{"id":2361,"date":"2026-01-03T22:25:21","date_gmt":"2026-01-03T22:25:21","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/halloween-party-christie-agatha\/"},"modified":"2026-01-03T22:25:21","modified_gmt":"2026-01-03T22:25:21","slug":"halloween-party-christie-agatha","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/halloween-party-christie-agatha\/","title":{"rendered":"Hallowe’en Party – Christie, Agatha"},"content":{"rendered":"
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Book Preview<\/h3>\n
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One<\/span><\/span><\/h2>\n<\/div>\n
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M<\/span><\/span>rs. Ariadne Oliver had gone with the friend with whom she was staying, Judith Butler, to help with the preparations for a children\u2019s party which was to take place that same evening.<\/p>\n

At the moment it was a scene of chaotic activity. Energetic women came in and out of doors moving chairs, small tables, flower vases, and carrying large quantities of yellow pumpkins which they disposed strategically in selected spots.<\/p>\n

It was to be a Hallowe\u2019en party for invited guests of an age group between ten and seventeen years old.<\/p>\n

Mrs. Oliver, removing herself from the main group, leant against a vacant background of wall and held up a large yellow pumpkin, looking at it critically\u2014\u201cThe last time I saw one of these,\u201d she said, sweeping back her grey hair from her prominent forehead, \u201cwas in the United States last year\u2014hundreds of them. All over the house. I\u2019ve never seen so many pumpkins. As a matter of fact,\u201d she added thoughtfully, \u201cI\u2019ve never really known the difference between a pumpkin and a vegetable marrow. What\u2019s this one?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSorry, dear,\u201d said Mrs. Butler, as she fell over her friend\u2019s feet.<\/p>\n

Mrs. Oliver pressed herself closer against the wall.<\/p>\n

\u201cMy fault,\u201d she said. \u201cI\u2019m standing about and getting in the way. But it was<\/span> rather remarkable, seeing so many pumpkins or vegetable marrows, whatever they are. They were everywhere, in the shops, and in people\u2019s houses, with candles or nightlights inside them or strung up. Very interesting really. But it wasn\u2019t for a Hallowe\u2019en party, it was Thanksgiving. Now I\u2019ve always associated pumpkins with Hallowe\u2019en and that\u2019s the end of October. Thanksgiving comes much later, doesn\u2019t it? Isn\u2019t it November, about the third week in November? Anyway, here, Hallowe\u2019en is definitely the 31st of October, isn\u2019t it? First Hallowe\u2019en and then, what comes next? All Souls\u2019 Day? That\u2019s when in Paris you go to cemeteries and put flowers on graves. Not a sad sort of feast. I mean, all the children go too, and enjoy themselves. You go to flower markets first and buy lots and lots of lovely flowers. Flowers never look so lovely as they do in Paris in the market there.\u201d<\/p>\n

A lot of busy women were falling over Mrs. Oliver occasionally, but they were not listening to her. They were all too busy with what they were doing.<\/p>\n

They consisted for the most part of mothers, one or two competent spinsters; there were useful teenagers, boys of sixteen and seventeen climbing up ladders or standing on chairs to put decorations, pumpkins or vegetable marrows or brightly coloured witch-balls at a suitable elevation; girls from eleven to fifteen hung about in groups and giggled.<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd after All Souls\u2019 Day and cemeteries,\u201d went on Mrs. Oliver, lowering her bulk on to the arm of a settee, \u201cyou have All Saints\u2019 Day. I think I\u2019m right?\u201d<\/p>\n

Nobody responded to this question. Mrs. Drake, a handsome middle-aged woman who was giving the party, made a pronouncement.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m not calling this a Hallowe\u2019en party, although of course it is one really. I\u2019m calling it the Eleven Plus party. It\u2019s that sort of age group. Mostly people who are leaving the Elms and going on to other schools.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut that\u2019s not very accurate, Rowena, is it?\u201d said Miss Whittaker, resetting her pince-nez on her nose disapprovingly.<\/p>\n

