Agatha Christie – A Murder Is Announced

The door had opened to admit the head and torso of a grim-looking female in an aged velvet beret.

‘Good morning, Mum,’ said Mrs Finch. ‘Can I clear?’

‘Not yet. We haven’t finished,’ said Mrs Swettenham. ‘Not quite finished,’ she added ingratiatingly.

Casting a look at Edmund and his paper, Mrs Finch sniffed, and withdrew.

‘I’ve only just begun,’ said Edmund, just as his mother remarked:

‘I do wish you wouldn’t read that horrid paper, Edmund. Mrs Finch doesn’t like it at all.’

‘I don’t see what my political views have to do with Mrs Finch.’

‘And it isn’t,’ pursued Mrs Swettenham, ‘as though you were a worker. You don’t do any work at all.’

‘That’s not in the least true,’ said Edmund indignantly. ‘I’m writing a book.’

‘I meant real work,’ said Mrs Swettenham. ‘And Mrs Finch does matter. If she takes a dislike to us and won’t come, who else could we get?’

‘Advertise in the Gazette,’ said Edmund, grinning.

‘I’ve just told you that’s no use. Oh dear me, nowadays unless one has an old Nannie in the family, who will go into the kitchen and do everything, one is simply sunk.’

‘Well, why haven’t we an old Nannie? How remiss of you not to have provided me with one. What were you thinking about?’

‘You had an ayah, dear.’

‘No foresight,’ murmured Edmund.

Mrs Swettenham was once more deep in the Personal Column.

‘Second hand Motor Mower for sale. Now I wonder…Goodness, what a price!…More dachshunds…“Do write or communicate desperate Woggles.” What silly nicknames people have…Cocker Spaniels…Do you remember darling Susie, Edmund? She really was human. Understood every word you said to her…Sheraton sideboard for sale. Genuine family antique. Mrs Lucas, Dayas Hall…What a liar that woman is! Sheraton indeed…!’

Mrs Swettenham sniffed and then continued her reading:

‘All a mistake, darling. Undying love. Friday as usual.—;J…I suppose they’ve had a lovers’ quarrel—or do you think it’s a code for burglars?…More dachshunds! Really, I do think people have gone a little crazy about breeding dachshunds. I mean, there are other dogs. Your Uncle Simon used to breed Manchester Terriers. Such graceful little things. I do like dogs with legs…Lady going abroad will sell her navy two piece suiting…no measurements or price given…A marriage is announced—no, a murder. What? Well, I never! Edmund, Edmund, listen to this…

A murder is announced and will take place on Friday, October 29th, at Little Paddocks at 6.30 p.m. Friends please accept this, the only intimation.

What an extraordinary thing! Edmund!’

‘What’s that?’ Edmund looked up from his newspaper.

‘Friday, October 29th…Why, that’s today.’

‘Let me see.’ Her son took the paper from her.

‘But what does it mean?’ Mrs Swettenham asked with lively curiosity.

Edmund Swettenham rubbed his nose doubtfully.

‘Some sort of party, I suppose. The Murder Game—that kind of thing.’

‘Oh,’ said Mrs Swettenham doubtfully. ‘It seems a very odd way of doing it. Just sticking it in the advertisements like that. Not at all like Letitia Blacklock who always seems to me such a sensible woman.’

‘Probably got up by the bright young things she has in the house.’

‘It’s very short notice. Today. Do you think we’re just supposed to go?’

‘It says “Friends, please accept this, the only intimation,”’ her son pointed out.

‘Well, I think these new-fangled ways of giving invitations are very tiresome,’ said Mrs Swettenham decidedly.

‘All right, Mother, you needn’t go.’

‘No,’ agreed Mrs Swettenham.

There was a pause.

‘Do you really want that last piece of toast, Edmund?’

‘I should have thought my being properly nourished mattered more than letting that old hag clear the table.’

‘Sh, dear, she’ll hear you…Edmund, what happens at a Murder Game?’

‘I don’t know, exactly…They pin pieces of paper upon you, or something…No, I think you draw them out of a hat. And somebody’s the victim and somebody else is a detective—and then they turn the lights out and somebody taps you on the shoulder and then you scream and lie down and sham dead.’

‘It sounds quite exciting.’

‘Probably a beastly bore. I’m not going.’

‘Nonsense, Edmund,’ said Mrs Swettenham resolutely. ‘I’m going and you’re coming with me. That’s settled!’

III

‘Archie,’ said Mrs Easterbrook to her husband, ‘listen to this.’