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    A Strange Story — Volume 04
    A Strange Story — Volume 04
    A Strange Story — Volume 04
    Ebook82 pages1 hour

    A Strange Story — Volume 04

    By Edward Bulwer Lytton

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    About this ebook

    Edward Bulwer-Lytton was a well known English novelist in the 19th century, and he's been immortalized for coining famous phrases like  "pursuit of the almighty dollar" and "the pen is mightier than the sword".


    In addition to being a politician, he wrote across all genres, from horror stories to historical fiction and action titles.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherKrill Press
    Release dateDec 28, 2015
    ISBN9781518351853
    A Strange Story — Volume 04
    Author

    Edward Bulwer Lytton

    Edward Bulwer-Lytton, engl. Romanschriftsteller und Politiker, ist bekannt geworden durch seine populären historischen/metaphysischen und unvergleichlichen Romane wie „Zanoni“, „Rienzi“, „Die letzten Tage von Pompeji“ und „Das kommende Geschlecht“. Ihm wird die Mitgliedschaft in der sagenumwobenen Gemeinschaft der Rosenkreuzer nachgesagt. 1852 wurde er zum Kolonialminister von Großbritannien ernannt.

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      Book preview

      A Strange Story — Volume 04 - Edward Bulwer Lytton

      A STRANGE STORY — VOLUME 04

      ..................

      Edward Bulwer-Lytton

      YURITA PRESS

      Thank you for reading. In the event that you appreciate this book, please consider sharing the good word(s) by leaving a review, or connect with the author.

      This book is a work of fiction; its contents are wholly imagined.

      All rights reserved. Aside from brief quotations for media coverage and reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced or distributed in any form without the author’s permission. Thank you for supporting authors and a diverse, creative culture by purchasing this book and complying with copyright laws.

      Copyright © 2015 by Edward Bulwer-Lytton

      Interior design by Pronoun

      Distribution by Pronoun

      TABLE OF CONTENTS

      CHAPTER XXXV.

      CHAPTER XXXVI.

      CHAPTER XXXVII.

      CHAPTER XXXVIII.

      CHAPTER XXXIX.

      CHAPTER XL.

      A Strange Story — Volume 04

      By

      Edward Bulwer-Lytton

      A Strange Story — Volume 04

      Published by Yurita Press

      New York City, NY

      First published circa 1873

      Copyright © Yurita Press, 2015

      All rights reserved

      Except in the United States of America, this book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

      About YURITA Press

      Yurita Press is a boutique publishing company run by people who are passionate about history’s greatest works. We strive to republish the best books ever written across every conceivable genre and making them easily and cheaply available to readers across the world.

      CHAPTER XXXV.

      ..................

      ON REACHING MY OWN HOME, I found my servant sitting up for me with the information that my attendance was immediately required. The little boy whom Margrave’s carelessness had so injured, and for whose injury he had shown so little feeling, had been weakened by the confinement which the nature of the injury required, and for the last few days had been generally ailing. The father had come to my house a few minutes before I reached it, in great distress of mind, saying that his child had been seized with fever, and had become delirious. Hearing that I was at the mayor’s house, he had hurried thither in search of me.

      I felt as if it were almost a relief to the troubled and haunting thoughts which tormented me, to be summoned to the exercise of a familiar knowledge. I hastened to the bedside of the little sufferer, and soon forgot all else in the anxious struggle for a human life. The struggle promised to be successful; the worst symptoms began to yield to remedies prompt and energetic, if simple. I remained at the house, rather to comfort and support the parents, than because my continued attendance was absolutely needed, till the night was well-nigh gone; and all cause of immediate danger having subsided, I then found myself once more in the streets. An atmosphere palely clear in the gray of dawn had succeeded to the thunder-clouds of the stormy night; the streetlamps, here and there, burned wan and still. I was walking slowly and wearily, so tired out that I was scarcely conscious of my own thoughts, when, in a narrow lane, my feet stopped almost mechanically before a human form stretched at full length in the centre of the road right in my path. The form was dark in the shadow thrown from the neighbouring houses. Some poor drunkard, thought I, and the humanity inseparable from my calling not allowing me to leave a fellow-creature thus exposed to the risk of being run over by the first drowsy wagoner who might pass along the thoroughfare, I stooped to rouse and to lift the form. What was my horror when my eyes met the rigid stare of a dead man’s. I started, looked again; it was the face of Sir Philip Derval! He was lying on his back, the countenance upturned, a dark stream oozing from the breast,—murdered by two ghastly wounds, murdered not long since, the blood was still warm. Stunned and terror-stricken, I stood bending over the body. Suddenly I was touched on the shoulder.

      Hollo! what is this? said a gruff voice.

      Murder! I answered in hollow accents, which sounded strangely to my own ear.

      Murder! so it seems. And the policeman who had thus accosted me lifted the body.

      A gentleman by his dress. How did this happen? How did you come here? and the policeman glanced suspiciously at me.

      At this moment, however, there came up another policeman, in whom I recognized the young man whose sister I had attended and cured.

      Dr. Fenwick, said the last, lifting his hat respectfully, and at the sound of my name his fellow-policeman changed his manner and muttered an apology.

      I now collected myself sufficiently to state the name and rank of the murdered man. The policemen bore the body to their station, to which I accompanied them. I then returned to my own house, and had scarcely sunk on my bed when sleep came over me. But what a sleep! Never till then had I known how awfully distinct dreams can be. The phantasmagoria of the naturalist’s collection revived. Life again awoke in the serpent and the tiger, the scorpion moved, and the vulture flapped its wings. And there was Margrave, and there Sir Philip; but their position of power was reversed, and Margrave’s foot was on the breast of the dead man. Still I slept on till I was roused by the summons to attend on Mr. Vigors, the magistrate to whom the police had reported the murder.

      I dressed hastily and went forth. As I passed through the street, I found that the dismal news had already spread. I was accosted on my way to the magistrate by a hundred eager, tremulous, inquiring tongues.

      The scanty evidence I could impart was soon given.

      My introduction to Sir Philip at the mayor’s house, our accidental meeting under the arch, my discovery of the corpse some hours afterwards on my return from my patient, my professional belief that the deed must have been done a very short time, perhaps but a few minutes, before I chanced upon its victim. But, in that case, how account for the long interval that had elapsed between the time in which I had left Sir Philip under the arch and

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