Miss D. E. Stevenson has chosen Re'lford, a small Scottish Presbyterian town, as the setting for her new novel "Miss Bun the Baker's Daughter" (Collins, London. 7/6). There is 2 taint of smugness about the title Which flavours the whole story. The ere, John Darnay, is an artist, not one of your roistering, swashbucking," beard-pulling, cloak-wearing artists, but Just a plain, honest, hardworking young man who is forsaking the primrose path of successful portroiture in stern pursuit of artistic sincerity, much to the disgust of his wife, who leaves him to the tender mercies of his housekeeper, Sue Prin-fle. Sue is the baker's daughter, and the grandchild. of Thomas. Bulloch, the grand old man of Bellford. She falls in love with Darnay, but her devotion for him only finds express sion in the excellence of her cooking and his for her never gets further than a lump in the throat.
Mrs. Darnay manages to get a divorce, nevertheless, citing Sue as! correspondent. Darnay hides "his shame in Holland, where he ekes out bare living by selling pictures paint.
his new manner. Sue goes 10 London, ostensibly to help her aunt on a small hotel, but incidentally to acquire alittle polish by learning: French and studying the manners of high society. A rich American offers top prices for Darnay's new pictures and by good fortune Sue manages to. track him to Amsterdam with the good news that artistic sincerity is no Tess paying than fashionable portraits, They are married, and in ease anyone Jshould think Darnay was marrying beneath him it is whispered that she ig no baker's daughter but the illegitimate child of Sir James Pauld of Bet Jand Thomas Bulloch's daughter. It is a, feline and unduly earnest one takes Miss Steven son's word for it that such people fare the backbone of Scotland Hercule Poirot, Miss Agatha Chris ties best-known, character, absolute genius. There are no other words for him. The manner in which the has solved so many complicated—Twas tempted to say almost perfect ferimes, by his brilliant deductive powers, has enthralled each and. every reader of the novels of this ferack author, whose stock of plots seems Inexhaustible. In her first 1939 thriller, "Iereule Potrot's Christmas" (published for the Crime Club by. [Collins, London. 7/6), she has put 1o-ether such an excellent tale that all that remains for the critic to do say "A superb piece of work," and eagerly await her next volume. For many years now she has held the Teading position in the realm of detective fiction. She never disappoints Ther readers, she knows what they want and she gives it them in large doses. Read her latest book twice—fence for purposes of sheer enjoyment Jand once to see how her pet creation applies his steel-cold logle—and you Will still derive heaps of untold Mr, Judson P. Philips make his bow to the British reading public with "The Death Syndicate" (Hurst Blackett, Linden. 7/6) in which he introduces a new superhuman personality in Maxwell Blythe, the New York playboy who, In part settlement of his divorce, leaves his wife a Getective agenty which in less than time gets busy on the activities of and Banking
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.