THE CASEFILES OF
MR J. G. REEDER
Edgar Wallace
with an introduction by
David Stuart Davies
The Casefiles of Mr J. G. Reeder first published by
Wordsworth Editions Limited in 2010
Published as an ePublication 2011
ISBN 978 1 84870 405 3
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For my husband
ANTHONY JOHN RANSON
with love from your wife, the publisher
Eternally grateful for your unconditional love,
not just for me but for our children,
Simon, Andrew and Nichola Trayler
INTRODUCTION
Edgar Richard Horatio Wallace (1875–1932) was the most prolific of authors. He wrote at a prodigious pace, producing one hundred and seventy three books (more than half involving crime and mystery) and seventeen plays.
Wallace led an interesting and somewhat colourful life. He was born in Greenwich, the illegitimate son of actors Marie (Polly) Richards and Richard Horatio Edgar Marriott who kept him for a mere nine days after his birth. He was adopted by George Freeman, a fish porter, and brought up with his other ten children. Wallace learned the truth of his parentage when he was eleven years old. This discovery came about because he needed a birth certificate in order to get a job. Like most things in his life, he took the shocking news in his stride.
Wallace’s early working life consisted of an ever-changing series of odd jobs until he joined the West Kent Regiment at the age of eighteen, later transferring to the Medical Staff Corps. He served as a correspondent during the Boer War for Reuters and South African and London newspapers. His journalistic work gave him a taste for writing and he concocted his first mystery novel featuring four respectable but ruthless vigilantes who find pleasure in administering justice when the law is incapable or unwilling to do so. However publishers were not interested in Wallace’s The Four Just Men and so he founded the Tallis Press and published the novel himself in 1905. He ran a vast and successful advertising campaign to promote the book which involved a huge publicity gimmick: a £500 reward was offered to any reader who could guess how the murder of the British Foreign Secretary was committed in the novel. This ploy generated tremendous sales, but Wallace had over-estimated his own cleverness in creating the murder mystery plot, for there were several correct responses and they all had to be paid. As result Wallace suffered great financial losses.
Nevertheless, The Four Just Men made Edgar Wallace’s name as a popular author. He was speedy and prolific, turning out novels, stories and plays in short order. His unbounded energy and enthusiasm for his craft ensured that there was always a new Edgar Wallace thriller on the bookstalls. It is said that he once dictated a play in four days and a novel over a weekend. His output was matched by his popularity. It has been claimed that in the 1920s and 1930s, one in every four books read in Britain was written by Wallace, who became known as the ‘King of Thrillers’.
Apart from The Four Just Men, he created Sanders of the River con-cerning the adventures of a British commissioner in Africa. Other characters included The Ringer, an underworld avenger, and Derrick Yale ‘the amazing psychometrical detective’ who pits his wits against Scotland Yard in The Crimson Circle. And of course Mr. J. G. Reeder.
Ever since the creation of Sherlock Holmes, authors had been inventing detectives who they hoped would be considered as clever as Holmes but different in character and personality. Many sleuths had certain peculiar traits, for instance Ernest Bramah’s entertaining if somewhat incredible character Max Carrados who was blind but had developed his other senses to a remarkable degree. His hearing was highly tuned and he could read newsprint by running his sensitive fingers over the paper.
With John G. Reeder, Wallace decided to go against the usual conceptions of a clever detective. He is neither glamorous, forthright nor particularly courageous, the traditional traits of a hero. Reeder presents the image of a timid, insignificant, gentle man – but his mind is as sharp as a tack. He has an extraordinary memory for faces and the remarkable ability to think like a criminal. Small and middle-aged, he has mutton-chop whiskers, wears steel-rimmed pince-nez and an old fashioned flat-topped bowler hat. He carries an umbrella with him day and night, and resolutely keeps it furled. The handle conceals a knife blade. Reeder also possesses a well-oiled revolver, although he is far from being a man of action, preferring to potter around his private library or to meditate. However, this mild-mannered, apparently inoffensive man is in fact an ice-cold professional with a dogged determination to bring the wrongdoers to justice. His lack of emotion and interaction with other human beings – rather like Sherlock Holmes – makes him an unsettling character and certainly a formidable opponent.
Wallace first introduced him to the reading public in the novel Room 13 (1924), though Reeder is far from being the main character in this story. Despite being mentioned early in the narrative, he does not put in an appearance until Chapter 11. However in this chapter Wallace brilliantly provides a rich portrait of Reeder, his character and modus operandi, in his interview with one of the villains. It is a wonderful exercise in character-building in one short scene, revealing that Reeder’s timid, old-fashioned exterior disguises a ruthless and emotionless opponent.
In Room 13, Reeder refutes the notion that he is a ‘busy’, a slang expression for policeman. (Wallace is very fond of using slang, no doubt to give his narrative an authentic tone.) Reeder explains his role thus.
