Classic Mysteries

"Puzzle for Players"

People who work in the theater have a reputation for being a superstitious lot. From the stars of a long-running play down to the stagehands who work behind the scenes, it's easy to find people who live by a set of theatrical superstitions about good - and bad - luck. Some examples: never wish a performer "good luck" - instead, invite him or her to "break a leg." Never refer to Shakespeare's Macbeth by its title - call it "The Scottish Play" instead. Several Broadway theaters are said to be haunted; Wikipedia cites several people who claim to have seen ghosts in those theaters.

These real-world superstitions and many others may be found as well in the world of mystery fiction set in theaters, where superstitions can have dangerous, even disastrous outcomes. Sometimes, they can even lead to murder. It certainly appears as if that's what's going on in Patrick Quentin's Puzzle for Players. That 1938 mystery is the subject of my audio review this week on the Classic Mysteries podcast, and you are welcome to listen to the complete review by clicking here.

Puzzle for Players follows Peter Duluth, a New York City theater producer and recovering alcoholic, only recently discharged from the private psychiatric hospital where he was being treated for his addiction. He has gathered a cast of actors and actresses to prepare and open a new play called Troubled Waters, a production he is convinced will be the smash hit of the current Broadway season. Unfortunately for several members of the cast and crew – including Peter Duluth himself – he finds that the theater he thought was going to be home to the play is not, in fact, the theater he will be using. Instead, he finds himself stuck with a rundown New York theater named the Dagonet. Duluth and the cast are very reluctant to rehearse in, and eventually open in, the Dagonet. It’s an old theater, in pretty bad condition, with plenty of rats apparently living in the cellar under the stage. The cast have barely begun rehearsing there when someone is, quite literally, frightened to death. But it isn’t until there is another death (in what looks like a peculiar production accident) that Peter Duluth realizes that someone appears to be trying to block his show from opening. More unpleasant and unexplained events begin to happen; there are deaths which are quite clearly murders. And with each incident, Duluth finds it getting harder and harder to un-scramble the pieces of this Puzzle for Players.

“Patrick Quentin” was a pen name shared by several mystery writers, usually working in collaboration with one or more members of the same group. The mysteries featuring Peter Duluth were written by Hugh C. Wheeler and Richard Wilson Webb, using the name “Patrick Quentin.” I think you'll really enjoy Puzzle for Players.

From the Vault: "The Case of the Gilded Fly"

My selection from the vault this week is the mystery which marked the first appearance of Oxford University English Professor Gervase Fen. He's the creation of Edmund Crispin, the pen name for Robert Bruce Montgomery. If Fen is involved in a case, you may be reasonably sure that the plot will be clever and concise, with features that may turn it into an "impossible" crime situation. You may also be sure of witty and quite funny scenes, often juxtaposed with unexpected touches of grim, almost noir-ish detail. The book is The Case of the Gilded Fly, first published in 1944, and while it's not Crispin's best work (in my opinion, anyway), it's still awfully good. Here's the script of the audio review I did for this book on the Classic Mysteries podcast several years ago, suitably edited:

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It appeared pretty obvious to the police that the victim had committed suicide. The nature of the gunshot wound, evidently fired at pointblank range; the fact that there was no way a killer could possibly have gotten in or out of the room without being seen – these pretty well seemed to indicate suicide. But Gervase Fen, professor of English at Oxford University, certainly was not convinced. He declared that it was murder – and, what’s more, insisted that he could name the murderer. While this did not particularly endear him to the police, it certainly makes an interesting debut for one of my favorite detectives, Gervase Fen, in The Case of the Gilded Fly, by Edmund Crispin.

Writing as Edmund Crispin, Robert Bruce Montgomery wrote just nine novels and two short story collections – a very small output, most of it written between 1944 and 1953. Yet I find Crispin’s books to be memorable – more so than the more numerous contributions of other authors. Crispin’s sense of humor, his plots and – above all – the character of his detective, Oxford University Professor Gervase Fen, make Crispin’s books a treat.

The Case of the Gilded Fly, first published in 1944, is the book which introduced Fen – and Crispin – to the world. Crispin does quite a bit of showing off here; there’s a bit of an atmosphere of “I’m clever and I don’t care who knows it,” but I don’t think it’s intrusive.

