Classic Mysteries

The Agatha Awards

From somewhere in Cyberspace, the winners of this year's Agatha Awards for mystery writing were announced this evening at a virtual convention of mystery writers and readers put together by the organizers of the Malice Domestic conference.

As Malice Domestic wasn't able to hold its annual convention in person during the Spring, the organizers put together three days of a virtual videoconference Malice convention called "More than Malice." The event, described by organizers as "a unique virtual crime fiction festival," featured some excellent and provocative presentations, interviews,  and panel discussions featuring some of the best mystery writers in the field. While the audience had to be content (for now) with remote learning, the presentations were lively, informative, and fun.

And then there were the Agathas:

 

Best Children's/YA Mystery

Holly Hernandez and the Death of Disco by Richard Narvaez 

Midnight at the Barclay Hotel by Fleur Bradley 
Premeditated Myrtle by Elizabeth C. Bunce 
Saltwater Secrets by Cindy Callaghan
From the Desk of Zoe Washington by Janae Marks

 

Best Non-Fiction

Phantom Lady: Hollywood Producer Joan Harrison, the Forgotten Woman Behind Hitchcock by Christina Lane

Sometimes You Have to Lie: The Life and Times of Louise Fitzhugh, Renegade Author of Harriet the Spy by Leslie Brody
American Sherlock: Murder, Forensics, and the Birth of American CSI by Kate Winkler Dawson 
Howdunit: A Masterclass in Crime Writing by Members of the Detection Club by Martin Edwards
H. R. F. Keating: A Life of Crime by Sheila Mitchell

 

Best Short Story

"Dear Emily Etiquette" by Barb Goffman (Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine Sep/Oct)

• "The Red Herrings at Killington Inn" by Shawn Reilly Simmons; Masthead: Best New England Crime Stories
• "The Boy Detective & The Summer of ‘74" by Art Taylor (Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine Jan/Feb)
• "Elysian Fields" by Gabriel Valjan California Schemin’: The 2020 Bouchercon Anthology
• "The 25 Year Engagement" by James Ziskin In League with Sherlock Holmes: Stories Inspired by the Sherlock Holmes Canon

 

Best First Novel

A Murder at the Mena House by Erica Ruth Neubauer

•  A Spell for Trouble by Esme Addison 
• Winter Witness by Tina deBellegarde
• Derailed by Mary Keliikoa
• Murder Most Sweet by Laura Jensen Walker

 

Best Historical Novel

The Last Mrs. Summers by Rhys Bowen

• The Fate of a Flapper by Susanna Calkins
• A Lady's Guide to Mischief and Murder by Dianne Freeman
• Taken Too Soon by Edith Maxwell
• The Turning Tide by Catriona McPherson

 

Best Contemporary Novel

All the Devils are Here by Louise Penny

• Gift of the Magpie by Donna Andrews
• Murder in the Bayou Boneyard by Ellen Byron
• From Beer to Eternity by Sherry Harris
• The Lucky One by Lori Rader-Day

The award winners will be presented with their awards at the next full Malice Domestic conference, scheduled for next April.

If you're new to the award, Malice Domestic defines it this way: 

The Agatha Awards celebrate the TRADITIONAL MYSTERY, best typified by the works of AGATHA CHRISTIE. The genre is loosely defined as mysteries that contain no explicit sex, excessive gore, or gratuitous violence, and would not be classified as "hard-boiled."

 

And I must say that after the trials and tribulations of the past year-and-a-half...it was a glorious weekend for crime fiction.

 

"

From the Vault: "Miss Pym Disposes"

Despite having written only a handful of fine mysteries in the course of her life, Josephine Tey remains an author with a substantial following of admirers. She's best known for The Daughter of Time, in which Tey's detective Alan Grant used standard detective work to solve the mystery of a dual murder hundreds of years before his time. But all of her books are quite strikingly original. Take, for example, her 1946 novel, Miss Pym Disposes. It's a very traditional mystery, one that is likely to mystify you several times over on its way to a brilliant conclusion. I reviewed Miss Pym Disposes in an audio review for the Classic Mysteries podcast several years ago, but I think you'll agree that this book is well worth being brought back from the vault to entertain us again. The transcript of that review, slightly edited, is below, and I hope you will be as fascinated by the plot and the brilliantly drawn characters as I have been.

