1962 mystery, third in the series about Chief Inspector Henry Tibbett.
Tibbett is in Geneva for a conference on drug-smuggling, and his wife
has joined him for a holiday. One of the staff is killed in a place
that very few people could have reached, and Tibbett becomes the prime
suspect.
All right, if you're like me you'll spot a certain obvious thing
about the setup, and the whole thing will unravel. Which is perhaps a
pity, because I think a certain character was intended to be seen as
probably innocent for most of the book, while I found their guilt so
apparent that I wasn't thrown by the sudden reversal when it was
revealed.
There are some characters back from Dead Men Don't Ski, and more
generally an atmosphere of internationalism that's typical in the
British authors of this period who get outside the UK at all; it's not
that things are better in Foreign Parts, it's that they're just a
bit less tired and worn-out than they are at home.
Which doesn't stop us from having a rich playboy and his very
accommodating wife, a dubious lawyer surely modelled on Joel Cairo,
and a variety of other dodgy people who might have been involved in
something even if they couldn't have committed the murder themselves.
Because someone has also been leaking the confidential proceedings of
the conference to the criminals. Maybe that was the motive? Or maybe
the victim's rather too-active social life might have played a part.
Tibbett's process of solving the mystery is contrasted once more with
that of a foolish local policeman (which I suppose works better than
having a recurring Watson), though some of his other behaviour seemed
rather beyond the pale for a character meant to be sympathetic. Apart
from that, I rather enjoyed this one.
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