So this weekend I had a real craving for Christie, and remembering Oscar Wilde on Temptation, I yielded. After the Funeral is quite a good Christie I think. Published in 1953 – the funeral of the head of a wealthy family is going along smoothly when his younger sister bursts out with “He was murdered, wasn’t he?” No, no, of course, he wasn’t, everyone hushes her, but now there are doubts. These doubts become Doubts when the sister herself is murdered shortly afterward. It appears unrelated, and yet, too much of a coincidence. The lawyer Entwhistle starts to investigate and he hauls in his old ami, Poirot.
As so often happens, they all could have done it, and I couldn’t settle on anyone despite Dame Agatha even announcing which clues mattered. I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t become a private investigator. But then I doubt many real criminals have half the ingenuity of a Christie culprit. I will be sorry to run out of Christies. I’ve only got maybe 20 left.
1953 qualifies it as Golden Age for Bev’s bingo card. Poirot is a professional, so I’ll go with that.