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    Hercule Poirot's Christmas: A Hercule Poirot Mystery: The Official Authorized Edition
    Hercule Poirot's Christmas: A Hercule Poirot Mystery: The Official Authorized Edition
    Hercule Poirot's Christmas: A Hercule Poirot Mystery: The Official Authorized Edition
    Ebook283 pages4 hours

    Hercule Poirot's Christmas: A Hercule Poirot Mystery: The Official Authorized Edition

    By Agatha Christie

    4/5

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    About this ebook

    In Hercule Poirot’s Christmas, the holidays are anything but merry when a family reunion is marred by murder—and the notoriously fastidious investigator is quickly on the case.

    Christmas Eve, and the Lee family’s reunion is shattered by a deafening crash of furniture and a high-pitched wailing scream. Upstairs, the tyrannical Simeon Lee lies dead in a pool of blood, his throat slashed.

    When Hercule Poirot offers to assist, he finds an atmosphere not of mourning but of mutual suspicion. It seems everyone had their own reason to hate the old man. . . .

    Editor's Note

    A Christmas mystery…

    If your holiday plans include going to see the Agatha Christie-inspired whodunnit “Knives Out” in theaters, then you need some classic Christie, too! And we’ve got a delightful Christmas-themed mystery for you. Many of these characters definitely deserve coal in their stockings.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherHarperCollins
    Release dateDec 15, 2003
    ISBN9780061746697
    Author

    Agatha Christie

    Agatha Christie is the most widely published author of all time, outsold only by the Bible and Shakespeare. Her books have sold more than a billion copies in English and another billion in a hundred foreign languages. She died in 1976, after a prolific career spanning six decades.

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    Reviews for Hercule Poirot's Christmas

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    997 ratings44 reviews

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    • 3/5
      I read this to kick off a planned spree of mystery reading, after learning that it's frequently cited as the go-to Christmas mystery classic. Awkwardly, the Christmas part is 100% incidental. Christmas has nothing to do with this story, in fact - I'm left feeling that it was altered to mention Christmas just to boost interest or seasonal sales. A family can gather for reasons other than the holidays, and the holiday season tends to necessitate some holiday-oriented details (a formal meal, decoration, gifts). Characters barely even mention experiencing crisis/working regarding a murder case over Christmas as any sort of extraordinary experience (one exception being a quality passage where Poirot points out that tensions are higher at the holidays).

      This is an acclaimed closed-room mystery, as well. IMO, it breaks one of the cardinal rules of a decent mystery - in that the resolution feels "unfair", and key roles are played by a virtually uninvolved/undescribed mover until the 11th hour. Maybe this just points to a version of the cynicism that accompanies this era of mystery writing - aka "the butler did it" (not saying the butler did it in this book).

      All in all, it wasn't an unpleasant or overtly disappointing novella - but I don't feel that it earns the places it is reputed to hold in literary ranks and recommendations.
    • 4/5
      This was a thoroughly enjoyable Agatha Christie story. Thanks again to my SantaThing buyer for 2018.
    • 4/5
      In any other family, it might look like a cozy holiday reunion -- all of Simeon Lee's children and their spouses assembled for the holidays. But the Lee family is seeped in biting sarcasm and revenge served cold, and before the holiday is over, they will find Simeon Lee lying in a puddle of blood. Nearly everyone hated the old man -- but who hated him enough to kill him?It's been a long time since I read through all of the Poirot mysteries, so this one sparked only a few dim memories for me, and the ending came as a surprise. If you're looking for an enjoyable whodunit set at Christmas, this is a good one -- and the audiobook version is likewise well-executed.
    • 4/5
      A good solid Agatha Christie Poirot novel. I was caught completely off guard by the identity of the murderer, and it really made me think the whole way through.
    • 4/5
      Another lovely Agatha Christie novel. A charming little mystery set during Christmas time with Poirot solving another crime. I didn't see the ending coming at all. I always enjoy a Hercule Poirot story.
    • 3/5


      AKA: Murder for Christmas & A Holiday for Murder


      Oh boy, another "Locked Door" murder featuring a mean old man whose family hates him, all with motives for murder....... I think I'm getting smarter, I figured this one out immediately........

      So let's see this mean old man (mom) invites his entire family home for Christmas; including his prodigal son and granddaughter. A son of the mom's friend from good-old-days-gone-by also turns up..... There is a whole lot of family tension & angst going around not only from past family rifts, but the mom has called in his lawyer in order to change his will.....

      Not everyone is whom they appear to be.... Shortly after christmas eve dinner there is a huge crash and a blood curdling scream.... Everyone rushes up to the mom's room, only to find it locked. When the door is broken down the mom is lying in "an awful lot" of blood w/ his throat cut and most all of the furniture toppled over as if there was a fight.

