Agatha Christie The Hollow Chapter I At 6:13 a.m. ... - bzelbublive.info

asymmetrical to appeal to him. He did notcare much for trees at any time--they hadthat untidy habit of shedding their leaves! He could endure poplars and he approvedof a monkey puzzle--but this riot of beech and oak left him unmoved. Such a landscapewas best enjoyed from a car on a fine afternoon. You exclaimed, "Quel beau pay sage!"and drove back to a good hotel. The best thing about Resthaven, he considered, was thesmall vegetable garden neatly laid out in rows by his Belgian gardener, Victor.Meanwhile, Francoise, Victor's wife, devoted herself with tenderness to the care ofher employer's stomach. Hercule Poirot passed through the gate, sighed, glanced downonce more at his shining black shoes, adjusted his pale grey Hornburg hat, andlooked up and down the road. He shivered slightly at the aspect of Dovecotes.Dovecotes and Resthaven hadbeen erected by rival builders, each of whom had acquired a small piece of land.Further enterprise on their part had been swiftly curtailed by a National Trust forpreserving the beauties of the countryside. The two houses remainedrepresentative of two schools of thought. Resthaven was a box with a roof, severelymodern and a little dull. Dovecotes was a riot of half-timbering and Olde Worldepacked into as small a space as possible. Hercule Poirot debated within himself asto how he should approach The Hollow. There was, he knew, a little higher up thelane, a small gate and a path. This, the unofficial way, would save a half mile detourby the road. Nevertheless, Hercule Poirot, a stickler for etiquette, decided to take thelonger way round and approach the house correctly by the front entrance.This was his first visit to Sir Henry and Lady Angkatell. One should not, heconsidered, take short cuts uninvited, especially when one was the guest of people ofsocial importance. He was, it must be admitted, pleased by their invitation. "Jesuis un peu snob," he murmured to himself. He had retained an agreeableimpression of the Angkatells from the time in Baghdad, particularly of LadyAngkatell. "Une originate!" he thought to himself. His estimation of the time requiredfor walking to The Hollow by road was accurate. It was exactly one minute to onewhen he rang the front door bell. He was glad to have arrived and felt slightlytired. He was not fond of walking. The door was opened by the magnificentGudgeon of whom Poirot approved. His reception, however, wasnot quite as he had hoped. "Her ladyship is in the pavilion by the swimmingpool, sir. Will you come this way?" The passion of the English for sitting out ofdoors irritated Hercule Poirot. Though one had to put up with this whimsy in theheight of Summer, surely, Poirot thought, one should be safe from it by the end ofSeptember! The day was mild, certainly, but it had, as Autumn days always had, acertain dampness. How infinitely pleasanter to have been ushered into acomfortable drawingroom with, perhaps, a small fire in the grate. But no, here hewas being led out through French windows across a slope of lawn, past a rockeryand then, through a small gate andalong a narrow track between closely planted young chestnuts. It was the habit of