The Riddle of Sphinx Island
‘Fascinating … recalls the best from the Golden Age of Detective Fiction.’
Lady Antonia Fraser
‘I have read all of Raichev’s books. They are very clever. I really am a fan.’
R.L. Stine
‘Original and intriguing … An England of club and country house, with a delicious shot of bitters!’
Emma Tennant
‘A most unusual yarn of mystery, imagination, observation and splendidly old-fashioned sleuthery which skilfully probes the surface smoothness of clubland and country house. I couldn’t put it down.’
Hugh Massingberd
‘The kind of old-school mysteries that fans of Christie and Sayers love … but this will be pleasing to more than traditionalists, because it adds a P.D. Jamesian subtlety to the comfortable formula. Antonia Darcy is a terrific sleuth and Raichev is a very clever writer indeed.’
Booklist
‘Deftly mixes dark humour and psychological suspense, its genteel surface masking delicious deviancy.’
Kirkus Reviews (Starred Review)
‘Greed, jealousy, rampant emotions and a killer lurk in the wings of this tale that mixes Henry James’ psychological insight with Agatha Christie’s whodunnit plotting skills … a diabolically clever story line.’
Library Journal (Starred Review)
‘An ominous feel, reminiscent of Hitchcock.’
Mystery Morgue
‘Recommended for any mystery fan who likes surprises.’
New Mystery Reader Magazine
‘Murder is fun again! Each chapter parcels out just a bit more of the story, just enough, drawing open the curtain to reveal the picture behind … A mystery that harkens back to the thirties and forties, but pays respect to modernity … Definitely a keeper.’
Suspense Magazine
‘Intricate and inventive … very witty dialogue and a cast of gloriously eccentric characters.’
Francis Wyndham
‘Stylish … deft use of literary allusion and well-drawn characterisation.’
Publishers Weekly
‘Liberal doses of imagination, experimentation, intelligence and sprinklings of irony, satire and fun … the riveting attention of a game of Cluedo.’
The Hidden Staircase Mystery Books
‘A whodunnit with more twists than a snake in a basket!’
Robert Barnard, CWA Diamond Dagger Winner
‘Superbly plotted … Raichev delivers this classic with the perfect panache one expects from an author who wrote his doctoral dissertation on English crime fiction … Excellent series!’
Toronto Globe & Mail
The Hunt for Sonya Dufrette
Assassins at Ospreys
The Death of Corinne
The Little Victim
The Curious Incident at Claridge’s
Murder at the Villa Byzantine
The Murder of Gonzago
This is a work of fiction.
All the characters are imaginary and bear no relation to any
living person. Gutenberg
Lite
is an invention.
R.T. Raichev
To E.G., who is ‘Ella Gates’,
and to Jane, in tribute to new beginnings.
‘I have devised for my own private amusement
the most ingenious ways of carrying out a murder.’
Agatha Christie,
And Then There Were None
Also in the Antonia Darcy and Major Payne Mystery series
3
Betrayal
4
Sunshine on the Spotless Mind
6
Invasion of the Body Snatchers
9
Psycho
13
Dead Calm
20
Woman on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown
27
A Little on the Lonely Side
32
The Clue of the Silver Bullet
33
Confessions of a Justified Sinner
A MATTER OF LIFE AND DEATH
‘I have reason to believe that at some point in the course of the weekend party, a murder will take place. I am perfectly serious. It’s not the sort of thing I’d joke about.’ Sybil de Coverley’s expression didn’t change. She had one of those long oval faces one saw in Gainsborough’s paintings. ‘Your aunt said you’d find the prospect tantalising if not irresistible. Your aunt has little doubt that you’ll come to the island the moment you hear about the murder.’
Major Payne cocked an eyebrow. ‘My aunt has little doubt, eh?’
‘Those were her exact words. She said you were interested in the more refined expressions of violence and lawlessness and particularly in murder as a fine art. Dear Nellie. She believes the whole situation is exactly up your street.’
‘My aunt thinks she knows us so well …’
‘She says she has had the chance to observe you “in action”.’
‘A murder,’ said Antonia. ‘A real murder?’
‘Well, yes. A murder that hasn’t taken place yet but which is real enough. Would I have come all this way about an imaginary murder?’ An impatient note crept into Sybil de Coverley’s voice.
‘You might have done,’ Payne said. ‘It could all be a game. Something concocted at my aunt’s instigation. One of those Murder Weekends, perhaps?’
