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    Murder in the Mews: Four Cases of Hercule Poirot: The Official Authorized Edition
    Murder in the Mews: Four Cases of Hercule Poirot: The Official Authorized Edition
    Murder in the Mews: Four Cases of Hercule Poirot: The Official Authorized Edition
    Ebook307 pages4 hours

    Murder in the Mews: Four Cases of Hercule Poirot: The Official Authorized Edition

    By Agatha Christie

    3.5/5

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    About this ebook

    In the title work in this collection of novellas, Poirot and Inspector Japp collaborate on the investigation of a suspicious suicide. The supernatural is said to play in the disappearance of top secret military plans in The Incredible Theft -- an incredible claim, indeed, as Poirot will prove. The bullet that kills Gervase Chevenix-Gore shatters a mirror in Dead Man's Mirror -- just the clue Poirot needs to solve the crime. And, while basking on white Mediterranean sands, Poirot stares trouble in the face -- the beautiful face of Valentine Chantry, now celebrating her fifth marriage -- in Triangle at Rhodes.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherHarperCollins
    Release dateMar 17, 2009
    ISBN9780061763366
    Author

    Agatha Christie

    Agatha Christie (1890–1976) is listed in the Guinness Book of World Records as the bestselling novelist of all time. The first recipient of the Mystery Writers of America’s Grand Master Award, she published eighty mystery novels and many short story collections and created such iconic fictional detectives as Hercule Poirot, Miss Jane Marple, and Tommy and Tuppence Beresford. She is known around the world as the Queen of Crime.

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    Reviews for Murder in the Mews

    3.5/5

    445 ratings13 reviews

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    • 4/5
      Murder in the MewsThis novella gives the collection it's name.The investigation of suspicious suicide that begins with Hercule Poirot and his friend Inspector Japp from Scotland Yard walking home on Guy Fawkes Night after meeting for dinner. They speculate that all the noise of firecrackers could disguise the report of a gun, and that a murder could easily go undetected.Next morning a young lady is found dead in her flat, shot, apparently suicide. Japp invites Poirot to join him on the investigation.The Incredible TheftThe disappearance of top secret military plans.A honey trap to ensnare an espionage agent who is a house guest apparently backfires when plans disappear from a study moments before top level discussions of them are to take place. Hercule Poirot is brought in to investigate before the news leaks out.Dead Man's MirrorThe bullet that kills Gervase Chevenix-Gore shatters a mirror.Hercule Poirot receives an urgent summons from "the last baronet", Gervase Chevenix-Gore and catches up with his old friend Mr Satterthwaite to learn what he can about the baronet. He learns that Chevenix-Gore is extremely wealthy, very arrogant, very eccentric and the last of his line.When Hercule Poirot arrives for dinner and Sir Gervase does not appear when the dinner gong is sounded, he realizes he is already too late. Sir Gervase is dead.It looks like suicide but the shattered mirror points in another direction.Triangle at RhodesHercule Poirot is sitting on the beach watching the byplay between the sunbathers.mValentine Chantry, recently married for the fifth time, flirts with a new arrival, Douglas Gold, while sending her own husband off on petty tasks. As his holiday progresses, Poirot finds what is happening rather distressing.When Valentine Chantry dies his interpretation of the crime show that others have seen what they wanted to see, not the way he saw it.-------------I suspected I had already read these novellas, perhaps not as this collection, and perhaps seen a television version of at least one of them. They all show how acutely Hercule Poirot observes others, and how he often interprets things very differently.
    • 3/5


      I found the stories to be odd and can not say I really liked any except the 3rd story.

      1. Murder in the Mews: Poirot joins Inspector Japp at the scene of a murder, posed to look as a suicide. Mrs Allen shot herself during a fireworks display and was found the following morning by her roommate, Miss Plenderlieth, in her bedroom behind a locked door.

      It seems as though Mrs Allen had a visitor of dubious reputation and was being blackmailed by the man who was seen at the scene of the crime during the fireworks display.


      2. The Incredible Theft: A house party is underway with a large variety of guests including: Lord Charles (the engineer of a new bomber), his secretary, an MP (Sir George Carrington), his wife, his son, & the dubious Mrs. Macatta (a suspected spy).

      After dinner Lord Charles & sir George stroll the grounds and then go into the study where the secretary has laid out the plans for the bomber, only to find the plans stolen.

