Whodunit, British Library, Crime Classic, Agatha Christie, Ngaio Marsh, Dorothy L. Sayers

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Protruding from the dead woman’s breast was the gold and jewelled dagger she had shown them half an hour before. And, looking horribly incongruous among the laces of her fichu, a deep stain was spreading.

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Description

Protruding from the dead woman’s breast was the gold and jewelled dagger she had shown them half an hour before. And, looking horribly incongruous among the laces of her fichu, a deep stain was spreading.

Elderly cantankerous widow Lady Anne Daventry summons a private detective, Bruce Cardyn, to her London home. He is tasked to find out one thing: just who is trying to kill her?

Any number of relations have a financial interest in her death. Then there is Lady Anne’s recently dismissed private secretary, her lady’s maid and the butler…

Despite Cardyn’s efforts, Lady Anne is murdered and Inspector Furnival, in his second golden age mystery, is on the case, with Cardyn playing Watson. Originally published in 1926, this new edition is the first printed in over eighty years. It features an introduction by crime fiction historian Curtis Evans.

Praise

“Miss Haynes’ new book shows all the merits of its predecessors. Careful plot, a villain concealed, natural setting, observation of character—for all these it scores points.” MORNING POST

Bibliographic Data

Category: Crime Fiction
Publication Date: October 2015
Territories: World
ISBN: 978 1 911095 04 0 (ebook) / 978 1 911095 03 3 (paperback)

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“Nobody would have murdered him,” Miss Lavinia cried. “Everybody liked John!”

“I’m afraid it is evident that someone did not.”

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The body lay face downwards in a foot of water at the bottom of the ditch. Up to the present it has not been identified. But a card was found in the pocket with the name of –

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“Owing to the sudden death of Miss Charmian Karslake this theatre is closed until further notice. Money for tickets already booked will be refunded.”

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“Early this morning a gruesome discovery was made by a gardener employed at Holford Hall in Loamshire...”

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“A crime of a peculiarly mysterious nature was perpetrated some time last night in a block of flats called Abbey Court.”

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“I cannot understand why Mr. Bechcombe apparently offered no resistance. His hand-bell, his speaking-tube, the telephone—all were close at hand. It looks as though he had recognized his assassin and had no fear of him.”

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“He had his tea as usual; when I knocked at the door with the tray (he always had afternoon tea), I found him—like this.”

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“There’s no dirty trick he wouldn’t play—it’s my belief that he wouldn’t even stop at murder!”

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“Who knows if he didn’t make away with her here? Those things found in the Home Coppice show that she was made away with plain enough, I say.”

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Glancing at her more closely, he noticed dark stains on her white gown. Horror-struck, he bent over her for a moment, and realised that it was unmistakably a corpse.

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“As for books,” Sir Oswald said, “I don’t care for them. Unless I get hold of a good detective story. The tracing out of crime always has a curious fascination for me.”

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