The hero finds himself sitting on the door-step of London house with a cracked head and no memory. Various identities are tried on him, the plot growing more complicated and humorous until the solution is reached.
ble made a fierce clutch at the supposed captive. Dr. Frohlocken warded off the attack with a sweep of the arm.
"Don't be a fool, James! You've done enough stupid things for one evening. Go to bed, the lot of you. This gentleman is my patient. Come in, sir, come in."
"Look 'ere," said Constable X. from the doorstep.
Dr. Frohlocken looked.
"Well? What at?"
"Look 'ere," the Law repeated undeterred, "that's my man, if you don't mind, sir."
"Your man? Is this a slave-country? What right have you to call him your man?"
A shadow of bitter disappointment stole over the Constable's round red face.
"I found 'im," he said.
"Suppose you did? What do you want to do with him? Take him to the Lost Property Office as though he were an umbrella? My God and you call this a civilised country? Go away with you--"
"Well, wot about them burglars and the silver wot they took?" Constable X. persisted doggedly.
The doctor pressed his finger to his nose.
The mystery equivalent of a screwball comedy, a la Grant and Hepburn. Hang on and fasten your seatbelts, this one hurtles forward at 100 mph. The end comes out of nowhere, of course. The central issue: is our amnesiac hero a master crook, or a fabulously wealthy French aristocrat? Or both? Or neither?
A young man comes to his senses one midnight on the front steps of a house in London, but has lost his memory. Apparently, he is either a well-known criminal or the noble heir to a fortune and there exists plenty of evidence for each.
I wish I knew how to clean up the text a little. It seems to have been scanned and could use a good going over by hand.
This book definitely deserves a wide audience.