Classic Mysteries

"Bats in the Belfry"

Was it a case of mutual disappearances? Bruce Attleton, a somewhat successful author, left London quite suddenly for a trip to Paris - and vanished. His wife, Sybilla, a successful actress, also vanished on a trip of her own. The couple had been on bad terms anyway, living about as far apart from each other as might be possible, given that they shared the same house. The key to the disappearances might be found in a dilapidated and dirty artists' studio known as "The Belfry" (although some familiar with the place called it "The Morgue") and a rather unpleasant individual calling himself "Debrette." You'll find the whole story in Bats in the Belfry, another fine mystery by E.C.R. Lorac, and the subject of today's audio review on the Classic Mysteries podcast. You can listen to the complete audio review by clicking here.

[An editor's note here: this review was originally supposed to be posted at the beginning of May. Not sure how I did it, but apparently I skipped over it and didn't realize my mistake until now. My apologies. Originally published in 1937, Bats in the Belfry was just re-issued in the U.S. this month as one of the British Library Crime Classics published in the U.S. by Poisoned Pen Press, which made a copy of the book available to me for this review.]

E.C.R. Lorac has given us a remarkably complex story In Bats in the Belfry. It centers around a few very interesting characters. In addition to Bruce and Sybilla Attleton – neither of whom is at all pleasant – there are several other central characters worth noting. There’s Bruce’s ward, Elizabeth, for one – still under legal age and so unable to be married without Bruce’s consent. That infuriates another family friend, Richard Grenville, who wants to marry Elizabeth, and, while she is quite willing, Bruce is not. Then there’s Neil Rockingham, who is apparently among the first to be troubled by Bruce’s disappearing act, and a stockbroker, Thomas Burroughs, who appears to be linked somewhat more closely than he should be to Sybilla Attleton.

And then there is the mysterious Debrette, whose presence and influence grows as the story develops. And there is, of course, the decaying house and studio known as "The Belfry." It is where Debrette apparently lives. And it is in "The Belfry" that police will find the suitcase and passport belonging to one of the now-missing Attletons. And it will be the job of Inspector Macdonald of Scotland Yard to make sense of a case where – he admits freely – he feels far too strongly that he is being led around by the nose to accept as true a false picture of the events that take place in this story. It all builds to a very satisfying climax. I recommend Bats in the Belfry, by E.C.R. Lorac. In the new edition from the British Library Crimes Classics series, you'll find another excellent introduction from Martin Edwards with considerably more information about both the book and its author.

From the Vault: "Celebrated Cases of Judge Dee"

For many years, I have been a fan of Robert Van Gulik's marvelous mysteries featuring Judge Dee, of T'ang Dynasty China. Dee Jen-djieh was, in fact, a real, historic figure who served in the Imperial Court and elsewhere around the latter part of the seventh century. While Van Gulik, a Dutch diplomat and scholar who served in China and elsewhere, wrote all of the later Judge Dee mysteries by himself, he began by translating an existing Chinese manuscript, Celebrated Cases of Judge Dee. I reviewed it on the podcast several years ago. It remains a favorite book. Here's the text of my original review, slightly edited (mostly for time references).

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Those of us who relish good, classic mysteries – and enjoy the occasional foray into exotic settings and historical mysteries – are fortunate to have more than a dozen books by Robert Van Gulik about the exploits of Judge Dee. Judge Dee was a real person who lived in seventh century China. For much of his early career, he was a district magistrate, the most powerful local official in early Chinese society, before moving on later in life to become a leading official at the imperial court. Van Gulik – an orientalist and Dutch diplomat – introduced many western readers to imperial China, with his original novels and short stories about Judge Dee. But he began in 1949 with a truly classic mystery – a Chinese detective story, written in the 18^th century, featuring Judge Dee, which Van Gulik translated for western readers. The book was called Celebrated Cases of Judge Dee.

The traditional Chinese detective story was different in many ways from the kind of mystery that those of us in the west enjoy. In his introduction to Celebrated Cases of Judge Dee, Robert Van Gulik notes five primary characteristics that might surprise many readers. First, the criminal is generally revealed at the outset of the book, so that the reader is less concerned with the question of whodunit than how and why the detective catches the culprit. Second, there is often a supernatural element, with the detective aided by ghosts or dreams. Third, there is an excess of details and digressions. Fourth, there is an enormous population of characters. And fifth, there are incredibly detailed and gruesome descriptions of the criminal’s ultimate execution.

