Mistress Mary, quite contrary,
How does your garden grow?
With cockle-shells, and silver bells,
And pretty maids all in a row.
Only they are not cockle shells, are they, madame?
They are oyster shells." His hand pointed.
He heard her catch her breath and then stay
very still. Her eyes asked a question.
He nodded. "Mais, oui, I know! The maid left
the dinner ready--she will swear and Katrina will
swear that that is all you had. Only you and your
husband know that you brought back a dozen and
a half oysters--a little treat pour la bonne tante.
So easy to put the strychnine in an oyster. It is
swallowed--comme qa.t But there remain the
shells--they must not go in the bucket. The maid
would see them. And so you thought of making an
edging of them to a bed. But there were not
enough--the edging is not complete. The effect is
bad--it spoils the symmetry of the otherwise
charming garden. Those few oyster shells struck
an alien note--they displeased my eye on my first
visit."
Mary Delafontaine said, "I suppose you
guessed from the letter.' I knew she had written
--but I didn't know how much she'd said."
Poirot answered evasively, "I knew at least that
76
Agatha Christie
it was a family matter. If it had been a question of
Katrina there would have been no point in hushing
things up. I understand that you or your husband
handled Miss Barrowby's securities to your own
profit, and that she found out--"
Mary Delafontaine nodded. "We've done it for
years--a little here and there. I never realized she
was sharp enough to find out. And then I learned
she had sent for a detective; and I found out, too,
that she was leaving her money to Katrina--that
miserable little creature!"
"And so the strychnine was put in Katrina's
bedroom? I comprehend. You save yourself and
your husband from what I may discover, and you
saddle an innocent child with murder. Had you no
pity, madame?"
Mary Delafontaine shrugged her shouldersm
her blue forget-me-not eyes looked into Poirot's.
He remembered the perfection of her acting the
first day he had come and the bungling attempts
of her husband. A woman above the averagefbut
inhuman.
She said, "Pity? For that miserable intriguing
little rat?" Her contempt rang out.
Hercule Poirot said slowly, "I think, madame,
that you have cared in your life for two things
only. One is your husband."
He saw her lips tremble.
"And the other--is your garden."
He looked round him. His glance seemed to
apologize to the flowers for that which he had
done and was about to do.
at Pollensa Bay
The steamer from Barcelona to Majorca landed
Mr. Parker Pyne at Palma in the early hours of
the morning--and straightaway he met with disillusionment.
The hotels were full! The best that
could be done for him was an airless cupboard
overlooking an inner court in a hotel in the center
of the town--and with that Mr. Parker Pyne was
not prepared to put up. The proprietor of the
hotel was indifferent to his disappointment.
"What will you?" he observed with a shrug.
Palma was popular now! The exchange was favorable!
Everyone--the English, the Americans--they
all came to Majorca in the winter. The whole
place was crowded. It was doubtful if the English
gentleman would be able to get in anywhere--except
perhaps at Formentor where the prices were
so ruinous that even foreigners blenched at them.
Mr. Parker Pyne partook of some coffee and a
roll and went out to view the cathedral, but found
79
80
Agatha Christie
himself in no mood for apprecisung
lies
of architecture.
[ke
He next had a conference with a "
Rea
driver in inadequate French inte x.
.ith
native Spanish, and they discussed th "dly,0d
possibilities of Soller, Aleudia, l'ollel ar. ed
mentor--where there were fine h0tel n
pensive
ak'' an'!''
Mr. Parker Pyne was goaded to mq t,. v;-pensive.
-- ...:
They asked, said the taxi driver, an u're
it would be absurd and ridiculous t a,sit
r/or well known that the English came
prices were cheap and reasonable? l:tY:'."
Mr. Parker Pyne said that thatwas h'reIt
all the same what sums did they clx
mentor?
hqY'uitl,I
A price incredible!
Perfectly--but WHAT PRICE ExACT
The driver consented at last tcreplr
figures. 'lx¥? ,/'
Fresh from the exactions of hotels -xr n
and Egypt, the figure did not stagge,
Pyne unduly.
,s in .
