Mrs.McGinty’sDead
AHerculePoirotMystery
Dedication
ToPeterSaundersingratitudeforhiskindnesstoauthors
Contents
TitlePage
Dedication
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Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
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Fifteen
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Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
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Twenty-one
Twenty-two
Twenty-three
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Twenty-five
Twenty-six
Twenty-seven
Epilogue
AbouttheAuthor
TheAgathaChristieCollection
RelatedProducts
Copyright
AboutthePublisher
One
HerculePoirotcameoutoftheVieilleGrand’mèrerestaurantintoSoho.Heturnedupthecollarofhisovercoatthroughprudence,ratherthannecessity,sincethenightwasnotcold.“Butatmyage,onetakesnorisks,”Poirotwaswonttodeclare.
Hiseyesheldareflectivesleepypleasure.TheEscargotsdelaVieilleGrand’mèrehadbeendelicious.Arealfind,thisdingylittlerestaurant.Meditatively,likeawell-feddog,HerculePoirotcurledhistongueroundhislips.Drawinghishandkerchieffromhispocket,hedabbedhisluxuriantmoustaches.
Yes,hehaddinedwell…Andnowwhat?
Ataxi,passinghim,sloweddowninvitingly.Poirothesitatedforamoment,butmadenosign.Whytakeataxi?Hewouldinanycasereachhometooearlytogotobed.
“Alas,”murmuredPoirottohismoustaches,“thatonecanonlyeatthreetimesaday….”
Forafternoonteawasamealtowhichhehadneverbecomeacclimatized.“Ifonepartakesofthefiveo’clock,onedoesnot,”heexplained,“approachthedinnerwiththeproperqualityofexpectantgastricjuices.Andthedinner,letusremember,isthesuprememealoftheday!”
Notforhim,either,themid-morningcoffee.No,chocolateandcroissantsforbreakfast,Déjeunerattwelve-thirtyifpossiblebutcertainlynotlaterthanoneo’clock,andfinallytheclimax:LeD?ner!
ThesewerethepeakperiodsofHerculePoirot’sday.Alwaysamanwhohadtakenhisstomachseriously,hewasreapinghisrewardinoldage.Eatingwasnownotonlyaphysicalpleasure,itwasalsoanintellectualresearch.Forinbetweenmealshespentquitealotoftimesearchingoutandmarkingdownpossiblesourcesofnewanddeliciousfood.LaVieilleGrand’mèrewastheresultofoneofthesequestsandLaVieilleGrand’mèrehadjustreceivedthesealofHerculePoirot’sgastronomicapproval.
Butnow,unfortunately,therewastheeveningtoputin.
HerculePoirotsighed.
“Ifonly,”hethought,“cecherHastingswereavailable….”
Hedweltwithpleasureonhisremembrancesofhisoldfriend.
“Myfirstfriendinthiscountry—andstilltomethedearestfriendIhave.True,oftenandoftendidheenrageme.ButdoIrememberthatnow?No.Irememberonlyhisincredulouswonder,hisopenmouthedappreciationofmytalents—theeasewithwhichImisledhimwithoututteringanuntrueword,hisbafflement,hisstupendousastonishmentwhenheatlastperceivedthetruththathadbeencleartomeallalong.Cecher,cherami!Itismyweakness,ithasalwaysbeenmyweakness,todesiretoshowoff.Thatweakness,Hastingscouldneverunderstand.Butindeeditisverynecessaryforamanofmyabilitiestoadmirehimself—andforthatoneneedsstimulationfromoutside.Icannot,trulyIcannot,sitinachairalldayreflectinghowtrulyadmirableIam.Oneneedsthehumantouch.Oneneeds—astheysaynowadays—thestooge.”
HerculePoirotsighed.HeturnedintoShaftesburyAvenue.
ShouldhecrossitandgoontoLeicesterSquareandspendtheeveningatacinema?Frowningslightly,heshookhishead.Thecinema,moreoftenthannot,enragedhimbytheloosenessofitsplots—thelackoflogicalcontinuityintheargument—eventhephotographywhich,ravedoverbysome,toHerculePoirotseemedoftennomorethantheportrayal
Everything,HerculePoirotdecided,wastooartisticnowadays.Nowherewastheretheloveoforderandmethodthathehimselfprizedsohighly.Andseldomwasthereanyappreciationofsubtlety.Scenesofviolenceandcrudebrutalitywerethefashion,andasaformerpoliceofficer,Poirotwasboredbybrutality.Inhisearlydays,hehadseenplentyofcrudebrutality.Ithadbeenmoretherulethantheexception.Hefounditfatiguing,andunintelligent.
“Thetruthis,”Poirotreflectedasheturnedhisstepshomeward,“Iamnotintunewiththemodernworld.AndIam,inasuperiorway,aslaveasothermenareslaves.Myworkhasenslavedmejustastheirworkenslavesthem.Whenthehourofleisurearrives,theyhavenothingwithwhichtofilltheirleisure.Theretiredfinanciertakesupgolf,thelittlemerchantputsbulbsinhisgarden,me,Ieat.Butthereitis,Icomeroundtoitagain.Onecanonlyeatthreetimesaday.Andinbetweenarethegaps.”
Hepassedanewspapersellerandscannedthebill.
“ResultofMcGintyTrial.Verdict.”
Itstirrednointerestinhim.Herecalledvaguelyasmallparagraphinthepapers.Ithadnotbeenaninterestingmurder.Somewretchedoldwomanknockedontheheadforafewpounds.Allpartofthesenselesscrudebrutalityofthesedays.
Poirotturnedintothecourtyardofhisblockofflats.Asalwayshisheartswelledinapproval.Hewasproudofhishome.Asplendidsymmetricalbuilding.Thelifttookhimuptothethirdfloorwherehehadalargeluxuryflatwithimpeccablechromiumfittings,squarearmchairs,andseverelyrectangularornaments.Therecouldtrulybesaidnottobeacurveintheplace.
Asheopenedthedoorwithhislatchkeyandsteppedintothesquare,whitelobby,hismanservant,George,steppedsoftlytomeethim.
“Goodevening,sir.Thereisa—gentlemanwaitingtoseeyou.”
HerelievedPoirotdeftlyofhisovercoat.
“Indeed?”Poirotwasawareofthatveryslightpausebeforethewordgentleman.Asasocialsnob,Georgewasanexpert.
“Whatishisname?”
“AMr.Spence,sir.”
“Spence.”Thename,forthemoment,meantnothingtoPoirot.Yetheknewthatitshoulddoso.
Pausingforamomentbeforethemirrortoadjusthismoustachestoastateofperfection,Poirotopenedthedoorofthesittingroomandentered.Themansittinginoneofthebigsquarearmchairsgotup.
“Hallo,M.Poirot,hopeyourememberme.It’salongtime…SuperintendentSpence.”
“Butofcourse.”Poirotshookhimwarmlybythehand.
SuperintendentSpenceoftheKilchesterPolice.Averyinterestingcasethathadbeen…AsSpencehadsaid,alongtimeagonow….
Poirotpressedhisguestwithrefreshments.Agrenadine?CrèmedeMenthe?Benedictine?CrèmedeCacao?
AtthismomentGeorgeenteredwithatrayonwhichwasawhiskybottleandasiphon.“Orbeerifyoupreferit,sir?”hemurmuredtothevisitor.
SuperintendentSpence’slargeredfacelightened.
“Beerforme,”hesaid.
PoirotwaslefttowonderoncemoreattheaccomplishmentsofGeorge.Hehimselfhadhadnoideathattherewasbeerintheflatanditseemedincomprehensibletohimthatitcouldbepreferredtoasweetliqueur.
WhenSpencehadhisfoamingtankard,Poirotpouredhimselfoutatinyglassofgleaminggreencrèmedementhe.
“Butitischarmingofyoutolookmeup,”hesaid.“Charming.Youhavecomeupfrom—?”
“Kilchester.I’llberetiredinaboutsixmonths.Actually,Iwasdueforretirementeighteenmonthsago.TheyaskedmetostoponandIdid.”
“Youwerewise,”saidPoirotwithfeeling.“Youwereverywise….”
“WasI?Iwonder.I’mnotsosure.”
“Yes,yes,youwerewise,”Poirotinsisted.“Thelonghoursofennui,youhavenoconceptionofthem.”
“Oh,I’llhaveplentytodowhenIretire.Movedintoanewhouselastyear,wedid.Quiteabitofgardenandshamefullyneglected.Ihaven’tbeenabletogetdowntoitproperlyyet.”
“Ahyes,youareoneofthosewhogarden.Me,onceIdecidedtoliveinthecountryandgrowvegetablemarrows.Itdidnotsucceed.Ihavenotthetemperament.”
“Youshouldhaveseenoneofmymarrowslastyear,”saidSpencewithenthusiasm.“Colossal!Andmyroses.I’mkeenonroses.I’mgoingtohave—”
Hebrokeoff.
“That’snotwhatIcametotalkabout.”
“No,no,youcametoseeanoldacquaintance—itwaskind.Iappreciateit.”
“There’smoretoitthanthat,I’mafraid,M.Poirot.I’llbehonest.Iwantsomething.”
Poirotmurmureddelicately:
“Thereisamortgage,possibly,onyourhouse?Youwouldlikealoan—”
Spenceinterruptedinahorrifiedvoice:
“Oh,goodLord,it’snotmoney!Nothingofthatkind.”
Poirotwavedhishandsingracefulapology.
“Idemandyourpardon.”
“I’lltellyoustraightout—it’sdamnedcheekwhatI’vecomefor.IfyousendmeawaywithafleainmyearIshan’tbesurprised.”
“Therewillbenoflea,”saidPoirot.“Butcontinue.”
“It’stheMcGintycase.You’vereadaboutit,perhaps?”
Poirotshookhishead.
“Notwithattention.Mrs.McGinty—anoldwomaninashoporahouse.Sheisdead,yes.Howdidshedie?”
Spencestaredathim.
“Lord!”hesaid.“Thattakesmeback.Extraordinary.AndIneverthoughtofituntilnow.”
“Ibegyourpardon?”
“Nothing.Justagame.Child’sgame.Weusedtoplayitwhenwewerekids.Alotofusinarow.Questionandansweralldowntheline.‘Mrs.McGinty’sdead!’‘Howdidshedie?’‘DownononekneejustlikeI.’Andthenthenextquestion,‘Mrs.McGinty’sdead.’‘Howdidshedie?’‘HoldingherhandoutjustlikeI.’Andtherewe’dbe,allkneelingandourrightarmsheldoutstiff.Andthenyougotit!‘Mrs.McGinty’sdead.’‘Howdidshedie?’‘LikeTHIS!’Smack,thetopoftherowwouldfallsidewaysanddownweallwentlikeapackofninepins!”Spencelaugheduproariouslyattheremembrance.“Takesmeback,itdoes!”
Poirotwaitedpolitely.Thiswasoneofthemomentswhen,evenafterhalfalifetimeinthecountry,hefoundtheEnglishincomprehensible.HehimselfhadplayedatCacheCacheinhischildhood,buthefeltnodesiretotalkaboutitoreventothinkaboutit.
WhenSpencehadovercomehisownamusement,Poirotrepeatedwithsomeslightweariness,“Howdidshedie?”
ThelaughterwaswipedoffSpence’sface.Hewassuddenlyhimselfagain.
“Shewashitonthebackofherheadwithsomesharp,heavyimplement.Hersavings,aboutthirtypoundsincash,weretakenafterherroomhadbeenransacked.Shelivedaloneinasmallcottageexceptforalodger.ManofthenameofBentley.JamesBentley.”
“Ahyes,Bentley.”
“Theplacewasn’tbrokeninto.Nosignsofanytamperingwiththewindowsorlocks.Bentleywashardup,hadlosthisjob,andowedtwomonths’rent.Themoneywasfoundhiddenunderaloosestoneatthebackofthecottage.Bentley’scoatsleevehadbloodonitandhair—samebloodgroupandtherighthair.Accordingtohisfirststatementhewasnevernearthebody—soitcouldn’thavecometherebyaccident.”
“Whofoundher?”
“Thebakercalledwithbread.Itwasthedayhegotpaid.JamesBentleyopenedthedoortohimandsaidhe’dknockedatMrs.McGinty’sbedroomdoor,butcouldn’tgetananswer.Thebakersuggestedshemighthavebeentakenbad.Theygotthewomanfromnextdoortogoupandsee.Mrs.McGintywasn’tinthebedroom,andhadn’tsleptinthebed,buttheroomhadbeenransackedandthefloorboardshadbeenprisedup.Thentheythoughtoflookingintheparlour.Shewasthere,lyingonthefloor,andtheneighbourfairlyscreamedherheadoff.Thentheygotthepolice,ofcourse.”
“AndBentleywaseventuallyarrestedandtried?”
“Yes.ThecasecameonattheAssizes.Yesterday.Openandshutcase.Thejurywereonlyouttwentyminutesthismorning.Verdict:Guilty.Condemnedtodeath.”
Poirotnodded.
“Andthen,aftertheverdict,yougotinatrainandcametoLondonandcameheretoseeme.Why?”
SuperintendentSpencewaslookingintohisbeerglass.Heranhisfingerslowlyroundandroundtherim.
“Because,”hesaid,“Idon’tthinkhedidit….”
Two
Therewasamomentortwoofsilence.
“Youcametome—”
Poirotdidnotfinishthesentence.
SuperintendentSpencelookedup.Thecolourinhisfacewasdeeperthanithadbeen.Itwasatypicalcountryman’sface,unexpressive,self-contained,withshrewdbuthonesteyes.Itwasthefaceofamanwithdefinitestandardswhowouldneverbebotheredbydoubtsofhimselforbydoubtsofwhatconstitutedrightandwrong.
“I’vebeenalongtimeintheForce,”hesaid.“I’vehadagooddealofexperienceofthis,thatandtheother.Icanjudgeamanaswellasanyothercoulddo.I’vehadcasesofmurderduringmyservice—someofthemstraightforwardenough,someofthemnotsostraightforward.Onecaseyouknowof,M.Poirot—”
Poirotnodded.
“Tricky,thatwas.Butforyou,wemightn’thaveseenclear.Butwedidseeclear—andtherewasn’tanydoubt.Thesamewiththeothersyoudon’tknowabout.TherewasWhistler,hegothis—anddeservedit.TherewerethosechapswhoshotoldGuterman.TherewasVerallandhisarsenic.Trantergotoff—buthediditallright.Mrs.Courtland—shewaslucky—herhusbandwasanastypervertedbitofwork,andthejuryacquittedheraccordingly.Notjustice—justsentiment.You’vegottoallowforthathappeningnowandagain.Sometimesthereisn’tenoughevidence—sometimesthere’ssentiment,sometimesamurderermanagestoputitacrossthejury—thatlastdoesn’thappenoften,butitcanhappen.Sometimesit’sacleverbitofworkbydefendingcounsel—oraprosecutingcounseltakesthewrongtack.Ohyes,I’veseenalotofthingslikethat.But—but—”
Spencewaggedaheavyforefinger.
“Ihaven’tseen—notinmyexperience—aninnocentmanhangedforsomethinghedidn’tdo.It’sathing,M.Poirot,thatIdon’twanttosee.
“Not,”addedSpence,“inthiscountry!”
Poirotgazedbackathim.
“Andyouthinkyouaregoingtoseeitnow.Butwhy—”
Spenceinterruptedhim.
“Iknowsomeofthethingsyou’regoingtosay.I’llanswerthemwithoutyouhavingtoaskthem.Iwasputonthiscase.Iwasputontogetevidenceofwhathappened.Iwentintothewholebusinessverycarefully.Igotthefacts,allthefactsIcould.Allthosefactspointedoneway—pointedtooneperson.WhenI’dgotallthefactsItookthemtomysuperiorofficer.Afterthatitwasoutofmyhands.ThecasewenttothePublicProsecutoranditwasuptohim.Hedecidedtoprosecute—hecouldn’thavedoneanythingelse—notontheevidence.AndsoJamesBentleywasarrestedandcommittedfortrial,andwasdulytriedandhasbeenfoundguilty.Theycouldn’thavefoundhimanythingelse,notontheevidence.Andevidenceiswhatajuryhavetoconsider.Didn’thaveanyqualmsaboutiteither,Ishouldsay.No,Ishouldsaytheywereallquitesatisfiedhewasguilty.”
“Butyou—arenot?”
“No.”
“Why?”
SuperintendentSpencesighed.Herubbedhischinthoughtfullywithhisbighand.
“Idon’tknow.WhatImeanis,Ican’tgiveareason—aconcretereason.TothejuryIdaresayhelookedlikeamurderer—tomehedidn’t—andIknowalotmoreaboutmurderersthantheydo.”
“Yes,yes,youareanexpert.”
“Foronething,youknow,hewasn’tcocky.Notcockyatall.Andinmyexperiencetheyusuallyare.Alwayssodamnedpleasedwiththemselves.Alwaysthinkthey’restringingyoualong.Alwayssurethey’vebeensocleveraboutthewholething.Andevenwhenthey’reinthedockandmustknowthey’reforit,they’restillinaqueersortofwaygettingakickoutofitall.They’reinthelimelight.They’rethecentralfigure.Playingthestarpart—perhapsforthefirsttimeintheirlives.They’re—well—youknow—cocky!”
Spencebroughtoutthewordwithanairoffinality.
“You’llunderstandwhatImeanbythat,M.Poirot.”
“Iunderstandverywell.AndthisJamesBentley—hewasnotlikethat?”
“No.Hewas—well,justscaredstiff.Scaredstifffromthestart.Andtosomepeoplethatwouldsquareinwithhisbeingguilty.Butnottome.”
“No,Iagreewithyou.Whatishelike,thisJamesBentley?”
“Thirty-three,mediumheight,sallowcomplexion,wearsglasses—”
Poirotarrestedtheflow.
“No,Idonotmeanhisphysicalcharacteristics.Whatsortofapersonality?”
“Oh—that.”SuperintendentSpenceconsidered.“Unprepossessingsortoffellow.Nervousmanner.Can’tlookyoustraightintheface.Hasaslysidewayswayofpeeringatyou.Worstpossiblesortofmannerforajury.Sometimescringingandsometimestruculent.Blustersinaninefficientkindofway.”
Hepausedandaddedinaconversationaltone:
“Reallyashykindofchap.Hadacousinratherlikethat.Ifanything’sawkwardtheygoandtellsomesillyliethathasn’tachanceofbeingbelieved.”
“Hedoesnotsoundattractive,yourJamesBentley.”
“Oh,heisn’t.Nobodycouldlikehim.ButIdon’twanttoseehimhangedforallthat.”
“Andyouthinkhewillbehanged?”
“Idon’tseewhynot.Hiscounselmaylodgeanappeal—butifsoitwillbeonveryflimsygrounds—atechnicalityofsomekind,andIdon’tseethatitwillhaveachanceofsuccess.”
“Didhehaveagoodcounsel?”
“YoungGraybrookwasallottedtohimunderthePoorPersons’DefenceAct.I’dsayhewasthoroughlyconscientiousandputupthebestshowhecould.”
“Sothemanhadafairtrialandwascondemnedbyajuryofhisfellowmen.”
“That’sright.Agoodaveragejury.Sevenmen,fivewomen—alldecentreasonablesouls.JudgewasoldStanisdale.Scrupulouslyfair—nobias.”
“So—accordingtothelawoftheland—JamesBentleyhasnothingtocomplainof?”
“Ifhe’shangedforsomethinghedidn’tdo,he’sgotsomethingtocomplainof!”
“Averyjustobservation.”
“Andthecaseagainsthimwasmycase—Icollectedthefactsandputthemtogether—andit’sonthatcaseandthosefactsthathe’sbeencondemned.AndIdon’tlikeit,M.Poirot,Idon’tlikeit.”
HerculePoirotlookedforalongtimeattheredagitatedfaceofSuperintendentSpence.
“Ehbien,”hesaid.“Whatdoyousuggest?”
Spencelookedacutelyembarrassed.
“Iexpectyou’vegotaprettygoodideaofwhat’scoming.TheBentleycaseisclosed.I’monanothercasealready—embezzlement.GottogouptoScotlandtonight.I’mnotafreeman.”
“AndI—am?”
Spencenoddedinashamefacedsortofway.
“You’vegotit.Awfulcheek,you’llthink.ButIcan’tthinkofanythingelse—ofanyotherway.IdidallIcouldatthetime,IexaminedeverypossibilityIcould.AndIdidn’tgetanywhere.Idon’tbelieveIeverwouldgetanywhere.Butwhoknows,itmaybedifferentforyou.Youlookatthingsin—ifyou’llpardonmeforsayingso—inafunnysortofway.Maybethat’sthewayyou’vegottolookattheminthiscase.BecauseifJamesBentleydidn’tkillher,thensomebodyelsedid.Shedidn’tchopthebackofherheadinherself.YoumaybeabletofindsomethingthatImissed.There’snoreasonwhyyoushoulddoanythingaboutthisbusiness.It’sinfernalcheekmyevensuggestingsuchathing.Butthereitis.IcametoyoubecauseitwastheonlythingIcouldthinkof.Butifyoudon’twanttoputyourselfout—andwhyshouldyou—”
Poirotinterruptedhim.
“Oh,butindeedtherearereasons.Ihaveleisure—toomuchleisure.Andyouhaveintriguedme—yes,youhaveintriguedmeverymuch.Itisachallenge—tothelittlegreycellsofmybrain.Andthen,Ihavearegardforyou.Iseeyou,inyourgardeninsixmonths’time,planting,perhaps,therosebushes—andasyouplantthemitisnotwiththehappinessyoushouldbefeeling,becausebehindeverythingthereisanunpleasantnessinyourbrain,arecollectionthatyoutrytopushaway,andIwouldnothaveyoufeelthat,myfriend.Andfinally—”Poirotsatuprightandnoddedhisheadvigorously,“thereistheprincipleofthething.Ifamanhasnotcommittedmurder,heshouldnotbehanged.”Hepausedandthenadded,“Butsupposingthatafterall,hedidkillher?”
“InthatcaseI’dbeonlytoothankfultobeconvincedofit.”
“Andtwoheadsarebetterthanone?Voilà,everythingissettled.Iprecipitatemyselfuponthebusiness.Thereis,thatisclear,notimetobelost.Alreadythescentiscold.Mrs.McGintywaskilled—when?”
“LastNovember,22nd.”
“Thenletusatoncegetdowntothebrasstacks.”
“I’vegotmynotesonthecasewhichI’llpassovertoyou.”
“Good.Forthemoment,weneedonlythebareoutline.IfJamesBentleydidnotkillMrs.McGinty,whodid?”
Spenceshruggedhisshouldersandsaidheavily:
“There’snobody,sofarasIcansee.”
“Butthatanswerwedonotaccept.Now,sinceforeverymurdertheremustbeamotive,what,inthecaseofMrs.McGinty,couldthemotivebe?Envy,revenge,jealousy,fear,money?Letustakethelastandthesimplest?Whoprofitedbyherdeath?”
“Nobodyverymuch.ShehadtwohundredpoundsintheSavingsBank.Herniecegetsthat.”
“Twohundredpoundsisnotverymuch—butincertaincircumstancesitcouldbeenough.Soletusconsidertheniece.Iapologize,myfriend,fortreadinginyourfootsteps.Youtoo,Iknow,musthaveconsideredallthis.ButIhavetogooverwithyouthegroundalreadytraversed.”
Spencenoddedhislargehead.
“Weconsideredtheniece,ofcourse.She’sthirty-eight,married.Husbandisemployedinthebuildinganddecoratingtrade—apainter.He’sgotagoodcharacter,steadyemployment,sharpsortoffellow,nofool.She’sapleasantyoungwoman,abittalkative,seemedfondofherauntinamildsortofway.Neitherofthemhadanyurgentneedfortwohundredpounds,thoughquitepleasedtohaveit,Idaresay.”
“Whataboutthecottage?Dotheygetthat?”
“Itwasrented.Ofcourse,undertheRentRestrictionActthelandlordcouldn’tgettheoldwomanout.Butnowshe’sdead,Idon’tthinktheniececouldhavetakenover—anywaysheandherhusbanddidn’twantto.They’vegotasmallmoderncouncilhouseoftheirownofwhichtheyareextremelyproud.”Spencesighed.“Iwentintothenieceandherhusbandprettyclosely—theyseemedthebestbet,asyou’llunderstand.ButIcouldn’tgetholdofanything.”
“Bien.NowletustalkaboutMrs.McGintyherself.Describehertome—andnotonlyinphysicalterms,ifyouplease.”
Spencegrinned.
“Don’twantapolicedescription?Well,shewassixty-four.Widow.HusbandhadbeenemployedinthedraperydepartmentofHodgesinKilchester.Hediedaboutsevenyearsago.Pneumonia.Sincethen,Mrs.McGintyhasbeengoingoutdailytovarioushousesroundabout.Domesticchores.Broadhinny’sasmallvillagewhichhaslatelybecomeresidential
Poirotnodded.
“Mrs.McGinty’scottagewasoneoffourthatformthevillageproper.Thereisthepostofficeandvillageshop,andagriculturallabourersliveintheothers.”
“Andshetookinalodger?”
“Yes.Beforeherhusbanddied,itusedtobesummervisitors,butafterhisdeathshejusttookoneregular.JamesBentleyhadbeenthereforsomemonths.”
“Sowecometo—JamesBentley?”
“Bentley’slastjobwaswithahouseagent’sinKilchester.Beforethat,helivedwithhismotherinCullenquay.Shewasaninvalidandhelookedafterherandneverwentoutmuch.Thenshedied,andanannuityshehaddiedwithher.Hesoldthelittlehouseandfoundajob.Well-educatedman,butnospecialqualificationsoraptitudes,and,asIsay,anunprepossessingmanner.Didn’tfinditeasytogetanything.Anyway,theytookhimonatBreather&Scuttle’s.Ratherasecond-ratefirm.Idon’tthinkhewasparticularlyefficientorsuccessful.Theycutdownstaffandhewastheonetogo.Hecouldn’tgetanotherjob,andhismoneyranout.HeusuallypaidMrs.McGintyeverymonthforhisroom.Shegavehimbreakfastandsupperandchargedhimthreepoundsaweek—quitereasonable,allthingsconsidered.Hewastwomonthsbehindinpayingher,andhewasnearlyattheendofhisresources.Hehadn’tgotanotherjobandshewaspressinghimforwhatheowedher.”
“Andheknewthatshehadthirtypoundsinthehouse?Whydidshehavethirtypoundsinthehouse,bytheway,sinceshehadaSavingsBankaccount?”
“Becauseshedidn’ttrusttheGovernment.Saidthey’dgottwohundredpoundsofhermoney,buttheywouldn’tgetanymore.She’dkeepthatwhereshecouldlayherhandsonitanyminute.Shesaidthattooneortwopeople.Itwasunderalooseboardinherbedroomfloor—averyobviousplace.JamesBentleyadmittedheknewitwasthere.”
“Veryobligingofhim.Anddidnieceandhusbandknowthattoo?”
“Ohyes.”
“Thenwehavenowarrivedbackatmyfirstquestiontoyou.HowdidMrs.McGintydie?”
“ShediedonthenightofNovember22nd.Policesurgeonputthetimeofdeathasbeingbetween7and10p.m.She’dhadhersupper—akipperandbreadandmargarine,andaccordingtoallaccounts,sheusuallyhadthatabouthalfpastsix.Ifsheadheredtothatonthenightinquestion,thenbytheevidenceofdigestionshewaskilledabouteightthirtyornineo’clock.JamesBentley,byhisownaccount,wasoutwalkingthateveningfromsevenfifteentoaboutnine.Hewentoutandwalkedmosteveningsafterdark.Accordingtohisownstoryhecameinataboutnineo’clock(hehadhisownkey)andwentstraightupstairstohisroom.Mrs.McGintyhadhadwashbasinsfixedinthebedroomsbecauseofsummervisitors.Hereadforabouthalfanhourandthenwenttobed.Heheardandnoticednothingoutoftheway.Nextmorninghecamedownstairsandlookedintothekitchen,buttherewasnoonethereandnosignsofbreakfastbeingprepared.HesayshehesitatedabitandthenknockedonMrs.McGinty’sdoor,butgotnoreply.
“Hethoughtshemusthaveoverslept,butdidn’tliketogoonknocking.ThenthebakercameandJamesBentleywentupandknockedagain,andafterthat,asItoldyou,thebakerwentnextdoorandfetchedinaMrs.Elliot,whoeventuallyfoundthebodyandwentoffthedeepend.Mrs.McGintywaslyingontheparlourfloor.She’dbeenhitonthebackoftheheadwithsomethingratherinthenatureofameatchopperwithaverysharpedge.She’dbeenkilledinstantaneously.Drawerswerepulledopenandthingsstrewnabout,andthelooseboardinthefloorinherbedroomhadbeenprisedupandthecachewasempty.Allthewindowswereclosedandshutteredontheinside.Nosignsofanythingbeingtamperedwithorofbeingbrokenintofromoutside.”
“Therefore,”saidPoirot,“eitherJamesBentleymusthavekilledher,orelseshemusthaveadmittedherkillerherselfwhilstBentleywasout?”
“Exactly.Itwasn’tanyholduporburglar.Nowwhowouldshebelikelytoletin?Oneoftheneighbours,orherniece,orherniece’shusband.Itboilsdowntothat.Weeliminatedtheneighbours.Nieceandherhusbandwereatthepicturesthatnight.Itispossible—justpossible,thatoneorotherofthemleftthecinemaunobserved,bicycledthreemiles,killedtheoldwoman,hidthemoneyoutsidethehouse,andgotbackintothecinemaunnoticed.Welookedintothatpossibility,butwedidn’tfindanyconfirmationofit.AndwhyhidethemoneyoutsideMcGinty’shouseifso?Difficultplacetopickituplater.Whynotsomewherealongthethreemilesback?No,theonlyreasonforhidingitwhereitwashidden—”
Poirotfinishedthesentenceforhim.
“Wouldbebecauseyouwerelivinginthathouse,butdidn’twanttohideitinyourroomoranywhereinside.Infact:JamesBentley.”
“That’sright.Everywhere,everytime,youcameupagainstBentley.Finallytherewasthebloodonhiscuff.”
“Howdidheaccountforthat?”
“Saidherememberedbrushingupagainstabutcher’sshopthepreviousday.Baloney!Itwasn’tanimalblood.”
“Andhestucktothatstory?”
“Notlikely.Atthetrialhetoldacompletelydifferenttale.Yousee,therewasahaironthecuffaswell—abloodstainedhair,andthehairwasidenticalwithMrs.McGinty’shair.Thathadgottobeexplainedaway.Headmittedthenthathehadgoneintotheroomthenightbeforewhenhecamebackfromhiswalk.He’dgonein,hesaid,afterknocking,andfoundherthere,onthefloor,dead.He’dbentoverandtouchedher,hesaid,tomakesure.Andthenhe’dlosthishead.He’dalwaysbeenverymuchaffectedbythesightofblood,hesaid.Hewenttohisroominastateofcollapseandmoreorlessfainted.Inthemorninghecouldn’tbringhimselftoadmitheknewwhathadhappened.”
“Averyfishystory,”commentedPoirot.
“Yes,indeed.Andyet,youknow,”saidSpencethoughtfully,“itmightwellbetrue.It’snotthesortofthingthatanordinaryman—orajury—canbelieve.ButI’vecomeacrosspeoplelikethat.Idon’tmeanthecollapsestory.Imeanpeoplewhoareconfrontedbyademandforresponsibleactionandwhosimplycan’tfaceuptoit.Shypeople.Hegoesin,say,andfindsher.Heknowsthatheoughttodosomething—getthepolice—gotoaneighbour—dotherightthingwhateveritis.Andhefunksit.Hethinks‘Idon’tneedtoknowanythingaboutit.Ineedn’thavecomeinheretonight.I’llgotobedjustasifIhadn’tcomeinhereatall…’Behindit,ofcourse,there’sfear—fearthathemaybesuspectedofhavingahandinit.Hethinkshe’llkeephimselfoutofitaslongaspossible,andsothesillyjugginsgoesandputshimselfintoit—uptohisneck.”
Spencepaused.
“Itcouldhavebeenthatway.”
“Itcould,”saidPoirotthoughtfully.
“Oragain,itmayhavebeenjustthebeststoryhiscounselcouldthinkupforhim.ButIdon’tknow.ThewaitressinthecaféinKilchesterwhereheusuallyhadlunchsaidthathealwayschoseatablewherehecouldlookintoawalloracornerandnotseepeople.Hewasthatkindofachap—justabitscrewy.Butnotscrewyenoughtobeakiller
SpencelookedhopefullyatPoirot—butPoirotdidnotrespond—hewasfrowning
Thetwomensatsilentforawhile.
Three
AtlastPoirotrousedhimselfwithasigh.
“Ehbien,”hesaid.“Wehaveexhaustedthemotiveofmoney.Letuspasstoothertheories.HadMrs.McGintyanenemy?Wassheafraidofanyone?”
“Noevidenceofit.”
“Whatdidherneighbourshavetosay?”
“Notverymuch.Theywouldn’ttothepolice,perhaps,butIdon’tthinktheywereholdinganythingback.Shekeptherselftoherself,theysaid.Butthat’sregardedasnaturalenough.Ourvillages,youknow,M.Poirot,aren’tfriendly.Evacueesfoundthatduringthewar.Mrs.McGintypassedthetimeofdaywiththeneighboursbuttheyweren’tintimate.”
“Howlonghadshelivedthere?”
“Matterofeighteenortwentyyears,Ithink.”
“Andthefortyyearsbeforethat?”
“There’snomysteryabouther.Farmer’sdaughterfromNorthDevon.SheandherhusbandlivednearIlfracombeforatime,andthenmovedtoKilchester.Hadacottagetheothersideofit—butfounditdamp,sotheymovedtoBroadhinny.Husbandseemstohavebeenaquiet,decentman,delicate—didn’tgotothepubmuch.Allveryrespectableandaboveboard.Nomysteriesanywhere,nothingtohide.”
“Andyetshewaskilled?”
“Andyetshewaskilled.”
“Theniecedidn’tknowofanyonewhohadagrudgeagainstheraunt?”
“Shesaysnot.”
Poirotrubbedhisnoseinanexasperatedfashion.
“Youcomprehend,mydearfriend,itwouldbesomucheasierifMrs.McGintywasnotMrs.McGinty,sotospeak.IfshecouldbewhatiscalledaMysteryWoman—awomanwithapast.”
“Well,shewasn’t,”saidSpencestolidly.“ShewasjustMrs.McGinty,amoreorlessuneducatedwoman,wholetroomsandwentoutcharring.ThousandsofthemalloverEngland.”
“Buttheydonotallgetmurdered.”
“No.Igrantyouthat.”
“SowhyshouldMrs.McGintygetmurdered?Theobviousanswerwedonotaccept.Whatremains?Ashadowyandimprobableniece.Anevenmoreshadowyandimprobablestranger.Facts?Letussticktofacts.Whatarethefacts?Anelderlycharwomanismurdered.Ashyanduncouthyoungmanisarrestedandconvictedofthemurder.WhywasJamesBentleyarrested?”
Spencestared.
“Theevidenceagainsthim.I’vetoldyou—”
“Yes.Evidence.Buttellme,mySpence,wasitrealevidenceorwasitcontrived?”
“Contrived?”
“Yes.GrantedthepremisethatJamesBentleyisinnocent,twopossibilitiesremain.Theevidencewasmanufactured,deliberately,tothrowsuspicionuponhim.Orelsehewasjusttheunfortunatevictimofcircumstances.”
Spenceconsidered.
“Yes.Iseewhatyou’redrivingat.”
“Thereisnothingtoshowthattheformerwasthecase.Butagainthereisnothingtoshowthatitwasnotso.Themoneywastakenandhiddenoutsidethehouseinaplaceeasilyfound.Tohaveactuallyhiddenitinhisroomwouldhavebeenalittletoomuchforthepolicetoswallow.ThemurderwascommittedatatimewhenBentleywastakingalonelywalk,asheoftendid.Didthebloodstaincomeonhissleeveashesaiditdidathistrial,orwasthat,too,contrived?Didsomeonebrushagainsthiminthedarknessandsmeartell-taleevidenceonhissleeve?”
“Ithinkthat’sgoingabitfar,M.Poirot.”
“Perhaps,perhaps.Butwehavegottogofar.Ithinkthatinthiscasewehavegottogosofarthattheimaginationcannotasyetseethepathclearly…For,yousee,moncherSpence,ifMrs.McGintyisjustanordinarycharwoman—itisthemurdererwhomustbeextraordinary.Yes—thatfollowsclearly.Itisinthemurdererandnotthemurderedthattheinterestofthiscaselies.Thatisnotthecaseinmostcrimes.Usuallyitisinthepersonalityofthemurderedpersonthatthecruxofthesituationlies.ItisthesilentdeadinwhomIamusuallyinterested.Theirhates,theirloves,theiractions.Andwhenyoureallyknowthemurderedvictim,thenthevictimspeaks,andthosedeadlipsutteraname—thenameyouwanttoknow.”
Spencelookedratheruncomfortable.
“Thoseforeigners!”heseemedtobesayingtohimself.
“Buthere,”continuedPoirot,“itistheopposite.Hereweguessataveiledpersonality—afigurestillhiddenindarkness.HowdidMrs.McGintydie?Whydidshedie?TheanswerisnottobefoundinstudyingthelifeofMrs.McGinty.Theansweristobefoundinthepersonalityofthemurderer.Youagreewithmethere?”
“Isupposeso,”saidSuperintendentSpencecautiously.
“Someonewhowanted—what?TostrikedownMrs.McGinty?OrtostrikedownJamesBentley?”
TheSuperintendentgaveadoubtful“H’m!”
“Yes—yes,thatisoneofthefirstpointstobedecided.Whoistherealvictim?Whowasintendedtobethevictim?”
Spencesaidincredulously:“Youreallythinksomeonewouldbumpoffaperfectlyinoffensiveoldwomaninordertogetsomeoneelsehangedformurder?”
“Onecannotmakeanomelette,theysay,withoutbreakingeggs.Mrs.McGinty,then,maybetheegg,andJamesBentleyistheomelette.Soletmehear,now,whatyouknowofJamesBentley.”
“Nothingmuch.Fatherwasadoctor—diedwhenBentleywasnineyearsold.Hewenttooneofthesmallerpublicschools,unfitfortheArmy,hadaweakchest,wasinoneoftheMinistriesduringthewarandlivedwithapossessivemother.”
“Well,”saidPoirot,“therearecertainpossibilitiesthere…MorethanthereareinthelifehistoryofMrs.McGinty.”
“Doyouseriouslybelievewhatyouaresuggesting?”
“No,Idonotbelieveanythingasyet.ButIsaythattherearetwodistinctlinesofresearch,andthatwehavetodecide,verysoon,whichistherightonetofollow.”
“Howareyougoingtosetaboutthings,M.Poirot?IsthereanythingIcando?”
“First,IshouldlikeaninterviewwithJamesBentley.”
“Thatcanbearranged.I’llgetontohissolicitors.”
“Afterthatandsubject,ofcourse,totheresult,ifany—Iamnothopeful—ofthatinterview,IshallgotoBroadhinny.There,aidedbyyournotes,Ishall,asquicklyaspossible,gooverthatsamegroundwhereyouhavepassedbeforeme.”
“IncaseI’vemissedanything,”saidSpencewithawrysmile.
“Incase,Iwouldprefertosay,thatsomecircumstanceshouldstrikemeinadifferentlighttotheoneinwhichitstruckyou.Humanreactionsvaryandsodoeshumanexperience.TheresemblanceofarichfinanciertoasoapboilerwhomIhadknowninLiègeoncebroughtaboutamostsatisfactoryresult.Butnoneedtogointothat.WhatIshouldliketodoistoeliminateoneorotherofthetrailsIindicatedjustnow.AndtoeliminatetheMrs.McGintytrail—trailNo.1—willobviouslybequickerandeasierthantoattacktrailNo.2.Where,now,canIstayinBroadhinny?Isthereaninnofmoderatecomfort?”
“There’stheThreeDucks—butitdoesn’tputpeopleup.There’stheLambinCullavonthreemilesaway—orthereisakindofaGuestHouseinBroadhinnyitself.It’snotreallyaGuestHouse,justaratherdecrepitcountryhousewheretheyoungcouplewhoownittakeinpayingguests.Idon’tthink,”saidSpencedubiously,“thatit’sverycomfortable.”
HerculePoirotclosedhiseyesinagony
“IfIsuffer,Isuffer,”hesaid.“Ithastobe.”
“Idon’tknowwhatyou’llgothereas,”continuedSpencedoubtfullyasheeyedPoirot.“Youmightbesomekindofanoperasinger.Voicebrokendown.Gottorest.Thatmightdo.”
“Ishallgo,”saidHerculePoirot,speakingwithaccentsofroyalblood,“asmyself.”
Spencereceivedthispronouncementwithpursedlips.
“D’youthinkthat’sadvisable?”
“Ithinkitisessential!Butyes,essential.Consider,cherami,itistimeweareupagainst.Whatdoweknow?Nothing.Sothehope,thebesthope,istogopretendingthatIknowagreatdeal.IamHerculePoirot.Iamthegreat,theuniqueHerculePoirot.AndI,HerculePoirot,amnotsatisfiedabouttheverdictintheMcGintycase.I,HerculePoirot,haveaveryshrewdsuspicionofwhatreallyhappened.ThereisacircumstancethatI,alone,estimateatitstruevalue.Yousee?”
“Andthen?”
“Andthen,havingmademyeffect,Iobservethereactions.Forthereshouldbereactions.Verydefinitely,thereshouldbereactions.”
SuperintendentSpencelookeduneasilyatthelittleman.
“Lookhere,M.Poirot,”hesaid.“Don’tgostickingoutyourneck.Idon’twantanythingtohappentoyou.”
“Butifitdoes,youwouldbeprovedrightbeyondtheshadowofdoubt,isitnotso?”
“Idon’twantitprovedthehardway,”saidSuperintendentSpence.
Four
Withgreatdistaste,HerculePoirotlookedroundtheroominwhichhestood.Itwasaroomofgraciousproportionsbutthereitsattractionended.Poirotmadeaneloquentgrimaceashedrewasuspiciousfingeralongthetopofabookcase.Ashehadsuspected—dust!Hesatdowngingerlyonasofaanditsbrokenspringssaggeddepressinglyunderhim.Thetwofadedarmchairswere,asheknew,littlebetter.Alargefierce-lookingdogwhomPoirotsuspectedofhavingmangegrowledfromhispositiononamoderatelycomfortablefourthchair.
Theroomwaslarge,andhadafadedMorriswallpaper.Steelengravingsofunpleasantsubjectshungcrookedlyonthewallswithoneortwogoodoilpaintings.Thechaircoverswerebothfadedanddirty,thecarpethadholesinitandhadneverbeenofapleasantdesign.Agooddealofmiscellaneousbric-à-bracwasscatteredhaphazardhereandthere.Tablesrockeddangerouslyowingtoabsenceofcastors.Onewindowwasopen,andnopoweronearthcould,apparently,shutitagain.Thedoor,temporarilyshut,wasnotlikelytoremainso.Thelatchdidnothold,andwitheverygustofwinditburstopenandwhirlinggustsofcoldwindeddiedroundtheroom.
“Isuffer,”saidHerculePoirottohimselfinacuteself-pity.“Yes,Isuffer.”
ThedoorburstopenandthewindandMrs.Summerhayescameintogether.Shelookedroundtheroom,shouted“What?”tosomeoneinthedistanceandwentoutagain.
Mrs.Summerhayeshadredhairandanattractivelyfreckledfaceandwasusuallyinadistractedstateofputtingthingsdown,orelselookingforthem.
HerculePoirotsprangtohisfeetandshutthedoor.
AmomentortwolateritopenedagainandMrs.Summerhayesreappeared.Thistimeshewascarryingalargeenamelbasinandaknife.
Aman’svoicefromsomewayawaycalledout:
“Maureen,thatcat’sbeensickagain.WhatshallIdo?”
Mrs.Summerhayescalled:“I’mcoming,darling.Holdeverything.”
Shedroppedthebasinandtheknifeandwentoutagain.
Poirotgotupagainandshutthedoor.Hesaid:
“Decidedly,Isuffer.”
Acardroveup,thelargedogleapedfromthechairandraiseditsvoiceinacrescendoofbarking.Hejumpedonasmalltablebythewindowandthetablecollapsedwithacrash.
“Enfin,”saidHerculePoirot.“C’estinsupportable!”
Thedoorburstopen,thewindsurgedroundtheroom,thedogrushedout,stillbarking.Maureen’svoicecame,upraisedloudandclear.
“Johnnie,whythehelldidyouleavethebackdooropen!Thosebloodyhensareinthelarder.”
“Andforthis,”saidHerculePoirotwithfeeling,“Ipaysevenguineasaweek!”
Thedoorbangedtowithacrash.Throughthewindowcametheloudsquawkingofiratehens.
ThenthedooropenedagainandMaureenSummerhayescameinandfelluponthebasinwithacryofjoy.
“Couldn’tthinkwhereI’dleftit.Wouldyoumindfrightfully,Mr.Er—hum—Imean,woulditbotheryouifIslicedthebeansinhere?Thesmellinthekitchenistoofrightful.”
“Madame,Ishouldbeenchanted.”
Itwasnot,perhaps,theexactphrase,butitwasnearenough.Itwasthefirsttimeintwenty-fourhoursthatPoirothadseenanychanceofaconversationofmorethansixseconds’duration.
Mrs.Summerhayesflungherselfdowninachairandbeganslicingbeanswithfrenziedenergyandconsiderableawkwardness.
“Idohope,”shesaid,“thatyou’renottoofrightfullyuncomfortable?Ifthere’sanythingyouwantaltered,dosayso.”
PoirothadalreadycometotheopinionthattheonlythinginLongMeadowshecouldeventoleratewashishostess.
“Youaretookind,madame,”herepliedpolitely.“Ionlywishitwerewithinmypowerstoprovideyouwithsuitabledomestics.”
“Domestics!”Mrs.Summerhayesgaveasqueal.“Whatahope!Can’tevengetholdofadaily.Ourreallygoodonewasmurdered.Justmyluck.”
“ThatwouldbeMrs.McGinty,”saidPoirotquickly.
“Mrs.McGintyitwas.God,howImissthatwoman!Ofcourseitwasallabigthrillatthetime.Firstmurderwe’veeverhadrightinthefamily,sotospeak,butasItoldJohnnie,itwasadownrightbitofbadluckforus.WithoutMcGintyIjustcan’tcope.”
“Youwereattachedtoher?”
“Mydearman,shewasreliable.Shecame.MondayafternoonsandThursdaymornings—justlikeaclock.NowIhavethatBurpwomanfromupbythestation.Fivechildrenandahusband.Naturallyshe’sneverhere.Eitherthehusband’stakenqueer,ortheoldmother,orthechildrenhavesomefouldiseaseorother.WitholdMcGinty,atleastitwasonlysheherselfwhocameoverqueer,andImustsayshehardlyeverdid.”
“Andyoufoundheralwaysreliableandhonest?Youhadtrustinher?”
“Oh,she’dneverpinchanything—notevenfood.Ofcourseshesnoopedabit.Hadalookatone’slettersandallthat.Butoneexpectsthatsortofthing.Imeantheymustlivesuchawfullydrablives,mustn’tthey?”
“HadMrs.McGintyhadadrablife?”
“Ghastly,Iexpect,”saidMrs.Summerhayesvaguely.“Alwaysonyourkneesscrubbing.Andthenpilesofotherpeople’swashing-upwaitingforyouonthesinkwhenyouarriveinthemorning.IfIhadtofacethateveryday,I’dbepositivelyrelievedtobemurdered.Ireallywould.”
