Death Comes as the End

  ‘And now, Renisenb, you can realize the truth of what you saw that day with your own eyes. It was not a spirit Satipy saw that caused her to fall. She saw what you saw today. She saw in the face of the man following her–her own husband–the intention to throw her down as he had thrown that other woman. In her fear she backed away from him and fell. And when, with her dying lips, she shaped the word Nofret, she was trying to tell you that Yahmose killed Nofret.’

  Hori paused and then went on:

  ‘Esa came on the truth because of an entirely irrelevant remark made by Henet. Henet complained that I did not look at her, but as though I saw something behind her that was not there. She went on to speak of Satipy. In a flash Esa saw how much simpler the whole thing was than we had thought. Satipy did not look at something behind Yahmose–it was Yahmose himself she saw. To test her idea, Esa introduced the subject in a rambling way which could mean nothing to anyone except Yahmose himself–and only to him if what she suspected was true. Her words surprised him and he reacted to them just for a moment, sufficiently for her to know that what she suspected was the truth. But Yahmose knew then that she did suspect. And once a suspicion had arisen, things would fit in too well, even to the story the herd boy told–a boy devoted to him who would do anything his Lord Yahmose commanded–even to swallowing a medicine that night which ensured that he would not wake up again…’

  ‘Oh Hori, it is so hard to believe that Yahmose could do such things. Nofret, yes, I can understand that. But why these other killings?’

  ‘It is difficult to explain to you, Renisenb, but once the heart is opened to evil–evil blossoms like poppies amongst the corn. All his life Yahmose had had, perhaps, a longing for violence and had been unable to achieve it. He despised his own meek, submissive role. I think that the killing of Nofret gave him a great sense of power. He realized it first by Satipy. Satipy who had browbeaten and abused him, was now meek and terrified. All the grievances that had lain buried in his heart so long, reared their heads–as that snake reared up on the path here one day. Sobek and Ipy were, one handsomer, the other cleverer than he–so they must go. He, Yahmose, was to be the ruler of the house, and his father’s only comfort and stay! Satipy’s death increased the actual pleasure of killing. He felt more powerful as a result of it. It was after that that his mind began to give way–from then on evil possessed him utterly.

  ‘You, Renisenb, were not a rival. So far as he still could, he loved you. But the idea that your husband should share with him in the estate was not one to be borne. I think Esa agreed to the idea of accepting Kameni with two ideas in her head–the first that if Yahmose struck again, it would be more likely to be at Kameni than at you–and in any case she trusted me to see that you were kept safe. The second idea–for Esa was a bold woman–was to bring things to a head. Yahmose, watched by me (whom he did not know suspected him) could be caught in the act.’

  ‘As you did,’ said Renisenb. ‘Oh Hori, I was so frightened when I looked back and saw him.’

  ‘I know, Renisenb. But it had to be. So long as I stuck close to Yahmose’s side, you would necessarily be safe–but that could not go on for ever. I knew that if he had an opportunity of throwing you off the path at the same place he would take it. It would revive the superstitious explanation of the deaths.’

  ‘Then the message Henet brought me was not from you?’

  Hori shook his head.

  ‘I sent you no message.’

  ‘But why did Henet–’ Renisenb stopped, and shook her head. ‘I cannot understand Henet’s part in all this.’

  ‘I think Henet knows the truth,’ said Hori thoughtfully. ‘She was conveying as much to Yahmose this morning–a dangerous thing to do. He made use of her to lure you up here–a thing she would be willing to do–since she hates you, Renisenb–’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Afterwards–I wonder? Henet would believe her knowledge would give her power. But I do not believe Yahmose would have let her live long. Perhaps even now–’

  Renisenb shivered.

  ‘Yahmose was mad,’ said Renisenb. ‘He was possessed by evil spirits, but he was not always like that.’

  ‘No, and yet–You remember, Renisenb, how I told you the story of Sobek and Yahmose as children, and how Sobek beat Yahmose’s head against the ground and how your mother came, all pale and trembling and said, ‘That is dangerous.’ I think, Renisenb, that her meaning was that to do such things to Yahmose was dangerous. Remember that next day how Sobek was ill–food poisoning, they thought–I think your mother, Renisenb, knew something of the queer self-contained fury that dwelt within the breast of her gentle, meek little son and feared that some day it might be roused…’

  Renisenb shuddered.

  ‘Is no one what they seem?’

  Hori smiled at her.

  ‘Yes, sometimes. Kameni and I, Renisenb. Both of us, I think, are as you believe we are. Kameni and I…’

  He said the last words with significance, and suddenly Renisenb realized that she stood at a moment of choice in her life.

  Hori went on:

  ‘We both love you, Renisenb. You must know that.’

  ‘And yet,’ said Renisenb, slowly, ‘you have let the arrangements be made for my marriage, and you have said nothing–not one word.’

