Classic Mysteries

"Murder by Matchlight"

It's amazing the difference a single, small match can make, especially when it is the only light anywhere nearby during the course of a wartime blackout in London. A young man named Bruce Mallaig is wandering through blacked-out Regent's Park on a moonless night. Not very far from where he is walking, he sees a man strike a match - and by the light of that solidary match, he sees another man coming up silently behind the first one. In a moment, murder is done and a murderer is revealed. When he hears the details, Chief Inspector Macdonald of Scotland Yard agrees it's a most unusual story: "murder isn't uncommon," he observes, "but murder in the presence of witnesses is quite uncommon." True enough - but it's not going to be easy to figure out who has done what and to whom.  That's the problem at the heart of Murder by Matchlight, written in 1945 by E. C. R. Lorac. It's the subject of this week's audio review on the Classic Mysteries podcast, and you can listen to the complete review by clicking here.

"E C. R. Lorac" was one of the pen names used by Edith Caroline Rivett, another very good author of traditional mysteries whose work has all but disappeared from bookshelves. The British Library is bringing back some of her novels in their Crime Classics Series, and Murder by Matchlight will be published in March by Poisoned Pen Press, which provided me with a copy for this review. Many of her novels feature the detecting skills of Chief Inspector Robert Macdonald, a pleasant, likeable and intelligent protagonist. In Murder by Matchlight, he's confronted with a murder that seems, at first glance, to be pretty straightforward and simple. Macdonald isn't so sure:

“We’ve got remarkably little to work on. A man was knocked on the head in the blackout: no house and neighbourhood to study, no fingerprints, no properties save an unidentifiable coal hammer – and finally, no real identity of deceased. It’s a set of circumstances which may form a very difficult problem.”

Which, of course, is what happens. All of this takes place in wartime London, and the book really does give the reader a sense of how terrible the living conditions are – and how the huge majority of British citizens managed to live with the restrictions, the shortages, the rationing and coupon books, and the dangers of living and moving around every day in London during the nightly bombings that destroyed so many lives. There’s a lot of discussion about the wisdom – even the morality – of pursuing a single killer while surrounded by the vast carnage of war. Mystery historian Martin Edwards provides another thoughtful and informative introduction for this new edition. Murder by Matchlight is a fascinating and thoroughly enjoyable mystery.

 

From the Vault: "Frequent Hearses"

As this week's featured review is of a collection of short stories by Edmund Crispin, I thought it might be a good time to call your attention - again - to one of Crispin's books which is, I'm sorry to say, known rather confusingly by two titles. At the moment, it is most readily available today (in paperback, e-book and audio formats) as Frequent Hearses, though its original title in the U.K. (and in my original audio review on the Classic Mysteries podcast nearly eight years ago) was Sudden Vengeance. Here is the text version of that original podcast review - I've cleaned it up a bit to include the latest information on the book's availability under both titles:

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There was no question about it: the young lady had committed suicide. It was witnessed by the driver of her taxi – and by the occupants of a police car, which was passing by, too late to save her. But when police tried to identify her – they couldn’t. The name she was using – Gloria Scott - wasn’t real. And somebody carefully removed all traces of her true identity from the place where she had been living. All that, of course, was before the murders began. It happens in Frequent Hearses, by Edmund Crispin.

Let’s get a couple of key points squared away first, before we get too deep into our discussion. The original, British title for this book, when it was first published in the U. K. in 1950, was Sudden Vengeance. but when the book arrived in the United States, it was published as Frequent Hearses. At present [ed.: meaning early 2019], it appears to be more readily available as Frequent Hearses, so it’s the title I’ll use here – but if you’re looking to buy the book, your bookseller should look for copies under either name.

Both titles come from the same couplet of English poetry – from the eighteenth century British poet Alexander Pope. The couplet reads:

“On all the line a sudden vengeance waits,

And frequent hearses shall besiege your gates.”

It is from Pope’s “Elegy to the Memory of an Unfortunate Lady.” The unnamed lady of Pope’s poem committed suicide, as did the young lady of this novel. And the poet calls for vengeance against those whom he held responsible for her death – the husband who deserted her and the entire family that failed to help her.

