by Agatha Christie
My personal preference is that if Poirot is going to be solving a mystery, he ought to be there all along instead of waltzing in at the last minute when everyone is bamboozled and tying it all in a neat bow. But this is a late-entry-for-Poirot mystery, entangling gems, espionage, the headmistress position in a prestigious girls’ school, kidnapping, a foreign princess, tennis, and, of course, murder.
The story is good, but the ending a bit weak. The conclusion comes almost literally out of no where, almost as bad as just saying, “Oh, actually it was the butcher who was barely mentioned on page 56.” Ah well.