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Agatha Christie The Adventure of the Christmas Pudding 25-12-06
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Agatha Christie The Adventure of the Christmas Pudding 25-12-06
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Limu Emu and Doug. Here we have the Limu Emu in its natural habitat, helping people customize their car insurance and save hundreds with Liberty Mutual. Fascinating. It's accompanied by his natural ally, Doug. Limu is that guy with the binoculars watching us. Cut the camera. They see us. Only pay for what you need@libertymutual.com Liberty. Liberty. Liberty. Liberty. Savings vary underwritten by Liberty Mutual Insurance Company and affiliates. Excludes Massachusetts. A good old English Christmas, Monsieur Poirot. In the depths of the countryside, logs crackling in the open fire. The Christmas tree, the crackers, the turkey, and of course, the traditional Christmas pudding. We present John Moffat as Hercule Poirot in Agatha Christie's the Adventure of the Christmas Pudding. Oh, I have never cared for the English winter. It is cold and damp and dark. Over the years, I have learned that the only way to survive is to shut myself up in my apartment with the radiators turned up and draft excluders everywhere. So you can well imagine my horror when Mr. Jesmond, that most polished and discreet of diplomats, actually proposed that I should spend Christmas in an English country house. Parts of it actually date from the 14th century. In the winter, I do not leave London, except perhaps for Egypt or the Riviera. I do not think you quite appreciate what a very serious matter this is. The future of His Highness, and indeed of his entire country, rests in your hands. By Mr. Jesmond's side sat an olive skinned young man who gazed down at his well polished shoes with an expression of the utmost misery. Let me, to employ a rather tiresome phrase, put you in the picture. His Highness, as I'm sure you are aware, is the only son of the ruler of a state whose interests have always accorded with those of Great Britain. Recently, the country has been passing through a period of some unrest led by factions opposed to Westernization. A public scandal would inevitably play into the hands of the forces of disorder and revolution. His Highness has my heartfelt sympathy. But what has this to do with. His Highness has recently become engaged to a young woman of his country. And on the occasion of their marriage, she is to be given a precious ruby, centuries old, known as the Heart of Fire. The Heart of Fire. I believe I have heard of it. A month ago, His Highness came to England to take the ruby to Cartiers so that it could be given an appropriate setting. Unfortunately, at a cocktail party, he happened to meet a rather attractive young lady and he. He decided to have us, I think, put it, one last fling. Precisely, Monsieur Poirot. As a reward, she was to be given a diamond clip from Cartier's, which she would choose when he called there to collect the Heart of Fire. And the young lady perhaps happened to notice the legendary ruby? Oh, yes. She was fascinated by it. And she asked if I would permit her to wear it just for one evening. And you agreed, your Highness? Oh, how could I refuse her? We went out to a nightclub. We danced, and we were very gay. And then she left our table to powder her nose. And she did not return? She did not return. And did you call in the police? Oh, no. Why not? They can be very discreet, the police. And they are better equipped than I am to carry out an investigation of this kind. It is quite out of the question. If we involved the police, it would inevitably result in proceedings in court. His Highness is very young. It would be a great pity if his whole future were to be blighted for one useful indiscretion. Have there been any notes of ransom? Any suggestions of blackmail? Nothing. The girl and the ruby both seem to have vanished into thin air. And you wish me to recover it? This ruby? I need hardly tell you how greatly your cooperation would be appreciated in the highest quarters. There is just one thing. Perhaps I am being excessively stupid. But I do not see the connection between the theft of this ruby and my having to spend Christmas in a drafty old manor house. There will be no draughts at Kings Lacey, I assure you. There is oil fired central heating and a splendid hot water system. Radiators in every bedroom. You may even find the house too warm. No, that is most unlikely. But I still do not understand. Why am I to go there? Well, you see, Monsieur Poirot, when the young lady was in His Highness's apartment, he just happened to overhear. She had no idea I was dead. She thought I had gone out. Of course, His Highness did not intend to eavesdrop. And I heard her say on the telephone the words