Miraculous Mysteries Read online

  Miraculous Mysteries

  Locked Room Mysteries

  and Impossible Crimes

  Edited by Martin Edwards

  Poisoned Pen Press

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2017

  Introduction and notes copyright © 2017 Martin Edwards

  Published by Poisoned Pen Press in association with the British Library

  First E-book Edition 2017

  ISBN: 9781464207457 ebook

  ‘The Villa Marie Celeste’ from The Allingham Casebook reprinted by permission of Rights Limited on behalf of the Estate of Margery Allingham. ‘Too Clever By Half’ reprinted by permission of David Higham Associates. ‘Beware of the Trains’ reprinted by permission of Peters Fraser & Dunlop (www.petersfraserdunlop.com) on behalf of the Estate of Edmund Crispin. ‘The Sands of Thyme’ from Appleby Talking by Michael Innes reprinted by permission of Peters Fraser & Dunlop (www.petersfraserdunlop.com) on behalf of the Estate of Michael Innes. ‘The Case of the Tragedies in the Greek Room’ reprinted by permission of the Society of Authors and the Authors’ League of America as the Sax Rohmer Estate. ‘The Haunted Policeman’ from Striding Folly by Dorothy L. Sayers (Hodder & Stoughton) reprinted by permission of David Higham Associates; in the US: copyright © 1972 by Harper & Row, Publishers, Inc. Renewed © 2000 by HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.

  The historical characters and events portrayed in this book are inventions of the author or used fictitiously.

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  Contents

  Miraculous Mysteries

  Copyright

  Contents

  Introduction

  The Lost Special

  The Thing Invisible

  The Case of the Tragedies in the Greek Room

  The Aluminium Dagger

  The Miracle of Moon Crescent

  The Invisible Weapon

  The Diary of Death

  The Broadcast Murder

  The Music-Room

  Death at 8.30

  Too Clever By Half

  Locked In

  The Haunted Policeman

  The Sands of Thyme

  Beware of the Trains

  The Villa Marie Celeste

  More from this Author

  Contact Us

  Introduction

  We all love a mystery, and a seemingly impossible crime presents the most mysterious of all scenarios for puzzle-lovers. The ‘locked-room mystery’ is the most celebrated form of impossible crime story, and it’s a sign of the importance of this branch of the genre that the tale regarded by common consent as the first detective story involved a macabre killing inside a locked room. This was ‘The Murders in the Rue Morgue’ by Edgar Allan Poe, which introduced C. Auguste Dupin, a brilliant amateur detective who provided, in some respects, a model for the most famous sleuth of all, Sherlock Holmes.

  Intriguingly, Poe’s story was not even the first story to explore the strange implications of a locked-room scenario. Sheridan Le Fanu’s eerie ‘A Passage in the Secret History of an Irish Countess’ anticipated Poe’s masterpiece by three years, while E.T.A. Hoffman’s novella ‘Mademoiselle de Scuderi’ had appeared as early as 1818. One can therefore claim that impossible crime stories have been a feature of the literary landscape for the past two centuries.

  Locked-room mysteries cropped up sporadically throughout the nineteenth century, and Israel Zangwill, a prominent Zionist thinker, was responsible for a famous example of the form, The Big Bow Mystery (1892), sometimes known as The Perfect Crime. In the early twentieth century, Gaston Leroux’s The Mystery of the Yellow Room (1907), featuring a journalist detective called Joseph Rouletabille, was widely admired, not least by Agatha Christie and the American John Dickson Carr.

  Intricate locked-room puzzles were particularly well-suited to the cerebral type of detective story that became so popular during the Golden Age of Murder between the two world wars. Christie wrote impossible crime stories infrequently, but Carr became the supreme exponent of this type of crime writing in the 1930s, under his own name and as Carter Dickson. He created no fewer than four memorable detectives with a penchant for solving locked-room mysteries: Henri Bencolin, Dr. Gideon Fell, Sir Henry Melville, and Colonel March. For more than thirty years, Carr rang seemingly endless changes on the basic theme of the crime that was mysterious because it seemed it could not actually have happened.

  After the Second World War, literary tastes changed, and as psychological crime fiction came into prominence, the clever stories of Carr and his disciples came to seem rather old-fashioned. But locked-room mysteries continued to be written, and to be enjoyed by readers, and the latter part of the twentieth century saw a resurgence of interest in the form, which continues to this day. The success of TV shows such as Jonathan Creek, Monk, and Death in Paradise, among others, derives from well-written screenplays which often include plots involving crimes as impossible as any solved by Dupin, Rouletabille or Carr’s heroes. Novelists in Britain, the U.S., France, and Japan have carried on the tradition, and even the godparents of Scandi-noir, Maj Sjowall and Per Wahloo, were responsible for an enjoyable example of the form, simply entitled The Locked Room (1972).

