Hercule Poirot and the Greensho

Contents
Foreword
HerculePoirotandtheGreenshoreFolly
ChapterIChapterIIChapterIIIChapterIVChapterVChapterVIChapterVIIChapterVIIIChapterIX
AbouttheAuthor
TheAgathaChristieCollection
Copyright
AboutthePublisher
Foreword
AlthoughitwaspublishedinNovember1956,theHerculePoirotnovelDeadMan’sFollyhadacomplicatedtwo-yeargenesis.InNovember1954AgathaChristie’sagentHughesMassiewrotetotheDiocesanBoardofFinanceinExeterexplainingthathisclientwouldliketoseestainedglasswindowsinthechancelofChurstonFerrersChurch(Christie’slocalchurch)andwaswillingtopayforthembyassigningtherightsofastorytoafundsetupforthatpurpose.TheDiocesanBoardandthelocalchurchwerebothveryhappywiththearrangementandinaletterof3December1954HughesMassieconfirmed‘MrsMallowan’sintentionstoassignthemagazinerightsofalongshortstorytobeentitledTheGreenshoreFolly’tosuchafund.Theamountinvolvedwasreckonedtobeintheregionof￡1,000(￡18,000intoday’svalue).
ByMarch1955theDiocesanBoardwasgettingrestiveandwonderingabouttheprogressofthesale.Butforthefirsttimein35years,muchtoeveryone’sembarrassment,itprovedimpossibletosellthestory.Theproblemwasitslength;itwasalongnovella,whichwasadifficultlength,neitheranovelnorashortstory,forthemagazinemarket.Bymid-July1955,thedecisionwasmadetowithdrawthestoryfromsale,as‘Agathathinks[it]ispackedwithgoodmaterialwhichshecanuseforhernextfulllengthnovel’.Asacompromise,itwasagreedthatshewouldwriteanothershortstoryfortheChurch,alsotobecalled,forlegalreasons,‘TheGreenshoreFolly’,‘thoughitwillprobablybepublishedundersomeothertitle’.So,theoriginalandrejectednovella‘TheGreenshoreFolly’waselaboratedintothenovelDeadMan’sFollyandChristiewrotetheshorterandsimilarlytitledMissMarplestory‘Greenshaw’sFolly’toswellthecoffersoftheChurchauthorities.‘Greenshaw’sFolly’wasfirstpublishedin1956andwascollectedinTheAdventureoftheChristmasPuddingin1960.
Unpublishedfornearly60years,HerculePoirotandtheGreenshoreFollyisAgathaChristie’soriginalversionofthestorybeforesheexpandedit.ThoughmanypassagessurvivedunchangedinDeadMan’sFolly,especiallyatthebeginningofthebook,therearenotabledifferencesasthestorydevelopsandchangesdirection.
HerculePoirotandtheGreenshoreFolly
I
ItwasMissLemon,Poirot’sefficientsecretary,whotookthetelephonecall.
Layingasidehershorthandnotebook,sheraisedthereceiverandsaidwithoutemphasis,‘Trafalgar8137.’
HerculePoirotleanedbackinhisuprightchairandclosedhiseyes.Hisfingersbeatameditativesofttattooontheedgeofthetable.Inhisheadhecontinuedtocomposethepolishedperiodoftheletterhehadbeendictating.
Placingherhandoverthereceiver,MissLemonaskedinalowvoice,‘WillyouacceptapersonalcallfromLapton,Devon?’
Poirotfrowned.Theplacemeantnothingtohim.
‘Thenameofthecaller?’hedemandedcautiously.
MissLemonspokeintothemouthpiece.
‘Air-raid?’sheaskeddoubtingly.‘Oh,yes–whatwasthelastnameagain?’
OncemoresheturnedtoHerculePoirot.
‘Mrs.AriadneOliver.’
HerculePoirot’seyebrowsshotup.Amemoryroseupinhismind:windsweptgreyhair…aneagleprofile…
HeroseandreplacedMissLemonatthetelephone.
‘HerculePoirotspeaks,’heannouncedgrandiloquently.
‘IsthatMr.HerculesPorrotspeakingpersonally?’thesuspiciousvoiceofthetelephoneoperatordemanded.
Poirotassuredherthatthatwasthecase.
‘You’rethroughtoMr.Porrot,’saidthevoice.
ItsthinreedyaccentswerereplacedbyamagnificentboomingcontraltowhichcausedPoirothastilytoshiftthereceiveracoupleofinchesfurtherfromhisear.
‘Mr.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’clockfromPaddington.YougetoutatLaptontoNassecombe.Youcandoitnicely.You’vegotthreequartersofanhourifmywatchisright–thoughitisn’tusually.’
‘Butwhereareyou,Madame?Whatisallthisabout?’
‘GreenshoreHouse,Lapton.AcarortaxiwillmeetyouatthestationatLapton.’
‘Butwhydoyouneedme?Whatisallthisabout?’Poirotrepeatedfrantically.
‘Telephonesareinsuchawkwardplaces,’saidMrs.Oliver.‘Thisone’sinthehall…Peoplepassingthroughandtalking…Ican’treallyhear.ButI’mexpectingyou.Everybodywillbesothrilled.Goodbye.’
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,puffedgentlyandapologeticallythroughthelastthirtyanddrewintoLaptonstation.Onlyonepersonalighted,HerculePoirot.Henegotiatedwithcareayawninggapbetweenthestepofthetrainandtheplatformandlookedroundhim.Atthefarendofthetrainaporterwasbusyinsidealuggagecompartment.Poirotpickeduphisvaliseandwalkedbackalongtheplatformtotheexit.Hegaveuphisticketandwalkedoutthroughthebookingoffice.
AlargeHumbersaloonwasdrawnupoutsideandachauffeurinuniformcameforward.
‘Mr.HerculePoirot?’heinquiredrespectfully.
HetookPoirot’scasefromhimandopenedthedoorofthecarforhim.Theydroveawayfromthestation,overtherailwaybridgeanddownacountryroadwhichpresentlydisclosedaverybeautifulriverview.
‘TheDart,sir,’saidthechauffeur.
‘Magnifique!’saidPoirotobligingly.
Theroadwasalongstragglingcountrylanerunningbetweengreenhedges,dippingdownandthenup.Ontheupwardslopetwogirlsinshortswithbrightscarvesovertheirheadsandcarryingheavyrucksacksontheirbacksweretoilingslowlyupwards.
‘There’saYouthHosteljustaboveus,sir,’explainedthechauffeur,whohadclearlyconstitutedhimselfPoirot’sguidetoDevon…‘UpperGreenshore,theycallit.Comeforacoupleofnightsatatime,theydo,andverybusytheyaretherejustnow.Fortyorfiftyanight.’
‘Ah,yes,’saidPoirot.Hewasreflecting,andnotforthefirsttime,thatseenfromtheback,shortswerebecomingtoveryfewofthefemalesex.Heshuthiseyesinpain.
‘Theyseemheavilyladen,’hemurmured.
‘Yes,sir,andit’salongpullfromthestationorthebusstop.Bestpartoftwomiles.Ifyoudon’tobject,sir,’hehesitated,‘wecouldgivethemalift.’
‘Byallmeans.Byallmeans,’saidPoirotbenignantly.
Thechauffeursloweddownandcametoapurringhaltbesidethetwogirls.Twoflushedandperspiringfaceswereraisedhopefully.Thedoorwasopenedandthegirlsclimbedin.
‘Itismostkind,please,’saidoneofthempolitelyinaforeignaccent.‘ItislongerwaythanIthink,yes.’TheothergirlwhoclearlyhadnotmuchEnglishmerelynoddedherheadseveraltimesgratefullyandsmiled,andmurmured‘Grazie’
Brightdarkchestnutfuzzycurlsescapedfromherheadscarfandshehadonbigearnestlookingspectacles.
TheEnglishspeakinggirlcontinuedtalkingvivaciously.ShewasinEnglandforafortnight’sholiday.HerhomewasRotterdam.ShehadalreadyseenStratfordonAvon,Clovelly,ExeterCathedral,Torquayand,‘aftervisitingbeautyspothereandhistoricDartmouth,IgotoPlymouth,discoveryofNewWorldfromPlymouthHoe.’
TheItaliangirlmurmered‘Hoe?’andshookherhead,puzzled.
‘ShedoesnotmuchEnglishspeak,’saidtheDutchgirl,butIunderstandshehasrelativenearheremarriedtogentlemanwhokeepsashopforgroceries,soshewillspendtimewiththem.MyfriendIcomefromRotterdamwithhaseatvealandhampienotgoodinshopatExeterandissickthere.Itisnotalwaysgoodinhotweather,thevealandham
Thechauffeursloweddownataforkintheroad.Thegirlsgotout,utteredthanksintwolanguagesandthechauffeurwithawaveofthehanddirectedthemtothelefthandroad.HealsolaidasideforamomenthisOlympianaloofness.
‘YouwanttobecarefulofCornishPastiestoo,’hewarnedthem.Putanythinginthem,theywill,holidaytime.’
Thecardroverapidlydowntherighthandroadintoathickbeltoftrees.
‘Niceenoughyoungwomen,someofthem,thoughforeign,’saidthechauffeur.‘Butabsolutelyshockingthewaytheytrespass.Don’tseemtounderstandplacesareprivate.’
Theywenton,downasteephillthroughwoods,thenthroughagateandalongadrive,windingupfinallyinfrontofabigwhiteGeorgianhouselookingoutovertheriver.
Thechauffeuropenedthedoorofthecarasatallbutlerappearedonthesteps.
‘Mr.HerculePoirot?’
‘Yes.’
‘Mrs.Oliverisexpectingyou,sir.YouwillfindherdownattheBattery.Allowmetoshowyoutheway.’
Poirotwasdirectedtoawindingpaththatledalongthewoodwithglimpsesoftheriverbelow.Thepathdescendedgraduallyuntilitcameoutatlastonanopenspace,roundinshapewithalowbattlementedparapet.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,’consistingofaviolentyolkofeggroughtweedcoatandskirtandaratherbiliouslookingmustardcolouredjumper.
‘Iknewyou’dcome,’saidMrs.Olivercheerfully.
‘Youcouldnotpossiblyhaveknown,’saidPoirotseverely.
‘Oh,yesIdid.’
‘IstillaskmyselfwhyIamhere.’
‘Well,Iknowtheanswer.Curiosity.’
Poirotlookedatherandhiseyestwinkledalittle.
‘YourfamousWoman’sIntuition,’hesaid,‘hasperhapsforoncenotledyoutoofarastray.’
‘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.Shewasjustabouttosweepthemfrenziedlythroughherhairintheoldfamiliargesturewhensherememberedtheintricacyofhercoiffure.Instead,sherelievedherfeelingsbytuggingatherearlobes.
‘IdaresayI’mafool,’shesaid.‘ButIthinkthere’ssomethingwrong.’
‘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.‘Iamquitereadytobelievethatyouhavenoticedsomethingorheardsomethingthathasdefinitelyarousedinyouanxiety.Ithinkitpossiblethatyouyourselfmaynotevenknowjustwhatitisthatyouhaveseenornoticedorheard.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,andgoodlookinginacraggykindofartisticway.He’sdesigningatennispavilionforSirGeorgeandrepairingtheFolly.’
‘Folly?Whatisthat–amasquerade?’
‘No,it’sarchitectural.Oneofthoselittlesortoftemplethings,whitewithcolumns.You’veprobablyseenthematKew.Thenthere’sMissBrewis,she’sasortofsecretaryhousekeeper,whorunsthingsandwritesletters–verygrimandefficient.Andthentherearethepeopleroundaboutwhocomeinandhelp.Ayoungmarriedcouplewhohaveacottagedownbytheriver–AlecLeggeandhiswifePeggy.AndCaptainWarborough,who’stheMastertons’agent.AndtheMastertons,ofcourse,andoldMrs.Folliatwholivesinwhatusedtobethelodge.Herhusband’speopleownedGreenshoreoriginally.Butthey’vediedoutorbeenkilledinwarsandtherewerelotsofdeathdutiessothelastheirsoldtheplace.’
‘WhoseideawastheMurderHunt?’
‘Mrs.Masterton’s,Ithink.She’sthelocalMemberofParliament’swife.She’sverygoodatorganising.ShepersuadedSirGeorgetohavetheFêtehere.Youseetheplacehasbeenemptyforsomanyyearsthatshethinkspeoplewillbekeentopayandcomeintoseeit.’
‘Thatallseemsstraightforwardenough,’saidPoirot.
‘Itallseemsstraightforward,’saidMrs.Oliverobstinately,‘butitisn’t.Itellyou,M.Poirot,there’ssomethingwrong.’
