Murder in the mews – Agatha Christie
Trs bien, Japp, he observed. You preach the sermon very well! I congratulate you!
Rank excuse for begging, thats what Guy Fawkes Day is! said Japp.
An interesting survival, mused Hercule Poirot. The fireworks go upcrackcracklong after the man they commemorate and his deed are forgotten.
The Scotland Yard man agreed.
Dont suppose many of those kids really know who Guy Fawkes was.
And soon, doubtless, there will be confusion of thought. Is it in honour or in execration that on the fifth of November the feu dartifice are sent up? To blow up an English Parliament, was it a sin or a noble deed?
Some people would say undoubtedly the latter.
Turning off the main road, the two men passed into the comparative quiet of a mews. They had been dining together and were now taking a short cut to Hercule Poirots flat.
As they walked along the sound of squibs was still heard periodically. An occasional shower of golden rain illuminated the sky.
Good night for a murder, remarked Japp with professional interest. Nobody would hear a shot, for instance, on a night like this.
It has always seemed odd to me that more criminals do not take advantage of the fact, said Hercule Poirot.