And – although the motive for the suicide of the woman who called herself “Gloria Scott” is different from that of Pope’s unfortunate lady - that is pretty much what we will see in Frequent Hearses. Which brings me to the other point that you should know going into this discussion: Edmund Crispin was the pen name of Robert Bruce Montgomery, whose primary line of work was as the composer of film scores for a variety of British movies. Quite obviously, Crispin had an insider’s knowledge of the British film industry – and he puts that knowledge to fine satirical use in Frequent Hearses.

The young girl who called herself "Gloria Scott" was a bit actor in a movie being filmed at the Long Fulton studio, outside London. The movie was to be based on the life of Alexander Pope and to focus on the Elegy in particular. To provide some degree of literary accuracy, the movie people have engaged Oxford University Professor Gervase Fen to review the script and provide some insights which will probably then be ignored by the filmmakers. Fen is Crispin’s detective, and he joins forces with the Scotland Yard inspector, named Humbleby, to try to solve the mystery of what drove Gloria Scott to suicide – and who she really was.

And, of course, what happens is that some of the people working on the movie begin dying. And Fen and Humbleby realize that – whatever the reason for the girl’s suicide – somebody appears to be taking vengeance on those who may have been responsible for it.

As this is a Crispin novel, there is a great deal of humor; some of the satire involving movie-making (as it was practiced in Britain in the mid-twentieth century), and is quite funny. And there is a great deal that is NOT funny – when the reason for Gloria Scott’s suicide is made clear, I think a great many readers will begin to sympathize with the unknown murderer who is trying to avenge the woman’s death.

Also – as frequently happens in a Crispin novel – the reader will find himself or herself surrounded by literary quotations. But, of course, when your central character is a Professor of English, that really should come as no surprise. I certainly didn’t recognize most of them nor do I think I was expected to recognize them – but Crispin quite clearly is enjoying himself. Consider this bit of dialogue, near the beginning, as Fen explains to Inspector Humbleby about the movie being based on the life of Alexander Pope:

“It’s based on the life of Pope.”

“The Pope?”

“Pope.”

“Now which Pope would that be, I wonder?” said Humbleby with the air of one who tries to take an intelligent interest in what is going forward. “Pius or Clement, or – “

Fen stared at him. “Alexander, of course.”

“You mean” – Humbleby spoke with something of an effort – “you mean the Borgia?”

“Don’t be so ridiculous, Humbleby,” said Fen. Do you really imagine they’ve called in a Professor of English to instruct them about the Borgias? No, I mean the poet, of course.”

That gives you some of the flavor. But along with the humor, Crispin can create a truly frightening atmosphere. One sequence in particular – where one of the characters pursues a killer into a garden maze – is quite terrifying, with the character – and the reader – very unpleasantly reminded of a similar pursuit in one of the excellent horror stories of M.R. James.

One more note for the Sherlockians among you: you may have recognized the name “Gloria Scott.” “The Adventure of the Gloria Scott” is one of the 56 original short stories featuring Sherlock Holmes. Given Crispin’s sense of humor and his tendency to quote (and parody) other writers, there’s little doubt that he borrowed the name from Doyle’s short story quite deliberately – it’s the kind of joke he clearly relishes.

Edmund Crispin is one of my favorite authors, although I think that some of his other mysteries are stronger and funnier. Frequent Hearses has some really harrowing scenes along with an amusing satirical look at the British movie industry. And I suspect the story – with its parallels to Pope’s elegy – will linger in your mind after you have finished the book.

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

Next: Rim of the Pit, by Hake Talbot

 

"Fen Country"

It is always a pleasant experience to come across more stories written by a favorite author. I've always felt that way about Bruce Montgomery, who wrote as "Edmund Crispin," and gave us a mere handful of excellent mysteries featuring Oxford University Professor Gervase Fen. So I'm delighted to offer an introduction this week to Fen Country, a book containing 26 short stories, written in Crispin's pointed and witty style. The book is the subject of this week's audio review on the Classic Mysteries podcast, and you can listen to the entire review by clicking here.

