The Leavenworth Case. John Curran
Affair at Styles is clear: an upper-class domestic setting, a lovelorn male narrator who also acts as the detective’s helper, a wealthy victim, a contentious will, a limited circle of suspects, the inclusion of a floor-plan and the plot device of an incriminating document; furthermore, the method adopted by the killer to conceal that document is identical in Leavenworth and Styles. More than forty years later, during his investigation of The Clocks (1963), Hercule Poirot, musing over milestone titles of detective fiction, comments on The Leavenworth Case’s ‘studied and deliberate melodrama’, noting particularly ‘the excellent psychological study’ of the murderer and calling the book ‘admirable’ overall. And if that’s the opinion of Hercule Poirot, who are we to disagree?
Anna Katharine Green continued to write for the next forty years, producing over thirty novels and five short story collections. In 1897, at which stage she had published fourteen novels and one collection, she introduced the spinster detective Amelia Butterworth, narrator of That Affair Next Door. When a young woman with a face battered beyond recognition is found in the neighbouring house, Amelia joins forces (unofficially) with Leavenworth’s Gryce to solve the mystery. Their collaboration is initially antagonistic and it is not until they compare notes that they successfully solve the case. Amelia Butterworth, the earliest example of the elderly female detective, the meddlesome amateur with time on her hands and curiosity on her mind, appeared in two further novels.
Almost twenty years later, in The Golden Slipper (1915) Green introduced, in a series of linked short stories, yet another detective: the young, professional female. Violet Strange is not merely a younger version of Amelia Butterworth; she is a detective through necessity. Although from a privileged background Violet needs money (for a purpose not disclosed until her last adventure, ‘Violet’s Own’) and undertakes professional detection for a fee. Although many of her cases are concerned with theft or missing valuables some (e.g. ‘The Second Bullet’) involve the investigation of a mysterious death. Like most of Green’s output the setting is among the privileged classes, a milieu through which Violet can move with ease and conviction.
In 1884 Green married Charles Rohlfs, an actor—he collaborated with her in the stage dramatisation of The Leavenworth Case in 1891—and, later, a highly respected furniture designer. The couple had three children, two of whom tragically pre-deceased them. Green published her final novel, The Step on the Stair, in 1923. She died in New York on 11 April 1935; Charles died in June 1936.
The Leavenworth Case was filmed as a silent movie directed by Charles Giblyn in 1923, and was remade as a more lavish ‘talkie’ by Lewis D. Collins, released in 1936. A different ending to the American release had to be filmed to satisfy the British film censors, leaving UK viewers somewhat bemused at the illogical change of identity of the killer at the end of the film. Both versions of the 1936 black-and-white film survive, although the only known US print is sadly incomplete, having been heavily re-edited for television in the 1950s.
The contribution of Anna Katharine Green to the development of detective fiction is immense, and The Leavenworth Case was an obvious choice for inclusion in the first batch of Detective Story Club classics in 1929. The book showed, as Wilkie Collins noted, impressive ‘fertility of invention’ in a well-constructed and well-paced story, full of much that subsequently became commonplace in the genre. Her creation of two types of female detective paved the way for countless followers. Green, a pioneer in a genre that would later come to be dominated by women, was, indeed, ‘The Mother of Detective Fiction’.
DR JOHN CURRAN
December 2015
‘A deed of dreadful note.’
—MACBETH
I HAD been a junior partner in the firm of Veeley, Carr & Raymond, attorneys and counsellors at law, for about a year, when one morning, in the temporary absence of both Mr Veeley and Mr Carr, there came into our office a young man whose whole appearance was so indicative of haste and agitation that I involuntarily rose at his approach and impetuously inquired:
‘What is the matter? You have no bad news to tell, I hope.’
‘I have come to see Mr Veeley; is he in?’
‘No,’ I replied; ‘he was unexpectedly called away this morning to Washington; cannot be home before tomorrow; but if you will make your business known to me—’
‘To you, sir?’ he repeated, turning a very cold but steady eye on mine; then, seeming to be satisfied with his scrutiny, continued, ‘There is no reason why I shouldn’t; my business is no secret. I came to inform him that Mr Leavenworth is dead.’
‘Mr Leavenworth!’ I exclaimed, falling back a step. Mr Leavenworth was an old client of our firm, to say nothing of his being the particular friend of Mr Veeley.
‘Yes, murdered; shot through the head by some unknown person while sitting at his library table.’
‘Shot! Murdered!’ I could scarcely believe my ears.
‘How? When?’ I gasped.
‘Last night. At least, so we suppose. He was not found till this morning. I am Mr Leavenworth’s private secretary,’ he explained, ‘and live in the family. It was a dreadful shock,’ he went on, ‘especially to the ladies.’
‘Dreadful!’ I repeated. ‘Mr Veeley will be overwhelmed by it.’
‘They are all alone,’ he continued in a low business-like way I afterwards found to be inseparable from the man; ‘the Misses Leavenworth, I mean—Mr Leavenworth’s nieces; and as an inquest is to be held there today it is deemed proper for them to have someone present capable of advising them. As Mr Veeley was their uncle’s best friend, they naturally sent me for him; but he being absent I am at a loss what to do or where to go.’
‘I am a stranger to the ladies,’ was my hesitating reply, ‘but if I can be of any assistance to them, my respect for their uncle is such—’
The expression of the secretary’s eye stopped me. Without seeming to wander from my face, its pupil had suddenly dilated till it appeared to embrace my whole person with its scope.
‘I don’t know,’ he finally remarked, a slight frown, testifying to the fact that he was not altogether pleased with the turn affairs were taking. ‘Perhaps it would be best. The ladies must not be left alone—’
‘Say no more; I will go.’ And, sitting down, I despatched a hurried message to Mr Veeley, after which, and the few other preparations necessary, I accompanied the secretary to the street.
‘Now,’ said I, ‘tell me all you know of this frightful affair.’
‘All I know? A few words will do that. I left him last night sitting as usual at his library table, and found him this morning, seated in the same place, almost in the same position, but with a bullet-hole in his head as large as the end of my little finger.’
‘Dead?’
‘Stone-dead.’
‘Horrible!’ I exclaimed. Then, after a moment, ‘Could it have been a suicide?’
‘No. The pistol with which the deed was committed is not to be found.’
‘But if it was a murder, there must have been some motive. Mr Leavenworth was too benevolent a man to have enemies, and if robbery was intended—’
‘There was no robbery. There is nothing missing,’ he again interrupted. ‘The whole affair is a mystery.’