A TOUCH OF LARCENY. Paramount-UK, 1959. James Mason, Vera Miles, George Sanders, Harry Andrews, Robert Flemyng, Screenplay: Roger MacDougall with Guy Hamilton, Paul Winterton (aka Andrew Garve), and Ivan Foxwell, based on the novel The Megstone Plot by Andrew Garve. Director: Guy Hamilton.

   Money, is the root of all evil — and not a little comedy. It’s also the root of suave Commander Max Easton’s problems. Rammer Easton (James Mason), hero of the British submarine fleet, doesn’t have any — money, that is.

   At least not enough to impress the beautiful American widow he’s just met, Virginia Kilane (Vera Miles).

   Even worse she is engaged to Charles Holland (George Sanders), a supercilious snob and prig from the Foreign Office who does have money.

   Up to now Max has been quite happy with his status as a playboy and his job at the Admiralty where he commands a desk. But now he is falling hard for Virginia, and she is quite frank she doesn’t intend to live on his Royal Navy salary or pension.

   True love has its limits.

   Which is the spur of a bright idea.

   At this point the casual viewer should know two historical facts. The British have some of the strictest slander laws and the most irresponsible tabloid newspapers in the Western World, and all through the 1950’s those papers were filled with one story of treason and defection after another, culminating in the Kim Philby affair.

   It might also help to know that in the mid-fifties Commander Lionel Crabb, a decorated Royal Naval expert in underwater demolitions, went missing while on a mission to photograph a Russian trawler underwater in a British port. (Crabb was played by Laurence Harvey in Silent Enemy, which is the story of his exploits battling German saboteurs planting mines on British ships in Malta, winning the Victoria Cross.)

   The Crabb affair was never settled, but created headlines and speculation, and was treated fictionally in Noel Hynd’s The Khrushchev Objective (1987) a sequel of sorts to Brian Garfield’s best-selling novel The Paladin. (Both credit the pseudonymous Christopher Creighton as co-author.)

   Now, having completed our little historical aside, back to our story.

   The only valuable thing Max has access to is the Starfish project, a new nuclear submarine, but he’d rather not sell out to the Russians. (Neither prison nor exile on the Black Sea are appealing and Max is no traitor, just broke.)

   Still it occurs to him as he is bantering with Virginia that if he were to somehow be accused of treason and then cleared he could sue the press for a fortune. Silly idea, and yet…

   So Max manages to be seen with too much to drink at an embassy party with a Russian (who doesn’t speak a word of English), and then take his holidays, even selling his sports car before he leaves, and managing to lose the Starfish file behind an office cabinet before he goes.

   He pointedly stops at a northern port and makes an ass of himself asking a policeman about a Russian trawler in port, and then he takes his sail boat, the Shelldrake, and goes sailing off of Scotland where he sinks himself marooning himself comfortably on a barren rock in the lonely Skerries, and waits for nature and the press to take their course.

   And they do just that, with Max becoming the latest cause celebre. Too bad Virginia has let it slip to Charles about that clever little plan of Max’s. Now Charles wants to go to the police, but she persuades him it would cause a scandal. And anyway surely Max hasn’t gone through with it.

   Back on the island Max decides the bait is well and truly set, and rids himself of his survival gear and goes to set the bonfire that will bring rescue. Which is the point where fate intervenes in the form of a seagull. Max takes a swim, his matches are wet, his fuel is sunk, and now he really is marooned and without supplies. Meanwhile his story has cooled and everyone has forgotten who Rammer Easton was.

   Which is why Max is both relieved and a little unnerved when his rescuers turn out to be two men from Scotland Yard’s Special Branch. Seems they got his message. The one he put in a bottle…

   But he didn’t send one.

   However Virginia did, when she realized Max was in trouble.

   And then that old stick Charles in the mud goes to the police, just as everything is falling into place.

   I won’t give away anymore, save to tell you Max gets the girl and the money and without breaking a single law — though he’s bent a few along the way.

   A Touch of Larceny is based on the novel The Megstone Plot by bestselling British thriller writer Andrew Garve (Paul Winterton) who also wrote as Roger Bax and Paul Somers.

   Garve’s best known books are The Ashes of Loda, The Cuckoo Line Affair, Ascent of D-13, A Hero for Leanda and A Hole in the Ground.

