Showing results for "Hearts" in Traditional Detectives

It was a script that could only have come from Hollywood: the wedding of two superstars after a scandal-filled courtship... a wild trip by private plane to a hideaway... a deadly double overdose of drugs... These corpses weren't play-acting. Once again, Ellery was cast in the role of master detective, as he found nothing was quite what it seemed in the never-never land of moviedom - except sudden, violent death...

‘The reaches opened before us and closed behind, as if the forest had stepped leisurely across the water to bar the way for our return. We penetrated deeper and deeper into the heart of darkness.’ At the peak of European Imperialism, steamboat captain Charles Marlow travels deep into the...

Some crooks have tried to snatch the plump son of a business tycoon, and have accidentally made off with his playmate instead. But they're not changing their plan: a payment is to be delivered to them or a small corpse is to be delivered to Inspector Ghote. But what kind of ransom can a mere tailor's boy demand? And, as something more unpleasant than just a ransom note arrives from the kidnappers, are the police helping to keep the boy in one piece?

This gripping tale, "the Seven of Hearts", begins with a mysterious message: "From the moment you open this letter, whatever happens, whatever you may hear, do not move, do not utter one cry. Otherwise you are doomed." This is the beginning of a very strange tale, in which Arsene Lupin will have to prove himself very clever indeed.

"To the man who loves intellectual stimulation," remarked Sherlock Holmes, "London in August is the lowliest month on the calendar. Those with the means to do so have departed for the Algarve and the Riviera. Those without are off to Blackpool and Brighton." "And what about those," I asked, "who are left behind? You and I are still here." "You at least have your sensational accounts of my efforts to keep scribbling. I, on the other hand, am losing faith in the enterprising criminal class."

"To the man who loves intellectual stimulation," remarked Sherlock Holmes, "London in August is the lowliest month on the calendar. Those with the means to do so have departed for the Algarve and the Riviera. Those without are off to Blackpool and Brighton." "And what about those," I asked, "who are left behind? You and I are still here." "You at least have your sensational accounts of my efforts to keep scribbling. I, on the other hand, am losing faith in the enterprising criminal class."