Well, damn. My wish for murder victim hasn't materialised and Alec Legge is still around somewhere in this story.
However, I have enjoyed Poirot's stroll through the fete:
Poirot emerged from the tent and was immediately challenged by a determined woman and made to pay sixpence and guess the weight of a cake.
A hoop-la stall presided over by a fat motherly woman urged him to try his luck and, much to his discomfiture, he immediately won a large Kewpie doll. Walking sheepishly along with this he encountered Michael Weyman who was standing gloomily on the outskirts near the top of a path that led down to the quay.