Monday, Dec. 30, 1929

Murder!

MURDER IN THE MOOR--Thomas Kindon--Dutton ($2).

The excessively ugly, good-humored and unambitious Peregrine ("Pithecanthropus") Smith, on a fortnight's pedestrian holiday from his police duties, meets up with an aggressive young Scottish engineer. They set out to cross Dukesmoor together in a thick fog. From the window of the moorland house a face watches them menacingly. Through the fog comes faintly the tolling of a bell--a convict has escaped! At Oakmere Pool lies the dead body of a man, stripped to his underclothes. . . . Thus this thriller, in the somewhat old-fashioned English manner: plenty of atmosphere and a well-defined trail, with the red herrings a little brightly colored. Two characters stand out with pleasant eccentricity: old Mr. Hubbleby, who spends the daylight hours of his vacation riding to and from London on express trains, sleeping at home every night; Pithecanthropus Smith, who is no believer in Sherlock Holmes. Says he: "Detectives frequently have to ask questions which seem impertinent at first, and prove irrelevant at last."

THE SECRET OF 37 HARDY STREET--Robert J. Casey--Bobbs Merrill ($2).

To reporters playing bridge in the office late at night comes Chief of Detectives Crewe, looking for his old friend Sands, a better detective than reporter. There has been a murder, and a queer one. The dead man sits at his dining room table, lashed to his chair; breakfast has been laid for four, but nobody has touched it; everywhere is the thick stink of nicotine. The setting is melodramatic, but the action is confused, realistic: the policemen, the loudmouthed, lowbrowed coroner, the witnesses at the inquest, are photographically true to type. The satire on things political, policial, is at times more than implicit. In every detective story there should be a star detective but here he is fallible enough to seem human.

CORPSE GUARDS PARADE--Milward Kennedy--Crime Club ($2).

When the corpse of a bearded man, dressed only in pajamas, was found stretched on the pavement of London's Horse Guards Parade, it seemed a fairly simple matter to identify him. But it soon turned out that: his beard was false, a patch of his left eyebrow shaved; he had been dead six hours, though he was seen alive only an hour before his body was found; he had been killed by a blow on the head, and shot afterwards. The finding of the murderer is a comparatively simple matter after it is proved who was murdered. Five detectives, professional and amateur, work at the unraveling: though some smart readers may guess the answer, it will be a seasoned crime-story fan who can guess which of these dark horses finally comes in ahead.

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