Books with title The Thirteen Secrets

Red's past won't stay hidden. She's now living at Elvesden Manor under her real name, Rowan, and trying to put her terrible adventures behind her. But staying out of trouble isn't as easy as she'd hoped. Haunted by awful dreams of Hedgewitch's cottage - and of Eldritch, who swore revenge when she left him there to die - Red fears the fairy realm is about to draw her back in.... But will she make it back this time? Or will dark forces finally claim her?

Red's past won't stay hidden. She's now living at Elvesden Manor under her real name, Rowan, and trying to put her terrible adventures behind her. But staying out of trouble isn't as easy as she'd hoped. Haunted by awful dreams of Hedgewitch's cottage - and of Eldritch, who swore revenge when she left him there to die - Red fears the fairy realm is about to draw her back in . . . But will she make it back, this time? Or will dark forces finally claim her . . . ?

Red's past won't stay hidden. She's now living at Elvesden Manor under her real name, Rowan, and trying to put her terrible adventures behind her. But staying out of trouble isn't as easy as she'd hoped. Haunted by awful dreams of Hedgewitch's cottage - and of Eldritch, who swore revenge when she left him there to die - Red fears the fairy realm is about to draw her back in . . . But will she make it back, this time? Or will dark forces finally claim her . . . ?

Red's past won't stay hidden.She's now living at Elvesden Manor under her real name, Rowan, and trying to put her terrible adventures behind her. But staying out of trouble isn't as easy as she'd hoped.Haunted by awful dreams of Hedgewitch's cottage - and of Eldritch, who swore revenge when she left him there to die - Red fears the fairy realm is about to draw her back in . . .But will she make it back, this time?Or will dark forces finally claim her . . . ?

This is a classic story by legendary writer William Le Queux, the father of the British suspense novel. Set in a world of international intrigues, Le Queux books are perfect for lovers of mysteries, thrillers and detective stories.An excerpt from The Seven Secrets:CHAPTER I.INTRODUCES AMBLER JEVONS."Ah! You don't take the matter at all seriously!" I observed, a trifle annoyed."Why should I?" asked my friend, Ambler Jevons, with a deep pull at his well-coloured briar. "What you've told me shows quite plainly that you have in the first place viewed one little circumstance with suspicion, then brooded over it until it has become magnified and now occupies your whole mind. Take my advice, old chap, and think nothing more about it. Why should you make yourself miserable for no earthly reason? You're a rising man -- hard up like most of us -- but under old Eyton's wing you've got a brilliant future before you. Unlike myself, a mere nobody, struggling against the tide of adversity, you're already a long way up the medical ladder. If you climb straight you'll end with an appointment of Physician-in-Ordinary and a knighthood thrown in as makeweight. Old Macalister used to prophesy it, you remember, when we were up at Edinburgh. Therefore, I can't, for the life of me, discover any cause why you should allow yourself to have these touches of the blues -- unless it's liver, or some other internal organ about which you know a lot more than I do. Why, man, you've got the whole world before you, and as for Ethelwynn -- -- ""Ethelwynn!" I ejaculated, starting up from my chair. "Leave her out of the question! We need not discuss her," and I walked to the mantelshelf to light a fresh cigarette."As you wish, my dear fellow," said my merry, easy-going friend. "I merely wish to point out the utter folly of all this suspicion.""I don't suspect her," I snapped."I didn't suggest that." Then, after a pause during which he smoked on vigorously, he suddenly asked, "Well now, be frank, Ralph, whom do you really suspect?"I was silent. Truth to tell, his question entirely nonplussed me. I had suspicions -- distinct suspicions -- that certain persons surrounding me were acting in accord towards some sinister end, but which of those persons were culpable I certainly could not determine. It was that very circumstance which was puzzling me to the point of distraction."Ah!" I replied. "That's the worst of it. I know that the whole affair seems quite absurd, but I must admit that I can't fix suspicion upon anyone in particular."Jevons laughed outright."In that case, my dear Boyd, you ought really to see the folly of the thing.""Perhaps I ought, but I don't," I answered, facing him with my back to the fire. "To you, my most intimate friend, I've explained, in strictest confidence, the matter which is puzzling me. I live in hourly dread of some catastrophe the nature of which I'm utterly at a loss to determine. Can you define intuition?"

"Ah! You don't take the matter at all seriously!" I observed, a trifle annoyed. "Why should I?" asked my friend, Ambler Jevons, with a deep pull at his well-coloured briar. "What you've told me shows quite plainly that you have in the first place viewed one little circumstance with suspicion, then brooded over it until it has become magnified and now occupies your whole mind. Take my advice, old chap, and think nothing more about it. Why should you make yourself miserable for no earthly reason? You're a rising man-hard up like most of us-but under old Eyton's wing you've got a brilliant future before you. Unlike myself, a mere nobody, struggling against the tide of adversity, you're already a long way up the medical ladder. If you climb straight you'll end with an appointment of Physician-in-Ordinary and a knighthood thrown in as makeweight. Old Macalister used to prophesy it, you remember, when we were up at Edinburgh.

A timeless whodunit about the unusual murder of one of London’s elite and the twisting and treacherous investigation to find the true killer Despite wealthy old Mr. Henry Courtenay’s steadily declining health, his death comes as a shock to those around him. It was murder, Courtenay’s prim manservant exclaims, and he implores Dr. Ralph Boyd to find the culprit. The list of suspects appears to be short: Only someone who lives in Courtenay’s suburban London home could have gone into his room unnoticed. Could the murderer be one of the servants? Or perhaps Courtenay’s young wife—or her beautiful sister, with whom Boyd has fallen in love? Boyd is beginning to realize that in the Courtenay home, secrets abound at every turn and, as with all great mysteries, nothing is as simple as it seems.