4 50 from Paddington (Miss Marple Series)

4 50 from Paddington (Miss Marple Series)

4.1 26
by Agatha Christie

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From mystery's number one bestselling Queen of Crime comes three of her royal best...  See more details below


From mystery's number one bestselling Queen of Crime comes three of her royal best...

Editorial Reviews

New York Times
No one does it better than Agatha Christie.

Product Details

Penguin Group (USA)
Publication date:
Miss Marple Series
Edition description:
Product dimensions:
4.26(w) x 6.96(h) x 0.66(d)
Age Range:
18 Years

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Chapter One

Mrs. McGillicuddy panted along the platform in the wake of the porter carrying her suitcase. Mrs. McGillicuddy was short and stout, the porter was tall and freestriding. In addition, Mrs, McGillicuddy was burdened with a large quantity of parcels; the result of a day's Christmas shopping. The race was, therefore, an uneven one, and the porter turned the comer at the end of the platform while Mrs. McGillicuddy was still coming up the straight.

No. 1 platform was not at the moment unduly crowded, since a train had just gone out; but, in the no man's land beyond, a milling crowd was rushing in several directions at once, to and from undergrounds, left-luggage offices, tea rooms, inquiry offices, indicator boards and the two outlets, Arrival and Departure, to the outside world.

Mrs. McGillicuddy and her parcels were buffeted to and fro, but she arrived eventually at the entrance to No. 3 platform, and deposited one parcel at her feet while she searched her bag for the ticket that would enable her to pass the stem, uniformed guardian at the gate

At that moment, a voice, raucous yet refined, burst into speech over her head.

"The train standing at Platform 3," the voice told her, "is the 4:54 for Backhampton, Milchester, Waverton Carvil Junction, Roxeter and stations to Chadmouth. Passengers for Brackhampton and Milchester travel at the rear of the train. Passengers for Vanequay change at Roxeter." The voice shut itself off with a click, and then reopened conversation by announcing the arrival at Platform 9 of the 4:35 from Birmingham and Wolverhamp ton.

Mrs. McGillicuddy found her ticket and presented it. The man clipped it,murmured: "On the right -- rear portion."

Mrs. McGillicuddy padded up the platform and found her Porter, looking bored and staring into space, outside the door of a third-class carriage.

"Here you are, lady."

"I'm traveling first class," said Mrs. McGillicuddy.

"You didn't say so," rumbled the porter. His eye swept her masculine-looking pepper-and-salt tweed coat disparagingly.

Mrs. McGillicuddy who had said so, did not argue the point. She was sadly out of breath.

The porter retrieved the suitcase and marched with it to the adjoining coach where Mrs. McGillicuddy was in stalled in solitary splendor. The 4:54 was not much pa tronized, the first-class clientele preferring either the faster morning express or the 6:40 with dining cars. Mrs. McGillicuddy handed the porter his tip which he received with disappointment, clearly considering it More applicable to third-class than to first-class travel. Mrs. McGillicuddy, though prepared to spend money on comfortable travel after a night journey from the North and a day's feverish shopping, was at no time an extravagant tipper.

She settled herself back on the plush cushions with a sigh and opened a magazine. Five minutes later, whistles blew and the train started. The magazine slipped from Mrs. McGillicuddy's hand, her head dropped sideways, three minutes later she was asleep. She slept for thirtyfive minutes and awoke refreshed. Resettling her hat which had slipped askew, she sat up and looked out of the window at what she could see of the flying countryside. It was quite dark now, a dreary, misty December dayChristmas was only five days ahead. London had been dark and dreary; the country was no less so, though occasionally rendered cheerful with its constant clusters of lights as the train flashed through towns and stations.

"Serving last tea now," said an attendant, whisking open the corridor door like a jinni. Mrs. McGillicuddy had already partaken of tea at a large department store. She was for the moment amply nourished. The attendant went on down the corridor uttering his monotonous cry. With a pleased expression, Mrs. McGillicuddy looked up at the rack where her various parcels reposed. The face towels had been excellent value and just what Margaret wanted, the space gun for Robby and the rabbit for Jean were highly satisfactory, and that evening coatee was just the thing she herself wanted, warm but dressy. The pullover for Hector, too . . . her mind dwelt with approval on the soundness of her purchases.

Her satisfied gaze returned to the window, a train traveling in the opposite direction rushed by with a screech, making the windows rattle and causing her to start. The train clattered over points and passed through a station.

Then it began suddenly to slow down, presumably in obedience to a signal. For some minutes it crawled along, then stopped, presently it began to move forward again. Another up train passed them, though with less vehemence than the first one. The train gathered speed again.

At that moment another train, also on a down line, swerved inward toward them, for a moment with almost alarming effect. For a time the two trains ran parallel, now one gaining a little, now the other. Mrs. McGillicuddy looked from her window through the windows of the parallel carriages. Most of the blinds were down, but occasionally the occupants of the carriages were visible. The other train was not very full and there were many empty carriages.

At the moment when the two trains gave the illusion of being stationary, a blind in one of the carriages flew up with a snap. Mrs. McGillicuddy looked into the lighted first-class carriage that was only a few feet away.

Then she drew her breath in with a gasp and half rose to her feet.

Standing with his back to the window and to her was a man. His hands were round the throat of a woman who faced him, -and be was slowly, remorselessly, strangling her. Her eyes were starting from their sockets, her face was purple and congested. As Mrs. McGillicuddy watched, fascinated, the end came, the body went limp and crumpled in the man's hands.

At the same moment, Mrs. McGillicuddy's train slowed down again and the other began to gain speed. It passed forward...

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4 50 from Paddington (Miss Marple Series) 4.2 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 26 reviews.
cpollan27 More than 1 year ago
I first read this book about 10 years ago, and spent the next decade trying to find it again. It was out of print for a while before I bought my Nook Color and found it on the B&N website. Agatha Christie definitely keeps you on the edge of your seat and write endings that you never see coming. Case in point, check out And Then There Were None.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Great work as always!
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DeviNair More than 1 year ago
Who can not love Agatha Christie? Those who love classic mysteries and detective novels know that Agatha Christie works are considered to be the most elite form of literature in that genre. Out of the various works of Ms. Christie, I happen to adore Miss Marple stories the most. And when, during a buddy read, I was offered 4.50 from Paddington to read, I grabbed the opportunity. It was like coming home after ages – felt amazing. Mrs. McGillycuddy saw a murder – in a train passing her train – for a few seconds. But that is enough to convince her that a murder has happened. But who would believe an old lady with such an extra ordinary claim? Who else but Miss Marple? But there is only one problem, apart from the claim being from an old lady, of course. There is no dead body. If what Elspeth McGillycuddy is saying the truth, where is the body? How will Miss Marple solve this one? This is yet another epic from Agatha Christie. Naturally, there is no flaw. Classic “whodunnit” with clues hidden all over. All you have to do is find it by connecting the dots. Anyone who loves detective mysteries should definitely start Agatha Christie series. Nothing gets better than these (with the single exception of Sherlock Holmes of course)
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When a friend witnesses a murder, Miss Marple enlists the aid of Britain's best and most intelligent domestic to solve a plot as deliciously twisted as only Christie could concoct.
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Gandalfiii More than 1 year ago
Usual twists and turns by MS Christie
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