July - The Blotter Magazine

The B l o t t e rpartment on the Blue Train, ultraswankexpress to Nice.Everyone who is Anyone in’28 takes the Blue Train; and nearlyeveryone is on board that night:Ruth, Derek, Mireille, Armand thebogus Comte – and the celebratedprivate detective Hercule Poirot, whobefriends Katherine over dinner in thediner. The next morning they arriveto a shocking discovery: Ruth hasbeen murdered, and the rubies arenowhere to be found!Much of Blue Train’s charmlies in its galloping naiveté. The portrayalof Riviera glitterati is Christietalking completely off the top of herhead. She was an ordinary middleclassgal from Torquay, so I doubtshe’d spent much time among theheights of wealth and title. I also suspectshe had little firsthand experienceof Eurotrash bogus-aristocrat gigolos,exotic predatory mistresses or hardassAmerican millionaires. (TheAmericans in her early books are ahoot. They all seem to be Wall Streettycoons with Old-New-York Dutchnames, but talk like, and sometimesare, rootin’ tootin’ shootin’ cowboys.Van Aldin uses the adjective “durned”in everyday conversation; and onhearing from Ruth about Derek’sadulterous adventures, “his face darkened[and] his mouth set grimly in theline which Wall Street knew so well.”)Van Aldin sends his very proper, veryBritish secretary Major Knighton toDerek with an offer: £100,000 for anuncontested divorce.“And in the event of my refusing hishandsome offer?” [Derek] asked, with acold, ironical politeness.Knighton made a deprecating gesture.“I can assure you, Mr. Kettering,” hesaid earnestly, “that it is with the utmostunwillingness that I came here with thismessage.”“That’s all right,” said Kettering. “Don’tdistress yourself; it’s not your fault. Nowthen – I asked you a question, will youanswer it?”Knighton also rose. He spoke morereluctantly than before. “In the event ofyour refusing this proposition,” he said,“Mr. van Aldin wished me to tell you inplain words that he proposes to breakwww.blotterrag.comyou. Just that.”Kettering raised his eyebrows, but heretained his light, amused manner.“Well, well!” he said. “I suppose he cando it. I certainly should not be able toput up much of a fight against America’sman of many millions. A hundredthousand! If you are going to bribe aman there is nothing like doing it thoroughly.Supposing I were to tell you thatfor two hundred thousand I’d do whathe wanted, what then?”“I would take your message back to Mr.Van Aldin,” said Knighton unemotionally.“Is that your answer?”“No,” said Derek; “funnily enough it isnot. You can go back to my father-inlawand tell him to take himself and hisbribes to hell. Is that clear?”“Perfectly,” said Knighton. He got up,hesitated, and then flushed. “I – youwill allow me to say, Mr. Kettering, thatI am glad you have answered as youhave.”This early Poirot is a piece ofwork too; almost a caricature of himself,with his vast pride and extravagantlyfractured syntax.“A thousand thanks for your hospitality,Mesdemoiselles,” he cried; “it has been amost charming luncheon. Ma foi, Ineeded it!” He swelled out his chest andthumped it. “I am now a lion – a giant.Ah, Mademoiselle Katherine, you havenot seen me as I can be. You have seenthe gentle, the calm Hercule Poirot; butthere is another Hercule Poirot. I gonow to bully, to threaten, to strike terrorinto the hearts of those who listen tome.” He looked at them in a self-satisfiedway, and they both appeared to beduly impressed, though Lenox was bitingher underlip, and the corners ofKatherine’s mouth had a suspicioustwitch.(Lenox, in case you werewondering, is Viscountess Tamplin’ssardonic teenage daughter.) Thesecharacters, mores and posturings allfeel pastiched out of the pre-WorldWar Edwardian pop culture Christiegrew up with: romantic novels, stagemelodramas and early silent films. (Ican see Erich von Stroheim directing,and Theda Bara as Mireille…)Christie is more sure-footedin scenes of ordinary people havingordinary conversations, like betweenLenox and Katherine.“Why did you come?” [Lenox] said atlast. “To us, I mean. We’re not yoursort.”“Oh, I am anxious to get into Society.”“Don’t be an ass,” said Lenox promptly,detecting the flicker of a smile. “Youknow what I mean well enough. Youare not a bit what I thought you wouldbe. I say, you have got some decentclothes.” She sighed. “Clothes are nogood to me. I was born awkward. It’s apity, because I love them.”“I love them too,” said Katherine, “butit has not been much use my loving themup to now. Do you think this is nice?”She and Lenox discussed several modelswith artistic fervour.“I like you,” Lenox said suddenly. “Icame up to warn you not to be taken inby Mother, but I think now that there isno need to do that. You are frightfullysincere and upright and all those queerthings, but you are not a fool. Oh hell!what is it now?”Lady Tamplin’s voice was calling plaintivelyfrom the hall: “Lenox, Derek hasrung up. He wants to come to dinnerto-night. Will it be all right? I mean,we haven’t got anything awkward, likequails, have we?”(Awkward, you ask? Well, ifyou’ve got six quails and a seventhguest turns up, somebody’ll have to goveg. or go without.)Another sign of that surefootednessis quietly funny charactersketching. Before leaving the village,Katherine goes to visit her late elderlylady’s elderly friend Miss Viner.“And you’re going up to London to havea good time? Don’t think you’ll get married,though, my dear, because youwon’t. You’re not the kind to attract themen. And, besides, you’re getting on.How old are you now?”“Thirty-three,” Katherine told her.“Well,” remarked Miss Viner doubtfully,“that’s not so very bad. You’ve lost yourfirst freshness, of course.”“I’m afraid so,” said Katherine, muchentertained.“But you’re a very nice girl,” said MissViner kindly. “And I’m sure there’s manya man might do worse than take you fora wife instead of one of these flibberti-