I read most of Marsh’s books a long, long time ago. So this was a reread. I seem to recall enjoying her books more than I do now. This is one for theatre buffs or Macbeth fans. The mystery is transparent. The whole thing skims like a throwaway line in a play, the kind of thing good for a weekend when thinking is not allowed and dozing is the order of the day. The strange thing about this book was the copyright said 1982, yet the whole thing read like a 1930s novel.