The Adventure of the Christmas Pudding (Poirot)

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She's very young, really," said Mrs Lacey placidly. "Are you going to bed, M. Poirot? Good night. I hope you'll sleep well." The Adventure of the Christmas Pudding" is an expanded version of the story of the same name which appeared in issue 1611 of The Sketch magazine on 12 December 1923. The original shorter version was first printed in book form in the UK in two obscure collections Problem at Pollensa Bay and Christmas Adventure (Todd 1943) and Poirot Knows the Murderer (Polybooks 1946) and it was reprinted in book form in the UK collection While the Light Lasts and Other Stories in 1997 under the title "Christmas Adventure". The expanded version appeared after publication of the book in the weekly magazine Women's Illustrated from 24 December 1960 to 7 January 1961 under the alternative title of "The Theft of the Royal Ruby" with illustrations by Zelinksi. The story first appeared in the US in Double Sin and Other Stories in 1961 also under the title of "The Theft of the Royal Ruby" with some slight revisions to the UK version. The original shorter version has so far not been published in the US.

They followed him obediently into the house. Peverell was just about to strike the gong. If he thought it extraordinary for most of the household to be outside and for Poirot to make an appearance in pyjamas and an overcoat, he displayed no sign of it. Peverell in his old age was still the perfect butler. He noticed nothing that he was not asked to notice. They went into the dining-room and sat down. When they all had a cup of coffee in front of them and were sipping it, Poirot spoke. You are in error, Mademoiselle Sarah, in what you say there. You have gained experience. All experience is valuable. Ahead of you I prophesy there lies happiness." Come on, beautiful," said Desmond. "Your family cutting up rough because you're coming out to a pub? Years behind the times here, aren't they?"David hesitated for half a moment, his eyes on Sarah's red head. She was standing by Desmond Lee-Wortley, her hand on his arm, looking up into his face. Hercule Poirot nodded. The problem was, indeed, not a happy one. A young potentate-to-be, the only son of the ruler of a rich and important native State, had arrived in London a few weeks ago. His country had been passing through a period of restlessness and discontent. Though loyal to the father whose way of life had remained persistently Eastern, popular opinion was somewhat dubious of the younger generation. His follies had been Western ones and as such looked upon with disapproval. A platinum blonde stood in the doorway. She wore a fur coat and was scowling. She was clearly in a furious temper. There's a paintbox in the old schoolroom. We could mix up some blood–crimson-lake, I should think." Mrs Lacey nodded. "Yes. It seems extraordinary that I should–well, want to talk to you about it. After all, you are a perfect stranger . . ."

Our son was killed in the war," said Mrs Lacey. "My daughter-in-law died when Sarah was born so that she has always been with us, and we've brought her up. Perhaps we've brought her up unwisely–I don’t know. But we thought we ought always to leave her as free as possible." But Poirot was not to get off so easily. When he returned to the diningroom after assisting the spurious Miss Lee-Wortley into the waiting car, Colin was waiting for him. There was a frown on his boyish face. Midnight mass!" said Colonel Lacey, snorting. "Never went to midnight mass in my young days. Mass, indeed! Popish, that is! Oh, I beg your pardon, M. Poirot." Yes. He is pensioned off and lives in the little house near the lodge, but he is so devoted, and he insists on coming to wait on us at Christmas. Really, I'm terrified, M. Poirot, because he's so old and so shaky that I feel certain that if he carries anything heavy he will drop it. It's really an agony to watch him. And his heart is not good and I'm afraid of his doing too much. But it would hurt his feelings dreadfully if I did not let him come. He hems and hahs and makes disapproving noises when he sees the state our silver is in and within three days of being here, it is all wonderful again. Yes. He is a dear faithful friend." She smiled at Poirot. "So you see, we are all set for a happy Christmas. A white Christmas, too," she added as she looked out of the window. "See? It is beginning to snow. Ah, the children are coming in. You must meet them, M. Poirot." Poirot helped himself appreciatively to hard sauce. "Swiped my best brandy again, eh Em?" said the colonel good-humouredly from the other end of the table. Mrs Lacey twinkled at him.

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That's my doing," said Mrs Lacey. "Horace was all for forbidding her to see him and all that. Of course, in Horace's day, the father or guardian would have called round at the young man's lodgings with a horse whip! Horace was all for forbidding the fellow the house, and forbidding the girl to see him. I told him that was quite the wrong attitude to take. “No,” I said. “Ask him down here. We'll have him down for Christmas with the family party.” Of course, my husband said I was mad! But I said, “At any rate, dear, let's try it. Let her see him in our atmosphere and our house and we'll be very nice to him and very polite, and perhaps then he'll seem less interesting to her”!"

He pointed out of the window. A simultaneous gasp broke from the lips of all of them. There was no body lying on the snow, no trace of the tragedy seemed to remain except a mass of scuffled snow.Desmond Lee-Wortley bent down. He touched the arm–the wrist. "There"s no pulse . . ." He stared at Poirot. "Her arm's still. Good God, she really is dead!" Mrs Ross sighed. "Well, I'm glad you say so, sir, but of course I haven't the help now that I used to have. Not skilled help, that is. The girls nowadays–" she lowered her voice slightly,"– they mean very well and they're very willing but they've not been trained, sir, if you understand what I mean." I haven't disturbed the body, have I? But this thing might–might get lost and it's evidence. The great thing is to get the police here as soon as possible. I'll go at once and telephone." Not at all," said Mr Jesmond. "Things have changed very much in the last ten years or so. Oil-fired central heating."

will be ready to leave, and when she leaves no doubt that Christmas pudding will go with her. But see how fate takes a hand. On the very morning of Christmas Day there is an accident. The Christmas pudding in its fancy mould is dropped on the stone floor and the mould is shattered to pieces. So what can be done? The good Mrs Ross, she takes the other pudding and sends it in." Who's going to brave the snow and go to midnight mass?" asked Mrs Lacey at twenty minutes to twelve. A week later, an acquaintance, Dr Stillingfleet, phones Poirot and tells him that Farley has shot himself. Poirot goes to the house and meets the doctor, a police inspector, the dead man's second wife, his daughter from his first marriage, Joanna, and Hugo Cornworthy in whose office Poirot had had his meeting with Farley. Poirot tells them all of the reason for the previous visit. There is surprise on the part of some members of the party, but Mrs Farley was told by her husband of the dreams, and she confirms that he kept a revolver in his desk drawer. Her husband seems to have killed himself in precisely the way and at the time the dream foretold. Two visitors were outside his room waiting to see him. Farley spoke to them briefly to tell them he would not be long and then went inside his room. After a considerable period of time, Cornworthy went in and found the dead body. No one could enter the room in the interim. There is a window with no climbable ledge, facing a blank wall.

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But look here, M. Poirot. What about the ruby? Do you mean to say you've let him get away with it?" Mr Jesmond seized his opportunity. "Yes, indeed," he said, "and a splendid hot water system. Radiators in every bedroom. I assure you, my dear M. Poirot, Kings Lacey is comfort itself in the winter time. You might even find the house too warm." Well, dear," she said. "I'm sure that will be very nice. David and Diana have gone for a walk, I see. I'm so glad. I really think it was a brainwave on my part to ask Diana here. So sad being left a widow so young–only twenty-two–I do hope she marries again soon."