      Who stole the plans out from plain sight?


      3. Dead Man's Mirror: Sir Gervase Chevenix-Gore having written to M. Poirot, imploring him to come help him before it is too late is found dead in his study prior to dinner. It appears to be suicide, with the bullet hitting the mirror as the main clue. Everyone heard the shot, but no one recognized it for what it was.

      The family all had reasons for wanting Sir Gervase dead, he was a controlling despot more concerned with pride of family name than care of his family and his family resented his control of them.

      Of all the stories this is the one I liked.... I liked the characters, the plot, the twists, & the romances.


      4. Triangle at Rhodes: While on holiday during the off season M. Poirot an overtly observed love triangle turned deadly. However the victim was not who the other guests supposed it would be.

      The sleight of hand, an unobserved triangle, and "wrong" victim are all sorted out by M. Poirot.

      This was my least favorite of all. I didn't like the characters, the story was not involved enough and it left me wanting.....
    • 4/5
      This collection of four not quite so short stories is great as each story has a twist in the tale. Even so Poirot solves each puzzle. The collection is also interesting as there are hints of plots to come in later novels.
    • 4/5
      I didn't expect this, the next in my chronological read of Christie's Hercule Poirot series, to be a collection of short stories but there you are. The title refers only to the first story, where a young widow is found dead of apparent suicide in a locked room but suspicion quickly mounts that her death was murder. The ending has the characteristic Christie twist that makes her mysteries a delight to read. The second story, The Incredible Theft, features no murder at all, but rather the mysterious theft of a set of top-secret military plans from a government minister's home. This wasn't quite a locked-room mystery but nearly so. Poirot has the key, as always.Dead Man's Mirror is another locked-room apparent suicide that turns out to be murder. Christie plays with fire by including two such similar puzzles in the same collection but manages to come up with two very different solutions without breaking a sweat.And finally, Triangle in Rhodes finds Poirot on holiday, where the sun is hot and the tourist ménage à trois even hotter. Once again, though, all is not what it seems to the mere bystander, and it is up to Poirot to clear things up.
    • 3/5
      The four stories in "Murder in the Mews" all work as puzzles, and – at a length hovering somewhere between short story and novel – manage to incorporate enough shades of character without ever tapping the well dry.

      There’s nothing groundbreaking here, no, but as an example of “classic era” Christie, "Murder in the Mews" is not too shabby. The title story is perhaps the most engaging, with a murder plot that will keep you guessing. "The Incredible Theft" and "Triangle at Rhodes" are more opaque mysteries, focussing as much on character and ambience, which makes for a surprisingly good read. "Dead Man’s Mirror" – a retelling of an earlier Poirot short story, "The Submarine Plans" (which, poor thing, is now erased from most Poirot collections due to redundancy) – is my least favourite, failing to engage me for unknown reasons. However it is the most typically ‘Christie’ of the bunch – with a country house full of eccentrics – and there are some lovely pseudo-supernatural touches in for good measure.