   His best known book in the States was Two if by Sea (1949), filmed in 1953 as Never Let Me Go, directed by by Delmer Daves and starring Clark Gable, Gene Tierney, and Richard Haydn.

   It’s about a pair of journalists trying to smuggle their Russian brides out of the Soviet Union in the post-war expulsion of the foreign press. (Garve himself was a former correspondent in Moscow and frequently used a Russian setting.) His novels are a mix of suspense, intrigue, and often humor like this one.

   A Touch of Larceny is one of those films the Brits do effortlessly with expert casts and flawless scripts. Mason is at his most charming as the roguish Max, and Sanders even manages to bring a touch of humor to the otherwise annoying Holland. Miles has seldom been more attractive in the kind of role usually reserved for Deborah Kerr, Margaret Leighton, or Jean Simmons.

   The laughs are of the quiet variety, and much of the films charm depends on Mason proving he should have done more comic roles. Watching this you can’t help but wonder if this is how he might have played James Bond (especially since director Hamilton would helm Goldfinger, the film that set the Bond phenomena in overdrive) if they had been able to convince Mason to do three films instead of two. (Cary Grant was offered the role first, but would only sign on for one.)

   Smart sophisticated and with just enough kick to keep the plot moving A Touch of Larceny is like a good champagne cocktail — light and amusing, but you’ll remember it in the morning.

   Following my recent re-reading of Jack Kerouac’s On the Road and moving on to things more criminous, I found two books recently with the same cockamamie plot. (That’s funny: the spell check just now objected to “criminous” but let “cockamamie” slip by! Oh well.)

   Start with the premise that two people who resemble each other are caught in a fire from which only one emerges, alive but scarred beyond recognition and also suffering from amnesia, so that no one, for purposes of the plot, knows which it is.

   Then add that at least one of them was plotting to kill the other. Throw in a cast of venal supporting characters on each side who stand to profit, depending on who the survivor turns out to be, and you have the makings of an improbable but entertaining mystery.

   Body and Passion (with one of my favorite paperback covers) by Whit Harrison — aka Harry Whittington — takes the tale along fairly conventional lines, with one character a notorious gangster and the other a crusading D.A., but he throws in some cute wrinkles as it turns out the crook may have been trying to quit the rackets and go straight, while the D.A. was possibly a crooked politician trying to frame him.

   Both men were married to greedy wives who didn’t love them, and both were surrounded by dubious “friends” looking to jostle them out of the picture, by means unctuous and/or violent.

   Whittington/Harrison deals this out with his usual serviceable prose, right up to a rather unsatisfying ending. Whittington was a competent and readable hack, but no more, and he delivers a competent and readable story — but no more.

   In 1962, the astute French mystery writer Sebastien Japrisot re-did the premise with his own uniquely Gallic approach: instead of a Mystery, Trap for Cinderella becomes a study on the nature of love, guilt and existence.

   The central character this time is a spoiled heiress, who supposedly survived a fire in which her paid companion, who may also have been her lover, was supposedly killed — both were burned beyond recognition, but the survivor was identified as the heiress by her long-time mentor, who may also have been her ex-lover.

   Set in a milieu of the very very rich and the parasites who feed off them, Trap generates a sardonic paranoia as a face-less, past-less heroine keeps finding hints that whoever she is, she may have been a target of murder … or possibly plotting one of her own.

   Japrisot tacks a richly ironic ending onto this. Not a surprising one, but a conclusion that seems to lift the story and its characters out of the pulp they inhabit for an instant and ask something about what they mean.

      Bibliographic data:

WHIT HARRISON – Body and Passion. Original Novels #714; digest-sized paperback original; 1st printing, 1952. Reprinted as by Harry Whittington (Stark House Press, Spring 2009) as: To Find Cora / Like Mink Like Murder / Body & Passion.

SEBASTIEN JAPRISOT – Trap for Cinderella. Simon & Schuster, hardcover, 1964. Souvenir Press, UK, hc, 1965. US paperback reprints: Pocket, 1965; Penguin, 1979. Translation of Piege pour Cendrillon. Paris, 1962. Film: Gaumont, 1965, as Piege pour Cendrillon (Trap for Cinderella) (scw: Sebastien Japrisot, J. B. Rossi, Jean Anouilh, Andre Cayatte; dir: Cayatte).

