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A.S. der Unsichtbare
Fast jede Nacht verließ der reiche Mr. Merrivan heimlich sein Haus. Wohin er ging, interessierte niemanden - bis er getötet wurde.
Man fand seine Leiche im Arbeitszimmer. Die Pulverspuren auf der weißen Weste verrieten, daß er aus nächster Nähe erschossen wurde.
Seltsamerweise trug Mr. Merrivan zum Abendanzug unförmige, lehmverkrustete Stiefel...
Man fand seine Leiche im Arbeitszimmer. Die Pulverspuren auf der weißen Weste verrieten, daß er aus nächster Nähe erschossen wurde.
Seltsamerweise trug Mr. Merrivan zum Abendanzug unförmige, lehmverkrustete Stiefel...
208 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1922
6 people are currently reading
109 people want to read
About the author
Edgar Wallace
2,126 books260 followersRichard Horatio Edgar Wallace (1875-1932) was a prolific British crime writer, journalist and playwright, who wrote 175 novels, 24 plays, and countless articles in newspapers and journals.
Over 160 films have been made of his novels, more than any other author. In the 1920s, one of Wallace's publishers claimed that a quarter of all books read in England were written by him.
He is most famous today as the co-creator of "King Kong", writing the early screenplay and story for the movie, as well as a short story "King Kong" (1933) credited to him and Draycott Dell. He was known for the J. G. Reeder detective stories, The Four Just Men, the Ringer, and for creating the Green Archer character during his lifetime.
Over 160 films have been made of his novels, more than any other author. In the 1920s, one of Wallace's publishers claimed that a quarter of all books read in England were written by him.
He is most famous today as the co-creator of "King Kong", writing the early screenplay and story for the movie, as well as a short story "King Kong" (1933) credited to him and Draycott Dell. He was known for the J. G. Reeder detective stories, The Four Just Men, the Ringer, and for creating the Green Archer character during his lifetime.
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Displaying 1 - 14 of 14 reviews
February 27, 2019
An enjoyable old fashioned detective story with a mysterious young woman struggling against the odds, a mysterious loan shark who no one has ever seen, and a growing number of murders littering the landscape of a genteel town. All investigated by a forensic scientist who's got his eye on the young lady. Of course.
October 4, 2016
One of the More Entertaining Wallace Novels
When you read Edgar Wallace, you normally know what you can expect: Rather contrived murder mysteries (although not as contrived ones as those of Agatha Christie), flat characters (as flat as those of Agatha Christie), and wry humour (wryer humour than that of Agatha Christie).
The Valley of Ghosts, written as one of four detective novels in 1922, is set in the seemingly peaceful community Beverly Green, a place where upper-middle-class families live a secluded life. And yet, the valley of Beverly Green is haunted by ghosts, i.e. by more or less shameful secrets from the past, hidden by some of the inhabitants, like the young Stella Nelson and her feckless painter-father; Mr. Arthur Wilmot, who conducts a mysterious business in the City; the aristocratic Salter Boyden; or the retired businessman Merrivan. Secrets that are known by the obscure master-blackmailer Abraham Selim and that therefore cannot be put to rest so easily. When, in this underlying atmosphere of distrust and tension, Mr. Merrivan is found murdered, all clues seem to point at Stella Nelson, and Dr. Andy Macleod from the police has more than just a professional interest in proving her innocence. Well, of course he has. He is aided as much as got into new difficulties in his investigations by the professional burglar Scottie and the callous but clever newspaperman Downer.
The story is not especially original with regard to plot development and the solution of the mystery, and whenever the story-line gets out of balance, Wallace freely uses coincidence in order to drive it on, as, for instance, Mr. Downer running into Stella during one of her London errands (as though people ran into each other in puny little London) but Macleod’s interactions with Scottie and Downer provide a lot of interest, and then there is Wallace’s great sense of humour in solving some of the mysteries and in using lines like:
or
All in all, books like The Valley of Ghosts make me revisit Edgar Wallace from time to time, and with gleeful expectation.
When you read Edgar Wallace, you normally know what you can expect: Rather contrived murder mysteries (although not as contrived ones as those of Agatha Christie), flat characters (as flat as those of Agatha Christie), and wry humour (wryer humour than that of Agatha Christie).
