Penguin no. 920: The 12.30 from Croydon by Freeman Wills Crofts

How strange it was, Charles ruminated, that the useless and obstructive so often live on, while the valuable and progressive die early! Here was Andrew Crowther, a man whose existence was a misery to himself and a nuisance to all around him. Why should he be spared and others who were doing a great work in the world be cut off in their prime? It didn't somehow seem right. For the sake of himself and everyone else it would be better if Andrew were to die.

Charles Swinburn is obsessed with the idea of marrying Una Mellor. His obsession seems barely rational as she shows him little interest and no affection, and she seems to possess few appealing traits, but for him it has become an all-consuming quest. He considers suicide to be his only option if she will not have him, and she will not have him unless he is wealthy.  But his money is nearly gone, consumed in keeping his engineering business operating through the economic downturn of the early 1930s, and bankruptcy appears inevitable; he will lose his business, his reputation, his prospects of winning Una, and with them his desire to live. On the brink of disaster, he is willing to contemplate a desperate act.

And how easily he rationalises his decision to murder his wealthy uncle: he gives little weight to his uncle's interests, and a great weight to those of his own and others, and then it seems so clear that the world can only benefit from the death of this poor old man. And so from the start of the book, the reader becomes a spectator to Charles Swinburn's skewed reasoning, and his contemplation, planning, and execution of the murder of Andrew Crowther. We then follow the trajectory of his emotions during the days and weeks which follow the murder, through the coroner's court, the reading of the will, and the police investigation, as he moves backwards and forwards through determination, elation, shock, trepidation, and despondency, but always with an underlying though perhaps temporarily forgotten certainty that all will be well.

For he has the conceit of assuming he can plan and commit the perfect crime. He is certain that he can think through every possibility, and obscure all traces of his actions. If he can control his composure, he believes he can rely on his diligence and intelligence to fool his family and outwit the police. But his focus is too narrow, and he overlooks the stochastic element: there is much that can never be controlled, irrespective of careful planning.

And this includes his uncle dying far from home, aboard a regularly scheduled flight between London and Paris, the 12.30 from Croydon. It is a flight described in elaborate detail by Charles's young, wide-eyed, and very excited niece, taking her first trip in a plane, or a liner as they seem to have been called at the time. The impression is of a chapter written primarily to convey to a reading public the novelty of an experience they have never had.

The story is, in effect, an inversion of a conventional mystery. Typically it is the details of the murder and the murderer which are hidden, and we follow the clues as they are unearthed by some investigator. Here we know everything of the murder, and nothing of the investigation. For most of the story we know no more than the murderer, and perhaps we are influenced by his self belief, so that the insight of the police seems baffling, and their pursuit relentless.

Perhaps the book is a little long, and the focus on the murderer's thoughts and feelings can become tedious at times, but it is entirely saved by the last two chapters when the story is retold from the perspective of Inspector Joseph French of Scotland Yard. He remains in the background for most of the story, a menacing presence increasing the pressure on Charles, and so we learn little of him, but it is clear he is thorough, capable, and perceptive; he is one of the factors Charles overlooked in planning his perfect crime.