A review of The Case of the Seven Bells by Christopher Bush – 240113

The thirty-fifth in Bush’s long running Ludovic Travers series, originally published in 1949 and now reissued by Dean Street Press, The Case of the Seven Bells is a tale of identities, vaulting ambition, and love. However, as is his wont Bush takes a long and winding route through a complex, perhaps overly complicated, plot before delivering a satisfying and ingenious resolution to the puzzle. The reader can afford themselves more than a little chuckle when they realise that Travers has had a vital clue in his possession for ages without realising it, although it would have shortened the novel by about a hundred pages.

Travers is still in sort of a limbo with his pal, George Wharton, still showing no signs of imminently stepping down from the Yard to set up their long-talked of detective agency. As a result he helps out at Bill Ellice’s agency where this adventure kicks off. Maudie Brown, a barmaid working at The Seven Bells for the last three weeks, comes in visibly distressed with a story that she had overheard some spivs discussing a proposed robbery with the word grange cropping up and then they threatened her with a knife if she spilt the beans. Apart from reassuring her, there is nothing that can be done, but there is something about both Maudie and her story that does not sit right with Travers.

The next episode sees Wharton inviting Travers to accompany him to investigate a robbery at Carr’s Hill that seems to have gone wrong, with the thieves shooting the householder. It turns out that the victim is Audrey Grange, a famous actress who had rented the property on a short-term basis to study the role of Jinny Patman, a barmaid, that she hoped to get in a forthcoming movie based on Matthew Riche’s best-seller, Number Thirty. Grange had kept her whereabouts secret, even her estranged husband, fellow actor, Harlan Wyster, who arrives at the scene shortly afterwards, did not know she was staying there, or so he claims. Grange’s demise opens the role up to Merril Holme, her rival and now the current squeeze of Wyster.

Was this the grange that Maudie was talking about? Any attempts to establish the facts from the horse’s mouth are thwarted by Maudie’s disappearance. Travers and Wharton are forced to explore the show business aspects of the case, Travers’ marriage to the former dancer, Bernice, who is now back on the scene albeit intermittently, proves useful in opening doors. What was the significance of a photograph of Bobinot in Grange’s room and the strange behaviour of her stepfather, Frank Merlin? And how did the report of the sound of a baby crying near the scene of the crime fit in?

In their usual inimitable style, Travers and Wharton get to grips with the case, Wharton taking the credit for any of Travers’ theories that prove correct. Their methods seem more collaborative in this story, although there is still a rivalry between the two and it is, as usual, Travers who pieces it all together. Seasoned Bush aficionados will have picked up enough clues about barmaids and timings to anticipate the reveal at the end, although there was one character who I thought would have played more of a role in the crime than they did. The resolution of the mystery of the baby crying is amusing and its elimination from consideration makes the path to resolution of the case easier.

My principal disappointment being with the characterisation of the protagonists. Thespians have a reputation of being flamboyant and eccentric, but for me they did not really come to life, a missed opportunity I felt. Bush’s focus seemed to be spinning a plot of fiendish complexity with the characters just pawns to be moved around when necessary. A missed opportunity in what otherwise is a thoroughly enjoyable book.