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Hallowe'en Party: Inspiration for the 20th Century Studios Major Motion Picture A Haunting in Venice
Hallowe'en Party: Inspiration for the 20th Century Studios Major Motion Picture A Haunting in Venice
Hallowe'en Party: Inspiration for the 20th Century Studios Major Motion Picture A Haunting in Venice
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Hallowe'en Party: Inspiration for the 20th Century Studios Major Motion Picture A Haunting in Venice

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Inspiration for the major motion picture A Haunting in Venice, directed by and starring Kenneth Branagh, coming September 2023!

When a Halloween Party turns deadly, it falls to Hercule Poirots to unmask a murderer in Agatha Christie’s classic murder mystery, Hallowe’en Party.

At a Halloween party, Joyce—a hostile thirteen-year-old—boasts that she once witnessed a murder. When no one believes her, she storms off home. But within hours her body is found, still in the house, drowned in an apple-bobbing tub.

That night, Hercule Poirot is called in to find the `evil presence'. But first he must establish whether he is looking for a murderer or a double-murderer...

LanguageEnglish
PublisherHarperCollins
Release dateOct 3, 2006
ISBN9780061759734
Hallowe'en Party: Inspiration for the 20th Century Studios Major Motion Picture A Haunting in Venice
Author

Agatha Christie

Agatha Christie is the most widely published author of all time, outsold only by the Bible and Shakespeare. Her books have sold more than a billion copies in English and another billion in a hundred foreign languages. She died in 1976, after a prolific career spanning six decades.

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Reviews for Hallowe'en Party

Rating: 3.830508474576271 out of 5 stars
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  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    Ariadne Oliver er til Halloween-fest med en bekendt Judith Butler i Mrs. Drakes hus i Woodleigh Common, da en pige på tretten år Joyce Reynolds praler med at hun har set et mord. Ingen tror hende, men en time senere findes hun brutalt druknet i en spand vand. Mrs Oliver opsøger Hercule Poirot som opsøger kriminalkommisær Spence, der bor i nærheden af Woodleigh Common. Poirot snakker med alle, der var med til selskabt og interesserer sig for en gammel sag med et forfalsket testamente, hvor en au pair pige Olga Seminoff angiveligt blev testamenteret en uhyre sum, men hun er forsvundet. En tidligere dømt for dokumentfalsk Leslie Ferrier var måske indblandet, men han blev stukket ned foran en værtshus og døde.Kort efter at Poirot er begyndt at undersøge sagen, sker der et nyt mord, idet Leopold lillebror til Joyce bliver fundet druknet. Han har presset penge af morderen og betalt prisen.Poirot følger pengesporet og finder ud af at Mrs Rowena Drake og landskabsarkitekten Michael Garfield står bag fire drab for aupair pigen Olga bliver også fundet myrdet. Poirot når med nød og næppe at forhindre Michael i at myrde Judiths datter Miranda Butler, som faktisk er Michaels datter.Michael begår selvmord, da han bliver afsløret.Glimrende Poirot
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    Poirot is aging, but he can still engage his little grey cells. His authoress friend, Mrs. Oliver, who writes murder mysteries, asks him to help solve a particularly disturbing murder of a child at a party.I did not find the characters in this engaging. Not even Poirot. However, it was a nice little mystery read, and I was unable to catch one or two little facts and so felt gratified at the end that the author had done a good job on the puzzle.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    This started off very well, and particularly shockingly for a Christie novel, with the murder of a 13 year old girl at a Halloween party, drowned in a bucket of water used for bobbing apples. After this chilling start, I thought it lost its way and meandered a bit, and I don't think Poirot is at his strongest here - he must be very old as this book was published in 1969 and he has been sleuthing since the First World War, when he was evacuated from Belgium. But Poirot never really changed in nearly fifty years of novels featuring the character. I have remarked in previous reviews of Christie novels that the final resolutions often seem very unlikely and this has its unrealistic aspects too. This novel also includes an amateur crime writer as one of the main characters who calls on Poirot for help after the girl's body is found. Finally, one interesting feature of this book is that Christie dedicates it to P G Woodhouse, whom she says has told her he enjoys her books, as she has enjoyed his.
  • Rating: 1 out of 5 stars
    1/5
    Oh, the agony, the agony. I feel like Poirot would have felt surrounded by uneven piles of rubbish, in a non symmetrical room.

