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Hunted Down, first published in 1860, is one of Charles Dickens’ most fascinating short stories and an early example of detective fiction. While Dickens is best known for his great novels, this shorter work demonstrates his remarkable ability to create suspense, psychological tension, and memorable characters within a compact narrative. Rather than relying on dramatic action, the story slowly builds mystery through careful observation, subtle conversations, and the growing suspicion of an experienced investigator. As the plot unfolds, readers discover that appearances can be deceptive and that evil often hides behind kindness, intelligence, and perfect manners.
Charles Dickens (1812–1870) is widely regarded as one of the greatest writers in English literature. His famous works, including Oliver Twist, David Copperfield, Great Expectations, Bleak House, A Tale of Two Cities, and A Christmas Carol, have inspired readers around the world for more than a century. Through his stories, Dickens explored themes such as justice, crime, poverty, human nature, and moral responsibility. His vivid characters and powerful storytelling continue to influence modern literature, and many of his works remain popular in schools and universities today.
This edition presents a modern literary retelling of Hunted Down, specially prepared for advanced English learners (CEFR C1–C2). The original storyline, characters, themes, and atmosphere have been faithfully preserved, while the language has been carefully rewritten in clear, natural, and contemporary English. Outdated vocabulary, complex Victorian sentence structures, and archaic expressions have been replaced with modern equivalents, allowing readers to enjoy the story without losing its literary quality or emotional depth.
Reading classic literature is one of the most effective ways to expand vocabulary, improve reading fluency, and develop a deeper understanding of natural English. This retelling offers an opportunity to experience one of Charles Dickens’ finest mystery stories in a form that is both enjoyable and accessible. Whether you are reading for language practice or simply for the pleasure of a well-crafted detective story, we hope this edition will help you appreciate the timeless brilliance of Dickens while strengthening your English skills.
This story was rewritten by LearnEnglish-new.com for English learners. The story is in the public domain, so it is free from copyright. Enjoy reading and improve your English skills!
Hunted Down
By Charles Dickens
Contents
Part One – The First Impression
Part Three – The Shadow of Suspicion
Part Four – The Truth Revealed
Part One
The First Impression
There are countless stories hidden within ordinary lives, though few people ever notice them. During the thirty years I served as Chief Manager of a Life Assurance Office in London, I encountered more remarkable human dramas than most people witness in a lifetime. At first, they appeared to be little more than routine business transactions—applications, signatures, medical reports, and policies. Only after my retirement did I begin to understand that many of those documents concealed tragedies, betrayals, acts of devotion, and crimes that no court had ever imagined.
Now, with the comfort of age and leisure, I often revisit those memories. Looking back, I see patterns that were invisible while events were unfolding. Time has removed the distractions of daily business and revealed the true shape of the lives that briefly crossed my own.
Among all those memories, one remains more vivid than the rest. It is a story that has never left me.
People often underestimate the importance of first impressions. They believe appearances deceive and that character can only be understood through long acquaintance. Experience has taught me something quite different.
A face rarely lies.
The mistake is not in our first judgment; it is in persuading ourselves to abandon it. We meet someone whose smile feels unnatural or whose manner unsettles us, yet we dismiss our instincts in the name of fairness. We allow explanations to silence caution.
I know this because I made that mistake more than once.
Whenever I ignored my first impression of a person, I almost always regretted it later.
The man whose story I am about to tell was the strongest proof of that lesson.
My office overlooked the general business room through a large glass partition. Years earlier, I had replaced a solid wall with thick plate glass. The arrangement allowed me to observe visitors before they entered my room. I could see every movement without hearing a single word.
Some people considered the alteration an unusual choice.
Perhaps it was.
But in my profession, where fortunes depended upon honesty and deception often wore the appearance of respectability, silent observation could reveal more than conversation ever would.
One autumn morning, while I was examining several reports, I happened to glance through the glass.
A gentleman had entered the office unnoticed.
He stood quietly at the long counter while one of my clerks handed him several printed forms. His movements were calm, measured, almost elegant. He appeared to be about forty years old and was dressed entirely in black mourning clothes of exceptional quality. Every detail of his appearance suggested careful taste. His gloves were perfectly fitted. His boots shone without excess. His linen was spotless.
