Tag Archives: Detectives

The Mystery of the Yellow Room

The Mystery of the Yellow Room
Gaston Leroux | Dover | 1977 (first published 1907) | 188 pages

The Mystery of the Yellow Room, an early example of a “locked-door” mystery by the author of The Phantom of the Opera, introduces the young reporter and amateur detective, Joseph Rouletabille, whose ingenious acts of deduction are featured in a series of novels and short stories.

Rouletabille arrives at the Château du Glandier to investigate an attack against Mathilde Stangerson, the daughter and scientific associate of a notable professor who conducts his work in a laboratory housed in a pavilion on the grounds of his estate. Professor Stangerson’s late-night experiments were interrupted by a loud gunshot and Matilde’s scream of “Murder!” from her adjacent bedroom. Breaking down the locked door, the professor and his elderly servant discover the incapacitated Mathilde, suffering from a life-threatening blow to the head. Beyond a few muddy boot prints and a bloody handprint on the wall, there is no sign of an intruder and no obvious means of escape.

Rouletabille possesses an outsized reputation for solving crimes considering his tender age of only eighteen years, and a correspondingly large ego and reservoir of self-confidence. The case to solve the mystery is framed as a battle of wills between young Rouletabille and Frédéric Larsan, an esteemed police detective assigned to the case, who much to Rouletabille’s consternation, focuses exclusively on Mathilde’s fiance, Robert Darzac, as a prime suspect.

The novel is told mostly from the point of view of Jean Sainclair, a young lawyer and professional acquaintance of Rouletabille, although some facts of the case are recounted through newspaper articles. The crime details are repeatedly described as sensational in these press sections, but the flat reporting style actually works to diminish their emotional impact. Later, the perspective shifts briefly to Rouletabille’s own journal entries for an account of a second attack against Mathilde, but the change in viewpoint isn’t particularly critical or insightful. The few transitions in point-of-view don’t necessarily add anything, nor do they ultimately detract from the storytelling.

After attempting to kill Mathilde with a brazen attack in her own bedchambers at the château, the suspect flees and–once again–seems to inexplicably disappear without a trace, this time vanishing virtually before the eyes of Rouletabille and several other pursuers. Perhaps it’s due to the translation from the work’s original French, but the suspect is always referred to as “the murderer” even though Mathilde survives her attacks. The murderer’s ability to ostensibly dissipate into nothingness suggests a connection to the professor’s scientific studies of “matter dissociation.”

This second attempt on Mathilde’s life is suspenseful, but hampered somewhat by the detailed descriptions of the hallway configurations, room layouts, and the various positions and movements of all the participants. Although clearly an instance of establishing “fair play” by the author, who provides an exhaustively thorough account for the readers/detectives to build their own legitimate solutions, this attention to detail does effectively slow down the momentum of what should be a naturally suspenseful series of events.

Another strange and evocative disappearance along the lines of “matter dissociation” occurs when the body of another victim, stabbed through the heart, is found in place of the suspect, who was seemingly shot to death while escaping mere steps ahead of Rouletabille.

The denouement greatly amplifies the gather-all-the-suspects mystery trope, as Rouletabille crashes Darzac’s public trial to reveal the true murderer. The resolution owes as much to Victorian melodrama as to conventional detective fiction, since the young reporter’s courtroom showboating crosses into the realm of the ridiculously theatrical. The credibility-stretching divulgence of the existence of a criminal mastermind pushes the overall tone closer to the serial crime stories of Fantômas than to the mystery genre conventions set in place by The Murders in the Rue Morgue.

Even after the leisurely final reveal, the story slowly winds down even further as Rouletabille ties up all the loose ends by providing full motivations for the remaining characters and their actions (or non-actions). A hint at an abandoned child in America points to even more melodrama ahead in the sequel, The Perfume of the Lady in Black.

Night Has a Thousand Eyes

Night Has a Thousand Eyes
Cornell Woolrich | Ballantine | 1983 (first published 1945) | 304 pages

A dark prophecy of death sends a man and his daughter into a downward spiral of despair in this supernaturally-tinged noir from the famed author of Rear Window.

