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By Mark Twain
America's maximum satirist units his attractions on England's such a lot celebrated detective during this boisterous story of revenge, homicide, and the bounds of logic
Tortured, humiliated, and deserted by means of her fiancé, a girl provides beginning to a boy with an strange reward. Blessed with a bloodhound's feel of odor, Archy Stillman can song a guy transparent around the nation. His mom, who has spent 16 years dreaming of vengeance, ultimately has the potential to accomplish it. She units her teenage son on his father's path with directions to break the guy as completely as he ruined her.
Years later, Archy has been swept up within the California Gold Rush while a dangerous explosion rocks his mining camp. The accused, an English immigrant, begs the aid of his vacationing uncle: the mythical sleuth Sherlock Holmes. however the incomparable investigator will locate that during the Wild West, his very good powers of deduction are not any fit for Archy's superhuman nose.
A pleasant send-up of the secret style, A Double Barrelled Detective tale is exciting enjoyable from first web page to last.
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Extra resources for A Double Barrelled Detective Story
It came, and I had a decision to make. Did I get in the elevator with Harold and risk him getting a good look at me, or did I attract even more attention to myself by standing there like an asshole while the doors closed in my face? I opted for the elevator. I’m sure it was a good choice. Harold seemed preoccupied. He never even glanced in my direction. The elevator arrived at the ground floor and we got out. I followed a few steps behind as Harold walked down the hall and into the casino. Harold and I wove our way through the maze of slot machines to the middle of the room, where the real games were.
Thinking about the meter started associations in my mind, made me realize I was only a few blocks away from Harold’s office. I wondered if he was in it. The Weasel came back out of the Photomat, got in his car and pulled out. I pulled out and tagged along behind. In midtown stop-and-go traffic there was nothing suspicious about my being right behind him, so I was able to pull up close and get his license number. I wrote it down. The Weasel kept on going out Atlantic Avenue. I had no idea where he was going, and I didn’t really care, unless it was back to the Dunleavy house.
He wanted simple, straightforward cases. Anything borderline just wasn’t worth his time. I knew he’d turn Floyd Watson down. Still, I had to finish the sign-up. ” “No, I don’t,” Floyd said irritably. ” “Well, we have to know who to sue. ” Floyd said, frowning. “What stairs? Oh. No, no. Not them stairs. ” I looked at him. “I’m sorry. ” He shook his head. ” “Oh? ” He grimaced as a spasm of pain hit him again. It passed, and his eyes opened again. He looked at me and jerked his thumb over his shoulder.
A Double Barrelled Detective Story by Mark Twain