Cecil John Charles Street is far better known to classic detective fiction readers for his many enjoyable mysteries published under his pseudonyms John Rhode and Miles Burton than for his four early titles credited to Cecil Waye. These rare Waye-ward books from the early 1930s have been resurrected and are now available in print and eBook form from Dean Street Press, which is cause for celebration. The first entry, Murder at Monk’s Barn (1931), is a satisfying locked room puzzle in which the author makes good use of his detective protagonists, siblings Christopher and Vivienne Perrin. For the second Waye story, The Figure of Eight, Vivienne is completely offstage tending to her marriage, and Christopher finds himself embroiled in abstract international intrigue as two tiny (fictional) Central American republics fight over land and stolen government documents.
Street should certainly be commended for trying his hand at a thriller with the trappings of global politics; it’s not too much of a stretch to think that with Eight he may have hoped to deliver a tale similar in spirit to John Buchan’s The Thirty-Nine Steps or Joseph Conrad’s The Secret Agent. The problem with The Figure of Eight, I feel, is twofold. First, the character of Christopher Perrin just isn’t particularly engaging. With his sister no longer around to provide definition and badinage, the blandness of Christopher’s personality is even more pronounced. Second, the conflict between two small foreign countries fighting over contested mineral-rich land – said countries are named Montedoro and San Benito, with no specifics offered to distinguish one from the other in the mind of the reader – is so conceptual and figuratively distant that it acts as mere premise and nothing else. And that would be okay, except that the murders and the peril that follow as a result are scarcely more involving.
There is the promise of an alluring puzzle in the book’s first chapter: as a London bus reaches the end of the line, its driver finds an unconscious woman still in her seat. Unable to wake her, he summons a doctor and the passenger dies as she is being transferred to hospital. Investigations reveal that a man had accompanied her earlier, speaking forcefully in a foreign language. Where was this man now, and how did the woman die under such mysterious circumstances? Unfortunately, the answers are rather disappointing – yes, we are in the realm of exotic (and generic) untraceable poisons – and the incidents that occur from these events are less than engrossing. Christopher is poisoned not once but twice, both times secretly carrying some mainthornine, the only known antidote to the poison called “The Merciful Death”, which has been conveniently created by Perrin’s medical friend Sir Douglas Mainthorne.
Street stages several other intrigues in The Figure of Eight, and new incidents are launched and paced well enough to keep the plot moving forward. A mystery woman named Isabelle de Laucourt appears, and Montedorian delegate Señor Vincente de Lanate finds that official documents have been stolen and, later, is killed in an apartment building ambush along with his two assassins (or was it all a set-up?). And then there’s the tipped-over figure of eight itself, the infinity symbol found on a letter and a strip of newspaper that was the symbol of a once-powerful secret society. Could this cabal be operating today?
Street should certainly be commended for trying his hand at a thriller with the trappings of global politics; it’s not too much of a stretch to think that with Eight he may have hoped to deliver a tale similar in spirit to John Buchan’s The Thirty-Nine Steps or Joseph Conrad’s The Secret Agent. The problem with The Figure of Eight, I feel, is twofold. First, the character of Christopher Perrin just isn’t particularly engaging. With his sister no longer around to provide definition and badinage, the blandness of Christopher’s personality is even more pronounced. Second, the conflict between two small foreign countries fighting over contested mineral-rich land – said countries are named Montedoro and San Benito, with no specifics offered to distinguish one from the other in the mind of the reader – is so conceptual and figuratively distant that it acts as mere premise and nothing else. And that would be okay, except that the murders and the peril that follow as a result are scarcely more involving.
There is the promise of an alluring puzzle in the book’s first chapter: as a London bus reaches the end of the line, its driver finds an unconscious woman still in her seat. Unable to wake her, he summons a doctor and the passenger dies as she is being transferred to hospital. Investigations reveal that a man had accompanied her earlier, speaking forcefully in a foreign language. Where was this man now, and how did the woman die under such mysterious circumstances? Unfortunately, the answers are rather disappointing – yes, we are in the realm of exotic (and generic) untraceable poisons – and the incidents that occur from these events are less than engrossing. Christopher is poisoned not once but twice, both times secretly carrying some mainthornine, the only known antidote to the poison called “The Merciful Death”, which has been conveniently created by Perrin’s medical friend Sir Douglas Mainthorne.
Street stages several other intrigues in The Figure of Eight, and new incidents are launched and paced well enough to keep the plot moving forward. A mystery woman named Isabelle de Laucourt appears, and Montedorian delegate Señor Vincente de Lanate finds that official documents have been stolen and, later, is killed in an apartment building ambush along with his two assassins (or was it all a set-up?). And then there’s the tipped-over figure of eight itself, the infinity symbol found on a letter and a strip of newspaper that was the symbol of a once-powerful secret society. Could this cabal be operating today?
For me, all these incidents never really add up to much, even as the basic ingredients have potential. What should be a climactic confrontation between resourceful hero and unmasked villain feels rather rote. There are no genuine puzzles for Perrin to solve in a traditional way, so instead he finds himself stumbling into various rendezvous with the sinister foreign forces that a more astute or cautious detective would avoid. At separate points in the story, both the pragmatic Inspector Philpott and the exotic villain bemoan the loss of such a brilliant mind should Christopher die. But the amateur detective does not demonstrate much of this innate brilliance in the book, nor is he given much opportunity to do so.
As always, I am grateful to publishers like Dean Street Press for making rare and expensive texts (even mediocre ones) from detective fiction’s Golden Age accessible to readers once more. The Figure of Eight is worth a look for Street/Rhode/Burton completists, but I doubt the title will wind up on anyone’s top 10 (or even top 100) list. Over at In Search of the Classic Mystery Novel, Puzzle Doctor was similarly underwhelmed, while R.E. Faust at Witness to the Crime was more forgiving in his review.
As always, I am grateful to publishers like Dean Street Press for making rare and expensive texts (even mediocre ones) from detective fiction’s Golden Age accessible to readers once more. The Figure of Eight is worth a look for Street/Rhode/Burton completists, but I doubt the title will wind up on anyone’s top 10 (or even top 100) list. Over at In Search of the Classic Mystery Novel, Puzzle Doctor was similarly underwhelmed, while R.E. Faust at Witness to the Crime was more forgiving in his review.
RSS Feed