Posts Tagged ‘Golden Age Crime’

Received from the publisher with thanks

I have always had a fascination for the Second World War, it’s a period that lends itself perfectly to all kinds of rich storytelling. So, a golden age type mystery, set during the war definitely appeals. Recently the lovely people at the British Library sent me two of their recent publications – both set during the war – I was keen to dive in. Death has Deep Roots was the first of the two I chose to read.

Michael Gilbert is a new name to me – but I think he may have been capable of poking some gentle fun at the genre of Golden age fiction itself.

“‘Dammit.’ Said Macrea irritably, ‘this isn’t a detective story. The murderer doesn’t have to be one of the principle characters. It might have been an old enemy of Thoseby’s, who happened to choose that moment to finish him off.”

Death has Deep Roots is actually set about three years after the war ended – a woman goes on trial for the murder of a man in a London residential hotel. However, the case harks back to events in France during the war – and the defence are on a race against time to unearth the truth.

As the novel opens the trial of Victoria Lamartine begins in London, an eager crowd of spectators waiting outside to get into the court. Vicky is a hotel worker, having come to London after the end of the war, and following the death of her child from malnutrition. She appears to be the only logical suspect for the murder of Major Eric Thoseby at the hotel where she worked. The prosecution maintain that Major Thoseby had been Vicky’s lover – and the father of her dead child. Vicky has always said her child’s father was another English serviceman, she met during the war, apparently captured by the Gestapo – and not seen since. Certainly, Vicky had seemed very anxious to contact Major Thoseby in the weeks before his death.

Mademoiselle Lamartine changed her counsel the day before the trial starts – so the judge agrees to delay the start of the trial to allow the prisoner’s new defence team to prepare. Mr Macrea is the newly instructed defence barrister – and he contacts solicitor Nip Rumbold – who works alongside his father as a junior partner in the firm of Markby, Wragg and Rumbold – to assist him. With no time at all to spare – and just an eight day delay to take advantage of – Nip Rumbold finds himself on a ferry crossing the channel. Rumbold snr enlists the help of his old friend Major McCann to help undertake enquires in London – a man who is definitely not afraid to get stuck in.

In France, Nip Rumbold must trace the roots of Thoseby’s murder in London to the dark days of the occupation and the risks taken by resistance fighters like Vicky. From the beginning, it seems as if Nip’s footsteps are dogged by others.

“Two minutes later Nap was stepping quietly off the darkened side of the train. He retrieved his own humble grip from behind a pile of lobster baskets and set out at a round pace along the quay.

There appeared to be no barrier to mark the end of the Gare Maritime and in a few minutes he was rounding the landwards end of the jetty. The railway sheds were deserted and the arched colonnade where by day the fish sellers and the greengrocers hold their market, was black and silent.

As his footsteps rang out on the cobbles the stone arches threw back the echo. It was almost as if someone was walking behind him, in the shadows. He stopped abruptly. The echo stopped also. But did it stop quite quickly enough?”

As he travels through the Angers region, he is soon putting himself in great danger. Michael Gilbert recreates the fear and suspicion still hanging over people in France living in the former occupied zone. People from both sides of the channel are displaced or missing – it’s not always certain who’s alive, who’s dead – who was loyal to the allies and who responsible for acts of betrayal.

Back in London the trial gets underway – with the defence team waiting anxiously for news from France that will convince a jury of Mademoiselle Lamartine’s innocence. Other residents and staff members of the hotel are examined, and cross examined, and a time line established. One of the residents is said – by the police – to have a number of criminal associations – and it appears that two other members of the hotel staff were in the same region of France as Vicky during the war – and why, if Vicky was so anxious to meet up with the deceased did she go out quite casually that evening only returning after Thoseby had arrived at the hotel?

“‘I will make myself plain,’ said Macrea. ‘Will you tell us, once more – I haven’t yet quite got it straight – when did you first hear from Major Thoseby?’

‘Two days before. On the 12th, that would be, his letter arrived. By the evening post.’

‘Have you still got that letter?’

‘No. I think it has been destroyed.’


‘I am not a lawyer. I do not keep copies of all letters that are sent to me.’”

I love Courtroom scenes in novels – and these scenes are particularly good. Gilbert captures beautifully the psychology and tension of the courtroom. I found this a compelling and intelligent mystery – that combines courtroom drama with a dangerous fact finding mission across France. This mystery would particularly suit those who like their golden age mysteries to be a little less cosy than the traditional country house type (I still love those kinds too though).

