Agatha Christie - Poirot's Early Cases

Mistress Mary, quite contrary, How does your garden grow?

With cockle-shells, and silver bells, And pretty maids all in a row.

Only they are not cockle shells, are they, madame? They are oyster shells.' His hand pointed.

He heard her catch her breath and then stay very still. Her eyes asked a question.

He nodded. 'Mais, oui, I know! The maid left the dinner ready - she will swear and Katrina will swear that that is all you had.

Only you and your husband know that you brought back a dozen and a half oysters - a little treat pour la bonne tante. So easy to put the strychnine in an oyster. It is swallowed - cornme fa! But there remain the shells - they must not go in the bucket. The maid would see them. And so you thought of making an edging of them to a bed. But there were not enough - the edging is not complete. The effect is bad - it spoils the symmetry of the other244

wise charming garden. Those few oyster shells struck an alien note - they displeased my eye on my first visit.' Mary Delafontaine said, 'I suppose you guessed from the letter. I knew she had written - but I didn't know how much she'd said.' Poirot answered evasively, 'I knew at least that it was a family matter. If it had been a question of Katrina there would have been no point in hushing things up. I understand that you or your husband handled Miss Barrowby's securities to your own profit, and that she found out - ' Mary Delafontaine nodded. 'We've done it for years - a little here and there. I never realized she was sharp enough to find out.

And then I learned she had sent for a detective; and I found out, too, that she was leaving her money to Katrina - that miserable little creature!' 'And so the strychnine was put in Katrina's bedroom? I comprehend.

You save yourself and your husband from what I may discover, and you saddle an innocent child with murder. Had you no pity, madame?' Mary Delafontaine shrugged her shoulders - her blue forget-me°not eyes looked into Poirot's. He remembered the perfection of her acting the first day he had come and the bungling attempts of her husband. A woman above the average - but inhuman.

She said, 'Pity? For that miserable intriguing little rat?' Her contempt rang out.

Hercule Poirot said slowly, 'I think, madame, that you have cared in your life for two things only. One is your husband.' He saw her lips tremble.

'And the other - is your garden.' He looked round him. His glance seemed to apologize to the flowers for that which he had done and was about to do.

POSTERN OF FATE university and she's gone off now to Africa to do research on how people live - that' sort of thing. A lot of young people are very keen on that. She's a darling - and very happy.'

Mr Robinson cleared his throat and rose to his feet. 'I want to propose a toast. To Mr and Mrs Thomas Beresford in acknowledgement of the service they have rendered to their country.' It was drunk enthusiastically. 'And if I may, I will propose a further toast,' said Mr Robinson. 'To Hannibal.'

'There, Hannibal,' said Tuppence, stroking his head. 'You've had your health drunk. Almost as good as being knighted or having a medal. I was reading Stanley Weyman's Count Hannibal only the other day.'

'Read it as a boy, I remember,' said Mr Robinson. ' "Who touches my brother touches Tavanne," if I've got it right. Pikeaway, don't you think? Hannibal, may I be permitted to tap you on the shoulder?'

Hannibal took a step towards him, received a tap on the shoulder and gently wagged his tail.

'I hereby create you a Count of this Realm.'

'Count Hannibal. Isn't that lovely?' said Tuppence. 'What a proud dog you ought to be!'