I never did like missing people. Far too often we’ve found them dead.When that cheerful soul, Doris Bosford, asked Ludovic Travers of the Broad Street Detective Agency to trace her missing husband the case soon involved matters less innocent than a mere disappearance. Andrew Bosford had been a crooner, but investigation showed that his latest source of income seemed concerned with a smuggling racket that had its headquarters in France. With the discovery of a body on the s...

Travers turned to Wharton. “I ask you, George, as a man of the world—do schoolmasters and mistresses have souls full of glamour and passion and intrigue? Are they torn by the same emotions that rend people like us?”At first the old schoolmaster’s poisoning was judged a suicide. But there were too many suspicious circumstances to satisfy Inspector Wharton of Scotland Yard. Why, for instance, had the dead man clung to a large book as he expired? And where is Flint, the schoo...

“Good God!” I was staring like a lunatic. “Murdered, you say? When?”“Less than half an hour ago, sir.”TRAVERS: “I don’t know why I should call this case that of the Magic Mirror for there’s nothing in it reminiscent of “Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs,” even if the mirror did do a certain amount of magical revelation.“As a matter of fact the title is my obstinate own. In the first place, of the many murder cases with which I have been officially co...

“Have you heard the news, sir?” the waiter said.“I’m afraid I haven’t. What is it?”“Plumley’s dead, sir. Henry Plumley. We just got the news over the ’phone. Suicide they say it was. Anything else you want, sir?”Out-of-print for over nine decades and one of the rarest classic crime novels from the Golden Age of detective fiction, The Plumley Inheritance, first of the Ludovic Travers mysteries, is now available in a new edition by ...

There was no mess: just a dark stain one could see on the waistcoat. What was horrible was the contortion of the face and the tortured eyes. But even then I thought I knew him.There can be few people who would wish to go so far as to murder a literary agent. Which one takes the trouble to impersonate a well-known author and lure George Posfort of that calling to his violent end in an unlikely London hotel? And why, about the same time, should Richard Alton, a nice young sc...

‘I judge him to have been dead just about twenty-four hours. Suicide, almost certainly.’Ludovic Travers polished his eyeglasses. Inspector Wharton grunted—sure signs of impending mystery. And they were right.The car took the wrong turning and landed them in double murder dressed as suicide. In one room, made up for her principal success, Mary Tudor, was Mary Legreye—poisoned on her throne. In the next, the handyman—dead on the floor. Nothing initially just...

“Send someone here quick. There’s been a murder!”Mr Lewton is dead. Stabbed through the back, no possibility of suicide—and no sign of a knife either. The deceased made a phone call summoning a doctor immediately before his own death. And the servant who supposedly reported the murder wasn’t even at the scene of the crime, and denies all knowledge. These are among the bizarre opening features of a classic labyrinthine whodunit from a master of the genre—an adventure into w...

I am going to commit a murder. I offer no apology for the curtness of the statement.An individual taking the name ‘Marius’ boasts in a series of letters that he will commit the Perfect Murder, daring Scotland Yard detectives to catch him if they can. Ex-CID officer John Franklin and the amateur but astute detective Ludovic Travers will need to draw conclusons from a soiled letter, a locked room murder, four cast-iron alibis, and trips to France, in a feverish search for th...

“It’s terrible. It’s a body . . . the head cut off . . . and the hands.”Who is—or was—the headless, handless corpse, found discarded on a bonfire? This baffling case of identity leads to a dead doctor who, according to information received, committed murder himself and was in turn murdered by his victim. A contradiction in terms—or is it? The solution to this mystery involves a taciturn match-seller, unbreakable alibis and several double identities on the part of both the ...

Travers looked down at the thing that sprawled. The head gave a last movement, and there was a faint sound like a tired moan. The time was eight minutes to eight.Ludovic Travers is approached by his sister after tales of strange doings and horrible night shrieks in a country house called Highways. Travers makes an investigatory visit, where he finds stabbed to death the bizarre old man who was living at the house with his 10-year-old granddaughter. Among the prime suspects...

Murder on Mondays! Greatest prophecy of the century! T.P. Luffham was murdered!Ferdinand Pole of the Murder League claims that, since 1918, thirteen murders have been committed on a Monday. A sleazy economist has now been slain, followed the next week by a blameless actress—both on Monday. While the press have a field day, it is up to Inspector Wharton of Scotland Yard, along with his inspired amateur co-investigator Ludovic Travers, to see if London has a new Jack the Rip...

"Death from manual strangulation after a blow that slightly fractured the skull."Ludovic Travers, private investigator, is approached by a slight acquaintance from his past, one Isabel Herne. She has seemingly fallen into the hands of a charming con-man, who has promised her the earth, including a very expensive racehorse. When the race-horse fails to materialize, and the man vanishes, she tasks Ludovic with finding the latter and, if possible, recovering her money. But wh...