Read Curtain: Poirot's Last Case Online
Authors: Agatha Christie
‘I
could do it – and I was probably the only person who could. For you see my statement carried weight. I am a man experienced in the matter of committing murder – if
I
am convinced it is suicide, well, then, it will be accepted as suicide.
‘It puzzled you, I could see, and you were not pleased. But mercifully you did not suspect the true danger.
‘But will you think of it after I am gone? Will it come into your mind, lying there like some dark serpent that now and then raises its head and says: “Suppose Judith . . . ?”
‘It may do. And therefore I am writing this. You must know the truth.
‘There was one person whom the verdict of suicide did not satisfy. Norton. He was balked, you see, of his pound of flesh. As I say, he is a sadist. He wants the whole gamut of emotion, suspicion, fear, the coils of the law. He was deprived of all that. The murder he had arranged had gone awry.
‘But presently he saw what one may call a way of recouping himself. He began to throw out hints. Earlier on he had pretended to see something through his glasses. Actually he intended to convey the exact impression that he did convey – namely that he saw Allerton and Judith in some compromising attitude. But not having said anything definite, he could use that incident in a different way.
‘Supposing, for instance, that he says he saw
Franklin
and Judith. That will open up an interesting new angle of the suicide case! It may, perhaps, throw doubts on whether it was suicide . . .
‘So,
mon ami
, I decided that what had to be done must be done at once. I arranged that you should bring him to my room that night . . .
‘I will tell you exactly what happened. Norton, no doubt, would have been delighted to tell me his arranged story. I gave him no time. I told him, clearly and definitely, all that I knew about him.
‘He did not deny it. No,
mon ami
, he sat back in his chair and smirked.
Mais oui
, there is no other word for it, he smirked. He asked me what I thought I was going to do about this amusing idea of mine. I told him that I proposed to execute him.
‘“Ah,” he said, “I see. The dagger or the cup of poison?”
‘We were about to have chocolate together at the time. He has a sweet tooth, M. Norton.
‘“The simplest,” I said, “would be the cup of poison.”
‘And I handed him the cup of chocolate I had just poured out.
‘“In that case,” he said, “would you mind my drinking from your cup instead of from mine?”
‘I said, “Not at all.” In effect, it was quite immaterial. As I have said, I, too, take the sleeping tablets. The only thing is that since I have been taking them every night for a considerable period, I have acquired a certain tolerance, and a dose that would send M. Norton to sleep would have very little effect upon me. The dose was in the chocolate itself. We both had the same. His portion took effect in due course, mine had little effect upon me, especially when counteracted with a dose of my strychnine tonic.
‘And so to the last chapter. When Norton was asleep I got him into my wheeled chair – fairly easy, it has many types of mechanism – and wheeled him back in it to its usual place in the window embrasure behind the curtains.
‘Curtiss then “put me to bed”. When everything was quiet I wheeled Norton to his room. It remained, then, to avail myself of the eyes and ears of my excellent friend Hastings.
‘You may not have realized it, but I wear a wig, Hastings. You will realize even less that I wear a false moustache. (Even George does not know that!) I pretended to burn it by accident soon after Curtiss came, and at once had my hairdresser make me a replica.
‘I put on Norton’s dressing-gown, ruffled up my grey hair on end, and came down the passage and rapped on your door. Presently you came and looked with sleepy eyes into the passage. You saw Norton leave the bathroom and limp across the passage into his own room. You heard him turn the key in the lock on the inside.
‘I then replaced the dressing-gown on Norton, laid him on his bed, and shot him with a small pistol that I acquired abroad and which I have kept carefully locked up except for two occasions when (nobody being about) I have put it ostentatiously on Norton’s dressing-table, he himself being well away somewhere that morning.
‘Then I left the room after putting the key in Norton’s pocket. I myself locked the door from the outside with the duplicate key which I have possessed for some time. I wheeled the chair back to my room.
‘Since then I have been writing this explanation.
‘I am very tired – and the exertions I have been through have strained me a good deal. It will not, I think, be long before . . .
