The Regatta Mystery and Other Stories Read online

  Mistress Mary, quite contrary,

  How does your garden grow?

  With cockle-shells, and silver bells,

  And pretty maids all in a row.

  Only they are not cockle shells, are they, madame?

  They are oyster shells." His hand pointed.

  He heard her catch her breath and then stay

  very still. Her eyes asked a question.

  He nodded. "Mais, oui, I know! The maid left

  the dinner ready--she will swear and Katrina will

  swear that that is all you had. Only you and your

  husband know that you brought back a dozen and

  a half oysters--a little treat pour la bonne tante.

  So easy to put the strychnine in an oyster. It is

  swallowed--comme qa.t But there remain the

  shells--they must not go in the bucket. The maid

  would see them. And so you thought of making an

  edging of them to a bed. But there were not

  enough--the edging is not complete. The effect is

  bad--it spoils the symmetry of the otherwise

  charming garden. Those few oyster shells struck

  an alien note--they displeased my eye on my first

  visit."

  Mary Delafontaine said, "I suppose you

  guessed from the letter.' I knew she had written

  --but I didn't know how much she'd said."

  Poirot answered evasively, "I knew at least that

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  Agatha Christie

  it was a family matter. If it had been a question of

  Katrina there would have been no point in hushing

  things up. I understand that you or your husband

  handled Miss Barrowby's securities to your own

  profit, and that she found out--"

  Mary Delafontaine nodded. "We've done it for

  years--a little here and there. I never realized she

  was sharp enough to find out. And then I learned

  she had sent for a detective; and I found out, too,

  that she was leaving her money to Katrina--that

  miserable little creature!"

  "And so the strychnine was put in Katrina's

  bedroom? I comprehend. You save yourself and

  your husband from what I may discover, and you

  saddle an innocent child with murder. Had you no

  pity, madame?"

  Mary Delafontaine shrugged her shouldersm

  her blue forget-me-not eyes looked into Poirot's.

  He remembered the perfection of her acting the

  first day he had come and the bungling attempts

  of her husband. A woman above the averagefbut

  inhuman.

  She said, "Pity? For that miserable intriguing

  little rat?" Her contempt rang out.

  Hercule Poirot said slowly, "I think, madame,

  that you have cared in your life for two things

  only. One is your husband."

  He saw her lips tremble.

  "And the other--is your garden."

  He looked round him. His glance seemed to

  apologize to the flowers for that which he had

  done and was about to do.

  at Pollensa Bay

  The steamer from Barcelona to Majorca landed

  Mr. Parker Pyne at Palma in the early hours of

  the morning--and straightaway he met with disillusionment.

  The hotels were full! The best that

  could be done for him was an airless cupboard

  overlooking an inner court in a hotel in the center

  of the town--and with that Mr. Parker Pyne was

  not prepared to put up. The proprietor of the

  hotel was indifferent to his disappointment.

  "What will you?" he observed with a shrug.

  Palma was popular now! The exchange was favorable!

  Everyone--the English, the Americans--they

  all came to Majorca in the winter. The whole

  place was crowded. It was doubtful if the English

  gentleman would be able to get in anywhere--except

  perhaps at Formentor where the prices were

  so ruinous that even foreigners blenched at them.

  Mr. Parker Pyne partook of some coffee and a

  roll and went out to view the cathedral, but found

  79

  80

  Agatha Christie

  himself in no mood for apprecisung

  lies

  of architecture.

  [ke

  He next had a conference with a "

  Rea

  driver in inadequate French inte x.

  .ith

  native Spanish, and they discussed th "dly,0d

  possibilities of Soller, Aleudia, l'ollel ar. ed

  mentor--where there were fine h0tel n

  pensive

  ak'' an'!''

  Mr. Parker Pyne was goaded to mq t,. v;-pensive.

  -- ...:

  They asked, said the taxi driver, an u're

  it would be absurd and ridiculous t a,sit

  r/or well known that the English came

  prices were cheap and reasonable? l:tY:'."

  Mr. Parker Pyne said that thatwas h'reIt

  all the same what sums did they clx

  mentor?

  hqY'uitl,I

  A price incredible!

  Perfectly--but WHAT PRICE ExACT

  The driver consented at last tcreplr

  figures. 'lx¥? ,/'

  Fresh from the exactions of hotels -xr n

  and Egypt, the figure did not stagge,

  Pyne unduly.

  ,s in .

