Robert “Robin” Forsythe (1879-1937) began writing short stories and poetry as a teenager. In middle age after a stint in prison he took up mystery writing, publishing five mysteries with amateur sleuth and landscape painter Algernon/Anthony Vereker as the amateur detective, working collegially with Inspector Heather of Scotland Yard. The second one was The Polo Ground Mystery (John Lane, 1932; reprinted by Dean Street Press, 2016). An abridged version was published by Mellifont Press in 1944. It would be interesting to see just how much of the story remains after the original 310 pages was reduced to 96 pages.

The editor of the Daily Report newspaper has asked Vereker to act for them and to visit the estate of Sutton Armadale in Surrey, where the wealthy sportsman and businessman had been found shot on his private polo ground early one morning. Armadale died soon after being discovered by his gamekeeper. Leaving his perennially insolvent friend Manuel Ricardo in charge of his flat and drinks cabinet to perform research in London as needed, Vereker travels to Surrey, finding accommodation at the pleasingly named Silver Pear Tree Inn, not far from the Armadale manor.

The initial assumption was that Armadale had been shot giving chase to a burglar who had absconded with a valuable pearl necklace found to be missing. The forensics did not add up however, which worried the police. The number of shots heard by the household, the number of guns found, and the number of Armadale’s wounds did not match. While the police searched for additional weaponry and other physical evidence, Vereker focused on the residents of the country house.

Visiting Armadale and his wife at the time of his death was his nephew Basil Ralli; Edmee Cazas, a Belgian ballerina who was deeply interested in Armadale’s money; Stanley Houseley who had a long-standing attachment to Mrs. Armadale; Captain Fanshaugh, a sports adviser to Armadale; Ralph Degerdon, the son of another businessman; and Aubrey Winter, a cousin of Mrs. Armadale’s. All of them had some claim on either Armadale’s money or his affections, and a few of them had definite cause to dislike the victim.

Sorting through everyone’s stories and filling in what they conveniently left out occupied Vereker, although he found time to draw some of Armadale’s trees in early morning light. Forsythe offered some beautifully detailed descriptions of the countryside here, every bit as thorough and admiring as any account from E. C. R. Lorac. Vereker and Heather compared notes almost daily, a refreshing change from the amateur detective who withholds information from law enforcement or assumes superior intelligence.

The resolution is completely unexpected, the second surprise ending I have seen in a few weeks. Not a fair play mystery by any means, no one could work out the killer from the information provided. However improbable the ending, the window into the social customs of another time and place is always intriguing to me.