A WORLD GONE MAD. Majestic Pictures/Capitol Film Exchange, 1934. Pat O’Brien, Evelyn Brent, Neil Hamilton, Mary Brian, Louis Calhern, J. Carroll Naish. Screen story: Edward T. Lowe. Director: Christy Cabanne. Shown at Cinevent 42, Columbus OH, May 2010.

   The very truncated cast list I’ve provided is only the tip of an iceberg that includes some talented supporting players. [A full accounting can be found on IMDB. Follow the link.]

   The program notes point out that while Majestic was a small company that might be classed among the Poverty Row studios, it was among the cream of the minors, able to make use of Universal’s facilities, and, because of a tie-in with Louis B. Mayer’s secretary Ida Koverman, able to draw on MGM technicians like editor Otis Garrett (later director of The Black Doll) and cameraman Ira Morgan.

   However, in spite of the connections with Universal and MGM, this played like a Warner Brothers production, with the fast paced script based on contemporary headlines that were often a feature of the WB product.

   What also impressed the writer of the program notes (Steve Haynes) was its connection with more recent events, in its portrayal of a pyramid scheme that benefits the men at the top, and milks its investors of their life-long savings.

   O’Brien plays a cynical reporter who’s close to both the few good guys and the crooks whose most odious and well-portrayed representative is played by Louis Calhern, while the chief “enforcer,” an assassin for hire, is strikingly played by J. Carrol Naish.

   Not a great film, but a very effective and often chilling one, although the effectiveness of at least one major scene is undercut by the unrestored print that allows the scene, meant to be played out in semi-darkness, to be screened in almost total darkness.

BAYNARD KENDRICK – Make Mine Maclain. William Morrow & Co., hardcover, 1941. No paperback edition.

    Make Mine Maclain contains three novellas, all starring blind detective Captain Duncan Maclain. It makes entertaining reading, and is recommended.

      1. The Silent Whistle. First publication.

    “The Silent Whistle” has a main mystery plot that is somewhat different from Kendrick’s usual approaches. It looks at a nocturnal errand done by the victim, and keeps imagining different explanations of what happened on the errand. These explanations are not masterpieces, but they offer solid ingenuity.

    The structure of this main story in “The Silent Whistle” anticipates that of Kendrick’s “5 – 4 = Murderer” (1953):

    “The Silent Whistle” does have some subplot puzzles that are regular Kendrick specialities:

    Elements of the background recall Erle Stanley Gardner:

    The financial transaction has political aspects that I have never seen in any other book, mystery or general.

    The trap set by the killer at the end, recalls a bit the one in Cornell Woolrich’s “The Room with Something Wrong” (1938).

2. Melody in Death. First published in The American Magazine, June 1945.

    “Melody in Death” (1945) is a not-very-good novella about an opera company, suffering from both dull storytelling and a lack of mystery puzzle ingenuity.

    The best mystery subplot involves the song. This is an example of the messages that run through Kendrick. Like others, this one is close to a Dying Message. What it leads to or indicates is also clever. This whole subplot is resolved halfway through the novella.

    Kendrick tries for one of his puzzles, where the killer is indicated by being the only person with access to knowledge. Unfortunately, this subplot is a botch. The reasoning is far-fetched. It also has flaws (the victim could have been spreading the information right and left through phone calls, for example).

    The basic construction of this puzzle is different from typical in Kendrick. In “Melody in Death,” the claim is that the killer could only have learned something from the victim, just before he killed her, and hence is the murderer: the period just before death was the only time of possible contact between victim and the alleged killer.

    If he hadn’t killed her, there would have been no other contact, and he would not have known this information. By contrast, in most Kendrick, there is a piece of general knowledge, shown to have been possessed by whoever did the murder, and it turns out that only one person had the necessary access to the information.

    The construction of the puzzle in “Melody in Death” is interesting. One only wishes it had been executed a little better.

