J. J. CONNINGTON MYSTERIES

Sir Clinton Driffield, hardened solver of many a knotty problem, was playing chess with his old friend, Wendover, when their game was interrupted by the news that a dead man had been found in a lane near by.

When it turned out to be the body of a hack journalist, with a reputation for always being hard-up and for writing a particularly revealing type of biography, and a hundred pounds in notes was found near the body, blackmail was naturally suggested, and the tracing of the money back to an unpopular local land-owner, whose family had many a skeleton in the cupboard, pointed strongly to murder. But death struck again, and Sir Clinton did not clear up the tragic affair as quickly as he had hoped.

"One of the very best of the Connington country house mysteries . . . is The Castleford Conundrum. In this tale the author does an extremely effective job of portraying an odious, stupid woman, Winifred Castleford, and her detestable, sponging in-laws. Even her seemingly sympathetic second husband, Philip Castleford, is offhandedly dismissed with contempt by Clinton Driffield as a cringing weakling. Only Philip's daughter (and Winifred's stepdaughter), Hillary, is portrayed by the author with real sympathy. If one desires to read a novel with a houseful of scheming, contemptible relations and a cleverly arranged murder of the one person with all the money-and what fan of classical English mystery does not-one could not do better than to choose The Castleford Conundrum." (Curt Evans.)

"The tenth Clinton Driffield detective novel . . . moves away from a country house milieu . . . to a well-conveyed setting in an English suburb beset with a multitude of sins. The mystery itself is meticulously clued and compelling . . . I fully agree with the Sunday Times reviewer's enthusiastic assessment of The Tau Cross Mystery: 'Quiet domestic murder, full of the neatest detective points. . . . [T]hese are not the detective's stock figures, but fully realised human beings.' The American humorist and crime fiction reviewer Will Cuppy was similarly discerning in his praise of Tau Cross. Having a keen appreciation for data and material fact, Cuppy was dazzled by the tale's 'abundance of clews and many other aids to armchair sleuthing,' including 'an extra pair of shoes, a handkerchief soaked in gore . . . an overturned paint pot . . . the fact that the corpse wears rubber gloves . . . a small bludgeon, a crumpled piece of brown paper and a little gold ornament in the shape of a Tau cross.' With such fascinating aids at Clinton Driffield's disposal, the delighted Cuppy concluded, 'Sir Clinton can hardly fail.'" (Curt Evans.)

"After both Roger and Neville Shandon are felled in Whistlefield's famous hedge maze by curare-tipped darts, Sir Clinton [Driffield] arrives to restore order at this fractious country estate. Sir Clinton's performance as a criminal investigator is dazzlingly acute and the novel boasts several bravura scenes, all centering on the sinister hedge maze of death. Surely Murder in the Maze is one of the very finest country house mysteries produced by a British detective novelist in the 1920s. . . . No less a literary figure than T. S. Eliot praised Murder in the Maze in The Criterion for its plot construction . . . and its narrative liveliness . . . deeming it 'a really first-rate detective story.' . . . [I]n his 1946 critical essay, 'The Grandest Game in the World,' the great locked room detective author John Dickson Carr echoed Eliot's assessment of the novel's virtuoso setting, writing: 'These 1920s . . . thronged with sheer brains. What would be one of the best possible settings for violent death? J. J. Connington found the answer, with Murder in the Maze.'" (Curt Evans.)

After his employer is taken ill, Hyson takes advantage by putting himself in complete charge at the office. Always on the lookout for financial gain or female conquest, his controlling behavior both at work and at home ends only with his death. But was it suicide or murder? Sir Clinton Driffield must untangle this puzzle, with the further complication that another criminal seems to be on the loose. A poison-pen writer has been targeting the community, warranting attention from an investigator with the Post Office. This challenging case will capture the interest of any golden-age mystery enthusiast and delight the J. J. Connington fan.​

There was blood on the drawing-room floor and Hazel Deerhurst had disappeared—disappeared apparently wearing slippers over walking-shoes, two pairs of stockings and a bright silk kimono. First investigations shed interesting light on Hazel. There were blots on her family escutcheon, at least one of them put there by her husband. She was also secretary to a man whose secrets involved the future of the empire. Was she victim or villainess? Sir Clinton Driffield investigates in A Minor Operation.

