXXV. 'THERE IS DESTINY IN ALL THINGS.'
XXXVI. FARABIN TINDAL'S TRIUMPH
XXXVII. TRUE LOVE ENDURETH FOREVERI. THE LONDON EXPRESS
T was a dark November afternoon, and the time within a minute or two of a quarter-past four. The up-platform of the London Road Station, Manchester, presented a busy scene of confusion and bustle, as was usually the case at that hour, for the London express was timed to leave at 4.15. On this particular afternoon there seemed to be an unusual number of passengers, and the train was very crowded. Two gentlemen, however, who were comfortably ensconced in a first-class compartment near the engine, had managed so far to keep out intruders, a judicious tip to the guard having had a magical effect. Excited passengers had repeatedly rushed up to this compartment, but, finding the door locked, had growled out something naughty and gone to another carriage, much to the satisfaction of the two gentlemen, who smiled and seemed well-pleased at the success of their efforts to keep themselves isolated.
These two men were utter strangers to each other, and had come together for the first time in their lives. And it is in the highest degree probable that had a third party, gifted with the power of prophecy, ventured to tell those two men that their chance meeting in a railway carriage on that dark November afternoon was destined to be the beginning of a series of most astounding events that would bring them both into public notoriety, they would surely have laughed the prophet to scorn. In personal appearance the two men presented as striking a contrast as it is possible to conceive. One was a handsome, well-made, burly fellow, not more than thirty years of age. There was something about him–what it is not easy to accurately define–that at once stamped him as representing the better type of the true Manchester Man.’ He Lad a round, healthily-coloured face, clean-shaved, save for a somewhat heavy moustache, that was full and round, and curled under to his lips, while his expression was at once frank and pleasing, and gave one the idea that life went well with him, and he enjoyed it. He had dark-blue eyes, that beamed with laughter and contentment. His hair, which was lightish brown, clustered about his forehead in tiny curls, almost like a young boy’s. He was well-dressed, and though there was nothing in his dressing that was in the least degree offensive to good or artistic taste, it was obvious that he studied his appearance, and aimed at ‘dressing like a gentleman.’ His clothes were fashionably cut and fitted him accurately; and a heavy dark-green overcoat, trimmed with Astrakan, imparted to him rather a distingué air, that was further enhanced by his faultless kid gloves, and the crimson silk handkerchief that was allowed just to slightly display itself from the outside breast-pocket of his overcoat.
This gentleman was Mr. Josiah Vecquerary of Manchester. All his people had for many generations been natives of the busy city on the banks of the Irwell, and Mr. Vecquerary prided himself on the fact. And he seemed to take a special delight in making it known to strangers that he hailed from Cottonopolis. I suppose that all men are more or less proud of their birthplaces. But your Manchester man, above all others, seems proud of his. Nor is this pride unjustified, for Manchester in itself is a city to be proud of, and the average middle-class Manchester man is generally an upright, fair-dealing, thoroughly business-like, shrewd, and open-hearted fellow. Blunt of speech and frank-speaking, he strikes you at once as straightforward and reliable. And if you attempt any double-dealings with him you find that you have caught a tartar, for your true Manchester man hates chicanery. He is not suspicious as a rule. By instinct and nature he is very hospitable. He is a staunch friend, but can also be a bitter enemy.
Most of the traits here indicated were prominent in Mr. Vecquerary’s character, and he had troops of friends by whom he was highly esteemed.
The Vecquerarys were a very old Manchester family. They had originally come from France, and had then spelt their name Véquérie. But that was at such a remote period that it was no more than a dim tradition amongst the descendants, who had taken kindly to the soil, and become thoroughly imbued with the distinguishing Manchester spirit.
Mr. Josiah Vecquerary was the head of the firm of ‘Vecquerary and Sons,’ Manchester Warehousemen, whose place of business was in Fountain Street–a thoroughfare long associated with that particular class of business known as the ‘Manchester trade.’ The firm of Vecquerary and Sons was a very old-established one, and had been handed down from father to son through many generations. Josiah’s father had been dead for four years, and Josiah and his younger brother, Alfred, carried on the business. Alfred was single, but Josiah had been married for six years, and was the father of girl and a boy, the latter being five years of age and the girl three.
