短篇小说

I don't suppose it will knock any of you people off your perch to read a contribution from an animal.

A two-inch stub of a blue pencil was the wand with which Keogh performed the preliminary acts of his magic. So, with this he covered paper with diagrams and figures while he waited for the United States of America to send down to Coralio a successor to Atwood, resigned.

There were two or three things that I wanted to know. I do not care about a mystery. So I began to inquire.

Old Anthony Rockwall, retired manufacturer and proprietor of Rockwall's Eureka Soap, looked out the library window of his Fifth Avenue mansion and grinned.

The burglar stepped inside the window quickly, and then he took his time. A burglar who respects his art always takes his time before taking anything else.

"AUNT ELLEN," said Octavia, cheerfully, as she threw her black kid gloves carefully at the dignified Persian cat on the window-seat, "I'm a pauper."

Mr. Towers Chandler was pressing his evening suit in his hall bedroom.

Lord Oakhurst lay dying in the oak chamber in the eastern wing of Oakhurst Castle.

The honeymoon was at its full. There was a flat with the reddest of new carpets, tasselled portieres and six steins with pewter lids arranged on a ledge above the wainscoting of the dining-room.

So I went to a doctor.
"How long has it been since you took any alcohol into your system?" he asked.