Yet something disturbed me immediately.
His dark hair was carefully parted with extraordinary precision down the exact centre of his head. It seemed less a hairstyle than a declaration of character, as though every strand had been arranged to announce perfect order and perfect self-control.
He bent slightly toward the clerk with an agreeable smile.
It was an excellent smile.
Too excellent.
Everything about him appeared calculated.
Even before I knew his name, I experienced a feeling I could neither explain nor dismiss.
I disliked him intensely.
The clerk spoke while the gentleman listened with patient attention. From time to time he nodded politely, thanking the young man with easy courtesy. His voice was inaudible to me, yet I could imagine its pleasant tone.
Suddenly his eyes shifted.
He had noticed me watching through the glass.
Without the slightest embarrassment, he slowly turned his face toward my office and smiled directly at me.
It was a perfectly civil expression.
Yet it carried something else.
An invisible challenge.
For one brief moment I felt as though the man were silently saying:
“You may observe me as closely as you wish. You will find nothing except exactly what I choose you to see.”
A few moments later he placed the papers beneath his arm, picked up his hat and umbrella, and quietly left the office.
Only after the door had closed did I ring for my clerk.
Mr. Adams entered almost immediately.
“Who was that gentleman?” I asked.
He glanced at the visiting card in his hand.
“Mr. Julius Slinkton, sir.”
“Is he a barrister?”
“I don’t believe so.”
“He looks more like a clergyman.”
“Many people would think so, sir.”
“What business brought him here?”
“He asked for one of our proposal forms and the reference papers.”
“For himself?”
“No, sir. For a friend.”
I studied Adams carefully.
“What impression did he make upon you?”
The clerk smiled.
“A most agreeable gentleman.”
“Well spoken?”
“Exceptionally so.”
“Pleasant manners?”
“Very pleasant indeed.”
I nodded thoughtfully.
“I see.”
After dismissing him, I remained alone for several minutes.
Everything Mr. Adams had said confirmed what I had already expected.
Everyone liked Julius Slinkton.
Everyone trusted him.
Everyone believed him to be exactly what he appeared.
Everyone except me.
About two weeks later, I accepted an invitation to dine with an old friend, a wealthy merchant whose house was well known for gathering distinguished guests from many professions.
The drawing room was already crowded when I arrived.
Painters, lawyers, scholars, businessmen, and several ladies stood in small groups, engaged in lively conversation.
As I removed my coat, my eyes immediately settled upon a familiar figure standing near the fireplace.
Julius Slinkton.
He greeted each guest with effortless grace, listening more than speaking, never attempting to dominate a conversation yet somehow becoming the centre of every one. His calm confidence attracted people naturally. His smile appeared sincere, his remarks thoughtful, and his manners beyond criticism.
Presently my host approached him.
“Mr. Slinkton,” he said warmly, “allow me to introduce Mr. Sampson.”
Slinkton turned toward me with evident pleasure.
“Mr. Sampson,” he said, extending his hand, “I have long wished for the opportunity of thanking you.”
His voice was smooth and perfectly controlled.
“You visited my office recently,” I replied.
“I did indeed. Our mutual friend kindly recommended your company, though I considered my business far too ordinary to interrupt a gentleman responsible for so many important affairs.”
“You would not have interrupted me.”
“You are generous to say so.”
Nothing in his expression betrayed the slightest trace of insincerity.
Indeed, I almost felt ashamed of my earlier prejudice.
Almost.
For while we spoke, that strange uneasiness returned with undiminished force.
I could not explain it.
I only knew that I trusted my instincts more than I trusted the evidence before my eyes.
And somewhere beneath Julius Slinkton’s polished manners and flawless appearance, I sensed a darkness patiently waiting behind the mask.
Part Two
Behind the Mask
For several days after our meeting, Julius Slinkton remained in my thoughts more often than I cared to admit.
It was not because of anything he had done. On the contrary, I could recall nothing improper in either his words or his behaviour. His manners had been faultless, his conversation intelligent, and his courtesy beyond question. Every objective observation favoured him.
Yet my instinct refused to surrender.
