Forgotten Book - The Rynox Mystery

Philip Macdonald was one of the breezy entertainers of the Golden Age, an author with a flair for coming up with enticing scenarios. The republication of The Rynox Mystery in the Detective Story Club reprint series gives present day readers a chance to appreciate one of his most appealing set-ups. The book begins with an epilogue, a device used in other crime novels (for instance C. Daly King's Obelists Fly High). But I can't think right now of an example that predates this one, from 1930.

In the epilogue, two large and heavy sacks are delivered to the offices of an insurance company. When the unexpected delivery is opened, it turns out that the sacks contain more than a quarter of a million pounds. A lot of money today, never mind in 1930. What's the meaning of it? We go back in time to find out, and Macdonald presents his chapters as "reels"; no wonder he later moved to Hollywood.
This is a light thriller rather than a whodunit, and it's short and snappy if at times a little too whimsical.

The puzzle concerns the misadventures of a company called Rynox, and the demise of its presiding genius. The identity of the killer appears obvious, but the police struggle to identify him. What is going on? Well, I think most astute readers will figure out the answer, but not to worry. It's not a bad story, and this edition benefits from an intro written by Macdonald himself in the 60s, which I found interesting. He explains that he was aiming to satirise a number of people and institutions, though I'm afraid some of the point of the satire has been lost due to the passage of time.

Another extremely pleasing touch, given that the novel is a short one, is that Harper Collins have added value by including the one and only short story to feature Macdonald's Great Detective, Colonel Anthony Gethryn (who doesn't feature in the novel). The story is called "The Wood-for-the-Trees", and it's a serial killer mystery, with a plot device that crime fans will associate with a rather famous novel.

Forgotten Book - The Link

The Link is an Anthony Gethryn novel dating from 1930, and written by Philip Macdonald. I've mentioned my enthusiasm for Macdonald several times on this blog, but this book is one I first read in my twenties, and found disappointing. I decided to give it another go, to see whether my earlier judgment had been too harsh.

Macdonald liked to ring the changes in his novels,and here he gives Colonel Gethryn a "Watson" figure, a vet called Michael Lawless, who narrates the story. (Lawless was obviously a name that appealed to Macdonald: one of his pen-names was Anthony Lawless). Lawless is hopelessly in love with the young and charming wife of a deeply unpleasant "beer baronet" called Grenville who has spent several years in America. An unexplained mystery of this book is why she was ever stupid enough to marry such an odious chap. Lawless' passion seems destined,however, to remain unrequited.

At a lunch party hosted by Grenville, Lawless meets Gethryn, and the two men join forces shortly afterwards, following the murder of Grenville. He has been shot, and his body has been moved at least once. The local publican, Dinwater, is arrested - he had been Grenville's batman, but the two men had recently fallen out. Gethryn is not, however, convinced of his guilt and, with Lawless' help, sets out to discover whodunit.

This book has its admirers, but when I first read it, I felt that its supposed ingenuity came to nothing, because the crucial red herring was emphasised with such tedious insistence that one was bound to be sceptical about it. The plot trick involves a type of deception that Agatha Christie deployed, but with much greater finesse.

Second time around, I am afraid that I found myself again irritated by the lack of subtlety in the story's construction and also by the feebleness of the American aspects of the story. Two detailed appendices set out the intricate minutiae of the murder plot, but by that stage, alas,I was past caring. Macdonald was trying to be original, an aim in which he sometimes enjoyed real success, but this book, despite a few pleasing touches, is one of his weakest efforts.,  

Forgotten Book - The Ponson Case

The Detective Story Library imprint of Harper Collins has revived several fascinating titles, including some of my favourites. The Rasp by Philip MacDonald, which has an excellent intro by Tony Medawar, is an example. But Freeman Wills Crofts' second book, The Ponson Case, is a mystery I'd never read until I read the DSL reprint. This nicely presented reissue benefits from an intro by crime novelist Dolores Gordon Smith, who talked about Crofts at last year's hugely successful Bodies in the Library conference.

