This is a classic and one of the early 20th century spy novels. More detail of the political situation of the era (ca. 1937) than what you will find in E. Phillips Oppenheim; a precursor to several of Graham Greene's novels and naturally of Ian Flemming's. A free-lance journalist with a penchant for gambling finds himself in a sticky wicket cash wise; he has given his maker for many marks without the resources to back it. For a fee, he agrees with a total stranger to carry a package across a European border. Why, you ask, would any idiot do such a thing? Well, he is a gambler, down on his luck, and this is a spy novel. Enough said. This simple bit of smuggling sets in motion a series of stunning, if not outrageous, events: one cliff-hanger after another followed by a temporary, but implausible reprise: all, of course, elucidated in detail. True to the heroic form, and after much slaughter, the protagonist allows the chief villain to walk away. This is an interesting book, easily read at one sitting. However, don't look for a âJames Bondâ in any of his novels.
Ambler is the father of all thrillers
