The Black Box

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The Black Box

The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Black Box, by E. Phillips
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Title: The Black Box
Author: E. Phillips Oppenheim
Release Date: December 2, 2005 [EBook #17197]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
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BLACK BOX ***

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THE BLACK BOX
The Illustrations Shown in this Edition are Reproductions of Scenes

from the Photoplay of "THE BLACK BOX" Produced and Copyrighted
by the Universal Film Manufacturing Company, to whom the
Publishers Desire to Express their Thanks and Appreciation for
Permission to use the Pictures.
[Illustration: SANFORD QUEST, CRIMINOLOGIST.]

THE BLACK BOX
BY
E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM

ILLUSTRATED WITH SCENES FROM THE PHOTO-PLAY
PRODUCED AND COPYRIGHTED BY THE UNIVERSAL FILM
MANUFACTURING COMPANY
NEW YORK GROSSET & DUNLAP PUBLISHERS
Copyright, 1915, By Little, Brown and Company.

CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I
SANFORD QUEST, CRIMINOLOGIST II THE
APARTMENT-HOUSE MYSTERY III THE HIDDEN HANDS IV
THE POCKET WIRELESS V AN OLD GRUDGE VI ON THE
RACK VII THE UNSEEN TERROR VIII THE HOUSE OF
MYSTERY IX THE INHERITED SIN X LOST IN LONDON XI THE
SHIP OF HORROR XII A DESERT VENGEANCE XIII 'NEATH

IRON WHEELS XIV TONGUES OF FLAME XV "A BOLT FROM
THE BLUE" XVI JUSTICE CHEATED

|--------------------------------------------------| | THE BLACK BOX | |
------------------------------------------------ | | Universal Photo Play
Edition | | ------------------------------------------------ | | CAST OF
CHARACTERS | | | | Sanford Quest Herbert Rawlinson | | | | Lenora
MacDougal Anna Little | | | | Prof. Ashleigh } | | Lord Ashleigh }
William Worthington | | | | Lady Ashleigh Helen Wright | | | | John Craig
Frank MacQuarrie | | | | Laura, Quest's assistant Laura Oakley | | | | Mrs.
Bruce Rheinholdt Hylda Sloman |
|--------------------------------------------------|

THE BLACK BOX
CHAPTER I
SANFORD QUEST, CRIMINOLOGIST
The young man from the west had arrived in New York only that
afternoon, and his cousin, town born and bred, had already embarked
upon the task of showing him the great city. They occupied a table in a
somewhat insignificant corner of one of New York's most famous
roof-garden restaurants. The place was crowded with diners. There
were many notabilities to be pointed out. The town young man was
very busy.
"See that bunch of girls on the right?" he asked. "They are all from the
chorus in the new musical comedy--opens to-morrow. They've been
rehearsing every day for a month. Some show it's going to be, too. I
don't know whether I'll be able to get you a seat, but I'll try. I've had
mine for a month. The fair girl who is leaning back, laughing, now, is
Elsie Havers. She's the star.... You see the old fellow with the girl, just
in a line behind? That's Dudley Worth, the multi-millionaire, and at the
next table there is Mrs. Atkinson--you remember her divorce case?"

It was all vastly interesting to the young man from the west, and he
looked from table to table with ever-increasing interest.
"Say, it's fine to be here!" he declared. "We have this sort of thing back
home, but we are only twelve stories up and there is nothing to look at.
Makes you kind of giddy here to look past the people, down at the
city."
The New Yorker glanced almost indifferently at the one sight which to
a stranger is perhaps the most impressive in the new world.
Twenty-five stories below, the cable cars clanging and clashing their
way through the narrowed streets seemed like little fire-flies, children's
toys pulled by an invisible string of fire. Further afield, the flare of the
city painted the murky sky. The line of the river scintillated with rising
and falling stars. The tall buildings stabbed the blackness, fingers of
fire. Here, midway to the clouds, was another world, a world of luxury,
of brilliant toilettes, of light laughter, the popping of corks, the joy of
living, with everywhere the vague perfume and flavour of femininity.
The young man from the country touched his cousin's arm suddenly.
"Tell me," he enquired, "who is the man at a table by himself? The
waiters speak to him as though he were a little god. Is he a millionaire,
or a judge, or what?"
The New Yorker turned his head. For the first time his own face
showed some signs of interest. His voice dropped a