Dead Man’s Folly_ Hercule Poirot Investi

AgathaChristie
DeadMan’sFolly
AHerculePoirotMystery
Dedication
ToPeggyandHumphreyTrevelyan
Contents
TitlePage
Dedication
ChapterOne
ChapterTwo
ChapterThree
ChapterFour
ChapterFive
ChapterSix
ChapterSeven
ChapterEight
ChapterNine
ChapterTen
ChapterEleven
ChapterTwelve
ChapterThirteen
ChapterFourteen
ChapterFifteen
ChapterSixteen
ChapterSeventeen
ChapterEighteen
ChapterNineteen
ChapterTwenty
AbouttheAuthor
OtherBooksbyAgathaChristie
Credits
Copyright
AboutthePublisher
One
I
ItwasMissLemon,Poirot’sefficientsecretary,whotookthetelephonecall.
Layingasidehershorthandnotebook,sheraisedthereceiverandsaidwithoutemphasis,“Trafalgar8137.”
HerculePoirotleanedbackinhisuprightchairandclosedhiseyes.Hisfingersbeatameditativesofttattooontheedgeofthetable.Inhisheadhecontinuedtocomposethepolishedperiodsoftheletterhehadbeendictating.
Placingherhandoverthereceiver,MissLemonaskedinalowvoice:
“WillyouacceptapersonalcallfromNassecombe,Devon?”
Poirotfrowned.Theplacemeantnothingtohim.
“Thenameofthecaller?”hedemandedcautiously.
MissLemonspokeintothemouthpiece.
“Airraid?”sheaskeddoubtingly.“Oh,yes—whatwasthelastnameagain?”
OncemoresheturnedtoHerculePoirot.
“Mrs.AriadneOliver.”
HerculePoirot’seyebrowsshotup.Amemoryroseinhismind:windsweptgreyhair…aneagleprofile….
HeroseandreplacedMissLemonatthetelephone.
“HerculePoirotspeaks,”heannouncedgrandiloquently.
“IsthatMr.HerculesPorrotspeakingpersonally?”thesuspiciousvoiceofthetelephoneoperatordemanded.
Poirotassuredherthatthatwasthecase.
“You’rethroughtoMr.Porrot,”saidthevoice.
ItsthinreedyaccentswerereplacedbyamagnificentboomingcontraltowhichcausedPoirothastilytoshiftthereceiveracoupleofinchesfartherfromhisear.
“M.Poirot,isthatreallyyou?”demandedMrs.Oliver.
“Myselfinperson,Madame.”
“ThisisMrs.Oliver.Idon’tknowifyou’llrememberme—”
“ButofcourseIrememberyou,Madame.Whocouldforgetyou?”
“Well,peopledosometimes,”saidMrs.Oliver.“Quiteoften,infact.Idon’tthinkthatI’vegotaverydistinctivepersonality.Orperhapsit’sbecauseI’malwaysdoingdifferentthingstomyhair.Butallthat’sneitherherenorthere.IhopeI’mnotinterruptingyouwhenyou’refrightfullybusy?”
“No,no,youdonotderangemeintheleast.”
“Goodgracious—I’msureIdon’twanttodriveyououtofyourmind.Thefactis,Ineedyou.”
“Needme?”
“Yes,atonce.Canyoutakeanaeroplane?”
“Idonottakeaeroplanes.Theymakemesick.”
“Theydome,too.Anyway,Idon’tsupposeitwouldbeanyquickerthanthetrainreally,becauseIthinktheonlyairportnearhereisExeterwhichismilesaway.Socomebytrain.Twelveo’clockfromPaddingtontoNassecombe.Youcandoitnicely.You’vegotthree-quartersofanhourifmywatchisright—thoughitisn’tusually.”
“Butwhereareyou,Madame?Whatisallthisabout?”
“NasseHouse,Nassecombe.AcarortaxiwillmeetyouatthestationatNassecombe.”
“Butwhydoyouneedme?Whatisallthisabout?”Poirotrepeatedfrantically.
“Telephonesareinsuchawkwardplaces,”saidMrs.Oliver.“Thisone’sinthehall…Peoplepassingthroughandtalking…Ican’treallyhear.ButI’mexpectingyou.Everybodywillbesothrilled.Good-bye.”
Therewasasharpclickasthereceiverwasreplaced.Thelinehummedgently.
Withabaffledairofbewilderment,Poirotputbackthereceiverandmurmuredsomethingunderhisbreath.MissLemonsatwithherpencilpoised,incurious.Sherepeatedinmutedtonesthefinalphraseofdictationbeforetheinterruption.
“—allowmetoassureyou,mydearsir,thatthehypothesisyouhaveadvanced….”
Poirotwavedasidetheadvancementofthehypothesis.
“ThatwasMrs.Oliver,”hesaid.“AriadneOliver,thedetectivenovelist.Youmayhaveread…”Buthestopped,rememberingthatMissLemononlyreadimprovingbooksandregardedsuchfrivolitiesasfictionalcrimewithcontempt.“ShewantsmetogodowntoDevonshiretoday,atonce,in”—heglancedattheclock—“thirty-fiveminutes.”
MissLemonraiseddisapprovingeyebrows
“Thatwillberunningitratherfine,”shesaid.“Forwhatreason?”
“Youmaywellask!Shedidnottellme.”
“Howverypeculiar.Whynot?”
“Because,”saidHerculePoirotthoughtfully,“shewasafraidofbeingoverheard.Yes,shemadethatquiteclear.”
“Well,really,”saidMissLemon,bristlinginheremployer’sdefence.“Thethingspeopleexpect!Fancythinkingthatyou’dgorushingoffonsomewildgoosechaselikethat!Animportantmanlikeyou!Ihavealwaysnoticedthattheseartistsandwritersareveryunbalanced—nosenseofproportion.ShallItelephonethroughatelegram:RegretunableleaveLondon?”
Herhandwentouttothetelephone.Poirot’svoicearrestedthegesture.
“Dutout!”hesaid.“Onthecontrary.Besokindastosummonataxiimmediately.”Heraisedhisvoice.“Georges!Afewnecessitiesoftoiletinmysmallvalise.Andquickly,veryquickly,Ihaveatraintocatch.”
II
Thetrain,havingdoneonehundredandeighty-oddmilesofitstwohundredandtwelvemilesjourneyattopspeed,puffedgentlyandapologeticallythroughthelastthirtyanddrewintoNassecombestation.Onlyonepersonalighted,HerculePoirot.Henegotiatedwithcareayawninggapbetweenthestepofthetrainandtheplatformandlookedroundhim.Atthefarendofthetrainaporterwasbusyinsidealuggagecompartment.Poirotpickeduphisvaliseandwalkedbackalongtheplatformtotheexit.Hegaveuphisticketandwalkedoutthroughthebookingoffice.
AlargeHumbersaloonwasdrawnupoutsideandachauffeurinuniformcameforward.
“Mr.HerculePoirot?”heinquiredrespectfully.
HetookPoirot’scasefromhimandopenedthedoorofthecar.Theydroveawayfromthestationovertherailwaybridgeandturneddownacountrylanewhichwoundbetweenhighhedgesoneitherside.Presentlythegroundfellawayontherightanddisclosedaverybeautifulriverviewwithhillsofamistyblueinthedistance.Thechauffeurdrewintothehedgeandstopped.
“TheRiverHelm,sir,”hesaid.“WithDartmoorinthedistance.”
Itwasclearthatadmirationwasnecessary.Poirotmadethenecessarynoises,murmuringMagnifique!severaltimes.Actually,Natureappealedtohimverylittle.Awell-cultivatedneatlyarrangedkitchengardenwasfarmorelikelytobringamurmurofadmirationtoPoirot’slips.Twogirlspassedthecar,toilingslowlyupthehill.Theywerecarryingheavyrucksacksontheirbacksandworeshorts,withbrightcolouredscarvestiedovertheirheads.
“ThereisaYouthHostelnextdoortous,sir,”explainedthechauffeur,whohadclearlyconstitutedhimselfPoirot’sguidetoDevon.“HoodownPark.Mr.Fletcher’splaceitusedtobe.TheYouthHostelAssociationboughtitandit’sfairlycrammedinsummertime.Takeinoverahundredanight,theydo.They’renotallowedtostaylongerthanacoupleofnights—thenthey’vegottomoveon.Bothsexesandmostlyforeigners.”
Poirotnoddedabsently.Hewasreflecting,notforthefirsttime,thatseenfromtheback,shortswerebecomingtoveryfewofthefemalesex.Heshuthiseyesinpain.Why,ohwhy,mustyoungwomenarraythemselvesthus?Thosescarletthighsweresingularlyunattractive!
“Theyseemheavilyladen,”hemurmured.
“Yes,sir,andit’salongpullfromthestationorthebusstop.BestpartoftwomilestoHoodownPark.”Hehesitated.“Ifyoudon’tobject,sir,wecouldgivethemalift?”
“Byallmeans,byallmeans,”saidPoirotbenignantly.Therewasheinluxuryinanalmostemptycarandherewerethesetwopantingandperspiringyoungwomenweigheddownwithheavyrucksacksandwithouttheleastideahowtodressthemselvessoastoappearattractivetotheothersex.Thechauffeurstartedthecarandcametoaslowpurringhaltbesidethetwogirls.Theirflushedandperspiringfaceswereraisedhopefully.
Poirotopenedthedoorandthegirlsclimbedin.
“Itismostkind,please,”saidoneofthem,afairgirlwithaforeignaccent.“ItislongerwaythanIthink,yes.”
Theothergirl,whohadasunburntanddeeplyflushedfacewithbronzedchestnutcurlspeepingoutbeneathherheadscarf,merelynoddedherheadseveraltimes,flashedherteeth,andmurmured,Grazie.Thefairgirlcontinuedtotalkvivaciously.
“ItoEnglandcomefortwoweekholiday.IcomefromHolland.IlikeEnglandverymuch.IhavebeenStratfordAvon,ShakespeareTheatreandWarwickCastle.ThenIhavebeenClovelly,nowIhaveseenExeterCathedralandTorquay—verynice—IcometofamousbeautyspothereandtomorrowIcrossriver,gotoPlymouthwherediscoveryofNewWorldwasmadefromPlymouthHoe.”
“Andyou,signorina?”Poirotturnedtotheothergirl.Butsheonlysmiledandshookhercurls.
“ShedoesnotmuchEnglishspeak,”saidtheDutchgirlkindly.“WebothalittleFrenchspeak—sowetalkintrain.SheiscomingfromnearMilanandhasrelativeinEnglandmarriedtogentlemanwhokeepsshopformuchgroceries.ShehascomewithfriendtoExeteryesterday,butfriendhaseatvealhampienotgoodfromshopinExeterandhastostaytheresick.Itisnotgoodinhotweather,thevealhampie.”
Atthispointthechauffeursloweddownwheretheroadforked.Thegirlsgotout,utteredthanksintwolanguagesandproceededuptheleft-handroad.ThechauffeurlaidasideforamomenthisOlympianaloofnessandsaidfeelinglytoPoirot:
“It’snotonlyvealandhampie—youwanttobecarefulofCornishpastiestoo.Putanythinginapastytheywill,holidaytime!”
Herestartedthecaranddrovedowntheright-handroadwhichshortlyafterwardspassedintothickwoods.HeproceededtogiveafinalverdictontheoccupantsofHoodownParkYouthHostel.
“Niceenoughyoungwomen,someof’em,atthathostel,”hesaid;“butit’shardtogetthemtounderstandabouttrespassing.Absolutelyshockingthewaytheytrespass.Don’tseemtounderstandthatagentleman’splaceisprivatehere.Alwayscomingthroughourwoods,theyare,andpretendingthattheydon’tunderstandwhatyousaytothem.”Heshookhisheaddarkly.
Theywenton,downasteephillthroughwoods,thenthroughbigirongates,andalongadrive,windingupfinallyinfrontofabigwhiteGeorgianhouselookingoutovertheriver.
Thechauffeuropenedthedoorofthecarasatallblack-hairedbutlerappearedonthesteps.
“Mr.HerculePoirot?”murmuredthelatter.
“Yes.”
“Mrs.Oliverisexpectingyou,sir.YouwillfindherdownattheBattery.Allowmetoshowyoutheway.”
Poirotwasdirectedtoawindingpaththatledalongthewoodwithglimpsesoftheriverbelow.Thepathdescendedgraduallyuntilitcameoutatlastonanopenspace,roundinshape,withalowbattlementedparapet.OntheparapetMrs.Oliverwassitting.
Sherosetomeethimandseveralapplesfellfromherlapandrolledinalldirections.ApplesseemedtobeaninescapablemotifofmeetingMrs.Oliver.
“Ican’tthinkwhyIalwaysdropthings,”saidMrs.Oliversomewhatindistinctly,sincehermouthwasfullofapple.“Howareyou,M.Poirot?”
“Trèsbien,chèreMadame,”repliedPoirotpolitely.“Andyou?”
Mrs.OliverwaslookingsomewhatdifferentfromwhenPoirothadlastseenher,andthereasonlay,asshehadalreadyhintedoverthetelephone,inthefactthatshehadoncemoreexperimentedwithhercoiffure.ThelasttimePoirothadseenher,shehadbeenadoptingawindswepteffect.Today,herhair,richlyblued,waspiledupwardinamultiplicityofratherartificiallittlecurlsinapseudoMarquisestyle.TheMarquiseeffectendedatherneck;therestofhercouldhavebeendefinitelylabelled“countrypractical,”consistingofaviolentyolk-of-eggroughtweedcoatandskirtandaratherbilious-lookingmustard-colouredjumper.
“Iknewyou’dcome,”saidMrs.Olivercheerfully.
“Youcouldnotpossiblyhaveknown,”saidPoirotseverely.
“Oh,yes,Idid.”
“IstillaskmyselfwhyIamhere.”
“Well,Iknowtheanswer.Curiosity.”
Poirotlookedatherandhiseyestwinkledalittle.“Yourfamouswoman’sintuition,”hesaid,“has,perhaps,foroncenotledyoutoofarastray.”
“Now,don’tlaughatmywoman’sintuition.Haven’tIalwaysspottedthemurdererrightaway?”
Poirotwasgallantlysilent.Otherwisehemighthavereplied,“Atthefifthattempt,perhaps,andnotalwaysthen!”
Insteadhesaid,lookingroundhim:
“Itisindeedabeautifulpropertythatyouhavehere.”
“This?Butitdoesn’tbelongtome,M.Poirot.Didyouthinkitdid?Oh,no,itbelongstosomepeoplecalledStubbs.”
“Whoarethey?”
“Oh,nobodyreally,”saidMrs.Olivervaguely.“Justrich.No,I’mdownhereprofessionally,doingajob.”
“Ah,youaregettinglocalcolourforoneofyourchefs-d’oeuvre?”
“No,no.JustwhatIsaid.I’mdoingajob.I’vebeenengagedtoarrangeamurder.”
Poirotstaredather.
“Oh,notarealone,”saidMrs.Oliverreassuringly.“There’sabigfêtethingontomorrow,andasakindofnoveltythere’sgoingtobeaMurderHunt.Arrangedbyme.LikeaTreasureHunt,yousee;onlythey’vehadaTreasureHuntsooftenthattheythoughtthiswouldbeanovelty.Sotheyofferedmeaverysubstantialfeetocomedownandthinkitup.Quitefun,really—ratherachangefromtheusualgrimroutine.”
“Howdoesitwork?”
“Well,there’llbeaVictim,ofcourse.AndClues.AndSuspects.Allratherconventional—youknow,theVampandtheBlackmailerandtheYoungLoversandtheSinisterButlerandsoon.HalfacrowntoenterandyougetshownthefirstClueandyou’vegottofindtheVictim,andtheWeaponandsayWhodunnitandtheMotive.AndtherearePrizes.”
“Remarkable!”saidHerculePoirot.
“Actually,”saidMrs.Oliverruefully,“it’sallmuchhardertoarrangethanyou’dthink.Becauseyou’vegottoallowforrealpeoplebeingquiteintelligent,andinmybookstheyneedn’tbe.”
“Anditistoassistyouinarrangingthisthatyouhavesentforme?”
Poirotdidnottryveryhardtokeepanoutragedresentmentoutofhisvoice.
“Oh,no,”saidMrs.Oliver.“Ofcoursenot!I’vedoneallthat.Everything’sallsetfortomorrow.No,Iwantedyouforquiteanotherreason.”
“Whatreason?”
Mrs.Oliver’shandsstrayedupwardtoherhead.Shewasjustabouttosweepthemfrenziedlythroughherhairintheoldfamiliargesturewhensherememberedtheintricacyofherhairdo.Instead,sherelievedherfeelingsbytuggingatherearlobes.
“IdaresayI’mafool,”shesaid.“ButIthinkthere’ssomethingwrong.”
Two
Therewasamoment’ssilenceasPoirotstaredather.Thenheaskedsharply:“Somethingwrong?How?”
“Idon’tknow…That’swhatIwantyoutofindout.ButI’vefelt—moreandmore—thatIwasbeing—oh!—engineered…jockeyedalong…Callmeafoolifyoulike,butIcanonlysaythatiftherewastobearealmurdertomorrowinsteadofafakeone,Ishouldn’tbesurprised!”
Poirotstaredatherandshelookedbackathimdefiantly.
“Veryinteresting,”saidPoirot.
“IsupposeyouthinkI’macompletefool,”saidMrs.Oliverdefensively.
“Ihaveneverthoughtyouafool,”saidPoirot.
“AndIknowwhatyoualwayssay—orlook—aboutintuition.”
“Onecallsthingsbydifferentnames,”saidPoirot.“Iamquitereadytobelievethatyouhavenoticedsomething,orheardsomething,thathasdefinitelyarousedinyouanxiety.Ithinkitispossiblethatyouyourselfmaynotevenknowjustwhatitisthatyouhaveseenornoticedorheard.Youareawareonlyoftheresult.IfImaysoputit,youdonotknowwhatitisthatyouknow.Youmaylabelthatintuitionifyoulike.”
“Itmakesonefeelsuchafool,”saidMrs.Oliver,ruefully,“nottobeabletobedefinite.”
“Weshallarrive,”saidPoirotencouragingly.“Yousaythatyouhavehadthefeelingofbeing—howdidyouputit—jockeyedalong?Canyouexplainalittlemoreclearlywhatyoumeanbythat?”
“Well,it’sratherdifficult…Yousee,thisismymurder,sotospeak.I’vethoughtitoutandplanneditanditallfitsin—dovetails.Well,ifyouknowanythingatallaboutwriters,you’llknowthattheycan’tstandsuggestions.Peoplesay‘Splendid,butwouldn’titbebetterifsoandsodidsoandso?’or‘Wouldn’titbeawonderfulideaifthevictimwasAinsteadofB?OrthemurdererturnedouttobeDinsteadofE?’Imean,onewantstosay:‘Allrightthen,writeityourselfifyouwantitthatway!’”
Poirotnodded.
“Andthatiswhathasbeenhappening?”
“Notquite…Thatsortofsillysuggestionhasbeenmade,andthenI’veflaredup,andthey’vegivenin,buthavejustslippedinsomequiteminortrivialsuggestionandbecauseI’vemadeastandovertheother,I’veacceptedthetrivialitywithoutnoticingmuch.”
“Isee,”saidPoirot.“Yes—itisamethod,that…Somethingrathercrudeandpreposterousisputforward—butthatisnotreallythepoint.Thesmallminoralterationisreallytheobjective.Isthatwhatyoumean?”
“That’sexactlywhatImean,”saidMrs.Oliver.“And,ofcourse,Imaybeimaginingit,butIdon’tthinkIam—andnoneofthethingsseemtomatteranyway.Butit’sgotmeworried—that,andasortof—well—atmosphere.”
“Whohasmadethesesuggestionsofalterationstoyou?”
“Differentpeople,”saidMrs.Oliver.“IfitwasjustonepersonI’dbemoresureofmyground.Butit’snotjustoneperson—althoughIthinkitisreally.Imeanit’sonepersonworkingthroughotherquiteunsuspectingpeople.”
“Haveyouanideaastowhothatonepersonis?”
Mrs.Olivershookherhead.
“It’ssomebodyverycleverandverycareful,”shesaid.“Itmightbeanybody.”
“Whoisthere?”askedPoirot.“Thecastofcharactersmustbefairlylimited?”
“Well,”beganMrs.Oliver.“There’sSirGeorgeStubbswhoownsthisplace.Richandplebeianandfrightfullystupidoutsidebusiness,Ishouldthink,butprobablydeadsharpinit.Andthere’sLadyStubbs—Hattie—abouttwentyyearsyoungerthanheis,ratherbeautiful,butdumbasafish—infact,Ithinkshe’sdefinitelyhalf-witted.Marriedhimforhismoney,ofcourse,anddoesn’tthinkaboutanythingbutclothesandjewels.Thenthere’sMichaelWeyman—he’sanarchitect,quiteyoung,andgood-lookinginacraggykindofartisticway.He’sdesigningatennispavilionforSirGeorgeandrepairingtheFolly.”
“Folly?Whatisthat—amasquerade?”
“No,it’sarchitectural.Oneofthoselittlesortoftemplethings,white,withcolumns.You’veprobablyseenthematKew.Thenthere’sMissBrewis,she’sasortofsecretaryhousekeeper,whorunsthingsandwritesletters—verygrimandefficient.Andthentherearethepeopleroundaboutwhocomeinandhelp.Ayoungmarriedcouplewhohavetakenacottagedownbytheriver—AlecLeggeandhiswifeSally.AndCaptainWarburton,who’stheMastertons’agent.AndtheMastertons,ofcourse,andoldMrs.Folliatwholivesinwhatusedtobethelodge.Herhusband’speopleownedNasseoriginally.Butthey’vediedout,orbeenkilledinwars,andtherewerelotsofdeathdutiessothelastheirsoldtheplace.”
Poirotconsideredthislistofcharacters,butatthemomenttheywereonlynamestohim.Hereturnedtothemainissue.
“WhoseideawastheMurderHunt?”
“Mrs.Masterton’s,Ithink.She’sthelocalM.P.’swife,verygoodatorganizing.ItwasshewhopersuadedSirGeorgetohavethefêtehere.Youseetheplacehasbeenemptyforsomanyyearsthatshethinkspeoplewillbekeentopayandcomeintoseeit.”
“Thatallseemsstraightforwardenough,”saidPoirot.
“Itallseemsstraightforward,”saidMrs.Oliverobstinately;“butitisn’t.Itellyou,M.Poirot,there’ssomethingwrong.”
PoirotlookedatMrs.OliverandMrs.OliverlookedbackatPoirot.
“Howhaveyouaccountedformypresencehere?Foryoursummonstome?”Poirotasked.
“Thatwaseasy,”saidMrs.Oliver.“You’retogiveawaytheprizesfortheMurderHunt.Everybody’sawfullythrilled.IsaidIknewyou,andcouldprobablypersuadeyoutocomeandthatIwassureyournamewouldbeaterrificdraw—as,ofcourse,itwillbe,”Mrs.Oliveraddedtactfully.
“Andthesuggestionwasaccepted—withoutdemur?”
“Itellyou,everybodywasthrilled.”
Mrs.Oliverthoughtitunnecessarytomentionthatamongsttheyoungergenerationoneortwohadasked“WhoisHerculePoirot?”
“Everybody?Nobodyspokeagainsttheidea?”
Mrs.Olivershookherhead.
“Thatisapity,”saidHerculePoirot
“Youmeanitmighthavegivenusaline?”
“Awould-becriminalcouldhardlybeexpectedtowelcomemypresence.”
“IsupposeyouthinkI’veimaginedthewholething,”saidMrs.Oliverruefully.“ImustadmitthatuntilIstartedtalkingtoyouIhadn’trealizedhowverylittleI’vegottogoupon.”
“Calmyourself,”saidPoirotkindly.“Iamintriguedandinterested.Wheredowebegin?”
Mrs.Oliverglancedatherwatch.
“It’sjustteatime.We’llgobacktothehouseandthenyoucanmeeteverybody.”
ShetookadifferentpathfromtheonebywhichPoirothadcome.Thisoneseemedtoleadintheoppositedirection.
“Wepassbytheboathousethisway,”Mrs.Oliverexplained.
Asshespoketheboathousecameintoview.Itjuttedoutontotheriverandwasapicturesquethatchedaffair.
“That’swheretheBody’sgoingtobe,”saidMrs.Oliver.“ThebodyfortheMurderHunt,Imean.”
“Andwhoisgoingtobekilled?”
“Oh,agirlhiker,whoisreallytheYugoslavianfirstwifeofayoungAtomScientist,”saidMrs.Oliverglibly.
Poirotblinked.
“OfcourseitlooksasthoughtheAtomScientisthadkilledher—butnaturallyit’snotassimpleasthat.”
“Naturallynot—sinceyouareconcerned….”
Mrs.Oliveracceptedthecomplimentwithawaveofthehand.
“Actually,”shesaid,“she’skilledbytheCountrySquire—andthemotiveisreallyratheringenious—Idon’tbelievemanypeoplewillgetit—thoughthere’saperfectlyclearpointerinthefifthclue.”
PoirotabandonedthesubtletiesofMrs.Oliver’splottoaskapracticalquestion:
“Buthowdoyouarrangeforasuitablebody?”
“GirlGuide,”saidMrs.Oliver.“SallyLeggewasgoingtobeit—butnowtheywanthertodressupinaturbananddothefortune-telling.Soit’saGirlGuidecalledMarleneTucker.Ratherdumbandsniffs,”sheaddedinanexplanatorymanner.“It’squiteeasy—justpeasantscarvesandarucksack—andallshehastodowhenshehearssomeonecomingistoflopdownonthefloorandarrangethecordroundherneck.Ratherdullforthepoorkid—juststickinginsidethatboathouseuntilshe’sfound,butI’vearrangedforhertohaveanicebundleofcomics—there’sacluetothemurdererscribbledononeofthemasamatteroffact—soitallworksin.”
“Youringenuityleavesmespellbound!Thethingsyouthinkof!”
“It’sneverdifficulttothinkofthings,”saidMrs.Oliver.“Thetroubleisthatyouthinkoftoomany,andthenitallbecomestoocomplicated,soyouhavetorelinquishsomeofthemandthatisratheragony.Wegoupthiswaynow.”
Theystartedupasteepzigzaggingpaththatledthembackalongtheriveratahigherlevel.Atatwistthroughthetreestheycameoutonaspacesurmountedbyasmallwhitepilasteredtemple.Standingbackandfrowningatitwasayoungmanwearingdilapidatedflanneltrousersandashirtofrathervirulentgreen.Hespunroundtowardsthem.
“Mr.MichaelWeyman,M.HerculePoirot,”saidMrs.Oliver.
Theyoungmanacknowledgedtheintroductionwithacarelessnod.
“Extraordinary,”hesaidbitterly,“theplacespeopleputthings!Thisthinghere,forinstance.Putuponlyaboutayearago—quiteniceofitskindandquiteinkeepingwiththeperiodofthehouse.Butwhyhere?Thesethingsweremeanttobeseen—‘situatedonaneminence’—that’showtheyphrasedit—withanicegrassyapproachanddaffodils,etcetera.Buthere’sthispoorlittledevil,stuckawayinthemidstoftrees—notvisiblefromanywhere—you’dhavetocutdownabouttwentytreesbeforeyou’devenseeitfromtheriver.”
“Perhapstherewasn’tanyotherplace,”saidMrs.Oliver.
MichaelWeymansnorted.
“Topofthatgrassybankbythehouse—perfectnaturalsetting.Butno,thesetycoonfellowsareallthesame—noartisticsense.Hasafancyfora‘Folly,’ashecallsit,ordersone.Looksroundforsomewheretoputit.Then,Iunderstand,abigoaktreecrashesdowninagale.Leavesanastyscar.‘Oh,we’lltidytheplaceupbyputtingaFollythere,’saysthesillyass.That’salltheyeverthinkabout,theserichcityfellows,tidyingup!Iwonderhehasn’tputbedsofredgeraniumsandcalceolariasallroundthehouse!Amanlikethatshouldn’tbeallowedtoownaplacelikethis!”
Hesoundedheated.
“Thisyoungman,”Poirotobservedtohimself,“assuredlydoesnotlikeSirGeorgeStubbs.”
“It’sbeddeddowninconcrete,”saidWeyman.“Andthere’sloosesoilunderneath—soit’ssubsided.Crackedalluphere—itwillbedangeroussoon…Betterpullthewholethingdownandre-erectitonthetopofthebanknearthehouse.That’smyadvice,buttheobstinateoldfoolwon’thearofit.”
“Whataboutthetennispavilion?”askedMrs.Oliver.
Gloomsettledevenmoredeeplyontheyoungman.
“HewantsakindofChinesepagoda,”hesaid,withagroan.“Dragonsifyouplease!JustbecauseLadyStubbsfanciesherselfinChinesecooliehats.Who’dbeanarchitect?Anyonewhowantssomethingdecentbuilthasn’tgotthemoney,andthosewhohavethemoneywantsomethingtooutterlygoddamawful!”
“Youhavemycommiserations,”saidPoirotgravely.
“GeorgeStubbs,”saidthearchitectscornfully.“Whodoeshethinkheis?DughimselfintosomecushyAdmiraltyjobinthesafedepthsofWalesduringthewar—andgrowsabeardtosuggesthesawactivenavalserviceonconvoyduty—orthat’swhattheysay.Stinkingwithmoney—absolutelystinking!”
“Well,youarchitectshavegottohavesomeonewho’sgotmoneytospend,oryou’dneverhaveajob,”Mrs.Oliverpointedoutreasonablyenough.ShemovedontowardsthehouseandPoirotandthedispiritedarchitectpreparedtofollowher.
“Thesetycoons,”saidthelatterbitterly,“can’tunderstandfirstprinciples.”HedeliveredafinalkicktothelopsidedFolly.“Ifthefoundationsarerotten—everything’srotten.”
“Itisprofoundwhatyousaythere,”saidPoirot.“Yes,itisprofound.”
Thepaththeywerefollowingcameoutfromthetreesandthehouseshowedwhiteandbeautifulbeforetheminitssettingofdarktreesrisingupbehindit.
“Itisofaveritablebeauty,yes,”murmuredPoirot.
“Hewantstobuildabilliardroomon,”saidMr.Weymanvenomously.
Onthebankbelowthemasmallelderlyladywasbusywithsécateursonaclumpofshrubs.Sheclimbeduptogreetthem,pantingslightly.
“Everythingneglectedforyears,”shesaid.“Andsodifficultnowadaystogetamanwhounderstandsshrubs.ThishillsideshouldbeablazeofcolourinMarchandApril,butverydisappointingthisyear—allthisdeadwoodoughttohavebeencutawaylastautumn—”
“M.HerculePoirot,Mrs.Folliat,”saidMrs.Oliver.
Theelderlyladybeamed.
“SothisisthegreatM.Poirot!Itiskindofyoutocomeandhelpustomorrow.Thiscleverladyherehasthoughtoutamostpuzzlingproblem—itwillbesuchanovelty.”
Poirotwasfaintlypuzzledbythegraciousnessofthelittlelady’smanner.Shemight,hethought,havebeenhishostess.
Hesaidpolitely:
“Mrs.Oliverisanoldfriendofmine.Iwasdelightedtobeabletorespondtoherrequest.Thisisindeedabeautifulspot,andwhatasuperbandnoblemansion.”
Mrs.Folliatnoddedinamatter-of-factmanner.
“Yes.Itwasbuiltbymyhusband’sgreat-grandfatherin1790.TherewasanElizabethanhousepreviously.Itfellintodisrepairandburneddowninabout1700.Ourfamilyhaslivedheresince1598.”
Hervoicewascalmandmatteroffact.Poirotlookedatherwithcloserattention.Hesawaverysmallandcompactlittleperson,dressedinshabbytweeds.Themostnoticeablefeatureaboutherwasherclearchina-blueeyes.Hergreyhairwascloselyconfinedbyahairnet.Thoughobviouslycarelessofherappearance,shehadthatindefinableairofbeingsomeonewhichissohardtoexplain.
Astheywalkedtogethertowardsthehouse,Poirotsaiddiffidently,“Itmustbehardforyoutohavestrangerslivinghere.”
Therewasamoment’spausebeforeMrs.Folliatanswered.Hervoicewasclearandpreciseandcuriouslydevoidofemotion.
“Somanythingsarehard,M.Poirot,”shesaid.
Three
ItwasMrs.FolliatwholedthewayintothehouseandPoirotfollowedher.Itwasagracioushouse,beautifullyproportioned.Mrs.Folliatwentthroughadoorontheleftintoasmalldaintilyfurnishedsittingroomandonintothebigdrawingroombeyond,whichwasfullofpeoplewhoallseemed,atthemoment,tobetalkingatonce.
“George,”saidMrs.Folliat,“thisisM.Poirotwhoissokindastocomeandhelpus.SirGeorgeStubbs.”
SirGeorge,whohadbeentalkinginaloudvoice,swunground.Hewasabigmanwitharatherfloridredfaceandaslightlyunexpectedbeard.Itgavearatherdisconcertingeffectofanactorwhohadnotquitemadeuphismindwhetherhewasplayingthepartofacountrysquire,orofa“roughdiamond”fromtheDominions.Itcertainlydidnotsuggestthenavy,inspiteofMichaelWeyman’sremarks.Hismannerandvoicewerejovial,buthiseyesweresmallandshrewd,ofaparticularlypenetratingpaleblue.
HegreetedPoirotheartily.
“We’resogladthatyourfriendMrs.Olivermanagedtopersuadeyoutocome,”hesaid.“Quiteabrainwaveonherpart.You’llbeanenormousattraction.”
Helookedroundalittlevaguely.
“Hattie?”Herepeatedthenameinaslightlysharpertone.“Hattie!”
LadyStubbswasreclininginabigarmchairalittledistancefromtheothers.Sheseemedtobepayingnoattentiontowhatwasgoingonroundher.Insteadshewassmilingdownatherhandwhichwasstretchedoutonthearmofthechair.Shewasturningitfromlefttoright,sothatabigsolitaireemeraldonherthirdfingercaughtthelightinitsgreendepths.
Shelookedupnowinaslightlystartledchildlikewayandsaid,“Howdoyoudo.”
Poirotbowedoverherhand.
SirGeorgecontinuedhisintroductions.
“Mrs.Masterton.”
Mrs.MastertonwasasomewhatmonumentalwomanwhoremindedPoirotfaintlyofabloodhound.Shehadafullunderhungjawandlarge,mournful,slightlyblood-shoteyes.
ShebowedandresumedherdiscourseinadeepvoicewhichagainmadePoirotthinkofabloodhound’sbayingnote.
“Thissillydisputeabouttheteatenthasgottobesettled,Jim,”shesaidforcefully.“They’vegottoseesenseaboutit.Wecan’thavethewholeshowafiascobecauseoftheseidioticwomen’slocalfeuds.”
“Oh,quite,”saidthemanaddressed.
“CaptainWarburton,”saidSirGeorge.
CaptainWarburton,whoworeachecksportscoatandhadavaguelyhorsyappearance,showedalotofwhiteteethinasomewhatwolfishsmile,thencontinuedhisconversation.
“Don’tyouworry,I’llsettleit,”hesaid.“I’llgoandtalktothemlikeaDutchuncle.Whataboutthefortune-tellingtent?Inthespacebythemagnolia?Oratthefarendofthelawnbytherhododendrons?”
SirGeorgecontinuedhisintroductions.
“Mr.andMrs.Legge.”
Atallyoungmanwithhisfacepeelingbadlyfromsunburngrinnedagreeably.Hiswife,anattractivefreckledredhead,noddedinafriendlyfashion,thenplungedintocontroversywithMrs.Masterton,heragreeablehightreblemakingakindofduetwithMrs.Masterton’sdeepbay.
“—notbythemagnolia—abottle-neck—”
“—onewantstodispersethings—butifthere’saqueue—”
“—muchcooler.Imean,withthesunfullonthehouse—”
“—andthecoconutshycan’tbetoonearthehouse—theboysaresowildwhentheythrow—”
“Andthis,”saidSirGeorge,“isMissBrewis—whorunsusall.”
MissBrewiswasseatedbehindthelargesilverteatray.
Shewasaspareefficient-lookingwomanoffortyodd,withabriskpleasantmanner.
“Howdoyoudo,M.Poirot,”shesaid.“Idohopeyoudidn’thavetoocrowdedajourney?Thetrainsaresometimestooterriblethistimeofyear.Letmegiveyousometea.Milk?Sugar?”
“Verylittlemilk,mademoiselle,andfourlumpsofsugar.”Headded,asMissBrewisdealtwithhisrequest,“Iseethatyouareallinagreatstateofactivity.”
“Yes,indeed.Therearealwayssomanylast-minutethingstoseeto.Andpeopleletonedowninthemostextraordinarywaynowadays.Overmarquees,andtentsandchairsandcateringequipment.Onehastokeeponatthem.Iwasonthetelephonehalfthemorning.”
“Whataboutthesepegs,Amanda?”saidSirGeorge.“Andtheextraputtersfortheclockgolf?”
“That’sallarranged,SirGeorge.Mr.Bensonatthegolfclubwasmostkind.”
ShehandedPoirothiscup.
“Asandwich,M.Poirot?Thosearetomatoandthesearepaté.Butperhaps,”saidMissBrewis,thinkingofthefourlumpsofsugar,“youwouldratherhaveacreamcake?”
Poirotwouldratherhaveacreamcake,andhelpedhimselftoaparticularlysweetandsquelchyone.
Then,balancingitcarefullyonhissaucer,hewentandsatdownbyhishostess.Shewasstilllettingthelightplayoverthejewelonherhand,andshelookedupathimwithapleasedchild’ssmile.
“Look,”shesaid.“It’spretty,isn’tit?”
Hehadbeenstudyinghercarefully.Shewaswearingabigcoolie-stylehatofvividmagentastraw.Beneathitherfaceshoweditspinkyreflectiononthedead-whitesurfaceofherskin.Shewasheavilymadeupinanexoticun-Englishstyle.Dead-whitemattskin;vividcyclamenlips,mascaraappliedlavishlytotheeyes.Herhairshowedbeneaththehat,blackandsmooth,fittinglikeavelvetcap.Therewasalanguorousun-Englishbeautyabouttheface.Shewasacreatureofthetropicalsun,caught,asitwere,bychanceinanEnglishdrawingroom.ButitwastheeyesthatstartledPoirot.Theyhadachildlike,almostvacant,stare.
Shehadaskedherquestioninaconfidentialchildishway,anditwasasthoughtoachildthatPoirotanswered.
“Itisaverylovelyring,”hesaid.
Shelookedpleased.
“Georgegaveittomeyesterday,”shesaid,droppinghervoiceasthoughsheweresharingasecretwithhim.“Hegivesmelotsofthings.He’sverykind.”
Poirotlookeddownattheringagainandthehandoutstretchedonthesideofthechair.Thenailswereverylongandvarnishedadeeppuce.
Intohismindaquotationcame:“Theytoilnot,neitherdotheyspin….”
Hecertainlycouldn’timagineLadyStubbstoilingorspinning.Andyethewouldhardlyhavedescribedherasalilyofthefield.Shewasafarmoreartificialproduct.
“Thisisabeautifulroomyouhavehere,Madame,”hesaid,lookingroundappreciatively.
“Isupposeitis,”saidLadyStubbsvaguely.
Herattentionwasstillonherring;herheadononeside,shewatchedthegreenfireinitsdepthsasherhandmoved
Shesaidinaconfidentialwhisper,“D’yousee?It’swinkingatme.”
SheburstoutlaughingandPoirothadasenseofsuddenshock.Itwasalouduncontrolledlaugh.
FromacrosstheroomSirGeorgesaid:“Hattie.”
Hisvoicewasquitekindbutheldafaintadmonition.LadyStubbsstoppedlaughing.
Poirotsaidinaconventionalmanner:
“Devonshireisaverylovelycounty.Doyounotthinkso?”
“It’sniceinthedaytime,”saidLadyStubbs.“Whenitdoesn’train,”sheaddedmournfully.“Buttherearen’tanynightclubs.”
“Ah,Isee.Youlikenightclubs?”
“Oh,yes,”saidLadyStubbsfervently.
“Andwhydoyoulikenightclubssomuch?”
“Thereismusicandyoudance.AndIwearmynicestclothesandbraceletsandrings.Andalltheotherwomenhaveniceclothesandjewels,butnotasniceasmine.”
Shesmiledwithenormoussatisfaction.Poirotfeltaslightpangofpity.
“Andallthatamusesyouverymuch?”
“Yes.Ilikethecasino,too.WhyaretherenotanycasinosinEngland?”
“Ihaveoftenwondered,”saidPoirot,withasigh.“IdonotthinkitwouldaccordwiththeEnglishcharacter.”
Shelookedathimuncomprehendingly.Thenshebentslightlytowardshim.
“IwonsixtythousandfrancsatMonteCarloonce.Iputitonnumbertwenty-sevenanditcameup.”
“Thatmusthavebeenveryexciting,Madame.”
“Oh,itwas.Georgegivesmemoneytoplaywith—butusuallyIloseit.”
Shelookeddisconsolate.
“Thatissad.”
“Oh,itdoesnotreallymatter.Georgeisveryrich.Itisnicetoberich,don’tyouthinkso?”
“Verynice,”saidPoirotgently.
“Perhaps,ifIwasnotrich,IshouldlooklikeAmanda.”HergazewenttoMissBrewisattheteatableandstudiedherdispassionately.“Sheisveryugly,don’tyouthink?”
MissBrewislookedupatthatmomentandacrosstowheretheyweresitting.LadyStubbshadnotspokenloudly,butPoirotwonderedwhetherAmandaBrewishadheard.
Ashewithdrewhisgaze,hiseyesmetthoseofCaptainWarburton.TheCaptain’sglancewasironicandamused.
Poirotendeavouredtochangethesubject.
“Haveyoubeenverybusypreparingforthefête?”heasked.
HattieStubbsshookherhead.
“Oh,no,Ithinkitisallveryboring—verystupid.Thereareservantsandgardeners.Whyshouldnottheymakethepreparations?”
“Oh,mydear.”ItwasMrs.Folliatwhospoke.Shehadcometositonthesofanearby.“Thosearetheideasyouwerebroughtupwithonyourislandestates.Butlifeisn’tlikethatinEnglandthesedays.Iwishitwere.”Shesighed.“Nowadaysonehastodonearlyeverythingoneself.”
LadyStubbsshruggedhershoulders.
“Ithinkitisstupid.Whatisthegoodofbeingrichifonehastodoeverythingoneself?”
“Somepeoplefinditfun,”saidMrs.Folliat,smilingather.“Idoreally.Notallthings,butsome.IlikegardeningmyselfandIlikepreparingforafestivitylikethisonetomorrow.”
“Itwillbelikeaparty?”askedLadyStubbshopefully.
“Justlikeaparty—withlotsandlotsofpeople.”
“WillitbelikeAscot?Withbighatsandeveryoneverychic?”
“Well,notquitelikeAscot,”saidMrs.Folliat.Sheaddedgently,“Butyoumusttryandenjoycountrythings,Hattie.Youshouldhavehelpedusthismorning,insteadofstayinginbedandnotgettingupuntilteatime.”
“Ihadaheadache,”saidHattiesulkily.ThenhermoodchangedandshesmiledaffectionatelyatMrs.Folliat.
“ButIwillbegoodtomorrow.Iwilldoeverythingyoutellme.”
“That’sverysweetofyou,dear.”
“I’vegotanewdresstowear.Itcamethismorning.Comeupstairswithmeandlookatit.”
Mrs.Folliathesitated.LadyStubbsrosetoherfeetandsaidinsistently:
“Youmustcome.Please.Itisalovelydress.Comenow!”
“Oh,verywell.”Mrs.Folliatgaveahalflaughandrose.
Asshewentoutoftheroom,hersmallfigurefollowingHattie’stallone,Poirotsawherfaceandwasquitestartledatthewearinessonitwhichhadreplacedhersmilingcomposure.Itwasasthough,relaxedandoffherguardforamoment,shenolongerbotheredtokeepupthesocialmask.Andyet—itseemedmorethanthat.Perhapsshewassufferingfromsomediseaseaboutwhich,likemanywomen,sheneverspoke.Shewasnotaperson,hethought,whowouldcaretoinvitepityorsympathy.
CaptainWarburtondroppeddowninthechairHattieStubbshadjustvacated.He,too,lookedatthedoorthroughwhichthetwowomenhadjustpassed,butitwasnotoftheolderwomanthathespoke.Insteadhedrawled,withaslightgrin:
“Beautifulcreature,isn’tshe?”HeobservedwiththetailofhiseyeSirGeorge’sexitthroughafrenchwindowwithMrs.MastertonandMrs.Oliverintow.“BowledoveroldGeorgeStubbsallright.Nothing’stoogoodforher!Jewels,mink,alltherestofit.Whetherherealizesshe’sabitwantinginthetopstorey,I’veneverdiscovered.Probablythinksitdoesn’tmatter.Afterall,thesefinancialjohnniesdon’taskforintellectualcompanionship.”
“Whatnationalityisshe?”Poirotaskedcuriously.
