Roy Judson Snell was a prolific writer for the young adult market, penning more than 75 adventure and mystery stories aimed at boys and girls. He also wrote under the names of David O'Hara, James Craig, and one book under Joseph Marino. While most of his works have entered the public domain, a handful (such as "The Hidden Trail" in this volume) remain in copyright. Wildside Press tracked down his family and arranged to bring all of his works back into print in definitive editions, both in paperback and ebook formats. This volume collects 20 of Roy J. Snell's "Mystery Stories for Boys" series. Enjoy! Included are: TRIPLE SPIES LOST IN THE AIR PANTHER EYE THE CRIMSON FLASH WHITE FIRE THE BLACK SCHOONER THE HIDDEN TRAIL THE FIREBUG RED LURE FORBIDDEN CARGOES JOHNNY LONGBOW THE ROPE OF GOLD THE ARROW OF FIRE RIDDLE OF THE STORM THE GALLOPING GHOST WHISPERS AT DAWN MYSTERY WINGS RED DYNAMITE THE SHADOW PASSES SIGN OF THE GREEN ARROW If you enjoy this book, search your favorite ebook store for "Wildside Press Megapack" to see the more 190+ other entries in the series, covering science fiction, modern authors, mysteries, westerns, classics, adventure stories, and much, much more!
ÒYou mean to say he takes those big, jug-like things down there empty and brings them up full?Ó Johnny Thompson, the boy from Illinois who had travelled far and seen many strange things, stared at Ballard Ball, the red-headed boy of the Cumberland Mountains of Kentucky, with surprise. If the truth were told, he found himself doubting the other boyÕs story. Here he was standing in the grinding room of an old fashioned mill watching massive stone wheels grind the corn he had carted from his cousinÕs store and at the same time discovering what promised to be a first class mystery right down here in the slow old Cumberland mountains where, he had supposed, nothing unusual ever happened. ÒBut whatÕs down there?Ó He was looking at the floor of the mill. At the same time he was hearing a curious sound, a sucking and hissing that might, he thought, have been the working of a small steam engine. But of course there was no steam engine, for there was no smoke stack and no smoke. ÒNothing down there but water. Some machines he brought months ago. TheyÕre down there. The water wheel runs them,Ó the other boy drawled. ÒOf course he wouldnÕt bring water up in the jugs and cart them away. Why should he? ThereÕs water everywhere. This river runs for miles. Besides,Ó his voice dropped, Òthat stuff he brings up is queer. ItÕs cold and it smokes. Yes sir, a sort of white smoke comes off it all the time.ÓÊ
As Johnny Thompson put out a hand to ring the door bell of that brownstone house facing the deserted grounds of the Chicago Century of Progress and the lake, the door opened without a sound. He looked up, expecting to see a face, hear a voice, perhaps. The voice came: ÒStep inside, please.Ó But there was no face. The space before him was empty. A little puzzled, he stepped into the narrow passageway. Instantly in a slow, silent manner that seemed ominous, the door closed behind him. The place was all but dark. Certainly there was no lamp; only a curious blue illumination everywhere. A little frightened, he put out a hand to grip the door knob. It did not give to his touch. Indeed it was immovable as the branch of an oak. ÒLocked!Ó he muttered. Then for a space of seconds his heart went wild. From the wall to the right of him had flashed a pencil of white light. Like an accusing finger it fell upon something on the opposite wall. And that something was an eye, an eye in the wall,Ñor so it seemed to the boy. And even as he stared, with lips parted, breath coming short and quick, the thing appeared to wink.Ê
Florence Huyler read the number on the door. She wondered at the lack of light from within; the glass of the door was like a slab of ebony. ÒNo one here,Ó she murmured. ÒJust my luck.Ó For all that, she put out a hand to grasp the knob. In a city office building, ten stories up, one does not knock. Florence did not so much as allow the yielding door to make a sound. She turned the knob as one imagines a robber might turn the dial of a safeÑslowly, silently. Why did she do this? Could she have answered this question? Probably not! Certainly she was not spying on the occupants of that roomÑat least, not yet. Perhaps that was the way she always opened a door. We all have our ways of doing things. Some of us seize a door knob, give it a quick turn, a yank, and there we are. And some, like Florence, move with the slyness and softness of a cat. It is their nature. One thing is sure; once the door had yielded to her touch and she had ushered herself into the semi-darkness that was beyond, she was glad of that sly silence, for something quite mysterious was going on beyond that door. She found herself in a place of all but complete darkness. Only before her, where a pair of heavy drapes parted, was there a narrow slit of eery blue light. There was no need of tiptoeing as she moved toward that long line of light. Her sturdy street shoes sank deep in something she knew must be a rich Oriental rug. ÒIn such a building!Ó she thought with increasing surprise. The building was old, might at any time be wrecked to make parking space for cars. The elevator, as she came up, had swayed and teetered like a canary birdÕs cage on a coiled spring.Ê
Lost In The Air is an early flying adventure set in the wilds of Northern Canada near Hudson Bay. Roy Judson Snell (1878- after 1951) most famous works include: An Eskimo Robinson Crusoe (1917), Captain Kituk (1918), Skimmer and His Thrilling Adventures (1919), Skimmer, the Daring, in the Far North (1919), Soolook, Wild Boy (1920), Triple Spies (1920), Lost in the Air (1920), and Panther Eye (1921). Lost In The Air is the second book written in Snell's mystery series. This story begins, "They had been together only a few days, these two, but already they were pals. This was not to be wondered at, for both had been discharged recently from army aviation service--Bruce in Canada and Barney in the United States. Each had served his country well. Now they were employed in the work of developing the wilds of Northern Canada near Hudson Bay. And there are no regions more romantic than this with all its half-gleaned history and its million secrets of wonder, wealth and beauty.