The book begins with a prologue which looks at eleven individuals traveling to Oxford by train. We are introduced to each of these characters, all traveling, as Crispin notes, at different times and for different purposes and we probe a bit to learn who they are. Crispin, after introducing them to us, gets them all to Oxford and allows them to disperse to their various destinations. And, in the concluding sentence of this prologue, Crispin tells us – "within the week that followed, three of these eleven died by violence."

That is typical of Crispin. His writing disarms the reader, providing humor – sometimes gentle, sometimes not so; he creates excellent characters and sets his scenes. And then, when the reader may not be expecting it, he drops in a one-liner like that which makes us sit up and pay attention.

Having set the scene, Crispin gets the plot moving; most of the people we have met are involved in the production of a new play by the Oxford Repertory Theatre. We are given a variety of characters – the playwright; his long-time mistress, who is a well-known London actress; another actress, who is a particularly nasty individual detested by just about everyone; and one of the repertory theatre’s producers. There are other characters as well – not least among them Professor Fen, who has managed to get himself something of a reputation for solving complex mysteries. When we meet Fen on that train ride to Oxford, we are told:

"He wondered if he would be allowed to investigate another murder, supposing one occurred. Later he recalled this wish without satisfaction, since it was to be granted in that heavily ironic fashion which the gods appear to consider amusing."

As you would expect, that murder is not long in happening. The victim apparently has been shot at point-blank range, with the gun conveniently lying next to the body. But it appears that nobody else could have been in the room at the time – there are independent witnesses to this – so it must have been suicide. Only Fen demonstrates quite clearly that it could NOT have been suicide…a fact which tends to displease the local police.

I don’t want to say much more about the plot, except to note that there will be more deaths (as we were promised in the prologue), and that it will be up to Fen to figure out what really happened.

All of this is leavened by Crispin’s writing style and humor – although there are some nicely bizarre touches. Fen has a tendency to refer to other fictional detectives as if they were real people. He also tends to quote freely, making references to literature, opera, even art, and he seems to take it for granted that his readers will be able to follow along. I confess freely that I can’t always do so; it’s a potential irritant, although a familiar one, if you have read Michael Innes or some of Dorothy L. Sayers. Overall, though, it’s mostly a great deal of fun. Crispin is showing off his writing style, and he does so very effectively.

In a foreword written for the edition of The Case of the Gilded Fly which sits on my bookshelves, crime fiction historian Douglas G. Greene writes of what he calls:

[Crispin’s] “'depth of frivolity' that sometimes produced scenes of gentle wit in his novels and sometimes broad farce, but always with a sharpness of observation of human foibles. His stories are filled with touches of fantastic imagination, eccentric but believable characters, and well-constructed detective plots with all the clues laid fairly before the reader.

I agree with Greene. If you haven’t met Gervase Fen – or Edmund Crispin – try The Case of the Gilded Fly. [Ed. note: the edition discussed above does not appear to be available, but the book IS still available both in paper and in e-book versions, according to Amazon. As always, please check first with your own preferred bookseller for help in finding it.

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You may listen to the complete audio review by clicking here.

Next: Average Jones, by Samuel Hopkins Adams.]

 

"Death in Captivity"

Death in Captivity (1952) is a fascinating book, set in an Italian Prisoner of War camp during World War II. The author, Michael Gilbert, deftly juggles two major interconnecting mystery types. It is a wartime-escape story, with the Allied officer-prisoners working feverishly on a tunnel that they hoped would allow them to escape from the camp, Campo 127, and begin a long, nightmarish trek across much of Italy in an effort to rejoin the Allied armies on their invasion of Italy. And it is also an impossible murder story. Death in Captivity is the subject of today's audio review on the Classic Mysteries podcast, and you can listen to the complete review by clicking here.

The murdered man,  a Greek soldier named Cyriakos Coutoules, was widely suspected by the other Allied officers to have been a spy for the Italian guards at Campo 127. The body was discovered by the escape team digging out that tunnel. The tunnel, while under construction, was barely wide enough to allow one individual to dig his way through the sand and other obstacles he might encounter. Coutoules had been suffocated, but access to the tunnel where he died required four strong men to open and close the entrance way. There was no way someone could have gotten into the tunnel to kill Coutoules or to put the body there to be found. And yet it had happened. And when the Italian officer in charge of the camp decided to arrest one of the Allied officers and charge him with the murder ,it was quite evident that the officers would have to solve the murder themselves – and quickly – if they were to protect the wrongly-accused man and also preserve the secret of the tunnel on which they had based all their plans for escape.

