Agatha Christie was in her early 70s when she wrote this novel and it may not be one of her best mysteries, but it was still quite enjoyable. She manages to give us both Hercule Poirot as co-investigator and Ariadne Oliver as an off screen presence, slipping in two known quantities. I enjoyed Poirot's review of detective literature. She also gives us Colin Lamb, who we are given to believe is a covert agent of some flavour, giving her the chance to play with a bit of a spy story in addition to the mystery. Having her cake and eating it too.
Having guessed the solution to the last Christie that I read, I approached this book with unaccustomed confidence. I should have known better! I got things one third right. I partly figured out what was up with Miss Pebmarsh, but I allowed my delight with that to distract me from other issues. As I was probably meant to, I suspect.
I continue to marvel at the economy of Christie's writing. She packs so much into so few pages. A short description distinguishes each character. Like her creation Jane Marple, she reveals her knowledge of people. Her characters are recognizable folk, many of whom I have met (with different names, of course). In those same pages, she manages three intertwined plotlines and wraps them up in the final paragraphs. Still the Queen of Crime.
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