{"id":2305,"date":"2026-01-03T22:22:16","date_gmt":"2026-01-03T22:22:16","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/a-murder-is-announced-christie-agatha\/"},"modified":"2026-01-03T22:22:16","modified_gmt":"2026-01-03T22:22:16","slug":"a-murder-is-announced-christie-agatha","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/a-murder-is-announced-christie-agatha\/","title":{"rendered":"A Murder Is Announced – Christie, Agatha"},"content":{"rendered":"
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Book Preview<\/h3>\n
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One<\/span><\/span><\/h2>\n

A MURDER<\/span> IS<\/span> ANNOUNCED<\/span><\/span><\/h2>\n<\/div>\n
\n

I<\/span><\/p>\n

B<\/span><\/span>etween 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\u2019s he delivered The Times<\/span> and the Daily Graphic;<\/span> at Mrs. Swettenham\u2019s he left The Times<\/span> and the Daily Worker;<\/span> at Miss Hinchcliffe and Miss Murgatroyd\u2019s he left the Daily Telegraph<\/span> and the New Chronicle;<\/span> at Miss Blacklock\u2019s he left the Telegraph, The Times<\/span> and the Daily Mail.<\/span><\/p>\n

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,<\/span> known locally simply as \u201cthe Gazette.<\/span>\u201d<\/p>\n

Thus, on Friday mornings, after a hurried glance at the headlines in the daily paper<\/p>\n

\n

(International situation critical! U.N.O. meets today! Bloodhounds seek blonde typist\u2019s killer! Three collieries idle. Twenty-three die of food poisoning in Seaside Hotel,<\/span> etc.)<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

most of the inhabitants of Chipping Cleghorn eagerly opened the Gazette<\/span> 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.<\/p>\n

This particular Friday, October 29th\u2014was no exception to the rule\u2014<\/p>\n

II<\/span><\/p>\n

Mrs. Swettenham, pushing back the pretty little grey curls from her forehead, opened The Times,<\/span> looked with a lacklustre eye at the left-hand centre page, decided that, as usual, if there was<\/span> any exciting news The Times<\/span> 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<\/span> and eagerly seized the Chipping Cleghorn Gazette.<\/span><\/p>\n

When her son Edmund entered the room a moment later, she was already deep in the Personal Column.<\/p>\n

\u201cGood morning, dear,\u201d said Mrs. Swettenham. \u201cThe Smedleys are selling their Daimler. 1935\u2014that\u2019s rather a long time ago, isn\u2019t it?\u201d<\/p>\n

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<\/span> which he propped up against the toast rack.<\/p>\n

\u201cBull mastiff puppies,<\/span>\u201d read out Mrs. Swettenham. \u201cI really don\u2019t know how people manage to feed big dogs nowadays\u2014I really don\u2019t<\/span> \u2026 H\u2019m, Selina Lawrence is advertising for a cook again. I could tell her it\u2019s just a waste of time advertising in these days. She hasn\u2019t put her address, only a box number\u2014that\u2019s quite<\/span> fatal\u2014I could have told her so\u2014servants simply insist on knowing where they are going. They like a good address \u2026 False teeth<\/span>\u2014I can\u2019t think why false teeth are so popular. Best prices paid \u2026 Beautiful bulbs. Our special selection.<\/span> They sound rather cheap \u2026 Here\u2019s a girl wants an \u2018Interesting post\u2014Would travel.<\/span>\u2019 I dare say! Who wouldn\u2019t?\u2026 Dachshunds<\/span>\u2026 I\u2019ve never really cared for dachshunds myself\u2014I don\u2019t mean because they\u2019re German,<\/span> because we\u2019ve got over all that\u2014I just don\u2019t care for them, that\u2019s all.\u2014Yes, Mrs. Finch?\u201d<\/p>\n

The door had opened to admit the head and torso of a grim-looking female in an aged velvet beret.<\/p>\n

\u201cGood morning, Mum,\u201d said Mrs. Finch. \u201cCan I clear?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNot yet. We haven\u2019t finished,\u201d said Mrs. Swettenham. \u201cNot quite finished,\u201d she added ingratiatingly.<\/p>\n

Casting a look at Edmund and his paper, Mrs. Finch sniffed, and withdrew.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ve only just begun,\u201d said Edmund, just as his mother remarked:<\/p>\n

