The After House
Описание книги
Ralph Leslie, a young doctor by professor, signs on as a private helper on a yacht. Soon the yacht is rocked with sensational triple axe-murders and Leslie is the only person who can inspire trust in the crew. But who is the killer? How will he get caught now? Excerpt: "The yacht Ella lay in the river not far from my hospital windows. She was not a yacht when I first saw her, nor at any time, technically, unless I use the word in the broad sense of a pleasure-boat. She was a two-master, and, when I saw her first, as dirty and disreputable as are most coasting-vessels. Her rejuvenation was the history of my convalescence. On the day she stood forth in her first coat of white paint, I exchanged my dressing-gown for clothing that, however loosely it hung, was still clothing. Her new sails marked my promotion to beefsteak, her brass rails and awnings my first independent excursion up and down the corridor outside my door, and, incidentally, my return to a collar and tie."
Оглавление
Mary Roberts Rinehart. The After House
The After House
Table of Contents
Chapter I. I Plan a Voyage
Chapter II. The Painted Ship
Chapter III. I Unclench My Hands
Chapter IV. I Receive a Warning
Chapter V. A Terrible Night
Chapter VI. In the After House
Chapter VII. We Find the Axe
Chapter VIII. The Stewardess's Story
Chapter IX. Prisoners
Chapter X "That's Mutiny"
Chapter XI. The Dead Line
Chapter XII. The First Mate Talks
Chapter XIII. The White Light
Chapter XIV. From the Crow's Nest
Chapter XV. A Knocking in the Hold
Chapter XVI. Jones Stumbles Over Something
Chapter XVII. The Axe is Gone
Chapter XVIII. A Bad Combination
Chapter XIX. I Take the Stand
Chapter XX. Oleson's Story
Chapter XXI "A Bad Woman"
Chapter XXII. Turner's Story
Chapter XXIII. Free Again
Chapter XXIV. The Thing
Chapter XXV. The Sea Again
Отрывок из книги
Mary Roberts Rinehart
A Private Yacht and Gruesome Triple Axe-Murders
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That was on Monday, the third day out. Up to that time Miss Lee had not noticed me, except once, when she found me scrubbing the deck, to comment on a corner that she thought might be cleaner, and another time in the evening, when she and Vail sat in chairs until late, when she had sent me below for a wrap. She looked past me rather than at me, gave me her orders quietly but briefly, and did not even take the trouble to ignore me. And yet, once or twice, I had found her eyes fixed on me with a cool, half-amused expression, as if she found something in my struggles to carry trays as if I had been accustomed to them, or to handle a mop as a mop should be handled and not like a hockey stick—something infinitely entertaining and not a little absurd.
But that morning, after they had settled to bridge, she followed me to the rail, out of earshot I straightened and took off my cap, and she stood looking at me, unsmiling.
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