The Sharp Quillet

A review of The Sharp Quillet by Brian Flynn – 240303

After Conspiracy at Angel had been almost universally panned by critics Brian Flynn went back to basics and starts The Sharp Quillet, the thirty-third in his Anthony Bathurst series, originally published in 1947 and reissued by Dean Street Press, with quite a bang. In the prologue there are no less than fifteen bodies, the sex worker who was murdered, the judicial murder of Arthur Rotherham Pemberton who was found guilty of the murder in both the court of first instance and in the Court of Appeal, and then the twelve jurors plus the Clerk of Court for good measure who were killed when an enemy bomb destroyed the restaurant in which they were a post-trial meal. Quite a riposte!

The focus then turns to the Bar Point-to-Point at Quiddington St Philip at which Justice Nicholas Flagon, the favourite to win the race for the third year running, is killed close to the winning post in a most unusual fashion. He has been struck by a pub dart whose tip had been dipped in curare. Flagon had received a death threat on the morning of the race and the dart bore a message referring to a sharp quillet. There are a number of plausible suspects for the murder, including some accomplished darts players, but with the police making little headway, Sir Austin Kemble calls in his A-team, Anthony Bathurst and Chief Detective Inspector MacMorran.

No sooner have the two arrived on the scene, then there is a second murder, this time of Justice Theodore Madrigal, who attending Flagon’s funeral collapsed and died instantaneously, having been struck by a poisoned dart tipped with curare. He too had received a death threat and the dart bore a similar reference to a sharp quillet. Madrigal’s demise clearly meant that there was something that connected the two judges with the killer and that those who only had an animus against Flagon were unlikely to have been the culprits. The focus of the investigation has to be recalibrated.

It is at this point that Bathurst has one of his flashes of inspiration. The working assumption had been that quillet was an archaic term for a dart. However, dredging the depths of his mind, Bathurst recollects that Shakespeare had used the phrase “sharp quillet” in both Henry the Sixth and Love’s Labour’s Lost to indicate a false accusation or a piece of trickery. As the reader has already realised, courtesy of the prologue, Flagon and Madrigal were judges who heard the Pemberton appeal and the connection is cemented when the Lord Chief Justice, Lord Fifoot, the third judge, also receives a death threat.

The pace of the book ramps up as Bathurst develops a high-risk plan that will bait the murderer to show their hand at a dinner over which Fifot is presiding, and allow the authorities to catch them red-handed. The plan goes awry and it is only two pieces of quick thinking from Bathurst that saves Fifoot’s bacon and allows the murderer to be arrested. The sense of urgency is emphasised in the final chapter by the continual reference to the time.

There is very little that is left field or genre-bending in this book. It is an enthralling and intriguing murder mystery that has a very old fashioned feel about it. It could almost have come out of the canon of Conan Doyle and Bathurst’s methodology is more a mix of intuition and elimination than deduction. While allowing the reader to establish a lead of several furlongs over the sleuths at the start with their knowledge of the trial, Flynn turns the tables in the sprint to the finishing line. While there are gentle clues here and there, the identity of the killer came as a bit of a surprise.

Flynn allows some rather large herrings to slip the net and swim off over the horizon, not least Fothergill’s wager with Flagon and the mysterious behaviour of Harcourt on the afternoon of the race. It is in keeping with the structure of the book with characters drifting in and out. One intriguing character to emerge from the shadows is Helen Repton, a female, yes female, member of the Yard who as well as being an extremely able assistant seems besotted by Bathurst who, in his way, seems to reciprocate her feelings.

This is Flynn back at his best, constructing a plot in a porting milieu that with its twists and turns never allows the reader to settle, and producing a fine piece of entertainment. The moral of the story is never meet a sleuth wearing the same clothes as you did when you murdered someone. It gets them thinking.

Conspiracy At Angel

A review of Conspiracy at Angel by Brian Flynn – 240120

Conspiracy at Angel, the thirty-second in Flynn’s long-running Anthony Bathurst series, originally published in 1947 and reissued by Dean Street Press, was universally panned by critics and is said to have been the novel that precipitated his fall into obscurity. Flynn was a writer who was unwilling to rest on his laurels by repeating a winning formula, but was always willing to experiment, often with success but sometimes less so. Even at my most charitable, this book falls into the latter category.

