The Adventure of the Clapham Cook

Agatha Christie

• Publisher: Dreamscape Media
• Year: 2019
• Print ISBN: 9798399887869
• eBook ISBN: 9781974936236
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: Classics
• Index: Literature

In Agatha Christie's short story, "The Adventure of the Clapham Cook, " Poirot is asked by a Mrs Todd to investigate the sudden departure of her cook, Eliza. When elements of the case seem to correspond to miscellaneous articles read aloud from yesterday's paper to him by Hastings, Poirot begins to unravel a devilishly complex plot. This short story originally appeared in the November 14, 1923 issue of The Sketch magazine.

The Adventure of the Clapham Cook

AT the time that I was sharing rooms with my friend Hercule Poirot, it was my custom to read aloud to him the headlines in the morning newspaper, The Daily Blare.

The Daily Blare was a paper that made the most of any opportunity for sensationalism. Robberies and murders did not lurk obscurely in its back pages. Instead they hit you in the eye in large type on the front page.

ABSCONDING BANK CLERK DISAPPEARS WITH FIFTY THOUSAND POUNDS’ WORTH OF NEGOTIABLE SECURITIES, I read.

HUSBAND PUTS HIS HEAD IN GAS OVEN. UNHAPPY HOME LIFE.

MISSING TYPIST. PRETTY GIRL OF TWENTY-ONE. WHERE IS EDNA FIELD?

“There you are, Poirot, plenty to choose from. An absconding bank clerk, a mysterious suicide, a missing typist—which will you have?” My friend was in a placid mood. He quietly shook his head.

“I am not greatly attracted to any of them, mon ami. Today I feel inclined for the life of ease. It would have to be a very interesting problem to tempt me from my chair. See you, I have affairs of importance of my own to attend to.”

“Such as?”

“My wardrobe, Hastings. If I mistake not, there is on my new grey suit the spot of grease—only the unique spot, but it is sufficient to trouble me. Then there is my winter overcoat—I must lay him aside in the powder of Keatings. And I think—yes, I think—the moment is ripe for the trimmings of my moustaches—and afterwards I must apply the pomade.”

“Well,” I said, strolling to the window, “I doubt if you’ll be able to carry out this delirious programme. That was a ring at the bell. You have a client.”

“Unless the affair is one of national importance, I touch it not,” declared Poirot with dignity.

A moment later our privacy was invaded by a stout, red-faced lady who panted audibly as a result of her rapid ascent of the stairs.

“You’re M. Poirot?” she demanded, as she sank into a chair.

“I am Hercule Poirot, yes, madame.”

“You’re not a bit like what I thought you’d be,” said the lady, eyeing him with some disfavour. “Did you pay for the bit in the paper saying what a clever detective you were, or did they put it in themselves?”

“Madame!” said Poirot, drawing himself up.

“I’m sorry, I’m sure, but you know what these papers are nowadays. You begin reading a nice article ‘What a bride said to her plain unmarried friend’, and it’s all about a simple thing you buy at the chemist’s and shampoo your hair with. Nothing but puff. But no offence taken, I hope? I’ll tell you what I want you to do for me. I want you to find my cook.”

Poirot stared at her; for once his ready tongue failed him. I turned aside to hide the broadening smile I could not control.

“It’s all this wicked dole,” continued the lady. “Putting ideas into servants’ heads, wanting to b...

Table of contents

• About Agatha Christie
• The Adventure of the Clapham Cook