Van Gulik picked Celebrated Cases of Judge Dee, written by an anonymous Chinese author in the 18^th century, to translate because most of these factors were far less prominent than they were in many other traditional novels. He did take some liberties in his translation, trying to make the book more palatable to western readers – and I think he succeeded admirably.

Judge Dee, as noted earlier, was a historical figure. In this book, he is the magistrate of the district of Chang-ping. The magistrate was the central local authority and civil official in any district, called “the father-and-mother figure” by the people, responsible for everything from maintaining land records to solving crimes. In Celebrated Cases of Judge Dee, he is presented with three difficult crimes which must be solved, sometimes at considerable risk to himself. There is the murder of a silk trader, whose body is found lying by the side of a road. There is another murder in a nearby village, which proves both difficult and dangerous to solve. And there is the poisoning of a bride on her wedding night. While the cases are not related to each other, the judge must solve them all nearly simultaneously.

Van Gulik’s introduction provides a great deal of information about the Chinese justice system and how it worked, and the background information is invaluable in making the book readable and enjoyable. While there is a supernatural element involved in the plot, it is far less important in this novel (at least according to Van Gulik) than in many others, as the supernatural guidance tends merely to reinforce the judge’s own observations and deductions. Overall, the book provides a fascinating look inside another culture that few of us can really claim to know well. More to the point, it is an enjoyable mystery. It is fascinating to see how the judge reaches his conclusions and how he manages to solve the crimes and bring them home to the guilty. Van Gulik’s introduction and notes add considerable value to his translation. In those notes after the book, by the way, he observes:

I think that it might be an interesting experiment if one of our modern writers of detective stories would try his hand at composing an ancient Chinese detective story himself.

Apparently nobody took him up on his challenge – so Van Gulik himself went on to write 15 novels and a volume of short stories, all about Judge Dee, all put together along the lines of the Classic Chinese detective story. I find them thoroughly enjoyable, in no small measure for what they reveal about what was, to me, a little known or understood way of life. If you want to see how it all started, try Celebrated Cases of Judge Dee, by Robert Van Gulik.

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You can listen to the original podcast review by clicking here.

Next: The Case of the One-Eyed Witness, by Erle Stanley Gardner.

"Fire in the Thatch"

For a while, it looked as if Nicholas Vaughan had turned a corner in his life. Released from the British Navy during the closing days of the second world war, because of an accident which had left him temporarily blinded, Nick had managed to find a very old and dilapidated thatched cottage to rent in the village of Mallory St. John, and he had set about renovating the place with a great deal of skill, dexterity and ingenuity. But there was a fire in the thatched cottage one night, and Nick Vaughan died in that fire. The coroner's jury in Mallory Fitzjohn had no doubt that it was an accident. But one of the British officers who had served with Nick thought that was impossible - that Nick Vaughan would never have had that kind of accident. He pulled enough strings to get Scotland Yard's Inspector Macdonald sent to Mallory Fitzjohn to uncover a motive for murder. It happens in Fire in the Thatch, by E.C.R. Lorac, and it's the subject of today's audio review on the Classic Mysteries podcast. You can listen to the complete review by clicking here. [ED. NOTE: LINK FIXED. SORRY!]

The British Library continues to find and re-issue some of the very fine mysteries written by Golden Age authors. Fire in the Thatch,  by E.C.R. Lorac, originally published in 1946, is being released in the U.S. as one of the British Library Crime Classics series, published in the U.S. by Poisoned Pen Press, which made a copy available to me for this review.

A solitary man by nature, and a hard-working one, Nick Vaughan decides to settle in the rural English county of Devon.He finds a small thatched cottage available for long-term rental. It is the property of Colonel St. Cyres, who decides to rent to Vaughan rather than to another man whom the Colonel’s daughter-in-law, June, would prefer. Vaughan moves in and begins to renovate the cottage, installing such modern comforts as electricity. He has a background in engineering, and there is no question that he knows how to do the job well and safely. That’s one reason why everyone is shocked when a night time fire destroys the cottage and leaves its sole inhabitant dead. The coroner’s jury is satisfied that it must have been accidental.

