The house of Fear

I have to confess that “The house of Fear” was completely unknown to me, until I saw it in a bookseller’s catalogue recently.  I have never seen it referred to in the Collectors’ Digest, or elsewhere.  I was intrigued, and bought it out of interest. It is a typical example of the immediate post-war pocket novel.  In those times of severe paper shortages, they were, as in “The House of Fear”, slim pamphlets, in very small print, and competitively priced at one shilling, printed on poor paper, and thin enough to slip down a crack.

Its tiny print extends across 40 pages.  This was one of a series of such stories that Bear Hudson sold.  Aside from the titles mentioned above, other offerings included Dames Spell Trouble by Michael Hervey, Say it with Violence by D. Eames, The Case of the Indiana Torturer by Elmer Elliott Saks, Murder for Sale by N. Wesley firth, and several others.  Sadly Festus Pragnell, who wrote “The Terror from Timorkal” never reached the fame such a name must surely be due!

The story is typically Hamilton, albeit written from a slightly more adult perspective.  There is little scope for the mystery to be developed in such a short canvas.  He is as coy as ever in matters of romance, though the opening paragraph of chapter 3 is quite scandalously racy for Hamilton:

CHAPTER THREE

A House Under the Shadow

“Oh Dick!”

Dick Valentine held both Enid’s hands in his.  He could not very well kiss Enid under Porson’s grave eye, though never had the red, pouting lips tempted him so much.  It was long since he had seen Enid – not since before she had come to live at her uncle’s house in Sussex.  And Enid was very attractive, and her glowing face told that she had not changed since they last met.

That’s quite enough of that...                                        

The story has some typical Hamilton features, and Hamilton recycles various familiar names – Valentine, Chard and Varney, to name but three.  As always, the mystery is not very mysterious.  All-in-all, it’s a fair read on a wet afternoon.

A year or two ago, I reprinted “Death in the Dark”, and would, if there was sufficient interest – and with the permission of the Hamilton estate – be happy to do the same for this little story.

Nandu Thalange