Hay THE MAN WHO FORGOT (Thriller)

1. Auflage 2017
ISBN: 978-80-7583-228-3
Verlag: Musaicum Books
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 6 - ePub Watermark

E-Book, Englisch, 144 Seiten

In 'The Man Who Forgot', James Hay presents a gripping thriller filled with twists and turns that keep the reader on the edge of their seat. The book follows the story of a man who wakes up with amnesia, unsure of who he is or why he is being pursued by unknown assailants. Hay's writing style is fast-paced and engaging, with a sense of urgency that permeates the entire narrative. The literary context of the book is reminiscent of classic noir thrillers, but with a modern twist that keeps the story fresh and unpredictable. Readers will be kept guessing until the very end as they follow the protagonist on his quest for answers. James Hay, a former detective turned author, brings his unique insights into the world of crime and investigation to 'The Man Who Forgot'. His background in law enforcement adds an authentic touch to the story, lending credibility to the intricate details of the investigation that unfolds throughout the book. Hay's expertise shines through in his portrayal of police procedures and criminal behavior, making the story feel all the more real and immersive. I highly recommend 'The Man Who Forgot' to any reader who enjoys a thrilling mystery with a strong dose of suspense. James Hay's masterful storytelling and expert knowledge of investigative techniques make this book a must-read for fans of the genre.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Hay, James

Leseproben

Chapter I

Table of Contents

Senator Mallon was inordinately fond of two things: his reputation and his roses. He had cultivated both with the greatest care for many years. Seated at his breakfast table, the meal finished, he was reading a big-headlined article on the front page of his newspaper and was forming rapidly the conviction that his reputation was in danger of losing a little of its bloom.

His daughter, at the head of the table, gazed at the cluster of roses between them, the corners of her lips lifted by the touch of happy fancies. The roses were perfect.

The Senator threw down the paper and, straightening in his chair, looked at his daughter across the roses.

"This fellow Smith!" he said sharply. "I don't like him!"

Miss Mallon also straightened in her chair. If her father had been an observant man, her attitude would have reminded him of a strong, slender flower.

"But I do," she said, the statement completing the smile the roses had begun.

"Why? Fd like to know why! Tell me why!"

He made each of his phrases conversational pistol-shots. He was a nervous man of about fifty-five years, his voice sharp and authoritative. Before going to the Senate, he had done big things in business and had been accustomed to speak in the key of power. He passed his hand quickly through his sparse, bristly gray hair and jerked his glasses from his high, thin nose.

"Because he is what he is," she replied, totally unimpressed by the signs of paternal displeasure.

"What is he? Tell me what he is!" he demanded.

"He's a great man with a big idea," she said evenly,

"He's a big fool with a crazy idea—that's what he is," her father said flatly, picking up the newspaper. "Have you read this stuff about him?"

"Yes."

"Before breakfast, I suppose?" he suggested impatiently.

"Yes," she said quietly, "before breakfast."

The Senator's irritability merged into anxiety. He slapped the paper down on the table and leaned forward toward his daughter.

"Ah—er—look here, Edith," he said nervously. "You're not—you can't be thinking about this fellow seriously!"

She threw back her head and laughed, the sound of it soft and silvery. It was very much in keeping with the grave beauty of her face, with the fragrance of the roses, with the brightness of the October morning sunlight in the garden outside.

"What do you mean, father?" she asked.

"I mean" he said, his irritation returning, "whether you intend to marry him!"

"Why, the idea! Why should you suggest such a thing?"

"Til tell you why," he answered crisply: "Because you're seen too much with him, because he's too much at this house, because people are beginning to gossip, because he's a nobody, a crank, a lunatic. That's why!"

"Still," she said, quite serious, "I like him very much, very much, indeed."

"Bah!" he exclaimed. "Why? Will you tell me why?"

"I've told you why, father. He's a great man, and he's doing a great work. Why, think of it! He's come to Washington with the calm announcement that he'll compel Congress to amend the Constitution of the United States. Of course I like him."

"Amend the Constitution! And amend it for nation-wide prohibition! The thing's ridiculous."

"And yet," she persisted, her big brown eyes meeting the steely gray of her father's, "somehow, I feel sure he'll succeed."

He knew when his daughter's mind was made up. He knew also the quiet determination with which she followed her own convictions. A girlhood and young womanhood without a mother, necessitating self-reliance, had given her a character-strength with which he could not always successfully cope. But this was something which might hurt his reputation. He could not afford to have his name or his daughter's linked with that of a cheap reformer.

"Edith, you amaze me!" he declared, rolling the newspaper tightly in his nervous hands. "This fellow is not the kind of man I want about this house."

