The Butler Did It

He didn't. Just in case you were wondering.

Finally managed to finish Death in The Stocks today, during my sit in the phlebotomist's waiting room. My heart feels heavy for the guys in that plane my Grandad was watching - not because this was the final book they read (it's not that bad) - but just that they never finished it. It's a sobering thought. Any book you're reading could be the last book you read, and you might never find out what happened (of course, this has a higher chance of happening if you're reading said book whilst piloting a fighter plane in war time, I guess) and if it's a Whodunnit, well, then you'll never find out who did.

It's a sad and humanising though. Like seeing people's socks or old folk eating on their own.

Death In The Stocks turned out to be exactly what you'd expect if you've ever read any of the more "talky" Golden Age of Crime books. It definitely leans more towards Margery Allingham than Agatha Christie, and it gains "points" in my book, as it were, for having a tiny pool of suspects. However, from that pool of 8 or so (and that's stretching it as there are only ever really five serious suspects) I still managed to pick the wrong one.

In fairness, you are led by Inspector Hannasyde. At the end when he states that he never suspected the person who was revealed to be the murderer, you realise that you have never been pointed in their direction either. That's not to say that they aren't a plausible suspect, or that they were ever given a watertight alibi, but just that they never enter your mind as anything other than that kind of omnipresent cliched character that they are. I think I was having an off day. I normally get it down to two possibilities but I'd given up trying to guess by the end of this book. If I'd listened to my previous opinions, I probably would have worked it out, but my reading of this book has been so piecemeal that it's been hard to follow the plot, let alone work out what happened - and that's no reflection on Heyer (whom I love), it's just how busy and all around the houses I've been these past few weeks.

I promise to treat The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry with more respect.