Appointment with Death (17 page)

Extract from the
Evening Shout:

On a warm June evening five years later Sarah Boynton and her husband sat in the stalls of a London theatre. The play was
Hamlet
. Sarah gripped Raymond's arm as Ophelia's words came floating over the footlights:

A lump rose in Sarah's throat. That exquisite witless beauty, that lovely unearthly smile of one gone beyond trouble and grief to a region where only a floating mirage was truth…

Sarah said to herself: ‘She's lovely…'

That haunting, lilting voice, always beautiful in tone, but now disciplined and modulated to be the perfect instrument.

Sarah said with decision as the curtain fell at the end of the act: ‘Jinny's a great actress—a great—great actress!'

Later they sat round a supper-table at the Savoy. Ginevra, smiling, remote, turned to the bearded man by her side.

‘I was good, wasn't I, Theodore?'

‘You were wonderful,
chérie
.'

A happy smile floated on her lips.

She murmured: ‘
You
always believed in me—you always knew I could do great things—sway multitudes…'

At a table not far away the Hamlet of the evening was saying gloomily:

‘Her mannerisms! Of course people like it just
at first
—but what I say is, it's not
Shakespeare
. Did you see how she ruined my exit?'

Nadine, sitting opposite Ginevra, said: ‘How exciting it is to be here in London with Jinny acting Ophelia and being so famous!'

Ginevra said softly: ‘It was nice of you to come over.'

‘A regular family party,' said Nadine, smiling as she looked round. Then she said to Lennox: ‘I think the children might go to the matinée, don't you? They're quite old enough, and they
do
so want to see Aunt Jinny on the stage!'

Lennox, a sane, happy-looking Lennox with humorous eyes, lifted his glass.

‘To the newly-weds, Mr and Mrs Cope.'

Jefferson Cope and Carol acknowledged the toast.

‘The unfaithful swain!' said Carol, laughing. ‘Jeff, you'd better drink to your first love as she's sitting right opposite you.'

Raymond said gaily: ‘Jeff's blushing. He doesn't like being reminded of the old days.'

His face clouded suddenly.

Sarah touched his hand with hers, and the cloud lifted. He looked at her and grinned.

‘Seems just like a bad dream!'

A dapper figure stopped by their table. Hercule Poirot, faultlessly and beautifully apparelled, his moustaches proudly twisted, bowed regally.

‘Mademoiselle,' he said to Ginevra, ‘
mes hommages
. You were superb!'

They greeted him affectionately, made a place for him beside Sarah.

He beamed round on them all and when they were all talking he leaned a little sideways and said softly to Sarah:

‘
Eh bien
, it seems that all marches well now with
la famille Boynton
!'

‘Thanks to
you
!' said Sarah.

‘He becomes very eminent, your husband. I read today an excellent review of his last book.'

‘It's really rather good—although I say it! Did you know that Carol and Jefferson Cope had made a match of it at last? And Lennox and Nadine have got two of the nicest children—cute, Raymond calls them. As for Jinny—well, I rather think Jinny's a genius.'

She looked across the table at the lovely face and the red-gold crown of hair, and then she gave a tiny start.

For a moment her face was grave. She raised her glass slowly to her lips.

‘You drink a toast, madame?' asked Poirot.

Sarah said slowly:

‘I thought—suddenly—of Her. Looking at Jinny, I saw—for the first time—the likeness. The same thing—only Jinny is in light—where She was in darkness…'

And from opposite, Ginevra said unexpectedly:

‘Poor Mother…She was
queer
…Now—that we're all so happy—I feel kind of sorry for her. She didn't get what she wanted out of life. It must have been tough for her.'

Almost without a pause, her voice quivered softly into the lines from
Cymbeline
while the others listened spell-bound to the music of them:

The Poirots

Essay by Charles Osborne

Captain Arthur Hastings, invalided in the Great War, is recuperating as a guest of John Cavendish at Styles Court, the ‘country-place' of John's autocratic old aunt, Emily Inglethorpe—she of a sizeable fortune, and so recently remarried to a man twenty years her junior. When Emily's sudden heart attack is found to be attributable to strychnine, Hastings recruits an old friend, now retired, to aid in the local investigation. With impeccable timing, Hercule Poirot, the renowned Belgian detective, makes his dramatic entrance into the pages of crime literature.

Of note: Written in 1916,
The Mysterious Affair at Styles
was Agatha Christie's first published work. Six houses rejected the novel before it was finally published—after puzzling over it for eighteen months before deciding to go ahead—by The Bodley Head.

• Times Literary Supplement
  : ‘Almost too ingenious…very clearly and brightly told.'
  

