William Gillette (1855-1937), an American actor, was the definitive Sherlock Holmes on the
stage (as Basil Rathbone was to become in the cinema later). The play "Sherlock Holmes"
premiered in 1899 and was a great success, primarily based on the story "Scandal in Bohemia"
but also including Moriarty and other elements from the stories. It was revived in the 1970s
with Nicol Williamson as Holmes, which I saw and found amusing though not strictly 'canonical'.
In any case, this is Gillette's only mystery novel (I think), although he published plays and short
stories.
As Barzun and Taylor point out in their index-card review (from "A Catalogue of Crime"),
this is not a detective story in that there is any detection. It is a 'thriller' or crime story, more
properly a complicated scam tale, involving many suspects and sub-plots, but basically just
that -- how a consummate financial crook plays out his complex scheme. Whether or not the
plot makes any sense, it still involves the reader to some extent, and the book ranks as a
curiosity, especially with its 1920s slangy language and the presentation of life styles of the
time (not that the author intended that the way a modern author would try to re-create the
period when doing a 'historical').
One example of its being stamped with the assumptions of the times is the behavior of the
police. We know about 'Third Degree', etc. but take it for granted in books of this period,
just as Gillette did (although he obviously disapproves). The post-Miranda generation would
be appalled at the following:
But, yes, American cops apparently did behave that way, and this is not an exaggeration (or is it?).
Dreek signs the confession (he is the second suspect to be charged with the murder, but the first one had to be released since he was obviously framed, even though he is a scumbag), yet he is acquitted at his
trial because a defense witness testified he was doing something else at the time of the murder -- and
also, the jury didn't buy the confession. So the bumbling cops arrest yet a third person. Although cop-hating seems to be a modern phenomenon, it obviously applied back in the 1920s too. (Note also, that
the police seem to be Irish, another stereotype of the times.)
The plot of the story revolves around a hopelessly nerdish inventor with great technical skills but not
even the slightest idea how to cope with bills and day-to-day expenses. He falls in love with the
tubercular wife of the drunken and brutish first suspect, a cousin of sorts, and goes even more gaga. A con-man who exploits unpatented inventions (mouse traps, vacuum cleaners, whatever) to gull the public makes a deal with him over some unspecified 'brilliant' machine that will revolutionize whatever. The con-man plants his own dupe as butler (the second suspect) and gets rid of the other servant, ostensibly to protect the invention. What the con-man -- Pentecost -- is up to is the main story, because you just can't tell what he is intending to do although his elaborate set-up operations are described in detail. That is the mystery element. It is the inventor who is the murder victim, some two-thirds of the way through the book (and the reader says, thank God, that guy was too pathetic to go on living).
In the end, one is disappointed -- the entire scheme is a combination life-insurance swindle, spiritualist scam, and a 'snuff' film (unusual for the time). Without giving away too much, I can say that it involves a locked-room problem of a sort, with witnesses planted to make the thing work better. The rest of the trappings are all red herrings -- the faked alibis, the three suspects, the inventions, the journalistic coups
pulled off by the mediums. But there is a final surprise at the very end.
Other points of interest in the book are (a) of course, the modes of travel in those days -- ferry or train
between Boston and New York (lots of Croftian stuff too about schedules and fake alibis) -- viz. "a
choice of four steamers every day, not to speak of fifteen or twenty express trains, all bound for the same destination"; (b) the gentlemen of the press who are worse than modern paparozzi in their shark-like hunting frenzy, and in constant conflict with the police; and (c) a contemptuous treatment of spiritualism and mediums, who play a major role in the unraveling of the plot. Doyle would have been offended by this (who knows, maybe he and the author were no longer on speaking terms); Gillette trashes the whole business but shows even the cops falling for the latest revelations from the spirit world, such as where to find the murder weapon (apparently arranged by our con-man villain). One nice quotation, too, showing the author's mind-set about the Spiritists and other things:
Owing to this absurd and ghastly occurrence, hundreds of thousands -- perhaps millions -- of families were suddenly plunged into the most heartrending grief known to man. Those who were beyond words dear to them had been snatched away and violently put to death, and the ones so taken were in the very part of life where death seems most impossible, most unbelievable, and consequently most terrible.
Resulting from this, the interest in that creed which assures people that their lost ones are yet here with them in spirit trying to speak to them and often succeeding (through the mediumship of others), even on occasion appearing before them in person (again through the interposition of others), was suddently and tremendously increased. One result was an enormous enlargement in the number of believers, among which were included some with a high order of mental equipment -- something in which this "faith" had been painfully deficient before.
I like that. There are other touches of social commentary in the book, as well as some rather heavy-handed humor. There are also some good trial scenes. This novel was written in the early part of what we call the Golden Age of Detection, and while it does not fully qualify in that sense, it is certainly worth a read if you have the time, or can find the book.