Barnes & Noble.com
A book of 17 stories based in the early part of the twentieth century featuring the two characters of Reverend Montague Wynnter and Sir Charles Berwick. All the tales have elements of the supernatural.
The Reverend Montague Wynnter stories are based in the earlier part of the Twentieth Century, and there are parallels of the Sherlock Holmes adventures that were so popular at the end of the Nineteenth Century.
The partnership between Reverend Montague Wynnter and Sir Charles Berwick is not unlike that between Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson and the two investigators approach the world of the supernatural in the same dauntless and indefatigable spirit in which Holmes and Watson approach the underworld of Victorian London. Berwick is often bemused and skeptical about Wynnter’s findings but follows him in a spirit of true friendship, allowing his friend to take the lead in the investigations, however, when it comes to action it is usually Charlie Berwick who is called upon to do the deed.. All manner of supernatural adversaries are encountered in the seventeen stories that are told in this volume from vampires to werewolves, from golems to ghosts. The stories are mysteries in the true sense and it is never quite clear what is going on until the final resolution.
Something tried to murder my sister.
So now, on a hot August morning, I was knocking on the door of Reverend Montague Wynnter who resides in Richmond, Surrey. He is sort of an old friend I know from the Order of Chaeronea and before that as a fellow student at Clifton College. I’m hoping he will believe my tale; God knows that if anyone will, he will.
An elderly butler showed me into the reception room and then went to get his master.The room was square in shape, with four large sash windows overlooking the drive. On two walls stood three Louis XV sandalwood sideboards covered in a collection of Jenny Hanivers, a sort of dried fish shaped into a grotesque form, under glass domes. In the centre, around a low lying circular table, were four chaise longues. A small chandelier was suspended from the ceiling.
During the short wait doubt overcame me, logic took a part and I nearly left, but just as I was reaching for the doorknob it was turned from the outside and in came Montague Wynnter squealing in his high-pitched comical voice, “Well if it isn’t one of the Sacred Band – a fellow Theban. How goes it, Berwick?”
Before I go further I should just describe my friend for he cut an eccentric visage. In appearance he was plump, round-cheeked and generally smiling. He was altogether an eighteenth-century fellow, although of course it was 1927. He wore a soutane, stockings and old-fashioned shoes with silver buckles on them and he wore his dark hair with curls at either side of his head as if it was a wig from two centuries ago. Whenever he went visiting he always wore a cloak and a shovel hat and carried a silver-topped cane depicting Leda being ravished by Zeus in the form of a swan, but he was a man of stout heart and decisive action. He was altogether one of the most extraordinary people I knew. For a man in his forties he cut a strange sight. I am the exact opposite being over six feet tall with flaxen hair and rugged features.