ThefaceofMajorSummerhayesappearedatthewindow.Mrs.Summerhayessprangup,upsettingthebeans,andrushedacrosstothewindow,whichsheopenedtothefullestextent.
“Thatdamneddog’seatenthehens’foodagain,Maureen.”
“Ohdamn,nowhe’llbesick!”
“Lookhere,”JohnSummerhayesdisplayedacolanderfullofgreenery,“isthisenoughspinach?”
“Ofcoursenot.”
“Seemsacolossalamounttome.”
“It’llbeaboutateaspoonfulwhenit’scooked.Don’tyouknowbynowwhatspinachislike?”
“OhLord!”
“Hasthefishcome?”
“Notasignofit.”
“Hell,we’llhavetoopenatinofsomething.Youmightdothat,Johnnie.Oneoftheonesinthecornercupboard.Thatonewethoughtwasabitbulged.Iexpectit’squiteallrightreally.”
“Whataboutthespinach?”
“I’llgetthat.”
Sheleapedthroughthewindow,andhusbandandwifemovedawaytogether.
“Nomd’unnomd’unnom!”saidHerculePoirot.Hecrossedtheroomandclosedthewindowasnearlyashecould.ThevoiceofMajorSummerhayescametohimborneonthewind.
“Whataboutthisnewfellow,Maureen?Looksabitpeculiartome.What’shisnameagain?”
“Icouldn’trememberitjustnowwhenIwastalkingtohim.HadtosayMr.Er-um.Poirot—that’swhatitis.He’sFrench.”
“Youknow,Maureen,Iseemtohaveseenthatnamesomewhere.”
“HomePerm,perhaps.Helookslikeahairdresser.”Poirotwinced.
“N-no.Perhapsit’spickles.Idon’tknow.I’msureit’sfamiliar.Bettergetthefirstsevenguineasoutofhim,quick.”
Thevoicesdiedaway.
HerculePoirotpickedupthebeansfromthefloorwheretheyhadscatteredfarandwide.Justashefinisheddoingso,Mrs.Summerhayescameinagainthroughthedoor.
Hepresentedthemtoherpolitely:
“Voici,madame.”
“Oh,thanksawfully.Isay,thesebeanslookabitblack.Westorethem,youknow,incrocks,salteddown.Buttheseseemtohavegonewrong.I’mafraidtheywon’tbeverynice.”
“I,too,fearthat…YoupermitthatIshutthedoor?Thereisadecideddraught.”
“Ohyes,do.I’mafraidIalwaysleavedoorsopen.”
“SoIhavenoticed.”
“Anyway,thatdoorneverstaysshut.Thishouseispracticallyfallingtopieces.Johnnie’sfatherandmotherlivedhereandtheywerebadlyoff,poordears,andtheyneverdidathingtoit.AndthenwhenwecamehomefromIndiatolivehere,wecouldn’taffordtodoanythingeither.It’sfunforthechildrenintheholidays,though,lotsofroomtorunwildin,andthegardenandeverything.Havingpayingguestsherejustenablesustokeepgoing,thoughImustsaywe’vehadafewrudeshocks.”
“AmIyouronlyguestatpresent?”
“We’vegotanoldladyupstairs.Tooktoherbedthedayshecameandhasbeenthereeversince.NothingthematterwithherthatIcansee.Buttheresheis,andIcarryupfourtraysaday.Nothingwrongwithherappetite.Anyway,she’sgoingtomorrowtosomenieceorother.”
Mrs.Summerhayespausedforamomentbeforeresuminginaslightlyartificialvoice.
“Thefishmanwillbehereinaminute.Iwonderifyou’dmind—er—forkingoutthefirstweek’srent.Youarestayingaweek,aren’tyou?”
“Perhapslonger.”
“Sorrytobotheryou.ButI’venotgotanycashinthehouseandyouknowwhatthesepeoplearelike—alwaysdunningyou.”
“Praydonotapologize,madame.”Poirottookoutsevenpoundnotesandaddedsevenshillings.Mrs.Summerhayesgatheredthemoneyupwithavidity.
“Thanksalot.”
“Ishould,perhaps,madame,tellyoualittlemoreaboutmyself.IamHerculePoirot.”
TherevelationleftMrs.Summerhayesunmoved.
“Whatalovelyname,”shesaidkindly.“Greek,isn’tit?”
“Iam,asyoumayknow,”saidPoirot,“adetective.”Hetappedhischest.“Perhapsthemostfamousdetectivethereis.”
Mrs.Summerhayesscreamedwithamusement.
“Iseeyou’reagreatpracticaljoker,M.Poirot.Whatareyoudetecting?Cigaretteashandfootprints?”
“IaminvestigatingthemurderofMrs.McGinty,”saidPoirot.“AndIdonotjoke.”
“Ouch,”saidMrs.Summerhayes,“I’vecutmyhand.”
Sheraisedafingerandinspectedit.
ThenshestaredatPoirot.
“Lookhere,”shesaid.“Doyoumeanit?WhatImeanis,it’sallover,allthat.Theyarrestedthatpoorhalf-witwholodgedthereandhe’sbeentriedandconvictedandeverything.He’sprobablybeenhangedbynow.”
“No,madame,”saidPoirot.“Hehasnotbeenhanged—yet.Anditisnot‘over’—thecaseofMrs.McGinty.Iwillremindyouofthelinefromoneofyourpoets.‘Aquestionisneversettleduntilitissettled—right.’”
“Oo,”saidMrs.Summerhayes,herattentiondivertedfromPoirottothebasininherlap.“I’mbleedingoverthebeans.Nottoogoodaswe’vegottohavethemforlunch.Stillitwon’tmatterreallybecausethey’llgointoboilingwater.Thingsarealwaysallrightifyouboilthem,aren’tthey?Eventins.”
“Ithink,”saidHerculePoirotquietly,“thatIshallnotbeinforlunch.”
Five
“Idon’tknow,I’msure,”saidMrs.Burch.
Shehadsaidthatthreetimesalready.Hernaturaldistrustofforeign-lookinggentlemenwithblackmoustaches,wearinglargefur-linedcoatswasnottobeeasilyovercome.
“Veryunpleasant,it’sbeen,”shewenton.“Havingpoorauntiemurderedandthepoliceandallthat.Trampingroundeverywhere,andferretingabout,andaskingquestions.Withtheneighboursallagog.Ididn’tfeelatfirstwe’deverliveitdown.Andmyhusband’smother’sbeendownrightnastyaboutit.Nothingofthatkindeverhappenedinherfamily,shekeptsaying.And‘poorJoe’andallthat.Whataboutpoorme?Shewasmyaunt,wasn’tshe?ButreallyIdidthinkitwasallovernow.”
“AndsupposingthatJamesBentleyisinnocent,afterall?”
“Nonsense,”snappedMrs.Burch.“Ofcourseheisn’tinnocent.Hediditallright.Ineverdidlikethelooksofhim.Wanderingaboutmutteringtohimself.Saidtoauntie,Idid:‘Yououghtn’ttohaveamanlikethatinthehouse.Mightgooffhishead,’Isaid.Butshesaidhewasquietandobliginganddidn’tgivetrouble.Nodrinking,shesaid,andhedidn’tevensmoke.Well,sheknowsbetternow,poorsoul.”
Poirotlookedthoughtfullyather.Shewasabig,plumpwomanwithahealthycolourandagood-humouredmouth.ThesmallhousewasneatandcleanandsmeltoffurniturepolishandBrasso.Afaintappetizingsmellcamefromthedirectionofthekitchen.
Agoodwifewhokeptherhousecleanandtookthetroubletocookforherman.Heapproved.Shewasprejudicedandobstinatebut,afterall,whynot?Mostdecidedly,shewasnotthekindofwomanonecouldimagineusingameatchopperonheraunt,orconnivingatherhusband’sdoingso.Spencehadnotthoughtherthatkindofwoman,andratherreluctantly,HerculePoirotagreedwithhim.SpencehadgoneintothefinancialbackgroundoftheBurchesandhadfoundnomotivethereformurder,andSpencewasaverythoroughman.
Hesighed,andperseveredwithhistask,whichwasthebreakingdownofMrs.Burch’ssuspicionofforeigners.Heledtheconversationawayfrommurderandfocusedonthevictimofit.Heaskedquestionsabout“poorauntie,”herhealth,herhabits,herpreferencesinfoodanddrink,herpolitics,herlatehusband,herattitudetolife,tosex,tosin,toreligion,tochildren,toanimals.
Whetheranyofthisirrelevantmatterwouldbeofuse,hehadnoidea.Hewaslookingthroughahaystacktofindaneedle.But,incidentally,hewaslearningsomethingaboutBessieBurch.
Bessiedidnotreallyknowverymuchaboutheraunt.Ithadbeenafamilytie,honouredassuch,butwithoutintimacy.Nowandagain,onceamonthorso,sheandJoehadgoneoveronaSundaytohavemiddaydinnerwithauntie,andmorerarely,auntiehadcomeovertoseethem.TheyhadexchangedpresentsatChristmas.They’dknownthatauntiehadalittlesomethingputby,andthatthey’dgetitwhenshedied.
“Butthat’snottosaywewereneedingit,”Mrs.Burchexplainedwithrisingcolour.“We’vegotsomethingputbyourselves.Andweburiedherbeautiful.Arealnicefuneralitwas.Flowersandeverything.”
Auntiehadbeenfondofknitting.Shedidn’tlikedogs,theymessedupaplace,butsheusedtohaveacat—aginger.Itstrayedawayandshehadn’thadonesince,butthewomanatthepostofficehadbeengoingtogiveherakitten.Keptherhouseveryneatanddidn’tlikelitter.Keptbrassatreatandwasheddownthekitchenflooreveryday.Shemadequiteanicethingofgoingouttowork.Oneshillingandtenpenceanhour—twoshillingsfromHolmeleigh,thatwasMr.Carpenter’softheWorks’house.Rollinginmoney,theCarpenterswere.Triedtogetauntietocomemoredaysintheweek,butauntiewouldn’tdisappointherotherladiesbecauseshe’dgonetothembeforeshewenttoMr.Carpenter’s,anditwouldn’thavebeenright.
PoirotmentionedMrs.SummerhayesatLongMeadows.
Ohyes,auntiewenttoher—twodaysaweek.They’dcomebackfromIndiawherethey’dhadalotofnativeservantsandMrs.Summerhayesdidn’tknowathingaboutahouse.Theytriedtomarket-garden,buttheydidn’tknowanythingaboutthat,either.Whenthechildrencamehomefortheholidays,thehousewasjustpandemonium.ButMrs.Summerhayeswasaniceladyandauntielikedher.
Sotheportraitgrew.Mrs.McGintyknitted,andscrubbedfloorsandpolishedbrass,shelikedcatsanddidn’tlikedogs.Shelikedchildren,butnotverymuch.Shekeptherselftoherself.
SheattendedchurchonSunday,butdidn’ttakepartinanychurchactivities.Sometimes,butrarely,shewenttothepictures.Shedidn’tholdwithgoingson—andhadgivenupworkingforanartistandhiswifewhenshediscoveredtheyweren’tproperlymarried.Shedidn’treadbooks,butsheenjoyedtheSundaypaperandshelikedoldmagazineswhenherladiesgavethemtoher.Althoughshedidn’tgomuchtothepictures,shewasinterestedinhearingaboutfilmstarsandtheirdoings.Shewasn’tinterestedinpolitics,butvotedConservativelikeherhusbandhadalwaysdone.Neverspentmuchonclothes,butgotquitealotgivenherfromherladies,andwasofasavingdisposition.
Mrs.McGintywas,infact,verymuchtheMrs.McGintythatPoirothadimaginedshewouldbe.AndBessieBurch,herniece,wastheBessieBurchofSuperintendentSpence’snotes.
BeforePoirottookhisleave,JoeBurchcamehomeforthelunchhour.Asmall,shrewdman,lesseasytobesureaboutthanhiswife.Therewasafaintnervousnessinhismanner.Heshowedlesssignsofsuspicionandhostilitythanhiswife.Indeedheseemedanxioustoappearcooperative.Andthat,Poirotreflected,wasveryfaintlyoutofcharacter.ForwhyshouldJoeBurchbeanxioustoplacateanimportunateforeignstranger?ThereasoncouldonlybethatthestrangerhadbroughtwithhimaletterfromSuperintendentSpenceoftheCountyPolice.
SoJoeBurchwasanxioustostandinwellwiththepolice?Wasitthathecouldn’tafford,ashiswifecould,tobecriticalofthepolice?
Aman,perhaps,withanuneasyconscience.Whywasthatconscienceuneasy?Therecouldbesomanyreasons—noneofthemconnectedwithMrs.McGinty’sdeath.Orwasitthat,somehoworother,thecinemaalibihadbeencleverlyfaked,andthatitwasJoeBurchwhohadknockedonthedoorofthecottage,hadbeenadmittedbyauntieandwhohadstruckdowntheunsuspectingoldwoman?Hewouldpulloutthedrawersandransacktheroomstogivetheappearanceofrobbery,hemighthidethemoneyoutside,cunningly,toincriminateJamesBentley,themoneythatwasintheSavingsBankwaswhathewasafter.Twohundredpoundscomingtohiswifewhich,forsomereasonunknown,hebadlyneeded.Theweapon,Poirotremembered,hadneverbeenfound.Whyhadthatnotalsobeenfoundonthesceneofthecrime?Anymoronknewenoughtowearglovesorrubofffingerprints.Whythenhadtheweapon,whichmusthavebeenaheavyonewithasharpedge,beenremoved?WasitbecauseitcouldeasilybeidentifiedasbelongingtotheBurchménage?Wasthatsameweapon,washedandpolished,hereinthehousenow?Somethinginthenatureofameatchopper,thepolicesurgeonhadsaid—butnot,itseemed,actuallyameatchopper.Something,perhapsalittleunusual…alittleoutoftheordinary,easilyidentified.Thepolicehadhuntedforit,butnotfoundit.Theyhadsearchedwoods,draggedponds.TherewasnothingmissingfromMrs.McGinty’skitchen,andnobodycouldsaythatJamesBentleyhadhadanythingofthatkindinhispossession.Theyhadnevertracedanypurchaseofameatchopperoranysuchimplementtohim.Asmall,butnegativepointinhisfavour.Ignoredintheweightofotherevidence.Butstillapoint…
Poirotcastaswiftglanceroundtheratherovercrowdedlittlesittingroominwhichhewassitting.
Wastheweaponhere,somewhere,inthishouse?WasthatwhyJoeBurchwasuneasyandconciliatory?
Poirotdidnotknow.Hedidnotreallythinkso.Buthewasnotabsolutelysure….
Six
I
IntheofficesofMessrsBreather&Scuttle,Poirotwasshown,aftersomedemur,intotheroomofMr.Scuttlehimself.
Mr.Scuttlewasabrisk,bustlingman,withaheartymanner.
“Goodmorning.Goodmorning.”Herubbedhishands.“Now,whatcanwedoforyou?”
HisprofessionaleyeshotoverPoirot,tryingtoplacehim,making,asitwere,aseriesofmarginalnotes.
Foreign.Goodqualityclothes.Probablyrich.Restaurantproprietor?Hotelmanager?Films?
“Ihopenottotrespassonyourtimeunduly.Iwantedtotalktoyouaboutyourformeremployee,JamesBentley.”
Mr.Scuttle’sexpressiveeyebrowsshotupaninchanddropped.
“JamesBentley.JamesBentley?”Heshotoutaquestion.“Press?”
“No.”
“Andyouwouldn’tbepolice?”
“No.Atleast—notofthiscountry.”
“Notofthiscountry.”Mr.Scuttlefiledthisawayrapidlyasthoughforfuturereference.“What’sitallabout?”
Poirot,neverhinderedbyapedanticregardfortruth,launchedoutintospeech.
“IamopeningafurtherinquiryintoJamesBentley’scase—attherequestofcertainrelativesofhis.”
“Didn’tknowhehadany.Anyway,he’sbeenfoundguilty,youknow,andcondemnedtodeath.”
“Butnotyetexecuted.”
“Whilethere’slife,there’shope,eh?”Mr.Scuttleshookhishead.“Shoulddoubtit,though.Evidencewasstrong.Whoaretheserelationsofhis?”
“Icanonlytellyouthis,theyarebothrichandpowerful.Immenselyrich.”
“Yousurpriseme.”Mr.Scuttlewasunabletohelpthawingslightly.Thewords“immenselyrich”hadanattractiveandhypnoticquality.“Yes,youreallydosurpriseme.”
“Bentley’smother,thelateMrs.Bentley,”explainedPoirot,“cutherselfandhersonoffcompletelyfromherfamily.”
“Oneofthesefamilyfeuds,eh?Well,well.AndyoungBentleywithoutafarthingtoblesshimselfwith.Pitytheserelationsdidn’tcometotherescuebefore.”
“Theyhaveonlyjustbecomeawareofthefacts,”explainedPoirot.“Theyhaveengagedmetocomewithallspeedtothiscountryanddoeverythingpossible.”
Mr.Scuttleleanedback,relaxinghisbusinessmanner.
“Don’tknowwhatyoucando.Isupposethere’sinsanity?Abitlateintheday—butifyougotholdofthebigmedicos.OfcourseI’mnotupinthesethingsmyself.”
Poirotleanedforward.
“Monsieur,JamesBentleyworkedhere.Youcantellmeabouthim.”
“Preciouslittletotell—preciouslittle.Hewasoneofourjuniorclerks.Nothingagainsthim.Seemedaperfectlydecentyoungfellow,quiteconscientiousandallthat.Butnoideaofsalesmanship.Hejustcouldn’tputaprojectover.That’snogoodinthisjob.Ifaclientcomestouswithahousehewantstosell,we’retheretosellitforhim.Andifaclientwantsahouse,wefindhimone.Ifit’sahouseinalonelyplacewithnoamenities,westressitsantiquity,callitaperiodpiece—anddon’tmentiontheplumbing!Andifthehouselooksstraightintothegasworks,wetalkaboutamenitiesandfacilitiesanddon’tmentiontheview.Hustleyourclientintoit—that’swhatyou’reheretodo.Allsortsoflittletricksthereare.‘Weadviseyou,madam,tomakeanimmediateoffer.There’saMemberofParliamentwho’sverykeenonit—verykeenindeed.Goingouttoseeitagainthisafternoon.’Theyfallforthateverytime—aMemberofParliamentisalwaysagoodtouch.Can’tthinkwhy!Nomembereverlivesawayfromhisconstituency.It’sjustthegoodsolidsoundofit.”Helaughedsuddenly,displayedgleamingdentures.“Psychology—that’swhatitis—justpsychology.”
Poirotleaptattheword.
“Psychology.Howrightyouare.Iseethatyouareajudgeofmen.”
“Nottoobad.Nottoobad,”saidMr.Scuttlemodestly.
“SoIaskyouagainwhatwasyourimpressionofJamesBentley?Betweenourselves—strictlybetweenourselves—youthinkhekilledtheoldwoman?”
Scuttlestared.
“Ofcourse.”
“Andyouthink,too,thatitwasalikelythingforhimtodo—psychologicallyspeaking?”
“Well—ifyouputitlikethat—no,notreally.Shouldn’thavethoughthehadtheguts.Tellyouwhat,ifyouaskme,hewasbarmy.Putitthatway,anditworks.Alwaysabitsoftinthehead,andwhatwithbeingoutofajobandworryingandallthat,hejustwentrightovertheedge.”
“Youhadnospecialreasonfordischarginghim?”
Scuttleshookhishead.
“Badtimeofyear.Staffhadn’tenoughtodo.Wesackedtheonewhowasleastcompetent.ThatwasBentley.Alwayswouldbe,Iexpect.Gavehimagoodreferenceandallthat.Hedidn’tgetanotherjob,though.Nopep.Madeabadimpressiononpeople.”
Italwayscamebacktothat,Poirotthought,ashelefttheoffice.JamesBentleymadeabadimpressiononpeople.Hetookcomfortinconsideringvariousmurderershehadknownwhommostpeoplehadfoundfullofcharm.
II
“Excuseme,doyoumindifIsitdownhereandtalktoyouforamoment?”
Poirot,ensconcedatasmalltableintheBlueCat,lookedupfromthemenuhewasstudyingwithastart.ItwasratherdarkintheBlueCat,whichspecializedinanold-worldeffectofoakandleadedpanes,buttheyoungwomanwhohadjustsatdownoppositetohimstoodoutbrightlyfromherdarkbackground.
Shehaddeterminedlygoldenhair,andwaswearinganelectricbluejumpersuit.Moreover,HerculePoirotwasconsciousofhavingnoticedhersomewhereonlyashorttimepreviously.
Shewenton:
“Icouldn’thelp,yousee,hearingsomethingofwhatyouweresayingtoMr.Scuttle.”
Poirotnodded.HehadrealizedthatthepartitionsintheofficesofBreather&Scuttleweremadeforconvenienceratherthanprivacy.Thathadnotworriedhim,sinceitwaschieflypublicitythathedesired.
“Youweretyping,”hesaid,“totherightofthebackwindow.”
Shenodded.Herteethshonewhiteinanacquiescingsmile.Averyhealthyyoungwoman,withafullbuxomfigurethatPoirotapproved.Aboutthirty-threeorfour,hejudged,andbynaturedark-haired,butnotonetobedictatedtobynature.
“AboutMr.Bentley,”shesaid.
“WhataboutMr.Bentley?”
“Ishegoingtoappeal?Doesitmeanthatthere’snewevidence?Oh,I’msoglad.Icouldn’t—Ijustcouldn’tbelievehedidit.”
Poirot’seyebrowsrose.
“Soyouneverthoughthedidit,”hesaidslowly.
“Well,notatfirst.Ithoughtitmustbeamistake.Butthentheevidence—”Shestopped.
“Yes,theevidence,”saidPoirot.
“Therejustdidn’tseemanyoneelsewhocouldhavedoneit.Ithoughtperhapshe’dgonealittlemad.”
“Didheeverseemtoyoualittle—whatshallIsay—queer?”
“Ohno.Notqueerinthatway.Hewasjustshyandawkwardasanyonemightbe.Thetruthwas,hedidn’tmakethebestofhimself.Hehadn’tconfidenceinhimself.”
Poirotlookedather.Shecertainlyhadconfidenceinherself.Possiblyshehadenoughconfidencefortwo.
“Youlikedhim?”heasked.
Sheflushed.
“Yes,Idid.Amy—that’stheothergirlintheoffice—usedtolaughathimandcallhimadrip,butIlikedhimverymuch.Hewasgentleandpolite—andheknewalotreally.Thingsoutofbooks,Imean.”
“Ahyes,thingsoutofbooks.”
“Hemissedhismother.She’dbeenillforyears,youknow.Atleast,notreallyill,butnotstrong,andhe’ddoneeverythingforher.”
Poirotnodded.Heknewthosemothers.
“Andofcourseshe’dlookedafterhim,too.Imeantakencareofhishealthandhischestinwinterandwhatheateandallthat.”
Againhenodded.Heasked:
“Youandhewerefriends?”
“Idon’tknow—notexactly.Weusedtotalksometimes.Butafterhelefthere,he—I—Ididn’tseemuchofhim.Iwrotetohimonceinafriendlyway,buthedidn’tanswer.”
Poirotsaidgently:
“Butyoulikehim?”
Shesaidratherdefiantly:
“Yes,Ido….”
“Thatisexcellent,”saidPoirot.
Hismindswitchedbacktothedayofhisinterviewwiththecondemnedprisoner…HesawJamesBentleyclearly.Themouse-colouredhair,thethinawkwardbody,thehandswiththeirbigknucklesandwrists,theAdam’sappleintheleanneck.Hesawthefurtive,embarrassed—almostslyglance.Notstraightforward,notamanwhosewordcouldbetrusted—asecretive,slydeceitfulfellowwithanungracious,mutteringwayoftalking…ThatwastheimpressionJamesBentleywouldgivetomostsuperficialobservers.Itwastheimpressionhehadgiveninthedock.Thesortoffellowwhowouldtelllies,andstealmoney,andhitanoldwomanoverthehead….
ButonSuperintendentSpence,whoknewmen,hehadnotmadethatimpression.NoronHerculePoirot…Andnowherewasthisgirl.
“Whatisyourname,mademoiselle?”heasked.
“MaudeWilliams.IsthereanythingIcoulddo—tohelp?”
“Ithinkthereis.Therearepeoplewhobelieve,MissWilliams,thatJamesBentleyisinnocent.Theyareworkingtoprovethatfact.Iamthepersonchargedwiththatinvestigation,andImaytellyouthatIhavealreadymadeconsiderableprogress—yes,considerableprogress.”
Heutteredthatliewithoutablush.Tohisminditwasaverynecessarylie.Someone,somewhere,hadgottobemadeuneasy.MaudeWilliamswouldtalk,andtalkwaslikeastoneinapond,itmadearipplethatwentonspreadingoutwards.
Hesaid:“YoutellmethatyouandJamesBentleytalkedtogether.Hetoldyouabouthismotherandhishomelife.Didheevermentionanyonewithwhomhe,orperhapshismother,wasonbadterms?”
MaudeWilliamsreflected.
“No—notwhatyou’dcallbadterms.Hismotherdidn’tlikeyoungwomenmuch,Igather.”
“Mothersofdevotedsonsneverlikeyoungwomen.No,Imeanmorethanthat.Somefamilyfeud,someenmity.Someonewithagrudge?”
Sheshookherhead.
“Henevermentionedanythingofthatkind.”
“Didheeverspeakofhislandlady,Mrs.McGinty?”
Sheshiveredslightly.
“Notbyname.Hesaidoncethatshegavehimkippersmuchtoooften—andoncehesaidhislandladywasupsetbecauseshehadlosthercat.”
“Didheever—youmustbehonest,please—mentionthatheknewwhereshekepthermoney?”
Someofthecolourwentoutofthegirl’sface,butshethrewupherchindefiantly.
“Actually,hedid.Weweretalkingaboutpeoplebeingdistrustfulofbanks—andhesaidhisoldlandladykepthersparemoneyunderafloorboard.Hesaid:‘Icouldhelpmyselfanydaytoitwhenshe’sout.’Notquiteasajoke,hedidn’tjoke,moreasthoughhewerereallyworriedbyhercarelessness.”
“Ah,”saidPoirot.“Thatisgood.Frommypointofview,Imean.WhenJamesBentleythinksofstealing,itpresentsitselftohimasanactionthatisdonebehindsomeone’sback.Hemighthavesaid,yousee,‘Somedaysomeonewillknockherontheheadforit.’”
“Buteitherway,hewouldn’tbemeaningit.”
“Ohno.Buttalk,howeverlight,howeveridle,givesaway,inevitably,thesortofpersonyouare.Thewisecriminalwouldneveropenhismouth,butcriminalsareseldomwiseandusuallyvainandtheytalkagooddeal—andsomostcriminalsarecaught.”
MaudeWilliamssaidabruptly:
“Butsomeonemusthavekilledtheoldwoman.”
“Naturally.”
“Whodid?Doyouknow?Haveyouanyidea?”
“Yes,”saidHerculePoirotmendaciously.“IthinkIhaveaverygoodidea.Butweareonlyatthebeginningoftheroad.”
Thegirlglancedatherwatch.
“Imustgetback.We’reonlysupposedtotakehalfanhour.One-horseplace,Kilchester—I’vealwayshadjobsinLondonbefore.You’llletmeknowifthere’sanythingIcando—reallydo,Imean?”
Poirottookoutoneofhiscards.OnithewroteLongMeadowsandthetelephonenumber.
“ThatiswhereIamstaying.”
Hisname,henotedwithchagrin,madenoparticularimpressiononher.Theyoungergeneration,hecouldnotbutfeel,weresingularlylackinginknowledgeofnotablecelebrities.
III
HerculePoirotcaughtabusbacktoBroadhinnyfeelingslightlymorecheerful.AtanyratetherewasonepersonwhosharedhisbeliefinJamesBentley’sinnocence.Bentleywasnotsofriendlessashehadmadehimselfouttobe.
HismindwentbackagaintoBentleyinprison.Whatadispiritinginterviewithadbeen.Therehadbeennohopearoused,hardlyastirringofinterest.
“Thankyou,”Bentleyhadsaiddully,“butIdon’tsupposethereisanythinganyonecando.”
No,hewassurehehadnotgotanyenemies.
“Whenpeoplebarelynoticeyou’realive,you’renotlikelytohaveanyenemies.”
“Yourmother?Didshehaveanenemy?”
“Certainlynot.Everyonelikedandrespectedher.”
Therewasafaintindignationinhistone.
“Whataboutyourfriends?”
AndJamesBentleyhadsaid,orrathermuttered,“Ihaven’tanyfriends….”
Butthathadnotbeenquitetrue.ForMaudeWilliamswasafriend.
“WhatawonderfuldispensationitisofNature’s,”thoughtHerculePoirot,“thateveryman,howeversuperficiallyunattractive,shouldbesomewoman’schoice.”
ForallMissWilliams’ssexyappearance,hehadashrewdsuspicionthatshewasreallythematernaltype.
ShehadthequalitiesthatJamesBentleylacked,theenergy,thedrive,therefusaltobebeaten,thedeterminationtosucceed.
Hesighed.
Whatmonstrouslieshehadtoldthatday!Nevermind—theywerenecessary.
“Forsomewhere,”saidPoirottohimself,indulginginanabsoluteriotofmixedmetaphors,“thereisinthehayaneedle,andamongthesleepingdogsthereisoneonwhomIshallputmyfoot,andbyshootingthearrowsintotheair,onewillcomedownandhitaglasshouse!”
Seven
I
ThecottagewhereMrs.McGintyhadlivedwasonlyafewstepsfromthebusstop.Twochildrenwereplayingonthedoorstep.Onewaseatingaratherwormy-lookingappleandtheotherwasshoutingandbeatingonthedoorwithatintray.Theyappearedquitehappy.Poirotaddedtothenoisebybeatinghardonthedoorhimself.
Awomanlookedroundthecornerofthehouse.Shehadonacolouredoverallandherhairwasuntidy.
“Stopit,Ernie,”shesaid.
“Sha’n’t,”saidErnieandcontinued
Poirotdesertedthedoorstepandmadeforthecornerofthehouse.
“Can’tdoanythingwithchildren,canyou?”thewomansaid.
Poirotthoughtyoucould,butforboretosayso.
Hewasbeckonedroundtothebackdoor.
“Ikeepthefrontboltedup,sir.Comein,won’tyou?”
Poirotpassedthroughaverydirtysculleryintoanalmostmoredirtykitchen.
“Shewasn’tkilledhere,”saidthewoman.“Intheparlour.”
Poirotblinkedslightly.
“That’swhatyou’redownabout,isn’tit?You’retheforeigngentlemanfromupatSummerhayes?”
“Soyouknowallaboutme?”saidPoirot.Hebeamed.“Yes,indeed,Mrs.—”
“Kiddle.Myhusband’saplasterer.Movedinfourmonthsago,wedid.BeenlivingwithBert’smotherbefore…Somefolkssaid:‘You’dnevergointoahousewherethere’sbeenamurder,surely?’—butwhatIsaidwas,ahouseisahouse,andbetterthanabacksitting-roomandsleepingontwochairs.Awful,this’ousingshortage,isn’tit?Andanywaywe’veneverbeentroubled’ere.Alwayssaytheywalkifthey’vebeenmurdered,butshedoesn’t!Liketoseewhereithappened?”
Feelinglikeatouristbeingtakenonaconductedtour,Poirotassented.
Mrs.KiddleledhimintoasmallroomoverburdenedwithaheavyJacobeansuite.Unliketherestofthehouse,itshowednosignsofeverhavingbeenoccupied.
“Downonthefloorshewasandthebackofherheadsplitopen.Didn’thalfgiveMrs.Elliotaturn.She’stheonewhatfoundher—sheandLarkinwhocomesfromtheCo-opwiththebread.Butthemoneywastookfromupstairs.ComealongupandI’llshowyouwhere.”
Mrs.Kiddleledthewayupthestaircaseandintoabedroomwhichcontainedalargechestofdrawers,abigbrassbed,somechairs,andafineassemblyofbabyclothes,wetanddry.
“Righthereitwas,”saidMrs.Kiddleproudly.
Poirotlookedroundhim.Hardtovisualizethatthisrampantstrongholdofhaphazardfecunditywasoncethewell-scrubbeddomainofanelderlywomanwhowashouse-proud.HereMrs.McGintyhadlivedandslept.
“Isupposethisisn’therfurniture?”
“Ohno.HernieceoverinCullavontookawayallthat.”
TherewasnothinglefthereofMrs.McGinty.TheKiddleshadcomeandconquered.Lifewasstrongerthandeath.
Fromdownstairstheloudfiercewailofababyarose.
“That’sthebabywokenup,”saidMrs.Kiddleunnecessarily.
SheplungeddownthestairsandPoirotfollowedher.
Therewasnothinghereforhim.
Hewentnextdoor.
II
“Yes,sir,itwasmefoundher.”
Mrs.Elliotwasdramatic.Aneathouse,this,neatandprim.TheonlydramainitwasMrs.Elliot’s,atallgauntdark-hairedwoman,recountingheronemomentofgloriousliving.
“Larkin,thebaker,hecameandknockedatthedoor.‘It’sMrs.McGinty,’hesaid,‘wecan’tmakeherhear.Seemsshemighthavebeentakenbad.’AndindeedIthoughtshemight.Shewasn’tayoungwoman,notbyanymeans.Andpalpitationsshe’dhad,tomycertainknowledge.Ithoughtshemighthavehadastroke.SoIhurriedover,seeingastherewereonlythetwomen,andnaturallytheywouldn’tliketogointothebedroom.”
Poirotacceptedthispieceofproprietywithanassentingmurmur.
“Hurriedupthestairs,Idid.Hewasonthelanding,paleasdeathhewas.NotthatIeverthoughtatthetime—well,ofcourse,thenIdidn’tknowwhathadhappened.Iknockedonthedoorloudandtherewasn’tanyanswer,soIturnedthehandleandIwentin.Thewholeplacemessedabout—andtheboardinthefloorup.‘It’srobbery,’Isaid.‘Butwhere’sthepoorsoulherself?’Andthenwethoughttolookinthesitting-room.Andthereshewas…Downonthefloorwithherpoorheadstovein.Murder!Isawatoncewhatitwas—murder!Couldn’tbeanythingelse!Robberyandmurder!HereinBroadhinny.IscreamedandIscreamed!Quiteajobtheyhadwithme.Comeoverallfaint,Idid.TheyhadtogoandgetmebrandyfromtheThreeDucks.AndeventhenIwasallofashiverforhours
Poirotdexterouslyinterruptedthisthrillingpersonalnarrative.
“Yes,yes,onecanseethat.AndwhenwasthelasttimeyouhadseenpoorMrs.McGinty?”
“Musthavebeenthedaybefore,whenshe’dsteppedoutintothebackgardentopickabitofmint.Iwasjustfeedingthechickens.”
“Didshesayanythingtoyou?”
“Justgoodafternoonandweretheylayinganybetter.”
“Andthat’sthelasttimeyousawher?Youdidn’tseeheronthedayshedied?”
“No.IsawHimthough.”Mrs.Elliotloweredhervoice.“Abouteleveno’clockinthemorning.Justwalkingalongtheroad.Shufflinghisfeetthewayhealwaysdid.”
Poirotwaited,butitseemedthattherewasnothingtoadd.
Heasked:
“Wereyousurprisedwhenthepolicearrestedhim?”
“Well,IwasandIwasn’t.Mindyou,I’dalwaysthoughthewasabitdaft.Andnodoubtaboutit,thesedaftonesdoturnnasty,sometimes.Myunclehadafeeble-mindedboy,andhecouldgoverynastysometimes—ashegrewup,thatwas.Didn’tknowhisstrength.Yes,thatBentleywasdaftallright,andIshouldn’tbesurprisediftheydon’thanghimwhenitcomestoit,butsendshimtotheasyluminstead.Why,lookattheplacehehidthemoney.Noonewouldhidemoneyinaplacelikethatunlesshewantedittobefound.Justsillyandsimplelike,that’swhathewas.”
“Unlesshewanteditfound,”murmuredPoirot.“Youdidnot,byanychance,missachopper—oranaxe?”
“No,sir,Ididnot.Thepoliceaskedmethat.Askedallofusinthecottageshere.It’samysterystillwhathekilledherwith.”
III
HerculePoirotwalkedtowardsthepostoffice.
Themurdererhadwantedthemoneyfound,buthehadnotwantedtheweapontobefound.ForthemoneywouldpointtoJamesBentleyandtheweaponwouldpointto—whom?
Heshookhishead.Hehadvisitedtheothertwocottages.TheyhadbeenlessexuberantthanMrs.KiddleandlessdramaticthanMrs.Elliot.TheyhadsaidineffectthatMrs.McGintywasaveryrespectablewomanwhokeptherselftoherself,thatshehadanieceoveratCullavon,thatnobodybutthesaidnieceevercametoseeher,thatnobody,sofarastheyknew,dislikedherorboreagrudgeagainsther,thatwasittruethattherewasapetitionbeinggotupforJamesBentleyandwouldtheybeaskedtosignit?
“Igetnowhere—nowhere,”saidPoirottohimself.“Thereisnothing—nolittlegleam.IcanwellunderstandthedespairofSuperintendentSpence.Butitshouldbedifferentforme.SuperintendentSpence,heisagoodandpainstakingpoliceofficer,butme,IamHerculePoirot.Forme,thereshouldbeillumination!”
Oneofhispatentleathershoessloppedintoapuddleandhewinced.
Hewasthegreat,theuniqueHerculePoirot,buthewasalsoaveryoldmanandhisshoesweretight.
Heenteredthepostoffice.
Theright-handsidewasgiventothebusinessofHisMajesty’smails.Theleft-handsidedisplayedarichassortmentofvariedmerchandise,comprisingsweets,groceries,toys,hardware,stationery,birthdaycards,knittingwoolandchildren’sunderclothes.
Poirotproceededtoaleisurelypurchaseofstamps.
Thewomanwhobustledforwardtoattendtohimwasmiddle-agedwithsharp,brighteyes.
“Here,”saidPoirottohimself,“isundoubtedlythebrainsofthevillageofBroadhinny.”
Hername,notinappropriately,wasMrs.Sweetiman.
“Andtwelvepennies,”saidMrs.Sweetiman,deftlyextractingthemfromalargebook.“That’sfourandtenpencealtogether.Willtherebeanythingmore,sir?”
Shefixedabrighteagerglanceathim.Throughthedooratthebackagirl’sheadshowedlisteningavidly.Shehaduntidyhairandacoldinthehead.
“Iambywayofbeingastrangerintheseparts,”saidPoirotsolemnly.
“That’sright,sir,”agreedMrs.Sweetiman.“ComedownfromLondon,haven’tyou?”
“IexpectyouknowmybusinesshereaswellasIdo,”saidPoirotwithaslightsmile.
“Ohno,sir,I’vereallynoidea,”saidMrs.Sweetimaninawhollyperfunctorymanner.
“Mrs.McGinty,”saidPoirot.
Mrs.Sweetimanshookherhead.
“Thatwasasadbusiness—ashockingbusiness.”
“Iexpectyouknewherwell?”
“OhIdid.AswellasanyoneinBroadhinny,Ishouldsay.She’dalwayspassthetimeofdaywithmewhenshecameinhereforanylittlething.Yes,itwasaterribletragedy.Andnotsettledyet,orsoI’veheardpeoplesay.”
“Thereisadoubt—insomequarters—astoJamesBentley’sguilt.”
“Well,”saidMrs.Sweetiman,“itwouldn’tbethefirsttimethepolicegotholdofthewrongman—thoughIwouldn’tsaytheyhadinthiscase.NotthatIshouldhavethoughtitofhimreally.Ashy,awkwardsortoffellow,butnotdangerousorsoyou’dthink.Butthere,youneverknow,doyou?”
Poirothazardedarequestfornotepaper
“Ofcourse,sir.Justcomeacrosstheotherside,willyou?”
Mrs.Sweetimanbustledroundtotakeherplacebehindtheleft-handcounter.
“What’sdifficulttoimagineis,whoitcouldhavebeenifitwasn’tMr.Bentley,”sheremarkedasshestretcheduptoatopshelffornotepaperandenvelopes.“Wedogetsomenastytrampsalongheresometimes,andit’spossibleoneofthesemighthavefoundawindowunfastenedandgotinthatway.Buthewouldn’tgoleavingthemoneybehindhim,wouldhe?Notafterdoingmurdertogetit—andpoundnotesanyway,nothingwithnumbersormarked.Hereyouare,sir,that’saniceblueBond,andenvelopestomatch.”
Poirotmadehispurchase.
“Mrs.McGintyneverspokeofbeingnervousofanyone,orafraid,didshe?”heasked.
“Nottome,shedidn’t.Shewasn’tanervouswoman.She’dstaylatesometimesatMr.Carpenter’s—that’sHolmeleighatthetopofthehill.Theyoftenhavepeopletodinnerandstoppingwiththem,andMrs.McGintywouldgothereintheeveningsometimestohelpwashup,andshe’dcomedownthehillinthedark,andthat’smorethanI’dliketodo.Verydarkitis—comingdownthathill.”
“Doyouknowhernieceatall—Mrs.Burch?”
“Iknowherjusttospeakto.Sheandherhusbandcomeoversometimes.”
“TheyinheritedalittlemoneywhenMrs.McGintydied.”
Thepiercingdarkeyeslookedathimseverely.
“Well,that’snaturalenough,isn’tit,sir?Youcan’ttakeitwithyou,andit’sonlyrightyourownfleshandbloodshouldgetit.”
“Ohyes,ohyes,Iamentirelyinagreement.WasMrs.McGintyfondofherniece?”
“Veryfondofher,Ithink,sir.Inaquietway.”
“Andherniece’shusband?”
AnevasivelookappearedinMrs.Sweetiman’sface.
“AsfarasIknow.”
“WhendidyouseeMrs.McGintylast?”
Mrs.Sweetimanconsidered,castinghermindback.
“Nowletmesee,whenwasit,Edna?”Edna,inthedoorway,sniffedunhelpfully.“Wasitthedayshedied?No,itwasthedaybefore—orthedaybeforethatagain?Yes,itwasaMonday.That’sright.ShewaskilledontheWednesday.Yes,itwasMonday.Shecameintobuyabottleofink.”
“Shewantedabottleofink?”
“Expectshewantedtowritealetter,”saidMrs.Sweetimanbrightly.
“Thatseemsprobable.Andshewasquiteherusualself,then?Shedidnotseemdifferentinanyway?”
“N-no,Idon’tthinkso.”
ThesniffingEdnashuffledthroughthedoorintotheshopandsuddenlyjoinedintheconversation.
“Shewasdifferent,”sheasserted.“Pleasedaboutsomething—well—notquitepleased—excited.”
“Perhapsyou’reright,”saidMrs.Sweetiman.“NotthatInoticeditatthetime.Butnowthatyousayso—sortofspry,shewas.”
“Doyourememberanythingshesaidonthatday?”
“Iwouldn’tordinarily.Butwhatwithherbeingmurderedandthepoliceandeverything,itmakesthingsstandout.Shedidn’tsayanythingaboutJamesBentley,thatI’mquitesure.TalkedabouttheCarpentersabitandMrs.Upward—placeswheresheworked,youknow.”
“Ohyes,Iwasgoingtoaskyouwhomexactlysheworkedforhere.”
Mrs.Sweetimanrepliedpromptly:
“MondaysandThursdaysshewenttoMrs.SummerhayesatLongMeadow.That’swhereyouarestaying,isn’tit?”
“Yes,”Poirotsighed,“Isupposethereisnotanywhereelsetostay?”
“NotrightinBroadhinny,thereisn’t.Isupposeyouaren’tverycomfortableatLongMeadows?Mrs.Summerhayesisaniceladybutshedoesn’tknowthefirstthingaboutahouse.Theseladiesdon’twhocomebackfromforeignparts.Terriblemesstherealwayswastheretocleanup,orsoMrs.McGintyusedtosay.Yes,MondayafternoonsandThursdaymorningsMrs.Summerhayes,thenTuesdaymorningsDr.Rendell’sandafternoonsMrs.UpwardatLaburnums.WednesdaywasMrs.WetherbyatHunter’sCloseandFridayMrs.Selkirk—Mrs.Carpentersheisnow.Mrs.Upward’sanelderlyladywholiveswithherson.They’vegotamaid,butshe’sgettingon,andMrs.McGintyusedtogoonceaweektogivethingsagoodturnout.Mr.andMrs.Wetherbyneverseemtokeepanyhelplong—she’sratheraninvalid.Mr.andMrs.Carpenterhaveabeautifulhomeanddoalotofentertaining.They’reallverynicepeople.”
ItwaswiththisfinalpronouncementonthepopulationofBroadhinnythatPoirotwentoutintothestreetagain.
HewalkedslowlyupthehilltowardsLongMeadows.Hehopeddevoutlythatthecontentsofthebulgedtinandthebloodstainedbeanshadbeendulyeatenforlunchandhadnotbeensavedforasuppertreatforhim.Butpossiblytherewereotherdoubtfultins.LifeatLongMeadowscertainlyhaditsdangers.
Ithadbeen,onthewhole,adisappointingday.
Whathadhelearned?
ThatJamesBentleyhadafriend.ThatneitherhenorMrs.McGintyhadhadanyenemies.ThatMrs.McGintyhadlookedexcitedtwodaysbeforeherdeathandhadboughtabottleofink—
Poirotstoppeddead…Wasthatafact,atinyfactatlast?
Hehadaskedidly,whatMrs.McGintyshouldwantwithabottleofink,andMrs.Sweetimanhadreplied,quiteseriously,thatshesupposedshewantedtowritealetter.
Therewassignificancethere—asignificancethathadnearlyescapedhimbecausetohim,astomostpeople,writingaletterwasacommoneverydayoccurrence.
ButitwasnotsotoMrs.McGinty.WritingaletterwastoMrs.McGintysuchanuncommonoccurrencethatshehadtogooutandbuyabottleofinkifshewantedtodoso.
Mrs.McGinty,then,hardlyeverwroteletters.Mrs.Sweetiman,whowasthepostmistress,wasthoroughlycognisantofthefact.ButMrs.McGintyhadwrittenalettertwodaysbeforeherdeath.Towhomhadshewrittenandwhy?
Itmightbequiteunimportant.Shemighthavewrittentoherniece—toanabsentfriend.Absurdtolaysuchstressonasimplethinglikeabottleofink.
Butitwasallhehadgotandhewasgoingtofollowitup.
Abottleofink…
Eight
I
“Aletter?”BessieBurchshookherhead.“No,Ididn’tgetanyletterfromauntie.Whatshouldshewritetomeabout?”
Poirotsuggested:“Theremighthavebeensomethingshewantedtotellyou.”
“Auntiewasn’tmuchofaoneforwriting.Shewasgettingonforseventy,youknow,andwhenshewasyoungtheydidn’tgetmuchschooling.”
“Butshecouldreadandwrite?”
“Oh,ofcourse.Notmuchofaoneforreading,thoughshelikedherNewsoftheWorldandherSundayComet.Butwritingcameabitdifficultalways.Ifshe’danythingtoletmeknowabout,likeputtingusofffromcomingtoseeher,orsayingshecouldn’tcometous,she’dusuallyringupMr.Benson,thechemistnextdoor,andhe’dsendthemessagein.Veryobligingthatway,heis.Yousee,we’reinthearea,soitonlycoststwopence.There’sacallboxatthepostofficeinBroadhinny.”
Poirotnodded.Heappreciatedthefactthattwopencewasbetterthantwopenceha’penny.HealreadyhadapictureofMrs.McGintyasthespareandsavingkind.Shehadbeen,hethought,veryfondofmoney.
Hepersistedgently:
“Butyourauntdidwritetoyousometimes,Isuppose?”
“Well,therewerecardsatChristmas.”
“AndperhapsshehadfriendsinotherpartsofEnglandtowhomshewrote?”
