Lady Anselman stood in the centre of the lounge at the Ritz Hotel and with a delicately-poised forefinger counted her guests.' (Excerpt)

E Phillips Oppenheim was a British writer known for his thriller novels. He is credited with writing over 100 novels including suspense, international intrigue, romance, parables, and comedies. His protagonists are known for their love of luxury, gourmet meals, and their enjoyment of criminal activities. The Malefactor is the story of a man who was in prison for a crime he did not commit. After serving his time he seeks revenge against the two people who framed him.

E Phillips Oppenheim was a British writer known for his thriller novels. He is credited with writing over 100 novels including suspense, international intrigue, romance, parables, and comedies. His protagonists are known for their love of luxury, gourmet meals, and their enjoyment of criminal activities. Two men, one old, one young, go on an African expedition. They join together in a mining venture that they think will make them rich when the English government recognizes their claim. They agree that, should one of them die, the other will get everything. When the older man dies the younger...

Nothing is as it seems at Wood Norton. A Zeppelin on a midnight flight over the English coast nearly crashes, leaving behind its observation car-and a Homberg hat. A mysterious stranger who appears from nowhere bearing news of Lady Cranston's brother, who languishes as a German prisoner of war. And Sir Henry Cranston, who refuses to come out of retirement at a time when his country is in need, but prefers instead to spend his time fishing. The fate of nations and of two lovers separated by war depends on discovering the secret of... The Zeppelin's Passenger

There were very few people upon Platform Number Twenty-one of Liverpool Street Station at a quarter to nine on the evening of April 2-possibly because the platform in question is one of the most remote and least used in the great terminus. The station-master, however, was there himself, with an inspector in attendance. A dark, thick-set man, wearing a long travelling ulster and a Homburg hat, and carrying in his hand a brown leather dressing-case, across which was painted in black letters the name MR. JOHN P. DUNSTER, was standing a few yards away, smoking a long cigar, and, to all appearance...

It was late summer time, and the perfume of flowers stole into the darkened room through the half opened window. The sunlight forced its way through a chink in the blind, and stretched across the floor in strange zigzag fashion. From without came the pleasant murmur of bees and many lazier insects floating over the gorgeous flower beds, resting for a while on the clematis which had made the piazza a blaze of purple splendour.