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AGATHA CHRISTIE ELEPHANTS CAN REMEMBER PDF

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By the step leading up into the sleeping-car stood a young French lieutenant To which Murder on the Orient Express And Then There Were None by AGATHA. Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, naturalswiss-csalas.info htmlelephants can REMEMBER agatha christie BA. Elephants Can Remember by Agatha Christie, , Dell Pub. edition, in English .

There's no description for this book yet. Can you add one? Download ebook for print-disabled. Prefer the physical book? Check nearby libraries with:.

November 4, History. Add another edition? Elephants can remember Agatha Christie. Elephants can remember Close. Want to Read. Are you sure you want to remove Elephants can remember from your list? Written in English. Places England. Edition Notes Series A Dell book. H66 E4 The Physical Object Pagination p. You'll be next in line. Didn't you know how to answer them? They weren't any of my business anyway.

I didn't know anything about them. Anyway, I wouldn't have wanted to answer them. Oliver, letting a new idea come into her head, "I suppose it might be interesting, only--" "She's getting up to chase you," said her friend. I'll see you get out and give you a lift to anywhere you want to go if you haven't got your car here.

Absolutely deadly. Oliver made the proper good-byes. Thanks, words of greatly expressed pleasure, and presently was being driven round a London square. Oliver, "but where I've got to go now is--I think it's Whitefriars Mansions. I can't quite remember the name of it, but I know where it is. Rather modern ones.

Very square and geometrical. Oliver had to resort to a telephone inquiry. She sat by her telephone, her fingers tapping rather nervously on the table. Oliver, who was always surprised to find she had to give her name because she always expected all her friends to know her voice as soon as they heard it.

Does that mean that I may have the pleasure of a visit from you? Ask things. I want to know what you think about something. I am flattered. Highly flattered. We will drink coffee together, perhaps, unless you prefer a grenadine or a Sirop de Cassis.

But no, you do not like that. I remember. Coffee, I think, and perhaps a liqueur of some kind. I am never sure what she likes. But kirsch, I think, is what she prefers. Very well then," said Poirot. Oliver came punctual to time. Poirot had been wondering, while eating his dinner, what it was that was driving Mrs. Oliver to visit him, and why she was so doubtful about what she was doing. Was she bringing him some difficult problem, or was she acquainting him with a crime?

The most commonplace things or the most extraordinary things. They were, as you might say, all alike to her. She was worried, he thought. Ah, well, Hercule Poirot thought to himself, he could deal with Mrs. He always had been able to deal with Mrs. On occasion she maddened him.

At the same time he was really very much attached to her. They had shared many experiences and experiments together.

He had read something about her in the paper only that morning--or was it the evening paper? He must try and remember it before she came. He had just done so when she was announced. She came into the room and Poirot deduced at once that his diagnosis of worry was true enough. Her hairdo, which was fairly elaborate, had been ruffled by the fact that she had been running her fingers through it in the frenzied and fever17 agatha christie ish way that she did sometimes. He received her with every sign of pleasure, established her in a chair, poured her some coffee and handed her a glass of kirsch.

Oliver with the sigh of someone who has relief. Famous women writers. Something of that kind. I thought you never did that kind of thing. Oliver, "and I shan't ever do it again. He knew Mrs. Oliver's embarrassing moments. Extravagant praise of her books always upset her highly because, as she had once told him, she never knew the proper answers. Oliver, "and then something very tiresome happened. And that is what you have come to see me about.

I mean, it's nothing to do with you and I don't think it's the sort of thing you'd even be interested in. And I'm not really interested in it.

At least, I suppose I must be or I wouldn't have wanted to come to you to know what you thought. To know what--well, what you'd do if you were me. I can never remember what years are, what dates are. You know, I get mixed up. I know nineteen thirty-nine because that's when the war started and I know other dates because of queer things, here and there. And you did not enjoy it very much.

Suddenly one of those large, bossy women who always manage to dominate everyone and who can make you feel more uncomfortable than anyone else, descended on me. You know, like somebody who catches a butterfly or something, only she'd have needed a butterfly net. She sort of rounded me. A goddaughter you are fond of? And then she asked me a most worrying question. She wanted me--oh, dear, how very difficult it is for me to tell this--" "No, it isn't," said Poirot kindly.

