Hunted Down E-Book

Charles Dickens.

• Herausgeber: Peter Owen Publishers
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2014

Beschreibung

A unique collection of Dickens stories, rarely seen in print, establishing him as one of the masters of the detective genre Charles Dickens was one of the great pioneers of detective fiction. While the larger-than-life characters in his novels have settled themselves in the public imagination, his detectives have had a profound effect on the development of crime fiction, and Dickens is now seen as the first major publicist for the police detective. Here, Peter Haining has assembled a fascinating selection of Dickens's detective stories. Added to these are extracts from the novels in which the men of the law make their mark, including Mr. Nadgett from Martin Chuzzlewit, the first serious detective in an English novel, and Inspector Bucket from Bleak House.

Leseprobe

PRAISE FOR HUNTED DOWN

‘Dickens was fascinated both by crime (especially murder) and the growing skills of the new detective force in tracking it down, and Peter Haining casts his net wide in this collection of stories that embody that fascination. He is justified too in his emphasis on their influence on crime fiction and detective stories of the past century.’ – Graham Storey, Co-Editor of The Letters of Charles Dickens

‘A fascinating anthology. Dickens’s tone is brisk and the details are unembellished.’ – Independent on Sunday

‘This useful collection includes juvenilia and the more interesting stories from 1850 to 51. These have real sociological significance, the first real appearance in English society of the detective proper.’ – The Glasgow Herald

Hunted Down

Charles Dickens was a pioneer of detective fiction, and Hunted Down assembles a fascinating selection of his work in which the men of the law make their mark. Their working methods were based on his observations of the fledgling police detective force when he was a solicitor’s clerk and reporter and witnessed the workings of police stations and accompanied detectives on their nightly street patrols in London he also attended magistrates’ courts and was present at murder trials and public executions. Out of these observations grew Mr Nadgett in Martin Chuzzlewit, the first serious detective in an English novel, and Inspector Bucket in Bleak House, who solves the murder of an unscrupulous lawyer. The assorted cast includes an amateur detective, a river policeman and the prototype of all undercover detectives.

‘Oliver waited on by the Bow Street Runners’ – one of George Cruikshank’s famous illustrations for Oliver Twist

Contents

Introduction

O

NE

Nemesis

T

WO

The Drunkard’s Death

T

HREE

The Automaton Police

F

OUR

The Modern Science of Thief-Taking

F

IVE

A Detective Police Party

S

IX

Three ‘Detective’ Anecdotes

S

EVEN

The Metropolitan Protectives

E

IGHT

On Duty with Inspector Field

N

INE

Down with the Tide

T

EN

Inspector Bucket’s Job

E

LEVEN

Hunted Down

T

WELVE

Poor Mercantile Jack

The Edwin Drood Syndicate M. R. J

AMES

Dickens has as good a title as Edgar Allan Poe to be called the father of the modem detective story and ‘Inspector Bucket of the Detective’, the human bloodhound of Bleak House, is probably the most vividly presented fictional detective before Sherlock Holmes.

Julian Symons: Charles Dickens (1951)

Introduction

In an age dominated by fictional detectives – Morse, Wexford, Dalgliesh and the others of their kind who are as frequently seen on television as on the printed page – all the crime novelists who have made their reputations with fictional sleuths owe a debt of gratitude to Charles Dickens, one of the great pioneers of the genre.

Dickens is, of course, already deservedly famous for such memorable characters as Mr Pickwick, Scrooge, Fagin, Micawber, Sydney Carton et al., yet less so for his detectives who have actually had a profound effect on the development of crime fiction. These officers of the law were born out of the young author’s early experiences as a solicitor’s clerk and reporter: he was a fascinated and intimate eyewitness of the birth of the police detective force in London in the middle years of the nineteenth century. As Professor Ian Ousby has written in his excellent study. Bloodhounds of Heaven: The Detective in English Fiction from Godwin to Doyle (1976): ‘Dickens was the first major publicist for the police detective. In his work he seized on the Detective Department as on a personal discovery and treated it with a mixture of boyish awe and proprietary affection.’

