I love the water---I've rarely been to the ocean, but from my early boyhood to the present day, I have spent many happy hours on the river. This anthology was therefore calling out to me. Having said that, while multi-author anthologies spanning decades and limited to a theme instead of being able to select an author's best work are going to inevitably be bumpy, these rapids are bumpier than most.
All British Library Crime Classics anthologies are structured the same---introduction by general editor Martin Edwards, then the stories presented in chronological order, with each story receiving its own introduction (quite a good one---Edwards is a pro) outlining the career of the author.
“The Adventure of the Gloria Scott” (1893) by Arthur Conan Doyle. This feels like an inevitable inclusion, but is merely OK; it's interesting to see a younger and slightly more human Holmes, but he doesn't do much, and I have little tolerance in general for mysteries that end with lengthy letters/confessions.
“The Eight-Mile Lock” (1897) by L. T. Meade and Robert Eustace. I feel like some modern anthologists are trying to sell Meade to us as an unjustly forgotten master, but this really highlights how mediocre she often was---an “investigation” that has nothing to do with the crime and uncovers the truth only through dumb luck, a “mystery” with one suspect, and a meaningless crime---what do I care that some rich woman has her diamonds stolen? I have enjoyed Meade, but more as a quaint relic than someone I'd actively seek out.
“The Gift of the Emperor” (1898) by E. W. Hornug. This may be technically stand-alone, but is written as the conclusion of The Amateur Cracksman, and I would hesitate to recommend reading it divorced from that context.
“Bullion!” (1911) by William Hope Hodgson. I enjoy Hodgson (better known for his supernatural fiction), but this story isn't likely to satisfy a serious mystery fan looking for, as Edwards phrases it in his introduction, “a lively example of the ‘impossible crime’ or ‘sealed room’ story”---it uses a form of solution now universally reviled by practitioners of that art as cheap and uninteresting.
“The Echo of a Mutiny” (1912) by R Austin Freeman. Not one of his more successful efforts; it's an inverted mystery (we see the crime committed and know who did it before the detective), but the crime is so ad hoc, and so little serious care is made in covering it up, that rather than marvel at Dr. Thorndyke's ability to reconstruct it, we wonder at everyone else's inability. It does have some excellent prose to make it readable, even if the mystery isn't up to much.
“The Pool of Secrets” (1935) by Gwyn Evans. It's rare to see outright pulp in these collections; this story's protagonist has a crimson skull branded onto his forehead, “a relic of one of his exploits as a Secret Service man in China ... burnt into the skin by a vindictive mandarin.“ I don't mind pulp, but this obviously isn't a mystery in any real sense, the “solution” is nonsense, and the author obviously had plot threads (such as a mentioned but largely absent brother) that he totally lost track of.
“Four Friends and Death” (1935) by Christopher St. John. This is a type of story I love, where every page the primary suspect changes until the truth is revealed. Quality work.
“The Turning of the Tide” (1936) by C. S. Forester. A nasty little crime story by an author better known for other things (although he did write three crime novels in addition to his historical fiction, which I would not hesitate to read based on this).
“The Swimming Pool” (1936) by H. C. Bailey. This is the longest story in the collection, without a lot happening to really justify that length. I like Reggie Fortune, for his mix of facile humor and witticisms and genuine pathos. I do not think that someone drowning in a swimming pool should land a story in this collection.
“A Question of Timing” (1946) by Phyllis Bentley. Tediously sentimental slop (a man has for years silently loved a woman who was married to his best friend, and now the friend has died … but does he have the right to ask her to marry her, when he has a bad leg?). It's true that the narrator prevents a murder at the end, after stumbling across a drowning man be chance, but this perfectly demonstrates the problem we see in crime story and mystery anthologies---usually Martin Edwards does not suffer from this---of having no clear editorial mandate other than “must have a crime in it.”
“The Thimble River Mystery” (1950) by Josephine Bell. An amateur detective without a personality interviews two people, then reveals the murderer on unconvincing evidences. This is what people who don't read genre fiction but look down on it on principle imagine that mystery stories are usually like.
“Man Overboard” (1954) by Edmund Crispin. Brief, obvious, gives eccentric detective Fen no space to exhibit his personality, and, although there is a drowning, it feels very disconnected from the theme of the anthology, with two people sitting in a dry room and chatting over an old letter.
“The Queer Fish” (1956) by Kem Bennett. A highlight, with a charmingly light touch and some wonderfully descriptive language.
“The Man Who Was Drowned” (1958) by James Pattinson. This is certainly a story, nobody can say that it isn't. I guess the detective is OK?
“Seasprite” (1963) by Andrew Garve. Three pages, but packs a punch with the space it has; in fact, a longer wordcount could only have diminished it.
“Death by Water” (1975) by Michael Innes. At his best, Innes is the O'Henry of mystery fiction, writing very short stories with a punchline more than a revelation. This one is too long, and any competently run inquest in 1975 would presumably reveal the truth without any intervention from Appleby. Innes is a charming enough writer that it's at least not unpleasant to read.
I normally end these with a top five, but I frankly don't have five stories I think are worth elevating. Let's keep it to a top four---”Four Friends and Death” for successfully embodying a type of story I enjoy, “The Turning of the Tide” for its dark comedy leading into a genuinely grim climax, “The Man Who Was Drowned” for its humor, and “Seasprite” for its effective use of its brief page-count. It's not that the others are terrible, by-and-large, but this evocative theme deserved a stronger selection.