A bargain was struck, Mr. prke,,v, ,em N
cases were loaded on the taxi in a so
"-
e
hazard manner, and they started , s mm Fie
round the island, trying cheaer.°nzam";n
route but with the final ob'ectivenf IF "*
J .. ¥
But they never reached tha tn,,t.. hoof
plutocracy, for after they had pssecixo: I"Fo/ e narrow streets of Pollensa and 'ere J['i
curved line of the seashore, they came, ,ed
Pino d'Oro--a small hotel standing o7o e
.rne:'.:"
PROBLEM AT POLLENSA BAY
81
the sea looking out over a view that in the misty
haze of a fine morning had the exquisite vagueness
of a Japanese print. At once Mr. Parker Pyne
knew that this, and this only, was what he was
looking for. He stopped the taxi, passed through
the painted gate with the hope that he would find a
resting place.
The elderly couple to whom the hotel belonged
knew no English or French. Nevertheless the
matter was concluded satisfactorily. Mr. Parker
Pyne was allotted a room overlooking the sea, the
suitcases were unloaded, the driver congratulated
his-passenger upon avoiding the monstrous exi-gencies
of "these new hotels," received his fare
and departed with a cheerful Spanish salutation.
Mr. Parker Pyne glanced at his watch and per-ceiving
that it was, even now, but a quarter to ten,
he went out onto the small terrace now bathed in a
dazzling morning light and ordered, for the sec-ond
time that morning, coffee and rolls.
There were four tables there, his own, one from
which breakfast was being cleared away and two
occupied ones. At the one nearest him sat a family
of father and mother and two elderly daughters--Germans.
Beyond them, at the corner of the ter-race,
sat what were clearly an English mother and
Son.
The woman was about fifty-five. She ha
d gray
hair of a pretty tone--was sensibly but not fash-ionably
dressed in a tweed coat and skirt--and
had that comfortable self-possession which marks
an Englishwoman used to much traveling abroad.
The young man who sat opposite her might
have been twenty-five and he too was typical of his
82
Agatha Christie
class and age. He was neither good-looking nor
plain, tall nor short. He was clearly on the best of
terms with lis mother--they made little jokes
together--and he was assiduous in passing her
things.
As they talked, her eye met that of Mr. Parker
Pyne. It passed over him with well-bred noncha-lance,
but he knew that he had been assimilated
and labeled.
He had been recognized as English and doubt-less,
in due course, some pleasant noncommittal
remark would be addressed to him.
Mr. Parker Pyne had no particular objection.
His own courttrymen and women abroad were in-clined
to bore him slightly, but he was quite will-ing
to pass the time of day in an amiable manner.
In a small hotel it caused constraint if one did not
do so. This particular woman, he felt sure, had ex-cellent
"hotel manners," as he put it.
The English boy rose from his seat, made some
laughing remark and passed into the hotel. The
woman took her letters and bag and settled herself
in a chair facing the sea. She unfolded a copy of
the Continental Daily Mail. Her back was to Mr.
Parker Pyne.
As he dra0k the last drop of his coffee, Mr.
Parker Pyne glanced in her direction, and in-stantly
he stiffened. He was alarmed--alarmed for
the peaceful continuance of his holiday! That
back was horribly expressive. In his time he had
classified many such backs. Its rigidity--the
tenseness of its poise--without seeing her face he
knew well enough that the eyes were bright with
unshed tearsthat the woman was keeping herself
PROBLEM AT POLLENSA BAY
83
in hand by a rigid effort.
Moving warily, like a much-hunted animal, Mr.
Parker Pyne retreated into the hotel. Not half an
hour before he had been invited to sign his name
in the book lying on the desk. There it was--a neat
signature--C. Parker Pyne, London.
A few lines above Mr. Parker Pyne noticed the
entries: Mrs. R. Chester, Mr. Basil Chester--Holm
Park, Devon.
Seizing a pen, Mr. Parker Pyne wrote rapidly
over his signature. It now read (with difficulty)
Christopher Pyne.
If Mrs. R. Chester was unhappy in Pollensa
Bay, it was not going to be made easy for her to
consult Mr. Parker Pyne.
Already it had been a source of abiding wonder
to that gentleman that so many people he had
come across abroad should know his name and
have noted his advertisements. In England many
thousands of people read the Times every day and
could have answered quite truthfully that they had
never heard such a name in their lives. Abroad, he
reflected, they read their newspapers more thor-oughly.
No item, not even the advertisement col-umns,
escaped them.
Already his holidays had been interrupted on
several occasions. He had dealt with a whole series
of problems from murder to attempted blackmail.