PoirotlookedatMrs.OliverandMrs.OliverlookedbackatPoirot.
‘Howhaveyouaccountedformypresencehere?Foryoursummonstome?’Poirotasked.
‘Thatwaseasy,’saidMrs.Oliver.‘You’retogiveawaytheprizes.FortheMurderHunt.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’trealisedhowverylittleI’vegottogoupon.’
‘Calmyourself,’saidPoirotkindly.‘Iamintriguedandinterested.Wheredowebegin?’
Mrs.Oliverglancedatherwatch.
‘It’sjusttea-time.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.‘PeggyLeggewasgoingtobeit–butnowtheywanthertodothefortuneteller–soit’saGirlGuidecalledMarleneTucker.Ratherdumbandsniffs.It’squiteeasy–justpeasantscarvesandarucksack–andallshehastodowhenshehearssomeonecomingistoflopdownonthefloorandarrangethecordroundherneck.Ratherdullforthepoorkid–juststickinginsidethatboathouseuntilshe’sfound,butI’vearrangedforhertohaveanicebundleofcomics–there’sacluetothemurdererscribbledononeofthemasamatteroffact–soitallworksin.’
‘Youringenuityleavesmespellbound!Thethingsyouthinkof!’
‘It’sneverdifficulttothinkofthings,’saidMrs.Oliver.‘Thetroubleisthatyouthinkoftoomany,andthenitallbecomestoocomplicated,soyouhavetorelinquishsomeofthemandthatisratheragony.We’llgoupthiswaynow.’
Theystartedupasteepzig-zaggingpaththatledthembackalongtheriveratahigherlevel.Atatwistthroughthetreestheycameoutonaspacesurmountedbyasmallwhiteplasteredtemple.Standingbackandfrowningatitwasayoungmanwearingdilapidatedflanneltrousersandashirtofrathervirulentgreen.Hespunroundtowardsthem.
‘Mr.MichaelWeyman,M.HerculePoirot,’saidMrs.Oliver.
Theyoungmanacknowledgedtheintroductionwithacarelessnod.
‘Extraordinary,’hesaidbitterly,‘theplacespeopleputthings!Thisthinghere,forinstance.Putuponlyaboutayearago–quiteniceofitskindandquiteinkeepingwiththeperiodofthehouse.Butwhyhere?Thesethingsweremeanttobeseen–“situatedonaneminence”–that’showtheyphrasedit–withanicegrassyapproachanddaffodils.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,’hesaidwithagroan.‘Dragonsifyouplease!JustbecauseLadyStubbsfanciesherselfinChinesecooliehats.Who’dbeanarchitect?Anyonewhowantssomethingdecentbuilthasn’tgotthemoney,andthosewhohavethemoneywantsomethingtooutterlygoddamawful!’
‘Youhavemycommiserations,’saidPoirotgravely.
Mrs.OlivermovedontowardsthehouseandPoirotandthedispiritedarchitectpreparedtofollowher.
‘Thesetycoons,’saidthelatter,bitterly,‘can’tunderstandfirstprinciples.’HedeliveredafinalkicktothelopsidedFolly.‘Ifthefoundationsarerotten–everything’srotten.’
‘Itisprofoundwhatyousaythere,’saidPoirot.‘Yes,itisprofound.’
Thepaththeywerefollowingcameoutfromthetreesandthehouseshowedwhiteandbeautifulbeforetheminitssettingofdarktreesrisingupbehindit.
‘Itisofaveritablebeauty,yes,’murmuredPoirot.
‘Hewantstobuildabilliardroomon,’saidMr.Weymanvenomously.
Onthebankbelowthemasmallelderlyladywasbusywithsecateursonaclumpofshrubs.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.Themostnoticeablefeatureaboutherwasherclearchinablueeyes.Hergreyhairwascloselyconfinedbyahairnet.Thoughobviouslycarelessofherappearance,shehadthatindefinableairofbeingsomeone,whichissohardtoexplain.
Astheywalkedtogethertowardsthehouse,Poirotsaiddiffidently,‘Itmustbehardforyoutohavestrangerslivinghere.’
Therewasamoment’spausebeforeMrs.Folliatanswered.Hervoicewasclearandpreciseandcuriouslydevoidofemotion.
‘Somanythingsarehard,M.Poirot,’shesaid.
III
Teawasinfullswinginthedrawingroom.Mrs.OliverperformedintroductionstoSirGeorgeStubbs,MissBrewis,LadyStubbs,Mrs.Masterton,CaptainWarborough,Mr.andMrs.Legge.SirGeorgewasabigred-facedbeardedmanofaboutfiftywithaloudjovialvoiceandmanner,andshrewdpaleblueeyesthatdidnotlookjovialatall.MissBrewiswhopresidedbehindtheteatray,pouringoutwithrapidefficiency,wasfortyataguess,plain,neatandasceticinappearance.BesideherMrs.Masterton,asomewhatmonumentalwoman,bayedlikeabloodhoundinadeepvoice.Poiroteventhoughtshelookedratherlikeabloodhound,withherfullratherunderhungjawandmournful,slightlybloodshoteyes.
‘You’vegottosettlethisdisputeabouttheteatent,Jim,’shewassaying.‘Wecan’thavethewholethingafiascobecauseofthesesillywomenandtheirlocalfeuds.’
CaptainWarborough,whoworeacheckcoatandhadahorseyappearance,showedalotofverywhiteteethinawolfishsmile.
‘We’llsettleit,’hesaidheartily.‘I’llgoandtalktothemlikeaDutchuncle.Nowaboutthefortuneteller’stent–doyouthinkoverbythemagnolia?Oratthefarendupagainsttherhododendrons?’
Shrillcontroversyarose–inwhichyoungMrs.Leggetookaprominentpart.Shewasaslimattractiveblonde–herhusband,Alec,hadabadlysunburntfaceanduntidyredhair.Hewasobviouslynotatalkerandonlycontributedanoccasionalmonosyllable.
Poirot,havingreceivedhiscupofteafromMissBrewis,foundaplacebyhishostessandsatdowncarefullybalancingacreamcakeontheedgeofhissaucer.
LadyStubbswassittingalittlewayawayfromtheothers.Shewasleaningbackinanarmchair,clearlyuninterestedintheconversation,gazingdownappreciativelyatheroutspreadrighthandwhichlayonthearmofherchair.Thenailswereverylongandvarnishedadeeppuce.Onthethirdfingerwasaverybeautifullysetemerald.Shewasturningthehandalittlefromlefttoright,sothatthestonecaughtthelight.
WhenPoirotspoke,shelookedupinastartled,almostchildlikemanner.
‘Thisisabeautifulroom,Madame,’hesaidappreciatively.
‘Isupposeitis,’saidLadyStubbsvaguely.Yes,it’sverynice.’
Shewaswearingabigcooliehatofvividmagentastraw.Beneathitherfaceshowedthepinkyreflectiononitsdeadwhitesurface.Shewasheavilymadeupinanexoticun-Englishstyle.Deadwhitemattskin,vividalmostpurplelips,mascararoundtheeyes.Herblacksmoothhairfittedlikeablackvelvetcap.Itwasanun-Englishfacewithallthelanguorofthesunbehindit.ButitwastheeyesthatstartledPoirot.Theyseemedstrangelyvacant.
Shesaid,‘Doyoulikemyring?Georgegaveittomeyesterday.’
‘Itisaverylovelyring,Madame.’
Shesaid:‘Georgegivesmelotsofthings.He’sverykind.’
Shespokewiththesatisfactionofachild.
Almostasthoughtoachild,Poirotreplied,‘Thatmustmakeyouveryhappy.’
‘Ohyes,I’mveryhappy,’saidLadyStubbs,warmly.‘YoulikeDevonshire?’
‘Ithinkso.It’sniceinthedaytime.Buttherearen’tanynightclubs.’
‘Ohyes.IliketheCasino,too.WhyaretherenotanyCasinosinEngland?’
‘Ihaveoftenwondered–IdonotthinkitwouldaccordwiththeEnglishcharacter.’
Shelookedathimvacantly,thenfrownedinapuzzledway.
‘IwonfortythousandfrancsatMonteCarloonce,’shesaid.‘Iputitonnumberseven.Myownmoney.’
‘Thatmusthavebeenagreatthrill.’
‘Yes.’Shelookedathimsolemnly.‘Itwouldn’tmattersomuchnow.Georgeisveryrich.’
‘Indeed,Madame?’
‘Yes.’Shesighed.‘Theyneverletmehaveenoughmoneyofmyown.Iwantedsomanythings.’Asmilecurvedupthepaintedmouth.‘Georgegivesthemalltomenow.’
Then,onceagain,herheadononeside,shewatchedherringflashonherhand,andsaidinaconfidentialwhisper,‘D’yousee?It’swinkingatme.’
SheburstoutlaughingandPoirotfeltaslightsenseofshock.Itwasalouduncontrolledlaugh.
‘Hattie!’
ItwasSirGeorge’svoice.Itheldveryfaintadmonition.LadyStubbsstoppedlaughing.
Poirot,turninghisslightlyembarrassedgazeawayfromhishostess,mettheeyesofCaptainWarborough.Theywereironicandamused.
‘Ifyou’vefinishedyourtea,M.Poirot,’hesaid,‘perhapsyou’dliketocomeandvetthelittleshowwe’reputtingontomorrow.’
Poirotroseobediently.AshefollowedCaptainWarboroughoutoftheroom,hesawoutofthetailofhiseyeMrs.FolliatcrosstotakethevacantchairbyhishostessandsawHattieturneagerlytowardsher,withachild’swelcomingaffection.
‘Beautifulcreature,isn’tshe?’drawledWarborough.‘BowledoveroldGeorgeStubbsallright.Nothing’stoogoodforher!Loadsherwithjewelsandminkandalltherestofit.Whetherherealisesshe’sabitwantingintheupperstoreyI’veneverdiscovered.Isupposewithawomanasbeautifulasthatitdoesn’treallymatter.’
‘Whatnationalityisshe?’Poirotaskedcuriously.
‘ComesfromtheWestIndiesorthereaboutsI’vealwaysunderstood.Acreole–Idon’tmeanahalf-caste,butoneofthoseoldintermarriedfamiles…Ah,hereweare,it’sallsetoutinhere.’
Poirotfollowedhimintoaroomlinedwithbookshelves.Onatablebythewindowvariousimpedimentaweresetout.
Alargepileofprintedcardswasatoneside.Poirottookoneandread:
Suspects
EstelladaCosta–abeautifulandmysteriouswoman
ColonelBlunt–thelocalSquire
SamuelFischer–ablackmailer
JoanBlunt–ColonelBlunt’sdaughter
PeterGaye–ayoungAtomScientist
MissWilling–thehousekeeper
Quiett–abutler
EstebanPerenna–anuninvitedguest
Weapons
Alengthofclothesline
Tunisiandagger
Weedkiller
Bowandarrow
Armyrifle
Bronzestatuette
CaptainWarboroughexplained:
‘Everyonegetsanotebookandpenciltocopydownthecluesandthenonthebackofyourentrycardyoufillinyoursolution–’
Solution:
Bywhomcommitted?
Forwhatmotive?
Bywhatmethod?
TimeandPlace.
Reasonsforarrivingatyourconclusions.
‘Thefirstclue’saphotograph.Everystartergetsone.’
Poirottookthesmallsnapshotfromhimandstudieditwithafrown.Thenheturneditupsidedown.Warboroughlaughed.
‘Ingeniousbitoftrickphotography,’hesaid.‘Quitesimplewhenyouknowwhatitis.’
‘Somekindofabarredwindow?’
Warboroughlaughed.
‘Looksabitlikeit.No,it’sasectionofatennisnet.’
‘Ah!Yes–Iseeitcouldbethatnow.’
‘Somuchdependsonhowyoulookatit,eh?laughedWarborough.
‘Asyousay.’Poirotrepeatedthewordsmeditatively.‘Thewayyoulookatathing…’
HelistenedwithonlyhalfhisattentiontoWarborough’sexpositionofMrs.Oliver’ssubtleties.Whenheleftthelibrary,MissBrewisaccostedhim.
‘Ah,thereyouare,M.Poirot.Iwanttoshowyouyourroom.’
Sheledhimupthestaircaseandalongapassagetoabigairyroomlookingoutovertheriver.
‘Thereisabathroomjustopposite.SirGeorgetalksofaddingmorebathrooms,buttodosowouldsadlyimpairtheproportionsoftherooms.Ihopeyou’llfindeverythingcomfortable.’
