Classic Mysteries

"The Spiked Lion"

There were quite a few questions to be answered in connection with the shocking death of John Pender Blundell. The former intelligence officer and cryptographer had left his home one evening, after saying he was on his way to an important meeting - and promptly disappeared. Police couldn't find any trace of him for weeks until his body turned up under a tree in a park. And while the body showed what seemed to be signs of a savage attack, perhaps by a wild animal, Blundell didn't die from his injuries - he was killed by cyanide poisoning. The only clue police could find was some writing scrawled on a piece of paper which appeared to have been in Blundell's pocket and overlooked by the killer. But it didn't seem to make sense:

“to-night I heard that crackling voice use those same strange words that I have heard twice before in this house. But the animal is not normal, it is spiked..."

What kind of animal might inflict such savage wounds? There is talk of a "spiked lion"...

And The Spiked Lion is the title of a 1933 Golden Age mystery by Brian Flynn. It is the subject of my audio review this week on the Classic Mysteries podcast, and you can listen to the complete review by clicking here.

At Scotland Yard, Sir Austin Kemble knew he was going to need some help finding a solution. Sure enough, another murder victim turned up, also battered and having been poisoned in the same manner. Sir Austin turned for help to consultant Anthony Bathurst. Which is how Anthony wound up involved in what he would eventually call:

“The most remarkable case…that I have ever been called upon to handle. I can assert that, I think, without the slightest fear of contradiction.”

To be sure, there are a great many puzzles here, including more murders, one of which is a classic locked-room mystery for Anthony Bathurst and his assistant on this case, Chief Inspector MacMorran, to solve. And the reader will find him-or-herself challenged as well by the nature of the clues, as the focus of the story changes and the book becomes much more of a thriller in the Edgar Wallace or Bulldog Drummond tradition. The last quarter or so of the book includes a chase, some housebreaking, an exhumation, secret panels, hidden rooms , a fair number of useful hiding places for Bathurst to discover just in the nick of time as he tracks down the culprit, an unexpected claimant to a huge inheritance – well, you get the idea. Brian Flynn manages to keep his juggled clues safely up in the air all at one time, with plenty of hints to be picked up by the reader – but be careful, for Flynn is pretty good at misdirection too. 

Dean Street Press has been re-publishing many of Brian Flynn’s Golden Age novels about Anthony Bathurst and has sent some to me for review. Mystery historian Steve Barge has been contributing entertaining and informative introductory essays for the publisher about Flynn’s career along with in-depth examination of the books themselves. Barge has a review of The Spiked Lion available on his In Search of the Classic Mystery blog, and I commend his comments to you. The Spiked Lion is a great deal of fun, and I recommend it warmly.

"Death and the Dutch Uncle"

As far as Superintendent Henry Tibbett could tell, the murder of a two-bit hoodlum at the Pink Parrot Club was just that - a not very interesting, almost routine shooting death. It might or might not ever get solved, and it wouldn't much matter either way.

That would not turn out to be one of Henry's best observations. It wouldn't take long before he would find himself caught up in an international intrigue that had already resulted in at least three deaths. The full story can be found in Death and the Dutch Uncle, written by Patricia Moyes in 1968. It's the subject of today's audio review on the Classic Mysteries podcast. You are welcome to listen to the complete review by clicking here.

Death and the Dutch Uncle starts out as a straightforward detective story, but it isn't long before we enter the world of espionage thrillers, where the true state of international relations is very likely to be quite different from what it appear to be on the surface. And Henry Tibbett will find himself suddenly en route to Amsterdam – with his wife Emmy coming along with him and playing a vital role in a story of intrigue, multiple murders, and – I’m happy to say – a most unpleasant villain.

As usual, Patricia Moyes’s writing is excellent, with enough humor to offset some of the terrors of the story. Her characters, both good and evil, are interesting people. I didn’t see some of the twists coming along, but they certainly seemed fair and do take the book into unexpected areas. Death and the Dutch Uncle is a delightful way to spend an autumn afternoon.