“LooksSouthAmerican,Ialwaysthink.ButIbelieveshecomesfromtheWestIndies.Oneofthoseislandswithsugarandrumandallthat.Oneoftheoldfamiliesthere—acreole,Idon’tmeanahalf-caste.Allveryintermarried,Ibelieve,ontheseislands.Accountsforthementaldeficiency.”
YoungMrs.Leggecameovertojointhem
“Lookhere,Jim,”shesaid,“you’vegottobeonmyside.Thattent’sgottobewherewealldecided—onthefarsideofthelawnbackingontherhododendrons.It’stheonlypossibleplace.”
“MaMastertondoesn’tthinkso.”
“Well,you’vegottotalkheroutofit.”
Hegaveherhisfoxysmile.
“Mrs.Masterton’smyboss.”
“WilfredMasterton’syourboss.He’stheM.P.”
“Idaresay,butsheshouldbe.She’stheonewhowearsthepants—anddon’tIknowit.”
SirGeorgereenteredthewindow.
“Oh,thereyouare,Sally,”hesaid.“Weneedyou.Youwouldn’tthinkeveryonecouldgethetupoverwhobuttersthebunsandwhorafflesacake,andwhythegardenproducestalliswherethefancywoollenswaspromiseditshouldbe.Where’sAmyFolliat?Shecandealwiththesepeople—abouttheonlypersonwhocan.”
“ShewentupstairswithHattie.”
“Oh,didshe—?”
SirGeorgelookedroundinavaguelyhelplessmannerandMissBrewisjumpedupfromwhereshewaswritingtickets,andsaid,“I’llfetchherforyou,SirGeorge.”
“Thankyou,Amanda.”
MissBrewiswentoutoftheroom.
“Mustgetholdofsomemorewirefencing,”murmuredSirGeorge.
“Forthefête?”
“No,no.ToputupwhereweadjoinHoodownParkinthewoods.Theoldstuff’srottedaway,andthat’swheretheygetthrough.”
“Whogetthrough?”
“Trespassers!”ejaculatedSirGeorge.
SallyLeggesaidamusedly:
“YousoundlikeBetsyTrotwoodcampaigningagainstdonkeys.”
“BetsyTrotwood?Who’sshe?”askedSirGeorgesimply.
“Dickens.”
“Oh,Dickens.IreadthePickwickPapersonce.Notbad.Notbadatall—surprisedme.But,seriously,trespassersareamenacesincethey’vestartedthisYouthHosteltomfoolery.Theycomeoutatyoufromeverywherewearingthemostincredibleshirts—boythismorninghadoneallcoveredwithcrawlingturtlesandthings—mademethinkI’dbeenhittingthebottleorsomething.Halfofthemcan’tspeakEnglish—justgibberatyou…”Hemimicked:“‘Oh,plees—yes,hafyou—tellme—isswaytoferry?’Isayno,itisn’t,roaratthem,andsendthembackwherethey’vecomefrom,buthalfthetimetheyjustblinkandstareanddon’tunderstand.Andthegirlsgiggle.Allkindsofnationalities,Italian,Yugoslavian,Dutch,Finnish—EskimosIshouldn’tbesurprised!Halfofthemcommunists,Ishouldn’twonder,”heendeddarkly.
“Comenow,George,don’tgetstartedoncommunists,”saidMrs.Legge.“I’llcomeandhelpyoudealwiththerabidwomen.”
Sheledhimoutofthewindowandcalledoverhershoulder:“Comeon,Jim.Comeandbetorntopiecesinagoodcause.”
“Allright,butIwanttoputM.PoirotinthepictureabouttheMurderHuntsincehe’sgoingtopresenttheprizes.”
“Youcandothatpresently.”
“Iwillawaityouhere,”saidPoirotagreeably.
Intheensuingsilence,AlecLeggestretchedhimselfoutinhischairandsighed.
“Women!”hesaid.“Likeaswarmofbees.”
Heturnedhisheadtolookoutofthewindow.
“Andwhat’sitallabout?Somesillygardenfêtethatdoesn’tmattertoanyone.”
“Butobviously,”Poirotpointedout,“therearethosetowhomitdoesmatter.”
“Whycan’tpeoplehavesomesense?Whycan’ttheythink?Thinkofthemessthewholeworldhasgotitselfinto.Don’ttheyrealizethattheinhabitantsoftheglobearebusycommittingsuicide?”
Poirotjudgedrightlythathewasnotintendedtoreplytothisquestion.Hemerelyshookhisheaddoubtfully.
“Unlesswecandosomethingbeforeit’stoolate…”AlecLeggebrokeoff.Anangrylooksweptoverhisface.“Oh,yes,”hesaid,“Iknowwhatyou’rethinking.ThatI’mnervy,neurotic—alltherestofit.Likethosedamneddoctors.Advisingrestandchangeandseaair.Allright,SallyandIcamedownhereandtooktheMillCottageforthreemonths,andI’vefollowedtheirprescription.I’vefishedandbathedandtakenlongwalksandsunbathed—”
“Inoticedthatyouhadsunbathed,yes,”saidPoirotpolitely.
“Oh,this?”Alec’shandwenttohissoreface.“That’stheresultofafineEnglishsummerforonceinaway.Butwhat’sthegoodofitall?Youcan’tgetawayfromfacingtruthjustbyrunningawayfromit.”
“No,itisneveranygoodrunningaway.”
“Andbeinginaruralatmospherelikethisjustmakesyourealizethingsmorekeenly—thatandtheincredibleapathyofthepeopleofthiscountry.EvenSally,who’sintelligentenough,isjustthesame.Whybother?That’swhatshesays.Itmakesmemad!Whybother?”
“Asamatterofinterest,whydoyou?”
“GoodGod,youtoo?”
“No,itisnotadvice.ItisjustthatIwouldliketoknowyouranswer.”
“Don’tyousee,somebody’sgottodosomething.”
“Andthatsomebodyisyou?”
“No,no,notmepersonally.Onecan’tbepersonalintimeslikethese.”
“Idonotseewhynot.Evenin‘thesetimes’asyoucallit,oneisstillaperson.”
“Butoneshouldn’tbe!Intimesofstress,whenit’samatteroflifeordeath,onecan’tthinkofone’sowninsignificantillsorpreoccupations.”
“Iassureyou,youarequitewrong.Inthelatewar,duringasevereairraid,Iwasmuchlesspreoccupiedbythethoughtofdeaththanofthepainfromacornonmylittletoe.Itsurprisedmeatthetimethatitshouldbeso.‘Think,’Isaidtomyself,‘atanymomentnow,deathmaycome.’ButIwasstillconsciousofmycorn—indeed,IfeltinjuredthatIshouldhavethattosufferaswellasthefearofdeath.ItwasbecauseImightdiethateverysmallpersonalmatterinmylifeacquiredincreasedimportance.Ihaveseenawomanknockeddowninastreetaccident,withabrokenleg,andshehasburstoutcryingbecausesheseesthatthereisaladderinherstocking.”
“Whichjustshowsyouwhatfoolswomenare!”
“Itshowsyouwhatpeopleare.Itis,perhaps,thatabsorptioninone’spersonallifethathasledthehumanracetosurvive.”
AlecLeggegaveascornfullaugh.
“Sometimes,”hesaid,“Ithinkit’sapitytheyeverdid.”
“Itis,youknow,”Poirotpersisted,“aformofhumility.Andhumilityisvaluable.Therewasasloganthatwaswrittenupinyourundergroundrailwayshere,Iremember,duringthewar.‘Italldependsonyou.’Itwascomposed,Ithink,bysomeeminentdivine—butinmyopinionitwasadangerousandundesirabledoctrine.Foritisnottrue.Everythingdoesnotdependon,say,Mrs.BlankofLittle-Blank-in-the-Marsh.Andifsheisledtothinkitdoes,itwillnotbegoodforhercharacter.Whileshethinksofthepartshecanplayinworldaffairs,thebabypullsoverthekettle.”
“Youareratherold-fashionedinyourviews,Ithink.Let’shearwhatyoursloganwouldbe.”
“Idonotneedtoformulateoneofmyown.Thereisanolderoneinthiscountrywhichcontentsmeverywell.”
“Whatisthat?”
“‘PutyourtrustinGod,andkeepyourpowderdry.’”
“Well,well…”AlecLeggeseemedamused.“Mostunexpectedcomingfromyou.DoyouknowwhatIshouldliketoseedoneinthiscountry?”
“Something,nodoubt,forcefulandunpleasant,”saidPoirot,smiling.
AlecLeggeremainedserious.
“Ishouldliketoseeeveryfeeble-mindedpersonputout—rightout!Don’tletthembreed.If,foronegeneration,onlytheintelligentwereallowedtobreed,thinkwhattheresultwouldbe.”
“Averylargeincreaseofpatientsinthepsychiatricwards,perhaps,”saidPoirotdryly.“Oneneedsrootsaswellasflowersonaplant,Mr.Legge.Howeverlargeandbeautifultheflowers,iftheearthyrootsaredestroyedtherewillbenomoreflowers.”Headdedinaconversationaltone:“WouldyouconsiderLadyStubbsacandidateforthelethalchamber?”
“Yes,indeed.What’sthegoodofawomanlikethat?Whatcontributionhassheevermadetosociety?Hassheeverhadanideainherheadthatwasn’tofclothesorfursorjewels?AsIsay,whatgoodisshe?”
“YouandI,”saidPoirotblandly,“arecertainlymuchmoreintelligentthanLadyStubbs.But”—heshookhisheadsadly—“itistrue,Ifear,thatwearenotnearlysoornamental.”
“Ornamental…”Alecwasbeginningwithafiercesnort,buthewasinterruptedbythereentryofMrs.OliverandCaptainWarburtonthroughthewindow.
Four
“YoumustcomeandseethecluesandthingsfortheMurderHunt,M.Poirot,”saidMrs.Oliverbreathlessly.
Poirotroseandfollowedthemobediently.
Thethreeofthemwentacrossthehallandintoasmallroomfurnishedplainlyasabusinessoffice.
“Lethalweaponstoyourleft,”observedCaptainWarburton,wavinghishandtowardsasmallbaize-coveredcardtable.Onitwerelaidoutasmallpistol,apieceofleadpipingwitharustysinisterstainonit,abluebottlelabelledPoison,alengthofclotheslineandahypodermicsyringe.
“ThosearetheWeapons,”explainedMrs.Oliver,“andthesearetheSuspects.”
Shehandedhimaprintedcardwhichhereadwithinterest.
Suspects
EstelleGlynne—
abeautifulandmysteriousyoungwoman,theguestof
ColonelBlunt—
thelocalSquire,whosedaughter
Joan—
ismarriedto
PeterGaye—
ayoungAtomScientist.
MissWilling—
ahousekeeper.
Quiett—
abutler.
MayaStavisky—
agirlhiker.
EstebanLoyola—
anuninvitedguest.
PoirotblinkedandlookedtowardsMrs.Oliverinmuteincomprehension.
“AmagnificentCastofCharacters,”hesaidpolitely.“Butpermitmetoask,Madame,whatdoestheCompetitordo?”
“Turnthecardover,”saidCaptainWarburton.
Poirotdidso.
Ontheothersidewasprinted:
Nameandaddress……………………………
Solution:
NameofMurderer:…………………………..
Weapon:………………………………….
Motive:…………………………………..
TimeandPlace:……………………………..
Reasonsforarrivingatyourconclusions:…………….
“Everyonewhoentersgetsoneofthese,”explainedCaptainWarburtonrapidly.“Alsoanotebookandpencilforcopyingclues.Therewillbesixclues.YougoonfromonetotheotherlikeaTreasureHunt,andtheweaponsareconcealedinsuspiciousplaces.Here’sthefirstclue.Asnapshot.Everyonestartswithoneofthese.”
Poirottookthesmallprintfromhimandstudieditwithafrown.Thenheturneditupsidedown.Hestilllookedpuzzled.Warburtonlaughed.
“Ingeniousbitoftrickphotography,isn’tit?”hesaidcomplacently.“Quitesimpleonceyouknowwhatitis.”
Poirot,whodidnotknowwhatitwas,feltamountingannoyance.
“Somekindofbarredwindow?”hesuggested.
“Looksabitlikeit,Iadmit.No,it’sasectionofatennisnet.”
“Ah.”Poirotlookedagainatthesnapshot.“Yes,itisasyousay—quiteobviouswhenyouhavebeentoldwhatitis!”
“Somuchdependsonhowyoulookatathing,”laughedWarburton.
“Thatisaveryprofoundtruth.”
“Thesecondcluewillbefoundinaboxunderthecentreofthetennisnet.Intheboxarethisemptypoisonbottle—here,andaloosecork.”
“Only,yousee,”saidMrs.Oliverrapidly,“it’sascrew-toppedbottle,sothecorkisreallytheclue.”
“Iknow,Madame,thatyouarealwaysfullofingenuity,butIdonotquitesee—”
Mrs.Oliverinterruptedhim.
“Oh,butofcourse,”shesaid,“there’sastory.Likeinamagazineserial—asynopsis.”SheturnedtoCaptainWarburton.“Haveyougottheleaflets?”
“They’venotcomefromtheprintersyet.”
“Buttheypromised!”
“Iknow.Iknow.Everyonealwayspromises.They’llbereadythiseveningatsix.I’mgoingintofetchtheminthecar.”
“Oh,good.”
Mrs.OlivergaveadeepsighandturnedtoPoirot.
“Well,I’llhavetotellityou,then.OnlyI’mnotverygoodattellingthings.ImeanifIwritethings,Igetthemperfectlyclear,butifItalk,italwayssoundsthemostfrightfulmuddle;andthat’swhyIneverdiscussmyplotswithanyone.I’velearntnotto,becauseifIdo,theyjustlookatmeblanklyandsay‘—er—yes,but—Idon’tseewhathappened—andsurelythatcan’tpossiblymakeabook.’Sodamping.Andnottrue,becausewhenIwriteit,itdoes!”
Mrs.Oliverpausedforbreath,andthenwenton:
“Well,it’slikethis.There’sPeterGayewho’sayoungAtomScientistandhe’ssuspectedofbeinginthepayoftheCommunists,andhe’smarriedtothisgirl,JoanBlunt,andhisfirstwife’sdead,butsheisn’t,andsheturnsupbecauseshe’sasecretagent,orperhapsnot,Imeanshemayreallybeahiker—andthewife’shavinganaffair,andthismanLoyolaturnsupeithertomeetMaya,ortospyuponher,andthere’sablackmailingletterwhichmightbefromthehousekeeper,oragainitmightbethebutler,andtherevolver’smissing,andasyoudon’tknowwhotheblackmailingletter’sto,andthehypodermicsyringefelloutatdinner,andafterthatitdisappeared….”
Mrs.Olivercametoafullstop,estimatingcorrectlyPoirot’sreaction.
“Iknow,”shesaidsympathetically.“Itsoundsjustamuddle,butitisn’treally—notinmyhead—andwhenyouseethesynopsisleaflet,you’llfindit’squiteclear.
“And,anyway,”sheended,“thestorydoesn’treallymatter,doesit?Imean,nottoyou.Allyou’vegottodoistopresenttheprizes—veryniceprizes,thefirst’sasilvercigarettecaseshapedlikearevolver—andsayhowremarkablycleverthesolverhasbeen.”
Poirotthoughttohimselfthatthesolverwouldindeedhavebeenclever.Infact,hedoubtedverymuchthattherewouldbeasolver.ThewholeplotandactionoftheMurderHuntseemedtohimtobewrappedinimpenetrablefog.
“Well,”saidCaptainWarburtoncheerfully,glancingathiswristwatch,“I’dbetterbeofftotheprintersandcollect.”
Mrs.Olivergroaned.
“Ifthey’renotdone—”
“Oh,they’redoneallright.Itelephoned.Solong.”
Helefttheroom.
Mrs.OliverimmediatelyclutchedPoirotbythearmanddemandedinahoarsewhisper:
“Well?”
“Well—what?”
“Haveyoufoundoutanything?Orspottedanybody?”
Poirotrepliedwithmildreproofinhistones:
“Everybodyandeverythingseemstomecompletelynormal.”
“Normal?”
“Well,perhapsthatisnotquitetherightword.LadyStubbs,asyousay,isdefinitelysubnormal,andMr.Leggewouldappeartoberatherabnormal.”
“Oh,he’sallright,”saidMrs.Oliverimpatiently.“He’shadanervousbreakdown.”
Poirotdidnotquestionthesomewhatdoubtfulwordingofthissentencebutaccepteditatitsfacevalue.
“Everybodyappearstobeintheexpectedstateofnervousagitation,highexcitement,generalfatigue,andstrongirritation,whicharecharacteristicofpreparationsforthisformofentertainment.Ifyoucouldonlyindicate—”
“Sh!”Mrs.Olivergraspedhisarmagain.“Someone’scoming.”
Itwasjustlikeabadmelodrama,Poirotfelt,hisownirritationmounting.
ThepleasantmildfaceofMissBrewisappearedroundthedoor.
“Oh,thereyouare,M.Poirot.I’vebeenlookingforyoutoshowyouyourroom.”
Sheledhimupthestaircaseandalongapassagetoabigairyroomlookingoutovertheriver.
“Thereisabathroomjustopposite.SirGeorgetalksofaddingmorebathrooms,buttodosowouldsadlyimpairtheproportionsoftherooms.Ihopeyou’llfindeverythingquitecomfortable.”
“Yes,indeed.”Poirotsweptanappreciativeeyeoverthesmallbookstand,thereadinglampandtheboxlabelled“Biscuits”bythebedside.“Youseem,inthishouse,tohaveeverythingorganizedtoperfection.AmItocongratulateyou,ormycharminghostess?”
“LadyStubbs’timeisfullytakenupinbeingcharming,”saidMissBrewis,aslightlyacidnoteinhervoice.
“Averydecorativeyoungwoman,”musedPoirot.
“Asyousay.”
“Butinotherrespectsisshenot,perhaps…”Hebrokeoff.“Pardon.Iamindiscreet.IcommentonsomethingIoughtnot,perhaps,tomention.”
MissBrewisgavehimasteadylook.Shesaiddryly:
“LadyStubbsknowsperfectlywellexactlywhatsheisdoing.Besidesbeing,asyousaid,averydecorativeyoungwoman,sheisalsoaveryshrewdone.”
ShehadturnedawayandlefttheroombeforePoirot’seyebrowshadfullyriseninsurprise.SothatwaswhattheefficientMissBrewisthought,wasit?Orhadshemerelysaidsoforsomereasonofherown?Andwhyhadshemadesuchastatementtohim—toanewcomer?Becausehewasanewcomer,perhaps?Andalsobecausehewasaforeigner.AsHerculePoirothaddiscoveredbyexperience,thereweremanyEnglishpeoplewhoconsideredthatwhatonesaidtoforeignersdidn’tcount!
Hefrownedperplexedly,staringabsentmindedlyatthedooroutofwhichMissBrewishadgone.Thenhestrolledovertothewindowandstoodlookingout.Ashedidso,hesawLadyStubbscomeoutofthehousewithMrs.Folliatandtheystoodforamomentortwotalkingbythebigmagnoliatree.ThenMrs.Folliatnoddedagood-bye,pickeduphergardeningbasketandglovesandtrottedoffdownthedrive.LadyStubbsstoodwatchingherforamoment,thenabsentmindedlypulledoffamagnoliaflower,smeltitandbeganslowlytowalkdownthepaththatledthroughthetreestotheriver.Shelookedjustonceoverhershoulderbeforeshedisappearedfromsight.FrombehindthemagnoliatreeMichaelWeymancamequietlyintoview,pausedamomentirresolutelyandthenfollowedthetallslimfiguredownintothetrees.
Agood-lookinganddynamicyoungman,Poirotthought.Withamoreattractivepersonality,nodoubt,thanthatofSirGeorgeStubbs…
Butifso,whatofit?Suchpatternsformedthemselveseternallythroughlife.Richmiddle-agedunattractivehusband,youngandbeautifulwifewithorwithoutsufficientmentaldevelopment,attractiveandsusceptibleyoungman.WhatwasthereinthattomakeMrs.Oliverutteraperemptorysummonsthroughthetelephone?Mrs.Oliver,nodoubt,hadavividimagination,but….
“Butafterall,”murmuredHerculePoirottohimself,“Iamnotaconsultantinadultery—orinincipientadultery.”
CouldtherereallybeanythinginthisextraordinarynotionofMrs.Oliver’sthatsomethingwaswrong?Mrs.Oliverwasasingularlymuddle-headedwoman,andhowshemanagedsomehoworothertoturnoutcoherentdetectivestorieswasbeyondhim,andyet,forallhermuddle-headednesssheoftensurprisedhimbyhersuddenperceptionoftruth.
“Thetimeisshort—short,”hemurmuredtohimself.“Istheresomethingwronghere,asMrs.Oliverbelieves?Iaminclinedtothinkthereis.Butwhat?Whoistherewhocouldenlightenme?Ineedtoknowmore,muchmore,aboutthepeopleinthishouse.Whoistherewhocouldinformme?”
Afteramoment’sreflectionheseizedhishat(Poirotneverriskedgoingoutintheeveningairwithuncoveredhead),andhurriedoutofhisroomanddownthestairs.HeheardafarthedictatorialbayingofMrs.Masterton’sdeepvoice.Nearerathand,SirGeorge’svoicerosewithanamorousintonation.
“Damnedbecomingthatyashmakthing.WishIhadyouinmyharem,Sally.Ishallcomeandhavemyfortunetoldagooddealtomorrow.What’llyoutellme,eh?”
TherewasaslightscuffleandSallyLegge’svoicesaidbreathlessly:
“George,youmustn’t.”
Poirotraisedhiseyebrows,andslippedoutofaconvenientlyadjacentsidedoor.Hesetoffattopspeeddownabackdrivewhichhissenseoflocalityenabledhimtopredictwouldatsomepointjointhefrontdrive.
Hismanoeuvrewassuccessfulandenabledhim—pantingveryslightly—tocomeupbesideMrs.Folliatandrelieveherinagallantmannerofhergardeningbasket.
“Youpermit,Madame?”
“Oh,thankyou,M.Poirot,that’sverykindofyou.Butit’snotheavy.”
“Allowmetocarryitforyoutoyourhome.Youlivenearhere?”
“Iactuallyliveinthelodgebythefrontgate.SirGeorgeverykindlyrentsittome.”
Thelodgebythefrontgateofherformerhome…Howdidshereallyfeelaboutthat,Poirotwondered.Hercomposurewassoabsolutethathehadnocluetoherfeelings.Hechangedthesubjectbyobserving:
“LadyStubbsismuchyoungerthanherhusband,isshenot?”
“Twenty-threeyearsyounger.”
“Physicallysheisveryattractive.”
Mrs.Folliatsaidquietly:
“Hattieisadeargoodchild.”
Itwasnotananswerhehadexpected.Mrs.Folliatwenton:
“Iknowherverywell,yousee.Forashorttimeshewasundermycare.”
“Ididnotknowthat.”
“Howshouldyou?Itisinawayasadstory.Herpeoplehadestates,sugarestates,intheWestIndies.Asaresultofanearthquake,thehousetherewasburneddownandherparentsandbrothersandsistersalllosttheirlives.HattieherselfwasataconventinParisandwasthussuddenlyleftwithoutanynearrelatives.ItwasconsideredadvisablebytheexecutorsthatHattieshouldbechaperonedandintroducedintosocietyaftershehadspentacertaintimeabroad.Iacceptedthechargeofher.”Mrs.Folliataddedwithadrysmile:“Icansmartenmyselfuponoccasionsand,naturally,Ihadthenecessaryconnections—infact,thelateGovernorhadbeenaclosefriendofours.”
“Naturally,Madame,Iunderstandallthat.”
“Itsuitedmeverywell—Iwasgoingthroughadifficulttime.Myhusbandhaddiedjustbeforetheoutbreakofwar.Myeldersonwhowasinthenavywentdownwithhisship,myyoungerson,whohadbeenoutinKenya,cameback,joinedthecommandosandwaskilledinItaly.Thatmeantthreelotsofdeathdutiesandthishousehadtobeputupforsale.ImyselfwasverybadlyoffandIwasgladofthedistractionofhavingsomeoneyoungtolookafterandtravelaboutwith.IbecameveryfondofHattie,allthemoreso,perhaps,becauseIsoonrealizedthatshewas—shallwesay—notfullycapableoffendingforherself?Understandme,M.Poirot,Hattieisnotmentallydeficient,butsheiswhatcountryfolkdescribeas‘simple.’Sheiseasilyimposedupon,overdocile,completelyopentosuggestion.Ithinkmyselfthatitwasablessingthattherewaspracticallynomoney.Ifshehadbeenanheiressherpositionmighthavebeenoneofmuchgreaterdifficulty.Shewasattractivetomenandbeingofanaffectionatenaturewaseasilyattractedandinfluenced—shehaddefinitelytobelookedafter.When,afterthefinalwindingupofherparents’estate,itwasdiscoveredthattheplantationwasdestroyedandthereweremoredebtsthanassets,IcouldonlybethankfulthatamansuchasSirGeorgeStubbshadfalleninlovewithherandwantedtomarryher.”
“Possibly—yes—itwasasolution.”
“SirGeorge,”saidMrs.Folliat,“thoughheisaself-mademanand—letusfaceit—acompletevulgarian,iskindlyandfundamentallydecent,besidesbeingextremelywealthy.Idon’tthinkhewouldeveraskformentalcompanionshipfromawife,whichisjustaswell.Hattieiseverythinghewants.Shedisplaysclothesandjewelstoperfection,isaffectionateandwilling,andiscompletelyhappywithhim.IconfessthatIamverythankfulthatthatisso,forIadmitthatIdeliberatelyinfluencedhertoaccepthim.Ifithadturnedoutbadly”—hervoicefalteredalittle—“itwouldhavebeenmyfaultforurginghertomarryamansomanyyearsolderthanherself.Yousee,asItoldyou,Hattieiscompletelysuggestible.Anyonesheiswithatthetimecandominateher.”
“Itseemstome,”saidPoirotapprovingly,“thatyoumadethereamostprudentarrangementforher.Iamnot,liketheEnglish,romantic.Toarrangeagoodmarriage,onemusttakemorethanromanceintoconsideration.”
Headded:
“Andasforthisplacehere,NasseHouse,itisamostbeautifulspot.Quite,asthesayinggoes,outofthisworld.”
“SinceNassehadtobesold,”saidMrs.Folliat,withafainttremorinhervoice,“IamgladthatSirGeorgeboughtit.ItwasrequisitionedduringthewarbytheArmyandafterwardsitmighthavebeenboughtandmadeintoaguesthouseoraschool,theroomscutupandpartitioned,distortedoutoftheirnaturalbeauty.Ourneighbours,theFletchers,atHoodown,hadtoselltheirplaceanditisnowaYouthHostel.Oneisgladthatyoungpeopleshouldenjoythemselves—andfortunatelyHoodownislate-Victorian,andofnogreatarchitecturalmerit,sothatthealterationsdonotmatter.I’mafraid
Theywerestandingnowbythefrontgate.Thelodge,asmallwhiteone-storiedbuilding,layalittlebackfromthedrivewithasmallrailedgardenroundit.
Mrs.FolliattookbackherbasketfromPoirotwithawordofthanks.
“Iwasalwaysveryfondofthelodge,”shesaid,lookingatitaffectionately.“Merdle,ourheadgardenerforthirtyyears,usedtolivethere.Imuchpreferittothetopcottage,thoughthathasbeenenlargedandmodernizedbySirGeorge.Ithadtobe;we’vegotquiteayoungmannowasheadgardener,withayoungwife—andtheseyoungwomenmusthaveelectricironsandmoderncookersandtelevision,andallthat.Onemustgowiththetimes…”Shesighed.“Thereishardlyapersonleftnowontheestatefromtheolddays—allnewfaces.”
“Iamglad,Madame,”saidPoirot,“thatyouatleasthavefoundahaven.”
“YouknowthoselinesofSpenser’s?‘Sleepaftertoyle,portafterstormieseas,easeafterwar,deathafterlife,dothgreatlyplease….’”
Shepausedandsaidwithoutanychangeoftone:“It’saverywickedworld,M.Poirot.Andthereareverywickedpeopleintheworld.YouprobablyknowthataswellasIdo.Idon’tsaysobeforetheyoungerpeople,itmightdiscouragethem,butit’strue…Yes,it’saverywickedworld….”
Shegavehimalittlenod,thenturnedandwentintothelodge.Poirotstoodstill,staringattheshutdoor.
Five
I
InamoodofexplorationPoirotwentthroughthefrontgatesanddownthesteeplytwistingroadthatpresentlyemergedonasmallquay.Alargebellwithachainhadanoticeuponit:“RingfortheFerry.”Therewerevariousboatsmooredbythesideofthequay.Averyoldmanwithrheumyeyes,whohadbeenleaningagainstabollard,cameshuffling
“Dueewanttheferry,sir?”
“Ithankyou,no.IhavejustcomedownfromNasseHouseforalittlewalk.”
“Ah,’tisupatNasseyuare?Workedthereasaboy,Idid,andmyson,hewereheadgardenerthere.ButIdidusetolookaftertheboats.OldSquireFolliat,hewasfairmazedaboutboats.Sailinallweathers,hewould.TheMajor,now,hisson,hedidn’tcareforsailing.Horses,that’sallhecaredabout.Andaprettypacketwenton’em.Thatandthebottle—hadahardtimewithhim,hiswifedid.Yu’veseenher,maybe—livesattheLodgenow,shedu.”
“Yes,Ihavejustlefthertherenow.”
“HerbeaFolliat,tu,secondcousinfromoverTivertonway.Agreatoneforthegarden,sheis,allthemtherefloweringshrubsshehadputin.Evenwhenitwastookoverduringthewar,andthetwoyounggentlemenwasgonetothewar,shestilllookedaftertheyshrubsandkept’emfrombeingoverrun.”
“Itwashardonher,bothhersonsbeingkilled.”
“Ah,she’vehadahardlife,shehave,whatwiththisandthat.Troublewithherhusband,andtroublewiththeyounggentlemen,tu.NotMr.Henry.Hewasasniceayounggentlemanasyucouldwish,tookafterhisgrandfather,fondofsailingandwentintotheNavyasamatterofcourse,butMr.James,hecausedheralotoftrouble.Debtsandwomenitwere,andthen,tu,hewererealwildinhistemper.Bornoneoftheyascan’tgostraight.Butthewarsuitedhim,asyumightsay—givehimhischance.Ah!There’smanywhocan’tgostraightinpeacewhodiesbravelyinwar.”
“Sonow,”saidPoirot,“therearenomoreFolliatsatNasse.”
Theoldman’sflowoftalkdiedabruptly.
“Justasyusay,sir.”
Poirotlookedcuriouslyattheoldman.
“InsteadyouhaveSirGeorgeStubbs.Whatisthoughtlocallyofhim?”
“Usunderstands,”saidtheoldman,“thathebepowerfulrich.”
Histonesoundeddryandalmostamused.
“Andhiswife?”
“Ah,she’safineladyfromLondon,sheis.Nouseforgardens,nother.Theydusay,tu,asherdubewantinguphere.”
Hetappedhistemplesignificantly.
“Notasherisn’talwaysverynicespokenandfriendly.Justoverayearthey’vebeenhere.Boughttheplaceandhaditalldoneuplikenew.Irememberasthough’twereyesterdaythemarriving.Arrivedintheevening,theydid,dayaftertheworstgaleasIeverremember.Treesdownrightandleft—onedownacrossthedriveandushadtogetitsawnawayinahurrytogetthedriveclearforthecar.Andthebigoakupalong,thatcomedownandbroughtalotofothersdownwithit,madeararemess,itdid.”
“Ah,yes,wheretheFollystandsnow?”
Theoldmanturnedasideandspatdisgustedly.
“Folly’tiscalledandFolly’tis—newfanglednonsense.NeverwasnoFollyintheoldFolliats’time.Herladyship’sideathatFollywas.Putupnotthreeweeksaftertheyfirstcome,andI’venodoubtshetalkedSirGeorgeintoit.Raresillyitlooksstuckupthereamongthetrees,likeaheathentemple.Anicesummerhousenow,maderusticlikewithstainedglass.I’dhavenothingagainstthat.”
Poirotsmiledfaintly.
“TheLondonladies,”hesaid,“theymusthavetheirfancies.ItissadthatthedayoftheFolliatsisover.”
“Don’teeneverbelievethat,sir.”Theoldmangaveawheezychuckle.“AlwaysbeFolliatsatNasse.”
“ButthehousebelongstoSirGeorgeStubbs.”
“That’sasmaybe—butthere’sstillaFolliathere.Ah!RareandcunningtheFolliatsare!”
“Whatdoyoumean?”
Theoldmangavehimaslysidewaysglance.
“Mrs.FolliatbelivinguptuLodge,bain’tshe?”hedemanded.
“Yes,”saidPoirotslowly.“Mrs.FolliatislivingattheLodgeandtheworldisverywicked,andallthepeopleinitareverywicked.”
Theoldmanstaredathim.
“Ah,”hesaid.“Yu’vegotsomethingthere,maybe.”
Heshuffledawayagain.
“ButwhathaveIgot?”Poirotaskedhimselfwithirritationasheslowlywalkedupthehillbacktothehouse.
II
HerculePoirotmadeameticuloustoilet,applyingascentedpomadetohismoustachesandtwirlingthemtoaferociouscoupleofpoints.Hestoodbackfromthemirrorandwassatisfiedwithwhathesaw.
Thesoundofagongresoundedthroughthehouse,andhedescendedthestairs.
Thebutler,havingfinishedamostartisticperformance,crescendo,forte,diminuendo,rallentando,wasjustreplacingthegongstickonitshook.Hisdarkmelancholyfaceshowedpleasure.
Poirotthoughttohimself:“Ablackmailingletterfromthehousekeeper—oritmaybethebutler…”Thisbutlerlookedasthoughblackmailingletterswouldbewellwithinhisscope.PoirotwonderedifMrs.Olivertookhercharactersfromlife.
MissBrewiscrossedthehallinanunbecomingfloweredchiffondressandhecaughtupwithher,askingashedidso:
“Youhaveahousekeeperhere?”
“Oh,no,M.Poirot.I’mafraidonedoesn’truntonicetiesofthatkindnowadays,exceptinareallylargeestablishment,ofcourse.Oh,no,I’mthehousekeeper—morehousekeeperthansecretary,sometimes,inthishouse.”
Shegaveashortacidlaugh.
“Soyouarethehousekeeper?”Poirotconsideredherthoughtfully.
HecouldnotseeMissBrewiswritingablackmailingletter.Now,ananonymousletter—thatwouldbeadifferentthing.HehadknownanonymousletterswrittenbywomennotunlikeMissBrewis—solid,dependablewomen,totallyunsuspectedbythosearoundthem.
“Whatisyourbutler’sname?”heasked.
“Henden.”MissBrewislookedalittleastonished.
Poirotrecollectedhimselfandexplainedquickly:
“IaskbecauseIhadafancyIhadseenhimsomewherebefore.”
“Verylikely,”saidMissBrewis.“Noneofthesepeopleeverseemtostayinanyplacemorethanfourmonths.TheymustsoonhavedonetheroundofalltheavailablesituationsinEngland.Afterall,it’snotmanypeoplewhocanaffordbutlersandcooksnowadays.”
Theycameintothedrawingroom,whereSirGeorge,lookingsomehowratherunnaturalinadinnerjacket,wasprofferingsherry.Mrs.Oliver,iniron-greysatin,waslookinglikeanobsoletebattleship,andLadyStubbs’smoothblackheadwasbentdownasshestudiedthefashionsinVogue.
AlecandSallyLeggewerediningandalsoJimWarburton.
“We’veaheavyeveningaheadofus,”hewarnedthem.“Nobridgetonight.Allhandstothepumps.Thereareanyamountofnoticestoprint,andthebigcardfortheFortuneTelling.Whatnameshallwehave?MadameZuleika?Esmeralda?OrRomanyLeigh,theGipsyQueen?”
“TheEasterntouch,”saidSally.“Everyoneinagriculturaldistrictshatesgipsies.Zuleikasoundsallright.IbroughtmypaintboxoverandIthoughtMichaelcoulddousacurlingsnaketoornamentthenotice.”
“CleopatraratherthanZuleika,then?”
Hendenappearedatthedoor.
“Dinnerisserved,mylady.”
Theywentin.Therewerecandlesonthelongtable.Theroomwasfullofshadows.
WarburtonandAlecLeggesatoneithersideoftheirhostess.PoirotwasbetweenMrs.OliverandMissBrewis.Thelatterwasengagedinbriskgeneralconversationaboutfurtherdetailsofpreparationfortomorrow.
Mrs.Oliversatinbroodingabstractionandhardlyspoke.
Whenshedidatlastbreakhersilence,itwaswithasomewhatcontradictoryexplanation.
“Don’tbotheraboutme,”shesaidtoPoirot.“I’mjustrememberingifthere’sanythingI’veforgotten.”
SirGeorgelaughedheartily.
“Thefatalflaw,eh?”heremarked.
“That’sjustit,”saidMrs.Oliver.“Therealwaysisone.Sometimesonedoesn’trealizeituntilabook’sactuallyinprint.Andthenit’sagony!”Herfacereflectedthisemotion.Shesighed.“Thecuriousthingisthatmostpeoplenevernoticeit.Isaytomyself,‘Butofcoursethecookwouldhavebeenboundtonoticethattwocutletshadn’tbeeneaten.’Butnobodyelsethinksofitatall.”
“Youfascinateme.”MichaelWeymanleantacrossthetable.“TheMysteryoftheSecondCutlet.Please,pleaseneverexplain.Ishallwonderaboutitinmybath.”
Mrs.Olivergavehimanabstractedsmileandrelapsedintoherpreoccupations.
LadyStubbswasalsosilent.Nowandagainsheyawned.Warburton,AlecLeggeandMissBrewistalkedacrossher.
Astheycameoutofthediningroom,LadyStubbsstoppedbythestairs.
“I’mgoingtobed,”sheannounced.“I’mverysleepy.”
“Oh,LadyStubbs,”exclaimedMissBrewis,“there’ssomuchtobedone.We’vebeencountingonyoutohelpus.”
“Yes,Iknow,”saidLadyStubbs.“ButI’mgoingtobed.”
Shespokewiththesatisfactionofasmallchild.
SheturnedherheadasSirGeorgecameoutofthediningroom.
“I’mtired,George.I’mgoingtobed.Youdon’tmind?”
Hecameuptoherandpattedherontheshoulderaffectionately.
“Yougoandgetyourbeautysleep,Hattie.Befreshfortomorrow.”
Hekissedherlightlyandshewentupthestairs,wavingherhandandcallingout:
“Goodnight,all.”
SirGeorgesmiledupather.MissBrewisdrewinherbreathsharplyandturnedbrusquelyaway.
“Comealong,everybody,”shesaid,withaforcedcheerfulnessthatdidnotringtrue.“We’vegottowork.”
Presentlyeveryonewassettotheirtasks.SinceMissBrewiscouldnotbeeverywhereatonce,thereweresoonsomedefaulters.MichaelWeymanornamentedaplacardwithaferociouslymagnificentserpentandthewords,MadameZuleikawilltellyourFortune,andthenvanishedunobtrusively.AlecLeggedidafewnondescriptchoresandthenwentoutavowedlytomeasureforthehooplaanddidnotreappear.Thewomen,aswomendo,workedenergeticallyandconscientiously.HerculePoirotfollowedhishostess’sexampleandwentearlytobed.
III
Poirotcamedowntobreakfastonthefollowingmorningatnine-thirty.Breakfastwasservedinpre-warfashion.Arowofhotdishesonanelectricheater.SirGeorgewaseatingafull-sizedEnglishman’sbreakfastofscrambledeggs,baconandkidneys.Mrs.OliverandMissBrewishadamodifiedversionofthesame.MichaelWeymanwaseatingaplatefulofcoldham.OnlyLadyStubbswasunheedfulofthefleshpotsandwasnibblingthintoastandsippingblackcoffee.Shewaswearingalargepale-pinkhatwhichlookedoddatthebreakfasttable.
Theposthadjustarrived.MissBrewishadanenormouspileoflettersinfrontofherwhichshewasrapidlysortingintopiles.AnyofSirGeorge’smarked“Personal”shepassedovertohim.Theotherssheopenedherselfandsortedintocategories.
LadyStubbshadthreeletters.Sheopenedwhatwereclearlyacoupleofbillsandtossedthemaside.Thensheopenedthethirdletterandsaidsuddenlyandclearly:
“Oh!”
Theexclamationwassostartledthatallheadsturnedtowardsher.
“It’sfromEtienne,”shesaid.“MycousinEtienne.He’scominghereinayacht.”
“Let’ssee,Hattie.”SirGeorgeheldouthishand.Shepassedtheletterdownthetable.Hesmoothedoutthesheetandread.
“Who’sthisEtiennedeSousa?Acousin,yousay?”
“Ithinkso.Asecondcousin.Idonotrememberhimverywell—hardlyatall.Hewas—”
“Yes,mydear?”
Sheshruggedhershoulders.
“Itdoesnotmatter.Itisallalongtimeago.Iwasalittlegirl.”
“Isupposeyouwouldn’trememberhimverywell.Butwemustmakehimwelcome,ofcourse,”saidSirGeorgeheartily.“Pityinawayit’sthefêtetoday,butwe’llaskhimtodinner.Perhapswecouldputhimupforanightortwo—showhimsomethingofthecountry?”
SirGeorgewasbeingtheheartycountrysquire.
LadyStubbssaidnothing.Shestareddownintohercoffeecup.
Conversationontheinevitablesubjectofthefêtebecamegeneral.OnlyPoirotremaineddetached,watchingtheslimexoticfigureattheheadofthetable.Hewonderedjustwhatwasgoingoninhermind.Atthatverymomenthereyescameupandcastaswiftglancealongthetabletowherehesat.Itwasalooksoshrewdandappraisingthathewasstartled.Astheireyesmet,theshrewdexpressionvanished—emptinessreturned.Butthatotherlookhadbeenthere,cold,calculating,watchful….
Orhadheimaginedit?Inanycase,wasn’tittruethatpeoplewhowereslightlymentallydeficientveryoftenhadakindofslynativecunningthatsometimessurprisedeventhepeoplewhoknewthembest?
HethoughttohimselfthatLadyStubbswascertainlyanenigma.Peopleseemedtoholddiametricallyoppositeideasconcerningher.MissBrewishadintimatedthatLadyStubbsknewverywellwhatshewasdoing.YetMrs.Oliverdefinitelythoughtherhalf-witted,andMrs.Folliatwhohadknownherlongandintimatelyhadspokenofherassomeonenotquitenormal,whoneededcareandwatchfulness.
MissBrewiswasprobablyprejudiced.ShedislikedLadyStubbsforherindolenceandheraloofness.PoirotwonderedifMissBrewishadbeenSirGeorge’ssecretarypriortohismarriage.Ifso,shemighteasilyresentthecomingofthenewrégime.
PoirothimselfwouldhaveagreedwholeheartedlywithMrs.FolliatandMrs.Oliver—untilthismorning.And,afterall,couldhereallyrelyonwhathadbeenonlyafleetingimpression?
LadyStubbsgotupabruptlyfromthetable.
“Ihaveaheadache,”shesaid.“Ishallgoandliedowninmyroom.”
SirGeorgesprangupanxiously.
“Mydeargirl.You’reallright,aren’tyou?”
“It’sjustaheadache.”
“You’llbefitenoughforthisafternoon,won’tyou?”
“Yes,Ithinkso.”
“Takesomeaspirin,LadyStubbs,”saidMissBrewisbriskly.“HaveyougotsomeorshallIbringittoyou?”
“I’vegotsome.”
Shemovedtowardsthedoor.Asshewentshedroppedthehandkerchiefshehadbeensqueezingbetweenherfingers.Poirot,movingquietlyforward,pickeditupunobtrusively.
SirGeorge,abouttofollowhiswife,wasstoppedbyMissBrewis.
“Abouttheparkingofcarsthisafternoon,SirGeorge.I’mjustgoingtogiveMitchellinstructions.Doyouthinkthatthebestplanwouldbe,asyousaid—?”
Poirot,goingoutoftheroom,heardnomore.
Hecaughtuphishostessonthestairs.
“Madame,youdroppedthis.”
Heprofferedthehandkerchiefwithabow.
Shetookitunheedingly.
“DidI?Thankyou.”
“Iammostdistressed,Madame,thatyoushouldbesuffering.Particularlywhenyourcousiniscoming.”
Sheansweredquickly,almostviolently.
“Idon’twanttoseeEtienne.Idon’tlikehim.He’sbad.Hewasalwaysbad.I’mafraidofhim.Hedoesbadthings.”
ThedoorofthediningroomopenedandSirGeorgecameacrossthehallandupthestairs.
“Hattie,mypoordarling.Letmecomeandtuckyouup.”
Theywentupthestairstogether,hisarmroundhertenderly,hisfaceworriedandabsorbed.
Poirotlookedupafterthem,thenturnedtoencounterMissBrewismovingfast,andclaspingpapers.
