While looking for a missing golf ball, Bobby Jones finds a dying man that has apparently fallen over a steep cliff. The man’s last words, “Why didn’t they ask Evans?”, appear to make no sense. Bobby’s friend, Lady Frances Derwent, is intrigued by the mystery, and together they set out to solve it.
Usually I’m a huge fan of Agatha Christie, but this one is more or less a disappointment. Frankie and Bobby are the most incompetent amateur sleuths one can imagine, and Bobby especially is almost unbearably clueless. Their main suspect is dismissed much too quickly, and they instead suspect innocent people without any kind of substantial evidence. The plot is so convoluted that in the end, the perpetrator needs to explain in a very long letter what really happened, and the mystery of Evans is far-fetched and kind of silly on top of that. There is also a deus ex machina rescue where even after a lengthy explanation it makes no sense that the rescuer, a very minor character that apparently serves no other purpose, should have found Bobby and Frankie in time or even at all.
Nonetheless, Bobby and Frankie are really the book’s saving grace despite their ineptness as detectives and their naiveté. They are immensely likeable, and their dynamic is interesting. They are childhood friends, but Bobby is the fourth son of a vicar and aimlessly looking for an occupation, while Frankie is obviously rich and of noble birth. Apart from that, the book is quite humorous and lighthearted, which at least makes it a somewhat fun read, even when you are scratching your head half the time because of the absurdity of the plot. However, if you aren’t on a mission to read all of Agatha Christie’s books, then skip this one, and choose any of her other mysteries instead.