{"product_id":"2940013684997","title":"That Damned Fellow Upstairs","description":"Mr. Pickwick knew an old man who said that the rooms in the Inns of\u003cbr\u003eCourt were 'queer old places'--odd and lonely.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e'Not a bit of it!' said a sceptical friend.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThen the sceptic, who lived by himself in one of these rooms, died\u003cbr\u003eone morning of apoplexy, as he was about to open his door. Fell with\u003cbr\u003ehis head in his own letterbox, and lay there for eighteen months. At\u003cbr\u003elast, as the rent was not being paid, the landlords had the door\u003cbr\u003eforced, 'and a very dusty skeleton in a blue coat, black knee-shorts\u003cbr\u003eand silks, fell forward in the arms of the porter who opened the\u003cbr\u003edoor'.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eYears after Mr. Pickwick's adventures were over, entrance was one day\u003cbr\u003eforced into another queer old room in a London house, and, with a\u003cbr\u003etremendous clatter, out tumbled another skeleton, of a still stranger\u003cbr\u003ekind.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe noise it made was not heard in America, since we were completely\u003cbr\u003eabsorbed, that summer, in the first Battle of Bull Run. The story\u003cbr\u003ewould be forgotten in England today, were it not for the admirable\u003cbr\u003eessay published seven years ago by the late Sir John Hall, Bart. This\u003cbr\u003egentleman is respected by all those who appreciate scholarly\u003cbr\u003edescriptions of curious events. It is probable, however, that of all\u003cbr\u003ewho see my retelling of the tale, only experts like Messrs. Alexander\u003cbr\u003eWoollcott and S.S. Van Dine will be familiar with Sir John Hall's\u003cbr\u003ework. And as it has been solemnly asserted, in print, that the names\u003cbr\u003eof both Mr. Woollcott and Mr. Van Dine are but pseudonyms of the\u003cbr\u003ewriter of this piece, the circle is very much narrowed. So I feel\u003cbr\u003emoderately safe in going ahead, especially as I have unearthed one or\u003cbr\u003etwo details on my own account.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTowards noon of a day in July, in that far-off year, Mr. Clay, the\u003cbr\u003emanager of the Catalonian Cork-Cutting Company, was in the rear of his\u003cbr\u003epremises in Northumberland Street, London. He heard two pistol shots\u003cbr\u003efrom within the house, one shot following the other at a five-minute\u003cbr\u003einterval. He paid no attention, since he knew that one of the\u003cbr\u003eresidents of the house had, for a month past, anticipated Sherlock\u003cbr\u003eHolmes in the eccentric custom of indoor pistol-practice.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAfter a few minutes, a rear window on the second floor was opened,\u003cbr\u003eand there appeared the hero of the story. His conduct, his\u003cbr\u003eaccoutrement, and some of his speeches, have always recalled to me\u003cbr\u003ethose half-demented and curious persons who flit through the novels of\u003cbr\u003eMr. G.K. Chesterton. He was a man in his forties; wearing, I think,\u003cbr\u003eside-whiskers, and carrying in one hand an umbrella, in the other,\u003cbr\u003ehalf a pair of tongs. He put one foot on the sill, and seemed about to\u003cbr\u003ejump twenty feet or more into the yard.","brand":"WDS Publishing","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":47070193189104,"sku":"2940013684997","price":2.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"url":"https:\/\/shop-qa.barnesandnoble.com\/products\/2940013684997","provider":"Barnes \u0026 Noble (DEV)","version":"1.0","type":"link"}