“Idon’tknowaboutthat.Therewashersister-in-law,butshediedtwoyearsagoandtherewasaMrs.Birdlip—butshe’sdeadtoo.”
“So,ifshewrotetosomeone,itwouldbemostlikelyinanswertoalettershehadreceived?”
AgainBessieBurchlookeddoubtful.
“Idon’tknowwho’dbewritingtoher,I’msure…Ofcourse,”herfacebrightened,“there’salwaystheGovernment.”
Poirotagreedthatinthesedays,communicationsfromwhatBessielooselyreferredtoas“theGovernment”weretherule,ratherthantheexception.
“Andalotoffandangleitusuallyis,”saidMrs.Burch.“Formstofillin,andalotofimpertinentquestionsasshouldn’tbeaskedofanydecentbody.”
“SoMrs.McGintymighthavegotsomeGovernmentcommunicationthatshehadtoanswer?”
“Ifshehad,she’dhavebroughtitalongtoJoe,soashecouldhelpherwithit.ThosesortofthingsfussedherandshealwaysbroughtthemtoJoe.”
“Canyourememberiftherewereanylettersamongherpersonalpossessions?”
“Icouldn’tsayrightly.Idon’trememberanything.Butthenthepolicetookoveratfirst.Itwasn’tforquiteawhiletheyletmepackherthingsandtakethemaway.”
“Whathappenedtothosethings?”
“Thatchestoverthereishers—goodsolidmahogany,andthere’sawardrobeupstairs,andsomegoodkitchenstuff.Therestwesoldbecausewe’dnoroomforthem.”
“Imeantherownpersonalthings.”Headded:“Suchthingsasbrushesandcombs,photographs,toiletthings,clothes….”
“Oh,them.Well,tellyouthetruth,Ipackedtheminasuitcaseandit’sstillupstairs.Didn’trightlyknowwhattodowiththem.ThoughtI’dtaketheclothestothejumblesaleatChristmas,butIforgot.Didn’tseemnicetotakethemtooneofthosenastysecond-handclothespeople.”
“Iwonder—mightIseethecontentsofthatsuitcase?”
“Welcome,I’msure.ThoughIdon’tthinkyou’llfindanythingtohelpyou.Thepolicewentthroughitall,youknow.”
“OhIknow.But,allthesame—”
Mrs.Burchledhimbrisklyintoaminutebackbedroom,used,Poirotjudged,mainlyforhomedressmaking.Shepulledoutasuitcasefromunderthebedandsaid:
“Well,hereyouare,andyou’llexcusemestopping,butI’vegotthestewtoseeto.”
Poirotgratefullyexcusedher,andheardherthumpingdownstairsagain.Hedrewthesuitcasetowardshimandopenedit.
Awaftofmothballscameouttogreethim.
Withafeelingofpity,heliftedoutthecontents,soeloquentintheirrevelationofawomanwhowasdead.Aratherwornlongblackcoat.Twowoollenjumpers.Acoatandskirt.Stockings.Nounderwear(presumablyBessieBurchhadtakenthoseforherownwear).Twopairsofshoeswrappedupinnewspaper.Abrushandcomb,wornbutclean.Anolddentedsilver-backedmirror.Aphotographinaleatherframeofaweddingpairdressedinthestyleofthirtyyearsago—apictureofMrs.McGintyandherhusbandpresumably.Twopicturepost-cardsofMargate.Achinadog.Arecipetornoutofapaperformakingvegetablemarrowjam.Anotherpiecedealingwith“FlyingSaucers”onasensationalnote.AthirdclippingdealtwithMotherShipton’sprophecies.TherewasalsoaBibleandaPrayerBook.
Therewerenohandbags,orgloves.PresumablyBessieBurchhadtakenthese,orgiventhemaway.Theclotheshere,Poirotjudged,wouldhavebeentoosmallforthebuxomBessie.Mrs.McGintyhadbeenathin,sparewoman.
Heunwrappedoneofthepairsofshoes.Theywereofquitegoodqualityandnotmuchworn.DecidedlyonthesmallsideforBessieBurch.
Hewasjustabouttowrapthemupneatlyagainwhenhiseyewascaughtbytheheadingonthepieceofnewspaper.
ItwastheSundayCometandthedatewasNovember19th.
Mrs.McGintyhadbeenkilledonNovember22nd.
ThisthenwasthepapershehadboughtontheSundayprecedingherdeath.IthadbeenlyinginherroomandBessieBurchhaduseditinduecoursetowrapupheraunt’sthings.
Sunday,November19th.AndonMondayMrs.McGintyhadgoneintothepostofficetobuyabottleofink….
CouldthatbebecauseofsomethingshehadseeninSunday’snewspaper?
Heunwrappedtheotherpairofshoes.TheywerewrappedintheNewsoftheWorldofthesamedate.
Hesmoothedoutbothpapersandtookthemovertoachairwherehesatdowntoreadthem.Andatoncehemadeadiscovery.OnonepageoftheSundayComet,somethinghadbeencutout.Itwasarectangularpieceoutofthemiddlepage.Thespacewastoobigforanyoftheclippingshehadfound.
Helookedthroughbothnewspapers,butcouldfindnothingelseofinterest.Hewrappedthemroundtheshoesagainandpackedthesuitcasetidily.
Thenhewentdownstairs.
Mrs.Burchwasbusyinthekitchen.
“Don’tsupposeyoufoundanything?”shesaid.
“Alas,no.”Headdedinacasualvoice:“Youdonotrememberiftherewasacuttingfromanewspaperinyouraunt’spurseorinherhandbag,wasthere?”
“Can’trememberany.Perhapsthepolicetookit.”
Butthepolicehadnottakenit.ThatPoirotknewfromhisstudyofSpence’snotes.Thecontentsofthedeadwoman’shandbaghadbeenlisted,nonewspapercuttingwasamongthem.
“Ehbien,”saidHerculePoirottohimself.“Thenextstepiseasy.Itwillbeeitherthewashout—orelse,atlast,Iadvance.”
II
Sittingverystill,withthedustyfilesofnewspaperinfrontofhim,Poirottoldhimselfthathisrecognitionofthesignificanceofthebottleofinkhadnotplayedhimfalse.
TheSundayCometwasgiventoromanticdramatizationsofpastevents.
ThepaperatwhichPoirotwaslookingwastheSundayCometofSunday,November19th.
Atthetopofthemiddlepagewerethesewordsinbigtype:
WOMENVICTIMSOFBYGONETRAGEDIESWHEREARETHESEWOMENNOW?
Belowthecaptionwerefourveryblurredreproductionsofphotographsclearlytakenmanyyearsago.
Thesubjectsofthemdidnotlooktragic.Theylooked,actually,ratherridiculous,sincenearlyallofthemweredressedinthestyleofabygoneday,andnothingismoreridiculousthanthefashionsofyesterday—thoughinanotherthirtyyearsorsotheircharmmayhavereappeared,oratanyratebeoncemoreapparent.
Undereachphotowasaname.
EvaKane,the“otherwoman”inthefamousCraigCase.JaniceCourtland,the“tragicwife”whosehusbandwasafiendinhumanform.LittleLilyGamboll,tragicchildproductofourovercrowdedage.VeraBlake,unsuspectingwifeofakiller.
Andthencamethequestioninboldtypeagain:
WHEREARETHESEWOMENNOW?
Poirotblinkedandsethimselftoreadmeticulouslythesomewhatromanticprosewhichgavethelifestoriesofthesedimandblurryheroines.
ThenameofEvaKaneheremembered,fortheCraigCasehadbeenaverycelebratedone.AlfredCraighadbeenTownClerkofParminster,aconscientious,rathernondescriptlittleman,correctandpleasantinhisbehaviour.Hehadhadthemisfortunetomarryatiresomeandtemperamentalwife.Mrs.Craigranhimintodebt,bulliedhim,naggedhim,andsufferedfromnervousmaladiesthatunkindfriendssaidwereentirelyimaginary.EvaKanewastheyoungnurserygovernessinthehouse.Shewasnineteen,pretty,helplessandrathersimple.ShefelldesperatelyinlovewithCraigandhewithher.ThenonedaytheneighboursheardthatMrs.Craighadbeen“orderedabroad”forherhealth.ThathadbeenCraig’sstory.HetookheruptoLondon,thefirststageofthejourney,bycarlateoneevening,and“sawheroff”totheSouthofFrance.ThenhereturnedtoParminsterandatintervalsmentionedhowhiswife’shealthwasnobetterbyheraccountsofitinletters.EvaKaneremainedbehindtohousekeepforhim,andtonguessoonstartedwagging.Finally,Craigreceivednewsofhiswife’sdeathabroad.Hewentawayandreturnedaweeklater,withanaccountofthefuneral.
Insomeways,Craigwasasimpleman.Hemadethemistakeofmentioningwherehiswifehaddied,amoderatelywell-knownresortontheFrenchRiviera.Itonlyremainedforsomeonewhohadarelativeorfriendlivingtheretowritetothem,discoverthattherehadbeennodeathorfuneralofanyoneofthatnameand,afteraperiodofrankgossip,tocommunicatewiththepolice.
Subsequenteventscanbebrieflysummarized.
Mrs.CraighadnotleftfortheRiviera.ShehadbeencutinneatpiecesandburiedintheCraigcellar.Andtheautopsyoftheremainsshowedpoisoningbyavegetablealkaloid.
Craigwasarrestedandsentfortrial.EvaKanewasoriginallychargedasanaccessory,butthechargewasdropped,sinceitappearedclearthatshehadthroughoutbeencompletelyignorantofwhathadoccurred.Craigintheendmadeafullconfessionandwassentencedandexecuted.
EvaKane,whowasexpectingachild,leftParminsterand,inthewordsoftheSundayComet:
KindlyrelativesintheNewWorldofferedherahome.Changinghername,thepitifulyounggirl,seducedinhertrustingyouthbyacold-bloodedmurderer,lefttheseshoresforever,tobeginanewlifeandtokeepforeverlockedinherheartandconcealedfromherdaughterthenameofherfather.“Mydaughtershallgrowuphappyandinnocent.Herlifeshallnotbetaintedbythecruelpast.ThatIhavesworn.Mytragicmemoriesshallremainminealone.”PoorfrailtrustingEvaKane.Tolearn,soyoung,thevillainyandinfamyofman.Whereisshenow?Isthere,insomeMid-westerntown,anelderlywoman,quietandrespectedbyherneighbours,whohas,perhaps,sadeyes…Anddoesayoungwoman,happyandcheerful,withchildren,perhaps,ofherown,comeandsee“Momma,”tellingherofallthelittlerubsandgrievancesofdailylife—withnoideaofwhatpastsufferingshermotherhasendured?
“Ohlala!”saidHerculePoirot.AndpassedontothenextTragicVictim.
JaniceCourtland,the“tragicwife,”hadcertainlybeenunfortunateinherhusband.Hispeculiarpracticesreferredtoinsuchaguardedwayastorouseinstantcuriosity,hadbeensufferedbyherforeightyears.Eightyearsofmartyrdom,theSundayCometsaidfirmly.ThenJanicemadeafriend.Anidealisticandunworldlyyoungmanwho,horrifiedbyascenebetweenhusbandandwifethathehadwitnessedbyaccident,hadthereuponassaultedthehusbandwithsuchvigourthatthelatterhadcrashedinhisskullonasharply-edgedmarblefiresurround.Thejuryhadfoundthatprovocationhadbeenintense,thattheyoungidealisthadhadnointentionofkilling,andasentenceoffiveyearsformanslaughterwasgiven.
ThesufferingJanice,horrifiedbyallthepublicitythecasehadbroughther,hadgoneabroad“toforget.”
Hassheforgotten?askedtheSundayComet.Wehopeso.Somewhere,perhaps,isahappywifeandmothertowhomthoseyearsofnightmaresufferingsilentlyendured,seemnowonlylikeadream….
“Well,well,”saidHerculePoirotandpassedontoLilyGamboll,thetragicchildproductofourovercrowdedage.
LilyGambollhad,itseemed,beenremovedfromherovercrowdedhome.AnaunthadassumedresponsibilityforLily’slife.Lilyhadwantedtogotothepictures,aunthadsaid“No.”LilyGambollhadpickedupthemeatchopperwhichwaslyingconvenientlyonthetableandhadaimedablowatherauntwithit.Theaunt,thoughautocratic,wassmallandfrail.Theblowkilledher.Lilywasawell-developedandmuscularchildforhertwelveyears.AnapprovedschoolhadopeneditsdoorsandLilyhaddisappearedfromtheeverydayscene.
Bynowsheisawoman,freeagaintotakeherplaceinourcivilization.Herconduct,duringheryearsofconfinementandprobation,issaidtohavebeenexemplary.Doesnotthisshowthatitisnotthechild,butthesystem,thatwemustblame?Broughtupinignorance,littleLilywasthevictimofherenvironment.Now,havingatonedforhertragiclapse,shelivessomewhere,happily,wehope,agoodcitizenandagoodwifeandmother.PoorlittleLilyGamboll.
Poirotshookhishead.Achildoftwelvewhotookaswingatherauntwithameatchopperandhitherhardenoughtokillherwasnot,inhisopinion,anicechild.Hissympathieswere,inthiscase,withtheaunt.
HepassedontoVeraBlake.
VeraBlakewasclearlyoneofthosewomenwithwhomeverythinggoeswrong.Shehadfirsttakenupwithaboyfriendwhoturnedouttobeagangsterwantedbythepoliceforkillingabankwatchman.Shehadthenmarriedarespectabletradesmanwhoturnedouttobeareceiverofstolengoods.Hertwochildrenhadlikewise,induecourse,attractedtheattentionofthepolice.TheywentwithMammatodepartmentstoresanddidaprettylineinshoplifting.Finally,however,a“goodman”hadappearedonthescene.HehadofferedtragicVeraahomeintheDominions.Sheandherchildrenshouldleavethiseffetecountry.
FromhenceforwardaNewLifeawaitedthem.Atlast,afterlongyearsofrepeatedblowsfromFate,Vera’stroublesareover.
“Iwonder,”saidPoirotsceptically.“Verypossiblyshewillfindshehasmarriedaconfidencetricksterwhoworkstheliners!”
Heleantbackandstudiedthefourphotographs.EvaKanewithtousledcurlyhairoverherearsandanenormoushat,heldabunchofrosesuptoherearlikeatelephonereceiver.JaniceCourtlandhadaclochehatpusheddownoverherearsandawaistroundherhips.LilyGambollwasaplainchildwithanadenoidalappearanceofopenmouth,hardbreathingandthickspectacles.VeraBlakewassotragicallyblackandwhitethatnofeaturesshowed.
ForsomereasonMrs.McGintyhadtornoutthisfeature,photographsandall.Why?Justtokeepbecausethestoriesinterestedher?Hethoughtnot.Mrs.McGintyhadkeptveryfewthingsduringhersixty-oddyearsoflife.Poirotknewthatfromthepolicereportsofherbelongings.
ShehadtornthisoutontheSundayandontheMondayshehadboughtabottleofinkandtheinferencewasthatshe,whoneverwroteletters,wasabouttowritealetter.Ifithadbeenabusinessletter,shewouldprobablyhaveaskedJoeBurchtohelpher.Soithadnotbeenbusiness.Ithadbeen—what?
Poirot’seyeslookedoverthefourphotographsonceagain.
Where,theSundayCometasked,arethesewomennow?
Oneofthem,Poirotthought,mighthavebeeninBroadhinnylastNovember.
III
ItwasnotuntilthefollowingdaythatPoirotfoundhimselftête-à-têtewithMissPamelaHorsefall.
MissHorsefallcouldn’tgivehimlong,becauseshehadtorushawaytoSheffield,sheexplained.
MissHorsefallwastall,manly-looking,aharddrinkerandsmoker,anditwouldseem,lookingather,highlyimprobablethatitwasherpenwhichhaddroppedsuchtreaclysentimentintheSundayComet.Neverthelessitwasso.
“Coughitup,coughitup,”saidMissHorsefallimpatientlytoPoirot.“I’vegottobegoing.”
“ItisaboutyourarticleintheSundayComet.LastNovember.TheseriesaboutTragicWomen.”
“Oh,thatseries.Prettylousy,weren’tthey?”
Poirotdidnotexpressanopiniononthatpoint.Hesaid:
“IreferinparticulartothearticleonWomenAssociatedwithCrimethatappearedonNovember19th.ItconcernedEvaKane,VeraBlake,JaniceCourtlandandLilyGamboll.”
MissHorsefallgrinned.
“Wherearethesetragicwomennow?Iremember.”
“Isupposeyousometimesgetlettersaftertheappearanceofthesearticles?”
“YoubetIdo!Somepeopleseemtohavenothingbettertodothanwriteletters.Somebody‘oncesawthemurdererCraigwalkingdownthestreet.’Somebodywouldliketotellme‘thestoryofherlife,farmoretragicthananythingIcouldeverimagine.’”
“DidyougetaletteraftertheappearanceofthatarticlefromaMrs.McGintyofBroadhinny?”
“Mydearman,howonearthshouldIknow?Igetbucketsofletters.HowshouldIrememberoneparticularname?”
“Ithoughtyoumightremember,”saidPoirot,“becauseafewdayslaterMrs.McGintywasmurdered.”
“Nowyou’retalking.”MissHorsefallforgottobeimpatienttogettoSheffield,andsatdownastrideachair.“McGinty—McGinty…Idorememberthename.Conkedontheheadbyherlodger.Notaveryexcitingcrimefromthepointofviewofthepublic.Nosexappealaboutit.Yousaythewomanwrotetome?”
“ShewrotetotheSundayComet,Ithink.”
“Samething.Itwouldcomeontome.Andwiththemurder—andhernamebeinginthenews—surelyIshouldremember—”shestopped.“Lookhere—itwasn’tfromBroadhinny.ItwasfromBroadway.”
“Soyoudoremember?”
“Well,I’mnotsure…Butthename…Comicname,isn’tit?McGinty!Yes—atrociouswritingandquiteilliterate.IfI’donlyrealized…ButI’msureitcamefromBroadway.”
Poirotsaid:“Yousayyourselfthewritingwasbad.BroadwayandBroadhinny—theycouldlookalike.”
“Yes—mightbeso.Afterall,onewouldn’tbelikelytoknowthesequeerruralnames.McGinty—yes.Idorememberdefinitely.Perhapsthemurderfixedthenameforme.”
“Canyourememberwhatshesaidinherletter?”
“Somethingaboutaphotograph.Sheknewwheretherewasaphotographlikeinthepaper—andwouldwepayheranythingforitandhowmuch?”
“Andyouanswered?”
“Mydearman,wedon’twantanythingofthatkind.Wesentbackthestandardreply.Politethanksbutnothingdoing.ButaswesentittoBroadway—Idon’tsupposeshe’devergetit.”
“Sheknewwheretherewasaphotograph….”
IntoPoirot’smindtherecamebackaremembrance.MaureenSummerhayes’carelessvoicesaying,“Ofcourseshesnoopedroundabit.”
Mrs.McGintyhadsnooped.Shewashonest,butshelikedtoknowaboutthings.Andpeoplekeptthings—foolish,meaninglessthingsfromthepast.Keptthemforsentimentalreasons,orjustoverlookedthemanddidn’tremembertheywerethere.
Mrs.McGintyhadseenanoldphotographandlatershehadrecognizeditreproducedintheSundayComet.Andshehadwonderediftherewasanymoneyinit….
Herosebriskly.“Thankyou,MissHorsefall.Youwillpardonme,butthosenotesonthecasesthatyouwrote,weretheyaccurate?Inotice,forinstance,thattheyearoftheCraigtrialisgivenwrongly—itwasactuallyayearlaterthanyousay.AndintheCourtlandcase,thehusband’snamewasHerbert,Iseemtoremember,notHubert.LilyGamboll’sauntlivedinBuckinghamshire,notBerkshire.”
MissHorsefallwavedacigarette.
“Mydearman.Nopointinaccuracy.Wholethingwasaromanticfarragofrombeginningtoend.Ijustmuggedupthefactsabitandthenletflywithalotofhouha.”
“WhatIamtryingtosayisthateventhecharactersofyourheroinesarenot,perhaps,quiteasrepresented.”
Pamelaletoutaneighingsoundlikeahorse.
“’Coursetheyweren’t.Whatdoyouthink?I’venodoubtthatEvaKanewasathoroughlittlebitch,andnotaninjuredinnocentatall.AndasfortheCourtlandwoman,whydidshesufferinsilenceforeightyearswithasadisticpervert?Becausehewasrollinginmoney,andtheromanticboyfriendhadn’tany.”
“Andthetragicchild,LilyGamboll?”
“Iwouldn’tcaretohavehergambollingaboutmewithameatchopper.”
Poirottickedoffonhisfingers.
“Theyleftthecountry—theywenttotheNewWorld—abroad—‘totheDominions’—‘tostartaNewLife.’Andthereisnothingtoshow,isthere,thattheydidnot,subsequently,comebacktothiscountry?”
“Notathing,”agreedMissHorsefall.“Andnow—Ireallymustfly—”
LaterthatnightPoirotrangupSpence.
“I’vebeenwonderingaboutyou,Poirot.Haveyougotanything?Anythingatall?”
“Ihavemademyinquiries,”saidPoirotgrimly.
“Yes?”
“Andtheresultofthemisthis:ThepeoplewholiveinBroadhinnyareallverynicepeople.”
“Whatdoyoumeanbythat,M.Poirot?”
“Oh,myfriend,consider.‘Verynicepeople.’Thathasbeen,beforenow,amotiveformurder.”
Nine
I
“Allverynicepeople,”murmuredPoirotasheturnedinatthegateofCrossways,nearthestation.
AbrassplateinthedoorpostannouncedthatDr.Rendell,M.D.,livedthere.
Dr.Rendellwasalargecheerfulmanofforty.Hegreetedhisguestwithdefiniteempressement.
“Ourquietlittlevillageishonoured,”hesaid,“bythepresenceofthegreatHerculePoirot.”
“Ah,”saidPoirot.Hewasgratified.“Youhave,then,heardofme?”
“Ofcoursewehaveheardofyou.Whohasn’t?”
TheanswertothatwouldhavebeendamagingtoPoirot’sself-esteem.Hemerelysaidpolitely:“Iamfortunatetofindyouathome.”
Itwasnotparticularlyfortunate.Itwas,onthecontrary,astutetiming.ButDr.Rendellrepliedheartily:
“Yes.Justcaughtme.Surgeryinaquarterofanhour.NowwhatcanIdoforyou?I’mdevouredwithcuriositytoknowwhatyou’redoingdownhere.Arestcure?Orhavewecrimeinourmidst?”
“Inthepasttense—notthepresent.”
“Past?Idon’tremember—”
“Mrs.McGinty.”
“Ofcourse.Ofcourse.Iwasforgetting.Butdon’tsayyou’reconcernedwiththat—atthislatedate?”
“IfImaymentionthistoyouinconfidence,Iamemployedbythedefence.Freshevidenceonwhichtolodgeanappeal.”
Dr.Rendellsaidsharply:“Butwhatfreshevidencecantherebe?”
“That,alas,Iamnotatlibertytostate—”
“Oh,quite—pleaseforgiveme.”
“ButIhavecomeacrosscertainthingswhichare,Imaysay—verycurious—very—howshallIputit?—suggestive?Icametoyou,Dr.Rendell,becauseIunderstandthatMrs.McGintyoccasionallywasemployedhere.”
“Ohyes,yes—shewas—Whataboutadrink?Sherry?Whisky?Youprefersherry?SodoI.”Hebroughttwoglassesand,sittingdownbyPoirot,hewenton:“Sheusedtocomeonceaweektodoextracleaning.I’vegotaverygoodhousekeeper—excellent—butthebrasses—andscrubbingthekitchenfloor—well,myMrs.Scottcan’tgetdownonherkneesverywell.Mrs.McGintywasanexcellentworker.”
“Doyouthinkthatshewasatruthfulperson?”
“Truthful?Well,that’sanoddquestion.Idon’tthinkIcouldsay—noopportunityofknowing.AsfarasIknowshewasquitetruthful.”
“Ifthenshemadeastatementtoanyone,youthinkthatstatementwouldprobablybetrue?”
Dr.Rendelllookedfaintlydisturbed.
“Oh,Iwouldn’tliketogoasfarasthat.Ireallyknowsolittleabouther.IcouldaskMrs.Scott.She’dknowbetter.”
“No,no.Itwouldbebetternottodothat.”
“You’rearousingmycuriosity,”saidDr.Rendellgenially.“Whatwasitshewasgoingaroundsaying?Somethingabitlibellous,wasit?Slanderous,IsupposeImean.”
Poirotmerelyshookhishead.Hesaid:“Youunderstand,allthisisextremelyhushhushatpresent.Iamonlyattheverycommencementofmyinvestigation.”
Dr.Rendellsaidratherdrily:
“You’llhavetohurryabit,won’tyou?”
“Youareright.Thetimeatmydisposalisshort.”
“Imustsayyousurpriseme…We’veallbeenquitesuredownherethatBentleydidit.Theredidn’tseemanydoubtpossible.”
“Itseemedanordinarysordidcrime—notveryinteresting.Thatiswhatyouwouldsay?”
“Yes—yes,thatsumsitupveryfairly.”
“YouknewJamesBentley?”
“Hecametoseemeprofessionallyonceortwice.Hewasnervousabouthisownhealth.Coddledbyhismother,Ifancy.Oneseesthatsooften.We’veanothercaseinpointhere.”
“Ah,indeed?”
“Yes.Mrs.Upward.LauraUpward.Dotesuponthatsonofhers.Shekeepshimwell-tiedtoherapronstrings.He’sacleverfellow—notquiteascleverashethinkshimself,betweenyouandme—butstilldefinitelytalented.BywayofbeingabuddingplaywrightisourRobin.”
“Theyhavebeenherelong?”
“Threeorfouryears.NobodyhasbeeninBroadhinnyverylong.Theoriginalvillagewasonlyahandfulofcottages,groupedroundLongMeadows.You’restayingthere,Iunderstand?”
“Iam,”saidPoirotwithoutundueelation.
Dr.Rendellappearedamused.
“GuestHouseindeed,”hesaid.“WhatthatyoungwomanknowsaboutrunningaGuestHouseisjustnothingatall.She’slivedinIndiaallhermarriedlifewithservantsrunningroundallovertheplace.Ibetyou’reuncomfortable.Nobodyeverstayslong.AsforpooroldSummerhayes,he’llnevermakeanythingofthismarketgardeningstunthe’stryingtorun.Nicefellow—butnotanideaofthecommerciallife—andthecommerciallifeit’sgottobenowadaysifyouwanttokeepyourheadabovewater.Don’trunawaywiththeideathatIhealthesick.I’mjustaglorifiedformfillerandsignerofcertificates.IliketheSummerhayes,though.She’sacharmingcreature,andthoughSummerhayeshasadevilishtemperandisinclinedtobemoody,he’soneoftheoldgang.Outofthetopdrawerallright.YoushouldhaveknownoldColonelSummerhayes,aregulartartar,proudasthedevil.”
“ThatwasMajorSummerhayes’father?”
“Yes.Therewasn’tmuchmoneywhentheoldboydiedandofcoursetherehavebeendeathdutiestocripplethesepeople,butthey’redeterminedtosticktotheoldplace.Onedoesn’tknowwhethertoadmirethem,orwhethertosay‘Sillyfools.’”
Helookedathiswatch.
“Imustnotkeepyou,”saidPoirot.
“I’vegotafewminutesstill.Besides,I’dlikeyoutomeetmywife.Ican’tthinkwheresheis.Shewasimmenselyinterestedtohearyouweredownhere.We’rebothverycrime-minded.Readalotaboutit.”
“Criminology,fiction,ortheSundaypapers?”askedPoirotsmiling.
“Allthree.”
“DoyoudescendaslowastheSundayComet?”
Rendelllaughed.
“WhatwouldSundaybewithoutit?”
“Theyhadsomeinterestingarticlesaboutfivemonthsago.Oneinparticularaboutwomenwhohadbeeninvolvedinmurdercasesandthetragedyoftheirlives.”
“Yes,Iremembertheoneyoumean.Allalotofhooey,though.”
“Ah,youthinkthat?”
“WellofcoursetheCraigcaseIonlyknowfromreadingaboutit,butoneoftheothers—Courtlandcase,Icantellyouthatwomanwasnotragicinnocent.Regularviciousbitofgoods.Iknowbecauseanuncleofmineattendedthehusband.Hewascertainlynobeauty,buthiswifewasn’tmuchbetter.Shegotholdofthatyounggreenhornandeggedhimontomurder.Thenhegoestoprisonformanslaughterandshegoesoff,arichwidow,andmarriessomeoneelse.”
“TheSundayCometdidnotmentionthat.Doyourememberwhomshemarried?”
Rendellshookhishead.
“Don’tthinkIeverheardthename,butsomeonetoldmethatshe’ddoneprettywellforherself.”
“Onewonderedinreadingthearticlewherethosefourwomenwerenow,”musedPoirot.
“Iknow.Onemayhavemetoneofthematapartylastweek.Ibettheyallkeeptheirpastprettydark.You’dcertainlyneverrecognizeanyof’emfromthosephotographs.Myword,theylookedaplainlot.”
TheclockchimedandPoirotrosetohisfeet.“Imustdetainyounolonger.Youhavebeenmostkind.”
“Notmuchhelp,I’mafraid.Themeremanbarelyknowswhathischarladylookslike.Buthalfasecond,youmustmeetthewife.She’dneverforgiveme.”
HeprecededPoirotoutintothehall,callingloudly:
“Shelagh—Shelagh—”
Afaintanswercamefromupstairs.
“Comedownhere.I’vegotsomethingforyou.”
Athinfair-hairedpalewomanranlightlydownthestairs.
“Here’sM.HerculePoirot,Shelagh.Whatdoyouthinkofthat?”
“Oh,”Mrs.Rendellappearedtobestartledoutofspeaking.HerverypaleblueeyesstaredatPoirotapprehensively
“Madame,”saidPoirot,bowingoverherheadinhismostforeignmanner.
“Weheardthatyouwerehere,”saidShelaghRendell.“Butwedidn’tknow—”Shebrokeoff.Herlighteyeswentquicklytoherhusband’sface.
“ItisfromhimshetakestheGreenwichtime,”saidPoirottohimself.
Heutteredafewfloridphrasesandtookhisleave.
AnimpressionremainedwithhimofagenialDr.Rendellandatongue-tied,apprehensiveMrs.Rendell.
SomuchfortheRendells,whereMrs.McGintyhadgonetoworkonTuesdaymornings.
II
Hunter’sClosewasasolidlybuiltVictorianhouseapproachedbyalonguntidydriveovergrownwithweeds.Ithadnotoriginallybeenconsideredabighouse,butwasnowbigenoughtobeinconvenientdomestically.
PoirotinquiredoftheforeignyoungwomanwhoopenedthedoorforMrs.Wetherby.
Shestaredathimandthensaid:“Idonotknow.Pleasetocome.MissHendersonperhaps?”
Shelefthimstandinginthehall.Itwasinanestateagent’sphrase“fullyfurnished”—withagoodmanycuriosfromvariouspartsoftheworld.Nothinglookedverycleanorwelldusted.
Presentlytheforeigngirlreappeared.Shesaid:“Pleasetocome,”andshowedhimintoachillylittleroomwithalargedesk.Onthemantelpiecewasabigandratherevil-lookingcoppercoffeepotwithanenormoushookedspoutlikealargehookednose.
ThedooropenedbehindPoirotandagirlcameintotheroom.
“Mymotherislyingdown,”shesaid.“CanIdoanythingforyou?”
“YouareMissWetherby?”
“Henderson.Mr.Wetherbyismystepfather.”
Shewasaplaingirlofaboutthirty,largeandawkward.Shehadwatchfuleyes
“IwasanxioustohearwhatyoucouldtellmeaboutMrs.McGintywhousedtoworkhere.”
Shestaredathim.
“Mrs.McGinty?Butshe’sdead.”
“Iknowthat,”saidPoirotgently.“Nevertheless,Iwouldliketohearabouther.”
“Oh.Isitforinsuranceorsomething?”
“Notforinsurance.Itisaquestionoffreshevidence.”
“Freshevidence.Youmean—herdeath?”
“Iamengaged,”saidPoirot,“bythesolicitorsforthedefencetomakeaninquiryonJamesBentley’sbehalf.”
Staringathim,sheasked:“Butdidn’thedoit?”
“Thejurythoughthedid.Butjurieshavebeenknowntomakeamistake.”
“Thenitwasreallysomeoneelsewhokilledher?”
“Itmayhavebeen.”
Sheaskedabruptly:“Who?”
“That,”saidPoirotsoftly,“isthequestion.”
“Idon’tunderstandatall.”
“No?ButyoucantellmesomethingaboutMrs.McGinty,can’tyou?”
Shesaidratherreluctantly:
“Isupposeso…Whatdoyouwanttoknow?”
“Well—tobeginwith—whatdidyouthinkofher?”
“Why—nothinginparticular.Shewasjustlikeanybodyelse.”
“Talkativeorsilent?Curiousorreserved?Pleasantormorose?Anicewoman,or—notaverynicewoman?”
MissHendersonreflected.
“Sheworkedwell—butshetalkedalot.Sometimesshesaidratherfunnythings…Ididn’t—really—likeherverymuch.”
Thedooropenedandtheforeignhelpsaid:
“MissDeirdre,yourmothersay:pleasetobring.”
“Mymotherwantsmetotakethisgentlemanupstairstoher?”
“Yesplease,thankyou.”
DeirdreHendersonlookedatPoirotdoubtfully.
“Willyoucomeuptomymother?”
“Butcertainly.”
Deirdreledthewayacrossthehallandupthestairs.Shesaidinconsequently:“Onedoesgetsoverytiredofforeigners.”
Sincehermindwasclearlyrunningonherdomestichelpandnotonthevisitor,Poirotdidnottakeoffence.HereflectedthatDeirdreHendersonseemedarathersimpleyoungwoman—simpletothepointofgaucheness.
Theroomupstairswascrowdedwithknickknacks.Itwastheroomofawomanwhohadtravelledagooddealandwhohadbeendeterminedwherevershewenttohaveasouveniroftheplace.Mostofthesouvenirswereclearlymadeforthedelightandexploitationoftourists.Thereweretoomanysofasandtablesandchairsintheroom,toolittleairandtoomanydraperies—andinthemidstofitallwasMrs.Wetherby.
Mrs.Wetherbyseemedasmallwoman—apatheticsmallwomaninalargeroom.Thatwastheeffect.Butshewasnotreallyquitesosmallasshehaddecidedtoappear.The“poorlittleme”typecanachieveitsresultquitewell,evenifreallyofmediumheight.
Shewasrecliningverycomfortablyonasofaandnearherwerebooksandsomeknittingandaglassoforangejuiceandaboxofchocolates.Shesaidbrightly:
“Youmustforgivemenotgettingup,butthedoctordoessoinsistonmyrestingeveryday,andeveryonescoldsmeifIdon’tdowhatI’mtold.”
Poirottookherextendedhandandbowedoveritwiththepropermurmurofhomage.
Behindhim,uncompromising,Deirdresaid:“HewantstoknowaboutMrs.McGinty.”
Thedelicatehandthathadlainpassivelyinhistightenedandhewasremindedforamomentofthetalonofabird.NotreallyapieceofdelicateDresdenchina—ascratchypredatoryclaw…
Laughingslightly,Mrs.Wetherbysaid:
“Howridiculousyouare,Deirdredarling.WhoisMrs.McGinty?”
“Oh,Mummy—youdorememberreally.Sheworkedforus.Youknow,theonewhowasmurdered.”
Mrs.Wetherbyclosedhereyes,andshivered.
“Don’t,darling.Itwasallsohorrid.Ifeltnervousforweeksafterwards.Pooroldwoman,butsostupidtokeepmoneyunderthefloor.Sheoughttohaveputitinthebank.OfcourseIrememberallthat—I’djustforgottenhername.”
Deirdresaidstolidly:
“Hewantstoknowabouther.”
“Nowdositdown,M.Poirot.I’mquitedevouredbycuriosity.Mrs.Rendelljustrangupandshesaidwehadaveryfamouscriminologistdownhere,andshedescribedyou.Andthen,whenthatidiotFriedadescribedavisitor,Ifeltsureitmustbeyou,andIsentdownwordforyoutocomeup.Nowtellme,whatisallthis?”
“Itisasyourdaughtersays,IwanttoknowaboutMrs.McGinty.Sheworkedhere.Shecametoyou,Iunderstand,onWednesdays.AnditwasonaWednesdayshedied.Soshehadbeenherethatday,hadshenot?”
“Isupposeso.Yes,Isupposeso.Ican’treallytellnow.It’ssolongago.”
“Yes.Severalmonths.Andshedidnotsayanythingthatday—anythingspecial?”
“Thatclassofpersonalwaystalksalot,”saidMrs.Wetherbywithdistaste.“Onedoesn’treallylisten.Andanyway,shecouldn’ttellshewasgoingtoberobbedandkilledthatnight,couldshe?”
“Thereiscauseandeffect,”saidPoirot.
Mrs.Wetherbywrinkledherforehead.
“Idon’tseewhatyoumean.”
“PerhapsIdonotseemyself—notyet.Oneworksthroughdarknesstowardslight…DoyoutakeintheSundaypapers,Mrs.Wetherby?”
Herblueeyesopenedverywide.
“Ohyes.Ofcourse.WehavetheObserverandtheSundayTimes.Why?”
“Iwondered.Mrs.McGintytooktheSundayCometandtheNewsoftheWorld.”
Hepausedbutnobodysaidanything.Mrs.Wetherbysighedandhalfclosedhereyes.Shesaid:
“Itwasallveryupsetting.Thathorriblelodgerofhers.Idon’tthinkreallyhecanhavebeenquiterightinthehead.Apparentlyhewasquiteaneducatedman,too.Thatmakesitworse,doesn’tit?”
“Doesit?”
“Ohyes—Idothinkso.Suchabrutalcrime.Ameatchopper.Ugh!”
“Thepoliceneverfoundtheweapon,”saidPoirot.
“Iexpecthethrewitinapondorsomething.”
“Theydraggedtheponds,”saidDeirdre.“Isawthem.”
“Darling,”hermothersighed,“don’tbemorbid.YouknowhowIhatethinkingofthingslikethat.Myhead.”
FiercelythegirlturnedonPoirot.
“Youmustn’tgoonaboutit,”shesaid.“It’sbadforher.She’sfrightfullysensitive.Shecan’tevenreaddetectivestories.”
“Myapologies,”saidPoirot.Herosetohisfeet.“Ihaveonlyoneexcuse.Amanistobehangedinthreeweeks’time.Ifhedidnotdoit—”
Mrs.Wetherbyraisedherselfonherelbow.Hervoicewasshrill.
“Butofcoursehedidit,”shecried.“Ofcoursehedid.”
Poirotshookhishead.
“Iamnotsosure.”
Helefttheroomquickly.Ashewentdownthestairs,thegirlcameafterhim.Shecaughtupwithhiminthehall.
“Whatdoyoumean?”sheasked.
“WhatIsaid,mademoiselle.”
“Yes,but—”Shestopped.
Poirotsaidnothing.
DeirdreHendersonsaidslowly:
“You’veupsetmymother.Shehatesthingslikethat—robberiesandmurdersand—andviolence.”
“Itmust,then,havebeenagreatshocktoherwhenawomanwhohadactuallyworkedherewaskilled.”
“Ohyes—ohyes,itwas.”
“Shewasprostrated—yes?”
“Shewouldn’thearanythingaboutit…We—I—wetryto—tospareherthings.Allthebeastliness.”
“Whataboutthewar?”
“Luckilyweneverhadanybombsnearhere.”
“Whatwasyourpartinthewar,mademoiselle?”
“Oh,IdidVADworkinKilchester.AndsomedrivingfortheWVSIcouldn’thavelefthome,ofcourse.Motherneededme.Asitwas,shemindedmybeingoutsomuch.Itwasallverydifficult.Andthenservants—naturallymother’sneverdoneanyhousework—she’snotstrongenough.Anditwassodifficulttogetanyoneatall.That’swhyMrs.McGintywassuchablessing.That’swhenshebegancomingtous.Shewasasplendidworker.Butofcoursenothing—anywhere—islikeitusedtobe.”
“Anddoyoumindthatsomuch,mademoiselle?”
“I?Ohno.”Sheseemedsurprised.“Butit’sdifferentformother.She—shelivesinthepastalot.”
“Somepeopledo,”saidPoirot.Hisvisualmemoryconjureduptheroomhehadbeeninashorttimebefore.Therehadbeenabureaudrawerhalfpulledout.Adrawerfullofoddsandends—asilkpincushion,abrokenfan,asilvercoffeepot—someoldmagazines.Thedrawerhadbeentoofulltoshut.Hesaidsoftly:“Andtheykeepthings—memoriesofolddays—thedanceprogramme,thefan,thephotographsofbygonefriends,eventhemenucardsandthetheatreprogrammesbecause,lookingatthesethings,oldmemoriesrevive.”
“Isupposethat’sit,”saidDeirdre.“Ican’tunderstanditmyself.Ineverkeepanything.”
“Youlookforwards,notback?”
Deirdresaidslowly:
“Idon’tknowthatIlookanywhere…Imean,today’susuallyenough,isn’tit?”
Thefrontdooropenedandatall,spare,elderlymancameintothehall.HestoppeddeadashesawPoirot.
HeglancedatDeirdreandhiseyebrowsroseininterrogation.
“Thisismystepfather,”saidDeirdre.“I—Idon’tknowyourname?”
“IamHerculePoirot,”saidPoirotwithhisusualembarrassedairofannouncingaroyaltitle.
Mr.Wetherbyseemedunimpressed.
Hesaid,“Ah,”andturnedtohanguphiscoat.
Deirdresaid:
“HecametoaskaboutMrs.McGinty.”
Mr.Wetherbyremainedstillforasecond,thenhefinishedhisadjustmentofthecoatonthepeg.
“Thatseemstomeratherremarkable,”hesaid.“Thewomanmetherdeathsomemonthsagoand,althoughsheworkedhere,wehavenoinformationconcerningherorherfamily.Ifwehaddoneweshouldalreadyhavegivenittothepolice.”
Therewasfinalityinhistone.Heglancedathiswatch.
“Lunch,Ipresume,willbereadyinaquarterofanhour.”
“I’mafraiditmayberatherlatetoday.”
Mr.Wetherby’seyebrowsroseagain.
“Indeed?Why,mayIask?”
“Friedahasbeenratherbusy.”
“MydearDeirdre,Ihatetoremindyou,butthetaskofrunningthehouseholddevolvesonyou.Ishouldappreciatealittlemorepunctuality.”
Poirotopenedthefrontdoorandlethimselfout.Heglancedoverhisshoulder
TherewascolddislikeinthegazethatMr.Wetherbygavehisstepdaughter.Therewassomethingverylikehateintheeyesthatlookedbackathim.
Ten
Poirotlefthisthirdcalluntilafterluncheon.Luncheonwasunder-stewedoxtail,waterypotatoes,andwhatMaureenhopedoptimisticallymightturnouttobepancakes.Theywereverypeculiar.
Poirotwalkedslowlyupthehill.Presently,onhisright,hewouldcometoLaburnums,twocottagesknockedintooneandremodelledtomoderntaste.HerelivedMrs.Upwardandthatpromisingyoungplaywright,RobinUpward.
Poirotpausedamomentatthegatetopassahandoverhismoustaches.Ashedidsoacarcametwistingslowlydownthehillandanapplecoredirectedwithforcestruckhimonthecheek.
Startled,Poirotletoutayelpofprotest.Thecarhaltedandaheadcamethroughthewindow.
“I’msosorry.DidIhityou?”
Poirotpausedintheactofreplying.Helookedattherathernobleface,themassivebrow,theuntidybillowsofgreyhairandachordofmemorystirred.Theapplecore,too,assistedhismemory
“Butsurely,”heexclaimed,“itisMrs.Oliver.”
Itwasindeedthatcelebrateddetectivestorywriter.
Exclaiming,“Why,it’sM.Poirot,”theauthoressattemptedtoextractherselffromthecar.ItwasasmallcarandMrs.Oliverwasalargewoman.Poirothastenedtoassist.
Murmuringinanexplanatoryvoice,“Stiffafterthelongdrive,”Mrs.Oliversuddenlyarrivedoutontheroad,ratherinthemannerofavolcaniceruption
Largequantitiesofapplescame,too,androlledmerrilydownthehill.
“Bag’sburst,”explainedMrs.Oliver
Shebrushedafewstraypiecesofhalf-consumedapplefromthejuttingshelfofherbustandthenshookherselfratherlikealargeNewfoundlanddog.Thelastapple,concealedintherecessesofherperson,joineditsbrothersandsisters.
“Pitythebagburst,”saidMrs.Oliver.“TheywereCox’s.StillIsupposetherewillbelotsofapplesdownhereinthecountry.Oraren’tthere?Perhapstheyallgetsentaway.Thingsaresooddnowadays,Ifind.Well,howareyou,M.Poirot?Youdon’tlivehere,doyou?No,I’msureyoudon’t.ThenIsupposeit’smurder?Notmyhostess,Ihope?”
“Whoisyourhostess?”
“Inthere,”saidMrs.Oliver,noddingherhead.“That’stosayifthat’sahousecalledLaburnums,halfwaydownthehillontheleftsideafteryoupassthechurch.Yes,thatmustbeit.What’sshelike?”
“Youdonotknowher?”
“No,I’vecomedownprofessionally,sotospeak.Abookofmineisbeingdramatized—byRobinUpward.We’resupposedtosortofgettogetheroverit.”
“Myfelicitations,madame.”
“It’snotlikethatatall,”saidMrs.Oliver.“Sofarit’spureagony.WhyIeverletmyselfinforitIdon’tknow.Mybooksbringmeinquiteenoughmoney—thatistosaythebloodsuckerstakemostofit,andifImademore,they’dtakemore,soIdon’toverstrainmyself.Butyou’venoideaoftheagonyofhavingyourcharacterstakenandmadetosaythingsthattheyneverwouldhavesaid,anddothingsthattheyneverwouldhavedone.Andifyouprotest,alltheysayisthatit’s‘goodtheatre.’That’sallRobinUpwardthinksof.Everyonesayshe’sveryclever.Ifhe’ssocleverIdon’tseewhyhedoesn’twriteaplayofhisownandleavemypoorunfortunateFinnalone.He’snotevenaFinnanylonger.He’sbecomeamemberoftheNorwegianResistanceMovement.”Sheranherhandsthroughherhair.“WhathaveIdonewithmyhat?”
Poirotlookedintothecar.
“Ithink,madame,thatyoumusthavebeensittingonit.”
“Itdoeslooklikeit,”agreedMrs.Oliver,surveyingthewreckage.“Ohwell,”shecontinuedcheerfully,“Ineverlikeditmuch.ButIthoughtImighthavetogotochurchonSunday,andalthoughtheArchbishophassaidoneneedn’t,Istillthinkthatthemoreold-fashionedclergyexpectonetowearahat.Buttellmeaboutyourmurderorwhateveritis.Doyourememberourmurder?”
“Verywellindeed.”
“Ratherfun,wasn’tit?Nottheactualmurder—Ididn’tlikethatatall.Butafterwards.Whoisitthistime?”
“NotsopicturesqueapersonasMr.Shaitana.Anelderlycharwomanwhowasrobbedandmurderedfivemonthsago.Youmayhavereadaboutit.Mrs.McGinty.Ayoungmanwasconvictedandsentencedtodeath—”
“Andhedidn’tdoit,butyouknowwhodid,andyou’regoingtoproveit,”saidMrs.Oliverrapidly.“Splendid.”
“Yougotoofast,”saidPoirotwithasigh.“Idonotyetknowwhodidit—andfromthereitwillbealongwaytoproveit.”