King's Lacy, December 21st. And was she giving someone this information or was she being instructed to go there? I do not know. It is not very much to go on. It may have nothing to do with the theft of the ruby at all. Ah, but there is something more. I have been informed that a young man who has a keen interest in the international jewel market is spending Christmas at Kings Lacey. A Mr. Lee Whartley. And what is the name of this young lady? I didn't learn her name. Do you have a photograph? I am afraid not. But she has blond hair and is about 4 inches shorter than me. Please say you will go to Kings Lacy, Monsieur Poirot. But how am I to explain my presence there? Oh, that can be managed very easily. I have arranged for a mutual friend, Edwina Morcom, to tell the laces that the celebrated detective Ecoup Poirot wishes to savor the joys of an old fashioned English Christmas. They will be delighted to welcome you. I can't see why Edwina wants to wish a foreigner on us for Christmas. If she's so keen on the idea, why can't she have him? Because, as you know very well, Edwina always goes to Claridge's for Christmas. We wish you a merry Christmas we wish you a merry Christmas we wish you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. Mr. Jesmont had done his work very thoroughly. On my arrival at King's Lacey, I was welcomed into the house by the grandchildren. Singing. A huge Christmas tree, fantastically glittering with brightly colored glass decorations, stood in the hall in the drawing room, where the temperature was a reassuring 68 degrees. Mrs. Lacey was seated by one of the great mullion windows engaged in hemming dishcloths. An old fashioned Christmas. Well, nothing could be more old fashioned than we are. My husband likes everything to be just as it was when he was a boy of 12 years old and used to come here for his holidays. All the same old things. The Christmas tree and the stockings hung up. And the oyster soup and the turkey. Two turkeys. One boiled and one roast. And the plum puddings with the rings and the bachelor's button. No, pardon, madame, but I. I do not quite. Oh, they're silver charms cooked inside the pudding. Inside the pudding. And we have all the old desserts, of course. The Elvas plums and Carlsbad plums and almonds and raisins and crystallized fruit and ginger. But I'm beginning to sound like a catalogue from Fortnum and Mason. You stimulate my gastronomic juices, madame. And do you have a great many people staying here? Oh, no, it's really only the family. My granddaughter Sarah and my grandson Michael. And Bridget, who's my great niece, and Diana, who's a cousin. The poor girl's a widow and she's only 22. She particularly asked if she could come and stay with us. And there's David Wellyn, who's an old family friend. Was one of these young women the girl who had stolen the Heart of Fire? Was it perhaps Sarah, who I had already noticed was blonde and rather provocatively attractive. To tell you the truth, Monsieur Poirot, we are having rather a problem With Sarah. I don't know why I should want to tell you about it. After all, you are a complete stranger and a foreigner. But perhaps that makes it easier in a way. What is it that troubles you, Mrs. Leuci? Our son was killed in the war. And my daughter in law died when Sarah was born. And so the child was brought up by us. Unfortunately, Sarah has got in with what I believe they call the coffee bar set. She won't go to dances and refuses to come out properly or anything of that kind. It is the fashion of the moment, Madame. She will grow out of it. Oh, I'm not in the least worried about that sort of thing. But now she's taken up with a man called Desmond Lee Wortley, who really has a very unsavory reputation. And is she in love with him, do you think? She seems completely spellbound when she's with him. She appears to have no will of her own at all. And what does he do, this Lee Wortley? I don't really know that he actually does anything. He seems to spend a great deal of his time flying around Europe. He never seems short of money. I have a nasty suspicion that he lives off well to do girls. Anyway, he's here now. You mean he is actually here in this house? Well, yes. You see, Sarah hasn't spent Christmas here for a year or two. She's always gone off to stay with some friend or other. But this year, just over a week ago, she suddenly turned up quite without warning, and she said she wanted this Lee Wortley here, too. She was quite adamant about it. Horace was set against his coming, of course, but I said no, let's have him down here for Christmas. Let her see him in our atmosphere and our house, and we'll be ever so nice to him. And perhaps he'll seem less interesting to her. And has it succeeded, your little stratagem? Not so far. She seems more under his spell than ever. And I must confess, I can