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 Black Mountain"

Any fan of Rex Stout's books about Nero Wolfe and Archie Goodwin knows that - as a general rule - Mr. Wolfe refuses to leave his home on business. But there are exceptions. One of those exceptions saw Nero Wolfe and Archie Goodwin actually leave the United States for a long (and, especially for Wolfe, uncomfortable) journey to Montenegro, in the heart of Europe, thousands of miles from home. It's a story of promises kept, and a story of great personal loss for Nero Wolfe. It's the story told in Rex Stout's 1954 novel The Black Mountain, and that book is the subject of today's audio review on the Classic Mysteries podcast. You're welcome to listen to the complete audio review by clicking here.

Marko Vukcic was Nero Wolfe's oldest and closest friend. The two had been boys together, growing up in Montenegro. Wolfe eventually came to New York City; so did Marko, who owned and ran Rusterman's, the only restaurant that Nero Wolfe would visit once a month for dinner - and Marko, in turn, would visit Wolfe's brownstone monthly to enjoy one of Fritz Brenner's excellent dinners with Wolfe and Archie.

And then one Thursday evening in March of 1954, Marko Vukcic was murdered – shot three times by someone who had been sitting in a parked car outside the New York apartment building where Marko lived.

The job of finding his killer was a debt of honor, a promise to be kept by Nero Wolfe. And that is why Wolfe and Archie Goodwin left New York behind and traveled all the way to Montenegro – where, they were told, Marko’s killer had fled – with the goal of bringing him back to face justice, dead or alive. And in doing so, Wolfe would face another very personal loss…

Most of the Nero Wolfe books fall into the traditional detective story mold, with the emphasis on the detective's skills and the characters of some of the 35th Street regulars. The Black Mountain is different, falling more into the international action-adventure category. It's the only one of the Wolfe books where Goodwin and Wolfe reverse their usual roles - Archie doesn't speak the language, so Wolfe must brief Archie rather than the normal situation in which Archie gathers information and briefs Wolfe on his investigations. What you have in The Black Mountain, in my opinion, is a book that should not be missed by any Wolfe fan. Unfortunately, the last time I checked, it appears to be out of print in paper; there is an e-book version available as well as a couple of audiobooks. It's worth the effort to find and read The Black Mountain.

"The Triple Bite"

Cecilia Cameron was having dinner in a small restaurant when she overheard part of a conversation that she wasn't supposed to hear. It began with a mention of Dallow Corner in Sussex, where Cecilia was living with her uncle - but here's what Miss Cameron remembers most about that overheard conversation:

“a coarse sort of laugh. More than that even. It was low throaty, and altogether horrible. Then I heard another voice say something about “salmon” to which the voice of the horrible laugh replied, “Good job he died. If he hadn’t I’d have slit his throat for a tenth part of it.”

By the time she could look around to see who was speaking, the adjoining table was empty. But from that small beginning, a terrifying plot began to take shape - a plot aimed at Cecilia Cameron and her friends. Fortunately, those friends included Anthony Bathurst, whose success at solving puzzles - especially murderous ones - would prove to be literally lifesavers. And we’re off and running with a story about a couple of mysterious murders, a clue in the form of a mysterious cryptogram, numerous hints about what could be buried treasure, a message left by a dying man, and some unpleasant encounters with a truly evil group of villains. It all happens in The Triple Bite, a 1931 thriller and mystery by Brian Flynn. It's the subject of my audio review on this week's Classic Mysteries podcast, and you can listen to the complete review by clicking here.

The Triple Bite was written in the heart of the Golden Age, but it's much more a thriller than a puzzle-plot mystery - it reads as if it could have been a collaboration between Edgar Wallace and Sax Rohmer. There's also a significant reference to Sherlock Holmes which will be appreciated by the dedicated Sherlockians who visit here. And there is Flynn's sleuth, Anthony Bathurst, described as a polymath, an expert in many things who also acts as an advisor to Scotland Yard. There are also some very nice touches – particularly when it comes to the “triple bite” of the book’s title. It’s not a completely original idea; I’m reminded of a similar situation in a story by Samuel Hopkins Adams, but it’s unusual enough (and unpleasant enough) to make an impression.

