One always approaches the sequel to a masterpiece, one of the detective story landmarks, with some trepidation. Will it be up to the level of the first (last) case? Or will a quarter of a century have sapped the author of his invention and Philip Trent of his charm?
One’s anxieties are somewhat justified, for this is not up to the standard of the first – it is much better than average, very well-written and amusing, but hardly a masterpiece. Trent, who was a breath of fresh air in the early Edwardian era of flamboyant hawkeyes and melodramatic conspiracies, is agreeable but barely distinguishable from any of his numerous literary progeny – say Lord Peter Wimsey or Roger Sheringham. Although this is his "own" case, he was much more emotionally involved with his First Case, when he fel in love with the chief suspect, whom he subsequently married. Here his involvement in the murder of James Randolph, the highly unpleasant and sadistic Nonconformist millionaire (as disagreeable as Sigsbee Manderson), is coincidental rather than natural: he visited Randolph on the night of the murder to clear up a matter involving the actress Eunice Faviell (who didn’t know then that she was Randolph’s niece until she lunched with him earlier that day), was the friend of the main suspect (employed by Randolph at one of his institutes until his unaccountable dismissal and in love with Eunice) and of Randolph’s secretary, and was unsuccessfully framed by the murderer. Coincidence seems to be one of the recurring motifs: Trent accidentally causes Randolph to discover the murderer’s secret, causing the murderer to commit his crime; his visit to Randolph leads to Fairman’s self-incrimination and attempted suicide; and Trent’s aunt Miss Yates, who asked him to confront Randolph about Eunice, picks up the page from Randolph’s engagement-book dropped by Fairman on the boat to Dieppe and sends it to her nephew.
While the book is thus as coincidental as Dickens at his most convoluted, it is also rather diffuse. The middle sections are concerned with a visit to France which, while pleasant reading, contributes nothing to the book and must, therefore, be judged a self-indulgence. Things tighten up towards the end, when Trent gets down to the serious business of interviewing the most obvious people (most of whom have been inaccessible – Raught, Randolph’s valet, and Eunice have hidden themselves and Fairman is in prison) and discovering what they saw and did.
The solution is hardly a surprise; indeed, it is the one the intelligent reader will have anticipated from Chapter V. The clues, though, that Bailey uses are the classical Chestertonian ones of character and conversation (meaningless lies and contradictions) – always the most satisfying sort. The murderer’s alibi, which hinges on a disguise inspired by the Charles Hawtrey play A Message from Mars, is the sort of simple ingenuity which one finds in "The Queer Feet".
Despite its coincidences and self-indulgence, this is generally a very pleasing detective story which suffers only by comparison with its great predecessor, one of the three best detective novels written before 1920. Had it come from another writer, it would be more favourably received. As it is, one can only regret that Trent’s second case was also his last.
Nick Fuller
Trent's Own Case (1936), which Bentley wrote with H. Warner Allen, is the only other novel featuring Trent. Allen's wine detective William Clerihew makes a cameo appearance here, solving the mystery of a champagne cork. The chapter with Clerihew ("Felix Poubelle 1884") is among the best in the book. In real life Allen, like his detective, was an expert on wines, publishing numerous books on the subject. This novel is full of many little subsidiary mysteries, each lasting a chapter or two, and each focusing on a new cast of characters. It gives the work as a whole the feel of a short story collection, or a loosely linked short story sequence à la The Arabian Nights. Many of the sections of the novel deal with ingenious criminal or quasi-criminal schemes. Like many of the short stories in Trent Intervenes, these sections seem inspired by the Rogue tradition. The vanishing son here (Chapter 10) seems allied with "The Vanishing Lawyer" (1937) of the collection. While some of these individual sections are well done, the book as a whole is a disappointment.
There are also many signs of similarity with Dorothy L. Sayers in the book. The story is crammed with cultural allusions and quotes from poetry. Trent's Last Case (1913) is packed with similar poetic quotes. There is also a wallowing in snobbish high life. Intermixed with all this high toned or at least upper crust material is a look at decadent personal and sexual relationships. While all of this material is very low key compared to the raciness of the 1990's, it recalls Sayers' similar interest in the decadent. I can't say that I really like or enjoy any of this decadence; this sort of stuff just seems mildly repellent to me in both Sayers and Bentley.
There are also many scenes set in France in this novel, a location that recalls Freeman Wills Crofts. Sure enough, the novel drew euconiums from both Sayers and Crofts. There is also a fairly ingenious alibi.
Mike Grost
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