Peril at End House

PerilatEndHouse
AHerculePoirotMystery
Dedication
ToEdenPhilpotts
TowhomIshallalwaysbegratefulforhisfriendshipandtheencouragementhegavememanyyearsago
Contents
TitlePage
Dedication
1TheMajesticHotel
2EndHouse
3Accidents?
4ThereMustBeSomething!
5Mr.andMrs.Croft
6ACallUponMr.Vyse
7Tragedy
8TheFatalShawl
9A.toJ.
10Nick’sSecret
11TheMotive
12Ellen
13Letters
14TheMysteryoftheMissingWill
15StrangeBehaviourofFrederica
16InterviewwithMr.Whitfield
17ABoxofChocolates
18TheFaceattheWindow
19PoirotProducesaPlay
20J.
21ThePerson—K.
22TheEndoftheStory
AbouttheAuthor
TheAgathaChristieCollection
RelatedProducts
Copyright
AboutthePublisher
One
THEMAJESTICHOTEL
NoseasidetowninthesouthofEnglandis,Ithink,asattractiveasSt.Loo.Itiswell-namedtheQueenofWateringPlacesandremindsoneforciblyoftheRiviera.TheCornishcoastistomymindeverybitasfascinatingasthatofthesouthofFrance.
Iremarkedasmuchtomyfriend,HerculePoirot.“Soitsaidonourmenuintherestaurantcaryesterday,monami.Yourremarkisnotoriginal.”
“Butdon’tyouagree?”
Hewassmilingtohimselfanddidnotatonceanswermyquestion.Irepeatedit.
“Athousandpardons,Hastings.Mythoughtswerewandering.Wanderingindeedtothatpartoftheworldyoumentionedjustnow.”
“ThesouthofFrance?”
“Yes.IwasthinkingofthatlastwinterthatIspentthereandoftheeventswhichoccurred.”
Iremembered.AmurderhadbeencommittedontheBlueTrain,andthemystery—acomplicatedandbafflingone—hadbeensolvedbyPoirotwithhisusualunerringacumen.
“HowIwishIhadbeenwithyou,”Isaidwithdeepregret.
“Itoo,”saidPoirot.“Yourexperiencewouldhavebeeninvaluabletome.”
Ilookedathimsideways.Asaresultoflonghabit,Idistrusthiscompliments,butheappearedperfectlyserious.Andafterall,whynot?Ihaveaverylongexperienceofthemethodsheemploys
“WhatIparticularlymissedwasyourvividimagination,Hastings,”hewentondreamily.“Oneneedsacertainamountoflightrelief.Myvalet,Georges,anadmirablemanwithwhomIsometimespermittedmyselftodiscussapoint,hasnoimaginationwhatever.”Thisremarkseemedtomequiteirrelevant.
“Tellme,Poirot,”Isaid.“Areyounevertemptedtorenewyouractivities?Thispassivelife—”
“Suitsmeadmirably,myfriend.Tositinthesun—whatcouldbemorecharming?Tostepfromyourpedestalatthezenithofyourfame—whatcouldbeagrandergesture?Theysayofme:‘ThatisHerculePoirot!—Thegreat—theunique!—Therewasneveranyonelikehim,thereneverwillbe!’Ehbien—Iamsatisfied.Iasknomore.Iammodest.”
Ishouldnotmyselfhaveusedthewordmodest.Itseemedtomethatmylittlefriend’segotismhadcertainlynotdeclinedwithhisyears.Heleanedbackinhischair,caressinghismoustacheandalmostpurringwithself-satisfaction.
WeweresittingononeoftheterracesoftheMajesticHotel.ItisthebiggesthotelinSt.Looandstandsinitsowngroundsonaheadlandoverlookingthesea.Thegardensofthehotellaybelowusfreelyinterspersedwithpalmtrees.Theseawasofadeepandlovelyblue,theskyclearandthesunshiningwithallthesingle-heartedfervouranAugustsunshould(butinEnglandsooftendoesnot)have.Therewasavigoroushummingofbees,apleasantsound—andaltogethernothingcouldhavebeenmoreideal.
Wehadonlyarrivedlastnight,andthiswasthefirstmorningofwhatweproposedshouldbeaweek’sstay.Ifonlytheseweatherconditionscontinued,weshouldindeedhaveaperfectholiday.
Ipickedupthemorningpaperwhichhadfallenfrommyhandandresumedmyperusalofthemorning’snews.Thepoliticalsituationseemedunsatisfactory,butuninteresting,therewastroubleinChina,therewasalongaccountofarumouredCityswindle,butonthewholetherewasnonewsofaverythrillingorder.
“Curiousthingthisparrotdisease,”Iremarked,asIturnedthesheet.
“Verycurious.”
“TwomoredeathsatLeeds,Isee.”
“Mostregrettable.”
Iturnedapage.
“Stillnonewsofthatflyingfellow,Seton,inhisround-the-worldflight.Prettyplucky,thesefellows.Thatamphibianmachineofhis,theAlbatross,mustbeagreatinvention.Toobadifhe’sgonewest.Notthatthey’vegivenuphopeyet.HemayhavemadeoneofthePacificislands.”
“TheSolomonislandersarestillcannibals,aretheynot?”inquiredPoirotpleasantly.
“Mustbeafinefellow.Thatsortofthingmakesonefeelit’sagoodthingtobeanEnglishmanafterall.”
“ItconsolesforthedefeatsatWimbledon,”saidPoirot.
“I—Ididn’tmean,”Ibegan.
Myfriendwavedmyattemptedapologyasidegracefully.
“Me,”heannounced.“Iamnotamphibian,likethemachineofthepoorCaptainSeton,butIamcosmopolitan.AndfortheEnglishIhavealwayshad,asyouknow,agreatadmiration.Thethoroughway,forinstance,inwhichtheyreadthedailypaper.”
Myattentionhadstrayedtopoliticalnews.
“TheyseemtobegivingtheHomeSecretaryaprettybadtimeofit,”Iremarkedwithachuckle.
“Thepoorman.Hehashistroubles,thatone.Ah!yes.Somuchsothatheseeksforhelpinthemostimprobablequarters.”
Istaredathim.
Withaslightsmile,Poirotdrewfromhispockethismorning’scorrespondence,neatlysecuredbyarubberband.Fromthisheselectedoneletterwhichhetossedacrosstome.
“Itmusthavemissedusyesterday,”hesaid.
Ireadtheletterwithapleasurablefeelingofexcitement.
“But,Poirot,”Icried.“Thisismostflattering!”
“Youthinkso,myfriend?”
“Hespeaksinthewarmesttermsofyourability.”
“Heisright,”saidPoirot,modestlyavertinghiseyes.
“Hebegsyoutoinvestigatethismatterforhim—putsitasapersonalfavour.”
“Quiteso.Itisunneccessarytorepeatallthistome.Youunderstand,mydearHastings.Ihavereadthelettermyself.”
“Itistoobad,”Icried.“Thiswillputanendtoourholiday.”
“No,no,calmezvous—thereisnoquestionofthat.”
“ButtheHomeSecretarysaysthematterisurgent.”
“Hemayberight—oragainhemaynot.Thesepoliticians,theyareeasilyexcited.Ihaveseenmyself,intheChambredesDéputésinParis—”
“Yes,yes,butPoirot,surelyweoughttobemakingarrangements?TheexpresstoLondonhasgone—itleavesattwelveo’clock.Thenext—”
“Calmyourself,Hastings,calmyourself,Iprayofyou!Alwaystheexcitement,theagitation.WearenotgoingtoLondontoday—noryettomorrow.”
“Butthissummons—”
“Doesnotconcernme.Idonotbelongtoyourpoliceforce,Hastings.Iamaskedtoundertakeacaseasaprivateinvestigator.Irefuse.”
“Yourefuse?”
“Certainly.Iwritewithperfectpoliteness,tendermyregrets,myapologies,explainthatIamcompletelydesolated—butwhatwillyou?Ihaveretired—Iamfinished.”
“Youarenotfinished,”Iexlaimedwarmly.
Poirotpattedmyknee.
“Therespeaksthegoodfriend—thefaithfuldog.Andyouhavereason,too.Thegreycells,theystillfunction—theorder,themethod—itisstillthere.ButwhenIhaveretired,myfriend,Ihaveretired!Itisfinished!Iamnotastagefavouritewhogivestheworldadozenfarewells.InallgenerosityIsay:lettheyoungmenhaveachance.Theymaypossiblydosomethingcreditable.Idoubtit,buttheymay.AnywaytheywilldowellenoughforthisdoubtlesstiresomeaffairoftheHomeSecretary’s.”
“But,Poirot,thecompliment!”
“Me,Iamabovecompliments.TheHomeSecretary,beingamanofsense,realizesthatifhecanonlyobtainmyservicesallwillbesuccessful.Whatwillyou?Heisunlucky.HerculePoirothassolvedhislastcase.”
Ilookedathim.InmyheartofheartsIdeploredhisobstinacy.Thesolvingofsuchacaseaswasindicatedmightaddstillfurtherlustretohisalreadyworldwidereputation.NeverthelessIcouldnotbutadmirehisunyieldingattitude.
SuddenlyathoughtstruckmeandIsmiled.
“Iwonder,”Isaid,“thatyouarenotafraid.Suchanemphaticpronouncementwillsurelytemptthegods.”
“Impossible,”hereplied,“thatanyoneshouldshakethedecisionofHerculePoirot.”
“Impossible,Poirot?”
“Youareright,monami,oneshouldnotusesuchaword.Eh,mafoi,Idonotsaythatifabulletshouldstrikethewallbymyhead,Iwouldnotinvestigatethematter!Oneishumanafterall!”
Ismiled.Alittlepebblehadjuststrucktheterracebesideus,andPoirot’sfancifulanalogyfromittickledmyfancy.Hestoopednowandpickedupthepebbleashewenton.
“Yes—oneishuman.Oneisthesleepingdog—wellandgood,butthesleepingdogcanberoused.Thereisaproverbinyourlanguagethatsaysso.”
“Infact,”Isaid,“ifyoufindadaggerplantedbyyourpillowtomorrowmorning—letthecriminalwhoputittherebeware!”
Henodded,butratherabsently.
Suddenly,tomysurprise,heroseanddescendedthecoupleofstepsthatledfromtheterracetothegarden.Ashedidso,agirlcameintosighthurryinguptowardsus.
IhadjustregisteredtheimpressionthatshewasadecidedlyprettygirlwhenmyattentionwasdrawntoPoirotwho,notlookingwherehewasgoing,hadstumbledoverarootandfallenheavily.HewasjustabreastofthegirlatthetimeandsheandIbetweenushelpedhimtohisfeet.Myattentionwasnaturallyonmyfriend,butIwasconsciousofanimpressionofdarkhair,animpishfaceandbigdark-blueeyes.
“Athousandpardons,”stammeredPoirot.“Mademoiselle,youaremostkind.Iregretexceedingly—ouch!—myfoothepainsmeconsiderably.No,no,itisnothingreally—theturnedankle,thatisall.Inafewminutesallwillbewell.Butifyoucouldhelpme,Hastings—youandMademoisellebetweenyou,ifshewillbesoverykind.Iamashamedtoaskitofher.”
WithmeontheonesideandthegirlontheotherwesoongotPoirotontoachairontheterrace.Ithensuggestedfetchingadoctor,butthismyfriendnegativedsharply.
“Itisnothing,Itellyou.Theankleturned,thatisall.Painfulforthemoment,butsoonover.”Hemadeagrimace.“See,inalittleminuteIshallhaveforgotten.Mademoiselle,Ithankyouathousandtimes.Youweremostkind.Sitdown,Ibegofyou.”
Thegirltookachair.
“It’snothing,”shesaid.“ButIwishyouwouldletitbeseento.”
“Mademoiselle,Iassureyou,itisabagatelle!Inthepleasureofyoursocietythepainpassesalready.”
Thegirllaughed.
“That’sgood.”
“Whataboutacocktail?”Isuggested.“It’sjustaboutthetime.”
“Well—”Shehesitated.“Thanksverymuch.”
“Martini?”
“Yes,please—dryMartini.”
Iwentoff.Onmyreturn,afterhavingorderedthedrinks,IfoundPoirotandthegirlengagedinanimatedconversation.
“Imagine,Hastings,”hesaid,“thathousethere—theoneonthepoint—thatwehaveadmiredsomuch,itbelongstoMademoisellehere.”
“Indeed?”Isaid,thoughIwasunabletorecallhavingexpressedanyadmiration.InfactIhadhardlynoticedthehouse.“Itlooksrathereerieandimposingstandingtherebyitselffarfromanything.”
“It’scalledEndHouse,”saidthegirl.“Iloveit—butit’satumbledownoldplace.Goingtorackandruin.”
“Youarethelastofanoldfamily,Mademoiselle?”
“Oh!we’renothingimportant.ButtherehavebeenBuckleysherefortwoorthreehundredyears.Mybrotherdiedthreeyearsago,soI’mthelastofthefamily.”
“Thatissad.Youlivetherealone,Mademoiselle?”
“Oh!I’mawayagooddealandwhenI’mathomethere’susuallyacheerycrowdcomingandgoing.”
“Thatissomodern.Me,Iwaspicturingyouinadarkmysteriousmansion,hauntedbyafamilycurse.”
“Howmarvellous!Whatapicturesqueimaginationyoumusthave.No,it’snothaunted.Orifso,theghostisabeneficentone.I’vehadthreeescapesfromsuddendeathinasmanydays,soImustbearacharmedlife.”
Poirotsatupalertly.
“Escapesfromdeath?Thatsoundsinteresting,Mademoiselle.”
“Oh!theyweren’tverythrilling.Justaccidentsyouknow.”Shejerkedherheadsharplyasawaspflewpast.“Cursethesewasps.Theremustbeanestofthemroundhere.”
“Thebeesandthewasps—youdonotlikethem,Mademoiselle?Youhavebeenstung—yes?”
“No—butIhatethewaytheycomerightpastyourface.”
“Thebeeinthebonnet,”saidPoirot.“YourEnglishphrase.”
Atthatmomentthecocktailsarrived.Weallheldupourglassesandmadetheusualinaneobservations.
“I’mdueinthehotelforcocktails,really,”saidMissBuckley.“Iexpectthey’rewonderingwhathasbecomeofme.”
Poirotclearedhisthroatandsetdownhisglass.
“Ah!foracupofgoodrichchocolate,”hemurmured.“ButinEnglandtheymakeitnot.Still,inEnglandyouhavesomeverypleasingcustoms.Theyounggirls,theirhatscomeonandoff—soprettily—soeasily—”
Thegirlstaredathim.
“Whatdoyoumean?Whyshouldn’tthey?”
“Youaskthatbecauseyouareyoung—soyoung,Mademoiselle.Buttomethenaturalthingseemstohaveacoiffurehighandrigid—so—andthehatattachedwithmanyhatpins—là—là—là—etlà.”
Heexecutedfourviciousjabsintheair.
“Buthowfrightfullyuncomfortable!”
“Ah!Ishouldthinkso,”saidPoirot.Nomartyredladycouldhavespokenwithmorefeeling.“Whenthewindblewitwastheagony—itgaveyouthemigraine.”
MissBuckleydraggedoffthesimplewide-brimmedfeltshewaswearingandcastitdownbesideher.
“Andnowwedothis,”shelaughed.
“Whichissensibleandcharming,”saidPoirot,withalittlebow.
Ilookedatherwithinterest.Herdarkhairwasruffledandgaveheranelfinlook.Therewassomethingelfinaboutheraltogether.Thesmall,vividface,pansyshaped,theenormousdark-blueeyes,andsomethingelse—somethinghauntingandarresting.Wasitahintofrecklessness?Thereweredarkshadowsundertheeyes.
Theterraceonwhichweweresittingwasalittle-usedone.Themainterracewheremostpeoplesatwasjustroundthecorneratapointwherethecliffshelveddirectlydowntothesea.
Fromroundthiscornernowthereappearedaman,ared-facedmanwitharollingcarriagewhocarriedhishandshalfclenchedbyhisside.Therewassomethingbreezyandcarefreeabouthim—atypicalsailor.
“Ican’tthinkwherethegirl’sgotto,”hewassayingintonesthateasilycarriedtowherewesat.“Nick—Nick.”
MissBuckleyrose.
“Iknewthey’dbegettinginastate.Attaboy—George—hereIam.”
“Freddie’sfranticforadrink.Comeon,girl.”
HecastaglanceoffrankcuriosityatPoirot,whomusthavedifferedconsiderablyfrommostofNick’sfriends.
Thegirlperformedawaveofintroduction.
“ThisisCommanderChallenger—er—”
ButtomysurprisePoirotdidnotsupplythenameforwhichshewaswaiting.Insteadherose,bowedveryceremoniouslyandmurmured:
“OftheEnglishNavy.IhaveagreatregardfortheEnglishNavy.”
ThistypeofremarkisnotonethatanEnglishmanacclaimsmostreadily.CommanderChallengerflushedandNickBuckleytookcommandofthesituation.
“Comeon,George.Don’tgape.Let’sfindFreddieandJim.”
ShesmiledatPoirot.
“Thanksforthecocktail.Ihopetheanklewillbeallright.”
Withanodtomesheslippedherhandthroughthesailor’sarmandtheydisappearedroundthecornertogether.
“SothatisoneofMademoiselle’sfriends,”murmuredPoirotthoughtfully.“Oneofhercheerycrowd.Whatabouthim?Givemeyourexpertjudgement,Hastings.Ishewhatyoucallagoodfellow—yes?”
PausingforamomenttotryanddecideexactlywhatPoirotthoughtIshouldmeanbya“goodfellow,”Igaveadoubtfulassent.
“Heseemsallright—yes,”Isaid.“Sofarasonecantellbyacursoryglance.”
“Iwonder,”saidPoirot.
Thegirlhadleftherhatbehind.Poirotstoopedtopickitupandtwirleditroundabsentmindedlyonhisfinger.
“Hasheatendresseforher?Whatdoyouthink,Hastings?”
“MydearPoirot!HowcanItell?Here—givemethathat.Theladywillwantit.I’lltakeittoher.”
Poirotpaidnoattentiontomyrequest.Hecontinuedtorevolvethehatslowlyonhisfinger.
“Pasencore.?am’amuse.”
“Really,Poirot!”
“Yes,myfriend,Igrowoldandchildish,doInot?”
ThiswassoexactlywhatIwasfeelingthatIwassomewhatdisconcertedtohaveitputintowords.Poirotgavealittlechuckle,thenleaningforwardhelaidafingeragainstthesideofhisnose
“Butno—Iamnotsocompletelyimbecileasyouthink!Wewillreturnthehat—butassuredly—butlater!WewillreturnittoEndHouseandthusweshallhavetheopportunityofseeingthecharmingMissNickagain.”
“Poirot,”Isaid.“Ibelieveyouhavefalleninlove.”
“Sheisaprettygirl—eh?”
“Well—yousawforyourself.Whyaskme?”
“Because,alas!Icannotjudge.Tome,nowadays,anythingyoungisbeautiful.Jeunesse—jeunesse…Itisthetragedyofmyyears.Butyou—Iappealtoyou!Yourjudgementisnotupto-date,naturally,havinglivedintheArgentinesolong.Youadmirethefigureoffiveyearsago,butyouareatanyratemoremodernthanIam.Sheispretty—yes?Shehastheappealtothesexes?”
“Onesexissufficient,Poirot.Theanswer,Ishouldsay,isverymuchintheaffirmative.Whyareyousointerestedinthelady?”
“AmIinterested?”
“Well—lookatwhatyou’vejustbeingsaying.”
“Youareunderamisapprehension,monami.Imaybeinterestedinthelady—yes—butIammuchmoreinterestedinherhat.”
Istaredathim,butheappearedperfectlyserious.
Henoddedhisheadatme.
“Yes,Hastings,thisveryhat.”Heheldittowardsme.“Youseethereasonformyinterest?”
“It’sanicehat,”Isaid,bewildered.“Butquiteanordinaryhat.Lotsofgirlshavehatslikeit.”
“Notlikethisone.”
Ilookedatitmoreclosely.
“Yousee,Hastings?”
“Aperfectlyplainfawnfelt.Goodstyle—”
“Ididnotaskyoutodescribethehat.Itisplainthatyoudonotsee.Almostincredible,mypoorHastings,howyouhardlyeverdosee!Itamazesmeeverytimeanew!Butregard,mydearoldimbecile—itisnotnecessarytoemploythegreycells—theeyeswilldo.Regard—regard—”
AndthenatlastIsawtowhathehadbeentryingtodrawmyattention.Theslowlyturninghatwasrevolvingonhisfinger,andthatfingerwasstuckneatlythroughaholeinthebrimofthehat.WhenhesawthatIhadrealizedhismeaning,hedrewhisfingeroutandheldthehattowardsme.Itwasasmallneathole,quiteround,andIcouldnotimagineitspurpose,ifpurposeithad.
“DidyouobservethewayMademoiselleNickflinchedwhenabeeflewpast?Thebeeinthebonnet—theholeinthehat.”
“Butabeecouldn’tmakeaholelikethat.”
“Exactly,Hastings!Whatacumen!Itcouldnot.Butabulletcould,moncher!”
“Abullet?”
“Maisoui!Abulletlikethis.”
Heheldouthishandwithasmallobjectinthepalmofit.
“Aspentbullet,monami.Itwasthatwhichhittheterracejustnowwhenweweretalking.Aspentbullet!”
“Youmean—”
“Imeanthatoneinchofadifferenceandthatholewouldnotbethroughthehatbutthroughthehead.NowdoyouseewhyIaminterested,Hastings?Youwereright,myfriend,whenyoutoldmenottousetheword‘impossible.’Yes—oneishuman!Ah!buthemadeagravemistake,thatwould-bemurderer,whenheshotathisvictimwithinadozenyardsofHerculePoirot!Forhim,itisindeedlamauvaisechance.ButyouseenowwhywemustmakeourentryintoEndHouseandgetintotouchwithMademoiselle?Threenearescapesfromdeathinthreedays.Thatiswhatshesaid.Wemustactquickly,Hastings.Theperilisverycloseathand.”
Two
ENDHOUSE
“Poirot,”Isaid.“Ihavebeenthinking.”
“Anadmirableexercise,myfriend.Continueit.”
Weweresittingfacingeachotheratlunchatasmalltableinthewindow.
“Thisshotmusthavebeenfiredquiteclosetous.Andyetwedidnothearit.”
“Andyouthinkthatinthepeacefulstillness,withtheripplingwavestheonlysound,weshouldhavedoneso?”
“Well,it’sodd.”
“No,itisnotodd.Somesounds—yougetusedtothemsosoonthatyouhardlynoticetheyarethere.Allthismorning,myfriend,speedboatshavebeenmakingtripsinthebay.Youcomplainedatfirst—soon,youdidnotevennotice.But,mafoi,youcouldfireamachinegunalmostandnotnoticeitwhenoneofthoseboatsisonthesea.”
“Yes,that’strue.”
“Ah!voilà,”murmuredPoirot.“Mademoiselleandherfriends.Theyaretolunchhere,itseems.AndthereforeImustreturnthehat.Butnomatter.Theaffairissufficientlyserioustowarrantavisitallonitsown.”
Heleapedupnimblyfromhisseat,hurriedacrosstheroom,andpresentedthehatwithabowjustasMissBuckleyandhercompanionswereseatingthemselvesattable.
Theywereapartyoffour,NickBuckley,CommanderChallenger,anothermanandanothergirl.Fromwherewesatwehadaveryimperfectviewofthem.Fromtimetotimethenavalman’slaughboomedout.Heseemedasimple,likeablesoul,andIhadalreadytakenafancytohim.
Myfriendwassilentanddistraitduringourmeal.Hecrumbledhisbread,madestrangelittleejaculationstohimselfandstraightenedeverythingonthetable.Itriedtotalk,butmeetingwithnoencouragementsoongaveup.
Hecontinuedtositonatthetablelongafterhehadfinishedhischeese.Assoonastheotherpartyhadlefttheroom,however,hetoorosetohisfeet.TheywerejustsettlingthemselvesatatableintheloungewhenPoirotmarcheduptotheminhismostmilitaryfashion,andaddressedNickdirectly.
“Mademoiselle,mayIcraveonelittlewordwithyou.”
Thegirlfrowned.Irealizedherfeelingsclearlyenough.Shewasafraidthatthisqueerlittleforeignerwasgoingtobeanuisance.Icouldnotbutsympathizewithher,knowinghowitmustappearinhereyes.Ratherunwillingly,shemovedafewstepsaside.
AlmostimmediatelyIsawanexpressionofsurprisepassoverherfaceatthelowhurriedwordsPoirotwasuttering.
Inthemeantime,Iwasfeelingratherawkwardandillatease.Challengerwithreadytactcametomyrescue,offeringmeacigaretteandmakingsomecommonplaceobservation.Wehadtakeneachother’smeasureandwereinclinedtobesympathetictoeachother.IfanciedthatIwasmorehisownkindthanthemanwithwhomhehadbeenlunching.Inowhadtheopportunityofobservingthelatter.Atall,fair,ratherexquisiteyoungman,witharatherfleshynoseandoveremphasizedgoodlooks.Hehadasuperciliousmannerandatireddrawl.TherewasasleeknessabouthimthatIespeciallydisliked.
ThenIlookedatthewoman.Shewassittingstraightoppositemeinabigchairandhadjustthrownoffherhat.Shewasanunusualtype—awearyMadonnadescribesitbest.Shehadfair,almostcolourlesshair,partedinthemiddleanddrawnstraightdownoverherearstoaknotintheneck.Herfacewasdeadwhiteandemaciated—yetcuriouslyattractive.Hereyeswereverylightgreywithlargepupils.Shehadacuriouslookofdetachment.Shewasstaringatme.Suddenlyshespoke.
“Sitdown—tillyourfriendhasfinishedwithNick.”
Shehadanaffectedvoice,languidandartificial—yetwhichhadacuriousattraction—akindofresonantlingeringbeauty.Sheimpressedme,Ithink,asthemosttiredpersonIhadevermet.Tiredinmind,notinbody,asthoughshehadfoundeverythingintheworldtobeemptyandvalueless.
“MissBuckleyverykindlyhelpedmyfriendwhenhetwistedhisanklethismorning,”IexplainedasIacceptedheroffer.
“SoNicksaid.”Hereyesconsideredme,stilldetachedly.“Nothingwrongwithhisanklenow,isthere?”
Ifeltmyselfblushing.
“Justamomentarysprain,”Iexplained.
“Oh!well—I’mgladtohearNickdidn’tinventthewholething.She’sthemostheaven-sentlittleliarthateverexisted,youknow.Amazing—it’squiteagift.”
Ihardlyknewwhattosay.Mydiscomfitureseemedtoamuseher.
“She’soneofmyoldestfriends,”shesaid,“andIalwaysthinkloyalty’ssuchatiresomevirtue,don’tyou?PrincipallypractisedbytheScots—likethriftandkeepingtheSabbath.ButNickisaliar,isn’tshe,Jim?Thatmarvellousstoryaboutthebrakesofthecar—andJimsaystherewasnothinginitatall.”
Thefairmansaidinasoftrichvoice:
“Iknowsomethingaboutcars.”
Hehalf-turnedhishead.Outsideamongstothercarswasalong,redcar.Itseemedlongerandredderthananycarcouldbe.Ithadalonggleamingbonnetofpolishedmetal.Asupercar!
“Isthatyourcar?”Iaskedonasuddenimpulse.
Henodded.
“Yes.”
Ihadaninsanedesiretosay,“Itwouldbe!”
Poirotrejoinedusatthatmoment.Irose,hetookmebythearm,gaveaquickbowtotheparty,anddrewmerapidlyaway.
“Itisarranged,myfriend.WearetocallonMademoiselleatEndHouseathalfpastsix.Shewillbereturnedfromthemotoringbythen.Yes,yes,surelyshewillhavereturned—insafety.”
Hisfacewasanxiousandhistonewasworried.
“Whatdidyousaytoher?”
“Iaskedhertoaccordmeaninterview—assoonaspossible.Shewasalittleunwilling—naturally.Shethinks—Icanseethethoughtspassingthroughhermind:“Whoishe—thislittleman?Ishethebounder,theupstart,theMovingPicturedirector?”Ifshecouldhaverefusedshewould—butitisdifficult—askedlikethatonthespurofthemomentitiseasiertoconsent.Sheadmitsthatshewillbebackbysixthirty.?ayest!”
Iremarkedthatthatseemedtobeallrightthen,butmyremarkmetwithlittlefavour.IndeedPoirotwasasjumpyastheproverbialcat.Hewalkedaboutoursittingroomalltheafternoon,murmuringtohimselfandceaselesslyrearrangingandstraighteningtheornaments.WhenIspoketohim,hewavedhishandsandshookhishead.
Intheendwestartedoutfromthehotelatbarelysixo’clock.
“Itseemsincredible,”Iremarked,aswedescendedthestepsoftheterrace.“Toattempttoshootanyoneinahotelgarden.Onlyamadmanwoulddosuchathing.”
“Idisagreewithyou.Givenonecondition,itwouldbequiteareasonablysafeaffair.Tobeginwiththegardenisdeserted.Thepeoplewhocometohotelsarelikeaflockofsheep.Itiscustomarytositontheterraceoverlookingthebay—ehbien,soeveryonesitsontheterrace.Only,Iwhoamanoriginal,sitoverlookingthegarden.Andeventhen,Isawnothing.Thereisplentyofcover,youobserve—trees,groupsofpalms,floweringshrubs.AnyonecouldhidehimselfcomfortablyandbeunobservedwhilsthewaitedforMademoiselletopassthisway.Andshewouldcomethisway.TocomeroundbytheroadfromEndHousewouldbemuchlonger.MademoiselleNickBuckley,shewouldbeofthosewhoarealwayslateandtakingtheshortcut!”
“Allthesame,theriskwasenormous.Hemighthavebeenseen—andyoucan’tmakeshootinglooklikeanaccident.”
“Notlikeanaccident—no.”
“Whatdoyoumean?”
“Nothing—alittleidea.Imayormaynotbejustified.Leavingitasideforamoment,thereiswhatImentionedjustnow—anessentialcondition.”
“Whichis?”
“Surelyyoucantellme,Hastings.”
“Iwouldn’tliketodepriveyouofthepleasureofbeingcleveratmyexpense!”
“Oh!thesarcasm!Theirony!Well,whatleapstotheeyeisthis:themotivecannotbeobvious.Ifitwere—why,then,trulytheriskwouldindeedbetoogreattobetaken!Peoplewouldsay:‘IwonderifitwereSoand-So.WherewasSoand-Sowhentheshotwasfired?’No,themurderer—thewould-bemurderer,Ishouldsay—cannotbeobvious.Andthat,HastingsiswhyIamafraid!Yes,atthisminuteIamafraid.Ireassuremyself.Isay:‘Therearefourofthem.’Isay:‘Nothingcanhappenwhentheyarealltogether.’Isay:‘Itwouldbemadness!’AndallthetimeIamafraid.These‘accidents’—Iwanttohearaboutthem!”
Heturnedbackabruptly.
“Itisstillearly.Wewillgotheotherwaybytheroad.Thegardenhasnothingtotellus.LetusinspecttheorthodoxapproachtoEndHouse.”
Ourwayledoutofthefrontgateofthehotelandupasharphilltotheright.Atthetopofitwasasmalllanewithanoticeonthewall:“TOENDHOUSEONLY.”
Wefolloweditandafterafewhundredyardsthelanegaveanabruptturnandendedinapairofdilapidatedentrancegates,whichwouldhavebeenthebetterforacoatofpaint.
Insidethegates,totheright,wasasmalllodge.Thislodgepresentedapiquantcontrasttothegatesandtotheconditionofthegrass-growndrive.Thesmallgardenrounditwasspickandspan,thewindowframesandsasheshadbeenlatelypaintedandtherewerecleanbrightcurtainsatthewindows.
BendingoveraflowerbedwasamaninafadedNorfolkjacket.Hestraightenedupasthegatecreakedandturnedtolookatus.Hewasamanofaboutsixty,sixfootatleast,withapowerfulframeandaweather-beatenface.Hisheadwasalmostcompletelybald.Hiseyeswereavividblueandtwinkled.Heseemedagenialsoul.
“Goodafternoon,”heobservedaswepassed.
IrespondedinkindandaswewentonupthedriveIwasconsciousofthoseblueeyesrakingourbacksinquisitively.
“Iwonder,”saidPoirot,thoughtfully
Heleftitatthatwithoutvouchsafinganyexplanationofwhatitwasthathewondered.
Thehouseitselfwaslargeandratherdreary-looking.Itwasshutinbytrees,thebranchesofwhichactuallytouchedtheroof.Itwasclearlyinbadrepair.Poirotsweptitwithanappraisingglancebeforeringingthebell—anold-fashionedbellthatneededaHerculeanpulltoproduceanyeffectandwhichoncestarted,echoedmournfullyonandon.
Thedoorwasopenedbyamiddle-agedwoman—“adecentwomaninblack”—soIfeltsheshouldbedescribed.Veryrespectable,rathermournful,completelyuninterested.
MissBuckley,shesaid,hadnotyetreturned.Poirotexplainedthatwehadanappointment.Hehadsomelittledifficultyingaininghispoint,shewasthetypethatisapttobesuspiciousofforeigners.IndeedIflattermyselfthatitwasmyappearancewhichturnedthescale.WewereadmittedandusheredintothedrawingroomtoawaitMissBuckley’sreturn
Therewasnomournfulnotehere.Theroomgaveontheseaandwasfullofsunshine.Itwasshabbyandbetrayedconflictingstyles—ultramodernofacheapvarietysuperimposedonsolidVictorian.Thecurtainswereoffadedbrocade,butthecoverswerenewandgayandthecushionswerepositivelyhectic.Onthewallswerehungfamilyportraits.Someofthem,Ithought,lookedremarkablygood.Therewasagramophoneandthereweresomerecordslyingidlyabout.Therewereaportablewireless,practicallynobooks,andonenewspaperflungopenontheendofthesofa.Poirotpickeditup—thenlaiditdownwithagrimace.ItwastheSt.LooWeeklyHeraldandDirectory.Somethingimpelledhimtopickitupasecondtime,andhewasglancingatacolumnwhenthedooropenedandNickBuckleycameintotheroom.
“Bringtheice,Ellen,”shecalledoverhershoulder,thenaddressedherselftous.
“Well,hereIam—andI’veshakenofftheothers.I’mdevouredwithcuriosity.AmIthelong-lostheroinethatisbadlywantedfortheTalkies?Youweresoverysolemn”—sheaddressedherselftoPoirot—“thatIfeelitcan’tbeanythingelse.Domakemeahandsomeoffer.”
“Alas!Mademoiselle—”beganPoirot.
“Don’tsayit’stheopposite,”shebeggedhim.“Don’tsayyoupaintminiaturesandwantmetobuyone.Butno—withthatmoustacheandstayingattheMajestic,whichhasthenastiestfoodandthehighestpricesinEngland—no,itsimplycan’tbe.”
Thewomanwhohadopenedthedoortouscameintotheroomwithiceandatrayofbottles.Nickmixedcocktailsexpertly,continuingtotalk.IthinkatlastPoirot’ssilence(sounlikehim)impresseditselfuponher.Shestoppedintheveryactoffillingtheglassesandsaidsharply:
“Well?”
“ThatiswhatIwishittobe—well,Mademoiselle.”Hetookthecocktailfromherhand.“Toyourgoodhealth,Mademoiselle—toyourcontinuedgoodhealth.”
Thegirlwasnofool.Thesignificanceofhistonewasnotlostonher.
“Is—anythingthematter?”
“Yes,Mademoiselle.This…”
Heheldouthishandtoherwiththebulletonthepalmofit.Shepickeditupwithapuzzledfrown.
“Youknowwhatthatis?”
“Yes,ofcourseIknow.It’sabullet.”
“Exactly.Mademoiselle—itwasnotawaspthatflewpastyourfacethismorning—itwasthisbullet.”
“Doyoumean—wassomecriminalidiotshootingbulletsinahotelgarden?”
“Itwouldseemso.”
“Well,I’mdamned,”saidNickfrankly.“Idoseemtobearacharmedlife.That’snumberfour.”
“Yes,”saidPoirot.“Thatisnumberfour.Iwant,Mademoiselle,tohearabouttheotherthree—accidents.”
Shestaredathim.
“Iwanttobeverysure,Mademoiselle,thattheywere—accidents.”
“Why,ofcourse!Whatelsecouldtheybe?”
“Mademoiselle,prepareyourself,Ibeg,foragreatshock.Whatifsomeoneisattemptingyourlife?”
AllNick’sresponsetothiswasaburstoflaughter.Theideaseemedtoamuseherhugely.
“Whatamarvellousidea!Mydearman,whoonearthdoyouthinkwouldattemptmylife?I’mnotthebeautifulyoungheiresswhosedeathreleasesmillions.Iwishsomebodywastryingtokillme—thatwouldbeathrill,ifyoulike—butI’mafraidthere’snotahope!”
“Willyoutellme,Mademoiselle,aboutthoseaccidents?”
“Ofcourse—butthere’snothinginit.Theywerejuststupidthings.There’saheavypicturehangsovermybed.Itfellinthenight.JustbypurechanceIhadhappenedtohearadoorbangingsomewhereinthehouseandwentdowntofinditandshutit—andsoIescaped.Itwouldprobablyhavebashedmyheadin.That’sNo.1.”
Poirotdidnotsmile.
“Continue,Mademoiselle.LetuspasstoNo.2.”
“Oh,that’sweakerstill.There’sascramblycliffpathdowntothesea.Igodownthatwaytobathe.There’sarockyoucandiveoff.Abouldergotdislodgedsomehowandcameroaringdownjustmissingme.Thethirdthingwasquitedifferent.Somethingwentwrongwiththebrakesofthecar—Idon’tknowquitewhat—thegaragemanexplained,butIdidn’tfollowit.AnywayifI’dgonethroughthegateanddownthehill,theywouldn’thaveheldandIsupposeI’dhavegoneslapintotheTownHallandtherewouldhavebeenthedevilofasmash.SlightdefacementoftheTownHall,completeobliterationofme.Butowingtomyalwaysleavingsomethingbehind,Iturnedbackandmerelyranintothelaurelhedge.”
“Andyoucannottellmewhatthetroublewas?”
“YoucangoandaskthematMott’sGarage.They’llknow.Itwassomethingquitesimpleandmechanicalthathadbeenunscrewed,Ithink.IwonderedifEllen’sboy(mystandbywhoopenedthedoortoyou,hasgotasmallboy)hadtinkeredwithit.Boysdolikemessingaboutwithcars.OfcourseEllensworehe’dneverbeennearthecar.IthinksomethingmustjusthaveworkedlooseinspiteofwhatMottsaid.”
“Whereisyourgarage,Mademoiselle?”
“Roundtheothersideofthehouse.”
“Isitkeptlocked?”
Nick’seyeswidenedinsurprise.
“Oh!no.Ofcoursenot.”
“Anyonecouldtamperwiththecarunobserved?”
“Well—yes—Isupposeso.Butit’ssosilly.”
“No,Mademoiselle.Itisnotsilly.Youdonotunderstand.Youareindanger—gravedanger.Itellittoyou.I!AndyoudonotknowwhoIam?”
“No.”saidNick,breathlessly.
“IamHerculePoirot.”
“Oh!”saidNick,inratheraflattone.“Oh,yes.”
“Youknowmyname,eh?”
“Oh,yes.”
Shewriggleduncomfortably.Ahuntedlookcameintohereyes.Poirotobservedherkeenly.
“Youarenotatease.Thatmeans,Isuppose,thatyouhavenotreadmybooks.”
“Well—no—notallofthem.ButIknowthename,ofcourse.”
“Mademoiselle,youareapolitelittleliar.”(Istarted,rememberingthewordsspokenattheMajesticHotelthatdayafterlunch.)“Iforget—youareonlyachild—youwouldnothaveheard.Soquicklydoesfamepass.Myfriendthere—hewilltellyou.”
Nicklookedatme.Iclearedmythroat,somewhatembarrassed.
“MonsieurPoirotis—er—was—agreatdetective,”Iexplained.
“Ah!myfriend,”criedPoirot.“Isthatallyoucanfindtosay?Maisdisdonc!SaythentoMademoisellethatIamadetectiveunique,unsurpassed,thegreatestthateverlived!”
“Thatisnowunnecessary,”Isaidcoldly.“Youhavetoldheryourself.”
“Ah,yes,butitismoreagreeabletohavebeenabletopreservethemodesty.Oneshouldnotsingone’sownpraises.”
“Oneshouldnotkeepadogandhavetobarkoneself,”agreedNick,withmocksympathy.“Whoisthedog,bytheway?Dr.Watson,Ipresume.”
“MynameisHastings,”Isaidcoldly.
“Battleof—1066,”saidNick.“WhosaidIwasn’teducated?Well,thisisalltoo,toomarvellous!Doyouthinksomeonereallywantstodoawaywithme?Itwouldbethrilling.But,ofcourse,thatsortofthingdoesn’treallyhappen.Onlyinbooks.IexpectMonsieurPoirotislikeasurgeonwho’sinventedanoperationoradoctorwho’sfoundanobscurediseaseandwantseveryonetohaveit.”
“Sacrétonnerre!”thunderedPoirot.“Willyoubeserious?Youyoungpeopleoftoday,willnothingmakeyouserious?Itwouldnothavebeenajoke,Mademoiselle,ifyouhadbeenlyinginthehotelgardenaprettylittlecorpsewithanicelittleholethroughyourheadinsteadofyourhat.Youwouldnothavelaughedthen—eh?”
“Unearthlylaughterheardataséance,”saidNick.“Butseriously,M.Poirot—it’sverykindofyouandallthat—butthewholethingmustbeanaccident.”
“Youareasobstinateasthedevil!”
“That’swhereIgotmynamefrom.Mygrandfatherwaspopularlysupposedtohavesoldhissoultothedevil.EveryoneroundherecalledhimOldNick.Hewasawickedoldman—butgreatfun.Iadoredhim.IwenteverywherewithhimandsotheycalledusOldNickandYoungNick.MyrealnameisMagdala.”
“Thatisanuncommonname.”
“Yes,it’sakindoffamilyone.TherehavebeenlotsofMagdalasintheBuckleyfamily.There’soneupthere.”
Shenoddedatapictureonthewall.
“Ah!”saidPoirot.Thenlookingataportraithangingoverthemantelpiece,hesaid:
“Isthatyourgrandfather,Mademoiselle?”
“Yes,ratheranarrestingportait,isn’tit?JimLazarusofferedtobuyit,Iwouldn’tsell.I’vegotanaffectionforOldNick.”
