The Adventure of the Christmas Pudding. Agatha Christie

I thought they meant to poison you in the Christmas pudding. I didn’t know what to do! Mrs Ross, she wouldn’t listen to the likes of me. Then the idea came to me as I’d write you a warning. And I did and I put it on your pillow where you’d find it when you went to bed.’ Annie paused breathlessly.

      Poirot surveyed her gravely for some minutes.

      ‘You see too many sensational films, I think, Annie,’ he said at last, ‘or perhaps it is the television that affects you? But the important thing is that you have the good heart and a certain amount of ingenuity. When I return to London I will send you a present.’

      ‘Oh thank you, sir. Thank you very much, sir.’

      ‘What would you like, Annie, as a present?’

      ‘Anything I like, sir? Could I have anything I like?’

      ‘Within reason,’ said Hercule Poirot prudently, ‘yes.’

      ‘Oh sir, could I have a vanity box? A real posh slap-up vanity box like the one Mr Lee-Wortley’s sister, wot wasn’t his sister, had?’

      ‘Yes,’ said Poirot, ‘yes, I think that could be managed.

      ‘It is interesting,’ he mused. ‘I was in a museum the other day observing some antiquities from Babylon or one of those places, thousands of years old—and among them were cosmetic boxes. The heart of woman does not change.’

      ‘Beg your pardon, sir?’ said Annie.

      ‘It is nothing,’ said Poirot. ‘I reflect. You shall have your vanity box, child.’

      ‘Oh thank you, sir. Oh thank you very much indeed, sir.’

      Annie departed ecstatically. Poirot looked after her, nodding his head in satisfaction.

      ‘Ah,’ he said to himself. ‘And now—I go. There is nothing more to be done here.’

      A pair of arms slipped round his shoulders unexpectedly.

      ‘If you will stand just under the mistletoe—’ said Bridget.

      Hercule Poirot enjoyed it. He enjoyed it very much. He said to himself that he had had a very good Christmas.