More than once I attempted to laugh at myself. Surely I had become too suspicious after so many years spent among dishonest claimants, forged documents, and calculated frauds. My profession had taught me caution, but perhaps it had also robbed me of fairness.
I sincerely hoped that was the case.
Unfortunately, time would prove otherwise.
During the weeks that followed, I encountered Mr. Slinkton on several social occasions. London society, especially among professional gentlemen, was smaller than most imagined. We attended the same dinners, met at the same clubs, and were often invited to the houses of mutual acquaintances.
Each meeting strengthened his reputation.
He possessed an extraordinary gift for conversation. He never dominated a discussion, yet somehow everyone found themselves listening to him. He seemed to know a little about every subject—painting, literature, politics, theology, finance, music, medicine—and he expressed his opinions with such modest confidence that no one felt challenged by them.
More remarkable still was his ability to adapt himself to every company.
Artists believed him sensitive.
Lawyers considered him logical.
Clergymen admired his seriousness.
Businessmen respected his judgment.
Women praised his kindness.
No matter whom he addressed, he appeared exactly the sort of man they wished him to be.
It was a talent I had rarely witnessed.
And it troubled me more than ever.
One evening, while several guests were discussing recent losses within the insurance profession, Slinkton turned to me with an expression of sincere regret.
“Mr. Sampson,” he said gently, “I recently heard of the unfortunate Mr. Meltham. I understand your profession has lost a man of exceptional ability.”
“It certainly has,” I replied. “Few young men possessed greater intelligence or greater promise.”
“I never had the honour of knowing him personally,” said Slinkton, “yet everyone speaks of him with admiration.”
“He deserved that admiration.”
For a brief moment Slinkton lowered his eyes.
“I also heard,” he continued quietly, “that some personal sorrow forced him to abandon his career.”
His words were carefully chosen.
“So I have been told,” I answered.
“What a tragic thing,” he said thoughtfully. “It seems extraordinary that a man gifted with such talents should be broken by grief.”
I looked directly at him.
“What have you heard, Mr. Slinkton?”
He smiled faintly.
“Oh, merely the rumours one hears in society. Nothing that deserves repeating.”
“I prefer facts to rumours.”
“As do I.”
He paused before continuing.
“They say he suffered a disappointment in love.”
I offered no reply.
The conversation moved elsewhere, but something in the manner of his question lingered in my thoughts. It had not been idle curiosity.
He had been testing me.
Of that I gradually became convinced.
Later that evening, after most of the guests had gathered around the fireplace, Slinkton approached me again.
“I fear I spoke too freely about Mr. Meltham.”
“There was no offence.”
“My sympathy perhaps arose from personal experience.”
I glanced toward him.
“A few months ago,” he continued, “I lost one of my two nieces.”
His voice had softened noticeably.
“She was scarcely twenty-three.”
“I am very sorry.”
“Thank you.”
For the first time since meeting him, genuine emotion appeared to disturb his composure.
“The surviving sister,” he said after a pause, “is delicate. Her health causes me constant anxiety.”
“You are responsible for her?”
“I have been almost a father to both girls.”
There was such quiet sorrow in his voice that even I found myself ashamed of my continued suspicion.
Perhaps I had judged him too harshly.
Perhaps grief had merely made him reserved.
As I left the house that night, I resolved to think better of him.
It was a resolution that lasted less than forty-eight hours.
Two mornings later, I was working behind the glass partition in my office when the outer door opened.
Mr. Julius Slinkton entered.
The instant I saw him, the same feeling returned.
Stronger than before.
He noticed me almost immediately and smiled with perfect confidence before walking directly into my office.
“Mr. Sampson,” he said cheerfully, “I hope I am not interrupting you.”
“Not at all.”
“I have only come to inquire whether my indecisive friend has finally completed the proposal we discussed.”
“I believe he has not.”
He sighed with gentle amusement.
“I expected as much. Human beings are wonderfully skilled at postponing the things that matter most.”
I smiled politely.
“Especially where life insurance is concerned.”
“Exactly.”
He laughed softly.
“One would imagine that completing such papers invited death itself.”
His remark was light-hearted, yet something about it seemed strangely inappropriate.
He remained only a few minutes before leaving.
The conversation was entirely ordinary.
Nothing could reasonably have awakened suspicion.