      Poirot ranking: 29th out of 38.
    • 4/5
      This was a collection of three short stories starring Hercule Poirot. Of course, they were mysteries that only Poirot could solve with twists and turns. In one story, only Poirot realized who the real victim was. Classic stories and mysteries--a story of blackmail, a story about a love triangle, and a story of political intrigue.
    • 3/5
      A collection of four short stories featuring Poirot. The title story concerns an arrogant Lord who summons Poirot to his manor to discuss fraud, but the detective finds himself investigating a locked room murder instead. This is the only Christie I've read so far where the answers seemed so glaringly obvious.This book also goes by the title of Murder in the Mews, which is the best story in the collection. A young woman with a good life commits suicide, or maybe someone has made it look like suicide. Poirot is assisted by Inspector Japp and the woman's roommate.
    • 4/5
      A nice little collection featuring four mysteries involving Hercule Poirot, with Agatha Christie displaying her skill with the short story. My favourite was the locked-room murder mystery 'Dead Man's Mirror', where Poirot dazzles the reader with his ability to deduct a sequence of events and pinpoint the perpetrator from the seemingly most random and unconnected statements and objects.In particular, the stories are:Murder in the Mews: The morning after bonfire night a woman is found dead in her apartment. At first things point to suicide, but on closer inspection doubts are beginning to emerge. Inspector Japp asks his old friend Hercule Poirot to become involved in the investigation.The Incredible Theft: At a gathering at a country mansion, the plans for a top-secret bomber are stolen. One of the house guests suggests calling in Hercule Poirot to investigate the matter and restore the plans before they fall into the hands of a foreign power.Dead Man's Mirror: A peer of the realm is found shot to death at his country mansion, having apparently committed suicide. Unbeknown to the hostess, secretary and guests, he had contacted Poirot and asked him to investigate in a delicate matter, but when Poirot arrives, the host is already dead. Poirot then assists Major Riddle in the investigation.Triangle at Rhodes: While holidaying on Rhodes, Hercule Poirot tries to prevent a murder.
    • 4/5
      The audio version I listened to contains three Poirot stories: “Murder in the Mews”, “Triangle at Rhodes”, and “The Incredible Theft”. In the first story, Poirot assists Chief Inspector Japp of Scotland Yard in the investigation of a suspicious death. Coincidentally, just the evening before, the two men had walked together through the quiet street where the death occurred. In “Triangle at Rhodes”, a vacationing Poirot solves the murder of a fellow tourist. There's no death in the final story. Instead, Poirot investigates the mysterious disappearance of top secret plans for a bomber.“Murder in the Mews” is the most original of the three stories. The other two stories remind me of some of her other works, and seemed vaguely familiar to me as I listened. The three stories are a fairly representative sample of Christie's work, and it might be a nice introduction to Christie for readers who don't want to commit to a full length novel.
    • 3/5
      I was rather surprised, if not disappointed, to learn only after I started reading Murder in the Mews, that this book in the Poirot series in fact consists out of four totally independent stories. Even for Agatha Christie I would say that four mysteries in less than 350 pages is a bit of a stretch.

      All four of them were - of course - very nice and again unique examples of Christies' endless wittiness, but I would rather have enjoyed them wrapped in longer stories.
    • 4/5
      This was a collection of four short stories featuring Poirot. The first two were excellent, the third so-so, and the fourth dreadful.
    • 3/5
      This book is actually a novella and three short stories, rather than a continuous book. At least one of the short stories bears a strong resemblance to a novel length mystery, so close it was likely either abridged (with changes) from the novel, or formed the base kernel for the novel. The work is standard Agatha Christie, with anachronistic language and familiar character types. It was a quick read, and as usual, fun without being a lot of work. The culprits were reasonably easy to spot in all the stories.
    • 4/5
      Murder in the Mews is the sixteenth book in the Hercule Poirot series - but is pretty misleading considering it's simply a short story collection. Having purchased the Complete Short Stories, I was annoyed to find this wasn't a full Hercule Poirot book like I thought and contained four stories I already had. If I had of known then what I know now and all that jazz.For a short story collection I found this to be pretty strong, with three of the four stories being rated 4 stars. Murder in the Mews, The Incredible Theft and the Dead Man's Mirror all featuring clever plots with well planned solutions to the crimes. The fourth entry, Triangle at Rhodes, is what lets the collection down. It was bizarre and I didn't really like it much at all. Still three out of four is pretty good for a short story collection and still leaves the entire book with an average rating of 3.5 stars. Individual reviews and ratings below.16.1 MURDER IN THE MEWS: Poirot and Japp team up once again, when their dinner out speculating on why no one commits more murders on Guy Fawkes day results in a dead body and a shot no one heard fired. I enjoyed this one. I like Japp and I love him and Poirot teaming up. Japp ribs him something fierce and it's hilarious. “So that’s what you were getting at!” Japp sighed. “Always have to get at things in such a tortuous way.”Christie, Agatha. Hercule Poirot: The Complete Short Stories (Hercule Poirot Mysteries) (p. 597). HarperCollins. Kindle Edition. Poor Japp. I like Japp better than Hastings too. He's much smarter for one. Even when he's not entirely sure where Poirot is going with things, he is usually aware something is going on. 4 stars.16.2 THE INCREDIBLE THEFT: Important plans are stolen when a prominent political figure throws a party. I liked this one. Once again I guessed parts and completely missed others but I enjoyed it all the same. 4 stars.16.3 DEAD MAN'S MIRROR: Poirot is sent a letter by Sir Gervase Chevenix-Gore requesting his presence to investigate a matter of fraud, but when Poirot arrives, the man is found to have committed suicide. I really liked this one. Mr Satterthwaite (from the Harley Quin series) also makes a brief appearance, giving Poirot his impressions of Sir Gervase. And Major Riddle, the police detective assigned was fantastic. I mean he was no Poirot but I was amused by his conclusions; “Well,” said Riddle, “everything seems quite clear and aboveboard. Door locked, window fastened, key of door in dead man’s pocket. Everything according to Cocker—but for one circumstance.” “And what is that, my friend?” inquired Poirot. “You!” said Riddle bluntly. “What are you doing down here?”Christie, Agatha. Hercule Poirot: The Complete Short Stories (Hercule Poirot Mysteries) (p. 457). William Morrow Paperbacks. Kindle Edition.The crime was very clever and I enjoyed the motives. 4 stars.16.4 TRIANGLE AT RHODES: On holiday at Rhodes, Poirot comes across a love triangle that ends in murder. Well I only guessed half the crime. As in that Chantry killed his wife. Not that he had an accomplice. Honestly, I didn't really get this one. It was strange. 2 stars.

