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It was rumoured that Hollywood stars would go to any lengths for the
privilege of being photographed by the good-looking, brilliantly
talented and ultra-fashionable portrait photographer Leslie Searle. But
what was this gifted creature doing in such an English village backwater
as Salcott St Mary? And why - and how - did he disappear? If a crime has
been committed, was it murder...fraud...or simply some macabre practical
joke?
'Josephine Tey enjoys a category to herself, as a
virtuoso in the spurious...The nature of deception on this occasion is
too good to give away' New Statesman
'Nobody can beat Tey at characterisation or elegance
of style: this novel's a beauty' San Francisco Chronicle
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