‘There are one or two things I would like to stress.
‘Norton’s were the perfect crimes.
‘Mine was not. It was not intended to be.
‘The easiest way and the best way for me to have killed him was to have done so quite openly – to have had, shall we say, an accident with my little pistol. I should have professed dismay, regret – a most unfortunate accident. They would have said, “Old ga ga, didn’t realize it was loaded –
ce pauvre vieux
.”
‘I did not choose to do that.
‘I will tell you why.
‘It is because, Hastings, I chose to be “sporting”.
‘Mais oui
, sporting! I am doing all the things that so often you have reproached me with not doing. I am playing fair with you. I am giving you a run for your money. I am playing the game. You have every chance to discover the truth.
‘In case you disbelieve me let me enumerate all the clues.
‘The keys.
‘You know,
for I have told you so
, that Norton arrived here
after
I did. You know,
for you have been told
, that I changed my room after I got here. You know,
for again it has been told to you
, that since I have been at Styles the key of my room disappeared and I had another made.
‘Therefore when you ask yourself who could have killed Norton? Who could have shot and still have left the room (apparently) locked on the inside since the key is in Norton’s pocket? –
‘The answer is “Hercule Poirot, who since he has been here has possessed duplicate keys of one of the rooms.”
‘The man you saw in the passage.
‘I myself asked you if you were sure the man you saw in the passage was Norton. You were startled. You asked me if I intended to suggest it was
not
Norton. I replied, truthfully, that I did not at all intend to suggest it was not Norton. (Naturally, since I had taken a good deal of trouble to suggest it
was
Norton.) I then brought up the question of
height.
All the men, I said, were much taller than Norton. But there
was
a man who was shorter than Norton – Hercule Poirot. And it is comparatively easy with raised heels or elevators in the shoes to
add
to one’s height.
‘You were under the impression that I was a helpless invalid. But why? Only because
I said so.
And I had sent away George. That was my last indication to you, “Go and talk to George.”
‘Othello and Clutie John show you that X was Norton.
‘Then who could have killed Norton?
‘Only Hercule Poirot.
‘And once you suspected that, everything would have fallen into place, the things I had said and done, my inexplicable reticence. Evidence from the doctors in Egypt, from my own doctor in London, that I was not incapable of walking about. The evidence of George as to my wearing a wig. The fact which I was unable to disguise, and which you ought to have noticed, that I limp much more than Norton does.
‘And last of all, the pistol shot. My one weakness. I should, I am aware, have shot him through the temple. I could not bring myself to produce an effect so lopsided, so haphazard. No, I shot him symmetrically, in the exact centre of the forehead . . .
‘Oh, Hastings, Hastings,
that
should have told you the truth.
‘But perhaps, after all, you
have
suspected the truth? Perhaps when you read this, you already
know.
‘But somehow I do not think so . . .
‘No, you are too trusting . . .
‘You have too beautiful a nature . . .
‘What shall I say more to you? Both Franklin and Judith, I think you will find, knew the truth although they will not have told it to you. They will be happy together, those two. They will be poor and innumerable tropical insects will bite them and strange fevers will attack them – but we all have our own ideas of the perfect life, have we not?
‘And you, my poor lonely Hastings? Ah, my heart bleeds for you, dear friend. Will you, for the last time, take the advice of your old Poirot?
‘After you have read this, take a train or a car or a series of buses and go to find Elizabeth Cole who is also Elizabeth Litchfield. Let her read this, or tell her what is in it. Tell her that you, too, might have done what her sister Margaret did – only for Margaret Litchfield there was no watchful Poirot at hand. Take the nightmare away from her, show her that her father was killed, not by his daughter, but by that kind sympathetic family friend, that “honest Iago” Stephen Norton.
‘For it is not right, my friend, that a woman like that, still young, still attractive, should refuse life because she believes herself to be tainted. No, it is not right. Tell her so, you, my friend, who are yourself still not unattractive to women . . .
