AGATHA CHRISTIE CRIME COLLECTION: PARTNERS IN CRIME / AT BERTRAM´S HOTEL / THE HOUND OF DEATHHamlyn, London, 1972
SBN 6007 66 233
beletria, detektívky
510 s., angličtina
hmotnosť: 575 g
tvrdá väzba s prebalom
stav: dobrý, na niektorých miestach jemné vpisy ceruzou
0,50 € DAROVANÉ
*kamag* in **O2**
Partners in Crime
‘Oh, I wish something would happen,' yawned Tuppence.... Six years of marriage have not dispelled Mr. and Mrs. Beresford’s youthful zest for excitement and adventure. They are delighted, therefore, when their chief, Mr. Carter, asks Tommy to assume the identity of a certain Mr. Theodore Blunt who has been arrested for complicity in espionage. Mr. Blunt had been manager of the apparently moribund International Detective Agency which Tommy now has to run, with the irrepressible Tuppence as his assistant. They lightheartedly decide to treat each case in the manner of a famous detective of fiction — Sherlock Holmes, Father Brown and so on — including even the great Poirot! Their investigations into cases of forgery, smuggling, missing persons, robbery and murder, give them more than sufficient excitement. They tackle them all with equal aplomb, but have many hair-raising experiences before achieving some surprising results....
At Bertram’s Hotel
Situated in a secluded corner of London’s West End, the quiet and dignified Bertram’s Hotel has always retained its aura of refined respectability.
To enter its doors is like stepping back into an Edwardian age of gracious living, for although it now has all the modern amenities, they have been most discreetly and unobtrusively introduced. To the elderly Miss Jane Marple the hotel at first seems just the same as it was on her last visit, when a schoolgirl, some fifty— no, sixty — years ago.
Even her fellow guests look almost the same. And yet... with her own uncanny perceptiveness she soon becomes aware that things are not the same. There is something not quite right about the place ... something unreal... something intangibly wrong. Can it be the hotel itself? The staff? The resident guests?... During her brief visit, many strange things happen and Miss Marple is presented with some intriguing and quite baffling problems before the answer to those questions is dramatically revealed....
The Hound of Death
What is the meaning of the strange scorch marks left on the ruined walls of the Belgian convent?
How and why was it apparently blasted to destruction by a terrifying storm some years ago? Why is the place now shunned by the local people after dark? And what are the dreaded occult powers said to be possessed by the mysterious nun, Sister Marie Angelique, in the remote Cornish village where she now lives?... These questions form the background to the first of the enthralling mysteries in this series of twelve short stories. Embracing, as they do, the uncanny ... the macabre ... the sinister ... the supernatural... each story is a miniature masterpiece.
He greeted her cheerily and explained what he wanted her to do. ‘Certain people, you see, have a gift for seeing things in a crystal. I fancy you might have such a gift, my sister.’
She looked distressed.
‘No, no, I cannot do that. To try to read the future—that is sinful.’ Rose was taken aback. It was the nun’s point of view for which he had not allowed. He changes his ground cleverly.
‘One should not look into the future. You are quite right. But to look into the past—that is different.’
‘The past?’
‘Yes—there are many strange things in the past. Flashes come back to one—they are seen for a moment—then gone again. Do not seek to see anything in the crystal, since that is not allowed you. Just take it in your hands—so. Look into it—look deep. Yes—deeper—deeper still. You remember, do you not? You remember. You hear me speaking to you. You can answer my questions. Can you not hear me?’
Sister Marie Angelique had taken the crystal as bidden, handling it with a curious reverence. Then, as she gazed into it, her eyes became blank and unseeing, her head dropped. She seemed to sleep.
Gently the doctor took the crystal from her and put it on the table. He raised the corner of her eyelid. Then he came and sat by me. ‘We must wait till she wakes. It won’t be long, I fancy.’
He was right. At the end of five minutes, Sister Marie Angelique stirred. Her eyes opened dreamily.
‘Where am I?’
‘You are here—at home. You have had a little sleep. You have dreamt, have you not?’
She nodded.
‘Yes, I have dreamt.’
‘You have dreamt of the Crystal?’
‘Yes.’
‘Tell us about it.’
‘You will think me mad, M. le docteur. For you see, in my dream, the Crystal was a holy emblem. I even figured to myself a second Christ, a Teacher of the Crystal who died for his faith, his followers hunted down—persecuted. . . . But the faith endured.’
‘The faith endured?’
‘Yes—for fifteen thousand full moons—I mean, for fifteen thousand years.’
‘How long was a full moon?’
‘Thirteen ordinary moons. Yes, it was in the fifteen-thousandth full moon—of course, I was a Priestess of the Fifth Sign in the House of the Crystal. It was in the first days of the coming of the Sixth Sign ..
Her brows drew together, a look of fear passed over her head.
‘Too soon,’ she murmured. ‘Too soon. A mistake. . . . Ah, yes! I remember! The Sixth Sign!’
She half sprang to her feet, then dropped back, passing her hand over her face and murmuring:
‘But what am I saying? I am raving. These things never happened.’
‘Now don’t distress yourself.’
But she was looking at him in anguished perplexity.
‘M. le docteur, I do not understand. Why should I have these dreams—these fancies? I was only sixteen when I entered the religious life. I have never travelled. Yet I dream of cities, of strange people, of strange customs. Why?’ She pressed both hands to her head.
‘Have you ever been hypnotized, my sister? Or been in a state of trance?’
‘I have never been hypnotized, M. le docteur. For the other, when at prayer in the chapel, my spirit has often been caught up from my body, and I have been as one dead for many hours. It was undoubtedly a blessed state, the Reverend Mother said—a state of grace. Ah, yes!’ She caught her breath. 'I remember; we, too, called it a state of grace.'
‘I would like to try an experiment, my sister.’ Rose spoke in a matter-of-fact voice. ‘It may dispel those painful half-recollections. I will ask you to gaze once more in the crystal. I will then say a certain word to you. You will answer with another. We will continue in this way until you become tired. Concentrate your thoughts on the crystal, not upon the words.’
As I once more unwrapped the crystal and gave it into Sister Marie Angelique’s hands, I noticed the reverent way her hands touched it. Reposing on the black velvet, it lay between her slim palms. Her wonderful deep eyes gazed into it. There was a short silence, and then the doctor said: 'Hound.'
Immediately Sister Marie Angelique answered: 'Death.'