‘I am merely an investigator, an inquiry agent, not a detective. “Detective” is term which is wholly repugnant to me. I have never arrested a man in my life nor have I the authority to do so.’ In essence this protestation is mainly a matter of semantics. Reeder’s role in this novel certainly involves detective work. He is ‘employed by the banks to try and track down the people who have been putting so many forged notes on the market.’
Room 13 is an enjoyable crime thriller whose central character, Johnny Gray, is a kind of Bulldog Drummond clone who possesses a perceptive manservant and a devil-may-care attitude to violence and murder, while Reeder hovers mysteriously in the background – a cool and clever puppet-master pulling various important strings. Surprisingly at the end of the novel, he confesses that Reeder is not his real name and that ‘I’m rather a sheep in wolf’s clothing, or a wolf in sheep’s clothing.’ This is a strange twist suggesting that probably Wallace had no intention of using the character again. However, it would seem that on reflection the author realised that there was more mileage to be had out of this strange little fellow, rather than the clichéd tough-guy hero, Johnny Gray.
Mr Reeder took centre stage in the next book. Wallace decided, like so many writers who create
a brilliant detective character, that the best way to let him shine was in a series of short stories rather than a novel with a drawn-out and convoluted plot. As a result, The Mind of Mr J. G. Reeder (1925) is perhaps his best work featuring this character. It consists of eight intriguing mysteries which are solved with great ease and cool aplomb by Reeder who we are told ‘had for more than twenty years dealt exclusively with bank robbers and forgers’ but has now transferred from this ‘specialist occupation’ to ‘the more general practice of the Public Prosecutor’s bureau’. No doubt the move was made by Wallace in order to present his gifted sleuth with more variety in the types of crimes he encounters. Forgery may be interesting but murder holds more fascination for the reader. Indeed, when this particular collection was published in America it was re-titled The Murder Book of J. G. Reeder. These are bite-size mysteries, clever conundrums, similar to those Agatha Christie created for her detective Hercule Poirot in the collection Poirot Investigates, published a year earlier. Wallace’s knowledge of real crime and the criminal fraternity shines through in these narratives. While his hero is, to be honest, the stuff of fantasy, the crimes are credible and realistic.
However, the main attraction of the J. G. Reeder stories lies not just in the brilliance of Reeder’s detective work or the colourful criminal characters he encounters, but also in the humour with which Wallace peppers his tales. Many of his witty observations and descriptions usually involve his idiosyncratic hero. For example:
[Reeder] smoked cigarettes rather like a woman who detests them but feels that it is the correct thing to do.
Reeder – he’s hell and poison . . . He’d cut your throat and write a hymn about it.
Reeder takes a trip to the theatre to see a farce in the story ‘Sheer Melodrama’. His behaviour there is not only highly amusing, but again helps to add depth to his portrait.
Once he was inveigled into sitting through a roaring farce, and was the only man in the house not to laugh. He was, indeed, such a depressing influence that the leading lady sent a passionate request to the manager that ‘the miserable-looking old man in the middle of the third row’ should have his money returned and be requested to leave the theatre. Which as Mr Reeder had come in on a free ticket, placed the manager in a very awkward predicament.
It was in The Mind of Mr J. G. Reeder that Wallace introduced a new character: Margaret Belman. She is a pretty young woman who is a near neighbour of Mr Reeder in the Brockley Road and becomes entangled quite innocently in several of his cases. In ‘The Stealer of Marble’, carrying out a subterfuge to capture the criminal, Reeder finds himself claiming that Miss Belman is his wife; ‘this preposterous claim had been made to appease a mad woman.’ It plays on his mind wondering whether he owed the girl an apology for such an assertion. Unbeknownst to her, to assuage his own conscience, he secures Margaret Belman a better position, ‘a secretaryship at one of the political headquarters’. He also takes the young woman to the theatre to see a melodrama, believing that the acts of violence and cruelty in the play merely reflect real life, commenting, humorously, ‘There is really nothing very extravagant about a melodrama except the price of the seats . . . ’
Wallace teases the reader with their relationship. Apart from the vast difference in their ages, we are told often that Reeder is a bit of a cold fish. His housekeeper ‘thought he was a woman-hater’, but Wallace assures us that ‘the sentimental qualities of Mr Reeder were entirely unknown.’
Certainly the relationship between Margaret Belman and Reeder grows from story to story. In ‘The Strange Case’ we are told that Mr Reeder, ‘did not like Miss Margaret Belman because she was pretty, but because she was sensible’, and that, ‘he liked her so well that he often travelled home on the cars with her and they used to discuss the Prince of Wales, the Labour Government, the high cost of living, and other tender subjects with great animation.’
In the final story of the collection, ‘The Investors’, Reeder rescues the pretty Miss Belman from the clutches of the villain and in the closing moments we are given this tantalising interchange between Reeder’s boss, the Public Prosecutor, and Reeder.
‘Why did they delay their execution of Miss Belman?’
Mr Reeder coughed.
‘They wanted to make a clean sweep, but did not wish to kill her until they had me in their hands. I rather suspect – he coughed again – ‘that they thought I had an especial interest in the young lady.’