“Menaresoslow,”saidMrs.Oliverdisparagingly.“I’llsoontellyouwhodidit.Someonedownhere,Isuppose?Givemeadayortwotolookround,andI’llspotthemurderer.Awoman’sintuition—that’swhatyouneed.IwasquiterightovertheShaitanacase,wasn’tI?”
PoirotgallantlyforbodetoremindMrs.Oliverofherrapidchangesofsuspiciononthatoccasion.
“Youmen,”saidMrs.Oliverindulgently.“NowifawomanweretheheadofScotlandYard—”
Sheleftthiswell-wornthemehangingintheairasavoicehailedthemfromthedoorofthecottage.
“Hallo,”saidthevoice,anagreeablelighttenor.“IsthatMrs.Oliver?”
“HereIam,”calledMrs.Oliver.ToPoirotshemurmured:“Don’tworry.I’llbeverydiscreet.”
“No,no,madame.Idonotwantyoutobediscreet.Onthecontrary.”
RobinUpwardcamedownthepathandthroughthegate.Hewasbareheadedandworeveryoldgreyflanneltrousersandadisreputablesportscoat.Butforatendencytoembonpoint,hewouldhavebeengoodlooking.
“Ariadne,myprecious!”heexclaimedandembracedherwarmly.
Hestoodaway,hishandsonhershoulders.
“Mydear,I’vehadthemostmarvellousideaforthesecondact.”
“Haveyou?”saidMrs.Oliverwithoutenthusiasm.“ThisisM.HerculePoirot.”
“Splendid,”saidRobin.“Haveyougotanyluggage?”
“Yes,it’sintheback.”
Robinhauledoutacoupleofsuitcases.
“Suchabore,”hesaid.“We’venoproperservants.OnlyoldJanet.Andwehavetospareherallthetime.That’ssuchanuisancedon’tyouthink?Howheavyyourcasesare.Haveyougotbombsinthem?”
Hestaggeredupthepath,callingoutoverhisshoulder:
“Comeinandhaveadrink.”
“Hemeansyou,”saidMrs.Oliver,removingherhandbag,abook,andapairofoldshoesfromthefrontseat.“Didyouactuallysayjustnowthatyouwantedmetobeindiscreet?”
“Themoreindiscreetthebetter.”
“Ishouldn’ttackleitthatwaymyself,”saidMrs.Oliver,“butit’syourmurder.I’llhelpallIcan.”
Robinreappearedatthefrontdoor.
“Comein,comein,”hecalled.“We’llseeaboutthecarlater.Madreisdyingtomeetyou.”
Mrs.OliversweptupthepathandHerculePoirotfollowedher.
TheinteriorofLaburnumswascharming.Poirotguessedthataverylargesumofmoneyhadbeenspentonit,buttheresultwasanexpensiveandcharmingsimplicity.Eachsmallpieceofcottageoakwasagenuinepiece.
InawheeledchairbythefireplaceofthelivingroomLauraUpwardsmiledawelcome.Shewasavigorouslookingwomanofsixty-odd,withiron-greyhairandadeterminedchin.
“I’mdelightedtomeetyou,Mrs.Oliver,”shesaid.“Iexpectyouhatepeopletalkingtoyouaboutyourbooks,butthey’vebeenanenormoussolacetomeforyears—andespeciallysinceI’vebeensuchacripple.”
“That’sveryniceofyou,”saidMrs.Oliver,lookinguncomfortableandtwistingherhandsinaschoolgirlishway.“Oh,thisisM.Poirot,anoldfriendofmine.Wemetbychancejustoutsidehere.ActuallyIhithimwithanapplecore.LikeWilliamTell—onlytheotherwayabout.”
“Howd’youdo,M.Poirot.Robin.”
“Yes,Madre?”
“Getsomedrinks.Wherearethecigarettes?”
“Onthattable.”
Mrs.Upwardasked:“Areyouawriter,too,M.Poirot?”
“Oh,no,”saidMrs.Oliver.“He’sadetective.Youknow.TheSherlockHolmeskind—deerstalkersandviolinsandallthat.Andhe’scomeheretosolveamurder.”
Therewasafainttinkleofbrokenglass.Mrs.Upwardsaidsharply:“Robin,dobecareful.”ToPoirotshesaid:“That’sveryinteresting,M.Poirot.”
“SoMaureenSummerhayeswasright,”exclaimedRobin.“Shetoldmesomelongrigmaroleabouthavingadetectiveonthepremises.Sheseemedtothinkitwasfrightfullyfunny.Butit’sreallyquiteserious,isn’tit?”
“Ofcourseit’sserious,”saidMrs.Oliver.“You’vegotacriminalinyourmidst.”
“Yes,butlookhere,who’sbeenmurdered?Orisitsomeonethat’sbeendugupandit’sallfrightfullyhushhush?”
“Itisnothushhush,”saidPoirot.“Themurder,youknowaboutitalready.”
“Mrs.Mc—something—acharwoman—lastautumn,”saidMrs.Oliver.
“Oh!”RobinUpwardsoundeddisappointed.“Butthat’sallover.”
“It’snotoveratall,”saidMrs.Oliver.“Theyarrestedthewrongman,andhe’llbehangedifM.Poirotdoesn’tfindtherealmurdererintime.It’sallfrightfullyexciting.”
Robinapportionedthedrinks.
“WhiteLadyforyou,Madre.”
“Thankyou,mydearboy.”
Poirotfrownedslightly.RobinhandeddrinkstoMrs.Oliverandtohim.
“Well,”saidRobin,“here’stocrime.”
Hedrank.
“Sheusedtoworkhere,”hesaid.
“Mrs.McGinty?”askedMrs.Oliver.
“Yes.Didn’tshe,Madre?”
“Whenyousayworkhere,shecameonedayaweek.”
“Andoddafternoonssometimes.”
“Whatwasshelike?”askedMrs.Oliver.
“Terriblyrespectable,”saidRobin.“Andmaddeninglytidy.Shehadaghastlywayoftidyingupeverythingandputtingthingsintodrawerssothatyousimplycouldn’tguesswheretheywere.”
Mrs.Upwardsaidwithacertaingrimhumour:
“Ifsomebodydidn’ttidythingsawayatleastonedayaweek,yousoonwouldn’tbeabletomoveinthissmallhouse.”
“Iknow,Madre,Iknow.ButunlessthingsareleftwhereIputthem,Isimplycan’tworkatall.Mynotesgetalldisarranged.”
“It’sannoyingtobeashelplessasIam,”saidMrs.Upward.“Wehaveafaithfuloldmaid,butit’sallshecanmanagejusttodoalittlesimplecooking.”
“Whatisit?”askedMrs.Oliver.“Arthritis?”
“Someformofit.Ishallhavetohaveapermanentnurse-companionsoon,I’mafraid.Suchabore.Ilikebeingindependent.”
“Now,darling,”saidRobin.“Don’tworkyourselfup.”
Hepattedherarm.
Shesmiledathimwithsuddentenderness.
“Robin’sasgoodasadaughtertome,”shesaid.“Hedoeseverything—andthinksofeverything.Noonecouldbemoreconsiderate.”
Theysmiledateachother.
HerculePoirotrose.
“Alas,”hesaid.“Imustgo.Ihaveanothercalltomakeandthenatraintocatch.Madame,Ithankyouforyourhospitality.Mr.Upward,Iwishallsuccesstotheplay.”
“Andallsuccesstoyouwithyourmurder,”saidMrs.Oliver.
“Isthisreallyserious,M.Poirot?”askedRobinUpward.“Orisitaterrifichoax?”
“Ofcourseitisn’tahoax,”saidMrs.Oliver.“It’sdeadlyserious.Hewon’ttellmewhothemurdereris,butheknows,don’tyou?”
“No,no,madame,”Poirot’sprotestwasjustsufficientlyunconvincing.“Itoldyouthatasyet,no,Idonotknow.”
“That’swhatyousaid,butIthinkyoudoknowreally…Butyou’resofrightlysecretive,aren’tyou?”
Mrs.Upwardsaidsharply:
“Isthisreallytrue?It’snotajoke?”
“Itisnotajoke,madame,”saidPoirot.
Hebowedanddeparted.
AshewentdownthepathheheardRobinUpward’scleartenorvoice:
“ButAriadne,darling,”hesaid,“it’sallverywell,butwiththatmoustacheandeverything,howcanonetakehimseriously?Doyoureallymeanhe’sgood?”
Poirotsmiledtohimself.Goodindeed!
Abouttocrossthenarrowlane,hejumpedbackjustintime.
TheSummerhayes’stationwagon,lurchingandbumping,cameracingpasthim.Summerhayeswasdriving.
“Sorry,”hecalled.“Gottocatchtrain.”Andfaintlyfromthedistance:“CoventGarden…”
Poirotalsointendedtotakeatrain—thelocaltraintoKilchester,wherehehadarrangedaconferencewithSuperintendentSpence.
Hehadtime,beforecatchingit,forjustonelastcall.
Hewenttothetopofthehillandthroughgatesandupawell-keptdrivetoamodernhouseoffrostedconcretewithasquareroofandagooddealofwindow.ThiswasthehomeofMr.andMrs.Carpenter.GuyCarpenterwasapartnerinthebigCarpenterEngineeringWorks—averyrichmanwhohadrecentlytakentopolitics.Heandhiswifehadonlybeenmarriedashorttime.
TheCarpenters’frontdoorwasnotopenedbyforeignhelp,oranagedfaithful.AnimperturbablemanservantopenedthedoorandwasloathtoadmitHerculePoirot.InhisviewHerculePoirotwasthekindofcallerwhoisleftoutside.HeclearlysuspectedthatHerculePoirothadcometosellsomething.
“Mr.andMrs.Carpenterarenotathome.”
“Perhaps,then,Imightwait?”
“Icouldn’tsaywhentheywillbein.”
Heclosedthedoor.
Poirotdidnotgodownthedrive.Insteadhewalkedroundthecornerofthehouseandalmostcollidedwithatallyoungwomaninaminkcoat.
“Hallo,”shesaid.“Whatthehelldoyouwant?”
Poirotraisedhishatwithgallantry.
“Iwashoping,”hesaid,“thatIcouldseeMr.orMrs.Carpenter.HaveIthepleasureofseeingMrs.Carpenter?”
“I’mMrs.Carpenter.”
Shespokeungraciously,buttherewasafaintsuggestionofappeasementbehindhermanner.
“MynameisHerculePoirot.”
Nothingregistered.Notonlywasthegreat,theuniquenameunknowntoher,buthethoughtthatshedidnotevenidentifyhimasMaureenSummerhayes’latestguest.Here,then,thelocalgrapevinedidnotoperate.Asmallbutsignificantfact,perhaps.
“Yes?”
“IdemandtoseeeitherMr.orMrs.Carpenter,butyou,madame,willbethebestformypurpose.ForwhatIhavetoaskisofdomesticmatters.”
“We’vegotaHoover,”saidMrs.Carpentersuspiciously.
Poirotlaughed.
“No,no,youmisunderstand.ItisonlyafewquestionsthatIaskaboutadomesticmatter.”
“Oh,youmeanoneofthesedomesticquestionnaires.Idothinkit’sabsolutelyidiotic—”Shebrokeoff.“Perhapsyou’dbettercomeinside.”
Poirotsmiledfaintly.Shehadjuststoppedherselffromutteringaderogatorycomment.Withherhusband’spoliticalactivities,cautionincriticizingGovernmentactivitieswasindicated.
Sheledthewaythroughthehallandintoagood-sizedroomgivingontoacarefullytendedgarden.Itwasaverynew-lookingroom,alargebrocadedsuiteofsofaandtwowingchairs,threeorfourreproductionsofChippendalechairs,abureau,awritingdesk.Noexpensehadbeenspared,thebestfirmshadbeenemployed,andtherewasabsolutelynosignofindividualtaste.Thebride,Poirotthought,hadbeenwhat?Indifferent?Careful?
Helookedatherappraisinglyassheturned.Anexpensiveandgood-lookingyoungwoman.Platinumblondehair,carefullyappliedmakeup,butsomethingmore—widecornflowerblueeyes—eyeswithawidefrozenstareinthem—beautifuldrownedeyes.
Shesaid—graciouslynow,butconcealingboredom:
“Dositdown.”
Hesat.Hesaid:
“Youaremostamiable,madame.ThesequestionsnowthatIwishtoaskyou.TheyrelatetoaMrs.McGintywhodied—waskilledthatistosay—lastNovember.”
“Mrs.McGinty?Idon’tknowwhatyoumean?”
Shewasglaringathim.Hereyeshardandsuspicious.
“YourememberMrs.McGinty?”
“No,Idon’t.Idon’tknowanythingabouther.”
“Yourememberhermurder?Orismurdersocommonherethatyoudonotevennoticeit?”
“Oh,themurder?Yes,ofcourse.I’dforgottenwhattheoldwoman’snamewas.”
“Althoughsheworkedforyouinthishouse?”
“Shedidn’t.Iwasn’tlivingherethen.Mr.CarpenterandIwereonlymarriedthreemonthsago.”
“Butshedidworkforyou.OnFridaymornings,Ithinkitwas.YouwerethenMrs.SelkirkandyoulivedinRoseCottage.”
Shesaidsulkily:
“IfyouknowtheanswerstoeverythingIdon’tseewhyyouneedtoaskquestions.Anyway,what’sitallabout?”
“Iammakinganinvestigationintothecircumstancesofthemurder.”
“Why?Whatonearthfor?Anyway,whycometome?”
“Youmightknowsomething—thatwouldhelpme.”
“Idon’tknowanythingatall.WhyshouldI?Shewasonlyastupidoldcharwoman.Shekepthermoneyunderthefloorandsomebodyrobbedandmurderedherforit.Itwasquitedisgusting—beastly,thewholething.LikethingsyoureadintheSundaypapers.”
Poirottookthatupquickly.
“LiketheSundaypapers,yes.LiketheSundayComet.Youread,perhaps,theSundayComet?”
Shejumpedup,andmadeherway,blunderingly,towardstheopenedFrenchwindows.Souncertainlydidshegothatsheactuallycollidedwiththewindowframe.Poirotwasremindedofabeautifulbigmoth,flutteringblindlyagainstalampshade.
Shecalled:“Guy—Guy!”
Aman’svoicealittlewayawayanswered:
“Eve?”
“Comeherequickly.”
Atallmanofaboutthirty-fivecameintosight.Hequickenedhispaceandcameacrosstheterracetothewindow.EveCarpentersaidvehemently:
“There’samanhere—aforeigner.He’saskingmeallsortsofquestionsaboutthathorridmurderlastyear.Someoldcharwoman—youremember?Ihatethingslikethat.YouknowIdo.”
GuyCarpenterfrownedandcameintothedrawingroomthroughthewindow.Hehadalongfacelikeahorse,hewaspaleandlookedrathersupercilious.Hismannerwaspompous.
HerculePoirotfoundhimunattractive.
“MayIaskwhatallthisisabout?”heasked.“Haveyoubeenannoyingmywife?”
HerculePoirotspreadouthishands.
“ThelastthingIshouldwishistoannoysocharmingalady.Ihopedonlythat,thedeceasedwomanhavingworkedforher,shemightbeabletoaidmeintheinvestigationsIammaking.”
“But—whataretheseinvestigations?”
“Yes,askhimthat,”urgedhiswife.
“AfreshinquiryisbeingmadeintothecircumstancesofMrs.McGinty’sdeath.”
“Nonsense—thecaseisover.”
“No,no,thereyouareinerror.Itisnotover.”
“Afreshinquiry,yousay?”GuyCarpenterfrowned.Hesaidsuspiciously:“Bythepolice?Nonsense—you’renothingtodowiththepolice.”
“Thatiscorrect.Iamworkingindependentlyofthepolice.”
“It’sthePress,”EveCarpenterbrokein.“SomehorridSundaynewspaper.Hesaidso.”
AgleamofcautioncameintoGuyCarpenter’seye.InhispositionhewasnotanxioustoantagonizethePress.Hesaid,moreamicably:
“Mywifeisverysensitive.Murdersandthingslikethatupsether.I’msureitcan’tbenecessaryforyoutobotherher.Shehardlyknewthiswoman.”
Evesaidvehemently:
“Shewasonlyastupidoldcharwoman.Itoldhimso.”
Sheadded:
“Andshewasafrightfulliar,too.”
“Ah,thatisinteresting.”Poirotturnedabeamingfacefromonetotheotherofthem.“Soshetoldlies.Thatmaygiveusaveryvaluablelead.”
“Idon’tseehow,”saidEvesulkily.
“Theestablishmentofmotive,”saidPoirot.“ThatisthelineIamfollowingup.”
“Shewasrobbedofhersavings,”saidCarpentersharply.“Thatwasthemotiveofthecrime.”
“Ah,”saidPoirotsoftly.“Butwasit?”
Heroselikeanactorwhohadjustspokenatellingline.
“IregretifIhavecausedmadameanypain,”hesaidpolitely.“Theseaffairsarealwaysratherunpleasant.”
“Thewholebusinesswasdistressing,”saidCarpenterquickly.“Naturallymywifedidn’tlikebeingremindedofit.I’msorrywecan’thelpyouwithanyinformation.”
“Oh,butyouhave.”
“Ibegyourpardon?”
Poirotsaidsoftly:
“Mrs.McGintytoldlies.Avaluablefact.Whatlies,exactly,didshetell,madame?”
HewaitedpolitelyforEveCarpentertospeak.Shesaidatlast:
“Oh,nothingparticular.Imean—Ican’tremember.”
Consciousperhaps,thatbothmenwerelookingatherexpectantly,shesaid:
“Stupidthings—aboutpeople.Thingsthatcouldn’tbetrue.”
Stilltherewasasilence,thenPoirotsaid:
“Isee—shehadadangeroustongue.”
EveCarpentermadeaquickmovement.
“Ohno—Ididn’tmeanasmuchasthat.Shewasjustagossip,thatwasall.”
“Justagossip,”saidPoirotsoftly.
Hemadeagestureoffarewell.
GuyCarpenteraccompaniedhimoutintothehall.
“Thispaperofyours—thisSundaypaper—whichisit?”
“ThepaperImentionedtomadame,”repliedPoirotcarefully,“wastheSundayComet.”
Hepaused.GuyCarpenterrepeatedthoughtfully:
“TheSundayComet.Idon’tveryoftenseethat,I’mafraid.”
“Ithasinterestingarticlessometimes.Andinterestingillustrations…”
Beforethepausecouldbetoolong,hebowed,andsaidquickly:
“Aurevoir,Mr.Carpenter.IamsorryifIhave—disturbedyou.”
Outsidethegate,helookedbackatthehouse.
“Iwonder,”hesaid.“Yes,Iwonder….”
Eleven
SuperintendentSpencesatoppositeHerculePoirotandsighed.
“I’mnotsayingyouhaven’tgotanything,M.Poirot,”hesaidslowly.“Personally,Ithinkyouhave.Butit’sthin.It’sterriblythin!”
Poirotnodded.
“Byitselfitwillnotdo.Theremustbemore.”
“MysergeantorIoughttohavespottedthatnewspaper.”
“No,no,youcannotblameyourself.Thecrimewassoobvious.Robberywithviolence.Theroomallpulledabout,themoneymissing.Whyshouldtherebesignificancetoyouinatornnewspaperamongsttheotherconfusion.”
Spencerepeatedobstinately:
“Ishouldhavegotthat.Andthebottleofink—”
“Iheardofthatbythemerestchance.”
“Yetitmeantsomethingtoyou—why?”
“Onlybecauseofthatchancephraseaboutwritingaletter.YouandI,Spence,wewritesomanyletters—tousitissuchamatterofcourse.”
SuperintendentSpencesighed.Thenhelaidoutonthetablefourphotographs.
“Thesearethephotosyouaskedmetoget—theoriginalphotosthattheSundayCometused.Atanyratethey’realittleclearerthanthereproductions.Butuponmyword,they’renotmuchtogoupon.Old,faded—andwithwomenthehairdomakesadifference.There’snothingdefiniteinanyofthemtogouponlikeearsoraprofile.Thatclochehatandthatartyhairandtheroses!Doesn’tgiveyouachance.”
“YouagreewithmethatwecandiscardVeraBlake?”
“Ishouldthinkso.IfVeraBlakewasinBroadhinny,everyonewouldknowit—tellingthesadstoryofherlifeseemstohavebeenherspeciality.”
“Whatcanyoutellmeabouttheothers?”
“I’vegotwhatIcouldforyouinthetime.EvaKaneleftthecountryafterCraigwassentenced.AndIcantellyouthenameshetook.ItwasHope.Symbolic,perhaps?”
Poirotmurmured:
“Yes,yes—theromanticapproach.‘BeautifulEvelynHopeisdead.’Alinefromoneofyourpoets.Idaresayshethoughtofthat.WashernameEvelyn,bytheway?”
“Yes,Ibelieveitwas.ButEvawaswhatshewasknownasalways.Andbytheway,M.Poirot,nowthatwe’reonthesubject,thepoliceopinionofEvaKanedoesn’tquitesquarewiththisarticlehere.Veryfarfromit.”
Poirotsmiled.
“Whatthepolicethink—itisnotevidence.Butitisusuallyaverysoundguide.WhatdidthepolicethinkofEvaKane?”
“Thatshewasbynomeanstheinnocentvictimthatthepublicthoughther.IwasquiteayoungchapatthetimeandrememberhearingitdiscussedbymyoldChiefandInspectorTraillwhowasinchargeofthecase.Traillbelieved(noevidence,mindyou)thattheprettylittleideaofputtingMrs.CraigoutofthewaywasallEvaKane’sidea—andthatshenotonlythoughtofit,butshedidit.Craigcamehomeonedayandfoundhislittlefriendhadtakenashortcut.Shethoughtitwouldallpassoffasnaturaldeath,Idaresay.ButCraigknewbetter.HegotthewindupanddisposedofthebodyinthecellarandelaboratedtheplanofhavingMrs.Craigdieabroad.Then,whenthewholething
“Butitsuggeststhepossibilitythatone,atleast,ofthese‘tragicwomen’wassomethingmorethanatragicwoman—thatshewasamurderessandthat,iftheincentivewasstrongenough,shemightmurderagain…Andnowthenextone,JaniceCourtland,whatcanyoutellmeabouther?”
“I’velookedupthefiles.Anastybitofgoods.IfwehangedEdithThompsonwecertainlyoughttohavehangedJaniceCourtland.Anunpleasantpair,sheandherhusband,nothingtochoosebetweenthem,andsheworkedonthatyoungmanuntilshehadhimallupinarms.Butallthetime,markyou,therewasarichmaninthebackground,anditwastomarryhimshewantedherhusbandoutoftheway.”
“Didshemarryhim?”
Spenceshookhishead.
“Noidea.”
“Shewentabroad—andthen?”
Spenceshookhishead.
“Shewasafreewoman.She’dnotbeenchargedwithanything.Whethershemarried,orwhathappenedtoher,wedon’tknow.”
“Onemightmeetheratacocktailpartyanyday,”saidPoirot,thinkingofDr.Rendell’sremark.
“Exactly.”
Poirotshiftedhisgazetothelastphotograph.
“Andthechild?LilyGamboll?”
“Tooyoungtobechargedwithmurder.Shewassenttoanapprovedschool.Goodrecordthere.Wastaughtshorthandandtypingandwasfoundajobunderprobation.Didwell.LastheardofinIreland.Ithinkwecouldwashherout,youknow,M.Poirot,sameasVeraBlake.Afterall,she’dmadegood,andpeopledon’tholditagainstakidoftwelvefordoingsomethinginafitoftemper.Whataboutwashingherout?”
“Imight,”saidPoirot,“ifitwerenotforthechopper.ItisundeniablethatLilyGambollusedachopperonheraunt,andtheunknownkillerofMrs.McGintyusedsomethingthatwassaidtobelikeachopper.”
“Perhapsyou’reright.Now,M.Poirot,let’shaveyoursideofthings.Nobody’striedtodoyouin,I’mgladtosee.”
“N-no,”saidPoirot,withamomentaryhesitation.
“Idon’tmindtellingyouI’vehadthewindupaboutyouonceortwicesincethateveninginLondon.NowwhatarethepossibilitiesamongsttheresidentsofBroadhinny?”
Poirotopenedhislittlenotebook.
“EvaKane,ifsheisstillalive,wouldbenowapproachingsixty.Herdaughter,ofwhoseadultlifeourSundayCometpaintssuchatouchingpicture,wouldbenowinthethirties.LilyGambollwouldalsobeaboutthatage.JaniceCourtlandwouldnowbenotfarshortoffifty.”
Spencenoddedagreement.
“SowecometotheresidentsofBroadhinny,withespecialreferencetothoseforwhomMrs.McGintyworked.”
“Thatlastisafairassumption,Ithink.”
“Yes,itiscomplicatedbythefactthatMrs.McGintydidoccasionaloddworkhereandthere,butwewillassumeforthetimebeingthatshesawwhatevershedidsee,presumablyaphotograph,atoneofherregular‘houses.’”
“Agreed.”
“Thenasfarasagegoes,thatgivesusaspossibles—firsttheWetherbyswhereMrs.McGintyworkedonthedayofherdeath.Mrs.WetherbyistherightageforEvaKaneandshehasadaughteroftherightagetobeEvaKane’sdaughter—adaughtersaidtobebyapreviousmarriage.”
“Andasregardsthephotograph?”
“Moncher,nopositiveidentificationfromthatispossible.Toomuchtimehaspassed,toomuchwater,asyousay,hasflowedfromthewaterworks.Onecanbutsaythis:Mrs.Wetherbyhasbeen,decidedly,aprettywoman.Shehasallthemannerismsofone.Sheseemsmuchtoofragileandhelplesstodomurder,butthenthatwas,Iunderstand,thepopularbeliefaboutEvaKane.HowmuchactualphysicalstrengthwouldhavebeenneededtokillMrs.McGintyisdifficulttosaywithoutknowingexactlywhatweaponwasused,itshandle,theeasewithwhichitcouldbeswung,thesharpnessofitscuttingedge,etcetera.”
“Yes,yes.Whywenevermanagedtofindthat—butgoon.”
“TheonlyotherremarksIhavetomakeabouttheWetherbyhouseholdarethatMr.Wetherbycouldmakehimself,andIfancydoesmakehimself,veryunpleasantifhelikes.Thedaughterisfanaticallydevotedtohermother.Shehatesherstepfather.Idonotremarkonthesefacts.Ipresentthem,onlyforconsideration.Daughtermightkilltopreventmother’spastcomingtostepfather’sears.Mothermightkillforsamereason.Fathermightkilltoprevent‘scandal’comingout.Moremurdershavebeencommittedforrespectabilitythanonewouldbelievepossible!TheWetherbysare‘nicepeople.’”
Spencenodded.
“If—Isayif—thereisanythinginthisSundayCometbusiness,thentheWetherbysareclearlythebestbet,”hesaid.
“Exactly.TheonlyotherpersoninBroadhinnywhowouldfitinagewithEvaKaneisMrs.Upward.TherearetwoargumentsagainstMrs.Upward,asEvaKane,havingkilledMrs.McGinty.First,shesuffersfromarthritis,andspendsmostofhertimeinawheeledchair—”
“Inabook,”saidSpenceenviously,“thatwheeledchairbusinesswouldbephoney,butinreallifeit’sprobablyallaccordingtoCocker.”
“Secondly,”continuedPoirot,“Mrs.Upwardseemsofadogmaticandforcefuldisposition,moreinclinedtobullythantocoax,whichdoesnotagreewiththeaccountsofouryoungEva.Ontheotherhand,people’scharactersdodevelopandself-assertivenessisaqualitythatoftencomeswithage.”
“That’strueenough,”concededSpence.“Mrs.Upward—notimpossiblebutunlikely.Nowtheotherpossibilities.JaniceCourtland?”
“Can,Ithink,beruledout.ThereisnooneinBroadhinnytherightage.”
“UnlessoneoftheyoungerwomenisJaniceCourtlandwithherfacelifted.Don’tmindme—justmylittlejoke.”
“Therearethreewomenofthirty-odd.ThereisDeirdreHenderson.ThereisDr.Rendell’swife,andthereisMrs.GuyCarpenter.Thatistosay,anyoneofthesecouldbeLilyGambolloralternativelyEvaKane’sdaughterasfarasagegoes.”
“Andasfaraspossibilitygoes?”
Poirotsighed.
“EvaKane’sdaughtermaybetallorshort,darkorfair—wehavenoguidetowhatshelookslike.WehaveconsideredDeirdreHendersoninthatrole.Nowfortheothertwo.FirstofallIwilltellyouthis:Mrs.Rendellisafraidofsomething.”
“Afraidofyou?”
“Ithinkso.”
“Thatmightbesignificant,”saidSpenceslowly.“You’resuggestingthatMrs.RendellmightbeEvaKane’sdaughterorLilyGamboll.Isshefairordark?”
“Fair.”
“LilyGambollwasafair-hairedchild.”
“Mrs.Carpenterisalsofair-haired.Amostexpensivelymade-upyoungwoman.Whethersheisactuallygood-lookingornot,shehasveryremarkableeyes.Lovelywide-opendark-blueeyes.”
“Now,Poirot—”Spenceshookhisheadathisfriend.
“Doyouknowwhatshelookedlikeassheranoutoftheroomtocallherhusband?Iwasremindedofalovelyflutteringmoth.Sheblunderedintothefurnitureandstretchedherhandsoutlikeablindthing.”
Spencelookedathimindulgently.
“Romantic,that’swhatyouare,M.Poirot,”hesaid.“Youandyourlovelyflutteringmothsandwide-openblueeyes.”
“Notatall,”saidPoirot.“MyfriendHastings,hewasromanticandsentimental,menever!Me,Iamseverelypractical.WhatIamtellingyouisthatifagirl’sclaimstobeautydependprincipallyonthelovelinessofhereyes,then,nomatterhowshortsightedsheis,shewilltakeoffherspectaclesandlearntofeelherwayroundevenifoutlinesareblurredanddistancehardtojudge.”
Andgently,withhisforefinger,hetappedthephotographofthechildLilyGambollinthethickdisfiguringspectacles.
“Sothat’swhatyouthink?LilyGamboll?”
“No,Ispeakonlyofwhatmightbe.AtthetimeMrs.McGintydiedMrs.CarpenterwasnotyetMrs.Carpenter.Shewasayoungwarwidow,verybadlyoff,livinginalabourer’scottage.Shewasengagedtobemarriedtotherichmanoftheneighbourhood—amanwithpoliticalambitionsandagreatsenseofhisownimportance.IfGuyCarpenterhadfoundoutthathewasabouttomarry,say,achildofloworiginwhohadobtainednotorietybyhittingherauntontheheadwithachopper,oralternativelythedaughterofCraig,oneofthemostnotoriouscriminalsofthecentury—prominentlyplacedinyourChamberofHorrors—well,oneaskswouldhehavegonethroughwithit?Yousayperhaps,ifhelovedthegirl,yes!Butheisnotquitethatkindofman.Iwouldputhimdownasselfish,ambitious,andamanveryniceinthemannerofhisreputation.IthinkthatifyoungMrs.Selkirk,asshewasthen,wasanxioustoachievethematchshewouldhavebeenveryveryanxiousthatnohintofanunfortunatenaturegottoherfiancé’sears.”
“Isee,youthinkit’sher,doyou?”
“Itellyouagain,moncher,Idonotknow.Iexamineonlypossibilities.Mrs.Carpenterwasonherguardagainstme,watchful,alarmed.”
“Thatlooksbad.”
“Yes,yes,butitisallverydifficult.OnceIstayedwithsomefriendsinthecountryandtheywentouttodotheshooting.Youknowthewayitgoes?Onewalkswiththedogsandtheguns,andthedogs,theyputupthegame—itfliesoutofthewoods,upintotheairandyougobangbang.Thatislikeus.Itisnotonlyonebirdweputup,perhaps,thereareotherbirdsinthecovert.Birds,perhaps,withwhichwehavenothingtodo.Butthebirdsthemselvesdonotknowthat.Wemustmakeverysure,cherami,whichisourbird.DuringMrs.Carpenter’swidowhood,theremayhavebeenindiscretions—noworsethanthat,butstillinconvenient.CertainlytheremustbesomereasonwhyshesaystomequicklythatMrs.McGintywasaliar!”
SuperintendentSpencerubbedhisnose.
“Let’sgetthisclear,Poirot.Whatdoyoureallythink?”
“WhatIthinkdoesnotmatter.Imustknow.Andasyet,thedogshaveonlyjustgoneintothecovert.”
Spencemurmured:“Ifwecouldgetanythingatalldefinite.Onereallysuspiciouscircumstance.Asitis,it’salltheoryandratherfar-fetchedtheoryatthat.Thewholething’sthin,youknow,asIsaid.Doesanyonereallymurderforthereasonswe’vebeenconsidering?”
“Thatdepends,”saidPoirot.“Itdependsonalotoffamilycircumstanceswedonotknow.Butthepassionforrespectabilityisverystrong.ThesearenotartistsorBohemians.VerynicepeopleliveinBroadhinny.Mypostmistresssaidso.Andnicepeopleliketopreservetheirniceness.Yearsofhappymarriedlife,maybe,nosuspicionthatyouwereonceanotoriousfigureinoneofthemostsensationalmurdertrials,nosuspicionthatyourchildisthechildofafamousmurderer.Onemightsay‘Iwouldratherdiethanhavemyhusbandknow!’Or‘Iwouldratherdiethanhavemydaughterdiscoverwhosheis!’Andthenyouwouldgoontoreflectthatitwouldbebetter,perhaps,ifMrs.McGintydied….”
Spencesaidquietly:
“Soyouthinkit’stheWetherbys.”
“No.Theyfitthebest,perhaps,butthatisall.Inactualcharacter,Mrs.UpwardisamorelikelykillerthanMrs.Wetherby.Shehasdeterminationandwillpowerandshefairlydotesonherson.Topreventhislearningofwhathappenedbeforeshemarriedhisfatherandsettleddowntorespectablemarriedbliss,Ithinkshemightgofar.”
“Woulditupsethimsomuch?”
“PersonallyIdonotthinkso.YoungRobinhasamodernscepticalpointofview,isthoroughlyselfish,andinanycaseislessdevoted,Ishouldsay,tohismotherthanshetohim.HeisnotanotherJamesBentley.”
“GrantingMrs.UpwardwasEvaKane,hersonRobinwouldn’tkillMrs.McGintytopreventthefactcomingout?”
“Notforamoment,Ishouldsay.Hewouldprobablycapitalizeonit.Usethefactforpublicityforhisplays!Ican’tseeRobinUpwardcommittingamurderforrespectability,ordevotion,orinfactforanythingbutagoodsolidgaintoRobinUpward.”
Spencesighed.Hesaid:“It’sawidefield.Wemaybeabletogetsomethingonthepasthistoryofthesepeople.Butitwilltaketime.Thewarhascomplicatedthings.Recordsdestroyed—endlessopportunitiesforpeoplewhowanttocovertheirtracesdoingsobymeansofotherpeople’sidentitycards,etc.,especiallyafter‘incidents’whennobodycouldknowwhichcorpsewaswhich!Ifwecouldconcentrateonjustonelot,butyou’vegotsomanypossibles,M.Poirot.”
“Wemaybeabletocutthemdownsoon.”
Poirotleftthesuperintendent’sofficewithlesscheerfulnessinhisheartthanhehadshowninhismanner.HewasobsessedasSpencewas,bytheurgeoftime.Ifonlyhecouldhavetime
Andfartherbackstillwastheoneteasingdoubt—wastheedificeheandSpencehadbuiltupreallysound?Supposing,afterall,thatJamesBentleywasguilty…
Hedidnotgiveintothatdoubt,butitworriedhim.
AgainandagainhehadgoneoverinhismindtheinterviewhehadhadwithJamesBentley.HethoughtofitnowwhilsthewaitedontheplatformatKilchesterforhistraintocomein.Ithadbeenmarketdayandtheplatformwascrowded.Morecrowdswerecominginthroughthebarriers.
Poirotleanedforwardtolook.Yes,thetrainwascomingatlast.Beforehecouldrighthimselfhefeltasuddenhardpurposefulshoveinthesmallofhisback.Itwassoviolentandsounexpectedthathewastakencompletelyunawares.Inanothersecondhewouldhavefallenonthelineundertheincomingtrain,butamanbesidehimontheplatformcaughtholdofhiminthenickoftime,pullinghimback.
“Why,whatevercameoveryou?”hedemanded.HewasabigburlyArmysergeant.“Takenqueer?Man,youwerenearlyunderthetrain.”
“Ithankyou.Ithankyouathousandtimes.”Alreadythecrowdwasmillingroundthem,boardingthetrain,othersleavingit.
“Allrightnow?I’llhelpyouin.”
Shaken,Poirotsubsidedontoaseat.
Uselesstosay“Iwaspushed,”buthehadbeenpushed.Uptillthatveryeveninghehadgoneaboutconsciouslyonhisguard,onthealertfordanger.ButaftertalkingwithSpence,afterSpence’sbanteringinquiryastowhetheranyattemptonhislifehadbeenmade,hehadinsensiblyregardedthedangerasoverorunlikelytomaterialize.
Buthowwronghehadbeen!AmongstthosehehadinterviewedinBroadhinnyoneinterviewhadachievedaresult.Somebodyhadbeenafraid.Somebodyhadsoughttoputanendtohisdangerousresuscitationofaclosedcase.
Fromacall-boxinthestationatBroadhinny,PoirotrangupSuperintendentSpence.
“Itisyou,monami?Attend,Ipray.Ihavenewsforyou.Splendidnews.Somebodyhastriedtokillme….”
Helistenedwithsatisfactiontotheflowofremarksfromtheotherend.
“No,Iamnothurt.Butitwasaverynearthing…Yes,underatrain.No,Ididnotseewhodidit.Butbeassured,myfriend,Ishallfindout.Weknownow—thatweareontherighttrack.”
Twelve
I
ThemanwhowastestingtheelectricmeterpassedthetimeofdaywithGuyCarpenter’ssuperiormanservant,whowaswatchinghim.
“Electricity’sgoingtooperateonanewbasis,”heexplained.“Gradedflatrateaccordingtooccupancy.”
Thesuperiorbutlerremarkedsceptically:
“Whatyoumeanisit’sgoingtocostmorelikeeverythingelse.”
“Thatdepends.Fairsharesforall,that’swhatIsay.DidyougointothemeetingatKilchesterlastnight?”
“No.”
“Yourboss,Mr.Carpenter,spokeverywell,theysay.Thinkhe’llgetin?”
“Itwasanearshavelasttime,Ibelieve.”
“Yes.Ahundredandtwenty-fivemajority,somethinglikethat.Doyoudrivehimintothesemeetings,ordoeshedrivehimself?”
“Usuallydriveshimself.Likesdriving.He’sgotaRollsBentley.”
“Doeshimselfwell.Mrs.Carpenterdrivetoo?”
“Yes.Drivesalottoofast,inmyopinion.”
“Womenusuallydo.Wassheatthemeetinglastnighttoo?Orisn’tsheinterestedinpolitics?”
Thesuperiorbutlergrinned.
“Pretendssheis,anyway.However,shedidn’tstickitoutlastnight.Hadaheadacheorsomethingandleftinthemiddleofthespeeches.”
“Ah!”Theelectricianpeeredintothefuseboxes.“Nearlydonenow,”heremarked.Heputafewmoredesultoryquestionsashecollectedhistoolsandpreparedtodepart.
Hewalkedbrisklydownthedrive,butroundthecornerfromthegatewayhestoppedandmadeanentryinhispocketbook.
“C.Drovehomealonelastnight.Reachedhome10:30(approx.).CouldhavebeenatKilchesterCentralStationtimeindicated.Mrs.C.leftmeetingearly.GothomeonlytenminutesbeforeC.Saidtohavecomehomebytrain.”
Itwasthesecondentryintheelectrician’sbook.Thefirstran:
“Dr.R.Calledoutoncaselastnight.DirectionofKilchester.CouldhavebeenatKilchesterCentralStationattimeindicated.Mrs.R.alonealleveninginhouse(?)Aftertakingcoffeein,Mrs.Scott,housekeeper,didnotseeheragainthatnight.Hassmallcarofherown.”
II
AtLaburnums,collaborationwasinprocess.
RobinUpwardwassayingearnestly:
“Youdosee,don’tyou,whatawonderfullinethatis?Andifwereallygetafeelingofsexantagonismbetweenthechapandthegirlit’llpepthewholethingupenormously!”
Sadly,Mrs.Oliverranherhandsthroughherwindsweptgreyhair,causingittolookasthoughsweptnotbywindbutbyatornado.
“YoudoseewhatImean,don’tyou,Ariadnedarling?”
“Oh,Iseewhatyoumean,”saidMrs.Olivergloomily.
“Butthemainthingisforyoutofeelreallyhappyaboutit.”
Nobodybutareallydeterminedself-deceivercouldhavethoughtthatMrs.Oliverlookedhappy.
Robincontinuedblithely:
“WhatIfeelis,here’sthatwonderfulyoungman,parachuteddown—”
Mrs.Oliverinterrupted:
“He’ssixty.”
“Ohno!”
“Heis.”
“Idon’tseehimlikethat.Thirty-five—notadayolder.”
“ButI’vebeenwritingbooksabouthimforthirtyyears,andhewasatleastthirty-fiveinthefirstone.”
“But,darling,ifhe’ssixty,youcan’thavethetensionbetweenhimandthegirl—what’shername?Ingrid.Imean,itwouldmakehimjustanastyoldman!”
“Itcertainlywould.”
“Soyousee,hemustbethirty-five,”saidRobintriumphantly.
“Thenhecan’tbeSvenHjerson.JustmakehimaNorwegianyoungmanwho’sintheResistanceMovement.”
“ButdarlingAriadne,thewholepointoftheplayisSvenHjerson.You’vegotanenormouspublicwhosimplyadoreSvenHjerson,andwho’llflocktoseeSvenHjerson.He’sboxoffice,darling!”
“Butpeoplewhoreadmybooksknowwhathe’slike!Youcan’tinventanentirelynewyoungmanintheNorwegianResistanceMovementandjustcallhimSvenHjerson.”
“Ariadnedarling,Ididexplainallthat.It’snotabook,darling,it’saplay.Andwe’vejustgottohaveglamour!Andifwegetthistension,thisantagonismbetweenSvenHjersonandthis—what’s-her-name?—Karen—youknow,allagainsteachotherandyetreallyfrightfullyattracted—”
“SvenHjersonnevercaredforwomen,”saidMrs.Olivercoldly.
“Butyoucan’thavehimapansy,darling.Notforthissortofplay.Imeanit’snotgreenbaytreesoranythinglikethat.It’sthrillsandmurdersandcleanopen-airfun.”
Thementionofopenairhaditseffect.
“IthinkI’mgoingout,”saidMrs.Oliverabruptly.“Ineedair.Ineedairbadly.”
“ShallIcomewithyou?”askedRobintenderly.
“No,I’drathergoalone.”
“Justasyoulike,darling.Perhapsyou’reright.I’dbettergoandwhipupaneggnogforMadre.Thepoorsweetisfeelingjustateenyweenybitleftoutofthings.Shedoeslikeattention,youknow.Andyou’llthinkaboutthatsceneinthecellar,won’tyou?Thewholethingiscomingreallywonderfullywell.It’sgoingtobethemosttremendoussuccess.Iknowitis!”
Mrs.Oliversighed.
“Butthemainthing,”continuedRobin,“isforyoutofeelhappyaboutit!”
Castingacoldlookathim,Mrs.OliverthrewashowymilitarycapewhichshehadonceboughtinItalyaboutherampleshouldersandwentoutintoBroadhinny.
Shewouldforgethertroubles,shedecided,byturninghermindtotheelucidationofrealcrime.HerculePoirotneededhelp.ShewouldtakealookattheinhabitantsofBroadhinny,exerciseherwoman’sintuitionwhichhadneverfailed,andtellPoirotwhothemurdererwas.Thenhewouldonlyhavetogetthenecessaryevidence.
Mrs.Oliverstartedherquestbygoingdownthehilltothepostofficeandbuyingtwopoundsofapples.Duringthepurchase,sheenteredintoamicableconversationwithMrs.Sweetiman.
Havingagreedthattheweatherwasverywarmforthetimeofyear,Mrs.OliverremarkedthatshewasstayingwithMrs.UpwardatLaburnums.
“Yes,Iknow.You’llbetheladyfromLondonthatwritesthemurderbooks?ThreeofthemI’vegotherenowinPenguins.”
Mrs.OlivercastaglanceoverthePenguindisplay.Itwasslightlyoverlaidbychildren’swaders.
“TheAffairoftheSecondGoldfish,”shemused,“that’squiteagoodone.TheCatitwasWhoDied—that’swhereImadeablowpipeafootlongandit’sreallysixfeet.Ridiculousthatablowpipeshouldbethatsize,butsomeonewrotefromamuseumtotellmeso.SometimesIthinktherearepeoplewhoonlyreadbooksinthehopeoffindingmistakesinthem.What’stheotheroneofthem?Oh!DeathofaDébutante—that’sfrightfultripe!Imadesulphonalsolubleinwateranditisn’t,andthewholethingiswildlyimpossiblefromstarttofinish.AtleasteightpeoplediebeforeSvenHjersongetshisbrainwave.”
“Verypopulartheyare,”saidMrs.Sweetiman,unmovedbythisinterestingself-criticism.“Youwouldn’tbelieve!I’veneverreadanymyself,becauseIdon’treallygettimeforreading.”
“Youhadamurderofyourowndownhere,didn’tyou?”saidMrs.Oliver.
“Yes,lastNovemberthatwas.Almostnextdoorhere,asyoumightsay.”
“Ihearthere’sadetectivedownhere,lookingintoit?”
“Ah,youmeanthelittleforeigngentlemanupatLongMeadows?Hewasinhereonlyyesterdayand—”
Mrs.Sweetimanbrokeoffasanothercustomerenteredforstamps.
Shebustledroundtothepostofficeside.
“Goodmorning,MissHenderson.Warmforthetimeofyeartoday.”
“Yes,itis.”
Mrs.Oliverstaredhardatthetallgirl’sback.ShehadaSealyhamwithheronalead.
“Meansthefruitblossomwillgetnippedlater!”saidMrs.Sweetiman,withgloomyrelish.“How’sMrs.Wetherbykeeping?”
“Fairlywell,thankyou.Shehasn’tbeenoutmuch.There’sbeensuchaneastwindlately.”
“There’saverygoodpictureonatKilchesterthisweek,MissHenderson.Yououghttogo.”
“Ithoughtofgoinglastnight,butIcouldn’treallybother.”
“It’sBettyGrablenextweek—I’moutof5s.booksofstamps.Willtwo2s.6d.onesdoyou?”
Asthegirlwentout,Mrs.Oliversaid:
“Mrs.Wetherby’saninvalid,isn’tshe?”
“That’sasmaybe,”Mrs.Sweetimanrepliedratheracidly.“There’ssomeofusashasn’tthetimetolayby.”
“Idosoagreewithyou,”saidMrs.Oliver.“ItellMrs.Upwardthatifshe’donlymakemoreofanefforttouseherlegsitwouldbebetterforher.”
Mrs.Sweetimanlookedamused.
“Shegetsaboutwhenshewantsto—orsoI’veheard.”
“Doesshenow?”
Mrs.Oliverconsideredthesourceofinformation.
“Janet?”shehazarded.
“JanetGroomgrumblesabit,”saidMrs.Sweetiman.“Andyoucanhardlywonder,canyou?MissGroom’snotsoyoungherselfandshehastherheumatismcruelbadwhenthewind’sintheeast.Butarchititis,it’scalled,whenit’sthegentryhasit,andinvalidchairsandwhatnot.Ahwell,Iwouldn’trisklosingtheuseofmylegs,Iwouldn’t.Butthere,nowadaysevenifyou’vegotachilblainyouruntothedoctorwithitsoastogetyourmoney’sworthoutoftheNationalHealth.Toomuchofthishealthbusinesswe’vegot.Neverdidyouanygoodthinkinghowbadyoufeel.”
