AgathaChristie
TakenattheFlood
AHerculePoirotMystery
Epigraph
Thereisatideintheaffairsofmen,
Which,takenattheflood,leadsontofortune;
Omitted,allthevoyageoftheirlife
Isboundinshallowsandinmiseries.
Onsuchafullseaarewenowafloat,
Andwemusttakethecurrentwhenitserves,
Orloseourventures.
Contents
Cover
TitlePage
Epigraph
Prologue
BookI
ChapterOne
ChapterTwo
ChapterThree
ChapterFour
ChapterFive
ChapterSix
ChapterSeven
ChapterEight
ChapterNine
ChapterTen
ChapterEleven
ChapterTwelve
ChapterThirteen
ChapterFourteen
ChapterFifteen
ChapterSixteen
ChapterSeventeen
BookII
ChapterOne
ChapterTwo
ChapterThree
ChapterFour
ChapterFive
ChapterSix
ChapterSeven
ChapterEight
ChapterNine
ChapterTen
ChapterEleven
ChapterTwelve
ChapterThirteen
ChapterFourteen
ChapterFifteen
ChapterSixteen
ChapterSeventeen
AbouttheAuthor
OtherBooksbyAgathaChristie
Credits
Copyright
AboutthePublisher
Prologue
I
Ineveryclubthereisaclubbore.TheCoronationClubwasnoexception,andthefactthatanairraidwasinprogressmadenodifferencetonormalprocedure.
MajorPorter,lateIndianArmy,rustledhisnewspaperandclearedhisthroat.Everyoneavoidedhiseye,butitwasnouse.
“Iseethey’vegottheannouncementofGordonCloade’sdeathintheTimes,”hesaid.“Discreetlyput,ofcourseOnOct.5th,resultofenemyaction.Noaddressgiven.Asamatteroffactitwasjustroundthecornerfrommylittleplace.OneofthosebighousesontopofCampdenHill.Icantellyouitshookmeupabit.I’maWarden,youknow.CloadehadonlyjustgotbackfromtheStates.He’dbeenoveronthatGovernmentPurchasebusiness.Gotmarriedwhilehewasoverthere.Ayoungwidow—youngenoughtobehisdaughter.Mrs.Underhay.AsamatteroffactIknewherfirsthusbandoutinNigeria.”
MajorPorterpaused.Nobodydisplayedanyinterestoraskedhimtocontinue.Newspaperswereheldupsedulouslyinfrontoffaces,butittookmorethanthattodiscourageMajorPorter.Healwayshadlonghistoriestorelate,mostlyaboutpeoplewhomnobodyknew.
“Interesting,”saidMajorPorter,firmly,hiseyesfixedabsentlyonapairofextremelypointedpatent-leathershoes—atypeoffoot-wearofwhichheprofoundlydisapproved.“AsIsaid,I’maWarden.Funnybusinessthisblast.Neverknowwhatit’sgoingtodo.Blewthebasementinandrippedofftheroof.Firstfloorpracticallywasn’ttouched.Sixpeopleinthehouse.Threeservants:marriedcoupleandahousemaid,GordonCloade,hiswifeandthewife’sbrother.Theywerealldowninthebasementexceptthewife’sbrother—ex-Commandofellow—hepreferredhisowncomfortablebedroomonthefirstfloor—andbyJove,heescapedwithafewbruises.Thethreeservantswereallkilledbyblast—GordonCloademusthavebeenworthwelloveramillion.”
AgainMajorPorterpaused.Hiseyeshadtravelledupfromthepatent-leathershoes—stripedtrousers—blackcoat—egg-shapedheadandcolossalmoustaches.Foreign,ofcourse!Thatexplainedtheshoes.“Really,”thoughtMajorPorter,“what’stheclubcomingto?Can’tgetawayfromforeignersevenhere.”Thisseparatetrainofthoughtranalongsidehisnarrative.
ThefactthattheforeignerinquestionappearedtobegivinghimfullattentiondidnotabateMajorPorter’sprejudiceintheslightest.
“Shecan’tbemorethanabouttwenty-five,”hewenton.“Andawidowforthesecondtime.Oratanyrate—that’swhatshethinks….”
Hepaused,hopingforcuriosity—forcomment.Notgettingit,heneverthelesswentdoggedlyon:
“MatteroffactI’vegotmyownideasaboutthat.Queerbusiness.AsItoldyou,Iknewherfirsthusband,Underhay.Nicefellow—districtcommissionerinNigeriaatonetime.Absolutelydeadkeenonhisjob—first-classchap.HemarriedthisgirlinCapeTown.Shewasouttherewithsometouringcompany.Verydownonherluck,andprettyandhelplessandallthat.ListenedtopooroldUnderhayravingabouthisdistrictandthegreatwide-openspaces—andbreathedout,‘Wasn’titwonderful?’andhowshewanted‘togetawayfromeverything.’Well,shemarriedhimandgotawayfromit.Hewasverymuchinlove,poorfellow—butthethingdidn’ttickoverfromthefirst.Shehatedthebushandwasterrifiedofthenativesandwasboredtodeath.Herideaoflifewastogoroundtothelocalandmeetthetheatricalcrowdandtalkshop.Solitudeàdeuxinthejunglewasn’tatallhercupoftea.Mindyou,Inevermethermyself—IheardallthisfrompooroldUnderhay.Ithithimprettyhard.Hedidthedecentthing,sentherhomeandagreedtogiveheradivorce.ItwasjustafterthatImethim.Hewasallonedgeandinthemoodwhenaman’sgottotalk.Hewasafunnyold-fashionedkindofchapinsomeways—anR.C.,andhedidn’tcarefordivorce.Hesaidtome,‘Thereareotherwaysofgivingawomanherfreedom.’‘Now,lookhere,oldboy,’Isaid,‘don’tgodoinganythingfoolish.Nowomanintheworldisworthputtingabulletthroughyourhead.’
“Hesaidthatthatwasn’thisideaatall.‘ButI’malonelyman,’hesaid.‘Gotnorelationstobotheraboutme.IfareportofmydeathgetsbackthatwillmakeRosaleenawidow,whichiswhatshewants.’‘Andwhataboutyou?’Isaid.‘Well,’hesaid,‘maybeaMr.EnochArdenwillturnupsomewhereathousandmilesorsoawayandstartlifeanew.’‘Mightbeawkwardforhersomeday,’Iwarnedhim.‘Oh,no,’hesays,‘I’dplaythegame.RobertUnderhaywouldbedeadallright.’
“Well,Ididn’tthinkanymoreofit,butsixmonthslaterIheardthatUnderhayhaddiedoffeverupinthebushsomewhere.HisnativeswereatrustworthylotandtheycamebackwithagoodcircumstantialtaleandafewlastwordsscrawledinUnderhay’swritingsayingthey’ddonealltheycouldforhim,andhewasafraidhewaspeggingout,andpraisinguphisheadman.Thatmanwasdevotedtohimandsowerealltheothers.Whateverhetoldthemtoswearto,theywouldswearto.Sothereitis…MaybeUnderhay’sburiedupcountryinthemidstofequatorialAfricabutmaybeheisn’t—andifheisn’tMrs.GordonCloademaygetashockoneday.Andserveherright,Isay.Inevermether,butIknowthesoundofalittlegolddigger!ShebrokeuppooroldUnderhayallright.It’saninterestingstory.”
MajorPorterlookedroundratherwistfullyforconfirmationofthisassertion.Hemettwoboredandfishystares,thehalf-avertedgazeofyoungMr.MellonandthepoliteattentionofM.HerculePoirot.
Thenthenewspaperrustledandagrey-hairedmanwithasingularlyimpassivefacerosequietlyfromhisarmchairbythefireandwentout.
MajorPorter’sjawdropped,andyoungMr.Mellongaveafaintwhistle.
“Nowyou’vedoneit!”heremarked.“Knowwhothatwas?”
“Godblessmysoul,”saidMajorPorterinsomeagitation.“Ofcourse.Idon’tknowhimintimatelybutweareacquainted…JeremyCloade,isn’tit,GordonCloade’sbrother?Uponmyword,howextremelyunfortunate!IfI’dhadanyidea—”
“He’sasolicitor,”saidyoungMr.Mellon.“Bethesuesyouforslanderordefamationofcharacterorsomething.”
ForyoungMr.MellonenjoyedcreatingalarmanddespondencyinsuchplacesasitwasnotforbiddenbytheDefenceoftheRealmAct.
MajorPortercontinuedtorepeatinanagitatedmanner:
“Mostunfortunate.Mostunfortunate!”
“ItwillbealloverWarmsleyHeathbythisevening,”saidMr.Mellon.“That’swherealltheCloadeshangout.They’llsituplatediscussingwhatactiontotake.”
ButatthatmomenttheAllClearsounded,andyoungMr.Mellonstoppedbeingmalicious,andtenderlypilotedhisfriendHerculePoirotoutintothestreet.
“Terribleatmosphere,theseclubs,”hesaid.“Themostcrashingcollectionofoldbores.Porter’seasilytheworst,though.HisdescriptionoftheIndianropetricktakesthree-quartersofanhour,andheknowseverybodywhosemothereverpassedthroughPoona!”
Thiswasintheautumnof1944.Itwasinlatespring,1946,thatHerculePoirotreceivedavisit.
II
HerculePoirotwassittingathisneatwritingdeskonapleasantMaymorningwhenhismanservantGeorgeapproachedhimandmurmureddeferentially:
“Thereisalady,sir,askingtoseeyou.”
“Whatkindofalady?”Poirotaskedcautiously.
HealwaysenjoyedthemeticulousaccuracyofGeorge’sdescriptions.
“Shewouldbeagedbetweenfortyandfifty,Ishouldsay,sir.Untidyandsomewhatartisticinappearance.Goodwalkingshoes,brogues.Atweedcoatandskirt—butalaceblouse.SomequestionableEgyptianbeadsandabluechiffonscarf.”
Poirotshudderedslightly.
“Idonotthink,”hesaid,“thatIwishtoseeher.”
“ShallItellher,sir,thatyouareindisposed?”
Poirotlookedathimthoughtfully.
“Youhavealready,Igather,toldherthatIamengagedonimportantbusinessandcannotbedisturbed?”
Georgecoughedagain.
“Shesaid,sir,thatshehadcomeupfromthecountryspecially,anddidnotmindhowlongshewaited.”
Poirotsighed.
“Oneshouldneverstruggleagainsttheinevitable,”hesaid.“Ifamiddle-agedladywearingshamEgyptianbeadshasmadeuphermindtoseethefamousHerculePoirot,andhascomeupfromthecountrytodoso,nothingwilldeflecther.Shewillsitthereinthehalltillshegetsherway.Showherin,George.”
Georgeretreated,returningpresentlytoannounceformally:
“Mrs.Cloade.”
Thefigureintheworntweedsandthefloatingscarfcameinwithabeamingface.SheadvancedtoPoirotwithanoutstretchedhand,allherbeadnecklacesswingingandclinking.
“M.Poirot,”shesaid,“Ihavecometoyouunderspiritguidance.”
Poirotblinkedslightly.
“Indeed,Madame.Perhapsyouwilltakeaseatandtellme—”
Hegotnofurther.
“Bothways,M.Poirot.Withtheautomaticwritingandwiththeouijaboard.Itwasthenightbeforelast.MadameElvary(awonderfulwomansheis)andIwereusingtheboard.Wegotthesameinitialsrepeatedly.H.P.H.P.H.P.OfcourseIdidnotgetthetruesignificanceatonce.Ittakes,youknow,alittletime.Onecannot,onthisearthlyplane,seeclearly.Irackedmybrainsthinkingofsomeonewiththoseinitials.Iknewitmustconnectupwiththelastséance—reallyamostpoignantone,butitwassometimebeforeIgotit.AndthenIboughtacopyofPicturePost(Spiritguidanceagain,yousee,becauseusuallyIbuytheNewStatesman)andthereyouwere—apictureofyou,anddescribed,andonaccountofwhatyouhaddone.Itiswonderful,don’tyouthink,M.Poirot,howeverythinghasapurpose?Clearly,youarethepersonappointedbytheGuidestoelucidatethismatter.”
Poirotsurveyedherthoughtfully.Strangelyenoughthethingthatreallycaughthisattentionwasthatshehadremarkablyshrewdlight-blueeyes.Theygavepoint,asitwere,toherramblingmethodofapproach.
“Andwhat,Mrs.—Cloade—isthatright?”Hefrowned.“Iseemtohaveheardthenamesometimeago—”
Shenoddedvehemently.
“Mypoorbrother-in-law—Gordon.Immenselyrichandoftenmentionedinthepress.HewaskilledintheBlitzoverayearago—agreatblowtoallofus.Myhusbandishisyoungerbrother.Heisadoctor.Dr.LionelCloade…Ofcourse,”sheadded,loweringhervoice,“hehasnoideathatIamconsultingyou.Hewouldnotapprove.Doctors,Ifind,haveaverymaterialisticoutlook.Thespiritualseemstobestrangelyhiddenfromthem.TheypintheirfaithonScience—butwhatIsayis…whatisScience—whatcanitdo?”
Thereseemed,toHerculePoirot,tobenoanswertothequestionotherthanameticulousandpainstakingdescriptionembracingPasteur,Lister,HumphryDavy’ssafetylamp—theconvenienceofelectricityinthehomeandseveralhundredotherkindreditems.Butthat,naturally,wasnottheanswerMrs.LionelCloadewanted.Inactualfactherquestion,likesomanyquestions,wasnotreallyaquestionatall.Itwasamererhetoricalgesture.
HerculePoirotcontentedhimselfwithinquiringinapracticalmanner:
“InwhatwaydoyoubelieveIcanhelpyou,Mrs.Cloade?”
“Doyoubelieveintherealityofthespiritworld,M.Poirot?”
“IamagoodCatholic,”saidPoirotcautiously.
Mrs.CloadewavedasidetheCatholicfaithwithasmileofpity.
“Blind!TheChurchisblind—prejudiced,foolish—notwelcomingtherealityandbeautyoftheworldthatliesbehindthisone.”
“Attwelveo’clock,”saidHerculePoirot,“Ihaveanimportantappointment.”
Itwasawell-timedremark.Mrs.Cloadeleanedforward.
“Imustcometothepointatonce.Woulditbepossibleforyou,M.Poirot,tofindamissingperson?”
Poirot’seyebrowsrose.
“Itmightbepossible—yes,”herepliedcautiously.“Butthepolice,mydearMrs.Cloade,coulddosoagreatdealmoreeasilythanIcould.Theyhaveallthenecessarymachinery.”
Mrs.CloadewavedawaythepoliceasshehadwavedawaytheCatholicChurch.
“No,M.Poirot—itistoyouIhavebeenguided—bythosebeyondtheveil.Nowlisten.MybrotherGordonmarriedsomeweeksbeforehisdeath,ayoungwidow—aMrs.Underhay.Herfirsthusband(poorchild,suchagrieftoher)wasreporteddeadinAfrica.Amysteriouscountry—Africa.”
“Amysteriouscontinent,”Poirotcorrectedher.“Possibly.Whatpart—”
Sheswepton.
“CentralAfrica.Thehomeofvoodoo,ofthezombie—”
“ThezombieisintheWestIndies.”
Mrs.Cloadeswepton:
“—ofblackmagic—ofstrangeandsecretpractices—acountrywhereamancoulddisappearandneverbeheardofagain.”
“Possibly,possibly,”saidPoirot.“ButthesameistrueofPiccadillyCircus.”
Mrs.CloadewavedawayPiccadillyCircus.
“Twicelately,M.Poirot,acommunicationhascomethroughfromaspiritwhogiveshisnameasRobert.Themessagewasthesameeachtime.Notdead…Wewerepuzzled,weknewnoRobert.Askingforfurtherguidancewegotthis.‘R.U.R.U.R.U.—thenTellR.TellR.’‘TellRobert?’weasked.‘No,fromRobert.R.U.’‘WhatdoestheU.standfor?’Then,M.Poirot,themostsignificantanswercame.‘LittleBoyBlue.LittleBoyBlue.Hahaha!’Yousee?”
“No,”saidPoirot,“Idonot.”
Shelookedathimpityingly.
“ThenurseryrhymeLittleBoyBlue.‘UndertheHaycockfastasleep’—Underhay—yousee?”
Poirotnodded.Heforboretoaskwhy,ifthenameRobertcouldbespeltout,thenameUnderhaycouldnothavebeentreatedthesameway,andwhyithadbeennecessarytoresorttoakindofcheapSecretservicespyjargon.
“Andmysister-in-law’snameisRosaleen,”finishedMrs.Cloadetriumphantly.“Yousee?ConfusingalltheseRs.Butthemeaningisquiteplain.‘TellRosaleenthatRobertUnderhayisnotdead.’”
“Aha,anddidyoutellher?”
Mrs.Cloadelookedslightlytakenaback
“Er—well—no.Yousee,Imean—well,peoplearesosceptical.Rosaleen,Iamsure,wouldbeso.Andthen,poorchild,itmightupsether—wondering,youknow,wherehewas—andwhathewasdoing.”
“Besidesprojectinghisvoicethroughtheether?Quiteso.Acuriousmethod,surely,ofannouncinghissafety?”
“Ah,M.Poirot,youarenotaninitiate.Andhowdoweknowwhatthecircumstancesare?PoorCaptainUnderhay(orisitMajorUnderhay)maybeaprisonersomewhereinthedarkinteriorofAfrica.Butifhecouldbefound,M.Poirot.IfhecouldberestoredtohisdearyoungRosaleen.Thinkofherhappiness!Oh,M.Poirot,Ihavebeensenttoyou—surely,surelyyouwillnotrefusethebehestofthespiritualworld.”
Poirotlookedatherreflectively.
“Myfees,”hesaidsoftly,“areveryexpensive.Imaysayenormouslyexpensive!Andthetaskyousuggestwouldnotbeeasy.”
“Ohdear—butsurely—itismostunfortunate.Iandmyhusbandareverybadlyoff—verybadlyoffindeed.Actuallymyownplightisworsethanmydearhusbandknows.Iboughtsomeshares—underspiritguidance—andsofartheyhaveprovedverydisappointing—infact,quitealarming.Theyhavegonerightdownandarenow,Igather,practicallyunsaleable.”
Shelookedathimwithdismayedblueeyes.
“Ihavenotdaredtotellmyhusband.IsimplytellyouinordertoexplainhowIamsituated.Butsurely,dearM.Poirot,toreuniteayounghusbandandwife—itissuchanoblemission—”
“Nobility,chèreMadame,willnotpaysteamerandrailwayandairtravelfares.Norwillitcoverthecostoflongtelegramsandcables,andtheinterrogationsofwitnesses.”
“Butifheisfound—ifCaptainUnderhayisfoundaliveandwell—then—well,IthinkImaysafelysaythat,oncethatwasaccomplished,there—therewouldbenodifficultyabout—er—reimbursingyou.”
“Ah,heisrich,then,thisCaptainUnderhay?”
“No.Well,no…ButIcanassureyou—Icangiveyoumyword—that—thatthemoneysituationwillnotpresentdifficulties.”
SlowlyPoirotshookhishead.
“Iamsorry,Madame.TheanswerisNo.”
Hehadalittledifficultyingettinghertoacceptthatanswer.
Whenshehadfinallygoneaway,hestoodlostinthought,frowningtohimself.HerememberednowwhythenameofCloadewasfamiliartohim.Theconversationattheclubthedayoftheairraidcamebacktohim.TheboomingboringvoiceofMajorPorter,goingonandon,tellingastorytowhichnobodywantedtolisten.
HerememberedtherustleofanewspaperandMajorPorter’ssuddenlydroppedjawandexpressionofconsternation.
Butwhatworriedhimwastryingtomakeuphismindabouttheeagermiddle-agedladywhohadjustlefthim.Theglibspiritualisticpatter,thevagueness,thefloatingscarves,thechainsandamuletsjinglingroundherneck—andfinally,slightlyatvariancewithallthis,thatsuddenshrewdglintinapairofpale-blueeyes.
“Justwhyexactlydidshecometome?”hesaidtohimself.“Andwhat,Iwonder,hasbeengoingonin”—helookeddownatthecardonhisdesk—“WarmsleyVale?”
III
Itwasexactlyfivedayslaterthathesawasmallparagraphinaneveningpaper—itreferredtothedeathofamancalledEnochArden—atWarmsleyVale,asmallold-worldvillageaboutthreemilesfromthepopularWarmsleyHeathGolfCourse.
HerculePoirotsaidtohimselfagain:
“IwonderwhathasbeengoingoninWarmsleyVale….”
BOOKI
One
I
WarmsleyHeathconsistsofagolfcourse,twohotels,someveryexpensivemodernvillasgivingontothegolfcourse,arowofwhatwere,beforethewar,luxuryshops,andarailwaystation.
Emergingfromtherailwaystation,amainroadroarsitswaytoLondononyourleft—toyourrightasmallpathacrossafieldissignposted
FootpathtoWarmsleyVale.
WarmsleyVale,tuckedawayamongstwoodedhills,isasunlikeWarmsleyHeathaswellcanbe.Itisinessenceamicroscopicold-fashionedmarkettownnowdegeneratedintoavillage.IthasamainstreetofGeorgianhouses,severalpubs,afewunfashionableshopsandageneralairofbeingahundredandfiftyinsteadoftwenty-eightmilesfromLondon.
ItsoccupantsoneandalluniteindespisingthemushroomgrowthofWarmsleyHeath.
Ontheoutskirtsaresomecharminghouseswithpleasantold-worldgardens.Itwastooneofthesehouses,theWhiteHouse,thatLynnMarchmontreturnedintheearlyspringof1946whenshewasdemobbedfromtheWrens.
Onherthirdmorningshelookedoutofherbedroomwindow,acrosstheuntidylawntotheelmsinthemeadowbeyond,andsniffedtheairhappily.Itwasagentlegreymorningwithasmellofsoftwetearth.Thekindofsmellthatshehadbeenmissingforthepasttwoyearsandahalf.
Wonderfultobehomeagain,wonderfultobehereinherownlittlebedroomwhichshehadthoughtofsooftenandsonostalgicallywhilstshehadbeenoverseas.Wonderfultobeoutofuniform,tobeabletogetintoatweedskirtandajumper—evenifthemothshadbeenrathertooindustriousduringthewaryears!
ItwasgoodtobeoutoftheWrensandafreewomanagain,althoughshehadreallyenjoyedheroverseasserviceverymuch.Theworkhadbeenreasonablyinteresting,therehadbeenparties,plentyoffun,buttherehadalsobeentheirksomenessofroutineandthefeelingofbeingherdedtogetherwithhercompanionswhichhadsometimesmadeherfeeldesperatelyanxioustoescape.
Itwasthen,duringthelongscorchingsummeroutEast,thatshehadthoughtsolonginglyofWarmsleyValeandtheshabbycoolpleasanthouse,andofdearMums.
Lynnbothlovedhermotherandwasirritatedbyher.Farawayfromhome,shehadlovedherstillandhadforgottentheirritation,orremembereditonlywithanadditionalhomesickpang.DarlingMums,socompletelymaddening!WhatshewouldnothavegiventohaveheardMumsenunciateoneclichéinhersweetcomplainingvoice.Oh,tobeathomeagainandnever,nevertohavetoleavehomeagain!
Andnowhereshewas,outoftheservice,free,andbackattheWhiteHouse.Shehadbeenbackthreedays.Andalreadyacuriousdissatisfiedrestlessnesswascreepingoverher.Itwasallthesame—almosttoomuchallthesame—thehouseandMumsandRowleyandthefarmandthefamily.Thethingthatwasdifferentandthatoughtnottobedifferent
“Darling…”Mrs.Marchmont’sthincrycameupthestairs.“ShallIbringmygirlanicetrayinbed?”
Lynncalledoutsharply:
“Ofcoursenot.I’mcomingdown.”
“Andwhy,”shethought,“hasMumsgottosay‘mygirl.’It’ssosilly!”
Sherandownstairsandenteredthediningroom.Itwasnotaverygoodbreakfast.AlreadyLynnwasrealizingtheundueproportionoftimeandinteresttakenbythesearchforfood.Exceptforaratherunreliablewomanwhocamefourmorningsaweek,Mrs.Marchmontwasaloneinthehouse,strugglingwithcookingandcleaning.ShehadbeennearlyfortywhenLynnwasbornandherhealthwasnotgood.AlsoLynnrealizedwithsomedismayhowtheirfinancialpositionhadchanged.Thesmallbutadequatefixedincomewhichhadkeptthemgoingcomfortablybeforethewarwasnowalmosthalvedbytaxation.Rates,expenses,wageshadallgoneup.
“Oh!bravenewworld,”thoughtLynngrimly.Hereyesrestedlightlyonthecolumnsofthedailypaper.
“Ex-W.A.A.F.seekspostwhereinitiativeanddrivewillbeappreciated.”“FormerW.R.E.N.seekspostwhereorganizingabilityandauthorityareneeded.”
Enterprise,initiative,command,thosewerethecommoditiesoffered.Butwhatwaswanted?Peoplewhocouldcookandclean,orwritedecentshorthand.Ploddingpeoplewhoknewaroutineandcouldgivegoodservice.
Well,itdidn’taffecther.Herwayaheadlayclear.MarriagetohercousinRowleyCloade.Theyhadgotengagedsevenyearsago,justbeforetheoutbreakofwar.Almostaslongasshecouldremember,shehadmeanttomarryRowley.Hischoiceofafarminglifehadbeenacquiescedinreadilybyher.Agoodlife—notexcitingperhaps,andwithplentyofhardwork,buttheybothlovedtheopenairandthecareofanimals.
Notthattheirprospectswerequitewhattheyhadbeen—UncleGordonhadalwayspromised….
Mrs.Marchmont’svoicebrokeinplaintivelyapposite:
“It’sbeenthemostdreadfulblowtousall,Lynndarling,asIwroteyou.GordonhadonlybeeninEnglandtwodays.Wehadn’tevenseenhim.Ifonlyhehadn’tstayedinLondon.Ifhe’dcomestraightdownhere.”
II
“Yes,ifonly….”
Faraway,Lynnhadbeenshockedandgrievedbythenewsofheruncle’sdeath,butthetruesignificanceofitwasonlynowbeginningtocomehometoher.
Foraslongasshecouldremember,herlife,alltheirlives,hadbeendominatedbyGordonCloade.Therich,childlessmanhadtakenallhisrelativescompletelyunderhiswing.
EvenRowley…RowleyandhisfriendJohnnieVavasourhadstartedinpartnershiponthefarm.Theircapitalwassmall,buttheyhadbeenfullofhopeandenergy.AndGordonCloadehadapproved.
Toherhehadsaidmore.
“Youcan’tgetanywhereinfarmingwithoutcapital.Butthefirstthingtofindoutiswhethertheseboyshavereallygotthewillandtheenergytomakeagoofit.IfIsetthemupnow,Iwouldn’tknowthat—maybeforyears.Ifthey’vegottherightstuffinthem,ifI’msatisfiedthattheirsideofitisallright,wellthen,Lynn,youneedn’tworry.I’llfinancethemontheproperscale.Sodon’tthinkbadlyofyourprospects,mygirl.You’rejustthewifeRowleyneeds.ButkeepwhatI’vetoldyouunderyourhat.”
Well,shehaddonethat,butRowleyhimselfhadsensedhisuncle’sbenevolentinterest.ItwasuptohimtoprovetotheoldboythatRowleyandJohnniewereagoodinvestmentformoney.
