Kitabı oku: «The Passing of Mr Quinn»
‘THE DETECTIVE STORY CLUB is a clearing house for the best detective and mystery stories chosen for you by a select committee of experts. Only the most ingenious crime stories will be published under the THE DETECTIVE STORY CLUB imprint. A special distinguishing stamp appears on the wrapper and title page of every THE DETECTIVE STORY CLUB book—the Man with the Gun. Always look for the Man with the Gun when buying a Crime book.’
Wm. Collins Sons & Co. Ltd., 1929
Now the Man with the Gun is back in this series of COLLINS CRIME CLUB reprints, and with him the chance to experience the classic books that influenced the Golden Age of crime fiction.
THE DETECTIVE STORY CLUB
E. C. BENTLEY • TRENT’S LAST CASE
E. C. BENTLEY • TRENT INTERVENES
E. C. BENTLEY & H. WARNER ALLEN • TRENT’S OWN CASE
ANTHONY BERKELEY • THE WYCHFORD POISONING CASE
ANTHONY BERKELEY • THE SILK STOCKING MURDERS
LYNN BROCK • NIGHTMARE
BERNARD CAPES • THE MYSTERY OF THE SKELETON KEY
AGATHA CHRISTIE • THE MURDER OF ROGER ACKROYD
AGATHA CHRISTIE • THE BIG FOUR
HUGH CONWAY • CALLED BACK
HUGH CONWAY • DARK DAYS
EDMUND CRISPIN • THE CASE OF THE GILDED FLY
FREEMAN WILLS CROFTS • THE CASK
FREEMAN WILLS CROFTS • THE PONSON CASE
FREEMAN WILLS CROFTS • THE GROOTE PARK MURDER
FRANCIS DURBRIDGE • BEWARE OF JOHNNY WASHINGTON
J. JEFFERSON FARJEON • THE HOUSE OPPOSITE
RUDOLPH FISHER • THE CONJURE-MAN DIES
FRANK FROËST • THE GRELL MYSTERY
FRANK FROËST & GEORGE DILNOT • THE CRIME CLUB
ÉMILE GABORIAU • THE BLACKMAILERS
ANNA K. GREEN • THE LEAVENWORTH CASE
VERNON LODER • THE MYSTERY AT STOWE
PHILIP MACDONALD • THE RASP
PHILIP MACDONALD • THE NOOSE
PHILIP MACDONALD • MURDER GONE MAD
PHILIP MACDONALD • THE MAZE
NGAIO MARSH • THE NURSING HOME MURDER
R. A. V. MORRIS • THE LYTTLETON CASE
ARTHUR B. REEVE • THE ADVENTURESS
FRANK RICHARDSON • THE MAYFAIR MYSTERY
R. L. STEVENSON • DR JEKYLL AND MR HYDE
EDGAR WALLACE • THE TERROR
ISRAEL ZANGWILL • THE PERFECT CRIME
FURTHER TITLES IN PREPARATION
Copyright
COLLINS CRIME CLUB
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain in The Novel Library by The London Book Co., an imprint of Wm Collins Sons & Co. Ltd 1928
Novelisation © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 1928
Introduction © Mark Aldridge 2017
Jacket design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 1928, 2017
The publishers would like to thank Agatha Christie Ltd for their co-operation in the publication of this edition.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780008243968
Ebook Edition © September 2017 ISBN: 9780008243975
Version: 2017-08-08
Table of Contents
Cover
The Detective Story Club
Title Page
Copyright
Introduction
The Passing of Mr Quinn
Note
Chapter I
Chapter II
Chapter III
Chapter IV
Chapter V
Chapter VI
Chapter VII
Chapter VIII
Chapter IX
Chapter X
Chapter XI
Appendix
Also Available
About the Publisher
INTRODUCTION
OF the many publications that have been associated with (but not written by) Agatha Christie, The Passing of Mr Quinn is certainly one of the most curious—and, until now, one of the rarest. Originally published in 1928, the book is actually a novelisation of the silent film of the same title, which had been released the same year and was the very first screen adaptation of an Agatha Christie story. The film itself is now lost, along with its script, meaning that this tie-in publication is our best insight into this filmmaking first. The movie was publicised as an adaptation of Christie’s short story ‘The Passing of Mr Quinn’, which had introduced the charming but mysterious stranger Harley Quinn, a man whose sudden appearance motivates characters to untangle a mystery that has been hanging over them for many years.
