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

the Angkatells to invite guests for one o'clock, and on fine days they had cocktailsand sherry in the small pavilion by the swimming pool. Lunch itself was scheduledfor one-thirty, by which time, the most unpunctual of guests should have managedto arrive, which permitted Lady AngkatelFs excellent cook to embark on soufflesand such accurately timed delicacies without too much trepidation. To HerculePoirot, the plan did not commend itself. "In a little minute," he thought, "I shallbe almost back where I started." With an increasing awareness of his feet in hisshoes he followed Gudgeon's tall figure.It was at that moment from just ahead of him that he heard a little cry. Itincreased, somehow, his dissatisfaction. It was incongruous, in some way unfitting. Hedid not classify it, nor indeed think about it. When he thought about it afterwardshe was hard put to it to remember just what emotions it had seemed to convey.Dismay? Surprise? Horror? He could only say that it suggested, very definitely, theunexpected. Gudgeon stepped out from the chestnuts. He was moving to one side,deferentially, to allow Poirot to pass and at the same time clearing his throatpreparatory to murmuring, "M. Poirot, m'lady," in the Proper subdued and respectfultones when his suppleness became suddenly rigid. He gasped. It was an unbutlerlikenoise.Hercule Poirot stepped out onto the open space surrounding the swimming pool, andimmediately he too stiffened, but with annoyance.It was too much--it was reallytoo much! He had not suspected such cheapness of the Angkatells. The long walkby the road, the disappointment at the house--and now this! The misplaced sense ofhumour of the English! He was annoyed and he was bored--oh! how he wasbored! Death was not, to him, amusing. And here they had arranged for him, by wayof a joke, a set piece. For what he was looking at was a highly artificial murderscene. By the side of the pool was the body, artistically arranged with an outflungarm and even some red paint dripping gently over the edge of the concreteinto the pool. It was a spectacular body, that of a handsome fair-haired man.Standing over the body, revolver in hand, was a woman, a short, powerfully built,middleaged woman with a curiously blank expression. And there were threeother actors. On the far side of the pool was a tall young woman whose hairmatched the Autumn leaves in its rich brown; she had a basket in her hand full ofdahlia heads. A little further off was a man, a tall inconspicuous man in a shootingcoat carrying a gun. And immediately on his left, with a basket of eggs in her hand, washis hostess. Lady Angkatell. It was clear to Hercule Poirot that several differentpaths converged here at the swimmingpool and that these people had each arrived by a different path. It was all verymathematical and artificial. He sighed. Enfin, what did they expect him to do?Was he to pretend to believe in this "crime"? Was he to register dismay-- alarm?Or was he to bow, to congratulate his hostess--"Ah! but it is very charming, whatyou arrange for me here." Really, the whole thing was very stupid --not spirituel atall! Was it not Queen Victoria who had said, "We are not amused"? He felt very