Miss Whittaker as a local schoolteacher was always firm on accuracy.<\/p>\n

\u201cBecause we\u2019ve abolished the eleven-plus some time ago.\u201d<\/p>\n

Mrs. Oliver rose from the settee apologetically. \u201cI haven\u2019t been making myself useful. I\u2019ve just been sitting here saying silly things about pumpkins and vegetable marrows\u2019\u2014And resting my feet, she thought, with a slight pang of conscience, but without sufficient feeling of guilt to say it aloud.<\/p>\n

\u201cNow what can I do next?\u201d she asked, and added, \u201cWhat lovely apples!\u201d<\/p>\n

Someone had just brought a large bowl of apples into the room. Mrs. Oliver was partial to apples.<\/p>\n

\u201cLovely red ones,\u201d she added.<\/p>\n

\u201cThey\u2019re not really very good,\u201d said Rowena Drake. \u201cBut they look nice and partified. That\u2019s for bobbing for apples. They\u2019re rather soft apples, so people will be able to get their teeth into them better. Take them into the library, will you, Beatrice? Bobbing for apples always makes a mess with the water slopping over, but that doesn\u2019t matter with the library carpet, it\u2019s so old. Oh! Thank you, Joyce.\u201d<\/p>\n

Joyce, a sturdy thirteen-year-old, seized the bowl of apples. Two rolled off it and stopped, as though arrested by a witch\u2019s wand, at Mrs. Oliver\u2019s feet.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou like apples, don\u2019t you,\u201d said Joyce. \u201cI read you did, or perhaps I heard it on the telly. You\u2019re the one who writes murder stories, aren\u2019t you?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes,\u201d said Mrs. Oliver.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe ought to have made you do something connected with murders. Have a murder at the party tonight and make people solve it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, thank you,\u201d said Mrs. Oliver. \u201cNever again.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat do you mean, never again?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, I did once, and it didn\u2019t turn out much of a success,\u201d said Mrs. Oliver.<\/p>\n

\u201cBut you\u2019ve written lots of books,\u201d said Joyce, \u201cyou make a lot of money out of them, don\u2019t you?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIn a way,\u201d said Mrs. Oliver, her thoughts flying to the Inland Revenue.<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd you\u2019ve got a detective who\u2019s a Finn.\u201d<\/p>\n

Mrs. Oliver admitted the fact. A small stolid boy not yet, Mrs. Oliver would have thought, arrived at the seniority of the eleven-plus, said sternly, \u201cWhy a Finn?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ve often wondered,\u201d said Mrs. Oliver truthfully.<\/p>\n

Mrs. Hargreaves, the organist\u2019s wife, came into the room breathing heavily, and bearing a large green plastic pail.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat about this,\u201d she said, \u201cfor the apple bobbing? Kind of gay, I thought.\u201d<\/p>\n

Miss Lee, the doctor\u2019s dispenser, said, \u201cGalvanized bucket\u2019s better. Won\u2019t tip over so easily. Where are you going to have it, Mrs. Drake?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI thought the bobbing for apples had better be in the library. The carpet\u2019s old there and a lot of water always gets spilt, anyway.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAll right. We\u2019ll take them along. Rowena, here\u2019s another basket of apples.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLet me help,\u201d said Mrs. Oliver.<\/p>\n

She picked up the two apples at her feet. Almost without noticing what she was doing, she sank her teeth into one of them and began to crunch it. Mrs. Drake abstracted the second apple from her firmly and restored it to the basket. A buzz of conversation broke out.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, but where are we going to have the Snapdragon?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou ought to have the Snapdragon in the library, it\u2019s much the darkest room.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, we\u2019re going to have that in the dining room.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe\u2019ll have to put something on the table first.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThere\u2019s a green baize to put on that and then the rubber sheet over it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat about the looking glasses? Shall we really see our husbands in them?\u201d<\/p>\n

