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Toff #7
The Toff Proceeds
One of the earliest entries in the Toff series, this was originally published in 1941. ~ ~ Take two beautiful girls who look enough alike to pass for twin sisters; add one very large fortune about to be inherited by a ne'er-do-well; stir in a generous amount of uncontrolled greed, and you have the recipe for murder. ~ ~ Richard Rollison - The Toff to the police and underworlds of a dozen countries - was in the mood for a weekend of fun and games. He was NOT prepared to be the stand-in for a murder victim!
- GenresMystery
176 pages, Mass Market Paperback
First published October 1, 1941
About the author
John Creasey
706 books79 followersAKA Gordon Ashe, M E Cooke, Norman Deane, Robert Caine Frazer, Patrick Gill, Michael Halliday, Charles Hogarth, Brian Hope, Colin Hughes, Kyle Hunt, Margaret Lisle, Abel Mann, Peter Manton, J.J. Marric, Richard Martin, Rodney Mattheson, Anthony Morton, Jeremy York, Henry St. John Cooper and Margaret Cooke.
John Creasey (September 17, 1908 - June 9, 1973) was born in Southfields, Surrey, England and died in New Hall, Bodenham, Salisbury Wiltshire, England. He was the seventh of nine children in a working class home. He became an English author of crime thrillers, published in excess of 600 books under 20+ different pseudonyms. He invented many famous characters who would appear in a whole series of novels. Probably the most famous of these is Gideon of Scotland Yard, the basis for the television program Gideon's Way but others include Department Z, Dr. Palfrey, The Toff, Inspector Roger West, and The Baron (which was also made into a television series). In 1962, Creasey won an Edgar Award for Best Novel, from the Mystery Writers of America, for Gideon's Fire, written under the pen name J. J. Marric. And in 1969 he was given the MWA's highest honor, the Grand Master Award.
John Creasey (September 17, 1908 - June 9, 1973) was born in Southfields, Surrey, England and died in New Hall, Bodenham, Salisbury Wiltshire, England. He was the seventh of nine children in a working class home. He became an English author of crime thrillers, published in excess of 600 books under 20+ different pseudonyms. He invented many famous characters who would appear in a whole series of novels. Probably the most famous of these is Gideon of Scotland Yard, the basis for the television program Gideon's Way but others include Department Z, Dr. Palfrey, The Toff, Inspector Roger West, and The Baron (which was also made into a television series). In 1962, Creasey won an Edgar Award for Best Novel, from the Mystery Writers of America, for Gideon's Fire, written under the pen name J. J. Marric. And in 1969 he was given the MWA's highest honor, the Grand Master Award.
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Displaying 1 - 9 of 9 reviews
February 9, 2017
The Toff Proceeds is perhaps the most insubstantial novel I have ever read.
“But,” you stammer, “you gave it three stars.”
Well, yes. Because this novel is exactly what it was intended to be, and I refuse to be THAT reader. Too many times I’ve seen The Maltese Falcon rated at two stars or worse by people who don’t understand that innovation is diluted over the course of decades by repetition, often at inferior hands. And that the lack of intimacy was absolutely necessary; to have shared thoughts with Sam Spade at any time would have crippled the impact of the final denouncement. He could not explain to himself, let alone the reader, why he had to do as he did; he knew only there was a line and he couldn’t cross it.
And how many times is John Dickson Carr given one star because he shunned the British mystery tradition of commandeering a room and parading the suspects through one after the other until the solution is reached? Carr walked the line between the detective story and the mystery story, admittedly leaning much more toward the whodunit. But as he gave you the locked room murder, he also gave you movement. He dared to not be boring while he was being clever.
And then there’s John D. MacDonald, often blindly dismissed as a misogynist, a reaction that wastes a tremendous opportunity that only can be afforded by a master craftsman. While being entertained you are being given a window to a certain time and place and point of view. Accurate glimpses of the recent past are too rare to be so summarily discarded because the world has since evolved.
I will not be blinded by time. In 1941 this style of lightweight adventure was the norm. The hero--in this case The Toff, the street name for Richard Rollison, an upper-class Englishman--is dropped into a puzzling situation and as each minor element of the mystery is squared away, another crops up. Between each of these there is danger, deductions and rescues. And, inevitably, lapses in logic and a sprinkle of coincidence. But there is also genuine tension in a scene where The Toff must escape unarmed into the desolate night ahead of several hoods, one of whom does have a gun. And his reaction when facing certain, inescapable death is interesting. In fact, the final confrontation--with the exception of one final twist too many--was exceedingly well done.
The Toff is essentially a poor man’s Simon Templar but where The Saint stories were often overwritten by Leslie Charteris, The Toff Proceeds is extremely underwritten by Creasey. There is no sense of scene, no exploration of character, and the narrative is vague, which keeps the reader in observation mode instead of becoming involved in the story. In short, a product of the style of the time. So if I came across another book from this author, would have an objection to reading it? No. But neither would I ever seek it out. I do not, however, regret having read this one. Three stars sounds about right.
