By Georgette Heyer
Who might kill the ideal gentleman?
When Ernest Fletcher is located bludgeoned to demise in his research, everyone seems to be stunned and mystified: Ernest was once good loved and revered, so who could have a rationale for killing him?
Superintendent Hannasyde, with consummate ability, uncovers one soiled little mystery after one other, and with them, a number of individuals who all have purposes for short of Fletcher useless. Then, a moment homicide is dedicated, giving a ugly twist to a really strange case, and Hannasyde realizes he is up opposed to a killer on a mission...
"Ranks along such incomparable whodunnit authors as Christie, Marsh, Tey, and Allingham."--San Francisco Chronicle
"Given the opportunity i'll fortunately consume a stack of her novels one after the other."
-A paintings In Progress
"A few issues that you're assured for those who choose up a Georgette Heyer novel of any style are specified characters and a fast moving plot."
-We Be Reading
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Additional resources for A Blunt Instrument
He had risen to his feet, and unobtrusively slid the big blotter over the heap of photographs. ’ She looked at the mass of papers on the desk. ‘Oh dear, what a lot you must have to do! ’ He declined it, which seemed to disappoint her, and asked her civilly if she wished to speak to him. ‘Well, yes,’ she admitted. ‘Only any time will do. ’ ‘I’m quite at your disposal, Miss Fletcher. Won’t you sit down? ’ ‘You have such a kind face,’ Miss Fletcher told him. ‘Quite unlike what one expected. I feel I can talk to you.
She got up, and began to stride about the room. ‘Well, let’s face it! We can’t open the safe, and we don’t know how to get by the policeman. In fact, we’re futile. But if I created this situation in a book I could think of something for the book-me to do. ’ Neville betrayed a faint interest. ’ ‘Oh yes! You always draw your characters rather more than life-size. We should have more brains, too. You, for instance, would know how to make your soup –’ ‘Any where to buy the – the ingredients, which actually one just doesn’t know,’ she interpolated.
He glanced up to see Glass staring at him with knit brows. ‘Well? ’ ‘ There’s a man of that name living with his wife not five minutes’ walk from this house,’ replied Glass slowly. The Sergeant pursed his lips in a soundless whistle. ’ ‘You will find the house in the road which runs parallel to Maple Grove. ’ Hannasyde jotted it down. The Sergeant, meanwhile, was turning over a collection of photographs and snapshots laid on the desk. ‘Looks like you weren’t so far out, Glass,’ he remarked. ‘I have to hand it to the late Ernest.