Detective In Fiction, Cliff Notes

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DECTECTIVE FICTION Notes including • • •

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Rules for Writing Detective Fiction What is Detective Fiction? Critical Commentaries "The Purloined Letter" The Moonstone "The Adventure of the Speckled Band" Whose Body? The Benson Murder Case The Murder of Roger Ackroyd What Mrs. McGillicuddy Saw The Fashion in Shrouds Black Orchids The List of Adrian Messenger Death and the Joyful Woman Selected Bibliography

by L. David Allen, Ph.D. University of Nebraska

LINCOLN, NEBRASKA 68501 1-800-228-4078 www.CLIFFS.com ISBN 0-8220-7267-X © Copyright 1978 by Cliffs Notes, Inc.

All Rights Reserved

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RULES FOR WRITING DETECTIVE FICTION Many people have taken great delight in setting forth rules for the detective story, both to guide the writer and to provide criteria for judging detective stories and novels. Two of the more famous lists of rules have been set forth by Ronald Knox, in 1929, and by Willard Huntington Wright (S. S. Van Dine), in 1928. Although both lists were developed years ago and are somewhat dated, both of them make points well worth bearing in mind while reading detective fiction. Of the two sets of rules, Van Dine's is the most comprehensive and has the greater number of points that are still applicable today. Monsignor Ronald A. Knox was well known as an essayist and religious apologist, but he also wrote detective stories noted for showing great learning and for the way the reader was provided the necessary information about the case. His "ten commandments" for detective fiction were originally published in his introduction to The Best [English] Detective Stories of 1928 (London: Faber; New York: Liveright, 1929). Knox's first rule is that the criminal must be mentioned early in the story, although the reader should not be allowed to see his thoughts; this is a matter of playing fair with the reader without making the solution too obvious. Second, the supernatural should not be involved in solving the detective problem. Third, only one secret room or passage should be used, and that should be mentioned only if the setting is one in which a secret room or passage is likely. Fourth, undiscovered poisons and any device needing a long scientific explanation should be avoided. Each of these four rules aims at preserving the reader's equal, or near-equal, status in attempting to solve the mystery. Knox's fifth rule seems particularly strange now, though there was a period when it was a worthwhile caution: a Chinese person should not be involved in the story; more often than not, the presence of a Chinese was a sign of a bad story. Rule six requires that accidents should not assist the detective in solving the case and that his flashes of insight have a chain of logical reasoning behind them. Seventh, if the author vouches for the detective's status as a detective, then he should not be the criminal, though a criminal may legitimately try to pass himself off as a detective. Eighth, all clues must be produced for the reader's inspection as soon as they are discovered. The ninth rule is a rule of perfection: if the detective has a friend who accompanies him and reports his deeds, that friend's intelligence should be somewhat less than that of the average reader, and all his thoughts should be presented to the reader. Finally, the tenth rule requires that twins, doubles, and make-up artists not be used without sufficient preparation and reason for their use. All of Monsignor Knox's rules aim at allowing the reader to have a chance at solving the problem before the detective's solution is presented. At the same time, of course, the solution should not be too easily arrived at, for that would spoil the challenge. Above all, these rules expect the solution to be logically arrived at, without any kind of improbabilities intervening; the detective should arrive at the conclusion without undue outside assistance from the author. Willard Huntington Wright, who wrote detective stories under the pseudonym of S. S. Van Dine, was the creator of Philo Vance, often cited as America's first classic detective. Although this claim can certainly be disputed, it is clear that he had carefully considered the genre before setting down his rules for writing detective fiction. These rules, which cover most of the points made by Knox, as well as others, first appeared in the American Magazine in September 1928. They were later included in Philo Vance Murder Cases (New York: Scribner's, 1936). Wright's first rule is that the reader and the detective should have equal opportunities to solve the case, with all clues clearly and fully presented to the reader. Second, though the criminal may trick the

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detective, the author should not otherwise willfully trick or deceive the reader. Third, a love interest interferes with the business of bringing the criminal to justice and, therefore, should be avoided; this point was made by many commentators on detective fiction in the 1920s and '30s but is rarely used today. Wright's fourth point requires that the detective, or any other official investigator, not be the criminal; Wright states this idea more strongly and positively than Knox does and inadvertently disapproves of several very fine detective stories in which the detective is indeed the culprit. Logical deduction leading to the solution of the problem, rather than accident, coincidence, or unmotivated confession, is called for in the fifth rule. The sixth rule insists that a detective novel requires a detective who detects; that is, it must have a person who gathers clues and reaches conclusions through the analysis of these clues. Seventh, Wright feels that murder is the only crime that should be the subject of a detective story: Any lesser crime, he claims, will not repay the energy that the reader puts into reading the story. The eighth rule demands that recourse to a supernatural means of reaching the solution be avoided; the reader has a chance in matching wits with a detective using logic, but none at all against the world of mysticism. The ninth rule suggests that more than one detective scatters the reader's interest, breaks the chain of reasoning, and takes unfair advantage of the reader, who doesn't know who his competitor is. The tenth through the thirteenth rules are closely related: There should be only one culprit (Twelve)--certainly, there should be no secret societies or criminal groups involved (Thirteen)--who has played a reasonably prominent role in the action (Ten)--and who is not a servant (Eleven)--; this should be the case, no matter how many murders are committed (Twelve). If it were otherwise, the author would not be dealing fairly with the reader. Wright's fourteenth rule requires both the murder and the means of detecting it to be scientific and rational; flights of fancy and speculative devices have no place in the detective story. Rule Fifteen expects the solution to the problem to be apparent throughout--if the reader is shrewd enough to find it; any reader should, on rereading the book or story, be able to perceive all the clues which would have allowed him to solve the problem without the final chapter. Rule sixteen suggests that the primary business of a detective story is recording the crime and its detection; thus, long descriptive passages and character analyses should not be part of the detective story (this is one rule which has been somewhat modified as detective fiction and fiction in general have changed over the years; characterization, in particular, has become increasingly important). Rules seventeen, eighteen and nineteen are another closely related group: Professional criminals, who are the business of police departments rather than authors or amateur detectives, should not be the guilty parties (Seventeen). In addition, the crime (murder) should be a definite crime, not an accident or a suicide (Eighteen). Finally, the motives for the crime should be personal; international intrigue belongs in a different, though related, category of fiction (Nineteen). It might be noted that the sharp line which Wright drew between detective stories and stories of international intrigue has been blurred since 1928; although there are still distinct sub-genres of each type, mixtures are much more frequent. The final rule that Wright lists is something of a catch-all, since he wanted to have an even twenty items. He includes devices which, he feels, should be avoided in detective fiction: comparing cigarette butts to determine the guilty person; frightening the culprit into a confession through a rigged seance or some similar device; forging fingerprints; using a dummy-figure to establish an alibi; establishing the familiarity of an intruder by a dog's behavior; employing twins or doubles; hypodermic needles and knockout drops; locked room murders after the police have broken in; guilt determined by wordassociation tests; and code letters which, when broken, solve the problem. These devices, Wright says, have been used too often; using them today would reveal the author as lacking originality and creative ability.

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There are, of course, other sets of rules that have been proposed for detective fiction, but those that we have discussed are among the best known and they have lasted well. Any such set of rules should be taken rather lightly; any attempt to apply them too rigidly would be a grave mistake. Nevertheless, these two lists clearly state a number of assumptions that many people make about detective fiction. They are useful as guides in more detailed explorations of detective fiction, such as the one which follows.

WHAT IS DETECTIVE FICTION? Detection stories, mysteries, adventure thrillers, spy stories, suspense stories, puzzle stories, stories about criminals--all of these kinds of fiction, and others as well, have, or can have, an interest in crime of some sort. Each type, naturally, approaches the subject differently, both in attitude and method of handling. In addition, each type often has sub-types that vary the basic pattern of the general category. For example, detective fiction is divided into "classical" detective stories and "hard-boiled" detective stories. Classical detective fiction has distinctive characteristics that set it apart from its hard-boiled sibling and from all other fiction with an interest in crime. The pattern of detective fiction is quite rigid, allowing only slight variations from work to work. In this pattern, the beginning, the middle, and the end of the story are usually clearly defined. In the beginning section of the story, the crime--most often a murder--is either committed or revealed; frequently in detective fiction, the beginning also introduces a stable situation before the crime disturbs it. The arrival of the detective marks the transition from beginning to middle. The middle of the detective story follows the detective as he finds the clues and the other information that will lead to the solution of the problem posed in the beginning. The completion of the detective's inquiry and his announcement of the solution marks the transition from middle to end. The end of the detective story focuses on the solution to the case, which is usually the detective's explanation of his chain of reasoning which led to the solution. Then, the murderer is usually disposed of, normally through arrest or suicide (the detective does not "shoot it out" with the criminal in classical detective fiction). Finally, the society is left in equilibrium again, although this is more likely to be suggested than described in detail. Thus, classical detective fiction is often built around this sequence: 1. a stable society at rest 2. the commission of a serious crime, usually murder 3. the arrival or commissioning of a detective to solve the problem of who committed the crime 4. finding the clues and tracking down the information necessary to reach the solution, as well as eliminating innocent persons from suspicion 5. the completion of the inquiry and announcement of the solution 6. the disposition of the criminal 7. wrapping up the case, usually featuring an explanation of how the solution was reached 8. society restored to its former equilibrium. Most of these elements are found in all detective stories. Numbers 2, 3, 4 and 5 are always present, either directly described or as necessary conditions of the detective story. The other elements are less mandatory, though they, too, are normally present; if there are variations on the basic formula, they are usually achieved by varying numbers 1,6,7, or 8. In the classical detective story, the crime committed is almost always murder, and the problem for the investigator is always solving a crime. Crime is involved because it calls for the kind of investigation that is required by a detective story. This crime must be a serious crime, for if it were not, it would be worthy of neither the investigation by the detective nor the energy expended by the reader. A crime committed

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against a person is considered to be a more serious crime than one committed against property; thus, almost all crimes in detective fiction are crimes against persons. Since murder is the most serious crime possible against a person, murder (suspected, attempted, or actual) is the crime most often used in detective fiction. Murder is the most suitable crime for a detective story for several other reasons. It is a crime against an individual which also has implications for the society in which the murder took place. Because the victim cannot demand restitution, society must become concerned in the matter. In addition, fear of further murders, fear of the unknown, and fear of the exposure of other misdeeds or indiscretions during the course of the investigation disrupts the equilibrium of the society as a whole and of the individuals in it. Furthermore, such a crime forcibly indicates that the people did not know each other as well as they thought they did. Until the mystery is solved and the murderer named, suspicion runs rampant through the society, with neighbor suspecting neighbor. Thus, murder is the most dramatic way to disrupt the society and to involve it in the investigation. Murder also provides the most dramatic possibilities in the battle of wits between detective and criminal. The stakes in this battle are life or death, and the criminal, especially, is risking his life. Murder, then, is the most dramatic of crimes, played for the highest stakes, and producing the greatest tensions; though it is not the only crime in detective fiction, it is the most common and the most appropriate for these reasons. In developing the basic pattern into a complete story, detective fiction stresses five elements: the setting, the victim(s), the murderer, the suspects, and the detective. The social setting is more important in detective fiction than the physical setting. A murder may be committed in almost any physical setting and still provide the basis for a detective story. However, whatever the physical setting, classical detective fiction requires several things of the society in which the murder takes place. The most important of these requirements is that it be a closed society, thus excluding the possibility of an outside murderer. In real life, a stranger may commit a murder, but in classic detective fiction, the murderer is always someone within the society. A major result is that all the members of the society are potential suspects. A family gathering, a close-knit geographic or economic group (an English village, or New York's monied society), an occupational group (a theater troupe or a business firm), or a group isolated in a neutral place (in a railroad train or on an island)--all would meet these conditions. A second expectation is that serious crime of any kind is virtually unknown in the society portrayed in the detective story. Murder is unexpected, and its commission creates a crisis in the society, disrupting all the normal patterns of living. Partly, this requirement is for dramatic reasons, increasing the tensions and drama that can be used to tell the story. Yet, it also stresses the fall of the murderer from the normally stable and basically ethical relationships within the society. This, in turn, increases the interest in discovering who committed the murder. In addition, such a social situation would make the corpse incongruous, increasing the shock of the crime for both the society and the reader. Finally, it is desirable if attention is paid to the times at which people do things, especially if regular rituals are observed, and to the relationships between scenes (how far it is from the bedroom to the library, for example). This may be helpful to the detective in solving the crime, but it is even more important in orienting the reader and in placing him on an equal footing with the detective in attempting to solve the problem. The victim (say, he is a man) may or may not be considered an actor in the story before the crime is committed. It is permissible for the victim to have been killed before the story opens. Whether or not he is presented directly to the reader, the victim's character is important and must meet two basic requirements: 1) his death must cast suspicion on a number of people, which means that he must have been wicked enough to give people cause to commit murder; but, on the other hand, 2) he must not have been so wicked that his death is felt only as a relief--he should have been good enough to produce feelings of guilt

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among the suspects. In addition, the victim should not have been a "habitual" criminal, since then he could have been dealt with by the law, and a different type of story would result. However, the victim may have been engaged in a questionable activity or in a crime such as blackmail, which people would be reluctant to alert the police, but such activity should be on a limited basis, within the society involved in the detective story. Furthermore, the victim, like the murderer, should be a member of the closed society or have some definite and close ties to it. Finally, if there is more than one victim, the subsequent victims should be more important and less offending than the first; the first murder may be committed because of a genuine grievance, but all others result from a sense of guilt and a desire to escape punishment. Like the victim, the murderer should be a member of the closed society; indeed, it is even more important that the murderer, and not the victim, be a member of this society. The murderer is a person who is capable of knowingly committing a violent crime, usually one who feels his rights, desires, sense of justice, or safety should override all else. No matter how the murderer may have been wronged, it is an overwhelming pride that allows him to deliberately take the law, or what he conceives as justice, into his own hands. Since this pride would normally be evident in the murderer's character, the author's skill is put to the test in presenting the murderer as a character: When the murderer's identity is revealed, the reader should be both surprised and convinced that the character as presented was capable of murder. In other words, the reader should not feel he has been deceived when the murderer is identified. There are four basic ways of disposing of the murderer at the end of the detective story. First, he may escape or be allowed to escape, the latter being by far the more common of the two. This is a poor ending unless there are truly exceptional circumstances surrounding the murder, and consequently it is a rarely used ending. Second, the murderer may be insane or go insane; this, too, is a poor ending. It blurs the question of the murderer's capacity and guilt in the crime, it leaves no sense of repentance and little sense of atonement, and it reduces the detective's stature as a problem solver. Third, the murderer may commit, or be allowed to commit, suicide. This is somewhat more satisfactory, since it does indicate a repentance and an admission of guilt in violating social norms. However, it does not allow the rituals through which the society is returned to stability and equilibrium. Thus, the most satisfactory disposition of the murderer is, fourth, the arrest of the murderer, together with either his actual or implied trial and execution. This ending allows the case to be definitely closed, the criminal to repent and atone for his misdeeds, and the society to return to normal through the ritual of trial and execution. It also enhances the detective's abilities and sharply delineates the murderer's culpability for the crime. (It might be noted that this order has little to do with the ways that crimes are brought to a close in the real world; this order is, instead, the one which brings the detective story to the most satisfying closure, leaving the fewest loose ends.) The people in the society of a detective story are apparently innocent people who have apparently committed no crimes and only minor indiscretions. However, these people, and especially the suspects, are guilty of something that puts them in opposition to the detective and the law. This hinders, however, the detective's path to the solution, as well as misleading the reader. For the suspects, there are five basic causes for feelings of guilt and for failure to cooperate fully with the investigation. First, the suspect may have wished to commit the murder; he may even have planned to do so. Second, the suspect may be afraid or ashamed to reveal other crimes, or such indiscretions as adultery. These crimes or indiscretions usually have little to do with the murder; the suspect's fear is for his own well-being or reputation. Third, the suspect may take great pride in his own intellect and ability to solve the crime before the official investigators do so; such a person is likely to be a subsequent victim for the murderer. Fourth, a suspect may be so proud of his innocence, or so outraged at being a suspect that he will refuse to cooperate with the investigation. Fifth, a suspect may lack faith in another suspect whom he or she holds dear, thus causing him to hide clues, to confuse matters, and/or to falsely confess. The murderer, of course, must also be a suspect, but his motives for not cooperating and for hiding and confusing clues is quite different:

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Actual guilt, as well as pride and a desire to escape the consequences of his actions, guide his course of action in the detective story. Whatever the causes, both the detective and the reader must sort through a welter of suspects, motives, and clues to reach the proper solution to the murderer's identity. The detective is, of course, the focus of attention in detective fiction. He or she must have two qualities, at least: He must be able to find clues to the identity of the murderer, and he must be able to connect those clues in such a way as to reveal the criminal. Any other characteristics add to the interest of the detective story, specifying his methods of detection, as well as his personal qualities. Normally, the detective is not a part of the society in which the crime has been committed, but is usually brought in from outside the group, thus preserving impartiality. Although there are many exceptions, most detectives in the classical tradition are private persons and gifted amateurs. If the detective should be a member of the official police force, the emphasis must be on his individual efforts; otherwise, the story shades into the police procedural story. Whatever his traits and methods, the detective's purpose and function are definite and simple: He must find the murderer and, by finding the guilty person, return society to stability. In a sense, the detective story is an intellectual problem for the detective and for the reader. In such stories, the detective stands as a surrogate for the reader, as well as being the reader's competition. That is, the detective finds the relevant information and, if the author is playing fairly, presents it to the reader. However, the author needs to emphasize the significance of each bit of information, and thus the reader is in a competition to solve the problem first. (Usually, the detective wins this competition; the fun is in the contest and the matching of wits.) The detective of detective fiction is usually not a realistic figure. Instead, he becomes a romantic hero who represents the possibilities of an individual. In the detective, experience and intelligence mesh, making the detective a person who finds solutions to problems and dilemmas that seem to have no solution. He makes the connections that reveal the solution, as well as revealing the truth about the situation at large. The detective is also a romantic figure in the access he has to people. He easily crosses the social and economic boundaries that hold most of us in place. He meets people well, probing into their lives--their pasts and their sins--and getting to know them intimately, in a way that most of us never do. Finally, the detective is a romantic figure because he is a specialist in detecting clues and finding solutions, an expert who is called in whenever a problem arises. Even while testing ourselves against the detective and trying to outguess him, we give him a trust we rarely give others. We feel that he will use every bit of intelligence he can muster and follow up all evidence that has any relationship to the problem. In doing this, the detective gains our trust that he will find whatever alternatives there are in a world where alternatives often seem to be non-existent. This trust invests the detective with the status of a protector of innocence and of what nobility there is in man. At the same time, the detective forces us to face and to acknowledge criminal activity. Because the detective is persistent in following all clues, wherever they lead and discerning the less desirable aspects of human behavior, we must face the truth: He holds up the unknown and the undesirable to rational examination, allowing motivations to be observed and understood. Though murder is not an uplifting topic, the detective's investigation forces us to recognize and admit both the sinful and the noble sides of human nature, leading us from a dangerous and misleading ignorance and innocence. The character and qualities of detective fiction assure us that there will be answers to crimes committed. It suggests that answers and solutions can be found by people who are dedicated to the search for truth and who know where and how to look for the information that can lead to those solutions and answers. As we follow the detective's progress and compete with him, we are encouraged to use our powers of observation and logic, to construct hypotheses and test them, and to develop and examine alternatives. We are encouraged to pay attention to seemingly trivial details, and to learn that such apparently insignificant things may hold the key to the solution of a crime. Indeed, the classical detective story suggests that

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observation and a combination of inductive and deductive reasoning can solve any mystery and any problem. Detective fiction employs two underlying assumptions which allow these characteristics full play. First, detective fiction assumes that the universe is orderly and logical, that cause and effect not only operate but that they are inevitable, and, therefore, that justice is possible. This is essential, for otherwise the clues would not necessarily indicate the solution, and logic would not necessarily yield an answer. Second, detective fiction assumes that men have free will. This allows them the freedom to commit or not to commit a murder, to cooperate or not to cooperate with the investigation, and to pursue or not to pursue the truth vigorously. Such freedom of will also allows men, even requires them, to take full responsibility for their actions. Thus, the consequences for their actions are earned rather than given, arbitrarily. This both increases the fascination with detective fiction and adds to its drama and interest. However, detective fiction assumes that human behavior and motivation can be logically followed; in other words, although human beings freely determine their own behavior, they determine that behavior according to patterns that have a logic that can be followed by the detective and by the reader. If the reader is to participate in detective fiction, matching wits with the detective, two contradictory requirements must be met On the one hand, the author and the detective must play fair with the reader. All clues and the basic information necessary to solve the crime and to determine the murderer must be made available to the reader, preferably at the time that these clues and information become available to the detective. It is for this reason that Wright (Van Dine) requires that long, technical explanations at the end should be avoided; such explanations mean that the solution depends on information that few readers could reasonably be expected to know. Another aspect of playing fair with the reader requires that the author be scrupulously accurate with small details, as well as with large details. If he is not, then the information that the reader has cannot lead to the proper solution. On the other hand, the tasks must not be made too easy for the reader. Indeed, it is desirable for the detective's solution to come as a surprise. The reader's reaction should be "Well, of course! Why didn't I think of--or see--that?" In order to achieve this kind of ending while still presenting the clues and preserving fair play, the writer must mislead the reader in some way. One of the most prominent methods of doing this is by using a Watson-figure--a person who is solid and ordinary but slightly less intelligent than the average reader--to present the findings of the observant and perceptive detective. In this way, all the clues can be presented to the reader, but since the Watson-figure is somewhat obtuse, he cannot organize the information into the relevant and irrelevant or the important and unimportant. If this method is used, all the information given to the Watson-figure must be passed on as he gets it, to the reader, and it is desirable for this person's thoughts and conclusions to be available to the reader. Reserving special knowledge, though openly, presenting all clues, is another method that is frequently used to mislead the reader; some writers also use an open display of observation and deduction which turn out to be wrong. Although they are quite common, neither of these methods is completely fair. Another method, much preferred to these two, is keeping the reader occupied with the narrative. If the narrative is sufficiently interesting, and if the facts are presented separately and without their logical connections, it is probable that the reader will fail to perceive the value that these facts contain. It is an element of fair play to give the reader all the facts as early as possible--certainly, adding key facts at the end is bad form; however, it is permissible, and even desirable, to attempt to lure the reader so that he does not realize the value of the facts that have been presented. If the author is successful, the element of surprise in the ending is preserved; if he is not successful (assuming that it hasn't been too easy), the reader has the satisfaction of having solved the puzzle. Either way, interest and enjoyment have been maintained. A final note about detective fiction: It deals with an accomplished fact. The interest is certainly not in the crime, and only very rarely is any interest shown in the psychology of the murderer (spending much time on this aspect would reveal the murderer's identity too soon). If either, or both, of these were stressed, it

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would be a different type of fiction. Instead, the emphasis of detective fiction is on the detective and on the effects of the crime on the surrounding society. Some critics have suggested that this emphasis makes detective fiction less worthy as literature. If detective fiction is indeed less worthy as literature, or less likely to produce widely recognized masterpieces, it is not because of this emphasis. The study of the effects of a violent crime on a social group is at least as potentially worthwhile as any study of the crime or the criminal because the detective is the means for making this exploration. However, detective fiction does not need to be justified on this, or any other basis. If it serves its function in the ways that have been discussed, then it can claim a job well done. Nothing more should be required.