Dolores tells a story about Crofts' meticulous approach to the plotting of this novel, which was a follow-up to his best-selling debut The Cask. He spent three hours persuading his publishers that he had researched the plot detail with intense attention to detail. And this shows in the book, although I have to say the result is not totally gripping. There's a nice description of an English country house at the start of the book, but once the body of Sir William Ponson is discovered in the river, the focus is on alibis, and how to crack them.

Crofts ditched Inspector Burnley, who took the lead in The Cask, and introduced the equally painstaking Inspector Tanner. A sketch map of the scene of the crime is supplied, and Tanner ventures as far as Portugal in search of the truth about Ponson's death. But there is a shortage of suspects, a failing of several Golden Age novels. Why is it a failing? Because the characters are not explored in enough depth to compensate for the limited nature of the mystery.

Eventually Tanner gets to the truth, but it turns out to be rather anti-climactic, to say the least. But I'm really glad I read it, and not only because it filled a gap in my knowledge of Crofts' writing. What we have here is a book which shows a capable crime writer at the start of his career, trying to do something unusual  in genre terms to build on the conspicuous success of his debut novel. It was this determination not to get stuck in a rut (despite his long-term fondness for alibi puzzles) that set Crofts apart from lesser writers. If you look at his inverted novels, such as Antidote to Venom, you see how keen he was to experiment, and that same freshness of approach is the most notable feature of The Ponson Case..A welcome reprint, then, which has given me a better understanding of Crofts' approach to his craft.

Forgotten Book - The Rasp

The Rasp, my Forgotten Book for today, was the first crime novel published by Philip MacDonald solo and under his own name (he'd previously co-written two books with his father). It appeared in 1924, when he was still in his early twenties, and it introduced Colonel Anthony Gethryn, who was to become one of the more popular "great detectives" of the Golden Age.

The first thing to say about this book is that it's a very assured performance, especially considering the youth and inexperience of its author. Yes, there are flaws (the explanation of the puzzle at the end is excessively long, for instance, and the killer's insanity is not adequately foreshadowed) but it really is an excellent example of the breezy Golden Age whodunit. MacDonald's writing is invariably energetic - in fact, in some books he produced later, it seems rushed - and he carries his readers along, so that we don't worry too much about the improbabilities of the plot.

The book is sometimes described as a "locked room mystery", because John Hoode, a cabinet minister, is found dead in his locked study; however, there is an open window, so this is by no means an "impossible crime". It's a tricky one to solve, nonetheless, and although the police arrest someone, Gethryn becomes convinced that the man is innocent, and has been framed.

I've admired MacDonald ever since reading a reprint of Gethryn's second case, The White Crow, in my teens, and I really enjoyed this whodunit. I have a facsimile dust jacket of the first edition, and I also love the publishers' blurb: " all the subsidiary characters, especially the ladies, usually the weak spot in detective fiction are drawn with humour and insight". They don't write blurbs like that any more! Nor do they write books quite like The Rasp any more. But if you like Golden Age fiction, with all its strengths and limitations, there is every chance you'll like this one.

Forgotten Book - The Noose

My forgotten book for today is one of Philip MacDonald's stories about Colonel Anthony Gethryn. The Noose is notable as the novel that launched the legendary Collins Crime Club in 1930, by which time MacDonald was establishing himself as one of the most entertaining detective novelists to have emerged since the First World War - a conflict of which Gethryn was a veteran. The war also proves to be central to the murder mystery plot.

Gethryn is summoned back to England from Spain by his wife Lucia. She has been persuaded by a striking woman that the woman's husband (whose name, Bronson, has connotations today that nobody would have dreamed of in 1930) is innocent of the murder of which he has been convicted. Unfortunately, an appeal has failed and the Home Secretary is not inclined to show clemency So Bronson will hang in five days' time unless someone else can be shown to be guilty. Yep, this is a classic clock-race story.

Lucia's intuition tells her to believe Mrs Bronson that her husband is innocent. Gethryn's intuition - and it's no more than that - points him in the same direction. Such is his reputation,as a Great Detective that his pals at Scotland Yard are by no  means unsympathetic. One of them actually takes some holiday (his first in two years) in order to lend a hand. What it is to have friends in high places...