It’s a harrowing story – and it’s worth noting that the author, Michael Gilbert, was himself a prisoner of war in just such a camp and took part in several escape attempts.  Despite the grim wartime background and the brutality inherent in war itself, Death in Captivity nevertheless is filled with flashes of wit and even humor that manage to ease the tension somewhat – only to have that tension ratcheted up again by a master storyteller.

Death in Captivity is a powerful and moving book. It will be republished early in May as another in the British Library Crime Classics series which are published in the U.S. by Poisoned Pen Press. (It's already available on Kindle.) This edition features an introduction by mystery historian Martin Edwards, who calls the book "one of the finest achievements of a crime writer of distinction." I’d have to agree, and I recommend it very strongly indeed.

"Murder en Route"

The passenger on the upper deck of the British double-decker bus was a bit peculiar: although the rain was coming down hard, drenching the open-air upper deck, the lone passenger that cold and foggy night insisted on riding up there. He certainly had no competition for seats. And both the bus conductor and the driver could swear that nobody - NOBODY - was riding up there with the passenger. But when the bus got to the end of the line, the passenger was still sitting there, quite dead - having, in fact, been strangled. Impossible? Of course. But it happened. And it was only the beginning of the mystery by Brian Flynn called Murder en Route, a fine example of a  traditional mystery that pretty much turns itself into a high-speed thriller. It's the subject of today's audio review on the Classic Mysteries podcast, and you are welcome to listen to the complete review by clicking here.

Between his first mystery, written in 1927, and his last, in 1958, the author, Brian Flynn, wrote more than fifty mysteries. And yet, his name has slipped into complete and, in my opinion, undeserved oblivion. Dean Street Press has begun republishing some of Flynn’s work, including Murder en Route, and there is a great deal there to enjoy.

When that impossibly murdered man's body is discovered, Inspector Curgenven of the local police takes charge of the case, but he is soon assisted by that brilliant amateur detective – aren’t most fictional amateurs brilliant? – Anthony Bathurst, who is the central figure in most of Flynn’s mysteries. Bathurst is intrigued by the possibilities. But before we get too deeply involved, we are given some background on another mystery which has been unfolding in another distant corner of England. It involves a substantial legacy – and the man who may or may not be the legitimate heir of that inheritance who is returning home to claim it – and who promptly disappears. And it isn’t very long before Anthony Bathurst finds a curious connection between the disappearance of an heir on the one hand and, on the other, a seemingly impossible murder of an anonymous victim.

So what starts out as an impossible crime quickly takes on the identity of a fast-paced thriller, complete with a cross-country chase. Flynn rather impressively juggles his plot lines, and there were a number of surprising developments that – to be honest – I didn’t see coming, mostly because I had been well and truly misguided into chasing some fine red herrings. The new edition from Dean Street Press of Brian Flynn’s Murder en Route includes a very informative and useful introduction, both to this book in particular and to Flynn’s work in general, from mystery historian Steve Barge. If you don’t know Brian Flynn’s work – and I certainly didn’t – I would recommend Murder en Route as a good place to start.

From the Vault: "Hercule Poirot's Christmas"

Given the approach of the Christmas season, I've been making a list and checking it twice, trying to find a suggestion for a gift that you might enjoy, whatever holiday you prefer. Back in the prime of Agatha Christie's career, her publisher used to advertise, with some pride, the availability each year of "a Christie for Christmas." So for my gift to you, let me reprint a couple of my reviews of two of Dame Agatha's mysteries - one each for Hercule Poirot and Miss Jane Marple. We'll begin today with Hercule Poirot's Christmas. Since I first wrote this review a decade ago, the book's title has undergone some changes - when I reviewed it, it was better known as Murder for Christmas, but the title under which it is currently being sold is Hercule Poirot's Christmas, and the text of my review, below, has been updated to correct the title wherever it appears. In any case, Merry and Happy to all:

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Well here we are at the Christmas season – traditionally a time of good will. Let’s see, what do we have in the library that will add to our holiday cheer? How about the warmth of an English Christmas house party, in the late 1930s? Plenty of relatives on hand. A blazing fire. Good port wine. A couple of mysterious strangers. Oh yes – and a murder, with lots of blood. Everything Hercule Poirot needs for a satisfying holiday in Hercule Poirot's Christmas by Agatha Christie.