    There is a suspense finale, something common in Kendrick. This one involves mechanical aspects of an opera house, recalling a bit the mechanical aspects of a hotel building used in the nice finale of The Whistling Hangman. This finale is the second-most-decent feature of “Melody in Death”.

    Earlier, the region under the opera stage is discussed, reflecting Kendrick’s interest in underground regions. However, the action of the novella never actually goes under the stage.

3. The Murderer Who Wanted More. First appeared in The American Magazine, January 1944 .

    “The Murderer Who Wanted More” is mainly a suspenseful tale about a “woman in jeopardy”. It has a simple whodunit plot, with a solution whose cluing seems to depend entirely on a dubious motive.

    Despite its limitations as a detective puzzle, it is a good piece of story telling. The opening suspense sequence, showing a journey taken by the heroine, is especially well done. Most of the rest of the story takes place in the real town of Tottenville, Staten Island, New York.

    The tale shows Kendrick’s skill at scene painting. Blind Man’s Bluff, published the previous year, also opens with a woman making a spooky journey in New York City at night.

   The opening journey recalls the long trips in Blood on Lake Louisa. Like them, the journey leads to a discussion of alibis and alternate routes. In both works, this likely reflects the influence of Freeman Wills Crofts.

    There is a pleasant contrast in the two works: Blood on Lake Louisa takes place in the warmth of Florida, “The Murderer Who Wanted More” in Staten Island during a winter snow storm. (A journey on the Staten Island ferry also occurs in Frank Sullivan’s comedy gem found in his collection of comic sketches A Pearl in Every Oyster (1938).)

    A subplot about the mysterious man in the black overcoat, is simple, but also a nice mystery element. It eventually leads to a plot idea about the background of the man, a Kendrick specialty. Kendrick’s description of the man stresses the elegance of the belted overcoat. Overcoats were among the most festive and swaggering elements of men’s fashion in that era.

    The sinister past of Staten Island in Colonial days is discussed. A liberal critique of slavery in that era is brought in. The same year, Dragonwyck (1944), an historical novel by Anya Seton, would look at the sinister anti-democratic regimes of Old New York. The Balcony (1940), a mystery novel by Dorothy Cameron Disney, also looks back at the legacy of slavery.

    A good guy character is a Certified Public Accountant in New York. This recalls the interest in finance in Blind Man’s Bluff. We also get a look at financial deals behind World War II war industry work.

SEVEN SINNERS. Gaumont British Pictures, 1936. Released in the US as Doomed Cargo. Edmund Lowe, Constance Cummings, Thomy Bourdelle, Henry Oscar, Joyce Kennedy, Felix Aylmer. Screenplay by Sidney Gilliat & Frank Launder; story by Arthur Ridley & Bernard Merivale based on the play and novelization The Wrecker by Arthur Ridley. Director: Albert de Courville.

   Tankerton Agency detective Edward Harwood stumbles on a body in his hotel room in Nice during Carnival and as quickly loses it, and Caryl Fenton (Constance Cummings) the insurance agent sent to fetch him to Scotland to solve a case of missing jewelry is convinced it’s all part of an alcoholic haze, and hustles him off to Scotland.

   Until they are both victims of a train wreck on the Riviera Express where the corpse Harwood lost shows up as one of the hundreds of victims.

   Learning from M. Turre, the Assistant Prefect of Police, that the wreck was deliberate Harwood and a reluctant Fenton are off to Paris and a trail that leads from an elegant Paris flat to London’s Guild Hall; to a small village in the West of England; to a man who died three years earlier but who they just met in Paris; to another train wreck to silence a doctor who falsified a death certificate; to the Pilgrims of Peace and a phony charity; and to a deadly confrontation on a train to Southampton where the Wrecker is determined to silence anyone who might lead to him — including Harwood and Fenton.

   It should come as no surprise if this fast paced thriller reminds you of some of Hitchcock’s thrillers of the period, such as The Thirty Nine Steps and The Lady Vanishes, since screenwriters Sidney Gilliat and Frank Launder would go on to write and direct some of the best British films of all time.