Nothing except the man himself.
The following morning he returned.
This time he carried several completed documents.
“My friend has finally acted sensibly,” he said. “Though, I confess, I never expected him to use my name as a reference.”
“What is your friend’s name?”
“Alfred Beckwith.”
I called for Mr. Adams.
Within moments the proposal was brought into my office.
Everything appeared perfectly regular.
The application requested a life assurance policy for two thousand pounds.
The medical reports were satisfactory.
The references required completion.
Slinkton accepted one of the forms with evident willingness.
“How should I answer these questions?”
“Simply tell the truth.”
He smiled.
“The truth is always the safest answer.”
He seated himself at my desk and carefully completed every line.
His handwriting was elegant.
His answers were clear.
He praised Mr. Beckwith’s excellent health, sober habits, and respectable character without hesitation.
When he had finished, he reviewed the document with great care before signing his name.
“There,” he said pleasantly. “I believe everything is now in order.”
“So it appears.”
He rose, thanked me warmly for my assistance, collected his gloves and hat, and quietly departed.
I watched him disappear through the glass partition.
Everything had proceeded exactly as it should.
Every document was genuine.
Every answer appeared truthful.
Every signature was correct.
Yet as I looked at the freshly signed reference lying upon my desk, an unexpected thought crossed my mind.
If Julius Slinkton was planning something…
it had already begun.
Part Three
The Shadow of Suspicion
From the moment Julius Slinkton left my office, I found it impossible to dismiss the uneasiness that had settled upon my mind.
The completed proposal lay before me exactly as hundreds of others had done throughout my career. There were no obvious errors, no contradictory statements, and no missing signatures. Every requirement had been satisfied with remarkable precision.
Yet experience had taught me a difficult lesson.
The most dangerous deception was seldom hidden in untidy paperwork.
It was usually concealed beneath perfect order.
A few days later I asked Adams to bring me every document connected with Alfred Beckwith’s application.
He entered my office carrying a neat bundle of papers.
“You still have doubts?” he asked with a smile.
“I have questions.”
“There is a difference?”
“A considerable one.”
Adams laughed.
“I have examined everything twice. The medical report is excellent, the references are respectable, and Beckwith himself appears to be a healthy gentleman of good reputation.”
“I do not question the documents.”
“Then what troubles you?”
I hesitated before answering.
“One of the references.”
“Slinkton?”
“Yes.”
Adams shook his head.
“I cannot imagine a more reliable witness.”
“Perhaps.”
“You still dislike him.”
“I do.”
“For no reason at all.”
“I hope you are correct.”
That evening I reviewed the papers alone.
The physician described Beckwith as a man in vigorous health.
His habits were moderate.
His constitution was strong.
Nothing suggested that his life might soon be in danger.
The insurance company could expect many years of premium payments before ever receiving a claim.
Financially, it seemed an excellent risk.
And yet…
Something refused to fit.
Not within the papers themselves, but somewhere beyond them.
There was an invisible connection that I could almost perceive but could not yet explain.
Several days passed before chance offered another opportunity.
While walking through Regent Street one quiet afternoon, I noticed a familiar figure some distance ahead.
It was Julius Slinkton.
He was walking slowly beside a young lady dressed in black.
She appeared pale and remarkably delicate. Although she could not have been more than twenty-three or twenty-four years of age, there was an air of exhaustion about her that belonged to someone much older.
Slinkton supported her gently as they crossed the crowded pavement.
His attention never left her.
To every observer they presented a touching picture of affection and care.
Remembering what he had told me about his surviving niece, I concluded that this must be the young woman.
She looked at him with complete confidence.
He answered her with patient kindness.
For the first time since meeting him, I understood why society admired him so deeply.
Anyone witnessing that scene would have called him a devoted guardian.
Perhaps even I might have believed it—
had I not already seen the expression that first awakened my distrust.
Curiosity overcame hesitation.
Keeping a respectful distance, I followed them through several streets.
They entered a quiet bookseller’s shop.
After a short visit they continued toward a small tea-room overlooking the square.
Nothing about their conduct appeared unusual.
They spoke calmly.
They smiled from time to time.
The young lady seemed entirely at ease in her uncle’s company.
