There is less humor here and less of the extravaganza than in others of the series, but then this time Dickinson is trying his hand at the best-loved form of the whodunit, the classic as penned during the golden age of crime writing. It has all the right ingredients, including the esoteric world of the Inns of Court, an art gallery, obscure wills, a dying doctor obsessed with poisons and a beautiful lady lurking in a vast, dust-sheeted mansion. It would be impossible perhaps for these delightful elements not to add up to an enjoyable tale and they do, although there are parts where the story treads water that could have stood some editing. The characters of Powerscourt and his immediate family, not in themselves particularly interesting people, are the more live wires in the story, and the character of Johnny Fitzgerald with his new project is starting to be more delightful. What would the series have been like with him in the driving seat? To its detriment, the story ends rather abruptly and not all the loose ends have been neatly tied, but it is still a most compelling read.