   Among them, and rivaling Hitchcock in popularity and skills, are Green for Danger, State Secret (The Great Manhunt), The Lady Vanishes (with Alma Reville, directed by Hitchcock), The Green Man, She Played With Fire, Waterloo Road, and Belles of St. Trinian’s. Their last film was Agatha Christie’s Endless Night with Haley Mills and George Sanders in 1972.

   Seven Sinners, also known as Doomed Cargo when released in the US, is a fast paced, clever, and witty thriller with echoes of The Thin Man and first rate performances by Lowe and Cummngs.

   The film is based on the story (co-written with Bernard Merrivale), play, and novelization of The Wrecker by Arthur Ridley, a popular “barn burner” as such plays were known. Ridley specialized in these, also writing Ghost Train, another “barn burner” that became a hit film and was also novelized by Ridley (remade as the hilarious Runaway Bus with Margaret Rutherford).

   Edmund Lowe seemed to specialize in detective roles, playing Nick Carter, Philo Vance, Lawrence Blochman’s Inspector Prike (changed to Dyke in Bombay Mail), and Chandu the Magician, starting in films in 1915 and ending with George Cukor’s Heller in Pink Tights in 1960. Along the way he was Captain Quirt in What Price Glory?, his biggest role, and appeared in such films as Dinner at Eight, The Last Hurrah, The Great Impersonation, Dillinger, and Mister Dynamite. He was sleuth/reporter David Case on early television’s Front Page Detective.

   Constance Cummings played Harriet Vane opposite Robert Montgomery’s Lord Peter in Haunted Honeymoon, but fared much better in this and Blithe Spirit with Rex Harrison and Kay Hammond. Her scenes with Lowe have real crackle and snap to them, with a slight hint of the American screwball school well played by both actors.

   Albert de Courville was a successful director and producer (probably best known on this blog as the producer of The Shanghai Gesture). [Reviewed here. ]

   The train wrecks are well staged, and while there is some obvious model work and rear projection, they were state of the art at the time, and you can imagine the final train wreck with the train boring down head on had audiences jumping in the theaters of the time. It’s still pretty exciting stuff.

   The finale, a shoot out in a movie theater during a newsreel about the Wrecker, likely inspired the similar scenes in Hitchcock’s Saboteur and John Huston’s Across the Pacific. If it doesn’t exactly make a lot of sense it’s a well done set piece and a fitting ironic end as the Wrecker meets his fate while the newsreel announcer asks “Where is the Wrecker?”.

   One word of warning. When you are looking for this you are going to encounter the 1940 Tay Garnett John Wayne/Marlene Dietrich film Seven Sinners more often than this one. It’s a good film too, but nothing to do with this.

   The title refers to the conspirators in the scheme and the Wrecker himself, if you come up one short, listen carefully and you’ll discover there was an off screen murder and train wreck they mention that happens before the point where the film starts.

   Highest recommendations for this first rate comedy mystery. This is how it should be done, smart, witty, and moving at a gallop. Luckily the print available is very good despite being on the “gray” market and you can enjoy it in all its glory.

   See it. It’s well worth the effort.

   We all remember the golden age of fantasy, SF, and horror television. Anthology series such as Twilight Zone, Outer Limits, Night Gallery, Alfred Hitchcock Presents, One Step Beyond. One of the very best was Thriller, hosted by Boris Karloff and lasting 67 hourly episodes during 1960-1962.

   I was just a teenager at the time but I still remember skipping dates and not watching Phillies baseball, just in order to not miss the show. A few years ago I managed to track down a bootleg set of all the episodes on DVD, and I relived the joy of watching this great black and white spooky series.

   Somehow I had forgotten just how bland and mediocre some of the crime and mystery episodes were. All I had remembered were the great horror stories like “Pigeons from Hell,” “The Grim Reaper,” “The Cheaters,” “The Hungry Glass,” and others.