‘Yes,indeed.’Poirotsweptanappreciativeeyeoverthesmallbookstand,thereadinglampandtheboxlabelledBiscuitsbythebedside.‘Youseem,inthishouse,tohaveeverythingorganisedtoperfection.AmItocongratulateyou,ormycharminghostess?’
‘LadyStubbs’stimeisfullytakenupinbeingcharming,’saidMissBrewis,aslightlyacidnoteinhervoice.
‘Averydecorativeyoungwoman,’musedPoirot.
‘Asyousay.’
‘Butinotherrespectsisshenot,perhaps–’hebrokeoff.‘Pardon.Iamindiscreet.IcommentonsomethingIoughtnot,perhaps,tomention.’
MissBrewisgavehimasteadylook.Shesaiddrily,‘LadyStubbsknowsperfectlywellexactlywhatsheisdoing.Besidesbeing,asyousaid,averydecorativeyoungwoman,sheisalsoaveryshrewdone.’
ShehadturnedawayandlefttheroombeforePoirot’seyebrowshadfullyriseninsurprise.SothatwaswhattheefficientMissBrewisthought,wasit?Orhadshemerelysaidsoforsomereasonofherown?Andwhyhadshemadesuchastatementtohim–toanewcomer?Becausehewasanewcomer,perhaps,andalsobecausehewasaforeigner?AsHerculePoirothaddiscoveredbyexperience,thereweremanyEnglishpeoplewhoconsideredthatwhatonesaidtoforeignersdidn’tcount!
Hefrownedperplexedly,staringabsentmindedlyoutofthewindowashedidso.LadyStubbscameoutofthehousewithMrs.Folliatandtheystoodforamomentortwobythebigmagnoliatree.ThenMrs.Folliatnoddedagoodbye,andtrottedoffdownthedrive.LadyStubbsstoodwatchingherforamoment,thenabsent-mindedlypulledoffamagnoliaflower,smeltitandbeganslowlytowalkdownthepaththatledthroughthetreestotheriver.Shelookedjustonceoverhershoulderbeforeshedisappearedfromsight.FrombehindthemagnoliatreeMichaelWeymancamequietlyintoview,pausedamomentandthenfollowedthetallslimfiguredownintothetrees
Agood-lookinganddynamicyoungman,Poirotthought,withamoreattractivepersonality,nodoubt,thanthatofSirGeorgeStubbs…
Butifso,whatofit?Suchpatternsformedthemselveseternallythroughlife.Richmiddle-agedunattractivehusband,youngandbeautifulwifewithorwithoutsufficientmentaldevelopment,attractiveandsusceptibleyoungman.WhatwasthereinthattomakeMrs.Oliverutteraperemptorysummonsthroughthetelephone?Mrs.Oliver,nodoubt,hadavividimagination,but–
‘Butafterall,’murmuredHerculePoirottohimself,‘Iamnotaconsultantinadultery–orinincipientadultery.’
Itoccurredtohimthatheshould,perhaps,havepaidmoreattentiontothedetailsofMrs.Oliver’sMurderHunt.
‘Thetimeisshort–short,’hemurmuredtohimself.AsyetIknownothing–Istheresomethingwronghere,asMrs.Oliverbelieves?Iaminclinedtothinkthereis.Butwhat?Whoistherewhocouldenlightenme?’
Afteramoment’sreflectionheseizedhishat(Poirotneverriskedgoingoutintheeveningairwithuncoveredhead),andhurriedoutofhisroomanddownthestairs.HeheardafarthedictatorialbayingofMrs.Masterton’sdeepvoice.Nearerathand,SirGeorge’svoicerosewithanamorousintonation.
‘Damnedbecomingthatyashmakthing.WishIhadyouinmyharem,Peggy.Ishallcomeandhavemyfortunetoldagooddealtomorrow.What’llyoutellme,eh?’
TherewasaslightscuffleandPeggyLegge’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.’
‘Twenty-threeyearsyounger,tobeexact.’
‘Physicallysheisveryattractive.’
Mrs.Folliatsaidquietly,‘Hattieisadeargoodchild.’
Itwasnotananswerhehadexpected.Mrs.Folliatwenton:
‘Iknowherverywell,yousee.Forashorttimeshewasundermycare.’
‘Ididnotknowthat.’
‘Howshouldyou?Itisinawayasadstory.Herpeoplehadestates,sugarestates,intheWestIndies.Asaresultofanearthquake,thehousetherewasburneddownandherparentsandbrothersandsistersalllosttheirlives.HattieherselfwasataconventinParisandwasthussuddenlyleftwithoutanynearrelatives.ItwasconsideredadvisablebytheexecutorsthatHattieshouldbetakenoutinLondonsocietyforaseason.Iacceptedthechargeofher.’Mrs.Folliataddedwithadrysmile,‘IcansmartenmyselfuponoccasionsandnaturallyIhadthenecessaryconnections.’
‘Naturally,Madame,Iunderstandthat.’
‘Iwasgoingthroughadifficulttime.Myhusbanddiedjustbeforetheoutbreakofwar.MyeldestsonwhowasintheNavywentdownwithhisship,myyoungersonintheArmywaskilledinItaly.Ihadnotverymuchtooccupymymind.Iwasleftbadlyoff.Thehousewasputupforsale.Iwasgladofthedistractionofhavingsomeoneyoungtolookafterandtakeabout.IbecameveryfondofHattie,allthemoreso,perhaps,becauseIsoonrealisedthatshewas–shallwesay–notfullycapableoffendingforherself?Understandme,M.Poirot,Hattieisnotmentallydeficient,butsheiswhatcountryfolkdescribeas“simple”.Sheiseasilyimposedupon,overdocile,completelyopentosuggestion.Fortunatelytherewaspracticallynomoney–ifshehadbeenanheiressthepositionmighthavebeenoneofmuchgreaterdifficulty.Shewasattractivetomenandbeingofanaffectionatenaturewaseasilyattractedandinfluenced–shehadtobelookedafter.When,afterthefinalwindingupofherparents’estate,itwasdiscoveredthattheplantationwasdestroyedandthereweremoredebtsthanassets,IcouldonlybethankfulthatamansuchasSirGeorgeStubbshadfalleninlovewithherandwantedtomarryher.’
‘Possibly–yes–itwasasolution.’
‘SirGeorge,’saidMrs.Folliat,‘thoughheisaselfmademanand–letusfaceit–acompletevulgarian,isbothkindlyanddecent,besidesbeingextremelywealthy.Idon’tthinkhewouldeveraskformentalcompanionshipfromawife.Hattieiseverythinghewants.Shedisplaysclothesandjewelstoperfection,isaffectionateandwilling,andiscompletelyhappy.IconfessthatIamverythankfulthatthatisso,forIadmitthatIdeliberatelyinfluencedhertoaccepthim.Ifithadturnedoutbadly–’hervoicefalteredalittle,‘itwouldhavebeenmyfaultforurginghertomarryamanyearsolderthanherself.Yousee,asItoldyou,Hattieiscompletelysuggestible.Anyonesheiswithatthetimecandominateher.’
‘Itseemstome,’saidPoirotapprovingly,‘thatyoumadethereamostprudentarrangementforher.Iamnot,liketheEnglish,romantic.Toarrangeagoodmarriage,onemusttakemorethanromanceintoconsideration.’
Headded:
‘Andasforthisplacehere,itisamostbeautifulspot.Quite,asthesayinggoes,outofthisworld.’
‘Sinceithadtobesold,’saidMrs.Folliat,‘IamgladthatSirGeorgeboughtit.Itwasrequisitionedduringthewarandafterwardsitmighthavebeenboughtandmadeintoaguesthouseoraschool,theroomscutupandpartitioned,distortedoutoftheirnaturalbeauty.Ourneighbours,theSandbournes,atUpperGreenshore,hadtoselltheirplaceanditisnowaYouthHostel.Oneisgladthatyoungpeopleshouldenjoythemselves–andfortunatelythehousewaslateVictorian,andofnogreatarchitecturalmerit,sothatthealterationsdonotmatter.I’mafraidsomeoftheyoungpeopletrespassonourgrounds.ItmakesSirGeorgeveryangry,andit’struethattheyhaveoccasionallydamagedtherareshrubsbyhackingthemabout–theycomethroughheretryingtogetashortcuttotheFerryacrosstheriver.’
Theywerestandingnowbythefrontgate.Thelodge,asmallwhiteone-storeyedbuilding,layalittlebackfromthedrivewithasmallrailedgardenroundit.
Mrs.FolliattookbackherbasketfromPoirotwithawordofthanks.
‘Iwasalwaysveryfondofthelodge,’shesaid.‘DearoldMeldrum,ourheadgardenerforthirtyyears,usedtolivethere.Imuchpreferittothetopcottage,thoughthathasbeenenlargedandmodernisedbySirGeorge.Ithadtobe;we’vegotquiteayoungmanasheadgardenerwithayoungwife–andtheymusthaveelectricironsandmoderncookersandallthat.Onemustgowiththetimes’shesighed.‘Thereishardlyapersonleftontheestatefromtheolddays–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.
IV
InamoodofexplorationPoirotwentthroughthefrontgateanddownthesteeptwistyroadthatpresentlyemergedonasmallquay.Alargebellwithachainhadanoticeuponitto‘RingfortheFerry.’Therewerevariousboatsmooredbythesideofthequay.Averyoldmanwithrheumyeyes,whohadbeenleaningagainstabollard,cameshufflingtowardsPoirot.
‘Dueewanttheferry,sir?’
‘Ithankyou,no.IhavejustcomedownfromGreenshoreHouseforalittlewalk.’
‘Ah,’tisupatGreenshoreyuare?Workedthereasaboy,Idid,andmyson,hewasheadgardnerthere.ButIdidusetolookaftertheboats.OldMr.Folliat,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,shewas,allthemtherefloweringshrubsshehadputin.Evenwhenitwastookoverduringthewar,andthetwoyounggentlemenwasgonetothewar,shestilllookedaftertheyshrubsandkept’emfrombeingover-run.’
‘Itwashardonher,bothhersonsbeingkilled.’
‘Ah,she’vehadahardlife,shehave,whatwiththisandthat.Troublewithherhusband,andtroublewiththeyounggentlemen,tu.NotMr.Henry.Hewasasniceayounggentlemanasyucouldwish,tookafterhisgrandfather,fondofsailingandwentintotheNavyasamatterofcourse,butMr.James,hecausedheralotoftrouble.Debtsandwomenitwere,andthen,too,hewererealwildinhistemper.Bornoneoftheyascan’tgostraight.Butthewarsuitedhim,asyumightsay–givehimhischance.Ah!There’smanywhocan’tgostraightinpeacewhodiesbravelyinwar.’
‘Sonow,’saidPoirot,‘therearenomoreFolliatsatGreenshore.’
Theoldman’sflowoftalkdiedabruptly.
‘Justasyusay,sir.’
Poirotlookedcuriouslyattheoldman.
‘InsteadyouhaveSirGeorgeStubbs.Whatisthoughtlocallyofhim?’
‘Usunderstands,’saidtheoldman,‘thathebepowerfulrich.’
Histonesoundeddryandalmostamused.
‘Andhiswife?’
‘Ah,she’safineladyfromLondon,sheis.Nouseforgardens,nother.Theydusay,too,asherdubewantinguphere.’
Hetappedhistemplesignificantly.
‘Notasherisn’talwaysverynicespokenandfriendly.Comehereoverayearago,theydid.Boughttheplaceandhaditalldoneuplikenew.Irememberasthough’twereyesterdaythemarriving.Arrivedintheevening,theydid,dayaftertheworstgaleasIeverremember.Treesdownrightandleft–onedownacrossthedriveandushadtogetitsawnawayinahurrytogetthedriveclear.Andthebigoakupalong,thatcomedownandbroughtalotofothersdownwithit,madeararemess,itdid.’
‘Ah,yes,wheretheFollystandsnow?’
Theoldmanturnedasideandspatdisgustedly.
‘Folly’tiscalledandFolly’tis–new-fanglednonsense.NeverwasnoFollyintheoldFolliats’time.Herladyship’sideathatFollywas.Putupnotthreeweeksaftertheyfirstcome,andI’venodoubtshetalkedSirGeorgeintoit.Raresillyitlooksstuckupthereamongthetrees,likeaheathentemple.Anicesummerhousenow,maderusticlikewithstainedglass–I’dhavenothingagainstthat.’
Poirotsmiledfaintly.
‘TheLondonladies,’hesaid,‘theymusthavetheirfancies.ItissadthatthedayoftheFolliatsisover.’
‘Don’teeneverbelievethat,sir.’Theoldmangaveawheezychuckle.‘AlwaysbeFolliatsatGreenshore.’
