Sir Clinton Driffield, hardened solver of many a knotty problem, was playing chess with his old friend, Wendover, when their game was interrupted by the news that a dead man had been found in a lane near by. When it turned out to be the body of a hack journalist, with a reputation for always being hard-up and for writing a particularly revealing type of biography, and a hundred pounds in notes was found near the body, blackmail was naturally suggested, and the tracing of the money back to an unpopular local land-owner, whose family had many a skeleton in the cupboard, pointed strongly to murder. But death struck again, and Sir Clinton did not clear up the tragic affair as quickly as he had hoped.
I found that this book had very little credibility. A chief constable directly involved in an investigation while towing along an extremely snobbish amateur sidekick would just never happen. Sir Clinton Driffield is not a bad character in himself but Squire Wendover is utterly appalling. He almost refuses to believe that any of his upper crust neighbours could do anything wrong and is full of sympathy for them when they do whereas the servant classes get no consideration whatsoever. Makes one wonder about the author.
A murder in a country lane provides a headache for the police not least because at first they can't work out how he was killed. He is found beside a very high fence which blocks off a view over the countryside erected by the local landowner out of spite. Then there's a poacher rather too conveniently on the spot When two further bodies are discovered the mystery deepens and Sir Clinton Driffield becomes involved.
This is a fascinating mystery with this author's usual attention to detail with carefully constructed clues and red herrings. 'Squire' Wendover's local knowledge is invaluable to Driffield as he is able to tell him about the bad feeling between the members of the Carfax family. I thought the exciting denouement was very well written and cleverly done.
This is a very well written mystery and well up to the standard of the rest of the Clinton Driffield series. If you like classic crime stories then do try this author. His work deserves to be better known than it is.
This is one of the poorer Clinton Driffield investigations, first published in 1938. Usually with Connington one excuses the obviousness of the culprit by commending the devious intricacies of the unravelling of the plot.
Here the culprit was fairly obvious, and the whys and wherefores pretty clear, despite the odd bit of misdirection.
I have not researched it very carefully, but I think the author may have not played quite fair with a bit of Scots Law which is of major relevance.
I'm calling this book OK because there were some good ideas in it. The plot itself was sound and if it had been properly written up (by someone like Sayers) would have been a fine book. Instead we have two Old Boys as detectives who talk, and talk, and talk, all in very stale upper class slang. I wanted to slap both of them. There's very little physical action (the opening investigation is decently handled) and what investigation there is is related in the past tense; I went there & asked about this & then to there & did that. There's a good action scene at the end & a bit of a twist, but this book has put me off reading any more Connington for the present.