Der zerbrochene Krug, by Heinrich von Kleist (1802-05, performed 1808).
Cute. That's really the most I can say about it. A bit of a farce about justice. A judge who has some injuries whose origin we don't know (yet) is visited by an inspector. On this day a case of a broken jug is brought before him involving a mother, her daughter, the daughter's fiancee, and, it turns out, a mysterious third party (or fourth, I guess). Guess who it turns out to be?
But the way it makes you squirm while the people on stage figure out what you've already divined is entertaining and somewhat enlightening. As in: why does it bother me that they're being so dense? Do I really want the characters in the book (or actors on stage) to acknowledge that I figured it out before they did?