Hallowe'en Party by Agatha Christie

well of the staircase. Not in my direction. She was looking towards the other end of the hall where there is a door leading into the library. It is set just across the hall from the door into the dining-room. As I say, she was looking that way and pausing for a moment before coming downstairs. She was shifting slightly the angle of the vase as it was a rather awkward thing to carry, and weighty if it was, as I presumed, full of water. She was shifting the position of it rather carefully so that she could hold it to her with one arm, and put out the other arm to the rail of the staircase as she came round the slightly shaped corner stairway. She stood there for a moment or two, still not looking at what she was carrying, but towards the hall below. And suddenly she made a sudden movement - a start I would describe it as - yes, definitely something had startled her. So much so that she relinquished her hold of the vase and it fell, reversing itself as it did so - so that the water streamed over her and the vase itself crashed down to the hall below, where it broke in smithereens on the hall floor.”
    “I see,” said Poirot. He paused a minute or two, watching her. Her eyes, he noticed, were shrewd and knowledgeable.
    They were asking now his opinion of what she was telling him.
    “What did you think had happened to startle her?”
    “On reflection, afterwards, I thought she had seen something.”
    “You thought she had seen something,” repeated Poirot, thoughtfully. “Such as?”
    “The direction of her eyes, as I have told you, was towards the door of the library. It seems to me possible that she may have seen that door open or the handle turn, or indeed she might have seen something slightly more than that. She might have seen somebody who was opening that door and preparing to come out of it. She may have seen someone she did not expect to see.”
    “Were you looking at the door yourself?”
    “No. I was looking in the opposite direction up the stairs towards Mrs Drake.”
    “And you think definitely that she saw something that startled her?”
    “Yes. No more than that, perhaps. A door opening. A person, just possibly an unlikely person, emerging. Just sufficient to make her relinquish her grasp on the very heavy vase full of water and flowers, so that she dropped it.”
    “Did you see anyone come out of that door?”
    “No. I was not looking that way. I do not think anyone actually did come out into the hall. Presumably whoever it was drew back into the room.”
    “What did Mrs Drake do next?”
    “She made a sharp exclamation of vexation, came down the stairs and said to me, ”Look what I've done now! What a mess!“ She kicked some of the broken glass away. I helped her sweep it in a broken pile into a corner. It wasn't practicable to clear it all up at that moment. The children were beginning to come out of the Snapdragon room. I fetched a glass cloth and mopped her up a bit, and shortly after that the party came to an end.”
    “Mrs Drake did not say anything about having been startled or make any reference as to what might have startled her?”
    “No. Nothing of the kind.”
    “But you think she was startled.”
    “Possibly, Monsieur Poirot, you think that I am making a rather unnecessary fuss about something of no importance whatever?”
    “No,” said Poirot, “I do not think that at all. I have only met Mrs Drake once,” he added thoughtfully, “when I went to her house with my friend, Mrs Oliver, to visit - as one might say, if one wishes to be melodramatic - the scene of the crime. It did not strike me during the brief period I had for observation that Mrs Drake could be a woman who is easily startled. Do you agree with my view?”
    “Certainly. That is why I, myself, since have wondered.” “You asked no special questions at the time?”
    “I had no earthly reason to do so. If your hostess has been unfortunate enough to drop one of her best glass vases, and it has smashed to