CRITICAL COMMENTARIES "THE PURLOINED LETTER" Edgar Allan Poe 1840 Edgar Allan Poe is usually acknowledged as the originator of detective fiction. His was a wide-ranging talent, and he is still renown for his poetry, literary criticism, tales of terror and of science fiction, as well as for his five tales of ratiocination. In these five stories--"The Murders in the Rue Morgue," "The Purloined Letter," "The Mystery of Marie Roget" (these three feature M. Auguste Dupin), "Thou Art the Man," and "The Gold Bug"--Poe is also credited with developing many of the standard features of detective fiction. For example, M. Auguste Dupin is the forerunner of a long line of fictional detectives who are eccentric and brilliant. His unnamed friend, who is most admiring and certainly less than brilliant, begins the tradition of the chronicler of the famous detective's exploits; he mediates between reader and detective, presenting the information he has to the reader while allowing the detective to keep information and interpretations to himself. The contempt that both Dupin and his friend have for the police and their methods has also become a standard feature of many detective stories. Because it was Poe's first tale of ratiocination, "The Murders in the Rue Morgue" introduces more basic features of detective fiction. Among these are three basic motifs: the murder in the locked room; the innocent person to whom motive, access, and other surface evidence point; and the use of an unexpected means to produce the solution. Two aphorisms are also presented for the first time: 1) the truth is what remains after the impossible has been determined--no matter how improbable that truth may seem; and 2) the more apparently difficult and out of the ordinary, the more easily a case can be solved. Finally, the superiority of the detective when measured against the police in inferring possibilities and probabilities and in observing the scene from the inferences, due to the single-mindedness and limited viewpoint of the police, is also introduced in "The Murders in the Rue Morgue." "The Mystery of Marie Roget," based on an actual case, consists of newspaper clippings dealing with the disappearance and murder of a girl, together with Dupin's comments; no solution is provided. "Thou Art the Man" is a grotesque tale that does not involve Dupin; the murderer is accused by the dead man rising from a coffin. This tale includes the trail of false clues left by the murderer and the solution involving the least likely suspect to the repertoire of the detective story. "The Gold Bug" applies the method of logical deduction and induction to finding a hidden treasure. "The Purloined Letter" emphasizes several devices from "The Murders in the Rue Morgue" and adds several others. The story is divided into two parts. In the first part, Monsieur G--, Prefect of Police in Paris, visits Dupin with a problem: A letter has been stolen and is being used to blackmail the person from whom it was stolen. The thief is known (Minister D--) and the method is known (substitution

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viewed by the victim, who dared not protest). The problem is to retrieve the letter, since the writer and the victim, as well as Minister D--, have important posts in the government; the demands he is making are becoming dangerous politically. The Prefect has searched Minister D--'s home thoroughly, even taking the furniture apart; he and his men have found nothing. Dupin's advice is that they thoroughly re-search the house. A month later, Monsieur G-- returns, having found nothing. This time, he says he will pay fifty thousand francs to anyone who can obtain the letter for him. Dupin invites him to write the check; when this is done, Dupin hands the Prefect the letter without any further comment. The second half of "The Purloined Letter" consists of Dupin's explanation, to his chronicler, of how he obtained the letter. One of his basic assumptions is an inversion of one of the aphorisms introduced in "The Murders in the Rue Morgue": The case is so difficult to solve because it appears to be so simple. Beyond that, Dupin introduces the method of psychological deduction. Before he did anything else, he reviewed everything he knew about Minister D--. Then, he reviewed what he knew about the case. With this in mind, Dupin tried to reconstruct the Minister's thinking, deciding that he would very likely have hidden the letter in plain sight. Using this theory, Dupin visited Minister D--, finding the letter in plain sight but boldly disguised. He memorizes the appearance of the letter, and he leaves a snuff-box as an excuse to return. Having duplicated the letter, he exchanges his facsimile for the original during a prearranged diversion. Retrieving his snuff-box, he departs. His solution introduces into detective fiction the formula of the most obvious place. Dupin is, of course, the original eccentric but brilliant detective. He seems to be a very private person, though one with connections and acquaintances in many places. He prefers the darkness and the evening; darkness, he feels, is particularly conducive to reflection. He prefers to gather his information and to ponder thoroughly before any action is taken. He talks little; an hour or more of contemplative silence seems common. And, of course, he is an expert in the psychology of people of various types; indeed, he seems to be learned in a number of areas--mathematics and poetry, for example. The Prefect, Monsieur G-- is a contrast to Dupin. Whereas Dupin is primarily concerned with the psychological elements of the case, G-- is almost wholly concerned with physical details and evidence. G-- talks much and says little. Dupin considers things broadly, while G--'s point of view is extremely narrow. Anything G-- does not understand is "odd" and not worth considering; for Dupin, that is a matter for investigation. G-- believes in a great deal of physical activity during an investigation, while Dupin believes in a maximum of thought and a minimum of physical activity. Though Dupin says that the Paris police are excellent within their limitations, it is clear that G-- 's limitations are quite severe. The personality of the unnamed narrator, Dupin's chronicler, lies between these two extremes. Though he shares some of Dupin's tastes--silent contemplation in the darkness, for example--and has some understanding of Dupin's methods, he seems psychologically closer to G-- than to Dupin. He seems to be a rather ordinary person with rather ordinary views and ideas. Thus, his assumptions and his interjections are often erroneous; he assumes. for example, that if the police have not been able to find the letter after their search, then it must be elsewhere. In his argument with Dupin about mathematicians, the narrator takes the common view and attitude toward mathematicians, a position that Dupin explicitly suggests is idiocy. In other words, the narrator is a mediator between Dupin and the reader. His reactions are similar to those of the reader, though he is somewhat less astute than the reader, so that the reader can feel superior to him. Naturally, such a narrator guides our attitudes toward Dupin, G--, and the case. He is, for example, in awe of Dupin's abilities and methods; while the reader may maintain a more critical distance, he is guided in that direction to some degree. Finally, such a narrator determines the amount of information a reader receives and guides the attention of the reader to the information received. In this case, the narrator tells us everything, but only as he receives it; because he did not witness the case being solved, the reader doesn't either.

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The idea that the reader is a participant in the investigation of a crime and thus should be given all the information on which the detective bases his conclusions is quite modern. In "The Purloined Letter," the reader has little chance to participate--first, because little information about Minister D-- 's character is given in the first half of the story, and, second, because there is no indication of any activity by Dupin until the second half. Poe's purpose was not to invite reader participation, but rather to emphasize rationality, stressing logical thinking as the means of solving problems. Consequently, Dupin's exposition of his thought processes are the most important part of the story. Without this highlighting of the logical investigation and solution of a problem, the detective story may never have developed; it would certainly be very different if it had. However, with this method and approach established, it became logical, and rather easy, to evolve the idea of the reader as a participant. Attempting to determine the psychology of the criminal is an honorable tradition in detective fiction. The particular methods that are used change as more is learned about human beings, their behaviors, and their motivations; they also change, perhaps even more, as psychological theories change. Thus, much of Poe's--or Dupin's--psychology, especially the explanations, seem dated. For example, the boy whom Dupin uses as an example arranges his face so it is as similar to the other person's expression as possible; this is supposed to give rise to thoughts and feelings that are similar to those of the other person. In the sense that outward expressions--facial expressions, clothes, and so on--are thought to influence the way a person feels, this idea is somewhat still current; however, that effect is thought to be general rather than specific, and we no longer believe that we can gain much knowledge of another person this way. In addition, it is probably true that certain habits of thinking are likely to contribute to a person's success in a field; however, the distinctions are by no means as rigid as Poe made them seem. nor are the qualities so narrow. Although the principles that Dupin works from are rather outdated, his method is direct. This method is, of course, applicable to other kinds of problems posed in detective fiction; whenever the detective can learn and apply some knowledge of the criminal's psychology, he is closer to the solution of the crime. Other details in "The Purloined Letter" reveal the story's era--the political system in France and Dupin's comments about poetry, mathematics, and the sciences in particular. Nevertheless, it still reads well, and the details are overshadowed by the sweep of the puzzle and the story. Even if the story were not still interesting reading, "The Purloined Letter" is of prime historical importance, establishing the method of psychological deduction, the solution by the most obvious place, and the assumption that the case that seems simplest may be the most difficult to solve. Whether one is interested in good reading or has a historical interest in detective fiction, "The Purloined Letter" provides both.

THE MOONSTONE Wilkie Collins 1868 Properly speaking, The Moonstone is not a novel of detection, although a mystery is solved and a detective from Scotland Yard is involved. This novel is, however, considered by many to be a forerunner of the modern detective novel. While Poe wrote only short stories, and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's detective stories are mostly short stories, Collins, who published between the eras of these two so-called fathers of the genre, took a problem and dealt with it for the length of a novel. The Moonstone is clearly a nineteenth-century novel, for it is nearly twice as long as most modern detective novels and it takes a very leisurely approach to its subject matter. In addition, this novel is concerned with delineating character--and a fascinating gallery of distinctive types is presented--and it delves into these characters without concerning itself primarily with the matter of solving the problem; indeed, it takes nearly a hundred pages before the crime is committed. Only in the last third of the novel is

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the solution to the problem the main focus, and even then the pace is quite leisurely. Nevertheless, The Moonstone is interesting for more reasons than its historical detective interest and is quite capable of keeping the reader in its grip, almost insisting that, once started, it be read to the end. Though the characters and their relationships are quite complex, the story behind them is quite simple. The Moonstone, a large yellow diamond, was originally set in the forehead of the Indian god of the moon, watched over by teams of three Brahmins. It was taken from the god during a Mohammedan conquest in the eighteenth century and later fell into the possession of the Sultan of Seringapatam. When the British invaded Seringapatam, John Herncastle apparently murdered three Brahmins to obtain it. John Herncastle's death occurred shortly before Rachel Verinder's eighteenth birthday; his will directed that his niece be given the Moonstone on her nearest birthday. Franklin Blake, the son of Lady Verinder's oldest sister, delivers the diamond; his father had agreed to carry out passively certain directions Herncastle gave for the disposition of the diamond. Curiously, before Blake arrives at Lady Verinder's house in Yorkshire, three Indians appear at the house and are later overheard to discuss the probable route Blake would take. However, he arrives much earlier in the day than expected. His concern about his uncle's motives in giving Rachel the diamond is intensified when Betteredge, Lady Verinder's steward, tells him about the Indians. He immediately takes the stone to the nearest bank for safekeeping. By the day of the birthday celebration, Blake and Rachel Verinder have spent much time together, and marriage between them is a distinct possibility. Retrieved from the bank on the afternoon of the birthday party, the diamond is presented to Rachel before the guests arrive. After the dinner, three Indians arrive to put on an exhibition of juggling and magic; they see Rachel wearing the Moonstone. Mr. Murthwaite, a world traveler and adventurer, dismisses the Indians as fakes. This unexpected denunciation raises the anxiety of those who know the history of the Moonstone. However, Rachel declines to take any special precautions with the gem, deciding to put it in an Indian cabinet in her sitting room. Early the next morning, the cabinet is found open and the Moonstone missing. Blake calls for the police to investigate the theft. The local police superintendent, Seegrave, promptly alienates all the servants with his brusque manner. Rachel absolutely refuses to cooperate in any way; she also refuses to have anything to do with Franklin Blake. When little progress is made in the investigation, Blake summons Sergeant Cuff of Scotland Yard. Cuff takes particular notice of a smudged patch on a freshly painted door, of the suspicious activities of Rosanna Spearman (a maid), and of Rachel's refusal to cooperate. He suspects Rachel of hiding her own diamond and Rosanna of helping her to hide it. However, before he can communicate his conclusions to Lady Verinder, Rosanna Spearman commits suicide by throwing herself in a stretch of quicksand on the beach. When he does speak to Lady Verinder, she refuses to accept his explanation. She does, however, decide to put certain questions, suggested by Cuff, to her daughter, who is staying with the Ablewhites in nearby Frizinghall. She finds the evidence negative and sends Cuff a generous check, dismissing him from the case. He is not convinced that he is wrong and makes three predictions to Betteredge which later seem to be substantiated. The narratives of Miss Clack and Mr. Bruff report the most prominent events between the theft of the diamond and the events that lead to the solution of the problem. Miss Clack's first visit to Lady Verinder's London house coincides with Godfrey Ablewhite's reluctant account of the recent attack and search he had endured. Later, Lady Verinder confesses to Miss Clack that death is imminent from a heart condition that has been developing for several years. A day or so later, Miss Clack overhears Godfrey propose marriage to Rachel; Rachel says she loves another who is unworthy of her love, but he persuades her that this should not prevent their marriage.

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Moments later, a servant rushes in to tell Rachel that her mother has fainted and cannot be revived; by the time Miss Clack arrives in the room, Lady Verinder is dead. Mr. Ablewhite, Godfrey's father, consents to be Rachel's guardian and takes a house in Brighton for her, and his wife and daughters. Later, while walking, Mr. Bruff tells Rachel something that causes her to vow never to marry Godfrey Ablewhite. Godfrey agrees to break the engagement without hesitation, but his father is filled with wrath and rejects his guardianship. Rachel leaves with Mr. Bruff, and thus ends Miss Clack's narrative. Mr. Bruff tells of discovering that Godfrey Ablewhite had inquired about Lady Verinder's will; knowledge of this caused Rachel to break off the engagement, and knowledge of the terms of the will apparently made Godfrey consent to her decision. Bruff also tells of a visit, at his offices, by a distinguished-looking Indian, who inquired about a loan and the terms usually applied to such loans. Bruff feels that this inquiry relates to the Moonstone and wonders when the Indians hope to recover it. Franklin Blake begins his narrative with the news of his father's death, which necessitates his return to London. He is rebuffed in his attempts to see Rachel Verinder, but he refuses to accept her decision and starts his search for the cause of her attitude in Yorkshire. There, he is given a letter written by Rosanna Spearman before her suicide. It directs him to a box hidden in the patch of quicksand; the box contains his nightshirt with a paint smear on it and a long letter explaining what she did and why. In London, Blake consults with Bruff, who suggests that Rachel will not see him because she believes he took the diamond. They plan a scheme so that Franklin might talk with her and, during this confrontation, Rachel reveals that she saw him take the Moonstone from her cabinet. She also explains why she has not said anything, and the meeting ends with his declaration that she will either know she is wrong or never see him again. Bruff suggests that they simply wait to see to whom Septimus Luker, who they are sure has the Moonstone, passes it to. Impatient, Blake tries to contact Sergeant Cuff, Murthwaite, Miss Clack, and Godfrey Ablewhite to see if they might have information that would prove useful; all of them are out of the country, however. He goes to Yorkshire to consult Betteredge about the guest list, hoping to find information. He stops to see Mr. Candy, who sent a message through Betteredge, saying that he had something to tell Blake; Candy, though, had been very ill, an illness affecting his memory, and he cannot recall what he wanted to say. However, Candy's assistant, Ezra Jennings, thinks he knows what Candy wanted to say: in order to prove himself superior to Blake, he had someone give him twenty-five minims of laudanum (opium) to help him sleep; Candy had planned to reveal this fact the next day but became ill. This, with Jennings's knowledge of the effects of opium, suggests an experiment: By recreating conditions as much as possible, Blake might repeat his actions of the previous year. Arrangements are made, and Rachel Verinder and Mr. Bruff serve as witnesses. Under the influence of the laudanum, Blake rises from his bed, muttering about the safety of the jewel, and walks into the sitting room, where he rummages until he finds the substitute jewel in the cabinet. However, in the middle of the room, he drops the jewel, wanders to the sofa, and falls asleep. Rachel and Bruff are convinced that he took the Moonstone without knowing he did so; furthermore, it is clear that someone else took the real diamond out of the house. Back in London, Blake, Bruff, and several of Bruff's officers fail to see the exchange between Luker and the person to whom he gives the diamond. The next morning, however, an office boy reports having seen Luker give the gem to a sailor and says that he followed the sailor. Led by the just-arrived Sergeant Cuff, Blake and the boy go to the rooming house, where the sailor--Godfrey Ablewhite--has been smothered and the diamond taken. Luker, when pressed, reports Godfrey's tale of seeing Blake with the gem and of being told to put the diamond in his father's bank, as well as of taking advantage of the situation.

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The reasons for Godfrey's actions, the death of Ezra Jennings. the marriage of Rachel Verinder to Franklin Blake and--later--the impending birth of their first child, the path taken by the Indians from England to India, and Murthwaite's sighting of the diamond back in the statue are reported quickly to bring the novel to its close. Franklin Blake is the person who finds the most significant evidence in the case, but he does no detecting himself to find this evidence. For example, two pieces of this evidence are delivered to him: Rosanna Spearman left a suicide message and specific directions for him, while Mr. Candy sends the message that he has something to tell Blake, and Candy's assistant is able to tell what it is. Furthermore, it is Jennings who proposes the experiment which demonstrates the conditions under which Blake took the diamond. showing his technical guilt but essential innocence. Only in setting up the confrontation with Rachel Verinder does he act directly in obtaining evidence, and, here, his motivation is love and wounded pride as much as a desire to solve the mystery. Blake is not a detective, but he does provide information for Sergeant Cuff to work with on his re-entry into the case. Sergeant Cuff is on the scene, to be sure, but he plays a rather minor role in solving the mystery; nevertheless, he does have some features in common with modern detectives. He does find the smudged paint and draws the correct conclusions from it, but this does not lead him to the solution. He also correctly suspects Rosanna Spearman of having a role in the concealment of the person who took the diamond, but he is in error as to who that person is. He finds little solid evidence and he is misled by appearances. It is true, of course, that he is hampered by Rachel and by Lady Verinder in his investigation; had he been allowed to follow through as he suggested--especially to watch carefully Septimus Luker--he might have discovered the guilty person, though it would not have been his suspect, Rachel Verinder. In his first appearance, his method of approaching the problem--comparing the case, and the people in it, with others he has been involved in--seems similar to the method of Agatha Christie's Jane Marple; however, unlike Miss Marple, he draws the wrong conclusions. In addition, his idiosyncrasy, a passionate love of roses and their care, reminds one of Nero Wolfe's passion for orchids. Blake's evidence and the events of the previous year--most notably, Septimus Luker's depositing the diamond in the bank and the attacks on both Luker and Godfrey Ablewhite--allow Cuff to display more skill in detection in his second appearance. He shows some skill in questioning, in setting people at ease, in penetrating disguise, in setting into motion an investigation to fill in remaining details, and in reaching the correct conclusion. Sergeant Cuff seems to be a realistic figure of a policeman, especially for the period, but he is not in complete control of the investigation from beginning to end, which sets him apart from the development of the classical detective. In The Moonstone, a mystery is solved and suspense and interest is kept high, but as with the cases of M. Auguste Dupin, the reader has little opportunity to solve the mystery before the answer is revealed. The absence of a single, modern-style detective is partly responsible, but the way that information is presented in the novel seems more important. In the first section of the novel, only two pieces of relevant information are provided. The paint smudge on the door of Rachel Verinder's sitting room and its implications are presented in detail, and it is made clear that Rosanna Spearman has helped substitute a newly made garment for the one with paint on it. However, though she wishes to talk to Blake and leaves him a letter after her suicide, it would take much imagination to link him with the theft of the diamond. Even Rachel Verinder's actions don't seem to accuse him, though they do not lead the reader to suspect her, as Sergeant Cuff does. By the end of this section, the issue is still confused; although there might be some suspicion that Franklin Blake is involved somehow, the questions of how, why, and what was done with the stone remain. In the second section of the novel, further details are provided gradually. For example, the fact that Septimus Luker has deposited a valuable object in the bank is significant, especially when we learn of

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Sergeant Cuff's predictions; Luker's harassment by the Indians make it very likely, but not certain, that the object is the Moonstone. That both Luker and Godfrey Ablewhite are bound and searched, apparently by Indians, suggests that Godfrey is somehow involved. However, little in the preceding narrative suggests how Godfrey might have gotten the diamond--the information simply is not available. Miss Clack's and Mr. Bruff's narratives portray him as a hypocrite whose interest in Rachel Verinder probably has a monetary motivation, but there is nothing on which to base solid suspicion. When Franklin Blake finds his nightshirt--with the splotch of paint on it--where Rosanna Spearman had hidden it, and when Rachel tells him that she saw him take the Moonstone, the reader is as surprised as he is. The explanation of the influence of opium is ingenious, but it also requires a specialized knowledge that most readers do not have, even if there had been an earlier indication that Franklin Blake had been administered a dose of opium the night of the birthday party. By the time the experiment is over, we know that Blake did take the Moonstone from the Indian cabinet, but also that someone else took it from the house. In the course of the experiment, we are given the knowledge that there is a connecting door between Blake's room and the room next door, but we are not told who was in that room the night of the theft until much later. The unmasking of the real criminal follows from the events very logically, but the identity of that criminal is not something that a reader could have determined with any precision or certainty before the detective does. A guess could be made, but it would be a guess rather than a conclusion based on definite clues. Furthermore, the bulk of the supporting material--definite indication of culpability and motive--is discovered, and presented, after identification of the criminal is made. Character seems to be the key to much of the enjoyment and suspense in The Moonstone. Many of the characters are types, but they are fascinating types and they are presented in enough detail so they become, almost, individuals. For example, Betteredge is the faithful old family retainer, having served the family for three generations. His negative views about women, his faith in the help to be derived from Robinson Crusoe, his desire to be in charge of everything that happens in the household, his positive manner of stating his conclusions--all these, and more, render him distinctive and his narrative enjoyable. Miss Clack is a poor relative who takes consolation in religion and in charitable activities. She is extremely zealous in her desire to convert others to her way of thinking. However, it also seems clear she is in love with Godfrey Ablewhite, though she does not recognize this, and that having money might well change the way she lives. Sergeant Cuff is laconic in manner, terse in speech, and apparently more interested in roses than in solving the crime. Godfrey Ablewhite is admired for his good work with ladies' charitable organizations, but gradually the dichotomy between his public and private life is revealed. Even such minor characters as Septimus Luker, Gooseberry, Mr. Candy, Murthwaite, and Ezra Jennings are interesting and well-drawn. The characterization also helps create suspense in this novel. We are, for example, amused by the way Betteredge talks about the various facets of Franklin Blake's character, but his way of talking reveals Blake as a fairly complex character and creates a great deal of sympathy for him. Because we are sympathetic toward him, and because we have seen Rosanna Spearman's initial reaction to him, we wonder why she wants to talk to him, rather than suspecting him. Once he finds out that he took the diamond, apparently, we, instead of condemning him, wonder how that could happen and how his basic innocence will be established. Similarly, we are disposed to distrust Godfrey Ablewhite and, with the first clue that he might be involved in the theft of the Moonstone, we wonder whether and when his guilt will be made clear. Of course, other elements also contribute to the suspense. The presence of the three Indians, in conjunction with the history of the Moonstone, causes the reader to wonder what they are going to do to regain it and when they will do it. The lapse of time between our getting knowledge that Luker has deposited something in the bank and the time when it is withdrawn and passed on keeps the

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reader wondering what will happen. There are, of course, times when The Moonstone moves very slowly, but the combination of mystery, suspense, and character urges the reader on. The Moonstone is a forerunner of the modern mystery story as well as a novel which portrays the society of its times, with its strengths and foibles, very tellingly. Though Sergeant Cuff does not produce the major evidence and is not in control of the entire investigation, and though he seems to be wrong as often as he is right, he does have some characteristics in common with more modern detectives. Although the reader does not have a chance to match wits with the detective and to solve the mystery before the solution is revealed, that solution is arrived at carefully and logically. The mystery is the thread that flows through the entire novel and holds it together; the portraits of the characters and of the society wind about this thread to add depth and richness to the novel.