It was with the character of Inspector Bucket, who appears in Bleak House (1852–3) to solve the murder of an unscrupulous lawyer, that Dickens created the first significant detective in English literature. Yet Bucket was far from being his only detective or even the only one to break new ground in crime fiction. For in the emaciated, unprepossessing form of Mr Nadgett in Martin Chuzzlewit (1843–4) we have the first serious private detective in an English novel; while in an even earlier short story, ‘The Drunkard’s Death’ (1836), an officer known simply as Tom, who operates with an anonymous colleague, amounts to the prototype of all undercover policemen who go to ground to mingle with the criminal underworld in order to bring villains to justice. And among Dickens’s detective policemen can be encountered the hulking Inspector Charley Wield with his ‘large, moist, knowing eye’; the shrewd, hard-headed Scottish-born officer with a name identical to one of this century’s most famous real-life crime fighters, Inspector Stalker; and the resourceful Inspector Field who is no stranger to the meanest and most crime-ridden areas of London.

To the list of these senior officers’ various Sergeants and Constables with such names as Witchem, Straw, Mith, Black, Green, Parker and Williams, must be added the River Policeman Pea; Mr Tatt, a former public servant and ‘quite an amateur detective in his way’; and the energetic Actuary Mr Meltham, who doubles as a private detective to solve a murder and is endowed with the same single-minded dedication as Sherlock Holmes – though he predates him in literary terms by almost thirty years.

Nor must we forget the clever wife of Inspector Bucket who, in my estimation, deserves the title of the first female amateur detective in fiction. For of her it is said that she is ‘a lady of a natural detective genius which, if it had been improved by professional exercise, might have done great things, but which has paused at the level of a clever amateur’.

Together, these characters represent a formidable achievement in any writer’s canon of work – all the more so considering that Dickens, unlike his modem counterparts, had virtually no literary models to draw upon. He had, though, created something timely, as the distinguished crime writer and historian Julian Symons has written: ‘Dickens uses from the first tricks which resemble remarkably those of the modem detective-story writer. He presents characters whose relation to each other is apparently inexplicably strange; the reader’s curiosity is roused by this strangeness, and he reads the books partly with the object of solving a problem.’

Charles Dickens, one of the pioneers of detective fiction, aged 47 – engraving after the portrait by W. P. Frith, RA

Readers familiar with Dickens’s work know only too well that quite a number of his stories contain elements of crime, mystery and detection that reflect his tireless interest in the society in which he lived, and about which he wrote so brilliantly. Indeed, some of his very earliest writings are about crime of one kind or another and he was actually working on a novel of suspected murder, The Mystery of Edwin Drood, when he died in 1870. The first twenty-three chapters which Dickens did complete are enough to indicate that the final work might well have been one of the greatest mystery novels of all time. As it is, the unfinished manuscript provides a mystery in itself that has challenged the minds of criminologists and crime writers for well over a hundred years.

Dickens was no armchair detective-story writer. He travelled the night streets of London in the company of detective officers to see their work at first hand. He frequently attended the London magistrates courts and was present at a number of important murder trials. He took a close interest, too, in several of the most notorious criminals of the day, including Henry Hocket, the Hampstead killer, and James Blomfield Rush, a Norfolk farmer who was convicted of murdering two of his neighbours. Dickens even visited the scene of Rush’s crime in 1849, although he later confessed in a letter to a friend that he was ‘very unimpressed’ at the manner in which the search for the murder weapon was being conducted by the local police.

Dickens certainly had a strong stomach: he attended the public execution at Newgate in July 1840 of François Courvoisier, the Swiss valet who had robbed and killed Lord William Russell, and was also among the crowd of 50,000 who gathered on 13 November 1849 to watch the hanging of Frederick and Maria Manning, the murderers of the money-lender, Patrick O’Connor. The couple were put to death on top of Horsemonger Lane Jail – the first husband and wife team to drop together in England since 1700 – and Dickens hired a nearby roof for himself and his friends to get a better view of the couple as they swung, quivering, in the air. Later that same day he took up his pen to write a letter to The Times complaining about the ‘indecent spectacle of public executions’. (It was this case, of course, that Dickens used to such good effect in the writing of Bleak House!)

Dickens actually turned detective himself on one occasion, when a pickpocket who might have stepped right out of the pages of OliverTwist tried to dip the author’s pockets as he was walking along a busy London thoroughfare. Feeling a hand steal inside his coat – and without a second moment’s thought – Dickens spun round, and when the guilty party took to his heels he ran after him. Following a lengthy chase through crowded streets, the pickpocket was apprehended, subdued and handed over by an understandably triumphant Dickens to his friends the police!