Gervase Fen appears in about half the stories in Fen Country. You'll also find Inspector Humbleby, who often serves as a not-very-bright foil for Fen in the novels. Here, he is given some cases of his own to solve, which he does quite nimbly. There are some other stories in which neither Fen nor Humbleby appear. Some of the stories are quite funny, some are chilling, and all are worth your time.The stories are quite short; many of them only five pages or so. Two in particular, I think, are worth my calling to your attention.

The first story in the book, called “Who Killed Baker,” was written by Crispin with another author (a musician, actually) named Geoffrey Bush. In the story, Fen tells an audience of friends and acquaintances about a murder and invites his listeners – and readers – to solve the mystery. He warns them that to do so, they must be prepared not only to ask the proper questions but also improper ones. What does he mean by that? You’ll have to read the story, I’m afraid.

My favorite tale, however, features neither Fen nor Humbleby. It has the delightful title: “We Know You’re Busy Writing, But We Thought You Wouldn’t Mind If We Just Dropped in for a Minute.” I assure you that it’s something that most probably has happened to a great many writers, struggling under deadlines, or writer’s block, or research needs. It is – by far – the longest story in the book and, I suspect, will leave some writer friends with smiles on their faces (for which, I trust, they will be suitably ashamed later). Enough. Fen Country, by Edmund Crispin, is available in a variety of formats (including both paper and audio editions). If you like Crispin, you really do want to read this book.

 

From the Vault: "The Riddle of the Sands"

This is one of the books that helped define the genre of the espionage/spy thriller. Written more than a century ago (it first appeared in 1903), The Riddle of the Sands, by Erskine Childers, remains, in the words of one great master of the genre, John LeCarré, "one of the great foundation stones of the contemporary novel of espionage and adventure with political teeth." As such, I think it's worth calling your attention to a book which is still very much in print 116 years after its first appearance. Here's the text of my audio review from the Classic Mysteries podcast several years ago, slightly edited (mostly to update information about availability):

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It sounded like a pleasant vacation, to the young man from the British foreign office. Why not join an acquaintance for a cruise aboard his yacht in the Baltic? There might even be some good duck shooting. Great idea! Only it didn’t quite work out that way. And, in fact, it’s a good thing it didn’t – otherwise there might have been a war that could have led to the conquest of England. It happens in The Riddle of the Sands, by Erskine Childers.

We are going way back this week – back to what was really the first real political spy thriller. It was in 1903 that Erskine Childers wrote The Riddle of the Sands: a Record of Secret Service. The book is recognized today as one of the primary ancestors of the great spy novels – a tradition that includes such authors as Ian Fleming, John le Carré and Len Deighton. Look at any of today’s best-seller lists, and you are sure to find any number of spy thrillers – and most of them follow the formula first laid out in The Riddle of the Sands – a struggle between a good individual or small group and a much larger force for evil.

In the Europe of 1903, that boiled down to a couple of young Englishmen who uncover and foil a plot that could have put Germany in an unassailable position to dominate all of Europe, including England.

The story begins with a rather foppish young functionary in the British foreign office, a man named Carruthers, looking for some way to spend his vacation time. His usual round of house-parties with rather vapid friends is unavailable. So he accepts a chance invitation from an old school acquaintance, Davies, who invites him to join him in cruising the Baltic Sea in a small yacht.

Carruthers goes to meet Davies – and is horrified to discover that the "small yacht" is really a rather rough sailing boat named the Dulcibella. No luxury cruises here; Carruthers must get his hands – and the rest of him – dirty in helping to sail the boat. Fortunately, Davies is an accomplished sailor, and Carruthers quickly learns the ropes – quite literally, in this case.

But it doesn’t take long before the two young Englishmen find there is something very peculiar going on among the islands and the treacherous shifting sands of the North Sea, part of the coast of Holland and Germany. Without knowing exactly what or why, it appears that they have stumbled on some kind of plot – something big enough so that there has already been a serious attempt to kill Davies.

The two begin to explore the coastal waters, under the pretext of a pleasure cruise and duck hunting expedition. And their situation becomes more precarious as the novel progresses. Ultimately, they will uncover a daring and dangerous plot – and how they discover it and what they do about it will be at the heart of the book.

