Benjamin Stevenson is writing the most ingenious and twist-laden mysteries on the market. He’s the master of slipping clues and red herrings into scenes while readers are distracted by other machinations on the page, then pointing them out later: Aha!

As the title suggests, his latest Ernest Cunningham caper drops the writer-turned-accidental-investigator (who now wants to go pro) into the middle of a heist at Huxley’s Bank. When someone is murdered, Ernest’s fellow hostages all become suspects; and every single one of them is guilty of something.

Various hijinks ensue as the mystery becomes increasingly complex. Stevenson piles on twists, and counter-twists, and various reversals. How did he plot this? His office must’ve been wallpapered with multi-coloured Post-It notes. It’s ridiculous, but never slapstick. It’s a very delicate tonal balance; fun without being totally frivolous. And the whole enterprise ticks along like a Swiss watch.

Excellent stuff: wildly entertaining, and ultimately hugely satisfying.