The Clocks Read online

Page 12


  “Don’t get up,” I said, but Poirot was already on his feet. He came towards me on twinkling, patent-leather shod feet with outstretched hands.

  “Aha, so it is you, it is you, my friend! My young friend Colin. But why do you call yourself by the name of Lamb? Let me think now. There is a proverb or a saying. Something about mutton dressed as lamb. No. That is what is said of elderly ladies who are trying to appear younger than they are. That does not apply to you. Aha, I have it. You are a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Is that it?”

  “Not even that,” I said. “It’s just that in my line of business I thought my own name might be rather a mistake, that it might be connected too much with my old man. Hence Lamb. Short, simple, easily remembered. Suiting, I flatter myself, my personality.”

  “Of that I cannot be sure,” said Poirot. “And how is my good friend, your father?”

  “The old man’s fine,” I said. “Very busy with his holly-hocks—or is it chrysanthemums? The seasons go by so fast I can never remember what it is at the moment.”

  “He busies himself then, with the horticulture?”

  “Everyone seems to come to that in the end,” I said.

  “Not me,” said Hercule Poirot. “Once the vegetable marrows, yes—but never again. If you want the best flowers, why not go to the florist’s shop? I thought the good Superintendent was going to write his memoirs?”

  “He started,” I said, “but he found that so much would have to be left out that he finally came to the conclusion that what was left in would be so unbearably tame as not to be worth writing.”

  “One has to have the discretion, yes. It is unfortunate,” said Poirot, “because your father could tell some very interesting things. I have much admiration for him. I always had. You know, his methods were to me very interesting. He was so straightforward. He used the obvious as no man has used it before. He would set the trap, the very obvious trap and the people he wished to catch would say ‘it is too obvious, that. It cannot be true’ and so they fell into it!”

  I laughed. “Well,” I said, “it’s not the fashion nowadays for sons to admire their fathers. Most of them seem to sit down, venom in their pens, and remember all the dirty things they can and put them down with obvious satisfaction. But personally, I’ve got enormous respect for my old man. I hope I’ll even be as good as he was. Not that I’m exactly in his line of business, of course.”

  “But related to it,” said Poirot. “Closely related to it, though you have to work behind the scenes in a way that he did not.” He coughed delicately. “I think I am to congratulate you on having had a rather spectacular success lately. Is it not so? The affaire Larkin.”

  “It’s all right so far as it goes,” I said. “But there’s a good deal more that I’d like to have, just to round it off properly. Still, that isn’t really what I came here to talk to you about.”

  “Of course not, of course not,” said Poirot. He waved me to a chair and offered me some tisane, which I instantly refused.

  George entered at the apposite moment with a whisky decanter, a glass and a siphon which he placed at my elbow.

  “And what are you doing with yourself these days?” I asked Poirot.

  Casting a look at the various books around him I said: “It looks as though you are doing a little research?”

  Poirot sighed. “You may call it that. Yes, perhaps in a way it is true. Lately I have felt very badly the need for a problem. It does not matter, I said to myself, what the problem is. It can be like the good Sherlock Holmes, the depth at which the parsley has sunk in the butter. All that matters is that there should be a problem. It is not the muscles I need to exercise, you see, it is the cells of the brain.”

  “Just a question of keeping fit. I understand.”

  “As you say.” He sighed. “But problems, mon cher, are not so easy to come by. It is true that last Thursday one presented itself to me. The unwarranted appearance of three pieces of dried orange peel in my umbrella stand. How did they come there? How could they have come there? I do not eat oranges myself. George would never put old pieces of orange peel in the umbrella stand. Nor is a visitor likely to bring with him three pieces of orange peel. Yes, it was quite a problem.”

  “And you solved it?”

  “I solved it,” said Poirot.

  He spoke with more melancholy than pride.

  “It was not in the end very interesting. A question of a remplacement of the usual cleaning woman and the new one brought with her, strictly against orders, one of her children. Although it does not sound interesting, nevertheless it needed a steady penetration of lies, camouflage and all the rest of it. It was satisfactory, shall we say, but not important.”

  “Disappointing,” I suggested.

  “Enfin,” said Poirot, “I am modest. But one should not need to use a rapier to cut the string of a parcel.”

