Why does the theatre appeal to mystery writers so much, as a setting? Perhaps because it provides a naturally existing closed set of suspects, which makes a change from the eternal country house party. Moreover, a theatre troupe has many opportunities for plausible motives (e.g. jealousy over casting), as well as means of murder. The gun that should have only fired a blank, suddenly has a real bullet in it, the wine which is meant to be drunk at a critical moment on stage has been poisoned… Reading classic crime fiction it is easy to see how dangerous the theatre world is, which is why a few years back I wrote a post collating some handy tips and advice on staying safe. (Working at the theatre also gets a section in my book, How to Survive a Classic Crime Novel (2023)).
However, today my review is aiming to give you a run-down on one of the British Library’s Crime Classic short story collections.
Story No. 1: ‘The Affair at the Novelty Theatre (1905) by Baroness Orczy
This mystery was originally published in the Royal Magazine and was edited before it was collected in The Case of Miss Elliot. It features her series armchair detective, the Old Man in the Corner, who solves mysteries from the confines of a café. The Old Man recounts the case of the theft of some pearls valuing £10,000. They belonged to the actress, Phyllis Morgan and they were taken from her dressing room when she was performing at the Novelty Theatre.
The Old Man remarks that it was ‘always a puzzle to’ him ‘how few thefts are committed in the dressing rooms of fashionable actresses during a performance.’ Perhaps the restricted access to the backstage area makes it less frequent, as it would be hard for an outsider to visit unnoticed. This certainly seems to be the issue here with the stolen pearls. However, the play being performed that night involved a scene with many extras wearing masks, which makes it harder for characters to prove an alibi. The thief is seen exiting and drops the pearls as he flees, yet these are soon revealed to be fakes. But when did the switch occur? Naturally, the Old Man explains what really happened that evening. Some parts of the case were easy to deduce. Given the structure of the story it operates mostly as a monologue and consequently I felt it was difficult to get differentiation when it came to the suspect characters and their voices.
Story No. 2: ‘The Affair at the Semiramis Hotel’ (1917) by A. E. W. Mason
Mason is best remembered for his sleuth, Inspector Hanaud and his debut appearance, At the Villa Rose (1910). Martin Edwards, who writes the introduction to this collection, notes that Hanaud returned in this short story seven years later; originally published in The Story Teller. He further adds that: ‘Mason originally intended to develop the plot into a screenplay called The Carnival Ball, but when that project proved abortive, he adopted the material into this story.’ Interestingly the last Inspector Hanaud novel was published in 1946. I had not realised how late the series ran.
Mr Ricardo begins this story in a state of boredom, after the more dramatic events in At the Villa Rose, of which he was involved: ‘Life was altogether a disappointment; Fate, like an actress at a restaurant, had taken the wooden pestle in her hand and stirred all the sparkle out of the champagne […]’ Unsurprisingly, this is soon going to change. Inspector Hanaud has just wrapped up a case in London, so decides to look Mr Ricardo up. But before they can talk, another visitor bursts in, Mr Calladine.
There is a pleasing, slightly prickly relationship between Hanaud and Ricardo, as the former punctuates their interactions with sarcasm centred on Ricardo’s middle-class foibles and sensibilities. I think this helped me like the inspector more than usual.
But back to Mr Calladine. A while ago he withdrew from high society, no reason given. But counter to this policy of social isolation he went to a masked ball the previous evening. He meets an opera singer there, who becomes entranced by another woman’s pearls. Her kleptomania gets the better of her later that night, but she then finds herself in a bigger pickle. The owner of the pearls has been murdered and she is likely to be in the frame for this deed. Is she telling the truth? Although more immediately pressing is whether Mr Calladine is being honest, as Hanaud discovers something which calls his reliability into question. I think we are told more than shown in this short story and there are some visual clues the reader cannot easily use.