  A bargain was struck, Mr. prke,,v, ,em N

  cases were loaded on the taxi in a so

  "-

  e

  hazard manner, and they started , s mm Fie

  round the island, trying cheaer.°nzam";n

  route but with the final ob'ectivenf IF "*

  J .. ¥

  But they never reached tha tn,,t.. hoof

  plutocracy, for after they had pssecixo: I"Fo/ e narrow streets of Pollensa and 'ere J['i

  curved line of the seashore, they came, ,ed

  Pino d'Oro--a small hotel standing o7o e

  .rne:'.:"

  PROBLEM AT POLLENSA BAY

  81

  the sea looking out over a view that in the misty

  haze of a fine morning had the exquisite vagueness

  of a Japanese print. At once Mr. Parker Pyne

  knew that this, and this only, was what he was

  looking for. He stopped the taxi, passed through

  the painted gate with the hope that he would find a

  resting place.

  The elderly couple to whom the hotel belonged

  knew no English or French. Nevertheless the

  matter was concluded satisfactorily. Mr. Parker

  Pyne was allotted a room overlooking the sea, the

  suitcases were unloaded, the driver congratulated

  his-passenger upon avoiding the monstrous exi-gencies

  of "these new hotels," received his fare

  and departed with a cheerful Spanish salutation.

  Mr. Parker Pyne glanced at his watch and per-ceiving

  that it was, even now, but a quarter to ten,

  he went out onto the small terrace now bathed in a

  dazzling morning light and ordered, for the sec-ond

  time that morning, coffee and rolls.

  There were four tables there, his own, one from

  which breakfast was being cleared away and two

  occupied ones. At the one nearest him sat a family

  of father and mother and two elderly daughters--Germans.

  Beyond them, at the corner of the ter-race,

  sat what were clearly an English mother and

  Son.

  The woman was about fifty-five. She ha
d gray

  hair of a pretty tone--was sensibly but not fash-ionably

  dressed in a tweed coat and skirt--and

  had that comfortable self-possession which marks

  an Englishwoman used to much traveling abroad.

  The young man who sat opposite her might

  have been twenty-five and he too was typical of his

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  Agatha Christie

  class and age. He was neither good-looking nor

  plain, tall nor short. He was clearly on the best of

  terms with lis mother--they made little jokes

  together--and he was assiduous in passing her

  things.

  As they talked, her eye met that of Mr. Parker

  Pyne. It passed over him with well-bred noncha-lance,

  but he knew that he had been assimilated

  and labeled.

  He had been recognized as English and doubt-less,

  in due course, some pleasant noncommittal

  remark would be addressed to him.

  Mr. Parker Pyne had no particular objection.

  His own courttrymen and women abroad were in-clined

  to bore him slightly, but he was quite will-ing

  to pass the time of day in an amiable manner.

  In a small hotel it caused constraint if one did not

  do so. This particular woman, he felt sure, had ex-cellent

  "hotel manners," as he put it.

  The English boy rose from his seat, made some

  laughing remark and passed into the hotel. The

  woman took her letters and bag and settled herself

  in a chair facing the sea. She unfolded a copy of

  the Continental Daily Mail. Her back was to Mr.

  Parker Pyne.

  As he dra0k the last drop of his coffee, Mr.

  Parker Pyne glanced in her direction, and in-stantly

  he stiffened. He was alarmed--alarmed for

  the peaceful continuance of his holiday! That

  back was horribly expressive. In his time he had

  classified many such backs. Its rigidity--the

  tenseness of its poise--without seeing her face he

  knew well enough that the eyes were bright with

  unshed tearsthat the woman was keeping herself

  PROBLEM AT POLLENSA BAY

  83

  in hand by a rigid effort.

  Moving warily, like a much-hunted animal, Mr.

  Parker Pyne retreated into the hotel. Not half an

  hour before he had been invited to sign his name

  in the book lying on the desk. There it was--a neat

  signature--C. Parker Pyne, London.

  A few lines above Mr. Parker Pyne noticed the

  entries: Mrs. R. Chester, Mr. Basil Chester--Holm

  Park, Devon.

  Seizing a pen, Mr. Parker Pyne wrote rapidly

  over his signature. It now read (with difficulty)

  Christopher Pyne.

  If Mrs. R. Chester was unhappy in Pollensa

  Bay, it was not going to be made easy for her to

  consult Mr. Parker Pyne.

  Already it had been a source of abiding wonder

  to that gentleman that so many people he had

  come across abroad should know his name and

  have noted his advertisements. In England many

  thousands of people read the Times every day and

  could have answered quite truthfully that they had

  never heard such a name in their lives. Abroad, he

  reflected, they read their newspapers more thor-oughly.

  No item, not even the advertisement col-umns,

  escaped them.

