The Lyttleton Case
The Lyttleton Case – R A V Morris
For once I can excuse myself for not having come across Ronald Morris before. Published in 1922 this is his one and only mystery novel and sadly he disappeared into obscurity, only to be dug up, rather like James Lyttleton, from the vaults of publisher, Harper Collins, and reissued as part of their Detective Club series. Abandonment of a genre might lead you to suppose that Morris’s one and only attempt wasn’t very good, but it was entertaining enough, even if the pace of the book lagged as it neared its conclusion.
We also get two mysteries for the price of one. Financier James Lyttleton sends his spoilt daughter a curt telegram announcing that he has been called away urgently on business, initially to Liverpool, and then on to New York, a journey involving a minimum of five days at sea. He subsequently vanishes. Inspector Candlish, on holiday involving “an exploration of the flora and fauna of the Southshire Downs”, finds a body of a young man floating in the water. He had died from natural causes, according to the coroner, and had been in the water for four to five days.
Although the two cases seem to be unrelated, as Candlish’s investigations proceed, he is put in charge of both, there are too many coincidences linking the cases to mean anything other than that they are linked. Candlish, aided by yet another journalist, Basil Dawson, a stock pairing for this genre, who also, conveniently, happens to be the fiancé of Doris Lyttleton, doggedly navigates his way through a bewildering array, clues, red herrings and motives before unmasking the identity of the ruthless and ingenious culprit.
Roberts lulls the reader into a false sense of security. I was pretty convinced fairly early on that I knew where the book was going, always a bit of danger signal with the benefit of hindsight, until the plot lurched completely in another direction to provide, ultimate, a tidy and satisfying conclusion. The book is readable and reasonably paced, although Roberts allows himself the luxury at times of a purple passage or two. There are a number of anachronisms in the text, which would have been perfectly understandable to the contemporary reader, but which could flummox the modern reader. The one that stumped me and had me launching a quick foray on to the internet was his interjection out of nowhere of the abbreviation, PSA. Apparently, it refers to a broadly educational non-conformist society for men, the Pleasant Sunday afternoon movement.
Roberts allows himself some fun with his characterisation of PC Hutchinson who is “a diligent reader of detective fiction”, apes Sherlock Holmes by smoking shag tobacco, displaying a syringe (for display purposes only) and a violin together with a dressing gown. A fan of Dupin he is reading Freeman Willis Crofts’s 1920 novel, The Cask, as this mystery progresses. Roberts knows his detective fiction. Alas, Hutchinson’s enthusiasm for the literary ‘tec does not give him an edge when it comes to solving this knotty puzzle.
For a novel set in an era where men rule the roost, Doris, despite initially seeming to be the sort of ditsy spoilt brat straight out of central casting, does emerge as a strong character and almost a heroine. Perhaps an early sign of the recognition of female equality.
I wouldn’t say the book was great but was entertaining enough and a pleasant way to pass a couple of winter’s evenings. You wonder what he would have gone on to achieve if Morris had continued to write detective fiction.
