When the death of Sir Francis Yordale’s death was announced in the Times, some family members sent wreaths, some sent condolences and some just didn’t send anything. Which was a bit of a mistake, because Sit Francis wasn’t dead. Moreover, he sent the announcement prior to writing his will to favour those who sent the biggest wreaths. What a nice man…

But needless to say – hey, it’s the title of the book – Sir Francis is soon found dead, poisoned by carbon monoxide in his study. Just two problems – how could the gas have been delivered in sufficient quantity, and which of his nearest and dearest decided that enough was enough and took matters into their own hands?

Imagine, if you will, going to a variety show. The opening act consists of Elaine Paige belting out Memory, while Penn and Teller saw her in half with a  backdrop of fireworks. The following two hours consist of a toddler banging a saucepan with a wooden spoon, occasionally leaving the stage to get his nappy changed. It would be cruel to use that as a simile for this book, although mainly because the opening section isn’t that interesting…

Twice Dead is the seventy-second Dr Priestley mystery. The general consensus is that John Rhode/Street didn’t write much of any cop after the forties and this is hardly a counter example. The opening is interesting, true, but it never really goes anywhere short of kickstarting the murderer’s plan. The apparently impossible gassing is just explained by a chemistry lesson and then it’s a game of pin the tail of the murderer. And it drags…

I was reading the end of this as I watched the Death In Paradise Christmas special and a comparison struck me. On that show, when the sleuth thinks he’s basically got it, he gives his team instructions to check some things. Cut to the suspects gathered, said checks being done off-camera, because they just weren’t interesting viewing. Rhode, on the other hand, shows you those checks, and there are quite a few. And they aren’t interesting.

Rhode at his peak is well worth your time. Even some of the later books written as Miles Burton are enjoyable. But the later Rhode titles are generally rather dull to read and this is not an exception.