Yes,theyhadalldependedonGordonCloade.Notthatanyofthefamilyhadbeenspongersoridlers.JeremyCloadewasseniorpartnerinafirmofsolicitors,LionelCloadewasinpracticeasadoctor.
Butbehindtheworkadaylifewasthecomfortingassuranceofmoneyinthebackground.Therewasneveranyneedtostintortosave.Thefuturewasassured.GordonCloade,achildlesswidower,wouldseetothat.Hehadtoldthemall,morethanonce,thatthatwasso.
Hiswidowedsister,AdelaMarchmont,hadstayedonattheWhiteHousewhenshemight,perhaps,havemovedintoasmaller,morelabour-savinghouse.Lynnwenttofirst-classschools.Ifthewarhadnotcome,shewouldhavebeenabletotakeanykindofexpensivetrainingshehadpleased.ChequesfromUncleGordonflowedinwithcomfortableregularitytoprovidelittleluxuries.
Everythinghadbeensosettled,sosecure.AndthenhadcomeGordonCloade’swhollyunexpectedmarriage.
“Ofcourse,darling,”Adelawenton,“wewereallflabbergasted.Iftherewasonethingthatseemedquitecertain,itwasthatGordonwouldnevermarryagain.Itwasn’t,yousee,asthoughhehadn’tgotplentyoffamilyties.”
Yes,thoughtLynn,plentyoffamily.Sometimes,possibly,rathertoomuchfamily?
“Hewassokindalways,”wentonMrs.Marchmont.“Thoughperhapsjustaweenybittyrannicalonoccasions.Heneverlikedthehabitofdiningoffapolishedtable.Alwaysinsistedonmystickingtotheold-fashionedtablecloths.Infact,hesentmethemostbeautifulVenetianlaceoneswhenhewasinItaly.”
“Itcertainlypaidtofallinwithhiswishes,”saidLynndryly.Sheaddedwithsomecuriosity,“Howdidhemeetthis—secondwife?Younevertoldmeinyourletters.”
“Oh,mydear,onsomeboatorplaneorother.ComingfromSouthAmericatoNewYork,Ibelieve.Afterallthoseyears!Andafterallthosesecretariesandtypistsandhousekeepersandeverything.”
Lynnsmiled.Eversinceshecouldremember,GordonCloade’ssecretaries,housekeepers,andofficestaffhadbeensubjectedtotheclosestscrutinyandsuspicion.
Sheaskedcuriously,“She’sgood-looking,Isuppose?”
“Well,dear,”saidAdela,“Ithinkmyselfshehasratherasillyface.”
“You’renotaman,Mums!”
“Ofcourse,”Mrs.Marchmontwenton,“thepoorgirlwasblitzedandhadshockfromblastandwasreallyfrightfullyillandallthat,andit’smyopinionshe’sneverreallyquiterecovered.She’samassofnerves,ifyouknowwhatImean.Andreally,sometimes,shelooksquitehalf-witted.Idon’tfeelshecouldeverhavemademuchofacompanionforpoorGordon.
Lynnsmiled.ShedoubtedwhetherGordonCloadehadchosentomarryawomanyearsyoungerthanhimselfforherintellectualcompanionship.
“Andthen,dear,”Mrs.Marchmontloweredhervoice,“Ihatetosayit,butofcourseshe’snotalady!”
“Whatanexpression,Mums!Whatdoesthatmatternowadays?”
“Itstillmattersinthecountry,dear,”saidAdelaplacidly.“Isimplymeanthatsheisn’texactlyoneofus!”
“Poorlittledevil!”
“Really,Lynn,Idon’tknowwhatyoumean.WehaveallbeenmostcarefultobekindandpoliteandtowelcomeheramongstusforGordon’ssake.”
“She’satFurrowbank,then?”Lynnaskedcuriously.
“Yes,naturally.Whereelsewasthereforhertogowhenshecameoutofthenursinghome?ThedoctorssaidshemustbeoutofLondon.She’satFurrowbankwithherbrother.”
“What’shelike?”Lynnasked.
“Adreadfulyoungman!”Mrs.Marchmontpaused,andthenaddedwithagooddealofintensity:“Rude.”
AmomentaryflickerofsympathycrossedLynn’smind.Shethought:“IbetI’dberudeinhisplace!”
Sheasked:“What’shisname?”
“Hunter.DavidHunter.Irish,Ibelieve.Ofcoursetheyarenotpeopleonehaseverheardof.Shewasawidow—aMrs.Underhay.Onedoesn’twishtobeuncharitable,butonecan’thelpaskingoneself—whatkindofawidowwouldbelikelytobetravellingaboutfromSouthAmericainwartime?Onecan’thelpfeeling,youknow,thatshewasjustlookingforarichhusband.”
“Inwhichcase,shedidn’tlookinvain,”remarkedLynn.
Mrs.Marchmontsighed.
“Itseemssoextraordinary.Gordonwassuchashrewdmanalways.Anditwasn’t,Imean,thatwomenhadn’ttried.Thatlastsecretarybutone,forinstance.Reallyquiteblatant.Shewasveryefficient,Ibelieve,buthehadtogetridofher.”
Lynnsaidvaguely:“Isupposethere’salwaysaWaterloo.”
“Sixty-two,”saidMrs.Marchmont.“Averydangerousage.Andawar,Iimagine,isunsettling.ButIcan’ttellyouwhatashockitwaswhenwegothisletterfromNewYork.”
“Whatdiditsayexactly?”
“HewrotetoFrances—Ireallycan’tthinkwhy.Perhapsheimaginedthatowingtoherupbringingshemightbemoresympathetic.Hesaidthatwe’dprobablybesurprisedtohearthathewasmarried.Ithadallbeenrathersudden,buthewassureweshouldallsoongrowveryfondofRosaleen(suchaverytheatricalname,don’tyouthink,dear?Imeandefinitelyratherbogus).Shehadhadaverysadlife,hesaid,andhadgonethroughalotalthoughshewassoyoung.Reallyitwaswonderfulthepluckywayshehadstooduptolife.”
“Quiteawell-knowngambit,”murmuredLynn.
“Oh,Iknow.Idoagree.Onehashearditsomanytimes.ButonewouldreallythinkthatGordonwithallhisexperience—still,thereitis.Shehasthemostenormouseyes—darkblueandwhattheycallputinwithasmuttyfinger.”
“Attractive?”
“Oh,yes,sheiscertainlyverypretty.It’snotthekindofprettinessIadmire.”
“Itneveris,”saidLynnwithawrysmile.
“No,dear.Really,men—butwell,there’snoaccountingformen!Eventhemostwell-balancedofthemdothemostincrediblyfoolishthings!Gordon’sletterwentontosaythatwemustn’tthinkforamomentthatthiswouldmeananylooseningofoldties.Hestillconsideredusallhisspecialresponsibility.”
“Buthedidn’t,”saidLynn,“makeawillafterhismarriage?”
Mrs.Marchmontshookherhead.
“Thelastwillhemadewasin1940.Idon’tknowanydetails,buthegaveustounderstandatthetimethatwewerealltakencareofbyitifanythingshouldhappentohim.Thatwill,ofcourse,wasrevokedbyhismarriage.Isupposehewouldhavemadeanewwillwhenhegothome—buttherejustwasn’ttime.Hewaskilledpracticallythedayafterhelandedinthiscountry.”
“Andsoshe—Rosaleen—getseverything?”
“Yes.Theoldwillwasinvalidatedbyhismarriage.”
Lynnwassilent.Shewasnotmoremercenarythanmost,butshewouldnothavebeenhumanifshehadnotresentedthenewstateofaffairs.Itwasnot,shefelt,atallwhatGordonCloadehimselfwouldhaveenvisaged.Thebulkofhisfortunehemighthavelefttohisyoungwife,butcertainprovisionshewouldcertainlyhavemadeforthefamilyhehadencouragedtodependuponhim.Againandagainhehadurgedthemnottosave,nottomakeprovisionforthefuture.ShehadheardhimsaytoJeremy,“You’llbearichmanwhenIdie.”Tohermotherhehadoftensaid,“Don’tworry,Adela.I’llalwayslookafterLynn—youknowthat,andI’dhateyoutoleavethishouse—it’syourhome.Sendallthebillsforrepairstome.”Rowleyhehadencouragedtotakeupfarming.Antony,Jeremy’sson,hehadinsistedshouldgointotheGuardsandhehadalwaysmadehimahandsomeallowance.LionelCloadehadbeenencouragedtofollowupcertainlinesofmedicalresearchthatwerenotimmediatelyprofitableandtolethispracticerundown.
Lynn’sthoughtswerebrokeninto.Dramatically,andwithatremblinglip,Mrs.Marchmontproducedasheafofbills.
“Andlookatallthese,”shewailed.“WhatamItodo?WhatonearthamItodo,Lynn?ThebankmanagerwrotemeonlythismorningthatI’moverdrawn.Idon’tseehowIcanbe.I’vebeensocareful.Butitseemsmyinvestmentsjustaren’tproducingwhattheyusedto.Increasedtaxationhesays.Andalltheseyellowthings,WarDamageInsuranceorsomething—onehastopaythemwhetheronewantstoornot.”
Lynntookthebillsandglancedthroughthem.Therewerenorecordsofextravaganceamongstthem.Theywereforslatesreplacedontheroof,themendingoffences,replacementofaworn-outkitchenboiler—anewmainwaterpipe.Theyamountedtoaconsiderablesum.
Mrs.Marchmontsaidpiteously:
“IsupposeIoughttomovefromhere.ButwherecouldIgo?Thereisn’tasmallhouseanywhere—therejustisn’tsuchathing.Oh,Idon’twanttoworryyouwithallthis,Lynn.Notjustassoonasyou’vecomehome.ButIdon’tknowwhattodo.Ireallydon’t.”
Lynnlookedathermother.Shewasoversixty.Shehadneverbeenaverystrongwoman.DuringthewarshehadtakeninevacueesfromLondon,hadcookedandcleanedforthem,hadworkedwiththeW.V.S.,madejam,helpedwithschoolmeals.Shehadworkedfourteenhoursadayincontrasttoapleasanteasylifebeforethewar.Shewasnow,asLynnsaw,verynearabreakdown.Tiredoutandfrightenedofthefuture.
AslowquietangerroseinLynn.Shesaidslowly:
“Couldn’tthisRosaleen—help?”
Mrs.Marchmontflushed.
“We’venorighttoanything—anythingatall.”
Lynndemurred.
“Ithinkyou’veamoralright.UncleGordonalwayshelped.”
Mrs.Marchmontshookherhead.Shesaid:
“Itwouldn’tbeverynice,dear,toaskfavours—notofsomeoneonedoesn’tlikeverymuch.Andanywaythatbrotherofherswouldneverlethergiveawayapenny!”
Andsheadded,heroismgivingplacetopurefemalecattiness:“Ifhereallyisherbrother,thatistosay!”
Two
FrancesCloadelookedthoughtfullyacrossthedinnertableatherhusband.
Franceswasforty-eight.Shewasoneofthoseleangreyhoundwomenwholookwellintweeds.Therewasaratherarrogantravagedbeautyaboutherfacewhichhadnomakeupexceptalittlecarelesslyappliedlipstick.JeremyCloadewasasparegrey-hairedmanofsixty-three,withadryexpressionlessface.
Itwas,thisevening,evenmoreexpressionlessthanusual.
Hiswiferegisteredthefactwithaswiftflashingglance.
Afifteen-year-oldgirlshuffledroundthetable,handingthedishes.HeragonizedgazewasfixedonFrances.IfFrancesfrowned,shenearlydroppedsomething,alookofapprovalsetherbeaming.
ItwasnotedenviouslyinWarmsleyValethatifanyonehadservantsitwouldbeFrancesCloade.Shedidnotbribethemwithextravagantwages,andshewasexactingastoperformance—butherwarmapprovalofendeavourandherinfectiousenergyanddrivemadeofdomesticservicesomethingcreativeandpersonal.Shehadbeensousedtobeingwaitedonallherlifethatshetookitforgrantedwithoutself-consciousness,andshehadthesameappreciationofagoodcookoragoodparlourmaidasshewouldhavehadforagoodpianist.
FrancesCloadehadbeentheonlydaughterofLordEdwardTrenton,whohadtrainedhishorsesintheneighbourhoodofWarmsleyHeath.LordEdward’sfinalbankruptcywasrealizedbythoseintheknowtobeamercifulescapefromworsethings.Therehadbeenrumoursofhorsesthathadsignallyfailedtostayatunexpectedmoments,otherrumoursofinquiriesbytheStewardsoftheJockeyClub.ButLordEdwardhadescapedwithhisreputationonlylightlytarnishedandhadreachedanarrangementwithhiscreditorswhichpermittedhimtoliveexceedinglycomfortablyintheSouthofFrance.Andfortheseunexpectedblessingshehadtothanktheshrewdnessandspecialexertionsofhissolicitor,JeremyCloade.Cloadehaddoneagooddealmorethanasolicitorusuallydoesforaclient,andhadevenadvancedguaranteesofhisown.HehadmadeitclearthathehadadeepadmirationforFrancesTrenton,andinduecourse,whenherfather’saffairshadbeensatisfactorilywoundup,FrancesbecameMrs.JeremyCloade.
Whatshehadfeltaboutitnoonehadeverknown.Allthatcouldbesaidwasthatshehadkepthersideofthebargainadmirably.ShehadbeenanefficientandloyalwifetoJeremy,acarefulmothertohisson,hadforwardedJeremy’sinterestsineverywayandhadneveroncesuggestedbywordordeedthatthematchwasanythingbutafreewillimpulseonherpart.
InresponsetheCloadefamilyhadanenormousrespectandadmirationforFrances.Theywereproudofher,theydeferredtoherjudgment—buttheyneverfeltreallyquiteintimatewithher.
WhatJeremyCloadethoughtofhismarriagenobodyknew,becausenobodyeverdidknowwhatJeremyCloadethoughtorfelt.“Adrystick”waswhatpeoplesaidaboutJeremy.Hisreputationbothasamanandalawyerwasveryhigh.Cloade,BrunskillandCloadenevertouchedanyquestionablelegalbusiness.Theywerenotsupposedtobebrilliantbutwereconsideredverysound.ThefirmprosperedandtheJeremyCloadeslivedinahandsomeGeorgianhousejustofftheMarketPlacewithabigold-fashionedwalledgardenbehinditwherethepeartreesinspringshowedaseaofwhiteblossom.
Itwastoaroomoverlookingthegardenatthebackofthehousethatthehusbandandwifewentwhentheyrosefromthedinnertable.Edna,thefifteen-year-old,broughtincoffee,breathingexcitedlyandadenoidally.
Francespouredalittlecoffeeintothecup.Itwasstrongandhot.ShesaidtoEdna,crisplyandapprovingly:
“Excellent,Edna.”
Ednawentcrimsonwithpleasureandwentoutmarvellingneverthelessatwhatsomepeopleliked.Coffee,inEdna’sopinion,oughttobeapalecreamcolour,eversosweet,withlotsofmilk!
Intheroomoverlookingthegarden,theCloadesdranktheircoffee,blackandwithoutsugar.Theyhadtalkedinadesultorywayduringdinner,ofacquaintancesmet,ofLynn’sreturn,oftheprospectsoffarminginthenearfuture,butnow,alonetogether,theyweresilent
Francesleanedbackinherchair,watchingherhusband.Hewasquiteobliviousofherregard.Hisrighthandstrokedhisupperlip.AlthoughJeremyCloadedidnotknowithimselfthegesturewasacharacteristiconeandcoincidedwithinnerperturbation.Franceshadnotobserveditveryoften.OncewhenAntony,theirson,hadbeenseriouslyillasachild;oncewhenwaitingforajurytoconsidertheirverdict;attheoutbreakofwar,waitingtoheartheirrevocablewordsoverthewireless;ontheeveofAntony’sdepartureafterembarkationleave.
Francesthoughtalittlewhilebeforeshespoke.Theirmarriedlifehadbeenhappy,butneverintimateinsofarasthespokenwordwent.ShehadrespectedJeremy’sreservesandhehers.EvenwhenthetelegramhadcomeannouncingAntony’sdeathonactiveservice,theyhadneitherofthembrokendown.
Hehadopenedit,thenhehadlookedupather.Shehadsaid,“Isit—?”
Hehadbowedhishead,thencrossedandputthetelegramintoheroutstretchedhand.
Theyhadstoodtherequitesilentlyforawhile.ThenJeremyhadsaid:“IwishIcouldhelpyou,mydear.”Andshehadanswered,hervoicesteady,hertearsunshed,consciousonlyoftheterribleemptinessandaching:“It’sjustasbadforyou.”Hehadpattedhershoulder:“Yes,”hesaid.“Yes…”Thenhehadmovedtowardsthedoor,walkingalittleawry,yetstiffly,suddenlyanoldman…sayingashedidso,“There’snothingtobesaid—nothingtobesaid….”
Shehadbeengratefultohim,passionatelygrateful,forunderstandingsowell,andhadbeentornwithpityforhim,seeinghimsuddenlyturnintoanoldman.Withthelossofherboy,somethinghadhardenedinher—someordinarycommonkindnesshaddriedup.Shewasmoreefficient,moreenergeticthanever—peoplebecamesometimesalittleafraidofherruthlesscommonsense….
JeremyCloade’sfingermovedalonghisupperlipagain—irresolutely,searching.Andcrisply,acrosstheroom,Francesspoke.
“Isanythingthematter,Jeremy?”
Hestarted.Hiscoffeecupalmostslippedfromhishand.Herecoveredhimself,putitfirmlydownonthetray.Thenhelookedacrossather.
“Whatdoyoumean,Frances?”
“I’maskingyouifanythingisthematter?”
“Whatshouldbethematter?”
“Itwouldbefoolishtoguess.Iwouldratheryoutoldme.”
Shespokewithoutemotioninabusinesslikeway.
Hesaidunconvincingly:
“Thereisnothingthematter—”
Shedidnotanswer.Shemerelywaitedinquiringly.Hisdenial,itseemed,sheputasideasnegligible.Helookedatheruncertainly.
Andjustforamomenttheimperturbablemaskofhisgreyfaceslipped,andshecaughtaglimpseofsuchturbulentagonythatshealmostexclaimedaloud.Itwasonlyforamomentbutshedidn’tdoubtwhatshehadseen.
Shesaidquietlyandunemotionally:
“Ithinkyouhadbettertellme—”
Hesighed—adeepunhappysigh.
“Youwillhavetoknow,ofcourse,”hesaid,“soonerorlater.”
Andheaddedwhatwastoheraveryastonishingphrase.
“I’mafraidyou’vemadeabadbargain,Frances.”
Shewentrightpastanimplicationshedidnotunderstandtoattackhardfacts
“Whatisit,”shesaid;“money?”
Shedidnotknowwhysheputmoneyfirst.Therehadbeennospecialsignsoffinancialstringencyotherthanwerenaturaltothetimes.Theywereshortstaffedattheofficewithmorebusinessthantheycouldcopewith,butthatwasthesameeverywhereandinthelastmonththeyhadgotbacksomeoftheirpeoplereleasedfromtheArmy.Itmightjustaseasilyhavebeenillnessthathewasconcealing—hiscolourhadbeenbadlately,andhehadbeenoverworkedandovertired.ButneverthelessFrances’instinctwenttowardsmoney,anditseemedshewasright.
Herhusbandnodded.
“Isee.”Shewassilentamoment,thinking.Sheherselfdidnotreallycareaboutmoneyatall—butsheknewthatJeremywasquiteincapableofrealizingthat.Moneymeanttohimafour-squareworld—stability—obligations—adefiniteplaceandstatusinlife.
Moneytoherwasatoytossedintoone’slaptoplaywith.Shehadbeenbornandbredinanatmosphereoffinancialinstability.Therehadbeenwonderfultimeswhenthehorseshaddonewhatwasexpectedofthem.Therehadbeendifficulttimeswhenthetradesmenwouldn’tgivecreditandLordEdwardhadbeenforcedtoignominiousstraitstoavoidthebailiffsonthefrontdoorstep.Oncetheyhadlivedondrybreadforaweekandsentalltheservantsaway.TheyhadhadthebailiffsinthehouseforthreeweeksoncewhenFranceswasachild.Shehadfoundthebuminquestionveryagreeabletoplaywithandfullofstoriesofhisownlittlegirl.
Ifonehadnomoneyonesimplyscrounged,orwentabroad,orlivedonone’sfriendsandrelationsforabit.Orsomebodytidedyouoverwithaloan….
ButlookingacrossatherhusbandFrancesrealizedthatintheCloadeworldyoudidn’tdothatkindofthing.Youdidn’tbegorborroworliveonotherpeople.(Andconverselyyoudidn’texpectthemtobegorborroworliveoffyou!)
FrancesfeltterriblysorryforJeremyandalittleguiltyaboutbeingsounperturbedherself.Shetookrefugeinpracticality.
“Shallwehavetosellupeverything?Isthefirmgoingsmash?”
JeremyCloadewinced,andsherealizedshehadbeentoomatter-of-fact.
“Mydear,”shesaidgently,“dotellme.Ican’tgoonguessing.”
Cloadesaidstiffly,“Wewentthroughratherabadcrisistwoyearsago.YoungWilliams,youremember,absconded.Wehadsomedifficultygettingstraightagain.ThentherewerecertaincomplicationsarisingoutofthepositionintheFarEastafterSingapore—”
Sheinterruptedhim.
“Nevermindthewhys—theyaresounimportant.Youwereinajam.Andyouhaven’tbeenabletosnapoutofit?”
Hesaid,“IreliedonGordon.Gordonwouldhaveputthingsstraight.”
Shegaveaquickimpatientsigh.
“Ofcourse.Idon’twanttoblamethepoorman—afterall,it’sonlyhumannaturetoloseyourheadaboutaprettywoman.Andwhyonearthshouldn’themarryagainifhewantedto?Butitwasunfortunatehisbeingkilledinthatairraidbeforehe’dsettledanythingormadeaproperwilloradjustedhisaffairs.Thetruthisthatoneneverbelievesforaminute,nomatterwhatdangeryou’rein,thatyouyourselfaregoingtobekilled.Thebombisalwaysgoingtohittheotherperson!”
“Apartfromhisloss,andIwasveryfondofGordon—andproudofhimtoo,”saidGordonCloade’selderbrother,“hisdeathwasacatastropheforme.Itcameatamoment—”
Hestopped.
“Shallwebebankrupt?”Francesaskedwithintelligentinterest.
JeremyCloadelookedatheralmostdespairingly.Thoughshedidnotrealizeit,hecouldhavecopedmuchbetterwithtearsandalarm.Thiscooldetachedpracticalinterestdefeatedhimutterly.
Hesaidharshly,“It’sagooddealworsethanthat….”
Hewatchedherasshesatquitestill,thinkingoverthat.Hesaidtohimself,“InanotherminuteIshallhavetotellher.She’llknowwhatIam…She’llhavetoknow.Perhapsshewon’tbelieveitatfirst.”
FrancesCloadesighedandsatupstraightinherbigarmchair.
“Isee,”shesaid.“Embezzlement.Orifthatisn’ttherightword,thatkindofthing…likeyoungWilliams.”
“Yes,butthistime—youdon’tunderstand—I’mresponsible.I’veusedtrustfundsthatwerecommittedtomycharge.Sofar,I’vecoveredmytracks—”
“Butnowit’sallgoingtocomeout?”
“UnlessIcangetthenecessarymoney—quickly.”
Theshamehefeltwastheworsthehadknowninhislife.Howwouldshetakeit?
Atthemomentshewastakingitverycalmly.Butthen,hethought,Franceswouldnevermakeascene.Neverreproachorupbraid.
Herhandtohercheek,shewasfrowning
“It’ssostupid,”shesaid,“thatIhaven’tgotanymoneyofmyownatall….”
Hesaidstiffly,“Thereisyourmarriagesettlement,but—”
Shesaidabsently,“ButIsupposethat’sgonetoo.”
Hewassilent.Thenhesaidwithdifficulty,inhisdryvoice:“I’msorry,Frances.MoresorrythanIcansay.Youmadeabadbargain.”
Shelookedupsharply.
“Yousaidthatbefore.Whatdoyoumeanbythat?”
Jeremysaidstiffly:
“Whenyouweregoodenoughtomarryme,youhadtherighttoexpect—well,integrity—andalifefreefromsordidanxieties.”
Shewaslookingathimwithcompleteastonishment.
“Really,Jeremy!WhatonearthdoyouthinkImarriedyoufor?”
Hesmiledslightly.
“Youhavealwaysbeenamostloyalanddevotedwife,mydear.ButIcanhardlyflattermyselfthatyouwouldhaveacceptedmein—er—differentcircumstances.”
Shestaredathimandsuddenlyburstoutlaughing.
“Youfunnyoldstick!Whatawonderfulnovelettishmindyoumusthavebehindthatlegalfa?ade!DoyoureallythinkthatImarriedyouasthepriceofsavingFatherfromthewolves—ortheStewardsoftheJockeyClub,etcetera?”
“Youwereveryfondofyourfather,Frances.”
“IwasdevotedtoDaddy!Hewasterriblyattractiveandthegreatestfuntolivewith!ButIalwaysknewhewasabadhat.AndifyouthinkthatI’dsellmyselftothefamilysolicitorinordertosavehimfromgettingwhatwasalwayscomingtohim,thenyou’veneverunderstoodthefirstthingaboutme.Never!”
Shestaredathim.Extraordinary,shethought,tohavebeenmarriedtosomeoneforovertwentyyearsandnothaveknownwhatwasgoingonintheirminds.Buthowcouldoneknowwhenitwasamindsodifferentfromone’sown?Aromanticmind,ofcourse,wellcamouflaged,butessentiallyromantic.Shethought:“AllthoseoldStanleyWeymansinhisbedroom.Imighthaveknownfromthem!Thepooridioticdarling!”
Aloudshesaid:
“ImarriedyoubecauseIwasinlovewithyou,ofcourse.”
“Inlovewithme?Butwhatcouldyouseeinme?”
“Ifyouaskmethat,Jeremy,Ireallydon’tknow.Youweresuchachange,sodifferentfromallFather’scrowd.Younevertalkedabouthorsesforonething.You’venoideahowsickIwasofhorses—andwhattheoddswerelikelytobefortheNewmarketCup!Youcametodinneronenight—doyouremember?—andIsatnexttoyouandaskedyouwhatbimetallismwas,andyoutoldme—reallytoldme!Ittookthewholeofdinner—sixcourses—wewereinfundsatthemomentandhadaFrenchchef!”
“Itmusthavebeenextremelyboring,”saidJeremy.
“Itwasfascinating!Nobodyhadevertreatedmeseriouslybefore.AndyouweresopoliteandyetneverseemedtolookatmeorthinkIwasniceorgood-lookingoranything.Itputmeonmymettle.IsworeI’dmakeyounoticeme.”
JeremyCloadesaidgrimly…“Inoticedyouallright.Iwenthomethateveninganddidn’tsleepawink.Youhadabluedresswithcornflowers….”
Therewassilenceforamomentortwo,thenJeremyclearedhisthroat.
“Er—allthatisalongtimeago….”
Shecamequicklytotherescueofhisembarrassment.
“Andwe’renowamiddle-agedmarriedcoupleindifficulties,lookingforthebestwayout.”
“Afterwhatyou’vejusttoldme,Frances,itmakesitathousandtimesworsethatthis—thisdisgrace—”
Sheinterruptedhim.