SECRET MISSION. General Film Distributors-UK, 1942. Hugh Williams, Carla Lehmann, Roland Culver, Michael Wilding, James Mason, with Stewart Granger, Herbert Lom. Director: Harold French.

   The sole purpose of the movie seems obvious: to boost the morale of the home front during the early days of World War II. Four men, including one member of the Free French (James Mason) undertake a daring mission into occupied France to obtain useful information about German positions and armaments and to free an important prisoner of war.

   Carla Lehmann plays Michele de Carnot, the sister of Mason’s character Raoul, as the only other important member of the cast.

   She dislikes the English, causing some plot complications, but she hates the Germans more, which relieves some of the viewers’ concerns considerably. She also finds herself falling in love with Major Peter Garnett (Hugh Williams), the leader of the secret mission, which provides the romance the story line needs.

   There is also more than a tinge of screwball comedy in this film, provided in part by the utter stupidity of the Germans in this film, but also by Michael Wilding’s antics as the Cockney-accented owner of a French pub, on this mission very reluctantly for fear of returning home to his ever-demanding wife. (In case you are wondering, yes, this is same Michael Wilding who later married Elizabeth Taylor.)

   The only reason, I am sure, that this movie is known at all, is that James Mason is in it. He’d been in films for about seven years when this movie is made, but he is not the star, far from it.

   The leading role is that of Hugh Williams, who plays stalwart very well. He’s not devil-may-care enough to play The Saint for example, but he’d make a decent Bulldog Drummond, I think.

   Part of the plan, as it works out, is rather daring if not out-and-out unlikely. Putting on a pair of rimless glasses, Major Garnett disguises himself as a wine salesman and with another of his small group of companions, walks right into German headquarters where they’re left alone in the commandant’s office long enough to take all of the photos they need to complete the rest of the mission, which expands to blowing up a secret underground bunker.

   A goal which also seems to require their walking around in woods at night in suits, neckties and trenchcoats, and hiding in bushes when German patrols go by, including an armored vehicle of some sort that plays loud segments of Wagnerian opera as it travels through the local area every minute of the day and night.

   When that seems to go well, they walk into town and sit in bars next to German soldiers taking a break from their patrols, allowing the proprietress to feed their unwary adversaries false identities for them as Gestapo officers.

   If you were to tell me that both of these last two paragraphs sound like something straight out of Tommy Hambledon’s adventures, I’d agree with you, except that the pair of authors who wrote Manning Coles usually made the reader swallow their stories. Maybe escapades like this sound more plausible in print than they do on film.

   Or maybe it’s that this isn’t a very good movie. I found it enjoyable enough, but I have a feeling that it would be very easy to tear the plot apart, shred by shred, if I were so inclined.

   I’ll refrain from doing so, though, and let my description stand for itself, thus allowing you to decide for yourself whether this low budget wartime film with higher aspirations is worth 90 minutes of your spare time.

   Just back from PulpFest after a tiring 500 mile drive and discovered that Trenton, NJ had been hit by a big storm on Sunday which caused some damage to the airport which is near my house. Fortunately my pulp collection survived, but my wife’s car had to be towed to the repair shop.

   Upon arriving in Columbus on Thursday, I met fellow early birds for dinner and we all started to unload our pulps in the dealer’s room at 7:00 PM. This lasted until around 12:00 midnight and was a nice way to start the convention. We all missed the usual old Pulpcon rules of “no talking, no dealing, and no looking at other tables!”

   Friday the fun officially began and I noticed a vast improvement over the previous Pulpcons in Dayton. For example the attendance was over 350 which is more than Pulpcon ever had and I’ve been keeping track since 1972. This figure put PulpFest near the great level achieved by Windy City’s 400.

   During the three days the dealer’s room never looked empty and I saw several important and rare deals being made. For example I sold 17 bound volumes of Weird Tales, numbering 97 issues, mostly in the 1930’s, for only $1000. That’s like $10 an issue. Also sold from my table were many canceled checks from the Munsey and Popular Publication files.

   I bought my usual mound of pulps like Western Story, Dime Mystery, Dime Detective, Detective Story. There was a lot of original art for sale and I bought a framed, signed Edd Cartier drawing which illustrated a Harry Whittington story.

