Death in San Francisco...
"Suddenly, from across the hall, came a cry - sharp, uncanny, terrible. I ran out in the direction from which it had come and stood on the threshold of the Drew dining room. A table was set with gleaming silver and white linen, and in its center stood a cake, on which fifty absurd pink candles flickered bravely. There appeared to be no one in the room. On the other side of the table, a French window stood open to the fog, and I went around to investigate. I had taken perhaps a dozen steps when I stopped, appalled.
"Old Drew was lying on the carpet, and one yellow lean hand, always so adept at reaching out and seizing, held a corner of the white tablecloth. There was a dark stain on the left side of his dress coat; and when I pulled the coat back, I saw on the otherwise spotless linen underneath a great red circle that grew and grew. He was quite dead.
"I stood erect, and for a dazed uncertain moment, I stared about the room. Beside me, on the table, fifty yellow points of flame trembled like human things terrified at what they had seen."
"Though partially set in Hawaii, this 1921 novel predates Biggers's popular Charlie Chan mystery series. Here attorney Mark Drew travels from Hawaii to the underbelly of fog-shrouded San Francisco to solve a murder. Along with the puzzle, there is a little dash of romance to keep the plot moving." (
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