Murder Every Hour

Начало книги

A HUGE, gray-haired man was seated at a massive mahogany desk. The modulated glow of electric lights showed his rugged, square-formed features. Bushy brows, gray like the hair above them, added to a perpetual scowl that existed on this heavy face.

Like the man, the furnishings of the room were bulky. Squatty, stout-legged chairs surrounded the weighty desk. A cumbersome table stood in one corner. Behind the desk was the thick steel door of a wall safe. Against a side wall was a mammoth bookcase, in three sections, that ran from floor to ceiling.

A knock came from the door of the room. The big man raised his head and rumbled an order to enter. The portal opened; a frail, bespectacled individual stepped timidly into the heavy-furnished study.

“You wished to see me, Mr. Dreblin?” inquired the newcomer, in a shaky voice.

“I did,” returned the man at the desk. “That is why I told Alfred to summon you.

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