   After watching a dozen or so of the early crime episodes I was beginning to think that my memory was playing tricks on me and that the horror shows were from some other show.

   Then I got smart and started skipping around and watching the episodes out of order, especially paying attention to the eighteen episodes adapted from Weird Tales, that great pulp of the supernatural. Yes, you read right, I said eighteen of the stories are from Weird Tales!

   After watching these eighteen shows and other horror adaptations from various sources, I was able to even enjoy some of the crime and mystery plots, though in my opinion they could not begin to compare with the horror episodes.

   Frankly, I never figured the entire series would see an official DVD release but I am glad to say that I was mistaken. Image Entertainment recently released a box set containing all 67 shows and included such extras as over two dozen audio commentaries, mainly on the horror episodes, isolated music scores, episode promos, an so on.

       Since I had viewed all 67 shows just a few years ago, my intent initially was to only watch the horror stories again, and listen to the commentaries. But fate stepped in and I stumbled across an announcement that Pete Enfantino and John Scoleri would be hosting a discussion on Thriller by way of a blog.

   Comments are welcome and each day a different show is covered, starting from the first and continuing to the 67th and last one. There are also breaks for interviews and topics like “The Girls of Thriller”. Each show is rated by a system of “Karloffs” from zero to 4 Karloffs.

   I am happy to say that this discussion has become part of my daily viewing. Each day I watch an episode and then look at the blog to read about what Pete and John have to say.

   They are only on the 17th episode as I write this, and now would be a good time to dive in and join the fun. Especially since the horror episodes are starting to be discussed and you can skip some of the bland, more mundane crime shows. Or you can watch them also and then read what they have to say, and what they say is always done with wit and humor.

   The discussion takes place at www.athrilleraday.blogspot.com and gets my highest recommendation. It’s a lot of fun talking about the old Thriller shows, and comments are encouraged.

   By the way, the Thriller box set has a list price of $150 but is heavily discounted at the online stores. For instance I paid only $97 from Amazon. Even though I already had a bootleg set, I consider this “official” release money well spent.

ANTHONY WYNNE – The Case of the Gold Coins. J. B. Lippincott, US, hardcover, 1934. Reprint: A. L. Burt, hardcover, no date. UK edition: Hutchinson, hardcover, 1933.

   Anthony Wynne (Robert McNair Wilson) was one of the lesser Golden Age writers — the creator of Dr. Eustace Hailey, a Harley Street specialist in mental disease who once offered the following opinion: “The really interesting crimes are those … in which the method employed, as well as the motive, constitutes a puzzle.”

   Method is indeed the most interesting element in Wynne’s mysteries: No less than sixteen of his twenty-eight novels feature an “impossible crime” of one type or another (most often the use of an “invisible agency” to murder someone in closed or guarded surroundings). Some of his “impossibles” are quite ingenious — The Case of the Gold Coins, for instance.

   In this case Hailey’s assistance is solicited by Captain Jack Ainger of the CID to investigate the strange death of Lord Wallace in a remote section of Northumberland. Wallace’s body was found in the middle of a wide expanse of beach near his home, badly battered and bruised, with a knife driven into his back.

   The location of the wound and bloodstains found under the corpse prove that he died on the spot. Yet there are no footprints in the sand for many yards in any direction and no way either the murderer or the sea could have erased any. A thrown knife is out; that still wouldn’t explain the absence of footprints.

   Also out are the possibilities of the body having been dropped from an airplane or hurled by a catapult or by bodily force.

   Dr. Hailey sets about questioning the suspects: Lady Wallace, the sister-in-law of the murdered man; Ruth Wallace, the lord’s niece; Colonel Bolton, a neighbor and old enemy of Wallace’s; the colonel’s daughter, Pamela; Wallace’s solicitor, Giles; and one of the local squires, Peter Ingram, who was engaged to Ruth but is now in love with Pamela.