One of the innovations in this novel, something which has become a convention in the genre, is that the whole thing is based on some degree of fact. In the case of The Riddle of the Sands, that reality is grounded in the geography of the North Sea’s coastline and the large and dangerous sandbanks – a place where sailing at the wrong time and the wrong tide can lead to the grounding or even the breakup of a ship. The story was also grounded on the relationship between England and Germany during the first decade of the twentieth century.

It is entertaining to watch the development of Carruthers during the course of the novel, as he learns some basic seamanship from Davies and develops from a superficial and rather disagreeable young man into a rugged sailor and patriot. Some of the exploits in the book are fairly awe-inspiring. One of the central incidents, for example, finds Carruthers and Davies rowing a small dinghy – a rowboat, really – for a distance of 14 nautical miles, in a dense fog, over the treacherous waters and dangerous sands, calculating their way, fighting the tides and the bad weather, hoping to reach their destination in time to spy on a secret meeting of their enemies. It is exhausting just to read about it – and it is not the only heroic effort in the book.

There is one way in which The Riddle of the Sands does show its age: it is certainly more slowly paced than today’s thrillers. Readers who expect excitement on every page may be disappointed, although there is plenty going on. Readers will also have to use the maps and charts provided in the book in order to understand the geography and the movements of the different characters.

But the book remains an exciting, interesting and witty novel of espionage, not to mention one of the best books ever written about this kind of seafaring. There are now several new editions of The Riddle of the Sands, readily available, in paper, ebook and audio versions; the edition on my own bookshelves is from Penguin Classics and appears to be available as an e-book - it has a new introduction by the author’s great-grandson, Erskine C. Childers, who provides considerable insight into the historical, political and geographical background of the novel – and biographical information about his great-grandfather. The Riddle of the Sands: A Record of Secret Service is more than just an interesting oddity of literary history – it is still, more than a century later, a very entertaining read.

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

Next: Frequent Hearses, also known as Sudden Vengeance, by Edmund Crispin.

"Murder Fantastical"

The Manciple family, gathered at their family home, Cregwell Grange in the English village of Cregwell, is one of those delightful (if rather surreal) collections of colorful eccentrics who may be found in some traditional, plot-and-puzzle driven English mysteries. There is Major George Manciple, the titular head of the family. There is his brother Edwin, the retired Anglican bishop from the African nation of Bugolaland who loves English-style cryptic crosswords, full of puns and odd wordplay clues. There is another brother, Sir Claude, director of the nearby atomic research station. There is Aunt Dora Manciple, 93 years young and not slowing down at all, thank you, even if her hearing aid only whistles. And several more relatives, each with their own oddities and weaknesses. They are a charming family, even if they have next to no money and the house, Cregwell Grange, appears to be on the verge of collapsing around their ears. But could one of them possibly be guilty of murder? That's what Chief Inspector Henry Tibbett of Scotland Yard must determine in Murder Fantastical, a 1967 mystery by Patricia Moyes, featuring Inspector Tibbett, along with one of the finest supporting casts of eccentric characters any reader could wish. 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.

The problem certainly began when Raymond Mason bought - and moved into - the lodge, on the Manciples' home property of Cregwell Grange. Mason was a bookmaker - that's a bookie, to you American visitors - and he was, not to mince words, a snob, interested in muscling his way into the upper layers of Cregwell society. He wanted to buy Cregwell Grange; the Manciples refused his offers, both reasonable and unreasonable, and Mason was setting up some truly nasty entanglements to force the issue. And then Mason was shot in the back - in the driveway of the Grange. The Chief Constable - another good friend of the Manciples - called in Scotland Yard to avoid the awkwardness of having to investigate close friends for murder. And so Henry Tibbett and his wife, Emmy, arrived in Cregwell. That's when Henry first encounters Major George Manciple sitting in a tree, waving a revolver, saying "bang bang" and trying to recreate the murder scene. As another character, the Chief Constable, observes, "conversation with George Manciple had this distressing effect of dispersing logic, as sunshine disperses fog." It leads to a memorable moment:

As Henry climbed into his car again he was aware of the carefully aimed pistol and the faint cry of ‘Bang, bang!’ from among the branches. He drove the few yards up to the front door in a state of pleasant anticipation. He felt reasonably certain that he was going to enjoy himself.

