AgathaChristie-HalloweenParty Read online

  and corners. How selfish people are, thought Mrs. Oliver. No consideration for

  others. That well-known tag from the past

  came into her mind. It had been said to

  her in succession by a nursemaid, a nanny, a governess, her grandmother, two greataunts,

  her mother and a few others.

  "Excuse me," said Mrs. Oliver in a

  loud, clear voice.

  The boy and the girl clung closer than

  ever, their lips fastened on each other's.

  "Excuse me," said Mrs. Oliver again, "do you mind letting me pass? I want to

  get in at this door."

  Unwillingly the couple fell apart. They

  looked at her in an aggrieved fashion. Mrs.

  Oliver went in, banged the door and shot

  the bolt.

  It was not a very close fitting door. The

  faint sound of words came to her from

  outside.

  "Isn't that like people?" one voice said

  13

  in a somewhat uncertain tenor. "They

  might see we didn't want to be disturbed."

  "People are so selfish," piped a girl's

  voice. "They never think of anyone but

  themselves."

  "No consideration for others," said the

  boy's voice.

  14

  2

  PREPARATIONS for a children's

  party usually give far more trouble

  to the organisers than an entertainment

  devised for those of adult years.

  Food of good quality and suitable alcoholic

  refreshment--with lemonade on the side, that, to the right people, is quite enough

  to make a party go. It may cost more but

  the trouble is infinitely less. So Ariadne

  Oliver and her friend Judith Butler agreed

  together.

  "What about teenage parties?" said

  Judith.

  "I don't know much about them," said

  Mrs. Oliver.

  "In one way," said Judith, "I think

  they're probably least trouble of all. I

  mean, they just throw all of us adults out.

  And say they'll do it all themselves."

  "And do they?"

  "Well, not in our sense of the word,"

  said Judith. "They forget to order some of

  the things, and order a lot of other things

  15

  that nobody likes. Having turfed us out,

  then they say there were things we ought

  to have provided for them to find. They

  break a lot of glasses, and other things,

  and there's always somebody undesirable

  or who brings an undesirable friend. You

  know the sort of thing. Peculiar drugs and

  —what do they call it?— Flower Pot or

  Purple Hemp or LSD, which I always

  have thought just meant money, but

  apparently it doesn't."

  "I suppose it costs it," suggested

  Ariadne Oliver.

  "It's very unpleasant, and Hemp has a

  nasty smell."

  "It all sounds very depressing," said

  Mrs. Oliver.

  "Anyway, this party will go all right.

  Trust Rowena Drake for that. She's a

  wonderful organiser. You'll see."

  "I don't feel I even want to go to a

  party," sighed Mrs. Oliver.

  "You go up and lie down for an hour or

  so. You'll see. You'll enjoy it when you

  get there. I wish Miranda hadn't got a

  temperature—she's so disappointed at not

  being able to go, poor child."

  The party came into being at half past

  16

  seven. Ariadne Oliver had to admit that

  her friend was right. Arrivals were punctual.

  Everything went splendidly. It was

  well imagined, well run and ran like clockwork.

  There were red and blue lights on

  the stairs and yellow pumpkins in profusion.

  The girls and boys arrived holding

  decorated broomsticks for a competition.

  After greetings, Rowena Drake announced

  the programme for the evening. "First, judging of the broomstick competition,"

  she said, "three prizes, first, second and

  third. Then comes cutting the flour cake.

  That'll be in the small conservatory. Then

  bobbing for apples--there's a list pinned

  upon the wall over there of the partners

  for that event--then there'll be dancing.

  Every time the lights go out you change

  partners. Then girls to the small study

  where they'll be given their mirrors. After

  that, supper. Snapdragon and then

  prize-giving."

  Like all parties, it went slightly stickily

  at first. The brooms were admired, they

  were very small miniature brooms, and on

  the whole the decorating of them had not

  reached a very high standard of merit,

  "which makes it easier," said Mrs. Drake

  17

  in an aside to one of her friends. "And it's

  a very useful thing because I mean there

  are always one or two children one knows

  only too well won't win a prize at anything

  else, so one can cheat a little over this."

  "So unscrupulous, Rowena."

  "I'm not really. I just arrange so that

  things should be fair and evenly divided.

  The whole point is that everyone wants to

  win something"

  "What's the Flour Game?" asked

  Ariadne Oliver.

  "Oh yes, of course, you weren't here

  when we were doing it. Well, you just fill

  a tumbler with flour, press it in well, then

  you turn it out in a tray and place a

  sixpence on top of it. Then everyone slices

  a slice off it very carefully so as not to

  tumble the sixpence off. As soon as

  someone tumbles the sixpence off, that

  person goes out. It's a sort of elimination.