‘ButthehousebelongstoSirGeorgeStubbs.’
‘That’sasmaybe–butthere’sstillaFolliathere.RareandcunningtheFolliatsare!’
‘Whatdoyoumean?’
Theoldmangavehimaslysidewaysglance.
‘Mrs.FolliatbelivinguptuLodge,bain’tshe?’hedemanded.
‘Yes,’saidPoirotslowly.‘Mrs.FolliatislivingattheLodgeandtheworldisverywicked,andallthepeopleinitareverywicked.’
Theoldmanstaredathim.
‘Ah,’hesaid.‘Yu’vegotsomethingthere,maybe.’
Heshuffledawayagain.
‘ButwhathaveIgot?’Poirotaskedhimselfwithirritationasheslowlywalkedupthehillbacktothehouse.
V
Poirotcamedowntobreakfastonthefollowingmorningatnine-thirty.Breakfastwasservedinpre-warfashion.Arowofhotdishesonanelectricheater.SirGeorgewaseatingafull-sizedEnglishman’sbreakfastofscrambledeggs,baconandkidneys.Mrs.OliverandMissBrewishadamodifiedversionofthesame.MichaelWeymanwaseatingaplatefulofcoldham.OnlyLadyStubbswasunheedfulofthefleshpotsandwasnibblingthintoastandsippingblackcoffee.
Theposthadjustarrived.MissBrewishadanenormouspileoflettersinfrontofherwhichshewasrapidlysortingintopiles.AnyofSirGeorge’smarkedPersonalshepassedovertohim.Theotherssheopenedandsortedintocategories.
LadyStubbshadthreeletters.Sheopenedwhatwereclearlyacoupleofbillsandtossedthemaside.Thensheopenedthethirdletterandsaidsuddenlyandclearly,‘Oh!’
Theexclamationwassostartledthatallheadsturnedtowardsher.
‘It’sfromPaul,’shesaid.‘MycousinPaul.He’scominghereinayacht.’
‘Let’ssee,Hattie.’SirGeorgeheldouthishand.Shepassedtheletterdownthetable.Hesmoothedoutthesheetandread.
‘Who’sthisPaulLopez?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.Peopleseemedtoholddiametricallyoppositeideasabouther.MissBrewishadintimatedthatLadyStubbsknewverywellwhatshewasdoing.YetMrs.Oliverdefinitelythoughtherhalfwitted,andMrs.Folliatwhohadknownherlongandintimatelyhadspokenofherassomeonenotquitenormal,whoneededcareandwatchfulness
MissBrewiswasprobablyprejudiced.ShedislikedLadyStubbsforherindolenceandheraloofness.PoirotwonderedifMissBrewishadbeenSirGeorge’ssecretarypriortohismarriage.Ifso,shemighteasilyresentthecomingofthenewregime.
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.Asshewentshedroppedthehandkerchiefshehadbeenholding.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’twanttoseePaul.Idon’tlikehim.He’sbad.Hewasalwaysbad.I’mafraidofhim.Hedoesbadthings.’
Thedoorofthedining-roomopenedandSirGeorgecameacrossthehallandupthestairs.
‘Hattie,mypoordarling.Letmecomeandtuckyouup.’
Theywentupthestairstogether,hisarmroundhertenderly,hisfaceworriedandabsorbed.
Poirotlookedupafterthem,thenturnedtoencounterMissBrewismovingfast,andclaspingpapers.
‘LadyStubbs’headache–’hebegan.
‘Nomoreheadachethanmyfoot,’saidMissBrewiscrossly,anddisappearedintoheroffice,closingthedoorbehindher.
Poirotsighedandpassedthroughthefrontdoorontotheterrace.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.Masterton,confidently.‘Likesfunctions,youknow.She’llenjoygettingreadyandbeaspleasedaboutitasachild.Justfetchmeabundleofthosepegsoverthere,willyou?Iwanttomarktheplacesfortheclockgolfnumbers.’
Poirot,thuspressedintoservice,wasworkedbyMrs.Mastertonrelentlessly,asausefulapprentice.Shecondescendedtotalktohimintheintervalsofhardlabour.
‘Gottodoeverythingyourself,Ifind.Onlyway…Bytheway,you’reafriendoftheEliots,Ibelieve?’
Poirot,afterhislongsojourninEngland,comprehendedthatthiswasanindicationofsocialrecognition.Mrs.Mastertonwasinfactsaying:‘Althoughaforeigner,IunderstandyouareOneofUs.’Shecontinuedtochatinanintimatemanner.
‘NicetohaveGreenshorelivedinagain.WewereallsoafraiditwasgoingtobeaHotel.Youknowwhatitisnowadays;onedrivesthroughthecountryandpassesplaceafterplacewiththeboardup“GuestHouse”or“PrivateHotel”or“HotelA.A.FullyLicensed.”Allthehousesonestayedinasagirl–orwhereonewenttodances.Verysad.Yes,I’mgladaboutGreenshoreandsoispoordearAmyFolliat,ofcourse.She’shadsuchahardlife–butnevercomplains,Iwillsay.SirGeorgehasdonewondersforGreenshore–andnotvulgarisedit.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.Puretypeoftheeighteenth-centurycountrysquire.Goodbloodinhim,I’dsay.Fatheragentandmotherabarmaid,verylikely.’
Mrs.Mastertoninterruptedherselftoyelltoagardener.
‘Notbythatrhododendron.Youmustleaveroomfortheskittlesovertotheright.Right–notleft!’
Shewenton:
‘TheBrewiswomanisefficient.Doesn’tlikepoorHattie,though.Looksathersometimesasthoughshe’dliketomurderher.Somanyofthesegoodsecretariesareinlovewiththeirboss.NowwheredoyouthinkJimWarboroughcanhavegotto?Sillythewayhesticksto“Captain”.NotaregularsoldierandneverwithinmilesofaGerman.Onehastoputup,ofcourse,withwhatonecangetthesedays–andhe’sahardworker–butIfeelthere’ssomethingratherfishyabouthim.Ah!HerearetheLegges.’
PeggyLegge,dressedinslacksandayellowpullover,saidbrightly:
‘We’vecometohelp.’
‘Lotstodo,’boomedMrs.Masterton.‘Now,letmesee–’
Poirot,profitingbyherinattention,slippedaway.Ashecameroundthecornerofthehouseontothefrontterracehebecameaspectatorofanewdrama.
Twoyoungwomen,inshorts,withbrightblouses,hadcomeoutfromthewoodandwerestandinguncertainlylookingupatthehouse.FromthewindowofLadyStubbs’bedroomSirGeorgeleanedoutandaddressedthemwrathfully.
‘You’retrespassing,’heshouted.
‘Please?’saidtheyoungwomanwiththegreenheadscarf.
‘Youcan’tcomethroughhere.Private.’
Theotheryoungwoman,whohadaroyalblueheadscarf,saidbrightly:
‘Please?GreenshoreQuay–’shepronounceditcarefully,‘itisthisway?Please.’
‘You’retrespassing,’bellowedSirGeorge.
‘Please?’
‘Trespassing!Nowaythrough.You’vegottogoback.BACK!Thewayyoucame.’
Theystaredashegesticulated.Thentheyconsultedtogetherinafloodofforeignspeech.Finally,doubtfully,blue-scarfsaid,‘Back?ToHostel?’
‘That’sright.Andyoutaketheroad–road–roundthatway.’
Theyretreatedunwillingly.SirGeorgemoppedhisbrowandlookeddownatPoirot.
‘Spendmytimeturningpeopleoff,’hesaid.‘Usedtocomethroughthetopgate.I’vepadlockedthat.Nowtheycomethroughthewoods,overthefence.Thinktheycangetdowntotheshoreandthequayeasilythisway.Well,theycan,ofcourse,muchquicker.Butthere’snorightofway–neverhasbeen.Andthey’repracticallyallforeigners–don’tunderstandwhatyousay,andjustjabberbackatyouinDutchorsomething.’
‘OneisDutchandtheotherItalian,–Isawthemontheirwayfromthestationyesterday.’
‘Everykindoflanguagetheytalk–Yes,Hattie?Whatdidyousay?’Hedrewbackintotheroom.
PoirotturnedtofindMrs.Oliverandawell-developedgirloffourteendressedinGuides’uniformclosebesidehim.
‘ThisisMarlene,’saidMrs.Oliver.
Marleneacknowledgedtheintroductionwithapronouncedsnuffle.Poirotbowedpolitely
‘She’stheVictim,’saidMrs.Oliver
Marlenegiggled.
‘I’mthehorribleCorpse,’shesaid.‘ButI’mnotgoingtohaveanybloodonme.’Hertoneexpresseddisappointment.
‘No?’
‘No.Juststrangledwithacord,that’sall.I’doflikedtobestabbed–andhavelashingsofredpaint.’
‘CaptainWarboroughthoughtitmightlooktoorealistic,’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.
Lunchwasanearlyandquicklysnatchedaffairofacoldbuffet.At2.30aminorfilmstarwastoopentheFête.Theweather,afterlookingominouslylikerain,begantoimprove.Bythreeo’clocktheFêtewasinfullswing.Peoplewerepayingtheadmissionchargeofhalfacrowninlargenumbers,andcarswereliningonesideofthelongdrive.StudentsfromtheYouthHostelarrivedinbatchesconversingloudlyinforeigntongues.TruetoMrs.Masterton’sforecast,LadyStubbshademergedfromherbedroomjustbeforehalf-pasttwo,dressedinacyclamendresswithanenormouscoolieshapedhatofblackstraw.Sheworelargequantitiesofdiamonds.
MissBrewismurmuredsardonically,‘Thinksit’stheRoyalEnclosureatAscot,evidently!’
ButPoirotcomplimentedhergravely.
‘Itisabeautifulcreationthatyouhaveon,Madame.’
‘Itisnice,isn’tit,’saidHattiehappily.‘IworeitforAscot.’
TheminorfilmstarwasarrivingandHattiemovedforwardtogreether.
Poirotretreatedintothebackground.Hewanderedarounddisconsolately–everythingseemedtobeproceedinginthenormalfashionofFêtes.Therewasacoconutshy,presidedoverbySirGeorgeinhisheartiestfashion.Therewerevarious‘stalls’displayinglocalproduceoffruit,vegetables,jamsandcakes–andothersdisplaying‘fancyobjects.’Therewerevarious‘raffles’goingon,anda‘luckydip’forchildren.
Therewasagoodcrowdofpeoplebynowandanexhibitionofchildren’sdancingbegan.PoirotsawnosignofMrs.Oliver,butLadyStubbs’cyclamenpinkfigureshowedupamongstthecrowdasshedriftedrathervaguelyabout.Thefocusofattention,however,seemedtobeMrs.Folliat.Shewasquitetransformedinappearance–wearingahydrangea-bluefoulardfrockandasmartgreyhat,sheappearedtopresideovertheproceedings,greetingnewarrivals,directingpeopletothevarioussideshows,graciousandwelcominginmanner,shewas,verydefinitely,Mrs.FolliatofGreenshoreHouse.
Poirotwonderedwhethersheherselfrealisedhowcompletelyshehadslippedintotheroleofhostessorwhetheritwasentirelyunconscious.
Hewasstandingbythetentlabelled‘MadameEsmeraldawilltellyourfortunefor2/6’.TeashadjustbeguntobeservedandtherewasnolongeraqueuefortheFortuneTelling.Poirotbowedhishead,enteredthetentandpaidoverhishalfcrownwillinglyfortheprivilegeofsinkingintoachairandrestinghisachingfeet.
MadameEsmeraldawaswearingflowingblackrobes,ascarfwoundroundherheadandaveilacrossthelowerhalfofherfacewhichslightlymuffledherremarks.
SeizingPoirot’shandshegavehimarapidreading,fullofmoneytocome,successwithadarkbeautyandamiraculousescapefromanaccident.
‘Itisveryagreeableallthatyoutellme,MadameLegge.Ionlywishthatitcouldcometrue.’
‘Oh!’saidPeggy.‘Soyouknowme,doyou?’
‘Ihadadvanceinformation–Mrs.Olivertoldmethatyouwereoriginallytobethe“Victim,”butthatyouhadbeensnatchedfromherforthe“Occult”.’
‘IwishIwasbeingthe“Body,”’saidPeggy.‘Muchmorepeaceful.AllJimWarborough’sfault.Isitfouro’clockyet?Iwantmytea.I’moffdutyfromfourtohalf-past.’
‘Tenminutestogo,still,’saidPoirot,consultinghislargeold-fashionedwatch.‘ShallIbringyouacupofteahere?’