- 0 -

If there is one criticism that truly annoys me, in the course of discussing classic mystery authors and their books, it’s the claim that authors writing traditional mysteries – especially those of the so-called Golden Age and the decade or two before and after those years – knew how to write plots and puzzles, but gave readers only cardboard characters and plastic settings.

While I am willing to admit that there were some authors whose plots were far more important and more carefully planned than their characters and locations, I think it’s quite untrue as a general rule. I just had the pleasure of reading – for the first time – a mystery which really shows how wrong that particular criticism can be. The book is Miss Pym Disposes, a 1946 book by Josephine Tey.

Josephine Tey was the pen name used most often by Elizabeth Mackintosh for her mystery novels. It is unfortunate that the author died fairly young, leaving us only eight first-rate mysteries. Five of them feature a detective, Alan Grant – he is, in fact, the star of Tey’s best known work, The Daughter of Time. But Miss Pym Disposes was a stand-alone novel – and it’s quite a work.

The central character in the book, Miss Lucy Pym, is a former French teacher who wrote – almost by accident – a best-selling book on psychology.  As Tey explains it:

she read her first book on psychology out of curiosity, because it seemed to her an interesting sort of thing; and she read all the rest to see if they were just as silly. By the time she had read thirty-seven books on the subject, she had evolved ideas of her own

Her book having made something of a celebrity out of her, Miss Pym accepts an invitation from a former schoolmate of hers, Henrietta Hodge, to deliver a lecture to the graduating seniors at Miss Hodge’s school, the Leys Physical Training College for Women. Her lecture is a success, but, far more to the point, she finds herself attracted to the students and the staff at the school. And this, I think, is where Josephine Tey’s ability to create wonderful characters really pays off.

Student after student is presented to us, yet each is a different – and believable – person. The same is true of the teaching staff. In fact, for about three-quarters of the book, this might all be a sophisticated comedy of manners. Miss Pym is so charmed with the people and the place that she accepts invitations to stay on for a few days, rather than return at once to London, as she had planned.

But there is, of course, some underlying tension, which creeps into the story and gradually makes itself known to Miss Pym – and to the readers.

Listen to what Tey does here, as Lucy Pym gets ready for bed – she is staying in a college dormitory room – as she stands at her darkened window, looking out at the quadrangle where the students’ rooms were, as their lights were turned out for their regular bedtime curfew. (Editing a bit now for time as we go):

Could they see her  then? No, of course not. Someone had heard the small noise of her curtains being drawn back.

“Miss Pym, we are so glad you are staying.”

…Before she could answer, a chorus of whispers came from the unseen windows round the little quadrangle. Yes, Miss Pym. We are glad. Glad, Miss Pym. Yes. Yes. Glad, Miss Pym.

“Goodnight everyone,” Lucy said.

“Goodnight, they said. Goodnight. So glad. Goodnight…

She thought how odd it was that only yesterday morning she could not wait to get out of the place.

And perhaps it was because no self-respecting psychologist would have anything to do with a thing so outmoded as Premonition that no small helpful imp from the Unexplainable was there to whisper in her drowsy ear: “Go away from here. Go away while the going is good. Go away. Away from here.”

Unquote

That’s a fine example of Tey’s writing – she lulls you with the gentleness of the scene, the whispering voices of the young women students whom Lucy Pym – and the reader – come to know and admire. And then she turns around and kicks you when you least expect it.

Now there will, of course, be a disaster. And Miss Pym will find herself in an extremely painful predicament. But I really don’t want to tell you much more, except to say – again – that perhaps three-quarters of the book will have gone by before that climax is reached, a climax which you may think you see coming. But there is more, and I will not spoil it any further for you. Josephine Tey tells the story with wit and humor, and she does so in a way that makes Leys Physical College, its staff and its students come alive for the reader. And I would echo the words of mystery reviewer and critic James Sandoe, who provided an introduction to the edition of Miss Pym Disposes that sits on my bookshelf. He says,

In a day when one opens the first page of a detective story to be blasted at once by a Tommy gun, the skill of sustaining human interest in itself seems as rich as it is certainly rare. 

