Category: John Rhode/Miles Burton

Book Review: DEATH AT BREAKFAST (1936) by John Rhode

5/9/2020

At first glance, the murders seemed unrelated, even as they both concerned employees of the accounting firm of Slater & Knott. First, the rather antisocial office worker Victor Harleston dies of poison at the breakfast table; and then, after paying a visit to the Torquay home of his business partner, Edwin Knott disappears, along with a tidy sum of cash that he was carrying for deposit. In the former death, Superintendent Hanslet strongly suspects Harleston’s half-brother Philip; in the latter, all signs point to the founder’s temperamental son, Gavin Slater. Along with Junior Station-Inspector Jimmy Waghorn, Hanslet becomes more and more mystified until he consults Dr. Priestley, who is able to see the events from a new and enlightening perspective.

John Rhode’s mysteries are never exactly confounding, but Death at Breakfast offers a number of ancillary puzzles that are specific and intriguing: who was the unknown man outside the house on the morning of Harleston’s murder? How was the victim poisoned with nicotine-laced coffee if a report shows no ingestion of the substance in his stomach? Why did the two partners differ so in their view of the firm’s financial status? Who drew a crude picture of a gun on a wall at a potential crime scene, and why? As Dr. Priestley stories go, this one is lengthy but enjoyable, with a great amount of theorizing from Hanslet and Waghorn and a solution that will likely be as obvious to the seasoned reader of detective stories as it is to the quiet but correct doctor.

Adding to the padding is an interesting (if unnecessary to the plot) and detailed account of a 19th century European nicotine poisoning case. This true-crime anecdote certainly appears to be a source of inspiration to the author here, and he allows Jimmy Waghorn to expound for pages over similarities between the murder he is investigating and the poisoning of Gustave Fougnies by his sister and brother-in-law in 1850. Certainly the Comte and Comtesse de Bocarmé were less imaginative in their approach to murder – overpowering and forcing their victim to swallow the stuff – than Rhode’s resourceful villain in Death at Breakfast.

This was the first Dr. Priestley mystery I experienced as an audiobook, and John Rhode’s unadorned reportage style of storytelling makes for an easy listening experience. Many thanks to Anna M. of Germany, who brought the author’s titles on audiobook to my attention!

There was one aspect that may have been made more prominent because I was listening to a reader performing each character’s dialogue, but it is a common element of some Golden Age Detective fiction, and of Rhode’s books in particular. Superintendent Hanslet assumes the rather utilitarian role that many official police characters perform in these stories: he is very capable of collecting evidence and advancing theories, but his energy with these tasks is directly proportional to the limits of his thinking. (This must be so in order for the brilliant amateur detective to take the reins and deliver the solution before the plodding copper can.) The paradox here is that Rhode paints Hanslet as a man who, upon hearing that feline blood is found at the scene of a mighty fight inside a room, has a mind nimble enough to imagine a tussle with an escaped tiger may have occurred, but is not intuitive enough to think that a person may have used cat’s blood for the purposes of misdirection. It’s a strange tightrope walk between intelligence and ignorance, and I’m not sure that the author keeps his character convincingly in the air at all times.

Still, for classic mystery fans Death at Breakfast has much to recommend. For Cecil John Charles Street, whose devilishly prolific nature meant that this was just one of five novels he published in the year 1936 alone under the John Rhode and Miles Burton pseudonyms, there’s much to admire in his presentation of a straightforward (if lengthy) murder puzzle well told. You can find other online reviews of this title by equally prolific (and perhaps devilish) GAD experts Nick Fuller, Martin Edwards, Aidan, and The Puzzle Doctor.

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Book Review: DEATH AT THE CLUB (1937) by Miles Burton

8/3/2018

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The Witchcraft Club was at half attendance the evening that club secretary Marcus Brockman was murdered. Numbering thirteen total, only six members enjoy a satisfying dinner at Benito's before traveling to their private quarters for drinks and the reading of a paper on Oriental superstitions. One member, Sir Edric Conway, travels from the main room to a darkened, smaller room only to discover a body lying in a pool of blood. As Conway is the Assistant Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police, he takes a professional interest, and discreetly asks Dr. Robert Milston to view the unfortunate man. Conway hands the investigation (of which he is a suspect) over to Inspector Arnold, a competent but unimaginative officer, and encourages Arnold to consult Desmond Merrion, who feels quite comfortable with fanciful speculation.

