Classic Mysteries

"The Book of the Crime"

Henry Gamadge hardly knew what to make of the young woman. Her name was Rena Austen and she appeared to be frightened nearly out of her wits. Rena Austen had recently become a bride when she married a wounded World War II hero named Gray Austen - and frankly she was becoming convinced that she may have made a mistake in her marriage.

One day, Rena Austen happened to take a book down from a bookshelf in the Austen house – actually, she didn’t even want to read the book, but thought she could use it to plug a hole that made a door rattle. But when Gray came into the room and found her holding the book, he flew into what appeared to be a murderous rage, and tried to lock her into an upstairs sitting room. Terrified, Rena Austen managed to escape – and, largely through luck, found herself in book-and-letters expert Henry Gamadge’s living room, telling him her story. And Gamadge would begin a private investigation which would reveal some secrets the Austens would much prefer to be kept private – including a question of murder. That's the story you'll find in The Book of the Crime, written in 1951 by Elizabeth Daly. It was the 16th - and last - book in Daly's mystery series, all of which featured Gamadge as her detective. 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 Book of the Crime is a fascinating story, with a solution that is both surprising and inevitable. It’s a mystery where it’s not so much a question of "who done it" – rather the mystifying question is what secret is being guarded, and why. It follows a carefully twisted path on its way to a surprising solution. And it won’t be until Gamadge can figure out the secret of that book, picked up so innocently by Rena Austen, that he’ll be able to figure out what has been going on – and why. I think you would enjoy coming along for the ride.

 

From the Vault: "A Caribbean Mystery"

The one time Miss Jane Marple left England to take a warm, peaceful rest cure on a Caribbean island, it proved to be the undoing of a particularly vicious murderer. It also happened to be one of Agatha Christie's best mysteries about the formidable "little old lady" from the village of St. Mary Mead. I reviewed A Caribbean Mystery (1964) on the Classic Mysteries podcast several years ago. I liked it very much then - and I still do. Here's a transcript of that audio review - as usual, slightly edited. I hope you enjoy it - and, if you haven't read the book yet, by all means please do so!

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Major Palgrave had one bad habit: he talked too much. He would sit quite happily and repeat the same long, boring stories over and over, to whatever companion he had managed to corner at the Caribbean beach resort of St. Honoré. The others at the resort had learned how to pretend to be interested in what he was saying while generally ignoring him. But this never stopped Major Palgrave. So when he began talking to Miss Marple – offering to show her a photograph of a murderer – she really paid no attention to him. And then the Major died – quite suddenly. Too suddenly. And Miss Marple began to wonder whether the Major’s bad habit of talking too much had led to his death. It happens in A Caribbean Mystery, by Agatha Christie.

A Caribbean Mystery, first published in 1964, marks the only time Christie took her detective, Miss Marple, out of England to solve a case. Miss Marple’s nephew generously sent his aunt to the Caribbean after she had suffered from a bout of pneumonia, and travel to a warmer climate was recommended. So Miss Marple wound up at a resort on the fictional island of St. Honoré, a place apparently frequented by several British tourists, a few guests from other countries, and owned and managed by a young English couple.

As an elderly spinster, Miss Marple quickly attracted the attention of Major Palgrave, one of those bluff former-military Englishmen who do seem to inhabit many of these mysteries. He is a crashing bore, to be sure, fond of telling long, generally pointless anecdotes about incidents in his own past, and his listeners – including Miss Marple – have developed the fine art of listening politely, making polite interjections such as “Oh, really?” or “You don’t say,” and paying little or no attention to what was being said.

So when Major Palgrave, talking about murder cases he had known about, asks Miss Marple if she would like to see a snapshot of a murderer, she pays little attention – although something peculiar happens: Major Palgrave starts to pull a photo out of his wallet…then suddenly stops, because he sees something or someone behind Miss Marple…and loudly changes the subject. Miss Marple cannot be sure precisely who, or what, Major Palgrave saw.

And, the next day, Major Palgrave is dead. Apparently it was his high blood pressure; perhaps he wasn’t taking (or took too much of) that blood pressure medication in his room. But it certainly wasn’t a surprise.

Although nobody seems to be quite sure who it was who began talking about the major’s high blood pressure.

And Miss Marple can’t help wondering if that photo in the major’s wallet – a photo which now seems to have disappeared – might have had something to do with the major’s death…and that, perhaps, his sudden death wasn’t all that natural.