“Letuspleasegetthingsclear.Youarebeingapologeticbecauseyou’vefallenfoulofthelaw.Youmaybeprosecuted—gotoprison.”(Hewinced.)“Idon’twantthattohappen.I’llfightlikeanythingtostopit,butdon’tcreditmewithmoralindignation.We’renotamoralfamily,remember.Father,inspiteofhisattractiveness,wasabitofacrook.AndtherewasCharles—mycousin.Theyhusheditupandhewasn’tprosecuted,andtheyhustledhimofftotheColonies.AndtherewasmycousinGerald—heforgedachequeatOxford.ButhewenttofightandgotaposthumousV.C.forcompletebraveryanddevotiontohismenandsuperhumanendurance.WhatI’mtryingtosayispeoplearelikethat—notquitebadorquitegood.Idon’tsupposeI’mparticularlystraightmyself—Ihavebeenbecausetherehasn’tbeenanytemptationtobeotherwise.ButwhatIhavegotisplentyofcourageand”(shesmiledathim)“I’mloyal!”
“Mydear!”Hegotupandcameovertoher.Hestoppedandputhislipstoherhair.
“Andnow,”saidLordEdwardTrenton’sdaughter,smilingupathim,“whatarewegoingtodo?Raisemoneysomehow?”
Jeremy’sfacestiffened.
“Idon’tseehow.”
“Amortgageonthishouse.Oh,Isee,”shewasquick,“that’sbeendone.I’mstupid.Ofcourseyou’vedonealltheobviousthings.It’saquestionthenofatouch?Whocanwetouch?Isupposethere’sonlyonepossibility.Gordon’swidow—thedarkRosaleen!”
Jeremyshookhisheaddubiously.
“Itwouldhavetobealargesum…Anditcan’tcomeoutofcapital.Themoney’sonlyintrustforherforherlife.”
“Ihadn’trealizedthat.Ithoughtshehaditabsolutely.Whathappenswhenshedies?”
“ItcomestoGordon’snextofkin.Thatistosayitisdividedbetweenmyself,Lionel,Adela,andMaurice’sson,Rowley.”
“Itcomestous…”saidFrancesslowly.
Somethingseemedtopassthroughtheroom—acoldair—theshadowofathought….
Francessaid:“Youdidn’ttellmethat…Ithoughtshegotitforkeeps—thatshecouldleaveittoanyonesheliked?”
“No.Bythestatuterelatingtointestacyof1925….”
ItisdoubtfulwhetherFranceslistenedtohisexplanation.Shesaidwhenhisvoicestopped:
“Ithardlymatterstouspersonally.We’llbedeadandburied,longbeforeshe’smiddle-aged.Howoldisshe?Twenty-five—twenty-six?She’llprobablylivetobeseventy.”
JeremyCloadesaiddoubtfully:
“Wemightaskherforaloan—puttingitonfamilygrounds?Shemaybeagenerous-mindedgirl—reallyweknowsolittleofher—”
Francessaid:“Atanyratewehavebeenreasonablynicetoher—notcattylikeAdela.Shemightrespond.”
Herhusbandsaidwarningly:
“Theremustbenohintof—er—realurgency.”
Francessaidimpatiently:“Ofcoursenot!Thetroubleisthatit’snotthegirlherselfweshallhavetodealwith.She’scompletelyunderthethumbofthatbrotherofhers.”
“Averyunattractiveyoungman,”saidJeremyCloade.
Frances’suddensmileflashedout.
“Oh,no,”shesaid.“He’sattractive.Mostattractive.Ratherunscrupulous,too,Ishouldimagine.Butthenasfarasthatgoes,I’munscrupuloustoo!”
Hersmilehardened.Shelookedupatherhusband.
“We’renotgoingtobebeaten,Jeremy,”shesaid.“There’sboundtobesomeway…ifIhavetorobabank!”
Three
“Money!”saidLynn.
RowleyCloadenodded.Hewasabigsquareyoungmanwithabrick-redskin,thoughtfulblueeyesandveryfairhair.Hehadaslownessthatseemedmorepurposefulthaningrained.Heuseddeliberationasothersusequicknessofrepartee
“Yes,”hesaid,“everythingseemstoboildowntomoneythesedays.”
“ButIthoughtfarmershaddonesowellduringthewar?”
“Oh,yes—butthatdoesn’tdoyouanypermanentgood.Inayearwe’llbebackwherewewere—withwagesup,workersunwilling,everybodydissatisfiedandnobodyknowingwheretheyare.Unless,ofcourse,youcanfarminareallybigway.OldGordonknew.Thatwaswherehewaspreparingtocomein.”
“Andnow—”Lynnasked.
Rowleygrinned.
“AndnowMrs.GordongoestoLondonandspendsacoupleofthousandonaniceminkcoat.”
“It’s—it’swicked!”
“Oh,no—”Hepausedandsaid:“I’dratherliketogiveyouaminkcoat,Lynn—”
“What’sshelike,Rowley?”Shewantedtogetacontemporaryjudgment.
“You’llseehertonight.AtUncleLionel’sandAuntKathie’sparty.”
“Yes,Iknow.ButIwantyoutotellme.Mumssaysshe’shalf-witted?”
Rowleyconsidered.
“Well—Ishouldn’tsayintellectwasherstrongpoint.ButIthinkreallysheonlyseemshalf-wittedbecauseshe’sbeingsofrightfullycareful.”
“Careful?Carefulaboutwhat?”
“Oh,justcareful.Mainly,Iimagine,aboutheraccent—she’sgotquiteabrogue,youknow,orelseabouttherightfork,andanyliteraryallusionsthatmightbeflyingaround.”
“Thenshereallyis—quite—well,uneducated?”
Rowleygrinned.
“Oh,she’snotalady,ifthat’swhatyoumean.She’sgotlovelyeyes,andaverygoodcomplexion—andIsupposeoldGordonfellforthat,withherextraordinaryairofbeingquiteunsophisticated.Idon’tthinkit’sputon—thoughofcourseyouneverknow.ShejuststandsaroundlookingdumbandlettingDavidrunher.”
“David?”
“That’sthebrother.Ishouldsaythere’snothingmuchaboutsharppracticehedoesn’tknow!”Rowleyadded:“Hedoesn’tlikeanyofusmuch.”
“Whyshouldhe?”saidLynnsharply,andaddedashelookedather,slightlysurprised,“Imeanyoudon’tlikehim.”
“Icertainlydon’t.Youwon’teither.He’snotoursort.”
“Youdon’tknowwhoIlike,Rowley,orwhoIdon’t!I’veseenalotoftheworldinthelastthreeyears.I—Ithinkmyoutlookhasbroadened.”
“You’veseenmoreoftheworldthanIhave,that’strue.”
Hesaiditquietly—butLynnlookedupsharply.
Therehadbeensomething—behindthoseeventones.
Hereturnedherglancesquarely,hisfaceunemotional.Ithadnever,Lynnremembered,beeneasytoknowexactlywhatRowleywasthinking.
Whataqueertopsy-turvyworlditwas,thoughtLynn.Itusedtobethemanwhowenttothewars,thewomanwhostayedathome.Butherethepositionswerereversed.
Ofthetwoyoungmen,RowleyandJohnnie,onehadhadperforcetostayonthefarm.TheyhadtossedforitandJohnnieVavasourhadbeentheonetogo.Hehadbeenkilledalmostatonce—inNorway.AllthroughtheyearsofwarRowleyhadneverbeenmorethanamileortwofromhome.
Andshe,Lynn,hadbeentoEgypt,toNorthAfrica,toSicily.Shehadbeenunderfiremorethanonce.
HerewasLynnHome-from-the-wars,andherewasRowleyStay-at-home.
Shewondered,suddenly,ifheminded….
Shegaveanervouslittlehalflaugh.“Thingsseemsometimesabitupsidedown,don’tthey?”
“Oh,Idon’tknow.”Rowleystaredvacantlyoutoverthecountryside.“Depends.”
“Rowley,”shehesitated,“didyoumind—Imean—Johnnie—”
Hiscoldlevelgazethrewherbackonherself.
“Let’sleaveJohnnieoutofit!Thewar’sover—andI’vebeenlucky.”
“Lucky,youmean”—shepauseddoubtfully—“nottohavehadto—togo?”
“Wonderfulluck,don’tyouthinkso?”Shedidn’tknowquitehowtotakethat.Hisvoicewassmoothwithhardedges.Headdedwithasmile,“But,ofcourse,youservicegirlswillfindithardtosettledownathome.”
Shesaidirritably,“Oh,don’tbestupid,Rowley.”
(Butwhybeirritable?Why—unless,becausehiswordstouchedarawnerveoftruthsomewhere.)
“Ohwell,”saidRowley.“Isupposewemightaswellconsidergettingmarried.Unlessyou’vechangedyourmind?”
“OfcourseIhaven’tchangedmymind.WhyshouldI?”
Hesaidvaguely:
“Oneneverknows.”
“YoumeanyouthinkI’m”—Lynnpaused—“different?”
“Notparticularly.”
“Perhapsyou’vechangedyourmind?”
“Oh,no,I’venotchanged.Verylittlechangedownonthefarm,youknow.”
“Allright,then,”saidLynn—conscious,somehow,ofanticlimax,“let’sgetmarried.Wheneveryoulike.”
“Juneorthereabouts?”
“Yes.”
Theyweresilent.Itwassettled.Inspiteofherself,Lynnfeltterriblydepressed.YetRowleywasRowley—justashealwayshadbeen.Affectionate,unemotional,painstakinglygiventounderstatement.
Theylovedeachother.Theyhadalwayslovedeachother.Theyhadnevertalkedabouttheirloveverymuch—sowhyshouldtheybeginnow?
TheywouldgetmarriedinJuneandliveatLongWillows(anicename,shehadalwaysthought)andshewouldnevergoawayagain.Goaway,thatistosay,inthesensethatthewordsnowheldforher.Theexcitementofgangplanksbeingpulledup,theracingofaship’sscrew,thethrillasanaeroplanebecameairborneandsoaredupandovertheearthbeneath.Watchingastrangecoastlinetakeformandshape.Thesmellofhotdust,andparaffin,andgarlic—theclatterandgabbleofforeigntongues.Strangeflowers,redpoinsettiasrisingproudlyfromadustygarden…Packing,unpacking—wherenext?
Allthatwasover.Thewarwasover.LynnMarchmonthadcomehome.Homeisthesailor,homefromthesea…ButI’mnotthesameLynnwhowentaway,shethought.
ShelookedupandsawRowleywatchingher….
Four
AuntKathie’spartieswerealwaysmuchthesame.Theyhadaratherbreathlessamateurishqualityaboutthemcharacteristicofthehostess.Dr.Cloadehadanairofholdingirritabilityincheckwithdifficulty.Hewasinvariablycourteoustohisguests—buttheywereconsciousofhiscourtesybeinganeffort.
InappearanceLionelCloadewasnotunlikehisbrotherJeremy.Hewasspareandgrey-haired—buthehadnotthelawyer’simperturbability.Hismannerwasbrusqueandimpatient—andhisnervousirritabilityhadaffrontedmanyofhispatientsandblindedthemtohisactualskillandkindliness.Hisrealinterestslayinresearchandhishobbywastheuseofmedicinalherbsthroughouthistory.Hehadapreciseintellectandfoundithardtobepatientwithhiswife’svagaries.
ThoughLynnandRowleyalwayscalledMrs.JeremyCloade“Frances,”Mrs.LionelCloadewasinvariably“AuntKathie.”Theywerefondofherbutfoundherratherridiculous.
This“party,”arrangedostensiblytocelebrateLynn’shomecoming,wasmerelyafamilyaffair.
AuntKathiegreetedhernieceaffectionately:
“Soniceandbrownyoulook,mydear.Egypt,Isuppose.DidyoureadthebookonthePyramidpropheciesIsentyou?Sointeresting.Reallyexplainseverything,don’tyouthink?”
LynnwassavedfromreplyingbytheentranceofMrs.GordonCloadeandherbrotherDavid.
“Thisismyniece,LynnMarchmont,Rosaleen.”
LynnlookedatGordonCloade’swidowwithdecorouslyveiledcuriosity.
Yes,shewaslovely,thisgirlwhohadmarriedoldGordonCloadeforhismoney.AnditwastruewhatRowleyhadsaid,thatshehadanairofinnocence.Blackhair,setinloosewaves,Irishblueeyesputinwiththesmuttyfinger—half-partedlips
Therestofherwaspredominantlyexpensive.Dress,jewels,manicuredhands,furcape.Quiteagoodfigure,butshedidn’t,really,knowhowtowearexpensiveclothes.Didn’twearthemasLynnMarchmontcouldhavewornthem,givenhalfachance!(Butyouneverwillhaveachance,saidavoiceinherbrain.)
“Howdoyoudo,”saidRosaleenCloade
Sheturnedhesitatinglytothemanbehindher.
Shesaid:“This—thisismybrother.”
“Howdoyoudo,”saidDavidHunter.
Hewasathinyoungmanwithdarkhairanddarkeyes.Hisfacewasunhappyanddefiantandslightlyinsolent.
LynnsawatoncewhyalltheCloadesdislikedhimsomuch.Shehadmetmenofthatstampabroad.Menwhowererecklessandslightlydangerous.Menwhomyoucouldn’tdependupon.Menwhomadetheirownlawsandfloutedtheuniverse.Menwhowereworththeirweightingoldinapush—andwhodrovetheirC.O.stodistractionoutofthefiringline!
LynnsaidconversationallytoRosaleen:
“AndhowdoyoulikelivingatFurrowbank?”
“Ithinkit’sawonderfulhouse,”saidRosaleen.
DavidHuntergaveafaintsneeringlaugh.
“PooroldGordondidhimselfwell,”hesaid.“Noexpensespared.”
Itwasliterallythetruth.WhenGordonhaddecidedtosettledowninWarmsleyVale—orratherhaddecidedtospendasmallportionofhisbusylifethere,hehadchosentobuild.Hewastoomuchofanindividualisttocareforahousethatwasimpregnatedwithotherpeople’shistory.
Hehademployedayoungmodernarchitectandgivenhimafreehand.HalfWarmsleyValethoughtFurrowbankadreadfulhouse,dislikingitswhitesquareness,itsbuilt-infurnishing,itsslidingdoors,andglasstablesandchairs.Theonlypartofittheyreallyadmiredwholeheartedlywerethebathrooms.
TherehadbeenaweinRosaleen’s,“It’sawonderfulhouse.”David’slaughmadeherflush.
“You’rethereturnedWren,aren’tyou?”saidDavidtoLynn.
“Yes.”
Hiseyessweptoverherappraisingly—andforsomereasonsheflushed.
AuntKatherineappearedagainsuddenly.Shehadatrickofseemingtomaterializeoutofspace.Perhapsshehadcaughtthetrickofitfrommanyofthespiritualisticséancessheattended.
“Supper,”shesaid,ratherbreathlessly,andadded,parentheticaly,“Ithinkit’sbetterthancallingitdinner.Peopledon’texpectsomuch.Everything’sverydifficult,isn’tit?MaryLewistellsmesheslipsthefishmantenshillingseveryotherweek.Ithinkthat’simmoral.”
Dr.LionelCloadewasgivinghisirritablenervouslaughashetalkedtoFrancesCloade.“Oh,come,Frances,”hesaid.“Youcan’texpectmetobelieveyoureallythinkthat—let’sgoin.”
Theywentintotheshabbyandratheruglydiningroom.JeremyandFrances,LionelandKatherine,Adela,LynnandRowley.AfamilypartyofCloades—withtwooutsiders.ForRosaleenCloade,thoughsheborethename,hadnotbecomeaCloadeasFrancesandKatherinehaddone.
Shewasthestranger,illatease,nervous.AndDavid—Davidwastheoutlaw.Bynecessity,butalsobychoice.Lynnwasthinkingthesethingsasshetookherplaceatthetable.
Therewerewavesintheairoffeeling—astrongelectricalcurrentof—whatwasit?Hate?Coulditreallybehate?
Somethingatanyrate—destructive.
Lynnthoughtsuddenly,“Butthat’swhat’sthemattereverywhere.I’venoticediteversinceIgothome.It’stheaftermathwarhasleft.Illwill.Illfeeling.It’severywhere.Onrailwaysandbusesandinshopsandamongstworkersandclerksandevenagriculturallabourers.AndIsupposeworseinminesandfactories.Illwill.Buthereit’smorethanthat.Hereit’sparticular.It’smeant!”
Andshethought,shocked:“Dowehatethemsomuch?Thesestrangerswhohavetakenwhatwethinkisours?”
Andthen—“No,notyet.Wemight—butnotyet.No,it’stheywhohateus.”
ItseemedtohersooverwhelmingadiscoverythatshesatsilentthinkingaboutitandforgettingtotalktoDavidHunterwhowassittingbesideher.
Presentlyhesaid:“Thinkingoutsomething?”
Hisvoicewasquitepleasant,slightlyamused,butshefeltconsciencestricken.Hemightthinkthatshewasgoingoutofherwaytobeill-mannered.
Shesaid,“I’msorry.Iwashavingthoughtsaboutthestateoftheworld.”
Davidsaidcoolly,“Howextremelyunoriginal!”
“Yes,isisrather.Weareallsoearnestnowadays.Anditdoesn’tseemtodomuchgoodeither.”
“Itisusuallymorepracticaltowishtodoharm.We’vethoughtuponeortworatherpracticalgadgetsinthatlineduringthelastfewyears—includingthatpiècederésistance,theAtomBomb.”
“ThatwaswhatIwasthinkingabout—oh,Idon’tmeantheAtomBomb.Imeantillwill.Definitepracticalillwill.”
Davidsaidcalmly:
“Illwillcertainly—butIrathertakeissuetothewordpractical.TheyweremorepracticalaboutitintheMiddleAges.”
“Howdoyoumean?”
“Blackmagicgenerally.Illwishing.Waxfigures.Spellsattheturnofthemoon.Killingoffyourneighbour’scattle.Killingoffyourneighbourhimself.”
“Youdon’treallybelievetherewassuchathingasblackmagic?”askedLynnincredulously.
“Perhapsnot.Butatanyratepeopledidtryhard.Nowadays,well—”Heshruggedhisshoulders.“Withalltheillwillintheworldyouandyourfamilycan’tdomuchaboutRosaleenandmyself,canyou?”
Lynn’sheadwentbackwithajerk.Suddenlyshewasenjoyingherself.
“It’salittlelateinthedayforthat,”shesaidpolitely.
DavidHunterlaughed.He,too,soundedasthoughhewereenjoyinghimself.
“Meaningwe’vegotawaywiththebooty?Yes,we’resittingprettyallright.”
“Andyougetakickoutofit!”
“Outofhavingalotofmoney?I’llsaywedo.”
“Ididn’tmeanonlythemoney.Imeantoutofus.”
“Outofhavingscoredoffyou?Well,perhaps.You’dallhavebeenprettysmugandcomplacentabouttheoldboy’scash.Lookeduponitaspracticallyinyourpocketsalready.”
Lynnsaid:
“Youmustrememberthatwe’dbeentaughttothinksoforyears.Taughtnottosave,nottothinkofthefuture—encouragedtogoaheadwithallsortsofschemesandprojects.”
(Rowley,shethought,Rowleyandthefarm.)
“Onlyonething,infact,thatyouhadn’tlearnt,”saidDavidpleasantly.
“What’sthat?”
“Thatnothing’ssafe.”
“Lynn,”criedAuntKatherine,leaningforwardfromtheheadofthetable,“oneofMrs.Lester’scontrolsisafourth-dynastypriest.He’stoldussuchwonderfulthings.YouandI,Lynn,musthavealongtalk.Egypt,Ifeel,musthaveaffectedyouphysically.”
Dr.Cloadesaidsharply:
“Lynn’shadbetterthingstodothanplayaboutwithallthissuperstitioustomfoolery.”
“Youaresobiased,Lionel,”saidhiswife.
Lynnsmiledatheraunt—thensatsilentwiththerefrainofthewordsDavidhadspokenswimminginherbrain.
“Nothing’ssafe….”
Therewerepeoplewholivedinsuchaworld—peopletowhomeverythingwasdangerous.DavidHunterwassuchaperson…ItwasnottheworldthatLynnhadbeenbroughtupin—butitwasaworldthatheldattractionsforhernevertheless.
Davidsaidpresentlyinthesamelowamusedvoice:
“Arewestillonspeakingterms?”
“Oh,yes.”
“Good.AnddoyoustillgrudgeRosaleenandmyselfourill-gottenaccesstowealth?”
“Yes,”saidLynnwithspirit.
“Splendid.Whatareyougoingtodoaboutit?”
“Buysomewaxandpractiseblackmagic!”
Helaughed.
“Oh,no,youwon’tdothat.Youaren’toneofthosewhorelyonoldoutmodedmethods.Yourmethodswillbemodernandprobablyveryefficient.Butyouwon’twin.”
“Whatmakesyouthinkthereisgoingtobeafight?Haven’tweallacceptedtheinevitable?”
“Youallbehavebeautifully.Itisveryamusing.”
“Why,”saidLynn,inalowtone,“doyouhateus?”
Somethingflickeredinthosedarkunfathomableeyes.
“Icouldn’tpossiblymakeyouunderstand.”
“Ithinkyoucould,”saidLynn.
Davidwassilentforamomentortwo,thenheaskedinalightconversationaltone:
“WhyareyougoingtomarryRowleyCloade?He’sanoaf.”
Shesaidsharply:
“Youknownothingaboutit—orabouthim.Youcouldn’tbegintoknow!”
WithoutanyairofchangingtheconversationDavidasked:
“WhatdoyouthinkofRosaleen?”
“She’sverylovely.”
“Whatelse?”
“Shedoesn’tseemtobeenjoyingherself.”
“Quiteright,”saidDavid,“Rosaleen’sratherstupid.She’sscared.Shealwayshasbeenratherscared.Shedriftsintothingsandthendoesn’tknowwhatit’sallabout.ShallItellyouaboutRosaleen?”
“Ifyoulike,”saidLynnpolitely.
“Idolike.Shestartedbybeingstagestruckanddriftedontothestage.Shewasn’tanygood,ofcourse.Shegotintoathird-ratetouringcompanythatwasgoingouttoSouthAfrica.ShelikedthesoundofSouthAfrica.ThecompanygotstrandedinCapeTown.ThenshedriftedintomarriagewithaGovernmentofficialfromNigeria.Shedidn’tlikeNigeria—andIdon’tthinkshelikedherhusbandmuch.Ifhe’dbeenaheartysortoffellowwhodrankandbeather,itwouldhavebeenallright.Buthewasratheranintellectualmanwhokeptalargelibraryinthewildsandwholikedtotalkmetaphysics.SoshedriftedbacktoCapeTownagain.Thefellowbehavedverywellandgaveheranadequateallowance.Hemighthavegivenheradivorce,butagainhemightnotforhewasaCatholic;butanywayheratherfortunatelydiedoffever,andRosaleengotasmallpension.ThenthewarstartedandshedriftedontoaboatforSouthAmerica.Shedidn’tlikeSouthAmericaverymuch,soshedriftedontoanotherboatandthereshemetGordonCloadeandtoldhimallabouthersadlife.SotheygotmarriedinNewYorkandlivedhappilyforafortnight,andalittlelaterhewaskilledbyabombandshewasleftalargehouse,alotofexpensivejewellery,andanimmenseincome.”
“It’snicethatthestoryhassuchahappyending,”saidLynn.
“Yes,”saidDavidHunter.“Possessingnointellectatall,Rosaleenhasalwaysbeenaluckygirl—whichisjustaswell.GordonCloadewasastrongoldman.Hewassixty-two.Hemighteasilyhavelivedfortwentyyears.Hemighthavelivedevenlonger.Thatwouldn’thavebeenmuchfunforRosaleen,wouldit?Shewastwenty-fourwhenshemarriedhim.She’sonlytwenty-sixnow.”
“Shelooksevenyounger,”saidLynn.
Davidlookedacrossthetable.RosaleenCloadewascrumblingherbread.Shelookedlikeanervouschild.
“Yes,”hesaidthoughtfully.“Shedoes.Completeabsenceofthought,Isuppose.”
“Poorthing,”saidLynnsuddenly.
Davidfrowned.
“Whythepity?”hesaidsharply.“I’lllookafterRosaleen.”
“Iexpectyouwill.”
Hescowled.
“AnyonewhotriestododownRosaleenhasgotmetodealwith!AndIknowagoodmanywaysofmakingwar—someofthemnotstrictlyorthodox.”
“AmIgoingtohearyourlifehistorynow?”askedLynncoldly.
“Averyabridgededition.”Hesmiled.“WhenthewarbrokeoutIsawnoreasonwhyIshouldfightforEngland.I’mIrish.ButlikealltheIrish,Ilikefighting.TheCommandoshadanirresistiblefascinationforme.IhadsomefunbutunfortunatelyIgotknockedoutwithabadlegwound.ThenIwenttoCanadaanddidajoboftrainingfellowsthere.IwasatalooseendwhenIgotRosaleen’swirefromNewYorksayingshewasgettingmarried!Shedidn’tactuallyannouncethattherewouldbepickings,butI’mquitesharpatreadingbetweenthelines.Iflewthere,tackedmyselfontothehappypairandcamebackwiththemtoLondon.Andnow”—hesmiledinsolentlyather—“Homeisthesailor,homefromthesea.That’syou!AndtheHunterhomefromtheHill.What’sthematter?”
“Nothing,”saidLynn.
Shegotupwiththeothers.Astheywentintothedrawing-room,Rowleysaidtoher:“YouseemedtobegettingonquitewellwithDavidHunter.Whatwereyoutalkingabout?”
“Nothingparticular,”saidLynn.
Five
“David,whenarewegoingbacktoLondon?WhenarewegoingtoAmerica?”
Acrossthebreakfasttable,DavidHuntergaveRosaleenaquicksurprisedglance.
“There’snohurry,isthere?What’swrongwiththisplace?”
Hegaveaswiftappreciativeglanceroundtheroomwheretheywerebreakfasting.FurrowbankwasbuiltonthesideofahillandfromthewindowsonehadanunbrokenpanoramaofsleepyEnglishcountryside.Ontheslopeofthelawnthousandsofdaffodilshadbeenplanted.Theywerenearlyovernow,butasheetofgoldenbloomstillremained.
Crumblingthetoastonherplate,Rosaleenmurmured:
“Yousaidwe’dgotoAmerica—soon.Assoonasitcouldbemanaged.”
“Yes—butactuallyitisn’tmanagedsoeasily.There’spriority.NeitheryounorIhaveanybusinessreasonstoputforward.Thingsarealwaysdifficultafterawar.”
Hefeltfaintlyirritatedwithhimselfashespoke.Thereasonsheadvanced,thoughgenuineenough,hadthesoundofexcuses.Hewonderediftheysoundedthatwaytothegirlwhosatoppositehim.AndwhywasshesuddenlysokeentogotoAmerica?
Rosaleenmurmured:“Yousaidwe’donlybehereforashorttime.Youdidn’tsayweweregoingtolivehere.”
“What’swrongwithWarmsleyVale—andFurrowbank?Comenow?”
“Nothing.It’sthem—allofthem!”
“TheCloades?”
“Yes.”
“That’sjustwhatIgetakickoutof,”saidDavid.“Ilikeseeingtheirsmugfaceseatenupwithenvyandmalice.Don’tgrudgememyfun,Rosaleen.”
Shesaidinalowtroubledvoice:
“Iwishyoudidn’tfeellikethat.Idon’tlikeit.”
“Havesomespirit,girl.We’vebeenpushedaroundenough,youandI.TheCloadeshavelivedsoft—soft.LivedonbigbrotherGordon.Littlefleasonabigflea.Ihatetheirkind—Ialwayshave.”
