Gayford, Cecily (ed.) - Murder on a Winter's Night / Гейфорд, Сесили (ред.) - Убийство зимней ночью [2021, EPUB, ENG]

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Cecily Gayford (ed.) - Murder on a Winter's Night

Название: Murder on a Winter's Night / Убийство зимней ночью
Год выпуска: 2021
Под редакцией: Cecily Gayford / Сесили Гейфорд
Издательство: Profile Books
ISBN: 978-1-78283-852-4
Формат: EPUB
Качество: Retail eBook
Язык: английский

Антология рождественских детективов.
A Surprise for Christmas by Cyril Hare
The Snowball Burglary by H. C. Bailey
Tall Story by Margery Allingham
A Present from Santa Claus by Julian Symons
The Undignified Melodrama of the Bone of Contention / Недостойная мелодрама вокруг яблока раздора by Dorothy L. Sayers
The Motive by G. D. H. and M. Cole
Underneath the Mistletoe Last Night by Mark Billingham
The New Catacomb / Новые катакомбы by Arthur Conan Doyle
The Motive by Ronald Knox
Dog in the Night-Time by Edmund Crispin
Tall Story
Margery Allingham

London was having one of her days. Outside, the streets glistened dully with half-frozen sludge and the air was thick, dark and apparently contaminated with poison gas. But inside the varnished cabin which overhung the huge circular bar of the Platelayers’ Arms, W.2, there was still civilisation and comfort. In this nest which possessed a staircase direct to the street, privileged customers drank in all the peaceful privacy of a St James’s Club yet without sacrificing anything of the fug and freedom of the true hostelry. Mrs Chubb, the licensee, who was a genius in such matters called it ‘my little room’.
Charlie Luke, at that time the Divisional Detective Chief Inspector of the district, was sitting on the table, his muscles spoiling the cut of his jacket and his hat pulled down over his eyes. He looked like a gangster, was a tough, and with his live dark face and diamond-shaped eye sockets, he lent a touch of badly needed theatre to the rest of us. We were about half a dozen I suppose, no one of staggering distinction but all friends, resting for half an hour before making the routine after-work effort to totter off home.
Mr Campion, owlish behind the spectacles for which he had set such a fashion, was chipping Luke gently and affectionately like a man knocking out a favourite pipe. ‘You put your success as a detective down to your height, Charles?’ he was saying. ‘Really? You astound me. I shouldn’t have thought it. Height of brow? Or merely length of leg?’
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