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    The Mysterious Mr. Quin: A Short Story Collection
    The Mysterious Mr. Quin: A Short Story Collection
    The Mysterious Mr. Quin: A Short Story Collection
    Ebook330 pages5 hours

    The Mysterious Mr. Quin: A Short Story Collection

    By Agatha Christie

    3.5/5

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    About this ebook

    The inimitable Agatha Christie intrigues, surprises, and delights with The Mysterious Mr. Quin—a riveting collection of short stories centered around the enigmatic Harley Quin, whose unpredictable comings and goings are usually a good indication that something is about to happen…and rarely for the best.

    It had been a typical New Year's Eve party. But as midnight approaches, Mr. Satterthwaite—a keen observer of human nature—senses that the real drama of the evening is yet to unfold. And so it proves when a mysterious stranger knocks on the door. Who is this Mr. Quin?

    Mr. Satterthwaite's new friend is an enigma. He seems to appear and disappear almost like a trick of the light. In fact, the only consistent thing about him is that his presence is always an omen—sometimes good, but sometimes deadly. . . .

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherHarperCollins
    Release dateFeb 10, 2010
    ISBN9780062007254
    The Mysterious Mr. Quin: A Short Story Collection
    Author

    Agatha Christie

    Agatha Christie is the most widely published author of all time, outsold only by the Bible and Shakespeare. Her books have sold more than a billion copies in English and another billion in a hundred foreign languages. She died in 1976, after a prolific career spanning six decades.

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    Reviews for The Mysterious Mr. Quin

    3.5/5

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    • 3/5
      I didn't enjoy those short stories as much as those of Ms Marples. Some were really weird and seemed to lack .. something.
    • 4/5
      What a pleasant change from Poirot & Miss Marple..... Although there wasn't as much sleuthing, but taking knowledge and putting it forward & assessing what the facts were.

      The two main characters are: Mr. Satterthwaite, a distinguished gentleman of short stature, well known in higher circles of society, discreet and in possession of great observational talents; and Mr. Harley Quin, an enigmatic tall dark man, who appears and disappears at the most opportune times.

      Mr. Satterthwaite and Mr. Quin play off of each other, the former with his critical thinking skills and the latter with his ability to bring forward the knowledge & facts Mr. Satterthwaite has laying dormant in his thoughts.

      There are 12 stories in this book, most all interesting, some easily solvable, some completely baffling:

      1: The Coming of Mr Quin: New Years' Eve, a suicide years ago, a Blonde who now has dark hair, an estranged married couple, a murder, and a brilliant deduction

      2: The Shadow on the Glass: a ghost of a Cavalier who appears in a window (no matter how many times it is replaced), a woman holding a gun w/ two dead people lying beside her, a jealous triangle, and a living ghost

      3: At the "Bells and Motley": a dark and stormy night (pun intended), a broken down car, crossword puzzles, French cat burglars, a dead husband but no body to be found

      4: The Sign in the Sky: An unhappy wife, a suspicious husband, a gun left behind, and a man wrongly accused of murder

      5: The Soul of the Croupier: Monte Carlo, a Countess, a young lover, a croupier's purposeful passing of winnings to the wrong person, a marriage torn asunder by vanity & greed

      6: The Man from the Sea: a closed up old house, a young man on the verge of suicide, a mysterious woman in seclusion, and a touching story of unrequited love & redemption

      7: The Voice in the Dark: a shipwreck that one sister survives the other does not, years of haunting voices, a spiritualist & a seance, and a sister returned from the dead

      8: The Face of Helen: a young woman, two suitors, a wedding gift of a radio & a lovely glass sculpture, and a man with a voice that can shatter glass

      9: The Dead Harlequin: a painting of a dead harlequin, a rug where no rug was before, a mysterious face in the window, and a strange suicide w/ the gunshot at an impossible angle

      10: The Bird with the Broken Wing: a country gathering, a very happy young woman who for some reason has hanged herself, an ukulele with a broken string, and spurned suitor

      11: The World's End: a group of people picnicking at "the World's End", a missing opal, a young man accused of theft, a large sum of money, and an "Indian Box" with a hidden compartment

      12: Harlequin's Lane: an odd man & wife, a lovers' lane ending @ a rubbish heap, the story of a lost ballerina, a visiting impresario, unrequited love, and death

      A very interesting set of stories, many revolving around love relationships...
    • 4/5
      An interesting use of the Harlequin legend. Christie always had a thing for Harlequin, and the character in many guises shows up in her work. In this case, the character is a nebulous entity who assists in solving mysteries. The stories vary from straight puzzle mysteries to romantic to supernatural.
    • 4/5
      Mr Quin, angel or demigod or hallucination? I like to think Mr Satterthwaite is imagining this figure, but the evidence suggests otherworldy. luckily, I'll never know for sure. Regardless, the stories are a great way to pass the time and relax at the end of the day.
    • 5/5
      I confess that this is a re-read of a compilation of short stories centered around two primary characters. Each short story is riveting. I won't say more because I don't want to spoil it for potential readers. I will say that they first appeared in 1930. In 2013, they are still compelling to read. You read one and you can't wait for the surprises in the next. I have read a good deal of Christie in the past (especially those with the little Belgian detective) and still find this 245 pages of short stories unique. I am glad to have read it again after a number of years. Enjoy!
    • 4/5
      Collection of stories featuring Mr. Satterthwaite and Mr. Quin. Mr. Quin is often present at (old) murderscenes. Every time he manages to inspire Mr. Satterthwaite to solve the mystery. The main setting is Great Britain, but Satterthwaite likes travelling.Ingenious series of stories. Highly entertaining. Favourites of Christie herself and you can see why. There may be a bit mystical stuff in, but that can't put a damper on these great stories.
    • 3/5
      "The Mysterious Mr. Quin" is one of the more unusual curiosities in Christie’s canon. In the early 1920s, as a good deal of Christie’s career was devoted to writing short stories – Poirot, Tommy and Tuppence, supernatural tales, etc. – for a variety of magazines, she experimented with two less generic detectives. The wry Mr. Satterthwaite stumbles across challenging mysteries in each story and – with the help of an enigmatic nomad named Harley Quin - solves them.

      These stories are some of the most bizarre in Christie’s canon. Rarely do the mysteries take on a standard ‘Holmes-and-Watson’ feel, instead Quin’s appearance often prefigures the mystery, and many of the stories are filled with cultural references and Satterthwaite’s observations of human nature, thoughts from the perspective of a man who has never quite lived the life he wished. Several of the stories are also remarkably atmospheric, much more so than the more overt ‘supernatural’ stories she developed for "The Hound of Death".