One of Vaughan’s friends refuses to believe that verdict and manages to get Scotland Yard involved. Which is why Chief Inspector Macdonald finds himself in Mallory Fitzjohn asking questions. Local police and other authorities believe that the accident was just that, an accident. Among other things there was no apparent motive. Vaughan could be – and was – a rather crusty individual, but he had won a lot of respect from many of the locals. But most people accepted the finding of accidental death, and a number of newcomers – most temporary newcomers to the village at that – didn’t want to see the matter go any further. It would be up to Macdonald to uncover a motive and a method for murder – if they existed at all.

E.C.R. Lorac was one of the pen names of Edith Caroline Rivett. Under that name, she wrote about fifty mysteries featuring Chief Inspector Macdonald as her protagonist. Despite her popularity during her lifetime, her books largely disappeared after her death, and I’m happy to see some of them being re-issued by publishers such as Poisoned Pen Press so that a new generation of users may find pleasure in them. I think there's a lot to enjoy in Fire in the Thatch.

From the Vault: "Sent to His Account"

One of the real pleasures I get from reading for this blog and podcast is the pleasure of suddenly meeting an author who is new to me, giving me the opportunity to share my find with my readers. Sometimes, the authors were quite prolific during their lifetimes. Sometimes they were less prolific (at least for turning out mysteries) but every bit as enjoyable. That's true of the Irish author Eilίs Dillon, who wrote just three mysteries (two in one series, plus a stand-alone). I enjoyed them all. Here's the script for my original podcast review of that stand-alone, a delightfully funny book called Sent to His Account. As always, slight edits have been made.

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Talk about dreams coming true: an impoverished bookkeeper suddenly – and surprisingly – inherits a beautiful estate in an Irish village, along with a fair amount of money. He is enchanted and finds that he really likes most of the people he finds there. Most of the people. But there is one man who manages to antagonize almost the entire town. And when that man is murdered, our accountant finds there are far too many suspects for comfort. That’s the situation in Sent to His Account, an Irish mystery by Eilίs Dillon.

Eilís Dillon was a very popular Irish writer who turned out a great many books during her lifetime, both non-fiction and fiction in many different genres. Among them – quite early in her career – were three mysteries. The first and last of those featured series characters, but the middle novel, which appeared in 1954, was a thoroughly charming and very individual mystery called Sent to His Account. In some ways, I think, it may be the best of the three. It is set mostly in an Irish village, and it is populated with well-developed and generally believable characters. And while it is a mystery – and a good one – I think a great deal of its charm comes from the setting and the characters.

At the outset of Sent to His Account, we meet Miles de Cogan, an accountant who is barely able to scrape out a living doing the bookkeeping work for a number of very small businesses in Dublin. De Cogan is very poor indeed; for three years he has been saving up his money for what he hopes will eventually be a vacation in Paris – but, so far, he has accumulated only 31 pounds.

Without warning, his life changes: he receives a call from a lawyer telling him that his cousin, whom he barely knew, has died at his estate in the village of Dangan – and has left that estate to Miles, together with more than sufficient cash to keep the estate running. Very suddenly, Miles finds that his life has changed completely. He leaves Dublin to take up the life of a country gentleman in Dangan.

As Miles meets some of the people of the village – his village, really, as he finds he owns many of the houses and employs a lot of the people in various capacities – he finds himself very much enjoying their company. He finds himself wanting to make some changes that could help his neighbors. For example, he begins toying with the idea of taking the local mill – which he owns – and turning it into a cooperative business, for the benefit of the workers there.

But before he can move ahead, there is a murder. Tom Reid, who is Miles’s neighbor, is also a rich man – but he wants to use his money and his position to make life miserable for the rest of the town. When he is poisoned, there is no shortage of possible suspects.

Into this unpleasant situation comes Pat Henley, an inspector in the Guards, the Irish police. Pat turns out to be the son of one of Miles’s few Dublin friends. And Pat and Miles set out together to solve the murder. In doing so, of course, they will uncover a number of village and family secrets, some of them fairly painful.