"THE ADVENTURE OF THE SPECKLED BAND" A. Conan Doyle 1891 "The Adventure of the Speckled Band" is one of Sherlock Holmes' better known cases, and Sherlock Holmes is probably the best-known fictional detective. Indeed, though Edgar Allan Poe and M. Auguste Dupin created the detective story, A. Conan Doyle and Sherlock Holmes should be credited with the immense and continuing popularity of detective fiction. The Holmes stories represent an advance over the Dupin stories; they are much closer to the modern version of the classical detective story. The reader is allowed to participate in the investigation and is given all the clues, though few of the conclusions that Holmes draws from them. Watson is somewhat more fully characterized than the unnamed companion of Dupin; in part, this is achieved by having Watson speak of the cases in the past tense, which requires a more complete report of his actions. Watson is also much more of a participant in the investigation. The explanation of the solution again occurs at the end, after the solution has been revealed: it is, however, much briefer, since Holmes must only explain the connections that he made--the reader already has all the facts. These three elements did much to modernize the detective story. The plot is quite simple. Holmes is awakened by Mrs. Hudson, his landlady, when an agitated young woman insists on seeing him. Rousing Watson, they listen to her tale. She fears for her life. Her sister became engaged two years earlier and died shortly before she was to be married. Before she died, she told her sister that she heard a whistling sound in the night. Now Holmes' visitor, Helen Stoner. is engaged to be married, and she has heard the same noise. She wants Holmes to investigate, and he agrees to come to Stoke Moran early that afternoon. Shortly after she leaves, Dr. Grimesby Roylott, Miss Stoner's stepfather, visits Holmes, displaying a violent temper and warning Holmes not to meddle. Holmes goes down to Stoke Moran with Watson, as agreed. He carefully examines the outside of the house, followed by an inspection of Miss Stoner's and Dr. Roylott's bedrooms. After his investigation, Holmes tells Miss Stoner that she must not spend the night in her room. He makes arrangements for her to signal them at a nearby inn when Dr. Roylott retires, leave the window open so that he and Watson can get in, and then to move into another room. When the signal comes, Holmes and Watson quickly reach the room and wait in the darkness, with a candle and supply of matches. When he hears a hissing sound, Holmes lights the candle and begins beating on a fake rope pull by the bed with his cane, though Watson sees nothing. After a loud shriek from Dr. Roylott's room, Holmes and Watson rush in. They find him dead, with a poisonous snake wrapped around his forehead. Holmes captures the snake and returns it to the safe, where

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it has been kept. The following day, having told Miss Stoner of the incident, guided her to the train, and satisfied official inquiries, Holmes and Watson take the train back to London; on this journey, Holmes explains his reasoning to Watson, and the case is closed. Holmes is not fully characterized in 'The Adventure of the Speckled Band," or in any other individual story; it is the addition of details from one story to the next that builds the legendary character of Sherlock Holmes. In this story, most of the details which most characterize him are found early, in the introductory material. Thus, we are told that all of Holmes' cases have something out of the ordinary about them; he agrees to solve cases because of his love for the art of detection, rather than a desire for wealth. He is a bachelor and shares rooms with Watson in Baker Street. Normally late risers, being up at 7:15 a.m. is very unusual for both Holmes and Watson. While working on a case, Holmes' deductions are made rapidly but always on a logical basis. He observes the details of persons visiting him, and deduces many things about them, combining physical evidence with significance. Holmes' reaction to Dr. Roylott's violent intrusion into his rooms indicates that he is calm in the face of possible danger, as well as able to take a man's insults without rash action. This calmness and quiet does not stem from fear, but rather from confidence in his ability to take care of himself; for example, he straightens the steel poker which Roylott had bent. Holmes' investigation of the physical scene is based on the information gained beforehand; he usually insists on a complete verbal account of the situation before he decides on a course of action. Finally, Holmes can be wrong in his deductions, though he quickly changes them when other evidence is revealed. In this characterization of Sherlock Holmes, most of the details relate to his role as detective; very few suggest what kind of person he might be when not detecting. Watson's characterization is not nearly equal to Holmes' but is much greater than that of the unnamed narrator of the Dupin stories. Over eight years (at the time of writing), Watson had studied Holmes' methods through some seventy cases, keeping notes on all of them. At the time of this story, he had only been associated with Holmes for a short time. He honors his promises, writing this only after the person involved has died. He keeps, he says, his habits regular and is both surprised and slightly resentful at being awakened so early in the day. However, his interest in following Holmes' cases outweighs his desire to stay in bed. Watson, who is, of course, a doctor, is largely a silent, and admiring, partner in the investigations that Holmes undertakes. Although he hears everything that Holmes hears and can see everything that Holmes does, Watson is far less astute; he seems unable to put two facts together and arrive at a conclusion (in other stories, when he does come to a conclusion, he is usually wrong). As with the details which characterize Holmes, most of the details about Watson's character are designed to enhance the role that he must play; that is, for the story to be effective, he must be the admiring chronicler of the case, presenting the information to the reader without revealing the solution. There are only two other characters in "The Speckled Band," and both are minimally characterized. Helen Stoner is a lonely woman driven to rather desperate measures by fear; her fear of death overcomes her fear of her stepfather and brings her to Holmes for help. Her stepfather, Dr. Grimesby Roylott, is primarily portrayed as an extremely strong man with a violent temper and little love for his fellow man. He is also a member of an old family living on a legacy from his dead wife. Again, the characterization is functional, with little embellishment. The emphasis of "The Adventure of the Speckled Band" is of course, the matter of the whistling noise and its significance, as well as the solution to the problem. In this story, the reader is, in effect, invited to match wits with Sherlock Holmes, for all the evidence is presented clearly; the reader's problem is to sort out the relevant details from the mass of information provided. Beyond this, the reader must decide on the significance of the details, selected as to their importance. Few obstacles, other than the number of details, are placed in the reader's path. After Miss Stoner's recital of the situation, Holmes both assists the reader and hinders him. He specifies the whistles in the night, the

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gypsies, the doctor's interest in preventing his stepdaughter from marrying, the band, and the metallic clang as the most important details of her story. All of these, except for the gypsies, are indeed important clues. However, the inclusion of this wrong clue, in addition to the interpretation of the metallic clang as being the metal bar of the shutters falling back into place, does distract the reader and suggest a false path. On the other hand, Holmes does admit that there are objections to her theory, objections which will be resolved one way or the other by an examination of the scene; this should alert the reader. Furthermore, the way that Holmes examines the shutters should eliminate that interpretation from consideration, and the false bell pull and the small ventilator are clearly additional items to be brought into the equation. The safe and the bowl of milk are less obviously relevant, but they are openly discussed. With these details, the reader has enough information to solve the problem. It is quite clear that Dr. Roylott is the criminal (there is no other possible suspect); the question is, instead, how it was done two years earlier and why it is being done again. All of the details stressed at Stoke Moran point toward the use of a snake, and a number of the earlier details support this conclusion. In this case. at least, the reader has been treated fairly. The way in which the criminal is brought to justice is somewhat unusual, yet it seems appropriate in several ways. The murderer is killed when his "weapon" turns upon him. This is neither a case where society is involved in the execution nor a case where the detective, out of consideration for the family name, allows the murderer to commit suicide. Instead, it is a direct reversal of the situation, with the fate of Dr. Roylott being that which he had planned for his stepdaughter. Especially because of Holmes' comments about it, we are left with the feeling that this conclusion is fit and just. Whatever our feelings about its justice, this ending seems required by the situation and the story. For several reasons, Holmes cannot allow the snake to remain in the room with him. First, and least important he has an intense dislike of the snake; Watson suggests that he feels a horror of it. Second, if it remains in that room, the snake poses a great danger to both Holmes and Watson (even without knowing what kind of a snake it is, it is overwhelmingly likely to be dangerous). Third, and most important, finding the snake in this particular bedroom would not make a case against Dr. Roylott that could be defended in court; finding the snake in Dr. Roylott's room after seeing it in Miss Stoner's room would provide a much stronger case. It is necessary, then, for Holmes to drive the snake out of the room. Doing so was likely to anger the snake, increasing the likelihood that it would strike Roylott. A further consideration is that Roylott's death provides a "clean" ending to the case. That is, although some action could have been taken against Dr. Roylott to insure Miss Stoner's safety, this is the least messy and time-consuming way to achieve that goal. After two years and after the coroner's findings, Roylott could not have been charged with the murder of Helen Stoner's sister; attempted murder would be the most serious charge, and that would be dubious in a court of law. Consequently, the death of Dr. Roylott, occurring in just this manner, is the most satisfactory ending for "The Adventure of the Speckled Band." This Holmes case is satisfying to the reader. It provides a fair chance for the reader to solve the problem before it is revealed by the detective. The ending wraps up loose ends and leaves us with the feeling that justice has triumphed. The process of the story and the solution is logical and can be followed step by step. "The Adventure of the Speckled Band" represents a great improvement over the Dupin stories-which were obviously its forerunners--and it shows at least some of the reasons why the adventures of Sherlock Holmes have had such a great and continuing following.

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WHOSE BODY? Dorothy L. Sayers 1923 The television productions of three of Dorothy L. Sayers' detective stories--The Nine Tailors, Murder Must Advertise, and Clouds of Witness--have brought her work, and the detective work of Lord Peter Wimsey, before a large audience and has reaffirmed her skill as a writer of classical detective fiction. In addition to writing fine detective fiction, Miss Sayers was also a widely honored medieval historian, critic and scholar. Whose Body? is not, of course, one of her books which formed the basis for a television production, and thus it is not as well known as some of her works. Nevertheless, it is a highly readable book which serves as an excellent introduction to Lord Peter, his detective methods, and his friends. As one of her earlier novels of detection, it is held in high esteem by many who know the body of Miss Sayers' work. Having to return to his lodgings because he has forgotten the catalogue for the book sale he was ready to attend, Lord Peter Wimsey is delayed by a telephone conversation with his mother, the Dowager Duchess of Denver. She informs him that Mr. Thipps, the architect who hopes to restore the roof of the local church, had that morning found a nude body (wearing only a pair of pince-nez) dead in his bath. Deciding that he will go see Thipps immediately, he sends his man Bunter to purchase the books for him. After his arrival, he comforts Mr. Thipps and his mother before taking a thorough look at the body, the bathroom, and the area around the building as far as he can see from the window. He also learns that Inspector Sugg (who particularly dislikes Lord Peter) has been assigned to the case and that Sugg has checked nearby St. Luke's Hospital to see if, by chance, a body might be missing there and the whole thing might be a joke perpetrated by medical students; no less a person than Sir Julian Freke, a director of surgery and a distinguished neurologist, comes to view the body and to affirm that no bodies are missing from the hospital. Wimsey leaves just in time to miss an encounter with Sugg. While Wimsey is sipping an expensive brandy and looking over the rare books which Bunter obtained for him, Charles Parker of Scotland Yard, a friend and a sometime partner in investigation, drops by. Parker is trying to find Sir Reuben Levy, a well-known financier who disappeared under mysterious circumstances; Parker had visited the Thipps house to determine if, by chance, the body were Sir Reuben and had learned from Sugg that Lord Peter had been there. Parker tells Wimsey about Sir Reuben's disappearance, after which they share what they observed about the corpse in the Thipps' bathroom. Shortly thereafter, Lord Peter gets a phone call from Mrs. Thipps, who tells him that her son has been arrested and she asks him to "please look into matters." Pausing a moment to make a phone call and thus avoid an unpleasant encounter with Sugg, he and Parker, with Bunter, rush to the Thipps' apartment. When a tenant in the same building refuses to have anything to do with Mrs. Thipps because of what happened, Lord Peter brings her down to his mother's lodgings to stay until he can ascertain exactly what has happened. In the morning, Parker arrives for breakfast with the news that he has discovered that the body had been on the roof of the building. Then, the three go to Sir Reuben Levy's, where Bunter takes a number of photographs of items with fingerprints on them while Parker and Wimsey examine the bedroom from which Sir Reuben seems to have vanished, leaving all of his clothes behind him. Wimsey finds evidence that the person who had been in the bedroom the night Sir Reuben disappeared was not Sir Reuben, as everyone assumed. Several preliminary investigations yield nothing for either case; the inquest concerning the body yields a reprimand for Sugg for acting precipitately and causes a disagreement between Sir Julian Freke and Dr. Grimbold from Scotland Yard concerning the interval between the blow which killed the unknown body and the resulting death. After the inquest, however, Sir Julian talks with Parker and tells him that Sir Reuben had called on him the night he disappeared for

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advice about a medical problem. When Lord Peter hears this, he comments that this information doesn't "square well" with Sir Reuben's dinner companion's assertion that he was in high spirits that evening. That night, contemplating the case with the feeling that he knows all the facts about the two cases, Wimsey glances through a new book by Sir Julian Freke and suddenly realizes a curious pattern of events. However, the strain of the case, the uncertainty about his role in bringing a man to execution, the identity of the murderer, and the lateness of the hour culminate in a waking nightmare--a frightful recall of his experiences during the war. Bunter soothes him that night, and next morning his mother arrives to take him to Denver for a rest. Before he leaves, however, he arranges with Bunter to carry out some further investigation and he asks Parker to carry out several other leads. He receives a letter from Bunter, who had made the acquaintance of Sir Julian's valet and gotten a complete report on the domestic arrangements there, as well as information about the man's perception of what happened the night that Sir Reuben disappeared. When Parker sends a telegram confirming Lord Peter's suspicions about what the body had looked like before shaving and manicuring and about where it had come from, he returns to town. At his request, his mother returns with him to help Lady Levy (whom she had known as a girl) through the ordeal of being informed that her husband is indeed dead. The body of a supposed pauper, which had been used for dissection purposes in medical classes at St. Luke's Hospital, is exhumed: From various marks and scars, Lady Levy identifies it as the body of her husband. After she has done so, Lord Peter explains to Parker his reasoning about how and why the crime was committed. Though arrangements have been made to hoodwink Sir Julian until they arrest him, Wimsey's sense of himself as an amateur detective and his idea of fair play (inculcated throughout his life and environment) brings him to visit Sir Julian. His announced reason is an attack of nerves; the real reason of his visit is never mentioned, but Freke is sufficiently suspicious. Nevertheless, Sir Julian Freke is arrested by the police, but not before he writes a full explanation of his crime to Lord Peter, demonstrating how the crime fits into his (Sir Julian's) theories of crime. The news of his arrest and his confession letter to Lord Peter end the novel. Lord Peter Wimsey is the younger son (of two) of a British aristocratic family. His older brother inherited the family lands and title (the Duke of Denver), leaving Lord Peter with an income that is apparently sufficient to any needs or desires he might have. For example, he collects first editions and other rare books; he speaks of spending 750 pounds on a book and of saving 60 pounds at the sale (at the time this novel was written, the English pound was worth about $5.00, so the price of the book would be approximately $3750.00 and the savings about $300.00). He also travels a great deal; there is a suggestion that, after the case is finished, Lord Peter will embark for a long stay on the Continent. In keeping with his travels and the standards of his class, the scene in the waiting room at Sir Julian's office shows that he speaks French well enough to converse without difficulty. In addition to his amateur detecting, these are his main occupations. Of course, he must also make the social rounds--that is, attend the teas and dinners given by others of the minor aristocracy; Bunter indicates that he feels that Lord Peter earns his income by going to such affairs and by being kind and gentlemanly to the guests. Wimsey's detecting is twofold: It is a means of excitement and variety in an otherwise staid and routine kind of life that could easily become boring; also, he feels a need to do something that is socially useful. Although he does have qualms about causing a man to be executed, he also feels that murderers should not be allowed their freedom. His method of detecting is a combination of several things--careful attention to details, following every possible lead and clue, application of information from wide reading and interests, analysis and deduction, and intuition. In this particular case, Lord Peter uses all of these techniques. In looking at the Thipps' bathroom, for example, he uses a highly magnifying monocle to note many details, and at Sir Reuben Levy's home, it is his attention to detail that indicates that the person who slept in the bed and wore the clothing was not Sir Reuben. He travels to Salisbury to find out about the person who claimed the pince-nez found on the nude body, and he has Bunter take many photographs and

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talk with a number of people. In Whose Body? analysis and deduction are not particularly emphasized, especially in the final solution, though they are applied to clues so that we realize their significance. It is, of course, Lord Peter's reading of Sir Julian's book on the conscience, plus his own intuition, which coalesces the two problems into a single solution. Lord Peter Wimsey is a very careful detective, and also a very painstaking detective; although he enjoys the chase, he dislikes the idea of being responsible for someone else's death, and, if he must be involved in that, he prefers to be absolutely sure that the right man has been accused. Finally, in his detection, Lord Peter's approach seems more akin to the method used by the police than that of most fictional detectives; although there is animosity between Lord Peter and Inspector Sugg, Lord Peter seems to have a good relationship with Scotland Yard and with Parker. In some ways, Bunter plays the same role as Watson and other companions play for the detective they are close friends with. He accompanies Lord Peter on his investigations, he serves as someone to whom Lord Peter can discuss the case, and he can assist when necessary. There are, however, distinct differences between Bunter and others in this role. Foremost, Bunter is not the narrator of these exploits, and he is not an uncritical admirer of Lord Peter. Indeed, one is never quite sure how Bunter feels about Lord Peter; their relationship is kept on a formal basis of master and servant. Lord Peter, on occasion, may lapse from strict formality and talk with Bunter familiarly, but Bunter maintains his status. He has a strict sense of the order of things. Bunter very much appreciates working for Lord Peter and would not forsake him for another master. He does, of course, grumble about Lord Peter, when talking with other servants, but this seems rather natural; in his letter to Lord Peter, Bunter says clearly that the only reason he takes advantage of his master's wine cellar is to ingratiate himself with Sir Julian's valet and that this was a tactic that gained the desired information. This also indicates that Bunter is more involved in the investigation than most detectives' companions. For example, whenever it seems likely that necessary information might be gained from servants or others of the working class, Wimsey leaves the matter entirely to Bunter, for Bunter converses with these people much better than Wimsey does. In addition, unless there are good reasons for a separation, Bunter accompanies Wimsey to all scenes of investigation, not as an observer but as a working partner. Simply to do his job as Lord Peter's valet, Bunter must be skilled at many things, and these have proved valuable while assisting in the investigation; he has also added other skills which are useful, such as his interest in photography. We sense that Bunter took care of Wimsey during the war (there is reference to this idea when Lord Peter has his waking nightmare) and Bunter is still continuing to take care of Lord Peter in civilian life. Charles Parker seems to fit the mold of the police stereotype in detective fiction. He is solid, persistent, and steady. He values his job seriously, knowing that he does it quite well (though not brilliantly) and he knows that he is performing a useful service. Parker is certainly less wealthy than Lord Peter and must do without many of the luxuries that he enjoys when he is with Lord Peter; nevertheless, he has no jealousy. Even though they share an interest in solving crimes, as well as having some similarities in the way they investigate a crime, Lord Peter and Charles Parker are opposites, especially in the imaginative leaps that Lord Peter takes with the evidence (Parker would not and could not); nevertheless, they are firm friends and good partners. Initially, there seem to be two cases to be solved in Whose Body? The first case focuses on the body in the Thipps' bathtub: who is he, who killed him, and why did the killer put the body in the bathtub . . . nude? The second case concerns the strange disapperance of Sir Reuben Levy: his disappearance, how it occurred, and what happened to him? Other than the fact that Parker views the nude body in the bathtub because he is accounting for all recent corpses in an attempt to find Sir Reuben, and the fact that Parker and Wimsey work on both cases simultaneously, there is nothing to dovetail the two cases. Nevertheless, from the beginning, the evidence which eventually indicates that the two cases deal with one crime subtly offered to us. The first clue we have is the fact that Sir Julian Freke is the person who asserted that the body in the bathtub had not been taken from the hospital as a prank; by itself, this mans nothing. Even when, in the course of a rather rambling conversation, the Duchess of Denver suggests a motive for Sir

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Julian--he was jilted by the girl who married a Jew with no social standing--this clue seems insignificant. Likewise, the clue the height of the body (5' 10") and the hair color (auburn) of the person who slept in Sir Reuben's bed to make it appear that he had been home has no initial bearing, nor does the fact that the person wore gloves, even though Lord Peter suggests several times that they were probably rubber gloves. The next clue is the disagreement between Sir Julian and Dr. Grimbold as to the length of time the body in the bathtub might have been dead before it was found. This too is rather indirect. The most solid clue relating Sir Julian with the disappearance of Sir Reuben occurs when Sir Julian admits that Sir Reuben consulted him the evening he disappeared. In addition, in the same conversation, Sir Julian stresses that there is a significant superficial likeness between the body in the bathtub and Reuben, thus providing a possible relationship between the cases. These are the most direct clues in he case. Others have also been included in the findings of the two detectives: fabric threads on the roof of the building in which the Thippses live; Levy identified as has been in the Battersea Park Road; Lady Levy's nervous attack that caused her to go abroad for her health; the smell of carbolic soap; Sir Julian's toying with stocks; and Mr. Thipps' delivering anti-vivisection pamphlets. Even after reading the novel and knowing how these facts unite, it is easy to see how fitting them together in a logical chain would be somewhat difficult, especially when Lord Peter's attention has been focused on other people, most notably on Mr. Milligan and Mr. Crimplesham. After all these clues have been gathered, Lord Peter assists the reader by laying them out clearly before him. Wimsey, of course, feels at he has the information that would allow him to solve the crime only if he could decipher the key elements that would bring them together. It is at this point that the reader should be able to determine the murderer, though how the crime was committed is not yet clear. For Lord Peter, that realization comes through at apparently unrelated activity, reading a book on the conscience and its basis in human physiology. That Lord Peter might be reading this book is prepared for earlier, in Chapter V; a review of it is among the things that Bunter has recommended for his lordship's reading, and, though he does not read the review of the book, Lord Peter does tell Bunter to get the book. The moment of realization comes when, in reaction to a passage from Sir Julian's book, he exclaims that such an idea is a perfect revelation for a criminal. He does not want to believe that Sir Julian Freke is the murderer, but he has no other choice. Although he suffers a nervous collapse of sorts after this realization, he is coherent enough to lay a plan for gathering the corroborating evidence that will provide the knowledge of how the crime was committed and that will establish a case that can be valid in a court of law; part of these instructions are for Bunter, and the others, rather cryptically given, are for Parker. Whereas in most detective novels the detective provides the final summation of the case, in Whose Body? the murderer does so. Sir Julian Freke is a brilliant man who has made many contributions to medical science and to the study of criminology. He has obviously worked many years to obtain the position that he has received, and his listing in the Who's Who that Lord Peter consults is indeed impressive. Though precise dates are not available, it seems likely that Sir Julian has nursed his grudge against Sir Reuben for approximately twenty years, until the proper opportunity develops (with a little help from Sir Julian). It also seems likely that this long-standing desire to murder Reuben Levy for the "slight" against him may very well have determined many of the topics that he explored in his work and publications. Even in committing murder, Sir Julian is still the scientist, analyzing his actions and his feelings. Since he had planned to record a report of this deed for posthumous publication, his letter to Wimsey is a substitute for that report. Clarifying all details, it is written in a very clinical style. He shows no remorse, only admiration for his own cleverness and that of his adversary, Lord Peter. Whose Body? is not a particularly intricate or involved detective story, nor does it have layers upon layers of side issues to distract the reader. Instead, it is quite straightforward: All of the clues are presented clearly and without undue obscurity. The only extraneous matters involved are settling the issue of the pince-nez found on the body and investigating the possibility that Sir Reuben was kidnapped by business rivals. Instead of many false clues and false trails to confuse the issue, the reader is hindered only in the

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way that the detectives are hindered--the clues don't seem to fit together. In short, Whose Body? challenges the reader to see if he can solve the crime before Lord Peter or Parker can. It is a fine example of a classical detective story.

