Holy verbosity! 224 pages of inner thoughts and people mumbling to themselves (a tiresome affectation after a while) and rambling paragraphs meaningless to the crime or even to setting the scene (interesting in itself, giving a hint as to what Melbourne was like in the 18--'s) -- it also uses the tiresome habit of using dashes for dates and some "swear words" like "why in G--'s name" and "D--- it, sir!". This might reflect the sensitivities of the reading public of the day, but is boring now. The big secret on which the plot hinges might have been realistic in the 18--'s, but wouldn't even cause a blink of the eye on today's soap operas. The book is way too long and I skimmed a lot of it after realizing it wasn't going anywhere for many pages. It's okay for those interested in writings of the time, but not for those looking for a well written and plotted mystery to read for entertainment. (Book originally published in late 18--'s).

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