  I shook my head in a solemn manner. Poirot continued, “I have occupied myself of late in reading various real life unsolved mysteries. I apply to them my own solutions.”

  “You mean cases like the Bravo case, Adelaide Bartlett and all the rest of them?”

  “Exactly. But it was in a way too easy. There is no doubt whatever in my own mind as to who murdered Charles Bravo. The companion may have been involved, but she was certainly not the moving spirit in the matter. Then there was that unfortunate adolescent, Constance Kent. The true motive that lay behind her strangling of the small brother whom she undoubtedly loved has always been a puzzle. But not to me. It was clear as soon as I read about the case. As for Lizzie Borden, one wishes only that one could put a few necessary questions to various people concerned. I am fairly sure in my own mind of what the answers would be. Alas, they are all by now dead, I fear.”

  I thought to myself, as so often before, that modesty was certainly not Hercule Poirot’s strong point.

  “And what did I do next?” continued Poirot.

  I guessed that for some time now he had had no one much to talk to and was enjoying the sound of his own voice.

  “From real life I turned to fiction. You see me here with various examples of criminal fiction at my right hand and my left. I have been working backwards. Here—” he picked up the volume that he had laid on the arm of his chair when I entered, “—here, my dear Colin, is The Leavenworth Case.” He handed the book to me.

  “That’s going back quite a long time,” I said. “I believe my father mentioned that he read it as a boy. I believe I once read it myself. It must seem rather old-fashioned now.”

  “It is admirable,” said Poirot. “One savours its period atmosphere, its studied and deliberate melodrama. Those rich and lavish descriptions of the golden beauty of Eleanor, the moonlight beauty of Mary!”

  “I must read it again,” I said. “I’d forgotten the parts about the beautiful girls.”

  “And there is the maidservant, Hannah, so true to type, and the murderer, an excellent psychological study.”

  I perceived that I had let myself in for a lecture. I composed myself to listen.

  “Then we will take the Adventures of Arsene Lupin,” Poirot went on. “How fantastic, how unreal. And yet what vitality there is in them, what vigour, what life! They are preposterous, but they have panache. There is humour, too.”

  He laid down the Adventures of Arsene Lupin and picked up another book. “And there is The Mystery of the Yellow Room. That—ah, that is really a classic! I approve of it from start to finish. Such a logical approach! There were criticisms of it, I remember, which said that it was unfair. But it is not unfair, my dear Colin. No, no. Very nearly so, perhaps, but not quite. There is the hair’s breadth of difference. No. All through there is truth, concealed with a careful and cunning use of words. Everything should be clear at that supreme moment when the men meet at the angle of three corridors.” He laid it down reverently. “Definitely a masterpiece, and, I gather, almost forgotten nowadays.”

  Poirot skipped twenty years or so, to approach the works of somewhat lat
er authors.

  “I have read also,” he said, “some of the early works of Mrs. Ariadne Oliver. She is by way of being a friend of mine, and of yours, I think. I do not wholly approve of her works, mind you. The happenings in them are highly improbable. The long arm of coincidence is far too freely employed. And, being young at the time, she was foolish enough to make her detective a Finn, and it is clear that she knows nothing about Finns or Finland except possibly the works of Sibelius. Still, she has an original habit of mind, she makes an occasional shrewd deduction, and of later years she has learnt a good deal about things which she did not know before. Police procedure for instance. She is also now a little more reliable on the subject of firearms. What was even more needed, she has possibly acquired a solicitor or a barrister friend who has put her right on certain points of the law.”

  He laid aside Mrs. Ariadne Oliver and picked up another book.

  “Now here is Mr. Cyril Quain. Ah, he is a master, Mr. Quain, of the alibi.”

  “He’s a deadly dull writer if I remember rightly,” I said.

  “It is true,” said Poirot, “that nothing particularly thrilling happens in his books. There is a corpse, of course. Occasionally more than one. But the whole point is always the alibi, the railway timetable, the bus routes, the plans of the cross-country roads. I confess I enjoy this intricate, this elaborate use of the alibi. I enjoy trying to catch Mr. Cyril Quain out.”

  “And I suppose you always succeed,” I said.

  Poirot was honest.

