The Executioners

Here we have The Executioners (1967) by John Creasey, published by Hodder and Stoughton — ISBN: none, Condition: Good, sold by Crappy Old Books — and crucially: an Ex-Library copy, complete with the library ticket pouch in the back and stamps showing numerous loans between 1971 and 1972.

Which is frankly perfect, because if there’s any author who feels born to be borrowed repeatedly by strangers who fancy a brisk dose of menace, it’s John Creasey.

Creasey wasn’t so much a novelist as a production line for tension. He wrote crime and suspense with the confident efficiency of a man who knows exactly what you came for and has no intention of wasting your time with lyrical meandering. You pick up a Creasey and within minutes you’re in motion: people with motives, problems with sharp edges, and a plot that moves like a police car in a hurry.

And The Executioners is not a title that pretends to be cosy. This is not “A Mildly Awkward Incident at the Vicarage”. This is The Executioners — two words that suggest grim certainty, organised nastiness, and consequences delivered with enthusiasm. It’s the kind of book that wears a dark suit, doesn’t smile much, and knows where you live.

Now, let’s talk about the ex-library angle, because it’s delicious.

This book has history. Not just the 1967 publication date, but the lived social history of being a working library copy in the early 1970s — when a thriller was something you got out on a Friday, devoured over the weekend, and returned on Monday with the quiet satisfaction of having survived it.

Those 1971–1972 stamps are basically a tiny audit trail of suspense consumption. You can picture it: someone in 1971, perhaps in a raincoat, selecting this from a shelf with fluorescent lighting and a faint smell of carpet and public funding. They take it home, open it, and promptly lose a few hours to Creasey’s no-nonsense pace. Then someone else borrows it. Then someone else. A chain of readers, all wanting the same thing: a competent, efficient thriller that doesn’t mess about.

In other words, the library treated The Executioners exactly as it should be treated: circulated, handled, read, and enjoyed.

And the ticket pouch is the cherry on top. It’s a little relic of pre-digital life, when reading left physical evidence. Before databases. Before barcodes on everything. When the book itself kept the receipts.

Condition-wise, it’s listed as Good, which in Crappy Old Books terms means it’s still a solid, readable survivor. The binding is sound. The pages are intact. And yes, it has the expected ex-library marks: stamps, pouch, perhaps a few reminders that this object once belonged to the people. It’s not a pristine collector’s showpiece — it’s a proper working copy with scars of duty.

And honestly, that suits a Creasey perfectly. A spotless copy would feel like it hasn’t earned the tension.

Ideal for:

• Readers who like classic British crime fiction with pace and purpose

• Collectors of ex-library books and their wonderfully tangible provenance

• Creasey fans who enjoy the “professional thriller” style — clear, brisk, efficient

• Anyone who finds old library stamps oddly moving (because they are)

So if you want a sharp-edged, mid-century thriller with an extra layer of real-world backstory — a book that has been vetted by multiple 1971 borrowers and found worthy of repeat loans — this is it.

Good condition. Ex-library. Ticket pouch intact. Proven popular 1971–1972.
Crappy Old Books proudly supplies the executioners — with the paperwork to prove they’ve been out on the streets.

Keep browsing: See more Crime books Other books by John Creasey