‘
Eh bien
, I have no more now to say. I do not know, Hastings, if what I have done is justified or not justified. No – I do not know. I do not believe that a man should take the law into his own hands . . .
‘But on the other hand, I
am
the law! As a young man in the Belgian police force I shot down a desperate criminal who sat on a roof and fired at people below. In a state of emergency martial law is proclaimed.
‘By taking Norton’s life, I have saved other lives – innocent lives. But still I do not know . . . It is perhaps right that I should not know. I have always been so sure – too sure . . .
‘But now I am very humble and I say like a little child “I do not know . . .”
‘Goodbye,
cher ami.
I have moved the amyl nitrate ampoules away from beside my bed. I prefer to leave myself in the hands of the
bon Dieu.
May his punishment, or his mercy, be swift!
‘We shall not hunt together again, my friend. Our first hunt was here – and our last . . .
‘They were good days.
‘Yes, they have been good days . . .’
(End of Hercule Poirot’s manuscript.)
Final note by Captain Arthur Hastings:
I have finished reading . . . I cannot believe it all yet . . . But he is right. I should have known. I should have known when I saw the bullet hole so symmetrically in the middle of the forehead.
Queer – it’s just come to me – the thought in the back of my mind that morning.
The mark on Norton’s forehead – it was like the brand of Cain . . .
The Mysterious Affair at Styles; The Murder on the Links; Poirot Investigates; The Murder of Roger Ackroyd; The Big Four; The Mystery of the Blue Train; Black Coffee; Peril at End House; Lord Edgware Dies; Murder on the Orient Express; Three-Act Tragedy; Death in the Clouds; The ABC Murders; Murder in Mesopotamia; Cards on the Table; Murder in the Mews; Dumb Witness; Death on the Nile; Appointment with Death; Hercule Poirot’s Christmas; Sad Cypress; One, Two, Buckle My Shoe; Evil Under the Sun; Five Little Pigs; The Hollow; The Labours of Hercules; Taken at the Flood; Mrs McGinty’s Dead; After the Funeral; Hickory Dickory Dock; Dead Man’s Folly; Cat Among the Pigeons; The Adventure of the Christmas Pudding; The Clocks; Third Girl; Hallowe’en Party; Elephants Can Remember; Poirot’s Early Cases; Curtain: Poirot’s Last Case
1.
The Mysterious Affair at Styles
(1920)
Captain Arthur Hastings, invalided in the Great War, is recuperating as a guest of John Cavendish at Styles Court, the ‘country-place’ of John’s autocratic old aunt, Emily Inglethorpe — she of a sizeable fortune, and so recently remarried to a man twenty years her junior. When Emily’s sudden heart attack is found to be attributable to strychnine, Hastings recruits an old friend, now retired, to aid in the local investigation. With impeccable timing, Hercule Poirot, the renowned Belgian detective, makes his dramatic entrance into the pages of crime literature.
Of note: Written in 1916,
The Mysterious Affair at Styles
was Agatha Christie’s first published work. Six houses rejected the novel before it was finally published — after puzzling over it for eighteen months before deciding to go ahead — by The Bodley Head.
2.
The Murder on the Links
(1923)
“For God’s sake, come!” But by the time Hercule Poirot can respond to Monsieur Renauld’s plea, the millionaire is already dead — stabbed in the back, and lying in a freshly dug grave on the golf course adjoining his estate. There is no lack of suspects: his wife, whose dagger did the deed; his embittered son; Renauld’s mistress — and each feels deserving of the dead man’s fortune. The police think they’ve found the culprit. Poirot has his doubts. And the discovery of a second, identically murdered corpse complicates matters considerably. (However, on a bright note, Captain Arthur Hastings
does
meet his future wife.)
3.