    Oh, dearest reader, if you don't want to face the painful knowledge that Agatha Christie had her REALLY bad days, don't pick up this book. When starting this book, I thought I was reading a really bad first draft, not a published version.

    The story plot seemed weak, and even Poirot seemed to have lost his sparkle. And beyond a point, I wasn't sorry the girl had died. I was just sorry that all the other characters were still alive. *sigh*

    If you need more convincing that this is not the best of books to read, consider this: it's been atleast 8 years since I read this book, and the finer details have skipped my mind, but merely reading the title again has driven me into a rage. :P After all, time wasted is time wasted, no matter how many years ago it was. :D
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    Halloween story from the files of Christie taking place in a town near Manchester, England. Hercules Poirot is called upon by friend and mystery novelist Ariadne Oliver to solve the case of a young girl found drowned in the bobbing-for-apples barrel at a adolescent Halloween party.Good story. Reads quickly. I of course did not expect the who in the who dunnit. Characters are quirky.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    Synopsis: There is a children's party in a small town. During the set-up a young girl declares that she's seen a murder; no one believes her. However, by the end of the party, the girl is dead. Drowned in the apple bobbing bucket. Hercule Peirot is called in to investigate. He must pull together threads from several unsolved cases to find who is hiding behind an innocent face.Review: Most of this book was interesting, but there were some sections that were verbose and boring.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    A good entertaining read - his is what Christie is so good at.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    To be honest, this is one of the Agatha Christie novels I have either read or seen dramatised several times, and so I spent my time looking for things that I might not have seen or appreciated before.This is, of course, one of the novels where novelist Ariadne Oliver comes to Hercule Poirot with a a murder that happened at a party she was attending. The other collaborator is ex-Superintendent Spence whom Poirot assisted in MRS McGINTY'S DEAD (aka BLOOD WILL TELL). Ariadne Oliver was also involved in that one, published in 1952. Superintendent Spence has retired to the small dormitory suburb that the murder takes place in, so he has access to a lot of "inside" knowledge about the people in the village. The residents appear to be mainly widows and retirees.Before Ariadne Oliver contacts him Hercule Poirot has been sitting at home feeling a little sorry for himself as he seems to have so much time on his hands, particularly in the evenings. It is three years in fact since his last novel was published. Time is slowing down for Poirot and yet he feels that his brain is still very active.There will in fact be just 3 more Poirot titles published after this one. Elephants Can Remember (1972) Poirot's Early Cases (1974, short stories) Curtain (written about 1940, published 1975)The novel begins with a nice catalogue of the events that take place at a Hallowe'en party: looking in a looking-glass to see your true love's face, cutting the Flour Cake, decorating broomsticks, Snapdragon, and bobbing for apples which is where the unlovely and boastful Joyce is drowned in a bucket of water in the library.Poirot is struck from the first by the prevalence of the motif of apples that always seems to accompany Ariadne Oliver: she is addicted to munching on apples, she is staying at a cottage called Apple Trees, and of course the unfortunate Joyce is drowned while bobbing for apples. Someone remarks that apples are not always as wholesome as they appear, and the village doctor talks about an apple that is rotten at the core.But Poirot recognises that this is not only a crime, but a tragedy, for what else is the death of a child? Whatever she knew, Joyce did not deserve to die.Throughout the story there is constant reference to the idea of mentally disturbed people at large in the community. Many of the residents of Woodleigh Common believe that the person who murdered Joyce may be a stranger, a mentally unbalanced outsider who saw an opportunity to commit murder. Almost no-one at the party believed Joyce when she claimed to have seen a murder committed. According to her brother, her teachers and others Joyce apparently had a history of telling lies or tall tales and many could recall a story she told of visiting India, which turned out to actually have originated with an uncle's visit to India. Many had the feeling that Joyce had brought her murder onto herself. The hostess seems put out by the idea that anyone would dare to get themselves murdered at her perfectly organised party.Trying to assess a familiar novel with new eyes can be a fascinating experience and I found this one particularly rewarding.I hope you have enjoyed my thoughts.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    May 18, 1999Halloween PartyAgatha ChristieOf course I was attracted by the title, and then by the synopsis: a schoolgirl is found dead at a Halloween party. This introduces me to the character of Ariadne Oliver, a recurring character in many of Christie’s books, apparently. It’s a Poirot mystery, and Ariadne, some say, is a parody of Christie herself. She’s a mystery writer with a fondness for apples, etc.The storyline is great. Young girl (pre-teen) murdered sometime during the party, after claiming she’d seen a murder. The ending seemed nonsensical, though, and could’ve been much better.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    Mrs Oliver - who seems to be involved in murder everywhere she goes - attends a children's party at which a young girl claims that she had witnessed a murder. Claims which are ignored until later that evening she is murdered. Mrs Oliver calls in her friend Hercule Poirot to investigate. A good late Poirot.