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Thipps, an architect, finds a dead body wearing nothing but a pair of pince-nez in the bath of his London flat. Lord Peter Wimsey—a nobleman who has recently developed an interest in criminal investigation as a hobby—resolves to investigate the matter privately. Leading the official investigation is Inspector Sugg, who suggests that the body may be that of the famous financier Sir Reuben Levy, who disappeared from his bedroom in mysterious circumstances the night before. Sir Reuben's disappearance is in the hands of Inspector Charles Parker, a friend of Wimsey's. Although the body in the bath superficially resembles that of Sir Reuben, it quickly becomes clear that it is not him, and it appears that the cases may be unconnected! So whose body is it anyway? Read on!
Rose Charteris' dead body at the bottom of a sand pit let the onlookers believe that probably she died due to a freak accident… But Chief Inspector Pointer is deeply suspicious as there are many people who will directly benefit from her murder! Excerpt: "Cockburn thought that the colonel looked vexed. An old scar on his forehead blazed a bar of crimson. A sign of anger. Yet he could hardly be annoyed with the girls for knowing where the professor was. But already the colonel had puzzled him on the courts. Generally a fine player—to-day! Cockburn eyed him as he cut a cigar unevenly, and decided that something was up. It was not Colonel Scarlett's habit to chip a Corona like that. Nor to hold it so tightly that it leaked. Nor to smoke it at a pace which would turn it into an overheated cabbage stalk."
A suspicious cask arrives in London dock which when unloading slips and cracks open to reveal gold sovereigns. While the bystanders scramble to pick up the gold, the dock inspector finds a hand of a dead woman buried underneath. To his absolute bewilderment, the next day, the cask has disappeared! Now it is up to Inspector Burnley of Scotland Yard to solve the mystery of the cask as well as the murder of the woman.
A gift of an ornate Chinese chest ends up becoming the coffin of the receiver. Who killed him? And, why was his body put inside the same chest that was supposed to be exhibited in a party? Chief Inspector Pointer must solve the clues to this locked-room mystery and find the killer before it's too late! Excerpt: "Mr.Farrant to see you, sir, Very urgent.Mr. William Farrant." The private inquiry agent smoothed his forehead and nodded as he glanced at a calendar of social events which his clerk prepared for him daily. A moment later a young man was shown in. He was of big build, but moved with a step so noiseless that even now, when he came forward and shook Schofild's outstretched hand, no footfall could be heard, and the room had parquet flooring."
A headless corpse found in a flat becomes a source of tension for the police with his identity being linked to a Basque anarchist! Excerpt: "Look here, Pointer. Suppose you hand over the reins of that case you're on to Clark. He can carry on all right now. Superintendent Maybrick of Hampstead wants help. Or rather, I think he needs it. He's just been called in to a horrid mess, a murder, in one of the flats in his district. From certain things he thinks it's an anarchist plot gone wrong, 'biter bit' sort of thing," Major Pelham said vaguely; "he's got into touch with the Foreign Office already. So by this time there's sure to be some F.O. man sprinting along to have a first look."
Will you forgive yourself if under an influence of a weird substance you turn into a ruthless murderer? What if you are a detective yourself and in-charge of the murder investigations? Will you surrender yourself or will you hide yourself from the law? Peter Wacks will soon learn it the hard way… Excerpt: "I shall never know what dreadful impulse compels me to write it all down. My life is so many, many times forfeit to the State that were my hideous secret to become known, even now, after all these years, within an hour infuriated crowds would gather at my gate and I should be torn limb from limb without the slightest hope of mercy or reprieve. I shall never be forgiven. My crimes were too brutal. I spared neither young nor old, and every deed of violence that could bring pain and horror it was fiendish joy to do..."
Peter Wacks was an unimpressive and weak man until he came across a mysterious "red paste." Suddenly, from a harmless being, he turned into a ruthless and cold-blooded killer! Like Jekyll and Hyde, he goes on a murder rampage in the night and during daytime becomes a detective to find the so-called murderer. Will Peter be able to outwit himself and stop his descent into chaos and madness? Or will he succumb under his negative self? Excerpt: "I shall never know what dreadful impulse compels me to write it all down. My life is so many, many times forfeit to the State that were my hideous secret to become known, even now, after all these years, within an hour infuriated crowds would gather at my gate and I should be torn limb from limb without the slightest hope of mercy or reprieve. I shall never be forgiven. My crimes were too brutal. I spared neither young nor old, and every deed of violence that could bring pain and horror it was fiendish joy to do..."
Richard is set to join a new law firm owned by his friend's (Eleanor's) father. Inevitably he is dragged into the murder mystery of Eleanor's fiancé Henry. With detective Burton in tow, Richard must find the clue that is hidden in plain sight as a "dead letter" in the post office! Excerpt: "I paused suddenly in my work. Over a year's experience in the Dead Letter office had given a mechanical rapidity to my movements in opening, noting and classifying the contents of the bundles before me; and, so far from there being any thing exciting to the curiosity, or interesting to the mind, in the employment, it was of the most monotonous character.Young ladies whose love letters have gone astray, evil men whose plans have been confided in writing to their confederates, may feel but little apprehension of the prying eyes of the Department; nothing attracts it but objects of material value—sentiment is below par; it gives attention only to such tangible interests as are represented by bank-bills, gold-pieces, checks, jewelry, miniatures, et cetera..."
A dead body is found in a hotel's wardrobe and points towards an unfortunate case of drug-overdose. But Inspector Pointer is not convinced and treats it as a murder mystery. Is he right in his presumption? Or, is it indeed a drug-overdose case? Excerpt: "The door opened noiselessly, and four men came in. They were in plain clothes, and one carried a large box. "Evening," said the first. "I am Chief Inspector Pointer from New Scotland Yard. These are detectives Watts, Miller and Lester. What's wrong?" "I 'phoned," a tall young man answered crisply. "I am the manager of the hotel. This is Mr. Beale, an American gentleman to whom this room was let a couple of hours ago. It really belongs to a young fellow who is away for the week-end, but as there was no other room available we assigned it to this gentleman for the one night. Mr. Beale has just told me that there is something wrong about the wardrobe you see there. Kindly investigate that large knot-hole in the back for yourself, Inspector."
When the dead body of Sir William Ponson is found in a nearby river, he is presumed to have died due to drowning. But then the clues start pointing towards a gruesome murder. Now it is up to Inspector Tanner to find the owner of the mysterious footprints and prevent the estate from falling into the hands of Sir William's murderers.