Fergus Hume

The Harlequin Opal, Vol. 1 (of 3) by Fergus Hume

The Red Window by Fergus Hume

The Solitary Farm by Fergus Hume

Fergus Hume was a 20th century American author who had many works adapted into screenplays and movies, such as The Top Dog. Popular titles like The Silent House are still widely read today.

Fergus Hume was a 20th century American author who had many works adapted into screenplays and movies, such as The Top Dog. Popular titles like The Silent House are still widely read today.

Fergus Hume was a 20th century American author who had many works adapted into screenplays and movies, such as The Top Dog. Popular titles like The Silent House are still widely read today.

Fergus Hume was a 20th century American author who had many works adapted into screenplays and movies, such as The Top Dog. Popular titles like The Silent House are still widely read today.

In the dead of night on a lonely Melbourne street, a cabbie discovers to his horror that his drunken passenger has been murdered — poisoned with a chloroform-saturated handkerchief. The killer, his motive, and even the victim's identity are unknown. The last person to be seen in the victim's company cannot be identified and has vanished into the streets of the Australian metropolis. The solution lies within a labyrinth of dark secrets, missing papers, evasive witnesses, and a deadly game of blackmail.Ever since the publication of this 1886 mystery, the two-wheeled carriage known as a hansom cab has been linked in the popular imagination with sinister affairs. The Mystery of a Hansom Cab was the unlikely first literary product of a young barrister's clerk and quickly rose from its obscure initial publication to become one of the 19th century's bestselling detective novels. Reputed to have inspired the creation of Sherlock Holmes, this ingeniously plotted, fast-paced, and engrossing tale remains a delight for lovers of Victorian mysteries.

I think it is Lord Beaconsfield who, in one of his brilliant stories, makes the clever observation that "adventures are to the adventurous," and certainly he who seeks for adventures even in this prosaic nineteenth century will surely succeed in his quest. Fate leads him, chance guides him, luck assists him, and although the adventure supplied by this trinity of circumstances may be neither so dangerous nor so picturesque as in the time of Borgia or Lazun, still it will probably be interesting, which after all is something to be grateful for in this eminently commonplace age of facts and figures. Still, even he who seeks not to prove the truth of Disraeli's aphorism, may, after the principle of Mahomet's mountain, have the adventure come to him, without the trouble of looking for it, and this was my case at Verona in the summer of 18--.

The dingy little cart containing the clean linen of the Rectory, was on its way by an unusually roundabout route. Neddy Mellin, the washer woman's son, who disliked work as much as he liked play, which was natural in a lad of thirteen, grumbled openly at the uncongenial task of driving the large white donkey. The animal herself, who answered to the name of Nelly, grumbled also in her own way, as she objected to innovations. Hitherto she had been allowed to take the short road to the parson's residence; now she was compelled to go by the long one, which was particularly annoying on this damp, misty November afternoon.

A wet Sunday--dreary, dismal, and infinitely sloppy. Even the bells ringing the people into evening service seemed to feel the depressing influence of the weather, and their brazen voices sounded hoarse and grumbling, as if they rang under protest. Cold, too!--not a brisk sharp frost--for here in Melbourne frost and snow are unknown; but a persevering, insinuating, gnawing cold, just disagreeable enough to make one shiver and shake with anxiety to get home to a bright fire and dry clothes. Overhead a leaden-coloured sky, with great masses of black clouds, from out whose sombre bosoms poured the steady rain, splashing noisily on the shining roofs, and swelling the gutters in the streets to miniature torrents.

At two o'clock in the morning during the month of August sounds of music could be heard proceeding from a brilliantly lighted house in Park Lane, where a ball was being given by the Countess of Kerstoke. True, the season was long since over, and though the greater part of London Society had migrated swallow-like to the South of Europe in search of warm weather, still there were enough people in town to justify the ball being given, and a number of celebrities were present.

Hastily waving for the men to go away, she applied remedies, and Madame soon revived. Vandeloup had gone outside with McIntosh, and was asking him about the robbery, and then told him in return about Villiers' movements on that night. Selina called them in again, as Madame wanted to hear all about her husband, and Vandeloup was just entering when he turned to McIntosh.

"Of course he's a wretch, dear; but oh!"--with an ecstatic expression--"what a nice wretch!" "I see; you marry the adjective."

All that wealth -- Mrs. Octagon would not be surprised to hear someone had murdered her aunt for it No sooner had she voiced her musings, sitting in private with her daughter, than her husband burst in with the evening paper. "My dear," he said, his scanty hair almost standing on end, "such dreadful news. Your aunt, my dear --" "Selina," said Mrs. Octagon quietly, "go on. There is nothing bad I don't expect to hear about Selina. What is it?" "She is dead " Detective Miles Jennings of Scotland Yard and his school chum Cuthbert Mallow face a puzzling case, for it involves family and friends, and no shortage of odd characters -- with the added puzzle that an engagement is being broken off -- for reason of the murder

"A splash of chloroform . . ." The drunken man was staggering -- but he was quite alive, when the thoughtful gentleman stumbled upon him in the thick Melbourne night, and hailed a cab to take him home. By the time the cabdriver was in the proper neighborhood and was turning around to ask directions, the cabbie discovered he was driving around an unconscious man . . . slumped forward with a chemical-soaked handkerchief tied around his mouth Unconscious -- or dead New Zealand lawyer and writer Fergus Hume achieved immediate, widespread attention for his first novel, "The Mystery of a Hansom Cab," when it first appeared in 1886. This remarkable novel, when published in England, became more the talk of London than even Conan Doyle's "A Study in Scarlet," issued soon thereafter. Hume's other detective novels included "The Opal Serpent" and "The Silent House."

"We had better lie down and die," said Robin peevishly. "I can't go a step further," and to emphasise his words he deliberately sat.

The Paladins of Edwin the Great by Clements R. Markham

Excerpt: ...when to be silent,

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