\u201cI do wish you wouldn\u2019t read that horrid paper, Edmund. Mrs. Finch doesn\u2019t like it at all.<\/span>\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t see what my political views have to do with Mrs. Finch.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd it isn\u2019t,\u201d pursued Mrs. Swettenham, \u201cas though you were<\/span> a worker. You don\u2019t do any work at all.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s not in the least true,\u201d said Edmund indignantly. \u201cI\u2019m writing a book.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI meant real<\/span> work,\u201d said Mrs. Swettenham. \u201cAnd Mrs. Finch does matter. If she takes a dislike to us and won\u2019t come, who else could we get?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAdvertise in the Gazette,<\/span>\u201d said Edmund, grinning.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ve just told you that\u2019s 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.<\/span>\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, why haven\u2019t we an old Nannie? How remiss of you not to have provided me with one. What were you thinking about?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou had an ayah,<\/span> dear.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo foresight,\u201d murmured Edmund.<\/p>\n

Mrs. Swettenham was once more deep in the Personal Column.<\/p>\n

\u201cSecond hand Motor Mower for sale.<\/span> Now I wonder \u2026 Goodness, what a price!<\/span>\u2026 More dachshunds \u2026 \u2018Do write<\/span> or communicate desperate Woggles.<\/span>\u2019 What silly nicknames people have \u2026 Cocker Spaniels<\/span>\u2026 Do you remember darling Susie, Edmund? She really was human.<\/span> Understood every word you said to her \u2026 Sheraton sideboard for sale. Genuine family antique. Mrs. Lucas, Dayas Hall<\/span> \u2026 What a liar that woman is! Sheraton indeed \u2026!\u201d<\/p>\n

Mrs. Swettenham sniffed and then continued her reading:<\/p>\n

\u201cAll a mistake, darling. Undying love. Friday as usual.\u2014J<\/span> \u2026 I suppose they\u2019ve had a lovers\u2019 quarrel\u2014or do you think it\u2019s a code for burglars?\u2026 More dachshunds!<\/span> Really, I do think people have gone a little crazy about breeding dachshunds. I mean, there are<\/span> other dogs. Your Uncle Simon used to breed Manchester Terriers. Such graceful little things. I do like dogs with legs<\/span> \u2026 Lady going abroad will sell her navy two piece suiting<\/span> \u2026 no measurements or price given \u2026 A marriage is announced<\/span>\u2014no, a murder. What? Well,<\/span> I never! Edmund, Edmund,<\/span> listen to this\u2026.<\/p>\n

\n

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.<\/span><\/p>\n<\/div>\n

What an extraordinary thing! Edmund!<\/span>\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s that?\u201d Edmund looked up from his newspaper.<\/p>\n

\u201cFriday, October 29th \u2026 Why, that\u2019s today.<\/span>\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLet me see.\u201d Her son took the paper from her.<\/p>\n

\u201cBut what does it mean?\u201d Mrs. Swettenham asked with lively curiosity.<\/p>\n

Edmund Swettenham rubbed his nose doubtfully.<\/p>\n

\u201cSome sort of party, I suppose. The Murder Game\u2014That kind of thing.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh,\u201d said Mrs. Swettenham doubtfully. \u201cIt 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.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cProbably got up by the bright young things she has in the house.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s very short notice. Today. Do you think we\u2019re just supposed to go?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt says \u2018Friends, please accept this, the only intimation,\u2019\u201d her son pointed out.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, I think these newfangled ways of giving invitations are very tiresome,\u201d said Mrs. Swettenham decidedly.<\/p>\n

\u201cAll right, Mother, you needn\u2019t go.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d agreed Mrs. Swettenham.<\/p>\n

There was a pause.<\/p>\n

\u201cDo you really want<\/span> that last piece of toast, Edmund?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI should have thought my being properly nourished mattered more than letting that old hag clear the table.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSh, dear, she\u2019ll hear<\/span> you \u2026 Edmund, what happens at a Murder Game?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know, exactly \u2026 They pin pieces of paper upon you, or something \u2026 No, I think you draw them out of a hat. And somebody\u2019s the victim and somebody else is a detective\u2014and then they turn the lights out and somebody taps you on the shoulder and then you scream and lie down and sham dead.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt sounds quite exciting.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cProbably a beastly bore. I\u2019m not going.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNonsense, Edmund,\u201d said Mrs. Swettenham resolutely. \u201cI\u2019m<\/span> going and you\u2019re<\/span> coming with me. That\u2019s settled!<\/span>\u201d<\/p>\n

III<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cArchie,\u201d said Mrs. Easterbrook to her husband, \u201clisten to this.<\/span>\u201d<\/p>\n