While strolling along the riverside late one night, off-duty detective Tom Shawn comes across a distraught young woman standing upon the raised embankment, seemingly in contemplation of jumping to her death. Talking her down from the ledge, Shawn escorts her to a nearby diner, where she confides her fatalistic story of a foretold death.

The book is split roughly into thematic halves, with the first recounting the series of successful prognostications leading Jean Reid and her father, Harlan, to become convinced of the veracity of a psychic’s visions of the future. The predictions culminate in a very precise foretelling of Harlan’s death three days hence at midnight.

Even the means of death, simply described by the psychic as death by lion, becomes somehow less absurd when a pair of lions escapes from a local traveling sideshow. 

The second half of the book is less satisfying, describing Shawn’s attempts at stopping the prophecy and saving Harlan’s life. Even considering that Shawn is calling in a personal favor from his superior on the police force, the sheer number of officers pulled into an extensive investigation and protection operation—based on a nominal threat described in a psychic vision—is almost as comical as the purported means of death.

Harlan’s rapid descent from self-confident businessman to sniveling coward in the light of the fatal prediction also deflates much of the interest in seeing Shawn triumph in saving his life. By the time a wasted Harlan begs not to be left alone while watching the clock tick down to midnight, many readers will probably wish that Shawn would drag the defeated wretch down to the zoo and toss him headfirst in the lion’s den himself.

The final dinner party, characterized by Shawn and Jean’s forced cheerfulness in order to distract Harlan’s broodings, goes on much too long, with several instances of conversational near-blunders referencing time or tomorrow. Even playing records isn’t safe, with unexpected lyrics mentioning destiny threatened to send Harlan deeper into a fully self-absorbed despair. Intended as a suspenseful, against-the-clock countdown, the scene just drags along, not helped by the latent romantic undercurrent of Shawn and Jean’s banter.

However, the overall mood is effectively dark, with a fatalistic, downbeat atmosphere for characters to squirm around inside while fighting against their destinies. Although the conclusion casts the nature of the predictions themselves in an ambiguous light, the inevitable outcome clearly suggests the futility of struggling against one’s own fate.

***

SPOILER ALERT: Fraud or not, the psychic was—strictly speaking—not wrong about the lion!

The Dain Curse

The Dain Curse
Dashiell Hammett | Vintage Books | 1978 (first published 1929) | 213 pages

The unnamed operative from San Francisco’s Continental Detective Agency returns in The Dain Curse, a novel–like its predecessor, Red Harvest–originally serialized in the pulp crime magazine, Black Mask.

A diamond theft from the home of scientist Edgar Leggett triggers a series of connected cases revolving around his daughter, Gabrielle. The young woman becomes convinced that she is the focus of a family curse passed down from her mother, Alice Dain, that fatally targets those in her intimate circle. Violent deaths indeed seem to follow, beginning with her father, whose apparent suicide reveals a dark family history. 

Fleeing from this personal tragedy, Gabrielle seeks to find refuge in the Temple of the Holy Grail, a religious cult run by Joseph and Aaronia Haldorn. For Gabrielle, sanctuary from the outside world also includes a growing morphine addiction. A shocking murder eventually drives Gabrielle away again, eloping in Reno with her fiance, Eric Collinson. 

The cult temple provides an appropriately sinister location, replete with its white marble altar locked behind a decorated iron door, and a golden ceremonial dagger that doubles as a murder weapon. Cults here already seem to occupy a place in the perceived landscape of California (and San Francisco, in particular), playing an outsized role in the imagined geography of the state.

The couple’s honeymoon proves short-lived, however, as Eric is mysteriously killed outside the couple’s remote coastal cottage. Gabrielle is missing, presumed kidnapped by unknown persons. The Continental Op bounces from client to client, stubbornly persistent in continuing his investigations and debunking the curse. The cottage’s isolated location, surrounded by sheer drops and hidden coves, provides an appealing backdrop for the unfolding crimes.

