The Case Of The Fourth Detective

A review of The Case of the Fourth Detective by Christopher Bush – 240524

It is curious how a TBR pile constructed at random can display unexpected thematic links. Take the thirty-ninth novel in Christopher Bush’s long-running Ludovic Travers series, The Case of the Fourth Detective, originally published in 1951 and reissued by Dean Street Press. Rather like the later Surfeit of Suspects by George Bellairs it deals with financial skullduggery and like Agatha Christie’s earlier Cards on the Table has the concept of four sleuths working on the case. To complete the strange linkage Curtis Evans’ excellent introduction suggests that one of the characters, the larger than life Matthew Solversen was loosely based on another Dean Street Press favourite, E R Punshon.

Reading it as a general election is called, it is fascinating to recall how punitive levels of taxation were in the period immediately after the Second World War. A transformative social revolution was underway with the introduction of free healthcare, moderately decent housing and the reconstruction of a war-ravaged economy and country and so for the majority the concept of soaking the rich was not an unwelcome strategy. Bush, though, is one of the more overtly political crime writers and this book is a prime example of his distaste for Atlee’s government and its fiscal policies.

The book focuses around the murder of Owen Ramplock and its consequences on a privately owned business which is now facing the prospect of having to fund the second lot of death duties within a year or so after the death of the previous owner, Sam Ramplock. There is a very real prospect that company would either have to go public, like W H Smith, or be taken over, neither routes appealing to Ramplock’s widow, Jane. There is, however, a knight in rather tarnished armour, Herringwood, who is willing to take over the company, albeit to save his own skin and avert his shareholder’s attention from a major faux-pas.

As is his wont Bush has created a complicated web of motives. Owen Ramplock was disliked by his senior staff, difficult to work with and in his private life was conducting an affair. He was also a fresh air fiend, a fact that is to prove significant. There is a mysterious visitor, Prince, who appears to have been on the scene when Ramplock was murdered and, also, when Winter was killed for knowing too much, rock-solid alibis which need to be broken, a small shoal of red herrings, a false moustache, a mystery woman whose identity holds a key to the mystery, and a decent number of suspects.

There is much for Travers, Wharton and Matthews to get their teeth into. Travers and Wharton’s relationship is one of mutual respect and rivalry and once more Wharton is quick to claim the credit when Travers’ wilder theories turn out to be correct. The book is structured rather like a prolonged tease for the reader, the clues are all there but the narrative does its best to obfuscate matters and we are grateful for Travers’ end of case notes to provide a clear precis of what we have just read. Always mistrust the person who seems to be most helpful.

Having followed Travers through thirty-nine cases, it is interesting to reflect on the changes in his character, some subtle, some les so. He is now far removed from the intellectual, almost ascetic, upper class man that we first encountered. He is now married, although his wife, Bernice, does seem to be away a lot, claims now to be middle class and is not averse to a dalliance, on this occasion with the young secretary at Ramplock’s, Daisy Purkes. Perhaps the key to the longevity of the series is Bush’s willingness to keep his principal character broadly in tune with the changing mores of British society. Bush never fails to provide his reader with a fascinating intellectual puzzle and an insight into a changing world.

The Case Of The Happy Warrior

A review of The Case of the Happy Warrior by Christopher Bush – 240313

In delirio veritas. The fear of someone with a secret to hide is that the truth will emerge when their subconscious takes over as happens in the thirty-seventh novel in Christopher Bush’s Ludovic Travers, originally published in 1950 and reissued by Dean Street Press. In her feverish state, Alice Stonhill mutters a phrase repeatedly which, when he untangles the homophone it contains, allows Travers, at the second attempt, to unravel the truth and discover who killed Peter Wesslake. It is also another case where a physical characteristic betrays an identity.

In this story Travers is still in a state of limbo, waiting for his mukker, George Wharton, to retire from the Yard and join him in taking over Bill Ellice’s detective agency. To fill in time he helps at the agency and is present, albeit lurking in an ante-room, when Alice Stonhill calls to ask for help, fearing that someone is trying to kill her nephew’s second wife, Camille. There have been a couple of near misses, a shooting incident and a case of poisoning, but cautious Bill, fearful for his agency’s reputation, is reluctant to do anything. However, that does not stop Travers operating in an unofficial basis.

The story is narrated by Travers and falls into four parts. It is only in the fourth part that Wharton makes an appearance as Peter Wesslake’s body has been discovered and the case is now a murder investigation. As a consequence, the tale lacks a little of the usual cut and thrust between the amateur and professional sleuth and when the two do get together Travers is content to take more of a backseat, although, of course, Wharton naturally misinterprets what really happened and Travers is left to save his bacon.

As we are now firmly in the post-war era, some aspects of travel have become easier and some of the action takes place in Denmark where Peter Wesslake is supposed to have gone to attend a conference. Travers’ suspicions that this might be an elaborate alibi are confirmed by what he finds out there. Nevertheless, the signs that Britain is still recovering from the consequences of war are still there as longer-term guests at the Malfroi Arms still have to surrender their ration books.

