Books with author William Le Queux

TO THE READER After the issue to the public of the curious chronicle of "Rasputin the Rascal Monk," based upon official documents, and its translation into a number of languages, I received from the same sources in Russia a bulky manuscript upon very thin paper which contained certain confessions, revelations, and allegations made by its writer, Féodor Rajevski, who acted as the mock-saint's secretary and body-servant, and who, in consequence, was for some years in a position to know the most inner secrets of Rasputin's dealings with those scoundrelly men and women who betrayed Holy Russia into the hands of the Hun. This manuscript, to-day before me as I write, is mostly in Italian, for Rajevski, the son of a Polish violinist, lived many years of his youth in Bologna, Florence, and old-world Siena, hence, in writing his memoirs, he used the language most familiar to him, and one perhaps more readily translated by anyone living outside Russia. In certain passages I have been compelled to disguise names of those who, first becoming tools of the mock-saint, yet afterwards discovering him to be a charlatan, arose in their patriotism and—like Rajevski who here confesses—watched patiently, and as Revolutionists became instrumental in the amazing charlatan's downfall and his ignominious death. These startling revelations of the secretary to the head of the "dark forces" in Russia, as they were known in the Duma, are certainly most amazing and unusually startling, forming as they do a disgraceful secret page of history that will prove of outstanding interest to those who come after us

This book is an illustrated version of the original The Closed Book, Concerning the Secret of the Borgias by William Le Queux. “Perhaps you are a collector of coins or curios, monastic seals or manuscripts, birds’ eggs, or butterflies? If you are, you know quite well the supreme satisfaction it gives you to secure a unique specimen at a moderate and advantageous price. Therefore, you may well understand the tenderness with which I took my treasured Arnoldus from him, and how carefully I wrapped it in a piece of brown paper which Teresa brought to her master. The priest’s house-woman, shrewd, inquisitive, and a gossip, is an interesting character the world over; and old Teresa, with the wizened face and brown, wrinkled neck, was no exception. She possessed a wonderful genius for making a minestra, or vegetable soup, Father Bernardo had already told me, and he had promised that I should taste her culinary triumph some day.”

War! War in England! Growled by thoughtful, stern-visaged men, gasped with bated breath by pale-faced, terrified women, the startling news passed quickly round the Avenue Theatre from gallery to boxes. The crisis was swift, complete, crushing. Actors and audience were appalled. Though it was a gay comic opera that was being performed for the first time, entertainers and entertained lost all interest in each other. They were amazed, dismayed, awestricken. Amusement was nauseating; War, with all its attendant horrors, was actually upon them! The popular tenor, one of the idols of the hour, blundered over his lines and sang terribly out of tune, but the hypercritical first-night audience passed the defect unnoticed. They only thought of what might happen; of the dark cavernous future that lay before.

Which Mainly Concerns a Hunchback. These strange facts would never have been placed on record, nor would this exciting chapter of an eventful life have been written, except for two reasons: first, because the discovery I made has been declared to be of considerable importance to scientists, bibliophiles, and the world at large; and, secondly, because it is my dear wife’s wish that in order to clear her in the eyes of both friends and foes nothing should be concealed, misrepresented, or withheld. It was, indeed, a memorable day when I halted before the white, almost windowless house of the prior of San Sisto and knocked twice at its plain, green-painted door. The sun-blanched, time-mellowed city of Florence lay silent, glaring, and deserted in the blazing noon of a July day. The Florentines had fled to the mountains for air. The persiennes, or sun-shutters, were everywhere closed, the shops shut, the people slumbering, and the silence only broken by the heat-song of the chirping cicale in the scorched trees at the end of the Lung Arno. Like many another Tuscan town, it stood with long rows of high, frescoed, and sculptured palaces facing the brown river, its magnificent Duomo and campanile, its quaint fourteenth-century streets, and its medieval Ponte Vecchio all forming a grim, imposing relic of long-past glory. In many places its aspect was little changed since the old quattrocento days, when it was the centre of all the arts and the powerful rival of Venice and Genoa, although its trade has decayed and its power departed. The Lion and Lily of Florence upon a flag is no longer feared, as it once was, even by the bloodthirsty corsairs, and the rich Florentine brocades, velvets, and finely tempered arms are no longer in requisition in the markets of the world. Save for the influx of scrambling tourists, it is one of the dead towns of Europe. Modern trade passes it by unnoticed; its very name would be forgotten were it not for those marvellous works of art in its galleries and in its very streets

