A review of 4.50 from Paddington by Agatha Christie – 231207

Originally published in 1957 and going by the alternative title of What Mrs McGillicuddy Saw, this is the eighth in Christie’s Miss Marples series. It is a Story founded upon incredible coincidences. Elspeth McGillicuddy is on her way to St Mary Mead and just at the moment that her train passes another, the blind in the other train shoots up and she sees a man in the throes of strangling a woman. Despite reporting what she had seen to the authorities, she is not believed as no body is found. It is just as well that she is staying with Miss Marple as the spinster sleuth, believing Elspeth to be an impeccable witness, takes up the cudgels and is determined to find out what went on.

If you can find your way past improbability built upon improbability, this is a thoroughly entertaining yarn, perhaps the best in the series so far. The story has been, unsurprisingly, the subject of several adaptations and although it is impossible to approach the Book with a tabula rasa, nevertheless it is capable of pulling out a surprise or two and has a terrific twist in its tail. It does not go out with a whimper.

There is more than a touch of Freeman Wills Crofts in the early part of the book as Miss Marple, armed with maps and a copy of Bradshaw’s, sets out to work out where on the line there is a curve great enough to cause a blind to go up and from that where the body is likely to have been hidden. Christie’s touch is lighter than Crofts, though, and what could have been a rather indigestible part of the book blends in seamlessly into the narrative.

The strongest character in the story is Lucy Eylesbarrow, a mix of domestic goddess and tenacious sleuth, whom Miss Marple drafts in to assist her by arranging for her a post at Rutherford Hall, the home of the Crackenshaws and in whose grounds she believes the body is hidden. Showing commendable initiative Lucy finds a couple of clues, fur from a woman’s coat and a cheap compact, and then finds the body of a woman hidden in a sarcophagus. The woman’s clothing is French but the police, led by Inspector Craddock, are baffled as to her identity.

I really enjoyed the scenes involving Lucy and her character came to life. With Miss Marple feeling her age, it must have been tempting for Christie to develop a series involving Lucy but she never seems to have done so. Just restricting her to this book must rate as one of the greatest crimes in the genre of crime fiction.

The other standout characters are the two boys, Alexander, son of Edith Crackenshaw, and his friend, Stodders, down from school for the hols. They seem to step straight out of central casting from public school boy literature but bring to the book a verve and joie de vivre. They also serve as an interesting contrast to the way we treat children today. Rather than being packed off from a house where a murder has been committed or offered counselling, as would undoubtedly have happened today, they are left to roam around, enjoying the thrill of having a real murder on their doorstep and the opportunity to hunt for clues. It makes you wonder which is the best approach.

In essence, this is another story involving a tontine scheme and a desperate attempt on the part of one of the beneficiaries to get their hands on more than their fair share of the loot. The genius of the story is that the culprit is not a direct beneficiary and a number of moving parts must align in order for them to succeed. A re-enactment of what Mrs McGillicuddy saw cooks their goose.

There is not much in the way of formal clueing nor is there much evidence of how Miss Marple reaches her conclusions other than as a result of her omniscience and understanding of human psychology. Nevertheless, it is a rattling good yarn.