The Story: At the castle of Major Hamish Gregor, a dour old Scotsman known also as Duchlan, his elderly sister is found murdered in her room. The door and window are found locked on the inside, and no weapon is in the room, though she was obviously killed by quite a heavy one such as an axe.
OUTSIDE, the moan and surge of the Atlantic, a huge wind scattering the scared stars. Inside, Lily Skinner, emerging from the black, veined marble exoticism which might have been a "set” for a million-dollar film but which was only the bathroom of her private suite.
DEKE CRANDALL leaned against the rail, a tall figure in white duck trousers belted about a lean waist; a figure that might, in its comely immobility, have been a statue built to illustrate the ideal beauty of the AngloSaxon type. Deke leaned against the rail of the Mosquito, looking toward shore, where pale lights stencilled an irregular outline; where, across a mile of sleek water, the square bulk of the yacht club dropped like a white shell on a green reef—was alive with little people bustling hither and yon, preparing for the gala dance which Deke felt so fortunate in escaping.
OSCAR MERTON had the Berkley diamonds on his mind. As he stood in the window of the branch jewellery store at Altonvale, watching the drizzle of warm rain on the pavement, he almost wished he never had become involved in the transaction. It was the first ten-thousand-dollar sale he ever had made and it had brought him a letter of congratulation from his firm, but just the same he wished the jewels were safely delivered and out of his care.
FREDDIE'S DADDY always got frightened out of his wits on the way home from work. Every night he'd swing off the car at the corner and come striding along up the street, never dreaming that anybody would be hiding behind the big gatepost. And then.
FOR nearly 250 years it has been in the mind of man to join the waters of the Gulf of St. Lawrence and the Bay of Fundy by an artificial waterway. Severance of the Isthmus of Chignecto, the narrow level waist of land consisting for the most part of soft soil that links the Provinces of New Brunswick and Nova Scotia, seemed an excellent expedient as far back as 1686.
ONE summer during the middle sixties of the last century when Macdonald and Cartier and Tilley and Tupper and all the rest of the Fathers were busying themselves about the birth of Confederation, a group of backwoods farmers decided to hold a fair at a place called Muncey on an Indian reserve southwest of London in what was then Canada West.
WHERE, oh where, does modem woman get the idea that there is more freedom in a business career than in a domestic career as wife and mother? I am forty years of age, and twenty-one of those years have been spent in helping to make dividends for ungrateful shareholders to spend on women who didn’t yearn for freedom.
THE records of the police are witness that many people disappear every year from the orbit in which they have revolved. Of a surprising number of these, no trace is ever found. What happens to them remains a mystery. Of all the mysterious disappearances which have occurred in recent years, few have been more melodramatic or attracted wider attention than that of Ambrose J.
WHEN Michael Faraday experimented with a magnet he was seeking the hidden secrets of Nature, engaged in what the scientist calls pure research. Since then many thousands of trained scientists, armies of them, working in the field of applied science, have employed the secret which Faraday revealed, and created the electrical age in which we now live.
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