Read Online Hallowe'en Party by Agatha Christie - Free Book Online

properly.”
    â€œAnd she was annoyed about that, was she?”
    â€œYes, she went on saying that it was true.”
    â€œIn fact, she boasted about it.”
    â€œWhen you put it that way, yes.”
    â€œIt might have been true, I suppose,” said Poirot.
    â€œNonsense! I don’t believe it for one minute,” said Mrs. Drake. “It’s the sort of stupid thing Joyce would say.”
    â€œShe was a stupid girl?”
    â€œWell, she was the kind, I think, who liked to show off,” said Mrs. Drake. “You know, she always wanted to have seen more or done more than other girls.”
    â€œNot a very lovable character,” said Poirot.
    â€œNo indeed,” said Mrs. Drake. “Really the kind that you have to be shutting up all the time.”
    â€œWhat did the other children who were here have to say about it? Were they impressed?”
    â€œThey laughed at her,” said Mrs. Drake. “So, of course, that made her worse.”
    â€œWell,” said Poirot, as he rose, “I am glad to have your positiveassurance on that point.” He bowed politely over her hand. “Goodbye, Madame, thank you so much for allowing me to view the scene of this very unpleasant occurrence. I hope it has not recalled unpleasant memories too definitely to you.”
    â€œOf course,” said Mrs. Drake, “it is very painful to recall anything of this kind. I had so hoped our little party would go off well. Indeed, it was going off well and everyone seemed to be enjoying it so much till this terrible thing happened. However, the only thing one can do is to try and forget it all. Of course, it’s very unfortunate that Joyce should have made this silly remark about seeing a murder.”
    â€œHave you ever had a murder in Woodleigh Common?”
    â€œNot that I can remember,” said Mrs. Drake firmly.
    â€œIn this age of increased crime that we live in,” said Poirot, “that really seems somewhat unusual, does it not?”
    â€œWell, I think there was a lorry driver who killed a pal of his—something like that—and a little girl whom they found buried in a gravel pit about fifteen miles from here, but that was years ago. They were both rather sordid and uninteresting crimes. Mainly the result of drink, I think.”
    â€œIn fact, the kind of murder unlikely to have been witnessed by a girl of twelve or thirteen.”
    â€œMost unlikely, I should say. And I can assure you, Monsieur Poirot, this statement that the girl made was solely in order to impress friends and perhaps interest a famous character.” She looked rather coldly across at Mrs. Oliver.
    â€œIn fact,” said Mrs. Oliver, “it’s all my fault for being at the party, I suppose.”
    â€œOh, of course not, my dear, of course I didn’t mean it that way.”
    Poirot sighed as he departed from the house with Mrs. Oliver by his side.
    â€œA very unsuitable place for a murder,” he said, as they walked down the path to the gate. “No atmosphere, no haunting sense of tragedy, no character worth murdering, though I couldn’t help thinking that just occasionally someone might feel like murdering Mrs. Drake.”
    â€œI know what you mean. She can be intensely irritating sometimes. So pleased with herself and so complacent.”
    â€œWhat is her husband like?”
    â€œOh, she’s a widow. Her husband died a year or two ago. He got polio and had been a cripple for years. He was a banker originally, I think. He was very keen on games and sport and hated having to give all that up and be an invalid.”
    â€œYes, indeed.” He reverted to the subject of the child Joyce. “Just tell me this. Did anyone who was listening take this assertion of the child Joyce about murder seriously?”
    â€œI don’t know. I shouldn’t have thought anyone did.”
    â€œThe other children, for instance?”
    â€œWell, I was