- 0 -

Miss Pym Disposes, by Josephine Tey, is still available in various editions. If you haven't read it, I recommend it very strongly.

"The Murders Near Mapleton"

Sir Eustace Vernon had earned the respect and gratitude of his neighbors in and around Mapleton by rescuing a dozen trapped children from a burning house when the local fire brigade couldn't even get to the fire. It also brought him his knighthood. Certainly he was no coward. But at a Christmas party the next year at his home, something frightened Sir Eustace - frightened him so badly that he left his own party, telling his guests that he had just had some very bad news. And that was the last time anyone saw Sir Eustace alive. And the reasons...well, according to our narrator:

"Thus was the stage of Vernon House set at about a quarter to twelve on that Christmas night for the enacting of one of the strangest cases that ever fell to an investigator’s lot to unravel.”

You'll find all the details in another classic mystery by Golden Age author Brian Flynn named The Murders in Mapleton. It's the subject of this week's audio review on the Classic Mysteries podcast. You are welcome to listen to the complete review by clicking here.

As luck would have it, it was up to two passersby to observe what appeared to be a terrible accident: a train ran over a man on some nearby railroad tracks. The passersby turned out to be Sir Austin Kemble, the Commissioner of Scotland Yard, and his friend and frequent co-investigator, Anthony Bathurst. Bathurst was the central character in Flynn’s mysteries; in this case, as a witness to the discovery of that body on the tracks, both Kemble and Bathurst were provided with an excellent reason to work closely with other investigators on a case which immediately began turning up surprises – some of them quite shocking indeed, especially for a book written in the 1920s. And as the body count begins to mount, it will be Anthony Bathurst who will have to dispel the seeming fog over a hero’s disappearance and several murders.

The mysteries of Brian Flynn seem to be enjoying a resurgence of popularity with readers of Golden Age mysteries, thanks largely to the new editions of his work being brought to the market by Dean Street Press. Mystery historian Steve Barge, who has been writing introductions both for the individual Flynn books and for the series as a whole, contributes another informative and entertaining essay to The Murders near Mapleton. The package is well worth your while.

"Death at the President's Lodging" - and Les returns!

To those of you friends who have been waiting for me to re-emerge in this blog as one of your guides to classic mysteries - well, here I am sort of. So before moving ahead, let me explain a bit:

For more than a decade, I have relied on two increasingly aged computers when I write and publish Classic Mysteries. Without warning, both decided to take final leaps into the unknown, stubbornly refusing to do anything useful. OK, sez I, it's time to bite the bullet and get one replacement machine for both computers, sez I. Should be simple, sez I.

Uh huh.

That roaring sound you may hear is the gods laughing. They're enjoying themselves.

So, after nearly a month, I am comfortable enough with these programs that seem to have been designed to confuse an alien civilization (that would be you and me) to promise some new reviews...soon. I'll start with some features from the Classic Mysteries vault. I will publish, I hope, with some regularity, but my output will be sporadic for a few weeks until I'm comfortable with Windows 10. Spare me the lecture, please, about Apple's superiority - today, it's every bit as complicated as Windows 10.

Anyway, let's start with a complex but thoroughly enjoyable book by Michael Innes, his first, published in 1936, called Death at the President's Lodging. It's the book in which he first introduced readers to Detective Inspector John Appleby, that most erudite of investigators. Below, you'll find a transcript of my original audio review for the Classic Mysteries blog. Please do check back, as I hope against hope that this accursed computer will allow me to continue in the days and weeks ahead. I hope. As Schwarzenegger the Great said...I'll be back.

- 0 -

There’s not much doubt that the president of St. Anthony’s College was a most unpleasant person, and that relations between the president and the senior scholars at the college were strained at best. Still, the murder of Dr. Josiah Umpleby in his residence at the school was quite a shock. Here’s how the author describes it:

The crime was at once intriguing and bizarre, efficient and theatrical. It was efficient because nobody knew who had committed it. And it was theatrical because of a macabre and unnecessary act of fantasy with which the criminal, it was quickly rumored, had accompanied his deed.