The victim, it turns out, was a successful partner in a business that manufactures and markets Neurolith pills, which claim rather questionably to calm the nervous system. Mr. Diprose was the wonder drug's creator and Mr. Brockman was the speculator and salesman for the brand. Was it a falling out between business partners that ended with Brockman getting his throat cut in the club? Or had he crossed another member whom he had tried to blackmail? Arnold finds some curious clues: Brockman's solicitor was asked to call the club the night of the murder; an unidentified set of fingerprints on a glass was superimposed over the prints of Conway, who had visited the club rooms hours before the dinner; and, as an unlucky patrolman discovers, the decanter of rum (Brockman's preferred drink) was laced with deadly conine. With Arnold's evidence to guide him, Merrion sets a trap that forces the killer to reveal his guilt.

Death at the Club (U.S. title The Clue of the Fourteen Keys, a nod to the number of suspects with access to the scene of the crime) is an agreeable little mystery, although its writing, plotting, and characterization offer little to raise it above the realm of the competent detective yarn. I manage to read intermittently the stories of Cecil John Street, who published dozens and dozens of novels under the names John Rhode and Miles Burton, picking one up after a hiatus of months and sometimes years. When I do, I'm reminded of a few reliably recognizable features. First, Rhode is (usually) scrupulously fair in his fair play plotting, often to the point that the reader can easily get ahead of the investigating detective. So it's interesting here, in Club, that the general why is obvious – Brockman is a scoundrel – but the who is unknown until the final-chapter reveal only because the author leaves the reader in the dark about a character's prior history that provides the motive. It's not an approach that satisfies, but it certainly keeps one guessing until the nicely sustained penultimate chapter, when the trap is sprung.

Next, a sampling of the Rhode/Burton titles shows the work of a writer who placed puzzle first, while literary elements like mood and style and characterization received a lower priority. I make this claim as I think about opportunities that Street never pursues. Thirteen members of a Witchcraft Club is a tantalizing prospect, but there is never, ever a moment when the occult is even fleetingly explored. No character has a comment about pagan blood sacrifice – poor Brockman's throat was slit ear to ear, after all – no description is presented of any spooky memorabilia within the club (could not the police dust skulls for fingerprints?), no mention of supernatural suspicion or voodoo vengeance to explain the violent death, even in passing. Of course, the author's interest lies in the puzzle and clue collecting, but the omission is notable, as is the fact that all club members are also respected representatives of society, including a police commissioner, a doctor, a barrister, a businessman, and an academic. The group could be changed to The Philately Club with almost no story editing required.

Finally, while I enjoy the Rhode and Burton books, the ones I have read rely on suspect and witness interviews for the bulk of the book, and complicating plot developments are sometimes few and far between. (There seems to be quite a lot of Merrion's conversational theorizing and Arnold's arguments to fit his prescribed view of the facts.) In contrast, consider how Agatha Christie propels her stories. Christie enjoys her interview scenes, but her interviewees often have a tone – combative or wistful or bitter or circuitous – that encourages a dramatic tension between characters. She also knows that stakes must be raised and the pot must continue to boil, which is why so often a nosey parlormaid meets her maker around page 140 in a Christie story. In Death at the Club, we do have a suspect who flees, but it is really only in the neatly staged conclusion, where Sir Edric observes the murderer in action, that the tension rises. Then again, the focus is mystery; suspense, when it is used, is ancillary.

In their Catalogue of Crime, the reliably critical critics Jacques Barzun and Wendell Hertig Taylor call Club "one of Burton's best in his early Death series." It’s certainly a clear-headed and enjoyable puzzle story, even if it doesn’t offer anything truly memorable or distinct to distinguish it. I end by sharing one of my favorite narrative comments, which is amusing both for its use as a fair-play footnote and for its confident tone of certainty:

"The possibility that a hired assassin might have been employed could be dismissed. Hired assassins had gone out of fashion in recent years."

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Book Review: TWICE DEAD (1960) by John Rhode

12/21/2016

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Appearing in the U.S. as a Red Badge Detective title in 1960, Twice Dead is one of the last mysteries penned by prolific writer John Rhode (the pseudonym of Cecil John Charles Street, who also published dozens of books under the name Miles Burton). It is a solid and straightforward tale, and once again Superintendent Jimmy Waghorn investigates a suspicious death, checking in with the sedentary and terse Dr. Priestley for consultation.

The slightly hypochondriacal Sir Francis Yordale has stumbled upon a creative method to test the loyalty of his would-be heirs: he places his own death notification in The Times and waits to gauge the response of his relations. The result is wreaths (nearly) all around, although the quality and expense vary between senders, a fact which Sir Francis is pleased to note.

Once the initial confusion of the exaggerated demise has been cleared up, Sir Francis drafts his will accordingly. Soon, the man is found dead in his study by handyman Ribble, who alerts Ethel Shirland, Sir Francis’s devoted housekeeper. Inspector Kemsing calls in Waghorn of the Metropolitan Police, and tests conclude that Sir Francis has died of carbon monoxide poisoning. But how? Windows and door were closed the night that the death occurred, and there was a fire in the hearth, which had gone out before the body was found in the morning.