      The characters were not particularly likeable.... The mom had a very interesting attitude..... mainly he just wanted his family to stand up for themselves, especially against his bullying ways and resented that most of his offspring preferred to cower before him.
    • 4/5
      A fun Christie locked room mystery. This one was particularly fun because it seemed that no one was who they claimed to be. It wasn't merely a whodunnit but a howtheydunnit mystery as well. I figured out who did it partway through, but kept second guessing myself because no way could ___ have done it!" Aside from all the blood in this one, a fun holiday read."
    • 3/5
      Rich, old Mr Lee has invited all his family back for Christmas, some of whom have not been home for decades. They weren’t a particularly harmonious, indeed, many of them hated each other, but nevertheless they all went home for Christmas. It seemed to go all right for a while, but then Mr Lee was brutally murdered in his own bedchamber. Everyone has a motive, but who killed him? The clues point first one way, then another, and then yet another, until almost all of them are suspects. Hercule Poirot was staying with a police chief constable friend of his, when the murder happens, and both of them go to the aid of the struggling detective inspector who was investigating…As with all Agatha Christie books, this is a baffling mystery with very tightly written prose and very interesting characters. You suspect everyone, but can you guess who was the killer before Hercule Poirot? I think I wasn’t as keen on this as I was on Death on the Nile and Murder on the Orient Express, but then the murder went beyond clever into the realm of the extremely improbable. Still, the book was an enjoyable and intriguing read.
    • 4/5
      Hercule Poirot’s Christmas opens with a gathering of the clan at the ancestral home in the English countryside for a family Christmas celebration. Except this is an Agatha Christie story, so bumps in the night and a bloodcurdling scream are more to be expected. Of course, Miss Christie delivers and the game is afoot!The Lee family is not a close family. In fact some of the members are home for the first time in over 20 years. Gathered at the request of the aging patriarch, Simon, the various brothers and their wives are a simmering brew of resentment, greed and anger. Added to the mix is a half Spanish niece, a visitor from South Africa and various servants. It is no surprise that on Christmas Eve murder is on the menu.Luckily for both the rural police and the readers, Hercule Poirot is spending Christmas with the District Police Superintendent and is on hand to help solve this locked room murder case. Doing what he does best, Poirot interviews the suspects and put the pieces together.Although written as a contemporary piece at the time, Miss Christie has done a marvellous job of capturing a period in history so precisely that the reader is drawn back into that time. With a house full of interesting characters, lots of twists and turns and the anticipated scene where Poirot gathers the suspects and reveals the murderer, Hercule Poirot’s Christmas is an entirely satisfying read.
    • 4/5
      Hercule Poirot's Christmas by Agatha Christie - Good

      Needed an 'old faithful' to follow Longbourn and as it was Christmas.... How could I chose anything else?

      Once again, despite the fact of already knowing the story, there were enough differences from the TV adaptation to keep the pages turning and maintain my interest. For a brief moment I even wondered if it was another case where the TV had changed 'whodonit'.

