Friday's Forgotten (or Overlooked) Books: A Vintage Assortment.

Scottish Painter Fyffe Christie - The Artist's Wife Reading, 1953 - source

I don't know why but lately I am definitely in a vintage sort of mood. I pick up newer books and put them down, then pick them up again and for whatever reason I put them down again and move on to vintage. (I know this too shall pass, but for now, I am indulging my whims.)

Lately read:

WHILE THE PATIENT SLEPT (1930) by Mignon G. Eberhart - a Nurse Sarah Keate book.
CLOUDS OF WITNESS (1926) by Dorothy Sayers - A Lord Peter Wimsey book.
MURDER IS SUGGESTED (1959) by Frances and Richard Lockridge - A Mr and Mrs North book.
MURDER BY THE BOOK (1963)by Frances and Richard Lockridge - A Mr and Mrs. North book.
THE FINAL DEDUCTION (1961) by Rex Stout - A Nero Wolfe book.
FEAR COMES TO CHALFONT (1942) by Freeman Wills Croft - an Inspector French book.

While I enjoyed all these books, I'm only reviewing two - briefly - since I am falling behind while working on another couple of posts to debut next week. Work. Work. Work. This was NOT supposed to be work. I know it doesn't seem like so much, but you know, occasionally it feels like it is. Whine. Whine. Cringe.

1) WHILE THE PATIENT SLEPT (1930) by Migon G. Eberhart 

This is the second novel by Mignon G. Eberhart featuring private nurse and aging spinster (with gumption) Sarah Keate and boy does the book revel in the achy breaky creaking style of its long ago time. But despite that, I liked it very much. Why? Because it has the murder in a dark and spooky house routine down pat. Truth is, after awhile you don't even care who committed the murder, you're just enjoying all that malevolently mysterious and oh-so-sinister ambience. It's all over the top sinister and creepy and ominous and forbidding, the stuff that makes life worthwhile. Ha! Not to mention the cast of unpleasant characters which greet Nurse Sarah Keate on her arrival at out in the middle of nowhere Federie House on a dark and spooky night.

Sarah's patient is a wealthy old man who remains abed, asleep, for the entire book (well, at least until the very last couple of pages) - that's kind of creepy in itself because the murder takes place in the same room - hence the title of the book. So the murder occurs in full view of the nurse who's half asleep at the time. Commotion ensues, half-dressed suspects pour into the room, shadows jump, curtains move of their own volition, disbelief, suspicion, fainting, trembling, noises in the night. Not to mention a disappearing elephant. Well, a jade elephant carving which holds the secret to the entire thing, but an elephant nonetheless.

This book has everything: dark visages, dark doings, dark rooms, dark halls, dark stairs, (no ELECTRIC LIGHTS only candles of course because the owner of the house - the patient - doesn't believe in new-fangle). There is also a dark storm raging outside - needless to say - plus dark and dire circumstances within, all accompanied by requisite alarming noises. Hey, even the nurse heroine inserts a ghastly scream here and there. She's not immune to atmosphere. Neither was I. A very creepily enjoyable book. Oh, and the cop's name is Lance O'Leary. What more could you want?

2) CLOUDS OF WITNESS (1926) by Dorothy L. Sayer

This is the second book by Dorothy L. Sayers featuring her wonderfully irreverent detective, Lord Peter Wimsey. While his elder brother the stuff-necked Duke of Denver is being held for the murder of a n'er-do-well engaged to the Wimseys' young sister Polly, Lord Peter must rush to find the clues (even going so far as to fly across the Atlantic) which will exonerate Denver who has, so far, refused to speak in his own defense. The why and the wherefore of this are evident fairly soon to the reader, but it takes Lord Peter a rather longer time than one would think to figure things out. Perhaps if he hadn't been so emotionally involved?

Speaking of emotionally involved, this is the book in which Wimsey's policeman friend Parker displays his obvious feelings for said younger sister Polly. They will marry later on. As Wimsey insists, after Polly's misadventures with, first, a Bolshevik twerp and second, a card sharp who keeps a French mistress, his exalted family would welcome a policeman swain with open arms.