I’ve been trying – without much success – to figure out how to tell you more about the plot, more about the shooting, more about the Manciples, more about the surprising twists and the witty writing, all without spoilers. I have finally given up. Look, my friends, here’s the situation: you have a shooting. You have a likable and intelligent detective. You have a wildly eccentric family for whom misunderstanding the world around them seems to be a part of everyday life. You have some developments that are so funny that you will find yourself laughing very loudly indeed – and some other elements that will chill you.  Saying much beyond that, I’m afraid, would spoil your reading pleasure. Trust me on this one. Murder Fantastical is well plotted and both very funny and touching. Just read it. Thank you.

 

From the Vault: "Arrow Pointing Nowhere"

It's time for another trip into the Classic Mysteries vault for a repeat look at another book from one of my favorite American authors. In Elizabeth Daly's best books, her use of misdirection and carefully planted but misleading clues is truly superb - and Arrow Pointing Nowhere, her seventh book starring biblio expert Henry Gamadge,  is, I think, one of her best and most powerful books. Here's the text of my audio review from about eight years ago, edited as usual for clarity:

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As an expert in working with documents, letters and rare books, Henry Gamadge is used to deciphering cryptic messages. But he is taken aback when he receives a strange letter from an unknown person apparently living – and possibly held prisoner – inside the New York City mansion of an old and respected family. And deciphering THIS message will prove to be difficult, dangerous – and deadly. It happens in Arrow Pointing Nowhere, by Elizabeth Daly.

Between 1940 and 1951, Elizabeth Daly wrote sixteen mysteries, all featuring Henry Gamadge as their central character. Gamadge is frequently consulted by people who need to authenticate manuscripts or detect forgeries. But surprisingly few of the Gamadge novels center on that kind of work. More often, Gamadge finds himself pulled into the case because someone – he doesn’t always know exactly who – has heard that he has a history as an excellent and discreet investigator.

That seems to be what happens to Gamadge in Arrow Pointing Nowhere, which first appeared in 1944. It is, I think, one of the most powerful of all of Daly’s books.

It begins with a friend bringing Gamadge a letter than seems to have been intended for him. Actually, it is a scrawled note saying – "recommend early visit to inspect interesting curiosa. Discretion." The note has been crumpled and put inside an old envelope from a book dealer addressed to Mr. Blake Fenway, the head of an old and respected family living in a mansion in New York City – yes, in the 1940s there still were such families and such mansions. Apparently, the crumpled envelope was found outside the Fenway house by a postman, who noticed that the envelope had been redirected to Henry Gamadge.

And so Gamadge must determine what, if anything, to do with this strange note. He finds someone to introduce him to the Fenways and contrives an excuse to get inside the house.

What he finds there is a very odd family. In addition to Blake Fenway, and his daughter Caroline, there is Fenway’s elderly bachelor cousin, Mott. There is the widow of Fenway’s brother, Mrs. Belle Fenway, injured escaping from Europe and currently unable to walk. There is Mrs. Fenway’s son, Alden, a young man with severe mental disability – he has the mental facility of a four or five year old. There is a man named Craddock, who helps care for Alden. And there is Mrs. Grove, an old friend of Mrs. Fenway, now hired as a companion for the disabled woman.

And there is, of course, no indication of who may have written the note to Gamadge. What he finds instead is another crumpled ball of paper, tossed into a waste basket for him to discover. It is a timetable, with an arrow drawn on it, pointing to a rail station near the Fenway’s country home. And it is clear to him – and to the reader – that something is very wrong in the Fenway house – and that the person who is trying to send him messages must be very careful not to be discovered.

And we are off and running. Before we are finished, there will be murder. There will be a search for an illustration carefully cut out of a valuable old book. There will be a truly horrifying murder trap. There will be twists and turns galore, in a brilliantly laid-out plot. And Gamadge will have to consider the significance of another message from his unknown correspondent – an arrow pointing nowhere.