Dillon is a fine writer, and the book has some marvelously funny writing. Early on, while Miles is still in Dublin, getting ready to tell his very surly landlady, a Mrs. Doran, that he is leaving, he looks out the window. Dillon writes, “He laid the little book down and went across to look out of the window at Mrs. Doran’s cat on the garden wall. Strange how it had a sort of family resemblance to Mrs. Doran. Must be the mange.” That’s an unexpected and witty description.

The characters are well-defined and enjoyable; you get the feeling that it would be pleasant to have a Guinness with many of them down at the pub. The hotel-keeper, the village doctor, the hotel barman, the owner of the flour mill are all introduced, along with some less pleasant characters – the housekeeper at Miles’s new estate, Tom Reid, the unpleasant neighbor, and another neighbor, a remarkably greedy old man who is making life hellish for his daughter. You will end the book feeling that you know them all.

This is a mystery, of course, and Dillon manages to keep the suspense and the whodunit aspects going nicely throughout the book. I don’t think it’s all that much of a puzzle – there aren’t a lot of clues scattered throughout – but it is still quite fairly presented and the overall experience is thoroughly enjoyable.

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Since this review was first posted, Sent to His Account has become harder to find. It is available as an e-book from Amazon (and, presumably, others), and there seem to be a number of used print copies living out in the wild, so your favorite mystery bookseller can probably help you locate a copy.

You can listen to the complete original audio review by clicking here.

Next: Celebrated Cases of Judge Dee, by Robert Van Gulik

"In the Best Families"

Fans of Rex Stout's novels about Nero Wolfe and his right-hand man, Archie Goodwin, will know that there is very little that frightens Wolfe. What kind of shock would it take to make Nero Wolfe flee? I mean run away from the brownstone house on West 35th Street in New York City - run away and disappear, after announcing his retirement from the detective business?

What would it take? The answer: Arnold Zeck, perhaps Wolfe's equal in genius - but an evil genius, through and through. The story of what happens when these two brilliant titans clash is told in In the Best Families. It's the third book in a trilogy featuring Wolfe and Zeck, and it's the subject of today's audio review on the Classic Mysteries podcast. You can listen to the complete podcast by clicking here.

Last week, I reviewed Rex Stout's The Second Confession, the second book in the Zeck trilogy. Wolfe and Archie came very close to death in that book - and readers surely realized that a third, final confrontation was inevitable. Here's what Archie has to say - describing Arnold Zeck for us, after the first time Archie and Zeck meet face-to-face: 

I had a good view of him at ten feet…Actually there was nothing to him but his forehead and eyes. It wasn’t a forehead, it was a dome, sloping up and up to the line of his faded thin hair. The eyes were the result of an error on the assembly line. They had been intended for a shark and someone got careless. They did not now look the same as shark eyes because Arnold Zeck’s brain had been using them to see with for fifty years, and that had had an effect.

In the Best Families begins with what seems at first to be just another fairly simple case: a very wealthy woman hires Wolfe to find out where her second husband is getting so much cash that he no longer needs to ask her for money. Wolfe takes the case – and then someone sends a tear-gas bomb to Wolfe’s house, and it goes off in the kitchen. There’s no doubt that it is from Arnold Zeck Again, experienced readers will know just how well that would sit with Nero Wolfe and Archie Goodwin. But then there is a murder. And Archie, who has been sent to Westchester to work on the client’s investigation, returns home to New York City to find the brownstone empty and Nero Wolfe apparently fled. Archie is dumbfounded and grief-stricken and furious that Wolfe would simply disappear and not say where he was going. But Wolfe’s final instructions are explicit – do not look for me, Wolfe’s note to Archie says, and Archie will obey.

Most of the remainder of In the Best Families is taken up with what will ultimately be the final confrontation between the two geniuses (and, of course, Archie). That’s all I want to say about it, except that it’s one of the most complex plots ever hatched by Wolfe or his creator, Rex Stout. 