A curious features of the book is the two references to Aneurin Bevin’s jibe that the Tories are “lower than vermin”. With relatively few notable exceptions, Golden Age detective writers tend to be conservative at heart, often wistfully looking back to an era of country houses, extravagant parties, and legions of servants, and, indeed, the essential premise of a cosy murder mystery is that out of chaos order will be restored. For the moneyed classes, the arrival of a socialist government and a high level of taxation was a source of concern and Bush, more than any other novelist of the genre I have read, seems particularly disturbed by a government that puts the interests of the workers first. He even misrepresents Bevin’s jibe; it was aimed at the Tories’ opposition to the establishment of the NHS – nothing ever changes – rather than the upper classes in general.

The action hots up at the Malfoi Arms where Alice Stonhill is celebrating her eightieth birthday. Camille is attacked and left for dead, Alice discovers an intruder in her room and, some time later, the body of Peter Wesslake is found in the woods. While there are very few credible suspects, in true Bush style, there is a much more intricate plot where an elaborate plan goes awry. Despite a confession, Travers is not convinced that it adds up and persuades Wharton to make a trip to the countryside to confront the Happy Warrior, a character who will fight for what they believe to the last.

The ending is as poignant as it is dramatic and rounds off what is an entertaining story, crisply told and a complex plot that is amongst Bush’s best.      

The Case Of The Seven Bells

A review of The Case of the Seven Bells by Christopher Bush – 240113

The thirty-fifth in Bush’s long running Ludovic Travers series, originally published in 1949 and now reissued by Dean Street Press, The Case of the Seven Bells is a tale of identities, vaulting ambition, and love. However, as is his wont Bush takes a long and winding route through a complex, perhaps overly complicated, plot before delivering a satisfying and ingenious resolution to the puzzle. The reader can afford themselves more than a little chuckle when they realise that Travers has had a vital clue in his possession for ages without realising it, although it would have shortened the novel by about a hundred pages.

Travers is still in sort of a limbo with his pal, George Wharton, still showing no signs of imminently stepping down from the Yard to set up their long-talked of detective agency. As a result he helps out at Bill Ellice’s agency where this adventure kicks off. Maudie Brown, a barmaid working at The Seven Bells for the last three weeks, comes in visibly distressed with a story that she had overheard some spivs discussing a proposed robbery with the word grange cropping up and then they threatened her with a knife if she spilt the beans. Apart from reassuring her, there is nothing that can be done, but there is something about both Maudie and her story that does not sit right with Travers.

The next episode sees Wharton inviting Travers to accompany him to investigate a robbery at Carr’s Hill that seems to have gone wrong, with the thieves shooting the householder. It turns out that the victim is Audrey Grange, a famous actress who had rented the property on a short-term basis to study the role of Jinny Patman, a barmaid, that she hoped to get in a forthcoming movie based on Matthew Riche’s best-seller, Number Thirty. Grange had kept her whereabouts secret, even her estranged husband, fellow actor, Harlan Wyster, who arrives at the scene shortly afterwards, did not know she was staying there, or so he claims. Grange’s demise opens the role up to Merril Holme, her rival and now the current squeeze of Wyster.

Was this the grange that Maudie was talking about? Any attempts to establish the facts from the horse’s mouth are thwarted by Maudie’s disappearance. Travers and Wharton are forced to explore the show business aspects of the case, Travers’ marriage to the former dancer, Bernice, who is now back on the scene albeit intermittently, proves useful in opening doors. What was the significance of a photograph of Bobinot in Grange’s room and the strange behaviour of her stepfather, Frank Merlin? And how did the report of the sound of a baby crying near the scene of the crime fit in?

In their usual inimitable style, Travers and Wharton get to grips with the case, Wharton taking the credit for any of Travers’ theories that prove correct. Their methods seem more collaborative in this story, although there is still a rivalry between the two and it is, as usual, Travers who pieces it all together. Seasoned Bush aficionados will have picked up enough clues about barmaids and timings to anticipate the reveal at the end, although there was one character who I thought would have played more of a role in the crime than they did. The resolution of the mystery of the baby crying is amusing and its elimination from consideration makes the path to resolution of the case easier.

My principal disappointment being with the characterisation of the protagonists. Thespians have a reputation of being flamboyant and eccentric, but for me they did not really come to life, a missed opportunity I felt. Bush’s focus seemed to be spinning a plot of fiendish complexity with the characters just pawns to be moved around when necessary. A missed opportunity in what otherwise is a thoroughly enjoyable book.

The Case Of The Housekeeper’s Hair

A review of The Case of the Housekeeper’s Hair by Christopher Bush – 231218

The thirty-fourth adventure involving Christopher Bush’s amateur sleuth, Ludovic Travers, originally published in 1948 and reissued by Dean Street Press, begins in dramatic fashion. At the Regency Club Major Guy Pallart tells Travers and David Calne that he is going to commit murder and has no intention of being caught. Calne laughs it off, saying that Pallart likes to be outré, but an astonished Travers believes that he is deadly serious and informs his old sparring partner, George Wharton of the Yard, before setting out to deepest Essex where Pallart lives to find out more and prevent a tragedy.