Poirot Investigates
(1924)
A movie star, a diamond; a murderous ‘suicide’; a pharaoh’s curse upon his tomb; a prime minister abducted...What links these fascinating cases? The brilliant deductive powers of Hercule Poirot in... ‘The Adventure of the Western Star’; ‘The Tragedy at Marsdon Manor’; ‘The Adventure of the Cheap Flat’; ‘The Mystery of the Hunter’s Lodge’; ‘The Million Dollar Bond Robbery’; ‘The Adventure of the Egyptian Tomb’; ‘The Jewel Robbery at the Grand Metropolitan’; ‘The Kidnapped Prime Minister’; ‘The Disappearance of Mr. Davenheim’; ‘The Adventure of the Italian Nobleman’; ‘The Case of the Missing Will.’
Of note: The stories collected here were first published in
Sketch
, beginning on March 7, 1923.
Sketch
also featured the first illustration of the foppish, egg-headed, elaborately moustachioed Belgian detective.
4.
The Murder of Roger Ackroyd
(1926)
In the quiet village of King’s Abbot a widow’s suicide has stirred suspicion — and dreadful gossip. There are rumours that she murdered her first husband, that she was being blackmailed, and that her secret lover was Roger Ackroyd. Then, on the verge of discovering the blackmailer’s identity, Ackroyd himself is murdered. Hercule Poirot, who has settled in King’s Abbot for some peace and quiet and a little gardening, finds himself at the centre of the case — and up against a diabolically clever and devious killer.
Of note:
The Murder of Roger Ackroyd
broke all the rules of detective fiction and made Agatha Christie a household name. Widely regarded as her masterpiece (though perhaps it may be called her ‘Poirot masterpiece’ since other titles in her canon — notably
And Then There Were None
— are similarly acclaimed),
The Murder of Roger Ackroyd
was the source of some controversy when it was published. The
Times Literary Supplement
’s praise of the first Poirot,
The Mysterious Affair at Styles
, ‘almost too ingenious,’ was applied by scores of readers to
Ackroyd
, who were nonetheless enraptured by the novel, and have remained so over the decades.
Fair warning:
There are two things you must do if you know nothing of the book: discuss it with no one, and read it with all speed.
5.
The Big Four
(1927)
Hercule Poirot is preparing for a voyage to South America. Looming in the doorway of his bedroom is an uninvited guest, coated from head to foot in dust and mud. The man’s gaunt face registers Poirot for a moment, and then he collapses. The stranger recovers long enough to identify Poirot by name and madly and repeatedly scribble the figure ‘4’ on a piece of paper. Poirot cancels his trip. An investigation is in order. Fortunately, Poirot has the faithful Captain Hastings at his side as he plunges into a conspiracy of international scope — one that would consolidate power in the deadly cabal known as ‘The Big Four.’
6.
The Mystery of the Blue Train
(1928)
Le Train Bleu is an elegant, leisurely means of travel, and one certainly free of intrigue. Hercule Poirot is aboard, bound for the Riviera. And so is Ruth Kettering, the American heiress. Bailing out of a doomed marriage, she is en route to reconcile with her former lover. But her private affairs are made quite public when she is found murdered in her luxury compartment — bludgeoned almost beyond recognition. Fans of the later novel
Murder on the Orient Express
will not want to miss
this
journey by rail — and Poirot’s eerie reenactment of the crime...
7.
Black Coffee
(1930; 1998)
Sir Claud Amory’s formula for a powerful new explosive has been stolen, presumably by a member of his large household. Sir Claud assembles his suspects in the library and locks the door, instructing them that the when the lights go out, the formula must be replaced on the table — and no questions will be asked. But when the lights come on, Sir Claud is dead. Now Hercule Poirot, assisted by Captain Hastings and Inspector Japp, must unravel a tangle of family feuds, old flames, and suspicious foreigners to find the killer and prevent a global catastrophe.
Of note:
Black Coffee
was Agatha Christie’s first playscript, written in 1929. It premiered in 1930 at the Embassy Theatre in Swiss Cottage, London, before transferring the following year to St Martin’s in the West End — a theatre made famous by virtue of its becoming the permanent home of the longest-running play in history, Agatha Christie’s
The Mousetrap
. Agatha Christie’s biographer, Charles Osborne, who, as a young actor in 1956 had played Dr Carelli in a Tunbridge Wells production of
Black Coffee
, adapted the play as this novel in 1998.
