LITMIR.BIZ

      Contents

       Cover

       Title Page

      Copyright

      Dedication

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

       Chapter 8

       Chapter 9

       Chapter 10

       Chapter 11

       Chapter 12

       Chapter 13

       Chapter 14

       Chapter 15

       Chapter 16

       Chapter 17

       Chapter 18

       Also by Agatha Christie

       About the Publisher

       CHAPTER 1

      Mrs Bantry was dreaming. Her sweet peas had just taken a First at the flower show. The vicar, dressed in cassock and surplice, was giving out the prizes in church. His wife wandered past, dressed in a bathing-suit, but as is the blessed habit of dreams this fact did not arouse the disapproval of the parish in the way it would assuredly have done in real life …

      Mrs Bantry was enjoying her dream a good deal. She usually did enjoy those early-morning dreams that were terminated by the arrival of early-morning tea. Somewhere in her inner consciousness was an awareness of the usual early-morning noises of the household. The rattle of the curtain-rings on the stairs as the housemaid drew them, the noises of the second housemaid’s dustpan and brush in the passage outside. In the distance the heavy noise of the front-door bolt being drawn back.

      Another day was beginning. In the meantime she must extract as much pleasure as possible from the flower show—for already its dream-like quality was becoming apparent …

      Below her was the noise of the big wooden shutters in the drawing-room being opened. She heard it, yet did not hear it. For quite half an hour longer the usual household noises would go on, discreet, subdued, not disturbing because they were so familiar. They would culminate in a swift, controlled sound of footsteps along the passage, the rustle of a print dress, the subdued chink of tea-things as the tray was deposited on the table outside, then the soft knock and the entry of Mary to draw the curtains.

      In her sleep Mrs Bantry frowned. Something disturbing was penetrating through to the dream state, something out of its time. Footsteps along the passage, footsteps that were too hurried and too soon. Her ears listened unconsciously for the chink of china, but there was no chink of china.

      The knock came at the door. Automatically from the depths of her dreams Mrs Bantry said: ‘Come in.’ The door opened—now there would be the chink of curtain-rings as the curtains were drawn back.

      But there was no chink of curtain-rings. Out of the dim green light Mary’s voice came—breathless, hysterical: ‘Oh, ma’am, oh, ma’am, there’s a body in the library.’

      And then with a hysterical burst of sobs she rushed out of the room again.

      Mrs Bantry sat up in bed.

      Either her dream had taken a very odd turn or else—or else Mary had really rushed into the room and had said (incredible! fantastic!) that there was a body in the library.

      ‘Impossible,’ said Mrs Bantry to herself. ‘I must have been dreaming.’

      But even as she said it, she felt more and more certain that she had not been dreaming, that Mary, her superior self-controlled Mary, had actually uttered those fantastic words.

      Mrs Bantry reflected a minute and then applied an urgent conjugal elbow to her sleeping spouse.

      ‘Arthur, Arthur, wake up.’

      Colonel Bantry grunted, muttered, and rolled over on his side.

      ‘Wake up, Arthur. Did you hear what she said?’

      ‘Very likely,’ said Colonel Bantry indistinctly. ‘I quite agree with you, Dolly,’ and promptly went to sleep again.

      Mrs Bantry shook him.

      ‘You’ve got to listen. Mary came in and said that there was a body in the library.’

      ‘Eh, what?’

      ‘A body in the library.’

      ‘Who said so?’

      ‘Mary.’

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