‘It isn’t a game. It’s a matter of life and death. The most awful part of it is that I am the only one who
knows
. I really am at my wits’ end. I am desperately anxious about the whole thing. I may not look it but I am. A Murder Weekend, did you say? I wouldn’t dream of staging a Murder Weekend on Sphinx Island. That’s the very last thing I’d ever do. It would be so much trouble, besides, I wouldn’t have the foggiest how to set about it. Goodness, the idea!’
The faded gentlewoman with the vague, pale blue eyes, neat snuff-coloured hair and two-piece in fine heather-coloured wool gave a little laugh. No, it wasn’t a game, Antonia decided. Only a moment earlier she had observed Sybil de Coverley dig the fingers of her right hand into the palm of her left hand. She
was
worried. Unless she was acting. Could she be acting?
Here we go again, Antonia thought wearily. It is our tenth wedding anniversary on Saturday and we have been asked to spend it on a privately owned island off the Devon coast, trying to catch a would-be murderer …
No, they were not going. Of course they were not going. Out of the question.
She said, ‘You have reason to believe that a murder will take place. What reason precisely?’
‘Precision has never been my strongest suit – as we used to say at the bridge club. It’s so terribly difficult to explain. Something happened. Several things, in fact. Seemingly unrelated incidents, some of them puzzling, some, well, very silly. At first I thought it was all nonsense but I found myself wondering – then I made a discovery, which left me speechless. You see, I realised that I’d been looking at the thing
the wrong way up
.’
They expected her to continue, but she didn’t. She went on sitting quietly, a little frown on her face.
Payne leant back in his chair and reached out for his pipe. ‘I wonder if you’d care to give us some more details?’ Of all the idiotic rigmaroles, he thought. The
vagueness
of it. He resented being edged into a mood of suspense and irritated curiosity. Pure fiction, he thought. It was fascinating but it didn’t touch the ground. Nobody could be so vague. The bloody woman was putting it on, he was sure she was putting it on, must be.
‘I’d rather
not
be too specific,’ Sybil said. ‘I haven’t completely discounted the possibility that I may be making a fool of myself. John – my brother – says I don’t need to make a fool of myself since I am already one. I believe you have met John?’
‘I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure,’ said Payne. Something stirred at the back of his mind. Hadn’t there been something in the papers concerning a John de Coverley and Sphinx Island – some years ago – what was it? – some freak accident?
Sybil said that most people thought of her as the most rational person on earth, but sometimes she had to admit she had fancies about things. ‘I blame the island. If one lives on an island as small as mine – one can walk across it in twenty-five minutes – one tends to lose one’s sense of perspective
completely
. But this is different. I am sure it is different. That’s why I am here. I need your help. On the other hand,’ she reasoned, ‘it would be awful if I opened my mouth and besmirched the reputation of someone who was perfectly innocent. I can’t simply say I am awfully sorry but I have reason to believe that A is planning to kill B, can I? Not the done thing. That’s why I would very much like a second opinion. A second opinion is always helpful – wouldn’t you say?’
‘It can be helpful, yes, though not invariably so.’ We mustn’t encourage her, Antonia thought. We are
not
spending our wedding anniversary on her island.
Payne asked if their visitor had considered talking to the police.
‘The police? Oh but I couldn’t possibly. Not to the
police
,’ Sybil drew back a bit. ‘You see, I am not in possession of anything approximating ‘‘tangible evidence’’. I don’t believe the police would take my story
au grand serieux
. They would laugh at me. I am sure I’d be dismissed as yet another neurotic rich woman who’s got nothing better to do than suspect her guests of wanting to murder each other.’
‘More tea?’ Antonia picked up the teapot.
‘Yes, thank you … This room is not in the least oppressive or demanding or colour-coordinated … What magnificent embroidery.’ Sybil patted one of the sofa cushions. ‘I don’t suppose you do it yourself, Antonia? You do? How perfectly splendid. I thought you’d be too frightfully busy with your writing. I must say I
am
impressed. So wonderfully soothing, embroidering. Not my sort of thing at all, but I do admire people whose sort of thing it is. You are clearly a woman of many talents, Antonia.’
‘No, not at all.’
Payne started filling his pipe with tobacco. He’d changed his mind. He didn’t think Sybil de Coverley had come to deceive them. He had to admit his natural inquisitiveness was piqued. Only the day before he and Antonia had decided that they were a little bored. Antonia had written the last sentence of her new novel and, having submitted it to her editor, was feeling at something of a loose end. He had been asked to conduct a private inquiry into the affair of that terribly peculiar friend of the disgraced defence secretary, but that had also been brought to a successful conclusion. He and Antonia had lamented the fact that nothing much seemed to be happening, that their minds were like racing engines, tearing themselves to pieces because they were not connected up with the work for which they had been built.