I think every mystery story is a magic trick, with the author trying to put one over on us. The challenge is to try and catch their sleight of hand and guess how the trick is being done before the big reveal.

As with a magic act, one of the key tools is misdirection. And, again as with a magic act, the audience knows it’s being misdirected, just not how. So it’s all a dance of deception.

We’re back in a familiar setting here, with the regular gang of friends getting together to solve a mystery put to them by Sir Henry Clithering, ex-Commissioner of Scotland Yard. One thing that’s changed since the Tuesday Night Club started up, however, is that now everyone defers to Miss Marple and her method for coming to a solution. Which she employs again here by decoding some British gardening slang (which is itself a kind of misdirection). But Christie plays fair with the clue we get, even pointing it out, and if I’d put enough thought into it even I might have twigged to what was going on.

The thing is, when our Jane points out the clue you immediately have to wonder if she’s directing us to something important or if we’re being presented with a red herring. But seeing as it’s Miss Marple herself who draws it to our attention, you can probably take it to the bank. Where the misdirection comes in is when the killer attempts to put the police on a false trail. The killers in mystery novels are magicians too, and especially in Christie where they have a real thing for putting on a show, complete with costumes, disguises, and other props.

Marple index