      Another classic story well told.
    • 4/5
      The elderly and autocratic Simeon Lee has summoned his family for Christmas. Naturally a murder takes place, and Poirot appears on the scene to help the police. Clever questioning, well-written plot.
    • 5/5
      This was sooooo good. I finished a bit after Christmas, though I bought it two days before and started the 25th! I loved it. Agatha Christie is, in my mind, nothing less than a genius. Her creativity knew/knows no bounds. I can't even fathom how's she written SO many books, yet each of them is original and just as clever as the last. Highly recommended, especially if you're looking for a cosy, English Christmas mystery. And if you're looking for another Christie to sink your teeth into, this is a fantastic one
    • 5/5
      Christmas is the time for family gatherings, but, as Hercule Poirot points out to his host the Chief Constable, they are often fraught with tension. And families now, families who have been separated throughout the year, assemble once more together. Now under these conditions, my friend, you must admit that there will occur a great amount of strain. People who do not feel amiable are putting great pressure on themselves to appear amiable. There is at Christmas time a great deal of hypocrisy, honourable hypocrisy, hypocrisy undertaken pour le bon motif, c'est entendu, but nevertheless hypocrisy. ........ I am pointing out to you that under these conditions - mental strain, physical malaise - it is highly probable thta dislikes that were before merely mild and disagreements that were trivial might suddently assume a more serious character.Simeon Lee gathers his family around him for Christmas, including his black sheep of a son Harry, whom everyone had assumed (or hoped) was either dead or in gaol somewhere. His granddaughter Pilar, whose mother had died the previous year, turns up as does the son of his old mining partner in South Africa.On Christmas Eve Simeon Lord signs his death warrant by telling his collected family that he is about to change his will. "Your mother had the brains of a louse! And it seems to me that she transmitted those brains to her children!". He raised himself up suddenly. A red spot appeared on each cheek. His voice came high and shrill. "You're not worth a penny piece, any of you! I'm sick of you all! You are not men! You're weaklings - a set of nanmby-pamby weaklings. Pilar's worth any two of you put together! I'll swear to heaven I've got a better son somewhere in the world than any of you, even if you are born on the right side of the blanket. "This is a locked room mystery. There are plenty of suspects. Simeon Lord is found with his throat cut on the other side of a door with the key on the inside.I was struck right from the beginning with how Agatha Christie carefully describes the physical appearance of each of the characters. And indeed Poirot pays considerable attention to the portraits of each of the family members in the portrait gallery.Several times the reader is given an update of the progress of the investigation, so we are given most of the information that Inspector Sugden, the police officer in charge of the case, has as well as Poirot's thinking. In the end though, of course, it is Poirot who comes up with the explanation.A great read, particularly at this time of the year.
    • 2/5
      For my husband and me, a long car trip means an audiobook mystery by Agatha Christie. My husband has become a big fan of her novels, especially those featuring Hercule Poirot. So on our Christmas trip to grandma’s, we plugged in Hercule Poirot’s Christmas for the whole family to enjoy. This book, previously published as Murder for Christmas and A Holiday for Murder, is a locked door mystery set on Christmas Eve at a family manor. Not all is as it seems and the many characters are hiding big secrets. As always the narration by Hugh Fraser is excellent, but the uncovering of the murderer was a bit far-fetched. My youngest son said that no one could have guessed just whodunit, and that was not a compliment to the author. So our whole family says to give a pass to this book. But, don’t let that discourage you from others by the Queen of Mystery. We are in the process of listening to another of her novels and are enjoying it immensely.
    • 3/5
      A rare family Christmas gathering in the home of wealthy invalid Simeon Lee ends in murder. Fortunately, Hercule Poirot is on hand to unofficially consult with the local police. Once again, Poirot's little gray cells are up to the task of identifying a murderer.The country estate is a typical Christie setting, but this isn't one of her best mysteries. I had read the book before, but it was so long ago that I didn't remember any of the details of the book or the identity of the murderer. Christie is usually a master at misdirecting the reader's attention from important facts and clues, but this time she didn't hide them as well as usual. The killer and motive were obvious to me well before Poirot explained the solution. I enjoyed the book, but it will never be one of my favorites, and it's not one I'll be in a hurry to re-read. Christie completists will want to read this one, but readers new to Christie should start elsewhere.
    • 4/5
      This is one of my favourite memories of a Christmas read. I first read this when I travelling to my mum's for Christmas a few years ago and was stuck at an airport because of a snow storm.

      The story unravels in typical Christie fashion... A family gathering at a country house, a bunch of secrets, two strangers, a butler, and the inevitable murder - witnessed by all as a scream so loud that the whole house is shaken and tries to break down old Mr Lee's door. It is locked from the inside.

      What ensues is the usual investigation and the unveiling of the different characters of the Lee family. Secrets of Mr Lee's past are revealed bit by bit and there is a lot of marveling about how the murder could have been committed in a locked room with no means of exit and without being seen by the house party.

      As far as Christie stories go, this one is slightly more gory. Apparently, Christie's nephew had complained to her that her stories did not contain enough bloody details.