Colonel Easterbrook paid no attention, because he was already snorting with impatience over an article in The Times.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cTrouble with these fellows is,\u201d he said, \u201cthat none of them knows the first thing about India! Not the first thing!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI know, dear, I know.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIf they did, they wouldn\u2019t write such piffle.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, I know. Archie, do listen.<\/p>\n

\n

A murder is announced and will take place on Friday, October 29th<\/span> (that\u2019s today), at Little Paddocks at 6:30 p.m. Friends please accept this, the only intimation.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n<\/div>\n

She paused triumphantly. Colonel Easterbrook looked at her indulgently but without much interest.<\/p>\n

\u201cMurder Game,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s all it is. Mind you,\u201d he unbent a little, \u201cit can be very good fun if it\u2019s well done. But it needs good organizing by someone who knows the ropes. You draw lots. One person\u2019s the murderer, nobody knows who. Lights out. Murderer chooses his victim. The victim has to count twenty before he screams. Then the person who\u2019s chosen to be the detective takes charge. Questions everybody. Where they were, what they were doing, tries to trip the real fellow up. Yes, it\u2019s a good game\u2014if the detective\u2014er\u2014knows something about police work.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLike you, Archie. You had all those interesting cases to try in your district.\u201d<\/p>\n

Colonel Easterbrook smiled indulgently and gave his moustache a complacent twirl.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, Laura,\u201d he said. \u201cI dare say I could give them a hint or two.\u201d<\/p>\n

And he straightened his shoulders.<\/p>\n

\u201cMiss Blacklock ought to have asked you to help her in getting the thing up.\u201d<\/p>\n

The Colonel snorted.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, well, she\u2019s got that young cub staying with her. Expect this is his idea. Nephew or something. Funny idea, though, sticking it in the paper.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt was in the Personal Column. We might never have seen it. I suppose it is<\/span> an invitation, Archie?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cFunny kind of invitation. I can tell you one thing. They can count me<\/span> out.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, Archie,\u201d Mrs. Easterbrook\u2019s voice rose in a shrill wail.<\/p>\n

\u201cShort notice. For all they know I might be busy.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut you\u2019re not, are you, darling?\u201d Mrs. Easterbrook lowered her voice persuasively. \u201cAnd I do think, Archie, that you really ought<\/span> to go\u2014just to help poor Miss Blacklock out. I\u2019m sure she\u2019s counting on you to make the thing a success. I mean, you know so much about police work and procedure. The whole thing will fall flat if you don\u2019t go and help to make it a success. After all, one must be neighbourly.<\/span>\u201d<\/p>\n

Mrs. Easterbrook put her synthetic blonde head on one side and opened her blue eyes very wide.<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course, if you put it like that, Laura \u2026\u201d Colonel Easterbrook twirled his grey moustache again, importantly, and looked with indulgence on his fluffy little wife. Mrs. Easterbrook was at least thirty years younger than her husband.<\/p>\n

\u201cIf you put it like that,<\/span> Laura,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

\u201cI really do think it\u2019s your duty,<\/span> Archie,\u201d said Mrs. Easterbrook solemnly.<\/p>\n

IV<\/span><\/p>\n

The Chipping Cleghorn Gazette<\/span> had also been delivered at Boulders, the picturesque three cottages knocked into one inhabited by Miss Hinchcliffe and Miss Murgatroyd.<\/p>\n

\u201cHinch?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat is it, Murgatroyd?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhere are you?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHenhouse.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh.\u201d<\/p>\n

Padding gingerly through the long wet grass, Miss Amy Murgatroyd approached her friend. The latter, attired in corduroy slacks and battledress tunic, was conscientiously stirring in handfuls of balancer meal to a repellently steaming basin full of cooked potato peelings and cabbage stumps.<\/p>\n

She turned her head with its short man-like crop and weather-beaten countenance toward her friend.<\/p>\n

Miss Murgatroyd, who was fat and amiable, wore a checked tweed skirt and a shapeless pullover of brilliant royal blue. Her curly bird\u2019s nest of grey hair was in a good deal of disorder and she was slightly out of breath.<\/p>\n

\u201cIn the Gazette,<\/span>\u201d she panted. \u201cJust listen\u2014what can it mean?<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

A murder is announced<\/span> \u2026 and will take place on Friday, October 29th, at Little Paddocks at 6:30 p.m. Friends please accept this, the only intimation.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n<\/div>\n

She paused, breathless, as she finished reading, and awaited some authoritative pronouncement.<\/p>\n

