Robert Hutton’s “Agent Jack: The True Story of MI5's Secret Nazi Hunter” is a gripping plunge into one of the most bizarre and enthralling corners of World War II espionage. If you think the story of Britain’s struggle against the Nazis is already well told, Hutton proves otherwise with this real-life tale of eccentricity, deception, and extraordinary undercover work. At the heart of the book stands Eric Roberts, an unassuming suburban bank clerk who, by night, transformed into “Jack King,” an MI5 agent charged with luring and entrapping Nazi sympathizers across Britain. While James Bond dazzles with tuxedos and gadgets, Roberts instead wielded patience, guile, and the talent to convince fascist dreamers that he was the Reich’s man in London. The result is a narrative both chilling and absurd—homegrown traitors divulging their secrets in drab English parlors, oblivious to the fact they were feeding information to MI5. Hutton recounts Roberts’ dangerous masquerade with a novelist’s flair, capturing the shadows-and-cigarette-smoke atmosphere of wartime Britain. The banal English settings—boarding houses, garden suburbs, office desks—are beautifully contrasted with the perilous stakes of Nazi infiltration and mass treachery. Astonishingly, Hutton reveals how close these sympathizers came to betraying operational details, and how Roberts’ steady deception prevented disaster. Yet he is no cartoonish hero; Hutton paints him as a lonely, conflicted man, wading through moral ambiguities that would fray the nerves of anyone trapped in such a duplicity. What makes “Agent Jack” so compelling is how it humanizes both sides of espionage. The fascist network, far from glamorous, is portrayed as a sad cadre of misfits—dangerous, yes, but also faintly ridiculous in their pipe-smoke conspiracies. This oscillation between menace and absurdity keeps the tension simmering, as readers wonder whether Roberts’ cover will hold. Ultimately, Hutton delivers more than a spy story. He exposes the fragility of loyalty, the banality of betrayal, and the courage of unsung individuals whose improvisation secured Britain from within. “Agent Jack” reads like le Carré crossed with a dark comedy of manners—riveting, unsettling, and immensely entertaining.