ELEPHANTS CAN REMEMBER EBOOK

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raudone.info: Elephants Can Remember raudone.info: Dell Publishing Co eBooks and Texts. Uploaded by Public Resource on January Read "Elephants Can Remember A Hercule Poirot Mystery" by Agatha Christie available from Rakuten Kobo. Sign up today and get $5 off your first download. Read "Elephants Can Remember (Poirot)" by Agatha Christie available from Rakuten Kobo. Sign up today and get €5 off your first download. Hercule Poirot is .


Elephants Can Remember Ebook

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Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, raudone.info htmlelephants can REMEMBER agatha christie BA. Elephants Can Remember By Agatha Christie. 88 Pages · Similar Free eBooks. Filter by page count Can Produce Insane Results. Without Driving. Hercule Poirot is determined to solve an old husband and wife double murder that is still an open verdict Hercule Poirot stood on the cliff-top. Here, many.

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They are for your personal offline reference only. Thank you for respecting these rights. Your thanks helps motivate them to continue to share! Fundraiser Reminder: just 1 week left! Her eyes flashed slightly.

It seems as though there could be no good reason for this. I don't know who invented curiosity. It is said to be usually associated with the cat. Curiosity killed the cat. But I should say really that the Greeks were the inventors of curiosity. They wanted to know. Before them, as far as I can see, nobody wanted to know much. They just wanted to know what the rules of the country they were living in were, and how they could avoid having their heads cut off or being impaled on spikes or something disagreeable happening to them.

But they either obeyed or disobeyed. They didn't want to know why. But since then a lot of people have wanted to know why and all sorts of things have happened because of that. Boats, trains, flying machines and atom bombs and penicillin and cures for various illnesses. A little boy watches his mother's kettle raising its lid because of the steam. And the next thing we know is we have railway trains, leading on in due course to railway strikes and all that. And so on and so on.

Oliver, "do you think I'm a terrible nosey-parker? But I can quite see you getting in a het-up state at a literary party, busy defending yourself against too much kindness, too much praise. You ran yourself instead into a very awkward dilemma, and took a very strong dislike to the person who ran you into it.

Elephants Can Remember

She's a very tiresome woman, a very disagreeable woman. One never really read about any cause for it, according to you? Yes, they were shot. It could have been a suicide pact. I think the police thought it was at first. Of course, one can't find out about things all those years afterwards. Certainly there are knowledgeable friends, friends who could get certain records, look up the accounts that were given of the crime at the time, some access I could get to certain records.

Oliver hopefully, "and then tell me. It'll take a little time, though. I'll have to see the girl. I've got to see whether she knows anything about all this, ask her if she'd like me to give her mother-in-law-to-be a raspberry, or whether there is any other way in which I can help her.

And I'd like to see the boy she's going to marry, too. Oliver, "there might be people—" She broke off, frowning. A cause celebre, perhaps at the time. But what is a cause celebre when you come to think of it? Unless it comes to an astonishing denouement, which this one didn't. Nobody remembers it. Oliver, "that is quite true. There was a lot about it in the papers and mentions of it for some time, and then it just—faded out. Well, like things do now.

Like that girl, the other day. You know, who left her home and they couldn't find her anywhere. Well, I mean, that was five or six years ago and then suddenly a little boy, playing about in a sand heap or a gravel pit or something, suddenly came across her dead body. Five or six years later. But it will be more difficult in your problem since it seems the answer must be one of two things: that the husband disliked his wife and wanted to get rid of her, or that the wife hated her husband or else had a lover.

Therefore, it might have been a passionate crime or something quite different. Anyway, there would be nothing, as it were, to find out about it. If the police could not find out at the time, then the motive must have been a difficult one, not easy to see.

Therefore it has remained a nine days' wonder, that is all. Perhaps that is what t 25 that odious woman was getting me to do--wanted me to do. She thought the daughter knew--well, the daughter might have known," said Mrs. They know the most extraordinary things. I think she might have been nine or ten, but perhaps older, I don't know.

