Hand in Glove (Dead Letter Mysteries)

Rating:
Summary: One of Ngaio Marsh's best mysteries
Review: Although a New Zealander by birth, Ngaio Marsh, has to be considered one of the great writers of the classic British detective novel. She has never come close to matching Agatha Christie's devious and ingenious talent for misdirection - not to mention her popularity - yet she is a far better writer than Christie. Her characters have depth and her dialogue is sharp and witty, albeit perhaps a bit too British upper crusty for some tastes. She chooses very interesting settings (as in "Died in the Wool") and milieux (as in "Artists In Crime") and describes them well - to the point where on occasions the atmosphere and mood provide half the pleasure of reading the book.

In "Hand In Glove", the tranquility of Pyke Period's English country house is disrupted by the discovery of his houseguest's body in an open ditch. Harry Cartell was the victim of an ingenious trap that could have been laid by any of half a dozen characters, whose backgrounds range from highly suspicious to above suspicion. Many secrets and many motives, but the narrative never generates confusion in the reader, only a mystification that is very gratifyingly unraveled by Roderick Alleyn. The clue on which the mystery turns - Pyke Period's misdirected letters - provides one of those "Aha!" moments that mystery readers so often long for, but so seldom get.

I am a practiced reader of detective stories and while I find most of Marsh's mysteries to be enjoyable reading, I do not find them particularly mystifying - I'm usually able to spot the guilty party in the early chapters. However, in "Hand In Glove" she very adroitly pulled the wool over my eyes, while playing fair every step of the way. This is a well-told story with a cast of plausible suspects, deft narration and excellent misdirection while presenting all of the clues fairly. A fun ready, and one of Marsh's best mysteries.

Rating:
Summary: One of Ngaio Marsh's best mysteries
Review: Although a New Zealander by birth, Ngaio Marsh, has to be considered one of the great writers of the classic British detective novel. She has never come close to matching Agatha Christie's devious and ingenious talent for misdirection - not to mention her popularity - yet she is a far better writer than Christie. Her characters have depth and her dialogue is sharp and witty, albeit perhaps a bit too British upper crusty for some tastes. She chooses very interesting settings (as in "Died in the Wool") and milieux (as in "Artists In Crime") and describes them well - to the point where on occasions the atmosphere and mood provide half the pleasure of reading the book.

In "Hand In Glove", the tranquility of Pyke Period's English country house is disrupted by the discovery of his houseguest's body in an open ditch. Harry Cartell was the victim of an ingenious trap that could have been laid by any of half a dozen characters, whose backgrounds range from highly suspicious to above suspicion. Many secrets and many motives, but the narrative never generates confusion in the reader, only a mystification that is very gratifyingly unraveled by Roderick Alleyn. The clue on which the mystery turns - Pyke Period's misdirected letters - provides one of those "Aha!" moments that mystery readers so often long for, but so seldom get.

I am a practiced reader of detective stories and while I find most of Marsh's mysteries to be enjoyable reading, I do not find them particularly mystifying - I'm usually able to spot the guilty party in the early chapters. However, in "Hand In Glove" she very adroitly pulled the wool over my eyes, while playing fair every step of the way. This is a well-told story with a cast of plausible suspects, deft narration and excellent misdirection while presenting all of the clues fairly. A fun ready, and one of Marsh's best mysteries.

Rating:
Summary: Well timed mystery.
Review: One of the pleasures of reading Ngaio Marsh' Alleyn mysteries, is that not only are the mysteries puzzling, but that she has a way of bringing her characters to vivid life. While her skill at writing is largely responsible, so too is the time she takes to develop the characters before the "mystery" takes over.

This novel is a good illustration of that. Inspector alleyn doesn't enter the picture until halfway through the story. By then, we are as immersed in the personal lives, feelings, and thoughts of the characters, as if we were actually on scene. This is all the more amazing for the economy of words that Ms. Marsh employs. Here there are none of the tediously long descriptive passages that plague many an author who strive to be critically acclaimed.

The story takes place in a small village. The cast of characters are largely inter-related and of the "upper class". Into the mix are introduced the charming young secretary come to help write a book on proper manners, as well as a disreputable troublemaker who you would just love to see convicted of the murder.

The mystery moves along at a good pace and the ending wraps up the multiple threads of the story very satisfactorily. A pleasure to read, and one of her better efforts.

Rating:
Summary: DEAD IN A DITCH would be more apt
Review: This isn't the case featuring Peregrine Jay's play _The Glove_; DEATH AT THE DOLPHIN is the case featuring Hamnet Shakespeare's cheveral glove,"worn but once".

