“Stop, James!” came in deep rich tones from the depths of the chair. “You are wearing grey flannel trousers!”
“Yes,” agreed Jim, glancing down at them.
“If I had my way,” said Mrs Bradley firmly, “grey flannel trousers should be taxed, together with dogs, automobiles, wireless receiving-sets, income, and the colour curiously termed beige.”
I like Mitchell’s character studies and her humour but her plotting and convoluted storytelling left me, yet again, puzzled beyond what I can put up with. I was lost by the half-way mark, and the red herrings and inconsequential discussions in the second half did nothing to salvage the mystery for me.
Not even the humour and obvious Christie-mockery could make up for it.