THE BENSON MURDER CASE S. S. Van Dine 1926 The Benson Murder Case chronicles the introduction of the wealthy socialite Philo Vance and his legal advisor and friend S. S. Van Dine to the detection of murder. Vance's friendship with John F. -X. Markham, reform ticket District Attorney for New York County, gained his admittance to this first case, but the results he produced insured his involvement in other such investigations during the four years that Markham was district attorney. While most private investigators in detective fiction exhibit more variations of detection, such as those introduced by Sherlock Holmes, Philo Vance clearly has more in common with the so-called father of detectives, M. Auguste Dupin, particularly in the method of detection and in the manner of revealing his conclusions. Though Vance is not the first American detective in the classical mold, he is certainly a worthy descendant of E. A. Poe's M. Auguste Dupin. Van Dine has come to Vance's house at the unusually early hour of eight-thirty to receive instructions on purchasing several works of art for Vance. While they are breakfasting, Markham arrives to ask Vance if he indeed wants to follow a murder investigation in progress. Though he affects indifference, Vance dresses rapidly, and soon Markham, Vance, and Van Dine arrive at the residence of Alvin Benson, a bachelor and a financier. Vance looks about the room and talks with the ballistics expert from the police department and also with a man from the district attorney's office. From the beginning, Vance jokes about the items and factors that the police and Markham consider to be evidence. The first person to be interviewed is Mrs. Platz, Benson's housekeeper, who says that she heard a shot, or a noise like a shot, at twelve-thirty; she says, furthermore, that Benson had no visitors from the time that he arrived home from the office about four o'clock in the afternoon, an unusually early hour. The next day, Vance states that at least a dozen clues which are important to him were ignored by the police in their investigation; he says that the entire investigation is absurd. But, however, he is interested in watching the progress of this so-called investigation. The first suspect questioned is Muriel St. Clair, an aspiring opera singer with whom Benson was known to have dined the evening before; her purse and gloves were found in the room in which Benson was murdered. Even before he has seen her, Vance tries, unsuccessfully, to tell Markham that a woman couldn't have committed this crime. Nevertheless, Miss St. Clair is brought before Markham and questioned; she is most uncooperative, which Markham takes as a sign of probable guilt. Since Markham will not accept Vance's psychological view of the crime, Vance proves that the height of the murderer had to be between 5' 10" and 6' 2". Conceding that Vance has made his point, Markham decides not to arrest Miss St. Clair. In addition, Vance also discovers that Miss St. Clair had been at Benson's earlier in the day, rather than after dinner, as the police originally believed. Leander Pfyfe, a friend of Benson's, arrives from Long Island. He tells Markham, Sergeant Heath, Vance, and Van Dine of a party he had hosted, during which Benson was most attentive to Miss St. Clair; her financé, Captain Philip Leacock, half-drew a pistol and threatened to murder Benson if he ever forced his attentions on Miss St. Clair again. Because Leacock had already been considered as the possible murderer, and because he is the right height, he becomes the prime suspect. The authorities build a circumstantial case against him, beginning with the fact that he lied about his gun being lost in France; later, he is seen dropping a package of a size and weight that suggests a gun over a bridge. His story of where he was the night of the murder is proven to be a lie, and we learn that he left his home shortly after midnight on the night of the murder and was seen by Pfyfe in front of Benson's house. Thus we learn that

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Leander Pfyfe was also on the scene and, in addition, that he had possible cause to murder Benson. Nevertheless, Major Anthony Benson, the dead man's brother and business partner, insists that Leacock could not have killed his brother; he bases this theory on his knowledge of Leacock, gained when they served in the army together. When the police have not arrested him after some length of time, Leacock confesses and is jailed. However, after questioning him, Vance points out that he knew too little about the house and about Benson's appearance to have killed him; even so, it is only with great difficulty that he convinces Markham and Sergeant Heath not to announce Leacock's jailing to the press. A re-questioning of Miss St. Clair and Mrs. Platz reveals further information The result of the first is that Markham concedes that Leacock is not the murderer. The result of the second is that Markham is prepared for Vance's demonstration of who the murderer actually is, an identity Vance has been quite sure about since approximately five minutes after viewing the scene of the crime. Vance begins by showing Markham that, by using the kind of evidence and hypotheses favored by the official investigators, Mrs. Platz, the housekeeper, could be considered the killer as easily as any of the other suspects. Markham accepts this theory until Vance tells him that it's all a spoof. Vance then goes through a list of alibis he asked Markham to bring along. When he discusses Major Anthony Benson, he becomes more serious. They check out the Major's alibi, which no one has done. They realize that the hall boy at his residential apartment building remembers that night particularly; the Major had done several things that he recalls clearly. Although Markham is not easily convinced, Vance explains how the Major could have established the alibi firmly while still getting inside the Benson house without being seen. He also convinces Markham to help him search Major Benson's apartment. There, they find a gun which turns out to be the murder weapon (later confirmed to have been) and a box of jewels which Alvin Benson had as security for a note and which had been seen on his table the day of the murder. The accountant who had been sent to look at the Benson and Benson account books--for one purpose by Markham but with private suggestions of what to look for from Vance--confirms that Major Benson had serious financial problems, so serious that he faced a prison sentence if he did not produce enough money to cover his speculations. When confronted with this evidence, Major Benson reacts violently; Vance manages to get an armlock on him and thus subdue him. After the arrest, and apparently after the trial. Vance explains his theories. When he has finished, he offers his services to Markham whenever they might be again needed, and Van Dine remarks that this offer proved to be prophetic. Philo Vance can be irritating, at times, but it is fascinating to watch him solve a case because he is both clearly characterized and quite different from other fictional detectives. At the beginning of this novel, Van Dine describes Vance, his interests, his physical features, and his personality in much detail. Of those many details (including such things as his education at Harvard and his living several years abroad), three characteristics emerge as having a major bearing on his work as a detective. First, Vance is a collector and a theoretician of art. His collection encompasses most periods of art, as well as most cultures from which art and sculpture can be collected. All the pieces in his collection are exquisite, and his collection of Chinese prints is reputed to be one of the best in the United States. In addition to having such a collection, Vance is recognized as an authority in several areas of his collection and as knowledgeable in most of the others. Vance's theory of crime and the criminal are couched in terms which combine psychology and art, and he compares the activity of the artist with the activity of the criminal, as well as compares their psychological make-ups. Chapter VIII provides interesting reading in this regard. Second, Vance is interested in psychology, having had courses at Harvard under Münsterberg and William James (both were psychologists teaching at Harvard in the last years of the nineteenth century and the early years of the twentieth century), as well as having read widely in the field. In addition, Vance took a wide variety of courses from many disciplines, intent on discovering what they revealed about human psychology. It is on this basis that he determines, first, the type of person who committed the murder of Alvin Benson, and, second, who that person is. Using the same assessment of the crime and of the criminal, he measures the other suspects against them; since Markham does not use (or consider) this

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basis of detection, Vance finds other reasons why these suspects should not be arrested. The third fact about Vance that is prominent is the fact that he is very rich. Not only does this provide the funds for his collections and allow him the leisure to explore both art and psychology intensively, but it also provides the basis for his approach to the case and to people. His position is secure, and it cannot be threatened. Therefore, he feels no need to dwell overly on the social graces and he occasionally speaks his mind quite bluntly. Nevertheless, he does restrain himself in several instances because of his friendship for Markham and also because of his desire to solve the case methodically. In addition, he can be quite gentle with people, especially those who are afraid. His attitude can also be called irreverent and cynical. He is not impressed with the methods that the police use, and he says so often, even angering the normally unflappable Markham. He wonders how criminals are ever caught by such methods. His method is, of course, superior to those of the police. Though these are the characteristics which relate most directly to Vance's role as a detective, many others are also included in this introductory glimpse. For example, he is tall and handsome, a rather indolent though an excellent fencer, a late sleeper, an immaculate dresser, and a superb poker player. He has a large web of social ties and belongs to a number of social clubs, even though he is not a particularly sociable being. These are subsidiary characterizing details, but all of them are noted during the course of the novel, and many of them become involved in the solution to the crime. For example, his athletic skill is instrumental in subduing Major Benson, and his social ties provide him with information about the suspects. On the whole, Philo Vance is one of the most fully characterized of fictional detectives. Vance's companion and chronicler, S. S. Van Dine, is, on the other hand, almost invisible; few characters in this type of role are as insignificant or are as sketchily characterized as Van Dine. Van Dine is a lawyer who is about the same age as Vance, or perhaps a few years older. He met Vance while both men were at Harvard, and Vance inexplicably took Van Dine as an extracurricular associate. When Van Dine had just become a junior partner in his father's law firm, Vance returned from Europe, where he had been living for five years, to accept a legacy from his aunt which left him quite independently wealthy; Van Dine was called upon to take care of all technical matters concerning the bequest. This led to his becoming Vance's legal counselor and business manager, which was so time-consuming that he left his law firm. Van Dine's personality is quite different from Vance's: He is conservative, conventional, legal minded but not rigid and not overly impressed by unwieldy legal procedures, precise (he took careful notes on Vance's cases, as well as saving newspaper clippings, and he uses footnotes for explanation and reference), and interested in less esoteric matters than Vance generally is. In the investigation, Van Dine makes no contribution whatsoever; he accompanies Vance at all times, and he observes the questioning and the finding of evidence, but he does not comment on anything or ask questions. At most, he indicates his reactions in the process of writing, but even this is quite rare. Van Dine is, primarily, a chronicler rather than an assistant or even a foil. John F.-X. Markham, the district attorney for New York County, assumes something of the Watson role, as well as that given the policemen whom Holmes comes in contact with (Inspector Lestrade, for example). Markham is the official advocate of police methods and procedures. Because he is committed to those methods and those rules of evidence, he often makes the same kinds of mistakes that Lestrade makes in the Holmes cases in which he appears; he also arrives at faulty conclusions that Vance must struggle to get him to avoid, or at least not carry through. However, Vance and Markham talk over the cases at most points, as Holmes does with Watson, and theirs is a comradeship between two men that goes beyond their differences of opinion and their differing ideas of how a case should be investigated. Though Markham seems to be brighter and less dense than Watson, he and Watson share approximately the same relationship with the detective they work with. Markham is also described at some length by Van Dine shortly after his first appearance in the novel. Since he is an elected official, rather than a career police officer, some differences are apparent.

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He was a reform candidate for the office, victorious against the Tammany Hall political machine. He is, therefore, determined to combat corruption and crime, and he does so vigorously. By the time his career as district attorney ended, due to the machinations of Tammany Hall, he had been very successful in his aims. Especially in pursuit of his duty, he is, Van Dine says, inclined toward being brusque and rather grim. However, when he is away from the stresses of office he is said to be a gracious and cultured man of good breeding. Thus, he is able to follow Vance's explications of his theories and even his excursions into foreign languages, though he is of a more sober and steady cast of mind. Thus, he is both a person with whom Vance can converse quite easily and also a foil for the brilliance and unorthodoxy displayed by Vance. Like the Dupin stories, The Benson Murder Case is solved before the reader gets all the facts that would allow him to match wits with the detective. Philo Vance claims to know who the murderer is within five minutes of seeing the scene of the crime, but he has the advantage of knowing the general group whom Alvin Benson associated with, as well as being acquainted with Major Benson. Vance's indications are apparently the state of Benson's dress (without his wig, in a smoking jacket, without his tie, and so forth), the distance from which he was shot, the fact that he was shot in the head rather than in the body, the fact that he was reacting, and, by implication, the approximate height of the murderer. It is clear that the murderer was probably someone whom Alvin Benson knew well enough to entertain without his hairpiece: Thus knowing Alvin Benson allows Vance to eliminate all but three suspects--his brother, his housekeeper and his oldest friend. In addition, this evidence would make it seem likely that the murderer was rather bold in his scheme, especially after Vance explains rather early in the novel that shooting a person in the head, rather than the body, requires not only a sure shot, but also someone who cool and sure of himself. Again, the problem for the reader is the fact that very little is seen of Major Benson until near the end of the novel, and there is little opportunity for the reader to assess his character. Of course, it is true that as the other suspects are eliminated, attention should eventually focus on Major Benson, especially after information about the business arrangement of the two brothers is given. It is also true that, once Benson is named as the murderer, the accusation seems quite plausible. His answers to questions about his brother's death and about his brother's friends and activities take on a new light, as do his protestations that Captain Leacock could not possibly have killed his brother. The fact that Major Benson expressly called Markham and asked him to investigate the case is not unusual; Markham and Major Benson have been acquainted for a long time, and the Major quite accurately believes that Markham would never suspect him. His knowledge of Captain Leacock is also very accurate and assists him in avoiding being under suspicion. As long as he feels safe, Major Benson is calm, cool, and bold. It is only after he has been directly charged with murder that he gives way to impulse. Part of the fun of reading detective fiction is trying to solve the problem before the detective reveals his solution. In The Benson of Murder Case, it is possible that a reader might determine that Major Benson is the murderer, though Van Dine provides as little help as possible for doing so. Another part of the fun, however, is watching the way that the detective does things and the way that he solves the problem. It is in this area that The Benson Murder Case is most rewarding. Philo Vance is an eccentric and he is unique among detectives. Though his mannerisms may grate on occasion, it is interesting to watch him note things that the police have missed, bring additional considerations to light, and maneuver Markham away from mistaken arrests and guide him toward the proper solution. Markham's stubbornness makes this process all the more interesting. In doing all of this, The Benson Murder Case is solidly constructed and well written. S. S. Van Dine (Willard Huntington Wright) put a great deal of thought into what he thought a detective story should be like; in The Benson Murder Case, he put those ideas into practice.

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THE MURDER OF ROGER ACKROYD Agatha Christie 1926 Agatha Christie's career as a writer of detective fiction spanned slightly more than half a century. During that time she earned a reputation as the dean of detective writers. That title is deserved, for she wrote many novels and stories that were consistently challenging and of high quality. In addition, she created two of the best known detectives in modern detective fiction: M. Hercule Poirot, a vain little Belgian, and Miss Jane Marple, a little old English lady; in addition, she created Tommy and Tuppence Beresford, who are almost as interesting as Poirot and Miss Marple, as well as several other minor detective figures. Agatha Christie and A. Conan Doyle are probably the two writers of detective fiction that everybody has heard of; even if they have read no other detective fiction, people are likely to have sampled Agatha Christie or A. Conan Doyle, or both. The Murder of Roger Ackroyd features M. Hercule Poirot (Poy-roe), and many people consider it to be the best of the Poirot mysteries. It was a controversial novel when it was first published, and it still causes some controversy now. Poirot is assisted in the investigation by the murderer, and the tale is told with the murderer as the narrator. This, of course, breaks one of the supposedly cardinal rules of detective fiction. Nevertheless, Agatha Christie's genius triumphs. The act of murder is consistent with the narrator's character as he himself presents it, and all the details which would allow the reader to solve the case are presented plausibly in the course of the narration. Naturally, the narrator dissembles somewhat in his reactions to evidence as it is found, and he has laid a trail of false clues that point toward an innocent person with a motive for murder; the reader's job is not easy, but, like Hercule Poirot, he will probably discover the true culprit in this case. The story opens with the news of the death of Mrs. Ferrars the night before; there is a theory that it might have been suicide, but the attending doctor can find no note or other indication that it was, in fact, suicide. Shortly after the doctor returns to the village, Roger Ackroyd meets him in the street and asks him to dinner that evening because he has something important to discuss. That afternoon, the doctor meets his new neighbor, a M. Poirot, who has retired from his business to grow vegetable marrows. After dinner that evening, Roger Ackroyd draws Dr. Sheppard into his study and reveals that Mrs. Ferrars, whom he had hoped to marry, told him of killing her husband with poison and of being blackmailed because of it. As they talk, the butler brings in the evening mail, which contains a letter to Ackroyd from Mrs. Ferrars, which he expects will contain the name of the blackmailer. However, Ackroyd decides that he would rather read the letter while he is alone, and nothing the doctor can say will persuade him to read more than a part of the introductory paragraph. Shortly after that, Doctor Sheppard leaves Fernly Park and returns home. About an hour later, he receives a phone call, purportedly from Parker, the butler at Fernly Park, saying that Mr. Ackroyd has been found murdered. When Sheppard arrives, Parker denies having called and knows nothing about Ackroyd's being dead. Together, Parker and Sheppard break down the door to the study and find the body. While Parker phones the police, Dr. Sheppard does what needs being done in the study. The police arrive and, of course, question everybody about the situation, especially about what they were doing that evening; Doctor Sheppard includes a map of the lower floor of the house to help visualize the scene of the crime. The preliminary conclusion after this investigation is that the butler did it. The following morning, Flora Ackroyd, the niece who has been living with Ackroyd, calls on Dr. Sheppard to ask for his aid in enlisting the services of the new neighbor, whom she knows to be Hercule Poirot (Poirot had been acquainted with her uncle, who had promised to keep the secret). Her mission is successful, and she demands the truth, no matter how painful. Poirot's first task is to win acceptance of his

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involvement from the police, which he does easily by declaring that he wants none of the credit and that he has always admired the English police. Poirot's investigation begins with an examination of the scene, and he notices several things that the police did not, such as a chair that was out of place, a fragment of cloth and a goose quill in the summerhouse, and a wedding ring in the goldfish pond. He also asks a number of questions that the police did not ask. The will is read, with the estate and a large sum of money going to Ralph Paton, Ackroyd's adopted son; from this point until near the end, it seems as though Ralph Paton is the murderer, for most of the evidence points toward him. After some further investigation, Poirot calls together Flora Ackroyd, her mother, Major Blunt (a friend of Ackroyd's who has been visiting), Geoffrey Raymond (Ackroyd's secretary), and Dr. Sheppard (Paton cannot be found); he accuses them all of hiding something from him. Though his request for information is not immediately successful, all but Dr. Sheppard eventually confess the information they are hiding. After their confessions, Poirot calls a meeting of all the people involved, the same people he accused of hiding something from him, plus Parker (the butler), Elizabeth Russell (the housekeeper), and Ursula Bourne (Mrs. Ralph Paton, a maid); he also produces Ralph Paton. He outlines the information that he has, and he says that he knows who committed the murder. He plans to give the information to Inspector Raglan in the morning. After this, a telegram comes to him; Poirot reads it (without revealing it to the reader) and says that it confirms his conclusions. After the meeting, he asks Dr. Sheppard to stay for awhile. Poirot tells the doctor that he knows that Sheppard is the guilty person, and he specifies the evidence he has against him. Finally, he suggests that Sheppard commit suicide in order to save his sister's feelings. Though the doctor does not admit his guilt to Poirot, he does go home and completes his manuscript of the case (which is mentioned several times during the course of the story). He admits his guilt, gloats a bit about his cleverness in revealing clues while misleading the reader, and decides which medication he will use to kill himself. Hercule Poirot is one of many eccentric detectives who miss little about the crime and who unerringly put the clues together, no matter how torturous the trail to the significant evidence and the correct conclusion might be. Poirot is a Belgian. Although many of his cases are in England, his English is not good and he has a decided foreign accent. Indeed, Agatha Christie has captured the foreign phrasing extremely well and has thus created a distinctive detail of Poirot's character. In addition, Poirot also uses French phrases for expressions such as "of course" and "that goes without saying." In describing his work as a detective, Poirot stresses that one must be methodical, doing things in the proper way and in the proper order. He keeps his "little secrets" and conclusions, but no one can keep a secret from him. Once he has gathered all the secrets, he "puts his little gray cells to work," and his work proves better than most detectives' sleuthing. Physically, Poirot is rather small and rotund, and he has an enormous handlebar moustache, of which he is inordinately proud. He dresses well, and he will only disarrange his clothes if some definite object is to be gained. On the whole, Poirot presents a somewhat comical impression; the police and Doctor Sheppard are inclined to think he exaggerates his abilities and his importance. This seems to be deliberately cultivated--or at least Poirot does little to change the impression--for it allows him to ask questions and to snoop about places which might otherwise be denied him. He certainly manages to keep Dr. Sheppard in check and unsuspecting until he is ready to make his accusation. The case that Poirot makes against Doctor Sheppard is closely reasoned, yet it is based on the facts that Doctor Sheppard has presented to the reader; indeed, some of the facts which Poirot uses to condemn Sheppard are facts which the murderer himself provided to the detective. Many of these facts are small and easily missed; the reader must be continually alert for the relevant clues and astute enough to see their significance. For example, Poirot explains that the clue which first made him suspicious of the doctor was