      Still, it does follow the formula of most of her books and spoils the reader with red herrings and possible leads until the very end. This one is a great story to guess along as all the clues are there - no last minute revelations.
    • 5/5
      I was not expecting this to end up as one of my favorites. My mind would keep flipping from one charater to another and back again thinking they had to have been the murderer. It was a good old mystery. One that I thoroughly enjoyed.
    • 3/5
      I am on a bit of an Agatha Christie run at the mo and this one also tied in with the reading challenge I am doing this year - A book set during Christmas - It wasn't bad. I did like the total lack of usual Christmas themes.
      The total lack of police work by the coppers in these stories always amuses me - were the police really that incompetent in the 1920's? Or is it just to make Hercule look like a genius?
    • 4/5
      I just finished re-reading this & found that even though I recalled who did it, I enjoyed it as much as I remembered. Christie did a wonderful job of placing all the necessary clues for the reader without making the solution obvious.
    • 4/5
      England, december 1937Simeon Lee har inviteret sine sønner med påhæng til jul. Han er en ond gammel satan,Sønnerne er Harry Lee, som ikke gad være under faderens kontrol og derfor har været længe væk.George Lee, som er 41 år og parlamentsmedlem. Gift med Magdalena, som er meget yngre end ham.Alfred Lee, gift med Lydia. Bor stadig i Simeons hus.David Lee, gift med Hilda, kunstmaler.Pilar Estravados, som er datter af Jennifer Lee, som er Simeons datter.Stephen Farr, 40 år, dukker også op. Han er søn af Simeons kompagnon i Kimberley, Ebenezer Farr.Endelig er der en gammel butler, Tressilian, og en ny mandlig sygeplejer, Hornbury, der bevæger sig så stille som en skygge.Simeon har en lile pose med uslebne diamanter.Han tilkalder en politiinspektør Sugden for at fortælle at diamanterne er væk og måske er blevet stjålet, måske er taget som en spøg, men at han senere vil fortælle politiet om det skal meldes. Imidlertid bliver han senere fundet myrdet i et lukket rum. Halsen er skåret over og rummet bærer præg af voldsom kamp, hvilket dog virker underligt, da han var gammel og svag.Hercule Poirot er på besøg ved politichefen oberst Johnson og tilbyder at hjælpe.Faktisk kan alle mistænkes, men Poirot finder ud af at inspektør Sugden ligesom Stephen Farr faktisk er en af Simeons uægte sønner.Sugden var sur på Simeon og har arvet faderens evne til at bære nag i årevis, så mordet var omhyggeligt iscenesat. Sugden slog Simeon ihjel allerede ved første besøg, lavede et fingeret blodbad, satte ekstra fut på kaminilden for at holde liget varmt, stablede møbler og porcelæn op i et tårn sammen med en skrigeballon ved hjælp af et tyndt reb, hvis anden ende blev hængt ud af vinduet, så han kunne udløse det senere og endelig låste han døren udefra. Pænt usandsynligt, men lige akkurat muligt. Og optrevlet af en veloplagt Poirot.Underholdende krimi med masser af spændende personer.
    • 4/5
      Pretty good, though the characters are more forgettable than some of her other novels. The murderer is, once again, the least likely suspect - by far. I really enjoyed the end especially. Some interesting things said about Christmas too, far from any sentimentality, 'tis when people pretend to be nice to each other when really they don't speak the rest of the year for a reason. I like what Christie says, she's a lot less conservative than she's given credit for.
    • 3/5
      No one can throw red herrings like Agatha Christie and this holiday-timed closed-room murder mystery is no exception but the method and motive for the crime ultimately were unsatisfying.
    • 5/5
      I Loved this book. I always enjoy reading Agatha Christie books with the goal of figuring out the murderer before Poirot announces it. Sometimes I'm right, but with this book I was completely stumped. I Loved it!
    • 2/5
      Ooh... the suspense!! Who killed old Simeon Lee? He died in his room which was locked from the inside. There were signs of terrific struggles, furnitures overturned, broken vases on the floor, and most horrific of all 'blood was splashed all round'.Was it the boring but loyal son? the prodigal son? the newfound foreigner grand-daughter? As always, Hercule Poirot with his little grey cells astounded all! Agatha Christie led me on a merry chase (on a tangent) which thew me completely off the scent.I love the description of the sceneries & characters. I was completely captured in the story
    • 4/5
      What says Christmas better than a bloody closed-room mystery? This book's intentional contrast between a delicious holiday and some grursome subject matter certainly appealed to my darker sense of humor, but I made sure to read it in the summer, because I really do love the Christmas season. The story is identifiably a Christie novel: big family, countryside manor, many clues and suspects, and several twists and red herrings along the way to big reveal scene. The book centers around a rich family, full of tension and conflict, who are reuniting for the holiday season at the family mansion, at the request of the father and patriarch of the family, Simeon Lee. He's not a kind, doddering old man; on the contrary, he was a hot-blooded hellion in his younger days, and now that he is hampered by old age and bad health, he finds delight in tormenting his children and extended family. He plans on using the holiday as a pretext to gather everyone together again, even his prodigal son Harry who has been the black sheep of the family, and his granddaughter Pilar who is the only living relation of the daughter who ran off to marry a Spaniard. When everyone has assembled he takes delight in stirring the pot at every opportunity, and even arranges to have the whole family come up to his room just in time to hear him phone a request to his lawyer about changing the will.That last jab seems to hit the mark even more forcefully than the old man intended, for that night he is found dead in his room. Everyone hears the awful scream and they run to help from various parts of the house, but the door is locked. By the time they force it open, Simeon Lee is dead. Blood is everywhere, splashed on the floor and walls and furniture, and the room is in disarray as if a great struggle has occurred. However, no one else is in the room with the corpse, and aside from the locked door, the only other exits are windows that are clearly locked and haven't been used in years.Coincidentally, Hercules Poirot happens to be in the neighborhood, visiting an old friend who is the Chief Constable for the area. He is asked to consult on the affair, and as soon as Hercules Poirot is on the case it's as good as solved. Not only does he determine the murderer and the motive, he unearths a great many family secrets and explains the reasons for all the lies the suspects tell during the investigation.I will never stop loving a cozy Agatha Christie mystery. This one had many elements that I appreciate: a cast of likely suspects with secrets, an isolated mansion, clues that all tie together no matter how random they seem at the outset, and the marvelous Poirot. I love this detective, who is undervalued by others but never tires of boasting about himself. Also, Christie mysteries are filled with great dialogue and intriguing characters, that carry these fast-paced stories and make me want to read without stopping from beginning to end. Descriptive passages are typically used for setting and character details; her books are not high literature, but they are great mysteries. I was surprised to discover that I had predicted the murderer in this book well before the ending; somewhere between halfway and three quarters through the book I was certain I knew who-did-it, and I was right. This doesn't usually happen for me, as I am often jumping between two or three choices until the big reveal. Was it easier than the others, or have I just read too many Christie novels? It doesn't matter, really, as I was still gripped by the story and read it as quickly as I could to discover if I was right. This is another fun Agatha Christie diversion that reminds me how engrossing reading a good book can be.
    • 4/5
      The Christmas season is not the time for good cheer, in fact it is a murderous season. Simeon Lee's puzzling murder (a closed door, a wail from hell, lots of blood, and seemingly no means of escape for the murderer) puts each his family members under suspicion. Money? Power? Revenge? Who killed him ... and how?