The Valley of Ghosts, written as one of four detective novels in 1922, is set in the seemingly peaceful community Beverly Green, a place where upper-middle-class families live a secluded life. And yet, the valley of Beverly Green is haunted by ghosts, i.e. by more or less shameful secrets from the past, hidden by some of the inhabitants, like the young Stella Nelson and her feckless painter-father; Mr. Arthur Wilmot, who conducts a mysterious business in the City; the aristocratic Salter Boyden; or the retired businessman Merrivan. Secrets that are known by the obscure master-blackmailer Abraham Selim and that therefore cannot be put to rest so easily. When, in this underlying atmosphere of distrust and tension, Mr. Merrivan is found murdered, all clues seem to point at Stella Nelson, and Dr. Andy Macleod from the police has more than just a professional interest in proving her innocence. Well, of course he has. He is aided as much as got into new difficulties in his investigations by the professional burglar Scottie and the callous but clever newspaperman Downer.
The story is not especially original with regard to plot development and the solution of the mystery, and whenever the story-line gets out of balance, Wallace freely uses coincidence in order to drive it on, as, for instance, Mr. Downer running into Stella during one of her London errands (as though people ran into each other in puny little London) but Macleod’s interactions with Scottie and Downer provide a lot of interest, and then there is Wallace’s great sense of humour in solving some of the mysteries and in using lines like:
”Vulgarity in a publisher is rare, but such things have been known.”
or
”’It was rather an interesting sermon, don’t you think, Dr Macleod?’
‘Very,’ he agreed, and tactfully changed the subject. He knew there had been a sermon, because he had seen an old man curled up in one corner of the pew fast asleep. But what it was about he had not the slightest idea.”
All in all, books like The Valley of Ghosts make me revisit Edgar Wallace from time to time, and with gleeful expectation.
June 20, 2024
Good mystery, but terrible characters.
November 4, 2020
I had to stop reading about a third through the book (after ch. 10), so no spoilers beyond that point. However, some details are necessary for my evaluation. Gave 1/5 stars since I can't give less, and is usually reserved for books that I couldn't find it in me to finish at all.
So, if you're familiar with Edgar Wallace novels, there are certain expectations you learn to have or not have. For example, the (murder) mysteries are usually at least to some degree unrealistic and contrived, but may still be suspenseful and well-executed, and characters tend to be fairly one-dimensional, especially and particularly so if they're female. A character usually serves to fulfill a certain prototype, like the more or less handsome and suave sleuth of some kind, his pretty-and-young love interest et cetera. In this book, though, the whole thing is either too lazily written or too extreme in its conception to be tolerable for me. Not only is a certain degree of chauvinism part and parcel of these books regardless, which you can either take or leave with these novels, but this one has taken the cake so far.
The problem lies chiefly with the main characters, which is to say, the "detective" and his love interest. He seems fairly all right at first, if highly unlikely - a medical doctor who works for Scotland Yard, but somehow is also a detective semi-officially because apparently someone decided he was good at it? Sounds implausible, but sure, I'll suspend my disbelief. Who knows what that sort of thing was really like in the 1920s, so, whatever. The point that increasingly disqualifies him, however, is the romance plot. I say plot, not subplot, because it dominates the narrative to the point that the actual mystery is sidelined almost completely insofar as I've gotten with the book, and given the progression, there is little reason to suspect this would substantially change later on. It all hinges on the female counterpart in this romantic couple - she is, of course, the young-and-pretty type, which is to be expected. There's also some base chauvinism involved, but again, par for the course. The real problem arises from their age difference and, more importantly, the way it's portrayed and the consequences drawn from it.
As it is, age differences aren't an unusual thing, not in reality, certainly not in literature, and certainly not in a historical perspective. However, this is one of those half-your-age type constellations where the younger participant is explicitly not mature, to put it delicately. While our detective is explicitly stated to be 35 years of age, she is so young as to be considered not fully entered into womanhood - the protagonist thinks of her at one point as "perfect already in her half-blossomed state", wondering how magnificent she'll be once she's fully grown and matured. She is, explicitly, not a mature woman. For the sake of my sanity, I'll assume she's at least 18 years of age. That would still mean, however, that even at this generous assumption, we're still dealing with a Jane Eyre/Mr Rochester kind of gap, or a Flashdance one (though in that one the dude was also her boss which made it extra icky). To make it worse, the protagonist also refers to her as a child when he's just suspected her of a crime, and is reprimanding her for her behaviour. Yes, I'm aware that such address wasn't completely unusual for women in the past, but that doesn't change the underlying attitude at all, namely that he's literally patronising her and both viewing and treating her as a child - as someone who can not stand by herself.
