Guy Newell Boothby (13 October 1867 – 26 February 1905) was a prolific Australian novelist and writer, noted for sensational fiction in variety magazines around the end of the nineteenth century. He lived mainly in England. He is best known for such works as the Dr Nikola series, about an occultist criminal mastermind who is a Victorian forerunner to Fu Manchu, and Pharos, the Egyptian, a tale of Gothic Egypt, mummies' curses and supernatural revenge. Rudyard Kipling was his friend and mentor, and his books were remembered with affection by George Orwell Boothby was born in Adelaide to a prominent family in the recently established British colony of South Australia.[2] His father was Thomas Wilde Boothby,[3] who for a time was a member of the South Australian Legislative Assembly, three of his uncles were senior colonial administrators, and his grandfather was Benjamin Boothby (1803–1868), controversial judge of the Supreme Court of South Australia from 1853 to 1867.[4] When Boothby was aged approximately seven his English-born mother, whom he held in great regard, separated from his father and returned with her children to England. There he received a traditional English grammar school education at Salisbury, Lord Weymouth's Grammar (now Warminster School) and Christ's Hospital, London

For a moment after he realized the true state of affairs Godfrey was spellbound with terror. Was it just possible that he would be able to head the horse off from the pit? If he could not, then it would be the end of all things as far as Miss Devereux was concerned. With the cold sweat of terror on his brow he watched the girl he loved racing down the slope on the maddened horse. He saw that she was making a brave fight to bring him to a standstill; but even at that distance he could tell that her effort was in vain. A moment later the animal had once more changed his course and had dashed toward a hedge. He scarcely rose at it; as a natural consequence he struck it, toppled over, and then both horse and rider disappeared together. Fearful at what he might find, Godfrey galloped toward the spot, jumped the gate that separated it from the neighbouring field, and looked about him for what he should see.[Pg 77] The horse was lying stretched out upon the ground, and one glance was sufficient to show him that its neck was broken. In the dry ditch below the hedge he could catch a glimpse of a black figure. He sprang from his horse and approached it. Lifting her head he supported her in his arms, and as he did so a little sigh escaped from her lips."God be thanked, she is still alive!" he muttered to himself, and then he replaced her head upon the bank.Taking off his coat he made it into a ball. He placed it beneath her head, and then set off in search of water. When he had procured a little in his hat he returned and bathed her forehead and temples with it. After a while she opened her eyes and looked up at him."I feel better now," she answered, in reply to his inquiries. "Where is the horse?""Close beside you," he said, and then going to his own animal he took his flask from the holster and filled the little cup with sherry."Drink this," he said. "It will do you good."The wine revived her, and in a few minutes she was so far recovered as to be able to sit up and discuss matters with him."I am quite well now," she said. "But how am I to get home? Poor papa! What a state he will be in when he hears! Since my horse is dead I suppose I must try to walk.""You will do nothing of the kind," Godfrey replied, firmly. "I will lift you into the saddle and you must try and ride my horse. If we can find a village near here, you can remain there until a carriage is sent from the Court to fetch you.""As I have proved myself incompetent I suppose I must obey you," she answered, with a touch of her old spirit. "But what is to be done with my own poor beast?""I will arrange about him when I have attended to your comfort," he said, and then assisted her to rise and lifted her into the saddle. For the first hundred yards or so they walked almost in silence. She was the first to speak."Mr. Henderson," she said, looking down at him, "I owe you an apology. I was rude to you the other day, and I laughed at you when you told me this morning that you did not like my new horse. Events have proved that you were right. Will you forgive me?""I have nothing to forgive," he answered; "but you can have no idea how nervous I[Pg 79] was this morning when I saw how that brute behaved.""Why should you have bothered yourself about me?" she asked, not, however, with quite her usual confidence.Here was the very opportunity he had been looking for so long. He felt that he must take possession of it at once."Because I love you," he answered. "You must have known that I have been in love with you ever since I first saw you, Molly. Don\'t you believe me?""Yes, I know it," she replied, looking at him with the love-light shining in her own eyes."And your answer, Molly? What can you say to me?""Only that I love you too," she murmured.The Mystery of the Clasped Hands : A Novel, instinctively, suggestive of the works, distraction, an exclamation,crime novel,clasped hands

This book was converted from its physical edition to the digital format by a community of volunteers. You may find it for free on the web. Purchase of the Kindle edition includes wireless delivery.

This book was converted from its physical edition to the digital format by a community of volunteers. You may find it for free on the web. Purchase of the Kindle edition includes wireless delivery.

Guy Newell Boothby was a prolific Australian novelist and writer, noted for sensational fiction in variety magazines around the end of the nineteenth century.

Guy Newell Boothby was a prolific Australian novelist and writer, noted for sensational fiction in variety magazines around the end of the nineteenth century.Guy Newell Boothby was a prolific Australian novelist and writer, noted for sensational fiction in variety magazines around the end of the nineteenth century.