The Lost Gallows (1931) by John Dickson Carr

Twelve years ago, I read an article that Otto Penzler posted to hype the upcoming The Black Lizard Big Book of Locked Room Mysteries. One of the books he mentioned in that article was The Lost Gallows by John Dickson Carr, where a dead man drives a car and a whole street vanishes. Needless to say, I was hooked, and I’m glad to finally have a chance to read it, courtesy of the British Library Crime Classics imprint.

While It Walks by Night was set in France, Gallows moves to England. We open at the Brimstone Club, where narrator Jeff Marle, detective Henri Bencolin, and other guy Sir John Landervorne are discussing crime and mystery. Specifically, they’re talking about a strange incident that happened to Dallings, a friend of Sir John. Dallings met a young woman at a nightclub and enjoyed an evening out. But when he took her home, he missed the address she gave to the cab driver and found himself lost in fog-coated London, on a street he didn’t recognize. And there, he saw the image of a gallows, and a man walking up them.

And someone has left a miniature gallows in the room with them…

The three of them set out for the theater to watch a show and talk to Dallings but are almost run over by a car belonging to Nezam El Moulk, another patron of the Brimstone. But there’s something wrong: The chauffeur is driving, but he’s clearly dead.“We were flying in pursuit of a corpse.” After a wild chase, the car comes to a stop outside the Brimstone, where it’s confirmed that El Moulk is missing. And then a police inspector arrives, asking about Ruination Street. He received a phone call earlier that night:“Nezam El Moulk has been hanged on the gallows in Ruination Street.” El Moulk has run afoul of Jack Ketch,“A familiar hobgoblin of nursery tales […] A hangman, an executioner, applied in general to all hangmen.” Almost ten years ago today, El Moulk was involved in a shady duel that left one man dead and another hanging from the ceiling of his prison cell. It’s this latter death that Ketch wants to avenge, but the man in question was presumed dead in the war and using an alias besides, meaning our heroes will have their work cut out for them.

I should temper expectations now. This isn’t an impossible crime novel. The “dead man driving a car” bit is quickly resolved. The search for Ruination Street isn’t about a vanishing street, but the protagonists trying to find out where it is in the first place. That being said, there is a minor locked room later in the book. It turns out that Ketch has been leaving “gifts” for El Moulk in his rooms and can even make his deliveries while the doors are locked. While the explanation isn’t original, Carr clues it well and Bencolin ties it into some of the other mysteries in the book.

Because Carr puts everything in this book. Dead men driving cars! Dueling detectives! (Not that Sir John does much.) Ancient Egyptian curses! Reincarnation! You name it, Carr probably tried to put it in this book. Carr-through-Bencolin gives a sermon about how“fiction is stranger than truth,” and oh boy does he live up to that. What’s remarkable is that all of this mostly comes together. Bencolin is ten steps ahead of everyone, and Carr uses this in a teasing and creative way. Twice before the ending, Bencolin pauses to explain to Jeff (and thus the reader) some aspect of the plot and clear up some of the mysteries, directing Jeff (and thus the reader) to take that knowledge and apply it to the overall plot. And it is well-clued. When I reviewed Night, I mentioned that the main twist was well-clued but the killer less so. Carr resolves that here. There are plenty of clues, including some very clever ones that made me want to reach through the book and smack him (laudatory). And he doesn’t even bring them all up at the end! The events are confusing, but a careful and thorough reader can see through them to the truth.

My main issue with the book is the suspects. The ones in Night were all insane; these are saner but more annoying. For some reason Carr gives them not accents, but very weird speech patterns. El Moulk’s drunken secretary gets the worst of this. I know that Carr will do this throughout his career, but here it makes the suspects hard to follow. They also aren’t well defined, fading in and out of the plot. The killer is well-concealed, but Carr gets an advantage from how easy it is to forget about some of the suspects.

I enjoyed this book. Like its predecessor, it’s more of a Gothic (and a quite dramatic one) than a mystery, but the mystery aspect is stronger. I don’t know if I’d call this a hidden gem, but I’d call it an underrated Carr. Recommended for Carr fans or those who have read a lot of grounded mystery novels recently and want something a bit mad.

The British Library edition comes with an added short story, “The Ends of Justice,” written for Carr’s college magazine, The Harverfordian. Bencolin is milder in this story, although his wrath is kindled by Bishop Wolfe, a “churchman turned detective.” Wolfe played a key role in the arrest of charitable-but-impoverished Tom Fellows, who now stands under a death sentence. He stands accused of murdering his cousin Roger Darworth, a spiritualist whose death would bring Fellows five hundred thousand pounds. Darworth feared Fellows and brought Bishop Wolfe, a Dr. MacShane, and Sir John to watch his study where he and Fellows would meet. Fellows entered, but when the trio heard nothing, they entered to find Darwroth handcuffed to a chair, stabbed in the heart. And although the window was open, it led out onto a field of unbroken snow…

