Two of my bookgroups on Goodreads are reading Ngaio Marsh this month—I read the first, a later title in the series, earlier on (technically, last month), and now, this one. Death at the Bar, published in 1939, is ninth in the Roderick Alleyn series by Marsh, and is also a reread for me. Compared to Clutch of Constables, the other title I read, this one has more the ordinary format (disliked chap gets killed, police called in, investigates, denouement), and while I liked the different format in Constables, this one for me was the more interesting read. In this one, London Barrister, Luke Watchman heads down to South Devon for a holiday with his cousin, actor Sebastian Parrish, and friend, artist Norman Cubitt. But while the innkeeper and publican Abel Pomeroy is welcoming, with other guests at the inn and local inhabitants, Watchman’s relations aren’t as cordial. While they don’t exactly wish him away, he manages to pick a fight or two and rub some of them the wrong way. There are tensions between others too, some over politics, and perhaps other more personal issues as well. A dart game on the second evening of Watchman’s visit goes very wrong, and one participant drops dead. A mystery is thus at hand, and when the local police can’t quite handle the matter, Alleyn and with him, Fox are called in.
Since I read the other Marsh book so close to this one, I can’t help comparing the two, and this one as I said stood out as the better one for me on more than one count. I found the mystery itself had much more meat to it—I certainly did not guess whodunit (having read it ages ago I didn’t remember it at all), and even on one of the side plots while I guessed somewhat in the right direction, the final answer was not what I thought but something very different. But another aspect was pretty much guessable not from the book itself but from the blurb at the back which was a little annoying (my ed. Was a 1975 Fontana ed.) But very satisfying as a mystery. Again the characters too I thought seem more strongly developed and interesting to read about, each with their secrets, insecurities, and stories. Another standout in this book for me were the touches of humour including Marsh poking fun at herself. She writes,
‘Your novelist too has passed the halcyon days when he could ignore routine. He reads books about Scotland Yard, he swots up police manuals. He knows that routine is deadly dull and hopelessly poor material for a thriller; so, like a wise potboiler, he compromises, He heads one chapter “Routine”, dismisses six weeks of drudgery in as many phrases, cuts the cackle, and gets to the ‘osses.’
This is an observation by Alleyn, in a chapter titled, what else, but ‘Routine’! There’s also another fun instance, involving the Local PC, Oates, but that I’ll leave to you to read when you read the book. All in all, this was a very enjoyable mystery read for me!