Pray for the Dawn (1946) by Eric Harding

Eric Harding's Pray for the Dawn (1946) could have been the poster child for obscure, out-of-print and virtually impossible to obtain mystery novels that might have been completely forgotten today had it not been for a single, minuscule plot-thread – securing a place in Robert Adey's Locked Room Murders (1991). Adey even highlighted Pray for the Dawn in the preface as "a thriller rather than a detective novel" with "a degree of novelty" that's "well worth seeking out." Another stroke of luck that would eventually wrest the book away from total obscurity is John Norris, of Pretty Sinister Books, who loves extremely scarce mysteries crammed with occult lore and voodoo rituals. 

John Norris reviewed it back in April, 2021, which promised something along the lines of Theodore Roscoe's Murder on the Way (1935) meets Agatha Christie's And Then There Were None (1939). A detective novel ("albeit a very unconventional one") disguised as an adventurous thriller with an atmosphere of slowly mounting terror on an isolated island. So it begged to be reprinted. Ramble House agreed with that sentiment and republished Harding's Pray for the Dawn for the first time since its original publication 75 years ago.

Before delving into the story and plot, I need to note that I decided against tagging this post as a "locked room mystery" and "impossible crime." The impossibility is described by Adey in Locked Room Murders as "an encoffined dwarf," dead for ten years, "is seen to breath and perspire," but it's such a minor piece of the puzzle that presenting it as a locked room would detract from it as an excellent mystery-thriller. So, now, on to the story itself!

Barry Vane, a ballet dancer and member of the Carl Velte International Ballet, who narrates the story as he travels to the remote home of his uncle, Nathan Claymole. A former explorer, crook and trader in native artifacts, but Barry recalled precious little of his uncle except, a little uneasily, "the hints and rumours whispered about him by other and more respectable members of the family" – having "done nothing to enhance the prestige of the white race" during his time in foreign parts. So quite the black sheep of the family. Barry had not seen his uncle since he was a child and was pleasantly surprised to receive an invitation that suggested "something in the nature of a reunion" with the premise that the visit would be to his advantage. Just at the time when an accident had shelved his dancing career.

The dark, lonely house, "quite a haunted sort of place," which is encircled by a stream, "more of a torrent than a stream," called the Boa ("like a great mad snake") that can only be reached by crossing "a damn' rickety plank" serving as a bridge. The house is covered on the inside with animal skins, spears, knives and shields with shrunken heads decorating the mantelpieces. So a perfect place to either have an old-fashioned detective story or a pulp-style thriller. Either will do. And when Barry finally arrives, the normally quiet, largely empty house has filled with relatives who haven't seen one another in decades. Firstly, there's Toby Judd, or Uncle Judd, who's technically an outsider as he accepted the invitation on behalf of his late wife, Jennie. A niece of the host. Caroline Claymole is "the most tyrannical zealot" of the family with narrow, religious convictions who disapproves of her brother Nathan and browbeat her young daughter, Betsy. Oscar Claymole is a cousin of Caroline and is already "a bundle of nerves" who "looked utterly miserable" when he was introduced to Barry. Bret Jenson is their American cousin whose calm, self-assurance "almost amounted to conceit" and Barry would come to detest him intensely before many hours were passed. Miss Sylvia Bream "is a more distant but nevertheless most charming member" of the family with whom Barry very quickly falls in love. Great-uncle Jonah Clay is the ancient relic of the group and gives meaning to the phrase, "death outliving the grave." Finally, there's the African servant, Kish, who's a somewhat sinister character who utters such pleasantries as "heads—men heads" and "dead sometimes come to life."

So the macabre, outright bizarre stage is set, but it takes a while for Nathan Claymole to appear as he has been standing guard over the body of a dead dwarf. However, the dwarf was no ordinary man!

N'olah was a witch-doctor of the Javiro tribe of South America, "died ten years ago tonight," but Nathan tells his relatives "a devil-man does not die like an ordinary person" and "wakes again in his own good time" – which he believes will happen that night. So he has been watching over the body since dawn, because he's dangerous and must not awake alone. Not even Nathan wants a sadistic, undead murderer "who takes human life for the joy of killing" walking around his house unsupervised. The family even gets to view the terrifying body in his oblong coffin, which is when they see the body breath and perspire. So, as to be expected, Nathan and Kish happened to be out of the bizarre room when N'olah apparently stirred from his "uneasy sleep" and disappeared. Nathan orders Kish to smash the support to the bridge to trap the N'olah on the island. And them with him! What could possibly go wrong? A family member is found strangled in his bedroom with the dwarf's strangling cord, "a plaited raffia loop," still around the victim's neck. There were "eight strangling loops on the dwarf's bandolier." Suggesting there's a noose for each of Nathan's visiting relative.

So it goes without saying the rapidly unfolding events places even more stress on the already strained group of people. While the "regression into savagery" never reaches the levels of Anthony Berkeley's Panic Party (1934) or Christie's And Then There Were None, you can feel that even the rational character have sunken ankle deep into madness with a few of them teetering on the edge as the horrific events begin to translate into outright hysteria. Since the story is presented as a adventurous thriller with supernatural overtones, you really have to read for yourself what goes down on that scary, isolated island in the middle of nowhere. It makes for an excellent read!

Regardless of all its sensational, pulp-style thriller trappings and mounting hysteria, Harding craftily hid a pure, Golden Age detective story underneath it all. John Norris wrote in his review (linked above) that's not unfair "to reveal that all of the supernatural events will turn out to be rationalized." I agree as it both reassures the readers of our blogs that there's payoff in the end and it enhances the fun of trying to work out the solution, because you have an actual shot at doing it. Once again, to quote the real expert, "scattered throughout the story are multidinous red herrings" alongside "several cleverly planted clues." A noteworthy clue that can be safely pointed out the Author's Note at the start of the story in which Harding apologizes for having written "a story of adventure to pass away a peaceful hour" instead of "an exercise in detection." He also points out "a deliberate and intentional gap in the continuity of the story," which "the astute arm-chair detective will readily assess the significance of this omission." A lesser mystery writer would never have dared such a bold move and should have made me more alert than I already was, because the misdirection and red herrings were as good as the fair play clueing. There's a red herring that likely was not intended as a red herring, but it worked as one in 2022. You see, the covered, western sandals of N'olah and Barry noticing his wrists ended in stumps left me very suspicious as I imagined something straight out of a Japanese, horror-tinged detective novel. A piece of body horror coming to life would not have been out of place in Pray for the Dawn, but Harding slipped something a little more sophisticated, oddly traditional pass me unnoticed. Something that has been done before and since the book was published, but seldom executed with the skill, cunning and careful construction as seen here. Just as impressive is how the solutions to the murders contrasted with its fantastic premise and storytelling. Harding ended up having his cake and eating it too! And he got away with it!

So, all in all, Pray for the Dawn is an excellent, unjustly overlooked and forgotten mystery-thriller not only deserving of being resurrected, but makes you mourn the fact Harding only passed through the genre. If he had stuck around, Harding could have been a fan favorite like John Dickson Carr, Theodore Roscoe and Hake Talbot. Recommended as a highly unconventional, but strangely successful detective/thriller novel. 

Just explain one thing to me: how is it possible Gwen Bristow and Bruce Manning's The Invisible Host (1930) won the 2021 Reprint of the Year Award, while a novel like Pray for the Dawn was ignored? I need to understand how it happened.