I liked it very much—I'm always a sucker for a Great Detective like Sir John Samaurez, a popular West End actor-manager (meaning he produced his own plays as well as some touring companies'). I'm starting to conclude that in the 1920s the conventions of the Golden Age were a bit more fluid in that publishers did not enforce a particular rhythm. Here the trial is in the first third, the true murderer is identified at about 75%, and the novelistic plot is still spinning itself out up to the end. That's not what I expected! ( )