Explore "Mr. Marx's Secret" by E. Phillips Oppenheim on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
We were in London again, bowling smoothly along wide stretches of silent, gas-lit streets, empty, and almost deserted now, for it was past two o'clock.
Soon we turned sharply into Northumberland Avenue, and pulled up at the hotel. The man on the box -- footman I suppose he was, although he was not in livery -- opened the carriage-door for me and then took possession of the small trunk.