Shesaid,shocked:
“Idon’tlikehatingpeople.It’swicked.”
“Don’tyouthinktheyhateyou?Havetheybeenkindtoyou—friendly?”
Shesaiddoubtfully:
“Theyhaven’tbeenunkind.Theyhaven’tdonemeanyharm.”
“Butthey’dliketo,babyface.They’dliketo.”Helaughedrecklessly.“Iftheyweren’tsocarefuloftheirownskins,you’dbefoundwithaknifeinyourbackonefinemorning.”
Sheshivered.
“Don’tsaysuchdreadfulthings.”
“Well—perhapsnotaknife.Strychnineinthesoup.”
Shestaredathim,hermouthtremulous.
“You’rejoking….”
Hebecameseriousagain.
“Don’tworry,Rosaleen.I’lllookafteryou.They’vegotmetodealwith.”
Shesaid,stumblingoverthewords,“Ifit’struewhatyousay—abouttheirhatingus—hatingme—whydon’twegotoLondon?We’dbesafethere—awayfromthemall.”
“Thecountry’sgoodforyou,mygirl.YouknowitmakesyouillbeinginLondon.”
“Thatwaswhenthebombswerethere—thebombs.”Sheshivered,closedhereyes.“I’llneverforget—never….”
“Yes,youwill.”Hetookhergentlybytheshoulders,shookherslightly.“Snapoutofit,Rosaleen.Youwerebadlyshocked,butit’sovernow.Therearenomorebombs.Don’tthinkaboutit.Don’tremember.Thedoctorsaidcountryairandacountrylifeforalongtimetocome.That’swhyIwanttokeepyouawayfromLondon.”
“Isthatreallywhy?Isit,David?Ithought—perhaps—”
“Whatdidyouthink?”
Rosaleensaidslowly:
“Ithoughtperhapsitwasbecauseofheryouwantedtobehere….”
“Her?”
“YouknowtheoneImean.Thegirltheothernight.TheonewhowasintheWrens.”
Hisfacewassuddenlyblackandstern.
“Lynn?LynnMarchmont.”
“Shemeanssomethingtoyou,David.”
“LynnMarchmont?She’sRowley’sgirl.Goodoldstay-at-homeRowley.Thatbovineslow-wittedgood-lookingox.”
“Iwatchedyoutalkingtohertheothernight.”
“Oh,forHeaven’ssake,Rosaleen.”
“Andyou’veseenhersince,haven’tyou?”
“ImethernearthefarmtheothermorningwhenIwasoutriding.”
“Andyou’llmeetheragain.”
“OfcourseI’llalwaysbemeetingher!Thisisatinyplace.Youcan’tgotwostepswithoutfallingoveraCloade.ButifyouthinkI’vefallenforLynnMarchmont,you’rewrong.She’saproudstuck-upunpleasantgirlwithoutaciviltongueinherhead.IwisholdRowleyjoyofher.No,Rosaleen,mygirl,she’snotmytype.”
Shesaiddoubtfully,“Areyousure,David?”
“OfcourseI’msure.”
Shesaidhalf-timidly:
“Iknowyoudon’tlikemylayingoutthecards…Buttheycometrue,theydoindeed.Therewasagirlbringingtroubleandsorrow—agirlwouldcomefromoverthesea.Therewasadarkstranger,too,comingintoourlives,andbringingdangerwithhim.Therewasthedeathcard,and—”
“Youandyourdarkstrangers!”Davidlaughed.“Whatamassofsuperstitionyouare.Don’thaveanydealingswithadarkstranger,that’smyadvicetoyou.”
Hestrolledoutofthehouselaughing,butwhenhewasawayfromthehouse,hisfacecloudedoverandhefrownedtohimself,murmuring:
“Badlucktoyou,Lynn.Cominghomefromabroadandupsettingtheapplecart.”
Forherealizedthatatthisverymomenthewasdeliberatelymakingacourseonwhichhemighthopetomeetthegirlhehadjustapostrophizedsosavagely.
Rosaleenwatchedhimstrollawayacrossthegardenandoutthroughthesmallgatethatgaveontoapublicfootpathacrossthefields.Thenshewentuptoherbedroomandlookedthroughtheclothesinherwardrobe.Shealwaysenjoyedtouchingandfeelinghernewminkcoat.Tothinksheshouldownacoatlikethat—shecouldneverquitegetoverthewonderofit.ShewasinherbedroomwhentheparlourmaidcameuptotellherthatMrs.Marchmonthadcalled.
Adelawassittinginthedrawingroomwithherlipssettightlytogetherandherheartbeatingattwiceitsusualspeed.ShehadbeensteelingherselfforseveraldaystomakeanappealtoRosaleenbuttruetohernaturehadprocrastinated.ShehadalsobeenbewilderedbyfindingthatLynn’sattitudehadunaccountablychangedandthatshewasnowrigidlyopposedtohermotherseekingrelieffromheranxietiesbyaskingGordon’swidowforaloan.
HoweveranotherletterfromthebankmanagerthatmorninghaddrivenMrs.Marchmontintopositiveaction.Shecoulddelaynolonger.Lynnhadgoneoutearly,andMrs.MarchmonthadcaughtsightofDavidHunterwalkingalongthefootpath—sothecoastwasclear.SheparticularlywantedtogetRosaleenalone,withoutDavid,rightlyjudgingthatRosaleenalonewouldbeafareasierproposition.
Neverthelessshefeltdreadfullynervousasshewaitedinthesunnydrawingroom,thoughshefeltslightlybetterwhenRosaleencameinwithwhatMrs.Marchmontalwaysthoughtofasher“half-wittedlook”morethanusuallymarked.
“Iwonder,”thoughtAdelatoherself,“iftheblastdiditorifshewasalwayslikethat?”
“Rosaleenstammered.
“Oh,g-g-oodmorning.Isthereanything?Dositdown.”
“Suchalovelymorning,”saidMrs.Marchmontbrightly.“Allmyearlytulipsareout.Areyours?”
Thegirlstaredathervacantly.
“Idon’tknow.”
Whatwasonetodo,thoughtAdela,withsomeonewhodidn’ttalkgardeningordogs—thosestandbysofruralconversation?
Aloudshesaid,unabletohelpthetingeofaciditythatcreptintohertone:
“Ofcourseyouhavesomanygardeners—theyattendtoallthat.”
“Ibelievewe’reshorthanded.OldMullardwantstwomoremen,hesays.Butthereseemsaterribleshortagestilloflabour.”
Thewordscameoutwithakindofglibparrotlikedelivery—ratherlikeachildwhorepeatswhatithasheardagrown-uppersonsay.
Yes,shewaslikeachild.Wasthat,Adelawondered,hercharm?Wasthatwhathadattractedthathard-headedshrewdbusinessman,GordonCloade,andblindedhimtoherstupidityandherlackofbreeding?Afterall,itcouldn’tonlybelooks.Plentyofgood-lookingwomenhadangledunsuccessfullytoattracthim.
Butchildishness,toamanofsixty-two,mightbeanattraction.Wasit,coulditbe,real—orwasitapose—aposethathadpaidandsohadbecomesecondnature?
Rosaleenwassaying,“David’sout,I’mafraid…”andthewordsrecalledMrs.Marchmonttoherself.Davidmightreturn.Nowwasherchanceandshemustnotneglectit.Thewordsstuckinherthroatbutshegotthemout.
“Iwonder—ifyouwouldhelpme?”
“Helpyou?”
Rosaleenlookedsurprised,uncomprehending.
“I—thingsareverydifficult—yousee,Gordon’sdeathhasmadeagreatdifferencetousall.”
“Yousillyidiot,”shethought.“Mustyougoongapingatmelikethat?YouknowwhatImean!YoumustknowwhatImean.Afterall,you’vebeenpooryourself….”
ShehatedRosaleenatthatmoment.Hatedherbecauseshe,AdelaMarchmont,wassittingherewhiningformoney.Shethought,“Ican’tdoit—Ican’tdoitafterall.”
Inonebriefinstantallthelonghoursofthoughtandworryandvagueplanningflashedagainacrossherbrain.
Sellthehouse—(Butmovewhere?Thereweren’tanysmallhousesonthemarket—certainlynotanycheaphouses).Takepayingguests—(Butyoucouldn’tgetstaff—andshesimplycouldn’t—shejustcouldn’tdealwithallthecookingandhouseworkinvolved.IfLynnhelped—butLynnwasgoingtomarryRowley).LivewithRowleyandLynnherself?(No,she’dneverdothat!)Getajob.Whatjob?Whowantedanuntrainedelderlytired-outwoman?
Sheheardhervoice,belligerentbecauseshedespisedherself.
“Imeanmoney,”shesaid.
“Money?”saidRosaleen.
Shesoundedingenuouslysurprised,asthoughmoneywasthelastthingsheexpectedtobementioned.
Adelawentondoggedly,tumblingthewordsout:
“I’moverdrawnatthebank,andIowebills—repairstothehouse—andtherateshaven’tbeenpaidyet.Yousee,everything’shalved—myincome,Imean.Isupposeit’staxation.Gordon,yousee,usedtohelp.Withthehouse,Imean.Hedidalltherepairsandtheroofandpaintingandthingslikethat.Andanallowanceaswell.Hepaiditintothebankeveryquarter.HealwayssaidnottoworryandofcourseIneverdid.Imean,itwasallrightwhenhewasalive,butnow—”
Shestopped.Shewasashamed—butatthesametimerelieved.Afterall,theworstwasover.Ifthegirlrefused,sherefused,andthatwasthat.
Rosaleenwaslookingveryuncomfortable
“Oh,dear,”shesaid.“Ididn’tknow.Ineverthought…I—well,ofcourse,I’llaskDavid….”
Grimlygrippingthesidesofherchair,Adelasaid,desperately:
“Couldn’tyougivemeacheque—now….”
“Yes—yes,IsupposeIcould.”Rosaleen,lookingstartled,gotup,wenttothedesk.Shehuntedinvariouspigeonholesandfinallyproducedachequebook.“ShallI—howmuch?”
“Would—wouldfivehundredpounds—”Adelabrokeoff.
“Fivehundredpounds,”Rosaleenwroteobediently.
AloadslippedoffAdela’sback.Afterall,ithadbeeneasy!Shewasdismayedasitoccurredtoherthatitwaslessgratitudethatshefeltthanafaintscornfortheeasinessofhervictory!Rosaleenwassurelystrangelysimple.
Thegirlrosefromthewritingdeskandcameacrosstoher.Sheheldoutthechequeawkwardly.Theembarrassmentseemednowentirelyonherside.
“Ihopethisisallright.I’mreallysosorry—”
Adelatookthecheque.Theunformedchildishhandstraggledacrossthepinkpaper.Mrs.Marchmont.Fivehundredpounds￡500.RosaleenCloade.
“It’sverygoodofyou,Rosaleen.Thankyou.”
“Ohplease—Imean—Ioughttohavethought—”
“Verygoodofyou,mydear.”
WiththechequeinherhandbagAdelaMarchmontfeltadifferentwoman.Thegirlhadreallybeenverysweetaboutit.Itwouldbeembarrassingtoprolongtheinterview.Shesaidgoodbyeanddeparted.ShepassedDavidinthedrive,said“Goodmorning”pleasantly,andhurriedon.
Six
“WhatwastheMarchmontwomandoinghere?”demandedDavidassoonashegotin.
“Oh,David.Shewantedmoneydreadfullybadly.I’dneverthought—”
“Andyougaveither,Isuppose.”
Helookedatherinhalf-humorousdespair.
“You’renottobetrustedalone,Rosaleen.”
“Oh,David,Icouldn’trefuse.Afterall—”
“Afterall—what?Howmuch?”
InasmallvoiceRosaleenmurmured,“Fivehundredpounds.”
ToherreliefDavidlaughed.
“Amerefleabite!”
“Oh,David,it’salotofmoney.”
“Nottousnowadays,Rosaleen.Youneverreallyseemtograspthatyou’reaveryrichwoman.Allthesameifsheaskedfivehundredshe’dhavegoneawayperfectlysatisfiedwithtwo-fifty.Youmustlearnthelanguageofborrowing!”
Shemurmured,“I’msorry,David.”
“Mydeargirl!Afterall,it’syourmoney.”
“Itisn’t.Notreally.”
“Nowdon’tbeginthatalloveragain.GordonCloadediedbeforehehadtimetomakeawill.That’swhat’scalledtheluckofthegame.Wewin,youandI.Theothers—lose.”
“Itdoesn’tseem—right.”
“Comenow,mylovelysisterRosaleen,aren’tyouenjoyingallthis?Abighouse,servants—jewellery?Isn’titadreamcometrue?Isn’tit?GlorybetoGod,sometimesIthinkI’llwakeupandfinditisadream.”
Shelaughedwithhim,andwatchinghernarrowly,hewassatisfied.HeknewhowtodealwithhisRosaleen.Itwasinconvenient,hethought,thatsheshouldhaveaconscience,butthereitwas.
“It’squitetrue,David,itislikeadream—orlikesomethingonthepictures.Idoenjoyitall.Idoreally.”
“Butwhatwehavewehold,”hewarnedher.“NomoregiftstotheCloades,Rosaleen.EveryoneofthemhasgotfarmoremoneythaneitheryouorIeverhad.”
“Yes,Isupposethat’strue.”
“WherewasLynnthismorning?”heasked.
“Ithinkshe’dgonetoLongWillows.”
ToLongWillows—toseeRowley—theoaf—theclodhopper!Hisgoodhumourvanished.Setonmarryingthefellow,wasshe?
Moodilyhestrolledoutofthehouse,upthroughmassedazaleasandoutthroughthesmallgateonthetopofthehill.FromtherethefootpathdippeddownthehillandpastRowley’sfarm.
AsDavidstoodthere,hesawLynnMarchmontcomingupfromthefarm.Hehesitatedforaminute,thensethisjawpugnaciouslyandstrolleddownthehilltomeether.Theymetbyastilejusthalfwayupthehill.
“Goodmorning,”saidDavid.“When’sthewedding?”
“You’veaskedthatbefore,”sheretorted.“Youknowwellenough.It’sinJune.”
“You’regoingthroughwithit?”
“Idon’tknowwhatyoumean,David.”
“Oh,yes,youdo.”Hegaveacontemptuouslaugh.“Rowley.What’sRowley?”
“Abettermanthanyou—touchhimifyoudare,”shesaidlightly.
“I’venodoubthe’sabettermanthanme—butIdodare.I’ddareanythingforyou,Lynn.”
Shewassilentforamomentortwo.Shesaidatlast:
“Whatyoudon’tunderstandisthatIloveRowley.”
“Iwonder.”
Shesaidvehemently:
“Ido,Itellyou.Ido.”
Davidlookedathersearchingly.
“Weallseepicturesofourselves—ofourselvesaswewanttobe.YouseeyourselfinlovewithRowley,settlingdownwithRowley,livingherecontentedwithRowley,neverwantingtogetaway.Butthat’snottherealyou,isit,Lynn?”
“Oh,whatistherealme?What’stherealyou,ifitcomestothat?Whatdoyouwant?”
“I’dhavesaidIwantedsafety,peaceafterstorm,easeaftertroubledseas.ButIdon’tknow.SometimesIsuspect,Lynn,thatbothyouandIwant—trouble.”Headdedmoodily,“Iwishyou’dneverturneduphere.Iwasremarkablyhappyuntilyoucame.”
“Aren’tyouhappynow?”
Helookedather.Shefeltexcitementrisinginher.Herbreathbecamefaster.NeverhadshefeltsostronglyDavid’squeermoodyattraction.Heshotoutahand,graspedhershoulder,swungherround….
Thenassuddenlyshefelthisgraspslacken.Hewasstaringoverhershoulderupthehill.Shetwistedherheadtoseewhatitwasthathadcaughthisattention.
AwomanwasjustgoingthroughthesmallgateaboveFurrowbank.Davidsaidsharply:“Who’sthat?”
Lynnsaid:
“ItlookslikeFrances.”
“Frances?”Hefrowned.“WhatdoesFranceswant?MydearLynn!OnlythosewhowantsomethingdropintoseeRosaleen.Yourmotherhasalreadydroppedinthismorning.”
“Mother?”Lynndrewback.Shefrowned.“Whatdidshewant?”
“Don’tyouknow?Money!”
“Money?”Lynnstiffened.
“Shegotitallright,”saidDavid.Hewassmilingnowthecoolcruelsmilethatfittedhisfacesowell.
Theyhadbeennearamomentortwoago,nowtheyweremilesapart,dividedbyasharpantagonism.
Lynncriedout,“Oh,no,no,no!”
Hemimickedher.
“Yes,yes,yes!”
“Idon’tbelieveit!Howmuch?”
“Fivehundredpounds.”
Shedrewherbreathinsharply.
Davidsaidmusingly:
“IwonderhowmuchFrancesisgoingtoaskfor?Reallyit’shardlysafetoleaveRosaleenaloneforfiveminutes!Thepoorgirldoesn’tknowhowtosayNo.”
“Havetherebeen—whoelse?”
Davidsmiledmockingly.
“AuntKathiehadincurredcertaindebts—oh,nothingmuch,ameretwohundredandfiftycoveredthem—butshewasafraiditmightgettothedoctor’sears!Sincetheyhadbeenoccasionedbypaymentstomediums,hemightnothavebeensympathetic.Shedidn’tknow,ofcourse,”addedDavid,“thatthedoctorhimselfhadappliedforaloan.”
Lynnsaidinalowvoice,“Whatyoumustthinkofus—whatyoumustthinkofus!”Then,takinghimbysurprise,sheturnedandranhelter-skelterdownthehilltothefarm.
Hefrownedashewatchedhergo.ShehadgonetoRowley,flownthereasahomingpigeonflies,andthefactdisturbedhimmorethanhecaredtoacknowledge.
Helookedupthehillagainandfrowned
“No,Frances,”hesaidunderhisbreath.“Ithinknot.You’vechosenabadday,”andhestrodepurposefullyupthehill.
Hewentthroughthegateanddownthroughtheazaleas—crossedthelawn,andcamequietlyinthroughthewindowofthedrawingroomjustasFrancesCloadewassaying:
“—IwishIcouldmakeitallclearer.Butyousee,Rosaleen,itreallyisfrightfullydifficulttoexplain—”
Avoicefrombehindhersaid:
“Isit?”
FrancesCloadeturnedsharply.UnlikeAdelaMarchmontshehadnotdeliberatelytriedtofindRosaleenalone.ThesumneededwassufficientlylargetomakeitunlikelythatRosaleenwouldhanditoverwithoutconsultingherbrother.Actually,FranceswouldfarratherhavediscussedthematterwithDavidandRosaleentogether,thanhaveDavidfeelthatshehadtriedtogetmoneyoutofRosaleenduringhisabsencefromthehouse.
Shehadnotheardhimcomethroughthewindow,absorbedasshewasinthepresentationofaplausiblecase.Theinterruptionstartledher,andsherealizedalsothatDavidHunterwas,forsomereason,inaparticularlyuglymood.
“Oh,David,”shesaideasily,“I’mgladyou’vecome.I’vejustbeentellingRosaleen.Gordon’sdeathhasleftJeremyinnoendofahole,andI’mwonderingifshecouldpossiblycometotherescue.It’slikethis—”
Hertongueflowedonswiftly—thelargesuminvolved—Gordon’sbacking—promisedverbally—Governmentrestrictions—mortgages—
AcertainadmirationstirredinthedarknessofDavid’smind.Whatadamnedgoodliarthewomanwas!Plausible,thewholestory.Butnotthetruth.No,he’dtakehisoathonthat.Notthetruth!What,hewondered,wasthetruth?JeremybeengettinghimselfintoQueerStreet?Itmustbesomethingprettydesperate,ifhewasallowingFrancestocomeandtrythisstunt.Shewasaproudwoman,too—
Hesaid,“Tenthousand?”
Rosaleenmurmuredinanawedvoice:
“That’salotofmoney.”
Francessaidswiftly:
“Oh,Iknowitis.Iwouldn’tcometoyouifitwasn’tsuchadifficultsumtoraise.ButJeremywouldneverhavegoneintothedealifithadn’tbeenforGordon’sbacking.It’ssodreadfullyunfortunatethatGordonshouldhavediedsosuddenly—”
“Leavingyoualloutinthecold?”David’svoicewasunpleasant.“Afterashelteredlifeunderhiswing.”
TherewasafaintflashinFrances’eyesasshesaid:
“Youputthingssopicturesquely!”
“Rosaleencan’ttouchthecapital,youknow.Onlytheincome.Andshepaysaboutnineteenandsixinthepoundincometax.”
“Oh,Iknow.Taxation’sdreadfulthesedays.Butitcouldbemanaged,couldn’tit?We’drepay—”
Heinterrupted:
“Itcouldbemanaged.Butitwon’tbe!”
FrancesturnedswiftlytoRosaleen.
“Rosaleen,you’resuchagenerous—”
David’svoicecutacrossherspeech.
“WhatdoyouCloadesthinkRosaleenis—amilchcow?Allofyouather—hinting,asking,begging.Andbehindherback?Sneeringather,patronizingher,hatingher,wishingherdead—”
“That’snottrue,”Francescried.
“Isn’tit?ItellyouI’msickofyouall!She’ssickofyouall.You’llgetnomoneyoutofus,soyoucanstopcomingandwhiningforit?Understand?”
Hisfacewasblackwithfury.
Francesstoodup.Herfacewaswoodenandexpressionless.Shedrewonawashleathergloveabsently,yetwithattention,asthoughitwasasignificantaction.
“Youmakeyourmeaningquiteplain,David,”shesaid.
Rosaleenmurmured:
“I’msorry.I’mreallysorry….”
Francespaidnoattentiontoher.Rosaleenmightnothavebeenintheroom.Shetookasteptowardsthewindowandpaused,facingDavid.
“YouhavesaidthatIresentRosaleen.Thatisnottrue.IhavenotresentedRosaleen—butIdoresent—you!”
“Whatdoyoumean?”
Hescowledather.
“Womenmustlive.Rosaleenmarriedaveryrichman,yearsolderthanherself.Whynot?Butyou!Youmustliveonyoursister,liveonthefatoftheland,livesoftly—onher.”
“Istandbetweenherandharpies.”
Theystoodlookingateachother.HewasawareofherangerandthethoughtflashedacrosshimthatFrancesCloadewasadangerousenemy,onewhocouldbebothunscrupulousandreckless.
Whensheopenedhermouthtospeak,heevenfeltamoment’sapprehension.Butwhatshesaidwassingularlynoncommittal.
“Ishallrememberwhatyouhavesaid,David.”
Passinghim,shewentoutofthewindow
Hewonderedwhyhefeltsostronglythatthewordshadbeenathreat.
Rosaleenwascrying.
“Oh,David,David—yououghtn’ttohavebeensayingthosethingstoher.She’stheoneofthemthat’sbeenthenicesttome.”
Hesaidfuriously:“Shutup,youlittlefool.Doyouwantthemtotramplealloveryouandbleedyouofeverypenny?”
“Butthemoney—if—ifitisn’trightfullymine—”
Shequailedbeforehisglance.
“I—Ididn’tmeanthat,David.”
“Ishouldhopenot.”
Conscience,hethought,wasthedevil!
Hehadn’treckonedwiththeitemofRosaleen’sconscience.Itwasgoingtomakethingsawkwardinthefuture.
Thefuture?Hefrownedashelookedatherandlethisthoughtsraceahead.Rosaleen’sfuture…Hisown…He’dalwaysknownwhathewanted…heknewnow…ButRosaleen?WhatfuturewasthereforRosaleen?
Ashisfacedarkened—shecriedout—suddenlyshivering:
“Oh!Someone’swalkingovermygrave.”
Hesaid,lookingathercuriously:
“Soyourealizeitmaycometothat?”
“Whatdoyoumean,David?”
“Imeanthatfive—six—sevenpeoplehaveeveryintentiontohurryyouintoyourgravebeforeyou’reduethere!”
“Youdon’tmean—murder—”Hervoicewashorrified.“Youthinkthesepeoplewoulddomurder—notnicepeopleliketheCloades.”
“I’mnotsurethatitisn’tjustnicepeopleliketheCloadeswhododomurder.Buttheywon’tsucceedinmurderingyouwhileI’mheretolookafteryou.They’dhavetogetmeoutofthewayfirst.Butiftheydidgetmeoutoftheway—well—lookoutforyourself!”
“David—don’tsaysuchawfulthings.”
“Listen,”hegrippedherarm.“IfeverI’mnothere,lookafteryourself,Rosaleen.Lifeisn’tsafe,remember—it’sdangerous,damneddangerous.AndI’veanideait’sspeciallydangerousforyou.”
Seven
I
“Rowley,canyouletmehavefivehundredpounds?”
RowleystaredatLynn.Shestoodthere,outofbreathfromrunning,herfacepale,hermouthset.
Hesatsoothinglyandratherashewouldspeaktoahorse:
“There,there,easeup,oldgirl.What’sallthisabout?”
“Iwantfivehundredpounds.”
“Icoulddowithitmyself,forthatmatter.”
“ButRowley,thisisserious.Can’tyoulendmefivehundredpounds?”
“I’moverdrawnasitis.Thatnewtractor—”
“Yes,yes—”Shepushedasidethefarmingdetails.“Butyoucouldraisemoneysomehow—ifyouhadto,couldn’tyou?”
“Whatdoyouwantitfor,Lynn?Areyouinsomekindofahole?”
“Iwantitforhim—”Shejerkedherheadbackwardstowardsthebigsquarehouseonthehill.
“Hunter?Whyonearth—”
“It’sMums.She’sbeenborrowingfromhim.She’s—she’sinabitofajamaboutmoney.”
“Yes,Iexpectsheis.”Rowleysoundedsympathetic.“Damnedhardlinesonher.IwishIcouldhelpabit—butIcan’t.”
“Ican’tstandherborrowingmoneyfromDavid!”
“Holdhard,oldgirl.It’sRosaleenwhoactuallyhastoforkoutthecash.Andafterall,whynot?”
“Whynot?Yousay,‘Whynot,’Rowley?”
“Idon’tseewhyRosaleenshouldn’tcometotherescueonceinawhile.OldGordonputusallinaspotbypeggingoutwithoutawill.IfthepositionisputclearlytoRosaleenshemustseeherselfthataspotofhelpallroundisindicated.”
“Youhaven’tborrowedfromher?”
“No—well—that’sdifferent.Ican’tverywellgoandaskawomanformoney.Sortofthingyoudon’tlikedoing.”
“Can’tyouseethatIdon’tlikebeing—beingbeholdentoDavidHunter?”
“Butyou’renot.Itisn’thismoney.”
“That’sjustwhatitis,actually.Rosaleen’scompletelyunderhisthumb.”
“Oh,Idaresay.Butitisn’thislegally.”
“Andyouwon’t,youcan’t—lendmesomemoney?”
“Nowlookhere,Lynn—ifyouwereinsomerealjam—blackmailordebts—Imightbeabletoselllandorstock—butitwouldbeaprettydesperateproceeding.I’monlyjustkeepingmyheadabovewaterasitis.AndwhatwithnotknowingwhatthisdamnedGovernmentisgoingtodonext—hamperedateveryturn—snowedunderwithforms,uptomidnighttryingtofilltheminsometimes—it’stoomuchforoneman.”
Lynnsaidbitterly:
“Oh,Iknow!IfonlyJohnniehadn’tbeenkilled—”
Heshoutedout:
“LeaveJohnnieoutofit!Don’ttalkaboutthat!”