      Ultimately, I would argue that this is a somewhat flimsy collection. Some of the stories aren’t great, and generally the mysteries play second-fiddle to the atmosphere and character relationships (which, admittedly, work quite well). It’s interesting – given their unusual qualities, and the fact that Christie herself is known to have enjoyed them – that Quin and Satterthwaite never returned for further substantial pairings. (Two further Mr. Quin stories – unpublished in Christie’s lifetime – pop up in "Problem at Pollensa Bay", while Satterthwaite is back in the Poirot novel "Three Act Tragedy".) Perhaps – once she left short stories behind in the 1930s – Christie couldn’t see a way to make them work in the longer prose form.
    • 5/5
      THE MYSTERIOUS MR QUIN is a short story collection written by Agatha Christie and first published in the UK by William Collins & Sons 1930 and in the US later in the same year.It contains 12 short stories and introduces Mr Satterthwaite and the rather shadowy prsence of Mr Harley Quin.The titles are 1. The Coming of Mr. Quin 2. The Shadow on the Glass 3. At the "Bells and Motley" 4. The Sign in the Sky 5. The Soul of the Croupier 6. The Man from the Sea 7. The Voice in the Dark 8. The Face of Helen 9. The Dead Harlequin 10. The Bird with the Broken Wing 11. The World's End 12. Harlequin's LaneMr Quin first appears in the first story at a New Year's Eve party being attended by Mr Satterthwaite. He is described as "a little bent, dried-up man, with a peering face oddly elflike, and an intense and inordinate interest in other people's lives." It is after midnight and the conversation swings around to the former owner of the house who shot himself. There are three loud knocks on the front door and the door is opened to reveal a tall thin dark man dressed in motoring clothes. At first, to Mr Satterthwaite he momentairly appears to be dressed in every colour of the rainbow. The stranger's car has broken down and he introduces himself as Harley Quin. He says that he knew the former owner of the house, and joins in the conversation, assisting Mr Satterthwaite and the others in understanding his death.These 12 stories are lovely vignettes, deceptively short, the sort that make you read elements of them a second or a third time. Mr Quin makes an appearance in each one, at first to Mr Satterthwaite's surprise, and then he begins to look for him.Mr Quin often helps the observant Mr Satterthwaite see things in a totally different light. There is an element of the paranormal in the stories, and often a little romance, and yet at the same time they are believable, carefully crafted tales.The stories are generally set in the mid 1920s.I really enjoyed them.Mr Satterthwaite and Mr Quin also appear in two stories in the collection PROBLEM AT POLLENSA BAY published in 1991. One apparently was written even before THE MYSTERIOUS MR QUIN was published, but the other not until 1991.
    • 4/5
      This is a series of short stories in which an elderly and sometimes regret-filled Mr. Satterthwaite moves among his wealthy acquaintances to figure out various murders, save lives and generally ferret out their deepest thoughts. In what seems to be a case of mutual worldwide stalking, Mr. Satterthwaite runs into Mr. Quin like clockwork, and it's is the discussions between the two gentlemen that point the way to an answer.Though these stories usually run to about twenty pages each, they are satisfying. Characters are fleshed out enough to keep the readers attention, and Mr. Quin becomes more mysterious with each tale. I don't know if it's just me, but there were times when I could picture Satterthwaite as Poirot.
    • 5/5
      The best thing that Christie ever wrote.Mr. Satterthwaite is our guide into an upper class world of murder, deceit and property. An old man, he is Poirot without the little grey cells, or Miss Marple without the ability to apply his strong observational skills to problems, and is mostly content to be an observer of life rather than to take part in it.All this changes when the highly mysterious Mr. Harley Quin arrives on the scene. Odd and unusual, where he goes drama follows, leaving Mr. Satterthwaite anxious to see him again. Quin is one of the most successful modern trickster characters in that he has a darkness necessary to have the dangerous edge a 'good' trickster needs.The stories in this collection are not mysteries as such, although several do feature crimes that need to be solved. They are more like puzzles, whose pieces need Satterthwaite and Quin to find their place.Unlike a lot of Christie's short story collections, this does not tail off towards the end. Instead it builds and builds, with tension increasing with every page.A masterful work, with a cracking denoument, this is well worth reading.
    • 2/5
      Quasi-fantasy mystery short stores about Harley Quin, who seems in some way to be an agent for unsatisfied dead people, and the rather fussy old Mr. Satterthwaite, who appears elsewhere in Christie's writings.
    • 5/5
      Well that may just have been the best of Agatha Christie that I have read in my short life! I stayed up to finish it and write this review even though I'm dead tired and my eyes are falling out of my head.I am yet to meet an Agatha Christie book I didn't like (I hope the day never comes) but this collection of short stories starring the charming, lovable Mr. Satterthwaite and the strange relationship he holds with the elusive Mr. Quin has really stood out for me above most of the others that I've read. It may be because it was a book of short stories rather than a novel and so presented a different way of exploring the ever-changing cast of characters. Or maybe it simply is just the best of her writing.Mr. Quin was fascinating. At one point I almost convinced myself he was nothing but a figment of Mr. Satterthwaite's imagination until I remembered that he had spoken to and interacted with other characters. It was interesting that just the mere association of something with Mr. Quin brought out all of Mr. Satterthwaite's deducing abilities, that he really had just amassed from being an observer of the people he knew - and sometimes didn't know. But I guess that was the point. Just from 'knowing' Mr. Quin - that's implying that Mr. Quin really did exist, because I'm still doubtful - Mr. Satterthwaite found a way to participate in all the drama of life, to solve mysteries that had mystified others, right past wrongs and save the innocent accused from being condemned. However, I still feel like, particularly once I'd reached the end of 'Harlequin's Lane', that there was more to it and Dame Christie's genius has just gone straight over my head. I am not afraid to admit I'm wrestling with that last story.I was glad to read somewhere the both Mr. Quin and Mr. Satterthwaite make appearances in other Christie short stories/novels. I won't be forgetting them in a hurry!
    • 5/5
      According to me, this is one of the underrated gems of Agatha Christie, where she flirts with fantasy. Even though none of the stories except the last one (Harlequin's Lane) cross over into fantasy territory, they are always on the borderline. That Christie does this without straining our credibility speaks volumes for her mastery of the medium.

