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A Murder is Announced
Agatha Christie
Agatha Christie’s most ingenious murder mystery, reissued with a striking cover designed to appeal to the latest generation of Agatha Christie fans and book lovers.The villagers of Chipping Cleghorn, including Jane Marple, are agog with curiosity over an advertisement in the local gazette which reads: ‘A murder is announced and will take place on Friday October 29th, at Little Paddocks at 6.30 p.m.’A childish practical joke? Or a hoax intended to scare poor Letitia Blacklock? Unable to resist the mysterious invitation, a crowd begins to gather at Little Paddocks at the appointed time when, without warning, the lights go out…
Copyright (#ud00fe465-4a5f-5c98-a2b9-c6f081d52cf5)
Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
First published in Great Britain by Collins, The Crime Club 1950
A Murder is Announced™ is a trade mark of Agatha Christie Limited
and Agatha Christie® Marple® and the Agatha Christie Signature are
registered trade marks of Agatha Christie Limited in the UK and elsewhere.
Copyright © 1950 Agatha Christie Limited. All rights reserved.
www.agathachristie.com (http://www.agathachristie.com)
Cover by Nick Castle © HarperCollins/Agatha Christie Ltd 2016
Agatha Christie asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
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.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780008196554
Ebook Edition © December 2016 ISBN: 9780007422524
Version: 2018-07-05
Dedication (#ud00fe465-4a5f-5c98-a2b9-c6f081d52cf5)
To Ralph and Anne Newman
at whose house I first tasted
‘Delicious Death!’
Table of Contents
Cover (#u3aa9bc92-5277-5121-97d1-4ddc0d954ddf)
Title Page (#ucaadc502-d916-501d-9150-1a6bc6264df8)
Copyright (#u7e8d0752-57d0-512c-bfa1-1b5db237e46f)
Dedication (#u8f360cac-24a0-56e4-85b4-1478459a7e2c)
Chapter 1: A Murder is Announced (#uabfacf82-9b11-516b-b371-8f3b01be92d9)
Chapter 2: Breakfast at Little Paddocks (#uc57f21ac-58c5-5e8e-80ff-8da7d3925f44)
Chapter 3: At 6.30 p.m. (#u4da60dfe-192f-5aa4-aa05-86bacc09c4ce)
Chapter 4: The Royal Spa Hotel (#u2b743291-9264-549f-82c4-37cc0e630189)
Chapter 5: Miss Blacklock and Miss Bunner (#uce169202-9702-5804-9ddb-e638e4ccb487)
Chapter 6: Julia, Mitzi and Patrick (#ud6362c86-523b-5dfa-9670-da1726d0569c)
Chapter 7: Among Those Present (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 8: Enter Miss Marple (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 9: Concerning a Door (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 10: Pip and Emma (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 11: Miss Marple Comes to Tea (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 12: Morning Activities in Chipping Cleghorn (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 13: Morning Activities in Chipping Cleghorn (Continued) (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 14: Excursion into The Past (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 15: Delicious Death (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 16: Inspector Craddock Returns (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 17: The Album (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 18: The Letters (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 19: Reconstruction of the Crime (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 20: Miss Marple is Missing (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 21: Three Women (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 22: The Truth (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 23: Evening at the Vicarage (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Also by Agatha Christie (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER 1 (#ud00fe465-4a5f-5c98-a2b9-c6f081d52cf5)
A Murder is Announced (#ud00fe465-4a5f-5c98-a2b9-c6f081d52cf5)
Between 7.30 and 8.30 every morning except Sundays, Johnnie Butt made the round of the village of Chipping Cleghorn on his bicycle, whistling vociferously through his teeth, and alighting at each house or cottage to shove through the letterbox such morning papers as had been ordered by the occupants of the house in question from Mr Totman, stationer, of the High Street. Thus, at Colonel and Mrs Easterbrook’s he delivered The Times and the Daily Graphic; at Mrs Swettenham’s he left The Times and the Daily Worker; at Miss Hinchcliffe and Miss Murgatroyd’s he left the Daily Telegraph and the News Chronicle; at Miss Blacklock’s he left the Telegraph, The Times and the Daily Mail.
At all these houses, and indeed at practically every house in Chipping Cleghorn, he delivered every Friday a copy of the North Benham News and Chipping Cleghorn Gazette, known locally simply as ‘the Gazette’.
Thus, on Friday mornings, after a hurried glance at the headlines in the daily paper
(International situation critical! U.N.O. meets today! Bloodhounds seek blonde typist’s killer! Three collieries idle. Twenty-three die of food poisoning in Seaside Hotel, etc.)
most of the inhabitants of Chipping Cleghorn eagerly opened the Gazette and plunged into the local news. After a cursory glance at Correspondence (in which the passionate hates and feuds of rural life found full play) nine out of ten subscribers then turned to the PERSONAL column. Here were grouped together higgledy-piggledy articles for Sale or Wanted, frenzied appeals for Domestic Help, innumerable insertions regarding dogs, announcements concerning poultry and garden equipment; and various other items of an interesting nature to those living in the small community of Chipping Cleghorn.
This particular Friday, October 29th—was no exception to the rule—
Mrs Swettenham, pushing back the pretty little grey curls from her forehead, opened The Times, looked with a lacklustre eye at the left-hand centre page, decided that, as usual, if there was any exciting news The Times had succeeded in camouflaging it in an impeccable manner; took a look at the Births, Marriages and Deaths, particularly the latter; then, her duty done, she put aside The Times and eagerly seized the Chipping Cleghorn Gazette.
When her son Edmund entered the room a moment later, she was already deep in the Personal Column.
‘Good morning, dear,’ said Mrs Swettenham. ‘The Smedleys are selling their Daimler. 1935—that’s rather a long time ago, isn’t it?’
Her son grunted, poured himself out a cup of coffee, helped himself to a couple of kippers, sat down at the table and opened the Daily Worker which he propped up against the toast rack.
‘Bull mastiff puppies,’ read out Mrs Swettenham. ‘I really don’t know how people manage to feed big dogs nowadays—I really don’t … H’m, Selina Lawrence is advertising for a cook again. I could tell her it’s just a waste of time advertising in these days. She hasn’t put her address, only a box number—that’s quite fatal—I could have told her so—servants simply insist on knowing where they are going. They like a good address … False teeth—I can’t think why false teeth are so popular. Best prices paid … Beautiful bulbs. Our special selection. They sound rather cheap … Here’s a girl wants an “Interesting post—Would travel.” I dare say! Who wouldn’t?… Dachshunds … I’ve never really cared for dachshunds myself—I don’t mean because they’re German, because we’ve got over all that—I just don’t care for them, that’s all.—Yes, Mrs Finch?’
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 writeorcommunicate 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.
