Death of Mr Dodsley (1937) by John Ferguson

Today I am reviewing the latest bibliomystery in the British Library Crime Classics series. John Ferguson is an author who has been on the edge of my crime fiction radar since I read a collection of reviews by Dorothy L. Sayers. Two of these reviews were for Ferguson’s Night in Glengyle (1933) and The Grouse Moor Mystery (1934). The latter was a detective novel, the former a thriller – yet interestingly it seems Sayers thought the thriller was the better of the two. Death of Mr Dodsley is also within the detective fiction camp featuring both a police officer and a private enquiry agent investigation, as well as a floor plan of the bookshop the murder occurs at. Despite having read Sayers’ reviews I knew little to nothing about Ferguson himself, so Martin Edwards’ introduction proved very useful. Like Ronald Knox and Victor L. Whitechurch, he was another mystery author who juggled his writing with an ecclesiastical career. Ferguson was an episcopalian minister and also began his writing career during his 40s, although he was a playwright first. It was not until 1918 that his first thriller appeared, Stealthy Terror.

Synopsis

‘Mr Richard Dodsley, owner of a fine second-hand bookshop on Charing Cross Road, has been found murdered in the cold hours of the morning. Shot in his own office, few clues remain besides three cigarette ends, two spent matches and a few books on the shelves which have been rearranged. In an investigation spanning the second-hand bookshops of London and the Houses of Parliament (since an MP [daughter’s] new crime novel Death at the Desk appears to have some bearing on the case), Ferguson’s series sleuth MacNab is at hand to assist Scotland Yard in an atmospheric and ingenious fair-play bibliomystery.’

Overall Thoughts

Ferguson opens his mystery with the less commonly used setting of the Houses of Parliament, and it is through the eyes of Commander Male that we see what an all-night sitting is like, as well as get our initial glimpse of David Grafton (a prominent MP, whose daughter is going to end up in the middle of a murder investigation). I felt this was a strong opening as firstly I enjoyed reading how Commander Male compares his life in the Royal Navy, with his new career in politics. Secondly, I also liked the section where a friend of Commander Male reveals the damning review of the mystery novel Grafton’s daughter, Margery, wrote. I think Ferguson did a good job of mimicking the prose style of the witty reviews you might expect from the likes of Dorothy L. Sayers:

‘Death at the Desk by M. G. Grafton. Of Miss Grafton’s book it may be said with truth that it contains many points in detection which are both new and good. But, unfortunately, we must add that what in it is good is not new, and what in it is new is not good.’

Margery Grafton’s detective story is also criticised for how it’s blackmailing murder victim foolishly meets his prey alone and for how the blackmailed killer fails to conceal their guilt. The review concludes that: ‘Indeed, the detective would need to be as blind as a bat and as brainless as the goose he is after to take more than a day for such a job.’ On a tangential note, I was curious to see if there was any classic crime novel with a title such as the one Ferguson makes up. Whilst I could not find one with that exact wording, I did come across Carolyn Well’s The Roll-Top Desk Mystery (1932).

After this opening gambit, the narrative switches to a constable on his beat and you just know he is the one who is going to find the body in the bookshop. Yet I felt the lead up to this moment was made more interesting due to the author inserting the character of a drunk man. It is this man’s incoherent conversation which puts the constable on the track of the corpse, although there is a degree of gentle humour through the miscommunication the man’s intoxicated state causes.

It is Inspector Mallet and Detective Sergeant Crabb who are put on to the murder case and I liked how these two represented the perceived differences between “Old school” police and the “New” Hendon type of police officer. Unlike his younger colleague, Inspector Mallet leans into his disarming physical appearance and even though Crabb is usually itching to ask suspects direct questions, Mallet prefers to circle around them. The narrative touches upon this questioning technique:

‘Percy Mallet favoured the side-way approach to his quarry. Possibly Mallet had developed his method as a consequence of the effect produced by his personal appearance. Looking so much like a rosy-faced farmer from one of the remoter Western counties, he knew how to play the part of a simpleton, and it had served him well in handling many a self-confident London rogue. For, although this indirectness, which beguiled his man into thinking him far away from the vital point, induced amusement at first, it usually produced exasperation in the end. And it was Mallet’s experience that one for much less useful or reliable truth out of wine than out of this same exasperation.’

The deceptive nature of Mallet’s appearance is borne out in the way many of the suspects and witnesses regard him, such as Mr Carter who it is said ‘was now in no real awe. Mallet looked more like a stout, slow-witted farmer than a detective, and a middle-aged farmer at that.’ Conversely it is Detective Sergeant Crabb who is assumed to be the more “professional” one:

‘But this other man was as young as himself; and apart from that, there was something unsettling in knowing that behind one’s back there was a motionless watcher, who listened to everything and never himself uttered a single syllable. Mr Carter, searching later on for a word to describe his experiences to Miss Preedy, told her he could it nothing but creepy.’

In addition, a further difference between Inspector Mallet and Detective Sergeant Crabb is revealed quite early into the investigation as the latter is shocked at the idea of a police officer consulting a private enquiry agent (although in this case the agent had been contacted by the murder victim). Mallet is unimpressed with this surprised reaction:

‘As for consulting this man, the notion of which made you jump, what else are we doing with the charwoman and the assistants and the nephew?’

‘But they don’t pretend to be detectives,’ Crabb protested.

Inspector Mallet stiffened up.

