By the Same Author THE DANGERVILLE INHERITANCE THE MAULEVERER MURDERS THE AVERAGE MAN THE FINANCES OF SIR JOHN KYNNERSLEY THE TROUBLES OF COLONEL MARWOOD THE SEX TRIUMPHANT...

Old Lord Madeley had taken unto himself a wife—one of the beautiful Sisters Alvarez of the Pavilion Theatre of Varieties and the other West-end halls. Whereat the world of Society wondered for ten days. His relatives never ceased to wonder. He was always called “Old Lord Madeley,” but as a matter of fact he had but turned the half-century some four or five years previously. The man and his history were curious. The twenty-fifth holder of the ancient Barony of Madeley, he was a legitimate scion o

“ Understand me once and for all, Evangeline, I absolutely forbid it.” Head in the air the girl walked out of the room, slamming the door behind her. Lady Stableford, thoroughly upset by the discussion which had taken place, sank into a low easy-chair and put her handkerchief to her eyes. She had married her husband at an early age, and had passed up the social ladder with him, as a rapidly developing business had increasingly provided him with the wealth which had opened the doors of Parliament

From time to time in the ever-recurring sequence of murders of which the details are given to the world by a vigilant and busy Press, one will be found which stands out and grips the public attention. Sometimes it is the gruesome detail of the crime which awakens the interest of the world at large. More often it is the mystery which envelopes its circumstance and stands between the general curiosity and the satisfaction thereof by a full explanation of the motive. But the greatest excitement alw

The summer of 1902 slowly slipped away. Twenty years had now passed since Ashley Tempest had hung up the miniature of the dead Dolores in his chambers—to him twenty busy and eventful years. He was by now one of the leading members of his profession—the busiest junior at the bar. The courts had risen for the vacation which Tempest was to spend with the Shifnals. Securing his seat in the train at Euston, he had bought the evening papers and pitched them in a heap in the corner he had appropriated,

For some time Yardley and Parkyns devoted themselves diligently to the search for Mrs. Garnett, but the effort proved like seeking a needle in a bundle of hay. They had nothing to go upon—no detail from which they could make a start. The hotel porters had not the smallest recollection of the lady’s departure, and could give no hint how she had left the hotel nor what might have been her destination. At length, Yardley, confessing himself conquered, applied to Tempest. “I know it isn’t fair to co