Hercule Poirot: The Complete Short Stories: A Hercule Poirot Collection with Foreword by Charles Todd (Hercule Poirot Mysteries)
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At last, a single volume that gathers together all of the short stories featuring Agatha Christie's most famous creation: Hercule Poirot. The dapper, mustache-twirling little Belgian with the egg-shaped head and curious mannerisms has solved some of the most puzzling crimes of the century—and, in his own humble opinion, is "probably the greatest detective in the world."
In this complete collection of stories, ranging from short tales to novellas, Poirot faces violent murders, poisonings, kidnappings, and thefts—all solved with his characteristic panache. Only Agatha Christie could have devised cases worthy of Hercule Poirot's skill and "little gray cells."
You are very good for me, George.” When the 4:55 drew up at Abbots Cross station, there descended from it M. Hercule Poirot, very neatly and foppishly attired, his moustaches waxed to a stiff point. He gave up his ticket, passed through the barrier, and was accosted by a tall chauffeur. “M. Poirot?” The little man beamed upon him. “That is my name.” “This way, sir, if you please.” He held open the door of the big Rolls-Royce. The house was a bare three minutes from the station. The
know?” The other laughed. “I suppose that was rather an idiotic remark of mine. But what particular crime are you investigating down here, or is that a thing I mustn’t ask?” “You may ask,” said the detective. “Indeed, I would prefer that you asked.” Harrison looked at him curiously. He sensed something a little unusual in the other’s manner. “You are investigating a crime, you say?” he advanced rather hesitatingly. “A serious crime?” “A crime of the most serious there is.” “You mean. . . .”
on it.” Poirot smoothed out the sheet. Across it some words were printed in small, prim capitals. I WILL COME TO SEE YOU THIS EVENING AT HALF PAST SEVEN. J.F. “A compromising document to leave behind,” commented Poirot, as he handed it back. “Well, he didn’t know she’d got it in her pocket,” said the inspector. “He probably thought she’d destroyed it. We’ve evidence that he was a careful man, though. The pistol she was shot with we found under the body—and there again no fingerprints.
document you enclose is quite in order, and the fact of the marriage having taken place in a foreign country does not invalidate it in any way. Yours truly, etc. Poirot spread out the enclosure. It was a certificate of marriage between Donovan Bailey and Ernestine Grant, dated eight years ago. “Oh, my God!” said Jimmy. “Pat said she’d had a letter from the woman asking to see her, but she never dreamed it was anything important.” Poirot nodded. “Donovan knew—he went to see his wife this
“Will you let me be the judge of that?” The colour surged suddenly into the girl’s face. She said rapidly and breathlessly: “I’ve come to you because the man I’ve been engaged to for over a year has broken off our engagement.” She stopped and eyed him defiantly. “You must think,” she said, “that I’m completely mental.” Slowly, Hercule Poirot shook his head. “On the contrary, Mademoiselle, I have no doubt whatever but that you are extremely intelligent. It is certainly not my métier in life