“LadyStubbs’headache—”hebegan.
“Nomoreheadachethanmyfoot,”saidMissBrewiscrossly,anddisappearedintoheroffice,closingthedoorbehindher.
Poirotsighedandwentoutthroughthefrontdoorontotheterrace.Mrs.Mastertonhadjustdrivenupinasmallcarandwasdirectingtheelevationofateamarquee,bayingoutordersinrichfull-bloodedtones.
SheturnedtogreetPoirot.
“Suchanuisance,theseaffairs,”sheobserved.“Andtheywillalwaysputeverythinginthewrongplace.No,Rogers!Moretotheleft—left—notright!Whatdoyouthinkoftheweather,M.Poirot?Looksdoubtfultome.Rain,ofcourse,wouldspoileverything.Andwe’vehadsuchafinesummerthisyearforachange.Where’sSirGeorge?Iwanttotalktohimaboutcarparking.”
“Hiswifehadaheadacheandhasgonetoliedown.”
“She’llbeallrightthisafternoon,”saidMrs.Mastertonconfidently.“Likesfunctions,youknow.She’llmakeaterrifictoiletandbeaspleasedaboutitasachild.Justfetchmeabundleofthosepegsoverthere,willyou?Iwanttomarktheplacesfortheclockgolfnumbers.”
Poirot,thuspressedintoservice,wasworkedbyMrs.Mastertonrelentlessly,asausefulapprentice.Shecondescendedtotalktohimintheintervalsofhardlabour.
“Gottodoeverythingyourself,Ifind.Onlyway…Bytheway,you’reafriendoftheEliots,Ibelieve?”
Poirot,afterhislongsojourninEngland,comprehendedthatthiswasanindicationofsocialrecognition.Mrs.Mastertonwasinfactsaying:“Althoughaforeigner,IunderstandyouareOneofUs.”Shecontinuedtochatinanintimatemanner.
“NicetohaveNasselivedinagain.Wewereallsoafraiditwasgoingtobeahotel.Youknowwhatitisnowadays;onedrivesthroughthecountryandpassesplaceafterplacewiththeboardup‘GuestHouse’or‘PrivateHotel’or‘HotelA.A.FullyLicensed.’Allthehousesonestayedinasagirl—orwhereonewenttodances.Verysad.Yes,I’mgladaboutNasseandsoispoordearAmyFolliat,ofcourse.She’shadsuchahardlife—butnevercomplains,Iwillsay.SirGeorgehasdonewondersforNasse—andnotvulgarizedit.Don’tknowwhetherthat’stheresultofAmyFolliat’sinfluence—orwhetherit’shisownnaturalgoodtaste.Hehasgotquitegoodtaste,youknow.Verysurprisinginamanlikethat.”
“Heisnot,Iunderstand,oneofthelandedgentry?”saidPoirotcautiously.
“Heisn’tevenreallySirGeorge—waschristenedit,Iunderstand.TooktheideafromLordGeorgeSanger’sCircus,Isuspect.Veryamusingreally.Ofcourseweneverleton.Richmenmustbeallowedtheirlittlesnobberies,don’tyouagree?ThefunnythingisthatinspiteofhisoriginsGeorgeStubbswouldgodownperfectlywellanywhere.He’sathrowback.Puretypeoftheeighteenth-centurycountrysquire.Goodbloodinhim,I’dsay.Fatheragentandmotherabarmaid,ismyguess.”
Mrs.Mastertoninterruptedherselftoyelltoagardener.
“Notbythatrhododendron.Youmustleaveroomfortheskittlesovertotheright.Right—notleft!”
Shewenton:“Extraordinaryhowtheycan’ttelltheirleftfromtheirright.TheBrewiswomanisefficient.Doesn’tlikepoorHattie,though.Looksathersometimesasthoughshe’dliketomurderher.Somanyofthesegoodsecretariesareinlovewiththeirboss.NowwheredoyouthinkJimWarburtoncanhavegotto?Sillythewayhestickstocallinghimself‘Captain.’NotaregularsoldierandneverwithinmilesofaGerman.Onehastoputup,ofcourse,withwhatonecangetthesedays—andhe’sahardworker—butIfeelthere’ssomethingratherfishyabouthim.Ah!HerearetheLegges.”
SallyLegge,dressedinslacksandayellowpullover,saidbrightly:
“We’vecometohelp.”
“Lotstodo,”boomedMrs.Masterton.“Now,letmesee…”
Poirot,profitingbyherinattention,slippedaway.Ashecameroundthecornerofthehouseontothefrontterracehebecameaspectatorofanewdrama.
Twoyoungwomen,inshorts,withbrightblouses,hadcomeoutfromthewoodandwerestandinguncertainlylookingupatthehouse.InoneofthemhethoughtherecognizedtheItaliangirlofyesterday’sliftinthecar.FromthewindowofLadyStubbs’bedroomSirGeorgeleanedoutandaddressedthemwrathfully.
“You’retrespassing,”heshouted.
“Please?”saidtheyoungwomanwiththegreenheadscarf.
“Youcan’tcomethroughhere.Private.”
Theotheryoungwoman,whohadaroyalblueheadscarf,saidbrightly:
“Please?NassecombeQuay…”Shepronounceditcarefully.“Itisthisway?Please.”
“You’retrespassing,”bellowedSirGeorge.
“Please?”
“Trespassing!Nowaythrough.You’vegottogoback.BACK!Thewayyoucame.”
Theystaredashegesticulated.Thentheyconsultedtogetherinafloodofforeignspeech.Finally,doubtfully,blue-scarfsaid:
“Back?ToHostel?”
“That’sright.Andyoutaketheroad—roadroundthatway.”
Theyretreatedunwillingly.SirGeorgemoppedhisbrowandlookeddownatPoirot.
“Spendmytimeturningpeopleoff,”hesaid.“Usedtocomethroughthetopgate.I’vepadlockedthat.Nowtheycomethroughthewoods,havinggotoverthefence.Thinktheycangetdowntotheshoreandthequayeasilythisway.Well,theycan,ofcourse,muchquicker.Butthere’snorightofway—neverhasbeen.Andthey’repracticallyallforeigners—don’tunderstandwhatyousay,andjustjabberbackatyouinDutchorsomething.”
“Ofthese,oneisGermanandtheotherItalian,Ithink—IsawtheItaliangirlonherwayfromthestationyesterday.”
“Everykindoflanguagetheytalk…Yes,Hattie?Whatdidyousay?”Hedrewbackintotheroom.
PoirotturnedtofindMrs.Oliverandawell-developedgirloffourteendressedinGuideuniformclosebehindhim.
“ThisisMarlene,”saidMrs.Oliver.
Marlenegiggled.
“I’mthehorribleCorpse,”shesaid.“ButI’mnotgoingtohaveanybloodonme.”Hertoneexpresseddisappointment.
“No?”
“No.Juststrangledwithacord,that’sall.I’doflikedtobestabbed—andhavelashingsofredpaint.”
“CaptainWarburtonthoughtitmightlooktoorealistic,”saidMrs.Oliver.
“InamurderIthinkyououghttohaveblood,”saidMarlenesulkily.ShelookedatPoirotwithhungryinterest.“Seenlotsofmurders,haven’tyou?Soshesays.”
“Oneortwo,”saidPoirotmodestly.
HeobservedwithalarmthatMrs.Oliverwasleavingthem.
“Anysexmaniacs?”askedMarlenewithavidity.
“Certainlynot.”
“Ilikesexmaniacs,”saidMarlenewithrelish.“Readingaboutthem,Imean.”
“Youwouldprobablynotlikemeetingone.”
“Oh,Idunno.D’youknowwhat?Ibelievewe’vegotasexmaniacroundhere.Mygranddadsawabodyinthewoodsonce.Hewasscaredandranaway,andwhenhecomebackitwasgone.Itwasawoman’sbody.Butofcoursehe’sbatty,mygranddadis,sonoonelistenstowhathesays.”
Poirotmanagedtoescapeand,regainingthehousebyacircuitousroute,tookrefugeinhisbedroom.Hefeltinneedofrepose.
Six
Lunchwasanearlyandquicklysnatchedaffairofacoldbuffet.Attwo-thirtyaminorfilmstarwastoopenthefête.Theweather,afterlookingominouslylikerain,begantoimprove.Bythreeo’clockthefêtewasinfullswing.Peoplewerepayingtheadmissionchargeofhalfacrowninlargenumbers,andcarswereliningonesideofthelongdrive.StudentsfromtheYouthHostelarrivedinbatchesconversingloudlyinforeigntongues.TruetoMrs.Masterton’sforecast,LadyStubbshademergedfromherbedroomjustbeforehalfpasttwo,dressedinacyclamendresswithanenormouscoolie-shapedhatofblackstraw.Sheworelargequantitiesofdiamonds.
MissBrewismurmuredsardonically:
“Thinksit’stheRoyalEnclosureatAscot,evidently!”
ButPoirotcomplimentedhergravely.
“Itisabeautifulcreationthatyouhaveon,Madame.”
“Itisnice,isn’tit,”saidHattiehappily.“IworeitforAscot.”
TheminorfilmstarwasarrivingandHattiemovedforwardtogreether.
Poirotretreatedintothebackground.Hewanderedarounddisconsolately—everythingseemedtobeproceedinginthenormalfashionoffêtes.Therewasacoconutshy,presidedoverbySirGeorgeinhisheartiestfashion,askittlealleyandahoopla.Therewerevarious“stalls”displayinglocalproduceoffruit,vegetables,jamsandcakes—andothersdisplaying“fancyobjects.”Therewere“raffles”ofcakes,ofbasketsoffruit;even,itseemed,ofapig;anda“LuckyDip”forchildrenattwopenceago.
TherewasagoodcrowdofpeoplebynowandanExhibitionofChildren’sDancingbegan.PoirotsawnosignofMrs.Oliver,butLadyStubbs’cyclamenpinkfigureshowedupamongstthecrowdasshedriftedrathervaguelyabout.Thefocusofattention,however,seemedtobeMrs.Folliat.Shewasquitetransformedinappearance—wearingahydrangea-bluefoulardfrockandasmartgreyhat,sheappearedtopresideovertheproceedings,greetingnewarrivals,anddirectingpeopletothevarioussideshows.
Poirotlingerednearherandlistenedtosomeoftheconversations.
“Amy,mydear,howareyou?”
“Oh,Pamela,howniceofyouandEdwardtocome.SuchalongwayfromTiverton.”
“Theweather’sheldforyou.Remembertheyearbeforethewar?Cloudburstcamedownaboutfouro’clock.Ruinedthewholeshow.”
“Butit’sbeenawonderfulsummerthisyear.Dorothy!It’sagessinceI’veseenyou.”
“WefeltwehadtocomeandseeNasseinitsglory.Iseeyou’vecutbacktheberberisonthebank.”
“Yes,itshowsthehydrangeasbetter,don’tyouthink?”
“Howwonderfultheyare.Whatablue!But,mydear,you’vedonewondersinthelastyear.Nasseisreallybeginningtolooklikeitselfagain.”
Dorothy’shusbandboomedinadeepvoice:
“Cameovertoseethecommandanthereduringthewar.Nearlybrokemyheart.”
Mrs.Folliatturnedtogreetahumblervisitor.
“Mrs.Knapper,Iampleasedtoseeyou.IsthisLucy?Howshe’sgrown!”
“She’llbeleavingschoolnextyear.Pleasedtoseeyoulookingsowell,ma’am.”
“I’mverywell,thankyou.Youmustgoandtryyourluckathoopla,Lucy.Seeyouintheteatentlater,Mrs.Knapper.Ishallbehelpingwiththeteas.”
Anelderlyman,presumablyMr.Knapper,saiddiffidently:
“PleasedtohaveyoubackatNasse,ma’am.Seemslikeoldtimes.”
Mrs.Folliat’sresponsewasdrownedastwowomenandabigbeefymanrushedtowardsher.
“Amy,dear,suchages.Thislooksthegreatestsuccess!Dotellmewhatyou’vedoneabouttherosegarden.Murieltoldmethatyou’rerestockingitwithallthenewfloribundas.”
Thebeefymanchippedin.
“Where’sMarylinGale—?”
“Reggie’sjustdyingtomeether.Hesawherlastpicture.”
“Thatherinthebighat?Myword,that’ssomegetup.”
“Don’tbestupid,darling.That’sHattieStubbs.Youknow,Amy,youreallyshouldn’tlethergoroundquitesolikeamannequin.”
“Amy?”Anotherfriendclaimedattention.“ThisisRoger,Edward’sboy.Mydear,sonicetohaveyoubackatNasse.”
Poirotmovedslowlyawayandabsentmindedlyinvestedashillingonaticketthatmightwinhimthepig.
Heheardfaintlystill,the“Sogoodofyoutocome”refrainfrombehindhim.HewonderedwhetherMrs.Folliatrealizedhowcompletelyshehadslippedintotheroleofhostessorwhetheritwasentirelyunconscious.Shewas,verydefinitelythisafternoon,Mrs.FolliatofNasseHouse.
Hewasstandingbythetentlabelled“MadameZuleikawilltellyourFortunefor2s.6d.”Teashadjustbeguntobeservedandtherewasnolongeraqueueforthefortunetelling.Poirotbowedhishead,enteredthetentandpaidoverhishalfcrownwillinglyfortheprivilegeofsinkingintoachairandrestinghisachingfeet.
MadameZuleikawaswearingflowingblackrobes,agoldtinselscarfwoundroundherheadandaveilacrossthelowerhalfofherfacewhichslightlymuffledherremarks.AgoldbracelethungwithluckycharmstinkledasshetookPoirot’shandandgavehimarapidreading,agreeablyfullofmoneytocome,successwithadarkbeautyandamiraculousescapefromanaccident.
“Itisveryagreeableallthatyoutellme,MadameLegge.Ionlywishthatitcouldcometrue.”
“Oh!”saidSally.“Soyouknowme,doyou?”
“Ihadadvanceinformation—Mrs.Olivertoldmethatyouwereoriginallytobethe‘victim,’butthatyouhadbeensnatchedfromherfortheOccult.”
“IwishIwasbeingthe‘body,’”saidSally.“Muchmorepeaceful.AllJimWarburton’sfault.Isitfouro’clockyet?Iwantmytea.I’moffdutyfromfourtohalfpast.”
“Tenminutestogo,still,”saidPoirot,consultinghislargeold-fashionedwatch.“ShallIbringyouacupofteahere?”
“No,no.Iwantthebreak.Thistentisstifling.Aretherealotofpeoplewaitingstill?”
“No.Ithinktheyareliningupfortea.”
“Good.”
Poirotemergedfromthetentandwasimmediatelychallengedbyadeterminedwomanandmadetopaysixpenceandguesstheweightofacake.
Ahooplastallpresidedoverbyafatmotherlywomanurgedhimtotryhisluckand,muchtohisdiscomfiture,heimmediatelywonalargeKewpiedoll.WalkingsheepishlyalongwiththisheencounteredMichaelWeymanwhowasstandinggloomilyontheoutskirtsnearthetopofapaththatleddowntothequay.
“Youseemtohavebeenenjoyingyourself,M.Poirot,”hesaid,withasardonicgrin.
Poirotcontemplatedhisprize.
“Itistrulyhorrible,isitnot?”hesaidsadly.
Asmallchildnearhimsuddenlyburstoutcrying.Poirotstoopedswiftlyandtuckedthedollintothechild’sarm.
“Voilà,itisforyou.”
Thetearsceasedabruptly.
“There—Violet—isn’tthegentlemankind?Say,Ta,everso—”
“Children’sFancyDress,”calledoutCaptainWarburtonthroughamegaphone.“Thefirstclass—threetofive.Formup,please.”
Poirotmovedtowardsthehouseandwascannonedintobyayoungmanwhowassteppingbackwardstotakeabetteraimatacoconut.TheyoungmanscowledandPoirotapologized,mechanically,hiseyeheldfascinatedbythevariedpatternoftheyoungman’sshirt.Herecognizeditasthe“turtle’shirtofSirGeorge’sdescription.Everykindofturtle,tortoiseandseamonsterappearedtobewrithingandcrawlingoverit.
PoirotblinkedandwasaccostedbytheDutchgirltowhomhehadgivenaliftthedaybefore.
“Soyouhavecometothefête,”hesaid.“Andyourfriend?”
“Oh,yes,she,too,comesherethisafternoon.Ihavenotseenheryet,butweshallleavetogetherbythebusthatgoesfromthegatesatfive-fifteen.WegotoTorquayandthereIchangetoanotherbusforPlymouth.Itisconvenient.”
ThisexplainedwhathadpuzzledPoirot,thefactthattheDutchgirlwasperspiringundertheweightofarucksack.
Hesaid:“Isawyourfriendthismorning.”
“Oh,yes,Elsa,aGermangirl,waswithherandshetoldmetheyhadtriedtogetthroughwoodstotheriverandquay.Andthegentlemanwhoownsthehousewasveryangryandmadethemgoback.”
Sheadded,turningherheadtowhereSirGeorgewasurgingcompetitorsonatthecoconutshy:
“Butnow—thisafternoon,heisverypolite.”
PoirotconsideredexplainingthattherewasadifferencebetweenyoungwomenwhoweretrespassersandthesameyoungwomenwhentheyhadpaidtwoshillingsandsixpenceentrancefeeandwerelegallyentitledtosamplethedelightsofNasseHouseanditsgrounds.ButCaptainWarburtonandhismegaphoneboredownuponhim.TheCaptainwaslookinghotandbothered.
“HaveyouseenLadyStubbs,Poirot?AnyoneseenLadyStubbs?She’ssupposedtobejudgingthisFancyDressbusinessandIcan’tfindheranywhere.”
“Isawher,letmesee—oh,abouthalfanhourago.ButthenIwenttohavemyfortunetold.”
“Cursethewoman,”saidWarburtonangrily.“Wherecanshehavedisappearedto?Thechildrenarewaitingandwe’rebehindscheduleasitis.”
Helookedround.
“Where’sAmandaBrewis?”
MissBrewis,also,wasnotinevidence.
“Itreallyistoobad,”saidWarburton.“One’sgottohavesomecooperationifone’stryingtorunashow.WherecanHattiebe?Perhapsshe’sgoneintothehouse.”
Hestrodeoffrapidly.
Poirotedgedhiswaytowardstheroped-offspacewhereteaswerebeingservedinalargemarquee,buttherewasalongqueuewaitingandhedecidedagainstit.
HeinspectedtheFancyGoodsstallwhereadeterminedoldladyverynearlymanagedtosellhimaplasticcollarbox,andfinallymadehiswayroundtheoutskirtstoaplacewherehecouldcontemplatetheactivityfromasafedistance.
HewonderedwhereMrs.Oliverwas.
Footstepsbehindhimmadehimturnhishead.Ayoungmanwascomingupthepathfromthequay;averydarkyoungman,faultlesslyattiredinyachtingcostume.Hepausedasthoughdisconcertedbythescenebeforehim.
ThenhespokehesitatinglytoPoirot.
“Youwillexcuseme.IsthisthehouseofSirGeorgeStubbs?”
“Itisindeed.”Poirotpausedandthenhazardedaguess.“Areyou,perhaps,thecousinofLadyStubbs?”
“IamEtiennedeSousa—”
“MynameisHerculePoirot.”
Theybowedtoeachother.Poirotexplainedthecircumstancesofthefête.Ashefinished,SirGeorgecameacrossthelawntowardsthemfromthecoconutshy.
“DeSousa?Delightedtoseeyou.Hattiegotyourletterthismorning.Where’syouryacht?”
“ItismooredatHelmmouth.Icameuptherivertothequayhereinmylaunch.”
“WemustfindHattie.She’ssomewhereabout…You’lldinewithusthisevening,Ihope?”
“Youaremostkind.”
“Canweputyouup?”
“Thatalsoismostkind,butIwillsleeponmyyacht.Itiseasierso.”
“Areyoustayingherelong?”
“Twoorthreedays,perhaps.Itdepends.”DeSousashruggedelegantshoulders.
“Hattiewillbedelighted,I’msure,”saidSirGeorgepolitely.“Whereisshe?Isawhernotlongago.”
Helookedroundinaperplexedmanner.
“Sheoughttobejudgingthechildren’sfancydress.Ican’tunderstandit.Excusemeamoment.I’llaskMissBrewis.”
Hehurriedoff.DeSousalookedafterhim.PoirotlookedatdeSousa.
“Itissomelittletimesinceyoulastsawyourcousin?”heasked.
Theothershruggedhisshoulders.
“Ihavenotseenhersinceshewasfifteenyearsold.Soonafterthatshewassentabroad—toschoolataconventinFrance.Asachildshepromisedtohavegoodlooks.”
HelookedinquiringlyatPoirot.
“Sheisabeautifulwoman,”saidPoirot.
“Andthatisherhusband?Heseemswhattheycall‘agoodfellow,’butnotperhapsverypolished?Still,forHattieitmightbeperhapsalittledifficulttofindasuitablehusband.”
Poirotremainedwithapolitelyinquiringexpressiononhisface.Theotherlaughed.
“Oh,itisnosecret.AtfifteenHattiewasmentallyundeveloped.Feebleminded,doyounotcallit?Sheisstillthesame?”
“Itwouldseemso—yes,”saidPoirotcautiously.
DeSousashruggedhisshoulders.
“Ah,well!Whyshouldoneaskitofwomen—thattheyshouldbeintelligent?Itisnotnecessary.”
SirGeorgewasback,fuming.MissBrewiswaswithhim,speakingratherbreathlessly.
“I’venoideawheresheis,SirGeorge.Isawheroverbythefortuneteller’stentlast.Butthatwasatleasttwentyminutesorhalfanhourago.She’snotinthehouse.”
“Isitnotpossible,”askedPoirot,“thatshehasgonetoobservetheprogressofMrs.Oliver’smurderhunt?”
SirGeorge’sbrowcleared.
“That’sprobablyit.Lookhere,Ican’tleavetheshowshere.I’mincharge.AndAmanda’sgotherhandsfull.Couldyoupossiblyhavealookround,Poirot?Youknowthecourse.”
ButPoirotdidnotknowthecourse.However,aninquiryofMissBrewisgavehimroughguidance.MissBrewistookbriskchargeofdeSousaandPoirotwentoffmurmuringtohimself,likeanincantation:“TennisCourt,CamelliaGarden,TheFolly,UpperNurseryGarden,Boathouse….”
AshepassedthecoconutshyhewasamusedtonoticeSirGeorgeprofferingwoodenballswithadazzlingsmileofwelcometothesameyoungItalianwomanwhomhehaddrivenoffthatmorningandwhowasclearlypuzzledathischangeofattitude.
Hewentonhiswaytothetenniscourt.Buttherewasnoonetherebutanoldgentlemanofmilitaryaspectwhowasfastasleeponagardenseatwithhishatpulledoverhiseyes.Poirotretracedhisstepstothehouseandwentondowntothecamelliagarden.
InthecamelliagardenPoirotfoundMrs.Oliverdressedinpurplesplendour,sittingonagardenseatinabroodingattitude,andlookingratherlikeMrs.Siddons.Shebeckonedhimtotheseatbesideher.
“Thisisonlythesecondclue,”shehissed.“IthinkI’vemadethemtoodifficult.Nobody’scomeyet.”
Atthismomentayoungmaninshorts,withaprominentAdam’sapple,enteredthegarden.Withacryofsatisfactionhehurriedtoatreeinonecornerandafurthersatisfiedcryannouncedhisdiscoveryofthenextclue.Passingthem,hefeltimpelledtocommunicatehissatisfaction.
“Lotsofpeopledon’tknowaboutcorktrees,”hesaidconfidentially.“Cleverphotograph,thefirstclue,butIspottedwhatitwas—sectionofatennisnet.Therewasapoisonbottle,empty,andacork.Mostof’emwillgoalloutafterthebottleclue—Iguesseditwasaredherring.Verydelicate,corktrees,onlyhardyinthispartoftheworld.I’minterestedinrareshrubsandtrees.Nowwheredoesonego,Iwonder?”
Hefrownedovertheentryinthenotebookhecarried.
“I’vecopiedthenextcluebutitdoesn’tseemtomakesense.”Heeyedthemsuspiciously.“Youcompeting?”
“Oh,no,”saidMrs.Oliver.“We’rejust—lookingon.”
“Righty-ho…‘Whenlovelywomanstoopstofolly.’…I’veanideaI’veheardthatsomewhere.”
“Itisawell-knownquotation,”saidPoirot.
“AFollycanalsobeabuilding,”saidMrs.Oliverhelpfully.“White—withpillars,”sheadded.
“That’sanidea!Thanksalot.TheysayMrs.AriadneOliverisdownhereherselfsomewhereabout.I’dliketogetherautograph.Youhaven’tseenherabout,haveyou?”
“No,”saidMrs.Oliverfirmly.
“I’dliketomeether.Goodyarnsshewrites.”Heloweredhisvoice.“Buttheysayshedrinkslikeafish.”
HehurriedoffandMrs.Oliversaidindignantly:
“Really!That’smostunfairwhenIonlylikelemonade!”
“Andhaveyounotjustperpetratedthegreatestunfairnessinhelpingthatyoungmantowardsthenextclue?”
“Consideringhe’stheonlyonewho’sgotheresofar,Ithoughtheoughttobeencouraged.”
“Butyouwouldn’tgivehimyourautograph.”
“That’sdifferent,”saidMrs.Oliver.“Sh!Herecomesomemore.”
Butthesewerenotcluehunters.Theyweretwowomenwhohavingpaidforadmittanceweredeterminedtogettheirmoney’sworthbyseeingthegroundsthoroughly.
Theywerehotanddissatisfied.
“You’dthinkthey’dhavesomeniceflowerbeds,”saidonetotheother.“Nothingbuttreesandmoretrees.It’snotwhatIcallagarden.”
Mrs.OlivernudgedPoirot,andtheyslippedquietlyaway.
“Supposing,”saidMrs.Oliverdistractedly,“thatnobodyeverfindsmybody?”
“Patience,Madame,andcourage,”saidPoirot.“Theafternoonisstillyoung.”
“That’strue,”saidMrs.Oliver,brightening.“Andit’shalf-priceadmissionafterfour-thirty,soprobablylotsofpeoplewillflockin.Let’sgoandseehowthatMarlenechildisgettingon.Idon’treallytrustthatgirl,youknow.Nosenseofresponsibility.Iwouldn’tputitpasthertosneakawayquietly,insteadofbeingacorpse,andgoandhavetea.Youknowwhatpeoplearelikeabouttheirteas.”
TheyproceededamicablyalongthewoodlandpathandPoirotcommentedonthegeographyoftheproperty.
“Ifinditveryconfusing,”hesaid.“Somanypaths,andoneisneversurewheretheylead.Andtrees,treeseverywhere.”
“Yousoundlikethatdisgruntledwomanwe’vejustleft.”
TheypassedtheFollyandzigzaggeddownthepathtotheriver.Theoutlinesoftheboathouseshowedbeneaththem.
Poirotremarkedthatitwouldbeawkwardifthemurdersearchersweretolightupontheboathouseandfindthebodybyaccident.
“Asortofshortcut?Ithoughtofthat.That’swhythelastclueisjustakey.Youcan’tunlockthedoorwithoutit.It’saYale.Youcanonlyopenitfromtheinside.”
Ashortsteepslopeleddowntothedooroftheboathousewhichwasbuiltoutovertheriver,withalittlewharfandastorageplaceforboatsunderneath.Mrs.Olivertookakeyfromapocketconcealedamongstherpurplefoldsandunlockedthedoor.
“We’vejustcometocheeryouup,Marlene,”shesaidbrightlyassheentered.
ShefeltslightlyremorsefulatherunjustsuspicionsofMarlene’sloyalty,forMarlene,artisticallyarrangedas“thebody,”wasplayingherpartnobly,sprawledonthefloorbythewindow.
Marlenemadenoresponse.Shelayquitemotionless.Thewindblowinggentlythroughtheopenwindowrustledapileof“comics”spreadoutonthetable.
“It’sallright,”saidMrs.Oliverimpatiently.“It’sonlymeandM.Poirot.Nobody’sgotanydistancewiththecluesyet.”
Poirotwasfrowning.VerygentlyhepushedMrs.Oliverasideandwentandbentoverthegirlonthefloor.Asuppressedexclamationcamefromhislips.HelookedupatMrs.Oliver.
“So…”hesaid.“Thatwhichyouexpectedhashappened.”
“Youdon’tmean…”Mrs.Oliver’seyeswidenedinhorror.Shegraspedforoneofthebasketchairsandsatdown.“Youcan’tmean…Sheisn’tdead?”
Poirotnodded.
“Oh,yes,”hesaid.“Sheisdead.Thoughnotverylongdead.”
“Buthow—?”
Heliftedthecornerofthegayscarfboundroundthegirl’shead,sothatMrs.Olivercouldseetheendsoftheclothesline.
“Justlikemymurder,”saidMrs.Oliverunsteadily.“Butwho?Andwhy?”
“Thatisthequestion,”saidPoirot.
Heforeboretoaddthatthosehadalsobeenherquestions.
Andthattheanswerstothemcouldnotbeheranswers,sincethevictimwasnottheYugoslavianfirstwifeofanAtomScientist,butMarleneTucker,afourteen-year-oldvillagegirlwho,asfaraswasknown,hadnotanenemyintheworld.
Seven
Detective-InspectorBlandsatbehindatableinthestudy.SirGeorgehadmethimonarrival,hadtakenhimdowntotheboathouseandhadnowreturnedwithhimtothehouse.Downattheboathouseaphotographicunitwasnowbusyandthefingerprintmenandthemedicalofficerhadjustarrived.
“Thisdoforyouhereallright?”askedSirGeorge.
“Verynicely,thankyou,sir.”
“WhatamItodoaboutthisshowthat’sgoingon,tell’emaboutit,stopit,orwhat?”
InspectorBlandconsideredforamomentortwo.
“Whathaveyoudonesofar,SirGeorge?”heasked.
“Haven’tsaidanything.There’sasortofideafloatingroundthatthere’sbeenanaccident.Nothingmorethanthat.Idon’tthinkanyone’ssuspectedyetthatit’s—er—well,murder.”
“Thenleavethingsastheyarejustforthemoment,”decidedBland.“Thenewswillgetroundfastenough,Idaresay,”headdedcynically.Hethoughtagainforamomentortwobeforeasking,“Howmanypeopledoyouthinkthereareatthisaffair?”
“CoupleofhundredIshouldsay,”answeredSirGeorge,“andmorepouringineverymoment.Peopleseemtohavecomefromagoodlongwayround.Infactthewholething’sbeingaroaringsuccess.Damnedunfortunate.”
InspectorBlandinferredcorrectlythatitwasthemurderandnotthesuccessofthefêtetowhichSirGeorgewasreferring.
“Acoupleofhundred,”hemused,“andanyoneofthem,Isuppose,couldhavedoneit.”
Hesighed.
“Tricky,”saidSirGeorgesympathetically.“ButIdon’tseewhatreasonanyoneofthemcouldhavehad.Thewholethingseemsquitefantastic—don’tseewhowouldwanttogomurderingagirllikethat.”
“Howmuchcanyoutellmeaboutthegirl?Shewasalocalgirl,Iunderstand?”
“Yes.Herpeopleliveinoneofthecottagesdownnearthequay.Herfatherworksatoneofthelocalfarms—Paterson’s,Ithink.”Headded,“Themotherishereatthefêtethisafternoon.MissBrewis—that’smysecretary,andshecantellyouabouteverythingmuchbetterthanIcan—MissBrewiswinkledthewomanoutandhasgothersomewhere,givinghercupsoftea.”
“Quiteso,”saidtheinspector,approvingly.“I’mnotquiteclearyet,SirGeorge,astothecircumstancesofallthis.Whatwasthegirldoingdownthereintheboathouse?Iunderstandthere’ssomekindofamurderhunt—ortreasurehunt,goingon.”
SirGeorgenodded.
“Yes.Weallthoughtitratherabrightidea.Doesn’tseemquitesobrightnow.IthinkMissBrewiscanprobablyexplainitalltoyoubetterthanIcan.I’llsendhertoyou,shallI?Unlessthere’sanythingelseyouwanttoknowaboutfirst.”
“Notatthemoment,SirGeorge.Imayhavemorequestionstoaskyoulater.TherearepeopleIshallwanttosee.You,andLadyStubbs,andthepeoplewhodiscoveredthebody.Oneofthem,Igather,isthewomannovelistwhodesignedthismurderhuntasyoucallit.”
“That’sright.Mrs.Oliver.Mrs.AriadneOliver.”
Theinspector’seyebrowswentupslightly.
“Oh—her!”hesaid.“Quiteabest-seller.I’vereadalotofherbooksmyself.”
“She’sabitupsetatpresent,”saidSirGeorge,“naturally,Isuppose.I’lltellheryou’llbewantingher,shallI?Idon’tknowwheremywifeis.Sheseemstohavedisappearedcompletelyfromview.Somewhereamongthetwoorthreehundred,Isuppose—notthatshe’llbeabletotellyoumuch.Imeanaboutthegirloranythinglikethat.Whowouldyouliketoseefirst?”
“Ithinkperhapsyoursecretary,MissBrewis,andafterthatthegirl’smother.”
SirGeorgenoddedandlefttheroom.
Thelocalpoliceconstable,RobertHoskins,openedthedoorforhimandshutitafterhewentout.Hethenvolunteeredastatement,obviouslyintendedasacommentaryonsomeofSirGeorge’sremarks.
“LadyStubbsisabitwanting,”hesaid,“uphere.”Hetappedhisforehead.“That’swhyhesaidshewouldn’tbemuchhelp.Scatty,that’swhatsheis.”
“Didhemarryalocalgirl?”
“No.Foreignerofsomesort.Coloured,somesay,butIdon’tthinkthat’ssomyself.”
Blandnodded.Hewassilentforamoment,doodlingwithapencilonasheetofpaperinfrontofhim.Thenheaskedaquestionwhichwasclearlyofftherecord.
“Whodidit,Hoskins?”hesaid.
Ifanyonedidhaveanyideasastowhathadbeengoingon,Blandthought,itwouldbeP.C.Hoskins.Hoskinswasamanofinquisitivemindwithagreatinterestineverybodyandeverything.Hehadagossipingwifeandthat,takenwithhispositionaslocalconstable,providedhimwithvaststoresofinformationofapersonalnature.
“Foreigner,ifyouaskme.’Twouldn’tbeanyonelocal.TheTuckersisallright.Nice,respectablefamily.Nineof’emalltold.Twooftheoldergirlsismarried,oneboyintheNavy,theotherone’sdoinghisNationalService,anothergirl’sovertoahairdresser’satTorquay.There’sthreeyoungeronesathome,twoboysandagirl.”Hepaused,considering.“Noneof’em’swhatyou’dcallbright,butMrs.Tuckerkeepsherhomenice,cleanasapin—youngestofeleven,shewas.She’sgotheroldfatherlivingwithher.”
Blandreceivedthisinformationinsilence.GiveninHoskins’particularidiom,itwasanoutlineoftheTuckers’socialpositionandstanding.
“That’swhyIsayitwasaforeigner,”continuedHoskins.“OneofthosethatstopuptotheHostelatHoodown,likelyasnot.There’ssomequeeronesamongthem—andalotofgoings-on.Besurprised,youwould,atwhatI’veseen’emdoinginthebushesandthewoods!EverybitasbadaswhatgoesoninparkedcarsalongtheCommon.”
P.C.Hoskinswasbythistimeanabsolutespecialistonthesubjectofsexual“goings-on.”TheyformedalargeportionofhisconversationwhenoffdutyandhavinghispintintheBullandBear.Blandsaid:
“Idon’tthinktherewasanything—well,ofthatkind.Thedoctorwilltellus,ofcourse,assoonashe’sfinishedhisexamination.”
“Yes,sir,that’llbeuptohim,thatwill.ButwhatIsayis,youneverknowwithforeigners.Turnnasty,theycan,allinamoment.”
InspectorBlandsighedashethoughttohimselfthatitwasnotquiteaseasyasthat.ItwasallverywellforConstableHoskinstoputtheblameconvenientlyon“foreigners.”Thedooropenedandthedoctorwalkedin.
“Donemybit,”heremarked.“Shalltheytakeherawaynow?Theotheroutfitshavepackedup.”
“SergeantCottrillwillattendtothat,”saidBland.“Well,Doc,what’sthefinding?”
“Simpleandstraightforwardasitcanbe,”saidthedoctor.“Nocomplications.Garrottedwithapieceofclothesline.Nothingcouldbesimpleroreasiertodo.Nostruggleofanykindbeforehand.I’dsaythekiddidn’tknowwhatwashappeningtoheruntilithadhappened.”
“Anysignsofassault?”
“None.Noassault,signsofrape,orinterferenceofanykind.”
“Notpresumablyasexualcrime,then?”
“Iwouldn’tsayso,no.”Thedoctoradded,“Ishouldn’tsayshe’dbeenaparticularlyattractivegirl.”
“Wasshefondoftheboys?”
BlandaddressedthisquestiontoConstableHoskins.
“Iwouldn’tsaythey’dmuchuseforher,”saidConstableHoskins,“thoughmaybeshe’dhavelikeditiftheyhad.”
“Maybe,”agreedBland.Hismindwentbacktothepileofcomicpapersintheboathouseandtheidlescrawlsonthemargin.“JohnnygoeswithKate,”“GeorgiePorgiekisseshikersinthewood.”Hethoughttherehadbeenalittlewishfulthinkingthere.Onthewhole,though,itseemedunlikelythattherewasasexangletoMarleneTucker’sdeath.Although,ofcourse,oneneverknew…Therewerealwaysthosequeercriminalindividuals,menwithasecretlusttokill,whospecializedinimmaturefemalevictims.Oneofthesemightbepresentinthispartoftheworldduringthisholidayseason.Healmostbelievedthatitmustbeso—forotherwisehecouldreallyseenoreasonforsopointlessacrime.However,hethought,we’reonlyatthebeginning.I’dbetterseewhatallthesepeoplehavetotellme.
“Whatabouttimeofdeath?”heasked.
Thedoctorglancedoverattheclockandhisownwatch.
“Justafterhalfpastfivenow,”hesaid.“SayIsawherabouttwentypastfive—she’dbeendeadaboutanhour.Roughly,thatistosay.Putitbetweenfouro’clockandtwentytofive.Letyouknowifthere’sanythingmoreaftertheautopsy.”Headded:“You’llgettheproperreportwiththelongwordsinduecourse.I’llbeoffnow.I’vegotsomepatientstosee.”
HelefttheroomandInspectorBlandaskedHoskinstofetchMissBrewis.HisspiritsrosealittlewhenMissBrewiscameintotheroom.Here,asherecognizedatonce,wasefficiency.Hewouldgetclearanswerstohisquestions,definitetimesandnomuddleheadedness.
“Mrs.Tucker’sinmysittingroom,”MissBrewissaidasshesatdown.“I’vebrokenthenewstoherandgivenhersometea.She’sveryupset,naturally.ShewantedtoseethebodybutItoldheritwasmuchbetternot.Mr.Tuckergetsoffworkatsixo’clockandwascomingtojoinhiswifehere.Itoldthemtolookoutforhimandbringhimalongwhenhearrives.Theyoungerchildrenareatthefêtestill,andsomeoneiskeepinganeyeonthem.”
“Excellent,”saidInspectorBland,withapproval.“IthinkbeforeIseeMrs.TuckerIwouldliketohearwhatyouandLadyStubbscantellme.”
“Idon’tknowwhereLadyStubbsis,”saidMissBrewisacidly.“Iratherimagineshegotboredwiththefêteandhaswanderedoffsomewhere,butIdon’texpectshecantellyouanythingmorethanIcan.Whatexactlyisitthatyouwanttoknow?”
“Iwanttoknowallthedetailsofthismurderhuntfirstandofhowthisgirl,MarleneTucker,cametobetakingapartinit.”
“That’squiteeasy.”
SuccinctlyandclearlyMissBrewisexplainedtheideaofthemurderhuntasanoriginalattractionforthefête,theengagingofMrs.Oliver,thewell-knownnovelist,toarrangethematter,andashortoutlineoftheplot.
“Originally,”MissBrewisexplained,“Mrs.AlecLeggewastohavetakenthepartofthevictim.”
“Mrs.AlecLegge?”queriedtheinspector.
ConstableHoskinsputinanexplanatoryword.
“SheandMr.LeggehavetheLawders’cottage,thepinkonedownbyMillCreek.Camehereamonthago,theydid.Twoorthreemonthstheygotitfor.”
“Isee.AndMrs.Legge,yousay,wastobetheoriginalvictim?Whywasthatchanged?”
“Well,oneeveningMrs.Leggetoldallourfortunesandwassogoodatitthatitwasdecidedwe’dhaveafortuneteller’stentasoneoftheattractionsandthatMrs.LeggeshouldputonEasterndressandbeMadameZuleikaandtellfortunesathalfacrownatime.Idon’tthinkthat’sreallyillegal,isit,Inspector?Imeanit’susuallydoneatthesekindoffêtes?”
InspectorBlandsmiledfaintly.
“Fortunetellingandrafflesaren’talwaystakentooseriously,MissBrewis,”hesaid.“Nowandthenwehaveto—er—makeanexample.”
“Butusuallyyou’retactful?Well,that’showitwas.Mrs.Leggeagreedtohelpusthatwayandsowehadtofindsomebodyelsetodothebody.ThelocalGuideswerehelpingusatthefête,andIthinksomeonesuggestedthatoneoftheGuideswoulddoquitewell.”
“Justwhowasitwhosuggestedthat,MissBrewis?”
“Really,Idon’tquiteknow…IthinkitmayhavebeenMrs.Masterton,theMember’swife.No,perhapsitwasCaptainWarburton…Really,Ican’tbesure.But,anyway,itwassuggested.”
“Isthereanyreasonwhythisparticulargirlshouldhavebeenchosen?”
“N-no,Idon’tthinkso.Herpeoplearetenantsontheestate,andhermother,Mrs.Tucker,sometimescomestohelpinthekitchen.Idon’tknowquitewhywesettledonher.Probablyhernamecametomindfirst.Weaskedherandsheseemedquitepleasedtodoit.”
“Shedefinitelywantedtodoit?”
“Oh,yes,Ithinkshewasflattered.Shewasaverymoronickindofgirl,”continuedMissBrewis,“shecouldn’thaveactedapartoranythinglikethat.Butthiswasallverysimple,andshefeltshe’dbeensingledoutfromtheothersandwaspleasedaboutit.”
“Whatexactlywasitthatshehadtodo?”
“Shehadtostayintheboathouse.Whensheheardanyonecomingtothedoorshewastoliedownonthefloor,putthecordroundherneckandshamdead.”MissBrewis’toneswerecalmandbusinesslike.Thefactthatthegirlwhowastoshamdeadhadactuallybeenfounddeaddidnotatthemomentappeartoaffectheremotionally.
“Ratheraboringwayforthegirltospendtheafternoonwhenshemighthavebeenatthefête,”suggestedInspectorBland.
“Isupposeitwasinaway,”saidMissBrewis,“butonecan’thaveeverything,canone?AndMarlenedidenjoytheideaofbeingthebody.Itmadeherfeelimportant.Shehadapileofpapersandthingstoreadtokeepheramused.”
“Andsomethingtoeataswell?”saidtheinspector.“Inoticedtherewasatraydowntherewithaplateandglass.”
“Oh,yes,shehadabigplateofsweetcakes,andaraspberryfruitdrink.Itookthemdowntohermyself.”
Blandlookedupsharply.
“Youtookthemdowntoher?When?”
“Aboutthemiddleoftheafternoon.”
“Whattimeexactly?Canyouremember?”
MissBrewisconsideredamoment.
“Letmesee.Children’sFancyDresswasjudged,therewasalittledelay—LadyStubbscouldn’tbefound,butMrs.Folliattookherplace,sothatwasallright…Yes,itmusthavebeen—I’malmostsure—aboutfiveminutespastfourthatIcollectedthecakesandthefruitdrink.”
“Andyoutookthemdowntoherattheboathouseyourself.Whattimedidyoureachthere?”
“Oh,ittakesaboutfiveminutestogodowntotheboathouse—aboutquarterpastfour,Ishouldthink.”
“AndatquarterpastfourMarleneTuckerwasaliveandwell?”
“Yes,ofcourse,”saidMissBrewis,“andveryeagertoknowhowpeopleweregettingonwiththemurderhunt,too.I’mafraidIcouldn’ttellher.I’dbeentoobusywiththesideshowonthelawn,butIdidknowthatalotofpeoplehadenteredforit.Twentyorthirtytomyknowledge.Probablyagoodmanymore.”
“HowdidyoufindMarlenewhenyouarrivedattheboathouse?”
“I’vejusttoldyou.”
“No,no,Idon’tmeanthat.Imean,wasshelyingonthefloorshammingdeadwhenyouopenedthedoor?”
“Oh,no,”saidMissBrewis,“becauseIcalledoutjustbeforeIgotthere.SosheopenedthedoorandItookthetrayinandputitonthetable.”