      Poirot comes in and gives us another surprising solution to the mystery. The clue: the character of the man murdered.

    • 4/5
      Simeon Lee's family comes in for Christmas, but it's not long before his body is discovered. It's definitely murder, and it definitely had to be someone who was in the house. The case belongs to Supt. Sugden, but Poirot just happens to be staying at Sugden's superior's home at the time of the murder so he takes a look at the evidence as well. The oldest son Alfred also urges Poirot to investigate as he is not certain of Sugden's ability. Poirot is convinced that the character of the deceased man is the key to this investigation. This mystery kept me guessing until the very end. I really did not see this ending coming. Great mystery, especially for a Christmas one. Although this is set around Christmas, it can be enjoyed anytime.
    • 4/5
      A humdinger of a Mystery! Keeps you guessing until the end and I really didn't guess who the murderer was at all. Highly Recommended.
    • 4/5
      Bluff and double bluff in this Christie and she explores one of her favourite themes about how people are perceived as their jobs and not as people. The murderer is the last person you would expect. Very satisfying.
    • 3/5
      Despite its title, this is not really a Christmas story - Christmas is merely the plot device that enables the tyrannical elderly Simeon Lee to gather the members of his dysfunctional family together. When he is brutally murdered on Christmas Eve, all the family and household members and guests have, of course, some motive for wanting him bumped off. This is the usual quick page turner, though I found the final resolution unconvincing and a bit of a cheat, to be honest.

    Book preview

    Hercule Poirot's Christmas - Agatha Christie

    PART ONE

    DECEMBER 22ND

    Stephen pulled up the collar of his coat as he walked briskly along the platform. Overhead a dim fog clouded the station. Large engines hissed superbly, throwing off clouds of steam into the cold raw air. Everything was dirty and smoke-grimed.

    Stephen thought with revulsion:

    What a foul country—what a foul city!

    His first excited reaction to London, its shops, its restaurants, its well-dressed, attractive women, had faded. He saw it now as a glittering rhinestone set in a dingy setting.

    Supposing he were back in South Africa now . . . He felt a quick pang of homesickness. Sunshine—blue skies—gardens of flowers—cool blue flowers—hedges of plumbago—blue convolvulus clinging to every little shanty.

    And here—dirt, grime, and endless, incessant crowds—moving, hurrying—jostling. Busy ants running industriously about their anthill.

    For a moment he thought, I wish I hadn’t come. . . .

    Then he remembered his purpose and his lips set back in a grim line. No, by hell, he’d go on with it! He’d planned this for years. He’d always meant to do—what he was going to do. Yes, he’d go on with it!

    That momentary reluctance, that sudden questioning of himself: Why? Is it worth it? Why dwell on the past? Why not wipe out the whole thing?—all that was only weakness. He was not a boy—to be turned this way and that by the whim of the moment. He was a man of forty, assured, purposeful. He would go on with it. He would do what he had come to England to do.