  The last one left in gets the sixpence of

  course. Now then, away we go."

  And away they went. Squeals of excitement

  were heard coming from the library

  where bobbing for apples went on, and

  competitors returned from there with wet

  18

  locks and having disposed a good deal of

  water about their persons.

  One of the most popular contests, at any

  rate among the girls, was the arrival of the

  Hallowe'en witch played by Mrs. Goodbody,

  a local cleaning woman who, not

  only having the necessary hooked nose and

  chin which almost met, was admirably

  proficient in producing a semi-cooing voice

  which had definitely sinister undertones

  and also produced magical doggerel

  rhymes.

  "Now then, come along. Beatrice, is it?

  Ah, Beatrice. A very interesting name.

  Now you want to know what your

  husband is going to look like. Now, my

  dear, sit here. Yes, yes, under this light

  here. Sit here and hold this little mirror in

  your hand, and presently when the lights

  go out you'll see him appear. You'll see

  him looking over your shoulder. Now hold

  the mirror steady. Abracadabra, who shall

  see? The face of the man who will marry

  me. Beatrice, Beatrice, you shall find, the

  fsce of the man who shall please your

&
nbsp; mind."

  A sudden shaft of light shot across the

  room from a step-ladder, placed behind a

  19

  screen. It hit the right spot in the room,

  which was reflected in the mirror grasped

  in Beatrice's excited hand.

  "Oh!" cried Beatrice. "I've seen him.

  I've seen him! I can see him in my

  mirror!"

  The beam was shut off, the lights came

  on and a coloured photograph pasted on

  a card floated down from the ceiling.

  Beatrice danced about excitedly.

  "That was him! That was him! I saw

  him," she cried. "Oh, he's got a lovely

  ginger beard."

  She rushed to Mrs. Oliver, who was the

  nearest person.

  "Do look, do look. Don't you think he's

  rather wonderful? He's like Eddie Presweight,

  the pop singer. Don't you think

  so?"

  Mrs. Oliver did think he looked like one

  of the faces she daily deplored having to

  see in her morning paper. The beard, she

  thought, had been an after-thought of

  genius.

  "Where do all these things come from?"

  she asked.

  "Oh, Rowena gets Nicky to make

  them. And his friend Desmond helps.

  20

  He experiments a good deal with

  photography. He and a couple of pals of

  his made themselves up, with a great deal

  of hair or side-burns or beards and things.

  And then with the light on him and everything, of course it sends the girls wild with

  delight."

  "I can't help thinking," said Ariadne

  Oliver, "that girls are really very silly

  nowadays."

  "Don't you think they always were?"

  asked Rowena Drake.

  Mrs. Oliver considered.

  "I suppose you're right," she admitted.

  "Now then," cried Mrs. Drake--

  "supper."

  Supper went off well. Rich iced cakes, savouries, prawns, cheese and nut confections.

  The eleven-pluses stuffed

  themselves.

  "And now," said Rowena, "that last one

  for the evening. Snapdragon. Across there, through the pantry. That's right. Now

  then. Prizes first."

  The prizes were presented, and then

  there was a wailing, banshee call. The children

  rushed across the hall back to the

  dining-room.

  21

  The food had been cleared away. A

  green baize cloth was laid across the table

  and here was borne a great dish of flaming

  raisins. Everybody shrieked, rushing

  forward, snatching the blazing raisins, with cries of "Ow, I'm burned! Isn't it

  lovely?" Little by little the Snapdragon

  flickered and died down. The lights went

  up. The party was over.

  "It's been a great success," said

  Rowena.

  "So it should be with all the trouble

  you've taken."

  "It was lovely," said Judith quietly.

  "Lovely."

  "And now," she added ruefully, "we'll

  have to clear up a bit. We can't leave

  everything for those poor women tomorrow

  morning."

  22

  3

  IN a flat in London the telephone bell

  rang. The owner of the flat, Hercule

  Poirot, stirred in his chair. Disappointment

  attacked him. He knew before he

  answered it what it meant. His friend

  Solly, with whom he had been going to

  spend the evening, reviving their neverending

  controversy about the real culprit

  in the Canning Road Municipal Baths

  murder, was about to say that he could not

  come. Poirot, who had collected certain

  bits of evidence in favour of his own somewhat

  far-fetched theory, was deeply disappointed.

  He did not think his friend Solly

  would accept his suggestions, but he had

  no doubt that when Solly in his turn produced

  his own fantastic beliefs, he himself, Hercule Poirot, would just as easily be able

  to demolish them in the name of sanity,

  logic, order and method. It was annoying, to say the least of it, if Solly did not come this evening. But it is true that when they had met earlier in the day, Solly had been

  racked with a chesty cough and was in a

  state of highly infectious catarrh.

