{"id":2499,"date":"2026-01-03T22:33:06","date_gmt":"2026-01-03T22:33:06","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/three-act-tragedy-christie-agatha\/"},"modified":"2026-01-03T22:33:06","modified_gmt":"2026-01-03T22:33:06","slug":"three-act-tragedy-christie-agatha","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/three-act-tragedy-christie-agatha\/","title":{"rendered":"Three Act Tragedy – Christie, Agatha"},"content":{"rendered":"
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Book Preview<\/h3>\n
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One<\/span><\/span><\/h2>\n

CROW\u2019S<\/span> NEST<\/span><\/span><\/h2>\n<\/div>\n
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M<\/span><\/span>r. Satterthwaite sat on the terrace of \u201cCrow\u2019s Nest\u201d and watched his host, Sir Charles Cartwright, climbing up the path from the sea.<\/p>\n

Crow\u2019s Nest was a modern bungalow of the better type. It had no half-timbering, no gables, no excrescences dear to a third-class builder\u2019s heart. It was a plain white solid building\u2014deceptive as to size, since it was a good deal bigger than it looked. It owed its name to its position, high up, overlooking the harbour of Loomouth. Indeed from one corner of the terrace, protected by a strong balustrade, there was a sheer drop to the sea below. By road Crow\u2019s Nest was a mile from the town. The road ran inland and then zigzagged high up above the sea. On foot it was accessible in seven minutes by the steep fisherman\u2019s path that Sir Charles Cartwright was ascending at this minute.<\/p>\n

Sir Charles was a well-built, sunburnt man of middle age. He wore old grey flannel trousers and a white sweater. He had a slight rolling gait, and carried his hands half closed as he walked. Nine people out of ten would say, \u201cRetired Naval man\u2014can\u2019t mistake the type.\u201d The tenth, and more discerning, would have hesitated, puzzled by something indefinable that did not ring true. And then perhaps a picture would rise, unsought: the deck of a ship\u2014but not a real ship\u2014a ship curtailed by hanging curtains of thick rich material\u2014a man, Charles Cartwright, standing on that deck, light that was not sunlight streaming down on him, the hands half clenched, the easy gait and a voice\u2014the easy pleasant voice of an English sailor and gentleman, a great deal magnified in tone.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, sir,\u201d Charles Cartwright was saying, \u201cI\u2019m afraid I can\u2019t give you any answer to that question.\u201d<\/p>\n

And swish fell the heavy curtains, up sprang the lights, an orchestra plunged into the latest syncopated measure, girls with exaggerated bows in their hair said, \u201cChocolates? Lemonade?\u201d The first act of The Call of the Sea,<\/span> with Charles Cartwright as Commander Vanstone, was over.<\/p>\n

From his post of vantage, looking down, Mr. Satterthwaite smiled.<\/p>\n

A dried-up little pipkin of a man, Mr. Satterthwaite, a patron of art and the drama, a determined but pleasant snob, always included in the more important house parties and social functions (the words \u201cand Mr. Satterthwaite\u201d appeared invariably at the tail of a list of guests). Withal a man of considerable intelligence and a very shrewd observer of people and things.<\/p>\n

He murmured now, shaking his head, \u201cI wouldn\u2019t have thought it. No, really, I wouldn\u2019t have thought it.\u201d<\/p>\n

A step sounded on the terrace and he turned his head. The big grey-haired man who drew a chair forward and sat down had his profession clearly stamped on his keen, kindly, middle-aged face. \u201cDoctor\u201d and \u201cHarley Street.\u201d Sir Bartholomew Strange had succeeded in his profession. He was a well-known specialist in nervous disorders, and had recently received a knighthood in the Birthday Honours list.<\/p>\n

He drew his chair forward beside that of Mr. Satterthwaite and said:<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat wouldn\u2019t you have thought? Eh? Let\u2019s have it.\u201d<\/p>\n

With a smile Mr. Satterthwaite drew attention to the figure below rapidly ascending the path.<\/p>\n

