TO MR JOHN RHODE

Press, Volume LXXI, Issue 21412, 2 March 1935, Page 15

TO MR JOHN RHODE

AN OPEN LETTER Dear Sir, —I am writing on behalf of Superintendent Hanslet, asking that in the yearly collaboration with Dr. Priestley he may be allowed to be a little less stupid and a little more successful. He was in 1926 promoted as an inspector to Scotland Yard, and, for services evidently not concerned with his association with Dr. Priestley, becomes in 1934 a superintendent, "generally considered to be one of the ablest officers of the Yard." Few signs of his ability are exhibited. On the contrary he goes blundering on, still clutching at straws and conjectures. His face "falls perceptibly," he still "looks ludicrously discomfited," and once he can do nothing but stare, "an olive poised upon the point of his fork."

And yet he has learnt something. By 1933 he did not "dare start guessing in this house" (Dr. Priestley's "gloomy house in Westbourne terrace"). To this abode Hanslet repairs, "ostensibly to thank the Professor," "as an old acquaintance," "to drink a cup of the Professor's coffee," . . . "actually, I expect, to glean any hint that the Professor might let fall." His portion is a hardly concealed smile in his presence, and a sneer behind his back: "Instant success comes to very few of us. There is Superintendent Hanslet, for example." His ignorance of Latin tells against him. " 'Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes'," says someone. " 'No, that wasn't the formula,' said Hanslet, 'it was linctus silly something.' Oldland managed to disguise a smile." Once Priestley had the effrontery to say, with his insufferable complacence, "You know my methods!" Hanslet, indeed, does his mentor and preceptor scant credit. If the Professor succeeded no better with his University pupils than he is doing with Hanslet, it is not surprising that he retired early. In common humanity Hanslet should be encouraged. He does all the dirty work, goes without meals, and travels by slow, uncomfortable trains, while Priestley sits at home "savouring" the port he allows his wine merchant to select for him. Priestley would have recoiled before a task like the following:

The litter consisted for the most part of discarded shaving papers and haircombings, intermingled with cigar-ette-ends and fragments of torn-up letters. Even Hanslet, accustomed to such things, had to summon up all his resolution before he could bring himself to handle it. Unfair! Unfair! Such a task might well be assigned to the smug and priggish Priestley. He is not so old as he represents himself. He is "rather beyond middle age," "greyheaded, slight, and active-looking," with that "peculiar dome-shaped head that one always associates with intellectual power." He gives an "impression of grimness," "his eyes are distorted by a pair of powerful spectacles," and his Christian name is Launcelot. When he takes part in ordinary pastimes he does so with intolerable condescension: "Between them they made a merry party, for Dr. Priestley could get on perfectly well with younger men when he chose." At a sing-song he "joined unaffectedly in the choruses." Why not? Priestley needs the teaching of adversity. Instead of pampering him, his associates should be less subservient. Indeed, he can still run, can calmly face death from a runaway motor-car, and can deliver a "firm thrust" with his walking-stick, "in the ventral region." Nothing would improve him so well as the humility of failure. To be surpassed by Hanslet would be just. It would also be fashionable.

Superintendent Hanslet is treated even worse than Sergeant Heath. Lord Peter Wimsey's brother-in-law never made one blunder so deplorable as any 10 mistakes of Hanslet, and Parker is not yet a superintendent. The egregious Ellery Queen is brilliant,* but his professional father is no simpleton. Mr Punshon relies upon the regulars; so does Freeman Wills Croft. The amateurs are being outwitted by the superintendents and inspectors, even by sergeants and constables, while a mere captain, Michael Lord, has anticipated a boatload of baffled obelists. Therefore, Mr Rhode, do not be kind, but please be fair.—Yours, etc., FIRBANK. February 23, 1935.