At quarter to ten on the evening of Friday, December 3, 1926, an up and coming crime writer left her home in Berkshire, England saying she was going out for a drive.
She first went upstairs to kiss her sleeping daughter, Rosalind, then got into her Morris Cowley and drove off. The next morning the car was found abandoned several miles away.
Where was she? She had left behind several confusing letters, one to her brother in law, saying she was going to take a holiday in Yorkshire; another to the local constable, saying she feared for her life. Continue reading