He also enjoyed creating and solving puzzles in the manner of the amateur detective. When Adam Bede, the first novel by ‘George Eliot’ (Mary Ann Evans), was published in 1859, Dickens guessed the sex of the anonymous author as soon as he read the book. Writing in a letter to a friend he said, ‘If those two volumes, or a part of them, were not written by a woman – then I should begin to believe that I am a woman myself!’

Although Charles Dickens did mention the police on a few instances in his early newspaper reports, it was not until the summer of 1850 that he personally met some officers and began to seriously start on the various short stories and novels that would earn him such an important role in the development of detective fiction. It is these Tales and self-contained episodes from the relevant novels that I have gathered together in this first collection devoted specifically to Dickens’s detective fiction. Some notes about these selections may be of added interest to the reader.

The earliest clear indication of Dickens’s interest in the officers of the law is to be found in the pages of the comic serial story that made his name, Pickwick Papers, published in 1836–7. For here we meet the unfortunate Constable Daniel Grummer who brings Pickwick and Tracy Tupman before the Ipswich magistrate George Nupkins on a charge of assault. But thanks to his rambling and confused statement, Grummer totally fails in his case and is ignominiously ordered out of the court. His last plaintive address to Nupkins, ‘but, your wash-up!’, gives every indication that Dickens had nothing but a mild contempt for lawmen at that juncture of his life.

The same might be said of the two Bow Street Runners, Blathers and Duff, who appear for just a few brief pages in Oliver Twist (1837) to investigate Bill Sikes’s burglary of the Maylies’ house. They seem merely there to provide a comic interlude, with the detective work, such as it is, being carried out by the benevolent Mr Brownlow who took Oliver into his home.

Dickens’s first serious detective is, in fact, Mr Nadgett, who appeared in 1844 in the later part of the serialisation of Martin Chuzzlewit. As the first of his kind he is a truly extraordinary figure. ‘He was a short, dried-up, withered old man,’ Dickens wrote. ‘The secret manner of the man disarmed suspicion in this wise; suggesting, not that he was watching any one, but that he thought some other man was watching him. He went about so stealthily, and kept himself so wrapped up in himself, that the whole object of his life appeared to be to avoid notice and preserve his own mystery.’

Yet Nadgett is also a man of supreme patience and determination, as P. Claxton Williams wrote in The Dickensian magazine a few years back. ‘Secretive, shabby and unassuming, he set himself his task with a terrible purposeful vigour, rising, at the crucial moment, like a dark spirit in the path of Jonas Chuzzlewit, to confound him with proofs of the dark deed that he hoped had passed unseen.’

Nadgett is certainly no dashing emissary of the law, but a man of mystery and a rather sinister one, too, who is employed by the Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Insurance Company as a secret enquiry agent. Yet it is as a result of his investigations and observations that Jonas Chuzzlewit is finally brought to book. Although readers are never left in any doubt of Jonas’s guilt, many of the stock-in-trade qualities of later fictional detectives were embodied by Dickens in his portrait of Nadgett on the hunt.

Nor did the author’s inventiveness end there. For when Nadgett finally reveals all, he provides, as the critic John Woolford observed in an essay in the Daily Telegraph in October 1994 marking the 150th anniversary of the novel, ‘The prototype of the detective’s summing-up, perfected by whodunnit writers from Conan Doyle to Ruth Rendell.’

This ground-breaking summation, which opens this collection and which I have entitled ‘Nemesis’, brings into the spotlight the very first private eye in English literature.

“The Drunkard’s Death’, the second item in the collection, is something of a curiosity from Dickens’s early years. It is effectively a story tinged with a heavy moral message about a confirmed and irredeemable drunkard who allows his rage for drink to destroy his relationship with his wife, family and friends. But at the heart of the story are two mysterious law officers who ply the old man with drink in order to discover the hiding-place of his son who has committed a revenge murder. The tale, written in 1836, paints a remorselessly grim picture of Victorian London – crime-ridden Whitefriars in particular – as well as depicting in Tom and his colleague two of the forerunners of today’s celebrated undercover cops whose lineage can be traced through The Professionals and beyond.

