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Lying idly in his bath, the instigator of this unique volume contemplated murder. There existed one whom he wished dead, and it occurred to him that most people, however Christian, knew of one for whom they desired a similar fate.
Thus it was that this book, with its brilliant band of contributors, grew into being. We wrote to each of them and suggested, quite casually, that they might like to commit, upon paper, a murder which they felt to be as perfect in its execution as they could conceive. With enthusiasm they entered into the idea, and each of them has produced in the form of a short novel an exact description of the circumstances and perpetration of their crime. From its instigation to its final act they have, in their own way, perfected their plans, lured their victims, dispatched them from life and covered their tracks.
But have their plans been as fool-proof as they believe? Have they made, as so many, criminals do make, that tiny slip which will lead to their detection? Is Dorothy Sayers quite certain that she will not hang from the neck until she is dead? Is Father Knox convinced that the jury will acquit him, if he finds himself in the dock? Is Anthony Berkeley prepared to withstand the searching questions of the police?
And it is here that Ex-Superintendent Cornish of the C.I.D. comes along with his vast experience of crime in real life. At the conclusion of each short novel Mr. Cornish deals with the case from the police point of view. He visits the scene of the crime and, with the facts in his possession which he has culled from the story, sets to work to find that flaw in the execution which will enable him to bring about the arrest of Margery Allingham or Russell Thorndike. Is he successful? Has he found those tell-tale clues, and if he hasn’t, can you?
Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by Selwyn & Blount 1936
Copyright © The Detection Club 1936, 2013
The Tragic Family of Croydon
Copyright © Christie Archive Trust 1929, 2013
Cover design © Bold&Noble.com 2013
Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2013
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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Source ISBN: 9780007513918
Ebook Edition © September 2013 ISBN: 9780007513901
Version: 2018-07-30
Contents
SIX AGAINST THE YARD
IT DIDN’T WORK OUT
WOULD THE MURDERESS TELL?
THE FALLEN IDOL
MURDER IN UNIFORM
THE POLICEMAN ONLY TAPS ONCE
… AND THEN COME THE HANDCUFFS!
STRANGE DEATH OF MAJOR SCALLION
DETECTIVES SOMETIMES READ
BLOOD SACRIFICE
THEY WOULDN’T BELIEVE HIM!
THE PARCEL
THE MOTIVE SHOWS THE MAN
AFTERWORD: THE ARSENIC POISON MYSTERY
THE TRAGIC FAMILY OF CROYDON
About the Publisher
Margery Allingham
THIS IS A CONFESSION. I WANT TO TELL THE whole truth and to explain how it happened.
In the first place my name is not Margery Allingham. I was born Margaret Hawkins, and later on, when I went on the stage, I changed it to Polly Oliver. I don’t suppose you remember the name now, but your fathers might, although I don’t know … it’s no good me pretending.
I was clever and I had looks when I was younger, but I was never what you might call a top-liner, not like Louie. It’s really because of her that I’m confessing at all. The fair boy, who looked too young to be a policeman when he took his hat off, didn’t suspect me. I don’t think anybody did, not even the coroner, and there was a shrewd old man if ever I saw one.
I suppose you would say that I’ve got clean away with it, but I want to tell about it because of Louie. After all, she was the main cause of it. If it hadn’t been for her, poor old girl, I certainly shouldn’t have ever brought myself to stretch out my hand and–––
But I’m coming to that.
Louie and I were pals, not like girls on the stage are nowadays. I’m not saying anything against them, but they’re not the women we used to be. Little bits of rubbish they look to me, as they come in and out of my house. They don’t look like actresses. That was one thing about me and Louie. In the old days—I’m talking about thirty or forty years ago—if you saw us a mile off you’d know we were in the profession, with our white boots and our bits of fluff, and the boys running along behind.
We met in burlesque. I was in the chorus, and she had a little part: nothing much, you know, but she used to come on in front of us girls and say, ‘Here we are, boys!’ I can see her now, her figure pinched in and her tights glistening, and her bright yellow curls, which were always real—more than mine were, I don’t mind telling you—bobbing up and down as she moved.
Even then she had that spirit—’verve’ we called it then, and ‘pep’ they call it now—which made her name for her afterwards. Louie Lester: you’ve all known it since your cradles, you’ve all