It’s a lovely base for a story – and, of course, Miss Marple is right to be asking questions. And there are a number of very interesting, well-developed characters here, including a very rich and very old millionaire who becomes involved in the case along with Miss Marple.

And, as usual in Agatha Christie, the reader is given all the necessary clues to help them solve the case along with Miss Marple…if they can be sharp-eyed enough to spot the clues. I suspect that most readers will be surprised and fooled, however; few authors were as talented at sending their readers off on false trails as Agatha Christie. There will be more deaths before Miss Marple is able to help the official investigators unravel the truth and expose a particularly unpleasant killer.

A Caribbean Mystery remains in print and available in paper, audiobook and e-book editions. I’d recommend it quite heartily; I think it’s one of the best of her later books about Miss Marple.

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

Next: Diabolic Candelabra, by E. R. Punshon.

Left Coast Crime Delayed into 2022

Disappointing news today from the organizers of next year's Left Coast Crime conference: the 2021 conference, originally scheduled for the second week of April, 1921, in Albuquerque, New Mexico, has just been rescheduled to meet on the same weekend one year later, April 7-10, 2022, still in Albuquerque.

The announcement, from conference co-chairs Lucinda Surber and Stan Ulrich, explains: 

"The Left Coast Crime committee [disclosure: of which my wife and I are members-at-large - LB] is making this decision now because we cannot count on having favorable government policies and the hotel's ability to provide necessary services by next spring, as well as the willingness of our Left Coast Crime community to travel with confidence. We've been in continual conversations with hotel personnel and sought assurances from the State of New Mexico, but no one can say when conventions can resume, even in 2021."

The annual conference will be held in the same hotel originally scheduled and during the same week in April, just a year later. The guests of honor and plans for 2021 Lefty Awards also have not changed. You can read more details on the LCC website. Registration for 2022 is open, and people who have already registered for 2021 will be given a choice of moving their registration to 2022 or taking a full refund.

And just in case you've never been to one of these conferences in the past, take a look at the scheduled events and people you could be enjoying with us!

"Sunday the Rabbi Stayed Home"

The late 1960s were a time of great turmoil in America. Major struggles were being fought over civil rights and other issues aimed at making the country a better place for all its citizens. Many religious institutions took part in these battles. And, very often, the tensions inside those institutions mirrored what was happening in broader trends in American society. 

Which is why Rabbi David Small, the leader of a small Conservative Jewish congregation in the fictional town of Barnard's Crossing, Massachusetts, found himself deeply involved with struggles both inside and outside of his synagogue - about what sort of actions might be appropriate to press the battle for civil rights for all. And, as it turned out, Rabbi Small would also be instrumental in coming up with solutions to a couple of murders which would have consequences for some members of his congregation. It's all part of the complications in author Harry Kemelman's third book about Rabbi Small, called Sunday the Rabbi Stayed Home. It's the subject of this week's audio review on the Classic Mysteries podcast, and you can listen to the complete recording of that review by clicking here.

Sunday the Rabbi Stayed Home was the third book in a series that eventually reached a dozen books featuring Rabbi Small and his small Conservative congregation, and it's the third one I have reviewed as part of that podcast. You'll find links at the bottom of this post to both my audio reviews and my blog posts about the first two books, Friday the Rabbi Slept Late and Saturday the Rabbi Went Hungry. I do have all the rest of these books sitting in my To Be Read pile, and I promise to try to include some more of these books as we move forward.

By the beginning of Sunday the Rabbi Stayed Home, the rabbi is on a five-year contract (acquired in the course of the first couple of books), and some factions within the congregation would prefer not to renew his contract. Rabbi Small, however, is trying to avoid the wrangling of synagogue politics over such weighty questions as which congregants should sit in the “choice” seats near the front of the sanctuary during the High Holy Days of the Jewish new year, or who should be given the prestigious and powerful position of Chairman of the synagogue’s Ritual Committee. Rabbi Small is perhaps more involved in observing the ways in which his synagogue is becoming an active participant in matters of social change – the involvement of his synagogue (and many others) in the Civil Rights movement and its marches, or in the increased (and often troubling) changes in sexual morality made possible by the birth control pill. And some of the young people – especially some of the local college kids, many of whom are children of his congregation – may be getting involved with marijuana. Eventually – or perhaps I should say “inevitably” – the tensions will explode into murder. And Rabbi Small will find himself trying to solve, with reason and with logic, a mystery that draws all these plot threads together into a powerful conclusion.

