Ernest F. Charles

Death Comes Ashore by - Ernest F. Charles 1938 UK hardcover 1st edition, 1st impression published by Nelson in London A VG++ to near fine book in 7/6 unclipped dust jacket The book is particularly nice, very clean bright boards, no names etc, t Tight and straight with a clean textblock The dustwrapper is nice and clean with fantastic artwork with the spine delivering the coup de grâce ! Some minor edge wear but no real loss Synopsis Meet Tiny Harrow, that nimble elephant of a man who played rugger for the Navy and took his coastal motor boat into the thick of the attack on Zccbrugge, who still pines for adventure—and gets it. Meet again, Dick Torreyton, ex-purser-detective, and the sinister Madame, whose evil power reaches round the world. They are all here, in a breathless story of excitement and intrigue, man-hunt and woman-hunt, which makes Dick a stowaway on a filthy tramp steamer, bound from Hamburg to Dover ; takes him and his friends into deadly peril in a quiet English manor house ; and reaches a magnificent climax in the surf of the Essex coast. We regularly talk about 'rare books' but this one is exceptionally rare and a superb attractive copy, surely a bargain as well for a pre-war fat 7/6 book ! For Sale at £158 (approx $237) *s - free delivery worldwide !

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About the Author Ernest F. Charles ~ Brief Biography I know very little I'm afraid. His series character was Dick Torreyton who appeared in: Death Crosses the Line 1937 Death Comes Ashore - 1938 Before the Wind - 1938 All published in London by Nelson

Sample of the Author Ernest F. Charles's Work " GOOD God ! It's—it's alive ! " For a quarter of a mile the narrow waterlane stretched straight towards the last of the daylight in the west. There it opened to a broad basin, and there the tall, age-warped warehouses that lined the waterway on both sides came to an end. The last of them towered, in sharp-cut silhouette, black against the feeble lemon-yellow glow from a dying sun ; thek perpendiculars were all awry, leaning as though tired. From just beneath the roof of one of them a derrick jutted out, supported by a slanting cross-piece. The thing held the gaze of the idler, whose boat had long been lost in deep shadow ; it suggested, dismally in this dead, deserted spot, nothing so much as a gallows-tree waiting patiently in the still emptiness. The man turned his eyes away, but they came back. They opened wide, staring. Something hung at the derrick head. A bundle, long and narrow, and black against the sky—and it was already descending. Its shape altered slightly, beginning a measured regularity of change which, the watcher reassured himself, was merely reasonable in inanimate matter hanging by a rope. Rotation—yet there was something about this sudden package . . .

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