FICTION.
THE LOST NAVAL PAPERS.* SINCE the passing of Monsieur Lecoq of happy memory there has been no such masterly figure in official detective circles as that of Chief Inspector Dawson of the Criminal Investigation Department. The gifted amateur of contemporary fiction is not in it with Dawson, who it must be acknowledged has a unique opportunity in having war time as the date of his operations. "Bennet Copplestone" writes in the first person singular, and, fortunately for himself, dis- covers an infallible method of detecting the numerous disguises assumed by his hero, whose Christian name should certainly have been Midas. For any one not possessed of such a secret the constant fear of Dawson's companionship would prove extremely nerve. reeking ; because this accomplished police officer seems to have the most complete power of changing not only his appearance but his apparent ago and voice, so that his presence may be entirely unsus- pected by his most intimate acquaintance. One of the best stories in the book is concerned with the method in which Dawson stopped a great strike in the North, and, though it is difficult to swallow the account of what went on at the War Committee of the Cabinet with Dawson " in attendance," still the results are so entertaining and exciting that the reader had better make an effort to believe that somehow or other Dawson managed to obtain plenary powers to proclaim martial law. It must not be forgotten that the hero is represented as being an old Marine, which fact consffierably colours his methods of dealing with the various knotty problems which are set him. For sheer excitement the account of the capture by the Chief Inspector, disguised in his old uniform, of the spy who intends to cut the gun-cable of one of HM.'s battleships is perhaps the beat thing in the book :— " ' I watched and watched, never feeling a bit like sleep though my eyes burned something cruel and my feet—they were lumps of prickly wood, not feet. Dull lumps with every now and then a stab as if a tin tack hod been driven into them. Beyond me in the open alley-way the light was strong, and I could see men pass frequently, but no one came into my corner till the end, and no one saw me. I heard six bells go in the &et watch (" Eleven p.m.," whispered Cary) on Friday evening, though there was a good bit of noise of getting ready to go out in the early morning, and I was beginning to think that all my trouble might go for naught, when a man in a Navy cap and overalls stopped just opposite my dark bole between tsto bulk- heads. His face was turned from me, as he looked carefully up and down the lighted way. He stood there quite still for some seconds, and than stepped backwards towards me. I could see him plain against the light beyond. He listened for another minute or so, and, satisfied that no one was near, spun on his heels, whipped a tool from his dungaree overalls, and reached up to the wires which ran under the deck beams overhead. In spite of my aching joints and sore feet I was out in a flash and had my bayonet up against his chest. He didn't move till my point was through his clothes and into his flesh. I just shoved till he gave ground, and so, step by step, I pushed him with the point of my bayonet till he was under the lights. His arms had come down, he dropped the big shears with insulated handles which he had drawn from his pocket, but he didn't speak a word to me and I did not speak to him. I just hold him there under the lights, and we looked at one another without a word spoken. There was no sign of surprise or fear in his face, just a queer little smile. Suddenly he moved, made a snatch at the front of his overalls, and put some- thing into his mouth. I guessed what it was, but did not try to stop him ; it wee the best thing that he could do.' Dawson stopped and pulled savagely at his cigar. He jabbed the end with his knife, though the cigar was drawing perfectly well, and gave forth a deep growl which might have been a curio or a sob. ' Have you ever watched an electric bulb fade away when the current is failing T ' he asked. ' The film pales down from glowing white to dull red, which gets fainter and fainter, little by little, till nothing but the memory of it lingers on your retina. His eyes went out exactly like that bulb. They faded and faded out of his face, which still kept up that queer, twisted smile. I've seen them ever since; • wherever I turn. I shall be glad of that bout of influenza, and shall begin it with a stiff dose of serenest. . . . When the light had nearly gone out of his eyes and he was rocking on his feet, I spoke for the first time. I spoke loud too. " Good-bye," I called out ; " I'm Dawson." He heard me, for his oyes answered with a last flash . • then they faded right out and he fell flat on the steel deck. He had died on his feet ; his will kept him upright to the end ; that was a Mart.' " It is to be hoped that the author will be grateful to us in quoting thie passage for stopping before the sentence which gives away the secret of who the spy was.
The book is full of other amusing and entertaining episodes, and any one who wants to pass en hour or two without letting war-time worries prey upon his mind cannot do bottor than road it.
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