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    You can certainly tell the later novels by Christie from the earlier ones. There is a clear difference in tone between this one and say, Peril at End House (the first Poirot mystery). However, that doesn't stop the mystery from being as good; there are plenty of suspects, plenty of motives, and a lot of red herrings along the way. What more do you really need?basic plot without spoilersMystery novelist Ariadne Oliver is visiting a friend at about the time a Halloween party is being planned for the children of the village. One night, a young teenaged girl tells all and sundry gathered that she once witnessed a murder -- she didn't realize it was a murder at the time, but she understands now what she saw. Later, at the party, she turns up dead in a hideous manner -- she is drowned in a bucket used for bobbing for apples. Mrs. Oliver realizes that they need help that only can be provided by Hercule Poirot. He arrives and immediately begins his genius work of sorting out the crime. The plot is good, the solution is good and I honestly did not guess a thing. It may be a bit dated for some readers, but it's classic Christie.Recommended for those readers who like Hercule Poirot as well as other novels by Agatha Christie.I can't help always picturing David Suchet as Poirot...
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    Hercule never disappoints!
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    Interesting plot and some lovely characters (Miranda comes to mind) but the murderers are too out there for my taste, it seems far-fetched somewhat. I wish Christie had spent more time on one of them, at the end it felt too much like cardboard characters. The motive was strangely original too.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    A superb Hercule Poirot mystery that delights, charms and inevitably strings the reader along. I never figure out Christie's mysteries and this one is no exception.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    In Hallowe'en Party, one of the latest of the Poirot novels, our protagonist teams up with the scatty mystery writer Ariadne Oliver to solve an unlikely murder: a schoolgirl is drowned in the apple-bobbing bucket at a Halloween party.As is the case with Christie's other late work, there's a lot of mystified spouting off about the evils of the times here, with imprecations cast down on psychiatry, kids nowadays, what things are coming to, and so on.Actually, this doesn't bother me: I think Christie was largely right about the '60s! But the other flaws here are manifold: rambling, repetitive passages, totally un-Poirot-like dialog, and a whodunit that's pretty obvious.Recommended for reading-the-Christie-corpus completeness only.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    This was a Hercule Poirot that I had never read before. At a Halloween party a young teenaged girl brags that she has witnessed a murder in the past. No one believes her, but when the party is over she is found drowned in the bucket for apple bobbing. Ariadne Oliver is a guest at the party and calls on Hercule to find out who done it. Poirot enlists the aid of his friend, retired Scotland Yard detective Spence and they solve both the current murder and a past crime. This isn’t one of her “classic” greats, but it is well put together and I didn’t completely solve the puzzle until the end.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    Some beautiful imagery of gardens and of the emotions they evoke give this mystery its charm. A child is drowned at a party, after boasting that she had seen a murder - but all the evidence suggests that she did not see any such thing, so why would she be killed? Christie makes it all come together with a twist in the end, as always.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    Hallowe’en Party by Agatha Christie was originally published in 1969 and I have to say that I much prefer Agatha Christie when her books are set in an earlier decade. Hallowe’en Party is set in the 1960’s and the author seems to rotate from being dismayed, amused or disinclined to understand the culture, fashion or music of the day. While I always enjoy reading about Hercule Poirot, this isn’t one of her best mysteries. I suspect that toward the end of her writing career, this being her 39th Poirot story, she often was writing by rote.Poirot is called upon by his friend Ariadne Oliver to solve the murder of a 13 year old girl, killed at a Halloween party. She had earlier been bragging that she had once seen a murder, and although most people dismissed her as a liar, it seems apparent that a murderer believed her. I would hesitate to recommend this book to first time Christie readers. I suggest they start with her earlier works and leave Hallowe’en Party to the die-hard fans who will be more willing to accept the stilted dialogue and murky plot. This book in no way lessens my love of this author’s work, but I will definitely be looking for one of her earlier novels next time.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    Audiobook read by John Moffatt.3*** Mrs Rowena Drake is hosting a Hallowe’en Party for the teens in her area. Mrs Ariadne Oliver, who is visiting a friend, has been roped into helping with the party preparations. During preparations she meets a young fan, Joyce Reynolds, who states she loves Mrs Oliver’s mystery books. That evening during the party itself, Joyce is found drowned in a bucket intended for apple bobbing. Who could possibly have murdered a child?! Ariadne asks her good friend Hercule Poirot for assistance. I love Hercule Poirot, although he can sometimes be insufferably smug and “superior.” I love the way he puzzles out a problem, sees the clues in seemingly inconsequential events and facts, and puts the whole together to reveal the culprit. This time he has the immediate murder of Joyce to solve, but he quickly learns that she had claimed to have witnessed a murder once. What possible murder could she have witnessed? Or what this just an idle boast intended to get attention from a mystery writer she admired? There are no unsolved open cases, but a couple of deaths that MIGHT be suspicious. Could one of those have been murder? Could Joyce have actually seen something?Christie gives us plenty of options, including more than one red herring. I didn’t figure this one out until Poirot revealed the culprit. John Moffatt does a fine job narrating the audiobook. I like his interpretation of Poirot, but he has a deep voice that just isn’t right for most of the women, and certainly not for the teenagers involved.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    In which a young girl is killed, and Ariadne Oliver calls in an old friend.

