Nice Goings-On

By L. A. G. STRONG

Murder to Measure. By Robert Mason: (Pawling and Ness.

. _ 3s. 6d.) 7s. 6d.)

DETECTIVE fiction has now reached such a high level that there is no need to consider it as a separate genre. The best modern detective stories are more than detective

stories ; they are novels which happen to be concerned with crime and the tracing of criminals. In addition to the detective interest, the modern practitioner is expected to give his readers sound characterization, adequate psychology, polished writing, and, often, humour. The combination is admittedly rare, but it occurs often enough to set a standard, and at least half a dozen writers take it in turn to supply examples.

I have never before read one of Mr. Kennedy's books, and so I do not know what his level is. Corpse in Cold Storage

can be labelled Class One. It falls, to my mind, just outside the small, select, alpha-plus class—but only just. It is a good story, with an original twist, clear-cut characters, and

a sharply observed • background.. Where it comes down (this may be purely a personal point of view) is in its humour. Mr. Kennedy is so terribly anxious that we shall see his jokes.

They are no great shakes as jokes, but they would be quite

tolerable if "'Conti 'Tie did not 'rub -ciiir"tio§es" thein. That,' however, is my only complaint. The detecting is done by a rather agreeable adventurer and his pretty wife, who are . making itio`to'in American millionaire in the hope of gain. They are inspired by no abstract passion for justice ; and,, when they do find Out what happened to the unpleasant Charleson, they proceed to put in a little profitable blackmail:" This, with the resting place chosen for the corpse, gives a pleasing turn to the story ; and there is- an excellent picture of one of those desolate little bungalow settlements on the South Coast, with its nerve-racked, -snobbish crew of dis- appointed ex-service -men, its thistles, and general arid poverty. A neat, efficient, and most readable.pieee of work —and some people may not find Mr. Kennedy's luirnour as heavy-footed as I did; As an ex-preparatory-schoolmaster,, I picked up The Pre- paratory School Murder with high expectations. Mr. MacNaughtan tried me hard. He is avuncular, arch, hearty, sentimental and facetious, all in the first thirty pages. Nevertheless, I went on, because he knows his preparatory school world from A toZ. -The first half of the book, up to the fixing of suspicion uporl Marcus Kelham, is inter- esting enough. After that, however, the story becomes laboured and mechanical, and peters out irrelevantly. To most readers the 'boa- will be chiefly remarkable for the author's complacence, his asides, his phraseology (a boy of four is described as an " adOrable scrap "), and occasional -touches so false that one wonders in amazement how anyone with his obvious knowledge of boys can possibly have put. them down.

" ' One can't blub alwayi but 'I don't forget David, sir,' he said, using the name that in life he had used only to tease. He was such a jolly decent chap,' 7

This, in case you might not suspect it, is an eleven-year- old referring to his murdered friend. All the same, if he eschewed all comment, never addressed his " gentle reader," and strictly rationed his adjectives, Mr. MacNaughtan might write a good book.

The Porticullis Room brings us back to Class One again. " Nice goings-on at a family seat, Mr. Verity, sir," remarked Stephen Garrison's man anent the doings at Toray. The MacReay had two sets of guests in his Hebridean castle. The first was headed by Garrison, a rich American, and his friend Philip Verity : the second by the Vicomte d'Arenne. The American was displeased that the attractive Phyllis Dean should pay the Vicomte so much attention. Being a girl of spirit, she promptly arranged a joint visit to the haunted room. The Vicomte preceded her, and when she arrived she found him dead, with the MacReay's dirk in his back. Castle and island were isolated, so that Philip Verity had a strictly limited number of suspects. Mr. Williams is an old hand at this kind of thing, and does it to admiration. His story runs on more conventional lines than Mr. Kennedy's, but, taken all round, it is perhaps the most satisfactory on the list.

The scene of Murder to Measure is also a castle ; but there the resemblance ends. The murder of Lord Grampian in his own library, despite the conventionality of locale, might have provided a story of real interest, but, by hoarding his vital motive until a few pages before the end, and then letting it trickle out in soliloquy, Mr. Mason leaves his readers tricked rather than surprised.

Mr. Wilmot has also had a good idea, but failed to make the most of it. " If you can co-relate a behind-the-scenes domestic upheaval with the murder of a Scotland Yard detective in the stalls, you're a damn sight cleverer than I've been giving you credit for," observed Colin Arthur, playwright, to Superintendent Beck. All the same, the Superintendent makes a better job of it than his creator. It is a pity, for there are several items on the credit side, notably the hiding place for the stolen jewels : but Mr. Wilmot cannot decide where to attack his story, the interest is diffused, and no character stands out sufficiently to pull it together.

The Case of the Sulky Girl gives a great opportunity to the criminal lawyer Perry Mason for some characteristically smart work. The sulky girl's guardian has died at a moment which, to an unsympathetic observer, might appear especially con- venient for her. (I cannot be more explicit, without giving things away.) Her sulks are only temporary. In any case, to be blackmailed on the strength of an unfait'and foolish will might make anyone sulky. Circumstantial evidence is strong, and it takes all Perry Mason's ingenuity and a good deal of remarkably free 'cross-ex_imination to -remove the, lady's sulks for good. This is a lively bit of work, and English readers will enjoy a supposed insight into trans-Atlantic legal methods..

Artifex Intervenes is good fodder for one long railway journey or three short ones. It is made up of three separate tales, in each of which Simon Artifex of the C.I.D. intervenes at the' moment best calculated to bring an exciting story to an even more exciting end. Mr. Keverne knows his job, and incident- ally writes a good deal better than several of his colleagues. Better, for instance, than Mr. Ngaio Marsh. Mr, Marsh has a good mystery (country house murder, with plenty of suspects), but his character; are apt to come over all county," as one of them puts it, and address one another in what :they imagine to be the correct jargon. The results are enervating, and I was glad of Mr. Wills to brace me up. Bigamy, blackma" il, and abduction are only three of the complications he has used. A man is found shot in an author's study late at night. The author miserably pleads juitifiable homicide—but there are two bullets in the murdered -miin'S 'body. A clever young. police sergeant, in the face of some hostility from his senior officer, follows up a number of clues to a satisfying finish. A

good, workmanlike story. • - •

Finally, Big Ben- Strikes Eleven. The moral of this story,. emphasizing the unwisdom of leaving; cinema tickets lying, about in public places, should commend itself to anti-litter' enthusiasts. One fine .evening in June,' Sir Robert Bonifacie, financier of international repute,- was found` shot in his car in the road leading to the Vide of Health. Out of a large number of people who might hae wished to kill him, suspicion falls most heavily on his nephew Frank Littlewood, and on the belligerent painter Matt Caldwell, both of them denizens of the Vale of Health. It is an exciting chase, ending via the parapet of Westminster Bridge, with abundance of suspects, incidents, and motives; and a highly efficient sleuth in charge.