The Lost Ambassador: The Search For The Missing Delora ($.99 Mystery Classics) E. Phillips Oppenheim

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Kindle Edition

278 pages


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The Lost Ambassador: The Search For The Missing Delora ($.99 Mystery Classics)  by  E. Phillips Oppenheim

The Lost Ambassador: The Search For The Missing Delora ($.99 Mystery Classics) by E. Phillips Oppenheim
| Kindle Edition | PDF, EPUB, FB2, DjVu, talking book, mp3, RTF | 278 pages | ISBN: | 7.62 Mb

E. Phillips Oppenheim (1866-1946) was an early master of suspense fiction. His tales of crime, deception and international intrigue continue to captivate audiences today.This beautifully-formatted Kindle e-book has been carefully produced to ensure aMoreE.

Phillips Oppenheim (1866-1946) was an early master of suspense fiction. His tales of crime, deception and international intrigue continue to captivate audiences today.This beautifully-formatted Kindle e-book has been carefully produced to ensure a high-quality reading experience.

Look for other high-quality Kindle e-books from Joust Books.An excerpt from The Lost Ambassador:CHAPTER IA RENCONTREThere was no particular reason why, after having left the Opera House, I should have retraced my steps and taken my place once more amongst the throng of people who stood about in the entresol, exchanging greetings and waiting for their carriages. A backward glance as I had been about to turn into the Place de lOpera had arrested my somewhat hurried departure.

The night was young, and where else was such a sight to be seen? Besides, was it not amongst some such throng as this that the end of my search might come?I took up my place just inside, close to one of the pillars, and, with an unlit cigarette still in my mouth, watched the flying chausseurs, the medley of vehicles outside, the soft flow of women in their white opera cloaks and jewels, who with their escorts came streaming down the stairs and out of the great building, to enter the waiting carriages and motor-cars drawn up in the privileged space within the enclosure, or stretching right down into the Boulevard.

I stood there, watching them drive off one by one. I was borne a little nearer to the door by the rush of people, and I was able, in most cases, to hear the directions of the men as they followed their womankind into the waiting vehicles. In nearly every case their destination was one of the famous restaurants. Music begets hunger in most capitals, and the cafes of Paris are never so full as after a great night at the Opera. To-night there had been a wonderful performance. The flow of people down the stairs seemed interminable. Young women and old, -- sleepy-looking beauties of the Southern type, whose dark eyes seemed half closed with a languor partly passionate, partly of pride- women of the truer French type, -- brilliant, smiling, vivacious, mostly pale, seldom good-looking, always attractive.

A few Germans, a fair sprinkling of Englishwomen, and a larger proportion still of Americans, whose women were the best dressed of the whole company. I was not sorry that I had returned. It was worth watching, this endless stream of varying types.



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