I think that she was away at school at the time. But that may be just my fancy, remembering back what I read. Burton-Cox's wish was to make you get information from the daughter? Perhaps the daughter knows something, perhaps she said something to the son, and the son said something to his mother.

I expect Mrs. BurtonCox tried to question the girl herself and got rebuffed, but thought the famous Mrs.

Oliver, being both a godmother and also full of criminal knowledge, might obtain information. Though why it should matter to her, I still don't see," said Poirot.

Oliver was the most unaccountable woman. Why suddenly elephants? You know, things one tries to eat, and if you've got some sort of false teeth—well, you can't do it very well. You know, you've got to know what you can eat and what you can't. The dentists, they can do much for you, but not everything. And then I thought of—you know—our teeth being only bone and so not awfully good, and how nice it would be to be a dog, who has really ivory teeth.

And then I thought of anyone else who has ivory teeth, and I thought about walruses and—oh, other things like that. Of course when you think of ivory, you do think of elephants, don't you? Great big elephant tusks. Oliver was saying. Because elephants, so they say, don't forget. How someone, an Indian tailor, stuck a needle or something in an elephant's tusk. Not a tusk, his trunk, of course, an elephant's trunk. And the next time the elephant came past he had a great mouthful of water and he splashed it out all over the tailor, though he hadn't seen him for several years.

He hadn't forgotten. He remembered. That's the point, you see. Elephants remember. What I've got to do is—I've got to get in touch with some elephants. You sound as though you were going for information to the zoo. There are some people who do remember. In fact, one does remember queer things. I mean, there are a lot of things that I remember very well. They happened--I remember a birthday party I had when I was five, and a pink cake--a lovely pink cake.

It had a sugar bird on it. And I remember the day my canary flew away and I cried. And I remember another day when I went into a field and there was a bull there and somebody said it would gore me, and I was terrified and wanted to run out of the field.

Well, I remember that quite well. It was a Tuesday, too. I don't know why I should remember it was a Tuesday, but it was a Tuesday. And I remember a wonderful picnic with blackberries. I remember getting pricked terribly, but getting more blackberries than anyone else. It was wonderful! By that time I was nine, I think.

But one needn't go back as far as that. I mean, I've been to hundreds of weddings in my life, but when I look back on a wedding there are only two that I remember particularly. One where I was a bridesmaid. It took place in the New Forest, I remember, and I can't remember who was there actually. I think it was a cousin of mine getting married. I didn't know her very well, but she wanted a good many bridesmaids and, well, I came in handy, I suppose.

But I know another wedding. That was a friend of mine in the Navy. He was nearly drowned in a submarine, and then he was saved again, and then the girl he was engaged to, her people didn't want her to marry him, but then he did marry her after that and I was one other bridesmaids at the marriage. Well, I mean, there's always things you do remember.

So you will go a la recherche des elephants'? I'd have to get the date right. People who may have known them abroad, but whom I also knew although I mayn't have seen them for a good many years. You can look up people, you know, that you haven't seen for a long time.

Because people are always quite pleased to see someone coming up out of the past, even if they can't remember very much about you. And then you naturally will talk about the things that were happening at that date, that you remember about. People who knew the Ravenscrofts either well or not very well; people who lived in the same part of the world where the thing happened or who might have been staying there.

More difficult, but I think one could get at it. And so, somehow or other one would try different things. Start a little talk going about what happened, what they think happened, what anyone else has ever told you about what might have happened. About any love affairs the husband or wife had, about any money that somebody might have inherited. I think you could scratch up a lot of things. Oliver, "I'm afraid really I'm just a nosey-parker.

That does not matter. You are still on a quest—a quest of knowledge. You take your own path. It is the path of the elephants. The elephants may remember.

Bow voyage," said Poirot. Oliver sadly. She brushed her hands through her hair again so that she looked like the old picture books of Struwelpeter. But it wasn't going well. I couldn't get started, if you know what I mean. Concern yourself only with elephants. In the left-hand corner. I mean my last one. The one I had last year, or perhaps the one before that again. I mean some address that you haven't copied into the new one.

