Agatha Christie, Margery Allingham, Ngaio Marsh, Dorothy L. Sayers, Patricia Wentworth

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However thorough your search was, I’m convinced the murderer, or the burglar—call him what you will—is still in the house.

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Description

However thorough your search was, I’m convinced the murderer, or the burglar—call him what you will—is still in the house.

Little Levington Hall, the site of the seasonal house party in Dancing Death, is owned by Martin Braishe, inventor of a lethal gas. Unfortunately for Braishe and his houseguests, their fancy-dress ball might more accurately be described as a fancy-death ball. After the formal festivities have taken place place, nine guests remain at the snowbound Hall, along with a retinue of servants. It is at this point that dead bodies most inconveniently begin to turn up at Little Levington Hall, like so many unwanted Christmas presents. It will be up to the eccentric Ludovic Travers, with his companions John Franklin and Superintendent Wharton of Scotland Yard, to solve this most intricate and ingenious of Yuletide mysteries.

Dancing Death was originally published in 1931. This new edition features an introduction by crime fiction historian Curtis Evans.

Praise

Bibliographic Data

Category: Crime Fiction
Publication Date: October 2017
Territories: World
ISBN: 978 1 911579 73 1 (paperback)/978 1 911579 74 8 (ebook)

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“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?”

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I am going to commit a murder. I offer no apology for the curtness of the statement.

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“And that’s not all. Somers is dead too … He poisoned himself … in the lounge!”

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Somebody at that very moment might be watching from behind the hedge! Melodramatic perhaps—but the fact remained that one murder had been committed and a second seemed more than likely.

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“If you don’t think I’m taking a liberty in saying so, my opinion is that he was knocked down first and hanged after!”

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Travers looked down at the face. On the collar was a red patch and a long streak. Across the throat was a gash.

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“It was some sort of sudden death?”

Travers made a face. “It certainly was sudden. I’ll say it’s ten to one it was murder.”

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“Let us know when you’re dead!”

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Old Hunt slithered in the most amazing way and then fell to the floor. He lay between the seats, face upwards.

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