  "He had a nasty cold," said Hercule

  Poirot, "and no doubt, in spite of the

  remedies that I have handy here, he would

  probably have given it to me. It is better

  that he should not come. Tout de meme,"

  he added, with a sigh, "it will mean that

  now I shall pass a dull evening."

  Many of the evenings were dull now, Hercule Poirot thought. His mind, magnificent

  as it was (for he had never

  doubted that fact) required stimulation

  from outside sources. He had never been

  of a philosophic cast of mind. There were

  times when he almost regretted that he had

  not taken to the study of theology instead

  of going into the police force in his early

  days. The number of angels who could

  dance on the point of a needle; it would be

  interesting to feel that that mattered and to

  argue passionately on the point with one's

  colleagues.

  His manservant, George, entered the

  room.

  "It was Mr. Solomon Levy, sir."

  "Ah yes," said Hercule Poirot.

  "He very much regrets that he will not

  24

  be able to join you this evening. He is in

  bed with a serious bout of "flu."

  "He has not got 'flu," said Hercule

  Poirot. "He has only a nasty cold.

  Everyone always thinks they have 'flu. It

  sounds more important. One gets more

  sympathy. The trouble with a catarrhal

  cold is that it is hard to glean the proper

  amount of sympathetic consideration from

  one's friends."

  "Just as well he isn't coming here, sir,

  really," said George. "Those colds in the

  head are very infectious. Wouldn't be good

  for you to go down with one of those."

  "It would be extremely tedious," Poirot

  agreed.

  The telephone bell rang again.

  "And now who has a cold?" he

  demanded. "I have not asked anyone

  else."

  George crossed towards the telephone.

  "I will take the call here," said Poirot.

  "I have no doubt that it is nothing of

  interest. But at any rate—" he shrugged

  his shoulders—"—it will perhaps pass the

  time. Who knows?"

  George said, "Very good, sir," and left

  tile room.

  25

  Poirot stretched out a hand, raised the

  receiver, thus stilling the clamour of the

  bell.

  "Hercule Poirot speaks," he said, with

  a certain grandeur of manner designed to

  impress whoever was at the other end of

  the line.

  "That's wonderful," said an eager voice.

  A female voice, slightly impaired with

  breathlessness. "I thought you'd be sure

  to be out, that you wouldn't be there."

&nbs
p; "Why should you think that?" inquired

  Poirot.

  "Because I can't help feeling that

  nowadays things always happen to frustrate

  one. You want someone in a terrible

  hurry, you feel you can't wait, and you have to wait. I wanted to get hold of you

  urgently--absolutely urgently.''

  "And who are you?" asked Hercule

  Poirot.

  The voice, a female one, seemed

  surprised.

  "Don't you Anow?" it said incredulously.

  "Yes, I know," said Hercule Poirot.

  "You are my friend, Ariadne."

  26

  "And I'm in a terrible state," said

  Ariadne.

  "Yes, yes, I can hear that. Have you

  also been running? You are very breathless, are you not?"

  "I haven't been exactly running. It's

  emotion. Can I come and see you at

  oncer

  Poirot let a few moments elapse before

  he answered. His friend, Mrs. Oliver, sounded in a highly excitable condition.

  Whatever was the matter with her, she

  would no doubt spend a very long time

  pouring out her grievances, her woes, her

  frustrations or whatever was ailing her.

  Once having established herself within

  Poirot's sanctum, it might be hard to

  induce her to go home without a certain

  amount of impoliteness. The things that

  excited Mrs. Oliver were so numerous and

  frequently so unexpected that one had to

  be careful how one embarked upon a

  discussion of them.

  "Something has upset you?"

  "Yes. Of course I'm upset. I don't know

  what to do. I don't know--oh, I don't

  know anything. What I feel is that I've got

  to come and tell you--tell you just what's

  27

  happened, for you're the only person who

  might know what to do. Who might tell

  me what I ought to do. So can I come?"

  "But certainly, but certainly. I shall be

  delighted to receive you."

  The receiver was thrown down heavily

  at the other end and Poirot summoned

  George, reflected a few minutes, then

  ordered lemon barley water, bitter lemon

  and a glass of brandy for himself.

  "Mrs. Oliver will be here in about ten

  minutes," he said.

  George withdrew. He returned with the

  brandy for Poirot, who accepted it with a

  nod of satisfaction, and George then

  proceeded to provide the teetotal refreshment

  that was the only thing likely to

  appeal to Mrs. Oliver. Poirot took a sip of

  brandy delicately, fortifying himself for