‘No,no.Iwantthebreak–onlytenminutestogo.’
Poirotemergedfromthetentandwasimmediatelychallengedtoguesstheweightofacake.
AHoop-Lastallpresidedoverbyafatmotherlywomanurgedhimtotryhisluckand,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,’calledoutCaptainWarboroughthroughamegaphone.‘Firstclass–3to5.Formup,please.’
Hecametowardsthem,lookingfromlefttoright.
‘Where’sLadyStubbs?AnyoneseenLadyStubbs?She’ssupposedtobejudgingthis.’
‘Isawheraboutaquarterofanhourago,’saidPoirot.
‘ShewasgoingintotheFortuneTellerwhenIsawher,’saidWeyman.‘Shemaybestillthere.’
Hestrodeacrosstothetent,pulledasidetheflap,lookedinandshookhishead.
‘Cursethewoman!’saidWarboroughangrily.‘Wherecanshehavedisappearedto?Thechildrenarewaiting.Perhapsshe’sinthehouse.’
Hestrodeoffrapidly.
Poirotwatchedhimgo,andthenturnedhisheadasheheardamovementbehindhim.
AyoungmanwascomingupthepathfromtheQuay,averydarkyoungman,faultlesslyattiredinyachtingcostume.Hepausedasthoughdisconcertedbythescenebeforehim.
ThenhespokehesitatinglytoPoirot.
‘Youwillexcuseme.IsthisthehouseofSirGeorgeStubbs?’
‘Itisindeed.Areyou,perhaps,thecousinofLadyStubbs?’
‘IamPaulLopez.’
‘MynameisHerculePoirot.’
Theybowedtoeachother.PoirotexplainedthecircumstancesoftheFête.Ashefinished,SirGeorgecameacrossthelawntowardsthemfromthecoconutshy.
‘PaulLopez?Delightedtoseeyou.Hattiegotyourletterthismorning.Where’syouryacht?’
‘ItismooredatDartmouth.IcameuptherivertotheQuayhereinmylaunch.’
‘WemustfindHattie.She’ssomewhereabout…You’lldinewithusthisevening,Ihope?’
‘Youaremostkind.’
‘Canweputyouup?’
‘Thatalsoismostkind,butIwillsleeponmyyacht.Itiseasierso.’
‘Areyoustayingherelong?’
‘Twoorthreedays,perhaps.Itdepends.’PaulLopezshruggedelegantshoulders.
‘Hattiewillbedelighted,I’msure.Whereisshe?Isawhernotlongago.’
Helookedroundinaperplexedmanner.
‘Sheoughttobejudgingthechildren’sfancydress.Ican’tunderstandit.Excusemeamoment.I’llaskMissBrewis.’
Hehurriedoff.PaulLopezlookedafterhim.PoirotlookedatPaulLopez.
‘Itissomelittletimesinceyoulastsawyourcousin?’heasked.
Theothershruggedhisshoulders.
‘Ihavenotseenhersinceshewasfifteenyearsold.Soonafterthatshewassentabroad–toschoolataconventinFrance.Asachildshepromisedtohavegoodlooks.’
HelookedenquiringlyatPoirot.
‘Sheisabeautifulwoman,’saidPoirot.
‘Andthatisherhusband?Heseemswhattheycall“agoodfellow”,butnotperhapsverypolished?Still,forHattieitmightbeperhapsalittledifficulttofindasuitablehusband.’
Poirotremainedwithapolitelyinquiringexpressiononhisface.Theotherlaughed.
‘Oh,itisnosecret.AtfifteenHattiewasmentallyundeveloped.Feeble-minded,doyounotcallit?Sheisstillthesame?’
‘Itwouldseemso–yes,’saidPoirotcautiously.
Lopezshruggedhisshoulders.
‘Ahwell!Whyshouldoneaskitofwomen–thattheyshouldbeintelligent?Itisnotnecessary.’
SirGeorgewasback,fuming,MissBrewiswithhim,speakingratherbreathlessly.
‘I’venoideawheresheis,SirGeorge.Isawheroverbythefortuneteller’stentlast.Butthatwasatleasttwentyminutesago.She’snotinthehouse.’
‘Isitnotpossible,’askedPoirot,‘thatshehasgonetoobservetheprogressofMrs.Oliver’sMurderHunt?’
SirGeorge’sbrowcleared.
‘That’sprobablyit.Lookhere,Ican’tleavetheshowshere.I’mincharge.Couldyoupossiblyhavealookround,Poirot?Youknowthecourse.’
ButPoirotdidnotknowthecourse.However,aninquiryofMissBrewisgavehimroughguidance.MissBrewistookchargeofPaulLopezandPoirotwentoffmurmuringtohimself,‘TennisCourt,CamelliaGarden,TheFolly,UpperNurseryGarden,Boathouse…’
AshepassedtheCoconutShyhewasamusedtonoticeSirGeorgeprofferingwoodenballswithadazzlingsmileofwelcometothesametwoyoungwomenwhomhehaddrivenoffthatmorningandwhowereclearlypuzzledathischangeofattitude.ThefactthatthismorningtheyhadbeentrespassersandthatthisafternoontheywerebyreasonofthepaymentoftwoshillingsandsixpencelegallyentitledtothefullenjoymentofthegroundsofGreenshoreHousewasquitebeyondthem.TheyresistedthecoconutsandwentontotheBranTub.
TheDutchgirlrecognisedPoirotandgreetedhimpolitely.Bothgirlshadtheirrucksacksstrappedontheirshouldersandwereperspiringheavily.
‘Myfriendshegoesbythe5o’clockbusfromthegateheretoTorquay,’explainedtheDutchgirl,‘andIgoacrosstheFerryandtakethebustoDartmouthat6o’clock.’
‘Youleadastrenuouslife,’saidPoirot.
‘Thereismuchtoseeandourtimeisshorthere.’
PoirotbowedgratefullyandwentonhiswaytotheTennisCourt.Therehedrewablank.HewentontotheCamelliaGarden.
IntheCamelliaGardenPoirotfoundMrs.Oliverdressedinpurplesplendour,sittingonagardenseatinabroodingattitude,lookingratherlikeMrs.Siddons.Shebeckonedhimtotheseatbesideher.
‘ThisisonlythesecondClue,’shehissed.‘IthinkI’vemadethemtoodifficult.Nobody’scomeyet.’
Atthismomentayoungmaninshorts,withaprominentAdam’sapple,enteredthegarden.Withacryofsatisfactionhehurriedtoatreeinonecornerandafurthersatisfiedcryannouncedhisdiscoveryofthenextclue.Passingthem,hefeltimpelledtocommunicatehissatisfaction.
‘Lotsofpeopledon’tknowaboutcorktrees,’hesaid,holdingoutasmallcork.‘There’sawholeboxofthemunderthetennisnet.Cleverphotograph,butIspottedwhatitwas.Thiscluewillmake’emgolookingforabottleofsomekind.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.Oliver,helpfully.‘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’shalfpriceadmissionafterfour-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.’
Ashortsteepslopeleddowntothedooroftheboathousewhichwasbuiltoutoverthestoragespaceforboats.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.
VI
‘Icanhardlybeartothinkofit,M.Poirot,’saidMrs.Folliat.
ShewassittingwithhiminthesmallmorningroomatGreenshoreHousesomethreehourslater.
SirGeorgewaswithacoupleofdetectiveofficersinthelibrary.
‘AgirlwhomI’msurehadneverdoneanyharmtoanybody,’saidMrs.Folliat.‘Butwhy–that’swhatIcan’tunderstand.Why?’
Hernicesmilingelderlyfaceseemedtohaveagedtenyears.Herfingersclaspedandunclaspedasmalllacehandkerchief.
Poirothadbeenstruckbyherappearanceandauthorityearlierthatday.Hewasstrucknowbythesuddencollapseofthispoise,byherveryrealandalmostexaggerateddistress.HewonderedwhatitwasthatMrs.Folliatknewandhedidnot.
‘Asyousaidtomeonlyyesterday,Madame,itisaverywickedworld.’
‘DidIsaythat?It’strue–I’monlyjustbeginningtoknowhowtrueitis…Butbelieveme,M.Poirot,Ineverdreamedthatthiswouldhappen…’
Helookedathercuriously.
‘LadyStubbs,thismorning–’
Sheinterruptedhimvehemently.
‘Don’tspeakofhertome.Don’tspeakofher,Idon’twanttothinkofher.’
‘Shetoospokeofwickedness.’
Mrs.Folliatseemedstartled.
‘Whatdidshesay?’
‘ShesaidofhercousinPaulLopezthathewaswicked–thathewasabadmanandthatshewasafraidofhim.’
‘PaulLopez?Youmeanthatratherhandsomedarkyoungmanwhowasherethisafternoon?’
‘Yes.’
Mrs.Folliatsaidimpatiently:
‘Paynoattention.Hattieis–likeachild.Wickedandgood–sheusesthosetermslikeachilddoes.Wherecanshebe?Whatcanhavehappenedtoher?Ihope–oh!HowIhopethatshewillnevercomeback!’
Poirotwasstartledbyhervehemence.Theeventsoftheafternoonmadenosensewhateverasfarashecouldsee.Fromfouro’clocknoonehadseteyesonLadyStubbs.Sinceaboutthen,thehouseandthegroundshadbeenthoroughlysearched.Thepolicewerenowsearchingfartherafield.Wordhadgoneouttotherailwaystations,tothepolicecarspatrollingthedistricttoneighbouringtowns,tohotelsandguesthousesinthevicinity–
Mrs.Folliatinadryvoiceputthequestionthatnobodyhadasyetaskedinwords.
‘Dotheythink,’shesaid,‘thatHattiedidit?Killedthatchild?Andthenranaway?’
‘Onedoesnotknowwhattheythink.’
‘Doyouthinkso?’
‘Madame,inallthingstheremustbeapattern.AsyetIcannotseeapattern.Whatdoyouthinkyourself?Youknowherverywell–’
Asshedidnotanswer,headded:
‘Youarefondofher.’
‘IwasveryfondofHattie–veryfondindeed.’
‘Youusethepasttense,Inotice.’
‘Youdon’tunderstand.’
‘Youbelieve,perhaps,thatLadyStubbsisdead?’
Mrs.Folliatstaredstraightinfrontofher.Thenshesaidinavoicethatwaslittlemorethanawhisper.
‘Itwouldbebetterifsheweredead–somuchbetter.’
‘IthinkperhapsIunderstandyou.Shewasmentallysubnormal.Hercousinmentioneditcasuallythisafternoon.Suchpeoplearenotalwaysaccountablefortheiractions.Asuddenfitofrage–’
ButMrs.Folliatturnedonhimangrily.
‘Hattiewasneverlikethat.Shewasagentlewarm-heartedgirl.Shewouldneverhavekilledanyone.’
Poirotlookedatherinsomeperplexity.Hepatchedtogethercertainfragmentsinhismind.Hadn’ttherebeensomethingalittletheatricalaboutthesuddenarrivalofLopeztoday?AndHattie’sreactiontoit–thecalculatingglance,thestronglyexpressedwordsoffearanddislike.HethoughtthathewouldliketoknowalittlemoreaboutPaulLopez.WhatpartdidLopezplayinallthis?IfHattieStubbswasdead–ifshehadbeenkilled–andifinsomewayMarleneTuckerhadbeenawitnesstothekilling…ThenMarlenetoowouldhavebeensilenced…
SirGeorgeStubbscameintotheroom.
‘DetectiveInspectorBlandwouldliketoseeyouinthelibrary,M.Poirot,’hesaid.
Poirotgotupandwentacrosstothelibrary.
ConstableHoskinswhohadbeenfirstonthescene,satatatablebythewall.HehadnowbeenjoinedbyInspectorBland.Thelatter,speakinginsoftpleasantDevonvoice,greetedPoirotwithamentionofmutualfriendSuperintendentScott.
‘He’sanoldbuddyofmine,M.Poirot,andhe’softenspokentomeaboutyou.IfeelIknowyouquitewell.’
TheyspokeforamomentoftheSuperintendentandthenBlandwenton.
‘Ihopeyoucangiveussomehelpoverthisbusiness,M.Poirot.We’reverymuchinthedark.You’restayinginthehouse,Iunderstand?Isthere–forgivemeforasking–anyspecialreasonforthat?’
‘Notofthekindyoumean.Iamnothere,thatistosayprofessionally.Mrs.AriadneOliver,thedetectivenovelist,wascommissionedtodeviseaMurderHuntfortheFêtetoday,andbeinganoldfriendofmine,shesuggestedthatIshouldbeaskedtopresenttheprizeforthebestsolution.’