Structurally, the book reflects its original serialized format from the pulps. Summaries of varying length follow each individual mystery, with the Continental Op explaining all the details of the complicated crimes to his novelist friend, Owen Fitzstephan. Although appearing to weave together all the loose ends of the separate crimes, the Op remains troubled. He argues to Fitzstephan that a single, unresolved thread connects everything together.

Although occupying the center of the spiraling violence, Gabrielle spends much of her time drugged, incapacitated, or self-recriminating, an unlikely focus of all the other characters and their (romantic and otherwise) obsessions. That such a passive figure generates equally passionate levels of love and hate is as much a mystery as the murders themselves. Never descending into a blatant romantic interest in Gabrielle, the heavy-set, middle-aged Op nevertheless appears to be somewhat charmed. The final chapters of the book break from deduction to detail his intimate efforts to break the girl’s drug habit.

The Continental Op serves as a foundational hard-boiled gumshoe, doggedly pursuing the case at hand. His somewhat brutish physique reflects his determination and underscores his singular identity as the detective. Readers are never privy to his emotions, personal backstory, nor even his name. Interestingly, all the names of the Op’s colleagues are revealed, with the exception of the head of the agency—referred to simply as “The Old Man.”

One of the other operatives does make a tossed-off reference to the previous novel, Red Harvest, by drawing a parallel between Gabrielle and another woman placed under the Op’s protection—a woman brutally murdered on his watch.

The book speeds along at a rapid pace, twisting the Op through the many convoluted individual story segments. He encounters an ever-growing roster of colorful characters along the way, including charlatans, cultists, and crooked cops. Bodies disappear, bombs explode, evidence is planted, and ghostly apparitions manifest themselves as the Continental Op struggles to unpack all the evidence relating to Gabrielle’s purported curse.

The final reveal becomes a bit long-winded, but delivers on the Op’s promise to expose the buried thread entwining all the cases.

Red Harvest

Red Harvest
Dashiell Hammett | Vintage | 1972 (first published 1929) | 199 pages

“This damned burg’s getting me. If I don’t get away soon I’ll be going blood-simple like the natives.”

An unnamed operative from the Continental Detective Agency arrives in the small mining town of Personville (derisively nicknamed “Poisonville” by its residents), only to find that his prospective client has been murdered. 

The dead man’s father is Elihu Willsson, Personville’s patriarch and owner of the powerful mining company, who single-handedly controls the majority of the business interests in town. “Poisonville” gained its nickname due to the widespread corruption after Willsson imported criminal gang members in an attempt to break a crippling miner’s strike at his company. Nominally to solve the murder, the Continental Op quickly expands his role to take down the many criminal factions and clean up the town.

Originally serialized in Black Mask magazine in the twenties, the story surges along at a rapid pace. The original murder is solved early on in the proceedings, but the Continental Op continues to wage his war on the town’s gangs and its corrupt police force. Rigged boxing matches, bank robberies, staged suicides, gunfights, and more murders all unfold in episodic fashion. The Op himself is eventually framed for murder when he wakes up next to a woman with an icepick buried in her chest.

Colorful and dangerous characters abound in Personville, a town filled to the brim with gamblers and bootleggers like Pete the Finn and Max “Whisper” Thaler. Everyone is corrupt, including the Op, who switches sides with ease depending on his current needs or circumstances. As the body count increases, he finds himself enjoying the carnage, leading to some considerable rumination that the town’s poison is working its toxic influence on his system.

Make no mistake, “Poisonville” is a violent place. At one point, the Op reflects upon the string of killings in the town and quibbles with an agency associate upon the exact number of murders. A chapter titled “The Seventeenth Murder” does not exaggerate, as the grim total–however enumerated–easily exceeds the ability to count on the fingers of both hands.

Even as the criminals (and crooked cops) begin to fall, the Op notes the general futility of battling against such an inherently corrupt system by remarking to Willsson, “You’ll have your city back, all nice and clean and ready to go to the dogs again.”

