Christopher Bush: 42 books

‘Anything doing?’ ‘Maybe,’ he said guardedly, and then as a kind of afterthought: ‘Just slipping along to Hampstead. Charles Manfrey’s dead.’ Ludovic Travers is on army leave in London when actor and theatrical impresario Charles Manfrey is murdered, so it is not surprising...

An attendant had come in with the cage. He stooped and held the rope taut. The cage door was opened, Jules called from high in the roof and at once the rat began to climb. Then something went wrong. All at once Auguste scampered down and shot back into his cage. When Ludovic Travers arrives...

Travers looked down at the thing that sprawled. The head gave a last movement, and there was a faint sound like a tired moan. The time was eight minutes to eight. Ludovic Travers is approached by his sister after tales of strange doings and horrible night shrieks in a country house called Highways....

It wasn’t I who discovered the body. I want to make that perfectly clear, if only for the benefit of a couple of club acquaintances of mine. Ludovic Travers, special investigator for Scotland Yard, commits murder? No—but at the end of this novel you will understand why he might claim to...

I am going to commit a murder. I offer no apology for the curtness of the statement. An individual taking the name ‘Marius’ boasts in a series of letters that he will commit the Perfect Murder, daring Scotland Yard detectives to catch him if they can. Ex-CID officer John Franklin and the...

“And that’s not all. Somers is dead too … He poisoned himself … in the lounge!” When the wealthy Cosmo Revere is killed by a falling tree, ex-CID officer John Franklin and Ludovic Travers chance to be staying in the vicinity. After examining the scene Franklin determines it was no...

Murder on Mondays! Greatest prophecy of the century! T.P. Luffham was murdered! Ferdinand Pole of the Murder League claims that, since 1918, thirteen murders have been committed on a Monday. A sleazy economist has now been slain, followed the next week by a blameless actress—both on Monday....

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...

Travers looked down at the face. On the collar was a red patch and a long streak. Across the throat was a gash. Two rival London newspaper tycoons are at daggers drawn. But when Sir William Griffith’s corpse turns up in a hamper, his throat cut from ear to ear, the enmity appears to turned...

“Murder is easy. It’s child’s play to commit murder and get away with it.” Unpleasant uncle Hubert is murdered while playing cards—and surrounded by any number of relatives who stand to gain by his death. An impossible crime, it seems, though it turns out three of his nephews were...

“You needn’t look impatient, sir. He’ll be finished with you long before dinner.ˮ Who has murdered the beautiful Sonia Vorge in her bridal bed? Why is the sinisterly looped rope hanging from the oak-beam? And what has the ghost of Montage Hall to do with it all? These are the problems...

‘I judge him to have been dead just about twenty-four hours. Suicide, almost certainly.’ Ludovic Travers polished his eyeglasses. Inspector Wharton grunted—sure signs of impending mystery. And they were right. The car took the wrong turning and landed them in double murder dressed...

“It’s terrible. It’s a body . . . the head cut off . . . and the hands.” Who is—or was—the headless, handless corpse, found discarded on a bonfire? This baffling case of identity leads to a dead doctor who, according to information received, committed murder himself and was in turn...

“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?” Out-of-print for over nine decades and one...