Mr. Upfield attempts to shine a favorable light on Australian aborigines, but the book has a bit of a jaded feel about it. Not surprising for a book first published in 1953 and dealing, as least tangentially, in race relations.
Babies are being kidnapped from out of their cribs, and local police have had to resort to a specialist. This detective, improbably named Napoleon Bonaparte, has almost superhuman powers of observation and tracking because of his half-aborigine heritage. He calls in a female officer- who has "all the gifts the job demanded", including being a master of jujitsu- because he wants an expert in babies.
An interesting slice of place and history, but I found its dated feel a bit unpleasant. The detective is apparently flawless and engenders the admiration of all around him, which is another thing I find tiresome in a story. I like my detectives with discernible flaws.