The original serial format shows as many smaller mysteries are self-contained and scattered throughout the greater narrative arc. Although the who-dunnits are all solved along the way, Red Harvest emphasizes two-fisted action as much as detection. The bruising, morally-gray violence paints the Continental Op as less an upright hero than an enthusiastic agent of chaos who brings everything (and everyone) tumbling down around him.

The Devil’s Bride

The Devil’s Bride
Seabury Quinn | Warner Books | 1976 (first published 1932) | 254 pages

On the eve of her wedding, nervous young bride-to-be Alice Hume is so stricken by an unsettling experience that she consults with occult detective Jules de Grandin. While attempting to engage with a Ouija board, Alice repeatedly receives the same cryptic, but insistent, message: “Alice come home.”

Proceeding with the wedding the next day, Alice mysteriously disappears from the ceremony. The unusual circumstances of her vanishing appear to be something of a locked-door mystery, until de Grandin finds the residue of a strange narcotic powder on the windowsill of the church. This clue is the thread that leads the uncanny detective to a cabal of satanists that are intent upon destroying organized religion and overthrowing the governments of the world.

Unfortunately for Alice, her ancestor married a refugee from a group of satanic worshippers in Kurdistan, and now the cultists want her back for a ritual ceremony to cast her in the role of…The Devil’s Bride!

The character of Jules de Grandin (referred to as “the occult Hercule Poirot” on the book cover) was featured in nearly one-hundred short stories in Weird Tales magazine beginning in the 1920s. As his only full-length novel, The Devil’s Bride still contains all the elements of a pulp serial, if perhaps lacking some of the narrative punch due to its longer length.

The twisty trail of clues leads de Grandin through a tale featuring disappearances, strange murders, ritual ceremonies, psychotronic drugs, hypnosis, secret messages left in Morse Code, and attacks by a pack of white wolves. Although perhaps appropriate for a fight against a world-threatening evil, the novel lacks the focus of the short stories, leaving de Grandin to contend with an expanding cast of supporting characters: Dr. Trowbridge, de Grandin’s own version of Dr. Watson; Renouard, a French policeman and old friend; Ingraham, an English inspector who joins the group following a parallel case; Costello, a tough street cop; and eventually John Davisson, Alice’s fiancé.

De Grandin also encounters some rather shockingly graphic scenes of violence while pursuing the missing Alice Hume. A woman is crucified in a churchyard, a young witness is savagely mutilated and left for dead, and several kidnapped children are horrifically slain on the altar of the cultists. A culprit is eventually put to death in the electric chair, and De Grandin himself later dishes out a gruesome revenge with his sword cane–before his party of armed men commence with a mass execution of satanists.

No doubt a product of its time, the book contains some dubious theories on a host of subjects, including race and the role of English imperialism in Africa. After some feral wolves are released from their captivity, the police surmise that only the insane would feel an aversion to caged animals. Although the drug is not specifically mentioned by name, marijuania is–of course–implied to be the tool of the devil to seduce the unsuspecting into a path of wanton evil.

A collection of his short stories would be a better starting point into the adventures of Jules de Grandin, but there is more than enough pulpy goodness in this full-length novel to leave you (figuratively) twisting the tip of your pointy little mustache and exclaiming, “Pardieu!”

The Vampire Murders | The Phantom Detective #1

The Vampire Murders: The Phantom Detective #1
Robert Wallace | Corinth Publications | 1965 (originally published 1940) | 159 pages

The Phantom, a pulp hero who would comfortably fit into a shared universe of crime fighters including the Shadow or Secret Agent X, attempts to unravel a murder mystery with a supernatural twist—the killer may be a legendary local vampire!

A small group of prominent academics and industrialists share a remote cabin–located on the slopes of the forthrightly named Vampire Mountain–for a getaway vacation. While out for a hike in the woods, two of the men encounter a strange caped figure emerging from the grave of Count Mattopikyi, an eighteenth-century Hungarian emigrant reputed to be a vampire. Hurriedly returning to the cabin, they find that a colleague has been brutally murdered, his throat ripped out as if by a wild animal.