Long unavailable in any format, The Triple Bite and most of Brian Flynn's novels about Anthony Bathurst are back in print, courtesy of Dean Street Press. There's a good amount of action (at least by Golden Age standards) and a plot which grabs readers very quickly and keeps them racing to keep up. I do think you would enjoy it.

 

"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.

"The Phantom of the Opera"

I have a confession to make. Despite living in the New York City metropolitan area, with ready access to Broadway, I have never seen the incredibly successful musical adapted of Gaston Leroux's The Phantom of the Opera. No live performance, musical or non. No film or television. Nothing. In fact, I hadn't even read the original novel.

Until now.

My audio review this week on the Classic Mysteries blog is of French author Gaston Leroux's novel, The Phantom of the Opera, written in 1910. The book has just been republished as part of the Haunted Library of Horror Classics, presented by the Horror Writers Association. The publisher is Poisoned Pen Press, and they have sent me an Advance Reader's Copy for my use in writing this review. You can listen to the complete audio review by clicking here.

For those who - like me - may be coming to The Phantom of the Opera for the first time, I will provide only the briefest of plot summaries, because so much of the real pleasure of books such as this one comes from being surprised by unexpected (or, sometimes, expected) plot twists. The action takes place in and around the sprawling Paris Opera House, a large theater existing on many levels, with many trap doors, secret passageways, even an underground lake below its cellars. And it also has what most of the opera's performers and stagehands believe is a ghost, never seen, but capable even of murder to protect its secrets.

After a lengthy opening section, the complicated plot of The Phantom of the Opera resolves itself into a classic love triangle. There is a young woman, a singer named Christine Daaè, who appears to be developing a magnificent voice – through the intervention and teaching of someone she never sees, but who calls himself the Angel of Music. There is a young man, the Viscount Raoul de Chagny, who falls in love with Christine – and, over the course of the book, uncovers many of the deepest secrets of the opera house and the ghostly Angel of Music. And there is that "Angel" himself, a grim and masked presence, a man born hideously ugly, so frightening that his own mother forced him to wear a mask to hide his face, a man named only “Erik,” who is obsessed with Christine and with her voice – but who is also aware that his deformities are not only terrifying to the performers and staff of the opera, but will also terrify Christine.

Those three, then, make up the central triangle of characters, although you could argue that the Opera House itself is a character, for that house (it was a real building, by the way), is home to Erik, offering many quick and easy ways to get between points backstage and through the cellars and trap rooms – and also providing ways for Erik to dispose of his enemies…even commit murders…and, when necessary, to hide Christine to keep her from her would-be rescuers.

An important point, I think, needs to be made: this new, Poisoned Pen Press edition of The Phantom of the Opera is based on the original 1911 English translation. In practice, I’m afraid, that means that some of it feels like a very literal (and rather old) translation with awkward and non-colloquial language. However, I found the story to be so compelling, and the characters so powerfully drawn, that I kept right on reading. It may start slowly, but the pace of events and the powerful characters – especially Erik, the phantom himself – will draw you in and keep you enchanted. Is it a classic? Yes. It should be on your shelves.

