“It’s time I got to work. I have an idea I’d like to gumshoe a bit around the room in which Sutton departed this life. We may not find footprints in the snow, but there are always the forgotten calling card and the initialed handkerchief to be hoped for. Secondly, I have a growing curiosity to see this lady who has caused my hardheaded lawyer friend to lay his cloak upon the ground. Possibly that may end our adventures, but I have an odd hunch, Underwood, that it may only begin them.”
I had high hopes when Curtis Evans announced the publishing of yet another “rediscovered” GAD author, one whose debut had occurred in 1930. 1930 was a very good year for detective stories in general (Christie’s Murder at the Vicarage, Sayers’ Strong Poison, Berkeley’s The Second Shot) and for American detective stories in particular. Fans of the pure puzzle had only to look to S.S. Van Dine, whose The Scarab Murder Case was the fifth in a highly lauded series of brownstone mysteries. Ellery Queen was beginning his ascent with his second novel, The French Powder Mystery, and a young upstart named Carr made the impossible come to life for the first time with It Walks by Night. Fans of more hard-boiled fare need look no further than Dashiell Hammett, whose third novel, The Maltese Falcon, would become etched in the hearts of mystery lovers everywhere, particularly after its third film incarnation appeared eleven years later.
These were just the A-list authors. Imagine all the second tier writers who have been all but forgotten: Henry Wade, John Rhode, JJ Connington, E.R. Punshon – in short, all those authors who have been dismissed as humdrum . . . and if you need me to explain that term to you, then you have not been paying attention to Curtis Evans. I turn your view to his marvelous studies, Masters of the Humdrum Mystery and The Spectrum of English Murder to start you on your way.
The discovery of a “new” forgotten author can be extremely exciting to classic mystery fans. Folks like Harriet Rutland, Norman Berrow, and many more may now grace our bookshelves without costing an arm and a leg. True, these small press releases can be costly, so I don’t always jump on the gravy train. But I did decide to give a look at Roger Scarlett who, between 1930 and 1933, published five brownstone mystery novels featuring Inspector Norton Kane of the Boston Police Department.
Scarlett’s work is being compared to that of Van Dine and Queen, and Coachwhip Publications has brought out the five novels in three volumes, so my first purchase gave me two books for the price of one. I’m only reviewing the debut novel, The Beacon Hill Murders, here. I hope to return with some thoughts on its companion piece, The Back Bay Murders, which the blurb at least hints could involve a serial killer.
Unlike the eccentric armchair detective heroes found in Van Dine and Queen, Scarlett’s Norton Kane operates in an official capacity as a homicide inspector. With no need to display the pompous superiority to the police that Philo Vance and Ellery often show, Kane turns out to be quite a likeable fellow, as his description here attests:
“He seemed a curiously incongruous figure as he sat there. Feature by feature he was so ugly that it was rather a pleasure to look at him, in contrast to the neat conventional man of the advertisements. His thick black hair rebelled against discipline. Beneath it his forehead was heavily lined, and his thick eyebrows seemed startling in the pallor of his face. His eyes were deep-set, and their kindness belied the severity of his nose and chin.”
What’s pleasantly missing is the series of tics and eccentricities that tend to define the typical GAD sleuth. There is no pince nez or cane, no waxed moustaches or affected speech. Is there an argument to be made that his relative ordinariness prevented Kane from stepping out from the pack? Is the way a sleuth presents himself more important than how he detects? It’s an interesting question that deserves some contemplation in another post. For me, the short answer is that readers are drawn to a detective’s striking persona, but if he – or she – doesn’t deliver the goods in terms of a basically fair play set of deductions then the magic isn’t going to last.
Most classic detectives have some sort of Watson, and Kane is no exception. Mr. Underwood is an attorney and the narrator of the first three novels. Beacon Hill opens with Underwood recounting to Kane the events of a dinner party he attended at the behest of one of his clients. The evening ends in the murder of the host, and before the evening is over, a second person will be killed, this time right under the noses of the police! It quickly becomes apparent that Kane does not surround himself with the brightest bulbs in the force. A patrolman named McBeath has the wool constantly pulled over his eyes, while Kane’s second in command, Sergeant Moran, is that typical product of early American detective stories, the dumb cop who exists to make the main sleuth look good:
“Kane . . . was glad Headquarters had sent Moran rather than someone else, since the murder was unexpected enough without having to cope with imagination in a police sergeant.”