Although the group, fearing for their reputations, collectively bribe a local coroner into covering up the details of the death, one member makes an anonymous phone call for help to the one person who may be able to apprehend the killer and save their lives: the Phantom Detective.

Richard Van Loan was a wealthy playboy who eventually tired of his empty existence and dedicated his life to fighting crime. The book forgoes much else in the way of an origin story, except that Van Loan developed many advanced crime fighting techniques in his transformation into the Phantom, including fingerprinting, blood analysis, and ballistics. Most notably, he honed an uncanny ability for crafting perfect disguises and wholly mimicking human voices. 

Paired with Frank Havens, his old friend and publisher of the Clarion newspaper, the Phantom arrives at the mountain cabin sporting a severely cringe-inducing disguise as Havens’ Chinese chauffeur, Wang. Investigating the scene, “Wang” discovers that the victim’s room was not only drenched in blood, but also shut and locked from the inside, with no discernible means of entry or escape. Fortunately, Van Loan retires the chauffeur getup fairly quickly, sparing contemporary readers from prolonged wincing at the character’s pidgin English.

However, The Vampire Murders has no intention of being an intricately plotted, locked-room mystery. In short order, the Phantom runs afoul of a group of gangsters on the hunt for hidden treasure, fights a caged mountain lion barehanded, and stealthily impersonates a thug before engaging in a full-blown shoot-out with the gang. 

Although short in total pages, the overall feel is that of a serialized men’s adventure, with the hero moving from one dangerous escapade to another. The shallow characterizations, most notably the loutish criminals and their talk of  “buried treasure,” also produce some generic comic book vibes.

The Phantom eventually returns to the realm of Golden Age mysteries by assembling the involved parties in a room together and enumerating his trail of deductions. While the individual clue gathering easily takes a backseat to the action in the case, the unusually mundane assortment of items–scratches on a keyhole, mothballs, and a pair of safety pins–ultimately provides the Phantom with his culprit.

Probably a good choice after you have already gone through all your old Doc Savage titles, or if you prefer your vintage pulp adventure stories with a light mystery flavor.

The Circular Staircase

The Circular Staircase
Mary Roberts Rinehart | Dell | 1970 (first published 1908) | 224 pages

“Miss Innes,” he said. “How are your nerves tonight?” 

“I have none,” I said.

Not to be confused with The Spiral Staircase, this early Mary Roberts Rinehart mystery centers on the eerie shenanigans and strange deaths plaguing a country house and its unwitting occupants.

Self-described “elderly spinster” Rachel Inness (although she’s only fifty!) rents Sunnyside, a summer house in the country, for herself and her grown niece and nephew, Gertrude and Halsey. Starting the very first night, Miss Inness is troubled by strange noises inside and possible prowlers outside the house. 

On the second night, she is awakened by a gunshot, and rushes downstairs to discover a body at the foot of the circular staircase. Arnold Armstrong, the son of the house’s owner, has been shot dead, and her nephew Halsey has disappeared. In addition to the question of the killer’s identity, the reason for Armstrong’s presence in the rented house is unknown.

Over the course of the next few weeks, there are more strange intrusions into the house. The household staff are frightened by inexplicable bumps in the night, and unnerved by encounters with shadowy figures on the grounds of the estate. In addition to the murder, other threads are woven into the overall mystery, including an abandoned child, a bank embezzlement, and a potential kidnapping. 

For a sleepy country estate, the comings and goings are numerous. If this story was given a theatrical treatment, a churning pinwheel of characters would constantly be popping in stage-right and stage-left, ejaculating new developments before slamming doors and exiting.

Miss Inness proves to be a cheekily unflappable character, determined in her almost comical resolve to uncover the mysterious happenings at Sunnyside. Driven to clear her niece and nephew, who become increasingly tangled up in the case, she constantly juggles new clues and developments in a tenacious commitment to solving the murder. Yet, her character retains a light touch in the face of deadly events, even when she finds herself locked in a secret room with an unknown assailant.

