In exotic Tangier, the well-known husband and wife team of Pat and Jean Abbott discover that international drug trafficking, plus greed and intrigue, invariably spell catastrophe for those involved therein. And very bad luck for a number of free-loading beachcombers and expatriates who’d just about convinced themselves that they never had it so good.

“The Hollywood-cum-Santa Fe artists, both screwy and sensible, in the desert are all neatly caught in the lively style given to Mrs. Pat to narrate. Grade: A”—The Saturday Review “Plenty of excitement.”—Kirkus From the jacket: “Time was,” said the sheriff of Santa Maria, “when murder was murder in this country. ... But now we got artists and writers and therefore psychology. It's enough to ruin the country.” It was lucky for Sheriff Trask that Pat Abbott and his lively wife, Jeanie, were vacationing in the little New Mexican artists’ colony the day a psychotic war veteran and a gangster's widow arrived on the Plaza. By an unlikely coincidence they were the former spouses of friends of the Abbotts who had just announced their engagement. Gilbert Mason, a Hollywood writer with a penchant for seeing the worst, pointed out to Jeanie that it looked as if there would be no marriage, for the widow packed a gun. The first day of tension exploded into murder and kidnapping, both crimes committed almost simultaneously, as if they had been masterminded to confuse pursuit. Immediately everyone began to act out of character. Competent Vanessa Wells, a writer who had lived alone and liked it for years, turned nervous and absent-minded. Gilbert Mason, a confirmed gossip, acted as if he knew more than he told. The gangster's widow and her apelike retainer became good Samaritans. And the handsome war veteran, who'd always looked after himself, began to plot his own downfall. Through the exciting adventure Mrs. Crane conveys the many aspects of the New Mexican landscape, using the charm of Spanish-Indian culture, the backbiting of bohemia, and the terrifying, cruel loneliness of the desert to enhance the suspense.

Pat and Jean Abbott, visiting relatives in a rich oil town, are called on to clear a pretty air-line hostess, Sally Carroll, who is suspected of having murdered her old beau. By the time the Abbotts arrive on the scene, there has been a curious change of policy: nobody wants them on the case, not the cousin and heir of the dead man, not his widow, and especially not the sheriff. Perversely, they decide to stay. Pat is shot at by a man who is supposed to be helping them, and Jean is buried in an abandoned well by a woman who claims to be on their side. Then a car they think is a friend’s crashes them into a ditch. Nevertheless they stick with the job until they come up with a solution that is both surprising and satisfying—but they cannot prevent the killer from claiming a second victim. “Pro Handling”—The Saturday Review “Congenial and confiding.”—Kirkus

Bruce Murphy's Encyclopedia of Murder and Mystery is a comprehensive guide to the genre of the murder mystery that catalogues thousands of items in a broad range of categories: authors, titles, plots, characters, weapons, methods of killing, movie and theatrical adaptations. What distinguishes this encyclopedia from the others in the field is its critical stance.

And So to Murder by John Dickson Carr (as Carter Dickson), a Sir Henry Merrivale mystery. “A first-class murder mystery [and] also a ribald satire of the motion picture industry.”—The Vancouver Sun DEATH RIDES THE TUBE... The speaking-tube whistled. Monica flew at it. “Who are you? What do you want?” She bent her cheek to the mouth of the tube to listen for an answer. Something was happening inside the tube. She jumped back. Something which looked like water, but was not water, spurted in a jet from the mouth of the tube. It splashed across the linoleum. There was a hissing, sizzling noise as half a pint of vitriol began to eat into the surface of the floor. The footsteps in the room above began to run. Monica Stanton has written a saucy best-seller that has landed her her dream job, scriptwriting for a movie studio. Things turn sour quickly as she's saddled with a mentor she despises After someone makes a gruesome attempt on her life, however, her feelings begin to change about him as they are forced together during the investigation. Theories of Nazi “heiling enthusiasts” and espionage soon take form, leading to the entrance of Sir Henry Merrivale, who now works for Britain's Military Intelligence division. Only Sir Henry can wade through the “fat-heads” and schemers to get to the bottom of this amusing and clever mystery.

“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 on John Rhode From the jacket: For three years the man had lived in the little Lilac cottage on the Squire’s estate, yet apparently no one in that peaceful village knew a thing about him. The only significant clue that Superintendent Hanslet and Jimmy Waghorn found was the five pound bank note that he received on the day he died. The minute they told Dr. Priestley about it he jumped to the bait and set forth on a trail that picked up such divergent clues as dope fiends, the dismantled engine of a motor mower, and the rear view of an odd man on a bicycle. When the village good-for-nothing was found dead on the estate, it seemed to complicate the affair even more. But for Dr. Priestley it actually simplified things. He brings the case to a smashing conclusion that will leave the reader gasping at the ingenuity of the murders and the unfailing astuteness of this famous criminologist. “Convincingly worked out.”—The Saturday Review

Recollection began to come back. It wasn’t a lumpy mattress he was lying on, it was a dead man—a man called Midnight Mike. ... His pain-filled mind curled in terror. It threw him two years back in time—before he was sent to jail—to another black night. Only that time the body had belonged to a little boy, crushed and broken beneath Jim’s car. And Jim had been behind the wheel. He’d been told about that first killing so often that he could almost see himself doing it. But Mike’s body beside him convinced Jim that he hadn’t killed the little boy. He hadn’t killed Mike tonight, either. It was only a matter of time before he remembered the crucial detail that would clear him of both murders. But time, like the blood that poured from his wounded head, was fast running out. …