“Ah!”Poirotwassilentforaminute,thenhesaidveryearnestly:
“Revenonsànosmoutons.Listen,Mademoiselle.Iimploreyoutobeserious.Youareindanger.Today,somebodyshotatyouwithaMauserpistol—”
“AMauserpistol?—”
Foramomentshewasstartled.
“Yes,why?DoyouknowofanyonewhohasaMauserpistol?”
Shesmiled.
“I’vegotonemyself.”
“Youhave?”
“Yes—itwasDad’s.HebroughtitbackfromtheWar.It’sbeenknockingroundhereeversince.Isawitonlytheotherdayinthatdrawer.”
Sheindicatedanold-fashionedbureau.Now,asthoughsuddenlystruckbyanidea,shecrossedtoitandpulledthedraweropen.Sheturnedratherblankly.Hervoiceheldanewnote.
“Oh!”shesaid.“It’s—it’sgone.”
Three
ACCIDENTS?
Itwasfromthatmomentthattheconversationtookonadifferenttone.Uptonow,Poirotandthegirlhadbeenatcross-purposes.Theywereseparatedbyagulfofyears.Hisfameandreputationmeantnothingtoher—shewasofthegenerationthatknowsonlythegreatnamesoftheimmediatemoment.Shewas,therefore,unimpressedbyhiswarnings.Hewastoheronlyarathercomicelderlyforeignerwithanamusinglymelodramaticmind.
AndthisattitudebaffledPoirot.Tobeginwith,hisvanitysuffered.ItwashisconstantdictumthatalltheworldknewHerculePoirot.Herewassomeonewhodidnot.Verygoodforhim,Icouldnotbutfeel—butnotpreciselyhelpfultotheobjectinview!
Withthediscoveryofthemissingpistol,however,theaffairtookonanewphase.Nickceasedtotreatitasamildlyamusingjoke.Shestilltreatedthematterlightly,becauseitwasherhabitandhercreedtotreatalloccurrenceslightly,buttherewasadistinctdifferenceinhermanner.
Shecamebackandsatdownonthearmofachair,frowningthoughtfully.
“That’sodd,”shesaid.
Poirotwhirledroundonme.
“Youremember,Hastings,thelittleideaImentioned?Well,itwascorrect,mylittleidea!SupposingMademoisellehadbeenfoundshotlyinginthehotelgarden?Shemightnothavebeenfoundforsomehours—fewpeoplepassthatway.Andbesideherhand—justfallenfromit—isherownpistol.DoubtlessthegoodMadameEllenwouldidentifyit.Therewouldbesuggestions,nodoubt,ofworryorofsleeplessness—”
Nickmoveduneasily.
“That’strue.Ihavebeenworriedtodeath.Everybody’sbeentellingmeI’mnervy.Yes—they’dsayallthat….”
“Andbringinaverdictofsuicide.Mademoiselle’sfingerprintsconvenientlyonthepistolandnobodyelse’s—butyes,itwouldbeverysimpleandconvincing.”
“Howterriblyamusing!”saidNick,butnot,Iwasgladtonote,asthoughshewereterriblyamused.
Poirotacceptedherwordsintheconventionalsenseinwhichtheywereuttered
“N’est-cepas?Butyouunderstand,Mademoiselle,theremustbenomoreofthis.Fourfailures—yes—butthefifthtimetheremaybeasuccess.”
“Bringoutyourrubber-tyredhearses,”murmuredNick.
“Butwearehere,myfriendandI,toobviateallthat!”Ifeltgratefulforthe“we.”Poirothasahabitofsometimesignoringmyexistence.
“Yes,”Iputin.“Youmustn’tbealarmed,MissBuckley.Wewillprotectyou.”
“Howfrightfullyniceofyou,”saidNick.“Ithinkthewholethingisperfectlymarvellous.Too,toothrilling.”
Shestillpreservedherairydetachedmanner,buthereyes,Ithought,lookedtroubled.
“Andthefirstthingtodo,”saidPoirot,“istohavetheconsultation.”
Hesatdownandbeameduponherinafriendlymanner.
“Tobeginwith,Mademoiselle,aconventionalquestion—but—haveyouanyenemies?”
Nickshookherheadratherregretfully.
“I’mafraidnot,”shesaidapologetically.
“Bon.Wewilldismissthatpossibilitythen.Andnowweaskthequestionofthecinema,ofthedetectivenovel—Whoprofitsbyyourdeath,Mademoiselle?”
“Ican’timagine,”saidNick.“That’swhyitallseemssuchnonsense.There’sthisbeastlyoldbarn,ofcourse,butit’smortgageduptothehilt,theroofleaksandtherecan’tbeacoalmineoranythingexcitinglikethathiddeninthecliff.”
“Itismortgaged—hein?”
“Yes.Ihadtomortgageit.Youseethereweretwolotsofdeathduties—quitesoonaftereachother.Firstmygrandfatherdied—justsixyearsago,andthenmybrother.Thatjustaboutputthelidonthefinancialposition.”
“Andyourfather?”
“HewasinvalidedhomefromtheWar,thengotpneumoniaanddiedin1919.MymotherdiedwhenIwasababy.Ilivedherewithgrandfather.HeandDaddidn’tgeton(Idon’twonder),soDadfounditconvenienttoparkmeandgoroamingtheworldonhisownaccount.Gerald—thatwasmybrother—didn’tgetonwithgrandfathereither.IdaresayIshouldn’thavegotonwithhimifI’dbeenaboy.Beingagirlsavedme.GrandfatherusedtosayIwasachipofftheoldblockandhadinheritedhisspirit.”Shelaughed.“Hewasanawfuloldrip,Ibelieve.Butfrightfullylucky.Therewasasayingroundherethateverythinghetouchedturnedtogold.Hewasagambler,though,andgambleditawayagain.Whenhediedhelefthardlyanythingbesidethehouseandland.IwassixteenwhenhediedandGeraldwastwenty-two.Geraldwaskilledinamotoraccidentjustthreeyearsagoandtheplacecametome.”
“Andafteryou,Mademoiselle?Whoisyournearestrelation?”
“Mycousin,Charles.CharlesVyse.He’salawyerdownhere.Quitegoodandworthybutverydull.Hegivesmegoodadviceandtriestorestrainmyextravaganttastes.”
“Hemanagesyouraffairsforyou—eh?”
“Well—yes,ifyouliketoputitthatway.Ihaven’tmanyaffairstomanage.Hearrangedthemortgageformeandmademeletthelodge.”
“Ah!—thelodge.Iwasgoingtoaskyouaboutthat.Itislet?”
“Yes—tosomeAustralians.Crofttheirnameis.Veryhearty,youknow—andallthatsortofthing.Simplyoppressivelykind.Alwaysbringingupsticksofceleryandearlypeasandthingslikethat.They’reshockedatthewayIletthegardengo.They’reratheranuisance,really—atleastheis.Tooterriblyfriendlyforwords.She’sacripple,poorthing,andliesonasofaallday.Anywaytheypaytherentandthat’sthegreatthing.”
“Howlonghavetheybeenhere?”
“Oh!aboutsixmonths.”
“Isee.Now,beyondthiscousinofyours—onyourfather’ssideoryourmother’s,bytheway?”
“Mother’s.MymotherwasAmyVyse.”
“Bien!Now,beyondthiscousin,asIwassaying,haveyouanyotherrelatives?”
“SomeverydistantcousinsinYorkshire—Buckleys.”
“Nooneelse?”
“No.”
“Thatislonely.”
Nickstaredathim.
“Lonely?Whatafunnyidea.I’mnotdownheremuch,youknow.I’musuallyinLondon.Relationsaretoodevastatingasarule.Theyfussandinterfere.It’smuchmorefuntobeonone’sown.”
“Iwillnotwastethesympathy.Youareamodern,Isee,Mademoiselle.Now—yourhousehold.”
“Howgrandthatsounds!Ellen’sthehousehold.Andherhusband,who’sasortofgardener—notaverygoodone.IpaythemfrightfullylittlebecauseIletthemhavethechildhere.EllendoesformewhenI’mdownhereandifIhaveapartywegetinwhoandwhatwecantohelp.I’mgivingapartyonMonday.It’sRegattaweek,youknow.”
“Monday—andtodayisSaturday.Yes.Yes.Andnow,Mademoiselle,yourfriends—theoneswithwhomyouwerelunchingtoday,forinstance?”
“Well,FreddieRice—thefairgirl—ispracticallymygreatestfriend.She’shadarottenlife.Marriedtoabeast—amanwhodrankanddruggedandwasaltogetheraqueeroftheworstdescription.Shehadtoleavehimayearortwoago.Sincethenshe’sdriftedround.Iwishtogoodnessshe’dgetadivorceandmarryJimLazarus.”
“Lazarus?TheartdealerinBondStreet?”
“Yes.Jim’stheonlyson.Rollinginmoney,ofcourse.Didyouseethatcarofhis?He’saJew,ofcourse,butafrightfullydecentone.Andhe’sdevotedtoFreddie.Theygoabouteverywheretogether.TheyarestayingattheMajesticovertheweekendandarecomingtomeonMonday.”
“AndMrs.Rice’shusband?”
“Themess?Oh!he’sdroppedoutofeverything.Nobodyknowswhereheis.ItmakesithorriblyawkwardforFreddie.Youcan’tdivorceamanwhenyoudon’tknowwhereheis.”
“évidemment!”
“PoorFreddie,”saidNick,pensively.“She’shadrottenluck.Thethingwasallfixedonce.Shegotholdofhimandputittohim,andhesaidhewasperfectlywilling,buthesimplyhadn’tgotthecashtotakeawomantoahotel.Sotheendofitallwassheforkedout—andhetookitandoffhewentandhasneverbeenheardoffromthatdaytothis.Prettymean,Icallit.”
“Goodheavens,”Iexclaimed.
“MyfriendHastingsisshocked,”remarkedPoirot.“Youmustbemorecareful,Mademoiselle.Heisoutofdate,youcomprehend.Hehasjustreturnedfromthosegreatclearopenspaces,etc.,andhehasyettolearnthelanguageofnowadays.”
“Well,there’snothingtogetshockedabout,”saidNick,openinghereyesverywide.“Imean,everybodyknows,don’tthey,thattherearesuchpeople.ButIcallitalow-downtrickallthesame.PooroldFreddiewassodamnedhardupatthetimethatshedidn’tknowwheretoturn.”
“Yes,yes,notaveryprettyaffair.Andyourotherfriend,Mademoiselle.ThegoodCommanderChallenger?”
“George?I’veknownGeorgeallmylife—well,forthelastfiveyearsanyway.He’sagoodscout,George.”
“Hewishesyoutomarryhim—eh?”
“Hedoesmentionitnowandagain.Inthesmallhoursofthemorningorafterthesecondglassofport.”
“Butyouremainhard-hearted.”
“WhatwouldbetheuseofGeorgeandmemarryingoneanother?We’veneitherofusgotabean.AndonewouldgetterriblyboredwithGeorge.That‘playingforone’sside,’‘goodoldschool’manner.Afterall,he’sfortyifhe’saday.”
Theremarkmademewinceslightly.
“Infacthehasonefootinthegrave,”saidPoirot.“Oh!donotmindme,Mademoiselle.Iamagrandpapa—anobody.Andnowtellmemoreabouttheseaccidents.Thepicture,forinstance?”
“It’sbeenhungupagain—onanewcord.Youcancomeandseeitifyoulike.”
Sheledthewayoutoftheroomandwefollowedher.Thepictureinquestionwasanoilpaintinginaheavyframe.Ithungdirectlyoverthebedhead.
Withamurmured,“Youpermit,Mademoiselle,”Poirotremovedhisshoesandmounteduponthebed.Heexaminedthepictureandthecord,andgingerlytestedtheweightofthepainting.Withanelegantgrimacehedescended.
“Tohavethatdescendonone’shead—no,itwouldnotbepretty.Thecordbywhichitwashung,Mademoiselle,wasit,likethisone,awirecable?”
“Yes,butnotsothick.Igotathickeronethistime.”
“Thatiscomprehensible.Andyouexaminedthebreak—theedgeswerefrayed?”
“Ithinkso—butIdidn’tnoticeparticularly.WhyshouldI?”
“Exactly.Asyousay,whyshouldyou?Allthesame,Ishouldmuchliketolookatthatpieceofwire.Isitaboutthehouseanywhere?”
“Itwasstillonthepicture.Iexpectthemanwhoputthenewwireonjustthrewtheoldoneaway.”
“Apity.Ishouldliketohaveseenit.”
“Youdon’tthinkitwasjustanaccidentafterall?Surelyitcouldn’thavebeenanythingelse.”
“Itmayhavebeenanaccident.Itisimpossibletosay.Butthedamagetothebrakesofyourcar—thatwasnotanaccident.Andthestonethatrolleddownthecliff—Ishouldliketoseethespotwherethataccidentoccurred.”
Nicktookusoutinthegardenandledustothecliffedge.Theseaglitteredbluebelowus.Aroughpathleddownthefaceoftherock.NickdescribedjustwheretheaccidentoccurredandPoirotnoddedthoughtfully.Thenheasked:
“Howmanywaysarethereintoyourgarden,Mademoiselle?”
“There’sthefrontway—pastthelodge.Andatradesman’sentrance—adoorinthewallhalfwayupthatlane.Thenthere’sagatejustalonghereonthecliffedge.ItleadsoutontoazigzagpaththatleadsupfromthatbeachtotheMajesticHotel.Andthen,ofcourse,youcangostraightthroughagapinthehedgeintotheMajesticgarden—that’sthewayIwentthismorning.TogothroughtheMajesticgardenisashortcuttothetownanyway.”
“Andyourgardener—wheredoesheusuallywork?”
“Well,heusuallypottersroundthekitchengarden,orelsehesitsinthepottingshedandpretendstobesharpeningtheshears.”
“Roundtheothersideofthehouse,thatistosay?”
“Sothatifanyoneweretocomeinhereanddislodgeaboulderhewouldbeveryunlikelytobenoticed.”
Nickgaveasuddenlittleshiver.
“Doyou—doyoureallythinkthatiswhathappened?”sheasked,“Ican’tbelieveitsomehow.Itseemssoperfectlyfutile.”
Poirotdrewthebulletfromhispocketagainandlookedatit.
“Thatwasnotfutile,Mademoiselle,”hesaidgently.
“Itmusthavebeensomemadman.”
“Possibly.Itisaninterestingsubjectofafter-dinnerconversation—areallcriminalsreallymadmen?Theremaybeamalformationintheirlittlegreycells—yes,itisverylikely.That,itistheaffairofthedoctor.Forme—Ihavedifferentworktoperform.Ihavetheinnocenttothinkof,nottheguilty—thevictim,notthecriminal.ItisyouIamconsideringnow,Mademoiselle,notyourunknownassailant.Youareyoungandbeautiful,andthesunshinesandtheworldispleasant,andthereislifeandloveaheadofyou.ItisallthatofwhichIthink,Mademoiselle.Tellme,thesefriendsofyours,Mrs.RiceandMr.Lazarus—theyhavebeendownhere,howlong?”
“FreddiecamedownonWednesdaytothispartoftheworld.ShestoppedwithsomepeoplenearTavistockforacoupleofnights.Shecameonhereyesterday.Jimhasbeentouringroundabout,Ibelieve.”
“AndCommanderChallenger?”
“He’satDevonport.Hecomesoverinhiscarwheneverhecan—weekendsmostly.”
Poirotnodded.Wewerewalkingbacktothehouse.Therewasasilence,andthenhesaidsuddenly:
“Haveyouafriendwhomyoucantrust,Mademoiselle?”
“There’sFreddie.”
“OtherthanMrs.Rice.”
“Well,Idon’tknow.IsupposeIhave.Why?”
“BecauseIwantyoutohaveafriendtostaywithyou—immediately.”
“Oh!”
Nickseemedrathertakenaback.Shewassilentamomentortwo,thinking.Thenshesaiddoubtfully:
“There’sMaggie.Icouldgetholdofher,Iexpect.”
“WhoisMaggie?”
“OneofmyYorkshirecousins.There’salargefamilyofthem.He’saclergyman,youknow.Maggie’saboutmyage,andIusuallyhavehertostaysometimeorotherinthesummer.She’snofun,though—oneofthosepainfullypuregirls,withthekindofhairthathasjustbecomefashionablebyaccident.Iwashopingtogetoutofhavingherthisyear.”
“Notatall.Yourcousin,Mademoiselle,willdoadmirably.JustthetypeofpersonIhadinmind.”
“Allright,”saidNick,withasigh.“I’llwireher.Icertainlydon’tknowwhoelseIcouldgetholdofjustnow.Everyone’sfixedup.Butifitisn’ttheChoirboys’OutingortheMothers’Beanfeastshe’llcomeallright.Thoughwhatyouexpecthertodo….”
“Couldyouarrangeforhertosleepinyourroom?”
“Isupposeso.”
“Shewouldnotthinkthatanoddrequest?”
“Oh,no,Maggieneverthinks.Shejustdoes—earnestly,youknow.Christianworks—withfaithandperseverance.Allright,I’llwirehertocomeonMonday.”
“Whynottomorrow?”
“WithSundaytrains?She’llthinkI’mdyingifIsuggestthat.No,I’llsayMonday.Areyougoingtotellherabouttheawfulfatehangingoverme?”
“Nousverrons.Youstillmakeajestofit?Youhavecourage,Iamgladtosee.”
“Itmakesadiversionanyway,”saidNick.
SomethinginhertonestruckmeandIglancedathercuriously.Ihadafeelingthattherewassomethingshehadleftuntold.Wehadreenteredthedrawingroom.Poirotwasfingeringthenewspaperonthesofa.
“Youreadthis,Mademoiselle?”heasked,suddenly.
“TheSt.LooHerald?Notseriously.Iopenedittoseethetides.Itgivesthemeveryweek.”
“Isee.Bytheway,Mademoiselle,haveyouevermadeawill?”
“Yes,Idid.Aboutsixmonthsago.Justbeforemyop.”
“Qu’est-cequevousdites?Yourop?”
“Operation.Forappendicitis.SomeonesaidIoughttomakeawill,soIdid.Itmademefeelquiteimportant.”
“Andthetermsofthatwill?”
“IleftEndHousetoCharles.Ihadn’tmuchelsetoleave,butwhattherewasIlefttoFreddie.Ishouldthinkprobablythe—whatdoyoucallthem—liabilitieswouldhaveexceededtheassets,really.”
Poirotnoddedabsently.
“Iwilltakemyleavenow.Aurevoir,Mademoiselle.Becareful.”
“Whatof?”askedNick.
“Youareintelligent.Yes,thatistheweakpoint—inwhichdirectionareyoutobecareful?Whocansay?Buthaveconfidence,Mademoiselle.InafewdaysIshallhavediscoveredthetruth.”
“Untilthenbewareofpoison,bombs,revolvershots,motoraccidentsandarrowsdippedinthesecretpoisonoftheSouthAmericanIndians,”finishedNickglibly.
“Donotmockyourself,Mademoiselle,”saidPoirotgravely.
Hepausedashereachedthedoor.
“Bytheway,”hesaid.“WhatpricedidM.Lazarusofferyoufortheportraitofyourgrandfather?”
“Fiftypounds.”
“Ah!”saidPoirot.
Helookedearnestlybackatthedarksaturninefaceabovethemantelpiece.
“But,asItoldyou,Idon’twanttoselltheoldboy.”
“No,”saidPoirot,thoughtfully.“No,Iunderstand.”
Four
THEREMUSTBESOMETHING!
“Poirot,”Isaid,assoonaswewereoutupontheroad.“ThereisonethingIthinkyououghttoknow.”
“Andwhatisthat,monami?”
ItoldhimofMrs.Rice’sversionofthetroublewiththemotor.
“Tiens!C’estintéressant,?a.Thereis,ofcourse,atype,vain,hysterical,thatseekstomakeitselfinterestingbyhavingmarvellousescapesfromdeathandwhichwillrecounttoyousurprisinghistoriesthatneverhappened!Yes,itiswell-known,thattypethere.Suchpeoplewillevendothemselvesgravebodilyinjurytosustainthefiction.”
“Youdon’tthinkthat—”
“ThatMademoiselleNickisofthattype?No,indeed.Youobserved,Hastings,thatwehadgreatdifficultyinconvincingherofherdanger.Andrighttotheendshekeptupthefarceofahalf-mockingdisbelief.Sheisofhergeneration,thatlittleone.Allthesame,itisinteresting—whatMadameRicesaid.Whyshouldshesayit?Whysayitevenifitweretrue?Itwasunnecessary—almostgauche.”
“Yes,”Isaid.“That’strue.Shedraggeditintotheconversationneckandcrop—fornoearthlyreasonthatIcouldsee.”
“Thatiscurious.Yes,thatiscurious.Thelittlefactsthatarecurious,Iliketoseethemappear.Theyaresignificant.Theypointtheway.”
“Theway—where?”
“Youputyourfingerontheweakspot,myexcellentHastings.Where?Whereindeed!Alas,weshallnotknowtillwegetthere.”
“Tellme,Poirot,”Isaid.“Whydidyouinsistonhergettingthiscousintostay?”
Poirotstoppedandwavedanexcitedforefingeratme.
“Consider,”hecried.“Considerforonelittlemoment,Hastings.Howwearehandicapped!Howareourhandstied!Tohuntdownamurdererafteracrimehasbeencommitted—c’esttoutsimple!Oratleastitissimpletooneofmyability.Themurdererhas,sotospeak,signedhisnamebycommittingthecrime.Butherethereisnocrime—andwhatismorewedonotwantacrime.Todetectacrimebeforeithasbeencommitted—thatisindeedofararedifficulty.
“Whatisourfirstaim?ThesafetyofMademoiselle.Andthatisnoteasy.No,itisnoteasy,Hastings.Wecannotwatchoverherdayandnight—wecannotevensendapolicemaninbigbootstowatchoverher.Wecannotpassthenightinayounglady’ssleepingchamber.Theaffairbristleswithdifficulties.
“Butwecandoonething.Wecanmakeitmoredifficultforourassassin.WecanputMademoiselleuponherguardandwecanintroduceaperfectlyimpartialwitness.Itwilltakeaveryclevermantogetroundthosetwocircumstances.”
Hepaused,andthensaidinanentirelydifferenttoneofvoice:
“ButwhatIamafraidof,Hastings—”
“Yes?”
“WhatIamafraidofis—thatheisaverycleverman.AndIamnoteasyinmymind.No,Iamnoteasyatall.”
“Poirot,”Isaid.“You’remakingmefeelquitenervous.”
“SoamInervous.Listen,myfriend,thatpaper,theSt.LooWeeklyHerald.Itwasopenandfoldedbackat—wheredoyouthink?Alittleparagraphwhichsaid,‘AmongtheguestsstayingattheMajesticHotelareM.HerculePoirotandCaptainHastings.’Supposing—justsupposingthatsomeonehadreadthatparagraph.Theyknowmyname—everyoneknowsmyname—”
“MissBuckleydidn’t,”Isaid,withagrin.
“Sheisascatterbrain—shedoesnotcount.Aseriousman—acriminal—wouldknowmyname.Andhewouldbeafraid!Hewouldwonder!Hewouldaskhimselfquestions.ThreetimeshehasattemptedthelifeofMademoiselleandnowHerculePoirotarrivesintheneighbourhood.“Isthatcoincidence?’hewouldaskhimself.Andhewouldfearthatitmightnotbecoincidence.Whatwouldhedothen?”
“Lielowandhidehistracks,”Isuggested.
“Yes—yes—orelse—ifhehadrealaudacity,hewouldstrikequickly—withoutlossoftime.BeforeIhadtimetomakeinquiries—pouf,Mademoiselleisdead.Thatiswhatamanofaudacitywoulddo.”
“ButwhydoyouthinkthatsomebodyreadthatparagraphotherthanMissBuckley?”
“ItwasnotMissBuckleywhoreadthatparagraph.WhenImentionedmynameitmeantnothingtoher.Itwasnotevenfamiliar.Herfacedidnotchange.Besidesshetoldus—sheopenedthepapertolookatthetides—nothingelse.Well,therewasnotidetableonthatpage.”
“Youthinksomeoneinthehouse—”
“Someoneinthehouseorwhohasaccesstoit.Andthatlastiseasy—thewindowstandsopen.WithoutdoubtMissBuckley’sfriendspassinandout.”
“Haveyouanyidea?Anysuspicion?”
Poirotflungouthishands.
“Nothing.Whateverthemotive,itis,asIpredicted,notanobviousone.Thatisthewould-bemurderer’ssecurity—thatiswhyhecouldactsodaringlythismorning.Onthefaceofit,nooneseemstohaveanyreasonfordesiringthelittleNick’sdeath.Theproperty?EndHouse?Thatpassestothecousin—butdoesheparticularlywantaheavilymortgagedandverydilapidatedoldhouse?Itisnotevenafamilyplacesofarasheisconcerned.HeisnotaBuckley,remember.WemustseethisCharlesVyse,certainly,buttheideaseemsfantastic.
“ThenthereisMadame—thebosomfriend—withherstrangeeyesandherairofalostMadonna—”
“Youfeltthattoo?Iasked,startled.
“Whatisherconcerninthebusiness?ShetellsyouthatherfriendisaliarC’estgentil,?a!Whydoesshetellyou?IssheafraidofsomethingthatNickmaysay?Isthatsomethingconnectedwiththecar?Ordidsheusethatasaninstance,andwasherrealfearofsomethingelse?Didanyonetamperwiththecar,andifso,who?Anddoessheknowaboutit?
“Thenthehandsomeblond,M.Lazarus.Wheredoeshefitin?Withhismarvellousautomobileandhismoney.Canhepossiblybeconcernedinanyway?CommanderChallenger—”
“He’sallright,”Iputinquickly.“I’msureofthat.Arealpukkasahib.”
“Doubtlesshehasbeentowhatyouconsidertherightschool.Happily,beingaforeigner,Iamfreefromtheseprejudices,andcanmakeinvestigationsunhamperedbythem.ButIwilladmitthatIfindithardtoconnectCommanderChallengerwiththecase.Infact,Idonotseethathecanbeconnected.”
“Ofcoursehecan’t,”Isaidwarmly.
Poirotlookedatmemeditatively.
“Youhaveanextraordinaryeffectonme,Hastings.YouhavesostronglytheflairinthewrongdirectionthatIamalmosttemptedtogobyit!Youarethatwhollyadmirabletypeofman,honest,credulous,honourable,whoisinvariablytakeninbyanyscoundrel.Youarethetypeofmanwhoinvestsindoubtfuloilfields,andnon-existentgoldmines.Fromhundredslikeyou,theswindlermakeshisdailybread.Ah,well—IshallstudythisCommanderChallenger.Youhaveawakenedmydoubts.”
“MydearPoirot,”Icried,angrily.“Youareperfectlyabsurd.AmanwhohasknockedabouttheworldlikeIhave—”
“Neverlearns,”saidPoirot,sadly.“Itisamazing—butthereitis.”
“DoyousupposeI’dhavemadeasuccessofmyranchoutintheArgentineifIwerethekindofcredulousfoolyoumakeout?”
“Donotenrageyourself,monami.Youhavemadeagreatsuccessofit—youandyourwife.”
“Bella,”Isaid,“alwaysgoesbymyjudgement.”
“Sheisaswiseassheischarming,”saidPoirot.“Letusnotquarrelmyfriend.See,thereaheadofus,itsaysMott’sGarage.That,Ithink,isthegaragementionedbyMademoiselleBuckley.Afewinquirieswillsoongiveusthetruthofthatlittlematter.”
WedulyenteredtheplaceandPoirotintroducedhimselfbyexplainingthathehadbeenrecommendedtherebyMissBuckley.HemadesomeinquiriesabouthiringacarforsomeafternoondrivesandfromthereslideasilyintothetopicofthedamagesustainedbyMissBuckley’scarnotlongago.
Immediatelythegarageproprietorwaxedvoluble.Mostextraordinarythinghe’deverseen.Heproceededtobetechnical.I,alas,amnotmechanicallyminded.Poirot,Ishouldimagine,isevenlessso.Butcertainfactsdidemergeunmistakably.Thecarhadbeentamperedwith.Andthedamagehadbeensomethingquiteeasilydone,occupyingverylittletime.
“Sothatisthat,”saidPoirot,aswestrolledaway.“ThelittleNickwasright,andtherichM.Lazaruswaswrong.Hastings,myfriend,allthisisveryinteresting.”
“Whatdowedonow?”
“Wevisitthepostofficeandsendoffatelegramifitisnottoolate.”
“Atelegram?”Isaidhopefully.
“Yes,”saidPoirotthoughtfully.“Atelegram.”
Thepostofficewasstillopen.Poirotwroteouthistelegramanddespatchedit.Hevouchsafedmenoinformationastoitscontents.Feelingthathewantedmetoaskhim,Icarefullyrefrainedfromdoingso.
“ItisannoyingthattomorrowisSunday,”heremarked,aswestrolledbacktothehotel.“WecannotnowcalluponM.VysetillMondaymorning.”
“Youcouldgetholdofhimathisprivateaddress.”
“Naturally.ButthatisjustwhatIamanxiousnottodo.Iwouldprefer,inthefirstplace,toconsulthimprofessionallyandtoformmyjudgementofhimfromthataspect.”
“Yes,”Isaidthoughtfully.“Isupposethatwouldbebest.”
“Theanswertoonesimplelittlequestion,forinstance,mightmakeagreatdifference.IfM.CharlesVysewasinhisofficeattwelve-thirtythismorning,thenitwasnothewhofiredthatshotinthegardenoftheMajesticHotel.”
“Oughtwenottoexaminethealibisofthethreeatthehotel?”
“Thatismuchmoredifficult.Itwouldbeeasyenoughforoneofthemtoleavetheothersforafewminutes,ahastyegressfromoneoftheinnumerablewindows—lounge,smokingroom,drawingroom,writingroom,quicklyundercovertothespotwherethegirlmustpass—theshotfiredandarapidretreat.Butasyet,monami,wearenotevensurethatwehavearrivedatallthedramatispersonaeinthedrama.ThereistherespectableEllen—andhersofarunseenhusband.Bothinmatesofthehouseandpossibly,forallweknow,withagrudgeagainstourlittleMademoiselle.ThereareeventheunknownAustraliansatthelodge.Andtheremaybeothers,friendsandintimatesofMissBuckley’swhomshehasnoreasonforsuspectingandconsequentlyhasnotmentioned.Icannothelpfeeling,Hastings,thatthereissomethingbehindthis—somethingthathasnotyetcometolight.IhavealittleideathatMissBuckleyknowsmorethanshetoldus.”
“Youthinksheiskeepingsomethingback?”
“Yes.”
“Possiblywithanideaofshieldingwhoeveritis?”
Poirotshookhisheadwiththeutmostenergy.
“No,no.Asfarasthatgoes,shegavemetheimpressionofbeingutterlyfrank.Iamconvincedthatasregardstheseattemptsonherlife,shewastellingallsheknew.Butthereissomethingelse—somethingthatshebelieveshasnothingtodowiththatatall.AndIshouldliketoknowwhatthatsomethingis.ForI—Isayitinallmodesty—amagreatdealmoreintelligentthanunepetitecomme?a.I,HerculePoirot,mightseeaconnectionwheresheseesnone.ItmightgivemetheclueIamseeking.ForIannouncetoyou,Hastings,quitefranklyandhumbly,thatIamasyouexpressit,allonthesea.UntilIcangetsomeglimmeringofthereasonbehindallthis,Iaminthedark.Theremustbesomething—somefactorinthecasethatIdonotgrasp.Whatisit?Jemedemande?asanscesse.Qu’est-cequec’est?”
“Youwillfindout,”Isaid,soothingly.
“Solong,”hesaidsombrely,“asIdonotfindouttoolate.”
Five
MR.ANDMRS.CROFT
Therewasdancingthateveningatthehotel.NickBuckleydinedtherewithherfriendsandwavedagaygreetingtous.
Shewasdressedthateveninginfloatingscarletchiffonthatdraggedonthefloor.Outofitroseherwhiteneckandshouldersandhersmallimpudentdarkhead.
“Anengagingyoungdevil,”Iremarked
“Acontrasttoherfriend—eh?”
FredericaRicewasinwhite.ShedancedwithalanguorouswearygracethatwasasfarremovedfromNick’sanimationasanythingcouldbe.
“Sheisverybeautiful,”saidPoirotsuddenly.
“Who?OurNick?”
“No—theother.Issheevil?Isshegood?Isshemerelyunhappy?Onecannottell.Sheisamystery.Sheis,perhaps,nothingatall.ButItellyou,myfriend,sheisanallumeuse.”
“Whatdoyoumean?”Iaskedcuriously
Heshookhishead,smiling.
“Youwillfeelitsoonerorlater.Remembermywords.”
Presentlytomysurprise,herose.NickwasdancingwithGeorgeChallenger.FredericaandLazarushadjuststoppedandhadsatdownattheirtable.ThenLazarusgotupandwentaway.Mrs.Ricewasalone.Poirotwentstraighttohertable.Ifollowedhim.
Hismethodsweredirectandtothepoint.
“Youpermit?”Helaidahandonthebackofachair,thenslidintoit.“Iamanxioustohaveawordwithyouwhileyourfriendisdancing.”
“Yes?”Hervoicesoundedcool,uninterested.
“Madame,Idonotknowwhetheryourfriendhastoldyou.Ifnot,Iwill.Todayherlifehasbeenattempted.”
Hergreatgreyeyeswidenedinhorrorandsurprise.Thepupils,dilatedblackpupils,widenedtoo.
“Whatdoyoumean?”
“MademoiselleBuckleywasshotatinthegardenofthishotel.”
Shesmiledsuddenly—agentle,pitying,increduloussmile.
“DidNicktellyouso?”
“No,Madame,Ihappenedtoseeitwithmyowneyes.Hereisthebullet.”
Hehelditouttoherandshedrewbackalittle.
“But,then—but,then—”
“ItisnofantasyofMademoiselle’simagination,youunderstand.Ivouchforthat.Andthereismore.Severalverycuriousaccidentshavehappenedinthelastfewdays.Youwillhaveheard—no,perhapsyouwillnot.Youonlyarrivedyesterday,didyounot?”
“Yes—yesterday.”
“Beforethatyouwerestayingwithfriends,Iunderstand.AtTavistock.”
“Yes.”
“Iwonder,Madame,whatwerethenamesofthefriendswithwhomyouwerestaying.”
Sheraisedhereyebrows.
“IsthereanyreasonwhyIshouldtellyouthat?”sheaskedcoldly.
Poirotwasimmediatelyallinnocentsurprise.
“Athousandpardons,Madame.Iwasmostmaladroit.ButImyself,havingfriendsatTavistock,fanciedthatyoumighthavemetthemthere…Buchanan—thatisthenameofmyfriends.”
Mrs.Riceshookherhead.
“Idon’trememberthem.Idon’tthinkIcanhavemetthem.”Hertonenowwasquitecordial.“Don’tletustalkaboutboringpeople.GoonaboutNick.Whoshotather?Why?”
“Idonotknowwho—asyet,saidPoirot.“ButIshallfindout.Oh!yes,Ishallfindout.Iam,youknow,adetective.HerculePoirotismyname.”
“Averyfamousname.”
“Madameistookind.”
Shesaidslowly:
“Whatdoyouwantmetodo?”
Ithinkshesurprisedusboththere.Wehadnotexpectedjustthat.
“Iwillaskyou,Madame,towatchoveryourfriend.”
“Iwill.”
“Thatisall.”
Hegotup,madeaquickbow,andwereturnedtoourowntable.
“Poirot,”Isaid,“aren’tyoushowingyourhandveryplainly?”
“Monami,whatelsecanIdo?Itlackssubtlety,perhaps,butitmakesforsafety.Icantakenochances.Atanyrateonethingemergesplaintosee.”
“Whatisthat?”
“Mrs.RicewasnotatTavistock.Wherewasshe?Ah!butIwillfindout.ImpossibletokeepinformationfromHerculePoirot.See—thehandsomeLazarushasreturned.Sheistellinghim.Helooksoveratus.Heisclever,thatone.Notetheshapeofhishead.Ah!IwishIknew—”
“What?”Iasked,ashecametoastop
“WhatIshallknowonMonday,”hereturned,ambiguously.
Ilookedathimbutsaidnothing.Hesighed.
“Youhavenolongerthecuriosity,myfriend.Intheolddays—”
“Therearesomepleasures,”Isaid,coldly,“thatitisgoodforyoutodowithout.”
“Youmean—?”
“Thepleasureofrefusingtoanswerquestions.”
“Ahc’estmalin.”
“Quiteso.”
“Ah,well,well,”murmuredPoirot.“ThestrongsilentmanbelovedofnovelistsintheEdwardianage.”
Hiseyestwinkledwiththeiroldglint.
Nickpassedourtableshortlyafterwards.Shedetachedherselffromherpartnerandswoopeddownonuslikeagaily-colouredbird.
“Dancingontheedgeofdeath,”shesaidlightly.
“Itisanewsensation,Mademoiselle?”
“Yes.Ratherfun.”
Shewasoffagain,withawaveofherhand.
“Iwishshehadn’tsaidthat,”Isaid,slowly.
“Dancingontheedgeofdeath.Idon’tlikeit.”
“Iknow.Itistoonearthetruth.Shehascourage,thatlittleone.Yes,shehascourage.Butunfortunatelyitisnotcouragethatisneededatthismoment.Caution,notcourage—voilàcequ’ilnousfaut!”
ThefollowingdaywasSunday.Weweresittingontheterraceinfrontofthehotel,anditwasabouthalfpastelevenwhenPoirotsuddenlyrosetohisfeet.
“Come,myfriend.Wewilltryalittleexperiment.IhaveascertainedthatM.LazarusandMadamehavegoneoutinthecarandMademoisellewiththem.Thecoastisclear.”
“Clearforwhat?”
“Youshallsee.”
Wewalkeddownthestepsandacrossashortstretchofgrasstothesea.Acoupleofbatherswerecomingupit.Theypasseduslaughingandtalking.
Whentheyhadgone,Poirotwalkedtothepointwhereaninconspicuoussmallgate,ratherrustyonitshinges,borethewordsinhalfobliteratedletters,“EndHouse.Private.”Therewasnooneinsight.Wepassedquietlythrough.
Inanotherminutewecameoutonthestretchoflawninfrontofthehouse.Therewasnooneabout.Poirotstrolledtotheedgeofthecliffandlookedover.Thenhewalkedtowardsthehouseitself.TheFrenchwindowsontotheverandahwereopenandwepassedstraightintothedrawingroom.Poirotwastednotimethere.Heopenedthedoorandwentoutintothehall.Fromtherehemountedthestairs,Iathisheels.HewentstraighttoNick’sbedroom—satdownontheedgeofthebedandnoddedtomewithatwinkle.
“Yousee,myfriend,howeasyitis.Noonehasseenuscome.Noonewillseeusgo.Wecoulddoanylittleaffairwehadtodoinperfectsafety.Wecould,forinstance,fraythroughapicturewiresothatitwouldbeboundtosnapbeforemanyhourshadpassed.Andsupposingthatbychanceanyonedidhappentobeinfrontofthehouseandseeuscoming.Thenwewouldhaveaperfectlynaturalexcuse—providingthatwewereknownasfriendsofthehouse.”
“Youmeanthatwecanruleoutastranger?”
“ThatiswhatImean,Hastings.Itisnostraylunaticwhoisatthebottomofthis.Wemustlooknearerhomethanthat.”
HeturnedtoleavetheroomandIfollowedhim.Weneitherofusspoke.Wewereboth,Ithink,troubledinmind.
Andthen,atthebendofthestaircase,webothstoppedabruptly.Amanwascomingup.
Hetoostopped.Hisfacewasinshadowbuthisattitudewasoneofonecompletelytakenaback.Hewasthefirsttospeak,inaloud,ratherbullyingvoice.
“Whatthehellareyoudoinghere,I’dliketoknow?”
“Ah!”saidPoirot.“Monsieur—Croft,Ithink?”
“That’smyname,butwhat—”
“Shallwegointothedrawingroomtoconverse?Itwouldbebetter,Ithink.”
Theothergaveway,turnedabruptlyanddescended,wefollowingcloseonhisheels.Inthedrawingroom,withthedoorshut,Poirotmadealittlebow.
“Iwillintroducemyself.HerculePoirotatyourservice.”
Theother’sfaceclearedalittle.
“Oh!”hesaidslowly.“You’rethedetectivechap.I’vereadaboutyou.”
“IntheSt.LooHerald?”
“Eh?I’vereadaboutyouwaybackinAustralia.French,aren’tyou?”
“Belgian.Itmakesnomatter.Thisismyfriend,CaptainHastings.”
“Gladtomeetyou.Butlook,what’sthebigidea?Whatareyoudoinghere?Anything—wrong?”
“Itdependswhatyoucall—wrong.”
TheAustraliannodded.Hewasafine-lookingmaninspiteofhisbaldheadandadvancingyears.Hisphysiquewasmagnificent.Hehadaheavy,ratherunderhungface—acrudeface,Icalledittomyself.Thepiercingblueofhiseyeswasthemostnoticeablethingabouthim.
“Seehere,”hesaid.“IcameroundtobringlittleMissBuckleyahandfuloftomatoesandacucumber.Thatmanofhersisnogood—boneidle—doesn’tgrowathing.Lazyhound.MotherandI—why,itmakesusmad,andwefeelit’sonlyneighbourlytodowhatwecan!We’vegotalotmoretomatoesthanwecaneat.Neighboursshouldbematey,don’tyouthink?Icamein,asusual,throughthewindowanddumpedthebasketdown.IwasjustgoingoffagainwhenIheardfootstepsandmen’svoicesoverhead.Thatstruckmeasodd.Wedon’tdealmuchinburglarsroundhere—butafterallitwaspossible.IthoughtI’djustmakesureeverythingwasallright.ThenImetyoutwoonthestairscomingdown.Itgavemeabitofasurprise.Andnowyoutellmeyou’reabonzadetective.What’sitallabout?”
“Itisverysimple,”saidPoirot,smiling.“Mademoisellehadaratheralarmingexperiencetheothernight.Apicturefellaboveherbed.Shemayhavetoldyouofit?”
“Shedid.Amightyfineescape.”
“TomakeallsecureIpromisedtobringhersomespecialchain—itwillnotdotorepeattheoccurrence,eh?Shetellsmesheisgoingoutthismorning,butImaycomeandmeasurewhatamountofchainwillbeneeded.Voilà—itissimple.”
Heflungouthishandswithachildlikesimplicityandhismostengagingsmile
Croftdrewadeepbreath.
“Sothat’sallitis?”
“Yes—youhavehadthescarefornothing.Weareverylaw-abidingcitizens,myfriendandI.”
“Didn’tIseeyouyesterday?”saidCroft,slowly.“Yesterdayeveningitwas.Youpassedourlittleplace.”
