The Purple Parrot

Theocritus Lucius Westborough #4

by Clyde B. Clason

The only door open to Hezekiah Morse's study was under observation when someone slipped in and stabbed the bibliophile to death. To the police, it looked like only his granddaughter could have done the deed, especially since she was to be disinherited—except for a terra-cotta statuette of a purple parrot—if she defied Morse in her choice of a marriage partner. Her real love, lawyer Barry Foster, didn't believe she was capable of murder. Fortunately, for both of them, neither did Theocritus Lucius Westborough, professor of Roman history and sometime amateur sleuth. But the aged, tiny professor must first determine what is so significant about the seemingly worthless piece of statuary from New Zealand or how bottles of rare wine and expensive first editions fit into the case.

Genres: Mystery

192 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1937

About the author

Clyde B. Clason was an American writer. He worked in advertising as a copywriter and editor. His main series detective is Theocritus Lucius Westborough. Clason was a locked room mystery fan. He specialises in trying to baffle the reader with intricate and elaborate plots.

Reviews

[Bev · Rating 4 out of 5]

Here we have another classic Golden Age impossible crime. This one features Professor Theocritus Lucius Westborough, expert in Roman history and occasional amateur sleuth, and involves the death of an irritable wealthy book collector. Hezekiah Morse was never adverse to a little under-handed dealing to get his way--especially if his way had as an objective one of many coveted books. So no one is terribly surprised that he's been found stabbed to death and there are plenty of people who might have wanted him dead. The only difficulty is that none of the obvious suspects--from the big-time paving contractor out for blood after an accusation of slander to the mysterious Mr. Wells who visited Morse on the night of his death--could have possibly done the deed.

The only one who could have killed Morse is his granddaughter, Sylvia--a young woman who was about to be disinherited if she didn't the marry the man Morse had chosen for her. And Barry Foster, Morse's lawyer and Sylvia's fiance, was not the man Morse had in mind. Under the terms of a yet-to-be-signed will: if Sylvia is a good girl and marries Morse's favorite, Thomas Vail, two-thirds of the estate will be hers and a third will go to Vail. If she defies her grandfather and marries anyone else, then all she will inherit nothing but his terracotta statue of a purple parrot. She'll either be an heiress or the owner of a rather gaudy knick-knack.

On the night in question, Sylvia and Foster have just become engaged. Barry has told her of the plans Morse has for his new will and Sylvia insists on going at once to let her grandfather know that she loves Foster and intends to marry him. When they reach the house, she makes Barry promise to give her ten minutes with her grandfather before coming up to join them. Nine minutes go by, there is a scream and Barry and the butler, Baines, both reach the study at the same time--to find Morse stabbed through the heart with his own knife.

According to Sylvia, she had sat in her room (adjoining the study) for the nine minutes, removing make-up (which her grandfather hated) and working up the courage to tell him her news. But when the police arrive in the form Captain O'Ryan and Detective Johnny Mack--with a little man with a long name in tow--and discover that the main study door was locked, that there is a sheer drop from the study windows (and no marks on the ground below of a ladder or a man falling), and that the only other way in was through Sylvia's room, they come to the obvious conclusion that Sylvia killed Morse.

Sylvia denies it. Barry, of course, believes her. But they have to admit that the evidence is rapidly stacking up against them. Fortunately, the quite little man who has accompanied the police, believes there is more to the case than meets the eye. It's up to Professor Westborough to prove that rare wine, priceless books, and an apparently worthless bird from New Zealand are more important than all the clues that seem point directly at Sylvia.

This is a very pleasant little puzzler with quite a few twists and turns--and even though our amateur detective (in a very Philo Vance sort of way) is the owner of all sorts of esoteric knowledge, one doesn't really need to have that knowledge to work towards the solution. I got inklings and was feeling my way towards the right answer even without the good professor's know-how. I must say, however, that I am better pleased with Barry Foster's solution to the impossible crime than I am with the one which is proven to be correct. I'm just really not all that sold on hypnotism as part of the solution. This is the second novel in as many months to use that bit of, pardon the pun, hocus pocus to help wrap-up the mystery. Granted, the hypnotism is more believable this time round (after all, we're only hypnotizing one person this time instead of a whole houseful), but Barry's solution of the make-shift bridge between the buildings makes WAY more sense. And I was compelled to think about those holes in the side of the house repeatedly...

