THE BIG SHOTS
7s. 6d.) The Case of the First Class Carriage. By Carol Camac. (Peter Davies. 7s. 6d.) The Whispering Ear. By Clyde B. Clason. (Heinemann. 7s. 6d.)
A LIST containing such revered names as Bailey, Allingham, Queen and Woodthorpe should satisfy the most voracious detection-fan. For once, however, these big shots are beaten to the draw by a comparative unknown. Mr. Quentin's first novel, Puzzle for Fools, was excellent : his new one is quite outstanding and will make his name. From the moment when Peter Duluth, theatrical producer and ex- dipsomaniac, enters the Dagonet Theatre, where the play that is to be his great come-back will be staged, we are kept screwed up to the top thread of excitement. For there is a hoodoo, or jinx, upon the Dagonet Theatre, and also a genuine plot to prevent Troubled Waters reaching its opening night. Faces appear in a dressing-room mirror when no one is looking into it : a Siamese cat conveys a disagreeable mes- sage to the cast : a statuette of the leading lady turns into a Thrawn Janet. This, and much more, brings the natural excitability of Duluth's players to the very edge of mass_ hysteria. Mr. Quentin's characters are boldly drawn, and he builds up to a climax which is both moving and psycho- logically right.
Of Miss Allingham's short stories it will be enough for many readers to know that they are short stories by Miss Allingham. In nine of them the admired Mr. Campion figures : while the five remaining tales show the author taking a rather different slant on crime. I would especially com- mend that excellent little puzzle, The Case of the French. man's Gloves ; a grim kidnapping story, The Case of the Longer View ; and—of the non-Campions--/t Didn't Work Out, which has all the tang of the old music-hall stage. The next two books on my list are thrillers. Mr. Woodthorpe does not show the same touch here as in the straight detec- tive-novel, though several of his episodes are really exciting. The Necessary Corpse centres upon a twentieth-century Whiteley, who is driven underground by some gunmen over from America after his blood. . The author enlivens his book with a number of political comments which have only mode- rate relevance to the plot, but make it clear that he personally will stand for a dictatorship neither of the Left nor of the Right. He also goes on, in rather a puffmg-billy manner, about corduroy trousers, which he informs us are the regular uniform of the " progressive intellectual." I must go out and buy some. The Big Sleep, as its title suggests, is American and very, very tough after the Thin Man fashion. Almost everyone in the book, except the detective, is either a crook or wonderfully decadent, and the author spares us no blushes to point out just how decadent they are. " We're all grifters," says one of them. The action is tightly knit and fast-moving, however, and there is some charming dialogue.
In The Great Game Mr. Bailey relates the story of the Hurst iniquity, Reggie Fortune's most difficult case. It is certainly the most difficult of his cases for the reader to follow, for Reggie jigs up and down from one facet of the investiga- tion to another, and has infected several of the characters with his own verbal idiosyncrasy. At least six of them, for instance, make use of the curious idiom, " I am not to . .." (as in " I am not to congratulate you on the results "). There are some good characters, though, not least the very hard- bitten Mr. lye from the Public Prosecutor's Office ; the plot is extremely complex, but scrupulously fair ; there is a generous allowance of corpses and a gripping climax ; and our old friend Clunk makes some outrageous charges against the police. Mr. Queen, like Mr. Chandler of The Big Sleep, takes us to Los Angeles. Wacky, as we all know, are the inhabitants of that town, I doubt if they can be quite as wacky as Mr. Queen makes them here. The plot hinges upon a feud between two families of famous screen actors. Their quarrels are not quite credible ; but as soon as we get to murder, Mr. Queen is in his stride again and offers us a rare puzzle.
Miss Royde Smith and Miss Cannan here turn from the straight novel to the novel with a crime interest. Miss Royde Smith's story of the devoted church-worker who is also a homicidal maniac, though a little long-winded and slow in development, perhaps, from the point of view of the detection- fan, has some really creepy moments. She understands how one sharp, incongruous detail can affect our nerves more than pages of screams and bloodshed. They Rang Up the Police contains some good character studies and more detective pro- cesses than The Altar-Piece. Unfortunately, detection and character are not thoroughly integrated ; they alternate, rather than develop out of each other. Also, the murderer can be spotted too easily by those who have learnt the knack ; and surely this person would, in fact, have been satisfied with the mere phantasy of murder?
Death at Dancing Stones features a millionaire, his en- tourage, his castle on the coast, and his habit of playing with a searchlight. Miss Fin's books always have a tang of their own ; but here I thought too much evidence was held uP till late in the narrative. Miss Carnac's novel is detectiv sounder, if less brilliant in atmosphere. The plot is //lost ingenious, though the murderers' modus operandi was surely a bit precarious. Mr. Warren offers Us an elaborate spoof- plot, which I saw through instantly ; if his criminal gives himself away too easily, his detective is an able logician. Tice Whispering Ear contrives a problem out of identical twirls ; its hero is one of those infuriating creatures who will 1-1,3t
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