      Mr. Harley Quin is a thinly disguised Harlequin, transported into modern England. His specialty: he allows one to solve mysteries by stripping away the unnecessary details. He does this by asking one to imagine that the events happened in the remote past, to strangers: this removes the personal element from the equation and allows one to see clearer. Mr. Satterthwaite, an elderly bachelor who is interested in human beings and their affairs, is the usual beneficiary of Quin's method.

      Most of the mysteries in the volume are dark and brooding. The first story, The Coming of Mr. Quin, sets the tone for the whole book when Quin appears at the doorstep of the country house where Mr. Satterthwaite happens to be spending his New Year's Eve, as the first visitor of the year. As he steps across the threshold, a queer trick of the light appears to give the impression that the visitor is dressed in motley and is wearing a mask. Then Quin sets out to make his presence felt by enabling the house-guests to solve the mystery of a suicide that happened in that house a year ago! In the process, he helps two lovers reunite.

      This is Quin's trademark - love...and violent death. As Satterthwaite says, his friend seem to be interested in the welfare of lovers more than solving crimes. But in a Christie story, they often go hand in hand.

      This book is a personal favourite of mine, read over and over countless number of times; especially on wet June nights, in the cavernous rooms of my ancestral home in Kerala, as the monsoon rages outside. I half expect Quin to step over the threshold every time, saying: "Damnable weather outside. Can I wait inside till it clears?"
    • 5/5
      I have such a soft spot for this collection of short stories featuring a strange character called Mr Harley Quin who assists Mr Satterwaite in solving weird and wonderful mysteries. But there is a sting in the tail.
    • 4/5
      Strange book this one - not at all what you expect from Ms Christie.Twelve short stories - all featuring Mr Satterthwaite,; snob, elderly English Gentleman and knower of anyone who is 'Anyone': An observer of people - and friend to Mr Quin. The later character was apparently Ms Christie's favourite and originated in her book of poems, 'The Road of Dreams'.In the first story, The Coming of Mr Quin, we meet the pair - and they meet for the first time. It is a basic 'crime' with a wrongful suspicion hanging over the head of one of the characters - Slaterthwaite, with the prompting of Quin, resolves the situation through observation the clarity distance in time brings.And that is basically the model for the rest of the collection.Sometimes, as in the second story, The Shadow on the Glass, there is a good murder - and twisty end; sometimes there is only an echo of a crime and the story is more about resolution: The Soul of the Croupier, for example.I read them in short succession and found them to be a little too much - I think dipping in to one of the stories and having a break between might be a much better way of treating the material. Individual I found them to be well written and quite satisfying.Love features strong. I am tempted to suggest they are in fact love stories dressed up as something else.There is a mysticism and vaguely religious air to them - Mr Harley Quin, by the final chapter, has become less and less of human and more and more of a wish fulfilment. There is also a sting in the tail.I enjoyed them - and will return, but one at a time, with a healthy dose of murder and detectives in between each one.
    • 4/5
      Very entertaining - shame there weren't more with these two characters.
    • 5/5
      The Un-DetectiveWho is Mr. Harley Quin? Better yet, what is Mr. Harley Quin? Is he a spirit? Is he flesh-and-blood? Is he a personification of the subconscious? Is he a splinter of God Himself?The title of Agatha Christie's 1930 collection of short stories says it all: The Mysterious Mr. Quin. The fellow is a profound enigma. In her Autobiography, Agatha claims Harley Quin was one of her favorite creations, then goes on to describe him thusly:Mr. Quin was a figure who just entered into a story—a catalyst, no more—his mere presence affected human beings. There would be some little fact, some apparently irrelevant phrase, to point him out for what he was: a man shown in a harlequin-coloured light that fell on him through a glass window; a sudden appearance or disappearance. Always he stood for the same things: he was a friend of lovers, and connected with death.You never quite know when or how he's going to turn up. He may materialize at the edge of a cliff ("He might have sprung from the surrounding landscape") or in a previously-unoccupied train compartment ("Mr. Satterthwaite awoke from a doze to find a tall dark man sitting opposite to him in the railway carriage. He was not altogether surprised."). Yes, there's the obvious play on his name and Quin is often cast in the aura of a harlequin at some point in the stories. Here's a typical appearance, from "The Sign in the Sky":Still thoughtful, Mr. Satterthwaite turned into the Arlecchino and made for his favorite table in a recess in the far corner. Owing to the twilight before mentioned, it was not until he was quite close to it that he saw it was already occupied by a tall dark man who sat with his face in shadow, and with a play of color from a stained window turning his sober garb to a kind of riotous motley.He's a sort of un-detective who prompts others to solve crimes. His role as catalytic converter usually begins when he makes a random appearance in the life of Mr. Satterthwaite. And who, exactly, is Mr. Satterthwaite? Well, that question is much easier to answer.In his late 60s, he's a connoisseur of the arts (translation: "a culture snob"), an amateur photographer, and the author of a book called Homes of My Friends. He's fussy and cranky; he's "sentimental and Victorian;" his judgment of others is often scathing: Her name seemed to be Doris and she was the type of young woman Mr. Satterthwaite most disliked. She had, he considered, no artistic justification for existence.Ouch.In "The Shadow on the Glass," we read that "Mr. Satterthwaite was abnormally interested in the comedies and tragedies of his fellow men." His investigations into murders, thefts and disappearances mainly consist of him being at the right place at the right time and adhering to a "fly on the wall" philosophy. Later in "The Shadow on the Glass," we're told "He seemed to matter so little, to have so negative a personality. He was merely a glorified listener."Above all, Mr. Satterthwaite is a most entertaining tour guide as he leads us through the stories in The Mysterious Mr. Quin. These dozen tales are fueled by the dynamic strength of his character. Frankly, the mysteries themselves are rather blasé; what's most fascinating is how Mr. Satterthwaite gets entangled in them and his childlike excitement at playing a major role in solving them.The vast majority of the crimes in The Mysterious Mr. Quin have already taken place off-stage (or off-page, if you will) and it's up to the corporeal-spiritual team of Quin and Satterthwaite to