“Ataquarterpastfour,”saidBland,writingitdown,“MarleneTuckerwasaliveandwell.Youwillunderstand,I’msure,MissBrewis,thatthatisaveryimportantpoint.Youarequitesureofyourtimes?”
“Ican’tbeexactlysurebecauseIdidn’tlookatmywatch,butIhadlookedatitashorttimepreviouslyandthat’sasnearasIcanget.”Sheadded,withasuddendawningrealizationoftheinspector’spoint,“Doyoumeanthatitwassoonafter—?”
“Itcan’thavebeenverylongafter,MissBrewis.”
“Oh,dear,”saidMissBrewis.
Itwasaratherinadequateexpression,butneverthelessitconveyedwellenoughMissBrewis’dismayandconcern.
“Now,MissBrewis,onyourwaydowntotheboathouseandonyourwaybackagaintothehouse,didyoumeetanybodyorseeanyoneneartheboathouse?”
MissBrewisconsidered.
“No,”shesaid,“Ididn’tmeetanyone.Imighthave,ofcourse,becausethegroundsareopentoeveryonethisafternoon.Butonthewhole,peopletendtostayroundthelawnandthesideshowsandallthat.Theyliketogoroundthekitchengardensandthegreenhouses,buttheydon’twalkthroughthewoodlandsasmuchasIshouldhavethoughttheywould.Peopletendtoherdtogetherverymuchattheseaffairs,don’tyouthinkso,Inspector?”
Theinspectorsaidthatthatwasprobablyso.
“Though,Ithink,”saidMissBrewis,withsuddenmemory,“thattherewassomeoneintheFolly.”
“TheFolly?”
“Yes.Asmallwhitetemplearrangement.Itwasputupjustayearortwoago.It’stotherightofthepathasyougodowntotheboathouse.Therewassomeoneinthere.Acourtingcouple,Isuspect.Someonewaslaughingandthensomeonesaid,‘Hush.’”
“Youdon’tknowwhothiscourtingcouplewas?”
“I’venoidea.Youcan’tseethefrontoftheFollyfromthepath.Thesidesandbackareenclosed.”
Theinspectorthoughtforamomentortwo,butitdidnotseemlikelytohimthatthecouple—whoevertheywere—intheFollywereimportant.Betterfindoutwhotheywere,perhaps,becausetheyintheirturnmighthaveseensomeonecomingupfromorgoingdowntotheboathouse.
“Andtherewasnooneelseonthepath?Nooneatall?”heinsisted.
“Iseewhatyou’redrivingat,ofcourse,”saidMissBrewis.“IcanonlyassureyouthatIdidn’tmeetanyone.Butthen,yousee,Ineedn’thave.Imean,iftherehadbeenanyoneonthepathwhodidn’twantmetoseethem,it’sthesimplestthingintheworldjusttoslipbehindsomeoftherhododendronbushes.Thepath’sorderedonbothsideswithshrubsandrhododendronbushes.Ifanyonewhohadnobusinesstobethereheardsomeonecomingalongthepath,theycouldslipoutofsightinamoment.”
Theinspectorshiftedontoanothertack.
“Isthereanythingyouknowaboutthisgirlyourself,thatcouldhelpus?”heasked.
“Ireallyknownothingabouther,”saidMissBrewis.“Idon’tthinkI’deverspokentoheruntilthisaffair.She’soneofthegirlsI’veseenabout—Iknowhervaguelybysight,butthat’sall.”
“Andyouknownothingabouther—nothingthatcouldbehelpful?”
“Idon’tknowofanyreasonwhyanyoneshouldwanttomurderher,”saidMissBrewis.“Infactitseemstome,ifyouknowwhatImean,quiteimpossiblethatsuchathingshouldhavehappened.Icanonlythinkthattosomeunbalancedmind,thefactthatshewastobethemurderedvictimmighthaveinducedthewishtomakeherarealvictim.Buteventhatsoundsveryfar-fetchedandsilly.”
Blandsighed.
“Oh,well,”hesaid,“IsupposeI’dbetterseethemothernow.”
Mrs.Tuckerwasathin,hatchet-facedwomanwithstringyblondehairandasharpnose.Hereyeswerereddenedwithcrying,butshehadherselfinhandnow,andwasreadytoanswertheinspector’squestions.
“Doesn’tseemrightthatathinglikethatshouldhappen,”shesaid.“Youreadofthesethingsinthepapers,butthatitshouldhappentoourMarlene—”
“I’mvery,verysorryaboutit,”saidInspectorBlandgently.“WhatIwantyoutodoistothinkashardasyoucanandtellmeifthereisanyonewhocouldhavehadanyreasontoharmthegirl?”
“I’vebeenthinkingaboutthatalready,”saidMrs.Tucker,withasuddensniff.“Thoughtandthought,Ihave,butIcan’tgetanywhere.WordswiththeteacheratschoolMarlenehadnowandagain,andshe’dhaveherquarrelsnowandagainwithoneofthegirlsorboys,butnothingseriousinanyway.There’snoonewhohadarealdownonher,nobodywho’ddoheramischief.”
“Shenevertalkedtoyouaboutanyonewhomighthavebeenanenemyofanykind?”
“Shetalkedsillyoften,Marlenedid,butnothingofthatkind.Itwasallmakeupandhairdos,andwhatshe’dliketodotoherfaceandherself.Youknowwhatgirlsare.Fartooyoungshewas,toputonlipstickandallthatmuck,andherdadtoldherso,andsodidI.Butthat’swhatshe’ddowhenshegotholdofanymoney.Buyherselfscentandlipsticksandhidethemaway.”
Blandnodded.Therewasnothingherethatcouldhelphim.Anadolescent,rathersillygirl,herheadfulloffilmstarsandglamour—therewerehundredsofMarlenes.
“Whatherdad’llsay,Idon’tknow,”saidMrs.Tucker.“Cominghereanyminutehe’llbe,expectingtoenjoyhimself.He’sarareshotatthecoconuts,heis.”
Shebrokedownsuddenlyandbegantosob.
“Ifyouaskme,”shesaid,“it’soneofthemnastyforeignersupattheHostel.Youneverknowwhereyouarewithforeigners.Nicespokenasmostofthemare,someoftheshirtstheywearyouwouldn’tbelieve.Shirtswithgirlsonthemwiththesebikinis,astheycallthem.Andallofthemsunningthemselveshereandtherewithnoshirtsatallon—itallleadstotrouble.That’swhatIsay!”
Stillweeping,Mrs.TuckerwasescortedfromtheroombyConstableHoskins.Blandreflectedthatthelocalverdictseemedtobethecomfortableandprobablyage-longoneofattributingeverytragicoccurrencetounspecifiedforeigners
Eight
“Gotasharptongue,shehas,”Hoskinssaidwhenhereturned.“Nagsherhusbandandbulliesheroldfather.Idaresayshe’sspokesharptothegirlonceortwiceandnowshe’sfeelingbadaboutit.Notthatgirlsmindwhattheirmotherssaytothem.Dropsoff’emlikewateroffaduck’sback.”
InspectorBlandcutshortthesegeneralreflectionsandtoldHoskinstofetchMrs.Oliver.
TheinspectorwasslightlystartledbythesightofMrs.Oliver.Hehadnotexpectedanythingsovoluminous,sopurpleandinsuchastateofemotionaldisturbance.
“Ifeelawful,”saidMrs.Oliver,sinkingdowninthechairinfrontofhimlikeapurpleblancmange.“AWFUL,”sheaddedinwhatwereclearlycapitalletters.
Theinspectormadeafewambiguousnoises,andMrs.Oliverswepton.
“Because,yousee,it’smymurder.Ididit!”
ForastartledmomentInspectorBlandthoughtthatMrs.Oliverwasaccusingherselfofthecrime.
“WhyIshouldeverhavewantedtheYugoslavianwifeofanAtomScientisttobethevictim,Ican’timagine,”saidMrs.Oliver,sweepingherhandsthroughherelaboratehairdoinafrenziedmannerwiththeresultthatshelookedslightlydrunk.“Absolutelyasinineofme.Itmightjustaswellhavebeenthesecondgardenerwhowasn’twhatheseemed—andthatwouldn’thavematteredhalfasmuchbecause,afterall,mostmencanlookafterthemselves.Iftheycan’tlookafterthemselvestheyoughttobeabletolookafterthemselves,andinthatcaseIshouldn’thavemindedsomuch.Mengetkilledandnobodyminds—Imean,nobodyexcepttheirwivesandsweetheartsandchildrenandthingslikethat.”
AtthispointtheinspectorentertainedunworthysuspicionsaboutMrs.Oliver.Thiswasaidedbythefaintfragranceofbrandywhichwaswaftedtowardshim.OntheirreturntothehouseHerculePoirothadfirmlyadministeredtohisfriendthissovereignremedyforshocks.
“I’mnotmadandI’mnotdrunk,”saidMrs.Oliver,intuitivelydivininghisthoughts,“thoughIdaresaywiththatmanaboutwhothinksIdrinklikeafishandsayseverybodysaysso,youprobablythinksotoo.”
“Whatman?”demandedtheinspector,hismindswitchingfromtheunexpectedintroductionofthesecondgardenerintothedrama,tothefurtherintroductionofanunspecifiedman.
“FrecklesandaYorkshireaccent,”saidMrs.Oliver.“But,asIsay,I’mnotdrunkandI’mnotmad.I’mjustupset.ThoroughlyUPSET,”sherepeated,oncemoreresortingtocapitalletters.
“I’msure,madam,itmusthavebeenmostdistressing,”saidtheinspector.
“Theawfulthingis,”saidMrs.Oliver,“thatshewantedtobeasexmaniac’svictim,andnowIsupposeshewas—is—whichshouldImean?”
“There’snoquestionofasexmaniac,”saidtheinspector.
“Isn’tthere?”saidMrs.Oliver.“Well,thankGodforthat.Or,atleast,Idon’tknow.Perhapsshewouldratherhavehaditthatway.Butifhewasn’tasexmaniac,whydidanybodymurderher,Inspector?”
“Iwashoping,”saidtheinspector,“thatyoucouldhelpmethere.”
Undoubtedly,hethought,Mrs.Oliverhadputherfingeronthecrucialpoint.WhyshouldanyonemurderMarlene?
“Ican’thelpyou,”saidMrs.Oliver.“Ican’timaginewhocouldhavedoneit.Atleast,ofcourse,Icanimagine—Icanimagineanything!That’sthetroublewithme.Icanimaginethingsnow—thisminute.Icouldevenmakethemsoundallright,butofcoursenoneofthemwouldbetrue.Imean,shecouldhavebeenmurderedbysomeonewhojustlikesmurderinggirlsbutthat’stooeasy—and,anyway,toomuchofacoincidencethatsomebodyshouldbeatthisfêtewhowantedtomurderagirl.AndhowwouldheknowthatMarlenewasintheboathouse?Orshemighthaveknownsomesecretaboutsomebody’sloveaffairs,orshemayhaveseensomeoneburyabodyatnight,orshemayhaverecognizedsomebodywhowasconcealinghisidentity—orshemayhaveknownasecretaboutwheresometreasurewasburiedduringthewar.Orthemaninthelaunchmayhavethrownsomebodyintotheriverandshesawitfromthewindowoftheboathouse—orshemayevenhavegotholdofsomeveryimportantmessageinsecretcodeandnotknownwhatitwasherself.”
“Please!”Theinspectorhelduphishand.Hisheadwaswhirling.
Mrs.Oliverstoppedobediently.Itwasclearthatshecouldhavegoneoninthisveinforsometime,althoughitseemedtotheinspectorthatshehadalreadyenvisagedeverypossibility,likelyorotherwise.Outoftherichnessofthematerialpresentedtohim,heseizedupononephrase.
“Whatdidyoumean,Mrs.Oliver,bythe‘maninthelaunch?’Areyoujustimaginingamaninalaunch?”
“Somebodytoldmehe’dcomeinalaunch,”saidMrs.Oliver.“Ican’trememberwho.Theoneweweretalkingaboutatbreakfast,Imean,”sheadded.
“Please.”Theinspector’stonewasnowpleading.Hehadhadnoideabeforewhatthewritersofdetectivestorieswerelike.HeknewthatMrs.Oliverhadwrittenforty-oddbooks.Itseemedtohimastonishingatthemomentthatshehadnotwrittenahundredandforty.Herappedoutaperemptoryinquiry.“Whatisallthisaboutamanatbreakfastwhocameinalaunch?”
“Hedidn’tcomeinthelaunchatbreakfasttime,”saidMrs.Oliver,“itwasayacht.Atleast,Idon’tmeanthatexactly.Itwasaletter.”
“Well,whatwasit?”demandedBland.“Ayachtoraletter?”
“Itwasaletter,”saidMrs.Oliver,“toLadyStubbs.Fromacousininayacht.Andshewasfrightened,”sheended.
“Frightened?Whatof?”
“Ofhim,Isuppose,”saidMrs.Oliver.“Anybodycouldseeit.Shewasterrifiedofhimandshedidn’twanthimtocome,andIthinkthat’swhyshe’shidingnow.”
“Hiding?”saidtheinspector.
“Well,sheisn’taboutanywhere,”saidMrs.Oliver.“Everyone’sbeenlookingforher.AndIthinkshe’shidingbecauseshe’safraidofhimanddoesn’twanttomeethim.”
“Whoisthisman?”demandedtheinspector.
“You’dbetteraskM.Poirot,”saidMrs.Oliver.“BecausehespoketohimandIhaven’t.Hisname’sEsteban—no,itisn’t,thatwasinmyplot.DeSousa,that’swhathisnameis,EtiennedeSousa.”
Butanothernamehadcaughttheinspector’sattention.
“Whodidyousay?”heasked.“Mr.Poirot?”
“Yes.HerculePoirot.Hewaswithmewhenwefoundthebody.”
“HerculePoirot…Iwondernow.Canitbethesameman?ABelgian,asmallmanwithaverybigmoustache?”
“Anenormousmoustache,”agreedMrs.Oliver.“Yes.Doyouknowhim?”
“It’sagoodmanyyearssinceImethim.Iwasayoungsergeantatthetime.”
“Youmethimonamurdercase?”
“Yes,Idid.What’shedoingdownhere?”
“Hewastogiveawaytheprizes,”saidMrs.Oliver.
Therewasamomentaryhesitationbeforeshegavethisanswer,butitwentunperceivedbytheinspector.
“Andhewaswithyouwhenyoudiscoveredthebody,”saidBland.“H’m,I’dliketotalktohim.”
“ShallIgethimforyou?”Mrs.Olivergatheredupherpurpledraperieshopefully.
“There’snothingmorethatyoucanadd,madam?Nothingmorethatyouthinkcouldhelpusinanyway?”
“Idon’tthinkso,”saidMrs.Oliver.“Idon’tknowanything.AsIsay,Icouldimaginereasons—”
Theinspectorcuthershort.HehadnowishtohearanymoreofMrs.Oliver’simaginedsolutions.Theywerefartooconfusing.
“Thankyouverymuch,madam,”hesaidbriskly.“Ifyou’llaskM.PoirottocomeandspeaktomehereIshallbeverymuchobligedtoyou.”
Mrs.Oliverlefttheroom.P.C.Hoskinsinquiredwithinterest:
“Who’sthisMonsieurPoirot,sir?”
“You’ddescribehimprobablyasascream,”saidInspectorBland.“KindofmusichallparodyofaFrenchman,butactuallyhe’saBelgian.Butinspiteofhisabsurdities,he’sgotbrains.Hemustbeafairagenow.”
“WhataboutthisdeSousa?”askedtheconstable.“Thinkthere’sanythinginthat,sir?”
InspectorBlanddidnothearthequestion.Hewasstruckbyafactwhich,thoughhehadbeentolditseveraltimes,wasonlynowbeginningtoregister.
FirstithadbeenSirGeorge,irritatedandalarmed.“Mywifeseemstohavedisappeared.Ican’tthinkwhereshehasgotto.”ThenMissBrewis,contemptuous:“LadyStubbswasnottobefound.She’dgotboredwiththeshow.”AndnowMrs.OliverwithhertheorythatLadyStubbswashiding.
“Eh?What?”heaskedabsently.
ConstableHoskinsclearedhisthroat.
“Iwasaskingyou,sir,ifyouthoughttherewasanythinginthisbusinessofdeSousa—whoeverheis.”
ConstableHoskinswasclearlydelightedathavingaspecificforeignerratherthanforeignersinthemassintroducedintothecase.ButInspectorBland’smindwasrunningonadifferentcourse.
“IwantLadyStubbs,”hesaidcurtly.“Getholdofherforme.Ifsheisn’tabout,lookforher.”
Hoskinslookedslightlypuzzledbuthelefttheroomobediently.InthedoorwayhepausedandfellbackalittletoallowHerculePoirottoenter.Helookedbackoverhisshoulderwithsomeinterestbeforeclosingthedoorbehindhim.
“Idon’tsuppose,”saidBland,risingandholdingouthishand,“thatyourememberme,M.Poirot.”
“Butassuredly,”saidPoirot.“Itis—nowgivemeamoment,justalittlemoment.Itistheyoungsergeant—yes,SergeantBlandwhomImetfourteen—no,fifteenyearsago.”
“Quiteright.Whatamemory!”
“Notatall.Sinceyourememberme,whyshouldInotrememberyou?”
Itwouldbedifficult,Blandthought,toforgetHerculePoirot,andthisnotentirelyforcomplimentaryreasons.
“Sohereyouare,M.Poirot,”hesaid.“Assistingatamurderonceagain.”
“Youareright,”saidPoirot.“Iwascalleddownheretoassist.”
“Calleddowntoassist?”Blandlookedpuzzled.Poirotsaidquickly:
“Imean,Iwasaskeddownheretogiveawaytheprizesofthismurderhunt.”
“SoMrs.Olivertoldme.”
“Shetoldyounothingelse?”Poirotsaiditwithapparentcarelessness.HewasanxioustodiscoverwhetherMrs.OliverhadgiventheinspectoranyhintoftherealmotiveswhichhadledhertoinsistonPoirot’sjourneytoDevon.
“Toldmenothingelse?Sheneverstoppedtellingmethings.Everypossibleandimpossiblemotiveforthegirl’smurder.Shesetmyheadspinning.Phew!Whatanimagination!”
“Sheearnsherlivingbyherimagination,monami,”saidPoirotdryly.
“ShementionedamancalleddeSousa—didsheimaginethat?”
“No,thatissoberfact.”
“Therewassomethingaboutaletteratbreakfastandayachtandcominguptheriverinalaunch.Icouldn’tmakeheadortailofit.”
Poirotembarkeduponanexplanation.Hetoldofthesceneatthebreakfasttable,theletter,LadyStubbs’headache.
“Mrs.OliversaidthatLadyStubbswasfrightened.Didyouthinkshewasafraid,too?”
“Thatwastheimpressionshegaveme.”
“Afraidofthiscousinofhers?Why?”
Poirotshruggedhisshoulders.
“Ihavenoidea.Allshetoldmewasthathewasbad—abadman.Sheis,youunderstand,alittlesimple.Subnormal.”
“Yes,thatseemstobeprettygenerallyknownroundhere.Shedidn’tsaywhyshewasafraidofthisdeSousa?”
“No.”
“Butyouthinkherfearwasreal?”
“Ifitwasnot,thensheisaverycleveractress,”saidPoirotdryly.
“I’mbeginningtohavesomeoddideasaboutthiscase,”saidBland.Hegotupandwalkedrestlesslytoandfro.“It’sthatcursedwoman’sfault,Ibelieve.”
“Mrs.Oliver’s?”
“Yes.She’sputalotofmelodramaticideasintomyhead.”
“Andyouthinktheymaybetrue?”
“Notallofthem—naturally—butoneortwoofthemmightn’tbeaswildastheysounded.Italldepends…”Hebrokeoffasthedooropenedtore-admitP.C.Hoskins.
“Don’tseemabletofindthelady,sir,”hesaid.“She’snotaboutanywhere.”
“Iknowthatalready,”saidBlandirritably.“Itoldyoutofindher.”
“SergeantFarrellandP.C.Lorimeraresearchingthegrounds,sir,”saidHoskins.“She’snotinthehouse,”headded.
“Findoutfromthemanwho’stakingadmissionticketsatthegateifshe’slefttheplace.Eitheronfootorinacar.”
“Yes,sir.”
Hoskinsdeparted.
“Andfindoutwhenshewaslastseenandwhere,”Blandshoutedafterhim.
“Sothatisthewayyourmindisworking,”saidPoirot.
“Itisn’tworkinganywhereyet,”saidBland,“butI’vejustwokenuptothefactthataladywhooughttobeonthepremisesisn’tonthepremises!AndIwanttoknowwhy.Tellmewhatmoreyouknowaboutwhat’s-his-namedeSousa.”
Poirotdescribedhismeetingwiththeyoungmanwhohadcomeupthepathfromthequay.
“Heisprobablystillhereatthefête,”hesaid.“ShallItellSirGeorgethatyouwanttoseehim?”
“Notforamomentortwo,”saidBland.“I’dliketofindoutalittlemorefirst.WhendidyouyourselflastseeLadyStubbs?”
Poirotcasthismindback.Hefounditdifficulttorememberexactly.Herecalledvagueglimpsesofhertall,cyclamen-cladfigurewiththedroopingblackhatmovingaboutthelawntalkingtopeople,hoveringhereandthere;occasionallyhewouldhearthatstrangelaughofhers,distinctiveamongstthemanyotherconfusedsounds.
“Ithink,”hesaiddoubtfully,“itmusthavebeennotlongbeforefouro’clock.”
“Andwherewasshethen,andwhowasshewith?”
“Shewasinthemiddleofagroupofpeoplenearthehouse.”
“WasshetherewhendeSousaarrived?”
“Idon’tremember.Idon’tthinkso,atleastIdidnotseeher.SirGeorgetolddeSousathathiswifewassomewhereabout.Heseemedsurprised,Iremember,thatshewasnotjudgingtheChildren’sFancyDress,asshewassupposedtodo.”
“WhattimewasitwhendeSousaarrived?”
“Itmusthavebeenabouthalfpastfour,Ishouldthink.IdidnotlookatmywatchsoIcannottellyouexactly.”
“AndLadyStubbshaddisappearedbeforehearrived?”
“Itseemsso.”
“Possiblysheranawaysoasnottomeethim,”suggestedtheinspector.
“Possibly,”Poirotagreed.
“Well,shecan’thavegonefar,”saidBland.“Weoughttobeabletofindherquiteeasily,andwhenwedo…”Hebrokeoff.
“Andsupposingyoudon’t?”Poirotputthequestionwithacuriousintonationinhisvoice.
“That’snonsense,”saidtheinspectorvigorously.“Why?Whatd’youthink’shappenedtoher?”
Poirotshruggedhisshoulders.
“Whatindeed!Onedoesnotknow.Allonedoesknowisthatshehas—disappeared!”
“Dashitall,M.Poirot,you’remakingitsoundquitesinister.”
“Perhapsitissinister.”
“It’sthemurderofMarleneTuckerthatwe’reinvestigating,”saidtheinspectorseverely.
“Butevidently.So—whythisinterestindeSousa?DoyouthinkhekilledMarleneTucker?”
InspectorBlandrepliedirrelevantly:
“It’sthatwoman!”
Poirotsmiledfaintly.
“Mrs.Oliver,youmean?”
“Yes.Yousee,M.Poirot,themurderofMarleneTuckerdoesn’tmakesense.Itdoesn’tmakesenseatall.Here’sanondescript,rathermoronickidfoundstrangledandnotahintofanypossiblemotive.”
“AndMrs.Oliversuppliedyouwithamotive?”
“Withadozenatleast!AmongstthemshesuggestedthatMarlenemighthaveaknowledgeofsomebody’ssecretloveaffair,orthatMarlenemighthavewitnessedsomebodybeingmurdered,orthatsheknewwhereaburiedtreasurewashidden,orthatshemighthaveseenfromthewindowoftheboathousesomeactionperformedbydeSousainhislaunchashewasgoinguptheriver.”
“Ah.Andwhichofthosetheoriesappealstoyou,moncher?”
“Idon’tknow.ButIcan’thelpthinkingaboutthem.Listen,M.Poirot.Thinkbackcarefully.WouldyousayfromyourimpressionofwhatLadyStubbssaidtoyouthismorningthatshewasafraidofhercousin’scomingbecausehemight,perhaps,knowsomethingaboutherwhichshedidnotwanttocometotheearsofherhusband,orwouldyousaythatitwasadirectpersonalfearofthemanhimself?”
Poirothadnohesitationinhisreply.
“Ishouldsayitwasadirectpersonalfearofthemanhimself.”
“H’m,”saidInspectorBland.“Well,I’dbetterhavealittletalkwiththisyoungmanifhe’sstillabouttheplace.”
Nine
I
AlthoughhehadnoneofConstableHoskins’ingrainedprejudiceagainstforeigners,InspectorBlandtookaninstantdisliketoEtiennedeSousa.Thepolishedeleganceoftheyoungman,hissartorialperfection,therichflowerysmellofhisbrilliantinedhair,allcombinedtoannoytheinspector.
DeSousawasverysureofhimself,verymuchatease.Healsodisplayed,decorouslyveiled,acertainaloofamusement
“Onemustadmit,”hesaid,“thatlifeisfullofsurprises.Iarrivehereonaholidaycruise,Iadmirethebeautifulscenery,IcometospendanafternoonwithalittlecousinthatIhavenotseenforyears—andwhathappens?FirstIamengulfedinakindofcarnivalwithcoconutswhizzingpastmyhead,andimmediatelyafterwards,passingfromcomedytotragedy,Iamembroiledinamurder.”
Helitacigarette,inhaleddeeply,andsaid:
“Notthatitconcernsmeinanyway,thismurder.Indeed,Iamatalosstoknowwhyyoushouldwanttointerviewme.”
“Youarrivedhereasastranger,Mr.deSousa—”
DeSousainterrupted:
“Andstrangersarenecessarilysuspicious,isthatit?”
“No,no,notatall,sir.No,youdon’ttakemymeaning.Youryacht,Iunderstand,ismooredinHelmmouth?”
“Thatisso,yes.”
“Andyoucameuptheriverthisafternooninamotorlaunch?”
“Again—thatisso.”
“Asyoucameuptheriver,didyounoticeonyourrightasmallboathousejuttingoutintotheriverwithathatchedroofandalittlemooringquayunderneathit?”
DeSousathrewbackhishandsome,darkheadandfrownedashereflected.
“Letmesee,therewasacreekandasmallgreytiledhouse.”
“Fartheruptheriverthanthat,Mr.deSousa.Setamongsttrees.”
“Ah,yes,Iremembernow.Averypicturesquespot.Ididnotknowitwastheboathouseattachedtothishouse.IfIhaddoneso,Iwouldhavemooredmyboatthereandcomeashore.WhenIaskedfordirectionsIhadbeentoldtocomeuptotheferryitselfandgoashoreatthequaythere.”
“Quiteso.Andthatiswhatyoudid?”
“ThatiswhatIdid.”
“Youdidn’tlandat,ornear,theboathouse?”
DeSousashookhishead.
“Didyouseeanyoneattheboathouseasyoupassed?”
“Seeanyone?No.ShouldIhaveseenanyone?”
“Itwasjustapossibility.Yousee,Mr.deSousa,themurderedgirlwasintheboathousethisafternoon.Shewaskilledthere,andshemusthavebeenkilledatatimenotverydistantfromwhenyouwerepassing.”
AgaindeSousaraisedhiseyebrows.
“YouthinkImighthavebeenawitnesstothismurder?”
“Themurdertookplaceinsidetheboathouse,butyoumighthaveseenthegirl—shemighthavelookedoutfromthewindoworcomeoutontothebalcony.Ifyouhadseenheritwould,atanyrate,havenarrowedthetimeofdeathforus.If,whenyou’dpassed,she’dbeenstillalive—”
“Ah.Isee.Yes,Isee.Butwhyaskmeparticularly?ThereareplentyofboatsgoingupanddownfromHelmmouth.Pleasuresteamers.Theypassthewholetime.Whynotaskthem?”
“Weshallaskthem,”saidtheinspector.“Neverfear,weshallaskthem.Iamtotakeit,then,thatyousawnothingunusualattheboathouse?”
“Nothingwhatever.Therewasnothingtoshowtherewasanyonethere.OfcourseIdidnotlookatitwithanyspecialattention,andIdidnotpassverynear.Somebodymighthavebeenlookingoutofthewindows,asyousuggest,butifsoIshouldnothaveseenthatperson.”Headdedinapolitetone,“IamverysorrythatIcannotassistyou.”
“Oh,well,”saidInspectorBlandinafriendlymanner,“wecan’thopefortoomuch.TherearejustafewotherthingsIwouldliketoknow,Mr.deSousa.”
“Yes?”
“Areyoualonedownhereorhaveyoufriendswithyouonthiscruise?”
“Ihavehadfriendswithmeuntilquiterecently,butforthelastthreedaysIhavebeenonmyown—withthecrew,ofcourse.”
“Andthenameofyouryacht,Mr.deSousa?”
“TheEspérance.”
“LadyStubbsis,Iunderstand,acousinofyours?”
DeSousashruggedhisshoulders.
“Adistantcousin.Notverynear.Intheislands,youmustunderstand,thereismuchintermarrying.Weareallcousinsofoneanother.Hattieisasecondorthirdcousin.Ihavenotseenhersinceshewaspracticallyalittlegirl,fourteen—fifteen.”
“Andyouthoughtyouwouldpayherasurprisevisittoday?”
“Hardlyasurprisevisit,Inspector.Ihadalreadywrittentoher.”
“Iknowthatshereceivedaletterfromyouthismorning,butitwasasurprisetohertoknowthatyouwereinthiscountry.”
“Oh,butyouarewrongthere,Inspector.Iwrotetomycousin—letmesee,threeweeksago.IwrotetoherfromFrancejustbeforeIcameacrosstothiscountry.”
Theinspectorwassurprised.
“YouwrotetoherfromFrancetellingheryouproposedtovisither?”
“Yes.ItoldherIwasgoingonayachtingcruiseandthatweshouldprobablyarriveatTorquayorHelmmouthroundaboutthisdate,andthatIwouldletherknowlaterexactlywhenIshouldarrive.”
InspectorBlandstaredathim.ThisstatementwasatcompletevariancewithwhathehadbeentoldaboutthearrivalofEtiennedeSousa’sletteratthebreakfasttable.MorethanonewitnesshadtestifiedtoLadyStubbshavingbeenalarmedandupsetandveryclearlystartledatthecontentsoftheletter.DeSousareturnedhisstarecalmly.Withalittlesmileheflickedafragmentofdustfromhisknee.
“DidLadyStubbsreplytoyourfirstletter?”theinspectorasked.
DeSousahesitatedforamomentortwobeforeheanswered,thenhesaid:
“Itissodifficulttoremember…No,Idonotthinkshedid.Butitwasnotnecessary.Iwastravellingabout,Ihadnofixedaddress.Andbesides,Idonotthinkmycousin,Hattie,isverygoodatwritingletters.”Headded:“Sheisnot,youknow,veryintelligent,thoughIunderstandthatshehasgrownintoaverybeautifulwoman.”
“Youhavenotyetseenher?”BlandputitintheformofaquestionanddeSousashowedhisteethinanagreeablesmile.
“Sheseemstobemostunaccountablymissing,”hesaid.“Nodoubtthisespècedegalaboresher.”
Choosinghiswordscarefully,InspectorBlandsaid:
“Haveyouanyreasontobelieve,Mr.deSousa,thatyourcousinmighthavesomereasonforwishingtoavoidyou?”
“Hattiewishtoavoidme?Really,Idonotseewhy.Whatreasoncouldshehave?”
“ThatiswhatIamaskingyou,Mr.deSousa.”
“YouthinkthatHattiehasabsentedherselffromthisfêteinordertoavoidme?Whatanabsurdidea.”
“Shehadnoreason,asfarasyouknow,tobe—shallwesay—afraidofyouinanyway?”
“Afraid—ofme?”DeSousa’svoicewasscepticalandamused.“ButifImaysayso,Inspector,whatafantasticidea!”
“Yourrelationswithherhavealwaysbeenquiteamicable?”
“ItisasIhavetoldyou.Ihavehadnorelationswithher.Ihavenotseenhersinceshewasachildoffourteen.”
“YetyoulookherupwhenyoucometoEngland?”
“Oh,astothat,Ihadseenaparagraphaboutherinoneofyoursocietypapers.ItmentionshermaidennameandthatsheismarriedtothisrichEnglishman,andIthink‘ImustseewhatthelittleHattiehasturnedinto.Whetherherbrainsnowworkbetterthantheyusedtodo.’”Heshruggedhisshouldersagain.“Itwasamerecousinlypoliteness.Agentlecuriosity—nomore.”
AgaintheinspectorstaredhardatdeSousa.What,hewondered,wasgoingonbehindthemocking,smoothfa?ade?Headoptedamoreconfidentialmanner.
“Iwonderifyoucanperhapstellmealittlemoreaboutyourcousin?Hercharacter,herreactions?”
DeSousaappearedpolitelysurprised.
“Really—hasthisanythingtodowiththemurderofthegirlintheboathouse,whichIunderstandistherealmatterwithwhichyouoccupyyourself?”
“Itmighthaveaconnection,”saidInspectorBland.
DeSousastudiedhimforamomentortwoinsilence.Thenhesaidwithaslightshrugoftheshoulders:
“Ineverknewmycousinatallwell.Shewasaunitinalargefamilyandnotparticularlyinterestingtome.ButinanswertoyourquestionIwouldsaytoyouthatalthoughmentallyweak,shewasnot,asfarasIknow,everpossessedbyanyhomicidaltendencies.”
“Really,Mr.deSousa,Iwasn’tsuggestingthat!”
“Weren’tyou?Iwonder.Icanseenootherreasonforyourquestion.No,unlessHattiehaschangedverymuch,sheisnothomicidal!”Herose.“Iamsurethatyoucannotwanttoaskmeanythingfurther,Inspector.Icanonlywishyoueverypossiblesuccessintrackingdownthemurderer.”
“YouarenotthinkingofleavingHelmmouthforadayortwo,Ihope,Mr.deSousa?”
“Youspeakverypolitely,Inspector.Isthatanorder?”
“Justarequest,sir.”
“Thankyou.IproposetostayinHelmmouthfortwodays.SirGeorgehasverykindlyaskedmetocomeandstayinthehouse,butIprefertoremainontheEspérance.Ifyoushouldwanttoaskmeanyfurtherquestions,thatiswhereyouwillfindme.”
Hebowedpolitely.P.C.Hoskinsopenedthedoorforhim,andhewentout.
“Smarmysortoffellow,”mutteredtheinspectortohimself.
“Aah,”saidP.C.Hoskinsincompleteagreement.
“Saysheishomicidalifyoulike,”wentontheinspector,tohimself.“Whyshouldsheattackanondescriptgirl?There’dbenosenseinit.”
“Youneverknowwiththebarmyones,”saidHoskins.
“Thequestionreallyis,howbarmyisshe?”
Hoskinsshookhisheadsapiently.
“GotalowI.Q.,Ireckon,”hesaid.
Theinspectorlookedathimwithannoyance.
“Don’tbringoutthesenewfangledtermslikeaparrot.Idon’tcareifshe’sgotahighI.Q.oralowI.Q.AllIcareaboutis,isshethesortofwomanwho’dthinkitfunny,ordesirable,ornecessary,toputacordroundagirl’sneckandstrangleher?Andwherethedevilisthewoman,anyway?GooutandseehowFrank’sgettingon.”
Hoskinsleftobediently,andreturnedamomentortwolaterwithSergeantCottrell,abriskyoungmanwithagoodopinionofhimself,whoalwaysmanagedtoannoyhissuperiorofficer.InspectorBlandmuchpreferredtheruralwisdomofHoskinstothesmartknow-allattitudeofFrankCottrell.
“Stillsearchingthegrounds,sir,”saidCottrell.“Theladyhasn’tpassedoutthroughthegate,we’requitesureofthat.It’sthesecondgardenerwho’stheregivingouttheticketsandtakingtheadmissionmoney.He’llswearshehasn’tleft.”
“Thereareotherwaysofleavingthanbythemaingate,Isuppose?”
“Oh,yes,sir.There’sthepathdowntotheferry,buttheoldboydownthere—Merdell,hisnameis—isalsoquitepositivethatshehasn’tleftthatway.He’saboutahundred,butprettyreliable,Ithink.HedescribedquiteclearlyhowtheforeigngentlemanarrivedinhislaunchandaskedthewaytoNasseHouse.Theoldmantoldhimhemustgouptheroadtothegateandpayforadmission.Buthesaidthegentlemanseemedtoknownothingaboutthefêteandsaidhewasarelationofthefamily.Sotheoldmansethimonthepathupfromtheferrythroughthewoods.Merdellseemstohavebeenhangingaboutthequayalltheafternoonsohe’dbeprettysuretohaveseenherladyshipifshe’dcomethatway.Thenthere’sthetopgatethatleadsoverthefieldstoHoodownPark,butthat’sbeenwiredupbecauseoftrespassers,soshedidn’tgothroughthere.Seemsasthoughshemustbestillhere,doesn’tit?”
“Thatmaybeso,”saidtheinspector,“butthere’snothingtopreventher,isthere,fromslippingunderafenceandgoingoffacrosscountry?SirGeorgeisstillcomplainingoftrespassingherefromthehostelnextdoor,Iunderstand.Ifyoucangetinthewaythetrespassersgetin,youcangetoutthesameway,Isuppose.”
“Oh,yes,sir,indubitably,sir.ButI’vetalkedtohermaid,sir.She’swearing”—Cottrellconsultedapaperinhishand—“adressofcyclamencrêpegeorgette(whateverthatis),alargeblackhat,blackcourtshoeswithfour-inchfrenchheels.Notthesortofthingsyou’dwearforacross-countryrun.”
“Shedidn’tchangeherclothes?”
“No.Iwentintothatwiththemaid.There’snothingmissing—nothingwhatever.Shedidn’tpackasuitcaseoranythingofthatkind.Shedidn’tevenchangehershoes.Everypair’sthereandaccountedfor.”
InspectorBlandfrowned.Unpleasantpossibilitieswererisinginhismind.Hesaidcurtly:
“Getmethatsecretarywomanagain—Bruce—whateverhernameis.”
II
MissBrewiscameinlookingrathermoreruffledthanusual,andalittleoutofbreath.
“Yes,Inspector?”shesaid.“Youwantedme?Ifitisn’turgent,SirGeorgeisinaterriblestateand—”
“What’sheinastateabout?”
“He’sonlyjustrealizedthatLadyStubbsis—well,reallymissing.Itoldhimshe’sprobablyonlygoneforawalkinthewoodsorsomething,buthe’sgotitintohisheadthatsomething’shappenedtoher.Quiteabsurd.”
“Itmightnotbesoabsurd,MissBrewis.Afterall,we’vehadone—murderherethisafternoon.”
“Yousurelydon’tthinkthatLadyStubbs—?Butthat’sridiculous!LadyStubbscanlookafterherself.”
“Canshe?”
“Ofcourseshecan!She’sagrownwoman,isn’tshe?”
“Butratherahelplessone,byallaccounts.”
“Nonsense,”saidMissBrewis.“ItsuitsLadyStubbsnowandthentoplaythehelplessnitwitifshedoesn’twanttodoanything.Ittakesherhusbandin,Idaresay,butitdoesn’ttakemein!”
“Youdon’tlikeherverymuch,MissBrewis?”Blandsoundedgentlyinterested.
MissBrewis’lipsclosedinathinline.
“It’snotmybusinesseithertolikeordislikeher,”shesaid.
ThedoorburstopenandSirGeorgecamein.
“Lookhere,”hesaidviolently,“you’vegottodosomething.Where’sHattie?You’vegottofindHattie.Whatthehell’sgoingonroundhereIdon’tknow.Thisconfoundedfête—someruddyhomicidalmaniac’sgotinhere,payinghishalfcrownandlookinglikeeveryoneelse,spendinghisafternoongoingroundmurderingpeople.That’swhatitlooksliketome.”
“Idon’tthinkweneedtakesuchanexaggeratedviewasthat,SirGeorge.”
“It’sallverywellforyousittingtherebehindthetable,writingthingsdown.WhatIwantismywife.”
“I’mhavingthegroundssearched,SirGeorge.”
“Whydidnobodytellmeshe’ddisappeared?She’sbeenmissingacoupleofhoursnow,itseems.Ithoughtitwasoddthatshedidn’tturnuptojudgetheChildren’sFancyDressstuff,butnobodytoldmeshe’dreallygone.”
“Nobodyknew,”saidtheinspector.
“Well,someoneoughtto’veknown.Somebodyoughttohavenoticed.”
HeturnedonMissBrewis.
“Yououghttohaveknown,Amanda,youwerekeepinganeyeonthings.”
“Ican’tbeeverywhere,”saidMissBrewis.Shesoundedsuddenlyalmosttearful.“I’vegotsomuchtoseeto.IfLadyStubbschosetowanderaway—”
“Wanderaway?Whyshouldshewanderaway?She’dnoreasontowanderawayunlessshewantedtoavoidthatdagofellow.”
Blandseizedhisopportunity.
“ThereissomethingIwanttoaskyou,”hesaid.“DidyourwifereceivealetterfromMr.deSousasomethreeweeksago,tellingherhewascomingtothiscountry?”
SirGeorgelookedastonished.
“No,ofcourseshedidn’t.”
“You’resureofthat?”
“Oh,quitesure.Hattiewouldhavetoldme.Why,shewasthoroughlystartledandupsetwhenshegothisletterthismorning.Itmoreorlessknockedherout.Shewaslyingdownmostofthemorningwithaheadache.”
“Whatdidshesaytoyouprivatelyabouthercousin’svisit?Whydidshedreadseeinghimsomuch?”
SirGeorgelookedratherembarrassed.
“BlessedifIreallyknow,”hesaid.“Shejustkeptsayingthathewaswicked.”
“Wicked?Inwhatway?”
“Shewasn’tveryarticulateaboutit.Justwentonratherlikeachildsayingthathewasawickedman.Bad;andthatshewishedhewasn’tcominghere.Shesaidhe’ddonebadthings.”
“Donebadthings?When?”
“Oh,longago.IshouldimaginethisEtiennedeSousawastheblacksheepofthefamilyandthatHattiepickedupoddsandendsabouthimduringherchildhoodwithoutunderstandingthemverywell.Andasaresultshe’sgotasortofhorrorofhim.Ithoughtitwasjustachildishhangovermyself.Mywifeisratherchildishsometimes.Haslikesanddislikes,butcan’texplainthem.”
“Youaresureshedidnotparticularizeinanyway,SirGeorge?”
SirGeorgelookeduneasy.
“Iwouldn’twantyoutogoby—er—whatshesaid.”
“Thenshedidsaysomething?”
“Allright.I’llletyouhaveit.Whatshesaidwas—andshesaiditseveraltimes—‘Hekillspeople.’”
Ten
I
“Hekillspeople,”InspectorBlandrepeated.
“Idon’tthinkyououghttotakeittooseriously,”saidSirGeorge.“Shekeptrepeatingitandsaying,‘Hekillspeople,’butshecouldn’ttellmewhohekilledorwhenorwhy.Ithoughtmyselfitwasjustsomequeer,childlikememory—troublewiththenatives—somethinglikethat.”
“Yousayshecouldn’ttellyouanythingdefinite—doyoumeancouldn’t,SirGeorge—ormightithavebeenwouldn’t?”
“Idon’tthink…”Hebrokeoff.“Idon’tknow.You’vemuddledme.AsIsay,Ididn’ttakeanyofitseriously.Ithoughtperhapsthiscousinhadteasedherabitwhenshewasakid—somethingofthatkind.It’sdifficulttoexplaintoyoubecauseyoudon’tknowmywife.Iamdevotedtoher,buthalfthetimeIdon’tlistentowhatshesaysbecauseitjustdoesn’tmakesense.Anyway,thisdeSousafellowcouldn’thavehadanythingtodowithallthis—don’ttellmehelandshereoffayachtandgoesstraightawaythroughthewoodsandkillsawretchedGirlGuideinaboathouse!Whyshouldhe?”
“I’mnotsuggestingthatanythinglikethathappened,”saidInspectorBland,“butyoumustrealize,SirGeorge,thatinlookingforthemurdererofMarleneTuckerthefieldisamorerestrictedonethanonemightthinkatfirst.”
“Restricted!”SirGeorgestared.“You’vegotthewholeruddyfêtetochoosefrom,haven’tyou?Twohundred—threehundred—people?Anyoneof’emmighthavedoneit.”
“Yes,Ithoughtsoatfirst,butfromwhatI’velearntnowthat’shardlyso.TheboathousedoorhasaYalelock.Nobodycouldcomeinfromoutsidewithoutakey.”
“Well,therewerethreekeys.”
“Exactly.OnekeywasthefinalclueinthisMurderHunt.Itisstillconcealedinthehydrangeawalkattheverytopofthegarden.ThesecondkeywasinthepossessionofMrs.Oliver,theorganizeroftheMurderHunt.Whereisthethirdkey,SirGeorge?”
