The flamboyant and faintly sinister Mr Shaitana boasts of a private collection unlike any other: not snuffboxes or porcelain, but people who have committed murder and escaped justice. To prove his point, he assembles a dinner party of eight guests. Four are sleuths of varying renown, including Hercule Poirot, Superintendent Battle, Colonel Race and the detective novelist Ariadne Oliver. The other four are men and women Shaitana believes have each gotten away with killing. After dinner, he sets the two halves of his table to a quiet evening of bridge in adjoining rooms, then settles into an armchair by the fire. By the time the final rubber is scored, the host sits dead, stabbed while his guests were absorbed in their cards. With no outsider able to have entered, the killer must be one of the four players in Shaitana's room. There is no fingerprint to chase, no overlooked footprint, no convenient alibi to crack. The case turns instead on character, habit and the small tells of how each suspect plays a hand. Poirot studies the bridge scores and questions the players about their style, convinced that a person's nature betrays them as surely as any physical trace. A purely psychological puzzle unfolds, with four detectives circling four suspects and only one truth between them.