Four Queens: Hell hath no fury
Murder is Easy and Overture to Death
Murder is Easy (1939) begins, like Hercule Poirot’s Christmas, with a man returning to England with mixed feelings. This is Luke Fitzwilliam, who alights from a train that didn’t officially stop and finds himself temporarily stranded in Wychwood-under-Ashe. On the next train he meets elderly Miss Pinkerton, off to Scotland Yard to report a serial killer on the basis of ‘the look on a person’s face.’ This is one of Christie’s finest opening chapters.
Luke reads that Miss Pinkerton has been killed by a hit-and-run in London; shortly after, that Dr Humbleby has died just as she said he would. Luke decides to investigate, borrowing the cousin of a friend. This cousin, Bridget, is engaged to Lord Gordon Whitfield, local boy turned newspaper bigwig. Bridget strikes Luke as a storybook witch and Lord Whitfield strikes him as self-important.
In C4 Luke gently grills Rev. Wake and learns about recent deaths. Bridget seems constrained on the death of Amy Gibbs, who died of ingesting hat paint. C5 provides juicy information about Dr Humbleby, his daughter Rose and her beloved Dr Thomas. Luke then meets sensible Honoria Waynflete, a lifelong resident; Mr Elsworthy, the peculiar owner of the antique shop; and Major Horton (plus bulldogs), recently and blessedly widowed.
Bridget reveals that she and Honoria were both dubious about Amy’s death. Not only is hat paint passé, but nobody with red hair would choose red paint. This is a brilliant piece of ‘social’ evidence. It would have been easy to push drunken Carter off a footbridge and naughty Tommy Pierce out of a window, especially if you’re the sort of person nobody would suspect…
In C7 Luke draws up a helpful list of victims and suspects, none of which he can connect. [Spoiler: Christie is engaged in serious misdirection here]. There is a meta note about this not being a book, but real life. Luke then tries to draw out Dr Thomas on the advisability of eliminating the asocial. He doesn’t quite take the bait but lends Luke a book on criminal psychology. Mrs Pierce is revealing of several people’s animus towards Tommy. What letter did he see on the desk of solicitor Abbot? And why was Abbot arguing with Humbleby?
Rose felt that Miss Pinkerton had tried to warn Bridget and herself. Tommy was an acolyte for Ellsworthy’s peculiar practices. “Sanity is the one unbelievable bore,” says Ellsworthy, as though to make a point. “One must be mad.” Bridget begins to worry that Wychwood harbours a crazy man. Major Horton’s fond memories of his late wife make her sound like a tartar; she died stoically of gastritis, which immediately makes the experienced reader assume it was arsenic.
It is concluded that Humbleby was an obstinate ass, Abbot is a cad and Ellsworthy is a bit queer (1939 version). Halfway through and everything is pleasingly mysterious.
Bridget throws a set at tennis to keep Gordon happy, which prompts Luke into a declaration of love. He doesn’t necessarily like her, but he does resent Lord Whitfield. Rose admits that her father didn’t really like Dr Thomas. Mrs Humbleby, the depressed widow, tells Luke that it’s very important to “fight wickedness.” Honoria admits she thinks Amy was murdered and that she was also surprised by Mrs Horton’s sudden relapse and death. Luke is amazed to learn that she was once engaged to Gordon.
Amy’s aunt, Mrs Church, links Amy to practically everybody. Luke scopes out the (very dull) museum and library from which Tommy fell. Honoria says she fears for him. Lord Whitfield fires his impertinent chauffeur and admits that a canary was the cause of the broken engagement with Honoria. Luke – rather recklessly – breaks into Ellsworthy’s house and discovers some dodgy art and a defaced picture of Amy. Ellsworthy returns and his hands are the colour of dried blood!
Bridget reluctantly tells Luke that she’d rather have him than Gordon. The chauffeur is found dead. Lord Whitfield blithely confides that all his detractors have been “cast down and exterminated!” Luke suddenly sees that everything points towards him. Miss Pinkerton was killed by a hit-and-run Rolls Royce with the registration of Lord Whitfield’s car. Honoria tells Luke that she ended the engagement when Gordon wrung the neck of her canary. She pleads with him to take Bridget away before it’s too late. Lord Whitfield takes Luke and Bridget to be doomed.
Instead of staying in a London flat by herself, Bridget stays with Honoria pro tem. In C20 we are reminded that Miss Pinkerton’s moral certainty came from ‘the look on a person’s face’ and that murder is easy so long as no-one suspects you. Honoria gives Bridget some tea and they go for a walk… where Bridget realises that Honoria is the killer! She drugged the tea, but Bridget poured it out of the window.
“All my life I’ve been disappointed” is quite a sad line for a whodunnit. It was actually Honoria who killed the canary and she killed all those people to frame Gordon. Fortunately, Luke arrives just in time as he realised Miss Pinkerton never said it was a man.
The one very minor flaw in Murder is Easy is the relative shadowiness of the ostensible suspects, but that’s all part of the genius. There is so much to love about this: the original misdirection from Luke’s assumption; the secondary feint towards Lord Whitfield; even Honoria’s regret that her attempt to plant suspicion on Lord Whitfield’s gift of grapes came to nothing when she poisoned Mrs Horton. It’s a wonderful, first-rate work from the ever-fertile imagination of Agatha Christie.