That nicely sums up the central problem to be found in the first mystery by Michael Innes. It is called Death at the President’s Lodging.

Michael Innes wrote a great many fine mysteries over the course of a career that spanned half a century. Death at the President’s Lodging was his first novel, published in 1936, introducing Detective Inspector John Appleby, who appeared in many of Innes’s books over the next fifty years, rising through the ranks and eventually becoming Commissioner of Metropolitan Police before retiring to the family estate (where he continued to solve the occasional murder).

In his first recorded case, Appleby finds himself assigned to investigate a murder at Saint Anthony’s College, a fictional institution which the author assures us is located roughly midway between the ancient (and real) university towns of Oxford and Cambridge. The president of Saint Anthony’s, Dr. Josiah Umpleby, has been shot to death in his residence, which is one of the college buildings. What is more, the residence is located in a portion of the campus which is locked at night – when the murder was committed – and only a handful of senior scholars have keys. So the field of suspects would appear to be limited – although the scholars themselves have a great deal of difficulty persuading themselves that one of them must have committed the murder.

And it is also true that the murder itself was surrounded by most unusual circumstances – not least of which is the fact that the President’s body is surrounded by human bones, scattered across the floor of his study. There are a great many clues – too many of them perhaps, because it is extremely difficult to find a scholar with a motive for murder who would, in fact, have had the opportunity to commit the murder.

It is up to Appleby, of course, to get everything sorted out. And I have to warn you that the ultimate solution, when Appleby explains it, is likely to induce dizziness. But it is eminently satisfying.

And through it all are the wonderful literary touches which Michael Innes always brought to his works – especially the earliest of the books. All of Innes’s books are written with a good deal of wit and erudition; Appleby (and some of the other characters) are given to quoting obscure poets and playwrights, and the author’s third person narration is wonderful at evoking the atmosphere of this scholarly institution where murder has interrupted the daily routines of scholarship.

Listen, for example, to what Innes has to say about many of the resident academics (and remember that he too had a successful career as a don at a number of universities, including Oxford):

They loll deep in what economists call a “timelag.” They teach out-moded subjects by exploded methods. They remain obstinately unconvinced of the necessity of the modern amenities either for themselves, their wives or their children. Only recently, indeed, did they discover wives and children. Only yesterday did they discover baths. Only today, despite much undergraduate example, are they beginning to discover the motorcar.

I think that's fairly indicative of Michael Innes’s wit at work. You’ll find a lot of that going on – along with a remarkably clever mystery and rather amazing solution – in Death at the President’s Lodging – which was also published in the U. S. as Seven Suspects. I think you’ll enjoy it!

- 0 -

If you'd like to listen to the recording of the review, please click here.

 

Returning the Classics

Okay, okay. I said I'd be back here at Classic Mysteries a couple of weeks ago. Then life intervened. Priorities.

Or, to put it in terms that my tech friends will understand, at least two of the computers I use to maintain my podcast, my blog, and (to a far lesser extent) my sanity decided this was the time to quit.

This, in turn, led to a couple of highly interesting and fairly expensive telephone conversations on the subject of how best to replace these not-overly-hard-working computers. I mean, we're talking conversations like the one with a tech person who breathed "you got your computer WHEN? Do you know it's only running Windows 7 under protest?"

Like I said: priorities.

So: the good news. I'll be back up and fully operational fairly quickly.

The bad news is, for best results, I'm going to be publishing sporadically for a while - until the new computers are in place and operational.

First reviews should be posted here in a day or two. I'll continue publishing them at Facebook as well, and keep you all advised through Facebook posts.

So. I'm sorry. I look forward to renewing our acquaintance and enjoying classic mysteries with everyone, beginning in a couple of days, like maybe this weekend. See you shortly, I hope.

Pause and Breathe

I will be taking off the next couple of weeks from both this blog and the Classic Mysteries podcast as a brief pause to smell the roses. This may not be completely wise, given my usual reaction to spring pollens, but this short break is a necessary one. I promise that I'll return, probably around May 20th, after a refreshing tour of Grandparent Duty. In the meantime, please play nicely, and I'll see you all in a couple of weeks.