certainly feel the attraction and see what Sarah sees in him. And he does have some good points. And what may they be, madame? Well, he asked if he might bring his sister down here. She's recovering from an operation, and he said it was a shame her having to spend Christmas in a nursing home. I do think that was rather nice of him, don't you, Monsieur Poirot? Hmm. It shows a concern that sounds almost out of character. Limu emu and Doug. Here we have the limu imu in its natural habitat, helping people customize their car insurance and save Hundreds with Liberty Mutual. Fascinating. It's accompanied by his natural ally, Doug Limu. Is that guy with the binoculars watching us? Cut the camera. They see us. Only pay for what you need@libertymutual.com Liberty. Liberty. Liberty. Liberty Savings Fairy Unwritten by Liberty Mutual Insurance Company and Affiliates Excludes Massachusetts. What is she like, this sister of his? It's hard to say. We haven't seen that much of her. Unfortunately, she had a relapse of some sort the other night and she's been keeping to her room ever since. And her brother's been so good to her, carrying trays up to her and all that sort of thing, that. Even so, I don't want Sarah to marry him. No. From what you say, it would be a disaster. But there are the waits. The waits? The carol singers. Horace insists on having them in every Christmas Eve. Let us go down, Monsieur Poirot, and I will introduce you to everyone. It was a scene like an old fashioned Christmas card, with the singers grouped in front of the tree while the young people darted about hanging up holly, putting branches of laurel behind the pictures. I had no idea anything so idiotically archaic still went on. How you can stand it all is beyond me. Desmond Lee Wortley wore a fisherman's jersey and tight black jeans. His hair was long and unkempt, and it seemed doubtful whether he had shaved that morning. I rather enjoy it all. Of course, it's old fashioned and all that, but it's rather fun, isn't it? Sarah Lacey seemed tense and nervous. Could it have been my presence there that made her so ill at ease? Brother, that was simply splendid. Now come along to the kitchen, all of you. I'll find you something to keep the cold out before you set off again. Look, sweetie, why don't we sneak off to Market Ledbury, have a drink of the White Hart? There's a limit to how much Christmas cheer I can stomach. I was quite enjoying it all. You must be kidding. You can't possibly enjoy all this sentimental tosh. It's like something out of Dickens. Yes, I suppose it is rather childish of me. We'll go if you like. I do like. I'll go and get the car. You don't mind, do you, Em? No, of course not, dear. And you do like Desmond, don't you? I'm sure he's really very nice. Grandfather doesn't like him. Well, you could hardly expect him to, could you? But I dare say he'll come round when he gets used to the idea. Well, I don't care what Grandfather thinks. Or says I shall get married to Desmond whenever I like. I do, I know. But do try to be realistic about it. Your grandfather could cause a lot of trouble, you know. It doesn't matter if he cuts me off without a penny. Desmond's got pots of money. I wasn't thinking that. You're not of age for another year. But I expect Horace will have come round by then. I'll do my best to hold out. You are on my side, aren't you? I only want you to be happy. But here's Mr. Lee Wertley with a car. I rather like those very tight trousers young men wear nowadays. They look so smart. Only, of course, it does rather emphasise knock knees. I went up to my room to change for dinner. And then I heard the sound of an aeroplane flying low overhead. There must be an airfield somewhere close by. The Laces had very kindly arranged for a telephone to be put at my disposal. It was understood that the famous detective was engaged upon a case. And I thought it was time to share my thoughts with Mr. Jesmond. Sarah Lacey. But Edwina told me she was a perfectly enchanting girl. Even perfectly enchanting girls, Mr. Jesmond, can sometimes go astray. She seems completely infatuated with this Lee Wortley. And I understand she works for one of the London embassies. It would have been very possible for her to make the acquaintance of the Prince. Even so. And there is the fact that the girl came down here completely without warning almost immediately after the ruby was stolen. But I don't. Could you not obtain a photograph of Miss Lacey and show it to the Prince? That is out of the question, I'm afraid. He's staying as a guest at Sandringham. Do you suspect no one else, Monsieur Poirot? Ah, there is this mysterious sister of Desmond de Wortley. She intrigues me, I must admit. Why does she insist on remaining in her room? But surely he didn't have to drive the girl all the way down to Kings Lacey. She could simply have