The American Gun Mystery (Death At the Rodeo)

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For the half-dozenth time in a quartet of years I find myself confronted with the formidable task of introducing a new work from the pen of my friend, Ellery Queen. It seems only yesterday that I sat down to write a preface to The Roman Hat Mystery, that historic case which I bullied Ellery into fictionizing — the first Queen adventure to be put between covers; and yet that was over four years ago!

Now, so contagious is recognition of authentic genius, whether it is in the creation of a new ocracy or a new crime-story metier, Ellery Queen has become, a symbol of the unusual in detective fiction in America. In England he had been hailed by no less distinguished a critic than the London Times as “the logical successor to Sherlock Holmes”; and on the Continent, where (as Vivoudiére says in his florid but earnest tribute) “M. Queen a pris d’assaut les remparts des cyniques de lettres,” he has been translated into a polyglot of tongues (yea, even unto the Scandinavian), so that his bookshelves bristle with unfamiliar-sounding titles and his correspondence alone provides his son and her with a steady supply of foreign stamps which would delight the soul of even a less enthusiastic minor philatelist. In the light of such recognition, therefore — I am tempted to say “fame,” but that would probably cost me my friend — there is little I can offer which would not be sheer repetition. On the other hand, it should prove of interest to Ellery Queen’s readers to get his personal view on the case which forms the basis of the present volume. I quote verbatim a letter dated some months ago:

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