“Itoughttobeinthedrawerofthatdeskwhereyou’resitting.No,theright-handonewithalotoftheotherestateduplicates.”
Hecameoverandrummagedinthedrawer
“Yes.Hereitisallright.”
“Thenyousee,”saidInspectorBland,“whatthatmeans?Theonlypeoplewhocouldhavegotintotheboathousewerefirst,thepersonwhohadcompletedtheMurderHuntandfoundthekey(whichasfarasweknow,didnothappen).Second,Mrs.Oliverorsomememberofthehouseholdtowhomshemayhavelentherkey,and,third,someonewhomMarleneherselfadmittedtotheroom.”
“Well,thatlatterpointcoversprettywelleveryone,doesn’tit?”
“Veryfarfromit,”saidInspectorBland.“IfIunderstandthearrangementofthisMurderHuntcorrectly,whenthegirlheardanyoneapproachingthedoorshewastoliedownandenactthepartoftheVictim,andwaittobediscoveredbythepersonwhohadfoundthelastclue—thekey.Therefore,asyoumustseeforyourself,theonlypeoplewhomshewouldhaveadmitted,hadtheycalledtoherfromoutsideandaskedhertodoso,werethepeoplewhohadactuallyarrangedtheMurderHunt.Anyinmate,thatis,ofthishouse—thatistosay,yourself,LadyStubbs,MissBrewis,Mrs.Oliver—possiblyM.PoirotwhomIbelieveshehadmetthismorning.Whoelse,SirGeorge?”
SirGeorgeconsideredforamomentortwo.
“TheLegges,ofcourse,”hesaid.“AlecandSallyLegge.They’vebeeninitfromthestart.AndMichaelWeyman,he’sanarchitectstayinghereinthehousetodesignatennispavilion.AndWarburton,theMastertons—oh,andMrs.Folliatofcourse.”
“Thatisall—nobodyelse?”
“That’sthelot.”
“Soyousee,SirGeorge,itisnotaverywidefield.”
SirGeorge’sfacewentscarlet.
“Ithinkyou’retalkingnonsense—absolutenonsense!Areyousuggesting—whatyouaresuggesting?”
“I’monlysuggesting,”saidInspectorBland,“thatthere’sagreatdealwedon’tknowasyet.It’spossible,forinstance,thatMarlene,forsomereason,cameoutoftheboathouse.Shemayevenhavebeenstrangledsomewhereelse,andherbodybroughtbackandarrangedonthefloor.Butevenifso,whoeverarrangedherwasagainsomeonewhowasthoroughlycognisantwithallthedetailsoftheMurderHunt.Wealwayscomebacktothat.”Headdedinaslightlychangedvoice,“Icanassureyou,SirGeorge,thatwe’redoingallwecantofindLadyStubbs.InthemeantimeI’dliketohaveawordwithMr.andMrs.AlecLeggeandMr.MichaelWeyman.”
“Amanda.”
“I’llseewhatIcandoaboutit,Inspector,”saidMissBrewis.“IexpectMrs.Leggeisstilltellingfortunesinthetent.Alotofpeoplehavecomeinwiththehalf-priceadmissionsincefiveo’clock,andallthesideshowsarebusy.IcanprobablygetholdofMr.LeggeorMr.Weymanforyou—whicheveryouwanttoseefirst.”
“Itdoesn’tmatterinwhatorderIseethem,”saidInspectorBland.
MissBrewisnoddedandlefttheroom.SirGeorgefollowedher,hisvoicerisingplaintively.
“Lookhere,Amanda,you’vegotto….”
InspectorBlandrealizedthatSirGeorgedependedagreatdealupontheefficientMissBrewis.Indeed,atthismoment,Blandfoundthemasterofthehouseratherlikeasmallboy.
Whilstwaiting,InspectorBlandpickedupthetelephone,demandedtobeputthroughtothepolicestationatHelmmouthandmadecertainarrangementswiththemconcerningtheyachtEspérance.
“Yourealize,Isuppose,”hesaidtoHoskins,whowasobviouslyquiteincapableofrealizinganythingofthesort,“thatthere’sjustoneperfectlypossibleplacewherethisdamn’womanmightbe—andthat’sonboarddeSousa’syacht?”
“Howd’youmakethatout,sir?”
“Well,thewomanhasnotbeenseentoleavebyanyoftheusualexits,she’stoggedupinawaythatmakesitunlikelythatshe’sleggingitthroughthefieldsorwoods,butitisjustpossiblethatshemetdeSousabyappointmentdownattheboathouseandthathetookherbylaunchtotheyacht,returningtothefêteafterwards.”
“Andwhywouldhedothat,sir?”demandedHoskins,puzzled.
“I’venoidea,”saidtheinspector,“andit’sveryunlikelythathedid.Butit’sapossibility.AndifsheisontheEspérance,I’llseetoitthatshewon’tgetofftherewithoutbeingobserved.”
“Butifherfairhatedthesightofhim…”Hoskinsdroppedintothevernacular.
“Allweknowisthatshesaidshedid.Women,”saidtheinspectorsententiously,“tellalotoflies.Alwaysrememberthat,Hoskins.”
“Aah,”saidConstableHoskinsappreciatively.
II
Furtherconversationwasbroughttoanendasthedooropenedandatallvague-lookingyoungmanentered.Hewaswearinganeatgreyflannelsuit,buthisshirtcollarwascrumpledandhistieaskewandhishairstooduponendinanunrulyfashion.
“Mr.AlecLegge?”saidtheinspector,lookingup.
“No,”saidtheyoungman,“I’mMichaelWeyman.Youaskedforme,Iunderstand.”
“Quitetrue,sir,”saidInspectorBland.“Won’tyoutakeachair?”Heindicatedachairattheoppositesideofthetable.
“Idon’tcareforsitting,”saidMichaelWeyman,“Iliketostrideabout.Whatareallyoupolicedoinghereanyway?What’shappened?”
InspectorBlandlookedathiminsurprise.
“Didn’tSirGeorgeinformyou,sir?”heasked.
“Nobody’s‘informedme,’asyouputit,ofanything.Idon’tsitinSirGeorge’spocketallthetime.Whathashappened?”
“You’restayinginthehouse,Iunderstand?”
“OfcourseI’mstayinginthehouse.What’sthatgottodowithit?”
“SimplythatIimaginedthatallthepeoplestayinginthehousewouldbynowhavebeeninformedofthisafternoon’stragedy.”
“Tragedy?Whattragedy?”
“Thegirlwhowasplayingthepartofthemurdervictimhasbeenkilled.”
“No!”MichaelWeymanseemedexuberantlysurprised.“Doyoumeanreallykilled?Nofakery-pokery?”
“Idon’tknowwhatyoumeanbyfakery-pokery.Thegirl’sdead.”
“Howwasshekilled?”
“Strangledwithapieceofcord.”
MichaelWeymangaveawhistle.
“Exactlyasinthescenario?Well,well,thatdoesgiveoneideas.”Hestrodeovertothewindow,turnedrapidlyabout,andsaid,“Sowe’reallundersuspicion,arewe?Orwasitoneofthelocalboys?”
“Wedon’tseehowitcouldpossiblyhavebeenoneofthelocalboys,asyouputit,”saidtheinspector.
“NomoredoIreally,”saidMichaelWeyman.“Well,Inspector,manyofmyfriendscallmecrazy,butI’mnotthatkindofcrazy.Idon’troamaroundthecountrysidestranglingunderdevelopedspottyyoungwomen.”
“Youaredownhere,Iunderstand,Mr.Weyman,designingatennispavilionforSirGeorge?”
“Ablamelessoccupation,”saidMichael.“Criminallyspeaking,thatis.Architecturally,I’mnotsosure.Thefinishedproductwillprobablyrepresentacrimeagainstgoodtaste.Butthatdoesn’tinterestyou,Inspector.Whatdoesinterestyou?”
“Well,Ishouldliketoknow,Mr.Weyman,exactlywhereyouwerebetweenquarterpastfourthisafternoonandsayfiveo’clock.”
“Howdoyoutapeitdowntothat—medicalevidence?”
“Notentirely,sir.Awitnesssawthegirlaliveataquarterpastfour.”
“Whatwitness—ormayn’tIask?”
“MissBrewis.LadyStubbsaskedhertotakedownatrayofcreamycakeswithsomefruitadetothegirl.”
“OurHattieaskedherthat?Idon’tbelieveitforamoment.”
“Whydon’tyoubelieveit,Mr.Weyman?”
“It’snotlikeher.Notthesortofthingshe’dthinkoforbotherabout.DearLadyStubbs’mindrevolvesentirelyroundherself.”
“I’mstillwaiting,Mr.Weyman,foryouranswertomyquestion.”
“WhereIwasbetweenfourfifteenandfiveo’clock?Well,really,Inspector,Ican’tsayoffhand.Iwasabout—ifyouknowwhatImean.”
“Aboutwhere?”
“Oh,hereandthere.Imingledabitonthelawn,watchedthelocalsamusingthemselves,hadawordortwowiththeflutteryfilmstar.Then,whenIgotsickofitall,IwentalongtothetenniscourtandmusedoverthedesignforthePavilion.IalsowonderedhowsoonsomeonewouldidentifythephotographthatwasthefirstcluefortheMurderHuntwithasectionoftennisnet.”
“Didsomeoneidentifyit?”
“Yes,Ibelievesomeonedidcomealong,butIwasn’treallynoticingbythen.IgotanewideaaboutthePavilion—awayofmakingthebestoftwoworlds.MyownandSirGeorge’s.”
“Andafterthat?”
“Afterthat?Well,Istrolledaroundandcamebacktothehouse.IstrolleddownthequayandhadacrackwitholdMerdell,thencameback.Ican’tfixanyofthetimeswithanyaccuracy.Iwas,asIsaid,inthefirstplace,about!That’sallthereistoit.”
“Well,Mr.Weyman,”saidtheinspectorbriskly,“Iexpectwecangetsomeconfirmationofallthis.”
“MerdellcantellyouthatItalkedtohimonthequay.Butofcoursethat’llberatherlaterthanthetimeyou’reinterestedin.MusthavebeenafterfivewhenIgotdownthere.Veryunsatisfactory,isn’tit,Inspector?”
“Weshallbeabletonarrowitdown,Iexpect,Mr.Weyman.”
Theinspector’stonewaspleasant,buttherewasasteelyringinitthatdidnotescapetheyoungarchitect’snotice.Hesatdownonthearmofachair.
“Seriously,”hesaid,“whocanhavewantedtomurderthatgirl?”
“You’venoideasyourself,Mr.Weyman?”
“Well,offhand,I’dsayitwasourprolificauthoress,thePurplePeril.Haveyouseenherimperialpurplegetup?IsuggestthatshewentabitoffheronionandthoughthowmuchbettertheMurderHuntwouldbeiftherewasarealbody.How’sthat?”
“Isthataserioussuggestion,Mr.Weyman?”
“It’stheonlyprobabilityIcanthinkof.”
“There’soneotherthingIwouldliketoaskyou,Mr.Weyman.DidyouseeLadyStubbsduringthecourseoftheafternoon?”
“OfcourseIsawher.Whocouldmissher?DresseduplikeamannequinofJacquesFathorChristianDior?”
“Whendidyouseeherlast?”
“Last?Idon’tknow.Strikinganattitudeonthelawnabouthalfpastthree—oraquartertofourperhaps.”
“Andyoudidn’tseeherafterthat?”
“No.Why?”
“Iwondered—becauseafterfouro’clocknobodyseemstohaveseenher.LadyStubbshas—vanished,Mr.Weyman.”
“Vanished!OurHattie?”
“Thatsurprisesyou?”
“Yes,itdoesrather…What’ssheupto,Iwonder?”
“D’youknowLadyStubbswell,Mr.Weyman?”
“NevermethertillIcamedownherefourorfivedaysago.”
“Haveyouformedanyopinionsabouther?”
“Ishouldsaysheknowswhichsideherbreadisbutteredbetterthanmost,”saidMichaelWeymandryly.“Averyornamentalyoungwomanandknowshowtomakethemostofit.”
“Butmentallynotveryactive?Isthatright?”
“Dependswhatyoumeanbymentally,”saidMichaelWeyman.“Iwouldn’tdescribeherasanintellectual.Butifyou’rethinkingthatshe’snotallthere,you’rewrong.”Atoneofbitternesscameintohisvoice.“I’dsayshewasverymuchallthere.Nobodymoreso.”
Theinspector’seyebrowsrose.
“That’snotthegenerallyacceptedopinion.”
“Forsomereasonshelikesplayingthedimnitwit.Idon’tknowwhy.ButasI’vesaidbefore,inmyopinion,she’sverymuchallthere.”
Theinspectorstudiedhimforamoment,thenhesaid:
“Andyoureallycan’tgetanynearertoexacttimesandplacesbetweenthehoursIhavementioned?”
“Sorry.”Weymanspokejerkily.“I’mafraidIcan’t.Rottenmemory,neveranygoodabouttime.”Headded,“Finishedwithme?”
Astheinspectornodded,helefttheroomquickly.
“AndI’dliketoknow,”saidtheinspector,halftohimselfandhalftoHoskins,“whatthere’sbeenbetweenhimandherLadyship.Eitherhe’smadeapassatherandshe’sturnedhimdown,orthere’sbeensomekindofadustup.”Hewenton,“WhatwouldyousaywasthegeneralopinionroundthesepartsaboutSirGeorgeandhislady?”
“She’sdaft,”saidConstableHoskins
“Iknowyouthinkthat,Hoskins.Isthattheacceptedview?”
“I’dsayso.”
“AndSirGeorge—isheliked?”
“He’slikedwellenough.He’sagoodsportsmanandheknowsabitaboutfarming.Theoldlady’sdonealottohelp.”
“Whatoldlady?”
“Mrs.FolliatwholivesattheLodgehere.”
“Oh,ofcourse.TheFolliatsusedtoownthisplace,didn’tthey?”
“Yes,andit’sowingtotheoldladythatSirGeorgeandLadyStubbshavebeentakenupaswellastheyhave.Got’eminwiththenobseverywhere,shehas.”
“Paidfordoingso,doyouthink?”
“Oh,no,notMrs.Folliat.”Hoskinssoundedshocked.“IunderstandsheknewLadyStubbsbeforeshewasmarriedanditwasshewhourgedonSirGeorgetobuythisplace.”
“I’llhavetotalktoMrs.Folliat,”saidtheinspector.
“Ah,she’sashrewdoldlady,sheis.Ifanythingisgoingon,she’dknowaboutit.”
“Imusttalktoher,”saidtheinspector.“Iwonderwheresheisnow.”
Eleven
I
Mrs.FolliatwasatthatmomentbeingtalkedtobyHerculePoirotinthebigdrawingroom.Hehadfoundherthereleaningbackinachairinacorneroftheroom.Shehadstartednervouslywhenhecamein.Thensinkingback,shehadmurmured:
“Oh,it’syou,M.Poirot.”
“Iapologize,Madame.Idisturbedyou.”
“No,no.Youdon’tdisturbme.I’mjustresting,that’sall.I’mnotasyoungasIwas.Theshock—itwastoomuchforme.”
“Icomprehend,”saidPoirot.“Indeed,Icomprehend.”
Mrs.Folliat,ahandkerchiefclutchedinhersmallhand,wasstaringupattheceiling.Shesaidinavoicehalf-stifledwithemotion:
“Icanhardlybeartothinkofit.Thatpoorgirl.Thatpoor,poorgirl—”
“Iknow,”saidPoirot.“Iknow.”
“Soyoung,”saidMrs.Folliat;“justatthebeginningoflife.”Shesaidagain,“Icanhardlybeartothinkofit.”
Poirotlookedathercuriously.Sheseemed,hethought,tohaveagedbyabouttenyearssincethetimeearlyintheafternoon,whenhehadseenher,thegracioushostess,welcomingherguests.Nowherfaceseemeddrawnandhaggardwiththelinesinitclearlymarked.
“Yousaidtomeonlyyesterday,Madame,itisaverywickedworld.”
“DidIsaythat?”Mrs.Folliatseemedstartled.“It’strue…Oh,yes,I’monlyjustbeginningtoknowhowtrueitis.”Sheaddedinalowvoice,“ButIneverthoughtanythinglikethiswouldhappen.”
Againhelookedathercuriously.
“Whatdidyouthinkwouldhappen,then?Something?”
“No,no.Ididn’tmeanthat.”
Poirotpersisted.
“Butyoudidexpectsomethingtohappen—somethingoutoftheusual.”
“Youmisunderstandme,M.Poirot.Ionlymeanthatit’sthelastthingyouwouldexpecttohappeninthemiddleofafêtelikethis.”
“LadyStubbsthismorningalsospokeofwickedness.”
“Hattiedid?Oh,don’tspeakofhertome—don’tspeakofher.Idon’twanttothinkabouther.”Shewassilentforamomentortwo,andthensaid,“Whatdidshesay—aboutwickedness?”
“Shewasspeakingofhercousin.EtiennedeSousa.Shesaidthathewaswicked,thathewasabadman.Shesaid,too,thatshewasafraidofhim.”
Hewatched,butshemerelyshookherheadincredulously.
“EtiennedeSousa—whoishe?”
“Ofcourse,youwerenotatbreakfast.Iforgot,Mrs.Folliat.LadyStubbsreceivedaletterfromthiscousinofherswhomshehadnotseensinceshewasagirloffifteen.Hetoldherthatheproposedtocalluponhertoday,thisafternoon.”
“Anddidhecome?”
“Yes.Hearrivedhereabouthalfpastfour.”
“Surely—d’youmeanthatratherhandsome,darkyoungmanwhocameuptheferrypath?Iwonderedwhohewasatthetime.”
“Yes,Madame,thatwasMr.deSousa.”
Mrs.Folliatsaidenergetically:
“IfIwereyouIshouldpaynoattentiontothethingsHattiesays.”SheflushedasPoirotlookedatherinsurpriseandwenton,“Sheislikeachild—Imean,sheusestermslikeachild—wicked,good.Nohalfshades.Ishouldn’tpayanyattentiontowhatshetellsyouaboutthisEtiennedeSousa.”
AgainPoirotwondered.Hesaidslowly:
“YouknowLadyStubbsverywell,doyounot,Mrs.Folliat?”
“Probablyaswellasanyoneknowsher.Possiblyevenbetterthanherhusbandreallyknowsher.AndifIdo?”
“Whatisshereallylike,Madame?”
“Whataveryoddquestion,M.Poirot.”
“Youknow,doyounot,Madame,thatLadyStubbscannotbefoundanywhere?”
Againheranswersurprisedhim.Sheexpressednoconcernorastonishment.Shesaid:
“Soshehasrunaway,hasshe?Isee.”
“Itseemstoyouquitenatural,that?”
“Natural?Oh,Idon’tknow.Hattieisratherunaccountable.”
“Doyouthinkshehasrunawaybecauseshehasaguiltyconscience?”
“Whatdoyoumean,M.Poirot?”
“Hercousinwastalkingaboutherthisafternoon.Hementionedcasuallythatshehadalwaysbeenmentallysubnormal.Ithinkyoumustknow,Madame,thatpeoplewhoaresubnormalmentallyarenotalwaysaccountablefortheiractions.”
“Whatareyoutryingtosay,M.Poirot?”
“Suchpeopleare,asyousay,verysimple—likechildren.Inasuddenfitofragetheymightevenkill.”
Mrs.Folliatturnedonhiminsuddenanger.
“Hattiewasneverlikethat!Iwon’tallowyoutosaysuchthings.Shewasagentlewarmheartedgirl,evenifshewas—alittlesimplementally.Hattiewouldneverhavekilledanyone.”
Shefacedhim,breathinghard,stillindignant.
Poirotwondered.Hewonderedverymuch.
II
Breakingintothisscene,P.C.Hoskinsmadehisappearance.
Hesaidinanapologeticmanner:
“I’vebeenlookingforyou,ma’am.”
“Goodevening,Hoskins.”Mrs.Folliatwasoncemoreherpoisedselfagain,themistressofNasseHouse.“Yes,whatisit?”
“Theinspector’scompliments,andhe’dbegladtohaveawordwithyou—ifyoufeelsuptoit,thatis,”Hoskinshastenedtoadd;noting,asHerculePoirothaddone,theeffectsofshock.
“OfcourseIfeeluptoit.”Mrs.Folliatrosetoherfeet.ShefollowedHoskinsoutoftheroom.Poirot,havingrisenpolitely,satdownagainandstaredupattheceilingwithapuzzledfrown.
TheinspectorrosewhenMrs.Folliatenteredandtheconstableheldthechairforhertositdown.
“I’msorrytoworryyou,Mrs.Folliat,”saidBland.“ButIimaginethatyouknowallthepeopleintheneighbourhoodandIthinkyoumaybeabletohelpus.”
Mrs.Folliatsmiledfaintly.“Iexpect,”shesaid,“thatIknoweveryoneroundhereaswellasanyonecoulddo.Whatdoyouwanttoknow,Inspector?”
“YouknewtheTuckers?Thefamilyandthegirl?”
“Oh,yes,ofcourse,they’vealwaysbeentenantsontheestate.Mrs.Tuckerwastheyoungestofalargefamily.Hereldestbrotherwasourheadgardener.ShemarriedAlfredTucker,whoisafarmlabourer—astupidmanbutverynice.Mrs.Tuckerisabitofashrew.Agoodhousewife,youknow,andverycleaninthehouse,butTuckerisneverallowedtocomeanywherefartherthanthescullerywithhismuddybootson.Allthatsortofthing.Shenagsthechildrenrather.Mostofthemhavemarriedandgoneintojobsnow.Therewasjustthispoorchild,Marlene,leftandthreeyoungerchildren.Twoboysandagirlstillatschool.”
“Now,knowingthefamilyasyoudo,Mrs.Folliat,canyouthinkofanyreasonwhyMarleneshouldhavebeenkilledtoday?”
“No,indeedIcan’t.It’squite,quiteunbelievable,ifyouknowwhatImean,Inspector.Therewasnoboyfriendoranythingofthatkind,orIshouldn’tthinkso.NotthatI’veeverheardof,anyway.”
“Nowwhataboutthepeoplewho’vebeentakingpartinthisMurderHunt?Canyoutellmeanythingaboutthem?”
“Well,Mrs.OliverI’dnevermetbefore.Sheisquiteunlikemyideaofwhatacrimenovelistwouldbe.She’sveryupset,poordear,bywhathashappened—naturally.”
“Andwhatabouttheotherhelpers—CaptainWarburton,forinstance?”
“Idon’tseeanyreasonwhyheshouldmurderMarleneTucker,ifthat’swhatyou’reaskingme,”saidMrs.Folliatcomposedly.“Idon’tlikehimverymuch.He’swhatIcallafoxysortofman,butIsupposeonehastobeuptoallthepoliticaltricksandallthatkindofthing,ifoneisapoliticalagent.He’scertainlyenergeticandhasworkedveryhardoverthisfête.Idon’tthinkhecouldhavekilledthegirl,anyway,becausehewasonthelawnthewholetimethisafternoon.”
Theinspectornodded.
“AndtheLegges?WhatdoyouknowabouttheLegges?”
“Well,theyseemaveryniceyoungcouple.He’sinclinedtobewhatIshouldcall—moody.Idon’tknowverymuchabouthim.ShewasaCarstairsbeforehermarriageandIknowsomerelationsofhersverywell.TheytooktheMillCottagefortwomonths,andIhopethey’veenjoyedtheirholidayhere.We’veallgotveryfriendlytogether.”
“She’sanattractivelady,Iunderstand.”
“Oh,yes,veryattractive.”
“WouldyousaythatatanytimeSirGeorgehadfeltthatattraction?”
Mrs.Folliatlookedratherastonished.
“Oh,no,I’msuretherewasnothingofthatkind.SirGeorgeisreallyabsorbedbyhisbusiness,andveryfondofhiswife.He’snotatallaphilanderingsortofman.”
“Andtherewasnothing,youwouldsay,betweenLadyStubbsandMr.Legge?”
AgainMrs.Folliatshookherhead.
“Oh,no,positively.”
Theinspectorpersisted.
“There’sbeennotroubleofanykindbetweenSirGeorgeandhiswife,thatyouknowof?”
“I’msuretherehasn’t,”saidMrs.Folliat,emphatically.“AndIwouldknowiftherehadbeen.”
“Itwouldn’tbe,then,asaresultofanydisagreementbetweenhusbandandwifethatLadyStubbshasgoneaway?”
“Oh,no.”Sheaddedlightly,“Thesillygirl,Iunderstand,didn’twanttomeetthiscousinofhers.Somechildishphobia.Soshe’srunawayjustlikeachildmightdo.”
“That’syouropinion.Nothingmorethanthat?”
“Oh,no.Iexpectshe’llturnupagainquitesoon.Feelingratherashamedofherself.”Sheaddedcarelessly,“What’sbecomeofthiscousin,bytheway?Ishestillhereinthehouse?”
“Iunderstandhe’sgonebacktohisyacht.”
“Andthat’satHelmmouth,isit?”
“Yes,atHelmmouth.”
“Isee,”saidMrs.Folliat.“Well,it’sratherunfortunate—Hattiebehavingsochildishly.However,ifhe’sstayingonhereforadayorso,wecanmakeherseeshemustbehaveproperly.”
Itwas,theinspectorthought,aquestion,butalthoughhenoticedithedidnotanswerit.
“Youareprobablythinking,”hesaid,“thatallthisisratherbesidethepoint.Butyoudounderstand,don’tyou,Mrs.Folliat,thatwehavetorangeoverratherawidefield.MissBrewis,forinstance.WhatdoyouknowaboutMissBrewis?”
“Well,she’sanexcellentsecretary.Morethanasecretary.Shepracticallyactsashousekeeperdownhere.Infact,Idon’tknowwhatthey’ddowithouther.”
“WassheSirGeorge’ssecretarybeforehemarriedhiswife?”
“Ithinkso.I’mnotquitesure.I’veonlyknownhersinceshecamedownherewiththem.”
“Shedoesn’tlikeLadyStubbsverymuch,doesshe?”
“No,”saidMrs.Folliat,“I’mafraidshedoesn’t.Idon’tthinkthesegoodsecretarieseverdocareforwivesmuch,ifyouknowwhatImean.Perhapsit’snatural.”
“WasityouorLadyStubbswhoaskedMissBrewistotakecakesandafruitdrinktothegirlintheboathouse?”
Mrs.Folliatlookedslightlysurprised.
“IrememberMissBrewiscollectingsomecakesandthingsandsayingshewastakingthemalongtoMarlene.Ididn’tknowanyonehadparticularlyaskedhertodoit,orarrangedaboutit.Itcertainlywasn’tme.”
“Isee.Yousayyouwereintheteatentfromfouro’clockon.IbelieveMrs.Leggewasalsohavingteainthetentatthattime.”
“Mrs.Legge?No,Idon’tthinkso.AtleastIdon’trememberseeingherthere.Infact,I’mquitesureshewasn’tthere.We’dhadagreatinfluxbythebusfromTorquay,andIrememberlookingroundthetentandthinkingthattheymustallbesummervisitors;therewashardlyafacetherethatIknew.IthinkMrs.Leggemusthavecomeintotealater.”
“Oh,well,”saidtheinspector,“itdoesn’tmatter.”Headdedsmoothly,“Well,Ireallythinkthat’sall.Thankyou,Mrs.Folliat,you’vebeenverykind.WecanonlyhopethatLadyStubbswillreturnshortly.”
“Ihopeso,too,”saidMrs.Folliat.“Verythoughtlessofthedearchildgivingusallsomuchanxiety.”Shespokebrisklybuttheanimationinhervoicewasnotverynatural.“I’msure,”saidMrs.Folliat,“thatshe’squiteallright.Quiteallright.”
Atthatmomentthedooropenedandanattractiveyoungwomanwithredhairandafreckledfacecamein,andsaid:
“Ihearyou’vebeenaskingforme?”
“ThisisMrs.Legge,Inspector,”saidMrs.Folliat.“Sally,dear,Idon’tknowwhetheryou’veheardabouttheterriblethingthathashappened?”
“Oh,yes!Ghastly,isn’tit?”saidMrs.Legge.Sheutteredanexhaustedsigh,andsankdowninthechairasMrs.Folliatlefttheroom.
“I’mterriblysorryaboutallthis,”shesaid.“Itseemsreallyunbelievable,ifyouknowwhatImean.I’mafraidIcan’thelpyouinanyway.Yousee,I’vebeentellingfortunesalltheafternoon,soIhaven’tseenanythingofwhatwasgoingon.”
“Iknow,Mrs.Legge.Butwejusthavetoaskeverybodythesameroutinequestions.Forinstance,justwherewereyoubetweenfourfifteenandfiveo’clock?”
“Well,Iwentandhadteaatfouro’clock.”
“Intheteatent?”
“Yes.”
“Itwasverycrowded,Ibelieve?”
“Oh,frightfullycrowded.”
“Didyouseeanyoneyouknewthere?”
“Oh,afewoldpeople,yes.Nobodytospeakto.Goodness,howIwantedthattea!Thatwasfouro’clock,asIsay.Igotbacktothefortune-tellingtentathalfpastfourandwentonwithmyjob.AndgoodnessknowswhatIwaspromisingthewomenintheend.Millionairehusbands,filmstardominHollywood—heavenknowswhat.Merejourneysacrosstheseaandsuspiciousdarkwomenseemedtootame.”
“Whathappenedduringthehalfhourwhenyouwereabsent—Imean,supposingpeoplewantedtohavetheirfortunestold?”
“Oh,Ihungacardupoutsidethetent.‘Backatfour-thirty.’”
Theinspectormadeanoteinhispad.
“WhendidyoulastseeLadyStubbs?”
“Hattie?Idon’treallyknow.ShewasquitenearathandwhenIcameoutofthefortune-tellingtenttogototea,butIdidn’tspeaktoher.Idon’trememberseeingherafterwards.Somebodytoldmejustnowthatshe’smissing.Isthattrue?”
“Yes,itis.”
“Oh,well,”saidSallyLeggecheerfully,“she’sabitqueerinthetopstorey,youknow.Idaresayhavingamurderherehasfrightenedher.”
“Well,thankyou,Mrs.Legge.”
Mrs.Leggeacceptedthedismissalwithpromptitude.Shewentout,passingHerculePoirotinthedoorway.
III
Lookingattheceiling,theinspectorspoke.
“Mrs.Leggesaysshewasintheteatentbetweenfourandfour-thirty.Mrs.Folliatsaysshewashelpingintheteatentfromfouro’clockonbutthatMrs.Leggewasnotamongthosepresent.”Hepausedandthenwenton,“MissBrewissaysthatLadyStubbsaskedhertotakeatrayofcakesandfruitjuicetoMarleneTucker.MichaelWeymansaysthatit’squiteimpossibleLadyStubbsshouldhavedoneanysuchthing—itwouldbemostuncharacteristicofher.”
“Ah,”saidPoirot,“theconflictingstatements!Yes,onealwayshasthem.”
“Andwhatanuisancetheyaretoclearup,too,”saidtheinspector.“Sometimestheymatterbutinninetimesoutoftentheydon’t.Well,we’vegottodoalotofspadework,that’sclear.”
“Andwhatdoyouthinknow,moncher?Whatarethelatestideas?”
“Ithink,”saidtheinspectorgravely,“thatMarleneTuckersawsomethingshewasnotmeanttosee.IthinkthatitwasbecauseofwhatMarleneTuckersawthatshehadtobekilled.”
“Iwillnotcontradictyou,”saidPoirot.“Thepointiswhatdidshesee?”
“Shemighthaveseenamurder,”saidtheinspector.“Orshemighthaveseenthepersonwhodidthemurder.”
“Murder?”saidPoirot.“Themurderofwhom?”
“Whatdoyouthink,Poirot?IsLadyStubbsaliveordead?”
Poirottookamomentortwobeforehereplied.Thenhesaid:
“Ithink,monami,thatLadyStubbsisdead.AndIwilltellyouwhyIthinkthat.ItisbecauseMrs.Folliatthinkssheisdead.Yes,whatevershemaysaynow,orpretendtothink,Mrs.FolliatbelievesthatHattieStubbsisdead.Mrs.Folliat,”headded,“knowsagreatdealthatwedonot.”
Twelve
HerculePoirotcamedowntothebreakfasttableonthefollowingmorningtoadepletedtable.Mrs.Oliver,stillsufferingfromtheshockofyesterday’soccurrence,washavingherbreakfastinbed.MichaelWeymanhadhadacupofcoffeeandgoneoutearly.OnlySirGeorgeandthefaithfulMissBrewiswereatthebreakfasttable.SirGeorgewasgivingindubitableproofofhismentalconditionbybeingunabletoeatanybreakfast.Hisplatelayalmostuntastedbeforehim.Hepushedasidethesmallpileofletterswhich,afteropeningthem,MissBrewishadplacedbeforehim.Hedrankcoffeewithanairofnotknowingwhathewasdoing.Hesaid:
“Morning,M.Poirot,”perfunctorily,andthenrelapsedintohisstateofpreoccupation.Attimesafewejaculatorymurmurscamefromhim.
“Soincredible,thewholedamn’thing.Wherecanshebe?”
“TheinquestwillbeheldattheInstituteonThursday,”saidMissBrewis.“Theyranguptotellus.”
Heremployerlookedatherasifhedidnotunderstand.
“Inquest?”hesaid.“Oh,yes,ofcourse.”Hesoundeddazedanduninterested.Afteranothersiportwoofcoffeehesaid,“Womenareincalculable.Whatdoesshethinkshe’sdoing?”
MissBrewispursedherlips.Poirotobservedacutelyenoughthatshewasinastateoftautnervoustension.
“Hodgson’scomingtoseeyouthismorning,”sheremarked,“abouttheelectrificationofthemilkingshedsonthefarm.Andattwelveo’clockthere’sthe—”
SirGeorgeinterrupted.
“Ican’tseeanyone.Put’emalloff!Howthedevild’youthinkamancanattendtobusinesswhenhe’sworriedhalfoutofhismindabouthiswife?”
“Ifyousayso,SirGeorge.”MissBrewisgavethedomesticequivalentofabarristersaying“asyourlordshippleases.”Herdissatisfactionwasobvious.
“Neverknow,”saidSirGeorge,“whatwomengetintotheirheads,orwhatfoolthingsthey’relikelytodo!Youagree,eh?”heshotthelastquestionatPoirot.
“Lesfemmes?Theyareincalculable,”saidPoirot,raisinghiseyebrowsandhishandswithGallicfervour.MissBrewisblewhernoseinanannoyedfashion.
“Sheseemedallright,”saidSirGeorge.“Damn’pleasedabouthernewring,dressedherselfuptoenjoythefête.Alljustthesameasusual.Notasthoughwe’dhadwordsoraquarrelofanykind.Goingoffwithoutaword.”
“Aboutthoseletters,SirGeorge,”beganMissBrewis.
“Damnthebloodyletterstohell,”saidSirGeorge,andpushedasidehiscoffeecup.
Hepickedupthelettersbyhisplateandmoreorlessthrewthemather.
“Answerthemanywayyoulike!Ican’tbebothered.”Hewentonmoreorlesstohimself,inaninjuredtone,“Doesn’tseemtobeanythingIcando…Don’tevenknowifthatpolicechap’sanygood.Verysoftspokenandallthat.”
“Thepoliceare,Ibelieve,”saidMissBrewis,“veryefficient.Theyhaveamplefacilitiesfortracingthewhereaboutsofmissingpersons.”
“Theytakedayssometimes,”saidSirGeorge,“tofindsomemiserablekidwho’srunoffandhiddenhimselfinahaystack.”
“Idon’tthinkLadyStubbsislikelytobeinahaystack,SirGeorge.”
“IfonlyIcoulddosomething,”repeatedtheunhappyhusband.“Ithink,youknow,I’llputanadvertisementinthepapers.Takeitdown,Amanda,willyou?”Hepausedamomentinthought.“Hattie.Pleasecomehome.Desperateaboutyou.George.Allthepapers,Amanda.”
MissBrewissaidacidly:
“LadyStubbsdoesn’toftenreadthepapers,SirGeorge.She’snointerestatallincurrentaffairsorwhat’sgoingonintheworld.”Sheadded,rathercattily,butSirGeorgewasnotinthemoodtoappreciatecattiness,“OfcourseyoucouldputanadvertisementinVogue.Thatmightcatchhereye.”
SirGeorgesaidsimply:
“Anywhereyouthinkbutgetonwithit.”
Hegotupandwalkedtowardsthedoor.Withhishandonthehandlehepausedandcamebackafewsteps.HespokedirectlytoPoirot.
“Lookhere,Poirot,”hesaid,“youdon’tthinkshe’sdead,doyou?”
Poirotfixedhiseyesonhiscoffeecupashereplied:
“Ishouldsayitisfartoosoon,SirGeorge,toassumeanythingofthatkind.Thereisnoreasonasyettoentertainsuchanidea.”
“Soyoudothinkso,”saidSirGeorge,heavily.“Well,”headdeddefiantly,“Idon’t!Isayshe’squiteallright.”Henoddedhisheadseveraltimeswithincreasingdefiance,andwentoutbangingthedoorbehindhim.
Poirotbutteredapieceoftoastthoughtfully.Incaseswheretherewasanysuspicionofawifebeingmurdered,healwaysautomaticallysuspectedthehusband.(Similarly,withahusband’sdemise,hesuspectedthewife.)ButinthiscasehedidnotsuspectSirGeorgeofhavingdoneawaywithLadyStubbs.FromhisbriefobservationofthemhewasquiteconvincedthatSirGeorgewasdevotedtohiswife.Moreover,asfarashisexcellentmemoryservedhim(anditservedhimprettywell),SirGeorgehadbeenpresentonthelawntheentireafternoonuntilhehimselfhadleftwithMrs.Olivertodiscoverthebody.Hehadbeenthereonthelawnwhentheyhadreturnedwiththenews.No,itwasnotSirGeorgewhowasresponsibleforHattie’sdeath.Thatis,ifHattieweredead.Afterall,Poirottoldhimself,therewasnoreasontobelievesoasyet.WhathehadjustsaidtoSirGeorgewastrueenough.Butinhisownmindtheconvictionwasunalterable.Thepattern,hethought,wasthepatternofmurder—adoublemurder.
MissBrewisinterruptedhisthoughtsbyspeakingwithalmosttearfulvenom.
“Menaresuchfools,”shesaid,“suchabsolutefools!They’requiteshrewdinmostways,andthentheygomarryingentirelythewrongsortofwoman.”
Poirotwasalwayswillingtoletpeopletalk.Themorepeoplewhotalkedtohim,andthemoretheysaid,thebetter.Therewasnearlyalwaysagrainofwheatamongthechaff.
“Youthinkithasbeenanunfortunatemarriage?”hedemanded.
“Disastrous—quitedisastrous.”
“Youmean—thattheywerenothappytogether?”
“She’dathoroughlybadinfluenceoverhimineveryway.”
“NowIfindthatveryinteresting.Whatkindofabadinfluence?”
“Makinghimruntoandfroatherbeckandcall,gettingexpensivepresentsoutofhim—farmorejewelsthanonewomancouldwear.Andfurs.She’sgottwominkcoatsandaRussianermine.Whatcouldanywomanwantwithtwominkcoats,I’dliketoknow?”
Poirotshookhishead.
“ThatIwouldnotknow,”hesaid.
“Sly,”continuedMissBrewis.“Deceitful!Alwaysplayingthesimpleton—especiallywhenpeoplewerehere.Isupposebecauseshethoughthelikedherthatway!”
“Anddidhelikeherthatway?”
“Oh,men!”saidMissBrewis,hervoicetremblingontheedgeofhysteria.“Theydon’tappreciateefficiencyorunselfishness,orloyaltyoranyoneofthosequalities!Nowwithaclever,capablewifeSirGeorgewouldhavegotsomewhere.”
“Gotwhere?”askedPoirot.
“Well,hecouldtakeaprominentpartinlocalaffairs.OrstandforParliament.He’samuchmoreablemanthanpoorMr.Masterton.Idon’tknowifyou’veeverheardMr.Mastertononaplatform—amosthaltinganduninspiredspeaker.Heoweshispositionentirelytohiswife.It’sMrs.Mastertonwho’sthepowerbehindthethrone.She’sgotallthedriveandtheinitiativeandthepoliticalacumen.”
PoirotshudderedinwardlyatthethoughtofbeingmarriedtoMrs.Masterton,butheagreedquitetruthfullywithMissBrewis’words.
“Yes,”hesaid,“sheisallthatyousay.Afemmeformidable,”hemurmuredtohimself.
“SirGeorgedoesn’tseemambitious,”wentonMissBrewis;“heseemsquitecontenttolivehereandpotteraboutandplaythecountrysquire,andjustgotoLondonoccasionallytoattendtoallhiscitydirectorshipsandallthat,buthecouldmakefarmoreofhimselfthanthatwithhisabilities.He’sreallyaveryremarkableman,M.Poirot.Thatwomanneverunderstoodhim.Shejustregardshimasakindofmachinefortippingoutfurcoatsandjewelsandexpensiveclothes.Ifheweremarriedtosomeonewhoreallyappreciatedhisabilities…”Shebrokeoff,hervoicewaveringuncertainly.
Poirotlookedatherwitharealcompassion.MissBrewiswasinlovewithheremployer.Shegavehimafaithful,loyalandpassionatedevotionofwhichhewasprobablyquiteunawareandinwhichhewouldcertainlynotbeinterested.ToSirGeorge,AmandaBrewiswasanefficientmachinewhotookthedrudgeryofdailylifeoffhisshoulders,whoansweredtelephonecalls,wroteletters,engagedservants,orderedmealsandgenerallymadelifesmoothforhim.Poirotdoubtedifhehadeveroncethoughtofherasawoman.Andthat,hereflected,haditsdangers.Womencouldworkthemselvesup,theycouldreachanalarmingpitchofhysteriaunnoticedbytheobliviousmalewhowastheobjectoftheirdevotion.
“Asly,scheming,clevercat,that’swhatsheis,”saidMissBrewistearfully.
“Yousayis,notwas,Iobserve,”saidPoirot.
“Ofcoursesheisn’tdead!”saidMissBrewis,scornfully.“Goneoffwithaman,that’swhatshe’sdone!That’shertype.”
“Itispossible.Itisalwayspossible,”saidPoirot.Hetookanotherpieceoftoast,inspectedthemarmaladepotgloomilyandlookeddownthetabletoseeiftherewereanykindofjam.Therewasnone,soheresignedhimselftobutter.
“It’stheonlyexplanation,”saidMissBrewis.“Ofcoursehewouldn’tthinkofit.”
“Hasthere—beenany—troublewithmen?”askedPoirot,delicately.
“Oh,she’sbeenveryclever,”saidMissBrewis.
“Youmeanyouhavenotobservedanythingofthekind?”
“She’dbecarefulthatIshouldn’t,”saidMissBrewis.
“Butyouthinkthattheremayhavebeen—whatshallIsay?—surreptitiousepisodes?”
“She’sdoneherbesttomakeafoolofMichaelWeyman,”saidMissBrewis.“Takinghimdowntoseethecamelliagardensatthistimeofyear!Pretendingshe’ssointerestedinthetennispavilion.”
“Afterall,thatishisbusinessforbeinghereandIunderstandSirGeorgeishavingitbuiltprincipallytopleasehiswife.”
“She’snogoodattennis,”saidMissBrewis.“She’snogoodatanygames.Justwantsanattractivesettingtositin,whileotherpeoplerunaboutandgethot.Oh,yes,she’sdoneherbesttomakeafoolofMichaelWeyman.She’dprobablyhavedoneittoo,ifhehadn’thadotherfishtofry.”
“Ah,”saidPoirot,helpinghimselftoaverylittlemarmalade,placingitonthecornerofapieceoftoastandtakingamouthfuldubiously.“Sohehasotherfishtofry,M.Weyman?”
“ItwasMrs.LeggewhorecommendedhimtoSirGeorge,”saidMissBrewis.“Sheknewhimbeforeshewasmarried.Chelsea,Iunderstand,andallthat.Sheusedtopaint,youknow.”
“Sheseemsaveryattractiveandintelligentyoungwoman,”saidPoirottentatively.
“Oh,yes,she’sveryintelligent,”saidMissBrewis.“She’shadauniversityeducationandIdaresaycouldhavemadeacareerforherselfifshehadn’tmarried.”
“Hasshebeenmarriedlong?”
“Aboutthreeyears,Ibelieve.Idon’tthinkthemarriagehasturnedoutverywell.”
“Thereis—incompatibility?”
“He’saqueeryoungman,verymoody.WandersoffalotbyhimselfandI’veheardhimverybad-temperedwithhersometimes.”
“Ah,well,”saidPoirot,“thequarrels,thereconciliations,theyareapartofearlymarriedlife.Withoutthemitispossiblethatlifewouldbedrab.”
“She’sspentagooddealoftimewithMichaelWeymansincehe’sbeendownhere,”saidMissBrewis.“IthinkhewasinlovewithherbeforeshemarriedAlecLegge.Idaresayit’sonlyaflirtationonherside.”
“ButMr.Leggewasnotpleasedaboutit,perhaps?”
