A review of The Case of the Purloined Picture by Christopher Bush – 240210
There is an air of inevitability that in a series of sixty-three books published between 1926 and 1968 there will be the odd book that fails to meet the usual standard. The Case of the Purloined Picture, the thirty-sixth in Bush’s Ludovic Travers series, originally published in 1949 and reissued by Dean Street Press, is not exactly a dud but is rather like a charabanc that barely gets out of second gear. The series sleuth, attached on a consultancy basis to the Yard to assist The Old General, George Wharton, is on holiday visiting a cousin, Bernard Ampling, and, inevitably, it turns out to be a busman’s holiday.
In a prelude to the main story, Travers and his wife, Bernice, are on an outing looking at churches and Bernice is astonished to find a man barring her entrance and a fast car hurtling down the lane to escape. Wharton is helping some local forces coordinate investigations into the theft of artefacts, mainly valuable rugs, from churches but also a painting, attributed to Zurbarán. Travers sojourn with Ampling allows him to explore the antique shops in Stepford and he is astonished to find his cousin furtively handling a painting that looks suspiciously like the missing painting.
The town is rocked by two murders, that of two individuals involved in the antiques trade, Drew who had threatened to expose the financial malpractices of a fellow councillor, Truebent, and Nelson Corbit, the spivvy son of Drew’s former business partner, Stanley. Wharton and Travers take on the investigation and the book having started off as an investigation of church thefts lurches into a full-blown murder mystery with the theft aspect left trailing in the dust. It is also wrapped up in the end, sort off, but in a rather dismissive fashion, almost as an afterthought to ensure that here were not too many loose ends.
What adds to the low-key feel of the book is that the relationship between Wharton and Travers lacks its usual edge and sense of competitiveness. They work well together, although, true to form, Wharton claims part of the credit for Travers’ deduction of the whodunnit aspect of the story. Even the denouement is muted, relying upon the testimony of an elderly man, Applehurst, who knew the prime suspect and conveniently is able to supply the backstory that provides the motive for the murders, Travers having been put on the trail by a slip of paper falling out of a book.
In the end it is a story of revenge for the perceived wrongs inflicted upon the culprit and their family. Although the nose of a diligent reader would have started twitching when a character has the almost perfect alibi, there is little in the first fourteen (of seventeen) chapters to suggest why they might have stooped to murder. And in a way, a plot that had been long thought about is botched with the wrong Corbit, who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, being killed. Still, it added a little piquancy to the revenge, as the loss of a child is hard for a parent to bear.
Despite all their elaborate preparations, Wharton and Travers even make a hash of arresting the culprit, allowing them time to commit suicide, perhaps to the relief of Travers who had enormous sympathy for him. After all, Travers did buy a mirror from him for £17 less than he paid at auction, an act of generosity that first turned the sleuth’s attentions in that direction. At the end he could not bear to drive past his shop.
Although the story was entertaining enough and Bush had spun his usual complex plot, it failed to take off for me. One fascinating leitmotif was the availability and appropriate use of petrol. Perhaps sleuths should not have consciences.
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