Luckily for the police, Bishop Wolfe found a witness who saw Fellows leaving through a window, ensuring that Fellows was scheduled for an appointment with the hangman. But Bencolin realizes the truth and rushes to save Fellows’s life. But this is a young man’s work. The solution is set-up well and makes sense of the story in the same way that Gallows does, but the solution is a bit of let-down. This isn’t a lost classic Carr. It’s good work from a twenty-something, but not the work of a prodigy, more notable for its ending and its anti-clericalism. S.T. Joshi thinks that Bishop Wolfe is a jab at Chesterton’s Father Brown. Douglas G. Greene disagrees and I’m inclined towards him, or, if it is a jab, it’s not a good one. There’s really no relation between Bishop Wolfe and Father Brown besides them both being crime-solving churchmen.

But in spite of my grousing, this story is a nice bonus for the British Library edition, and worth reading for Carr fans.

Other Reviews: The Green Capsule, The Invisible Event, Only Detect, In Search of the Classic Mystery Novel, A Crime is Afoot, Playing Detective, Tangled Yarns. Spoiler-free analysis at At the Villa Rose.

The Naked Sun (1956) by Issac Asimov

Issac Asimov is a well-known science fiction author, but he dabbled in just about every genre. Thankfully, one genre he was quite prolific in was mysteries. Asimov’s oeuvre contains multiple armchair detective stories (the Black Widowers), a mystery set at the ABA, and the Elijah Baily novels, one of the earliest examples of the sci-fi hybrid mystery.

I’d read the first two collections of his Black Widower stories some time ago but only got around to reading his first Elijah Baley novel, The Caves of Steel, while reading for Alex’s New Locked Room Library. In short: I liked it. Great worldbuilding, good mystery. The book takes place on a future Earth where a large chunk of the population has traveled to the Outer Worlds to settle the stars. However, most of humanity remained on Earth, burying themselves underground in massive “Cities,” where they snarl in disgust at their “superior” interstellar brethren, the Spacers. Another distinct feature of this world is robots. Earth has mostly rejected robots except in limited capacities, while the Spacers embrace them. Robots follow the Three Laws, which essentially makes it impossible for them to harm a human. They’re mostly clunky machines with little ability to function outside of their parameters. But there’s an exception: R. Daneel Olivaw, a robot designed to be able to emulate humans. Together, Baley and Olivaw solved a murder on Earth, but The Naked Sun will take them up into the depths of space.

Baley is assigned to investigate a murder on one of the Outer Worlds, Solaria. It seems that his success in the previous book has reached further than he thought. But he’s also on the planet on a fact-finding mission: Earth chafes under the Spacers’ military might and Baley is supposed to find out what he can about Spacer culture to see if there are weaknesses that Earth might exploit should relations deteriorate. Baley finds the idea of going to a planet under an open sky to be terrifying, but he goes. Olivaw is there, posing as a resident of the planet Aurora, giving Baley a familiar face to cling to on an alien world.

And make no mistake, Solaria is alien. Asimov pulls a neat trick here. After immersing the reader in a world unfamiliar to the reader but familiar to the characters in *Caves, he now puts both characters and readers alike in a world with strange rules and customs. There are only “twenty thousand humans” on the entire planet, “ten thousand robots per human.” Solaria is much more dependent on robots than any of the Outer Worlds, with robots assigned to every household task imaginable. They also toil doing farming work. Since there are no human workers and the estates are so large, Solarians have little reason to interact with others in person. preferring to “view” through vivid holograms. Baley is disoriented by this odd world where “seeing” is deeply intimate and the world “children” is a taboo reminder of sex. A local doctor is respected not for his medical skill—he has little—but because he is brave enough to interact with bodies in person.

For the first half of the book, Baley conducts his investigation through viewing. The victim is Rikaine Delmarre, a “good Solarian” who was found bludgeoned to death in his home. Normally, suspicion would at once fall on his wife, Gladia, and indeed the common assumption among the suspects is that she is the killer. After all, there’s no way that any Solarian, much less Delmarre, would let anyone get close enough to commit a murder. But there’s a problem: no weapon was found at the scene, and Gladia had no chance to get rid of it. Of course, the household’s friendly and helpful robots might have cleaned it up (like they’ve done with any other evidence), but if not, Baley needs to find the weapon. But Baley soon finds himself frustrated with investigation over Zoom calls and decides that if he wants to solve this crime, he’s going to have to brave…the naked sun.

The impossible crime is similar to the one in Caves. The impossibility is split into two parts: There’s the “normal” aspect (no weapon) and the part that’s tied in with the setting (the victim wouldn’t have let anyone approach him). The explanation is solid without necessarily being spectacular. To Asimov’s credit, the false solutions are good and hinted at within the text, with some key flaws that make them, you know, false. Baley’s final explanation fits with the rules of both Solaria and the Three Laws in general, but I feel that Asimov could have hinted at it better. As is, Baley has a last-second eureka moment, rather than looking back on what he’s experienced and realizing how X could be part of a murder. Better handled are the two attempted murders in the book. Baley’s contact on the planet is poisoned and, like Delmerre’s murder, it seems impossible that anyone could have gotten close enough to commit the crime. Baley’s explanation for this—and a later attempt on his own life—takes advantage of a clever loophole in the Three Laws.