I expect it may be in one of the drawers of the tallboys. Ariadne Oliver missed Miss Sedgwick. Sedgwick knew so many things. She knew the places where Mrs. Oliver sometimes put things, the kind of places Mrs. Oliver kept things in. She remembered the names of people Mrs.

Oliver had written nice letters to, and the names of people that Mrs. Oliver, goaded beyond endurance, had written rather rude things to. She was invaluable, or rather, had been invaluable. She was like—what was the book called? Oliver said, casting her mind back. All Victorians had it. Enquire Within upon Everything. And you could, too! How to take iron mark stains off linen, how to deal with curdled mayonnaise, how to start a chatty letter to a bishop.

Many, many things. It was all there in Enquire Within upon Everything. Miss Sedgwick had been just as good as Aunt Alice's book.

Miss Livingstone was not at all the same thing. Miss Livingstone stood there always, very long-faced, with a sallow skin, looking purposefully efficient. Every line of her face said, "I am very efficient.

Oliver thought. She only knew all the places where former literary employers of hers had kept things and where she clearly considered Mrs. Oliver ought to keep them. Oliver with firmness and the determination of a spoiled child, "is my nineteen seventy address book. And I think nineteen sixty-nine as well. Please look for it as quick as you can, will you?

If I don't get Sedgwick back, I shall go mad, thought Mrs. Oliver to herself. I can't deal with this thing if I don't have Sedgwick. Miss Livingstone started pulling open various drawers in the furniture in Mrs. Oliver's so-called study and writing room. Nineteen seventy-one. Vague thoughts and memories came to her. Miss Livingstone looked round, looking worried. Oliver, pointing. Oliver, raising the lid of a papier-mache round canister, devised to contain Lapsang Souchong as opposed to Indian tea, and taking out a curled-up, small brown notebook.

Four years ago. Oliver, seizing it and taking it back to the desk. Oliver, "but I used to have one once. Quite a big one, you know. Started when I was a child. Goes on for years. I expect it'll be in the attic upstairs. You know, the one we use as a spare room sometimes when it's only boys coming for holidays, or people who don't mind. The sort of chest or bureau thing next to the bed. Shall I look and see? She cheered up a little as Miss Livingstone went out of the room.

Oliver shut the door firmly behind her, went back to the desk and started looking down the addresses written in faded ink and smelling of tea. Celia Ravenscroft. Fourteen Fishacre Mews, S. She was living there then. But there was another one after that. Somewhere like Strand-on-the-Green near Kew Bridge.

Mardyke Grove. That's off Fulham Road, I think. Somewhere like that. Has she got a telephone number? It's very rubbed out, but I think--yes, I think that's right--Flaxman.. The door opened and Miss Livingstone looked in. It's important. You know, the one that's bound with brass.

I've forgotten where it is now. Under the table in the hall, I think. Oliver's first dialing was not successful. She appeared to have connected herself to a Mrs. Smith Potter, who seemed both annoyed and unhelpful and had no idea what the present telephone number might be of anyone who had lived in that particular flat before.

Oliver applied herself to an examination of the address book once more. She discovered two more addresses which were hastily scrawled over other numbers and did not seem wildly helpful.

However, at the third attempt a somewhat illegible Ravenscroft seemed to emerge from the crossingsout and initials and addresses. A voice admitted to knowing Celia. But she hasn't lived here for years. I think she was in Newcastle when I last heard from her. Oliver, "I'm afraid I haven't got that address. Oliver tried once or twice more. The addresses in the latest of her two address books were no use, so she went back a bit further.

She struck oil, as you might put it, when she came to the last one, which was for the year Or was it Finchwell? Oliver just prevented herself in time from saying, "No, and it wasn't redbreast either. Oh, yes, very competent. I would have been quite happy if she had stayed longer.

I think she went from here to somewhere in Harley Street, but I think I've got her address somewhere. Now let me see.

X—name unknown—was seeing. It seems to be in Islington somewhere. Do you think that's possible? Oliver said that anything was possible and thanked Mrs. X very much and wrote it down. They do send them to you usually. You know, a sort of postcard or something of that kind.

