T Arthur PlummerBuy a Copy of this Book
ANDREW FRAMPTON liked London—most parts of it. And he liked London people—in the mass. Naturally, there were certain parts of London he didn't care for overmuch. And certain individuals, too. For instance, he was not greatly attached to the 0ead End Wharf Area in a London pea-souper, nor to many of the denizens who scraped a living there. But he certainly did like Doctor James Brantock. At this moment Frampton's Headquarters Car, police-driver-driven, was nosing along a road that gave off odours that were a mixture of many things. At Inspector Frampton's side sat a man. A big, dour man. It was Sergeant Frank Arnold. "Oh, to be in the country, Boss, now that April's there. Stop me if I've misquoted."
Classic Crime Fiction
Books Wanted Bibliography Dust Jackets Home Page