There are some unusual features about the book. Flynn is normally inventive with his titles, often picking upon an obscure element of the tale to bring to the fore, but this one is unusually prosaic. The story is about the unravelling of a conspiracy centred upon the town of Angel, not to be confused with the district in London. All the members of the gang, Messrs Gunter, Layman, Webber, Newman, Miller, and Mann, have anglicised versions of German surnames and at one stage Bathurst suspects that there is on the track of uncovering an international Nazi plot. However, the plot is more mundane, centering around the racecourse in the town, conveniently positioned near a river with a ferry crossing.

Bathurst normally operates in tandem with officers at the Yard, principally assisted by Inspector MacMorran, but here he operates mainly on his own, drawing upon the verbose Colonel Schofield, the archetypical retired military man, and his daughter, Priscilla, for assistance. During the course of Bathurst’s investigations, MacMorran, at telephone length, provides some background information and only appears on the scene as the story moves to its climax. The Colonel never really cuts it as a realistic character and the story misses something without an effective accomplice for Bathurst to spar with. Schofield’s characterisation also adds to the sense that this is an over wordy novel with too much padding and repetition.

The story starts on a bizarre note. Richard Langley, as he arrives in Angel, meets Priscilla Schofield carrying a cat by the name of Ahaseurus, and is asked to deliver it to her father’s house. Langley, who in this part of the story is a blithering idiot straight out of Wodehouse, goes to the wrong house, mutters the phrase “the cat is out of the bag” in jest, only to find that the conspirators around the table take it to mean something else and Langley only just escapes with his life. The rest of the opening section, entitled In the Wings, details Langley’s story as he tries to find out more about the shady characters, the theft of his car which is returned with a body, that of Trimmer, in it, and his own disappearance.

A week later, Priscilla concerned at Langley’s disappearance, calls in Bathurst for assistance and the main part of the book, entitled Centre Stage, details his investigations which leads to his understanding of what the conspiracy is all about and how it is pulled off. Having two post offices at the gang’s disposal allowing them to back time telegrams and a boat with a hooter proves extremely useful. As Bathurst gets warmer, he is increasingly in danger, having to dress in drag to escape some heavies who are dogging him and taking the guise of a mechanic to understand better the role that the ferry plays in the scheme.

This is another Flynn story where a code in the form of an acrostic provides a useful clue that allows Bathurst, who was struggling to make headway, to locate where Langley is or has been. The section ends with the discovery and rescue of Langley. The third section, Curtains, sees the implementation of Bathurst’s carefully worked out plan, which garners enough evidence to put the gang away and, following a confession, solve Trimmer’s murder. However, it is all a little low key, adding to the sense that Flynn never really had his heart in the story.

One saving grace is that setting the tale in a sporting milieu allows Flynn to indulge his enthusiasm for racing, the Colonel’s passion for horse racing form giving him the opportunity to be inventive with names. There is a Brains Trust Q&A session airing the leading sporting topics of the day, only to be rudely interrupted by the lights going out and a shot fired, and I enjoyed MacMorran hustling Bathurst off the phone as he was off to watch Tottenham play Aston Villa in a 2.45 kick off.

There is also one major loose end. What happened to Maddison, a private investigator who dogged Bathurst in the early days but as soon as our hero decamped from his hotel, was never heard of again? And was the saccharine love interest between Priscilla and Langley really necessary?

The moral of the story is beware of strangers bearing cats.

The Case Of Elymas The Sorcerer

A review of The Case of Elymas the Sorcerer by Brian Flynn – 231211

Rather like Gladys Mitchell, but in a good way, you are never quite sure what you are going to get with a Brian Flynn, a writer who was never satisfied with slipping into a tried and tested template. With its exotic title, the thirty-first in his Anthony Bathurst series, originally published in 1945 and reissued by Dean Street Press, The Case of Elymas the Sorcerer conjures up an image of a tale with magical and possibly Gothic overtones. In truth, though, it is a rather conventional tale of murder and organised crime, the theft of historic works of art to order.

There is one moment where weirdness obtrudes, when Bathurst visits a house in London where he is greeted by a grotesque dwarf and is presented with a tableau of a tarantula, and a coffin over which a woman in a white robe is grieving and quoting Shakespeare. While it certainly provides a vivid image, it feels somewhat out of place with the rest of the book and does not really fit in with the rest of the book.

