Anthony Berkeley Cox (1893–1971) is regarded by critics as the most innovative of the golden age detective story writers. Murder in the Basement (1932) is unusual in that for the first part of the story, the mystery is the identity of the victim, rather than “whodunnit”. The structure is also quite unorthodox and the contrast between the police’s methodical evidence-gathering and the amateur detective’s more psychological approach is well done., There is also a good deal of sly humour here, rather similar to Malice Aforethought, published in 1931 under Cox’s other pen name, Francis Isles.
The novel opens with the discovery of a body buried in the cellar of a house recently occupied by a newly-wed couple. The dead young woman has been shot in the back of the head, so the police are immediately aware that they are dealing with a murder, but there is nothing to suggest her identity.
The first part of the novel describes the painstaking procedures of the police as they try to identify the body. An X-ray reveals that the woman had a plate in her leg as the result of a broken leg. By a great stroke of luck, this plate was one of a limited batch, which narrows down the field considerably, so eventually the police are able to trace where and when the operation was done and hence the name of the victim, who worked at a school near London.
At this point, Inspector Moresby consults his friend, amateur sleuth and writer Roger Sheringham. Here, there is an enormous co-incidence that the reader must simply accept as a narrative device making the whole thing fit together, part of the enjoyable contrivance of the golden age. Sheringham was working at the school on a temporary basis, covering for a friend, but also using his time there as a source of material for his writing. He has written several manuscript chapters using the staff of the school as his characters. Moresby asks to read this, but withholds the identity of the victim from Sheringham. The manuscript forms the second part of the novel, a flashback describing events leading up to the murder with the reader placed in the same position as Sheringham, knowing that one of the women must be the victim, but not which one.
The book goes on to describe the subsequent investigation, in which Sheringham is involved alongside the police. Moresby fixes his attention on one particular suspect, who he is convinced is guilty. This person is a steely individual who greets each question with a flat denial. It now seems to be simply a matter of building the case against them or forcing a confession. The reader may begin to have doubts about this suspect’s guilt, as does Sheringham. Finally, Sheringham reveals the real murderer, but only to the false suspect, not to the police or the world at large, and the novel ends with the killer having got away with murder.
There is some very clever psychology here. Sheringham realises that a fictional incident he created in his manuscript reveals the real nature of one of the staff. Sheringham had picked up the truth about them subconsciously.
Berkeley is adept at creating convincing female characters, individuals with their own desires who are not necessarily pleasant or good people. He also uses a neat gender reversal, with men planting ideas in women’s minds so the women think it is their own idea, a ploy usually attributed to women. There is a slight feeling that he was not altogether keen on women. I read that there were problems in both his marriages.
I spotted who the killer was about half way through, but then thought it must be another character, the result of a clever bit of misdirection. The false suspect is covering for someone else by encouraging the idea that he himself is guilty. The reader will have to be very sharp to work out who he is protecting and why. The real murderer is revealed to be a weak personality and sexually frustrated, rather like Dr Bickleigh in Malice Aforethought. The irony is, that if they had made a better job of burying the body, the displaced bricks in the cellar would never have been noticed and there would have been no investigation at all. As it is, for various reasons, they will never face justice. There is even a suggestion at one point that the victim might have deserved to be murdered.
There are a couple of things I was not so keen on. Berkeley has a fondness for double negative sentences of the “I shouldn’t be surprised if that wasn’t. . .” kind, where it is almost impossible to tell what is meant. There is also a gap at the end of the narrative and I wasn’t sure if this was the realistic loose end of any police case, or whether Berkeley couldn’t be bothered to work it out himself.
It was only after I put the book down that I realised the resonance the name “Wargrave” must have had for the original readership in 1932, particularly when applied to a character who, like Berkeley, was a veteran of the Great War.
The Good Reader 