Shestaredathim,astonished.Hisfacewasredandcongested.Heseemedbesidehimselfwithrage.
LynnturnedawayandwentslowlybacktotheWhiteHouse.
II
“Can’tyougiveitback,Mums?”
“Really,Lynndarling!Iwentstraighttothebankwithit.AndthenIpaidArthursandBodghamandKnebworth.Knebworthwasgettingquiteabusive.Oh,mydear,therelief!Ihaven’tbeenabletosleepfornightsandnights.Really,Rosaleenwasmostunderstandingandniceaboutit.”
Lynnsaidbitterly:
“AndIsupposeyou’llgotoheragainandagainnow.”
“Ihopeitwon’tbenecessary,dear.Ishalltrytobeveryeconomical,youknowthat.Butofcourseeverythingissoexpensivenowadays.Anditgetsworseandworse.”
“Yes,andweshallgetworseandworse.Goingoncadging.”
Adelaflushed.
“Idon’tthinkthat’sanicewayofputtingit,Lynn.AsIexplainedtoRosaleen,wehadalwaysdependedonGordon.”
“Weshouldn’thave.That’swhat’swrong,weshouldn’thave,”Lynnadded,“He’srighttodespiseus.”
“Whodespisesus?”
“ThatodiousDavidHunter.”
“Really,”saidMrs.Marchmontwithdignity,“Idon’tseethatitcanmatterintheleastwhatDavidHunterthinks.Fortunatelyhewasn’tatFurrowbankthismorning—otherwiseIdaresayhewouldhaveinfluencedthatgirl.She’scompletelyunderhisthumb,ofcourse.”
Lynnshiftedfromonefoottotheother
“Whatdidyoumean,Mums,whenyousaid—thatfirstmorningIwashome—‘Ifheisherbrother?’”
“Oh,that.”Mrs.Marchmontlookedslightlyembarrassed.“Well,there’sbeenacertainamountofgossip,youknow.”
Lynnmerelywaitedinquiringly.Mrs.Marchmontcoughed.
“Thattypeofyoungwoman—theadventuresstype(ofcoursepoorGordonwascompletelytakenin)—they’veusuallygota—well,ayoungmanoftheirowninthebackground.SupposeshesaystoGordonshe’sgotabrother—wirestohiminCanadaorwhereverhewas.Thismanturnsup.HowisGordontoknowwhetherhe’sherbrotherornot?PoorGordon,absolutelyinfatuatednodoubt,andbelievingeverythingshesaid.Andsoher‘brother’comeswiththemtoEngland—poorGordonquiteunsuspecting.”
Lynnsaidfiercely:
“Idon’tbelieveit.Idon’tbelieveit!”
Mrs.Marchmontraisedhereyebrows.
“Really,mydear—”
“He’snotlikethat.Andshe—sheisn’teither.She’safoolperhaps,butshe’ssweet—yes,she’sreallysweet.It’sjustpeople’sfoulminds.Idon’tbelieveit,Itellyou.”
Mrs.Marchmontsaidwithdignity:
“There’sreallynoneedtoshout.”
Eight
I
Itwasaweeklaterthatthe5:20traindrewintoWarmsleyHeathStationandatallbronzedmanwithaknapsackgotout.
Ontheoppositeplatformaclusterofgolferswerewaitingfortheuptrain.Thetallbeardedmanwiththeknapsackgaveuphisticketandpassedoutofthestation.Hestooduncertainlyforaminuteortwo—thenhesawthesignpost:FootpathtoWarmsleyVale—anddirectedhisstepsthatwaywithbriskdetermination.
II
AtLongWillowsRowleyCloadehadjustfinishedmakinghimselfacupofteawhenashadowfallingacrossthekitchentablemadehimlookup.
IfforjustamomenthethoughtthegirlstandingjustinsidethedoorwasLynn,hisdisappointmentturnedtosurprisewhenhesawitwasRosaleenCloade.
Shewaswearingafrockofsomepeasantmaterialinbrightbroadstripesoforangeandgreen—theartificialsimplicityofwhichhadrunintomoremoneythanRowleycouldeverhaveimaginedpossible.
Uptonowhehadalwaysseenherdressedinexpensiveandsomewhattownyclotheswhichsheworewithanartificialair—much,hehadthought,asamannequinmightdisplaydressesthatdidnotbelongtoherbuttothefirmwhoemployedher.
Thisafternooninthebroadpeasantstripesofgaycolour,heseemedtoseeanewRosaleenCloade.HerIrishoriginwasmorenoticeable,thedarkcurlinghairandthelovelyblueeyesputinwiththesmuttyfinger.Hervoice,too,hadasofterIrishsoundinsteadofthecarefulrathermincingtonesinwhichsheusuallyspoke.
“It’ssuchalovelyafternoon,”shesaid.“SoIcameforawalk.”
Sheadded:
“David’sgonetoLondon.”
Shesaiditalmostguiltily,thenflushedandtookacigarettecaseoutofherbag.SheofferedonetoRowley,whoshookhishead,thenlookedroundforamatchtolightRosaleen’scigarette.Butshewasflickingunsuccessfullyatanexpensive-lookingsmallgoldlighter.Rowleytookitfromherandwithonesharpmovementitlit.Asshebentherheadtowardshimtolighthercigarettehenoticedhowlonganddarkthelasheswerethatlayonhercheekandhethoughttohimself:
“OldGordonknewwhathewasdoing….”
Rosaleensteppedbackapaceandsaidadmiringly:
“That’salovelylittleheiferyou’vegotinthetopfield.”
Astonishedbyherinterest,Rowleybegantotalktoheraboutthefarm.Herinterestsurprisedhim,butitwasobviouslygenuineandnotputon,andtohissurprisehefoundthatshewasquiteknowledgeableonfarmmatters.Butter-makinganddairyproduceshespokeofwithfamiliarity
“Why,youmightbeafarmer’swife,Rosaleen,”hesaidsmiling.
Theanimationwentoutofherface.
Shesaid:
“Wehadafarm—inIreland—beforeIcameoverhere—before—”
“Beforeyouwentonthestage?”
Shesaidwistfullyandatrifle,itseemedtohim,guiltily:
“It’snotsoverylongago…Irememberitallverywell.”Sheaddedwithaflashofspirit,“Icouldmilkyourcowsforyou,Rowley,now.”
ThiswasquiteanewRosaleen.WouldDavidHunterhaveapprovedthesecasualreferencestoafarmingpast?Rowleythoughtnot.OldIrishlandedgentry,thatwastheimpressionDavidtriedtoputover.Rosaleen’sversion,hethought,wasnearerthetruth.Primitivefarmlife,thenthelureofthestage,thetouringcompanytoSouthAfrica,marriage—isolationinCentralAfrica—escape—hiatus—andfinallymarriagetoamillionaireinNewYork….
Yes,RosaleenHunterhadtravelledalongwaysincemilkingaKerrycow.Yetlookingather,hefoundithardtobelievethatshehadeverstarted.Herfacehadthatinnocent,slightlyhalf-wittedexpression,thefaceofonewhohasnohistory.Andshelookedsoyoung—muchyoungerthanhertwenty-sixyears.
Therewassomethingappealingabouther,shehadthesamepatheticqualityasthelittlecalveshehaddriventothebutcherthatmorning.Helookedatherashehadlookedatthem.Poorlittledevils,hehadthought,apitythattheyhadtobekilled….
AlookofalarmcameintoRosaleen’seyes.Sheaskeduneasily:“Whatareyouthinkingof,Rowley?”
“Wouldyouliketoseeoverthefarmandthedairy?”
“Oh,indeed,Iwould.”
Amusedbyherinteresthetookheralloverthefarm.Butwhenhefinallysuggestedmakingheracupoftea,analarmedexpressioncameintohereyes.
“Oh,no—thankyou,Rowley—I’dbestbegettinghome.”Shelookeddownatherwatch.“Oh!howlateitis!Davidwillbebackbythe5:20train.He’llwonderwhereIam.I—Imusthurry.”Sheaddedshyly:“Ihaveenjoyedmyself,Rowley.”
Andthat,hethought,wastrue.Shehadenjoyedherself.Shehadbeenabletobenatural—tobeherownrawunsophisticatedself.ShewasafraidofherbrotherDavid,thatwasclear.Davidwasthebrainsofthefamily.Well,foronce,she’dhadanafternoonout—yes,thatwasit,anafternoonoutjustlikeaservant!TherichMrs.GordonCloade!
HesmiledgrimlyashestoodbythegatewatchingherhurryingupthehilltowardsFurrowbank.Justbeforeshereachedthestileamancameoverit—RowleywonderedifitwasDavidbutitwasabigger,heavierman.Rosaleendrewbacktolethimpass,thenskippedlightlyoverthestile,herpaceaccentuatingalmosttoarun.
Yes,she’dhadanafternoonoff—andhe,Rowley,hadwastedoveranhourofvaluabletime!Well,perhapsithadn’tbeenwasted.Rosaleen,hethought,hadseemedtolikehim.Thatmightcomeinuseful.Aprettything—yes,andthecalvesthismorninghadbeenpretty…poorlittledevils.
Standingthere,lostinthought,hewasstartledbyavoice,andraisedhisheadsharply.
Abigmaninabroadfelthatwithapackslungacrosshisshoulderswasstandingonthefootpathattheothersideofthegate.
“IsthisthewaytoWarmsleyVale?”
AsRowleystaredherepeatedhisquestion.WithaneffortRowleyrecalledhisthoughtsandanswered:
“Yes,keeprightalongthepath—acrossthatnextfield.Turntotheleftwhenyougettotheroadandaboutthreeminutestakesyourightintothevillage.”
Intheself-samewordshehadansweredthatparticularquestionseveralhundredtimes.Peopletookthefootpathonleavingthestation,followeditupoverthehill,andlostfaithinitastheycamedowntheothersideandsawnosignoftheirdestination,forBlackwellCopsemaskedWarmsleyValefromsight.Itwastuckedawayinahollowtherewithonlythetipofitschurchtowershowing.
Thenextquestionwasnotquitesousual,butRowleyanswereditwithoutmuchthought.
“TheStagortheBellsandMotley.TheStagforchoice.They’rebothequallygood—orbad.Ishouldthinkyou’dgetaroomallright.”
Thequestionmadehimlookmoreattentivelyathisinterlocutor.Nowadayspeopleusuallybookedaroombeforehandatanyplacetheyweregoingto….
Themanwastall,withabronzedface,abeard,andveryblueeyes.Hewasaboutfortyandnotill-lookinginatoughandratherdaredevilstyle.Itwasnot,perhaps,awhollypleasantface.
Comefromoverseassomewhere,thoughtRowley.WasthereorwastherenotafaintColonialtwanginhisaccent?Curious,insomeway,thefacewasnotunfamiliar….
Wherehadheseenthatface,orafaceverylikeit,before?
Whilsthewaspuzzlingunsuccessfullyoverthatproblem,thestrangerstartledhimbyasking:
“Canyoutellmeifthere’sahousecalledFurrowbanknearhere?”
Rowleyansweredslowly:
“Why,yes.Upthereonthehill.Youmusthavepassedclosebyit—thatis,ifyou’vecomealongthefootpathfromthestation.”
“Yes—that’swhatIdid.”Heturned,staringupthehill.“Sothatwasit—thatbigwhitenew-lookinghouse.”
“Yes,that’stheone.”
“Abigplacetorun,”saidtheman.“Mustcostalottokeepup?”
Adevilofalot,thoughtRowley.Andourmoney…Astirringofangermadehimforgetforthemomentwherehewas….
Withastarthecamebacktohimselftoseethestrangerstaringupthehillwithacuriousspeculativelookinhiseyes.
“Wholivesthere?”hesaid.“Isit—aMrs.Cloade?”
“That’sright,”saidRowley.“Mrs.GordonCloade.”
Thestrangerraisedhiseyebrows.Heseemedgentlyamused.
“Oh,”hesaid,“Mrs.GordonCloade.Veryniceforher!”
Thenhegaveashortnod.
“Thanks,pal,”hesaid,andshiftingthepackhecarriedhestrodeontowardsWarmsleyVale.
Rowleyturnedslowlybackintothefarmyard.Hismindwasstillpuzzlingoversomething.
Wherethedevilhadheseenthatfellowbefore?
III
Aboutnine-thirtythatnight,Rowleypushedasideaheapofformsthathadbeenlitteringthekitchentableandgotup.HelookedabsentmindedlyatthephotographofLynnthatstoodonthemantelpiece,thenfrowning,hewentoutofthehouse.
TenminuteslaterhepushedopenthedooroftheStagSaloonBar.BeatriceLippincott,behindthebarcounter,smiledwelcomeathim.Mr.RowleyCloade,shethought,wasafinefigureofaman.OverapintofbitterRowleyexchangedtheusualobservationswiththecompanypresent,unfavourablecommentwasmadeupontheGovernment,theweather,andsundryparticularcrops.
Presently,movingupalittle,RowleywasabletoaddressBeatriceinaquietvoice:
“Gotastrangerstayinghere?Bigman?Slouchhat?”
“That’sright,Mr.Rowley.Camealongaboutsixo’clock.Thattheoneyoumean?”
Rowleynodded.
“Hepassedmyplace.Askedhisway.”
“That’sright.Seemsastranger.”
“Iwondered,”saidRowley,“whohewas.”
HelookedatBeatriceandsmiled.Beatricesmiledback.
“That’seasy,Mr.Rowley,ifyou’dliketoknow.”
Shedippedunderthebarandouttoreturnwithafatleathervolumewhereinwereregisteredthearrivals.
Sheopeneditatthepageshowingthemostrecententries.Thelastoftheseranasfollows:
EnochArden.CapeTown.British.Nine
I
Itwasafinemorning.Thebirdsweresinging,andRosaleen,comingdowntobreakfastinherexpensivepeasantdress,felthappy.
Thedoubtsandfearsthathadlatelyoppressedherseemedtohavefadedaway.Davidwasinagoodtemper,laughingandteasingher.HisvisittoLondononthepreviousdayhadbeensatisfactory.Breakfastwaswellcookedandwellserved.Theyhadjustfinisheditwhenthepostarrived.
ThereweresevenoreightlettersforRosaleen.Bills,charitableappeals,somelocalinvitations—nothingofanyspecialinterest.
Davidlaidasideacoupleofsmallbillsandopenedthethirdenvelope.Theenclosure,liketheoutsideoftheenvelope,waswritteninprintedcharacters.
DearMr.Hunter,Ithinkitisbesttoapproachyouratherthanyoursister,Mrs.Cloade,”incasethecontentsofthislettermightcomeassomewhatofashocktoher.Briefly,IhavenewsofCaptainRobertUnderhay,whichshemaybegladtohear.IamstayingattheStagandifyouwillcalltherethisevening,Ishallbepleasedtogointothematterwithyou.Yoursfaithfully,EnochArden
AstrangledsoundcamefromDavid’sthroat.Rosaleenlookedupsmiling,thenherfacechangedtoanexpressionofalarm.
“David—David—whatisit?”
Mutelyheheldoutthelettertoher.Shetookitandreadit.
“But—David—Idon’tunderstand—whatdoesitmean?”
“Youcanread,can’tyou?”
Sheglancedupathimtimorously.
“David—doesitmean—whatarewegoingtodo?”
Hewasfrowning—planningrapidlyinhisquickfar-seeingmind.
“It’sallright,Rosaleen,noneedtobeworried.I’lldealwithit—”
“Butdoesitmeanthat—”
“Don’tworry,mydeargirl.Leaveittome.Listen,thisiswhatyou’vegottodo.PackabagatonceandgouptoLondon.Gototheflat—andstaythereuntilyouhearfromme?Understand?”
“Yes.Yes,ofcourseIunderstand,butDavid—”
“JustdoasIsay,Rosaleen.”Hesmiledather.Hewaskindly,reassuring.“Goandpack.I’lldriveyoutothestation.Youcancatchthe10:32.Telltheporterattheflatsthatyoudon’twanttoseeanyone.Ifanyonecallsandasksforyou,he’stosayyou’reoutoftown.Givehimaquid.Understand?He’snottoletanyoneuptoseeyouexceptme.”
“Oh.”Herhandswentuptohercheeks.Shelookedathimwithscaredlovelyeyes.
“It’sallright,Rosaleen—butit’stricky.You’renotmuchhandatthetrickystuff.That’smylookout.IwantyououtofthewaysothatI’vegotafreehand,that’sall.”
“Can’tIstayhere,David?”
“No,ofcourseyoucan’t,Rosaleen.Dohavesomesense.I’vegottohaveafreehandtodealwiththisfellowwhoeverheis—”
“Doyouthinkthatit’s—thatit’s—”
Hesaidwithemphasis:
“Idon’tthinkanythingatthemoment.Thefirstthingistogetyououtoftheway.ThenIcanfindoutwherewestand.Goon—there’sagoodgirl,don’targue.”
Sheturnedandwentoutoftheroom.
Davidfrowneddownattheletterinhishand.
Verynoncommittal—polite—wellphrased—mightmeananything.Itmightbegenuinesolicitudeinanawkwardsituation.Mightbeaveiledthreat.Heconneditsphrasesoverandover—“IhavenewsofCaptainRobertUnderhay”…“Besttoapproachyou”…“Ishallbepleasedtogointothematterwithyou…”“Mrs.Cloade.”Damnitall,hedidn’tlikethoseinvertedcommas—Mrs.Cloade…”
Helookedatthesignature.EnochArden.Somethingstirredinhismind—somepoeticalmemory…alineofverse.
II
WhenDavidstrodeintothehalloftheStagthatevening,therewas,aswasusual,nooneabout.AdoorattheleftwasmarkedCoffeeRoom,adoorontherightwasmarkedLounge.Adoorfartheralongwasmarkedrepressively“ForResidentGuestsOnly.”Apassageontherightledalongtothebar,fromwhenceafainthumofvoicescouldbeheard.Asmallglass-encasedboxwaslabelledOfficeandhadapushbellplacedconvenientlyonthesideofitsslidingwindow.
Sometimes,asDavidknewbyexperience,youhadtoringfourorfivetimesbeforeanyonecondescendedtocomeandattendtoyou.Exceptfortheshortperiodofmealtimes,thehalloftheStagwasasdesertedasRobinsonCrusoe’sisland.
Thistime,David’sthirdringofthebellbroughtMissBeatriceLippincottalongthepassagefromthebar,herhandpattinghergoldenpompadourofhairintoplace.Sheslippedintotheglassboxandgreetedhimwithagracioussmile
“Goodevening,Mr.Hunter.Rathercoldweatherforthetimeofyear,isn’tit?”
“Yes—Isupposeitis.HaveyougotaMr.Ardenstayinghere?”
“Letmeseenow,”saidMissLippincott,makingratheraparadeofnotknowingexactly,aproceedingshealwaysadoptedastendingtoincreasetheimportanceoftheStag.“Oh,yes.Mr.EnochArden.No.5.Onthefirstfloor.Youcan’tmissit,Mr.Hunter.Upthestairs,anddon’tgoalongthegallerybutroundtotheleftanddownthreesteps.”
Followingthesecomplicateddirections,DavidtappedonthedoorofNo.5andavoicesaidComein.
Hewentin,closingthedoorbehindhim
III
Comingoutoftheoffice,BeatriceLippincottcalled,“Lily.”Anadenoidalgirlwithagiggleandpaleboiled-gooseberryeyesrespondedtothesummons.
“Canyoumanageforabit,Lily?I’vegottoseeaboutsomelinen.”
Lilysaid,“Oh,yes,MissLippincott,”gaveagiggleandadded,sighinggustily:“IdothinkMr.Hunter’seversogood-looking,don’tyou?”
“Ah,I’veseenalotofhistypeinthewar,”saidMissLippincott,withaworld-wearyair.“Youngpilotsandsuchlikefromthefighterstation.Nevercouldbesureabouttheircheques.Oftenhadsuchawaywiththemthatyou’dcashthethingsagainstyourbetterjudgment.But,ofcourse,I’mfunnythatway,Lily,whatIlikeisclass.Givemeclasseverytime.WhatIsayisagentleman’sagentlemanevenifhedoesdriveatractor.”WithwhichenigmaticpronouncementBeatriceleftLilyandwentupthestairs.
IV
InsideroomNo.5,DavidHunterpausedinsidethedoorandlookedatthemanwhohadsignedhimselfEnochArden.
Fortyish,knockedaboutabit,asuggestionofhavingcomedownintheworld—onthewholeadifficultcustomer.SuchwasDavid’ssummingup.Apartfromthat,noteasytofathom.Adarkhorse.
Ardensaid:
“Hallo—youHunter?Good.Sitdown.What’llyouhave?Whisky?”
He’dmadehimselfcomfortable,Davidnotedthat.Amodestarrayofbottles—afireburninginthegrateonthischillyspringevening.ClothesnotEnglishcut,butwornasanEnglishmanwearsclothes.Themanwastherightage,too…
“Thanks,”Davidsaid,“I’llhaveaspotofwhisky.”
“SayWhen.”
“When.Nottoomuchsoda.”
Theywerealittlelikedogs,manoeuvringforposition—circlingroundeachother,backsstiff,hacklesup,readytobefriendlyorreadytosnarlandsnap.
“Cheerio,”saidArden.
“Cheerio.”
Theysettheirglassesdown,relaxedalittle.RoundOnewasover.
ThemanwhocalledhimselfEnochArdensaid:
“Youweresurprisedtogetmyletter?”
“Frankly,”saidDavid,“Idon’tunderstanditatall.”
“N-no—n-no—well,perhapsnot.”
Davidsaid:
“Iunderstandyouknewmysister’sfirsthusband—RobertUnderhay.”
“Yes,IknewRobertverywell.”Ardenwassmiling,blowingcloudsofsmokeidlyupintheair.“Aswell,perhaps,asanyonecouldknowhim.Younevermethim,didyou,Hunter?”
“No.”
“Oh,perhapsthat’saswell.”
“Whatdoyoumeanbythat?”Davidaskedsharply.
Ardensaideasily:
“Mydearfellow,itmakeseverythingmuchsimpler—that’sall.Iapologizeforaskingyoutocomehere,butIdidthinkitwasbesttokeep”—hepaused—“Rosaleenoutofitall.Noneedtogiveherunnecessarypain.”
“Doyoumindcomingtothepoint?”
“Ofcourse,ofcourse.Wellnow,didyoueversuspect—howshallwesay—thattherewasanything—well—fishy—aboutUnderhay’sdeath?”
“Whatonearthdoyoumean?”
“Well,Underhayhadratherpeculiarideas,youknow.Itmayhavebeenchivalry—itmayjustpossiblyhavebeenforquiteadifferentreason—butlet’ssaythat,ataparticularmomentsomeyearsago,therewerecertainadvantagestoUnderhayinbeingconsidereddead.Hewasgoodatmanagingnatives—alwayshadbeen.Notroubletohimtogetaprobablestorycirculatedwithanyamountofcorroborativedetail.AllUnderhayhadtodowastoturnupaboutathousandmilesaway—withanewname.”
“Itseemsamostfantasticsuppositiontome,”saidDavid.
“Doesit?Doesitreally?”Ardensmiled.Heleanedforward,tappedDavidontheknee.“Supposeit’strue,Hunter?Eh?Supposeit’strue?”
“Ishouldrequireverydefiniteproofofit.”
“Wouldyou?Well,ofcourse,there’snosuperdefiniteproof.Underhayhimselfcouldturnuphere—inWarmsleyVale.How’dyoulikethatforproof?”
“Itwouldatleastbeconclusive,”saidDaviddryly.
“Oh,yes,conclusive—butjustalittleembarrassing—forMrs.GordonCloade,Imean.Becausethen,ofcourse,shewouldn’tbeMrs.GordonCloade.Awkward.Youmustadmit,justalittlebitawkward?”
“Mysister,”saidDavid,“remarriedinperfectlygoodfaith.”
“Ofcourseshedid,mydearfellow.Ofcourseshedid.I’mnotdisputingthatforasecond.Anyjudgewouldsaythesame.Noactualblamecouldattachtoher.”
“Judge?”saidDavidsharply.
Theothersaidasthoughapologetically:
“Iwasthinkingofbigamy.”
“Justwhatareyoudrivingat?”askedDavidsavagely.
“Nowdon’tgetexcited,oldboy.Wejustwanttoputourheadstogetherandseewhat’sbesttobedone—bestforyoursister,that’stosay.Nobodywantsalotofdirtypublicity.Underhay—well,Underhaywasalwaysachivalrouskindofchap.”Ardenpaused.“Hestillis….”
“Is?”askedDavidsharply.
“That’swhatIsaid.”
“YousayRobertUnderhayisalive.Whereishenow?”
Ardenleanedforward—hisvoicebecameconfidential.
“Doyoureallywanttoknow,Hunter?Wouldn’titbebetterifyoudidn’tknow?Putitthat,asfarasyouknow,andasfarasRosaleenknows,UnderhaydiedinAfrica.Verygood,andifUnderhayisalive,hedoesn’tknowhiswifehasmarriedagain,hehasn’ttheleastideaofit.Because,ofcourse,ifhedidknowhewouldhavecomeforward…Rosaleen,yousee,hasinheritedagooddealofmoneyfromhersecondhusband—well,then,ofcoursesheisn’tentitledtoanyofthatmoney…Underhayisamanwithaverysensitivesenseofhonour.Hewouldn’tlikeherinheritingmoneyunderfalsepretences.”Hepaused.“Butofcourseit’spossiblethatUnderhaydoesn’tknowanythingabouthersecondmarriage.He’sinabadway,poorfellow—inaverybadway.”
“Whatdoyoumeanbyinabadway?”
Ardenshookhisheadsolemnly.
“Brokendowninhealth.Heneedsmedicalattention—specialtreatments—allunfortunatelyratherexpensive.”
Thelastworddroppeddelicatelyasthoughintoacategoryofitsown.ItwasthewordforwhichDavidHunterhadbeenunconsciouslywaiting.
Hesaid:
“Expensive?”
“Yes—unfortunatelyeverythingcostsmoney.Underhay,poordevil,ispracticallydestitute.”Headded:“He’sgotpracticallynothingbutwhathestandsupin….”
JustforamomentDavid’seyeswanderedroundtheroom.Henotedthepackslungonachair.Therewasnosuitcasetobeseen.
“Iwonder,”saidDavid,andhisvoicewasnotpleasant,“ifRobertUnderhayisquitethechivalrousgentlemanyoumakehimouttobe.”
“Hewasonce,”theotherassuredhim.“Butlife,youknow,isinclinedtomakeafellowcynical.”Hepausedandaddedsoftly:“GordonCloadewasreallyanincrediblywealthyfellow.Thespectacleoftoomuchwealtharousesone’sbaserinstincts.”
DavidHuntergotup.
“I’vegotananswerforyou.Gotothedevil.”
Unperturbed,Ardensaid,smiling:
“Yes,Ithoughtyou’dsaythat.”
“You’readamnedblackmailer,neithermorenorless.I’veagoodmindtocallyourbluff.”
“Publishandbedamned?Anadmirablesentiment.Butyouwouldn’tlikeitifIdid‘publish.’NotthatIshall.Ifyouwon’tbuy,I’veanothermarket.”
“Whatdoyoumean?”
“TheCloades.SupposeIgotothem.‘Excuseme,butwouldyoubeinterestedtolearnthatthelateRobertUnderhayisverymuchalive?’Why,man,they’lljumpatit!”
Davidsaidscornfully:
“Youwon’tgetanythingoutofthem.They’rebroke,everyoneofthem.”