This is a lively story with a good solution, and it deserves the praise that Harry Keating heaped on it when he introduced a reprint in the "Disappearing Detectives" series in the mid-Eighties. I agree with Harry that MacDonald wrote enjoyable books, even if their quality was admittedly uneven. This one has a sound plot, but its greatest merit is the fast-paced narrative style and crisp writing. MacDonald tended to favour short, snappy sentences, and there's usually a sense of energy in his books, as there is in this one. He can create vivid scenes - as when Gethryn comes face to face with the murderer- and it's no surprise that, not long after this book first appeared, he went on to enjoy success in Hollywood. Re-reading this one revived my enthusiasm for Gethryn, and I'll be covering at least one more of his cases in this blog before long.

Forgotten Book - Mystery in Kensington Gore

My Forgotten Book for today is one of a stack of novels written in the early Thirties by Philip MacDonald. He was at that time so productive that he used a pseudonym for some of his non-series work, and Mystery in Kensington Gore was written under the alias of Martin Porlock. It's a stand-alone thriller, rather than a classic whodunit, and there are signs that it was written quickly and carelessly. Yet it also displays some of MacDonald's characteristic strengths.

First and foremost, he was a really good story-teller. This book opens with a man called Peter Craven, down on his luck, and breaking in to a London house for a bite to eat. Things take an unexpected turn after he falls asleep and, on waking, encounters a young woman called Frances. It turns out that they are sharing the house with a recently murdered man, Frances' stepfather. Frances is terrified that she will be accused of his murder, and persuades Craven to take the body away and dump it somewhere. This he does - but before long, the body reappears in the house...

I thought this was a terrific spin on the classic "vanishing body" plot. Horrified, Peter and Frances make a run for it, but soon the police are in hot pursuit. After a series of escapades, the pair start (rather belatedly, if you ask me) to try to puzzle out who has really committed the murder, and why. There is one likely suspect, but is the truth more complex? The answer is yes, but there aren't as many twists as I'd hoped for.

This book was written a few years before MacDonald left the UK for Hollywood, but it is a good example of the filmic style of his writing. The storyline is strongly reminiscent of Hitchcock's much-loved and often-used plot device - the ordinary man (and woman) trying to flee from both the forces of evil and the authorities. I thought it was well done, although it's only fair to mention that one Golden Age expert, with whose judgments I often agree,considered the book to be "utter tripe". Well, we are all entitled to our own opinions. I enjoyed this story, even though the climax was rather flimsy, with a detailed written confession that smacks of lazy and hurried writing. Certainly, the reader needs to suspend disbelief somewhat. But that's true of many lively thrillers, is it not?

Forgotten Book - The Wraith

Philip Macdonald was one of the major British crime writers of the Golden Age, and given that he also enjoyed much success as a Hollywood screenwriter, it is surprising to me that his work is not discussed more extensively. I've always liked his work, while recognising that his inventiveness was matched by a certain haste and carelessness that sometimes meant his books fell short of the high standards of which he was capable. Today's Forgotten Book, The Wraith, is an example of both his gifts and his shortcomings.

The book was published in 1931, and my paperback reprint makes the very bold claim that "Colonel Anthony Gethryn is no longer merely an extremely engaging character, he has become a permanent figure in crime fiction." Well, perhaps not, but he was one of the more appealing Golden Age detectives in my opinion. Here he tells the story himself, years after the events took place. It's a good device, and Macdonald handles it pretty well.

The setting is a small Fenland village in the aftermath of the Great War. Gethryn is staying there, and is invited to dinner at the local mansion. His host is duly murdered, and there is, as usual, a small circle of potential suspects, one of them rather wraith-like. The set-up is excellent, and there is an excellent twist, which is the most effective part of the story and was probably the idea that sparked the novel.

The downside is that there are too few suspects, and they are too thinly characterised. For this book to have become a classic, Macdonald would have needed to put more effort into building up the tension and background as well as the people of High Fen. As it is, The Wraith feels, in parts, almost as insubstantial as that eponymous ghostly figure. But it's a reminder of Macdonald's talents, and a book which certainly benefits from his crisp and readable style. And many years later, it was referenced by Desmond Cory in an even more intriguing book, Bennett.

