Famous belgian detective Hercule Poirot is on the loose again. This time around a murder has accured at Styles Court, where poor Mrs. Inglethorp has been poisoned. As usual there is a locked room, a bunch of suspect and an intricate plot.
Agatha Christie sure knows how to tell a compelling story. I caught myself constantly trying to guess, who the murderer is and second guessing my own assumptions. Ultimately I did not succeed, but thank god, Hercule Poirot is in the vicinity of the crime and he is lot smarter than I am, when it comes to catching the perpetrator.
And he is a lot smarter than the narrator of the novel, Mr. Hasting, which is the only downside to this otherwise brilliant novel, at least for me. He is one sulking mess of a man. Whenever Poirot omits some tidbit of information Hasting takes it as a personal affront and whines about it. I certainly did not enjoy to be stuck in his head.
But I have to give some credit to poor Mr. Hasting. He gives a description of Poirots mind, which is absolutely spot-on:
Sometimes, I feel sure he is as mad as a hatter; and then, just as he is at his maddest, I find there is method in his madness.
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