1968 classic English detective fiction; nineteenth and last of
Allingham's novels of Albert Campion, finished after her death by her
husband. A hamlet on the Essex marshes is keeping secrets, and
apparently some of them are worth murdering for.
In some ways this calls back to the early Campions, in which he's
off-stage for much of the time and doesn't tell the supposed
protagonist what's actually going on. Mortimer Kelsey, an American
historian, has the primary viewpoint, and is one of the designated
Young Lovers. (Though one starts to feel that even Allingham was
getting bored with them – though perhaps not as bored as Ngaio Marsh
must have been – as there's at least some slight doubt as to the
course of the romance.)
Morty, sliding a glance at her, realized not without surprise that
she was a grown woman, competent, finely tempered and not quite the
beleaguered sylph he had been picturing in his daydreams. The
thought depressed him and he drove in silence for a twisting mile.
Because this is a modern world; yes, it may have mods and rockers, and
a sense that all the heroes and even the villains have got old and
tired, but it also has an unreasonably beautiful lady doctor in it,
and maybe the existence of unreasonably beautiful lady doctors is
worth everything else. She's inherited a house in Saltey, and has been
getting threatening letters suggesting she sell up; then the lawyer
who's been helping sort out the inheritance is shot. And there's a
motorcycle gang coming around and causing trouble, and a released
convict whom the police have lost track of who might have left a
treasure somewhere in the area…
Philip Youngman Carter, Allingham's husband, is known to have finished
this book after her death, though just how much is his work is not
public information; it's not clear just what's late Allingham going a
bit off her game and what's Carter, but the start is very slow going
with no particular reason to care about any of the characters. Some of
them do develop more interest later, but this really isn't much of a
detective story; Campion knows what the treasure is, and about the
relationships between some of the principals, but doesn't bother to
tell anyone else, so the reader is mostly along for the ride as a
series of disturbing and threatening incidents happen but don't seem
to make any sense.
Someone didn't know their colours: "a silk scarf of such virulent
puce that it glowed as if radioactive" is surely meant to be some kind
of pink or mauve, not the dull brown that puce actually is. (Well, I
suppose they might have been thinking of the 1930s American dull-pink
version.)
It's all right, but doubtless not the book by which Allingham would
have wished to be remembered. Carter wrote two more Campion novels
(Mr Campion's Farthing and Mr Campion's Falcon); I haven't been
able to lay hands on them easily, as they seem distinctly less popular
than the books by Allingham herself. He in turn died leaving notes for
Mr Campion's Farewell, which was written in 2014 by Mike Ripley,
who's gone on to write three further Campion books; I have no
particular interest in these. There are also various collections of
short stories, some quite hard to find. But as far as my reading of
the Classics of Crime is concerned, Campion is complete.
He's an interesting protagonist, starting from unpromising origins but
immediately usurping Allingham's intended series-hero. He vacillates
between being a government agent and getting into scrapes on his own
account. Later books rather drift away from puzzle-mystery and into
thriller, and the obligatory romantic connection is never used as well
as it might be (though The Beckoning Lady makes up for most of
what's missing in the others). For my money, The Fashion in Shrouds
is probably the best of the detective stories, but The Tiger in the
Smoke is well worth a look for something a bit more thrillery.
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