John Rowland’s “Murder in the Museum”

Henry Fairhurst is sitting in the famous domed reading room of the British Museum, waiting on a librarian to bring him some 17^th century books on a French courtesan, He’s there as a favor for a journalist friend, helping with a story the friend is writing. As he waits, he engages in the favorite pastime of watching other museum visitors and imagining stories about them.

The red-haired man sitting nearby is a good example. Somewhat disheveled in appearance, his head his lolling back, and he begins to make sounds like snoring. Henry makes his way to the man to awaken him. And watches as the man slips to the floor, dead.

And not just dead from natural causes. Dead as in poisoned, as it turns out.

The dead man is Julius Arnell, a professor of English literature who had specialized in Elizabethan drama. Inspector Shelley of Scotland Yard arrives to investigate, and soon Henry finds himself (with more than a little enthusiasm) helping the inspector with his inquiries.  

Murder in the Museum by John Rowland was first published in 1938, during the Golden Age of the murder mystery (and long before the library and the reading room of the British Museum were separated into the British Library). Like Rowland’s Calamity in Kent, reviewed here a few weeks ago, it’s not so much an “Inspector Shelley investigates” story as it is an “Inspector Shelley investigates assisted by a knowledgeable amateur” story. It’s been reissued as one of the British Library’s Crime Classics series.

Henry and Shelley soon find themselves in more than one murder – two other Elizabethan drama academics have died; a mysterious will arrives in the mail; impoverished relatives have their own possible motives; and organized crime may be involved. Rowland threads a number of possible murderers through the story, keeping the reader guessing and occasionally wondering where the story is going.

British Museum

Rowland (1907-1984) began his working career as a chemistry teacher, gradually moved to journalism and writing, penning some 21mystery novels and true crime stories before becoming a Unitarian minister in the 1950s. As mystery novelist Martin Edwards points out in the introduction to Murder in the Museum, Rowland was writing in the culture of his time, and reflects typical attitudes toward ethnic groups like Jews. The British Library, after some discussion, decided to retain the relatively few references of this type in this story, because Rowland did reflect the attitudes (and prejudices) of his time.

Murder in the Museum isn’t one of the heavyweight mystery classics, but it is a good example of many of the mysteries of the 1920s-1940s.

Related:

My review of John Rowland’s “Calamity in Kent.”

Top illustration: The old Reading Room of the British Museum.

John Rowland’s “Calamity in Kent”

Jimmy London is a reporter, recuperating after surgery in the Kentish seaside town of Broadgate (likely an amalgam of the real Ramsgate and Broadstairs). He’s out walking one morning when he sees the operator of the nearby hillside cable car lift staggering in shock. The operator has discovered a body in one of the cars, stabbed in the back. The car was locked. The lift gate was locked. There is no way the body and murder could be there.

But it is. And what we have is a twist on the “locked-room mystery.”

First published in 1950, Calamity in Kent by John Rowland (1907-1984) had been reissued by the British Library Crime Classics series. While the series has republished a few 19^th century musyeries, most of its titles come from the Golden Age of the murder mystery – the 1920s and 1930s. While this one could was published just past that era, when the noir mystery was rei9gning supreme, this one could easily have been published in the 1930s. In fact, nothing in the story suggests otherwise.

Rowland has an interesting history. With a B.S. degree in chemistry (“with honours”), he started his working career as a chemistry teacher. He shifted into journalism, specializing in religious and philosophical publications. From there he moved into mystery and true crimes stories. Between 1935 and 1950, he wrote some 21 mystery novels and true crime works. And then, in the early 1950s, he shifted gears once again and became a Unitarian minister.

The 1950 cover

The British Library has republished two of his titles, Calamity in Kent and Murder in the Museum. This one is not what one would call a heavy-duty mystery story. It’s told primarily from the perspective of the reporter and not the police detective who’s the real investigator, Inspector Shelley of Scotland Yard. And the reporter is somehow able to talk his way into interviews with witnesses that would not ordinarily be very likely.

As Jimmy London and Inspector Shelley investigate, they’re confronted almost immediately with an identical murder. Slowly they piece together a story that’s far broader than simple murder.

Like the others in the British Library series, the story is introduced by British mystery writer Martin Edwards, and he does a fine job setting the context for Rowland and the novel.

Despite being a murder mystery, Calamity in Kent is light reading – an ideal book for the beach and the pool this summer.

Photograph of Broadstairs in Kent, England, via Wikipedia.