Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: June 14, 2025
Philip Romilly, a teacher of art in a London school, visited Detton Magna on Friday afternoon and apparently started for a walk along the canal bank, towards dusk. Nothing has since been heard of him or his movements, and arrangements have been made to drag the canal at a certain point. The letters seemed to grow larger to him as he stood and read.
The railway station at Detton Magna presented, if possible, an even more dreary appearance than earlier in the day, as the time drew near that night for the departure of the last train northwards. Its long strip of flinty platform was utterly deserted. Around the three flickering gas-lamps the drizzling rain fell continuously.
I have lived here, here in Detton Magna, among the smuts and the mists, where the flowers seem withered and even the meadows are stony, where the people are hard and coarse as their ugly houses, where virtue is ugly, and vice is ugly, and living is ugly, and death is fearsome.
With a somewhat prolonged grinding of the brakes and an unnecessary amount of fuss in the way of letting off steam, the afternoon train from London came to a standstill in the station at Detton Magna. An elderly porter, putting on his coat as he came, issued, with the dogged aid of one bound by custom to perform a hopeless mission, from the small, redbrick lamp room.
"That young chap who came down from London on a one-day return excursion, hasn't gone back, either. That'll do his ticket in." The outside door was suddenly opened and closed. The sound of footsteps approaching the ticket window was heard. A long, white hand was thrust through the aperture, a voice was heard from the invisible outside. "Third to Detton Junction, please."
"I meant to bring them down last night but we had a busy start off." Philip took them up on deck to read. He tore open the telegram first and permitted himself a little start when he saw the signature. It was sent off from Detton Magna, "Why did you not come as promised? What am I to do? The envelope of the letter he opened with a little more compunction.
"Shall I have the privilege of your personal surveillance?" "I think not, Mr. Ware. To tell you the truth, this is rather a p.p.c. visit. I've booked my passage on the Elletania, sailing to-morrow from New York. I am taking a trip over to England to make a few enquiries round about the spot where this Mr. Douglas Romilly hails from Detton Magna, isn't it?"
"Philip," she said soothingly, "they can't possibly prove anything." "They can prove," he pointed out, "that I was in Detton Magna that afternoon. I don't think any one except Beatrice saw me start along the canal path, but they can prove that I knew all about Douglas Romilly's disappearance, because I travelled to America under his name and with his ticket, and deliberately personated him."
Then she took out the pins from her hat, banged it upon the table, opened her tweed coat, came round to the fireside, and threw herself into an easy-chair. Her action was portentous and significant. "Tell me how you found me out?" he asked, after a brief pause. "I was dismissed from Detton Magna," she told him. "I had to go and be waiting-maid to Aunt Esther at Croydon.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking