of light--the black woman whose ancestors came
from Africa, singing in her deep voice:
i've forgotten you
I never think of you
Oh, what a lie
I shall think of you, think of you,
think of you
Till I die ....
The applause broke out frenziedly. The lights
went up. Barton Russell came back and slipped
into his seat.
YELLOW IRIS
1 19
"She's great, that girl--" cried Tony.
But his words were cut short by a low cry from
Lola.
"Look--look .... "
And then they all saw. Pauline Weatherby
dropped forward onto the table.
Lola cried:
"She's dead--just like Iris--tike Iris in New
York."
Poirot sprang from his seat, signing to the
others to keep back. He bent over the huddled
form, very gently lifted a limp hand and felt for a
pulse.
His face was white and stern. The others
watched him. They were paralyzed, held in a
trance.
Slowly, Poirot nodded his head.
"Yes, she is dead--la pauvre petite. And I sit-ting
by her! Ah! but this time the murderer shall'
not escape."
Barton Russell, his face gray, muttered:
"Just like Iris .... She saw something--Pauline
saw something that night--Only she wasn't sure
--she told me she wasn't sure .... We must get the
police .... Oh, God, little Pauline."
Poirot said:
"Where is her glass?" He raised it to his nose.
"Yes, I can smell the cyanide. A smell of bitter
almonds . . . the same method, the same poi-son
.... "
He picked up her handbag.
"Let us look in her handbag."
Barton Russell cried out:
"You don't believe this is suicide, too? Not on
your life."
120
Agatha Christie
"Wait," Poirot commanded. "No, there is
nothing here. The lights went up, you see, too
quickly, the murderer had not time. Therefore,
the poison is still on him."
"Or her," said Carter.
He was looking at Lola Valdez.
She spat out:
"What do you mean--what do you say? That I
killed her--eet is not true--not true--why should
I do such a thing!"
"You had rather a fancy for Barton Russell
yourself in New York. That's the gossip I heard.
Argentine beauties are notoriously jealous."
"That ees a pack of lies. And I do not come
from the Argentine. I come from Peru. Ah--I spit
upon you. I--" She relapsed into Spanish.
"I demand silence," cried Poirot. "It is for me
to speak."
Barton Russell said heavily:
' 'Everyone must be searched."
Poirot said calmly,
"Non, non, it is not necessary."
"What d'you mean, not necessary?"
"I, Hercule Poirot, know. I see with the eyes of
the mind. And I will speak! M. Carter, will you
show us the packet in your breast pocket?"
"There's nothing in my pocket. What the
hell--"
"Tony, my good friend, if you will be so oblig-ing.''
Carter cried out:
"Damn you--"
Tony flipped the packet neatly out before
Carter could defend himself.
YELLOW IRIS
121
"There you are, M. Poirot, just as you said!"
"It's a damned lie," cried Carter.
Poirot picked up the packet, read the label.
"Cyanide of potassium. The case is complete."
Barton Russell's voice came thickly.
"Carter! I always thought so. Iris was in love
with you. She wanted to go away with you. You
didn't want a scandal for the sake of your precious
career so you poisoned her. You'll hang for this,
you dirty dog."
"Silence!" Poirot's voice rang out, firm and
authoritative. "This is not finished yet. I, Hercule
Poirot, have something to say. My friend here,
Tony Chapell, he says to me when I arrive, that I
have come in search of crime. That, it is partly
true. There was crime in my mind--but it was to
prevent a crime that I came. And I have prevented
it. The murderer, he planned wellmbut Hercule
Poirot he was one move ahead. He had to think
fast, and to whisper quickly in Mademoiselle's ear
when the lights went down. She is very quick and
clever, Mademoiselle Pauline, .she played her part
well. Mademoiselle, will you be so kind as to show
us that you are not dead after all?"
Pauline sat up. She gave an unsteady laugh.
"Resurrection of Pauline," she said.
"Pauline-- darling."
"Tony!"
"My sweet."
"Angel."