‘Isee.Butsinceyou’vebeenstayinginthishouseyou’vehadtheopportunityofobservingpeople.’
‘Foraveryshorttime,’Poirotpointedout.
‘Neverthelessyoucanperhapstelluscertainthingswewouldbegladtoknow.Tobeginwith,whatweretherelationsbetweenSirGeorgeStubbsandhiswife?’
‘Excellent,Ishouldsay.’
‘Nodisagreements,quarrels?Signsofnervousstrain?’
‘Ishouldn’tsayso.SirGeorgeappearedtobedevotedtohiswifeandshetohim.’
‘Noreason,therefore,forhertowalkoutonhim?’
‘Ishouldhavesaid,noreasonwhatever.’
‘Infact,youthinkitunlikely?’theInspectorpressedhim.
‘Iwouldneversaythatanythingawomandoesisunlikely,saidPoirotcautiously.‘Womenhavecuriousreasonsforthethingstheydowhichcannotbeappreciatedbyus.Iwilladmitthatitseemsanoddtimetochoose–inthemiddleofaFête.LadyStubbswaswearingAscotclothesandveryhighheels.’
‘There’sbeennoindicationof–anotherman?’
Poirothesitatedforamomentbeforehespoke.
‘Thereisayoungmanhere,MichaelWeyman,anarchitect.Hewasattractedtoher–definitely,Ishouldsay.Andsheknewit.’
‘Wassheattractedbyhim?’
‘Shemayhavebeen.Idonotreallythinkso.’
‘He’sstillhere,atanyrate,’saidBland.‘Andworriedtodeathaboutwhat’shappenedtoher–unlesshe’sabetteractorthanIthink.Asfarasthatgoes,they’reallworried–notunnaturally.Let’shaveitfrankly–wasshehomicidal,M.Poirot?’
‘Ishouldnothavesaidso–AndMrs.Folliatwhoknowsherwellstoutlydeniesit.’
ConstableHoskinsspokeunexpectedly.
‘Tiswellknownhereaboutsasshe’squeerinthehead–Notallthere,isthewayI’dputit.Funnykindoflaughshehad.’
Blandrubbedhisforeheadinaworriedmanner.
‘Thesefeeble-mindedpeople,’hesaid.‘Theyseemallright–perfectlygoodnatured–butsomelittlethingmaysetthemoff.SupposingthatshethoughtshesawthedevilinMarleneTucker’seyes–oh!Iknowthatsoundsfantastic,buttherewasacaselikethatinNorthDevonnotverylongago.Awomanwasconvincedthatitwasherdutytodestroyevil!LadyStubbsmayhavekilledthisgirlforsomebalmyreasonofherown.Thenwhenshecametoherself,shemayhaverealisedwhatshe’ddoneandgonedowntotheriveranddrownedherself.’
Poirotwassilent.HismindhadwanderedawayfromtheInspector’swords.HewashearingagainthevoiceinwhichMrs.Folliathadsaidyesterdaythatitwasawickedworldandthattherewereverywickedpeopleinit.SupposingthatitwasMrs.FolliatwhohadseenevilinMarleneTucker…supposingthatitwasMrs.FolliatwhohadfeltdivinelyinspiredtotightenacordandchokethedevilinMarleneTucker…AndHattieStubbs,seekingtoavoidherunwantedcousin,cametotheboathouseandfoundMrs.FolliatwithMarlene’sdeadbody.HoweverfondHattiehadbeenofMrs.Folliat,nobodywithHattie’smentalitycouldbereliedupontokeepsilence.Sowhatthen?HadMrs.FolliatmanagedtosilenceHattietoo?Butifso,wherewasHattie’sbody?FraillittleMrs.Folliatcouldhardlyhavedisposedofitwithouthelp.
Itcamebacktothesamefinding:
WherewasHattieStubbs?
InspectorBlandsaidfrowning:
‘Itseemsasthoughthetwothingshavegottotieup–themurderandthedisappearance.Theycan’tbetwoentirelyunrelatedhappenings–especiallyasthereseemsnoreasonforLadyStubbssuddenlygoingofflikethat–’
Theladymighthavejustwanderedaway,seeingasshe’sbalmy,’theConstableoffered.
‘Therewouldhavetobesomereason,’saidBlandobstinately.
HelookedinquiringlyatPoirot.
‘Youcan’tsuggestanything,M.Poirot?’
‘ShewasstartledandupsetatbreakfastthismorningwhenshereceivedalettersayingMr.Lopezwascomingheretoday.’
Blandraisedhiseyebrows.
‘Buthe’dwrittentoherbeforehelefttheWestIndies–sayingthathewascomingtoEngland.’
‘Isthatwhathetoldyou?’
‘That’swhathesaid,yes.’
Poirotshookhishead.
‘Eitherheislying–orelsethatletterofhiswassuppressed.LadyStubbsdidnotreceiveit.BothsheandSirGeorgeappearedcompletelytakenbysurprisethismorning.’
‘Andwassheupset?’
‘Shewasveryupset.Shetoldmethathercousinwasabadmananddidbadthings,andthatshewasafraidofhim.’
‘Shewasafraidofhim–eh?’
Blandconsideredthepoint.
‘Lopezhasbeenthoroughlyco-operative,’hesaid.‘He’swhatIcallthesmarmytype–onedoesn’tknowwhathe’sreallythinking,buthewasmostpolite.Wecalleduponhimonhisyachtandhewentoutofhiswaytoinsistwelookedoverit.HeassuredusthatLadyStubbshadnotcometotheyacht,andthathehadn’tseenheratall.’
‘AsfarasIknow,thatisthetruth,’saidPoirot.
‘WhenLopezarrivedattheFête,LadyStubbshadalreadydisappeared.’
‘Ifshedidn’twanttomeethim,shecouldhaveeasilygonetoherroom,andpleadedaheadache.’
‘Easily.’
‘Soitwasmorethannotjustwantingtomeethim…Torunaway,shemustreallyhavefearedhimverymuch.’
‘Yes.’
‘AndthatputsLopezinamoresinisterlight…Still–ifshe’sonlyrunaway,we’reboundtopickherupbeforelong.Ican’tunderstandwhywehaven’talreadydoneso…’
Unspoken,therehoveredbetweenthemanimplicationofamoresinisterpossibility…
‘Togobacktothemurderedgirl,’saidPoirot.‘Youhavequestionedherfamily?Theycansuggestnoreasonforthecrime?’
‘Nothingwhatever.’
‘Shehadnotbeen–’Poirotpauseddelicately.
‘No,no,nothingofthatkind.’
‘Iamglad.’PoirotwasrememberingMarlene’sremarksaboutsexmaniacs.
‘Hadn’tevengotaboyfriend,’saidtheInspector.
‘Orsoherpeoplesay.Probablytrueenough–thethingsshescribbledonthoseComicsshowabitofwishfulthinking.’
HegesturedtowardsthepileofComicsthatPoirothadlastseenintheboathouseandwhichwerenowreposingattheInspector’selbow.
Poirotasked:‘Youpermit?’andBlandnodded.
Poirotranrapidlythroughthesheets.Inastragglingchildishhand,Marlenehadscrawledhercommentsonlife.
‘JackieBlakegoeswithSusanBarnes.’‘Peterpinchesgirlsatthepictures.’‘GeorgiePorgiekisseshikersinthewoods.’‘BettyFoxlikeboys…’‘AlbertgoeswithDoreen.’
Hefoundtheremarkspatheticintheiryoungcrudity.Hereplacedthepileofpapersonthetable,andashedidso,hewassuddenlyassailedwithfeelingofsomethingmissing.Something–therewassomethingthatought–
TheelusiveimpressionfadedasBlandspoke.
‘Therewasnostruggletospeakof.Looksasthoughshejustletsomeoneputthatcordaroundherneckwithoutsuspectingitwasanythingbutajoke.’
Poirotsaid:
‘Thatiseasilyaccountedfor–ifsheknewtheperson.Inaway,itwaswhatsheexpected.Shewastobethemurdervictim,yousee.Shewouldhaveletherselfbe“arranged”forthepartbyanyofthepeopleconnectedwiththeFête.’
‘ByLadyStubbs,forinstance?’
‘Yes.’
Poirotwenton:‘OrbyMrs.Oliver,orMrs.Legge,orMissBrewisorMrs.Masterton.Orforthatmatter,bySirGeorge,orCaptainWarborough,orAlecLegge,orevenMichaelWeyman.’
‘Yes,’saidBland,‘it’sawidefield.Onlytwopeoplehaveanabsolutealibi,SirGeorgewasondutyattheShowsallafternoon,neverleftthefrontlawn,andthesamegoesforCaptainWarborough.MissBrewismightjusthavedoneit.Shewentbetweenthehouseandthegarden,andshecouldhavebeenabsentforaslongastenminuteswithoutbeingnoticed.Mrs.LeggecouldhavelefttheFortuneTellingtent,thoughitisunlikely;therewasafairlysteadystreamofclientsthere.Mrs.OliverandMichaelWeymanandAlecLeggewerewanderingaboutallovertheplace–noalibisofanykind.HoweverIsupposeyou’llinsistthatweabsolveyourladynovelistofthecrime.’
‘Onecanmakenoexceptions,’saidPoirot.‘Mrs.Oliver,afterall,arrangedthisMurderHunt.Shearrangedforthegirltobeisolatedintheboathouse,farawayfromthecrowdsbythehouse.’
‘GoodLord,M.Poirot,doyoumean–’
‘No,Idonotmean.Iamtryingtogetatsomethingwhichisstillverynebulous…whichsofarhasbaffledme.Thereisanotherpoint,thekey.WhenMrs.OliverandIdiscoveredthebody,Mrs.Oliverunlockedthedoorwithakey.Therewasanotherkeywhichwastobethelast“clue”.Wasthatinplace?’
Blandnodded.
‘Yes.ItwasinasmallChinesepotterytheatreinthehydrangeawalk.Nobodyhadgottothatclueyet.Therewasathirdkeyinthehouse–drawerinthefronthall.’
‘Whereeveryonecouldgetit!Andinanycase,ifsomeonesheknewtappedonthedoorandaskedhertoopenit,Marlenewouldhavedoneso.IfMrs.Masterton,say,orMrs.Folliat–’
‘Mrs.MastertonwasverymuchinevidenceattheFête.SowasMrs.Folliat.’
‘InoticedthatMrs.Folliatwas–howshallIsay–playingthehostess.’
‘Tisherhousebyrights,’saidConstableHoskinsseverely.‘AlwaysbeenFolliatsatGreenshore.’
Poirotstaredathim.HemissedwhatInspectorBlandhadbeensayingandonlyheardtheendofhisspeech.
‘–noearthlyreasonwhythatgirlshouldhavebeenkilled.We’llknowbetterwherewearewhenwe’verunLadyStubbstotheground.’
‘Ifyoudo,’saidPoirot.
Blandlaughedconfidently.
‘Aliveordead–we’llfindherallright,’hesaid.‘Dashitall,awomancan’tjustdisappearintospace.’
‘Iwonder,’saidPoirot.‘Iverymuchwonder…’
VII
Theweekswentby,anditseemedthatInspectorBland’sconfidentstatementwasprovedwrong.Awomancoulddisappearintospace!NowherewasthereanysignofLadyStubbs,aliveordead.InhercyclamenclingingAscotfrockandherhighheelsandhergreatblackshadyhat,shehadstrolledawayfromthecrowdedlawnofherhouse–andnohumaneyehadseenheragain.Herfrantichusbandbesiegedpoliceheadquarters,ScotlandYardwasaskedforassistancebytheChiefConstable,butHattieStubbswasnotfound.InthepublicitygiventothedisappearanceofLadyStubbstheunsolvedmurderofMarleneTuckerfadedintothebackground.Occasionallytherewasaparagraphtotheeffectthatthepolicewereanxioustointervieworhadinterviewedsomeone,butnoneoftheinterviewsledtoanything.
Littlebylittle,thepubliclostinterestinboththemurderofMarleneandthedisappearanceofLadyStubbs.
ItwasonanOctoberafternoon,twomonthsafterthedayoftheFête,thatDetectiveInspectorBlandrangupHerculePoirot.HeexplainedthathewaspassingthroughLondon,andaskedifhecoulddropinandseeM.Poirot.
Poirotrepliedmostcordially.
Hereplacedthereceiver,hesitated,thenrangMrs.Oliver’snumber.
‘Butdonot,’hehastenedtoaddwhenhehadmadehisdemandtospeaktoher,‘disturbherifsheisatwork.’