   I also obtained a Detective Fiction Weekly painting from 1931 and a strange bondage cover that was supposed to be used for Fred Cook’s 1960’s pulp fanzine, Bronze Shadows. I say “supposed” because the magazine died before the cover could be printed.

   Also sold from my table were such odd items as a Charles Russell bronze and a pulp painting cover from Fifteen Western Tales. Across the aisle I was witness to the five issues of Black Mask containing the “Maltese Falcon” serial being sold for $4,000.

   What made this deal so strange was the fact that the buyer wanted the issues not because they were from Black Mask or contained Hammett, but because he is an Erle Stanley Gardner fan.

   For those collectors who went broke buying pulp magazines, there were plenty of panels, slide shows, and auctions during the evening hours. The panels were all interesting and covered such pulpish topics as collecting pulps (I was so excited about being on this panel, that I almost tripped and fell on my face), Frederick C. Davis, Edmond Hamilton, The Shadow, and H. P. Lovecraft.

   The guest of honor was Otto Penzler, book dealer, editor, expert on mystery first editions. He was the perfect guest and appeared to be enjoying himself.

   However I was stunned by his announcement that his big book of Black Mask stories had been rescheduled for publication and would appear in late 2010, about a year beyond the date we were hoping for.

   Why? Because since vampires are so popular, they decided to publish a big book of vampire stories first. This of course was sad news for all pulp and mystery fans, but to offset the disappointment, Otto announced that he would also be editing a big book of adventure stories.

   In addition to thousands of pulps there were also quite a few reprints making their debut, such as new Edmund Hamilton collections and several new collections from Black Dog Books, including a stunning collection of Roger Torrey stories. Torrey died an early death but was quite prolific in the detective pulps. For some reason he has been unjustly forgotten and this is the first big collection of his work.

   Also being introduced was the new and enormous issue of Blood ‘n’ Thunder with a ground breaking article by Ed Hulse on Popular Magazine.

   After the panels and auction ended many of us gathered in the Hospitality room for snacks, soda and thank god, beer. More that one collector contributed to the free food and drink, and I’m not sure of their names but I believe Rusty Burke deserves my thanks for supplying the beer, and not just the usual watery American beers, but imported beers.

   I was glad to see such women collectors as Laurie Powers and Karen Cunningham. I caught a glimpse of Clare MacDonald from Australia but Curt Phillips quickly escorted her from my view.

   The Sunday morning Munsey breakfast was a rousing success with far more collectors being willing to rise up early on Sunday morning than I expected. The new Munsey award was a stunning image by David Saunders. I thought about stealing it but it was always under guard. I asked Mike Chomko if I could trade my Lamont award for the Munsey but he was not at all receptive to this reasonable request.

   The first winner of this award is Bill Thom, who administers the Coming Attractions website. This site is new every Friday evening and announces all sorts of pulp related news.

   I would like to thank the PulpFest committee for a great job on their very first attempt. Soon Mike Chomko, Jack Cullers, Barry Traylor, and Ed Hulse will be busy planning the 2010 convention. Fellow Pulp Collectors, this is an event that you must attend, so start making plans!

Editorial Comments: I echo everything that Walker has to say. By any standard you can think of, the convention was a resounding success. The dealers room was constantly busy with none of the lulls that has afflicted the past few PulpCons in recent years. I didn’t buy much myself, but there seems to have been lots of activity at and around Walker’s table.

   I’ve looked carefully, but I have not spotted myself in a short YouTube video of the event, but you can see Walter Albert’s brother Jim in the process of covering their table with a white cloth, probably just before one of our joint ventures out for food and/or local bookhunting.

   I won’t mention any of the names of the people I met there, some for the first time, even though I’ve known many of them for a long time. I spent most my time walking up and down the aisles, but not getting very far any time that I did. It was far too easy to find someone to stop and talk to for large chunks of time, and more than anything else, that’s what I did and why I go.

   For me the convention was compact, intense, and all too short. It was hard to believe it when Paul Herman and I got off the plane together and he dropped me off at home thirty minutes later. Many thanks for all of the effort put into this year’s event by the organizers of PulpFest 2009, and as Walker says, it’s time to start thinking about next year!

   Some sad news was awaiting me yesterday when I returned from Columbus and PulpFest 2009. Author William Tapply, author of two dozen mysteries tackled by Boston-based lawyer Brady Coyne plus three about New England fishing guide Stoney Calhoun, died last Tuesday of leukemia at the age of 69.