dredge up old mysteries and to open the closet and rattle a few skeletons. You have to pay attention and read each story in one sitting in order to grasp all the clues and characters Agatha throws at you in the small space of twenty pages. Because they are so condensed, these stories don't have time to leisurely acquaint us with the facts; they move with the swift crackle of lightning.The writing in this collection is some of the best Agatha ever set down on the page. Precise, concise descriptions of her characters have always been Agatha's trademark and she is in fine form here. Consider this introduction to a character in "The Voice in the Dark": If entries in Who's Who were strictly truthful, the entry concerning Lady Stranleigh might have ended as follows: hobbies: getting married. She had floated through life shedding husbands as she went. She had lost three by divorce and one by death.There are also flashes of the Christie quick wit: Mr. Satterthwaite's servant is named Masters, for instance.These stories build suspense, even when we can see what's coming—the solutions often appear as blinking neon signs to the reader well before the end of the story. However, the writing here is so good that we're as intrigued by Mr. Satterthwaite's fussy interactions with other characters as we are by the cases he solves. Most of the climaxes come with a soft murmur rather than a loud flashy bang, but that's secondary to what we've uncovered about these characters and, by extension, ourselves.At one point, Mr. Quin says, "The trouble is that we are not content just to see things—we will tack the wrong interpretation onto the things we see." That, dear readers, is the core truth of Christie's writings. The interpretation of what we see is filtered through what we believe we see. Most of us readers (and the majority of Agatha's characters) stubbornly interpret the facts from one angle and one angle alone. First impressions are lasting impressions and rarely do we take a step to the left or the right, crouch down and peer at the scene of the crime from a different perspective. That's why we're always gobsmacked by the truth during the Big Reveal scenes at the end of Christie's novels and short stories. The truth was there all along, but it was covered by the fog of our wrong interpretations.
    • 4/5
      I came to this book with completely mixed feelings about Agatha Christie: I love the stories/mysteries themselves, but find that (and this may be because she wrote so many!) that sometimes the writing doesn't quite live up to the premise, and that they can be a bit flat. At her best, the atmosphere she creates can be brilliant, setting up the space for the story to unfold in, and adding an extra layer: I was extremely pleasantly surprised that this collection largely falls into the ategory of good and atmospheric.The set-ups for the first two and last two in particular give a great sense of claustrophobia and uncomfortableness, which is to a lesser degree present throughout, and her love of quite short, pithy and enigmatic statements lends them quite a pace too, whilst keeping you thinking.I have, however, to confess that I am never that concerned or surprised at the way in which the mysteries are unravelled/resolved, but in this collection, more than in most other Christie that I have read, I rather took to the characters. The only large-ish problem for me was that, whilst I enjoy the conceit of the Harlequinade (and think it is used fantastically in the last story), and think that it works well split up into these short vignettes, the characters around are just not quite as interesting, and Mr. Satterthwaite (Harlequin's 'earthly' interpreter) goes from being intersting to a mildly irritating fuss-pot, a la Poirot, and she could perhaps have made it work better by leaving him as a slightly more un-fleshed out character, skirting around the edges of things, rather than being actively involved (as he is deliberately developed through the sequence).Perhaps I am being unduly negative though, as I raced through the stories and genuinely enjoyed the reading! I even found myself laughing when reading the penultimate story - I don't really find any of AC's lighter moments or attempts at humour particularly funny, ever, so this was a surprise and enjoyment.I would recommend that people read them, and in order, but to stick with them, as I do believe the middle stories are the weaker.
    • 4/5
      Definitely not your standard Agatha Christie - Mr Satterthwaite, an older "looker on at life" is befriended by the very mysterious Mr Harley Quin (a character is inspired by the Harlequin from the Commedia dell'arte), whose appearance becomes a catalyst for the solving of a number of mysteries. The mysteries are very corporeal, but Mr Quin has a touch of faerie about him, creating an atmosphere of otherworldliness not common in Christie. These may be an acquired taste, but once you're in you are hooked. Interestingly Mr Satterthwaite also features in the novel "Three Act Tragedy" and there are a further two Satterthwaite / Harley Quin stories collected in Problem at Pollensa Bay.
    • 3/5
      Framed in the doorway stood a man’s figure, tall and slender. To Mr. Satterthwaite, watching, he appeared by some curious effect of the stained glass above the door, to be dressed in every colour of the rainbow. Then, as he stepped forward, he showed himself to be a think dark man dressed in motoring clothes.Christie, Agatha. The Mysterious Mr. Quin: 1 (Harley Quin Mysteries) (p. 8). HarperCollins. Kindle Edition.The Harley Quin short stories are all about sleight of hand, tricks of light and revisiting the various crimes without the lens of emotions, but objectivity and facts. Harley Quin is not the lead actor, but rather the stage director, making sure all the actors hit their cues. The lead actor is instead, Mr Satterthwaite, who knows all the persons of interest and all the gossip surrounding them. Mr Satterthwaite who has been content for most of his life to observe others, but with Harley Quin as his guide, is keen to step into the spotlight and become the lead actor. I liked both Satterthwaite and Quin but I found the supernatural elements were very hit and miss. Some of them worked well, others just dragged the story down. And like all short story collections, some were great and others just sucked. My favourites were The Coming of Mr. Quin, The Sign in the Sky, The Dead Harlequin and The Bird with the Broken Wing. My least favourites were The Soul of the Croupier and The Man from the Sea. Overall rating for the collection is 3 stars, individual ratings and reviews below. Below that are the two additional Harley Quin Stories; The Love Detectives and The Harlequin Tea Set. Both of these are only available in some editions of the book. While The Harlequin Tea Set is average, The Love Detectives is my overall favourite Harley Quin stories. THE COMING OF MR. QUIN: ****On a stormy night, Mr Satterthwaite is at a house party when a man comes knocking. As they sit and chat they recall the murder that happened in the house many years before - and come to a stunning conclusion. I really enjoyed the theatrical nature of the story and the way in which Mr Satterthwaite thinks. Harley Quin seems like an interesting character, although there wasn't quite enough story to get a feel for him. The mystery was tautly woven and well revealed - even if I guessed most of it. I look forward to reading more of the duo. 4 stars.THE SHADOW ON THE GLASS: **Mr Satterthwaite attends a house party where an old scandal comes to a head. Satterthwaite kind of just fades into the background of this one. I prefer when we get to see his personality and thought processes. I'm not sure I really get the relationships in this one. The husband shoots the wife and her lover and sets up the old lover to take the fall. It was just weird. 