“Iexpectyou’reright,”saidMrs.Oliver.
ShepickedupherapplesandwentoutinpursuitofDeirdreHenderson.Thiswasnotdifficult,sincetheSealyhamwasoldandfatandwasenjoyingaleisurelyexaminationoftuftsofgrassandpleasantsmells.
Dogs,Mrs.Oliverconsidered,werealwaysameansofintroduction.
“Whatadarling!”sheexclaimed.
Thebigyoungwomanwiththeplainfacelookedgratified.
“Heisratherattractive,”shesaid.“Aren’tyou,Ben?”
Benlookedup,gaveaslightwiggleofhissausage-likebody,resumedhisnasalinspectionofatuftofthistles,approveditandproceededtoregisterapprovalintheusualmanner.
“Doeshefight?”askedMrs.Oliver.“Sealyhamsdoveryoften.”
“Yes,he’sanawfulfighter.That’swhyIkeephimonthelead.”
“Ithoughtso.”
BothwomenconsideredtheSealyham.
ThenDeirdreHendersonsaidwithakindofrush:
“You’re—you’reAriadneOliver,aren’tyou?”
“Yes.I’mstayingwiththeUpwards.”
“Iknow.Robintoldusyouwerecoming.ImusttellyouhowmuchIenjoyyourbooks.”
Mrs.Oliver,asusual,wentpurplewithembarrassment.
“Oh,”shemurmuredunhappily.“I’mveryglad,”sheaddedgloomily.
“Ihaven’treadasmanyofthemasI’dliketo,becausewegetbookssentdownfromtheTimesBookClubandMotherdoesn’tlikedetectivestories.She’sfrightfullysensitiveandtheykeepherawakeatnight.ButIadorethem.”
“You’vehadarealcrimedownhere,haven’tyou?”saidMrs.Oliver.“Whichhousewasit?Oneofthesecottages?”
“Thatonethere.”
DeirdreHendersonspokeinaratherchokedvoice.
Mrs.OliverdirectedhergazeonMrs.McGinty’sformerdwelling,thefrontdoorstepofwhichwasatpresentoccupiedbytwounpleasantlittleKiddleswhowerehappilytorturingacat.AsMrs.Oliversteppedforwardtoremonstrate,thecatescapedbyafirmuseofitsclaws.
TheeldestKiddle,whohadbeenseverelyscratched,setupahowl.
“Servesyouright,”saidMrs.Oliver,addingtoDeirdreHenderson:“Itdoesn’tlooklikeahousewherethere’sbeenamurder,doesit?”
“No,itdoesn’t.”
Bothwomenseemedtobeinaccordaboutthat.
Mrs.Olivercontinued:
“Anoldcharwoman,wasn’tit,andsomebodyrobbedher?”
“Herlodger.Shehadsomemoney—underthefloor.”
“Isee.”
DeirdreHendersonsaidsuddenly:
“Butperhapsitwasn’thimafterall.There’safunnylittlemandownhere—aforeigner.Hisname’sHerculePoirot—”
“HerculePoirot?Ohyes,Iknowallabouthim.”
“Ishereallyadetective?”
“Mydear,he’sfrightfullycelebrated.Andterriblyclever.”
“Thenperhapshe’llfindoutthathedidn’tdoitafterall.”
“Who?”
“The—thelodger.JamesBentley.Oh,Idohopehe’llgetoff.”
“Doyou?Why?”
“BecauseIdon’twantittobehim.Ineverwantedittobehim.”
Mrs.Oliverlookedathercuriously,startledbythepassioninhervoice.
“Didyouknowhim?”
“No,”saidDeirdreslowly,“Ididn’tknowhim.ButonceBengothisfootcaughtinatrapandhehelpedmetogethimfree.Andwetalkedalittle….”
“Whatwashelike?”
“Hewasdreadfullylonely.Hismotherhadjustdied.Hewasfrightfullyfondofhismother.”
“Andyouareveryfondofyours?”saidMrs.Oliveracutely.
“Yes.Thatmademeunderstand.Understandwhathefelt,Imean.MotherandI—we’vejustgoteachother,yousee.”
“IthoughtRobintoldmethatyouhadastepfather.”
Deirdresaidbitterly:“Ohyes,I’vegotastepfather.”
Mrs.Oliversaidvaguely:“It’snotthesamething,isit,asone’sownfather.Doyourememberyourownfather?”
“No,hediedbeforeIwasborn.MothermarriedMr.WetherbywhenIwasfouryearsold.I—I’vealwayshatedhim.AndMother—”Shepausedbeforesaying:“Mother’shadaverysadlife.She’shadnosympathyorunderstanding.Mystepfatherisamostunfeelingman,hardandcold.”
Mrs.Olivernodded,andthenmurmured:
“ThisJamesBentleydoesn’tsoundatalllikeacriminal.”
“Ineverthoughtthepolicewouldarresthim.I’msureitmusthavebeensometramp.Therearehorridtrampsalongthisroadsometimes.Itmusthavebeenoneofthem.”
Mrs.Oliversaidconsolingly:
“PerhapsHerculePoirotwillfindoutthetruth.”
“Yes,perhaps—”
SheturnedoffabruptlyintothegatewayofHunter’sClose.
Mrs.Oliverlookedafterherforamomentortwo,thendrewasmallnotebookfromherhandbag.Initshewrote:“NotDeirdreHenderson,”andunderlinedthenotsofirmlythatthepencilbroke.
III
HalfwayupthehillshemetRobinUpwardcomingdownitwithahandsomeplatinum-hairedyoungwoman.
Robinintroducedthem.
“ThisisthewonderfulAriadneOliver,Eve,”hesaid.“Mydear,Idon’tknowhowshedoesit.Lookssobenevolent,too,doesn’tshe?Notatallasthoughshewallowedincrime.ThisisEveCarpenter.HerhusbandisgoingtobeournextMember.Thepresentone,SirGeorgeCartwright,isquitegaga,pooroldman.Hejumpsoutatyounggirlsfrombehinddoors.”
“Robin,youmustn’tinventsuchterriblelies.You’lldiscredittheParty.”
“Well,whyshouldIcare?Itisn’tmyParty.I’maLiberal.That’stheonlyPartyit’spossibletobelongtonowadays,reallysmallandselect,andwithoutachanceofgettingin.Iadorelostcauses.”
HeaddedtoMrs.Oliver:
“Evewantsustocomeinfordrinksthisevening.Asortofpartyforyou,Ariadne.Youknow,meetthelion.We’reallterriblyterriblythrilledtohaveyouhere.Can’tyouputthesceneofyournextmurderinBroadhinny?”
“Ohdo,Mrs.Oliver,”saidEveCarpenter.
“YoucaneasilygetSvenHjersondownhere,”saidRobin.“HecanbelikeHerculePoirot,stayingattheSummerhayes’GuestHouse.We’rejustgoingtherenowbecauseItoldEve,HerculePoirotisjustasmuchacelebrityinhislineasyouareinyours,andshesaysshewasratherrudetohimyesterday,soshe’sgoingtoaskhimtothepartytoo.Butseriously,dear,domakeyournextmurderhappeninBroadhinny.We’dallbesothrilled.”
“Ohdo,Mrs.Oliver.Itwouldbesuchfun,”saidEveCarpenter.
“Whoshallwehaveasmurdererandwhoasvictim,”askedRobin.
“Who’syourpresentcharwoman?”askedMrs.Oliver.
“Ohmydear,notthatkindofmurder.Sodull.No,IthinkEveherewouldmakeratheranicevictim.Strangled,perhaps,withherownnylonstockings.No,that’sbeendone.”
“Ithinkyou’dbetterbemurdered,Robin,”saidEve.“Thecomingplaywright,stabbedincountrycottage.”
“Wehaven’tsettledonamurdereryet,”saidRobin.“WhataboutmyMamma?Usingherwheeledchairsothattherewouldn’tbefootprints.Ithinkthatwouldbelovely.”
“Shewouldn’twanttostabyou,though,Robin.”
Robinconsidered.
“No,perhapsnot.AsamatteroffactIwasconsideringherstranglingyou.Shewouldn’tminddoingthathalfasmuch.”
“ButIwantyoutobethevictim.AndthepersonwhokillsyoucanbeDeirdreHenderson.Therepressedplaingirlwhomnobodynotices.”
“Thereyouare,Ariadne,”saidRobin.“Thewholeplotofyournextnovelpresentedtoyou.Allyou’llhavetodoisworkinafewfalseclues,and—ofcourse—dotheactualwriting.Oh,goodness,whatterribledogsMaureendoeshave.”
TheyhadturnedinatthegateofLongMeadows,andtwoIrishwolfhoundshadrushedforward,barking.
MaureenSummerhayescameoutintothestableyardwithabucketinherhand.
“Down,Flyn.Comehere,Cormic.Hallo.I’mjustcleaningoutPiggy’sstable.”
“Weknowthat,darling,”saidRobin.“Wecansmellyoufromhere.How’sPiggygettingalong?”
“Wehadaterriblefrightabouthimyesterday.Hewaslyingdownandhedidn’twanthisbreakfast.JohnnieandIreadupallthediseasesinthePigBookandcouldn’tsleepforworryingabouthim,butthismorninghewasfrightfullywellandgayandabsolutelychargedJohnniewhenJohnniecameinwithhisfood.Knockedhimflat,asamatteroffact.Johnniehadtogoandhaveabath.”
“WhatexcitinglivesyouandJohnnielead,”saidRobin.
Evesaid:“WillyouandJohnniecomeinandhavedrinkswithusthisevening,Maureen?”
“Loveto.”
“TomeetMrs.Oliver,”saidRobin,“butactuallyyoucanmeethernow.Thisisshe.”
“Areyoureally?”saidMaureen.“Howthrilling.YouandRobinaredoingaplaytogether,aren’tyou?”
“It’scomingalongsplendidly,”saidRobin.“Bytheway,Ariadne,Ihadabrainwaveafteryouwentoutthismorning.Aboutcasting.”
“Oh,casting,”saidMrs.Oliverinarelievedvoice.
“IknowjusttherightpersontoplayEric.CecilLeech—he’splayingintheLittleRepatCullenquay.We’llrunoverandseetheshowoneevening.”
“WewantyourP.G.,”saidEvetoMaureen.“Isheabout?Iwanttoaskhimtonight,too.”
“We’llbringhimalong,”saidMaureen.
“IthinkI’dbetteraskhimmyself.AsamatteroffactIwasabitrudetohimyesterday.”
“Oh!Well,he’ssomewhereabout,”saidMaureenvaguely.“Inthegarden,Ithink—Cormic—Flyn—thosedamneddogs—”Shedroppedthebucketwithaclatterandraninthedirectionoftheduckpond,whenceafuriousquackinghadarisen.
Thirteen
Mrs.Oliver,glassinhand,approachedHerculePoirottowardstheendoftheCarpenters’party.Uptillthatmomenttheyhadeachofthembeenthecentreofanadmiringcircle.Nowthatagooddealofginhadbeenconsumed,andthepartywasgoingwell,therewasatendencyforoldfriendstogettogetherandretaillocalscandal,andthetwooutsiderswereabletotalktoeachother.
“Comeoutontheterrace,”saidMrs.Oliver,inaconspirator’swhisper.
Atthesametimeshepressedintohishandasmallpieceofpaper.
TogethertheysteppedoutthroughtheFrenchwindowsandwalkedalongtheterrace.Poirotunfoldedthepieceofpaper
“Dr.Rendell,”heread.
HelookedquestioninglyatMrs.Oliver.Mrs.Olivernoddedvigorously,alargeplumeofgreyhairfallingacrossherfaceasshedidso.
“He’sthemurderer,”saidMrs.Oliver.
“Youthinkso?Why?”
“Ijustknowit,”saidMrs.Oliver.“He’sthetype.Heartyandgenial,andallthat.”
“Perhaps.”
Poirotsoundedunconvinced.
“Butwhatwouldyousaywashismotive?”
“Unprofessionalconduct,”saidMrs.Oliver.“AndMrs.McGintyknewaboutit.Butwhateverthereasonwas,youcanbequitesureitwashim.I’velookedatalltheothers,andhe’stheone.”
Inreply,Poirotremarkedconversationally:
“LastnightsomebodytriedtopushmeontotherailwaylineatKilchesterstation.”
“Goodgracious.Tokillyou,doyoumean?”
“Ihavenodoubtthatwastheidea.”
“AndDr.Rendellwasoutonacase,Iknowhewas.”
“Iunderstand—yes—thatDr.Rendellwasoutonacase.”
“Thenthatsettlesit,”saidMrs.Oliverwithsatisfaction.
“Notquite,”saidPoirot.“BothMr.andMrs.CarpenterwereinKilchesterlastnightandcamehomeseparately.Mrs.Rendellmayhavesatathomealltheeveninglisteningtoherwirelessorshemaynot—noonecansay.MissHendersonoftengoestothepicturesinKilchester.”
“Shedidn’tlastnight.Shewasathome.Shetoldmeso.”
“Youcannotbelieveallyouaretold,”saidPoirotreprovingly.“Familieshangtogether.Theforeignmaid,Frieda,ontheotherhand,wasatthepictureslastnight,soshecannottelluswhowasorwasnotathomeatHunter’sClose!Yousee,itisnotsoeasytonarrowthingsdown.”
“Icanprobablyvouchforourlot,”saidMrs.Oliver.“Whattimedidyousaythishappened?”
“Atninethirty-fiveexactly.”
“ThenatanyrateLaburnumshasgotacleanbillofhealth.Fromeighto’clocktohalfpastten,Robin,hismother,andIwereplayingpokerpatience.”
“Ithoughtpossiblythatyouandhewereclosetedtogetherdoingthecollaboration?”
“LeavingMammatoleaponamotorbicycleconcealedintheshrubbery?”Mrs.Oliverlaughed.“No,Mammawasunderoureye.”Shesighedassadderthoughtscametoher.“Collaboration,”shesaidbitterly.“Thewholething’sanightmare!HowwouldyouliketoseeabigblackmoustachestuckontoSuperintendentBattleandbetolditwasyou.”
Poirotblinkedalittle.
“Butitisanightmare,thatsuggestion!”
“NowyouknowwhatIsuffer.”
“I,too,suffer,”saidPoirot.“ThecookingofMadameSummerhayes,itisbeyonddescription.Itisnotcookingatall.Andthedraughts,thecoldwinds,theupsetstomachsofthecats,thelonghairsofthedogs,thebrokenlegsofthechairs,theterrible,terriblebedinwhichIsleep”—heshuthiseyesinremembranceofagonies—“thetepidwaterinthebathroom,theholesinthestaircarpet,andthecoffee—wordscannotdescribetoyouthefluidwhichtheyservetoyouascoffee.Itisanaffronttothestomach.”
“Dearme,”saidMrs.Oliver.“Andyet,youknow,she’sawfullynice.”
“Mrs.Summerhayes?Sheischarming.Sheisquitecharming.Thatmakesitmuchmoredifficult.”
“Hereshecomesnow,”saidMrs.Oliver.
MaureenSummerhayeswasapproachingthem.
Therewasanecstaticlookonherfreckledface.Shecarriedaglassinherhand.Shesmiledatthembothwithaffection.
“IthinkI’mabittiddly,”sheannounced.“Suchlotsoflovelygin.Idolikeparties!Wedon’toftenhaveoneinBroadhinny.It’sbecauseofyoubothbeingsocelebrated.IwishIcouldwritebooks.Thetroublewithmeis,Ican’tdoanythingproperly.”
“Youareagoodwifeandmother,madame,”saidPoirotprimly.
Maureen’seyesopened.Attractivehazeleyesinasmallfreckledface.Mrs.Oliverwonderedhowoldshewas.Notmuchmorethanthirty,sheguessed.
“AmI?”saidMaureen.“Iwonder.Ilovethemallterribly,butisthatenough?”
Poirotcoughed.
“Ifyouwillnotthinkmepresumptuous,madame.Awifewhotrulylovesherhusbandshouldtakegreatcareofhisstomach.Itisimportant,thestomach.”
Maureenlookedslightlyaffronted.
“Johnnie’sgotawonderfulstomach,”shesaidindignantly.“Absolutelyflat.Practicallynotastomachatall.”
“Iwasreferringtowhatisputinsideit.”
“Youmeanmycooking,”saidMaureen.“Ineverthinkitmattersmuchwhatoneeats.”
Poirotgroaned.
“Orwhatonewears,”saidMaureendreamily.“Orwhatonedoes.Idon’tthinkthingsmatter—notreally.”
Shewassilentforamomentortwo,hereyesalcoholicallyhazy,asthoughshewaslookingintothefardistance.
“Therewasawomanwritinginthepapertheotherday,”shesaidsuddenly.“Areallystupidletter.Askingwhatwasbesttodo—toletyourchildbeadoptedbysomeonewhocouldgiveiteveryadvantage—everyadvantage,that’swhatshesaid—andshemeantagoodeducation,andclothesandcomfortablesurroundings—orwhethertokeepitwhenyoucouldn’tgiveitadvantagesofanykind.Ithinkthat’sstupid—reallystupid.Ifyoucanjustgiveachildenoughtoeat—that’sallthatmatters.”
Shestareddownintoheremptyglassasthoughitwereacrystal.
“Ioughttoknow,”shesaid.“Iwasanadoptedchild.MymotherpartedwithmeandIhadeveryadvantage,astheycallit.Andit’salwayshurt—always—always—toknowthatyouweren’treallywanted,thatyourmothercouldletyougo.”
“Itwasasacrificeforyourgood,perhaps,”saidPoirot.
Hercleareyesmethis.
“Idon’tthinkthat’severtrue.It’sthewaytheyputittothemselves.Butwhatitboilsdowntoisthattheycan,really,getonwithoutyou…Andithurts.Iwouldn’tgiveupmychildren—notforalltheadvantagesintheworld!”
“Ithinkyou’requiteright,”saidMrs.Oliver.
“AndI,too,agree,”saidPoirot.
“Thenthat’sallright,”saidMaureencheerfully.“Whatarewearguingabout?”
Robin,whohadcomealongtheterracetojointhem,said:
“Yes,whatareyouarguingabout?”
“Adoption,”saidMaureen.“Idon’tlikebeingadopted,doyou?”
“Well,it’smuchbetterthanbeinganorphan,don’tyouthinkso,darling?Ithinkweoughttogonow,don’tyou,Ariadne?”
Theguestsleftinabody.Dr.Rendellhadalreadyhadtohurryaway.Theywalkeddownthehilltogethertalkinggailywiththatextrahilaritythataseriesofcocktailsinduces.
WhentheyreachedthegateofLaburnums,Robininsistedthattheyshouldallcomein.
“JusttotellMadreallabouttheparty.Soboringforher,poorsweet,nottohavebeenabletogobecauseherlegwasplayingherup.Butshesohatesbeingleftoutofthings.”
TheysurgedincheerfullyandMrs.Upwardseemedpleasedtoseethem.
“Whoelsewasthere?”sheasked.“TheWetherbys?”
“No,Mrs.Wetherbydidn’tfeelwellenough,andthatdimHendersongirlwouldn’tcomewithouther.”
“She’sreallyratherpathetic,isn’tshe?”saidShelaghRendell.
“Ithinkalmostpathological,don’tyou?”saidRobin.
“It’sthatmotherofhers,”saidMaureen.“Somemothersreallydoalmosteattheiryoung,don’tthey?”
SheflushedsuddenlyasshemetMrs.Upward’squizzicaleye.
“DoIdevouryou,Robin?”Mrs.Upwardasked.
“Madre!Ofcoursenot!”
TocoverherconfusionMaureenhastilyplungedintoanaccountofherbreedingexperienceswithIrishwolfhounds.Theconversationbecametechnical.
Mrs.Upwardsaiddecisively:
“Youcan’tgetawayfromheredity—inpeopleaswellasdogs.”
ShelaghRendellmurmured:
“Don’tyouthinkit’senvironment?”
Mrs.Upwardcuthershort.
“No,mydear,Idon’t.Environmentcangiveaveneer—nomore.It’swhat’sbredinpeoplethatcounts.”
HerculePoirot’seyesrestedcuriouslyonShelaghRendell’sflushedface.Shesaidwithwhatseemedunnecessarypassion:
“Butthat’scruel—unfair.”
Mrs.Upwardsaid:“Lifeisunfair.”
TheslowlazyvoiceofJohnnieSummerhayesjoinedin.
“IagreewithMrs.Upward.Breedingtells.That’sbeenmycreedalways.”
Mrs.Oliversaidquestioningly:“Youmeanthingsarehandeddown.Untothethirdorfourthgeneration—”
MaureenSummerhayessaidsuddenlyinhersweethighvoice:
“Butthatquotationgoeson:‘Andshowmercyuntothousands.’”
Onceagaineverybodyseemedalittleembarrassed,perhapsattheseriousnotethathadcreptintotheconversation.
TheymadeadiversionbyattackingPoirot.
“TellusallaboutMrs.McGinty,M.Poirot.Whydidn’tthedrearylodgerkillher?”
“Heusedtomutter,youknow,”saidRobin.“Walkingaboutinthelanes.I’veoftenmethim.Andreally,definitely,helookedfrightfullyqueer.”
“Youmusthavesomereasonforthinkinghedidn’tkillher,M.Poirot.Dotellus.”
Poirotsmiledatthem.Hetwirledhismoustache.
“Ifhedidn’tkillher,whodid?”
“Yes,whodid?”
Mrs.Upwardsaiddrily:“Don’tembarrasstheman.Heprobablysuspectsoneofus.”
“Oneofus?Oo!”
IntheclamourPoirot’seyesmetthoseofMrs.Upward.Theywereamusedand—somethingelse—challenging?
“Hesuspectsoneofus,”saidRobindelightedly.“Nowthen,Maureen,”heassumedthemannerofabullyingK.C.,“Wherewereyouonthenightofthe—whatnightwasit?”
“November22nd,”saidPoirot.
“Onthenightofthe22nd?”
“Gracious,Idon’tknow,”saidMaureen.
“Nobodycouldknowafterallthistime,”saidMrs.Rendell.
“Well,Ican,”saidRobin.“BecauseIwasbroadcastingthatnight.IdrovetoCoalporttogiveatalkonSomeAspectsoftheTheatre.IrememberbecauseIdiscussedGalsworthy’scharwomanintheSilverBoxatgreatlengthandthenextdayMrs.McGintywaskilledandIwonderedifthecharwomanintheplayhadbeenlikeher.”
“That’sright,”saidShelaghRendellsuddenly.“AndIremembernowbecauseyousaidyourmotherwouldbeallalonebecauseitwasJanet’snightoff,andIcamedownhereafterdinnertokeephercompany.OnlyunfortunatelyIcouldn’tmakeherhear.”
“Letmethink,”saidMrs.Upward.“Oh!Yes,ofcourse.I’dgonetobedwithaheadacheandmybedroomfacesthebackgarden.”
“Andnextday,”saidShelagh,“whenIheardMrs.McGintyhadbeenkilled,Ithought,‘Oo!Imighthavepassedthemurdererinthedark’—becauseatfirstweallthoughtitmusthavebeensometrampwhobrokein.”
“Well,Istilldon’trememberwhatIwasdoing,”saidMaureen.“ButIdorememberthenextmorning.Itwasthebakertoldus.‘OldMrs.McGinty’sbeendonein,’hesaid.AndthereIwas,wonderingwhyshehadn’tturnedupasusual.”
Shegaveashiver.
“It’shorriblereally,isn’tit?”shesaid.
Mrs.UpwardwasstillwatchingPoirot.
Hethoughttohimself:“Sheisaveryintelligentwoman—andaruthlessone.Alsoselfish.Inwhatevershedid,shewouldhavenoqualmsandnoremorse….”
Athinvoicewasspeaking—urging,querulous.
“Haven’tyougotanyclues,M.Poirot?”
ItwasShelaghRendell.
JohnnieSummerhayes’longdarkfacelitupenthusiastically.
“That’sit,clues,”hesaid.“That’swhatIlikeindetectivestories.Cluesthatmeaneverythingtothedetective—andnothingtoyou—untiltheendwhenyoufairlykickyourself.Can’tyougiveusonelittleclue,M.Poirot?”
Laughing,pleadingfacesturnedtohim.Agametothemall(orperhapsnottooneofthem?).Butmurderwasn’tagame—murderwasdangerous.Youneverknew
Withasuddenbrusquemovement,Poirotpulledoutfourphotographsfromhispocket.
“Youwantaclue?”hesaid.“Voilà!”
Andwithadramaticgesturehetossedthemdownonthetable.
Theyclusteredround,bendingover,andutteringejaculations.
“Look!”
“Whatfrightfulfrumps!”
“Justlookattheroses.‘Rowses,rowses,alltheway!’”
“Mydear,thathat!”
“Whatafrightfulchild!”
“Butwhoarethey?”
“Aren’tfashionsridiculous?”
“Thatwomanmustreallyhavebeenrathergood-lookingonce.”
“Butwhyaretheyclues?”
“Whoarethey?”
Poirotlookedslowlyroundatthecircleoffaces.
Hesawnothingotherthanhemighthaveexpectedtosee.
“Youdonotrecognizeanyofthem?”
“Recognize?”
“Youdonot,shallIsay,rememberhavingseenanyofthosephotographsbefore?Butyes—Mrs.Upward?Yourecognizesomething,doyounot?”
Mrs.Upwardhesitated.
“Yes—Ithink—”
“Whichone?”
HerforefingerwentoutandrestedonthespectacledchildlikefaceofLilyGamboll.
“Youhaveseenthatphotograph—when?”
“Quiterecently…Nowwhere—no,Ican’tremember.ButI’msureI’veseenaphotographjustlikethat.”
Shesatfrowning,herbrowsdrawntogether.
ShecameoutofherabstractionasMrs.Rendellcametoher.
“Goodbye,Mrs.Upward.Idohopeyou’llcometoteawithmeonedayifyoufeeluptoit.”
“Thankyou,mydear.IfRobinpushesmeupthehill.”
“Ofcourse,Madre.I’vedevelopedthemosttremendousmusclespushingthatchair.DoyourememberthedaywewenttotheWetherbysanditwassomuddy—”
“Ah!”saidMrs.Upwardsuddenly.
“Whatisit,Madre?”
“Nothing.Goon.”
“Gettingyouupthehillagain.FirstthechairskiddedandthenIskidded.Ithoughtwe’dnevergethome.”
Laughing,theytooktheirleaveandtroopedout.
Alcohol,Poirotthought,certainlyloosensthetongue.
Hadhebeenwiseorfoolishtodisplaythosephotographs?Hadthatgesturealsobeentheresultofalcohol?
Hewasn’tsure.
But,murmuringanexcuse,heturnedback.
Hepushedopenthegateandwalkeduptothehouse.Throughtheopenwindowonhisleftheheardthemurmuroftwovoices.TheywerethevoicesofRobinandMrs.Oliver.VerylittleofMrs.OliverandagooddealofRobin.
Poirotpushedthedooropenandwentthroughtheright-handdoorintotheroomhehadleftafewmomentsbefore.Mrs.Upwardwassittingbeforethefire.Therewasarathergrimlookonherface.Shehadbeensodeeplyinthoughtthathisentrystartledher.
Atthesoundoftheapologeticlittlecoughhegave,shelookedupsharply,withastart.
“Oh,”shesaid.“It’syou.Youstartledme.”
“Iamsorry,madame.Didyouthinkitwassomeoneelse?Whodidyouthinkitwas?”
Shedidnotanswerthat,merelysaid:
“Didyouleavesomethingbehind?”
“WhatIfearedIhadleftwasdanger.”
“Danger?”
“Danger,perhaps,toyou.Becauseyourecognizedoneofthosephotographsjustnow.”
“Iwouldn’tsayrecognized.Alloldphotographslookexactlyalike.”
“Listen,madame.Mrs.McGintyalso,orsoIbelieve,recognizedoneofthosephotographs.AndMrs.McGintyisdead.”
Withanunexpectedglintofhumourinhereye,Mrs.Upwardsaid:
“Mrs.McGinty’sdead.Howdidshedie?StickingherneckoutjustlikeI.Isthatwhatyoumean?”
“Yes.Ifyouknowanything—anythingatall,tellittomenow.Itwillbesaferso.”
“Mydearman,it’snotnearlysosimpleasthat.I’mnotatallsurethatIdoknowanything—certainlynothingasdefiniteasafact.Vaguerecollectionsareverytrickythings.Onewouldhavetohavesomeideaofhowandwhereandwhen,ifyoufollowwhatImean.”
“Butitseemstomethatyoualreadyhavethatidea.”
“Thereismoretoitthanthat.Therearevariousfactorstobetakenintoconsideration.Nowit’snogoodyourrushingme,M.Poirot.I’mnotthekindofpersonwhorushesintodecisions.I’veamindofmyown,andItaketimetomakeitup.WhenIcometoadecision,Iact.ButnottillI’mready.”
“Youareinmanywaysasecretivewoman,madame.”
“Perhaps—uptoapoint.Knowledgeispower.Powermustonlybeusedfortherightends.Youwillexcusemysayingthatyoudon’tperhapsappreciatethepatternofourEnglishcountrylife.”
“Inotherwordsyousaytome,‘Youareonlyadamnedforeigner.’”
Mrs.Upwardsmiledslightly.
“Ishouldn’tbeasrudeasthat.”
“Ifyoudonotwanttotalktome,thereisSuperintendentSpence.”
“MydearM.Poirot.Notthepolice.Notatthisstage.”
Heshruggedhisshoulders.
“Ihavewarnedyou,”hesaid.
ForhewassurethatbynowMrs.UpwardrememberedquitewellexactlywhenandwhereshehadseenthephotographofLilyGamboll.
Fourteen
I
“Decidedly,”saidHerculePoirottohimselfthefollowingmorning,“thespringishere.”
Hisapprehensionsofthenightbeforeseemedsingularlygroundless.
Mrs.Upwardwasasensiblewomanwhocouldtakegoodcareofherself.
Neverthelessinsomecuriousway,sheintriguedhim.Hedidnotatallunderstandherreactions.Clearlyshedidnotwanthimto.ShehadrecognizedthephotographofLilyGambollandshewasdeterminedtoplayalonehand.
Poirot,pacingagardenpathwhilehepursuedthesereflections,wasstartledbyavoicebehindhim.
“M.Poirot.”
Mrs.Rendellhadcomeupsoquietlythathehadnotheardher.Sinceyesterdayhehadfeltextremelynervous.
“Pardon,madame.Youmademejump.”
Mrs.Rendellsmiledmechanically.Ifhewerenervous,Mrs.Rendell,hethought,wasevenmoreso.Therewasatwitchinginoneofhereyelidsandherhandsworkedrestlesslytogether.
“I—IhopeI’mnotinterruptingyou.Perhapsyou’rebusy.”
“Butno,Iamnotbusy.Thedayisfine.Ienjoythefeelingofspring.Itisgoodtobeoutdoors.InthehouseofMrs.Summerhayesthereisalways,butalways,thecurrentofair.”
“Thecurrent—”
“WhatinEnglandyoucalladraught.”
“Yes.Yes,Isupposethereis.”
“Thewindows,theywillnotshutandthedoorstheyflyopenallthetime.”
“It’sratheraramshacklehouse.Andofcourse,theSummerhayesaresobadlyofftheycan’taffordtodomuchtoit.I’dletitgoifIwerethem.Iknowit’sbeenintheirfamilyforhundredsofyears,butnowadaysyoujustcan’tclingontothingsforsentiment’ssake.”
“No,wearenotsentimentalnowadays.”
Therewasasilence.Outofthecornerofhiseye,Poirotwatchedthosenervouswhitehands.Hewaitedforhertotaketheinitiative.Whenshedidspeakitwasabruptly.
“Isuppose,”shesaid,“thatwhenyouare,well,investigatingathing,you’dalwayshavetohaveapretext?”
Poirotconsideredthequestion.Thoughhedidnotlookather,hewasperfectlyawareofhereagersidewaysglancefixedonhim.
“Asyousay,madame,”herepliednon-committally.“Itisaconvenience.”
“Toexplainyourbeingthere,and—andaskingthings.”
“Itmightbeexpedient.”
“Why—whyareyoureallyhereinBroadhinny,M.Poirot?”
Heturnedamildsurprisedgazeonher.
“But,mydearlady,Itoldyou—toinquireintothedeathofMrs.McGinty.”
Mrs.Rendellsaidsharply:
“Iknowthat’swhatyousay.Butit’sridiculous.”
Poirotraisedhiseyebrows.
“Isit?”
“Ofcourseitis.Nobodybelievesit.”
“AndyetIassureyou,itisasimplefact.”
Herpaleblueeyesblinkedandshelookedaway.
“Youwon’ttellme.”
“Tellyou—what,madame?”
Shechangedthesubjectabruptlyagain,itseemed.
“Iwantedtoaskyou—aboutanonymousletters.”
“Yes,”saidPoirotencouraginglyasshestopped.
“They’rereallyalwayslies,aren’tthey?”
“Theyaresometimeslies,”saidPoirotcautiously.
“Usually,”shepersisted.
“Idon’tknowthatIwouldgoasfarassayingthat.”
ShelaghRendellsaidvehemently:
“They’recowardly,treacherous,meanthings!”
“Allthat,yes,Iwouldagree.”
“Andyouwouldn’teverbelievewhatwassaidinone,wouldyou?”
“Thatisaverydifficultquestion,”saidPoirotgravely.
“Iwouldn’t.Iwouldn’tbelieveanythingofthatkind.”
Sheaddedvehemently:
“Iknowwhyyou’redownhere.Anditisn’ttrue,Itellyou,itisn’ttrue.”
Sheturnedsharplyandwalkedaway.
HerculePoirotraisedhiseyebrowsinaninterestedfashion.
“Andnowwhat?”hedemandedofhimself.“AmIbeingtakenupthegardenwalk?Oristhisthebirdofadifferentcolour?”
Itwasall,hefelt,veryconfusing.
Mrs.RendellprofessedtobelievethathewasdownhereforareasonotherthanthatofinquiringintoMrs.McGinty’sdeath.Shehadsuggestedthatthatwasonlyapretext.
Didshereallybelievethat?Orwasshe,ashehadjustsaidtohimself,leadinghimupthegardenwalk?
Whathadanonymouslettersgottodowithit?
WasMrs.RendelltheoriginalofthephotographthatMrs.Upwardhadsaidshehad“seenrecently?”
Inotherwords,wasMrs.RendellLilyGamboll?LilyGamboll,arehabilitatedmemberofsociety,hadbeenlastheardofinEire.HadDr.Rendellmetandmarriedhiswifethere,inignoranceofherhistory?LilyGambollhadbeentrainedasastenographer.Herpathandthedoctor’smighteasilyhavecrossed.
Poirotshookhisheadandsighed.
Itwasallperfectlypossible.Buthehadtobesure.
Achillywindsprangupsuddenlyandthesunwentin.
Poirotshiveredandretracedhisstepstothehouse.
Yes,hehadtobesure.Ifhecouldfindtheactualweaponofthemurder—
Andatthatmoment,withastrangefeelingofcertainty—hesawit.
II
Afterwardshewonderedwhether,subconsciously,hehadseenandnoteditmuchearlier.Ithadstoodthere,presumably,eversincehehadcometoLongMeadows….
Thereonthelitteredtopofthebookcasenearthewindow.
Hethought:“WhydidInevernoticethatbefore?”
Hepickeditup,weigheditinhishands,examinedit,balancedit,raisedittostrike—
Maureencameinthroughthedoorwithherusualrush,twodogsaccompanyingher.Hervoice,lightandfriendly,said:
“Hallo,areyouplayingwiththesugarcutter?”
“Isthatwhatitis?Asugarcutter?”
“Yes.Asugarcutter—orasugarhammer—Idon’tknowwhatexactlyistherightterm.It’sratherfun,isn’tit?Sochildishwiththelittlebirdontop.”
Poirotturnedtheimplementcarefullyinhishands.Madeofmuchornamentedbrass,itwasshapedlikeanadze,heavy,withasharpcuttingedge.Itwasstuddedhereandtherewithcolouredstones,paleblueandred.Ontopofitwasafrivolouslittlebirdwithturquoiseeyes.
“Lovelythingforkillinganyone,wouldn’titbe?”saidMaureenconversationally.
Shetookitfromhimandaimedamurderousblowatapointinspace.
“Frightfullyeasy,”shesaid.“What’sthatbitintheIdyllsoftheKing?‘“Mark’sway,”hesaid,andclovehimtothebrain.’Ishouldthinkyoucouldcleaveanyonetothebrainwiththisallright,don’tyou?”
Poirotlookedather.Herfreckledfacewassereneandcheerful.
Shesaid:
“I’vetoldJohnniewhat’scomingtohimifIgetfedupwithhim.Icallitthewife’sbestfriend!”
Shelaughed,putthesugarhammerdownandturnedtowardsthedoor.
“WhatdidIcomeinherefor?”shemused.“Ican’tremember…Bother!I’dbettergoandseeifthatpuddingneedsmorewaterinthesaucepan.”
Poirot’svoicestoppedherbeforeshegottothedoor.
“YoubroughtthisbackwithyoufromIndia,perhaps?”
“Ohno,”saidMaureen.“IgotitattheB.andB.atChristmas.”
“B.andB.?”Poirotwaspuzzled.
“BringandBuy,”explainedMaureenglibly.“AttheVicarage.Youbringthingsyoudon’twant,andyoubuysomething.Somethingnottoofrightfulifyoucanfindit.Ofcoursethere’spracticallyneveranythingyoureallywant.Igotthisandthatcoffeepot.Ilikethecoffeepot’snoseandIlikedthelittlebirdonthehammer.”
Thecoffeepotwasasmalloneofbeatencopper.IthadabigcurvingspoutthatstruckafamiliarnotetoPoirot.
“IthinktheycomefromBaghdad,”saidMaureen.“AtleastIthinkthat’swhattheWetherbyssaid.OritmayhavebeenPersia.”
“ItwasfromtheWetherbys”house,then,thatthesecame?”
“Yes.They’vegotamostfrightfullotofjunk.Imustgo.Thatpudding.”
Shewentout.Thedoorbanged.Poirotpickedupthesugarcutteragainandtookittothewindow.
Onthecuttingedgewerefaint,veryfaint,discolorations.
Poirotnoddedhishead.
Hehesitatedforamoment,thenhecarriedthesugarhammeroutoftheroomanduptohisbedroom.Therehepackeditcarefullyinabox,didthewholethingupneatlyinpaperandstring,andgoingdownstairsagain,leftthehouse.
Hedidnotthinkthatanyonewouldnoticethedisappearanceofthesugarcutter.Itwasnotatidyhousehold.
III
AtLaburnums,collaborationwaspursuingitsdifficultcourse.
“ButIreallydon’tfeelit’srightmakinghimavegetarian,darling,”Robinwasobjecting.“Toofaddy.Anddefinitelynotglamorous.”
“Ican’thelpit,”saidMrs.Oliverobstinately.“He’salwaysbeenavegetarian.Hetakesroundalittlemachineforgratingrawcarrotsandturnips.”
“But,Ariadne,precious,why?”
“HowdoIknow?”saidMrs.Olivercrossly.“HowdoIknowwhyIeverthoughtoftherevoltingman?Imusthavebeenmad!WhyaFinnwhenIknownothingaboutFinland?Whyavegetarian?Whyalltheidioticmanerismshe’sgot?Thesethingsjusthappen.Youtrysomething—andpeopleseemtolikeit—andthenyougoon—andbeforeyouknowwhereyouare,you’vegotsomeonelikethatmaddeningSvenHjersontiedtoyouforlife.Andpeopleevenwriteandsayhowfondyoumustbeofhim.Fondofhim?IfImetthatbony,gangling,vegetable-eatingFinninreallife,I’ddoabettermurderthananyI’veeverinvented.”
RobinUpwardgazedatherwithreverence.
“Youknow,Ariadne,thatmightberatheramarvellousidea.ArealSvenHjerson—andyoumurderhim.YoumightmakeaSwanSongbookofit—tobepublishedafteryourdeath.”
“Nofear!”saidMrs.Oliver.“Whataboutthemoney?AnymoneytobemadeoutofmurdersIwantnow.”
“Yes.Yes.ThereIcouldn’tagreewithyoumore.”
Theharassedplaywrightstrodeupanddown.
“ThisIngridcreatureisgettingrathertiresome,”hesaid.“Andafterthecellarscenewhichisreallygoingtobemarvellous,Idon’tquiteseehowwe’regoingtopreventthenextscenefrombeingratherananticlimax.”
Mrs.Oliverwassilent.Scenes,shefelt,wereRobinUpward’sheadache.
Robinshotadissatisfiedglanceather
Thatmorning,inoneofherfrequentchangesofmood,Mrs.Oliverhaddislikedherwindsweptcoiffure.Withabrushdippedinwatershehadplasteredhergreylocksclosetoherskull.Withherhighforehead,hermassiveglasses,andhersternair,shewasremindingRobinmoreandmoreofaschoolteacherwhohadawedhisearlyyouth.Hefounditmoreandmoredifficulttoaddressherasdarling,andevenflinchedat“Ariadne.”
Hesaidfretfully:
“Youknow,Idon’tfeelabitinthemoodtoday.Allthatginyesterday,perhaps.Let’sscrapworkandgointothequestionofcasting.IfwecangetDenisCallory,ofcourseitwillbetoomarvellous,buthe’stiedupinfilmsatthemoment.AndJeanBellewsforIngridwouldbejustright—andshewantstoplayitwhichissonice.Eric—asIsay,I’vehadabrainwaveforEric.We’llgoovertotheLittleReptonight,shallwe?Andyou’lltellmewhatyouthinkofCecilforthepart.”
Mrs.OliveragreedhopefullytothisprojectandRobinwentofftotelephone.
“There,”hesaidreturning.“That’sallfixed.”
IV
Thefinemorninghadnotliveduptoitspromise.Cloudshadgatheredandthedaywasoppressivewithathreatofrain.AsPoirotwalkedthroughthedenseshrubberiestothefrontdoorofHunter’sClose,hedecidedthathewouldnotliketoliveinthishollowvalleyatthefootofthehill.Thehouseitselfwasclosedinbytreesanditswallssuffocatedinivy.Itneeded,hethought,thewoodman’saxe.
(Theaxe?Thesugarcutter?)
Herangthebellandaftergettingnoresponse,rangitagain.
ItwasDeirdreHendersonwhoopenedthedoortohim.Sheseemedsurprised.
“Oh,”shesaid,“it’syou.”
“MayIcomeinandspeaktoyou?”
“I—well,yes,Isupposeso.”
Sheledhimintothesmalldarksittingroomwherehehadwaitedbefore.OnthemantelpieceherecognizedthebigbrotherofthesmallcoffeepotonMaureen’sshelf.ItsvasthookednoseseemedtodominatethesmallWesternroomwithahintofEasternferocity.
“I’mafraid,”saidDeirdreinanapologetictone,“thatwe’reratherupsettoday.Ourhelp,theGermangirl—she’sgoing.She’sonlybeenhereamonth.Actuallyitseemsshejusttookthisposttogetovertothiscountrybecausetherewassomeoneshewantedtomarry.Andnowthey’vefixeditup,andshe’sgoingstraightofftonight.”
Poirotclickedhistongue.
“Mostinconsiderate.”
“Itis,isn’tit?Mystepfathersaysitisn’tlegal.Butevenifitisn’tlegal,ifshejustgoesoffandgetsmarried,Idon’tseewhatonecandoaboutit.Weshouldn’tevenhaveknownshewasgoingifIhadn’tfoundherpackingherclothes.Shewouldjusthavewalkedoutofthehousewithoutaword.”
“Itis,alas,notanageofconsideration.”
“No,”saidDeirdredully.“Isupposeit’snot.”
Sherubbedherforeheadwiththebackofherhand.
“I’mtired,”shesaid.“I’mverytired.”
“Yes,”saidPoirotgently.“Ithinkyoumaybeverytired.”
“Whatwasityouwanted,M.Poirot?”
“Iwantedtoaskyouaboutasugarhammer.”
“Asugarhammer?”
Herfacewasblank,uncomprehending.
“Aninstrumentofbrass,withabirdonit,andinlaidwithblueandredandgreenstones.”Poirotenunciatedthedescriptioncarefully.
“Ohyes,Iknow.”
Hervoiceshowednointerestoranimation.
“Iunderstanditcamefromthishouse?”
“Yes.MymotherboughtitinthebazaaratBaghdad.It’soneofthethingswetooktotheVicaragesale.”
“TheBringandBuysale,thatisright?”
“Yes.Wehavealotofthemhere.It’sdifficulttogetpeopletogivemoney,butthere’susuallysomethingyoucanrakeupandsend.”
“Soitwashere,inthishouse,untilChristmas,andthenyousentittotheBringandBuysale?Isthatright?”
Deirdrefrowned.
“NottheChristmasBringandBuy.Itwastheonebefore.TheHarvestFestivalone.”
“TheHarvestFestival—thatwouldbe—when?October?September?”
“TheendofSeptember.”
Itwasveryquietinthelittleroom.Poirotlookedatthegirlandshelookedbackathim.Herfacewasmild,expressionless,uninterested.Behindtheblankwallofherapathy,hetriedtoguesswhatwasgoingon.Nothing,perhaps.Perhapsshewas,asshehadsaid,justtired….
Hesaid,quietly,urgently:
“YouarequitesureitwastheHarvestFestivalSale?NottheChristmasone?”
“Quitesure.”
Hereyesweresteady,unblinking.
HerculePoirotwaited.Hecontinuedtowait….
Butwhathewaswaitingfordidnotcome.
Hesaidformally:
“Imustnotkeepyouanylonger,mademoiselle.”
Shewentwithhimtothefrontdoor.
Presentlyhewaswalkingdownthedriveagain.
Twodivergentstatements—statementsthatcouldnotpossiblybereconciled.
Whowasright?MaureenSummerhayesorDeirdreHenderson?
Ifthesugarcutterhadbeenusedashebelievedithadbeenused,thepointwasvital.TheHarvestFestivalhadbeentheendofSeptember.BetweenthenandChristmas,onNovember22nd,Mrs.McGintyhadbeenkilled.Whosepropertyhadthesugarcutterbeenatthetime?
Hewenttothepostoffice.Mrs.Sweetimanwasalwayshelpfulandshedidherbest.She’dbeentobothsales,shesaid.Shealwayswent.Youpickedupmanyanicebitthere.Shehelped,too,toarrangethingsbeforehand.Thoughmostpeoplebroughtthingswiththemanddidn’tsendthembeforehand.
Abrasshammer,ratherlikeanaxe,withcolouredstonesandalittlebird?No,shecouldn’trightlyremember.Therewassuchalotofthings,andsomuchconfusionandsomethingssnatchedupatonce.Well,perhapsshedidremembersomethinglikethat—pricedatfiveshillingsithadbeen,andwithacoppercoffeepot,butthepothadgotaholeinthebottom—youcouldn’tuseit,onlyforornament.Butshecouldn’trememberwhenitwas—sometimeago.MighthavebeenChristmas,mighthavebeenbefore.Shehadn’tbeennoticing….
SheacceptedPoirot’sparcel.Registered?Yes.
Shecopieddowntheaddress;henoticedjustasharpflickerofinterestinherkeenblackeyesasshehandedhimthereceipt.
HerculePoirotwalkedslowlyupthehill,wonderingtohimself.
Ofthetwo,MaureenSummerhayes,scatterbrained,cheerful,inaccurate,wasthemorelikelytobewrong.HarvestorChristmas,itwouldbeallonetoher.
