A review by robinwalter
The Padded Door: An Anthony Bathurst Mystery by Brian Flynn

mysterious medium-paced

• Plot- or character-driven? Plot
• Strong character development? No
• Loveable characters? No
• Diverse cast of characters? No
• Flaws of characters a main focus? N/A

3.75

 The Padded Door is my sixth Anthony Bathurst read, and one that really drives home a huge difference between Brian Flynn's detective and other more prominent names of the era. Captain Hastings and Dr Watson were both at times critical of the deductive geniuses whose works they chronicled. Flynn is anything but. 

 

Words like "fawning", "obsequious", and "worshipful", would all be wrong choices for describing the attitude Flynn has toward his hero –  because they all suggest far too high a degree of objectivity and criticality. Flynn's obsessive reverence for his character is such that I am grateful for Bathurst's sake that he never had the misfortune to meet Flynn after a motor vehicle accident, as the first words he would’ve heard would almost certainly have been "I'm your number one fan". 

 

The five previous Anthony Bathurst stories I read all showed this attitude but this one was the most pronounced. I thought of the word hagiography, except that  I would have spelled it with an initial “g”. An example that almost literally made me gag. In a tavern, Bathurst orders a drink. This fact is described in this manner: 

"Anthony issued a normal—and beautiful—order"
we are not even told what the drink is,  but we are told that the way in which it was ordered was beautiful. Everything that Bathurst does is sublime, and everything he does induces awe and reverence in anyone blessed enough to be in his presence,  even the villains. We are actually told as much many times, and Bathurst expects it: 

 

Bathurst noted the oft-recurring “sir” that was creeping into Murray’s address and drew heart therefrom 

 

An interviewee addresses him as “sir” and this pleases Bathurst. Whether because the peon is acknowledging Bathurst’s superiority of birth, or giving him the deference due his genius, we are not told, but either way it’s clear that Bathurst considers adulation his right. 

 

After an introduction like that, some may wonder why  I keep reading them. It's a fair question, and the answer is that Brian Flynn was a superb multitasker. 

Even while he was giving Bathurst multiple nasal enemas in almost every single paragraph, he still managed to construct intriguing mysteries. This one was no exception. The ultimate reveal was entertaining, showcasing the sort of mystery that only Golden Age writers could get away with. This was a sublime Heath Robinson mystery, with absurdity piled on folderol and balanced neatly on a stack of improbable coincidences. 

 

There is nothing remotely "FairPlay" about the Bathurst stories, especially this one. At several key moments in the story Bathurst deliberately refrains from verbalising questions and ideas that he has, either writing them or whispering them into someone's ear, both methods meaning that the reader does not know what Bathurst knows. They exist to allow Flynn to give untrammelled vent to his adoration of his creation, and then to provide an amusing “that’s how/who/why” at the end. 

 

Reading is a very sedentary pastime, so I'm likely to read at least another four or five Bathurst mysteries in the hope that all the eye rolling, gag-reflex suppression and head-desking will supply at least some minimal cardiovascular activity.