From the Vault: "Footsteps in the Dark"

It seems a pity to me that novelist Georgette Heyer is remembered primarily as an author of historical/Regency romances. Not that there's anything wrong with historical romances, it's just that she was also the creator of about a dozen very good and enjoyably witty mysteries, written during the Golden Age of Detection, which really ought to be of interest to any fans of traditional mysteries and thrillers - she wrote both kinds. One that is more a thriller than a puzzle is the first mystery Heyer wrote, called Footsteps in the Dark (1932). I gave it an audio review on the Classic Mysteries podcast several years back. Here, slightly edited, is the text of that review:

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You have to have a little sympathy for Charles Malcolm. After all, the old house really had been left to his wife, and to her sister and brother as well. Come to think of it, it really wasn’t an old house – it was an old, and pretty-well ruined, priory, originally built hundreds of years earlier. Any problems that Charles could foresee didn’t seem to make much of an impact on the three new owners. Still, none of them had bargained for what certainly appeared to be a most malevolent ghost haunting the priory. And the discovery of a skeleton hidden inside the walls of the place should have been a warning. But Charles and the other three were all pretty tough-minded about it, and they refused to run away. Which leads to some very interesting complications in Footsteps in the Dark, by Georgette Heyer. The book, published in 1932, was her first mystery novel. Heyer is more often remembered as an author of historical romances, but her mysteries are generally quite well done and thoroughly readable. Certainly that’s the case with Footsteps in the Dark, whose plot really counts more as a classic “thriller,” in the Edgar Wallace tradition, than a puzzle-type mystery.

At the same time, it is set in a country house and gets off to the kind of start we would expect from such a mystery: three siblings – Peter and Margaret Fortescue and their sister, Celia Malcolm – have inherited the crumbling old house, part of a ruined priory, from a recently-deceased relative. There’s no electricity – in fact it sounds like there’s barely any running water – but a certain charm about the place makes the trio, along with Celia’s husband, Charles, eager to live there.

Others in the neighborhood, however, are less pleased to see the new residents, who begin to hear stories about hauntings and ghosts, particularly a rather nasty creature called “the monk.” Several people in town claim to have seen the monk, in his hood and cowl, walking around the grounds of the priory – and it isn’t very long before Charles and the three siblings also begin seeing this mysterious character inside their house. It isn’t helped when, after a series of strange events, they discover a skeleton which had been locked up inside a secret room, within the walls of the house. Things proceed from bad to worse, and eventually, of course, there is a murder. There are also some suspicious strangers hanging around the town pub who may be trying to put pressure on our four central characters to leave the Priory.

What’s really going on here – and why? Is it, in fact, something supernatural? Is the malevolent monk a spirit or a very dangerous human? If those questions sound like the soundtrack to an old-time radio serial, it’s not surprising. As I said, this is very much a thriller. There are some clues, to be sure, that can lead readers to suspect one or another of the characters, but the road to the solution really is reached through scenes of action rather than any really heavy thought on the part of the detectives.

All this, however, may give the wrong impression, so let me make it clear: this is a very witty and charming book. I have seen some of Heyer’s mysteries described as “comedies of manner,” and that really does provide a great description of Footsteps in the Dark. The dialog is very well done, and the characters are generally quite endearing – or, if not always endearing, certainly comic; Heyer has a great deal of fun with the local constable, but manages to avoid making him look like the dull-witted fool that we find in similar stories by lesser writers.

In the end, we are presented with a pretty good solution to the mystery, along with a budding romance between a couple of the major characters. Footsteps in the Dark, by Georgette Heyer, is very light, very frothy, and a pretty quick and enjoyable read.

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

Next: Somewhere in the House, by Elizabeth Daly.

"The Allingham Minibus"

As an author, Margery Allingham has long been considered one of the "Crime Queens" of the British Golden Age of Detection. Her novels, most featuring amateur sleuth Albert Campion, are still read and enjoyed by fans. She was also a prolific writer of short stories, some of which were collected into anthologies both before and after her death. One of those collections, first published in 1973 as The Allingham Minibus (also known as Mr. Campion's Lucky Day and Other Stories), has just been re-released in an e-book edition from Agora Books, and the publisher provided me with an advance proof copy for this review. The Allingham Minibus 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.

