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This carefully crafted ebook: 'The Door with Seven Locks (A British Classic Mystery)' is formatted for your eReader with a functional and detailed table of contents. Edgar Wallace (1875-1932) was an English writer. As well as journalism, Wallace wrote screen plays, poetry, historical non-fiction, 18 stage plays, 957 short stories and over 170 novels, 12 in 1929 alone. More than 160 films have been made of Wallace's work. Excerpt: 'He waited suggestively, but Lew Pheeney shook his head. 'I'm not telling. The story would give away a man who's not a good fellow, and not one I admire; but I can't let my personal feelings get the better of me, and you'll have to go on guessing. And I'm not lying, I'll tell you how it happened.' He gulped down a cup of hot coffee and pushed cup and saucer away from him. 'I don't know this fellow who asked me to do the work - not personally. He's been in trouble for something or other, but that's no business of mine. One night he met me, introduced himself, and I went to his house - brr!' he shivered. 'Martin, a crook is a pretty clean man - at least, all the crooks I know; and thieving's just a game with two players; me and the police. If they snooker me, good luck to 'em! If I can beat them, good luck to me! But there's some dirt that makes me sick, just makes my stomach turn over. When he told me the job he wanted me for, I thought he was joking...'
This carefully crafted ebook: "The Door with Seven Locks (A British Classic Mystery)" is formatted for your eReader with a functional and detailed table of contents. Edgar Wallace (1875-1932) was an English writer. As well as journalism, Wallace wrote screen plays, poetry, historical non-fiction, 18 stage plays, 957 short stories and over 170 novels, 12 in 1929 alone. More than 160 films have been made of Wallace's work. Excerpt: "He waited suggestively, but Lew Pheeney shook his head. "I'm not telling. The story would give away a man who's not a good fellow, and not one I admire; but I can't let my personal feelings get the better of me, and you'll have to go on guessing. And I'm not lying, I'll tell you how it happened." He gulped down a cup of hot coffee and pushed cup and saucer away from him. "I don't know this fellow who asked me to do the work - not personally. He's been in trouble for something or other, but that's no business of mine. One night he met me, introduced himself, and I went to his house - brr!" he shivered. "Martin, a crook is a pretty clean man - at least, all the crooks I know; and thieving's just a game with two players; me and the police. If they snooker me, good luck to 'em! If I can beat them, good luck to me! But there's some dirt that makes me sick, just makes my stomach turn over. When he told me the job he wanted me for, I thought he was joking..."
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Chapter XVIII Table of Contents
Soon They were speeding in a southwesterly direction, and although Mrs Cody was not an entertaining hostess, the girl found plenty to think about, and certainly did not resent the silence of this overdressed woman. In less than an hour the car swung through a pair of heavy iron gates, up a long avenue, and stopped before a medium-sized house.
Sybil had never met the stout and smiling man who came to meet her.
"Ah! So this is the daughter of my old friend!" he said, almost jovially. "Little Sybil! You don't remember me, of course?"
Sybil smiled.
"I'm afraid I don't, Dr Cody," she said.
"You wouldn't, my dear, you wouldn't." His manner was paternal, but Mrs Cody, who knew her husband much better than most people, and who could detect his most subtle nuances of tone, shot one cold, baleful glare in his direction that was eloquent of her experience.
If Cody saw her, his manner certainly did not change. He took the girl's arm, much against her will, and led her into the handsome library, fussing over her like an old hen with a chick. She must have the best chair and a cushion for her back.
"Tea at once, my dear. You must be tired after your journey."
"I am," said Mrs Cody emphatically. "I'd like a word with you, C."
"Certainly, my dear. Are you quite comfortable, Miss Lansdown?"
"Quite," said the girl, finding it difficult not to smile as she saw Mrs Cody flounce out with a red face and slam the door behind her.
In the hall the chauffeur was lighting a cigarette. He glanced round at the woman as she came out.
"Who's she, aunty?" he asked.
Mrs Cody shrugged her ample shoulders.
"She's the girl the old man was telling you about," she said shortly. "You ask too many questions; he's been complainin' about you."
"I thought she was." He ignored the complaint. "Not a bad-looker. I'm surprised at you leaving them two alone!"
"Never mind what you're surprised at," she said tartly. "Go and put that car in the garridge, and come and see me when it's done."
"There's plenty of time," answered the dutiful nephew coolly. "What's the old man going to do?"
"How do I know?" she snapped.
But he was in no way abashed.
"Has she got the key?"
"Of course she hasn't got the key, you fool!" she stormed. "And don't stand there asking me silly questions. And don't poke your nose into my business. And what do you know about keys?"
Her nephew looked at her meditatively.
"You're a queer couple, you and him," he said. "But it's no business of mine. That girl's certainly a goodlooker. I'm going through to the kitchen to have some tea. The old man's given cook and Mrs Hartley a holiday, and the maid's away sick. It's rum that they should all be away together!"
He was strolling to the front door. Then he spoke, and now he turned back.
"Got everybody out of the house." He frowned. "What's the great idea, aunt?"
"Not so much 'aunt'. I'm 'missus' to you, you gaolbird! I've told you about that before." She was trembling with fury, and he knew her well enough to realize that this was not a moment to provoke her to further anger. For seven years (with a pleasant interregnum) he had preserved the polite fiction of being a pampered menial in the house of Mrs Cody. His wages were good; he knew a little of the private affairs of the widow whom Dr Cody had most unexpectedly married, and for the consideration he received in the shape of a good bed, an excellent allowance, plus the assistance he had in the garage, he was quite willing to be blind to many curious happenings that he had witnessed in that house.
He walked towards his aunt, his cigarette drooping from his big mouth.
"What time am I taking that girl back to town?" he asked.
"She's staying here; you needn't bother."
He looked down at the floor,