Crime Fiction

Scott Mitchell

UK First Edition Books

This Scott Mitchell bibliography checklist includes the crime fiction titles.
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Title Publisher Date Issue Points - Notes
Sables Spell Trouble Hammond 1963 Burgundy cloth, yellow titles. DW 11/6
Some Dames Play Rough Ditto 1963  
Deadly Persuasion Hammond 1964  
The Lonely Shroud Hammond 1964  
Come, Sweet Death. Hammond Hammond 1967  
Double Bluff Herbert Jenkins 1968  
A Knife Edged Thing Cassell 1969  
A Haven for the Damned Robert Hale 1971  
Rage in Babylon As Above 1972  
You'll Never Get to Heaven As Above 1972  
The Girl in the Wet Look Bikini Robert Hale 1973  
Dead on Arrival Robert Hale 1974  
Mice Guys Don't Win Robert Hale 1974  
Over My Dead Body Ditto 1974  
Death's Busy Crossroads Robert Hale 1975  
Obsession As Above 1976  
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Dust Jacket Artist: unknown

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Further Information
Scott Mitchell is a pseudonym used by Lionel Robert Holcombe Godfrey who was born in 1932. His main series character under this name was Brock Devlin. There are several books which were published in the same year and we are unable to guarantee the chronological order of those titles bearing the same publication dates.

A soon as I entered the bar - Frank's, a good place to know, as long as you got there before the mob hit it later in the evening I saw her sitting at the end, teasing her drink the way some women tease everything, from tame cats to wild men. It was a gimlet, I guessed, in her dainty fist, but I wasn't really looking at the drink. She had fur draped carelessly over her shoulders. You can afford to drape it carelessly when it 3s sable. Her legs were long and silky, the way they're supposed to be in the storybooks, and the arm I could see - her left one, engaged in toying with the glass was lean, sinewy and white. She was slim, but not too slim, and so built in front that the shallowest breath caused some movement of her high breasts beneath the black cocktail dress she was wearing under the coat. The face was to match, with high cheek-bones and the kind of eyes, green, in which poets get out of their depth and drown. Her mouth was ambiguous, since you could only guess whether the full, lovely lips smiled or pouted most. Her hair was dark, plenty of it, and it fell carelessly to her shoulders, from which the sable coat hung carelessly, like the bracelets that dangled on her wrists. She could afford to have that casual aura. I walked along the bar and sat down three stools away from her. 'What'll it be ?' asked the bartender. 'Whisky.'


Classic Crime Fiction

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