   Don’t be misled, though: This is no actionless house-party drama; there is a good deal of skulking around in the night, two more murders, a couple of close shaves for Dr. Hailey (one of which involves sailboats and an unexpected predawn swim), eerie doings on a little offshore island, more intrigue centered on an old flour mill near the Wallace estate, and a hidden treasure of gold sovereigns.

   All the elements are here for a dandy novel. Unfortunately, Wynne’s handling of them results in “rather heavy melodrama,” as Howard Haycraft termed his work. Wynne wrote well, but in a solemn, reserved, curiously detached manner, as if he were unable to involve himself in his narrative.

   And Hailey is something of a colorless and plodding sleuth, whose only distinct character traits are taking snuff and “drawing his hand across his brow,” both of which he does constantly.

   Still, the explanation of how Lord Wallace was murdered is worthy of John Dickson Carr — although one facet of it is a little hard to swallow — and alone makes the novel worth reading.

   The same is true of such other Hailey investigations as The Green Knife (1932), in which there are three locked-room murders by stabbing; The Toll House Mystery (1935), in which a murdered man is found shut up alone in a closed car surrounded by untrodden snow; and Emergency Exit (1941), about a stabbing in an air-raid shelter surrounded by unmarked snow.

   Also interesting is the lone Dr. Hailey short-story collection, Sinners Go Secretly (1927), which contains two “impossibles.” If you enjoy this type of mystery, don’t pass these up. Despite their flaws, Wynne’s puzzles will keep you guessing and absorbed throughout.

         ———
   Reprinted with permission from 1001 Midnights, edited by Bill Pronzini & Marcia Muller and published by The Battered Silicon Dispatch Box, 2007.   Copyright © 1986, 2007 by the Pronzini-Muller Family Trust.

ANTHONY WYNNE – Murder of a Lady. Hutchinson, UK, hardcover, 1931; Crime-Book Society #44, paperback, 1930s. US title: The Silver Scale Mystery, J. B. Lippincott, hardcover, 1931.

   Scottish-born physician Robert McNair Wilson (1882-1963) was a man of many interests. Besides practicing medicine, he wrote about numerous subjects, including European history, economics (his economic thought influenced the famous poet and fascist Ezra Pound and continues to attract interest at certain quarters of the internet).

   More importantly, under the pseudonym Anthony Wynne, he wrote a series of twenty-seven detective novels between the years 1925 and 1950. This is the work, of course, that interests us most here at the Mystery*File blog.

   Anthony Wynne’s detective novels have been out of print for sixty years, but some retain interest today. Along with John Dickson Carr, Wynne was one of the most prominent Golden Age practitioners of the locked room mystery. Unfortunately, his novels often tend to be overly melodramatic, thinly characterized and humorless, no doubt in part explaining their obscurity today.

   One of the best Anthony Wynne detective novels, Murder of a Lady (The Silver Scale Mystery in the United States), deserves reprinting, however. Set in Scotland, where Wynne himself grew into adulthood, Murder of a Lady benefits from strong atmosphere (with supernatural overtones), some compelling characters and emotional entanglements, a baffling and suspenseful problem and a plausible enough solution.

   The “Lady” in question, Mary Gregor, sister of a laird, is found dead by violence in her bedroom in her brother’s Highland Scottish castle. The author offers a classic sealed room situation, with locked doors and windows. More deaths occur, all seemingly impossible.

    “The assassin kills but remains invisible,” announces nerve specialist Dr. Eustace Hailey, Wynne’s snuff-taking but not especially interesting series detective. In each case a herring scale is found on the victims body, a detail leading to suspicions among the superstitious locals (which includes gentry as well as plain folk) that legendary fish creatures from the nearby waters are responsible the mayhem, taking vengeance for past family misdeeds.

   The crimes are truly baffling, and suspense during the investigations of both Dr. Hailey and the professionals is well maintained. The Scottish Highland atmosphere, with its supernatural elements, is very well done. (I couldn’t help but be reminded of John Dickson Carr’s The Case of the Constant Suicides, thought the humor in that book is utterly absent from Wynne’s.)

