Christie Catchup: More Clocks and Bodies

The Clocks by Agatha Christie

published 1963

 

 

The inquest concluded, people began to move out of the court. Edna Brent who, with most of the other girls at the Cavendish Bureau, had been present, hesitated as she got outside the door. The Cavendish Secretarial Bureau had been closed for the morning. Maureen West, one of the other girls, spoke to her. ‘What about it, Edna? Shall we go to the Bluebird for lunch?' 

A few days ago I blogged on an Elizabeth Ferrars book where the body is found among clocks. I said the setup would remind you of another book: this was the one I meant. My knowledgeable readers went one better – of course! – and reminded me that the early Seven Dials Mystery, also by Agatha Christie had a similar scene. And there was mention of a John Dickson Carr, though I’m not sure which one that is – help, please.

This is how it happens here -  you can compare with the Ferrars:

The only thing at all remarkable about [the room] was the profusion of clocks—a grandfather clock ticking in the corner, a Dresden china clock on the mantelpiece, a silver carriage clock on the desk, a small fancy gilt clock on a whatnot near the fireplace and on a table by the window, a faded leather travelling clock, with ROSEMARY in worn gilt letters across the corner.

It’s an excellent beginning – a young woman has been sent to do a typing job, and walks in on a dead body and the clocks. The general opinion among Christie readers is that it doesn’t really live up to that promising opening, but as blogfriend Lucy Fisher firmly says, ‘lots to like.’

Christie was still writing good books at that stage: on a timeline Clocks is surrounded by Mirror Crack’d and A Carribbean Mystery, both fine entries in my important opinion. Those two, both Marples, are more what we expect from Christie: straightforward murder stories, where this has thriller elements. Clocks is a Hercule Poirot book, but he only appears a long way in – until then there is a mixed POV featuring someone who is called Colin Lamb but would seem to be the son of our (and Poirot’s) old friend Superintendent Battle.

There are some other oddities here – Christie does not normally bother with irrelevant details and side-issues (certainly not expecting it in 1963). But in the typewriting agency at the centre of the case we have this:

On the walls above Miss Martindale’s desk was hung a collection of signed photographs. I recognized one as that of Mrs Ariadne Oliver, detective writer, with whom I was slightly acquainted. Sincerely yours, Ariadne Oliver, was written across it in a bold black hand.

Now, by my calculation Mrs O has played a major role in 4 books and a short story up to the date of this book – but she is not going to appear as a character.

She will be mentioned again when Poirot gives us a lecture on great crime writers, some of them real, some imagined, a weird mixture. There is a Louise O’Malley

‘What a model of fine scholarly writing is hers, yet what excitement, what mounting apprehension she arouses in her reader. Those brownstone mansions in New York. Enfin, what is a brownstone mansion—I have never known? Those exclusive apartments, and soulful snobberies, and underneath, deep unsuspected seams of crime run their uncharted course. It could happen so, and it does happen so. She is very good, this Louisa O’Malley, she is very good indeed.’

So - is this meant to be Elizabeth Daly? - always reputed to be a favourite of Christie’s, and also a favourite of mine. But why not use her real name? Brownstones, btw, a subjct of much interest and discussion here on the blog.

There are  mentions of past cases, which may offer clues – though two key plot elements here are very similar to those in Marple book of the past… And one of the cases Poirot mentions would also make you think of the Marple case, which would be a better comparison. (Sorry, having to be elliptical as trying not to spoiler. Roti-13 option: Tvey Thvqr va Qrnq Zna'f Sbyyl naq Obql va gur Yvoenel)

If ever there was a book that needed a map, and doesn’t have it, it is this one. The weirdness of Wilbraham Crescent, site of the murder, may have been clear in Agatha’s head, but not in ours. I looked to see if there was a Dell Mapback but couldn’t find one. It’s a double semi-circle of houses – it seems to me that the houses, or at least the lots they sit on, must be quite different sizes. We could have done with the numbers and who lived in each one.

Also, as Robert Barnard says in his A Talent to Deceive, we need to believe that a lot of wholly unconnected people with secrets live in one short road…

I have read this book several times, and as I embarked on it again, I realized that I didn’t remember why there were clocks in the room with the body. I’ve just finished it and I’m still not sure.

It’s a mishmash – and yet, still, an enjoyable read.

And, there was another café to add to my collection (see here also):

‘Come on, let’s go and drink indifferent coffee in peaceful surroundings.’ The Buttercup Café lived up to its name by being violently and aggressively yellow. Formica table tops, plastic cushions and cups and saucers were all canary colour. I ordered coffee and scones for two. It was early enough for us to have the place practically to ourselves.

And Poirot talking nonsense rhymes again:

He recited with the utmost solemnity:

‘Dilly, dilly, dilly—Come and be killed.’

As in ABC Murders (again), Third Girl, and One Two Buckle My Shoe.

Middling Christie, which this is, is still better than many other authors.

Top picture shows a group of secretaries from a few years later, at Aalto university in Finland: I thought they had a look of the 'bureau girls' in the book. The much less cheerful other photo is from the Missouri State Archives and is captioned ‘outdated technology – typing pool.’