“One always embarks on a John Rhode book with a great sense of security. One knows that there will be a sound plot, well-knit process of reasoning, and a solidly satisfying solution with no loose ends or careless errors of fact.”—Dorothy Sayers
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Death on the Boat Train
Fair blew the wind from France, and the Channel steamer Isle of Jethou rolled a bit in the stiff south-westerly breeze. But the rough crossing didn’t upset the mysterious passenger who had locked himself into his cabin as soon as he boarded the boat at Guernsey. The same desire for seclusion had manifested itself on the boat-train to Waterloo, for the guard had been presented with a pound-note to reserve a compartment for Mr. Mystery. But did he travel alone? For at Waterloo the gentleman from Guernsey was a pretty genuine corpse.
Death on the Boat Train is a first-rate detective story, once again featuring the coldly clever scientific mind of Dr. Priestley, John Rhode’s brilliant creation.
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Death Sits on the Board
“The murders are ingeniously planned and executed, and even Priestley is put to a severe test before the story ends.”—The New York Times
P.C. Frean had an unpleasant sensation that he was not patrolling a respectable London suburb, but was back at the Front in 1918, enduring a particularly vicious bombardment. Crash! With a roar like a bursting shell the roof of a nearby house blew off. Heading a rescue party, the constable found part of the house in ruins, and the owner, Sir Andrew Wiggenhall, missing. Eventually, his remains, or part of them, were discovered in the garden. Thus passed the Chairman of the Board of Porslin Ltd.
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Dr. Priestley Lays a Trap
“For sheer ingenuity in plot and execution, John Rhode has few if any equals in detective fiction.”—The Saturday Review
The death of Lessingham and Purvis was a tragic affair; but an automobile accident, especially during a race, rarely arouses suspicion. Sgt. Showerby, however, was a conscientious soul. His duty was to investigate thoroughly and investigate he did, with results that were suspicious enough to arouse Inspector Hanslet of Scotland Yard and, through him, the great criminologist, Dr. Priestley.
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The Bloody Tower
“Any murder planned my Mr. Rhode is bound to be ingenious.”—The Observer
The old man dragged his chair to the window. With difficulty, he slowly extended a gnarled, shaking hand and pointed toward a distant, formless bulk outlined against the sunset. “The tower still stands,” he said in a quivering voice, which barely concealed a note of triumph.
Strange words from a man who has just learned that his eldest son has been killed by the explosion of his own shotgun. The body lay near the tower, but what was the significance of this structure that the old man should mention it so mysteriously? Could the key exist within the old letter bearing biblical citations alongside a cipher of odd, hand-drawn shapes?
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