He was not miserable when he arrived, not as miserable as I wished. I adore wretched people. There is something fiercely interesting in deep despair, in the wringing of hands at the irreparable, in howling upon the brink of suicide. Then one truly learns human nature; one may blend one’s personality with life’s delicious fever. I am not raving; I speak quite naturally. Not every woman can seek consolation in religious ecstasy.

A dead body is found in an empty house in one of the grandest areas of Oslo. Not only dead, but in disguise, wearing a false beard and a monocle. It now lies with blood dripping on a polar bear rug, the white fur reflecting the heavy snow falling over the city during the night.

The police detectives Krefting and Kjeldsen start their enquiries, and as they unravel this conjuring trick, they end up hobnobbing with the jet set in Oslo. The centre of the high life is The Hall of Mirrors at the Grand Hotel, and there in the middle of the crowd, drinking champagne, is the scandalous socialite Viviana. The police know she loves a bluff, is sly, and above all, she wants to create a sensation. If she could involve herself in a spectacular crime, she would be in raptures, already dreaming of what she would wear in the witness-box.