Erle Gardner - Erle Stanley Gardner’s The Case of the Murderer’s Bride and Other Stories

You had every right to assume that the Introduction you have just read was written by Ellery Queen. The front cover, the title page, the contents page all said so. Well, it is true that Ellery Queen wrote the longhand notes for the Introduction, organized the sequence of the notes, typed the first draft and the final copy, sent the text to the press for typesetting, proofread the galleys, and later the page proofs — hut Ellery Queen did not write the Introduction.

A contradiction? Let us explain. When we persuaded Erie Stanley Gardner to permit us to publish his first book of short stories and novelettes — thus launching this Ellery Queen Presents series of original paperbacks — it was our intention to write an appreciative Introduction to Mr. Gardner and his work. But when we reread Erie’s personal letters to your Editor over the years, and some of Erie’s published reminiscences, we realized that the Introduction we had in mind had already been written — by Erle Stanley Gardner himself! And we realized further that we could not possibly write an Introduction as authentic and accurate as one entirely composed of statements written by Erie Stanley Gardner himself.

So the Introduction preceding this editorial postscript is most unorthodox because it could have been completely enclosed by quotation marks. With the exception of the words in [brackets] and such necessary but unimportant changes as substituting Mr. Gardner and he for /, and his for my, and changing to the past tense because of Mr. Gardner’s death, every word, phrase, clause, and sentence came directly from the person who knew more about Erie Stanley Gardner and his career and work than anyone else in the world — the author himself.

So, let us end as we began — by quoting Mr. Gardner again. In the summer of 1951 we wrote to Erie and asked him, in connection with awards to be made later that year by Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine , to nominate the ten best active mystery writers. On August 7, 1951, Erie replied with o long letter in which he ex plained why he could not nominate the ten best. His letter closed as follows (and finally we use quotation marks): “... if I should select a list of ten people whom I considered the best mystery writers, I would always be haunted by the feeling that I had done an injustice to the eleventh, twelfth, fifteenth, and seventy-fifth.”

Now that, dear reader, tells more about Erie Stanley Gardner, about his sensitivity and conscientiousness and deep-rooted sense of fair play, than any biographical sketch or even any critical appraisal — not about Erie Stanley Gardner the best-selling American mystery writer of all time, hut about Erie Stanley Gardner the man, the human being.

Ellery Queen

Lawrence B. Ives had two basic objections to the income tax. He objected to listing his occupation and he was annoyed that his business expenses could never be claimed as a deduction.

Lawrence B. Ives was in the business of murdering women.

So far as Ives was concerned, it was a reasonably safe and highly profitable occupation. It required a certain amount of research work, quite a bit of ingenuity, a pleasing personality, and a lot of reading.

Ives read the newspapers. He read them carefully, concentrating on news of tragic accidents.

Like many of our higher courts, Ives believed in following precedent. One tragic accident would arouse his interest. A duplication of that accident would start a file on the subject. A third such accident would cause him to start looking for a new wife. The fourth accident would then cause him to set his plan in motion.

New wives were not as difficult to find as the accidents.

Lawrence B. Ives never ceased to be astounded at the number of women who had passed the first third of their lives in a dull routine, who were starved for affection, and who had carefully saved their earnings.

His wives were all of a general type: women who had sacrificed their chances for early romance because of an unselfish devotion to family. After the sisters and brothers had married and the parents had passed away, these self-effacing breadwinners learned to accept vicarious love affairs. Being starved for affection, they frequented the newsstands, buying magazines which dealt with romance, or they spent long evenings in the public libraries.

Larry Ives was 36 years old, but he represented his age as a youthful 48. He spent considerable time and quite a bit of money buying his clothes. He was a good conversationalist and had a way of worming information out of librarians and from the clerks who presided over magazine counters. He also spent quite a bit of his time riding in public conveyances, looking for women who were reading the love-story type of magazine.

In making applications for a marriage license, he never listed his prior matrimonial adventures; but that was a minor omission — one which he regarded as of no greater legal importance than driving 50 miles an hour in a 35-mile zone. He could never be prosecuted for bigamy since, whenever Larry took on a new love, he was always definitely finished with the old. In fact, he made certain that his wives were very, very dead before moving on to his next conquest.

Earlier in his career, Larry had had to work with considerable rapidity. This had caused him to take certain risks. Now, with a large measure of financial stability, thanks to his unique gainful occupation, he didn’t need to work so fast.

His current wife had been named Nan Palmer before she became the radiantly happy Mrs. Lawrence B. Ives.

Nan Palmer’s outstanding characteristic had been family loyalty. She had had an unselfish devotion to those she loved. Her father had died when she was 12. By the time she was 16 she was supporting her mother, her sister Effie, and a younger brother.

Effie had selfish charm and dazzling beauty and was always promising the family a wealth of luxuries after she had “made good in Hollywood.” She won a beauty contest when she was 18, and two divorces later had quit writing home.

Nan had put the younger brother through two years of college, and then he was killed in Korea. Her mother had never been strong enough to work, but had lingered on for years.

Nan’s salary had been good, but it had all gone for living expenses, the ever-present doctor bills and nursing fees. There had been less and less money for Nan to spend on herself. She had learned to make her own clothes, she never went to a beauty shop, and she had adapted her life to a steady routine of drudgery: eight hours at the office, a ride home in a crowded bus during the rush hour, shopping at the market, cooking for an invalid, washing the dishes, cleaning up the house, doing the washing and ironing, sewing clothes, falling into bed, getting up in the morning to the chore of getting breakfast, washing the dishes, making the beds, and leaving for the office.

After Mrs. Palmer died, Nan had become so immersed in her routine that she didn’t know what to do with her leisure. She had never before had leisure. Now, she had time to read and she was thrilled by the adventures of heroines who were swept off their feet by gallant Prince Charmings who were always tall, generous, wavy-haired, thoughtful, handsome, and wealthy.

Nan Palmer was made-to-order for Lawrence B. Ives.

At first she couldn’t believe her senses. It seemed absolutely incredible when, after several chance meetings and brief conversations in the library, it became quite evident that Mr. Ives found her attractive.

Ives had his line down pat. He was, he said, a lonely widower who had traveled around the world. He wanted intellectual as well as physical companionship. He had learned that all is not gold that glitters and that beneath many a plain exterior there beats a warm, affectionate heart which is capable not only of steady affection but which can at times pour forth streams of molten passion. They were married in Yuma, Arizona.