Barton Russell gasped.
"I--I don't understand .... "
"I will help you to understand, Mr. Barton
Russell. Your plan has miscarried."
122
Agatha Christie
"My plan?"
"Yes, your plan. Who was the only man who
had an alibi during the darkness. The man who
left the table--you, Mr. Barton Russell. But you
returned to it under cover of the darkness, circling
round it, with a champagne bottle, filling up
glasses, putting cyanide in Pauline's glass and
dropping the half empty packet in Carter's pocket
as you bent over him to remove a glass. Oh, yes, it
is easy to play the part of a waiter in darkness
when the attention of everyone is elsewhere. That
was the real reason for your party tonight. The
safest place to commit a murder is in the middle of
a crowd."
"What the--why the hell should I want to kill
Pauline?"
"It might be, perhaps, a question of money.
Your wife left you guardian to her sister. You
mentioned that fact tonight. Pauline is twenty. At
twenty-one or on her marriage you would have to
render an account of your stewardship. I suggest
that you could not do that. You have specu-lated
with it. I do not know, Mr. Barton Russell,
whether you killed your wife in the same way, or
whether her suicide suggested the idea of this
crime to you, but I do know that tonight you have
been guilty of attempted murder. It rests with Miss
Pauline whether you are prosecuted for that."
"No," said Pauline. "He can get out of my
sight and out of this country: I don't want a
scandal."
"You had better go quickly, Mr. Barton
Russell, and I advise you to be careful in future."
Barton Russell got up, his face working.
YELLOW IRIS
123
"To hell with you, you interfering little Belgian
jackanapes."
He strode out angrily.
Pauline sighed.
"M. Poirot, you've been wonderful .... "
"You, Mademoiselle, you have been the mar-velous
one. To pour away the champagne, to act
the dead body so prettily."
"Ugh," she shivered, "you
give me the creeps."
He said gently:
"It was you who telephoned me, was it not?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"I don't know. I was worried and--frightened
without knowing quite why I was frightened Bar-ton
told me he was having this party to com-memorate
Iris' death. I realized he had some
scheme on--but he wouldn't tell me what it was.
He looked so--so queer and so excited that I felt
something terrible might happen--only of course I
never dreamed that he meant to--to get rid of
me."
"And so, Mademoiselle?"
"I'd heard people talking about you. I thought
if I could only get you here perhaps it would stop
anything happening. I thought that being
foreigner--if I rang up and pretended to be in
danger and--and made it sound mysterious--"
"You thought the melodrama, it would attract
me? That is what puzzled me. The message itself
--definitely it was what you call 'bogus'--it did
not ring true. But the fear in the voice--that was.
real. Then I came--and you denied very cate-gorically
having sent me a message."
124
Agatha Christie
"I had to. Besides, I didn't want you to know it
was me."
"Ah, but I was fairly sure of that! Not at first.
But I soon realized that the only two people Who
could know about the yellow irises on the table
were you or Mr. Barton Russell."
Pauline nodded.
"I heard him ordering them to be put on the
table," she explained. "That, and his ordering a
table for six when I knew only five were coming,
made me suspectw''
She stopped, biting her lip.
"What did you suspect, Mademoiselle?"
She said slowly:
"I was afraid--of something haPpening-..to
Mr. Carter."
Stephen Carter cleared his throat. Unhurrielly
but quite decisively he rose from the table.
"Er--h'm--I have to--er--thank you, IMr'
Poirot. I owe you a great deal. You'll excuse
I'm sure, if I leave you. Tonight's happenings
have beenwrather upsetting."
Looking after his retreating figure, Pauline Said
violently:
"I hate him. I've always thought it was
because
of him that Iris killed herself. Or perhaps
--Barton killed her. Oh, it's all so hateful ,,
Poirot
said gently:
"Forget,
Mademoiselle.. · forget Let the
past go
Think only of
the present "
Pauline murmured, "Yes--you're
right
',
Poirot turned to Lola
Valdez.
