I cant help thinking, said Ariadne Oliver, that girls are really very silly nowadays.
Dont you think they always were? asked Rowena Drake.
Mrs Oliver considered.
I suppose youre right, she admitted.
Now then, cried Mrs Drakesupper.
Supper went off well. Rich iced cakes, savouries , prawns, cheese and nut confections. The eleven-pluses stuffed themselves.
And now, said Rowena, the last one for the evening. Snapdragon. Across there, through the pantry. Thats 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.
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, Im burned! Isnt it lovely? Little by little the Snapdragon flickered and died down. The lights went up. The party was over.
Its been a great success, said Rowena.
So it should be with all the trouble youve taken.
It was lovely, said Judith quietly. Lovely.
And now, she added ruefully, well have to clear up a bit. We cant leave everything for those poor women tomorrow morning.
CHAPTER 3
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 même , 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 ones 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 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 ones friends.
Just as well he isnt coming here, sir, really, said George. Those colds in the head are very infectious. Wouldnt 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 the room.
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 .
Thats wonderful, said an eager voice. A female voice, slightly impaired with breathlessness. I thought youd be sure to be out, that you wouldnt be there.
Why should you think that? inquired Poirot.
Because I cant help feeling that nowadays things always happen to frustrate one. You want someone in a terrible hurry, you feel you cant wait, and you have to wait. I wanted to get hold of you urgentlyabsolutely urgently.
And who are you? asked Hercule Poirot.
The voice, a female one, seemed surprised.
Dont you know? it said incredulously.
Yes, I know, said Hercule Poirot. You are my friend, Ariadne.
And Im 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 havent exactly been running. Its emotion. Can I come and see you at once?