    It’s no surprise that Dame Agatha came to rely on Ariadne Oliver as Poirot’s familiar in his last novels. Aside from being a dynamic character in her own right, and a fun fictionalisation of Christie, Mrs. Oliver is an extension of the themes in the last Poirot installments: his world-weariness, and his disconnection from the world, a world which no longer relies upon the same kinds of social mores and interpersonal tricks that he excelled at recognising. But despite the power of such a change to one of crime fiction’s most fascinating detectives, Christie’s age – and, ironically, her own disconnection from the modern world – prevented her from chronicling this with her younger self’s zest.

    The more recent episodes of the David Suchet series (creeping in from Series Nine, and in full throttle by Series Twelve, when "Hallowe’en Party" was adapted) have taken up this element of the character to considerable success. "Hallowe’en Party" was a decidedly successful adaptation, with Suchet and Zoë Wanamaker giving strong performances in the lead roles, and the director and designer taking full advantage of the creepiness allowed by a Halloween setting and airdate.

    To the book, then: there’s no denying that "Hallowe’en Party" shows some of the structural faults from Christie’s late period. Not all the clues fold out into anything, and there are too many characters cluttering up the narrative. The return of Superintendent Spence – not included in the TV adaptation – is also under-realised. Yet, it remains one of my personal favourites. Mrs. Oliver has a stand-out appearance, and I personally was caught up in the novel’s atmosphere. Christie shows an almost sadistic delight in the brutality, too. Not that this is necessary, or even desirable much of the time. But here we are as compelled as the aged Poirot to track down someone who could commit this vile crimes, and the nature of the murder – a far cry from poison over tea and scones – ties in yet again to the world-weariness Poirot exhibits.