“Oneneverknowswithhim,he’ssovague.ButIthinkhe’sbeenevenmoodierthanusual,lately.”
“DidheadmireLadyStubbs,perhaps?”
“Idaresayshethoughthedid.Shethinkssheonlyhastoholdupafingerforanymantofallinlovewithher!”
“Inanycase,ifshehasgoneoffwithaman,asyousuggest,itisnotMr.Weyman,forMr.Weymanisstillhere.”
“It’ssomebodyshe’sbeenmeetingonthesly,I’venodoubt,”saidMissBrewis.“Sheoftenslipsoutofthehouseonthequietandgoesoffintothewoodsbyherself.Shewasoutthenightbeforelast.Yawningandsayingshewasgoinguptobed.Icaughtsightofhernothalfanhourlaterslippingoutbythesidedoorwithashawloverherhead.”
Poirotlookedthoughtfullyatthewomanoppositehim.HewonderedifanyrelianceatallwastobeplacedinMissBrewis’statementswhereLadyStubbswasconcerned,orwhetheritwasentirelywishfulthinkingonherpart.Mrs.Folliat,hewassure,didnotshareMissBrewis’ideasandMrs.FolliatknewHattiemuchbetterthanMissBrewiscoulddo
MissBrewissniffedthroughhernoseandgatheredtogethervariousscatteredcorrespondence.
“IfSirGeorgereallywantsthoseadvertisementsputin,IsupposeI’dbetterseeaboutit,”shesaid.“Completenonsenseandwasteoftime.Oh,goodmorning,Mrs.Masterton,”sheadded,asthedooropenedwithauthorityandMrs.Mastertonwalkedin.
“InquestissetforThursday,Ihear,”sheboomed.“Morning,M.Poirot.”
MissBrewispaused,herhandfullofletters.
“AnythingIcandoforyou,Mrs.Masterton?”sheasked.
“No,thankyou,MissBrewis.Iexpectyou’veplentyonyourhandsthismorning,butIdowanttothankyouforalltheexcellentworkyouputinyesterday.You’resuchagoodorganizerandsuchahardworker.We’reallverygrateful.”
“Thankyou,Mrs.Masterton.”
“Nowdon’tletmekeepyou.I’llsitdownandhaveawordwithM.Poirot.”
“Enchanted,Madame,”saidPoirot.Hehadrisentohisfeetandhebowed.
Mrs.Mastertonpulledoutachairandsatdown.MissBrewislefttheroom,quiterestoredtoherusualefficientself
“Marvellouswoman,that,”saidMrs.Masterton.“Don’tknowwhattheStubbseswoulddowithouther.Runningahousetakessomedoingnowadays.PoorHattiecouldn’thavecopedwithit.Extraordinarybusiness,this,M.Poirot.Icametoaskyouwhatyouthoughtaboutit.”
“Whatdoyouyourselfthink,Madame?”
“Well,it’sanunpleasantthingtoface,butIshouldsaywe’vegotsomepathologicalcharacterinthispartoftheworld.Notanative,Ihope.Perhapsbeenletoutofanasylum—they’realwaysletting’emouthalf-curednowadays.WhatImeanis,noonewouldeverwanttostranglethatTuckergirl.Therecouldn’tbeanymotive,Imean,exceptsomeabnormalone.Andifthisman,whoeverheis,isabnormalIshouldsayhe’sprobablystrangledthatpoorgirl,HattieStubbs,aswell.Shehasn’tverymuchsenseyouknow,poorchild.Ifshemetanordinary-lookingmanandheaskedhertocomeandlookatsomethinginthewoodsshe’dprobablygolikealamb,quiteunsuspectinganddocile.”
“Youthinkherbodyissomewhereontheestate?”
“Yes,M.Poirot,Ido.They’llfinditoncetheysearcharound.Mindyou,withaboutsixty-fiveacresofwoodlandhere,it’lltakesomefinding,ifit’sbeendraggedintothebushesortumbleddownaslopeintothetrees.Whattheyneedisbloodhounds,”saidMrs.Masterton,looking,asshespoke,exactlylikeabloodhoundherself.“Bloodhounds!IshallringuptheChiefConstablemyselfandsayso.”
“Itisverypossiblethatyouareright,Madame,”saidPoirot.ItwasclearlytheonlythingonecouldsaytoMrs.Masterton.
“OfcourseI’mright,”saidMrs.Masterton;“butImustsay,youknow,itmakesmeveryuneasybecausethefellowissomewhereabout.I’mcallinginatthevillagewhenIleavehere,tellingthemotherstobeverycarefulabouttheirdaughters—notlet’emgoaboutalone.It’snotanicethought,M.Poirot,tohaveakillerinourmidst.”
“Alittlepoint,Madame.Howcouldastrangemanhaveobtainedadmissiontotheboathouse?Thatwouldneedakey.”
“Oh,that,”saidMrs.Masterton,“that’seasyenough.Shecameout,ofcourse.”
“Cameoutoftheboathouse?”
“Yes.Iexpectshegotbored,likegirlsdo.Probablywanderedoutandlookedabouther.Themostlikelything,Ithink,isthatsheactuallysawHattieStubbsmurdered.Heardastruggleorsomething,wenttoseeandtheman,havingdisposedofLadyStubbs,naturallyhadtokillhertoo.Easyenoughforhimtotakeherbacktotheboathouse,dumpherthereandcomeout,pullingthedoorbehindhim.ItwasaYalelock.Itwouldpullto,andlock.”
Poirotnoddedgently.ItwasnothispurposetoarguewithMrs.Mastertonortopointouttohertheinterestingfactwhichshehadcompletelyoverlooked,thatifMarleneTuckerhadbeenkilledawayfromtheboathouse,somebodymusthaveknownenoughaboutthemurdergametoputherbackintheexactplaceandpositionwhichthevictimwassupposedtoassume.Instead,hesaidgently:
“SirGeorgeStubbsisconfidentthathiswifeisstillalive.”
“That’swhathesays,man,becausehewantstobelieveit.Hewasverydevotedtoher,youknow.”Sheadded,ratherunexpectedly,“IlikeGeorgeStubbsinspiteofhisoriginsandhiscitybackgroundandallthat,hegoesdownverywellinthecounty.Theworstthatcanbesaidabouthimisthathe’sabitofasnob.Andafterall,socialsnobbery’sharmlessenough.”
Poirotsaidsomewhatcynically:
“Inthesedays,Madame,surelymoneyhasbecomeasacceptableasgoodbirth.”
“Mydearman,Icouldn’tagreewithyoumore.There’snoneedforhimtobeasnob—onlygottobuytheplaceandthrowhismoneyabout,andwe’dallcomeandcall!Butactually,theman’sliked.It’snotonlyhismoney.OfcourseAmyFolliat’shadsomethingtodowiththat.Shehassponsoredthem,andmindyou,she’sgotalotofinfluenceinthispartoftheworld.Why,therehavebeenFolliatsheresinceTudortimes.”
“TherehavealwaysbeenFolliatsatNasseHouse,”Poirotmurmuredtohimself
“Yes.”Mrs.Mastertonsighed.“It’ssad,thetolltakenbythewar.Youngmenkilledinbattle—deathdutiesandallthat.Thenwhoevercomesintoaplacecan’taffordtokeepitupandhastosell—”
“ButMrs.Folliat,althoughshehaslostherhome,stilllivesontheestate.”
“Yes.She’smadetheLodgequitecharmingtoo.Haveyoubeeninsideit?”
“No,wepartedatthedoor.”
“Itwouldn’tbeeverybody’scupoftea,”saidMrs.Masterton.“Toliveatthelodgeofyouroldhomeandseestrangersinpossession.ButtodoAmyFolliatjusticeIdon’tthinkshefeelsbitteraboutthat.Infact,sheengineeredthewholething.There’snodoubtsheimbuedHattiewiththeideaoflivingdownhere,andgothertopersuadeGeorgeStubbsintoit.Thething,Ithink,thatAmyFolliatcouldn’thavebornewastoseetheplaceturnedintoahostelorinstitution,orcarvedupforbuilding.”Sherosetoherfeet.“Well,Imustbegettingalong.I’mabusywoman.”
“Ofcourse.YouhavetotalktotheChiefConstableaboutbloodhounds.”
Mrs.Mastertongaveasuddendeepbayoflaughter.“Usedtobreed’ematonetime,”shesaid.“PeopletellmeI’mabitlikeabloodhoundmyself.”
Poirotwasslightlytakenabackandshewasquickenoughtoseeit.
“Ibetyou’vebeenthinkingso,M.Poirot,”shesaid.
Thirteen
AfterMrs.Mastertonhadleft,Poirotwentoutandstrolledthroughthewoods.Hisnerveswerenotquitewhattheyshouldbe.Hefeltanirresistibledesiretolookbehindeverybushandtoconsidereverythicketofrhododendronasapossiblehidingplaceforabody.HecameatlasttotheFollyand,goinginsideit,hesatdownonthestonebenchthere,toresthisfeetwhichwere,aswashiscustom,enclosedintight,pointedpatentleathershoes.
Throughthetreeshecouldcatchfaintglimmersoftheriverandofthewoodedbanksontheoppositeside.Hefoundhimselfagreeingwiththeyoungarchitectthatthiswasnoplacetoputanarchitecturalfantasyofthiskind.Gapscouldbecutinthetrees,ofcourse,buteventhentherewouldbenoproperview.Whereas,asMichaelWeymanhadsaid,onthegrassybanknearthehouseaFollycouldhavebeenerectedwithadelightfulvistarightdowntherivertoHelmmouth.Poirot’sthoughtsflewoffatatangent.Helmmouth,theyachtEspérance,andEtiennedeSousa.Thewholethingmusttieupinsomekindofpattern,butwhatthepatternwashecouldnotvisualize.Temptingstrandsofitshowedhereandtherebutthatwasall.
Somethingthatglitteredcaughthiseyeandhebenttopickitup.Ithadcometorestinasmallcrackoftheconcretebasetothetemple.Hehelditinthepalmofhishandandlookedatitwithafaintstirringofrecognition.Itwasalittlegoldaeroplanecharm.Ashefrownedatit,apicturecameintohismind.Abracelet.Agoldbracelethungoverwithdanglingcharms.HewassittingoncemoreinthetentandthevoiceofMadameZuleika,aliasSallyLegge,wastalkingofdarkwomenandjourneysacrosstheseaandgoodfortuneinaletter.Yes,shehadhadonabraceletfromwhichdependedamultiplicityofsmallgoldobjects.OneofthesemodernfashionswhichrepeatedthefashionsofPoirot’searlydays.Probablythatwaswhyithadmadeanimpressiononhim.Sometimeorother,presumably,Mrs.LeggehadsathereintheFolly,andoneofthecharmshadfallenfromherbracelet.Perhapsshehadnotevennoticedit.Itmighthavebeenyesterdayafternoon.
Poirotconsideredthatlatterpoint.Thenheheardfootstepsoutsideandlookedupsharply.AfigurecameroundtothefrontoftheFollyandstopped,startled,atthesightofPoirot.Poirotlookedwithaconsideringeyeontheslim,fairyoungmanwearingashirtonwhichavarietyoftortoiseandturtlewasdepicted.Theshirtwasunmistakable.Hehadobserveditcloselyyesterdaywhenitswearerwasthrowingcoconuts.
Henoticedthattheyoungmanwasalmostunusuallyperturbed.Hesaidquicklyinaforeignaccent:
“Ibegyourpardon—Ididnotknow—”
Poirotsmiledgentlyathimbutwithareprovingair.
“Iamafraid,”hesaid,“thatyouaretrespassing.”
“Yes,Iamsorry.”
“Youcomefromthehostel?”
“Yes.Yes,Ido.Ithoughtperhapsonecouldgetthroughthewoodsthiswayandsotothequay.”
“Iamafraid,”saidPoirotgently,“thatyouwillhavetogobackthewayyoucame.Thereisnothroughroad.”
Theyoungmansaidagain,showingallhisteethinawould-beagreeablesmile:
“Iamsorry.Iamverysorry.”
Hebowedandturnedaway.
PoirotcameoutoftheFollyandbackontothepath,watchingtheboyretreat.Whenhegottotheendingofthepath,helookedoverhisshoulder.Then,seeingPoirotwatchinghim,hequickenedhispaceanddisappearedroundthebend
“Ehbien,”saidPoirottohimself,“isthisamurdererIhaveseen,orisitnot?”
TheyoungmanhadcertainlybeenatthefêteyesterdayandhadscowledwhenhehadcollidedwithPoirot,andjustascertainlythereforehemustknowquitewellthattherewasnothroughpathbywayofthewoodstotheferry.If,indeed,hehadbeenlookingforapathtotheferryhewouldnothavetakenthispathbytheFolly,butwouldhavekeptonthelowerlevelneartheriver.Moreover,hehadarrivedattheFollywiththeairofonewhohasreachedhisrendezvous,andwhoisbadlystartledatfindingthewrongpersonatthemeetingplace.
“Soitislikethis,”saidPoirottohimself.“Hecameheretomeetsomeone.Whodidhecometomeet?”Headdedasanafterthought,“Andwhy?”
Hestrolleddowntothebendofthepathandlookedatitwhereitwoundawayintothetrees.Therewasnosignoftheyoungmanintheturtleshirtnow.Presumablyhehaddeemeditprudenttoretreatasrapidlyaspossible.Poirotretracedhissteps,shakinghishead.
Lostinthought,hecamequietlyroundthesideoftheFolly,andstoppedonthethreshold,startledinhisturn.SallyLeggewasthereonherknees,herheadbentdowntothecracksintheflooring.Shejumpedup,startled.
“Oh,M.Poirot,yougavemesuchashock.Ididn’thearyoucoming.”
“Youwerelookingforsomething,Madame?”
“I—no,notexactly.”
“Youhadlostsomething,perhaps,”saidPoirot.“Droppedsomething.Orperhaps…”Headoptedaroguish,gallantair,“Orperhaps,Madame,itisarendezvous.Iam,mostunfortunately,notthepersonyoucametomeet?”
Shehadrecoveredheraplombbynow.
“Doesoneeverhaverendezvousinthemiddleofthemorning?”shedemanded,questioningly.
“Sometimes,”saidPoirot,“onehastohavearendezvousattheonlytimeonecan.Husbands,”headdedsententiously,“aresometimesjealous.”
“Idoubtifmineis,”saidSallyLegge.
Shesaidthewordslightlyenough,butbehindthemPoirotheardanundertoneofbitterness.
“He’ssocompletelyengrossedinhisownaffairs.”
“Allwomencomplainofthatinhusbands,”saidPoirot.“EspeciallyinEnglishhusbands,”headded.
“Youforeignersaremoregallant.”
“Weknow,”saidPoirot,“thatitisnecessarytotellawomanatleastonceaweek,andpreferablythreeorfourtimes,thatweloveher;andthatitisalsowisetobringherafewflowers,topayherafewcompliments,totellherthatshelookswellinhernewdressornewhat.”
“Isthatwhatyoudo?”
“I,Madame,amnotahusband,”saidHerculePoirot.“Alas!”headded.
“I’msurethere’snoalasaboutit.I’msureyou’requitedelightedtobeacarefreebachelor.”
“No,no,Madame,itisterribleallthatIhavemissedinlife.”
“Ithinkone’safooltomarry,”saidSallyLegge.
“YouregretthedayswhenyoupaintedinyourstudioinChelsea?”
“Youseemtoknowallaboutme,M.Poirot?”
“Iamagossip,”saidHerculePoirot.“Iliketohearallaboutpeople.”Hewenton,“Doyoureallyregret,Madame?”
“Oh,Idon’tknow.”Shesatdownimpatientlyontheseat.Poirotsatbesideher.
Hewitnessedoncemorethephenomenontowhichhewasbecomingaccustomed.Thisattractive,redhairedgirlwasabouttosaythingstohimthatshewouldhavethoughttwiceaboutsayingtoanEnglishman.
“Ihoped,”shesaid,“thatwhenwecamedownhereforaholidayawayfromeverything,thatthingswouldbethesameagain…Butithasn’tworkedoutlikethat.”
“No?”
“No.Alec’sjustasmoodyand—oh,Idon’tknow—wrappedupinhimself.Idon’tknowwhat’sthematterwithhim.He’ssonervyandonedge.Peopleringhimupandleavequeermessagesforhimandhewon’ttellmeanything.That’swhatmakesmemad.Hewon’ttellmeanything!Ithoughtatfirstitwassomeotherwoman,butIdon’tthinkitis.Notreally….”
ButhervoiceheldacertaindoubtwhichPoirotwasquicktonotice.
“Didyouenjoyyourteayesterdayafternoon,Madame?”heasked.
“Enjoymytea?”Shefrownedathim,herthoughtsseemingtocomebackfromalongwayaway.Thenshesaidhastily,“Oh,yes.You’venoideahowexhaustingitwas,sittinginthattentmuffledupinallthoseveils.Itwasstifling.”
“Theteatentalsomusthavebeensomewhatstifling?”
“Oh,yes,itwas.However,there’snothinglikeacuppa,isthere?”
“Youweresearchingforsomethingjustnow,wereyounot,Madame?Wouldit,byanypossibility,bethis?”Heheldoutinhishandthelittlegoldcharm.
“I—oh,yes.Oh,thankyou,M.Poirot.Wheredidyoufindit?”
“Itwashere,onthefloor,inthatcrackoverthere.”
“Imusthavedroppeditsometime.”
“Yesterday?”
“Oh,no,notyesterday.Itwasbeforethat.”
“Butsurely,Madame,Irememberseeingthatparticularcharmonyourwristwhenyouweretellingmemyfortune.”
NobodycouldtelladeliberateliebetterthanHerculePoirot.HespokewithcompleteassuranceandbeforethatassuranceSallyLegge’seyelidsdropped.
“Idon’treallyremember,”shesaid.“Ionlynoticedthismorningthatitwasmissing.”
“ThenIamhappy,”saidPoirotgallantly,“tobeabletorestoreittoyou.”
Shewasturningthelittlecharmovernervouslyinherfingers.Nowsherose.
“Well,thankyou,M.Poirot,thankyouverymuch,”shesaid.Herbreathwascomingratherunevenlyandhereyeswerenervous.
ShehurriedoutoftheFolly.Poirotleanedbackintheseatandnoddedhisheadslowly.
No,hesaidtohimself,no,youdidnotgototheteatentyesterdayafternoon.Itwasnotbecauseyouwantedyourteathatyouweresoanxioustoknowifitwasfouro’clock.Itwashereyoucameyesterdayafternoon.Here,totheFolly.Halfwaytotheboathouse.Youcameheretomeetsomeone.
Onceagainheheardfootstepsapproaching.Rapidimpatientfootsteps.“Andhereperhaps,”saidPoirot,smilinginanticipation,“comeswhoeveritwasthatMrs.Leggecameupheretomeet.”
Butthen,asAlecLeggecameroundthecorneroftheFolly,Poirotejaculated:
“Wrongagain.”
“Eh?What’sthat?”AlecLeggelookedstartled.
“Isaid,”explainedPoirot,“thatIwaswrongagain.Iamnotoftenwrong,”heexplained,“anditexasperatesme.ItwasnotyouIexpectedtosee.”
“Whomdidyouexpecttosee?”askedAlecLegge.
Poirotrepliedpromptly.
“Ayoungman—aboyalmost—inoneofthesegaily-patternedshirtswithturtlesonit.”
Hewaspleasedattheeffectofhiswords.AlecLeggetookastepforward.Hesaidratherincoherently:
“Howdoyouknow?Howdid—whatd’youmean?”
“Iampsychic,”saidHerculePoirot,andclosedhiseyes.
AlecLeggetookanothercoupleofstepsforward.Poirotwasconsciousthataveryangrymanwasstandinginfrontofhim.
“Whatthedevildidyoumean?”hedemanded.
“Yourfriendhas,Ithink,”saidPoirot,“gonebacktotheYouthHostel.Ifyouwanttoseehimyouwillhavetogotheretofindhim.”
“Sothat’sit,”mutteredAlecLegge.
Hedroppeddownattheotherendofthestonebench.
“Sothat’swhyyou’redownhere?Itwasn’taquestionof‘givingawaytheprizes.’Imighthaveknownbetter.”HeturnedtowardsPoirot.Hisfacewashaggardandunhappy.“Iknowwhatitmustseemlike,”hesaid.“Iknowwhatthewholethinglookslike.Butitisn’tasyouthinkitis.I’mbeingvictimized.Itellyouthatonceyougetintothesepeople’sclutches,itisn’tsoeasytogetoutofthem.AndIwanttogetoutofthem.That’sthepoint.Iwanttogetoutofthem.Yougetdesperate,youknow.Youfeelliketakingdesperatemeasures.Youfeelyou’recaughtlikearatinatrapandthere’snothingyoucando.Oh,well,what’sthegoodoftalking!Youknowwhatyouwanttoknownow,Isuppose.You’vegotyourevidence.”
Hegotup,stumbledalittleasthoughhecouldhardlyseehisway,thenrushedoffenergeticallywithoutabackwardlook.
HerculePoirotremainedbehindwithhiseyesverywideopenandhiseyebrowsrising.
“Allthisisverycurious,”hemurmured.“Curiousandinteresting.IhavetheevidenceIneed,haveI?Evidenceofwhat?Murder?”
Fourteen
I
InspectorBlandsatinHelmmouthPoliceStation.SuperintendentBaldwin,alargecomfortable-lookingman,satontheothersideofthetable.Betweenthetwomen,onthetable,wasablacksoddenmass.InspectorBlandpokedatitwithacautiousforefinger.
“That’sherhatallright,”hesaid.“I’msureofit,thoughIdon’tsupposeIcouldsweartoit.Shefanciedthatshape,itseems.Sohermaidtoldme.She’dgotoneortwoofthem.Apalepinkandasortofpucecolour,butyesterdayshewaswearingtheblackone.Yes,thisisit.Andyoufisheditoutoftheriver?Thatmakesitlookasthoughit’sthewaywethinkitis.”
“Nocertaintyyet,”saidBaldwin.“Afterall,”headded,“anyonecouldthrowahatintotheriver.”
“Yes,”saidBland,“theycouldthrowitinfromtheboathouse,ortheycouldthrowitinoffayacht.”
“Theyacht’ssewedup,allright,”saidBaldwin.“Ifshe’sthere,aliveordead,she’sstillthere.”
“Hehasn’tbeenashoretoday?”
“Notsofar.He’sonboard.He’sbeensittingoutinadeckchairsmokingacigar.”
InspectorBlandglancedattheclock.
“Almosttimetogoaboard,”hesaid.
“Thinkyou’llfindher?”askedBaldwin.
“Iwouldn’tbankonit,”saidBland.“I’vegotthefeeling,youknow,thathe’sacleverdevil.”Hewaslostinthoughtforamoment,pokingagainatthehat.Thenhesaid,“Whataboutthebody—iftherewasabody?Anyideasaboutthat?”
“Yes,”saidBaldwin,“ItalkedtoOtterweightthismorning.Ex-coastguardman.Ialwaysconsulthiminanythingtodowithtidesandcurrents.AboutthetimetheladywentintotheHelm,ifshedidgointotheHelm,thetidewasjustontheebb.Thereisafullmoonnowanditwouldbeflowingswiftly.Reckonshe’dbecarriedouttoseaandthecurrentwouldtakehertowardstheCornishcoast.There’snocertaintywherethebodywouldfetchuporifitwouldfetchupatall.Oneortwodrowningswe’vehadhere,we’veneverrecoveredthebody.Itgetsbrokenup,too,ontherocks.Here,byStartPoint.Ontheotherhand,itmightfetchupanyday.”
“Ifitdoesn’t,it’sgoingtobedifficult,”saidBland.
“You’recertaininyourownmindthatshedidgointotheriver?”
“Idon’tseewhatelseitcanbe,”saidInspectorBlandsombrely.“We’vecheckedup,youknow,onthebusesandthetrains.Thisplaceisacul-de-sac.Shewaswearingconspicuousclothesandshedidn’ttakeanyotherswithher.SoIshouldsaysheneverleftNasse.Eitherherbody’sintheseaorelseit’shiddensomewhereontheproperty.WhatIwantnow,”hewentonheavily,“ismotive.Andthebodyofcourse,”headded,asanafterthought.“Can’tgetanywhereuntilIfindthebody.”
“Whatabouttheothergirl?”
“Shesawit—orshesawsomething.We’llgetatthefactsintheend,butitwon’tbeeasy.”
Baldwininhisturnlookedupattheclock.
“Timetogo,”hesaid.
ThetwopoliceofficerswerereceivedonboardtheEspérancewithalldeSousa’scharmingcourtesy.Heofferedthemdrinkswhichtheyrefused,andwentontoexpressakindlyinterestintheiractivities.
“Youarefartherforwardwithyourinquiriesregardingthedeathofthisyounggirl?”
“We’reprogressing,”InspectorBlandtoldhim.
Thesuperintendenttookuptherunningandexpressedverydelicatelytheobjectoftheirvisit.
“YouwouldliketosearchtheEspérance?”DeSousadidnotseemannoyed.Insteadheseemedratheramused.“Butwhy?YouthinkIconcealthemurdererordoyouthinkperhapsthatIamthemurderermyself?”
“It’snecessary,Mr.deSousa,asI’msureyou’llunderstand.Asearchwarrant….”
DeSousaraisedhishands.
“ButIamanxioustocooperate—eager!Letthisbeallamongfriends.Youarewelcometosearchwhereyouwillinmyboat.Ah,perhapsyouthinkthatIhaveheremycousin,LadyStubbs?Youthink,perhaps,shehasrunawayfromherhusbandandtakenshelterwithme?Butsearch,gentlemen,byallmeanssearch.”
Thesearchwasdulyundertaken.Itwasathoroughone.Intheend,strivingtoconcealtheirchagrin,thetwopoliceofficerstookleaveofMr.deSousa.
“Youhavefoundnothing?Howdisappointing.ButItoldyouthatwasso.Youwillperhapshavesomerefreshmentnow.No?”
Heaccompaniedthemtowheretheirboatlayalongside.
“Andformyself?”heasked.“Iamfreetodepart?Youunderstanditbecomesalittleboringhere.Theweatherisgood.IshouldlikeverymuchtoproceedtoPlymouth.”
“Ifyouwouldbekindenough,sir,toremainherefortheinquest—thatistomorrow—incasetheCoronershouldwishtoaskyouanything.”
“Why,certainly.IwanttodoallthatIcan.Butafterthat?”
“Afterthat,sir,”saidSuperintendentBaldwin,hisfacewooden,“youare,ofcourse,atlibertytoproceedwhereyouwill.”
ThelastthingtheysawasthelaunchmovedawayfromtheyachtwasdeSousa’ssmilingfacelookingdownonthem.
II
Theinquestwasalmostpainfullydevoidofinterest.Apartfromthemedicalevidenceandevidenceofidentity,therewaslittletofeedthecuriosityofthespectators.Anadjournmentwasaskedforandgranted.Thewholeproceedingshadbeenpurelyformal.
Whatfollowedtheinquest,however,wasnotquitesoformal.InspectorBlandspenttheafternoontakingatripinthatwell-knownpleasuresteamer,theDevonBelle.LeavingBrixwellataboutthreeo’clock,itroundedtheheadland,proceededaroundthecoast,enteredthemouthoftheHelmandwentuptheriver.TherewereabouttwohundredandthirtypeopleonboardbesidesInspectorBland.Hesatonthestarboardsideoftheboat,scanningthewoodedshore.TheycameroundabendintheriverandpassedtheisolatedgreytiledboathousethatbelongedtoHoodownPark.InspectorBlandlookedsurreptitiouslyathiswatch.Itwasjustquarterpastfour.TheywerecomingnowclosebesidetheNasseboathouse.Itnestledremoteinitstreeswithitslittlebalconyanditssmallquaybelow.Therewasnosignapparentthattherewasanyoneinsidetheboathouse,thoughasamatteroffact,toInspectorBland’scertainknowledge,therewassomeoneinside.P.C.Hoskins,inaccordancewithorders,wasondutythere.
Notfarfromtheboathousestepswasasmalllaunch.Inthelaunchwereamanandgirlinholidaykit.Theywereindulginginwhatseemedlikesomeratherroughhorseplay.Thegirlwasscreaming,themanwasplayfullypretendinghewasgoingtoduckheroverboard.Atthatsamemomentastentorianvoicespokethroughamegaphone.
“Ladiesandgentlemen,”itboomed,“youarenowapproachingthefamousvillageofGitchamwhereweshallremainforthree-quartersofanhourandwhereyoucanhaveacraborlobstertea,aswellasDevonshirecream.OnyourrightarethegroundsofNasseHouse.Youwillpassthehouseitselfintwoorthreeminutes,itisjustvisiblethroughthetrees.OriginallythehomeofSirGervaseFolliat,acontemporaryofSirFrancisDrakewhosailedwithhiminhisvoyagetothenewworld,itisnowthepropertyofSirGeorgeStubbs.OnyourleftisthefamousGooseacreRock.There,ladiesandgentlemen,itwasthehabittodepositscoldingwivesatlowtideandleavethemthereuntilthewatercameuptotheirnecks.”
EverybodyontheDevonBellestaredwithfascinatedinterestattheGooseacreRock.Jokesweremadeandthereweremanyshrillgigglesandguffaws.
Whilethiswashappening,theholidaymakerintheboat,withafinalscuffle,didpushhisladyfriendoverboard.Leaningover,heheldherinthewater,laughingandsaying,“No,Idon’tpullyououttillyou’vepromisedtobehave.”
Nobody,however,observedthiswiththeexceptionofInspectorBland.Theyhadallbeenlisteningtothemegaphone,staringforthefirstsightofNasseHousethroughthetrees,andgazingwithfascinatedinterestattheGooseacreRock.
Theholidaymakerreleasedthegirl,shesankunderwaterandafewmomentslaterappearedontheothersideoftheboat.Sheswamtoitandgotin,heavingherselfoverthesidewithpractisedskill.PolicewomanAliceJoneswasanaccomplishedswimmer.
InspectorBlandcameashoreatGitchamwiththeothertwohundredandthirtypassengersandconsumedalobsterteawithDevonshirecreamandscones.Hesaidtohimselfashedidso,“Soitcouldbedone,andnoonewouldnotice!”
III
WhileInspectorBlandwasdoinghisexperimentontheHelm,HerculePoirotwasexperimentingwithatentonthelawnatNasseHouse.Itwas,inactualfact,thesametentwhereMadameZuleikahadtoldherfortunes.WhentherestofthemarqueesandstandshadbeendismantledPoirothadaskedforthistoremainbehind.
Hewentintoitnow,closedtheflapsandwenttothebackofit.Deftlyheunlacedtheflapsthere,slippedout,relacedthem,andplungedintothehedgeofrhododendronthatimmediatelybackedthetent.Slippingbetweenacoupleofbushes,hesoonreachedasmallrusticarbour.Itwasakindofsummerhousewithacloseddoor.Poirotopenedthedoorandwentinside.
Itwasverydiminsidebecauseverylittlelightcameinthroughtherhododendronswhichhadgrownuprounditsinceithadbeenfirstplacedtheremanyyearsago.Therewasaboxtherewithcroquetballsinit,andsomeoldrustedhoops.Therewereoneortwobrokenhockeysticks,agoodmanyearwigsandspiders,andaroundirregularmarkonthedustonthefloor.AtthisPoirotlookedforsometime.Hekneltdown,andtakingalittleyardmeasurefromhispocket,hemeasureditsdimensionscarefully.Thenhenoddedhisheadinasatisfiedfashion.
Heslippedoutquietly,shuttingthedoorbehindhim.Thenhepursuedanobliquecoursethroughtherhododendronbushes.HeworkedhiswayupthehillinthiswayandcameoutashorttimeafteronthepathwhichledtotheFollyanddownfromtheretotheboathouse.
HedidnotvisittheFollythistime,butwentstraightdownthezigzaggingwayuntilhereachedtheboathouse.Hehadthekeywithhimandheopenedthedoorandwentin.
Exceptfortheremovalofthebody,andoftheteatraywithitsglassandplate,itwasjustasherememberedit.Thepolicehadnotedandphotographedallthatitcontained.Hewentovernowtothetablewherethepileofcomicslay.HeturnedthemoverandhisexpressionwasnotunlikeInspectorBland’shadbeenashenotedthewordsMarlenehaddoodleddowntherebeforeshedied.“JackieBlakegoeswithSusanBrown.”“Peterpinchesgirlsatthepictures.”“GeorgiePorgiekisseshikersinthewood.”“BiddyFoxlikesboys.”“AlbertgoeswithDoreen.”
Hefoundtheremarkspatheticintheiryoungcrudity.HerememberedMarlene’splain,ratherspottyface.HesuspectedthatboyshadnotpinchedMarleneatthepictures.Frustrated,Marlenehadgotavicariousthrillbyherspyingandpeeringatheryoungcontemporaries.Shehadspiedonpeople,shehadsnooped,andshehadseenthings.Thingsthatshewasnotmeanttohaveseen—things,usually,ofsmallimportance,butononeoccasionperhapssomethingofmoreimportance?Somethingofwhoseimportancesheherselfhadhadnoidea.
Itwasallconjecture,andPoirotshookhisheaddoubtfully.Hereplacedthepileofcomicsneatlyonthetable,hispassionfortidinessalwaysintheascendent.Ashedidso,hewassuddenlyassailedwiththefeelingofsomethingmissing.Something…Whatwasit?Somethingthatoughttohavebeenthere…Something…Heshookhisheadastheelusiveimpressionfaded.
Hewentslowlyoutoftheboathouse,unhappyanddispleasedwithhimself.He,HerculePoirot,hadbeensummonedtopreventamurder—andhehadnotpreventedit.Ithadhappened.Whatwasevenmorehumiliatingwasthathehadnorealideas,evennow,astowhathadactuallyhappened.Itwasignominious.AndtomorrowhemustreturntoLondondefeated.Hisegowasseriouslydeflated—evenhismoustachesdrooped.
Fifteen
ItwasafortnightlaterthatInspectorBlandhadalongandunsatisfyinginterviewwiththeChiefConstableoftheCounty.
MajorMerrallhadirritabletuftedeyebrowsandlookedratherlikeanangryterrier.Buthismenalllikedhimandrespectedhisjudgment.
“Well,well,well,”saidMajorMerrall.“Whathavewegot?Nothingthatwecanacton.ThisfellowdeSousanow?Wecan’tconnecthiminanywaywiththeGirlGuide.IfLadyStubbs’bodyhadturnedup,thatwouldhavebeendifferent.”HebroughthiseyebrowsdowntowardshisnoseandglaredatBland.“Youthinkthereisabody,don’tyou?”
“Whatdoyouthink,sir?”
“Oh,Iagreewithyou.Otherwise,we’dhavetracedherbynow.Unless,ofcourse,she’dmadeherplansverycarefully.AndIdon’tseetheleastindicationofthat.She’dnomoney,youknow.We’vebeenintoallthefinancialsideofit.SirGeorgehadthemoney.Hemadeheraverygenerousallowance,butshe’snotgotastiverofherown.Andthere’snotraceofalover.Norumourofone,nogossip—andtherewouldbe,markyou,inacountrydistrictlikethat.”
Hetookaturnupanddownthefloor.
“Theplainfactofitisthatwedon’tknow.WethinkdeSousaforsomeunknownreasonofhisownmadeawaywithhiscousin.Themostprobablethingisthathegothertomeethimdownattheboathouse,tookheraboardthelaunchandpushedheroverboard.You’vetestedthatthatcouldhappen?”
“Goodlord,sir!Youcoulddrownawholeboatfulofpeopleduringholidaytimeintheriverorontheseashore.Nobody’dthinkanythingofit.Everyonespendstheirtimesquealingandpushingeachotheroffthings.ButthethingdeSousadidn’tknowabout,wasthatthatgirlwasintheboathouse,boredtodeathwithnothingtodoandtentoonewaslookingoutofthewindow.”
“Hoskinslookedoutofthewindowandwatchedtheperformanceyouputup,andyoudidn’tseehim?”
“No,sir.You’dhavenoideaanyonewasinthatboathouseunlesstheycameoutonthebalconyandshowedthemselves—”
“Perhapsthegirldidcomeoutonthebalcony.DeSousarealizesshe’sseenwhathe’sdoing,sohecomesashoreanddealswithher,getshertolethimintotheboathousebyaskingherwhatshe’sdoingthere.Shetellshim,pleasedwithherpartintheMurderHunt,heputsthecordroundherneckinaplayfulmanner—andwhoooosh…”MajorMerrallmadeanexpressivegesturewithhishands.“That’sthat!Okay,Bland;okay.Let’ssaythat’showithappened.Pureguesswork.Wehaven’tgotanyevidence.Wehaven’tgotabody,andifweattemptedtodetaindeSousainthiscountrywe’dhaveahornets’nestaboutourears.We’llhavetolethimgo.”
“Ishegoing,sir?”
“He’slayinguphisyachtaweekfromnow.Goingbacktohisblastedisland.”
“Sowehaven’tgotmuchtime,”saidInspectorBlandgloomily.
“Thereareotherpossibilities,Isuppose?”
“Oh,yes,sir,thereareseveralpossibilities.IstillholdtoitthatshemusthavebeenmurderedbysomebodywhowasinonthefactsoftheMurderHunt.Wecancleartwopeoplecompletely.SirGeorgeStubbsandCaptainWarburton.Theywererunningshowsonthelawnandtakingchargeofthingstheentireafternoon.Theyarevouchedforbydozensofpeople.ThesameappliestoMrs.Masterton,if,thatis,onecanincludeheratall.”
“Includeeverybody,”saidMajorMerrall.“She’scontinuallyringingmeupaboutbloodhounds.Inadetectivestory,”headdedwistfully,“she’dbejustthewomanwhohaddoneit.But,dashit,I’veknownConnieMastertonprettywellallmylife.Ijustcan’tseehergoingroundstranglingGirlGuides,ordisposingofmysteriousexoticbeauties.Now,then,whoelseisthere?”
“There’sMrs.Oliver,”saidBland.“ShedevisedtheMurderHunt.She’srathereccentricandshewasawayonherownforagoodpartoftheafternoon.Thenthere’sMr.AlecLegge.”
“Fellowinthepinkcottage,eh?”
“Yes.Helefttheshowfairlyearlyon,orhewasn’tseenthere.Hesayshegotfedupwithitandwalkedbacktohiscottage.Ontheotherhand,oldMerdell—that’stheoldboydownatthequaywholooksafterpeople’sboatsforthemandhelpswiththeparking—hesaysAlecLeggepassedhimgoingbacktothecottageaboutfiveo’clock.Notearlier.Thatleavesaboutanhourofhistimeunaccountedfor.Hesays,ofcourse,thatMerdellhasnoideaoftimeandwasquitewrongastowhenhesawhim.Andafterall,theoldmanisninety-two.”
“Ratherunsatisfactory,”saidMajorMerrall.“Nomotiveoranythingofthatkindtotiehimin?”
“HemighthavebeenhavinganaffairwithLadyStubbs,”saidBlanddoubtfully,“andshemighthavebeenthreateningtotellhiswife,andhemighthavedoneherin,andthegirlmighthaveseenithappen—”
“AndheconcealedLadyStubbs’bodysomewhere?”
“Yes.ButI’mblessedifIknowhoworwhere.Mymenhavesearchedthatsixty-fiveacresandthere’snotraceanywhereofdisturbedearth,andIshouldsaythatbynowwe’verootedundereverybushthereis.Still,sayhedidmanagetohidethebody,hecouldhavethrownherhatintotheriverasablind.AndMarleneTuckersawhimandsohedisposedofher?Thatpartofit’salwaysthesame.”InspectorBlandpaused,thensaid,“And,ofcourse,there’sMrs.Legge—”
“Whathavewegotonher?”
“Shewasn’tintheteatentfromfourtohalfpastasshesaysshewas,”saidInspectorBlandslowly.“IspottedthatassoonasI’dtalkedtoherandtoMrs.Folliat.EvidencesupportsMrs.Folliat’sstatement.Andthat’stheparticular,vitalhalfhour.”Againhepaused.“Thenthere’sthearchitect,youngMichaelWeyman.It’sdifficulttotiehimupwithitinanyway,buthe’swhatIshouldcallalikelymurderer—oneofthosecocky,nervyyoungfellows.Wouldkillanyoneandnotturnahairaboutit.Inwithalooseset,Ishouldn’twonder.”
“You’resodamnedrespectable,Bland,”saidMajorMerrall.“Howdoesheaccountforhismovements?”
“Veryvague,sir.Veryvagueindeed.”
“Thatproveshe’sagenuinearchitect,”saidMajorMerrallwithfeeling.Hehadrecentlybuilthimselfahouseneartheseacoast.“They’resovague,Iwonderthey’realiveatallsometimes.”
“Doesn’tknowwherehewasorwhenandthere’snobodywhoseemstohaveseenhim.ThereissomeevidencethatLadyStubbswaskeenonhim.”
“Isupposeyou’rehintingatoneofthesesexmurders?”
“I’monlylookingaboutforwhatIcanfind,sir,”saidInspectorBlandwithdignity.“Andthenthere’sMissBrewis…”Hepaused.Itwasalongpause.
“That’sthesecretary,isn’tit?”
“Yes,sir.Veryefficientwoman.”
Againtherewasapause.MajorMerralleyedhissubordinatekeenly.
“You’vegotsomethingonyourmindabouther,haven’tyou?”hesaid.
“Yes,Ihave,sir.Yousee,sheadmitsquiteopenlythatshewasintheboathouseataboutthetimethemurdermusthavebeencommitted.”
“Wouldshedothatifshewasguilty?”
“Shemight,”saidInspectorBlandslowly.“Actually,it’sthebestthingshecoulddo.Yousee,ifshepicksupatraywithcakeandafruitdrinkandtellseveryoneshe’stakingthatforthechilddownthere—well,then,herpresenceisaccountedfor.Shegoesthereandcomesbackandsaysthegirlwasaliveatthattime.We’vetakenherwordforit.Butifyouremember,sir,andlookagainatthemedicalevidence,Dr.Cook’stimeofdeathisbetweenfouro’clockandquartertofive.We’veonlyMissBrewis’wordforitthatMarlenewasaliveataquarterpastfour.Andthere’sonecuriouspointthatcameupabouthertestimony.ShetoldmethatitwasLadyStubbswhotoldhertotakethecakesandfruitdrinktoMarlene.Butanotherwitnesssaidquitedefinitelythatthatwasn’tthesortofthingthatLadyStubbswouldthinkabout.AndIthink,youknow,thatthey’rerightthere.It’snotlikeLadyStubbs.LadyStubbswasadumbbeautywrappedupinherselfandherownappearance.Sheneverseemstohaveorderedmealsortakenaninterestinhouseholdmanagementorthoughtofanybodyatallexceptherownhandsomeself.ThemoreIthinkofit,themoreitseemsmostunlikelythatsheshouldhavetoldMissBrewistotakeanythingtotheGirlGuide.”
“Youknow,Bland,”saidMerrall,“you’vegotsomethingthere.Butwhat’shermotive,ifso?”
“Nomotiveforkillingthegirl,”saidBland;“butIdothink,youknow,thatshemighthaveamotiveforkillingLadyStubbs.AccordingtoM.Poirot,whomItoldyouabout,she’sheadoverheelsinlovewithheremployer.SupposingshefollowedLadyStubbsintothewoodsandkilledherandthatMarleneTucker,boredintheboathouse,cameoutandhappenedtoseeit?Thenofcourseshe’dhavetokillMarlenetoo.Whatwouldshedonext?Putthegirl’sbodyintheboathouse,comebacktothehouse,fetchthetrayandgodowntotheboathouseagain.Thenshe’scoveredherownabsencefromthefêteandwe’vegothertestimony,ouronlyreliabletestimonyonthefaceofit,thatMarleneTuckerwasaliveataquarterpastfour.”
“Well,”saidMajorMerrall,withasigh,“keepafterit,Bland.Keepafterit.WhatdoyouthinkshedidwithLadyStubbs’body,ifshe’stheguiltyparty?”
“Hiditinthewoods,buriedit,orthrewitintotheriver.”
“Thelastwouldberatherdifficult,wouldn’tit?”
“Itdependswherethemurderwascommitted,”saidtheinspector.“She’squiteaheftywoman.Ifitwasnotfarfromtheboathouse,shecouldhavecarriedherdownthereandthrownherofftheedgeofthequay.”
“WitheverypleasuresteamerontheHelmlookingon?”
“Itwouldbejustanotherpieceofhorseplay.Risky,butpossible.ButIthinkitfarmorelikelymyselfthatshehidthebodysomewhere,andjustthrewthehatintotheHelm.It’spossible,yousee,thatshe,knowingthehouseandgroundswell,mightknowsomeplacewhereyoucouldconcealabody.Shemayhavemanagedtodisposeofitintheriverlater.Whoknows?Thatis,ofcourse,ifshedidit,”addedInspectorBlandasanafterthought.“But,actually,sir,IsticktodeSousa—”
MajorMerrallhadbeennotingdownpointsonapad.Helookedupnow,clearinghisthroat.
