{"product_id":"2940013773882","title":"The Jacob Street Mystery","description":"On a pleasant, sunny afternoon near the end of May, when the late spring\u003cbr\u003ewas just merging into early summer, Mr. Thomas Pedley (Tom Pedley to his\u003cbr\u003efriends, or more usually plain Tom) was seated on a substantial sketching\u003cbr\u003estool before a light bamboo easel on which was fixed an upright canvas\u003cbr\u003emeasuring eighteen inches by twelve. To an expert eye, his appearance,\u003cbr\u003ehis simple, workmanlike outfit, the leisurely ease with which he handled\u003cbr\u003ehis brush, and the picture which was growing into shape on the canvas,\u003cbr\u003ewould all have suggested a competent and experienced landscape painter.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd such, in fact, was Tom Pedley. From his early boyhood, some forty-odd\u003cbr\u003eyears ago, drawing and painting had been his one absorbing passion,\u003cbr\u003ecoupled with that love of the countryside that marks the born landscape\u003cbr\u003eartist. To him that countryside, largely unspoiled in his early days, was\u003cbr\u003ean inexhaustible source of delight and a subject of endless study and\u003cbr\u003emeditation. In his daily rambles through meadow or woodland, by farmyards\u003cbr\u003eor quiet hamlets, every journey was a voyage of exploration yielding\u003cbr\u003efresh discoveries; new truths of characteristic form and subtle,\u003cbr\u003eunexpected colour to be added to his growing store of knowledge of those\u003cbr\u003eless obvious aspects of nature which it is the landscape painter's\u003cbr\u003emission to reveal. And as the years passed and the countryside faded away\u003cbr\u003eunder the withering touch of mechanical transport, that knowledge grew\u003cbr\u003emore and more precious. Now, the dwindling remnants had to be sought and\u003cbr\u003efound with considered judgment and their scanty material eked out with\u003cbr\u003edetail brought forth from the stores of the remembered past.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe picture which was shaping itself on the canvas was an example of this\u003cbr\u003eapplication of knowledge gained by experience. On the wall of a gallery\u003cbr\u003eit would have suggested to the spectator an open glade in some vast\u003cbr\u003ewoodland. In fact, the place was no more than a scrubby little copse, the\u003cbr\u003elast surviving oasis in the squalid desert of a \"developing\"\u003cbr\u003eneighbourhood. From his \"pitch,\" ensconced in a clump of bushes, Tom\u003cbr\u003ecould hear, faint and far away, the strident hoots of motor cars, the\u003cbr\u003erumble of omnibuses, and the clatter of lorries; and but a hundred yards\u003cbr\u003edistant was the path by which he had come, a rutted track that led from a\u003cbr\u003ehalf-built street at one end to a dismantled farmyard at the other.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNevertheless, apart from the traffic noises, the place was strangely\u003cbr\u003epeaceful and quiet, its silence accentuated by the natural sounds that\u003cbr\u003epervaded it. Somewhere in the foliage hard by, a thrush sang joyously,\u003cbr\u003eand on a branch just overhead a chaffinch repeated again and again his\u003cbr\u003epleasant little monotonous song. And the solitude was as perfect as the\u003cbr\u003equiet. The rough path seemed to be untrodden by the foot of man, for,\u003cbr\u003eduring the two hours that Tom had been at work, not a soul had passed\u003cbr\u003ealong it.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAt length, as he paused to fill his pipe and take a thoughtful survey of\u003cbr\u003ehis picture, the sound of voices was followed by the appearance of two\u003cbr\u003emen walking slowly along the path, conversing earnestly though in low\u003cbr\u003etones. Tom could not hear what they were saying, though the impression\u003cbr\u003econveyed to him was that their manner was rather the reverse of amicable.\u003cbr\u003eBut in fact he gave them little attention beyond noting the effect of the\u003cbr\u003edark, sharply defined shapes against the in definite background; and even\u003cbr\u003ethis interested him but little as his subject required no figures, and\u003cbr\u003ecertainly not one in a bowler hat. So he continued filling his pipe and\u003cbr\u003eappraising his afternoon's work as they walked by without noticing him--\u003cbr\u003eactually, he was almost invisible from the path--and as they passed out\u003cbr\u003eof sight he produced his matchbox and was about to strike a light when a\u003cbr\u003ethird figure, that of a woman, made its appearance, moving in the same\u003cbr\u003edirection as the others.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThis time Tom's attention was definitely aroused, and he sat motionless\u003cbr\u003ewith the unlighted match in his hand, peering out through the chinks in\u003cbr\u003ethe bushes which concealed him. The woman's behaviour was very peculiar.\u003cbr\u003eShe was advancing rather more quickly than the two men, but with a\u003cbr\u003esilent, stealthy tread; and from her movements she seemed to be listening\u003cbr\u003eand trying to keep the men in sight while keeping out of sight, herself","brand":"WDS Publishing","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":47083308187888,"sku":"2940013773882","price":3.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0737\/7593\/9824\/files\/2940013773882_p0.jpg?v=1763590081","url":"https:\/\/shop-qa.barnesandnoble.com\/products\/2940013773882","provider":"Barnes \u0026 Noble (DEV)","version":"1.0","type":"link"}