handed the ruby over to him in London. Clearly, there is is something in this business that I do not understand. Surely by now one of these young ladies must have given Lee Wortley the rupee. Then why does he remain? Particularly with Hercule Poirot in the house? You are hardly a man to pass without notice. And there is something else. I have discovered that there is an airfield close by. It would provide him with an easy means of escape to the continent. Find out, I beg you, its exact location. I will see that it's kept under constant surveillance. And now tell how are you enjoying your English Christmas? I settled myself in a quiet corner of the library to await the dinner gong. There was a high back to my chair, and when Bridget and Michael came in, they had no idea that I was sitting there listening to their every word. It's going to snow, all right. I bet we have a couple of inches by tomorrow evening. I've been hoping and praying we might have a white Christmas. We could build a snowman and make it look like Monsieur Poirot. I think there's a big black moustache in the dressing up box. I've got a much better idea. Why don't we put on a show for him? What kind of a show? We could arrange a murder for him. Make him feel at home. A body in the snow with a murderer's footprint. I'll be the body. It's got to be a girl. A beautiful girl lying lifeless in the snow. And I can wear my red pajamas. Red pyjamas won't show blood stains. And we've got to have blood stains. They've got white facings. We can daub the blood on them, but we better not do it tomorrow. I don't think Grandfather would like us to muck up Christmas Day. Boxing Day, then. Yes. Yes, that would be perfect. It'll give us time to arrange it all and to find some props. I wonder if Grandfather would mind if we borrowed one of his daggers. Dinner that night was mercifully light, for everyone was fully occupied in completing the preparations for the following day. Christmas presents had been laid out beneath the tree and a bough of mistletoe hung from the ceiling. It's all so childish. As if kissing needed encouragement. Now, who's going to brave the snow and attend midnight mass? Don't look at me, Mrs. Lacey. I can't imagine anything more tedious. Come on, Sarah. Let's see if we can find a few records to dance to. If there are any that aren't positively antique. Are you going, Em? No, I've still got the stockings to do. But Bridget and Michael are going, and David and Diana. Are you sure you don't want to go? Come on, Sarah. No, that's all right. I'll stay here with Desmond. Midnight Mass. What a thing to call it. Bit popish, if you ask me. Really, Boris? Oh, yes, of course. Oh, yeah, I quite forgot. Is it pour nemoir, Mr. Poirot? It does not matter in the least, Colonel. Matins is good enough for anybody. I would say proper Sunday morning service. Hark. The Herald Angels sing all that? Yes, my dear. That's what we do. But the young ones enjoy the midnight service. I think they find it rather exciting. Sarah, that fella of hers weren't at all excited at the prospect. Well, there, I think you're quite wrong, Horace. Sarah really did want to go, but she didn't want to say. Say so. Beast me, why, she cares what he wants when she's with him. She seems to have no mind of her own. I hope they won't keep that frightful racket going on all night. It was time to retire. My bedroom was well provided with radiators and my bed was, of course, a four poster. A note was lying on the pillow. Don't eat none of the plum pudding. One who wishes you well. How very unexpected. A very happy Christmas to us all. Happy Christmas. Christmas dinner exceeded all my expectations. It was was indeed an experience formidable. The fireplace was ablaze with enormous logs. And in the center of the dining table was a pyramid of holly surmounted by a figure of Father Christmas holding a sprig of mistletoe. As I had been promised, there was oyster soup and turbot and two enormous turkeys with chestnut stuffing. And now it is time for the Christmas pudding. Oh, come on. Mine for the Christmas pudding. I do hope old pebble will be able to manage it all right. He's carried in the pudding every yard I can remember, and he regards it as his right. He's well over 80 now, and his hands and knees do shake. So here he comes, and I'm keeping my fingers crossed. But it is on fire. Of course it is, Monsieur Poirot. Thank you, Peveril. You can leave the rest to me. Happy Christmas, Mum. And a very happy Christmas to you, Peveril. Happy Christmas. You have to make a wish before the flame dies down. Quick. Mercifoiro. But what was I to do? Suddenly I remembered the note that had been left on my pillow. Was the pudding poisoned? But my portion could not possibly have been different from everyone else's. I looked around me. Lee Worley was eating with evident enthusiasm. I