“Itcomestothis,then.Wecansummarizeitasfollows:we’vegotfiveorsixpeoplewhocouldhavekilledMarleneTucker.Someofthemaremorelikelythanothers,butthat’sasfaraswecango.Inageneralway,weknowwhyshewaskilled.Shewaskilledbecauseshesawsomething.Butuntilweknowexactlywhatitwasshesaw—wedon’tknowwhokilledher.”
“Putlikethat,youmakeitsoundabitdifficult,sir.”
“Oh,itisdifficult.Butweshallgetthere—intheend.”
“AndmeantimethatchapwillhaveleftEngland—laughinginhissleeve—havinggotawaywithtwomurders.”
“You’refairlysureabouthim,aren’tyou?Idon’tsayyou’rewrong.Allthesame….”
Thechiefconstablewassilentforamomentortwo,thenhesaid,withashrugofhisshoulders:
“Anyway,it’sbetterthanhavingoneofthesepsychopathicmurderers.We’dprobablybehavingathirdmurderonourhandsbynow.”
“Theydosaythingsgointhrees,”saidtheinspectorgloomily.
HerepeatedthatremarkthefollowingmorningwhenheheardthatoldMerdell,returninghomefromavisittohisfavouritepubacrosstheriveratGitcham,musthaveexceededhisusualpotationsandhadfallenintheriverwhenboardingthequay.Hisboatwasfoundadrift,andtheoldman’sbodywasrecoveredthatevening.
Theinquestwasshortandsimple.Thenighthadbeendarkandovercast,oldMerdellhadhadthreepintsofbeerand,afterall,hewasninety-two.
TheverdictbroughtinwasAccidentalDeath.
Sixteen
I
HerculePoirotsatinasquarechairinfrontofthesquarefireplaceinthesquareroomofhisLondonflat.Infrontofhimwerevariousobjectsthatwerenotsquare:thatwereinsteadviolentlyandalmostimpossiblycurved.Eachofthem,studiedseparately,lookedasifitcouldnothaveanyconceivablefunctioninasaneworld.Theyappearedimprobable,irresponsible,andwhollyfortuitous.Inactualfact,ofcourse,theywerenothingofthesort.
Assessedcorrectly,eachhaditsparticularplaceinaparticularuniverse.Assembledintheirproperplaceintheirparticularuniverse,theynotonlymadesense,theymadeapicture.Inotherwords,HerculePoirotwasdoingajigsawpuzzle.
Helookeddownatwherearectanglestillshowedimprobablyshapedgaps.Itwasanoccupationhefoundsoothingandpleasant.Itbroughtdisorderintoorder.Ithad,hereflected,acertainresemblancetohisownprofession.There,too,onewasfacedwithvariousimprobablyshapedandunlikelyfactswhich,thoughseemingtobearnorelationshiptoeachother,yetdideachhaveitsproperlybalancedpartinassemblingthewhole.Hisfingersdeftlypickedupanimprobablepieceofdarkgreyandfitteditintoabluesky.Itwas,henowperceived,partofanaeroplane.
“Yes,”murmuredPoirottohimself,“thatiswhatonemustdo.Theunlikelypiecehere,theimprobablepiecethere,theoh-so-rationalpiecethatisnotwhatitseems;allofthesehavetheirappointedplace,andoncetheyarefittedin,ehbien,thereisanendofthebusiness!Allisclear.Allis—astheysaynowadays—inthepicture.”
Hefittedin,inrapidsuccession,asmallpieceofaminaret,anotherpiecethatlookedasthoughitwaspartofastripedawningandwasactuallythebacksideofacat,andamissingpieceofsunsetthathadchangedwithTurneresquesuddennessfromorangetopink.
Ifoneknewwhattolookfor,itwouldbesoeasy,saidHerculePoirottohimself.Butonedoesnotknowwhattolookfor.Andsoonelooksinthewrongplacesorforthewrongthings.Hesighedvexedly.Hiseyesstrayedfromthejigsawpuzzleinfrontofhimtothechairontheothersideofthefireplace.There,nothalfanhourago,InspectorBlandhadsatconsumingteaandcrumpets(squarecrumpets)andtalkingsadly.HehadhadtocometoLondononpolicebusinessandthatpolicebusinesshavingbeenaccomplished,hehadcometocalluponM.Poirot.Hehadwondered,heexplained,whetherM.Poirothadanyideas.Hehadthenproceededtoexplainhisownideas.Oneverypointheoutlined,Poirothadagreedwithhim.InspectorBland,soPoirotthought,hadmadeaveryfairandunprejudicedsurveyofthecase.
Itwasnowamonth,nearlyfiveweeks,sincetheoccurrencesatNasseHouse.Ithadbeenfiveweeksofstagnationandofnegation.LadyStubbs’bodyhadnotbeenrecovered.LadyStubbs,ifliving,hadnotbeentraced.Theodds,InspectorBlandpointedout,werestronglyagainstherbeingalive.Poirotagreedwithhim.
“Ofcourse,”saidBland,“thebodymightnothavebeenwashedup.There’snotellingwithabodyonceit’sinthewater.Itmayshowupyet,thoughitwillbeprettyunrecognizablewhenitdoes.”
“Thereisathirdpossibility,”Poirotpointedout.
Blandnodded.
“Yes,”hesaid,“I’vethoughtofthat.Ikeepthinkingofthat,infact.Youmeanthebody’sthere—atNasse,hiddensomewherewherewe’veneverthoughtoflooking.Itcouldbe,youknow.Itjustcouldbe.Withanoldhouse,andwithgroundslikethat,thereareplacesyou’dneverthinkof—thatyou’dneverknowwerethere.”
Hepausedamoment,ruminated,andthensaid:
“There’sahouseIwasinonlytheotherday.They’dbuiltanairraidshelter,youknow,inthewar.Aflimsysortofmoreorlesshomemadejobinthegarden,bythewallofthehouse,andhadmadeawayfromitintothehouse—intothecellar.Well,thewarended,theshelterstumbleddown,theyheapeditupinirregularmoundsandmadeakindofrockeryofit.Walkingthroughthatgardennow,you’dneverthinkthattheplacehadoncebeenanairraidshelterandthattherewasachamberunderneath.Looksasthoughitwasalwaysmeanttobearockery.Andallthetime,behindawinebininthecellar,there’sapassageleadingintoit.That’swhatImean.Thatkindofthing.Somesortofwayintosomekindofplacethatnooutsiderwouldknowabout.Idon’tsupposethere’sanactualPriest’sHoleoranythingofthatkind?”
“Hardly—notatthatperiod.”
“That’swhatMr.Weymansays—hesaysthehousewasbuiltabout1790orthereabouts.Noreasonforprieststohidethemselvesbythatdate.Allthesame,youknow,theremightbe—somewhere,somealterationinthestructure—somethingthatoneofthefamilymightknowabout.Whatdoyouthink,M.Poirot?”
“Itispossible,yes,”saidPoirot.“Maisoui,decidedlyitisanidea.Ifoneacceptsthepossibility,thenthenextthingis—whowouldknowaboutit?Anyonestayinginthehousemightknow,Isuppose?”
“Yes.OfcourseitwouldletoutdeSousa.”Theinspectorlookeddissatisfied.DeSousawasstillhispreferredsuspect.“Asyousay,anyonewholivedinthehouse,suchasaservantoroneofthefamily,mightknowaboutit.Someonejuststayinginthehousewouldbelesslikely.Peoplewhoonlycameinfromoutside,liketheLegges,lesslikelystill.”
“Thepersonwhowouldcertainlyknowaboutsuchathing,andwhocouldtellyouifyouaskedher,wouldbeMrs.Folliat,”saidPoirot.
Mrs.Folliat,hethought,knewalltherewastoknowaboutNasseHouse.Mrs.Folliatknewagreatdeal…Mrs.FolliathadknownstraightawaythatHattieStubbswasdead.Mrs.Folliatknew,beforeMarleneandHattieStubbsdied,thatitwasaverywickedworldandthattherewereverywickedpeopleinit.Mrs.Folliat,thoughtPoirotvexedly,wasthekeytothewholebusiness.ButMrs.Folliat,hereflected,wasakeythatwouldnoteasilyturninthelock.
“I’veinterviewedtheladyseveraltimes,”saidtheinspector.“Verynice,verypleasantshe’sbeenabouteverything,andseemsverydistressedthatshecan’tsuggestanythinghelpful.”
Can’torwon’t?thoughtPoirot.Blandwasperhapsthinkingthesame.
“There’satypeoflady,”hesaid,“thatyoucan’tforce.Youcan’tfrightenthem,orpersuadethem,ordiddlethem.”
No,Poirotthought,youcouldn’tforceorpersuadeordiddleMrs.Folliat.
Theinspectorhadfinishedhistea,andsighedandgone,andPoirothadgotouthisjigsawpuzzletoalleviatehismountingexasperation.Forhewasexasperated.Bothexasperatedandhumiliated.Mrs.Oliverhadsummonedhim,HerculePoirot,toelucidateamystery.Shehadfeltthattherewassomethingwrong,andtherehadbeensomethingwrong.AndshehadlookedconfidentlytoHerculePoirot,firsttopreventit—andhehadnotpreventedit—and,secondly,todiscoverthekiller,andhehadnotdiscoveredthekiller.Hewasinafog,inthetypeoffogwheretherearefromtimetotimebafflinggleamsoflight.Everynowandthen,orsoitseemedtohim,hehadhadoneofthoseglimpses.Andeachtimehehadfailedtopenetratefarther.Hehadfailedtoassessthevalueofwhatheseemed,foronebriefmoment,tohaveseen.
Poirotgotup,crossedtotheothersideofthehearth,rearrangedthesecondsquarechairsothatitwasatadefinitegeometricangle,andsatdowninit.Hehadpassedfromthejigsawofpaintedwoodandcardboardtothejigsawofamurderproblem.Hetookanotebookfromhispocketandwroteinsmallneatcharacters:
“EtiennedeSousa,AmandaBrewis,AlecLegge,SallyLegge,MichaelWeyman.”
ItwasphysicallyimpossibleforSirGeorgeorJimWarburtontohavekilledMarleneTucker.SinceitwasnotphysicallyimpossibleforMrs.Olivertohavedoneso,headdedhernameafterabriefspace.HealsoaddedthenameofMrs.MastertonsincehedidnotrememberofhisownknowledgehavingseenMrs.Mastertonconstantlyonthelawnbetweenfouro’clockandquartertofive.HeaddedthenameofHenden,thebutler;more,perhaps,becauseasinisterbutlerhadfiguredinMrs.Oliver’sMurderHuntthanbecausehehadreallyanysuspicionsofthedark-hairedartistwiththegongstick.Healsoputdown“Boyinturtleshirt”withaquerymarkafterit.Thenhesmiled,shookhishead,tookapinfromthelapelofhisjacket,shuthiseyesandstabbedwithit.Itwasasgoodawayasanyother,hethought.
Hewasjustifiablyannoyedwhenthepinprovedtohavetransfixedthelastentry.
“Iamanimbecile,”saidHerculePoirot.“Whathasaboyinaturtleshirttodowiththis?”
Buthealsorealizedhemusthavehadsomereasonforincludingthisenigmaticcharacterinhislist.HerecalledagainthedayhehadsatintheFolly,andthesurpriseontheboy’sfaceatseeinghimthere.Notaverypleasantface,despitetheyouthfulgoodlooks.Anarrogantruthlessface.Theyoungmanhadcomethereforsomepurpose.Hehadcometomeetsomeone,anditfollowedthatthatsomeonewasapersonwhomhecouldnotmeet,ordidnotwishtomeet,intheordinaryway.Itwasameeting,infact,towhichattentionmustnotbecalled.Aguiltymeeting.Somethingtodowiththemurder?
Poirotpursuedhisreflections.AboywhowasstayingattheYouthHostel—thatistosay,aboywhowouldbeinthatneighbourhoodfortwonightsatmost.Hadhecometherecasually?OneofthemanyyoungstudentsvisitingBritain?Orhadhecomethereforaspecialpurpose,tomeetsomespecialperson?Therecouldhavebeenwhatseemedacasualencounteronthedayofthefête—possiblytherehadbeen.
Iknowagooddeal,saidHerculePoirottohimself.Ihaveinmyhandsmany,manypiecesofthisjigsaw.Ihaveanideaofthekindofcrimethiswas—butitmustbethatIamnotlookingatittherightway.
Heturnedapageofhisnotebook,andwrote:
DidLadyStubbsaskMissBrewistotaketeatoMarlene?Ifnot,whydoesMissBrewissaythatshedid?
Heconsideredthepoint.MissBrewismightquiteeasilyherselfhavethoughtoftakingcakeandafruitdrinktothegirl.Butifsowhydidshenotsimplysayso?WhylieaboutLadyStubbshavingaskedhertodoso?CouldthisbebecauseMissBrewiswenttotheboathouseandfoundMarlenedead?UnlessMissBrewiswasherselfguiltyofthemurder,thatseemedveryunlikely.Shewasnotanervouswomannoranimaginativeone.Ifshehadfoundthegirldead,shewouldsurelyatoncehavegiventhealarm?
Hestaredforsometimeatthetwoquestionshehadwritten.Hecouldnothelpfeelingthatsomewhereinthosewordstherewassomevitalpointertothetruththathadescapedhim.Afterfourorfiveminutesofthoughthewrotedownsomethingmore.
EtiennedeSousadeclaresthathewrotetohiscousinthreeweeksbeforehisarrivalatNasseHouse.Isthatstatementtrueorfalse?
Poirotfeltalmostcertainthatitwasfalse.Herecalledthesceneatthebreakfasttable.ThereseemednoearthlyreasonwhySirGeorgeorLadyStubbsshouldpretendtoasurpriseand,inthelatter’scase,adismay,whichtheydidnotfeel.Hecouldseenopurposetobeaccomplishedbyit.Granting,however,thatEtiennedeSousahadlied,whydidhelie?Togivetheimpressionthathisvisithadbeenannouncedandwelcomed?Itmightbeso,butitseemedaverydoubtfulreason.Therewascertainlynoevidencethatsuchaletterhadeverbeenwrittenorreceived.WasitanattemptondeSousa’sparttoestablishhisbonafides—tomakehisvisitappearnaturalandevenexpected?CertainlySirGeorgehadreceivedhimamicablyenough,althoughhedidnotknowhim.
Poirotpaused,histhoughtscomingtoastop.SirGeorgedidnotknowdeSousa.Hiswife,whodidknowhim,hadnotseenhimWasthereperhapssomethingthere?CoulditbepossiblethattheEtiennedeSousawhohadarrivedthatdayatthefêtewasnottherealEtiennedeSousa?Hewentovertheideainhismind,butagainhecouldseenopointtoit.WhathaddeSousatogainbycomingandrepresentinghimselfasdeSousaifhewasnotdeSousa?Inanycase,deSousadidnotderiveanybenefitfromHattie’sdeath.Hattie,asthepolicehadascertained,hadnomoneyofherownexceptthatwhichwasallowedherbyherhusband.
Poirottriedtorememberexactlywhatshehadsaidtohimthatmorning.“Heisabadman.Hedoeswickedthings.”And,accordingtoBland,shehadsaidtoherhusband:“Hekillspeople.”
Therewassomethingrathersignificantaboutthat,nowthatonecametoexamineallthefacts.Hekillspeople.
OnthedayEtiennedeSousahadcometoNasseHouseonepersoncertainlyhadbeenkilled,possiblytwopeople.Mrs.FolliathadsaidthatoneshouldpaynoattentiontothesemelodramaticremarksofHattie’s.Shehadsaidsoveryinsistently.Mrs.Folliat….
HerculePoirotfrowned,thenbroughthishanddownwithabangonthearmofhischair.
“Always,always—IreturntoMrs.Folliat.Sheisthekeytothewholebusiness.IfIknewwhatsheknows…Icannolongersitinanarmchairandjustthink.No,ImusttakeatrainandgoagaintoDevonandvisitMrs.Folliat.”
II
HerculePoirotpausedforamomentoutsidethebigwroughtirongatesofNasseHouse.Helookedaheadofhimalongthecurvingdrive.Itwasnolongersummer.Golden-brownleavesflutteredgentlydownfromthetrees.Nearathandthegrassybankswerecolouredwithsmallmauvecyclamen.Poirotsighed.ThebeautyofNasseHouseappealedtohiminspiteofhimself.Hewasnotagreatadmirerofnatureinthewild,helikedthingstrimandneat,yethecouldnotbutappreciatethesoftwildbeautyofmassedshrubsandtrees.
Athisleftwasthesmallwhiteporticoedlodge.Itwasafineafternoon.ProbablyMrs.Folliatwouldnotbeathome.Shewouldbeoutsomewherewithhergardeningbasketorelsevisitingsomefriendsintheneighbourhood.Shehadmanyfriends.Thiswasherhome,andhadbeenherhomeformanylongyears.Whatwasittheoldmanonthequayhadsaid?“There’llalwaysbeFolliatsatNasseHouse.”
PoirotrappedgentlyuponthedooroftheLodge.Afterafewmoments’delayheheardfootstepsinside.Theysoundedtohisearslowandalmosthesitant.ThenthedoorwasopenedandMrs.Folliatstoodframedinthedoorway.Hewasstartledtoseehowoldandfrailshelooked.Shestaredathimincredulouslyforamomentortwo,thenshesaid:
“M.Poirot?You!”
Hethoughtforamomentthathehadseenfearleapintohereyes,butperhapsthatwassheerimaginationonhispart.Hesaidpolitely:
“MayIcomein,Madame?”
“Butofcourse.”
Shehadrecoveredallherpoisenow,beckonedhiminwithagestureandledthewayintohersmallsittingroom.ThereweresomedelicateChelseafiguresonthemantelpiece,acoupleofchairscoveredinexquisitepetitpoint,andaDerbyteaservicestoodonthesmalltable.Mrs.Folliatsaid:
“Iwillfetchanothercup.”
Poirotraisedafaintlyprotestinghand,butshepushedtheprotestaside.
“Ofcourseyoumusthavesometea.”
Shewentoutoftheroom.Helookedroundhimoncemore.Apieceofneedlework,apetitpointchairseat,layonatablewithaneedlestickinginit.Againstthewallwasabookcasewithbooks.Therewasalittleclusterofminiaturesonthewallandafadedphotographinasilverframeofamaninuniformwithastiffmoustacheandaweakchin.
Mrs.Folliatcamebackintotheroomwithacupandsaucerinherhand.
Poirotsaid,“Yourhusband,Madame?”
“Yes.”
NoticingthatPoirot’seyessweptalongthetopofthebookcaseasthoughinsearchoffurtherphotographs,shesaidbrusquely:
“I’mnotfondofphotographs.Theymakeoneliveinthepasttoomuch.Onemustlearntoforget.Onemustcutawaythedeadwood.”
PoirotrememberedhowthefirsttimehehadseenMrs.Folliatshehadbeenclippingwithsécateursatashrubonthebank.Shehadsaidthen,heremembered,somethingaboutdeadwood.Helookedatherthoughtfully,appraisinghercharacter.Anenigmaticalwoman,hethought,andawomanwho,inspiteofthegentlenessandfragilityofherappearance,hadasidetoherthatcouldberuthless.Awomanwhocouldcutawaydeadwoodnotonlyfromplantsbutfromherownlife…
Shesatdownandpouredoutacupoftea,asking:“Milk?Sugar?”
“Threelumpsifyouwillbesogood,Madame?”
Shehandedhimhiscupandsaidconversationally:
“Iwassurprisedtoseeyou.SomehowIdidnotimagineyouwouldbepassingthroughthispartoftheworldagain.”
“Iamnotexactlypassingthrough,”saidPoirot.
“No?”Shequeriedhimwithslightlyupliftedeyebrows.
“Myvisittothispartoftheworldisintentional.”
Shestilllookedathimininquiry.
“Icameherepartlytoseeyou,Madame.”
“Really?”
“Firstofall—therehasbeennonewsoftheyoungLadyStubbs?”
Mrs.Folliatshookherhead.
“TherewasabodywasheduptheotherdayinCornwall,”shesaid.“Georgewenttheretoseeifhecouldidentifyit.Butitwasnother.”Sheadded:“IamverysorryforGeorge.Thestrainhasbeenverygreat.”
“Doeshestillbelievethathiswifemaybealive?”
SlowlyMrs.Folliatshookherhead.
“Ithink,”shesaid,“thathehasgivenuphope.Afterall,ifHattiewerealive,shecouldn’tpossiblyconcealherselfsuccessfullywiththewholeofthePressandthepolicelookingforher.Evenifsomethinglikelossofmemoryhadhappenedtoher—well,surelythepolicewouldhavefoundherbynow?”
“Itwouldseemso,yes,”saidPoirot.“Dothepolicestillsearch?”
“Isupposeso.Idonotreallyknow.”
“ButSirGeorgehasgivenuphope.”
“Hedoesnotsayso,”saidMrs.Folliat.“OfcourseIhavenotseenhimlately.HehasbeenmostlyinLondon.”
“Andthemurderedgirl?Therehavebeennodevelopmentsthere?”
“NotthatIknowof.”Sheadded.“Itseemsasenselesscrime—absolutelypointless.Poorchild—”
“Itstillupsetsyou,Isee,tothinkofher,Madame.”
Mrs.Folliatdidnotreplyforamomentortwo.Thenshesaid:
“Ithinkwhenoneisold,thedeathofanyonewhoisyoungupsetsoneoutofdueproportion.Weoldfolksexpecttodie,butthatchildhadherlifebeforeher.”
“Itmightnothavebeenaveryinterestinglife.”
“Notfromourpointofview,perhaps,butitmighthavebeeninterestingtoher.”
“Andalthough,asyousay,weoldfolkmustexpecttodie,”saidPoirot,“wedonotreallywantto.AtleastIdonotwantto.Ifindlifeveryinterestingstill.”
“Idon’tthinkthatIdo.”
Shespokemoretoherselfthanhim,hershouldersdroopedstillmore.
“Iamverytired,M.Poirot.Ishallbenotonlyready,butthankful,whenmytimecomes.”
Heshotaquickglanceather.Hewondered,ashehadwonderedbefore,whetheritwasasickwomanwhosattalkingtohim,awomanwhohadperhapstheknowledgeoreventhecertaintyofapproachingdeath.Hecouldnototherwiseaccountfortheintensewearinessandlassitudeofhermanner.Thatlassitude,hefelt,wasnotreallycharacteristicofthewoman.AmyFolliat,hefelt,wasawomanofcharacter,energyanddetermination.Shehadlivedthroughmanytroubles,lossofherhome,lossofwealth,thedeathsofhersons.Allthese,hefelt,shehadsurvived.Shehadcutawaythe“deadwood,”assheherselfhadexpressedit.Buttherewassomethingnowinherlifethatshecouldnotcutaway,thatnoonecouldcutawayforher.Ifitwasnotphysicalillnesshedidnotseewhatitcouldbe.Shegaveasuddenlittlesmileasthoughshewerereadinghisthoughts.
“Really,youknow,Ihavenotverymuchtolivefor,M.Poirot,”shesaid.“Ihavemanyfriendsbutnonearrelations,nofamily.”
“Youhaveyourhome,”saidPoirotonanimpulse.
“YoumeanNasse?Yes—”
“Itisyourhome,isn’tit,althoughtechnicallyitisthepropertyofSirGeorgeStubbs?NowSirGeorgeStubbshasgonetoLondonyouruleinhisstead.”
Againhesawthesharplookoffearinhereyes.Whenshespokehervoiceheldanicyedgetoit.
“Idon’tquiteknowwhatyoumean,M.Poirot.IamgratefultoSirGeorgeforrentingmethislodge,butIdorentit.Ipayhimayearlysumforitwiththerighttowalkinthegrounds.”
Poirotspreadouthishands.
“Iapologize,Madame.Ididnotmeantooffendyou.”
“NodoubtImisunderstoodyou,”saidMrs.Folliatcoldly.
“Itisabeautifulplace,”saidPoirot.“Abeautifulhouse,beautifulgrounds.Ithasaboutitagreatpeace,greatserenity.”
“Yes.”Herfacelightened.“Wehavealwaysfeltthat.IfeltitasachildwhenIfirstcamehere.”
“Butistherethesamepeaceandserenitynow,Madame?”
“Whynot?”
“Murderunavenged,”saidPoirot.“Thespillingofinnocentblood.Untilthatshadowlifts,therewillnotbepeace.”Headded,“Ithinkyouknowthat,Madame,aswellasIdo.”
Mrs.Folliatdidnotanswer.Sheneithermovednorspoke.ShesatquitestillandPoirothadnoideawhatshewasthinking.Heleanedforwardalittleandspokeagain.
“Madame,youknowagooddeal—perhapseverything—aboutthismurder.Youknowwhokilledthatgirl,youknowwhy.YouknowwhokilledHattieStubbs,youknow,perhaps,whereherbodyliesnow.”
Mrs.Folliatspokethen.Hervoicewasloud,almostharsh.
“Iknownothing,”shesaid.“Nothing.”
“PerhapsIhaveusedthewrongword.Youdonotknow,butIthinkyouguess,Madame.I’mquitesurethatyouguess.”
“Nowyouarebeing—excuseme—absurd!”
“Itisnotabsurd—itissomethingquitedifferent—itisdangerous.”
“Dangerous?Towhom?”
“Toyou,Madame.Solongasyoukeepyourknowledgetoyourselfyouareindanger.Iknowmurderersbetterthanyoudo,Madame.”
“Ihavetoldyoualready,Ihavenoknowledge.”
“Suspicions,then—”
“Ihavenosuspicions.”
“That,excuseme,isnottrue,Madame.”
“Tospeakoutofmeresuspicionwouldbewrong—indeed,wicked.”
Poirotleanedforward.“Aswickedaswhatwasdoneherejustoveramonthago?”
Sheshrankbackintoherchair,huddledintoherself.Shehalfwhispered:
“Don’ttalktomeofit.”Andthenadded,withalongshudderingsigh,“Anyway,it’sovernow.Done—finishedwith.”
“Howcanyoutellthat,Madame?Itellyouofmyownknowledgethatitisneverfinishedwithamurderer.”
Sheshookherhead.
“No.No,it’stheend.And,anyway,thereisnothingIcando.Nothing.”
Hegotupandstoodlookingdownather.Shesaidalmostfretfully:
“Why,eventhepolicehavegivenup.”
Poirotshookhishead.
“Oh,no,Madame,youarewrongthere.Thepolicedonotgiveup.AndI,”headded,“donotgiveupeither.Rememberthat,Madame,I,HerculePoirot,donotgiveup.”
Itwasaverytypicalexitline.
Seventeen
AfterleavingNasse,Poirotwenttothevillagewhere,byinquiry,hefoundthecottageoccupiedbytheTuckers.Hisknockatthedoorwentunansweredforsomemomentsasitwasdrownedbythehigh-pitchedtoneofMrs.Tucker’svoicefrominside.
“—Andwhatbeyuthinkingof,JimTucker,bringingthembootsofyoursontomynicelinoleum?IfI’vetelleeonceI’vetelleeathousandtimes.Beenpolishingitallthemorning,Ihave,andnowlookatit.”
AfaintrumblingdenotedMr.Tucker’sreactiontotheseremarks.Itwasonthewholeaplacatoryrumble.
“Yu’venocausetogoforgetting.’Tisallthiseagernesstogetthesportsnewsonthewireless.Why,’twouldn’thavetookeetuminutestobeoffwiththemboots.Andyu,Gary,doeemindwhatyu’mdoingwiththatlollipop.StickyfingersIwillnothaveonmybestsilverteapot.Marilyn,thatbesomeoneatthedoor,thatbe.Dueegoandseewho’tis.”
ThedoorwasopenedgingerlyandachildofaboutelevenortwelveyearsoldpeeredoutsuspiciouslyatPoirot.Onecheekwasbulgedwithasweet.Shewasafatchildwithsmallblueeyesandaratherpiggykindofprettiness.
“’Tisagentleman,Mum,”sheshouted
Mrs.Tucker,wispsofhairhangingoverhersomewhathotface,cametothedoor.
“Whatisit?”shedemandedsharply.“Wedon’tneed…”Shepaused,afaintlookofrecognitioncameacrossherface.“Whyletmesee,now,didn’tIseeyouwiththepolicethatday?”
“Alas,Madame,thatIhavebroughtbackpainfulmemories,”saidPoirot,steppingfirmlyinsidethedoor.
Mrs.Tuckercastaswiftagonizedglanceathisfeet,butPoirot’spointedpatentleathershoeshadonlytroddenthehighroad.NomudwasbeingdepositedonMrs.Tucker’sbrightlypolishedlinoleum.
“Comein,won’tyou,sir,”shesaid,backingbeforehim,andthrowingopenthedoorofaroomonherrighthand.
Poirotwasusheredintoadevastatinglyneatlittleparlour.ItsmeltoffurniturepolishandBrassoandcontainedalargeJacobeansuite,aroundtable,twopottedgeraniums,anelaboratebrassfender,andalargevarietyofchinaornaments.
“Sitdown,sir,do.Ican’trememberthename.Indeed,Idon’tthinkasIeverheardit.”
“MynameisHerculePoirot,”saidPoirotrapidly.“IfoundmyselfoncemoreinthispartoftheworldandIcalledheretoofferyoumycondolencesandtoaskyouiftherehadbeenanydevelopments.Itrustthemurdererofyourdaughterhasbeendiscovered.”
“Notsightorsoundofhim,”saidMrs.Tucker,speakingwithsomebitterness.“And’tisadownrightwickedshameifyouaskme.’Tismyopinionthepolicedon’tdisturbthemselveswhenit’sonlythelikesofus.What’sthepoliceanyway?Ifthey’malllikeBobHoskinsIwonderthewholecountryisn’tamassofcrime.AllthatBobHoskinsdoesisspendhistimelookingintoparkedcarsontheCommon.”
Atthispoint,Mr.Tucker,hisbootsremoved,appearedthroughthedoorway,walkingonhisstockingedfeet.Hewasalarge,red-facedmanwithapacificexpression.
“Policebeallright,”hesaidinahuskyvoice.“Gottheirtroubleslikeanyoneelse.Theseheremaniacsar’n’tsoeasytofind.Lookthesameasyouorme,ifyoutakemymeaning,”headded,speakingdirectlytoPoirot.
ThelittlegirlwhohadopenedthedoortoPoirotappearedbehindherfather,andaboyofabouteightpokedhisheadroundhershoulder.TheyallstaredatPoirotwithintenseinterest.
“Thisisyouryoungerdaughter,Isuppose,”saidPoirot.
“That’sMarilyn,thatis,”saidMrs.Tucker.“Andthat’sGary.Comeandsayhowdoyoudo,Gary,andmindyourmanners.”
Garybackedaway.
“Shy-like,heis,”saidhismother.
“Verycivilofyou,I’msure,sir,”saidMr.Tucker,“tocomeandaskaboutMarlene.Ah,thatwasaterriblebusiness,tobesure.”
“IhavejustcalleduponMrs.Folliat,”saidM.Poirot.“She,too,seemstofeelthisverydeeply.”
“She’sbeenpoorly-likeeversince,”saidMrs.Tucker.“She’sanoldladyan’twasashocktoher,happeningasitdidatherownplace.”
Poirotnotedoncemoreeverybody’sunconsciousassumptionthatNasseHousestillbelongedtoMrs.Folliat.
“Makesherfeelresponsible-likeinaway,”saidMr.Tucker,“notthat’twereanythingtodowithher.”
“WhowasitthatactuallysuggestedthatMarleneshouldplaythevictim?”askedPoirot.
“TheladyfromLondonthatwritesthebooks,”saidMrs.Tuckerpromptly.
Poirotsaidmildly:
“Butshewasastrangerdownhere.ShedidnotevenknowMarlene.”
“’TwasMrs.Mastertonwhatroundedthegirlsup,”saidMrs.Tucker,“andIsuppose’twasMrs.MastertonsaidMarlenewastodoit.AndMarlene,Imustsay,waspleasedenoughattheidea.”
Onceagain,Poirotfelt,hecameupagainstablankwall.ButheknewnowwhatMrs.Oliverhadfeltwhenshefirstsentforhim.Someonehadbeenworkinginthedark,someonewhohadpushedforwardtheirowndesiresthroughotherrecognizedpersonalities.Mrs.Oliver,Mrs.Masterton.Thosewerethefigureheads.Hesaid:
“Ihavebeenwondering,Mrs.Tucker,whetherMarlenewasalreadyacquaintedwiththis—er—homicidalmaniac.”
“Shewouldn’tknownobodylikethat,”saidMrs.Tuckervirtuously.
“Ah,”saidPoirot,“butasyourhusbandhasjustobserved,thesemaniacsareverydifficulttospot.Theylookthesameas—er—youandme.SomeonemayhavespokentoMarleneatthefête,orevenbeforeit.Madefriendswithherinaperfectlyharmlessmanner.Givenherpresents,perhaps.”
“Oh,no,sir,nothingofthatkind.Marlenewouldn’ttakepresentsfromastranger.Ibroughtherupbetterthanthat.”
“Butshemightseenoharminit,”saidPoirot,persisting.“Supposingithadbeensomeniceladywhohadofferedherthings.”
“Someone,youmean,likeyoungMrs.LeggedownattheMillCottage.”
“Yes,”saidPoirot.“Someonelikethat.”
“GiveMarlenealipstickonce,shedid,”saidMrs.Tucker.“Eversomad,Iwas.Iwon’thaveyouputtingthatmuckonyourface,Marlene,Isaid.Thinkwhatyourfatherwouldsay.Well,shesays,perkyasmaybe,’tistheladydownatLawder’sCottageasgiveitme.Saidashowitwouldsuitme,shedid.Well,Isaid,don’tyoulistentowhatnoLondonladiessay.’Tisallverywellforthem,paintingtheirfacesandblackingtheireyelashesandeverythingelse.Butyou’readecentgirl,Isaid,andyouwashyourfacewithsoapandwateruntilyou’reagooddealolderthanwhatyouarenow.”
“Butshedidnotagreewithyou,Iexpect,”saidPoirot,smiling.
“WhenIsayathingImeanit,”saidMrs.Tucker.
ThefatMarilynsuddenlygaveanamusedgiggle.Poirotshotherakeenglance.
“DidMrs.LeggegiveMarleneanythingelse?”heasked.
“Believeshegaveherascarforsummat—oneshehadn’tnomoreusefor.Ashowysortofthing,butnotmuchquality.IknowqualitywhenIseeit,”saidMrs.Tucker,noddingherhead.“UsedtoworkatNasseHouseasagirl,Idid.Properstufftheladiesworeinthosedays.Nogaudycoloursandallthisnylonandrayon;realgoodsilk.Why,someoftheirtaffetadresseswouldhavestoodupbythemselves.”
“Girlslikeabitoffinery,”saidMr.Tuckerindulgently.“Idon’tmindafewbrightcoloursmyself,butIwon’thavethis’eremuckylipstick.”
“AbitsharpIwaswithher,”saidMrs.Tucker,hereyessuddenlymisty,“andhergorninthatterribleway.WishedafterwardsIhadn’tspokensosharp.Ah,noughtbuttroubleandfuneralslately,itseems.Troublesnevercomesingly,sotheysay,and’tistrueenough.”
“Youhavehadotherlosses?”inquiredPoirotpolitely.
“Thewife’sfather,”explainedMr.Tucker.“ComeacrosstheferryinhisboatfromtheThreeDogslateatnight,andmusthavemissedhisfootinggettingontothequayandfallenintheriver.Ofcourseheoughttohavestayedquietathomeathisage.Butthere,yucan’tdoanythingwiththeold’uns.Alwayspotteringaboutonthequay,hewas.”
“Fatherwasagreatonefortheboatsalways,”saidMrs.Tucker.“UsedtolookafterthemintheolddaysforMr.Folliat,yearsandyearsagothatwas.Not,”sheaddedbrightly,“asFather’smuchloss,asyoumightsay.Welloverninety,hewas,andtryinginmanyofhisways.Alwaysbabblingsomenonsenseorother.’Twastimehewent.But,ofcourse,ushadtoburyhimnice—andtwofuneralsrunningcostsalotofmoney.”
TheseeconomicreflectionspassedPoirotby—afaintremembrancewasstirring.
“Anoldman—onthequay?Iremembertalkingtohim.Washisname—?”
“Merdell,sir.ThatwasmynamebeforeImarried.”
“Yourfather,ifIrememberrightly,washeadgardeneratNasse?”
“No,thatwasmyeldestbrother.Iwastheyoungestofthefamily—elevenofus,therewere.”Sheaddedwithsomepride,“There’sbeenMerdellsatNasseforyears,butthey’reallscatterednow.Fatherwasthelastofus.”
Poirotsaidsoftly:
“There’llalwaysbeFolliatsatNasseHouse.”
“Ibegyourpardon,sir?”
“Iamrepeatingwhatyouroldfathersaidtomeonthequay.”
“Ah,talkedalotofnonsense,Fatherdid.Ihadtoshuthimupprettysharpnowandthen.”
“SoMarlenewasMerdell’sgranddaughter,”saidPoirot.“Yes,Ibegintosee.”Hewassilentforamoment,animmenseexcitementwassurgingwithinhim.“Yourfatherwasdrowned,yousay,intheriver?”
“Yes,sir.Tookadroptoomuch,hedid.Andwherehegotthemoneyfrom,Idon’tknow.Ofcourseheusedtogettipsnowandagainonthequayhelpingpeoplewithboatsorwithparkingtheircars.Verycunninghewasathidinghismoneyfromme.Yes,I’mafraidashe’dhadadroptoomuch.Missedhisfooting,I’dsay,gettingoffhisboatontothequay.Sohefellinandwasdrowned.HisbodywaswashedupdownatHelmmouththenextday.’Tisawonder,asyoumightsay,thatitneverhappenedbefore,himbeingninety-twoandhalf-blindedanyway.”
“Thefactremainsthatitdidnothappenbefore—”
“Ah,well,accidentshappen,soonerorlater—”
“Accident,”musedPoirot.“Iwonder.”
Hegotup.Hemurmured:
“Ishouldhaveguessed.Guessedlongago.Thechildpracticallytoldme—”
“Ibegyourpardon,sir?”
“Itisnothing,”saidPoirot.“OncemoreItenderyoumycondolencesbothonthedeathofyourdaughterandonthatofyourfather.”
Heshookhandswiththembothandleftthecottage.Hesaidtohimself:
“Ihavebeenfoolish—veryfoolish.Ihavelookedateverythingthewrongwayround.”
“Hi—mister.”
Itwasacautiouswhisper.Poirotlookedround.ThefatchildMarilynwasstandingintheshadowofthecottagewall.Shebeckonedhimtoherandspokeinawhisper.
“Mumdon’tknoweverything,”shesaid.“Marlenedidn’tgetthatscarfoffoftheladydownatthecottage.”
“Wheredidshegetit?”
“BoughtitinTorquay.Boughtsomelipstick,too,andsomescent—NewtinParis—funnyname.Andajaroffoundationcream,whatshe’dreadaboutinanadvertisement.”Marilyngiggled.“Mumdoesn’tknow.Hiditatthebackofherdrawer,Marlenedid,underherwintervests.Usedtogointotheconvenienceatthebusstopanddoherselfup,whenshewenttothepictures.”
Marilyngiggledagain.
“Mumneverknew.”
“Didn’tyourmotherfindthesethingsafteryoursisterdied?”
Marilynshookherfairfluffyhead.
“No,”shesaid.“Igot’emnow—inmydrawer.Mumdoesn’tknow.”
Poiroteyedherconsideringly,andsaid:
“Youseemaveryclevergirl,Marilyn.”
Marilyngrinnedrathersheepishly.
“MissBirdsaysit’snogoodmytryingforthegrammarschool.”
“Grammarschoolisnoteverything,”saidPoirot.“Tellme,howdidMarlenegetthemoneytobuythesethings?”
Marilynlookedwithcloseattentionatadrainpipe.
“Dunno,”shemuttered.
“Ithinkyoudoknow,”saidPoirot.
Shamelesslyhedrewoutahalfcrownfromhispocketandaddedanotherhalfcrowntoit.
“Ibelieve,”hesaid,“thereisanew,veryattractiveshadeoflipstickcalled‘CarmineKiss.’”
“Soundssmashing,”saidMarilyn,herhandadvancedtowardsthefiveshillings.Shespokeinarapidwhisper.“Sheusedtosnoopaboutabit,Marlenedid.Usedtoseegoings-on—youknowwhat.Marlenewouldpromisenottotellandthenthey’dgiveherapresent,see?”
Poirotrelinquishedthefiveshillings.
“Isee,”hesaid.
HenoddedtoMarilynandwalkedaway.Hemurmuredagainunderhisbreath,butthistimewithintensifiedmeaning:
“Isee.”
Somanythingsnowfellintoplace.Notallofit.Notclearyetbyanymeans—buthewasontherighttrack.Aperfectlycleartrailallthewayifonlyhehadhadthewittoseeit.ThatfirstconversationwithMrs.Oliver,somecasualwordsofMichaelWeyman’s,thesignificantconversationwitholdMerdellonthequay,anilluminatingphrasespokenbyMissBrewis—thearrivalofEtiennedeSousa.
Apublictelephoneboxstoodadjacenttothevillagepostoffice.Heentereditandrangupanumber.AfewminuteslaterhewasspeakingtoInspectorBland.
“Well,M.Poirot,whereareyou?”
“Iamhere,inNassecombe.”
“ButyouwereinLondonyesterdayafternoon?”
“Itonlytakesthreeandahalfhourstocomeherebyagoodtrain,”Poirotpointedout.“Ihaveaquestionforyou.”
“Yes?”
“WhatkindofayachtdidEtiennedeSousahave?”
“MaybeIcanguesswhatyou’rethinking,M.Poirot,butIassureyoutherewasnothingofthatkind.Itwasn’tfittedupforsmugglingifthat’swhatyoumean.Therewerenofancyhiddenpartitionsorsecretcubbyholes.We’dhavefoundthemiftherehadbeen.Therewasnowhereonityoucouldhavestowedawayabody.”
“Youarewrong,moncher,thatisnotwhatImean.Ionlyaskedwhatkindofyacht,bigorsmall?”
“Oh,itwasveryfancy.Musthavecosttheearth.Allverysmart,newlypainted,luxuryfittings.”
“Exactly,”saidPoirot.HesoundedsopleasedthatInspectorBlandfeltquitesurprised.
“Whatareyougettingat,M.Poirot?”heasked.
“EtiennedeSousa,”saidPoirot,“isarichman.That,myfriend,isverysignificant.”
“Why?”demandedInspectorBland.
“Itfitsinwithmylatestidea,”saidPoirot.
“You’vegotanidea,then?”
“Yes.AtlastIhaveanidea.UptonowIhavebeenverystupid.”
“Youmeanwe’veallbeenverystupid.”
“No,”saidPoirot,“Imeanspeciallymyself.Ihadthegoodfortunetohaveaperfectlycleartrailpresentedtome,andIdidnotseeit.”
“Butnowyou’redefinitelyontosomething?”
“Ithinkso,yes.”
“Lookhere,M.Poirot—”
ButPoirothadrungoff.Aftersearchinghispocketsforavailablechange,heputthroughapersonalcalltoMrs.OliveratherLondonnumber.
“Butdonot,”hehastenedtoadd,whenhemadehisdemand,“disturbtheladytoanswerthetelephoneifsheisatwork.”
HerememberedhowbitterlyMrs.Oliverhadoncereproachedhimforinterruptingatrainofcreativethoughtandhowtheworldinconsequencehadbeendeprivedofanintriguingmysterycentringroundanold-fashionedlong-sleevedwoollenvest.Theexchange,however,wasunabletoappreciatehisscruples.
“Well,”itdemanded,“doyouwantapersonalcallordon’tyou?”
“Ido,”saidPoirot,sacrificingMrs.Oliver’screativegeniusuponthealtarofhisownimpatience.HewasrelievedwhenMrs.Oliverspoke.Sheinterruptedhisapologies.
“It’ssplendidthatyou’verungmeup,”shesaid.“IwasjustgoingouttogiveatalkonHowIWriteMyBooks.NowIcangetmysecretarytoringupandsayIamunavoidablydetained.”
“But,Madame,youmustnotletmeprevent—”
“It’snotacaseofpreventing,”saidMrs.Oliverjoyfully.“I’dhavemadethemostawfulfoolofmyself.Imean,whatcanyousayabouthowyouwritebooks?WhatImeanis,firstyou’vegottothinkofsomething,andwhenyou’vethoughtofityou’vegottoforceyourselftositdownandwriteit.That’sall.Itwouldhavetakenmejustthreeminutestoexplainthat,andthentheTalkwouldhavebeenendedandeveryonewouldhavebeenveryfedup.Ican’timaginewhyeverybodyisalwayssokeenforauthorstotalkaboutwriting.Ishouldhavethoughtitwasanauthor’sbusinesstowrite,nottalk.”
“AndyetitisabouthowyouwritethatIwanttoaskyou.”