This is a carefully contrived mystery, a web built out of a thirst for revenge, deception, false identities, and robust alibis. With consummate mastery Bush, through his narrator, Travers, carefully holds the reader’s hand through the maze-like twists and turns of the storyline, dropping hints here and there that something in the next passage is of vital importance to the final outcome. It is subtly done. Travers is not infallible and as he progresses with his narration, he readily admits that he missed the importance of something or other that he is about to describe.

The relationship between him and Wharton is always a delight. The seem to be on best terms on this case and divide the workload of the investigation between them, each element suited to their particular strengths. There is more collaboration than competitive tension, although, of course, it is Travers who manages to piece everything together and produce a cogent rationalisation of what has gone on.

For me, the attraction of the story was in the how and why the murders were committed rather than the whodunit, which, frankly, is fairly easy to spot. However, Bush does like to spring a surprise because the first victim is Pallart himself, one of three deaths that occur before the story is done. Before that, there is an accident involving Pallart’s boat, from which Calne falls overboard. Was it really an accident or was he pushed? And who is the mysterious Czech, and why is Pallart’s gardener, Wilkin, acting so suspiciously? And why, as Wharton acutely observes, is there a distinct French flavour running through the story?

The end of a war does not draw a clean line over events. The participants bear physical scars, Calne has been lamed, and, more importantly, emotional scars which fuel an irresistible urge to right a wrong. An atrocity committed in northern France is the key behind the story, one which I found powerful and moving, and Pallart’s motives in seeking his own form of justice are understandable. A trip to Paris reveals all and confirms Travers’ and Wharton’s theories.

Annie Winder’s mishap with some hair dye which she found in the Czech’s room provides Travers with the clue as to the real identity of the mysterious Czech. Dye of a different sort blows wide open an alibi and reveals what really happened on the boat. The investigation into tides is done with the lightest of touches, unlike the meal that Freeman Wills Crofts would have made of it, and if you must get rid of a body, having some drainage works on the go is always handy.

As the fascinating afterword points out, being a crooner was not the done thing in 1940s Britain and it explains Pallart’s astonishing animus towards his nephew, a snippet of social history that would have passed me. A great editorial decision to include that.

This is one of Bush’s better books, a complex plot but understandable and told with no little verve and humour. It would be a great place to start a non-chronological exploration of a master of his art.

The Case Of The Haven Hotel

A review of The Case of the Haven Hotel by Christopher Bush – 231204

The thirty-third in Christopher Bush’s long running Ludovic Travers series, originally published in 1948 and reissued by Dean Street Press, sees the amateur sleuth on holiday at the Haven Hotel. His wife is in Switzerland and Travers has taken the opportunity to take a break, ostensibly with his old mukker, George Wharton, although the Old General’s appearance is delayed because of his workload at the Yard. Inevitably, it turns out to be a busman’s holiday for the pair.   

One of the book’s undoubted strengths is its characters. A hotel allows Bush to assemble a motley collection of individuals including a writer whose face seems familiar to Travers, a former clergyman who seems to have had a colourful past, an ex-Army major who seems to be able to get his hands on luxury goods despite rationing, and a femme fatale. Bush enjoys Much of the humour is provided by Gerald, an over-active child whose mischievous behaviour irritates the guests in general and Travers in particular.

What surprises Travers is the quality and range of food at the Haven Hotel and he begins to suspect that the hotel, amongst others in the area, is the recipient of black market goods and that at least one of the hotel guests is involved. Then death intrudes into the picture in the form of a drowning, that seems, superficially at least, to have been accidental but as investigations proceed it has a more sinister complexion to it. It has been elaborately planned. Curiously, though, the normally publicity seeking author who tries to save the victim is annoyed when his picture is splashed in the local papers.

It is at this point that Wharton joins the guests and he and Travers enjoy their love hate relationship as they investigate the death. It is fair to say that they make heavy weather of sorting it all out, not helped by their habit of concealing vital evidence from each other and withholding the direction of their thoughts and theories about what happened and who the culprit might be. It does add an element of humour and competitiveness to the narrative as each wrestles to get one over the other but it does drag out the story too.

An attempt is made on Travers’ life, there is a second murder, and some revelations give more clarity to the investigations and the roles of the principal suspects. In the end it is a tale of hidden identities, guests not being quite who they seem and leading double lives. What leads to murder is a fear of recognition which would lead to the unravelling of a successful and lucrative tax avoidance scheme. Whether it is a strong enough motive to really drive someone to commit murder is questionable.

Bush plays fair with his reader, although by the time the denouement arrives there are so few suspects that the culprit comes as no surprise. While this might not be the most complex of plots that he has unleashed on his readership, it is an entertaining read with some interesting characters, giving a fascinating insight into the relationship between Travers and Wharton and with enough twists and turns to keep the reader interested.