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    7 best short stories by E. W. Hornung
    7 best short stories by E. W. Hornung
    7 best short stories by E. W. Hornung
    Ebook179 pages2 hours

    7 best short stories by E. W. Hornung

    By E. W. Hornung and August Nemo

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    About this ebook

    Hornung's prose is widely admired for its lucid, simple style. Oliver Edwards, writing in The Times, considered that "not the least attractive part of the Raffles books is the simple, plain, unaffected language in which each one of them is written". The obituarist in the same newspaper agrees, and thinks Hornung had "a power of good and clear description and a talent for mystery and surprise"
    This selection chosen by the critic August Nemocontains the following stories:

    - The Idles of March
    - A Costume Piece
    - Gentlemen and Players
    - Le Premier Pas
    - Wilful Murder
    - Nine Points of the Law
    - The Return Match
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherTacet Books
    Release dateMay 15, 2020
    ISBN9783968589596
    7 best short stories by E. W. Hornung
    Author

    E. W. Hornung

    Ernest William Hornung (1866 –1921) was a prolific English poet and novelist, famed for his A. J. Raffles series of novels about a gentleman thief in late 19th century London. Hornung spent most of his life in England and France, but in 1883 he traveled to Australia where he lived for three years, his experiences there shaping many of his novels and short stories. On returning to England he worked as a journalist, and also published many of his poems and short stories in newspapers and magazines. A few years after his return, he married Constance Aimée Doyle, sister of his friend Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, with whom he had a son. During WWI he followed the troops in French trenches and later gave a detailed account of his encounters in Notes of a Camp-Follower on the Western Front. Ernest Hornung died in 1921.

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      7 best short stories by E. W. Hornung - E. W. Hornung

      Publisher

      The Author

      ERNEST WILLIAM HORNUNG (7 June 1866 – 22 March 1921) was an English author and poet known for writing the A. J. Raffles series of stories about a gentleman thief in late 19th-century London. Hornung was educated at Uppingham School; as a result of poor health he left the school in December 1883 to travel to Sydney, where he stayed for two years. He drew on his Australian experiences as a background when he began writing, initially short stories and later novels.

      In 1898 he wrote In the Chains of Crime, which introduced Raffles and his sidekick, Bunny Manders; the characters were based partly on his friends Oscar Wilde and his lover, Lord Alfred Douglas, and also on the characters of Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson, created by his brother-in-law, Arthur Conan Doyle. The series of Raffles short stories were collected for sale in book form in 1899, and two further books of Raffles short stories followed, as well as a poorly received novel. Aside from his Raffles stories, Hornung was a prodigious writer of fiction, publishing numerous books from 1890, with A Bride from the Bush to his 1914 novel The Crime Doctor.

      The First World War brought an end to Hornung's fictional output. His son, Oscar, was killed at the Second Battle of Ypres in July 1915. Hornung joined the YMCA, initially in England, then in France, where he helped run a canteen and library. He published two collections of poetry during the war, and then, afterwards, one further volume of verse and an account of his time spent in France, Notes of a Camp-Follower on the Western Front. Hornung's fragile constitution was further weakened by the stress of his war work. To aid his recuperation, he and his wife visited the south of France in 1921. He fell ill from influenza on the journey, and died on 22 March 1921, aged 54.

      Although much of Hornung's work has fallen into obscurity, his Raffles stories continued to be popular, and have formed numerous film and television adaptations. Hornung's stories dealt with a wider range of themes than crime: he examined scientific and medical developments, guilt, class and the unequal role played by women in society. Two threads that run through a sizeable proportion of his books are Australia and cricket; the latter was also a lifelong passion.

      The Ides of March

      I

      IT WAS HALF-PAST TWELVE when I returned to the Albany as a last desperate resort. The scene of my disaster was much as I had left it. The baccarat-counters still strewed the table, with the empty glasses and the loaded ash-trays. A window had been opened to let the smoke out, and was letting in the fog instead. Raffles himself had merely discarded his dining jacket for one of his innumerable blazers. Yet he arched his eyebrows as though I had dragged him from his bed.

      Forgotten something? said he, when he saw me on his mat.

      No, said I, pushing past him without ceremony. And I led the way into his room with an impudence amazing to myself.

      Not come back for your revenge, have you? Because I'm afraid I can't give it to you single-handed. I was sorry myself that the others—

      We were face to face by his fireside, and I cut him short.

      Raffles, said I, you may well be surprised at my coming back in this way and at this hour. I hardly know you. I was never in your rooms before to-night. But I fagged for you at school, and you said you remembered me. Of course that's no excuse; but will you listen to me—for two minutes?

      In my emotion I had at first to struggle for every word; but his face reassured me as I went on, and I was not mistaken in its expression.

      Certainly, my dear man, said he; as many minutes as you like. Have a Sullivan and sit down. And he handed me his silver cigarette-case.

      No, said I, finding a full voice as I shook my head; no, I won't smoke, and I won't sit down, thank you. Nor will you ask me to do either when you've heard what I have to say.

      Really? said he, lighting his own cigarette with one clear blue eye upon me. How do you know?

      Because you'll probably show me the door, I cried bitterly; and you will be justified in doing it! But it's no use beating about the bush. You know I dropped over two hundred just now?

      He nodded.

      I hadn't the money in my pocket.

      I remember.

      But I had my check-book, and I wrote each of you a check at that desk.

      Well?

      Not one of them was worth the paper it was written on, Raffles. I am overdrawn already at my bank!

      Surely only for the moment?

      No. I have spent everything.

      But somebody told me you were so well off. I heard you had come in for money?

      So I did. Three years ago. It has been my curse; now it's all gone—every penny! Yes, I've been a fool; there never was nor will be such a fool as I've been.... Isn't this enough for you? Why don't you turn me out? He was walking up and down with a very long face instead.