Miss Mallon wished to avoid the argument. She was looking at the roses.

"You don't even know who he is," he continued sharply. "I don't know. Nobody knows."

She lost interest in the flowers.

"That's a peculiar thing to say, father," she criticised gently.

"A very natural thing, and I'll tell you why," he said, making his speech emphatic with a wave of the newspaper. "Nobody knew anything about him up to five years ago. At that time he became prominent among the temperance people as a street-corner speaker and cheap platform lecturer. He did some bizarre, effective work for those cranks in some of the liquor fights in the various states. After that he took a short whirl at the Chautauqua lecture circuit. Now he's come to Washington to take things by storm!"

"And that's why you dislike him?"

"Why doesn't he say who he is—who he was?" Why all this mystery about him? Where's his family or his father?"

"Why should he say?" she inquired, her glance again on the roses.

"Because most of these people are reformed drunkards with a past that won't stand scrutiny. That's why!"

The Senator had lost his temper.

"He may be a murderer for all you know," he declared.

"No," she contradicted, her voice still calm and even; "I don't think so. He is merely a man who has reformed because he learned by bitter experience the evils of drinking."

"What do you know about him?" her father inquired, leaning still farther forward. "What makes you say that?"

"It is merely my idea."

He got up from the table and went to the window, standing a few moments silent before he wheeled toward her and delivered his ultimatum:

"Well, I don't approve of him, and that's all there is to it. I don't want him to come to this house any more. That was why I told you the other day I'd be glad to see you marry Dick Mannersley. Mannersley's a good fellow, one of the best in Congress.

Marry him—marry anybody you choose, but cut out this Smith person. That's my last word on it!"

More than ever, his daughter looked like a strong, graceful flower.

"Father" she said, her voice a whole octave lower, "I can t."

"What!" he stamped his foot. "I tell you there's something wrong with him—something wrong sure. I tell you he's unfit for you to associate with. The first thing you know, there'll be something in the papers about his coming here so much. I can't stand it! I can't stand having my daughter mixed up in something that would hurt the family reputation. It will get into the papers sure."

"That," she said, in the same low tone, "would make not the slightest difference in the world to me."

The atmosphere was becoming volcanic.

"Then," said the Senator, his head thrust forward on his long neck, his tall body bent forward almost like a half-hoop, "I'll forbid him the house!"

"Oh," she breathed, "you wouldn't!"

"Wouldn't I? The next time he comes here I'll— if it's necessary—I'll  throw him out. I'll"

The threat was interrupted by somebody who burst through the hangings at the door into the hall. The intruder, in riding costume, was blond and chubby and bubbling with laughter. The laughter still bubbled, even when she saw that her precipitate entrance had cut off the anger on the Senator's tongue-tip.

"Ah!" she cried, her face a conspiracy of dimples, " a serious discussion at breakfast! What a mistake! My dear Senator, no one can be human so early in the morning. ,,

Mrs. Griswold Kane had to her credit widowhood, charm, and a great heart. Still aglow from her gallop in the park, she brought with her the suggestion of the russets and browns and reds of the changing foliage there. She turned to Edith.

"That is," she added, "not unless you ride. Give me some breakfast, do!"

The Senator started out of the room, with the explanation :

"I was lamenting the unreasonable demands of my constituents, Mrs. Kane."

"Oh," she corrected him, "constituents are things to be left at home. Never bring them to Washington with you. Politics wouldn't be any fun if you did."

She was all animation, excitement, glow. After the butler had brought her the coffee and rolls, she began to say to Edith the things she had made up her mind to say.

"There is," she remarked, munching a roll, "only one way for a man to make a woman love him forever. That is, to die within eighteen months after he has married her."

Edith poured her a cup of coffee.

"You know, Edith," she said next, "you are the most wonderful catch in this fair city of ours. You are rich and you are beautiful—forgive me, my dear, if I engage in this saccharine conversation at this ungodly hour of the day—and, what is more to the point, you have brains. Behold the modern miracle —a really lovely woman with real brains."

"Really, Nellie," Edith expostulated indifferently.

"And that is such a rare combination—so delightful!" Mrs. Kane bubbled on. "Think of me! I am not beautiful, and I have to overwork my brains to appear charming, to make my arms look chubbier, to gown myself stunningly, to disarrange my blond hair attractively—oh, everything. But you—you can have your 'Thursdays for girls' dear work of telling the poor things how to make a living and not lose a virtue, and do all your other queer charities, and yet —and yet, be the belle of every ball!"

"Honestly, Nellie, what does it all mean?" the younger, more serious, woman asked.

Mrs. Kane put down her piece of roll and brought...