Entertaining, racy and improbably adventure story in which rival companies go to desperate lengths for the possession of a concession to a supply of radium.
better to do, when an hour later his friend the constable passed slowly by and looked him over critically. An official report of his observation would have read as follows:--
Height, about five feet nine. Age, thirty odd. Hair, dark with a disposition to wave. Eyes, brown, merry and set wide apart. Well marked brows. Nose of medium length and slightly crooked to the left. Short upper lip. Firm mouth with an upward twist at the corners. A strong square chin. A habit of holding the head slightly at an angle. Quick way of speaking and walks with a springy step. Stands with one hand on his left hip.
"Doing all right?" asked the constable.
EIGHT CLOSED DOORS.
As the taxi turned into the station yard from the Euston Road, Anthony Barraclough unobtrusively opened the offside door and dropped into the street. A pantechnicon concealed the manoeuvre from the traffic that followed. His
The entrepreneurs are running wild in post-WW I London, and the entire metropolitan police force is either on strike or has been struck deaf and blind. Our co-hero, fortunately, has found an absolute double to mislead the bad guys, enabling him to escape the villains' claws while #2 is put through every torture imaginable short of waterboarding.
Plus a spy or two in the opposite ranks.
I regret being unable to finish the tale, but human flesh is only so resilient.