The Duke of Denver being a peer of the realm, cannot be tried in regular criminal court like everybody else. He must be tried by his peers (fellow titled gentlemen) in the House of Lords and to read about that august if arcane and fussy body coming together to try one of their own is one of the main pleasures of this book. The ensuing trial with Lord Peter bursting in at the last moment with the final clue clutched in his hand is a joy to read about.

There is also a harrowing to read, but brilliantly written life or death struggle in a fog-enshrouded bog which almost has Lord Peter and the faithful Bunter breathing their last gasp.

The trial and the bog incident make this a not to be missed Peter Wimsey book. I've since ordered a couple more titles from the library and they're waiting for me even as we speak. I'll be heading on down there tomorrow. I read these all many eons ago, but since I don't remember, it's like reading them again for the first time. You know how that goes.

******

Additional notes: 

I fully enjoyed the two Mr. and Mrs. North mysteries, MURDER BY THE BOOK and MURDER IS SUGGESTED (perfect warm weather reading) and will be looking for more since I've exhausted my library's pitifully few copies. These are the sorts of books one can read with half an eye on a sandwich and half an eye on the page. I'm also thinking, one of these days, of watching the episodes from the b/w television series starring Richard Denning and Barbara Britton which I think are available on youtube. Watched them when I was a kid and thought them the height of sophistication. Plus I had a crush on Richard Denning.

THE FINAL DEDUCTION was a Nero Wolfe book I'd forgotten completely about. In fact I really thought I hadn't read it until I began reading it. Not my favorite (the murder motive isn't very compelling) and not the best written of the lot. But still, any Nero Wolfe is better than none. I never regret dropping in on Wolfe and Archie, no matter what.

FEAR COMES TO CHALFONT was part of a three novel omnibus (sandwiched between the perfectly awful CASE OF THE DROWNING DUCK by Earl Stanley Gardner and MURDER IN THE WOODSHED, equally awful, by Anthony Gilbert) and because any Freeman Wills Croft is so hard to find these days, I probably enjoyed it more than I would otherwise. The style is pretty ancient and the plot sort of reminded me of Trent's Last Case which had similar characters and a similar kind of crime. I liked it as a curiosity and also because once upon a time my late ex-husband and I had a great deal of fun reading a bunch of Freeman Wills Croft train mysteries. Wouldn't mind getting my hand on some of those again.

Since it's Friday, don't forget to check in at Patti Abbott's blog, Pattinase, to see what other Forgotten (or Overlooked) Books other bloggers are talking about today. Patti has all the links.

Friday's Forgotten Book: CORPSE DIPLOMATIQUE (1950) by Delano Ames (1906 - 1987)

No, I don't have this copy - I wish I did.

I've never traveled to Nice, France, but I've always wanted to. Now that I've read Delano Ames' charming mystery, CORPSE DIPLOMATIQUE published in 1950, I feel as though I've been to the French Riviera and had the most delightful time.

I'm having trouble containing my enthusiasm for this book, so I won't. I only merely LOVED IT! There, I've gotten that out of my system.

I'd read one previous Delano Ames book, SHE SHALL HAVE MURDER and liked it well enough to look for more. This one just caught my fancy and I read it in two nights though I easily could have read it in one if I hadn't minded going sleepless.

Dagobert Brown (the rather strangely named amateur sleuth/dilettante/intellectual) and his novelist wife Jane are supposed to be frugally traveling on the Riviera. Lacking any real money but managing always to be on hand for food and drinks amid the chatter and doings of all sorts of intriguing characters. Jane and Dagobert are usually also on hand when murder strikes.

What I liked immediately is that Dagobert and Jane have an unusual, though affectionate, off-key relationship. He urges her to work on her book, while he is supposedly researching some sort of thesis about Bertran de Born, an obscure and very ancient poet - that is, unless he gets sidetracked with one or another of his various interests. Work - day-to-day wage earning work - is anathema to Dagobert and Jane is indulgent of his whims though occasionally she wishes he'd bring home a paycheck or two.

