There’s no better description of this collection than the one Edmund Crispin himself gives in the foreword:

“A short story can aim either at atmosphere or at the anecdote; those which follow belong, with the exception of Deadlock, to the second category.”

“Anecdote” stories seem to be an umbrella category covering stories with a twist or a punchline like a joke, and also what I’ve called “trivia question” stories in past reviews – where the key to the solution is an obscure and (possibly) interesting fact. But calling a story a “trivia story”, well, makes it seem trivial – and most of the stories here aren’t trivial at all. It’s actually wonderful to reach the end of some stories (like Within the Gates) and realise that the whole thing essentially sprang from that tiny spark. Crispin realised that a short story needs more than a clever twist or piece of trivia, and built in jokes and complications, moments of atmosphere and character. This must be the third or fourth time I’ve read this collection, and it’s very rewarding to re-read and catch all the clues that he’s hidden in plain sight. Crispin is a master at cramming as many clues as possible into the small space allotted for his story.
Oh, and it’s not all fun and games either. For one thing, the stories never get quite as weird and wacky as the novels – no chase scenes or fourth-wall breaking, it’s just pure puzzles, leavened with some humour. And also, not every story has such a light tone. Crispin’s as adept at the dark and grim moments as he is at the light ones. There’s not always a happy ending to the tales.

If you only read one story…

…read Beware of the Trains. It’s an absolute masterclass in clueing, in character-based humour, and in how to combine the two.

Beware of the Trains

The natural endpoint of Crispin’s minor obsession with the failings of the British Railway system: making it the central point of a whole story. Fen’s train journey ends abruptly for an odder than usual reason – the complete disappearance of the train driver. Since the entire station was watched and guarded, the whole thing seems impossible.
This is a perfect encapsulation of what makes Crispin’s short stories so enjoyable, starting with the mundane comedy of bickering rail workers, encompassing Fen and Humbleby’s partnership, and capping it off with a deviously well clued impossible problem, with a solution that’s clever and yet simple.

Humbleby Agonistes

Fen’s usual police contact Detective-Inspector Humbleby runs the results of his ruined Sabbatical past Gervase Fen. The opening sounds amusingly modern:
“Here I am on my Sabbatical. […] I was so astonished I literally couldn’t move.”
(Crispin being Crispin, he really does mean literally.)
Anyway, Humbleby’s old war buddy has just shot a man – apparently in self-defence – and then proceeds to shoot at Humbleby in the middle of a very awkward social call. A clear case of what we’d call PTSD – except something seems off to Humbleby.
This one is slightly more obviously built around one fact – Humbleby’s concise delivery makes clear the difference between the puzzle, and the backstory, which is unconnected to the puzzle. The telling is entertaining, though, and the clue is clever – even if Fen’s eventual conclusion is a bit of a stretch.

The Drowning of Edgar Foley

A rather grim story involving an abusive husband whose body has been pulled from the river. The “village idiot” has saved Mrs Foley from a battering by killing Mr Foley. Fen, of course, notices something odd.
Another example of Crispin’s writing elevating an “anecdote story”, by giving Fen an interesting decision to make as well. The treatment of the “village idiot” is certainly of its time, but also very matter-of-fact; he’s not a figure of fun or of pity. This story also introduces an interesting theme that Crispin will make more use of in other stories.

“Lacrimae Rerum”

We’re introduced to a recurring framing story here – a party hosted by Haldane, which features Gervase Fen’s inevitable conversational steamrollering of the unfortunate (but probably deserving) Wakefield (a person, not the place). Here Fen recounts “the first criminal case… with which I had anything to do” – the murder of composer Alan Pasmore, and the letter which decides his wife’s guilt or innocence.
The trivia is particularly inaccessible this time, and given its delivery I don’t think Crispin was aiming for fair-play. The intolerable Wakefield and amiable Haldane are fun, and also Crispin puts into words something important about complicated murder plots:

“You must realise that all these possible accidents and possible flaws in the scheme have one thing in common: if they were going to happen at all, they would happen before the murder. So if anything had gone wrong, Pasmore would quite simply not have been killed – not on that day, and in that particular way.”

Within the Gates

Police corruption seems to be a bit of a theme in these Golden Age short stories (see also H.C. Bailey), and so it is here. Scotland Yard sets the eccentric cryptographer Colonel Browley to work on cracking the code used by a well-organized gang, but the man is murdered before he can make his report. That means there’s a mole in the department… Gervase Fen induces Humbleby to tell him all about it:

“Discretion […] is my middle name.”
“I dare say. But very few people use their middle names.”

The trivia here is more of a punchline than something the reader might know – but it’s a good punchline. The story itself is easier to guess than to work out, but Fen’s trap is a clever one. This one has the best quality of story/trivial nature of clue ratio of the whole collection: the story is excellent, and the clue is incredibly silly.

Abhorred Shears

“A person named Bolsover has been murdered, and I can’t make out how it was done.”
Fen was interested. “Do you, on the other hand, know who did it?”
“No, I don’t know that, either.” Humbleby’s gloom grew. “There are three possibilities, and suspicion’s divided between them in that horrid ounce-for-ounce fashion which one associates with detective fiction…”

“Abhorred Shears” is a literary reference to atropine, apparently, which is the poison that one of Bolsover’s heirs killed him with. This has light elements of impossibility – though all of the heirs had an opportunity to slip something into his drink, none of them carries a receptacle that could have held the poison.
Crispin really leans into the humour here with some wonderfully catty lines from both Humbleby and from the framing story’s narration. The method is ingenious and probably unguessable now.