But that small quibble aside, I thoroughly enjoyed meeting Professor Westborough and following him as he uncovered the clues to the real culprit's identity. Overall, a great read and a nice visit to the Chicago area of the 1930s. 3.75 stars, rounded to 4 on GoodReads.

First posted on my blog My Reader's Block. Please request permission before reposting. Thanks.

[Kye Campbell-fox · Rating 4 out of 5]

The mystery was mostly really great and creative. There was one element of the solution that I find questionable in its scientific validity (I won't specify to avoid spoilers), though at the time it may have been considered more legitimate than it would be now. Other than that, it was a very well imagined locked room golden-age mystery that I really wanted to know the solution to! I guessed the solution, but didn't figure out every clue (most notably the one I think has been debunked as largely pseudoscience).

Also, being from 1937, I unsurprisingly found this book to have some strange and outdated expressions, which are mostly fine, except that at least one struck me as racist. You can say "it was a different time" and that is obviously true, but that doesn't mean it's not offensive, then or now.

[Moe · Rating 3 out of 5]

Average

[Jeannie and Louis Rigod · Rating 4 out of 5]

This Novel is set in the year 1937 in the city of New York, New York. The sleuth was a gentle historian, Theocritus Lucius Westborough, who enjoys aiding the NYPD and they actually listen to him.

Clyde B. Clason was an author who wrote only six years as he did not like the development of the standard mystery into a type of 'Mickey Spillane' novel.

So, the 'Purple Parrot' is a murder mystery with a character driven plot. The Granddaughter arrives at her wealthy home, newly engaged to her Grandfather's solicitor. Mr. Foster knows that Sylvia will be disinherited if he marries her, except for a statue of a Purple Parrot. However, what can a young couple in love do?

As Mr. Foster awaits his love downstairs in the living room, he hears a primal scream. Rushing up the stairs, he finds his love with blood on her evening gown's hem. The murder has occurred in a locked den except for...well, you know I think I want you to discover the style of writing done in this past century.

Rue Morgue Vintage Mystery are the ones publishing the past but forgotten novels. They are an excellent read in my opinion. Give them a try.

[Jessi · Rating 3 out of 5]

Barry Foster (our first-person narrator) should be over the moon. His one-and-only, Sylvia Morse, has agreed to be his bride. But he's nervous. She's just gone upstairs to tell her grandfather that she and Barry are engaged. The grandfather who, just the day before, changed his will so that she will inherit two-thirds of his massive estate, but only if she marries a certain man. A man who is decidedly not Barry. And Barry knows what's in the will because he drew up the will.
But, a sudden, blood-curdling scream rents the night. Barry and the butler, Baines, run up to find Sylvia standing over her grandfather. He's in a room with two doors. One that is locked and the other that leads into Sylvia's bedroom.
Barry can't believe that Sylvia is the culprit, but who else could have done it? Neither he, nor Baines, saw anyone else come out of the room.
Luckily, Theocritus Lucius Westborough takes and interest in the case and helps to save the day.
I didn't love the culprit, but it was an entertaining story nonetheless.

[Susan · Rating 3 out of 5]

Even Barry Foster, her lawyer and fiance, has to admit that the case against Sylvia Morse looks bad. Her grandfather has been stabbed after threatening to change his will and--in practical terms--disinherit her, and it doesn't seem that anyone else has the opportunity, since the murder, according to the medical evidence, was committed in the ten minutes she sat in front of the only unlocked door. Fortunately, Theocritus Lucius Westborough, historian and sleuth, is brought into the case, and realizes that things are more complex than they look.

[Cyn McDonald · Rating 2 out of 5]

The story was okay, if predictable. The setting (written in 1937) is undoubtedly true to period but the cops are unpleasant and the lady in the case is only there to provide a motive.

[Lawrence · Rating 5 out of 5]

A great Golden Age Mystery must read for periof fans with this book set in Chicago.