The Haunting of Low Fennel. Sax Rohmer

      Published by Good Press, 2021

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      EAN 4057664622129

Table of Contents

       I

       II

       III

       IV

       V

       VI

       The Valley of the Just A Story of the Shan Hills

       I

       II

       III

       IV

       V

       VI

       VII

       The Blue Monkey

       I

       II

       III

       IV

       The Riddle of Ragstaff

       I

       II

       III

       IV

       V

       VI

       The Master of Hollow Grange

       I

       II

       III

       IV

       V

       The Curse of a Thousand Kisses

       Introductory

       The Manuscript

       The Turquoise Necklace

       I

       II

       III

       IV

       V

       VI

I

       Table of Contents

      “There’s Low Fennel,” said Major Dale.

      We pulled up short on the brow of the hill. Before me lay a little valley carpeted with heather, purple slopes hemming it in. A group of four tall firs guarded the house, which was couched in the hollow of the dip—a low, rambling building, in parts showing evidence of great age and in other parts of the modern improver.

      “That’s the new wing,” continued the Major, raising his stick; “projecting out this way. It’s the only addition I’ve made to the house, which, as it stood, had insufficient accommodation for the servants.”

      “It is a quaint old place.”

      “It is, and I’m loath to part with it, especially as it means a big loss.”

      “Ah! Have you formed any theories since wiring me?”

      “None whatever. I’ve always been a sceptic, Addison, but if Low Fennel is not haunted, I’m a Dutchman, by the Lord Harry!”

      I laughed reassuringly, and the two of us descended the slope to the white gate giving access to a trim gravel path flanked by standard roses. Mrs. Dale greeted us at the door. She was, as I had heard, much younger than the Major, and a distinctly pretty woman. In so far Dame Rumour was confirmed; other things I had heard of her, but I was not yet in a position to pass judgment.

      She greeted me cordially enough, although women are usually natural actresses. I thought that she did not suspect the real object of my visit. Tea was served in a delightful little drawing-room which bore evidence of having but recently left the hands of London decorators, but when presently I found myself alone with my host in the Major’s peculiar sanctum, the real business afoot monopolised our conversation.

      The room which Major Dale had appropriated as a study was on the ground floor of the new wing—the wing which he himself had had built on to Low Fennel. In regard to its outlook it