Hercule Poirot finds it disagreeable to have to take his aperitif outside on a wind-swept autumn day. He dislikes even more the staged drama of a young man lying artistically at the pool's edge, the middle-aged woman with a revolver, and the red paint dripping into the water. This was not the entertainment for lunch at an English country house...especially when the careful display was ruined. Poirot was looking at a man who, if not dead, was at least dying... -back cover.