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the fact that it took the doctor ten minutes to get from the house to the gate in blustery weather; the doctor and others affirmed that it was normally a five-minute walk. All three pieces of this clue are presented separately: First; Sheppard says he left Ackroyd ten minutes before nine; later, he says that the chimes struck nine just as he reached the gate; still later, it is pointed out that that should have been a five-minute walk. These bits of information are presented several times to make sure they are before the reader; nevertheless, the reader must be alert to catch their significance. Aside from that discrepancy, many other details dovetail to undermine the innocence of Doctor James Sheppard. Easily missed is the significance of the doctor's words in describing his behavior on leaving Ackroyd and after the body has been found. First, he wonders if there was anything more he could have done that should have been done; since Ackroyd had not been ill, and since the doctor had apparently planned to leave immediately so Ackroyd could read the letter, one could legitimately wonder what he had been doing for ten minutes that might need more attention. Second, he says that he did "what needed doing"; though the context suggests some kind of medical examination, it is still reasonable to ask exactly what it was that he did. If this were retained until the discussion about the chair being out of place temporarily, the two facts together would suggest that the doctor was the only person who could have moved the chair back to its original position; why he did so would be an appropriate question. The phone call that brings the doctor back out to Fernly Park is also highlighted; the idea that Parker hadn't called and hadn't, in fact, seen Ackroyd since Sheppard left is stressed. If our suspicions of Sheppard have been aroused, that would be another fact to consider in the case against him. Indeed, suspicion of the doctor is almost essential to noting the clues that accumulate against him. If we are suspicious, then his two visits to Ralph Paton's rooms takes on a different light. If we are suspicious, we might note the fact that Ackroyd bought a dictaphone, that the dictaphone could not be found after the murder, and that the doctor is interested in working with clocks and other such equipment together; thus we determine that Ackroyd could have been "talking" to someone at 9:30. All the facts necessary to conclude that Doctor James Sheppard murdered Roger Ackroyd are presented in the course of the narration; the message confirming the nature of the phone call is merely added proof. All most readers would need to have done to solve this case is to have a sharp eye for small details, to be suspicious of everybody, and to methodically put the pieces together. Doctor Sheppard is presented, both by himself and by comments made by Poirot, as a basically honest man with weaknesses. His first weakness was succumbing to greed when the opportunity for blackmail arose; his consideration was for himself rather than for another human being. His second weakness is that he was clever enough to commit a murder successfully. The murder was, of course. necessitated by the threat of exposure for his blackmail. These weaknesses are the main bases for his actions throughout The Murder of Roger Ackroyd. Thus, he can help Poirot in his investigation and give him the information he wants without editing it because he thinks he can fool the detective. He slants his own activities and lays a trail of false clues pointing to Ralph Paton because of his concern for his own safety. He builds on the actions of others in constructing his false trail (and those others are most obliging in the opportunities they give him) because he is a clever man. In looking at Sheppard's character, it is possible to speculate on his sister's influence in the way that his weaknesses came into play. At one point, when Caroline says that he really needs someone to take care of him and asks what he'd be doing if she hadn't taken care of him, his response is that he just might be married to an adventuress. His life in King's Abbot has been quite staid and proper, all in all a very placid existence. The implication of his suggestion about marrying an adventuress is that he would have preferred a different kind of life and that he feels that he might have been able to do better than he has. If this is the case, the temptation of blackmail might have been a chance to gain some of the things that he feels he has missed; certainly, it, and the murder, put a sense of danger and excitement into his life that wasn't there before. Whatever else might be involved, James Sheppard certainly resents his sister and her influence on his life; he loses no opportunities to downgrade her as a gossip and as a person who lacks cleverness and perception. He also takes a perverse delight in withholding information that he has from her; part of this is necessary to the role that he is playing, but

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spite, too, is involved. The final impression of Doctor Sheppard is that he is a deceitful and self-serving man. Still, we are also told, in a number of ways, that he has been a man who was well-liked and trusted. We can only conclude, under these circumstances, that by the time that he murdered Roger Ackroyd, his weaknesses have eclipsed the very traits which won him liking and trust. The stricture against love interests in detective stories is also successfully ignored in The Murder of Roger Ackroyd. Indeed, affairs of the heart are quite complicated in this novel, and those complications help to make the threads of the case more complex. Though it is not strictly a love interest, Miss Russell and her son form one complication, for he is a sinister stranger on the scene at the time of the murder, and her meeting with him adds to the number of people who are under suspicion. Of the love relationships, the one between Roger Ackroyd and Mrs. Ferrars provides the motive for the murder; his reaction to her revelation, in addition to the blackmail, causes her suicide and her decision to give him the name of her blackmailer, which in turn causes the blackmailer to murder Ackroyd. Officially, Captain Ralph Paton and Flora Ackroyd are engaged to be married; their engagement was at the request of her uncle (his adopted father), and this causes Flora to be loyal to Ralph. However, Ralph is actually married to Ursula Bourne, a maid in the household, though it is a secret that was revealed only to Ackroyd on the day that he was murdered. The scene between Mrs. Paton and Ackroyd was stormy. Consequently, Ralph felt that he had to draw attention away from Ursula since she might have committed the murder in anger, while she feels the need to protect Ralph because he might have committed murder because of his adopted father's treatment of her. Ralph's disappearance adds to the number of clues that point toward him and is one of the main red herrings in the path to the solution to this case. Finally, Major Blunt is smitten with Flora but he is too much a gentleman to say so as long as he thinks she is engaged to Ralph, though he does try to protect her. After she learns that Ralph is already married, and after Poirot points out to her how Blunt feels, she goes to have a talk with him; the probabilities are marriage. In a detective story, one of the necessary features is the complication of the case. The love interest is a very human activity (and murder should affect human beings and their lives) which is important in its own right and which provides such complications quite naturally and easily. Of course, for the love interest to be a part of the detective story, it must be integral to the story and to the case; it should not be something inserted as a diversion. If it meets these criteria, the love interest has as legitimate a place in detective fiction as it has in fiction in general. In The Murder of Roger Ackroyd, Agatha Christie attempted a feat thought by many to be impossible-and she succeeded at it. Her success is all the more amazing because it was achieved early in her career. To allow the murderer to tell the tale is one thing, but to do it so that all the details which would allow the reader to determine the murderer's guilt without making it extremely obvious is quite another. To win the reader's assent--yes, this person could have done that and why didn't I think of that?--means an additional degree of success. The Murder of Roger Ackroyd is certainly one of Agatha Christie's most interesting and intriguing, as well as successful, mystery novels.

WHAT MRS. McGILLICUDDY SAW! Agatha Christie 1957 Originally titled 4:50 from Paddington and serialized as Eye Witness to Murder, What Mrs. McGillicuddy Saw! features Miss Jane Marple, a little old lady who manages to get involved with murder investigations and solve the crime before the police do. Miss Marple is, of course, the other half of Agatha Christie's most renowned pair of detectives and she is as unlike Hercule Poirot as can be. This particular case is considered by many critics to be the best of the Miss Marple stories, and it does demonstrate her talents admirably.

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On her way by train to St. Mary Mead to visit her old friend Jane Marple, Elspeth McGillicuddy sees a murder committed in another train as the two trains pass one another traveling in the same direction. She tries first to convince the ticket collector of what she has seen; when that doesn't seem to get any results, she leaves a note for the stationmaster at Brackhampton. When she arrives at Miss Marple's, she immediately tells her friend all about the murder, who believes her because she knows Mrs. McGillicuddy's character. When the news is not in the morning paper, they go to the local police; their investigation reveals that no corpse has been found, that no one was admitted to the hospital, and that no woman was seen leaving the train supported by a man. Telling Mrs. McGillicuddy that she has done all that she can and to enjoy her trip to Ceylon. Miss Marple decides to investigate. First, she gets some information about train schedules from her nephew and some maps from the vicar's son. Then she takes several trips on the train to London to retrace the scene of the crime. She also writes to a former maid who lives in Brackhampton. Since she must have someone who can do the investigating for her (she's nearly ninety years old) without arousing suspicion, she contacts Lucy Eyelesbarrow, who agrees to work at Rutherford Hall, an estate near the spot where the murder was committed. At Rutherford Hall, Lucy adapts easily and makes arrangements so that she can visit Miss Marple regularly and so that she can move about the grounds freely. Since Miss Marple has theorized that the undiscovered body was dumped from the train at the curve near the Hall, Lucy begins by scouting that area. She finds a bit of fur on a thornbush and a cheap compact nearby, thus confirming Miss Marple's theory, at least partially. Two days later, she finds a body in a sarcophagus in the Long Barn, which is used to store the art collections that Luther Crackenthorp made in his younger years. First she tells Jane Marple, then the police, and finally Emma Crackenthorp and her father. After preliminary questioning, the local police decide to ask New Scotland Yard for assistance. The investigations, both official and unofficial, move slowly since there are few clues; at the inquest, no one was able to identify the victim, so that matter is a primary order of business. The man who is sent from New Scotland Yard is Detective Inspector Dermot Craddock, who happens to be acquainted with Miss Marple; his uncle, Sir Henry Clithering, has recommended her talents to Craddock and to others as well. Much of the initial questioning focuses on the Crackenthorp family in an attempt to see if they were somehow involved or had any knowledge of the victim or of the murder; the three brothers and the widowed brother-in-law have all tried to be of whatever assistance they can. A good deal of the novel pictures the characters and the interactions of the members of the Crackenthorp family and of Doctor Quimper, the family physician who seems to be paying indirect court to Emma Crackenthorp. The alibis and activities of family members are also tracked down. Two possible identities for the victim seem most promising. Emma Crackenthorp reveals to the police, against the advice of her brothers, that she received a letter from a woman named Martine, who claimed to have been married to the deceased elder brother during the war; in his last letter home before he died, Edmund had mentioned being very much in love with Martine. The other possibility is a French dancer, Anna Stravinska, who had been on tour in England with the Ballet Maritski and who had left the company just before the murder occurred. However, no one knew Martine, and no one who knew her is able to identify a photograph of the victim (who had been strangled) as being that of Anna Stravinska. Things move very slowly while every possible lead is checked, and it becomes more and more likely that the victim is indeed Martine and that the motive is to decrease the number of people who share the legacy that will come to the Crackenthorpe children when old Luther dies. The case quickens when arsenic poisoning occurs among the Crackenthorpes, supposedly just enough to make them ill but not enough to kill them. Nevertheless, two of them die. In addition, while Emma Crackenthorpe lies ill, Lady StoddartWest, the mother of Luther Crackenthorpe's grandson's best friend (both boys had recently visited Rutherford Hall) comes forward to reveal herself as the Martine that Edmund had been much in love with.

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This announcement is most unexpected and very puzzling; for Miss Marple, however, it seems to make things clearer. She summons Mrs. McGillicuddy back from Ceylon, and then she arranges a situation which forces Dr. Quimper to confess that he murdered his estranged wife. And, finally, Miss Marple explains to Mrs. McGillicuddy and Craddock what has happened. Miss Jane Marple is a little old lady whose main interests seem to be people, homemade wine, tea, and a bit of detective work on the side. She is nearly ninety at the time of this case, and she seems to have spent a lifetime meeting and getting to know people very well indeed. Although she gets around well enough for normal day-to-day activities (for example, she takes the train to London by herself several times and manages to visit people), her age prevents more strenuous activities (her doctor won't allow her to get down on her knees to garden, and she certainly can't do all of the physical work of investigation). Thus, for this case, and most of her other cases, other people bring information to her. Although little physical description of Miss Marple is given in this novel, it should be noted that the interpretation of her character and the appearance by Dame Margaret Rutherford in several movies featuring "Jane Marple" seems entirely misleading. That is, the film Miss Marple is a rather large, robust woman who busily scurries from place to place, while the Miss Marple of the novels seems to be a slight person of medium height who carries herself very precisely and erectly--and who never scurries. The reader encounters in this novel a woman vastly different from Dame Rutherford's portrayal. Miss Marple's interest in people is at least equal to her interest in detection, and the two fit hand in glove. The people whom she meets in the course of her investigation always remind her of other people that she has known, and present patterns of action remind her of patterns of action that she has encountered in the past. She is, of course, sensible enough to know that people and actions are not identical. It is, however, the similarities that are most helpful to her in solving the mysteries that she becomes involved in. Thus, in working on a case, she is more interested in the people who are involved and in the way that they interact with one another; from the patterns that she sees, she can compare them with other, similar patterns, which gives her the probability of who committed the crime. This is the person that she concentrates on until there is a chance to determine the correctness of her theory. Physical evidence is secondary, to be used to support the theory; in this case, of course, the body must be found before there can be any further investigation, but after that has been found, she is much more interested in the people--the Crackenthorpes, Bryan Eastley, Doctor Quimper, and the two boys--than in the evidence which Inspector Craddock produces. When the detective works associatively, as Miss Marple does, the reader has a somewhat more difficult time of determining the murderer before the detective does. This is due to the fact that the physical evidence is downplayed; in What Mrs. McGillicuddy Saw!, the physical evidence hardly exists, though there are a few pieces that are of great significance in leading the reader to the solution of the case. Agatha Christie is quite fair with the reader in this novel of detection, but she also manages to obscure the relevant information quite well because of her method of sleuthing. What are the clues that might lead the reader to determine that Doctor Quimper is the murderer before Miss Marple reveals him through her ruse? First, Emma Crackenthorp is not married and will inherit a sizable sum of money when her father dies; she is also characterized as a woman who will someday make some man happy. A second clue is the fact that Anna Stravinska had an English husband from whom she had been estranged for a long time. Dr. Quimper paid regular visits to Rutherford Hall, and he knew the place as well as the members of the family (a fact overlooked by the officials in their investigation). Doctor Quimper had access to all the patients in the "poisoning" case, as well as to the arsenic and the curry. It is worth remembering at this point that Lucy Eyelesbarrow had a reputation for being an excellent cook and that Luther Crackenthorpe had previously had attacks from eating too much. The pills that Harold Crackenthorpe died from taking were in a box prepared according to the prescription by Doctor Quimby himself: They were sent to him after the doctor had told him that he would not need to

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take more pills. The chemist knew nothing about that box of pills; even if that box of pills did come from Rutherford Hall and had been used for medication for Emma Crackenthorpe, somebody had to be responsible for the pills being at the estate. Finally. Miss Marple remarks at one point that Doctor Quimper seems interested in Emma Crackenthorpe, and she in him. All of this is, of course, very indirect, and it is hidden in the midst of a great many other details and speculations about the murder. And it is true that a little more knowledge about Doctor Quimper--such as his financial situation or his aspirations-would be helpful. Nevertheless, the thoughtful or astute reader should begin to wonder about the doctor's involvement at least by the time of Harold Crackenthorpe's murder: Then such a reader should wonder who might be able to make up the pills or to obtain them easily, if the chemist (pharmacist) knows nothing about them. The answer, of course, is that a doctor can compound medicines and has easy access to medicines of all kinds, including poisons. In coming to this conclusion, it is worth remembering that all members of the family are ill and do not have a great deal of mobility; though not absolutely impossible, it is relatively unlikely that any of the prime suspects could have committed the second and third murders. Therefore, once this set of facts has been determined, the reader could have solved the crime with a fair degree of certainty before Miss Marple and Mrs. McGillicuddy do so, causing the doctor to give himself away. Two other characters, besides Jane Marple, deserve some attention, Lucy Eyelesbarrow and Detective Inspector Dermot Craddock. Craddock is, of course, a policeman, though connected with New Scotland Yard rather than a local police force (Scotland Yard has a top reputation for detection). His methods are those of the police: question the people involved, search for physical evidence, check alibis, follow all the leads possible, develop a hypothesis and begin investigating. He knows his job well and he investigates thoroughly along these traditional lines. Unfortunately, these lines do not produce much that would solve the case; they certainly do not prevent two additional murders from happening. He blames himself for these deaths, though he should not, since his investigation has not provided any information about the original murderer or the motive. In this case, his prime virtue is the fact that he listens to what Miss Marple has to say and accepts it as a possibly fruitful slant on the case; others in an official capacity are inclined to ignore what Miss Marple and Mrs. McGillicuddy have to say because they seem like two eccentric old biddies wanting attention. It helps, of course, that Sir Henry Clithering has recommended Miss Marple to Craddock, his nephew. Indeed, Sir Henry told his nephew to pay attention to older ladies, for they often knew things that could be helpful, even when it might not seem like it; he said that Jane Marple was first on the list of older ladies who ought to be listened to. Still, it is to Craddock's credit that he has taken that advice and that he uses Miss Marple's insights as fully as he can in his official investigation. Lucy Eyelesbarrow is an unusual woman. She is a brilliant mathematician, graduating with honors in that field from Oxford. However, she has little taste for an academic life, and less for a teaching career. In addition, she does not relish the idea of sitting behind a desk all day doing business work. She could easily have positions in any of those areas, and she could probably name whatever price she wanted; it is her choice not to do that. Instead, she turned to her interest in people. Looking at people-related occupations that might pay her well, Lucy Eyelesbarrow exploited the shortage of skilled domestic labor. Unlike the common conception of the educated person as someone who cannot stand to get his/her hands dirty, Lucy cooks marvelously well, she cleans thoroughly, and she organizes precisely. In short, when she takes on a job, she begins immediately to tend to whatever needs doing and takes care of it. Her skills at these tasks are, however, overshadowed by the fact that she can get along well with anyone; even gruff, reclusive Luther Crackenthorpe indirectly proposes marriage to her. Her reputation grew over a number of years so that she can obtain a job in any location she might desire; her interest in variety means that she moves about a great deal. These last two facts are, of course, essential in the role that she consents to play for Miss Marple. She must be able to get hired at Rutherford Hall, she must have an excuse for moving in and moving on, and

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she must have some taste for adventure. The connection between Miss Marple and Lucy Eyelesbarrow is the fact that Lucy took care of Miss Marple several years earlier. Her traits make her the ideal person to carry out the investigation. However, once the body is found, her other characteristics take on a larger role. She becomes the primary focus through whom the members of the Crackenthorpe family are seen. Most of them are defined by their relationship with her. In addition, it is her impressions of the family, with some additions and alternative views from Craddock, that are given to Jane Marple and on which Miss Marple forms her conclusions about the family and the crime. Lucy Eyelesbarrow is not a narrator at all, and she has little in common with the usual companion of a great detective; nevertheless, because she does the physical investigating and arranges the meetings between Miss Marple and the suspects, she does have some connections with that tradition. Her character is admirably suited both to carrying out this investigation and to working with Jane Marple to solve the case. Although the "rules" of detective fiction suggest that there should be no love interest because it gets in the way of solving the crime, there are two threads of love interest in What Mrs. McGillicuddy Saw! First, there is the courtship of Doctor Quimper and Emma Crackenthorpe. This is, of course, the motivation for the three murders that take place in this novel. It is entirely one-sided, for the doctor seems incapable of feeling anything for anyone; he wishes an alliance with Miss Crackenthorpe because of her expected inheritance, and he wants that inheritance to be as large as it possibly can be. Emma, on the other hand, seems to be genuinely fond of the doctor. The second love interest revolves around Lucy Eyelesbarrow. No fewer than five men are interested in her. Alfred Crackenthorpe suggests that she join him and put her talents to work in thwarting the authorities; he is willing to marry her if that is what she would like. She feels some attraction to him. Harold Crackenthorpe, though married, is attracted to her and offers her a job with his firm; she is not particularly interested in that offer. Luther Crackenthorpe shows her his hidden hoard of treasures and hints at marriage; she doesn't quite know what to think about that. Bryan Eastley is often near her, talking about his dreams and plans; his son tells her that his father is quite interested and that he wouldn't mind having her for a mother at all. Cedric Crackenthorpe talks to her a great deal, though he professes no interest whatsoever in marriage. it might be noted that it is Miss Marple who sees the interest that Doctor Quimper and Emma Crackenthorpe have in each other, and it is she who interprets Lucy's relationship with Bryan and Cedric as having serious possibilities. Both threads of love interest are functional: The Quimper-Emma thread provides the motive behind the case, and the interest which the men show in Lucy allows many confidences to be shown and characters to be drawn more clearly. Neither detracts from Miss Marple's solving the mystery. Miss Marple is often said to be one of the most effectively created detectives in fiction, and What Mrs. McGillicuddy Saw! demonstrates her methods and her skills very well indeed. Although she is not the center of the action (Lucy Eyelesbarrow and Detective Inspector Dermot Craddock share that position), she directs that action to some extent, and she profits from actions that others make without her prompting. She gathers the information, she looks for the patterns and the character types, and she compares these with what she has experienced in the past. Through a keen knowledge of human beings, their behavior, her shrewd penetration of appearances, Jane Marple solves the case. Most authors have tried to create just one detective like Miss Marple without success; what is amazing about Agatha Christie's talent as a writer of detective fiction is that Jane Marple is just one of a pair, as unlike Hercule Poirot as possible, and that at least two other detectives (Tommy and Tuppence Beresford) are waiting in the wings, ready to challenge should these two falter. Agatha Christie has never written a bad detective tale; all are interesting and well worth reading.