The plot of Mr. Connington’s new detective story is woven round the unexpected death of Mrs. Fenton. Was it a natural death, due to heart-failure, as the medical history of her case seemed to suggest? Or was it caused by the accident of an overdose of a sleeping-draught? Or was there something further in the background?

Who was most likely to profit by her death? Her niece, who had expectations from the estate? The husband, from whom she was separated, and who had every reason to wish to be free from her? The agent who looked after some of her property, and whose books were not above suspicion? Or one of her friends who held an insurance policy to cover her I.O.U.’s?

It was not altogether surprising that Ambrose Brenthurst was found brutally murdered outside Fountain Court the night he had presided over the dinner meeting of the "Hernshaw Thirteen Club." And many were the potential murderers-some of them guests at the dinner. Diana Teramond, the beautiful Creole actress, lived at Fountain Court, and was the owner of the pet cheetah which was found gnawing on Brenthurst's body. In debt to Brenthurst, she had asked him to her home that evening. Percy Fairfoot, in love with Diana, lied about his activities on that night. Cora Fairfoot, Percy's mother, admitted that she was hiding nearby at the time of the murder in fear of the cheetah, but there was blood on her hands. The gardener said that he heard voices and shots-but he was obviously withholding information. A second murder-that of the gardener's daughter-precipitates the crime in which Sir Clinton Driffield penetrates a maze of conflicting evidence to spot the murderer. Again, Mr. Connington's quick-witted sleuth arrives at his solution with only the use of the evidence that is fairly presented to the reader.

Readers who like to take their detective stories straight have found that Connington's name on a title-page guarantees a zestful contest of wits. This story is one of his best, a puzzle in which every piece is presented for the reader's inspection until they are fitted together in the surprising solution. It was at the hidden stone wall in the spinney that Johnnie Brandon, rabbit shooting with a party of guests, was instantly killed by a shotgun charge. Only that day he had attained his majority; only the night before he had been discovered in a compromising situation with the wife of the man who had been his mentor. Everyone agreed with the finding of the coroner's jury, "Accidental death"--especially his nearest kin, on tenterhooks lest someone mention suicide. Everyone, that is, except Inspector Hinton, who went ahead preparing one of his letter-perfect reports. But he had not gone far before the outline of murder inescapably formed itself in his notes. The murderer? That was another matter, as he reluctantly admitted when the acumen of the Chief Constable, Sir Clinton Driffield, was brought to bear on the case.

In the first place, there was the Dangerfield Talisman, an ancient golden armlet set with diamonds and valued at fifty thousand pounds-an unguarded treasure which, although stolen more than once, always came back. In the second place, there was the Dangerfield secret. Old Rollo Dangerfield gave a house party and one night during a wild thunderstorm the armlet vanished. The owner did not seem upset, convinced that within seven days, at the outside, it would be back. The last thief had been found on the grounds dead of heart failure with the Talisman in his hand. Determined to investigate among themselves, however, the guests in so doing unearthed the most bewildering complications. The mystery of this ingenious story fairly pulls you from your easy chair to your desk that you may with pencil and paper figure out who were in the house and what their respective alibis amounted to. There is in the working out of the plot some decidedly clever detective work with many novel twists, and a chess problem thrown in. It may truly be called a mystery within a mystery.

Two murders at night, both the victims foreigners; and when Sir Clinton Driffield, visiting his sister, is forced to suspect the South American whom his niece has just married, he finds himself faced with a problem in morals and psychology. Finally, a third murder takes place, this one in the house of Sir Clinton's sister, and in broad daylight. Suspicion naturally falls on a young man who is found standing beside the body with a pistol in his hand; but Sir Clinton clears him, only to find that his own niece is the next suspect. In the course of the narrative, all the evidence known to the police (and even a little more) is supplied to the reader as it comes to light; but it is safe to say that the final development of the plot will be wholly unexpected. To quote the London Times: "Mr. Connington has established his name in the front rank of detective story writers", and this novel is one of his finest achievements. (Also published as Nemesis at Raynham Parva.)