HerememberedhowbitterlyMrs.Oliverhadoncereproachedhimforinterruptingatrainofcreativethoughtandhowtheworld,inconsequence,hadbeendeprivedofanintriguingmystery,centringroundanoldfashionedlong-sleevedwoollenvest.
Mrs.Oliver’svoice,however,spokealmostimmediately.
‘It’ssplendidthatyou’verungmeup,’shesaid.‘IwasjustgoingtogiveaTalkon“HowIwritemyBooks”andnowIshallgetmysecretarytoringupandsayI’munavoidablydetained.’
‘But,Madame,youmustnotletmeprevent–’
‘It’snotacaseofpreventing.Ishouldhavemadethemostawfulfoolofmyself.Imean,whatcanyousayabouthowyouwritebooks?Imean,firstyou’vegottothinkofsomethingandthenwhenyou’vethoughtofit,you’vegottoforceyourselftositandwriteit.That’sall!Itwouldhavetakenmejustthreeminutestoexplainthat,andtheTalkwouldhaveended–andeverybodywouldhavebeenveryfedup.Ican’timaginewhyeverybodyissokeenforauthorstotalkaboutwriting–Ishouldhavethoughtitwasanauthor’sbusinesstowrite,nottalk.”
‘AndyetitisabouthowyouwritethatIwanttoaskyounow–’
‘Youcanask,butIprobablyshan’tknowtheanswers.Imeanonejustwrites.Justaminute–I’vegotafrightfullysillyhaton,fortheTalk,andImusttakeitoff.Itscratchesmyforehead!’
TherewasamomentarypauseandthevoiceofMrs.Oliverresumedinarelievedvoice.
‘Hatsarereallyasymbolnowadays,aren’tthey?Imeanonedoesn’twearthemforsensiblereasonsanymore–tokeepone’sheadwarm,orshieldonefromthesun,orhideone’sfacefrompeopleonedoesn’twanttomeet–Ibegyourpardon,M.Poirot,didyousaysomething?’
‘Itwasanejaculationonly.Itisextraordinary,’saidPoirotandhisvoicewasawed.‘Always–always–yougivemeideas…Soalso,didmyfriendHastingswhoIhavenotseenformanyyears…Butnomoreofallthat.Letmeaskyouinsteadaquestion.DoyouknowanAtomScientist,Madame?’
‘DoIknowanAtomScientist?’saidMrs.Oliverinasurprisedvoice.‘Idon’tknow.IsupposeImay.ImeanIknowsomeProfessorsandthings–I’mneverquitesurewhattheyactuallydo.’
‘YetyoumadeanAtomScientistoneofthesuspectsatyourMurderHunt?’
‘Oh,that.Well,thatwasjusttobeuptodate.Imean,whenIwenttobuypresentsformynephewslastChristmastherewasnothingbutsciencefictionandthestratosphere,andsupersonictoys!AndsoIthought:betterhaveanatomscientistasthechiefsuspect.Afterall,ifIhadwantedalittletechnicaljargonIcouldhavealwaysgotitfromAlecLegge.’
‘AlecLegge?ThatisthehusbandofPeggyLegge–isheanAtomicscientist?’
‘Yes,heis.NotHarwell–Walessomewhere,orBristol.It’sjustaholidaycottagetheyhaveontheDart.SoofcourseIdoknowanAtomScientistafterall.’
‘AnditwasmeetinghimatGreenshorethatprobablyputtheideaofanAtomicScientistintoyourhead.ButhiswifeisnotYugoslavian?’
‘Ohno!Peggy’sasEnglishasEnglish.’
‘ThenwhatputtheideaofaYugoslavianwifeintoyourhead?’
‘Ireallydon’tknow…refugeesperhaps…orallthoseforeigngirlsattheHostelnextdoor–alwaystrespassingthroughthewoodsandspeakingbrokenEnglish.’
‘Isee–yes,Isee…Iseenowalotofthings.Thereissomethingelse–therewasaclue,yousaid,writtenononeoftheComicsyouhadprovidedforMarlene.’
‘Yes.’
‘Wasthatcluesomethinglike–’heforcedhismemoryback–‘“JohnnygoeswithDoreen–GeorgiePorgiekissesahiker–BettyissweetonTom”?’
‘Goodgracious,no,no–nothingsillylikethat.Minewasaperfectlystraightclue.Lookinthehikersrucksack!’
‘Epatant!’saidPoirot–‘Naturallythathadtobesuppressed!Nowonemorething.Youhavesaidthatvariouschangesweresuggestedinyourscenario,someyouresistedandsomeyouaccepted.Wasitoriginallyyourideatohavethebodydiscoveredintheboathouse?Thinkcarefully.’
‘Noitwasn’t,’saidMrs.Oliver.‘IarrangedfortheBodytobeinthatlittleoldfashionedsummerhousequitenearthehouse,behindtherhododendrons.Buttheyallsaidthatitwouldbebettertohavethelastcluefarawayandisolated,andasI’djustmadeagreatfussabouttheFollyClue,anditdidn’tseemtometomatter,Igavein.’
‘TheFolly,’saidPoirotsoftly.‘OnecomesbackalwaystotheFolly.YoungMichaelWeymanstandingtherethedayIarrived,sayingthatitshouldneverhavebeenputwhereitwasput…SirGeorge’sFolly…’
‘Hehaditputtherebecausethetreeshadblowndown.MichaelWeymantoldusso.’
‘Healsotoldusthatthefoundationswererotten–Ithink,Madame,thatthatiswhatyoufeltinthathouse–Itisthereasonyousentforme–Itisnotwhatyoucouldseethatwasrotten–itwasthatwhichwasconcealedbelowthesurface–Youfeltit–andyouwereright.”
‘Idon’treallyknowwhatyouaretalkingabout,MonsieurPoirot.’
‘Haveyoueverreflected,Madame,ontheenormouspartthatHearsayplaysinlife.“Mr.Asaid,”“Mrs.B.toldus.”“MissC.explainedwhy–”andsoon.Andiftheknownfactsseemtofitwithwhatwehavebeentold,thenweneverquestionthem.Therearesomanythingsthatdonotconcernus,andsowedonotbothertouncovertheactualfacts.’
‘M.Poirot,’Mrs.Oliverspokeexcitedly.‘Yousoundlikeyouknewsomething.’
‘IthinkreallyIhaveknownitforsometime,’saidPoirotdreamily.‘Somanysmallunrelatedfacts–butallpointingthesameway.Excuseme,Madame,myfrontdoorbellrings.ItisInspectorBlandwhoarrivestoseeme.’
Hereplacedthereceiverandwenttolethisguestin.
VIII
‘Twomonthsnow,’saidBland,leaningbackinhischairandsippinggingerlyatthecupofChinateawithwhichPoirothadprovidedhim.
‘Twomonths–andtherehasn’tbeenatraceofher.It’snotsoeasytodisappearinthiscountryasallthat.Notifwecangetonthetrailstraightaway.Andwewereonthetrail.It’snogoodsayingthatshewentoffonthatfellow’syacht.Shedidn’t.Wesearchedthatboatverycarefully,andshewasn’tonit–aliveordead.’
‘Whatkindofayachtwasit?’askedPoirot.
Blandlookedathimsuspiciously.
‘Itwasn’triggedupforsmuggling,ifthat’swhatyoumean.Nofancyhiddenpartitionsorsecretcubbyholes.’
‘ThatisnotwhatImean.Ionlyaskedwhatkindifyacht–bigorsmall?’
‘Ohitwasaterrificaffair–musthavecosttheearth.Allverysmartandnewlypainted–andluxuryfittings.’
‘Exactly,’saidPoirot.Hesoundedpleased.
‘Whatareyougettingat,M.Poirot?’
‘PaulLopezisarichman.Thatisverysignificant.’
‘Perhaps.ButIdon’tseewhy.WhatdoyouthinkhashappenedtoLadyStubbs,M.Poirot?’
‘Ihavenodoubtwhatever–LadyStubbsisdead.’
Blandnoddedhisheadslowly.
‘Yes,Ithinksotoo.Wefoundthathatofhers.Fisheditoutoftheriver.Itwasstrawanditfloated.Asforthebody,tidewasrunningouthardthatafternoon.Itwillhavebeencarriedouttosea.Itwillwashupsomewheresomeday–thoughitmayn’tbeeasytoidentifyafterallthistime.Yes,I’mclearonthat.ShewentintotheDart–butwasitsuicideormurder?’
‘Again,thereisnodoubt–itwasmurder,’saidHerculePoirot.
‘Whomurderedher?’
‘Haveyounoideasastothat?’
‘I’veaverygoodidea,butnoevidence.IthinkshewasmurderedbyPaulLopez.HecameuptoGreenshoreinasmalllaunchbyhimself,remember.Ithinkhecameashorebytheboathouseandthatsheslippeddowntheretomeethim.Itseemsfantasticthathecouldconkherontheheadorstabherandpushherbodyintothewaterandnotbeseendoingit–whenyouconsiderhowmanycraftthereareontheriverinthesummer–butIsupposethetruthisifyou’renotexpectingtoseeanyonemurderedyoudon’tseeit!Plentyofhorseplayandshrieksandpeopleshovingeachotheroffboats,andit’salltakentobeholidayfun!TheonepersonwhodidseeithappenwasMarleneTucker.Shesawitfromthewindowoftheboathouse,andso–shehadtobekilledtoo.’
HepausedandlookedenquiringlyatPoirot.
‘Butwe’venoevidence,’hesaid.‘AndLopezhasgonehome.Wehadnothingtoholdhimon.Wedon’tevenknowwhyhekilledHattieStubbs.Therewasnomonetarygain.Shedidn’townanypropertyoutthereandshehadn’tanymoneyofherown–onlyasettlementthatSirGeorgehadmadeaboutsixmonthsaftertheirmarriage.Wewentintoallthefinances.SirGeorgeisaveryrichman–hiswifewaspracticallypenniless.’
Hegaveanexasperatedsigh.
‘Sowhere’sthemotive,MonsieurPoirot?WhatdidLopezstandtogain?’
‘Poirotleanedbackinhischair,joinedthetipsofhisfingersandspokeinasoftmonotone.
‘Letustakecertainfactsinchronologicalorder.GreenshoreHouseisforsale.ItisbroughtbySirGeorgeStubbswhohasrecentlymarriedagirlfromtheWestIndies;anorphaneducatedinParisandchaperonedafterthedeathofherparentsbyMrs.Folliat,thewidowofaformerownerofGreenshoreHouse.SirGeorgeisprobablyinducedtobuythehouseundertheinfluenceofMrs.FolliatwhomhepermitstoliveintheLodge.AccordingtoaveryoldmanformerlyinservicewiththeFolliats,therewillalwaysbeFolliatsatGreenshoreHouse.’
‘YoumeanoldMerdle?Livedinthecottagedownbythequay?’
‘Lived?Ishedead?’
‘Tookadroptoomuchonenight,theythink,comingbackfromDartswayopposite;hemissedhisfootinggettingoutofhisboatandwasdrowned.’
Poirotremarked,‘Anaccident?Iwonder…’
‘Youthinkitwasn’tanaccident?Didheknowsomething,perhaps,abouthisgranddaughter’sdeath?’
‘Hisgranddaughter?’Poirotsatboltupright.Hiseyesshonegreenwithexcitement.WasMarleneTuckerhisgranddaughter?
‘Yes.Hisonlydaughter’schild.’
‘Ofcourse,’saidPoirot.‘Ofcourse…Ishouldhaveguessedthat…’
Blandmovedrestively.
‘Lookhere,M.Poirot,Idon’tunderstand…’
Poirotraisedanauthoritativehand.
‘Letmecontinue.SirGeorgebringshisyoungwifetoGreenshore.Thedaybeforetheirarrivaltherehadbeenaterriblegale.Treesdowneverywhere.AmonthortwolaterSirGeorgeerectedwhatissometimescalledaFolly–justwhereaverybigoaktreehadcomeoutbodilybytheroots.Itwasaveryunsuitableplace,accordingtoanarchitect,forsuchathingtobeput.’
‘DaresayGeorgeStubbsdidn’tknowanybetter.’
‘Andyetsomebodytoldmethathewasamanofquitegoodtaste,surprisinglyso…’
‘M.Poirot,whatisallthisgettingat?’
‘Iamtryingtoreconstructastory–thestoryasitmustbe.’
‘Butlookhere,M.Poirot–aren’twegettingalongwayfrommurder.’
‘Itisthestoryofamurder.Butwehavetobeginatthebeginning…’
IX
HerculePoirotpausedamomentatthebigwroughtirongates.Helookedaheadofhimalongthecurvingdrive.Golden-brownleavesfluttereddownfromthetrees.Nearathandthegrassybankwascoveredwithlittlemauvecyclamen.
