Slim Callaghan takes a break from heavy drinking to solve a case involving a stolen necklace, blackmail, and extremely beautiful women. Saying more reveals too much of a tricky, tricky plot.
I tend to prefer Peter Cheney’s spy novels, because his hardboiled novels depend on a peculiar variation of American slang. Nonetheless, this one is very much like the American pulp Cheney clearly admires. Like Perry Mason, Callaghan is going to make all the right moves, and the fun of the book is to see how he gets away with a series of unethical decisions that bring the case to a conclusion.
Features in this one are gorgeous women (who all fall for Mr. Callaghan), unbelievable liquor consumption and everyone’s confidence that Mr. Callaghan will get away with whatever scheme he has in mind.
Fun and noirish. Not a typical combination in 1945, when noir took itself and its wisecracks very seriously.