Mr. Vecquerary’s marriage had at first been productive of some little friction and unpleasantness in his family, for he had chosen to marry one of his father’s warehouse girls. A well-behaved and pretty enough girl, but as the Vecquerarys were not without pride of race they thought this was a mésalliance, and Josiah’s father and mother were particularly annoyed. Mr. Vecquerary, senior, went so far as to refuse to recognise his daughter-in-law; and though when he came to lie on his deathbed he showed some disposition to be reconciled, he died before the reconciliation could be effected. After that, Josiah’s mother took to his wife, especially when the first child was born. But most of the other members of the family still manifested a certain disdain for Mrs. Josiah Vecquerary, as they did not consider she was in any way their equal. There is reason to believe that this to some extent influenced Mr. Vecquerary, whose relations with his wife had not been altogether of a cordial character. Not that there had been any serious difference between the young couple, but the husband had occasionally given evidence that he did not consider his wife quite on a level with him. This, however, did not affect him appreciably, and life agreed with him. His business was prosperous, everything went smoothly; he had a perfect digestion, and he loved a good dinner, and knew how to appreciate a choice cigar, and a bottle of old wine.
As we make his acquaintance he is journeying to London on business in connection with his firm. He is in the habit of running up to town once every six weeks on these business matters, and is generally absent four or five days.
The gentleman who so far shares the compartment with him is a very striking contrast. He is a little man, apparently about forty-three. His figure is sparse and shrunken, so that his clothes fit him ill. His face is yellow, with high cheek bones, and he has a very scanty crop of grayish whiskers, and a thin, straggling moustache. His eyes are small and somewhat deep-set, and their expression is not altogether pleasing. He habitually wears spectacles, which tend to make him look a little older than he is. He is slightly bald on the top of his head, and his hair is thin and gray. His general appearance is not altogether calculated to beget the confidence of a stranger, who might in fact experience a sense of shrinking from him, without being able to tell why he did so. The two men have been seated together for several minutes, but with true British reserve neither has yet spoken, The little man at last breaks the ice.
‘There seems to be an immense number of passengers to-day.’
He speaks in a high-pitched voice–a thin and trebly voice that is harsh and unpleasant; and he rubs and twists his hands one about the other as if he was oiling them.
‘Yes, but it’s been market-day in Manchester, and there is generally a rush for this train on market-day.’
Thus spoke Mr. Vecquerary, and his voice was in no less striking contrast to his companion’s than his personal appearance was. It was a deep, round, mellow voice, with a pleasant Lancashire burr in it; while on the other hand his companion’s had an unmistakable Cockney twang about it.
‘Oh, I didn’t know it was market-day,’ answered the little man, oiling his hands again. ‘You Manchester folk are a busy people.’
‘Yes, we bear that character,’ answered Mr. Vecquerary with a pleasant little laugh. ‘But it’s evident you don’t belong to Manchester.’
‘Oh dear no. It is my first visit. I am connected with the law, and I came down here two days ago on a little matter of business, but I confess I am rather glad to get away.’
‘Why?’
This is a free sample. Please purchase full version of the book to continue.