“For God's sake, come!” But by the time Hercule Poirot can respond to Monsieur Renauld's plea, the millionaire is already dead—stabbed in the back, and lying in a freshly dug grave on the golf course adjoining his estate. There is no lack of suspects: his wife, whose dagger did the deed; his embittered son; Renauld's mistress—and each feels deserving of the dead man's fortune. The police think they've found the culprit. Poirot has his doubts. And the discovery of a second, identically murdered corpse complicates matters considerably. (However, on a bright note, Captain Arthur Hastings
does
meet his future wife.)

• The New York Times
  : ‘A remarkably good detective story…warmly recommended.'
  
• Literary Review
  : ‘Really clever.'
  
• Sketch
  : ‘Agatha Christie never lets you down.'
  

A movie star, a diamond; a murderous ‘suicide'; a pharaoh's curse upon his tomb; a prime minister abducted…What links these fascinating cases? The brilliant deductive powers of Hercule Poirot in…‘The Adventure of the Western Star'; ‘The Tragedy at Marsdon Manor'; ‘The Adventure of the Cheap Flat'; ‘The Mystery of the Hunter's Lodge'; ‘The Million Dollar Bond Robbery'; ‘The Adventure of the
Egyptian Tomb'; ‘The Jewel Robbery at the Grand Metropolitan'; ‘The Kidnapped Prime Minister'; ‘The Disappearance of Mr. Davenheim'; ‘The Adventure of the Italian Nobleman'; ‘The Case of the Missing Will.'

Of note: The stories collected here were first published in
Sketch
, beginning on March 7, 1923.
Sketch
also featured the first illustration of the foppish, egg-headed, elaborately moustachioed Belgian detective.

• Literary Review
  : ‘A capital collection…ingeniously constructed and told with an engaging lightness of style.'
  
• Irish Times
  : ‘In straight detective fiction there is still no one to touch [Christie].'
  

In the quiet village of King's Abbot a widow's suicide has stirred suspicion—and dreadful gossip. There are rumours that she murdered her first husband, that she was being blackmailed, and that her secret lover was Roger Ackroyd. Then, on the verge of discovering the blackmailer's identity, Ackroyd himself is murdered. Hercule Poirot, who has settled in King's Abbot for some peace and quiet and a little gardening, finds himself at the centre of the case—and up against a diabolically clever and devious killer.

Of note:
The Murder of Roger Ackroyd
broke all the rules of detective fiction and made Agatha Christie a household name. Widely regarded as her masterpiece (though perhaps
it may be called her ‘Poirot masterpiece' since other titles in her canon—notably
And Then There Were None
—are similarly acclaimed),
The Murder of Roger Ackroyd
was the source of some controversy when it was published. The
Times Literary Supplement
's praise of the first Poirot,
The Mysterious Affair at Styles
, ‘almost too ingenious,' was applied by scores of readers to
Ackroyd
, who were nonetheless enraptured by the novel, and have remained so over the decades.

Fair warning:
There are two things you must do if you know nothing of the book: discuss it with no one, and read it with all speed.

• H.R.F. Keating: ‘One of the landmarks of detective literature' (in his
  Crime & Mystery: The 100 Best Books
  ).
  
• Julian Symons: ‘The most brilliant of deceptions' (in his
  Bloody Murder: From the Detective Story to the Crime Novel
  ).
  
• Irish Independent
  : ‘A classic—the book has worthily earned its fame.'
  

Hercule Poirot is preparing for a voyage to South America. Looming in the doorway of his bedroom is an uninvited guest, coated from head to foot in dust and mud. The man's gaunt face registers Poirot for a moment, and then he collapses. The stranger recovers long enough to identify Poirot
by name and madly and repeatedly scribble the figure ‘4' on a piece of paper. Poirot cancels his trip. An investigation is in order. Fortunately, Poirot has the faithful Captain Hastings at his side as he plunges into a conspiracy of international scope—one that would consolidate power in the deadly cabal known as ‘The Big Four.'

Le Train Bleu is an elegant, leisurely means of travel, and one certainly free of intrigue. Hercule Poirot is aboard, bound for the Riviera. And so is Ruth Kettering, the American heiress. Bailing out of a doomed marriage, she is en route to reconcile with her former lover. But her private affairs are made quite public when she is found murdered in her luxury compartment—bludgeoned almost beyond recognition. Fans of the later novel
Murder on the Orient Express
will not want to miss
this
journey by rail—and Poirot's eerie reenactment of the crime…

Sir Claud Amory's formula for a powerful new explosive has been stolen, presumably by a member of his large household. Sir Claud assembles his suspects in the library and locks the door, instructing them that the when the lights go out, the formula must be replaced on the table—and no questions will be asked. But when the lights come on, Sir Claud is dead. Now Hercule Poirot, assisted by Captain Hastings and Inspector Japp, must unravel a tangle of family feuds, old flames, and suspicious foreigners to find the killer and prevent a global catastrophe.