When they finally separated later that afternoon, Slinkton placed her safely inside a waiting carriage before removing his hat with perfect courtesy.
Only after the carriage had disappeared did he turn and walk away alone.
His pleasant expression vanished almost immediately.
His face became cold.
Thoughtful.
Severe.
It was as though he had removed a carefully worn mask.
The transformation lasted only a moment, but I witnessed it clearly.
It strengthened every suspicion I possessed.
The following morning I made discreet inquiries concerning Alfred Beckwith.
The information I received was entirely favourable.
He enjoyed an excellent reputation.
He conducted his affairs honestly.
He had recently inherited a comfortable fortune and intended to marry before long.
No debts.
No scandal.
No dangerous habits.
Nothing suggested that anyone would wish him harm.
If there was a mystery, Beckwith himself did not appear to know it.
That evening I sat alone in my office long after the clerks had gone home.
London had grown quiet beyond the windows.
The last rays of sunlight faded from the rooftops, and the streets slowly disappeared beneath the gathering darkness.
I placed Beckwith’s proposal beside Slinkton’s reference and read them once more.
Then I leaned back in my chair.
“There is something you are hiding,” I murmured to the empty room.
“I simply have not discovered what it is.”
At that moment I made a private decision.
I would no longer wait for chance to reveal the truth.
From that day forward, I resolved to watch Julius Slinkton carefully.
If my instinct had deceived me, I would gladly admit my mistake.
But if it had not—
then somewhere behind the polished manners, the gentle voice, and the impeccable reputation, a far darker story was waiting to be uncovered.
Part Four
The Truth Revealed
Once I had resolved to watch Julius Slinkton, events moved more quickly than I expected.
My profession had taught me that patience often uncovered what haste concealed. Rather than confront him without evidence, I quietly observed his movements and made discreet inquiries whenever the opportunity arose.
For several weeks I discovered nothing.
His routine appeared beyond suspicion.
He visited respectable houses, attended dinners, and spent long hours caring for his niece. Everyone who knew him praised his generosity and gentle character. Even those who had known him for years could not recall a single dishonest act.
Had my instincts finally betrayed me?
I began to wonder whether I had allowed an unreasonable prejudice to cloud my judgment.
Then an unexpected visitor arrived.
One afternoon a pale, exhausted young man asked to see me privately.
The moment he entered my office, I recognised him.
It was Mr. Meltham.
Time had changed him greatly. The confidence that once distinguished him had disappeared, replaced by the anxious expression of a man who had lived too long with disappointment.
“I hope you remember me,” he said.
“I could hardly forget.”
He took the chair opposite my desk but remained silent for several moments.
At last he spoke.
“I have come because I believe an innocent life is in danger.”
Those words immediately captured my attention.
“Whose life?”
“A young woman.”
“Do I know her?”
“You know the man who controls her.”
Without another word he quietly pronounced the name that I had expected.
“Julius Slinkton.”
Meltham explained everything.
Years earlier he had fallen deeply in love with one of Slinkton’s nieces. Their affection had been sincere, and they had intended to marry. But Slinkton had opposed the relationship from the beginning.
He gradually isolated the young woman from her friends.
Letters disappeared before reaching their destination.
Meetings were interrupted.
False stories were spread until misunderstandings destroyed every hope of reconciliation.
Believing herself abandoned, the young woman fell into despair.
Within a short time, her health failed completely.
She died before the truth could ever be revealed.
Meltham discovered the deception only after her death.
“The surviving sister,” he continued quietly, “is now entirely dependent upon her uncle.”
“The same niece I saw with him?”
“Yes.”
“And you believe she is also in danger?”
“I do.”
“Why?”
Meltham looked directly into my eyes.
“Because she possesses a considerable fortune.”
The room fell silent.
At last the pieces began to fit together.
Together we examined every fact that could be verified.
The inheritance.
The insurance policies.
The careful isolation of both sisters.
The repeated illnesses.
The suspicious control Slinkton exercised over every aspect of their lives.
No single circumstance proved guilt.
Taken together, however, they formed a pattern too disturbing to ignore.
What had once appeared to be kindness now resembled calculated control.
What society admired as devotion looked increasingly like possession.
