FiveLittlePigs_AHerculePoirotMystery - (EPUB全文下载)

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Agatha Christie
Five Little Pigs
A Hercule Poirot Mystery
To Stephen Glanville
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
Introduction
Book One
1. Counsel for the Defence
2. Counsel for the Prosecution
3. The Young Solicitor
4. The Old Solicitor
5. The Police Superintendent
6. This Little Pig Went to Market
7. This Little Pig Stayed at Home
8. This Little Pig Had Roast Beef
9. This Little Pig Had None
10. This Little Pig Cried “Wee Wee Wee”
Book Two
Narrative of Philip Blake
Narrative of Meredith Blake
Narrative of Lady Dittisham
Narrative of Cecilia Williams
Narrative of Angela Warren
Book Three
1. Conclusions
2. Poirot Asks Five Questions
3. Reconstruction
4. Truth
5. Aftermath
About the Author
Other Books by Agatha Christie
Credits
Copyright
About the Publisher
Introduction
CARLA LEMARCHANT
Hercule Poirot looked with interest and appreciation at the young woman who was being ushered into the room.
There had been nothing distinctive in the letter she had written. It had been a mere request for an appointment, with no hint of what lay behind that request. It had been brief and businesslike. Only the firmness of the handwriting had indicated that Carla Lemarchant was a young woman.
And now here she was in the flesh—a tall, slender young woman in the early twenties. The kind of young woman that one definitely looked at twice. Her clothes were good, an expensive well-cut coat and skirt and luxurious furs. Her head was well poised on her shoulders, she had a square brow, a sensitively cut nose and a determined chin. She looked very much alive. It was her aliveness, more than her beauty, which struck the predominant note.
Before her entrance, Hercule Poirot had been feeling old—now he felt rejuvenated—alive—keen!
As he came forward to greet her, he was aware of her dark grey eyes studying him attentively. She was very earnest in that scrutiny.
She sat down and accepted the cigarette that he offered her. After it was lit she sat for a minute or two smoking, still looking at him with that earnest, thoughtful gaze.
Poirot said gently:
“Yes, it has to be decided, does it not?”
She started. “I beg your pardon?”
Her voice was attractive, with a faint, agreeable huskiness in it.
“You are making up your mind, are you not, whether I am a mere mountebank, or the man you need?”
She smiled. She said:
“Well, yes—something of that kind. You see, Mr. Poirot, you—you don’t look exactly the way I pictured you.”
“And I am old, am I not? Older than you imagined?”
“Yes, ............

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