The timeline for the story might initially seem to be reasonably straightforward: Agatha Christie’s original short mystery ‘The Passing of Mr Quinn’ was published in the March 1924 edition of The Grand Magazine before being adapted into the July 1928 film that used the same title. The film’s new interpretation of the mystery was then novelised as this book, The Passing of Mr Quinn, and Christie’s original short story was later published in April 1930 as the opening part of the short story collection The Mysterious Mr Quin, where it was renamed ‘The Coming of Mr Quin’, perhaps to differentiate it from the film and this novelisation. However, the development of this story is a little more complicated than this timeline may indicate.
One point is immediately obvious to those familiar with the original short story—the film and its novelisation diverge significantly from Christie’s narrative. In her original story, a mysterious death in the past is raised in a discussion amongst friends, who are spurred on by Quinn to make sense of the events. The film takes the same death as its starting point of the dramatisation, but after the main suspect is cleared it moves off in a wildly different direction as it emphasises the romantic relationship between two key characters and the appearance of a mysterious stranger.
In order to make sense of The Passing of Mr Quinn’s journey between media we need to begin by looking at its original magazine appearance in 1924. The first thing to note about this version is the title, which spells the titular character with two ‘n’s. This is consistent with the later film, but not with Christie’s book of the short stories, which established ‘Quin’ as the definitive spelling. The title of both the film (which is often misspelled in articles) and this novelisation is not an aberration, then, but a reproduction of the original character’s name as it had appeared in the first four stories in The Grand Magazine. In fact, it was only when The Story-teller magazine published the next six stories that the spelling changed from Mr Quinn. Debuting in the Christmas 1926 issue and appearing monthly under the general headline ‘The Magic of Mr Quin’, this ‘New series of brilliant mystery stories’ established Quin as Christie’s third serial character after Hercule Poirot and Tommy & Tuppence. (Miss Marple did not appear anywhere until December 1927.)
The title is not the only change that occurred between the original publication of the story and its later appearance in the book collection of Quin stories some six years later. The Grand Magazine’s original ‘The Passing of Mr Quinn’ is several hundred words shorter than the version that would eventually be published in the book as ‘The Coming of Mr Quin’, and it is clear that Christie substantially redrafted the mystery before handing it over to Collins for The Mysterious Mr Quin collection. Some sections, such as the beginning, are almost completely rewritten, while elsewhere smaller details change. For example, Christie aficionados may notice that Alex Portal from ‘The Coming of Mr Quin’ is named Alec in this 1928 novelisation, but this is in fact the original name of the character as printed in 1924. Elsewhere, Mr Satterthwaite ages from 57 in the original magazine to 62 in the collected short stories, while in terms of tone there is marginally more emphasis on Quinn’s qualities as a quiet manipulator in the original text.
A unique feature of The Grand Magazine story was the addition of line drawings to illustrate key moments, including the first visual representation of Mr Quinn. However, it strictly adheres to the text’s description of him being in ‘motoring clothes’, and as a consequence his attire of a sensible rain jacket and flat cap does make him seem rather less mysterious than the reader may otherwise have imagined.
It was therefore this original version of the debut Quinn story that was adapted by director and screenwriter Leslie Hiscott to form the basis of the film The Passing of Mr Quinn. The picture was made quickly and inexpensively at Twickenham Studios by Julius Hagen Productions for film distributor Argosy in order to satisfy new demands that a certain percentage of domestic film productions should, amongst other things, be based on a scenario by British writers. The Passing of Mr Quinn would be one of the first of many ‘quota quickies’, made specifically to satisfy the new regulations rather than as the result of any particular artistic or business desire for the title. In the event, the film of The Passing of Mr Quinn took only a few elements of the original short story to form the basis of its bizarre and somewhat illogical—but nevertheless entertaining—screenplay that would not only veer away from the original narrative but also completely reinvent the title character. To say more would ruin the surprise of the events as they unfold in the following book, but suffice to say there is little in common between the Mr Quinn of this story and Agatha Christie’s original character.