Poirotsighed.ThebeautyofGreenshoreappealedtohim.ThenheturnedasideandrappedgentlyonthedoorofthelittlewhiteplasteredLodge.
Afterafewmoments’delayheheardfootstepsinside,slowhesitantfootsteps.ThedoorwasopenedbyMrs.Folliat.Hewasnotstartledthistimetoseehowoldandfrailshelooked.
Shesaid,‘M.Poirot?You?’anddrewback.
‘MayIcomein?’
‘Ofcourse.’
Sheledthewayandhefollowedherintoasmallsittingroom.ThereweresomedelicateChelseafiguresonthemantelpiece,acoupleofchairscoveredinexquisitepetitpoint,andaDerbyteaservicewasonthesmalltable.Achosenfewofthetreasuresofthepastwereherewiththeoldladywhohadoutlivedherkindred.
SheofferedPoirotteawhichherefused.Thensheaskedinaquietvoice:
‘Whyhaveyoucome?’
‘Ithinkyoucanguess,Madame.’
Heranswerwasoblique.
‘Iamverytired,’shesaid.
‘Iknow.Therehavenowbeenthreedeaths,HattieStubbs,MarleneTucker,oldMerdle.’
Shesaidsharply:
‘Merdle?Thatwasanaccident.Hefellfromthequay.Hewasveryold,halfblind,andhe’dbeendrinkinginthepub.’
‘Idonotthinkitwasanaccident.Merdleknewtoomuch.’
‘Whatdidheknow?’
‘Herecognisedaface,orawayofwalking,oramanner.ItalkedtohimonedaywhenIwasherebefore.HetoldmesomethingabouttheFolliatfamily–aboutyourfather-in-lawandyourhusband,andyoursonswhowerekilledinthewar.Onlytheywerenotbothkilled,werethey?YoursonHenrywentdownwithhisship,butyoursecondson,James,wasnotkilled.Hedeserted.Hewasreportedatfirst,perhaps,Missingbelievedkilled,andlateryoutoldeveryonethathewaskilled.Itwasnobody’sbusinesstodisbelievethatstatement.Whyshouldthey?’
Poirotpausedandthenwenton:
‘DonotimagineIhavenosympathyforyou,Madame.Lifehasbeenhardforyou,Iknow.Youcanhavenorealillusionsaboutyouryoungerson,buthewasstillyourson,andyoulovedhim.Youdidallyoucouldtogivehimanewlife.Youhadthechargeofayounggirl,asubnormalbutveryrichgirl.Ohyes,shewasrich.Butyougaveoutthatshewaspoor,thatyouhadadvisedhertomarryarichmanmanyyearsolderthanherself.Whyshouldanybodydisbelieveyourstory?Again,itwasnobody’sbusiness.Herparentsandnearrelativeshadbeenkilled.ShewasataconventinParisandafirmofFrenchlawyersactedasinstructedbylawyersinSanMiguel.Onhermarriage,sheassumedcontrolofherownfortune.Shewas,asyouhavetoldme,docile,affectionate,suggestible.Everythingherhusbandaskedhertosign,shesigned.Securitieswereprobablychangedandre-soldmanytimes,butintheendthedesiredfinancialresultwasreached.SirGeorgeStubbs,thenewpersonalityassumedbyyourson,wasarichmanandhiswifewasapauper.Itisnolegaloffencetocallyourself“Sir”.Atitlecreatesconfidence–itsuggests,ifnotbirth,thencertainlyriches.AndrichSirGeorgeStubbs,olderandchangedinappearanceandhavinggrownabeard,boughtGreenshoreHouseandcametolivewherehebelonged.Therewasnobodyleftafterthedevastationofwarwhowaslikelytohaverecognisedhim,butoldMerdledid.Hekepttheknowledgetohimself,butwhenhesaidtomeslylythattherewouldalwaysbeFolliatsatGreenshoreHouse,thatwashisprivatejoke.
‘Soallturnedoutwell,orsoyouthought.Yourplan,asIbelieve,stoppedthere.Youhadprovidedyoursonwithwealth,hisancestralhome,andthoughhiswifewassubnormalshewasabeautifulanddocilegirl,andyouhopedhewouldbekindtoherandthatshewouldbehappy.’
Mrs.Folliatsaidinalowvoice:
‘That’showIthoughtitwouldbe–IwouldlookafterHattieandcareforher.Ineverdreamed–’
‘Youneverdreamed–andyoursoncarefullydidnottellyou,thatatthetimeofthemarriagehewasalreadymarried
‘Oh,yes–wehavesearchedtherecordsforwhatweknewmustexist.YoursonhadmarriedagirlinTrieste,halfItalian,halfYogoslavian,andshehadnomindtobepartedfromhim,norforthatmatterhadheanyintentionofbeingpartedfromher.HeacceptedthemarriagewithHattieasameanstowealth,butinhisownmindheknewfromthebeginningwhatheintendedtodo.’
‘No,no,Idonotbelievethat!Icannotbelieveit…Itwasthatwoman–thatwickedcreature.’
Poirotwentoninexorably:
‘Hemeantmurder.Hattiehadnorelations,fewfriends.ImmediatelyontheirreturntoEngland,hebroughtherhere.AndthatwaswhenHattieStubbsdied.OnthedayoftheFêtetherealLadyStubbshadbeendeadeighteenmonths–hekilledhertheactualeveningoftheirarrivalhere.Theservantshardlysawherthatfirstevening,andthewomantheysawthenextmorningwasnotHattie,buthisItalianwifemadeupasHattieandbehavingroughlymuchasHattiebehaved.Thereagainitmighthaveended.ThefalseHattiewouldhavelivedoutherlifesuccessfullyasLadyStubbs–graduallyallowinghermentalpowerstoimproveowingtowhatwouldvaguelybecalled“newtreatment.”Thesecretary,MissBrewis,alreadyrealisedthattherewasverylittlewrongwithLadyStubbs’mentalprocessesandthatalotofherhalf-wittednesswasputon.
‘Butthenatotallyunforeseenthinghappened.AcousinofHattie’swrotethathewascomingtoEnglandonayachtingtrip,andalthoughthatcousinhadnotseenherformanyyears,hewouldnotbelikelytobedeceivedbyanimpostor.
‘Theremighthavebeenseveraldifferentwaysofmeetingthesituation,thoughifPaulLopezremainedlonginEnglanditwouldbealmostimpossiblefor“Hattie”toavoidmeetinghim.Butanothercomplicationoccurred.OldMerdle,growinggarrulous,usedtochattertohisgranddaughter.Shewasprobablytheonlypersonwholistenedtohim,andevenshethoughthim“batty”andpaidverylittleseriousattentionwhenhetalkedabouthavingseenawoman’sbodylongagointhewood,andaboutMr.JamesbeingSirGeorgeStubbs.Shewasslightlysubnormalherself,butshehadperhapssufficientcuriositytohintatvariousthingsto“SirGeorge”.Indoingthat,shesignedherowndeathwarrant.ThehusbandandwifeworkedoutaschemewherebyMarleneshouldbekilledand“LadyStubbs”disappearinconditionswhichshouldthrowvaguesuspiciononPaulLopez.
‘Todothis,“Hattie”assumedasecondpersonality,orratherrevertedtoherownpersonality.WithSirGeorge’sconnivance,itwaseasytodoubletheparts.ShearrivedattheYouthHostelintheroleofanItaliangirlstudent,wentoutaloneforawalk–and–becameLadyStubbs.Afterdinner,LadyStubbswenttobedearly,slippedoutandreturnedtotheHostel,spentthenightthere,roseearly,wentout,andwasoncemoreLadyStubbsatthebreakfasttable!Backtoherbedroomwithaheadacheuntiltheafternoon,but,againwithSirGeorge’shelp,shestagedatrespassingactincompanywithagirlwhowasalsoattheHostel.Thechangesofcostumewerenotdifficult–shortsandashirtunderoneoftheelaboratedressesLadyStubbswore.Heavywhitemake-upforHattie,abigCooliehatthatshieldedherface;agaypeasantscarf,bigspectaclesandsomebronze-redhairfortheItaliangirlhiker.Isawthemboth–andneverdreamedtheywerethesameperson.Itwas“LadyStubbs”whoslippedawayfromtheFête,wenttotheisolatedboathouseandstrangledtheunsuspectingMarlene.Shethrewherhatintotheriver,packedupherAscotfrockandhighheeledshoesinarucksackshehadconcealedearlierneartheboathouse.Then,backtotheFêteastheItaliangirl,joiningupwithhercasualacquaintance,theDutchgirl,doingafewshowstogether,then,asshehadpreviouslyannouncedtohercompanion,sheleavesbythelocalbus,aninconspicuousfigure.TherearefortyandfiftyvisitorseachdayattheYouthHostel.Theyarousenointerestorspeculation.ThenbacktoLondon,toawaitquietlyasuitabletimeto“meet”SirGeorge,andeventuallytomarryhimwhenhecanatlastpresumehiswife’sdeath.’
Therewasalongpause.ThenMrs.Folliatdrewherselfupinherchair.Hervoicehadthecoldnessofice.
‘Whataveryfantasticstory,M.Poirot,’shesaid.‘IcanassureyoutherehasneverbeenmorethanoneLadyStubbs.PoorHattiehasalwaysbeen–poorHattie.’
Poirotrosetohisfeetandgoingtothewindow,openedit.
‘Listen,Madame.Whatdoyouhear?’
‘Iamalittledeaf.WhatshouldIhear?’
‘Theblowsofapickaxe…TheyarebreakinguptheconcretefoundationoftheFolly.Whatagoodplacetoburyabody–whereatreehasbeenuprootedandtheearthisalreadydisturbed.Then,alittlelater,tomakeallsafe,concreteoverthegroundwherethebodylies,andontheconcrete,erectaFolly…’Headdedgently,‘SirGeorge’sFolly…’
AlongshudderingsighescapedMrs.Folliat.
‘Suchabeautifulplace,’saidPoirot.‘Onlyonethingevil…Themanwhoownsit…’
‘Iknow.’Herwordscamehoarsely.‘Ihavealwaysknown.Evenasachildhefrightenedme…Ruthless…Withoutpity…Andwithoutconscience…ButhewasmysonandIlovedhim…IshouldhavespokenoutafterHattie’sdeath…Buthewasmyson–howcouldIbetheonetogivehimup?Andso,becauseofmysilence–thatpoorsillychildwaskilled…Andafterherdeath,oldMerdle…Wherewouldithaveended?’
‘Withamurdereritdoesnotend,’saidPoirot.
Shebowedherhead.Foramomentortwoshestayedso,herhandscoveringhereyes.
ThenMrs.FolliatofGreenshore,daughterofalonglineofsoldiers,drewherselferect.ShelookedstraightatPoirotandhervoicewasformalandremote.
‘Thankyou,M.Poirot,’shesaid,‘forcomingtotellmeyourselfofallthis.Willyouleavemenow?Therearesomethingsthatonehastofacequitealone…’
AbouttheAuthor
AGATHACHRISTIEisthemostwidelypublishedauthorofalltime,outsoldonlybytheBibleandShakespeare.HerbookshavesoldmorethanabillioncopiesinEnglishandanotherbillioninahundredforeignlanguages.Shediedin1976.
www.AgathaChristie.com
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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
TheHarlequinTeaSetandOtherStories
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
Copyright
Thisbookisaworkoffiction.Thecharacters,incidents,anddialoguearedrawnfromtheauthor’simaginationandarenottobeconstruedasreal.Anyresemblancetoactualeventsorpersons,livingordead,isentirelycoincidental.
HerculePoirotandtheGreenshoreFolly?MathewPrichard2013
ForewordfromAgathaChristie’sSecretNotebooks?JohnCurran2009
AGATHACHRISTIE?andPOIROT?areregisteredtrademarksofAgathaChristieLimitedintheUKandelsewhere.Allrightsreserved.
FirstpublishedinGreatBritainbyHarperCollinsPublishersLtd2014
EbookEdition?November2013
AllrightsreservedunderInternationalandPan-AmericanCopyrightConventions.Bypaymentoftherequiredfees,youhavebeengrantedthenonexclusive,nontransferablerighttoaccessandreadthetextofthise-bookonscreen.Nopartofthistextmaybereproduced,transmitted,decompiled,reverse-engineered,orstoredinorintroducedintoanyinformationstorageandretrievalsystem,inanyformorbyanymeans,whetherelectronicormechanical,nowknownorhereinafterinvented,withouttheexpresswrittenpermissionofHarperCollinse-books.
EPubEditionNOVEMBER2013ISBN:9780062334466
10987654321
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