Written in 1908, the text displays a few instances of bluntly offensive racist observations, mostly directed at some members of the household staff. Beyond simply the era in which the book was written, the prejudice on exhibit also stems from the inherent elitism of the wealthy leisure class who possess the luxury and wherewithal to engage in these types of cozy parlour mysteries. After a clue is provided by a tramp riding the rails, Miss Inness sincerely insists upon the existence of a “fraternity of hobos.”

The author, Mary Roberts Rinehart, is a renowned practitioner of the “Had I But Known” narrative style, and her technique is on full view in The Circular Staircase. Written from the perspective of Miss Inness from sometime after the events in the case, the dire consequences of unfolding events are frequently intimated by hints of this future knowledge. 

However, other than establishing a bit of foreboding atmosphere, this technique fails to add much to the proceedings. Arguably, it could raise the irritation level in some less patient readers, who may ultimately demand, “Stop hinting and just tell us what the f**k happened!“

When Michael Calls

When Michael Calls
John Farris | Pocket Books | 1975 (first published 1967) | 249 pages

“Auntie Helen…. I’m dead, aren’t I?”

Helen Connelly is plagued by a series of unsettling phone calls, which threaten to tear apart the quiet small-town life she shares with her young daughter, Peggy. The caller, a boy about ten years old, claims to be Helen’s deceased nephew, Michael, who tragically froze to death sixteen years previously after running away from home during a blizzard. 

The boy on the phone pleads with Helen for help, resurrecting the family’s tragic history and reopening the barely-healed wounds of her own personal guilt. Michael died under Helen’s care, after she took charge of him and his older brother, Craig, following the death of her sister in a mental institution. The telephone calls reawaken Helen’s grief over his death, and the remorse in her own role in committing her sister.

The early chapters tap into the supernatural dread of a disembodied voice on the line, a crackling connection filled with recriminations against Helen. The eerie atmosphere intensifies when Peggy claims to have seen Michael in the playground at school, bringing the specter of Helen’s dead nephew threateningly close. However, after an odd death—by hundreds of bee stings—the focus transforms from ghost story to murder mystery. 

Sheriff Hap Washbrook recruits the assistance of Doremus, a retired homicide detective from Chicago. Although the phone calls, and occasional apparitions of a young boy, continue, the perspective gradually shifts from Helen to Doremus. The detective ultimately posits that Michael may still somehow be alive, returned to exact revenge on those he feels responsible for the death of his mother.

The small-town Ozarks setting is evocative for the story, which builds up a psychological crime story upon its paranormal foundations. The resolution and reveal of the culprit comes a bit early, however, leaving a final stretch overly reliant on action. This premature denouement also echoes the epilogue of Hitchcock’s Psycho, with its too-tidy explanation of mental illness and criminal behavior. The story delivers a few creepy moments and a brisk pace, but feels shallow, even though touching upon some heavy emotional themes.

There is also a curiously latent romantic subplot, initially spinning out from the male characters contemplating their prospective chances with Helen. It resolves itself with an odd coda featuring Doremus and his new bride on their honeymoon in Jamaica. The effect makes the entire book wrongly feel like a first installment of the Doremus Mysteries.

It Walks by Night

It Walks by Night
John Dickson Carr | Penguin | 1966 (originally published 1930) | 191 pages

“Get on with it, man!”

Paris police inspector Henri Bencolin grapples with the violent murder of wealthy sportsman, the Duc de Saligny, in this atmospheric locked-door mystery with more than a few touches of gothic horror.

Saligny is celebrating his new marriage to Madame Louise, a young woman with a dark history. A few years previously, Alexandre Laurent, her first husband, suffered a psychotic breakdown and attacked her with a straight razor, before being captured and confined to a prison for the criminally insane. Laurent has now escaped, and the Paris police suspect that the deranged man will come searching for the newlywed couple. 

Complicating the search for Laurent is the revelation that following his escape, he engaged the services of a plastic surgeon, and could now look like anyone in Saligny’s wide circle of social acquaintances. 