From the Vault: "The Red Box"

Speaking as a fan of Rex Stout's mysteries about Nero Wolfe and Archie Goodwin, I am delighted to find that every time I write about one of those mysteries in the Classic Mysteries vault, I get a good response from my visitors. That being the case, let me call your attention to the fourth of those mysteries which appeared in book format in 1937. It's called The Red Box, and I recorded an audio review several for the Classic Mysteries podcast years ago. I thought you'd be interested - and, if you haven't read The Red Box, or read it some time ago, I think you may enjoy the review; you'll certainly enjoy the book. Here's a transcript of that review:

- 0 -

The story begins with a two-pound box of chocolates – and a murder. The box itself was fairly nondescript, a brown box with an assortment of candies inside. A young woman, a fashion model for an exclusive clothing designer, ate just one of the candies – and died of cyanide poisoning. Unfortunately, that was all anybody could discover. Nobody claimed to have any knowledge of the box, or where it came from, or who put it where it was found; nobody had seen anyone leave it or even touch it, for that matter. The police were getting absolutely nowhere.

That’s when Nero Wolfe was persuaded to get involved in the case. And he discovered that the story of that brown box of chocolates would only make sense when it was connected with another box – a red box that belonged to a dead man. And nobody knew where that box might be hidden. It proved to be a difficult and very tricky case for Nero Wolfe and Archie Goodwin (not to mention Inspector Cramer of homicide). You can read all about it in The Red Box, by Rex Stout.

First published in the American Magazine in 1936, and in book form in 1937, The Red Box was only the fourth of Rex Stout’s novels featuring Nero Wolfe and Archie Goodwin. It is well-known that Wolfe never leaves the house on business (or at least hardly ever), but he is inveigled into doing so in the case of the young model who ate a piece of candy and died.

It becomes fairly evident quite quickly that the wrong victim may have died – in other words, that the poison was intended for someone else. And while Wolfe has fairly good reason to think, early in his investigation, that he knows the murderer’s name, he admits that he has not a shred of evidence. Quite clearly, the killer’s motive is going to be very important in establishing identity – but what could that motive have been? The answer may lie in that mysterious red box which belonged to one of the murder victims – for there will be more deaths. And nobody knows exactly where that red box is hidden – or the nature of its contents.

Wolfe’s investigation, of course, runs parallel to the official police investigation headed up by Inspector Cramer. It’s worth noting that in this early entry in the Wolfe canon, Cramer seems much mellower than he does in later books. In The Red Box, Cramer regards himself much more as Wolfe’s partner than as a rival investigator, and though the two spar regularly about how much Wolfe knows and whether he is withholding vital evidence – such as that red box, for example – Cramer still allows Wolfe a great deal of leeway, even bringing the suspects together at the end for one of Wolfe’s office confrontations where the killer’s identity will be revealed.

As always, the story is narrated by the irrepressible Archie Goodwin, which guarantees a fast, funny delivery, full of wisecracks, with plenty of first rate quotes from Nero Wolfe as well, who is, as always, irascible and sharp. At one point, for example, while talking to a wealthy client, he observes, “Nothing is more admirable than the fortitude with which millionaires tolerate the disadvantages of their wealth.”

The Red Box is really quite good, and it’s fun to watch how the regular series characters are being developed by Rex Stout. Inspector Cramer, as I’ve noted, seems much more tolerant of Wolfe’ taste for dramatic confrontations than he is in later books. It’s also worth noting that he actually does smoke a couple of cigars here; in later books, he never seems to do more than chew on an unlit cigar. As a "born-in-New-Yorker," I'd also point out that the address for Wolfe’s brownstone on West 35^th Street in New York City is given here as 918 West 35^th Street, which would put it smack in the middle of the Hudson River.

The Nero Wolfe books do not have to be read in order, although there are a couple of references in this one to earlier books in the series. If you haven’t met Nero Wolfe, Archie Goodwin, Fritz Brenner, Saul Panzer, Inspector Cramer and the others, The Red Box is an ideal place to start making their acquaintance. They are very good company.

- 0 -

If you want to listen to the complete audio review of The Red Box, please click here.