DeirdreHenderson,slow,awkward,wasfarmorelikelytobeaccurateinheridentificationoftimesanddates.
Yetthereremainedthatirkingquestion
Why,afterhisquestions,hadn’tsheaskedhimwhyhewantedtoknow?Surelyanatural,analmostinevitable,question?
ButDeirdreHendersonhadn’taskedit.
Fifteen
I
“Someonerangyouup,”calledMaureenfromthekitchenasPoirotenteredthehouse.
“Rangmeup?Whowasthat?”
Hewasslightlysurprised.
“Don’tknow,butIjottedthenumberdownonmyrationbook.”
“Thankyou,Madame.”
Hewentintothediningroomandovertothedesk.Amongstthelitterofpapershefoundtherationbooklyingnearthetelephoneandthewords—Kilchester350.
Raisingthereceiverofthetelephone,hedialledthenumber.
Immediatelyawoman’svoicesaid:
“BreatherandScuttle.”
Poirotmadeaquickguess.
“CanIspeaktoMissMaudeWilliams?”
Therewasamoment’sintervalandthenacontraltovoicesaid:
“MissWilliamsspeaking.”
“ThisisHerculePoirot.Ithinkyourangme.”
“Yes—yes,Idid.It’saboutthepropertyyouwereaskingmeabouttheotherday.”
“Theproperty?”ForamomentPoirotwaspuzzled.ThenherealizedthatMaude’sconversationwasbeingoverheard.Probablyshehadtelephonedhimbeforewhenshewasaloneintheoffice.
“Iunderstandyou,Ithink.ItistheaffairofJamesBentleyandMrs.McGinty’smurder.”
“That’sright.Canwedoanythinginthematterforyou?”
“Youwanttohelp.Youarenotprivatewhereyouare?”
“That’sright.”
“Iunderstand.Listencarefully.YoureallywanttohelpJamesBentley?”
“Yes.”
“Wouldyouresignyourpresentpost?”
Therewasnohesitation.
“Yes.”
“Wouldyoubewillingtotakeadomesticpost?Possiblywithnotverycongenialpeople?”
“Yes.”
“Couldyougetawayatonce?Bytomorrow,forinstance?”
“Ohyes,M.Poirot.Ithinkthatcouldbemanaged.”
“YouunderstandwhatIwantyoutodo.Youwouldbeadomestichelp—tolivein.Youcancook?”
Afaintamusementtingedthevoice.
“Verywell.”
“BonDieu,whatararity!Nowlisten,IamcomingintoKilchesteratonce.IwillmeetyouinthesamecaféwhereImetyoubefore,atlunchtime.”
“Yes,certainly.”
Poirotrangoff.
“Anadmirableyoungwoman,”hereflected.“Quick-witted,knowsherownmind—perhaps,even,shecancook….”
WithsomedifficultyhedisinterredthelocaltelephonedirectoryfromunderatreatiseonpigkeepingandlookeduptheWetherbys’number.
ThevoicethatansweredhimwasthatofMrs.Wetherby.
“’Allo?’Allo?ItisM.Poirot—youremember,Madame—”
“Idon’tthinkI—”
“M.HerculePoirot.”
“Ohyes—ofcourse—doforgiveme.Ratheradomesticupsettoday—”
“ItisforthatreasonexactlyIrangyouup.Iamdesolatedtolearnofyourdifficulties.”
“Soungrateful—theseforeigngirls.Herfarepaidoverhere,andeverything.Idosohateingratitude.”
“Yes,yes.Idoindeedsympathize.Itismonstrous—thatiswhyIhastentotellyouthatIhave,perhaps,asolution.BythemerestchanceIknowofayoungwomanwantingadomesticpost.Not,Ifear,fullytrained.”
“Oh,there’snosuchthingastrainingnowadays.Willshecook—somanyofthemwon’tcook.”
“Yes—yes—shecooks.ShallIthensendhertoyou—atleastontrial?HernameisMaudeWilliams.”
“Oh,pleasedo,M.Poirot.It’smostkindofyou.Anythingwouldbebetterthannothing.MyhusbandissoparticularandgetssoannoyedwithdearDeirdrewhenthehouseholddoesn’tgosmoothly.Onecan’texpectmentounderstandhowdifficulteverythingisnowadays—I—”
Therewasaninterruption.Mrs.Wetherbyspoketosomeoneenteringtheroom,andthoughshehadplacedherhandoverthereceiverPoirotcouldhearherslightlymuffledwords.
“It’sthatlittledetectiveman—knowsofsomeonetocomeintoreplaceFrieda.No,notforeign—English,thankgoodness.Verykindofhim,really,heseemsquiteconcernedaboutme.Oh,darling,don’tmakeobjections.Whatdoesitmatter?YouknowtheabsurdwayRogergoeson.Well,Ithinkit’sverykind—andIdon’tsupposeshe’stooawful.”
Theasidesover,Mrs.Wetherbyspokewiththeutmostgraciousness.
“Thankyouverymuch,M.Poirot.Wearemostgrateful.”
Poirotreplacedthereceiverandglancedathiswatch.
Hewenttothekitchen.
“Madame,Ishallnotbeintolunch.IhavetogotoKilchester.”
“Thankgoodness,”saidMaureen.“Ididn’tgettothatpuddingintime.Ithadboileddry.Ithinkit’sreallyallright—justalittlescorchedperhaps.IncaseittastedrathernastyIthoughtIwouldopenabottleofthoseraspberriesIputuplastsummer.Theyseemtohaveabitofmouldontopbuttheysaynowadaysthatthatdoesn’tmatter.It’sreallyrathergoodforyou—practicallypenicillin.”
Poirotleftthehouse,gladthatscorchedpuddingandnear-penicillinwerenottobehisportiontoday.Better—farbetter—eatmacaroniandcustardandplumsattheBlueCatthantheimprovisationsofMaureenSummerhayes.
II
AtLaburnumsalittlefrictionhadarisen.
“Ofcourse,Robin,youneverseemtorememberanythingwhenyouareworkingonaplay.”
Robinwascontrite.
“Madre,Iammostterriblysorry.I’dforgottenallaboutit’sbeingJanet’snightout.”
“Itdoesn’tmatteratall,”saidMrs.Upwardcoldly.
“Ofcourseitmatters.I’llringuptheRepandtellthemwe’llgotomorrownightinstead.”
“You’lldonothingofthesort.You’vearrangedtogotonightandyou’llgo.”
“Butreally—”
“That’ssettled.”
“ShallIaskJanettogooutanothernight?”
“Certainlynot.Shehatestohaveherplansdisarranged.”
“I’msureshewouldn’treallymind.NotifIputittoher—”
“You’lldonothingofthesort,Robin.Pleasedon’tgoupsettingJanet.Anddon’tgoonaboutit.Idon’tcaretofeelI’matiresomeoldwomanspoilingotherpeople’spleasure.”
“Madre—sweetest—”
“That’senough—yougoandenjoyyourselves.IknowwhoI’llasktokeepmecompany.”
“Who?”
“That’smysecret,”saidMrs.Upward,hergoodhumourrestored.“Nowstopfussing,Robin.”
“I’llringupShelaghRendell—”
“I’lldomyownringingup,thankyou.It’sallsettled.Makethecoffeebeforeyougo,andleaveitbymeinthepercolatorreadytoswitchon.Oh,andyoumightaswellputoutanextracup—incaseIhaveavisitor.”
Sixteen
SittingatlunchintheBlueCat,PoirotfinishedoutlininghisinstructionstoMaudeWilliams.
“Soyouunderstandwhatitisyouhavetolookfor?”
MaudeWilliamsnodded.
“Youhavearrangedmatterswithyouroffice?”
Shelaughed.
“Myauntie’sdangerouslyill!Isentmyselfatelegram.”
“Good.Ihaveonemorethingtosay.Somewhere,inthatvillage,wehaveamurdereratlarge.Thatisnotaverysafethingtohave.”
“Warningme?”
“Yes.”
“Icantakecareofmyself,”saidMaudeWilliams.
“That,”saidHerculePoirot,“mightbeclassedundertheheadingofFamousLastWords.”
Shelaughedagain,afrankamusedlaugh.Oneortwoheadsatneartablesturnedaroundtolookather.
Poirotfoundhimselfappraisinghercarefully.Astrong,confidentyoungwoman,fullofvitality,keyedupandeagertoattemptadangeroustask.Why?HethoughtagainofJamesBentley,hisgentledefeatedvoice,hislifelessapathy.Naturewasindeedcuriousandinteresting.
Maudesaid:
“You’reaskingmetodoit,aren’tyou?Whysuddenlytrytoputmeoff?”
“Becauseifoneoffersamission,onemustbeexactaboutwhatitinvolves.”
“Idon’tthinkI’minanydanger,”saidMaudeconfidently.
“Idonotthinksoatthemoment.YouareunknowninBroadhinny?”
Maudeconsidered.
“Ye-es.Yes,Ishouldsayso.”
“Youhavebeenthere?”
“Onceortwice—forthefirm,ofcourse—onlyoncerecently—thatwasaboutfivemonthsago.”
“Whodidyousee?Wheredidyougo?”
“Iwenttoseeanoldlady—Mrs.Carstairs—orCarlisle—Ican’trememberhernameforsure.Shewasbuyingasmallpropertynearhere,andIwentovertoseeherwithsomepapersandsomequeriesandasurveyor’sreportwhichwe’dgotforher.ShewasstayingatthatGuestHousesortofplacewhereyouare.”
“LongMeadows?”
“Thatwasit.Uncomfortable-lookinghousewithalotofdogs.”
Poirotnodded.
“DidyouseeMrs.Summerhayes,orMajorSummerhayes?”
“IsawMrs.Summerhayes,Isupposeitwas.Shetookmeuptothebedroom.Theoldpussywasinbed.”
“WouldMrs.Summerhayesrememberyou?”
“Don’tsupposeso.Evenifshedid,itwouldn’tmatter,wouldit?Afterall,onechangesone’sjobquiteoftenthesedays.ButIdon’tsupposesheevenlookedatme.Hersortdon’t.”
TherewasafaintbitternessinMaudeWilliams’voice.
“DidyouseeanyoneelseinBroadhinny?”
Maudesaidratherawkwardly:
“Well,IsawMr.Bentley.”
“Ah,yousawMr.Bentley.Byaccident.”
Maudewriggledalittleinherchair.
“No,asamatteroffact,I’dsenthimap.c.TellinghimIwascomingthatday.Askedhimifhe’dmeetmeasamatteroffact.Notthattherewasanywheretogo.Deadlittlehole.Nocaféorcinemaoranything.’Samatteroffactwejusttalkedinthebusstop.WhileIwaswaitingformybusback.”
“ThatwasbeforethedeathofMrs.McGinty?”
“Ohyes.Butnotmuchbefore,though.Becauseitwasonlyafewdayslaterthatitwasinallthenewspapers.”
“DidMr.Bentleyspeaktoyouatallofhislandlady?”
“Idon’tthinkso.”
“AndyouspoketonooneelseinBroadhinny?”
“Well—onlyMr.RobinUpward.I’veheardhimtalkonthewireless.IsawhimcomingoutofhiscottageandIrecognizedhimfromhispicturesandIdidaskhimforhisautograph.”
“Andhegaveittoyou?”
“Ohyes,hewaseversoniceaboutit.Ihadn’tmybookwithme,butI’dgotanoddsheetofnotepaper,andhewhippedouthisfountainpenandwroteitatonce.”
“DoyouknowanyoftheotherpeopleinBroadhinnybysight?”
“Well,IknowtheCarpenters,ofcourse.They’reinKilchesteralot.Lovelycarthey’vegot,andshewearslovelyclothes.SheopenedaBazaaraboutamonthago.Theysayhe’sgoingtobeournextM.P.”
Poirotnodded.Thenhetookfromhispockettheenvelopethathealwayscarriedaboutwithhim.Hespreadthefourphotographsonthetable.
“Doyourecognizeanyof—what’sthematter?”
“ItwasMr.Scuttle.Justgoingoutofthedoor.Ihopehedidn’tseeyouwithme.Itmightseemabitodd.Peoplearetalkingaboutyou,youknow.Sayingyou’vebeensentoverfromParis—fromtheSooretayorsomenamelikethat.”
“IamBelgian,notFrench,butnomatter.”
“What’sthisaboutthesephotographs?”Shebentover,studyingthemclosely.“Ratherontheold-fashionedside,aren’tthey?”
“Theoldestisthirtyyearsago.”
“Awfullysilly,old-fashionedclotheslook.Makesthewomenlooksuchfools.”
“Haveyouseenanyofthembefore?”
“D’youmeandoIrecognizeanyofthewomen,ordoyoumeanhaveIseenthepictures?”
“Either.”
“I’veanideaI’veseenthatone.”HerfingerrestedagainstJaniceCourtlandinherclochehat.“Insomepaperorother,butIcan’trememberwhen.Thatkidlooksabitfamiliar,too.ButIcan’trememberwhenIsawthem;sometimeago.”
“AllthosephotographsappearedintheSundayCometontheSundaybeforeMrs.McGintydied.”
Maudelookedathimsharply.
“Andthey’vegotsomethingtodowithit?That’swhyyouwantmeto—”
Shedidnotfinishthesentence.
“Yes,”saidHerculePoirot.“Thatiswhy.”
Hetooksomethingelsefromhispocketandshowedittoher.ItwasthecuttingfromtheSundayComet.
“Youhadbetterreadthat,”hesaid.
Shereaditcarefully.Herbrightgoldenheadbentovertheflimsybitofnewsprint.
Thenshelookedup.
“Sothat’swhotheyare?Andreadingthishasgivenyouideas?”
“Youcouldnotexpressitmorejustly.”
“ButallthesameIdon’tsee—”Shewassilentamoment,thinking.Poirotdidnotspeak.Howeverpleasedhemightbewithhisownideas,hewasalwaysreadytohearotherpeople’sideastoo.
“YouthinkoneorotherofthesepeopleisinBroadhinny?”
“Itmightbe,mightitnot?”
“Ofcourse.Anyonemaybeanywhere…”Shewenton,placingherfingeronEvaKane’sprettysimperingface:“She’dbequiteoldnow—aboutMrs.Upward’sage.”
“Aboutthat.”
“WhatIwasthinkingwas—thesortofwomanshewas—theremustbeseveralpeoplewho’dhaveitinforher.”
“Thatisapointofview,”saidPoirotslowly.“Yes,itisapointofview.”Headded:“YouremembertheCraigcase?”
“Whodoesn’t?”saidMaudeWilliams.“Why,he’sinMadameTussaud’s!Iwasonlyakidatthetime,butthenewspapersarealwaysbringinghimupandcomparingthecasewithothercases.Idon’tsupposeitwilleverbeforgotten,doyou?”
Poirotraisedhisheadsharply.
Hewonderedwhatbroughtthatsuddennoteofbitternessintohervoice.
Seventeen
Feelingcompletelybewildered,Mrs.Oliverwasendeavouringtocowerinthecornerofaveryminutetheatricaldressingroom.Notbeingthefiguretocower,sheonlysucceededinbulging.Brightyoungmen,removinggreasepaintwithtowels,surroundedherandatintervalspressedwarmbeeruponher.
Mrs.Upward,hergoodhumourcompletelyrestored,hadspeededtheirdeparturewithgoodwishes,Robinhadbeenassiduousinmakingallarrangementsforhercomfortbeforedeparture,runningbackacoupleoftimesaftertheywereinthecartoseethatallwasasitshouldbe.
Onthelastoccasionhecamebackgrinning.
“Madrewasjustringingoffonthetelephone,andthewickedoldthingstillwon’ttellmewhoshewasringingup.ButIbetIknow.”
“Iknow,too,”saidMrs.Oliver.
“Well,whodoyousay?”
“HerculePoirot.”
“Yes,that’smyguess,too.She’sgoingtopumphim,Madredoeslikehavingherlittlesecrets,doesn’tshe?Nowdarling,abouttheplaytonight.It’sveryimportantthatyoutellmehonestlyjustwhatyouthinkofCecil—andwhetherhe’syourideaofEric….”
Needlesstosay,CecilLeechhadnotbeenatallMrs.Oliver’sideaofEric.Nobody,indeed,couldhavebeenmoreunlike.Theplayitselfshehadenjoyed,buttheordealof“goingroundafterwards”wasfraughtwithitsusualterrors.
Robin,ofcourse,wasinhiselement.HehadCecil(atleastMrs.OliversupposeditwasCecil)pinnedagainstthewallandwastalkingnineteentothedozen.Mrs.OliverhadbeenterrifiedofCecilandmuchpreferredsomebodycalledMichaelwhowastalkingtoherkindlyatthemoment.Michael,atleast,didnotexpecthertoreciprocate,infactMichaelseemedtopreferamonologue.SomebodycalledPetermadeoccasionalincursionsontheconversation,butonthewholeitresolveditselfintoastreamoffaintlyamusingmalicebyMichael.
“—toosweetofRobin,”hewassaying.“We’vebeenurginghimtocomeandseetheshow.Butofcoursehe’scompletelyunderthatterriblewoman’sthumb,isn’the?Dancingattendance.AndreallyRobinisbrilliant,don’tyouthinkso?Quitequitebrilliant.Heshouldn’tbesacrificedonaMatriarchalaltar.Womencanbeawful,can’tthey?YouknowwhatshedidtopoorAlexRoscoff?Alloverhimfornearlyayearandthendiscoveredthathewasn’taRussianémigréatall.Ofcoursehehadbeentellinghersomeverytallstories,butquiteamusing,andweallknewitwasn’ttrue,butafterallwhyshouldonecare?—andthenwhenshefoundouthewasjustalittleEastEndtailor’sson,shedroppedhim,mydear.Imean,Idohateasnob,don’tyou?ReallyAlexwasthankfultogetawayfromher.Hesaidshecouldbequitefrighteningsometimes—alittlequeerinthehead,hethought.Herrages!Robindear,we’retalkingaboutyourwonderfulMadre.Suchashameshecouldn’tcometonight.Butit’smarvelloustohaveMrs.Oliver.Allthosedeliciousmurders.”
AnelderlymanwithadeepbassvoicegraspedMrs.Oliver’shandandhelditinahot,stickygrasp.
“HowcanIeverthankyou?”hesaidintonesofdeepmelancholy.“You’vesavedmylife—savedmylifemanyatime.”
ThentheyallcameoutintothefreshnightairandwentacrosstothePony’sHead,wherethereweremoredrinksandmorestageconversation.
BythetimeMrs.OliverandRobinweredrivinghomeward,Mrs.Oliverwasquiteexhausted.Sheleanedbackandclosedhereyes.Robin,ontheotherhand,talkedwithoutstopping.
“—andyoudothinkthatmightbeanidea,don’tyou?”hefinallyended.
“What?”
Mrs.Oliverjerkedopenhereyes.
Shehadbeenlostinanostalgicdreamofhome.Wallscoveredwithexoticbirdsandfoliage.Adealtable,hertypewriter,blackcoffee,appleseverywhere…Whatbliss,whatgloriousandsolitarybliss!Whatamistakeforanauthortoemergefromhersecretfastness.Authorswereshy,unsociablecreatures,atoningfortheirlackofsocialaptitudebyinventingtheirowncompanionsandconversations.
“I’mafraidyou’retired,”saidRobin.
“Notreally.ThetruthisI’mnotverygoodwithpeople.”
“Iadorepeople,don’tyou?”saidRobinhappily.
“No,”saidMrs.Oliverfirmly.
“Butyoumust.Lookatallthepeopleinyourbooks.”
“That’sdifferent.Ithinktreesaremuchnicerthanpeople,morerestful.”
“Ineedpeople,”saidRobin,statinganobviousfact.“Theystimulateme.”
HedrewupatthegateofLaburnums.
“Yougoin,”hesaid.“I’llputthecaraway.”
Mrs.Oliverextractedherselfwiththeusualdifficultyandwalkedupthepath
“Thedoor’snotlocked,”Robincalled.
Itwasn’t.Mrs.Oliverpusheditopenandentered.Therewerenolightson,andthatstruckherasratherungraciousonthehostess’spart.Orwasitperhapseconomy?Richpeopleweresoofteneconomical.Therewasasmellofscentinthehall,somethingratherexoticandexpensive.ForamomentMrs.Oliverwonderedifshewereintherighthouse,
Thelightsprangupinthelowoak-beamedsquarehall.Thedoorintothesittingroomwasajarandshecaughtsightofafootandleg.Mrs.Upward,afterall,hadnotgonetobed.Shemusthavefallenasleepinherchair,andsincenolightswereon,shemusthavebeenasleepalongtime.
Mrs.Oliverwenttothedoorandswitchedonthelightsinthesittingroom.
“We’reback—”shebeganandthenstopped.
Herhandwentuptoherthroat.Shefeltatightknotthere,adesiretoscreamthatshecouldnotputintooperation
Hervoicecameoutinawhisper:
“Robin—Robin….”
Itwassometimebeforesheheardhimcomingupthepath,whistling,andthensheturnedquicklyandrantomeethiminthehall.
“Don’tgointhere—don’tgoin.Yourmother—she—she’sdead—Ithink—she’sbeenkilled….”
Eighteen
I
“Quiteaneatbitofwork,”saidSuperintendentSpence.
Hisredcountryman’sfacewasangry.HelookedacrosstowhereHerculePoirotsatgravelylistening.
“Neatandugly,”hesaid.“Shewasstrangled,”hewenton.“Silkscarf—oneofherownsilkscarves,oneshe’dbeenwearingthatday—justpassedaroundtheneckandtheendscrossed—andpulled.Neat,quick,efficient.ThethugsdiditthatwayinIndia.Thevictimdoesn’tstruggleorcryout—pressureonthecarotidartery.”
“Specialknowledge?”
“Couldbe—neednot.Ifyouwerethinkingofdoingit,youcouldreadupthesubject.There’snopracticaldifficulty.“Speciallywiththevictimquiteunsuspicious—andshewasunsuspicious.”
Poirotnodded.
“Someonesheknew.”
“Yes.Theyhadcoffeetogether—acupoppositeherandoneoppositethe—guest.Printshadbeenwipedofftheguest’scupverycarefullybutlipstickismoredifficult—therewerestillfainttracesoflipstick.”
“Awoman,then?”
“Youexpectedawoman,didn’tyou?”
“Ohyes.Yes,thatwasindicated.”
Spencewenton:
“Mrs.Upwardrecognizedoneofthosephotographs—thephotographofLilyGamboll.SoittiesupwiththeMcGintymurder.”
“Yes,”saidPoirot.“IttiesupwiththeMcGintymurder.”
HerememberedMrs.Upward’sslightlyamusedexpressionasshehadsaid:
“Mrs.McGinty’sdead.Howdidshedie?Stickingherneckout,justlikeI.”
Spencewasgoingon:
“Shetookanopportunitythatseemedgoodtoher—hersonandMrs.Oliverweregoingofftothetheatre.Sherangupthepersonconcernedandaskedthatpersontocomeandseeher.Isthathowyoufigureitout?Shewasplayingdetective.”
“Somethinglikethat.Curiosity.Shekeptherknowledgetoherself,butshewantedtofindoutmore.Shedidn’tintheleastrealizewhatshewasdoingmightbedangerous.”Poirotsighed.“Somanypeoplethinkofmurderasagame.Itisnotagame.Itoldherso.Butshewouldnotlisten.”
“No,weknowthat.Well,thatfitsinfairlywell.WhenyoungRobinstartedoffwithMrs.Oliverandranbackintothehousehismotherhadjustfinishedtelephoningtosomeone.Shewouldn’tsaywhoto.Playeditmysterious.RobinandMrs.Oliverthoughtitmightbeyou.”
“Iwishithadbeen,”saidHerculePoirot.“Youhavenoideatowhomitwasthatshetelephoned?”
“Nonewhatever.It’sallautomaticroundhere,youknow.”
“Themaidcouldn’thelpyouinanyway?”
“No.Shecameinabouthalfpastten—shehasakeytothebackdoor.Shewentstraightintoherownroomwhichleadsoffthekitchenandwenttobed.ThehousewasdarkandsheassumedthatMrs.Upwardhadgonetobedandthattheothershadnotyetreturned.”
Spenceadded:
“She’sdeafandprettycrotchetyaswell.Takesverylittlenoticeofwhatgoeson—andIimaginedoesaslittleworkasshecanwithasmuchgrumblingaspossible.”
“Notreallyanoldfaithful?”
“Ohno!She’sonlybeenwiththeUpwardsacoupleofyears.”
Aconstableputhisheadroundthedoor
“There’sayoungladytoseeyou,sir,”hesaid.“Saysthere’ssomethingperhapsyououghttoknow.Aboutlastnight.”
“Aboutlastnight?Sendherin.”
DeirdreHendersoncamein.Shelookedpaleandstrainedand,asusual,ratherawkward.
“IthoughtperhapsI’dbettercome,”shesaid.“IfI’mnotinterruptingyouoranything,”sheaddedapologetically.
“Notatall,MissHenderson.”
Spenceroseandpushedforwardachair.Shesatdownonitsquarelyinanungainlyschoolgirlishsortofway.
“Somethingaboutlastnight?”saidSpenceencouragingly.“AboutMrs.Upward,youmean?”
“Yes,it’strue,isn’tit,thatshewasmurdered?Imeanthepostsaidsoandthebaker.Mothersaidofcourseitcouldn’tbetrue—”Shestopped.
“I’mafraidyourmotherisn’tquiterightthere.It’strueenough.Now,youwantedtomakea—totellussomething?”
Deirdrenodded.
“Yes,”shesaid.“Yousee,Iwasthere.”
AdifferencecreptintoSpence’smanner.Itwas,perhaps,evenmoregentle,butanofficialhardnessunderlayit.
“Youwerethere,”hesaid.“AtLaburnums.Atwhattime?”
“Idon’tknowexactly,”saidDeirdre.“Betweenhalfpasteightandnine,Isuppose.Probablynearlynine.Afterdinner,anyway.Yousee,shetelephonedtome.”
“Mrs.Upwardtelephonedtoyou?”
“Yes.ShesaidRobinandMrs.OliverweregoingtothetheatreinCullenquayandthatshewouldbeallaloneandwouldIcomealongandhavecoffeewithher.”
“Andyouwent?”
“Yes.”
“Andyou—hadcoffeewithher?”
Deirdreshookherhead.
“No,Igotthere—andIknocked.Buttherewasn’tanyanswer.SoIopenedthedoorandwentintothehall.ItwasquitedarkandI’dseenfromoutsidethattherewasnolightinthesittingroom.SoIwaspuzzled.Icalled‘Mrs.Upward’onceortwicebuttherewasnoanswer.SoIthoughttheremustbesomemistake.”
“Whatmistakedidyouthinktherecouldhavebeen?”
“Ithoughtperhapsshe’dgonetothetheatrewiththemafterall.”
“Withoutlettingyouknow?”
“Thatdidseemqueer.”
“Youcouldn’tthinkofanyotherexplanation?”
“Well,IthoughtperhapsFriedamighthavebungledtheoriginalmessage.Shedoesgetthingswrongsometimes.She’saforeigner.Shewasexcitedherselflastnightbecauseshewasleaving.”
“Whatdidyoudo,MissHenderson?”
“Ijustwentaway.”
“Backhome?”
“Yes—thatis,Iwentforawalkfirst.Itwasquitefine.”
Spencewassilentforamomentortwo,lookingather.Hewaslooking,Poirotnoticed,athermouth.
Presentlyherousedhimselfandsaidbriskly:
“Well,thankyou,MissHenderson.Youwerequiterighttocomeandtellusthis.We’remuchobligedtoyou.”
Hegotupandshookhandswithher.
“IthoughtIoughtto,”saidDeirdre.“Motherdidn’twantmeto.”
“Didn’tshenow?”
“ButIthoughtI’dbetter.”
“Quiteright.”
Heshowedheroutandcameback.
Hesatdown,drummedonthetableandlookedatPoirot.
“Nolipstick,”hesaid.“Oristhatonlythismorning?”
“No,itisnotonlythismorning.Sheneverusesit.”
“That’sodd,nowadays,isn’tit?”
“Sheisratheranoddkindofgirl—undeveloped.”
“Andnoscent,either,asfarasIcouldsmell.ThatMrs.Oliversaystherewasadistinctsmellofscent—expensivescent,shesays—inthehouselastnight.RobinUpwardconfirmsthat.Itwasn’tanyscenthismotheruses.”
“Thisgirlwouldnotusescent,Ithink,”saidPoirot.
“Ishouldn’tthinksoeither,”saidSpence.“Looksratherlikethehockeycaptainfromanold-fashionedgirls’school—butshemustbeeverybitofthirty,Ishouldsay.”
“Quitethat.”
“Arresteddevelopment,wouldyousay?”
Poirotconsidered.Thenhesaiditwasnotquitesosimpleasthat.
“Itdoesn’tfit,”saidSpencefrowning.“Nolipstick,noscent.Andsinceshe’sgotaperfectlygoodmother,andLilyGamboll’smotherwasdoneininadrunkenbrawlinCardiffwhenLilyGambollwasnineyearsold,Idon’tseehowshecanbeLilyGamboll.But—Mrs.Upwardtelephonedhertocometherelastnight—youcan’tgetawayfromthat.”Herubbedhisnose.“Itisn’tstraightforwardgoing.”
“Whataboutthemedicalevidence?”
“Notmuchhelpthere.Allthepolicesurgeonwillsaydefinitelyisthatshewasprobablydeadbyhalfpastnine.”
“SoshemayhavebeendeadwhenDeirdreHendersoncametoLaburnums?”
“Probablywasifthegirlisspeakingthetruth.Eithersheisspeakingthetruth—orelseshe’sadeepone.Motherdidn’twanthertocometous,shesaid.Anythingthere?”
Poirotconsidered.
“Notparticularly.Itiswhatmotherwouldsay.Sheisthetype,youcomprehend,thatavoidsunpleasantness.”
Spencesighed.
“Sowe’vegotDeirdreHenderson—onthespot.OrelsesomeonewhocametherebeforeDeirdreHenderson.Awoman.Awomanwhousedlipstickandexpensivescent.”
Poirotmurmured:“Youwillinquire—”
Spencebrokein.
“I’minquiring!Justtactfullyforthemoment.Wedon’twanttoalarmanyone.WhatwasEveCarpenterdoinglastnight?WhatwasShelaghRendelldoinglastnight?Tentoonetheywerejustsittingathome.Carpenter,Iknow,hadapoliticalmeeting.”
“Eve,”saidPoirotthoughtfully.“Thefashionsinnameschange,dotheynot?Hardlyever,nowadays,doyouhearofanEva.Ithasgoneout.ButEve,itispopular.”
“Shecanaffordexpensivescent,”saidSpence,pursuinghisowntrainofthought.
Hesighed.
“We’vegottogetatmoreofherbackground.It’ssoconvenienttobeawarwidow.Youcanturnupanywherelookingpatheticandmourningsomebraveyoungairman.Nobodylikestoaskyouquestions.
Heturnedtoanothersubject.
“Thatsugarhammerorwhat-notyousentalong—Ithinkyou’vehitthebull’s-eye.It’stheweaponusedintheMcGintymurder.Doctoragreesit’sexactlysuitableforthetypeofblow.Andtherehasbeenbloodonit.Itwaswashed,ofcourse—buttheydon’trealizenowadaysthatamicroscopicamountofbloodwillgiveareactionwiththelatestreagents.Yes,it’shumanbloodallright.AndthatagaintiesupwiththeWetherbysandtheHendersongirl.Ordoesn’tit?”
“DeirdreHendersonwasquitedefinitethatthesugarhammerwenttotheHarvestFestivalBringandBuy.”
“AndMrs.SummerhayeswasequallypositiveitwastheChristmasone?”
“Mrs.Summerhayesisneverpositiveaboutanything,”saidPoirotgloomily.“Sheisacharmingperson,butshehasnoorderormethodinhercomposition.ButIwilltellyouthis—IwhohavelivedatLongMeadows—thedoorsandthewindowstheyarealwaysopen.Anyone—anyoneatall,couldcomeandtakesomethingawayandlatercomeandputitbackandneitherMajorSummerhayesnorMrs.Summerhayeswouldnotice.Ifitisnotthereoneday,shethinksthatherhusbandhastakenittojointarabbitortochopwood—andhe,hewouldthinkshehadtakenittochopdogmeat.Inthathousenobodyusestherightimplements—theyjustseizewhatisathandandleaveitinthewrongplace.Andnobodyremembersanything.IfIweretolivelikethatIshouldbeinacontinualstateofanxiety—butthey—theydonotseemtomind.”
Spencesighed.
“Well—there’sonegoodthingaboutallthis—theywon’texecuteJamesBentleyuntilthisbusinessisallclearedup.We’veforwardedalettertotheHomeSecretary’soffice.Itgivesuswhatwe’vebeenwanting—time.”
“Ithink,”saidPoirot,“thatIwouldliketoseeBentleyagain—nowthatweknowalittlemore.”
II
TherewaslittlechangeinJamesBentley.Hewas,perhaps,ratherthinner,hishandsweremorerestless—otherwisehewasthesamequiet,hopelesscreature.
HerculePoirotspokecarefully.Therehadbeensomefreshevidence.Thepolicewerereopeningthecase.Therewas,therefore,hope….
ButJamesBentleywasnotattractedbyhope.
Hesaid:
“Itwillbeallnogood.Whatmorecantheyfindout?”
“Yourfriends,”saidHerculePoirot,“areworkingveryhard.”
“Myfriends?”Heshruggedhisshoulders.“Ihavenofriends.”
“Youshouldnotsaythat.Youhave,attheveryleast,twofriends.”
“Twofriends?Ishouldliketoknowwhotheyare.”
Histoneexpressednowishfortheinformation,merelyawearydisbelief.
“First,thereisSuperintendentSpence—”
“Spence?Spence?Thepolicesuperintendentwhoworkedupthecaseagainstme?That’salmostfunny.”
“Itisnotfunny.Itisfortunate.Spenceisaveryshrewdandconscientiouspoliceofficer.Helikestobeverysurethathehasgottherightman.”
“He’ssureenoughofthat.”
“Oddlyenough,heisnot.Thatiswhy,asIsaid,heisyourfriend.”
“Thatkindofafriend!”
HerculePoirotwaited.EvenJamesBentley,hethought,musthavesomehumanattributes.EvenJamesBentleycouldnotbecompletelydevoidofordinaryhumancuriosity.
Andtrueenough,presentlyJamesBentleysaid:
“Well,who’stheother?”
“TheotherisMaudeWilliams.”
Bentleydidnotappeartoreact.
“MaudeWilliams?Whoisshe?”
“SheworkedintheofficeofBreather&Scuttle.”
“Oh—thatMissWilliams.”
“Précisément,thatMissWilliams.”
“Butwhat’sitgottodowithher?”
ThereweremomentswhenHerculePoirotfoundthepersonalityofJamesBentleysoirritatingthatheheartilywishedthathecouldbelieveBentleyguiltyofMrs.McGinty’smurder.UnfortunatelythemoreBentleyannoyedhim,themorehecameroundtoSpence’swayofthinking.HefounditmoreandmoredifficulttoenvisageBentley’smurderinganybody.JamesBentley’sattitudetomurderwouldhavebeen,Poirotfeltsure,thatitwouldn’tbemuchgoodanyway.Ifcockiness,asSpenceinsisted,wasacharacteristicofmurderers,Bentleywascertainlynomurderer.
Containinghimself,Poirotsaid:
“MissWilliamsinterestsherselfinthisaffair.Sheisconvincedyouareinnocent.”
“Idon’tseewhatshecanknowaboutit.”
“Sheknowsyou.”
JamesBentleyblinked.Hesaid,grudgingly:
“Isupposeshedoes,inaway,butnotwell.”
“Youworkedtogetherintheoffice,didyounot?Youhad,sometimes,mealstogether?”
“Well—yes—onceortwice.TheBlueCatCafé,it’sveryconvenient—justacrossthestreet.”
“Didyounevergoforwalkswithher?”
“Asamatteroffactwedid,once.Wewalkeduponthedowns.”
HerculePoirotexploded.
“Mafoi,isitacrimethatIseektodragfromyou?Tokeepthecompanywithaprettygirl,isitnotnatural?Isitnotenjoyable?Canyounotbepleasedwithyourselfaboutit?”
“Idon’tseewhy,”saidJamesBentley.
“Atyourageitisnaturalandrighttoenjoythecompanyofgirls.”
“Idon’tknowmanygirls.”
“?asevoit!Butyoushouldbeashamedofthat,notsmug!YouknewMissWilliams.Youhadworkedwithherandtalkedwithherandsometimeshadmealswithher,andoncewentforawalkonthedowns.AndwhenImentionher,youdonotevenrememberhername!”
JamesBentleyflushed.
“Well,yousee—I’veneverhadmuchtodowithgirls.Andsheisn’tquitewhatyou’dcallalady,isshe?Ohverynice—andallthat—butIcan’thelpfeelingthatMotherwouldhavethoughthercommon.”
“Itiswhatyouthinkthatmatters.”
AgainJamesBentleyflushed.
“Herhair,”hesaid.“Andthekindofclothesshewears—Mother,ofcourse,wasold-fashioned—”
Hebrokeoff.
“ButyoufoundMissWilliams—whatshallIsay—sympathetic?”
“Shewasalwaysverykind,”saidJamesBentleyslowly.“Butshedidn’t—really—understand.Hermotherdiedwhenshewasonlyachild,yousee.”
“Andthenyoulostyourjob,”saidPoirot.“Youcouldn’tgetanother.MissWilliamsmetyouonceatBroadhinny,Iunderstand?”
JamesBentleylookeddistressed.
“Yes—yes.Shewascomingoverthereonbusinessandshesentmeapostcard.Askedmetomeether.Ican’tthinkwhy.Itisn’tasifIknewheratallwell.”
“Butyoudidmeether?”
“Yes.Ididn’twanttoberude.”
“Andyoutookhertothepicturesorameal?”
JamesBentleylookedscandalized.
“Ohno.Nothingofthatkind.We—er—justtalkedwhilstshewaswaitingforherbus.”
“Ah,howamusingthatmusthavebeenforthepoorgirl!”
JamesBentleysaidsharply:
“Ihadn’tgotanymoney.Youmustrememberthat.Ihadn’tanymoneyatall.”
“Ofcourse.ItwasafewdaysbeforeMrs.McGintywaskilled,wasn’tit?”
JamesBentleynodded.Hesaidunexpectedly:
“Yes,itwasontheMonday.ShewaskilledonWednesday.”
“I’mgoingtoaskyousomethingelse,Mr.Bentley.Mrs.McGintytooktheSundayComet?”
“Yes,shedid.”
“DidyoueverseeherSundayComet?”
“Sheusedtoofferitsometimes,butIdidn’toftenaccept.Motherdidn’tcareforthatkindofpaper.”
“Soyoudidn’tseethatweek’sSundayComet?”
“No.”
“AndMrs.McGintydidn’tspeakaboutit,oraboutanythinginit?”
“Ohyes,shedid,”saidJamesBentleyunexpectedly.“Shewasfullofit!”
“Ahlala.Soshewasfullofit.Andwhatdidshesay?Becareful.Thisisimportant.”
“Idon’trememberverywellnow.Itwasallaboutsomeoldmurdercase.Craig,Ithinkitwas—no,perhapsitwasn’tCraig.Anyway,shesaidsomebodyconnectedwiththecasewaslivinginBroadhinnynow.Fullofit,shewas.Icouldn’tseewhyitmatteredtoher.”
“Didshesaywhoitwas—inBroadhinny?”
JamesBentleysaidvaguely:
“Ithinkitwasthatwomanwhosesonwritesplays.”
“Shementionedherbyname?”
“No—I—reallyit’ssolongago—”
“Iimploreyou—trytothink.Youwanttobefreeagain,doyounot?”
“Free?”Bentleysoundedsurprised.
“Yes,free.”
“I—yes—IsupposeIdo—”
“Thenthink!WhatdidMrs.McGintysay?”
“Well—somethinglike—‘sopleasedwithherselfassheisandsoproud.Notsomuchtobeproudofifall’sknown.’Andthen,‘You’dneverthinkitwasthesamewomantolookatthephotograph.’Butofcourseithadbeentakenyearsago.”
“ButwhatmadeyousurethatitwasMrs.Upwardofwhomshewasspeaking?”
“Ireallydon’tknow…Ijustformedtheimpression.ShehadbeenspeakingofMrs.Upward—andthenIlostinterestanddidn’tlisten,andafterwards—well,nowIcometothinkofit,Idon’treallyknowwhoshewasspeakingabout.Shetalkedalotyouknow.”
Poirotsighed.
Hesaid:“IdonotthinkmyselfthatitwasMrs.Upwardofwhomshespoke.Ithinkitwassomebodyelse.Itispreposteroustoreflectthatifyouarehangeditwillbebecauseyoudonotpayproperattentiontothepeoplewithwhomyouconverse…DidMrs.McGintyspeakmuchtoyouofthehouseswheresheworked,ortheladiesofthosehouses?”
“Yes,inaway—butit’snogoodaskingme.Youdon’tseemtorealize,M.Poirot,thatIhadmyownlifetothinkofatthetime.Iwasinveryseriousanxiety.”
“Notinsomuchseriousanxietyasyouarenow!DidMrs.McGintyspeakofMrs.Carpenter—Mrs.Selkirkshewasthen—orofMrs.Rendell?”
“Carpenterhasthatnewhouseatthetopofthehillandabigcar,hasn’the?HewasengagedtoMrs.Selkirk—Mrs.McGintywasalwaysverydownonMrs.Selkirk.Idon’tknowwhy.‘Jumpedup,’that’swhatsheusedtocallher.Idon’tknowwhatshemeantbyit.”
“AndtheRendells?”
“He’sthedoctor,isn’the?Idon’trememberhersayinganythingparticularaboutthem.”
“AndtheWetherbys?”
“Idorememberwhatshesaidaboutthem.‘Nopatiencewithherfussesandherfancies,’that’swhatshesaid.Andabouthim,‘Neveraword,goodorbad,outofhim.’”Hepaused.“Shesaid—itwasanunhappyhouse.”
HerculePoirotlookedup.ForasecondJamesBentley’svoicehadheldsomethingthatPoirothadnotheardinitbefore.Hewasnotrepeatingobedientlywhathecouldrecall.Hismind,foraverybriefspace,hadmovedoutofitsapathy.JamesBentleywasthinkingofHunter’sClose,ofthelifethatwentonthere,ofwhetherornotitwasanunhappyhouse.JamesBentleywasthinkingobjectively.
Poirotsaidsoftly:
“Youknewthem?Themother?Thefather?Thedaughter?”
“Notreally.Itwasthedog.ASealyham.Itgotcaughtinatrap.Shecouldn’tgetitundone.Ihelpedher.”
TherewasagainsomethingnewinBentley’stone.“Ihelpedher,”hehadsaid,andinthosewordswasafaintechoofpride.
PoirotrememberedwhatMrs.OliverhadtoldhimofherconversationwithDeirdreHenderson.
Hesaidgently:
“Youtalkedtogether?”
“Yes.She—hermothersufferedalot,shetoldme.Shewasveryfondofhermother.”
“Andyoutoldheraboutyours?”
“Yes,”saidJamesBentleysimply.
Poirotsaidnothing.Hewaited.
“Lifeisverycruel,”saidJamesBentley.“Veryunfair.Somepeopleneverseemtogetanyhappiness.”
“Itispossible,”saidHerculePoirot
“Idon’tthinkshehadhadmuch.MissWetherby.”
“Henderson.”
“Ohyes.Shetoldmeshehadastepfather.”
“DeirdreHenderson,”saidPoirot.“DeirdreoftheSorrows.Aprettyname—butnotaprettygirl,Iunderstand?”
JamesBentleyflushed.
“Ithought,”hesaid,“shewasrathergood-looking….”
Nineteen
“Nowjustyoulistentome,”saidMrs.Sweetiman.
Ednasniffed.ShehadbeenlisteningtoMrs.Sweetimanforsometime.Ithadbeenahopelessconversation,goingroundincircles.Mrs.Sweetimanhadsaidthesamethingseveraltimes,varyingthephraseologyalittle,buteventhatnotmuch.Ednahadsniffedandoccasionallyblubberedandhadreiteratedherowntwocontributionstothediscussion:first,thatshecouldn’tever!Second,thatDadwouldskinheralive,hewould.
“That’sasmaybe,”saidMrs.Sweetiman,“butmurder’smurder,andwhatyousawyousaw,andyoucan’tgetawayfromit.”
Ednasniffed.
“Andwhatyoudidoughttodo—”
Mrs.SweetimanbrokeoffandattendedtoMrs.Wetherby,whohadcomeinforsomeknittingpinsandanotherounceofwool.
“Haven’tseenyouaboutforsometime,ma’am,”saidMrs.Sweetimanbrightly.
“No,I’vebeenveryfarfromwelllately,”saidMrs.Wetherby.“Myheart,youknow.”Shesigheddeeply.“Ihavetolieupagreatdeal.”
“Iheardasyou’vegotsomehelpatlast,”saidMrs.Sweetiman.“You’llwantdarkneedlesforthislightwool.”
“Yes.Quitecapableasfarasshegoes,andcooksnotatallbadly.Buthermanners!Andherappearance!Dyedhairandthemostunsuitabletightjumpers.”
“Ah,”saidMrs.Sweetiman.“Girlsaren’ttrainedpropertoservicenowadays.Mymother,shestartedatthirteenandshegotupataquartertofiveeverymorning.Headhousemaidshewaswhenshefinished,andthreemaidsunderher.Andshetrainedthemproper,too.Butthere’snoneofthatnowadays—girlsaren’ttrainednowadays,they’rejusteducated,likeEdna.”
BothwomenlookedatEdna,wholeantagainstthepostofficecounter,sniffingandsuckingapeppermint,andlookingparticularlyvacant.Asanexampleofeducation,shehardlydidtheeducationalsystemcredit.
“TerribleaboutMrs.Upward,wasn’tit?”continuedMrs.Sweetimanconversationally,asMrs.Wetherbysortedthroughvariouscolouredneedles.
“Dreadful,”saidMrs.Wetherby.“Theyhardlydaredtellme.Andwhentheydid,Ihadthemostfrightfulpalpitations.I’msosensitive.”
“Shocktoallofus,itwas,”saidMrs.Sweetiman.“AsforyoungMr.Upward,hetookonsomethingterrible.Hadherhandsfullwithhim,theauthoressladydid,untilthedoctorcameandgavehimaseddytifforsomething.He’sgoneuptoLongMeadowsnowasapayingguest,felthecouldn’tstayinthecottage—andIdon’tknowasIblamehim.JanetGroom,she’sgonehometohernieceandthepolicehavegotthekey.TheladywhatwritesthemurderbookshasgonebacktoLondon,butshe’llcomedownfortheinquest.”
Mrs.Sweetimanimpartedallthisinformationwithrelish.Shepridedherselfonbeingwell-informed.Mrs.Wetherby,whosedesireforknittingneedleshadperhapsbeenpromptedbyadesiretoknowwhatwasgoingon,paidforherpurchase.
“It’smostupsetting,”shesaid.“Itmakesthewholevillagesodangerous.Theremustbeamaniacabout.WhenIthinkthatmyowndeardaughterwasoutthatnight,thatsheherselfmighthavebeenattacked,perhapskilled.”Mrs.Wetherbyclosedbotheyesandswayedonherfeet.Mrs.Sweetimanwatchedherwithinterest,butwithoutalarm.Mrs.Wetherbyopenedhereyesagain,andsaidwithdignity:
“Thisplaceshouldbepatrolled.Noyoungpeopleshouldgoaboutafterdark.Andalldoorsshouldbelockedandbolted.YouknowthatupatLongMeadows,Mrs.Summerhayesneverlocksanyofherdoors.Notevenatnight.Sheleavesthebackdoorandthedrawingroomwindowopensothatthedogsandcatscangetinandout.Imyselfconsiderthatisabsolutemadness,butshesaysthey’vealwaysdoneitandthatifburglarswanttogetin,theyalwayscan.”