    Poirot ranking: 9th out of 38
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    Between The Mysterious Affair of Styles (1920) and Hallowe’en Party (1965) there is a large gulf: that of Mrs. Christie’s way of viewing the world. From the careless, funny style, she became progressively darker, heavier, more negative. There are some funny moments in this book, but very few. Clearly her view of the world around her changed. She is clearly disappointed with how the modern “youth” behaved—but she continues to believe in the death penalty. The un-PC comments about how justice should be applied no matter the age of the criminal, are refreshing in our age of PC and Thought Police. Her many critical mentions of how young people behaved, talked and dressed are all over the book. Coming from a more Conservative world, it is very easy to understand how upsetting the new order is to her—and, boy, do I empathize! There are also a few mentions of what would have been very controversial subject (the matter of sexual preferences), which surprised me; but they are very discreetly worked into the story. The movie made of this book recently, twisted this part in such a way as to completely deform and distance itself from the subtle strokes she used when brushing the subject. Not as great as her older books, but still a Christie in high form.
  • Rating: 1 out of 5 stars
    1/5
    Like many of her later works, as much space is devoted to bemoaning post-war social change as to the mystery itself. Furthermore said mystery has more convolutions than are made use of, let alone explained; and the resolution is unsatisfying.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    Enjoyable read. I like mysteries where I can use the clues to figure out at least some of what happened!
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    Agatha Christie's Hallowe'en Party begins when Mrs. Ariadne Oliver is witness to a murder at a children's Halloween party. Fearing that there's more to the crime than the actions of a random maniac, Mrs. Oliver calls upon her friend Hercule Poirot, who slowly uncovers old crimes long-buried in the small village of Woodleigh Common. Christie brilliantly sets the mood in the story, with Poirot musing on the nature of criminality, the changing face of nature and beauty in autumn, and mythical allegory. Ariadne Oliver, a self-insertion on Christie's part, is a fun character and interacts well with Poirot. Many of the townspeople are also well-formed, such as Superintendent Spence, Miranda Butler, Michael Garfield, and Mrs. Goodbody. Each feels like a real person one might encounter in a small village in the countryside. The story makes for a delightful autumn read.Christie published this book in 1969 and it features many references that clearly date it to the period, including characters' remarks upon the recent increase in crime among adolescents as well as references to L.S.D. As the final Poirot story, Curtain, takes place in the late 1940s or early 1950s, these references create a chronological issue for fans of the story, though not one that interferes with the story. This edition is a facsimile of the Collins Crime Club first edition.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    I'm a huge Agatha Christie fan and this book didn't disappoint. This book was a good who done it. Just when I thought I had it all figured out I was wrong. Definitely a must read.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    A young girl boasts at a party that she has seen a murder and didn't report it because at first she didn't know what she saw......

    No one believes her (because everyone knows she is a liar) except the murderer......

    She is found drown bobbing for apples..... Then her little brother is murdered....

    Mrs. Ariadne Oliver seeks M. Poirot's help in solving the crime. Many people are not quite who/what they seem and there are more than a few hidden connections.

    I liked the story, I liked the characters, I liked that Hastings was absent, and Poirot was not his usual arrogant little self.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    Mixed feelings about this one. Not one I've come across on TV (yet), so didn't have any knowledge of who was going to be guilty. However, I did feel it was quite 'signposted' - quite a few of the main clues leapt out at me. Obviously not going to say which as that would spoil it for anyone reading this before the book. Otherwise, the usual, nicely crafted, Agatha Christie/Poirot, but not one of her best.

    What I really didn't like was the continuing references by the characters, suggesting that the perpetrator, would be someone mentally unstable, deranged etc. I know these books were all written years ago, but it still jarred with me, especially as this was one of the later books & therefore was written and, probably, set within my lifetime.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    This is one of Agatha Christie's later Poirot novels. I still enjoyed the mystery and following Poirot as he gathers clues. However, I missed Hastings. Poirot's assistant in this novel was Ariadne Oliver, a mystery-writing friend of Poirots. She is not one of my favorite Agatha Christie characters. I did enjoy the references to other Agatha Christie novels throughout the text. If you have not read them, you probably wouldn't notice the references so I don't think it hurts to read out of order on these.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    This was my third Hercule Poirot entry in the Cool Down with AC reading challenge. Poirot featured much more prominently in this outing, he was more of a peripheral character in Three Act Tragedy and the Clocks. I had high hopes for his one, I love Halloween, but it didn't enthrall me. I did enjoy reading about an English Halloween party. I especially loved the description of the Snapdragon dish was mentioned often. Apparently they soak raisins in brandy and light it on fire. The kids then have to pick the flaming raisins out. It sounds rather dangerous to me but it was fun to read about. The mystery itself left me kind of cold. A thirteen year old girl is drowned in the bobbing for apples bucket and everyone is kind of blase about it. Where was Scotland Yard. Even worse, her ten year old brother is also found murdered and Poirot can't seem to muster up any sympathy. It turns out he was a little blackmailer and the sister was a liar but come on they were kids. Doesn't anyone care? Like in the previous books there are many characters to keep track of and the plot about the forgery got very convoluted after awhile. The middle half of the book really dragged for me. So far I am not really loving Hercule Poirot. I seem to prefer Miss Marple and the stand alone novels more. The movie for this book recently aired on masterpiece Theater and is currently available online.
  • Rating: 2 out of 5 stars
    2/5
    Bit of seasonal Poirot. Quite intriguing but a little long winded at times which is unusual for Christie. Interesting because you're never quite sure whose murder is really being investigated.

Book preview

Hallowe'en Party - Agatha Christie

Dedication

To P.G. Wodehouse

whose books and stories have brightened my

life for many years. Also to show my pleasure

in his having been kind enough to tell me

that he enjoys my books.

