A review of The Case of the Housekeeper’s Hair by Christopher Bush – 231218

The thirty-fourth adventure involving Christopher Bush’s amateur sleuth, Ludovic Travers, originally published in 1948 and reissued by Dean Street Press, begins in dramatic fashion. At the Regency Club Major Guy Pallart tells Travers and David Calne that he is going to commit murder and has no intention of being caught. Calne laughs it off, saying that Pallart likes to be outré, but an astonished Travers believes that he is deadly serious and informs his old sparring partner, George Wharton of the Yard, before setting out to deepest Essex where Pallart lives to find out more and prevent a tragedy.

This is a carefully contrived mystery, a web built out of a thirst for revenge, deception, false identities, and robust alibis. With consummate mastery Bush, through his narrator, Travers, carefully holds the reader’s hand through the maze-like twists and turns of the storyline, dropping hints here and there that something in the next passage is of vital importance to the final outcome. It is subtly done. Travers is not infallible and as he progresses with his narration, he readily admits that he missed the importance of something or other that he is about to describe.

The relationship between him and Wharton is always a delight. The seem to be on best terms on this case and divide the workload of the investigation between them, each element suited to their particular strengths. There is more collaboration than competitive tension, although, of course, it is Travers who manages to piece everything together and produce a cogent rationalisation of what has gone on.

For me, the attraction of the story was in the how and why the murders were committed rather than the whodunit, which, frankly, is fairly easy to spot. However, Bush does like to spring a surprise because the first victim is Pallart himself, one of three deaths that occur before the story is done. Before that, there is an accident involving Pallart’s boat, from which Calne falls overboard. Was it really an accident or was he pushed? And who is the Mysterious Czech, and why is Pallart’s gardener, Wilkin, acting so suspiciously? And why, as Wharton acutely observes, is there a distinct French flavour running through the story?

The end of a war does not draw a clean line over events. The participants bear physical scars, Calne has been lamed, and, more importantly, emotional scars which fuel an irresistible urge to right a wrong. An atrocity committed in northern France is the key behind the story, one which I found powerful and moving, and Pallart’s motives in seeking his own form of justice are understandable. A trip to Paris reveals all and confirms Travers’ and Wharton’s theories.

Annie Winder’s mishap with some hair dye which she found in the Czech’s room provides Travers with the clue as to the real identity of the mysterious Czech. Dye of a different sort blows wide open an alibi and reveals what really happened on the boat. The investigation into tides is done with the lightest of touches, unlike the meal that Freeman Wills Crofts would have made of it, and if you must get rid of a body, having some drainage works on the go is always handy.

As the fascinating afterword points out, being a crooner was not the done thing in 1940s Britain and it explains Pallart’s astonishing animus towards his nephew, a snippet of social history that would have passed me. A great editorial decision to include that.

This is one of Bush’s better books, a complex plot but understandable and told with no little verve and humour. It would be a great place to start a non-chronological exploration of a master of his art.