Fergus Hume

"How can any one hope to transfer that to canvas?" asked the artist, surveying the many-coloured earth and sky and sea with despairing eyes. "Easily enough," replied the girl at his elbow, "those who see twice as vividly as others, can make others see once as vividly as they do. That is what we call genius." "A large word for my small capabilities, Miss Enistor. Am I a genius?" "Ask yourself, Mr. Hardwick, for none other than yourself can answer truly." Outside his special gift the artist was not over clever, so he lounged on the yielding turf of the slope to turn the speech over in his mind and wait results. This tall solidly built Saxon only arrived at conclusions by slow degrees of laborious reflection. With his straight athletic figure, closely clipped fair hair and a bronzed complexion, against which his moustache looked almost white, he resembled a soldier rather than a painter. Yet a painter he was of some trifling fame, but being only moderately creative, he strove to supply what was wanting by toilsome work. He had not so much the steady fire of genius as the crackling combustion of talent. Thus the grim Cornish country and the far-stretching Atlantic waters, so magically beautiful under an opalescent sunset, baffled him for the moment.

PROLOGUE - CAST UP BY THE SEA A wild bleak-looking coast, with huge water-worn promontories jutting out into the sea, daring the tempestuous fury of the waves, which dashed furiously in sheets of seething foam against the iron rocks. Two of these headlands ran out for a considerable distance, and at the base of each, ragged cruel-looking rocks stretched still further out into the ocean until they entirely disappeared beneath the heaving waste of waters, and only the sudden line of white foam every now and then streaking the dark green waves betrayed their treacherous presence to the idle eye. Between these two headlands there was about half a mile of yellow sandy beach on which the waves rolled with a dull roar, fringing the wet sands with many coloured wreaths of sea-weed and delicate shells. At the back the cliffs rose in a kind of semi-circle, black and precipitous, to the height of about a hundred feet, and flocks of white seagulls who had their nests therein were constantly circling round, or flying seaward with steadily expanded wings and discordant cries. At the top of these inhospitable-looking cliffs a line of pale green betrayed the presence of vegetation, and from thence it spread inland into vast-rolling pastures ending far away at the outskirts of the bush, above which could be seen giant mountains with snow-covered ranges. Over all this strange contrast of savage arid coast and peaceful upland there was a glaring red sky-not the delicate evanescent pink of an ordinary sunset-but a fierce angry crimson which turned the wet sands and dark expanse of ocean into the colour of blood. Far away westward, where the sun-a molten ball of fire-was sinking behind the snow-clad peaks, frowned long lines of gloomy clouds-like prison bars through which the sinking orb glowed fiercely. Rising from the east to the zenith of the sky was a huge black cloud bearing a curious resemblance to a gigantic hand, the long lean fingers of which were stretched threateningly out as if to grasp the land and drag it back into the lurid sea of blood; altogether a cruel, weird-looking scene, fantastic, unreal, and bizarre as one of Dore's marvellous conceptions. Fergus Hume, born Ferguson Wright Hume, (United Kingdom, July 8, 1859 - Thundersley, Essex, July 12, 1932) is a British novelist detective novel. He is the author of The Mystery of Hansom Cab, one of the first classics of the detective novel. Born in England, he studied Law at the University of Otago in New Zealand. He was admitted to the New Zealand Bar in 1885 and worked for a few months in a lawyer's office before settling for three years in Melbourne, Australia. In 1888, he returned to England where he resided until his death. It was during his stay in Australia that he began his literary career. Anxious to obtain immediate success, he asked a bookseller in Melbourne to tell him which novels sold best. Having been replied that those of mile Gaboriau are highly prized, he reads all the available books of the French author in order to study the structure and the themes before translating to the task of producing a better one . This first attempt, The Mystery of Hansom Cab, is becoming a worldwide success, no doubt, the first best-selling policeman. Over prolific, Fergus Hume produced, between 1886 and 1937, more than 100 police novels of very variable quality. He also wrote police news, a few plays and a handful of non-police novels