The Big Four

Well, it's no wonder. The plot-suspicion for an elderly woman's murder falls on her mysterious lodger-is from Agatha Christie. The wonderful character happens to be the world's most famous sleuth, Hercule Poirot.

When the luxurious Blue Train arrives at Nice, a guard attempts to wake serene Ruth Kettering from her slumbers. But she will never wake again -- for a heavy blow has killed her, disfiguring her features almost recognition. What is more, her precious rubies are missing.

The prime suspect is Ruth's estranged husband, Derek. Yet Poirot is not convinced, so he stages and eerie re-enactment of the journey, complete with the murderer on board.

An urgent cry for help brings Poirot to France. But he arrives too late to save his client, whose brutally stabbed body now lies face downwards in a shallow grave on a golf course.

But why is the dead man wearing his son's overcoat? And who was the impassioned love-letter in the pocket for? Before Poirot can answer these questions, the case is turned upside down by the discovery of a second, identically murdered corpse . . .

Mr. Shaitana was famous as a flamboyant party host, but he was a man of whome everybody was a little afraid. So, when he boasted to Hercule Poirot that he considered murder and art form, the detective had some reservations about accepting a party invitation to view Shaitana's private collection. Indeed, what began as an absorbing evening of bridge was to turn into a more dangerous game altogether ...

Miss Emily was old, rich, and afraid—and now, she's dead. Her terrified plea to Hercule Poirot came a little too late. All that's left is a house full of greedy heirs, and a very strange letter that could solve the mystery—or add to it.

From seat No. 9, Hercule Poirot is almost ideally placed to observe his fellow air travelers on this short flight from Paris to London. Over to his right sits a pretty young woman, clearly infatuated with the man opposite. Ahead, in seat No. 13, is the Countess of Horbury, horribly addicted to cocaine and not doing too good a job of concealing it. Across the gangway in seat No. 8, a writer of detective fiction is being troubled by an aggressive wasp. Yes, Poirot is almost ideally placed to take it all in—except that the passenger in the seat directly behind him has slumped over in the course of the flight . . . dead. Murdered. By someone in Poirot's immediate proximity. And Poirot himself must number among the suspects.

Nurse Amy Leatheran had never felt the lure of the 'mysterious East,' but she nonetheless accepts an assignment at Hassanieh, an ancient site deep in the Iraqi desert, to care for the wife of a celebrated archaeologist. Mrs Leidner is suffering bizarre visions and nervous terror. 'I'm afraid of being killed!' she admits to her nurse. Her terror, unfortunately, is anything but unfounded, and Nurse Leatheran is soon enough without a patient. The world's greatest detective happens to be in the vicinity, however: having concluded an assignment in Syria, and curious about the dig at Hassanieh, Hercule Poirot arrives in time to lead a murder investigation that will tax even his remarkable powers -- and in a part of the world that has seen more than its share of misadventure and foul play.

First there was the mystery of the film star and the diamond . . . then came the 'suicide' that was murder . . . the mystery of the absurdly chaep flat . . . a suspicious death in a locked gun-room . . . a million dollar bond robbery . . . the curse of a pharoah's tomb . . . a jewel robbery by the sea . . . the abduction of a Prime Minister . . . the disappearance of a banker . . . a phone call from a dying man . . . and, finally, the mystery of the missing will.

What links these fascinating cases? Only the brilliant deductive powers of Hercule Poirot!

Beautiful Caroline Crale was convicted of poisoning her husband, yet there were five other suspects: Philip Blake (the stockbroker) who went to market; Meredith Blake (the amateur herbalist) who stayed at home; Elsa Greer (the three-time divorcee) who had roast beef; Cecilia Williams (the devoted governess) who had none; and Angela Warren (the disfigured sister) who cried 'wee wee wee' all the way home.

It is sixteen years later, but Hercule Poirot just can't get that nursery rhyme out of his mind…