Quite different in tone is ‘The Automaton Police’, an episode from one of Dickens’s lesser-known humorous works, The Mudfog Association, which I have included for a little light relief after the harshness of the preceeding story and also because it illustrates the author’s growing interest in the policing of London. The idea of a highway patrolled by robot policemen was certainly intended by Dickens to raise a smile on his readers’ faces, as was the proposal in the same episode for a pocket-picking machine! Indeed, all the reports of the meetings of The Mudfog Association which he wrote for Bentley’s Miscellany during the winter of 1837 were actually clever satires on the proceedings of the British Association for the Advancement of Science which had then just been established. But with today’s writers of fiction contemplating a future where the law is upheld by officers like Judge Dredd and the part-man, part-machine Robocop, who is to say that even in his lighter moments Dickens was not extemporizing on future crime fighters?

It was in 1842, after two exceptionally brutal murders in London, that a Detective Branch of the police was formed at Scotland Yard. It consisted of two inspectors, six sergeants and the first chief, Nicholas Pearce, who was a former member of the Bow Street Runners. These men were detailed for exclusive plainclothes detective work and thereby created the embryo CID that would eventually be formalised in 1876. Dickens, not surprisingly in the light of his interest, was the first writer to recognise the importance of this revolutionary step in law enforcement and used it as his inspiration to create his first officer, ‘Sergeant Witchem of the Detectives’.

Witchem made his début, albeit briefly, in ‘The Modem Science of Thief-Taking’, which was published in Number 16 of Dickens’s newly-launched magazine. Household Words (13 July 1850). At first glance he seemed to be similar to Nadgett: a short, thickset man with features scarred by smallpox. But on closer examination the Sergeant proved to be a man of some intelligence and one who gave the impression of being reserved and deep in thought as if making secret calculations. It was also soon apparent that he was renowned in the force for his acquaintance with fashionable society – the ‘swell mob’ as they were known.

Sergeant Witchem was, in fact, based on a real officer of the new force whom Dickens had met. It was from this man and several of his colleagues that he learned all about the force and its activities. That first story not only gave an insight into the methods of the Detectives, but also poked a little fun at the ordinary beat policemen: in particular one slow-witted constable, X 49, who had proved no match for Witchem and his colleagues. (Shades here of BBC Radio’s famous PC49 – with his favourite catch-phrase, ‘Oh, my Sunday helmet!’ – played by Brian Reece, who was the favourite of a whole generation of young listeners from 1947 to 1953.)

The resourceful Sergeant also deserves the credit for being the first serial story detective because he featured again in Dickens’s two-part story ‘A Detective Police Party’, which appeared on the front pages of the 27 July and 10 August issues of his magazine, with its sequel ‘Three Detective Anecdotes’ on 14 September. Witchem had, however, now to give rank to the formidable Inspectors Wield and Stalker, although before the end of the story he had single-handedly arrested a notorious horse-thief in Northamptonshire and taken him to London. No mean achievement, as the thief was being accompanied at the time by ‘two big and ugly-looking campanions’.

Inspector Wield, who I mentioned earlier with his ‘knowing eye’, was a portly, middle-aged man with a husky voice, famous among his men for his habit of ‘emphasising his conversation by the aid of a corpulent fore-finger which is constantly in juxtaposition with his eyes and nose’. Stalker, on the other hand, was a phlegmatic Scot, ‘in appearance not at all unlike a very acute, thoroughly-trained schoolmaster’.

The four other sergeants who also appeared in the story are equally memorable. First, Dornton: a ruddy-faced, middle-aged man already well known for his single-minded pursuit of the clues that help him get his man – notably a Doctor Dundey who had robbed a bank in Ireland and had to be tracked to America before he could be arrested. Second, Sergeant Mith, a man with a fresh, bright complexion whose air of simplicity hides a rare ability to catch housebreakers. Third, Fendall, a deceptively quiet and well-spoken officer adept at tackling enquiries of a delicate nature. And finally Sergeant Straw, a wiry little man whose meek appearance and skill at asking apparently innocent questions enable him to trap many an unwary villain.

In the cases that make up ‘Three Detective Anecdotes’, Inspector Wield is again featured along with Sergeants Dornton, Mith and the intrepid Witchem. In the second of these episodes, ‘The Artful Touch’, Dickens also introduces us to Mr Tatt, ‘the amateur detective’ who is a friend of Sergeant Witchem and helps him in the recovery of a diamond pin stolen on Derby Day at Epsom.