  “Not always,” he admitted. “No, not always. Of course, after a time one realizes that one book of his is almost exactly like another. The alibis resemble each other every time, even though they are not exactly the same. You know, mon cher Colin, I imagine this Cyril Quain sitting in his room, smoking his pipe as he is represented to do in his photographs, sitting there with around him the A.B.C.s, the continental Bradshaws, the airline brochures, the timetables of every kind. Even the movements of liners. Say what you will, Colin, there is order and method in Mr. Cyril Quain.”

  He laid Mr. Quain down and picked up another book.

  “Now here is Mr. Garry Gregson, a prodigious writer of thrillers. He has written at least sixty-four, I understand. He is almost the exact opposite of Mr. Quain. In Mr. Quain’s books nothing much happens, in Garry Gregson’s far too many things happen. They happen implausibly and in mass confusion. They are all highly coloured. It is melodrama stirred up with a stick. Bloodshed—bodies—clues—thrills piled up and bulging over. All lurid, all very unlike life. He is not quite, as you would say, my cup of tea. He is, in fact, not a cup of tea at all. He is more like one of these American cocktails of the more obscure kind, whose ingredients are highly suspect.”

  Poirot paused, sighed and resumed his lecture. “Then we turn to America.” He plucked a book from the left-hand pile. “Florence Elks, now. There is order and method there, colourful happenings, yes, but plenty of point in them. Gay and alive. She has wit, this lady, though perhaps, like so many American writers, a little too obsessed with drink. I am, as you know, mon ami, a connoisseur of wine. A claret or a burgundy introduced into a story, with its vintage and date properly authenticated, I always find pleasing. But the exact amount of rye and bourbon that are consumed on every other page by the detective in an American thriller do not seem to me interesting at all. Whether he drinks a pint or a half-pint which he takes from his collar drawer does not seem to me really to affect the action of the story in any way. This drink motive in American books is very much what King Charles’s head was to poor Mr. Dick when he tried to write his memoirs. Impossible to keep it out.”

  “What about the tough school?” I asked.

  Poirot waved aside the tough school much as he would have waved an intruding fly or mosquito.

  “Violence for violence’ sake? Since when has that been interesting? I have seen plenty of violence in my early career as a police officer. Bah, you might as well read a medical text book. Tout de même, I give American crime fiction on the whole a pretty high place. I think it is more ingenious, more imaginative than English writing. It is less atmospheric and overladen with atmosphere than most French writers. Now take Louisa O’Malley for instance.”

  He dived once more for a book.

  “What a model of fine scholarly writing is hers, yet what excitement, what mounting apprehension she arouses in her reader. Those brownstone mansions in New York. Enfin what is a brownstone mansion—I have never known? Those exclusive apartments, and soulful snobberies, and underneath, deep unsuspected seams of crime run their uncharted course. It could happen so, and it does happen so. She is very good, this Louisa O’Malley, she is very good indeed.”

  He sighed, leaned back, shook his head and drank off the remainder of his tisane.

  “And then—there are always the old favourites.”

  Again he dived for a book.

  “The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes,” he murmured lovingly, and even uttered reverently the one word, “Maître!”

  “Sherlock Holmes?” I asked.

  “Ah, non, non, not Sherlock Holmes! It is the author, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, that I salute. These tales of Sherlock Holmes are in reality farfetched, full of fallacies and most artificially contrived. But the art of the writing—ah, that is entirely different. The pleasure of the language, the creation above all of that magnificent character, Dr. Watson. Ah, that was indeed a triumph.”

  He sighed and shook his head and murmured, obviously by a natural association of ideas:

  “Ce cher Hastings. My friend Hastings of whom you have often heard me speak. It is a long time since I have had news of him. What an absurdity to go and bury oneself in South America, where they are always having revolutions.”

  “That’s not confined to South America,” I pointed out. “They’re having revolutions all over the world nowadays.”

  “Let us not discuss the Bomb,” said Hercule Poirot. “If it has to be, it has to be, but let us not discuss it.”

  “Actually,” I said, “I came to discuss something quite different with you.”

  “Ah! You are about to be married, is that it? I am delighted, mon cher, delighted.”

  “What on earth put that in your head, Poirot?” I asked. “Nothing of the kind.”

  “It happens,” said Poirot, “it happens every day.”