A good place to begin our discussion of the book  is with her dedication. Most of Christie’s novels might belong in the broad category of books that we would define as “cozies” – that is, the violence is usually discreet and well off-stage. Not so with Hercule Poirot's Christmas – and, in fact, that’s perhaps the most noteworthy feature about the murder in this book. When it was published in 1938, Christie dedicated it to her brother-in-law. She wrote:

“You complained that my murders were getting too refined – anaemic, in fact! You yearned for a ‘good violent murder with lots of blood.’ A murder where there was no doubt about its being murder! So this is your special story – written for you. I hope it may please.”

Beyond pointing out that Agatha Christie’s words should rarely be taken at their face value, I will say only that this particular murder is quite violent indeed. It is that wonderful, clichéd, setting, the English country house party. Old Simeon Lee, a very rich, but particularly unpleasant and tyrannical man, has invited his family to a reunion at the family home. His aim, apparently, is to stir up as much animosity among his sons as possible – and, to that end, he has also invited his black-sheep son to return home, as well as a Spanish granddaughter, largely unknown to the other family members. In addition, a stranger turns up at the house and introduces himself as the son of Simeon’s old business partner in South Africa.

It’s a volatile mix, and Simeon knows which buttons to push to get everyone at everyone else’s throat. So it’s not a huge surprise when he is murdered – rather spectacularly. Everyone hears what sounds like a huge fight inside his locked study, followed by a terrible scream. When they break down the study door, they find Simeon with his throat cut, blood everywhere – lots of blood – and nobody else in the room. That’s right, a locked room impossible crime, much to the dismay of the police. Oh, and I almost forgot – thousands of dollars worth of uncut diamonds seem to have disappeared from a safe in the study.

Fortunately, Hercule Poirot, who has been visiting the local chief constable, is on hand to help the police sort everything out.

In terms of plot, this has to be one of Christie’s absolute best. She takes the clichés of the situation and turns them upside down, using them to lure readers into a number of traps along the way – traps which, of course, Poirot is able to avoid. The reader is likely to suspect one person, then another, and another, as secrets are uncovered and revealed. Even after Poirot explains how and why the locked room puzzle was worked, the reader is still unprepared for the ultimate revelation of the murderer. But the clues are there – and have been given to us quite fairly along the way. It’s a dazzling performance.

So, at this season of good will, if you’re in the mood for an impossible murder, let me recommend – strongly – Hercule Poirot's Christmas. I should note that it has also been published as Murder for Christmas, and it has also been published as “A Holiday for Murder,” but I think that currently it’s most easily found in the United States as Hercule Poirot's Christmas. It’s in print, and should be readily available. Savor it over the holiday.

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If you'd like to listen to the original audio version of the review, please click here.

Next week, we'll be joined by Miss Marple as she tackles tne problem of Murder at the Vicarage.

From the Vault: "Uncle Abner: Master of Mysteries"

I suspect that there may be a goodly number of fans who read short crime stories by American authors who are not yet acquainted with Uncle Abner. This character, created by Melville Davisson Post, appears in 18 short stories, first published more than a century ago, in 1918. But these short stories are uniquely powerful, powerful in the stories they tell, powerful in the writing. And if the stories sometimes reflect the realities and prejudices of American frontier society (and they do), Uncle Abner is generally to be found on the side of the angels. I reviewed the collection of Uncle Abner stories, called Uncle Abner: Master of Mysteries, several years ago, in an audio review on the Classic Mysteries podcast. Here's a transcript, somewhat edited, of that review:

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Among the many wonderful characters who appear in American detective stories, one of the most memorable among them is a man known as Uncle Abner. In a series of stories set along the American frontier in the mountainous regions of western Virginia – the area which later became West Virginia – Uncle Abner represents the voice of morality in a rugged nation that sometimes had difficulty determining good from evil. Uncle Abner was the creation of Melville Davisson Post – and his 1918 collection is called Uncle Abner, Master of Mysteries.