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THE FASHION IN SHROUDS Margery Allingham 1938 Margery Allingham and her fictional detective, Mr. Campion, have had a long and successful history of detection. The Fashion in Shrouds has been hailed as the best of her novels and has even been said to be on a par with other kinds of fiction--that is, it is a successful novel as well as a successful detective story. Although such a comment is usually a sign of intellectual snobbery, there is much merit in the comment. The Fashion in Shrouds reads more like a traditional novel than do most detective stories, and it is certainly successful in creating a chiseled view of an unusual segment of society--the monied clique. Indeed, with slightly different problems, such as the motivating issue behind the murder, many novels have been written about a social group such as this one. The structure of this detective novel also makes the likeness to a "mainstream" novel all the more forceful: Although a body, dead for three years, has just been found at the beginning of the book, the murder which initiates the investigation does not occur until nearly half-way through the novel; the people and their social relationships are the primary interest until that point. Nevertheless, The Fashion in Shrouds is detective fiction, and its main focus is on the detection of the murderer, using the social setting both as a background and as partial evidence for the solution to the crime. The novel begins with Albert Campion visiting his sister Val (Mrs. Valentine Ferris, a widow) at Papendeik's, a house of fashion where she is the chief designer. She is expecting a number of people to be there for the showing of a new gown which Georgia Wells will wear in her current play. Campion wishes to meet Georgia Wells. for he has just found the body of her former fiancé, a man who disappeared three years earlier; he committed suicide, apparently. Val wants her brother to meet Alan Dell, of Alandel aeroplanes; she is fond of him but is romantically prudent because of her last experience with marriage. After lunch with Val and Dell, Campion questions Lady Papendeik (Tante Marthe), asking if Georgia Wells and Richard Portland-Smith were still engaged at the time he disappeared: She gives him information about the people he is about to meet--Ferdie Paul, theatrical producer and entrepreneur; Georgia Wells, the actress; Sir Raymond Ramillies, Georgia's husband and the governor of Ulangi. The news of her former fiancé's death has reached Georgia Wells, and she becomes rather voluble about it. In the process, she entrances Alan Dell. Then, when the gown is unveiled, it is extremely lovely, but the design has been smuggled out and worn the previous evening--with pictures in the paper. Although Campion talks with these people and watches their reactions. he feels alien, for they are not the kind of people he is used to being with; he feels that this will make his investigation more difficult. The coroner's jury returns a "verdict of death by suicide while of unsound mind" in the case of Richard Portland-Smith. After their deliberations, Sir Henry Portland-Smith, the dead man's father, asks Campion to continue the investigation; he thinks that his son and Georgia were married instead of being engaged, and he wants the truth. In addition, we learn that the younger Portland-Smith died penniless, though he should have had money from his mother's legacy. Campion is hesitant and will not promise results, but he agrees to do what he can. Six weeks later, Val calls on Campion with Georgy (Gaiogi) Laminoff, the personality responsible for the popularity of Caesar's Court, a luxury hotel. They want him to spend the weekend at Laminoff's (on the grounds of Caesar's Court) to keep watch on Ramillies. He is returning to Ulangi, and there is to be a special ceremony because he will be flying a gold-painted aeroplane for the ruler of the country. Georgia has taken up with Alan Dell, and, therefore, they do not trust Ramillies to behave well. Shortly after they leave, Lady Amanda Fitton arrives. Campion met her seven years earlier, on another case (and he eventually marries her). She is an engineer for Alandel, and she has been sent to observe her boss because

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he has not been working for some time and the plant's operation depends on him. Campion takes her to dine at the Tulip. Georgia Wells and Alan Dell are also there, as are Ramillies and Carolyn Adamson, who looks a great deal like Georgia and whom Ramillies has dressed to match his wife's outfit. A scene is narrowly averted. When Dell, embarrassed, sees Amanda and talks with her, Amanda relieves his anxiety by casually mentioning that she has been engrossed with her fiancé (which jolts Campion no little bit, for this is news to him). At Caesar's Court, everyone is a bit worried about Ramillies, for he disappeared the night before and has not reappeared. When he does appear, he seems to be extremely drunk, and the luncheon in his honor continues without him. Campion does not attend the luncheon, and, while the others are eating, Ramillies enlists his help in taking supplies to the plane and weighing in. Georgia finds them there and insists that Ramillies needs more rest. Later, however, when he is needed for the take-off ceremony, he cannot be found. Campion searches for him, and eventually finds him--dead--in the aeroplane. In order to quiet what might be bad publicity for Caesars Court, news is released that Ramillies is merely ill; his doctor, who happened to be on the grounds, is ready to sign the death certificate without a post mortem as death by heart failure. However, Georgia remarks that she gave Ramillies a cachet blanc (an aspirin) that Val had given her: The resulting post mortem reveals nothing, but Campion, who is already suspicious, is even more curious about Ramillies' death. Campion is brought into the investigation because rumors about Val are spreading and because he receives a phone call from Carolyn Adamson, who wants to talk to him that evening. She does not arrive, but Amanda does, informing him that Ramillies spent the night before his murder at Boot's Hotel, an old and respectable hotel, in his room alone. Because of information that he has about Carolyn Adamson, Campion and Amanda go to see Ferdie Paul to try to get more information. Campion takes Paul down to Caesar's Court, where he is to catch a plane for France; not much information is received. However, Amanda, who stayed with Paul's mistress until Campion returned, discovers that Carolyn Adamson was also involved with Richard Portland-Smith before he died. She also discovers that Mrs. Fitch, Paul's mistress, will do anything that Paul tells her to do. The next day, Superintendent Stanislaus Oates of the Central Investigation Department of New Scotland Yard, asks Campion to see him. Though they are old friends, Campion feels nervous. A young woman has been found dead, and the only clue to her identity is the fact that she had a section of Campion's phone number in her purse. After hearing the description, Campion wants to see the body. He identifies it as Carolyn Adamson. With this discovery, Campion feels the need to quicken his own investigation in order to prevent the official police investigation from causing vicious rumors about people he cares for, rumors that might be true but which are irrelevant to the murders. At Papendeik's that night, Campion learns more about Carolyn Adamson from Rex, a highly placed Papendeik employee. Later, Georgia, Val, and Ferdie Paul arrive. Campion tells them that the investigation is going to be the subject of gossip. Then he receives confirmation that Georgia Wells had, indeed, married Richard Portland-Smith, and he learns a good deal of information about her relationship with Portland-Smith and about why she thought it would be legal to marry Ramillies even though her husband's death had not been legally confirmed. Much later, after he has returned home, Campion is visited by Sinclair, Georgia's son by a yet earlier marriage, who informs Campion that Ramillies confessed that he could not overcome his fear of flying and that Ramillies also told him that someone had told him of a drug that would leave him miserable for four hours but feeling fine afterwards. After some investigating, Campion finds the place where Miss Adamson was probably murdered and, in addition, the two men who probably dumped her where she was found; they are the owners of a restaurant in Soho, who are known to most of the people involved in the case. They have decided to redecorate the room in which she was probably murdered, removing all possible traces, and they have a long

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acquaintance with the police that allows them to evade all questions. When this happens, Campion asks Oates to give him a week before doing any major investigating. On Sunday, Amanda Fitton gives a party to announce the breaking of her engagement to Campion; it is apparently an amicable arrangement, but before he leaves, he pushes her into the river. In the meantime, Campion uses the gathering to confirm what he knows about Carolyn Adamson and her death: She blackmailed Portland-Smith, using someone else, and she was attempting to blackmail the other person when she was killed. We also learn that Campion knows many interesting things about most of the people present which, though harmless enough, would be damaging if released to the press. Some time later, Campion visits Ferdie Paul, to whom he reveals more of his conclusions, but without naming specific names. Paul adds some further information and suggests investigating Gaiogi Laminoff; he also volunteers to go to Caesar's Court to fetch Laminoff while Campion waits. A short time later, Campion receives a call from Paul, telling him that unexpected developments have occurred and that he should come to the Court himself. In route, he is knocked unconscious from behind. He is taken to Amanda's cottage; it is empty because she and her brother were to leave for Sweden the next day, and his body is laid before an open oven door. When finished, the would-be murderer notices the living room door opening and a police revolver easing through; Amanda Fitton bursts from the food cupboard and names the murderer--Ferdie Paul. The few remaining details are revealed, and the novel ends with Campion telling Amanda that he would be glad to marry her if she "cares for the thought." In The Fashion in Shrouds, Albert Campion is, of course, the detective who brings the pertinent facts and people together to solve the crimes. Campion is a quiet man of thirty-eight who lives in a flat above a police station off Piccadilly Lane with his valet, an ex-criminal named Lugg. Campion and his sister, Valentine Ferris, are the so-called black sheep of the family, having little to do with the rest of the family clan; yet they are worries to their mother, whose traits they both claim to have inherited. Campion is not a professional detective, but rather is an amateur who seems to become involved with cases; in this respect, he is rather like Lord Peter Wimsey. Like Wimsey, he is occasionally asked to look into matters, as he was in finding the body of Richard Portland-Smith. It would seem, too, that he has either an independent income or that he gains a living from those whom he has helped, since he has no other job or any apparent source of income. Other novels about Campion are of little help in determining this. There are many indications that Campion is not his real name; in this novel, for example. he tells Georgia's son that, rather than Albert, he was christened Rudolph, and that his mother's surname begins with a K. In addition, there are hints that his family is ranked highly among the peerage in England, though these are hints rather than definite facts. His assumed name, incidentally, is associated with the fact that, in a number of other novels, he sends notes with a small field flower, a campion, enclosed. Campion's methods of detecting do not seem like typical methods of detecting. He does amass a great deal of information. but most of it is gathered in social situations, almost as a by-product of conversations about trivialities. He does not ask straightforward queries most of the time; instead, he directs a conversation, as it were, indirectly, allowing people to talk at random, then making statements and watching for their reactions. He does, however, on occasion, do some direct questioning--he goes to Ferdie Paul with questions about Carolyn Adamson, for example--and he does some direct investigating-when he discovers who the Hakapopulous brothers are. Whatever he is doing, Campion is always described as a mild-mannered man and as having a rather vacuous look on his face; this serves as a foil to the significance of the information which he gathers. Whenever he discovers something which he senses is important, his face becomes blanker and more vacuous looking. Because he is so mild-mannered and because he generally works very indirectly, it seems as though he could never solve a case or reach a conclusion; his manner and method fool the criminal as well as the reader, and he does his job as a detective should do: He solves the crime, he reveals the criminal, and he restores society to tranquillity.

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English society is Campion's usual milieu, and titles of various sorts appear frequently. He is perfectly at ease among people with titles, and perhaps his main desire in investigating and solving crimes is to preserve the reputations of the people involved more than it is a desire to bring the criminal to justice. For example, in The Fashion in Shrouds, he tells Oates that he is appalled when people stab other people with bread knives, but even more he does not want to be involved with scandal or gossip and he does not want his friends involved with scandal or gossip. Later, he asks Oates for at least a week to solve the case, for he sees no sense in releasing gossip about people who are innocent. (To do Campion justice, it should be pointed out that he does develop a more dimensional personality through the novels; as the novels progress, he becomes a more definite detective and he develops a progressively greater sense of outrage at crime and criminals.) In general, The Fashion in Shrouds is a novel about people, people who belong to a particularly elite social group. Involved in this group are fashion designers (Val, Tante Marthe, Rex, and Carolyn Adamson), theatrical people (Georgia, Ferdie Paul, Mrs. Fitch, Carolyn again, and, by marriage, Sir Raymond Ramillies, who also represents nobility and government), an aeroplane designer (Alan Dell) and entrepreneurs (Gaiogi Laminoff, and Paul again). Much of the novel deals with their relationships and their get-togethers, and two of the novel's prime virtues are the characterizations of these people (not detailed, but clear and incisive) and the dialogue that captures a sense of people actually talking. At the center of this group is Georgia Wells, and it is her personality and position that create the problems of the novel. Her position as one of the major actresses of England arouses a certain amount of jealousy and it causes the murders of two men directly and the murder of Carolyn Adamson indirectly. In addition, her need for attention from men is responsible for her relationship with Alan II, arousing feelings of enmity from both Val and Amanda and feelings of jealousy from Ramillies; the situation thus created provides the false trails that distract from a quick solution as to who the murderer is and the social disgrace that Campion hopes to avoid. Such a social group could, indeed, form the subject for a novel that contained no murders; however; the murders serve to thrust this group into an upheaval, and their characters and relationships can more clearly be observed under conditions of stress and suspicion. The relationships between these people are the basis for solution to the mystery, far more than any physical evidence. Because the reader goes where Campion goes, he has the same information that Campion has. Thus, the reader knows that both Richard Portland-Smith and Sir Raymond Ramillies threatened to take Georgia Wells from the stage; the reader knows that Ferdie Paul is a theatrical producer who firmly believes that Georgia is a key figure in the theater and who has a record of being professionally spoiled (for example, note Mrs. Fitch's blind devotion to his every whim). Such things should naturally throw suspicion on Paul. When the facts about Carolyn Adamson's background, about Ramillies' fear of flying, about Paul's diabetes, and about the blackmailing of Portland-Smith are revealed, the case should be quite complete. Then Campion's previously arranged charade to expose Paul would be, as it were, a confirmation. However, these clues are scattered through conversations that are primarily social, or surrounded by social activities; no one examines them carefully. In short, The Fashion in Shrouds gives the reader an opportunity equal to Campion's to solve the murders, especially those of PortlandSmith and Ramillies (if those are solved, that of Miss Adamson follows easily). There is one point, however, which is weak, and which the reader might well need special knowledge that most readers do not have: Exactly how does Paul's diabetes provide the undetectable method of murdering Ramillies? Some knowledge of the methods of controlling diabetes, as well as the effects of those medications on normal physiology is necessary to answer this, but it is not provided in the novel. Nevertheless, even without this special knowledge, enough information is made available so that the reader could possibly solve the case before Campion's dramatic--and near fatal--revelation.

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Love is an important side issue in this novel. Two triangles form about Georgia Wells. First, there is Georgia, Val and Alan Dell; Val is fond of Alan, who seems to reciprocate but who becomes smitten with Georgia, following her like a puppy. Val feels murderous at times toward Georgia, but Georgia realizes none of this and asks Val's support following her husband's death; it says much for Val's strength of character and Georgia's basic innocence that Val provides this support. Fortunately, Dell makes some realizations about Georgia because of her reactions to Ramillies' death, and, by the end of the novel, he asks Val to become his wife; surprisingly she accepts without hesitation. (Remember, this was written in 1938.) On the other hand, the triangle consists of Georgia, Ramillies, and Carolyn Adamson, with Ramillies using Carolyn Adamson to try and arouse a reaction from Georgia. Unfortunately, this does not work, and it is Ramillies' death which breaks the triangle and causes the reaction within Georgia. (Three years earlier, the same situation occurred with Portland-Smith, Georgia, and Miss Adamson.) These triangles are involved in the commission of the crimes and in the complications of the case; Campion's engagement to Lady Amanda Fitton, however, is involved in the solution. Six years earlier, Campion had met Amanda Fitton in the course of a case which established her brother's title as Earl of Pontisbright; at the end of that novel (The Fear Sign, also published as Sweet Danger and Kingdom of Death), she tells him that in approximately six years she will be ready to marry him, and he seems interested. Thus, while the announcement of their engagement seems strangely placed in the context of this novel, she is merely embarking on an earlier decision. Because of the nature of the deaths of Portland-Smith, Ramillies, and Miss Adamson, the party breaking off their engagement (or apparently doing so) provides the opportunity that the murderer can use to get rid of someone who will discover his secret; the party baits the trap which catches the killer. The fact that the engagement is not affected is shown in a rather low key way, in keeping with Campion's character. He says simply that he'll be happy to marry her if she likes the idea; then they proceed to joke about how, when he's fifty, she'll fall madly in love with someone else. Low-key humor runs throughout the Campion novels. Part of it is due to his character and the remarks which he makes, especially in fairly intimate situations--it is his way of breaking a tense situation. Another aspect is demonstrated by Campion's valet, Lugg (Magersfontein), a reformed criminal who is trying to gain a measure of class, but who never quite succeeds. The Fashion in Shrouds is a fine novel that uses murder to examine people under stress. It is these people who provide the primary interest of the novel and whose personalities and roles create both the situation in which murder occurs and the possibilities of determining the murderer. Though Campion does not seem a likely candidate for a detective, nor does he seem to do much traditional detecting, he does gather the clues and he does act to bring the murderer to justice and to restore society to order and stability. Unusual in detective fiction, the emphasis on people and relationships rather than on detection renders The Fashion in Shrouds a fine detective story and a fine novel.

BLACK ORCHIDS Rex Stout 1942 Black Orchids actually contains two detective stories. "Black Orchids" explains how Nero Wolfe gains three unique black orchid plants, while "Cordially Invited to Meet Death" has Nero Wolfe sending black orchids for the coffin of a client. These stories are united by the characters of Nero Wolfe and Archie Goodwin, by the motif of the black orchids, and by the frame comments attributed to Archie Goodwin. Otherwise, they are separate stories which showcase the talents of Nero Wolfe. "Black Orchids" focuses on a murder committed at a flower show: The murder occurs while both Nero Wolfe and Archie Goodwin are attending the show. Archie is there because he is fascinated by one of the female models. Wolfe is there because Archie's reports on the black orchids, which are unique and the

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central attraction at the show, simply haven't satisfied his curiosity about them. With Lewis Hewitt, the owner of the black orchids and a competitor of Wolfe's in raising orchids, the three of them find Hewitt's misplaced cane in a back corridor; when Archie picks it up, a piece of string is attached. A short time later, Archie discovers a murdered man in the large woodland exhibit of Rucker and Dill, a seed and nursery company. The police are called to investigate, and a number of involved people are summoned for questioning. After some preliminary questioning, Wolfe has a conference with Lewis Hewitt, during which he points out that a string was tied to Hewitt's cane and that, by picking up the cane, Archie thus pulled the trigger of the gun that killed the man. Wolfe offers to solve the case so that there is no mention of Hewitt's cane-in exchange for the three black orchids. After some hesitation, Hewitt agrees. The initial investigation focuses on Archie's discovering Rose Lasher. whom he had seen earlier in the corridor where the cane was found; he brings her to Wolfe for questioning. She is, of course, reluctant to answer any of Wolfe's queries. Some time later, Johnny Keems, a young fellow who aspires to Archie's job, brings in Anne Tracy, the girl in the flower display in which the body was found, and Fred Updegraff, a young flower grower. Though Wolfe is annoyed because he had not asked that they be brought to him and because of the methods used to detain them, but Wolfe does talk to them, apparently gaining a great deal of information that he can use. Since it is late, the two young women stay the night. In the morning, while Archie is evading questions from Inspector Cramer, Wolfe arranges a gathering that includes Cramer, Rose Lasher, Fred Updegraff, Anne Tracy, Lewis Hewitt, and W. G. Dill, as well as Archie and himself. When everybody arrives, Wolfe outlines a solution to the murder, suggesting that Lewis Hewitt had arranged the murder. When there is a telephone call for Hewitt, Wolfe suggests that Dill imitate Hewitt so they can gain further information. Dill tries to murder the company with ciphogene gas, but instead, gases himself. Afterwards, Wolfe explains both his preparations and the reasoning behind his solution. "Cordially Invited to Meet Death" shows a similar technique for solving a case but a rather different situation and crime. Bess Huddleston, who makes her livelihood from arranging parties for monied people, engages Wolfe to find out who is sending notes to her clients; these notes insinuate that she knows about improper medical treatment in one case and about a woman's affair in the other. She suspects that Janet Nichols, her best assistant, is responsible for the notes. Before she leaves, she arranges to have her two assistants visit Wolfe at six P.M. that evening. When they arrive, Wolfe is in the kitchen, consulting with his chef about corned beef hash. Maryella Timms, Miss Huddleston's other assistant, interrupts and takes charge of the meal's preparation. Thus, Archie is left alone with Janet Nichols. The next day, Archie is sent to Miss Huddleston's to check out the people there, and also to check the typewriter. While he is there, Bess Huddleston steps on a sliver of glass; the cut is superficial and promptly treated. Nevertheless, six days later, she is found dead from tetanus. When he hears this, Wolfe is ready to forget the case, but he does send eight black orchids for her coffin. After Inspector Cramer visits them, trying to find out what they were investigating--Daniel Huddleston has meanwhile been irritating the police, insisting that his sister was murdered--Archie decides that he will investigate, thus involving Wolfe. He calls Janet Nichols and arranges to come to the Huddleston residence. While there, he sees Daniel Huddleston digging up pieces of turf where Mister, the pet chimpanzee, had dumped the bottle of iodine used to treat Daniel's sister. Because this was what Archie had come for, he follows Huddleston--to Nero Wolfe's door. Wolfe sends him to an independent laboratory to test the turf, which was saturated with argyrol and tetanus bacilli. Cramer bursts in again,

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asking to know what is going on and demanding that Huddleston be questioned immediately. Upset by Cramer's tone, Wolfe decides that he will solve the case. Archie is sent to the Huddleston residence again. While he is there, Janet Nichols is scratched while taking a bath, by a piece of glass hidden in a bath brush. After receiving Archie's report, Wolf arranges a conference involving all of the people associated with Bess Huddleston. During this conference, he shows that Janet Nichols murdered Bess Huddleston and arranged the "attempted murder" of herself to avoid suspicion. Wolfe has her sign a confession and asks Archie to take a picture of her, presumably to send to the newspaper, as he had threatened to do--to antagonize Cramer. Nero Wolfe certainly belongs among the eccentric detectives that began with M. Auguste Dupin and was fully established by Sherlock Holmes. In the first place, he is very heavy, weighing about three hundred pounds. To accommodate that weight, he has several chairs that have been built especially for him. Though heavy, he is not particularly inconvenienced by his weight; for example, he seems to have bent down to pick up the string that Archie took off Hewitt's cane when he gave it to him. Nevertheless, he does not move unless he must; he has an elevator installed in his house, he has Archie do all the physical investigation of his cases, and he usually has people come to him so he can question them. In part. this is because he does not trust people or things outside his own home; he feels, for example, that one can easily be hit crossing a street, no matter what precautions are taken, or that a car's heater is likely not to keep him warm enough. Aside from detection, which he undertakes simply to keep himself in money so that he can pursue his other interests, he is devoted to good food (which, of course, helps to explain his weight), to beer (which he seems to be drinking constantly, especially when contemplating or when upset), and to his orchids (he spends at least four hours a day with them, and it is his interest in Lewis Hewitt's unusual black orchids which sufficiently arouse his curiosity enough so that he leaves his house). He is quite successful as a detective; this is evident because he must support his interests, as well as keeping a fulltime staff of three (Archie, his chef Fritz Brenner, and a gardener) and a number of other regular operatives. (In The Doorbell Rang, a total billing of almost $200,000 for a particularly difficult case was suggested to be enough to last for perhaps ten or eleven months.) Naturally, Nero Wolfe is also extremely capable of assessing the significance of details and of fitting details together to build a case. In a sense, Archie Goodwin is much like Holmes' Watson and Dupin's narrator-friend. However, while most such narrator-friends are quite self-effacing and very much in the background of the investigation, Archie is not. He seems to be a jack-of-all-trades for Wolfe, though his primary jobs seem to be taking care of correspondence and bills and doing the legwork for Nero Wolfe. When Wolfe wants information about the scene of the crime, or about the people who are involved, he sends Archie. Archie is able to give him a very detailed and very accurate report when he returns, usually without notes. Furthermore, he is allowed a good deal of freedom in carrying out Wolfe's instructions and even in investigating matters on his own; Archie also has some discretion about whom he brings to see Wolfe and whom he does not, though Wolfe does, on occasion, ask him to bring someone specifically. Archie also serves as a bodyguard on those rare occasions when Wolfe does go outside; moreover, Archie removes, or more often threatens to remove, anyone who becomes obnoxious while in Wolfe's house. Archie is, thus, undoubtedly a fit person physically and intuitively to do this job. For a detective who works as Nero Wolfe works, the traditional, self-effacing narrator-friend simply would be inadequate; Archie must carry a good deal of the burden of the investigation, and consequently must be nearer to the core of the investigation than Watson ever could be. Archie's character has two main facets. First, he is given to flippancy, and the more apparently serious the situation is, the more flippant he is likely to be. Thus, he baits Inspector Cramer at every possible opportunity, cooperating only when he must. He also baits and bullies Nero Wolfe, although with a great deal more respect. Underlying this flippant approach, though, is a basic sureness about the facts and about his position; even though he is flippant with Inspector Cramer, for example, he provides him with

