The trouble with re-reading these after a period of decades is that I am never sure if I am cleverly working out bits of the solution or just remembering them.

This was ingenious, and I enjoyed the Poirot/Hastings dynamic, but none of the other characters really appealed. ( )

Poirot gently uncrossed his knees, withdrew his gaze from the ceiling, and looked the young man full in the face. “My name is Hercule Poirot,” he said quietly, “and I am probably the greatest detective in the world.

Christie, Agatha. The Mystery of the Blue Train: Hercule Poirot Investigates (Hercule Poirot series Book 6) (p. 149). William Morrow Paperbacks. Kindle Edition.

I love Hercule Poirot. It's hard not to. Not only is he a fantastic detective he's a total character. In Peril at End House, Poirot and Hastings are on holiday when they come across a woman who has been shot at and upon further investigation; the target of a number of murder attempts. Unfortunately it's kind of hard to insist there's danger when the person has never heard of you.

‘I am Hercule Poirot.’
‘Oh!’ said Nick, in rather a flat tone. ‘Oh, yes.’
‘You know my name, eh?’
‘Oh, yes.’ She wriggled uncomfortably. A hunted look came into her eyes. Poirot observed her keenly. ‘You are not at ease. That means, I suppose, that you have not read my books.’
‘Well—no—not all of them. But I know the name, of course.’
‘Mademoiselle, you are a polite little liar.’ (I started, remembering the words spoken at the Majestic Hotel that day after lunch.) ‘I forget—you are only a child—you would not have heard. So quickly does fame pass. My friend there—he will tell you.’
Nick looked at me. I cleared my throat, somewhat embarrassed. ‘Monsieur Poirot is—er—was—a great detective,’ I explained.
‘Ah! my friend,’ cried Poirot. ‘Is that all you can find to say? Mais dis donc! Say then to Mademoiselle that I am a detective unique, unsurpassed, the greatest that ever lived!’
‘That is now unnecessary,’ I said coldly. ‘You have told her yourself.’
‘Ah, yes, but it is more agreeable to have been able to preserve the modesty. One should not sing one’s own praises.’
‘One should not keep a dog and have to bark oneself,’ agreed Nick, with mock sympathy. ‘Who is the dog, by the way? Dr Watson, I presume.’
‘My name is Hastings,’ I said coldly.
‘Battle of—1066,’ said Nick. ‘Who said I wasn’t educated?

Ouch. What a burn. I'd say poor Hastings but I've never really liked him all that much. I was disappointed to find him return in this book but at least he provides good comic relief. I do enjoy Hastings being mocked.

I didn't really like the characters in this but the mystery was interesting. I totally thought I had it figured out - but I would be wrong. Man, I really didn't see that coming. I thought for sure Nick was engaged to Michael Sefton and the murder attempts were because he inherited money. I was busy congratulating myself. I really don't want to say I resembled Hastings - but I resembled Hastings in my praise of how great I was. Talk about being taken down a peg when I realised I was wrong. So so wrong. Although there's some consolation that Hastings was also wrong. And is always wrong.

Commander Challenger—’
‘He’s all right,’ I put in quickly. ‘I’m sure of that. A real pukka sahib.’
‘Doubtless he has been to what you consider the right school. Happily, being a foreigner, I am free from these prejudices, and can make investigations unhampered by them. But I will admit that I find it hard to connect Commander Challenger with the case. In fact, I do not see that he can be connected.’
‘Of course he can’t,’ I said warmly.
Poirot looked at me meditatively. ‘You have an extraordinary effect on me, Hastings. You have so strongly the flair in the wrong direction that I am almost tempted to go by it! You are that wholly admirable type of man, honest, credulous, honourable, who is invariably taken in by any scoundrel. You are the type of man who invests in doubtful oil fields, and non-existent gold mines. From hundreds like you, the swindler makes his daily bread. Ah, well—I shall study this Commander Challenger. You have awakened my doubts.’
‘My dear Poirot,’ I cried, angrily. ‘You are perfectly absurd. A man who has knocked about the world like I have—’
‘Never learns,’ said Poirot, sadly. ‘It is amazing—but there it is.’

Christie, Agatha. Peril at End House (Poirot) (Hercule Poirot Series) (pp. 46-47). HarperCollins Publishers. Kindle Edition.

It was pretty funny to find out Poirot was right. Hastings was so shocked.

‘It’s going to be a very unpleasant business,’ he said, quietly. ‘I must see about some kind of defence for her, I suppose.’
‘There will be no need, I think,’ said Poirot, gently. ‘Not if I am correct in my assumptions.’ He turned suddenly on Challenger. ‘That’s where you put the stuff, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘In those wrist-watches.’
‘I—I—’ The sailor stammered—at a loss.
‘Do not try and deceive me—with your hearty good-fellow manner. It has deceived Hastings—but it does not deceive me. You make a good thing out of it, do you not—the traffic in drugs—you and your uncle in Harley Street.’
‘M. Poirot.’ Challenger rose to his feet.
My little friend blinked up at him placidly. ‘You are the useful “boy friend”. Deny it, if you like. But I advise you, if you do not want the facts put in the hands of the police—to go.’
And to my utter amazement, Challenger did go. He went from the room like a flash.
I stared after him open-mouthed. Poirot laughed. ‘I told you so, mon ami. Your instincts are always wrong. C’est épatant!’

Christie, Agatha. Peril at End House (Poirot) (Hercule Poirot Series) (pp. 236-237). HarperCollins Publishers. Kindle Edition.

I think the only thing I liked better was the reason why Lazarus wanted to buy the painting.

‘I ask your pardon, but, of all my questions, there is one still unanswered. Tell me, why did you offer fifty pounds for that picture? It would give me much pleasure to know—so as, you comprehend, to leave nothing unanswered.’
Lazarus looked at him with an impassive face for a minute or two. Then he smiled. ‘You see, M. Poirot,’ he said. ‘I am a dealer.’
‘Exactly.’
‘That picture is not worth a penny more than twenty pounds. I knew that if I offered Nick fifty, she would immediately suspect it was worth more and would get it valued elsewhere. Then she would find that I had offered her far more than it was worth. The next time I offered to buy a picture she would not have got it valued.’
‘Yes, and then?’
‘The picture on the far wall is worth at least five thousand pounds,’ said Lazarus drily.
‘Ah!’ Poirot drew a long breath. ‘Now I know everything,’ he said happily.

Christie, Agatha. Peril at End House (Poirot) (Hercule Poirot Series) (pp. 238-239). HarperCollins Publishers. Kindle Edition.

I liked that all the questions were wrapped up by the end - even if I guessed wrong on all accounts. And it was funny. 3.5 stars. ( )

4/13/22

A veey nice case, with a comprehensive conclusion. Listing to a Miss Marple and Hercule Poirot book right after each other underlined the stark contrast in how they navigated the world to solve a case, and how the world sees them. It is both interesting and frustrating somehow. ( )

I like Christie's other famous work better (Death on Niles, Roger Ackroyd, Orient Express, Mrs. McGinty's Dead, A Murder Is Announced, Body in the Library), but this one is not bad. The first half is okay. I enjoyed the suspense until we got to the last 1/6 of the book, when all the answers rolled out quickly without too much time to digest. A lot of the important characters broke character at the end of the book, and that basically indicated the narrator Hastings (and the reader, by association) are bad at observing people, and that didn't feel too good as a reading experience. And I still feel there are loose ends unexplained, or explained in a forced manner. ( )