could hardly refuse. Go on, Mr. Poirot. Won't bite you. I raised a spoonful of pudding to my mouth and tasted it. Eat. Was delicious. Mrs. Ross has certainly excelled herself. Much the best we've ever had. I was about to eat another mouthful when something fell from my spoon onto my plate. You've got one of the Lucky Charms, Mr. Poirot. May I see? Of course, mademoiselle. Oh, it's the Bachelor's button. Monsieur Poirot's got the bachelor's button. It means that you're always going to be a bachelor, Monsieur Poirot. Ah, my dear young lady, I have been a bachelor for many long years, and it is unlikely that I shall change now. Confound it, Emmeline. Why on earth did you let Mrs. Ross put glass in the brain? Glass? What on earth are you talking about? There, you see? Might have broken a tooth or swallowed the damn thing. Got appendicitis. But what is it, Horace? It's a bit of red jewelry of some sort. Could it come out of you? Permit that I take a look at it, Colonel? What? Yeah, yeah. Well, of course. Yes, go ahead. The light gleamed from the stone's facets as I turned it about. It was the prince's ruby, the heart of fire. Somewhere around the table, a chair was pushed sharply back and then drawn in again. But I could not be certain whose it was. It's beautiful. Is it real? Don't be an ass, Bridget. If it was real, it'd be worth thousands and thousands of pounds. I glanced round the table, but Sarah was examining a charm she had found and Desmond Lee Wortley was gazing out of the window. I dropped the stone into my pocket. The older members of the family crept upstairs for a greatly needed siesta. But I wanted to find out about that Christmas present pudding. And I made my way to the enormous old fashioned kitchen to pay my compliments to Mrs. Ross. I'm glad you enjoyed it, sir. Enjoyed it? But you are a genius, Mrs. Ross. Never have I had such a wonderful meal. And the Christmas pudding. And Doug. Here we have the limu emu in its natural habitat, helping people customize their car insurance and save hundreds with Liberty Mutual. Fascinating. It's accompanied by his natural ally, Doug. Limu. Is that guy with the binoculars watching us? Cut the camera. They see us. Only pay for what you need@libertymutual.com Liberty Liberty Liberty Liberty Savings variant by Liberty Mutual Insurance Company and affiliates. Excludes Massachusetts Magnifique. Oh. Ah. That must have been a homemade recipe. Surely not a bought one. That's most perceptive of you, Sir. For years, Mrs. Lacey has had her puddings delivered from a London store. But this year, summat must ha gone wrong with t order. And by the time she had realised what had happened, it was too late. Oh, Mrs. Ross, she says, do you think you could help us out? Well, this was only just before Christmas, and a good pudding ought to be made weeks before and then allowed to wait so when did you actually make the pudding, Mrs. Ross? Four days ago, sir. But I still kept to the old custom. Everyone in the house had to have a stir at pudding and make a wish. And so they all came into your kitchen? Oh, yes, Master Michael and Miss Bridget and Miss Sarah and Mr. Welling and Miss Diana and Miss Lee Wortley all had a stir and a wish. Miss Lee Wortley. And what about her brother, who does not care for the old Christmas customs? Did he stir the pudding? Oh, no, sir. He wasn't here. He didn't come down till Foley following day. But I understood that he had driven his sister down here. Oh, no, sir. She came in a chauffeur driven car. All wrapped up, she was. She seemed all right. First day or two she was down here. But the moment Mr. Lee Wortley arrived, she took bad again and she's been confined to her room ever since, with him waiting on her hand and foot. Got up too soon after her operation, I expect. What kind of girl is she? Does she resemble her brother? Not as far as I could tell, sir. Her hair was all dark and lifeless looking, and she wore lots of make up. I suppose she was trying to cover up that she still looked so poorly. And do you make just the one pudding, Mrs. Ross? Oh, no, sir. I always make four. Two large ones and two smaller ones. The other large one I planned to serve on New Year's Day, but as it happened, that was the one we had for Christmas dinner. Oh, and why was that, Mrs. Ross? Well, sir, we have a special Christmas mould, a china one with ollie and mistletoe on top. And Mrs. Lacey wanted to have Christmas Day pudding boiled in that, but when Annie was getting it down from shelf in larder, she slipped and dropped it and it shattered. Well, I couldn't serve that, could I? So we had to have New Year pudding instead. Hmm. How very interesting. Now, you will permit me to give you a little acknowledgment of my appreciation. Oh, well, that's very generous of you, sir. And I wish you a very happy Christmas and a prosperous New Year. While