    Book preview

    Murder in the Mews - Agatha Christie

    MURDER IN THE MEWS

    One

    I

    Penny for the guy, sir?

    A small boy with a grimy face grinned ingratiatingly.

    Certainly not! said Chief Inspector Japp. And, look here, my lad—

    A short homily followed. The dismayed urchin beat a precipitate retreat, remarking briefly and succinctly to his youthful friends:

    Blimey, if it ain’t a cop all togged up!

    The band took to its heels, chanting the incantation:

    Remember, remember

    The fifth of November

    Gunpowder treason and plot.

    We see no reason

    Why gunpowder treason

    Should ever be forgot.

    The chief inspector’s companion, a small, elderly man with an egg-shaped head and large, military-looking moustaches, was smiling to himself.

    "Très bien, Japp, he observed. You preach the sermon very well! I congratulate you!"

    Rank excuse for begging, that’s what Guy Fawkes’ Day is! said Japp.

    An interesting survival, mused Hercule Poirot. The fireworks go up—crack—crack—long after the man they commemorate and his deed are forgotten.

    The Scotland Yard man agreed.

    Don’t suppose many of those kids really know who Guy Fawkes was.

    "And soon, doubtless, there will be confusion of thought. Is it in honour or in execration that on the fifth of November the feu d’artifice are sent up? To blow up an English Parliament, was it a sin or a noble deed?"

    Japp chuckled.

    Some people would say undoubtedly the latter.

    Turning off the main road, the two men passed into the comparative quiet of a mews. They had been dining together and were now taking a short cut to Hercule Poirot’s flat.

    As they walked along the sound of squibs was still heard periodically. An occasional shower of golden rain illuminated the sky.

    Good night for a murder, remarked Japp with professional interest. Nobody would hear a shot, for instance, on a night like this.

    It has always seemed odd to me that more criminals do not take advantage of the fact, said Hercule Poirot.

    "Do you know, Poirot, I almost wish sometimes that you would commit a murder."

    Mon cher!

    Yes, I’d like to see just how you’d set about it.

    "My dear Japp, if I committed a murder you would not have the least chance of seeing—how I set about it! You would not even be aware, probably, that a murder had been committed."

    Japp laughed good-humouredly and affectionately.

    Cocky little devil, aren’t you? he said indulgently.

    II

    At half past eleven the following morning, Hercule Poirot’s telephone rang.

    ’Allo? ’Allo?

    Hallo, that you, Poirot?

    Oui, c’est moi.

    Japp speaking here. Remember we came home last night through Bardsley Gardens Mews?

    Yes?

    And that we talked about how easy it would be to shoot a person with all those squibs and crackers and the rest of it going off?

    Certainly.

    Well, there was a suicide in that mews. No. 14. A young widow—Mrs. Allen. I’m going round there now. Like to come?

    Excuse me, but does someone of your eminence, my dear friend, usually get sent to a case of suicide?

    Sharp fellow. No—he doesn’t. As a matter of fact our doctor seems to think there’s something funny about this. Will you come? I kind of feel you ought to be in on it.

    Certainly I will come. No. 14, you say?

    That’s right.

    III

    Poirot arrived at No. 14 Bardsley Gardens Mews almost at the same moment as a car drew up containing Japp and three other men.

    No. 14 was clearly marked out as the centre of interest. A big circle of people, chauffeurs, their wives, errand boys, loafers, well-dressed passersby and innumerable children were drawn up all staring at No. 14 with open mouths and a fascinated stare.