“Ah,butthere’ssuchathingasaworkingarrangement.Somuchincashonthedayit’sprovedthatUnderhayisalive,thatMrs.GordonCloadeisstillMrs.RobertUnderhayandthatconsequentlyGordonCloade’swill,madebeforehismarriage,isgoodinlaw….”
ForsomefewminutesDavidsatsilent,thenheaskedbluntly:
“Howmuch?”
Theanswercameasbluntly:
“Twentythousand.”
“Outofthequestion!Mysistercan’ttouchthecapital,she’sonlygotalifeinterest.”
“Tenthousand,then.Shecanraisethat,easily.There’sjewellery,isn’tthere?”
Davidsatsilent,thenhesaidunexpectedly:
“Allright.”
Foramomenttheothermanseemedataloss.Itwasasthoughtheeaseofhisvictorysurprisedhim.
“Nocheques,”hesaid.“Tobepaidinnotes!”
“You’llhavetogiveustime—togetholdofthemoney.”
“I’llgiveyouforty-eighthours.”
“MakeitnextTuesday.”
“Allright.You’llbringthemoneyhere.”HeaddedbeforeDavidcouldspeak,“I’mnotmeetingyouatalonelycopse—oradesertedriverbank,sodon’tyouthinkso.You’llbringthemoneyhere—totheStag—atnineo’clocknextTuesdayevening.”
“Suspicioussortofchap,aren’tyou?”
“Iknowmywayabout.AndIknowyourkind.”
“Asyousaid,then.”
Davidwentoutoftheroomanddownthestairs.Hisfacewasblackwithrage.
BeatriceLippincottcameoutoftheroommarkedNo.4.Therewasacommunicatingdoorbetween4and5,thoughthefactcouldhardlybenotedbyanoccupantin5sinceawardrobestooduprightinfrontofit.
MissLippincott’scheekswerepinkandhereyesbrightwithpleasurableexcitement.Shesmoothedbackherpompadourofhairwithanagitatedhand.
Ten
Shepherd’sCourt,Mayfair,wasalargeblockofluxuryserviceflats.Unharmedbytheravagesofenemyaction,theyhadneverthelessbeenunabletokeepupquitetheirprewarstandardofease.Therewasservicestill,althoughnotverygoodservice.Wheretherehadbeentwouniformedporterstherewasnowonlyone.Therestaurantstillservedmeals,butexceptforbreakfast,mealswerenotsentuptotheapartments.
TheflatrentedbyMrs.GordonCloadewasonthethirdfloor.Itconsistedofasittingroomwithabuilt-incocktailbar,twobedroomswithbuilt-incupboards,andasuperblyappointedbathroom,gleamingwithtilesandchromium.
InthesittingroomDavidHunterwasstridingupanddownwhilstRosaleensatonabigsquare-endedsetteewatchinghim.Shelookedpaleandfrightened.
“Blackmail!”hemuttered.“Blackmail!MyGod,amIthekindofmantoletmyselfbeblackmailed?”
Sheshookherhead,bewildered,troubled.
“IfIknew,”Davidwassaying.“IfIonlyknew!”
FromRosaleentherecameasmallmiserablesob.
Hewenton:
“It’sthisworkinginthedark—workingblindfold—”Hewheeledroundsuddenly.“YoutookthoseemeraldsroundtoBondStreettooldGreatorex?”
“Yes.”
“Howmuch?”
Rosaleen’svoicewasstrickenasshesaid:
“Fourthousand.Fourthousandpounds.HesaidifIdidn’tsellthemtheyoughttobereinsured.”
“Yes—preciousstoneshavedoubledinvalue.Ohwell,wecanraisethemoney.Butifwedo,it’sonlythebeginning—itmeansbeingbledtodeath—bled,Rosaleen,bledwhite!”
Shecried:
“Oh,let’sleaveEngland—let’sgetaway—couldn’twegotoIreland—America—somewhere?”
Heturnedandlookedather.
“You’renotafighter,areyou,Rosaleen?Cutandrunisyourmotto.”
Shewailed:“We’rewrong—allthishasbeenwrong—verywicked.”
“Don’tturnpiousonmejustnow!Ican’tstandit.Weweresittingpretty,Rosaleen.ForthefirsttimeinmylifeIwassittingpretty—andI’mnotgoingtoletitallgo,doyouhear?Ifonlyitwasn’tthiscursedfightinginthedark.Youunderstand,don’tyou,thatthewholethingmaybebluff—nothingbutbluff?Underhay’sprobablysafelyburiedinAfricaaswe’vealwaysthoughthewas.”
Sheshivered.
“Don’t,David.Youmakemeafraid.”
Helookedather,sawthepanicinherface,andatoncehismannerchanged.Hecameovertoher,satdown,tookhercoldhandsinhis.
“You’renottoworry,”hesaid.“Leaveitalltome—anddoasItellyou.Youcanmanagethat,can’tyou?JustdoexactlyasItellyou.”
“Ialwaysdo,David.”
Helaughed.“Yes,youalwaysdo.We’llsnapoutofthis,neveryoufear.I’llfindawayofscotchingMr.EnochArden.”
“Wasn’tthereapoem,David—somethingaboutamancomingback—”
“Yes.”Hecuthershort.“That’sjustwhatworriesme…ButI’llgettothebottomofthings,neveryoufear.”
Shesaid:
“It’sTuesdaynightyou—takehimthemoney?”
Henodded.
“Fivethousand.I’lltellhimIcan’traisetherestallatonce.ButImuststophimgoingtotheCloades.Ithinkthatwasonlyathreat,butIcan’tbesure.”
Hestopped,hiseyesbecamedreamy,faraway.Behindthemhismindworked,consideringandrejectingpossibilities.
Thenhelaughed.Itwasagayrecklesslaugh.Thereweremen,nowdead,whowouldhaverecognizedit….
Itwasthelaughofamangoingintoactiononahazardousanddangerousenterprise.Therewasenjoymentinitanddefiance.
“Icantrustyou,Rosaleen,”hesaid.“ThankgoodnessIcantrustyouabsolutely!”
“Trustme?”Sheraisedherbiginquiringeyes.“Todowhat?”
Hesmiledagain.
“Todoexactlyasyouaretold.That’sthesecret,Rosaleen,ofasuccessfuloperation.”
Helaughed:
“OperationEnochArden.”
Eleven
Rowleyopenedthebigmauveenvelopewithsomesurprise.Whoonearth,hewondered,couldbewritingtohim,usingthatkindofstationery—andhowdidtheymanagetogetit,anyway?Thesefancylineshadsurelygonerightoutduringthewar.
“DearMr.Rowley,”heread,“Ihopeyouwon’tthinkI’mtakingalibertyinwritingtoyouthisway,butifyou’llexcuseme,Idothinktherearethingsgoingonthatyououghttoknowabout.”
Henotedtheunderliningwithapuzzledlook.
“Arisingoutofourconversationtheothereveningwhenyoucameinaskingaboutacertainperson.IfyoucouldcallinattheStagI’dbeverygladtotellyouallaboutit.We’veallofusfeltdownherewhatawickedshameitwasaboutyourUncledyingandhismoneygoingthewayitdid.“Hopingyouwon’tbeangrywithme,butIreallydothinkyououghttoknowwhat’sgoingon.“Yoursever,“BeatriceLippincott.”
Rowleystareddownatthismissive,hismindafirewithspeculation.Whatonearthwasallthisabout?GoodoldBee.He’dknownBeatriceallhislife.Boughttobaccofromherfather’sshopandpassedthetimeofdaywithherbehindthecounter.She’dbeenagood-lookinggirl.HerememberedasachildhearingrumoursaboutherduringanabsenceofhersfromWarmsleyVale.She’dbeenawayaboutayearandeverybodysaidshe’dgoneawaytohaveanillegitimatebaby.Perhapsshehad,perhapsshehadn’t.Butshewascertainlyhighlyrespectableandrefinednowadays.Plentyofbackchatandgiggles,butanalmostpainfulpropriety.
Rowleyglancedupattheclock.He’dgoalongtotheStagrightaway.Tohellwithallthoseforms.HewantedtoknowwhatitwasthatBeatricewassoanxioustotellhim.
Itwasalittleaftereightwhenhepushedopenthedoorofthesaloonbar.Thereweretheusualgreetings,nodsofthehead,“Evening,sir.”RowleyedgeduptothebarandaskedforaGuinness.Beatricebeameduponhim.
“Gladtoseeyou,Mr.Rowley.”
“Evening,Beatrice.Thanksforyournote.”
Shegavehimaquickglance.
“I’llbewithyouinaminute,Mr.Rowley.”
Henodded—anddrankhishalfpintmeditativelywhilsthewatchedBeatricefinishservingout.ShecalledoverhershoulderandpresentlythegirlLilycameintorelieveher.Beatricemurmured,“Ifyou’llcomewithme,Mr.Rowley?”
SheledhimalongapassageandinthroughadoormarkedPrivate.Insideitwasverysmallandoverfurnishedwithplusharmchairs,ablaringradio,alotofchinaornamentsandaratherbattered-lookingpierrotdollthrownacrossthebackofachair.
BeatriceLippincottturnedofftheradioandindicatedaplusharmchair.
“I’meversogladyoucameup,Mr.Rowley,andIhopeyoudidn’tmindmywritingtoyou—butI’vebeenturningitoverinmymindallovertheweekend—andasIsaidIreallyfeltyououghttoknowwhat’sgoingon.”
Shewaslookinghappyandimportant,clearlypleasedwithherself.
Rowleyaskedwithmildcuriosity:
“Whatisgoingon?”
“Well,Mr.Rowley,youknowthegentlemanwho’sstayinghere—Mr.Arden,theoneyoucameandaskedabout.”
“Yes?”
“Itwastheverynextevening.Mr.Huntercamealongandaskedforhim.”
“Mr.Hunter?”
Rowleysatupinterestedly.
“Yes,Mr.Rowley.No.5,Isaid,andMr.Hunternoddedandwentstraightup.IwassurprisedImustsay,forthisMr.Ardenhadn’tsaidheknewanyoneinWarmsleyValeandI’dkindoftakenitforgrantedhewasastrangerhereanddidn’tknowanyoneintheplace.VeryoutoftemperMr.Hunterlooked,asthoughsomethinghadhappenedtoupsethimbutofcourseIdidn’tmakeanythingofitthen.”
Shepausedforbreath.Rowleysaidnothing,justlistened.Heneverhurriedpeople.Iftheylikedtotaketheirtimeitsuitedhim.
Beatricecontinuedwithdignity:
“ItwasjustalittlelaterIhadoccasiontogouptoNo.4toseetothetowelsandthebedlinen.That’snextdoortoNo.5,andasithappensthere’sacommunicatingdoor—notthatyou’dknowitfromNo.5becausethebigwardrobetherestandsrightacrossit,sothatyouwouldn’tknowtherewasadoor.Ofcourseit’salwayskeptshutbutasithappenedthistimeitwasjustabitopen—thoughwhoopeneditI’venoidea,I’msure!”
AgainRowleysaidnothing,butjustnoddedhishead.
Beatrice,hethought,hadopenedit.ShehadbeencuriousandhadgoneupdeliberatelytoNo.4tofindoutwhatshecould.
“Andsoyousee,Mr.Rowley,Icouldn’thelphearingwhatwasgoingon.Really,youcouldhaveknockedmeoverwithafeather—”
Aprettysubstantialfeather,thoughtRowley,wouldbeneeded.
Helistened,withanimpassive,almostbovineface,toBeatrice’ssuccinctaccountoftheconversationshehadoverheard.Whenshehadfinished,shewaitedexpectantly.
ItwasfullyacoupleofminutesbeforeRowleycameoutofhistrance.Thenhegotup.
“Thanks,Beatrice,”hesaid.“Thanksalot.”
Andwiththathewentstraightoutoftheroom.Beatricefeltsomewhatdeflated.Shereallydidthink,shesaidtoherself,thatMr.Rowleymighthavesaidsomething.
Twelve
WhenRowleylefttheStaghisstepsturnedautomaticallyinthedirectionofhome,butafterwalkingafewhundredyards,hepulledupshortandretracedhissteps.
HismindtookthingsinslowlyandhisfirstastonishmentoverBeatrice’srevelationswasonlynowbeginningtogivewaytoatrueappreciationofthesignificance.Ifherversionofwhatshehadoverheardwascorrect,andhehadnodoubtthatinsubstanceitwasso,thenasituationhadarisenwhichconcernedeverymemberoftheCloadefamilyclosely.ThepersonmostfittedtodealwiththiswasclearlyRowley’sUncleJeremy.Asasolicitor,JeremyCloadewouldknowwhatusecouldbestbemadeofthissurprisinginformation,andexactlywhatstepstotake.
ThoughRowleywouldhavelikedtotakeactionhimself,herealizedrathergrudginglythatitwouldbefarbettertolaythematterbeforeashrewdandexperiencedlawyer.ThesoonerJeremywasinpossessionofthisinformationthebetter,andaccordinglyRowleybenthisfootstepsstraighttoJeremy’shouseintheHighStreet.
ThelittlemaidwhoopenedthedoorinformedhimthatMr.andMrs.Cloadewerestillatthedinnertable.Shewouldhaveshownhiminthere,butRowleynegativedthisandsaidhewouldwaitinJeremy’sstudytilltheyhadfinished.HedidnotparticularlywanttoincludeFrancesinthecolloquy.Indeedthefewerpeoplewhoknewaboutitthebetter,untiltheyshouldhavedeterminedonadefinitecourseofaction.
HewanderedrestlesslyupanddownJeremy’sstudy.Ontheflat-toppeddeskwasatindispatchboxlabelledSirWilliamJessamyDeceased.Theshelvesheldacollectionoflegaltomes.TherewasanoldphotographofFrancesineveningdressandoneofherfather,LordEdwardTrenton,inridingkit.Onthedeskwasthepictureofayoungmaninuniform—Jeremy’ssonAntony,killedinthewar.
Rowleywincedandturnedaway.HesatdowninachairandstaredatLordEdwardTrentoninstead.
InthediningroomFrancessaidtoherhusband:
“IwonderwhatRowleywants?”
Jeremysaidwearily:
“ProbablyfallenfoulofsomeGovernmentregulation.Nofarmerunderstandsmorethanaquarteroftheseformstheyhavetofillup.Rowley’saconscientiousfellow.Hegetsworried.”
“He’snice,”saidFrances,“butterriblyslow.Ihaveafeeling,youknow,thatthingsaren’tgoingtoowellbetweenhimandLynn.”
Jeremymurmuredvacantly:
“Lynn—oh,yes,ofcourse.Forgiveme,I—Idon’tseemabletoconcentrate.Thestrain—”
Francessaidswiftly:
“Don’tthinkaboutit.It’sgoingtobeallright,Itellyou.”
“Youfrightenmesometimes,Frances.You’resoterriblyreckless.Youdon’trealize—”
“Irealizeeverything.I’mnotafraid.Really,youknow,Jeremy,I’mratherenjoyingmyself—”
“That,mydear,”saidJeremy,“isjustwhatcausesmesuchanxiety.”
Shesmiled.
“Come,”shesaid.“Youmustn’tkeepthatbucolicyoungmanwaitingtoolong.Goandhelphimtofillupformelevenhundredandninety-nine,orwhateveritis.”
Butastheycameoutofthediningroomthefrontdoorbangedshut.EdnacametotellthemthatMr.Rowleyhadsaidhewouldn’twaitandthatitwasnothingthatreallymattered.
Thirteen
OnthatparticularTuesdayafternoon,LynnMarchmonthadgoneforalongwalk.Consciousofagrowingrestlessnessanddissatisfactionwithherself,shefelttheneedforthinkingthingsout.
ShehadnotseenRowleyforsomedays.Aftertheirsomewhatstormypartingonthemorningshehadaskedhimtolendherfivehundredpoundstheyhadmetasusual.LynnrealizedthatherdemandhadbeenunreasonableandthatRowleyhadbeenwellwithinhisrightsinturningitdown.Neverthelessreasonablenesshasneverbeenaqualitythatappealstolovers.OutwardlythingswerethesamebetweenherandRowley,inwardlyshewasnotsosure.Thelastfewdaysshehadfoundunbearablymonotonous,yethardlylikedtoacknowledgetoherselfthatDavidHunter’ssuddendeparturetoLondonwithhissistermighthavesomethingtodowiththeirmonotony.David,sheadmittedruefully,wasanexcitingperson….
Asforherrelations,atthemomentshefoundthemallunbearablytrying.HermotherwasinthebestofspiritsandhadannoyedLynnatlunchthatdaybyannouncingthatshewasgoingtotryandfindasecondgardener.“OldTomreallycan’tkeepupwiththingshere.”
“But,darling,wecan’taffordit,”Lynnhadexclaimed.
“Nonsense,Ireallythink,Lynn,thatGordonwouldbeterriblyupsetifhecouldseehowthegardenhasgonedown.Hewassoparticularalwaysabouttheborder,andthegrassbeingkeptmown,andthepathsingoodorder—andjustlookatitnow.IfeelGordonwouldwantitputinorderagain.”
“Evenifwehavetoborrowmoneyfromhiswidowtodoit.”
“Itoldyou,Lynn,Rosaleencouldn’thavebeenniceraboutit.Ireallythinkshequitesawmypointofview.Ihaveanicebalanceatthebankafterpayingallthebills.AndIreallythinkasecondgardenerwouldbeaneconomy.Thinkoftheextravegetableswecouldgrow.”
“Wecouldbuyalotofextravegetablesforagooddeallessthananotherthreepoundsaweek.”
“Ithinkwecouldgetsomeoneforlessthanthat,dear.TherearemencomingoutoftheServicesnowwhowantjobs.Thepapersaysso.”
Lynnsaiddryly:“Idoubtifyou’llfindtheminWarmsleyVale—orinWarmsleyHeath.”
Butalthoughthematterwasleftlikethat,thetendencyofhermothertocountonRosaleenasaregularsourceofsupporthauntedLynn.ItrevivedthememoryofDavid’ssneeringwords.
So,feelingdisgruntledandoutoftemper,shesetouttowalkherblackmoodoff.
HertemperwasnotimprovedbyameetingwithAuntKathieoutsidethepostoffice.AuntKathiewasingoodspirits.
“Ithink,Lynndear,thatweshallsoonhavegoodnews.”
“Whatonearthdoyoumean,AuntKathie?”
Mrs.Cloadenoddedandsmiledandlookedwise.
“I’vehadthemostastonishingcommunications—reallyastonishing.Asimplehappyendtoallourtroubles.Ihadonesetback,butsincethenI’vegotthemessagetoTrytrytryagain.Ifatfirstyoudon’tsucceed,etc…I’mnotgoingtobetrayanysecrets,Lynndear,andthelastthingIshouldwanttodowouldbetoraisefalsehopesprematurely,butIhavethestrongestbeliefthatthingswillverysoonbequiteallright.Andquitetime,too.Iamreallyveryworriedaboutyouruncle.Heworkedfartoohardduringthewar.Hereallyneedstoretireanddevotehimselftohisspecializedstudies—butofcoursehecan’tdothatwithoutanadequateincome.Andsometimeshehassuchqueernervousfits,Iamreallyveryworriedabouthim.Heisreallyquiteodd.”
Lynnnoddedthoughtfully.ThechangeinLionelCloadehadnotescapedhernotice,norhiscuriousalternationofmoods.Shesuspectedthatheoccasionallyhadrecoursetodrugstostimulatehimself,andshewonderedwhetherhewerenottoacertainextentanaddict.Itwouldaccountforhisextremenervousirritability.ShewonderedhowmuchAuntKathiekneworguessed.AuntKathie,thoughtLynn,wasnotsuchafoolasshelooked.
GoingdowntheHighStreet,shecaughtaglimpseofherUncleJeremylettinghimselfintohisfrontdoor.Helooked,Lynnthought,verymucholderjustintheselastthreeweeks.
Shequickenedherpace.ShewantedtogetoutofWarmsleyVale,upontothehillsandopenspaces.Settingoutatabriskpaceshesoonfeltbetter.Shewouldgoforagoodtrampofsixorsevenmiles—andreallythinkthingsout.Always,allherlife,shehadbeenaresoluteclearheadedperson.Shehadknownwhatshewantedandwhatshedidn’twant.Never,untilnow,hadshebeencontentjusttodriftalong….
Yes,thatwasjustwhatitwas!Driftingalong!Anaimless,formlessmethodofliving.EversinceshehadcomeoutoftheService.Awaveofnostalgiasweptoverherforthosewardays.Dayswhendutieswereclearlydefined,whenlifewasplannedandorderly—whentheweightofindividualdecisionshadbeenliftedfromher.Butevenassheformulatedtheidea,shewashorrifiedatherself.Wasthatreallyandtrulywhatpeopleweresecretlyfeelingeverywhere?Wasthatwhat,ultimately,wardidtoyou?Itwasnotthephysicaldangers—theminesatsea,thebombsfromtheair,thecrisppingofariflebulletasyoudroveoveradeserttrack.No,itwasthespiritualdangeroflearninghowmucheasierlifewasifyouceasedtothink…She,LynnMarchmont,wasnolongertheclearheadedresoluteintelligentgirlwhohadjoinedup.Herintelligencehadbeenspecialized,directedinwell-definedchannels.Nowmistressofherselfandherlifeoncemore,shewasappalledatthedisinclinationofhermindtoseizeandgrapplewithherownpersonalproblems.
Withasuddenwrysmile,Lynnthoughttoherself:Oddifit’sreallythatnewspapercharacter“thehousewife”whohascomeintoherownthroughwarconditions.Thewomenwho,hinderedbyinnumerable“shallnots,”werenothelpedbyanydefinite“shalls.”Womenwhohadtoplanandthinkandimprovise,whohadtouseeveryinchoftheingenuitytheyhadbeengiven,andtodevelopaningenuitythattheydidn’tknowtheyhadgot!Theyalone,thoughtLynnnow,couldstanduprightwithoutacrutch,responsibleforthemselvesandothers.Andshe,LynnMarchmont,welleducated,clever,havingdoneajobthatneededbrainsandcloseapplication,wasnowrudderless,devoidofresolution—yes,hatefulword:drifting….
Thepeoplewhohadstayedathome;Rowley,forinstance.
ButatonceLynn’sminddroppedfromvaguegeneralitiestotheimmediatepersonal.HerselfandRowley.Thatwastheproblem,therealproblem—theonlyproblem.DidshereallywanttomarryRowley?
Slowlytheshadowslengthenedtotwilightanddusk.Lynnsatmotionless,herchincuppedinherhandsontheoutskirtsofasmallcopseonthehillside,lookingdownoverthevalley.Shehadlostcountoftime,butsheknewthatshewasstrangelyreluctanttogohometotheWhiteHouse.Belowher,awaytotheleft,wasLongWillows.LongWillows,herhomeifshemarriedRowley.
If!Itcamebacktothat—if—if—if!
Abirdflewoutofthewoodwithastartledcrylikethecryofanangrychild.Abillowofsmokefromatrainwenteddyingupintheskyformingasitdidsoagiantquestionmark:
???
ShallImarryRowley?DoIwanttomarryRowley?DidIeverwanttomarryRowley?CouldIbearnottomarryRowley?
Thetrainpuffedawayupthevalley,thesmokequiveredanddispersed.ButthequestionmarkdidnotfadefromLynn’smind.
ShehadlovedRowleybeforeshewentaway.“ButI’vecomehomechanged,”shethought.“I’mnotthesameLynn.”
Alineofpoetryfloatedintohermind.
“Lifeandtheworldandmineownselfarechanged….”
AndRowley?Rowleyhadn’tchanged.
Yes,thatwasit.Rowleyhadn’tchanged.Rowleywaswhereshehadlefthimfouryearsago.
DidshewanttomarryRowley?Ifnot,whatdidshewant?
Twigscrackedinthecopsebehindherandaman’svoicecursedashepushedhiswaythrough.
Shecriedout,“David!”
“Lynn!”Helookedamazedashecamecrashingthroughtheundergrowth.“Whatinthenameoffortuneareyoudoinghere?”
Hehadbeenrunningandwasslightlyoutofbreath.
“Idon’tknow.Justthinking—sittingandthinking.”Shelaugheduncertainly.“Isuppose—it’sgettingverylate.”
“Haven’tyouanyideaofthetime?”
Shelookeddownvaguelyatherwristwatch.
“It’sstoppedagain.Idisorganizewatches.”
“Morethanwatches!”Davidsaid.“It’stheelectricityinyou.Thevitality.Thelife.”
Hecameuptoher,andvaguelydisturbed,sherosequicklytoherfeet.
“It’sgettingquitedark.Imusthurryhome.Whattimeisit,David?”
“Quarterpastnine.Imustrunlikeahare.Isimplymustcatchthe9:20traintoLondon.”
“Ididn’tknowyouhadcomebackhere!”
“IhadtogetsomethingsfromFurrowbank.ButImustcatchthistrain.Rosaleen’saloneintheflat—andshegetsthejittersifshe’saloneatnightinLondon.”
“Inaserviceflat?”Lynn’svoicewasscornful.
Davidsaidsharply:
“Fearisn’tlogical.Whenyou’vesufferedfromblast—”
Lynnwassuddenlyashamed—contrite.Shesaid:
“I’msorry.I’dforgotten.”
WithsuddenbitternessDavidcriedout:
“Yes,it’ssoonforgotten—allofit.Backtosafety!Backtotameness!Backtowherewewerewhenthewholebloodyshowstarted!Creepintoourrottenlittleholesandplaysafeagain.You,too,Lynn—you’rejustthesameastherestofthem!”
Shecried,“I’mnot.I’mnot,David.Iwasjustthinking—now—”
“Ofme?”
Hisquicknessstartledher.Hisarmwasroundher,holdinghimtoher.Hekissedherwithhotangrylips.
“RowleyCloade?”hesaid,“thatoaf?ByGod,Lynn,youbelongtome.”
Thenassuddenlyashehadtakenher,hereleasedher,almostthrustingherawayfromhim.
“I’llmissthetrain.”
Heranheadlongdownthehillside.
“David…”
Heturnedhishead,callingback:
“I’llringyouwhenIgettoLondon….”
Shewatchedhimrunningthroughthegatheringgloom,lightandathleticandfullofnaturalgrace.
Then,shaken,herheartstrangelystirred,hermindchaotic,shewalkedslowlyhomeward.
Shehesitatedalittlebeforegoingin.Sheshrankfromhermother’saffectionatewelcome,herquestions….
Hermotherwhohadborrowedfivehundredpoundsfrompeoplewhomshedespised.
“We’venorighttodespiseRosaleenandDavid,”thoughtLynnasshewentverysoftlyupstairs.“We’rejustthesame.We’ddoanything—anythingformoney.”
Shestoodinherbedroom,lookingcuriouslyatherfaceinthemirror.Itwas,shethought,thefaceofastranger….
Andthen,sharply,angershookher.
“IfRowleyreallylovedme,”shethought,“he’dhavegotthatfivehundredpoundsformesomehow.Hewould—hewould.Hewouldn’tletmebehumiliatedbyhavingtotakeitfromDavid—David….”
DavidhadsaidhewouldringherwhenhegottoLondon.
Shewentdownstairs,walkinginadream
Dreams,shethought,couldbeverydangerousthings….
Fourteen
“Oh,thereyouare,Lynn.”Adela’svoicewasbriskandrelieved.“Ididn’thearyoucomein,darling.Haveyoubeeninlong?”
“Oh,yes,ages.Iwasupstairs.”
“Iwishyou’dtellmewhenyoucomein,Lynn.I’malwaysnervouswhenyou’reoutaloneafterdark.”