Kemelman also takes advantage of the story’s setting to present some basic facts about Judaism – and the rabbi’s traditional role in the Jewish community – for the benefit of Jews and non-Jews alike who may not know or fully understand those traditions. I find the rabbi's company to be a source of entertainment and enlightenment, and I invite you to explore these links.

Friday the Rabbi Slept Late

Click here for the blog post

Click here for the podcast

 

Saturday the Rabbi Went Hungry

Click here for the blog post

Click here for the podcast 

From the Vault: "The Yellow Room"

Had I but known the terrible secret that lurked in that cellar, I would never...

Whoops. Hold it. All I'm trying to say is that my most recent visit to the Classic Mysteries vault has yielded a delightful book from a woman who is mostly remembered for pioneering that "Had I But Known" school of mysteries. Mary Roberts Rinehart  was one of the most popular mystery authors in the United States during the first half of the 20th Century She wrote more than just the Perils-of-Pauline type of mysteries in which the heroine usually could be relied upon to venture by herself into that mysterious cellar in the middle of the night to be trapped by some evil criminal, thus requiring rescue (in the nick of time) by the hero. I've enjoyed a number of Rinehart's books and done audio reviews on the Classic Mysteries podcast for several of them. One of my favorites among her books is The Yellow Room (1945). Here's a slightly edited transcript of my review, which I wrote several years ago:

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The hardships of World War II had not been kind to the Spencer family. Young Carol Spencer’s fiancé had been lost in the South Pacific. With rationing and the general privations of war on the civilian population, Carol’s mother managed to find a great deal to complain about. Her sister Elinor was totally self-centered, which means that a great deal of the burden of caring for her mother fell on Carol’s shoulders. Her brother, Greg, was in the army – he had, in fact, just been named for a Presidential medal of honor for his service. At any rate, when Carol’s mother decided she wanted to have the family’s summer home in Maine opened – despite the fact that the season hadn’t really started yet – it was Carol who wound up having to go from New York to Maine and open the house. What Carol found when she got to Maine, however, was something of a mess. The maid who was supposed to have opened the house with her has disappeared. There’s also no sign of the man who was supposed to do the gardening and heavy lifting around the place. The telephones were all gone – reclaimed by the war board, apparently. And there was an unpleasant smell throughout the house. But hey, there’s a war on – what did you folks expect?

And then another maid found the body of an unknown woman in an upstairs closet. And Carol – and her family – found themselves under suspicion of murder. And that was just the beginning. You’ll find the story in The Yellow Room, a 1945 book by one of the great American mystery writers, Mary Roberts Rinehart. While she was tremendously popular with American readers during the first half of the twentieth century, her books have largely slipped into obscurity over the past few decades. She is remembered largely for some of her early works, like The Circular Staircase or The Bat or The Man in Lower Ten, books that very clearly belong to what is often rather unflatteringly called the “Had I But Known” school. But Rinehart had a much longer, successful writing career, and I’m glad that readers are now having the opportunity to rediscover some of her books in electronic editions from OpenRoad Media.

One of those late mysteries is The Yellow Room, a book written during World War II, and a book which gives a pretty grim picture of what life was like then in an America on a war footing, with rationing of food and gasoline and other essentials, and much of the American population of young men off fighting a war from which many of them would never return.

That appears to be what happened to Carol Spencer’s fiancé in The Yellow Room, although the young man’s father – a neighbor of the Spencers in Maine – refuses to believe his son is dead – and that, too, is hard for Carol Spencer to handle. The finding of a woman’s body in the family home, however, proves to be only the beginning of a long and rather complicated plot – and Carol Spencer quickly finds herself a primary suspect, even though she insists she has no idea of the identity of the dead woman. That circle of suspicion soon includes most of the Spencer family, as the local police chief – it’s a one-man police force, because of the war – the local police chief believes somebody in the family must have known the victim and murdered her.

Another young man, though, is on Carol’s side – a Major Dane, a war hero now living in Maine as he recovers from a war injury. He’s something of an unknown quantity – where did he come from, and how come he gets involved in the case? The police chief is not happy about Dane’s interest in the case.

