Police at the Funeral

This is the first proper murder mystery in the Campion series. After all, Campion is a 'Deputy Adventurer' not a private detective. The first three books, although they did contain murders, were primarily about thwarting organised crime - The Crime At Black Dudley is about escaping a hostage situation, Mystery Mile is about protecting a judge from assassination and Look To The Lady is about protecting an ancient chalice from theft. Police At The Funeral (terrible title) is more the whodunnit we come to expect from classic mystery fiction. However, that's not to say that it is formulaic or uninteresting.

Campion is asked by an old university friend to listen to his fiancée's worries about her missing uncle. No sooner does Campion meet show more the young woman than the uncle's body is discovered and Campion goes to the family's home to see how he can help. What he is met with is an oppressive Victorian-hang-over household in which the middle-aged inhabitants are strictly ruled by their eighty-something mother, and sit about bickering and snapping at each other like children.

Gone are the fresh-faced eager dullards Campion spends time with in the previous books. This time he is trapped in a creepy house filled with disturbing shows of selfishness and hysterics where adults tantrum like toddlers, while new horrors unfold, increasing the sensation that something in that house is rotten and an insidious malevolence is at work. The characters are all vibrantly and repulsively brought to life. As usual, the book is witty and exciting (with its fair share of digs at the genre), but it is much more intriguing than the previous ones. The solution is ingenious. show less

After three books, for the first time, Allingham takes Campion out of the thriller genre and into a much more traditional manor house murder mystery. And while she doesn't leave the solution as apparent as, say, Agatha Christie might, most of the major clues are on open display to the reader, and there is every possibility they will be able to guess at the solution before it is revealed. Allingham shows her skill at misdirection to the point where the solution, when it comes, feels almost obvious. How could you miss that? But you do. It's very clever.

Part of Allingham's misdirection is, as always, her presentation of tremendously vivid characters. This time, there's a whole houseful, lorded over by the tiny but dominating personality of show more eighty-six-year-old Caroline Faraday, who keeps a raven's watchful eye on her flighty and selfish family. We are reminded again and again that all emotion seems to have been driven from her personality in her attempt to keep control, and it is to this end that she enlists Campion as her personal eyes and ears during the investigation. The intellectual dance they keep up through the novel is almost beguiling: one, masked in stoicism, the other, masked as a fool. Their interactions lead to a delightful and surprising resolution.

Police at the Funeral comes at the end of an intense writing period for Allingham, which may explain the lackluster title; after this, she took a longer-than-usual break before the next in the series. Perhaps she even contemplated ending it here. Had that been the case, it doubtless would have ended Mr. Campion's adventures on a very high note; this is a strong, assured piece of work, very engaging and well on-par with more famous mysteries of the period. Like Mr. Campion himself, it deserves better recognition. show less

Here is a testimony to an excellent Golden Age cozy: I had seen the BBC’s 1989 television version of Police at the Funeral (starring the inimitable Peter Davison) years ago, so I knew the resolution to the mystery, but I loved the book all the same.

A Cambridge schoolmate summons Albert Campion, the pseudonym for a disinherited younger son and self-proclaimed “junior adventurer,” to look into the murder of a member of the Faraday family, a brood ruled with an iron hand by the widowed matriarch, Caroline Faraday. Luckily, author Margery Allingham plays down the silliness found in her first novel featuring the bespectacled, deceptively foolish Albert Campion. Here he is invaluable to his old friend Inspector Stanislaus Oates. Had I show more not known the answer already, I would never in a million years have discovered it until Allingham revealed it. Five shining stars. show less

A much better story lies beneath the surface of the book I just read. The flaw is that Allingham needed to bring Campion onto the scene--which distracts from a rather chilling and compelling story of the ways in which the "staid" constrictions of Edwardian life could result in an entire generation of profoundly psychologically damaged people. The book is, of course, shot through with classism and racism that makes it difficult to stomach and suffers from not being willing to let the core story stand on its own. Remove Cousin George from the story and a tighter and more chilling (and less racist) tale would remain.

Police At the Funeral by Margery Allingham is the fourth book in series that features the man of mystery Albert Campion. Neither a detective nor a spy, he seems to have his fingers in many pies and, it also seems he is a member of a very highly placed family, maybe even one of royalty. In this outing he is called upon to assist an old friend who is concerned for his fiancée who lives with many members of her family at a large house called Socrates Close in Cambridge.

