My dear Gilbert:
I dedicate this story to you. First: because the only really noblemotive I had in writing it was the hope that you would enjoy it. Second:because I owe you a book in return for "The Man Who Was Thursday."Third: because I said I would when I unfolded the plan of it to you,surrounded by Frenchmen, two years ago. Fourth: because I remember thepast.
I have been thinking again to-day of those astonishing times whenneither of us ever looked at a newspaper; when we were purely happy inthe boundless consumption of paper, pencils, tea and our elders'patience; when we embraced the most severe literature, and ourselvesproduced such light reading as was necessary; when (in the words ofCanada's poet) we studied the works of nature, also those little frogs;when, in short, we were extremely young.
For the sake of that age I offer you this book.
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER I Knocking the Town Endways
CHAPTER II Breakfast
CHAPTER III Handcuffs in the Air
CHAPTER IV Poking About
CHAPTER V Mr. Brunner on the Case
CHAPTER VI The Lady in Black
CHAPTER VII The Inquest
CHAPTER VIII A Hot Scent
CHAPTER IX The Wife of Dives
CHAPTER X Hitherto Unpublished
CHAPTER XI Evil Days
CHAPTER XII Eruption
CHAPTER XIII Writing a Letter
CHAPTER XIV Double Cunning
CHAPTER XV The Last Straw
Between what matters and what seems to matter, how should the world weknow judge wisely?
When the scheming, indomitable brain of Sigsbee Manderson was scatteredby a shot from an unknown h