1926 mystery, second of Sayers' books about Lord Peter Wimsey.
Wimsey's brother, the Duke of Denver, is accused of murdering his
prospective brother-in-law. Why won't he say what he was doing in the
conservatory at three in the morning?
The answer is entirely in keeping with his character as the book
has gone to some trouble to establish it – and that's true of all the
answers here. Although there is an unfortunate amount of coincidence,
everyone turns out to have acted in a way that's true to their
natures.
There are plenty of complications, some deliberate, some not, and I
won't go into details; some of the joy of this book is in discovering
them. (It's about ten years since I last read this, and I'd forgotten
several of them.) There's a memorable action sequence during a
trans-Atlantic flight (yes, in 1926). But there are also lies and
deceptions and unreliable witnesses all over the place.
"I fancy I did hear somebody moving about," said Mary, "but I didn't
think much about it."
"Quite right," said Peter, "when I hear people movin' about the
house at night, I'm much too delicate-minded to think anything at
all."
"Of course," interposed the Duchess, "particularly in England, where
it is so oddly improper to think."
There's a lot of the Wimsey family here, and one gains a greater
appreciation of the sort of atmosphere in which Peter grew up, and how
he became himself. (The essay as by his uncle, explaining Peter's
story in detail, appears in many editions, but should probably be
skipped by the series reader; chronologically it comes some time after
Strong Poison. It's more enjoyable to put things together from the
primary text.)
This book could also serve as an example of how to write significant
female characters: there are several of them here, of varying degrees
of importance, and they each manage to be defined by their own
personalities, rather than just being "the woman". Some of them are
sensible; some are silly; all are real. Many books written since have
done a worse job.
Truly enough the '47 port was a dead thing; the merest ghost of its
old flame and flavour hung about it. Lord Peter held his glass
poised a moment.
"It is like the taste of a passion that has passed its noon and
turned to weariness," he said, with sudden gravity. "The only thing
to do is to recognise bravely that it is dead, and put it away."
There is always a sense of fun here, as often with Sayers; and as
always, some of it has a biting edge. Followed by Unnatural Death.
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