The sad thing is - he's not wrong. She IS a girl, she IS essentially a child, at least she would be to any sensible 35 year old grown-ass adult man. She may be forced to take care of some home business in light of her alcoholic father barely being able to function, but other than that, she's more than glad the protagonist suddenly shows up to take care of all that pesky complicated business for her, so that she can literally swoon into his arms and let him be her caretaker. She's a highly impressionable teen, who mostly seems attracted to him because he's got grey eyes and is kinda handsome and also detectives are mysterious. Also, presumably, the available men in her immediate vicinity aren't attractive to her, from what I was able to tell. She kinda latches on to this stranger, who's handsome and seems competent, and he absolutely sees nothing wrong with that, but encourages it. He's in a position of power as the investigator in a case she may well be implicated in, and he actively uses it to shelter her, which they both know and she appreciates, welcoming the dependence that builds. Is this what grooming is? Because to my non-expert opinion, it certainly feels like it very well might be. I actually shuddered several times while reading. (As a side note, there's also the creepy fact that she's apparently a very popular girl, already having received two marriage proposals before he confesses to her, one of them coming from a retired man significantly older even than the protagonist. Just, yeah. That's a thing.)
Now, even if - for some reason - you're entirely willing to look past all of that, there's still the fact that all of this stuff takes up about 80% of the narrative. I made it through a third of the book until the actual mystery got started, and even then, everything still ended up being focused on the romance somehow. Our protagonist is mainly concerned about how it all will affect her, which would at best be kind of boring, but in this case means that he's seriously compromising his job - he confronts her, thinking she is most likely the murderer, and is instantly willing to actively get her out of the country, because he's just that besotted with her (somehow). He confesses his love to her, but luckily, it turns out she has no idea and isn't the killer. This is lucky for him, and would normally seem like an obvious misdirect to me (because she's likely to lie here), but this is still an Edgar Wallace novel and my metatextual knowledge tells me that the pure, innocent, young-and-pretty love interest isn't going to be the killer. I'm not sure if we're supposed to find it romantic or endearing or what that he's willing to completely throw all integrity he ever possessed overboard for a teenaged girl at best half his age - whom he's spoken to at best three or four times before, no less - but personally, that's where my suspension of disbelief ends.
I then still endeavored to give the book the benefit of the doubt. You know, see how it turns out, trying to ignore the romance, wanting to know what the deal with the mystery is. But STILL everything is focused through the romance, and that ended up making the whole thing intolerable, because even disregarding how creepy it all is, it's also terminally boring. So... I stopped.
1/5 stars for creeping the hell out of me and also boring me to death. Reading interrupted after 10 chapters. Luckily was a library loan, not a purchase. Not recommended, even if you have a reasonably high tolerance for classic mystery novel shenanigans.
So, if you're familiar with Edgar Wallace novels, there are certain expectations you learn to have or not have. For example, the (murder) mysteries are usually at least to some degree unrealistic and contrived, but may still be suspenseful and well-executed, and characters tend to be fairly one-dimensional, especially and particularly so if they're female. A character usually serves to fulfill a certain prototype, like the more or less handsome and suave sleuth of some kind, his pretty-and-young love interest et cetera. In this book, though, the whole thing is either too lazily written or too extreme in its conception to be tolerable for me. Not only is a certain degree of chauvinism part and parcel of these books regardless, which you can either take or leave with these novels, but this one has taken the cake so far.