\u201cI shouldn\u2019t have thought Sir Charles would have remained contented so long in\u2014er\u2014exile.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBy Jove, no more should I!\u201d The other laughed, throwing back his head. \u201cI\u2019ve known Charles since he was a boy. We were at Oxford together. He\u2019s always been the same\u2014a better actor in private life than on the stage! Charles is always acting. He can\u2019t help it\u2014it\u2019s second nature to him. Charles doesn\u2019t go out of a room\u2014he \u2018makes an exit\u2019\u2014and he usually has to have a good line to make it on. All the same, he likes a change of part\u2014none better. Two years ago he retired from the stage\u2014said he wanted to live a simple country life, out of the world, and indulge his old fancy for the sea. He comes down here and builds this place. His idea of a simple country cottage. Three bathrooms and all the latest gadgets! I was like you, Satterthwaite, I didn\u2019t think it would last. After all, Charles is human\u2014he needs his audience. Two or three retired captains, a bunch of old women and a parson\u2014that\u2019s not much of a house to play to. I thought the \u2018simple fellow, with his love of the sea,\u2019 would run for six months. Then, frankly, I thought he\u2019d tire of the part. I thought the next thing to fill the bill would be the weary man of the world at Monte Carlo, or possibly a laird in the Highlands\u2014he\u2019s versatile, Charles is.\u201d<\/p>\n

The doctor stopped. It had been a long speech. His eyes were full of affection and amusement as he watched the unconscious man below. In a couple of minutes he would be with them.<\/p>\n

\u201cHowever,\u201d Sir Bartholomew went on, \u201cit seems we were wrong. The attraction of the simple life holds.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cA man who dramatises himself is sometimes misjudged,\u201d pointed out Mr. Satterthwaite. \u201cOne does not take his sincerities seriously.\u201d<\/p>\n

The doctor nodded.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes,\u201d he said thoughtfully. \u201cThat\u2019s true.\u201d<\/p>\n

With a cheerful halloo Charles Cartwright ran up the steps onto the terrace.<\/p>\n

\u201cMirabelle<\/span> surpassed herself,\u201d he said. \u201cYou ought to have come, Satterthwaite.\u201d<\/p>\n

Mr. Satterthwaite shook his head. He had suffered too often crossing the Channel to have any illusions about the strength of his stomach afloat. He had observed the Mirabelle<\/span> from his bedroom window that morning. There had been a stiff sailing breeze and Mr. Satterthwaite had thanked heaven devoutly for dry land.<\/p>\n

Sir Charles went to the drawing room window and called for drinks.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou ought to have come, Tollie,\u201d he said to his friend. \u201cDon\u2019t you spend half your life sitting in Harley Street telling your patients how good life on the ocean wave would be for them?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe great merit of being a doctor,\u201d said Sir Bartholomew, \u201cis that you are not obliged to follow your own advice.\u201d<\/p>\n

Sir Charles laughed. He was still unconsciously playing his part\u2014the bluff breezy Naval man. He was an extraordinarily good-looking man, beautifully proportioned, with a lean humorous face, and the touch of grey at his temples gave him a kind of added distinction. He looked what he was\u2014a gentleman first and an actor second.<\/p>\n

\u201cDid you go alone?\u201d asked the doctor.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d Sir Charles turned to take his drink from a smart parlourmaid who was holding a tray. \u201cI had a \u2018hand.\u2019 The girl Egg, to be exact.\u201d<\/p>\n

There was something, some faint trace of self-consciousness in his voice which made Mr. Satterthwaite look up sharply.<\/p>\n

\u201cMiss Lytton Gore? She knows something about sailing, doesn\u2019t she?\u201d<\/p>\n

Sir Charles laughed rather ruefully.<\/p>\n

\u201cShe succeeds in making me feel a complete landlubber; but I\u2019m coming on\u2014thanks to her.\u201d<\/p>\n

Thoughts slipped quickly in and out of Mr. Satterthwaite\u2019s mind.<\/p>\n

\u201cI wonder\u2014Egg Lytton Gore\u2014perhaps that\u2019s why he hasn\u2019t tired\u2014the age\u2014a dangerous age\u2014it\u2019s always a young girl at that time of life\u2026.\u201d<\/p>\n

Sir Charles went on: \u201cThe sea\u2014there\u2019s nothing like it\u2014sun and wind and sea\u2014and a simple shanty to come home to.\u201d<\/p>\n

And he looked with pleasure at the white building behind him, equipped with three bathrooms, hot and cold water in all the bedrooms, the latest system of central heating, the newest electrical fittings and a staff of parlourmaid, housemaid, chef, and kitchenmaid. Sir Charles\u2019s interpretation of simple living was, perhaps, a trifle exaggerated.<\/p>\n

A tall and exceedingly ugly woman issued from the house and bore down upon them.<\/p>\n

