Murder in the Mews

Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

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First published in Great Britain by Collins 1937

Agatha Christie® Poirot® Murder in the Mews™

Copyright © 1937 Agatha Christie Limited. All rights reserved.

www.agathachristie.com

Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2016

Title lettering by Ghost Design

Cover photograph © CollaborationJS/Arcangel Images

Agatha Christie asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

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Source ISBN: 9780008164928

Ebook Edition © September 2016 ISBN: 9780007422517

Version: 2017-04-12

To my old friend

Sybil Heeley

with affection

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Murder in the Mews

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

The Incredible Theft

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Dead Man’s Mirror

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Triangle at Rhodes

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Also by Agatha Christie

About the Publisher

‘Penny for the guy, sir?’

A small boy with a grimy face grinned ingratiatingly.

‘Certainly not!’ said Chief Inspector Japp. ‘And, look here, my lad—’

A short homily followed. The dismayed urchin beat a precipitate retreat, remarking briefly and succinctly to his youthful friends:

‘Blimey, if it ain’t a cop all togged up!’

The band took to its heels, chanting the incantation:

Remember, remember

The fifth of November

Gunpowder treason and plot.

We see no reason

Why gunpowder treason

Should ever be forgot.

The chief inspector’s companion, a small, elderly man with an egg-shaped head and large, military-looking moustaches, was smiling to himself.

‘Très bien, Japp,’ he observed. ‘You preach the sermon very well! I congratulate you!’

‘Rank excuse for begging, that’s what Guy Fawkes’ Day is!’ said Japp.

‘An interesting survival,’ mused Hercule Poirot. ‘The fireworks go up—crack—crack—long after the man they commemorate and his deed are forgotten.’

The Scotland Yard man agreed.

‘Don’t suppose many of those kids really know who Guy Fawkes was.’

‘And soon, doubtless, there will be confusion of thought. Is it in honour or in execration that on the fifth of November the feu d’artifice are sent up? To blow up an English Parliament, was it a sin or a noble deed?’

Japp chuckled.

‘Some people would say undoubtedly the latter.’

Turning off the main road, the two men passed into the comparative quiet of a mews. They had been dining together and were now taking a short cut to Hercule Poirot’s flat.

As they walked along the sound of squibs was still heard periodically. An occasional shower of golden rain illuminated the sky.

‘Good night for a murder,’ remarked Japp with professional interest. ‘Nobody would hear a shot, for instance, on a night like this.’

‘It has always seemed odd to me that more criminals do not take advantage of the fact,’ said Hercule Poirot.

‘Do you know, Poirot, I almost wish sometimes that you would commit a murder.’

‘Mon cher!’

‘Yes, I’d like to see just how you’d set about it.’

‘My dear Japp, if I committed a murder you would not have the least chance of seeing—how I set about it! You would not even be aware, probably, that a murder had been committed.’

Japp laughed good-humouredly and affectionately.

‘Cocky little devil, aren’t you?’ he said indulgently.

At half-past eleven the following morning, Hercule Poirot’s telephone rang.

‘’Allo? ’Allo?’

‘Hullo, that you, Poirot?’

‘Oui, c’est moi.’

‘Japp speaking here. Remember we came home last night through Bardsley Gardens Mews?’

‘Yes?’

‘And that we talked about how easy it would be to shoot a person with all those squibs and crackers and the rest of it going off?’

‘Certainly.’

‘Well, there was a suicide in that mews. No. 14. A young widow—Mrs Allen. I’m going round there now. Like to come?’

‘Excuse me, but does someone of your eminence, my dear friend, usually get sent to a case of suicide?’