   Previously reviewed on this blog are the following, all Brady Coyne books (follow the links):

      The Vulgar Boatman
      The Dutch Blue Errror
      Cutter’s Run

   Taken from Mr. Tapply’s first novel, Death at Charity’s Point, is the following blurb, provided by fellow writer Ted Wood:

    “William Tapply does for the private eye what Len Deighton did for the secret agent. His Brady Coyne is quiet and wry and vulnerable and given to asides that make you chuckle out loud… The characters are all real people, the locale is so vivid you can smell the sea.”

      Bibliography:

   Brady Coyne

1. Death at Charity’s Point (1984)
2. The Dutch Blue Error (1985)

3. Follow The Sharks (1985)
4. The Marine Corpse (1986)
5. Dead Meat (1987)
6. The Vulgar Boatman (1988)

7. A Void In Hearts (1988)
8. Dead Winter (1989)
9. Client Privilege (1989)

10. The Spotted Cats (1991)
11. Tight Lines (1992)
12. The Snake Eater (1993)
13. The Seventh Enemy (1995)
14. Close To The Bone (1996)
15. Cutter’s Run (1998)

16. Muscle Memory (1999)

17. Scar Tissue (2000)
18. Past Tense (2001)
19. A Fine Line (2002)
20. Shadow of Death (2003)
21. Nervous Water (2005)

22. Out Cold (2006)
23. One-Way Ticket (2007)
24. Hell Bent (2008)

   Brady Coyne / J.W. Jackson (with Philip R Craig)

1. First Light (2001)

2. Second Sight (2005)
3. Third Strike (2007)

   Stoney Calhoun

1. Bitch Creek (2004)
2. Gray Ghost (2007)

3. Dark Tiger (2009, forthcoming)

   With Linda Barlow:

Thicker Than Water (1995)

   Among his several works of non-fiction, most of them dealing with fly fishing and other outdoor pursuits, is the following:

The Elements of Mystery Fiction: Writing a Modern Whodunit. (1995)

I’ll be leaving tomorrow morning for Columbus OH and this weekend’s 2009 PulpFest convention, the first under the new name and new management. They’ve done a tremendous amount of advertising and stirred up a lot of excitement about their show, more than there’s been in a long time. The fellows running the old PulpCon had done a good job over the years, but attendance had been dropping and they didn’t appear to be very receptive to new ideas.

PulpFest is primarily a venue for collectors of old pulp magazines to get together and talk about their recent acquisitions as well as those that got away, and of course to look for more. The center of the show is the dealers’ room, but in the evening are various panels and presentations, all in a very relaxed atmosphere. Many of the attendees have been coming for years, but anyone coming for the first time should feel welcome right away.

Some of you reading this I expect to see there, including several whose names should be familiar if you’ve been reading this blog for a while, such as Walter Albert, Walker Martin, Mike Nevins and Dan Stumpf. Stop by and introduce yourself if you’re there and I don’t see you first!

I’ll be back home on Sunday, but it may be a few days into August before the blog is very active again. Whenever I go away I pretty much stay off the computer, so no reports on the big bash until I get back. See you then!

THE WHOLE TRUTH. Columbia-UK, 1958. Stewart Granger, Donna Reed, George Sanders, Gianna Maria Canale, Michael Shillo. Screenwriter: Jonathan Latimer, based on a play by Philip Mackie. Directors: Dan Cohen, John Guillermin.

   Whenever you see Jonathan Latimer’s name somewhere in the credits of a film, you know that movie lovers in general are going to have a good time with it, and mystery fans in particular. The Whole Truth, although 1958 was beginning to be a little late for a movie to be filmed in black-and-white, is no exception.

   And although Stewart Granger’s career was on the downswing by the time he made this film — besides North to Alaska and a lot of work on TV and Europe, I don’t see very much else in his later list of credits — he still does a good job playing a film director in Europe having problems controlling the temper of his Italian leading lady, played briefly but most effectively by Gianna Maria Canale, an Italian leading lady herself (in one of her few English language appearances).

   It also turns out that Granger, while now happily married to Donna Reed, once had a short affair with Miss Canale, and the latter is holding that over his head — give me my way, she says, or your wife? Behave, or I’ll tell her everything.

