There's a serial killer on the loose, bent on working his way though the alphabet. There seems little chance of the murderer being caught -- until her makes the crucial and vain mistake of challenging Hercule Poirot to frustrate his plans ...
There are no customer reviews available at this time. Would you like to write a review?
William Morrow Paperbacks
December 01, 2003
Number of Print Pages*
Adobe DRM EPUB
* Number of eBook pages may differ. Click here for more information.
Excerpt from The ABC Murders by Agatha Christie
It was in June of 1935 that I came home from my ranch in South America for a stay of about six months. It had been a difficult time for us out there. Like everyone else, we had suffered from world depression. I had various affairs to see to in England that I felt could only be successful if a personal touch was introduced. My wife remained to manage the ranch.
I need hardly say that one of my first actions on reaching England was to look up my old friend, Hercule Poirot.
I found him installed in one of the newest type of service flats in London. I accused him (and he admitted the fact) of having chosen this particular building entirely on account of its strictly geometrical appearance and proportions.
'But yes, my friend, it is of a most pleasing symmetry, do you not find it so '
I said that I thought there could be too much squareness and, alluding to an old joke, I asked if in this super-modern hostelry they managed to induce hens to lay square eggs.
Poirot laughed heartily.
'Ah, you remember that Alas! no -- science has not yet induced the hens to conform to modern tastes, they still lay eggs of different sizes and colours!'
I examined my old friend with an affectionate eye. He was looking wonderfully well -- hardly a day older than when I had last seen him.
'You're looking in fine fettle, Poirot,' I said. 'You've hardly aged at all. In fact, if it were possible, I should say that you had fewer grey hairs than when I saw you last.'
Poirot beamed on me.
'And why is that not possible It is quite true.'
'Do you mean your hair is turning from grey to black instead of from black to grey '
'But surely that's a scientific impossibility!'
'Not at all.'
'But that's very extraordinary. It seems against nature.'
'As usual, Hastings, you have the beautiful and unsuspicious mind. Years do not change that in you! You perceive a fact and mention the solution of it in the same breath without noticing that you are doing so!'
I stared at him, puzzled.
Without a word he walked into his bedroom and returned with a bottle in his hand which he handed to me.
I took it, for the moment uncomprehending.