While most of Rex Stout's books about Wolfe and Goodwin can be read in any order, I would strongly suggest reading these three novels about Arnold Zeck in order - begin with And Be a Villain, then read The Second Confession, and finish up with In the Best Families. These links go to each of the books independently. However, back in the 1970s, Bantam published a single volume, called Triple Zeck, which contained all three of the novels in a single volume. It's long out of print, but Amazon's independent booksellers (and, I'm pretty sure, your own favorite indie book store) appear to have a number of copies available, if you would rather get them in that format. I urge you to do so.

 

From the Vault: "Death of a Peer" ("Surfeit of Lampreys")

New Zealand-born Ngaio Marsh is often listed as one of the so-called "Crime Queens" of Britain's Golden Age. Between A Man Lay Dead in 1934 and Light Thickens in 1982, Marsh wrote 32 novels featuring her Scotland Yard detective, Roderick Alleyn. As a general rule, I've enjoyed all of her books - some, admittedly, more than others. And that brings me to today's raid on the Classic Mysteries vault, calling your attention to what has been one of my favorites: the book originally published in the U.S. as Death of a Peer, originally titled Surfeit of Lampreys in Britain. When I write about the book, however, I have been surprised to find that a lot of my friends and readers really dislike the book. These are people whose taste and judgement I respect. All I can say is that I disagree with them. I enjoy the characters, find the plot quite intriguing, and I think it's some of Marsh's best writing. With that in mind, I invite you to read the original script for my review of Death of a Peer on the Classic Mysteries podcast - somewhat edited, mostly to clarify how best to find the book in print.

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You would probably enjoy meeting the Lampreys. They’re a noble British family, really delightful people – usually on the verge of one financial crisis or another, but always relying on their charm and luck to pull them through. They’re eccentric, certainly – any mystery reader will find more than enough eccentricity among the British upper classes of the era – but their odd behavior is right in keeping with the rest of their charm. Wouldn’t it be a pity if one of them turned out to be a cold-blooded and vicious killer? That’s exactly the problem that faces Chief Detective Inspector Roderick Alleyn of Scotland Yard in Ngaio Marsh’s mystery, Death of a Peer.

One of the reasons why I enjoy rereading so many of Ngaio Marsh’s wonderful mysteries is her ability to create rounded and appealing characters. I am not talking about just her central characters – Inspector Alleyn, his wonderful wife, Agatha Troy, and his primary assistant, Inspector Fox, but about many characters throughout all of Marsh’s novels. Certainly she created few characters as appealing – and as odd, in so many ways – as the Lampreys, who appeared first in her 1941 novel, Death of a Peer. In fact, the book was originally published in England under the title, Surfeit of Lampreys. They are a noble family. Lord Charles Lamprey is the younger brother of Gabriel, Marquis of Wutherwood and Rune. Lord Charles and his family are thoroughly charming – but financially irresponsible, and perennially down on their luck. They are being visited by a young woman named Roberta Grey, a young woman who became a close friend of the family when they visited her homeland of New Zealand some years earlier – and a parenthetical reminder that New Zealand was also the homeland of Ngaio Marsh.

At any rate, Roberta Grey arrives in England for a visit with the Lampreys just as their luck appears to have run out again. They are in a deep financial crisis, one that could only be solved if Lord Charles’s wealthy older brother will agree to bail the family out with a few thousand pounds.

But the Marquis – or Uncle G, as the Lampreys call him – is fed up with their antics and refuses to help. But then, he is murdered – in a particularly unpleasant and nasty fashion. And so the police will take over, in the person of Chief Detective Inspector Alleyn and his crew. And Alleyn – who finds himself falling under the family’s charm – must fight to keep himself objective in the case – and to determine whether that charm may be masking a murderer.

There are plenty of suspects, including all the members of the Lamprey family, not to mention Uncle G’s peculiar wife, who may very well be mad, and a number of longtime servants of both families. There are other members of the family just off-stage, who make dramatic appearances from time to time and who must be added to the list of suspects. There will also be a budding love affair between Roberta Grey and one of the other characters. There will, ultimately, be another murder as well, and a number of absolutely ghastly details which – speaking as a reader – I’d just as soon not have known.  But Alleyn can neither be fooled nor hoodwinked, and he does bring the case and the book to a very satisfying conclusion.