“Ah!yes,youwereworkinginthegardenandweresopoliteastosaygoodafternoonwhenwepassed.”
“That’sright.Well—well.Andyou’retheMonsieurHerculePoirotI’veheardsomuchabout.Tellme,areyoubusy,Mr.Poirot?Becauseifnot,Iwishyou’dcomebackwithmenow—haveacupofmorningtea,Australianfashion,andmeetmyoldlady.She’sreadallaboutyouinthenewspapers.”
“Youaretookind,M.Croft.Wehavenothingtodoandshallbedelighted.”
“That’sfine.”
“Youhavethemeasurementscorrectly,Hastings?”askedPoirot,turningtome
IassuredhimthatIhadthemeasurementscorrectlyandweaccompaniedournewfriend.
Croftwasatalker;wesoonrealizedthat.HetoldusofhishomenearMelbourne,ofhisearlystruggles,ofhismeetingwithhiswife,oftheircombinedeffortsandofhisfinalgoodfortuneandsuccess.
“Rightawaywemadeupourmindstotravel,”hesaid.“We’dalwayswantedtocometotheoldcountry.Well,wedid.Wecamedowntothispartoftheworld—triedtolookupsomeofmywife’speople—theycamefromroundabouthere.Butwecouldn’ttraceanyofthem.ThenwetookatripontheContinent—Paris,Rome,theItalianLakes,Florence—allthoseplaces.ItwaswhilewewereinItalythatwehadthetrainaccident.Mypoorwifewasbadlysmashedup.Cruel,wasn’tit?I’vetakenhertothebestdoctorsandtheyallsaythesame—there’snothingforitbuttime—timeandlyingup.It’saninjurytothespine.”
“Whatamisfortune!”
“Hardluck,isn’tit?Well,thereitwas.Andshe’donlygotonekindoffancy—tocomedownhere.Shekindoffeltifwehadalittleplaceofourown—somethingsmall—itwouldmakeallthedifference.Wesawalotofmessy-lookingshacks,andthenbygoodluckwefoundthis.Niceandquietandtuckedaway—nocarspassing,orgramophonesnextdoor.Itookitrightaway.”
Withthelastwordswehadcometothelodgeitself.Hesenthisvoiceechoingforthinaloud“Cooee,”towhichcameananswering“Cooee.”
“Comein,”saidMr.Croft.Hepassedthroughtheopendooranduptheshortflightofstairstoapleasantbedroom.There,onasofa,wasastoutmiddle-agedwomanwithprettygreyhairandaverysweetsmile.
“Whodoyouthinkthisis,mother?”saidMr.Croft.“Theextra-special,world-celebrateddetective,Mr.HerculePoirot.Ibroughthimrightalongtohaveachatwithyou.”
“Ifthatisn’ttooexcitingforwords,”criedMrs.Croft,shakingPoirotwarmlybythehand.“ReadaboutthatBlueTrainbusiness,Idid,andyoujusthappeningtobeonit,andalotaboutyourothercases.Sincethistroublewithmyback,I’vereadallthedetectivestoriesthateverwere,Ishouldthink.Nothingelseseemstopassthetimeawaysoquick.Bert,dear,callouttoEdithtobringtheteaalong.”
“Rightyouare,mother.”
“She’sakindofnurseattendant,Edithis,”Mrs.Croftexplained.“Shecomesalongeachmorningtofixmeup.We’renotbotheringwithservants.Bert’sasgoodacookandahouse-parlourmanasyou’dfindanywhere,anditgiveshimoccupation—thatandthegarden.”
“Hereweare,”criedMr.Croft,reappearingwithatray.“Here’sthetea.Thisisagreatdayinourlives,mother.”
“Isupposeyou’restayingdownhere,Mr.Poirot?”Mrs.Croftasked,assheleanedoveralittleandwieldedtheteapot.
“Why,yes,Madame,Itaketheholiday.”
“ButsurelyIreadthatyouhadretired—thatyou’dtakenaholidayforgoodandall.”
“Ah!Madame,youmustnotbelieveeverythingyoureadinthepapers.”
“Well,that’strueenough.Soyoustillcarryonbusiness?”
“WhenIfindacasethatinterestsme.”
“Sureyou’renotdownhereonwork?”inquiredMr.Croft,shrewdly.“Callingitaholidaymightbeallpartofthegame.”
“Youmustn’taskhimembarrassingquestions,Bert,”saidMrs.Croft.“Orhewon’tcomeagain.We’resimplepeople,Mr.Poirot,andyou’regivingusagreattreatcomingheretoday—youandyourfriend.Youreallydon’tknowthepleasureyou’regivingus.”
Shewassonaturalandsofrankinhergratificationthatmyheartquitewarmedtoher.
“Thatwasabadbusinessaboutthatpicture,”saidMr.Croft.
“Thatpoorlittlegirlmighthavebeenkilled,”saidMrs.Croft,withdeepfeeling.“Sheisalivewire.Livenstheplaceupwhenshecomesdownhere.Notmuchlikedintheneighbourhood,soI’veheard.Butthat’sthewayinthesestuckEnglishplaces.Theydon’tlikelifeandgaietyinagirl.Idon’twondershedoesn’tspendmuchtimedownhere,andthatlong-nosedcousinofhershasnomorechanceofpersuadinghertosettledownhereforgoodandallthan—than—well,Idon’tknowwhat.”
“Don’tgossip,Milly,”saidherhusband.
“Aha!”saidPoirot.“Thewindisinthatquarter.TrusttheinstinctofMadame!SoM.CharlesVyseisinlovewithourlittlefriend?”
“He’ssillyabouther,”saidMrs.Croft.“Butshewon’tmarryacountrylawyer.AndIdon’tblameher.He’sapoorstick,anyway.I’dlikehertomarrythatnicesailor—what’shisname,Challenger.Manyasmartmarriagemightbeworsethanthat.He’solderthansheis,butwhatofthat?Steadying—that’swhatsheneeds.Flyingaboutallovertheplace,theContinenteven,allaloneorwiththatqueer-lookingMrs.Rice.She’sasweetgirl,Mr.Poirot—Iknowthatwellenough.ButI’mworriedabouther.She’slookednonetoohappylately.She’shadwhatIcallahauntedkindoflook.Andthatworriesme!I’vegotmyreasonsforbeinginterestedinthatgirl,haven’tI,Bert?”
Mr.Croftgotupfromhischairrathersuddenly.
“Noneedtogointothat,Milly,”hesaid.“Iwonder,Mr.Poirot,ifyou’dcaretoseesomesnapshotsofAustralia?”
Therestofourvisitpasseduneventfully.Tenminuteslaterwetookourleave
“Nicepeople,”Isaid.“Sosimpleandunassuming.TypicalAustralians.”
“Youlikedthem?”
“Didn’tyou?”
“Theywereverypleasant—veryfriendly.”
“Well,whatisit,then?There’ssomething,Icansee.”
“Theywere,perhaps,justashadetoo‘typical,’“saidPoirot,thoughtfully.“ThatcryofCooee—thatinsistenceonshowingussnapshots—wasitnotplayingapartjustalittletoothoroughly?”
“Whatasuspiciousolddevilyouare!”
“Youareright,monami.Iamsuspiciousofeveryone—ofeverything.Iamafraid,Hastings—afraid.”
Six
ACALLUPONMR.VYSE
PoirotclungfirmlytotheContinentalbreakfast.Toseemeconsumingeggsandbaconupsetanddistressedhim—sohealwayssaid.ConsequentlyhebreakfastedinbeduponcoffeeandrollsandIwasfreetostartthedaywiththetraditionalEnglishman’sbreakfastofbaconandeggsandmarmalade.
IlookedintohisroomonMondaymorningasIwentdownstairs.Hewassittingupinbedarrayedinaverymarvellousdressinggown.
“Bonjour,Hastings.Iwasjustabouttoring.ThisnotethatIhavewritten,willyoubesogoodastogetittakenovertoEndHouseanddeliveredtoMademoiselleatonce.”
Iheldoutmyhandforit.Poirotlookedatmeandsighed.
“Ifonly—ifonly,Hastings,youwouldpartyourhairinthemiddleinsteadofattheside!Whatadifferenceitwouldmaketothesymmetryofyourappearance.Andyourmoustache.Ifyoumusthaveamoustache,letitbearealmoustache—athingofbeautysuchasmine.”
Repressingashudderatthethought,ItookthenotefirmlyfromPoirot’shandandlefttheroom.
IhadrejoinedhiminoursittingroomwhenwordwassentuptosayMissBuckleyhadcalled.Poirotgavetheorderforhertobeshownup.
Shecameingailyenough,butIfanciedthatthecirclesunderhereyesweredarkerthanusual.InherhandsheheldatelegramwhichshehandedtoPoirot.
“There,”shesaid.“Ihopethatwillpleaseyou!”
Poirotreaditaloud.
“Arrive5:30today.Maggie.”
“Mynurseandguardian!”saidNick.“Butyou’rewrong,youknow.Maggie’sgotnokindofbrains.Goodworksisaboutallshe’sfitfor.Thatandneverseeingthepointofjokes.Freddiewouldbetentimesbetteratspottinghiddenassassins.AndJimLazaruswouldbebetterstill.IneverfeelonehasgottothebottomofJim.”
“AndtheCommanderChallenger?”
“Oh!George!He’dneverseeanythingtillitwasunderhisnose.Buthe’dletthemhaveitwhenhedidsee.Veryusefulwhenitcametoashowdown,Georgewouldbe.”
Shetossedoffherhatandwenton:
“Igaveordersforthemanyouwroteabouttobeletin.Itsoundsmysterious.Isheinstallingadictaphoneorsomethinglikethat?”
Poirotshookhishead.
“No,no,nothingscientific.Averysimplelittlematterofopinion,Mademoiselle.SomethingIwantedtoknow.”
“Oh,well,”saidNick.“It’sallgreatfun,isn’tit?”
“Isit,Mademoiselle?”askedPoirot,gently.
Shestoodforaminutewithherbacktous,lookingoutofthewindow.Thensheturned.Allthebravedefiancehadgoneoutofherface.Itwaschildishlytwistedawry,asshestruggledtokeepbackthetears.
“No,”shesaid.“It—itisn’t,really.I’mafraid—I’mafraid.Hideouslyafraid.AndIalwaysthoughtIwasbrave.”
“Soyouare,monenfant,soyouare.BothHastingsandI,wehavebothadmiredyourcourage.”
“Yes,indeed,”Iputinwarmly.
“No,”saidNick,shakingherhead.“I’mnotbrave.It’s—it’sthewaiting.Wonderingthewholetimeifanythingmore’sgoingtohappen.Andhowit’llhappen!Andexpectingittohappen.”
“Yes,yes—itisthestrain.”
“LastnightIpulledmybedoutintothemiddleoftheroom.Andfastenedmywindowandboltedmydoor.WhenIcameherethismorning,Icameroundbytheroad.Icouldn’t—Isimplycouldn’tcomethroughthegarden.It’sasthoughmynervehadgoneallofasudden.It’sthisthingcomingontopofeverythingelse.”
“Whatdoyoumeanexactlybythat,Mademoiselle?Ontopofeverythingelse?”
Therewasamomentarypausebeforeshereplied.
“Idon’tmeananythingparticular.Whatthenewspaperscall‘thestrainofmodernlife,’Isuppose.Toomanycocktails,toomanycigarettes—allthatsortofthing.It’sjustthatI’vegotintoaridiculous—sortof—ofstate.”
Shehadsunkintoachairandwassittingthere,hersmallfingerscurlinganduncurlingthemselvesnervously.
“Youarenotbeingfrankwithme,Mademoiselle.Thereissomething.”
“Thereisn’t—therereallyisn’t.”
“Thereissomethingyouhavenottoldme.”
“I’vetoldyoueverysinglesmallestthing.”
Shespokesincerelyandearnestly.
“Abouttheseaccidents—abouttheattacksuponyou,yes.”
“Well—then?”
“Butyouhavenottoldmeeverythingthatisinyourheart—inyourlife….”
Shesaidslowly:
“Cananyonedothat…?”
“Ah!then,”saidPoirot,withtriumph.“Youadmitit!”
Sheshookherhead.Hewatchedherkeenly.
“Perhaps,”hesuggested,shrewdly.“Itisnotyoursecret?”
IthoughtIsawamomentaryflickerofhereyelids.Butalmostimmediatelyshejumpedup.
“Reallyandtruly,M.Poirot,I’vetoldyoueverysinglethingIknowaboutthisstupidbusiness.IfyouthinkIknowsomethingaboutsomeoneelse,orhavesuspicions,youarewrong.It’shavingnosuspicionsthat’sdrivingmemad!BecauseI’mnotafool.Icanseethatifthose‘accidents’weren’taccidents,theymusthavebeenengineeredbysomebodyverynearathand—somebodywho—knowsme.Andthat’swhatissoawful.BecauseIhaven’ttheleastidea—nottheveryleast—whothatsomebodymightbe.”
Shewentoveroncemoretothewindowandstoodlookingout.Poirotsignedtomenottospeak.Ithinkhewashopingforsomefurtherrevelation,nowthatthegirl’sself-controlhadbrokendown
Whenshespoke,itwasinadifferenttoneofvoice,adreamyfarawayvoice.
“DoyouknowaqueerwishI’vealwayshad?IloveEndHouse.I’vealwayswantedtoproduceaplaythere.It’sgotan—anatmosphereofdramaaboutit.I’veseenallsortsofplaysstagedthereinmymind.Andnowit’sasthoughadramawerebeingactedthere.OnlyI’mnotproducingit…I’minit!I’mrightinit!Iam,perhaps,thepersonwho—diesinthefirstact.”
Hervoicebroke.
“Now,now,Mademoiselle.”Poirot’svoicewasresolutelybriskandcheerful.“Thiswillnotdo.Thisishysteria.”
Sheturnedandlookedathimsharply.
“DidFreddietellyouIwashysterical?”sheasked.“ShesaysIam,sometimes.Butyoumustn’talwaysbelievewhatFreddiesays.Therearetimes,youknowwhen—whensheisn’tquiteherself.”
Therewasapause,thenPoirotaskedatotallyirrelevantquestion:
“Tellme,Mademoiselle,”hesaid.“HaveyoueverreceivedanofferforEndHouse?”
“Tosellit,doyoumean?”
“ThatiswhatImeant.”
“No.”
“Wouldyouconsidersellingitifyougotagoodoffer?”
Nickconsideredforamoment.
“No,Idon’tthinkso.Not,Imean,unlessitwassucharidiculouslygoodofferthatitwouldbeperfectlyfoolishnotto.”
“Précisément.”
“Idon’twanttosellit,youknow,becauseI’mfondofit.”
“Quiteso.Iunderstand.”
Nickmovedslowlytowardsthedoor.
“Bytheway,therearefireworkstonight.Willyoucome?Dinnerateighto’clock.Thefireworksbeginatninethirty.Youcanseethemsplendidlyfromthegardenwhereitoverlookstheharbour.”
“Ishallbeenchanted.”
“Bothofyou,ofcourse,”saidNick.
“Manythanks,”Isaid.
“Nothinglikeapartyforrevivingthedroopingspirits,”remarkedNick.Andwithalittlelaughshewentout.
“Pauvreenfant,”saidPoirot.
Hereachedforhishatandcarefullyflickedaninfinitesimalspeckofdustfromitssurface.
“Wearegoingout?”Iasked.
“Maisoui,wehavelegalbusinesstotransact,monami.”
“Ofcourse.Iunderstand.”
“Oneofyourbrilliantmentalitycouldnotfailtodoso,Hastings.”
TheofficesofMessrsVyse,Trevannion&Wynnardweresituatedinthemainstreetofthetown.Wemountedthestairstothefirstfloorandenteredaroomwherethreeclerkswerebusilywriting.PoirotaskedtoseeMr.CharlesVyse.
Aclerkmurmuredafewwordsdownatelephone,received,apparently,anaffirmativereply,andremarkingthatMr.Vysewouldseeusnow,heledusacrossthepassage,tappedonadoorandstoodasideforustopassin.
Frombehindalargedeskcoveredwithlegalpapers,Mr.Vyseroseuptogreetus.
Hewasatallyoungman,ratherpale,withimpassivefeatures.Hewasgoingalittlebaldoneithertempleandworeglasses.Hiscolouringwasfairandindeterminate.
Poirothadcomepreparedfortheencounter.Fortunatelyhehadwithhimanagreement,asyetunsigned,andsoonsometechnicalpointsinconnectionwiththis,hewantedMr.Vyse’sadvice.
Mr.Vyse,speakingcarefullyandcorrectly,wassoonabletoallayPoirot’sallegeddoubts,andtoclearupsomeobscurepointsofthewording.
“Iamverymuchobligedtoyou,”murmuredPoirot.“Asaforeigner,youcomprehend,theselegalmattersandphrasingaremostdifficult.”
ItwasthenthatMr.VyseaskedwhohadsentPoirottohim.
“MissBuckley,”saidPoirot,promptly.“Yourcousin,isshenot?Amostcharmingyounglady.IhappenedtomentionthatIwasinperplexityandshetoldmetocometoyou.ItriedtoseeyouonSaturdaymorning—abouthalfpasttwelve—butyouwereout.”
“Yes,Iremember.IleftearlyonSaturday.”
“Mademoiselleyourcousinmustfindthatlargehouseverylonely?Shelivestherealone,Iunderstand.”
“Quiteso.”
“Tellme,Mr.Vyse,ifImayask,isthereanychanceofthatpropertybeinginthemarket?”
“Nottheleast,Ishouldsay.”
“Youunderstand,Idonotaskidly.Ihaveareason!Iaminsearch,myself,ofjustsuchaproperty.TheclimateofSt.Looenchantsme.Itistruethatthehouseappearstobeinbadrepair,therehasnotbeen,Igather,muchmoneytospenduponit.Underthosecircumstances,isitnotpossiblethatMademoisellewouldconsideranoffer?”
“Nottheleastlikelihoodofit.”CharlesVyseshookhisheadwiththeutmostdecision.“Mycousinisabsolutelydevotedtotheplace.Nothingwouldinducehertosell,Iknow.Itis,youunderstand,afamilyplace.”
“Icomprehendthat,but—”
“Itisabsolutelyoutofthequestion.Iknowmycousin.Shehasafanaticaldevotiontothehouse.”
Afewminuteslaterwewereoutinthestreetagain.
“Well,myfriend,”saidPoirot.“AndwhatimpressiondidthisM.CharlesVysemakeuponyou?”
Iconsidered.
“Averynegativeone,”Isaidatlast.“Heisacuriouslynegativeperson.”
“Notastrongpersonality,youwouldsay?”
“No,indeed.Thekindofmanyouwouldneverrememberonmeetinghimagain.Amediocreperson.”
“Hisappearanceiscertainlynotstriking.Didyounoticeanydiscrepancyinthecourseofourconversationwithhim?”
“Yes,”Isaidslowly,“Idid.WithregardtothesellingofEndHouse.”
“Exactly.WouldyouhavedescribedMademoiselleBuckley’sattitudetowardsEndHouseasoneof‘fanaticaldevotion?’“
“Itisaverystrongterm.”
“Yes—andMr.Vyseisnotgiventousingstrongterms.Hisnormalattitude—alegalattitude—istounder,ratherthanover,state.YethesaysthatMademoisellehasafanaticaldevotiontothehomeofherancestors.”
“Shedidnotconveythatimpressionthismorning,”Isaid.“Shespokeaboutitverysensibly,Ithought.She’sobviouslyfondoftheplace—justasanyoneinherpositionwouldbe—butcertainlynothingmore.”
“So,infact,oneofthetwoislying,”saidPoirot,thoughtfully.
“OnewouldnotsuspectVyseoflying.”
“Clearlyagreatassetifonehasanylyingtodo,”remarkedPoirot.“Yes,hehasquitetheairofaGeorgeWashington,thatone.Didyounoticeanotherthing,Hastings?”
“Whatwasthat?”
“HewasnotinhisofficeathalfpasttwelveonSaturday.”
Seven
TRAGEDY
ThefirstpersonwesawwhenwearrivedatEndHousethateveningwasNick.Shewasdancingaboutthehallwrappedinamarvellouskimonocoveredwithdragons.
“Oh!it’sonlyyou!”
“Mademoiselle—Iamdesolated!”
“Iknow.Itdidsoundrude.Butyousee,I’mwaitingformydresstoarrive.Theypromised—thebrutes—promisedfaithfully!”
“Ah!ifitisamatteroflatoilette!Thereisadancetonight,istherenot?”
“Yes.Weareallgoingontoitafterthefireworks.Thatis,Isupposeweare.”
Therewasasuddendropinhervoice.Butthenextminuteshewaslaughing.
“Nevergivein!That’smymotto.Don’tthinkoftroubleandtroublewon’tcome!I’vegotmynervebacktonight.I’mgoingtobegayandenjoymyself.”
Therewasafootfallonthestairs.Nickturned.
“Oh!here’sMaggie.Maggie,herearethesleuthsthatareprotectingmefromthesecretassassin.Takethemintothedrawingroomandletthemtellyouaboutit.”
InturnweshookhandswithMaggieBuckley,and,asrequested,shetookusintothedrawingroom.Iformedanimmediatefavourableopinionofher.
Itwas,Ithink,herappearanceofcalmgoodsensethatsoattractedme.Aquietgirl,prettyintheold-fashionedsense—certainlynotsmart.Herfacewasinnocentofmakeupandsheworeasimple,rathershabby,blackeveningdress.Shehadfrankblueeyes,andapleasantslowvoice.
“Nickhasbeentellingmethemostamazingthings,”shesaid.“Surelyshemustbeexaggerating?WhoeverwouldwanttoharmNick?Shecan’thaveanenemyintheworld.”
Incredulityshowedstronglyinhervoice.ShewaslookingatPoirotinasomewhatunflatteringfashion.IrealizedthattoagirllikeMaggieBuckley,foreignerswerealwayssuspicious.
“Nevertheless,MissBuckley,Iassureyouthatitisthetruth,”saidPoirotquietly.
Shemadenoreply,butherfaceremainedunbelieving.
“Nickseemsquitefeytonight,”sheremarked.“Idon’tknowwhat’sthematterwithher.Sheseemsinthewildestspirits.”
Thatword—fey!Itsentashiverthroughme.Also,somethingintheintonationofhervoicehadsetmewondering.
“AreyouScotch,MissBuckley?”Iasked,abruptly.
“MymotherwasScottish,”sheexplained.
Sheviewedme,Inoticed,withmoreapprovalthansheviewedPoirot.IfeltthatmystatementofthecasewouldcarrymoreweightwithherthanPoirot’swould.
“Yourcousinisbehavingwithgreatbravery,”Isaid.“She’sdeterminedtocarryonasusual.”
“It’stheonlyway,isn’tit?”saidMaggie.“Imean—whateverone’sinwardfeelingsare—itisnogoodmakingafussaboutthem.That’sonlyuncomfortableforeveryoneelse.”Shepausedandthenaddedinasoftvoice:“I’mveryfondofNick.She’sbeengoodtomealways.”
WecouldsaynothingmoreforatthatmomentFredericaRicedriftedintotheroom.ShewaswearingagownofMadonnablueandlookedveryfragileandethereal.LazarussoonfollowedherandthenNickdancedin.Shewaswearingablackfrock,androundherwaswrappedamarvellousoldChineseshawlofvividlacquerred.
“Hello,people,”shesaid.“Cocktails?”
Wealldrank,andLazarusraisedhisglasstoher.
“That’samarvellousshawl,Nick,”hesaid.“It’sanoldone,isn’tit?”
“Yes—broughtbackbyGreat-Great-Great-UncleTimothyfromhistravels.”
“It’sabeauty—arealbeauty.Youwouldn’tfindanothertomatchitifyoutried.”
“It’swarm,”saidNick.“It’llbenicewhenwe’rewatchingthefireworks.Andit’sgay.I—Ihateblack.”
“Yes,”saidFrederica.“Idon’tbelieveI’veeverseenyouinablackdressbefore,Nick.Whydidyougetit?”
“Oh!Idon’tknow.”Thegirlflungasidewithapetulantgesture,butIhadcaughtacuriouscurlofherlipsasthoughofpain.“Whydoesonedoanything?”
Wewentintodinner.Amysteriousmanservanthadappeared—hired,Ipresume,fortheoccasion.Thefoodwasindifferent.Thechampagne,ontheotherhand,wasgood.
“Georgehasn’tturnedup,”saidNick.“AnuisancehishavingtogobacktoPlymouthlastnight.He’llgetoverthiseveningsometimeorother,Iexpect.Intimeforthedanceanyway.I’vegotamanforMaggie.Presentable,ifnotpassionatelyinteresting.”
Afaintroaringsounddriftedinthroughthewindow.
“Oh!cursethatspeedboat,”saidLazarus.“Igetsotiredofit.”
“That’snotthespeedboat,”saidNick.“That’saseaplane.”
“Ibelieveyou’reright.”
“OfcourseI’mright.Thesound’squitedifferent.”
“WhenareyougoingtogetyourMoth,Nick?”
“WhenIcanraisethemoney,”laughedNick.
“Andthen,Isupposeyou’llbeofftoAustralialikethatgirl—what’shername?”
“I’dloveto—”
“Iadmireherenormously,”saidMrs.Rice,inhertiredvoice.“Whatmarvellousnerve!Allbyherselftoo.”
“Iadmirealltheseflyingpeople,”saidLazarus.“IfMichaelSetonhadsucceededinhisflightroundtheworldhe’dhavebeentheherooftheday—andrightlyso.Athousandpitieshe’scometogrief.He’sthekindofmanEnglandcan’taffordtolose.”
“Hemaystillbeallright,”saidNick.
“Hardly.It’sathousandtooneagainstbynow.PoorMadSeton.”
“TheyalwayscalledhimMadSeton,didn’tthey?”askedFrederica.
Lazarusnodded.
“Hecomesofratheramadfamily,”hesaid.“Hisuncle,SirMatthewSeton,whodiedaboutaweekago—hewasasmadasahatter.”
“Hewasthemadmillionairewhoranbirdsanctuaries,wasn’the?”askedFrederica.
“Yes.Usedtobuyupislands.Hewasagreatwoman-hater.Somegirlchuckedhimonce,Ibelieve,andhetooktoNaturalHistorybywayofconsolinghimself.”
“WhydoyousayMichaelSetonisdead?”persistedNick.“Idon’tseeanyreasonforgivinguphope—yet.”
“Ofcourse,youknewhim,didn’tyou?”saidLazarus.“Iforgot.”
“FreddieandImethimatLeTouquetlastyear,”saidNick.“Hewastoomarvellous,wasn’the,Freddie?”
“Don’taskme,darling.Hewasyourconquest,notmine.Hetookyouuponce,didn’the?”
“Yes—atScarborough.Itwassimplytoowonderful.”
“Haveyoudoneanyflying,CaptainHastings?”Maggieaskedofmeinpoliteconversationaltones.
IhadtoconfessthatatriptoParisandbackwastheextentofmyacquaintancewithairtravel.
Suddenly,withanexclamation,Nicksprangup.
“There’sthetelephone.Don’twaitforme.It’sgettinglate.AndI’veaskedlotsofpeople.”
Shelefttheroom.Iglancedatmywatch.Itwasjustnineo’clock.Dessertwasbrought,andport.PoirotandLazarusweretalkingArt.Pictures,Lazaruswassaying,wereagreatdruginthemarketjustnow.Theywentontodiscussnewideasinfurnitureanddecoration.
IendeavouredtodomydutybytalkingtoMaggieBuckley,butIhadtoadmitthatthegirlwasheavyinhand.Sheansweredpleasantly,butwithoutthrowingtheballback.Itwasuphillwork.
FredericaRicesatdreamilysilent,herelbowsonthetableandthesmokefromhercigarettecurlingroundherfairhead.Shelookedlikeameditativeangel
ItwasjusttwentypastninewhenNickputherheadroundthedoor.
“Comeoutofit,allofyou!Theanimalsarecomingintwobytwo.”
Weroseobediently.Nickwasbusygreetingarrivals.Aboutadozenpeoplehadbeenasked.Mostofthemwereratheruninteresting.Nick,Inoticed,madeagoodhostess.Shesankhermodernismsandmadeeveryonewelcomeinanold-fashionedway.AmongtheguestsInoticedCharlesVyse.
Presentlyweallmovedoutintothegardentoaplaceoverlookingtheseaandtheharbour.Afewchairshadbeenplacedtherefortheelderlypeople,butmostofusstood.ThefirstrocketflamedtoHeaven.
AtthatmomentIheardaloudfamiliarvoice,andturnedmyheadtoseeNickgreetingMr.Croft.
“It’stoobad,”shewassaying,“thatMrs.Croftcan’tbeheretoo.Weoughttohavecarriedheronastretcherorsomething.”
“It’sbadluckonpoormotheraltogether.Butshenevercomplains—thatwoman’sgotthesweetestnature—Ha!that’sagoodone.”Thisasashowerofgoldenrainshowedupinthesky.
Thenightwasadarkone—therewasnomoon—thenewmoonbeingdueinthreeday’stime.Itwasalso,likemostsummerevenings,cold.MaggieBuckley,whowasnexttome,shivered.
“I’lljustruninandgetacoat,”shemurmured.
“Letme.”
“No,youwouldn’tknowwheretofindit.”
Sheturnedtowardsthehouse.AtthatmomentFredericaRice’svoicecalled:
“Oh,Maggie,getminetoo.It’sinmyroom.”
“Shedidn’thear,”saidNick.“I’llgetit,Freddie.Iwantmyfurone—thisshawlisn’tnearlyhotenough.It’sthiswind.”
Therewas,indeed,asharpbreezeblowingoffthesea.
Somesetpiecesstarteddownonthequay.Ifellintoconversationwithanelderlyladystandingnexttomewhoputmethrougharigorouscatechismastolife,career,tastesandprobablelengthofstay.
Bang!Ashowerofgreenstarsfilledthesky.Theychangedtoblue,thenred,thensilver.
Anotherandyetanother.
“‘Oh!’andthen‘Ah!’thatiswhatonesays,”observedPoirotsuddenlyclosetomyear.“Attheenditbecomesmonotonous,doyounotfind?Brrr!Thegrass,itisdamptothefeet!Ishallsufferforthis—achill.Andnopossibilityofobtainingapropertisane!”
“Achill?Onalovelynightlikethis?”
“Alovelynight!Alovelynight!Yousaythat,becausetherainitdoesnotpourdowninsheets!Alwayswhentheraindoesnotfall,itisalovelynight.ButItellyou,myfriend,iftherewerealittlethermometertoconsultyouwouldsee.”
“Well,”Iadmitted,“Iwouldn’tmindputtingonacoatmyself.”
“Youareverysensible.Youhavecomefromahotclimate.”
“I’llbringyours.”
Poirotliftedfirstone,thentheotherfootfromthegroundwithacat-likemotion.
“ItisthedampnessofthefeetIfear.Wouldit,thinkyou,bepossibletolayhandsonapairofgoloshes?”
Irepressedasmile.
“Notahope,”Isaid.“Youunderstand,Poirot,thatitisnolongerdone.”
“ThenIshallsitinthehouse,”hedeclared.“JustfortheGuyFawkesshow,shallIwantonlyenrhumermyself?Andcatch,perhaps,afluxiondepoitrine?”
Poirotstillmurmuringindignantly,webentourfootstepstowardsthehouse.Loudclappingdrifteduptousfromthequaybelowwhereanothersetpiecewasbeingshown—aship,Ibelieve,withWelcometoOurVisitorsdisplayedacrossit.
“Weareallchildrenatheart,”saidPoirot,thoughtfully.“LesFeuxd’Artifices,theparty,thegameswithballs—yes,andeventheconjurer,themanwhodeceivestheeye,howevercarefullyitwatches—maisqu’est-cequevousavez?”
Ihadcaughthimbythearm,andwasclutchinghimwithonehand,whilewiththeotherIpointed.
Wewerewithinahundredyardsofthehouse,andjustinfrontofus,betweenusandtheopenFrenchwindow,therelayahuddledfigurewrappedinascarletChineseshawl
“MonDieu!”whisperedPoirot.“MonDieu….”
Eight
THEFATALSHAWL
Isupposeitwasnotmorethanfortysecondsthatwestoodthere,frozenwithhorror,unabletomove,butitseemedlikeanhour.ThenPoirotmovedforward,shakingoffmyhand.Hemovedstifflylikeanautomaton.
“Ithashappened,”hemurmured,andIcanhardlydescribetheanguishedbitternessofhisvoice.“Inspiteofeverything—inspiteofmyprecautions,ithashappened.Ah!miserablecriminalthatIam,whydidInotguardherbetter.Ishouldhaveforeseen.NotforoneinstantshouldIhaveleftherside.”
“Youmustn’tblameyourself,”Isaid
Mytonguestucktotheroofofmymouth,andIcouldhardlyarticulate.
Poirotonlyrespondedwithasorrowfulshakeofhishead.Hekneltdownbythebody.
Andatthatmomentwereceivedasecondshock.
ForNick’svoicerangout,clearandgay,andamomentlaterNickappearedinthesquareofthewindowsilhouettedagainstthelightedroombehind.
“SorryI’vebeensolong,Maggie,”shesaid.“But—”
Thenshebrokeoff—staringatthescenebeforeher.
Withasharpexclamation,PoirotturnedoverthebodyonthelawnandIpressedforwardtosee.
IlookeddownintothedeadfaceofMaggieBuckley.
InanotherminuteNickwasbesideus.Shegaveasharpcry.
“Maggie—Oh!Maggie—it—itcan’t—”
Poirotwasstillexaminingthegirl’sbody.Atlastveryslowlyherosetohisfeet.
“Isshe—is—”Nick’svoicebrokeoff.
“Yes,Mademoiselle.Sheisdead.”
“Butwhy?Butwhy?Whocouldhavewantedtokillher?”
Poirot’sreplycamequicklyandfirmly
“Itwasnothertheymeanttokill,Mademoiselle!Itwasyou!Theyweremisledbytheshawl.”
AgreatcrybrokefromNick.
“Whycouldn’tithavebeenme?”shewailed.“Oh!whycouldn’tithavebeenme?I’dsomuchrather.Idon’twanttolive—now.I’dbeglad—willing—happy—todie.”
Sheflungupherarmswildlyandthenstaggeredslightly.Ipassedanarmroundherquicklytosupporther.
“Takeherintothehouse,Hastings,”saidPoirot.“Thenringupthepolice.”
“Thepolice?”
“Maisoui!Tellthemsomeonehasbeenshot.AndafterwardsstaywithMademoiselleNick.Onnoaccountleaveher.”
Inoddedcomprehensionoftheseinstructions,andsupportingthehalf-faintinggirl,mademywaythroughthedrawingroomwindow.Ilaidthegirlonthesofathere,withacushionunderherhead,andthenhurriedoutintothehallinsearchofthetelephone.
IgaveaslightstartonalmostrunningintoEllen.Shewasstandingtherewithamostpeculiarexpressiononhermeek,respectableface.Hereyeswereglitteringandshewaspassinghertonguerepeatedlyoverherdrylips.Herhandsweretrembling,asthoughwithexcitement.Assoonasshesawme,shespoke.
“Has—hasanythinghappened,sir?”
“Yes,”Isaidcurtly.“Where’sthetelephone?”
“Nothing—nothingwrong,sir?”
“There’sbeenanaccident,”Isaidevasively.“Somebodyhurt.Imusttelephone.”
“Whohasbeenhurt,sir?”
Therewasapositiveeagernessinherface.
“MissBuckley.MissMaggieBuckley.”
“MissMaggie?MissMaggie?Areyousure,sir—Imeanareyousurethat—thatit’sMissMaggie?”
“I’mquitesure,”Isaid.“Why?”
“Oh!—nothing.I—Ithoughtitmightbeoneoftheotherladies.Ithoughtperhapsitmightbe—Mrs.Rice.”
“Lookhere,”Isaid.“Where’sthetelephone?”
“It’sinthelittleroomhere,sir.”Sheopenedthedoorformeandindicatedtheinstrument.
“Thanks,”Isaid.And,assheseemeddisposedtolinger,Iadded:“That’sallIwant,thankyou.”
“IfyouwantDr.Graham—”
“No,no,”Isaid.“That’sall.Go,please.”
Shewithdrewreluctantly,asslowlyasshedared.Inallprobabilityshewouldlistenoutsidethedoor,butIcouldnothelpthat.Afterall,shewouldsoonknowalltherewastobeknown.
Igotthepolicestationandmademyreport.Then,onmyowninitiative,IranguptheDr.GrahamEllenhadmentioned.Ifoundhisnumberinthebook.Nick,atanyrate,shouldhavemedicalattention,Ifelt—eventhoughadoctorcoulddonothingforthatpoorgirllyingoutthere.HepromisedtocomeatonceandIhungupthereceiverandcameoutintothehallagain.
IfEllenhadbeenlisteningoutsidethedoorshehadmanagedtodisappearveryswiftly.TherewasnooneinsightwhenIcameout.Iwentbackintothedrawingroom.Nickwastryingtositup.
“Doyouthink—couldyougetme—somebrandy?”
“Ofcourse.”
Ihurriedintothediningroom,foundwhatIwantedandcameback.Afewsipsofthespiritrevivedthegirl.Thecolourbegantocomebackintohercheeks.Irearrangedthecushionforherhead.
“It’sall—soawful.”Sheshivered.“Everything—everywhere.”
“Iknow,mydear,Iknow.”
“No,youdon’t!Youcan’t.Andit’sallsuchawaste.Ifitwereonlyme.Itwouldbeallover….”
“Youmustn’t,”Isaid,‘bemorbid.’”
Sheonlyshookherhead,reiterating:“Youdon’tknow!Youdon’tknow!”
Then,suddenly,shebegantocry.Aquiet,hopelesssobbinglikeachild.That,Ithought,wasprobablythebestthingforher,soImadenoefforttostemhertears.
Whentheirfirstviolencehaddieddownalittle,Istoleacrosstothewindowandlookedout.Ihadheardanoutcryofvoicesafewminutesbefore.Theywerealltherebynow,asemi-circleroundthesceneofthetragedy,withPoirotlikeafantasticalsentinel,keepingthemback.
AsIwatched,twouniformedfigurescamestridingacrossthegrass.Thepolicehadarrived.
Iwentquietlybacktomyplacebythesofa.Nickliftedhertear-stainedface
“Oughtn’tItobedoingsomething?”
“No,mydear.Poirotwillseetoit.Leaveittohim.”Nickwassilentforaminuteortwo,thenshesaid:
“PoorMaggie.PoordearoldMaggie.Suchagoodsortwhoneverharmedasoulinherlife.Thatthisshouldhappentoher.IfeelasthoughI’dkilledher—bringingherdowninthewaythatIdid.”
Ishookmyheadsadly.Howlittleonecanforeseethefuture.WhenPoirotinsistedonNick’sinvitingafriend,howlittledidhethinkthathewassigninganunknowngirl’sdeathwarrant.
Wesatinsilence.Ilongedtoknowwhatwasgoingonoutside,butIloyallyfulfilledPoirot’sinstructionsandstucktomypost.
ItseemedhourslaterwhenthedooropenedandPoirotandapoliceinspectorenteredtheroom.WiththemcameamanwhowasevidentlyDr.Graham.HecameoveratoncetoNick.
“Andhowareyoufeeling,MissBuckley?Thismusthavebeenaterribleshock.”Hisfingerswereonherpulse.
“Nottoobad.”
Heturnedtome.
“Hasshehadanything?”
“Somebrandy,”Isaid.
“I’mallright,”saidNick,bravely.
“Abletoanswerafewquestions,eh?”
“Ofcourse.”
Thepoliceinspectormovedforwardwithapreliminarycough.Nickgreetedhimwiththeghostofasmile.
“Notimpedingthetrafficthistime,”shesaid.
Igatheredtheywerenotstrangerstoeachother.
“Thisisaterriblebusiness,MissBuckley,”saidtheinspector.“I’mverysorryaboutit.NowMr.Poirothere,whosenameI’mveryfamiliarwith(andproudwearetohavehimwithus,I’msure),tellsmethattothebestofhisbeliefyouwereshotatinthegroundsoftheMajesticHoteltheothermorning?”
Nicknodded.
“Ithoughtitwasjustawasp,”sheexplained.“Butitwasn’t.”
“Andyou’dhadsomeratherpeculiaraccidentsbeforethat?”
“Yes—atleastitwasoddtheirhappeningsoclosetogether.”
Shegaveabriefaccountofthevariouscircumstances.
“Justso.Nowhowcameitthatyourcousinwaswearingyourshawltonight?”
“Wecameintofetchhercoat—itwasrathercoldwatchingthefireworks.Iflungofftheshawlonthesofahere.ThenIwentupstairsandputonthecoatI’mwearingnow—alightnutriaone.IalsogotawrapformyfriendMrs.Riceoutofherroom.Thereitisonthefloorbythewindow.ThenMaggiecalledoutthatshecouldn’tfindhercoat.Isaiditmustbedownstairs.Shewentdownandcalledupshestillcouldn’tfindit.Isaiditmusthavebeenleftinthecar—itwasatweedcoatshewaslookingfor—shehasn’tgotaneveningfurryone—andIsaidI’dbringherdownsomethingofmine.Butshesaiditdidn’tmatter—she’dtakemyshawlifIdidn’twantit.AndIsaidofcoursebutwouldthatbeenough?AndshesaidOh,yes,becauseshereallydidn’tfeelitparticularlycoldafterYorkshire.Shejustwantedsomething.AndIsaidallright,I’dbeoutinaminute.AndwhenIdid—didcomeout—”
Shestopped,hervoicebreaking…
“Now,don’tdistressyourself,MissBuckley.Justtellmethis.Didyouhearashot—ortwoshots?”
Nickshookherhead.
“No—onlyjustthefireworkspoppingandthesquibsgoingoff.”
“That’sjustit,”saidtheinspector.“You’dnevernoticeashotwithallthatgoingon.It’snogoodaskingyou,Isuppose,ifyou’veanycluetowhoitismakingtheseattacksuponyou?”
“Ihaven’ttheleastidea,”saidNick.“Ican’timagine.”
“Andyouwouldn’tbelikelyto,”saidtheinspector.“Somehomicidalmaniac—that’swhatitlooksliketome.Nastybusiness.Well,Iwon’tneedtoaskyouanymorequestionstonight,miss.I’mmoresorryaboutthisthanIcansay.”
Dr.Grahamsteppedforward.
“I’mgoingtosuggest,MissBuckley,thatyoudon’tstayhere.I’vebeentalkingitoverwithM.Poirot.Iknowofanexcellentnursinghome.You’vehadashock,youknow.Whatyouneediscompleterest—”
Nickwasnotlookingathim.HereyeshadgonetoPoirot.
“Isit—becauseoftheshock?”sheasked.
Hecameforward.