Fans of Albert Campion should be aware that he is featured in only three of the eighteen stories in this collection. On the other hand, this edition of The Allingham Minibus includes a tribute to Allingham written by Agatha Christie shortly after Allingham's death in 1966, a lovely tribute by one classic mystery writer to another. However, one of the reasons I find Allingham’s stories so appealing is that they are not solely dependent on Campion's presence to succeed. The author was quite versatile, and her flexibility of approach, of subject and of style serves us well in these collections.

The three stories with Campion include two that are so brief as to be really vignettes. The third story, called “The Man With the Sack,” is longer and has more of the gentle humor which may be found in Allingham’s best works, as Mr. Campion gently but firmly, ruins a carefully planned robbery. The other stories in the book range from brief and often eerie tales of mystery to an interesting story called “A Quarter of a Million,” which is really novella length. That one is more of a thriller, with a kidnapping, a theft, and a murder to be solved.

There are also several short stories that cross over to supernatural themes. There are a couple of stories dealing with revenge from beyond the grave; there’s a confrontation with the Devil, and there are others which are less frightening and more moving, but all are written with Allingham’s masterful style as she evokes the people and places that make her stories come alive. There are a few stories that are along the lines of classic puzzle-plot crime fiction, although not all deal with murder. And there are a few which defy being placed easily in stylistic pigeonholes. If you’re looking for a way to spend more time with Margery Allingham’s writings, you’re very likely to enjoy The Allingham Minibus. 

"Death Has Deep Roots"

Why would a woman accused of murder in England, about to go on trial for her life, suddenly insist on changing lawyers?

Victoria Lamartine, once a member of the French resistance fighting against German occupation during World War II, a woman who had managed to escape from the Gestapo and continue fighting, was accused of the murder of Major Eric Thoseby, the man English police said had been her lover and the father of her child. Everyone agreed that she was guilty, the evidence against her was overwhelming. Even her lawyers believed in her guilt, although they were confident that she was more likely to escape the extreme penalty because of the circumstances of the case and the heroism of the accused.

So it came as quite a shock when, two days before her trial was to begin, Victoria Lamartine fired those lawyers. Instead, she hired another solicitor, "Nap" Rumbold because, she insisted, she was innocent of the crime, no matter what the evidence appeared to show - and while that evidence was very powerful indeed she insisted on being defended by a lawyer who believed in her innocence. Nap Rumbold accepted the case. And even as her trial began in London's Old Bailey courtroom, that search for proof took the solicitor and others across to France, for the crime - and its solution - will prove to have very deep roots indeed, stretching back into the violence and tragedy of World War II. It's the subject of Michael Gilbert's Death Has Deep Roots, originally published in 1951 and now being reissued as one of the British Library Crime Classics series. Already available in the U.K., it is being published in the U.S. in a couple of weeks by Poisoned Pen Press, an imprint of Sourcebooks, who sent me an advanced reader's copy for the purposes of this review.  You can listen to the complete review by clicking here.

Over the course of his career, Michael Gilbert, one of the founders of the British Crime Writers' Association, proved himself able to write easily in a variety of sub-genres. This is very much on display in Death Has Deep Roots, which cuts across several of those sub-genres to present a story which held me glued from the beginning all the way through to the last page.

• It is a powerful courtroom drama, set in London’s Old Bailey court, with the life of the defendant at stake.
• It is a thriller, following key members of the defense team as they race against the clock through France, looking for the proof they need and risking their lives against powerful enemies. 
• It is a classic detective story, with a murder to be solved and clues to discover.
• And – to at least some considerable degree – it is a fascinating picture of what life was like in France and in England during and after the brutality of World War II.

Michael Gilbert – who was one of the founders in Britain of the Crime Writers’ Association – was not only a prolific and talented author, he was also a member of a major British law firm, and his courtroom scenes in particular are compelling. He also managed to escape during the war from an Italian prisoner of war camp. In this new British Library Crime Classics edition of Death Has Deep Roots, mystery historian Martin Edwards has provided readers with an excellent introduction to Gilbert and explains how his real life experiences clearly helped him create this unusual tale of murder and suspense. It’s a remarkable book, and I really couldn’t put it down.