Originally published in 1946, The Mountains Have a Secret is an Australian novel (written by an ex-pat Britisher) which reflects some of the restlessness and avarice of the post-war period. Scarcity, if not rationing, is still an issue and, from the beginning, one gets the sense that some post-war scam has caused the suspected double (or serial) homicides which sent the protagonist to investigate. That sense is further heightened by the discovery of an ex-pat U.S. serviceman who brandishes the masculine weaponry often associated with the State of Texas, his actual home.
But the Texan isn’t the protagonist. The protagonist is an inspector who goes by the rather pretentious name of Napoleon Bonaparte. The pretentiousness is deliberate in that this Napoleon Bonaparte (unlike the Emperor who is quoted on p. 141 of my Scribner’s edition) is of mixed heritage. The back cover cites the character as a half-caste on two occasions, but this novel apparently assumes one knows his heritage until rather late in the story when he is accused (falsely, as it turns out) of not being able to hold his liquor because he is a “black” man (p. 71) or when the story speaks of the warring influence of two races within him and the protagonist not surrendering to his “mother’s” instincts (p. 93). At this point, the mixture of the races becomes a positive for the protagonist.
Later, those of us who may be new to the tales of this protagonist discover a remarkable fact. The aboriginal heritage of this police inspector devoted to solving homicides is tremendously shaken by death. There is a palpable fear of death which the inspector is forced to suppress on more than one occasion. I don’t know how other readers react to this idiosyncrasy, but I find it as fascinating as television’s Doc Martin and his rare propensity (especially among surgeons) to get sick at the sight of blood. I will read other tales by this author and in this series just because I find this so interesting.
The Mountains Have a Secret takes place in the Grampians Mountains, now the Grampians National Park near Victoria, Australia (not to be confused with their namesake in Scotland). A double-disappearance is followed by an unsolved murder compounded by an apparent disappearance and more. Inspector Bonaparte is charged to infiltrate the last known venue where all of these were seen, the Baden Park Hotel (I know, it sounds more like Austria than Australia!). Naturally, upon investigation, the strands of evidence become more knotted and, for a time, it looks like Bonaparte will need to cut the Gordian knot. I’ll leave it to you to discover what Bony (as he is known by some in the novel) actually does; I’ll simply indicate that this novel follows a more leisurely pace than the average police procedural I’m used to reading. I enjoyed that because it fit the very pastoral scene in which the investigation was taking place. I’m not sure I’d like a steady diet of it. I’ll find out.
Certainly, I can urge any readers to remember the basic rule of crime investigation, the basis upon which habeas corpus (lit. “you have the body”) is established. Bony himself cites this rationale on p. 155 in order to encourage assistance in his investigation. I also must express one bit of a problem in the story. At one point in Bony’s surreptitious investigation, he uses a trip switch which would have instantly signaled that something was wrong to those he was investigating. This is probably a minor issue, but it was one of the few matters in the novel that didn’t ring true. In general, reading The Mountains Have a Secret is one of those time-traveling joys in which I gladly engage. Indeed, the very cliffhanger, the one loose end, with which the novel ends is a product of its era (and worth discovering).