24 JULY 1959, Page 31

solving had not Victorian papa been shot by masked stranger

when he needed to utter only one more word of the family secret and thus make everything plain. Not a true detective story, for other vital clues are hidden from the reader, and not a thriller either, for the author relentlessly trots out all he has ever mugged up about the Victorian underworld, as though nobody had ever read Fanny by Gaslight, or heard of Mayhew—which the hero quotes, with date, publisher's name, and page number, in the course of conversation, in the same way that his light lady quotes fourteen lines of Esmond, all by heart. A copy of Mr. Trollope's latest novel lies on the nearby table, and Palmerston passes.

CHRISTOPHER PYM