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information that is accurate and to the point, and he offers possible explanations that are quite shrewd. With Wolfe, this approach seems motivated by a desire to keep Wolfe from becoming too pompous and urge him to do certain things which need to be done (such as taking a case when money is scarce). The other facet of Archie's character is that he believes himself to be something of a womanizer and a dancer. In part, this is quite functional for his role, for Wolfe cares little for women, distrusts them, and cannot "read" them as he "reads" men. Thus, he leaves such matters to Archie, who feels that an evening of dancing will gain him more information about a woman than any amount of questioning. Archie, of course, also has other characteristics. He is not particularly interested in flowers and, whereas Wolfe drinks beer, Archie drinks milk. He prefers the detecting aspect of his job, and he does what he can to interest Wolfe in taking a case. He does not like to leave "loose ends" (whereas Wolfe feels that Bess Huddleston's death simply leaves them without a case, Archie wants to find out what happened to her). All in all, Archie is not as eccentric as Nero Wolfe, but he is as fully characterized as Wolfe is; this is unusual in detective fiction. The other character who appears in both these stories is Inspector Cramer of the New York Police Department. He is gruff and he blusters when he is in contact with Wolfe and Archie, but he also knows them both quite well, and he usually knows when to listen to Wolfe. It is clear that Cramer and Wolfe have argued many times before, and it seems likely that Wolfe has bested Cramer in most of these encounters. If the indicated course of action in "Cordially Invited to Meet Death" (that is, providing the newspaper with pictures and information about the solution to a case before giving it to Cramer) is any indication of what has happened in these encounters, it is surprising that Cramer is not more cautious than he is. Of course, Cramer is a foil for Wolfe, a contrast in the methods of a detective. It seems unusual that, with this kind of competition between them, Wolfe and Archie basically respect Cramer; there is little of the contempt for the police that is often found in detective fiction. The dominating presences of Nero Wolfe and Archie Goodwin, as well as the appearances of Inspector Cramer, interconnect these two short detective stories. Archie's comments at the beginning and the end, as well as between the stories, are designed to hold "Black Orchids" and "Cordially Invited to Meet Death" together at least enough to justify being included in the same book. The first of these comments, at the beginning of the volume, is straightforward. He ways that many people have wondered how Wolfe got the black orchids and that this book should "set the record straight," the first story telling how Wolfe got the orchids and the second describing the orchids, being on a coffin, which led to the most recent printed speculation about how Wolfe got the orchids. However, the second case, Archie says, leaves more of a mystery for him than it solves. In his second set of comments, Archie notes that blossoms from the orchids (Wolfe would not part with the plants at any price) were on the corner of the casket and that mention of the orchids is included because it is the only other Wolfe case that has anything to do with the orchids. He reiterates the idea that the case leaves more of a mystery than it solves. After "Cordially Invited to Meet Death," Archie lists three possible solutions to the question as to why Wolfe sent the orchids for Bess Huddleston's casket. He opts for the third one: Wolfe discovered or discerned something the first day that made him suspect that Bess would be murdered, but did nothing about it; the orchids were to cancel the debt. Still, however, he doesn't know for sure, and he has doubts, so the question is still bothering him. In itself, the material in these comments is interesting and helps to characterize both Archie Goodwin and Nero Wolfe. However, it does not seem particularly effective in tying the two stories together, and the suspense that these comments attempt to build seems forced and somewhat artificial. In terms of reader participation in the solution of the problem, "Cordially Invited to Meet Death" is more effective than "Black Orchids." In "Cordially Invited to Meet Death," the clues that lead to the revelation of the murderer are presented to the reader, though they are scattered and their significance is not suggested until Wolfe's explanation. The essential clues are: Janet Nichols has a grievance against Bess Huddleston (the grievance is not specified until the end, but the other clues do indicate it); the picture of Janet Nichols, which she tries to take, is cut into a six-sided shape; Larry Huddleston, Bess's nephew,

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wears a hexagonal (six-sided) watch; iodine is kept in great quantities in a number of places in the house because of the playful, exotic animals; the cut on Janet Nichols' arm is less than an inch long. This last fact, the most significant in determining the guilt, is mentioned twice. First, it is mentioned just after she cuts herself; at this point, it is mentioned only in terms of her reaction and how it is attended to. The second time the cut is mentioned is during Wolfe's meeting with the people involved with Bess Huddleston. This time, the mention is preceded by a demonstration by Archie of how one uses a bath brush (since that's where the piece of glass was hidden) and an explanation by Dr. Brady that people would not notice such a cut until they saw the blood because of the sharp, stinging bristles of the bath brush. Wolfe's wording of his question to Dr. Brady obscures the connection between these two pieces of information. Nevertheless, these pieces of information come one after another, with a reference to the length of the cut, and the astute reader of detective fiction could fuse them to determine the criminal before Wolfe does; indeed, the reader is given a good deal of time to make this connection, or to discount this information, since nearly ten pages of questions intervene before Wolfe gives us the solution and the murderer's motive. Of course, there is a great deal of narrative that has nothing to do with the solution to the case, and the relevant facts are often buried in this narrative, but these are legitimate ploys to put the reader off the track. "Cordially Invited to Meet Death" gives the reader clear opportunities to solve the problem before Nero Wolfe reveals his solution and reasoning. "Black Orchids" does not present such a clear opportunity, and the ending seems more like the ending to "The Purloined Letter," where Dupin provides all the information that was not provided earlier. True, a great deal of relevant information is provided, but what is missing is any kind of clue that would provide the key to seeing the relationships between this information. In fact, when Wolfe tells Archie about the meeting that he has set up, he admits, as it were, that he has information that the reader does not and that the ending will be a surprise. Wolfe says that he will conduct an experiment; in addition, we learn that he has talked with Miss Lasher and Miss Tracy, though both are keeping their secrets. The facts do, indirectly, suggest that Dill might have been involved somehow; unfortunately, many details also suggest that other people could have murdered Harry Gould with sufficient motive. Gould was one of Dill's gardeners, as well as an actor in the Rucker and Dill exhibit. The azaleas and laurel plants in that exhibit are infected with Kurume yellows, a plant disease, and Dill tries to convince Nero Wolfe to find out who was responsible. Rose Lasher, who was Gould's mistress, had a job card from a Salamanca, New York, garage for work done on a car; Pete Arango's name--he works for Updegraff--was written on the back of that card. Also among Gould's belongings that Miss Lasher has is an article on Kurume yellows written by Lewis Hewitt. Gould had worked for Hewitt, and had been fired, before working with Dill. Gould had recently been seen with large sums of money. He had also been to Salamanca some eight months after the date on the job card. Anne Tracy's father had worked for Dill until he forged some bills to get money needed for operations for his son; Anne was paying half her salary each week so that Dill would not report it. Updegraff's father had suspected Hewitt and Dill of infecting his plants and destroying a large part of his business. These are the relevant facts provided In the story. From them, it seems quite certain that Harry Gould was blackmailing someone. It also seems clear that, although Dill is not on the stage for any length of time, that most of these people were involved with him in some way. But two things are not clear until Wolfe explains: who had been to Salamanca, thus giving Harry Gould a hold over him; and the fact that the Updegraff plants had indeed been sabotaged. This last point is quite important: Although Wolfe suggests that there is a great deal of jealousy between plant growers, only Dill of all the suspects would have a commercial motive for arranging to destroy the Updegraff plants. Had that fact seen established earlier, that could have served as the connecting link, though very indirect; it would have been too obvious to indicate who had had work done on his car in Salamanca. Without one or the other of those facts, however, the reader has no chance to solve the case before the explanation; he might be able to guess that Dill was involved, but that guess could never be conclusive.

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Though the case that Nero Wolfe and Archie Goodwin are working on forms the core of the Nero Wolfe detective stories, the characters of Wolfe and Archie are more central than the case. One of the joys of the Nero Wolfe stories is watching the relationship between these two very different men play itself out. The ways that they work, and their interests in food and plants, take proportionally more time than the information related to the crime. In addition, both Wolfe and Archie refuse to be bullied by anyone, insisting their rights as American citizens. For example, when Cramer tries to force his way up the stairs to see Wolfe, Archie restrains and forces him to wait in the office; in doing so, Archie reminds him that they have had that battle before, and Cramer lost. Wolfe also reminds his guests that they need not drop everything and do as the inspector demands and, at one point, Archie agrees to come down and talk to the police, but only after he has eaten--not when Cramer insists he should. However, all of this is not to say that Wolfe and Archie resist the police in all ways; whenever there is a legitimate reason for the inspector's requests, they do cooperate quite fully, though Archie is rarely serious about the questioning he undergoes. One of the most consistent points made in the Nero Wolfe stories is that institutions and authority should not be allowed to ride roughshod over the rights of individuals, and one of the pleasures of reading these stories is watching Archie Goodwin and Nero Wolfe insist upon their rights--and winning the battle. "Black Orchids" and "Cordially Invited to Meet Death" showcase the talents and characters of Nero Wolfe and Archie Goodwin very well and very clearly. These two stories also show two different kinds of endings for detective stories; although the current taste is for endings which the reader could have predicted if he had gleaned all the clues (as in "Cordially Invited to Meet Death"), the ending in which the murderer falls into the trap set by the detective, to the surprise of the reader, is also quite common and enjoyable as a change of pace. Whether the reader's interest is in the eccentricities of the detective, in watching the detective work, in the side issues that are raised, or in solving the crime before the detective does, Black Orchids offers something of interest for everyone.

THE LIST OF ADRIAN MESSENGER Philip MacDonald 1959 The List of Adrian Messenger varies a number of the standard situations and requirements of the usual classical detective story enough so that, at times, it almost seems as though it must belong in a category other than detective fiction. The society it deals with is not limited in the usual way, there is no clear and absolute proof that any murders have been committed, sixty-seven people are dead rather than our being concerned with just one or two bodies, and the investigators must first find some connection between the dead people before they can even begin to find the person who might be responsible for their deaths. Nevertheless, this novel is classical detective fiction, and very good detective fiction at that. It features a brilliant detective who must determine whether there is anything to investigate and who, once that decision is made, follows the clues to the criminal in time to prevent the murder for which all the others have been preparatory. It is his efforts, together with those of his friends and of other helpers, which bring the killer to bay and arrange for poetic justice since societal justice cannot be brought to bear. The basic underpinnings of detective fiction are present; the variations add to the interest and suspense of The List of Adrian Messenger. The novel begins with Adrian Messenger, a wealthy war novelist arranging to lunch with his old friend George Firth of Scotland Yard. While they lunch, Messenger asks Firth to check and see if the ten people on a list are still living at the addresses indicated; he is very mysterious about his reasons for the request. He then embarks on a flight for the United States, a flight which never reaches its destination due to an explosion en route. Three people are thrown from the plane: Raoul Pierre Etien Anne-Marie St. Denis, a French newspaperman, Miss Rose Matson, one of the stewardesses, and Adrian Messenger. St. Denis

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manages to get them all strapped to a crate, but Messenger dies shortly after managing to utter a cryptic message, and Miss Matson dies several days later without regaining consciousness. The following Thursday, Anthony Gethryn is invited to lunch with Sir Egbert Lucas, AssistantCommissioner in charge of the Criminal Investigation Department (CID) of Scotland Yard. Firth is also there and has information concerning six of the ten people on Messenger's list; all have died by accident in the previous five years. The question for Gethryn to answer is whether or not this is a matter that should be looked into; Firth thinks so, and Gethryn agrees with him, but Lucas remains doubtful. They add Messenger himself to the list, making it seven of eleven, and they find, with a phone call to the Yard, that the report on an eighth has come in with the same results, making seventy-three percent of the total who have met death by accident, much too high a percentage for chance. A planning session is called to determine first steps; Superintendent Pike is included. The first step planned is to get as much information about the men on the lists as possible, including military service and full reports on the accidents they were in. There appears to be at least one survivor on the list; a man is sent to get as much information from him as possible. Raoul St. Denis receives two visitors. The first is Jocelyn Messenger, Adrian Messenger's widowed sisterin-law, who has been sent by the family to find out about Messenger's last words, if there were any. Shortly after she leaves the Burton-Maxwell Nursing Home where St. Denis is convalescing, Gethryn enters. The two men had had contact during the war, using code names, which establishes a working bond between them. St. Denis recalls as accurately as he can the words which Messenger spoke before he died, words which made no sense to him, making recall difficult. Routine information keeps coming in to Anthony and he tries various combinations of the words to try to make sense of Adrian Messenger's last message, with little success. The first real break in the case comes with two pieces of information. First, the person thought to be a survivor is not; he has the same initial and name, and the other possible survivor was accidentally killed a year earlier. The dead man had served in India-Burma, as had all the others on the list. At the same time, Gethryn mentions to Flood, a newspaperman working with him, that Jocelyn Messenger recalled that her brother-in-law had said something about a certain Mr. Dalton in California. Flood recalls that a Brigadier-General Dalton had led a special forces group in Burma during the war, and he is sure that all of the men on the list were under his command. Receiving information about the nature of Messenger's last novel in progress, Gethryn suggests a variation of Messenger's last words to St. Denis, who accepts them. Unfortunately, the man they are seeking saw the same information about the book that Gethryn saw in the World of Books, but earlier, and by the time that Gethryn and St. Denis look at it, the pictures with the original manuscript have been taken and the relevant page changed slightly. Gethryn awakens the typist in the middle of the night, but by the time he is to see her the next day, she has been murdered. There is little progress on the case until Sara Kouroudjian returns from her honeymoon cruise. Formerly the wife of one of the men on the list, she provides a great deal of helpful information about Major Messenger's military column being taken prisoner during the war and about a Canadian sergeant betraying them. In talking this over with Lucas, Firth, and Pike at Scotland Yard, the conclusion is that this unknown person's motive must be to prevent interference with his getting something he expects to obtain in the future. Afterwards, Gethryn impulsively assumes that what this person is after is the Gleneyre marquisate, the richest in the kingdom; in addition, there is the Messenger-Bruttenholm (pronounced broom, the family name) connection. With this suspicion in mind, Gethryn goes over Messenger's last words one more time with St. Denis, substituting "broom" where St. Denis had originally thought "brush"; this substitution is effective and the threat to the current Marquis of Gleneyre and his twelve-year-old heir seems to be substantiated. However, Gethryn's efforts to reach the elder Bruttenholm

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are too late, for he disobeyed his doctor's orders and slipped out just as Gethryn's call came; later, he was found dead from an apparent riding accident in an old quarry. However, Gethryn does arrive in time to find evidence that the horse's apparent misstep was assisted by rock salt fired from a shotgun. The quest for information has also revealed that the Canadian sergeant's name was George Brougham and that the Marquise's younger brother had gone to Canada and changed his name to something very similar to Brougham. Though Sergeant Brougham had been thought missing in action, further search shows that he did, indeed, survive and that he converted property into some $97,000 in cash and negotiable bonds about six years earlier. A conference at Scotland Yard raises the question of how to handle the problem, now that the man's name, motive, and next target have been defined. Although the solution proposed is a very bureaucratic one, all present seem to agree on it. However, Gethryn mutters that the man is an extraordinary criminal but the police have no extraordinary means to cope with him. Throughout the novel, there have been brief sections focusing on a man using many false identities, watching him change names and identities as he moves from place to place in England; there are many indications that this is the man whom Gethryn is after. After the conference at Scotland Yard, the viewpoint of the novel shifts to this mysterious person. Using his changing identities, he remains anonymous until he learns that the Marchioness of Gleneyre and the young Marquis will be spending some time on Lake Messenger in California, and then he moves illegally out of England, through France, and onto a ship bound for the United States. There he becomes Benjamin J. Knight, a free-lance outdoor photographer; he establishes himself in a town nearby and spends a great deal of time scouting Lake Messenger. Finally, he determines his method of creating an accident: He will pretend to be drowning while young Derek Bruttenholm is sailing alone. Things go smoothly, until his scheme gets him on board; then, the doors to a locker open, and a man (Gethryn) calls him by name. In a panic, he escapes overboard. Swimming to shore, he is met by another man (St. Denis), who tries to detain him. He escapes and eludes two other men and reaches his jeep, then drives away as quickly as he can. The men on shore calmly count four minutes and an explosion is heard. Gethryn, returned to London, reports to Scotland Yard with St. Denis. Lucas and Firth are most upset with him for not informing them of what he was doing. They become calmer, however, when they are shown a newspaper clipping about the accidental death of Benjamin J. Knight, who went off a dangerous corner on a mountain road. St. Denis proclaims it poetic justice. General Anthony Ruthven Gethryn is a former member of the Army Secret Service who has gained a reputation with Scotland Yard and in British diplomatic circles. His services are valued highly. He has just returned from a delicate but boring diplomatic mission in Rome, and it is he who will determine what is to be done about the list of Adrian Messenger. He is not, however, associated with any of the branches of the British government, and he acts more as a consultant whenever his services are needed. Two of his particular skills are deciding what must be done and organizing a plan of action. Then, once they have decided to solve the problem, Gethryn is instrumental in setting up a plan of attack--what information to get, what order things should be done in, and so on. He also coordinates the gathering of information, delegating as much of the routine work as possible to others and acting as an interpreter of the information. In addition, he pursues certain lines of investigation himself, and he uses his powers of deduction to put the information gathered into a useful order. However, deduction is not the only tool he uses to decipher the information, for he also uses his imagination. For example, twice he tries variations on Messenger's last words to try to solve the puzzle of their significance; each time, he moves closer to their meaning. His leap from the murderer's general motive to the Gleneyre marquisate is an imaginative leap, but it is based on available information and he later tests it against other possible information. Finally, Gethryn is a man of action when he must be. He is not restrained by rules that restrain the police and, when it becomes clear that the police have no powers to deal with the criminal, he takes such action as he deems necessary. What he does is, of course, carefully based on what he has learned about the murderer and his habits; all the angles are carefully covered.