At Ravensthorpe, a lonely country house inherited by Maurice Chacewater, a masked ball is in progress amid scenes of great gaiety, celebrating the honor of his sister's coming of age. What each guest was to wear had been kept a secret and all who enter Ravensthorpe that night wear masks. Cecil, who is on bad terms with his brother Maurice, arranges a practical joke with several young friends to plunge Ravensthorpe into darkness and to carry out a mock burglary at a given moment; but the plan is overheard. The ensuing situation is doubly complicated. In the drama that follows, the theft of rare Leonardo da Vinci medallions, thrilling chases through the woods, secret passages, suicides and murders, all have their places. Everything is woven into one complex and exciting pattern, and the final unravelment by Sir Clinton Driffield is masterly.

Hubbard made his money in blackmail, most detestable blackmail at that. A loathsome creature, there were no special regrets when he was found dead at his desk in his own home. Yet Colonel Sanderstead felt it his duty to probe the affair, since his nephew's best friend had very good reason to wish Hubbard dead and might easily enough be involved. A ghost appears in the village, motor car tracks confuse the issue, and altogether the evidence is so varied and contrary that it is not surprising the Colonel makes a few mistakes. His investigation, as it turns out, would never have solved the case, but it leads to an amazing conclusion which clears up the mystery of the Death at Swaythling Court.

Mr. Connington here turns from the straight detective story to a thriller. The Trents have been lent for their honeymoon a large house on the lonely islet of Ruffa. Shortly after arriving, Trent accidentally intercepts a mysterious wireless message and, a bit later, stumbles across a wounded man who vanishes, leaving behind him an ingot which seems to have slipped out of his pocket and which later proves to be pure gold. Next day Trent comes upon a college acquaintance, now a consulting chemist, ostensibly bird-watching. The second house on the island is found to be under armed guard, and the Trents are warned away from it. A strange yacht with an armed crew appears in the bay. Finally, Trent learns that gold is being exported from Ruffa in quantity. Does it come from the Armada wreck in the bay? Or from some old Norseman's hoard? Or has the tenant of the other house discovered the secret of making gold? (Also published as Tom Tiddler's Island.)

A man is found murdered on a train, and Superintendent Ross is on the case. This is a classic "fair play" mystery that will be enjoyed by every reader who wants to pit their wits against the detective. About this story, the London Daily Mail wrote: "For those who ask first of all in a detective story for exact and mathematical accuracy in the construction of the plot, there is no author to equal the distinguished scientist who writes under the name of J. J. Connington. His latest story is the most complex and ingenious he has yet written."

In this Golden Age mystery classic the famous Sir Clinton Driffield reappears. A young land owner, Colin Keith-Westerton, has just brought home his bride, who is accompanied by her confessor, a French priest. They settle down temporarily at the Dower House of the estate, pending the modernizing of the mansion Silver Grove. Shortly after their arrival, one of Keith-Westerton's keepers is found by the lake side, shot through the head in what appears to have been a gun accident. In searching the ground near they body, Sir Clinton discovers a few valuable pearls, evidently part of a necklace, and it becomes clear that something more than an accident is needed to account for the facts. The reader must learn for himself what happened at the boathouse, how the gramophone motor was used, who owned the pearls, why Mrs. Keith-Westerton disappeared on the night of the murder, and what part Save-Your-Soul Sawyer played in the mystery.

"Again Sir Clinton Driffield, an old favorite with Connington fans, gets into action with all his usual acumen, and the unraveling of another mystery proceeds under his suave direction to its inevitable outcome. Jack-in-the-Box opens with the discovery of a Viking's hoard of gold, stolen many centuries ago from a Norman abbey and accidentally unearthed during an archaeologist's excavations on the site of a Roman camp. A local legend prophesies death to anyone who touches it. Soon after, the archaeologist dies in an air raid, and at the same time some of the gold vanishes from his house. Living in the neighborhood is a mulatto who professes to have discovered a 'New Force' capable of killing at long distances. To convince a skeptical doctor, some wild rabbits are killed by an agency which leaves no trace of poison or injury on their bodies. Later, a ne'er-do-well dies in a similar manner, and the missing gold is found buried in his garden. A chronic alcoholic is found dead from gas poisoning, another victim dies like the rabbits, and, finally, a girl disappears. Mr. Connington once more justifies his considerable reputation for skillful plotting and for ingenuity in working out his solution." (1944 review)

The Case with Nine Solutions is an intriguing as its title promises. Early in the book a number of deaths occur, and by the sixth chapter the exposition is finished and the record of crime almost complete. Nine different solutions are propounded and then-amid every circumstance, not only of intellectual, but also of physical, excitement-comes the elimination of the eight erroneous solutions, until the right one is finally achieved. Every clue is presented as it is discovered by the police, so that the reader can compete with the detective in that breath-taking race towards the solution of the mystery.