Forgotten Book - X v Rex

Today the serial killer novel is commonplace, but arguably, its origins are to be found in Golden Age detective fiction. My Forgotten Book for today is one of the very best serial killer stories from the 1930s, X v Rex. Originally the author was named as Martin Porlock, but this was a pseudonym for Philip Macdonald. He had previous as a serial killer novelist, and I covered Murder Gone Mad in an earlier entry in this series. That story does have some merit, but I think X v Rex, which first appeared in 1933, is a superior book.

The key to its success is relentless pace. The way Macdonald shifts from viewpoint to viewpoint, using very short scenes and lots of incident, is very modern. Of course, the style is dated in some ways, but for a book written 80 years ago, it has a remarkably contemporary feel. I also enjoyed the occasional shafts of wit. An example is when Macdonald offers a kaleidoscopic picture of what is going on in Britain at the time of the murders, and mentions that the publisher, Victor Gollancz, "denies that Francis Iles is the pseudonym of Mr Martin Porlock."

One of the other titles given to this book, and which was used in a film version which I haven't seen, is The Mystery of the Dead Police, which really explains what the story is all about. Someone is killing cops, with a great deal of ingenuity. The killer confides in a journal, extracts from which are included, and this gives some insight into his motivation - an advance on Murder Gone Mad, in which the culprit's nature was not handled satisfactorily. Macdonald, as many of his contemporaries were doing, was learning about the craft and structure of a complex mystery through trial and error, and here he shows a great deal of flair. The journal device has been used countless times since then.

Macdonald would later move to Hollywood, and work on screenplays for classic films as different as Rebecca and Forbidden Planet. His lively writing style was ideally suited to the movies, and it is equally effective in this story. The mysterious Nicholas Revel, who assists the police with their investigation, and is also a prime suspect, is a memorable character. All in all, a very enjoyable book. When I re-read it recently, I devoured it quickly and with a great deal of pleasure.

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Forgotten Book - The Murders in Praed Street

Which was the first detective novel to feature a serial killer? I use the term “detective novel” to exclude book such as The Lodger, by Marie Belloc Lowndes, which is a suspense story heavily influence by the crimes of Jack the Ripper, and which Hitchcock turned into a film early in his career.

I stand to be corrected, but the first serial killer detective novel I know of is The Murders in Praed Street, by John Rhode, and that is my Forgotten Book for today. Today, the plot twists may seem shopworn to seasoned whodunit fans, but this was a ground-breaking book when it appeared in 1928, and I enjoyed reading it.

The luckless denizens of Praed Street start to fall victim to a signature killer of considerable ingenuity, and the police are baffled until Dr Priestley helps them out. One of the murders involved the use of “a remarkably virulent synthetic alkaloid”, prompting the good doctor to reminisce about one such alkaloid with which a character in The Ellerby Case “tipped the spines of the hedgehog to which I so nearly fell a victim. You remember that incident, I dare say?” Odd question. Who could forget an attempted murder by hedgehog spines?

Within a few years, serial killer (or “multiple murder”) mysteries became relatively common. Philip Macdonald wrote two, Anthony Berkeley and Francis Beeding had a go too, and Agatha Christie produced that wonderful puzzle The ABC Murders. But Rhode deserves credit for leading the pack. Today, of course, serial killer novels are two-a-penny. I doubt if many of those who read them know the name of John Rhode. And, whatever his literary limitations, I think that is a pity.

Murder Gone Mad

Murder Gone Mad by Philip Macdonald is arguably a landmark in the crime genre. Published in 1931, it is, as far as I know, the first Golden Age serial killer novel in which there was no rational motive for the crimes.

Murder strikes in the peaceful town of Holmdale in shocking fashion, when an eleven year old boy called Lionel is stabbed to death. The police receive a message from ^The Butcher” about the crime, and this sets a pattern. A series of young people, male and female, are killed by “The Butcher”, and panic sets in.

