Murder in the Bookshop

 Murder in the Bookshop (1936) by Carolyn Wells

Philip Balfour is a man who likes to have his own way--and his own way generally involves rare books. So, when he decides that he can't wait any longer for a couple of Lewis Carroll books that Sewell's bookshop had tracked down for him, he insists that his librarian Keith Ramsay go with him to the shop on a "little marauding expedition." They break into the shop and start looking for the books (as well as an even rarer book with a near-impossible-to-find inscription in the hand of one of the signers of the Declaration of Independence). Ramsay has just stumbled upon this last book's hiding place when the lights go out. 

The next thing we (and Ramsay) know, his employer is dead--stabbed to the heart with an antique silver skewer. He calls the police and tracks John Sewell down at, of all places, Philip Balfour's apartment. When questioned, he tells an unlikely-sounding story. He's quite honest about how he and Balfour entered the building and then says that when the lights went out he caught a glimpse of a masked man before the fellow chloroformed him. And when he came to, he found Balfour dead. It is also discovered that the book with the famous inscription is missing. Ramsay and Sewell both insist that the masked man must be both a murderer and a thief. Inspector Manton naturally has little faith in this mysterious masked man and believes Ramsay has killed his boss. He's even more certain when his investigations uncover the fact that Ramsay and Alli Balfour, the new widow, appear to be in love.

Sewell calls upon his friend Fleming Stone to help find the murderer and the missing book. Stone is a private detective of sorts who has worked with the police before and is "a wizard for getting at the heart of a mystery."

...he isn't one of those story-book detectives, who startle you with their marvellous and often useless discoveries. But he is a deep thinker and a quick reasoner and, since I know his worth, I mean to ask his help.

Stone immediately believes that there is more to the case than a simple love-triangle with murder as the solution. But when he investigates the other possible suspects--Sewell's shop assistant Preston Gill' Balfour's son Guy; Peter Wiley, a fellow book collector; and Carl Swinton, long-time acquaintance of the Balfours--he can find little motive and even less opportunity. Things begin to take shape when Guy Balfour is also murdered, a ransom note appears demanding money for the return of the book, and then Alli Balfour is apparently kidnapped. Manton with twisted logic still seems to believe that Ramsay is still behind it all and Stone embarks on a risky mission to prove the truth at last.

This was a fairly disappointing read for me. The setting in the book world was a definite plus and is part of the reason I bought it. I like that the murder takes place in a bookshop; there's a lot of talk about book collectors; and the Macguffin is a rare book that is stolen. However, I find it a bit unbelievable that Sewell would be so casual about Balfour and Ramsay breaking into his shop. I don't care how trustworthy they've been in the past. "Oh, officer, it's no big deal that they broke into the shop. After all they were only looking for the books I'd obtained for Balfour--they've every excuse for breaking in to get what was essentially Balfour's property." Seriously? And if his shop is that easily broken into by a couple of amateurs, I'd think he'd at least be alarmed that someone far more unscrupulous might break in and run off with more of his rare books. But from his reaction you'd think it was just business as usual for people to force a window and enter his shop while he was out. 

Oddly, the story contains lots of activity, but no action--if that makes sense. All sorts of things happen but they effect very little forward movement in the plot. It feels like it should be a fast-moving ride, especially after the mid-point, but somebody has left the hand-brake on. The rhythm of the dialogue is off. It just doesn't sound natural to me. The words and phrases are generally all correct, but they're lifeless. I wanted to like this more than I did--but no amount of "want to" can make this more than a ★★ and a half (and that may be a little generous).

This has also been reviews by Kate over at Cross Examining Crime, who gave it four stars. Aidan at Mysteries Ahoy! leans more towards my views and the Puzzle Doctor at In Search of the Classic Mystery was very disappointed. So your mileage may vary.

First lines: Mr. Philip Balfour was a good man. Also, he was good-looking, good-humoured and good to his wife. That is, when he had his own way, which was practically always.

Last line: And smilingly, they went out into the clear bright autumn sunshine.

SPOILER ALERT: Unless I missed it there is no explanation given for why the murderer went to Sewell's shop or had any idea that Balfour and Ramsay would be there. Did he just hang out wherever Balfour was likely to be in the hopes of murdering him? Why didn't he stick to the original murder plot?

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Deaths = 2 (one stabbed; one suffocated)

Bonus short story: "The Shakespeare Title-Page Mystery"

Another biblio-mystery. This time focused on a rare printing of Shakespeare's Venus and Adonis. Two collectors who know one another personally each claim to have found a rare first printing of Shakespeare's work. One proves to be fake--but whose is it really? Has someone switched the copies? And, if so, who?