\u201cGood morning, Miss Milray.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGood morning, Sir Charles. Good morning\u201d (a slight inclination of the head towards the other two). \u201cThis is the menu for dinner. I don\u2019t know whether you would like it altered in any way?\u201d<\/p>\n

Sir Charles took it and murmured:<\/p>\n

\u201cLet\u2019s see. Melon Cantaloupe, Borscht Soup, Fresh Mackerel, Grouse, Souffl\u00e9 Surprise, Canap\u00e9 Diane\u2026No, I think that will do excellently, Miss Milray. Everyone is coming by the four thirty train.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI have already given Holgate his orders. By the way, Sir Charles, if you will excuse me, it would be better if I dined with you tonight.\u201d<\/p>\n

Sir Charles looked startled, but said courteously:<\/p>\n

\u201cDelighted, I am sure, Miss Milray\u2014but\u2014er\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

Miss Milray proceeded calmly to explain.<\/p>\n

\u201cOtherwise, Sir Charles, it would make thirteen at table; and so many people are superstitious.\u201d<\/p>\n

From her tone it could be gathered that Miss Milray would have sat down thirteen to dinner every night of her life without the slightest qualm. She went on:<\/p>\n

\u201cI think everything is arranged. I have told Holgate the car is to fetch Lady Mary and the Babbingtons. Is that right?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAbsolutely. Just what I was going to ask you to do.\u201d<\/p>\n

With a slightly superior smile on her rugged countenance, Miss Milray withdrew.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat,\u201d said Sir Charles reverently, \u201cis a very remarkable woman. I\u2019m always afraid she\u2019ll come and brush my teeth for me.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cEfficiency personified,\u201d said Strange.<\/p>\n

\u201cShe\u2019s been with me for six years,\u201d said Sir Charles. \u201cFirst as my secretary in London, and here, I suppose, she\u2019s a kind of glorified housekeeper. Runs this place like clockwork. And now, if you please, she\u2019s going to leave.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe says\u201d\u2014Sir Charles rubbed his nose dubiously\u2014\u201cshe says<\/span> she\u2019s got an invalid mother. Personally I don\u2019t believe it. That kind of woman never had a mother at all. Spontaneously generated from a dynamo. No, there\u2019s something else.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cQuite probably,\u201d said Sir Bartholomew, \u201cpeople have been talking.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cTalking?\u201d The actor stared. \u201cTalking\u2014what about?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMy dear Charles. You know what talking means.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou mean talking about her\u2014and me? With that face? And at her age?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe\u2019s probably under fifty.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI suppose she is,\u201d Sir Charles considered the matter. \u201cBut seriously, Tollie, have you noticed<\/span> her face? It\u2019s got two eyes, a nose and a mouth, but it\u2019s not what you would call a face<\/span>\u2014not a female<\/span> face. The most scandal-loving old cat in the neighbourhood couldn\u2019t seriously connect sexual passion with a face like that.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou underrate the imagination of the British spinster.\u201d<\/p>\n

Sir Charles shook his head.<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t believe it. There\u2019s a kind of hideous respectability about Miss Milray that even a British spinster must recognize. She is virtue and respectability personified\u2014and a damned useful woman. I always choose my secretaries plain as sin.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWise man.\u201d<\/p>\n

Sir Charles remained deep in thought for some minutes. To distract him, Sir Bartholomew asked: \u201cWho\u2019s coming this afternoon?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAngie, for one.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAngela Sutcliffe? That\u2019s good.\u201d<\/p>\n

Mr. Satterthwaite leaned forward interestedly, keen to know the composition of the house party. Angela Sutcliffe was a well-known actress, no longer young, but with a strong hold on the public and celebrated for her wit and charm. She was sometimes spoken of as Ellen Terry\u2019s successor.<\/p>\n

\u201cThen there are the Dacres.\u201d<\/p>\n

Again Mr. Satterthwaite nodded to himself. Mrs. Dacres was Ambrosine, Ltd, that successful dressmaking establishment. You saw it on programmes\u2014\u201cMiss Blank\u2019s dresses in the first act by Ambrosine Ltd, Brook Street.\u201d Her husband, Captain Dacres, was a dark horse in his own racing parlance. He spent a lot of time on race courses\u2014had ridden himself in the Grand National in years gone by. There had been some trouble\u2014nobody knew exactly\u2014though rumours had been spread about. There had been no inquiry\u2014nothing overt, but somehow at mention of Freddie Dacres people\u2019s eyebrows went up a little.<\/p>\n