Personally I always seem to lose it. Oliver said that she herself also suffered in this respect. She tried the Islington number. A heavy, foreign voice replied to her. Yes, who live here? Yes, yes, she lives here.

She has a room on the second floor. She is out now and she not come home. Oliver thanked her for the information and rang off. Oliver to herself with some annoyance, "girls!

Epub book download

One lost touch. That was the whole point. Celia, she thought, was in London now. If her boy friend was in London, or if the mother of her boy friend was in London--all of it went together. Oh, dear, thought Mrs. Oliver, this really makes my head ache. Miss Livingstone, looking rather unlike herself and decorated with a good many cobwebs and a general coating of dust, stood looking annoyed in the doorway holding a pile of dusty volumes. They seem to go back for a great many years.

Oliver, "if you'll just put them on the corner of the sofa there I can look at them this evening. I think I will just dust them first. Oliver, just stopping herself in time from saying--"and for goodness' sake, dust yourself as well. You've got six cobwebs in your left ear. The voice that answered this time was purely AngloSaxon and had a crisp sharpness about it that Mrs. Oliver felt was rather satisfactory. I'm Mrs. Ariadne Oliver. We haven't seen each other for a long time, but actually I'm your godmother.

I know that. No, we haven't seen each other for a long time. Would you like to come to a meal or I could come round this evening, if you like. About half-past seven or eight. I've got a date later but Oliver gave it.

I'll be there. Yes, I know where that is quite well. Oliver made a brief note on the telephone pad and looked with some annoyance at Miss Livingstone, who had just come into the room struggling under the weight of a large album. Oliver, removing the volume firmly.

You know, I've thought about the linen cupboard. Next door to the bathroom. You'd have to look on the top shelf above the bath towels. I do sometimes stick papers and books in there. Wait a minute. I'll come up and look myself.

Oliver was looking through the pages of a faded album. Miss Livingstone, having entered her final stage of martyrdom, was standing by the door. Unable to bear the sight of so much suffering, Mrs. Oliver said: "Well, that's all right. You might just take a look in the desk in the dining room.

The old desk. You know, the one that's broken a bit. See if you can find some more address books. Anything up to about ten years old will be worth while having a look at. And after that," said Mrs. Oliver, "I don't think I shall want anything more today. Oliver to herself, releasing a deep sigh as she sat down. She looked through the pages of the birthday book. She to go or I to see her go?

After Celia has come and gone, I shall have to have a busy evening. I have put things in motion. I have arranged to make certain inquiries. Oliver, who had a poor view of what the male view was of doing something.

And what have you been doing, madame? Oliver, "if that means anything to you. My word, the silly things they write in birthday books sometimes, too. I can't think why when I was about sixteen or seventeen or even thirty, I wanted people to write in my birthday book. There's a sort of quotation from a poet for every particular day in the year. Some of them are terribly silly. I've rung up my goddaughter—" "Ah. And you are going to see her? Tonight between seven and eight, if she doesn't run out on me.

One never knows. Young people are very unreliable. Oliver, "not particularly pleased. She's got a very incisive voice and—I remember now, the last time I saw her, that must be about ten years ago, I thought then that she was rather frightening. In what way? Yes, you have something there. You mean then they tell you things that they thought would please you. And the other way they'd be annoyed with you and they'd say things that they'd hope would annoy you.

I wonder if Celia's like that? I really remember her much better when she was five years old than at any other age. She had a nursery governess and she used to throw her boots at her. She replaced the receiver and went over to the sofa to examine the various piled-up memories of the past. She murmured names under her breath. Anna Braceby--yes, yes, she lived in that part of the world--I wonder now--" Continuing all this, time passed--she was quite surprised when the bell rang.

She went out herself to open the door. Just for a moment Mrs. Oliver was startled, looking at her. So this -was Celia. The impression of vitality and of life was really very strong. Oliver had the feeling which one does not often get. Here, she thought, was someone who meant something. Aggressive, perhaps, could be difficult, could be almost dangerous perhaps. One of those girls who had a mission in life, who was dedicated to violence, perhaps, who went in for causes.