The Place of Dragons is a mystery novel published in 1920 by William Le Queux. He was an Anglo-French journalist and writer. He was also a diplomat (honorary consul for San Marino), a traveller (in Europe, the Balkans and North Africa), a flying buff who officiated at the first British air meeting at Doncaster in 1909, and a wireless pioneer who broadcast music from his own station long before radio was generally available; his claims regarding his own abilities and exploits, however, were usually exaggerated. His best-known works are the anti-German invasion fantasies The Great War in England in 1897 (1894) and The Invasion of 1910 (1906)

The Place of Dragons: A Mystery, by William Le Queux, author of “In White Raiment,” “If Sinners Entice Thee,” “The Room of Secrets,” etc. CONTENTSChapter 1. Presents a ProblemChapter 2. Is Mainly AstonishingChapter 3. Shows Lights from the MistChapter 4. Opens Several QuestionsChapter 5. In Which the Shadow FallsChapter 6. Mystery InexplicableChapter 7. Tells of Two MenChapter 8. Remains an EnigmaChapter 9. Describes a Night-VigilChapter 10. Contains a ClueChapter 11. The Affair on the SeventeenthChapter 12. LolaChapter 13. Relates a Strange StoryChapter 14. Wherein Confession is MadeChapter 15. Confirms Certain SuspicionsChapter 16. “Where the Two C’s Meet”Chapter 17. Reveals Another PlotChapter 18. Done in the NightChapter 19. Records Further FactsChapter 20. Another Discovery is MadeChapter 21. Explains Lola’s FearsChapter 22. The Road of RichesChapter 23. Follows the Elusive JulesChapter 24. Makes a Startling DisclosureChapter 25. Is More MysteriousChapter 26. Hot-Foot Across EuropeChapter 27. Opens a Death-TrapChapter 28. Describes a ChaseChapter 29. The House in HampsteadChapter 30. Narrates a Startling AffairChapter 31. “Sheep of thy Pasture”Chapter 32. The Tents of UngodlinessChapter 33. Discloses a Strange TruthChapter 34. Concerns To-Day

Unlike some other reproductions of classic texts (1) We have not used OCR(Optical Character Recognition), as this leads to bad quality books with introduced typos. (2) In books where there are images such as portraits, maps, sketches etc We have endeavoured to keep the quality of these images, so they represent accurately the original artefact. Although occasionally there may be certain imperfections with these old texts, we feel they deserve to be made available for future generations to enjoy.

Excerpt:Chapter One.The Devil’s Dice.“Do get rid of the girl! Can’t you see that she’s highly dangerous!” whispered the tall, rather overdressed man as he glanced furtively across the small square shop set with little tables, dingy in the haze of tobacco-smoke. It was an obscure, old-fashioned little restaurant in one of London’s numerous byways—a resort of Germans, naturalised and otherwise, “the enemy in our midst,” as the papers called them.“I will. I quite agree. My girl may know just a little too much—if we are not very careful.”“Ah! she knows far too much already, Drost, thanks to your ridiculous indiscretions,” growled the dark-eyed man beneath his breath. “They will land you before a military court-martial—if you are not careful!”“Well, I hardly think so. I’m always most careful—most silent and discreet,” and he grinned evilly.“True, you are a good Prussian—that I know; but remember that Ella has, unfortunately for us, very many friends, and she may talk—women’s talk, you know. We—you and I—are treading very thin ice. She is, I consider, far too friendly with that young fellow Kennedy. It’s dangerous—distinctly dangerous to us—and I really wonder that you allow it—you, a patriotic Prussian!”