Peter Ustinov was good. Tony Randall was not bad. Kenneth Branagh is fine, too.
My Hercule Poirot is David Suchet.
BLURB: One morning at Styles Court, an Essex country manor, the elderly owner is found dead of strychnine poisoning. Arthur Hastings, a soldier staying there on sick leave from the Western Front, ventures out to the nearby village of Styles St. Mary to ask help from his friend Hercule Poirot, an eccentric Belgian inspector. Thus, in this classic whodunit, one of the most famous characters in detective fiction makes his debut on the world stage. With a half dozen suspects who all harbor secrets, it takes all of Poirot’s prodigious sleuthing skills to untangle the mystery—but not before the inquiry undergoes scores of spellbinding twists and surprises.
This is not the cover of my book