If you haven’t read a lot of books by Ngaio Marsh, this is probably a good way to meet some of her regular characters, and to enjoy quite thoroughly her abilities to manipulate characters – and a writing style that can be absolutely delightful. It is one of my favorites among her novels, and I confess to rereading it every couple of years (once I have forgotten some of the details) just for the sheer pleasure of being introduced again to her characters.

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Editor's note: it would appear that the book is indeed in print from Felony & Mayhem Press, both in paper and as an e-book, but using the British title, Surfeit of Lampreys.

You can listen to the complete original review by clicking here.

Next: Sent to His Account, by Eilís Dillon.

"The Second Confession"

A couple of months ago, when I brought my old podcast of Rex Stout's And Be a Villain back from the Classic Mysteries vault, I promised to work on reviews of the other two novels which provide the second and third parts of what Nero Wolfe fans refer to as the "Zeck Trilogy." And Be a Villain was the first book in a three-part series, in which Nero Wolfe finds himself facing a man named Arnold Zeck, the kind of super-villain made popular by the work of many other authors, such as Sax Rohmer, Edgar Wallace or "Sapper." Today, let's talk about the second part, The Second Confession, first published in 1949. (We'll look at the third and final part, In the Best Families, next week.) It's the subject of today's audio review on the Classic Mysteries podcast, and you can listen to the complete review by clicking here.

It begins with a very rich businessman, James U. Sperling, who wants to hire Nero Wolfe to find evidence that would prove that the man his daughter wants to marry, Louis Rony, is a card-carrying member of the Communist Party U.S.A. Wolfe gets a phone call from Arnold Zeck ordering the detective to drop the case - but Wolfe, of course, never takes orders from anyone. Wolfe sends Archie Goodwin to the Sperling home to pursue his investigation. What he finds is that Rony may or may not be a Communist – but he certainly appears to have close ties with Arnold Zeck’s criminal organization. 

Wolfe's investigation, inevitably, draws Zeck into it – and Zeck issues a warning – or, really, a blunt command to Wolfe: abandon your investigation of Louis Rony. Wolfe does not take kindly to it. And the result is a show of force by Zeck’s organization. In order to continue his work on the case, Wolfe and Archie are forced to change some of the things they do – among other things, Wolfe actually leaves the brownstone where he lives and works in order to investigate a critical point. Archie notes:

“He was not really smashing a precedent. It was true that he had an unbreakable rule not to stir from his office to see anyone on business, but what had happened that night had taken this out of the category of business and listed it under struggle for survival.”

Certainly Wolfe and Zeck appear headed for a showdown. But a murder dramatically shifts the focus of Wolfe and Archie’s investigation. And the Zeck story line continues to play a significant role in the book, though it is no longer – for now – a life-and-death struggle. Instead, the focus returns to the activities of the Communist Party U. S. A. – and Wolfe’s closing gambit in the book successfully uncovers a traitor as well as a murderer.

The Second Confession is, as I noted earlier, one of my favorite books about Nero Wolfe and Archie Goodwin. The plotting is more complex than it is in many other books in the series, and Archie’s usual wisecracking, while it is certainly still evident, seems somewhat more subdued when he is confronted by the reality of Arnold Zeck. Next week, we’ll talk about how that confrontation will play out.

While most of Rex Stout's books about Wolfe and Goodwin can be read in any order, I would strongly suggest reading these three novels in order - begin with And Be a Villain, then read The Second Confession, and finish up with In the Best Families. These links go to each of the books independently. However, back in the 1970s, Bantam published a single volume, called Triple Zeck, which contained all three of the novels in a single volume. It's long out of print, but Amazon's independent booksellers (and, I'm pretty sure, your own favorite indie book stores) appear to have a number of copies available, if you would rather get them in that format.

From the Vault: "The Poisoned Chocolates Case"

The surge in interest in mysteries from the Golden Age has led to a revival of interest in many of that era's most creative writers. That certainly applies to Anthony Berkeley, one of the founders of the prestigious Detection Club, an organization which, over the years, can claim many fine and still popular mystery writers. Among Berkeley's best and cleverest books is The Poisoned Chocolates Case, originally published in 1929. It continues to draw comment and criticism even today, because...well, read the text of my audio review on the Classic Mysteries podcast, written several years ago. As always, it has been edited slightly to protect the innocent.

