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

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None of the other guests could explain what she was doing in Crooked Lane during the night…

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None of the other guests could explain what she was doing in Crooked Lane during the night…

Beautiful Margaret Gask, guest at Scudamore Hall, was shot to death on the driveway of the estate. The mink coat that she should have been wearing turned out to be the first clue Scotland Yard had to work on. Then a man she knew, a receiver of stolen goods, turns up dead. Soon more shady characters are drawn into the story: receivers, jewel thieves, confidence men and convicted felons on both sides of the Channel.

Richardson, now Chief Constable, orchestrates the clues concerning a murdered French senator, the theft of a famous emerald, a fake Italian prince and a mysterious priest who sought sanctuary after perpetrating thefts and felonies all over France. The case ends back in Scudamore Hall, where an ecclesiastical robe replaces a mink coat as Exhibit A.

The last and arguably most entertaining of all the Richardson novels, A Murder is Arranged (1937) has action, humour and a brilliant cast of major and minor characters. This new edition, the first in many decades, includes a new introduction by crime novelist Martin Edwards, acclaimed author of genre history The Golden Age of Murder.

Praise

“Few authors can claim such an intimate knowledge of Scotland Yard and criminals as Sir Basil Thomson, one-time Assistant Commissioner at the Yard. He provides subtle intrigue, clever deduction, and bright dialogue.” REFEREE

Bibliographic Data

Category: Crime Fiction
Publication Date: April 2016
Territories: World
ISBN: 978 1 911095 82 8 (ebook) / 978 1 911095 81 1 (paperback)

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The D.D.I. recognized him and smiled. “That was a great case you brought us. You’ll be interested to hear that it is a case of mur-r-der!”

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In the hall he found the body of his maidservant, Helen Dunn, aged about fifty, lying on the floor near the telephone. She had bled profusely from a wound in the head and her body was cold.

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“The late Miss Clynes, sir? How dreadful. It must have been very sudden.”

“It was.”

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He flung open a drawer and took from it a heavy dagger in a sheath with blood-stains upon it. On the blade were engraved the words, “Blut und Ehre!”

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“I’m writing to you about the death of Mr. Dearborn. You bet the murderer’s laughing up his sleeve now that he’s got away with it.”

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“There’s one thing which I daresay you noticed—that pair of slippers half kicked under the bath were of men’s size.”

“Yes, I noticed that, too, and they were sprinkled with blood.”

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“What are you looking for, sir?” he said.

“Bloodstains.”

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