2 stars.AT THE "BELLS AND MOTLEY": **Mr Satterthwaite's car breaks down in a small town where a man disappeared. Harley Quin is dining at the local Inn and they puzzle out the mystery. This was alright. Kind of random though, didn't really see how they got to the solution they get to. 2 stars.THE SIGN IN THE SKY: ****A young man is found guilty of the murder of an elderly man's wife. Satterthwaite feels there is something wrong and follows the clues Harley Quin nudges into his path. I really liked this one. The conclusion was fantastic and the investigation into the evidence kept me hooked. 4 stars.THE SOUL OF THE CROUPIER: *Quin and Satterthwaite matchmake. A Countess wins money in a rigged game and a dinner with the casino croupier explains why. I didn't really enjoy this. It was kind of dumb. 1 star.THE MAN FROM THE SEA: *Satterthwaite shakes things up with a holiday to a somewhat deserted island. While there he finds a young man planning to kill himself and uncovers a past love story. Yeah this sucked. I didn't like any of the characters and I didn't love the story either. 1 star.THE VOICE IN THE DARK: ***Satterthwaite is asked to look in on the daughter of an old friend who has been hearing voices no one else can. This was okay, kind of a cop out with the ending though, although I guess it does wrap everything up. 3 stars.THE FACE OF HELEN: ***Satterthwaite attends the opera and meets a young woman with great beauty and the two men who are fighting over her. This wasn't too bad. I sort of guessed where this was going. Interesting method. 3 stars.THE DEAD HARLEQUIN: ****An artist paints a dead harlequin in a room Mr Satterthwaite recognises, so he buys the painting and invites the young artist to dinner. But he's not the only person to want the painting. This was enjoyable. I liked how they puzzled it all out. 4 stars.THE BIRD WITH THE BROKEN WING: ****Satterthwaite attends a house party and is horrified to find a young woman he thought of as a bird with a broken wing commits suicide. But was it? I enjoyed the conclusion of this one. It was really clever. Although kind of a random motive. 4 stars.THE WORLD'S END: ***Mr Satterthwaite agrees to holiday with the Countess and they run into her artist cousin. The cousin takes them to a place she refers to as The World's End. There they find a grave injustice has been done through sheer idiocy. I liked the trick of the Indian box. It was cool, although five years for theft of a jewel that wasn't stolen is rough. It was unique. 3 stars.HARLEQUIN'S LANE: **Satterthwaite goes to stay with a husband and wife who find their past resurfacing. This was kind of boring and really sad. I liked that the wife was a famous Russian ballerina and got to dance Columbine again. 2 stars._________________________________________THE LOVE DETECTIVES: *****A man is killed and his wife and her lover confess to the crime - but did they do it? Yes they did! I really enjoyed this one. I loved this bit.“Quite right, young man,” he said. “Half past six was the time. Perhaps you’ve heard that already? But this is altogether a most peculiar murder!” “Why?” “So many people confess to it,” said Colonel Melrose.Christie, Agatha. Three Blind Mice and Other Stories (pp. 226-227). HarperCollins. Kindle Edition.And this.“My God!” cried Delangua. “But a woman couldn’t possibly do that—” He stopped, biting his lip. Melrose nodded with the ghost of a smile. “Often read of it,” he volunteered. “Never seen it happen.” “What?” “Couple of young idiots each accusing themselves because they thought the other had done it,” said Melrose.Christie, Agatha. Three Blind Mice and Other Stories (p. 227). HarperCollins. Kindle Edition.I was busy chuckling my way through. The twists and turns were clever and I loved watching it unfold. 5 stars.THE HARLEQUIN TEA SET: **Mr Satterthwaite visits an old friend and his family. I didn't really like this one. It didn't really make much sense either. The stepmother mixed the kids up? Is that where it was going? And then tried to kill the one who would inherit (Timothy)? Except he wouldn't because everyone thinks Roland is Timothy and Timothy Roland. Honestly this just made my brain hurt. 2 stars.
    • 3/5
      What an odd little bunch of stories!
    • 3/5
      This collection of short stories featuring the elderly, bachelor connaissor, Mr. Satterwaite, and the appearing and disappearing Mr. Harley Quin were written and published over a period of years early in Christie's career. In this collection they almost work as a novel, as Mr. Satterwaite seems to develop as a character as he solves more curious situations brought to his attention by Quin and as Quin becomes more clearly a supernatural figure. The supernatural element disqualifies them as classic Golden Age mysteries, with it's humorous injunction against ghosts and Oriental villains.
    • 4/5
      Collection of short stories featuring Mr. Satterthwaite (an older gentleman, recently retired) who feels himself to be something of a non-entity except when in the company of his friend Mr. Quin. Despite his insecurity, Mr. Satterthwaite is in reality a patron of the arts, a cultivated man of travel, a kind, trustworthy and well-informed old gentleman. However, when in Quin’s company, he feels himself to rise to a higher level of perception. Mr. Satterthwaite becomes an observant narrator, picking out the particular and perhaps more telling human behaviors that reveal dark and light. Quin doesn’t have much in the way of distinguishing physical or personal traits; unpredictably, he may appear in a dark restaurant or in a train compartment. Sometimes there is a play of color about him, but most frequently he is encountered as a “dark” man. The striking aspect of this detective and sidekick is that you’re not quite sure who is the main detective and who the sidekick. Quin materializes as a sign that something is about to happen (at least, that is how Satterthwaite excitedly views any manifestation). However, in the stories, his narrative function is to prompt Satterthwaite to examine his own line of thinking more closely whenever it would seem that the elderly gentleman is about to give up or pursue the too-obvious solution rather than the correct one. Quin seems to be a benign intelligence, but it is always Satterthwaite who identifies the guilty party in the stories.It’s an interesting conceit for a partnership in fiction and, while lightweight for a novel-length work, it works well for short stories.

