The Amorous Agatha Christie 03

"All of them, I think."

"Have you one on your list at present suffering from the effects of yew poisoning?"

"Why, yes!" replied the vet, in evident surprise. "I was called out early this morning to see one. Belonging to a Major Brett. That's his portrait on the wall. He is a sponsor of the surgery.

"Taken ill this morning?"

"Yes; quite suddenly."

"And you do not doubt that the horses' illness has been caused by eating yew leaves?"

"Not the slightest, though it's a mystery where the beast found the leaves, as there are no yew trees in the Major's grounds. But why do you ask?"

"It is a trifling matter. Where does Major Brett live?"

"Brett Lodge, about three miles from here."

"One more thing. Do you happen to know if he's a friend of Mr. Percival, Sir Oscar Trevelyan's private secretary?"

"He is. In fact, Brett and Percival have been as thick as thieves for the past few weeks."

Blake scrutinised the portrait of the Major one more time.

"Thank you for your information."

"But hold, Sir. It is futile going to the Lodge, for the Major has gone away this very morning."

"Gone away?" echoed Sexton Blake.

"Yes. He left by the 8.30 for London. I drove him to the station in my trap after I had seen the horse. He's off to Paris by the 11.05 train from Victoria. He told me so himself."

A concerned Sexton turned to Agatha.

"Can we get from here to London in time to reach Victoria by eleven?"

The renowned author consulted her gold wristwatch and shook her head. It was a quarter to ten.

"I'm afraid you can't," she said. "The 9.25 will have gone now. The next train doesn't leave till 10.10, and isn't due to reach London until 11.25."

The detective groaned audibly.

"But we have the Rolls. Victoria is only twenty-five miles away, and we have an hour and a quarter. Thompson can drive like the wind if he has to."

They ran back outside and piled in the back.

"Victoria Station, Thompson! As fast as you can."

x

Seventy minutes later they drew up at the railway station. They raced to catch the train which sped to the coast. Agatha and Sexton found a compartment and collapsed in the seats. At Dover, all doubt was set at rest as to whether Major Brett was in the train when the pair of sleuths saw him alight, Blake recognising him by the photograph he had seen in the vet's consulting room. They crossed the Channel aboard the steamer.

Once on French soil, they continued from Calais by train to Paris, arriving at a quarter to seven in the evening. They took haste in pursuit of their target to the Hotel Paris in the Rue Caumartin.

"Now what?" asked Christie.

Blake shushed her and sidled up to the reception desk. He tilted his head as the Major checked in.

"I sent a wire to you from London this morning to reserve a private room," he heard the Major say to the manager of the hotel.

"Under what name, Monsieur?" asked the manager.

"Major Brett."

The manager consulted his book and beckoned to the hall porter.

"Very good, Monsieur. Your room and en suite are on the third floor. Dinner will be ready at half-past seven."

"Also, I'm expecting a gentleman to call to see me at eight o'clock in the morning. Monsieur Picot is his name. Will you please show him up to my room as soon as he arrives?"

The manager promised that he would, and the Major followed the hall porter to the lift. Blake returned to Agatha and they hit the bar and ordered mint juleps.

"So, Sir Oscar was right," murmured Sexton Blake. "Picot IS at the bottom of this. And yet that doesn't follow."

The redhead lit up and sipped her drink.

"Why not?"

"Percival and Brett may have concocted this plot between them, and Brett may have wired to Paris this morning, asking Picot to meet him at the hotel at eight. In any case, whether Picot knew of the plot beforehand or not, he doubtless knows by now that Brett has the report and is willing to sell it. Even if Brett only wired to him this morning, he would be sure to tell him. Unless we can prevent it, Sir Oscar is depending on us."

"How?"

Blake shrugged.

"I have an idea, come on." Said she as she extinguished her smoke.

They went back to the reception desk and composed themselves.

"May we book two rooms?" she asked of the manager in fluent French.

"Alas, Madam we 'ave only the one room left."

"We'll take it."

Blake raised an eyebrow in response.

"In what name?"

"Mister and Mrs. Smith."

x

The room was small with just the double bed, minimal furniture, and with wooden floors, and visible wooden beams in the ceiling.

"I must look a fright. All those hours traveling and with no planning."

Sexton sat on the bed and contemplated the situation. They would have to spend the night before surprising Brett in the morning. Agatha spoke from the bathroom as she bathed.

"But with no luggage. No change of clothes." He yelled back at her.

"I know. I love Paris. Tomorrow, we shall go shopping."