Story No. 3: ‘The Dancing Girl’ (1926) by Anthony Wynne
This story was originally published in Flynn’s Magazine, and it begins at the Jermyn Cabaret. Dr Hailey, Wynne’s sleuth, is present and he wonders if he is witnessing a love triangle between one of the dancers and two members of the audience, including the already married Lord Rushmore. Hailey excuses this behaviour and gets rather snarky at Rushmore’s wife when she is annoyed by it. She is also worried about her husband’s sanity and invites Dr Hailey to stay with them, so he can unobtrusively assess her husband. The dancer and another young man also join the party. The initial picture of the situation changes somewhat as more information is imparted, and some may decide sympathy should be allotted differently. However, I found this an uncomfortable read due to the “men sticking together” ethos and the characters weren’t that likeable. I also found this to be a wordy narrative, and I did not feel there was a way of really anticipating things. The theatre element is rather minor.
Story No. 4: ‘In View of the Audience’ (1934) by Marguerite Steen
Steen is not an author I am familiar with, but it was interesting to learn that: ‘One of her stranger claims to fame was that the Coronation Street actress Pat Phoenix, a major celebrity in the 1960s, took her stage name from Steen’s novel Phoenix Rising.’ This tale was originally published in the Strand Magazine.
Have you ever been in a similar situation to George Brewster’s? He kicks off the story by making a train by the skin of his teeth, only to be told by a fellow passenger that he has got the wrong train for where he wants to go. The pair are instead off to Coalfield, a place where George’s rail companion, Henry Morpeth, has bought a theatre. It has lain empty for twenty years and he did not view it before buying. Morpeth hints that a crime had occurred there in the past:
‘It’s really very queer. You never know which way a thing like that will strike the public. You know what people are: how they’ll go and stare for hours at the outside of a house where a crime’s been committed. It might, of course, have been the making of the place. Instead – for some reason or other – they simply sheered off.’
As the conversation progresses and George is invited to look over the theatre, he begins to get uneasy, which is understandable when his companion casually mentions that he is standing ‘just about the place where the murder happened.’ Steen’s creation of eeriness began to win me over. Inch by inch we learn what happened at the theatre all those years ago. This is an example of a theatrical mystery where the victim is bumped off on stage, and the audience think it is part of the play. Overall, I think the main issue with this story is that it is too simple. Things are left unsaid at the end, but the killer is implied and rather obvious from early on.
Story No. 5: ‘Blood Sacrifice’ (1936) by Dorothy L. Sayers
I have previously reviewed this title on my blog, as it was originally part of the collaborative work, Six Against the Yard (1936), ‘in which six members of the Detection Club wrote stories about “perfect murders”, the perfection of which was then critiqued by a retired Scotland Yard superintendent, G. W. Cornish.’
This theatrical mystery centres on a playwright (John Scales) who is upset at how an actor-manager, (called Garrick Dury) financed the staging of his play, Bitter Laurel, but in return made so many changes that his ‘cynical and disillusioned play,’ with questionable morality became a much more conventional play full of trite sentimental emotions, which makes Dury the star. The play is a huge success and John is well-off, but at what price to his creative integrity? If only the play could be stopped. Fate seems to have intervened when a car crash outside the theatre, leaves Dury fighting for his life. He needs a blood transfusion, and it is here which Sayers puts temptation in the way of John.
Looking back over the comments I made when I first reviewed this story, I seem to have been less convinced by Sayers’ murder back then, compared to when I read it last month. I think this time round I have been better persuaded by the idea of guilt by omission. Furthermore, I think I appreciated the depth of characterisation more. One question I was asking myself when reading this story was: who does the reader like or like more? John or Garrick? In some ways I felt the latter has more warmth.
Andrew Green and Roger Dalrymple wrote the article ‘The “Perfect Murder”?: Dorothy L. Sayers, Superintendent Cornish and Six Against the Yard (1936)’ (2022), which can be found online via the Brunel University Research Archive. It was interesting to read in this article, that Sayers ‘consulted fellow author Helen Simpson’s surgeon husband on the precise physiological details of the death she relates.’ It is not surprising however, as Sayers was known for wanting to get her facts right. In one of this article’s footnotes, the authors mention two ideas. The first comment is:
‘Sayers’ religious plays The Devil to Pay (1939) and The Zeal of Thy House (1937) (Four Sacred Plays (1948)) also form an interesting context for her work and development as a writer of crime fiction.’