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Six respected members of society. Six intellectuals. Six amateur criminologists. And – among them – six different solutions to a particularly difficult murder case. Six solutions – each, unfortunately, pointing to a different suspect. It’s a dilemma for the detectives – and a delight for the reader – in The Poisoned Chocolates Case, a Golden Age classic by Anthony Berkeley.

A few months ago, on this podcast, I reviewed an excellent collection of short stories by Anthony Berkeley, called The Avenging Chance and Other Stories. The lead story in that book, “The Avenging Chance,” is a 1929 short story featuring a murder case, solved by Berkeley’s detective, Roger Sheringham. I pointed out that “The Avenging Chance” was a much shorter version of the then-out-of-print classic book, The Poisoned Chocolates Case, and lamented its absence.

Well, The Poisoned Chocolates Case is back in print – and what a delight it is. The crime here – carried out with the poisoned chocolates of the title – is the same as in the short story, as are some of the major characters, including both Roger Sheringham and his friend, Scotland Yard Chief Inspector Moresby. But the circumstances are somewhat different.

Sheringham, in this book, is the president of a small group called the Crime Circle. He and the other five members are all amateur criminologists. Several, including Sheringham, are writers. One is a defense attorney. Another is a playwright. And so on. All are students, not only of detective fiction, but real-life mysteries as well.

Chief Inspector Moresby comes to the circle with a case of murder on which the police have made little headway – the poisoned chocolates case. There is very little physical evidence. Sheringham proposes – with the chief inspector’s blessing – to allow the members of his crime circle to investigate the case, each acting independently, and to come back to the group a week later with their own theories about what happened.

The amateurs do so – and what the reader is given, then, is a succession of individual reports. In each, one member of the club outlines a remarkably complete theory which quite clearly points to one particular individual as the murderer.

Unfortunately, each successive member of the club comes up with a new solution which largely invalidates the work of the previous investigators – until the final revelations come up with a wonderful and rather shocking conclusion to the book.

In the course of these revelations, Sheringham himself presents the solution which we saw earlier in the short story version called "The Avenging Chance" – only that solution is invalidated this time by the next speaker. Anthony Berkeley clearly enjoys himself tremendously during the course of this. He quite fairly presents the readers with the clues uncovered by each of these amateurs in turn, inviting us to see if we can make more sense of it than his characters are doing. It is a classic of fair play, which is one reason why it is generally quite highly regarded as one of the finest Golden Age mysteries.

Anthony Berkeley – the pen name of Anthony Berkeley Cox – had a marvelous sense of humor, and there is a great deal of humor on display here. He can be merciless in his character descriptions. For example, here is his description of Sir Charles Wildman, a member of the crime circle and a prominent and rich defense attorney. Berkeley writes:

“There was no one at the Bar who could so convincingly distort an honest but awkward fact into carrying an entirely different interpretation from that which any ordinary person (counsel for the prosecution, for instance) would have put upon it. He could take that fact, look it boldly in the face, twist it round, read a message from the back of its neck, turn it inside out and detect auguries in its entrails, dance triumphantly on its corpse, pulverize it completely, re-mould it if necessary into an utterly different shape, and finally, if the fact still had the temerity to retain any vestige of its primary aspect, bellow at it in the most terrifying manner. If that failed, he was quite prepared to weep at it in open court.”

I enjoy that, and it’s typical of the care which Berkeley lavishes on writing about his characters. There is also humor in the author’s sense of parody, for the different approaches taken by the members of the crime circle neatly mirror and even parody many of the types of detectives popular in Golden Age literature – the deductive reasoner, the inductive and intuitive investigator, the one who relies on just-the-facts, another who relies on the psychology of the supposed killer.

And – without giving any of it away – the ending of the book, I think, is perfect and quite in keeping with the overall tone and spirit of the story.

I am delighted that Anthony Berkeley’s The Poisoned Chocolates Case is back in print. If you enjoy the classic Golden Age puzzle mystery, fairly presented, with more than a touch of humor, then you are very likely to enjoy this book.

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You can listen to the original podcast in its entirety by clicking here.

Next: Death of a Peer (original title: Surfeit of Lampreys), by Ngaio Marsh.