A Victorian mystery adventure revolving around the search for a lost inheritance worth millions.
The two rival miserly Drooge brothers, a butler, a murderous hunchback, a shadowy assassin, a fashion senseless burglar, a beast named Diablo, strange henchmen, an actor who once had a standing ovation, and many more oddball characters, all conspire in ways you couldn't possibly imagine to steal two paintings that contain clues to the long lost inheritance of Jacobus Drooge.
This is a relitively new book currentl rated as #1582 in Kindle Store > Kindle eBooks > Literature & Fiction > Action & Adventure > Mystery, Thriller & Suspense > Crime.
As Butler approached the study, he slapped his feet loudly on the tiled floor and paused outside with his ear against the door. From within the room came the chinking of glass, hurried slipper-clad footsteps crossing the room and lastly the creak of wicker. When all was silent, he opened the door. Framed in the doorway of the candlelit room, he glanced at the man feigning sleep in the wicker wheelchair. Butler shook his head in dismay, closed the door and coughed.
Ebenezer Drooge stirred with a convincing performance and sleepily opened his eyes. His fake yawn was accompanied by the exaggerated stretching of thin bony arms. His shrewd eyes glanced at the man who had just entered. "Is it time?"
Butler nodded. "Yes, Sir. If he is following my instructions, he will be waiting in the garden for this room to go dark."
"Let's hope this one succeeds where all those before have failed or I'll likely be dead before I get my hands on it." Ebenezer's gaze strayed to settle on the brandy decanter across the room.
Butler picked up on the unspoken request and headed toward it. "Yes, Sir, so far results have been rather disappointing, but I have a feeling Furtive Freddy might surprise you."
"By surprise, I hope you don't mean he's going to jump out of the shadows with a loud yell. I'm not sure my poor heart could stand it."
"No, Sir, I'm sure that's not on the burglar's agenda." Butler halted at the small table and stared at the level of brandy in the decanter, which was, in his estimation, two shots lower than when he had last laid eyes upon it. Beside the decanter a cut-crystal tumbler seeped fresh brandy fumes. "I think we may have a problem, Sir."
A worried frown appeared on the old man's wrinkled brow. "A problem! Explain yourself, man!"