As Jimmy looks into this puzzle with the help of Dr. Priestley and his apprentice Harold Merefield, the suspects descend to hear the will read. Surprisingly, the chief beneficiaries are not Sir Francis’s estranged brothers and sisters, but instead his godson George Pawlett – who had been living in Australia before the fake death notice brought him back to Uplands – and housekeeper Ethel Shirland inherit the lion’s share of the estate. This does not sit well with Edgar Yordale, the natural successor (and a man who had conceitedly adopted the baronetcy’s title upon learning of the false report of his brother’s death). Charles, Jane, and Mary Yordale seem to take the news more pacifically, although they may be harboring a secret grudge.

An attempt on (the now Sir) Edgar’s life focuses suspicion on family outsider George Pawlett. He was staying in the house the night of Sir Francis’s murder, and he could reasonably lose his claim to inheritance if Sir Edgar contests the will, which he had threatened to do. When Sir Edgar is shot at with an antique pistol on the street one foggy night, Jimmy feels like the case against Pawlett is overwhelming: the pistol was part of a set at Uplands, and the unfortunate Australian had access to it while he stayed with his godfather. But Dr. Priestley cautions his police friend not to reject other possibilities, and soon another scenario suggests itself to Jimmy Waghorn (and one that the reader has likely arrived at well before the Superintendent has).

The John Rhode and Miles Burton books are undeniably steady, solid representatives of the Golden Age Detective fiction genre. For me, their strengths also contain the thread of their inherent weaknesses: they are precisely plotted affairs, with the detective focused exclusively on solving and explaining the mystery puzzle at the center of the story; the characters/suspects act strictly within the confines and expectations of the genre; the plots are meticulously fair-play; and the whole reading experience offers the welcome familiarity of company with a likeable but predictable friend. (With society’s shift from active reading to passive viewing, binge-watching television shows have supplanted for many the “comfort” that returning to the rhythms of a reliable fiction genre used to provide.)

Over the years, I have read my share of the Rhode/Burton books, and they are always agreeable but never revelatory… but who is asking for a detective story to deliver artistic revelations and thematic illuminations which are the presumed components of Great Literature? Would they not just get in the way? Part of the charm of classic British mystery is the recognition of familiar elements, from plot to characterization to its justice-will-prevail theme.

Twice Dead benefits from a mischievous murder victim and a clever murder method, admirable in its simplicity. Still, the delivery of the story, from its practical, unremarkable prose to its deliberate pacing, leaves me a little restless for something more from a mystery, whether it’s Margery Allingham’s quirky penchant for description or Anthony Berkeley’s sharp thematic irony or Agatha Christie’s flair for misdirection. Perhaps that is unfair to John Rhode, a reliable tradesman in this field, and especially unfair as a criticism of Twice Dead, which is an agreeable book far better than the late-period entries produced by some authors. But ultimately it’s the reason why I don’t come rushing back to the Rhode/Burton canon with the same devotion that I show for the books of Gladys Mitchell or Nicolas Freeling, eager for more: I know with each outing what I’ll be getting and where I’ll be going, and sometimes that’s the less exciting Rhode – er, road – to travel down.

Thanks yet again to Rich at Past Offences for suggesting a new year of detective fiction each month to explore; this time it was 1960. Check out the Crimes of the Century section for some spirited community criticism and classic crime suggestions!

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Book Review: DEATH IN THE TUNNEL by Miles Burton

2/29/2016

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Humdrum. That is the name attached to a category of books from mystery fiction’s Golden Age where the puzzle is not only foremost but also its only notable feature. It’s a term of derision and dismissal used by genre critic Julian Symons in his 1972 survey Bloody Murder: from the Detective Story to the Crime Novel. Symons notes that Humdrum authors “had some skill in constructing puzzles, nothing more, and [believed] that the detective story properly belonged in the category of riddles and crossword puzzles.” With such an ascetic emphasis, the reverse supposition is that all other literary merits of a legitimate crime “novel” – psychologically layered characters, a penchant for verisimilitude, a real-world resonance of theme and setting – are absent in the Humdrum.

In my opinion, Symons is accurate in his categorization…up to a point. The greatest difficulty I have with the label and definition is that sweeping idea of “nothing more” to interest the reader, “nothing more” of value or skill on display than a puzzle and a formulaic march to a solution. But I can’t fully rush to the defense of the Humdrum authors because, compared with their genre contemporaries who actively used characterization, tone, and themes (such as observations of class differences, social customs, the law and justice) to enhance their stories, the dogmatic Humdrum emphasis on plot can create a superficial or distanced reading experience.

