By J. Robert Janes
In a lodge city grew to become internment camp, a feminine prisoner is brutally murdered
Before the struggle, the inns of Vittel hosted the wealthiest participants of French society. Now, within the wintry weather of 1943, of France’s most opulent motels were switched over into an internment camp for British and American girls who did not get away the rustic while the German military stormed around the border. for 2 years, the prisoners have lived quietly, surviving on pink move relief applications, yet now they're commencing to die. An American girl is located stabbed throughout the center with a pitchfork. by the point inspectors Jean-Louis St-Cyr and Hermann Kohler arrive from Paris, rigor mortis and the February frost have frozen her strong. In her wallet are Cracker Jacks and Hershey bars—bribes meant for one of many guards. To carry justice to Vittel, St-Cyr and Kohler must resolve the conspiracy that's on the center of this luxury, stylish hell.
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Additional info for Bellringer: A St-Cyr and Kohler Mystery
On the seventh or eighth night after the death of Lady Madeline, I experienced the full power of these feelings. For hours I lay awake, struggling against a sense of fear. I blamed my surroundings — the dusty furniture, the torn curtains which moved about in the wind of a rising storm, the ancient bed on which I lay. But my efforts were useless. At last, thoroughly afraid, I got up and looked as hard as I could into the darkness of the room. I heard — or thought that I heard - certain low sounds that came, from time to time, through the pauses in the storm.
In spite of its wide swing (which was now thirty feet or more), and its great force, it would not, for several minutes, cut into my flesh. At this thought, I paused. I dared not think further. I watched the blade as it flew above me. Down — steadily down it came. To the right — to the left - far and wide — with the terrible whistle of death! Down - certainly down just above my chest! I struggled violently to free my left arm. I shook and turned my head at every swing. I opened and closed my eyes as the bright blade flashed above me.
I did not know what answer to make to my friend. He admitted that much of the unhappiness which he suffered had a simple, and quite natural, origin. It was the long and severe illness of a greatly loved sister — his close companion for many 27 years — his last and only relative on earth. ' While he spoke, Lady Madeline (for that was her name) passed slowly through the room at the far end, and, without having noticed my presence, disappeared. I watched her with a surprise and deep fear that I could not account for.