by Eden Phillpotts as Harrington Hext
The Club of Friends may not have liked Alexander Skeat very much, but no one should meet his Maker so violently, so mysteriously . . .
Though Skeat may have been the first, but he wouldn’t be the last. Found dead in London with no wounds but a small incision beneath his shoulder, Skeat’s demise was written off by many at first. But when the gentlemen of the Club of Friends thought more about the account of the policeman who found him—of the black, winged creature hulking over Skeat’s body—they realized there must be more to the crime than they’d imagined.
It takes little time for panic to stretch across London, Europe, and the world as its attacks range wider and occur with greater frequency. Is it really “the Bat,” as it becomes known, that obliterates the Alfred Memorial? Common science seems helpless, but then, this is no common beast . . .
Praise for Number 87 and Eden Phillpotts
“A pseudo-scientific mystery . . . that would raise gooseflesh on a billiard ball.”
—The Bookman’s Guide to Fiction, 1922