The back-cover blurb to my own copy of the book nails these stories pretty well, I think, saying,

“If you look at any critical list of the ten most important books of detective stories published in the United States, the chances are great that you will find in it Uncle Abner.

Let me tell you a little more about the character of Uncle Abner. The stories are seen through the eyes of his nephew, Martin, who tells us this about his uncle:

He was one of those austere, deeply religious men who were the product of the Reformation. He always carried a Bible in his pocket and he read it where he pleased. Once the crowd at Roy’s Tavern tried to make sport of him when he got his book out by the fire; but they never tried it again. When the fight was over Abner paid Roy eighteen silver dollars for the broken chairs and the table – and he was the only man in the tavern who could ride a horse. Abner belonged to the church militant, and his God was a war lord.

I think that pretty well sums up Uncle Abner and his outlook on the world. In these eighteen short stories, Uncle Abner represents the moral power of good which has been lost by some of the others in the stories. Most of these stories about crime – mostly murder – are not really “fair-play” stories. Instead, we observe Abner as he talks to people and examines facts and frequently reveals a crime where none had been suspected – and solves it as well.

Some of the stories ARE closer to the conventions of the detective story.  The first story in the book, called “The Doomdorf Mystery,” is a marvelous locked-room puzzle: a man is shot to death inside a locked room. Two people confess to the murder, but it becomes clear on talking to them that neither could have done it and escaped from that locked room. It is Uncle Abner whose observations will explain the seemingly impossible crime.

Uncle Abner is not always concerned with the letter of the law. He is more concerned with what, to him, is divinely inspired justice. And by his focus on that, prompted by his own deeply religious beliefs, he acts as a champion of the wrongfully accused and explains mysteries as he uncovers them.

There are so many gems among the eighteen stories here that it is impossible to do them all justice. There is “Naboth’s Vineyard,” in which – again – two people confess to a murder, but Uncle Abner finds a deeper truth. In “The Concealed Path,” he delays a forced wedding long enough to uncover a grisly crime. In “A Twilight Adventure” he manages to stop the lynching of a couple of suspected cattle thieves. In all the stories, it is Uncle Abner’s vision, guided by his beliefs, that smooth some of the edges of rough frontier justice.

I should insert a short warning here to the politically correct: the stories were published in 1918, and they are set in a time and place where slavery was practiced. What we now politely refer to as the “n” word comes up occasionally – particularly in one story, “The Devil’s Tools,” where it is used frequently by a Black servant referring to others. If that sort of thing makes the entire book unpalatable to you – well, it’s your choice.

Personally, I think the stories in Uncle Abner, Master of Mysteries, by Melville Davisson Post, are remarkable examples of the storyteller’s art. Uncle Abner is a unique character, brilliantly drawn, standing out in the rough frontier atmosphere of these stories. Once again, let me quote the narrator, young Martin:

“for all his iron ways, Abner was a man who saw justice in its large and human aspect, and he stood for the spirit, above the letter, of the truth.”

I see that, on Amazon.com, one reader writes, in a review of the book,

“If you are a fan of mystery stories and you have not read Uncle Abner, your education is incomplete.”

I couldn’t agree more.

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

Next: Murder for Christmas, by Agatha Christie.

From the Vault: "Death from a Top Hat"

Publisher/author/Mysterious Bookshop maven Otto Penzler's line of American Mystery Classics has been re-printing a growing number of fine classic crime stories over the past year or so. A check back into the Classic Mysteries vault has yielded another excellent example, long out-of-print but now available again: Death from a Top Hat, a 1938 "impossible crime" novel, featuring Clayton Rawson's primary puzzle-solver, The Great Merlini. Here's what I said about it in my audio review on the Classic Mysteries podcast several years ago - updated with the latest information about the book's availability:

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Look closely at any mystery which has a so-called “impossible crime” at its heart…a murder inside a locked room, for example…and you will almost certainly come up against what is essentially a stage magic trick: someone, usually the murderer – and, of course, the author – finds a way to manipulate what you see in order to create an illusion. This kind of misdirection is a staple of stage magic – in fact, in many ways, it is at the heart of virtually every stage magician’s act. So imagine, if you will, a couple of murders in which not only the victims but most of the suspects, too, are almost all stage magicians. Think it could cause a headache? We’ll find out as we examine Death from a Top Hat, by Clayton Rawson.

