Appointment with Death. Агата Кристи
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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.
HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.
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www.harpercollins.co.uk
First published in Great Britain by Collins 1938
Copyright © 1938 Agatha Christie Limited (a Chorion company). All rights reserved.
Agatha Christie asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
All rights reserved. This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, 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 ebooks
HarperCollinsPublishers has made every reasonable effort to ensure that any picture content and written content in this ebook has been included or removed in accordance with the contractual and technological constraints in operation at the time of publication
Source ISBN: 9780007119356
Ebook Edition © OCTOBER 2010 ISBN: 9780007422142
Version: 2017-07-18
To Richard and Myra Mallock to remind them of their journey to Petra
Contents
Cover
Part I
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Part II
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
Epilogue
E-book Extras
About Agatha Christie
The Agatha Christie Collection
www.agathachristie.com
About the Publisher
‘You do see, don’t you, that she’s got to be killed?’
The question floated out into the still night air, seemed to hang there a moment and then drift away down into the darkness towards the Dead Sea.
Hercule Poirot paused a minute with his hand on the window catch. Frowning, he shut it decisively, thereby excluding any injurious night air! Hercule Poirot had been brought up to believe that all outside air was best left outside, and that night air was especially dangerous to the health.
As he pulled the curtains neatly over the window and walked to his bed, he smiled tolerantly to himself.
‘You do see, don’t you, that she’s got to be killed?’
Curious words for one Hercule Poirot, detective, to overhear on his first night in Jerusalem.
‘Decidedly, wherever I go, there is something to remind me of crime!’ he murmured to himself.
His smile continued as he remembered a story he had once heard concerning Anthony Trollope the novelist. Trollope was crossing the Atlantic at the time and had overheard two fellow passengers discussing the last published instalment of one of his novels.
‘Very good,’ one man had declared. ‘But he ought to kill off that tiresome old woman.’
With a broad smile the novelist had addressed them:
‘Gentlemen, I am much obliged to you! I will go and kill her immediately!’
Hercule Poirot wondered what had occasioned the words he had just overheard. A collaboration, perhaps, over a play or a book.
He thought, still smiling: ‘Those words might be remembered, one day, and given a more sinister meaning.’
There had been, he now recollected, a curious nervous intensity in the voice—a tremor that spoke of some intense emotional strain. A man’s voice—or a boy’s…
Hercule Poirot thought to himself as he turned out the light by his bed: ‘I should know that voice again…’
II
Their elbows on the window-sill, their heads close together, Raymond and Carol Boynton gazed out into the blue depths of the night. Nervously, Raymond repeated his former words: ‘You do see, don’t you, that she’s got to be killed?’
Carol Boynton stirred slightly. She said, her voice deep and hoarse: ‘It’s horrible…’
‘It’s not more horrible