But interesting. Definitely interesting. The last time, as far as I remember, was at a wedding. You were a bridesmaid. You wore apricot chiffon, I remember, and large bunches of--I can't remember what it was, something that looked like goldenrod. It was a terrible wedding. I know. Martha Leghorn, wasn't it? Ugliest bridesmaids' dresses I've ever seen. Certainly the ugliest I've ever worn! They weren't very becoming to anybody.

You looked better than most, if I may say so. Oliver indicated a chair and manipulated a couple of decanters. I'd like sherry. He remembered. That's the point, you see. Elephants remember. What I've got to do is—I've got to get in touch with some elephants. You sound as though you were going for information to the zoo. There are some people who do remember. In fact, one does remember queer things.

I mean, there are a lot of things that I remember very well. They 27 agatha christie happened--I remember a birthday party I had when I was five, and a pink cake--a lovely pink cake.

It had a sugar bird on it. And I remember the day my canary flew away and I cried. And I remember another day when I went into a field and there was a bull there and somebody said it would gore me, and I was terrified and wanted to run out of the field. Well, I remember that quite well. It was a Tuesday, too. I don't know why I should remember it was a Tuesday, but it was a Tuesday. And I remember a wonderful picnic with blackberries. I remember getting pricked terribly, but getting more blackberries than anyone else.

It was wonderful! By that time I was nine, I think. But one needn't go back as far as that.

I mean, I've been to hundreds of weddings in my life, but when I look back on a wedding there are only two that I remember particularly. One where I was a bridesmaid. It took place in the New Forest, I remember, and I can't remember who was there actually.

I think it was a cousin of mine getting married. But I know another wedding. That was a friend of mine in the Navy. He was nearly drowned in a submarine, and then he was saved again, and then the girl he was engaged to, her people didn't want her to marry him, but then he did marry her after that and I was one other bridesmaids at the marriage.

Well, I mean, there's always things you do remember. So you will go a la recherche des elephants'? I'd have to get the date right. People who may have known them abroad, but whom I also knew although I mayn't have seen them for a good many years. You can look up people, you know, that you haven't seen for a long time. Because people are always quite pleased to see someone 28 elephants can REMEMBER coming up out of the past, even if they can't remember very much about you.

And then you naturally will talk about the things that were happening at that date, that you remember about. More difficult, but I think one could get at it. And so, somehow or other one would try different things. Start a little talk going about what happened, what they think happened, what anyone else has ever told you about what might have happened. About any love affairs the husband or wife had, about any money that somebody might have inherited.

I think you could scratch up a lot of things. Oliver, "I'm afraid really I'm just a nosey-parker. That does not matter. You are still on a quest—a quest of knowledge. You take your own path. It is the path of the elephants. The elephants may remember. Bow voyage," said Poirot. Oliver sadly. She brushed her hands through her hair again so that she looked like the old picture books of Struwelpeter.

I couldn't get started, if you know what I mean. Concern yourself only with elephants. In the left-hand corner. I mean my last one. The one I had last year, or perhaps the one before that again. I mean some address that you haven't copied into the new one. I expect it may be in one of the drawers of the tallboys. Ariadne Oliver missed Miss Sedgwick. Sedgwick knew so many things. She knew the places where Mrs.

Oliver sometimes put things, the kind of places Mrs. Oliver kept things in. She remembered the names of people Mrs. Oliver, goaded beyond endurance, had written rather rude things to. She was invaluable, or rather, had been invaluable. She was like—what was the book called? Oliver said, casting her mind back.

Enquire Within upon Everything. And you could, too! How to take iron mark stains off linen, how to deal with curdled mayonnaise, how to start a chatty letter to a bishop.

