by Mary Roberts Rinehart
Not as good as The Man In Lower Ten, although similar in a lot of ways. Also, I thought it was way too long. But still a fun read. Grumpy old ladies FTW.
Literary detectives are different from you and me, those haughty geniuses with photographic memory who navigate a crime scene with laser-like precision. Because they are masters of detection, we the audience are often left scrambling in the dust, unable to make sense of the mystery until the genius ...
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