The third-person viewpoint of HAND IN GLOVE is split between Alleyn himself and a supporting character - in this case, Nicola Maitland-Mayne, a young family friend of the Alleyns. Nicola plays down her double-barrelled name, but her new employer not only emphasizes it but says he hired her because he knew her family. Pyke Period's snobbery is of a harmless variety, and doesn't interfere with his basic decency and friendliness. He's a confirmed bachelor with an arch manner, whose ruling passion is the manner - or manor - born: the formal trappings of the upper classes, from architecture to family portraits to etiquette - most especially etiquette. He's famous for his letters of condolence, and has hired Nicola to help him assemble his notes on etiquette for a publisher. (He'd *love* to have Troy Alleyn paint his portrait for the cover of the book, incidentally, but doesn't dare ask, given her notorious choosiness over human subjects).

Unfortunately, the new book isn't the only change in Period's life lately. Since retiring from his law practice a few weeks ago, Henry Cartell has been sharing Period's house, but it isn't working out. Period (and his staff, Mrs. Mitchell and Alfred) like a very settled routine, and Cartell gets on their nerves. He often invites his irritating sister Connie and her disreputable hangers-on to stay, with little warning. His mutt Pixie smashes up vicarage garden parties. At least he's on good terms with his ex-wife, neighbour Lady Bantling - or rather, he was until they disagreed over her son's trust fund. On that point, Period agrees as co-trustee that Andrew should *not* quit the army to invest in an art gallery and pursue a painting career.

On the night the story opens, Pixie moves upscale, causing a dogfight during Lady Bantling's treasure-hunt party. Lucky, in a way, that Pixie bit the hostess' current husband, since the doctor's visit marks one of the few fixed points in the timetable of Cartell's murder.

The first treasure-hunt clue led to a ditch being dug along Period's property. At some point while Cartell was taking Pixie for her nightly walk, he fell in, but it was no accident that someone's gloved hands rolled the sewer pipe onto him, leaving him to smother in the mud. The horrible manner of his death is the only device used to persuade us to care whether it's avenged; he's a mildly objectionable stage prop rather than a fleshed out character. The most interesting point about his death happens afterwards: why did Connie Cartell receive *two* of Period's famous letters of condolence on the same day?

The murder brings Alleyn in about halfway through, with the usual division of labour wherein Fox handles the bread-and-butter questioning, while Alleyn dazzles the upper crust. I regret to say that Alleyn not only meddles with the forensic work of his flash and dab minions Bailey and Thompson - he rarely lets forensics people do their jobs in peace, after all - but that Alleyn has regressed temporarily to the shallow flippancy of earlier cases.

As it happens, the police already know some of the suspects. Cartell's unmarried sister Connie has taken trashy 'Moppett' Ralston under her wing, complete with Moppett's boyfriend, Leonard Leiss. Lady Bantling actually gets nostalgic about how much Leiss reminds her of the top-grade gigolos of her youth - Bimbo Dodds, her current, third husband, is younger than she, but not *that* young. He himself is mixed up with a nightclub with a bad reputation. Andrew - he of the artistic aspirations - is one of the more wholesome visitors to the area; he and Nicola don't even try to follow Dodd's little trail of clues on the night of the hunt, but get acquainted with each other.

While this book is OK, I wouldn't go out of my way to read it; it fails to inspire either desire for justice - Cartell doesn't make much impression as a person - or even fear of injustice, since Alleyn doesn't commit himself to a suspect until the endgame. Lacking those elements - the mainstays of good mystery fiction - the story isn't especially interesting, and I prefer a good mystery *novel* over a clever puzzle any day. Neither the romance nor Lady Bantling's wild parties get enough play to compensate. Period and Lady Bantling provide some mild interest and entertainment, though.

Rating:
Summary: _Dead in a Ditch_ would be more apt
Review: This isn't the case featuring Peregrine Jay's play _The Glove_; _Death at the Dolphin_ is the case featuring Hamnet Shakespeare's cheveral glove,"worn but once".