Many, many things. It was all there in Enquire Within upon Everything. Miss Sedgwick had been just as good as Aunt Alice's book. Miss Livingstone was not at all the same thing. Miss Livingstone stood there always, very long-faced, with a sallow skin, looking purposefully efficient. Every line of her face said, "I am very efficient. Oliver thought. She only knew all the places where former literary employers of hers had kept things and where she clearly considered Mrs.

Oliver ought to keep them. Oliver with firmness and the determination of a spoiled child, "is my nineteen seventy address book. And I think nineteen sixty-nine as well.

Please look for it as quick as you can, will you? If I don't get Sedgwick back, I shall go mad, thought Mrs. Oliver to herself. I can't deal with this thing if I don't have Sedgwick. Miss Livingstone started pulling open various drawers in the furniture in Mrs. Oliver's so-called study and writing room. Nineteen seventy-one. Vague thoughts and memories came to her.

Miss Livingstone looked round, looking worried. Oliver, pointing. Four years ago. Oliver, seizing it and taking it back to the desk. Oliver, "but I used to have one once. Quite a big one, you know. Started when I was a child. Goes on for years. I expect it'll be in the attic upstairs. You know, the one we use as a spare room sometimes when it's only boys coming for holidays, or people who don't mind. The sort of chest or bureau thing next to the bed. Shall I look and see?

She cheered up a little as Miss Livingstone went out of the room. Oliver shut the door firmly behind her, went back to the desk and started looking down the addresses written in faded ink and smelling of tea. Celia Ravenscroft.

Fourteen Fishacre Mews, S. That's the Chelsea address. But there was another one after that. Somewhere like Strand-on-the-Green near Kew Bridge. Mardyke Grove. That's off Fulham Road, I think. Somewhere like that. It's very rubbed out, but I think--yes, I think that's right--Flaxman.. The door opened and Miss Livingstone looked in.

It's important. You know, the one that's bound with brass. I've forgotten where it is now. Under the table in the hall, I think. Oliver's first dialing was not successful. She appeared to have connected herself to a Mrs. Oliver applied herself to an examination of the address book once more.

She discovered two more addresses which were hastily scrawled over other numbers and did not seem wildly helpful. However, at the third attempt a somewhat illegible Ravenscroft seemed to emerge from the crossingsout and initials and addresses.

A voice admitted to knowing Celia. But she hasn't lived here for years. I think she was in Newcastle when I last heard from her. Oliver, "I'm afraid I haven't got that address. Oliver tried once or 36 elephants can remember twice more. The addresses in the latest of her two address books were no use, so she went back a bit further.

She struck oil, as you might put it, when she came to the last one, which was for the year Or was it Finchwell? Oh, yes, very competent. I would have been quite happy if she had stayed longer. I think she went from here to somewhere in Harley Street, but I think I've got her address somewhere. Now let me see. X—name unknown—was seeing. It seems to be in Islington somewhere. Do you think that's possible?

Oliver said that anything was possible and thanked Mrs. X very much and wrote it down. They do send them to you usually. You know, a sort of postcard or something of that kind. Personally I always seem to lose it. Oliver said that she herself also suffered in this respect. She tried the Islington number. A heavy, foreign voice replied to her. Yes, who live here? Yes, yes, she lives here. She has a room on the second floor. She is out now and she not come home.

Oliver thanked her for the information and rang off. Oliver to herself with some annoyance, "girls! One lost touch. That was the whole point. Celia, she thought, was in London now. If her boy friend was in London, or if the mother of her boy friend was in London--all of it went together.

Oh, dear, thought Mrs. Oliver, this really makes my head ache. Miss Livingstone, looking rather unlike herself and decorated with a good many cobwebs and a general coating of dust, stood looking annoyed in the doorway holding a pile of dusty volumes. They seem to go back for a great many years.

Oliver, "if you'll just put them on the corner of the sofa there I can look at them this evening. I think I will just dust them first. Oliver, just stopping herself in time from saying--"and for goodness' sake, dust yourself as well.

You've got six cobwebs in your left ear. The voice that answered this time was purely AngloSaxon and had a crisp sharpness about it that Mrs. Oliver felt was rather satisfactory. I'm Mrs. Ariadne Oliver. We haven't seen each other for a long time, but actually I'm your godmother.

