A Rough Shoot by Geoffrey Household

April 3, 2017 | Thriller Suspense | By admin | 0 Comments

By Geoffrey Household

A vintage mystery set in Dorset after the second one global struggle, filled with Household's signature motion and suspense.

An afternoon's capturing within the nation turns out a delightful prospect to Roger Taine, a revered kin guy with a extraordinary army checklist. but if he discovers a poacher on his land, he fires a caution blast that prevents the intruder useless in his tracks.

Investigating extra, Taine inadvertently uncovers a new-fascist plot which he's decided to thwart. a chain of auto chases, aeroplane drops and cross-country scrambles sharpen the secret, however the experience takes a brand new twist while Taine discovers that he himself is being pursued via the police.

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A cock pheasant flew up to roost in the opposite tree. The trapper in the hedge saw it, drew an air pistol from his pocket and shot it neatly down. This made me unduly angry. I wouldn’t have minded a bit if they had been local villagers out for next Sunday’s dinner, but from their clothes I knew they were not. Somehow I got it into my head that they were commercial poachers, come all the way from London or Bournemouth to supply the black market. I didn’t stop to think that, if they were, they wouldn’t be working hedgerows but would clear out some big estate where one overworked gamekeeper still managed to keep up a stock of game.

I don’t know. There’s a lot of people I’d shoot on sight. Back or front, ha! ” “No. ” I replied with all the indignation I could pretend. “Yes. Don’t be a hypocrite! Never shot a German in the back? Must happen. Law of averages. Sometimes they’re coming. Sometimes they’re going. Colonel, I have watched the face of every man who visits this hilltop. ” I asked. “Think they’d understand it, do you, ha? ” “Certainly. ” “Not here,” I said. “Why? ” “Or,” I answered, taking the gamble. I led him through the gate and over onto the steep western slope of the down.

Might be–” and he mentioned three ministers, each of whom, certainly, was so mystically sure of his own Tightness and benevolence that he would have qualified as a budding Hitler. ” I asked. He had; but the name meant little to him. He only knew, through his investigations into the neo-fascist cells abroad, that there was a corresponding underground in England, and that it carried on under cover of some respectable movement. ” “Hiart? Head of your Intelligence Service in during the war. What’s he doing now?

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