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Physically, Gethryn is quite tall--about six feet or slightly more--and in good physical condition. His face is dark and lean, his eyes are a vivid green that can be either cold or smiling, and his hair is graying at the temples. One major clue to his personality is that he hates being called General, and he is quick to let people know of this. He is impatient with red tape, but puts up with it when necessary and ignores it when that is necessary. He is generally gentlemanly in his approach to people and is a good judge of people. He responds to people graciously and accepts them as individuals; for example, where another person might have ignored young Derek Bruttenholm's information about his grandfather's horse, Gethryn accepts it completely, and whereas another person might have ignored the Marchioness's request for the whole truth about her husband's death, Gethryn accepts that and takes her into his confidence (an act which undoubtedly helps in setting the trap which fells the murderer). His questions and thoughts are incisive, and his actions are decisive. As a general rule, the society pictured in a detective story is limited and closed. On the surface, The List of Adrian Messenger seems to violate this principle, for it has Gethryn and his agents, covering England and Scotland, as well as Canada and the United States. Furthermore, the initial indications are that the men on Adrian Messenger's list have nothing in common. Nevertheless, the society involved in the murder is, in fact, limited and closed; more precisely, there are two limited and closed societies involved. On the one hand, the eleven men who have been killed accidentally are all members of a particular army unit which was captured; the murderer was also temporarily attached to this unit. On the other hand, the target of this killer is the Bruttenholm family and its as associates, including Jocelyn Messenger. Thus, once the killer has taken care of the first group, he begins on the second. There are two definite links between these two small social groups: Adrian Messenger commanded the army unit and is related to the Bruttenholms; the murderer is George Brougham, who betrayed the army unit and who is the son of the youngest brother of the old Marquis of Gleneyre. This becomes clear in two stages: first, the relationship between the men who have "accidentally" died is established through both painstaking investigation and a reporter's flash of memory; then, the movement is made to the murderer's motivation and a leap to the determination of the target. Though these connections are present and are eventually established by Gethryn and his investigation, the fact that they are not recognized as social groups does a great deal to hinder the initial stages of the investigation; recognition is the first step of the investigation. Thus, in The List of Adrian Messenger establishing the connections that are clearly established in most detective stories becomes part of the puzzle, as well as part of the interest and suspense of the novel. Though this kind of situation may be unusual, it does not violate the canons of detective fiction. In most detective stories, the primary interest is "who did it." That there has been a murder, or other serious crimes, is very clear: the body, which has died from clearly unnatural causes, is usually in plain sight or easily discovered. In addition, the assumption in most mysteries is that, when the detective announces his conclusions about who did it, that person will be present to hear them and to be arrested or commit suicide. In The List of Adrian Messenger, there is this same interest in who committed the crime. But, before this interest occurs, there is an interest in finding out whether or not a crime, or a series of crimes, has been committed. And, after the determination of the murderer's identity has been made, there is an interest in how he is going to be found and what measures can or will be taken against him. The question of whether or not a crime or a series of crimes has been committed is answered according to the laws of probability and chance. Adrian Messenger, in the process of writing his latest book, has discovered something disturbing, but he is not quite sure what it is; he has suspicions, nothing more. Consequently, he asks an old friend for help in gathering further information, expecting to return for it. When he meets with an accident, he leaves what seems to be a cryptic message with his rescuer. After his death, his friend must decide whether the responses he has received to the inquiries he has made for

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Messenger merit action on the part of Scotland Yard, since the first six answers indicate that all of these people died from accidents. As Lucas indicates, people die from accidents all the time, and these accidents occurred over a five-year period at different places in England. However, even if the others on the list were still living, sixty percent of those dead from accidents is higher than mere chance. When Messenger's death by accident is added to the list and another report of a death by accident is received, the percentage of accidental deaths rises to at least seventy-three percent, and the decision is made to investigate. Eventually, the people on the list are all found to have died in accidents. As the reports on the accidents arrive, it seems clear that there is no way of proving that the accidents were caused, rather than occurring naturally. The railway track could have been undermined to cause the train wreck that killed one of the men, but all possible evidence was destroyed by the train's going off the tracks. The same principle is true for all the other accidents, except the last two. With the plane crash and the death of the Marquis of Gleneyre, there is evidence that these were caused, but there is no way that the causes can be traced to a certain person. Consequently, the investigation must continue with more evidence. First, Gethryn and his corps of investigators must find out what the link between these men was. Second, from this link, he must, with help, deduce the murderer's motive for the killings. Third, he must, if possible, determine who might have such a motive, thus determining the killer. And, fourth, he must, if possible, determine what further steps, if any, the killer is likely to take. Gethryn is methodical about chipping away at this sequence of problems. The first step, of course, requires the most investigation. Once it is clear that all of the men served in India-Burma, and the name Dalton is supplied as a person whom Messenger had intended to meet in the United States, the link is established. The link is strengthened and a possible motive is supplied by the widow of one of the men; her information also supplies a possible line of inquiry as to the identity of the killer. At this point, Gethryn takes the leap of imagination concerning the killer's next targets. Although this is an act of intuition, it is based on some of the facts that have been established; it is also a hypothesis that is established by subsequent facts. It should, incidentally, be easier for the reader to relate the killer with the Bruttenholms than it is for Gethryn, since the reader has the same information he has, plus the knowledge that the man whose identity keeps changing has been on the estate. Primarily, these steps are taken one at a time, though there is some overlap, especially between the last three steps. Nevertheless, even after these steps have been taken, the question of how the murderer will be brought to justice remains. Gethryn and his investigators have hypothesized that the man has time and money, factors which they do not and which makes their task all the more difficult, and that he cannot have retained a single identity throughout. The reader, of course, knows just how many identities the man has taken during the time span of the novel and the methods which he uses for his new identities. When this question arises, Gethryn and the reader are both aware that the police cannot arrest the man, and the conference at Scotland Yard underlines this fact. With his multiple identities, it is unlikely that the police could track him down, especially since they have no idea of what the man beneath the disguise looks like. Even if they could find him, they could not establish evidence against him for any crime. To keep the reader from finding out what Gethryn--who is not a government agent--plans to do, thus keeping the level of suspense high, the viewpoint shifts to the killer. The reader walks into Gethryn's trap with the murderer. Arranging accidents for murderers is not a traditional part of classical detective fiction. However, as Gethryn points out, this is an exceptional criminal and exceptional measures must be taken: if they are not, he will achieve his goals with impunity. The ending is demanded by the circumstances; it may not be legal justice, but it is, as St. Denis says, poetic justice. Every bit of relevant information that the investigators unearth is passed on to the reader, giving the reader the chance to participate in the process of ensnaring the criminal. Still, that participation is different from participation in most detective stories. Because of what Adrian Messenger told Firth when he gave him the list, the search throughout is for one man only. There is only one suspect, rather than

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many, and the investigation focuses on finding out as much about him as possible so that he can be named and found. In this case, the reader has no difficulty in keeping up with the detective and his helpers, but only the second scene of the novel provides any possible chance of allowing the reader to come to any conclusions before Gethryn does. Even so, this does not detract from one's enjoyment of the novel, for the questions raised and the process by which they are answered are interesting in their own right. Though it is firmly based in the tradition of the classical detective story, The List of Adrian Messenger includes variations on that tradition, particularly in the areas that must be investigated and in the disposition of the criminal. Tautly written, the novel keeps the reader informed, while also keeping the level of interest and suspense high. In short, The List of Adrian Messenger is a satisfying novel of detection.

DEATH AND THE JOYFUL WOMAN Ellis Peters 1961 Winner of the Edgar Award, from the Mystery Writers of America, as best mystery of the year, Death and the Joyful Woman lives up to its billing. It is, of course, a classical mystery in which the murder is committed early in the novel, the detective brought in, the clues leading to the identity of the murderer found, and the murderer brought to justice. However, the fact that Detective-Sergeant George Felse is a member of the police force who talks over his cases with his family (against regulations) and the fact that his son Dominic takes a personal interest in the case adds a twist to the process of solving the case. That is, Dominic assumes that the person whom the police have charged is innocent, while his father and the rest of the police force assume that the person is guilty, though they also follow any other leads they might have; Dominic reaches the correct conclusion first and is instrumental in discovering who the murderer is. Felse's family life also adds a human dimension to the novel of detection that is often missing. Finally, the novel chronicles Dominic's passage into manhood effectively, even though this is not the main focus of interest in the novel. Overall, Death and the Joyful Woman twists these threads together efficiently, effectively, and satisfyingly. The first chapter, seemingly, has little to do with the mystery that develops, for it concentrates on Dominic Felse's first two meetings with Kitty Norris. The first time he sees her dancing barefoot on the railing of the Boat Club, he is fascinated. When she accidentally drops a shoe into his hands, and then speaks to him, he is smitten. Their second meeting occurs more than a year later, after Dominic has turned sixteen. Coming home late from school and passing the mobile Blood Transfusion Unit, he notices that Kitty is going to donate blood; on the spur of the moment, he decides that he will, too. Though he is turned down for being too young, Kitty asks him to stay. They talk, and she gives him a ride home in her red Karmann-Ghia. Although this chapter has little to do with the mystery, it does provide the motivation for Dominic's later involvement in the case, which is central to the solution. In addition, this chapter characterizes Dominic Felse and Kitty Norris, with both characterizations having an eventual bearing on the case and its solution. Finally, it illustrates the first stages of Dominic's passage into adulthood. Chapter Two moves swiftly to the murder. On the opening night of the latest of Alfred Armiger's superpubs, The Jolly Barmaid, George Felse drops in to see what Armiger has done with the reworked old house, which is in a rather out-of-the-way place. It is a lively place and the drinks are free. Armiger is celebrating rather boisterously, circulating about from a group that includes Kitty Norris, his lawyer Raymond Shelley, and his secretary (and reputed mistress) Ruth Hamilton. Felse has a pint of mild, looks around a bit, and goes home. Later that night, he is called: Armiger has been murdered in the ballroom in the old barn. For several chapters, the investigation is rather routine. Felse goes to the scene of the murder and talks with the manager and the driver of Armiger's car before Detective-Superintendent Christopher

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Duckett arrives. Armiger's will reveals that Kitty Norris is his sole heir, except for a number of minor bequests. His son, Leslie, is not mentioned at all, having declined to join the business and marry Kitty. He chose instead to marry a clerk from the office and to become a painter. George talks with Kitty Norris, Jean Armiger (Leslie's wife), and Ruth Hamilton, as well as with several of the people who had been working at the pub on opening night. Discovering that Leslie Armiger had seen his father the night of the murder, Felse talks with both Leslie and Jean Armiger, who admit that they lied about their whereabouts at certain times and tell him about an antique, weathered sign his father had contemptuously given them and later tried to get back. After this, Felse has a conversation with his wife as he tries to sort out the impressions and facts he has gathered. He checks out the sign with the art dealer evaluating it. Leslie Armiger is brought in for questioning when a junkman finds stained gloves with Armiger's initials on them. While Dominic waits outside for his father to finish some work at the police station, Kitty Norris arrives. She talks to Dominic a moment and tells him that she murdered Armiger. At the beginning of Chapter Eight, Kitty explains to Dominic exactly what happened. She met Armiger in the ballroom, where he told her that he was going to marry her. When he tried to kiss her, she pushed him away as hard as she could. Since they were at the top of a stairway, he rolled down, lying absolutely still when he landed. She then ran out of the place. In his eagerness to convince her that she hadn't killed Armiger, Dominic blurts out that Armiger was battered with a champagne bottle. Leaving him, Kitty goes into the police station and confesses, using the information Dominic gave her to strengthen the case against herself. When George comes home. Dominic confesses what he did. Though he is tremendously upset by this, George tells his son where the case stands, though he promises that this is the last time he will say anything about the case while Dominic is around. From this point on, the investigation takes two directions, for Dominic decides that since the police will be working primarily to strengthen the case against Kitty, he will work to prove her innocence. His first investigations center around The Jolly Barmaid and the road to Wood's End, a tiny village. He finds a spot where a car had been driven into the brush, and then at a telephone box he finds a corner of a scarf like the one of Kitty's that the police had found with a corner missing. He reports his findings, including Kitty's tendency to run out of gas (she told him about this at the blood unit), to his father. George talks to Kitty, who will say nothing except that if she's convicted she won't inherit Armiger's fortune. Following this, George takes a look at the original inn sign of The Jolly Barmaid, with Leslie and Jean Armiger. The same evening, Dominic outlines the theory that Kitty called a man for help when she ran out of gas; he went to Armiger first, killed him, and then went to take Kitty home. With only minor exceptions, this is the correct theory. The next day, after Armiger's funeral, George talks to Kitty, who is again uncommunicative. Later, talking with his wife, he is told that Kitty didn't murder Armiger, that she is keeping silent to protect whoever did; his wife also tells him why Kitty wouldn't have called Leslie. In a similar scene, Dominic outlines a theory of Raymond Shelley's guilt to Leslie and Jean Armiger: Jean tells him why Shelley could not have been the person Kitty called and why. In both cases, the explanation of why Leslie or Shelley wouldn't have been called is withheld from the reader. Dominic's investigation takes precedence from this point on. He goes to Armiger's Ales to try to talk with Shelley. Since Shelley has left for the day, Ruth Hamilton intercepts him. He tells her about finding a pair of blood-stained woman's gloves and he wants to know what to do with them so he can protect Kitty. She offers to help him and, when she discovers that he doesn't have them with him, she makes an appointment to give him a ride home from his music lessons the next evening; he is, of course, to have the gloves with him then. So, the next evening he brings the gloves and gives them to her. In the course of the drive, she asks him to reach in the back seat for her handbag; despite anticipating that something will happen to him, he does so and is knocked unconscious.

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In the meantime, Professor Lucas drops in on the Armigers to discuss his notes and sketches relating to the sign of The Joyful Woman. His presence causes the landlady to delay delivering a note from Dominic to Leslie, asking him to have the police watch a particular corner at nine o'clock. As a result, Leslie has only eleven minutes to call the police and to get to the corner himself. He barely arrives in time to see Ruth Hamilton's car going in the other direction. He turns and follows her. When Ruth Hamilton turns off the main road onto a dead end, Leslie has Jean guide the police and then he follows the Hamilton car. He barely prevents her from throwing Dominic into the river. She tries to run Leslie down, then speeds off. Jean hears her coming and closes the old lane gate, which brings the car to a smashing halt. The police arrive and arrest Ruth Hamilton. In the final chapter, the case is explained, with Dominic telling us of the reasoning which led him to take the risk of being killed by Ruth Hamilton. Kitty also comes to visit him as he rests in bed alter his ordeal. The mystery has been solved. George Felse is not an example of the classical detective, but he has characteristics which relate him to that tradition. Although he is a member of the police force, working within their rules and format, he works essentially as an individual. Although we see him discussing matters with his superior and spending time in the station house, he is not involved with routine police matters nor is he closely supervised. Instead, he is allowed to pursue his investigations in his own ways, using his own methods. In investigating the murder of Alfred Armiger, he is methodical in his work, tracing the leads he gathers carefully and patiently, and checking his facts and feelings as thoroughly as he can. In a sense, he is not the "complete detective" because he leaves much of the finding and interpreting of physical evidence to others. His interest is in the people who are involved. Although he methodically interviews and reinterviews them, trying to get as much information as he possibly can, he also has intuitive feelings about the people who are involved. To a certain extent, he follows his feelings and hunches, but he also tries to separate these feelings from his official position and his official attitude. Felse is apparently a trusted figure in the community, since he is the first person called when Armiger's body is discovered (partly, this was because he had been in The Jolly Barmaid, but it was also due to the fact that Bennie Blocksidge chose to call him). This, of course, is a primary characteristic of detectives: If they are not trusted in some way, they are never called to solve a case. For George, this trust seems to be based on the fact that he is a decent, rather ordinary human being, in addition to being a competent detective. He is a member of the general community, which seems to account for some of the trust given him. He is not, however, a member of the social strata involved in the murder, which preserves his status as an outsider investigating the crime, as well as giving him an initial impartiality. In the course of his investigation, he does cross social and economic lines, and he does come to know people quite intimately (though not in a very rounded fashion; he comes in contact with only the aspect of them that is in some way related to the crime). As a private person, he could never have crossed these lines, and he could never have learned so much about these people. As he comes to know Leslie Armiger, his wife Jean, and Kitty Norris, he forms opinions and feelings about them. For example, he feels strongly that Kitty did not commit the murder; until his wife tells him otherwise, he thinks it likely that Leslie committed the murder, even though he seems to like Leslie and to feel a bit sorry for him and his wife. He is, of course, human enough to be wrong, which adds to his appeal. In the company of eccentric detectives, George Felse seems apallingly normal. Indeed, it almost seems an eccentricity for a detective to be so normal and so happily married. He has a loving relationship with his wife. He talks with her about family matters, and, against regulations, he talks over his cases with her when they spend time together. In a way, Bunty Felse plays the role of a Watson-figure; George summarizes for her the case he is working on and shares his feelings with her, thus allowing the reader to be informed of the aspects of the investigation not directly presented. However, Bunty is not a contrived listener who usually comes to the wrong conclusions. She is a woman whose life seems to revolve

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primarily around her husband and her son, ready to provide emotional support whenever and however it is needed. In addition, she is also able to correct her husband's reasoning. George is also a sensitive father, spending time with Dominic and watching him mature. He is not a perfect father, by any means; he has, on occasion, a short temper and he misses the significance of some of the things that his son does and says. Still, he is capable of realizing and responding to his son's needs. Few fictional detectives have this kind of family life. Felse's family, particularly Dominic, provides other twists to the basic detective story. Dominic passes from boyhood to young adulthood, with a love interest providing the means. This love interest is also integral to the solution of the case, for it motivates Dominic's investigation and his procedure in arriving at the solution. These two threads are skillfully interwoven, for Dominic's emotional growth is a result of his involvement in the case. In addition, his assumptions and procedures effectively contrast with his father's. Dominic is fourteen years old when he first sees Kitty Norris dancing above him on the rail of the Boat Club as he walks home from his music lesson. He is currently trying "adult" vices to discover their attractions--tobacco has become passé, and now Dominic considers using alcohol. On the whole, he seems a normal boy. Kitty entrances him with her beauty and her concentration, and he is startled when her sandal falls into his hand. She talks to him simply and without condecension and, although he cannot say a thing to her, her impression is stamped on his youthful mind. For a time, his young life is disrupted. The second time he sees her is a year and a half later, and Dominic has turned sixteen. This time he is ready and more confident; he decides to give blood because Kitty is going to do so. Though she begins their conversation, he is able to respond, with some gallantry, and they talk at some length. When he is turned down as a donor because of his age, Kitty asks him to stay and keep her company, which endears her to him even more. And the ride in her Karmann-Ghia jells their friendship. During the ride, she tells him of her habit of forgetting to fill the gas tank, which he later remembers to good effect. Between these two scenes, Dominic's growth is quite apparent; earlier he had been a boy, awe-stricken and tongue-tied, but now he is on the verge of young manhood, able to make contact with a woman and to converse with her. Dominic is still sufficiently a boy that he doesn't want his parents to know how he feels about Kitty and that he walks past her place, hoping to get a glimpse of her. She is older than he is, though no indication is given as to how much older; at a guess, three or five years seems likely. The next step in Dominic's maturing occurs when Kitty tells him that she killed Armiger but reveals that she knew nothing about the champagne bottle that was used to bash him thoroughly. In part, she believes that she did kill Armiger but, more important, she wants to protect Leslie. Dominic does not realize the latter; even his father does not realize for a time that Kitty is in love with Leslie, quite hopelessly. All that Dominic feels is relief that she did not kill Armiger and a strong need to convince her of her innocence. As a result, he deliberately breaks his father's trust and tells her exactly how Armiger died. However, his plan backfires because of her concern for Leslie; she incorporates his information into the confession which she tells the police. Although he is caught for a while between wanting to accept his manhood and wanting to be a child again, Dominic accepts full responsibility for his actions. First, he faces his father's anger and disappointment, telling him what he has done. In the process, George recognizes the maturity of his son's grief. Second, Dominic accepts without question his father's decision not to speak of the case with Dominic. Finally, when he realizes that his actions have made things worse for Kitty, rather than better, he decides that he must take action to change the situation, to find the information which will both prove her innocence and produce the guilty person.

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This, of course, brings him into the investigation of Alfred Armiger's murder. Dominic, himself, points out to his father the difference between their points of view: While the police and his father work towards a conviction, he will be trying to prove Kitty's innocence. Neither assumption is ideal for an investigation: The ideal situation would be to investigate without any assumption of guilt or innocence until the evidence clearly indicates who the guilty person is. However, this ideal is rarely employed since an investigation from a hypothesis is both easier and more fruitful. Dominic's investigation covers a good deal of territory, cutting across social and economic lines: His youth gains a measure of trust, and his obvious interest in Kitty's well-being gains him support from people like the Armiger's. Furthermore, when he develops a theory, it is as competent and comprehensive as any his father develops: It is also correct, except when it concerns Kitty's calling a man to help her. When Jean Armiger tells him why Kitty wouldn't have called a man for help. Dominic seems to react faster than his father acts on similar information from his wife. His plan for forcing the murderer's hand, however, is rather melodramatic and dangerous. The details are not sufficiently planned and coordinated: He is almost killed. The final stage of Dominic's development occurs when Kitty visits him as he is recuperating from his brush with death. Dominic admits to her that he was being arrogant and foolhardy with his plan. He comforts Kitty, out of genuine concern for her, when she talks about not being able to stay any longer: he even gives her advice, suggesting she give herself time to recover. And she listens and accepts. Her final gift to him, which signals the completion of this phase of his growth, is a kiss--not a condescending kiss, but a kiss between a man and a woman. The method of solving the crime is fairly standard. Instead of gathering clues that inevitably lead to the criminal, the method in Death and the Joyful Woman is more a gathering of as many possible clues as can be gathered and then following them through a process of elimination. An investigator such as Sherlock Holmes might be able to proceed directly to the actual criminal without any false steps--or appear to. Less gifted, and more human, detectives, however, are far more likely to proceed as George and Dominic do. In the process of this investigation, all the clues which are needed to determine the murderer are clearly presented to the reader midway through the novel. The theory that outlines how the murderer committed the crime, and the elimination of the two primary male suspects, is presented in the first three-quarters of the novel. The primary device for misleading the reader is the fact that neither of the investigators connects the information they have with the murder. The clues they follow cannot be said to be false clues, except in the sense that they do not lead to the actual murderer: In every other way, they seem to be the type of thing that might be found involved in a murder. Another factor in drawing attention away from Ruth Hamilton is the fact that she is not suspected by the investigators and, hence, does not receive a great deal of attention. Nevertheless, she is quite fully characterized, and her motive, though stated as an item of gossip, is clearly and concisely put before the reader. The only point at which Peters might be said to play unfairly with the reader is the omission of Bunty Felse's and Jean Armiger's explanations as to why Kitty Norris would not have called Leslie Armiger or Raymond Shelley. The idea that Kitty would not have called a man is also hidden. Still, with the two men eliminated from suspicion, attention should turn toward Ruth Hamilton. If the reader does not shift his attention at this point, then Dominic's conversation with her can hardly avoid giving the reader strong clues. All in all, then, Death and the Joyful Woman is a satisfying detective story that skillfully intertwines the process of a boy's maturing with a basic murder mystery. The novelist is fair with the reader, presenting information that will lead to the solution well ahead of the time that it is revealed. The detective is a sympathetic person whose family life and his competition with his son are ably presented. The Edgar Award recognizes the quality of Death and the Joyful Woman.

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SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY ABRAHAMSEN, DAVID. The Psychology of Crime. Columbia University Press, 1960. BECCARIA, MARCHESE. On Crimes and Punishments. Bobbs-Merrill, 1963. BELL, JOSEPHINE. Crime in Our Time. Nicholas Vane Publishers (London), 1962. BERKLEY, GEORGE B. The Democratic Policeman. Beacon, 1969. BLOCK, EUGENE B. Famous Detectives: True Stories of Great Crime Detection. Doubleday, 1967. BOLITHO, WILLIAM. Murder for Profit. Time-Life Books, 1954. BOUCHER, ANTHONY, ed. The Quality of Murder. Button, 1962. BROPHY, JOHN. The Meaning of Murder. Whitting and Wheaton (London), 1966. CAESAR, GENE. Incredible Detective: The Biography of William J. Burns. Prentice-Hall, 1968. DULLES, ALLEN. The Craft of Intelligence. Harper & Row, 1963. GRAHAM, HUGH DAVIS and GURR, TED ROBERT, eds. The History of Violence in America. Bantam, 1969. HORAN, JAMES D. The Pinkertons: The Detective Dynasty That Made History. Crown, 1967. KILGALLEN, DOROTHY. Murder One. Random House, 1967. LAURIE, PETER. Scotland Yard. Holt, Rinehart & Winston, 1970. LOTH, DAVID. Crime in the Suburbs. William Morrow, 1967. PEARSON, EDMUND. Murders That Baffled the Experts. Signet, 1967. SHORT, JAMES F., JR. ed. Modern Criminals. Trans-action Books. Aldine, 1970. SODERMAN, HARRY and O'CONNELL, JOHN J. Modern Criminal Investigation. Funk & Wagnalls, 1945. THORWALD, JÜRGEN. The Century of the Detective. Harcourt Brace Jovanovich. 1965. WILSON, COLIN. A Casebook of Murder: The Changing Patterns of Homicidal Killings. Cowles, 1969.

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