Published by COLLINS CRIME CLUB
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First published in Great Britain by Wm Collins Sons & Co. Ltd 1929
Copyright © Estate of Freeman Wills Crofts 1929
Cover design by Mike Topping © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2017
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the authorâs imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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Source ISBN: 9780008190705
Ebook Edition © March 2017 ISBN: 9780008190712
Version: 2017-01-23
Inspector Joseph French, of the Criminal Investigation Department of New Scotland Yard, sat writing in his room in the great building on Victoria Embankment. Before him on his desk lay sheet after sheet of memorandum paper covered with his small, neat writing, and his pen travelled so steadily over the paper that an observer might have imagined that he had given up the detection of crime and taken to journalism.
He was on a commonplace job, making a précis of the life history of an extremely commonplace burglar. But though he didnât know it, fate, weighty with the issues of life and death, was even then knocking at his door.
Its summons was prosaic enough, a ring on the telephone. As he picked up the receiver he little thought that that simple action was to be his introduction to a drama of terrible and dastardly crime, indeed one of the most terrible and dastardly crimes with which he had ever had to do.
âThat Inspector French?â he heard. âArrowsmith speakingâArrowsmith of Lincolnâs Inn.â
A criminal lawyer with a large practice, Mr Arrowsmith was well known in the courts. He and French were on friendly terms, having had tussles over the fate of many an evil-doer.
âYes, Mr Arrowsmith. Iâm French.â
âIâve a young lady here,â Arrowsmith went on, âwho has just pitched me a yarn which should interest you. She has got into the clutches of a scoundrel whoâs clearly up to no good. I donât know what heâs after, but it looks mighty like a scheme of systematic theft. I thought you might like to lay a trap and take him redhanded.â
âNothing would please me better,â French returned promptly. âShall I go across to your office?â
âNo, itâs not necessary. Iâll send the girl to the Yard. Thurza Darke is her name. Sheâll be with you in half an hour.â
âSplendid! Iâll see her directly she comes. And many thanks for your hint.â
Though he spoke cordially, French was not impressed by the message. Communications purporting to disclose clues to crimes were received by the Yard every day. As a matter of principle all were investigated, but not one in a hundred led to anything. When, therefore, about half an hour later Miss Darke was announced, French greeted her courteously, but without enthusiasm.
She was a pretty blonde of about five-and-twenty, with a good manner and something of a presence. Well but plainly dressed in some light summery material, she looked what she evidently was, an ordinary, pleasant, healthy young woman of the lower middle classes. French put her down as a typist or shopgirl or perhaps a bookkeeper in some small establishment. In one point only did she seem abnormal. She was evidently acutely nervous. There was panic in her eyes, tiny drops of perspiration stood on her face, and the hand in which she grasped her vanity bag trembled visibly.
âGood morning, Miss Darke,â said French, rising as she entered and pulling forward a chair. âWonât you sit down?â He gave her a keen glance and went on: âNow, if youâll excuse me for two or three minutes Iâll be quite at your service.â