It is a truth universally accepted that an author with a sizeable output will probably vary their approach from time to time. And so, in his twelfth mystery novel to be published under his J.J. Connington nom de plume, Alfred Walter Stewart clearly decided that what his increasingly accomplished criminous schemes needed was more character — a little more personality on the part of the people affected. And thus The Castleford Conundrum (1932) positively overflows with delightful character beats which really bring the situation to life…except that they come at the expense of the criminous element, which feels lucky to come in second place where the book’s priorities are concerned.

It’s not entirely a bad thing that Connington seeks to draw more out of the people involved, for it sets up the poisonous state of affairs at country pile Carron Hill marvellously: sensitive artist Philip Castleford losing his first wife to illness and — in part to secure the future of his daughter Hilary — marrying rich widow Winifred Glencaple, only for her to tire of him and her brothers-in-law, poor relations of the deceased, elder Glencaple brother, to fret that the “Glencaple money” might end up going to a man who has done nothing to earn it (irony abounds there). Stir in Francis, the odious young son of Kenneth Glencaple, who take great pleasure in torturing small animals, and Winifred Castleford’s half-sister Connie Lindfield, who is out to secure her own financial future, and before long there’s pressure to rewrite a will and, of course, a murder.

If the setup is classically expected, the beats that fill out the various people involved show that Connington has no small measure of skill at this sort of thing: see Winifred captured as “more like a spoilt child than a grown woman. Opposition to even her lightest caprice was sure to rouse her obstinacy” — her personality looms large over those seeking to secure financial betterment for themselves, but the woman as a person gets swept aside in the finger-pointing that follows her death:

Again he received the impression that no one at Carron Hill missed Mrs. Castleford as a human being. She seemed to have dropped like a stone into a pool; once the slight ripples died down no one would feel the worse for her loss.

Possibly the only non-series characters to come out of this well are Hilary Castleford, Philip’s aforementioned daughter, and Detective Inspector Westerham, the policeman who does the majority of the detection once things get underway — Sir Clinton Driffield, Connington’s series detective, not being required until about the two-thirds point. Westerham is an intelligent, diligent copper who chases down plenty of leads — many of them, oddly, off the page, so that they can be sprung on lying witnesses as much to surprise the reader as anyone else — and yet still has the humanity to bristle when Driffield is called in via an appeal by Hilary to Squire Wendover (an ingenious conceit has Wendover meeting Wendover in Mystery at Lynden Sands (1928), though I can find no mention of the Castlefords in that book).

Really, though, what the book needs is a bit more incident. Once Winifred dies, we’re really just circling the same handful of points, and, well, the expected and much-needed second body never occurs. Driffield sweeps in and ups the pace significantly in the final stretch, but even then Connington’s admirable commitment to playing fair with the reader tips his hand rather early, even if the (semi-)attentive reader is thrown off by an early spiking of their guns by the book-loving Constable Gumley. The whole affair is rather linear and unsurprising, enlivened only by what an odious little shit Francis is and the occasional forays into side issues like the job of a professional policeman being decidedly tougher than the average member of the public could realise:

Despite the cautious attitude of the police, the general public had little hesitation in making up their minds about the affair at the Chalet. They spoke of it bluntly as “the Castleford murder,” without troubling themselves greatly about the burden of proof. And, as a result of this, Inspector Westerham had not lacked unsolicited help. Letters flowed in to him: some well-meant, others mere vehicles of spiteful suggestion, yet more containing wildly improbable solutions of the problem.

I also rather enjoyed Connington’s adoption of the Knoxian principle of a criminal investigation being rather akin to a game of cricket, which feels all the more apt for Knox having only made the allusion a year or two before, and I’m intrigued by what seems to be a reference to real world events “not so long ago [when] public feelings were roused — rightly or wrongly — by some rumours about the manner in which people were questioned in private by officials”…any ideas, anyone?

The Castleford Conundrum is an enjoyable outing for Sir Clinton, but those yet to wake up to the joys of Connington might take a star off of the above since out of context this feels rather dry. It’s perhaps three or four chapters too long, and the dynamic Sir Clinton is brought into proceedings probably past the point where most readers’ patience will have expired. It’s easy to see why Connington took this approach, and his desire to diversify is to be commended, but knowing when you’ve got a good thing must also be part of a novelist’s arsenal. Connington no doubt achieved a lot of what he wanted to here, but his personal success is — arguably, just about — to the novel’s detriment.

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See also

Martin Edwards: Pleasingly, this book has benefited from a recent reprint by Coachwhip Publications, and it includes a welcome and characteristically informative introduction by Curtis Evans. I am a Connington fan, although I’m afraid I don’t rate this book as highly as Curt. The long trudge towards a foreseeable outcome (once you have figured out that central plot gimmick, which I did quite early on) is rather dreary. The book is an example of Connington’s admirable willingness to ring the changes in his plotting, and the book retains a historical interest, at the very least.

Jose Ignacio @ A Crime is Afoot: I believe that The Castleford Conundrum is an excellent example of the connection between a classic detective story and a mathematical puzzle. The story is narrated with pinpoint accuracy and has a stylish solution. What appears at first sight to be a straightforward case, soon turns into an interesting challenge and Stewart does an excellent job providing the readers the necessary clues while keeping their attention elsewhere.

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