I know that. No, we haven't seen each other for a long time. Would you like to come to a meal or. I could come round this evening, if you like. About half-past seven or eight. I've got a date later but. Oliver gave it. I'll be there. Yes, I know where that is quite well.

Oliver made a brief note on the telephone pad and looked with some annoyance at Miss Livingstone, who had just come into the room struggling under the weight of a large album.

Oliver, removing the volume firmly. You know, I've thought about the linen cupboard. Next door to the bathroom. You'd have to look on the top shelf above the bath towels. I do sometimes stick papers and books in there. Wait a minute. I'll come up and look myself. Oliver was looking through the pages of a faded album.

Miss Livingstone, having entered her final stage of martyrdom, was standing by the door. Unable to bear the sight of so much suffering, Mrs. Oliver said: You might just take a look in the desk in the dining room. The old desk. You know, the one that's broken a bit. See if you can find some more address books. Early ones. And after that," said Mrs. Oliver, "I don't think I shall want anything more today. Oliver to herself, releasing a deep sigh as she sat down. She looked through the pages of the birthday book.

She to go or I to see her go? After Celia has come and gone, I shall have to have a busy evening. I have put things in motion. I have arranged to make certain inquiries. Oliver, who had a poor view of what the male view was of doing something.

And what have you been doing, madame? Oliver, "if that means anything to you. My word, the silly things they write in birthday books sometimes, too. I can't think why when I was about sixteen or seventeen or even thirty, I wanted people to write in my birthday book. There's 40 elephants can remember a sort of quotation from a poet for every particular day in the year.

Some of them are terribly silly. I've rung up my goddaughter—" "Ah. And you are going to see her? Tonight between seven and eight, if she doesn't run out on me. One never knows. Young people are very unreliable. Oliver, "not particularly pleased.

A Hercule Poirot Mystery

In what way? Yes, you have something there. You mean then they tell you things that they thought would please you. And the other way they'd be annoyed with you and they'd say things that they'd hope would annoy you. I wonder if Celia's like that? I really remember her much better when she was five years old than at any other age. She had a nursery governess and she used to throw her boots at her.

She murmured names under her breath. Anna Braceby--yes, yes, she lived in that part of the world--I wonder now--" Continuing all this, time passed--she was quite surprised when the bell rang.

She went out herself to open the door. Just for a moment Mrs. Oliver was startled, looking at her. So this -was Celia. The impression of vitality and of life was really very strong. Oliver had the feeling which one does not often get. Here, she thought, was someone who meant something. Aggressive, perhaps, could be difficult, could be almost dangerous perhaps. One of those girls who had a mission in life, who was dedicated to violence, perhaps, who went in for causes. But interesting.

Definitely interesting. The last time, as far as I remember, was at a wedding. You wore apricot chiffon, I remember, and large bunches of--I can't remember what it was, something that looked like goldenrod. It was a terrible wedding. I know. Martha Leghorn, wasn't it? Ugliest bridesmaids' dresses I've ever seen. Certainly the ugliest I've ever worn! They weren't very becoming to anybody.

You looked better than most, if I may say so. Oliver indicated a chair and manipulated a couple of decanters. I'd like sherry. I suppose it seems rather odd to you," said Mrs. I don't remember coming to your confirmation. Renounce the devil and all his works in my name," said Celia. A faint, humorous smile came to her lips. She was being very amiable but all the same, thought Mrs.

Oliver, she's rather a dangerous girl in some ways. I don't often go out to literary parties, but as it happened I did go out to one the day before yesterday. Ariadne Oliver and I rather wondered because I know you don't usually go to those sort of things. And so—well, the first time there's always something that amuses you. But," she added, "there's usually something that annoys you as well. I didn't like it at all. I didn't know her and she didn't know me. People come up to you and say, 'I do love your books so much and I'm so pleased to be able to meet you.