This is mostly Baley’s story. Those hoping for some teamwork between him and Olivaw will be disappointed, as Baley sidelines him early on (since Olivaw is compelled by the Laws to protect the agoraphobic Baley from the outside). Asimov does a good job of showing Baley’s progression from terror of the open, endless sky to embracing it. “He faced it because he knew he wanted to and because he needed to.” And Asimov ties his embrace in with the motive behind the murder, giving a bit more thematic heft to a motive that takes a bit of a swerve into explicit science fiction.

I quite enjoyed this one. Asimov plunges the reader into an alien world and gives them a solid mystery to boot. I think I’ll lean towards a Highly Recommended for this one. The mystery could have been just that little bit better, but the worldbuilding and Baley’s character arc put it over the top. 

Other Reviews: Stephen M. Pierce, The Case Files of Ho-Ling.

The Murder Wheel (2023) by Tom Mead

Last year, I reviewed Tom Mead’s debut novel, Death and the Conjuror. I thought that the book was a solid if slightly flawed attempt at the classic locked room mystery. That didn’t stop me from looking forward to reading the next book staring ageless magician Joseph Spector: The Murder Wheel.  

“Can You Solve the Ferris Wheel Murder Case?” asks London newspapers. Edmund Ibbs hopes that he can. He’s recently taken over the defense of Carla Dean, the woman at the center of the case. She and her husband, Dominic, went for a ride on the Ferris wheel, but when the wheel was at its height, a shot rang out and the man collapsed with a bullet in his stomach. Carla’s fingerprints were all over the weapon, and the case appears to be open-and-shut. But what if…? If Carla isn’t the killer, then how was the crime committed? Could it be the“limping man” some witnesses reported seeing slink away from the crime scene? What does this have to do with the murder of a security guard at Dominic’s bank, which is connected to the shady but untouchable gangster, Titus Pilgrim? Ibbs has his work cut out for him but has little idea that the investigation is about to plunge him into the most intense 36 hours of his life.

Ibbs attends a magic show put on by “Professor Paolini,” a magician eager to cover up the damage done by the upcoming book The Master of Misdirection, an expose of magic tricks. Paolini and his assistant, Martha, wheel out a crate in which they construct a suit of armor. The crate is then spun around, and opened to reveal…well, what’s supposed to be revealed is a walking suit of armor, but instead this armor has a corpse in it. A vital witness to Ibbs’s case!

In spite of what the title might suggest, it’s this crime, not the Ferris wheel crime, that is the center of the novel. Magic, specifically the public performance aspect, is the major theme of the book. The armor murder has a lot of moving parts and suspects about, most of whom are theater staff. And yet Mead, with the help of some very nice diagrams and maps, makes this all much clearer than it has any right to be. No matter how the investigators go about it, the crime seems impossible. There’s a spare crate that could have been used in the crime, but the crates were constantly in sight of the staff and most of them can account for each other’s whereabouts during the performance. But Spector is quick to note that there were three gauntlets in the dead man’s crate, not the expected two…

But our focal character is Ibbs. Ibbs is an appealing protagonist. He’s an amateur magician himself, and he has enough intelligence to propose some good solutions to the crimes. I really liked his solution to the Ferris wheel shooting. Alas, he’s wrong. This book is much more of a Carr pastiche than Conjurer, and Ibbs is a very Carrian hero. He spends most of the narrative shadowing the investigators, being jerked around, falling in love…and finds himself at the center of another locked room. He’s approached by one of the characters with information on Dominic Dean’s murder, but when the two meet in the man’s dressing room, Ibbs is hit over the head. He wakes up to find his informant shot in the head and gun glued to his own hand. And the door is, of course, locked. Inspector Flint starts to suspect that Ibbs is a locked-room manic, forcing him to go on the run, and to Spector, to clear his name. But to give him credit, he does finally produce the solution to the Ferris wheel shooting…and this is where the problems begin.

Ultimately, I do not like the solution to the shooting. The clue that points Ibbs in the right direction is a good one, and it’s a plausible win over Spector. But I just don’t care for the solution, for reasons hard to explain without spoilers. To give Mead credit, the solution isn’t just a one-and-done deal totally disconnected from the other locked rooms: the central idea is also the main thrust of one of the other deaths. So Mead tied it together thematically, I just didn’t like the idea. I liked the other two impossible crimes better. I was worried that the armor murder was going to be overly convoluted, but while it’s complex it’s actually not finicky or pedantic. In fact, we get a good explanation of why the killer did what they did and some clever deception to make the plan work, with a nice macabre touch to top it off. The dressing room shooting wasn’t as clever, but I still liked it, in the end. The main clue is discovered off-screen, but I felt that Mead gave enough detail that a reader can at least make a plausible stab at the solution.