\u201cDaft,\u201d said Miss Hinchcliffe.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, but what do you think it means?<\/span>\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMeans a drink, anyway,\u201d said Miss Hinchcliffe.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou think it\u2019s a sort of invitation?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe\u2019ll find out what it means when we get there,\u201d said Miss Hinchcliffe. \u201cBad sherry, I expect. You\u2019d better get off the grass, Murgatroyd. You\u2019ve got your bedroom slippers on still. They\u2019re soaked.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, dear.\u201d Miss Murgatroyd looked down ruefully at her feet. \u201cHow many eggs today?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSeven. That damned hen\u2019s still broody. I must get her into the coop.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s a funny way of putting it, don\u2019t you think?\u201d Amy Murgatroyd asked, reverting to the notice in the Gazette.<\/span> Her voice was slightly wistful.<\/p>\n

But her friend was made of sterner and more single-minded stuff. She was intent on dealing with recalcitrant poultry and no announcement in a paper, however enigmatic, could deflect her.<\/p>\n

She squelched heavily through the mud and pounced upon a speckled hen. There was a loud and indignant squawking.<\/p>\n

\u201cGive me ducks every time,\u201d said Miss Hinchcliffe. \u201cFar<\/span> less trouble\u2026.\u201d<\/p>\n

V<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cOo, scrumptious!\u201d said Mrs. Harmon across the breakfast table to her husband, the Rev. Julian Harmon, \u201cthere\u2019s going to be a murder at Miss Blacklock\u2019s.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cA murder?\u201d said her husband, slightly surprised. \u201cWhen?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThis afternoon \u2026 at least, this evening. 6:30. Oh, bad luck, darling, you\u2019ve got your preparations for confirmation then. It is<\/span> a shame. And you do so love murders!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t really know what you\u2019re talking about, Bunch.\u201d<\/p>\n

Mrs. Harmon, the roundness of whose form and face had early led to the soubriquet of \u201cBunch\u201d being substituted for her baptismal name of Diana, handed the Gazette<\/span> across the table.<\/p>\n

\u201cThere. All among the second-hand pianos, and the old teeth.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat a very extraordinary announcement.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIsn\u2019t it?\u201d said Bunch happily. \u201cYou wouldn\u2019t think that Miss Blacklock cared about murders and games and things, would you? I suppose it\u2019s the young Simmonses put her up to it\u2014though I should have thought Julia Simmons would find murders rather crude. Still, there it is, and I do think, darling, it\u2019s a shame<\/span> you can\u2019t be there. Anyway, I\u2019ll go and tell you all about it, though it\u2019s rather wasted on me, because I don\u2019t really like games that happen in the dark. They frighten me, and I do<\/span> hope I shan\u2019t have to be the one who\u2019s murdered. If someone suddenly puts a hand on my shoulder and whispers, \u2018You\u2019re dead,\u2019 I know my heart will give such a big bump that perhaps it really might<\/span> kill me! Do you think that\u2019s likely?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, Bunch. I think you\u2019re going to live to be an old, old woman\u2014with me.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd die on the same day and be buried in the same grave. That would be lovely.\u201d<\/p>\n

Bunch beamed from ear to ear at this agreeable prospect.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou seem very happy, Bunch?\u201d said her husband, smiling.<\/p>\n

\u201cWho\u2019d not<\/span> be happy if they were me?\u201d demanded Bunch, rather confusedly. \u201cWith you and Susan and Edward, and all of you fond of me and not caring if I\u2019m stupid \u2026 And the sun shining! And this lovely big house to live in!\u201d<\/p>\n

The Rev. Julian Harmon looked round the big bare dining room and assented doubtfully.<\/p>\n

\u201cSome people would think it was the last straw to have to live in this great rambling draughty place.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, I like big rooms. All the nice smells from outside can get in and stay there. And you can be untidy and leave things about and they don\u2019t clutter you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo labour-saving devices or central heating? It means a lot of work for you, Bunch.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, Julian, it doesn\u2019t. I get up at half past six and light the boiler and rush around like a steam engine, and by eight it\u2019s all done. And I keep it nice, don\u2019t I? With beeswax and polish and big jars of Autumn leaves. It\u2019s not really harder to keep a big house clean than a small one. You go round with mops and things much quicker, because your behind isn\u2019t always bumping into things like it is in a small room. And I like sleeping in a big cold room\u2014it\u2019s so cosy to snuggle down with just the tip of your nose telling you what it\u2019s like up above. And whatever size of house you live in, you peel the same amount of potatoes and wash up the same amount of plates and all that. Think how nice it is for Edward and Susan to have a big empty room to play in where they can have railways and dolls\u2019 tea-parties all over the floor and never have to put them away? And then it\u2019s nice to have extra bits of the house that you can let people have to live in. Jimmy Symes and Johnnie Finch\u2014they\u2019d have had to live with their in-laws otherwise. And you know, Julian, it isn\u2019t nice living with your in-laws. You\u2019re devoted to Mother, but you wouldn\u2019t really have liked to start our married life living with her and Father. And I shouldn\u2019t have liked it, either. I\u2019d have gone on feeling like a little girl.\u201d<\/p>\n

