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A Monk of Ambleton

A Monk of Ambleton

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Published by: Phimwa on Nov 15, 2010
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The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Monk of Hambleton, by Armstrong LivingstonThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away orre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.netTitle: The Monk of HambletonAuthor: Armstrong LivingstonRelease Date: November 11, 2009 [EBook #30450]Language: EnglishCharacter set encoding: ISO-8859-1*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MONK OF HAMBLETON ***Produced by Al Haines
[Transcriber's notes: Extensive research found no evidence that theU.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.Pages 31 and 32 were missing from the source book. If you shouldhappen to have a copy of this book, with the missing pages, please e-mail scans of them to Project Gutenberg's Errata system aterrata
 AT 
 pglaf.org.]
THE MONK OF HAMBLETON
 By
 
ARMSTRONG LIVINGSTON
 
NEW YORK RAE D. HENKLE CO. Inc. Publishers1928
COPYRIGHT, 1928,By RAE D. HENKLE Co. INC.Manufactured in the United States
THE AUTHOR
 
 Armstrong Livingston was born in New York City and was educated at St. George's School, Newport, R. I; and in Europe. He began a writing career in 1918. He has traveled extensively and for the past two yearshe and Mrs. Livingston have made their home in Algiers withoccasional trips to Paris and London. He is the author of the following books—all mystery stories:
 THE MONK OF HAMBLETONTHE MYSTERY OF THE TWIN RUBIESTHE JU-JU MANON THE RIGHT WRISTSLIGHT-FINGERED LADIESTHE GUILTY ACCUSER 
CONTENTS
 
THE MONK OF HAMBLETON
 I: Saying It With Fruit 
 
The weather-beaten buildings that comprised the plant of the Varr and Bolt tanneryoccupied a scant five acres of ground a short half-mile from the eastern edge of the village of Hambleton. They were of old-type brick construction, dingy without and gloomy within, and noone unacquainted with the facts could have guessed from their dilapidated and defected exteriorsthat they represented a sound and thriving business. It was typical of Simon Varr, that outwardair of shabbiness and neglect; it was said of him that he knew how to exact the last ounce of efficiency from men and material without the expenditure of a single superfluous penny.An eight-foot board fence surrounded the property on three sides, the fourth being bounded by a sluggish, disreputable creek whose fetid waters seemed to crawl onward even more slowlyafter receiving the noisome waste liquor from the tan-pits. At only one point, that nearest thevillage, did any of the buildings touch the encircling fence. There its sweep was broken by thefacade of a squat two-story structure of yellow brick which contained the offices of the concernand the big bare room in which a few decrepit clerks pursued their uninspiring labors. Admissionto this building, and through it to the yard, was by way of a stout oaken door on which the word
 Private
was stencilled in white paint. Just above the lettering, at the height of a man's eyes, asmall Judas had been cut—a comparatively recent innovation to judge from the freshness of itschiselled edges.On the afternoon of a warm, late-summer day a number of men—twenty-five or thirty— were loitering outside this door in various attitudes of leisure and repose. They were a sorry,unkempt lot, poorly clothed and unshaven, sullen of face and weary-eyed. When they moved itwas languidly, when they spoke it was with brevity, in tired, toneless voices. All of them lookedhungry and many of them were, for it was the end of the third week of their strike.The faintest flicker of animation stirred them as they were presently joined by a roughly-dressed man who sauntered up from the direction of the village, though it is safe to suppose thatsome of them were moved to interest less by the newcomer himself than by the fact that he wascarrying a huge ripe tomato in one hand. He nodded a greeting that was returned by them in kind,

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