Summary: Lady Angkatell, intrigued by the criminal mind, has invited Hercule Poirot to her estate for a weekend house party. The Belgian detective's arrival at the Hollow is met with an elaborate tableau staged for his amusement: a doctor lies in a puddle of red paint, his timid wife stands over his body with a gun while the other guests look suitably shocked. But this is no charade. The paint is blood and the corpse real!
MY THOUGHTS:
The murder scene beside the swimming pool appears so corny and elaborately staged, that at first Hercule Poirot assumes it's a welcome tableau in his honor, for his hosts know he's a detective. But the victim, Dr John Christow, is indeed dying. And John's slow-witted wife, Gerda, stands over him wielding a revolver. It would seem she's the victim of somebody's set-up.
At the outset of the long weekend, Lady Lucy Angkatell had been anxious lest their guests at the Hollow might clash. It turns out her fears were horribly justified. Lady Angkatell and Gerda Christow themselves are polar opposites, since Lucy's fertile mind skims quickly, while Gerda processes things slowly and deliberately.
Alas, nobody planned for three women who all adore John to be thrown together in one spot, and I'm no fan of any of them. Not the pathetic, slavishly devoted Gerda, whose name reminds me of indigestion. Nor the well-loved, diplomatic sculptor, Henrietta Sabernake, who treats Gerda with nauseating condescension all the while she's having an affair with John. (Christie has attempted to portray Henrietta as one of the more 'likeable' characters, and Poirot claims she has integrity, but I beg to differ! Anyone who bonks someone else's husband while behaving in the guise of her friend has serious moral blind spots.) And certainly not the overbearing Hollywood actress, Veronica Cray, a neighbor who shows up longing to resume her own relationship with John that ended fifteen years earlier.
But perhaps John has brought his fate upon himself, to some extent. He's a self-focused narcissist, same as Veronica, despite his valiant efforts to find a cure for (the fictional) Ridgeway disease.
Other relatives help thicken the plot. There's gentle, self-effacing Edward Angkatell; young David, a grouchy Uni student; and their cousin Midge, a working class girl whose exigent lifestyle the others can't understand.
It's not a bad Christie mystery, but not a stand-out for me, perhaps because I found too many characters irritating. Although I didn't anticipate the revelation of the murderer, it came as no real surprise. Yet having said that, I find it a stretch to believe that this person either would or could commit the crime.
Lady Angkatell's character is amusing. She's refreshingly eccentric, making very specific random guesses about people based purely on their appearances, which often turn out to be uncannily accurate. Her husband, Sir Henry, has learned not to brush off her weird insights.
Overall, this is not close to being a favorite, but I'm glad I've ticked another one off.
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