Hallowe'en Party (Hercule Poirot, #41)

by Agatha Christie

“A very unsuitable place for a murder,” he said, as they walked down the path to the gate. “No atmosphere, no haunting sense of tragedy, no character worth murdering, though I couldn’t help thinking that just occasionally someone might feel like murdering Mrs. Drake.”

There was only one thing about his own appearance which really pleased Hercule Poirot, and that was the profusion of his moustaches, and the way they responded to grooming and treatment and trimming. They were magnificent. He knew of nobody else who had any moustache half as good.