But that being said, I find myself dissatisfied with Mead’s cluing. I just came off reading Anthony Horowitz, and he’s very good at cluing. If the mystery hinges on the killer having a peg leg, buddy he’ll set up the killer’s peg leg. But when Mead does it, the clues feel too thin. They exist, certainly. He even footnotes them! But I just don’t see how any reader can look at the cited clues and from there deduce the killer’s love of antique dolls, for example. The book just feels a bit overstuffed with the three locked rooms, the book, the gangster, etc.

But I will give Mead credit: Carr would have been cackling at the ending.

I’m in a weird position here. Mead clearly had a blast writing this book and tying everything together, and it’s technically better than Conjuror. But I find that I liked that book just a little bit more than this. Everything clicked into place for me more there. I guess where I stand is that I read a library copy and enjoyed the experience, but if I’d bought it full price I might have been miffed at the end. If you liked Conjuror or locked room mysteries in general, I’d check this out, but I don’t know if I’d make this my first Mead, nor would it make a believer out of someone who’s not already on board with Mead or impossible crimes in general. So, with that in mind, this is Recommended, with Caveats.

Other Reviews: In Search of the Classic Mystery Novel, Ah, Sweet Mystery, Tangled Yarns, The Invisible Event, Crime Fiction Lover, Lesa's Book Critiques, Stephen M. Pierce, and Beneath the Stains of Time.

Moonflower Murders (2020) by Anthony Horowitz

It's been a while since I’ve read one of Anthony Horowitz’s works.

Magpie Murders is one of my favorite mystery novels, expertly combining a classic, Golden Age style mystery with a modern, more serious one, with some excellent meta storytelling. I was surprised when I heard that Horowitz was doing a sequel, since the book didn’t really lend itself to one. But now that I’ve read Moonflower Murders, I can safely say that Horowitz succeeded.

After the events of Magpie, Susan Ryeland has moved to Crete with her partner, where they run a hotel. One day, Susan is approached by Lawrence and Maureen Treherne, a couple who own a hotel of their own back in England called Branlow Hall. They need her help. Their daughter, Cecily MacNeil, has suddenly disappeared, and they believe it’s connected to an old murder at their hotel. Eight years ago, on Cecily’s wedding day, the body of a guest, Frank Parris, was discovered in his room, savagely beaten with a hammer. Suspicion quickly fell on one of the hotel’s workers, Stefan Codrescu—there was blood on his clothes and bloody money was found under his mattress—and he was duly arrested. But Cecily became convinced that he was wrongly convicted. It’s because of a book she read. Atticus Pünd Takes the Case, by Alan Conway.

So Susan troops off back to England to look into the past murder and figure out what Cecily saw in the book. Conway took a perverse joy in inserting real people into his books, often in very unflattering ways, but Susan can’t see the relationship between the book and real life:“There was no advertising executive, no wedding, no hammer.” Horowitz takes some joy in teasing the reader with the future contents of the book. He’s not so crass as to spoil the killer, but does drop a few tidbits, building anticipation for when Susan finally bites the bullet and returns to Conway.

In the meantime, Susan digs up what she can on Parris’s murder. While the crime seems straightforward, there are questions that need to be answered. Why did the dog cry out on the night of the murder? How was the killer able to enter Stefan’s room to plant evidence? Who moved the Do Not Disturb sign on Parris’s door, leading to his body being discovered? Horowitz is good about crime scenes with weird details. And then there are the suspects…sort of. Because as Susan quickly realizes, almost none of the suspects have any obvious motive for killing Parris. The only exceptions are the shady Williams’ next door. They clearly know something about the murder, but the husband likes to play games, and his wife is deeply hostile to Susan. Cecily’s unmarried sister Lisa hates her, but did she kill Parris? Cecily’s husband, Aiden, is the perfect picture of a grieving partner, but he’s quick to shut down any serious questioning. Even Alan’s ex-wife Melissa turns out to be hanging around the night of the murder. It’s a baffling and challenging mystery.

But the clues are there. I really think that Horowitz got better and better at writing mysteries. Both Moonflower and Takes the Case are loaded with clues and hints. There are multiple plausible false solutions and red herrings for readers to chase after. And the explanations are satisfying. There’s even foreshadowing for some of the twists that aren’t necessary meant to be mysteries. It’s all very well-constructed. Like in Magpie, Horowitz contrasts the complex, deliberately implausible solution from Takes the Case with the “actual” solution. I do think that it’s a little more involved than *Magpie, but that’s because Horowitz gives a lot more clues and Susan’s chain of logic leading to the killer is more involved. Some of the clues for the outer narrative are a bit slight, but during the summation I kept nodding along whenever Susan mentioned something and going. “Yes I remember that…and that…and that…” The book also contains one of the funniest clues I’ve ever seen in a mystery novel. One clue hinges on knowledge of Italian opera, but other than that I have no complaints about the cluing.