Of note:
Black Coffee
was Agatha Christie's first playscript, written in 1929. It premiered in 1930 at the Embassy Theatre in Swiss Cottage, London, before transferring the following year to St Martin's in the West End—a theatre made famous by virtue of its becoming the permanent home of the longest-running play in history, Agatha Christie's
The Mousetrap
. Agatha Christie's biographer, Charles Osborne, who, as a young actor in 1956 had played Dr Carelli in a Tunbridge Wells production of
Black Coffee
, adapted the play as this novel in 1998.

• Antonia Fraser,
  Sunday Telegraph
  : ‘A lively and light-hearted read which will give pleasure to all those who have long wished that there was just one more Christie to devour.'
  
• Mathew Prichard, from his Foreword to
  Black Coffee
  : ‘This Hercule Poirot murder mystery…reads like authentic, vintage Christie. I feel sure Agatha would be proud to have written it.'
  

Nick is an unusual name for a pretty young woman. And Nick Buckley has been leading an unusual life of late. First, on a treacherous Cornish hillside, the brakes on her car fail. Then, on a coastal path, a falling boulder misses her by inches. Safe in bed, she is almost crushed by a painting. Upon discovering a bullet hole in Nick's sun hat, Hercule Poirot (who had come to Cornwall for a simple holiday with his
friend Captain Hastings) decides that the girl needs his protection. At the same time, he begins to unravel the mystery of a murder that hasn't been committed. Yet.

• Times Literary Supplement
  : ‘Ingenious.'
  

Poirot was present when the beautiful actress Jane Wilkinson bragged of her plan to ‘get rid of' her estranged husband. Now the monstrous man is dead. But how could Jane have stabbed Lord Edgware in his library at exactly the time she was dining with friends? And what could have been her motive, since Edgware had finally granted her a divorce? The great Belgian detective, aided by Captain Hastings, can't help feeling that some kind of heinous stagecraft is in play. And does more murder wait in the wings?

• The New York Times
  : ‘A most ingenious crime puzzle.'
  
• Times Literary Supplement
  : ‘The whole case is a triumph of Poirot's special qualities.'
  
• Noted crime fiction critic Julian Symons selected
  Lord Edgware Dies
  as one of Agatha Christie's best.
  

Just after midnight, a snowstorm stops the Orient Express dead in its tracks in the middle of Yugoslavia. The luxurious train is surprisingly full for this time of year. But by morning there is one passenger less. A ‘respectable American gentleman'
lies dead in his compartment, stabbed a dozen times, his door locked from the inside…Hercule Poirot is also aboard, having arrived in the nick of time to claim a second-class compartment—and the most astounding case of his illustrious career.

Regarding chronology: Agatha Christie seems not much concerned in the course of her books with their relationship to each other. It is why the Marples and the Poirots may be ready in any order, really, with pleasure. However, the dedicated Poirotist may wish to note that the great detective is returning from ‘A little affair in Syria' at the start of
Murder on the Orient Express
. It is a piece of business after this ‘little affair'—the investigation into the death of an archaeologist's wife—that is the subject of
Murder in Mesopotamia
(1936). If one wishes to delay a tad longer the pleasures of
Orient Express
,
Murder in Mesopotamia
offers no better opportunity.

Fair warning:
Along these lines, it is advisable that one
not
read
Cards on the Table
(1936) prior to
Orient Express
, since Poirot
himself
casually gives away the ending to the latter novel.

Of note:
Murder on the Orient Express
is one of Agatha Christie's most famous novels, owing no doubt to a combination of its romantic setting and the ingeniousness of its plot; its non-exploitative reference to the sensational kidnapping and murder of the infant son of Charles and Anne Morrow Lindbergh only two years prior; and a popular 1974
film adaptation, starring Albert Finney as Poirot—one of the few cinematic versions of a Christie work that met with the approval, however mild, of the author herself.

• Dorothy L. Sayers,
  Sunday Times
  : ‘A murder mystery conceived and carried out on the finest classical lines.'
  
• Saturday Review of Literature
  : ‘Hard to surpass.'
  
• Times Literary Supplement
  : ‘Need it be said—the little grey cells solve once more the seemingly insoluble. Mrs Christie makes an improbable tale very real, and keeps her readers enthralled and guessing to the end.'