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Whitman Chambers

Classic Period Crime & Mystery Thrillers

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Whitman Chambers Book

Murder in the Mist by author Whitman Chambers
1938 UK hardback first edition, first impression published in London by Cassell
A VG++ book in VG+ unclipped 7/6 dust jacket
The book is is without owner names or stamps etc, nice tight binding
Square spine and clean fresh boards
The wrapper is complete, no loss, some age tanning and minor shelf wear to extremities
Overall nice and solid !

Synopsis
O'Brien investigates 2 murders, both separate but both committed in a mist!

Very rare in jacket and a bargain for a nice 1930s 'fat' 7/6 book in jacket !
For Sale at 129 (approx $206) *sh - Delivery Information ~ Free & Subsidised ~ Please Check

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Brief Biography
Elwyn Whitman Chambers, born and lived in America 1896 to 1968 he wrote several novels, also screenplays for films and TV. Some of his novels were adapted for movies, the films including Blonde Ice and Murder on Campus.

Murder in the Mist by author Whitman Chambers - Sample
THE man in the tonneau was dead drunk. He sat on the floor, one leg twisted under him, his head thrown back against the seat cushion. You could hear him snoring above the hum of the powerful motor.
The man at the wheel turned left off Market Street and in a few seconds the big sedan plunged into the fog which hung in a grey-black pall over Twin Peaks. The. speedometer needle dropped from 40 to 35.

The driver started his windshield wiper and lowered the beam of his headlights. With a quick look around him, he switched on the dome light and glanced over his shoulder at the drunk.
The latter was a youngish man in a soiled light grey suit, without a hat. His brown hair was thick and curly and rumpled; it gave him a boyish look which was in sharp contrast to the dark puffs under his eyes, the thin sallow cheeks, the lines of dissipation around the weak mouth. The top button of his shirt was unfastened and his tie was twisted under his right ear. Spittle ran from one corner of his slack lips.

"On ice," the fellow at the wheel muttered, and turned off the dome light. The clock on the dash read 3.19. The big car hadn't passed another machine in the last ten minutes. It was all alone up there in the fog. The. driver pulled over to the kerb. He yanked on his emergency but left the motor running. He found a flask in the dash compartment and took a husky drag. Then he got out, walked around the car and opened the rear door. He caught hold of the drunk's right hand and pulled hard. The man rolled over, limp as an empty sack, and sloughed out on to the sidewalk. "Come on, Eddie. Get up on your feet."

The drunk rolled on to his stomach, spread his hands on the kerb and raised himself to his knees. "Where hell are we, Abe?" he muttered thickly. "Come on, Eddie. Get up."

Abe put his hands under the other's armpits and, grunting a little, hoisted him on to his shaky pins. "Where hell are we, Abe?" "Shut up, Eddie." "Gotta drink, Abe?" "Shut up and walk." "Oke. Where wa' me walk to, Abe?" Abe slapped him hard across the mouth, snapped: "Shut your trap and start walking." "Don' hit me, Abe," Eddie whimpered. "Don' hit me. I'll walk. Where we goin', Abe ? "

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