“Iwantyoutofeelsafe,monenfant.AndIwanttofeel,too,thatyouaresafe.Therewillbeanursethere—anicepracticalunimaginativenurse.Shewillbenearyouallnight.Whenyouwakeupandcryout—shewillbethere,closeathand.Youunderstand?”
“Yes,”saidNick,“Iunderstand.Butyoudon’t.I’mnotafraidanylonger.Idon’tcareonewayoranother.Ifanyonewantstomurderme,theycan.”
“Hush,hush,”Isaid.“You’reoverstrung.”
“Youdon’tknow.Noneofyouknow!”
“IreallythinkM.Poirot’splanisagoodone,”thedoctorbrokeinsoothingly.“Iwilltakeyouinmycar.Andwewillgiveyoualittlesomethingtoensureagoodnight’srest.Nowwhatdoyousay?”
“Idon’tmind,”saidNick.“Anythingyoulike.Itdoesn’tmatter.”
Poirotlaidhishandonhers.
“Iknow,Mademoiselle.Iknowwhatyoumustfeel.Istandbeforeyouashamedandstrickentotheheart.I,whopromisedprotection,havenotbeenabletoprotect.Ihavefailed.Iamamiserable.Butbelieveme,Mademoiselle,myheartisinagonybecauseofthatfailure.IfyouknowwhatIamsufferingyouwouldforgive,Iamsure.”
“That’sallright,”saidNick,stillinthesamedullvoice.“Youmustn’tblameyourself.I’msureyoudidthebestyoucould.Nobodycouldhavehelpedit—ordonemore,I’msure.Pleasedon’tbeunhappy.”
“Youareverygenerous,Mademoiselle.”
“No,I—”
Therewasaninterruption.ThedoorflewopenandGeorgeChallengerrushedintotheroom.
“What’sallthis?”hecried.“I’vejustarrived.Tofindapolicemanatthegateandarumourthatsomebody’sdead.Whatisitallabout?ForGod’ssake,tellme.Isit—isit—Nick?”
Theanguishinhistonewasdreadfultohear.IsuddenlyrealizedthatPoirotandthedoctorbetweenthemcompletelyblottedoutNickfromhissight.
Beforeanyonehadtimetoanswer,herepeatedhisquestion.
“Tellme—itcan’tbetrue—Nickisn’tdead?”
“No,monami,”saidPoirot,gently.“Sheisalive.”
AndhedrewbacksothatChallengercouldseethelittlefigureonthesofa.
ForamomentortwoChallengerstaredatherincredulously.Then,staggeringalittle,likeadrunkenman,hemuttered:
“Nick—Nick.”
Andsuddenlydroppingonhiskneesbesidethesofaandhidinghisheadinhishands,hecriedinamuffledvoice:
“Nick—mydarling—Ithoughtthatyouweredead.”
Nicktriedtositup.
“It’sallright,George.Don’tbeanidiot.I’mquitesafe.”
Heraisedhisheadandlookedroundwildly.
“Butsomebody’sdead?Thepolicemansaidso.”
“Yes,”saidNick.“Maggie.PooroldMaggie.Oh!—”
Aspasmtwistedherface.ThedoctorandPoirotcameforward.Grahamhelpedhertoherfeet.HeandPoirot,oneoneachside,helpedherfromtheroom.
“Thesooneryougettoyourbedthebetter,”remarkedthedoctor.“I’lltakeyoualongatonceinmycar.I’veaskedMrs.Ricetopackafewthingsreadyforyoutotake.”
Theydisappearedthroughthedoor.Challengercaughtmyarm.
“Idon’tunderstand.Wherearetheytakingher?”
Iexplained.
“Oh!Isee.Now,then,Hastings,forGod’ssakegivemethehangofthisthing.Whataghastlytragedy!Thatpoorgirl.”
“Comeandhaveadrink,”Isaid.“You’realltopieces.”
“Idon’tmindifIdo.”
Weadjournedtothediningroom.
“Yousee,”heexplained,asheputawayastiffwhiskyandsoda,“IthoughtitwasNick.”
TherewasverylittledoubtastothefeelingsofCommanderGeorgeChallenger.Amoretransparentloverneverlived.
Nine
A.TOJ.
IdoubtifIshalleverforgetthenightthatfollowed.Poirotwasapreytosuchanagonyofself-reproachthatIwasreallyalarmed.Ceaselesslyhestrodeupanddowntheroomheapinganathemasonhisownheadanddeaftomywell-meantremonstrances.
“Whatitistohavetoogoodanopinionofoneself.Iampunished—yes,Iampunished.I,HerculePoirot.Iwastoosureofmyself.”
“No,no,”Iinterpolated.
“Butwhowouldimagine—whocouldimagine—suchunparalleledaudacity?Ihadtaken,asIthought,allpossibleprecautions.Ihadwarnedthemurderer—”
“Warnedthemurderer?”
“Maisoui.Ihaddrawnattentiontomyself.IhadlethimseethatIsuspected—someone.Ihadmadeit,orsoIthought,toodangerousforhimtodaretorepeathisattemptsatmurder.IhaddrawnacordonroundMademoiselle.Andheslipsthroughit!Boldly—underourveryeyesalmost,heslipsthroughit!Inspiteofusall—ofeveryonebeingonthealert,heachieveshisobject.”
“Onlyhedoesn’t,”Iremindedhim.
“Thatisthechanceonly!Frommypointofview,itisthesame.Ahumanlifehasbeentaken,Hastings—whoselifeisnon-essential.”
“Ofcourse,”Isaid.“Ididn’tmeanthat.”
“Butontheotherhand,whatyousayistrue.Andthatmakesitworse—tentimesworse.Forthemurdererisstillasfaraseverfromachievinghisobject.Doyouunderstand,myfriend?Thepositionischanged—fortheworse.Itmaymeanthatnotonelife—buttwo—willbesacrificed.”
“Notwhileyou’reabout,”Isaidstoutly.
Hestoppedandwrungmyhand.
“Merci,monami!Merci!Youstillhaveconfidenceintheoldone—youstillhavethefaith.Youputnewcourageintome.HerculePoirotwillnotfailagain.Nosecondlifeshallbetaken.Iwillrectifymyerror—for,seeyou,theremusthavebeenanerror!Somewheretherehasbeenalackoforderandmethodinmyusuallysowellarrangedideas.Iwillstartagain.Yes,Iwillstartatthebeginning.Andthistime—Iwillnotfail.”
“Youreallythinkthen,”Isaid,“thatNickBuckley’slifeisstillindanger?”
“Myfriend,forwhatotherreasondidIsendhertothisnursinghome?”
“Thenitwasn’ttheshock—”
“Theshock!Pah!Onecanrecoverfromshockaswellinone’sownhomeasinanursinghome—better,forthatmatter.Itisnotamusingthere,thefloorsofgreenlinoleum,theconversationofthenurses—themealsontrays,theceaselesswashing.No,no,itisforsafetyandsafetyonly.Itakethedoctorintomyconfidence.Heagrees.Hewillmakeallarrangements.Noone,monami,notevenherdearestfriend,willbeadmittedtoseeMissBuckley.YouandIaretheonlyonespermitted.Pourlesautres—ehbien!‘Doctor’sorders,’theywillbetold.Aphraseveryconvenientandonenottobegainsayed.”
“Yes,”Isaid.“Only—”
“Onlywhat,Hastings?”
“Thatcan’tgoonforever.”
“Averytrueobservation.Butitgivesusalittlebreathingspace.Andyourealize,doyounot,thatthecharacterofouroperationshaschanged.”
“Inwhatway?”
“OuroriginaltaskwastoensurethesafetyofMademoiselle.Ourtasknowisamuchsimplerone—ataskwithwhichwearewellacquainted.Itisneithermorenorlessthanthehuntingdownofamurderer.”
“Youcallthatsimpler?”
“Certainlyitissimpler.Themurdererhas,asIsaidtheotherday,signedhisnametothecrime.Hehascomeoutintotheopen.”
“Youdon’tthink—”Ihesitated,thenwenton.“Youdon’tthinkthatthepoliceareright?Thatthisistheworkofamadman,somewanderinglunaticwithhomicidalmania?”
“Iammorethaneverconvincedthatsuchisnotthecase.”
“Youreallythinkthat—”
Istopped.Poirottookupmysentence,speakingverygravely.
“ThatthemurdererissomeoneinMademoiselle’sowncircle?Yes,monami,Ido.”
“Butsurelylastnightmustalmostruleoutthatpossibility.Wewerealltogetherand—”
Heinterrupted.
“Couldyouswear,Hastings,thatanyparticularpersonhadneverleftourlittlecompanythereontheedgeofthecliff?Isthereanyonepersontherewhomyoucouldswearyouhadseenallthetime?”
“No,”Isaidslowly,struckbyhiswords.“Idon’tthinkIcould.Itwasdark.Weallmovedabout,moreorless.OndifferentoccasionsInoticedMrs.Rice,Lazarus,you,Croft,Vyse—butallthetime—no.”
Poirotnoddedhishead.
“Exactly.Itwouldbeamatterofaveryfewminutes.Thetwogirlsgotothehouse.Themurdererslipsawayunnoticed,hidesbehindthatsycamoretreeinthemiddleofthelawn.NickBuckley,orsohethinks,comesoutofthewindow,passeswithinafootofhim,hefiresthreeshotsinrapidsuccession—”
“Three?”Iinterjected.
“Yes.Hewastakingnochancesthistime.Wefoundthreebulletsinthebody.”
“Thatwasrisky,wasn’tit?”
“Lessriskyinallprobabilitythanoneshotwouldhavebeen.AMauserpistoldoesnotmakeagreatdealofnoise.Itwouldresemblemoreorlessthepoppingofthefireworksandblendinverywellwiththenoiseofthem.”
“Didyoufindthepistol?”Iasked.
“No.Andthere,Hastings,liestomymindtheindisputableproofthatnostrangerisresponsibleforthis.Weagree,dowenot,thatMissBuckley’sownpistolwastakeninthefirstplaceforonereasononly—togiveherdeaththeappearanceofsuicide.”
“Yes.”
“Thatistheonlypossiblereason,isitnot?Butnow,youobserve,thereisnopretenceofsuicide.Themurdererknowsthatweshouldnotanylongerbedeceivedbyit.Heknows,infact,whatweknow!”
Ireflected,admittingtomyselfthelogicofPoirot’sdeduction.
“Whatdidhedowiththepistoldoyouthink?”
Poirotshruggedhisshoulders.
“Forthat,itisdifficulttosay.Buttheseawasexceedinglyhandy.Agoodtossofthearm,andthepistolsinks,nevertoberecovered.Wecannot,ofcourse,beabsolutelysure—butthatiswhatIshouldhavedone.”
Hismatter-of-facttonemademeshiveralittle.
“Doyouthink—doyouthinkherealizedthathe’dkilledthewrongperson?”
“Iamquitesurehedidnot,”saidPoirot,grimly.“Yes,thatmusthavebeenanunpleasantlittlesurpriseforhimwhenhelearntthetruth.Tokeephisfaceandbetraynothing—itcannothavebeeneasy.”
AtthatmomentIbethoughtmeofthestrangeattitudeofthemaid,Ellen.IgavePoirotanaccountofherpeculiardemeanour.Heseemedveryinterested.
“Shebetrayedsurprise,didshe,thatitwasMaggiewhowasdead?”
“Greatsurprise.”
“Thatiscurious.Andyet,thefactofatragedywasclearlynotasurprisetoher.Yes,thereissomethingtherethatmustbelookedinto.Whoisshe,thisEllen?Soquiet,sorespectableintheEnglishmanner?Coulditbeshewho—?”Hebrokeoff.
“Ifyou’regoingtoincludetheaccidents,”Isaid,“surelyitwouldtakeamantohaverolledthatheavyboulderdownthecliff.”
“Notnecessarily.Itisverylargelyaquestionofleverage.Oh,yes,itcouldbedone.”
Hecontinuedhisslowpacingupanddowntheroom.
“AnyonewhowasatEndHouselastnightcomesundersuspicion.Butthoseguests—no,Idonotthinkitwasoneofthem.Forthemostpart,Ishouldsay,theyweremereacquaintances.Therewasnointimacybetweenthemandtheyoungmistressofthehouse.”
“CharlesVysewasthere,”Iremarked.
“Yes,wemustnotforgethim.Heis,logically,ourstrongestsuspect.”Hemadeagestureofdespairandthrewhimselfintoachairoppositemine.“Voilà—itisalwaysthatwecomebackto!Motive!Wemustfindthemotiveifwearetounderstandthiscrime.Anditisthere,Hastings,thatIamcontinuallybaffled.WhocanpossiblyhaveamotivefordoingawaywithMademoiselleNick?Ihaveletmyselfgotothemostabsurdsuppositions.I,HerculePoirot,havedescendedtothemostignominiousflightsoffancy.Ihaveadoptedthementalityofthecheapthriller.Thegrandfather—the‘OldNick’—hewhoissupposedtohavegambledhismoneyaway.Didhereallydoso,Ihaveaskedmyself?Didhe,onthecontrary,hideitaway?IsithiddensomewhereinEndHouse?Buriedsomewhereinthegrounds?Withthatendinview(Iamashamedtosayit)IinquiredofMademoiselleNickwhethertherehadeverbeenanyofferstobuythehouse.”
“Doyouknow,Poirot,”Isaid,“Icallthatratherabrightidea.Theremaybesomethinginit.”
Poirotgroaned.
“Youwouldsaythat!Itwouldappeal,Iknew,toyourromanticbutslightlymediocremind.Buriedtreasure—yes,youwouldenjoythatidea.”
“Well—Idon’tseewhynot—”
“Because,myfriend,themoreprosaicexplanationisnearlyalwaysmoreprobable.ThenMademoiselle’sfather—Ihaveplayedwithevenmoredegradingideasconcerninghim.Hewasatraveller.Supposing,Isaytomyself,thathehasstolenajewel—theeyeofaGod.Jealouspriestsareonhistracks.Yes,I,HerculePoirot,havedescendedtodepthssuchasthese.
“Ihavehadotherideasconcerningthisfather,”hewenton.“Ideasatoncemoredignifiedandmoreprobable.Didhe,inthecourseofhiswanderings,contractasecondmarriage?IsthereanearerheirthanM.CharlesVyse?Butagain,thatleadsnowhere,forweareupagainstthesamedifficulty—thatthereisreallynothingofvaluetoinherit.
“Ihaveneglectednopossibility.EventhatchancereferenceofMademoiselleNick’stotheoffermadeherbyM.Lazarus.Youremember?Theoffertopurchasehergrandfather’sportrait.ItelegraphedonSaturdayforanexperttocomedownandexaminethatpicture.HewasthemanaboutwhomIwrotetoMademoisellethismorning.Supposing,forinstance,itwereworthseveralthousandpounds?”
“Yousurelydon’tthinkarichmanlikeyoungLazarus—?”
“Isherich?Appearancesarenoteverything.Evenanoldestablishedfirmwithpalatialshowroomsandeveryappearanceofprosperitymayrestonarottenbasis.Andwhatdoesonedothen?Doesonerunaboutcryingoutthattimesarehard?No,onebuysanewandluxuriouscar.Onespendsalittlemoremoneythanusual.Onelivesalittlemoreostentatiously.Forcredit,seeyou,iseverything!Butsometimesamonumentalbusinesshascrashed—fornomorethanafewthousandpounds—ofreadymoney.
“Oh!Iknow,”hecontinued,forestallingmyprotests.“Itisfar-fetched—butitisnotsobadasrevengefulpriestsorburiedtreasure.Itbears,atanyrate,somerelationshiptothingsastheyhappen.Andwecanneglectnothing—nothingthatmightbringusnearerthetruth.”
Withcarefulfingershestraightenedtheobjectsonthetableinfrontofhim.Whenhespoke,hisvoicewasgraveand,forthefirsttime,calm.
“Motive!”hesaid.“Letuscomebacktothat,andregardthisproblemcalmlyandmethodically.Tobeginwith,howmanykindsofmotivearethereformurder?Whatarethemotiveswhichleadonehumanbeingtotakeanotherhumanbeing’slife?
“Weexcludeforthemomenthomicidalmania.BecauseIamabsolutelyconvincedthatthesolutionofourproblemdoesnotliethere.Wealsoexcludekillingdoneonthespurofthemomentundertheimpulseofanungovernabletemper.Thisiscold-bloodeddeliberatemurder.Whatarethemotivesthatactuatesuchamurderasthat?”
“Thereis,first,Gain.WhostoodtogainbyMademoiselleBuckley’sdeath?Directlyorindirectly?Well,wecanputdownCharlesVyse.Heinheritsapropertythat,fromthefinancialpointofview,isprobablynotworthinheriting.Hemight,perhaps,payoffthemortgage,buildsmallvillasonthelandandeventuallymakeasmallprofit.Itispossible.Theplacemightbeworthsomethingtohimifhehadanydeeplycherishedloveofit—if,itwere,forinstance,afamilyplace.Thatis,undoubtedly,aninstinctverydeeplyimplantedinsomehumanbeings,andithas,incasesIhaveknown,actuallyledtocrime.ButIcannotseeanysuchmotiveinM.Vyse’scase.
“TheonlyotherpersonwhowouldbenefitatallbyMademoiselleBuckley’sdeathisherfriend,MadameRice.Buttheamountwouldclearlybeaverysmallone.Nobodyelse,asfarasIcansee,gainsbyMademoiselleBuckley’sdeath.
“Whatisanothermotive?Hate—orlovethathasturnedtohate.Thecrimepassionnel.Well,thereagainwehavethewordoftheobservantMadameCroftthatbothCharlesVyseandCommanderChallengerareinlovewiththeyounglady.”
“Ithinkwecansaythatwehaveobservedthelatterphenomenonforourselves,”Iremarked,withasmile.
“Yes—hetendstowearhisheartonhissleeve,thehonestsailor.Fortheother,werelyonthewordofMadameCroft.Now,ifCharlesVysefeltthatheweresupplanted,wouldhebesopowerfullyaffectedthathewouldkillhiscousinratherthanletherbecomethewifeofanotherman?”
“Itsoundsverymelodramatic,”Isaid,doubtfully.
“Itsounds,youwouldsay,unEnglish.Iagree.ButeventheEnglishhaveemotions.AndatypesuchasCharlesVyse,isthemostlikelytohavethem.Heisarepressedyoungman.Onewhodoesnotshowhisfeelingseasily.Suchoftenhavethemostviolentfeelings.IwouldneversuspecttheCommanderChallengerofmurderforemotionalreasons.No,no,heisnotthetype.ButwithCharlesVyse—yes,itispossible.Butitdoesnotentirelysatisfyme.
“Anothermotiveforcrime—Jealousy.Iseparateitfromthelast,becausejealousymaynot,necessarily,beasexualemotion.Thereisenvy—envyofpossession—ofsupremacy.SuchajealousyasdrovetheIagoofyourgreatShakespearetooneofthecleverestcrimes(speakingfromtheprofessionalpointofview)thathaseverbeencommitted.”
“Whywasitsoclever?”Iasked,momentarilydiverted.
“Parbleu—becausehegototherstoexecuteit.Imagineacriminalnowadaysonwhomonewasunabletoputthehandcuffsbecausehehadneverdoneanythinghimself.Butthisisnotthesubjectwewerediscussing.Canjealousy,ofanykind,beresponsibleforthiscrime?WhohasreasontoenvyMademoiselle?Anotherwoman?ThereisonlyMadameRice,andasfaraswecansee,therewasnorivalrybetweenthetwowomen.Butagain,thatisonly‘asfaraswecansee.’Theremaybesomethingthere.
“Lastly—Fear.DoesMademoiselleNick,byanychance,holdsomebody’ssecretinherpower?Doessheknowsomethingwhich,ifitwereknown,mightruinanotherlife?Ifso,Ithinkwecansayverydefinitely,thatsheherselfisunawareofit.Butthatmightbe,youknow.Thatmightbe.Andifso,itmakesitverydifficult.Because,whilstsheholdstheclueinherhands,sheholdsitunconsciouslyandwillbequiteunabletotelluswhatitis.”
“Youreallythinkthatispossible?”
“Itisahypothesis.Iamdriventoitbythedifficultyoffindingareasonabletheoryelsewhere.Whenyouhaveeliminatedotherpossibilitiesyouturntotheonethatisleftandsay—sincetheotherisnot—thismustbeso….”
Hewassilentalongtime.
Atlast,rousinghimselffromhisabsorption,hedrewasheetofpapertowardshimandbegantowrite.
“Whatareyouwriting?”Iasked,curiously.
“Monami,Iamcomposingalist.ItisalistofpeoplesurroundingMademoiselleBuckley.Withinthatlist,ifmytheoryiscorrect,theremustbethenameofthemurderer.”
Hecontinuedtowriteforperhapstwentyminutes—thenshovedthesheetsofpaperacrosstome.
“Voilà,monami.Seewhatyoumakeofit.”
Thefollowingisareproductionofthepaper:
A.Ellen.B.Hergardenerhusband.C.Theirchild.D.Mr.Croft.E.Mrs.Croft.F.Mrs.Rice.G.Mr.Lazarus.H.CommanderChallenger.I.Mr.CharlesVyse.J.Remarks:A.Ellen.—Suspiciouscircumstances.Herattitudeandwordsonhearingofthecrime.Bestopportunityofanyonetohavestagedaccidentsandtohaveknownofpistol,butunlikelytohavetamperedwithcar,andgeneralmentalityofcrimeseemsaboveherlevel.Motive.—None—unlesshatearisingoutofsomeincidentunknown.Note.—FurtherinquiriesastoherantecedentsandgeneralrelationswithN.B.B.HerHusband.—Sameasabove.Morelikelytohavetamperedwithcar.Note.—Shouldbeinterviewed.C.Child.—Canberuledout.Note.—Shouldbeinterviewed.Mightgivevaluableinformation.D.Mr.Croft.—Onlysuspiciouscircumstancethefactthatwemethimmountingthestairtobedroomfloor.Hadreadyexplanationwhichmaybetrue.Butitmaynot!Nothingknownofantecedents.Motive.—None.E.Mrs.Croft.—Suspiciouscircumstances.—None.Motive.—None.F.Mrs.Rice.—Suspiciouscircumstances.Fullopportunity.AskedN.B.tofetchwrap.HasdeliberatelytriedtocreateimpressionthatN.B.isaliarandheraccountof“accidents”nottobereliedon.WasnotatTavistockwhenaccidentsoccurred.Wherewasshe?Motive.—Gain?Veryslight.Jealousy?Possible,butnothingknown.Fear?Alsopossible,butnothingknown.Note.—ConversewithN.B.onsubject.Seeifanylightisthrownuponmatter.PossiblysomethingtodowithF.R.’smarriage.G.Mr.Lazarus.—Suspiciouscircumstances.Generalopportunity.Offertobuypicture.Saidbrakesofcarwerequiteallright(accordingtoF.R.).MayhavebeeninneighbourhoodpriortoFriday.Motive.—None—unlessprofitonpicture.Fear?—unlikely.Note.—FindoutwhereJ.L.wasbeforearrivingatSt.Loo.FindoutfinancialpositionofAaronLazarus&Son.H.CommanderChallenger.—Suspiciouscircumstances.None.Wasinneighbourhoodalllastweek,soopportunityfor“accidents”good.Arrivedhalfanhouraftermurder.Motive.—None.I.Mr.Vyse.—Suspiciouscircumstances.Wasabsentfromofficeattimewhenshotwasfiredingardenofhotel.Opportunitygood.StatementaboutsellingofEndHouseopentodoubt.Ofarepressedtemperament.Wouldprobablyknowaboutpistol.Motive.—Gain?(slight)LoveorHate?Possiblewithoneofhistemperament.Fear?Unlikely.Note.—Findoutwhoheldmortgage.FindoutpositionofVyse’sfirm.J.?—TherecouldbeaJ.,e.g.anoutsider.Butwithalinkintheformofoneoftheforegoing.Ifso,probablyconnectedwithA.D.andE.orF.TheexistenceofJ.wouldexplain(1)Ellen’slackofsurpriseatcrimeandherpleasurablesatisfaction.(Butthatmightbeduetonaturalpleasurableexcitementofherclassoverdeaths.)(2)ThereasonforCroftandhiswifecomingtoliveinlodge.(3)MightsupplymotiveforF.R.’sfearofsecretbeingrevealedorforjealousy.
PoirotwatchedmeasIread.
“ItisveryEnglish,isitnot?heremarked,withpride.“IammoreEnglishwhenIwritethanwhenIspeak.”
“It’sanexcellentpieceofwork,”Isaid,warmly.“Itsetsallthepossibilitiesoutmostclearly.”
“Yes,”hesaid,thoughtfully,ashetookitbackfromme.“Andonenameleapstotheeye,myfriend.CharlesVyse.Hehasthebestopportunities.Wehavegivenhimthechoiceoftwomotives.Mafoi—ifthatwasalistofracehorses,hewouldstartfavourite,n’est-cepas?”
“Heiscertainlythemostlikelysuspect.”
“Youhaveatendency,Hastings,toprefertheleastlikely.That,nodoubt,isfromreadingtoomanydetectivestories.Inreallife,ninetimesoutoften,itisthemostlikelyandthemostobviouspersonwhocommitsthecrime.”
“Butyoudon’treallythinkthatissothistime?”
“Thereisonlyonethingthatisagainstit.Theboldnessofthecrime!Thathasstoodoutfromthefirst.Becauseofthat,asIsay,themotivecannotbeobvious.”
“Yes,thatiswhatyousaidatfirst.”
“AndthatiswhatIsayagain.”
Withasuddenbrusquegesturehecrumpledthesheetsofpaperandthrewthemonthefloor.
“No,”hesaid,asIutteredanexclamationofprotest.“Thatlisthasbeeninvain.Still,ithasclearedmymind.Orderandmethod!Thatisthefirststage.Toarrangethefactswithneatnessandprecision.Thenextstage—”
“Yes.”
“Thenextstageisthatofthepsychology.Thecorrectemploymentofthelittlegreycells!Iadviseyou,Hastings,togotobed.”
“No,”Isaid.“Notunlessyoudo.I’mnotgoingtoleaveyou.”
“Mostfaithfulofdogs!Butseeyou,Hastings,youcannotassistmetothink.ThatisallIamgoingtodo—think.”
Istillshookmyhead.
“Youmightwanttodiscusssomepointwithme.”
“Well—well—youarealoyalfriend.Takeatleast,Ibegofyou,theeasy-chair.”
ThatproposalIdidaccept.Presentlytheroombegantoswimanddip.ThelastthingIrememberwasseeingPoirotcarefullyretrievingthecrumpledsheetsofpaperfromthefloorandputtingthemawaytidilyinthewaste-paperbasket.
ThenImusthavefallenasleep.
Ten
NICK’SSECRET
ItwasdaylightwhenIawoke.
Poirotwasstillsittingwherehehadbeenthenightbefore.Hisattitudewasthesame,butinhisfacewasadifference.Hiseyeswereshiningwiththatqueercat-likegreenlightthatIknewsowell.
Istruggledtoanuprightposition,feelingverystiffanduncomfortable.Sleepinginachairisaproceedingnottoberecommendedatmytimeoflife.Yetonethingatleastresultedfromit—IawokenotinthatpleasantstateoflazysomnolencebutwithamindandbrainasactiveaswhenIfellasleep.
“Poirot,”Icried.“Youhavethoughtofsomething.”
Henodded.Heleanedforward,tappingthetableinfrontofhim.
“Tellme,Hastings,theanswertothesethreequestions.WhyhasMademoiselleNickbeensleepingbadlylately?Whydidshebuyablackeveningdress—sheneverwearsblack?Whydidshesaylastnight,‘Ihavenothingtolivefor—now?’”
Istared.Thequestionsseemedbesidethepoint.
“Answerthosequestions,Hastings,answerthem.”
“Well—astothefirst—shesaidshehadbeenworriedlately.”
“Precisely.Whathasshebeenworriedabout?”
“Andtheblackdress—well,everybodywantsachangesometimes.”
“Foramarriedman,youhaveverylittleappreciationoffemininepsychology.Ifawomanthinksshedoesnotlookwellinacolour,sherefusestowearit.”
“Andthelast—well,itwasanaturalthingtosayafterthatawfulshock.”
“No,monami,itwasnotanaturalthingtosay.Tobehorror-struckbyhercousin’sdeath,toreproachherselfforit—yes,allthatisnaturalenough.Buttheother,no.Shespokeoflifewithweariness—asofathingnolongerdeartoher.Neverbeforehadshedisplayedthatattitude.Shehadbeendefiant—yes—shehadsnappedthefingers,yes—andthen,whenthatbrokedown,shewasafraid.Afraid,markyou,becauselifewassweetandshedidnotwishtodie.Butwearyoflife—no!Thatnever!Evenbeforedinnerthatwasnotso.Wehavethere,Hastings,apsychologicalchange.Andthatisinteresting.Whatwasitcausedherpointofviewtochange?”
“Theshockofhercousin’sdeath.”
“Iwonder.Itwastheshockthatloosedhertongue.Butsupposethechangewasbeforethat.Isthereanythingelsecouldaccountforit?”
“Idon’tknowofanything.”
“Think,Hastings.Useyourlittlegreycells.”
“Really—”
“Whatwasthelastmomentwehadtheopportunityofobservingher?”
“Well,actually,Isuppose,atdinner.”
“Exactly.Afterthat,weonlysawherreceivingguests,makingthemwelcome—purelyaformalattitude.Whathappenedattheendofdinner,Hastings?”
“Shewenttotelephone,”Isaid,slowly.
“àlabonneheure.Youhavegotthereatlast.Shewenttotelephone.Andshewasabsentalongtime.Twentyminutesatleast.Thatisalongtimeforatelephonecall.Whospoketoheroverthetelephone?Whatdidtheysay?Didshereallytelephone?Wehavetofindout,Hastings,whathappenedinthattwentyminutes.Forthere,orsoIfullybelieve,weshallfindtheclueweseek.”
“Youreallythinkso?”
“Maisoui,maisoui!Allalong,Hastings,IhavetoldyouthatMademoisellehasbeenkeepingsomethingback.Shedoesn’tthinkithasanyconnectionwiththemurder—butI,HerculePoirot,knowbetter!Itmusthaveaconnection.For,allalong,Ihavebeenconsciousthatthereisafactorlacking.Iftherewerenotafactorlacking—whythen,thewholethingwouldbeplaintome!Andasitisnotplaintome—ehbien—thenthemissingfactoristhekeystoneofthemystery!IknowIamright,Hastings.
Imustknowtheanswertothosethreequestions.And,then—andthen—Ishallbegintosee
“Well,”Isaid,stretchingmystiffenedlimbs,“Ithinkabathandashaveareindicated.”
BythetimeIhadhadabathandchangedintodayclothingIfeltbetter.Thestiffnessandwearinessofanightpassedinuncomfortableconditionspassedoff.Iarrivedatthebreakfasttablefeelingthatonedrinkofhotcoffeewouldrestoremetomynormalself.
Iglancedatthepaper,buttherewaslittlenewsinitbeyondthefactthatMichaelSeton’sdeathwasnowdefinitelyconfirmed.Theintrepidairmanhadperished.Iwonderedwhether,tomorrow,newheadlineswouldhavesprungintobeing:“GIRLMURDEREDDURINGFIREWORKPARTY.MYSTERIOUSTRAGEDY.”Somethinglikethat.
IhadjustfinishedbreakfastwhenFredericaRicecameuptomytable.Shewaswearingaplainlittlefrockofblackmarocainwithalittlesoft-pleatedwhitecollar.Herfairnesswasmoreevidentthanever.
“IwanttoseeM.Poirot,CaptainHastings.Isheupyet,doyouknow?”
“Iwilltakeyouupwithmenow,”Isaid.“Weshallfindhiminthesittingroom.”
“Thankyou.”
“Ihope,”Isaid,asweleftthediningroomtogether,“thatyoudidn’tsleeptoobadly?”
“Itwasashock,”shesaid,inameditativevoice.“But,ofcourse,Ididn’tknowthepoorgirl.It’snotasthoughithadbeenNick.”
“Isupposeyou’dnevermetthisgirlbefore?”
“Once—atScarborough.ShecameovertolunchwithNick.”
“Itwillbeaterribleblowtoherfatherandmother,”Isaid.
“Dreadful.”
Butshesaiditveryimpersonally.Shewas,Ifancied,anegoist.Nothingwasveryrealtoherthatdidnotconcernherself.
Poirothadfinishedhisbreakfastandwassittingreadingthemorningpaper.HeroseandgreetedFredericawithallhiscustomaryGallicpoliteness.
“Madame,”hesaid.“Enchanté!”
Hedrewforwardachair.
Shethankedhimwithaveryfaintsmileandsatdown.Hertwohandsrestedonthearmsofthechair.Shesatthereveryupright,lookingstraightinfrontofher.Shedidnotrushintospeech.Therewassomethingalittlefrighteningaboutherstillnessandaloofness.
“M.Poirot,”shesaidatlast.“Isupposethereisnodoubtthatthis—sadbusinesslastnightwasallpartandparcelofthesamething?Imean—thattheintendedvictimwasreallyNick?”
“Ishouldsay,Madame,thattherewasnodoubtatall.”
Fredericafrownedalittle.
“Nickbearsacharmedlife,”shesaid
TherewassomecuriousundercurrentinhervoicethatIcouldnotunderstand.
“Luck,theysay,goesincycles,”remarkedPoirot.
“Perhaps.Itiscertainlyuselesstofightagainstit.”
Nowtherewasonlywearinessinhertone.Afteramomentortwo,shewenton.
“Imustbegyourpardon,M.Poirot.Nick’spardon,too.UptilllastnightIdidnotbelieve.Ineverdreamedthatthedangerwas—serious.”
“Isthatso,Madame?”
“Iseenowthateverythingwillhavetobegoneinto—carefully.AndIimaginethatNick’simmediatecircleoffriendswillnotbeimmunefromsuspicion.Ridiculous,ofcourse,butthereitis.AmIright,M.Poirot?”
“Youareveryintelligent,Madame.”
“YouaskedmesomequestionsaboutTavistocktheotherday,M.Poirot.Asyouwillfindoutsoonerorlater,Imightaswelltellyouthetruthnow.IwasnotatTavistock.”
“No,Madame?”
“ImotoreddowntothispartoftheworldwithMr.Lazarusearlylastweeek.Wedidnotwishtoarousemorecommentthannecessary.WestayedatalittleplacecalledShellacombe.”
“Thatis,Ithink,aboutsevenmilesfromhere,Madame?”
“Aboutthat—yes.”
Stillthatquietfarawayweariness.
“MayIbeimpertinent,Madame?”
“Istheresuchathing—inthesedays?”
“Perhapsyouareright,Madame.HowlonghaveyouandM.Lazarusbeenfriends?”
“Imethimsixmonthsago.”
“Andyou—careforhim,Madame?”
Fredericashruggedhershoulders.
“Heis—rich.”
“Oh!làlà,”criedPoirot.“Thatisanuglythingtosay.”
Sheseemedfaintlyamused.
“Isn’titbettertosayitmyself—thantohaveyousayitforme?”
“Well—thereisalwaysthat,ofcourse.MayIrepeat,Madame,thatyouareveryintelligent.”
“Youwillgivemeadiplomasoon,”saidFrederica,androse.
“Thereisnothingmoreyouwishtotellme,Madame?”
“Idonotthinkso—no.IamgoingtotakesomeflowersroundtoNickandseehowsheis.”
“Ah,thatisveryamiableofyou.Thankyou,Madame,foryourfrankness.”
Sheglancedathimsharply,seemedabouttospeak,thenthoughtbetterofitandwentoutoftheroom,smilingfaintlyatmeasIheldthedooropenforher
“Sheisintelligent,”saidPoirot.“Yes,butsoisHerculePoirot!”
“Whatdoyoumean?”
“ThatitisallverywellandveryprettytoforcetherichnessofM.Lazarusdownmythroat—”
“Imustsaythatratherdisgustedme.”
“Moncher,alwaysyouhavetherightreactioninthewrongplace.Itisnot,forthemoment,aquestionofgoodtasteorotherwise.IfMadameRicehasadevotedfriendwhoisrichandcangiveherallsheneeds—whythenobviouslyMadameRicewouldnotneedtomurderherdearestfriendforamerepittance.”
“Oh!”Isaid.
“Précisément!‘Oh!’”
“Whydidn’tyoustophergoingtothenursinghome?”
“WhyshouldIshowmyhand?IsitHerculePoirotwhopreventsMademoiselleNickfromseeingherfriends?Quelleidée!Itisthedoctorsandthenurses.Thosetiresomenurses!Sofullofrulesandregulationsand‘doctor’s’orders.’”
“You’renotafraidthattheymayletherinafterall?Nickmayinsist.”
“Nobodywillbeletin,mydearHastings,butyouandme.Andforthatmatter,thesoonerwemakeourwaythere,thebetter.”
ThesittingroomdoorflewopenandGeorgeChallengerbargedin.Histannedfacewasalivewithindignation.
“Lookhere,M.Poirot,”hesaid.“What’sthemeaningofthis?IrangupthatdamnednursinghomewhereNickis.AskedhowshewasandwhattimeIcouldcomeroundandseeher.Andtheysaythedoctorwon’tallowanyvisitors.Iwanttoknowthemeaningofthat.Toputitplainly,isthisyourwork?OrisNickreallyillfromshock?”
“Iassureyou,Monsieur,thatIdonotlaydownrulesfornursinghomes.Iwouldnotdare.Whynotringupthegooddoctor—whatwashisnamenow?—Ah,yes,Graham.”
“Ihave.Hesaysshe’sgoingonaswellascouldbeexpected—usualstuff.ButIknowallthetricks—myuncle’sadoctor.HarleyStreet.Nervespecialist.Psychoanalysis—alltherestofit.Puttingrelationsandfriendsoffwithsoothingwords.I’veheardaboutitall.Idon’tbelieveNickisn’tuptoseeinganyone.Ibelieveyou’reatthebottomofthis,M.Poirot.”
Poirotsmiledathiminaverykindlyfashion.Indeed,IhavealwaysobservedthatPoirothasakindlyfeelingforalover.
“Nowlistentome,monami,”hesaid.“Ifoneguestisadmitted,otherscannotbekeptout.Youcomprehend?Itmustbeallornone.WewantMademoiselle’ssafety,youandI,dowenot?Exactly.Then,youunderstand—itmustbenone.”
“Igetyou,”saidChallenger,slowly.“Butthen—”
“Chut!Wewillsaynomore.Wewillforgetevenwhatwehavesaid.Theprudence,theextremeprudence,iswhatisneededatpresent.”
“Icanholdmytongue,”saidthesailorquietly.
Heturnedawaytothedoor,pausingashewentouttosay:
“Noembargoonflowers,isthere?Solongastheyarenotwhiteones.”
Poirotsmiled.
“Andnow,”hesaid,asthedoorshutbehindtheimpetuousChallenger,“whilstM.ChallengerandMadameandperhapsM.Lazarusallencountereachotherintheflowershop,youandIwilldrivequietlytoourdestination.”
“Andaskfortheanswertothethreequestions?”Isaid.
“Yes.Wewillask.Though,asamatteroffact,Iknowtheanswer.”
“What?”Iexclaimed.
“Yes.”
“Butwhendidyoufindout?”
“WhilstIwaseatingmybreakfast,Hastings.Itstaredmeintheface.”
“Tellme.”
“No,IwillleaveyoutohearitfromMademoiselle.”
Then,asiftodistractmymind,hepushedanopenletteracrosstome.
ItwasareportbytheexpertPoirothadsenttoexaminethepictureofoldNicholasBuckley.Itstateddefinitelythatthepicturewasworthatmosttwentypounds.
“Sothatisonematterclearedup,”saidPoirot.
“Nomouseinthatmousehole,”Isaid,rememberingametaphorofPoirot’sononepastoccasion.
“Ah!yourememberthat?No,asyousay,nomouseinthatmousehole.TwentypoundsandM.Lazarusofferedfifty.Whatanerrorofjudgementforaseeminglyastuteyoungman.Butthere,there,wemuststartonourerrand.”
Thenursinghomewassethighonahilloverlookingthebay.Awhite-coatedorderlyreceivedus.Wewereputintoalittleroomdownstairsandpresentlyabrisk-lookingnursecametous.
OneglanceatPoirotseemedtobeenough.ShehadclearlyreceivedherinstructionsfromDr.Grahamtogetherwithaminutedescriptionofthelittledetective.Sheevenconcealedasmile.
“MissBuckleyhaspassedaveryfairnight,”shesaid.“Comeup,willyou?”
Inapleasantroomwiththesunstreamingintoit,wefoundNick.Inthenarrowironbed,shelookedlikeatiredchild.Herfacewaswhiteandhereyesweresuspiciouslyred,andsheseemedlistlessandweary.
“It’sgoodofyoutocome,”shesaidinaflatvoice.
Poirottookherhandinbothofhis.
“Courage,Mademoiselle.Thereisalwayssomethingtolivefor.”
Thewordsstartledher.Shelookedupinhisface.
“Oh!”shesaid.“Oh!”
“Willyounottellmenow,Mademoiselle,whatitwasthathasbeenworryingyoulately?OrshallIguess?AndmayIofferyou,Mademoiselle,myverydeepestsympathy.”
Herfaceflushed.
“Soyouknow.Oh,well,itdoesn’tmatterwhoknowsnow.Nowthatit’sallover.NowthatIshallneverseehimagain.”
Hervoicebroke.
“Courage,Mademoiselle.”
“Ihaven’tgotanycourageleft.I’veusedupeverybitintheselastweeks.Hopingandhopingand—justlately—hopingagainsthope.”
Istared.Icouldnotunderstandoneword.
“RegardthepoorHastings,”saidPoirot.“Hedoesnotknowwhatwearetalkingabout.”
Herunhappyeyesmetmine.
“MichaelSeton,theairman,”shesaid.“Iwasengagedtohim—andhe’sdead.”
Eleven
THEMOTIVE
Iwasdumbfounded.
IturnedonPoirot.
“Isthiswhatyoumeant?”
“Yes,monami.Thismorning—Iknew.”
“Howdidyouknow?Howdidyouguess?Yousaiditstaredyouinthefaceatbreakfast.”
“Soitdid,myfriend.Fromthefrontpageofthenewspaper.Irememberedtheconversationatdinnerlastnight—andIsaweverything.”
HeturnedtoNickagain.
“Youheardthenewslastnight?”
“Yes.Onthewireless.Imadeanexcuseaboutthetelephone.Iwantedtohearthenewsalone—incase…”Sheswallowedhard.“AndIheardit….”
“Iknow,Iknow.”Hetookherhandinbothofhis.
“Itwas—prettyghastly.Andallthepeoplearriving.Idon’tknowhowIgotthroughit.Itallfeltlikeadream.Icouldseemyselffromoutside—behavingjustasusual.Itwasqueersomehow.”