By all rights, Clayton Rawson’s name should be much more familiar than it is to today’s mystery readers. A writer, editor and a first-rate amateur magician, Rawson was one of the four founding authors who created the Mystery Writers of America, the professional organization responsible for the annual Edgar awards. Rawson’s four novels date from the late 1930s and early 1940s and feature, as their primary detective, The Great Merlini, a stage magician who owns and runs a store that provides equipment and tricks to other magicians. In the first Merlini novel, Death From a Top Hat, Merlini is called in to help Inspector Homer Gavigan, of the New York City police department. Gavigan has a problem. A man known as a student of demonology – and, apparently, a pretty good magician – is found murdered in his locked apartment. The keyholes have been blocked up from the inside, the door is bolted, and so forth. The problem, however, goes beyond the locked-room nature of the crime. The problem is that just about everyone who might have had the means, motive and opportunity to murder the victim is, in fact, a stage magician.

Don’t misunderstand me – stage magicians, as such, are hardly a murderous lot. However, as Inspector Gavigan realizes – and the reason why he sends for Merlini to help him – most stage magicians understand very well the art of creating illusions. If anyone knows how to set up a murder so that it looks like an impossible crime…it might very well be a professional magician.

And, in fact, Merlini is able to explain at least a half dozen ways that the murder could have been committed. When a second murder is committed – this time in a place completely isolated by an unbroken coating of newly-fallen snow – the problem is further compounded.

Now readers who have read John Dickson Carr’s The Three Coffins will remember the famous “locked room lecture” in that novel, which lays out the many different ways that such impossible crimes may be solved. Well, Death from a Top Hat goes beyond Carr’s lecture; in fact, to some degree, the whole book may be thought of as an expanded lecture on how to kill someone inside a locked and guarded room. While no secrets are revealed – the secrets of professional magicians, that is – readers will come away with a heightened appreciation of the TYPE of trickery necessary to deceive audiences – whether at a séance with a false psychic, a professional magic show, or – in this case – a couple of murders.

All of this is handled with a healthy respect for the traditions of fair play, and if the reader is deceived, it is done fairly. There’s a lot of humor here as well. Merlini is extremely likeable…even if he does have the habit – I consider it a bad habit – of doing coin tricks while he speaks, absent-mindedly making coins appear and disappear through sleight of hand.

[The following has been updated as of November, 2019]

Clayton Rawson’s books were out of print for a long time, but – happily – Otto Penzler's American Mystery Classics series  has recently released new editions of Rawson’s novels. If you enjoy being mystified, if you want to figure out how a killer could have escaped through those locked doors and windows, if you want to find out how a murderer got out of a house surrounded by freshly-fallen snow without leaving any footprints…then you will most certainly enjoy Death from a Top Hat.

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

Next: The Castleford Conundrum, by J. J. Connington.

"The Chinese Orange Mystery"

Among the many novels written by "Ellery Queen," my favorites have long been the first few books created by Frederick Dannay and Manfred Lee, the two cousins who, between them, created Ellery Queen. Among those early novels, one of the most complex puzzle plots designed to tease and tantalize the reader belongs to The Chinese Orange Mystery, first published in 1934. It is best described by the book's introduction as "The Crime That Was Backwards," for that was how it appeared to the investigators: it took place within a locked and bolted room, and, when the door was broken down and the room entered, everything in the room - including the clothes the victim was wearing - had been turned backwards. The Chinese Orange Mystery is the subject of this week's audio review on the Classic Mysteries podcast, and you can listen to the complete review by clicking here.

In The Chinese Orange Mystery, a man arrives at the office of publisher Donald Kirk, on the 22^nd floor of the Chancellor Hotel in New York City, asking to see him. Kirk is out, and the man is shown into Kirk’s office to wait. When Donald Kirk arrives at his office, an hour or so later, he has his friend Ellery Queen (the fictional detective,as opposed to the pen name of the author) with him. Kirk isn’t expecting a visitor, but he tries to open the door into his office, where the mysterious person is waiting. He can’t – that door is bolted (and the only other entrance to the room is visible continuously from the desk of a hotel official, who has seen nobody enter or leave that room). But when Kirk and Ellery break into the room, they find the visitor dead – killed by a blow from a poker. And the room itself is chaotic, with furniture reversed and moved – and somebody (presumably the murderer) has put the victim’s clothes on the body – backwards. And, by the way, nobody can (or will) identify the victim – nor is he carrying any sort of identification.

