It’s 1923, and Mz. Sayers introduces the world to Lord Peter Wimsey. You know, it is only in 1923 mysteries that a person can discover an unknown person dead in their bathtub,naked except for pince nez on his nose, and be like, “Oh, drat. Now where will I take my bath? Oh, bother.”
The police are inept, as they must always be when we have an amateur sleuth, (and incidentally, they are only sleuths in first-quarter-of-the-20th-century mysteries. Later they morph into P.I.s, or else dithering females in cozy mysteries).
Well, the hunt is on to find out who whacked the guy on the back of the head, then carried him across the roof tops to enter through the bathroom window and deposit the guy in the tub.
On another front, a financier is reported missing. He was seen returning home, and his clothes were left in his room, but when his man came to wake him, he was absent. Could the two be one and the same? Thanks be to Hercule Poirot, they were not, or else it would have been an awfully short book.
I must say that I thought Lord Peter was a lot more fun before he met that Vane woman and got married in the later volumes.
Sayer is a funny, clever writer, and if you like early 20th century mysteries, you will naturally love her.