“Yes,yes,Iunderstand.”
“Andthen,whenIwenttofetchFreddie’swrap—Ibrokedownforaminute.Ipulledmyselftogetherquitequickly.ButMaggiekeptcallingupabouthercoat.Andthenatlastshetookmyshawlandwent,andIputonsomepowderandsomerougeandfollowedherout.Andthereshewas—dead….”
“Yes,yes,itmusthavebeenaterribleshock.”
“Youdon’tunderstand.Iwasangry!Iwishedithadbeenme!Iwantedtobedead—andthereIwas—aliveandperhapstoliveforyears!AndMichaeldead—drownedfarawayinthePacific.”
“Pauvreenfant.”
“Idon’twanttobealive.Idon’twanttolive,Itellyou!”shecried,rebelliously.
“Iknow—Iknow.Toallofus,Mademoiselle,therecomesatimewhendeathispreferabletolife.Butitpasses—sorrowpassesandgrief.Youcannotbelievethatnow,Iknow.Itisuselessforanoldmanlikemetotalk.Idlewords—thatiswhatyouthink—idlewords.”
“YouthinkI’llforget—andmarrysomeoneelse?Never!”
Shelookedratherlovelyasshesatupinbed,hertwohandsclenchedandhercheeksburning.
Poirotsaidgently:
“No,no.Iamnotthinkinganythingofthekind.Youareverylucky,Mademoiselle.Youhavebeenlovedbyabraveman—ahero.Howdidyoucometomeethim?”
“ItwasatLeTouquet—lastSeptember.Nearlyayearago.”
“Andyoubecameengaged—when?”
“JustafterChristmas.Butithadtobeasecret.”
“Whywasthat?”
“Michael’suncle—oldSirMatthewSeton.Helovedbirdsandhatedwomen.”
“Ah!cen’estpasraisonnable!”
“Well—Idon’tmeanquitethat.Hewasacompletecrank.Thoughtwomenruinedaman’slife.AndMichaelwasabsolutelydependentonhim.HewasfrightfullyproudofMichaelanditwashewhofinancedthebuildingoftheAlbatrossandtheexpensesoftheround-the-worldflight.ItwasthedearestdreamofhislifeaswellasofMichael’s.IfMichaelhadpulleditoff—well,thenhecouldhaveaskedhisuncleanything.AndevenifoldSirMatthewhadstillcutuprough,well,itwouldn’thavereallymattered.Michaelwouldhavebeenmade—akindofworldhero.Hisunclewouldhavecomeroundintheend.”
“Yes,yes,Isee.”
“ButMichaelsaiditwouldbefatalifanythingleakedout.Wemustkeepitadeadsecret.AndIdid.Inevertoldanyone—notevenFreddie.”
Poirotgroaned.
“Ifonlyyouhadtoldme,Mademoiselle.”
Nickstaredathim.
“Butwhatdifferencewouldithavemade?Itcouldn’thaveanythingtodowiththesemysteriousattacksonme?No,I’dpromisedMichael—andIkeptmyword.Butitwasawful—theanxiety,wonderingandgettinginastatethewholetime.Andeveryonesayingonewassonervy.Andbeingunabletoexplain.”
“Yes,Icomprehendallthat.”
“Hewasmissingoncebefore,youknow.CrossingthedesertonthewaytoIndia.Thatwasprettyawful,andthenafterall,itwasallright.Hismachinewasdamaged,butitwasputright,andhewenton.AndIkeptsayingtomyselfthatitwouldbethesamethistime.Everyonesaidhemustbedead—andIkepttellingmyselfthathemustbeallright,really.Andthen—lastnight…”
Hervoicetrailedaway.
“Youhadhopeduptillthen?”
“Idon’tknow.IthinkitwasmorethatIrefusedtobelieve.Itwasawfulneverbeingabletotalktoanyone.”
“Yes,Icanimaginethat.WereyounevertemptedtotellMadameRice,forinstance?”
“SometimesIwantedtofrightfully.”
“Youdonotthinkshe—guessed?”
“Idon’tthinkso.”Nickconsideredtheideacarefully.“Sheneversaidanything.Ofcoursesheusedtohintthingssometimes.Aboutourbeinggreatfriendsandallthat.”
“YouneverconsideredtellingherwhenM.Seton’suncledied?Youknowthathediedaboutaweekago?”
“Iknow.Hehadanoperationorsomething.IsupposeImighthavetoldanybodythen.Butitwouldn’thavebeenanicewayofdoingit,wouldit?Imean,itwouldhaveseemedratherboastful—todoitjustthen—whenallthepaperswerefullofMichael.Andreporterswouldhavecomeandinterviewedme.Itwouldallhavebeenrathercheap.AndMichaelwouldhavehatedit.”
“Iagreewithyou,Mademoiselle.Youcouldnothaveannounceditpublicly.Ionlymeantthatyoucouldhavespokenofitprivatelytoafriend.”
“Ididsortofhinttooneperson,”saidNick.“I—thoughtitwasonlyfair.ButIdon’tknowhowmuchhe—thepersontookin.”
Poirotnodded.
“AreyouongoodtermswithyourcousinM.Vyse?”heasked,witharatherabruptchangeofsubject.
“Charles?Whatputhimintoyourhead?”
“Iwasjustwondering—thatwasall.”
“Charlesmeanswell,”saidNick.“He’safrightfulstick,ofcourse.Nevermovesoutofthisplace.Hedisapprovesofme,Ithink.”
“Oh!Mademoiselle,Mademoiselle.AndIhearthathehaslaidallhisdevotionatyourfeet!”
“Disapprovingofapersondoesn’tkeepyoufromhavingapashforthem.Charlesthinksmymodeoflifeisreprehensibleandhedisapprovesofmycocktails,mycomplexion,myfriendsandmyconversation.Buthestillfeelsmyfatalfascination.Healwayshopestoreformme,Ithink.”
Shepausedandthensaid,withaghostofatwinkle:
“Whohaveyoubeenpumpingtogetthelocalinformation?”
“Youmustnotgivemeaway,Mademoiselle.IhadalittleconversationwiththeAustralianlady,MadameCroft.”
“She’sratheranolddear—whenonehastimeforher.Terriblysentimental.Loveandhomeandchildren—youknowthesortofthing.”
“Iamold-fashionedandsentimentalmyself,Mademoiselle.”
“Areyou?IshouldhavesaidthatCaptainHastingswasthesentimentaloneofyoutwo.”
Iblushedindignantly.
“Heisfurious,”saidPoirot,eyingmydiscomfiturewithagooddealofpleasure.“Butyouareright,Mademoiselle.Yes,youareright.”
“Notatall,”Isaid,angrily.
“Hastingshasasingularlybeautifulnature.Ithasbeenthegreatesthindrancetomeattimes.”
“Don’tbeabsurd,Poirot.”
“Heis,tobeginwith,reluctanttoseeevilanywhere,andwhenhedoesseeithisrighteousindignationissogreatthatheisincapableofdissembling.Altogetherarareandbeautifulnature.No,monami,Iwillnotpermityoutocontradictme.ItisasIsay.”
“You’vebothbeenverykindtome,”saidNick,gently.
“Là,là,Mademoiselle.Thatisnothing.Wehavemuchmoretodo.Tobeginwith,youwillremainhere.Youwillobeyorders.YouwilldowhatItellyou.AtthisjunctureImustnotbehampered.”
Nicksighedwearily.
“I’lldoanythingyoulike.Idon’tcarewhatIdo.”
“Youwillseenofriendsforthepresent.”
“Idon’tcare.Idon’twanttoseeanyone.”
“Foryouthepassivepart—forustheactiveone.Now,Mademoiselle,Iamgoingtoleaveyou.Iwillnotintrudelongeruponyoursorrow.”
Hemovedtowardsthedoor,pausingwithhishandonthehandletosayoverhisshoulder:
“Bytheway,youoncementionedawillyoumade.Whereisit,thiswill?”
“Oh!it’sknockingroundsomewhere.”
“AtEndHouse?”
“Yes.”
“Inasafe?Lockedupinyourdesk?”
“Well,Ireallydon’tknow.It’ssomewhereabout.”Shefrowned.“I’mfrightfullyuntidy,youknow.Papersandthingslikethatwouldbemostlyinthewritingtableinthelibrary.That’swheremostofthebillsare.Thewillisprobablywiththem.Oritmightbeinmybedroom.”
“Youpermitmetomakethesearch—yes?”
“Ifyouwantto—yes.Lookatanythingyoulike.”
“Merci,Mademoiselle.Iwillavailmyselfofyourpermission.”
Twelve
ELLEN
Poirotsaidnowordtillwehademergedfromthenursinghomeintotheouterair.Thenhecaughtmebythearm.
“Yousee,Hastings?Yousee?Ah!Sacrétonnerre!Iwasright!Iwasright!AlwaysIknewtherewassomethinglacking—somepieceofthepuzzlethatwasnotthere.Andwithoutthatmissingpiecethewholethingwasmeaningless.”
HisalmostdespairingtriumphwasdoubleDutchtome.Icouldnotseethatanythingveryepoch-makinghadoccurred.
“Itwasthereallthetime.AndIcouldnotseeit.ButhowshouldI?Toknowthereissomething—that,yes—buttoknowwhatthatsomethingis.Ah!?ac’estbienplusdifficile.”
“Doyoumeanthatthishassomedirectbearingonthecrime?”
“Mafoi,doyounotsee?”
“Asamatteroffact,Idon’t.”
“Isitpossible?Why,itgivesuswhatwehavebeenlookingfor—themotive—thehiddenobscuremotive!”
“Imaybeverydense,butIcan’tseeit.Doyoumeanjealousyofsomekind?”
“Jealousy?No,no,myfriend.Theusualmotive—theinevitablemotive.Money,myfriend,money!”
“Istared.Hewenton,speakingmorecalmly.
“Listen,monami.JustoveraweekagoSirMatthewSetondies.AndSirMatthewSetonwasamillionaire—oneoftherichestmeninEngland.”
“Yes,but—”
“Attendez.Onestepatatime.Hehasanephewwhomheidolizesandtowhom,wemaysafelyassume,hehaslefthisvastfortune.”
“But—”
“Maisoui—legacies,yes,anendowmenttodowithhishobby,yes,butthebulkofthemoneywouldgotoMichaelSeton.LastTuesday,MichaelSetonisreportedmissing—andonWednesdaytheattacksonMademoiselle’slifebegin.Supposing,Hastings,thatMichaelSetonmadeawillbeforehestartedonhisflight,andthatinthatwillheleftallhehadtohisfiancée.”
“That’spuresupposition.”
“Itissupposition—yes.Butitmustbeso.Because,ifitisnotso,thereisnomeaninginanythingthathashappened.Itisnopaltryinheritancethatisatstake.Itisanenormousfortune.”
Iwassilentforsomeminutes,turningthematteroverinmymind.ItseemedtomethatPoirotwasleapingtoconclusionsinamostrecklessmanner,andyetIwassecretlyconvincedthathewasright.Itwashisextraordinaryflairforbeingrightthatinfluencedme.Yetitseemedtomethattherewasagooddealtobeprovedstill.
“Butifnobodyknewoftheengagement,”Iargued.
“Pah!Somebodydidknow.Forthematterofthat,somebodyalwaysdoesknow.Iftheydonotknow,theyguess.MadameRicesuspected.MademoiselleNickadmittedasmuch.Shemayhavehadmeansofturningthosesuspicionsintocertainties.”
“How?”
“Well,foronething,theremusthavebeenlettersfromMichaelSetontoMademoiselleNick.Theyhadbeenengagedsometime.Andherbestfriendcouldnotcallthatyoungladyanythingbutcareless.Sheleavesthingshereandthere,andeverywhere.Idoubtifshehaseverlockedupanythinginherlife.Oh,yes,therewouldbemeansofmakingsure.”
“AndFredericaRicewouldknowaboutthewillthatherfriendhadmade?”
“Doubtless.Oh,yes,itnarrowsdownnow.Youremembermylist—alistofpersonsnumberedfromA.toJ.Ithasnarroweddowntoonlytwopersons.Idismisstheservants.IdismisstheCommanderChallenger—eventhoughhedidtakeonehourandahalftoreachherefromPlymouth—andthedistanceisonlythirtymiles.Idismissthelong-nosedM.Lazaruswhoofferedfiftypoundsforapicturethatwasonlyworthtwenty(itisodd,that,whenyoucometothinkofit.Mostuncharacteristicofhisrace).IdismisstheAustralians—soheartyandsopleasant.Ikeeptwopeopleonmyliststill.”
“OneisFredericaRice,”Isaidslowly.
Ihadavisionofherface,thegoldenhair,thewhitefragilityofthefeatures.
“Yes.Sheisindicatedveryclearly.HowevercarelesslywordedMademoiselle’swillmayhavebeen,shewouldbeplainlyindicatedasresiduarylegatee.ApartfromEndHouse,everythingwastogotoher.IfMademoiselleNickinsteadofMademoiselleMaggiehadbeenshotlastnight,MadameRicewouldbearichwomantoday.”
“Icanhardlybelieveit!”
“Youmeanthatyoucanhardlybelievethatabeautifulwomancanbeamurderess?Oneoftenhasalittledifficultywithmembersofajuryonthataccount.Butyoumayberight.Thereisstillanothersuspect.”
“Who?”
“CharlesVyse.”
“Butheonlyinheritsthehouse.”
“Yes—buthemaynotknowthat.DidhemakeMademoiselle’swillforher?Ithinknot.Ifso,itwouldbeinhiskeeping,not‘knockingaroundsomewhere,’orwhateverthephrasewasthatMademoiselleused.So,yousee,Hastings,itisquiteprobablethatheknowsnothingaboutthatwill.Hemaybelievethatshehasnevermadeawillandthat,inthatcase,hewillinheritasnextofkin.”
“Youknow,”Isaid,“thatreallyseemstomemuchmoreprobable.”
“Thatisyourromanticmind,Hastings.Thewickedsolicitor.Afamiliarfigureinfiction.Ifaswellasbeingasolicitorhehasanimpassiveface,itmakesthematteralmostcertain.Itistruethat,insomeways,heismoreinthepicturethanMadame.Hewouldbemorelikelytoknowaboutthepistolandmorelikelytouseone.”
“Andtosendthebouldercrashingdown.”
“Perhaps.Though,asIhavetoldyou,muchcanbedonebyleverage.Andthefactthattheboulderwasdislodgedatthewrongminute,andconsequentlymissedMademoiselle,ismoresuggestiveoffeminineagency.Theideaoftamperingwiththeinteriorofacarseemsmasculineinconception—thoughmanywomenareasgoodmechanicsasmennowadays.Ontheotherhand,thereareoneortwogapsinthetheoryagainstM.Vyse.”
“Suchas—?”
“HeislesslikelytohaveknownoftheengagementthanMadame.Andthereisanotherpoint.Hisactionwasratherprecipitate.”
“Whatdoyoumean?”
“Well,untillastnighttherewasnocertitudethatSetonwasdead.Toactrashly,withoutdueassurance,seemsveryuncharacteristicofthelegalmind.”
“Yes,”Isaid.“Awomanwouldjumptoconclusions.”
“Exactly.Cequefemmeveut,Dieuveut.Thatistheattitude.”
“It’sreallyamazingthewayNickhasescaped.Itseemsalmostincredible.”
AndsuddenlyIrememberedthetoneinFrederica’svoiceasshehadsaid:“Nickbearsacharmedlife.”
Ishiveredalittle.
“Yes,”saidPoirot,thoughtfully.“AndIcantakenocredittomyself.Whichishumiliating.”
“Providence,”Imurmured.
“Ah!monami,IwouldnotputontheshouldersofthegoodGodtheburdenofmen’swrongdoing.YousaythatinyourSundaymorningvoiceofthankfulness—withoutreflectingthatwhatyouarereallysayingisthatlebonDieuhaskilledMissMaggieBuckley.”
“Really,Poirot!”
“Really,myfriend!ButIwillnotsitbackandsay‘lebonDieuhasarrangedeverything,Iwillnotinterfere.’BecauseIamconvincedthatlebonDieucreatedHerculePoirotfortheexpresspurposeofinterfering.Itismymétier.”
Wehadbeenslowlyascendingthezigzagpathupthecliff.ItwasatthisjuncturethatwepassedthroughthelittlegateintothegroundsofEndHouse.
“Pouf!”saidPoirot.“Thatascentisasteepone.Iamhot.Mymoustachesarelimp.Yes,asIwassayingjustnow,Iamonthesideoftheinnocent.IamonthesideofMademoiselleNickbecauseshewasattacked.IamonthesideofMademoiselleMaggiebecauseshehasbeenkilled.”
“AndyouareagainstFredericaRiceandCharlesVyse.”
“No,no,Hastings.Ikeepanopenmind.Isayonlythatatthemomentoneofthosetwoisindicated.Chut!”
Wehadcomeoutonthestripoflawnbythehouse,andamanwasdrivingamowingmachine.Hehadalong,stupidfaceandlacklustreeyes.Besidehimwasasmallboyofaboutten,uglybutintelligent-looking.
Itcrossedmymindthatwehadnotheardthemowingmachineinaction,butIpresumedthatthegardenerwasnotoverworkinghimself.Hehadprobablybeenrestingfromhislabours,andhadsprungintoactiononhearingourvoicesapproaching.
“Goodmorning,”saidPoirot.
“Goodmorning,sir.”
“Youarethegardener,Isuppose.ThehusbandofMadamewhoworksinthehouse.”
“He’smyDad,”saidthesmallboy.
“That’sright,sir,”saidtheman.“You’llbetheforeigngentleman,Itakeit,that’sreallyadetective.Isthereanynewsoftheyoungmistress,sir?”
“Icomefromseeingherattheimmediatemoment.Shehaspassedasatisfactorynight.”
“We’vehadpolicemenhere,”saidthesmallboy.“That’swheretheladywaskilled.Herebythesteps.Iseenapigkilledonce,haven’tI,Dad?”
“Ah!”saidhisfather,unemotionally.
“Dadusedtokillpigswhenheworkedonafarm.Didn’tyou,Dad?Iseenapigkilled.Ilikedit.”
“Young’unsliketoseepigskilled,”saidtheman,asthoughstatingoneoftheunalterablefactsofnature.
“Shotwithapistol,theladywas,”continuedtheboy.“Shedidn’thaveherthroatcut.No!”
Wepassedontothehouse,andIfeltthankfultogetawayfromtheghoulishchild.
Poirotenteredthedrawingroom,thewindowsofwhichwereopen,andrangthebell.Ellen,neatlyattiredinblack,cameinanswertothebell.Sheshowednosurpriseatseeingus.
PoirotexplainedthatwewereherebypermissionofMissBuckleytomakeasearchofthehouse.
“Verygoodsir.”
“Thepolicehavefinished?”
“Theysaidtheyhadseeneverythingtheywanted,sir.They’vebeenaboutthegardensinceveryearlyinthemorning.Idon’tknowwhetherthey’vefoundanything.”
ShewasabouttoleavetheroomwhenPoirotstoppedherwithaquestion.
“WereyouverysurprisedlastnightwhenyouheardMissBuckleyhadbeenshot?”
“Yes,sir,verysurprised.MissMaggiewasaniceyounglady,sir.Ican’timagineanyonebeingsowickedastowanttoharmher.”
“Ifithadbeenanyoneelse,youwouldnothavebeensosurprised—eh?”
“Idon’tknowwhatyoumean,sir?”
“WhenIcameintothehalllastnight,”hesaid,“youaskedatoncewhetheranyonehadbeenhurt.Wereyouexpectinganythingofthekind?”
Shewassilent.Herfingerspleatedacornerofherapron.Sheshookherheadandmurmured:
“Yougentlemenwouldn’tunderstand.”
“Yes,yes,”saidPoirot,“Iwouldunderstand.Howeverfantasticwhatyoumaysay,Iwouldunderstand.”
Shelookedathimdoubtfully,thenseemedtomakeuphermindtotrusthim.
“Yousee,sir,”shesaid,“thisisn’tagoodhouse.”
Iwassurprisedandalittlecontemptuous.Poirot,however,seemedtofindtheremarknotintheleastunusual.
“Youmeanitisanoldhouse.”
“Yes,sir,notagoodhouse.”
“Youhavebeenherelong?”
“Sixyears,sir.ButIwashereasagirl.Inthekitchenaskitchen-maid.ThatwasinthetimeofoldSirNicholas.Itwasthesamethen.”
Poirotlookedatherattentively.
Inanoldhouse,”shesaid,“thereissometimesanatmosphereofevil.”
“That’sit,sir,”saidEllen,eagerly.“Evil.Badthoughtsandbaddeedstoo.It’slikedryrotinahouse,sir,youcan’tgetitout.It’sasortoffeelingintheair.Ialwaysknewsomethingbadwouldhappeninthishouse,someday.”
“Well,youhavebeenprovedright.”
“Yes,sir.”
Therewasaveryslightunderlyingsatisfactioninhertone,thesatisfactionofonewhosegloomyprognosticationshavebeenshowntobecorrect.
“Butyoudidn’tthinkitwouldbeMissMaggie.”
“No,indeed,Ididn’t,sir.Nobodyhatedher—I’msureofit.”
Itseemedtomethatinthosewordswasaclue.IexpectedPoirottofollowitup,buttomysurpriseheshiftedtoquiteadifferentsubject.
“Youdidn’theartheshotsfired?”
“Icouldn’thavetoldwiththefireworksgoingon.Verynoisytheywere.”
“Youweren’toutwatchingthem?”
“No,Ihadn’tfinishedclearingupdinner.”
“Wasthewaiterhelpingyou?”
“No,sir,he’dgoneoutintothegardentohavealookatthefireworks.”
“Butyoudidn’tgo.”
“No,sir.”
“Whywasthat?”
“Iwantedtogetfinished.”
“Youdon’tcareforfireworks?”
“Oh,yes,sir,itwasn’tthat.Butyousee,there’stwonightsofthem,andWilliamandIgettheeveningofftomorrowandgodownintothetownandseethemfromthere.”
“Icomprehend.AndyouheardMademoiselleMaggieaskingforhercoatandunabletofindit?”
“IheardMissNickrunupstairs,sir,andMissBuckleycallupfromthefronthallsayingshecouldn’tfindsomethingandIheardhersay,‘Allright—I’lltaketheshawl—’”
“Pardon,”Poirotinterrupted.“Youdidnotendeavourtosearchforthecoatforher—orgetitfromthecarwhereithadbeenleft?”
“Ihadmyworktodo,sir.”
“Quiteso—anddoubtlessneitherofthetwoyoungladiesaskedyoubecausetheythoughtyouwereoutlookingatthefireworks?”
“Yes,sir.”
“Sothat,otheryears,youhavebeenoutlookingatthefireworks?”
Asuddenflushcameintoherpalecheeks.
“Idon’tknowwhatyoumean,sir.We’realwaysallowedtogooutintothegarden.IfIdidn’tfeellikeitthisyear,andwouldrathergetonwithmyworkandgotobed,well,that’smybusiness,Iimagine.”
“Maisoui.Maisoui.Ididnotintendtooffendyou.Whyshouldyounotdoasyouprefer.Tomakeachange,itispleasant.”
Hepausedandthenadded:
“NowanotherlittlematterinwhichIwonderwhetheryoucanhelpme.Thisisanoldhouse.Arethere,doyouknow,anysecretchambersinit?”
“Well—there’sakindofslidingpanel—inthisveryroom.Irememberbeingshownitasagirl.OnlyIcan’trememberjustnowwhereitis.Orwasitinthelibrary?Ican’tsay,I’msure.”
“Bigenoughforapersontohidein?”
“Oh,noindeed,sir!Alittlecupboardplace—akindofniche.Aboutafootsquare,sir,notmorethanthat.”
“Oh!thatisnotwhatImeanatall.”
Theblushrosetoherfaceagain.
“IfyouthinkIwashidinganywhere—Iwasn’t!IheardMissNickrundownthestairsandoutandIheardhercryout—andIcameintothehalltoseeif—ifanythingwasthematter.Andthat’sthegospeltruth,sir.That’sthegospeltruth.”
Thirteen
LETTERS
HavingsuccessfullygotridofEllen,Poirotturnedasomewhatthoughtfulfacetowardsme.
“Iwondernow—didshehearthoseshots?Ithinkshedid.Sheheardthem,sheopenedthekitchendoor.SheheardNickrushdownthestairsandout,andsheherselfcameintothehalltofindoutwhathadhappened.Thatisnaturalenough.Butwhydidshenotgooutandwatchthefireworksthatevening?ThatiswhatIshouldliketoknow,Hastings.”
“Whatwasyourideainaskingaboutasecrethidingplace?”
“Amerefancifulideathat,afterall,wemightnothavedisposedofJ.”
“J?”
“Yes.Thelastpersononmylist.Theproblematicaloutsider.SupposingforsomereasonconnectedwithEllen,thatJ.hadcometothehouselastnight.He(Iassumeahe)concealshimselfinasecretchamberinthisroom.AgirlpassesthroughwhomhetakestobeNick.Hefollowsherout—andshootsher.Non—c’estidiot!Andanyway,weknowthatthereisnohidingplace.Ellen’sdecisiontoremaininthekitchenlastnightwasapurehazard.Come,letussearchforthewillofMademoiselleNick.”
Therewerenopapersinthedrawingroom.Weadjournedtothelibrary,aratherdarkroomlookingoutonthedrive.Heretherewasalargeold-fashionedwalnutbureauwritingtable.
Ittookussometimetogothroughit.Everythingwasincompleteconfusion.Billsandreceiptsweremixeduptogether.Lettersofinvitation,letterspressingforpaymentofaccounts,lettersfromfriends.
“Wewillarrangethesepapers,”saidPoirot,sternly,“withorderandmethod.”
Hewasasgoodashisword.Halfanhourlater,hesatbackwithapleasedexpressiononhisface.Everythingwasneatlysorted,docketedandfiled.
“C’estbien,?a.Onethingisatleasttothegood.Wehavehadtogothrougheverythingsothoroughlythatthereisnopossibilityofourhavingmissedanything.”
“No,indeed.Notthatthere’sbeenmuchtofind.”
“Exceptpossiblythis.”
Hetossedacrossaletter.Itwaswritteninlargesprawlinghandwriting,almostindecipherable.
“Darling,—Partywastootoomarvellous.Feelratherawormtoday.Youwerewisenottotouchthatstuff—don’teverstart,darling.It’stoodamnedhardtogiveup.I’mwritingtheboyfriendtohurryupthesupply.WhatHelllifeis!“Yours,“Freddie.”
“DatedlastFebruary,”saidPoirotthoughtfully.“Shetakesdrugs,ofcourse,IknewthatassoonasIlookedather.”
“Really?Ineversuspectedsuchathing.”
“Itisfairlyobvious.Youhaveonlytolookathereyes.Andthenthereareherextraordinaryvariationsofmood.Sometimessheisallonedge,strungup—sometimessheislifeless—inert.”
“Drugtakingaffectsthemoralsense,doesitnot?”
“Inevitably.ButIdonotthinkMadameRiceisarealaddict.Sheisatthebeginning—nottheend.”
“AndNick?”
“Therearenosignsofit.Shemayhaveattendedadopepartynowandthenforfun,butsheisnotakerofdrugs.”
“I’mgladofthat.”
IrememberedsuddenlywhatNickhadsaidaboutFrederica:thatshewasnotalwaysherself.Poirotnoddedandtappedtheletterheheld.
“Thisiswhatshewasreferringto,undoubtedly.Well,wehavedrawntheblank,asyousay,here.LetusgouptoMademoiselle’sroom.”
TherewasadeskinNick’sroomalso,butcomparativelylittlewaskeptinit.Hereagain,therewasnosignofawill.Wefoundtheregistrationbookofhercarandaperfectlygooddividendwarrantofamonthback.Otherwisetherewasnothingofimportance.
Poirotsighedinanexasperatedfashion
“Theyounggirls—theyarenotproperlytrainednowadays.Theorder,themethod,itisleftoutoftheirbringingup.Sheischarming,MademoiselleNick,butsheisafeatherhead.Decidedly,sheisafeatherhead.”
Hewasnowgoingthroughthecontentsofachestofdrawers.
“Surely,Poirot,”Isaid,withsomeembarrassment,“thoseareunderclothes.”
Hepausedinsurprise.
“Andwhynot,myfriend?”
“Don’tyouthink—Imean—wecanhardly—”
Hebrokeintoaroaroflaughter.
“Decidedly,mypoorHastings,youbelongtotheVictorianera.MademoiselleNickwouldtellyousoifshewerehere.Inallprobabilityshewouldsaythatyouhadthemindlikethesink!Youngladiesarenotashamedoftheirunderclothesnowadays.Thecamisole,thecamiknicker,itisnolongerashamefulsecret.Everyday,onthebeach,allthesegarmentswillbediscardedwithinafewfeetofyou.Andwhynot?”
“Idon’tseeanyneedforwhatyouaredoing.”
“écoutez,myfriend.Clearly,shedoesnotlockuphertreasures,MademoiselleNick.Ifshewishedtohideanythingfromsight—wherewouldshehideit?Underneaththestockingsandthepetticoats.Ah!whathavewehere?”
Heheldupapacketofletterstiedwithafadedpinkribbon.
“ThelovelettersofM.MichaelSeton,ifImistakenot.”
Quitecalmlyheuntiedtheribbonandbegantoopenouttheletters.
“Poirot,”Icried,scandalized.“Youreallycan’tdothat.Itisn’tplayingthegame.”
“Iamnotplayingagame,monami.”Hisvoicerangoutsuddenlyharshandstern.“Iamhuntingdownamurderer.”
“Yes,butprivateletters—”
“Mayhavenothingtotellme—ontheotherhand,theymay.Imusttakeeverychance,myfriend.Come,youmightaswellreadthemwithme.Twopairsofeyesarenoworsethanonepair.ConsoleyourselfwiththethoughtthatthestaunchEllenprobablyknowsthembyheart.”
Ididnotlikeit.StillIrealizedthatinPoirot’spositionhecouldnotaffordtobesqueamish,andIconsoledmyselfbythequibblethatNick’slastwordhadbeen,“Lookatanythingyoulike.”
Thelettersspreadoverseveraldates,beginninglastwinter.
NewYear’sDay.
“Darling,—TheNewYearisinandI’mmakinggoodresolutions.Itseemstoowonderfultobetrue—thatyoushouldactuallyloveme.You’vemadeallthedifferencetomylife.Ibelievewebothknew—fromtheveryfirstmomentwemet.HappyNewYear,mylovelygirl.“Yoursforever,“Michael.”
February8th.
“DearestLove,—HowIwishIcouldseeyoumoreoften.Thisisprettyrotten,isn’tit?Ihateallthisbeastlyconcealment,butIexplainedtoyouhowthingsare.Iknowhowmuchyouhateliesandconcealment.Idotoo.Buthonestly,itmightupsetthewholeapplecart.UncleMatthewhasgotanabsolutebeeinhisbonnetaboutearlymarriagesandthewaytheywreckaman’scareer.Asthoughyoucouldwreckmine,youdearangel!“Cheerup,darling.Everythingwillcomeright.“Yours,“Michael.”
March2nd.
“Ioughtn’ttowritetoyoutwodaysrunning,Iknow.ButImust.WhenIwasupyesterdayIthoughtofyou.IflewoverScarborough.Blessed,blessed,blessedScarborough—themostwonderfulplaceintheworld.Darling,youdon’tknowhowIloveyou!“Yours,“Michael.”
April18th.
“Dearest,—Thewholethingisfixedup.Definitely.IfIpullthisoff(andIshallpullitoff)IshallbeabletotakeafirmlinewithUncleMatthew—andifhedoesn’tlikeit—well,whatdoIcare?It’sadorableofyoutobesointerestedinmylongtechnicaldescriptionsoftheAlbatross.HowIlongtotakeyouupinher.Someday!Don’t,forgoodness’sake,worryaboutme.Thethingisn’thalfsoriskyasitsounds.Isimplycouldn’tgetkillednowthatIknowyoucareforme.Everythingwillbeallright,sweetheart.TrustyourMichael.”
April20th.
“YouAngel,—EverywordyousayistrueandIshalltreasurethatletteralways.I’mnothalfgoodenoughforyou.Youaresodifferentfromeverybodyelse.Iadoreyou.“Your“Michael.”
Thelastwasundated.
“Dearest,—Well—I’mofftomorrow.Feelingtremendouslykeenandexcitedandabsolutelycertainofsuccess.TheoldAlbatrossisalltunedup.Shewon’tletmedown.“Cheerup,sweetheart,anddon’tworry.There’sarisk,ofcourse,butalllife’sariskreally.Bytheway,somebodysaidIoughttomakeawill(tactfulfellow—buthemeantwell),soIhave—onahalfsheetofnotepaper—andsentittooldWhitfield.I’dnotimetogoroundthere.Somebodyoncetoldmethatamanmadeawillofthreewords,‘AlltoMother,’anditwaslegalallright.Mywillwasratherlikethat—IrememberedyournamewasreallyMagdala,whichwascleverofme!Acoupleofthefellowswitnessedit.“Don’ttakeallthissolemntalkaboutwillstoheart,willyou?(Ididn’tmeanthatpun.Anaccident.)Ishallbeasrightasrain.I’llsendyoutelegramsfromIndiaandAustraliaandsoon.Andkeepupheart.It’sgoingtobeallright.See?“GoodnightandGodblessyou,“Michael.”
Poirotfoldedtheletterstogetheragain.
“Yousee,Hastings?Ihadtoreadthem—tomakesure.ItisasItoldyou.”
“Surelyyoucouldhavefoundoutsomeotherway?”
“No,moncher,thatisjustwhatIcouldnotdo.Ithadtobethisway.Wehavenowsomeveryvaluableevidence.”
“Inwhatway?”
“WenowknowthatthefactofMichael’shavingmadeawillinfavourofMademoiselleNickisactuallyrecordedinwriting.Anyonewhohadreadthoseletterswouldknowthefact.Andwithletterscarelesslyhiddenlikethat,anyonecouldreadthem.”
“Ellen?”
“Ellen,almostcertainly,Ishouldsay.Wewilltryalittleexperimentonherbeforepassingout.”
“Thereisnosignofthewill.”
“No,thatiscurious.Butinallprobabilityitisthrownontopofabookcase,orinsideachinajar.WemusttrytoawakenMademoiselle’smemoryonthatpoint.Atanyrate,thereisnothingmoretobefoundhere.”
Ellenwasdustingthehallaswedescended.
Poirotwishedhergoodmorningverypleasantlyaswepassed.Heturnedbackfromthefrontdoortosay:
“Youknew,Isuppose,thatMissBuckleywasengagedtotheairman,MichaelSeton?”
Shestared.
“What?Theonethere’sallthefussinthepapersabout?”
“Yes.”
“Well,Inever.Tothinkofthat.EngagedtoMissNick.”
“Completeandabsolutesurpriseregisteredveryconvincingly,”Iremarked,aswegotoutside.
“Yes.Itreallyseemedgenuine.”
“Perhapsitwas,”Isuggested.
“Andthatpacketoflettersrecliningformonthsunderthelingerie?No,monami.”
“Allverywell,”Ithoughttomyself.“ButwearenotallHerculePoirots.Wedonotallgonosingintowhatdoesnotconcernus.”
ButIsaidnothing.
“ThisEllen—sheisanenigma,”saidPoirot.“Idonotlikeit.ThereissomethingherethatIdonotunderstand.”
Fourteen
THEMYSTERYOFTHEMISSINGWILL
Wewentstraightbacktothenursinghome.
Nicklookedrathersurprisedtoseeus.
“Yes,Mademoiselle,”saidPoirot,answeringherlook.“IamliketheJackintheCase.Ipopupagain.TobeginwithIwilltellyouthatIhaveputtheorderinyouraffairs.Everythingisnowneatlyarranged.”
“Well,Iexpectitwasabouttime,”saidNick,unabletohelpsmiling.“Areyouverytidy,M.Poirot?”
“AskmyfriendHastingshere.”
Thegirlturnedaninquiringgazeonme
IdetailedsomeofPoirot’sminorpeculiarities—toastthathadtobemadefromasquareloaf—eggsmatchinginsize—hisobjectiontogolfasagame“shapelessandhaphazard,”whoseonlyredeemingfeaturewastheteeboxes!IendedbytellingherthefamouscasewhichPoirothadsolvedbyhishabitofstraightentingornamentsonthemantelpiece.
Poirotsatbysmiling.
“Hemakesthegoodtaleofit,yes,”hesaid,whenIhadfinished.“Butonthewholeitistrue.Figuretoyourself,Mademoiselle,thatIneverceasetryingtopersuadeHastingstoparthishairinthemiddleinsteadofontheside.Seewhatanair,lopsidedandunsymmetrical,itgiveshim.”
“Thenyoumustdisapproveofme,M.Poirot,”saidNick.“Iwearasideparting.AndyoumustapproveofFreddiewhopartsherhairinthemiddle.”
“Hewascertainlyadmiringhertheotherevening,”Iputinmaliciously.“NowIknowthereason.”
“C’estassez,”saidPoirot.“Iamhereonseriousbusiness.Mademoiselle,thiswillofyours,Ifinditnot.”
“Oh!”Shewrinkledherbrows.“Butdoesitmattersomuch?Afterall,I’mnotdead.Andwillsaren’treallyimportanttillyouaredead,arethey?”
“Thatiscorrect.Allthesame,Iinterestmyselfinthiswillofyours.Ihavevariouslittleideasconcerningit.ThinkMademoiselle.Trytorememberwhereyouplacedit—whereyousawitlast?”
“Idon’tsupposeIputitanywhereparticular,”saidNick.“Ineverdoputthingsinplaces.Iprobablyshoveditintoadrawer.”
“Youdidnotputitinthesecretpanelbyanychance?”
“Thesecretwhat?”
“Yourmaid,Ellen,saysthatthereisasecretpanelinthedrawingroomorthelibrary.”
“Nonsense,”saidNick.“I’veneverheardofsuchathing.Ellensaidso?”
“Maisoui.ItseemsshewasinserviceatEndHouseasayounggirl.Thecookshowedittoher.”
“It’sthefirstI’veeverheardofit.IsupposeGrandfathermusthaveknownaboutit,but,ifso,hedidn’ttellme.AndI’msurehewouldhavetoldme.M.Poirot,areyousureEllenisn’tmakingitallup?”
“No,Mademoiselle,Iamnotatallsure!Ilmesemblethatthereissomething—oddaboutthisEllenofyours.”
“Oh!Iwouldn’tcallherodd.William’sahalf-wit,andthechildisanastylittlebrute,butEllen’sallright.Theessenceofrespectability.”
“Didyougiveherleavetogooutandseethefireworkslastnight,Mademoiselle?”
“Ofcourse.Theyalwaysdo.Theyclearupafterwards.”
“Yetshedidnotgoout.”
“Oh,yes,shedid.”
“Howdoyouknow,Mademoiselle?”
“Well—well—IsupposeIdon’tknow.Itoldhertogoandshethankedme—andso,ofcourse,Iassumedthatshedidgo.”
“Onthecontrary—sheremainedinthehouse.”
“But—howveryodd!”
“Youthinkitodd?”
“Yes,Ido.I’msureshe’sneverdonesuchathingbefore.Didshesaywhy?”
“Shedidnottellmetherealreason—ofthatIamsure.”
Nicklookedathimquestioningly.
“Isit—important?”
Poirotflungouthishands.
“ThatisjustwhatIcannotsay,Mademoiselle.C’estcurieux.Ileaveitlikethat.”
“Thispanelbusinesstoo,”saidNick,reflectively.“Ican’thelpthinkingthat’sfrightfullyqueer—andunconvincing.Didsheshowyouwhereitwas?”
“Shesaidshecouldn’tremember.”
“Idon’tbelievethereissuchathing.”
“Itcertainlylookslikeit.”
“Shemustbegoingbatty,poorthing.”
“Shecertainlyrecountsthehistories!ShesaidalsothatEndHousewasnotagoodhousetolivein.”
Nickgavealittleshiver.
“Perhapsshe’srightthere,”shesaidslowly.“SometimesI’vefeltthatwaymyself.There’saqueerfeelinginthathouse….”
Hereyesgrewlargeanddark.Theyhadafatedlook.Poirothastenedtorecallhertoothertopics.
“Wehavewanderedfromoursubject,Mademoiselle.Thewill.ThelastwillandtestamentofMagdalaBuckley.”
“Iputthat,”saidNick,withsomepride.“Irememberputtingthat,andIsaidpayalldebtsandtestamentaryexpenses.IrememberedthatoutofabookI’dread.”
“Youdidnotuseawillform,then?”
“No,therewasn’ttimeforthat.Iwasjustgoingofftothenursinghome,andbesidesMr.Croftsaidwillformswereverydangerous.Itwasbettertomakeasimplewillandnottrytobetoolegal.”
“M.Croft?Hewasthere?”
“Yes.ItwashewhoaskedmeifI’dmadeone.I’dneverhavethoughtofitmyself.Hesaidifyoudiedin—in—”
“Intestate,”Isaid.
“Yes,that’sit.Hesaidifyoudiedintestate,theCrownpinchedalotandthatwouldbeapity.”
“Veryhelpful,theexcellentM.Croft!”
“Oh,hewas,”saidNickwarmly.“HegotElleninandherhusbandtowitnessit.Oh!ofcourse!WhatanidiotI’vebeen!”
Welookedatherinquiringly.
“I’vebeenaperfectidiot.LettingyouhuntroundEndHouse.Charleshasgotit,ofcourse!Mycousin,CharlesVyse.”
“Ah!sothatistheexplanation.”
“Mr.Croftsaidalawyerwastheproperpersontohavechargeofit.”
“Trèscorrect,c’estbonM.Croft.”
“Menareusefulsometimes,”saidNick.“AlawyerortheBank—that’swhathesaid.AndIsaidCharleswouldbebest.Sowestuckitinanenvelopeandsentitofftohimstraightaway.”
Shelaybackonherpillowswithasigh
“I’msorryI’vebeensofrightfullystupid.Butitisallrightnow.Charleshasgotit,andifyoureallywanttoseeit,ofcoursehe’llshowittoyou.”
“Notwithoutanauthorizationfromyou,”saidPoirot,smiling.
“Howsilly.”
“No,Mademoiselle.Merelyprudent.”
“Well,Ithinkit’ssilly.”Shetookapieceofpaperfromalittlestackthatlaybesideherbed.“WhatshallIsay?Letthedogseetherabbit?”
“Comment?”
Ilaughedathisstartledface.
Hedictatedaformofwords,andNickwroteobediently.
“Thankyou,Mademoiselle,”saidPoirot,ashetookit.