The film was given a relatively limited release, and was not well received. On the whole, critics found it overlong (at 100 minutes) and somewhat preposterous, with particular disdain
for the portrayal of Quinn himself by Vivian Baron. Nevertheless, some commentators found elements of the mystery intriguing and commended it for the interesting visual presentations of some scenes. However, the harshest critic was possibly Agatha Christie herself. The specific details of the agreement that allowed an adaption—and then a novelisation—of her story are lost to us, as no paperwork survives, but we can infer a great deal from the circumstantial evidence. For one thing, although this book’s title is the same as both the original short story and the film, the text renames Quinn once more, this time to ‘Quinny’, with a curious disclaimer at the beginning of the text requesting that readers understand that this is the same character as seen in the film. (It appears to have been a last-minute alteration, in that one instance of Quinn rather than Quinny survived unchanged in the text.)
We can assume that this further change of name was made in order to assuage Christie’s displeasure at the appearance of the book—from her own publishers, no less—although it did not prevent her name from being featured prominently on the dustjacket. Christie seems to have been unaware that she had signed away the rights to novelise the film. This annoyed her greatly and informed her later business dealings. When her agent, Edmund Cork, formulated a (later abandoned) deal with MGM in the 1930s to film some of her works, she was insistent that the contract should make it clear that, while the studio may make original mysteries for the screen featuring her characters, they were not to be novelised.
Nevertheless, such discomfort came too late for The Passing of Mr Quinn, and the novelisation was printed—although only once—as part of The Novel Library, an inexpensive collection of small-format books consisting mainly of reprints of well-known titles by the likes of H.G. Wells, Jack London and A.E.W. Mason, plus lesser-known books that had been turned into films. In the event, Christie’s displeasure seemed hardly worth the effort as both book and film of The Passing of Mr Quinn sank without a trace, although the picture was seen as far away as Australia.
The novelisation itself often feels like an Agatha Christie mystery as reimagined by someone with no real affinity for the intricacies of the genre. Instead, it firmly leads with melodrama above all else. As for the person who performed this reworking, there is little to say, as the credited author of the book, G. Roy McRae, has no other publications to their name and is almost certainly a pseudonym for a freelancer or staff writer—although we cannot dismiss the possibility that it was Leslie Hiscott, the film’s director and adapter, changing his name to avoid bearing the brunt of Christie’s ire.
Whoever the author was, they were less interested in nuance and character than Christie was, but showed a keen emphasis on the more salacious elements of murder, relationships and the impact of crime. Indeed, some elements (including Quinn himself) are suitably macabre for the increasingly horror-tinged popular movies of the time; one could imagine Lon Chaney playing the part as described. However, as a mystery, there are some clumsily executed changes of scenario and loose ends that Christie herself would never have allowed, while the introduction of such elements as an untraceable poison break the code of conventions adhered to by the major mystery writers of the era. The Passing of Mr Quinn provides the reader with an unpredictable journey through various scenarios and locations, changing genre along the way, until we reach the final act of the story having little understanding of what mystery we are trying to solve, although it’s hard not to be swept up in the drama of piecing together the story that links some unusual characters. In the end, according to contemporary accounts, the story’s resolution works rather better on the page than it did on the screen, and while The Passing of Mr Quinn is a curiosity, it is certainly an interesting one.
MARK ALDRIDGE
March 2017
THE PASSING OF MR QUINN
THE BOOK OF THE FILM BY G. ROY McRAE
This dramatic film thriller is adapted from a novel by Agatha Christie, the world’s greatest woman writer of detective stories. It provides a new and original type of thriller since three persons in the story could be reasonably suspected of a motive which would prompt them to poison the most hateful villain who ever crossed the pages of fiction. Who, then, poisoned the cruel and sinister Professor Appleby? Derek Capel, his neighbour, in love with the Professor’s wife, Eleanor? Vera, the house-parlourmaid, Appleby’s mistress? Or was it Eleanor Appleby herself? This is a story full of dramatic moments and thrilling suspense. It will keep you guessing until the final page.
