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256 pages, Paperback
First published April 1, 1929
‘Oh—er—hullo! Having a little potter—what?’
The words, uttered in an inoffensively idiotic voice, made Abbershaw glance up to find Albert Campion smiling fatuously in upon him. Abbershaw stared at him. He considered that the man was either a lunatic or drunk, and as he disliked both alternatives he suggested stiffly that they should return to the house.
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Mr Campion’s personality was a difficult one to take seriously; it was not easy, for instance, to decide when he was lying and when he was not.
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‘Dignity, Gentlemen, and British Boyhood’s Well-known Bravery, Coolness, and Distinction are the passwords of the hour.’
Martin looked at him wonderingly. ‘Do you always talk bilge?’ he said.
‘No,’ said Mr Campion lightly, ‘but I learnt the language reading advertisements.’
The blade of the Black Dudley Dagger was its most remarkable feature. Under a foot long, it was very slender and exquisitely graceful, fashioned from the steel that had in it a curious greenish tinge which lent the whole weapon an unmistakably sinister appearance. It seemed to shine out of the dark background like a living and malignant thing.