The Man Who Was Seven: A Complete Novelette

By J. Frederic Thorne

When a million dollars worth of gold, bonds and money goes missing from a locked bank vault, the authorities are stumped, especially because there’s a dead man with a knife in his back where the gold should be.
To complicate matters, the dead man just looks like the person who checked into a hotel the previous day. There’s one problem.
Seven men checked into seven hotels and clerks all gave the same description -- the dead man. Is it possible for one man to be in seven places at once, and end up dead in a bank vault, or is something more nefarious at work? That’s up to one determined detective to find it in J. Frederic Thorne’s classic mystery story.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Viking Funeral Press
• Release date: Aug 27, 2017
• ISBN: 9788822817259

Book preview

The Man Who Was Seven

(A Complete Novelette)

By J. Frederic Thorne

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The Man Who Was Seven by Frederic Thorne

Originally pushed in August, 1920 in The Black Mask magazine, Vol. 1, No. 5

Formatted, and photo illustrations, by Eva Asola

Additional illustrations by Michelle Carlson

Cover photo by Josh Hallett, used under a Creative Commons Share-Alike license

Cover design by Eva Asola, licensed under a Creative Commons Share-Alike license

Table of Contents

Title page

Chapter I

Chapter II

Chapter III

Chapter IV

Chapter V

Chapter VI

Chapter VII

Chapter VIII

Chapter IX

Chapter X

Chapter XI

About J. Frederic Thorne

CHAPTER I

A man cannot be in two places at the same time.

That is a law of physics—isn’t it?

But how about the other law, of evidence, and your own senses? If you saw and heard a man in that impossible situation or condition, which would you believe, the law or your own eyes and ears?

But the thing is impossible!

So? Then how about this:

ON ONE of those fine Italian spring mornings that pass for summer in the Puget Sound country, there entered the Savoy Hotel, Seattle, a man who ordinarily would not call for specific description, but who, for the sake of this argument, we need to identify particularly.

He stood out from the world about five feet eleven inches, weighed approximately one hundred and sixty to one hundred and seventy pounds, was apparently in his late thirties or early forties, wore a neatly trimmed brown mustache and beard of the cut known as Vandyke, spectacles with large, rimless, egg-shaped lenses, a soft black broad-brimmed hat, blue serge suit with double-breasted coat, black tie, low tan shoes, carried a light-weight gray overcoat, a black Gladstone bag and a soleleather suitcase. He walked with a slight but noticeable limp of the left leg.

Illustration by Michelle Carlson

Relinquishing coat and bags to a bellboy, the newcomer nodded pleasantly to the clerk and registered, in a distinctly legible hand, the name Samuel Smith, without address. This done, he set his watch by that of the clerk — it was just 10:02 a. m. — received his key and followed the bell-boy to room 314. Tipping the boy generously but not lavishly, he asked that the hotel valet and public stenographer be sent to him. To the one he gave a suit of clothes for pressing; to the other he dictated two short letters. Returning to the lobby, he bought a dollar’s worth of cigars, asked to be directed to the Totem National Bank, glanced at his watch and, commenting audibly upon the time, 10:48, walked out into the crowd on Second Avenue.

Photo by Sam Howzit

Photo illustration by Eva Asola

Nothing remarkable or unusual about that, nothing that does not occur, in a general way, in a thousand hotels all over the land every day in the year?

True. But wait a moment. The case is not stated yet.

On that same fine Italian spring morning of the same day, in this same city of Seattle, Washington, there entered the Butler Hotel, a man who ordinarily would not call for specific description, but who, for the sake of this argument, we need to identify particularly.

He stood out from the world about five feet eleven inches, weighed approximately one hundred and sixty to one hundred and seventy pounds, was apparently in his late thirties or early forties, wore a neatly trimmed brown mustache and beard of the cut known as Vandyke, spectacles with large egg-shaped lenses, black tie, low tan shoes, blue serge suit with double-breasted coat, a soft black broad-brimmed hat, carried a light weight gray overcoat, a black Gladstone bag and soleleather suitcase. He walked with a slight