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The Eleventh Hour - Donald Forbes
1955 UK hardcover first edition, 1st impression, Hutchinson, London A VG book lacking its dustwrapper Ex WH Smith library, bookplat to pastedown, no other stamps or marks though Tight and square with clean contents and boards A solitary footprint on a deserted beach in a lonely spot on the Norfolk coast, Inspector Gregory of Scotland Yard has it all to piece together A clean tidy copy For Sale at £5 (approx $8) *P2 - free delivery worldwide ! |
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JAMES RIDD, the coastguard in charge of the little station on Old Point, leaned over the stone wall at the foot of his garden and puffed contentedly at his pipe. To a west-countryman, the ways of these up-country folk had seemed strange when first he came to Old Point; but they were kindly, open-hearted people, and now he blessed the day on which he had been given this job, for his Service pension was very slender. Between his garden wall and the edge of the low cliff, the rough tussock grass was stirred by the soft breath of a little evening breeze, cool and refreshing after the heat of a brilliant, cloudless day of early June. He gazed out reflectively to the eastward, where the deep blue summer dusk had fallen across the sea, and where the lights of the fishing fleet burned clear and steadily inshore of the lightship marking the extremity of the Haiswold Sand. The fishermen from the little sea-port down the coast were hardy men, and Ridd admired them. He had seen enough of heavy weather himself, and when he watched those lights standing out to sea in the winter gales he felt profoundly thankful for the warm fire on the hearth in his cottage. He knocked the ashes out of his pipe, and was turning to go indoors when he paused: subconsciously he had noticed something unusual about the fishermen. Something odd was happening to their lights. Down in the south they were vanishing one by one as a slow ripple of darkness passed up the little fleet. |
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