By James Hadley Chase
While Steve Jaffe chanced on million money worthy of diamonds hidden within the wall of his villa in Saigon, he had no goal of giving up the loot. All he needed to do used to be set up an go out visa and depart, till his houseboy threatened to visit the police. Jaffe had purely intended to prevent him, yet as a substitute he reveals himself a felon with homicide on his fingers. With little probability to maintain his mystery, Jaffe turns into a guy at the run, and the one individual he can belief is a gorgeous lady who's ready to do something to save lots of him.
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Additional resources for A Lotus for Miss Quon
In his speech, Braby reminded the team that it was too early for congratulations, there was far more work to be done, but he wanted everyone to see just how far the project had progressed, and how revolutionary it would be. With uncustomary lyricism, he summoned an image of a townscape, as seen from a nearby hill, and five thousand roofs glittering in the setting sun with the gyrations of their silver turbines, far more beautiful, he thought, than the TV aerials that had transformed the urban prospect in the nineteen fifties.
He had an overview then, and they became a feature of his week, these afternoons in the Arctic dusk, when he reminded himself over the cocoa that his life was about to empty out and that he must begin again, take himself in hand, lose weight, get fit, live in a simple, organised style. And get serious at last about work, though he had no idea what work he could do that was not detached from or eased by his peculiar fame. Must he give forever the same lecture series about his one small contribution, sit on committees, be a Presence?
Around him, clouds of blue smoke, and high-pitched roars, the proper expression at last of full-throated panic. Already, half the party was shooting away in the direction of the ship. It was every-man-forhimself. Beard wasted no energy cursing. He pulled out the choke lever, though he knew it was a mistake, for the engine was still warm. He tried again. And again, nothing. He smelled petrol. He had flooded the engine and he deserved to die. Now all the others had gone, along with the guide, whose dereliction of duty Beard resolved to report to Pickett, or the King of Norway.
A Lotus for Miss Quon by James Hadley Chase