My main issue is with the pacing. Don’t get me wrong, Horowitz uses his page count wisely, and he has Christie’s knack for good conversation and description that keeps the plot moving. But some of his characters don’t really get enough screentime. I think here of Cecily’s sister, who gets one chapter very early on and then barely appears for another 300 pages. This all reflects the looser nature of Susan’s investigation, but it is a disappointing part of the narrative. There are also a couple of plot threads, like the one with Susan’s own sister, that don’t get much attention or are quietly dropped (but those are very minor ones).

But overall, I really enjoyed this book. I doubted him, but Horowitz pulled through with an excellent two-in-one mystery novel. It’s a touch below Magpie in quality, but just a touch. Recommended.

Other Reviews: CrossExaminingCrime, Ah, Sweet Mystery, In Search of the Classic Mystery Novel, Stephen M. Pierce.

Atticus Pünd Takes the Case (2009) by Alan Conway

Image pulled from Britbox Australia's Instagram account. For some reason it's really hard to find pictures of the book cover.

It’s been a while since I’ve read one of Alan Conway’s works.

Atticus Pünd Takes the Case is the third entry in Conway’s beloved series of classic mysteries starring Holocaust survivor and great detective Atticus Pünd . I admit it’s a bit weird to be reading someone’s books so soon after their death, but I figure that Conway would rather be remembered for his detective fiction than anything else.

The book is set in the small village of Tawleigh-on-the-Water, a gentler, long-forgotten England. The intro to the book is a little slow, as we get a bird’s eye look into the villager’s lives. The central figure is Melissa James, an actress creeping close to being past her glory days. She’s the owner of the local inn, the Moonflower, but suspects that she’s being ripped off by the managers, Lance and Maureen Gardner. Not to mention there’s domestic trouble at home: She’s growing distant from her husband and her butler, Eric Chandler, has a secret of his own. Finally, she has an unpleasant run-in with Simon Cox, a producer who’s based his upcoming script around James…and she’s not interested. There are also some other hangers-on who will play a role in the plot. Such as Algernon Marsh, who’s introduced thinking about how he’s scamming Melissa and other investors before hitting a man while driving drunk. Then there’s his sister, Samantha Collins, who might be able to come into a large inheritance, and her husband, the village doctor. Conway does a good job at setting up his cast and laying the groundwork for the murder, which comes at the end of chapter 4, when Melissa is found strangled to death in her bedroom.

At this point, we introduce Atticus Pünd, fresh off solving the Ludendorff Diamond case. Which is actually a locked room mystery where jewelry vanishes from a safe to which only three people know the combination and with only one key, in possession of the owner. I liked this, it’s a good little mystery, but it does slow the plot down right when it should be ramping up. I wonder what his editor was thinking. Anyway, Pünd is contacted by Melissa’s agents to investigate the crime, and he agrees. He’s assisted in his investigation by his assistant, Madeline, and the local police officer. This guy is a great side character. He’s worked in this sleepy little town all his life and is getting close to retirement and is frustrated that his last case is a publicized murder that’s he making little progress on. I really liked his interactions with Pünd; he’s not the typical “stupid cop” of fiction.

The mystery is pretty good on the whole. Pünd quickly picks up on some odd facts about the crime. Such as the tissues in Melissa’s house, two in the bedroom, one in the living room, and a ten-minute gap in her schedule that the murder must have been committed in. Pünd is on good form, and I really liked his explanations. Conway is good about crime scenes with weird details.

The characters are good, if a bit shallow. Like I said, we get a good bird-eye view of them early on, but some get more attention than others. But they are well observed; almost as if they were pulled from life. Some of them come off quite badly—Eric in particular —but they are at least memorable.

This is a well-clued mystery. As usual for Conway, in spite of all the chaff thrown around the central crime is quite simple. While there is one implausible bit about the murder—I suspect most of you will know what I’m talking about—this is easily overlooked. We get some solid cluing and even multiple false solutions, with proper evidence for each. Even some of the smaller plot twists get cluing! It’s all very well done. And the final twist is excellent. One clue hinges on differences between English and American culture, but other than that I have no issues.

All in all, this is another excellent mystery from a writer taken from us too soon. This tale of murder and skullduggery beside the English sea is another worthy mystery. Recommended.

The Tragedy of Y (1932) by Ellery Queen

A few months ago, I reviewed The Tragedy of X, the first novel written by Frederic Dannay and Manfred Lee under the Barnaby Ross pen name. I admired the book more than I really liked it. I wanted to read an Ellery Queen and I was in the mood for something dense, but I acknowledge that it has problems. But the Queen cousins were busy beavers during 1932, publishing four books, including X, and they followed up the book with a sequel, The Tragedy of Y.