[…]

‘But as I haven’t your nice and delicate feelings about the source from which I may get the answer, I don’t care whether this man is a private detective or a public lavatory attendant.’

That told you Detective Sergeant Crabb! Nevertheless, I think at certain stages in the investigation, Mallet probably regrets having called MacNab, the private enquiry agent, in.

Like Inspector Mallet, MacNab’s appearance is at odd with other people’s expectations: ‘The man, he considered, looked more like a doctor than a detective; but he was younger, much younger, than Mallet had somehow led him to expect.’ MacNab is connected to the case as he had recently been employed to help uncover the person responsible for stealing rare and expensive books from Richard Dodsley’s bookshop. Dodsley terminated MacNab’s involvement in the case before he had discovered the thief. Did Dodsley have suspicions as to who the culprit might be? I felt this prior series of crimes added an interesting dimension to the current day murder case.

True to crime fiction traditions the relationship between MacNab and the police has its ups and downs. For example, Mallet and Crabb get annoyed when MacNab is cryptic about searching the bookshop floor, hoping to not find anything:

‘Crabb half turned away, his disdain reviving. This was the sort of thing one would expect from a private detective – words that looked more astute but really meant nothing […] A little rift of irritation seemed about to develop. Mallet’s professional dignity had no doubt been wounded on seeing the other man go down to look over a floor he himself had already examined […]’

Things improve for a time, as Mallet concedes that MacNab saw things they missed. However, the pair never work together, with their investigations operating independently, even if their paths cross. After their first meeting, MacNab disappears off the page until the final third and his returns sees a resumption of the irritation between him and the police.

Reflecting on the book as a whole, I would say some of the best characterisation comes at the start of the book, as there are some key players in the case that we do not get close to, and I think this affects how we respond to the mystery. However, there are some golden nuggets interspersed later in the narrative. For example, this is a description of bookshop employee Mr Carter:

‘Mallet somehow could not see Mr Carter as a frequenter of night clubs, except, perhaps, such early closing ones as were associated with Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Societies connected with some chapel in the remoter suburbs.’

Ouch! Although I think the best insult comes from Miss Jenks, concerning a bookshop rival:

‘She’s not fit to be there,’ she declared. ‘She’s not suited.’

Remembering Miss Preedy’s taste in bright clothes as well as her blonde hair and highly coloured cheeks and lips, MacNab agreed.

‘Well she does look rather new, doesn’t she?’ he said.

Miss Jenks sniffed.

‘New?’ she said. ‘Yes, perhaps, but only as a remainder is.’

Double ouch?

The middle of the book focuses upon the police sleuthing efforts and one of the ideas which crops up at this point is the notion that the real-life murder case mirrors certain details found in the detective story Margery Grafton had recently published. These similarities even go as far as the dustjacket artwork:

‘After Miss Jenks left, Mallet stared for quite a time at the scene depicted on the jacket of Death at the Desk. In its essential details it corresponds so closely to what he himself had seen in the early hours of the morning. It was not, of course, remarkable that there should be a similarity in the room’s furnishings and fittings, since desks and office chairs are all more or less of a pattern. But that there should be a resemblance, not only in the pose of the body on the floor and the position of the wound in the head, but also in the facial appearance of the dead bookseller to the imaginary bookmaker, did touch Mallet’s imagination.’

Nevertheless, I am not sure Ferguson exploits this part of the plot as fully as he could have done. I think something like Lange Lewis’ The Birthday Murder (1945) utilises this trope more effectively and engagingly.

Having touched upon certain elements of the plot, I thought it might be interesting to return to the very start of the book, specifically its dedication. Unusually, the dedication takes the form of a letter, which Ferguson has written to a friend called Charles Winterbourne. He writes to Charles as follows:

‘Dear Charles, – You may recall the night on which you talked to us on detective fiction. Among other things you said you had no taste for a problem set in artificial conditions such as never could arise in real life. What you wanted was a problem and its solution, without any fancy frills and cheap thrills. It is because this is an attempt to fulfil the conditions then laid down that I place your name in this book.’

In the way that some mystery novelists use a preface or foreword to inform their readers of the approach they have taken with their story (see the opening of Anthony Berkeley’s The Second Shot (1930)), Ferguson similarly seems to set up the aims of his detective novel. And when I first read it the question which immediately sprung to mind was: Will Ferguson live up to those aims? This question was soon followed by another: And is living up to those aims a good thing? Looking back on the novel, I think Ferguson might have written part of the letter, tongue in cheek, as classic crime fiction can have quite a close relationship with artifice. Nevertheless, I feel this story does meet the criteria of not having ‘fancy frills and cheap thrills.’ There are not many dramatic chapter ending revelations and Ferguson provides plenty of page space for activities befitting a thorough police investigation. New leads are followed diligently, and Inspector Mallet is keen to support any theories he has with facts. MacNab acts similarly, though he comes to rather different conclusions.

Overall, I think Death of Mr Dodsley is probably a bit overlong and as such loses some momentum over the course of the book. MacNab’s role in the tale might have been more enticing if he kept his cards less close to his chest, as the final solution which he delivers relies on information which the reader lacks, though arguably one part of it could be inferred or guessed at. However, I do have one query about the solution, but I am unsure if it is a loose end or whether I just missed something. The Houses of Parliament setting was a good one, but it is a shame that it is not better grafted into the plot as a whole. I wonder if part of the page space given over to the detecting, could have been used to create some further scenes in the initial political setting.

Rating: 3.75/5

Source: Review Copy (British Library)