Mrs. McGinty's Dead: A Hercule Poirot Mystery (Hercule Poirot Mysteries)

Mrs. McGinty's Dead: A Hercule Poirot Mystery (Hercule Poirot Mysteries)

Agatha Christie

Language: English

Pages: 272

ISBN: 0062074083

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub


The Queen of Mystery has come to Harper Collins! Agatha Christie, the acknowledged mistress of suspense—creator of indomitable sleuth Miss Marple, meticulous Belgian detective Hercule Poirot, and so many other unforgettable characters—brings her entire oeuvre of ingenious whodunits, locked room mysteries, and perplexing puzzles to Harper Paperbacks. In Mrs. McGinty’s Dead, the intrepid Poirot looks into the case of a brutally murdered landlady.

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glanced at Deirdre and his eyebrows rose in interrogation. “This is my stepfather,” said Deirdre. “I—I don’t know your name?” “I am Hercule Poirot,” said Poirot with his usual embarrassed air of announcing a royal title. Mr. Wetherby seemed unimpressed. He said, “Ah,” and turned to hang up his coat. Deirdre said: “He came to ask about Mrs. McGinty.” Mr. Wetherby remained still for a second, then he finished his adjustment of the coat on the peg. “That seems to me rather remarkable,” he

introduced them. “This is the wonderful Ariadne Oliver, Eve,” he said. “My dear, I don’t know how she does it. Looks so benevolent, too, doesn’t she? Not at all as though she wallowed in crime. This is Eve Carpenter. Her husband is going to be our next Member. The present one, Sir George Cartwright, is quite gaga, poor old man. He jumps out at young girls from behind doors.” “Robin, you mustn’t invent such terrible lies. You’ll discredit the Party.” “Well, why should I care? It isn’t my Party.

raised his eyebrows. “Is it?” “Of course it is. Nobody believes it.” “And yet I assure you, it is a simple fact.” Her pale blue eyes blinked and she looked away. “You won’t tell me.” “Tell you—what, madame?” She changed the subject abruptly again, it seemed. “I wanted to ask you—about anonymous letters.” “Yes,” said Poirot encouragingly as she stopped. “They’re really always lies, aren’t they?” “They are sometimes lies,” said Poirot cautiously. “Usually,” she persisted. “I don’t know

may very well be true. Impressions often are.” “Our latest information from Australia (it was Australia she went to, by the way, not America) seems to be to the effect that the ‘Mrs. Hope’ in question died out there twenty years ago.” “I have already been told that,” said Poirot. “You always know everything, don’t you, Poirot?” Poirot took no notice of this gibe. He said: “At the one end we have ‘Mrs. Hope’ deceased in Australia—and at the other?” “At the other end we have Mrs. Upward, the

Upward wanted to keep her recognition to herself. She pointed to the wrong photograph to put me off. “But one person was not deceived—the murderer. One person knew which photograph Mrs. Upward had recognized. And here I will not beat to and fro about the bush—the photograph in question was that of Eva Kane—a woman who was accomplice, victim or possibly leading spirit in the famous Craig Murder Case. “On the next evening Mrs. Upward was killed. She was killed for the same reason that Mrs.

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