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Dedication

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

Twenty-Four

Twenty-Five

Twenty-Six

Twenty-Seven

About the Author

Also by Agatha Christie

Copyright

About the Publisher

One

Mrs. Ariadne Oliver had gone with the friend with whom she was staying, Judith Butler, to help with the preparations for a children’s 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, small tables, flower vases, and carrying large quantities of yellow pumpkins which they disposed strategically in selected spots.

It was to be a Hallowe’en party for invited guests of an age group between ten and seventeen years old.

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. The last time I saw one of these, she said, sweeping back her grey hair from her prominent forehead, was in the United States last year—hundreds of them. All over the house. I’ve never seen so many pumpkins. As a matter of fact, she added thoughtfully, I’ve never really known the difference between a pumpkin and a vegetable marrow. What’s this one?

Sorry, dear, said Mrs. Butler, as she fell over her friend’s feet.

Mrs. Oliver pressed herself closer against the wall.

My fault, she said. "I’m standing about and getting in the way. But it was rather remarkable, seeing so many pumpkins or vegetable marrows, whatever they are. They were everywhere, in the shops, and in people’s houses, with candles or nightlights inside them or strung up. Very interesting really. But it wasn’t for a Hallowe’en party, it was Thanksgiving. Now I’ve always associated pumpkins with Hallowe’en and that’s the end of October. Thanksgiving comes much later, doesn’t it? Isn’t it November, about the third week in November? Anyway, here, Hallowe’en is definitely the 31st of October, isn’t it? First Hallowe’en and then, what comes next? All Souls’ Day? That’s 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."

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.

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 witchballs at a suitable elevation; girls from eleven to fifteen hung about in groups and giggled.

And after All Souls’ Day and cemeteries, went on Mrs. Oliver, lowering her bulk on to the arm of a settee, you have All Saints’ Day. I think I’m right?

Nobody responded to this question. Mrs. Drake, a handsome middle-aged woman who was giving the party, made a pronouncement.

I’m not calling this a Hallowe’en party, although of course it is one really. I’m calling it the Eleven Plus party. It’s that sort of age group. Mostly people who are leaving the Elms and going on to other schools.

But that’s not very accurate, Rowena, is it? said Miss Whittaker, resetting her pince-nez on her nose disapprovingly.

Miss Whittaker as a local schoolteacher was always firm on accuracy.

Because we’ve abolished the eleven-plus some time ago.

Mrs. Oliver rose from the settee apologetically. "I haven’t been making myself useful. I’ve just been sitting here saying silly things about pumpkins and vegetable marrows’—And resting my feet, she thought, with a slight pang of conscience, but without sufficient feeling of guilt to say it aloud.

Now what can I do next? she asked, and added, What lovely apples!

Someone had just brought a large bowl of apples into the room. Mrs. Oliver was partial to apples.

Lovely red ones, she added.

They’re not really very good, said Rowena Drake. But they look nice and partified. That’s for bobbing for apples. They’re 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’t matter with the library carpet, it’s so old. Oh! Thank you, Joyce.

Joyce, a sturdy thirteen-year-old, seized the bowl of apples. Two rolled off it and stopped, as though arrested by a witch’s wand, at Mrs. Oliver’s feet.

You like apples, don’t you, said Joyce. I read you did, or perhaps I heard it on the telly. You’re the one who writes murder stories, aren’t you?

Yes, said Mrs. Oliver.

We ought to have made you do something connected with murders. Have a murder at the party tonight and make people solve it.

No, thank you, said Mrs. Oliver. Never again.

What do you mean, never again?

Well, I did once, and it didn’t turn out much of a success, said Mrs. Oliver.

But you’ve written lots of books, said Joyce, you make a lot of money out of them, don’t you?

In a way, said Mrs. Oliver, her thoughts flying to the Inland Revenue.

And you’ve got a detective who’s a Finn.

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, Why a Finn?

I’ve often wondered, said Mrs. Oliver truthfully.

Mrs. Hargreaves, the organist’s wife, came into the room breathing heavily, and bearing a large green plastic pail.

What about this, she said, for the apple bobbing? Kind of gay, I thought.

Miss Lee, the doctor’s dispenser, said, Galvanized bucket’s better. Won’t tip over so easily. Where are you going to have it, Mrs. Drake?