  “Perhaps,” I said firmly, “but not to me. Actually I came to tell you that I’d run across rather a pretty little problem in murder.”

  “Indeed? A pretty problem in murder, you say? And you have brought it to me. Why?”

  “Well—” I was slightly embarrassed. “I—I thought you might enjoy it,” I said.

  Poirot looked at me thoughtfully. He caressed his moustache with a loving hand, then he spoke.

  “A master,” he said, “is often kind to his dog. He goes out and throws a ball for the dog. A dog, however, is also capable of being kind to its master. A dog kills a rabbit or a rat and he brings it and lays it at his master’s feet. And what does he do then? He wags his tail.”

  I laughed in spite of myself. “Am I wagging my tail?”

  “I think you are, my friend. Yes, I think you are.”

  “All right then,” I said. “And what does master say? Does he want to see doggy’s rat? Does he want to know all about it?”

  “Of course. Naturally. It is a crime that you think will interest me. Is that right?”

  “The whole point of it is,” I said, “that it just doesn’t make sense.”

  “That is impossible,” said Poirot. “Everything makes sense. Everything.”

  “Well, you try and make sense of this. I can’t. Not that it’s really anything to do with me. I just happened to come in on it. Mind you, it may turn out to be quite straightforward, once the dead man is identified.”

  “You are talking without method or order,” said Poirot severely. “Let me beg of you to let me have the facts. You say it is a murder, yes?”

  “It’s a murder a
ll right,” I assured him. “Well, here we go.”

  I described to him in detail the events that had taken place at 19, Wilbraham Crescent. Hercule Poirot leant back in his chair. He closed his eyes and gently tapped with a forefinger the arm of his chair while he listened to my recital. When I finally stopped, he did not speak for a moment. Then he asked, without opening his eyes:

  “Sans blague?”

  “Oh, absolutely,” I said.

  “Epatant,” said Hercule Poirot. He savoured the word on his tongue and repeated it syllable by syllable. “E-pa-tant.” After that he continued his tapping on the arm of his chair and gently nodded his head.

  “Well,” I said impatiently, after waiting a few moments more. “What have you got to say?”

  “But what do you want me to say?”

  “I want you to give me the solution. I’ve always understood from you that it was perfectly possible to lie back in one’s chair, just think about it all, and come up with the answer. That it was quite unnecessary to go and question people and run about looking for clues.”

  “It is what I have always maintained.”

  “Well, I’m calling your bluff,” I said. “I’ve given you the facts, and now I want the answer.”

  “Just like that, hein? But then there is a lot more to be known, mon ami. We are only at the beginning of the facts. Is that not so?”

  “I still want you to come up with something.”

  “I see.” He reflected a moment. “One thing is certain,” he pronounced. “It must be a very simple crime.”

  “Simple?” I demanded in some astonishment.

  “Naturally.”

  “Why must it be simple?”

  “Because it appears so complex. If it has necessarily to appear complex, it must be simple. You comprehend that?”

  “I don’t really know that I do.”

  “Curious,” mused Poirot, “what you have told me—I think—yes, there is something familiar to me there. Now where—when—have I come across something … ” He paused.

 