    He got on the train and passed along the corridor looking for a place. He had waved aside a porter and was carrying his own raw-hide suitcase. He looked into carriage after carriage. The train was full. It was only three days before Christmas. Stephen Farr looked distastefully at the crowded carriages.

    People! Incessant, innumerable people! And all so—so—what was the word—so drab-looking! So alike, so horribly alike! Those that hadn’t got faces like sheep had faces like rabbits, he thought. Some of them chattered and fussed. Some, heavily middle-aged men, grunted. More like pigs, those. Even the girls, slender, egg-faced, scarlet-lipped, were of a depressing uniformity.

    He thought with a sudden longing of open veldt, sunbaked and lonely. . . .

    And then, suddenly, he caught his breath, looking into a carriage. This girl was different. Black hair, rich creamy pallor—eyes with the depth and darkness of night in them. The sad proud eyes of the South . . . It was all wrong that this girl should be sitting in this train among these dull, drab-looking people—all wrong that she should be going into the dreary midlands of England. She should have been on a balcony, a rose between her lips, a piece of black lace draping her proud head, and there should have been dust and heat and the smell of blood—the smell of the bullring—in the air . . . She should be somewhere splendid, not squeezed into the corner of a third-class carriage.

    He was an observant man. He did not fail to note the shabbiness of her little black coat and skirt, the cheap quality of her fabric gloves, the flimsy shoes and the defiant note of a flame-red handbag. Nevertheless splendour was the quality he associated with her. She was splendid, fine, exotic. . . .

    What the hell was she doing in this country of fogs and chills and hurrying industrious ants?

    He thought, I’ve got to know who she is and what she’s doing here . . . I’ve got to know. . . .

    II

    Pilar sat squeezed up against the window and thought how very odd the English smelt . . . It was what had struck her so far most forcibly about England—the difference of smell. There was no garlic and no dust and very little perfume. In this carriage now there was a smell of cold stuffiness—the sulphur smell of the trains—the smell of soap and another very unpleasant smell—it came, she thought, from the fur collar of the stout woman sitting beside her. Pilar sniffed delicately, imbibing the odour of mothballs reluctantly. It was a funny scent to choose to put on yourself, she thought.

    A whistle blew, a stentorian voice cried out something and the train jerked slowly out of the station. They had started. She was on her way. . . .

    Her heart beat a little faster. Would it be all right? Would she be able to accomplish what she had set out to do? Surely—surely—she had thought it all out so carefully . . . She was prepared for every eventuality. Oh, yes, she would succeed—she must succeed. . . .

    The curve of Pilar’s red mouth curved upwards. It was suddenly cruel, that mouth. Cruel and greedy—like the mouth of a child or a kitten—a mouth that knew only its own desires and that was as yet unaware of pity.

    She looked round her with the frank curiosity of a child. All these people, seven of them—how funny they were, the English! They all seemed so rich, so prosperous—their clothes—their boots—Oh! undoubtedly England was a very rich country as she had always heard. But they were not at all gay—no, decidedly not gay.

    That was a handsome man standing in the corridor . . . Pilar thought he was very handsome. She liked his deeply bronzed face and his high-bridged nose and his square shoulders. More quickly than any English girl, Pilar had seen that the man admired her. She had not looked at him once directly, but she knew perfectly how often he had looked at her and exactly how he had looked.

    She registered the facts without much interest or emotion. She came from a country where men looked at women as a matter of course and did not disguise the fact unduly. She wondered if he was an Englishman and decided that he was not.

    He is too alive, too real, to be English, Pilar decided. And yet he is fair. He may be perhaps Americano. He was, she thought, rather like the actors she had seen in Wild West films.

    An attendant pushed his way along the corridor.

    First lunch, please. First lunch. Take your seats for first lunch.

    The seven occupants of Pilar’s carriage all held tickets for the first lunch. They rose in a body and the carriage was suddenly deserted and peaceful.

    Pilar quickly pulled up the window which had been let down a couple of inches at the top by a militant-looking, grey-haired lady in the opposite corner. Then she sprawled comfortably back on her seat and peered out of the window at the northern suburbs of London. She did not turn her head at the sound of the door sliding back. It was the man from the corridor, and Pilar knew, of course, that he had entered the carriage on purpose to talk to her.

    She continued to look pensively out of the window.

    Stephen Farr said:

    Would you like the window down at all?

    Pilar replied demurely:

    On the contrary. I have just shut it.

    She spoke English perfectly, but with a slight accent.

    During the pause that ensued, Stephen thought:

    A delicious voice. It has the sun in it . . . It is warm like a summer night. . . .

