Poirot Investigates: A Hercule Poirot Collection (Hercule Poirot Mysteries)
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The Queen of Mystery has come to Harper Collins! Agatha Christie, the acknowledged mistress of suspense—creator of indomitable sleuth Miss Marple, meticulous Belgian detective Hercule Poirot, and so many other unforgettable characters—brings her entire oeuvre of ingenious whodunits, locked room mysteries, and perplexing puzzles to Harper Paperbacks. Poirot Investigates a host of murders most foul—as well as other dastardly crimes—in this intriguing collection of short stories from the one-and-only Christie.
then we discussed the question of German reparations, and then Mrs Maltravers asked a lot of questions about East Africa, and I told them one or two yarns, that's about all, I think." "Thank you." Poirot was silent for a moment, then he said gently: "With your permission, I should like to try a little experiment. You have told us all that your conscious self knows, I want now to question your subconscious self." "Psychoanalysis, what?" said Black, with visible alarm. "Oh, no," said Poirot
but we thought at any rate it would do no harm - everything they offered us was four and five hundred a year, or else huge premiums, and then, just as we were going, they mentioned that they had a flat at eighty, but that they doubted if it would be any good our going there, because it had been on their books some time and they had sent so many people to see it that it was almost sure to be taken - 'snapped up' as the clerk put it - only people were so tiresome in not letting them know, and then
secret societies, the Mafia, or the Camorra, to which doubtless Luigi Valdarno belonged, is on their track. What do they do! They hit on a scheme of transparent simplicity. Evidently they knew that their pursuers were not personally acquainted with either of them. What then can be simpler? They offer the flat at an absurdly low rental. Of the thousands of young couples in London looking for flats, there cannot fail to be several Robinsons. It is only a matter of waiting. If you will look at the
Hastings, I regret that I am of such a moral disposition. To work against the law, it would be pleasing, for a change.' 'Cheer up, Poirot; you know you are unique in your own line.' 'But what is there on hand in my own line?' I picked up the paper. 'Here's an Englishman mysteriously done to death in Holland,' I said. 'They always say that - and later they find that he ate the tinned fish and that his death is perfectly natural.' 'Well, if you're determined to grouse!' 'Tiens!' said Poirot,
her. His hand closed over it. 'I think not.' His voice had changed. 'What do you mean?' Her voice seemed to have grown sharper. 'At any rate, permit me to abstract its further contents. You observe that the original cavity has been reduced by half. In the top half, the compromising letter; in the bottom -' He made a nimble gesture, then held out his hand. On the palm were four large glittering stones, and two big milky white pearls. 'The jewels stolen in Bond Street the other day, I rather