    Murder in the Mews Read onlineMurder in the MewsPostern of Fate Read onlinePostern of FateThe Regatta Mystery and Other Stories Read onlineThe Regatta Mystery and Other StoriesSad Cypress Read onlineSad CypressWhy Didn't They Ask Evans? Read onlineWhy Didn't They Ask Evans?After the Funeral Read onlineAfter the FuneralAnd Then There Were None Read onlineAnd Then There Were NoneThe Witness for the Prosecution Read onlineThe Witness for the ProsecutionMurder on the Orient Express Read onlineMurder on the Orient ExpressThe Seven Dials Mystery Read onlineThe Seven Dials MysteryHercule Poirot: The Complete Short Stories Read onlineHercule Poirot: The Complete Short StoriesThe Mysterious Affair at Styles Read onlineThe Mysterious Affair at StylesSleeping Murder Read onlineSleeping MurderHickory Dickory Dock Read onlineHickory Dickory DockThe Moving Finger Read onlineThe Moving FingerThe Mirror Crack'd From Side to Side Read onlineThe Mirror Crack'd From Side to SideOrdeal by Innocence Read onlineOrdeal by InnocenceMrs. McGinty's Dead Read onlineMrs. McGinty's DeadProblem at Pollensa Bay and Other Stories Read onlineProblem at Pollensa Bay and Other StoriesDeath Comes as the End Read onlineDeath Comes as the EndEndless Night Read onlineEndless NightParker Pyne Investigates Read onlineParker Pyne InvestigatesPoirot's Early Cases: 18 Hercule Poirot Mysteries Read onlinePoirot's Early Cases: 18 Hercule Poirot MysteriesMurder Is Easy Read onlineMurder Is EasyAn Autobiography Read onlineAn AutobiographyOne, Two, Buckle My Shoe Read onlineOne, Two, Buckle My ShoeA Pocket Full of Rye Read onlineA Pocket Full of RyeThe Mysterious Mr. Quin Read onlineThe Mysterious Mr. QuinThe Mystery of the Blue Train Read onlineThe Mystery of the Blue TrainHercule Poirot's Christmas: A Hercule Poirot Mystery Read onlineHercule Poirot's Christmas: A Hercule Poirot MysteryCards on the Table (SB) Read onlineCards on the Table (SB)Three Act Tragedy Read onlineThree Act TragedyThe Secret Adversary Read onlineThe Secret AdversaryThe Body in the Library Read onlineThe Body in the LibraryThe Pale Horse Read onlineThe Pale HorseWhile the Light Lasts Read onlineWhile the Light LastsThe Golden Ball and Other Stories Read onlineThe Golden Ball and Other StoriesDouble Sin and Other Stories Read onlineDouble Sin and Other StoriesThe Secret of Chimneys Read onlineThe Secret of ChimneysFive Little Pigs Read onlineFive Little PigsMurder in Mesopotamia: A Hercule Poirot Mystery Read onlineMurder in Mesopotamia: A Hercule Poirot MysteryThe Mousetrap and Other Plays Read onlineThe Mousetrap and Other PlaysLord Edgware Dies Read onlineLord Edgware DiesThe Hound of Death Read onlineThe Hound of DeathThe Murder on the Links Read onlineThe Murder on the LinksA Caribbean Mystery Read onlineA Caribbean MysteryPeril at End House: A Hercule Poirot Mystery Read onlinePeril at End House: A Hercule Poirot MysteryThe Thirteen Problems Read onlineThe Thirteen ProblemsBy the Pricking of My Thumbs Read onlineBy the Pricking of My ThumbsMrs McGinty's Dead / the Labours of Hercules (Agatha Christie Collected Works) Read onlineMrs McGinty's Dead / the Labours of Hercules (Agatha Christie Collected Works)Appointment With Death Read onlineAppointment With DeathMurder Is Announced Read onlineMurder Is AnnouncedThe Big Four Read onlineThe Big FourThree Blind Mice and Other Stories Read onlineThree Blind Mice and Other StoriesHercule Poirot- the Complete Short Stories Read onlineHercule Poirot- the Complete Short StoriesPassenger to Frankfurt Read onlinePassenger to FrankfurtThey Do It With Mirrors Read onlineThey Do It With MirrorsPoirot Investigates Read onlinePoirot InvestigatesThe Coming of Mr. Quin: A Short Story Read onlineThe Coming of Mr. Quin: A Short Story4:50 From Paddington Read online4:50 From PaddingtonThe Last Seance Read onlineThe Last SeanceDead