First American Edition. A VG+ copy in a very good dust jacket. Soiling to the edges of the book's upper page block. The dust jacket has rubs/wear at its spine tips and corners. Dust soiling to its rear panel.
I picked up a handful of 1970's thrillers at a library sale for almost nothing. I chose to read this 1971 Dell novel first because the author was someone I'd heard good things about.
The story is about a man and a married woman who are having an affair. They are discreet and careful. They think no one knows. They are wrong. Someone does know, and that someone is her husband. The book revolves around the diabolical way the woman's husband sets up his cheating wife and her lover to pay for their sin. The book promises "screaming horror" on the back cover, which is misleading. It isn't a horror novel at all. It's a suspense novel, or at least it tries to be.
Jon Manchip White is a good enough wordsmith, but he tended to get bogged down in places, rambling on and on about stuff that didn't really matter. In my opinion, the book would have been better if it had been 30 pages shorter. There were also numerous paragraphs that were more than a page long, which is a pet peeve of mine.
No twists, nothing surprising, relatively ordinary writing; an entertaining few hours if you have nothing else to do and feel like reading a pulp thriller.
Two things stuck with me: the author writes "ran the gantlet", which is nice to see rather than "gauntlet". And at one point the narrator says "the well-bred growl of the engine carried me through the deluge at what my Italian odometer told me was between a hundred and seventy and a hundred and eighty kilometers a minute". Speedy! :)