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My affection for British Library Crime Classics is well know I should think. There are just so many great titles being released by them all the time, more I want to read than I may be able to. I have had Sergeant Cluff Stands Firm tbr for quite a while – and it really hit the spot last week.

Most of the BLCC mysteries are from the 1930s part of that Golden Age of crime fiction still popular today – other books, published later are very much part of that tradition. Sergeant Cluff Stands Firm however, was published later – 1960, and while retaining many of those Golden Age features, it has a slightly different tone. This is not quite the world of country house parties and telegram boys, there’s a little more grit and realism without any of unpleasant details that modern crime novels often see as a necessity.

Gil North was a new name to me, he is apparently best known for his Cluff books, which were adapted for TV in the 60s. This is the first novel in the Sergeant Cluff series, and I will definitely want to read more of them. Cluff is such a great character, spending time with him will be a pleasure. The one thing I didn’t like so much – is Gil North’s habit of describing women’s breasts – there is one character in particular whose breasts come in for more mentions than might be expected – and certainly far more than is required (that would be none). It was a small irritation but not completely off-putting.

Sergeant Cluff lives alone in an isolated cottage outside the small town of Gunnarshaw, an area of Yorkshire where he has always lived, and where his family has farmed. A somewhat gruff, middle aged man who has never married, and shares his home – and his adventures, with one of a succession of dogs called Clive.  Cluff knows everyone in the surrounding area, and everyone knows him. He is the kind of man who really understands people – he knows before they do how they’ll react, what mistakes they will make – and he is dogged enough to wait. Cluff is frequently at odds with his superiors, his inspector is irritated and perhaps a little undermined by Cluff’s knowledge of everyone in Gunnarshaw.  

A Gunnarshaw woman has been found dead by the police, following a neighbour’s concern. Amy Wright is found dead in bed, the house filled with gas. Amy married late in life, to a man much younger than her, she owns the house and has money in the bank – the neighbours think little of her husband – who hasn’t been seen for a couple of days, Amy’s adored little dog hasn’t been seen for about a week either.

The Police are sure about what happened to Amy – and the coroner agrees – the small town inquest, held in the town hall, portrayed to perfection by Gil North.

“Steam heating made the atmosphere warm. A film of condensation dimmed the windows. Everything in the hall took place at a pace slower than that in the town outside, a minor key, with a proper respect for the dead.

The people were as quiet as if they were attending a funeral service in church. They were as still as mice when a cat is about. They did not wriggle in their chairs. If they forgot themselves and moved they pulled themselves up sharply and glanced at their neighbours, embarrassed and ashamed. They suppressed their coughs, growing red in their faces. Those with colds dared only the tiniest of sniffs, tortured on the rack of respectability.”

Cluff is not so happy – he is certain that Amy’s husband bears some responsibility – either morally or criminally – he isn’t sure which, but he is determined to discover the truth. When Wright finally turns up – compete with an alibi that puts him working on a farm several miles away – still Cluff is not satisfied. Wright is clearly rattled by Cluff, reacting hysterically to his questioning at the police station. No one thinks there is a case – Amy took her own life – a tragedy but not worthy of investigation. Cluff takes leave so he can discover the truth about Amy’s death. Wright goes back to Amy’s house – knowing it is his now, as is all the money in the bank, but he can’t relax. Cluff is hard on his heels, literally stalking him through the Gunnarshaw streets, silent and watching outside the house. Within hours Wright is beside himself with fear and anxiety.

“He was harried along the never-ending road. The country about him was immense, threatening. He could feel the chill repugnance it had for him and his own being grew smaller, until he was less than nothing. The moors towered on this side and that. Their blackness merged with the blackness of the sky. They reached above him, groping towards each other.”

Cluff is perfectly at home in the rugged, Yorkshire countryside where he was raised. So sure, is Cluff of his quarry, he follows Wright to a sinister, isolated farm, where secrets wait to be discovered.

Sergeant Cluff stands Firm isn’t a whodunnit exactly – it is more about the dogged pursuit of justice – Cluff is a believer in the righting of wrongs, he sides with the underdog. North examines the psychology of people, how they act, react and feel about situations, what conscience they have about their actions. Overall, a good compelling little read (less than 200 pages – which is shorter than most of these) with a very well-drawn central character.