This is not a theme I have overly looked at when reviewing Sayers’ mysteries, perhaps because her religious writings mostly occurred once she had finished writing mysteries. Nevertheless, I think it reasonable to assume that Sayers’ religious ideas, knowledge and questions fed into the moral framework of her crime stories. In both plays mentioned above, pride, even if it is pride in something good, entails negative consequences (for a time). Nevertheless, a play like The Devil to Pay, which reworks the Faustus story, asks the question of whether it is okay to do something evil, if it is for good intentions. Similarly, ‘Blood Sacrifice’ raises the question of whether it is murder, to simply do nothing.
Speaking of blood sacrifices, I think the biblical understanding of this practice is upended in Sayers’ story. Blood sacrifice is intended to create a union or bond between two parties, or to use a biblical word, a covenant. The sacrifice was about maintaining this relationship. Covenants were a form of agreement or contract, with obligations on each side and John enters into one with Garrick when he signs the contract for the latter to put on his play. However, their contract has the opposite results, pushing them apart. Moreover, the contract, as John realises later, is too one sided and enables Garrick Dury to change the play as much as he wants. Shed blood in the Bible is also linked to the idea of cleansing, yet again Sayers’ story is ambiguous on whether the blood shed here, cleanses John of the impurities of writing commercial fiction or besmirches him with guilt, over what he should have done.
The second interesting comment made in the footnotes of Green and Dalrymple’s article is this one:
‘In addition, it is tantalising to ponder the parallels between Sayers and the central character of ‘Blood Sacrifice’, John Scales. Was she like her hero, we might wonder, exasperated to find her celebrity as a brilliant crime novelist draw attention away from her more high-brow literary productions.’
It’s an appealing idea, reminiscent of Arthur Conan Doyle’s predicament, and Sayers may have felt like this later, but in 1936, I think such an idea is anachronistic as most of her “serious” translation work, play and essay writing took place after the publishing of her mystery novels. However, a more convincing point is made in the body of the article when the writers comment:
‘It is tempting to speculate how far Scales’ situation is reflective of Sayers’ own ambivalent feelings towards popular renditions and mass serialisations of her work. In a letter to Muriel St Clare Byrne of September 1935 she remarked that if a mooted magazine serialisation of Gaudy Night (1935) were to fall through she would emerge “poorer in purse though richer in honour” (Letters, 355).’
This article was also interesting to read as it goes into more detail about the aftermath of Six Against the Yard. Sayers did not take Superintendent Cornish’s criticisms of her story well and she had her own sleuth, Lord Peter Wimsey write to Cornish in the Daily Mail to defend the legitimacy of her perfect murder.
Story No. 6: ‘The Wrong Make-Up’ (1941) by Brandon Fleming
Fleming, who was also a playwright and screenwriter, originally published this story in the Strand Magazine. It is concerned with Sir John Furnival, who is murdered in his dressing room, preventing him from performing in the third act. Death by blunt instrument was the murder method and grotesque makeup was also applied to his face. It also seems like his behaviour changed during his last outfit change. The story has a brisk pace, but the police detective investigating the case keeps back information from the reader, so we can’t really figure out the solution for ourselves. I am not sure how satisfactory the ending is.
Story No. 7: ‘The Case of the Ventriloquist’s Doll’ (1944) by Ernest Dudley
Ernest Dudley, like others in this collection, was an actor at one time. In his case, according to Martin Edwards, he started out by leaving home at seventeen to join ‘a company which performed Shakespeare in small Irish towns.’ ‘The Case of the Ventriloquist’s Doll’ was originally collected in the anthology, Meet Doctor Morelle Again (1944).