The problem lies chiefly with the main characters, which is to say, the "detective" and his love interest. He seems fairly all right at first, if highly unlikely - a medical doctor who works for Scotland Yard, but somehow is also a detective semi-officially because apparently someone decided he was good at it? Sounds implausible, but sure, I'll suspend my disbelief. Who knows what that sort of thing was really like in the 1920s, so, whatever. The point that increasingly disqualifies him, however, is the romance plot. I say plot, not subplot, because it dominates the narrative to the point that the actual mystery is sidelined almost completely insofar as I've gotten with the book, and given the progression, there is little reason to suspect this would substantially change later on. It all hinges on the female counterpart in this romantic couple - she is, of course, the young-and-pretty type, which is to be expected. There's also some base chauvinism involved, but again, par for the course. The real problem arises from their age difference and, more importantly, the way it's portrayed and the consequences drawn from it.
As it is, age differences aren't an unusual thing, not in reality, certainly not in literature, and certainly not in a historical perspective. However, this is one of those half-your-age type constellations where the younger participant is explicitly not mature, to put it delicately. While our detective is explicitly stated to be 35 years of age, she is so young as to be considered not fully entered into womanhood - the protagonist thinks of her at one point as "perfect already in her half-blossomed state", wondering how magnificent she'll be once she's fully grown and matured. She is, explicitly, not a mature woman. For the sake of my sanity, I'll assume she's at least 18 years of age. That would still mean, however, that even at this generous assumption, we're still dealing with a Jane Eyre/Mr Rochester kind of gap, or a Flashdance one (though in that one the dude was also her boss which made it extra icky). To make it worse, the protagonist also refers to her as a child when he's just suspected her of a crime, and is reprimanding her for her behaviour. Yes, I'm aware that such address wasn't completely unusual for women in the past, but that doesn't change the underlying attitude at all, namely that he's literally patronising her and both viewing and treating her as a child - as someone who can not stand by herself.
The sad thing is - he's not wrong. She IS a girl, she IS essentially a child, at least she would be to any sensible 35 year old grown-ass adult man. She may be forced to take care of some home business in light of her alcoholic father barely being able to function, but other than that, she's more than glad the protagonist suddenly shows up to take care of all that pesky complicated business for her, so that she can literally swoon into his arms and let him be her caretaker. She's a highly impressionable teen, who mostly seems attracted to him because he's got grey eyes and is kinda handsome and also detectives are mysterious. Also, presumably, the available men in her immediate vicinity aren't attractive to her, from what I was able to tell. She kinda latches on to this stranger, who's handsome and seems competent, and he absolutely sees nothing wrong with that, but encourages it. He's in a position of power as the investigator in a case she may well be implicated in, and he actively uses it to shelter her, which they both know and she appreciates, welcoming the dependence that builds. Is this what grooming is? Because to my non-expert opinion, it certainly feels like it very well might be. I actually shuddered several times while reading. (As a side note, there's also the creepy fact that she's apparently a very popular girl, already having received two marriage proposals before he confesses to her, one of them coming from a retired man significantly older even than the protagonist. Just, yeah. That's a thing.)
Now, even if - for some reason - you're entirely willing to look past all of that, there's still the fact that all of this stuff takes up about 80% of the narrative. I made it through a third of the book until the actual mystery got started, and even then, everything still ended up being focused on the romance somehow. Our protagonist is mainly concerned about how it all will affect her, which would at best be kind of boring, but in this case means that he's seriously compromising his job - he confronts her, thinking she is most likely the murderer, and is instantly willing to actively get her out of the country, because he's just that besotted with her (somehow). He confesses his love to her, but luckily, it turns out she has no idea and isn't the killer. This is lucky for him, and would normally seem like an obvious misdirect to me (because she's likely to lie here), but this is still an Edgar Wallace novel and my metatextual knowledge tells me that the pure, innocent, young-and-pretty love interest isn't going to be the killer. I'm not sure if we're supposed to find it romantic or endearing or what that he's willing to completely throw all integrity he ever possessed overboard for a teenaged girl at best half his age - whom he's spoken to at best three or four times before, no less - but personally, that's where my suspension of disbelief ends.
I then still endeavored to give the book the benefit of the doubt. You know, see how it turns out, trying to ignore the romance, wanting to know what the deal with the mystery is. But STILL everything is focused through the romance, and that ended up making the whole thing intolerable, because even disregarding how creepy it all is, it's also terminally boring. So... I stopped.
1/5 stars for creeping the hell out of me and also boring me to death. Reading interrupted after 10 chapters. Luckily was a library loan, not a purchase. Not recommended, even if you have a reasonably high tolerance for classic mystery novel shenanigans.