This short literary mystery was much more satisfactory than the longer story, though I am a little dubious about how much esoteric book knowledge Pierson of the New York Police seems to have. It would have been nice if he'd been introduced as a policeman with a background in the book world or who was a collector himself in private life. As it stands, there's no reason for him to be so quick on the uptake when it comes to various editions of rare books. But--if I suspend my disbelief on that point--I can say I enjoyed this story about a book swindle that didn't quite come off.

First line: "That's the way with you collectors!"

Last line: "The precious little volume is also a refugee, and a refugee is ever a sacred trust."

Deaths = one shot

Who Killed Stella Pomeroy?

 

Detective fiction is my line, and there I can claim to be a judge. I can tell you that no one is more surprised than my uncle to find that I'm sticking to it. What he doesn't know is that when I read the manuscript of a thriller a sort of halo of light glows about the guilty man at his first entry in chapter three--it's a natural intuition. (Jim Milsom)

Who Killed Stella Pomeroy? (aka Death in the Bathroom; 1936) by Sir Basil Thomson

Miles Pomeroy was calmly working away in his garden when a house agent brought some clients to look over his bungalow with a view to a possible rental. He was perfectly willing to show them round, excusing himself briefly to warn his wife who he thought had been having a bath. A simple real estate visit turns into a murder investigation when Pomeroy finds his wife in the bathtub, killed by a blow to the head. The doors and windows were all locked, so it seems unlikely that a stranger got in and Inspector Aitken is certain that the man they want is the one who was working in the garden.

Jim Milsom, one of the people who had come to look over the bungalow and dabbler in detection, doesn't believe Pomeroy is guilty and he thinks Aitken a very uninspired detective. He scouts about for clues and jostles the long arm of the law into calling in his friend Inspector Richardson of the Yard. Not only is Richardson a much better detective than Aitken, he's bound to let Milsom aid and abet the cause of justice. Once the Scotland Yard man has heard Milsom version of the discovery of the body and heard about the clues the local inspector missed, he's ready to have a more open mind about the suspects. Milsom isn't the only one ready to help Richardson find the right culprit (not Pomeroy!). Pomeroy's cousin Ann is also determined to see him cleared and Pat Coxon, a young sleuthhound who lives in lodgings not far from the crime scene, is also eager to help the police search for clues. 

The more these detectives dig into the life of Stella Pomeroy, the more suspects there are. There's the mysterious man, Edward Maddox, from New Zealand who arrives on the morning of her murder with news of her uncle's death and her legacy. There's the man Edward befriended on the ship from New Zealand who seems unnaturally interested in the legacy. There's the journalist who rumor says was having an affair with murdered woman. And there's the owner of very fancy handbag which was found in Stella Pomeroy's closet--a handbag that various people seemed determined to get their hands on. Before the case is closed, there will be infidelities, blackmail, fraud, and a second attempted murder to add to the original crimes...and Richardson will need all his helpers to get to the bottom of it all.

This detective novel was unexpectedly delightful. Thomson was head of the Metropolitan Police during WWI, so the investigation has an authentic ring to it but the writing is neither dull nor overburdened with procedure. In fact--if I hadn't had the prospect of work looming before me the next morning, I might have stayed up until the wee hours to finish it. He also describes Richardson giving various suspects and solutions consideration without a repetitive rehashing of the the entire body of evidence to date. It seems to me a very realistic portrayal of the methods and processes of a detective superintendent. 

One very tiny frustration was a purely personal one--readers of the blog will know that I posted about my quest to find a mystery quote fitted to each minute of the day. It is incredible how often Thomson mentions clocks and makes vague references to time and doesn't give the actual time of day. When he does break down and tell me what time something happened it is almost always a nice tidy even hour, half-hour, or quarter-hour. Surely to goodness, the man had to put actual times in his real police reports and you'd think with the accuracy in police methods he has all over the place in this story that habit would have caused him to use better time references. But maybe he thought fiction readers weren't all that bothered about down-to-the-minute times, especially since split-second timing isn't crucial to his plot.

Overall, a fine Golden Age detective novel and I will definitely keep my eye out for more of the Richardson mysteries. ★★★★

First line: A big sunbeam touring car was crawling along the concrete road of one of the new building estates bordering on Ealing.

Last lines: No, she would never give up everything to become the wife of an officer in the C.I.D. But Ann did.

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Deaths = 3 (one hit on head; two natural)

One Murdered: Two Dead

 One Murdered: Two Dead (1936) by Milton Propper

Mystery as easy as one, two, three: one murdered, two dead (three if you count the unnamed, unborn baby), and three obvious suspects. Wealthy, willful socialite Madeline (Kent) Emery, heiress of a steel king and married to a cold, unfaithful husband (suspect #1), is found murdered in her bed after a thief (suspect #2) is caught red-handed exiting her fabulous estate early one morning. At first, it looks like an open and shut case of a burglar who panicked after she discovered him rifling through her jewelry--but detective Tommy Rankin soon finds things that just don't fit with such a simple solution. For one, what did the burglar do with the knife she was stabbed with? It's not on his person and it's nowhere to be found in the house or on the grounds. For another, why was the dead woman wearing her robe in bed? As he begins digging into Madeline's life, he spots suspect #3, Madeline's cousin Ed Hastings who will only reap major benefits under the steel king's odd will if Madeline dies without children from any of her marriages. And even those additional suspects don't quite satisfy Rankin especially when an event from the past keeps cropping up in the present. What could a young woman's five-day disappearance from school have to do with her death now? That's what Rankin intends to find out. But will it ultimately answer the question of who murdered her?

