Publisher's Summary
Sir Charles Cartwright should have known better than to allow 13 guests to sit down for dinner. For at the end of the evening one of them is dead - choked by a cocktail that contained no trace of poison.
Predictable, says Hercule Poirot, the great detective. But entirely unpredictable is that he can find absolutely no motive for murder...
©1934 Agatha Christie Limited (P)2002 HarperCollins Publishers Ltd
Go, Aggie! It isn't until the very end that you realize just how delightfully complicated this story is.
Charles was scumbag through and through. A sociopath and a psychopath -- manipulator of people and cold-blooded murderer -- responding to the whims of his gonads. Yes, yes, I am willing to find only the worst in Charles.
Not a fan of Egg. There was just something about her that bothered me (and her mother, too). Don't think I ever saw what she saw in him -- or why. She fell hook, line and sinker for his manipulating, his flattery and his fawning attention. She just never thought out what being married to a man thirty years her senior would mean 10, 20 years from now. Beautiful but not very perspicacious.
Satterthwaite was a dupe and Charles used him badly. Poor Satterthwaite.
Hastings was not missed; he had long since worn out his welcome in his role as unreliable narrator. His secret has been revealed so that by now the reader knows not to trust him. Yes, mystery novels are about deception and leading the reader astray but when you know who is doing the deceiving and how they always do it, it gets boring. No Hastings opens a whole new tool box -- and we have just gotten our first peek as to what is in it.
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