Overture to Death (1939) begins with a SKETCH PLAN of the Vale of Pen Cuckoo. This is truly delightful. We are in Dorset.
An opening argument between squire Jocelyn and his spinster cousin Eleanor provides handy exposition. She doesn’t want his son Henry to marry Dinah, the rector’s daughter, who may be county but is both an actress and poor. There is a wonderful introduction to the acidulous Idris Campanula amid a setting of local gossip.
The committee to fund-raise for a new piano is wracked by jealousies and aggressive passive-aggression. Marsh gives us insight into the nasty little thoughts of the participants. Mrs Ross, an ‘outsider’ brought by Dr Templett, suggests the ideal play, to which Eleanor and Idris agree with painful forced politeness as they are promised good roles. Dinah is to direct and Mrs Ross is ‘persuaded’ to take a small part. The scene is set for seething petty drama that makes the idea of living in a small village absolutely chilling.
Idris and Eleanor both want to play the Entracte. “Sweetness impregnated by acidity,” as Marsh nicely puts it; snobbishness, spite, self-righteousness and sheer bitchiness. Evil, in fact. Henry and Dinah climb Cloudyfold hill to declare their love at dawn. The Rector forbids Dinah to see Henry alone, feeling his position vis-à-vis the squire.
C6 indicates that Marsh must have been present during some really toxic rehearsals. One of Eleanor’s fingers is seriously inflamed and the dress rehearsal is outstandingly bad. Eleanor leaves Confession (he’s a very High Church rector) in tears, only to discover Henry kissing Dinah in the lane. Idris is very annoyed to hear the piano in the locked Parish Hall being played apparently by nobody. Dr Templett sees an anonymous note ‘giving notice’ to the recipient to leave under threat of exposure.
Just before performance on Saturday evening, the doctor forbids Eleanor to play the piano. She submits to the Rector, so Idris steps in and, on depressing the soft pedal, is shot through the head from inside the piano. Which, with the caveat that murder is bad, is a cool method of despatch.
Overworked with a jewel heist, the local police call in the Yard. The complicated mechanism that fired the Colt reminds Alleyn of his godson’s toys (this being 1939 when small boys made things). There were many reasons to hate Idris but until 7.40pm everyone assumed Eleanor would be playing.
Dr Templett thinks the mechanism is actually no more complicated than those to be found in boys’ paper (see above note). Nigel Bathgate arrives for no good reason and the reader hopes Marsh will soon lose patience with the character. The doctor’s warning note smells of eucalyptus, connecting it to Idris’ cold. The revolver belongs to Jocelyn and all the cast knew where it was and how it worked. Alleyn finds a water pistol in the Hall, which the sergeant identifies as property of a small tyke.
C12 offers more insight into the anxious minds of the suspects. Fingerprints confirm that Idris wrote the threatening letter. Georgie, the small tyke, fixed up the booby trap with the water pistol and somebody ‘borrowed’ it. All the cast saw the revolver at 5pm on Friday and could have taken it.
Alleyn helpfully recounts the suspects’ movements on Friday and Saturday. Eleanor suggests that Mrs Ross and the doctor did it. Alleyn wants to know who stood on a box under the Parish Hall window. The encounter between Henry, Dinah and Eleanor leaves many questions and much time unaccounted for. Idris’ chauffeur recounts her failed attempt to enter the Hall - without a box - before she went to Confession. He saw that the piano was in position, but its top was open.
It is reported in C16 that Idris was very distressed late on Friday evening and wrote to her solicitor on Saturday, presumably to change her will (which, as it stood, gave most of her money to the Rector). After the Reading Circle, she threw herself at the Rector, as he admits with great embarrassment. But who left the Rectory grounds through the squeaky gate? And who opened the Hall window that Dr Templett had to shut on Saturday afternoon?
The doctor is forced to admit that Mrs Ross was the actual recipient of the letter, although she disavows it, and that he saw the box when he closed the window. He had known for a couple of days that Eleanor could not have played the piano.
To everyone’s surprise, a helper tells the sergeant that she played the piano at 6.30pm on Saturday (without being shot, obviously). This gives the doctor an alibi and, 75% of the way through the novel, leads Alleyn to announce that he knows the killer. Perhaps I should have kept more careful notes, but 70-75% seems the approximate average for detectives to make these declarations (and then keep it to themselves).
Nonetheless, there is still time for the telephone extension to suggest something to Alleyn. A local poacher with a thick accent reveals that he heard Henry threaten Eleanor. Alleyn writes to Troy, which is lovely. Mrs Ross tries to seductively improve her situation and tells Alleyn that she saw the person on the box whilst she and the doctor were having a few moments to themselves. She then goes to see Jocelyn whilst the police receive confirmation from the Yard that she’s a common little blackmailer.
Alleyn, who seems to have a liking for this sort of thing, gathers the suspects onstage. Eleanor, who seems to have gone mad, admits to opening the window and standing on the box. It was of course Eleanor who set the revolver because she knew she wouldn’t be playing the piano, sneaking down from the stage and slipping it into place. She had seen and misinterpreted the scene between Idris and the Rector. This is what comes of being a bitter and frustrated and unholy spinster.
As with a lot of Marsh, much seems to happen yet the whole investigation takes less than 48 hours. If you can swallow the implausibility of the means as well as the comings and goings of the suspects, it’s actually a really good book.