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 Poirots 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 Im upset. I dont know what to do. I dont knowoh, I dont know anything. What I feel is that Ive got to come and tell youtell you just whats happened, for youre 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 the ordeal which was about to descend upon him.
Its a pity, he murmured to himself, that she is so scatty. And yet, she has originality of mind. It could be that I am going to enjoy what she is coming to tell me. It could be he reflected a minute that it may take a great deal of the evening and that it will all be excessively foolish. Eh bien , one must take ones risks in life.
A bell sounded. A bell on the outside door of the flat this time. It was not a single pressure of the button. It lasted for a long time with a kind of steady action that was very effective, the sheer making of noise.
Assuredly, she has excited herself, said Poirot.
He heard George go to the door, open it, and before any decorous announcement could be made the door of his sitting-room opened and Ariadne Oliver charged through it, with George in tow behind her, hanging on to something that looked like a fishermans souwester and oilskins .
What on earth are you wearing? said Hercule Poirot.
Let George take it from you. Its very wet.
Of course its wet, said Mrs Oliver. Its very wet out. I never thought about water before. Its a terrible thing to think of.
Poirot looked at her with interest.
Will you have some lemon barley water, he said, or could I persuade you to a small glass of eau de vie ?
I hate water, said Mrs Oliver.
Poirot looked surprised.
I hate it. Ive never thought about it before. What it can do, and everything.
My dear friend, said Hercule Poirot, as George extricated her from the flapping folds of watery oilskin. Come and sit down here. Let George finally relieve you ofwhat is it you are wearing?
I got it in Cornwall, said Mrs Oliver. Oilskins. A real, proper fishermans oilskin.
Very useful to him, no doubt, said Poirot, but not, I think, so suitable for you. Heavy to wear. But comesit down and tell me.
I dont know how, said Mrs oliver, sinking into a chair. Sometimes, you know, I cant feel its really true. But it happened. It really happened.
Tell me, said Poirot.
Thats what Ive come for. But now Ive got here, its so difficult because I dont know where to begin.
At the beginning? suggested Poirot, or is that too conventional a way of acting?
I dont know when the beginning was. Not really. It could have been a long time ago, you know.
Calm yourself, said Poirot. Gather together the various threads of this matter in your mind and tell me. What is it that has so upset you?
It would have upset you, too, said Mrs Oliver. At least, I suppose it would. She looked rather doubtful. One doesnt know, really, what does upset you. You take so many things with a lot of calm.
It is often the best way, said Poirot.
All right, said Mrs Oliver. It began with a party.
Ah yes, said Poirot, relieved to have something as ordinary and sane as a party presented to him. A party. You went to a party and something happened.
Do you know what a Halloween party is? said Mrs Oliver.
I know what Halloween is, said Poirot. The 31st of October. He twinkled slightly as he said, When witches ride on broomsticks.