"Sefiora, as the evening advances
I become more brave. If you would
dance with me
"Oh, yes, indeed. You are--you
are ze cat's
YELLOq
whilers, M. Poirot. I ioseest on dancing witla
yo ,,
,,'
ora."
¥ou are too kind, Sei left. They leant towar6s
)ny and Pauline were
eac,!ther across the table'
: , barling Pauline." .,c a nasty spiteful spit
" )h, Tony, I've been s.v Can you ever forgiW
r little cat to you all d
rile'?,, ·
,,
. : j)e
again. Let's dance."
&ngel! Thssuru,:no at each other and
· they danced off, smi
nuntaing softly:
T .........Love
for making
here s nothing lli(.o
yOU .miser. a.b?Love for making
There's notlfing tike
you blue
Depressed
Possessed
Sentimental
Temperamen. tal . Love
ho re r;i tt hy ':ug ok ft
Love for driving
you crazy Love for making
There's nothing like
you mad
Abusive
Allusive
Suicidal
Homicidal
owe
There's nothing like Love ....
There's nothing like
Miss Marple
Tells a Story
I don't think I've ever told you, rny dears--you,
Raymond, and you, Joan, about rather curious
little business that happened some years ago now.
I don't want to seem vain in any Way-of course I
know that in comparison with yoa young people.
I'm not clever at all--Raymond w rites those very
modern books all about rather un. pleasant young
men and women--and Joan paint those very remarkable
pictures of square peOPle with curious
bulges on themmvery clever of yoh, my dear, but
as Raymond always says (only qhite kindly, because
he is the kindest of nephews) I am hopelessly
Victorian. I admire Mr. Alma-Tdema and Mr.
Frederic Leighton and I suppose to you they seem
hopelessly vieux jeu. Now let me ee, what was I
saying? Oh, yes--that I didn't Want to appear
vain--but I couldn't help being just a teeny weeny
129
130
Agatha Christie
bit pleased with myself, because, just by applying
a little common sense, I believe I really did solve a
problem that had baffled cleverer heads than
mine. Though really I should have thought the
whole thing was obvious from the beginning ....
Well, I'll tell you my little story, and if you
think I'm inclined to be conceited about it, you
must remember that I did at least help a fellow
creature who was in very grave distress.
The first I knew of this business was one eve-ning
about nine o'clock when Gwen--(you
member Gwen? My little maid with red hair) well
--Gwen came in and told me that Mr. Petherick
and a gentleman had called to see me. Gwen had
showed them into the drawing-room--quite
rightly. I was sitting in the dining-room because in
early spring I think it is so wasteful to have two
fires going.
I directed Gwen to bring in the cherry brandy
and some glasses and I hurried into the drawing-room.
I don't know whether you remember Mr.
Petherick? He died two years ago, but he had been
a friend of mine for many years as well as attend-ing
to all my legal business. A very shrewd man
and a really clever solicitor. His son does my busi-ness
for me now--a very nice lad and very up to
date--but somehow I don't feel quite the confi-dence
I had in Mr. Petherick.
I explained to Mr. Petherick about the fires and
he said at once that he and his friend would come
into the dining-room--and then he introduced his
friend--a Mr. Rhodes. He was a youngish man--not
much over forty-and I saw at once that there
was something very wrong. His manner was most
peculiar. One might have called it rude if one
MISS MAPLE TELLS A STORY
13 l
hadn't realized thai the poor fellow was suffering
from strain.
When we were sttled in the dining-room and
Gwen had brought the cherry brandy, Mr. Pethe-rick
explained the reson for his visit.
"Miss Marple," Be said, "you must forgive an
old friend for takin a liberty. What I have come
here for is a consultation."
I couldn't understand at all what he meant, and
he went on:
"In a case of illess one likes two points of
view--that of the specialist and that of the family
physician. It is the fashion to regard the former as
of more value, but I am not sure that I agree. The
specialist has experience only in his own subject--the
family doctor has, perhaps, less knowledge--but
a wider experience."