Other editions of book The Circular Staircase by Mary Roberts Rinehart

Mary Roberts Rinehart was a prolific writer that is often referred to as the American Agatha Christie. Rinehart's mystery novels are still treasured by millions of readers today and she is the source of the famous phrase "The butler did it." Rinehart's most famous books include The Circular Staircase, The Bat, The Case of Jennie Brice, and The Door. The Circular Staircase, published in 1908, tells the story of Rachel Innes, a spinster who fights off a series of mysterious crimes at a summer house she has rented with her niece and nephew. The book is considered to be Rinehart's greatest work and has been turned into film and a classic Broadway play.

[MP3CD audiobook format in vinyl case.] [Read by Lorna Raver] ''This is the story of how a middle-aged spinster lost her mind, deserted her domestic gods in the city, took a furnished house for the summer out of town, and found herself involved in one of those mysterious crimes that keep our newspapers and detective agencies happy and prosperous.'' -- So begins The Circular Staircase, a book that has been hailed as the best novel by the most important American woman mystery writer of our time. Rachel Innes was relieved when Gertrude and Halsey arrived to keep their dear old aunt company and allow her the courtesy of a decent night's sleep. Unfortunately, the explosive sound of a gunshot the next night shattered Rachel's hopes. And the body at the foot of the circular staircase ensured many sleepless nights to follow.

Middle-aged spinster Rachel Innes takes a six month lease on a large country mansion while her town house is being restored... Soon the house is threatened by strange and mysterious noises and people begin to disappear... Rachel and her adopted family go in search of the truth as the heavy gothic atmosphere gathers around them... A delightful golden age mystery with a keen sense of humour, The Circular Staircase has been adapted for stage and screen on several occasions.

One continual ascent of alluring bewilderment, winding upward with a thrill at every step, a breathless pause at every landing. This is the story of how a middle-aged spinster lost her mind, deserted her domestic gods in the city, took a furnished house for the summer out of town, and found herself involved in one of those mysterious crimes that keep our newspapers and detective agencies happy and prosperous. For twenty years I had been perfectly comfortable; for twenty years I had had the window-boxes filled in the spring, the carpets lifted, the awnings put up and the furniture covered with brown linen; for as many summers I had said good-by to my friends, and, after watching their perspiring hegira, had settled down to a delicious quiet in town, where the mail comes three times a day, and the water supply does not depend on a tank on the roof. "When Mary Roberts Rinehart was reading the proof-sheets of her mystery story, 'The Circular Staircase,' she was traveling through New England, and had the long galleys with her in a grip. After a night in an upper berth, the porter told her the train stopped at Portland forty minutes for breakfast. Mrs. Rinehart got out and dashed into the restaurant for a cup of coffee and a cantaloupe. Fifteen others from her car did the same. The Lady Who Waits had hardly deigned to noticed the Woman Who Writes when, glancing toward the door, the latter saw the train pulling out. She and her comrades stood not upon the order of their going. Pell-mell they dashed out, holding beseeching hands toward their possessions, their notebooks, their booth brushes, the embryonic best seller! The train didn't stop. There were two Catholic priests who said what they thought in Latin, which didn't help much. There were an Episcopal clergyman, a professor of something or other, six women, several children and a collie dog. They stopped the train a hundred and fifty miles away and cut out the Pullman, empty, except for a pallid and cowering porter. Then the company sent the miserables on it to by accommodation. They had lost five hours. They had not breakfasted or lunched. So they entered the car in a mass, fell on the porter and tore him to shreds. Then, when they had cleaned up the mess, Mrs. Rinehart quietly resumed her proof-reading." -The Midwestern "There is a pleasant novelty in the quaint vein of ironic humor which runs through the book, and this has undoubtedly done much for the undoubted success which the volume has achieved." -The Glasgow News

The Circular Staircase (1908) is a mystery novel in the "Had I but known" genre by American author Mary Roberts Rinehart. She wrote the book, which became her first best-seller, at her home at 954 Beech Avenue in Allegheny, Pennsylvania, now part of Pittsburgh. The "HIBK" genre is associated with several works of Rinehart,[1] specifically The Circular Staircase, in which "a middle-aged spinster is persuaded by her niece and nephew to rent a country house for the summer. The house they choose belonged to a bank defaulter who had hidden stolen securities in the walls. The gentle, peace-loving trio is plunged into a series of crimes solved with the help of the aunt. This novel is credited with being the first in the 'Had-I-But-Known' school."

For twenty years I had been perfectly comfortable; for twenty years I had had the window-boxes filled in the spring, the carpets lifted, the awnings put up and the furniture covered with brown linen; for as many summers I had said good-bye to my friends, and, after watching their perspiring hegira, had settled down to a delicious quiet in town, where the mail comes three times a day, and the water supply does not depend on a tank on the roof. And then -- the madness seized me. When I look back over the months I spent at Sunnyside, I wonder that I survived at all. As it is, I show the wear and tear of my harrowing experiences. I have turned very gray -- Liddy reminded me of it, only yesterday, by saying that a little bluing in the rinse-water would make my hair silvery, instead of a yellowish white. I hate to be reminded of unpleasant things and I snapped her off. "No," I said sharply, "I'm not going to use bluing at my time of life, or starch, either."

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