  Already his holidays had been interrupted on

  several occasions. He had dealt with a whole series

  of problems from murder to attempted blackmail.

  He was determined in Majorca to have peace. He

  felt instinctively that a distressed mother might

  trouble that peace considerably.

  Mr. Parker Pyne settled down at the Pino d'Oro

  very happily. There was a larger hotel not far off,

  the Mariposa, where a good many English people

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  Agatha Christie

  stayed. Fire was also-quite an artist colony living

  all round. You could walk along by the sea to the

  fishing village where there was a cocktail bar

  where peolle met--there were a few shops. It was

  all very peaceful and pleasant. Girls strolled about

  in trouse with brightly colored handkerchiefs

  tied round the upper halves of their bodies. Young

  men in b¢ets with rather long hair held forth in

  "Mac's !r" on such subjects as plastic values

  and abstraction in art.

  On the day after Mr. Parker Pyne's arrival,

  Mrs. Chester made a few conventional remarks to

  him on the subject of the view and the likelihood

  of the weather keeping fine. She then chatted a

  little with the German lady about knitting, and

  had a few bleasant words about the sadness of the

  political situation with two Danish gentlemen who

  spent their time rising at dawn and walking for

  eleven ho¥s.

  Mr. Parker Pyne found Basil Chester a most

  likeable Yung man. He called Mr. Parker Pyne

  "sir" and listened most politely to anything the

  older mar said. Sometimes the three English

  people hq coffee together after dinner in the

  evening. After the third day, Basil left the party

  after ten' inutes or so and Mr. Parker Pyne was

  left tte-/-tte with Mrs. Chester.

  They tlked about flowers and the growing of

  them, of the lamentable state of the English pound

  and of how expensive France had become, and of

  the diffic!ty of getting good afternoon tea.

  Every ¢¥ening when her son departed, Mr.

  Parker PYe saw the quickly concealed tremor of

  her lips, It immediately she recovered and dis-

  PROBLEM AT POLLENSA BAY

  85

  coursed pleasantly on the above-mentioned subjects.

  Little by little she began to talk of Basil--of

  how well he had done at school--"he was in the

  First XI, you know"--of how everyone liked him,

  of how proud his father would have been of the

  boy had he lived, of how thankful she had been

  that Basil had never been "wild." "Of course I

  always urge him to be with young people, but he

  really seems to prefer being with me."

  She said it with a kind of nice modest pleasure

  in the fact.

  But for once Mr. Parker Pyne did not make the

  usual tactful response he could usually achieve so

  easily. He said instead:

  "Oh! well, there seem to be plenty of young

  people here--not in the hotel, but roundabout."

  At that, he noticed, Mrs. Chester stiffened. She

  said: Of course there were a lot of Artists. Perhaps

  she was very old-fashioned--real art, of course,

  was different, but a lot of young people just made

  that sort of thing an excuse for lounging about

  and doing nothing--and the girls drank a lot too

  much.

  On the following day Basil said to Mr. Parker

  Pyne:

  "I'm awfully glad you turned up here, sir--especially

  for my mother's sake. She likes having

  you to talk to in the evenings."

  "What did you do when you were first here?" "As a matter of fact we used to play piquet."

  "I see."

  "Of course one gets rath
er tired of piquet. As a

  matter of fact I've got some friends here-- fright

  84

  .Agatha Christie

  stayed. There vvas a?.°'qaite an artist colony living

  all round. You co. um Wlk along by the sea to the

  fishing village w. ne.r.e there was a cocktail bar

  where people r..'ne.'e were a few shops. It was

  all very peacefu.lasant. Girls strolled about

  ·

  ,,m orl 11

  ,

  m trousers wPt

  ,g tly colored handkerchiefs

  tied round the pper halves of their bodies. Young

  men in berets with rat[er long hair held forth in

  "Mac's Bar" on SUch subjects as plastic values

  and abstractiffn in art.

  On the da-aadfteer r. Parker Pyne's arrival,

  Mrs. Chester ,m. . a t-w conventional remarks to

  him on the svt°J,ect of the view and the likelihood

  of the weathreeremPitlg fine. She then chatted a

  little with th

  mah lady about knitting, and

  had a few pla.sant ,W.%ds about the sadness of the

  political situu°n .W!tll two Danish gentlemen who

  spent their tme nsm at dawn and walking for

  eleven hours/

  Mr. Parkff Pyne tound Basil Chester a most

  likeable youOg ma.n. He called Mr Parker Pyne

  ,, · ,,

  .stenea

  .

  '

  sir and Bsaid nlost politely to anything the

  older man cof{e °tnetimes the three English