William Le: 301 books

I AM fully aware, my dear Lanner-Brown, that after my death, when you open these pages, you will be greatly shocked. The skeleton which for many years has been locked so securely in my cupboard, and which I now at last have courage to reveal, will, I know, stagger you. I, Archibald More...

A grey, sunless morning on the Firth of Tay. Across a wide, sandy waste stretching away to the misty sea at Budden, four men were walking. Two wore uniform–one an alert, grey-haired general, sharp and brusque in manner, with many war ribbons across his tunic; the other a tall, thin-faced staff captain,...

The war has revealed many strange personalities in Europe, but surely none so sinister or so remarkable as that of the mock-monk Gregory Novikh—the middle-aged, uncleanly charlatan, now happily dead, whom Russia knew as Rasputin. As one whose duty it was before the war to travel extensively backwards...

The place: The kerb in front of the Criterion at Piccadilly Circus. The time: Five minutes past three on a broiling afternoon in July. As an idle lounger, apparently absorbed in contemplation of the ceaseless tide of human traffic that ebbed and flowed, I stood gazing along the famous London thoroughfare....

A story of intrigue and mystery set in the backdrop of Europe. The writer has drawn beautiful characters and the plot of murder enraptures the reader. The delicate persona of Mademoiselle of Monte Carlo dominates and concludes the narration. The minor plots are beautifully intertwined with the major one and keep the readers spell bound.

The youth in the multi-coloured blazer laughed. „You’d have to come and be a nurse,” he suggested. „Oh, I’d go as a drummer-boy. I’d look fine in uniform, wouldn’t I? ” the waitress simpered in return. Dennis Burnham swallowed his liqueur in one savage gulp, pushed back his chair, and rose from the table.

A remarkable mystery story in which valuables disappear from locked safes; written and whispered warnings come out of nowhere and a murder is committed behind locked doors--all in a modern New York apartment.

Obediently I approached her couch. Her breast rose, causing her diamonds to sparkle. During the past few days I had not failed to notice in her manner an entire change. She accorded me more liberty; she no longer placed her spiteful heel upon my neck as sign of triumph, and seldom she spoke to me...

My friend, Robert Nugent, a journalist, was young man, tall and dark, twenty-seven at the outside, with a pleasant, smiling face. His wavy hair, worn rather long, and negligence of attire gave him a dash of the genial good-for-nothing. It was in the card-room of that Bohemian—but, alas, now defunct—institution,...

A classic crime story from one of Britain's most prolific authors.

As for myself, I still carry on my garage in Chiswick, a business which, I am glad to say, is rapidly extending, though I confess it very nearly came to ruin in those dark, breathless days when I was seeking a solution of the remarkable problem of “The Red Room.”

Yes; it was utterly inexplicable. So strange, indeed, were all the circumstances, and so startling the adventures that befell me in my search after truth, that until to-day I have hesitated to relate the narrative, which is as extraordinary as it is unique in the history of any living man. If it were...

THIS fearful and disgraceful record of a Nation’s shame and of an Emperor’s complicity in atrocious crimes against God and man is no work of fiction, but a plain unvarnished statement of the grim and terrible work of the Kaiser’s Huns of Attila which I have considered it a duty to lay before...

The youth in the multi-coloured blazer laughed. You'd have to come and be a nurse, he suggested. Oh, I'd go as a drummer-boy. I'd look fine in uniform, wouldn't I? the waitress simpered in return.