Roy Judson Snell (1878- after 1951) wrote some of his books under the pseudonym James Craig. His most famous work include: An Eskimo Robinson Crusoe (1917), Captain Kituk (1918), Skimmer and His Thrilling Adventures (1919), Skimmer, the Daring, in the Far North (1919), Soolook, Wild Boy (1920), Triple Spies (1920), Lost in the Air (1920), Panther Eye (1921), The Crimson Flash (1922), White Fire (1922), The Blue Envelope (1922), Curlie Carson Listens In (1922), On the Yukon Trail (1922), The Black Schooner (1923), The Desert Patrol (1923), The Secret Mark (1923), The Seagoing Tank (1924), The Hidden Trail (1924), The Firebug (1925), The Flying Sub (1925), The Red Lure (1926), Dark Treasure (1926), Forbidden Cargoes (1927), Whispering Isles (1927), The Thirteenth Ring (1927), Johnny Longbow (1928), The Invisible Wall (1928), The Rope of Gold (1929), The Gypsy Shawl (1929), The Arrow of Fire (1930), The Gray Shadow (1931) and The Riddle of the Storm (1932).
Florence Huyler read the number on the door. She wondered at the lack of light from within; the glass of the door was like a slab of ebony. ÒNo one here,Ó she murmured. ÒJust my luck.Ó For all that, she put out a hand to grasp the knob. In a city office building, ten stories up, one does not knock. Florence did not so much as allow the yielding door to make a sound. She turned the knob as one imagines a robber might turn the dial of a safeÑslowly, silently. Why did she do this? Could she have answered this question? Probably not! Certainly she was not spying on the occupants of that roomÑat least, not yet. Perhaps that was the way she always opened a door. We all have our ways of doing things. Some of us seize a door knob, give it a quick turn, a yank, and there we are. And some, like Florence, move with the slyness and softness of a cat. It is their nature. One thing is sure; once the door had yielded to her touch and she had ushered herself into the semi-darkness that was beyond, she was glad of that sly silence, for something quite mysterious was going on beyond that door. She found herself in a place of all but complete darkness. Only before her, where a pair of heavy drapes parted, was there a narrow slit of eery blue light. There was no need of tiptoeing as she moved toward that long line of light. Her sturdy street shoes sank deep in something she knew must be a rich Oriental rug. ÒIn such a building!Ó she thought with increasing surprise. The building was old, might at any time be wrecked to make parking space for cars. The elevator, as she came up, had swayed and teetered like a canary birdÕs cage on a coiled spring.Ê
Strange and exciting. Yes, it had surely been all that. They had all been jumpy, nervous as colts, on the train from Chicago. If they were walking down the aisle and the train tipped, they had laughed loudly. They had been high-pitched, nervous laughs. And why not? Had they not launched themselves on a new and striking adventure? As Norma recalled all this she suddenly started, then rose silently on one shoulder. She had caught a flash of light where no light was supposed to be. "A flash of light," she whispered silently. At the same instant she caught the gleam of light once more. This time she located it-at the head of the cot by the nearest window. "Rosa Rosetti!" she thought, with a start. She did not know the girl, barely recalled her name. She had a beaming smile, yet beyond doubt was foreign-born.
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