   The household of the laird and his sister — which includes a son and daughter-in-law and several servants — is strongly drawn as well. Particularly admirable is the author’s delineation of the character of the first murder victim (the lady), who dominates the household even in death, a defunct spider whose victims still struggle in the remains of her web.

   I was kept in suspense until the author sprang his solution, and Dr. Hailey’s explanation maintains interest until the very last paragraph of the novel, when we learn the true meaning of one element of the mystery.

   Murder of a Lady is Golden Age detective fiction at its considerable best. I’m going to talk to Ramble House about getting this one reprinted.

ROBERT BARNARD – At Death’s Door. Scribner’s, US, hardcover, 1988. Paperback reprint: Dell, 1989. British edition: Collins Crime Club, hardcover, 1988.

   I do think Robert Barnard goes from strength to strength, though I’m not sure how he does it with his prolificity: At Death’s Door was his second novel published here this past year [1988].

   His character probings are becoming more subtle, but his people, full of all their weaknesses and strengths, their humanities, leap off the pages in sharpest individuality.

   In this one they are the family, legitimate and otherwise, of Benedict Cotterel, famous writer and rake, now octogenarian and senile. His daughter Cordelia, produced by the now renowned actress and once mistress Myra Mason, has decided to write a book about her mother — whom she loathes– and Ben.

   She comes to the home of Roderick and Cordelia Cotterel — Roderick being one of two offsrping by an early Cotterel marriage — where Benedict is vegetating. Myra, hearing of the book project, comes furiously to the little British village with her latest bedmate in tow, determined to stop Cordelia in her tracks.

   Into this comes murder, and Inspector Meredith (whom I’ve a notion Barnard has served us before) does some fancy footwork to identify the guilty. Barnard’s plotting is elegant as well, and he has yet one more surprise at the end for us.

   Magnificent!

Bibliographic Note:  Inspector Idwal Meredith did indeed appear in another Barnard mystery: Unruly Son (Collins, 1978; US title: Death of a Mystery Writer. Scribner, 1979).

MISSING. BBC-TV. Second series: 15 March through 26 March 2010. Pauline Quirke, Felix Scott, Pooja Shah, Mark Wingett.

   This is an afternoon programme returning for a second series of ten 45-minute programmes (no adverts). Pauline Quirke plays Detective Sergeant Croft who is in charge of a missing persons unit in Dover.

   She has in her squad a detective constable and a female assistant. Together they chase up all reports of missing persons occasionally using a local radio reporter to broadcast appeals. This series is complicated by a new aggressive Chief Inspector who casts a shadow over the team.

   This is very comfortable day-time viewing with no disastrous outcomes for the missing people. A happyish ending is usually in sight. However, twee as it is, I rather enjoyed this second series as I did the first last year.

  EDWARD MARSTON – The Merry Devils. St. Martin’s Press, US, hardcover, 1990. Paperback reprint: Fawcett Crest, 1991. Trade paperback: Poisoned Pen Press, 2001. UK edition: Bantam, hardcover 1989.

  Genre:   Historical mystery. Leading character:   Nicholas Bracewell; 2nd in series. Setting:   England-Elizabethan period.

First Sentence: London was the capital city of noise, a vibrant, volatile place, surging with life and clamorous with purpose.

    Lord Westfield’s Men, an Elizabethan acting company, is presenting a new play, “The Merry Devils.” Contrary to the stage direction of book-holder, Nicholas Bracewell, a third “devil” appears when the scene only calls for two.

    Upon the second presentation, Bracewell decides to have there be three devils, but only two appear. The third is found dead under the stage. Threats increase and Nicholas must find who is behind it before anyone else dies.

    Marston is one of the best at crafting time and place. He takes us from the workings of the theater, to the streets, to the properties of nobles to Bethlehem Hospital, otherwise known as Bedlam. This was a time when Christianity and superstition were intertwined and strict Puritanism was on the rise.