The police series in Household Words was evidently a great success with readers, and the following spring Dickens proposed a sequel which he provisionally entitled ‘A Night in a Station House’. Because of the pressure of work, he invited his co-editor, William Wills, a man who had turned to journalism after falling on hard times, to accompany him on a night-time visit to a police station. A copy of a letter from Dickens to Wills outlining this project still survives:

If you would go down to our friend Mr Yardley at Scotland Yard and get a letter or order to the acting chief authority at that station-house in Bow Street, to enable us to hear the charges, observe the internal economy of the station all night, go round to the cells with the visiting policemen, etc., I would stay there, say from twelve at night to four in the morning. If you could conveniently borrow an hour or two from the night we could both go. If not, I would go alone. It would make a wonderfully good paper.

In fact Wills was as excited by the idea as Dickens, and the two men subsequently spent the night together at the station-house, combining their respective talents to write the story which Dickens finally edited before it appeared as ‘The Metropolitan Protectives’ in the issue of Household Words on 26 April 1851. What, however, made the tale especially intriguing was the light it threw on some of the less savoury aspects of London policing. Today we have become almost blasé about stories of corrupt policemen, drunkenness among officers and even dereliction of duty. But although the public in Dickens’s time had good reason to believe such things did take place in the force, it was his eyewitness account that spotlighted the facts in print. Though disguised by fictional names, there is no doubt that PC John Jones, who was found drunk on duty and dismissed the force, or Sergeant Jenkins, who had failed to report a burglary and been suspended from duty, were both based upon policemen that Dickens and Wills had heard all about during their visit.

But having observed the police at work in the comparative safety of their station-house, Dickens now wanted to see what life was like after dark for the city’s detectives out on London’s mean streets. Another nocturnal outing was arranged that spring and from it came the story of Inspector Field, the shrewd, brave and knowledgeable officer immortalised in ‘On Duty with Inspector Field’. Here was a man who knew the lowest haunts and worst villains in the metropolis and in whose company the reader found himself visiting places he would never have dared to enter: Rats’ Castle, a thieves’ paradise near St Giles’ Church; the notorious house of ill-fame on Ratcliffe Highway; and the vile criminal haunts of Wentworth Street.

Inspector Field and his posse of constables – Black, Green, Parker, Rogers, White and Williams – are vividly drawn characters, highly evocative of their type; as, indeed, are the villains who cross their paths: Bully Bark, the receiver of stolen goods; the grandiloquent thief known as ‘The Earl of Warwick’; and Blackey, the impostor sitting by London Bridge who has been begging for twenty-five years with his skin specially painted to resemble a terrible disease.

‘Down with the Tide’, which Dickens wrote two years later in February 1853, was a first excursion in print with the newly-formed river police whose task was to stem the flow of smuggled goods and the flight of escaped criminals on the River Thames. Here again River Policeman Pea had a real-life counterpart who had conducted Dickens around the dangerous reaches of the river and inspired him to write this chilling little tale.

There is no doubt that all of these stories in Household Words had a marked effect on the popular taste in literature, as the literary historian E. A. Osborne commented in The Bookman in February 1932. ‘It is significant,’ he wrote, ‘that it is after this period (1845–1850) that a whole spate of detective reminiscences appeared.’ (The Recollections of a Policeman by ‘Waters’ (William Russell), published in 1852, was one of the earliest and most celebrated of these works.)

But important though such autobiographies are as accounts of the criminal times, it is Dickens who once again led the way with his next novel, Bleak House, published in serial form through the winter of 1852–3, which introduced Inspector Bucket – ‘the first detective of importance in English literature,’ according to Chris Steinbrunner and Otto Penzler, the authors of the Encyclopedia of Mystery and Detection (1976).

Bucket, with his resounding cry, ‘I am Inspector Bucket of the Detective, I am!’, became at a stroke the prototype of the police detective as we know him: stolid and unexceptional, but honest, hard-working, fair, competent and most likely successful. A stout, middle-aged man dressed invariably in black with an affable manner and sharp eye, he also has the ability to think clearly and act patiently while all around him is panic and confusion. For as he says on one occasion with more than a little hint of self-satisfaction, ‘I don’t suppose there’s a move on the board that would surprise me.’

One of Dickens’s earliest descriptions of the Inspector reveals him to be a man who is simultaneously both very ordinary and very extraordinary: ‘Studious in his observations of human nature, on the whole a benignant philosopher not disposed to be severe upon the follies of mankind, Mr Bucket pervades a vast number of houses and strolls about an infinity of streets, to outward appearances rather languishing for want of an object.’

