The highly successful reissue of this book in 2014 by the British Library initiated not just a series of classic-era crime reissues by the BL but a revival of interest in classic crime novels in general.
It's Christmas Eve, and a train gets stuck in the snow in the middle of nowhere. Some of the passengers attempt to walk to the nearest station, get lost, and find themselves at a house where the fires are lit in the grates, the kettle's boiling on the stove, the table has been set for tea . . . but the residents are nowhere to be seen. At first nervously, the group takes up occupancy, led by the fashionable young things David and Lydia, who're brother and sister, and the psychic researcher Maltby, who's aged 60 but is throughout described as "the old man." (Harrumph!) There's a murdered corpse out in the snow and another, we discover, on the train the group left behind them, but the biggest mystery, obviously, is how come the house has been, Mary Celeste-like, so suddenly abandoned.
It's a tremendous premise, and as soon as I picked the book up I remembered having read it before, I think in the mid-1980s. I also remembered, alas, that despite its cracking start the book had eventually seemed to go on for far longer than it should. I had exactly the same experience on this new reading. What I'd forgotten were the awful snobbery -- you can tell one of the characters is a baddy because he's "common," and there are a few other remarks about the ghastliness of "common" people -- and a major plot flaw.
The latter concerns an extended expedition that David makes out into the wintry waste. He follows footprints through the snow, sees this, that and the other, and encounters two important characters, a father and daughter, whom he leads back to the house by following his own trail. This is all very impressive, despite the occasional fall into a ditch. It's even more impressive when we consider that it's about 11pm on Christmas Eve, David doesn't have a flashlight, there are no street lights, and of course there can't be any moonlight because in a steady blizzard there's total cloud cover. So David was operating in pitch darkness. How the hell did he see any of the things we're told he saw?
The novel's quite fun in its way, but the denouement is far too complex and confused (I sort of lost count of the number of murderers), and irritatingly there's a coyly roguish suggestion that Maltby's psychic abilities may have played their part in the unraveling. Overall, despite the super premise, the novel seemed to me, when finally I came to the end of it, to have more minuses than pluses. It's a very interesting curio, but I'm not exactly rampant to read more by Farjeon.