Another exclusive boarding school, another murderer on the loose — if mysteries for younger readers are anything to go by, put your kids in the local comp to keep them safe.
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“Twelve mystery masterpieces by the maestro” promises the back cover of Tales of the Black Widowers (1974), the first collection featuring Isaac Asimov’s puzzle-solving dining club, and given that Asimov says in the introduction that his “detective ideal is Hercule Poirot and his little gray cells” it seems like it might not be an empty promise…
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I’ve probably, at some point in this blog, been less invested in the outcome of a mystery than I was while reading Miss Pinkerton (1932) by Mary Roberts Rinehart, but rarely have I dreaded the oncoming pages as much as I did here. When the second death occurs at the two-thirds point, I felt my heart sink when I realised that approximately 486,000 pages of this 237-page novel remained and that, as much as I admired the pluck of Miss Hilda Adams, a private nurse called in by Inspector Patton to keep an eye on suspects in a murder case whenever the police aren’t able to be quite so free in their investigations, I just didn’t care any more and probably never had.
Henry Bedford-Jones wrote several hundred pulp stories under at least a dozen noms de plume, but this is my first encounter with his work…and a most intriguing encounter it turned out to be, with these four stories about dead-man-for-hire James F. Bronson.
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The second novel to feature Chief Constable Sir Clinton Driffield, Tragedy at Ravensthorpe (1927) joins the likes of The Wintringham Mystery (1927) by Anthony Berkeley in a subgenre I like to think of as Frustrated Japes: someone plans something as a bit of a lark — here the theft of some valuable medallions during a masquerade ball at the eponymous country pile — only for another party to interrupt the undertaking and turn things in an unexpectedly more sinister direction. Thankfully, what results is another zesty, energetic, well-clued mystery from Connington’s pen, albeit one which won’t linger in the memory.
While not strictly about the Golden Age, this endlessly quotable little book (“The aristocracy have three passions: inbreeding, collecting stolen artifacts, and engaging in recreational violence.”) is clearly written with Golden Age tropes in mind and, since its tongue is wedged so firmly in its cheek, certainly warrants a closer look.
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The Franchise Affair (1948) was the first novel by Josephine Tey that I ever read, back in the roseate days of probably 2005. Several years later, with classic era crime and mystery fiction more my bag, I read the rest of Tey’s criminous oeuvre, but nothing quite came close to the sweetness of that first taste. And so this return visit to the eponymous gloomy house where a 15 year-old girl claims to have been held captive by the two women who reside there was undertaken slightly nervously — memory can play tricks, after all. Well, everyone relax; we can add this to The White Priory Murders (1934) and Green for Danger (1944) on the list of recent rereads I enjoyed even more second time around, and holy hell if it doesn’t seem to me now one of the most perfect little books I’ve ever encountered.
The Invisible Event 