Agatha Christie was counted among Elizabeth Daly’s most devoted fans. Arrow Pointing Nowhere may give us a strong indication why that should be so. The plot twists are worthy of Christie at her best, yet the reader is given well-planted clues. Henry Gamadge is one of my favorite American detectives from that period. Gamadge’s love for, and knowledge of, books should endear him to readers who enjoy bibliomysteries. He has a group of supporting players in this book – his wife, his assistant and his assistant’s soon-to-be wife, not to mention a New York City police lieutenant who is guided to the correct solution by Gamadge. Elizabeth Daly is not at all well known today, which I think is a pity, and her books are all well worth your reading – but I must say, Arrow Pointing Nowhere is, I think, one of the best.

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

Next: The Riddle of the Sands, by Erskine Childers.

"A Shilling for Candles"

In the parlance of today's celebrity-conscious culture, Christine Clay would unquestionably have been considered a superstar. A screen actress, who began as a singer and dancer onstage in theaters, Christine Clay had matured into a versatile and extremely popular performer on the big screen. So when she was found dead on a lonely beach along England's south coast, drowned, it looked at first like an accident or, possibly, suicide. But Scotland Yard Inspector Alan Grant insisted it was murder. As for the rest of the world - 

“Christine Clay! Christine Clay!” yelled the midday posters.

“Christine Clay!” screamed the headlines.

“Christine Clay!” chattered the wireless.

“Christine Clay!” said neighbor to neighbor.

All over the world people paused to speak the words. Christine Clay was drowned! And in all civilization only one person said, “Who is Christine Clay?” – a bright young man at a Bloomsbury party. And he was merely being “bright.”

All over the world things happened because one woman had lost her life.

The death of Christine Clay is at the heart of A Shilling for Candles, Josephine Tey's second novel, originally published in 1936. It is the subject of today's audio review on the Classic Mysteries podcast. You can listen to the complete review by clicking here.

It doesn't take Grant very long to discover that there were quite a few people in the close-knit circle of people surrounding Christine Clay who might expect to benefit from her death. The most likely candidate might be a young man named Bobby Tisdall, who had been sharing the cottage where Christine Clay had been hiding - though Bobby insists that their relationship was platonic (and besides, he said, he didn't even know who she was until after her death). There's Christine Clay's husband - the fifth son of an old and noble British family who might be less than thrilled with having a movie star marry into the family. There's a celebrity astrologer who had made a name for herself by predicting Christine Clay's death, the director of her latest film, and the songwriter who may have been her latest boyfriend. And there was a surprise in her will, a contemptuous bequest "to my brother, Herbert, a shilling for candles" -  a brother apparently unknown to anyone else in her inner circle. As Grant observes, "it’s important because it is the first sign of real enmity I have discovered among Miss Clay’s relationships. One never knows what it might lead us to."

I would have to point out that there’s little in A Shilling for Candles that follows the Golden Age tradition of “fair play” between the author and the reader. The clues which lead Grant to the correct solution are not necessarily shared with the reader in time to do him or her any good. At the same time, frankly, Tey's characters are so well developed that we’re really not likely to care all that much. In A Shilling for Candles, Tey gives us a lively and beautifully written story with likeable characters, and it’s a good place to meet and enjoy Alan Grant. And that, I would argue, makes it a very pleasant read for all of us.

From the Vault: "The Circular Staircase"

Among the various genres and sub-genres of traditional mysteries, I suspect that few are as easily recognizable, for better or worse, than the Had I But Known mystery - HIBK, as it's generally abbreviated. Too often, the term is used as a disparaging assessment of a particular author's style. But when it is done properly, that type of mystery, in which a narrator reminds us repeatedly that if he or she had only been able to foresee these terrible events, he or she surely could have avoided some calamity, it can be extremely effective. Consider, for example, the book and the author generally credited with having invented the genre - The Circular Staircase, by Mary Roberts Rinehart, first published in 1908, 111 years ago. It's available these days in a wide variety of formats (now being out of copyright protection); I gave it an audio review on the Classic Mysteries podcast about eight years ago. In the context of my review, below, you may want to know that the edition I re-read was the one published by Dover Publications with an excellent introduction by mystery historian Douglas G. Greene. This edition appears to be back in print. At any rate, here's my review, edited a bit (as always):

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“This is the story of how a middle-aged spinster lost her mind, deserted her domestic gods in the city, took a furnished house for the summer out of town, and found herself involved in one of those mysterious crimes that keep our newspapers and detective agencies happy and prosperous.”