Man's Folly Read onlineDead Man's FollyThe Adventure of the Christmas Pudding Read onlineThe Adventure of the Christmas PuddingThe A.B.C. Murders Read onlineThe A.B.C. MurdersDeath in the Clouds Read onlineDeath in the CloudsTowards Zero Read onlineTowards ZeroThe Listerdale Mystery and Eleven Other Stories Read onlineThe Listerdale Mystery and Eleven Other StoriesHallowe'en Party Read onlineHallowe'en PartyMurder at the Vicarage Read onlineMurder at the VicarageCards on the Table Read onlineCards on the TableDeath on the Nile Read onlineDeath on the NileCurtain Read onlineCurtainPartners in Crime Read onlinePartners in CrimeThe Listerdale Mystery / the Clocks (Agatha Christie Collected Works) Read onlineThe Listerdale Mystery / the Clocks (Agatha Christie Collected Works)Taken at the Flood Read onlineTaken at the FloodDumb Witness Read onlineDumb WitnessThe Complete Tommy and Tuppence Read onlineThe Complete Tommy and TuppenceProblem at Pollensa Bay Read onlineProblem at Pollensa BayCat Among the Pigeons Read onlineCat Among the PigeonsAt Bertram's Hotel Read onlineAt Bertram's HotelNemesis Read onlineNemesisMiss Marple's Final Cases Read onlineMiss Marple's Final CasesThe Hollow Read onlineThe HollowMidwinter Murder Read onlineMidwinter MurderThey Came to Baghdad Read onlineThey Came to BaghdadThird Girl Read onlineThird GirlDestination Unknown Read onlineDestination UnknownHercule Poirot and the Greenshore Folly Read onlineHercule Poirot and the Greenshore FollyPostern of Fate tat-5 Read onlinePostern of Fate tat-5Midsummer Mysteries Read onlineMidsummer MysteriesPoirot's Early Cases hp-38 Read onlinePoirot's Early Cases hp-38Sparkling Cyanide Read onlineSparkling CyanideStar over Bethlehem Read onlineStar over BethlehemBlack Coffee hp-7 Read onlineBlack Coffee hp-7Hercule Poirot's Casebook (hercule poirot) Read onlineHercule Poirot's Casebook (hercule poirot)Murder in Mesopotamia hp-14 Read onlineMurder in Mesopotamia hp-14A Pocket Full of Rye: A Miss Marple Mystery (Miss Marple Mysteries) Read onlineA Pocket Full of Rye: A Miss Marple Mystery (Miss Marple Mysteries)The Listerdale Mystery Read onlineThe Listerdale MysteryThe Complete Tommy & Tuppence Collection Read onlineThe Complete Tommy & Tuppence CollectionLord Edgware Dies hp-8 Read onlineLord Edgware Dies hp-8Death in the Clouds hp-12 Read onlineDeath in the Clouds hp-12Short Stories Read onlineShort StoriesThird Girl hp-37 Read onlineThird Girl hp-37Why Didn't They Ask Evans Read onlineWhy Didn't They Ask EvansAdventure of the Christmas Pudding and other stories Read onlineAdventure of the Christmas Pudding and other storiesCards on the Table hp-15 Read onlineCards on the Table hp-15The Mystery of the Blue Train hp-6 Read onlineThe Mystery of the Blue Train hp-6After the Funeral hp-29 Read onlineAfter the Funeral hp-29Poirot Investigates hp-3 Read onlinePoirot Investigates hp-3Murder on the Links hp-2 Read onlineMurder on the Links hp-2The Mysterious Mr Quin Read onlineThe Mysterious Mr QuinCurtain hp-39 Read onlineCurtain hp-39Hercule Poirot's Christmas hp-19 Read onlineHercule Poirot's Christmas hp-19Partners in Crime tat-2 Read onlinePartners in Crime tat-2The Clocks hp-36 Read onlineThe Clocks hp-36Murder, She Said Read onlineMurder, She SaidThe Clocks Read onlineThe ClocksThe Hollow hp-24 Read onlineThe Hollow hp-24Appointment with Death hp-21 Read onlineAppointment with Death hp-21Murder in the mews hp-18 Read onlineMurder in the mews hp-18The Murder Of Roger Ackroyd hp-4 Read onlineThe Murder Of Roger Ackroyd hp-4Dumb Witness hp-16 Read onlineDumb Witness hp-16The Sittaford Mystery Read onlineThe Sittaford MysteryMrs McGinty's Dead Read onlineMrs McGinty's DeadEvil Under the Sun Read onlineEvil Under the SunThe A.B.C. Murders hp-12 Read onlineThe A.B.C. Murders hp-12The Murder at the Vicarage mm-1 Read onlineThe Murder at the