Blake removed his shoes and jacket and yelled back through the closed door.

"And what do we do until then?" He shouted.

The door opened and Agatha stood there in a short bathrobe that finished at mid-thigh. She padded barefoot to the bed and spread her hands.

"We improvise. Now go and bathe. I left the tub with hot water in it."

Blake got in the tub and returned with just a white towel around his waist. Agatha was under the sheet on the right side of the bed. He looked around the sparse room and saw no convenient sofa or other much-needed comforts.

"So, we're sharing the bed."

"Not much choice, dear chap."

He saw her robe that had been discarded on the carpet and his dick twitched under the towel.

"Are you...?"

The grinning redhead drew back the sheet to reveal her nudity.

"I'm not sleeping in my clothes. And neither are you. Now lose the towel and get into bed."

Blake turned out the lights and draped the towel over the back of a wooden chair. He got to the left side of the bed and got in. He felt her body heat under the sheet, causing a rush of excitement to go straight to his genitals.

"Would you prefer it if I face you or away?"

"Best face away, Mrs. Christie."

"Do call me Agatha. I'm not some stuffy old lady living in a little village dressed neatly in tweed and often seen knitting or pulling weeds in the garden."

She stole a glance at the naked chap and she was pleasantly surprised by how erect he was. With her back to the obviously virile man, she contemplated the problem and her hand went all by itself to her sex.

"Are you ill?" asked Sexton as he saw her back arch and her backside wiggle.

"I am perfectly fine, thank you."

Agatha rocked her hips as she strummed her clit in deep thought.

"I like to pleasure myself as I use the little grey cells. I have found out that sexual stimulation helps clear my head so I can extrapolate the facts at hand."

"I see."

Unable to ignore the attractive and very horny female not three inches from him, Blake positioned himself so that he could bump hips with her.

"You appear rather frisky, Sexton. When did you last have intercourse?"

"1922. Just before I lost my wife to influenza."

Agatha pushed back and she sighed as his full-blown erection found the crevice between her nether cheeks.

"What you say, handsome. Feel like making up for lost time? Go ahead."

Blake put his hand on her hip as he explored her slit and pushed. As he filled her with cock, they both groaned from the delight of penetration. As he began to move in and out, so Agatha started rocking her hips, relishing the sublime thrusting in and out motion. Although the detective was not comparable to her gigolo Thompson, his dick did have some substantial girth.

"Just to be clear, Sexton. This does not mean that we are getting involved romantically. We are having sex as a means to figure out how to conclude this affair. This is purely a physical relationship between the two of us, understand?"

Blake muttered an affirmative as he took hold of her by her hips and pulled himself out of her, save for the head of his cock. He turned her so that she was on her knees while he mounted her from behind. He thrust his cock fully into her cunt and she moaned and bucked. She put one hand on the brass headboard to steady herself.

"So, Brett is to meet Picot at eight in the morning. We have no idea if the two have ever met, so we can't use you as an imposter posing as the devious businessman.

Maybe, just maybe. Keep it up, my good man. I'm trying to think."

It seemed that no matter how hard Blake fucked the amorous writer and amateur sleuth, she kept urging him to fuck her even harder. Her moans became louder as her cunt gripped his cock harder. She was so wet that he was able to effortlessly slide in and out of her repeatedly.

"We will turn up at the desk at a quarter to eight and inform the clerk that we have appeared on behalf of Monsieur Picot who has been otherwise detained. We will take the Major into our confidence and take possession of the stolen document. Good lord!"

Sexton Blake's thrusting was so fast and intense that he managed to bring about Agatha Christie's orgasm. In response to climaxing, her pussy tightened around his cock like a vice, but it did nothing to slow him down, in fact, it increased his pleasure and drove him to thrust his hips at a speed he didn't know he was capable of.

"Change up."

Agatha climbed on top of him, placing her knees on either side of his body and onto the mattress. She his cock inside her once more and started to fuck him at her leisure. Blake grabbed her hips and helped slide the wanton hussy up and down his cock.

"But, we don't have any money. How are we to make him hand over the papers?"

Christie leaned forward so that her breasts pressed against his face while her hands held the top of the headboard in a firm grip. She thrust her hips while pushing and pulling in his lap. She bounced up and down on his raging pecker fast as she could.

"We, we'll come to...to that prob...problem in the mmm...moment. Oh, my word!"

The detective had never been fucked as savagely in all of his life. Most women would lie back and let him do all the work, but Christie was fucking HIM, not he her. Blake thrust up with his own hips, forcing her up and down on his cock as if she weighed nothing. The energetic rut was all the impetus she needed to drive her to another orgasm.