The plot grows more and more complex – in fact, I’d have to say there’s almost too much going on for most readers to follow, with more red herrings than I’d have thought possible. It’s hardly a fair play mystery; we are told periodically, for example, that a given character has learned some secret that explains some mysterious event, but that secret is not shared with us until the final unraveling of the plot.

On the other hand, I must also say that The Yellow Room is a real page turner. I frequently succumbed to the “Just one more chapter” reading routine, only to come to the end of the current chapter and be presented with a cliffhanger that forced me to read yet another chapter. As entertainment, The Yellow Room, by Mary Roberts Rinehart, is hard to beat.

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You can listen to the original audio room from the Classic Mysteries podcast by clicking here.

Next: A Caribbean Mystery, by Agatha Christie.

 

"Death Comes to Cambers"

Bobby Owen - only recently promoted to Detective Sergeant at Scotland Yard - had been looking forward to a weekend off. He was an invited weekend guest of Lady Cambers - mostly because she wanted his advice on how best to protect her very valuable jewelry from thieves. He certainly did not expect that when he awoke, it would be to news that Lady Cambers was dead - murdered, in fact - and all of that valuable jewelry was missing. Fortunately, the local Chief Constable, Colonel Lawson, went to Scotland Yard to ask that Bobby, having been on the spot when the murder was discovered, be assigned to help investigate the crime. A good thing, too, for it turns out to be a most complicated case, in which things are seldom quite as clear-cut as they may appear at first. It's the tale told in Death Comes to Cambers, a 1935 mystery by E.R. Punshon, featuring his series detective, policeman Bobby Owen. It's the subject of today's audio review on the Classic Mysteries podcast, and you are welcome to listen to the entire review by clicking here.

Death Comes to Cambers is an excellent example of the kind of plotting that graces so many Golden Age books. It's a murder story, with plenty of complications but with clues meticulously scattered throughout to guide the reader - if he or she can avoid the red herrings and other pitfalls. Certainly Bobby Owen will find more than enough complications to make his investigation difficult. To that end, he tells us, there are at least ten different potential suspects with a wide variety of motives.

There are also wonderful characters, including a mad cleric who considers the theory of evolution to be blasphemy and a young self-educated archaeologist working on an evolutionary theory which he says will make his name as famous as that of Charles Darwin. There’s the victim’s husband, Sir Albert Cambers, who – having abandoned his wife – may be having an affair with another woman. As a matter of fact, there are several affairs, real or rumored, going on. There’s even an American millionaire who wants to buy some of that now-missing jewelry. Ten suspects in all, with potential motives – and Bobby feels sure that in order to solve the case, he will have to find a way to eliminate all the suspects except one.

And while E.R. Punshon juggles suspects, motives and clues, he also provides us with a marvelous social satire of the English class system, as it existed in the 1930s. This is a book where the “how and why” are more important than the “who,” for the author is so careful to provide us with clues that I suspect many readers may arrive at the correct solution before Sergeant Bobby Owen does.

It really is a lovely book – a good, tight mystery with memorable characters and more than a touch of satire. This Dean Street Press edition of the book comes with a fine introduction by mystery historian Curtis Evans. If you enjoy Golden Age mysteries, I think you’ll really enjoy Death Comes to Cambers.

From the Vault: "The Lodger"

A series of murders in London, mostly during 1888, terrified the section of the city known as Whitechapel. Someone (more than one? Possibly; the crimes have never officially been solved) was murdering women and mutilating their bodies. The crimes were horrible all right - and there have been many theories about the identity of "Jack the Ripper," as the anonymous killer was known. And the story of the Ripper became a staple of suspense stories and movies - including one of the best, called simply The Lodger, by Marie Belloc Lowndes, written in 1913. It still fascinates. I reviewed The Lodger several years ago on the Classic Mysteries podcast. Here's a transcript of that audio review, slightly edited - and I hope you'll agree that it's a story still very much worth telling, even now, more than a century after it was written:

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To Mr. and Mrs. Bunting, the lodger who rented the suite of rooms upstairs in their house must have appeared as a sort of divine gift – because the money they would earn from housing the man would quite literally keep them from starvation. But then the lodger’s peculiar habits…and frankly unusual behavior…began to set off alarm bells in their minds. And they could not easily forget or ignore the fact that someone was committing horrific murders in their London neighborhood…someone who just might be the man living in those rooms upstairs. What should – or could – they do? That’s the situation which turns into a living nightmare for the Buntings – and it happens in The Lodger, by Marie Belloc Lowndes.