This review will be filled with several quoted passages from the books simply because I can't think how else to convey my fervor for this sort of writing - it catches me up and takes me along every single time. If you don't instantly like it then you will not like the book and oh, poor you.

'Dagobert had in mind a lonely village perched on a rocky hillside in the Basses-Alpes where we could study Provencal, so we went to the Hotel Negresco on the Promenade des Anglais.

In this way we got our names in the Riviera-Gazette among recent arrivals in Nice. We were listed with the King of Sweden, Mrs. Stuyvesant Reinlander III of Philadelphia and someone called S.A. Bao U. I wasn't dressed for it but it was pleasant while it lasted.

"It's the only place I could think of," Dagobert apologised as he put his mackintosh and hobnailed boots in the vast Louis Quinze wardrobe. "It's nice and central," he added.

"Yes, I noticed the police station around the corner. Still they won't present the bill for a week, probably."

"It's all about local colour," he said cheerfully. "S.A. Bao U. will be useful when we visit Siam, or would it be Burma?...I wonder what the inside of a French police station looks like?"

"Dagobert," I asked suddenly, "did we buy return tickets?"

He removed the belt from his corduroy trousers and shook out his grey flannel suit which had been rolled up in a rucksack.

"I suppose one changes for dinner," he said. "Well, in a way no. It seemed such a lot to spend all at once. You worry too much about essentials, Jane."

I didn't say "somebody has to," though the thought did cross my mind. I live with Dagobert - in fact he is my husband - and I have learned that discussions beginning in this way never get anywhere.'

There, now you have a bit of the flavor of the book and of the relationship of our two amateur sleuths. A bit later out on the hotel's dining terrace, Jane joins Dagobert for dinner and can't help but notice that he's made himself completely at home.

'I found Dagobert sitting under a striped umbrella, sipping a Noilly Prat. He looked as though he owned the place. He stood up and held my chair for me. He was wearing a beret I'd forgotten he had. A copy of a French Communist newspaper was folded beside his saucer and he had bought a packet of Gauloises cigarettes. He gesticulated in a very Latin way as he asked the waiter to bring me a Dubonnet. He looked essentially, unmistakably English. I'd never noticed that before.

"One could be quite comfortable here," he said, handing me the salted almonds. "Or do you find the atmosphere uncongenial to work?"

"I don't want to seem mean-spirited," I said, accepting the almonds, "but are these thrown in?"

Properly he ignored the question. "We could probably persuade the management to provide a small table for your typewriter on our private balcony." he said. "If you feel the place really inspires you, I could doubtless take lessons in Provencal at the Universal School of Languages. How did you think of starting your novel?"

"I haven't thought."

"You should," he said, sweeping the luxurious appointments of the terrace with an appreciative eye. "One has to pay for this sort of thing. Couldn't it begin right here...let's see...with what?"

He paused, frowning. I drank my Dubonnet and thought of other things. Dagobert is always thinking of ways for me to begin a novel. He has the mistaken impression that I am happier when occupied.'

Within moments, a dapper gentleman who'd earlier been giving Jane the continental eye in the lobby appears on the terrace, chooses the table immediately adjacent to the couple and orders un cafe. The little man can't help but be startled by the nature of Dagobert's conversation, centering on the best way to kill a man. (He is prompting Jane to begin her novel.) An amusing scene ensues made all the funnier by Dagobert's complete disregard of the sensibilities of his coffee-drinking neighbor though Jane is aware that the gentleman is growing alarmed byDagobert's murderous enthusiasm complete with sound effects.

Turns out that the little man is the courtly though womanizing Don Diego Sebastiano, Vice Consul in Nice for the insignificant Central American country of Santa Rica. Unknown to Dagobert and Jane, Don Diego is currently living in fear for his life and/or losing his cushy Riviera job, since the assassination back in Santa Rica, of the current President, his uncle. Hence his immediate alarm upon noting  Dagobert's blood thirsty conversation.

"What's a place like Santa Rica doing with a Vice-Consul in a place like Nice?"
"What, indeed?" Don Diego said gloomily.