Through other short story collections and issues of Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine, I have read a few others by this author, and I think one of the things which I have found off-putting is the working relationship between Dr Morelle (Dudley’s sleuth) and his secretary/assistant Miss Frayle, as the former is unpleasantly critical towards her. This leads to some unusual behaviour on Miss Frayle’s part, which is demonstrated in the opening of this tale. She melodramatically leaves his laboratory in a hurry, his ‘sardonic laughter’ to be heard in the background and from her performance you would have thought she was desperately ill. However, it transpires she only wanted to sneeze.
A man then barges onto the premises. His name is Voxio and he thinks very highly of himself, so he has that in common with Dr Morelle, who also has a large self-esteem. Voxio assumes everyone knows who he is, believing himself to be famous for his ventriloquist act. He has come to request Dr Morelle’s help, as the doll he uses in his act has been stolen and he needs him for a show that night. I wouldn’t say the reader has many clues to work with, but the net of suspicion is concentrated on 2-3 people.
Story No. 8: ‘The Blind Spot’ (1945) by Barry Perowne
This story was published in Ellery Queen’s Mystery Maqgazine and Otto Penzler described it as ‘one of the most ingenious stories ever written.’ It went on to be filmed in 1947 and Perowne also wrote Raffles continuation novels. This tale starts with a playwright called James Wright going out on an alcoholic binge, during which time he is tells a new acquaintance about a brilliant play that he will write which involves the perfect murder. However, just outside a club, James is knocked over by a taxi and his companion melts into the night. Unfortunately, whilst his physical injuries are minor, he has forgotten how his new play ends e.g. how the perfect murder is committed: ‘How was Cynthia stabbed in that windowless room into which she had locked and bolted herself?’. So, he is determined to find this mysterious man, who left him for dead when the taxi hit him. I found the setup of this story dynamic and engaging, but alas it was quite easy to see where the tale was heading, there just weren’t any other likely options. I can see why this mystery was filmed, as it would create great on-screen drama. However, I think the ending is better if you haven’t already worked it out.
Story No. 9: ‘I Can Find My Way Out’ (1946) by Ngaio Marsh
I have already reviewed this story here, but in short, I didn’t feel Marsh’s writing really brought the story alive.
Story No. 10: ‘The Lady Who Laughed’ (1948) by Roy Vickers
I am more acquainted with Vickers’ later short story work, so it was interesting to read about his earlier writing career in Martin’s introduction:
‘His first novel, The Mystery of the Scented Death, was published in 1921, and by the time The Radingham Mystery appeared seven years later, his publishers Herbert Jenkins were sufficiently confident of his appeal to the readers to issue publicity postcards describing him as “The Master of the Unusual” and claiming that “No living writer can handle a complicated plot more ingeniously than Roy Vickers”.’
This story, like some others in this collection, made its first appearance in Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine, and it is a tale about how a comedian clown called Lucien Spengrove was caught out for murdering his wife, by the Department of Dead Ends. So, it is an inverted mystery and near the start of the story the reader is told that ‘the clue to the mystery – as opposed to evidence of the murder – lay in the personality of the man who could evolve such a technique.’ Reflecting on the story as a whole I would say the focus of this plot is less on howdunnit or how-will-he-get-caught, but more on the whydunit. Lucien’s reason to kill is an interesting one, built upon nuanced characterisation, but I feel the detour into how he became a comedian makes the middle of the story drag and even lose a bit of energy and focus. Compared to some of the other cases solved by the Department of Dead Ends, I think the proof of guilt in this one felt less convincing.
Story No. 11: ‘The Thirteenth Knife’ (1950) by Bernard J. Farmer
I have only experienced Farmer’s writing on one other occasion, through another British Library Crime Classic title, Death of a Bookseller (1956). Farmer held a variety of jobs during his life, including being an engineer in Canada and joining the ‘“J” branch of the Metropolitan Police Force’ after WW2, back in the UK. ‘The Thirteenth Knife’ appeared in the Gloucester Citizen and is set in Montreal, Canada. It is centred on a cabaret act which includes a knife thrower called Simone, who throws thirteen knives around a live human, her lover. Naturally, this is a dangerous act and absolute concentration and silence is required. A patron of the nightclub however wants to marry Simone and thinks he may be able to remove his rival. The ending for this story is an unusual one and has a nice twist.