Among stories about true crimes, few have had the long-lasting appeal of the story of Jack the Ripper. To this day, the real story is unknown – there are a great many theories about the unknown killer who murdered and mutilated women – mostly prostitutes – in late-nineteenth century London. But, as I say, the truth is not known – and that has made it possible for a great many writers to create fictional versions of the Jack the Ripper story.

One of the earliest, and most enduring, of these is “The Lodger,” a 1913 novel by Marie Belloc Lowndes. It certainly qualifies as a classic early novel of suspense. The author takes us to a London which is being terrorized by an unknown killer – obviously based on Jack the Ripper – known as “The Avenger.” The killer has been preying on women, mostly in the poor sections of London (where the real Jack the Ripper carried out his atrocities). The police have few or no clues to help them. The public, enflamed by lurid articles in the newspapers featuring gruesome descriptions of The Avenger’s crimes, is increasingly terrified…yet completely fascinated by the stories.

Mr. and Mrs. Bunting are a respectable couple of ex-servants who have fallen on hard times. Scrupulously honest, they have gone through most of their meager savings, they are not eating regularly, and they are most uncertain about their future lives. They have been trying to attract someone willing to lodge with them, to live in the upstairs rooms of their small house – but the small sign in their window hasn’t attracted any decent candidates.

One evening, there is a knock at the door. Mrs. Bunting answers the knock to find a man standing outside: he is interested in viewing the rooms that might be available to let. He visits the rooms – and agrees to move in at once.

Despite certain oddities in the way he speaks, his clothing, his lack of luggage and other eccentricities, Mrs. Bunting is overwhelmed with what she feels is her profound good luck. She tells her husband:

“We’ve a new lodger!” she cried. “And – and Bunting? He’s quite the gentleman! He actually offered to pay four weeks in advance, at two guineas a week.”

Well, Bunting, like his wife, is overwhelmed by this apparent good fortune. And the lodger – who has told the Buntings his name is “Mr. Sleuth” – settles in.

And at about this time, “The Avenger” moves the scene of his crimes to more respectable sections of London…not very far from the house where the Buntings and their new lodger, Mr. Sleuth, live.

And then the peculiarities in Mr. Sleuth’s behavior begin to prey on Mrs. Bunting’s fears. One night, for example, she hears him going out of the house very quietly after midnight. And she muses…

A funny idea – a funny habit that, of going out for a walk after midnight in weather so cold and foggy that all other folk were glad to be at home, snug in bed. But then Mr. Sleuth himself admitted that he was a funny sort of gentleman.

But the next day, the newspapers are full of another murder by “The Avenger.” And Mrs. Bunting becomes more and more terrified…and more and more convinced that their lodger may be “The Avenger.”

Is he? Well, of course, that’s for you to discover. But the real enjoyment in this book comes in watching Mrs. Bunting try to weigh her fears against her conscience – for, if Mr. Sleuth is The Avenger and he is caught, then she and her husband will lose the last possible source for the money they need so desperately in their own lives.

It’s a fascinating psychological study, with steadily building suspense – and the author deliberately leaves some key points ambiguous, the better to work on the readers’ minds. The Lodger has been the basis for several movies, including an early work directed by Alfred Hitchcock and another one from the mid-1940s starring Laird Cregar as the mysterious lodger. Readers of today’s serial killer books will find The Lodger tame, I fear – there’s no on-stage violence, no first-person musings of a warped and psychotic mind. But there is excellent suspense, growing tighter and tighter as the Buntings try to juggle their fears and concerns – and to figure out what to do about their increasingly odd lodger. I recommend Marie Belloc Lowndes book, The Lodger as a good early suspense thriller.

 

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

Next: The Yellow Room, by Mary Roberts Rinehart.

"The Three Taps"

The name of the insurance company was "The Indescribable Insurance Company." The insurance policy of which they were quite justifiably proud was something called "the Euthanasia policy," which was a most generous policy indeed. If the policy holder who bought the Euthanasia policy, and paid its remarkably high premiums, were to die before his 65th birthday, the company would pay a very generous sum to the dead man's heirs. If he survived until after that birthday, then the policy holder himself would begin receiving a generous annuity for the rest of his life. There was only one way that fortunate policy holder could lose and that was by committing suicide, for the Indescribable Company would not pay a suicide or his heirs.