Everyone tells everything to me sooner or later. I'm only a foreigner, you see, so it does not matter. It is easy because I am a foreigner. She asked me whether her mother had killed her father or her father had killed her mother," "I beg your pardon," said Poirot. Well, I thought it was mad. Had her father killed her mother or her mother killed her father? I can't remember if it was in Cornwall or in Corsica.

Something like that. It happened years ago. Well, but I mean—why come to me? This was a real thing that happened? It wasn't something like what would A do—or what would be the proper procedure if your mother had killed your father or your father had killed your mother. No, it was something that really happened. I suppose really I'd better tell you all about it. It was about—oh, I should think it was about twenty years ago at least.

And, as I say, I can remember the names of the people because I did know them. The wife had been at school with me and I'd known her quite well. We'd been friends. It was a well-known case—you know, it was in all the papers and things like that. Sir Alistair Ravenscroft and Lady Ravenscroft. A very happy couple and he was a colonel or a general and she'd been with him and they'd been all over the world.

Then they bought this house somewhere—I think it was abroad but I can't remember. And then there were suddenly accounts of this case in the papers. Whether somebody else had killed them or whether they'd been assassinated or something, or whether they killed each other.

I think it was a revolver that had been in the house for ages and—well, I'd better tell you as much as I can remember. Oliver managed to give Poirot a more or less clear resume of what she had been told. Poirot from time to time checked on a point here or there. Oliver, "I could get hold of Celia, I think. Or perhaps it's Cambridge she lives in, or Oxford. I think she's got a degree and either lectures here or teaches somewhere, or does something like that.

And--very modern, you know. Goes about with long-haired people in queer clothes. I don't think she takes drugs. She's quite all right and--just very occasionally I hear from her.

I mean, she sends a card at Christmas and things like that. Apparently she is going to marry--or that is the idea-Mrs. Brittle--no--Burton-Cox's son. Burton-Cox does not want her son to marry this girl because her father killed her mother or her mother killed her father?

But what does it matter which? If one of your parents killed the other, would it really matter to the mother of the boy you were going to marry which way round it was? But it is very strange about Mrs. Perhaps she is a bit touched in the head.

Is she very fond of her son? But why, do you think? What's behind it all? What does it mean? Things that you can't see the reason for at first. I mean, that nobody can see the reason for. I don't think so. It is very intriguing. You come home from a party. You've been asked to do something that is very difficult, almost impossible, and--you wonder what is the proper way to deal with such a thing. A woman whom you do not really know, whom you had met at a party, has put this problem to you, asked you to do it, giving no discernible reason.

What does A do, in other words, if you were reading this as a problem in a newspaper? A could write a note to Mrs. Burton-Cox and say, 'I'm very sorry, but I really feel I cannot oblige you in this matter,' or whatever words you like to put. You get in touch with your goddaughter and you tell her what has been asked of you by the mother of the boy, or the young man, or whatever he is, whom she is thinking of marrying.

You will find out from her if she is really thinking of marrying this young man. If so, whether she has any idea or whether the young man has said anything to her about what his mother has got in her head. And there will be other interesting points, like finding out what this girl thinks of the mother of the young man she wants to marry. The third thing you could do," said Poirot, "and this really is what I firmly advise you to do, is.

Oliver, "one word. It's darned cheek to go and tell a girl who's my goddaughter what her future mother-in-law is going about saying and asking people. But--" "I know," said Poirot, "it is human curiosity. But until I know that. You'll wake up in the night and, if I know you, you will have the most extraordinary and extravagant ideas which presently, probably, you will be able to make into a most attractive crime story.

A whodunit--a thriller. All sorts of things. Her eyes flashed slightly. It seems as though there could be no good reason for this.

I don't know who invented curiosity. It is said to be usually associated with the cat. Curiosity killed the cat. They wanted to know. Before them, as far as I can see, nobody wanted to know much.

