The Day of Temptation
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Le Queux William. The Day of Temptation
Chapter One. Aliens
Chapter Two. The Silver Greyhound
Chapter Three. One of a Crowd
Chapter Four “The Major.”
Chapter Five. Tristram at Home
Chapter Six. In Tuscany
Chapter Seven. Doctor Malvano
Chapter Eight. Her Ladyship’s Secret
Chapter Nine. Beneath the Red, White, and Blue
Chapter Ten. The Mystery of Gemma
Chapter Eleven. Silence is Best
Chapter Twelve. A Word with His Excellency
Chapter Thirteen. A Discovery in Ebury Street
Chapter Fourteen. The Doctor’s Story
Chapter Fifteen. The Shadow
Chapter Sixteen “Traitors Die Slowly.”
Chapter Seventeen. Smayle’s Dilemma
Chapter Eighteen. What Lady Marshfield Knew
Chapter Nineteen. A Secret Despatch
Chapter Twenty “The Gobbo.”
Chapter Twenty One. At Lyddington
Chapter Twenty Two. The Unknown
Chapter Twenty Three. A Ruler of Europe
Chapter Twenty Four. By Stealth
Chapter Twenty Five. A Woman’s Diplomacy
Chapter Twenty Six. The Palazza Funaro
Chapter Twenty Seven. On the Night Wind
Chapter Twenty Eight. The Trick of a Trickster
Chapter Twenty Nine. Entrapped
Chapter Thirty “I Bear Witness!”
Chapter Thirty One. Fiori d’Arancio
Отрывок из книги
On the same night as the Doctor and his guest were dining in the remote rural village, the express which had left Paris at midday was long overdue at Charing Cross. Presently a troop of porters assembled and folded their arms to gossip, Customs officers appeared, and at last the glaring headlights of the express were seen slowly crossing the bridge which spans the Thames. Within a couple of minutes all became bustle and confusion. The pale faces and disordered appearance of alighting passengers told plainly how rough had been the passage from Calais. Many were tweed-coated tourists returning from Switzerland or the Rhine, but there were others who, by their calm, unruffled demeanour, were unmistakably experienced travellers.
Among the latter was a smart, military-looking man of not more than thirty-three, tall, dark, and slim, with a merry face a trifle bronzed, and a pair of dark eyes beaming with good humour. As he alighted from a first-class carriage he held up his hand and secured a hansom standing by, then handed out his companion, a well-dressed girl of about twenty-two, whose black eyes and hair, rather aquiline features and sun-browned skin, were sufficient evidence that she was a native of the South. Her dress, of some dark blue material, bore the stamp of the first-class costumier; attached to her belt was the small satchel affected by foreign ladies when travelling; her neat toque became her well; and her black hair, although a trifle awry after the tedious, uncomfortable journey, still presented an appearance far neater than that of other bedraggled women around her.
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“You, too, must be thirsty,” he said, turning to her. “At this café, I think, they keep some of your Italian drinks – vermouth, menthe, or muscato.”
“Thank you – no,” she replied, smiling sweetly. “The cup of English tea I had at Dover did me good, and I’m really not thirsty. You go and get something. I’ll remain here.”
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