Sparkling Cyanide By Agatha Christie

Sparkling Cyanide By Agatha Christie

Prologue: Iris Marle was thinking about her sister, Rosemary. For nearly a year she had deliberately tried to put the thought of Rosemary away from her. She hadn’t wanted to remember. It was too painful—too horrible! The blue cyanosed face, the convulsed clutching fingers. . . . The contrast between that and the gay lovely Rosemary of the day before . . . Well, perhaps not exactly gay. She had had ’flu—she had been depressed, run-down . . . All that had been brought out at the inquest. Iris herself had laid stress on it. It accounted, didn’t it, for Rosemary’s suicide? Once the inquest was over, Iris had deliberately tried to put the whole thing out of her mind. Of what good was remembrance? Forget it all! Forget the whole horrible business. But now, she realized, she had got to remember. She had got to think back into the past . . . To remember carefully every slight unimportant seeming incident. . . . That extraordinary interview with George last night necessitated remembrance. It had been so unexpected, so frightening. Wait—had it been so unexpected? Hadn’t there been indications beforehand? George’s growing absorption, his absentmindedness, his unaccountable actions— his—well, queerness was the only word for it! All leading up to that moment last night when he had called her into the study and taken the letters from the drawer of the desk.

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