"The bodies of a worthy prelate and one of his wealthy lady parishioners are found in a bracken patch somewhat famed as a lovers' rendezvous. Torn-up love letters are scattered about. A pistol with the clergyman's finger-prints lies beside the body . . .

"If Mr. Connington says there are twenty-one clues, you can depend on it that they are offered to you as they turn up and that they will add up to the solution of the case. Mr. Connington has been aptly termed 'the modern master of pure detection.' Can you fit together the pieces of his latest fascinating mosaic of death? Can you beat Sir Clinton Driffield to the solution?"

The Sweepstake Murders opens at the end of a bridge-party, when one of the players suggests the formation of a small syndicate to have a flutter in a coming sweepstake. Winnings are to be pooled and divided among the members. Most of the bridge-players join, on terms proposed and accepted on the spot of the moment. A syndicate tickets wins a big prize. Before the money is collected, however, one of the syndicate dies, apparently by foul play. Under the agreement, his share falls to be divided among the remaining ticket-holders; and suspicion naturally falls first on those who are certain to profit by death. Personal characteristics, possible motives, alibis and circumstantial evidence provide the detective with an intricate problem of clues and personalities.

The mysterious death of a caretaker; the burglary of the mansion left in his charge; a murder on the beach, which throws suspicion on one character after another; an apparently motiveless attack upon a visitor; the appearance of a claimant to an estate; a case of kidnapping; and a line of footprints in the sands which breaks off as though the walker had vanished into the air-these are some of the elements out of which the story has been built. As in his earlier works, the author plays quite fair with his readers; everything is satisfactorily accounted for; and all the evidence is given which is required for the solution of the complex problem confronting the detectives.

Mr. Connington’s wireless detective, The Counsellor, matches wits with a murderer who has planned a veritable Maginot Line of defences to screen his guilt. First: The corpse in the burning car—unrecognizable itself—would be identified and a verdict of suicide reached. Second: If there should be a suspicion of murder, the murderer would not be identified. Third: If actually brought to trial he could prove that his crime was not that with which he was charged. Fourth: Should his guilt be later discovered, the murderer could still beat the law—which says that one cannot be twice put in jeopardy for the same crime! How the Cousellor knifes straight through to the fourth line of defence, by cunning use of evidence, forms an enthralling mystery that ties together as neatly as the pieces of a picture puzzle. See if you can beat him to the solution!

“It is Mr. Connington’s high merit as a writer of detective novels that each one of his clues is fairly presented for the reader to draw from it, if he can and will, the conclusion that afterwards prove correct.”—Manchester Guardian.

The Counsellor, a young man of means, makes his living by giving advice to listeners over a continental broadcasting station. Unusual requests come to him from all over England. But none more unusual—or challenging—than that which asks him to find a girl who has mysteriously disappeared. Remember that Mr. Connington always writes an honest detective story. No clues are hidden, no mass of evidence is unearthed at the last moment, no freak solution is offered. Perhaps you can beat The Counsellor to the solution.

When he wrote this book, Professor A. W. Stewart had retired from academic life after a long scientific career. In addition to a series on advanced chemistry, he wrote a scientific thriller, a financial novel, and numerous detective stories.

"This is an 'escape' book, intended to divert the reader for a short time . . . It deals with a number of topics: a murder mystery in real life; the germs of the plots of some well-known novels; the curious problem of the Dumbuck crannog; the psychological illusions produced by certain drugs; various methods of getting 'easy money'; the value of an honest witness's evidence; the adventurous careers of the translators of the Arabian Nights; the discovery of the black swan; the rather gruesome history of a millionaire mystic; the Loch Arkaig treasure; the strange affair of the Long Man on Ben Macdhui; my own casual encounter with that curious phenomenon which goes by the name of the Loch Ness Monster; and other subjects as well."