   I say “briefly” because, this being a murder mystery, Miss Canale’s death comes very early on in the movie. It is very tempting to tell you exactly what George Sanders’ role is in this picture, but suffice it to say that Granger’s character is suspected, and it is up to Donna Reed’s to put up a good front. It is obvious that she has doubts, however, when his story begins to be challenged from all directions.

   There are many twists and turns ahead, not all of them wholly believable, but with Latimer in charge, the characters are not idiots — far from it. Sanders, of course, out acts everyone on the set, as only he could whenever given half a chance. There is lots of fun in store if you watch this one — giving, as, I say your suspension of disbelief plenty of room to work, and even to wallow around in.

   As for it being filmed in black-and-white, as pointed out in my first paragraph above, I really think the movie ought to have been made in color, even if a good portion of it takes place at night. It looks like a color film with the color turned off, if that makes sense, not a 1940s black-and-white film made by people who knew exactly how to make black-and-white films.

   Harper’s Perennial Library keeps reprinting Dorothy L. Sayers, proving that there will always be an audience for class. In her lifetime Sayers published eleven Lord Peter Wimsey novels and three short story collections which included Wimsey stories. Perennial has now republished nine of the novels and all of the short story collections in uniform paperback editions at $3.95 each. (I suspect that the two remaining novels, The Unpleasantness at the Bellona Club and The Nine Tailors, will also be reprinted shortly.)

   In addition, there is a trade paperback of almost five hundred pages, Lord Peter ($8.95), which contains all of the Wimsey short stories, including three that were never previously published in book collections. That book is enhanced by a James Sandoe introduction, an essay by Carolyn Heilbrun (who writes mysteries as Amanda Cross), and a delicious Wimsey parody, “Greedy Night,” by E.C. Bentley.

   Speaking of bonuses, I must again praise the illustration by Marie Michal which appears on all of the covers. They’re some of the best done paperback art I’ve seen in years.

   I’m not sure if there’s anything else about Sayers that hasn’t already been said. I could suggest that her non-series short stories not be overlooked since they are uncommonly good, especially “The Man Who Knew How,” in Hangman’s Holiday, as well as “Suspicion” and “The Leopard Lady,” in In the Teeth of the Evidence.

   Those volumes also contain stories about Sayer’s other series detective, wine salesman Montague Egg. Very down to earth with his advice on how salesmen should succeed, his stories are “no-nonsense,” yet imaginative in plotting. I especially enjoyed his information about wine.

   I would also suggest that one not be put off by the foppish quality of Lord Peter. I’m not sure why some detectives between the wars, like Wimsey, Reginald Fortune, and the early Albert Campion, were created as silly asses. The fact is that, if given half a chance, they will prove that they are far from effete.

   Also, their authors, especially Sayers, are people of intelligence, and they write as if they assume the same about their readers. These days, one feels that many writers are appealing mainly to our emotions or our libidos.

Editorial Comment.   I regret that two of the covers shown aren’t nearly as sharp as I’d like them to be. I’ll see if I can’t obtain better images to replace them. To see Marie Michal’s work the way it’s meant to be seen, follow the link in the essay above.

Q-PLANES. Columbia Pictures-UK, 1939. Aka Clouds Over Europe (US). Laurence Olivier, Ralph Richardson, Valerie Hobson. Cinematography by Harry Stradling; art direction by Vincent Korda and Frederick Pusey; director: Tim Whelan. Shown at Cinevent 41, Columbus OH, May 2009.

   Also known as Clouds Over Europe, this is a dandy espionage thriller, with Ralph Richardson stealing the acting honors from Olivier (a bit grumpy, it seemed to me, although this was probably mostly due to the character he played).

   Olivier is an impatient test pilot who keeps being passed over for flights because of his fiery temper, while Richardson is a secret operative, unflappable and prone to off-the-cuff humorous asides, with a sharp intelligence that his cover as a man-about-town conceals.

   The program notes made much of Richardson’s character Tony McVane as a dapper precursor of James Bond, although Michael Klossner commented to me that he found him more like the Avengers’ John Steed, with his signature cane and posh outfits.

   The production team and cast were all first class, with the director just a year or so away from his co-directing stint on The Thief of Bagdad.