\u201cThen there\u2019s Anthony Astor, the playwright.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course,\u201d said Mr. Satterthwaite. \u201cShe wrote One-Way Traffic.<\/span> I saw it twice. It made a great hit.\u201d<\/p>\n

He rather enjoyed showing that he knew that Anthony Astor was a woman.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s right,\u201d said Sir Charles. \u201cI forget what her real name is\u2014Wills, I think. I\u2019ve only met her once. I asked her to please Angela. That\u2019s the lot\u2014of the house party, I mean.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd the locals?\u201d asked the doctor.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, the locals! Well, there are the Babbingtons\u2014he\u2019s the parson, quite a good fellow, not too parsonical, and his wife\u2019s a really nice woman. Lectures me on gardening. They\u2019re coming\u2014and Lady Mary and Egg. That\u2019s all. Oh, yes, there\u2019s a young fellow called Manders, he\u2019s a journalist, or something. Good-looking young fellow. That completes the party.\u201d<\/p>\n

Mr. Satterthwaite was a man of methodical nature. He counted heads.<\/p>\n

\u201cMiss Sutcliffe, one, the Dacres, three, Anthony Astor, four, Lady Mary and her daughter, six, the parson and his wife, eight, the young fellow nine, ourselves twelve. Either you or Miss Milray must have counted wrong, Sir Charles.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt couldn\u2019t be Miss Milray,\u201d said Sir Charles with assurance. \u201cThat woman\u2019s never wrong. Let me see: Yes, by Jove, you\u2019re right. I have<\/span> missed out one guest. He\u2019d slipped my memory.\u201d<\/p>\n

He chuckled. \u201cWouldn\u2019t be best pleased at that, either. The fellow is the most conceited little devil I ever met.\u201d<\/p>\n

Mr. Satterthwaite\u2019s eyes twinkled. He had always been of the opinion that the vainest men in creation were actors. He did not exempt Sir Charles Cartwright. This instance of the pot calling the kettle black amused him.<\/p>\n

\u201cWho is the egoist?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cRum little beggar,\u201d said Sir Charles. \u201cRather a celebrated little beggar, though. You may have heard of him. Hercule Poirot. He\u2019s a Belgian.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe detective,\u201d said Mr. Satterthwaite. \u201cI have met him. Rather a remarkable personage.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe\u2019s a character,\u201d said Sir Charles.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ve never met him,\u201d said Sir Bartholomew, \u201cbut I\u2019ve heard a good deal about him. He retired some time ago, though, didn\u2019t he? Probably most of what I\u2019ve heard is legend. Well, Charles, I hope we shan\u2019t have a crime this weekend.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy? Because we\u2019ve got a detective in the house? Rather putting the cart before the horse, aren\u2019t you, Tollie?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, it\u2019s by way of being a theory of mine.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat is your theory, doctor?\u201d asked Mr. Satterthwaite.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat events come to people\u2014not people to events. Why do some people have exciting lives and other people dull ones? Because of their surroundings? Not at all. One man may travel to the ends of the earth and nothing will happen to him. There will be a massacre a week before he arrives, and an earthquake the day after he leaves, and the boat that he nearly took will be shipwrecked. And another man may live at Balham and travel to the City every day, and things will happen to him. He will be mixed up with blackmailing gangs and beautiful girls and motor bandits. There are people with a tendency to shipwrecks\u2014even if they go on a boat on an ornamental lake something will happen to it. In the same way men like your Hercule Poirot don\u2019t have to look for crime\u2014it comes to them.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIn that case,\u201d said Mr. Satterthwaite, \u201cperhaps it is as well that Miss Milray is joining us, and that we are not sitting down thirteen to dinner.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell,\u201d said Sir Charles handsomely, \u201cyou can have your murder, Tollie, if you\u2019re so keen on it. I make only one stipulation\u2014that I shan\u2019t be the corpse.\u201d<\/p>\n

And, laughing, the three men went into the house.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Book Preview One CROW\u2019S NEST Mr. Satterthwaite sat on the terrace of \u201cCrow\u2019s Nest\u201d and watched his host, Sir Charles Cartwright, climbing up the path from the sea. Crow\u2019s Nest was a modern bungalow of the better type. It had no half-timbering, no gables, no excrescences dear to a third-class builder\u2019s heart. It was a … Read more<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":2498,"comment_status":"","ping_status":"","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[142],"class_list":["post-2499","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\/2499","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=2499"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2499\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/2498"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2499"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2499"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2499"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}