"A cupboard, a corpse, and a cache of family skeletons...The Ivorys lived in state, in London. All respectable. But when Frances warned her grandmother that 'something was going on,' it was the understatement of the decade. Upstairs, in a cupboard, there was soon to be a corpse, and when that came to light, out fell the whole file of well-suppressed family secrets and hatreds."
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I commented in 1971, “As a detective story, a work of art. Not great literature—although better than most—but beautifully arranged, so that one suspected almost everyone in the story without suspecting the real murderer—and yet without the final revelation appearing too contrived.”
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