    The cadence and syntax of the dialogue reflect the period while delightful metaphors and humor exemplify the characters. The cast of characters is interesting and appealing. Marston has provided enough of Bracewell’s background to bring him to life but has, intentionally to us and the other characters, left much in the shade.

    The members of the company reflect the egos, insecurities and conflicts one would expect without be stereotypes. All the characters have dimension and substance. I did appreciate the character of Dr. John Mordrake, based on Dr. John Dee, mathematician, scientist, occultist and consultant to Queen Elizabeth I. He seems to be the subject of numerous books these days.

    Although there was a very good, twisty plot and a dramatic ending, it did feel overly contrived. However, that did not diminish my enjoyment or my anticipation of Marston’s next Elizabethan Theater book.

Rating:   Good Plus.

    Previously reviewed by LJ:

The Owls of Gloucester   (The “Domesday” series)
The Queen’s Head   (Nicholas Bracewell, 1st in series)

HENRY JAMES – The Aspern Papers. Macmillan, hardcover, US/UK, 1888. First published in three parts in The Atlantic Monthly, March-May 1888. Reprinted many times since.

Filmed as The Lost Moment: Universal Pictures, 1947. Robert Cummings, Susan Hayward, Agnes Moorehead, Joan Lorring, Eduardo Ciannelli, John Archer. Screenplay: Leonardo Bercovici. Director: Martin Gabel.

   Well I got around to Henry James again and landed on his 1888 novella The Aspern Papers, probably his most accessible work except for Turn of the Screw. Which ain’t saying a whole hell of a lot, because James never uses one word where he can put twenty, and his notion of objectivity is to invariably leave his characters disappointed.

   Yet there is, withal, an easy grace in his prolix prose and a muted yearning in his plots that keeps me coming back. James’ characters long for the heroism their author denies them, a theme that doesn’t appear this consistently again in American Lit until David Goodis, and maybe it’s this that keeps drawing me back.

   Whatever the case, Aspern, as I say is a bit more engaging than most James, with something like a real plot, about a publisher/literary enthusiast looking for material relating to a romantic poet who died in the last century.

   It seems that a young woman with whom the poet had an affair still lives, incredibly old now, in a decaying mansion in Venice with her niece, and she may have love letters from her legendary paramour. In short order the poetry sleuth inveigles himself into the house, only to find he has entered their lives as well.

   It’s a fine, romantic premise for a book, and James handles it competently, with a realism in his characters that threatens at times to bleach all the excitement from the idea, but manages to keep it alive somewhere just under the surface of his inhibitions. The conclusion is typical of James as well: disappointing and yet somehow satisfying in its context.

   Universal studios, home of Abbott and Costello and the Wolfman, brought this to the screen in 1947. Or at least they brought the premise; James’ placid plot and wan protagonists are replaced in The Lost Moment by a noirish romanticism the author would hardly have recognized.

   The pusillanimous publisher is portrayed by an earnest Bob Cummings, and the reticent niece by sultry Susan Hayward, who seethes with pent-up passion even at her most spinsterish. A kindly dowager who sets the plot in motion on the first page becomes a venal painter with plans of his own (played by John Archer in a Melvyn Douglasmode) and the aged muse/lover of the dead poet is portrayed by a rasping Agnes Moorehead — at least they say it’s Agnes Moorehead; under all those veils and wrinkled makeup it could be Lon Chaney Jr for all I know.

   All this could easily have led to a massive betrayal of James’ novel, but it’s saved by a literate script by Leonardo Bercovici (a subsequently-blacklisted author who worked on off-beat romances like Portrait of Jennie and The Bishop’s Wife) and lush, romantic direction by Martin Gabel, of all people.

   Gabel always played it cold and constipated in the movies, and his work here as a smooth, moody auteur in the style of Max Ophuls is one of those minor miracles with which the cinema is occasionally blessed.