NOTE
READERS are requested to note that Mr Quinny of this book is the same person as the Mr Quinn of the film.
CHAPTER I
PROFESSOR APPLEBY listened.
He stood in the centre of his study, his hands in the pockets of his dinner jacket, and a curious half smile on his lips as he listened intently.
He heard nothing, for his house was silent as the grave.
If there had been any sound Professor Appleby would assuredly have heard it, for amongst the rows of valuable books that lined the walls of his study there were dummy books. Dummies that held microphones which could carry any sound made in any room of that house to its master in the centre study.
Professor Appleby alone had knowledge of this. His wife, Eleanor, was terrified of his omniscience of everything that went on in the house. She knew that she could not give an order to the servants without the professor knowing of it. It was one of Professor Appleby’s subtle means of cruelty, and it had contributed a great deal towards the state of nervous exhaustion to which she had become prostrated.
After listening for a moment or two Professor Appleby laughed softly. It was a precise, mirthless sound like the tinkle of ice in a glass.
Satisfied that, as yet, all was quiet in his house, he crossed the thick pile red carpet to the broad mahogany desk in the centre of his study. It was a study indicative of his tastes, for it was furnished with every luxury and refinement, yet it bristled with the bizzarre. The bookcases contained exquisite vellum-bound volumes, old editions, and strange works of foreign publishers. A glass-door cupboard on one side of the room held chemicals and test-tubes, giving the study the appearance of a laboratory, which was offset by the cushions which lay on chairs and settee, the soft-shaded lamp and the glowing radiator which gave the big room generous warmth.
On the carpet near the mahogany desk was a stout wickerwork basket. Professor Appleby, with a strange smile twitching his lips, bent over it, and untying a string lifted a lid. He straightened himself with a huge Haje snake coiling and wriggling in his arms and round his shoulders, and he laughed again softly.
It was a startling and repellant sight in that room of luxury and taste. The red curtains were drawn over the window to shut out the gathering dusk, and all was silent in the study save for the ticking of the clock and Professor Appleby’s long-repressed breath. It was a ticklish job he was doing.
After a few moments of manipulation with instruments from a case on the desk, Professor Appleby jerked erect, satisfied that his experiment was coming to a successful issue. The smile on his lips was scarcely pleasant.
Spite of his huge, elephantine figure there was a suggestion of pantherish power in Professor Appleby’s movements. Now once again he seized the snake with cruel, strong white fingers just below its head, and bent over it with an instrument in his other hand.
He had a gross white face that appeared to be carefully attended, and very finely pencilled eyebrows that had a satanic uplift; an extremely strong nose and jaw, and lips that were a red, twitching line. A monocle gleamed in his right eye, and those eyes were as bright as a snake’s themselves, holding the heavy-lidded droop of mastery.
Such was Professor Appleby, a monstrous figure of ebony and white in his dinner suit, as he wrestled under the soft-shaded lamp with the Haje spitting snake.
There sounded all at once a slight hiss. The Haje’s long body wriggled and coiled sinuously, so that its black and white diamond markings seemed to blur. A glass vessel fell to the carpet, knocked over by the snake in its struggles, and Professor Appleby’s monocle dropped on its black cord as he smiled grimly.
He had forgotten for a moment that Doctor Portal had arranged to call that evening on Eleanor, his wife—forgotten it in the fascination of the strange experiment he had been conducting.
The Haje, a fierce species of African cobra, had just exercised its remarkable and disconcerting habit of ejecting poison from its mouth to a considerable distance, and the professor had collected the discharge and had drawn the cobra’s fangs. It was now completely harmless, its poison-spitting propensities stopped for all time.
The professor dropped into a chair, watching the snake’s convulsions a moment, while he wiped his white hands fastidiously with a handkerchief.
