Itinerant wanderer Anthony Cade is bored out of his mind leading tour groups of old biddies in South Africa when a chance encounter with an old friend leads him into a strange new adventure. Anthony is asked to deliver a juicy manuscript written by a former political leader from the made-up state of Herzoslovakia. He is also given a sheaf of letters written between a blackmailer and a young widow and tasked with returning them to her so she won’t worry that they’re still out their. Because this is an Agatha Christie novel, these two seemingly unrelated events of course turn out to be connected.
Times are tough in Herzoslovakia due to a recent spate of assassinations, and the British government is hoping to re-establish diplomatic relations and also secure favorable terms for oil contracts. Through backchannels a meeting is set up for a remote English country house known as Chimneys, with a weekend shooting party serving as cover. Guests will include the most likely claimant to the throne of Herzoslovakia, some British officials, an oil magnate, and some generic aristocrats to give the place atmosphere. Anthony Cade, having caught wind of the event and looking to recover the manuscript which was stolen from him shortly after arrival, arrives on the scene just in time to hear the shot that kills the prince.
As convoluted as all that sounds, Christie is just getting started. While the plot does zip along at a nice hum, eventually the reverses and twists become overwhelming and frankly ridiculous, culminating in an ending so preposterous it retroactively colors the entire book preceding it. There is also quite a bit of casual racism and anti-Semitism. To be sure, this is undoubtedly historically accurate, but it’s so extensive and unremarked upon that it drags down the story.
I’ve read somewhere in the neighborhood of 50 to 60 Agatha Christie novels, some of which are genuine classics, while others are quite unmemorable. The Secret of Chimneys might be the most memorably bad Christie novel I’ve read.