I do know about that sort of thing and how difficult it is. And then this woman came up to me and she said, T believe you have a goddaughter called Celia Ravenscroft. It seems to me she ought to have led into it more gradually. You know, talking about your books first and how much she'd enjoyed the last one, or something like that.

And then sliding into me. What had she got against me? There was a silence. Celia sipped some more sherry and looked very searchingly at Mrs. I can't see quite what you're leading into. Oliver, "I hope you won't be angry with me.

She was a Mrs. That she knew me? She looked very hard at Mrs. Oliver, "I don't particularly want to know. I merely mention that because it's one of the first things she said to me.

She said because you were my goddaughter, I might be able to ask you to give me some information. I presume that she meant that if the information was given to me I was to pass it on to her.

In fact, it gives me a very nasty feeling all down my spine because I think it was—well, such awful cheek. Awful bad manners. Absolutely unpardonable.

She said, 'Can you find out if her father murdered her mother or if her mother murdered her father? Asked you to do thatf" "Yes. She'd never met me, I'd never met her. She struck me," said Mrs. Oliver, "if I may say so, as a particularly odious woman.

She is a particularly odious woman. I don't know. You knew what she was talking about? That they were found there, both of them shot. There was a revolver lying there. It belonged to my father. He had had two revolvers in the house, it seems. There was nothing to say whether it was a suicide pact or whether my father killed my mother and then shot himself, or my mother shot my father and then killed herself.

But perhaps you know all this already. At the time--I was on a lecture tour in America. I simply read it in the paper. Your father and mother had always been happy together and lived on good terms. I remember that being mentioned. I was interested because I had known your father and mother when we were all much younger, especially your mother.

I was at school with her. After that our ways led apart. I married and went 47 agatha christie somewhere and she married and went out, as far as I remember, to India or some place like that, with her soldier husband. But she did ask me to be godmother to one of her children. Since your mother and father were living abroad, I saw very little of them for many years. I saw you occasionally. You used to take me out from school. I remember that. Gave me some specially good feeds, too. Lovely food you gave me.

You liked caviar. Very little was said. I gathered it was a kind of open verdict. No particular motive. Nothing to show. No accounts of quarrel, there was no suggestion of there having been an attack from outside.

I was shocked by it," said Mrs. Oliver, "and then I forgot it. It was some years later when I next saw you and naturally I did not speak of it to you. Oliver said, "one comes across very curious things that happen to friends or to acquaintances.

With friends, of course, very often you have some idea of what led to—whatever the incident might be. But if it's a long time since you've heard them discussed or talked to them, you are quite in the dark and there is nobody that you can show too much curiosity to about the occasion.

Oliver, "because there are so many things they want to do and have just then. Always questioning, and asking things and wanting to know all about you. You never asked questions.

You used to take me out to shows, or give me nice meals, and talk to me as though, well, as though everything was all right and you were just a distant Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http: I've appreciated that. I've known so many nosey-parkers in my life. Everyone comes up against that sooner or later," said Mrs.

It seems an extraordinary thing to be asked to do by a complete stranger like Mrs. I couldn't imagine why she should want to know. It was no business of hers, surely. Unless--" "You thought it was, unless it was something to do with my marrying Desmond.

Desmond is her son," "Yes, I suppose it could have been, but I couldn't see how, or what business it was of hers.

She's nosey--in fact she's what you said she was, an odious woman. No, I'm very fond of Desmond and Desmond is fond of me. I don't like his mother.And after that," said Mrs.

Question: "I must tell you how very fond I am of reading your books and how wonderful I think they are. Not in United States? The fourth hat was the most expensive of the lot and it had extraordinary advantages about it.

But perhaps you know all this already. Some books translate rather well to an audio version, but this was not one of them. Although he had not appeared personally in the previous novel, Hallowe'en Party, he is mentioned as having contributed to that investigation in Chapter 21 of that novel.

Suddenly one of those large, bossy women who always manage to dominate everyone and who can make you feel more uncomfortable than anyone else, descended on me. And I feel that if there is anyone who can give me an answer to the question I want to ask, you will be the one to do so.

ERNEST from Youngstown
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