The book begins with the discovery of York Hatter’s body floating in the Hudson. A suicide note found on the body makes it clear that his death was self-inflicted. And no wonder, so tuts New York high society, when you consider that he was the second husband of the tyrannical Emily Hatter. Emily rules her family with an iron fist, and her husband was verbally beaten down over the years. And then there are their children. Barbara Hatter is“the most nearly human of Emily’s leaping blood,” a brilliant poetess. Conrad Hatter is much worse, a drunken playboy with a series of controversies dogging him, including one death. His long-suffering wife Martha is mother to Jackie and Billy, a pair of screeching demons who torment every adult in range. Youngest daughter Jill sleeps around, a sure sign of madness and insanity. And there’s Emily’s daughter from her first marriage, Louisa. Born blind and mute and having long grown deaf, Louisa is dependent on her mother and personal doctors for help and a board of Braille letters for communication. And yet, she has great strength and gentleness. What she does not have is the love of her siblings, who see her as an object of pity at best and a pest to be squashed at worst. Not helping the tension is that she is the apple of her mother’s eye and Emily will do anything for her daughter. But it seems that that tension is finally boiling over.

More than two months after the discovery of York’s body, someone poisons Louisa’s daily glass of eggnog. She is only spared because Jackie swipes it and gulps it down himself, barely surviving. Emily is outraged, and while she abhors the publicity, the might of the NYPD descend on the Hatter household. However, Inspector Thumm and District Attorney Bruno make no progress, even when they call about the great actor Drury Lane for his insights. Then,“a little less than two months later,” disaster. Emily Hatter is found dead in her bed. It seems that she interrupted another effort to poison Louisa and took a blow to the head from, of all things, a mandolin.

The pacing in this book is much better than in X. In retrospect, it was a mistake to have Drury bragging in that book about how he solved the case by page 100. It made him look smart but also meant all of the key information was frontloaded and made the rest of the book a drag. Here the cousins do a better job at disguising the downtime between incidents. There’s more going on as well as a more active investigation by the police and Lane. He’s still pretty sure of the solution early on, but he doesn’t brag about it and still focuses on gaining proof of the killer’s identity and making sense of the weird clues. These come from Louisa; she interacted with the killer on the night of the murder and reports that they had a smooth face and smelled of vanilla. The hooks are much stronger that its predecessor.

That being said, it does share an issue with X. The characters are memorably grotesque but are pretty shallow otherwise. We spend most of our time with Louisa and her caretakers, and while the character is memorable and the Queen cousins treat her with some respect, there’s also not much depth there. Her siblings aren’t much better. We get about one interview each and then they all but drop out of the book. And that’s not counting the family’s various hangers-on who also don’t do much after their introduction (though in fairness, most aren’t mentioned in the main cast of characters, so the cousins didn’t plan on us spending much time with them). We get more depth on Jackie and Billy’s tutor than we do some of the family members! And even then, it’s solely based around any motive he has for the crimes. The characters do what they need to do and leave. It’s efficient, if not impactful.

The mystery is very good, however. Lane’s final explanation of the killer and their actions is ruthlessly logical, debunking some casual assumptions from much earlier in the book and showing why the killer did what they did. Again, while the last book frontloaded the mystery, here the Queen cousins do a better job at sprinkling clues throughout the book. There’s even a point where I’d argue that any reader can sit down and solve the mystery, but the Queen cousins are rightfully confident that most readers won’t seriously consider the solution. Said solution is one of the best shock moments I’ve seen in a mystery novel, but the build-up to it is, again, very logical. Only the motive is a little obscure, but again, the cousins give you what you need. The reason why the killer used a mandolin? Brilliant, excellent, a real forehead-slapper that makes you go, “Why didn’t I see that!?” I did have some issues, but the overall idea is too solid to dismiss. To be as vague as possible, the solution depends on the killer making some very specific misunderstandings.*

The tone of the book is very good. Instead of the dry investigation of the previous book, we have a book that wallows in the Gothic. The doomed and grotesque family and parts of the solution pull from Gothic novels. However, some of this is not handled well. The “explanation” for the family’s madness isn’t actually stated flat-out due to the mores of the time, so if you’re not familiar with the few hints they do give, you’re going to be lost a key moment. Also, I can’t say that I’m fond of how much the cousins pound in how the state of the Hatter family is 100% on Emily and her diseased blood. And that’s not a metaphor! The misogyny is impossible to ignore.

The end of the book centers Drury Lane. He gets up to some high-handed acts that normally I’d roll my eyes at, but the cousins did a good job of building up to his decision. He doesn’t take it lightly and his summation is as much him wrestling with the magnitude of what he did as it is an explanation of the crime. It’s an interesting take on the “failable detective” idea that the Queen cousins would explore more later in their career. The “tragedy” consumes him as well. He’s still a shallow character overall, but he has some depth here.

Yes, I quite enjoyed The Tragedy of Y. There are some issues, and I don’t know if it would turn a Queen hater into a fan, but it has a better chance of that than most. This is a fascinating Gothic mystery novel that will linger in the memory. For Queen fans this is required reading, for everyone else, it’s Highly Recommended. 

