Speedy Death (Mrs. Bradley)
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Guests have gathered to dine at Alastair Bing’s elegant country manor, but only one guest—a murderer—is aware of the dead body in an upstairs bathtub. With renowned explorer Mr. Everard Mountjoy noticeably absent from the dining table, the rest of the party searches for him, and soon discovers the explorer’s drowned corpse. The murder is mystifying, not in the least because the body in the bath is clearly a woman’s! As danger and theories unravel, psychoanalyst Mrs. Beatrice Lestrange Bradley observes and interprets all, from shrieks in the night to drowning attempts to poisoning. It’s clear that Mrs. Bradley has a basilisk eye for detail. But can she uncover a motive for murder?
Rediscover the notorious detective Mrs. Bradley in her original starring role. This definitive mystery is the first in Gladys Mitchell’s sixty-six book series featuring this most unusual and brilliant heroine.
say that my experiment has been entirely successful.’ Mrs Bradley leapt lightly from her bed, pushed her feet into slippers, hustled her body into a dressing-gown of a surprising mustard hue, and ran a comb through her hair. Dorothy crawled shiveringly out of bed, then darted swiftly up to Mrs Bradley and clutched her by the arm. ‘I’m not going to stay here alone,’ she quavered. ‘Well, you can’t join in the fun looking like that,’ Mrs Bradley pointed out, eyeing Dorothy’s silk pyjamas with
they are before we start to generalize about them. If they do turn out to be Mrs Bradley’s she had better look out for herself. Oh, and that is another thing. We ought, I think, to have a further interview with Miss Eleanor. That drowning business was certainly not accidental, because, apart from the rather conclusive bruises on her neck, surely anybody who felt faint would at least have the ordinary common sense to turn away from a bath full of water before she swooned; and if it was attempted
summed up so that it was utterly impossible to leave the word “murder” out of it. But I can’t prove murder, you see, sir, and yet I know, the same as you know, that murder was done.’ ‘But I don’t know that murder was done. As I told you and Sir Joseph yesterday, I felt certain at first that Mountjoy was deliberately drowned, and I imagined I knew the identity of the murderer. But I’ve changed my mind.’ ‘You and Mrs Bradley seem to think alike upon most subjects,’ said the inspector, with a grin
that, surely! If Mountjoy was not murdered, why did someone try to kill Miss Bing? Somebody still thinks she was the murderer, if you don’t! And why, in the name of goodness, are those two people in such a hurry to get married? If they knew what I know,’ concluded the inspector darkly, ‘they’d think twice. Special licence, indeed! What for, Mr Carstairs? What for?’ Carstairs shrugged his shoulders carelessly. ‘Impetuous youth,’ he said, with half humorous sadness. ‘Or perhaps they think Miss
‘I say murder,’ replied Carstairs solemnly. ‘And, what is more, carefully planned, deliberately executed murder.’ He paused. His hearers neither spoke nor moved. Then Mrs Bradley smelled the rose again. ‘Come into the summer-house,’ he said abruptly. ‘I must talk it over with someone.’ ‘A member of the family?’ suggested Bertie hesitatingly. Carstairs shook his head. ‘In their different ways they are all knocked out by the tragedy,’ he said. ‘Bing is not young, and he loved this friend very