"The Man Who Liked Toys" (Aug 4, 2005) Every now and then, a Locked Room mystery hits the spot. Even if the solution is about as likely as having lightning jump start your truck, the ingenuity and craftiness the writer puts into the story always gets my admiration. For a classic Locked Room, it's hard to beat John Dickson Carr or Ellery Queen, but this yarn shows Leslie Charteris could work up a perfectly fine specimen in the subgenre. "The Man Who Loved Toys" started life as a stand-alone story, "The Mystery of the Child's Toy" in the September 1933 issue of THE AMERICAN MAGAZINE.* It was set in the States and featured different characters acting out essentially the same narrative. Now, why let that hard work fade away forever when it could easily be reworked into a Simon Templar story, be included in the new collection BOODLE (itself soon retitled THE SAINT INTERVENES), and so help generate income indefinitely? Why indeed. So it came to pass. Charteris' prudent habit of revising unrelated stories to fit into the Saint series is one reason why our own Simon is such a complex and contradictory character (well, by pulp thriller standards; we're not analyzing Arthur Miller here). The Saint in several of his early stories retains some of the traits of the completely different character retrofitted into him. Yet, he is so flamboyant and borderline irational that it all fits together into one larger-than-life personality. So it is that we find Inspector Teal and Simon Templar at their most chummy, enjoying a quiet evening schmoozing in the dance hall of the Palace Royal, debating the methods of police work. ("It was another of those rare occasions when Mr Teal had been able to enjoy the Saint's company without any lurking uneasiness about the outcome.") But it wouldn't be much of a story if they just had one more glass of wine, clapped each other on the back and got into taxis. So Fate (that is, the Fate sweating behind the typewriter) wills they encounter something ominous. There in the lobby, they observe three well-known financiers bidding each other goodnight. One, Lewis Enstone, evidently having altered his blood alcohol content recently, makes an odd gesture. ("In obscurely elaborate pantomime, he closed his fist with his forefinger extended and his thumb cocked vertically upwards, and aimed the forefinger between Hammel's eyes.") The three laugh and separate, Enstone going up in the lift to his flat. (Oh, all right. Up in the elevator to his apartment.) Then, after Teal launches into a drab and lengthy account of how he once lost money in the stock market, Simon overhears a bellboy discuss how Enstone had just shot himself. Giving up on the idea of getting some sleep that night, Inspector Teal announces himself and goes up to the scene, "and quite brazenly the Saint followed him" as though he had any business doing so. Enstone is on his bed, quite deceased, with a bullet hole square in one eye and the gun still in his hand. The man's valet rushed into the room seconds after hearing the shot, the doors and windows are all locked from the inside... Teal phegmatically writes it off as obvious suicide, the lack of a farewell note or motive not bothering him. The Saint is not so sure. All his instincts and judgement of human nature shout that Enstone did not willingly kill himself, that he was somehow made to do so. But how? One of the most devious criminal minds in England starts digging for clues and tagging along with Teal to question the dead man's associates. It would be wrong to give away the solution, which is as fair and plausible as any mystery fan might ask. If you are not likely to ever pick up a copy of the book and are curious as to just what did happen to the unfortunate Lewis Enstone, e-mail me at drhermes@webtv.net and I will cheerfully give some Spoilers. There is a startling moment when, ransacking a suspect's workshop, Simon Templar blithely picks up a small revolver and looks down the barrel, his finger on the trigger; this nearly gives Teal cardiac arrest. But if you're a police inspector who makes friends with the Saint, of all people, you have to expect some hair-raising experiences. ________ *I can imagine some misunderstandings as Charteris tells his friends, "I've just sold a story to THE AMERICAN MAGAZINE," only to be asked, "Which one, Leslie -- COLLIERS, BLACK MASK?" "No, it's THE AMERICAN MAGAZINE!!" Rather like a vaudeville routine.

"The Prince of Cherkessia" (July 19, 2005) A minor but amusing puzzler. This first appeared back in October 1933 in THE EMPIRE NEWS as "The Vanishing of Prince Schomyl". The story was retitled "The Prince of Cherkessia" for the 1934 collection BOODLE (which itself was renamed THE SAINT INTERVENES to make sure casual browsers in bookstores realized who its star was). Personally, I much prefer a book with the charming title of BOODLE to the rather generic THE SAINT STEPS IN... there are just too many in the series called THE SAINT INTERVENES and THE SAINT SEES IT THROUGH and THE SAINT WHATEVER to suit me. I find it hard to keep them clear and separate in my head. Be that as it may, this little yarn sets up a battle of wits between Simon Templar and long-suffering Chief Inspector Teal. The Saint has vowed to snatch an extravagant crown being delivered to a visiting European prince (even going so far as to send a card with his trademark stick figure and the word "Thursday") and it's up to Teal to stop him somehow. The gum-chewing nerve-frazzled inspector takes all the reasonable precautions but (no surprise) there's a dramatic incident at a suitable moment and sure enough the crown is on its way to contribute to the Templar checking account. As a riddle kind of story, "The Prince of Cherkessia" is just fine. We see Teal set up his men at the appropriate spots, he himself remains alert and observant from midnight on, and it's just a question of what kind of ruse Templar (and Leslie Charteris) are going to come up with. Much is made of Teal's bilious suspicion of an insurance company detective with a mustache but veteran mystery buffs will not be inclined to take such obvious bait. Templar's plan, once revealed, is fair enough to be plausible. (I suspected it myself, and Lord knows I can't solve nine out of ten Ellery Queen novels, so a lot of you can probably guess how the Saint pulls it off.) Charteris is his usual breezy early 1930s self; if you like his chatty, impudent style, the stories in BOODLE will all satisfy. There are little asides as when, eating the hors d'oeuvres and chugging the champagne at a reception, "one reporter was so far moved as to put down a glass which was only half empty." Then there are irrelevant speculations on how many gray hairs Simon has given Teal (it may be forty-two, which number has great esoteric meaning), and the always-welcome Patricia Holm is briefly on hand to add a few pointed comments. Prince Schomyl of Cherkessia is an example of a stock figure in pulp fiction and comic strips long forgotten. Up until, say the late 1950s or early 1960s, much levity was found in the eccentric behavior of noblemen (and women) from tiny obscure nations in Europe. (THE MOUSE THAT ROARED is a fine example of this sort of thing.) These whacky aristocrats have fallen into disuse and meeting them in old stories has a nostalgic glow for a world long lost. Prince Schomyl (any relation linguistically to "schlemiel"? probably not) has a press conference in London to announce he is there is pick up an extravagantly valuable crown (one hundred thousand pounds... value, not weight) which has been made for him. With his titillating comments about how he still exercises the droit de signeur and how his country is wealthy because they sell hundreds of their beautiful women annually to Turkish harems, the Prince causes quite a sensation. Teal, of course, feels acid reflux kicking in as he realizes all this is going to be irresistibly tempting to a certain Robin Hood of Modern Crime he has known for several years and in fact, Simon is soon declaring, "No, Pat, you can't tell me that that tin hat isn't legitimate boodle; and I'm going to have it." But even as he seems to be first learning about the prince and prize, we later learn Simon already had a scheme well underway. There's also an interesting little dig by Charteris at a literary colleague, referring to "the improbable world of Arsene Lupin. Arsene Lupin would have disguised himself as Chief inspector Teal or the Chief Commissioner, and walked out with the crown under his arm; but Teal knew that such miracles of impersonation only happened in the romances of unscrupulous and reader-cheating authors." (Meow, Leslie!)