Bucket has, in fact, that special ability of the outstanding detective to move effortlessly between the milieux of normal society and the criminal underworld, confronting the members of either group with his deceptively loaded question, ‘Now you know me, don’t you?’ His reputation, we learn, has also been built on an uncanny ability – verging on the supernatural, some say – to impress as well as mystify people. He can spot clues in the most unlikely places and in the most casually uttered sentences.

In fact, the whole key to Bucket’s success lies in his intelligence. He is, truly, the forerunner of a whole school of such fictional sleuths whose world is made complete by a clever and supportive wife and a devoted assistant, Constable Darby. Summarising the Inspector’s importance, Bruce Cassiday has written in his Roots of Detection: The Art of Deduction before Sherlock Holmes (1983):

Although Dickens goes at it all backwards, to the modern way of thinking, by letting Inspector Bucket solve the murder offstage and then explain it onstage… one of the most important elements of the detective-genre-to-come is the wrap-up explanation of the chain of deduction that leads to the solution. Dickens clearly understands the use of clues, hard evidence – even today’s ‘smoking gun’ appears in an earlier incarnation – in his wrap-up. And note that some eighty years before Dashiell Hammett popularized Nick and Nora Charles as a husband-and-wife detective team, Dickens clearly established a similar team in Mr and Mrs Bucket!

(This unique figure, demonstrating his remarkable skills, will be found in the episode I have extracted from the book and entitled ‘Inspector Bucket’s Job’.)

Having drawn on the crime of Frederick and Maria Manning for Bleak House, Dickens found the inspiration for his next detective tale, ‘Hunted Down’, in the events surrounding another recent case – that of Thomas Griffiths Wainewright who in 1830 had poisoned his sister-in-law for her £18,000 insurance money. He wrote the drama especially for the New York Ledger, where it was published in issues 24–26 between 20 August and 3 September 1859.

The focus of this story of pure detection narrated by a Mr Sampson, the chief manager of the Inestimable Life Assurance Company, concerns one of his employees, Mr Meltham, who has fallen in love with a girl who recently took out a life insurance policy with the company. When she dies from the effects of a slow poison that has undoubtedly been secretly administered to her, Meltham turns detective to hunt down the man he knows has killed the girl. His methods are varied – disguise, deception as a supposed drunkard and even the hiring of rooms opposite those of the suspect in order to trap him. (Interestingly, these rooms are in the Middle Temple, where half a century later the English writer R. Austin Freeman would place his character Dr Thorndyke, a forensic scientist and lawyer, who has since been called the greatest medico-legal detective of all time.)

‘Hunted Down’ has many admirers among modem crime novelists, not least of them the doyen of American detective fiction, Ellery Queen, who wrote of the story some years ago, ‘True, the character who plays the role of the detective cannot be claimed by any modem school: he is not a dilettante or scientist whose forte is deduction; nor is he the tough hombre of the hard-boiled species; yet in motives and actions, he is undeniably a realistic sleuth.’

Nevertheless, with Meltham and his predecessor Mr Nadgett, plus the cases of the detective police and the exploits of Inspectors Field and Bucket, Charles Dickens had now assured for all time his influence upon, and importance to, the development of the modem detective story.

In what was to prove the last decade of his life, Dickens again featured the London police in two of his novels, Great Expectations (1861) and Our Mutual Friend (1864–5), as well as in another short story which has a unique claim to fame, ‘Poor Mercantile Jack’.

Great Expectations, with its unforgettable cast of characters – including the convicts Abel Magwitch and Compeyson, ‘the worst of scoundrels’; Bentley Drummle, ‘The Spider’; Mr Jaggers, the criminal lawyer of Little Britain; Miss Havisham, Uncle Pumblechook and the narrator/hero, Pip – is one of the pinnacles of Dickens’s art as a storyteller. In it he masterfully uses the trick of concealment to induce the reader to believe that Pip’s fortune comes from the benevolent Miss Havisham rather than from the unlikely source of Magwitch.

Our Mutual Friend, a story of attempted murder, robbery and deception, perhaps does not reach the same heights, although because of some of its well-aimed criticisms it has been described as among his very best works of satire. The book is, however, of interest to students of crime fiction because of the appearance of the aptly-named Mr Inspector, a police officer who investigates what becomes known as the ‘Harmon Murder’. A verbose and rather slow-witted man, the Inspector only appears twice in the story: early on to take notes of the apparent crime and then towards the end of the narrative when he wrongly charges John Rokesmith, alias Julius Handford, alias John Harmon with his own murder!