the younger people played parlor games, I. He sat quietly in a corner for much of the evening. Although I did have a little of the Christmas cake and the cold supper. A cup of coffee for you, Monsieur Poirot? It was so uncharacteristic of the sullen and unobliging Desmond to bring me a cup of coffee that I was immediately on my guard. While his attention was distracted, I changed my cup for that of David Wellin. It would do him no harm to have a very sound night's sleep. You're looking very thoughtful, Monsieur Poirot. It is the Christmas pudding that I consider. You found it a little heavy, perhaps? No, no, no, madame. Every mouthful was a positive delight. I do not speak gastronomically. I consider it significant. It is an essential part of the old Christmas. I hope you sleep well, Monsieur Poirot. But I did not go to sleep. I retired to bed and waited. It was not until 2 o' clock that the door of my room opened very gently, and a figure crept in. But it was not Desmond Lee Wortley. It was a woman. I could not see her face, but I could recognize her perfume. It was the scent that Sarah Lacey had worn that evening. She came up to the bed. I snarled very gently, and she seemed satisfied. By the light of a tiny torch, she began to examine the objects on my dressing table. My wallet, my address book. And then she turned her attention to the pockets of my clothes. And then she came back to the bed again. And to oblige her, I snored a little more. She slid her hand under my pillow and found nothing. And then she left the room. And at long last, I went peacefully to sleep. Monsieur Poirot? Monsieur Poirot. Monsieur Poirot. What is it? Come in. Is it the early tea? No, it's me, Michael. Oh. So, what is the matter? I think something rather awful's happened. Tell me, what is it? It's Bridget. She's lying outside in the snow. She doesn't move or speak. I think she might be dead. I think somebody's killed her. Oh, mon pauvre enfant. Lead the way. I will follow. There, you see? What do you think, Monsieur Poirot? Oh, mon Dieu. Tis like something on the stage. Yes. It doesn't seem real somehow, does it? And do you see the footprint? Ah, yes. We must be careful not to disturb the footprints. That's why I wouldn't let anyone go near until you'd seen her. I thought you would know what to do. All the same. First, we must see if she is still alive. Now, stay here. I will approach from the other side so as not to disturb the footprints. They are very clear. The footprints of Bridget and a man going out together to the place where she lies. And then the man's footprints come back. But the girls do not. They must be the footprints of the murderer. Exactly. A long, narrow foot with a rather peculiar type of shoe. Now, who have I seen wearing shoes that would make that kind of print? What on earth's going on? What's happened to Bridget? It looks as if she. Yes, it looks like murder, does it not? But who on earth would want to kill her? It's unbelievable. There are many things that are un. Unbelievable. Now, let me see. Is this another of your silly stunts? We were just having a bit of a rag. Oh, mon Dieu. But it is true. What do you mean? We must send for the police at once. One of you must telephone them immediately. I think it's time to come clean, Monsieur Poirot. We thought we'd lay on a Christmas murder for you. Just to make you feel at home. I hope you're not angry, sir. Come on, Bridget, the game's up. You must be half frozen to death already. She does not seem to hear you. You are certain this is a joke? Yes, of course it's a joke. Come on, Bridget, Stop playing the fool. What's the matter with her? Mr. Lee Wortley, will you please feel her pulse? All right. Do you really want me to. I can't feel anything at all. My God. She really is. Yes. Someone has turned the comedy into a tragedy. What do you mean? You see the footprints, the set that go and return bear a strong resemblance to the prince you made coming here, Mr. Lee Wortley. Why the devil should I want to kill Bridget, I wonder. She's clutching something in her hand. What is it? It's that damn thing out of the Christmas pudding. Are you sure? Of course I'm sure. See, you should not have picked it up. Nothing should have been disturbed. But I haven't moved the body. And this thing is evidence. It ought to be taken to the police. I'll go and ring them now. I don't understand any of this. What's it got to do with Desmond? And where does that thing in the Christmas pudding come into it? You do not know, mademoiselle? Of course I don't know. Let us go back into the house. Come, my. But poor Bridget. She must remain there until the police arrive. We can do no good by staying out here. That's Desmond's car. Where is he going? To the police station, I suppose. But I thought he was going to telephone. Why did he take the car? He just came rushing