    A police constable in uniform stood on the step and did his best to keep back the curious. Alert-looking young men with cameras were busy and surged forward as Japp alighted.

    Nothing for you now, said Japp, brushing them aside. He nodded to Poirot. So here you are. Let’s get inside.

    They passed in quickly, the door shut behind them and they found themselves squeezed together at the foot of a ladderlike flight of stairs.

    A man came to the top of the staircase, recognized Japp and said:

    Up here, sir.

    Japp and Poirot mounted the stairs.

    The man at the stairhead opened a door on the left and they found themselves in a small bedroom.

    Thought you’d like me to run over the chief points, sir.

    Quite right, Jameson, said Japp. What about it?

    Divisional Inspector Jameson took up the tale.

    Deceased’s a Mrs. Allen, sir. Lived here with a friend—a Miss Plenderleith. Miss Plenderleith was away staying in the country and returned this morning. She let herself in with her key, was surprised to find no one about. A woman usually comes in at nine o’clock to do for them. She went upstairs first into her own room (that’s this room) then across the landing to her friend’s room. Door was locked on the inside. She rattled the handle, knocked and called, but couldn’t get any answer. In the end getting alarmed she rang up the police station. That was at ten forty-five. We came along at once and forced the door open. Mrs. Allen was lying in a heap on the ground shot through the head. There was an automatic in her hand—a Webley .25—and it looked a clear case of suicide.

    Where is Miss Plenderleith now?

    She’s downstairs in the sitting room, sir. A very cool, efficient young lady, I should say. Got a head on her.

    I’ll talk to her presently. I’d better see Brett now.

    Accompanied by Poirot he crossed the landing and entered the opposite room. A tall, elderly man looked up and nodded.

    Hallo, Japp, glad you’ve got here. Funny business, this.

    Japp advanced towards him. Hercule Poirot sent a quick searching glance round the room.

    It was much larger than the room they had just quitted. It had a built-out bay window, and whereas the other room had been a bedroom pure and simple, this was emphatically a bedroom disguised as a sitting room.

    The walls were silver and the ceiling emerald green. There were curtains of a modernistic pattern in silver and green. There was a divan covered with a shimmering emerald green silk quilt and numbers of gold and silver cushions. There was a tall antique walnut bureau, a walnut tallboy, and several modern chairs of gleaming chromium. On a low glass table there was a big ashtray full of cigarette stubs.

    Delicately Hercule Poirot sniffed the air. Then he joined Japp where the latter stood looking down at the body.

    In a heap on the floor, lying as she had fallen from one of the chromium chairs, was the body of a young woman of perhaps twenty-seven. She had fair hair and delicate features. There was very little makeup on the face. It was a pretty, wistful, perhaps slightly stupid face. On the left side of the head was a mass of congealed blood. The fingers of the right hand were clasped round a small pistol. The woman was dressed in a simple frock of dark green high to the neck.

    Well, Brett, what’s the trouble?

    Japp was looking down also at the huddled figure.

    Position’s all right, said the doctor. If she shot herself she’d probably have slipped from the chair into just that position. The door was locked and the window was fastened on the inside.

    That’s all right, you say. Then what’s wrong?

    Take a look at the pistol. I haven’t handled it—waiting for the fingerprint men. But you can see quite well what I mean.

    Together Poirot and Japp knelt down and examined the pistol closely.

    I see what you mean, said Japp rising. "It’s in the curve of her hand. It looks as though she’s holding it—but as a matter of fact she isn’t holding it. Anything else?"

    "Plenty. She’s got the pistol in her right hand. Now take a look at the wound. The pistol was held close to the head just above the left ear—the left ear, mark you."

    H’m, said Japp. That does seem to settle it. She couldn’t hold a pistol and fire it in that position with her right hand?

    Plumb impossible, I should say. You might get your arm round but I doubt if you could fire the shot.

    That seems pretty obvious then. Someone else shot her and tried to make it look like suicide. What about the locked door and window, though?

    Inspector Jameson answered this.

    "Window was closed and bolted, sir, but although the door was locked we haven’t been able to find the key."

    Japp nodded.

    Yes, that was a bad break. Whoever did it locked the door when he left and hoped the absence of the key wouldn’t be noticed.

    Poirot murmured:

    C’est bête, ça!