He was determined in Majorca to have peace. He
felt instinctively that a distressed mother might
trouble that peace considerably.
Mr. Parker Pyne settled down at the Pino d'Oro
very happily. There was a larger hotel not far off,
the Mariposa, where a good many English people
84
Agatha Christie
stayed. Fire was also-quite an artist colony living
all round. You could walk along by the sea to the
fishing village where there was a cocktail bar
where peolle met--there were a few shops. It was
all very peaceful and pleasant. Girls strolled about
in trouse with brightly colored handkerchiefs
tied round the upper halves of their bodies. Young
men in b¢ets with rather long hair held forth in
"Mac's !r" on such subjects as plastic values
and abstraction in art.
On the day after Mr. Parker Pyne's arrival,
Mrs. Chester made a few conventional remarks to
him on the subject of the view and the likelihood
of the weather keeping fine. She then chatted a
little with the German lady about knitting, and
had a few bleasant words about the sadness of the
political situation with two Danish gentlemen who
spent their time rising at dawn and walking for
eleven ho¥s.
Mr. Parker Pyne found Basil Chester a most
likeable Yung man. He called Mr. Parker Pyne
"sir" and listened most politely to anything the
older mar said. Sometimes the three English
people hq coffee together after dinner in the
evening. After the third day, Basil left the party
after ten' inutes or so and Mr. Parker Pyne was
left tte-/-tte with Mrs. Chester.
They tlked about flowers and the growing of
them, of the lamentable state of the English pound
and of how expensive France had become, and of
the diffic!ty of getting good afternoon tea.
Every ¢¥ening when her son departed, Mr.
Parker PYe saw the quickly concealed tremor of
her lips, It immediately she recovered and dis-
PROBLEM AT POLLENSA BAY
85
coursed pleasantly on the above-mentioned subjects.
Little by little she began to talk of Basil--of
how well he had done at school--"he was in the
First XI, you know"--of how everyone liked him,
of how proud his father would have been of the
boy had he lived, of how thankful she had been
that Basil had never been "wild." "Of course I
always urge him to be with young people, but he
really seems to prefer being with me."
She said it with a kind of nice modest pleasure
in the fact.
But for once Mr. Parker Pyne did not make the
usual tactful response he could usually achieve so
easily. He said instead:
"Oh! well, there seem to be plenty of young
people here--not in the hotel, but roundabout."
At that, he noticed, Mrs. Chester stiffened. She
said: Of course there were a lot of Artists. Perhaps
she was very old-fashioned--real art, of course,
was different, but a lot of young people just made
that sort of thing an excuse for lounging about
and doing nothing--and the girls drank a lot too
much.
On the following day Basil said to Mr. Parker
Pyne:
"I'm awfully glad you turned up here, sir--especially
for my mother's sake. She likes having
you to talk to in the evenings."
"What did you do when you were first here?" "As a matter of fact we used to play piquet."
"I see."
"Of course one gets rath
er tired of piquet. As a
matter of fact I've got some friends here-- fright
84
.Agatha Christie
stayed. There vvas a?.°'qaite an artist colony living
all round. You co. um Wlk along by the sea to the
fishing village w. ne.r.e there was a cocktail bar
where people r..'ne.'e were a few shops. It was
all very peacefu.lasant. Girls strolled about
·
,,m orl 11
,
m trousers wPt
,g tly colored handkerchiefs
tied round the pper halves of their bodies. Young
men in berets with rat[er long hair held forth in
"Mac's Bar" on SUch subjects as plastic values
and abstractiffn in art.
On the da-aadfteer r. Parker Pyne's arrival,
Mrs. Chester ,m. . a t-w conventional remarks to
him on the svt°J,ect of the view and the likelihood
of the weathreeremPitlg fine. She then chatted a
little with th
mah lady about knitting, and
had a few pla.sant ,W.%ds about the sadness of the
political situu°n .W!tll two Danish gentlemen who
spent their tme nsm at dawn and walking for
eleven hours/
Mr. Parkff Pyne tound Basil Chester a most
likeable youOg ma.n. He called Mr Parker Pyne
,, · ,,
.stenea
.
'
sir and Bsaid nlost politely to anything the
older man cof{e °tnetimes the three English
The Regatta Mystery and Other Stories Page 8