"The Case of the Seven Sneezes"

"Seven sneezes?"

Why yes. For Private Investigator Fergus O'Breen, it's the number of times he will sneeze whenever near a long-haired cat. Never six times. Never eight. Always seven sneezes. And it's a bit of information which will prove instrumental to O'Breen in solving a 25-year-old murder - and some much newer ones.

Back in 1915, the wedding of Horace Brainard and his wife Catherine was spoiled by the brutal murder of one of the bridesmaids. It was never solved. 25 years later, many of the same people who made up that wedding party are attending another party to mark the couple's silver wedding anniversary. Instead they find themselves trapped on a remote island with a psychotic killer who has more murders in mind. Fortunately, P.I. Fergus O'Breen has been added to the party because they're going to need all the help they can get...

That's the quick outline of The Case of the Seven Sneezes, by Anthony Boucher - yes, that Anthony Boucher, for whom the world mystery conference is named. The book was written in 1941, and is one of a handful of mysteries written by Boucher. It's the subject today of my audio review on the Classic Mysteries podcast, and you are welcome to listen to the entire review by clicking here.

Before we go any farther, I do have a word of warning for cat lovers. I know that there are readers who will not read a book in which an animal is hurt, especially a pet – and that happens in The Case of the Seven Sneezes as a major element in the plot. It happens offstage, but it is what it is, and it's an important story point. 

Once you get beyond that, however, you have an excellent mystery. In addition to being a powerful and influential newspaper mystery critic, Boucher also wrote several mysteries himself, including some featuring the adventures of Fergus O’Breen. The Case of the Seven Sneezes was one of them. No impossibilities or locked rooms this time, but a pretty solid plot, interesting suspects, and a detective who puts his rather peculiar form of allergy to work capturing a killer. At the moment, it's primarily available in e-book formats.

"The Condamine Case"

Start with the murder of a suspected witch in England three centuries ago. Add a family curse that still seems to be terribly effective. Now bring in a group of British film makers, who see in that story a possibly great (if horrifying) movie. That is what rising movie director Stephen Latimer and his trusted friend and assistant director, Evan Hughes, were looking to find for their next project. As Latimer described it :

“I want drama with a touch of the macabre…to get back to what some directors were trying to do when talkies came in and shifted the interest…I’m going down to Somerset to-morrow. A chap I met has asked me down to his place. It seems there’s an incident in his family history that I might be able to use.” 

The story which George Condamine wants to persuade Stephen Latimer to film refers back some three centuries to a horrifying incident in Somerset involving Condamine family ancestors, where a young woman was hunted down and drowned as a witch by a howling mob. Three hundred years later, this nightmare of witchcraft and murder sounds like the perfect property for Latimer’s next film project. But of course, that was before the modern-day murders occurred in the Condamines’ decrepit (but historic) manor house.

And there you have The Condamine Case, a 1947 mystery by Moray Dalton. It is the subject of my audio review today on the Classic Mysteries podcast, and you can listen to the entire review by clicking here.

The Condamine Case has a great deal to recommend it – an excellent (and sufficiently convoluted) plot, memorable characters (some quite sympathetic; others…well, not so much); a reasonable field of suspects; a chilling atmosphere and the tragedy of a young woman's murder; and a team of investigating police officers. who are, again, quite sympathetic but who are anything but perfect and who make mistakes – sometimes costly ones...

Through it all, the writing remains crisp and witty. Mystery historian Curtis Evans contributes a new introduction to this Dean Street Press edition of Moray Dalton’s The Condamine Case. It’s very much worth your while.

From the Vault: "The Shrieking Pit"

Okay. Admittedly, I have a strange sense of humor. But when I discovered a book called The Shrieking Pit, written in 1919 by Arthur John Rees, I simply couldn't resist that title(especially when you consider that Rees also wrote a book the next year called The Hand in the Dark) - well, I had to share it. Actually, I gave this book an audio review on the Classic Mysteries podcast about five years ago. As usual today, I offer you the transcipt below, slightly edited, and I hope you'll read it - title notwithstanding, it's surprisingly good for an early Golden Age book. Enjoy:

- 0 -

There seemed little reason to doubt that the young stranger was a murderer. He had left his room at the remote inn located in the English county of Norfolk early in the morning, before the discovery of the body of a murdered man who had been sleeping in the next room. That man’s money was missing, and the young stranger apparently was in desperate need of money. His footprints were found leading to the place outside the inn where the body was found – in that pit known as the shrieking pit, said to be haunted by a woman in white – a figure which meant death for anyone who saw her. It really is no surprise that the young man was arrested, tried for murder, convicted and sentenced to death, particularly when he refused to say anything in his own defense or authorize others to appeal his conviction and sentence. But an American detective, Grant Colwyn, felt there had to be more to the story than that. And, as it happens, he was right. You can read all about it in the marvelously titled book, The Shrieking Pit, by Arthur J. Rees.

For an author who is credited with writing more than twenty mysteries, surprisingly little is known about Arthur J. Rees – the “J” is for John. He appears to have been born in Australia sometime in the early 1870s, moved to England at an early age, and died there in 1942.

The Shrieking Pit, published in 1918, appears to have been his first solo book, after two collaborations with another author. I must admit I couldn’t resist that title. It refers to a pit from which – according to local legend – the sound of shrieking could be heard at night. The shrieks were said to come from an apparition called the White Lady of the Shrieking Pit. Rees tells us – quoting now –

“Whose ghost she was and why she shrieked, Ann was unable to say. Her appearances were infrequent…and the timely warning she gave of her coming by shrieking from the depths of the pit before making her appearance, enabled folk to keep indoors and avoid her when she was walking. As long as she wasn’t seen by anybody, not much harm was done, but the sight of her was fatal to the beholder, who was sure to come to a swift and violent end.” Unquote.

The shrieking plays a relatively small – but significant – part in the mystery here. The setting is a small town in the English county of Norfolk. The town is named Flegne-Next-Sea – that's "Flegne" which, Rees says, is pronounced “Fly” by the natives, “Fleen” by etymologists, and “Flegney” by the rare intrusive Cockney.

The book begins with the odd behavior of a young man named Ronald Howard – behavior unusual enough to attract the interest of an American detective staying nearby, Grant Colwyn, the central character in several of Rees’s books. This is during World War I, and the young man appears to Colwyn at least to be suffering from a form of shell-shock. Soon, however, there is a murder at another hotel – and the young man quickly becomes the prime suspect. On the morning when the murder was discovered, the young man had swiftly departed the hotel – and disappeared. Shortly thereafter, the body of the murdered man was discovered at the bottom of the shrieking pit.

Colwyn isn’t convinced by the evidence that Ronald Howard was the murderer, but he has no facts that might refute the police case. It’s worth noting that the police detective, Superintendent Galloway, is both diligent and reasonable, although once he has decided on his suspect, he has a tendency to ignore any facts which might contradict his theories of the case. At any event, the young man is located, arrested, and put on trial for murder. Even at trial, he refuses to say anything in his own defense, and he is quickly convicted.

But Colwyn is called back into the case and learns some facts which make Ronald Howard’s guilt appear unlikely and even impossible. The rest of the book is a race for Colwyn to discover more evidence before Howard is executed – including the secret of why the convicted man refuses to say anything on his own behalf. Meanwhile – just to keep the pot boiling – there are unconfirmed reports that the infamous White Lady of the Pit has been heard shrieking regularly since the murder.

It really develops into a clever and enjoyable plot, with a great many clues scattered about for the reader to pick up. I do think the final unraveling and explanation is quite complex – perhaps too much so – but everything is eventually explained. I very much enjoy Rees’s writing and his descriptions of the scenery and especially the local characters are memorable. Writing of the local coroner, for example, he tells us,

“Mr. Edgehill, the coroner, was one of those people who seized upon the war as a pretext for the exercise of their natural proclivity to interfere in other people’s affairs…/snip/...In short, Mr. Edgehill, like many other people, had used the war to emerge from a chrysalis existence as a local bore into a butterfly career as a public nuisance.”

Some things don’t appear to have changed very much in the intervening century since Arthur Rees’s The Shrieking Pit was written. I recommend it to you.

- 0 -

You are welcome to listen to the complete audio review by clicking here.