"The Sleepless Knight" (July 20, 2002) From a November 1933 issue of THE EMPIRE NEWS (where it appeared as "The Slave Driver Sees the Red Light", this is a little disappointing in some ways. "The Sleepless Knight" is a very short (ten page) story, wherein Simon Templar is outraged and offended by a newspaper report. A cyclist has been hit and killed by a truck driver, who explains he has been working under inhumane conditions -- he and his fellow drivers have been only allowed four hours sleep a week if they are to complete their routes on time. Reading this account of "modern slavery", the Saint immediately takes it upon himself to show the smug managing director of the company a better way to run his business. The story is written well enough, it makes its point and it does show Simon at his most altruistic. There is no loot here for him (in fact, he spends a good deal of his own money setting things up), only the satisfying of his sense of right and wrong. His methods, which involve kidnapping and physical (and mental) abuse are felonies, but his cause is noble and he does show Sir Melvin Flagler the light. In his actions in this one exploit, the Saint improves the lives of all the men working for the Flagler company, and makes the roads safer for everyone. My one misgiving about the story is that things go all too easily for Simon. There are no unexpected setbacks to make him think quickly, no discovery of his identity which might give him the risk of personal repercussions. Perhaps there was a limited page count available, but the story might have been more satisfying with a little complication before the ending. There is an interesting reminder here of how different the world of 1934 was, when driving at speeds of over thirty MPH was considered a challenge. Of course, there weren't modern highways back then. And if you've ever driven without power steering or automatic transmission, especially in a large truck, then you understand the actual physical strength and concentration required.

"The Uncritical Publisher" (Sep 5, 2005) The most interesting thing about this story is that the British publisher declined to put it in the collection BOODLE, but the American edition THE SAINT INTERVENES did include it. It seems a logical conclusion that Hodder & Staughton was offended by the portrait of an unscrupulous, exploitative publisher; maybe they didn't take it personally but thought it referred to another firm who might become riled. "The Uncritical Publisher" first appeared as "The Smashing of Another Racket" in a November 1933 edition of THE EMPIRE NEWS. It's one of the utterly non-violent tales where the Saint uses cunning to take down a vile character, while still remaining technically within the law. I always used to prefer the earliest stories, where the Saint was a wild, unpredictable vigilante who had no problem with deliberate murder if he thought it jusytified. But the later yarns (where he had to restrain himself to keep his pardon) show a subtle craftiness that is just as entertaining. One of the Saint's cronies, Peter Quentin, has written a novel which is a thinly disguised account of his adventures with Simon Templar ("Ivan Grail, the Robin Hood of modern crime") and he has found a publisher willing to take it, although the book is apallingly poor. (Characteris is quite brutal describing Quentin's ability. Aside from the poor spellling and grammar, "his punctuation marks seemed to have more connection with intervals for thought and opening beer bottles than with the requirements of syntax.") The problem is that this publisher, Herbert G. Parstone, takes a large chunk of money (three hundred pounds) to accept the manuscript, promises a generous percentage on profits from the sales and does indeed print up some copies. After that, the book drops off the Earth and is never seen again, the hopeful young author gets a single pitiful check and the publisher happily makes a deposit in his own bank account. (This sounds a lot like vanity publishing to me, and as long as the writer knows clearly what he can and cannot expect to happen, I don't see where it's all that vile. Defrauding a trusting naif who is waiting for fame and wealth is another thing, however.) However, Simon Templar becomes irate and explains "that no reputable publisher in this or any other country publishes books at the author's expense.... Therefore, you don't pay the publisher; he pays you -- and if he's any use he stands you expensive lunches as well." Shortly thereafter, Simon and Peter (hey, a Biblical reference!?) just happen to encounter an embittered proofreader from the Parstone firm, who informs them that no one even glances at the submitted manuscripts until they're being set in type. And this gives our hero an idea. For two weeks, the Saint pounds away at the typewriter seven hours a day. The manuscript which he then sends to Parstone's has little resemblance to the swashubuckling epic which Peter Quentin wrote. As soon as the dozen complimentary copies arrive, Peter is aghast and confused. Then Simon visits the publisher and nearly gives him cardiac arrest by showing him the book his firm has just published. It seems the only way out of a huge scandal and lawsuit is a suitable bribe, errrr settlement to Simon Templar. (For THE GAY ADVENTURER is a collection of outrageous claims that the Saint is everything from a drug pusher to a ruiner of innocent maidens to a swindler of elderly widows.) I have a strong suspicion that this particular story was inspired by the unhappy experiences of the very young Leslie Charteris, who wrote several books before settling on the Saint as his meal ticket.