“I’msorrytohavegivenyousuchalotoftrouble.ButIreallyhadforgotten.Youknowhowoneforgetsthingsalmostatonce?”
“Withorderandmethodinthemindonedoesnotforget.”
“I’llhavetohaveacourseofsomekind,”saidNick.“You’regivingmequiteaninferioritycomplex.”
“Thatisimpossible.Aurevoir,Mademoiselle.”Helookedroundtheroom.“Yourflowersarelovely.”
“Aren’tthey?ThecarnationsarefromFreddieandtherosesfromGeorgeandtheliliesfromJimLazarus.Andlookhere—”
Shepulledthewrappingfromalargebasketofhothousegrapesbyherside.
Poirot’sfacechanged.Hesteppedforwardsharply.
“Youhavenoteatenanyofthem?”
“No.Notyet.”
“Donotdoso.Youmusteatnothing,Mademoiselle,thatcomesinfromoutsideNothing.Youcomprehend?”
“Oh!”
Shestaredathim,thecolourebbingslowlyfromherface.
“Isee.Youthink—youthinkitisn’toveryet.Youthinkthey’restilltrying?”shewhispered.
Hetookherhand.
“Donotthinkofit.Youaresafehere.Butremember—nothingthatcomesinfromoutside.”
Iwasconsciousofthatwhitefrightenedfaceonthepillowaswelefttheroom.
Poirotlookedathiswatch.
“Bon.WehavejusttimetocatchM.Vyseathisofficebeforeheleavesitforlunch.”
OnarrivalwewereshownintoCharlesVyse’sofficeafterthebriefestofdelays.
Theyounglawyerrosetogreetus.Hewasasformalandunemotionalasever.
“Goodmorning,M.Poirot.WhatcanIdoforyou?”
WithoutmoreadoPoirotpresentedtheletterNickhadwritten.Hetookitandreadit,thengazedoverthetopofitinaperplexedmanner.
“Ibegyourpardon.Ireallyamatalosstounderstand?”
“HasnotMademoiselleBuckleymadehermeaningclear?”
“Inthisletter,”hetappeditwithhisfingernail,“sheasksmetohandovertoyouawillmadebyherandentrustedtomykeepinginFebruarylast.”
“Yes,Monsieur.”
“But,mydearsir,nowillhasbeenentrustedtomykeeping!”
“Comment?”
“AsfarasIknowmycousinnevermadeawill.Icertainlynevermadeoneforher.”
“Shewrotethisherself,Iunderstand,onasheetofnotepaperandpostedittoyou.”
Thelawyershookhishead.
“InthatcaseallIcansayisthatIneverreceivedit.”
“Really,M.Vyse—”
“Ineverreceivedanythingofthekind,M.Poirot.”
Therewasapause,thenPoirotrosetohisfeet.
“Inthatcase,M.Vyse,thereisnothingmoretobesaid.Theremustbesomemistake.”
“Certainlytheremustbesomemistake.”
Herosealso.
“Goodday,M.Vyse.”
“Goodday,M.Poirot.”
“Andthatisthat,”Iremarked,whenwewereoutinthestreetoncemore.
“Précisément.”
“Ishelying,doyouthink?”
“Impossibletotell.Hehasthegoodpokerface,M.Vyse,besideslookingasthoughhehadswallowedone.Onethingisclear,hewillnotbudgefromthepositionhehastakenup.Heneverreceivedthewill.Thatishispoint.”
“SurelyNickwillhaveawrittenacknowledgmentofitsreceipt.”
“Cettepetite,shewouldneverbotherherheadaboutathinglikethat.Shedespatchedit.Itwasoffhermind.Voilà.Besides,onthatveryday,shewentintoanursinghometohaveherappendixout.Shehadheremotions,inallprobability.”
“Well,whatdowedonow?”
“Parbleu,wegoandseeM.Croft.Letusseewhathecanrememberaboutthisbusiness.Itseemstohavebeenverymuchhisdoing.”
“Hedidn’tprofitbyitinanyway,”Isaid,thoughtfully.
“No.No,Icannotseeanythinginitfromhispointofview.Heisprobablymerelythebusybody—themanwholikestoarrangehisneighbour’saffairs.”
SuchanattitudewasindeedtypicalofMr.Croft,Ifelt.Hewasthekindlyknowallwhocausessomuchexasperationinthisworldofours.
Wefoundhimbusyinhisshirtsleevesoverasteamingpotinthekitchen.Amostsavourysmellpervadedthelittlelodge.
Herelinquishedhiscookerywithenthusiasm,beingclearlyeagertotalkaboutthemurder.
“Halfajiffy,”hesaid.“Walkupstairs.Motherwillwanttobeinonthis.She’dneverforgiveusfortalkingdownhere.Cooee—Milly.Twofriendscomingup.”
Mrs.CroftgreeteduswarmlyandwaseagerfornewsofNick.Ilikedhermuchbetterthanherhusband.
“Thatpoordeargirl,”shesaid.“Inanursinghome,yousay?Hadacompletebreakdown,Ishouldn’twonder.Adreadfulbusiness,M.Poirot—perfectlydreadful.Aninnocentgirllikethatshotdead.Itdoesn’tbearthinkingabout—itdoesn’tindeed.Andnolawlesswildpartoftheworldeither.Righthereintheheartoftheoldcountry.Keptmeawakeallnight,itdid.”
“It’smademenervousaboutgoingoutandleavingyou,oldlady,”saidherhusband,whohadputonhiscoatandjoinedus.“Idon’tliketothinkofyourhavingbeenleftallalonehereyesterdayevening.Itgivesmetheshivers.”
“You’renotgoingtoleavemeagain,Icantellyou,”saidMrs.Croft.“Notafterdark,anyway.AndI’mthinkingI’dliketoleavethispartoftheworldassoonaspossible.Ishallneverfeelthesameaboutit.Ishouldn’tthinkpoorNickyBuckleycouldeverbeartosleepinthathouseagain.”
Itwasalittledifficulttoreachtheobjectofourvisit.BothMr.andMrs.Crofttalkedsomuchandweresoanxioustoknowallabouteverything.Werethepoordeadgirl’srelationscomingdown?Whenwasthefuneral?Wastheretobeaninquest?Whatdidthepolicethink?Hadtheyanyclueyet?WasittruethatamanhadbeenarrestedinPlymouth?
Then,havingansweredallthesequestions,theywereinsistentonofferinguslunch.OnlyPoirot’smendaciousstatementthatwewereobligedtohurrybacktolunchwiththeChiefConstablesavedus.
AtlastamomentarypauseoccurredandPoirotgotinthequestionhehadbeenwaitingtoask.
“Why,ofcourse,”saidMr.Croft.Hepulledtheblindcordupanddowntwice,frowningatitabstractedly.“Irememberallaboutit.Musthavebeenwhenwefirstcamehere.Iremember.Appendicitis—that’swhatthedoctorsaid—”
“Andprobablynotappendicitisatall,”interruptedMrs.Croft.“Thesedoctors—theyalwayslikecuttingyouupiftheycan.Itwasn’tthekindyouhavetooperateonanyhow.She’dhadindigestionandonethingandanother,andthey’dXrayedherandtheysaidoutithadbettercome.Andthereshewas,poorlittlesoul,justgoingofftooneofthosenastyHomes.”
“Ijustaskedher,”saidMr.Croft,“ifshe’dmadeawill.Moreasajokethananythingelse.”
“Yes?”
“Andshewroteitoutthenandthere.Talkedaboutgettingawillformatthepostoffice—butIadvisedhernotto.Lotoftroubletheycausesometimes,soamantoldme.Anyway,hercousinisalawyer.Hecoulddrawheroutaproperoneafterwardsifeverythingwasallright—as,ofcourse,Iknewitwouldbe.Thiswasjustaprecautionarymatter.”
“Whowitnessedit?”
“Oh!Ellen,themaid,andherhusband.”
“Andafterwards?Whatwasdonewithit?”
“Oh!wepostedittoVyse.Thelawyer,youknow.”
“Youknowthatitwasposted?”
“MydearM.Poirot,Iposteditmyself.Rightinthisboxherebythegate.”
“SoifM.Vysesayshenevergotit—”
Croftstared.
“Doyoumeanthatitgotlostinthepost?Oh!butsurelythat’simpossible.”
“Anyway,youarecertainthatyoupostedit.”
“Certainsure,”saidMr.Croft,heartily.“I’lltakemyoathonthatanyday.”
“Ah!well,”saidPoirot.“Fortunatelyitdoesnotmatter.Mademoiselleisnotlikelytodiejustyetawhile.”
“Etvoilà!”saidPoirot,whenwewereoutofearshotandwalkingdowntothehotel.“Whoislying?M.Croft?OrM.CharlesVyse?ImustconfessIseenoreasonwhyM.Croftshouldbelying.Tosuppressthewillwouldbeofnoadvantagetohim—especiallywhenhehadbeeninstrumentalingettingitmade.No,hisstatementseemsclearenoughandtalliesexactlywithwhatwastoldusbyMademoiselleNick.Butallthesame—”
“Yes?”
“Allthesame,IamgladthatM.Croftwasdoingthecookingwhenwearrived.Heleftanexcellentimpressionofagreasythumbandfirstfingeronacornerofthenewspaperthatcoveredthekitchentable.Imanagedtotearitoffunseenbyhim.WewillsendittoourgoodfriendInspectorJappofScotlandYard.Thereisjustachancethathemightknowsomethingaboutit.”
“Yes?”
“Youknow,Hastings,IcannothelpfeelingthatourgenialM.Croftisalittletoogoodtobegenuine.”
“Andnow,”headded.“Ledéjeuner.Ifaintwithhunger.”
Fifteen
STRANGEBEHAVIOUROFFREDERICA
Poirot’sinventionsabouttheChiefConstablewereprovednottohavebeensomendaciousafterall.ColonelWestoncalleduponussoonafterlunch.
Hewasatallmanofmilitarycarriagewithconsiderablegood-looks.HehadasuitablereverenceforPoirot’sachievements,withwhichheseemedtobewellacquainted.
“Marvellouspieceofluckforushavingyoudownhere,M.Poirot,”hesaidagainandagain.
HisonefearwasthatheshouldbecompelledtocallintheassistanceofScotlandYard.Hewasanxioustosolvethemysteryandcatchthecriminalwithouttheiraid.HencehisdelightatPoirot’spresenceintheneighbourhood.
Poirot,sofarasIcouldjudge,tookhimcompletelyintohisconfidence.
“Deucedoddbusiness,”saidtheColonel.“Neverheardofanythinglikeit.Well,thegirloughttobesafeenoughinanursinghome.Still,youcan’tkeepherthereforever!”
“That,M.leColonel,isjustthedifficulty.Thereisonlyonewayofdealingwithit.”
“Andthatis?”
“Wemustlayourhandsonthepersonresponsible.”
“Ifwhatyoususpectistrue,thatisn’tgoingtobesoeasy.”
“Ah!jelesaisbien.”
“Evidence!Gettingevidenceisgoingtobethedevil.”
Hefrownedabstractedly.
“Alwaysdifficult,thesecases,wherethere’snoroutinework.Ifwecouldgetholdofthepistol—”
“Inallprobabilityitisatthebottomofthesea.Thatis,ifthemurdererhadanysense.”
“Ah!”saidColonelWeston.“Butoftentheyhaven’t.You’dbesurprisedatthefoolthingspeopledo.I’mnottalkingofmurders—wedon’thavemanymurdersdownintheseparts,I’mgladtosay—butinordinarypolicecourtcases.Thesheerdamnfoolishnessofthesepeoplewouldsurpriseyou.”
“Theyareofadifferentmentality,though,”
“Yes—perhaps.IfVyseisthechap,well,we’llhaveourworkcutout.He’sacautiousmanandasoundlawyer.He’llnotgivehimselfaway.Thewoman—well,therewouldbemorehopethere.Tentooneshe’lltryagain.Womenhavenopatience.”
Herose.
“Inquesttomorrowmorning.Coronerwillworkinwithusandgiveawayaslittleaspossible.Wewanttokeepthingsdarkatpresent.”
Hewasturningtowardsthedoorwhenhesuddenlycameback.
“Uponmysoul,I’dforgottentheverythingthatwillinterestyoumost,andthatIwantyouropinionabout.”
Sittingdownagain,hedrewfromhispocketatornscrapofpaperwithwritingonitandhandedittoPoirot.
“Mypolicefoundthiswhentheyweresearchingthegrounds.Norfarfromwhereyouwereallwatchingthefireworks.It’stheonlysuggestivethingtheydidfind.”
Poirotsmootheditout.Thewritingwaslargeandstraggling.
“…musthavemoneyatonce.Ifnotyou…whatwillhappen.I’mwarningyou.”
Poirotfrowned.Hereadandrereadit.
“Thisisinteresting,”hesaid.“Imaykeepit?”
“Certainly.Therearenofingerprintsonit.I’llbegladifyoucanmakeanythingofit.”
ColonelWestongottohisfeetagain.
“Ireallymustbeoff.Inquesttomorrow,asIsaid.Bytheway,youarenotbeingcalledaswitness—onlyCaptainHastings.Don’twantthenewspaperpeopletogetwisetoyourbeingonthejob.”
“Icomprehend.Whatoftherelationsofthepooryounglady?”
“ThefatherandmotherarecomingfromYorkshiretoday.They’llarriveabouthalfpastfive.Poorsouls.I’mheartilysorryforthem.Theyaretakingthebodybackwiththemthefollowingday.”
Heshookhishead.
“Unpleasantbusiness.I’mnotenjoyingthis,M.Poirot.”
“Whocould,M.leColonel?Itis,asyousay,anunpleasantbusiness.”
Whenhehadgone,Poirotexaminedthescrapofpaperoncemore.
“Animportantclue?”Iasked.
Heshruggedhisshoulders.
“Howcanonetell?Thereisahintofblackmailaboutit!Someoneofourpartythatnightwasbeingpressedformoneyinaveryunpleasantway.Ofcourse,itispossiblethatitwasoneofthestrangers.”
Helookedatthewritingthroughalittlemagnifyingglass.
“Doesthiswritinglookatallfamiliartoyou,Hastings?”
“Itremindsmealittleofsomething—Ah!Ihaveit—thatnoteofMrs.Rice’s.”
“Yes,”saidPoirot,slowly.“Thereareresemblances.Decidedlythereareresemblances.Itiscurious.YetIdonotthinkthatthisisthewritingofMadameRice.Comein,”hesaid,asaknockcameatthedoor.
ItwasCommanderChallenger.
“Justlookedin,”heexplained.“Wantedtoknowifyouwereanyfurtherforward.”
“Parbleu,”saidPoirot.“AtthismomentIamfeelingthatIamconsiderablyfurtherback.Iseemtoprogressenreculant.”
“That’sbad.ButIdon’treallybelieveit,M.Poirot.I’vebeenhearingallaboutyouandwhatawonderfulchapyouare.Neverhadafailure,theysay.”
“Thatisnottrue,”saidPoirot.“IhadabadfailureinBelgiumin1893.Yourecollect,Hastings?Irecountedittoyou.Theaffairoftheboxofchocolates.”
“Iremember,”Isaid.
AndIsmiled,foratthetimethatPoirottoldmethattale,hehadinstructedmetosay“chocolatebox”tohimifeverIshouldfancyhewasgrowingconceited!HewasthenbitterlyoffendedwhenIusedthemagicalwordsonlyaminuteandaquarterlater.
“Oh,well,”saidChallenger,“thatissuchalongtimeagoithardlycounts.Youaregoingtogettothebottomofthis,aren’tyou?”
“ThatIswear.OnthewordofHerculePoirot.Iamthedogwhostaysonthescentanddoesnotleaveit.”
“Good.Gotanyideas?”
“Ihavesuspicionsoftwopeople.”
“IsupposeImustn’taskyouwhotheyare?”
“Ishouldnottellyou!Yousee,Imightpossiblybeinerror.”
“Myalibiissatisfactory,Itrust,”saidChallenger,withafainttwinkle.
Poirotsmiledindulgentlyatthebronzedfaceinfrontofhim.“YouleftDevonportatafewminutespast8:30.Youarrivedhereatfiveminutespastten—twentyminutesafterthecrimehadbeencommitted.ButthedistancefromDevonportisonlyjustoverthirtymiles,andyouhaveoftendoneitinanhoursincetheroadisgood.So,yousee,youralibiisnotgoodatall!”
“Well,I’m—”
“Youcomprehend,Iinquireintoeverything.Youralibi,asIsay,isnotgood.Butthereareotherthingsbesidealibis.Youwouldlike,Ithink,tomarryMademoiselleNick?”
Thesailor’sfaceflushed.
“I’vealwayswantedtomarryher,”hesaidhuskily.
“Precisely.Ehbien—MademoiselleNickwasengagedtoanotherman.Areason,perhaps,forkillingtheotherman.Butthatisunnecessary—hediesthedeathofahero.”
“Soitistrue—thatNickwasengagedtoMichaelSeton?There’sarumourtothateffectalloverthetownthismorning.”
“Yes—itisinterestinghowsoonnewsspreads.Youneversuspecteditbefore?”
“IknewNickwasengagedtosomeone—shetoldmesotwodaysago.Butshedidn’tgivemeaclueastowhomitwas.”
“ItwasMichaelSeton.Entrenous,hehaslefther,Ifancy,averyprettyfortune.Ah!assuredly,itisnotamomentforkillingMademoiselleNick—fromyourpointofview.Sheweepsforherlovernow,buttheheartconsolesitself.Sheisyoung.AndIthink,Monsieur,thatsheisveryfondofyou….”
Challengerwassilentforamomentortwo.
“Ifitshouldbe…”hemurmured
Therewasataponthedoor.
ItwasFredericaRice.
“I’vebeenlookingforyou,”shesaidtoChallenger.“Theytoldmeyouwerehere.Iwantedtoknowifyou’dgotmywristwatchbackyet.”
“Oh,yes,Icalledforitthismorning.”
Hetookitfromhispocketandhandedittoher.Itwasawatchofratheranunusualshape—round,likeaglobe,setonastrapofplainblackmoiré.IrememberedthatIhadseenonemuchthesameshapeonNickBuckley’swrist.
“Ihopeitwillkeepbettertimenow.”
“It’sratherabore.Somethingisalwaysgoingwrongwithit.”
“Itisforbeauty,Madame,andnotforutility,”saidPoirot.
“Can’tonehaveboth?”Shelookedfromonetotheotherofus.“AmIinterruptingaconference?”
“No,indeed,Madame.Weweretalkinggossip—notthecrime.Weweresayinghowquicklynewsspreads—howthateveryonenowknowsthatMademoiselleNickwasengagedtothatbraveairmanwhoperished.”
“SoNickwasengagedtoMichaelSeton!”exclaimedFrederica.
“Itsurprisesyou,Madame?”
“Itdoesalittle.Idon’tknowwhy.CertainlyIdidthinkhewasverytakenwithherlastautumn.Theywentaboutalottogether.Andthen,afterChristmas,theybothseemedtocooloff.AsfarasIknow,theyhardlymet.”
“Thesecret,theykeptitverywell.”
“ThatwasbecauseofoldSirMatthew,Isuppose.Hewasreallyalittleoffhishead,Ithink.”
“Youhadnosuspicion,Madame?AndyetMademoisellewassuchanintimatefriend.”
“Nick’sacloselittledevilwhenshelikes,”murmuredFrederica.“ButIunderstandnowwhyshe’sbeensonervylately.Oh!andIoughttohaveguessedfromsomethingshesaidonlytheotherday.”
“Yourlittlefriendisveryattractive,Madame.”
“OldJimLazarususedtothinksoatonetime,”saidChallenger,withhisloud,rathertactlesslaugh.
“Oh!Jim—”Sheshruggedhershoulders,butIthoughtshewasannoyed.
SheturnedtoPoirot.
“Tellme,M.Poirot,didyou—”
Shestopped.Hertallfigureswayedandherfaceturnedwhiterstill.Hereyeswerefixedonthecentreofthetable.
“Youarenotwell,Madame.”
Ipushedforwardachair,helpedhertosinkintoit.Sheshookherhead,murmured,“I’mallright,”andleanedforward,herfacebetweenherhands.Wewatchedherawkwardly.
Shesatupinaminute.
“Howabsurd!George,darling,don’tlooksoworried.Let’stalkaboutmurders.Somethingexciting.IwanttoknowifM.Poirotisonthetrack.”
“Itisearlytosay,Madame,”saidPoirot,noncommittally.
“Butyouhaveideas—yes?”
“Perhaps.ButIneedagreatdealmoreevidence.”
“Oh!”Shesoundeduncertain.
Suddenlysherose.
“I’vegotahead.IthinkI’llgoandliedown.Perhapstomorrowthey’llletmeseeNick.”
Shelefttheroomabruptly.Challengerfrowned.
“Youneverknowwhatthatwoman’supto.Nickmayhavebeenfondofher,butIdon’tbelieveshewasfondofNick.Butthere,youcan’ttellwithwomen.It’sdarling—darling—darling—allthetime—and‘damnyou’wouldprobablyexpressitmuchbetter.Areyougoingout,M.Poirot?”ForPoirothadrisenandwascarefullybrushingaspeckoffhishat.
“Yes,Iamgoingintothetown.”
“I’vegotnothingtodo.MayIcomewithyou.”
“Assuredly.Itwillbeapleasure.”
Welefttheroom.Poirot,withanapology,wentback.
“Mystick,”heexplained,asherejoinedus.
Challengerwincedslightly.Andindeedthestick,withitsembossedgoldband,wassomewhatornate.
Poirot’sfirstvisitwastoaflorist.
“ImustsendsomeflowerstoMademoiselleNick,”heexplained.
Heproveddifficulttosuit.
Intheendhechoseanornategoldbaskettobefilledwithorangecarnations.Thewholetobetiedupwithalargebluebow.
Theshopwomangavehimacardandhewroteonitwithaflourish:“WiththeComplimentsofHerculePoirot.”
“Isenthersomeflowersthismorning,”saidChallenger.“Imightsendhersomefruit.”
“Inutile!”saidPoirot.
“What?”
“Isaiditwasuseless.Theeatable—itisnotpermitted.”
“Whosaysso?”
“Isayso.Ihavemadetherule.IthasalreadybeenimpressedonMademoiselleNick.Sheunderstands.”
“GoodLord!”saidChallenger.
Helookedthoroughlystartled.HestaredatPoirotcuriously.
“Sothat’sit,isit?”hesaid.“You’restill—afraid.”
Sixteen
INTERVIEWWITHMR.WHITFIELD
Theinquestwasadryproceeding—merebarebones.Therewasevidenceofidentification,thenIgaveevidenceofthefindingofthebody.Medicalevidencefollowed.
Theinquestwasadjournedforaweek.
TheSt.Loomurderhadjumpedintoprominenceinthedailypress.Ithad,infact,succeeded“SetonStillMissing.UnknownFateofMissingAirman.”
NowthatSetonwasdeadandduetributehadbeenpaidtohismemory,anewsensationwasdue.TheSt.LooMysterywasagodsendtopapersattheirwits’endfornewsinthemonthofAugust.
Aftertheinquest,havingsuccessfullydodgedreporters,ImetPoirot,andwehadaninterviewwiththeRev.GilesBuckleyandhiswife.
Maggie’sfatherandmotherwereacharmingpair,completelyunworldlyandunsophisticated.
Mrs.Buckleywasawomanofcharacter,tallandfairandshowingveryplainlyhernorthernancestry.Herhusbandwasasmallman,grey-haired,withadiffidentappealingmanner.
Poorsouls,theywerecompletelydazedbythemisfortunethathadovertakenthemandrobbedthemofawell-beloveddaughter.“OurMaggie,”astheycalledher.
“Icanscarcelyrealizeitevennow,”saidMr.Buckley.“Suchadearchild,M.Poirot.Soquietandunselfish—alwaysthinkingofothers.Whocouldwishtoharmher?”
“Icouldhardlyunderstandthetelegram,”saidMrs.Buckley.“Whyitwasonlythemorningbeforethatwehadseenheroff.”
“Inthemidstoflifeweareindeath,”murmuredherhusband.
“ColonelWestonhasbeenverykind,”saidMrs.Buckley.“Heassuresusthateverythingisbeingdonetofindthemanwhodidthisthing.Hemustbeamadman.Nootherexplanationispossible.”
“Madame,IcannottellyouhowIsympathizewithyouinyourloss—andhowIadmireyourbravery!”
“BreakingdownwouldnotbringMaggiebacktous,”saidMrs.Buckley,sadly.
“Mywifeiswonderful,”saidtheclergyman.“Herfaithandcouragearegreaterthanmine.Itisallso—sobewildering,M.Poirot.”
“Iknow—Iknow,Monsieur.”
“Youareagreatdetective,M.Poirot?”saidMrs.Buckley.
“Ithasbeensaid,Madame.”
“Oh!Iknow.Eveninourremotecountryvillagewehaveheardofyou.Youaregoingtofindoutthetruth,M.Poirot?”
“IshallnotrestuntilIdo,Madame.”
“Itwillberevealedtoyou,M.Poirot,”quaveredtheclergyman.“Evilcannotgounpunished.”
“Evilnevergoesunpunished,Monsieur.Butthepunishmentissometimessecret.”
“Whatdoyoumeanbythat,M.Poirot?”
Poirotonlyshookhishead.
“PoorlittleNick,”saidMrs.Buckley.“Iamreallysorriestofallforher.Ihadamostpatheticletter.ShesaysshefeelssheaskedMaggiedownheretoherdeath.”
“Thatismorbid,”saidMr.Buckley.
“Yes,butIknowhowshefeels.Iwishtheywouldletmeseeher.Itseemssoextraordinarynottoletherownfamilyvisither.”
“Doctorsandnursesareverystrict,”saidPoirot,evasively.“Theymaketherules—so—andnothingwillchangethem.Anddoubtlesstheyfearforhertheemotion—thenaturalemotion—shewouldexperienceonseeingyou.”
“Perhaps,”saidMrs.Buckley,doubtfully.“ButIdon’tholdwithnursinghomes.Nickwoulddomuchbetteriftheylethercomebackwithme—rightawayfromthisplace.”
“Itispossible—butIfeartheywillnotagree.ItislongsinceyouhaveseenMademoiselleBuckley?”
“Ihaven’tseenhersincelastautumn.ShewasatScarborough.Maggiewentoverandspentthedaywithherandthenshecamebackandspentanightwithus.She’saprettycreature—thoughIcan’tsayIlikeherfriends.Andthelifesheleads—well,it’shardlyherfault,poorchild.She’shadnoupbringingofanykind.”
“Itisastrangehouse—EndHouse,”saidPoirotthoughtfully.
“Idon’tlikeit,”saidMrs.Buckley.“Ineverhave.There’ssomethingallwrongaboutthathouse.IdislikedoldSirNicholasintensely.Hemademeshiver.”
“Notagoodman,I’mafraid,”saidherhusband.“Buthehadacuriouscharm.”
“Ineverfeltit,”saidMrs.Buckley.“There’sanevilfeelingaboutthathouse.Iwishwe’dneverletourMaggiegothere.”
“Ah!wishing,”saidMr.Buckley,andshookhishead.
“Well,”saidPoirot.“Imustnotintrudeuponyouanylonger.Ionlywishedtoproffertoyoumydeepsympathy.”
“Youhavebeenverykind,M.Poirot.Andweareindeedgratefulforallyouaredoing.”
“YoureturntoYorkshire—when?”
“Tomorrow.Asadjourney.Goodbye,M.Poirot,andthankyouagain.”
“Verysimpledelightfulpeople,”Isaid,afterwehadleft.
Poirotnodded.
“Itmakestheheartache,doesitnot,monami?Atragedysouseless—sopurposeless.Cettejeunefille—Ah!butIreproachmyselfbitterly.I,HerculePoirot,wasonthespotandIdidnotpreventthecrime!”
“Nobodycouldhavepreventedit.”
“Youspeakwithoutreflection,Hastings.Noordinarypersoncouldhavepreventedit—butofwhatgoodisittobeHerculePoirotwithgreycellsofafinerqualitythanotherpeople’s,ifyoudonotmanagetodowhatordinarypeoplecannot?”
“Well,ofcourse,”Isaid.“Ifyouaregoingtoputitlikethat—”
“Yes,indeed.Iamabased,downhearted—completelyabased.”
IreflectedthatPoirot’sabasementwasstrangelylikeotherpeople’sconceit,butIprudentlyforeborefrommakinganyremark.
“Andnow,”hesaid,“enavant.ToLondon.”
“London?”
“Maisoui.Weshallcatchthetwoo’clocktrainverycomfortably.Allispeacefulhere.Mademoiselleissafeinthenursinghome.Noonecanharmher.Thewatchdogs,therefore,cantakeleaveofabsence.ThereareoneortwolittlepiecesofinformationthatIrequire.”
OurfirstproceedingonarrivinginLondonwastocalluponthelateCaptainSeton’ssolicitors,MessrsWhitfield,Pargiter&Whitfield.
Poirothadarrangedforanappointmentbeforehand,andalthoughitwaspastsixo’clock,weweresoonclosetedwithMr.Whitfield,theheadofthefirm.
Hewasaveryurbaneandimpressiveperson.HehadinfrontofhimaletterfromtheChiefConstableandanotherfromsomehighofficialatScotlandYard.
“Thisisallveryirregularandunusual,M.—ah—Poirot,”hesaid,ashepolishedhiseyeglasses.
“Quiteso,M.Whitfield.Butthenmurderisalsoirregular—and,Iamgladtosay,sufficientlyunusual.”
“True.True.Butratherfar-fetched—tomakeaconnectionbetweenthismurderandmylateclient’sbequest—eh?”
“Ithinknot.”
“Ah!youthinknot.Well—underthecircumstances—andImustadmitthatSirHenryputsitverystronglyinhisletter—Ishallbe—er—happytodoanythingthatisinmypower.”
“YouactedaslegaladvisertothelateCaptainSeton?”
“ToalltheSetonfamily,mydearsir.Wehavedoneso—ourfirmhavedoneso,Imean—forthelasthundredyears.”
“Parfaitement.ThelateSirMatthewSetonmadeawill?”
“Wemadeitforhim.”
“Andhelefthisfortune—how?”
“Therewereseveralbequests—onetotheNaturalHistoryMuseum—butthebulkofhislarge—his,Imaysay,verylargefortune—helefttoCaptainMichaelSetonabsolutely.Hehadnoothernearrelations.”
“Averylargefortune,yousay?”
“ThelateSirMatthewwasthesecondrichestmaninEngland,”repliedMr.Whitfield,composedly.
“Hehadsomewhatpeculiarviews,hadhenot?”Mr.Whitfieldlookedathimseverely.
“Amillionaire,M.Poirot,isallowedtobeeccentric.Itisalmostexpectedofhim.”
Poirotreceivedhiscorrectionmeeklyandaskedanotherquestion.
“Hisdeathwasunexpected,Iunderstand?”
“Mostunexpected.SirMatthewenjoyedremarkablygoodhealth.Hehadaninternalgrowth,however,whichnoonehadsuspected.Itreachedavitaltissueandanimmediateoperationwasnecessary.Theoperationwas,asalwaysontheseoccasions,completelysuccessful.ButSirMatthewdied.”
“AndhisfortunepassedtoCaptainSeton.”
“Thatisso.”
“CaptainSetonhad,Iunderstand,madeawillbeforeleavingEngland?”
“Ifyoucancallitawill—yes,”saidMr.Whitfield,withstrongdistaste.
“Itislegal?”
“Itisperfectlylegal.Theintentionofthetestatorisplainanditisproperlywitnessed.Oh,yes,itislegal.”
“Butyoudonotapproveofit?”
“Mydearsir,whatarewefor?”
Ihadoftenwondered.Havingoncehadoccasiontomakeaperfectlysimplewillmyself.Ihadbeenappalledatthelengthandverbiagethatresultedfrommysolicitor’soffice.
“Thetruthofthematterwas,”continuedMr.Whitfield,“thatatthetimeCaptainSetonhadlittleornothingtoleave.Hewasdependentontheallowancehereceivedfromhisuncle.Hefelt,Isuppose,thatanythingwoulddo.”
Andhadthoughtcorrectly,Iwhisperedtomyself.
“Andthetermsofthiswill?”askedPoirot.
“Heleaveseverythingofwhichhediespossessedtohisaffiancedwife,MissMagdalaBuckleyabsolutely.Henamesmeashisexecutor.
“ThenMissBuckleyinherits?”
“CertainlyMissBuckleyinherits.”
“AndifMissBuckleyhadhappenedtodielastMonday?”
“CaptainSetonhavingpredeceasedher,themoneywouldgotowhomevershehadnamedinherwillasresiduarylegatee—orfailingawilltohernextofkin.”
“Imaysay,”addedMr.Whitfield,withanairofenjoyment,“thatdeathdutieswouldhavebeenenormous.Enormous!Threedeaths,remember,inrapidsuccession.”Heshookhishead.“Enormous!”
“Buttherewouldhavebeensomethingleft?”murmuredPoirot,meekly.
“Mydearsir,asItoldyou,SirMatthewwasthesecondrichestmaninEngland.”
Poirotrose.
“Thankyou,Mr.Whitfield,verymuchfortheinformationthatyouhavegivenme.”
“Notatall.Notatall.ImaysaythatIshallbeincommunicationwithMissBuckley—indeed,Ibelievetheletterhasalreadygone.IshallbehappytobeofanyserviceIcantoher.”
“Sheisayounglady,”saidPoirot,“whocoulddowithsomesoundlegaladvice.”
“Therewillbefortunehunters,Iamafraid,”saidMr.Whitfield,shakinghishead.
“Itseemsindicated,”agreedPoirot.“Goodday,Monsieur.”
“Goodbye,M.Poirot.Gladtohavebeenofservicetoyou.Yournameis—ah!—familiartome.”
Hesaidthiskindly—withanairofonemakingavaluableadmission.
“Itisallexactlyasyouthought,Poirot,”Isaid,whenwewereoutside.
“Monami,itwasboundtobe.Itcouldnotbeanyotherway.WewillgonowtotheCheshireCheesewhereJappmeetsusforanearlydinner.”
WefoundInspectorJappofScotlandYardawaitingusatthechosenrendezvous.HegreetedPoirotwitheverysignofwarmth.
“YearssinceI’veseenyou,MoosiorPoirot.Thoughtyouweregrowingvegetablemarrowsinthecountry.”
“Itried,Japp,Itried.Butevenwhenyougrowvegetablemarrowsyoucannotgetawayfrommurder.”
Hesighed.Iknewofwhathewasthinking—thatstrangeaffairatFernleyPark.HowIregrettedthatIhadbeenfarawayatthattime.
“AndCaptainHastingstoo,”saidJapp.“Howareyou,sir?”
“Veryfit,thanks,”Isaid.
“Andnowtherearemoremurders?”continuedJapp,facetiously.
“Asyousay—moremurders.”
“Well,youmustn’tbedepressed,oldcock,”saidJapp.“Evenifyoucan’tseeyourwayclear—well—youcan’tgoaboutatyourtimeoflifeandexpecttohavethesuccessyouusedtodo.Weallofusgetstaleastheyearsgoby.Gottogivetheyoung’unsachance,youknow.”
“Andyettheolddogistheonewhoknowsthetricks,”murmuredPoirot.“Heiscunning.Hedoesnotleavethescent.”
“Oh!well—we’retalkingabouthumanbeings,notdogs.”
“Istheresomuchdifference?”
“Well,itdependshowyoulookatthings.Butyou’reacaution,isn’the,CaptainHastings?Alwayswas.Looksmuchthesame—hairabitthinnerontopbutthefacefungusfullerthanever.”
“Eh?”saidPoirot.“Whatisthat?”
“He’scongratulatingyouonyourmoustaches,”Isaid,soothingly.
“Theyareluxuriant,yes,”saidPoirot,complacentlycaressingthem.
Jappwentoffintoaroaroflaughter.
“Well,”hesaid,afteraminuteortwo,“I’vedoneyourbitofbusiness.Thosefingerprintsyousentme—”
“Yes?”saidPoirot,eagerly.
“Nothingdoing.Whoeverthegentlemanmaybe—hehasn’tpassedthroughourhands.Ontheotherhand,IwiredtoMelbourneandnobodyofthatdescriptionornameisknownthere.”
“Ah!”
“Sotheremaybesomethingfishyafterall.Buthe’snotoneofthelads.”
“Astotheotherbusiness,”wentonJapp.
“Yes?”
“LazarusandSonhaveagoodreputation.Quitestraightandhonourableintheirdealings.Sharp,ofcourse—butthat’sanothermatter.You’vegottobesharpinbusiness.Butthey’reallright.They’reinabadway,though—financially,Imean.”
“Oh!—isthatso?”
“Yes—theslumpinpictureshashitthembadly.Andantiquefurnituretoo.Allthismoderncontinentalstuffcomingintofashion.Theybuiltnewpremiseslastyearand—well—asIsay,they’renotfarfromQueerStreet.”
“Iammuchobligedtoyou.”
“Notatall.Thatsortofthingisn’tmyline,asyouknow.ButImadeapointoffindingoutasyouwantedtoknow.Wecanalwaysgetinformation.”
“MygoodJapp,whatshouldIdowithoutyou?”
“Oh!that’sallright.Alwaysgladtoobligeanoldfriend.Iletyouinonsomeprettygoodcasesintheolddays,didn’tI?”
This,Irealized,wasJapp’swayofacknowledgingindebtednesstoPoirot,whohadsolvedmanyacasewhichhadbaffledtheinspector.
“Theywerethegooddays—yes.”
“Iwouldn’tmindhavingachatwithyounowandagaineveninthesedays.Yourmethodsmaybeold-fashionedbutyou’vegotyourheadscrewedontherightway,M.Poirot.”
“Whataboutmyotherquestion.TheDr.MacAllister?”
“Oh,him!He’sawoman’sdoctor.Idon’tmeanagynaecologist.Imeanoneofthesenervedoctors—tellyoutosleepinpurplewallsandorangeceiling—talktoyouaboutyourlibido,whateverthatis—tellyoutoletitrip.He’sabitofaquack,ifyouaskme—buthegetsthewomenallright.Theyflocktohim.Goesabroadagooddeal—doessomekindofmedicalworkinParis,Ibelieve.”
“WhyDr.MacAllister?”Iasked,bewildered.Ihadneverheardofthename.“Wheredoeshecomein?”
“Dr.MacAllisteristheuncleofCommanderChallenger,”explainedPoirot.“Yourememberhereferredtoanunclewhowasadoctor?”
“Howthoroughyouare,”Isaid.“DidyouthinkhehadoperatedonSirMatthew?”
“He’snotasurgeon,”saidJapp.
“Monami,”saidPoirot,“Iliketoinquireintoeverything.HerculePoirotisagooddog.Thegooddogfollowsthescent,andif,regrettably,thereisnoscenttofollow,henosesaround—seekingalwayssomethingthatisnotverynice.Soalso,doesHerculePoirot.Andoften—Oh!sooften—doeshefindit!”
“It’snotaniceprofession,ours,”saidJapp.“Stilton,didyousay?Idon’tmindifIdo.No,it’snotaniceprofession.Andyoursisworsethanmine—notofficial,yousee,andthereforealotmorewormingyourselfintoplacesinunderhandways.”
“Idonotdisguisemyself,Japp.NeverhaveIdisguisedmyself.”
“Youcouldn’t,”saidJapp.“You’reunique.Onceseen,neverforgotten.”
Poirotlookedathimratherdoubtfully.
“Onlymyfun,”saidJapp.“Don’tmindme.Glassofport?Well,ifyousayso.”
Theeveningbecamethoroughlyharmonious.Weweresooninthemiddleofreminiscences.Thiscase,thatcase,andtheother.ImustsaythatI,too,enjoyedtalkingoverthepast.Thosehadbeengooddays.HowoldandexperiencedIfeltnow!
PooroldPoirot.Hewasperplexedbythiscase—Icouldseethat.Hispowerswerenotwhattheywere.Ihadthefeelingthathewasgoingtofail—thatthemurdererofMaggieBuckleywouldneverbebroughttobook.
“Courage,myfriend,”saidPoirot,slappingmeontheshoulder.“Allisnotlost.Donotpullthelongface,Ibegofyou.”
“That’sallright.I’mallright.”
“AndsoamI.AndsoisJapp.”
“We’reallallright,”declaredJapp,hilariously.
Andonthispleasantnoteweparted.
ThefollowingmorningwejourneyedbacktoSt.Loo.OnarrivalatthehotelPoirotrangupthenursinghomeandaskedtospeaktoNick.
SuddenlyIsawhisfacechange—healmostdroppedtheinstrument.
“Comment?Whatisthat?Sayitagain,Ibeg.”
Hewaitedforaminuteortwolistening.Thenhesaid:
“Yes,yes,Iwillcomeatonce.”
Heturnedapalefacetome.
“WhydidIgoaway,Hastings?MonDieu!WhydidIgoaway?”
“Whathashappened?”
“MademoiselleNickisdangerouslyill.Cocainepoisoning.Theyhavegotatherafterall.MonDieu!MonDieu!WhydidIgoaway?”
Seventeen
ABOXOFCHOCOLATES
AllthewaytothenursinghomePoirotmurmuredandmutteredtohimself.Hewasfullofself-reproach.
“Ishouldhaveknown,”hegroaned.“Ishouldhaveknown!Andyet,whatcouldIdo?Itookeveryprecaution.Itisimpossible—impossible.Noonecouldgettoher!Whohasdisobeyedmyorders?”
Atthenursinghomewewereshownintoalittleroomdownstairs,andafterafewminutesDr.Grahamcametous.Helookedexhaustedandwhite.
“She’lldo,”hesaid.“It’sgoingtobeallright.Thetroublewasknowinghowmuchshe’dtakenofthedamnedstuff.”
“Whatwasit?”
“Cocaine.”
“Shewilllive?”
“Yes,yes,she’lllive.”
“Buthowdidithappen?Howdidtheygetather?Whohasbeenallowedin?”Poirotfairlydancedwithimpotentexcitement.
“Nobodyhasbeenallowedin.”
“Impossible.”
“It’strue.”
“Butthen—”
“Itwasaboxofchocolates.”
“Ah!sacré.AndItoldhertoeatnothing—nothing—thatcamefromoutside.”
“Idon’tknowaboutthat.It’shardworkkeepingagirlfromaboxofchocolates.Sheonlyateone,thankgoodness.”
“Wasthecocaineinallthechocolates?”
“No.Thegirlateone.Thereweretwoothersinthetoplayer.Therestwereallright.”
“Howwasitdone?”
“Quiteclumsily.Chocolatecutinhalf—thecocainemixedwiththefillingandthechocolatestucktogetheragain.Amateurishly.Whatyoumightcallahomemadejob.”
Poirotgroaned.
“Ah!ifIknew—ifIknew.CanIseeMademoiselle?”