"You're going to make me cum!" She cried out as her body shuddered with pleasure.

As she began to slow down, so he sped up and released his load inside her. She wasn't worried about him coming inside of her as she had her Dutch Cap. As she let herself rest her body on his, she gave him a kiss on the cheek and smiled at him. She slowly raised herself off of his cock and stood in front of him.

"I'll just rinse myself off. Get some sleep. I have a plan to retrieve the

document."

x

It was barely a quarter to eight when they left the room and approached the reception. Both were dressed in the same clothes they had arrived in. Blake stayed back and watched the plucky redhead play out her plan.

"An English gentleman is staying here named Major Brett," said Agatha to the manager, in faultless French. "We wish to see him."

"Ah, I see the Major has an appointment with Monsieur Picot at eight."

"Oui. Unfortunately, he has been delayed in transit. He sent me along as a replacement."

The manager seemed to suspect nothing. He called one of the porters and instructed him to conduct the woman to Brett's room.

The crime writer composed herself and smiled as the Major answered the door.

"I hope you speak English, Madam." said the major, somewhat anxiously.

"Very well. I am English. Miss Jane Smith."

She extended her hand and he ushered her inside. Agatha lingered by the door and kept it unlocked.

Again a look of relief crossed the bold flapper. The stolen report was written in Spanish. If English was the only language Brett knew, he could not have read the report, and, therefore, would not be able to tell Monsieur Picot what it contained.

"Picot sends his apologies. I am his personal secretary. He asks that you hand the papers to me."

"An unexpected development. English, you say? You're probably wondering how I wrote that telegram if I didn't know French?"

"Certainly the telegram was in French," said Christie, making a blind shot.

"Of course it was, but it wasn't written by me. It was written by a gentleman whom you might know. Mr. Percival, Sir Oscar Trevelyan's private secretary. He wrote it out for me on that night, and I sent it off from London this morning."

Agatha nodded and consulted her gold watch. It was now ten minutes to eight, and Monsieur Picot was due at eight.

"And now to business, Major. You have brought the report?"

"Naturally, and you the money?

Agatha gazed at him in undisguised astonishment.

"You're one for jumping to conclusions!" he said. "How on earth do I know the report is genuine?"

This was decidedly awkward, but the redhead kept her cool.

"Ah, I see Monsieur Picot has trained you well. You understand Spanish too?"

"Si, Signor. Muy bien."

Brett shrugged and retrieved the creased documents from a briefcase. Agatha smiled and pretended to read.

"But, these are not the desired articles, Major. This is a shopping list!"

"What! You lie!"

"Here. Look. A pound of bacon. A pound of butter. One cabbage. Five pounds of sugar, and a dozen eggs."

He grabbed the sheets of paper and scratched his head.

"Can this be true? Why, the beggar!" said Brett. "Fancy Percival deceiving me like that! He must have the genuine documents in his possession still. No doubt biding his time to sell to others."

It was five minutes to eight. Agatha calmly backed up to the door and tapped it lightly with her heel. A paper was shoved in under the door and she transferred the real document back out.

"Why do you waste our time? Let us agree to call this affair null and void. Take this worthless paper and I shall bid you good day."

Agatha slipped out of the room where she joined Sexton, who had pocketed the genuine article. At that moment, a grey-haired chap brushed past them and knocked on the door of the Major.

"Best make ourselves scarce, Mrs. Christie. And quick."

From the top of the stairs, they saw the Frenchman greet Brett.

"Major Brett? I am Monsieur Picot. I believe we 'ave business?"

"What? You're Picot? But I just saw your secretary."

"My secretary? But I 'ave none. Where is the merchandise? I 'ave five thousand Francs in my pocket."

Brett blanched and slumped against the door.

"I think that I have just been had."

x

Agatha and Sexton stood side by side on the deck of the cross Channel steamer the Maid of Orleans.

"Sir Oscar will be heartily pleased by this turn of events and no mistake. We have the papers back safely. We shall wire the local constabulary first chance we get hand have Percival arrested and charged."

"Excellent, my good man. We made quite a team, don't you think?"

"For the most part."

"Oh, was there something amiss?"

Sexton Blake took the ravishing flapper in his burly arms and kissed her hard on the mouth.

"I was just thinking we should have a replay of that night in the hotel. Just to see if you really can stimulate the brain by lovemaking."

Agatha smiled and returned the kiss.

"Any time, Sexton. Any time."

END