Is Ellery's father, New York City homicide Inspector Queen, right in saying it's simply sheer madness? Ellery doesn’t think so. And as he pursues various theories, and a large number of excellent red herrings, he continues to try to find a pattern, some clue that will turn that chaotic scene into some kind of recognizable and meaningful pattern. And if you're a reader who enjoys matching wits with the author, there's a "Challenge to the Reader," near the end of the book, where the reader is invited to consider all the evidence - as Ellery does - and solve the case before Ellery Queen. I can never do it. Can you? I think you’ll find it fascinating. The Chinese Orange Mystery is back in print (and in e-book formats as well) from Otto Penzler’s American Mystery Classics series, and it should be readily available.

"Nine Times Nine"

At the end of this week, I will be attending Bouchercon, the world mystery convention, being held this year in Dallas, Texas. It's an annual event at which mystery authors and mystery readers meet each other and mingle, all in celebration of the many sub-genres of mystery fiction, from cozies to thrillers. This year is the fiftieth annual celebration of Bouchercon, which was named for the late Anthony Boucher, long-time reviewer and critic for the New York Times, the San Francisco Chronicle and other major publications. Boucher, born William Anthony Parker White, was tremendously influential as an editor as well as a critic in both the Science Fiction and mystery genres, and he wrote novels and short stories in those fields along with his criticism. As Wikipedia points out, in a 1981 poll of seventeen prominent mystery authors, Boucher's novel Nine Times Nine (1940) was voted the ninth best locked room mystery novel of all time. That may be arguable, but it is certainly a fine example of the possibilities of the "impossible crime" novel. Nine Times Nine is the subject of today's audio review on the Classic Mysteries podcast, and you can listen to the complete review by clicking here.

Nine Times Nine focuses on a religious cult known as the Temple of  Light, patterned after the many screwball religious cults that could be found in Los Angeles in the years leading up to the second world war. The charismatic leader of that cult called himself Ahasver, and he claimed to be the Wandering Jew of Christian legend. He was known to his followers – who called themselves the Children of Light -  as the Man in the Yellow Robe; any time he was seen anywhere, he wore a yellow robe, with a yellow hood. At a very public meeting of the cult, Ahasver offered a terrifying curse - what he said was the curse of the Nine Times Nine - against Wolfe Harrigan, a man working on exposing the cult and unmasking its leader.

The very next night, at the Harrigan home, witnesses outside the house saw a man in a yellow robe standing inside Wolfe’s study - Wolfe’s locked and bolted study - with only a single door that could possibly have been used for an entrance or an exit – and that door had been watched constantly. Yet when they broke down the bolted door, they found Wolfe Harrigan’s body – shot to death – and an otherwise empty room. No sign of Ahasver (or anybody else, for that matter) in a yellow robe – and no way he could have gotten out of the room. When they went to confront Ahasver at his Temple of Light, they found that at the moment when he was seen inside that study, apparently murdering Wolfe Harrigan…he was also speaking to more than a hundred of his supporters across town, who would be quite eager to attest to that fact as an alibi.

Impossible? You bet. Nine Times Nine is the kind of book that first hooked me on impossible mysteries. I suggest - strongly - that you give it a try.

From the Vault: "The Fourth Door"

Just because I describe this series of some of my earlier reviews as being "from the vault" doesn't mean the reviews have to be of very ancient books and stories. I'd like to think that at least a few of the mysteries I'd describe as "classic" are examples of modern authors writing in the style and with the traditions of classic mystery. To those who insist that nobody writes that way any more, I like to have a few examples that I think may make those disgruntled readers change their mind. Take the case of Paul Halter, a French author who began writing mysteries - most of them "impossible crime" stories - with The Fourth Door (La quatrième porte) in 1987 and continues to write new ones today. Here's my original podcast review of The Fourth Door, as usual with minor edits:

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What kind of a book does it take to make me happy?

