As The Independent’s Invisible Ink article put it, was there ever an author with so many pseudonyms?

With its third publication, The SYLE Press turns its attention from the Hilary Ford novels to those of John Christopher.

‘It was Father Green, a young fellow not ten years older than myself, who counselled me. He told me to have a good look at the world, before I gave it up. There was a...

‘I don’t like it,’ Olsen said, ‘when a man of his type becomes mixed up in that kind of thing.’ ‘There are circumstances to explain it.’ ‘That does not interest me. And it was a...

‘You are a moralist, Niels. You should learn to judge no actions but your own.’ Mouritzen shrugged. ‘It’s not I who objects to Carling going ashore to listen to the stories the spirits tell him.’...

‘Where are the horses going?’ she asked. ‘To Copenhagen?’ Mouritzen shook his head, grinning. ‘In Denmark, we do not eat horse.’ ‘Eat?’ She bit her lip and looked quickly at Annabel, who had turned from...

Mary said: ‘A life of hard work, and then to be shipped overseas to a foreign butcher. It doesn’t seem fair, does it?’ ‘I have thought that, too,’ he said. ‘But a farmer cannot be...

‘How long have you been going through the passengers’ belongings?’ ‘I didn’t do that,’ Thorsen said quickly. ‘There was no need. She had left the passport on her bunk.’ Mouritzen was not sure whether he...

‘I’ve been thinking,’ Carling said, ‘that I might give up the sea.’ She looked at him, brow furrowed, eyes half closed, as though he were a stranger whom she could not be sure of trusting....