They say of me: "That is Hercule Poirot!—The great—the unique!—There was never any one like him, there never will be!" Eh bien—I am satisfied. I ask no more. I am modest.
This book gave me a great satisfaction because, I think for the first time since I met Agatha Christie, I understood practically everything (guilty, motive and implementation) and even before Poirot did it! So Peril at End House left me really satisfied! :) But for this reason I can't understand if it was really a brilliant and surprising plot, as usually in Christie's works. However, it was a light and engaging reading, something that with Aunt Agatha is always a guarantee! Therefore, in any case, fully promoted!
No seaside town in the south of England is, I think, as attractive as St Loo. It is well named the Queen of Watering Places and reminds one forcibly of the Riviera.
Relations are too devastating as a rule. They fuss and interfere. It's much more fun to be on one's own.
Poirot: Such a jealousy as drove the Iago of your great Shakespeare to one of the cleverest crimes (speaking from the professional point of view) that has ever been committed.
Hastings: Why was it so clever?
Poirot: Parbleu—because he got others to execute it.
No ordinary person could have prevented it—but of what good is to be Hercule Poirot with grey cells of a finer quality than other people's, if you do not manage to do what ordinary people cannot?
I reflected that Poirot's abasement was strangely like other people's conceit, but I prudently forebore from making any remark.