At any rate, this has little to do with the main events in the story except to add confusion when just a few pages later after Dagobert and Jane have moved to the monetarily more suitable Pension Victoria (with a great view of the Mediterranean), Jane is practically a witness to the shooting death of Hugh de Courcy Arkwright, a debonair language teacher, fellow pensionair and blackmailer.

Of course we don't know right off the bat that the victim is a blackmailer, but eventually the truth - as is to be expected - will out. To add to the confusion I previously mentioned, everyone assumes that the intended murder victim was really Don Diego as he was seen walking on the promenade in the same vicinity. The bullet just missed him by inches. Therefore Arkwright's death must be a one of those nasty twists of fate.

Until Dagobert causes a stir in the Pension Victoria's dining room when he announces that Arkwright's death was no accident. Dagobert has a flair for drama as you may have noticed.

Time for a bit of introduction. Staying at the pension alongside the two sleuths are:

Mrs. Andrioli, middle-aged and earthy, who owns and manages the Pension Victoria.

American widow Eleanor Duffield and her awkward uncommunicative daughter:

Sophie Duffield, the uncommunicative daughter whose awkwardness makes her appear much younger than her 24 years. (Unknown to her uppity-crust mother, Sophie has an eye on Joe Orsini, American bartender at the Brooklyn Bar, a local dive.)

Iris Makepeace, flirtatious young married (with a husband conveniently half an ocean away, working in - coincidences of coincidences, the above mentioned Santa Rica - but more about him later) who apparently thinks nothing of indulging in an affaire d'coeur with -

French pianist Dieudonne Dompierre (known as 'Pierre' - thank heaven) who keeps a piano in his small room and was conveniently playing the chaconne from the Bach violin concerto meant for the left hand (a clue that goes nowhere as so many do in this story) at the time of the murder.

And before his death, Major Hugh de Courcy Arkwright, suave Englishman, blackmailer and murder victim.

Jane writes : 'Apart from the above six people, there was a sprinkling of Swiss, Belgians and Scandinavians whom I never really got straight. I felt that six were enough to go ahead with, especially if I added - as Dagobert insisted - the personnel of the Brooklyn Bar and the Santa Rican Consulate...'

That would be Joe Orsini formerly of Buffalo, New York, Suzette (Don Diego's favorite sultry pick-up), Don Diego himself, Juan Moro (Don Diego's sullen driver) and later Henry Makepeace, Iris's not very sanguine hubby, who shows up out of the blue, moves in and apparently has no qualms about Iris and Pierre's entanglement. He claims he and Iris have an 'open' marriage. Right.

So, plenty of suspects, plenty of red herrings, plenty of motives to be discovered and plenty of supposed clues to be inspected and tossed aside. Dagobert and Jane aren't so much actual hands-on detectives as observers of human nature and proponents of 'what if?'.

Some of what happens is told rather than shown - supposedly a writing no-no - but here it works just fine.

This is a mystery in which the killer's identity doesn't matter as much as the fun we're having.

Read about author Delano Ames, his life and work here.

This week, B.V. Lawson is collecting the Friday Forgotten Book links over at her blog, In Reference to Murder, while Patti is away. Don't forget to check in.

Friday's Forgotten (or Overlooked) Books: ALPHABET HICKS (1941) by Rex Stout

This is my first encounter with a non-Nero Wolfe book by Rex Stout. I was a little leery at first - would I miss Wolfe and Archie too much to concentrate on this other detecting hero with admittedly, a very catchy moniker?

(Those of you who didn't know that Stout wrote other stuff besides the Wolfe and Archie books, yeah he did. See, Rex Stout was a genius - he could do just about anything and did.)

I've read every Nero Wolfe book and re-read my favorites all the time. A habit I can't seem to break. It's all about the jaunty (and often very funny) chatter between Archie and just about everyone else in the world. It's the whodunit plots, the coziness of the brownstone, the inventive character names, the thousand orchids up on the roof, the welcome aura of a world long gone and the general all purpose misogyny of Nero Wolfe, the genius detective whom I adore.