    Oh, come now, Poirot, old man, you mustn’t judge everybody else by the light of your shining intellect! As a matter of fact that’s the sort of little detail that’s quite apt to be overlooked. Door’s locked. People break in. Woman found dead—pistol in her hand—clear case of suicide—she locked herself in to do it. They don’t go hunting about for keys. As a matter of fact, Miss Plenderleith’s sending for the police was lucky. She might have got one or two of the chauffeurs to come and burst in the door—and then the key question would have been overlooked altogether.

    Yes, I suppose that is true, said Hercule Poirot. It would have been many people’s natural reaction. The police, they are the last resource, are they not?

    He was still staring down at the body.

    Anything strike you? Japp asked.

    The question was careless but his eyes were keen and attentive.

    Hercule Poirot shook his head slowly.

    I was looking at her wristwatch.

    He bent over and just touched it with a fingertip. It was a dainty jewelled affair on a black moiré strap on the wrist of the hand that held the pistol.

    Rather a swell piece that, observed Japp. Must have cost money! He cocked his head inquiringly at Poirot. Something in that maybe?

    It is possible—yes.

    Poirot strayed across to the writing bureau. It was the kind that has a front flap that lets down. This was daintily set out to match the general colour scheme.

    There was a somewhat massive silver inkstand in the centre, in front of it a handsome green lacquer blotter. To the left of the blotter was an emerald glass pen tray containing a silver penholder—a stick of green sealing wax, a pencil and two stamps. On the right of the blotter was a movable calendar giving the day of the week, date and month. There was also a little glass jar of shot and standing in it a flamboyant green quill pen. Poirot seemed interested in the pen. He took it out and looked at it but the quill was innocent of ink. It was clearly a decoration—nothing more. The silver pen-holder with the ink-stained nib was the one in use. His eyes strayed to the calendar.

    Tuesday, November fifth, said Japp. Yesterday. That’s all correct.

    He turned to Brett.

    How long has she been dead?

    She was killed at eleven thirty-three yesterday evening, said Brett promptly.

    Then he grinned as he saw Japp’s surprised face.

    Sorry, old boy, he said. Had to do the super doctor of fiction! As a matter of fact eleven is about as near as I can put it—with a margin of about an hour either way.

    Oh, I thought the wristwatch might have stopped—or something.

    It’s stopped all right, but it’s stopped at a quarter past four.

    And I suppose she couldn’t have been killed possibly at a quarter past four.

    You can put that right out of your mind.

    Poirot had turned back the cover of the blotter.

    Good idea, said Japp. But no luck.

    The blotter showed an innocent white sheet of blotting paper. Poirot turned over the leaves but they were all the same.

    He turned his attention to the wastepaper basket.

    It contained two or three torn-up letters and circulars. They were only torn once and were easily reconstructed. An appeal for money from some society for assisting ex-servicemen, an invitation to a cocktail party on November 3rd, an appointment with a dressmaker. The circulars were an announcement of a furrier’s sale and a catalogue from a department store.

    Nothing there, said Japp.

    No, it is odd . . . said Poirot.

    You mean they usually leave a letter when it’s suicide?

    Exactly.

    "In fact, one more proof that it isn’t suicide."

    He moved away.

    I’ll have my men get to work now. We’d better go down and interview this Miss Plenderleith. Coming, Poirot?

    Poirot still seemed fascinated by the writing bureau and its appointments.

    He left the room, but at the door his eyes went back once more to the flaunting emerald quill pen.

    Two

    At the foot of the narrow flight of stairs a door gave admission to a large-sized living room—actually the converted stable. In this room, the walls of which were finished in a roughened plaster effect and on which hung etchings and woodcuts, two people were sitting.

    One, in a chair near the fireplace, her hand stretched out to the blaze, was a dark efficient-looking young woman of twenty-seven or eight. The other, an elderly woman of ample proportions who carried a string bag, was panting and talking when the two men entered the room.

    —and as I said, Miss, such a turn it gave me I nearly dropped down where I stood. And to think that this morning of all mornings—

    The other cut her short.

    That will do, Mrs. Pierce. These gentlemen are police officers, I think.

    Miss Plenderleith? asked Japp, advancing.

    The girl nodded.

    That is my name. This is Mrs. Pierce who comes in to work for us every day.

    The irrepressible Mrs. Pierce broke out again.

