5 JULY 1935, Page 32

Roman Holidays

Head of a Girl. By Eimer O'Duffy. (Blos. 7s. 6d.)

A SUDDEN realization of the imminence of summer holidays has curtailed a promising column on the stupidity of the modern detective, and has given the reviewer pause. Which, if any, of these eight volumes could best mitigate the dis-

comfort of the sunless beaches and wind-swept esplanades of an English summer ? A new set of values is clearly needed. (Wine at Guildford, for example, which would normally have headed the list, must now drop a place or two. Mr. Crofts' methods are thorough rather than sensational, and would probably make small headway against the great Icelandic depression. First place as sunshine-surrogate must be awarded to

Twenty-Five Sanitary Inspectors, whose wildly fantastic plot is set, except for one short ad hoc storm, in tropical sunshine. Mr. Milt's books are always entertaining, his ideas fresh. This frolic among the eccentric republicans of San Rocco is as light and amusing as its title. Ex-Super- intendent Simnionds is coaxed from English retirement to become the Republic's first detective. For headquarters he is allotted the disused Ministry of Sanitation. In this superfluous edifice he finds the ex-Minister, a Wodehousian young Englishman, shaving and making tea. He is enter- tained : " In the first flush of enthusiasm, 'we—that's the Ministry—

opened up all the drains. Unluckily no one knew how to close them, the vital statistics began to show a very strange curve, and the Ministry was axed. Do you have throe lumps or two ? " • An alliance is formed, twenty-five assistant sleuths, described for political reasons as sanitary inspectors, . are engaged, and the hunt is up. The inspectors, despite a magnificent Latin motto, turn rapidly into liabilities, mysteries deepen, blood flows, wit crackles, and over all the sun burns down.

The Spanish Cape Mystery is, as a detective story proper,

the ablest and most exciting book on the list. Mr. Queen is at his very best ; his English usage is less eccentric than usual, his plot is good, and for once he is scrupulously fair in the matter of supplying all available clues to the reader, who, poor fellow, is none the worse for occasionally being allowed to spot the criminal.

Mr. Crafts is a sure provider ; his technique is so exact and verisimilar that the most elementary proceedings— measuring footmarks, testing for fingerprints, and tile like --assume a new and vivid interest. He is moreover the Houdini of alibi-tricksters, first forging impregnable chains of corrobbratinn and then -stepping but Of them - quietly. Crime at Guildford is not one of Inspector French's greatest cases but it is as readable as any, and it describes a splendid' new method of obtaining duplicate keys.

Mr. Chance has opened his detective career briskly—

perhaps a little too briskly, for after an early sprint he fails to stay the pace and finishes lame. Still, his tale of wronged village maidens and supercharged Bentleys is full of life and easy to read. He should go far, especially if he can avoid speeches such as the following, spoken by a rich young gentleman of much-described good taste :

" Let us trot into the den for a soothing drop of real Continental coffee to finish it off."

The next two books are dull and laboured. Death of a Beauty Queen appears to be Mr. Punshon's twenty-ninth published work. One can honestly say that it is superior Villa, but the rate of improve_

tO his twenty-eighth, Mystery ment is so slow:that he will probably need to pass his century before he approaches the first class. His writing is turgid, and his detective without equal in stupidity. Not quite without equal, perhaps, for Dr. Tancred runs

him close. This misty figure has only begun what may Well prove to be an interminable series of alleged adventures. This first volume, subtitled "The First Cantoof the Pendexter. Saga," peters out with the ominous words " To be continued.", In one sense it might well be continued, since little or, nothing is discovered or determined at its close. The sul.). stance of the whole book would scarcely fill one of Mr. Queen's less eventful chapters ; the style is cumbersome and the effect of the whole is foggy

" They are but shadows hunting shadows, Phantom fish in waters droar and dim."

Head of a Girl is intelligent and amusing, Homicidal lunatics who kidnap the Home Secretary are always refreshing. Recommended to all but Cabinet Ministers.

Lastly, The Dear Old Gentleman is an almost verbatim

account of a famous Scottish trial, together with such addi- tional twists and trimmings as the authors have thought necessary for novel presentation. The original story is so good that neither fictional " writing-up " nor mid-June