Clue of the New Pin

Two popular TV detectives of the era, Oreste Pinto of 'Spycatcher' and Cluff of 'Cluff' investigate a baffling case from the pen of Edgar Wallace already filmed in 1929.

The revelation is for once succinctly explained visually (in total silence as in 'Rififi') rather than through the usual leaden verbal windup; and it's all satisfyingly resolved in under an hour.

The plot kicks in with the unwelcome appearance of Wellington Brown, a drunken old associate of Trasmere, who threatens the old man unless he hands over substantial amounts of cash. Soon after Tab and Inspector Carver find Trasmere shot to death and locked inside his own vault - with the only key inside with him and the gun missing! And then there is the matter of how a set of jewels stolen from Ursula Ardfern also ended up in the strong room. The only clue is a pin found at the scene of the crime ...

Ok mystery with a grand performance by Paul Daneman, a fairly involving story and an ingenious murder which reels you in to find out how the fiend did it. However, this entry is mildly distracting and lacked some excitement.

A cleverly contrived modus operandi for which the killer made the usual amateur mistake of repeating the crime. The sets are wooden, and so are some of the characters, although the late great Bernard Archard makes an excellent showing as the detective in charge. It's nice to see him as the good guy - those piercing eyes and an angular face make him the ideal baddy, or mad scientist. But an added bonus it the period piece telephone call from a public callbox (remember those?) made on an old 'AB' phone. For the younger readers, these are technically called prepayment coinboxes, as opposed to the later Pay On Answer, which replaced them. To operate, insert 4d (four old pennies) into the slot and dial the number required. When the distant party answers, the caller can hear them (so you can check you have the right number) If so, press button A, and the caller can speak. If not, press button B and your 4d will be refunded. It's all there, in glorious black and white. (This operation was also highlighted in The Ladykillers, where the dead-cool and calm Alec Guinness tells the flustered minion to 'press button A'.) Memories are made of this, a bygone era.