By Ngaio Marsh
Ngaio Marsh was once one of many queens (she has been referred to as the empress) of England's Golden Age of puzzle fiction. And in precise Golden Age style, her oeuvre opens with, convinced, a country-house occasion among the 2 global wars – servants bustling, gin flowing, the gents in dinner jackets, the women all slink and smolder. much more scrumptious: The host, Sir Hubert Handesley, has invented a brand new and particularly interesting model of that cherished parlor leisure, The homicide Game.
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Detective Inspector Henry Christie has been suspended from responsibility. He's spending caliber time together with his relatives, yet at center he's itching to come again into the fray. So while the sexy and filthy rich mom of 1 of his daughter's horse-riding pals asks him to enquire the mutilation of a few of the family's bloodstock, Christie agrees--against his greater judgement.
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Not anything else mattered. He’d been break away through his bosses and his twisted imaginative and prescient of what had occurred observed just one finishing: revenge. And that revenge used to be targeted exclusively on Rocco.
1963, France. A farmer stories a truck ramming right into a automobile close to Picardie, by way of gunfire. a gaggle of Englishmen are introduced in after a bar struggle. A tramp's physique is found in a burnt out truck. All this taking place after a number of makes an attempt at the President’s life.
Inspector Lucas Rocco understands there’s a connection someplace, and is recruited through Colonel Saint-Cloud to help with the President’s protection. but regardless of all clues pointing to the Pont Noir for the following test, either Massin and Saint-Cloud reject his suspicions. Left without different alternative, Rocco makes a decision to enquire the location by myself, risking censure by way of his superiors.
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Additional resources for A Man Lay Dead (Roderick Alleyn, Book 1)
I looked in the register, you know, after Candida had gone home, and I saw the names — Miss Olivia Benevent — Miss Cara Benevent.
I’ll have good luck as long as I wear it, and I can’t be hurt by wound nor poison. ” I said, “Mercy, Mr. Alan! ” Well, do you know, not a month after that something broke in the car when he was driving it, and it went smash into a wall at the bottom of Hill Lane. And he come out of it without a scratch. “What did I tell you, Mrs. ” he said. “That charm of Miss Cara’s is a mascot all right. I ought to have been killed, and here I am without a scratch. ” Which was vain superstition, but I could see that he meant it.
She passed along the winding passages to her room. As she approached it she heard the sound of weeping. It was a low sound made up of sighing breaths and a faint sobbing. The door of the room stood ajar, and the sound came from there. After a moment of hesitation she widened the gap and looked in. Miss Cara stood by the cold hearth, her fingers wrung together and the tears trickling down her chin. She said, ‘Alan —’ under her breath. And then she must have heard Candida cross the threshold, for she started, turned, and put out her hands.
A Man Lay Dead (Roderick Alleyn, Book 1) by Ngaio Marsh