Kane may be a policeman, but here he feels much more like the typical private consultant, who spends much of his time steering his myopic underlings in the right direction. Moran constantly leaps to conclusions and is ready to arrest each of the suspects at a different point in the tale. It is up to Kane, with his superior brain, to prevent a miscarriage of justice. So far, exactly what you might hope to find in a GAD mystery.
However, that intellectual acumen might frustrate those readers who like to play along. Based upon just this first novel, I found myself liking Kane as a person but feeling skeptical about his deductive methods. He has a habit of sitting his team down and dazzling them with a new revelation – all based on information we were never given. He also tends to base his ideas on sketchy psychology, particularly when it comes to understanding class differences. He dismisses all the servants as potential murderers because . . . well, because he does! He “just doesn’t see” any of them committing the murder of their odious employer because they are too dull-witted to have the skill or the motive. Although a near priceless jade pendant figures prominently in the plot, Kane claims a servant couldn’t have stolen it because servants simply can’t comprehend jade’s value.
Kane’s snobbery is nothing compared to that of Mr. Underwood, whose concern about the murders is bizarrely outweighed by the offense he takes at the victim’s lack of decorum. (In his smart introduction, Curtis is kind enough to warn us of Underwood’s heightened social consciousness.) From the very start, Underwood is vocal in his outrage at Mr. Sutton’s assault on Boston’s social nobility. Here’s a description of the scene of the crime:
“(It was) typical of the best houses on Beacon Hill, (which) like many of them, had fallen into evil days. Its original owner, endowed with the traditions of good taste and gentle living, could not have imagined that it would fall into the hands of Frederick Sutton, the stock exchange gambler, who had risen from nothing to a huge fortune.”
One begins to wonder whether this is a character trait or if it stems from the beliefs of the authors. Dorothy Blair and Evelyn Page, who wrote under the Roger Scarlett pseudonym, were both well-born ladies with upper-class educations. Underwood finds reason to look down his nose at each of the Suttons, admitting to a fascination at watching such an inappropriate clan grapple with the niceties of a society into which they have stumbled and to which they clearly don’t belong. (“It was a situation to be watched closely and with interest.”) I mean, honestly, it’s not like these were the Beverly Hillbillies!
At the start, Underwood is surprised and delighted that the party includes Mrs. Anceney, a beautiful woman of high social position. He is baffled as to why this great lady would keep company with such upstarts, or why she would seem to have formed a dalliance with the odious Mr. Sutton. When Sutton is murdered, and Mrs. Anceney becomes Suspect Number One, the police – and Underwood especially – accord her such special treatment as to make me wince. Nobody engages in anything so crass as asking the lady her whereabouts or what happened. Underwood notes,
“Then, too, what ever her reasons for her actions, she guarded them tacitly in the privacy upon which it would have been an impertinence to intrude.”
This could be a fascinating glimpse into the mindset of the privileged in 1930, but it rankles my democratic heart! Halfway through the investigation, Kane and his team are searching through Sutton’s desk and come upon a series of photographs that Kane sneeringly refers to as “Capitalist and Family, As They Were.” They have a laugh over the hard course taken by Sutton and his family to acquire a look of appropriate grandeur as befitting the new station to which they obviously don’t belong. The mindset that people should stay in their place seems distinctly “Old World” to me; at least in this first novel, this snobbery is never undermined or played for laughs; it just sits there, like the bad fish I ate Sunday night!