    Book preview

    The Mysterious Mr. Quin - Agatha Christie

    One

    THE COMING OF MR. QUIN

    The Coming of Mr. Quin was first published as The Passing of Mr. Quinn in Grand Magazine, March 1923.

    It was New Year’s Eve.

    The elder members of the house party at Royston were assembled in the big hall.

    Mr. Satterthwaite was glad that the young people had gone to bed. He was not fond of young people in herds. He thought them uninteresting and crude. They lacked subtlety and as life went on he had become increasingly fond of subtleties.

    Mr. Satterthwaite was sixty-two—a little bent, dried-up man with a peering face oddly elflike, and an intense and inordinate interest in other people’s lives. All his life, so to speak, he had sat in the front row of the stalls watching various dramas of human nature unfold before him. His role had always been that of the onlooker. Only now, with old age holding him in its clutch, he found himself increasingly critical of the drama submitted to him. He demanded now something a little out of the common.

    There was no doubt that he had a flair for these things. He knew instinctively when the elements of drama were at hand. Like a war horse, he sniffed the scent. Since his arrival at Royston this afternoon, that strange inner sense of his had stirred and bid him be ready. Something interesting was happening or going to happen.

    The house party was not a large one. There was Tom Evesham, their genial good-humoured host, and his serious political wife who had been before her marriage Lady Laura Keene. There was Sir Richard Conway, soldier, traveller and sportsman, there were six or seven young people whose names Mr. Satterthwaite had not grasped and there were the Portals.

    It was the Portals who interested Mr. Satterthwaite.

    He had never met Alex Portal before, but he knew all about him. Had known his father and his grandfather. Alex Portal ran pretty true to type. He was a man of close on forty, fair-haired, and blue-eyed like all the Portals, fond of sport, good at games, devoid of imagination. Nothing unusual about Alex Portal. The usual good sound English stock.

    But his wife was different. She was, Mr. Satterthwaite knew, an Australian. Portal had been out in Australia two years ago, had met her out there and had married her and brought her home. She had never been to England previous to her marriage. All the same, she wasn’t at all like any other Australian woman Mr. Satterthwaite had met.

    He observed her now, covertly. Interesting woman—very. So still, and yet so—alive. Alive! That was just it! Not exactly beautiful—no, you wouldn’t call her beautiful, but there was a kind of calamitous magic about her that you couldn’t miss—that no man could miss. The masculine side of Mr. Satterthwaite spoke there, but the feminine side (for Mr. Satterthwaite had a large share of femininity) was equally interested in another question. Why did Mrs. Portal dye her hair?

    No other man would probably have known that she dyed her hair, but Mr. Satterthwaite knew. He knew all those things. And it puzzled him. Many dark women dye their hair blonde; he had never before come across a fair woman who dyed her hair black.

    Everything about her intrigued him. In a queer intuitive way, he felt certain that she was either very happy or very unhappy—but he didn’t know which, and it annoyed him not to know. Furthermore there was the curious effect she had upon her husband.

    He adores her, said Mr. Satterthwaite to himself, but sometimes he’s—yes, afraid of her! That’s very interesting. That’s uncommonly interesting.

    Portal drank too much. That was certain. And he had a curious way of watching his wife when she wasn’t looking.

    Nerves, said Mr. Satterthwaite. The fellow’s all nerves. She knows it too, but she won’t do anything about it.

    He felt very curious about the pair of them. Something was going on that he couldn’t fathom.

    He was roused from his meditations on the subject by the solemn chiming of the big clock in the corner.

    Twelve o’clock, said Evesham. New Year’s Day. Happy New Year—everybody. As a matter of fact that clock’s five minutes fast . . . I don’t know why the children wouldn’t wait up and see the New Year in?

    I don’t suppose for a minute they’ve really gone to bed, said his wife placidly. They’re probably putting hairbrushes or something in our beds. That sort of thing does so amuse them. I can’t think why. We should never have been allowed to do such a thing in my young days.

    Autre temps, autres moeurs, said Conway, smiling.

    He was a tall soldierly looking man. Both he and Evesham were much of the same type—honest upright kindly men with no great pretensions to brains.

    In my young days we all joined hands in a circle and sang ‘Auld Lang Syne,’ continued Lady Laura. ‘Should auld acquaintance be forgot’—so touching, I always think the words are.

    Evesham moved uneasily.

    Oh! drop it, Laura, he muttered. Not here.

    He strode across the wide hall where they were sitting, and switched on an extra light.

    Very stupid of me, said Lady Laura, sotto voce. Reminds him of poor Mr. Capel, of course. My dear, is the fire too hot for you?

    Eleanor Portal made a brusque movement.

    Thank you. I’ll move my chair back a little.

    What a lovely voice she had—one of those low murmuring echoing voices that stay in your memory, thought Mr. Satterthwaite. Her face was in shadow now. What a pity.

    From her place in the shadow she spoke again.

    Mr.—Capel?

    Yes. The man who originally owned this house. He shot himself you know—oh! very well, Tom dear, I won’t speak of it unless you like. It was a great shock for Tom, of course, because he was here when it happened. So were you, weren’t you, Sir Richard?

    Yes, Lady Laura.

    An old grandfather clock in the corner groaned, wheezed, snorted asthmatically, and then struck twelve.

    Happy New Year, Tom, grunted Evesham perfunctorily.

    Lady Laura wound up her knitting with some deliberation.

    Well, we’ve seen the New Year in, she observed, and added, looking towards Mrs. Portal, What do you think, my dear?

    Eleanor Portal rose quickly to her feet.

    Bed, by all means, she said lightly.

    She’s very pale, thought Mr. Satterthwaite, as he too rose, and began busying himself with candlesticks. She’s not usually as pale as that.

    He lighted her candle and handed it to her with a funny little old-fashioned bow. She took it from him with a word of acknowledgment and went slowly up the stairs.

    Suddenly a very odd impulse swept over Mr. Satterthwaite. He wanted to go after her—to reassure her—he had the strangest feeling that she was in danger of some kind. The impulse died down, and he felt ashamed. He was getting nervy too.

    She hadn’t looked at her husband as she went up the stairs, but now she turned her head over her shoulder and gave him a long searching glance which had a queer intensity in it. It affected Mr. Satterthwaite very oddly.

    He found himself saying goodnight to his hostess in quite a flustered manner.

    "I’m sure I hope it will be a happy New Year, Lady Laura was saying. But the political situation seems to me to be fraught with grave uncertainty."

    I’m sure it is, said Mr. Satterthwaite earnestly. I’m sure it is.

    I only hope, continued Lady Laura, without the least change of manner, "that it will be a dark man who first crosses the threshold. You know that superstition, I suppose, Mr. Satterthwaite? No? You surprise me. To bring luck to the house it must be a dark man who first steps over the door step on New Year’s Day. Dear me, I hope I shan’t find anything very unpleasant in my bed. I never trust the children. They have such very high spirits."

    Shaking her head in sad foreboding, Lady Laura moved majestically up the staircase.

    With the departure of the women, chairs were pulled in closer round the blazing logs on the big open hearth.

    Say when, said Evesham, hospitably, as he held up the whisky decanter.

    When everybody had said when, the talk reverted to the subject which had been tabooed before.

    You knew Derek Capel, didn’t you, Satterthwaite? asked Conway.

    Slightly—yes.

    And you, Portal?

    No, I never met him.

    So fiercely and defensively did he say it, that Mr. Satterthwaite looked up in surprise.

