George
Sanders’ character is another prime example of his trademarked,
egotistic roles playing a cool, malevolent criminal. He not only
steals the film but also a priceless Shakespeare manuscript. Having
admired the work for some time, he half-jokingly asks the museum
guard if he could take it home. "Over my dead body!" The
request is granted. Of note is Sanders’ minuscule twitch of his
upper lip as he fires. I imagine this little detail never originated
on the director's suggestion. Working in tandem is Gail Patrick, who
sells his forged copies to unsuspecting collectors while posing as a
legitimate expert. One wonders how long this “partnership” will
last. They appear to tolerate each other only for the monetary
rewards of deception. An example is when Patrick enters his study and
he senses she is in a mood, as he calls it. "Hello, Lady
Dracula. How many butterflies have you tortured since lunch hoping
one would turn on you?" A criminal psychologist would have a
field day studying their askew occupations.
Unknown
to Patrick, her latest sale went to a Nazi agent, Sydney Blackmer.
She is flippant about this detail but Sanders is livid knowing his
reputation. Blackmer will recognize the forgery and the transaction
used Nazi funds. Words get around. Enter Richard Denning, a detective
with a witty script. He is dandy in the role. Confident, handsome, and
charming, nothing phases him. He is on his self-evident trail of
Patrick, who equally pours on the charm. Denning welcomes that part
but also suspects a double standard.
At
this point it gets a bit confusing for everyone involved, including
the audience, with its character shell game screenplay. Patrick sets
Denning up for a rendezvous with Sanders at a library. Within earshot
of Denning, he passes himself off as a homicide detective. Keep in
mind Sanders would not recognize Blackmer or Denning if he stumbled
over them in the card catalog department. Blackmer gets a tip that
Denning is Sanders and demands his money back. Sanders’ henchman,
mistakenly assuming Blackmer is Denning, murders him and the library
is locked down on Sanders’ instruction. He is there to steal rare,
valuable books and the wrong murder is not going to waver his plan.
Feel free to read this paragraph twice.
Sanders
arranged for his operatives to pose as police investigators and they
let no one in or out. He improvises like the conniving pro he is and
suggests the priceless books should be sent to “headquarters” for
safekeeping with one librarian offering him a valuable Thomas
Jefferson document as well. By all means. Patrick informs Denning of
Sanders’s real identity in her self-serving way. In a desperate need
to do something, Denning escapes through a library window. He is
quickly brought back inside. He supposedly went out for the correct
time. Denning marches down the hall and in mock revelation, “Ah,
I’ve been here before!” Both Patrick and Sanders suspect some
disloyalty is afoot due to the unraveling events.
An
air raid blackout provides a bit of suspense. Still pressing Denning
for the whereabouts of the priceless books, Sanders, assuming he and Patrick
are an item, will inflict pain on her unless he talks. The arrogant
thief then philosophizes about him and her thriving on pain and the
adrenaline rush of possibly getting caught. Denning is more than
happy to oblige on the pain front. The blackout is cut short by the
detective's double-cross on Sanders, the books are discovered where
Patrick hid them, and Denning gives her a verbal lesson about the
dangers of ice in her veins. The film wraps with Sanders in handcuffs
and Patrick fearing that another of Blackmer’s henchmen will find
her.
This
Twentieth Century Fox project was first released at the very end of
1942 in New York City with a nationwide distribution a few months
later. It was directed by John Larkin, who also penned the
screenplay. The film noir vacillates between serious and humorous
making it a pretty fast seventy minutes yet do not expect it to
escape the clutches of a routine detective mystery. Not routine is
that the movie is predominantly confined inside a library. This
accounts for the “Agatha Christie” tongue in cheek title. The
location provides plenty of doors to open and close and dark aisles
to go down creating some bad press for a library’s quiet
spookiness, especially alone on the third floor. After sunset. To
convince the viewer they are actually in a library, nearly every pistol
is equipped with Hollywood’s phony “silencer.” The film holds
its own as wartime encouragement. Things might have gone terribly
wrong with a less competent lead cast or a different director.
Notes:
The character actor, Byron Foulger, in an uncredited role, plays the
persnickety library manager with a considerable amount of humorous
anxiety. Especially as the air raid warden for the library. He is in
total command and the rules must be followed to the letter. He tells
everyone to remain calm and not run as he sprints frantically, arms
flailing, into action to retrieve his helmet. Another character of
note is the bald mute aide-assassin in Blackmer’s service, played
by Kurt Katch, who communicates through sign language and carries a
rope that can accommodate several neck sizes. Apparently, Peter Lorre
did not get a casting call. A special note about Lynne Roberts, the
helpful librarian to Denning. She stands out as the most genuine
person in the movie, waiting for her guy to return from the war
front.
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