Our suspicions soon reached the proper authorities.
A quiet investigation began.
Doctors who had previously treated the young women were interviewed.
Servants were questioned.
Old letters were recovered.
Financial records revealed transactions that had attracted no attention when viewed separately but appeared highly significant when considered together.
Most important of all, medical evidence suggested that the illnesses had not been entirely natural.
Very small quantities of poison, administered repeatedly over a long period, could produce exactly the gradual decline that both sisters had suffered.
The horrifying possibility became impossible to ignore.
When confronted with the growing evidence, Julius Slinkton remained astonishingly calm.
He denied every accusation.
His manners never deserted him.
His voice remained gentle.
His explanations sounded perfectly reasonable.
Even then, anyone meeting him for the first time might easily have believed him innocent.
But facts possess a quiet strength that charm cannot overcome.
Witness after witness confirmed details that contradicted his carefully constructed story.
Documents exposed financial motives.
Medical testimony explained what had previously seemed mysterious.
The polished mask he had worn for so many years finally began to crack.
As I watched the investigation reach its conclusion, I thought back to the first moment I had seen him through the glass partition of my office.
Nothing visible had warned me.
No crime had yet been discovered.
No evidence existed.
Only an instinct—one impossible to explain—had whispered that something was terribly wrong.
For years I had questioned that instinct.
Now I understood why it had refused to remain silent.
Some people reveal themselves not through dramatic actions but through countless small contradictions that the mind notices before reason can explain them.
Many years have passed since those events.
I have often reflected upon the strange relationship between evidence and intuition.
Evidence must always guide justice.
Without proof, suspicion alone is dangerous.
Yet experience teaches us not to dismiss those quiet impressions that arise from careful observation.
They are not verdicts.
They are invitations to look more closely.
Whenever I recall Julius Slinkton, I remember a man admired by nearly everyone who knew him.
Polite.
Cultured.
Generous in appearance.
Behind that flawless exterior, however, lived a patient and calculating criminal whose greatest weapon was the confidence he inspired in others.
That was the lesson I carried into retirement.
The most dangerous faces are not always the fiercest.
Sometimes they are the most agreeable.
And sometimes, the first impression we struggle hardest to ignore is the one that proves true in the end.
The End
Read the original story: americanliterature.com
Vocabulary
Suspicion — a feeling that something may be wrong or dishonest.
From the beginning, Sampson felt a deep suspicion about Julius Slinkton.
Instinct — a natural feeling that helps you know something without proof.
His instinct told him that Slinkton could not be trusted.
Courtesy — polite and respectful behaviour toward other people.
Slinkton treated everyone with perfect courtesy.
Reputation — the opinion that people have about someone’s character.
Slinkton enjoyed an excellent reputation in society.
Deception — the act of making someone believe something that is not true.
The perfect manners concealed a dangerous deception.
Remarkable — unusual, impressive, or worthy of attention.
He possessed a remarkable gift for conversation.
Guardian — a person who is legally responsible for another person.
Everyone believed Slinkton was a devoted guardian to his niece.
Inheritance — money or property received after someone’s death.
The young woman had inherited a considerable inheritance.
Observe — to watch someone or something carefully.
Sampson decided to observe Slinkton more closely.
Evidence — facts or information that prove something.
The investigators gathered enough evidence to continue the case.
Investigation — the process of trying to discover the truth.
A quiet investigation soon began.
Motive — the reason why someone does something.
Money appeared to be the criminal’s main motive.
Poison — a harmful substance that can cause illness or death.
The doctors suspected that poison had been used.
Conceal — to hide something from other people.
He tried to conceal his true intentions.
Confront — to face someone directly about a problem.
The authorities finally confronted Slinkton with the evidence.
Impression — an opinion formed after meeting someone.
Sampson’s first impression proved to be correct.
Appearance — the way someone looks or seems to other people.
His friendly appearance hid a dangerous secret.
Suspicious — making you think something is wrong.
Slinkton’s behaviour became increasingly suspicious.
Justice — fair treatment according to the law.
In the end, justice was finally served.
Timeless — remaining valuable or important for many years.