    I always hate it when Laura brings up the subject, said Evesham slowly. After the tragedy, you know, this place was sold to a big manufacturer fellow. He cleared out after a year—didn’t suit him or something. A lot of tommyrot was talked about the place being haunted of course, and it gave the house a bad name. Then, when Laura got me to stand for West Kidleby, of course it meant living up in these parts, and it wasn’t so easy to find a suitable house. Royston was going cheap, and—well, in the end I bought it. Ghosts are all tommyrot, but all the same one doesn’t exactly care to be reminded that you’re living in a house where one of your own friends shot himself. Poor old Derek—we shall never know why he did it.

    He won’t be the first or the last fellow who’s shot himself without being able to give a reason, said Alex Portal heavily.

    He rose and poured himself out another drink, splashing the whisky in with a liberal hand.

    There’s something very wrong with him, said Mr. Satterthwaite, to himself. Very wrong indeed. I wish I knew what it was all about.

    Gad! said Conway. Listen to the wind. It’s a wild night.

    A good night for ghosts to walk, said Portal with a reckless laugh. All the devils in Hell are abroad tonight.

    According to Lady Laura, even the blackest of them would bring us luck, observed Conway, with a laugh. Hark to that!

    The wind rose in another terrific wail, and as it died away there came three loud knocks on the big nailed doorway.

    Everyone started.

    Who on earth can that be at this time of night? cried Evesham.

    They stared at each other.

    I will open it, said Evesham. The servants have gone to bed.

    He strode across to the door, fumbled a little over the heavy bars, and finally flung it open. An icy blast of wind came sweeping into the hall.

    Framed in the doorway stood a man’s figure, tall and slender. To Mr. Satterthwaite, watching, he appeared by some curious effect of the stained glass above the door, to be dressed in every colour of the rainbow. Then, as he stepped forward, he showed himself to be a think dark man dressed in motoring clothes.

    I must really apologize for this intrusion, said the stranger, in a pleasant level voice. But my car broke down. Nothing much, my chauffeur is putting it to rights, but it will take half an hour or so, and it is so confoundedly cold outside—

    He broke off, and Evesham took up the thread quickly.

    I should think it was. Come in and have a drink. We can’t give you any assistance about the car, can we?

    No, thanks. My man knows what to do. By the way, my name is Quin—Harley Quin.

    Sit down, Mr. Quin, said Evesham. Sir Richard Conway, Mr. Satterthwaite. My name is Evesham.

    Mr. Quin acknowledged the introductions, and dropped into the chair that Evesham had hospitably pulled forward. As he sat, some effect of the firelight threw a bar of shadow across his face which gave almost the impression of a mask.

    Evesham threw a couple more logs on the fire.

    A drink?

    Thanks.

    Evesham brought it to him and asked as he did so:

    So you know this part of the world well, Mr. Quin?

    I passed through it some years ago.

    Really?

    Yes. This house belonged then to a man called Capel.

    Ah! yes, said Evesham. Poor Derek Capel. You knew him?

    Yes, I knew him.

    Evesham’s manner underwent a faint change, almost imperceptible to one who had not studied the English character. Before, it had contained a subtle reserve, now this was laid aside. Mr. Quin had known Derek Capel. He was the friend of a friend, and, as such, was vouched for and fully accredited.

    Astounding affair, that, he said confidentially. We were just talking about it. I can tell you, it went against the grain, buying this place. If there had been anything else suitable, but there wasn’t you see. I was in the house the night he shot himself—so was Conway, and upon my word, I’ve always expected his ghost to walk.

    A very inexplicable business, said Mr. Quin, slowly and deliberately, and he paused with the air of an actor who has just spoken an important cue.

    You may well say inexplicable, burst in Conway. The thing’s a black mystery—always will be.

    I wonder, said Mr. Quin, noncommittally. Yes, Sir Richard, you were saying?

    Astounding—that’s what it was. Here’s a man in the prime of life, gay, lighthearted, without a care in the world. Five or six old pals staying with him. Top of his spirits at dinner, full of plans for the future. And from the dinner table he goes straight upstairs to his room, takes a revolver from a drawer and shoots himself. Why? Nobody ever knew. Nobody ever will know.

    Isn’t that rather a sweeping statement, Sir Richard? asked Mr. Quin, smiling.

    Conway stared at him.

    What d’you mean? I don’t understand.

    A problem is not necessarily unsolvable because it has remained unsolved.

    Oh! Come, man, if nothing came out at the time, it’s not likely to come out now—ten years afterwards?

    Mr. Quin shook his head gently.

    I disagree with you. The evidence of history is against you. The contemporary historian never writes such a true history as the historian of a later generation. It is a question of getting the true perspective, of seeing things in proportion. If you like to call it so, it is, like everything else, a question of relativity.

    Alex Portal leant forward, his face twitching painfully.

    You are right, Mr. Quin, he cried, you are right. Time does not dispose of a question—it only presents it anew in a different guise.

    Evesham was smiling tolerantly.

    Then you mean to say, Mr. Quin, that if we were to hold, let us say, a Court of Inquiry tonight, into the circumstances of Derek Capel’s death, we are as likely to arrive at the truth as we should have been at the time?

    "More likely, Mr. Evesham. The personal equation has largely dropped out, and you will remember facts as facts without seeking to put your own interpretation upon them."

    Evesham frowned doubtfully.

    One must have a starting point, of course, said Mr. Quin in his quiet level voice. A starting point is usually a theory. One of you must have a theory, I am sure. How about you, Sir Richard?

    Conway frowned thoughtfully.

    Well, of course, he said apologetically, we thought—naturally we all thought—that there must be a woman in it somewhere. It’s usually either that or money, isn’t it? And it certainly wasn’t money. No trouble of that description. So—what else could it have been?

    Mr. Satterthwaite started. He had leant forward to contribute a small remark of his own and in the act of doing so, he had caught sight of a woman’s figure crouched against the balustrade of the gallery above. She was huddled down against it, invisible from everywhere but where he himself sat, and she was evidently listening with strained attention to what was going on below. So immovable was she that he hardly believed the evidence of his own eyes.

    But he recognized the pattern of the dress easily enough—an old-world brocade. It was Eleanor Portal.

    And suddenly all the events of the night seemed to fall into pattern—Mr. Quin’s arrival, no fortuitous chance, but the appearance of an actor when his cue was given. There was a drama being played in the big hall at Royston tonight—a drama none the less real in that one of the actors was dead. Oh! yes, Derek Capel had a part in the play. Mr. Satterthwaite was sure of that.