8.
Peril at End House
(1932)
Nick is an unusual name for a pretty young woman. And Nick Buckley has been leading an unusual life of late. First, on a treacherous Cornish hillside, the brakes on her car fail. Then, on a coastal path, a falling boulder misses her by inches. Safe in bed, she is almost crushed by a painting. Upon discovering a bullet hole in Nick’s sun hat, Hercule Poirot (who had come to Cornwall for a simple holiday with his friend Captain Hastings) decides that the girl needs his protection. At the same time, he begins to unravel the mystery of a murder that hasn’t been committed. Yet.
9.
Lord Edgware Dies
(1933)
Poirot was present when the beautiful actress Jane Wilkinson bragged of her plan to ‘get rid of ’ her estranged husband. Now the monstrous man is dead. But how could Jane have stabbed Lord Edgware in his library at exactly the time she was dining with friends? And what could have been her motive, since Edgware had finally granted her a divorce? The great Belgian detective, aided by Captain Hastings, can’t help feeling that some kind of heinous stagecraft is in play. And does more murder wait in the wings?
10.
Murder on the Orient Express
(1934)
Just after midnight, a snowstorm stops the Orient Express dead in its tracks in the middle of Yugoslavia. The luxurious train is surprisingly full for this time of year. But by morning there is one passenger less. A ‘respectable American gentleman’ lies dead in his compartment, stabbed a dozen times, his door locked from the inside... Hercule Poirot is also aboard, having arrived in the nick of time to claim a second-class compartment — and the most astounding case of his illustrious career.
Regarding chronology: Agatha Christie seems not much concerned in the course of her books with their relationship to each other. It is why the Marples and the Poirots may be ready in any order, really, with pleasure. However, the dedicated Poirotist may wish to note that the great detective is returning from ‘A little affair in Syria’ at the start of
Murder on the Orient Express
. It is a piece of business after this ‘little affair’ — the investigation into the death of an archaeologist’s wife — that is the subject of
Murder in Mesopotamia
(1936). If one wishes to delay a tad longer the pleasures of
Orient Express
,
Murder in Mesopotamia
offers no better opportunity.
Fair warning:
Along these lines, it is advisable that one
not
read
Cards on the Table
(1936) prior to
Orient Express
, since Poirot
himself
casually gives away the ending to the latter novel.
Of note:
Murder on the Orient Express
is one of Agatha Christie’s most famous novels, owing no doubt to a combination of its romantic setting and the ingeniousness of its plot; its non-exploitative reference to the sensational kidnapping and murder of the infant son of Charles and Anne Morrow Lindbergh only two years prior; and a popular 1974 film adaptation, starring Albert Finney as Poirot — one of the few cinematic versions of a Christie work that met with the approval, however mild, of the author herself.
11.
Three-Act Tragedy
(1935)
The novel opens as a theatre programme, with this telling credit: ‘
Illumination by
HERCULE POIROT.’ Light must be shed, indeed, on the fateful dinner party staged by the famous actor Sir Charles Cartwright for thirteen guests. It will be a particularly unlucky evening for the mild-mannered Reverend Stephen Babbington, whose martini glass, sent for chemical analysis after he chokes on its contents and dies, reveals no trace of poison. Just as there is no apparent motive for his murder. The first scene in a succession of carefully staged killings, but who is the director?
12.
Death in the Clouds
(1935)
From seat No. 9, Hercule Poirot is almost ideally placed to observe his fellow air travelers on this short flight from Paris to London. Over to his right sits a pretty young woman, clearly infatuated with the man opposite. Ahead, in seat No. 13, is the Countess of Horbury, horribly addicted to cocaine and not doing too good a job of concealing it. Across the gangway in seat No. 8, a writer of detective fiction is being troubled by an aggressive wasp. Yes, Poirot is
almost
ideally placed to take it all in — except that the passenger in the seat directly behind him has slumped over in the course of the flight... dead. Murdered. By someone in Poirot’s immediate proximity. And Poirot himself must number among the suspects.