into town. He said something about Ms. Bridget being killed and he had to ring police. He tried phone, but he said the wires must have been cut and he'd have to drive over there. Give me the telephone, if you please, Mrs. Ross. Here you are, sir. There is nothing at all wrong with the phone. But what are you going to do about poor Miss Bridget? You can't just leave her out in snow. Come to the window, all of you, and look out into the garden. What do you see? There's nothing there. Has somebody taken her away? You wanted to stage a little mystery, and there you have it. The case of the disappearing body. Do you mean to say you've been having me on all this time? Mrs. Ross, will you be so kind as to take a tisana to Miss Bridget's room and to assist her to remove the tourniquet on her arm? It must be rather painful by now. Oh, of course, Mr. Poirot. Nice cup of tea. So you knew all along. I heard you planning your little divertissement Christmas Eve last night. I went to Mademoiselle Bridget and told her I knew all about it. I asked her if she would play a part for me. She did it very cleverly. She even made the footprints with a pair of Mr. Lee Wortley shoes. But what's the point of it all? And what's any of it got to do with Desmond? Michael, I think it is time you went to Mademoiselle Bridget to see if she has recovered. I would never forgive myself if she had caught affliction de poitrine. Yes, but aren't you going to tell us what all this is about? All in good time. But first I want a word in private with Mademoiselle Sarah. Of course. Monsieur Poirot, will you please tell me what this is all about? Why did Desmond go rushing off like that? You mean that you really do not know of the theft of a priceless ruby from a young prince by a charming young lady? I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about. Is this a fairy tale? This pretty young lady has a friend who has carried out several very questionable transactions concerned with the sale of stolen jewelry abroad. He persuades her to steal a ruby from the young prince and then to disappear from circulation by spending Christmas here in this house. He will contrive to get himself invited to King's Lacey, and the young lady will hand over to him the ruby. And he has an easy way of getting this priceless jewel out of England. There is an airfield only a few miles from the house, and he has his own plane waiting there. Is that not so, mademoiselle? Yes. We were planning to elope. It is a very good way of smuggling a jewel out of the country. Are you trying to tell me that Desmond was just using me? Did he persuade you to steal a ruby for him? No, of course he didn't. I never saw the thing until it turned up in the Christmas pudding. You did not come into my room that night to search for the ruby. Where's Desmond? His car's gone. Rebecca, what on earth have you done to your hair? Who is this lady? This is Rebecca. Desmond's. Has Desmond done a bunch? He has left you, as I believe the phrase is to carry the can. So you are the great Urcule Poirot. And you are the beautiful blonde girl who stole the prince's ruby. The hotter fire. And what if I am? If you're planning to run me in, I'll swear that he gave it to me. And that would create a lovely little scandal, wouldn't it? A few weeks before his wedding day. But where's Desmond? By now he will be sitting in his aeroplane waiting to take off. And he's got the ruby with him. The whole deal was that we were to fly to Paris and share the loot between us. He's fooled me. As no doubt he's fooled you, too, Sarah. You mean you're not his sister? Sister be damned. Desmond told me to come down to Kings Lacey. He said he'd spun everyone the tale of my having to recover from a serious operation. And because I thought the police might be on the look out for a dizzy blonde, I put on that ghastly black witch. But when Desmond arrived and told me you would be staying here, Monsieur Poirot, I thought I'd better hide myself away and get rid of the ruby. And so you put it in the pudding that was to be served up on New Year's Day. Limu imu. And Doug, here we have the Limu imu in its natural habitat, helping people customize their car insurance and save hundreds with Liberty Mutual fascinating eating. It's accompanied by his natural ally, Doug. Limu. Is that guy with the binoculars watching us? Cut the camera. They see us. Only pay for what you need@liberty mutual.com savings. Very unwritten by Liberty Mutual Insurance Company affiliates. Excludes Massachusetts. But then, unknown to you both, there was an accident and the pudding was dropped on the floor. And so it was the New Year pudding with the ruby inside it that was served at Christmas dinner. I wish I could have seen Desmond's face when the ruby turned up on the colonel's plate. For now, the bust has run out on me, just as he's run out