“Reckontherewouldn’tbemuchforaburglartotakeupatLongMeadows,”saidMrs.Sweetiman.
Mrs.Wetherbyshookherheadsadlyanddepartedwithherpurchase.
Mrs.SweetimanandEdnaresumedtheirargument.
“It’snogoodyoursettingyourselfuptoknowbest,”saidMrs.Sweetiman.“Right’srightandmurder’smurder.Tellthetruthandshamethedevil.That’swhatIsay.”
“Dadwouldskinmealive,hewould,forsure,”saidEdna.
“I’dtalktoyourDad,”saidMrs.Sweetiman.
“Icouldn’tever,”saidEdna.
“Mrs.Upward’sdead,”saidMrs.Sweetiman.“Andyousawsomethingthepolicedon’tknowabout.You’reemployedinthepostoffice,aren’tyou?You’reaGovernmentservant.You’vegottodoyourduty.You’vegottogoalongtoBertHayling—”
Edna’ssobsburstoutanew.
“NottoBert,Icouldn’t.HowevercouldIgotoBert?It’dbeallovertheplace.”
Mrs.Sweetimansaidratherhesitantly:
“There’sthatforeigngentleman—”
“Notaforeigner,Icouldn’t.Notaforeigner.”
“No,maybeyou’rerightthere.”
Acardrewupoutsidethepostofficewithasquealingofbrakes.
Mrs.Sweetiman’sfacelitup.
“That’sMajorSummerhayes,thatis.Youtellitalltohimandhe’lladviseyouwhattodo.”
“Icouldn’tever,”saidEdna,butwithlessconviction.
JohnnieSummerhayescameintothepostoffice,staggeringundertheburdenofthreecardboardboxes.
“Goodmorning,Mrs.Sweetiman,”hesaidcheerfully.“Hopethesearen’toverweight?”
Mrs.Sweetimanattendedtotheparcelsinherofficialcapacity.AsSummerhayeswaslickingthestamps,shespoke.
“Excuseme,sir,I’dlikeyouradviceaboutsomething.”
“Yes,Mrs.Sweetiman?”
“Seeingasyoubelonghere,sir,andwillknowbestwhattodo.”
Summerhayesnodded.HewasalwayscuriouslytouchedbythelingeringfeudalspiritofEnglishvillages.Thevillagersknewlittleofhimpersonally,butbecausehisfatherandhisgrandfatherandmanygreat-great-grandfathershadlivedatLongMeadows,theyregardeditasnaturalthatheshouldadviseanddirectthemwhenaskedsotodo.
“It’saboutEdnahere,”saidMrs.Sweetiman.
Ednasniffed.
JohnnieSummerhayeslookedatEdnadoubtfully.Never,hethought,hadheseenamoreunprepossessinggirl.Exactlylikeaskinnedrabbit.Seemedhalf-wittedtoo.Surelyshecouldn’tbeinwhatwasknownofficiallyas“trouble.”Butno,Mrs.Sweetimanwouldnothavecometohimforadviceinthatcase.
“Well,”hesaidkindly,“what’sthedifficulty?”
“It’saboutthemurder,sir.Thenightofthemurder.Ednasawsomething.”
JohnnieSummerhayestransferredhisquickdarkgazefromEdnatoMrs.SweetimanandbackagaintoEdna.
“Whatdidyousee,Edna?”hesaid.
Ednabegantosob.Mrs.Sweetimantookover.
“Ofcoursewe’vebeenhearingthisandthat.Some’srumourandsome’strue.Butit’ssaiddefiniteasthattherewerealadytherethatnightwhodrankcoffeewithMrs.Upward.That’sso,isn’tit,sir?”
“Yes,Ibelieveso.”
“Iknowasthat’strue,becausewehaditfromBertHayling.”
AlbertHaylingwasthelocalconstablewhomSummerhayesknewwell.Aslow-speakingmanwithasenseofhisownimportance.
“Isee,”saidSummerhayes.
“Buttheydon’tknow,dothey,whotheladyis?Well,Ednaheresawher.”
JohnnieSummerhayeslookedatEdna.Hepursedhislipsasthoughtowhistle.
“Yousawher,didyou,Edna?Goingin—orcomingout?”
“Goingin,”saidEdna.Afaintsenseofimportanceloosenedhertongue.“AcrosstheroadIwas,underthetrees.Justbytheturnofthelanewhereit’sdark.Isawher.Shewentinatthegateanduptothedoorandshestoodthereabit,andthen—andthenshewentin.”
JohnnieSummerhayes’browcleared.
“That’sallright,”hesaid.“ItwasMissHenderson.Thepoliceknowallaboutthat.Shewentandtoldthem.”
Ednashookherhead.
“Itwasn’tMissHenderson,”shesaid
“Itwasn’t—thenwhowasit?”
“Idunno.Ididn’tseeherface.Hadherbacktome,shehad,goingupthepathandstandingthere.Butitwasn’tMissHenderson.”
“Buthowdoyouknowitwasn’tMissHendersonifyoudidn’tseeherface?”
“Becauseshehadfairhair.MissHenderson’sisdark.”
JohnnieSummerhayeslookeddisbelieving
“Itwasaverydarknight.You’dhardlybeabletoseethecolourofanyone’shair.”
“ButIdid,though.Thatlightwasonovertheporch.Leftlikethat,itwas,becauseMr.Robinandthedetectiveladyhadgoneouttogethertothetheatre.Andshewasstandingrightunderit.Adarkcoatshehadon,andnohat,andherhairwasshiningfairascouldbe.Isawit.”
Johnniegaveaslowwhistle.Hiseyeswereseriousnow.
“Whattimewasit?”heasked.
Ednasniffed.
“Idon’trightlyknow.”
“Youknowaboutwhattime,”saidMrs.Sweetiman.
“Itwasn’tnineo’clock.I’dhaveheardthechurch.Anditwasafterhalfpasteight.”
“Betweenhalfpasteightandnine.Howlongdidshestop?”
“Idunno,sir.BecauseIdidn’twaitnolonger.AndIdidn’thearnothing.Nogroansorcriesornothinglikethat.”
Ednasoundedslightlyaggrieved.
Buttherewouldhavebeennogroansandnocries.JohnnieSummerhayesknewthat.Hesaidgravely:
“Well,there’sonlyonethingtobedone.Thepolicehavegottohearaboutthis.”
Ednaburstintolongsnifflingsobs.
“Dad’llskinmealive,”shewhimpered.“Hewill,forsure.”
ShecastanimploringlookatMrs.Sweetimanandboltedintothebackroom.Mrs.Sweetimantookoverwithcompetence.
“It’slikethis,sir,”shesaidinanswertoSummerhayes’inquiringglance.“Edna’sbeenbehavingveryfoolishlike.VerystrictherDadis,maybeabitoverstrict,butit’shardtosaywhat’sbestnowadays.There’saniceyoungfellowovertoCullavonandheandEdnahavebeengoingtogetherniceandsteady,andherDadwasquitepleasedaboutit,butReghe’sontheslowside,andyouknowwhatgirlsare.Edna’stakenuplatelywithCharlieMasters.”
“Masters?OneofFarmerCole’smen,isn’the?”
“That’sright,sir.Farmlabourer.Andamarriedmanwithtwochildren.Alwaysafterthegirls,heis,andabadfellowineveryway.Ednahasn’tgotanysense,andherDad,heputastoptoit.Quiteright.So,yousee,EdnawasgoingintoCullavonthatnighttogotothepictureswithReg—atleastthat’swhatshetoldherDad.ButreallyshewentouttomeetthisMasters.Waitedforhim,shedid,attheturnofthelanewhereitseemstheyusedtomeet.Well,hedidn’tcome.Maybehiswifekepthimathome,ormaybehe’safteranothergirl,butthereitis.Ednawaitedbutatlastshegaveup.Butit’sawkwardforher,asyoucansee,explainingwhatshewasdoingthere,whensheoughttohavetakenthebusintoCullavon.”
JohnnieSummerhayesnodded.SuppressinganirrelevantfeelingofwonderthattheunprepossessingEdnacouldhavesufficientsexappealtoattracttheattentionoftwomen,hedealtwiththepracticalaspectofthesituation.
“Shedoesn’twanttogotoBertHaylingaboutit,”hesaidwithquickcomprehension.
“That’sright,sir.”
Summerhayesreflectedrapidly.
“I’mafraidthepolicehavegottoknow,”hesaidgently.
“That’swhatItoldher,sir,”saidMrs.Sweetiman.
“Buttheywillprobablybequitetactfulabout—er—thecircumstances.Possiblyshemayn’thavetogiveevidence.Andwhatshetellsthem,they’llkeeptothemselves.IcouldringupSpenceandaskhimtocomeoverhere—no,betterstill,I’lltakeyoungEdnaintoKilchesterwithmeinmycar.Ifshegoestothepolicestationthere,nobodyhereneedknowanythingaboutit.I’lljustringthemupfirstandwarnthemwe’recoming.”
Andso,afterabrieftelephonecall,thesniffingEdna,buttonedfirmlyintohercoatandencouragedbyapatonthebackfromMrs.Sweetiman,steppedintothestationwagonandwasdrivenrapidlyawayinthedirectionofKilchester.
Twenty
HerculePoirotwasinSuperintendentSpence’sofficeinKilchester.Hewasleaningbackinachair,hiseyesclosedandthetipsofhisfingersjusttouchingeachotherinfrontofhim.
Thesuperintendentreceivedsomereports,gaveinstructionstoasergeant,andfinallylookedacrossattheotherman
“Gettingabrainwave,M.Poirot?”hedemanded.
“Ireflect,”saidPoirot.“Ireview.”
“Iforgottoaskyou.DidyougetanythingusefulfromJamesBentleywhenyousawhim?”
Poirotshookhishead.Hefrowned.
ItwasindeedofJamesBentleyhehadbeenthinking.
Itwasannoying,thoughtPoirotwithexasperation,thatonacasesuchasthiswherehehadofferedhisserviceswithoutreward,solelyoutoffriendshipandrespectforanuprightpoliceofficer,thatthevictimofcircumstancesshouldsolackanyromanticappeal.Alovelyyounggirl,now,bewilderedandinnocent,orafineupstandingyoungman,alsobewildered,butwhose“headisbloodybutunbowed,”thoughtPoirot,whohadbeenreadingagooddealofEnglishpoetryinananthologylately.Instead,hehadJamesBentley,apathologicalcaseifthereeverwasone,aself-centredcreaturewhohadneverthoughtmuchofanyonebuthimself.Amanungratefulfortheeffortsthatwerebeingmadetosavehim—almost,onemightsay,uninterestedinthem.
Really,thoughtPoirot,onemightaswelllethimbehangedsincehedoesnotseemtocare….
No,hewouldnotgoquiteasfarasthat.
SuperintendentSpence’svoicebrokeintothesereflections.
“Ourinterview,”saidPoirot,“was,ifImightsayso,singularlyunproductive.AnythingusefulthatBentleymighthaverememberedhedidnotremember—whathedidrememberissovagueanduncertainthatonecannotbuilduponit.ButatanyrateitseemsfairlycertainthatMrs.McGintywasexcitedbythearticleintheSundayCometandspokeaboutittoBentleywithspecialreferenceto‘someoneconnectedwiththecase,’livinginBroadhinny.”
“Withwhichcase?”askedSuperintendentSpencesharply.
“Ourfriendcouldnotbesure,”saidPoirot.“Hesaid,ratherdoubtfully,theCraigcase—buttheCraigcasebeingtheonlyonehehadeverheardof,itwould,presumably,betheonlyonehecouldremember.Butthe‘someone’wasawoman.HeevenquotedMrs.McGinty’swords.Someonewhohad‘notsomuchtobeproudofifall’sknown.’”
“Proud?”
“Maisoui,”Poirotnoddedhisappreciation.“Asuggestiveword,isitnot?”
“Noclueastowhotheproudladywas?”
“BentleysuggestedMrs.Upward—butasfarasIcanseefornorealreason!”
Spenceshookhishead.
“Probablybecauseshewasaproudmasterfulsortofwoman—outstandinglyso,Ishouldsay.Butitcouldn’thavebeenMrs.Upward,becauseMrs.Upward’sdead,anddeadforthesamereasonasMrs.McGintydied—becausesherecognizedaphotograph.”
Poirotsaidsadly:“Iwarnedher.”
Spencemurmuredirritably:
“LilyGamboll!Sofarasagegoes,thereareonlytwopossibilities,Mrs.RendellandMrs.Carpenter.Idon’tcounttheHendersongirl—she’sgotabackground.”
“Andtheothershavenot?”
Spencesighed.
“Youknowwhatthingsarenowadays.Thewarstirredupeveryoneandeverything.TheapprovedschoolwhereLilyGambollwas,andallitsrecords,weredestroyedbyadirecthit.Thentakepeople.It’sthehardestthingintheworldtocheckonpeople.TakeBroadhinny—theonlypeopleinBroadhinnyweknowanythingaboutaretheSummerhayesfamily,whohavebeenthereforthreehundredyears,andGuyCarpenter,who’soneoftheengineeringCarpenters.Alltheothersare—whatshallIsay—fluid?Dr.Rendell’sontheMedicalRegisterandweknowwherehetrainedandwherehe’spractised,butwedon’tknowhishomebackground.HiswifecamefromnearDublin.EveSelkirk,asshewasbeforeshemarriedGuyCarpenter,wasaprettyyoungwarwidow.Anyonecanbeaprettyyoungwarwidow.TaketheWetherbys—theyseemtohavefloatedroundtheworld,here,thereandeverywhere.Why?Isthereareason?Didheembezzlefromabank?Ordidtheyoccasionascandal?Idon’tsaywecan’tdigupaboutpeople.Wecan—butittakestime.Thepeoplethemselveswon’thelpyou.”
“Becausetheyhavesomethingtoconceal—butitneednotbemurder,”saidPoirot.
“Exactly.Itmaybetroublewiththelaw,oritmaybeahumbleorigin,oritmaybecommonorgardenscandal.Butwhateveritis,they’vetakenalotofpainstocoverup—andthatmakesitdifficulttouncover.”
“Butnotimpossible.”
“Ohno.Notimpossible.Itjusttakestime.AsIsay,ifLilyGambollisinBroadhinny,she’seitherEveCarpenterorShelaghRendell.I’vequestionedthem—justroutine—that’sthewayIputit.Theysaytheywerebothathome—alone.Mrs.Carpenterwasthewide-eyedinnocent,Mrs.Rendellwasnervous—butthenshe’sanervoustype,youcan’tgobythat.”
“Yes,”saidPoirotthoughtfully.“Sheisanervoustype.”
HewasthinkingofMrs.RendellinthegardenatLongMeadows.Mrs.Rendellhadreceivedananonymousletter,orsoshesaid.Hewondered,ashehadwonderedbefore,aboutthatstatement.
Spencewenton:
“Andwehavetobecareful—becauseevenifoneofthemisguilty,theotherisinnocent.”
“AndGuyCarpenterisaprospectiveMemberofParliamentandanimportantlocalfigure.”
“Thatwouldn’thelphimifhewasguiltyofmurderoraccessorytoit,”saidSpencegrimly.
“Iknowthat.Butyouhave,haveyounot,tobesure?”
“That’sright.Anyway,you’llagree,won’tyou,thatitliesbetweenthetwoofthem?”
Poirotsighed.
“No—no—Iwouldnotsaythat.Thereareotherpossibilities.”
“Suchas?”
Poirotwassilentforamoment,thenhesaidinadifferent,almostcasualtoneofvoice:
“Whydopeoplekeepphotographs?”
“Why?Goodnessknows!Whydopeoplekeepallsortsofthings—junk—trash,bitsandpieces.Theydo—that’sallthereistoit!”
“UptoapointIagreewithyou.Somepeoplekeepthings.Somepeoplethroweverythingawayassoonastheyhavedonewithit.That,yes,itisamatteroftemperament.ButIspeaknowespeciallyofphotographs.Whydopeoplekeep,inparticular,photographs?”
“AsIsay,becausetheyjustdon’tthrowthingsaway.Orelsebecauseitremindsthem—”
Poirotpouncedonthewords.
“Exactly.Itremindsthem.Nowagainweask—why?Whydoesawomankeepaphotographofherselfwhenyoung?AndIsaythatthefirstreasonis,essentially,vanity.Shehasbeenaprettygirlandshekeepsaphotographofherselftoremindherofwhataprettygirlshewas.Itencouragesherwhenhermirrortellsherunpalatablethings.Shesays,perhaps,toafriend,‘ThatwasmewhenIwaseighteen…’andshesighs…Youagree?”
“Yes—yes,Ishouldsaythat’strueenough.”
“ThenthatisreasonNo.1.Vanity.NowreasonNo.2.Sentiment.”
“That’sthesamething?”
“No,no,notquite.Becausethisleadsyoutopreservenotonlyyourownphotographbutthatofsomeoneelse…Apictureofyourmarrieddaughter—whenshewasachildsittingonahearthrugwithtulleroundher.”
“I’veseensomeofthose,”Spencegrinned.
“Yes.Veryembarrassingtothesubjectsometimes,butmothersliketodoit.Andsonsanddaughtersoftenkeeppicturesoftheirmothers,especially,say,iftheirmotherdiedyoung.‘Thatwasmymotherasagirl.’”
“I’mbeginningtoseewhatyou’redrivingat,Poirot.”
“Andthereispossibly,athirdcategory.Notvanity,notsentiment,notlove—perhapshate—whatdoyousay?”
“Hate?”
“Yes.Tokeepadesireforrevengealive.Someonewhohasinjuredyou—youmightkeepaphotographtoremindyou,mightyounot?”
“Butsurelythatdoesn’tapplyinthiscase?”
“Doesitnot?”
“Whatareyouthinkingof?”
Poirotmurmured:
“Newspaperreportsareofteninaccurate.TheSundayCometstatedthatEvaKanewasemployedbytheCraigsasanurserygoverness.Wasthatactuallythecase?”
“Yes,itwas.Butwe’reworkingontheassumptionthatit’sLilyGambollwe’relookingfor.”
Poirotsatupsuddenlyverystraightinhischair.HewaggedanimperativeforefingeratSpence.
“Look.LookatthephotographofLilyGamboll.Sheisnotpretty—no!Frankly,withthoseteethandthosespectaclessheishideouslyugly.Thennobodyhaskeptthatphotographforthefirstofourreasons.Nowomanwouldkeepthatphotooutofvanity.IfEveCarpenterorShelaghRendell,whoarebothgood-lookingwomen,especiallyEveCarpenter,hadthisphotographofthemselves,theywouldtearitinpiecesquicklyincasesomebodyshouldseeit!”
“Well,thereissomethinginthat.”
“SoreasonNo.1isout.Nowtakesentiment.DidanybodyloveLilyGambollatthatage?ThewholepointofLilyGambollisthattheydidnot.Shewasanunwantedandunlovedchild.Thepersonwholikedherbestwasheraunt,andherauntdiedunderthechopper.Soitwasnotsentimentthatkeptthispicture.Andrevenge?Nobodyhatedhereither.Hermurderedauntwasalonelywomanwithoutahusbandandwithnoclosefriends.Nobodyhadhateforthelittleslumchild—onlypity.”
“Lookhere,M.Poirot,whatyou’resayingisthatnobodywouldhavekeptthatphoto.”
“Exactly—thatistheresultofmyreflections.”
“Butsomebodydid.BecauseMrs.Upwardhadseenit.”
“Hadshe?”
“Dashitall.Itwasyouwhotoldme.Shesaidsoherself.”
“Yes,shesaidso,”saidPoirot.“ButthelateMrs.Upwardwas,insomeways,asecretivewoman.Shelikedtomanagethingsherownway.Ishowedthephotographs,andsherecognizedoneofthem.Butthen,forsomereason,shewantedtokeeptheidentificationtoherself.Shewanted,letussay,todealwithacertainsituationinthewayshefancied.Andso,beingveryquick-witted,shedeliberatelypointedtothewrongpicture.Therebykeepingherknowledgetoherself.”
“Butwhy?”
“Because,asIsay,shewantedtoplayalonehand.”
“Itwouldn’tbeblackmail?Shewasanextremelywealthywoman,youknow,widowofaNorthCountrymanufacturer.”
“Ohno,notblackmail.Morelikelybeneficence.We’llsaythatshequitelikedthepersoninquestion,andthatshedidn’twanttogivetheirsecretaway.Butneverthelessshewascurious.Sheintendedtohaveaprivatetalkwiththatperson.Andwhilstdoingso,tomakeuphermindwhetherornotthatpersonhadhadanythingtodowiththedeathofMrs.McGinty.Somethinglikethat.”
“Thenthatleavestheotherthreephotosin?”
“Precisely.Mrs.Upwardmeanttogetintouchwiththepersoninquestionatthefirstopportunity.ThatcamewhenhersonandMrs.OliverwentovertotheRepertoryTheatreatCullenquay.”
“AndshetelephonedtoDeirdreHendersonThatputsDeirdreHendersonrightbackinthepicture.Andhermother!”
SuperintendentSpenceshookhisheadsadlyatPoirot.
“Youdoliketomakeitdifficult,don’tyou,M.Poirot?”hesaid.
Twenty-one
Mrs.Wetherbywalkedbackhomefromthepostofficewithagaitsurprisinglyspryinonehabituallyreportedtobeaninvalid.
Onlywhenshehadenteredthefrontdoordidsheoncemoreshufflefeeblyintothedrawingroomandcollapseonthesofa.
Thebellwaswithinreachofherhandandsherangit.
Sincenothinghappenedsherangitagain,thistimekeepingherfingeronitforsometime.
InduecourseMaudeWilliamsappeared.Shewaswearingafloweredoverallandhadadusterinherhand.
“Didyouring,madam?”
“Irangtwice.WhenIringIexpectsomeonetocomeatonce.Imightbedangerouslyill.”
“I’msorry,madam.Iwasupstairs.”
“Iknowyouwere.Youwereinmyroom.Iheardyouoverhead.Andyouwerepullingthedrawersinandout.Ican’tthinkwhy.It’snopartofyourjobtogopryingintomythings.”
“Iwasn’tprying.Iwasputtingsomeofthethingsyouleftlyingaboutawaytidily.”
“Nonsense.Allyoupeoplesnoop.AndIwon’thaveit.I’mfeelingveryfaint.IsMissDeirdrein?”
“Shetookthedogforawalk.”
“Howstupid.ShemightknowIwouldneedher.Bringmeaneggbeatenupinmilkandalittlebrandy.Thebrandyisonthesideboardinthediningroom.”
“Thereareonlyjustthethreeeggsforbreakfasttomorrow.”
“Thensomeonewillhavetogowithout.Hurry,willyou?Don’tstandtherelookingatme.Andyou’rewearingfartoomuchmakeup.Itisn’tsuitable.”
TherewasabarkinthehallandDeirdreandherSealyhamcameinasMaudewentout.
“Iheardyourvoice,”saidDeirdrebreathlessly.“Whathaveyoubeensayingtoher?”
“Nothing.”
“Shelookedlikethunder.”
“Iputherinherplace.Impertinentgirl.”
“Oh,Mummydarling,mustyou?It’ssodifficulttogetanyone.Andshedoescookwell.”
“Isupposeit’sofnoimportancethatshe’sinsolenttome!Ohwell,Ishan’tbewithyoumuchlonger.”Mrs.Wetherbyrolleduphereyesandtooksomeflutteringbreaths.“Iwalkedtoofar,”shemurmured.
“Yououghtn’ttohavegoneout,darling.Whydidn’tyoutellmeyouweregoing?”
“Ithoughtsomeairwoulddomegood.It’ssostuffy.Itdoesn’tmatter.Onedoesn’treallywanttolive—notifone’sonlyatroubletopeople.”
“You’renotatrouble,darling.I’ddiewithoutyou.”
“You’reagoodgirl—butIcanseehowIwearyyouandgetonyournerves.”
“Youdon’t—youdon’t,”saidDeirdrepassionately.
Mrs.Wetherbysighedandlethereyelidsfall.
“I—can’ttalkmuch,”shemurmured.“Imustjustliestill.”
“I’llhurryupMaudewiththeeggnog.”
Deirdreranoutoftheroom.Inherhurryshecaughtherelbowonatableandabronzegodbumpedtotheground.
“Soclumsy,”murmuredMrs.Wetherbytoherself,wincing.
ThedooropenedandMr.Wetherbycamein.Hestoodthereforamoment.Mrs.Wetherbyopenedhereyes.
“Oh,it’syou,Roger?”
“Iwonderedwhatallthenoisewasinhere.It’simpossibletoreadquietlyinthishouse.”
“ItwasjustDeirdre,dear.Shecameinwiththedog.”
Mr.Wetherbystoopedandpickedupthebronzemonstrosityfromthefloor.
“SurelyDeirdre’soldenoughnottoknockthingsdownthewholetime.”
“She’sjustratherawkward.”
“Well,it’sabsurdtobeawkwardatherage.Andcan’tshekeepthatdogfrombarking?”
“I’llspeaktoher,Roger.”
“Ifshemakesherhomehere,shemustconsiderourwishesandnotbehaveasthoughthehousebelongedtoher.”
“Perhapsyou’drathershewentaway,”murmuredMrs.Wetherby.Throughhalf-closedeyesshewatchedherhusband.
“No,ofcoursenot.Ofcoursenot.Naturallyherhomeiswithus.Ionlyaskforalittlemoregoodsenseandgoodmanners.”Headded:“You’vebeenout,Edith?”
“Yes.Ijustwentdowntothepostoffice.”
“NofreshnewsaboutpoorMrs.Upward?”
“Thepolicestilldon’tknowwhoitwas.”
“Theyseemtobequitehopeless.Anymotive?Whogetshermoney?”
“Theson,Isuppose.”
“Yes—yes,thenitreallyseemsasthoughitmusthavebeenoneofthesetramps.Youshouldtellthisgirlshe’sgottobecarefulaboutkeepingthefrontdoorlocked.Andonlytoopenitonthechainwhenitgetsneardusk.Thesemenareverydaringandbrutalnowadays.”
“NothingseemstohavebeentakenfromMrs.Upward’s.”
“Odd.”
“NotlikeMrs.McGinty,”saidMrs.Wetherby.
“Mrs.McGinty?Oh!thecharwoman.What’sMrs.McGintygottodowithMrs.Upward?”
“Shedidworkforher,Roger.”
“Don’tbesilly,Edith.”
Mrs.Wetherbyclosedhereyesagain.AsMr.Wetherbywentoutoftheroomshesmiledtoherself.
SheopenedhereyeswithastarttofindMaudestandingoverher,holdingaglass.
“Youreggnog,madam,”saidMaude.
Hervoicewasloudandclear.Itechoedtooresonantlyinthedeadenedhouse.
Mrs.Wetherbylookedupwithavaguefeelingofalarm.
Howtallandunbendingthegirlwas.ShestoodoverMrs.Wetherbylike—“likeafigureofdoom,”Mrs.Wetherbythoughttoherself—andthenwonderedwhysuchextraordinarywordshadcomeintoherhead.
Sheraisedherselfonherelbowandtooktheglass.
“Thankyou,Maude,”shesaid.
Maudeturnedandwentoutoftheroom.
Mrs.Wetherbystillfeltvaguelyupset.
Twenty-two
I
HerculePoirottookahiredcarbacktoBroadhinny.
Hewastiredbecausehehadbeenthinking.Thinkingwasalwaysexhausting.Andhisthinkinghadnotbeenentirelysatisfactory.Itwasasthoughapattern,perfectlyvisible,waswovenintoapieceofmaterialandyet,althoughhewasholdingthepieceofmaterial,hecouldnotseewhatthepatternwas.
Butitwasallthere.Thatwasthepoint.Itwasallthere.Onlyitwasoneofthosepatterns,self-colouredandsubtle,thatarenoteasytoperceive.
AlittlewayoutofKilchesterhiscarencounteredtheSummerhayes’stationwagoncomingintheoppositedirection.Johnniewasdrivingandhehadapassenger.Poirothardlynoticedthem.Hewasstillabsorbedinthought.
WhenhegotbacktoLongMeadows,hewentintothedrawingroom.Heremovedacolanderfullofspinachfromthemostcomfortablechairintheroomandsatdown.Fromoverheadcamethefaintdrummingofatypewriter.ItwasRobinUpward,strugglingwithaplay.Threeversionshehadalreadytornup,sohetoldPoirot.Somehow,hecouldn’tconcentrate.
Robinmightfeelhismother’sdeathquitesincerely,butheremainedRobinUpward,chieflyinterestedinhimself.
“Madre,”hesaidsolemnly,“wouldhavewishedmetogoonwithmywork.”
HerculePoirothadheardmanypeoplesaymuchthesamething.Itwasoneofthemostconvenientassumptions,thisknowledgeofwhatthedeadwouldwish.Thebereavedhadneveranydoubtabouttheirdearones’wishesandthosewishesusuallysquaredwiththeirowninclinations.
Inthiscaseitwasprobablytrue.Mrs.UpwardhadhadgreatfaithinRobin’sworkandhadbeenextremelyproudofhim.
Poirotleanedbackandclosedhiseyes.
HethoughtofMrs.Upward.HeconsideredwhatMrs.Upwardhadreallybeenlike.Herememberedaphrasethathehadonceheardusedbyapoliceofficer.
“We’lltakehimapartandseewhatmakeshimtick.”
WhathadmadeMrs.Upwardtick?
Therewasacrash,andMaureenSummerhayescamein.Herhairwasflappingmadly.
“Ican’tthinkwhat’shappenedtoJohnnie,”shesaid.“Hejustwentdowntothepostofficewiththosespecialorders.Heoughttohavebeenbackhoursago.Iwanthimtofixthehenhousedoor.”
Atruegentleman,Poirotfeared,wouldhavegallantlyofferedtofixthehenhousedoorhimself.Poirotdidnot.HewantedtogoonthinkingabouttwomurdersandaboutthecharacterofMrs.Upward.
“AndIcan’tfindthatMinistryofAgricultureform,”continuedMaureen.“I’velookedeverywhere.”
“Thespinachisonthesofa,”Poirotofferedhelpfully.
Maureenwasnotworriedaboutspinach.
“Theformcamelastweek,”shemused.“AndImusthaveputitsomewhere.PerhapsitwaswhenIwasdarningthatpulloverofJohnnie’s.”
Shesweptovertothebureauandstartedpullingoutthedrawers.Mostofthecontentsshesweptontothefloorruthlessly.ItwasagonytoHerculePoirottowatchher.
Suddenlysheutteredacryoftriumph.
“Gotit!”
Delightedlysherushedfromtheroom.
HerculePoirotsighedandresumedmeditation.
Toarrange,withorderandprecision—
Hefrowned.Theuntidyheapofobjectsonthefloorbythebureaudistractedhismind.Whatawaytolookforthings!
Orderandmethod.Thatwasthething.Orderandmethod.
Thoughhehadturnedsidewaysinhischair,hecouldstillseetheconfusiononthefloor.Sewingthings,apileofsocks,letters,knittingwool,magazines,sealingwax,photographs,apullover—
Itwasinsupportable!
Poirotrose,wentacrosstothebureauandwithquickdeftmovementsbegantoreturntheobjectstotheopendrawers.
Thepullover,thesocks,theknittingwool.Then,inthenextdrawer,thesealingwax,thephotographs,theletters.
Thetelephonerang.
Thesharpnessofthebellmadehimjump
Hewentacrosstothetelephoneandliftedthereceiver.
“’Allo,’allo,’allo,”hesaid.
ThevoicethatspoketohimwasthevoiceofSuperintendentSpence.
“Ah!it’syou,M.Poirot.JustthemanIwant.”
Spence’svoicewasalmostunrecognizable.Averyworriedmanhadgivenplacetoaconfidentone.
“Fillingmeupwithalotoffandangleaboutthewrongphotograph,”hesaidwithreproachfulindulgence.“We’vegotsomenewevidence.GirlatthepostofficeinBroadhinny.MajorSummerhayesjustbroughtherin.Itseemsshewasstandingpracticallyoppositethecottagethatnightandshesawawomangoin.Sometimeaftereightthirtyandbeforenineo’clock.Anditwasn’tDeirdreHenderson.Itwasawomanwithfairhair.Thatputsusrightbackwherewewere—it’sdefinitelybetweenthetwoofthem—EveCarpenterandShelaghRendell.Theonlyquestionis—which?”
Poirotopenedhismouthbutdidnotspeak.Carefully,deliberately,hereplacedthereceiveronthestand.
Hestoodtherestaringunseeinglyinfrontofhim.
Thetelephonerangagain.
“’Allo!’Allo!’Allo!”
“CanIspeaktoM.Poirot,please?”
“HerculePoirotspeaking.”
“Thoughtso.MaudeWilliamshere.Postofficeinaquarterofanhour?”
“Iwillbethere.”
Hereplacedthereceiver.
Helookeddownathisfeet.Shouldhechangehisshoes?Hisfeetachedalittle.Ahwell—nomatter.
ResolutelyPoirotclappedonhishatandleftthehouse.
OnhiswaydownthehillhewashailedbyoneofSuperintendentSpence’smenjustemergingfromLaburnums.
“Morning,M.Poirot.”
Poirotrespondedpolitely.HenoticedthatSergeantFletcherwaslookingexcited.
“TheSupersentmeovertohaveathoroughcheckup,”heexplained.“Youknow—anylittlethingwemighthavemissed.Neverknow,doyou?We’dbeenoverthedesk,ofcourse,buttheSupergottheideatheremightbeasecretdrawer—musthavebeenreadingspystuff.Well,therewasn’tasecretdrawer.ButafterthatIgotontothebooks.Sometimespeopleslipaletterintoabookthey’rereading.Youknow?”
Poirotsaidthatheknew.“Andyoufoundsomething?”heaskedpolitely.
“Notaletteroranythingofthatsort,no.ButIfoundsomethinginteresting—atleastIthinkit’sinteresting.Lookhere.”
Heunwrappedfromapieceofnewspaperanoldandratherdecrepitbook.
“Inoneofthebookshelvesitwas.Oldbook,publishedyearsago.Butlookhere.”Heopeneditandshowedtheflyleaf.Pencilledacrossitwerethewords:EvelynHope.
“Interesting,don’tyouthink?That’sthename,incaseyoudon’tremember—”
“ThenamethatEvaKanetookwhensheleftEngland.Idoremember,”saidPoirot.
“LooksasthoughwhenMrs.McGintyspottedoneofthosephotoshereinBroadhinny,itwasourMrs.Upward.Makesitkindofcomplicated,doesn’tit?”
“Itdoes,”saidPoirotwithfeeling.“IcanassureyouthatwhenyougobacktoSuperintendentSpencewiththispieceofinformationhewillpullouthishairbytheroots—yes,assuredlybytheroots.”
“Ihopeitwon’tbeasbadasthat,”saidSergeantFletcher.
Poirotdidnotreply.Hewentondownthehill.Hehadceasedtothink.Nothinganywheremadesense.
Hewentintothepostoffice.MaudeWilliamswastherelookingatknittingpatterns.Poirotdidnotspeaktoher.Hewenttothestampcounter.WhenMaudehadmadeherpurchase,Mrs.Sweetimancameovertohimandheboughtsomestamps.Maudewentoutoftheshop.
Mrs.Sweetimanseemedpreoccupiedandnottalkative.PoirotwasabletofollowMaudeoutfairlyquickly.Hecaughtherupashortdistancealongtheroadandfellintostepbesideher.
Mrs.Sweetiman,lookingoutofthepostofficewindow,exclaimedtoherselfdisapprovingly.“Thoseforeigners!Allthesame,everymanjackof’em.Oldenoughtobehergrandfather,heis!”
II
“Ehbien,”saidPoirot,“youhavesomethingtotellme?”
“Idon’tknowthatit’simportant.TherewassomebodytryingtogetinatthewindowofMrs.Wetherby’sroom.”
“When?”
“Thismorning.She’dgoneout,andthegirlwasoutwiththedog.Oldfrozenfishwasshutupinhisstudyasusual.I’dhavebeeninthekitchennormally—itfacestheotherwaylikethestudy—butactuallyitseemedagoodopportunityto—youunderstand?”
Poirotnodded.
“SoInippedupstairsandintoHerAcidity’sbedroom.Therewasaladderagainstthewindowandamanwasfumblingwiththewindowcatch.She’shadeverythinglockedandbarredsincethemurder.Neverabitoffreshair.Whenthemansawmehescuttleddownandmadeoff.Theladderwasthegardener’s—he’dbeencuttingbacktheivyandhadgonetohavehiselevenses.”
“Whowastheman?Canyoudescribehim?”
“Ionlygotthemerestglimpse.BythetimeIgottothewindowhewasdowntheladderandgone,andwhenIfirstsawhimhewasagainstthesun,soIcouldn’tseehisface.”
“Youaresureitwasaman?”
Maudeconsidered.
“Dressedasaman—anoldfelthaton.Itmighthavebeenawoman,ofcourse….”
“Itisinteresting,”saidPoirot.“Itisveryinteresting…Nothingelse?”
“Notyet.Thejunkthatoldwomankeeps!Mustbedotty!Shecameinwithoutmehearingthismorningandbawledmeoutforsnooping.Ishallbemurderinghernext.Ifanyoneaskstobemurderedthatwomandoes.Areallynastybitofgoods.”
Poirotmurmuredsoftly:
“EvelynHope…”
“What’sthat?”Shespunroundonhim
“Soyouknowthatname?”
“Why—yes…It’sthenameEvaWhatsernametookwhenshewenttoAustralia.It—itwasinthepaper—theSundayComet.”
“TheSundayCometsaidmanythings,butitdidnotsaythat.ThepolicefoundthenamewritteninabookinMrs.Upward’shouse.”
Maudeexclaimed:
“Thenitwasher—andshedidn’tdieoutthere…Michaelwasright.”
“Michael?”
Maudesaidabruptly:
“Ican’tstop.I’llbelateservinglunch.I’vegotitallintheoven,butitwillbegettingdriedup.”
Shestartedoffatarun.Poirotstoodlookingafterher.
Atthepostofficewindow,Mrs.Sweetiman,hernosegluedtothepane,wonderedifthatoldforeignerhadbeenmakingsuggestionsofacertaincharacter..
III
BackatLongMeadows,Poirotremovedhisshoes,andputonapairofbedroomslippers.Theywerenotchic,notinhisopinioncommeilfaut—buttheremustberelief.
Hesatdownontheeasychairagainandbeganoncemoretothink.Hehadbynowalottothinkabout.
Therewerethingshehadmissed—littlethings.
Thepatternwasallthere.Itonlyneededcohesion.
Maureen,glassinhand,talkinginadreamyvoice—askingaquestion…Mrs.Oliver’saccountofhereveningattheRep.Cecil?Michael?HewasalmostsurethatshehadmentionedaMichael—EvaKane,nurserygovernesstotheCraigs—
EvelynHope….
Ofcourse!EvelynHope!
Twenty-three
I
EveCarpentercameintotheSummerhayes’houseinthecasualwaythatmostpeopledid,usinganydoororwindowthatwasconvenient.
ShewaslookingforHerculePoirotandwhenshefoundhimshedidnotbeataboutthebush.
“Lookhere,”shesaid.“You’readetective,andyou’resupposedtobegood.Allright,I’llhireyou.”
“SupposeIamnotforhire.MonDieu,Iamnotataxicab!”
“You’reaprivatedetectiveandprivatedetectivesgetpaid,don’tthey?”
“Itisthecustom.”
“Well,that’swhatI’msaying.I’llpayyou.I’llpayyouwell.”
“Forwhat?Whatdoyouwantmetodo?”
EveCarpentersaidsharply:
“Protectmeagainstthepolice.They’recrazy.TheyseemtothinkIkilledtheUpwardwoman.Andthey’renosinground,askingmeallsortsofquestions—ferretingoutthings.Idon’tlikeit.It’sdrivingmemental.”
Poirotlookedather.Somethingofwhatshesaidwastrue.Shelookedmanyyearsolderthanwhenhehadfirstseenherafewweeksago.Circlesunderhereyesspokeofsleeplessnights.Therewerelinesfromhermouthtoherchin,andherhand,whenshelitacigarette,shookbadly.
“You’vegottostopit,”shesaid.“You’vegotto.”
“Madame,whatcanIdo?”
“Fendthemoffsomehoworother.Damnedcheek!IfGuywasamanhe’dstopallthis.Hewouldn’tletthempersecuteme.”
“And—hedoesnothing?”
Shesaidsullenly:
“I’venottoldhim.Hejusttalkspompouslyaboutgivingthepolicealltheassistancepossible.It’sallrightforhim.Hewasatsomeghastlypoliticalmeetingthatnight.”
“Andyou?”
“Iwasjustsittingathome.Listeningtotheradioactually.”
“But,ifyoucanprovethat—”
“HowcanIproveit?IofferedtheCroftsafabuloussumtosaythey’dbeeninandoutandseenmethere—thedamnedswinerefused.”
“Thatwasaveryunwisemoveonyourpart.”
“Idon’tseewhy.Itwouldhavesettledthebusiness.”
“Youhaveprobablyconvincedyourservantsthatyoudidcommitthemurder.”
“Well—I’dpaidCroftanywayfor—”
“Forwhat?”
“Nothing.”
“Remember—youwantmyhelp.”
“Oh!Itwasnothingthatmatters.ButCrofttookthemessagefromher.”
“FromMrs.Upward?”
“Yes.Askingmetogodownandseeherthatnight.”
“Andyousayyoudidn’tgo?”
“WhyshouldIgo?Damneddrearyoldwoman.WhyshouldIgoandholdherhand?Ineverdreamedofgoingforamoment.”
“Whendidthismessagecome?”
“WhenIwasout.Idon’tknowexactlywhen—betweenfiveandsix,Ithink.Crofttookit.”
“Andyougavehimmoneytoforgethehadtakenthatmessage.Why?”
“Don’tbeidiotic.Ididn’twanttogetmixedupinitall.”
“Andthenyouofferhimmoneytogiveyouanalibi?Whatdoyousupposeheandhiswifethink?”
“Whocareswhattheythink?”
“Ajurymaycare,”saidPoirotgravely.
Shestaredathim.
“You’renotserious?”
“Iamserious.”
“They’dlistentoservants—andnottome?”
Poirotlookedather.
Suchcrassrudenessandstupidity!Antagonizingthepeoplewhomighthavebeenhelpful.Ashortsightedstupidpolicy.Shortsighted—
Suchlovelywideblueeyes.
Hesaidquietly:
“Whydon’tyouwearglasses,madame?Youneedthem.”
“What?Oh,Idosometimes.Ididasachild.”
“Andyouhadthenaplateforyourteeth.”
Shestared.
“Idid,asamatteroffact.Whyallthis?”
“Theuglyducklingbecomesaswan?”
“Iwascertainlyuglyenough.”
“Didyourmotherthinkso?”
Shesaidsharply:
“Idon’tremembermymother.Whatthehellarewetalkingaboutanyway?Willyoutakeonthejob?”
“IregretIcannot.”
“Whycan’tyou?”
“BecauseinthisaffairIactforJamesBentley.”
“JamesBentley?Oh,youmeanthathalf-witwhokilledthecharwoman.What’shegottodowiththeUpwards?”
“Perhaps—nothing.”
“Well,then!Isitaquestionofmoney?Howmuch?”
“Thatisyourgreatmistake,madame.Youthinkalwaysintermsofmoney.Youhavemoneyandyouthinkthatonlymoneycounts.”
“Ihaven’talwayshadmoney,”saidEveCarpenter.
“No,”saidPoirot.“Ithoughtnot.”Henoddedhisheadgently.“Thatexplainsagooddeal.Itexcusessomethings….”
II
EveCarpenterwentoutthewayshehadcome,blunderingalittleinthelightasPoirotrememberedherdoingbefore.
Poirotsaidsoftlytohimself:“EvelynHope…”
SoMrs.UpwardhadrungupbothDeirdreHendersonandEvelynCarpenter.Perhapsshehadrungupsomeoneelse.Perhaps—
WithacrashMaureencamein.
“It’smyscissorsnow.Sorrylunchislate.I’vegotthreepairsandIcan’tfindoneofthem.”
SherushedovertothebureauandtheprocesswithwhichPoirotwaswell-acquaintedwasrepeated.Thistime,theobjectivewasattainedrathersooner.Withacryofjoy,Maureendeparted.
Almostautomatically,Poirotsteppedoverandbegantoreplacethethingsinthedrawer.Sealingwax,notepaper,aworkbasket,photographs—
Photographs…
Hestoodstaringatthephotographheheldinhishand.
Footstepsrushedbackalongthepassage
Poirotcouldmovequicklyinspiteofhisage.Hehaddroppedthephotographonthesofa,putacushiononit,andhadhimselfsatonthecushion,bythetimethatMaureenreentered.
“Wherethehell’veIputacolanderfullofspinach—”
“Butitisthere,madame.”
Heindicatedthecolanderasitreposedbesidehimonthesofa.
“Sothat’swhereIleftit.”Shesnatcheditup.“Everything’sbehindtoday…”HerglancetookinHerculePoirotsittingboltupright.
“Whatonearthdoyouwanttosittherefor?Evenonacushion,it’sthemostuncomfortableseatintheroom.Allthespringsarebroken.”
“Iknow,madame.ButIam—Iamadmiringthatpictureonthewall.”
Maureenglancedupattheoilpaintingofanavalofficercompletewithtelescope.
“Yes—it’sgood.Abouttheonlygoodthinginthehouse.We’renotsurethatitisn’taGainsborough.”Shesighed.“Johnniewon’tsellit,though.It’shisgreat-greatandIthinkafewmoregreats,grandfatherandhewentdownwithhisshipordidsomethingfrightfullygallant.Johnnie’sterriblyproudofit.”
“Yes,”saidPoirotgently.“Yes,hehassomethingtobeproudabout,yourhusband!”
III
Itwasthreeo’clockwhenPoirotarrivedatDr.Rendell’shouse.
Hehadeatenrabbitstewandspinachandhardpotatoesandaratherpeculiarpudding,notscorchedthistime.Instead,“Thewatergotin,”Maureenhadexplained.Hehaddrunkhalfacupofmuddycoffee.Hedidnotfeelwell.
ThedoorwasopenedbytheelderlyhousekeeperMrs.Scott,andheaskedforMrs.Rendell.
Shewasinthedrawingroomwiththeradioonandstartedupwhenhewasannounced.
Hehadthesameimpressionofherthathehadhadthefirsttimehesawher.Wary,onherguard,frightenedofhim,orfrightenedofwhatherepresented.
Sheseemedpalerandmoreshadowythanshehaddone.Hewasalmostcertainthatshewasthinner.
“Iwanttoaskyouaquestion,madame.”
“Aquestion?Oh?Ohyes?”
“DidMrs.Upwardtelephonetoyouonthedayofherdeath?”
Shestaredathim.Shenodded.
“Atwhattime?”
“Mrs.Scotttookthemessage.Itwasaboutsixo’clock,Ithink.”
“Whatwasthemessage?Toaskyoutogotherethatevening?”
“Yes.ShesaidthatMrs.OliverandRobinweregoingintoKilchesterandshewouldbeallaloneasitwasJanet’snightout.CouldIcomedownandkeephercompany.”
“Wasanytimesuggested?”
“Nineo’clockorafter.”
“Andyouwent?”
“Imeantto.Ireallymeantto.ButIdon’tknowhowitwas,Ifellfastasleepafterdinnerthatnight.ItwasaftertenwhenIwokeup.Ithoughtitwastoolate.”
“YoudidnottellthepoliceaboutMrs.Upward’scall?”
Hereyeswidened.Theyhadaratherinnocentchildlikestare.