“IfyoucomebackinanhourIthinkyoucanseeher,”saidthedoctor.“Pullyourselftogether,man.Sheisn’tgoingtodie.”
ForanotherhourwewalkedthestreetsofSt.Loo.IdidmybesttodistractPoirot’smind—pointingouttohimthatallwaswell,that,afterall,nomischiefhadbeendone.
Butheonlyshookhishead,andrepeatedatintervals:
“Iamafraid,Hastings,Iamafraid….”
Andthestrangewayhesaiditmademe,too,feelafraid.
Oncehecaughtmebythearm.
“Listen,myfriend.Iamallwrong.Ihavebeenallwrongfromthebeginning.”
“Youmeanitisn’tthemoney—”
“No,no,Iamrightaboutthat.Oh,yes.Butthosetwo—itistoosimple—tooeasy,that.Thereisanothertwiststill.Yes,thereissomething!”
Andtheninanoutburstofindignation:
“Ah!cettepetite!DidInotforbidher?DidInotsay,‘Donottouchanythingfromoutside?’Andshedisobeysme—me,HerculePoirot.Arenotfourescapesfromdeathenoughforher?Mustshetakeafifthchance?Ah,c’estInoui!”
Atlastwemadeourwayback.Afterabriefwaitwewereconductedupstairs.
Nickwassittingupinbed.Thepupilsofhereyeswerewidelydilated.Shelookedfeverishandherhandskepttwitchingviolently.
“Atitagain,”shemurmured.
Poirotexperiencedrealemotionatthesightofher.Heclearedhisthroatandtookherhandinhis.
“Ah!Mademoiselle—Mademoiselle.”
“Ishouldn’tcare,”shesaid,defiantly,“iftheyhadgotmethistime.I’msickofitall—sickofit!”
“Pauvrepetite!”
“Somethinginmedoesn’tliketogivethembest!”
“Thatisthespirit—lesport—youmustbethegoodsport,Mademoiselle.”
“Youroldnursinghomehasn’tbeensosafeafterall,”saidNick.
“Ifyouhadobeyedorders,Mademoiselle—”
Shelookedfaintlyastonished.
“ButIhave.”
“DidInotimpressuponyouthatyouweretoeatnothingthatcamefromoutside?”
“NomoreIdid.”
“Butthesechocolates—”
“Well,theywereallright.Yousentthem.”
“Whatisthatyousay,Mademoiselle?”
“Yousentthem!”
“Me?Never.Neveranythingofthekind.”
“Butyoudid.Yourcardwasinthebox.”
“What?”
Nickmadeaspasmodicgesturetowardsthetablebythebed.Thenursecameforward.
“Youwantthecardthatwasinthebox?”
“Yes,please,nurse.”
Therewasamoment’spause.Thenursereturnedtotheroomwithitinherhand.
“Hereitis.”
Igasped.SodidPoirot.Foronthecard,inflourishinghandwriting,werewrittenthesamewordsthatIhadseenPoirotinscribeonthecardthataccompaniedthebasketofflowers.
“WiththeComplimentsofHerculePoirot.”
“Sacrétonnerre!”
“Yousee,”saidNick,accusingly.
“Ididnotwritethis!”criedPoirot.
“What?”
“Andyet,”murmuredPoirot,“andyetitismyhandwriting.”
“Iknow.It’sexactlythesameasthecardthatcamewiththeorangecarnations.Ineverdoubtedthatthechocolatescamefromyou.”
Poirotshookhishead.
“Howshouldyoudoubt?Oh!thedevil!Theclever,crueldevil!Tothinkofthat!Ah!buthehasgenius,thisman,genius!‘WiththeComplimentsofHerculePoirot.’Sosimple.Yes,butonehadtothinkofit.AndI—Ididnotthink.Iomittedtoforeseethismove.”
Nickmovedrestlessly.
“Donotagitateyourself,Mademoiselle.Youareblameless—blameless.ItisIthatamtoblame,miserableimbecilethatIam!Ishouldhaveforeseenthismove.Yes,Ishouldhaveforeseenit.”
Hischindroppedonhisbreast.Helookedthepictureofmisery.
“Ireallythink—”saidthenurse.
Shehadbeenhoveringnearby,adisapprovingexpressiononherface.
“Eh?Yes,yes,Iwillgo.Courage,Mademoiselle.ThisisthelastmistakeIwillmake.Iamashamed,desolated—Ihavebeentricked,outwitted—asthoughIwerealittleschoolboy.Butitshallnothappenagain.No.Ipromiseyou.Come,Hastings.”
Poirot’sfirstproceedingwastointerviewthematron.Shewas,naturally,terriblyupsetoverthewholebusiness.
“Itseemsincredibletome,M.Poirot,absolutelyincredible.Thatathinglikethatshouldhappeninmynursinghome.”
Poirotwassympatheticandtactful.Havingsoothedhersufficiently,hebegantoinquireintothecircumstanceofthearrivalofthefatalpacket.Here,thematrondeclared,hewoulddobesttointerviewtheorderlywhohadbeenondutyatthetimeofitsarrival.
Themaninquestion,whosenamewasHood,wasastupidbuthonest-lookingyoungfellowofabouttwenty-two.Helookednervousandfrightened.Poirotputhimathisease,however.
“Noblamecanbeattachedtoyou,”hesaidkindly.“ButIwantyoutotellmeexactlywhenandhowthisparcelarrived.”
Theorderlylookedpuzzled.
“It’sdifficulttosay,sir,”hesaid,slowly.“Lotsofpeoplecomeandinquireandleavethingsforthedifferentpatients.”
“Thenursesaysthiscamelastnight,”Isaid.“Aboutsixo’clock.”
Thelad’sfacebrightened.
“Idoremember,now,sir.Agentlemanbroughtit.”
“Athin-facedgentleman—fair-haired?”
“Hewasfair-haired—butIdon’tknowaboutthin-faced.”
“WouldCharlesVysebringithimself?”ImurmuredtoPoirot.
Ihadforgottenthattheladwouldknowalocalname.
“Itwasn’tMr.Vyse,”hesaid.“Iknowhim.Itwasabiggergentleman—handsome-looking—cameinabigcar.”
“Lazarus,”Iexclaimed.
PoirotshotmeawarningglanceandIregrettedmyprecipitance.
“Hecameinalargecarandheleftthisparcel.ItwasaddressedtoMissBuckley?”
“Yes,sir.”
“Andwhatdidyoudowithit?”
“Ididn’ttouchit,sir.Nursetookitup.”
“Quiteso,butyoutoucheditwhenyoutookitfromthegentleman,n’est-cepas?”
“Oh!that,yes,ofcourse,sir.Itookitfromhimandputitonthetable.”
“Whichtable?Showme,ifyouplease.”
Theorderlyledusintothehall.Thefrontdoorwasopen.Closetoit,inthehall,wasalongmarble-toppedtableonwhichlaylettersandparcels.
“Everythingthatcomesisputonhere,sir.Thenthenursestakethingsuptothepatients.”
“Doyourememberwhattimethisparcelwasleft?”
“Musthavebeenaboutfivethirty,oralittleafter.Iknowtheposthadjustbeen,andthat’susuallyatabouthalf-pastfive.Itwasaprettybusyafternoon,alotofpeopleleavingflowersandcomingtoseepatients.”
“Thankyou.Now,Ithink,wewillseethenursewhotookuptheparcel.”
Thisprovedtobeoneoftheprobationers,afluffylittlepersonallagogwithexcitement.Sherememberedtakingtheparcelupatsixo’clockwhenshecameonduty.
“Sixo’clock,”murmuredPoirot.“Thenitmusthavebeentwentyminutesorsothattheparcelwaslyingonthetabledownstairs.”
“Pardon?”
“Nothing,Mademoiselle.Continue.YoutooktheparceltoMissBuckley?”
“Yes,therewereseveralthingsforher.Therewasthisboxandsomeflowersalso—sweetpeas—fromaMr.andMrs.Croft,Ithink.Itookthemupatthesametime.Andtherewasaparcelthathadcomebypost—andcuriouslyenoughthatwasaboxofFuller’schocolatesalso.”
“Comment?Asecondbox?”
“Yes,ratheracoincidence.MissBuckleyopenedthemboth.Shesaid:‘Oh!whatashame.I’mnotallowedtoeatthem.’Thensheopenedthelidstolookinsideandseeiftheywerebothjustthesame,andyourcardwasinoneandshesaid,‘Taketheotherimpureboxaway,nurse.Imighthavegotthemmixedup.’Oh!dear,whoeverwouldhavethoughtofsuchathing?SeemslikeanEdgarWallace,doesn’tit?”
Poirotcutshortthisfloodofspeech.
“Twoboxes,yousay?Fromwhomwastheotherbox?”
“Therewasnonameinside.”
“Andwhichwastheonethatcame—thathadtheappearanceofcoming—fromme?Theonebypostortheother?”
“Ideclarenow—Ican’tremember.ShallIgoupandaskMissBuckley?”
“Ifyouwouldbesoamiable.”
Sheranupthestairs.
“Twoboxes,”murmuredPoirot.“Thereisconfusionforyou.”
Thenursereturnedbreathless.
“MissBuckleyisn’tsure.Sheunwrappedthembothbeforeshelookedinside.Butshethinksitwasn’ttheboxthatcamebypost.”
“Eh?”saidPoirot,alittleconfused.
“Theboxfromyouwastheonethatdidn’tcomebypost.Atleastshethinksso,butsheisn’tquitesure.”
“Diable!”saidPoirot,aswewalkedaway.“Isnooneeverquitesure?Indetectivebooks—yes.Butlife—reallife—isalwaysfullofmuddle.AmIsure,myself,aboutanythingatall?No,no—athousandtimes,no.”
“Lazarus,”Isaid.
“Yes,thatisasurprise,isitnot?”
“Shallyousayanythingtohimaboutit?”
“Assuredly.Ishallbeinterestedtoseehowhetakesit.Bytheway,wemightaswellexaggeratetheseriousconditionofMademoiselle.Itwilldonoharmtoletitbeassumedthatsheisatdeath’sdoor.Youcomprehend?Thesolemnface—yes,admirable.Youresemblecloselyanundertaker.C’esttoutàfaitbien.”
WewereluckyinfindingLazarus.Hewasbendingoverthebonnetofhiscaroutsidethehotel.
Poirotwentstraightuptohim.
“Yesterdayevening,MonsieurLazarus,youleftaboxofchocolatesforMademoiselle,”hebeganwithoutpreamble.
Lazaruslookedrathersurprised.
“Yes?”
“Thatwasveryamiableofyou.”
“AsamatteroffacttheywerefromFreddie,fromMrs.Rice.Sheaskedmetogetthem.”
“Oh!Isee.”
“Itookthemroundinthecar.”
“Icomprehend.”
Hewassilentforaminuteortwoandthensaid:
“MadameRice,whereisshe?”
“Ithinkshe’sinthelounge.”
WefoundFredericahavingtea.Shelookedupatuswithananxiousface.
“WhatisthisIhearaboutNickbeingtakenill?”
“Itisamostmysteriousaffair,Madame.Tellme,didyousendheraboxofchocolatesyesterday?”
“Yes.Atleastsheaskedmetogetthemforher.”
“Sheaskedyoutogetthemforher?”
“Yes.”
“Butshewasnotallowedtoseeanyone.Howdidyouseeher?”
“Ididn’t.Shetelephoned.”
“Ah!Andshesaid—what?”
“WouldIgetheratwo-poundboxofFuller’schocolates.”
“Howdidhervoicesound—weak?”
“No—notatall.Quitestrong.Butdifferentsomehow.Ididn’trealizeitwasshespeakingatfirst.”
“Untilshetoldyouwhoshewas?”
“Yes.”
“Areyousure,Madame,thatitwasyourfriend?”
Fredericalookedstartled.
“I—I—why,ofcourseitwas.Whoelsecouldithavebeen?”
“Thatisaninterestingquestion,Madame.”
“Youdon’tmean—”
“Couldyouswear,Madame,thatitwasyourfriend’svoice—apartfromwhatshesaid?”
“No,”saidFrederica,slowly,“Icouldn’t.Hervoicewascertainlydifferent.Ithoughtitwasthephone—orperhapsbeingill….”
“Ifshehadnottoldyouwhoshewas,youwouldnothaverecognizedit?”
“No,no,Idon’tthinkIshould.Whowasit,M.Poirot?Whowasit?”
“ThatiswhatImeantoknow,Madame.”
Thegravenessofhisfaceseemedtoawakenhersuspicions.
“IsNick—hasanythinghappened?”sheasked,breathlessly.
Poirotnodded.
“Sheisill—dangerouslyill.Thosechocolates,Madame—werepoisoned.”
“ThechocolatesIsenther?Butthat’simpossible—impossible!”
“Notimpossible,Madame,sinceMademoiselleisatdeath’sdoor.”
“Oh,myGod.”Shehidherfaceinherhands,thenraiseditwhiteandquivering.“Idon’tunderstand—Idon’tunderstand.Theother,yes,butnotthis.Theycouldn’tbepoisoned.NobodyevertouchedthembutmeandJim.You’remakingsomedreadfulmistake,M.Poirot.”
“ItisnotIthatmakeamistake—eventhoughmynamewasinthebox.”
Shestaredathimblankly.
“IfMademoiselleNickdies—”hesaid,andmadeathreateninggesturewithhishand.
Shegavealowcry.
Heturnedaway,andtakingmebythearm,wentuptothesitting-room.
Heflunghishatonthetable.
“Iunderstandnothing—butnothing!Iaminthedark.Iamalittlechild.WhostandstogainbyMademoiselle’sdeath?MadameRice.Whobuysthechocolatesandadmitsitandtellsastoryofbeingrunguponthetelephonethatcannotholdwaterforaminute?MadameRice.Itistoosimple—toostupid.Andsheisnotstupid—no.”
“Well,then—”
“Butshetakescocaine,Hastings.Iamcertainshetakescocaine.Thereisnomistakingit.Andtherewascocaineinthosechocolates.Andwhatdidshemeanwhenshesaid,‘Theother,yes,butnotthis.’Itneedsexplaining,that!AndthesleekM.Lazarus—whatishedoinginallthis?Whatdoessheknow,MadameRice?Sheknowssomething.ButIcannotmakeherspeak.Sheisnotofthoseyoucanfrightenintospeech.Butsheknowssomething,Hastings.Ishertaleofthetelephonetrue,ordidsheinventit?Ifitistruewhosevoicewasit?
“Itellyou,Hastings.Thisisallveryblack—veryblack.”
“Alwaysdarkestbeforedawn,”Isaidreassuringly.
Heshookhishead.
“Thentheotherbox—thatcamebypost.Canwerulethatout?No,wecannot,becauseMademoiselleisnotsure.Itisanannoyance,that!”
Hegroaned.
Iwasabouttospeakwhenhestoppedme
“No,no.Notanotherproverb.Icannotbearit.Ifyouwouldbethegoodfriend—thegoodhelpfulfriend—”
“Yes,”Isaideagerly.
“Goout,Ibegofyou,andbuymesomeplayingcards.”
Istared.
“Verywell,”Isaidcoldly.
Icouldnotbutsuspectthathewasmakingadeliberateexcusetogetridofme.
Here,however,Imisjudgedhim.Thatnight,whenIcameintothesittingroomaboutteno’clock,IfoundPoirotcarefullybuildingcardhouses—andIremembered!
Itwasanoldtrickofhis—soothinghisnerves.Hesmiledatme.
“Yes—youremember.Oneneedstheprecision.Onecardonanother—so—inexactlytherightplaceandthatsupportstheweightofthecardontopandsoon,upandup.Gotobed,Hastings.Leavemehere,withmyhouseofcards.Iclearthemind.”
ItwasaboutfiveinthemorningwhenIwasshakenawake.
Poirotwasstandingbymybedside.Helookedpleasedandhappy.
“Itwasveryjustwhatyousaid,monami.Oh!itwasveryjust.More,itwasspirituel!”
Iblinkedathim,beingimperfectlyawake.
“Alwaysdarkestbeforedawn—thatiswhatyousaid.Ithasbeenverydark—andnowitisdawn.”
Ilookedatthewindow.Hewasperfectlyright.
“No,no,Hastings.Inthehead!Themind!Thelittlegreycells!”
Hepausedandthensaidquietly:
“Yousee,Hastings,Mademoiselleisdead.”
“What?”Icried,suddenlywideawake.
“Hush—hush.ItisasIsay.Notreally—bienentendu—butitcanbearranged.Yes,fortwenty-fourhoursitcanbearranged.Iarrangeitwiththedoctor,withthenurses.
“Youcomprehend,Hastings?Themurdererhasbeensuccessful.Fourtimeshehastriedandfailed.Thefifthtimehehassucceeded.
“Andnow,weshallseewhathappensnext
“Itwillbeveryinteresting.”
Eighteen
THEFACEATTHEWINDOW
Theeventsofthenextdayarecompletelyhazyinmymemory.Iwasunfortunateenoughtoawakewithfeveronme.IhavebeenliabletotheseboutsoffeveratinconvenienttimeseversinceIoncecontractedmalaria.
Inconsequence,theeventsofthatdaytakeoninmymemorythesemblanceofanightmare—withPoirotcomingandgoingasakindoffantasticclown,makingaperiodicappearanceinacircus.
Hewas,Ifancy,enjoyinghimselftothethefull.Hispoiseofbaffleddespairwasadmirable.Howheachievedtheendhehadinviewandwhichhehaddisclosedtomeintheearlyhoursofthemorning,Icannotsay.Butachieveithedid.
Itcannothavebeeneasy.Theamountofdeceptionandsubterfugeinvolvedmusthavebeencolossal.TheEnglishcharacterisaversetolyingonawholesalescaleandthat,noless,waswhatPoirot’splanrequired.Hehad,first,togetDr.Grahamconvertedtothescheme.WithDr.Grahamonhisside,hehadtopersuadetheMatronandsomemembersofthestaffofthenursinghometoconformtotheplan.Thereagain,thedifficultiesmusthavebeenimmense.ItwasprobablyDr.Graham’sinfluencethatturnedthescale.
ThentherewastheChiefConstableandthepolice.Here,Poirotwouldbeupagainstofficialdom.NeverthelesshewrungatlastanunwillingconsentoutofColonelWeston.TheColonelmadeitclearthatitwasinnowayhisresponsibility.PoirotandPoirotalonewasresponsibleforthespreadingabroadoftheselyingreports.Poirotagreed.Hewouldhaveagreedtoanythingsolongashewaspermittedtocarryouthisplan.
Ispentmostofthedaydozinginalargearmchairwitharugovermyknees.Everytwoorthreehoursorso,Poirotwouldburstinandreportprogress.
“Comment?ava,monami?HowIcommiserateyou.Butitisaswell,perhaps.Thefarce,youdonotplayitaswellasIdo.Icomethismomentfromorderingawreath—awreathimmense—stupendous.Lilies,myfriend—largequantitiesoflilies.‘Withheartfeltregret.FromHerculePoirot.’Ah!whatacomedy.”
Hedepartedagain.
“IcomefromamostpoignantconversationwithMadameRice,”washisnextpieceofinformation.“Verywelldressedinblack,thatone.Herpoorfriend—whatatragedy!Igroansympathetically.Nick,shesays,wassojoyous,sofulloflife.Impossibletothinkofherasdead.Iagree.‘Itis,’Isay,‘theironyofdeaththatittakesonelikethat.Theoldanduselessareleft.’Oh!làlà!Igroanagain.”
“Howyouareenjoyingthis,”Imurmuredfeebly.
“Dutout.Itispartofmyplan,thatisall.Toplaythecomedysuccessfully,youmustputtheheartintoit.Well,then,theconventionalexpressionsofregretover,Madamecomestomattersnearerhome.Allnightshehaslainawakewonderingaboutthosesweets.Itisimpossible—impossible.‘Madame,’Isay,‘itisnotimpossible.Youcanseetheanalyst’sreport.’Thenshesays,andhervoiceisfarfromsteady,‘Itwas—cocaine,yousay?’Iassent.Andshesays,‘Oh,myGod.Idon’tunderstand.’”
“Perhapsthat’strue.”
“Sheunderstandswellenoughthatsheisindanger.Sheisintelligent.Itoldyouthatbefore.Yes,sheisindanger,andsheknowsit.”
“Andyetitseemstomethatforthefirsttimeyoudon’tbelieveherguilty.”
Poirotfrowned.Theexcitementofhismannerabated.
“Itisprofoundwhatyousaythere,Hastings.No—itseemstomethat—somehow—thefactsnolongerfit.Thesecrimes—sofarwhathasmarkedthemmost—thesubtlety,isitnot?Andhereisnosubtletyatall—onlythecrudity,pureandsimple.No,itdoesnotfit.”
Hesatdownatthetable.
“Voilà—letusexaminethefacts.Therearethreepossibilities.TherearethesweetsboughtbyMadameanddeliveredbyM.Lazarus.Andinthatcasetheguiltrestswithoneortheotherorboth.Andthetelephonecall,supposedlyfromMademoiselleNick,thatisaninventionpureandsimple.Thatisthestraightforward—theobvioussolution.
“Solution2:Theotherboxofsweets—thatwhichcamebypost.Anyonemayhavesentthose.AnyofthesuspectsonourlistfromA.toJ.(Youremember?Averywidefield.)But,ifthatweretheguiltybox,whatisthepointofthetelephonecall?Whycomplicatematterswithasecondbox?”
Ishookmyheadfeebly.Withatemperatureof102,anycomplicationseemedtomequiteunnecessaryandabsurd.
“Solution3:ApoisonedboxwassubstitutedfortheinnocentboxboughtbyMadame.Inthatcasethetelephonecallisingeniousandunderstandable.Madameistobewhatyoucallthekitten’spaw.Sheistopulltheroastingchestnutsoutofthefire.SoSolution3isthemostlogical—but,alas,itisalsothemostdifficult.Howbesureofsubstitutingaboxattherightmoment?Theorderlymighttaketheboxstraightupstairs—ahundredandonepossibilitiesmightpreventthesubstitutionbeingeffected.No,itdoesnotseemsense.”
“UnlessitwereLazarus,”Isaid.
Poirotlookedatme.
“Youhavethefever,myfriend.Itmounts,doesitnot?”
Inodded.
“Curioushowafewdegreesofheatshouldstimulatetheintellect.Youhaveutteredthereanobservationofprofoundsimplicity.Sosimple,wasit,thatIhadfailedtoconsiderit.Butitwouldsupposeaverycuriousstateofaffairs.M.Lazarus,thedearfriendofMadame,doinghisbesttogetherhanged.Itopensuppossibilitiesofaverycuriousnature.Butcomplex—verycomplex.”
Iclosedmyeyes.IwasgladIhadbeenbrilliant,butIdidnotwanttothinkofanythingcomplex.Iwantedtogotosleep.
Poirot,Ithink,wentontalking,butIdidnotlisten.Hisvoicewasvaguelysoothing….
ItwaslateafternoonwhenIsawhimnext.
“Mylittleplan,ithasmadethefortuneofflowershops,”heannounced.“Everybodyorderswreaths.M.Croft,M.Vyse,CommanderChallenger—”
Thelastnameawokeachordofcompunctioninmymind.
“Lookhere,Poirot,”Isaid.“Youmustlethiminonthis.Poorfellow,hewillbedistractedwithgrief.Itisn’tfair.”
“Youhavealwaysthetendernessforhim,Hastings.”
“Ilikehim.He’sathoroughlydecentchap.You’vegottotakehimintothesecret.”
Poirotshokhishead.
“No,monami.Idonotmaketheexceptions.”
“Butyoudon’tsuspecthimtohaveanythingtodowithit?”
“Idonotmaketheexceptions.”
“Thinkhowhemustbesuffering.”
“Onthecontrary,IprefertothinkofwhatajoyfulsurpriseIprepareforhim.Tothinkthelovedonedead—andfindheralive!Itisasensationunique—stupendous.”
“Whatapigheadedolddevilyouare.He’dkeepthesecretallright.”
“Iamnotsosure.”
“He’sthesoulofhonour.I’mcertainofit.”
“Thatmakesitallthemoredifficulttokeepasecret.Keepingasecretisanartthatrequiresmanyliesmagnificentlytold,andagreataptitudeforplayingthecomedyandenjoyingit.Couldhedissemble,theCommanderChallenger?Ifheiswhatyousayheis,hecertainlycouldnot.”
“Thenyouwon’ttellhim?”
“Icertainlyrefusetoimperilmylittleideaforthesakeofthesentiment.Itislifeanddeathweplaywith,moncher.Anyway,thesuffering,itisgoodforthecharacter.Manyofyourfamousclergymenhavesaidso—evenaBishopifIamnotmistaken.”
Imadenofurtherattempttoshakehisdecision.Hismind,Icouldsee,wasmadeup.
“Ishallnotdressfordinner,”hemurmured.“Iamtoomuchthebrokenoldman.Thatismypart,youunderstand.Allmyself-confidencehascrashed—Iambroken.Ihavefailed.Ishalleathardlyanydinner—thefooduntastedontheplate.Thatistheattitude,Ithink.InmyownapartmentIwillconsumesomebriochesandsomechocolateéclairs(socalled)whichIhadtheforesighttobuyataconfectioners.Etvous?”
“Somemorequinine,Ithink,”Isaid,sadly.
“Alas,mypoorHastings.Butcourage,allwillbewelltomorrow.”
“Verylikely.Theseattacksoftenlastonlytwenty-fourhours.”
Ididnothearhimreturntotheroom.Imusthavebeenasleep.
WhenIawoke,hewassittingatthetablewriting.Infrontofhimwasacrumpledsheetofpapersmoothedout.Irecognizeditforthepaperonwhichhehadwrittenthatlistofpeople—A.toJ.—whichhehadafterwardscrumpledupandthrownaway.
Henoddedinanswertomyunspokenthought.
“Yes,myfriend.Ihaveresurrectedit.Iamatworkuponitfromadifferentangle.Icompilealistofquestionsconcerningeachperson.Thequestionsmayhavenobearingonthecrime—theyarejustthingsthatIdonotknow—thingsthatremainunexplained,andforwhichIseektosupplytheanswerfrommyownbrain.”
“Howfarhaveyougot?”
“Ihavefinished.Youwouldliketohear?Youarestrongenough?”
“Yes,asamatteroffact,Iamfeelingagreatdealbetter.”
“àlabonneheure!Verywell,Iwillreadthemtoyou.Someofthem,nodoubt,youwillconsiderpuerile.”
Heclearedhisthroat.
“A.Ellen.—Whydidsheremaininthehouseandnotgoouttoseefireworks?(Unusual,asMademoiselle’sevidenceandsurprisemakeclear.)Whatdidshethinkorsuspectmighthappen?Didsheadmitanyone(J.forinstance)tothehouse?Isshespeakingthetruthaboutthesecretpanel?Ifthereissuchathingwhyissheunabletorememberwhereitis?(Mademoiselleseemsverycertainthereisnosuchthing—andshewouldsurelyknow.)Ifsheinventedit,whydidsheinventit?HadshereadMichaelSeton’slovelettersorwashersurpriseatMademoiselleNick’sengagementgenuine?“B.HerHusband.—Isheasstupidasheseems?DoesheshareEllen’sknowledge,whateveritis,ordoeshenot?Ishe,inanyrespect,amentalcase?“C.TheChild.—Ishisdelightinbloodanaturalinstinctcommontohisageanddevelopment,orisitmorbid,andisthatmorbidityinheritedfromeitherparent?Hasheevershotwithatoypistol?“D.WhoisMr.Croft?—Wheredoeshereallycomefrom?Didhepostthewillasheswearshedid?Whatmotivecouldhehaveinnotpostingit?“E.Mrs.Croft.Sameasabove.—WhoareMr.andMrs.Croft?Aretheyinhidingforsomereason—andifso,whatreason?HavetheyanyconnectionwiththeBuckleyfamily?“F.Mrs.Rice.—WasshereallyawareoftheengagementbetweenNickandMichaelSeton?Didshemerelyguessit,orhadsheactuallyreadtheletterswhichpassedbetweenthem?(InthatcaseshewouldknowMademoisellewasSeton’sheir.)DidsheknowthatsheherselfwasMademoiselle’sresiduarylegatee?(This,Ithink,islikely.Mademoisellewouldprobablytellherso,addingperhapsthatshewouldnotgetmuchoutofit.)IsthereanytruthinCommanderChallenger’ssuggestionthatLazaruswasattractedbyMademoiselleNick?(Thismightexplainacertainlackofcordialitybetweenthetwofriendswhichseemstohaveshownitselfinthelastfewmonths.)Whoisthe“boyfriend”mentionedinhernoteassupplyingthedrug?CouldthispossiblybeJ.?Whydidsheturnfaintonedayinthisroom?Wasitsomethingthathadbeensaid—orwasitsomethingshesaw?Isheraccountofthetelephonemessageaskinghertobuychocolatescorrect—orisitadeliberatelie?Whatdidshemeanby‘Icanunderstandtheother—butnotthis?’Ifsheisnotherselfguilty,whatknowledgehasshegotthatsheiskeepingtoherself?”
“Youperceive,”saidPoirot,suddenlybreakingoff,“thatthequestionsconcerningMadameRicearealmostinnumerable.Frombeginningtoend,sheisanenigma.Andthatforcesmetoaconclusion.EitherMadameRiceisguilty—orsheknows—orshallwesay,thinkssheknows—whoisguilty.Butissheright?Doessheknowordoesshemerelysuspect?Andhowisitpossibletomakeherspeak?”
Hesighed.
“Well,Iwillgoonwithmylistofquestions.
“G.Mr.Lazarus.—Curious—therearepracticallynoquestionstoaskconcerninghim—exceptthecrudeone,‘Didhesubstitutethepoisonedsweets?’OtherwiseIfindonlyonetotallyirrelevantquestion.ButIhaveputitdown.‘WhydidM.Lazarusofferfiftypoundsforapicturethatwasonlyworthtwenty?’”“HewantedtodoNickagoodturn,”Isuggested.
“Hewouldnotdoitthatway.Heisadealer.Hedoesnotbuytosellataloss.Ifhewishedtobeamiablehewouldlendhermoneyasaprivateindividual.”
“Itcan’thaveanybearingonthecrime,anyway.”
“No,thatistrue—butallthesame,Ishouldliketoknow.Iamastudentofthepsychology,youunderstand.
“NowwecometoH.”
“H.CommanderChallenger.—WhydidMademoiselleNicktellhimshewasengagedtosomeoneelse?Whatnecessitatedherhavingtotellhimthat?Shetoldnooneelse.Hadheproposedtoher?Whatarehisrelationswithhisuncle?”
“Hisuncle,Poirot?”
“Yes,thedoctor.Thatratherquestionablecharacter.DidanyprivatenewsofMichaelSeton’sdeathcomethroughtotheAdmiraltybeforeitwasannouncedpublicly?”
“Idon’tquiteseewhatyou’redrivingatPoirot.EvenifChallengerknewbeforehandaboutSeton’sdeath,itdoesnotseemtogetusanywhere.Itprovidesnoearthlymotiveforkillingthegirlheloved.”
“Iquiteagree.Whatyousayisperfectlyreasonable.ButthesearejustthingsIshouldliketoknow.Iamstillthedog,yousee,nosingaboutforthethingsthatarenotverynice!”
“I.M.Vyse.—Whydidhesaywhathedidabouthiscousin’sfanaticaldevotiontoEndHouse?Whatpossiblemotivecouldhehaveinsayingthat?Didhe,ordidhenot,receivethewill?Ishe,infact,anhonestman—orishenotanhonestman?“AndnowJ.—Ehbien,J.iswhatIputdownbefore—agiantquestionmark.Istheresuchaperson,oristherenot—
“MonDieu!myfriend,whathaveyou?”
Ihadstartedfrommychairwithasuddenshriek.WithashakinghandIpointedatthewindow.
“Aface,Poirot!”Icried.“Afacepressedagainsttheglass.Adreadfulface!It’sgonenow—butIsawit.”
Poirotstrodetothewindowandpusheditopen.Heleantout.
“Thereisnoonetherenow,”hesaid,thoughtfully.“Youaresureyoudidnotimagineit,Hastings?”
“Quitesure.Itwasahorribleface.”
“Thereisabalcony,ofcourse.Anyonecouldreachtherequiteeasilyiftheywantedtohearwhatweweresaying.Whenyousayadreadfulface,Hastings,justwhatdoyoumean?”
“Awhite,staringface,hardlyhuman.”
“Monami,thatisthefever.Aface,yes.Anunpleasantface,yes.Butafacehardlyhuman—no.Whatyousawwastheeffectofafacepressedcloselyagainsttheglass—thatalliedtotheshockofseeingitthereatall.”
“Itwasadreadfulface,”Isaid,obstinately.
“Itwasnotthefaceof—anyoneyouknow?”
“No,indeed.”
“H’m—itmighthavebeen,though!Idoubtifyouwouldrecognizeitunderthesecircumstances.Iwondernow—yes,Iverymuchwonder….”
Hegathereduphispapersthoughtfully.
“Onethingatleastistothegood.IftheownerofthatfaceoverheardourconversationwedidnotmentionthatMademoiselleNickwasaliveandwell.Whateverelseourvisitormayhaveheard,thatatleastescapedhim.”
“Butsurely,”Isaid,“theresultsofthis—eh—brilliantmanoeuvreofyourshavebeenslightlydisappointinguptodate.Nickisdeadandnostartlingdevelopmentshaveoccurred!”
“Ididnotexpectthemyetawhile.Twenty-fourhours,Isaid.Monami,tomorrow,ifIamnotmistaken,certainthingswillarise.Otherwise—otherwiseIamwrongfromstarttofinish.Thereisthepost,yousee.Ihavehopesoftomorrow’spost.”
Iawokeinthemorningfeelingweakbutwiththefeverabated.Ialsofelthungry.PoirotandIhadbreakfastservedinoursittingroom.
“Well?”Isaid,maliciously,ashesortedhisletters.“Hasthepostdonewhatyouexpectedofit?”
Poirot,whohadjustopenedtwoenvelopeswhichpatentlycontainedbills,didnotreply.Ithoughthelookedrathercastdownandnothisusualcock-a-hoopself.
Iopenedmyownmail.Thefirstwasanoticeofaspiritualistmeeting.
“Ifallelsefails,wemustgotothespiritualists,”Iremarked.“Ioftenwonderthatmoretestsofthiskindaren’tmade.Thespiritofthevictimcomesbackandnamesthemurderer.Thatwouldbeaproof.”
“Itwouldhardlyhelpus,”saidPoirot,absently.“IdoubtifMaggieBuckleyknewwhosehanditwasshotherdown.Evenifshecouldspeakshewouldhavenothingofvaluetotellus.Tiens!thatisodd.”
“Whatis?”
“Youtalkofthedeadspeaking,andatthatmomentIopenthisletter.”
Hetosseditacrosstome.ItwasfromMrs.Buckleyandranasfollows:
“LangleyRectory.
“DearMonsieurPoirot,—OnmyreturnhereIfoundaletterwrittenbymypoorchildonherarrivalatSt.Loo.Thereisnothinginitofinteresttoyou,I’mafraid,butIthoughtperhapsyouwouldcaretoseeit.“Thankingyouforyourkindness,“Yourssincerely,“JeanBuckley.”
Theenclosurebroughtalumptomythroat.Itwassoterriblycommonplaceandsocompletelyuntouchedbyanyapprehensionoftragedy:
“DearMother,—Iarrivedsafely.Quiteacomfortablejourney.OnlytwopeopleinthecarriageallthewaytoExeter.“Itislovelyweatherhere.Nickseemsverywellandgay—alittlerestless,perhaps,butIcannotseewhysheshouldhavetelegraphedformeinthewayshedid.Tuesdaywouldhavedonejustaswell.“Nomorenow.Wearegoingtohaveteawithsomeneighbours.TheyareAustraliansandhaverentedthelodge.Nicksaystheyarekindbutratherawful.Mrs.RiceandMr.Lazarusarecomingtostay.Heistheartdealer.Iwillpostthisintheboxbythegate,thenitwillcatchthepost.Willwritetomorrow.“Yourlovingdaughter,“Maggie.”“P.S.—Nicksaysthereisareasonforherwire.Shewilltellmeaftertea.Sheisveryqueerandjumpy.”
“Thevoiceofthedead,”saidPoirot,quietly.“Andittellsus—nothing.”
“Theboxbythegate,”Iremarkedidly.“That’swhereCroftsaidhepostedthewill.”
“Saidso—yes.Iwonder.HowIwonder!”
“Thereisnothingelseofinterestamongyourletters?”
“Nothing.Hastings,Iamveryunhappy.Iaminthedark.Stillinthedark.Icomprehendnothing.”
Atthatmomentthetelephonerang.Poirotwenttoit.
ImmediatelyIsawachangecomeoverhisface.Hismannerwasveryrestrained,neverthelesshecouldnotdisguisefrommyeyeshisintenseexcitement.
Hisowncontributionstotheconversationwereentirelynon-committalsothatIcouldnotgatherwhatitwasallabout.
Presently,however,witha“Trèsbien.Jevousremercie,”heputbackthereceiverandcamebacktowhereIwassitting.Hiseyesweresparklingwithexcitement.
“Monami,”hesaid.“WhatdidItellyou?Thingshavebeguntohappen.”
“Whatwasit?”
“ThatwasM.CharlesVyseonthetelephone.Heinformsmethatthismorning,throughtthepost,hehasreceivedawillsignedbyhiscousin,MissBuckley,anddatedthe25thFebruarylast.”
“What?Thewill?”
“évidemment.”
“Ithasturnedup?”
“Justattherightmoment,n’est-cepas?”
“Doyouthinkheisspeakingthetruth?”
“OrdoIthinkhehashadthewillallalong?Isthatwhatyouwouldsay?Well,itisallalittlecurious.Butonethingiscertain;Itoldyouthat,ifMademoiselleNickweresupposedtobedead,weshouldhavedevelopments—andsureenoughheretheyare!”
“Extraordinary,”Isaid.“Youwereright.IsupposethisisthewillmakingFredericaRiceresiduarylegatee?”
“M.Vysesaidnothingaboutthecontentsofthewill.Hewasfartoocorrect.Butthereseemsverylittlereasontodoubtthatthisisthesamewill.Itiswitnessed,hetellsme,byEllenWilsonandherhusband.”
“Sowearebackattheoldproblem,”Isaid.“FredericaRice.”
“Theenigma!”
“FredericaRice,”Imurmured,inconsequently.“It’saprettyname.”
“Prettierthanwhatherfriendscallher.Freddie”—hemadeaface—“cen’estpasjoli—forayounglady.”
“Therearen’tmanyabbreviationsofFrederica,”Isaid.“It’snotlikeMargaretwhereyoucanhavehalfadozen—Maggie,Margot,Madge,Peggie—”
“True.Well,Hastings,areyouhappiernow?Thatthingshavebeguntohappen?”
“Yes,ofcourse.Tellme—didyouexpectthistohappen?”
“No—notexactly.Ihadformulatednothingveryprecisetomyself.AllIhadsaidwasthatgivenacertainresult,thecausesofthatresultmustmakethemselvesevident.”
“Yes,”Isaid,respectfully.
“WhatwasitthatIwasgoingtosayjustasthattelephonerang?”musedPoirot.“Oh,yes,thatletterfromMademoiselleMaggie.Iwantedtolookatitonceagain.Ihaveanideainthebackofmymindthatsomethinginitstruckmeasrathercurious.”
IpickeditupfromwhereIhadtossedit,andhandedittohim.
Hereaditovertohimself.Imovedabouttheroom,lookingoutofthewindowandobservingtheyachtsracingonthebay.
Suddenlyanexclamationstartledme.Iturnedround.Poirotwasholdinghisheadinhishandsandrockinghimselftoandfro,apparentlyinanagonyofwoe.
“Oh!”hegroaned.“ButIhavebeenblind—blind.”
“What’sthematter?”
“Complex,Ihavesaid?Complicated?Maisnon.Ofasimplicityextreme—extreme.AndmiserableonethatIam,Isawnothing—nothing.”
“Goodgracious,Poirot,whatisthislightthathassuddenlyburstuponyou?”
“Wait—wait—donotspeak!Imustarrangemyideas.Rearrangetheminthelightofthisdiscoverysostupendous.”
Seizinghislistofquestions,heranoverthemsilently,hislipsmovingbusily.Onceortwicehenoddedhisheademphatically.
Thenhelaidthemdownandleaningbackinhischairheshuthiseyes.Ithoughtatlastthathehadgonetosleep.
Suddenlyhesighedandopenedhiseyes.
“Butyes!”hesaid.“Itallfitsin!Allthethingsthathavepuzzledme.Allthethingsthathaveseemedtomealittleunnatural.Theyallhavetheirplace.”
“Youmean—youknoweverything?”
“Nearlyeverything.Allthatmatters.InsomerespectsIhavebeenrightinmydeductions.Inotherwaysludicrouslyfarfromthetruth.Butnowitisallclear.Ishallsendtodayatelegramaskingtwoquestions—buttheanswerstothemIknowalready—Iknowhere!”Hetappedhisforehead.
“Andwhenyoureceivetheanswers?”Iasked,curiously.
Hesprangtohisfeet.
“Myfriend,doyourememberthatMademoiselleNicksaidshewantedtostageaplayatEndHouse?Tonight,westagesuchaplayinEndHouse.ButitwillbeaplayproducedbyHerculePoirot.MademoiselleNickwillhaveaparttoplayinit.”Hegrinnedsuddenly.“Youcomprehend,Hastings,therewillbeaghostinthisplay.Yes,aghost.EndHousehasneverseenaghost.Itwillhaveonetonight.No”—asItriedtoaskaquestion—“Iwillsaynomore.Tonight,Hastings,wewillproduceourcomedy—andrevealthetruth.Butnow,thereismuchtodo—muchtodo.”
Hehurriedfromtheroom.
Nineteen
POIROTPRODUCESAPLAY
ItwasacuriousgatheringthatmetthatnightatEndHouse.
IhadhardlyseenPoirotallday.HehadbeenoutfordinnerbuthadleftmeamessagethatIwastobeatEndHouseatnineo’clock.Eveningdress,hehadadded,wasnotnecessary.
Thewholethingwaslikearatherridiculousdream.
OnarrivalIwasusheredintothediningroomandwhenIlookedroundIrealizedthateverypersononPoirot’slistfromA.toI.(J.wasnecessarilyexcluded,beingintheMrs.Harris-likepositionof“thereain’tnosuchperson”)waspresent.
EvenMrs.Croftwasthereinakindofinvalidchair.Shesmiledandnoddedatme.
“Thisisasurprise,isn’tit?”shesaid,cheerfully.“Itmakesachangeforme,Imustsay.IthinkIshalltryandgetoutnowandagain.AllM.Poirot’sidea.Comeandsitbyme,CaptainHastings.SomehowIfeelthisisratheragruesomebusiness—butMr.Vysemadeapointofit.”
