Troglodytes Beneath the Earth
A review of Walter S. Masterman's "The Flying Beast"
Back in April, yours truly reviewed Walter S. Masterman’s oddball mystery novel, The Yellow Mistletoe. Said novel, which deals with a murderous Ancient Greek cult surviving in present-day Bulgaria, was listed on Karl Edward Wagner’s 39 List as one of the Thirteen Best Supernatural Horror Novels of all time. Today, we have another Masterman and another entry on the 39 List. KEW saw fit to include Masterman’s The Flying Beast (1932) as one the Thirteen Best Science Fiction Horror Novels. Thankfully, unlike The Yellow Mistletoe, which was hardly supernatural at all, The Flying Beast does include science fiction elements in its madcap, H. Rider Haggard-inspired adventure-mystery tale. Masterman was noted for his bizarre detective novels, and The Flying Beast is easily the strangest of the bunch.
The novel begins in rural Sussex. Dick Maldon is a London layabout who has decided to escape a springtime storm in rural Sussex by grabbing a pint at a local inn. It is here that Dick learns from an old timer named Gaffor Manctelow that someone has died in the village. “Aye, there’ll be death up there, sure ‘nough,” Manctelow says as he points to a series of lights coming from a nearby estate. Minutes later, a beautiful young woman named Joan comes into the pub and announces that her uncle is dead. A doctor and constable are summoned, and Dick tags along with the others to see the corpse for himself.
It is here that we first encounter something weird. Miss Joan’s home, which she shares with her uncles Jeremiah and Joseph, is a rambling affair that includes a stone cave and layers of barbed wire surrounding the property. The villagers in nearby Buckhurst also claim that a terrifying black beast regularly circles the property at night. The interior of the home is no better, as Dick and the others discover that the home is a dizzying and dark labyrinth of tunnels, hidden passages, and half-illuminated rooms. One of the men even intones that the house changes after every visit, almost as if it is alive.
The inchoate feelings of dread come to a head when the body of Jeremiah Furgeson is found hanging from a lanthorn. It appears to be a suicide, but after meeting the sinister and lisping Joseph Furgeson, and after a quick inspection from Mr. Hendon of Scotland Yard, suicide becomes murder. Soon enough, Dick Maldon finds himself enraptured with the captivating Joan Furgeson and wounded at the hand some unseen foe lurking within the home itself.
Once back in London, Dick and his best friend “Bunny” Vincent find it impossible to focus on anything other than the murder mystery back at Buckhurst. Even Dick’s fiancé cannot hold his attention. Dick and Bunny return to Sussex, and while investigating the property one night, Dick discovers a strange, bearded man giving orders to not only the Furgesons, but also to Professor Higgins and Sir James Smithers of the British Museum. Dick’s espionage is uncovered, and he is kidnapped and held in the manor’s cellars for several days before he is released by Joan.
The mystery of Buckhurst only deepens with the introduction of two new characters. The first is Maisie Higgins, the daughter of Professor Higgins and a famous pilot. The other character is Sir Arthur Sinclair, the brilliant private detective who made his debut in The Yellow Mistletoe. Much like his literary forebearer Sherlock Holmes, Sinclair is a deduction machine who always seems one step ahead of his enemies and friends alike. Sinclair joins Dick, Bunny, and Maisie soon after Professor Higgins is found poisoned in the Furgeson manor. It is this death that truly sets the adventure in motion. The Furgeson home is quickly burnt to the ground, and Joseph absconds into the great unknown with Joan and Sir James. He is chased by the unlikely foursome of Hendon, Dick, Bunny, and Dick’s faithful manservant Henry.
The final half of the novel occurs in the air and amidst the unexplored desert of Central Arabia. Prior to his death, Professor Higgins specialized in Near Eastern antiquities, and the archaeologist became acquainted with the Furgeson family after discovering a hidden civilization buried deep beneath the sands. Said hidden civilization is composed of troglodytes—early hominids who sought safety in caves and caverns in order to escape large predators. Professor Higgins brought some of these troglodytes back to England and turned them into servants in the Furgeson home. He also taught them aviation, for the strange, black shape around Buckhurst, colloquially known as the Flying Beast, is nothing more than an airplane powered by a mineral known as Gravitite. Gravitite, which grows naturally in the troglodyte civilization, allows for vertical takeoff and increased air speed, thus making it something of interest to the money-minded Furgeson and the British Empire. This miraculous substance is the reason for both murders, and the killer (who is unmasked in the last three chapters) decides to destroy himself and the Flying Beast rather than let the rest of the world learn of the power of Gravitite.
The Flying Beast is, in a word, a gonzo mystery story that manages to include not only murder but also future tech, lost civilizations, and the haunting image of blind, small humanoids running around a haunted mansion at a night. The inclusion of the troglodytes is an insane touch, and their thirst for whisky and attempt at a full-scale mutiny borders on the comical. One can never accuse of Masterman of being boring. Predictable, yes (the young men and women get married to end everything nicely), but never boring. Unlike in The Yellow Mistletoe, Sinclair plays a supporting role here, and much of the action is driven by the headstrong Dick Maldon. The one knock is that this book has far too many characters to keep them all straight, and besides Dick, most of the characters are two-dimensional. The revelation of the murderer and his methodology is handled well, and the truth is legitimately surprising. Also, a pinch of gray is injected, for Sinclair notes during his final speech that the murderer did his crimes not for money or out of hatred but out of love for humanity. It is rare for a coldblooded killer to get praise in a Golden Age mystery novel, but that is exactly what happens in The Flying Beast.
Masterman’s book deserves to be read for the sheer absurdity of it all, and even if it feels overly melodramatic at times, The Flying Beast is still a wonderful amalgam of British cozy detective fiction, weird adventure, science fiction, and horror. KEW got one right, and from A to Z, The Flying Beast is definitely worth a read for any serious student of pulp fiction.
4.6 out of 5.
Would love to see some top 10 lists of diff pulp subgenres from you sometime.