    And as I was saying to Miss Plenderleith, to think that this morning of all mornings, my sister’s Louisa Maud should have been took with a fit and me the only one handy and as I say flesh and blood is flesh and blood, and I didn’t think Mrs. Allen would mind, though I never likes to disappoint my ladies—

    Japp broke in with some dexterity.

    Quite so, Mrs. Pierce. Now perhaps you would take Inspector Jameson into the kitchen and give him a brief statement.

    Having then got rid of the voluble Mrs. Pierce, who departed with Jameson talking thirteen to the dozen, Japp turned his attention once more to the girl.

    I am Chief Inspector Japp. Now, Miss Plenderleith, I should like to know all you can tell me about this business.

    Certainly. Where shall I begin?

    Her self-possession was admirable. There were no signs of grief or shock save for an almost unnatural rigidity of manner.

    You arrived this morning at what time?

    I think it was just before half past ten. Mrs. Pierce, the old liar, wasn’t here, I found—

    Is that a frequent occurrence?

    Jane Plenderleith shrugged her shoulders.

    About twice a week she turns up at twelve—or not at all. She’s supposed to come at nine. Actually, as I say, twice a week she either ‘comes over queer,’ or else some member of her family is overtaken by sickness. All these daily women are like that—fail you now and again. She’s not bad as they go.

    You’ve had her long?

    Just over a month. Our last one pinched things.

    Please go on, Miss Plenderleith.

    I paid off the taxi, carried in my suitcase, looked round for Mrs. P., couldn’t see her and went upstairs to my room. I tidied up a bit then I went across to Barbara—Mrs. Allen—and found the door locked. I rattled the handle and knocked but could get no reply. I came downstairs and rang up the police station.

    Pardon! Poirot interposed a quick, deft question. It did not occur to you to try and break down the door—with the help of one of the chauffeurs in the mews, say?

    Her eyes turned to him—cool, grey-green eyes. Her glance seemed to sweep over him quickly and appraisingly.

    No, I don’t think I thought of that. If anything was wrong, it seemed to me that the police were the people to send for.

    "Then you thought—pardon, mademoiselle—that there was something wrong?"

    Naturally.

    Because you could not get a reply to your knocks? But possibly your friend might have taken a sleeping draught or something of that kind—

    She didn’t take sleeping draughts.

    The reply came sharply.

    Or she might have gone away and locked her door before going?

    Why should she lock it? In any case she would have left a note for me.

    And she did not—leave a note for you? You are quite sure of that?

    Of course I am sure of it. I should have seen it at once.

    The sharpness of her tone was accentuated.

    Japp said:

    You didn’t try and look through the keyhole, Miss Plenderleith?

    No, said Jane Plenderleith thoughtfully. I never thought of that. But I couldn’t have seen anything, could I? Because the key would have been in it?

    Her inquiring gaze, innocent, wide-eyed, met Japp’s. Poirot smiled suddenly to himself.

    You did quite right, of course, Miss Plenderleith, said Japp. I suppose you’d no reason to believe that your friend was likely to commit suicide?

    Oh, no.

    She hadn’t seemed worried—or distressed in any way?

    There was a pause—an appreciable pause before the girl answered.

    No.

    Did you know she had a pistol?

    Jane Plenderleith nodded.

    Yes, she had it out in India. She always kept it in a drawer in her room.

    H’m. Got a licence for it?

    I imagine so. I don’t know for certain.

    Now, Miss Plenderleith, will you tell me all you can about Mrs. Allen, how long you’ve known her, where her relations are—everything in fact.

    Jane Plenderleith nodded.

    I’ve known Barbara about five years. I met her first travelling abroad—in Egypt to be exact. She was on her way home from India. I’d been at the British School in Athens for a bit and was having a few weeks in Egypt before going home. We were on a Nile cruise together. We made friends, decided we liked each other. I was looking at the time for someone to share a flat or a tiny house with me. Barbara was alone in the world. We thought we’d get on well together.

    And you did get on well together? asked Poirot.

    Very well. We each had our own friends—Barbara was more social in her likings—my friends were more of the artistic kind. It probably worked better that way.

    Poirot nodded. Japp went on:

    What do you know about Mrs. Allen’s family and her life before she met you?

    Jane Plenderleith shrugged her shoulders.

    Not very much really. Her maiden name was Armitage, I believe.

    Her husband?

    "I don’t fancy that he was anything to write home about. He drank, I think. I gather he

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