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Review e-book kindly sent by the publisher.

There’s nothing quite like spending the weekend with a good old murder mystery that becomes increasingly hard to put down. Dean Street Press – publisher of those lovely Furrowed Middlebrow titles – also publish a number of Golden age mysteries. One of their most recent titles to be released is The Strange Case of Harriet Hall by Moray Dalton. The kindle edition is already available (here in the UK at least – with the paperback released at the beginning of March).

Moray Dalton I have since discovered was the pseudonym of Katherine Mary Dalton Renoir. She published twenty-nine mystery novels between 1924 and 1951 and The Strange Case of Harriet Hall was one of her fifteen Inspector Hugh Collier novels. It seems that Dean Street are currently re-issuing five of her novels. I shall probably want to read them all.

In his introduction to this edition Curtis Evans calls The Strange Case of Harriet Hall ‘one of the finest detective novels from the Golden Age of mystery.’ That is quite a claim – whether it deserves such an accolade I shall leave to others to decide – but it really is very good – with a couple of big surprises (I guessed one of them- but that didn’t spoil it).

Amy Steer is a young woman living alone and quite friendless in London, constantly doing the round of employment agencies – and coming away with nothing. Her landlady wants her out – and she has no money left. Glancing through the advertisements in a national newspaper in some desperation Amy comes across a personal ad – someone enquiring for relatives of Julius Horace Steer – who could discover something to their advantage. Amy recognises the name of her father who died when she was two. She answers the advert immediately and a few days later finds herself meeting Mrs Harriet Hall in the station first-class ladies waiting room.

“As she turned away a tall woman came quickly through the swing doors, and after a swift appraising look round, moved towards her. She was well dressed in black with a long silk coat with a collar of fox furs, and her hard handsome face was heavily made up.

‘You are Amy Steer? My dear child – come and sit down.”

Mrs Hall tells Amy she is her father’s sister – and that the advert had been in the paper everyday for a fortnight. She tells Amy she lives quietly in the country – supported by the kindness of friends.  Having fallen out with her nephew Mrs Hall wants to reconnect with her brother’s child – and asks Amy to go and live with her in Larnwood. She gives Amy £100 to buy clothes she says she will need for meeting new people.

Things seem to be looking up for Amy – and despite the suddenness of the whole thing, Amy is excited to have money and the ability to buy new clothes. A few days later with her trunk full of new clothes she is on the train for Larnwood. During her journey she strikes up a friendly conversation with a young man sharing her compartment Tony Dene – he is going to the same station as Amy and offers her a lift at the other end. Only just before the train gets in Tony learns that Amy is the niece of Harriet Hall and his whole demeanour changes. When the train pulls in young Mr Dene rushes off – leaving poor Amy to walk the five miles to her aunt’s isolated cottage.

When Amy arrives, the cottage is deserted – but the door open and the kitchen stove is warm. Thinking Mrs Hall must have just slipped out – Amy settles down to wait – but her aunt never appears. The next day – it is Tony -whose family live in the Dower house a short walk away – who makes a very grim discovery in the well at the bottom of the garden.

Mrs Hall might not have been to everyone’s liking, even poor Amy had tried not to think of her as a little vulgar with her costume jewellery and bright make up – but why would anyone kill her? Just why had the apparently respectable, likeable Dene family at the Dower house been in such thrall to Mrs Hall? Mrs Dene seems nervous whenever her old friend Harriet is mentioned, Tony and younger sister Mollie clearly hated the woman they considered grasping and impossible – their elder sister the rather brittle Lavvy, the beauty and their mother’s favourite, hated her too, though is mostly concerned with her society engagement. Lavvy’s a selfish snob, desperately clinging to her brilliant engagement, terrified his awful mother will whisk him away as the scandal of a murder hits the press.

“We’ve managed to head off the Press men so far. But that won’t last. We can’t escape publicity, and the reading public enjoys murders.”

The local police get the investigation underway and seems hardly anyone has an alibi. It isn’t long, however, before Inspector Hugh Collier of Scotland Yard has been called in. Collier is a man of calm, good sense, empathetic and fair. I really liked Collier – he was such a nice, gentle man, sensible and kind. Dalton’s characters are all excellent actually, she slowly reveals the characters of the Dene family – and we soon see perhaps not everyone is telling the truth.

