- Libros en formato ePub -  

 Murder in the Bookshop
Mr. Philip Balfour was a good man. Also, he was good-looking, good-humoured and good to his wife. That is, when he had his own way, which was practically always.
When they came to live in New York, Philip Balfour wanted to live on Park Avenue and Alli, his wife, wanted to live on Fifth Avenue. They lived on Park Avenue.
Then, Balfour wanted a duplex apartment, and Alli was all for a penthouse. So they had a duplex.
To be sure, they could have found an apartment which combined the two horns of the dilemma, but they didn’t. Philip didn’t favour a penthouse.
And in her three years of married life Alli had learned that compliance is the best policy. She was a darling, Alli was, with soft, short brown curls and soft, big brown eyes. Tallish, slender and carelessly graceful, she devoted her energies to the not-too-easy task of being Philip Balfour’s wife. With full realization of what she was doing she had thrown over, actually jilted, a young man she was engaged to in order to become Mrs. Balfour.
And had seldom regretted it. Although her husband was twenty years older than herself, she was naturally adaptable, and save for one problem that was at present engrossing her attention, she was quite happy....
 

 Crime Tears On
Craig Madison liked cocktail parties. He held that one could go to them without that feeling of responsibility which devolves on a guest at a dinner or a dance.
Not that Madison was a shirker. Upon occasion he gaily shouldered the onus of social duties and was the dependable holder-upper of many smart hostesses in their efforts at entertainment. One lovely October day, at the hour of dusk, he dropped in at Amy Crosby’s for a few moments and a few cocktails. A gay greeting to Amy and then he was lost in the chattering crowd. But Craig had a special faculty for sizing up a crowd and discovering quickly if it contained any people interesting to him. And failing, in the present instance, he was about to leave when across the room he saw an almost familiar face. Trying to place it, he stared, and suddenly, he knew.
It was Yvette Verne, the new film star that everybody was raving over. And the reason he didn’t know her just at first, he told himself, was that she wore civilian dress. In her pictures she was usually in foreign scenes and bizarre costumes, but here, in the home of New York’s society queens, and garbed in quite tailored elegance, Yvette Verne was charming in her own right...