May 8, 2024
3 -
Questo libricino ci trasporta nella tranquilla comunità di Beverly Green, dove le famiglie della classe media alta nascondono oscuri segreti.
Quando il rispettabile signor Merrivan viene trovato assassinato, tutti gli occhi si rivolgono verso Stella Nelson, una giovane del villaggio. Il dottor Andy Macleod, un investigatore con un interesse personale per il caso, si impegna a dimostrarne l'innocenza. Ciò che segue è una serie di eventi intricati, resi affascinanti dalle interazioni tra i personaggi.
Tra i personaggi che ho preferito, spuntano Scottie - il ladro professionista con un codice d'onore tutto suo - e Downer, il giornalista astuto e cinico.
Sebbene la storia non brilli per originalità nella risoluzione del mistero, Wallace sa tenere il lettore incollato alle pagine con colpi di scena e svolte inaspettate. Si tratta di un giallo coinvolgente che offre un'immersione intrigante in un mondo pieno di segreti e inganni.
Questo libricino ci trasporta nella tranquilla comunità di Beverly Green, dove le famiglie della classe media alta nascondono oscuri segreti.
Quando il rispettabile signor Merrivan viene trovato assassinato, tutti gli occhi si rivolgono verso Stella Nelson, una giovane del villaggio. Il dottor Andy Macleod, un investigatore con un interesse personale per il caso, si impegna a dimostrarne l'innocenza. Ciò che segue è una serie di eventi intricati, resi affascinanti dalle interazioni tra i personaggi.
Tra i personaggi che ho preferito, spuntano Scottie - il ladro professionista con un codice d'onore tutto suo - e Downer, il giornalista astuto e cinico.
Sebbene la storia non brilli per originalità nella risoluzione del mistero, Wallace sa tenere il lettore incollato alle pagine con colpi di scena e svolte inaspettate. Si tratta di un giallo coinvolgente che offre un'immersione intrigante in un mondo pieno di segreti e inganni.
June 29, 2020
The title of this book is completely misleading, the 'ghost' part is only pushed in at the last minute for, what I assume, was a desperate need to give an edge to the story, since the story itself for the most part is dull and unexciting.
The main character MacLeod falls head over heels in love by just looking at a girl, and the girl, an empty shell of no personality or prospects in life, somehow manages to sneak her way into being adored and victimized by everyone involved.
"A chill-packed mystery"? Where?
"Master of suspense"? W H E R E ?
The story is easily read and does have soME interesting parts, but won't be anything that will stick in your mind for longer than a day.
The main character MacLeod falls head over heels in love by just looking at a girl, and the girl, an empty shell of no personality or prospects in life, somehow manages to sneak her way into being adored and victimized by everyone involved.
"A chill-packed mystery"? Where?
"Master of suspense"? W H E R E ?
The story is easily read and does have soME interesting parts, but won't be anything that will stick in your mind for longer than a day.
January 8, 2024
Antologia I mammut: Dieci sfumature di giallo
Nonostante avessi capito troppo presto chi fosse il colpevole e nonostante Wallace sia ricorso ad una incredibile coincidenza per dare una svolta all'indagine, il giallo mi è piaciuto molto, buono il ritmo, diversi i colpi di scena e con la presenza anche della parte rosa.
Nonostante avessi capito troppo presto chi fosse il colpevole e nonostante Wallace sia ricorso ad una incredibile coincidenza per dare una svolta all'indagine, il giallo mi è piaciuto molto, buono il ritmo, diversi i colpi di scena e con la presenza anche della parte rosa.
March 20, 2024
The usual setup -beautiful girl in distress, investigator attracted to her, villainous villains who are mysterious until the end, secrets and fortunes, murders and robberies etc This one is a bit more scattered than usual, but it has a lot of energy and a more memorable cast also
Read
July 10, 2022Nothing ghostly going on!
May 3, 2024
La trama non è niente male, ma la lettura è decisamente prolissa e noiosa.