But why should a mystery story be required to carry a Great Idea? Why must it have something to say? Detective stories are almost by definition entertainments, plots constructed by the writer to engage and beguile the reader. Many of the Humdrum authors Symons singles out were extremely successful in their time: Freeman Wills Crofts, whose plots often involve railways and the use of timetables to make and break suspects’ alibis, and Major John Street, who wrote dozens of books under the pseudonyms John Rhode and Miles Burton, were both prolific and popular. Their focus on the puzzle did not limit their contemporary appeal.

It can also be argued that the shift from detective story to crime novel was not entirely a beneficial one. While many authors in later decades would deliver complex and haunting books that used antiheroes, modern crime, and psychology in a compelling way – Patricia Highsmith, Ruth Rendell, Nicolas Freeling, and Reginald Hill are all favorites of mine – here in America it feels like the genre has been swallowed up by endless tales of sociopathic serial killers, broken and vulnerable cops, amoral lawyers and as many fights within the justice system as outside of it. Michael Connelly and Jo Nesbo are excellent writers and craftsmen, but I can only visit their fictional worlds occasionally before the many cruelties and injustices within their pages start to weigh as heavily on me as they do on their weary detectives.

All this to introduce Death in the Tunnel, a 1936 mystery by Miles Burton appearing in April 2016 by The Poisoned Pen Press as part of their marvelous British Library Crime Classics series. It is a story that is proudly, winningly Humdrum. The puzzle starts as a clever variation of the locked-room mystery: upon exiting a tunnel, Sir Wilfred Saxonby is found in a locked train compartment, shot through the chest. A gun with his initials is found inside, and at first the death appears to be a suicide. But the fateful train also made an unscheduled slowing when the engineer saw a red light on the tracks ahead within the tunnel, a light that turned green before the train was forced to brake completely. Both tunnel entrances were observed by crew workers, and no man was seen entering or leaving. It’s enough for Inspector Arnold to begin to investigate, and he soon calls in the more imaginative Desmond Merrion to offer advice.

Treating the death of the wealthy magistrate as suspicious, other clues soon surface: Saxonby is found with his wallet and money still in his pocket, but a family member is certain that the wallet is a duplicate; the dead man had sent his secretary and niece away from the house the day before he took his last trip; and a mystery man named Yates (the name of Saxonby’s solicitor but definitely not that person) had met with Sir Wilfred in secret. Inspector Arnold finds details that consistently lead to an older man named Dredger, but Merrion feels like the man is being framed through impersonation and cunning, and expands his theories to include two culprits instead of one.

Death in the Tunnel – in England, the title was Dark Is the Tunnel, and one of five Rhode/Burton mysteries published in 1936 alone! – remains an entertaining Golden Age puzzle mystery. Its principal strength is Burton’s ingenious intersecting of motive and crime, and how the clues align to the rather devilish timetable. The murder method is both elaborate and very busy, involving as it does some very precise vehicle choreography and traveling from the criminals to ensure success. Merrion and Arnold hypothesize and reconstruct the villains’ actions throughout the investigation, and that might be considered one weakness of a puzzle-centered Humdrum plotline: while the detectives are in a constant state of discussion, there’s little that occurs in the way of immediate (or suspenseful) action. After all, the murder has already taken place, the culprits long ago abandoning the scene. Even the suspect interviews are muted, as most exist to provide information from third parties about the movements of the unknown murderer on the day in question.

Along with attention to past over present actions, Burton also provides little characterization to make either his leads or his supporting cast memorable and distinct for the reader. The downside is an impression of rather low stakes – if both victim and suspects exist as sketchy, generic character types, little emotion will be invested in the outcome. But such distancing can also be an unacknowledged goal with the puzzle story: the focus remains exclusively on problem and solution, uncluttered by anything as lateral and inessential as meditating on a character’s psyche or the morality of murder. Instead, the pursuit is almost academic. The Humdrum, it seems, is mystery detection in its purest form. With a mystery novel pared down to its core, the Humdrum author succeeds or fails on the strength of his puzzle. And fortunately, Death in the Tunnel is a very strong puzzle indeed. How satisfied you are when you arrive at the story’s destination, I feel, will depend on whether you had expected (and wanted) to ride the Crime Novel Local or the Detective Story Express.

Thanks to NetGalley and the publishers at The Poisoned Pen Press for offering an advance eBook copy of Death in the Tunnel in exchange for an honest review.

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Book Review: DEATH AT BREAKFAST (1936) by John Rhode

Book Review: DEATH AT THE CLUB (1937) by Miles Burton

Book Review: TWICE DEAD (1960) by John Rhode

Book Review: DEATH IN THE TUNNEL by Miles Burton

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