The third-person viewpoint of _Hand in Glove_ is split between Alleyn himself and a supporting character - in this case, Nicola Maitland-Mayne, a young family friend of the Alleyns. Nicola plays down her double-barrelled name, but her new employer not only emphasizes it but says he hired her because he knew her family. Pyke Period's snobbery is of a harmless variety, and doesn't interfere with his basic decency and friendliness. He's a confirmed bachelor with an arch manner, whose ruling passion is the manner - or manor - born: the formal trappings of the upper classes, from architecture to family portraits to etiquette - most especially etiquette. He's famous for his letters of condolence, and has hired Nicola to help him assemble his notes on etiquette for a publisher. (He'd *love* to have Troy Alleyn paint his portrait for the cover of the book, incidentally, but doesn't dare ask, given her notorious choosiness over human subjects).

Unfortunately, the new book isn't the only change in Period's life lately. Since retiring from his law practice a few weeks ago, Henry Cartell has been sharing Period's house, but it isn't working out. Period (and his staff, Mrs. Mitchell and Alfred) like a very settled routine, and Cartell gets on their nerves. He often invites his irritating sister Connie and her disreputable hangers-on to stay, with little warning. His mutt Pixie smashes up vicarage garden parties. At least he's on good terms with his ex-wife, neighbour Lady Bantling - or rather, he was until they disagreed over her son's trust fund. On that point, Period agrees as co-trustee that Andrew should *not* quit the army to invest in an art gallery and pursue a painting career.

On the night the story opens, Pixie moves upscale, causing a dogfight during Lady Bantling's treasure-hunt party. Lucky, in a way, that Pixie bit the hostess' current husband, since the doctor's visit marks one of the few fixed points in the timetable of Cartell's murder.

The first treasure-hunt clue led to a ditch being dug along Period's property. At some point while Cartell was taking Pixie for her nightly walk, he fell in, but it was no accident that someone's gloved hands rolled the sewer pipe onto him, leaving him to smother in the mud. The horrible manner of his death is the only device used to persuade us to care whether it's avenged; he's a mildly objectionable stage prop rather than a fleshed out character. The most interesting point about his death happens afterwards: why did Connie Cartell receive *two* of Period's famous letters of condolence on the same day?

The murder brings Alleyn in about halfway through, with the usual division of labour wherein Fox handles the bread-and-butter questioning, while Alleyn dazzles the upper crust. I regret to say that Alleyn not only meddles with the forensic work of his flash and dab minions Bailey and Thompson - he rarely lets forensics people do their jobs in peace, after all - but that Alleyn has regressed temporarily to the shallow flippancy of earlier cases.

As it happens, the police already know some of the suspects. Cartell's unmarried sister Connie has taken trashy 'Moppett' Ralston under her wing, complete with Moppett's boyfriend, Leonard Leiss. Lady Bantling actually gets nostalgic about how much Leiss reminds her of the top-grade gigolos of her youth - Bimbo Dodds, her current, third husband, is younger than she, but not *that* young. He himself is mixed up with a nightclub with a bad reputation. Andrew - he of the artistic aspirations - is one of the more wholesome visitors to the area; he and Nicola don't even try to follow Dodd's little trail of clues on the night of the hunt, but get acquainted with each other.

While this book is OK, I wouldn't go out of my way to read it; it fails to inspire either desire for justice - Cartell doesn't make much impression as a person - or even fear of injustice, since Alleyn doesn't commit himself to a suspect until the endgame. Lacking those elements - the mainstays of good mystery fiction - the story isn't especially interesting, and I prefer a good mystery *novel* over a clever puzzle any day. Neither the romance nor Lady Bantling's wild parties get enough play to compensate. Period and Lady Bantling provide some mild interest and entertainment, though.

Rating:
Summary: Finally, a detective who seems real
Review: While I loved reading Arthur Conan Doyle and Agatha Christie, there was always something a bit unreal about Sherlock Holmes and Hercules Poirot. Neither of them seemed to have any kind of personal life (except of course, Watson and brother Mycroft for Holmes and Hastings for Poirot). No family, friends, love interests (though people have speculated on the Holmes/Watson connection)or any kind of emotional life. Inspector Alleyn is of a different breed. Yes, he's a professional, but he also has a personality outside of being "the Handsome Super," as the newspapers like to call him. As does his faithful sidekick, Inspector Fox, who, though not as clever as Alleyn shows a level of intelligence well above that of Hastings or Watson. In _Hand in Glove_ Marsh sets a murder against the backdrop of a village primarily occupied by the nobility. Indeed, no one would even dream of murder tainting the house where Messrs.Pyke Period and Henry Cartell live. But when one of them ends up having his skull crushed and multiple motives come to light, it is up to Inspector Alleyn to point the finger at the guilty party. This is probably the most skillfully woven Marsh mystery I have read to date.