There were tiny beads of perspiration on his forehead. For all his coolness he had known the experiment to be a dangerous one.
It was such experiments as this that had gained for Professor Appleby a reputation entirely enviable in the world of science and research. He was a noted expert in poisons and a pathologist of world-wide repute. Such ability—in the eyes of the world, at least—condoned a personal reputation that was somewhat dubious.
If the consensus of opinion was that Professor Appleby was the most brilliant scientist of his day, it was also freely rumoured that he had paid the penalty of genius. The dividing line between genius and insanity is a very thin one, and Professor Appleby was very much on the borderline: he had a cruel and sinister side to his character which could scarcely be called normal.
There were rumours current of strange habits he had acquired during his long sojourn in the East. Gossip has many votaries in an English country village, and Professor Appleby’s house, the Lodge, discreetly retired though it was, behind a long avenue of trees, was the object of much curiosity and an astonishing penetrative insight on the part of the villagers.
‘How he ever married her. I don’t know’—this referred to the gracious woman with hair of golden-brown and large, pathetic brown eyes who was occasionally to be seen flitting through the village with flushed face averted as though she knew she were an object of pity. Local opinion was unanimous about Eleanor Appleby. Two years before she had been a girl of breathless beauty; now it was evident that she walked with fear. She had been induced by the persuasions of her mother and her friends to accept the brilliant Professor Appleby as suitor—and now she was paying the cost of her husband’s erratic genius.
There was a great deal more gossip. Stories of his cruelty, and of his preference for the society of other women. How these got about in the village it is difficult to tell, for Professor Appleby was careful to throw a barricade of secrecy around the Lodge. His menage consisted of two domestics, a white-haired cook whose frightened manner and consistent head-shaking was the answer to any curious question about life at the Lodge, an old gardener and handy man who for some reason of his own had the silence of the sphinx in his tongue, and Vera, the house parlourmaid. Vera? Well, Vera, too, may have had her own reasons for not talking.
Yet rumour had got about, and Professor Appleby was conscious of it. He was sensitive about it, too, sensitive as a man who has some secret vice. As he stood back from the snake which was now twisting to the carpet, a sudden savagery flitted across his gross, white face. It was quickly eradicated. Indeed, he crossed the carpet, softly as a cat, and looked at his own reflection in a mirror, screwed his monocle in his eye and wagged a white forefinger warningly at himself.
No one must see it. No one must guess.
He turned away from the mirror again, and tried to capture elusive memories of an astonishing outburst he had made at a medical board in London a week before. What had he done—what had he said? Really he ought not to do these things. He must keep a closer guard over himself.
He thrust his hands deep in the pockets of his trousers and stood with feet apart, his chin sunk as he stared with glittering eyes at the cobra.
Suddenly he started.
Through the microphone concealed in one of the dummy books had come distinctly the sound of a knock at the front door of the Lodge, then faintly the sounds of the maid’s footsteps and the opening of the door. Then voices; a man’s deep and hearty, and a woman’s confused low tones.
Professor Appleby’s brows drew together, and somehow the faint contortion gave the heavy white face with its bright eyes a terribly sinister expression. The professor had that type of gross face that many exceedingly clever men possess; to watch its fleeting expressions provided a fascinating, if rather frightening study.
He listened. It was evident that those in the hall were taking care not to be overheard, for their voices sounded in undertone to their footsteps moving towards the drawing-room. The microphone made of their conversation a mere confused buzz, and only now and then did a word sound with clarity.
Professor Appleby knew that his wife and Doctor Alec Portal were talking together in the drawing-room.
He caught snatches through the microphone, chiefly in the man’s voice.
‘… You must not … then leave him … For your own sake I beg of you, Eleanor.’
The listening professor smiled beneath frowning brows. Quickly he picked up the writhing, harmless cobra and stowed it away in the wickerwork basket, then once more wiping his hands in his handkerchief, he crossed the carpet, lithe and buoyant to an astonishing degree in a man of such heavy build.
