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W Murdoch Duncan

Crime & Mystery Books for Sale

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Meet the dreamer - W Murdoch Duncan
1963 UK hardbackfirst edition, 1st impression published by John Long in London
A VG+ book in unclipped dust jacket
Small interesting label to pastedown with address for communications re the manuscript, presumably related to the publisher
Tight and square with clean text block and boards
The jacket has light shelf wear to extremities, great artwork by Barbara Walton

A rare book and a Superintendent Donald Reamer aka the Dreamer murder mystery
A nice solid example
For Sale at £SOLD - SORRY, CURRENTLY OUT OF STOCK (approx $SOLD) - Delivery Information ~ Free & Subsidised ~ Please Check

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The Blackbird Sings of Murder - W Murdoch Duncan
[1948] UK hardcover first edition, 1st impression, Andrew Melrose, London
A VG+ book sadly missing its dust jacket
NO names, inscriptions or stamps
Tight and square with clean text block and boards
An Inspector Peter Lane mystery
A nice solid example
For Sale at £SOLD - SORRY, CURRENTLY OUT OF STOCK (approx $SOLD) - Delivery Information ~ Free & Subsidised ~ Please Check
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James Corbett     Oliver Banks     Mary Fitt     MG Eberhart    

IT was early October when Inspector Peter Lane went into Hampshire on official business, and the world was a flare of red and gold saffron: young pheasants drummed and strutted in the cool sanctuary of the coverts and the air smelled of frost and of earth, of bracken and pine. Lynndale, he knew not, save that it lay beyond Basingstoke but east of Winchester, yet he found it in his heart to bless the depredations of one Dixie Lee, who had basely deserted the Metropolitan area in which he normally worked, to move westwards, and there to make certain interesting experiments, for Dixie was a man of certain accomplishments, mostly connected with petty larceny. Concerning him, Superintendent Johns, who dealt with such matters, had been scathing. "Dixie is a clown. Any man who leaves London to work the provinces is a clown—expecially if he's a crook. Anyway, go and fetch him back. We want him for that job at Fortune Hill and if we don't take him, these County fellows will." "Has he been charged ?" asked Peter interested, Johns had shaken his head. "Not yet. But you know Dixie better than I do. I don't like crooks moving out of my bailiwick. I've got a paternal interest in them. Anyway, I'll give him something to keep him interested, right here." And Peter went blithely. Lynndale, he found, a small village, nestling in a hollow and flanked by rolling, swelling slopes which were planted with spruce and fir, oak and maple. The road swung in from the east, forced its way through the plantation of high trees and dipped so that from the crest of it, a man might count the dwelling houses that lay below, might feast his eyes on the riot of orange and yellow and bronze of the chrysanthemums that patterned the green square of the gardens.

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