Some big surprises and another death – soon have everyone talking, the press is very excited – and all the circumstantial evidence seem to be pointing in one direction. However, Collier is not a man to rush into things.

I loved this excellent Golden Age mystery – a couple of unexpected revelations make this a memorable mystery – and one that will make you want to read more by this writer soon.

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This book was one of those chance buys. I was on holiday in Devon last year, mooching around a charity shop’s bookshelves. They had one shelf of old books – labelled rather optimistically ‘Antique and collectable.’ Well, I snaffled up three lovely old tomes from that shelf – and this was one of them. A book I knew nothing about, by a writer I had never heard of. It was the fragile old dust jacket that did it – I am a sucker for these vintage mystery covers.

Well I now wonder if I should have heard of the writer – Mignon G Eberhart was an American mystery writer who between the late 1920s and the 1980s produced over fifty novels. Another Woman’s House comes about halfway through her writing period – and though the plot is probably a little thin, there is something very compelling about Eberhart’s storytelling, and I enjoyed it enormously. Her characters are particularly well drawn I thought.

“It was still another woman’s house.
Nothing in the house had changed; nothing perhaps could change. Alice with all her beauty, her grace, her unerring taste for beauty might have put a spell upon the house and everything within it.”

The novel takes place over one twenty-four-hour period, and Eberhart slowly ratchets up the tension – as the truth of what happened when a man died is slowly revealed.

For several years Myra Lane has been living in England with her guardian; an elderly American woman who married a title – Lady Cornelia Carmichael was a good friend of Myra’s mother. Meanwhile Myra’s brother Timothy was educated in America and often spent time with Cornelia’s nephew Richard Thorne and his wife Alice at their beautiful house overlooking the sound.

Now, with the war over, Myra and Miss Cornelia have been living at Thorne House with Richard for almost two years. Timothy is out of the army and living in nearby New York. Myra has been blissfully happy at Thorne House – and has fallen in love with Richard. However, Richard’s wife Alice is still living, convicted of murdering a neighbour; Jack Manders – she has been in prison for two years. Myra has decided that she will have to leave Thorne house and move in with her brother – she won’t be able to cope with being in the same house as Richard now she woken up to her feelings. She is sure that Richard will never divorce Alice anyway while she is locked up.

Everyone adored Alice, an elegant beauty she decorated the Thorne house to absolute perfection. Generally considered an angel of pure goodness – no one expected a woman like her to be convicted, and in the unlikely event that she really did kill Jack Manders – he must have deserved it – is the general consensus.

On the day the novel opens, Myra and Richard take a walk in the gardens before dinner – and Richard reveals that he feels the same about Myra and wants to marry her. When they return to the house, two people are waiting for them in the library – the state Governor – and Alice Thorne. Myra and Richard listen bewildered to the Governor’s story of a changed statement, and immediate pardon, how he had taken it upon himself to bring Alice straight home. Alice is sent upstairs to rest while everyone tries to make sense of what has happened – dinner is delayed for several hours.

another woman's house

It becomes clear that with Alice freed – and unable to face trial for the same crime again, a new investigation will get under way. The chief suspects; Webb Manders the brother of the man Alice was convicted of killing, Myra’s beloved brother Tim and of course Richard himself – it was his gun Alice was seen holding moments after the death of Jack Manders. Two other people are also involved, Alice’s close friend – Mildred Wilkinson, another wealthy woman who lives nearby and is a frequent visitor – and Sam the Thorne family lawyer another Alice adorer.

Questions abound. Who killed Jack Manders two years earlier? Why did Webb Manders say he had seen Alice standing over Jack with a gun? – and why has Tim Lane suddenly changed his evidence after all this time? Where is Richard’s gun – which was never found?

In the midst of all this – as Alice lies looking pale and beautiful in her bedroom upstairs – Richard declares he no longer wants to be with Alice – he is it seems determined to settle down with Myra. Alice is home though, and she wants her life back, she loves her house and she wants to be a wife to Richard again.

“She wanted to hurry from the room – from the drone of the rain on the flagstones outside, the wavering curtains, the cupid. She made herself sit down again in Richard’s chair. She would think and reason out – and then dismiss this intrusive, stubborn uneasiness which nudged at her as if it had hands, pointing, a voice saying in a breathless whisper, look, look here I am: Murder.”