The same can be said about the scenes featuring the village simpleton, Frank Lord, whose coincidental appearance at the field is ultimately shrugged off as a red herring. These incidents enhance the impression that this is a book of episodes where the author is experimenting and has not quite settled on its tenor and format.

Elymas the Sorcerer does play an integral part in the resolution of the story. It is the subject of one of the tapestries by Raffaele that has been stolen to order and its unexpected presence out of place provokes a reaction that gives the culprit, who has been fencing these artefacts, away.

The road to getting there is long and convoluted. Bathurst, convalescing from a spell of muscular rheumatism, is taking the sea air at St Mead, surely a nod of the head to Miss Marple from the king of pastiche, as a guest of Neville Kemble, the brother of the Commissioner of Scotland Yard, Sir Austin. The break turns into a busman’s holiday as a body is discovered in nearby Ebsford’s field. It is naked and there are signs that the corpse was shaved after death, presumably to hide its identity.

Bathurst is called in to help the local police and makes some headway by unearthing a potential informant who suffers the same fate, found naked and dead in Ebsford’s field before he can spill the beans. MacMorran is sent from the Yard to assist and gradually Bathurst begins to piece together what has been going on. His method relies more on educated guesses than solid deduction and the reader has not enough clues to have a chance of beating the amateur sleuth to the solution.

One of the book’s highlights is its treatment of the local worthies that make up the leading lights of the council at Kersbrook-on-Sea, the local town. They are bumptious, full of their own importance, stitch up business for their own advantage and Flynn clearly has fun in mocking them.

I have seen the book described as a curate’s egg. That is clearly wrong as the poor curate’s egg was more bad than good. The quality of Elymas the Sorcerer is varied, but Flynn has managed, as usual, to fashion an enjoyable and entertaining tale that intrigues as it moves towards its dramatic denouement. It is worth a read.

The Grim Maiden

A review of The Grim Maiden by Brian Flynn – 231104

Always expect the unexpected with Brian Flynn, a writer who is not content to follow a tried and tested formula but who is willing to experiment with form and structure. Generally the experiment pays off and certainly the reader is never quite sure what they are in for when they read the first page of the first chapter. To my mind that is part of his attraction.

The Grim Maiden, the thirtieth in Flynn’s long running Anthony Bathurst series, was originally published in 1943 and has been reissued by Dean Street Press. It is more of a thriller than a traditional whodunit as there is no attempt to hide the identities of the culprits. The challenge for Bathurst, ably assisted by his long-standing ally at the Yard, Andrew MacMorran, is to work out what is going on, prevent further crimes being committed, and obtain enough evidence to ensure that justice is done.

Bathurst has two visits which set the tale up. One is from Richard Arbuthnot who is convinced that simply because a fellow commuter has had the same unopened library book, the Seamark Omnibus, on his lap for months that a crime is going to be committed and the other from a woman who is concerned that her brother, Regan, is missing. Bathurst’s suspicions are alerted when he discovers that the library did not have a copy of the book and Regan’s body is found on the road, supposedly the victim of a hit and run accident although there is evidence to suggest that this conclusion was arrived at too hastily.

Regan had given his sister seven sketches of women that he had drawn which Bathurst deduces provides a clue in the form of a cipher and pokes around in the garden of the house in which he lived, finding, amongst other things, a diary, which contains a number of initially disparate and confusing clues. That he is on to something is confirmed when Regan’s sister suffers the same fate as her brother.

It becomes a tale of organised crime, currency counterfeiting, and money laundering and one in which Bathurst gets actively involved, inveigling himself into the gang, albeit he is sent on an amusing wild goose chase as the Mr Bigs are not as naïve as he supposed them to be. The story takes on an altogether more grimmer and macabre aspect as the gang turn to extortion and child kidnap. Bathurst and MacMorran are too late to prevent the first abduction ending in tragedy but are able to prevent a second, amassing enough evidence along the way to be absolutely certain who the mastermind is. After all, child kidnapping is not a very British crime.

Helen Repton, from the female side of the Yard – who knew? – makes a cameo appearance and it is through her diligence that valuable clues that lead to the case’s resolution are obtained. Her reward, a few patronising and sexist pats on the back. As the case reaches its denouement, Bathurst once more throws himself into the lion’s den. He obtains some incriminating documentation, although why the gang allow him to keep them when he falls into their hands is a mystery.

