(also published as Thirteen at Dinner)
Dear Agatha,
While I do love the idea of Thirteen at Dinner as a title because of that little discussion of superstition (which flew right over my head, by the way, until I finally looked it up on Google), how could this novel be called anything BUT Lord Edgware Dies after this hilarious comment by the nephew?
"And I went away without getting any (money). And that same evening - that very same evening - Lord Edgware dies. Good title, that, by the way. Lord Edgware Dies. Look well on a bookstall."
You're right, Gerald; it would. My word, Dame Agatha, that one made me laugh out loud. Like with this:
"Really, Poirot," I stammered. "I'm awfully glad. I suppose I've learnt a good deal from you one way or another --"
He shook his head.
"Mais non, ce ne'st pas ca. You have learnt nothing."
And this:
"Alas! not the cigarette ash - nor the footprint - nor a lady's glove - nor even a lingering perfume! Nothing that the detective of fiction so conveniently finds."
When a fictional character is referring to - and even criticizing - another fictional character, it blurs the lines of reality just a bit and always makes me chuckle.
But perhaps, among your good humor, you have sprinkled also a little wisdom from Monsieur Poirot:
"Do not antagonize your son! He is of an age to choose for himself. Because his choice is not your choice, do not assume that you must be right. If it is a misfortune, then accept misfortune. Be at hand to aid him when he needs aid. But do not turn him against you."
As always, Agatha, I loved this novel. I did not figure out the culprit until Poirot himself explained it. And I just flipped back to the first part of the story - it bears rereading after the novel is finished.
The memory of the public is short. Already the intense interest and excitement aroused by the murder of George Alfred St. Vincent Marsh, fourth Baron Edgware, is a thing of the past and forgotten... New sensations have taken its place.
My friend Hercule Poirot was never openly mentioned in connection with the case. This, I may say, was entirely in accordance with his own wishes. He did not choose to appear in it. The credit went elsewhere - and that is how he wished it to be. Moreover, from Poirot's own peculiar private point of view, the case was one of his failures. He always swears that it was the chance remark of a stranger in the street that put him on the right track.
However that may be, it was his genius that discovered the truth of the affair. but for Hercule Poirot I doubt if the crime would have been brought home to its perpetrator.
What a beautiful homage, Hastings. And Dame Agatha, thanks again for the fun.
b.
