E. Phillips Oppenheim - 21 Greatest Spy Thrillers in One Premium Edition (Mystery & Espionage Series)

E. Phillips Oppenheim

Tales of Intrigue, Deception & Suspense: The Spy Paramount, The Great Impersonation, The Double Traitor, The Vanished Messenger, The Pawns Court, The Box With Broken Seals . . .

e-artnow, 2016

Contact: info@e-artnow.org

ISBN 978-80-268-4996-4

The Spy Paramount THE SPY PARAMOUNT Table of Contents

The Great Impersonation THE GREAT IMPERSONATION Table of Contents

Last Train Out LAST TRAIN OUT Table of Contents

The Double Traitor THE DOUBLE TRAITOR Table of Contents

Havoc HAVOC Table of Contents

The Spymaster

Ambrose Lavendale, Diplomat

The Vanished Messenger

The Dumb Gods Speak

The Pawns Count

The Box With Broken Seals

The Great Prince Shan

The Devil's Paw

The Bird of Paradise

The Zeppelin's Passenger

The Kingdom of the Blind

The Illustrious Prince

The Lost Ambassador

The Betrayal

Mysterious Mr. Sabin

The Colossus of Arcadia

Table of Contents Table of Contents The Spy Paramount THE SPY PARAMOUNT Table of Contents The Great Impersonation THE GREAT IMPERSONATION Table of Contents Last Train Out LAST TRAIN OUT Table of Contents The Double Traitor THE DOUBLE TRAITOR Table of Contents Havoc HAVOC Table of Contents The Spymaster Ambrose Lavendale, Diplomat The Vanished Messenger The Dumb Gods Speak The Pawns Count The Box With Broken Seals The Great Prince Shan The Devil's Paw The Bird of Paradise The Zeppelin's Passenger The Kingdom of the Blind The Illustrious Prince The Lost Ambassador The Betrayal Mysterious Mr. Sabin The Colossus of Arcadia

Table of Contents Table of Contents The Spy Paramount THE SPY PARAMOUNT Table of Contents The Great Impersonation THE GREAT IMPERSONATION Table of Contents Last Train Out LAST TRAIN OUT Table of Contents The Double Traitor THE DOUBLE TRAITOR Table of Contents Havoc HAVOC Table of Contents The Spymaster Ambrose Lavendale, Diplomat The Vanished Messenger The Dumb Gods Speak The Pawns Count The Box With Broken Seals The Great Prince Shan The Devil's Paw The Bird of Paradise The Zeppelin's Passenger The Kingdom of the Blind The Illustrious Prince The Lost Ambassador The Betrayal Mysterious Mr. Sabin The Colossus of Arcadia

Chapter I CHAPTER I Table of Contents Martin Fawley glanced irritably at the man stretched flat in the chair he coveted—the man whose cheeks were partly concealed by lather and whose mass of dark hair was wildly disarranged. One of his hands—delicate white hands they were, although the fingers were long and forceful—reposed in a silver bowl of hot water. The other one was being treated by the manicurist seated on a stool by his side, the young woman whose services Fawley also coveted. He had entered the establishment a little abruptly and he stood with his watch in his hand. Even Fawley’s friends did not claim for him that he was a good-tempered person. “Monsieur is ten minutes en retard ,” the coiffeur announced with a reproachful gesture. “Nearly a quarter of an hour,” the manicurist echoed with a sigh. The newcomer replaced his watch. The two statements were incontrovertible. Nevertheless, the ill-humour which he felt was eloquently reflected in his face. The man in the chair looked at him expressionless, indifferent. The inconvenience of a stranger meant nothing to him. “If Monsieur will seat himself,” Henri, the coiffeur, suggested, “this will not be a long affair.” Fawley glanced once more at his watch. He really had nothing whatever to do at the moment but he possessed all the impatience of the man of energy at being asked to wait at any time. While he seemed to be considering the situation, the man in the chair spoke. His French was good enough but it was not the French of a native. “It would be a pity,” he said, “that Monsieur should be misled. I require ensuite a face massage and I am not satisfied with the hand which Mademoiselle thinks she has finished. Furthermore, there is the trimming of my eyebrows—a delicate task which needs great care.” Martin Fawley stared at the speaker rudely. “So you mean to spend the morning here,” he observed. The man in the chair glanced at Fawley nonchalantly and remained silent. Fawley turned his back upon him, upon Henri and Mathilde, the white-painted furniture, the glittering mirrors, and walked out into the street…He did not see again this man to whom he had taken so unreasonable a dislike until he was ushered with much ceremony, a few days later, into his very magnificent official apartment in the Plaza Margaretta at Rome.

Chapter II

Chapter III

Chapter IV

Chapter V

Chapter VI

Chapter VII

Chapter VIII

Chapter IX

Chapter X

Chapter XI

Chapter XII

Chapter XIII

Chapter XIV

Chapter XV

Chapter XVI

Chapter XVII

Chapter XVIII

Chapter XIX

Chapter XX

Chapter XXI

Chapter XXII

Chapter XXIII

Chapter XXIV

Chapter XXV

Chapter XXVI

Chapter XXVII

Chapter XXVIII

Chapter XXIX

Chapter XXX

Chapter XXXI

Table of Contents

Martin Fawley glanced irritably at the man stretched flat in the chair he coveted—the man whose cheeks were partly concealed by lather and whose mass of dark hair was wildly disarranged. One of his hands—delicate white hands they were, although the fingers were long and forceful—reposed in a silver bowl of hot water. The other one was being treated by the manicurist seated on a stool by his side, the young woman whose services Fawley also coveted. He had entered the establishment a little abruptly and he stood with his watch in his hand. Even Fawley’s friends did not claim for him that he was a good-tempered person.

“Monsieur is ten minutes en retard ,” the coiffeur announced with a reproachful gesture.

“Nearly a quarter of an hour,” the manicurist echoed with a sigh.

The newcomer replaced his watch. The two statements were incontrovertible. Nevertheless, the ill-humour which he felt was eloquently reflected in his face. The man in the chair looked at him expressionless, indifferent. The inconvenience of a stranger meant nothing to him.

“If Monsieur will seat himself,” Henri, the coiffeur, suggested, “this will not be a long affair.”

Fawley glanced once more at his watch. He really had nothing whatever to do at the moment but he possessed all the impatience of the man of energy at being asked to wait at any time. While he seemed to be considering the situation, the man in the chair spoke. His French was good enough but it was not the French of a native.

“It would be a pity,” he said, “that Monsieur should be misled. I require ensuite a face massage and I am not satisfied with the hand which Mademoiselle thinks she has finished. Furthermore, there is the trimming of my eyebrows—a delicate task which needs great care.”

Martin Fawley stared at the speaker rudely.

“So you mean to spend the morning here,” he observed.

The man in the chair glanced at Fawley nonchalantly and remained silent. Fawley turned his back upon him, upon Henri and Mathilde, the white-painted furniture, the glittering mirrors, and walked out into the street…He did not see again this man to whom he had taken so unreasonable a dislike until he was ushered with much ceremony, a few days later, into his very magnificent official apartment in the Plaza Margaretta at Rome.