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Thriller is a genre in literature. Thriller completely independent genre. Books of this genre are available now for your attention. We add new Thriller books to our e-library every day every day. Always interesting and instructive to read using our elibrary.
Only occasionally does a rather skillfully tailored product come off this “conveyor line” that really has any merit in order to stand out from the basically homogeneous literary mass. Our electronic library is full of thriller highlights.
“Thriller” is a modern term.
This genre is classified by causing a sudden outburst of emotion in the reader.
Thriller elements are present in many works of different genres. Thriller mix of fantasy and detective. Of course, reading thriller novels of high quality in terms of content and form of presentation is a very useful, informative and even, in some cases, instructive activity. However, the reader must understand in advance that sometimes a detailed description of many bloody fights, shootings and martial arts, the suffering of numerous victims, all kinds of confrontations can cause him a kind of rejection from further reading works of this genre of literature.


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Reading books RomanceReading books romantic stories you will plunge into the world of feelings and love. Most of the time the story ends happily. Very interesting and informative to read books historical romance novels to feel the atmosphere of that time.
In this genre the characters can be both real historical figures and the author's imagination. Thanks to such historical romantic novels, you can see another era through the eyes of eyewitnesses.
Critics will say that romance is too predictable. That if you know how it ends, there’s no point in reading it. Sorry, but no. It’s okay to choose between genres to get what you need from your books. But in romance the happy ending is a feature.It’s so romantic to describe the scene when you have found your True Love like in “fairytale love story.”



Reading thrillers facilitates to the formation of a person's sense of danger and makes him avoid such situations in every possible way in real life. At the same time, the reader can use the example of books to form his own line of behavior in real situations. Thrillers contribute to the development of the sixth sense - intuition. The reader will definitely remember the heroes of thrillers, because they operate in extreme circumstances and must include all means for survival. Filmmakers are always on the lookout for new releases in thriller. Scripts are created every day, that are even more sophisticated and dynamic. Based on these scenarios, new films will be screened, that attract tens of thousands of fans thriller genre. Therefore, each reader will be interested in how it was possible to embody the complexity of the plot on the screen, which is described in the original book. The great success of thrillers on the screen, the basis will still be a book.



You may also be interested in books of the MYSTERY & CRIME or HORROR genre


Read books online » Thriller » The After House by Mary Roberts Rinehart (color ebook reader txt) 📖

Book online «The After House by Mary Roberts Rinehart (color ebook reader txt) 📖». Author Mary Roberts Rinehart



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if you get a chance at Williams’s key, pitch a dozen or two quarts overboard.”

“And be put in irons!”

“Not necessarily. I think you understand me. I don’t trust Williams. In a week we could have this boat fairly dry.”

“There is a great deal of wine.”

He scowled. “Damn Williams, anyhow! His instructions were - but never mind about that. Get rid of the whiskey.”

Turner coming up the companionway at that moment, Vail left me. I had understood him perfectly. It was common talk in the forecastle that Turner was drinking hard, and that, in fact, the cruise had been arranged by his family in the hope that, away from his clubs; he would alter his habits - a fallacy, of course. Taken away from his customary daily round, given idle days on a summer sea, and aided by Williams, the butler, he was drinking his head off.

Early as it was, he was somewhat the worse for it that morning. He made directly for me. It was the first time he had noticed me, although it was the third day out. He stood in front of me, his red eyes flaming, and, although I am a tall man, he had an inch perhaps the advantage of me.

“What’s this about Williams?” he demanded furiously. “What do you mean by a thing like that?”

“He was bullying me. I didn’t intend to drop him.”

The ship was rolling gently; he made a pass at me with a magazine he carried, and almost lost his balance. The women had risen, and were watching from the corner of the after house. I caught him and steadied him until he could clutch a chair.

“You try any tricks like that again, and you’ll go overboard,” he stormed. “Who are you, anyhow? Not one of our men?”

