Towards Zero

by Agatha Christie

like a good detective story,” he said. “But, you know, they begin in the wrong place! They begin with the murder. But the murder is the end. The story begins long before that—years before sometimes—with all the causes and events that bring certain people to a certain place at a certain time on a certain day.

And now where was he? Lying ridiculously in a hospital bed with a broken shoulder and with the prospect of being hauled up in a police court for the crime of trying to take his own life. Curse it, it was his own life, wasn’t it?

“It may be just by being somewhere—not doing anything—just by being at a certain place at a certain time—oh, I can’t say what I mean, but you might just—just walk along a street some day and just by doing that accomplish something terribly important—perhaps even without knowing what it was.”

She’s one of those quiet self-contained people who feel things intensely.”

“The sooner I’m out of this world the better, Barrett,” said Lady Tressilian. “I don’t understand anything or anyone in it.”

“You always did belong to Our Dumb Friends rather than to the human race!

“Ted’s supposed to be very attractive.” “I’m sure he is. He has that lithe South American charm.”

is—She’s the kind that doesn’t let anyone know what they’re thinking.” “It’s a pity,” said Nevile, “that there aren’t more people like that.”

always hoped that when my time came, it would come quickly—that I should meet Death face to face—not feel him creeping along behind me, always at my shoulder—gradually forcing me to sink to one indignity after another of illness. Increased helplessness—increasing dependence on other people!”

“I wish I knew what keeps putting Hercule Poirot into my head.” “You mean that old chap—the Belgian—comic little guy?” “Comic my foot,” said Superintendent Battle. “About as dangerous as a black mamba and a she-leopard—that’s what he is when he starts making a mountebank of himself! I wish he was here—this sort of thing would be right up his street.” “In what way?” “Psychology,” said Battle. “Real psychology—not the half-baked stuff people hand out who know nothing about it.”

with Don on a lead, and smuggling him up to MacWhirter’s bathroom, a thorough cleansing took place and both MacWhirter and Diana got very wet. Don was very sad when it was all over. That disgusting smell of soap again—just when he had found a really nice perfume such as any other dog would envy. Oh well, it was always the same with humans—they had no decent sense of smell.

But you don’t know what it does to you being so afraid for so long. It paralyses you—you can’t think—you can’t plan—you just wait for something awful to happen. And then, when it does happen”—she gave a sudden quick smile—“you’d be surprised at the relief! No more waiting and fearing—it’s come.

I’m leaving here tonight. And sailing the day after tomorrow.” “For South America?” “For Chile.”