“Even a bachelor of science is not so scientific as to tell the truth when same leads to intensive hanging by the neck.”
A similar thing can be said about someone who writes little reviews on books as a hobby with regard to telling too many details about the plot when the same leads to intensive not hanging, but haranguing, and rightly so, mind you, as a spiller of beans.
Suffice it to say, therefore, that Wallace’s novel The Sinister Man from 1924 is a rather fast-paced and twist-spiked yarn centring on an orphaned young woman, Elsa Marlowe, who is working for the eponymous Sinister Man, Major Amery, an ungracious, arrogant man, whom she soon has reason to suspect of being the London head of a Japanese drug trafficking ring. Matters are further complicated when the reader, and eventually Elsa herself, finds out that her adoptive uncle Maurice Tarn and her trusted friend Dr Hallam are also up to their necks in the drug trade, but working for a different organization trying to push Amery’s gang out of the London market. Even though we readers often have a lot more information than Elsa, we will still be in for a lot of surprises, especially when the body count rises towards the ending of the novel, because Wallace has more than just one trump up his sleeve – some of these trumps, and this can be seen as a blemish of the book, not having been in the game from the start but being introduced at the writer’s own discretion.
I confess to being a sucker for Edgar Wallace novels because there is hardly anything you can read so well for pure enjoyment when, at the end of a day, your mind is tending towards sleep but you still have some half hour in which you know it’ll want to be occupied, but, be that as it may, I read The Sinister Man with a little less enjoyment than usual, despite the quick pace and the bucketful of surprises because in this novel, the heroine is not as spirited and resourceful as in many others of his books. Instead, Elsa finds herself drawn to Amery, who treats her rather gruffly and condescendingly, and even starts romanticizing about him. There are also times, rarely for sure, when the narrator drifts into pathos himself. Another thing that is sorely missing from this novel is Wallace’s sense of humour, which often condenses into fine epigrammatical quotations – there is a little of it here, but not much to speak of.
Still, if you want a suspense-driven novel that wards off sleep for some time in the evenings, you will get it with The Sinister Man.