Wolfe and Archie were born (created) to be together for all time and even now I think of them living in that brownstone on Manhattan's West Side, continuing to solve murders and whatnot - suspended in time. An idea that always makes me smile.

But the answer to the original question - would I miss them too much to read anything else by Rex Stout? The answer is: Nope, didn't miss them at all.

But before you shout, 'Fickle, fickle!' Let me just say in my defense that I can't help it if Stout was that terrific a writer. I was not even surprised by how much I enjoyed ALPHABET HICKS. Even if I did figure out early on who the killer was.

Alphabet Hicks is a disbarred lawyer kicked from the ranks of the law for telling the truth and damning the consequences. He now drives a taxi cab and solves crimes - sounds like a good plan to me. He's a big guy with a gruff appearance whom everyone refers to as 'Hicks' - well, you could hardly call him 'Alphabet'.

The reason for Hicks' unorthodox moniker is his tricky business card. The card simply states his name followed by a group of non-sensical letters the meaning of which is left up to Hicks to interpret (differently each time) when asked what the letters stand for.

'Vail took a step, "Who are you?"

The other took a wallet from his pocket, fished out a card, and offered it. Vail took it and looked at it: A. Hicks, M.S.O.T.P.B.O.M.

He looked up, unsmiling. "This-this hash?"

The other gestured it away. "Unimportant. One of my titles. Melancholy Spectator of the Psychic Belly-ache of Mankind. The name is Hicks."

Hicks is a philosopher. Odd for a lawyer, but maybe not for a disbarred one.

The Plot:

Hicks in his role as taxi driver is recognized by a fare, Mrs. Judith Dundee. She impulsively hires him on the spot to figure out what is wrong with her husband. He's been acting completely unlike himself lately - accusing her of selling company secrets to the enemy and claiming he has incontrovertible proof. She denies the accusation and Hicks sort of believes her. Need I add that she is a very attractive woman?

The so-called 'proof' soon disappears and the accusation is left hanging while Mr. Dundee foams at the mouth. Well, not really, but just about. To Dundee's chagrin, Hicks continues working for Mrs. Dundee. Hicks is halfway convinced there is some sort of plot against her.

He soon discovers that the 'proof' is in the form of a record or recording disc, a contraption used at the Dundee lab for dictation, among other things.

The lab is out in the Long Island countryside and the copy of the Dell book I have has a handy-dandy map on the back cover showing 'the scene of the murders'. And murders there are, almost as soon as Hicks arrives on the scene, having tailed a woman all the way from the city to the lab.

There are several suspects lurking about as the first murder happens right under their collective noses. The killing - by blunt instrument - of Martha Cooper, the young woman whom Hicks had been tailing. She'd been in Europe with her hubby and just arrived back. While visiting her sister, Heather Gladd, a spunky gal who works as a private secretary at the lab, Cooper is struck down by a foul villain.

A motiveless crime at first glance. Unless you count the fact that Cooper's speaking voice sounded exactly like Judith Dundee's voice, enough to fool even Ross Dundee, the son, who also works at the lab.

More murder follows as Hicks digs deeper into the connection between Dundee's accusations against his wife and the dead bodies down at the lab.

As I said, I figured out the killer early on (I've read A LOT of mysteries over the years) but I still very much enjoyed hanging out with the quirky, acerbic Hicks and two other members of the cast: a couple of young, mixed-up, would-be lovers caught up in the sordid plot, bickering all the way. Fun.

Thanks go out to my blogging buddy John, over at Pretty Sinister Books (my favorite blog title ever) for his initial review of ALPHABET HICKS - it piqued my interest Big Time. I also thank John for making the book available to me especially when I'd searched high and low and couldn't find a copy at a reasonable price.

I'm not sure if there are any more Alphabet Hicks books - I don't think so - but I would be happy to find out I'm wrong.

Don't forget to check in at Patti Abbott's blog, Pattinase, to see what other Forgotten (or Overlooked) books other bloggers are posting about today.