I saw the quick look between Vail and Mrs. Turner, and saw her come forward. Mrs. Johns followed her, smiling.

“Marsh!” Mrs. Turner protested. “I told you about him - the man who had been ill.”

“Oh, another of your friends!” he sneered, and looked from me to Vail with his ugly smile.

Vail went rather pale and threw up his head quickly. The next moment Mrs. Johns had saved the situation with an irrelevant remark, and the incident was over. They were playing bridge, not without dispute, but at least without insult. But I had hard a glimpse beneath the surface of that luxurious cruise, one of many such in the next few days.

That was on Monday, the third day out. Up to that time Miss Lee had not noticed me, except once, when she found me scrubbing the deck, to comment on a corner that she thought might be cleaner, and another time in the evening, when she and Vail sat in chairs until late, when she had sent me below for a wrap. She looked past me rather than at me, gave me her orders quietly but briefly, and did not even take the trouble to ignore me. And yet, once or twice, I had found her eyes fixed on me with a cool, half-amused expression, as if she found something in my struggles to carry trays as if I had been accustomed to them, or to handle a mop as a mop should be handled and not like a hockey stick - something infinitely entertaining and not a little absurd.

But that morning, after they had settled to bridge, she followed me to the rail, out of earshot I straightened and took off my cap, and she stood looking at me, unsmiling.

“Unclench your hands!” she said.

“I beg your pardon!” I straightened out my fingers, conscious for the first time of my clenched fists, and even opened and closed them once or twice to prove their relaxation.

“That’s better. Now - won’t you try to remember that I am responsible for your being here, and be careful?”

“Then take me away from here and put me with the crew. I am stronger now. Ask the captain to give me a man’s work. This - this is a housemaid’s occupation.”

“We prefer to have you here,” she said coldly; and then, evidently repenting her manner: “We need a man here, Leslie. Better stay. Are you comfortable in the forecastle?”

“Yes, Miss Lee.”

“And the food is all right?”

“The cook says I am eating two men’s rations.”

She turned to leave, smiling. It was the first time she had thrown even a fleeting smile my way, and it went to my head.

“And Williams? I am to submit to his insolence?”

She stopped and turned, and the smile faded.

“The next time,” she said, “you are to drop him!”

But during the remainder of the day she neither spoke to me nor looked, as far as I could tell, in my direction. She flirted openly with Vail, rather, I thought, to the discomfort of Mrs. Johns, who had appropriated him to herself - sang to him in the cabin, and in the long hour before dinner, when the others were dressing, walked the deck with him, talking earnestly. They looked well together, and I believe he was in love with her. Poor Vail!

Turner had gone below, grimly good-humored, to dress for dinner; and I went aft to chat, as I often did, with the steersman. On this occasion it happened to be Charlie Jones. Jones was not his name, so far as I know. It was some inordinately long and different German inheritance, and so, with the facility of the average crew, he had been called Jones. He was a benevolent little man, highly religious, and something of a philosopher. And because I could understand German, and even essay it in a limited way, he was fond of me.

“Seta du dick,” he said, and moved over so that I could sit on the grating on which he stood. “The sky is fine to-night. Wunderschon!”

“It always looks good to me,” I observed, filling my pipe and passing my tobacco-bag to him. “I may have my doubts now and then on land, Charlie; but here, between the sky and the sea, I’m a believer, right enough.”

“‘In the beginning He created the heaven and the earth,’” said Charlie reverently.

We were silent for a time. The ship rolled easily; now and then she dipped her bowsprit with a soft swish of spray; a school of dolphins played astern, and the last of the land birds that had followed us out flew in circles around the masts.

“Sometimes,” said Charlie Jones, “I think the Good Man should have left it the way it was after the flood just sky and water. What’s the land, anyhow? Noise and confusion, wickedness and crime, robbing the widow and the orphan, eat or be et.”

“Well,” I argued, “the sea’s that way. What are those fish out there flying for, but to get out of the way of bigger fish?”

Charlie Jones surveyed me over his pipe.