“Really,Mums,don’tyouthinkIcanlookaftermyself?”
“Well,therehavebeendreadfulthingsinthepaperslately.Allthesedischargedsoldiers—theyattackgirls.”
“Iexpectthegirlsaskforit.”
Shesmiled—ratheratwistedsmile.
Yes,girlsdidaskfordanger…Who,afterall,reallywantedtobesafe…?
“Lynn,darling,areyoulistening?”
Lynnbroughthermindbackwithajerk.
Hermotherhadbeentalking.
“Whatdidyousay,Mums?”
“Iwastalkingaboutyourbridesmaids,dear.Isupposethey’llbeabletoproducethecouponsallright.It’sveryluckyforyouhavingallyourdemobones.I’mreallyterriblysorryforgirlswhogetmarriednowadaysonjusttheirordinarycoupons.Imeantheyjustcan’thaveanythingnewatall.Notoutside,Imean.Whatwiththestateallone’sundiesareinnowadaysonejusthastogoforthem.Yes,Lynn,youreallyarelucky.”
“Oh,verylucky.”
Shewaswalkingroundtheroom—prowling,pickingupthings,puttingthemdown
“Mustyoubesoterriblyrestless,dear?Youmakemefeelquitejumpy!”
“Sorry,Mums.”
“There’snothingthematter,isthere?”
“Whatshouldbethematter?”askedLynnsharply.
“Well,don’tjumpdownmythroat,darling.Nowaboutbridesmaids.IreallythinkyououghttoasktheMacraegirl.Hermotherwasmyclosestfriend,remember,andIdothinkshe’llbehurtif—”
“IloatheJoanMacraeandalwayshave.”
“Iknow,darling,butdoesthatreallymatter?Marjoriewill,I’msure,feelhurt—”
“Really,Mums,it’smywedding,isn’tit?”
“Yes,Iknow,Lynn,but—”
“Ifthereisaweddingatall!”
Shehadn’tmeanttosaythat.Thewordsslippedoutwithoutherhavingplannedthem.Shewouldhavecaughtthemback,butitwastoolate.Mrs.Marchmontwasstaringatherdaughterinalarm.
“Lynn,darling,whatdoyoumean?”
“Oh,nothing,Mums.”
“YouandRowleyhaven’tquarrelled?”
“No,ofcoursenot.Don’tfuss,Mums,everything’sallright.”
ButAdelawaslookingatherdaughterinrealalarm,sensitivetotheturmoilbehindLynn’sfrowningexterior.
“I’vealwaysfeltyou’dbesosafemarriedtoRowley,”shesaidpiteously
“Whowantstobesafe?”Lynnaskedscornfully.Sheturnedsharply.“Wasthatthetelephone?”
“No.Why?Areyouexpectingacall?”
Lynnshookherhead.Humiliatingtobewaitingforthetelephonetoring.Hehadsaidhewouldringhertonight.Hemust.“You’remad,”shetoldherself.“Mad.”
Whydidthismanattractherso?Thememoryofhisdarkunhappyfaceroseupbeforehereyes.Shetriedtobanishit,triedtoreplaceitbyRowley’sbroadgood-lookingcountenance.Hisslowsmile,hisaffectionateglance.ButdidRowley,shethought,reallycareabouther?Surelyifhe’dreallycared,he’dhaveunderstoodthatdaywhenshecametohimandbeggedforfivehundredpounds.He’dhaveunderstoodinsteadofbeingsomaddeninglyreasonableandmatter-of-fact.MarryRowley,liveonthefarm,nevergoawayagain,neverseeforeignskies,smellexoticsmells—neveragainbefree….
Sharplythetelephonerang.Lynntookadeepbreath,walkedacrossthehallandpickedupthereceiver.
Withtheshockofablow,AuntKathie’svoicecamethinlythroughthewire.
“Lynn?Isthatyou?Oh,I’msoglad.I’mafraid,youknow,I’vemaderatheramuddle—aboutthemeetingattheInstitute—”
Thethinflutteringvoicewenton.Lynnlistened,interpolatedcomments,utteredreassurances,receivedthanks.
“Suchacomfort,dearLynn,youarealwayssokindandsopractical.Ireallycan’timaginehowIgetthingssomuddledup.”
Lynncouldn’timagineeither.AuntKathie’scapacityformuddlingthesimplestissuesamountedpracticallytogenius.
“ButIalwaysdosay,”finishedAuntKathie,“thateverythinggoeswrongatonce.OurtelephoneisoutoforderandI’vehadtogoouttoacallbox,andnowI’mhereIhadn’tgottwopence,onlyhalfpennies—andIhadtogoandask—”
Itpeteredoutatlast.Lynnhungupandwentbacktothedrawing-room.AdelaMarchmont,alert,asked:“Wasthat—”andpaused.
Lynnsaidquickly:“AuntKathie.”
“Whatdidshewant?”
“Oh,justoneofherusualmuddles.”
Lynnsatdownagainwithabook,glancingupattheclock.Yes—ithadbeentooearly.Shecouldn’texpecthercallyet.Atfiveminutespasteleventhetelephonerangagain.Shewentslowlyouttoit.Thistimeshewouldn’texpect—itwasprobablyAuntKathieagain….
Butno.“WarmsleyVale34?CanMissLynnMarchmonttakeapersonalcallfromLondon?”
Herheartmissedabeat.
“ThisisMissLynnMarchmontspeaking.”
“Holdon,please.”
Shewaited—confusednoises—thensilence.Thetelephoneservicewasgettingworseandworse.Shewaited.Finallyshedepressedthereceiverangrily.Anotherwoman’svoice,indifferent,cold,spoke,wasuninterested.“Hangup,please.You’llbecalledlater.”
Shehungup,wentbacktowardsthedrawingroom,thebellrangagainasshehadherhandonthedoor.Shehurriedbacktothetelephone.
“Hallo?”
Aman’svoicesaid:“WarmsleyVale34?PersonalcallfromLondonforMissLynnMarchmont.”
“Speaking.”
“Justaminuteplease.”Then,faintly,“Speakup,London,you’rethrough….”
Andthen,suddenly,David’svoice:
“Lynn,isthatyou?”
“David!”
“Ihadtospeaktoyou.”
“Yes….”
“Lookhere,Lynn,IthinkI’dbetterclearout—”
“Whatdoyoumean?”
“ClearoutofEnglandaltogether.Oh,it’seasyenough.I’vepretendeditwasn’ttoRosaleen—simplybecauseIdidn’twanttoleaveWarmsleyVale.Butwhat’sthegoodofitall?YouandI—itwouldn’twork.You’reafinegirl,Lynn—andasforme,I’mabitofacrook,alwayshavebeen.Anddon’tflatteryourselfthatI’dgostraightforyoursake.Imightmeanto—butitwouldn’twork.No,you’dbettermarrytheploddingRowley.He’llnevergiveyouaday’sanxietyaslongasyoulive.Ishouldgiveyouhell.”
Shestoodthere,holdingthereceiver,sayingnothing.
“Lynn,areyoustillthere?”
“Yes,I’mhere.”
“Youdidn’tsayanything.”
“Whatistheretosay?”
“Lynn?”
“Well…?”
Strangehowclearlyshecouldfeeloverallthatdistance,hisexcitement,theurgencyofhismood….
Hecursedsoftly,saidexplosively,“Oh,tohellwitheverything!”andrangoff.
Mrs.Marchmont,comingoutofthedrawingroom,said,“Wasthat—?”
“Awrongnumber,”saidLynnandwentquicklyupthestairs.
Fifteen
ItwasthecustomattheStagforgueststobecalledatwhateverhourtheynamedbythesimpleprocessofaloudbangonthedoorandtheshoutedinformationthatitwas“Eight-thirty,sir,”or“Eighto’clock”whateverthecasemightbe.Earlyteawasproducedifexpresslystipulatedfor,andwasdepositedwitharattleofcrockeryonthematoutsidethedoor.
OnthisparticularWednesdaymorning,youngGladyswentthroughtheusualformulaoutsideNo.5,yellingout,“Eight-fifteen,sir,”andcrashingdownthetraywithabangthatsloppedthemilkoutofthejug.Shethenwentonherway,callingmorepeopleandproceedingtoherotherduties.
Itwasteno’clockbeforeshetookinthefactthatNo.5’steawasstillonthemat.
Shebeatafewheavyrapsonthedoor,gotnoreplyandtheruponwalkedin.
No.5wasnotthekindofgentlemanwhooverslepthimself,andshehadjustrememberedthattherewasaconvenientflatroofoutsidethewindow.Itwasjustpossible,thoughtGladys,thatNo.5haddoneabunkwithoutpayinghisbill.
ButthemanregisteredasEnochArdenhadnotdoneabunk.Hewaslyingonhisfaceinthemiddleoftheroomandwithoutanyknowledgeofmedicine,Gladyshadnodoubtwhateverthathewasdead.
Gladysthrewbackherheadandscreamed,thenrushedoutoftheroomanddownthestairs,stillscreaming.
“Ow,MissLippincott—MissLippincott—ow—”
BeatriceLippincottwasinherprivateroomhavingacuthandbandagedbyDr.LionelCloade—thelatterdroppedthebandageandturnedirritablyasthegirlburstin.
“Ow,Miss!”
Thedoctorsnapped:
“Whatisit?Whatisit?”
“What’sthematter,Gladys?”askedBeatrice.
“It’sthegentlemaninNo.5,Miss.He’slyingthereonthefloor,dead.”
ThedoctorstaredatthegirlandthenatMissLippincott:thelatterstaredatGladysandthenatthedoctor.
Finally,Dr.Cloadesaiduncertainly:
“Nonsense.”
“Deadasadoornail,”saidGladys,andaddedwithacertainrelish:“’Is’ead’sbashedin!”
ThedoctorlookedtowardsMissLippincott.
“PerhapsI’dbetter—”
“Yes,please,Dr.Cloade.Butreally—Ihardlythink—itseemssoimpossible.”
Theytroopedupstairs,Gladysleadingtheway.Dr.Cloadetookonelook,kneltdownandbentovertherecumbentfigure.
HelookedupatBeatrice.Hismannerhadchanged.Itwasabrupt,authoritative
“You’dbettertelephonethroughtothepolicestation,”hesaid.
BeatriceLippincottwentout,Gladysfollowedher.
Gladyssaidinanawedwhisper:
“Ow,Miss,doyouthinkit’smurder?”
Beatricesmoothedbackhergoldenpompadourwithanagitatedhand.
“Youholdyourtongue,Gladys,”shesaidsharply.“Sayingathing’smurderbeforeyouknowit’smurderislibelandyoumightbehadupincourtforit.It’lldotheStagnogoodtohavealotofgossipgoingabout.”Sheadded,asagraciousconcession:“Youcangoandmakeyourselfanicecupoftea.Idaresayyouneedit.”
“Yes,indeed,Miss,Ido.Myinside’sfairturningover!I’llbringyoualongacup,too!”
TowhichBeatricedidnotsayNo.
Sixteen
SuperintendentSpencelookedthoughtfullyacrosshistableatBeatriceLippincott,whowassittingwithherlipscompressedtightlytogether.
“Thankyou,MissLippincott,”hesaid.“That’sallyoucanremember?I’llhaveittypedoutforyoutoreadandthenifyouwouldn’tmindsigningit—”
“Oh,dear—Ishan’thavetogiveevidenceinapolicecourt,Idohope.”
SuperintendentSpencesmiledappeasingly.
“Oh,wehopeitmayn’tcometothat,”hesaidmendaciously.
“Itmaybesuicide,”Beatricesuggestedhopefully.
SuperintendentSpenceforboretosaythatasuicidedoesnotusuallycaveinthebackofhisskullwithapairofsteelfiretongs.Instead,herepliedinthesameeasymanner:
“Neveranygoodjumpingtoconclusions.Thankyou,MissLippincott.Verygoodofyoutocomeforwardwiththisstatementsopromptly.”
Whenshehadbeenusheredout,heranoverherstatementinhismind.HeknewallaboutBeatriceLippincott,hadaverygoodideaofhowfarheraccuracywastobedependedupon.Somuchforaconversationgenuinelyoverheadandremembered.Alittleextraembroideryforexcitement’ssake.AlittleextrastillbecausemurderhadbeendoneinbedroomNo.5.Buttakeextrasawayandwhatremainedwasuglyandsuggestive.
SuperintendentSpencelookedatthetableinfrontofhim.Therewasawristwatchwithasmashedglass,asmallgoldlighterwithinitialsonit,alipstickinagiltholder,andapairofheavysteelfiretongs,theheavyheadofwhichwasstainedarustybrown.
SergeantGraveslookedinandsaidthatMr.RowleyCloadewaswaiting.SpencenoddedandtheSergeantshowedRowleyin.
JustasheknewallaboutBeatriceLippincott,sotheSuperintendentknewallaboutRowleyCloade.IfRowleyhadcometothepolicestation,itwasbecauseRowleyhadgotsomethingtosayandthatsomethingwouldbesolid,reliableandunimaginative.Itwould,infact,beworthhearing.Atthesametime,Rowleybeingadeliberatetypeofperson,itwouldtakesometimetosay.Andyoucouldn’thurrytheRowleyCloadetype.Ifyoudid,theybecamerattled,repeatedthemselves,andgenerallytooktwiceaslong….
“Goodmorning,Mr.Cloade.Pleasedtoseeyou.Canyouthrowanylightonthisproblemofours?ThemanwhowaskilledattheStag.”
RathertoSpence’ssurprise,Rowleybeganwithaquestion.Heaskedabruptly:
“Haveyouidentifiedthefellow?”
“No,”saidSpenceslowly.“Iwouldn’tsaywehad.HesignedtheregisterEnochArden.There’snothinginhispossessiontoshowhewasEnochArden.”
Rowleyfrowned.
“Isn’tthat—ratherodd?”
Itwasexceedinglyodd,butSuperintendentSpencedidnotproposetodiscusswithRowleyCloadejusthowoddhethoughtitwas.Insteadhesaidpleasantly:“Comenow,Mr.Cloade,I’mtheonewhoasksthequestions.Youwenttoseethedeadmanlastnight.Why?”
“YouknowBeatriceLippincott,Superintendent?AttheStag.”
“Yes,ofcourse.And,”saidtheSuperintendent,takingwhathehopedwouldbeashortcut,“I’veheardherstory.Shecametomewithit.”
Rowleylookedrelieved.
“Good.Iwasafraidshemightn’twanttobemixedupwithapolicematter.Thesepeoplearefunnythatwaysometimes.”TheSuperintendentnodded.“Well,then,Beatricetoldmewhatshe’doverheardanditseemedtome—Idon’tknowifitdoestoyou—decidedlyfishy.WhatImeanis—we’re,well,we’reinterestedparties.”
AgaintheSuperintendentnodded.HehadtakenakeenlocalinterestinGordonCloade’sdeathandincommonwithgenerallocalopinionheconsideredthatGordon’sfamilyhadbeenbadlytreated.HeendorsedthecommonopinionthatMrs.GordonCloade“wasn’talady,”andthatMrs.GordonCloade’sbrotherwasoneofthoseyoungfirebrandCommandoswho,thoughtheyhadhadtheirusesintimeofwar,weretobelookedataskanceinpeacetime.
“Idon’tsupposeIneedexplaintoyou,Superintendent,thatifMrs.Gordon’sfirsthusbandisstillalive,itwillmakeabigdifferencetousasafamily.ThisstoryofBeatrice’swasthefirstintimationIhadthatsuchastateofaffairsmightexist.I’dneverdreamedofsuchathing.Thoughtshewasdefinitelyawidow.AndImaysayitshookmeupalot.Tookmeabitoftimetorealizeit,asyoumightsay.Youknow,Ihadtoletitsoakin.”
Spencenoddedagain.HecouldseeRowleyslowlyruminatingthematter,turningitoverandoverinhismind.
“FirstofallIthoughtI’dbettergetmyuncleontoit—thelawyerone.”
“Mr.JeremyCloade?”
“Yes,soIwentalongthere.Musthavebeensometimeaftereight.TheywerestillatdinnerandIsatdowninoldJeremy’sstudytowaitforhim,andIwentonturningthingsoverinmymind.”
“Yes?”
“AndfinallyIcametotheconclusionthatI’ddoabitmoremyselfbeforegettingmyuncleontoit.Lawyers,Superintendent,areallthesame,I’vefound.Veryslow,verycautious,andhavetobeabsolutelysureoftheirfactsbeforethey’llmoveinamatter.TheinformationI’dgothadcometomeinaratherhole-and-cornermanner—andIwonderedifoldJeremymighthemandhawabitaboutactingonit.IdecidedI’dgoalongtotheStagandseethisJohnnieformyself.”
“Andyoudidso?”
“Yes.IwentrightbacktotheStag—”
“Atwhattimewasthis?”
Rowleypondered.
“Lemmesee,ImusthavegottoJeremy’sabouttwentypasteightorthereabouts—fiveminutes—well,Iwouldn’tliketosayexactly,Spence—afterhalf-pasteight—perhapsabouttwentytonine?”
“Yes,Mr.Cloade?”
“Iknewwheretheblokewas—Beehadmentionedthenumberofhisroom—soIwentrightupandknockedatthedoorandhesaid,‘Comein,’andIwentin.”
Rowleypaused.
“SomehowIdon’tthinkIhandledthebusinessverywell.IthoughtwhenIwentinthatIwastheonewhowasontop.Butthefellowmusthavebeenratheracleverfellow.Icouldn’tpinhimdowntoanythingdefinite.Ithoughthe’dbefrightenedwhenIhintedhe’dbeendoingaspotofblackmail,butitjustseemedtoamusehim.Heaskedme—damnedcheek—ifIwasinthemarkettoo?‘Youcan’tplayyourdirtygamewithme,’Isaid.‘I’venothingtohide.’Andhesaidrathernastilythatthatwasn’thismeaning.Thepointwas,hesaid,thathe’dgotsomethingtosellandwasIabuyer?‘Whatdoyoumean?’Isaid.Hesaid:‘Howmuchwillyou—orthefamilygenerally—paymeforthedefiniteproofthatRobertUnderhay,reporteddeadinAfrica,isreallyaliveandkicking?’Iaskedhimwhythedevilweshouldpayanythingatall?Andhelaughedandsaid,‘BecauseI’vegotaclientcomingthiseveningwhocertainlywillpayaverysubstantialsumforproofpositivethatRobertUnderhayisdead.’Then—well,then,I’mafraidIratherlostmytemperandtoldhimthatmyfamilyweren’tusedtodoingthatkindofdirtybusiness.IfUnderhaywasreallyalive,Isaid,thefactoughttobequiteeasytoestablish.UponthatIwasjuststalkingoutwhenhelaughedandsaidinwhatwasreallyratheraqueertone,‘Idon’tthinkyou’llproveitwithoutmycooperation.’Funnysortofwayhesaidthat.”
“Andthen?”
“Well,frankly,Iwenthomeratherdisturbed.Felt,youknow,thatI’dmessedthingsup.RatherwishedI’dleftittooldJeremytotackleafterall.Imean,dashitall,alawyer’susedtodealingwithslipperycustomers.”
“WhattimedidyouleavetheStag?”
“I’venoidea.Waitasec.MusthavebeenjustbeforeninebecauseIheardthepipsforthenewsasIwasgoingalongthevillage—throughoneofthewindows.”
“DidArdensaywhoitwashewasexpecting?The‘client?’”
“No.ItookitforgranteditwasDavidHunter.Whoelsecoulditbe?”
“Hedidn’tseeminanywayalarmedbytheprospect?”
“Itellyouthefellowwasthoroughlypleasedwithhimselfandontopoftheworld!”
Spenceindicatedwithaslightgesturetheheavysteeltongs.
“Didyounoticetheseinthegrate,Mr.Cloade?”
“Those?No—Idon’tthinkso.Thefirewasn’tlit.”Hefrowned,tryingtovisualizethescene.“Therewerefireironsinthegrate,I’msure,butIcan’tsayInoticedwhattheywere.”Headded,“Wasthatwhat—”
Spencenodded.
“Smashedhisskullin.”
Rowleyfrowned.
“Funny.Hunter’salightlybuiltchap—Ardenwasabigman—powerful.”
TheSuperintendentsaidinacolourlessvoice:
“Themedicalevidenceisthathewasstruckdownfrombehindandthattheblowsdeliveredwiththeheadofthetongswerestruckfromabove.”
Rowleysaidthoughtfully:
“Ofcoursehewasacocksuresortofabloke—butallthesameIwouldn’thaveturnedmybackwithafellowintheroomwhomIwastryingtobleedwhiteandwho’ddonesomeprettytoughfightinginthewar.Ardencan’thavebeenaverycautioussortofchap.”
“Ifhehadbeencautiousverylikelyhe’dbealivenow,”saidtheSuperintendentdryly.
“IwishtoGodhewas,”saidRowleyfervently.“AsitisIfeelI’vemuckedthingsupthoroughly.IfonlyIhadn’tgotonmyhighhorseandstalkedoff,Imighthavegotsomethingusefuloutofhim.Ioughttohavepretendedthatwewereinthemarket,butthething’ssodamnedsilly.Imean,whoarewetobidagainstRosaleenandDavid?They’vegotthecash.Noneofuscouldraisefivehundredpoundsbetweenus.”
TheSuperintendentpickedupthegoldlighter.
“Seenthisbefore?”
AcreaseappearedbetweenRowley’sbrows.Hesaidslowly:
“I’veseenitsomewhere,yes,butIcan’trememberwhere.Notverylongago.No—Ican’tremember.”
SpencedidnotgivethelighterintoRowley’soutstretchedhand.Heputitdownandpickedupthelipstick,unsheathingitfromitscase.
“Andthis?”
Rowleygrinned.
“Really,that’snotinmyline,Superintendent.”
Thoughtfully,Spencesmearedalittleonthebackofhishand.Heputhisheadononeside,studyingitappreciatively.
“Brunettecolouring,Ishouldsay,”heremarked.
“Funnythingsyoupolicemenknow,”saidRowley.Hegotup.“Andyoudon’t—definitelydonot—knowwhothedeadmanwas?”
“Haveyouanyideayourself,Mr.Cloade?”
“Ionlywondered,”saidRowleyslowly.“Imean—thisfellowwasouronlycluetoUnderhay.Nowthathe’sdead—well,lookingforUnderhayisgoingtobelikelookingforaneedleinahaystack.”
“There’llbepublicity,Mr.Cloade,”saidSpence.“Rememberthatinduecoursealotofthiswillappearinthepress.IfUnderhayisaliveandcomestoreadaboutit—well,hemaycomeforward.”
“Yes,”saidRowleydoubtfully.“Hemay.”
“Butyoudon’tthinkso?”
“Ithink,”saidRowleyCloade,“thatRoundOnehasgonetoDavidHunter.”
“Iwonder,”saidSpence.AsRowleywentout,SpencepickedupthegoldlighterandlookedattheinitialsD.H.onit.“Expensivebitofwork,”hesaidtoSergeantGraves.“Notmassproduced.Quiteeasilyidentified.GreatorexoroneofthoseBondStreetplaces.Haveitseento!”
“Yes,sir.”
ThentheSuperintendentlookedatthewristwatch—theglasswassmashedandthehandspointedtotenminutespastnine.
HelookedattheSergeant.
“Gotthereportonthis,Graves?”
“Yes,sir.Mainspring’sbroken.”
“Andthemechanismofthehands?”
“Quiteallright,sir.”
“What,inyouropinion,Graves,doesthewatchtellus?”
Gravesmurmuredwarily,“Seemsasthoughitmightgiveusthetimethecrimewascommitted.”
“Ah,”saidSpence,“whenyou’vebeenaslongintheForceasIhave,you’llbealeetlesuspiciousofanythingsoconvenientasasmashedwatch.Itcanbegenuine—butit’sawell-knownhoaryoldtrick.Turnthehandsofawatchtoatimethatsuitsyou—smashit—andoutwithsomevirtuousalibi.Butyoudon’tcatchanoldbirdthatway.I’mkeepingaveryopenmindonthesubjectofthetimethiscrimewascommitted.Medicalevidenceis:between8p.m.and11p.m.”
SergeantGravesclearedhisthroat.
“Edwards,secondgardeneratFurrowbank,sayshesawDavidHuntercomingoutofasidedoorthereabout7:30.Themaidsdidn’tknowhewasdownhere.TheythoughthewasupinLondonwithMrs.Gordon.Showshewasintheneighbourhoodallright.”
“Yes,”saidSpence.“I’llbeinterestedtohearHunter’sownaccountofhisdoings.”
“Seemslikeaclearcase,sir,”saidGraves,lookingattheinitialsonthelighter.
“H’m,”saidtheSuperintendent.“There’sstillthistoaccountfor.”
Heindicatedthelipstick.
“Ithadrolledunderthechestofdrawers,sir.Mighthavebeentheresometime.”
“I’vecheckedup,”saidSpence.“Thelasttimeawomanoccupiedthatroomwasthreeweeksago.Iknowserviceisn’tuptomuchnowadays—butIstillthinktheyrunamopunderthefurnitureonceinthreeweeks.TheStagiskeptprettycleanandtidyonthewhole.”
“There’sbeennosuggestionofawomanbeingmixedupwithArden.”
“Iknow,”saidtheSuperintendent.“That’swhythatlipstickiswhatIcalltheunknownquantity.”
SergeantGravesrefrainedfromsaying“Cherchezlafemme.”HehadaverygoodFrenchaccentandheknewbetterthantoirritateSuperintendentSpencebydrawingattentiontoit.SergeantGraveswasatactfulyoungman.
Seventeen
SuperintendentSpencelookedupatShepherd’sCourt,Mayfair,beforesteppinginsideitsagreeableportal.SituatedmodestlyinthevicinityofShepherdMarket,itwasdiscreet,expensiveandinconspicuous.
Inside,Spence’sfeetsunkintosoftpilecarpet,therewasavelvet-coveredsetteeandajardinièrefulloffloweringplants.Asmallautomaticliftfacedhim,withaflightofstairsatonesideofit.OntherightofthehallwasadoormarkedOffice.Spencepusheditopenandwentthrough.Hefoundhimselfinasmallroomwithacounter,behindwhichwasatableandatypewriter,andtwochairs.Onewasdrawnuptothetable,theother,amoredecorativeone,wassetatanangletothewindow.Therewasnoonevisible.
Spyingabellinsetonthemahoganycounter,Spencepressedit.Whennothinghappened,hepresseditagain.Aminuteorsolateradoorinthefarwallwasopenedandaresplendentpersoninuniformappeared.HisappearancewasthatofaforeignGeneralorpossiblyFieldMarshal,buthisspeechwasofLondonanduneducatedLondonatthat.
“Yes,sir?”
“Mrs.GordonCloade.”
“Thirdfloor,sir.ShallIringthroughfirst?”
“She’shere,isshe?”saidSpence.“Ihadanideashemightbeinthecountry.”
“No,sir,she’sbeenheresinceSaturdaylast.”
“AndMr.DavidHunter?”
“Mr.Hunter’sbeenhere,too.”
“He’snotbeenaway?”
“No,sir.”
“Washeherelastnight?”
“Nowthen,”saidtheFieldMarshal,suddenlybecomingaggressive.“What’sallthisabout?Wanttoknoweveryone’slifehistory?”
SilentlySpencedisplayedhiswarrantcard.TheFieldMarshalwasimmediatelydeflatedandbecamecooperative.
“Sorry,I’msure,”hesaid.“Couldn’ttell,couldI?”
“Nowthen,wasMr.Hunterherelastnight?”