Surreptitiously removing her shoes and still quietly champing at her apple, Mrs. Oliver lowered herself once more on to the settee and surveyed the room full of people critically. She was thinking in her authoress\u2019s mind: \u201cNow, if I was going to make a book about all these people, how should I do it? They\u2019re nice people, I should think, on the whole, but who knows?\u201d<\/p>\n

In a way, she felt, it was rather fascinating not<\/span> to know anything about them. They all lived in Woodleigh Common, some of them had faint tags attached to them in her memory because of what Judith had told her. Miss Johnson\u2014something to do with the church, not the vicar\u2019s sister. Oh no, it was the organist\u2019s sister, of course. Rowena Drake, who seemed to run things in Woodleigh Common. The puffing woman who had brought in the pail, a particularly hideous plastic pail. But then Mrs. Oliver had never been fond of plastic things. And then the children, the teenage girls and boys.<\/p>\n

So far they were really only names to Mrs. Oliver. There was a Nan and a Beatrice and a Cathie, a Diana and a Joyce, who was boastful and asked questions. I don\u2019t like Joyce much, thought Mrs. Oliver. A girl called Ann, who looked tall and superior. There were two adolescent boys who appeared to have just got used to trying out different hair styles, with rather unfortunate results.<\/p>\n

A smallish boy entered in some condition of shyness.<\/p>\n

\u201cMummy sent these mirrors to see if they\u2019d do,\u201d he said in a slightly breathless voice.<\/p>\n

Mrs. Drake took them from him.<\/p>\n

\u201cThank you so much, Eddy,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n

\u201cThey\u2019re just ordinary looking hand mirrors,\u201d said the girl called Ann. \u201cShall we really see our future husbands\u2019 faces in them?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSome of you may and some may not,\u201d said Judith Butler.<\/p>\n

\u201cDid you ever see your husband\u2019s face when you went to a party\u2014I mean this kind of a party?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course she didn\u2019t,\u201d said Joyce.<\/p>\n

\u201cShe might have,\u201d said the superior Beatrice. \u201cE.S.P. they call it. Extra sensory perception,\u201d she added in the tone of one pleased with being thoroughly conversant with the terms of the times.<\/p>\n

\u201cI read one of your books,\u201d said Ann to Mrs. Oliver. \u201cThe Dying Goldfish.<\/span> It was quite good,\u201d she said kindly.<\/p>\n

\u201cI didn\u2019t like that one,\u201d said Joyce. \u201cThere wasn\u2019t enough blood in it. I like murders to have lots of blood.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cA bit messy,\u201d said Mrs. Oliver, \u201cdon\u2019t you think?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut exciting,\u201d said Joyce.<\/p>\n

\u201cNot necessarily,\u201d said Mrs. Oliver.<\/p>\n

\u201cI saw<\/span> a murder once,\u201d said Joyce.<\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t be silly, Joyce,\u201d said Miss Whittaker, the schoolteacher.<\/p>\n

\u201cI did,\u201d said Joyce.<\/p>\n

\u201cDid you really?\u201d asked Cathie, gazing at Joyce with wide eyes, \u201creally and truly see a murder?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course she didn\u2019t,\u201d said Mrs. Drake. \u201cDon\u2019t say silly things, Joyce.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI did see a murder,\u201d said Joyce. \u201cI did. I did. I did.\u201d<\/p>\n

A seventeen-year-old boy poised on a ladder looked down interestedly.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat kind of a murder?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t believe it,\u201d said Beatrice.<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course not,\u201d said Cathie\u2019s mother. \u201cShe\u2019s just making it up.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m not.<\/span> I saw<\/span> it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy didn\u2019t you go to the police about it?\u201d asked Cathie.<\/p>\n

\u201cBecause I didn\u2019t know it was<\/span> a murder when I saw it. It wasn\u2019t really till a long time afterwards, I mean, that I began to know that it was a murder. Something that somebody said only about a month or two ago suddenly made me think: Of course, that was a murder<\/span> I saw.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou see,\u201d said Ann, \u201cshe\u2019s making it all up. It\u2019s nonsense.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhen did it happen?\u201d asked Beatrice.<\/p>\n