“But,” you stammer, “you gave it three stars.”
Well, yes. Because this novel is exactly what it was intended to be, and I refuse to be THAT reader. Too many times I’ve seen The Maltese Falcon rated at two stars or worse by people who don’t understand that innovation is diluted over the course of decades by repetition, often at inferior hands. And that the lack of intimacy was absolutely necessary; to have shared thoughts with Sam Spade at any time would have crippled the impact of the final denouncement. He could not explain to himself, let alone the reader, why he had to do as he did; he knew only there was a line and he couldn’t cross it.
And how many times is John Dickson Carr given one star because he shunned the British mystery tradition of commandeering a room and parading the suspects through one after the other until the solution is reached? Carr walked the line between the detective story and the mystery story, admittedly leaning much more toward the whodunit. But as he gave you the locked room murder, he also gave you movement. He dared to not be boring while he was being clever.
And then there’s John D. MacDonald, often blindly dismissed as a misogynist, a reaction that wastes a tremendous opportunity that only can be afforded by a master craftsman. While being entertained you are being given a window to a certain time and place and point of view. Accurate glimpses of the recent past are too rare to be so summarily discarded because the world has since evolved.
I will not be blinded by time. In 1941 this style of lightweight adventure was the norm. The hero--in this case The Toff, the street name for Richard Rollison, an upper-class Englishman--is dropped into a puzzling situation and as each minor element of the mystery is squared away, another crops up. Between each of these there is danger, deductions and rescues. And, inevitably, lapses in logic and a sprinkle of coincidence. But there is also genuine tension in a scene where The Toff must escape unarmed into the desolate night ahead of several hoods, one of whom does have a gun. And his reaction when facing certain, inescapable death is interesting. In fact, the final confrontation--with the exception of one final twist too many--was exceedingly well done.
The Toff is essentially a poor man’s Simon Templar but where The Saint stories were often overwritten by Leslie Charteris, The Toff Proceeds is extremely underwritten by Creasey. There is no sense of scene, no exploration of character, and the narrative is vague, which keeps the reader in observation mode instead of becoming involved in the story. In short, a product of the style of the time. So if I came across another book from this author, would have an objection to reading it? No. But neither would I ever seek it out. I do not, however, regret having read this one. Three stars sounds about right.
May 17, 2020
The wicket-gate was open, and swaying gently in the wind.“That’s odd,” said the Toff. “Ay,” declared Wally. “Not often he leaves that open, or lets others.”
...that someone had been in the cottage all the time, but had preferred not to answer the knock – and the same someone, finding that the callers were coming in at the back door, was going out by the front. He moved very quickly, and he reached the side of the house in time to see a girl near the wicket-gate.She was half-running, and she ran gracefully.
Lying on the couch was a good-looking man with raven-black hair. He had on white flannel trousers and brown shoes. By the couch was a pair of cricket boots, and leaning against the wall a cricket bag with the white of pads showing through the opening, which was drawn together by leather straps...Just as quickly he saw that the man’s shirt was off, and that he was stripped to the waist. Blood showed on his chest, where it had seeped from beneath a padded cloth, which looked like a pillowcase. Defoe’s face was a deathly white; against it, Wally’s tanned skin was almost black. “Well, Wally?” said Rollison.“There’s nothing to be done ‘fore doctor arrives,” said Wally Simm clearly. “Someone’s patched he up, for sure.”
...that someone had been in the cottage all the time, but had preferred not to answer the knock – and the same someone, finding that the callers were coming in at the back door, was going out by the front. He moved very quickly, and he reached the side of the house in time to see a girl near the wicket-gate.She was half-running, and she ran gracefully.
Lying on the couch was a good-looking man with raven-black hair. He had on white flannel trousers and brown shoes. By the couch was a pair of cricket boots, and leaning against the wall a cricket bag with the white of pads showing through the opening, which was drawn together by leather straps...Just as quickly he saw that the man’s shirt was off, and that he was stripped to the waist. Blood showed on his chest, where it had seeped from beneath a padded cloth, which looked like a pillowcase. Defoe’s face was a deathly white; against it, Wally’s tanned skin was almost black. “Well, Wally?” said Rollison.“There’s nothing to be done ‘fore doctor arrives,” said Wally Simm clearly. “Someone’s patched he up, for sure.”
July 4, 2017
Typical Creasey beach or airplane reading, fun in parts, mildly interesting.
March 5, 2018
Enjoyable enough that I did not give up on it, but The Toff comes off as knockoff of The Saint. I find I prefer the devil-may-care, wink-and-nod, fate-tempting attitude of the Charteris character.
April 15, 2019
Amazing how much trouble two girls can cause in the small village of Fern Cross. Luckily, the Toff is able to straighten it out eventually with the help of Jolly and others.
June 2, 2021
An enjoyable read.
March 15, 2014
The plot really does not work in this one, but there are spots of such effective writing that I must add an extra star.
December 18, 2015
It was similar to Toff and the Golden Boy---enjoyable, light, a quick read.
Displaying 1 - 9 of 9 reviews