    Pilar thought:

    I like his voice. It is big and strong. He is attractive—yes, he is attractive.

    Stephen said: The train is very full.

    Oh, yes, indeed. The people go away from London, I suppose, because it is so black there.

    Pilar had not been brought up to believe that it was a crime to talk to strange men in trains. She could take care of herself as well as any girl, but she had no rigid taboos.

    If Stephen had been brought up in England he might have felt ill at ease at entering into conversation with a young girl. But Stephen was a friendly soul who found it perfectly natural to talk to anyone if he felt like it.

    He smiled without any self-consciousness and said:

    London’s rather a terrible place, isn’t it?

    Oh, yes. I do not like it at all.

    No more do I.

    Pilar said: You are not English, no?

    I’m British, but I come from South Africa.

    Oh, I see, that explains it.

    Have you just come from abroad?

    Pilar nodded. I come from Spain.

    Stephen was interested.

    From Spain, do you? You’re Spanish, then?

    I am half-Spanish. My mother was English. That is why I talk English so well.

    What about this war business? asked Stephen.

    It is very terrible, yes—very sad. There has been damage done, quite a lot—yes.

    Which side are you on?

    Pilar’s politics seemed to be rather vague. In the village where she came from, she explained, nobody had paid very much attention to the war. It has not been near us, you understand. The Mayor, he is, of course, an officer of the Government, so he is for the Government, and the priest is for General Franco—but most of the people are busy with the vines and the land, they have not time to go into these questions.

    So there wasn’t any fighting round you?

    Pilar said that there had not been. But then I drove in a car, she explained, all across the country and there was much destruction. And I saw a bomb drop and it blew up a car—yes, and another destroyed a house. It was very exciting!

    Stephen Farr smiled a faintly twisted smile.

    So that’s how it seemed to you?

    It was a nuisance, too, explained Pilar. Because I wanted to get on, and the driver of my car, he was killed.

    Stephen said, watching her:

    That didn’t upset you?

    Pilar’s great dark eyes opened very wide.

    Everyone must die! That is so, is it not? If it comes quickly from the sky—bouff—like that, it is as well as any other way. One is alive for a time—yes, and then one is dead. That is what happens in this world.

    Stephen Farr laughed.

    I don’t think you are a pacifist.

    You do not think I am what? Pilar seemed puzzled by a word which had not previously entered her vocabulary.

    Do you forgive your enemies, señorita?

    Pilar shook her head.

    I have no enemies. But if I had—

    Well?

    He was watching her, fascinated anew by the sweet, cruel upward-curving mouth.

    Pilar said gravely:

    "If I had an enemy—if anyone hated me and I hated them—then I would cut my enemy’s throat like this. . . ."

    She made a graphic gesture.

    It was so swift and so crude that Stephen Farr was momentarily taken aback. He said:

    You are a bloodthirsty young woman!

    Pilar asked in a matter-of-fact tone:

    What would you do to your enemy?

    He started—stared at her, then laughed aloud.

    I wonder— he said. I wonder!

    Pilar said disapprovingly:

    But surely—you know.

    He checked his laughter, drew in his breath and said in a low voice:

    Yes. I know. . . .

    Then with a rapid change of manner, he asked:

    What made you come to England?

    Pilar replied with a certain demureness.

    I am going to stay with my relations—with my English relations.

    I see.

    He leaned back in his seat, studying her—wondering what these English relations of whom she spoke were like—wondering what they would make of this Spanish stranger . . . trying to picture her in the midst of some sober British family at Christmastime.

    Pilar asked: Is it nice, South Africa, yes?

    He began to talk to her about South Africa. She listened with the pleased attention of a child hearing a story. He enjoyed her näive but shrewd questions and amused himself by making a kind of exaggerated fairy story of it all.

    The return of the proper occupants of the carriage put an end to this diversion. He rose, smiled into her eyes, and made his way out again into the corridor.

    As he stood back for a minute in the doorway, to allow an elderly lady to come in, his eyes fell on the label of Pilar’s obviously foreign straw case. He read the name with interest—Miss Pilar Estravados—then as his eye caught the address it widened to incredulity and some other feeling—Gorston Hall, Longdale, Addlesfield.

    He half turned, staring at the girl with a new expression—puzzled, resentful, suspicious . . . He went out into the corridor and stood there smoking a cigarette and frowning to himself. . . .

    III

    In the big blue and gold drawing room at Gorston Hall, Alfred Lee and Lydia, his wife, sat discussing their plans for Christmas. Alfred was a squarely built man of middle age with a gentle face and mild brown eyes. His voice when he spoke was quiet and precise with a very clear enunciation. His head was sunk into his shoulders and he gave a curious impression of inertia. Lydia, his wife, was an energetic, lean greyhound of a woman. She was amazingly thin, but all her movements had a swift, startled grace about them.