Great Aunt Caroline rules the roost at Socrates Close, her word is law and the rest of the relatives that live there despise each other and chaff under the rules but as Great Aunt Caroline holds the purse strings, they obey. When suddenly one of the uncles and then one of show more the aunts are murdered, both terror and mystery are unleashed.

Another fun outing that has Albert Campion solving an intricate mystery. With lots of running around in the night, and strange cryptic symbols appearing on the windows, the author knows exactly how to elevate the tension and keep the reader turning the pages. With it’s witty writing, dry humor and plenty of red herrings strewn about, Police At The Funeral was an engaging puzzler. show less

Nothing much happens. At Socrates Close, we move from room to room while characters share the stage. There are several red herrings, several things that can cause hounds to run off on the incorrect track – all of which is good writing, I think. Yet, at the end of the day, between all the brocade and pipe smoking, we all just plod along occasionally checking in with the dour Inspector Oates.

In the last book Campion was nearly incomprehensible with his non-stop chattering and sarcasm. In this, he retains a few well-placed remarks, but overall has mellowed a bit – this is the form of Campion I like best so far.

I love old vintage mysteries – I rarely read modern crime fiction – and if I do its historical or a bit cosy. I adore all those gentlemen sleuths and big houses full of odd crusty characters and convoluted mysteries. But aside from all that which is all pretty great anyway – these old vintage mysteries from that period called the Golden Age of Crime, were proper well written novels, with interesting characters fully explored, they are wonderful period pieces. It is years since I read any Margery Allingham, I think I have actually only read a couple. So I was delighted when my sister slipped a couple of old vintage green Penguin Allingham’s into my birthday pressies this month.

“After his first start of surprise the Inspector show more swung round to find himself facing a young man perched insecurely on a pile of debris in the warm murky shelter of the stove. A shaft of light from the furnace lit up the figure, throwing him into sharp relief.
The Inspector had a vision of a lank immaculate form surmounted by a pale face half obliterated by enormous horn-rimmed spectacles. The final note of incongruity was struck by an old-fashioned deerstalker cap set jauntily upon the top of the young man’s head.
Chief Detective-Inspector Stanislaus Oates began to laugh. Ten minutes before he had felt that spontaneous mirth was permanently beyond him.
‘Campion!’ he said ‘Who’s after you now?’

Aristocratic amateur sleuth Albert Campion aids his friend Inspector Stanislaus Oates in a very perplexing mystery at the home of a group of unhappy ageing cousins and siblings. The household is certainly a very odd one, matriarchal figure Caroline Faraday is an imperious, tiny woman, doted on by her maid Alice, she rules over her household absolutely. There is an atmosphere of strict Victorianism about the place, old heavy furniture and long drawn out formal meal times. Morning tea is strictly forbidden as are motor cars. Her middle aged children and nephew share the house for purely monetary reasons; they each dislike all the others, and are given to frequent squabbles and sulks. Young Joyce Blount, engaged to a solicitor of Campion’s acquaintance, and distantly related to this odd collection of dependents, comes to consult Campion about the peculiar disappearance of her Uncle Andrew. Andrew Seeley is one of the warring relatives who share the house; Socrates Close. Coincidently Inspector Oates is with Campion when Joyce first meets Campion, and it is later that same day that Uncle Andrew’s body is discovered, shot and bound head and foot in a river. The next day, another of the residents of this large shared house is found poisoned in her bed. Joyce decides to stay in the house with her peculiar relatives – the three of them who are left – despite the worrying turn of events.

Campion and Oates have much to unravel. There are lies and subterfuges to be uncovered, a missing hat, an enormous bare footprint in a flower bed, with yet another mysterious relative lurking somewhere in the background. This is all perfectly marvellous vintage crime fare – locked doors, blackmail and poisoning and a brilliant denouement that I really didn’t see coming.

There was a rather unsettling moment at the end – which I can’t say too much about for obvious reasons – but suddenly out of nowhere came a rather unpleasant piece of casual racism which really left a sour taste. There have been lots of occasions when I have come across slight racist references before in old vintage mysteries – I tend to know already to expect them if there is a character in the story from another country for instance- and steal myself accordingly but this one caught me off guard rather and slightly spoiled a book I had otherwise thoroughly enjoyed. Still all that aside – I am looking forward to reading more Margery Allingham soon especially The China Governess – what a great title! show less