Three blind mice. Three blind mice.
See how they run. See how they run.
They all ran after the farmer’s wife,
Who cut off their tails with a carving knife,
Did you ever see such a sight in your life,
As three blind mice?
Sweet children's ditty, eh?
I'd not been a particular fan of Christie stories, and thus basically didn't read most of the Poirot story collections when I was reading all of her books in recent years, but rereading the title story here almost made me want to reverse course and reread every story she ever wrote. Almost. That story is wonderfully entertaining, and became the basis for the longest-running play of all time, The Mousetrap (about which I would like to take the opportunity to inform you, mid-sentence, that I played Christopher Wren in a production once upon a time, wearing multiple colorful cravats simultaneously and bouncing all over the stage with quirky energy, takes belated bow).
I said "almost," in that the rest of the stories--four of them featuring Miss Marple, three featuring Hercules Poirot and one Harley Quin!--are just okay, compared to the rest of her work. Good, but not great. I listened to them, some read by great readers such as David Suchet and Joan Hickson, so that bumps the whole thing up to at least 3.5 stars.
One thing I like about Dame Agatha that I saw in these stories and in my Miss Marple run here in 2020: Most (white) people in provincial British towns seem to worry that The Murderer is one or some of the following: 1) an outsider, foreigner, alien; 2) a person of color; 3) differently-abled, and/or 4) "mad," which is to say "normal" people don't commit crimes. And (spoiler alert), that murderer is almost never any of the above. I like her small, light contribution to tolerance.