Agatha Christie - The ABC Murders

Not from Captain Hastings’ Personal Narrative 2 Not from Captain Hastings’ Personal Narrative 3 Andover 4 Mrs Ascher 5 Mary Drower 6 The Scene of the Crime 7 Mr Partridge and Mr Riddell 8 The Second Letter 9 The Bexhill-on-Sea Murder 10 The Barnards 11 Megan Barnard 12 Donald Fraser 13 A Conference 14 The Third Letter 15 Sir Carmichael Clarke 16 Not from Captain Hastings’ Personal Narrative 17 Marking Time 18 Poirot Makes a Speech 19 By Way of Sweden 20 Lady Clarke 21 Description of a Murderer 22 Not from Captain Hastings’ Personal Narrative 23 September 11th. Doncaster 24 Not from Captain Hastings’ Personal Narrative 25 Not from Captain Hastings’ Personal Narrative 26 Not from Captain Hastings’ Personal Narrative 27 The Doncaster Murder 28 Not from Captain Hastings’ Personal Narrative 29 At Scotland Yard 30 Not from Captain Hastings’ Personal Narrative 31 Hercule Poirot Asks Questions 32 And Catch a Fox 33 Alexander Bonaparte Cust 34 Poirot Explains 35 Finale About Agatha Christie The Agatha Christie Collection About the Publisher Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес. Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.

Mr Alexander Bonaparte Cust rose from his seat and peered near-sightedly round the shabby bedroom. His back was stiff from sitting in a cramped position and as he stretched himself to his full height an onlooker would have realized that he was, in reality, quite a tall man. His stoop and his near-sighted peering gave a delusive impression.

Going to a well-worn overcoat hanging on the back of the door, he took from the pocket a packet of cheap cigarettes and some matches. He lit a cigarette and then returned to the table at which he had been sitting. He picked up a railway guide and consulted it, then he returned to the consideration of a typewritten list of names. With a pen, he made a tick against one of the first names on the list.

It was Thursday, June 20th.

I had been impressed at the time by Poirot’s forebodings about the anonymous letter he had received, but I must admit that the matter had passed from my mind when the 21st actually arrived and the first reminder of it came with a visit paid to my friend by Chief Inspector Japp of Scotland Yard. The CID inspector had been known to us for many years and he gave me a hearty welcome.

‘Well, I never,’ he exclaimed. ‘If it isn’t Captain Hastings back from the wilds of the what do you call it! Quite like old days seeing you here with Monsieur Poirot. You’re looking well, too. Just a little bit thin on top, eh? Well, that’s what we’re all coming to. I’m the same.’

I winced slightly. I was under the impression that owing to the careful way I brushed my hair across the top of my head the thinness referred to by Japp was quite unnoticeable. However, Japp had never been remarkable for tact where I was concerned, so I put a good face upon it and agreed that we were none of us getting any younger.

‘Except Monsieur Poirot here,’ said Japp. ‘Quite a good advertisement for a hair tonic, he’d be. Face fungus sprouting finer than ever. Coming out into the limelight, too, in his old age. Mixed up in all the celebrated cases of the day. Train mysteries, air mysteries, high society deaths—oh, he’s here, there and everywhere. Never been so celebrated as since he retired.’

‘I have already told Hastings that I am like the prima donna who makes always one more appearance,’ said Poirot, smiling.

‘I shouldn’t wonder if you ended by detecting your own death,’ said Japp, laughing heartily. ‘That’s an idea, that is. Ought to be put in a book.’

‘It will be Hastings who will have to do that,’ said Poirot, twinkling at me.

‘Ha ha! That would be a joke, that would,’ laughed Japp.

I failed to see why the idea was so extremely amusing, and in any case I thought the joke was in poor taste. Poirot, poor old chap, is getting on. Jokes about his approaching demise can hardly be agreeable to him.