Woods sleepwalks her way through this one--as barrister Anthony Maitland (Call Back Yesterday, etc., etc.) rehashes the details of his new case, together with colorless wife Jenny, choleric Uncle Nicholas, and assorted friends, all sipping sherry, brandy, and coffee relentlessly. At first the case is one of a contested will: the family of the late Samuel Keats objects to the fact that he left millions to his coldly beautiful nurse Veronica Proctor. But then an autopsy report on Keats shows arsenic poisoning--and matters take another twist when Veronica dies via arsenic too, in an apparent suicide. Is Veronica's twin sister Fran guilty of murder? Anthony thinks not, coming up with a last-minute exposure of the true villain. Mechanical narrative, piles of padding, cardboard characters--all winning this snoozerama a spot near the bottom of Woods' immense, workaday output.