It is very easy for the reader to quickly work out what’s what. As far as the characters go, it seems Myra is the brightest of them all, but even she takes rather too long to realise the truth. In a sense it doesn’t matter that this mystery is easy to work out – the plot might not be the most complicated of this kind of novel, but I found the novel to be hugely enjoyable and very compelling.

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Agatha Christie is always a safe bet for a quiet weekend, when already feeling over tired or unwell. I have had this book club edition of Destination Unknown among my Christie collection unread for years. I love the 50’s cover. Personally, I wouldn’t mind a cape just like that.

If you open up an Agatha Christie novel looking forward to a nicely arranged corpse in front of a roaring fire, and Hercule Poirot standing over them – then this one might disappoint – though it shouldn’t. There are no corpses – and no Poirot or Marple – not even a brace of Beresfords.

This is one of Christie’s thrillers – and it is excellent in a similar way to the They Came to Baghdad was. Like so many Christie’s novels set in the places she travelled to – there is a great sense of place, and she always portrays that peculiar species – the Brit abroad – so well too. In place of bodies, poison, blackmail and detectives, we have British Intelligence, disappearing scientists, a shadowy organisation proposing a new world order, and a wonderfully plucky woman.

“Why do you decry the world we live in? There are good people in it. Isn’t muddle a better breeding ground for kindliness and individuality than a world order that’s imposed, a world order that may be right today and wrong tomorrow? I would rather have a world of kindly, faulty, human beings, than a world of superior robots who’ve said goodbye to pity and understanding and sympathy.”

A famous British scientist Thomas Betterton has gone missing – and with conflicting reports of sightings, British intelligence are getting twitchy. For Betterton is the inventor of ZE Fusion, and it is well known that there are those who would like to get their hands on it. Other scientists have also disappeared. A man called Jessop invites Betterton’s wife in for a little chat – no one is quite sure if she knows where her husband of six months has gone or not. Olive Betterton is exhausted from the press speculation and worry – and asks permission to go abroad to get away from it all – she was thinking about Morocco.

Permission granted Olive Betterton sets off, a carefully orchestrated tail in close pursuit. However, Olive’s plane to Casablanca crashes, and Olive lies insensible in hospital, one of just a few survivors, the doctors predict she won’t live long.

Meanwhile Hilary Craven has also arrived in Casablanca from England – though luckily for her on the next plane, she was originally booked on the same plane as Mrs Betterton. Hilary is a broken woman, realising her escape from England has really changed nothing, she has decided to end it all in her hotel room. Hilary’s child has died – her husband left her and has married again, what does she have to live for? All Hilary wants is for the misery to end. However, someone has noticed her, noticed how her age, height, red hair makes her vaguely similar in appearance to Olive Betterton. Those vague descriptions once shown inside a passport would be the same for both women. As Hilary sits on her hotel bed with a glass of water and a handful of pills, the locked door opens, and in walks a man she’s never met before – but Olive Betterton would know as Jessop.
Hilary is persuaded to undertake a very dangerous mission – after all if she is so keen on death – there might as well be a purpose to it, and Jessop thinks there is a high chance of death.

“‘Within a day or two Mrs Craven will die in hospital, and Mrs Betterton will be discharged, suffering slightly from concussion, but able to proceed on her tour. The crash was genuine, the concussion is genuine, and concussion makes a very good cover for you. It excuses a lot of things like lapses of memory, and various unpredictable behaviour.’
Hilary said: ‘It would be madness!’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Jessop, ‘it’s madness, all right. It’s a very tough assignment and if our suspicions are realised, you’ll probably cop it. You see, I’m being quite frank, but according to you, you’re prepared and anxious to cop it. As alternative to throwing yourself in front of a train or something like that, I should think you’d find it far more amusing.’
Suddenly and unexpectedly Hilary laughed.
‘I do believe,’ she said, ‘that you’re quite right.’”

We follow Hilary as taking up the challenge issued by Jessop, she travels through Morocco – meeting up with various characters, not all of whom she can be sure are who they say they are. Hilary is bright, unafraid and desperate for something to distract her mind from her hopeless misery. As she journeys toward her unknown destination in the guise of a dead woman, Hilary begins to want to live.