  In 1981, the Mystery Writers of America conducted an informal poll of experts which produced a ‘top ten’ of the best locked-room crime novels:

  The Hollow Man (aka The Three Coffins) by John Dickson Carr

  Rim of the Pit by Hake Talbot

  The Mystery of the Yellow Room by Gaston Leroux

  The Crooked Hinge by John Dickson Carr

  The Judas Window by Carter Dickson

  The Big Bow Mystery by Israel Zangwill

  Death from a Top Hat by Clayton Rawson

  The Chinese Orange Mystery by Ellery Queen

  Nine Times Nine by H.H. Holmes

  The Ten Teacups (aka The Peacock Feather Murders) by Carter Dickson

  Such lists always provide plenty of scope for debate and disagreement, but it is safe to say that any locked-room mystery fan who has yet to read the books in that list has many treats in store. Of the novelists featured in the list, only Zangwill was British (though Carr was more Anglophile than some Englishmen). Ever since the days of Wilkie Collins, however, British authors have enjoyed writing impossible crime stories. This anthology celebrates their work.

  Miraculous Mysteries brings together impossible crime stories written by such luminaries as Arthur Conan Doyle, G.K. Chesterton, Dorothy L. Sayers, and Margery Allingham, together with several long-hidden gems. The names of Nicholas Olde and Grenville Robbins will be unfamiliar to almost all readers, while the stories by Marten Cumberland and Christopher St. John Sprigg are also highly obscure. Taken together, I believe the stories—which are presented in broadly chronological order—demonstrate the range and accomplishment of the classic British impossible crime story over a period of about half a century.

  When researching previous anthologies in the British Library Crime Classics, I have drawn on the knowledge and advice of a wide range of friends and fellow enthusiasts in making my selections. With this book, however, I
am primarily in debt to just one man. His name was Robert Adey, and he was universally regarded as the world’s leading authority on locked-room mysteries up to the time of his death in January 2015. Bob—who took part in the MWA poll mentioned above—was the author of a definitive book, Locked Room Murders, which contained information about more than two thousand impossible crime novels and short stories in the English language. For good measure, it includes an analysis of twenty different ways ‘in which that locked room can be breached’.

  I have found Locked Room Murders an invaluable (and highly entertaining) resource. It is a pleasure to dedicate this anthology to the memory of its author, a man who took delight in stories of miraculous murder and who was, in the final months of his life, gratified by the success of the British Library Crime Classics in reviving the popularity of the Golden Age fiction that he loved.

  Martin Edwards

  www.martinedwardsbooks.com

  The Lost Special

  Arthur Conan Doyle

  Arthur Conan Doyle (1859–1930) is forever associated with his greatest creation, Sherlock Holmes, and rightly so, but much of his other work—and there was a lot of it—is given scant attention. This is a shame, because Conan Doyle was a versatile and gifted writer, whose imagination was fired by the macabre. Several of his tales of horror are outstanding, and he was also drawn to the concept of the seemingly impossible crime. Puzzles of this kind feature in four of his short stories, including two of Holmes’ cases, ‘The Speckled Band’ (truly a classic of the genre) and ‘Thor Bridge’. ‘J. Habakuk Jephson’s Statement’ is a retelling of that eternally tantalising mystery, the story of the Marie Celeste.

  The fourth impossible crime story, ‘The Lost Special’, first appeared in the Strand magazine in 1898. The date is significant, because at that time, Conan Doyle had yet to bring Holmes back from the dead after seeming to kill him off at the Reichenbach Falls. Even so, Holmes’ shadow looms over the unfolding events of the narrative in a fascinating way.

  ***

  The confession of Herbert de Lernac, now lying under sentence of death at Marseilles, has thrown a light upon one of the most inexplicable crimes of the century—an incident which is, I believe, absolutely unprecedented in the criminal annals of any country. Although there is a reluctance to discuss the matter in official circles, and little information has been given to the Press, there are still indications that the statement of this arch-criminal is corroborated by the facts, and that we have at last found a solution for a most astounding business. As the matter is eight years old, and as its importance was somewhat obscured by a political crisis which was engaging the public attention at the time, it may be as well to state the facts as far as we have been able to ascertain them. They are collated from the Liverpool papers of that date, from the proceedings at the inquest upon John Slater, the engine-driver, and from the records of the London and West Coast Railway Company, which have been courteously put at my disposal. Briefly, they are as follows.

  On the 3rd of June, 1890, a gentleman, who gave his name as Monsieur Louis Caratal, desired an interview with Mr. James Bland, the superintendent of the London and West Coast Central Station in Liverpool. He was a small man, middle-aged and dark, with a stoop which was so marked that it suggested some deformity of the spine. He was accompanied by a friend, a man of imposing physique, whose deferential manner and constant attention showed that his position was one of dependence. This friend or companion, whose name did not transpire, was certainly a foreigner, and probably, from his swarthy complexion, either a Spaniard or a South American. One peculiarity was observed in him. He carried in his left hand a small black leather dispatch-box, and it was noticed by a sharp-eyed clerk in the Central office that this box was fastened to his wrist by a strap. No importance was attached to the fact at the time, but subsequent events endowed it with some significance. Monsieur Caratal was shown up to Mr. Bland’s office, while his companion remained outside.