Hunted Down is a timeless detective story by Charles Dickens
Comprehension Questions
1. Who is the narrator of the story, and what profession did he have before retiring?
2. What was Sampson’s first impression of Julius Slinkton, and why did it trouble him?
3. How did Slinkton’s behaviour and reputation differ from Sampson’s private opinion of him?
4. Why did Sampson continue to distrust Slinkton even though there was no evidence against him?
5. What did Slinkton reveal about his two nieces during his conversation with Sampson?
6. Why did Slinkton visit Sampson’s office regarding Alfred Beckwith’s life insurance application?
7. What made Sampson believe that the insurance documents themselves were not the real problem?
8. What did Sampson notice when he secretly followed Slinkton and his niece through London?
9. Who was Mr. Meltham, and what important information did he reveal to Sampson?
10. How did Slinkton separate Meltham from the woman he loved?
11. What possible motive did Slinkton have for controlling the lives of his nieces?
12. What evidence led the authorities to investigate Slinkton more closely?
13. How did Slinkton behave when he was confronted with the growing evidence against him?
14. What lesson did Sampson learn about the relationship between instinct and evidence?
15. What central message does Hunted Down convey about judging people by their appearance?
16. In your opinion, why is Hunted Down considered an early detective story, and what makes it different from many modern detective novels?
Grammar Exercises
1. Sampson ______ Julius Slinkton for the first time through the glass partition.
A) see
B) saw
C) seen
D) seeing
2. Slinkton was admired by everyone, ______ Sampson did not trust him.
A) because
B) although
C) but
D) so
3. Sampson decided ______ Slinkton more carefully.
A) observe
B) observing
C) to observe
D) observed
4. Slinkton’s reputation was ______ than Sampson had expected.
A) good
B) better
C) best
D) more good
5. The insurance documents ______ carefully before they were accepted.
A) examined
B) were examined
C) are examining
D) have examine
6. If Sampson ______ his instincts, he might never have discovered the truth.
A) ignored
B) ignores
C) will ignore
D) is ignoring
7. The young woman ______ by her uncle after her sister’s death.
A) cared for
B) was cared for
C) cared
D) has caring
8. Slinkton denied ______ anything wrong.
A) do
B) to do
C) doing
D) did
9. Which sentence is grammatically correct?
A) He has a excellent reputation.
B) He had an excellent reputation.
C) He had excellent reputations.
D) He have an excellent reputation.
10. The detectives gathered enough evidence ______ the investigation.
A) continue
B) continued
C) to continue
D) continuing
11. By the time the authorities questioned him, Slinkton ______ his story many times.
A) repeated
B) has repeated
C) had repeated
D) repeats
12. Choose the correct reported speech.
Sampson said, “I do not trust him.”
A) Sampson said that he did not trust him.
B) Sampson said that I do not trust him.
C) Sampson said he not trusted him.
D) Sampson said that he does not trust him.
13. Which sentence uses the passive voice correctly?
A) The mystery solved by Sampson.
B) The mystery was solved by Sampson.
C) The mystery was solve by Sampson.
D) The mystery has solve by Sampson.
14. Slinkton spoke politely ______ everyone he met.
A) to
B) at
C) with
D) for
15. Which sentence is correct?
A) Appearances can sometimes be deceive.
B) Appearances can sometimes deceive.
C) Appearances can sometimes deceiving.
D) Appearances can sometimes deceived.
16. What is the correct ending of this sentence?
The story teaches that people should not always judge others ______.
A) by their appearance
B) from their appearing
C) with appearance
D) in appearance
Answer Key
B 2. C 3. C 4. B 5. B 6. A 7. B 8. C 9. B 10. C 11. C 12. A 13. B 14. A 15. B 16. A
More Famous Stories – C1–C2 Level
01. The Nightingale (for Beginner Levels A1)
The Nightingale is a famous story written by Hans Christian Andersen in the 19th century. It is one of his most well-known fairy tales and is loved by readers all over the world.
The story happens in ancient China. It tells about a powerful Emperor, a beautiful palace, and a small nightingale with a wonderful song. The events take place in a palace, a garden, and a quiet forest near the sea.
This story is about true beauty, kindness, and freedom. It shows the difference between real things and artificial things. It also teaches us to listen with our hearts, not only with our eyes.