Francis Steegmuller (1906–1994) was an American author of biographies, fiction, travel, and short articles for periodicals. He also translated a number of Gustave Flaubert’s writings, for which he is chiefly known. He won two National Book Awards—one in 1971 for Arts and Letters for his biography of Jean Cocteau (Cocteau: A Biography), the second in 1981 for Translation for the first volume of Flaubert’s selected letters (The Letters of Gustave Flaubert 1830-1857). He received the American Academy of Arts and Letters Gold Medal for Biography in 1982. His impressive literary output is on Wikipedia here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Francis_Steegmuller
Steegmuller wrote three mysteries under the name David Keith. The first one, A Matter of Iodine, was published by Dodd, Mead in 1940, winning the Red Badge Mystery Prize of $1000. First editions are selling for $200 online. Fortunately Coachwhip reprinted it in 2017 and it is available in ebook and paperback for much less. Reviews of the time praise the book as original and suspenseful, which it is, but it’s also slow. By contemporary standards it is far too full of explanation that should have been converted into action.
The main character is Ted Weaver, who was crippled in the auto accident that killed his wife and daughter. He has spent 10 years grieving their loss and refusing most attempts to draw him back into life. Her brothers are managing a family company and Ted is living off the proceeds of his wife’s share. In an effort to pull Ted out of his lengthy depression, the brothers send him to Paris to learn why the quality of the iodine now being shipped to Pearce Brothers that has been flawless in the past is now inferior. If the problem with the current supplier cannot be rectified, then Ted is to find an alternate source.
Ted has trouble setting up an interview with the distributor, who turns out to be uncooperative and discourteous when they do meet. His visit with the producer of the iodine is more pleasant but his questions aren’t answered and he’s beginning to believe locating an alternate source will be his only recourse.
Ted spends a lot of time trying to pin the two down to commitments to product improvement and firm shipping dates. During one meeting the iodine manufacturer insists on taking Ted on a tour of Parisian bawdy houses, which appalls Ted. Ted’s efforts are hampered by poisoned wine, which he fortunately did not ingest but his dinner guest did with serious consequences. The distributor disappears, a question of identity of the men he’s dealing with arises. The suspense culminates in a shooting in Ted’s hotel room, leaving the body of a stranger to be disposed of.
Throughout are references to political tensions and worries about approaching war, of which Ted was mostly unaware, probably as a result of U.S. isolationism. Earlier reviewers say that Ted is not especially bright. I believe rather that he is naïve, which can suggest stupidity. Certainly he managed to get around Paris and travel to other cities on crutches, which had to take some intelligence. He had enough native caution to recognize potential threats. Sheltered and unaware of the changes that occurred since his last visit to Paris more than 10 years ago, but not stupid.
This book has an inventive plot and an unusual main character. The difficulty is in the execution, which is far too verbose and lacks momentum. In more skilled hands, the premise would have become an outstanding thriller.