Vicarage mm-1The Body in the Library mm-3 Read onlineThe Body in the Library mm-3Miss Marple and Mystery Read onlineMiss Marple and MysterySleeping Murder mm-14 Read onlineSleeping Murder mm-14By the Pricking of My Thumbs tat-4 Read onlineBy the Pricking of My Thumbs tat-4A Pocket Full of Rye mm-7 Read onlineA Pocket Full of Rye mm-7Hickory Dickory Dock: A Hercule Poirot Mystery Read onlineHickory Dickory Dock: A Hercule Poirot MysteryThe Big Four hp-5 Read onlineThe Big Four hp-5The Labours of Hercules hp-26 Read onlineThe Labours of Hercules hp-26The Complete Miss Marple Collection Read onlineThe Complete Miss Marple CollectionThe Labours of Hercules Read onlineThe Labours of Hercules4.50 From Paddington Read online4.50 From PaddingtonA Murder Is Announced mm-5 Read onlineA Murder Is Announced mm-5Agahta Christie: An autobiography Read onlineAgahta Christie: An autobiographyHallowe'en Party hp-36 Read onlineHallowe'en Party hp-36Black Coffee Read onlineBlack CoffeeThe Mysterious Affair at Styles hp-1 Read onlineThe Mysterious Affair at Styles hp-1Three-Act Tragedy Read onlineThree-Act TragedyBest detective short stories Read onlineBest detective short storiesThree Blind Mice Read onlineThree Blind MiceNemesis mm-11 Read onlineNemesis mm-11The Mirror Crack'd from Side to Side mm-8 Read onlineThe Mirror Crack'd from Side to Side mm-8The ABC Murders Read onlineThe ABC MurdersPoirot's Early Cases Read onlinePoirot's Early CasesThe Unexpected Guest Read onlineThe Unexpected GuestA Caribbean Mystery - Miss Marple 09 Read onlineA Caribbean Mystery - Miss Marple 09The Murder of Roger Ackroyd Read onlineThe Murder of Roger AckroydElephants Can Remember hp-39 Read onlineElephants Can Remember hp-39The Mirror Crack'd: from Side to Side Read onlineThe Mirror Crack'd: from Side to SideSad Cypress hp-21 Read onlineSad Cypress hp-21Peril at End House Read onlinePeril at End HouseElephants Can Remember Read onlineElephants Can RememberBest detective stories of Agatha Christie Read onlineBest detective stories of Agatha ChristieHercule Poirot's Christmas Read onlineHercule Poirot's ChristmasThe Body In The Library - Miss Marple 02 Read onlineThe Body In The Library - Miss Marple 02Evil Under the Sun hp-25 Read onlineEvil Under the Sun hp-25The Capture of Cerberus Read onlineThe Capture of CerberusThe Hound of Death and Other Stories Read onlineThe Hound of Death and Other StoriesThe Thirteen Problems (miss marple) Read onlineThe Thirteen Problems (miss marple)The Thirteen Problems-The Tuesday Night Club Read onlineThe Thirteen Problems-The Tuesday Night ClubSpider's Web Read onlineSpider's WebAt Bertram's Hotel mm-12 Read onlineAt Bertram's Hotel mm-12The Murder at the Vicarage (Agatha Christie Mysteries Collection) Read onlineThe Murder at the Vicarage (Agatha Christie Mysteries Collection)A Caribbean Mystery (miss marple) Read onlineA Caribbean Mystery (miss marple)A Murder Is Announced Read onlineA Murder Is AnnouncedClues to Christie Read onlineClues to ChristieThe Moving Finger mm-3 Read onlineThe Moving Finger mm-3The Harlequin Tea Set and Other Stories Read onlineThe Harlequin Tea Set and Other StoriesMurder on the Links Read onlineMurder on the LinksThe Murder at the Vicarage Read onlineThe Murder at the VicarageN or M tat-3 Read onlineN or M tat-3The Secret Adversary tat-1 Read onlineThe Secret Adversary tat-1The Burden Read onlineThe BurdenMrs McGinty's Dead hp-28 Read onlineMrs McGinty's Dead hp-28Dead Man's Folly hp-31 Read onlineDead Man's Folly hp-31Peril at End House hp-8 Read onlinePeril at End House hp-8Complete Short Stories Of Miss Marple mm-16 Read onlineComplete Short Stories Of Miss Marple mm-16Curtain: Poirot's Last Case Read onlineCurtain: Poirot's Last CaseThe Man in the Brown Suit Read onlineThe Man in the Brown SuitThey Do It With Mirrors mm-6 Read onlineThey Do It With Mirrors mm-6