One of Macdonald’s regular cops, the Scotland Yard man Arnold Pike, is called in to lead the investigation, but although a passing mention is made of Macdonald’s amateur sleuth Colonel Anthony Gethryn, Gethryn does not play any part in the story.

More than 80 years after this book was published, it’s difficult to judge it fairly. The crimes are shocking, but by modern standards, naturally, the material is tame There is a surprise solution, in terms of the revelation of the culprit’s identity, but this is not a “fair play” mystery, and more seriously, there is no explanation of what caused the psychological collapse that led a seemingly harmless individual to commit such shocking crimes. The book is, then, a historical curiosity which may fail to satisfy most modern readers, but Macdonald was a pioneer in this field, and, for all his faults, he remains one of the more interesting writers of the 30s.

Forgotten Book - Bennett

My Forgotten Book for today was published in 1977. Desmond Cory (a pseudonym) was a prolific writer of thrillers who occasionally dabbled in psychological suspense. Bennett was his last foray into that field, and I suspect that it was not a particularly successful book. It is, however, by any standards a pretty extraordinary piece of work.

Part of the book takes the form of a journal, ostensibly written by a detective novelist called William Bennett.  He has gone missing in Spain, and a young cop called Hunter has come out to try and find him, in connection with the death of an au pair girl back in Britain.

The case has some echoes of the Lord Lucan case, but Cory’s concern is not to offer a “solution” to that famous mystery, but rather to indulge in an intellectual game with the reader. Are there two journals, are there two men claiming to be Bennett? And does Hunter have a close personal connection with the man he is... hunting?

I first read this book not long after it came out. I was disappointed by its anti-climactic nature, and I suspect most other readers shared my frustration. At least one reviewer described the book as boring. But on re-readng it, I had more sympathy with Cory’s attempt to do something very different with the crime novel. It’s certainly intelligent, original and unrepeatable. And there are some fascinating allusions to classic detective fiction – such as The Wraith, an  obscure book by Philip Macdonald – which are not fully developed, but which somehow give the book a bit more depth. Bennett may be a failure, but it’s an intriguing failure and is well worth inspection – as long as you don’t expect the orthodox.

Sorry, Wrong Number

Sorry, Wrong Number is a 1948 film starring Barbara Stanwyck as the rich and spoiled invalid wife of Burt Lancaster. Alone at home, she overhears a phone call which seems to be about a murder plot. It’s a classic set-up and I enjoyed the movie, which is dark both in photography and plot.

The ‘overheard conversation’ is a staple of a good many crime stories, one example being Philip Macdonald’s The Nursemaid Who Disappeared, which predates Lucille Fletcher’s very successful radio play on which the film is based. In the movie, the main story is told through a series of flashbacks, but this doesn’t stop the tension mounting, thanks to Stanwyck’s performance, at her highly-strung best.

The story involves a fraudulent scheme featuring a dodgy guy called Morano – played by William Conrad, who later played Frank Cannon, the rather obese TV gumshoe. Lancaster is in moody, and pretty effective, form, but the film belongs to Stanwyck.

Fletcher turned her story into a novel, and she wrote a number of others, none of which I’ve read. As an aspiring radio writer, she met a young composer, who became her first husband. His name was Bernard Herrmann, and he became one of the best composers for crime films of all time. But his great scores for Hitchcock came after the marriage ended.

Forgotten Books - The Rasp

The Raso was the book that introduced Philip Macdonald’s regular detective, Anthony Gethryn, and served to establish his reputation as a writer of ingenious mysteries. Macdonald was born in 1900, and yet this book, published in 1924, when he was only 23, was not his first – he had previously co-authored two novels with his father, Ronald Macdonald.

I have managed to get hold of a copy of the first edition of the dust jacket (pity it's only a facsimile, because the original would be worth a good deal!)I found it interesting to read the blurb, which was notably enthusiastic. Now, blurbs often are very enthusiastic, but in this case, the publishers had indeed discovered an author whose reputation would endure, at least among fans of Golden Age mysteries.