on you, Sarah. I don't imagine your thinking of turning me in, Monsieur Poirot, so I'd like to get out of this dreary old place. As soon as I can, perhaps you can arrange for a taxi to take me to the nearest mainline station. To think that I actually felt sorry for her and Desmond was just smuggling his mistress into the house under my nose. What made you so certain? I came into your room after the ruby. She was wearing your perfume, mademoiselle. She asked if she could borrow it. She said she'd left everything in London. But who on earth is this? A stately looking Daimler was coming up the drive. It contained a very flustered looking Mr. Jesmond. The devil's got clean away. I'm afraid no one bothered to pay much attention to my instructions at the airfield. They were still sleeping off. The effects of Christmas night must have kept the plane fueled and ready to go at a moment's notice. He looked so crumpled and woe begone that I took him and led him into the house to meet the laces. So the prince has lost his precious ruby forever. Tis a great pity, but there is no point in shedding tears over the spilled milk, as your poet says. And now, if the Lacy family will permit, I would like to give Mr. Jesmond a little present from the Christmas tree. Of course, Monsieur Poirot. Go ahead, dear fellow. Here, Mr. Jesmond. And a very happy Christmas. But this is. It glitters prettily in the light, does it not? The Princess ruby. The Heart of Fire. You mean to say it's been hanging there on the Christmas tree all along? Where better to hide it than among all the glass decorations? I knew that Mr. Leewatley would never dream of looking there. But what about the one he grabbed out of my hand when I was lying there in the snow? It was a paste replica, mademoiselle. I fancy Mr. Lee Wortley will have quite an unpleasant surprise when he tries to sell it in Paris. I bet he will. And so the prince can return home with the ruby without fear of scandal. We are all greatly in your debt, Monsieur Poirot. A major scandal has been averted, so all ends will. Except for me. Oh, no, Sarah. You should congratulate yourself on a very narrow escape. I'm so sorry, Em. I nearly mucked up your party. I'm just grateful we've seen the last of that frightful chap. I knew he was a bad egg when he started carrying on about Christmas. But there remains one mystery to be resolved. Could you tell me which of the maids is responsible for making my bed, Mrs. Lacey? Oh, that would be Annie. Bed. I would like to have a Word with her, if you permit. I think you'll find her in the scullery. Monsieur Poirot. Don't eat none of the Christmas pudding. Did you write that, Annie? I didn't mean no harm, sir. Really I didn't. Of course you did. Not my enfant. But why did you write it? Well, it were Mr. Lee Wortley and his sister. Not that she were his sister, I'm sure. I was in his bathroom taking in new towels, and I couldn't help hearing what they were saying. This Poirot fellow is bad news. He says we've got to do something about him. And then he says very quietly, where did you put it? And she says, in the pudding. And my heart gave such a leap, I thought it would stop beating. I was sure they were going to poison you by putting something in the pudding. So I had the idea of writing a note to you and leaving it on your pillow where you'd find it when you went to bed. I hope I did the right thing, sir. And to think I actually believed that you'd come down here to experience an old English Christmas. But I suppose a detective is never really off duty. Alas, madam, that is unfortunately true. But my stay here has nevertheless brought about a wonderful transformation. I used to be like your Scrooge and say that Christmas was all humbug. And now? Now I think I could make a habit of it. Then you must come again next year. We can play all the old Christmas games. Hunt the Snipper, Dumb Crambo, Snapdragon, and we could have recitations. An M speciality is Christmas Day in the workhouse. I do a magnificent wreck of the Hesperus. I shall look forward to it. But please, if you would be so kind. My Dear fellow, let Mrs. Ross do the pudding. I cannot imagine Christmas without it. In Agatha Christie's the Adventure of the Christmas Pudding, Hercule Poirot was played by John Moffat, Colonel Lacey, Donald Sinden, Mrs. Lacey, Sean Phillips, Mr. Jasmine Murray Melvin, Sarah Lacey, Alice Hart, Desmond Lee Wortley, Robert Portal, Bridget, Annabelle Dowler, Michael Ivan Meredith Rebecca, Angela Sims, Mrs. Ross, Elizabeth Proud, other parts. And the singers were members of the cast. The musicians were Robin Aspland, piano Julian Siegel, clarinet Steve Watts, bass. The drums were played by Tom Smail, who also arranged and directed the music. The Adventure of the Christmas Pudding was dramatized for radio by Michael Bakewell and directed by Enid Williams.