  ‘That was for your protection. Esa had the same idea. I must remain disinterested and aloof, so that I could keep constant watch on Yahmose, and not arouse his animosity.’ Hori added with emotion: ‘You must understand, Renisenb, that Yahmose has been my friend for many years. I loved Yahmose. I tried to induce your father to give him the status and authority he desired. I failed. All that came too late. But although I was convinced in my heart that Yahmose had killed Nofret, I tried not to believe it. I found excuses, even, for his action. Yahmose, my unhappy, tormented friend, was very dear to me. Then came Sobek’s death, and Ipy, and finally Esa’s…I knew then that the evil in Yahmose had finally vanquished the good. And so Yahmose has come to his death at my hands. A swift, almost painless death.’

  ‘Death–always death.’

  ‘No, Renisenb. It is not death that faces you today, but life. With whom will you share that life? With Kameni or with me?’

  Renisenb stared straight ahead of her, out over the valley below and to the silver streak of the Nile.

  Before her, very clearly, there rose up the image of Kameni’s smiling face as he had sat facing her that day in the boat.

  Handsome, strong, gay…She felt again the throb and lilt of her blood. She had loved Kameni in that moment. She loved him now. Kameni could take the place that Khay had held in her life.

  She thought: ‘We shall be happy together–yes, we shall be happy. We shall live together and take pleasure in each other and we shall have strong, handsome children. There will be busy days full of work…and days of pleasure when we sail on the River…Life will be again as I knew it with Khay…What could I ask more than that? What do I want more than that?’

  And slowly, very slowly indeed, she turned her face towards Hori. It was as though, silently, she asked him a question.

  As though he understood her, he answered:

  ‘When you were a child, I loved you. I loved your grave face and the confidence with which you came to me, asking me to mend your broken toys. And then, after eight years’ absence, you came again and sat here, and brought me the thoughts that were in your mind. And your mind, Renisenb, is not like the minds of the rest of your family. It does not turn in upon itself, seeking to encase itself in narrow walls. Your mind is like my mind, it looks over the River, seeing a world of changes, of new ideas–seeing a world where all things are possible to those with courage and vision…’

  ‘I know, Hori, I know. I have felt these things with you. But not all the time. There will be moments when I cannot follow you, when I shall be alone…’

  She broke off, unable to find words to frame her struggling thoughts. What life would be with Hori, she did not know. In spite of his gentl
eness, in spite of his love for her, he would remain in some respects incalculable and incomprehensible. They would share moments of great beauty and richness together–but what of their common daily life?

  She stretched out her hands impulsively to him.

  ‘Oh, Hori, decide for me. Tell me what to do!’

  He smiled at her, at the child Renisenb speaking, perhaps, for the last time. But he did not take her hands.

  ‘I cannot tell you what to do with your life, Renisenb–because it is your life–and only you can decide.’

  She realized then that she was to have no help, no quickening appeal to her senses such as Kameni had made. If Hori would only have touched her–but he did not touch her.

  And the choice suddenly presented itself to her in the simplest terms–the easy life or the difficult one. She was strongly tempted then to turn and go down the winding path, down to the normal, happy life she already knew–that she had experienced before with Khay. There was safety there–the sharing of daily pleasures and griefs with nothing to fear but old age and death…

  Death…From thoughts of life she had come full circle again to death. Khay had died. Kameni, perhaps, would die, and his face, like Khay’s, would slowly fade from her memory…

  She looked then at Hori standing quietly beside her. It was odd, she thought, that she had never really known just what Hori looked like…She had never needed to know…

  She spoke then, and the tone of her voice was the same as when she had announced, long before, that she would walk down the path at sunset alone.

  ‘I have made my choice, Hori. I will share my life with you for good or evil, until death comes…’

  With his arms round her, with the sudden new sweetness of his face against hers, she was filled with an exultant richness of living.

  ‘If Hori were to die,’ she thought, ‘I should not forget! Hori is a song in my heart for ever…That means–that there is no more death…’

  THE END

  And Then There Were None

  Agatha Christie

  THE WORLD’S BEST-SELLING MYSTERY,

  OVER 100 MILLION COPIES SOLD

  ‘Ten…’

  Ten strangers are lured to an isolated island mansion off the Devon coast by a mysterious ‘U.N. Owen’.

  ‘Nine…’

  At dinner a recorded message accuses each of them in turn of having a guilty secret, and by the end of the night one of the guests is dead.

  ‘Eight…’

  Stranded by a violent storm, and haunted by an ancient nursery rhyme counting down one by one…as one by one…they begin to die.

  ‘Seven…’

  Which amongst them is the killer and will any of them survive?

  ‘One of the very best, most genuinely bewildering Christies.’

  Observer

  ‘Agatha Christie’s masterpiece.’

  Spectator

  ISBN-13 978-0-00-713683-4

  Endless Night

  Agatha Christie

  Some are born to sweet delight,

  Some are born to endless night

  When penniless Michael Rogers discovered the beautiful house at Gypsy’s Acre and then meets the heiress Ellie, it seems that all his dreams have come true at once. But he ignores an old woman warning of an ancient curse, and evil begins to stir in paradise.

  As Michael soon learns: Gypsy’s Acre is the place where fatal ‘accidents’ happen…

  ‘One of the best things Agatha Christie has ever done.’

