What a fun Hercule Poirot story this was!
From 1937, we have a “Victorian” lady who is being visited by younger relatives. They want her money, but she’s not going to give over easily, and her health is surprisingly robust as well. Do they all have the patience to wait for the inheritance?
There’s an unfortunate stairwell accident involving a dog and a ball, but was it an accident after all? She’s no longer sure, and decides to tell Poirot…
A small cast of characters, plus Poirot and Hastings, keep this novel tightly tied together. A few mad dashes to the countryside from London aside, the story unfolds as a series of genteel visits and conversations.
This has a lot of classic Christie elements, but I appreciate the twist of the dog being included in the story. Christie also very cleverly subverts some common assumptions we’re likely to make about people and their motives.
I can also sense the 1930s prejudicial thinking against “foreigners” being played upon.
One word: playful.
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