Story No. 12: ‘Drink for an Actor’ (1950) by John Appleby
If the name John Appleby is ringing a bell, then that is because J. I. M. Stewart a.k.a. Michael Innes, named his fictional sleuth after the real Appleby who he knew when he worked at Leeds University in the 1930s. A very pleasing nugget of information to find in the introductory notes about this author. This story appeared in the Evening Standard and features an actor dying on stage, which is not part of the script. A beverage is poisoned, and Inspector Bristow investigates. There is an interesting blackmail motive involving a WW2 prisoner of war and I liked the solution too. However, I felt the story was too short for it to have full impact, as we don’t have sufficient time to get immersed in the characterisation.
Story No. 13: ‘Credit to William Shakespeare’ (1950) by Julian Symons
This is another story which appeared in the Evening Standard, and it starts on the first night of a new production of Hamlet. There is some inter-cast tension due to a romantic triangle. Private detective Francis Quarles is attending the performance with a drama critic. This story too involves an actor dying due to drinking a poisoned beverage whilst on stage. Inspector Leeds, who is in charge of the police investigation is quite Lestrade-like: ‘The Inspector had a wonderful capacity for marshalling facts. Like a dog snapping at the heels of so many sheep he now extracted a story from each of the actors on the stage […]’. The solution relies on knowledge of the play, along with one bit of deduction. I liked it, but it does go over your head. I think it would also have been nice if we had spent more time with the characters, as there were some interesting possibilities there.
Story No. 14; ‘After the Event’ (1958) by Christianna Brand
The original title for this story, as it was published in Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine was ‘Rabbit Out of a Hat’. The mystery includes Inspector Cockrill, and he is talking to a man called the ‘Grand old man (of detection)’ and ‘the Great Detective’. This older man is happy to boast that he has “never failed to solve a murder case. In the end.” Inspector Cockrill mentions the Othello case, one which the other man had arrested a man, but upon which the jury did not convict. There is the suggestion that the ‘Great Detective’ might not be so great after all. Inspector Cockrill certainly enjoys needling him upon this point. The ‘Great Detective’ had believed that James Dragon, an actor playing Othello, strangled his wife (who before her death had been playing the role of Desdemona). We are told that:
“[…] night after night his new Desdemona, in the knowledge that his own wife had been so strangled but a few days before; and that every man Jack in the audience believed it was he who had strangled her – believed he was a murderer.”
“Which, however, he was not,” said Inspector Cockrill, and his bright elderly eyes shone with malicious glee.
“Which he was – and was not,” said the old man heavily. He was something of an actor himself but he had not hitherto encountered the modern craze for audience-participation and he was not enjoying it at all. “If I might now be permitted to continue without interruption…?”
I like how this section raises the stakes and gets the reader thinking. The ending remarks about the ‘Great Detective’ and his views on audience participation are also a lovely touch.
The story looks at how James’ marriage to Glenda Croy was not a success and how she had blackmailed her way into getting the best roles in his family-run theatre company. Inspector Cockrill criticises his companion’s approach to investigating the case, noticing the discrepancies. I like the way this is described: ‘It had been the old man’s story – for years it had been his best story, the pet white rabbit out of the conjuror’s mystery hat; and now it was spoilt by the horrid little boy who knew how the tricks were done.’
The solution is an interesting one, masked by several things, including the duplicitous actions of the family members afterwards. Nevertheless, it felt quite dense and convoluted. This is the kind of case I would have liked to have read at novel length, a feeling I have had with some of Brand’s other short fiction. Whilst it was less great that some visual knowledge was required, there were some reasonably well-placed clues for the vigilant reader.
Rating: 4/5
Source: Review Copy (British Library Crime Classics)