Nero Wolfe is still the most pompous ass since Poirot. Archie Goodwin, as picturesque and lovable as ever, throws his wit and muscle around: he's not quite Philip Marlowe but entertaining enough. The police are never quite up to the task, so nothing's new in detective fiction. At least no one breaks down on the witness stand and confesses to the crime. And, the plot it is somewhat plausible. This is an easy read for an afternoon, or evening.