That’s the opening sentence of a book which defined a mystery genre, written by a woman who went on to become quite possibly the most popular woman writer in the United States during the first half of the twentieth century. It is the opening of The Circular Staircase, by Mary Roberts Rinehart. It first appeared in 1908, and it was Mary Roberts Rinehart’s first book. An elderly woman, along with her niece and nephew and some devoted servants, leases a summer house in the country. The house is anything but peaceful: there are nighttime intruders, murders, rumors of hidden rooms and a bank failure before the mystery is eventually solved. But what makes The Circular Staircase memorable and worth reading more than a century after it was written, is summed up in the phrase “Had I But Known.”

That’s the phrase that defines this kind of thriller-mystery genre, which really was created in this one book. Here’s an example of how it works: Our narrator and central character, Rachel Innes, is running down a long list of questions she cannot answer – something she does with considerable regularity every couple of chapters, mostly for the reader’s benefit in keeping the rather complicated story straight. But even in her questions, she cannot avoid the “Had I But Known” tag – as, for example, when she ponders a mysterious hole in the wall which appeared in one room of the house overnight. She muses:

If I had only known how to read the purpose of that gaping aperture what I might have saved in anxiety and mental strain!

Here’s another quote, a couple of chapters later:

As I look back, so many things are plain to me that I wonder I could not see at the time. It is all known now, and yet the whole thing was so remarkable that perhaps my stupidity was excusable.

Or this example, from quite early in the book, as our narrator ponders leaving this mysterious house and returning to the city:

if we had only stuck to that decision and gone back before it was too late!

In the hands of a lesser writer, that kind of thing quickly becomes irritating. But remember, please, that The Circular Staircase, Rinehart’s first published novel*, is generally considered to be the first book to use this technique, and it did so quite effectively. The technique is useful in opening up Rachel’s character to us, and making us care about the other characters as well. And by showing us the workings of our narrator’s mind, we learn other facts that both move the story forward and help to develop the characters who populate it. Writing about The Circular Staircase, crime fiction historian Douglas G. Greene notes that "Rinehart was the mistress of the eerie event, the unknown figure peering through a door, the creaking staircase, the horrors almost but not quite foreseen."

She is also a writer with a real knack for defining memorable characters. One striking example occurs as Rachel is looking at her nephew, Halsey, and she thinks:

there are few young fellows like Halsey – straightforward, honest and willing to sacrifice everything for the one woman. I knew one once, more than thirty years ago, who was like that: he died a long time ago. And sometimes I take out his picture, with its cane and its queer silk hat and look at it. But of late years it has grown too painful: he is always a boy – and I am an old woman. I would not bring him back if I could.

That’s a totally unexpected passage. It tells us volumes about Rachel Innes’s character – and it is, I think, quite beautifully done.

I do have to warn readers that this mystery was written in 1908, and they are going to find some antiquated racial attitudes and language that we find quite offensive today – particularly a patronizing attitude towards a couple of the old servants. Making allowances for the era in which it was written, the references really should not detract from the story.

The Circular Staircase was an enormous success at the time, and it has remained popular over the years. Douglas Greene notes that Rinehart and Avery Hopwood turned it into a play, called The Bat, and it has been made into three feature films, not to mention a 1960 television adaptation. It’s a fine thriller with a great deal of action – and, of course, all those eerie noises and inexplicable events that keep us turning the pages long past our bedtime. It’s available in a number of editions, including a few for eBooks – and it’s worth reading.

* [Actually, her first novel-length book, in 1906, The Man in Lower Ten, might count, but that was first serialized in pulp magazines; The Circular Staircase (which had been written earlier) really was her first, again according to Greene's introduction.]

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You can listen to the original audio review by clicking here. Also, that Dover edition with the introduction by Douglas G. Greene is back in print and, I would argue, very much worth your while.

Next: Arrow Pointing Nowhere, by Elizabeth Daly.