Created at: 2026-05-06
I can't remember the exact reason why I set my eyes on this book but I have a vague memory that I was looking for some "whodunnit" type of book and this one came up.
It interested me because it is relatively old (1911) and the author himself invented the "inverted detective story" genre that has inspired so many detective and whodunnit books since.
The book is quite great and has good pacing. Not too fast that all the details are missing or brushed off, also not too slow that you just want to skip pages. The old English is also quite enjoyable to read and adds to the old-England atmosphere of the book.
Below are some quotes that I grabbed from the book:
'Don't take any notice of him, Berkeley,' said Thorndyke. 'The egg-shell is sticking to his head still. He'll know better when he is my age'. 'Methuselah!' exclaimed Jervis; 'I hope I shan't have to wait as long as that!'
I wrestled with one of those remarkable feminine knots that, while they seem to defy the utmost efforts of human ingenuity to untie, yet have a singular habit of untying themselves at inopportune moments.
'I wonder if you can and will help me,' said he, with a courteous salute. 'I wish to call on an acquaintance, and I have forgotten his address. It is in some court, but the name of that court has escaped me for the moment. My friend's name is Bellingham. I suppose you don't chance to know it? Doctors know a great many people, as a rule.' 'Do you mean Mr. Godfrey Bellingham?' 'Ah! Then you do know him. I have not consulted the oracle in vain. He is a patient of yours, no doubt?'
Like the judge who sentenced a man to death and allowed the execution to take place, notwithstanding that he—the judge—had actually seen the murder committed by another man. But that was carrying correctness of procedure to the verge of pedantry.'
Still, it must be remembered that even the most inconclusive facts, if sufficiently multiplied, yield a highly conclusive total. And my little pile of evidence is growing, particle by particle;
'Very delightful; which, by the way, is a melancholy thought. For we ought to be doing better work than our forefathers; whereas what we actually do is to pull down the old buildings, clap the doorways, porticoes, panelling, and mantels in our museums, and then run up something inexpensive and useful and deadly uninteresting in their place.'
'I was doing so,' she answered, 'and wondering why professional women are usually so much more serious than men.' 'Perhaps,' I suggested, 'it is a matter of selection. A peculiar type of woman is attracted to the professions, whereas every man has to earn his living as a matter of course.' 'Yes, I daresay that is the explanation. This is our turning.'
I will maintain, and you will agree with me, I know, that the love of a serious and honourable man for a woman who is worthy of him is the most momentous of all human affairs. It is the foundation of social life, and its failure is a serious calamity, not only to those whose lives may be thereby spoilt, but to society at large.'