I. THE LONDON EXPRESS
II. THE TWO LADIES
III. HOT BLOOD
IV. VINDICTIVENESS
V. A LITTLE MYSTERY
VI. ENDEAVOURS TO EXPLAIN IN WHAT WAY MR. HIPCRAFT WAS LIKE A SNAKE
VII. THE FAITHFUL SLEUTH-HOUND
VIII. 'ERRORS, LIKE STRAWS, UPON THE SURFACE FLOW!'
IX. 'WAS IT AN UNKIND FATE?'
X. DRIFTING ON THE SILENT TIDE TOWARDS THE MAELSTROM
XI. MRS. NEILSEN'S STORY
XII. 'TRULY, HUMAN NATURE IS A RIDDLE AND A MYSTERY!'
XIII. SOWING THE WHIRLWIND
XIV. THE STORM BREAKS
XV. THE MAN IN THE BOX AT THE THEATRE
XVI. MR. VECQUERARY AND MRS. NEILSEN PART FOREVER
XVII. 'THE ALARM BELL THAT WITH BRAZEN CLAMOURING PROCLAIMED SOME DIRE EVENT.'
XVIII. HATE
XIX. DESPAIR
XX. LOVE
XXI. EPHRAIM SLARK, THE CHRISTIAN!
XXII. A STRANGE AND STARTLING THEORY
XXIII. ENTER A NEW CHARACTER
XXIV. MR. RICHARD HIPCRAFT HAS A SOMEWHAT UNFLATTERING OPINION OF HIMSELF
XXV. EXPLAINS A GOOD DEAL
XXVI. PRIDE IS HUMBLED AND SORROW REIGNS
XXVII. AN UNEXPECTED MEETING
XXVIII. MASTER AND MAN
XXIX. STRIFE
XXX. THE RAVELLED SKEIN
XXXI. TELLS HOW CRAFT WAS BEATEN WITH ITS OWN WEAPON
XXXII. BETWEEN HOPE AND FEAR
XXXIII. STRIKING A NEW TRAIL
XXIV. A NEW THREAD
XXXV. 'THERE IS DESTINY IN ALL THINGS.'
XXXVI. FARABIN TINDAL'S TRIUMPH
XXXVII. TRUE LOVE ENDURETH FOREVERI. THE LONDON EXPRESS
T was a dark November afternoon, and the time within a minute or two of a quarter-past four. The up-platform of the London Road Station, Manchester, presented a busy scene of confusion and bustle, as was usually the case at that hour, for the London express was timed to leave at 4.15. On this particular afternoon there seemed to be an unusual number of passengers, and the train was very crowded. Two gentlemen, however, who were comfortably ensconced in a first-class compartment near the engine, had managed so far to keep out intruders, a judicious tip to the guard having had a magical effect. Excited passengers had repeatedly rushed up to this compartment, but, finding the door locked, had growled out something naughty and gone to another carriage, much to the satisfaction of the two gentlemen, who smiled and seemed well-pleased at the success of their efforts to keep themselves isolated.
These two men were utter strangers to each other, and had come together for the first time in their lives. And it is in the highest degree probable that had a third party, gifted with the power of prophecy, ventured to tell those two men that their chance meeting in a railway carriage on that dark November afternoon was destined to be the beginning of a series of most astounding events that would bring them both into public notoriety, they would surely have laughed the prophet to scorn. In personal appearance the two men presented as striking a contrast as it is possible to conceive. One was a handsome, well-made, burly fellow, not more than thirty years of age. There was something about him–what it is not easy to accurately define–that at once stamped him as representing the better type of the true Manchester Man.’ He Lad a round, healthily-coloured face, clean-shaved, save for a somewhat heavy moustache, that was full and round, and curled under to his lips, while his expression was at once frank and pleasing, and gave one the idea that life went well with him, and he enjoyed it. He had dark-blue eyes, that beamed with laughter and contentment. His hair, which was lightish brown, clustered about his forehead in tiny curls, almost like a young boy’s. He was well-dressed, and though there was nothing in his dressing that was in the least degree offensive to good or artistic taste, it was obvious that he studied his appearance, and aimed at ‘dressing like a gentleman.’ His clothes were fashionably cut and fitted him accurately; and a heavy dark-green overcoat, trimmed with Astrakan, imparted to him rather a distingué air, that was further enhanced by his faultless kid gloves, and the crimson silk handkerchief that was allowed just to slightly display itself from the outside breast-pocket of his overcoat.
This gentleman was Mr. Josiah Vecquerary of Manchester. All his people had for many generations been natives of the busy city on the banks of the Irwell, and Mr. Vecquerary prided himself on the fact. And he seemed to take a special delight in making it known to strangers that he hailed from Cottonopolis. I suppose that all men are more or less proud of their birthplaces. But your Manchester man, above all others, seems proud of his. Nor is this pride unjustified, for Manchester in itself is a city to be proud of, and the average middle-class Manchester man is generally an upright, fair-dealing, thoroughly business-like, shrewd, and open-hearted fellow. Blunt of speech and frank-speaking, he strikes you at once as straightforward and reliable. And if you attempt any double-dealings with him you find that you have caught a tartar, for your true Manchester man hates chicanery. He is not suspicious as a rule. By instinct and nature he is very hospitable. He is a staunch friend, but can also be a bitter enemy.
