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457 matches in All Departments
Edward Phillips Oppenheim (1866-1946), was an English novelist, in
his lifetime a major and successful writer of genre fiction
including thrillers.
"You're in luck, Alfred," he declared. "That's the most interesting
man in New York-one of the most interesting in the world. That's
Sanford Quest."
"Who's he?"
"You haven't heard of Sanford Quest?"
"Never in my life."
The young man whose privilege it was to have been born and lived
all his days in New York, drank half a glassful of wine and leaned
back in his chair. Words, for a few moments, were an
impossibility.
"Sanford Quest," he pronounced at last, "is the greatest master
in criminology the world has ever known. He is a magician, a
scientist, the Pierpont Morgan of his profession."
"Say, do you mean that he is a detective?"
The New Yorker steadied himself with an effort. Such ignorance
was hard to realise-harder still to deal with.
"Yes," he said simply, "you could call him that-just in the same
way you could call Napoleon a soldier or Lincoln a
statesman..."
Filmed in 1921 as "Behind Masks," here is British suspense maestro
E. Phillip Oppenheim's masterful tale of romance and betrayal among
the upper classes!
Mr. Oppenheim is a past master of the art of constructing ingenious
plots and weaving them around attractive characters. --London
Morning Post.
Oppenheim's classic tale of golf and romance!
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The Survivor (Hardcover)
E.Phillips Oppenheim; Edited by 1stworld Library
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R633
Discovery Miles 6 330
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Ships in 10 - 15 working days
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A little party of men and women on bicycles were pushing their
machines up the steep ascent which formed the one street of
Feldwick village. It was a Sunday morning, and the place was
curiously empty. Their little scraps of gay conversation and
laughter-t
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A Prince of Sinners (Hardcover)
Phillips Oppenhei E. Phillips Oppenheim, E.Phillips Oppenheim; Edited by 1stworld Library
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R737
Discovery Miles 7 370
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Ships in 10 - 15 working days
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Already the sweepers were busy in the deserted hall, and the lights
burned low. Of the great audience who had filled the place only
half-an-hour ago not one remained. The echoes of their tumultuous
cheering seemed still to linger amongst the rafters, the dust which
their feet had raised hung about in a little cloud. But the long
rows of benches were empty, the sweepers moved ghostlike amongst
the shadows, and an old woman was throwing tealeaves here and there
about the platform. In the committee-room behind a little group of
men were busy with their leave-takings. The candidate, a tall,
somewhat burly man, with hard, shrewd face and loosely knit figure,
was shaking hands with every one. His tone and manner savoured
still of the rostrum.
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