"A remarkable story, crowded with the most exciting situations, and bristling with crimes which only the brain of a most versatile author could conceive."
to people I come across and like, and whom the world seems to treat unjustly.
My father, Richard Ashton, was Colonel in the Blues. I was his only child, for my mother died in bringing me into the world to live at ease and waste my time. When my father died I found myself heir to a small property in Rutland, which I promptly let, and One Hundred and Eighty Thousand pounds safely invested--mostly in Consols. Sport in general, especially hunting and shooting, also reading, constitute my favourite forms of recreation. Generally I live in London, where I have a flat in King Street, St. James's.
I don't remember what made me do it, but while lunching at the Stag's Head I decided that I would take the car out to Houghton Park again. I think I was curious to see if any fresh development had taken place there.
Nobody answered my repeated rings at the front door, so I went round to the back. The door was locked. I rang, and rang again, and knocked. But nobody came.
I walked right round the
I thought this mystery was a bit muddled. The "mysterious three" each went by more than one name, so at times I wasn't sure which person the author was talking about. The story centers on a mysterious stranger who visits Sir Charles and Lady Thorold while they were out of the house. Upon arriving home with their daughter Vera and friend Mr. Ashton, their butler tells them a gentleman named Smithson had stopped by, and describes him as looking like the man in a portrait they have. They make light of the incident, but later Ashton finds the family has vanished without notifying anyone where they went. The rest of the novel focuses on Ashton trying to find the Thorolds and finding the identity of Smithson. It's a quick read, but the story isn't too intriguing.