           

ELLIOT PAUL – Fracas in the Foothills: A Homer Evans Western Mystery and Open Space Adventure. Random House, hardcover, 1940.

   Where to begin …

   Perhaps with expatriate American scholar sleuth Homer Evans and his two gun toting girl friend Miriam Leonard (aka Mademoiselle Montana) of Billings, Montana, who has a way with a gun and a classical harpsichord.

   Perhaps with the whole insane crew of surrealistic Frenchmen that accompany him in his Parisian adventures: Gonzo the painter; Chief of Detectives Fremont; Dr. Hyacinthe Toudoux, the medical examiner, and his black mistress; a pair of Russian aristocrats turned cab drivers; double-talking lawyer Maitre Francois Ronron; or Moritz the Thinking Dog.

   Perhaps with the Indians on the warpath …

   Homer Evans and his crew of surreal Dadaist pals first made their notable debut in The Mysterious Mickey Finn, a phantasmagoric farce of crime and the art world intended as a parody of Philo Vance and S. S. Van Dine.

   About two chapters in, that went by the wayside, and the book took off in its own insane direction. In Twentieth Century Crime and Mystery Writers John Ball points out that Van Dine died the same year Mickey Finn was published, “perhaps mercifully.”

   They next appeared in Hugger-Mugger in the Louvre which was more of the same, if arguably madder, especially where it involves the obscure Egyptian pharaoh Tout-or-Nada. Between the two we met the brilliant but somewhat less than sober red-headed van dyke bearded Homer and his Montana born girlfriend who packs a pair of .38’s on their Parisian adventures.

   After that they paused for a little Mayhem in B-Flat. There were nine Homer Evans adventures in all, including Waylaid in Boston, I’ll Hate Myself in the Morning, The Black Gardenia, and The Death of Lord Haw Haw.

   But everyone has to go home eventually, and in Fracas in the Foothills Homer and Miriam are called back to Montana because there is trouble on the range.

   Those nasty old sheepherders represented by the despicable Larkspur Gilligan are threatening Miriam’s Pa Jim and tied with gangsters out of Chicago, as they are informed by Miriam’s childhood friend Blackfoot Rain-No-More (University of California, class of ’29).

   Homer decides to sail with her on the Ile de France for home, and so all of their friends pile in to come along with a little careful choreographing of coincidence on Paul’s part — he could hardly leave that crew behind in occupied Paris.

   Montana will never be the same.

   Neither was mystery fiction.

   Paul said of the book in the forward to Mayhem in B Flat:

   Nor does Fracas in the Foothills fail in its promise. If anything it is even more than you could possibly expect. The action takes place in the lower Yellowstone valley of Montana and introduces Blackfoot medicine man Trout Tail III and Blackfoot chief Shot-On-Both-Sides. This is also the book that introduces Moritz.

   Gangsters, rustlers, Native Americans, the French, murder (the corpse is scalped), a land grab, arson, a murder trial, rattlesnakes raining from airplanes (twice), the Battle of the Redlands, a stampede, sheep, and more are the ingredients of Paul’s novel.

   Admittedly who-dun-it gets a bit lost in the mix, but then that’s true of all of the Evans novels. If you can even remember the outline of the plot by the time you finish, you probably could outwit Homer and his whole crew. It’s a bit like trying to describe the relationship of the plot of a Marx Brothers movie to what actually happens on screen. It isn’t the most rewarding thing you can do.

   Fracas in the Foothills may not be Paul’s best, but is certainly his busiest novel. All 451 plus pages of it, including maps.

   And not a word is wasted. Though Homer may be feeling a little crowded getting back to the States:

   Surely not. That would be a tragedy.

   Elliot Paul isn’t much read today, Even his best known books Life and Death in a Small Spanish Town and The Last Time I Saw Paris are forgotten.

   Only historians of the genre even mention Homer Evans in passing. His other sleuth, Brett Rutledge, is even less well known. It is not right, however. Paul and Homer Evans deserve to be remembered and treasured. The books are not only funny, they are smart, and they are unique.

   And as in poor English as it may be, Fracas in the Foothills in the uniquest of them all. Even among the unique it is — unique.

   Read it.

   But watch out for those rattlesnakes from the sky. That would even shake John Creasey’s infamous flying coyote.

   Hopalong Cassidy was never like this.

   Them sheepherders never had a chance.