I thought the bobbing for apples had better be in the library. The carpet’s old there and a lot of water always gets spilt, anyway.

All right. We’ll take them along. Rowena, here’s another basket of apples.

Let me help, said Mrs. Oliver.

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.

Yes, but where are we going to have the Snapdragon?

You ought to have the Snapdragon in the library, it’s much the darkest room.

No, we’re going to have that in the dining room.

We’ll have to put something on the table first.

There’s a green baize to put on that and then the rubber sheet over it.

What about the looking glasses? Shall we really see our husbands in them?

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’s mind: Now, if I was going to make a book about all these people, how should I do it? They’re nice people, I should think, on the whole, but who knows?

In a way, she felt, it was rather fascinating not 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—something to do with the church, not the vicar’s sister. Oh no, it was the organist’s 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.

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’t 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.

A smallish boy entered in some condition of shyness.

Mummy sent these mirrors to see if they’d do, he said in a slightly breathless voice.

Mrs. Drake took them from him.

Thank you so much, Eddy, she said.

They’re just ordinary looking hand mirrors, said the girl called Ann. Shall we really see our future husbands’ faces in them?

Some of you may and some may not, said Judith Butler.

Did you ever see your husband’s face when you went to a party—I mean this kind of a party?

Of course she didn’t, said Joyce.

She might have, said the superior Beatrice. E.S.P. they call it. Extra sensory perception, she added in the tone of one pleased with being thoroughly conversant with the terms of the times.

I read one of your books, said Ann to Mrs. Oliver. "The Dying Goldfish. It was quite good," she said kindly.

I didn’t like that one, said Joyce. There wasn’t enough blood in it. I like murders to have lots of blood.

A bit messy, said Mrs. Oliver, don’t you think?

But exciting, said Joyce.

Not necessarily, said Mrs. Oliver.

"I saw a murder once," said Joyce.

Don’t be silly, Joyce, said Miss Whittaker, the schoolteacher.

I did, said Joyce.

Did you really? asked Cathie, gazing at Joyce with wide eyes, really and truly see a murder?

Of course she didn’t, said Mrs. Drake. Don’t say silly things, Joyce.

I did see a murder, said Joyce. I did. I did. I did.

A seventeen-year-old boy poised on a ladder looked down interestedly.

What kind of a murder? he asked.

I don’t believe it, said Beatrice.

Of course not, said Cathie’s mother. She’s just making it up.

"I’m not. I saw it."

Why didn’t you go to the police about it? asked Cathie.

"Because I didn’t know it was a murder when I saw it. It wasn’t 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 I saw."

You see, said Ann, she’s making it all up. It’s nonsense.

When did it happen? asked Beatrice.

Years ago, said Joyce. I was quite young at the time, she added.

Who murdered who? said Beatrice.

I shan’t tell any of you, said Joyce. You’re all so horrid about it.

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.

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.

I read in the paper that you were fond of eating apples, the accusing voice of Ann or Susan—she was not quite sure which—spoke to her.

It’s my besetting sin, said Mrs. Oliver.

It would be more fun if it was melons, objected one of the boys. They’re so juicy. Think of the mess it would make, he said, surveying the carpet with pleasurable anticipation.

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’s 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.

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.

Excuse me, said Mrs. Oliver in a loud, clear voice.

The boy and the girl clung closer than ever, their lips fastened on each other’s.

Excuse me, said Mrs. Oliver again, "do you mind letting me pass? I want to get in at this door."

Unwillingly the couple fell apart. They looked at her in an aggrieved fashion. Mrs. Oliver went in, banged the door and shot the bolt.

It was not a very close-fitting door. The faint sound of words came to her from outside.

Isn’t that like people? one voice said in a somewhat uncertain tenor. "They might see we didn’t want to be disturbed."

People are so selfish, piped a girl’s voice. They never think of anyone but themselves.

No consideration for others, said the boy’s voice.

Two

Preparations for a children’s party usually give far more trouble to the organizers than an entertainment devised for those of adult years. Food of good quality and suitable alcoholic refreshment—with lemonade on the side, that, to the right people, is quite enough to make a party go. It may cost more but the trouble is infinitely less. So Ariadne Oliver and her friend Judith Butler agreed together.

What about teenage parties? said Judith.

I don’t know much about them, said Mrs. Oliver.

In one way, said Judith, I think they’re probably least trouble of all. I mean, they just throw all of us adults out. And say they’ll do it all themselves.

