By Michael Innes
Businessman Carl Carson comes to a decision to make a splash for South the United States to flee the industrial stoop, leaving his domestic and his barmy spouse. yet he has an issue: if his corporation have been noticeable to be drawing in its horns, it wouldn't final every week. His resolution is his wife's favourite delusion—an imaginary son, named Robin. Carson plans to level a fictitious kidnapping. in spite of everything, what may be extra ordinary than a father liquidating his resources to pay the ransom call for? regrettably, Carson has a slightly astute neighbor, Sir John Appleby, ex-Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police.
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Additional info for Carson's Conspiracy (Sir John Appleby, Book 35)
All surface details—the long lanky figure, the minor public-school tie, the pipe—abet this impression. He sat with his head back, the pipe held out in front of him, and an expression of annoyance on his swarthy face. I remember being at a dance once, at which Andy, then aged twenty, was squiring a romantic young lady aged eighteen. I remember passing a balcony where the two were talking on a romantic summer night: the young lady remarking on a fine yellow moon, and Andy proceeding to give her a long scientific explanation as to why it was yellow.
Tess asked quickly. “To Mrs. Logan. ” We shook our heads. “Mrs. Logan is Welsh,” said Clarke. “Or at least so I should judge from her Christian name, which is Gwyneth. She is much younger than her husband; extremely attractive physically; and not, I should have thought, of the temperament to enjoy this. But she seems keen to go. And in any case”—here a 41 curious smile spread across Clarke’s face, showing teeth as white and strong as a dog’s—“I think her husband will persuade her to go. Logan himself you will like.
Then, with a solemnity matching Andy’s own, she reached out and tweaked his nose. ” “And when I say ‘anything wrong with it,’” continued Tess, “don’t pretend to misunderstand. You know perfectly well I don’t mean anything wrong with the roof or the drains. ” “Sit down,” said Andy. ” The fading sunset light was full on Andy’s face as he blinked round. It seemed to me that his eyes under thick eyebrows that almost met in the middle, moved away; they assumed a kind of bursting stolidity. He sniffed.