‘And have you?’ asked the Public Prosecutor.
Mr Reeder did not reply.
Wallace’s next step was to bring Margaret Belman more into the spotlight and feature her with his star J. G. Reeder in a thriller novel, Terror Keep (1927). In this adventure Reeder has left his house in Brockley Road and moved into a rather smart flat in town along with a manservant called Peters. He still maintains a relationship with Margaret Belman, but as the novel opens it is clear that it has not advanced emotionally or romantically on his part.
As usual Wallace creates a dark and dangerous foe for Reeder to tackle, and once again Margaret finds herself in peril at the hands of the villain. She is his Achilles heel after all. The master criminal this time is Crazy John Flack who was caught by Reeder several years ago and incarcerated in Broadmoor Criminal Asylum but has now escaped and is seeking vengeance. (Reeder was such a terror to the criminal classes that a revenge plot was used more than once in the stories.) This is an accomplished little thriller in which Wallace skilfully weaves a series of plotlines together to create a thrilling climax in an old country house by the sea.
The final page of Terror Keep will please the romantics by revealing that Reeder (‘Dear J. G.’) and Margaret’s relationship has moved on a stage further.
The character J. G. Reeder became a film star as early as 1929 when he appeared in Red Aces, which was written and directed by Wallace himself. In this movie he was portrayed by George Bellamy.
Other movies followed some time later: Mr Reeder in Room 13 (1938) with Gibb McLaughlin as Reeder; The Mind of Mr Reeder (1939) with Will Fyffe (the Scottish comedian dropping his accent) as Reeder; The Missing People (1939) starring Fyffe again as Reeder.
There was a British television series, The Mind of Mr J. G. Reeder, starring Hugh Burden in the title role, which ran for two series from 1969 to 1971. Most of the episodes were based on Wallace’s short stories.
Reeder deserves a high place in the pantheon of British detectives for his originality and ingenuity. The great crime writer and commentator on the history of crime fiction H. R. F. Keating best summed up the appeal of the Reeder casefiles.
. . . give in to Wallace’s happy blend of excitement, mystification and humour and these stories, written no doubt in some haste all those years ago, still amuse, intrigue and notably entertain.
David Stuart Davies
The publication of this book marks the centenary of the birth of Frederick Thomas Wright (1910–2002), a great Edgar Wallace fan, and a great dad
ROOM 13
Chapter 1
Over the grim stone archway were carved the words:
PARCERE SUBJECTIS
In cold weather, and employing the argot of his companions Johnny Gray translated this as ‘Parky Subjects’ – it certainly had no significance as ‘Spare the Vanquished’ for he had been neither vanquished nor spared.
Day by day, harnessed to the shafts, he and Lal Morgon had pulled a heavy handcart up the steep slope, and day by day had watched absently the red-bearded gate-warder put his key in the big polished lock and snap open the gates. And then the little party had passed through, an armed warder leading, an armed warder behind, and the gate had closed.
And at four o’clock he had walked back under the archway and waited whilst the gate was unlocked and the handcart admitted.
Every building was hideously familiar. The gaunt ‘halls’, pitch-painted against the Dartmoor sto
rms, the low-roofed office, the gas house, the big, barn-like laundry, the ancient bakery, the exercise yard with its broken asphalt, the ugly church, garishly decorated, the long, scrubbed benches with the raised seats for the warders . . . and the graveyard where the happily released lifers rested from their labours.
One morning in spring, he went out of the gate with a working-party. They were building a shed, and he had taken the style and responsibility of bricklayer’s labourer. He liked the work because you can talk more freely on a job like that, and he wanted to hear all that Lal Morgon had to say about the Big Printer.
‘Not so much talking today,’ said the warder in charge, seating himself on a sack-covered brick heap.
‘No, sir,’ said Lal.
He was a wizened man of fifty and a lifer, and he had one ambition, which was to live long enough to get another ‘lagging’.
‘But not burglary. Gray,’ he said as he leisurely set a brick in its place; ‘and not shootin’, like old Legge got his packet. And not faking Spider King, like you got yours.’
‘I didn’t get mine for faking Spider King,’ said Johnny calmly. ‘I didn’t know that Spider King had been rung in when I took him on the course, and was another horse altogether. They framed up Spider King to catch me. I am not complaining.’
‘I know you’re innocent – everybody is,’ said Lal soothingly. ‘I’m the only guilty man in boob. That’s what the governor says. “Morgon,” he says, “it does my heart good to meet a guilty man that ain’t the victim of circumstantiality. Like everybody else is in boob,” he says.’
Johnny did not pursue the subject. There was no reason why he should. This fact was beyond dispute. He had known all about the big racecourse swindles that were being worked, and had been an associate of men who backed the ‘rung in’ horses. He accepted the sentence of three years’ penal servitude that had been passed without appeal or complaint. Not because he was guilty of the act for which he was charged – there was another excellent reason.
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