“Youcanask,”saidMrs.Oliver;“butIprobablyshan’tknowtheanswer.Imeanonejustsitsdownandwrites.Halfaminute,I’vegotafrightfullysillyhatonfortheTalk—andImusttakeitoff.Itscratchesmyforehead.”TherewasamomentarypauseandthenthevoiceofMrs.Oliverresumedinarelievedvoice,“Hatsarereallyonlyasymbol,nowadays,aren’tthey?Imean,onedoesn’twearthemforsensiblereasonsanymore;tokeepone’sheadwarm,orshieldonefromthesun,orhideone’sfacefrompeopleonedoesn’twanttomeet.Ibegyourpardon,M.Poirot,didyousaysomething?”
“Itwasanejaculationonly.Itisextraordinary,”saidPoirot,andhisvoicewasawed.“Alwaysyougivemeideas.SoalsodidmyfriendHastingswhomIhavenotseenformany,manyyears.Youhavegivenmenowthecluetoyetanotherpieceofmyproblem.Butnomoreofallthat.Letmeaskyouinsteadmyquestion.Doyouknowanatomscientist,Madame?”
“DoIknowanatomscientist?”saidMrs.Oliverinasurprisedvoice.“Idon’tknow.IsupposeImay.Imean,Iknowsomeprofessorsandthings.I’mneverquitesurewhattheyactuallydo.”
“YetyoumadeanatomscientistoneofthesuspectsinyourMurderHunt?”
“Oh,that!Thatwasjusttobeuptodate.Imean,whenIwenttobuypresentsformynephewslastChristmas,therewasnothingbutsciencefictionandthestratosphereandsupersonictoys,andsoIthoughtwhenIstartedontheMurderHunt,‘Betterhaveanatomscientistasthechiefsuspectandbemodern.’Afterall,ifI’dneededalittletechnicaljargonforitIcouldalwayshavegotitfromAlecLegge.”
“AlecLegge—thehusbandofSallyLegge?Isheanatomscientist?”
“Yes,heis.NotHarwell.Walessomewhere.Cardiff.OrBristol,isit?It’sjustaholidaycottagetheyhaveontheHelm.Yes,so,ofcourse,Idoknowanatomscientistafterall.”
“AnditwasmeetinghimatNasseHousethatprobablyputtheideaofanatomscientistintoyourhead?ButhiswifeisnotYugoslavian.”
“Oh,no,”saidMrs.Oliver,“SallyisEnglishasEnglish.Surelyyourealizethat?”
“ThenwhatputtheideaoftheYugoslavianwifeintoyourhead?”
“Ireallydon’tknow…Refugeesperhaps?Students?AllthoseforeigngirlsatthehosteltrespassingthroughthewoodsandspeakingbrokenEnglish.”
“Isee…Yes,Iseenowalotofthings.”
“It’sabouttime,”saidMrs.Oliver.
“Pardon?”
“Isaiditwasabouttime,”saidMrs.Oliver.“Thatyoudidseethings,Imean.Uptonowyoudon’tseemtohavedoneanything.”Hervoiceheldreproach.
“Onecannotarriveatthingsallinamoment,”saidPoirot,defendinghimself.“Thepolice,”headded,“havebeencompletelybaffled.”
“Oh,thepolice,”saidMrs.Oliver.“NowifawomanweretheheadofScotlandYard….”
Recognizingthiswell-knownphrase,Poirothastenedtointerrupt.
“Thematterhasbeencomplex,”hesaid.“Extremelycomplex.Butnow—Itellyouthisinconfidence—butnowIarrive!”
Mrs.Oliverremainedunimpressed.
“Idaresay,”shesaid;“butinthemeantimetherehavebeentwomurders.”
“Three,”Poirotcorrectedher.
“Threemurders?Who’sthethird?”
“AnoldmancalledMerdell,”saidHerculePoirot.
“Ihaven’theardofthatone,”saidMrs.Oliver.“Willitbeinthepaper?”
“No,”saidPoirot,“uptonownoonehassuspectedthatitwasanythingbutanaccident.”
“Anditwasn’tanaccident?”
“No,”saidPoirot,“itwasnotanaccident.”
“Well,tellmewhodidit—didthem,Imean—orcan’tyouoverthetelephone?”
“Onedoesnotsaythesethingsoverthetelephone,”saidPoirot.
“ThenIshallringoff,”saidMrs.Oliver.“Ican’tbearit.”
“Waitamoment,”saidPoirot,“thereissomethingelseIwantedtoaskyou.Now,whatwasit?”
“That’sasignofage,”saidMrs.Oliver.“Idothat,too.Forgetthings—”
“Therewassomething,somelittlepoint—itworriedme.Iwasintheboathouse….”
Hecasthismindback.Thatpileofcomics.Marlene’sphrasesscrawledonthemargin.“AlbertgoeswithDoreen.”Hehadhadafeelingthattherewassomethinglacking—thattherewassomethinghemustaskMrs.Oliver.
“Areyoustillthere,M.Poirot?”demandedMrs.Oliver.Atthesametimetheoperatorrequestedmoremoney.
Theseformalitiescompleted,Poirotspokeoncemore.
“Areyoustillthere,Madame?”
“I’mstillhere,”saidMrs.Oliver.“Don’tlet’swasteanymoremoneyaskingeachotherifwe’rethere.Whatisit?”
“Itissomethingveryimportant.YourememberyourMurderHunt?”
“Well,ofcourseIrememberit.It’spracticallywhatwe’vejustbeentalkingabout,isn’tit?”
“Imadeonegravemistake,”saidPoirot.“Ineverreadyoursynopsisforcompetitors.Inthegravityofdiscoveringamurderitdidnotseemtomatter.Iwaswrong.Itdidmatter.Youareasensitiveperson,Madame.Youareaffectedbyyouratmosphere,bythepersonalitiesofthepeopleyoumeet.Andthesearetranslatedintoyourwork.Notrecognizablyso,buttheyaretheinspirationfromwhichyourfertilebraindrawsitscreations.”
“That’sveryniceflowerylanguage,”saidMrs.Oliver.“Butwhatexactlydoyoumean?”
“Thatyouhavealwaysknownmoreaboutthiscrimethanyouhaverealizedyourself.NowforthequestionIwanttoaskyou—twoquestionsactually;butthefirstisveryimportant.Didyou,whenyoufirstbegantoplanyourMurderHunt,meanthebodytobediscoveredintheboathouse?”
“No,Ididn’t.”
“Wheredidyouintendittobe?”
“Inthatfunnylittlesummerhousetuckedawayintherhododendronsnearthehouse.Ithoughtitwasjusttheplace.Butthensomeone,Ican’trememberwhoexactly,beganinsistingthatitshouldbefoundintheFolly.Well,that,ofcourse,wasanabsurdidea!Imean,anyonecouldhavestrolledintherequitecasuallyandcomeacrossitwithouthavingfollowedasingleclue.Peoplearesostupid.OfcourseIcouldn’tagreetothat.”
“So,instead,youacceptedtheboathouse?”
“Yes,that’sjusthowithappened.TherewasreallynothingagainsttheboathousethoughIstillthoughtthelittlesummerhousewouldhavebeenbetter.”
“Yes,thatisthetechniqueyououtlinedtomethatfirstday.Thereisonethingmore.Doyouremembertellingmethattherewasafinalcluewrittenononeofthe‘comics’thatMarlenewasgiventoamuseher?”
“Yes,ofcourse.”
“Tellme,wasitsomethinglike”(heforcedhismemorybacktoamomentwhenhehadstoodreadingvariousscrawledphrases):“AlbertgoeswithDoreen;GeorgiePorgiekisseshikersinthewood;PeterpinchesgirlsintheCinema?”
“Goodgraciousme,no,”saidMrs.Oliverinaslightlyshockedvoice.“Itwasn’tanythingsillylikethat.No,minewasaperfectlystraightforwardclue.”Sheloweredhervoiceandspokeinmysterioustones.“Lookinthehiker’srucksack.”
“Epatant!”criedPoirot.“Epatant!Ofcourse,the‘comic’withthatonitwouldhavetobetakenaway.Itmighthavegivensomeoneideas!”
“Therucksack,ofcourse,wasonthefloorbythebodyand—”
“Ah,butitisanotherrucksackofwhichIamthinking.”
“You’reconfusingmewithalltheserucksacks,”Mrs.Olivercomplained.“Therewasonlyoneinmymurderstory.Don’tyouwanttoknowwhatwasinit?”
“Notintheleast,”saidPoirot.“Thatistosay,”headdedpolitely,“Ishouldbeenchantedtohear,ofcourse,but—”
Mrs.Oliversweptoverthe“but.”
“Veryingenious,Ithink,”shesaid,theprideofauthorshipinhervoice.“Yousee,inMarlene’shaversack,whichwassupposedtobetheYugoslavianwife’shaversack,ifyouunderstandwhatImean—”
“Yes,yes,”saidPoirot,preparinghimselftobelostinfogoncemore.
“Well,initwasthebottleofmedicinecontainingpoisonwithwhichthecountrysquirepoisonedhiswife.Yousee,theYugoslaviangirlhadbeenoverheretrainingasanurseandshe’dbeeninthehousewhenColonelBluntpoisonedhisfirstwifeforhermoney.Andshe,thenurse,hadgotholdofthebottleandtakenitaway,andthencomebackto
“Fitinwithwhat?”
“Withyourideas,”saidMrs.Oliver.
“Notatall,”saidPoirot,butaddedhastily,“Allthesame,myfelicitations,Madame.IamsureyourMurderHuntwassoingeniousthatnobodywontheprize.”
“Buttheydid,”saidMrs.Oliver.“Quitelate,aboutseveno’clock.Averydoggedoldladysupposedtobequitegaga.Shegotthroughallthecluesandarrivedattheboathousetriumphantly,butofcoursethepolicewerethere.Sothensheheardaboutthemurder,andshewasthelastpersonatthewholefêtetohearaboutit,Ishouldimagine.Anyway,theygavehertheprize.”Sheaddedwithsatisfaction,
“Someday,Madame,”saidPoirot,“youshalltellmethisstoryofyours.”
“Actually,”saidMrs.Oliver,“I’mthinkingofturningitintoabook.Itwouldbeapitytowasteit.”
AnditmayherebementionedthatsomethreeyearslaterHerculePoirotreadTheWomanintheWood,byAriadneOliver,andwonderedwhilsthereaditwhysomeofthepersonsandincidentsseemedtohimvaguelyfamiliar.
Eighteen
ThesunwassettingwhenPoirotcametowhatwascalledofficiallyMillCottage,andknownlocallyasthePinkCottagedownbyLawder’sCreek.Heknockedonthedooranditwasflungopenwithsuchsuddennessthathestartedback.Theangry-lookingyoungmaninthedoorwaystaredathimforamomentwithoutrecognizinghim.Thenhegaveashortlaugh.
“Hallo,”hesaid,“it’sthesleuth.Comein,M.Poirot.I’mpackingup.”
Poirotacceptedtheinvitationandsteppedintothecottage.Itwasplainly,ratherbadlyfurnished.AndAlecLegge’spersonalpossessionswereatthemomenttakingupadisproportionateamountofroom.Books,papersandarticlesofstrayclothingwerestrewnallaround,anopensuitcasestoodonthefloor.
“Thefinalbreakupoftheménage,”saidAlecLegge.“Sallyhasclearedout.Iexpectyouknowthat.”
“Ididnotknowit,no.”
AlecLeggegaveashortlaugh.
“I’mgladthere’ssomethingyoudon’tknow.Yes,she’shadenoughofmarriedlife.Goingtolinkupherlifewiththattamearchitect.”
“Iamsorrytohearit,”saidPoirot.
“Idon’tseewhyyoushouldbesorry.”
“Iamsorry,”saidPoirot,clearingofftwobooksandashirtandsittingdownonthecornerofthesofa,“becauseIdonotthinkshewillbeashappywithhimasshewouldbewithyou.”
“Shehasn’tbeenparticularlyhappywithmethislastsixmonths.”
“Sixmonthsisnotalifetime,”saidPoirot,“itisaveryshortspaceoutofwhatmightbealonghappymarriedlife.”
“Talkingratherlikeaparson,aren’tyou?”
“Possibly.MayIsay,Mr.Legge,thatifyourwifehasnotbeenhappywithyouitisprobablymoreyourfaultthanhers.”
“Shecertainlythinksso.Everything’smyfault,Isuppose.”
“Noteverything,butsomethings.”
“Oh,blameeverythingonme.Imightaswelldrownmyselfinthedamn’riverandhavedonewithit.”
Poirotlookedathimthoughtfully.
“Iamgladtoobserve,”heremarked,“thatyouarenowmoreperturbedwithyourowntroublesthanwiththoseoftheworld.”
“Theworldcangohang,”saidMr.Legge.Headdedbitterly,“Iseemtohavemadethemostcompletefoolofmyselfallalongtheline.”
“Yes,”saidPoirot,“Iwouldsaythatyouhavebeenmoreunfortunatethanreprehensibleinyourconduct.”
AlecLeggestaredathim.
“Whohiredyoutosleuthme?”hedemanded.“WasitSally?”
“Whyshouldyouthinkthat?”
“Well,nothing’shappenedofficially.SoIconcludedthatyoumusthavecomedownaftermeonaprivatejob.”
“Youareinerror,”repliedPoirot.“Ihavenotatanytimebeensleuthingyou.WhenIcamedownhereIhadnoideathatyouexisted.”
“ThenhowdoyouknowwhetherI’vebeenunfortunateormadeafoolofmyselforwhat?”
“Fromtheresultofobservationandreflection,”saidPoirot.“ShallImakealittleguessandwillyoutellmeifIamright?”
“Youcanmakeasmanylittleguessesasyoulike,”saidAlecLegge.“Butdon’texpectmetoplay.”
“Ithink,”saidPoirot,“thatsomeyearsagoyouhadaninterestandsympathyforacertainpoliticalparty.Likemanyotheryoungmenofascientificbent.Inyourprofessionsuchsympathiesandtendenciesarenaturallyregardedwithsuspicion.Idonotthinkyouwereeverseriouslycompromised,butIdothinkthatpressurewasbroughtuponyoutoconsolidateyourpositioninawayyoudidnotwanttoconsolidateit.Youtriedtowithdrawandyouwerefacedwithathreat.Youweregivenarendezvouswithsomeone.IdoubtifIshalleverknowthatyoungman’sname.Hewillbeformealwaystheyoungmaninaturtleshirt.”
AlecLeggegaveasuddenexplosionoflaughter.
“Isupposethatshirtwasabitofajoke.Iwasn’tseeingthingsveryfunnyatthetime.”
HerculePoirotcontinued.
“Whatwithworryoverthefateoftheworld,andtheworryoveryourownpredicament,youbecame,ifImaysayso,amanalmostimpossibleforanywomantolivewithhappily.Youdidnotconfideinyourwife.Thatwasunfortunateforyou,asIshouldsaythatyourwifewasawomanofloyalty,andthatifshehadrealizedhowunhappyanddesperateyouwere,shewouldhavebeenwholeheartedlyonyourside.Insteadofthatshemerelybegantocompareyou,unfavourably,withaformerfriendofhers,MichaelWeyman.”
Herose.
“Ishouldadviseyou,Mr.Legge,tocompleteyourpackingassoonaspossible,tofollowyourwifetoLondon,toaskhertoforgiveyouandtotellherallthatyouhavebeenthrough.”
“Sothat’swhatyouadvise,”saidAlecLegge.“Andwhatthehellbusinessisitofyours?”
“None,”saidHerculePoirot.Hewithdrewtowardsthedoor.“ButIamalwaysright.”
Therewasamoment’ssilence.ThenAlecLeggeburstintoawildpealoflaughter.
“Doyouknow,”hesaid,“IthinkI’lltakeyouradvice.Divorceisdamnedexpensive.Anyway,ifyou’vegotholdofthewomanyouwant,andarethennotabletokeepher,it’sabithumiliating,don’tyouthink?IshallgouptoherflatinChelsea,andifIfindMichaelthereIshalltakeholdofhimbythathand-knittedpansytiehewearsandthrottlethelifeoutofhim.I’denjoythat.Yes,I’denjoyitagooddeal.”
Hisfacesuddenlylitupwithamostattractivesmile.
“Sorryformyfilthytemper,”hesaid,“andthanksalot.”
HeclappedPoirotontheshoulder.WiththeforceoftheblowPoirotstaggeredandallbutfell.
Mr.Legge’sfriendshipwascertainlymorepainfulthanhisanimosity.
“Andnow,”saidPoirot,leavingMillCottageonpainfulfeetandlookingupatthedarkeningsky,“wheredoIgo?”
Nineteen
ThechiefconstableandInspectorBlandlookedupwithkeencuriosityasHerculePoirotwasusheredin.Thechiefconstablewasnotinthebestoftempers.OnlyBland’squietpersistencehadcausedhimtocancelhisdinnerappointmentforthatevening.
“Iknow,Bland,Iknow,”hesaidfretfully.“MaybehewasalittleBelgianwizardinhisday—butsurely,man,hisday’sover.He’swhatage?”
Blandslidtactfullyovertheanswertothisquestionwhich,inanycase,hedidnotknow.Poirothimselfwasalwaysreticentonthesubjectofhisage.
“Thepointis,sir,hewasthere—onthespot.Andwe’renotgettinganywhereanyotherway.Upagainstablankwall,that’swhereweare.”
Thechiefconstableblewhisnoseirritably.
“Iknow.Iknow.MakesmebegintobelieveinMrs.Masterton’shomicidalpervert.I’devenusebloodhounds,iftherewereanywheretousethem.”
“Bloodhoundscan’tfollowascentoverwater.”
“Yes.Iknowwhatyou’vealwaysthought,Bland.AndI’minclinedtoagreewithyou.Butthere’sabsolutelynomotive,youknow.Notaniotaofmotive.”
“Themotivemaybeoutintheislands.”
“MeaningthatHattieStubbsknewsomethingaboutdeSousaoutthere?Isupposethat’sreasonablypossible,givenhermentality.Shewassimple,everyoneagreesonthat.Shemightblurtoutwhatsheknewtoanyoneatanytime.Isthatthewayyouseeit?”
“Somethinglikethat.”
“Ifso,hewaitedalongtimebeforecrossingtheseaanddoingsomethingaboutit.”
“Well,sir,it’spossiblehedidn’tknowwhatexactlyhadbecomeofher.Hisownstorywasthathe’dseenapieceinsomesocietyperiodicalaboutNasseHouse,anditsbeautifulchatelaine.(WhichIhavealwaysthoughtmyself,”addedBlandparenthetically,“tobeasilverthingwithchains,andbitsandpieceshungonitthatpeople’sgrandmothersusedtoclipontheirwaistbands—andagoodidea,too.Wouldn’tbeallthesesillywomenforeverleavingtheirhandbagsaround.)Seems,though,thatinwomen’sjargonchatelainemeansmistressofahouse.AsIsay,that’shistoryandmaybeit’strueenough,andhedidn’tknowwhereshewasorwhoshe’dmarrieduntilthen.”
“Butoncehedidknow,hecameacrossposthasteinayachtinordertomurderher?It’sfar-fetched,Bland,veryfar-fetched.”
“Butitcouldbe,sir.”
“Andwhatonearthcouldthewomanknow?”
“Rememberwhatshesaidtoherhusband.‘Hekillspeople.’”
“Murderremembered?Fromthetimeshewasfifteen?Andpresumablyonlyherwordforit?Surelyhe’dbeabletolaughthatoff?”
“Wedon’tknowthefacts,”saidBlandstubbornly.“Youknowyourself,sir,howonceoneknowswhodidathing,onecanlookforevidenceandfindit.”
“H’m.We’vemadeinquiriesaboutdeSousa—discreetly—throughtheusualchannels—andgotnowhere.”
“That’sjustwhy,sir,thisfunnyoldBelgianboymighthavestumbledonsomething.Hewasinthehouse—that’stheimportantthing.LadyStubbstalkedtohim.Someoftherandomthingsshesaidmayhavecometogetherinhismindandmadesense.Howeverthatmaybe,he’sbeendowninNassecombemostoftoday.”
“AndherangyouuptoaskwhatkindofayachtEtiennedeSousahad?”
“Whenherangupthefirsttime,yes.Thesecondtimewastoaskmetoarrangethismeeting.”
“Well,”thechiefconstablelookedathiswatch,“ifhedoesn’tcomewithinfiveminutes….”
ButitwasatthatverymomentthatHerculePoirotwasshownin.
Hisappearancewasnotasimmaculateasusual.Hismoustachewaslimp,affectedbythedampDevonair,hispatent-leathershoeswereheavilycoatedwithmud,helimped,andhishairwasruffled.
“Well,sohereyouare,M.Poirot.”Thechiefconstableshookhands.“We’reallkeyedup,onourtoes,waitingtohearwhatyouhavetotellus.”
Thewordswerefaintlyironic,butHerculePoirot,howeverdampphysically,wasinnomoodtobedampedmentally.
“Icannotimagine,”hesaid,“howitwasIdidnotseethetruthbefore.”
Thechiefconstablereceivedthisrathercoldly.
“Arewetounderstandthatyoudoseethetruthnow?”
“Yes,therearedetails—buttheoutlineisclear.”
“Wewantmorethananoutline,”saidthechiefconstabledryly.“Wewantevidence.Haveyougotevidence,M.Poirot?”
“Icantellyouwheretofindtheevidence.”
InspectorBlandspoke.“Suchas?”
Poirotturnedtohimandaskedaquestion.
“EtiennedeSousahas,Isuppose,leftthecountry?”
“Twoweeksago.”Blandaddedbitterly,“Itwon’tbeeasytogethimback.”
“Hemightbepersuaded.”
“Persuaded?There’snotsufficientevidencetowarrantanextraditionorder,then?”
“Itisnotaquestionofanextraditionorder.Ifthefactsareputtohim—”
“Butwhatfacts,M.Poirot?”Thechiefconstablespokewithsomeirritation.“Whatarethesefactsyoutalkaboutsoglibly?”
“ThefactthatEtiennedeSousacamehereinalavishlyappointedluxuryyachtshowingthathisfamilyisrich,thefactthatoldMerdellwasMarleneTucker’sgrandfather(whichIdidnotknowuntiltoday),thefactthatLadyStubbswasfondofwearingthecoolietypeofhat,thefactthatMrs.Oliver,inspiteofanunbridledandunreliableimagination,is,unrealizedbyherself,averyshrewdjudgeofcharacter,thefactthatMarleneTuckerhadlipsticksandbottlesofperfumehiddenatthebackofherbureaudrawer,thefactthatMissBrewismaintainsthatitwasLadyStubbswhoaskedhertotakearefreshmenttraydowntoMarleneattheboathouse.”
“Facts?”Thechiefconstablestared.“Youcallthosefacts?Butthere’snothingnewthere.”
“Youpreferevidence—definiteevidence—suchas—LadyStubbs’body?”
NowitwasBlandwhostared.
“YouhavefoundLadyStubbs’body?”
“Notactuallyfoundit—butIknowwhereitishidden.Youshallgotothespot,andwhenyouhavefoundit,then—thenyouwillhaveevidence—alltheevidenceyouneed.Foronlyonepersoncouldhavehiddenitthere.”
“Andwho’sthat?”
HerculePoirotsmiled—thecontentedsmileofacatwhohaslappedupasaucerofcream.
“Thepersonitsooftenis,”hesaidsoftly;“thehusband.SirGeorgeStubbskilledhiswife.”
“Butthat’simpossible,M.Poirot.Weknowit’simpossible.”
“Oh,no,”saidPoirot,“itisnotimpossibleatall!Listen,andIwilltellyou.”
Twenty
HerculePoirotpausedamomentatthebigwroughtirongates.Helookedaheadofhimalongthecurvingdrive.Thelastofthegolden-brownleavesfluttereddownfromthetrees.Thecyclamenwereover.
Poirotsighed.Heturnedasideandrappedgentlyonthedoorofthelittlewhitepilasteredlodge.
Afterafewmoments’delayheheardfootstepsinside,thoseslowhesitantfootsteps.ThedoorwasopenedbyMrs.Folliat.Hewasnotstartledthistimetoseehowoldandfrailshelooked.
Shesaid,“M.Poirot?Youagain?”
“MayIcomein?”
“Ofcourse.”
Hefollowedherin.
Sheofferedhimteawhichherefused.Thensheaskedinaquietvoice:
“Whyhaveyoucome?”
“Ithinkyoucanguess,Madame.”
Heranswerwasoblique.
“Iamverytired,”shesaid.
“Iknow.”Hewenton,“Therehavenowbeenthreedeaths,HattieStubbs,MarleneTucker,oldMerdell.”
Shesaidsharply:
“Merdell?Thatwasanaccident.Hefellfromthequay.Hewasveryold,half-blind,andhe’dbeendrinkinginthepub.”
“Itwasnotanaccident.Merdellknewtoomuch.”
“Whatdidheknow?”
“Herecognizedaface,orawayofwalking,oravoice—somethinglikethat.ItalkedtohimthedayIfirstcamedownhere.HetoldmethenallabouttheFolliatfamily—aboutyourfather-in-lawandyourhusband,andyoursonswhowerekilledinthewar.Only—theywerenotbothkilled,werethey?YoursonHenrywentdownwithhisship,butyoursecondson,James,wasnotkilled.Hedeserted.Hewasreportedatfirst,perhaps,Missingbelievedkilled,andlateryoutoldeveryonethathewaskilled.Itwasnobody’sbusinesstodisbelievethatstatement.Whyshouldthey?”
Poirotpausedandthenwenton:
“DonotimagineIhavenosympathyforyou,Madame.Lifehasbeenhardforyou,Iknow.Youcanhavehadnorealillusionsaboutyouryoungerson,buthewasyourson,andyoulovedhim.Youdidallyoucouldtogivehimanewlife.Youhadthechargeofayounggirl,asubnormalbutveryrichgirl.Ohyes,shewasrich.Yougaveoutthatherparentshadlostalltheirmoney,thatshewaspoor,andthatyouhadadvisedhertomarryarichmanmanyyearsolderthanherself.Whyshouldanybodydisbelieveyourstory?Again,itwasnobody’sbusiness.Herparentsandnearrelativeshadbeenkilled.AfirmofFrenchlawyersinParisactedasinstructedbylawyersinSanMiguel.Onhermarriage,sheassumedcontrolofherownfortune.Shewas,asyouhavetoldme,docile,affectionate,suggestible.Everythingherhusbandaskedhertosign,shesigned.Securitieswereprobablychangedandre-soldmanytimes,butintheendthedesiredfinancialresultwasreached.SirGeorgeStubbs,thenewpersonalityassumedbyyourson,becamearichmanandhiswifebecameapauper.Itisnolegaloffencetocallyourself‘sir’unlessitisdonetoobtainmoneyunderfalsepretences.Atitlecreatesconfidence—itsuggests,ifnotbirth,thencertainlyriches.SotherichSirGeorgeStubbs,olderandchangedinappearanceandhavinggrownabeard,boughtNasseHouseandcametolivewherehebelonged,thoughhehadnotbeentheresincehewasaboy.Therewasnobodyleftafterthedevastationofwarwhowaslikelytohaverecognizedhim.ButoldMerdelldid.Hekepttheknowledgetohimself,butwhenhesaidtomeslylythattherewouldalwaysbeFolliatsatNasseHouse,thatwashisownprivatejoke.
“Soallhadturnedoutwell,orsoyouthought.Yourplan,Ifullybelieve,stoppedthere.Yoursonhadwealth,hisancestralhome,andthoughhiswifewassubnormalshewasabeautifulanddocilegirl,andyouhopedhewouldbekindtoherandthatshewouldbehappy.”
Mrs.Folliatsaidinalowvoice:
“That’showIthoughtitwouldbe—IwouldlookafterHattieandcareforher.Ineverdreamed—”
“Youneverdreamed—andyoursoncarefullydidnottellyou,thatatthetimeofthemarriagehewasalreadymarried.Oh,yes—wehavesearchedtherecordsforwhatweknewmustexist.YoursonhadmarriedagirlinTrieste,agirloftheundergroundcriminalworldwithwhomheconcealedhimselfafterhisdesertion.Shehadnomindtobepartedfromhim,norforthatmatterhadheanyintentionofbeingpartedfromher.HeacceptedthemarriagewithHattieasameanstowealth,butinhisownmindheknewfromthebeginningwhatheintendedtodo.”
“No,no,Idonotbelievethat!Icannotbelieveit…Itwasthatwoman—thatwickedcreature.”
Poirotwentoninexorably:
“Hemeantmurder.Hattiehadnorelations,fewfriends.ImmediatelyontheirreturntoEngland,hebroughtherhere.Theservantshardlysawherthatfirstevening,andthewomantheysawthenextmorningwasnotHattie,buthisItalianwifemadeupasHattieandbehavingroughlymuchasHattiebehaved.Andthereagainitmighthaveended.ThefalseHattiewouldhavelivedoutherlifeastherealHattiethoughdoubtlesshermentalpowerswouldhaveunexpectedlyimprovedowingtowhatwouldvaguelybecalled‘newtreatment.’Thesecretary,MissBrewis,alreadyrealizedthattherewasverylittlewrongwithLadyStubbs’mentalprocesses.
“Butthenatotallyunforeseenthinghappened.AcousinofHattie’swrotethathewascomingtoEnglandonayachtingtrip,andalthoughthatcousinhadnotseenherformanyyears,hewouldnotbelikelytobedeceivedbyanimpostor.
“Itisodd,”saidPoirot,breakingoffhisnarrative,“thatthoughthethoughtdidcrossmymindthatdeSousamightnotbedeSousa,itneveroccurredtomethatthetruthlaytheotherwayround—thatistosay,thatHattiewasnotHattie.”
Hewenton:
“Theremighthavebeenseveraldifferentwaysofmeetingthatsituation.LadyStubbscouldhaveavoidedameetingwithapleaofillness,butifdeSousaremainedlonginEnglandshecouldhardlyhavecontinuedtoavoidmeetinghim.Andtherewasalreadyanothercomplication.OldMerdell,garrulousinhisoldage,usedtochattertohisgranddaughter.Shewasprobablytheonlypersonwhobotheredtolistentohim,andevenshedismissedmostofwhathesaidbecauseshethoughthim‘batty.’Nevertheless,someofthethingshesaidabouthavingseen‘awoman’sbodyinthewoods,’and‘SirGeorgeStubbsbeingreallyMr.James’madesufficientimpressiononhertomakeherhintaboutthemtentativelytoSirGeorge.Indoingso,ofcourse,shesignedherowndeathwarrant.SirGeorgeandhiswifecouldtakenochancesofstorieslikethatgettingaround.Iimaginethathehandedheroutsmallsumsofhushmoney,andproceededtomakehisplans.
“Theyworkedouttheirschemeverycarefully.TheyalreadyknewthedatewhendeSousawasdueatHelmmouth.Itcoincidedwiththedatefixedforthefête.TheyarrangedtheirplansothatMarleneshouldbekilledandLadyStubbs‘disappear’inconditionswhichshouldthrowvaguesuspicionondeSousa.Hencethereferencetohisbeinga‘wickedman’andtheaccusation:‘hekillspeople.’LadyStubbswastodisappearpermanently(possiblyaconvenientlyunrecognizablebodymightbeidentifiedatsometimebySirGeorge),andanewpersonalitywastotakeherplace.Actually,‘Hattie’wouldmerelyresumeherownItalianpersonality.Allthatwasneededwasforhertodoublethepartsoveraperiodofalittlemorethantwenty-fourhours.WiththeconnivanceofSirGeorge,thiswaseasy.OnthedayIarrived,‘LadyStubbs’wassupposedtohaveremainedinherroomuntiljustbeforeteatime.NobodysawherthereexceptSirGeorge.Actually,sheslippedout,tookabusoratraintoExeter,andtravelledfromExeterinthecompanyofanothergirlstudent(severaltraveleverydaythistimeofyear)towhomsheconfidedherstoryofthefriendwhohadeatenbadvealandhampie.Shearrivesatthehostel,bookshercubicle,andgoesoutto‘explore.’Byteatime,LadyStubbsisinthedrawingroom.Afterdinner,LadyStubbsgoesearlytobed—butMissBrewiscaughtaglimpseofherslippingoutofthehouseashortwhileafterwards.Shespendsthenightinthehostel,butisoutearly,andisbackatNasseasLadyStubbsforbreakfast.Againshespendsamorninginherroomwitha‘headache,’andthistimemanagestostageanappearanceasa‘trespasser’rebuffedbySirGeorgefromthewindowofhiswife’sroomwherehepretendstoturnandspeaktohiswifeinsidethatroom.Thechangesofcostumewerenotdifficult—shortsandanopenshirtunderoneoftheelaboratedressesthatLadyStubbswasfondofwearing.HeavywhitemakeupforLadyStubbswithabigcooliehattoshadeherface;agaypeasantscarf,sunburnedcomplexion,andbronze-redcurlsfortheItaliangirl.Noonewouldhavedreamedthatthosetwowerethesamewoman.
“Andsothefinaldramawasstaged.Justbeforefouro’clockLadyStubbstoldMissBrewistotakeateatraydowntoMarlene.ThatwasbecauseshewasafraidsuchanideamightoccurtoMissBrewisindependently,anditwouldbefatalifMissBrewisshouldinconvenientlyappearatthewrongmoment.Perhaps,too,shehadamaliciouspleasureinarrangingforMissBrewistobeatthesceneofthecrimeatapproximatelythetimeitwascommitted.Then,choosinghermoment,sheslippedintotheemptyfortune-tellingtent,outthroughthebackandintothesummerhouseintheshrubberywhereshekeptherhiker’srucksackwithitschangeofcostume.Sheslippedthroughthewoods,calledtoMarlenecooliehatshethrewintotheriver,thenshechangedintoherhikerdressandmakeup,packageduphercyclamengeorgettedressandhigh-heeledshoesintherucksack—andpresentlyanItalianstudentfromtheyouthhosteljoinedherDutchacquaintanceattheshowsonthelawn,andleftwithherbythelocalbusasplanned.WheresheisnowIdonotknow.IsuspectinSohowhereshedoubtlesshasunderworldaffiliationsofherownnationalitywhocanprovideherwiththenecessarypapers.Inanycase,itisnotforanItaliangirlthatthepolicearelooking,itisforHattieStubbs,simple,subnormal,exotic.
“ButpoorHattieStubbsisdead,asyouyourself,Madame,knowonlytoowell.YourevealedthatknowledgewhenIspoketoyouinthedrawingroomonthedayofthefête.ThedeathofMarlenehadbeenabadshocktoyou—youhadnothadtheleastideaofwhatwasplanned;butyourevealedveryclearly,thoughIwasdenseenoughnottoseeitatthetime,thatwhenyoutalkedof‘Hattie,’youweretalkingoftwodifferentpeople—oneawomanyoudislikedwhowouldbe‘betterdead,’andagainstwhomyouwarnedme‘nottobelieveawordshesaid’—theotheragirlofwhomyouspokeinthepasttense,andwhomyoudefendedwithawarmaffection.Ithink,Madame,thatyouwereveryfondofpoorHattieStubbs….”
Therewasalongpause.
Mrs.Folliatsatquitestillinherchair.Atlastsherousedherselfandspoke.Hervoicehadthecoldnessofice.
“Yourwholestoryisquitefantastic,M.Poirot.Ireallythinkyoumustbemad…Allthisisentirelyinyourhead,youhavenoevidencewhatsoever.”
Poirotwentacrosstooneofthewindowsandopenedit.
“Listen,Madame.Whatdoyouhear?”
“Iamalittledeaf…WhatshouldIhear?”
“Theblowsofapickaxe…TheyarebreakinguptheconcretefoundationoftheFolly…Whatagoodplacetoburyabody—whereatreehasbeenuprootedandtheearthisalreadydisturbed.Alittlelater,tomakeallsafe,concreteoverthegroundwherethebodylies,and,ontheconcrete,erectaFolly…”Headdedgently:“SirGeorge’sFolly…TheFollyoftheownerofNasseHouse.”
AlongshudderingsighescapedMrs.Folliat.
“Suchabeautifulplace,”saidPoirot.“Onlyonethingevil…Themanwhoownsit….”
“Iknow.”Herwordscamehoarsely.“Ihavealwaysknown…Evenasachildhefrightenedme…Ruthless…Withoutpity…Andwithoutconscience…ButhewasmysonandIlovedhim…IshouldhavespokenoutafterHattie’sdeath…Buthewasmyson.HowcouldIbetheonetogivehimup?Andso,becauseofmysilence—thatpoorsillychildwaskilled…Andafterher,dearoldMerdell…Wherewouldithaveended?”
“Withamurdereritdoesnotend,”saidPoirot.
Shebowedherhead.Foramomentortwoshestayedso,herhandscoveringhereyes.
ThenMrs.FolliatofNasseHouse,daughterofalonglineofbravemen,drewherselferect.ShelookedstraightatPoirotandhervoicewasformalandremote.
“Thankyou,M.Poirot,”shesaid,“forcomingtotellmeyourselfofthis.Willyouleavemenow?Therearesomethingsthatonehastofacequitealone….”
TheAgathaChristieCollection
THEHERCULEPOIROTMYSTERIES
MatchyourwitswiththefamousBelgiandetective.
TheMysteriousAffairatStylesTheMurderontheLinksPoirotInvestigatesTheMurderofRogerAckroydTheBigFourTheMysteryoftheBlueTrainPerilatEndHouseLordEdgwareDiesMurderontheOrientExpressThreeActTragedyDeathintheCloudsTheA.B.C.MurdersMurderinMesopotamiaCardsontheTableMurderintheMewsDumbWitnessDeathontheNileAppointmentwithDeathHerculePoirot’sChristmasSadCypressOne,Two,BuckleMyShoeEvilUndertheSunFiveLittlePigsTheHollowTheLaborsofHerculesTakenattheFloodTheUnderdogandOtherStoriesMrs.McGinty’sDeadAftertheFuneralHickoryDickoryDockDeadMan’sFollyCatAmongthePigeonsTheClocksThirdGirlHallowe’enPartyElephantsCanRememberCurtain:Poirot’sLastCase
Exploremoreatwww.AgathaChristie.com
TheAgathaChristieCollection
THEMISSMARPLEMYSTERIES
JointhelegendaryspinstersleuthfromSt.MaryMeadinsolvingmurdersfarandwide.
TheMurderattheVicaragTheBodyintheLibraryTheMovingFingerAMurderIsAnnouncedTheyDoItwithMirrorsAPocketFullofRye4:50FromPaddingtonTheMirrorCrack’dfromSidetoSideACaribbeanMysteryAtBertram’sHotelNemesisSleepingMurderMissMarple:TheCompleteShortStories
THETOMMYANDTUPPENCEMYSTERIES
Jumponboardwiththeentertainingcrime-solvingcouplefromYoungAdventurersLtd.
TheSecretAdversaryPartnersinCrimeNorM?BythePrickingofMyThumbsPosternofFate
Exploremoreatwww.AgathaChristie.com
TheAgathaChristieCollection
Don’tmissasingleoneofAgathaChristie’sstand-alonenovelsandshort-storycollections.
TheManintheBrownSuitTheSecretofChimneysTheSevenDialsMysteryTheMysteriousMr.QuinTheSittafordMysteryParkerPyneInvestigatesWhyDidn’tTheyAskEvans?MurderIsEasyTheRegattaMysteryandOtherStoriesAndThenThereWereNoneTowardsZeroDeathComesastheEndSparklingCyanideTheWitnessfortheProsecutionandOtherStoriesCrookedHouseThreeBlindMiceandOtherStoriesTheyCametoBaghdadDestinationUnknownOrdealbyInnocenceDoubleSinandOtherStoriesThePaleHorseStaroverBethlehem:PoemsandHolidayStoriesEndlessNightPassengertoFrankfurtTheGoldenBallandOtherStoriesTheMousetrapandOtherPlaysTheHarlequinTeaSet
Exploremoreatwww.AgathaChristie.com
AbouttheAuthor
AgathaChristieisthemostwidelypublishedauthorofalltimeandinanylanguage,outsoldonlybytheBibleandShakespeare.HerbookshavesoldmorethanabillioncopiesinEnglishandanotherbillioninahundredforeignlanguages.Sheistheauthorofeightycrimenovelsandshort-storycollections,nineteenplays,twomemoirs,andsixnovelswrittenunderthenameMaryWestmacott.
ShefirsttriedherhandatdetectivefictionwhileworkinginahospitaldispensaryduringWorldWarI,creatingthenowlegendaryHerculePoirotwithherdebutnovelTheMysteriousAffairatStyles.WithTheMurderintheVicarage,publishedin1930,sheintroducedanotherbelovedsleuth,MissJaneMarple.Additionalseriescharactersincludethehusband-and-wifecrime-fightingteamofTommyandTuppenceBeresford,privateinvestigatorParkerPyne,andScotlandYarddetectivesSuperintendentBattleandInspectorJapp.
ManyofChristie’snovelsandshortstorieswereadaptedintoplays,films,andtelevisionseries.TheMousetrap,hermostfamousplayofall,openedin1952andisthelongest-runningplayinhistory.Amongherbest-knownfilmadaptationsareMurderontheOrientExpress(1974)andDeathontheNile(1978),withAlbertFinneyandPeterUstinovplayingHerculePoirot,respectively.OnthesmallscreenPoirothasbeenmostmemorablyportrayedbyDavidSuchet,andMissMarplebyJoanHicksonandsubsequentlyGeraldineMcEwanandJuliaMcKenzie.
ChristiewasfirstmarriedtoArchibaldChristieandthentoarchaeologistSirMaxMallowan,whomsheaccompaniedonexpeditionstocountriesthatwouldalsoserveasthesettingsformanyofhernovels.In1971sheachievedoneofBritain’shighesthonorswhenshewasmadeaDameoftheBritishEmpire.Shediedin1976attheageofeighty-five.Heronehundredandtwentiethanniversarywascelebratedaroundtheworldin2010.
www.AgathaChristie.com
Visitwww.AuthorTracker.comforexclusiveinformationonyourfavoriteHarperCollinsauthors.
THEAGATHACHRISTIECOLLECTION
TheManintheBrownSuit
TheSecretofChimneys
TheSevenDialsMystery
TheMysteriousMr.Quin
TheSittafordMystery
ParkerPyneInvestigates
WhyDidn’tTheyAskEvans?
MurderIsEasy
TheRegattaMysteryandOtherStories
AndThenThereWereNone
TowardsZero
DeathComesastheEnd
SparklingCyanide
TheWitnessfortheProsecutionandOtherStories
CrookedHouse
ThreeBlindMiceandOtherStories
TheyCametoBaghdad
DestinationUnknown
OrdealbyInnocence
DoubleSinandOtherStories
ThePaleHorse
StaroverBethlehem:PoemsandHolidayStories
EndlessNight
PassengertoFrankfurt
TheGoldenBallandOtherStories
TheMousetrapandOtherPlays
TheHarlequinTeaSet
TheHerculePoirotMysteries
TheMysteriousAffairatStyles
TheMurderontheLinks
PoirotInvestigates
TheMurderofRogerAckroyd
TheBigFour
TheMysteryoftheBlueTrain
PerilatEndHouse
LordEdgwareDies
MurderontheOrientExpress
ThreeActTragedy
DeathintheClouds
TheA.B.C.Murders
MurderinMesopotamia
CardsontheTable
MurderintheMews
DumbWitness
DeathontheNile
AppointmentwithDeath
HerculePoirot’sChristmas
SadCypress
One,Two,BuckleMyShoe
EvilUndertheSun
FiveLittlePigs
TheHollow
TheLaborsofHercules
TakenattheFlood
TheUnderdogandOtherStories
Mrs.McGinty’sDead
AftertheFuneral
HickoryDickoryDock
DeadMan’sFolly
CatAmongthePigeons
TheClocks
ThirdGirl
Hallowe’enParty
ElephantsCanRemember
Curtain:Poirot’sLastCase
TheMissMarpleMysteries
TheMurderattheVicarage
TheBodyintheLibrary
TheMovingFinger
AMurderIsAnnounced
TheyDoItwithMirrors
APocketFullofRye
4:50fromPaddington
TheMirrorCrack’dfromSidetoSide
ACaribbeanMystery
AtBertram’sHotel
Nemesis
SleepingMurder
MissMarple:TheCompleteShortStories
TheTommyandTuppenceMysteries
TheSecretAdversary
PartnersinCrime
NorM?
BythePrickingofMyThumbs
PosternofFate
Memoirs
AnAutobiography
Come,TellMeHowYouLive
Credits
CoverdesignandillustrationbyFaithLaurel
Copyright
Thisbookisaworkoffiction.Thecharacters,incidents,anddialoguearedrawnfromtheauthor’simaginationandarenottobeconstruedasreal.Anyresemblancetoactualeventsorpersons,livingordead,isentirelycoincidental.
AGATHACHRISTIE?POIROT?DEADMAN’SFOLLY?.Copyright?1956AgathaChristieLimited(aChorioncompany).Allrightsreserved.
DEADMAN’SFOLLY?1956.PublishedbypermissionofG.P.Putnam’sSons,amemberofPenguinGroup(USA)Inc.AllrightsreservedunderInternationalandPan-AmericanCopyrightConventions.Bypaymentoftherequiredfees,youhavebeengrantedthenonexclusive,nontransferablerighttoaccessandreadthetextofthise-