The Little Room

Fen is touring a mansion, searching for a good location for a Probationary Home for Delinquent Youths, when he finds something unsettling. He follows his curiosity, and goes on to uncover a chilling crime.
He does also commit a crime during the course of the story, but since when has that ever bothered Fen?
Crispin really gets to show off his command of tone here, shifting from an amusing opening, via a fun scene of seeing Fen from an outsider’s perspective, to a very dark ending. You can figure out the clue, but I didn’t.

Express Delivery

This time Humbleby’s problem is of a big-game hunting couple who’ve graduated to shooting people. Hilary Bowyer claims James Crandall shot his cousin Eve, before Hilary then killed him. But given the Bowyers have a motive for killing both of the cousins, Humbleby isn’t so sure.
I really like the way the key clue is worked into the whole story. Being neither funny nor nasty, this one is a bit unmemorable, but it has some nice moments of description.

A Pot of Paint

Fen stops by to help resolve the case of a jeweller who’s been knocked out and robbed while painting his fence.
Crispin does an excellent job of cramming this extra-short story with clues that you’ll kick yourself for missing. A little gem of a story…

The Quick Brown Fox

Wakefield returns to get bullied once again. Fen tells the story of the time he visited an old friend of his and met his family; sadly, amateur detectives being what they are, someone uses the opportunity to commit a murder.
Really fantastic depiction of the Munsey family and its members, most of whom are brought to life in just a few sentences. It’s really crushing when the murder happens and we see the usually joyful family torn down by the tragedy and suspicion.
Puzzle-wise it’s a bit tricky for the modern reader, but Crispin manages to fit in a false solution. It’s not really the puzzle I’ll remember, though, but the characters…
PS – The playing-card game Racing Demon, which the Munseys are all obsessed with, is not one I’d heard of; in the US it’s inexplicably known as “Nerts”. It sounds like an unholy combo of Patience and Snap.

Black for a Funeral

Sergeant Beeton calls upon Fen to help with the incident of the colour-changing tie, the disappearing car, and the mysterious burglary.
Crispin really is a tricky devil in this one… this is another story with a hint of an impossibility. The victim can’t have got from the train station to his house in time to be found dead – not without a car. But the car should be trapped near the house – and it can’t be found. The construction of this story is very clever indeed, and it’s becoming repetitive to say that the clues are all deftly hidden. This kind of story ending has to be one of my least favourites, though.

The Name on the Window

For Fen, his Christmas party may be exceptionally tiring, but it’s not literal murder. Sir Lucas Welsh is not so lucky, and winds up dead in a dust-filled room, accompanied only by his own footprints. Since Humbleby can’t get back from this investigation due to snow, he drops in on Fen to untangle the problem.
The other Crispin short that ends up in anthologies. Christmas and an impossible crime will do that for you…
This one is cleverer for its embellishments than for the mechanics of the impossible crime itself; but if this collection proves anything, it’s that the embellishments can really make a story something special. That said, this story isn’t quite as good as some of the others at hiding clues. Actually, I like it better for the details of Fen’s Christmas wreckage than for the puzzle.
Also, obligatory Locked Room Lecture reference.

The Golden Mean

This tells the story of Fen’s encounter, on the Devon moors, with “the only man who has ever seemed to him to be definitely evil”. St. John Leavis is that man, and his victim is his father. Thanks to Fen, the father survives, but can Fen keep him safe for long?
The portentous opening and terror-is-the-thing-not-seen ending mask the fact that this story actually has very little there there. St. John Leavis doesn’t come across as any more evil than any other criminal Fen encounters, and the key clue is irrelevant to most of the story, and not particularly interesting to boot.

Otherwhere

This time Humbleby is sure that one of the men in a love triangle has killed the other. The only problem is that the man has a perfect alibi for the killing.
This is another good example of Crispin’s embellishments elevating the story – which is ultimately a new twist on a classic solution.

Evidence for the Crown

Visit unscenic Lampound, the most nondescript town in England! Would-be amateur detective Barney Cooper attempts to assist the local Inspector in the investigation of the murder of Blanche Binney.
The preamble which describes Lampound has Crispin writing at an 11/10 for irony. There’s still a key clue in this one, but the focus is on the twists and turns of following Barney. It’s always interesting to see what Crispin comes up with without Fen.

Deadlock

Daniel Foss, his father, and his Aunt Jessica live in a house called the Land of Promise, at the edge of Hartford estuary. His father works for the yacht club and keeps a bar. Daniel has come to know the residents and visitors well – down-on-his-luck Dutch Captain Vanderloor, rich and unpleasant Murchison, and the Porteous family. Margaret Porteous is around Daniel’s age, and so they often sneak out at night to explore the canal basin and lock gates. But one night, Daniel returns home and finds blood on his shoes. The next day, the body of Murchison is pulled from the lock…

As Crispin’s introduction says, this story is about atmosphere rather than anecdote. It takes up about a quarter of the pages in the collection, and builds up a vivid picture of the canal basin and its residents, tinged with melancholy that the reader won’t quite understand until the end. Despite the character and atmosphere focus, this still has elements of a puzzle mystery; in fact, all the back-and-forth about times began to make my head spin. But it’s a story that lingers in the memory.

Other opinions:

Beneath the Stains of Time
Kaggsy’s Bookish Ramblings
Ontos
The Reader is Warned