Softly traversing the passage between the study and the drawing-room, he opened the door suddenly, and the two inside the room, seated on a settee near the window, looked up startled to see him regarding them from the threshold.
In the woman his presence caused instant and dire confusion. Eleanor Appleby snatched away the delicately moulded hand that Doctor Portal had been holding whilst in pursuance of his professional duties he felt her pulse, and that same hand went like a fluttering bird to her heart. She paled—it was pitiable that swift pallor that drained her face of every vestige of colour—and her dilated eyes stared at her husband whilst she trembled.
Doctor Alec Portal looked swiftly from Professor Appleby to the beautiful, stricken creature on the settee beside him, and a frown knit his brows as he sprang to his feet.
Across the empty space of the room the two men measured glances. Doctor Alec Portal’s level-gray eyes did not waver, though in those few seconds he knew that rumour was right about Professor Appleby.
His eyes were restless, unnaturally bright under the frowning brows; his mouth twitched ever so slightly. He held himself well in check, of course, but the cruel glow that showed in his eyes as he looked at Eleanor could not belong to a quite normal man.
It was Doctor Alec Portal who spoke first.
‘Professor Appleby, I believe?’ he said in icy tones.
These two had crossed each other’s path many times, yet had never spoken. In public Professor Appleby was an extremely dignified and even ponderous man, and scarcely likely to take notice of a country medico.
Alec Portal, however, looked far different from the traditional village doctor. He had bought the country practice at Farncombe merely as a diversion from his wealth and because medicine appealed to him. Earlier in life he had selected the army as a career, and he bore the stamp of it unquestionably.
Hardly yet in his forties, he stood some six feet in his socks, with a fair, tanned and clean-cut face that could be unbelievably boyish and handsome, and at times implacably stern.
Stern he appeared now as Professor Appleby crossed the room towards him. It was quite obvious from the professor’s attitude, the sneering smile upon his lips, that he was going to commit one of those breaches of good taste for which he was becoming notorious.
‘Every one in Farncombe knows that I am Professor Appleby, I think,’ he said with icy contempt. ‘And also that my wife is—well, mine.’
Doctor Alec Portal flushed.
He could not mistake the implied allusion. It was, in fact, coldly brutal, and he heard a little gasp from the settee. Professor Appleby was regarding him with a provocative and sneering smile, and Doctor Portal controlled his rising anger with difficulty.
‘That is exactly my point,’ he said harshly. ‘I am Doctor Alec Portal, as you know, and I am in attendance upon Mrs Appleby in a medical capacity. I am glad to have the opportunity of seeing you tonight, professor, for I wish to warn you that your wife is far from well.’
Professor Appleby’s eyebrows shot up.
‘Indeed,’ he said suavely, ‘that is news to me. I have qualifications as a medical man myself, and I should have said that Mrs Appleby is enjoying the best of health. Still—’ he crossed the carpet, and took his wife’s hand, feeling her pulse with a judicial air.
His back was half-turned to Alec Portal, but, indeed, the young doctor was not exercising any special vigilance for the moment, and therefore he did not observe the cruel pressure of Professor Appleby’s strong fingers upon his wife’s arm.
Alec Portal was caught up in a sudden strange wonder. As the professor had crossed the room Eleanor Appleby had cast a swift glance of appeal to him. And for a breathless moment a galvanic force that Doctor Portal had never before experienced and did not understand, swept through him.
He knew that he was trembling a little. He believed it was through the tensity of the situation, for he was sure that a demon raged in the breast of this man whose intellectual achievements had amazed the scientific world. A demon of merciless cruelty, urging him, driving him to outrageous acts of subtle torture.
And yet—what was this wild thrill that raged through him as he stared at Eleanor Appleby? It was as if he had suddenly awakened to something new and wonderful.
Her eyes were cast down, and she was trembling violently, and her childish face was pitiful. Yet, perhaps because of her extreme pallor, she looked as fresh and sweet as a dew-drenched rose at dawn. Alec Portal continued to stare at her. That brute’s wife, he told himself! And with the soft lamplight pouring on her flawless face and brown-gold hair she looked a very dainty and pretty little wife.
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