    And, again suddenly, a new illumination came to him. This was Mr. Quin’s doing. It was he who was staging the play—was giving the actors their cues. He was at the heart of the mystery pulling the strings, making the puppets work. He knew everything, even to the presence of the woman crouched against the woodwork upstairs. Yes, he knew.

    Sitting well back in his chair, secure in his role of audience, Mr. Satterthwaite watched the drama unfold before his eyes. Quietly and naturally, Mr. Quin was pulling the strings, setting his puppets in motion.

    A woman—yes, he murmured thoughtfully. There was no mention of any woman at dinner?

    Why, of course, cried Evesham. He announced his engagement. That’s just what made it seem so absolutely mad. Very bucked about it he was. Said it wasn’t to be announced just yet—but gave us the hint that he was in the running for the Benedick stakes.

    Of course we all guessed who the lady was, said Conway. Marjorie Dilke. Nice girl.

    It seemed to be Mr. Quin’s turn to speak, but he did not do so, and something about his silence seemed oddly provocative. It was as though he challenged the last statement. It had the effect of putting Conway in a defensive position.

    Who else could it have been? Eh, Evesham?

    I don’t know, said Tom Evesham slowly. What did he say exactly now? Something about being in the running for the Benedick stakes—that he couldn’t tell us the lady’s name till he had her permission—it wasn’t to be announced yet. He said, I remember, that he was a damned lucky fellow. That he wanted his two old friends to know that by that time next year he’d be a happy married man. Of course, we assumed it was Marjorie. They were great friends and he’d been about with her a lot.

    The only thing— began Conway and stopped.

    What were you going to say, Dick?

    Well, I mean, it was odd in a way, if it were Marjorie, that the engagement shouldn’t be announced at once. I mean, why the secrecy? Sounds more as though it were a married woman—you know, someone whose husband had just died, or who was divorcing him.

    That’s true, said Evesham. If that were the case, of course, the engagement couldn’t be announced at once. And you know, thinking back about it, I don’t believe he had been seeing much of Marjorie. All that was the year before. I remember thinking things seemed to have cooled off between them.

    Curious, said Mr. Quin.

    Yes—looked almost as though someone had come between them.

    Another woman, said Conway thoughtfully.

    By jove, said Evesham. You know, there was something almost indecently hilarious about old Derek that night. He looked almost drunk with happiness. And yet—I can’t quite explain what I mean—but he looked oddly defiant too.

    Like a man defying Fate, said Alex Portal heavily.

    Was it of Derek Capel he was speaking—or was it of himself? Mr. Satterthwaite, looking at him, inclined to the latter view. Yes, that was what Alex Portal represented—a man defying Fate.

    His imagination, muddled by drink, responded suddenly to that note in the story which recalled his own secret preoccupation.

    Mr. Satterthwaite looked up. She was still there. Watching, listening—still motionless, frozen—like a dead woman.

    Perfectly true, said Conway. "Capel was excited—curiously so. I’d describe him as a man who had staked heavily and won against well-nigh overwhelming odds."

    Getting up courage, perhaps, for what he’s made up his mind to do? suggested Portal.

    And as though moved by an association of ideas, he got up and helped himself to another drink.

    Not a bit of it, said Evesham sharply. I’d almost swear nothing of that kind was in his mind. Conway’s right. A successful gambler who has brought off a long shot and can hardly believe in his own good fortune. That was the attitude.

    Conway gave a gesture of discouragement.

    And yet, he said. Ten minutes later—

    They sat in silence. Evesham brought his hand down with a bang on the table.

    Something must have happened in that ten minutes, he cried. It must! But what? Let’s go over it carefully. We were all talking. In the middle of it Capel got up suddenly and left the room—

    Why? said Mr. Quin.

    The interruption seemed to disconcert Evesham.

    I beg your pardon?

    I only said: Why? said Mr. Quin.

    Evesham frowned in an effort of memory.

    It didn’t seem vital—at the time—Oh! of course—the Post. Don’t you remember that jangling bell, and how excited we were. We’d been snowed up for three days, remember. Biggest snowstorm for years and years. All the roads were impassable. No newspapers, no letters. Capel went out to see if something had come through at last, and got a great pile of things. Newspapers and letters. He opened the paper to see if there was any news, and then went upstairs with his letters. Three minutes afterwards, we heard a shot . . . Inexplicable—absolutely inexplicable.

    That’s not inexplicable, said Portal. Of course the fellow got some unexpected news in a letter. Obvious, I should have said.

    "Oh! Don’t think we missed anything so obvious as that. It was one of the Coroner’s first questions. But Capel never opened one of his letters. The whole pile lay unopened on his dressing table."

    Portal looked crestfallen.

    You’re sure he didn’t open just one of them? He might have destroyed it after reading it?

    No, I’m quite positive. Of course, that would have been the natural solution. No, every one of the letters was unopened. Nothing burnt—nothing torn up—There was no fire in the room.

    Portal shook his head.

    Extraordinary.

    It was a ghastly business altogether, said Evesham in a low voice. Conway and I went up when we heard the shot, and found him—It gave me a shock, I can tell you.

    Nothing to be done but telephone for the police, I suppose? said Mr. Quin.

    Royston wasn’t on the telephone then. I had it put in when I bought the place. No, luckily enough, the local constable happened to be in the kitchen at the time. One of the dogs—you remember poor old Rover, Conway?—had strayed the day before. A passing carter had found it half buried in a snowdrift and had taken it to the police station. They recognized it as Capel’s, and a dog he was particularly fond of, and the constable came up with it. He’d just arrived a minute before the shot was fired. It saved us some trouble.

    Gad, that was a snowstorm, said Conway reminiscently. About this time of year, wasn’t it? Early January.

    February, I think. Let me see, we went abroad soon afterwards.

    I’m pretty sure it was January. My hunter Ned—you remember Ned?—lamed himself the end of January. That was just after this business.

    It must have been quite the end of January then. Funny how difficult it is to recall dates after a lapse of years.

    One of the most difficult things in the world, said Mr. Quin, conversationally. Unless you can find a landmark in some big public event—an assassination of a crowned head, or a big murder trial.

    Why, of course, cried Conway, it was just before the Appleton case.

    Just after, wasn’t it?

    "No, no, don’t you remember—Capel knew the Appletons—he’d stayed with the old man the previous Spring—just a week before he died. He was talking of him one night—what an old curmudgeon he was, and how awful it must have been for a young and beautiful

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