“True enough, youngster,” he said; “but the Lord’s given ‘em wings to fly with. He ain’t been so careful with the widow and the orphan.”

This statement being incontrovertible, I let the argument lapse, and sat quiet, luxuriating in the warmth, in the fresh breeze, in the feeling of bodily well-being that came with my returning strength. I got up and stretched, and my eyes fell on the small window of the chartroom.

The door into the main cabin beyond was open. It was dark with the summer twilight, except for the four rose-shaded candles on the table, now laid for dinner. A curious effect it had - the white cloth and gleaming pink an island of cheer in a twilight sea; and to and from this rosy island, making short excursions, advancing, retreating, disappearing at times, the oval white ship that was Williams’s shirt bosom.

Charlie Jones, bending to the right and raised to my own height by the grating on which he stood, looked over my shoulder. Dinner was about to be served. The women had come out. The table-lamps threw their rosy glow over white necks and uncovered arms, and revealed, higher in the shadows, the faces of the men, smug, clean-shaven, assured, rather heavy.

I had been the guest of honor on a steam-yacht a year or two before, after a game. There had been pink lights on the table, I remembered, and the place-cards at dinner the first night out had been caricatures of me in fighting trim. There had been a girl, too. For the three days of that week-end cruise I had been mad about her; before that first dinner, when I had known her two hours, I had kissed her hand and told her I loved her!

Vail and Miss Lee had left the others and come into the chartroom. As Charlie Jones and I looked, he bent over and kissed her hand.

The sun had gone down. My pipe was empty, and from the galley, forward, came the odor of the forecastle supper. Charlie was coughing, a racking paroxysm that shook his wiry body. He leaned over and caught my shoulder as I was moving away.

“New paint and new canvas don’t make a new ship,” he said, choking back the cough. “She’s still the old Ella, the she-devil of the Turner line. Pink lights below, and not a rat in the hold! They left her before we sailed, boy. Every rope was crawling with ‘em.”

“The very rats Instinctively had left it,” -

I quoted. But Charlie, clutching the wheel, was coughing again, and cursing breathlessly as he coughed.

CHAPTER IV I RECEIVE A WARNING

The odor of formaldehyde in the forecastle having abated, permission for the crew to sleep on deck had been withdrawn. But the weather as we turned south had grown insufferably hot. The reek of the forecastle sickened me - the odor of fresh paint, hardly dry, of musty clothing and sweaty bodies.

I asked Singleton, the first mate, for permission to sleep on deck, and was refused. I went down, obediently enough, to be driven back with nausea. And so, watching my chance, I waited until the first mate, on watch, disappeared into the forward cabin to eat the night lunch always prepared by the cook and left there. Then, with a blanket and pillow, I crawled into the starboard lifeboat, and settled myself for the night. The lookout saw me, but gave no sign.

It was not a bad berth. As the ship listed, the stars seemed to sway above me, and my last recollection was of the Great Dipper, performing dignified gyrations in the sky.

I was aroused by one of the two lookouts, a young fellow named Burns. He was standing below, rapping on the side of the boat with his knuckles. I sat up and peered over at him, and was conscious for the first time that the weather had changed. A fine rain was falling; my hair and shirt were wet.

“Something doing in the chartroom,” he said cautiously. “Thought you might not want to miss it.”

He was in his bare feet, as was I. Together we hurried to the after house. The steersman, in oilskins, was at his post, but was peering through the barred window into the chart room, which was brilliantly lighted. He stepped aside somewhat to let us look in. The loud and furious voices which had guided us had quieted, but the situation had not relaxed.

Singleton, the first mate, and Turner were sitting at a table littered with bottles and glasses, and standing over them, white with fury, was Captain Richardson. In the doorway to the main cabin, dressed in pajamas and a bathrobe, Vail was watching the scene.

“I told you last night, Mr. Turner,” the captain said, banging the table with his fist, “I won’t have you interfering with my officers, or with my

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