“OughtItohavedone?SinceIdidn’tgo,Ithoughtitdidn’tmatter.Perhaps,even,Ifeltratherguilty.IfI’dgone,shemighthavebeenalivenow.”Shecaughtherbreathsuddenly.“Oh,Ihopeitwasn’tlikethat.”
“Notquitelikethat,”saidPoirot.
Hepausedandthensaid:
“Whatareyouafraidof,madame?”
Shecaughtherbreathsharply.
“Afraid?I’mnotafraid.”
“Butyouare.”
“Whatnonsense.What—whatshouldIbeafraidof?”
Poirotpausedforamomentbeforespeaking.
“Ithoughtperhapsyoumightbeafraidofme….”
Shedidn’tanswer.Buthereyeswidened.Slowly,defiantly,sheshookherhead.
Twenty-four
I
“ThiswaytoBedlam,”saidSpence.
“Itisnotasbadasthat,”saidPoirotsoothingly.
“That’swhatyousay.Everysinglebitofinformationthatcomesinmakesthingsmoredifficult.NowyoutellmethatMrs.Upwardrangupthreewomen.Askedthemtocomethatevening.Whythree?Didn’tsheknowherselfwhichofthemwasLilyGamboll?Orisn’titacaseofLilyGambollatall?TakethatbookwiththenameofEvelynHopeinit.Itsuggests,doesn’tit,thatMrs.UpwardandEvaKaneareoneandthesame.”
“WhichagreesexactlywithJamesBentley’simpressionofwhatMrs.McGintysaidtohim.”
“Ithoughthewasn’tsure.”
“Hewasnotsure.ItwouldbeimpossibleforJamesBentleytobesureofanything.HedidnotlistenproperlytowhatMrs.McGintywassaying.Nevertheless,ifJamesBentleyhadanimpressionthatMrs.McGintywastalkingaboutMrs.Upward,itmayverywellbetrue.Impressionsoftenare.”
“OurlatestinformationfromAustralia(itwasAustraliashewentto,bytheway,notAmerica)seemstobetotheeffectthatthe‘Mrs.Hope’inquestiondiedouttheretwentyyearsago.”
“Ihavealreadybeentoldthat,”saidPoirot.
“Youalwaysknoweverything,don’tyou,Poirot?”
Poirottooknonoticeofthisgibe.Hesaid:
“Attheoneendwehave‘Mrs.Hope’deceasedinAustralia—andattheother?”
“AttheotherendwehaveMrs.Upward,thewidowofarichNorthCountrymanufacturer.ShelivedwithhimnearLeeds,andhadason.Soonaftertheson’sbirth,herhusbanddied.Theboywasinclinedtobetubercularandsinceherhusband’sdeathshelivedmostlyabroad.”
“Andwhendoesthissagabegin?”
“ThesagabeginsfouryearsafterEvaKaneleftEngland.Upwardmethiswifesomewhereabroadandbroughtherhomeafterthemarriage.”
“SoactuallyMrs.UpwardcouldbeEvaKane.Whatwashermaidenname?”
“Hargraves,Iunderstand.Butwhat’sinaname?”
“Whatindeed.EvaKane,orEvelynHope,mayhavediedinAustralia—butshemayhavearrangedaconvenientdeceaseandresuscitatedherselfasHargravesandmadeawealthymatch.”
“It’sallalongtimeago,”saidSpence.“Butsupposingthatit’strue.SupposingshekeptapictureofherselfandsupposingthatMrs.McGintysawit—thenonecanonlyassumethatshekilledMrs.McGinty.”
“Thatcouldbe,coulditnot?RobinUpwardwasbroadcastingthatnight.Mrs.Rendellmentionsgoingtothecottagethatevening,remember,andnotbeingabletomakeherselfheard.AccordingtoMrs.Sweetiman,JanetGroomtoldherthatMrs.Upwardwasnotreallyascrippledasshemadeout.”
“That’sallverywell,Poirot,butthefactremainsthatsheherselfwaskilled—afterrecognizingaphotograph.Nowyouwanttomakeoutthatthetwodeathsarenotconnected.”
“No,no.Idonotsaythat.Theyareconnectedallright.”
“Igiveitup.”
“EvelynHope.Thereisthekeytotheproblem.”
“EvelynCarpenter?Isthatyouridea?NotLilyGamboll—butEvaKane’sdaughter!Butsurelyshewouldn’tkillherownmother.”
“No,no.Thisisnotmatricide.”
“Whatanirritatingdevilyouare,Poirot.You’llbesayingnextthatEvaKaneandLilyGamboll,andJaniceCourtlandandVeraBlakearealllivinginBroadhinny.Allfoursuspects.”
“Wehavemorethanfour.EvaKanewastheCraigs’nurserygoverness,remember.”
“What’sthatgottodowithit?”
“Wherethereisanurserygoverness,theremustbechildren—oratleastachild.WhathappenedtotheCraigchildren?”
“Therewasagirlandaboy,Ibelieve.Somerelativetookthem.”
“Sotherearetwomorepeopletotakeintoaccount.TwopeoplewhomighthavekeptaphotographforthethirdreasonImentioned—revenge.”
“Idon’tbelieveit,”saidSpence.
Poirotsighed.
“Ithastobeconsidered,allthesame.IthinkIknowthetruth—thoughthereisonefactthatbafflesmeutterly.”
“I’mgladsomethingbafflesyou,”saidSpence.
“Confirmonethingforme,moncherSpence.EvaKaneleftthecountrybeforeCraig’sexecution,thatisright?”
“Quiteright.”
“Andshewas,atthattime,expectingachild?”
“Quiteright.”
“BonDieu,howstupidIhavebeen,”saidHerculePoirot.“Thewholethingissimple,isitnot?”
Itwasafterthatremarkthattherewasverynearlyathirdmurder—themurderofHerculePoirotbySuperintendentSpenceinKilchesterPoliceHeadquarters.
II
“Iwant,”saidHerculePoirot,“apersonalcall.ToMrs.AriadneOliver.”
ApersonalcalltoMrs.Oliverwasnotachievedwithoutdifficulties.Mrs.Oliverwasworkingandcouldnotbedisturbed.Poirot,however,disregardedalldenials.Presentlyheheardtheauthoress’svoice.
Itwascrossandratherbreathless.
“Well,whatisit?”saidMrs.Oliver.“Haveyougottoringmeupjustnow?I’vethoughtofamostwonderfulideaforamurderinadraper’sshop.Youknow,theold-fashionedkindthatsellscombinationsandfunnyvestswithlongsleeves.”
“Idonotknow,”saidPoirot.“AndanywaywhatIhavetosaytoyouisfarmoreimportant.”
“Itcouldn’tbe,”saidMrs.Oliver.“Nottome,Imean.UnlessIgetaroughsketchofmyideajotteddown,itwillgo!”
HerculePoirotpaidnoattentiontothiscreativeagony.HeaskedsharpimperativequestionstowhichMrs.Oliverrepliedsomewhatvaguely.
“Yes—yes—it’salittleRepertoryTheatre—Idon’tknowitsname…Well,oneofthemwasCecilSomething,andtheoneIwastalkingtowasMichael.”
“Admirable.ThatisallIneedtoknow.”
“ButwhyCecilandMichael?”
“Returntothecombinationsandthelong-sleevedvests,madame.”
“Ican’tthinkwhyyoudon’tarrestDr.Rendell,”saidMrs.Oliver.“Iwould,ifIweretheHeadofScotlandYard.”
“Verypossibly.Iwishyouluckwiththemurderinthedraper’sshop.”
“Thewholeideahasgonenow,”saidMrs.Oliver.“You’veruinedit.”
Poirotapologizedhandsomely.
HeputdownthereceiverandsmiledatSpence.
“Wegonow—oratleastIwillgo—tointerviewayoungactorwhoseChristiannameisMichaelandwhoplaysthelessimportantpartsintheCullenquayRepertoryTheatre.IprayonlythatheistherightMichael.”
“Whyonearth—”
PoirotdexterouslyavertedtherisingwrathofSuperintendentSpence.
“Doyouknow,cherami,whatisasecretdePolichinelle?”
“IsthisaFrenchlesson?”demandedthesuperintendentwrathfully.
“AsecretdePolichinelleisasecretthateveryonecanknow.Forthisreasonthepeoplewhodonotknowitneverhearaboutit—forifeveryonethinksyouknowathing,nobodytellsyou.”
“HowImanagetokeepmyhandsoffyouIdon’tknow,”saidSuperintendentSpence.
Twenty-five
Theinquestwasover—averdicthadbeenreturnedofmurderbyapersonorpersonsunknown.
Aftertheinquest,attheinvitationofHerculePoirot,thosewhohadattendeditcametoLongMeadows.
Workingdiligently,Poirothadinducedsomesemblanceoforderinthelongdrawingroom.Chairshadbeenarrangedinaneatsemicircle,Maureen’sdogshadbeenexcludedwithdifficulty,andHerculePoirot,aself-appointedlecturer,tookuphispositionattheendoftheroomandinitiatedproceedingswithaslightlyself-consciousclearingofthethroat.
“MessieursetMesdames—”
Hepaused.Hisnextwordswereunexpectedandseemedalmostfarcical.
“Mrs.McGinty’sdead.Howdidshedie?DownonherkneesjustlikeI.Mrs.McGinty’sdead.Howdidshedie?HoldingherhandoutjustlikeI.Mrs.McGinty’sdead.Howdidshedie?Likethis…”
Seeingtheirexpressions,hewenton:
“No,Iamnotmad.BecauseIrepeattoyouthechildishrhymeofachildishgame,itdoesnotmeanthatIaminmysecondchildhood.Someofyoumayhaveplayedthatgameaschildren.Mrs.Upwardhadplayedit.Indeedsherepeatedittome—withadifference.Shesaid:‘Mrs.McGinty’sdead.Howdidshedie?StickingherneckoutjustlikeI.’Thatiswhatshesaid—andthatiswhatshedid.Shestuckherneckout—andsoshealso,likeMrs.McGinty,died..
“Forourpurposewemustgobacktothebeginning—toMrs.McGinty—downonherkneesscrubbingotherpeople’shouses,Mrs.McGintywaskilled,andaman,JamesBentley,wasarrested,triedandconvicted.Forcertainreasons,SuperintendentSpence,theofficerinchargeofthecase,wasnotconvincedofBentley’sguilt,strongthoughtheevidencewas.Iagreedwithhim.Icamedownheretoansweraquestion.‘HowdidMrs.McGintydie?Whydidshedie?’
“Iwillnotmakeyouthelongandcomplicatedhistories.Iwillsayonlythatassimpleathingasabottleofinkgavemeaclue.IntheSundayComet,readbyMrs.McGintyontheSundaybeforeherdeath,fourphotographswerepublished.Youknowallaboutthosephotographsbynow,soIwillonlysaythatMrs.McGintyrecognizedoneofthosephotographsasaphotographshehadseeninoneofthehouseswheresheworked.
“ShespokeofthistoJamesBentleythoughheattachednoimportancetothematteratthetime,norindeedafterwards.Actuallyhebarelylistened.ButhehadtheimpressionthatMrs.McGintyhadseenthephotographinMrs.Upward’shouseandthatwhenshereferredtoawomanwhoneednotbesoproudifallwasknown,shewasreferringtoMrs.Upward.Wecannotdependonthatstatementofhis,butshecertainlyusedthatphraseaboutprideandthereisnodoubtthatMrs.Upwardwasaproudandimperiouswoman.
“Asyouallknow—someofyouwerepresentandtheotherswillhaveheard—IproducedthosefourphotographsatMrs.Upward’shouse.IcaughtaflickerofsurpriseandrecognitioninMrs.Upward’sexpressionandtaxedherwithit.Shehadtoadmitit.Shesaidthatshe‘hadseenoneofthephotographssomewherebutshecouldn’trememberwhere.’Whenaskedwhichphotograph,shepointedtoaphotographofthechildLilyGamboll.Butthat,letmetellyou,wasnotthetruth.Forreasonsofherown,Mrs.Upwardwantedtokeepherrecognitiontoherself.Shepointedtothewrongphotographtoputmeoff.
“Butonepersonwasnotdeceived—themurderer.OnepersonknewwhichphotographMrs.Upwardhadrecognized.AndhereIwillnotbeattoandfroaboutthebush—thephotographinquestionwasthatofEvaKane—awomanwhowasaccomplice,victimorpossiblyleadingspiritinthefamousCraigMurderCase.
“OnthenexteveningMrs.Upwardwaskilled.ShewaskilledforthesamereasonthatMrs.McGintywaskilled.Mrs.McGintystuckherhandout,Mrs.Upwardstuckherneckout—theresultwasthesame.
“NowbeforeMrs.Upwarddied,threewomenreceivedtelephonecalls.Mrs.Carpenter,Mrs.Rendell,andMissHenderson.AllthreecallswereamessagefromMrs.Upwardaskingthepersoninquestiontocomeandseeherthatevening.Itwasherservant’snightoutandhersonandMrs.OliverweregoingintoCullenquay.Itwouldseem,therefore,thatshewantedaprivateconversationwitheachofthesethreewomen.
“Nowwhythreewomen?DidMrs.UpwardknowwhereshehadseenthephotographofEvaKane?Ordidsheknowshehadseenitbutcouldnotrememberwhere?Hadthesethreewomenanythingincommon?Nothing,itwouldseem,buttheirage.Theywereall,roughly,intheneighbourhoodofthirty.
“Youhave,perhaps,readthearticleintheSundayComet.ThereisatrulysentimentalpictureinitofEvaKane’sdaughterinyearstocome.ThewomenaskedbyMrs.UpwardtocomeandseeherwerealloftherightagetobeEvaKane’sdaughter.
“SoitwouldseemthatlivinginBroadhinnywasayoungwomanwhowasthedaughterofthecelebratedmurdererCraigandofhismistressEvaKane,anditwouldalsoseemthatthatyoungwomanwouldgotoanylengthstopreventthatfactbeingknown.Wouldgo,indeed,tothelengthoftwicecommittingmurder.ForwhenMrs.Upwardwasfounddead,thereweretwocoffeecupsonthetable,bothused,andonthevisitor’scupfainttracesoflipstick.
“Nowletusgobacktothethreewomenwhoreceivedtelephonemessages.Mrs.CarpentergotthemessagebutsaysshedidnotgotoLaburnumsthatnight.Mrs.Rendellmeanttogo,butfellasleepinherchair.MissHendersondidgotoLaburnumsbutthehousewasdarkandshecouldnotmakeanyonehearandshecameawayagain.
“Thatisthestorythesethreewomantell—butthereisconflictingevidence.Thereisthatsecondcoffeecupwithlipstickonit,andanoutsidewitness,thegirlEdna,statespositivelythatshesawafair-hairedwomangointothehouse.Thereisalsotheevidenceofscent—anexpensiveandexoticscentwhichMrs.Carpenterusesaloneofthoseconcerned.”
Therewasaninterruption.EveCarpentercriedout:
“It’salie.It’sawickedcruellie.Itwasn’tme!Ineverwentthere!Ineverwentneartheplace.Guy,can’tyoudosomethingabouttheselies?”
GuyCarpenterwaswhitewithanger.
“Letmeinformyou,M.Poirot,thatthereisalawofslanderandallthesepeoplepresentarewitnesses.”
“Isitslandertosaythatyourwifeusesacertainscent—andalso,letmetellyou,acertainlipstick?”
“It’sridiculous,”criedEve.“Absolutelyridiculous!Anyonecouldgosplashingmyscentabout.”
UnexpectedlyPoirotbeamedonher.
“Maisoui,exactly!Anyonecould.Anobvious,notverysubtlethingtodo.Clumsyandcrude.Soclumsythat,asfarasIwasconcerned,itdefeateditsobject.Itdidmore.Itgaveme,asthephrasegoes,ideas.Yes,itgavemeideas.
“Scent—andtracesoflipstickonacup.Butitissoeasytoremovelipstickfromacup—Iassureyoueverytracecanbewipedoffquiteeasily.Orthecupsthemselvescouldberemovedandwashed.Whynot?Therewasnooneinthehouse.Butthatwasnotdone.Iaskedmyselfwhy?Andtheanswerseemedtobeadeliberatestressonfemininity,anunderliningofthefactthatitwasawoman’smurder.Ireflectedonthetelephonecallstothosethreewomen—allofthemhadbeenmessages.InnocasehadtherecipientherselfspokentoMrs.Upward.SoperhapsitwasnotMrs.Upwardwhohadtelephoned.Itwassomeonewhowasanxioustoinvolveawoman—anywoman—inthecrime.AgainIaskedwhy?Andtherecanonlybeoneanswer—thatitwasnotawomanwhokilledMrs.Upward—butaman.”
Helookedroundonhisaudience.Theywereallverystill.Onlytwopeopleresponded.
EveCarpentersaidwithasigh:“Nowyou’retalkingsense!”
Mrs.Oliver,noddingherheadvigorously,said:“Ofcourse.”
“SoIhavearrivedatthispoint—amankilledMrs.UpwardandamankilledMrs.McGinty!Whatman?Thereasonforthemurdermuststillbethesame—itallhingesonaphotograph.Inwhosepossessionwasthatphotograph?Thatisthefirstquestion.Andwhywasitkept?”
“Well,thatisperhapsnotsodifficult.Saythatitwaskeptoriginallyforsentimentalreasons.OnceMrs.McGintyis—removed,thephotographneednotbedestroyed.Butafterthesecondmurder,itisdifferent.Thistimethephotographhasdefinitelybeenconnectedwiththemurder.Thephotographisnowadangerousthingtokeep.Thereforeyouwillallagree,itissuretobedestroyed.”
Helookedroundattheheadsthatnoddedagreement.
“But,forallthat,thephotographwasnotdestroyed!No,itwasnotdestroyed!Iknowthat—becauseIfoundit.Ifounditafewdaysago.Ifounditinthishouse.Inthedrawerofthebureauthatyouseestandingagainstthewall.Ihaveithere.”
Heheldoutthefadedphotographofasimperinggirlwithroses.
“Yes,”saidPoirot.“ItisEvaKane.Andonthebackofitarewrittentwowordsinpencil.ShallItellyouwhattheyare?‘Mymother…’”
Hiseyes,graveandaccusing,restedonMaureenSummerhayes.Shepushedbackthehairfromherfaceandstaredathimwithwidebewilderedeyes.
“Idon’tunderstand.Inever—”
“No,Mrs.Summerhayes,youdonotunderstand.Therecanbeonlytworeasonsforkeepingthisphotographafterthesecondmurder.Thefirstofthemisaninnocentsentimentality.Youhadnofeelingofguiltandsoyoucouldkeepthephotograph.Youtoldusyourself,atMrs.Carpenter’shouseoneday,thatyouwereanadoptedchild.Idoubtwhetheryouhaveeverknownwhatyourrealmother’snamewas.Butsomebodyelseknew.Somebodywhohasalltheprideoffamily—apridethatmakeshimclingtohisancestralhome,aprideinhisancestorsandhislineage.Thatmanwouldratherdiethanhavetheworld—andhischildren—knowthatMaureenSummerhayesisthedaughterofthemurdererCraigandofEvaKane.Thatman,Ihavesaid,wouldratherdie.Butthatwouldnothelp,wouldit?Soinsteadletussaythatwehavehereamanwhoispreparedtokill.”
JohnnieSummerhayesgotupfromhisseat.Hisvoice,whenhespoke,wasquiet,almostfriendly.
“Ratheralotofnonsenseyou’retalkin,”aren’tyou?Enjoyingyourselfspoutingoutalotoftheories?Theories,that’salltheyare!Sayingthingsaboutmywife—”
Hisangerbrokesuddenlyinafurioustide.
“Youdamnedfilthyswine—”
Theswiftnessofhisrushacrossthefloortooktheroomunawares.PoirotskippedbacknimblyandSuperintendentSpencewassuddenlybetweenPoirotandSummerhayes.
“Now,now,MajorSummerhayes,takeiteasy—takeiteasy—”
Summerhayesrecoveredhimself,shrugged,said:
“Sorry.Ridiculousreally!Afterall—anyonecanstickaphotographinadrawer.”
“Precisely,”saidPoirot.“Andtheinterestingthingaboutthisphotographisthatithasnofingerprintsonit.”
Hepaused,thennoddedhisheadgently.
“Butitshouldhavehad,”hesaid.“IfMrs.Summerhayeskeptit,shewouldhavekeptitinnocently,andsoherfingerprintsshouldhavebeenonit.”
Maureenexclaimed:
“Ithinkyou’remad.I’veneverseenthatphotographinmylife—exceptatMrs.Upward’sthatday.”
“Itisfortunateforyou,”saidPoirot,“thatIknowthatyouarespeakingthetruth.ThephotographwasputintothatdraweronlyafewminutesbeforeIfounditthere.Twicethatmorningthecontentsofthatdrawerweretumbledontotheground,twiceIreplacedthem;thefirsttimethephotographwasnotinthedrawer,thesecondtimeitwas.Ithadbeenplacedthereduringthatinterval—andIknowbywhom.”
Anewnotecreptintohisvoice.Hewasnolongeraridiculouslittlemanwithanabsurdmoustacheanddyedhair,hewasahunterveryclosetohisquarry.
“Thecrimeswerecommittedbyaman—theywerecommittedforthesimplestofallreasons—formoney.InMrs.Upward’shousetherewasabookfoundandontheflyleafofthatbookiswrittenEvelynHope.HopewasthenameEvaKanetookwhensheleftEngland.IfherrealnamewasEvelyntheninallprobabilityshegavethenameofEvelyntoherchildwhenitwasborn.ButEvelynisaman’snameaswellasawoman’s.WhyhadweassumedthatEvaKane’schildwasagirl?RoughlybecausetheSundayCometsaidso!ButactuallytheSundayComethadnotsaidsoinsomanywords,ithadassumeditbecauseofaromanticinterviewwithEvaKane.ButEvaKaneleftEnglandbeforeherchildwasborn—sonobodycouldsaywhatthesexofthechildwouldbe.
“ThatiswhereIletmyselfbemisled.BytheromanticinaccuracyofthePress.
“EvelynHope,EvaKane’sson,comestoEngland.Heistalentedandheattractstheattentionofaveryrichwomanwhoknowsnothingabouthisorigin—onlytheromanticstoryhechoosestotellher.(Averyprettylittlestoryitwas—allaboutatragicyoungballerinadyingoftuberculosisinParis!)
“Sheisalonelywomanwhohasrecentlylostherownson.Thetalentedyoungplaywrighttakeshernamebydeedpoll.
“ButyourrealnameisEvelynHope,isn’tit,Mr.Upward?”
RobinUpwardcriedoutshrilly:
“Ofcourseitisn’t!Idon’tknowwhatyou’retalkingabout.”
“Youreallycannothopetodenyit.Therearepeoplewhoknowyouunderthatname.ThenameEvelynHope,writteninthebook,isinyourhandwriting—thesamehandwritingasthewords‘mymother’onthebackofthisphotograph.Mrs.McGintysawthephotographandthewritingonitwhenshewastidyingyourthingsaway.ShespoketoyouaboutitafterreadingtheSundayComet.Mrs.McGintyassumedthatitwasaphotographofMrs.Upwardwhenyoung,sinceshehadnoideaMrs.Upwardwasnotyourrealmother.ButyouknewthatifonceshementionedthemattersothatitcametoMrs.Upward’sears,itwouldbetheend.Mrs.Upwardhadquitefanaticalviewsonthesubjectofheredity.Shewouldnottolerateforamomentanadoptedsonwhowasthesonofafamousmurderer.Norwouldsheforgiveyourliesonthesubject.
“SoMrs.McGintyhadatallcoststobesilenced.Youpromisedheralittlepresent,perhaps,forbeingdiscreet.Youcalledonherthenexteveningonyourwaytobroadcast—andyoukilledher!Likethis…”
Withasuddenmovement,PoirotseizedthesugarhammerfromtheshelfandwhirleditroundanddownasthoughtobringitcrashingdownonRobin’shead.
Somenacingwasthegesturethatseveralofthecirclecriedout.
RobinUpwardscreamed.Ahighterrifiedscream.
Heyelled:“Don’t…don’t…Itwasanaccident.Iswearitwasanaccident.Ididn’tmeantokillher.Ilostmyhead.IswearIdid.”
“Youwashedoffthebloodandputthesugarhammerbackinthisroomwhereyouhadfoundit.Buttherearenewscientificmethodsofdeterminingbloodstains—andofbringinguplatentfingerprints.”
“ItellyouInevermeanttokillher…Itwasallamistake…Andanywayitisn’tmyfault…I’mnotresponsible.It’sinmyblood.Ican’thelpit.Youcan’thangmeforsomethingthatisn’tmyfault….”
UnderhisbreathSpencemuttered:“Can’twe?Youseeifwedon’t!”
Aloudhespokeinagraveofficialvoice:
“Imustwarnyou,Mr.Upward,thatanythingyousay…”
Twenty-six
“Ireallydon’tsee,M.Poirot,howeveryoucametosuspectRobinUpward.”
Poirotlookedcomplacentlyatthefacesturnedtowardshim.
Healwaysenjoyedexplanations.
“Ioughttohavesuspectedhimmuchsooner.Theclue,suchasimpleclue,wasthesentenceutteredbyMrs.Summerhayesatthecocktailpartythatday.ShesaidtoRobinUpward:‘Idon’tlikebeingadopted,doyou?’Thoseweretherevealingtwowords.Doyou?Theymeant—theycouldonlymean—thatMrs.UpwardwasnotRobin’sownmother
“Mrs.UpwardwasmorbidlyanxiousherselfthatnooneshouldknowthatRobinwasnotherownson.Shehadprobablyheardtoomanyribaldcommentsonbrilliantyoungmenwholivewithanduponelderlywomen.Andveryfewpeopledidknow—onlythesmalltheatricalcoteriewhereshehadfirstcomeacrossRobin.Shehadfewintimatefriendsinthiscountry,havinglivedabroadsolong,andshechoseinanycasetocomeandsettledownherefarawayfromherownYorkshire.Evenwhenshemetfriendsoftheolddays,shedidnotenlightenthemwhentheyassumedthatthisRobinwasthesameRobintheyhadknownasalittleboy.
“ButfromtheveryfirstsomethinghadstruckmeasnotquitenaturalinthehouseholdatLaburnums.Robin’sattitudetoMrs.Upwardwasnotthatofeitheraspoiledchild,orofadevotedson.Itwastheattitudeofaprotégétoapatron.TheratherfancifultitleofMadrehadatheatricaltouch.AndMrs.Upward,thoughshewasclearlyveryfondofRobin,neverthelessunconsciouslytreatedhimasaprizedpossessionthatshehadboughtandpaidfor.
“SothereisRobinUpward,comfortablyestablished,with‘Madre’s’pursetobackhisventures,andthenintohisassuredworldcomesMrs.McGintywhohasrecognizedthephotographthathekeepsinadrawer—thephotographwith‘mymother’writtenonthebackofit.Hismother,whohehastoldMrs.Upwardwasatalentedyoungballetdancerwhodiedoftuberculosis!Mrs.McGinty,ofcourse,thinksthatthephotographisofMrs.Upwardwhenyoung,sincesheassumesasamatterofcoursethatMrs.UpwardisRobin’sownmother.IdonotthinkthatactualblackmaileverenteredMrs.McGinty’smind,butshedidhope,perhaps,fora‘nicelittlepresent,’asarewardforholdinghertongueaboutapieceofbygonegossipwhichwouldnothavebeenpleasantfora‘proud’womanlikeMrs.Upward.
“ButRobinUpwardwastakingnochances.Hepurloinsthesugarhammer,laughinglyreferredtoasaperfectweaponformurderbyMrs.Summerhayes,andonthefollowingevening,hestopsatMrs.McGinty’scottageonhiswaytobroadcast.Shetakeshimintotheparlour,quiteunsuspicious,andhekillsher.Heknowswhereshekeepshersavings—everyoneinBroadhinnyseemstoknow—andhefakesaburglary,hidingthemoneyoutsidethehouse.Bentleyissuspectedandarrested.EverythingisnowsafeforcleverRobinUpward.
“Butthen,suddenly,Iproducefourphotographs,andMrs.UpwardrecognizestheoneofEvaKaneasbeingidenticalwithaphotographofRobin’sballerinamother!Sheneedsalittletimetothinkthingsout.Murderisinvolved.CanitbepossiblethatRobin—?No,sherefusestobelieveit.
“Whatactionshewouldhavetakenintheendwedonotknow.ButRobinwastakingnochances.Heplansthewholemiseenscène.ThevisittotheReponJanet’snightout,thetelephonecalls,thecoffeecupcarefullysmearedwithlipsticktakenfromEveCarpenter’sbag,heevenbuysabottleofherdistinctiveperfume.Thewholethingwasatheatricalscenesettingwithpreparedprops.WhilstMrs.Oliverwaitedinthecar,Robinranbacktwiceintothehouse.Themurderwasamatterofseconds.Afterthattherewasonlytheswiftdistributionofthe‘props.’AndwithMrs.Upwarddead,heinheritedalargefortunebythetermsofherwill,andnosuspicioncouldattachtohimsinceitwouldseemquitecertainthatawomanhadcommittedthecrime.Withthreewomenvisitingthecottagethatnight,oneofthemwasalmostsuretobesuspected.Andthat,indeed,wasso.
“ButRobin,likeallcriminals,wascarelessandoverconfident.Notonlywasthereabookinthecottagewithhisoriginalnamescribbledinit,buthealsokept,forpurposesofhisown,thefatalphotograph.Itwouldhavebeenmuchsaferforhimifhehaddestroyedit,butheclungtothebeliefthathecoulduseittoincriminatesomeoneelseattherightmoment.
“HeprobablythoughtthenofMrs.Summerhayes.ThatmaybethereasonhemovedoutofthecottageandintoLongMeadows.Afterall,thesugarhammerwashers,andMrs.Summerhayeswas,heknew,anadoptedchildandmightfindithardtoproveshewasnotEvaKane’sdaughter.
“However,whenDeirdreHendersonadmittedhavingbeenonthesceneofthecrime,heconceivedtheideaofplantingthephotographamongstherpossessions.Hetriedtodoso,usingaladderthatthegardenerhadleftagainstthewindow.ButMrs.Wetherbywasnervousandhadinsistedonallthewindowsbeingkeptlocked,soRobindidnotsucceedinhispurpose.Hecamestraightbackhereandputthephotographinadrawerwhich,unfortunatelyforhim,Ihadsearchedonlyashorttimebefore.
“Iknew,therefore,thatthephotographhadbeenplanted,andIknewbywhom—bytheonlypersoninthehouse—thatpersonwhowastypingindustriouslyovermyhead.
“SincethenameEvelynHopehadbeenwrittenontheflyleafofthebookfromthecottage,EvelynHopemustbeeitherMrs.Upward—orRobinUpward….
“ThenameEvelynhadledmeastray—IhadconnecteditwithMrs.CarpentersincehernamewasEve.ButEvelynwasaman’snameaswellasawoman’s.
“IrememberedtheconversationMrs.OliverhadtoldmeaboutattheLittleRepinCullenquay.TheyoungactorwhohadbeentalkingtoherwasthepersonIwantedtoconfirmmytheory—thetheorythatRobinwasnotMrs.Upward’sownson.Forbythewayhehadtalked,itseemedclearthatheknewtherealfacts.AndhisstoryofMrs.Upward’sswiftretributiononayoungmanwhohaddeceivedherastohisoriginswassuggestive.
“ThetruthisthatIoughttohaveseenthewholethingverymuchsooner.Iwashandicappedbyaseriouserror.IbelievedthatIhadbeendeliberatelypushedwiththeintentionofsendingmeontoarailwayline—andthatthepersonwhohaddonesowasthemurdererofMrs.McGinty.NowRobinUpwardwaspracticallytheonlypersoninBroadhinnywhonothavebeenatKilchesterstationatthattime.”
TherewasasuddenchucklefromJohnnieSummerhayes.
“Probablysomeoldwomanwithabasket.Theydoshove.”
Poirotsaid:
“Actually,RobinUpwardwasfartooconceitedtofearmeatall.Itisacharacteristicofmurderers.Fortunately,perhaps.Forinthiscasetherewasverylittleevidence.”
Mrs.Oliverstirred.
“Doyoumeantosay,”shedemandedincredulously,“thatRobinmurderedhismotherwhilstIsatoutsideinthecar,andthatIhadn’ttheleastideaofit?Therewouldn’thavebeentime!”
“Ohyes,therewould.People’sideasoftimeareusuallyludicrouslywrong.Justnoticesometimehowswiftlyastagecanbereset.Inthiscaseitwasmostlyamatterofprops.”
“Goodtheatre,”murmuredMrs.Olivermechanically.
“Yes,itwaspreeminentlyatheatricalmurder.Allverymuchcontrived.”
“AndIsatthereinthecar—andhadn’ttheleastidea!”
“Iamafraid,”murmuredPoirot,“thatyourwoman’sintuitionwastakingadayoff….”
Twenty-seven
“I’mnotgoingbacktoBreather&Scuttle,”saidMaudeWilliams.“They’realousyfirmanyway.”
“Andtheyhaveservedtheirpurpose.”
“Whatdoyoumeanbythat,M.Poirot?”
“Whydidyoucometothispartoftheworld?”
“IsupposebeingMr.Knowall,youthinkyouknow?”
“Ihavealittleidea.”
“Andwhatisthisfamousidea.”
PoirotwaslookingmeditativelyatMaude’shair.
“Ihavebeenverydiscreet,”hesaid.“IthasbeenassumedthatthewomanwhowentintoMrs.Upward’shouse,thefair-hairedwomanthatEdnasaw,wasMrs.Carpenter,andthatshehasdeniedbeingtheresimplyoutoffright.SinceitwasRobinUpwardwhokilledMrs.Upward,herpresencehasnomoresignificancethanthatofMissHenderson.ButallthesameIdonotthinkshewasthere.IthinkMissWilliams,thatthewomanEdnasawwasyou.”
“Whyme?”
Hervoicewashard.
Poirotcounteredwithanotherquestion.
“WhywereyousointerestedinBroadhinny?Why,whenyouwentoverthere,didyouaskRobinUpwardforanautograph—youarenottheautograph-huntingtype.WhatdidyouknowabouttheUpwards?Whydidyoucometothispartoftheworldinthefirstplace?HowdidyouknowthatEvaKanediedinAustraliaandthenameshetookwhensheleftEngland?”
“Goodatguessing,aren’tyou?Well,I’venothingtohide,notreally.”
Sheopenedherhandbag.Fromawornnotecaseshepulledoutasmallnewspapercuttingfrayedwithage.ItshowedthefacethatPoirotbynowknewsowell,thesimperingfaceofEvaKane.
Writtenacrossitwerethewords,Shekilledmymother.
Poirothandeditbacktoher.
“Yes,Ithoughtso.YourrealnameisCraig?”
Maudenodded.
“Iwasbroughtupbysomecousins—verydecenttheywere.ButIwasoldenoughwhenitallhappenednottoforget.Iusedtothinkaboutitagooddeal.Abouther.Shewasanastybitofgoodsallright—childrenknow!Myfatherwasjust—weak.Andbesottedbyher.Buthetooktherap.Forsomething,I’vealwaysbelieved,thatshedid.Ohyes,Iknowhe’sanaccessoryafterthefact—butit’snotquitethesamething,isit?Ialwaysmeanttofindoutwhathadbecomeofher.WhenIwasgrownup,Igotdetectivesontoit.TheytracedhertoAustraliaandfinallyreportedthatshewasdead.She’dleftason—EvelynHopehecalledhimself.
“Well,thatseemedtoclosetheaccount.ButthenIgotpallywithayoungactorchap.HementionedsomeonecalledEvelynHopewho’dcomefromAustralia,butwhonowcalledhimselfRobinUpwardandwhowroteplays.Iwasinterested.OnenightRobinUpwardwaspointedouttome—andhewaswithhismother.SoIthoughtthat,afterall,EvaKanewasn’tdead.Instead,shewasqueeningitaboutwithapacketofmoney.
“Igotmyselfajobdownhere.Iwascurious—andabitmorethancurious.Allright,I’lladmitit,IthoughtI’dliketogetevenwithherinsomeway…WhenyoubroughtupallthisbusinessaboutJamesBentley,IjumpedtotheconclusionthatitwasMrs.Upwardwho’dkilledMrs.McGinty.EvaKaneuptohertricksagain.IhappenedtohearfromMichaelWestthatRobinUpwardandMrs.OliverwerecomingovertothisshowattheCullenquayRep.IdecidedtogotoBroadhinnyandbeardthewoman.Imeant—Idon’tquiteknowwhatImeant.I’mtellingyoueverything—ItookalittlepistolIhadinthewarwithme.Tofrightenher?Ormore?Honestly,Idon’tknow….
“Well,Igotthere.Therewasnosoundinthehouse.Thedoorwasunlocked.Iwentin.YouknowhowIfoundher.Sittingtheredead,herfaceallpurpleandswollen.AllthethingsI’dbeenthinkingseemedsillyandmelodramatic.IknewthatI’dnever,really,wanttokillanyonewhenitcametoit…ButIdidrealizethatitmightbeawkwardtoexplainwhatI’dbeendoinginthehouse.ItwasacoldnightandI’dgotgloveson,soIknewIhadn’tleftanyfingerprints,andIdidn’tthinkforamomentanyonehadseenme.That’sall.”Shepausedandaddedabruptly:“Whatareyougoingtodoaboutit?”
“Nothing,”saidHerculePoirot.“Iwishyougoodluckinlife,thatisall.”
Epilogue
HerculePoirotandSuperintendentSpencewerecelebratingattheLaVieilleGrand’mère.
AscoffeewasservedSpenceleanedbackinhischairandgaveadeepsighofrepletion.
“Notatallbadgrubhere,”hesaidapprovingly.“AbitFrenchified,perhaps,butafterallwherecanyougetadecentsteakandchipsnowadays?”
“Ihadbeendininghereontheeveningyoufirstcametome,”saidPoirotreminiscently.
“Ah,alotofwaterunderthebridgesincethen.I’vegottohandittoyou,M.Poirot.Youdidthetrickallright.”Aslightsmilecreasedhiswoodencountenance.“Luckythatyoungmandidn’trealizehowverylittleevidencewe’dreallygot.Why,aclevercounselwouldhavemademincemeatofit!Buthelosthisheadcompletely,andgavetheshowaway.Spiltthebeansandincriminatedhimselfuptothehilt.Luckyforus!”
“Itwasnotentirelyluck,”saidPoirotreprovingly.“Iplayedhim,asyouplaythebigfish!HethinksItaketheevidenceagainstMrs.Summerhayesseriously—whenitisnotso,hesuffersthereactionandgoestopieces.Andbesides,heisacoward.IwhirlthesugarhammerandhethinksImeantohithim.Acutefearalwaysproducesthetruth.”
“Luckyyoudidn’tsufferfromMajorSummerhayes’reaction,”saidSpencewithagrin.“Gotatemper,hehas,andquickonhisfeet.Ionlygotbetweenyoujustintime.Hasheforgivenyouyet?”
“Ohyes,wearethefirmestfriends.AndIhavegivenMrs.SummerhayesacookerybookandIhavealsotaughtherpersonallyhowtomakeanomelette.BonDieu,whatIsufferedinthathouse!”
Heclosedhiseyes.
“Complicatedbusiness,thewholething,”ruminatedSpence,uninterestedinPoirot’sagonizedmemories.“Justshowshowtruetheoldsayingisthateveryone’sgotsomethingtohide.Mrs.Carpenter,now,hadanarrowsqueakofbeingarrestedformurder.Ifeverawomanactedguilty,shedid,andallforwhat?”
“Ehbien,what?”askedPoirotcuriously.
“Justtheusualbusinessofaratherunsavourypast.Shehadbeenataxidancer—andabrightgirlwithplentyofmenfriends!Shewasn’tawarwidowwhenshecameandsettleddowninBroadhinny.Onlywhattheycallnowadaysan‘unofficialwife.’Well,ofcourseallthatwouldn’tdoforastuffedshirtlikeGuyCarpenter,soshe’dspunhimaverydifferentsortoftale.Andshewasfranticlestthewholethingwouldcomeoutoncewestartedpokingroundintopeople’sorigins.”
Hesippedhiscoffee,andthengavealowchuckle.
“ThentaketheWetherbys.Sinistersortofhouse.Hateandmalice.Awkwardfrustratedsortofgirl.Andwhat’sbehindthat?Nothingsinister.Justmoney!Plain￡.s.d.”
“Assimpleasthat!”
“Thegirlhasthemoney—quitealotofit.Leftherbyanaunt.Somotherkeepstightholdofherincasesheshouldwanttomarry.Andstepfatherloathesherbecauseshehasthedibsandpaysthebills.Igatherhehimselfhasbeenafailureatanythinghe’stried.Ameancuss—andasforMrs.W.,she’spurepoisondissolvedinsugar.”
“Iagreewithyou.”Poirotnoddedhisheadinasatisfiedfashion.“Itisfortunatethatthegirlhasmoney.ItmakeshermarriagetoJamesBentleymuchmoreeasytoarrange.”
SuperintendentSpencelookedsurprised.
“GoingtomarryJamesBentley?DeirdreHenderson?Whosaysso?”
“Isayso,”saidPoirot.“Ioccupymyselfwiththeaffair.Ihave,nowthatourlittleproblemisover,toomuchtimeonmyhands.Ishallemploymyselfinforwardingthismarriage.Asyet,thetwoconcernedhavenoideaofsuchathing.Buttheyareattracted.Lefttothemselves,nothingwouldhappen—buttheyhavetoreckonwithHerculePoirot.Youwillsee!Theaffairwillmarch.”
Spencegrinned.
“Don’tmindstickingyourfingersinotherpeople’spies,doyou?”
“Moncher,thatdoesnotcomewellfromyou,”saidPoirotreproachfully.
“Well,you’vegotmethere.Allthesame,JamesBentleyisapoorstick.”
“Certainlyheisapoorstick!Atthemomentheispositivelyaggrievedbecauseheisnotgoingtobehanged.”
“Heoughttobedownonhiskneeswithgratitudetoyou,”saidSpence.
“Say,rather,toyou.Butapparentlyhedoesnotthinkso.”
“Queercuss.”
“Asyousay,andyetatleasttwowomenhavebeenpreparedtotakeaninterestinhim.Natureisveryunexpected.”
“IthoughtitwasMaudeWilliamsyouweregoingtopairoffwithhim.”
“Heshallmakehischoice,”saidPoirot.“Heshall—howdoyousayit?—awardtheapple.ButIthinkthatitisDeirdreHendersonthathewillchoose.MaudeWilliamshastoomuchenergyandvitality.Withherhewouldretireevenfartherintohisshell.”
“Can’tthinkwhyeitherofthemshouldwanthim!”
“Thewaysofnatureareindeedinscrutable.”
“Allthesame,you’llhaveyourworkcutout.Firstbringinghimuptothescratch—andthenprisingthegirlloosefrompoisonpussmother—she’llfightyoutoothandclaw!”
“Successisonthesideofthebigbattalions.”
“Onthesideofthebigmoustaches,Isupposeyoumean.”
Spenceroared.Poirotstrokedhismoustachecomplacentlyandsuggestedabrandy.
“Idon’tmindifIdo,M.Poirot.”
Poirotgavetheorder.
“Ah,”saidSpence,“IknewtherewassomethingelseIhadtotellyou.YouremembertheRendells?”
“Naturally.”
“Well,whenwewerecheckinguponhim,somethingratheroddcametolight.ItseemsthatwhenhisfirstwifediedinLeedswherehispracticewasatthattime,thepolicetheregotsomerathernastyanonymouslettersabouthim.Saying,ineffect,thathe’dpoisonedher.Ofcoursepeopledosaythatsortofthing.She’dbeenattendedbyanoutsidedoctor,reputableman,andheseemedtothinkherdeathwasquiteaboveboard.Therewasnothingtogouponexceptthefactthatthey’dmutuallyinsuredtheirlivesineachother’sfavour,andpeopledodothat…Nothingforustogoupon,asIsay,andyet—Iwonder?Whatdoyouthink?”
PoirotrememberedMrs.Rendell’sfrightenedair.Hermentionofanonymousletters,andherinsistencethatshedidnotbelieveanythingtheysaid.Heremembered,too,hercertaintythathisinquiryaboutMrs.McGintywasonlyapretext.
Hesaid,“Ishouldimaginethatitwasnotonlythepolicewhogotanonymousletters.”
“Sentthemtoher,too?”
“Ithinkso.WhenIappearedinBroadhinny,shethoughtIwasonherhusband’strack,andthattheMcGintybusinesswasapretext.Yes—andhethoughtso,too…Thatexplainsit!ItwasDr.Rendellwhotriedtopushmeunderthetrainthatnight!”
“Thinkhe’llhaveashotatdoingthiswifein,too?”
“Ithinkshewouldbewisenottoinsureherlifeinhisfavour,”saidPoirotdrily.“Butifhebelieveswehaveaneyeonhimhewillprobablybeprudent.”
“We’lldowhatwecan.We’llkeepaneyeonourgenialdoctor,andmakeitclearwe’redoingso.”
Poirotraisedhisbrandyglass.
“ToMrs.Oliver,”hesaid.
“Whatputherintoyourheadsuddenly?”
“Woman’sintuition,”saidPoirot.
Therewassilenceforamoment,thenSpencesaidslowly:“RobinUpwardiscomingupfortrialnextweek.Youknow,Poirot,Ican’thelpfeelingdoubtful—”
Poirotinterruptedhimwithhorror.
“MonDieu!YouarenotnowdoubtfulaboutRobinUpward’sguilt,areyou?Donotsayyouwanttostartoveragain.”
SuperintendentSpencegrinnedreassuringly.
“GoodLord,no.He’samurdererallright!”Headded:“Cockyenoughforanything!”
AbouttheAuthor
AgathaChristieisthemostwidelypublishedauthorofalltimeandinanylanguage,outsoldonlybytheBibleandShakespeare.HerbookshavesoldmorethanabillioncopiesinEnglishandanotherbillioninahundredforeignlanguages.Sheistheauthorofeightycrimenovelsandshort-storycollections,nineteenplays,twomemoirs,andsixnovelswrittenunderthenameMaryWestmacott.
ShefirsttriedherhandatdetectivefictionwhileworkinginahospitaldispensaryduringWorldWarI,creatingthenowlegendaryHerculePoirotwithherdebutnovelTheMysteriousAffairatStyles.WithTheMurderintheVicarage,publishedin1930,sheintroducedanotherbelovedsleuth,MissJaneMarple.Additionalseriescharactersincludethehusband-and-wifecrime-fightingteamofTommyandTuppenceBeresford,privateinvestigatorParkerPyne,andScotlandYarddetectivesSuperintendentBattleandInspectorJapp.
ManyofChristie’snovelsandshortstorieswereadaptedintoplays,films,andtelevisionseries.TheMousetrap,hermostfamousplayofall,openedin1952andisthelongest-runningplayinhistory.Amongherbest-knownfilmadaptationsareMurderontheOrientExpress(1974)andDeathontheNile(1978),withAlbertFinneyandPeterUstinovplayingHerculePoirot,respectively.OnthesmallscreenPoirothasbeenmostmemorablyportrayedbyDavidSuchet,andMissMarplebyJoanHicksonandsubsequentlyGeraldineMcEwanandJuliaMcKenzie.
ChristiewasfirstmarriedtoArchibaldChristieandthentoarchaeologistSirMaxMallowan,whomsheaccompaniedonexpeditionstocountriesthatwouldalsoserveasthesettingsformanyofhernovels.In1971sheachievedoneofBritain’shighesthonorswhenshewasmadeaDameoftheBritishEmpire.Shediedin1976attheageofeighty-five.Heronehundredandtwentiethanniversarywascelebratedaroundtheworldin2010.
Visitwww.AuthorTracker.comforexclusiveinformationonyourfavoriteHarperCollinsauthors.
www.AgathaChristie.com
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
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