  Monsieur Caratal’s business was quickly dispatched. He had arrived that afternoon from Central America. Affairs of the utmost importance demanded that he should be in Paris without the loss of an unnecessary hour. He had missed the London express. A special must be provided. Money was of no importance. Time was everything. If the company would speed him on his way, they might make their own terms.

  Mr. Bland struck the electric bell, summoned Mr. Potter Hood, the traffic manager, and had the matter arranged in five minutes. The train would start in three-quarters of an hour. It would take that time to insure that the line should be clear. The powerful engine called Rochdale (No. 247 on the company’s register) was attached to two carriages, with a guard’s van behind. The first carriage was solely for the purpose of decreasing the inconvenience arising from the oscillation. The second was divided, as usual, into four compartments, a first-class, a first-class smoking, a second-class, and a second-class smoking. The first compartment, which was nearest to the engine, was the one allotted to the travellers. The other three were empty. The guard of the special train was James McPherson, who had been some years in the service of the company. The stoker, William Smith, was a new hand.

  Monsieur Caratal, upon leaving the superintendent’s office, rejoined his companion, and both of them manifested extreme impatience to be off. Having paid the money asked, which amounted to fifty pounds five shillings, at the usual special rate of five shillings a mile, they demanded to be shown the carriage, and at once took their seats in it, although they were assured that the better part of an hour must elapse before the line could be cleared. In the meantime a singular coincidence had occurred in the office which Monsieur Caratal had just quitted.

  A request for a special is not a very uncommon circumstance in a rich commercial centre, but that two should be required upon the same afternoon was most unusual. It so happened, however, that Mr. Bland had hardly dismissed the first traveller before a second entered with a similar request. This was a Mr. Horace Moore, a gentlemanly man of military appearance, who alleged that the sudden serious illness of his wife in London made it absolutely imperative that he should not lose an instant in starting upon the journey. His distress and anxiety were so evident that Mr. Bland did all that was possible to meet his wishes. A second special was out of the question, as the ordinary local service was already somewhat deranged by the first. There was the alternative, however, that Mr. Moore should share the expense of Monsieur Caratal’s train, and should travel in the other empty first-class compartment, if Monsieur Caratal objected to having him in the one which he occupied. It was difficult to see any objection to such an arrangement, and yet Monsieur Caratal, upon the suggestion being made to him by Mr. Potter Hood, absolutely refused to consider it for an instant. The train was his, he said, and he would insist upon the exclusive use of it. All argument failed to overcome his ungracious objections, and finally the plan had to be abandoned. Mr. Horace Moore left the station in great distress, after learning that his only course was to take the ordinary slow train which leaves Liverpool at six o’clock. At four thirty-one exactly by the station clock the special train, containing the crippled Monsieur Caratal and his gigantic companion, steamed out of the Liverpool station. The line was at that time clear, and there should have been no stoppage before Manchester.

  The trains of the London and West Coast Railway run over the lines of another company as far as this town, which should have been reached by the special rather before six o’clock. At a quarter after six considerable surprise and some consternation were caused amongst the officials at Liverpool by the receipt of a telegram from Manchester to say that it had not yet arrived. An inquiry directed to St. Helens, which is a third of the way between the two cities, elicited the following reply:—

  ‘To James Bland, Superintendent, Central L. & W. C., Liverpool.—Special passed here at 4.52, well up to time.—Dowser, St. Helens.’

  This telegram was received at 6.40. At 6.50 a second message was received from Manch
ester:—

  ‘No sign of special as advised by you.’

  And then ten minutes later a third, more bewildering:—

  ‘Presume some mistake as to proposed running of special. Local train from St. Helens timed to follow it has just arrived and has seen nothing of it. Kindly wire advices.—Manchester.’

  The matter was assuming a most amazing aspect, although in some respects the last telegram was a relief to the authorities at Liverpool. If an accident had occurred to the special, it seemed hardly possible that the local train could have passed down the same line without observing it. And yet, what was the alternative? Where could the train be? Had it possibly been side-tracked for some reason in order to allow the slower train to go past? Such an explanation was possible if some small repair had to be effected. A telegram was dispatched to each of the stations between St. Helens and Manchester, and the superintendent and traffic manager waited in the utmost suspense at the instrument for the series of replies which would enable them to say for certain what had become of the missing train. The answers came back in the order of questions, which was the order of the stations beginning at the St. Helens end:—

  ‘Special passed here five o’clock.—Collins Green.’

  ‘Special passed here six past five.—Earlestown.’

  ‘Special passed here 5.10.—Newton.’

  ‘Special passed here 5.20.—Kenyon Junction.’

  ‘No special train has passed here.—Barton Moss.’

  The two officials stared at each other in amazement.

  ‘This is unique in my thirty years of experience,’ said Mr. Bland.

  ‘Absolutely unprecedented and inexplicable, sir. The special has gone wrong between Kenyon Junction and Barton Moss.’

  ‘And yet there is no siding, so far as my memory serves me, between the two stations. The special must have run off the metals.’

  ‘But how could the four-fifty parliamentary pass over the same line without observing it?’