Chapter 4

I am like Mr. JACOBS' _Night Watchman_; it's very hard to deceive me. I had read only a few pages of Miss UNA SILBERRAD'S _The Mystery of Barnard Hanson_ (HUTCHINSON) when I guessed who had done the murder. Unfortunately, when I had read a few pages more, I found that I had picked the wrong person. Then I accused another character on perfectly good circumstantial evidence, and he was not the man. After that I decided to withdraw from the detective business and let Miss SILBERRAD unravel her mystery for herself. If you are of the opinion that a woman cannot keep a secret read _The Mystery of Barnard Hanson_ and become convinced that Miss SILBERRAD at least is an exception. If I have ever read a more perfectly sustained mystery novel I cannot recall it. There is just a chance that in the last few pages you may get on the right track, but, if you are honest with yourself, you will have to admit that you did it simply by a process of elimination, after you had made an ass of yourself and arrested every innocent person in the book on suspicion. I think it is Miss SILBERRAD'S manner that throws the detective reader out of his stride. She is so detached. She conveys the impression that she herself is just as puzzled as you are, and that, for all she knows, _Barnard Hanson_ may have been murdered by somebody who is not in the book at all. In other words she gives her story just that reality which a murder mystery has when unfolded day by day in the papers. I confess that, when I unwrapped the book and found that a polished artist like Miss SILBERRAD had written a detective story, I was a little shocked; but I need not have been. There are no dummies in this novel. Each character is as excellently drawn as if delineation of character were the author's main object; and in the matter of style there is no concession to the tastes of the cruder public which makes murder novels its staple diet.

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In her preface to _Morlac of Gascony_ (HUTCHINSON) Mrs. STEPNEY RAWSON apologizes for producing an historical novel in these days when the present rather than the past is occupying people's minds. But a good historical novel is never really untimely, and _Morlac of Gascony_ is not only well written but deals with a period of English history not often exploited by the historical novelist--the days of EDWARD THE FIRST, when the future of England as a naval power rested on the energy and determination of the sailors of the Cinque Ports. Although _Jehan Morlac_, the young Gascon, is the principal character in the story the most arresting figure is that of EDWARD himself, as dexterous a piece of character-drawing as I have come upon in historical fiction for some time. The plot is cleverly constructed to throw a high light on one of the most interesting personalities in the history of the English monarchy. We see EDWARD as a young man, wild, reckless and brutal; then, grown to his full powers and sobered by responsibility, making by sheer force of character something abiding and coherent out of the strange welter of warring factions from which Great Britain emerged as a united kingdom. Wales was a hot-bed of rebellion, Scotland the "plague-spot of the North," the Cinque Ports on the verge of going over to France. Only a strong man, with strong men under him, could have saved England then. _Morlac of Gascony_ is not the easy reading which many people insist on in novels which deal with the past, and for this reason it may not be so popular as some historical novels of far less merit; but if you are prepared to make something of an effort to carry the trenches of the earlier portion of the story you will have your reward.

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I suppose that what a CRAWFORD doesn't know about Roman society may fairly be dismissed as negligible. Therefore the name of J. CRAWFORD FRASER (in association with Mrs. HUGH FRASER) on the title-page of _Her Italian Marriage_ (HUTCHINSON) is a sufficient guarantee that the local colour at least will be the genuine article. And it happens that the scheme of the tale, the union between a Roman of the old nobility and an American girl, makes the local colour of special significance. It was just this matter of doing as the Romans do that _Elsie Trant_ found at first one of life's little difficulties. There is a very pleasant scene of the dinner-party at which she was formally presented to her husband's family; the contrast in atmospheres between that of the new-risen West and that of the severely Papal circles to which _Prince Pietro_ belonged being suggested most happily. I wish, though, the authors had been content to leave it at that, as a social comedy about pleasant people getting to understand one another. In an ill-inspired moment, however, they decided to have a dramatic plot, and truth compels me to say that this is a dreary affair, tricked out with such dust-laden devices as secret marriages, missing heirs and concealed papers. There is a steward person who alternately is and isn't the rightful Prince, as we delve deeper into the revelations. Finally, if I followed the intrigue correctly, the long arm of coincidence brought it about that _Elsie's_ mother was the eloping wife of _Pietro's_ uncle. Frankly, all this bored me, because we readers could have been so much more profitably engaged in renewing our Roman memories under such expert guidance. But of course this is a merely personal opinion, which you may not share.

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AUSTRALIAN CORPS.

"Sydney.--Timely rains have saved the early corps."

The later ones also are now quite recruited, thank you.

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"French Official.--Between the Argonne and the Meuse our heavy huns destroyed an enemy blockhouse in the region of Forges."

_Evening Paper._

Stout fellows, these German renegades.

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"Henley (near).--Gentleman offers land, piggeries, poultry-houses to lady or gentleman as guest. Pleasant home."--_The Lady._

_The gentleman to the lady_: "Will you occupy a piggery or a poultry-house?"