Most of the traits here indicated were prominent in Mr. Vecquerary’s character, and he had troops of friends by whom he was highly esteemed.
The Vecquerarys were a very old Manchester family. They had originally come from France, and had then spelt their name Véquérie. But that was at such a remote period that it was no more than a dim tradition amongst the descendants, who had taken kindly to the soil, and become thoroughly imbued with the distinguishing Manchester spirit.
Mr. Josiah Vecquerary was the head of the firm of ‘Vecquerary and Sons,’ Manchester Warehousemen, whose place of business was in Fountain Street–a thoroughfare long associated with that particular class of business known as the ‘Manchester trade.’ The firm of Vecquerary and Sons was a very old-established one, and had been handed down from father to son through many generations. Josiah’s father had been dead for four years, and Josiah and his younger brother, Alfred, carried on the business. Alfred was single, but Josiah had been married for six years, and was the father of girl and a boy, the latter being five years of age and the girl three.
Mr. Vecquerary’s marriage had at first been productive of some little friction and unpleasantness in his family, for he had chosen to marry one of his father’s warehouse girls. A well-behaved and pretty enough girl, but as the Vecquerarys were not without pride of race they thought this was a mésalliance, and Josiah’s father and mother were particularly annoyed. Mr. Vecquerary, senior, went so far as to refuse to recognise his daughter-in-law; and though when he came to lie on his deathbed he showed some disposition to be reconciled, he died before the reconciliation could be effected. After that, Josiah’s mother took to his wife, especially when the first child was born. But most of the other members of the family still manifested a certain disdain for Mrs. Josiah Vecquerary, as they did not consider she was in any way their equal. There is reason to believe that this to some extent influenced Mr. Vecquerary, whose relations with his wife had not been altogether of a cordial character. Not that there had been any serious difference between the young couple, but the husband had occasionally given evidence that he did not consider his wife quite on a level with him. This, however, did not affect him appreciably, and life agreed with him. His business was prosperous, everything went smoothly; he had a perfect digestion, and he loved a good dinner, and knew how to appreciate a choice cigar, and a bottle of old wine.
As we make his acquaintance he is journeying to London on business in connection with his firm. He is in the habit of running up to town once every six weeks on these business matters, and is generally absent four or five days.
The gentleman who so far shares the compartment with him is a very striking contrast. He is a little man, apparently about forty-three. His figure is sparse and shrunken, so that his clothes fit him ill. His face is yellow, with high cheek bones, and he has a very scanty crop of grayish whiskers, and a thin, straggling moustache. His eyes are small and somewhat deep-set, and their expression is not altogether pleasing. He habitually wears spectacles, which tend to make him look a little older than he is. He is slightly bald on the top of his head, and his hair is thin and gray. His general appearance is not altogether calculated to beget the confidence of a stranger, who might in fact experience a sense of shrinking from him, without being able to tell why he did so. The two men have been seated together for several minutes, but with true British reserve neither has yet spoken, The little man at last breaks the ice.
‘There seems to be an immense number of passengers to-day.’
He speaks in a high-pitched voice–a thin and trebly voice that is harsh and unpleasant; and he rubs and twists his hands one about the other as if he was oiling them.
‘Yes, but it’s been market-day in Manchester, and there is generally a rush for this train on market-day.’
Thus spoke Mr. Vecquerary, and his voice was in no less striking contrast to his companion’s than his personal appearance was. It was a deep, round, mellow voice, with a pleasant Lancashire burr in it; while on the other hand his companion’s had an unmistakable Cockney twang about it.
‘Oh, I didn’t know it was market-day,’ answered the little man, oiling his hands again. ‘You Manchester folk are a busy people.’
‘Yes, we bear that character,’ answered Mr. Vecquerary with a pleasant little laugh. ‘But it’s evident you don’t belong to Manchester.’
‘Oh dear no. It is my first visit. I am connected with the law, and I came down here two days ago on a little matter of business, but I confess I am rather glad to get away.’
‘Why?’
This is a free sample. Please purchase full version of the book to continue.
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