Lord Edgware Dies - Agatha Christie

 

The memory of the public is short. Already the intense interest and excitement aroused by the murder of George Alfred St Vincent Marsh, fourth Baron Edgware, is a thing past and forgotten. Newer sensations have taken its place. My friend, Hercule Poirot, was never openly mentioned in connection with the case. This, I  may say, was entirely in accordance with his own wishes. He did not choose to appear in  it. The credit went elsewhere—and that is how he wished it to be. Moreover, from Poirot’s  own peculiar private point of view, the case was one of his failures. He always swears that  it was the chance remark of a stranger in the street that put him on the right track.  However that may be, it was his genius that discovered the truth of the affair. But for  Hercule Poirot I doubt if the crime would have been brought home to its perpetrator.  I feel therefore that the time has come for me to set down all I know of the affair in black  and white. I know the ins and outs of the case thoroughly and I may also mention that I  shall be fulfilling the wishes of a very fascinating lady in so doing.  I have often recalled that day in Poirot’s prim neat little sitting-room when, striding up and down a particular strip of carpet, my little friend gave us his masterly and astounding  résumé of the case. I am going to begin my narrative where he did on that occasion—at a  London theatre in June of last year.  Carlotta Adams was quite the rage in London at that moment. The year before she had  given a couple of matinees which had been a wild success. This year she had had a three  weeks’ season of which this was the last night but one.  Carlotta Adams was an American girl with the most amazing talent for single-handed  sketches unhampered by make-up or scenery. She seemed to speak every language with  ease. Her sketch of an evening in a foreign hotel was really wonderful. In turn, American  tourists, German tourists, middle-class English families, questionable ladies, impoverished  Russian aristocrats and weary discreet waiters all flitted across the scene.  Her sketches went from grave to gay and back again. Her dying Czecho-Slovakian woman  in hospital brought a lump to the throat. A minute later we were rocking with laughter as a  dentist plied his trade and chatted amiably with his victims. Her programme closed with what she announced as ‘Some Imitations’. ...

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Book Title:  Lord Edgware Dies - Agatha Christie
Total Pages: 211                                          
Posted By: Shakil Ilyas