The Rasp is not, itself, one of my favourite Philip Macdonalds, but it is written with sufficient gusto to justify the publishers' faith - and in years to come, Macdonald would write a number of fascinating books. Over 30 years later, the last Gethryn - The List of Adrian Messenger - appeared, and it was turned into quite a good film.

Here is what the blurb writer said:

‘Messrs Collins are publishing several detective stories this Autumn,most of them by famous names, but The Rasp, Mr Macdonald’s first attempt, is well worthy to stand with them. Firstly, because the murder is the most ingenious crime. Secondly, because Anthony, who unravels it, is a brilliant investigator and a delightful person. Thirdly, because all the subsidiary characters, especially the ladies, usually the weak spot in detective fiction, are drawn with humour and insight. Readers will note the close attention which the author gives to his detail, and how all the threads are essential to the pattern. The publishers believe The Rasp to be one of the best discoveries they have made for a long time.’

Macdonald eventually moved to Hollywood, and in his later years he focused more on script-writing than on novels. He died in 1980, and The Rasp is now largely forgotten. But it marked the start of a notable solo writing career.

Versatility

When I reviewed recently, for that splendid site Tangled Web UK, Michael Gilbert’s The Murder of Diana Devon, I reflected – not for the first time – on Gilbert’s remarkable versatility. That volume alone includes short stories, magazine competition puzzles, radio plays and a poem. Gilbert’s novels were many and various, and he also wrote for television, as well as creating four stage plays. He even found time to build a successful legal practice, his clients including Raymond Chandler.

There are some other writers of roughly comparable versatility. Francis Durbridge is a name that springs to mind. He achieved great success with his Paul Temple stories on the radio, and his television serials were hugely popular in their day (I’ve posted previously about my admiration for Bat out of Hell in particular.) He wrote numerous plays which had outings in the West End, and he was a prolific novelist – although oddly, I’d suggest, his novels tended to be less effective than his other work, because dialogue was his forte and characterisation and setting mattered much less to him.

Then there was Nigel Balchin, a fine novelist, who also wrote for stage and television, and had considerable success in the film world. He adapted Philip Macdonald’s The Nursemaid Who Disappeared for the silver screen, and arguably improved upon it. He even wrote, as I discovered recently, what Clive James describes as ‘the ur-text’ for Cleopatra.

But how many writers of today (especially in Britain) demonstrate comparable versatility? I’d love to write for radio, tv, film and stage, but unfortunately, I can’t see it happening in the near future. Producing novels and short stories is challenge enough (though I have bought a book on screenwriting, so who knows?). Has writing become more specialised – or am I simply overlooking the achievements of some great all-rounders of the present day?

Forgotten Book - The List of Adrian Messenger

My entry this week for Patti Abbott’s series of Forgotten Books is another title from the pen of Philip Macdonald, his last novel and yet possibly the most famous – The List of Adrian Messenger. The book’s celebrity derives to a large extent from the fact that it was filmed in 1963, four years after publication. George C. Scott was improbably cast as Anthony Gethryn, and the movie boasted unlikely cameos from Frank Sinatra, Burt Lancaster, Tony Curtis, Kirk Douglas and Robert Mitchum.

Messenger’s list contains the names of people who have died, over a period of time, in seemingly random fashion. What is the connection? Gethryn is intrigued, and embarks upon a quest to solve the puzzle and track down one of the most amazingly remorseless murderers in the annals of crime fiction.

I enjoyed the book as well as the film. The hook is genuinely gripping, and although the story falters a little here and there, it provides plenty of evidence of Macdonald’s storytelling gifts. Oddly, he did not write the screenplay – that was written by Anthony Veiller, about whom I know nothing.

Now, by the time you read this, I should be off on holiday for just over a week. I’ve scheduled daily posts in advance, and (provided I can master the technology….) I aim to be able to respond to comments and read other favourite blogs whilst away. Be good in my absence!

Nigel Balchin

I mentioned Nigel Balchin recently, in relation to the screenplay he wrote for 23 Paces to Baker Street, a film adaptation of a thriller by Philip Macdonald. But Balchin’s screenwriting was a relatively minor aspect of his work. He was, in his day, a novelist of real distinction who often worked in or on the edge of the crime genre.

