By Carter Dickson
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Additional resources for Behind the Crimson Blind
I never was anybody's concubine, except Bill's," cried Paula. M. had now completely lost his head. Dragging off his hat, with Paula still clinging determinedly to his arm, he waved the hat and was bellowing back amenities in return. His French was fluent, if you do not mind the speech of a Parisian taxi driver. But he knew few words of Spanish. And, though it may be remembered he had picked up a fine vocabulary of Arabic in Egypt, these were mostly words not to be spoken in public. But inspiration darted into his brain.
In dying agony, he gave a terrific spring backward from the windowsill, and landed heavily, face up, on the carpet. His blood flowed out and over the design as he twitched once and forever lay still. 50) The hand may be quicker than the eye, but ghost stories didn't hoodwink Henri Bencolin. A very real murderer was afoot in Castle Skull —a murderer who must be found before he strikes again. 50) The police burst in and found the Duke's severed head staring at them from the center of the room. Both the doors had been guarded, yet the murderer had gone in and out without having been seen).
They seemed to have climbed a good distance when Alvarez, driving on more power in top gear, whirled the car to the right. Now they raced on gravel past a high brick wall, parallel with the wall because the path was so narrow. Up ahead sprang a pair of gateposts, also parallel with them in the narrow path. The eye of Sir Henry Merrivale saw doom ahead of him. "Looky here, son! You're not goin' to turn left through those gateposts? You can't do it! Nobody can make . " But Alvarez did. Even the Packard skidded as its rear end swung round under the wrench of Alvarez's left hand.
Behind the Crimson Blind by Carter Dickson