Julian smiled at her.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re rather like a little girl still, Bunch.\u201d<\/p>\n

Julian Harmon himself had clearly been a model designed by Nature for the age of sixty. He was still about twenty-five years short of achieving Nature\u2019s purpose.<\/p>\n

\u201cI know I\u2019m stupid\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re not stupid, Bunch. You\u2019re very clever.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, I\u2019m not. I\u2019m not a bit intellectual. Though I do try \u2026 And I really love it when you talk to me about books and history and things. I think perhaps it wasn\u2019t an awfully good idea to read aloud Gibbon to me in the evenings, because if it\u2019s been a cold wind out, and it\u2019s nice and hot by the fire, there\u2019s something about Gibbon that does, rather, make you go to sleep.\u201d<\/p>\n

Julian laughed.<\/p>\n

\u201cBut I do love listening to you, Julian. Tell me the story again about the old vicar who preached about Ahasuerus.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou know that by heart, Bunch.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cJust tell it me again. Please.<\/span>\u201d<\/p>\n

Her husband complied.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt was old Scrymgour. Somebody looked into his church one day. He was leaning out of the pulpit and preaching fervently to a couple of old charwomen. He was shaking his finger at them and saying, \u2018Aha! I know what you are thinking. You<\/span> think that the Great Ahasuerus of the First Lesson was Artaxerxes the Second. But he wasn\u2019t!<\/span>\u2019 And then with enormous triumph, \u2018He was Artaxerxes the Third.<\/span>\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n

It had never struck Julian Hermon as a particularly funny story himself, but it never failed to amuse Bunch.<\/p>\n

Her clear laugh floated out.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe old pet!\u201d she exclaimed. \u201cI think you\u2019ll be exactly like that some day, Julian.\u201d<\/p>\n

Julian looked rather uneasy.<\/p>\n

\u201cI know,\u201d he said with humility. \u201cI do feel very strongly that I can\u2019t always get the proper simple approach.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI shouldn\u2019t worry,\u201d said Bunch, rising and beginning to pile the breakfast plates on a tray. \u201cMrs. Butt told me yesterday that Butt, who never went to church and used to be practically the local atheist, comes every Sunday now on purpose to hear you preach.\u201d<\/p>\n

She went on, with a very fair imitation of Mrs. Butt\u2019s super-refined voice:<\/p>\n

\u201c\u2018And Butt was saying only the other day, Madam, to Mr. Timkins from Little Worsdale, that we\u2019d got real culture<\/span> here in Chipping Cleghorn. Not<\/span> like Mr. Goss, at Little Worsdale, who talks to the congregation as though they were children who hadn\u2019t had any education. Real culture, Butt said, that\u2019s what we\u2019ve<\/span> got. Our Vicar\u2019s a highly educated gentleman\u2014Oxford, not Milchester, and he gives us the full benefit of his education. All about the Romans and the Greeks he knows, and the Babylonians and the Assyrians, too. And even the Vicarage cat, Butt says, is called after an Assyrian king!\u2019 So there\u2019s glory for you,\u201d finished Bunch triumphantly. \u201cGoodness, I must get on with things or I shall never get done. Come along, Tiglath Pileser, you shall have the herring bones.\u201d<\/p>\n

Opening the door and holding it dexterously ajar with her foot, she shot through with the loaded tray, singing in a loud and not particularly tuneful voice, her own version of a sporting song.<\/p>\n

\n

\u201cIt\u2019s a fine murdering day<\/span>, (sang Bunch)<\/p>\n

And as balmy as May<\/span><\/p>\n

And the sleuths from the village are gone.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n<\/div>\n

A rattle of crockery being dumped in the sink drowned the next lines, but as the Rev. Julian Harmon left the house, he heard the final triumphant assertion:<\/p>\n

\n

\u201cAnd we\u2019ll all go a\u2019murdering today!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

\n

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Book Preview One A MURDER IS ANNOUNCED I 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 … Read more<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":2304,"comment_status":"","ping_status":"","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[142],"class_list":["post-2305","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-uncategorized","tag-agatha-christie"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2305","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2305"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2305\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/2304"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2305"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2305"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2305"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}