‘Poor Mercantile Jack’, which appeared in 1860 as one of the tales in the Uncommercial Traveller, is far less well known than either of these novels, yet is of more interest to our study. The tales are all told by a compulsive traveller who lives in Covent Garden, London, but is always on the move about the country, often taking on new occupations to earn his keep and thereby falling into various adventures. What makes ‘Poor Mercantile Jack’ particularly interesting is the fact that the traveller has joined the police force in Liverpool in order to discover the whereabouts and activities of an unfortunate seaman recently returned from sea. He goes in search of Jack in the company of three officers with the apposite names of Quickear, Sharpeye and Trampfoot, and their investigations offer a vivid picture of the life of Liverpool seamen and their haunts in the middle of the Victorian era. ‘Poor Mercantile Jack’ is also the only detective story written by Dickens in which the narrator is a policeman.

Charles Dickens’s final excursion into the genre which he had so brilliantly begun to develop was also to be his last work: the unfinished Mystery of Edwin Drood (1870). This, too, achieved another first – being the first detective story set in a church.

The tale of the disappearance of Edwin Drood one stormy night and the insistence of his uncle, John Jasper, the choirmaster of Cloisterham Cathedral, that he has been done away with, was left unfinished at that juncture by the author as a result of a massive stroke which killed him on the night of 8 June 1870. Ever since, the story has challenged all lovers of detective fiction. Indeed, dozens of solutions have been put forward in the intervening years – but notwithstanding this, the importance of the incomplete text should never be overlooked, as H. R. F. Keating, himself a major modem crime writer, has insisted:

In Drood, Dickens embraced the crime novel proper in a story whose whole action and raison d’être was the mystery of the death of young Edwin Drood. The book was written at the height of his powers, despite the strain he was putting on himself with his reading tours that contributed to his comparatively early death. Even as the mere stump of what it might have been (and it is more than that) the book is enormously rewarding to read.

One of the most popular theories about the book concerns the shadowy figure of Dick Datchery, a white-haired man with black eyebrows who appears in Cloisterham shortly after Drood’s disappearance and is plainly intent on watching Mr Jasper. He, it is said, is more than likely a criminal investigator or police detective through whom Dickens intended to reveal the solution to the mystery.

Of the many books and essays about The Mystery of Edwin Drood that I have read, one has always appealed to me more than any other: ‘The Edwin Drood Syndicate’ by M. R. James, the famous ghost story writer and self-professed admirer of Dickens. Strangely, though, his contribution to this continuing saga, which appeared in two parts in The Cambridge Review of 30 November and 7 December 1905, has never been reprinted in any volume of James’s work – or anywhere else for that matter. I am therefore pleased to be able to include it in this book by way of a finale.

Together, the stories in this book represent Charles Dickens’s contribution to detective fiction and the influence each has had on the genre is not difficult to see. Indeed, I wholeheartedly agree with what another of today’s leading crime novelists, Peter Lovesey, wrote recently: ‘The architects of the popular detective story like Dickens built citadels of suspense that still dominate the scene.’

In the pages that follow you are invited to visit again those citadels and judge for yourself the qualities of the men who were Charles Dickens’s pioneer detectives.

Peter Haining

[ONE]

Nemesis

The night had now come, when the old clerk Chuffey was to be delivered over to his keepers. In the midst of his guilty distractions, Jonas had not forgotten it.

It was a part of his guilty state of mind to remember it; for on his persistence in the scheme depended one of his precautions for his own safety. A hint, a word, from the old man, uttered at such a moment in attentive ears, might fire the train of suspicion, and destroy him. His watchfulness of every avenue by which the discovery of his guilt might be approached, sharpened with his sense of the danger by which he was encompassed. With murder on his soul, and its innumerable alarms and terrors dragging at him night and day, he would have repeated the crime, if he had seen a path of safety stretching out beyond. It was in his punishment; it was in his guilty condition. The very deed which his fears rendered insupportable, his fears would have impelled him to commit again.

But keeping the old man close, according to his design, would serve his turn. His purpose was to escape, when the first alarm and wonder had subsided: and when he could make the attempt without awakening instant suspicion. In the meanwhile these women would keep him quiet; and if the talking humour came upon him, would not be easily startled. He knew their trade.