      Couldn't your people do anything? he asked at length.

      Thank God, I cried, I have no people! I was an only child. I came in for everything there was. My one comfort is that they're gone, and will never know.

      I cast myself into a chair and hid my face. Raffles continued to pace the rich carpet that was of a piece with everything else in his rooms. There was no variation in his soft and even footfalls.

      You used to be a literary little cuss, he said at length; didn't you edit the mag. before you left? Anyway I recollect fagging you to do my verses; and literature of all sorts is the very thing nowadays; any fool can make a living at it.

      I shook my head. Any fool couldn't write off my debts, said I.

      Then you have a flat somewhere? he went on.

      Yes, in Mount Street.

      Well, what about the furniture?

      I laughed aloud in my misery. There's been a bill of sale on every stick for months!

      And at that Raffles stood still, with raised eyebrows and stern eyes that I could meet the better now that he knew the worst; then, with a shrug, he resumed his walk, and for some minutes neither of us spoke. But in his handsome, unmoved face I read my fate and death-warrant; and with every breath I cursed my folly and my cowardice in coming to him at all. Because he had been kind to me at school, when he was captain of the eleven, and I his fag, I had dared to look for kindness from him now; because I was ruined, and he rich enough to play cricket all the summer, and do nothing for the rest of the year, I had fatuously counted on his mercy, his sympathy, his help! Yes, I had relied on him in my heart, for all my outward diffidence and humility; and I was rightly served. There was as little of mercy as of sympathy in that curling nostril, that rigid jaw, that cold blue eye which never glanced my way. I caught up my hat. I blundered to my feet. I would have gone without a word; but Raffles stood between me and the door.

      Where are you going? said he.

      That's my business, I replied. I won't trouble YOU any more.

      Then how am I to help you?

      I didn't ask your help.

      Then why come to me?

      Why, indeed! I echoed. Will you let me pass?

      Not until you tell me where you are going and what you mean to do.

      Can't you guess? I cried. And for many seconds we stood staring in each other's eyes.

      Have you got the pluck? said he, breaking the spell in a tone so cynical that it brought my last drop of blood to the boil.

      You shall see, said I, as I stepped back and whipped the pistol from my overcoat pocket. Now, will you let me pass or shall I do it here?

      The barrel touched my temple, and my thumb the trigger. Mad with excitement as I was, ruined, dishonored, and now finally determined to make an end of my misspent life, my only surprise to this day is that I did not do so then and there. The despicable satisfaction of involving another in one's destruction added its miserable appeal to my baser egoism; and had fear or horror flown to my companion's face, I shudder to think I might have died diabolically happy with that look for my last impious consolation. It was the look that came instead which held my hand. Neither fear nor horror were in it; only wonder, admiration, and such a measure of pleased expectancy as caused me after all to pocket my revolver with an oath.

      You devil! I said. I believe you wanted me to do it!

      Not quite, was the reply, made with a little start, and a change of color that came too late. To tell you the truth, though, I half thought you meant it, and I was never more fascinated in my life. I never dreamt you had such stuff in you, Bunny! No, I'm hanged if I let you go now. And you'd better not try that game again, for you won't catch me stand and look on a second time. We must think of some way out of the mess. I had no idea you were a chap of that sort! There, let me have the gun.

      One of his hands fell kindly on my shoulder, while the other slipped into my overcoat pocket, and I suffered him to deprive me of my weapon without a murmur. Nor was this simply because Raffles had the subtle power of making himself irresistible at will. He was beyond comparison the most masterful man whom I have ever known; yet my acquiescence was due to more than the mere subjection of the weaker nature to the stronger. The forlorn hope which had brought me to the Albany was turned as by magic into an almost staggering sense of safety. Raffles would help me after all! A. J. Raffles would be my friend! It was as though all the world had come round suddenly to my side; so far therefore from resisting his action, I caught and clasped his hand with a fervor as uncontrollable as the frenzy which had preceded it.

      God bless you! I cried. Forgive me for everything. I will tell you the truth. I DID think you might help me in my extremity, though I well knew that I had no claim upon you. Still—for the old school's sake—the sake of old times—I thought you might give me another chance. If you wouldn't I meant to blow out my brains—and will still if you change your mind!

      In truth I feared that it was changing, with his expression, even as I spoke, and in spite of his kindly tone and kindlier use of my old school nickname. His next words showed me my mistake.

      What a boy it is for jumping to conclusions! I have my vices, Bunny, but backing and filling is not one of them. Sit down, my good fellow, and have a cigarette to soothe your nerves. I insist. Whiskey? The worst thing for you; here's some coffee that I was brewing when you came in. Now listen to me. You speak of 'another chance.' What do you mean? Another chance at baccarat? Not if I know it! You think the luck must turn; suppose it didn't? We should only have made bad worse. No, my dear chap, you've plunged enough. Do you put yourself in my hands or do you not? Very well, then you plunge no more, and I undertake not to present my check. Unfortunately there are the other men; and still more unfortunately, Bunny, I'm as hard up at this moment as you are yourself!

      It was my turn to stare at Raffles. You? I vociferated. You hard up? How am I to sit here and believe that?

      Did I refuse to believe it of you? he returned, smiling. And, with your own experience, do you think that because a fellow has rooms in this place, and belongs to a club or two, and plays a little cricket, he must necessarily have a balance at the bank? I tell you, my dear man, that at this moment I'm as hard up as you ever were. I have nothing but my wits to live on—absolutely nothing else. It was as necessary for me to win some money this evening as it was for you. We're in the same boat, Bunny; we'd better pull together.

      Together! I jumped at it. I'll do anything in this world for you, Raffles, I said, "if you really

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