Freeman, R Austin - A Silent Witness (1914)

Review by Nick Fuller

4/5

This fourth exploit of Dr. Thorndyke, the last to be published between the outbreak of war in 1914 and 1922, is steadfastly entertaining in its account of the doings of a mutton-headed and rather impetuous young medico, very much a template for John Dickson Carr’s heroes, who stumbles upon disappearing corpses on Hampstead Heath and patients who die under mysterious circumstances in Jacob Street, and is nearly murdered for his troubles. Despite the melodrama typical of the period and the extraordinary coincidences, many of the scenes are excellent, with just the right amount of the picturesque to suggest that touch of “Baghdad-on-Thames” common to Stevenson and Carr. Where the book suffers is by comparison to the later D’Arblay Mystery, which reuses the plot to greater effect. There are two surprising errors, the first on mirrors (p. 147 of the Stratus edition), and it does not stand to reason that only a professional criminal would wear gloves; by 1925, most readers were fully acquainted with the concept of fingerprints.

Dr Humphrey Jardine's narration treats of a strange chain of events that befell him when he was newly qualified, at a time when there were still horse-drawn cabs and the descent of dusk saw lamplighters at work.

His adventures begin late one evening when he goes for a stroll along Millfield Lane on the edge of London's Hampstead Heath. He sees a corpse, a clerical gent going by his garments, lying further up the narrow thoroughfare but when he returns with police reinforcements a few minutes later the body has gone. Naturally enough, the chaps in blue are politely sceptical about what Jardine saw or, as they see it, did not see.

Jardine returns next day to examine the lane and finds a suspicious stain on the fence near where the body had lain. He also picks up a tiny reliquary made of gold, its frayed silk cord suggesting it had been worn as a necklace or in some other way about its owner's person. Climbing up and looking over the fence, he sees obvious tracks leading away from the fence -- taken all together, suggestive circumstances to say the least.

Dr Thorndyke suggests Jardine act as locum tenens for one Dr Batson residing in (you have guessed it) Jacob Street, thus pitching the young medic into a positive whirlwind of odd goings-on. After a particularly inventive effort at murdering Jardine, Thorndyke's colleague Dr Jervis takes over Jardine's locum tenems position pro tem and investigations get under way to find out who is assiduously trying to dispose of Jardine, a man with, so far as he knows, no enemies and with no relatives liable to benefit by his death.

My verdict: The plot unspools into a web of disturbing incidents, unexpected meetings and re-meetings, attempted murders, and a deserted house which nonetheless tells a great deal as the novel rattles up hill and down dale, or rather lane, in a landscape through which move a pretty young artist with a ferocious aunt, a mysterious stranger afflicted with a rare eye disorder, a Jesuit priest seeking news of a missing friend, and a "downy bird" or two of both genders -- not to mention a hidden portrait. There is much following about of various people and sending of telegrams, and, of course, despite lack of clews, Thorndyke cracks the case, although not in time to...but no, I shall say no more.

Etext

Mary R.

R. Austin Freeman's 1914 novel, A Silent Witness, contains three features found in many later novels.

1) It opens with the narrator finding a body. But when he goes to summon a policeman and returns with the cop, the body has vanished. The police don't believe him that there was ever any body there.

2) The bad guys think the that the narrator knows something, so they keep trying to kill him. But the narrator doesn't "know what he knows"; he has no idea what they are so concerned about.

3) At the end of the book, it is revealed that the killer froze the corpse of his victim, then unthawed it many weeks later, making it look as if the victim was only recently killed.

These three plot features have been reused in countless books, and the first two have appeared in an endless number of films, as well. They are virtually clichés of the genre. But here they are, and at a very early date. Did Freeman invent them? It wouldn't surprise me, but I have not read the vast number of early detective novels it would take to find out.

Freeman's works seem to be so paradigmatic for later detective stories. The Eye of Osiris is virtually a blueprint for the later, Golden Age detective novel of the 20's and 30's. Freeman's work as a whole was an ancestor of Freeman Wills Crofts and his school. And A Silent Witness contains ideas reused in countless thrillers.

A Silent Witness is not as good a novel as its predecessor (Osiris). There is far too much coincidence, and the plotting is just not as clever. It is clearly an attempt to write a second book in the style of the first, but it emerges as almost a parody of its predecessor. The best things about the book are the descriptions of both nature and London life. These are vivid, poetic, and largely fascinating. The book's three big formal innovations are noteworthy, too.

Mike Grost