\u201cYears ago,\u201d said Joyce. \u201cI was quite young at the time,\u201d she added.<\/p>\n

\u201cWho murdered who?\u201d said Beatrice.<\/p>\n

\u201cI shan\u2019t tell any of you,\u201d said Joyce. \u201cYou\u2019re all so horrid about it.\u201d<\/p>\n

Miss Lee came in with another kind of bucket. Conversation shifted to a comparison of buckets or plastic pails as most suitable for the sport of bobbing for apples. The majority of the helpers repaired to the library for an appraisal on the spot. Some of the younger members, it may be said, were anxious to demonstrate, by a rehearsal of the difficulties and their own accomplishment in the sport. Hair got wet, water got spilt, towels were sent for to mop it up. In the end it was decided that a galvanized bucket was preferable to the more meretricious charms of a plastic pail which overturned rather too easily.<\/p>\n

Mrs. Oliver, setting down a bowl of apples which she had carried in to replenish the store required for tomorrow, once more helped herself to one.<\/p>\n

\u201cI read in the paper that you were fond of eating apples,\u201d the accusing voice of Ann or Susan\u2014she was not quite sure which\u2014spoke to her.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s my besetting sin,\u201d said Mrs. Oliver.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt would be more fun if it was melons,\u201d objected one of the boys. \u201cThey\u2019re so juicy. Think of the mess it would make,\u201d he said, surveying the carpet with pleasurable anticipation.<\/p>\n

Mrs. Oliver, feeling a little guilty at the public arraignment of greediness, left the room in search of a particular apartment, the geography of which is usually fairly easily identified. She went up the staircase and, turning the corner on the half landing, cannoned into a pair, a girl and a boy, clasped in each other\u2019s arms and leaning against the door which Mrs. Oliver felt fairly certain was the door to the room to which she herself was anxious to gain access. The couple paid no attention to her. They sighed and they snuggled. Mrs. Oliver wondered how old they were. The boy was fifteen, perhaps, the girl little more than twelve, although the development of her chest seemed certainly on the mature side.<\/p>\n

Apple Trees was a house of fair size. It had, she thought, several agreeable nooks and corners. How selfish people are, thought Mrs. Oliver. No consideration for others. That well-known tag from the past came into her mind. It had been said to her in succession by a nursemaid, a nanny, a governess, her grandmother, two great-aunts, her mother and a few others.<\/p>\n

\u201cExcuse me,\u201d said Mrs. Oliver in a loud, clear voice.<\/p>\n

The boy and the girl clung closer than ever, their lips fastened on each other\u2019s.<\/p>\n

\u201cExcuse me,\u201d said Mrs. Oliver again, \u201cdo you mind<\/span> letting me pass? I want to get in at this door.\u201d<\/p>\n

Unwillingly the couple fell apart. They looked at her in an aggrieved fashion. Mrs. Oliver went in, banged the door and shot the bolt.<\/p>\n

It was not a very close-fitting door. The faint sound of words came to her from outside.<\/p>\n

\u201cIsn\u2019t that like people?\u201d one voice said in a somewhat uncertain tenor. \u201cThey might see<\/span> we didn\u2019t want to be disturbed.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cPeople are so selfish,\u201d piped a girl\u2019s voice. \u201cThey never think of anyone but themselves.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo consideration for others,\u201d said the boy\u2019s voice.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Book Preview One Mrs. Ariadne Oliver had gone with the friend with whom she was staying, Judith Butler, to help with the preparations for a children\u2019s party which was to take place that same evening. At the moment it was a scene of chaotic activity. Energetic women came in and out of doors moving chairs, … Read more<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":2360,"comment_status":"","ping_status":"","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[142],"class_list":["post-2361","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\/2361","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=2361"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2361\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/2360"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2361"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2361"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2361"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}