Propper's book is fairly typical for a 1930s, Golden Age mystery. There is a fairly small set of suspects. Motives are spread around liberally with red herrings and multiple dead end trails. Each time Rankin (and we) think he has finally found the motive and the culprit, a new wrinkle appears that needs following up. He displays his clues fairly and observant readers could spot the killer if they correctly interpret them all. He also includes a handy map of the Emery premises to help readers understand who was where at the time of the murder.

Rankin is an interesting detective who is no super sleuth. He uses commonsense and hard work (see quote below) rather than esoteric knowledge or mysterious insight to track down his villains. He may make a few mistakes along the way, but he's willing to admit them and will keep going until he finds the truth--even if he has to go back to the beginning and start all over again. 

I enjoyed my introduction to Tommy Rankin and hope that I will be able to track more down in the future. I'm glad that the 1936 Club led me to feature this lost treasure from the Golden Age. ★★★ and 1/2.

First lines: "Number three-two-five-nine." At three o'clock on the morning of November 20th, exactly on schedule, Patrolman Lester Beahan "pulled" the box at the corner of Taylor Street and Clyde Road.

[about Tommy Rankin, our protagonist] Yet he laid no claim to brilliance or the phenomenal astuteness of the fictional detective. He worked essentially by commonsense methods, without the manner of a mind-reader producing answers from thin air. His power to reason logically from his premises and reach telling conclusions was coupled with a capacity for hard work, perseverance, and determination.

Last line: To all appearances, this is another addition to your list of successes, of which you can justly be proud.

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Deaths = 2 (one stabbed; one natural)

The 1936 Club: Review Round-up

From April 12-18th, April of Kaggy's Bookish Rambles and Simon at Stuck in a Book are sponsoring a read/blog-athon featuring books published in 1936. All you have to do is read at least one book from 1936 and post about it--that's it.

1936 Books Read April 12-18th

One Murdered: Two Dead by Milton Propper (4/14/21)

Who Killed Stella Pomeroy? by Sir Basil Thomson (4/16/21)

Murder in the Bookshop by Carolyn Wells (4/17/21)

1936 Books Read April 5-11:

Mr. Smith's Hat by Helen Reilly: I returned to Reilly, an author I've enjoyed in the past but after picking up several more titles hadn't gotten round to reading more of. In this one, Inspector McKee follows the clues of the titular hat, a rare zebra zinnia, a stamped train ticket, a missing photograph, an old writing desk, and the last entry in the victim's diary to discover the identity of a cold, calculating (and remorseless) killer.

Murder Goes to College by Kurt Steel: a mediocre academic mystery with an awesome cover. My regular readers will know that I can't pass up an academic mystery. And that cover just about makes the whole thing worthwhile--but I can't really say that I recommend this one. The characters are well-drawn, but they're not really compelling. The villain of the piece was pretty obvious to me (but that may be my own preconceived notions at play) and the red herrings weren't distracting enough (at least to me). The best things about the book are the cover, the descriptions of place and people, and surprisingly enough there is an effort made at fair play. Hank displays every clue he finds and it's possible to discover the identity of the culprit using those clues.

Mr. Smith's Hat

 Mr. Smith's Hat (1936) by Helen Reilly

Pulp western writer and hard drinker Gilbert Shannon is found dead in a squalid little apartment in New York City. It looks like a pure case of accident due to a drunken slip, but one of Inspector McKee's men isn't satisfied. You see, there's this clump of dried mud that he found in the dead man's room and no way to explain how it got there. Shannon's shoes had no mud. There was no mud anywhere else. An analysis of the mud reveals it to be garden dirt with two cat hairs, bits of a bird feather, and a seed. McKee tells his man to plant the seed and see what grows out of it. What they get is a rare zebra zinnia and a murder case. Well...three murders once all is said and done. 