All of which explains why the death of a man named Jephthah Mottram set off something of a scramble to determine whether he had killed himself (by turning on the gas at the tap in the hotel bedroom where he died, the room being securely locked on the inside) or had killed himself (in which case, why were all the gas taps found to be turned off when they broke into the dead man's room?) The Indescribable Insurance Company sent its top investigator, Miles Bredon to try to figure out whether Mottram was a suicide or a murder victim - and whether the company should pay Mottram's heirs or refuse any payment at all. That's the mystery at the heart of an excellent Golden Age mystery by Ronald A. Knox called The Three Taps, first published in 1927. It's the subject of this week's audio review on the Classic Mysteries podcast, and you are welcome to listen to the complete review by clicking here. In June, The Merion Press, a small American publisher, brought Ronald A. Knox’s Golden Age mystery The Three Taps back into print, and the publisher has sent me a copy for this review.

Ronald Knox was one of the most prominent British detective story authors in the early years of the Golden Age. He was an English cleric, having been ordained in the English church in 1911 and then converted to Roman Catholicism in 1917. Most of his mysteries featured, as their series detective, Miles Bredon, first introduced in The Three Taps. Father Knox is also remembered for the guidelines he published for mystery authors, a document Knox called his Ten Commandments for detective fiction. He was also one of the founders of Britain’s prestigious Detection Club. As a mystery author, Knox was a firm believer in the concept of “fair play.” He called for authors to give readers the clues they would need to determine the correct solution to a given mystery – clues that, quite naturally, would be well hidden by clever misdirection. Readers will find that in The Three Taps. For fans who enjoy Golden Age plotting in their mysteries, The Three Taps deserves a place on your reading lists.

From the Vault: "The Black Camel"

Several years ago, while visiting Honolulu one July, I made it a point to visit a beachfront restaurant which calls itself "The House Without a Key." In a way, I suppose, it was a journey in nostalgia, for the restaurant is named in honor of a fictional detective, Charlie Chan, the creation of author Earl Derr Biggers. Many people have enjoyed the movies based on the characters, but I am more fond of the six books which are the only ones Biggers wrote about the Chinese-American sleuth. The restaurant stands on the site of the original "House Without a Key," where the first book in that series was set. To mark the anniversary of that summer visit, I offer you this (slightly edited) transcript of my audio review of my favorite among the books - The Black Camel:

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“Death is the black camel that kneels unbid at every gate.”

That saying comes from the Chinese American detective Inspector Charlie Chan of the Honolulu police. On this particular night, as Chan notes, the black camel has knelt at a very famous gate indeed: Hollywood actress Shelah Fane, loved by devoted fans around the world, has been shot to death at her beachside villa in Honolulu. It will be up to Charlie Chan to solve the case – and he will have a most unlikely ally in the person of a rather sinister Hollywood fortune teller named Tarneverro. The story of that chase – and that unlikely partnership – may be found in The Black Camel, by Earl Derr Biggers.

Between 1925 and his death in 1933, Earl Derr Biggers wrote only six novels featuring Charlie Chan as the central character. It was a time when too much detective fiction was being written about the so-called (and racially offensive) “Yellow Peril,” oriental masterminds seeking to take over the world. In response, Biggers created Charlie Chan, a smart, hard-working detective from the Honolulu Police. The character continued to live on after Biggers death in a lot of movies about Charlie Chan – some quite good, others – let’s just say politely, less so.

The Black Camel, written in 1929, was the fourth book in the series, and I think the story is one of the better ones that I have read so far. It begins with a shipload of Hollywood types landing in Honolulu, returning from a movie shoot in Tahiti. This was 1929, remember – the only way to get from Tahiti back to the United States would be by ship. At any rate, the director is hoping to shoot some remaining scenes in Honolulu before the group gets on another ship for Hollywood.

At the center of the group is actress Shelah Fane, a glamorous and popular actress, now beginning to fray a bit at the edges. Among the others are her co-star, her director and several others involved in the movie – including a fortune-teller and supposed psychic named Tarneverro, who has been summoned from Hollywood to Honolulu by Shelah Fane, who wants to consult him to learn if she should accept a marriage proposal from another passenger on the ship.

But something happens that Tarneverro – for one –has not foreseen: Shelah Fane is murdered. And so the case is handed to Inspector Charlie Chan, widely considered to be among the best detectives on the Honolulu police force.