Other Reviews: The Case Files of Ho-Ling, In Search of the Classic Mystery Novel, Noah's Archives, The Green Capsule, Reading Ellery Queen (contains spoilers), Dead Yesterday, At the Scene of the Crime.

*To elaborate, (these are huge spoilers!), V qvqa’g ohl n guvegrra-lrne byq znxvat gur zvfgnxrf gung Wnpxvr qvq. Fher, n grrantre zvtug abg tenfc gur ahnapr bs gur bhgyvar naq jbhyq sbyybj vg zber yvgrenyyl guna na nqhyg, ohg V pbhyqa’g oryvrir gung ur jbhyq qb gung jvgu rirelguvat. V’q fhfcrpg gung gur Dhrra pbhfvaf jrera’g snzvyvne jvgu puvyqera. Vs ur’q orra n yvggyr lbhatre V’q unir orra zber pbaivaprq.

Bodies from the Library (2018) edited by Tony Medawar

The Bodies in the Library conference is a well-known (among mystery bloggers) conference held in London at the British Library. The conference is a gathering place for all fans of detective fiction, and some of the biggest and brightest names in both mystery writing and mystery fandom have gathered there to socialize and share their knowledge of the genre. One thing that becomes apparent to any visitor is just how much there is in the Golden Age of Detection. Even some of the best-known writers in the genre have had some of their works slip through the cracks. That’s what Bodies from the Library intends to rectify.

Edited by genre historian Tony Medawar, Bodies from the Library is a collection of “lost” material from some of the most well-known writers in mystery fiction. Sometimes they’re stage or radio plays whose scripts were never published, sometimes they’re obscure pieces of work, sometimes they’re stories which were never published at all. While these lost works on their own aren’t enough to fill a single-author collection “there is ample material for volumes such as this, bringing together ‘lost’ works by different writers.” So just what are these stories?

“Before Insulin” is my first encounter with the work of J. J. Connington, as well as the only short story featuring his series detective Sir Clinton Driffield and his Watson, Squire Wendover. Here Sir Clinton is faced with a case of fraud. A young man suffering from diabetes and due to inherit a fortune died the day he came of age…but not before leaving that fortune to a nurse he’d fallen for. Sir Clinton is asked to sit in on the meeting to determine the will’s validity and quickly sees it as a fraud. A neat work of scientific detection, and the reader has a chance to see the issues when Sir Clinton explains his findings.

Leo Bruce follows up with “The Inverness Cape,” the clothing of choice by a shady nephew and what he was allegedly seen wearing while beating his aunt to death. “Allegedly,” because his coat turns out to have been getting repaired at the time of the murder. So who wore a duplicate to frame him? Sergeant Beef makes quick work of the plot in this short-short.

“Dark Waters” is another short-short, this time by Freeman Wills Crofts. An embezzling solicitor schemes to kill his client before he can discover the theft. He drugs the man then stages his drowning in a boat accident. Sadly, there’s no real brilliance in how Inspector French brings him in, instead finding a piece of evidence that points right to him.

“Linckles’ Great Case” is the only uncollected short story by Georgette Heyer. The titular Linckes is a rising inspector who’s put on the case of a series of leaks connected to the highest levels of British government. Sadly, the title is a misnomer, as the solution is not only a cliché, but also doesn’t really seem to explain very much.

Next is a radio play by Nicholas Blake,“part of a series of two-part plays by members of the Detection Club produced by John Cheatle.” “Calling James Braithwaite” is set onboard the title ship. The owner of the ship, James Braithwaite, has Nigel Strangeways go undercover as his secretary to keep an eye on his junior partner and wife, who he suspects are having an affair. He’s completely correct, since he’s a snarling, criminal bully. So it’s no surprise that he’s thrown overboard in the middle of the night, but is the killer an escaped maniac from Newcastle with a grudge against Braithwaite, or (let’s be honest here) someone using him as a cover for a more personal motive? Strangeways does good work here, and while this isn’t the best I’ve read by Blake, it’s still a solid mystery.

Next is one of John Rhode’s few short stories, “The Elusive Bullet,” originally published in the collection Detection Cavalcade. A man is found shot to death on a train, and Inspector Hanslet narrows in on his shady nephew. Dr. Priestly doubts this easy conclusion and justifies himself. There’s really no chance for the reader to guess this; the idea is interesting, but I see why Rhode didn’t expand it into a novel. That being said, Rhode is a solid writer and I enjoyed the story.

Cyril Hare is up next with “’The Euthanasia of Hilary’s Aunt,” in which the titular Hilary, who quite likes his aunt but thinks that she’d be better off deceased, plots to kill her, only to be foiled, in a sense. Good, but I’ve seen enough of these kinds of stories in the collection.

