Hercule Poirot - 33 - Elephants Can Remember by Agatha Christie

Author:Agatha Christie
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Mystery
Published: 2010-06-22T23:00:00+00:00

Elephants Can Remember

Chapter 10

DESMOND

Twelve days later, as Hercule Poirot drank his morning chocolate, he read at the same time a letter that had been among his correspondence that morning. He was reading it now for the second time. The handwriting was a moderately good one, though it hardly bore the stamp of maturity.

Dear Monsieur Poirot,

I am afraid you will find this letter of mine somewhat peculiar, but I believe it would help if I mentioned a friend of yours. I tried to get in touch with her to ask her if she would arrange for me to come and see you, but apparently she had left home. Her secretary - I am referring to Mrs. Ariadne Oliver, the novelist - her secretary seemed to say something about her having gone on a safari in East Africa. If so, I can see she may not return for some time. But I'm sure she would help me. I would indeed like to see you so much. I am badly in need of advice of some kind.

Mrs. Oliver, I understand, is acquainted with my mother, who met her at a literary luncheon party. If you could give me an appointment to visit you one day, I should be very grateful. I can suit my time to anything you suggested. I don't know if it is helpful at all, but Mrs. Oliver's secretary did mention the word “elephants.” I presume this has something to do with Mrs. Oliver's travels in East Africa. The secretary spoke as though it was some kind of password. I don't really understand this but perhaps you will. I am in a great state of worry and anxiety and I would be very grateful if you could see me.

Yours truly,

Desmond Burton-Cox.

“Nom d'un petit bonhomme!” said Hercule Poirot.

“I beg your pardon, sir?” said George.

“A mere ejaculation,” said Hercule Poirot. “There are some things, once they have invaded your life, which you find very difficult to get rid of again. With me it seems to be a question of elephants.”

He left the breakfast table, summoned his faithful secretary, Miss Lemon, handed her the letter from Desmond Cox and gave her directions to arrange an appointment with the writer of the letter.

“I am not too occupied at the present time,” he said. “Tomorrow will be quite suitable.”

Miss Lemon reminded him of two appointments which he already had, but agreed that that left plenty of hours vacant and she would arrange something as he wished.

“Something to do with the Zoological Gardens?” she inquired.

“Hardly,” said Poirot. “No, do not mention elephants in your letter. There can be too much of anything. Elephants are large animals. They occupy a great deal of the horizon. Yes. We can leave elephants. They will no doubt arise in the course of the conversation I propose to hold with Desmond Burton-Cox.”

“Mr. Desmond Burton-Cox,” announced George, ushering in the expected guest.

Poirot had risen to his feet and was standing beside the mantelpiece. He remained for a moment or two without speaking, then he advanced, having summed up his own impression.

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