I won’t say too much more about the plot – as it would be too spoilery. The plot is fairly improbable to say the least. But if you are huddled under a blanket on a wet Saturday afternoon – do really care if it is improbable? Christie’s storytelling is great, and Destination Unknown is a real page turner. Naturally there is a lovely little twist at the end – and a fairly satisfying ending – the reader needs to suspend disbelieve – but overall this is a great bit of cold war escapism.


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I had to take a short break from A Century of Books to read this, just what I needed – as ever I reach for vintage mysteries when I am over tired. These British Library Crime Classics always tick the box. John Bude is a familiar name to readers of British Library Crime Classics, they have published (I think I am right in saying) six of his mysteries, though I had only read two prior to this one. John Bude was the pseudonym for theatre producer and director Ernest Elmore and he was a very prolific writer.

The Cheltenham Square Murder comes with one of those handy little street plans so beloved of mystery writers from the Golden Age. How necessary this simple little drawing is I’m wasn’t sure – but I admit I did find myself referring to it to several times.

cofThe novel opens in a small, tranquil regency square in Cheltenham Spa, ten houses in a u shape around a communal grassy area of shrubs and trees. The inhabitants are generally middle aged – and quiet living. It is certainly not the kind of place, one would expect to encounter sudden and violent death.

However, all is not quite as it seems. Several residents have been locked in a dispute over the fate of an old elm tree, and bank manager Mr Fitzgerald appears to have the weight of the world on his shoulders. Captain Cotton has been seen often in the company of Mr West’s wife, and set tongues wagging. Meanwhile the Misses Watt, are concerned with a secret they accidentally happened upon, while they nursed their neighbour Edward Buller in his delirium.

“There had come to his ears a strange, insidious sound – a faint zip, a long click, and a long drawn out sigh from Cotton. He swung round, puzzled, opened his mouth to speak and swayed there with his lips held slackly apart, staring. The glass dropped from his hand and was shattered on the parquet. He put down the decanter, shakily, took a couple of steps forward and again stopped dead.”

The square’s fraught rivalries are disrupted by the sudden, shocking death of one resident, shot in the head with an arrow through an open window. One of the other resident’s is a doctor and he is soon on the scene, but it appears that death was instantaneous. Suspects there are a plenty, especially as six of the square’s residents are members of the nearby Wellington Archery Club.

Fortunately for perhaps everyone but the murderer, celebrated crime writer Aldous Barnet has been staying with his sister at number 8, and Mr Barnet has invited his old friend Superintendent Meredith to stay while his sister is away. Meredith soon finds himself embroiled in the investigation alongside local policeman Inspector Long (whose ‘working class’ accent is just a bit overdone). They focus their attentions on the recently vacated house on the square – the skylights and a small landing window in a neighbouring house. The residents of the square are questioned thoroughly, with poor Inspector Long living in dread of his conversations with Miss Boon, a rather strident woman with a house full of dogs.

Secrets are there to be unearthed – and even a spot of blackmail to be revealed. Meredith and Long have their work cut out trying to figure out who did what and why. Just as they are starting to cast their collective suspicious eye on one particular person, there is another equally gruesome death on the square.

“One hand gripped the lapel of his velvet smoking-jacket. The other was closed over an unlighted cigar. His mouth was slightly agape. In three strides Meredith was across the room with the doctor close at his heels. Simultaneously their eyes met.”

Then Meredith hears about a bizarre incident on a farm, when a labourer found a ewe with an arrow buried in its head. Meredith can’t help but think that this must have something to do with his case.

No spoilers – I’m keeping this short. The Cheltenham Square Murder is an entertaining mystery with just enough twists and turns to keep the reader guessing. I eventually happen upon the culprit – but not very early on and only after changing my mind a couple of times.

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excellent intentions

So, July has been a bit of a slow reading month for me, more of that in my round up post on Wednesday. So last weekend, feeling very over tired I reached out for a little bit of vintage murder, ticking of 1938 in my A Century of Books in the process. I do love these British Library Crime Classics – admittedly they vary in quality, but they are perfect for lazy Sundays. I have several more on my radar as well as two or three tbr.

Excellent Intentions had particularly appealed to me because I had heard that it was structured a little differently to the usual Golden Age Crime novel. It is, and I thoroughly enjoyed Hull’s storytelling twist. It works well – however I guessed the truth very, very early on. When I say guessed, it was a guess formed by one line in the early pages (I can’t say more than that) – but as the novel progressed, I stuck firmly to my guess and it proved to be correct. None of that spoiled the novel for me, I found it highly entertaining.