The elements of class aside, this case isn’t exactly brimming with exciting developments. There are some early hints that it may be an impossible crime tale, but that element is dashed pretty quickly. Most of the chapters end with the appropriate “astonishing” discovery, and Mr. Underwood proclaims himself aghast on many occasions at the extraordinary events taking place before him. Yet, compared to the early exploits of Carr or Queen, the “bizarre” quotient of Scarlett’s plot is pretty darn low. The solution, when it comes, comes quickly and is not belabored by lengthy explanations. Still, I defy any reader to figure this one out by parsing clues together. Perhaps this is the best solution that Scarlett could have come up with, but it does not feel imbued with what Scott K. Ratner would call retrospective inevitability. A reader should feel like this person, and this person alone, could be the killer, and I don’t get that feeling here. (Sorry, Scott, if I misuse your term, but I hope you get what I’m saying.)
While I can’t say the debut of Norton Kane filled me with the same excitement I got when I was introduced to Helen McCloy’s Dr. Basil Willing or got my first taste of Harriet Rutland, it’s true that not all debuts show off an author at their best. I do have The Back Bay Murders to look forward to. So for now, let’s just say . . . we’ll see.
28 thoughts on “OF SLEUTHING AND SNOBBERY: The Return of Roger Scarlett”
What an interesting post, Brad! I have to say, I do prefer sleuths who are, well, ‘regular’ people. They may not stand out from the pack, so to speak, but I can relate to them. So on that score, I can see why you like Kane. I’m not so much a fan of the revelation-we-couldn’t-have-known-about, though. That’s something that actually bothers me when I come across in whodunits. Not sure I’d like that aspect. Still, I always love it when some of these less-well-known authors get their time to shine…
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I recently received a copy of this so I will return once I’ve read it!
I recently got hold of a copy, and read ‘Beacon Hill Murders’ to see if I wanted to purchase the other volumes. I thought it was a good story that could have been better – but like you, I also wondered if Scarlett would improve over time. There were definitely one or two clever twists that I found pleasing.
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I know, John, I was torn: it took a little too long for me to read this one, and yet there were enough classic features in it that I’m willing to try again.
I’d urge you to keep going to volume two, but we’ll see. My favorites are in vol. 2, but then I liked all of the series. I do think these books belong very much in the Queen and Van Dine school. It’s interesting to me how Scarlett caught on in Japan, but if you read Murder Among The Angells you will really see why. It’s the ne plus ultra in floor plans!
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The blurb for the second title looks more interesting to me anyway. Speaking of floorplans, I’m about to read a title from China that has a floor plan that is not to be believed!
That was the one that was good enough to plagiarize!
On the issue of snobbery in Boston among the old starched elites at that time, perish the thought! 😉
Underwood strikes me as the classic prig sidekick, but I was fascinated by those Boston neighborhoods. I wanted to include a map of Boston neighborhoods to go along with the books.
Interestingly there’s another Boston mystery writer getting reprinted, with a much different social background! More soon.
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Thanks for the comment and that hint of coming attractions, Curtis! I’m honored!
Oh, you do me the honor. One of the things I like with these intros is digging up detail on these writers, in many cases about whom practically nothing is known. And then it often turns out that they were very interesting people indeed. And so many people of different background were attracted to the form, especially in the US.
I have this on order, but Amazon have changed their delivery date from “You’ll get it in the next week” to “Err…March…?” so maybe I’ll never find out. However, the ne plus ultra of floorplans has me exceptionally interested…
There ARE floorplans here, but they don’t amount to much. I will accept Curtis’ word that the floorplans get more interesting as they go along. Meanwhile, I have to go back and forth from page to page to understand the floorplans in Death Comes in the Rain.
Clearly autocorrect is not a fan of GAD. They keep changing the word to “floorpans”.
But the spatial mechanics are important in the murders! I particularly liked the second one, how that was done.
Where are you located, on Amazon.com I’m seeing them in stock.
Here’s more on Murder Among the Angells from a Japanese blogger, an interesting perspective.
I’m in the UK, where Amazon is not so hot on possessing the Coachwhip books. Which is a little odd, since Book Depository — essentially the same company — has some that Amazon doesn’t. Never mind… 🙂
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I think, by the way, Murder Among The Angells has nine plans, even though I said six in the introduction. Cat’s Paw had this great endpaper map that has been reproduced as well. Agonizingly, British Library didn’t reprint the endpaper map from the American edition of Crofts’ Antidote to Venom, and I know how frustrating that is. I made sure that Coachwhip had access to everything with Scarlett, including making my own copies of the books available when needed.