And do they?

Well, not in our sense of the word, said Judith. They forget to order some of the things, and order a lot of other things that nobody likes. Having turfed us out, then they say there were things we ought to have provided for them to find. They break a lot of glasses, and other things, and there’s always somebody undesirable or who brings an undesirable friend. You know the sort of thing. Peculiar drugs and—what do they call it?—Flower Pot or Purple Hemp or L.S.D., which I always have thought just meant money; but apparently it doesn’t.

I suppose it costs it, suggested Ariadne Oliver.

It’s very unpleasant, and Hemp has a nasty smell.

It all sounds very depressing, said Mrs. Oliver.

Anyway, this party will go all right. Trust Rowena Drake for that. She’s a wonderful organizer. You’ll see.

I don’t feel I even want to go to a party, sighed Mrs. Oliver.

You go up and lie down for an hour or so. You’ll see. You’ll enjoy it when you get there. I wish Miranda hadn’t got a temperature—she’s so disappointed at not being able to go, poor child.

The party came into being at half past seven. Ariadne Oliver had to admit that her friend was right. Arrivals were punctual. Everything went splendidly. It was well-imagined, well-run and ran like clockwork. There were red and blue lights on the stairs and yellow pumpkins in profusion. The girls and boys arrived holding decorated broomsticks for a competition. After greetings, Rowena Drake announced the programme for the evening. First, judging of the broomstick competition, she said, three prizes, first, second and third. Then comes cutting the flour cake. That’ll be in the small conservatory. Then bobbing for apples—there’s a list pinned upon the wall over there of the partners for that event—then there’ll be dancing. Every time the lights go out you change partners. Then girls to the small study where they’ll be given their mirrors. After that, supper, Snapdragon and then prize giving.

Like all parties, it went slightly stickily at first. The brooms were admired, they were very small miniature brooms, and on the whole the decorating of them had not reached a very high standard of merit, which makes it easier, said Mrs. Drake in an aside to one of her friends. And it’s a very useful thing because I mean there are always one or two children one knows only too well won’t win a prize at anything else, so one can cheat a little over this.

So unscrupulous, Rowena.

"I’m not really. I just arrange so that things should be fair and evenly divided. The whole point is that everyone wants to win something."

What’s the Flour Game? asked Ariadne Oliver.

Oh yes, of course, you weren’t here when we were doing it. Well, you just fill a tumbler with flour, press it in well, then you turn it out in a tray and place a sixpence on top of it. Then everyone slices a slice off it very carefully so as not to tumble the sixpence off. As soon as someone tumbles the sixpence off, that person goes out. It’s a sort of elimination. The last one left in gets the sixpence of course. Now then, away we go.

And away they went. Squeals of excitement were heard coming from the library where bobbing for apples went on, and competitors returned from there with wet locks and having disposed a good deal of water about their persons.

One of the most popular contests, at any rate among the girls, was the arrival of the Hallowe’en witch played by Mrs. Goodbody, a local cleaning woman who, not only having the necessary hooked nose and chin which almost met, was admirably proficient in producing a semi-cooing voice which had definitely sinister undertones and also produced magical doggerel rhymes.

"Now then, come along, Beatrice, is it? Ah, Beatrice. A very interesting name. Now you want to know what your husband is going to look like. Now, my dear, sit here. Yes, yes, under this light here. Sit here and hold this little mirror in your hand, and presently when the lights go out you’ll see him appear. You’ll see him looking over your shoulder. Now hold the mirror steady. Abracadabra, who shall see? The face of the man who will marry me. Beatrice, Beatrice, you shall find, the face of the man who shall please your mind."

A sudden shaft of light shot across the room from a step-ladder, placed behind a screen. It hit the right spot in the room, which was reflected in the mirror grasped in Beatrice’s excited hand.

Oh! cried Beatrice. I’ve seen him. I’ve seen him! I can see him in my mirror!

The beam was shut off, the lights came on and a coloured photograph pasted on a card floated down from the ceiling. Beatrice danced about excitedly.

That was him! That was him! I saw him, she cried. "Oh, he’s got a lovely ginger beard."

She rushed to Mrs. Oliver, who was the nearest person.

Do look, do look. Don’t you think he’s rather wonderful? He’s like Eddie Presweight, the pop singer. Don’t you think so?

Mrs. Oliver did think he looked like one of the faces she daily deplored having to see in her morning

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