It is almost at the end of the book that our hero meets the eponymous Grim Maiden, aka an Iron Maiden, an instrument of torture that crushes and spikes its victim to death. This is the fate that the Regans had suffered for knowing too much and from which Bathurst escapes in the nick of time by the deus ex machina-like appearance of Andrew MacMorran.    

As the duo review the case, some loose ends are wrapped up. The book, which started the whole caper off, was hollowed out and was the means by which the counterfeit money was conveyed while the Maiden explains the references to Nuremburg. Flynn manages to knit the disparate strands of the story into a whole, but it rather strains credulity and relies a little too heavily on coincidence to be considered a triumph. It also has too many characters who flit in and out of the story to be anything other than the Bathurst show. As entertainment goes, it was fine but we know Flynn was capable of better.

Reverse The Charges

A review of Reverse The Charges by Brian Flynn – 230916

The ever-inventive Brian Flynn brightened up the war years with the highly entertaining and yet slightly bonkers Reverse The Charges, the twenty-ninth in his long running Anthony Bathurst series, which was originally published in 1943 and rescued from obscurity by Dean Street Press. There are corpses galore, four murders, an attempted murder with the assassin doing serious damage to a mannequin with an axe, and the inevitable suicide of the culprit, unmasked in Poirot-style as all the interested parties are gathered together in a room to hear the great sleuth reveal his understanding of what happened.

Set in Mallett in Glebeshire, the life of the town is rocked when a farmer by the name of William Norman is killed while driving his car from an evening at the White Lion, having had six burning cinder pellets put down the back of his neck by his passenger. A second murder soon follows, that of the baker, Henry King, who ingested a poisoned fish while lunching at the White Lion. The next victim is George Clarence, a ne’er do well, whose body was found feet up in a barrel in the courtyard of the White Lion, the water in the barrel having been tainted with port. The fourth victim is an eleven-year-old boy, Richard Yorke, who was smothered to death by a cushion and whose body was found on a settee in the White Lion.

You do not have to be a keen student of royal history to realise that the Chief Constable, who goes by the name of Sir Charles Stuart, might be in serious danger and likely to be attacked with an axe. However, it takes Bathurst a long time to make the connections, his excuse, not unreasonably being that he could only deal with the facts as they presented themselves to him. He was called in after the first murder and takes several to occur before a link becomes apparent.

Before that, there are some significant distractions. Was the culprit a homicidal maniac with no logic to their actions or was there something significant in the curious fact that each of the victims were suffering from advanced terminal illnesses? Could the murders be seen as a form of kindness, a form of euthanasia to relieve them of their sufferings? Was the link to the White Lion in each of the four murders of any significance? And why was Clarence in the process of selling a stamp collection, which he had stolen, and why did it end up in the possession of Mallett’s acknowledged philatelist, one of King’s fellow diners at the White Lion?      

There is much for Bathurst to think about but in conjunction with his old sparring partner, Inspector MacMorran of the Yard, and Venables of the local police who receives a blow to his head for his troubles, they ponder all the points of the case, and resolution seems to come out of the blue when a dying man by the name of Jordan makes a full confession.

However, Bathurst is not satisfied and ponders the case some more. The causal link and the whodunit are not too difficult to spot, but the motive seems to come a little out of the blue and you cannot help thinking that the plans of the murderer are a little too involved to settle what is effectively an old score, a love spurned.

Each of the four murders require a high degree of planning, selecting the right victims with the right names and matching a means of despatch that matches their monikers and then being able to commit the murders undetected. The first murder, using burning coals which not only have to be kept warm and hidden from the intended victim, but also pushed down his back while he is driving. The second relies on the plate of food being left unattended at the serving hatch for a vital few seconds. As the murders are merely a smokescreen to throw off suspicion ahead of the main event, the murder of Stuart, it all seems too much effort.

However, it does not do to spend too much time wondering about the logic of the plot. This is a Flynn tour de force in which his narrative power, imagination, and wit carries all before it. Great fun.

Oh, and I thought I was well up on my cricket history but the reference to Lionel Palairet got through my guard and broke my stumps.