A publishing date of 1936 makes for vintage Christie whatever the content, although this one is slightly atypical. Indeed, Poirot catches a serial killer of sorts. (Funny how those seem to have grown a lot more common since the 1980s?)
I personally prefer Christie to deal with murders in St Mary Mead (home of miss Marple) or any isolated manor in the English countryside, but apart from the setting this was as charming as you could possibly wish for.
Horrible cover, though!