November 30, 2021
Soarta şi un Spanz de mare viteză l-au adus pe Andrew Macleod în împrejurimile Beverley-ului. Oraşul propriu-zis se află la capătul unui lanţ muntos şerpuitor şi nu are nicio justificare aparentă pentru existenţa sa ori pentru mijloacele de trai. Totuşi, datorită unor motive stranii, populaţia din Beverley nu murea de foame şi micile şi ciudatele magazine care formau singura sa stradă, largă şi adumbrită de copaci, aveau o înfăţişare prosperă. Dar aceasta nu se datora suburbiei aristocratice, întrucât cei din Beverley Green se aprovizionau de la marile magazine din alte zone şi veneau la oraş numai pentru acele produse care fuseseră omise de pe comandă.
Andy îşi parcă maşina sa cu capotă alungită în faţa oficiului poştal şi pătrunse în clădire. Peste cinci minute flecărea cu funcţionarul de la ghişeu, şi subiectul conversaţiei lor era Allison John Wicker, alias Scottie-Ochelaristul datorită obiceiului de a purta ochelari. Scottie era unul din puţinii oameni din branşa lui, căruia îi plăcea să se plimbe. Când directorul consiliului de administraţie al Sindicatului Diamantelor a venit într-o luni de dimineaţă la birou şi a aflat că cineva l-a scutit de plictiseala de a deschide seiful antifurt şi antifoc, prin folosirea unui suflai cu flacără oxiacetilenică, pentru Andy era tot atât de clar că isprava era opera lui Scottie, ca şi cum acesta ar fi lăsat o chitanţă pentru cele şapte pachete cu pietre pe care le luase. Gările şi porturile de îmbarcare au fost dintr-o dată inundate cu pichete de poliţie, hotelurile ― controlate şi toate comisariatele de poliţie ― avertizate.
Andy Macleod, ce-şi petrecea concediul cu o undiţă şi o mulţime de cărţi pe care nu avusese timp să le citească în cursul anului, a fost rechemat de la distracţie pentru a organiza urmărirea.
Pornise în viaţă ca dr. Macleod, criminalist practician la Departamentul Poliţiei, şi a fost antrenat în profesiunea de „prinzător de hoţi”, fară a şti exact cum s-a întâmplat.
Oficial, era încă medic criminalist, un om chemat în boxa martorilor spre a atesta cauza morţii victimei; neoficial, deşi toţi i se adresau cu „domnule”, el era „Andy” şi pentru cel mai tânăr poliţist care bătea străzile.
― A trecut prin Panton Mills acum trei zile, într-un tur turistic. Sunt aproape sigur că a fost Scottie, spuse el. Eu răspund de tot teritoriul de aici până la Three Lakes. Poliţia locală jură că tipul nu a apărut pe lângă Bevearly, ceea ce înseamnă că trebuie să petreacă sub nasul lor. Sunt inteligenţi; m-au întrebat dacă a făcut ceva rău, pe când ştiau de o săptămână descrierea completă a furtului dar şi a lui Scottie.
O fată intră în oficiul poştal în momentul respectiv. Privind razant prin peretele de sticlă al cabinei telefonice, Andy o zări cu admiraţie. Atractivă, drăguţă, frumoasă? Bărbaţilor le plac femeile în costume taillor cu croială dreaptă. Era destul de înaltă pentru o femeie, suplă, dar nu slabă.
― Da, aşa-i, răspunse mecanic şefului său, cu ochii aţintiţi la fată.
Ea îşi ridică mâna, şi el văzu că are un inel pe inelar; un inel de aur cu smaralde micuţe, sau poate că sunt safire ― nu, erau într-adevăr smaralde; le prinse sclipirea verzuie ca marea.
Deschise uşa cabinei un inch[1], după ce transmisese partea cea mai secretă a raportului său şi, cu o ureche liberă, a prins murmurul vocii fetei. „Mai mult decât drăguţă!”, a decis, admirându-i profilul.
Apoi s-a întâmplat un lucru ciudat. Fata trebuie să-l fi studiat în timp ce el nu o observa. Este posibil ca ea să fi întrebat cine era tipul; probabil că bătrânul şi guralivul diriginte de poştă, căruia Andy îi arătase legitimaţia spre a-i facilita convorbirea, să-i fi oferit informaţii. Andy a auzit pronunţându-se cuvântul „detectiv”. De unde stătea, avea o vedere clară asupra figurii ei.
