IN BRIEF: The Bolt - P.R. Shore

Thoroughly intriguing novel by a minor mystery writer who wrote only two books in the genre. This one from 1929 is a classic English village mystery with a haunted green, a resident witch who curses the victim, a spinster narrator, a curate who acts as amateur sleuth with the spinster, and a shrewd policeman. We have two chapters in which the curate and spinster examine train tables to determine if one of the suspects is lying about his alibi. We have much hanky-panky with servants. We have the surfacing of a sinister blackmailing foreigner who reveals the victim’s deep, dark secret. All in all, crammed full of Golden Age plot motifs nearly all of which become tired by the 1930s in their overuse. Reminiscent of the best of early Gladys Mitchell this book also pre-dates Christie’s St. Mary Mead novels with busybody sleuth Jane Marple. It’s witty, a little bit nasty, and extremely engaging from beginning to end.

The story is of the murder of the not well-liked Mrs. Harrington, a “woman with a past,” who acted the part of the village matriarch and incurred the wrath of nearly everyone she knew – not the least of whom is her own step-daughter. Just as the annual village fete comes to a close Mrs. Harrington’s body is found nearby a sacrificial altar on the village green thought to be haunted by ancient Saxon ghosts. Some stolen air rifles from one of the fair’s game stalls, an “elf-bolt” as weapon (apparently some form of stone artifact), some stolen documents from a secret safe are a few of the unusual clues that will lead to the culprit. Marion Leslie, the village spinster, teams up with the curate Roger Cartwright to help the wily Inspector Grier discover the identity of a very clever murderer.

I read the book in 2007 or so and this "review" of mine is culled from my reading log notes. I nearly didn't post it here. In looking for images of the rare dust jacket I came upon Curt Evans' more thorough review (with similar insights as mine) at Mystery*File. Interestingly, his review prompted three people to go digging through birth records to discover the true identity of the author P.R. Shore - a pseudonym for a woman writer. If you like, you can continue your reading about The Bolt and P.R. Shore here and here.

One last aside:  I attempted to get this book reissued by bringing it to the attention of Tom Schantz of Rue Morgue Press.  He courteously replied that the book sounded interesting and that he had ordered a copy from an online seller.  But to date no word whether he plans to include it in the Rue Morgue catalog. Such a  shame if he passes on it. Based on the comments and discussion after Curt's review I am certainly not alone in noticing that The Bolt is definitely one of the best of the 1920s detective novels.

The Strawstack Murders - Dorothy Cameron Disney

Promises, promises. I try my best to live up to them.  Here's my slightly overdue follow-up to TomCat's review several weeks ago on the impressive early work of Dorothy Cameron Disney.

Disney's second novel is practically a text book example of the Rinehart school.  The very first page contains a sentence that encapsulates the HIBK subgenre:

For it seems to me now...that I could have prevented the dreadful series of crimes which so hideously involved us all.

The line is spoken by Margaret Tilbury who will tell us the story of those dreadful crimes and reveal a tale of duplicity and treachery set in motion by a villainess who rivals the actions of Lydia Gwilt or any other  from Victorian sensation fiction. The opening of the book is subtle in its background details and exposition. There seems to be an overload of information and Margaret comes off as a babbling spinster obsessed with her health and her odd relation with her sister and brother-in-law. It is almost as if the story will become a family saga or a domestic soap opera.  But such details as Margaret's being treated for typhoid fever, an overheard phone conversation, and a servant's loss of a milk can are hardly extraneous. Nothing can be taken for granted. Nothing is ever mentioned offhand. Even the most ordinary and mundane activities will take on a sinister aspect.

It is the character of the duplicitous nurse Dorothy Fithian and her bizarre death that will involve the Tilbury household in a conspiracy to protect their own. Dorothy was far from likable. Yet no one no matter how off putting deserves to be strangled, shoved into a strawstack and left to suffocate, and then set aflame. But someone hated Dorothy enough to do that and more. When a member of the household is implicated Margaret and the family lawyer tamper with evidence in order to divert suspicion from one of their own. They replace a pair of gardening shears into a toolbox that they believe only one person could have moved. The family name is far more important to preserve than finding Dorothy 's killer.

Margaret and her relatives all seem to be playing amateur detective. Even the servants get involved. There is an attack on one of the family members (she apparently is struck on the head with a typewriter and survives!), there is the disappearance of some milk cans, a missing typewritten note and several other minor mysteries that follow the death of Dorothy. Margaret is puzzled by them all and wants to solve them before the police do. But Inspector Chant is way ahead of all of them. He confronts Margaret about her evidence tampering. She remains close mouthed about her involvement, Chant warns her that he will get at the truth one way or another and her refusal to cooperate will do more harm than good.

As if her fiddling with a pair of garden shears wasn't enough Margaret will attempt to figure out why a typewriter was placed beneath a bed and what happened to the note that was supposedly left inside. In doing so she endangers herself.  It is the fate of these HIBK heroines to snoop and then suffer strangling, mugging, blows to the heads and other violent attacks when they get "too close to the truth." Margaret will not escape completely unscathed.

As formulaic and drawn out as this novel seems it does keep the reader engaged. Margaret's narrative can sometimes get a bit irritating in its HIBK allusions to what has yet to happen for the reader but has already happened to her, however Disney does her best to keep these intrusions to a minimum. The detective novel aspects of the story are rather well done. It does have a fair play atmosphere. A truly astute reader could, in fact, unmask the killer. Yet Disney so cleverly hides the two crucial clues in the narrative that I am sure it will come as a stunning surprise when the murderer is pointed out by a surprise guest called in at the eleventh hour.