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A middle-aged diplomat is accosted in an airport lounge and his identity stolen… Sir Stafford Nye’s journey home from Malaya to London takes an unexpected twist in the passenger lounge at Frankfurt – a young woman confides in him that someone is trying to kill her. Yet their paths are to cross again and again – and each time the mystery woman is introduced as a different person. Equally at home in any guise in any society she draws Sir Stafford into a game of political intrigue more dangerous than he could possibly imagine. In an arena where no-one can be sure of anyone, Nye must do battle with a well-armed, well-financed, well-trained – and invisible – enemy…
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This is one of the worst books I've ever read. Sorry, Agatha.
Dear fellow Christie fans,
You may think you need to read this one to complete the set, but you don't. You really don't. Please spare yourself the pain of struggling to follow this garbage and wondering the whole way through "How on earth did this come out of the same brain that gave us The Murder of Roger Ackroyd, And Then There Were None, and Curtain?"
Honestly, I'm willing to believe a conspiracy theory that posits another writer using Christie's name, and conspiracy theories would be on theme for this novel.
It was a bad book to begin with
and then it goes off the rails and is downright incomprehensible
and then I don't even know where it went, but I'm glad it ended.
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