“Mr.Vyse?”Isaid,rathersurprised.
CharlesVysewasstandingbythemantelpiece.Poirotwasbesidehimtalkingearnestlytohiminanundertone.
Ilookedroundtheroom.Yes,theywereallthere.Aftershowingmein(Ihadbeenaminuteortwolate)Ellenhadtakenherplaceonachairjustbesidethedoor.Onanotherchair,sittingpainfullystraightandbreathinghard,washerhusband.Thechild,Alfred,squirmeduneasilybetweenhisfatherandmother
Therestsatroundthediningtable.Fredericainherblackdress,Lazarusbesideher,GeorgeChallengerandCroftontheothersideofthetable.IsatalittleawayfromitnearMrs.Croft.AndnowCharlesVyse,afinalnodofthehead,tookhisplaceattheheadofthetable,andPoirotslippedunobtrusivelyintoaseatnexttoLazarus.
Clearlytheproducer,asPoirothadstyledhimself,didnotproposetotakeaprominentpartintheplay.CharlesVysewasapparentlyinchargeoftheproceedings.IwonderedwhatsurprisesPoirothadinstoreforhim.
Theyounglawyerclearedhisthroatandstoodup.Helookedjustthesameasever,impassive,formalandunemotional.
“Thisisratheranunconventionalgatheringwehaveheretonight,”hesaid.“Butthecircumstancesareverypeculiar.Irefer,ofcourse,tothecircumstancessurroundingthedeathofmycousin,MissBuckley.Therewillhave,ofcourse,tobeanautopsy—thereseemstobenodoubtthatshemetherdeathbypoison,andthatthatpoisonwasadministeredwiththeintenttokill.ThisispolicebusinessandIneednotgointoit.Thepolicewoulddoubtlessprefermenottodoso.
“Inanordinarycase,thewillofadeceasedpersonisreadafterthefuneral,butindeferencetoM.Poirot’sspecialwish,Iamproposingtoreaditbeforethefuneraltakesplace.Infact,Iamproposingtoreadithereandnow.Thatiswhyeveryonehasbeenaskedtocomehere.AsIsaidjustnow,thecircumstancesareunusualandjustifyadeparturefromprecedent.
“Thewillitselfcameintomypossessioninasomewhatunusualmanner.AlthoughdatedlastFebruary,itonlyreachedmebypostthismorning.However,itisundoubtedlyinthehandwritingofmycousin—Ihavenodoubtonthatpoint,andthoughamostinformaldocument,itisproperlyattested.”
Hepausedandclearedhisthroatoncemore.
Everyeyewasuponhisface.
Fromalongenvelopeinhishand,hedrewoutanenclosure.Itwas,aswecouldsee,anordinarypieceofEndHousenotepaperwithwritingonit.
“Itisquiteshort,”saidVyse.Hemadeasuitablepause,thenbegantoread:
“ThisisthelastWillandTestamentofMagdalaBuckley.IdirectthatallmyfuneralexpensesshouldbepaidandIappointmycousinCharlesVyseasmyexecutor.IleaveeverythingofwhichIdiepossessedtoMildredCroftingratefulrecognitionoftheservicesrenderedbyhertomyfather,PhilipBuckley,whichservicesnothingcaneverrepay.“Signed—MagdalaBuckley,“Witnesses—EllenWilson,WilliamWilson.”
Iwasdumbfounded!SoIthinkwaseveryoneelse.OnlyMrs.Croftnoddedherheadinquietunderstanding.
“It’strue,”shesaid,quietly.“NotthatIevermeanttoletonaboutit.PhilipBuckleywasoutinAustralia,andifithadn’tbeenforme—well,I’mnotgoingintothat.Asecretit’sbeenandasecretithadbetterremain.Sheknewaboutit,though.Nickdid,Imean.Herfathermusthavetoldher.Wecamedownherebecausewewantedtohavealookattheplace.I’dalwaysbeencuriousaboutthisEndHousePhilipBuckleytalkedof.Andthatdeargirlknewallaboutit,andcouldn’tdoenoughforus.Wantedustocomeandlivewithher,shedid.Butwewouldn’tdothat.Andsosheinsistedonourhavingthelodge—andnotapennyofrentwouldshetake.Wepretendedtopayit,ofcourse,soasnottocausetalk,butshehandeditbacktous.Andnow—this!Well,ifanyonesaysthereisnogratitudeintheworld,I’lltellthemthey’rewrong!Thisprovesit.”
Therewasstillanamazedsilence.PoirotlookedatVyse.
“Hadyouanyideaofthis?”
Vyseshookhishead.
“IknewPhilipBuckleyhadbeeninAustralia.ButIneverheardanyrumoursofascandalthere.”
HelookedinquiringlyatMrs.Croft.
Sheshookherhead.
“No,youwon’tgetawordoutofme.IneverhavesaidawordandInevershall.Thesecretgoestothegravewithme.”
Vysesaidnothing.Hesatquietlytappingthetablewithapencil.
“Ipresume,M.Vyse”—Poirotleanedforward—“thatasnextofkinyoucouldcontestthatwill?Thereis,Iunderstand,avastfortuneatstakewhichwasnotthecasewhenthewillwasmade.”
Vyselookedathimcoldly.
“Thewillisperfectlyvalid.Ishouldnotdreamofcontestingmycousin’sdisposalofherproperty.”
“You’reanhonestfellow,”saidMrs.Croft,approvingly.“AndI’llseeyoudon’tlosebyit.”
Charlessankalittlefromthiswell-meantbutslightlyembarrassingremark.
“Well,Mother,”saidMr.Croft,withanelationhecouldnotquitekeepoutofhisvoice.“Thisisasurprise!Nickdidn’ttellmewhatshewasdoing.”
“Thedearsweetgirl,”murmuredMrs.Croft,puttingherhandkerchieftohereyes.“Iwishshecouldlookdownandseeusnow.Perhapsshedoes—whoknows?”
“Perhaps,”agreedPoirot.
Suddenlyanideaseemedtostrikehim.Helookedround.
“Anidea!Weareallhereseatedroundatable.Letusholdaséance.”
“Aséance?”saidMrs.Croft,somewhatshocked.“Butsurely—”
“Yes,yes,itwillbemostinteresting.Hastings,here,haspronouncedmediumisticpowers.”(Whyfixonme,Ithought.)“Togetthroughamessagefromtheotherworld—theopportunityisunique!Ifeeltheconditionsarepropitious.Youfeelthesame,Hastings.”
“Yes,”Isaidresolutely,playingup.
“Good.Iknewit.Quick,thelights.”
Inanotherminutehehadrisenandswitchedthemoff.Thewholethinghadbeenrushedonthecompanybeforetheyhadhadtheenergytoprotesthadtheywantedtodoso.Asamatteroffacttheywere,Ithink,stilldazedwithastonishmentoverthewill.
Theroomwasnotquitedark.Thecurtainsweredrawnbackandthewindowwasopenforitwasahotnight,andthroughthosewindowscameafaintlight.Afteraminuteortwo,aswesatinsilence,Ibegantobeabletomakeoutthefaintoutlinesofthefurniture.IwonderedverymuchwhatIwassupposedtodoandcursedPoirotheartilyfornothavinggivenmemyinstructionsbeforehand
However,Iclosedmyeyesandbreathedinaratherstertorousmanner.
PresentlyPoirotroseandtiptoedtomychair.Thenreturningtohisown,hemurmured.
“Yes,heisalreadyinatrance.Soon—thingswillbegintohappen.”
Thereissomethingaboutsittinginthedark,waiting,thatfillsonewithunbearableapprehension.IknowthatImyselfwasapreytonervesandso,Iwassure,waseveryoneelse.AndyetIhadatleastanideaofwhatwasabouttohappen.Iknewtheonevitalfactthatnooneelseknew.
Andyet,inspiteofallthat,myheartleaptintomymouthasIsawthediningroomdoorslowlyopening.
Itdidsoquitesoundlessly(itmusthavebeenoiled)andtheeffectwashorriblygrisly.Itswungslowlyopenandforaminuteortwothatwasall.Withitsopeningacoldblastofairseemedtoentertheroom.Itwas,Isuppose,acommonorgardendraughtowingtotheopenwindow,butitfeltliketheicychillmentionedinalltheghoststoriesIhaveeverread.
Andthenweallsawit!Framedinthedoorwaywasawhiteshadowyfigure.NickBuckley….
Sheadvancedslowlyandnoiselessly—withakindoffloatingetherealmotionthatcertainlyconveyedtheimpressionofnothinghuman….
Irealizedthenwhatanactresstheworldhadmissed.NickhadwantedtoplayapartatEndHouse.Nowshewasplayingit,andIfeltconvincedthatshewasenjoyingherselftothecore.Shediditperfectly.
Shefloatedforwardintotheroom—andthesilencewasbroken.
Therewasagaspingcryfromtheinvalidchairbesideme.AkindofgurglefromMr.Croft.AstartledoathfromChallenger.CharlesVysedrewbackhischair,Ithink.Lazarusleanedforward.Fredericaalonemadenosoundormovement.
Andthenascreamrenttheroom.Ellensprangupfromherchair.
“It’sher!”sheshrieked.“She’scomeback.She’swalking!Themthat’smurderedalwayswalks.It’sher!It’sher!”
Andthen,withaclickthelightswenton.
IsawPoirotstandingbythem,thesmileoftheringmasteronhisface.Nickstoodinthemiddleoftheroominherwhitedraperies.
ItwasFredericawhospokefirst.Shestretchedoutanunbelievinghand—touchedherfriend.
“Nick,”shesaid.“You’re—you’rereal!”
Itwasalmostawhisper.
Nicklaughed.Sheadvanced.
“Yes,”shesaid.“I’mrealenough.Thankyousomuchforwhatyoudidformyfather,Mrs.Croft.ButI’mafraidyouwon’tbeabletoenjoythebenefitofthatwilljustyet.”
“Oh,myGod,”gaspedMrs.Croft.“Oh,myGod.”Shetwistedtoandfroinherchair.“Takemeaway,Bert.Takemeaway.Itwasallajoke,mydear—allajoke,that’sallitwas.Honest.”
“Aqueersortofjoke,”saidNick.
ThedoorhadopenedagainandamanhadenteredsoquietlythatIhadnotheardhim.TomysurpriseIsawthatitwasJapp.HeexchangedaquicknodwithPoirotasthoughsatisfyinghimofsomething.Thenhisfacesuddenlylitupandhetookastepforwardtowardsthesquirmingfigureintheinvalidchair.
“Hello-ello-ello,”hesaid.“What’sthis?Anoldfriend!MillyMerton,Ideclare!Andatyouroldtricksagain,mydear.”
HeturnedroundinanexplanatorywaytothecompanydisregardingMrs.Croft’sshrillprotests.
“Cleverestforgerwe’veeverhad,MillyMerton.Weknewtherehadbeenanaccidenttothecartheymadetheirlastgetawayin.Butthere!Evenaninjurytothespinewouldn’tkeepMillyfromhertricks.She’sanartist,sheis!”
“Wasthatwillaforgery?”saidVyse.
Hespokeintonesofamazement.
“Ofcourseitwasaforgery,”saidNickscornfully.“Youdon’tthinkI’dmakeasillywilllikethat,doyou?IleftyouEndHouse,Charles,andeverythingelsetoFrederica.”
Shecrossedasshespokeandstoodbyherfriend,andjustatthatmomentithappened!
Aspurtofflamefromthewindowandthehissofabullet.Thenanotherandthesoundofagroanandafalloutside.
AndFredericaonherfeetwithathintrickleofbloodrunningdownherarm..
Twenty
J.
Itwasallsosuddenthatforamomentnooneknewwhathadhappened.
Then,withaviolentexclamation,Poirotrantothewindow.Challengerwaswithhim.
Amomentlatertheyreappeared,carryingwiththemthelimpbodyofaman.Astheyloweredhimcarefullyintoabigleatherarmchairandhisfacecameintoview,Iutteredacry.
“Theface—thefaceatthewindow…”
ItwasthemanIhadseenlookinginonusthepreviousevening.Irecognizedhimatonce.IrealizedthatwhenIhadsaidhewashardlyhumanIhadexaggeratedasPoirothadaccusedmeofdoing.
Yettherewassomethingabouthisfacethatjustifiedmyimpression.Itwasalostface—thefaceofoneremovedfromordinaryhumanity.
White,weak,depraved—itseemedameremask—asthoughthespiritwithinhadfledlongago.
Downthesideofittheretrickledastreamofblood.
Fredericacameslowlyforwardtillshestoodbythechair.
Poirotinterceptedher.
“Youarehurt,Madame?”
Sheshookherhead.
“Thebulletgrazedmyshoulder—thatisall.”
Sheputhimasidewithagentlehandandbentdown.
Theman’seyesopenedandhesawherlookingdownathim.
“I’vedoneforyouthistime,Ihope,”hesaidinalowvicioussnarl,andthen,hisvoicechangingsuddenlytillitsoundedlikeachild’s,“Oh!Freddie,Ididn’tmeanit.Ididn’tmeanit.You’vealwaysbeensodecenttome….”
“It’sallright—”
Shekneltdownbesidehim.
“Ididn’tmean—”
Hisheaddropped.Thesentencewasneverfinished.
FredericalookedupatPoirot.
“Yes,Madame,heisdead,”hesaid,gently.
Sheroseslowlyfromherkneesandstoodlookingdownathim.Withonehandshetouchedhisforehead—pitifully,itseemed.Thenshesighedandturnedtotherestofus.
“Hewasmyhusband,”shesaid,quietly.
“J.,”Imurmured.
Poirotcaughtmyremark,andnoddedaquickassent.
“Yes,”hesaidsoftly.“AlwaysIfeltthattherewasaJ.Isaidsofromthebeginning,didInot?”
“Hewasmyhusband,”saidFredericaagain.Hervoicewasterriblytired.ShesankintoachairthatLazarusbroughtforher.“Imightaswelltellyoueverything—now.”
“Hewas—completelydebased.Hewasadrugfiend.Hetaughtmetotakedrugs.IhavebeenfightingthehabiteversinceIlefthim.Ithink—atlast—Iamnearlycured.Butithasbeendifficult.Oh!sohorriblydifficult.Nobodyknowshowdifficult!
“Icouldneverescapefromhim.Heusedtoturnupanddemandmoney—withthreats.Akindofblackmail.IfIdidnotgivehimmoneyhewouldshoothimself.Thatwasalwayshisthreat.Thenhetooktothreateningtoshootme.Hewasnotresponsible.Hewasmad—crazy….”
“IsupposeitwashewhoshotMaggieBuckley.Hedidn’tmeantoshoother,ofcourse.Hemusthavethoughtitwasme.
“Ioughttohavesaid,Isuppose.But,afterall,Iwasn’tsure.AndthosequeeraccidentsNickhad—thatmademefeelthatperhapsitwasn’thimafterall.Itmighthavebeensomeonequitedifferent.
“Andthen—oneday—IsawabitofhishandwritingonatornpieceofpaperonM.Poirot’stable.Itwaspartofaletterhehadsentme.IknewthenthatM.Poirotwasonthetrack.
“SincethenIhavefeltthatitwasonlyamatteroftime….”
“ButIdon’tunderstandaboutthesweets.Hewouldn’thavewantedtopoisonNick.Andanyway,Idon’tseehowhecouldhavehadanythingtodowiththat.I’vepuzzledandpuzzled.”
Sheputbothhandstoherface,thentookthemawayandsaidwithaqueerpatheticfinality:
“That’sall….”
Twenty-one
THEPERSON—K.
Lazaruscamequicklytoherside.
“Mydear,”hesaid.“Mydear.”
Poirotwenttothesideboard,pouredoutaglassofwineandbroughtittoher,standingoverherwhileshedrankit.
Shehandedtheglassbacktohimandsmiled.
“I’mallrightnow,”shesaid.“What—whathadwebetterdonext?”
ShelookedatJapp,buttheInspectorshookhishead.“I’monaholiday,Mrs.Rice.Justobliginganoldfriend—that’sallI’mdoing.TheSt.Loopoliceareinchargeofthecase.”
ShelookedatPoirot.
“AndM.PoirotisinchargeoftheSt.LooPolice?”
“Oh!quelleidée,Madame!Iamamerehumbleadviser.”
“M.Poirot,”saidNick.“Can’twehushitup?”
“Youwishthat,Mademoiselle?”
“Yes.Afterall—I’mthepersonmostconcerned.Andtherewillbenomoreattacksonme—now.”
“No,thatistrue.Therewillbenomoreattacksonyounow.”
“You’rethinkingofMaggie.But,M.Poirot,nothingwillbringMaggiebacktolifeagain!Ifyoumakeallthispublic,you’llonlybringaterriblelotofsufferingandpublicityonFrederica—andshehasn’tdeservedit.”
“Yousayshehasnotdeservedit?”
“Ofcourseshehasn’t!Itoldyourightatthebeginningthatshehadabruteofahusband.You’veseentonight—whathewas.Well,he’sdead.Letthatbetheendofthings.LetthepolicegoonlookingforthemanwhoshotMaggie.Theyjustwon’tfindhim,that’sall.”
“Sothatiswhatyousay,Mademoiselle?Hushitallup.”
“Yes.Please.Oh!Please.Please,dearM.Poirot.”
Poirotlookedslowlyround.
“Whatdoyouallsay?”
Eachspokeinturn.
“Iagree,”Isaid,asPoirotlookedatme.
“I,too,”saidLazarus.
“Bestthingtodo,”fromChallenger.
“Let’sforgeteverythingthat’spassedinthisroomtonight.”ThisverydeterminedlyfromCroft.
“Youwouldsaythat!”interpolatedJapp.
“Don’tbehardonme,dearie,”hiswifesniffedtoNick,wholookedatherscornfullybutmadenoreply.
“Ellen?”
“MeandWilliamwon’tsayaword,sir.Leastsaid,soonestmended.”
“Andyou,M.Vyse?”
“Athinglikethiscan’tbehushedup,”saidCharlesVyse.“Thefactsmustbemadeknownintheproperquarter.”
“Charles!”criedNick.
“I’msorry,dear.Ilookatitfromthelegalaspect.”
Poirotgaveasuddenlaugh.
“Soyouareseventoone.ThegoodJappisneutral.”
“I’monholiday,”saidJapp,withagrin.“Idon’tcount.”
“Seventoone.OnlyM.Vyseholdsout—onthesideoflawandorder!Youknow,M.Vyse,youareamanofcharacter!”
Vyseshruggedhisshoulders.
“Thepositionisquiteclear.Thereisonlyonethingtodo.”
“Yes—youareanhonestman.Ehbien—I,too,rangemyselfonthesideoftheminority.I,too,amforthetruth.”
“M.Poirot!”criedNick.
“Mademoiselle—youdraggedmeintothecase.Icameintoitatyourwish.Youcannotsilencemenow.”
HeraisedathreateningforefingerinagesturethatIknewwell.
“Sitdown—allofyou,andIwilltellyou—thetruth.”
Silencedbyhisimperiousattitude,wesatdownmeeklyandturnedattentivefacestowardshim.
“écoutez!Ihavealisthere—alistofpersonsconnectedwiththecrime.InumberedthemwiththelettersofthealphabetincludingtheletterJ.J.stoodforapersonunknown—linkedtothecrimebyoneoftheothers.IdidnotknowwhoJ.wasuntiltonight,butIknewthattherewassuchapersonTheeventsoftonighthaveprovedthatIwasright.
“Butyesterday,IsuddenlyrealizedthatIhadmadeagraveerror.Ihadmadeanomission.Iaddedanotherlettertomylist.TheletterK.”
“Anotherpersonunknown?”askedVyse,withaslightsneer.
“Notexactly.IadoptedJ.asthesymbolforapersonunknown.AnotherpersonunknownwouldbemerelyanotherJ.K.hasadifferentsignificance.Itstandsforapersonwhoshouldhavebeenincludedintheoriginallist,butwhowasoverlooked.”
HebentoverFrederica.
“Reassureyourself,Madame.Yourhusbandwasnotguiltyofmurder.ItwasthepersonK.whoshotMademoiselleMaggie.”
Shestared.
“ButwhoisK.?”
PoirotnoddedtoJapp.Hesteppedforwardandspokeintonesreminiscentofthedayswhenhehadgivenevidenceinpolicecourts.
“Actingoninformationreceived,Itookupapositionhereearlyintheevening,havingbeenintroducedsecretlyintothehousebyM.Poirot.Iwasconcealedbehindthecurtainsinthedrawingroom.Wheneveryonewasassembledinthisroom,ayoungladyenteredthedrawingroomandswitchedonthelight.Shemadeherwaytothefireplaceandopenedasmallrecessinthepanellingthatappearedtobeoperatedwithaspring.Shetookfromtherecessapistol.Withthisinherhandshelefttheroom.IfollowedherandopeningthedooracrackIwasabletoobserveherfurthermovements.Coatsandwrapshadbeenleftinthehallbythevisitorsonarrival.Theyoungladycarefullywipedthepistolwithahandkerchiefandthenplaceditinthepocketofagreywrap,thepropertyofMrs.Rice—”
AcryburstfromNick.
“Thisisuntrue—everywordofit!”
Poirotpointedahandather.
“Voilà!”hesaid.“ThepersonK.!ItwasMademoiselleNickwhoshothercousin,MaggieBuckley.”
“Areyoumad?”criedNick.“WhyshouldIkillMaggie?”
“InordertoinheritthemoneylefttoherbyMichaelSeton!HernametoowasMagdalaBuckley—anditwastoherhewasengaged—notyou.”
“You—you—”
Shestoodtheretrembling—unabletospeak.PoirotturnedtoJapp.
“Youtelephonedtothepolice?”
“Yes,theyarewaitinginthehallnow.They’vegotthewarrant.”
“You’reallmad!”criedNick,contemptuously.ShemovedswiftlytoFrederica’sside.“Freddie,givemeyourwristwatchas—asasouvenir,willyou?”
SlowlyFredericaunclaspedthejewelledwatchfromherwristandhandedittoNick.
“Thanks.Andnow—Isupposewemustgothroughwiththisperfectlyridiculouscomedy.”
“ThecomedyyouplannedandproducedinEndHouse.Yes—butyoushouldnothavegiventhestarparttoHerculePoirot.That,Mademoiselle,wasyourmistake—yourverygravemistake.”
Twenty-two
THEENDOFTHESTORY
“Youwantmetoexplain?”
PoirotlookedroundwithagratifiedsmileandtheairofmockhumilityIknewsowell.
Wehadmovedintothedrawingroomandournumbershadlessened.Thedomesticshadwithdrawntactfully,andtheCroftshadbeenaskedtoaccompanythepolice.Frederica,Lazarus,Challenger,VyseandIremained.
“Ehbien—Iconfessit—Iwasfooled—fooledcompletelyandabsolutely.ThelittleNick,shehadmewhereshewantedme,asyouridiomsowellexpressesit.Ah!Madame,whenyousaidthatyourfriendwasacleverlittleliar—howrightyouwere!Howright!”
“Nickalwaystoldlies,”saidFrederica,composedly.“That’swhyIdidn’treallybelieveinthesemarvellousescapesofhers.”
“AndI—imbecilethatIwas—did!”
“Didn’ttheyreallyhappen?”Iasked.Iwas,Iadmit,stillhopelesslyconfused.
“Theywereinvented—verycleverly—togivejusttheimpressiontheydid.”
“Whatwasthat?”
“TheygavetheimpressionthatMademoiselleNick’slifewasindanger.ButIwillbeginearlierthanthat.IwilltellyouthestoryasIhavepieceditout—notasitcametomeimperfectlyandinflashes.
“Atthebeginningofthebusinessthen,wehavethisgirl,thisNickBuckley,youngandbeautiful,unscrupulous,andpassionatelyandfanaticallydevotedtoherhome.”
CharlesVysenodded.
“Itoldyouthat.”
“Andyouwereright.MademoiselleNicklovedEndHouse.Butshehadnomoney.Thehousewasmortgaged.Shewantedmoney—shewanteditfeverishly—andshecouldnotgetit.ShemeetsthisyoungSetonatLeTouquet,heisattractedbyher.Sheknowsthatinallprobabilityheishisuncle’sheirandthatthatuncleisworthmillions.Good,herstarisintheascendant,shethinks.Butheisnotreallyseriouslyattracted.Hethinkshergoodfun,thatisall.TheymeetatScarborough,hetakesherupinhismachineandthen—thecatastropheoccurs.HemeetsMaggieandfallsinlovewithheratfirstsight.
“MademoiselleNickisdumbfounded.HercousinMaggiewhomshehasneverconsideredpretty!ButtoyoungSetonsheis‘different.’Theonegirlintheworldforhim.Theybecomesecretlyengaged.Onlyonepersonknows—hastoknow.ThatpersonisMademoiselleNick.ThepoorMaggie—sheisgladthatthereisonepersonshecantalkto.Doubtlessshereadstohercousinpartsofherfiancé’sletters.SoitisthatMademoisellegetstohearofthewill.Shepaysnoattentiontoitatthetime.Butitremainsinhermind.
“ThencomesthesuddenandunexpecteddeathofSirMatthewSeton,andharduponthattherumoursofMichaelSeton’sbeingmissing.Andstraightawayanoutrageousplancomesintoouryounglady’shead.SetondoesnotknowthathernameisMagdalaalso.HeonlyknowsherasNick.Hiswillisclearlyquiteinformal—amerementionofaname.ButintheeyesoftheworldSetonisherfriend!Itiswithherthathisnamehasbeencoupled.Ifsheweretoclaimtobeengagedtohim,noonewouldbesurprised.ButtodothatsuccessfullyMaggiemustbeoutoftheway.
“Timeisshort.ShearrangesforMaggietocomeandstayinafewdays’time.Thenshehasherescapesfromdeath.Thepicturewhosecordshecutsthrough.Thebrakeofthecarthatshetamperswith.Theboulder—thatperhapswasnaturalandshemerelyinventedthestoryofbeingunderneathonthepath.
“Andthen—sheseesmynameinthepaper.(Itoldyou,Hastings,everyoneknewHerculePoirot!)andshehastheaudacitytomakemeanaccomplice!Thebulletthroughthehatthatfallsatmyfeet.Oh!theprettycomedy.AndIamtakenin!Ibelieveintheperilthatmenacesher!Bon!Shehasgotavaluablewitnessonherside.Iplayintoherhandsbyaskinghertosendforafriend.
“SheseizesthechanceandsendsforMaggietocomeadayearlier.
“Howeasythecrimeisactually!SheleavesusatthedinnertableandafterhearingonthewirelessthatSeton’sdeathisafact,shestartstoputherplanintoaction.Shehasplentyoftime,then,totakeSeton’sletterstoMaggie—lookthroughthemandselectthefewthatwillanswerherpurpose.Thesesheplacesinherownroom.Then,later,sheandMaggieleavethefireworksandgobacktothehouse.Shetellshercousintoputonhershawl.Thenstealingoutafterher,sheshootsher.Quick,intothehouse,thepistolconcealedinthesecretpanel(ofwhoseexistenceshethinksnobodyknows).Thenupstairs.Thereshewaitstillvoicesareheard.Thebodyisdiscovered.Itishercue
“Downsherushesandoutthroughthewindow.
“Howwellsheplayedherpart!Magnificently!Oh,yes,shestagedafinedramahere.Themaid,Ellen,saidthiswasanevilhouse.Iaminclinedtoagreewithher.ItwasfromthehousethatMademoiselleNicktookherinspiration.”
“Butthosepoisonedsweets,”saidFrederica.“Istilldon’tunderstandaboutthat.”
“Itwasallpartofthesamescheme.DoyounotseethatifNick’slifewasattemptedafterMaggiewasdeadthatabsolutelysettledthequestionthatMaggie’sdeathhadbeenamistake.
“WhenshethoughtthetimewasripesherangupMadameRiceandaskedhertogetheraboxofchocolates.”
“Thenitwashervoice?”
“But,yes!Howoftenthesimpleexplanationisthetrueone!N’estcepas?Shemadehervoicesoundalittledifferent—thatwasall.Sothatyoumightbeindoubtwhenquestioned.Then,whentheboxarrived—againhowsimple.Shefillsthreeofthechocolateswithcocaine(shehadcocainewithher,cleverlyconcealed),eatsoneofthemandisill—butnottooill.Sheknowsverywellhowmuchcocainetotakeandjustwhatsymptomstoexaggerate.
“Andthecard—mycard!Ah!Sapristi—shehasanerve!Itwasmycard—theoneIsentwiththeflowers.Simple,wasitnot?Yes,butithadtobethoughtof….”
TherewasapauseandthenFredericaasked:
“Whydidsheputthepistolinmycoat?”
“Ithoughtyouwouldaskmethat,Madame.Itwasboundtooccurtoyouintime.Tellme—haditeverenteredyourheadthatMademoiselleNicknolongerlikedyou?Didyoueverfeelthatshemight—hateyou?”
“It’sdifficulttosay,”saidFrederica,slowly.“Welivedaninsincerelife.Sheusedtobefondofme.”
“Tellme,M.Lazarus—itisnotatimeforfalsemodesty,youunderstand—wasthereeveranythingbetweenyouandher?”
“No.”Lazarusshookhishead.“Iwasattractedtoheratonetime.Andthen—Idon’tknowwhy—Iwentoffher.”
“Ah!”saidPoirot,noddinghisheadsagely.“Thatwashertragedy.Sheattractedpeople—andthenthey‘wentoffher.’Insteadoflikingherbetterandbetteryoufellinlovewithherfriend.ShebegantohateMadame—Madamewhohadarichfriendbehindher.Lastwinterwhenshemadeawill,shewasfondofMadame.Lateritwasdifferent.
“Sherememberedthatwill.ShedidnotknowthatCrofthadsuppressedit—thatithadneverreacheditsdestination.Madame(orsotheworldwouldsay)hadgotamotivefordesiringherdeath.SoitwastoMadameshetelephonedaskinghertogetthechocolates.Tonight,thewillwouldhavebeenread,namingMadameherresiduarylegatee—andthenthepistolwouldbefoundinhercoat—thepistolwithwhichMaggieBuckleywasshot.IfMadamefoundit,shemightincriminateherselfbytryingtogetridofit.”
“Shemusthavehatedme,”murmuredFrederica.
“Yes,Madame.Youhadwhatshehadnot—theknackofwinninglove,andkeepingit.”
“I’mratherdense,”saidChallenger,“butIhaven’tquitefathomedthewillbusinessyet.”
“No?That’sadifferentbusinessaltogether—averysimpleone.TheCroftsarelyinglowdownhere.MadmoiselleNickhastohaveanoperation.Shehasmadenowill.TheCroftsseeachance.Theypersuadehertomakeoneandtakechargeofitforthepost.Then,ifanythinghappenstoher—ifshedies—theyproduceacleverlyforgedwill—leavingthemoneytoMrs.CroftwithareferencetoAustraliaandPhilipBuckleywhomtheyknowoncevisitedthecountry.
“ButMademoiselleNickhasherappendixremovedquitesatisfactorilysotheforgedwillisnogood.Forthemoment,thatis.Thentheattemptsonherlifebegin.TheCroftsarehopefuloncemore.Finally,Iannounceherdeath.Thechanceistoogoodtobemissed.TheforgedwillisimmediatelypostedtoM.Vyse.Ofcourse,tobeginwith,theynaturallythoughthermuchricherthansheis.Theyknewnothingaboutthemortgage.”
“WhatIreallywanttoknow,M.Poirot,”saidLazarus,“ishowyouactuallygotwisetoallthis.Whendidyoubegintosuspect?”
“Ah!thereIamashamed.Iwassolong—solong.Therewerethingsthatworriedme—yes.Thingsthatseemednotquiteright.DiscrepanciesbetweenwhatMademoiselleNicktoldmeandwhatotherpeopletoldme.Unfortunately,IalwaysbelievedMademoiselleNick.
“Andthen,suddenly,Igotarevelation.MademoiselleNickmadeonemistake.Shewastooclever.WhenIurgedhertosendforafriendshepromisedtodoso—andsuppressedthefactthatshehadalreadysentforMademoiselleMaggie.Itseemedtoherlesssuspicious—butitwasamistake.”
“ForMaggieBuckleywrotealetterhomeimmediatelyonarrival,andinitsheusedoneinnocentphrasethatpuzzledme:‘Idon’tseewhyNickshouldhavetelegraphedformethewayshedid.Tuesdaywouldhavedonejustaswell.’WhatdidthatmentionofTuesdaymean?Itcouldonlymeanonething.MaggiehadbeencomingtostayonTuesdayanyway.ButinthatcaseMademoiselleNickhadlied—orhadatanyratesuppressedthetruth.
“AndforthefirsttimeIlookedatherinadifferentlight.Icriticizedherstatements.Insteadofbelievingthem,Isaid,‘Supposethiswerenottrue.’Irememberedthediscrepancies.‘HowwoulditbeifeverytimeitwasMademoiselleNickwhowaslyingandnottheotherperson?’
“Isaidtomyself:‘Letusbesimple.Whathasreallyhappened?’
“AndIsawthatwhathadreallyhappenedwasthatMaggieBuckleyhadbeenkilled.Justthat!ButwhocouldwantMaggieBuckleydead?
“AndthenIthoughtofsomethingelse—afewfoolishremarksthatHastingshadmadenotfiveminutesbefore.HehadsaidthattherewereplentyofabbreviationsforMargaret—Maggie,Margot,etc.AnditsuddenlyoccurredtometowonderwhatwasMademoiselleMaggie’srealname?
“Then,toutd’uncoup,itcametome!SupposinghernamewasMagdala!ItwasaBuckleyname,MademoiselleNickhadtoldmeso.TwoMagadalaBuckleys.Supposing…
“InmymindIranoverthelettersofMichaelSeton’sthatIhadread.Yes—therewasnothingimpossible.TherewasamentionofScarborough—butMaggiehadbeeninScarboroughwithNick—hermotherhadtoldmeso.
“Anditexplainedonethingwhichhadworriedme.Whyweretheresofewletters?Ifagirlkeepsherlovelettersatall,shekeepsallofthem.Whytheseselectfew?Wasthereanypeculiarityaboutthem?
“AndIrememberedthattherewasnonamementionedinthem.Theyallbegandifferently—buttheybeganwithatermofendearment.Nowhereinthemwastherethename—Nick.
“Andtherewassomethingelse,somethingthatIoughttohaveseenatonce—thatcriedthetruthaloud.”
“Whatwasthat?”
“Why—this.MademoiselleNickunderwentanoperationforappendicitisonFebruary27thlast.ThereisaletterofMichaelSeton’sdatedMarch2nd,andnomentionofanxiety,ofillnessoranythingunusal.Thatoughttohaveshownmethattheletterswerewrittentoadifferentpersonaltogether.
“ThenIwentthroughalistofquestionsthatIhadmade.AndIansweredtheminthelightofmynewidea.
“Inallbutafewisolatedquestionstheresultwassimpleandconvincing.AndIanswered,too,anotherquestionwhichIhadaskedmyselfearlier.WhydidMademoiselleNickbuyablackdress?Theanswerwasthatsheandhercousinhadtobedressedalike,withthescarletshawlasanadditionaltouch.Thatwasthetrueandconvincinganswer,nottheother.Agirlwouldnotbuymourningbeforesheknewherloverwasdead.Shewouldbeunreal—unnatural.
“AndsoI,inturn,stagedmylittledrama.AndthethingIhopedforhappened!NickBuckleyhadbeenveryvehementaboutthequestionofasecretpanel.Shehaddeclaredtherewasnosuchthing.Butiftherewere—andIdidnotseewhyEllenshouldhaveinventedit—Nickmustknowofit.Whywasshesovehement?Wasitpossiblethatshehadhiddenthepistolthere?Withthesecretintentionofusingittothrowsuspiciononsomebodylater?
“IletherseethatappearanceswereveryblackagainstMadame.Thatwasasshehadplanned.AsIforesaw,shewasunabletoresistthecrowningproof.Besidesitwassaferforherself.ThatsecretpanelmightbefoundbyEllenandthepistolinit!
“Weareallsafelyinhere.Sheiswaitingoutsideforhercue.Itisabsolutelysafe,shethinks,totakethepistolfromitshidingplaceandputitinMadame’scoat….
“Andso—atthelast—shefailed….”
Fredericashivered.
“Allthesame,”shesaid.“I’mgladIgavehermywatch.”
“Yes,Madame.”
Shelookedupathimquickly.
“Youknowaboutthattoo?”
“WhataboutEllen?”Iasked,breakingin.“Didsheknoworsuspectanything?”
“No.Iaskedher.Shetoldmethatshedecidedtostayinthehousethatnightbecauseinherownphraseshe‘thoughtsomethingwasup.’ApparentlyNickurgedhertoseethefireworksrathertoodecisively.ShehadfathomedNick’sdislikeofMadame.Shetoldmethat‘shefeltinherbonessomethingwasgoingtohappen,’butshethoughtitwasgoingtohappentoMadame.SheknewMissNick’stemper,shesaid,andshewasalwaysaqueerlittlegirl.”
“Yes,”murmuredFrederica.“Yes,letusthinkofherlikethat.Aqueerlittlegirl.Aqueerlittlegirlwhocouldn’thelpherself…Ishall—anyway.”
Poirottookherhandandraiseditgentlytohislips.
CharlesVysestirreduneasily.
“It’sgoingtobeaveryunpleasantbusiness,”hesaid,quietly.“Imustseeaboutsomekindofdefenceforher,Isuppose.”
“Therewillbenoneed,Ithink,”saidPoirot,gently.“NotifIamcorrectinmyassumptions.”
HeturnedsuddenlyonChallenger.
“That’swhereyouputthestuff,isn’tit?”hesaid.“Inthosewristwatches.”
“I—I—”Thesailorstammered—ataloss.
“Donottryanddeceiveme—withyourheartygood-fellowmanner.IthasdeceivedHastings—butitdoesnotdeceiveme.Youmakeagoodthingoutofit,doyounot—thetrafficindrugs—youandyouruncleinHarleyStreet.”
“M.Poirot.”
Challengerrosetohisfeet.
Mylittlefriendblinkedupathimplacidly.
“Youaretheuseful‘boyfriend.’Denyit,ifyoulike.ButIadviseyou,ifyoudonotwantthefactsputinthehandsofthepolice—togo.”
Andtomyutteramazement,Challengerdidgo.Hewentfromtheroomlikeaflash.Istaredafterhimopenmouthed.
Poirotlaughed.
“Itoldyouso,monami.Yourinstinctsarealwayswrong.C’estépatant!”
“Cocainewasinthewristwatch—”Ibegan.
“Yes,yes.ThatishowMademoiselleNickhaditwithhersoconvenientlyatthenursinghome.AndhavingfinishedhersupplyinthechocolateboxsheaskedMadamejustnowforherswhichwasfull.”
“Youmeanshecan’tdowithoutit?”
“Non,non.MademoiselleNickisnotaaddict.Sometimes—forfun—thatisall.Buttonightsheneededitforadifferentpurpose.Itwillbeafulldosethistime.”
“Youmean—?”Igasped.
“Itisthebestway.Betterthanthehangman’srope.Butpst!wemustnotsaysobeforeM.Vysewhoisallforlawandorder.OfficiallyIknownothing.Thecontentsofthewristwatch—itisthemerestguessonmypart.”
“Yourguessesarealwaysright,M.Poirot,”saidFrederica.
“Imustbegoing,”saidCharlesVyse,colddisapprovalinhisattitudeashelefttheroom.
PoirotlookedfromFredericatoLazarus
“Youaregoingtogetmarried—eh?”
“Assoonaswecan.”
“Andindeed,M.Poirot,”saidFrederica.“Iamnotthedrugtakeryouthink.Ihavecutmyselfdowntoatinydose.Ithinknow—withhappinessinfrontofme—Ishallnotneedawristwatchanymore.”
“Ihopeyouwillhavehappiness,Madame,”saidPoirotgently.“Youhavesufferedagreatdeal.Andinspiteofeverythingyouhavesuffered,youhavestillthequalityofmercyinyourheart….”
“Iwilllookafterher,”saidLazarus.“Mybusinessisinabadway,butIbelieveIshallpullthrough.AndifIdon’t—well,Fredericadoesnotmindbeingpoor—withme.”
Sheshookherhead,smiling.
“Itislate,”saidPoirot,lookingattheclock.
Weallrose.
“Wehavespentastrangenightinthisstrangehouse,”Poirotwenton.“Itis,Ithink,asEllensays,anevilhouse….”
HelookedupatthepictureofoldSirNicholas.
Then,withasuddengesture,hedrewLazarusaside.
“Iaskyourpardon,but,ofallmyquestions,thereisonestillunanswered.Tellme,whydidyouofferfiftypoundsforthatpicture?Itwouldgivememuchpleasuretoknow—soas,youcomprehend,toleavenothingunanswered.”
Lazaruslookedathimwithanimpassivefaceforaminuteortwo.Thenhesmiled.
“Yousee,M.Poirot,”hesaid.“Iamadealer.”
“Exactly.”
“Thatpictureisnotworthapennymorethantwentypounds.IknewthatifIofferedNickfifty,shewouldimmediatelysuspectitwasworthmoreandwouldgetitvaluedelsewhere.ThenshewouldfindthatIhadofferedherfarmorethanitwasworth.ThenexttimeIofferedtobuyapictureshewouldnothavegotitvalued.”
“Yes,andthen?”
“Thepictureonthefarwallisworthatleastfivethousandpounds,”saidLazarusdrily.
“Ah!”Poirotdrewalongbreath.
“NowIknoweverything,”hesaidhappily.
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
Memoirs
AnAutobiography
Come,TellMeHowYouLive
Copyright
Thisbookisaworkoffiction.Thecharacters,incidents,anddialoguearedrawnfromtheauthor’simaginationandarenottobeconstruedasreal.Anyresemblancetoactualeventsorpersons,livingordead,isentirelycoincidental.
AGATHACHRISTIE?POIROT?PERILATENDHOUSE?.Copyright?1932AgathaChristieLimited(aChorioncompany).Allrightsreserved.
PERILATENDHOUSE?1932.PublishedbypermissionofG.P.Putnam’sSons,amemberofPenguinGroup(USA)Inc.AllrightsreservedunderInternationalandPan-AmericanCopyrightConventions.Bypaymentoftherequiredfees,youhavebeengrantedthenonexclusive,nontransferablerighttoaccessandreadthetextofthisebookon-screen.Nopartofthistextmaybereproduced,transmitted,downloaded,decompiled,reverse-engineered,orstoredinorintroducedintoanyinformationstorageandretrievalsystem,inanyformorbyanymeans,whetherelectronicormechanical,nowknownorhereinafterinvented,withouttheexpresswrittenpermissionofHarperCollinsebooks.
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