Richard Hull writes with a good deal of wit – as well as huge amount of knowledge about all thing philately (more of that later) and the plot fairly skips along.

“‘May it please your lordship – members of the jury, on Friday, July 13th – a combination of unlucky days – Launcelot Henry Cuthbert Cargate died in a railway carriage between Larkingfield and Great Barwick stations on the borders of Essex and Suffolk at approximately eleven fifty-seven in the morning. On Thursday August 9th the accused’ – with a melodramatic gesture which threatened to arouse anew Mr Justice Smith’s latent prejudice, counsel pointed to the dock and rolled out unctuously the full name of its occupant – ‘was arrested and charged with wilfully murdering him by administering poison to him, and it is on that charge that the accused now stands before you.”

The novel opens as a court case gets underway – someone is on trial for murder, only we don’t know who it is.

From here with the help of the excessively voluble prosecution barrister, various witnesses and the defence we see the events which led up to the trial. It is a particularly clever way of structuring a crime novel, the reader looking for clues as to who it is in the dock.

The victim was Henry Cargate, a typically loathsome golden age victim. A wealthy man who had not long moved into the big house in the village of Great Barwick. He had quickly become its least favourite resident, rude, obnoxious and favouring outsiders to workers from the village, he quickly puts the backs up of almost all the locals. On the day of his death, Cargate’s car won’t start and so he is forced to get a train from the tiny local railway station, Cargate is a man of easily roused temper, and this is enough to excite his irascibility. At the station he is seen, attempting to take snuff, as he waits huffily for the train. A porter causes him to drop his pinch of snuff onto the floor. The resulting fuss and bad temper made something of an impression on fellow traveller; Mr Hardy. Hardy’s curiosity roused, he watches Cargate, in the window reflection as the train leaves the station, taking another pinch of snuff – this time successfully. Only seconds later he is dead, and Mr Hardy is obliged to stop the train.

Enter, Doctor Gardiner whose suspicions are roused – despite everyone assuming natural causes. Thankfully Gardiner had thought to secure a sample of the snuff that had spilled from the tin onto the carriage floor for analysis. Gardiner had detected an odour in the railway carriage that he wasn’t entirely happy about. Inspector Fenby is called in to investigate further – and it is soon established that Cargate had been poisoned.

“It was a constant complaint of Inspector Fenby’s that he had to spend a great part of his time examining some subject which proved in the end to be irrelevant. He was always on the look-out for the danger and he tried hard to avoid entangling himself in such things. But you could never be sure. There were frequent traps. Certainly the actions of those concerned during the long central period of Thursday, July 12th were a good example of such a state of affairs.”

It appears there are four main suspects; the local vicar Mr Yockleton is one, he absolutely loathes the new squire, and his worship of money, whose only interest in the village church is what archaeological properties it might unearth. Cargate enjoys bating Mr Yockleton and they had a heated argument on the morning of Cargate’s death. Cargate is a very difficult man, and so the two members of his household staff Raikes the butler and Miss Knox Forster Cargate’s secretary must surely have motive too, they certainly had opportunity. As did everyone around the house that day, a bottle of cyanide had been purchased by Cargate for the destruction of a wasps nest by the gardener, the only local man Cargate employs. The bottle was in full view of everyone throughout the day.

excellent intentions2

Additionally, we meet Macpherson – a dealer in stamps. Cargate is a keen philatelist – but MacPherson has had reason to doubt his honesty but Cargate counteracts MacPherson’s accusations with accusations of his own when Macpherson travelled to Great Barwick to meet him. One of these two men is a cheat.

The amount of detail that Richard Hull goes into with regards to philately is quite astonishing – some may feel a little wearisome, I was completely bamboozled about various colours, marks and the amount of perforations a particular stamp had which made it valuable or utterly worthless. Whether Hull himself was a keen stamp collector or not I don’t know – perhaps he simply didn’t want his research to go to waste.

Excellent Intentions (the use of that title becomes clear) was a really great little mystery. I now have more Richard Hull books on my radar – I enjoyed the way Hull structured the story, and his ordinary, no nonsense Inspector Fenby is the kind of fictional policeman I like. A normal, reasonably intelligent man, doing his job well.

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