My personal favorite among them is Cats Paw, which has the classic rich old eccentric relative about to change his will plot, but Angells is the one so highly praised by Ranpo and it certainly deserves props for the classic murder mansion setting and bizarre situation, recalling Van Dine in the Greene and Bishop Murder cases.
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Okay, you are admittedly piquing my interest here . . . 🙂
Also Underwood doesn’t narrate Angells and Cats Paw has a three part narrative structure which only utilizes his direct voice in the last part of the book as I recall. I suspect the ladies may have been tiring of him as with Christie and Hastings!
I don’t believe the last book has plans, but it’s still a clever situation in the book. I love plans in mysteries though, like those glorious fold outs in some of the Van Dines.
On GA snobbery and servants I don’t believe anyone ever topped the nobody looks at a servant as if they were a person comment (paraphrasing) from one of the bright things in Christie’s books, Secret of Chimneys I believe. John Curran has pointed out that Christie had tactical reasons for making this assertion, which is of course true; but recently I was brought up short rereading the whole ostensibly humorous “Gladys sniffed” section in Christie’s 1950s Mrs. McGinty’s Dead, a blot on an otherwise brilliant book. First time I read this book, I never noticed this, but I am more consciously interested in the social details now.
For his part Van Dine said only worthwhile people should be considered suspects in a mystery, which in his view excluded servants, another sentiment that today naturally grates. One thing I like about John Street is that in his books servants are not “below suspicion,” as Carr put it. Nothing wrong with widening the field, which also fits in with our times—though events of the last few years have left me to question just how much more socially advanced we really are today. But that’s a question for blogs of a different stripe I suppose!
When people say of retrograde setiments in GA books, oh those were times, that carries an implication that everyone felt that way, which is of course not true. Indeed, as Julian Symons has pointed out, there was tremendous social upheaval roiling in those times, with violent revolution, very active labor movements, etc. Classic GA mystery did tend to represent the attitudes of a more conservative segment of society, though as I have striven to point out, that we’re many interesting exceptions. I think the books are more varied than Symons himself believed or that Colin Watson allowed in Snobbery with Violence.
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Certainly the snobbery grated here, but it was exacerbated by being the sole reason the servants were eliminated. Even in Christie, the maid has a night off and is on a date or the butler is pushing 100 – there’s a reason they’re cut from the list, even though nobody ever took them seriously. And in some books, like Hercule Poirot’s Christmas and A Pocketful of Rye, the servants are full-fledged suspects.
We all love to rail at Ngaio Marsh, even me, although I thoroughly enjoyed her when I first read her. She was much more democratic and did have villainous servants and lower class people. To which I say, hear, hear!
One book I like by Marsh along class lines is Death in a White Tie, where she gets in some good digs at debutante society. I also defend Surfeit of Lampreys, which others hate. I think Marsh’s snobbery often is directed against the aspiring middle class, which is odd, because presumably they made up a great deal of her readership.
I’m thinking now in Christie it may have been “Edna sniffed,” not Gladys. Christie usually called her maids Gladys, but this girl was a shop assistant. I bet John Curran could tell us how many maids are named Gladys in her books!
Needless to say perhaps, this Edna character was eliminated from the TV version of Mrs McGintys Dead. And the portly, elderly shopkeeper was turned into a hot younger woman who was having it off with another character.
I think it’s partly the type of middle class you come from. If you’re from the commercial/business classes you’re definitely in trouble with some GA authors. Too vulgar! You definitely get some of that attitude from characters in Beacon Hill. I see it in a number of the Ngaio Marsh books too, where vulgarity can seem a worse offense than murder.
I have an old copy of Van Dine’s The Scarab Murder Case with just such a foldout! Beautiful!!
Yes, the books may not quite live up to the maps but the maps are glorious. Being a bestselling author can help with such things.
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I’ll talk to Coachwhip about the Amazon.co.uk situation!
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