Under the watchful eyes of the police, Saligny enters a small card room adjacent to a busy gambling parlour. A few minutes later, his decapitated body is found alone, with no evidence of anyone else entering or leaving the room. 

Enter Henri Bencolin, a black-haired, pointy-bearded detective who seizes upon the mysterious nature of the crime. Jeff Marle, the American son of an old collegiate friend, accompanies Bencolin on the case, serving as a “Dr. Watson” to Bencolin’s “Holmes”. The Parisian detective is something of a devilish enigma, keeping early suspicions to himself. Although posited as an “impossible crime”, Bencolin later smugly claims that he solved the case within a half-hour, and ultimately disparages the culprit for being foolish with the murder plan.

Beyond the locked-door elements of the mystery, the atmosphere and environments of Paris add greatly to the appeal of the story. The case takes Bencolin through the cobbled streets of the French capital to backyard gardens near Versailles. The opium-scented gambling dens invoke the French decadence literary and artistic movement of the previous century. Even Carr’s heavy and descriptive writing style adds to the overall baroque feeling, sometimes flirting dangerously with purple prose.

The thick gothic atmosphere, a (formerly razor-wielding) madman on the loose, and the shocking and grisly nature of the murder(s), all contribute to an undeniable horror element to the whodunnint (and howdunnit) procedural. Add a key reference to Edgar Allan Poe that ties in with a morbid twist in the case, and It Walks by Night rises above standard detective tales of the era.

A second murder fails to set up another locked-room puzzle, but delivers a visceral shock to the proceedings. The grisly details of the crime, along with the unexpected setting—a potential romantic interlude for Marle—punch up the horror elements.

Of course, the eventual denouement, in classic fashion, features Bencolin endlessly pontificating on all the elements of the case the reader was provided, and should have picked up on themselves to solve the identity of the murderer.

The Chinese Orange Mystery

The Chinese Orange Mystery
Ellery Queen | Pocket Books | 1962 (first published 1934) | 243 pages

An unknown visitor is murdered in the waiting room of a New York City publisher and stamp collector, but the locked-door nature of the crime pales in comparison to another puzzling detail—everything in the room has been turned backwards, including the victim’s clothing, pieces of furniture, and even the pictures on the walls.

Ellery Queen, arriving on the scene as a guest of the publisher, immediately seizes on the “backwardness” of the crime, pursuing any detail among the extended group of suspects exhibiting, or suggesting, a reverse quality. Several new clues are unearthed that seem to expand and connect to this mysterious quality of the crime scene. A suspect possesses a rare stamp that is printed erroneously in reverse, a suspect’s name is revealed to be a backwards-spelled alias, and a series of antiquarian books in Hebrew—the text read in reverse—are stolen from the publisher’s septuagenarian father. Ellery also engages in a bit of occidental elitism, as he elicits examples of oriental “backwardness” from a new author on Chinese culture.

Although the identity of the victim remains unknown, the publishing milieu offers a range of well-defined suspects, each harboring their own secrets and hidden agendas. Ellery himself comes across as slightly arrogant, however, waving his pince-nez around as a pseudo-intellectual accessory. Although Ellery–of course–ultimately solves the case and reveals the murderer, the precise identity of the victim is never uncovered, an interesting exception for the genre.

New York City serves as an appealing backdrop for the mystery, from its coat-checks and hotel lobbies to antiquarian shops. A late-unfolding police sting sends Ellery on a stake-out under the decorated dome of the terminal at Grand Central Station. 

Prior to the final gathering of the suspects, Ellery lays down “A Challenge to the Reader”, directly addressing the audience with an invitation to solve the crime with the established clues. Although ultimately satisfying, the resolution of the locked-door puzzle, including the backwards elements, hinges upon a foundation characterized by a few key items of interest that modern readers may find a bit archaic, defined by the book’s era and limiting the ability to unravel all the interconnected strands of the puzzle.

The final twist is perhaps the most whimsical, as the titular Chinese orange is revealed to be something other than the tangerine eaten from a bowl of fruit at the murder scene.