I love an Agatha Christie, and prefer Poirot to some of her other self-proclaimed detectives, but Hercule isn’t at his best here, and neither is Christie. The story doesn’t do much in the way of building a setting that whispers of Hallowe’en, and apart from a party with the veil of a Hallowe’en theme that sets the stage, you don’t even feel the crisp cold air of the shortening days of the end of October anywhere in this story. 

 

A bit of a yucky murder involving a child, and a Hercule ‘procedural’ that unravels more of the backstories of other murders and sticky adult relationships along the way until more present havoc ensues, and then at the despicable climax, Hercule discovers the linchpin that explains the current crime and solves a bunch of tepid cases along the way. 

 

Short enough it doesn’t drag, with plot-serving dialogue and characters that seem familiar but lack flair, and entertaining enough to pass the time, but I’d recommend 40 other Hercule Poirot novels before I’d suggest this one.