They just wanted to know what the rules of the country they were living in were, and how they could avoid having their heads cut off or being impaled on spikes or something disagreeable happening to them. But they either obeyed or disobeyed. They didn't want to know why. But since then a lot of people have wanted to know why and all sorts of things have happened because of that.

Boats, trains, flying machines and atom bombs and peni23 agatha christie cillin and cures for various illnesses. A little boy watches his mother's kettle raising its lid because of the steam.

And the next thing we know is we have railway trains, leading on in due course to railway strikes and all that. And so on and so on. Oliver, "do you think I'm a terrible nosey-parker? But I can quite see you getting in a het-up state at a literary party, busy defending yourself against too much kindness, too much praise.

Elephants can remember ( edition) | Open Library

You ran yourself instead into a very awkward dilemma, and took a very strong dislike to the person who ran you into it. One never really read about any cause for it, according to you? Yes, they were shot. It could have been a suicide pact. I think the police thought it was at first. Of course, one can't find out about things all those years afterwards. Certainly there are knowledgeable friends, friends who could get certain records, look up the accounts that were given of the crime at the time, some access I could get to certain records.

Oliver hopefully, "and then tell me. It'll take a little time, though. I'll have to see the girl. I've got to see whether she knows anything about all this, ask her if she'd like me to give her mother-in-law-to-be a raspberry, Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http: And I'd like to see the boy she's going to marry, too.

Oliver, "there might be people—" She broke off, frowning. A cause celebre, perhaps at the time. But what is a cause celebre when you come to think of it? Unless it comes to an astonishing denouement, which this one didn't.

Nobody remembers it. Oliver, "that is quite true. There was a lot about it in the papers and mentions of it for some time, and then it just—faded out. Well, like things do now. Like that girl, the other day. You know, who left her home and they couldn't find her anywhere. Well, I mean, that was five or six years ago and then suddenly a little boy, playing about in a sand heap or a gravel pit or something, suddenly came across her dead body.

Five or six years later. But it will be more difficult in your problem since it seems the answer must be one of two things: Therefore, it might have been a passionate crime or something quite different. Anyway, there would be nothing, as it were, to find out about it.

If the police could not find out at the time, then the motive must have been a difficult one, not easy to see. Therefore it has remained a nine days' wonder, that is all. Perhaps that is what t 25 agatha christie that odious woman was getting me to do--wanted me to do.

She thought the daughter knew--well, the daughter might have known," said Mrs. They know the most extraordinary things.

I think she might have been nine or ten, but perhaps older, I don't know. I think that she was away at school at the time. But that may be just my fancy, remembering back what I read.

Burton-Cox's wish was to make you get information from the daughter? Perhaps the daughter knows something, perhaps she said something to the son, and the son said something to his mother. I expect Mrs. BurtonCox tried to question the girl herself and got rebuffed, but thought the famous Mrs.

Though why it should matter to her, I still don't see," said Poirot. Oliver was the most unaccountable woman. Why suddenly elephants?

You know, you've got to know what you can eat and what you can't. The dentists, they can do much for you, but not everything. And then I thought of—you know—our teeth being only bone and so not awfully good, and how nice it would be to be a dog, who has really ivory teeth.

And then I thought of anyone else who has ivory teeth, and I thought about walruses and—oh, other things like that. And I thought about elephants. Of course when you think of ivory, you do think of elephants, don't you? Great big elephant tusks. Oliver was saying. Because elephants, so they say, don't forget.

How someone, an Indian tailor, stuck a needle or something in an elephant's tusk. Not a tusk, his trunk, of course, an elephant's trunk. And the next time the elephant came past he had a great mouthful of water and he splashed it out all over the tailor, though he hadn't seen him for several years. He hadn't forgotten. He remembered. That's the point, you see.

Elephants remember. What I've got to do is—I've got to get in touch with some elephants.

Hercule Poirot, Book 35, Elephants Can Remember

You sound as though you were going for information to the zoo. There are some people who do remember. In fact, one does remember queer things. I mean, there are a lot of things that I remember very well. They 27 agatha christie happened--I remember a birthday party I had when I was five, and a pink cake--a lovely pink cake.

It had a sugar bird on it. And I remember the day my canary flew away and I cried. And I remember another day when I went into a field and there was a bull there and somebody said it would gore me, and I was terrified and wanted to run out of the field.