It’s often struck me how many novelists start their writing careers with rather improbable titles. Colin Dexter is one example, and my little tome Understanding Computer Contracts possibly takes a bit of beating in terms of quirky subject matter. But the title of Balchin’s debut was a classic oddity – published in 1934 under the name of Mark Spade, it was called How to Run a Bassoon Factory. (I think it was a satire…)

Balchin worked as a scientist, and also as an industrial psychologist. When he tried his hand at advertising, he is supposed to have popularised the Kit Kat brand of chocolate biscuit. His versatility is reflected in his writing. Although his most famous book is the war-time thriller The Small Back Room, other novels such as Mine Own Executioner and Darkness Falls From the Air were in much the same league in terms of quality.

Balchin seems to have had a tangled private life, and a wife-swapping episode resulted in divorce. One of his daughters is the childcare expert Penelope Leach, while another married John Hopkins, the screenwriter responsible for, among other things, Thunderball. He’s a writer who has fascinated me since my teens, and I’ll say more about his work in the future.

Forgotten Book - The Nursemaid who Disappeared

Philip Macdonald is a crime writer whose career spanned from the Golden Age to the post-war era, from 1920s London to Hollywood. He wrote some remarkable, if often slapdash, mysteries, and his gift for plot and suspense can be seen in his work on the brilliant screenplays for Rebecca and Forbidden Planet.

I could choose any one of a dozen Macdonald titles for my latest entry in Patti Abbott’s series of Forgotten Books, but today I’ve opted for The Nursemaid who Disappeared – also known as Warrant for X.

Sheldon Garrett overhears two people in a teashop, apparently planning a serious crime. Scotland Yard are not interested, so he approached Macdonald’s regular amateur sleuth, Anthony Gethryn, who uncovers a dastardly kidnapping plot.

It’s a lively thriller, rather than a conventional whodunit like the early Gethryns. The story was rather well filmed in 1956 (with Van Johnson as a blind protagonist) as 23 Paces to Baker Street. The movie had a much-changed story – and no Gethryn. Oddly, the screenplay was not written by Macdonald but by the even more accomplished Nigel Balchin. Balchin was a writer so fascinating that he deserves a post to himself one day. Maybe more than one.

Forgotten Book - Murder Rehearsal

Now for a really obscure entry to Patti Abbott's series of Friday's Forgotten Books. My contribution this week is a review of Roger East's Murder Rehearsal:

‘Who in the world?’ demanded a reviewer in ‘The Manchester Evening News’ three quarters of a century ago, ‘is Mr Roger East? It is my deliberate and considered judgment that he seems likely to become one of the small band of really first-class detective-story writers.’

Bluntly speaking, this prediction, like so many of its sort, proved to be well wide of the mark. After an initial flurry in the 30s, East produced little notable work in the remainder of his crime writing career and the last time attention was paid to him was on the reissuing in the mid 80s of the splendidly entitled Twenty Five Sanitary Inspectors. This was when Collins produced its very welcome ‘Disappearing Detectives’ set of hardback reprints, with introductions by H.R.F. Keating. The disappearing detective in question was Superintendent Simmonds, who made his debut in Murder Rehearsal, the novel which prompted such lavish praise from the Mancunian critic.

This book caught my eye because of its terrific premise. A likeable young crime writer, Colin Knowles, has an admiring secretary, Louie, who notices a series of links between a book Colin has been working on and three apparently unconnected recent deaths. Before starting to read, I wondered if there might be any similarity between this novel and John Franklin Bardin’s later, excellent book The Last of Philip Banter: the answer proved negative.

In truth, the best features of East’s novel are that first attention-grabbing idea and the final twist, which offers a rather pleasing and unexpected revelation after I had feared that the story would fade into anti-climax. In between, there is a good deal that is far-fetched. That said, East is a readable writer with a light touch. I was definitely entertained, but overall, this book (while not deserving obscurity) does not compare with the superior work of, say, Anthony Berkeley or Philip Macdonald. The characters are lightly sketched, but Simmonds is an agreeable fellow and it is no surprise that East brought him back for further adventures.