Andy îşi parcă maşina sa cu capotă alungită în faţa oficiului poştal şi pătrunse în clădire. Peste cinci minute flecărea cu funcţionarul de la ghişeu, şi subiectul conversaţiei lor era Allison John Wicker, alias Scottie-Ochelaristul datorită obiceiului de a purta ochelari. Scottie era unul din puţinii oameni din branşa lui, căruia îi plăcea să se plimbe. Când directorul consiliului de administraţie al Sindicatului Diamantelor a venit într-o luni de dimineaţă la birou şi a aflat că cineva l-a scutit de plictiseala de a deschide seiful antifurt şi antifoc, prin folosirea unui suflai cu flacără oxiacetilenică, pentru Andy era tot atât de clar că isprava era opera lui Scottie, ca şi cum acesta ar fi lăsat o chitanţă pentru cele şapte pachete cu pietre pe care le luase. Gările şi porturile de îmbarcare au fost dintr-o dată inundate cu pichete de poliţie, hotelurile ― controlate şi toate comisariatele de poliţie ― avertizate.
Andy Macleod, ce-şi petrecea concediul cu o undiţă şi o mulţime de cărţi pe care nu avusese timp să le citească în cursul anului, a fost rechemat de la distracţie pentru a organiza urmărirea.
Pornise în viaţă ca dr. Macleod, criminalist practician la Departamentul Poliţiei, şi a fost antrenat în profesiunea de „prinzător de hoţi”, fară a şti exact cum s-a întâmplat.
Oficial, era încă medic criminalist, un om chemat în boxa martorilor spre a atesta cauza morţii victimei; neoficial, deşi toţi i se adresau cu „domnule”, el era „Andy” şi pentru cel mai tânăr poliţist care bătea străzile.
― A trecut prin Panton Mills acum trei zile, într-un tur turistic. Sunt aproape sigur că a fost Scottie, spuse el. Eu răspund de tot teritoriul de aici până la Three Lakes. Poliţia locală jură că tipul nu a apărut pe lângă Bevearly, ceea ce înseamnă că trebuie să petreacă sub nasul lor. Sunt inteligenţi; m-au întrebat dacă a făcut ceva rău, pe când ştiau de o săptămână descrierea completă a furtului dar şi a lui Scottie.
O fată intră în oficiul poştal în momentul respectiv. Privind razant prin peretele de sticlă al cabinei telefonice, Andy o zări cu admiraţie. Atractivă, drăguţă, frumoasă? Bărbaţilor le plac femeile în costume taillor cu croială dreaptă. Era destul de înaltă pentru o femeie, suplă, dar nu slabă.
― Da, aşa-i, răspunse mecanic şefului său, cu ochii aţintiţi la fată.
Ea îşi ridică mâna, şi el văzu că are un inel pe inelar; un inel de aur cu smaralde micuţe, sau poate că sunt safire ― nu, erau într-adevăr smaralde; le prinse sclipirea verzuie ca marea.
Deschise uşa cabinei un inch[1], după ce transmisese partea cea mai secretă a raportului său şi, cu o ureche liberă, a prins murmurul vocii fetei. „Mai mult decât drăguţă!”, a decis, admirându-i profilul.
Apoi s-a întâmplat un lucru ciudat. Fata trebuie să-l fi studiat în timp ce el nu o observa. Este posibil ca ea să fi întrebat cine era tipul; probabil că bătrânul şi guralivul diriginte de poştă, căruia Andy îi arătase legitimaţia spre a-i facilita convorbirea, să-i fi oferit informaţii. Andy a auzit pronunţându-se cuvântul „detectiv”. De unde stătea, avea o vedere clară asupra figurii ei.
September 24, 2012
This is what Edgar Wallace is all about, a complex, old fashioned mystery, with a highly unlikely solution. A murder committed among the rich of a small town, a beautiful girl who all the evidence seems to point to, an eccentric criminal helping the police and a mysterious money lender, who could ask for anything more?
August 24, 2016
Another entirely enjoyable detective yarn. Unusually, this novel's more structured than most Edgar Wallace stories, with the set pieces more distinctly so, perhaps with half an eye on the film dramatisation.
August 12, 2015
Un giallo con elementi di suspance ma non c'è nulla di soprannaturale qui piuttosto misteri che si agitano tra abitanti di un ridente villaggio inglese.
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