“The Girdle of Dreams” is an almost-lost story by Vincent Cornier. A jeweler meets with a strange client, an ancient woman who wants to sell her bridal girdle, a beautiful object designed by Benvenuto Cellini himself. The jeweler is unable to shake the feeling that something odd is going on, and indeed, the meeting ends with him helping the woman to rob his business while in a state of drug-induced bliss…but the police find no drugs in his system. The case is brought to Professor Gregory Wanless of the Intelligence Service, where he unravels the whole plot from his office. The story is a pulp one, so don’t expect anything grand from the solution, although a careful reader can tell when the hapless jeweler is drugged.

“The Fool and the Perfect Murder” is the only short story to feature Inspector Napoleon Bonaparte, the series detective of Arthur W. Upfield. Here he has his work cut out for him as he tries to track the body of a missing rancher. But we the reader already know how his killer was inspired by the titular fool with a plan for a perfect murder…Upfield used this idea in a novel too, but it was interesting seeing it in the short story format.

A.A. Milne is up next with another short-short, “Bread Upon the Waters.” Another disreputable nephew plots to murder his rich uncle with a plot straight out of one of his uncle’s detective stories, only to be foiled.“Very unfair” the narrator intones at the end, and the reader might indeed feel that this young man was very cruelly outplayed by Fate.

And then, just as I was getting tired of inverted mysteries and greedy nephews, in comes Anthony Berkeley with his serialized story, “The Man with the Twisted Thumb.” A former governess decides to take a vacation to Monte Carlo after being unjustly fired and quickly strikes up an acquaintance with a young man in the same boat as her. Said young man is a bit dishonest, however, and plans to win her over by “finding” her lost bag…but he gets a hold of the wrong one. This bag is being hunted for by various shady figures, including the titular man. While there’s very little detection, I really enjoyed this one! It’s very funny. While some of our hero’s antics made me roll my eyes, Berkeley really nails the banter between him and his best friend, and I found the romance engaging. The ending is a bit of an anticlimax, but the ride there is worth it.

Next is what most will probably consider to be the crown jewel of the collection: a lost story by Christianna Brand! “The Rum Punch” focuses on Sergent Troot, whose dreams of a seaside holiday with his wife and kids in his newly painted yellow roadster are put on hold when he’s on duty at the party of some family friends, and the patriarch is murdered by poison in the punch. Or was it in the cigarette? These kinds of questions keep the good Sergeant involved in a dragged-out investigation. But he pulls through, exposing both a surprise culprit and a clever method of poisoning.

Next is the first publication of a play by Ernest Bramah starring his blind detective Max Carrados: “Blind Man’s Bluff.” But the content is a bit light. A small group of conspirators plan to steal some valuable plans by an American attaché by swapping his coat, in which he always carries them, with a fake. Needless to say, they are foiled by Carrados. Good, certainly, and worth it for fans of the author and character, it just didn’t do much for me.

“Victoria Pumphrey” is H. C. Bailey’s contribution. The titular Victoria is a secretary at a law firm from a now-fallen noble family. That makes her a perfect candidate to possibly save a young man’s inheritance, or so a family friend of the young man believes. The young man is set to inherit when his uncle dies, but a new candidate from Australia has just surfaced, and Victoria is sent in to see if his claims are legitimate. Another good story with minimal detection, but with a good twist.

“The Starting-Handle Murder” is one of the few uncollected stories from Roy Vickers’ The Department of Dead Ends series. The Department solves unsolved crimes, but more through luck and random connections than through detection on the philosophy that “a law-breaker will walk into prison if you open enough doors for him.” That’s on full display here. The criminal this time is “a gentleman in the formidable Edwardian sense of the word.” He was on the losing side of a love triangle, his love taken by a schoolfriend who fell into disrepute, but he could tolerate that. But when he gets a first-hand look at how this old friend’s eccentric and destructive behavior affects his wife and learns that it’s the result of a worsening insanity, he takes action. A starting-handle, a handle that was used to start older cars, helps him commit a crime that goes unsolved for five years, until one of the other suspects gets involved in a crime of his own. I liked this story, but I feel that it would have worked better if I could have compared other stories from the same series together, since the culprit is unusually honorable and isn’t caught through some brilliant subterfuge, but“because he was a gentleman.”

Finally, Dame Agatha herself presents “The Wife of the Kenite.” Herr Schager is a German agitator, albeit one working for the Communists. When the group he was helping is exposed, he makes his escape through farmland, where he meets a woman, one of a good, solid stock. He takes an instant liking to her, but well…those of you who know your Judges can see how it will go.

I went into this collection with wrong expectations. I expected some little-known tales of deduction and mystery. And while there are some examples of that, most were inverted mysteries or minor tales that I admired but didn’t much care for. But that’s on me. Really, writing my review has helped me appreciate these tales all the more. For those mystery fans or historians who are looking for something new, this collection is right up your alley. Taking my own skewed expectations into account, I can say that this is Recommended. 

Other Reviews: CrossExaminingCrime, A Crime is Afoot, In Search of the Classic Mystery Novel, Mysteries, Short and Sweet.