    There was no beauty in her careless, haggard face, but it had distinction. Her voice was charming.

    Alfred said:

    Father insists! There’s nothing else to it.

    Lydia controlled a sudden impatient movement. She said:

    Must you always give in to him?

    He’s a very old man, my dear—

    Oh, I know—I know!

    He expects to have his own way.

    Lydia said dryly:

    Naturally, since he has always had it! But some time or other, Alfred, you will have to make a stand.

    What do you mean, Lydia?

    He stared at her, so palpably upset and startled, that for a moment she bit her lip and seemed doubtful whether to go on.

    Alfred Lee repeated:

    What do you mean, Lydia?

    She shrugged her thin, graceful shoulders.

    She said, trying to choose her words cautiously:

    Your father is—inclined to be—tyrannical—

    He’s old.

    And will grow older. And consequently more tyrannical. Where will it end? Already he dictates our lives to us completely. We can’t make a plan of our own! If we do, it is always liable to be upset.

    Alfred said:

    Father expects to come first. He is very good to us, remember.

    Oh! good to us!

    "Very good to us."

    Alfred spoke with a trace of sternness.

    "Lydia said calmly:

    You mean financially?

    Yes. His own wants are very simple. But he never grudges us money. You can spend what you like on dress and on this house, and the bills are paid without a murmur. He gave us a new car only last week.

    As far as money goes, your father is very generous, I admit, said Lydia. But in return he expects us to behave like slaves.

    Slaves?

    "That’s the word I used. You are his slave, Alfred. If we have planned to go away and Father suddenly wishes us not to go, you cancel your arrangements and remain without a murmur! If the whim takes him to send us away, we go . . . We have no lives of our own—no independence."

    Her husband said distressfully:

    I wish you wouldn’t talk like this, Lydia. It is very ungrateful. My father has done everything for us. . . .

    She bit off a retort that was on her lips. She shrugged those thin, graceful shoulders once more.

    Alfred said:

    You know, Lydia, the old man is very fond of you—

    His wife said clearly and distinctly:

    I am not at all fond of him.

    Lydia, it distresses me to hear you say things like that. It is so unkind—

    Perhaps. But sometimes a compulsion comes over one to speak the truth.

    If Father guessed—

    Your father knows perfectly well that I do not like him! It amuses him, I think.

    Really, Lydia, I am sure you are wrong there. He has often told me how charming your manner to him is.

    Naturally I’ve always been polite. I always shall be. I’m just letting you know what my real feelings are. I dislike your father, Alfred. I think he is a malicious and tyrannical old man. He bullies you and presumes on your affection for him. You ought to have stood up to him years ago.

    Alfred said sharply:

    That will do, Lydia. Please don’t say any more.

    She sighed.

    I’m sorry. Perhaps I was wrong . . . Let’s talk of our Christmas arrangements. Do you think your brother David will really come?

    Why not?

    She shook her head doubtfully.

    David is—queer. He’s not been inside the house for years, remember. He was so devoted to your mother—he’s got some feeling about this place.

    David always got on Father’s nerves, said Alfred, with his music and his dreamy ways. Father was, perhaps, a bit hard on him sometimes. But I think David and Hilda will come all right. Christmastime, you know.

    Peace and goodwill, said Lydia. Her delicate mouth curved ironically. I wonder! George and Magdalene are coming. They said they would probably arrive tomorrow. I’m afraid Magdalene will be frightfully bored.

    Alfred said with some slight annoyance:

    Why my brother George ever married a girl twenty years younger than himself I can’t think! George was always a fool!

    He’s very successful in his career, said Lydia. His constituents like him. I believe Magdalene works quite hard politically for him.

    Alfred said slowly:

    I don’t think I like her very much. She is very good-looking—but I sometimes think she is like one of those beautiful pears one gets—they have a rosy flush and a rather waxen appearance— He shook his head.

    And they’re bad inside? said Lydia. How funny you should say that, Alfred!

    Why funny?

    She answered:

    Because—usually—you are such a gentle soul. You hardly ever say an unkind thing about anyone. I get annoyed with you sometimes because you’re not sufficiently—oh, what shall I say?—sufficiently suspicious—not worldly enough!

    Her husband smiled.

    The world, I always think, is as you yourself make it.

    Lydia said sharply:

    "No! Evil is not only in one’s mind. Evil exists! You seem to have no consciousness of the evil in the world. I have. I can feel it. I’ve always felt it—here in this house—" She bit her lip and turned away.

    Alfred said, Lydia—

    But she

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