Christopher
Bush's The Case of the Magic Mirror (1943) is the
twenty-sixth entry in the Ludovic Travers series and here the
influence of the tough, hardboiled school began to show with its
first-person narration by the detective, "the dissolute rich"
and "scheming femmes fatales" – changing Travers from a
prim intellectual to a genteel private-investigator. However, the
plot hearkened back to the more elaborate, Golden Age baroque-style
detective stories from the early days of the series (c.f. The
Case of the April Fools, 1933). The book even begins with a
sporting challenge to the reader.
The Case of the Magic
Mirror begins in the Spring, of 1942, with Travers recovering
from an operation that removed "a lump of shrapnel from a
premature bomb." So he has enough time on his hands to tell the
story of one of the most unusual murder cases he had been
unofficially connected to, but the solution was "so absurdly
simple" that some wonder why they haven't "seen it from
the very first."
To cement his claim,
Travers tells the reader that in the next paragraph is "the germ
of that simple solution" allowing you, the reader, "to
solve the whole thing well before the last page" and prove your
mettle as an armchair detective – which is an excellent example of
fair play. Right off the bat, Bush gives away a clue as a freebie!
This is exactly why he has become one of my favorite Golden Age
mystery writers.
The story Travers has to
tell took place shortly before the outbreak of the Second World War,
in 1939, but the case has its roots in an earlier swindle affair and
a big, headline grabbing 1937 trial. Five men were charged and
convicted for fleecing thousands of pounds from race-horse bookies by
tampering with the time-stamps of telegrams, which were used to wire
bets to the bookies. These convictions were secured with the
testimonies of the "socially dubious" Joe Passman and one
of the accused, Rupert Craigne, ensuring most of them got "a
couple of years apiece," which infuriated one of them, Patrick
Sivley – who worked as Passman's chauffeur. And, as he's dragged
out of court, he screams he will get them even "if it's the last
thing I do."
Enter Joe Passman's
stepdaughter, Charlotte Craigne, who's married to Rupert and, once
upon a time, she had been Travers' sole indiscretion in life.
Charlotte is completely
devoted to Rupert, but financially depended on Passman and suspects
he masterminded the bookie-swindling case. So she turns to her
ex-lover, Travers, to use his detective skills to dig up dirt on
Passman, which she wants to use as blackmail material. So why would
Travers agree to take part in this scheme? Charlotte hands him a
snapshot of a small boys and tells him its his son! A son she gave
birth to after their relationship ended. If he refuses to help her,
Charlotte promises him to send his wife all the prove of his bastard
son. So he has no choice but to acquiesce.
However, Travers makes
plans "to clip the lady's claws" and engages a
private-detective, Edward "Eddie" Franks, to not only help him
with the Passman end of the swindling affair, but also help him
disprove his paternity by identifying the boy in the photograph,
which is one of the things that reminded me of the early books in the
series – when John Franklin, an inquiry agent of Durangos Limited,
assisted Travers and Superintendent George Wharton (e.g. The
Perfect Murder Case, 1929). So far, this appears to be a
relatively simple, straightforward case, but then the murders
happened. And those murders is another thing that reminded me of the
earlier books.
Before his fall from
grace, Rupert Craigne was a famously conceited actor and, upon his
release, he has been making a public exhibition of himself by loudly
proclaiming his innocence in public.
One day, Charlotte gets a
letter from Rupert telling her that he's going to a seaside place,
called Trimport, to "collect a crowd" and "tell them
a few things." Theatrically, Rupert was standing in a small
boat addressing the scores of swimmers and the people crowded at the
water's edge. A rifle-shot silences the actor as he falls backwards
into the sea. Charlotte and Travers witnesses the murder, but the
worst is yet to come. When they return to the manor house, the place
is crawling with police. Joe Passman has been stabbed to death around
the same time Rupert Craigne was shot!
These multiple,
closely-timed and tightly intertwined murders were a staple of Bush's
detective novels from the 1930s and he got a lot of mileage out of
exploring the possibilities this premise has to offer. Some notable
examples are Dead
Man Twice (1930), Dancing
Death (1931), The
Case of the Bonfire Body (1936), The
Case of the Tudor Queen (1938) and the previously mentioned
The Case of the April Fools. This time the murders are
complicated when two people go missing: Sivley had been spotted near
the house around the time of Passman's murder and this is assumed to
have been the reason why he bolted, but the old, dutiful butler of
the place, Matthews, appears to have "simply walked out of the
house" – vanishing without a trace or reason. Lastly, there
the titular mirror, which was taken from the wall and replaced by a
framed print.
The Case of the Magic
Mirror has all the ingredients of a first-rate detective novel.
An intricately-linked double murder plot, a cat-and-mouse game with a
dangerous, beautifully characterized dame and personal angle for the
protagonist. Travers is not only blackmailed, but circumstances
forces him to pull the wool over the eyes of the old war-horse,
Superintendent George "The General" Wharton. Always a tricky
thing to do. Even more so to someone he respects as a friendly rival
and considers to be a friend. Or what about keeping his wife in the
dark about his past with Charlotte? Consequently, Travers emerges
from this story "a trifle shop-soiled."
In spite of the rich,
busy plot with multiple moving parts and a quasi-impossible
alibi-trick, the whole scheme was as transparent as a child's lie and
this made the intended surprise solution fall flat on its face.
However, I have to give props to Bush for the trickery behind the
first murder. Some parts of the trick are a little difficult to
swallow, which mainly has to do with time and timing, but not
entirely impossible to pull off under those circumstances. As an
aside, a far more famous mystery writer used a slight variation on
this trick in one of his latter, lesser-known detective novels.
So, on a whole, The
Case of the Magic Mirror failed to secure a place among the
top-rank titles in the series and not recommended to readers who are
new to the series, but the close ties Travers has to the case and how
he handled it makes it a must-read to fans of Bush.
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