Well, I remember that quite well. It was a Tuesday, too. I don't know why I should remember it was a Tuesday, but it was a Tuesday. And I remember a wonderful picnic with blackberries. I remember getting pricked terribly, but getting more blackberries than anyone else. It was wonderful! By that time I was nine, I think. But one needn't go back as far as that. I mean, I've been to hundreds of weddings in my life, but when I look back on a wedding there are only two that I remember particularly.

One where I was a bridesmaid. It took place in the New Forest, I remember, and I can't remember who was there actually. I think it was a cousin of mine getting married. But I know another wedding. That was a friend of mine in the Navy. He was nearly drowned in a submarine, and then he was saved again, and then the girl he was engaged to, her people didn't want her to marry him, but then he did marry her after that and I was one other bridesmaids at the marriage. Well, I mean, there's always things you do remember.

So you will go a la recherche des elephants'? I'd have to get the date right. People who may have known them abroad, but whom I also knew although I mayn't have seen them for a good many years. You can look up people, you know, that you haven't seen for a long time.

Because people are always quite pleased to see someone 28 elephants can REMEMBER coming up out of the past, even if they can't remember very much about you. And then you naturally will talk about the things that were happening at that date, that you remember about. More difficult, but I think one could get at it. And so, somehow or other one would try different things. Start a little talk going about what happened, what they think happened, what anyone else has ever told you about what might have happened.

About any love affairs the husband or wife had, about any money that somebody might have inherited. I think you could scratch up a lot of things. Oliver, "I'm afraid really I'm just a nosey-parker. That does not matter.

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You are still on a quest—a quest of knowledge. You take your own path. It is the path of the elephants. The elephants may remember. Bow voyage," said Poirot. Oliver sadly. She brushed her hands through her hair again so that she looked like the old picture books of Struwelpeter. I couldn't get started, if you know what I mean. Concern yourself only with elephants. In the left-hand corner. I mean my last one. The one I had last year, or perhaps the one before that again.

I mean some address that you haven't copied into the new one. I expect it may be in one of the drawers of the tallboys. Ariadne Oliver missed Miss Sedgwick. Sedgwick knew so many things. She knew the places where Mrs.

Oliver sometimes put things, the kind of places Mrs. Oliver kept things in. She remembered the names of people Mrs. Oliver, goaded beyond endurance, had written rather rude things to. She was invaluable, or rather, had been invaluable. She was like—what was the book called? Oliver said, casting her mind back.

Enquire Within upon Everything. And you could, too! How to take iron mark stains off linen, how to deal with curdled mayonnaise, how to start a chatty letter to a bishop. Many, many things. It was all there in Enquire Within upon Everything.

Miss Sedgwick had been just as good as Aunt Alice's book. Miss Livingstone was not at all the same thing. Miss Livingstone stood there always, very long-faced, with a sallow skin, looking purposefully efficient. Every line of her face said, "I am very efficient.

Elephants Can Remember By Agatha Christie

Oliver thought. She only knew all the places where former literary employers of hers had kept things and where she clearly considered Mrs. Oliver ought to keep them.

Oliver with firmness and the determination of a spoiled child, "is my nineteen seventy address book. And I think nineteen sixty-nine as well. Please look for it as quick as you can, will you?

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If I don't get Sedgwick back, I shall go mad, thought Mrs. Oliver to herself. I can't deal with this thing if I don't have Sedgwick. Miss Livingstone started pulling open various drawers in the furniture in Mrs. Oliver's so-called study and writing room. Nineteen seventy-one. Vague thoughts and memories came to her. Miss Livingstone looked round, looking worried. Oliver, pointing. Four years ago. Oliver, seizing it and taking it back to the desk.

Oliver, "but I used to have one once. Quite a big one, you know. Started when I was a child. Goes on for years. I expect it'll be in the attic upstairs. You know, the one we use as a spare room sometimes when it's only boys coming for holidays, or people who don't mind. The sort of chest or bureau thing next to the bed. Shall I look and see? She cheered up a little as Miss Livingstone went out of the room. Oliver shut the door firmly behind her, went back to the desk and started looking down the addresses written in faded ink and smelling of tea.