As Inspector Chan begins to gather evidence and clues about the case, he learns from Tarneverro that there appears to be a connection between Shelah Fane’s murder and another killing – an unsolved Hollywood murder from three years earlier. Tarneverro tells Chan that Shelah Fane had confided in him that she actually witnessed that earlier murder – and that the killer was now in Honolulu. And Tarneverro offers to help Charlie Chan gather information and to work with him to solve the murders.

What’s going on here? Who is Tarneverro, really? Was there, in fact, a connection to that earlier murder – or was Shelah Kane’s killing the result of an entirely different motive and murderer? Why do so many of the people who claim to have been Shelah Fane’s closest friends and associates appear to be dragging red herrings across Charlie Chan’s path?

Through all the confusion and carryings-on, the unflappable Chan continues moving towards his goal of finding the killer or killers. Readers familiar with the character from the books or from the movies will find him very recognizable here. We even get a glimpse of his family life, seated around his table at home with his wife and eleven children. It all progresses towards what I found a very credible and satisfying ending.

I think The Black Camel is one of the better books in the series, and I think most readers will enjoy this iconic detective and many of the other characters. It’s worth noting that The Black Camel was made into a movie in 1931 – a movie which still survives [Ed. Note - still shows up on Amazon as being available as a DVD as of August, 2020], starring Warner Oland as Charlie Chan – and Bela Lugosi, apparently fresh from his movie triumph in Dracula (1931), co-starring as the fortune teller Tarneverro. I’m going to have to dig that one up. But I do wholeheartedly recommend the original book of The Black Camel, by Earl Derr Biggers.

 

You may listen to the original audio review on the Classic Mysteries podcast by clicking here.

If you are interested in the DVD of The Black Camel, starring Warner Oland, you can find information here.

Next: The Lodger, by Marie Belloc Lowndes.

"Case Pending"

The scene looked depressingly familiar to Los Angeles Homicide Squad detective Lieutenant Luis Mendoza. He was investigating the murder of a young woman, a crime that looked like it might just be another random and senseless killing. But he had a hunch that he had seen a very similar case, a few months earlier: the murder of another young woman, a case which Mendoza had been unable to solve. He found himself wondering if the two cases might be linked.

You'll find the answer in Case Pending, a 1960 police procedural, the first of Dell Shannon's popular books about Lieutenant Mendoza. A new edition of the book is being published this week by Poisoned Pen Press, a Sourcebooks imprint. They have been publishing the popular British Library Crime Classics in the United States for the past several years. Now, working with the Library of Congress, they have started a new series of classic American mystery fiction, called (not too surprisingly) Library of Congress Crime Classics. The publishers provided me with an e-book of Case Pending for this review. It's also the subject of today's audio review on the Classic Mysteries podcast, and you can listen to that original review by clicking here.

I will admit that Dell Shannon's name was new to me - and shame on me for that. "Dell Shannon" was one of the pen names used by author Elizabeth Linington, who wrote several popular series of mysteries and is said to have been the first woman to write what we call today “police procedurals.” As modern detective fiction leans pretty heavily toward that kind of story, Case Pending seemed to me to be a good place to broaden my horizons beyond the traditional, puzzle-plot-oriented mysteries that I usually write about here and on the podcast

Lieutenant Mendoza is called to the scene of a murder, where the body of a young woman has been discovered in a lonely field. At first there appear to be very few clues, and Mendoza fears that it may be the work of a psychopath. But gradually, small step by small step, police routines and interviews begin to fill in some of the missing details. And Mendoza begins to get a very strong hunch that this murder may have been committed by the same person who killed another young women six months earlier. And Mendoza knows that a killer like that would be quite likely to kill again…

But that’s only one of the crimes which face the police in Case Pending. Slowly, skillfully, the author finds ways in which the different cases occupying the police seem to intersect with each other, and each plot twist contributes in some way to the ultimate solution.

Mystery scholar and historian Leslie S. Klinger has contributed both an in-depth introduction to the book and several footnotes appended to each chapter, clarifying points that may be obscure to today’s readers. The whole package is excellent, giving readers an overview of Dell Shannon’s writing and a wider look at the popularity and mechanics of the police procedural, which remains one of the major sub-genres of today’s mystery field. I do recommend Case Pending highly.