  Sunday Times

  ISBN-13 978-0-00-715167-7

  About the Author

  Agatha Christie is known throughout the world as the Queen of Crime. Her books have sold over a billion copies in English with another billion in 44 foreign languages. She is the most widely published author of all time and in any language, outsold only by the Bible and Shakespeare. She is the author of 80 crime novels and short story collections, 19 plays, and six novels written under the name of Mary Westmacott.

  Agatha Christie’s first novel, The Mysterious Affair at Styles, was written towards the end of the First World War, in which she served as a VAD. In it she created Hercule Poirot, the little Belgian detective who was destined to become the most popular detective in crime fiction since Sherlock Holmes. It was eventually published by The Bodley Head in 1920.

  In 1926, after averaging a book a year, Agatha Christie wrote her masterpiece. The Murder of Roger Ackroyd was the first of her books to be published by Collins and marked the beginning of an author-publisher relationship which lasted for 50 years and well over 70 books. The Murder of Roger Ackroyd was also the first of Agatha Christie’s books to be dramatized–under the name Alibi–and to have a successful run in London’s West End. The Mousetrap, her most famous play of all, opened in 1952 and is the longest-running play in history.

  Agatha Christie was made a Dame in 1971. She died in 1976, since when a number of books have been published posthumously: the bestselling novel Sleeping Murder appeared later that year, followed by her autobiography and the short story collections Miss Marple’s Final Cases, Problem at Pollensa Bay and While the Light Lasts. In 1998 Black Coffee was the first of her plays to be novelized by another author, Charles Osborne.

  As the wife of an eminent archaeologist, Agatha Christie took part in several expeditions to the Middle East. Drawing upon this experience, she gave us, in Death Comes as the End, a serial killer mystery laid in ancient Egypt 4000 years ago.

  Into the household of Imhotep, the Mortuary Priest, comes the beautiful Nofret. The household, outwardly at peace, has at its core, in the words of the thoughtful scribe Hori, a rottenness that breeds from within. With Nofret comes anger, jealousy, quarrels and finally death.

  Human passions were the same in 2000 BC as they are today. The fussy and pompous Imhotep, the timid Yagamose, the quarrelsome Sobek, and the malicious ‘poor relation’ Henet–all are types to be met with now in 2000 AD.

  Agatha Christie’s experiment is as ingenious and baffling as always, and ends with a climax which few will anticipate.

  Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.

  BY THE SAME AUTHOR

  The ABC Murders

  The Adventure of the Christmas Pudding

  After the Funeral

  And Then There Were None

  Appointment with Death

  At Bertram’s Hotel

  The Big Four

  The Body in the Library

  By the Pricking of My Thumbs

  Cards on the Table

  A Caribbean Mystery

  Cat Among the Pigeons

  The Clocks

  Crooked House

  Curtain: Poirot’s Last Case

  Dead Man’s Folly

  Death Comes as the End

  Death in the Clouds

  Death on the Nile

  Destination Unknown

  Dumb Witness

  Elephants Can Remember

  Endless Night

  Evil Under the Sun

  Five Little Pigs

  4.50 from Paddington

  Hallowe’en Party

  Hercule Poirot’s Christmas

  Hickory Dickory Dock

  The Hollow

  The Hound of Death

  The Labours of Hercules

  The Listerdale Mystery

  Lord Edgware Dies

  The Man in the Brown Suit

  The Mirror Crack’d from Side to Side

  Miss Marple’s Final Cases

  The Moving Finger

  Mrs McGinty’s Dead

  The Murder at the Vicarage

  Murder in Mesopotamia

  Murder in the Mews

  A Murder is Announced

  Murder is Easy

  The Murder of Roger Ackroyd

  Murder on the Links

  Murder on the Orient Express

  The Mysterious Affair at Styles

  The Mysterious Mr Quin

  The Mystery of the Bl
ue Train

  Nemesis

  N or M?

  One, Two, Buckle My Shoe

  Ordeal by Innocence

  The Pale Horse

  Parker Pyne Investigates

  Partners in Crime

  Passenger to Frankfurt

  Peril at End House

  A Pocket Full of Rye

  Poirot Investigates

  Poirot’s Early Cases

  Postern of Fate

  Problem at Pollensa Bay

  Sad Cypress

  The Secret Adversary

  The Secret of Chimneys

  The Seven Dials Mystery

  The Sittaford Mystery

  Sleeping Murder

  Sparkling Cyanide

  Taken at the Flood

  They Came to Baghdad

  They Do It With Mirrors

  Third Girl

  The Thirteen Problems

  Three Act Tragedy

  Towards Zero

  While the Light Lasts

  Why Didn’t They Ask Evans?

  Novels under the Nom de Plume of ‘Mary Westmacott’

  Absent in the Spring

  The Burden

  A Daughter’s A Daughter

  Giant’s Bread

  The Rose and the Yew Tree

  Unfinished Portrait

  Plays novelised by Charles Osborne

  Black Coffee

  Spider’s Web

  The Unexpected Guest

  Memoirs

  Agatha Christie: An Autobiography

  Come Tell Me How You Live

  Copyright

  DEATH COMES AS THE END. Copyright © 1945 Agatha Christie Limited (a Chorion company). All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.