Celia Ravenscroft. Fourteen Fishacre Mews, S. That's the Chelsea address. But there was another one after that. Somewhere like Strand-on-the-Green near Kew Bridge. Mardyke Grove. That's off Fulham Road, I think. Somewhere like that. It's very rubbed out, but I think--yes, I think that's right--Flaxman.. The door opened and Miss Livingstone looked in.

It's important. You know, the one that's bound with brass. I've forgotten where it is now. Under the table in the hall, I think. Oliver's first dialing was not successful. She appeared to have connected herself to a Mrs. Oliver applied herself to an examination of the address book once more. She discovered two more addresses which were hastily scrawled over other numbers and did not seem wildly helpful. However, at the third attempt a somewhat illegible Ravenscroft seemed to emerge from the crossingsout and initials and addresses.

A voice admitted to knowing Celia. But she hasn't lived here for years. I think she was in Newcastle when I last heard from her. This was the last Christie novel to feature either character, although in terms of publication it was succeeded by Curtain: Poirot's Last Case , which had been written in the early s but published last. The novel is notable for its concentration on memory and oral testimony. While attending a literary luncheon, Ariadne Oliver finds herself approached by a woman named Mrs Burton-Cox, whose son Desmond is engaged to Oliver's godchild , Celia Ravenscroft.

During their conversation, Mrs Burton-Cox questions the truth regarding the deaths of Celia's parents. Ten years ago, Oliver's close school friend, Margaret Ravenscroft, and her husband, General Alistair Ravenscroft, were found dead near their manor house in Overcliffe.

Both had been shot with a revolver found between their bodies, which bore only their fingerprints. The investigation into their deaths found it impossible to determine if it was a double suicide , or if one of them murdered the other and then committed suicide.

Their deaths left Celia and another of their children orphaned. Although initially put off by Mrs Burton-Cox's attitude, Mrs Oliver decides to resolve the issue after consulting with Celia, and invites her friend Hercule Poirot to solve the disquieting puzzle. Meeting with a number of elderly witnesses associated with the case, whom the pair dub "elephants", along with researching the case further, the pair make note of a few significant facts: Margaret was in possession of four wigs; the Ravenscroft's dog was devoted to the family, but bit Margaret a few days before her death; Margaret had an identical twin sister Dorothea, who had spent time in a number of psychiatric nursing homes , and was believed to have been involved in two violent incidents in Asia, including the drowning of her infant son after the death of her husband; a month before the couple died, Dorothea had been sleep-walking and died after falling off a cliff.

Poirot soon turns his attention to the Burton-Cox family, and towards Desmond's birth, as Mrs Burton-Cox is his adoptive mother; Desmond knows he is adopted but doesn't know any details about his birth mother. Through his agent Mr Goby, Poirot learns that Desmond is the illegitimate son of deceased actress Kathleen Fenn, a woman who had conducted an affair with Mrs Burton-Cox's husband.

Unbeknown to Desmond, Fenn bequeathed a considerable personal fortune to him, held in trust until he was of age or had married, and which would go to his adoptive mother should he die.

Poirot suspects Mrs Burton-Cox desired to prevent the marriage between Desmond and Celia, through having the deaths of Celia's parents investigated, in order to obtain the use of the money, but he finds no suggestion that Mrs Burton-Cox wishes to kill her son.

Poirot reveals to the pair that the woman that died with Alistair was not his wife, but Dorothea. A month earlier, she fatally injured Margaret as part of a psychotic episode. Before Margaret died, she made her husband promise to protect her sister from arrest. While she fooled the Ravenscrofts' servants, the family dog couldn't be deceived as it could distinguish between the sisters, and thus bit her.

A month after his wife's death, Alistair murdered Dorothea to prevent her from injuring anyone else, making certain she held the revolver before she was killed, and then committed suicide afterwards. Desmond and Celia recognise the sadness behind the truth of the events, but now knowing the facts are able to face a future together. Maurice Richardson in The Observer of 5 November said, "A quiet but consistently interesting whodunnit with ingenious monozygotic solution.

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