While waiting for his seed to grow, Detective Frisch attends the funeral where he runs into the titular Mr. Smith and his hat. When he first notices Smith, the detective thinks the man is overcome with emotion. Then he realizes the man isn't crying...he's laughing. Soon McKee and Frisch are tying to figure out what Smith has to do with Shannon's murder. Then after the seed has produced the rare zinnia and a meticulous search has revealed that it must have come from Seers Lake in in Connecticut, McKee's attention is drawn to a group staying up at the lake. He heads out there just in time to discover that one of the group, the Baroness von Ridingsvard has been killed in, of all places, a private zoo monkey room. McKee is convinced that the murders are connected, but the district attorney is not so sure and throws his weight around a bit (trying to clear up the, to him, more important case in the country) and puts the killer even more on his guard. But McKee's bulldog tenacity keeps him on track and the details of police work will prove that the Scotsman is correct. He'll have to figure out the significance of a railway ticket, a missing photograph, an old writing desk, and the last entry in Shannon's diary before he'll have all the evidence needed to put the right suspect behind bars.

The story begins with the tail-end of another case--an interesting opening. "The lady who admitted having too heavy a hand with arsenic in her husband's jelly roll was led weeping from the room." The subtle black humor of the full scene makes me wish that Reilly had given us the complete story of The Case of the Arsenic Jelly Roll (with more mystification, of course). But the story she did provide was a pretty good one. Lots of atmosphere in the country setting. McKee being good an mysterious about his clues. A couple of chase scenes. And death in a monkey room. What more could you want? 

Reilly was very good at giving the reader the finer details of police procedurals without boring us to death with all the routine. And Inspector McKee is an interesting detective. He seems to produce results out of nothing...but then he does give the facts that led him to the conclusions. Definitely a good start to my intended binge on 1936 mysteries for the next week or so. ★★★ and 1/2

First line: "That will be all, lieutenant, you can take her away."

He knew the Scotsman. Once McKee got his teeth into a thing he never let it go if it took him years to get what he was after. [p.20]

She had been brought up by a wealthy aunt, had the voiceless assurance lack of contact with reality brings and the manners of an empress. [p. 25]

...Farquesan was knocked off his pins.by the awful sight at their feet. Odd how men changed their character in a crisis, He was usually cool and decisive, with an opinion on everything, while Di Mora was lazily casual and reluctant to interfere in what wasn't strictly his own business. It was Di Mora who took charge. [p. 31]

Hogue was not at all surprised when  McKee turned up suddenly under the trees in the gloom at the foot of the hill, partly because his capacity for surprise had reached the saturation point and partly because he was afraid of the Scotsman and was constantly expecting him to appear, a bird of evil omen. [p. 103]

Fernandez glanced at the Scotsman suspiciously. Towards the end of any investigation that was particularly difficult McKee had a way of speaking in parables, of hugging his knowledge to his bosom and producing his effects somewhat after the manner of a conjurer. It infuriated officials close to him who didn't like rabbits out of hats on general principles and who had a passion for the dotting of i's and the crossing of t's as they went along. [p. 169]

Last line: Mr. John Edgerton Smith has had rather a mean deal.

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Deaths = 3 (one hit on head; two stabbed)

The 1936 Club

 

From April 12-18th, April of Kaggy's Bookish Rambles and Simon at Stuck in a Book are sponsoring a read/blog-athon featuring books published in 1936. All you have to do is read at least one book from 1936 and post about it--that's it. And, if you're especially eager to get started, you don't even have to wait until April 12th. So, hunt around in those TBR piles and see if you can join us! This is a twice-yearly feature that I sometimes forget about. So, thanks to Kate at Cross Examining Crime for reminding me that it's that time of year again...

1936 Books previously read and blogged about:

The Murder of Sir Edmund Godfrey by John Dickson Carr

The A.B.C. Murders (and Audio Version) by Agatha Christie

Thirteen Guests by J. Jefferson Farjeon

The Santa Klaus Murder by Mavis Doriel Hay

Behold, Here's Poison (and Audio Version) by Georgette Heyer

The Talisman Ring by Georgette Heyer

The Lady in the Morgue by John Latimer

Death in Ecstasy by Ngaio Marsh

Dead Man Control by Helen Reilly

The Croquet Player by H. G. Wells

The Wheel Spins (The Lady Vanishes) by Ethel Lina White

Here are a few of the books I am contemplating for the Club:

The Nine Waxed Faces by Francis Beeding

Trent's Own Case by E. C. Bentley

Thou Shell of Death by Nicholas Blake

The Sussex Down Murder by John Bude

The Traitor by Sydney Horler

Thrills by Norman Keene

Murder in Piccadilly by Charles Kingston

Dead Men's Morris by Gladys Mitchell

One Murdered: Two Dead by Milton Propper

Mr. Smith's Hat by Helen Reilly

Murder Goes to College by Kurt Steel

The Bell in the Fog by John Stephen Strange

Who Killed Stella Pomeroy? by Sir Basil Thomson

Below the Clock by J. V. Turner

Murder in the Bookshop by Carolyn Wells

We'll see which ones strike my fancy. I may read and give full reviews before the official week--but I will also post a brief round-up officially for the Club.