How about a book with not one impossible murder…but two?

A book with spiritualists and séances?

A book where a medium can read a message written on a slip of paper sealed inside an envelope that is never out of sight of the witnesses?

A book in which a man is seen at exactly the same time in two separate locations, about 100 miles apart?

But a book which turns out to be fairly clued…if the reader can spot the clues?

Sound intriguing to you? As they used to say, you ain’t heard nothing yet. The book is written by a modern French author, Paul Halter. It is called – in English – The Fourth Door.

For our book this week, I’m turning to a relatively new book – only about 25 years old – by a prolific French author who is still turning out what I am told are first-rate books, many of them locked room mysteries.

Paul Halter has spoken lovingly of John Dickson Carr, that master of the locked-room mystery, and Halter’s books have often been compared with Carr’s. Now that some of Halter's books have finally been published in an English translation – thanks to the first-rate work of John Pugmire – I have the pleasure of recommending his first book, which goes by the English title, The Fourth Door.

Published originally in 1987, “The Fourth Door” is narrated (more or less) by a young man named James Stevens. James lives on the edge of a small – and unnamed – English village. (It’s worth noting that Halter’s books are set in England, even though they are written in French.) He has two good friends who will be central characters in the unfolding tragedy: Henry White, an athletic young man, and John Darnley. Darnley’s mother died some years before this story begins, an apparently gruesome suicide inside a locked room in the Darnley house. Ever since then, visitors to the house – prospective tenants – have complained about lights, footsteps and other noises apparently coming from the room where the woman died.

For some reason, this seems to discourage long-term tenants – until a couple decides to move into the mansion as tenants. Alice and Patrick Latimer are a bit unusual, in that Mrs. Latimer claims to have a medium’s spiritualistic skills. She is the one who – as I mentioned earlier – is able to read the message which has been sealed, unread, into an envelope which has been in sight of several people at all times.

And – as events seem to go from bad to worse in the haunting of that attic room – Patrick Latimer decides to spend the night inside the room where John’s mother had died. He is sealed into the room with a wax seal which has been imprinted by a rare coin – chosen moments before its use and never out of the possession of one reliable witness. But when the room is opened, Patrick has disappeared…and another unidentified man’s body is found, stabbed in the back, inside the sealed room.

Like it so far? It gets better. A second murder is committed…inside an otherwise empty house, surrounded by an unbroken layer of snow from a fresh snowfall.

And there are so many other details – that case of “co-location,” for instance, where a man is seen in two different places by two reliable witnesses – at exactly the same time. And how DID the medium manage to read that note sealed inside the envelope? And did I mention the connection to the great illusionist Harry Houdini – or at least to his spirit?

Is it spiritualism? Magic? Well…you’ll have to read The Fourth Door to find out. I will say only that you are presented with all the clues…but you may find them obscured in a carefully-created and maintained atmosphere of evil and madness.

There’s more going on here. Near the end of the book, after the second murder has happened, our narrator, James Stevens, reveals himself to be a mystery author – named John Carter, by the way, which is undoubtedly a reminder of Halter’s homage to John Dickson Carr/Carter Dickson. And the narrator turns his seemingly insoluble mystery over to Dr. Alan Twist,  the central character, Dr. Fell-like, in many of Halter’s mysteries. Dr. Twist comes up with a breathtaking solution – or, perhaps more accurately, a series of breathtaking solutions which will not be fully resolved until quite literally the last words in the book.

In an article about Halter, his translator, John Pugmire, writes:

It is no mean feat to create thirty or more puzzles worthy of Carr that the maestro himself never imagined.  Furthermore, Halter, while every bit Carr’s rival in the creation of eerie atmosphere, is closer to today’s writers in his willingness to incorporate gore and horror more explicitly in his stories.

I’ll admit it. I am hooked. Translator John Pugmire has done English versions of a couple more of Halter’s books, and I am looking forward to reading them. They are available in both paperback and – far less expensively – as Amazon Kindle editions. Certainly The Fourth Door manages to create an atmosphere of horror and mystery which does really remind the reader of John Dickson Carr at his best. Paul Halter continues to write his books – and I hope they will find new audiences in their English language versions.

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

Next: Plot it Yourself, by Rex Stout.