“Yes,sir,hewas.Atleasttothebestofmybeliefhewas.Thatis,hedidn’tsayhewasgoingaway.”
“Wouldyouknowifhewasaway?”
“Well,generallyspeaking,no.Idon’tsupposeIshould.Gentlemenandladiesusuallysayifthey’renotgoingtobehere.Leavewordaboutlettersorwhattheywantsaidifanyoneringsup.”
“Dotelephonecallsgothroughthisoffice?”
“No,mostoftheflatshavetheirownlines.Oneortwoprefernottohaveatelephoneandthenwesendupwordonthehousephoneandthepeoplecomedownandspeakfromtheboxinthehall.”
“ButMrs.Cloade’sflathasitsownphone?”
“Yes,sir.”
“Andasfarasyouknowtheywerebothherelastnight?”
“That’sright.”
“Whataboutmeals?”
“There’sarestaurant,butMrs.CloadeandMr.Hunterdon’tveryoftenuseit.Theyusuallygoouttodinner.”
“Breakfast?”
“That’sservedintheflats.”
“Canyoufindoutifbreakfastwasservedthismorningtothem?”
“Yes,sir.Icanfindoutfromroomservice.”
Spencenodded.“I’mgoingupnow.LetmeknowaboutthatwhenIcomedown.”
“Verygood,sir.”
Spenceenteredtheliftandpressedthebuttonforthethirdfloor.Therewereonlytwoflatsoneachlanding.SpencepushedthebellofNo.9.
DavidHunteropenedit.HedidnotknowtheSuperintendentbysightandhespokebrusquely.
“Well,whatisit?”
“Mr.Hunter?”
“Yes.”
“SuperintendentSpenceoftheOastshireCountyPolice.CanIhaveawordwithyou?”
“Iapologize,Superintendent.”Hegrinned.“Ithoughtyouwereatout.Comein.”
Heledthewayintoamodernandcharmingroom.RosaleenCloadewasstandingbythewindowandturnedattheirentrance.
“SuperintendentSpence,Rosaleen,”saidHunter.“Sitdown,Superintendent.Haveadrink?”
“No,thankyou,Mr.Hunter.”
Rosaleenhadinclinedherheadslightly.Shesatnow,herbacktothewindow,herhandsclaspedtightlyonherlap.
“Smoke?”Davidproferredcigarettes.
“Thanks.”Spencetookacigarette,waited…watchedDavidslideahandintoapocket,slideitout,frown,lookroundandpickupaboxofmatches.HestruckoneandlittheSuperintendent’scigarette.
“Thankyou,sir.”
“Well,”saidDavid,easily,ashelithisowncigarette.“What’swrongatWarmsleyVale?Hasourcookbeendealingintheblackmarket?Sheprovidesuswithwonderfulfood,andI’vealwayswonderediftherewassomesinisterstorybehindit.”
“It’srathermoreseriousthanthat,”saidtheSuperintendent.“AmandiedattheStagInnlastnight.Perhapsyousawitinthepapers?”
Davidshookhishead.
“No,Ididn’tnoticeit.Whatabouthim?”
“Hedidn’tonlydie.Hewaskilled.Hisheadwasstoveinasamatteroffact.”
Ahalf-chokedexclamationcamefromRosaleen.Davidsaidquickly:
“Please,Superintendent,don’tenlargeonanydetails.Mysisterisdelicate.Shecan’thelpit,butifyoumentionbloodandhorrorsshe’llprobablyfaint.”
“Oh,I’msorry,”saidtheSuperintendent.“Buttherewasn’tanybloodtospeakof.Itwasmurderrightenough,though.”
Hepaused.David’seyebrowswentup.Hesaidgently:
“Youinterestme.Wheredowecomein?”
“Wehopedyoumightbeabletotellussomethingaboutthisman,Mr.Hunter.”
“I?”
“YoucalledtoseehimonSaturdayeveninglast.Hisname—orthenamehewasregisteredunder—wasEnochArden.”
“Yes,ofcourse.Iremembernow.”
Davidspokequietly,withoutembarrassment.
“Well,Mr.Hunter?”
“Well,Superintendent,I’mafraidIcan’thelpyou.Iknownexttonothingabouttheman.”
“WashisnamereallyEnochArden?”
“Ishouldverymuchdoubtit.”
“Whydidyougotoseehim?”
“Justoneoftheusualhard-luckstories.Hementionedcertainplaces,warexperiences,people—”Davidshruggedhisshoulders.“Justatouch,I’mafraid.Thewholethingratherbogus.”
“Didyougivehimanymoney,sir?”
TherewasafractionalpauseandthenDavidsaid:
“Justafiver—forluck.He’dbeeninthewarallright.”
“Hementionedcertainnamesthatyou—knew?”
“Yes.”
“WasoneofthosenamesCaptainRobertUnderhay?”
Nowatlasthegothiseffect.Davidstiffened.Behindhim,Rosaleengavealittlefrightenedgasp.
“Whatmakesyouthinkthat,Superintendent?”Davidaskedatlast.Hiseyeswerecautious,probing.
“Informationreceived,”saidtheSuperintendentstolidly.
Therewasashortsilence.TheSuperintendentwasawareofDavid’seyes,studyinghim,sizinghimup,strivingtoknow…Hehimselfwaitedquietly.
“AnyideawhoRobertUnderhaywas,Superintendent?”Davidasked.
“Supposeyoutellme,sir.”
“RobertUnderhaywasmysister’sfirsthusband.HediedinAfricasomeyearsago.”
“Quitesureofthat,Mr.Hunter?”Spenceaskedquickly.
“Quitesure.That’sso,isn’tit,Rosaleen?”Heturnedtoher.
“Oh,yes.”Shespokequicklyandbreathlessly.“Robertdiedoffever—blackwaterfever.Itwasverysad.”
“Sometimesstoriesgetaboutthataren’tquitetrue,Mrs.Cloade.”
Shesaidnothing.Shewaslookingnotathim,butatherbrother.Then,afteramoment,shesaid:
“Robert’sdead.”
“Frominformationinmypossession,”saidtheSuperintendent,“Iunderstandthatthisman,EnochArden,claimedtobeafriendofthelateRobertUnderhayandatthesametimeinformedyou,Mr.Hunter,thatRobertUnderhaywasalive.”
Davidshookhishead.
“Nonsense,”hesaid.“Absolutenonsense.”
“YoustatedefinitelythatthenameofRobertUnderhaywasnotmentioned?”
“Oh,”Davidsmiledcharmingly,“itwasmentioned.ThispoorfellowhadknownUnderhay.”
“Therewasnoquestionof—blackmail,Mr.Hunter?”
“Blackmail?Idon’tunderstandyou,Superintendent.”
“Don’tyoureally,Mr.Hunter?Bytheway,justasamatterofform,wherewereyoulastnight—between,shallwesay,sevenandeleven?”
“Justasamatterofform,Superintendent,supposeIrefusetoanswer?”
“Aren’tyoubehavingratherchildishly,Mr.Hunter?”
“Idon’tthinkso.Idislike—Ialwayshavedisliked,beingbullied.”
TheSuperintendentthoughtthatwasprobablytrue.
He’dknownwitnessesoftheDavidHuntertypebefore.Witnesseswhowereobstructiveforthesakeofbeingobstructive,andnotintheleastbecausetheyhadanythingtohide.Themerefactofbeingaskedtoaccountfortheircomingsandgoingsseemedtoraiseablackprideandsullennessinthem.Theywouldmakeitapointtogivethelawallthetroubletheycould.
SuperintendentSpence,thoughhepridedhimselfonbeingafair-mindedman,hadneverthelesscometoShepherd’sCourtwithaverystrongconvictionthatDavidHunterwasamurderer.
Now,forthefirsttime,hewasnotsosure.TheverypuerilityofDavid’sdefianceawokedoubtsinhim.
SpencelookedatRosaleenCloade.Sherespondedatonce.
“David,whydon’tyoutellhim?”
“That’sright,Mrs.Cloade.Weonlywanttoclearthingsup—”
Davidbrokeinsavagely:
“You’llstopbullyingmysister,doyouhear?WhatisittoyouwhereImayhavebeen,here,oratWarmsleyValeorinTimbuctoo?”
Spencesaidwarningly:
“You’llbesubpoenaedfortheinquest,Mr.Hunter,andthereyou’llhavetoanswerquestions.”
“I’llwaitfortheinquest,then!Andnow,Superintendent,willyougettohelloutofhere?”
“Verygood,sir.”TheSuperintendentrose,imperturbable.“ButI’vesomethingtoaskMrs.Cloadefirst.”
“Idon’twantmysisterworried.”
“Quiteso.ButIwanthertolookatthebodyandtellmeifshecanidentifyit.I’mwithinmyrightsthere.It’llhavetobedonesoonerorlater.Whynotlethercomedownwithmenowandgetitover?ThelateMr.ArdenwasheardbyawitnesstosaythatheknewRobertUnderhay—ergohemayhaveknownMrs.Underhay—andthereforeMrs.Underhaymayknowhim.Ifhisnameisn’tEnochArden,wecoulddowithknowingwhatitreallyis.”
RatherunexpectedlyRosaleenCloadegotup.
“I’llcome,ofcourse,”shesaid.
SpenceexpectedafreshoutburstfromDavid,buttohissurprisetheothergrinned.
“Goodforyou,Rosaleen,”hesaid.“I’llconfess,I’mcuriousmyself.Afterall,youmaybeabletoputanametothefellow.”
Spencesaidtoher:
“Youdidn’tseehimyourselfinWarmsleyVale?”
Sheshookherhead.
“I’vebeeninLondonsinceSaturdaylast.”
“AndArdenarrivedonFridaynight—yes.”
Rosaleenasked:“Doyouwantmetocomenow?”
Sheaskedthequestionwithsomethingofthesubmissivenessofalittlegirl.InspiteofhimselftheSuperintendentwasfavourablyimpressed.Therewasadocility,awillingnessaboutherwhichhehadnotexpected.
“Thatwouldbeveryniceofyou,Mrs.Cloade,”hesaid.“Thesoonerwecangetcertainfactsdefinitelyestablishedthebetter.Ihaven’tgotapolicecarhere,I’mafraid.”
Davidcrossedtothetelephone.
“I’llringuptheDaimlerHire.It’sbeyondthelegallimit—butIexpectyoucansquarethat,Superintendent.”
“Ithinkthatcanbearranged,Mr.Hunter.”
Hegotup.“I’llbewaitingforyoudownstairs.”
Hewentdownintheliftandpushedopentheofficedooroncemore.
TheFieldMarshalwasawaitinghim.
“Well?”
“Bothbedssleptinlastnight,sir.Bathsandtowelsused.Breakfastwasservedtothemintheflatatnine-thirty.”
“Andyoudon’tknowwhattimeMr.Huntercameinyesterdayevening?”
“Ican’ttellyouanythingfurther,I’mafraid,sir!”
Well,thatwasthat,Spencethought.HewonderediftherewasanythingbehindDavid’srefusaltospeakexceptpurechildlikedefiance.Hemustrealizethatachargeofmurderwashoveringoverhim.Surelyhemustseethatthesoonerhetoldhisstorythebetter.Neveragoodthingtoantagonizethepolice.Butantagonizingthepolice,hethoughtruefully,wasjustwhatDavidHunterwouldenjoydoing.
Theytalkedverylittleonthewaydown.WhentheyarrivedatthemortuaryRosaleenCloadewasverypale.Herhandswereshaking.Davidlookedconcernedforher.Hespoketoherasthoughshewasasmallchild.
“It’llbeonlyaminuteortwo,mavourneen.It’snothingatall,nothingatallnow.Don’tgetworkedup.YougoinwiththeSuperintendentandI’llwaitforyou.Andthere’snothingatalltomindabout.Peacefulhe’lllookandjustasthoughhewereasleep.”
Shegavehimalittlenodoftheheadandstretchedoutherhand.Hegaveitalittlesqueeze.
“Beabravegirlnow,alanna.”
AsshefollowedtheSuperintendentshesaidinhersoftvoice:“YoumustthinkI’materriblecoward,Superintendent.Butwhenthey’vebeenalldeadinthehouse—alldeadbutyou—thatawfulnightinLondon—”
Hesaidgently:“Iunderstand,Mrs.Cloade.IknowyouwentthroughabadexperienceintheBlitzwhenyourhusbandwaskilled.Really,itwillbeonlyaminuteortwo.”
AtasignfromSpencethesheetwasturnedback.RosaleenCloadestoodlookingdownatthemanwhohadcalledhimselfEnochArden.Spence,unobtrusivelystandingtooneside,wasactuallywatchingherclosely.
Shelookedatthedeadmancuriouslyandasthoughwondering—shegavenostart,nosignofemotionorrecognition,justlookedlongandwonderinglyathim.Then,veryquietly,inanalmostmatter-of-factway,shemadethesignofthecross.
“Godresthissoul,”shesaid.“I’veneverseenthatmaninmylife.Idon’tknowwhoheis.”
Spencethoughttohimself:
“Eitheryou’reoneofthefinestactressesI’veeverknownorelseyou’respeakingthetruth.”
Later,SpencerangupRowleyCloade.
“I’vehadthewidowdown,”hesaid.“Shesaysdefinitelythathe’snotRobertUnderlayandthatshe’sneverseenhimbefore.Sothatsettlesthat!”
Therewasapause.ThenRowleysaidslowly:
“Doesitsettleit?”
“Ithinkajurywouldbelieveher—intheabsenceofevidencetothecontrary,ofcourse.”
“Ye-es,”saidRowleyandrangoff.
Then,frowning,hepickedupnotthelocaltelephonedirectory,buttheLondonone.HisforefingersranmethodicallydowntheletterP.Presentlyhefoundwhathewanted.
BOOKII
One
I
HerculePoirotcarefullyfoldedthelastofthenewspapershehadsentGeorgeouttopurchase.Theinformationtheygavewassomewhatmeagre.Medicalevidencewasgiventhattheman’sskullwasfracturedbyaseriesofheavyblows.Theinquesthadbeenadjournedforafortnight.AnybodywhocouldgiveinformationaboutamannamedEnochArdenbelievedtohavelatelyarrivedfromCapeTownwasaskedtocommunicatewiththeChiefConstableofOastshire.
Poirotlaidthepapersinaneatpileandgavehimselfuptomeditation.Hewasinterested.Hemight,perhaps,havepassedthefirstsmallparagraphbywithoutinterestifithadnotbeenfortherecentvisitofMrs.LionelCloade.Butthatvisithadrecalledtohimveryclearlytheincidentsofthatdayattheclubduringthatairraid.Heremembered,verydistinctly,MajorPorter’svoicesaying,“MaybeaMr.EnochArdenwillturnupsomewhereathousandmilesawayandstartlifeanew.”Hewantednow,ratherbadly,toknowmoreaboutthismancalledEnochArdenwhohaddiedbyviolenceatWarmsleyVale.
HerememberedthathewasslightlyacquaintedwithSuperintendentSpenceoftheOastshirepoliceandhealsorememberedthatyoungMellonlivednotveryfarfromWarmsleyHeath,andthatyoungMellonknewJeremyCloade.
ItwaswhilehewasmeditatingatelephonecalltoyoungMellonthatGeorgecameinandannouncedthataMr.RowlandCloadewouldliketoseehim.
“Aha,”saidHerculePoirotwithsatisfaction.“Showhimin.”
Agood-lookingworriedyoungmanwasshownin,andseemedratheratalosshowtobegin.
“Well,Mr.Cloade,”saidPoirothelpfully,“andwhatcanIdoforyou?”
RowleyCloadewaseyeingPoirotratherdoubtfully.Theflamboyantmoustaches,thesartorialelegance,thewhitespatsandthepointedpatent-leathershoesallfilledthisinsularyoungmanwithdistinctmisgivings.
Poirotrealizedthisperfectlywell,andwassomewhatamused.
RowleyCloadebeganratherheavily:
“I’mafraidI’llhavetoexplainwhoIamandallthat.Youwon’tknowmyname—”
Poirotinterruptedhim:
“Butyes,Iknowyournameperfectly.Youraunt,yousee,cametoseemelastweek.”
“Myaunt?”Rowley’sjawdropped.HestaredatPoirotwiththeutmostastonishment.Thissoclearlywasnewstohim,thatPoirotputasidehisfirstsurmisewhichwasthatthetwovisitswereconnected.ForamomentitseemedtohimaremarkablecoincidencethattwomembersoftheCloadefamilyshouldchoosetoconsulthimwithinsuchashortperiodoftime,butasecondlaterherealizedthattherewasnocoincidence—merelyanaturalsequenceproceedingfromoneinitialcause.
Aloudhesaid:
“IassumethatMrs.LionelCloadeisyouraunt.”
IfanythingRowleylookedrathermoreastonishedthanbefore.
Hesaidwiththeutmostincredulity:
“AuntKathie?Surely—don’tyoumean—Mrs.JeremyCloade?”
Poirotshookhishead.
“ButwhatonearthcouldAuntKathie—”
Poirotmurmureddiscreetly:
“Shewasdirectedtome,Iunderstand,byspiritguidance.”
“OhLord!”saidRowley.Helookedrelievedandamused.Hesaid,asthoughreassuringPoirot,“She’squiteharmless,youknow.”
“Iwonder,”saidPoirot.
“Whatdoyoumean?”
“Isanybody—ever—quiteharmless?”
Rowleystared.Poirotsighed.
“Youhavecometometoaskmesomething?—Yes?”hepromptedgently.
TheworriedlookcamebacktoRowley’sface.
“It’sratheralongstory,I’mafraid—”
Poirotwasafraidofit,too.HehadaveryshrewdideathatRowleyCloadewasnotthesortofpersontocometothepointquickly.Heleanedbackandhalf-closedhiseyesasRowleybegan:
“Myuncle,yousee,wasGordonCloade—”
“IknowallaboutGordonCloade,”saidPoirot,helpfully.
“Good.ThenIneedn’texplain.Hemarriedafewweeksbeforehisdeath—ayoungwidowcalledUnderhay.SincehisdeathshehasbeenlivingatWarmsleyVale—sheandabrotherofhers.WeallunderstoodthatherfirsthusbandhaddiedoffeverinAfrica.Butnowitseemsasthoughthatmightn’tbeso.”
“Ah,”Poirotsatup.“Andwhathasledyoutothatsurmise?”
RowleydescribedtheadventofMr.EnochArdeninWarmsleyVale.“Perhapsyouhaveseeninthepapers—”
“Yes,Ihaveseen.”Poirotwasagainhelpful.
Rowleywenton.HedescribedhisfirstimpressionofthemanArden,hisvisittotheStag,theletterhehadreceivedfromBeatriceLippincottandfinallytheconversationthatBeatricehadoverheard.
“Ofcourse,”Rowleysaid,“onecan’tbesurejustwhatshedidhear.Shemayhaveexaggerateditallabit—orevengotitwrong.”
“Hasshetoldherstorytothepolice?”
Rowleynodded.“Itoldhershe’dbetter.”
“Idon’tquitesee—pardonme—whyyoucometome,Mr.Cloade?Doyouwantmetoinvestigatethis—murder?Foritismurder,Iassume.”
“Lord,no,”saidRowley.“Idon’twantanythingofthatkind.That’sapolicejob.Hewasbumpedoffallright.No,whatI’mafteristhis.Iwantyoutofindoutwhothefellowwas.”
Poirot’seyesnarrowed.
“Whodoyouthinkhewas,Mr.Cloade?”
“Well,Imean—EnochArdenisn’taname.Dashitall,it’saquotation.Tennyson.Iwentandmuggeditup.Fellowwhocomesbackandfindsouthiswifehasmarriedanotherfellow.”
“Soyouthink,”saidPoirotquietly,“thatEnochArdenwasRobertUnderhayhimself?”
Rowleysaidslowly:
“Well,hemighthavebeen—Imean,abouttherightageandappearanceandallthat.OfcourseI’vegoneoveritallwithBeatriceagainandagain.Shecan’tnaturallyrememberexactlywhattheybothsaid.ThechapsaidRobertUnderhayhadcomedownintheworldandwasinbadhealthandneededmoney.Well,hemighthavebeentalkingabouthimself,mightn’the?Heseemstohavesaidsomethingaboutitwouldn’tsuitDavidHunter’sbookifUnderhayturnedupinWarmsleyVale—soundingabitasthoughhewasthereunderanassumedname.”
“Whatevidenceofidentificationwasthereattheinquest?”
Rowleyshookhishead.
“Nothingdefinite.OnlytheStagpeoplesayinghewasthemanwho’dcomethereandregisteredasEnochArden.”
“Whatabouthispapers?”
“Hehadn’tany.”
“What?”Poirotsatupinsurprise.“Nopapersofanykind?”
“Nothingatall.Somesparesocksandashirtandatoothbrush,etc.—butnopapers.”
“Nopassport?Noletters?Notevenarationcard?”
“Nothingatall.”
“That,”saidPoirot,“isveryinteresting.Yes,veryinteresting.”
Rowleywenton:“DavidHunter,that’sRosaleenCloade’sbrother,hadcalledtoseehimtheeveningafterhearrived.Hisstorytothepoliceisthathe’dhadaletterfromthechapsayinghehadbeenafriendofRobertUnderhay’sandwasdownandout.Athissister’srequesthewenttotheStagandsawthefellowandgavehimafiver.That’shisstoryandyoubethemeanstosticktoit!OfcoursethepolicearekeepingdarkaboutwhatBeatriceheard.”
“DavidHuntersayshehadnopreviousacquaintancewiththeman?”
“That’swhathesays.Anyway,IgatherHunternevermetUnderhay.”
“AndwhataboutRosaleenCloade?”
“Thepoliceaskedhertolookatthebodyincasesheknewtheman.Shetoldthemthathewasacompletestrangertoher.”
“Ehbien,”saidPoirot.“Thenthatanswersyourquestion!”
“Doesit?”saidRowleybluntly.“Ithinknot.IfthedeadmanisUnderhaythenRosaleenwasnevermyuncle’swifeandshe’snotentitledtoapennyofhismoney.Doyouthinkshewouldrecognizehimunderthosecircumstances?”
“Youdon’ttrusther?”
“Idon’ttrusteitherofthem.
“SurelythereareplentyofpeoplewhocouldsayforcertainthatthedeadmanisorisnotUnderhay?”
“Itdoesn’tseemtobesoeasy.That’swhatIwantyoutodo.FindsomeonewhoknowsUnderhay.Apparentlyhehasnolivingrelationsinthiscountry—andhewasalwaysanunsociablelonelysortofchap.Isupposetheremustbeoldservants—friends—someone—butthewar’sbrokenupeverythingandshiftedpeopleround.Iwouldn’tknowhowtobegintotacklethejob—anywayIhaven’tthetime.I’mafarmer—andI’mshorthanded.”
“Whyme?”saidHerculePoirot.
Rowleylookedembarrassed.
AfainttwinklecameintoPoirot’seye
“Spiritguidance?”hemurmured.
“GoodLord,no,”saidRowleyhorrified.“Matteroffact,”hehesitated,“IheardafellowIknowtalkaboutyou—saidyouwereawizardatthesesortofthings.Idon’tknowaboutyourfees—expensive,Iexpect—we’reratherastony-brokelot,butIdaresaywecouldcoughitupamongstthelotofus.Thatis,ifyou’lltakeiton.”
HerculePoirotsaidslowly:
“Yes,IthinkperhapsIcanhelpyou.”
Hismemory,averypreciseanddefinitememory,wentback.Theclubbore,therustlingnewspapers,themonotonousvoice.
Thename—hehadheardthename—itwouldcomebacktohimpresently.Ifnot,hecouldalwaysaskMellon…No,hehadgotit.Porter.MajorPorter.
HerculePoirotrosetohisfeet.
“Willyoucomebackherethisafternoon,Mr.Cloade?”
“Well—Idon’tknow.Yes,IsupposeIcould.Butsurelyyoucan’tdoanythinginthatshorttime?”
HelookedatPoirotwithaweandincredulity.Poirotwouldhavebeenlessthanhumanifhecouldhaveresistedthetemptationtoshowoff.Withmemoriesofabrilliantpredecessorinhismind,hesaidsolemnly:
“Ihavemymethods,Mr.Cloade.”
Itwasclearlytherightthingtosay.Rowley’sexpressionbecamerespectfulintheextreme.
“Yes—ofcourse—really—Idon’tknowhowyoupeopledothesethings.”
Poirotdidnotenlightenhim.WhenRowleyhadgone,hesatdownandwroteashortnote.GivingittoGeorgeheinstructedhimtotakeittotheCoronationClubandwaitforananswer.
Theanswerwashighlysatisfactory.MajorPorterpresentedhiscomplimentstoM.HerculePoirotandwouldbehappytoseehimandhisfriendat79EdgewayStreet,CampdenHill,thatafternoonatfiveo’clock.
II
Atfour-thirtyRowleyCloadereappeared
“Anyluck,M.Poirot?”
“Butyes,Mr.Cloade,wegonowtoseeanoldfriendofCaptainRobertUnderhay’s.”
“What?”Rowley’smouthfellopen.HestaredatPoirotwiththeamazementasmallboyshowswhenaconjurerproducesrabbitsoutofahat.“Butit’sincredible!Idon’tunderstandhowyoucandothesethings—why,it’sonlyafewhours.”
Poirotwavedadeprecatinghandandtriedtolookmodest.Hehadnointentionofrevealingthesimplicitywithwhichhisconjuringtrickhadbeendone.HisvanitywaspleasedtoimpressthissimpleRowley.
Thetwomenwentouttogether,andhailingataxitheydrovetoCampdenHill.
III
MajorPorterhadthefirstfloorofasmallshabbyhouse.Theywereadmittedbyacheerfulblowsy-lookingwomanwhotookthemup.Itwasasquareroomwithbookshelvesrounditandsomeratherbadsportingprints.Thereweretworugsonthefloor—goodrugswithlovelydimcolourbutveryworn.Poirotnoticedthatthecentreofthefloorwascoveredwithanewheavyvarnishwhereasthevarnishroundtheedgewasoldandrubbed.Herealizedthenthattherehadbeenotherbetterrugsuntilrecently—rugsthatwereworthgoodmoneyinthesedays.Helookedupatthemanstandingerectbythefireplaceinhiswell-cutshabbysuit.PoirotguessedthatforMajorPorter,retiredArmyofficer,lifewaslivedverynearthebone.Taxationandincreasedcostoflivingstruckhardestattheoldwar-horses.Somethings,heguessed,MajorPorterwouldclingtountiltheend.Hisclubsubscription,forinstance.
MajorPorterwasspeakingjerkily.
“’FraidIdon’tremembermeetingyou,M.Poirot.Attheclub,yousay?Coupleofyearsago?Knowyournameofcourse.”
“This,”saidPoirot,“isMr.RowlandCloade.”
MajorPorterjerkedhisheadinhonouroftheintroduction.
“Howd’yedo?”hesaid.“’FraidIcan’taskyoutohaveaglassofsherry.MatteroffactmywinemerchanthaslosthisstockintheBlitz.Gotsomegin.Filthystuff,Ialwaysthink.Orwhataboutsomebeer?”
Theyacceptedbeer.MajorPorterproducedacigarettecase.“Smoke?”Poirotacceptedacigarette.TheMajorstruckamatchandlightedPoirot’scigarette
“Youdon’t,Iknow,”saidtheMajortoRowley:“MindifIlightmypipe?”Hedidsowithagooddealofsuckingandblowing.
“Nowthen,”hesaidwhenallthesepreliminarieshadbeenaccomplished.“What’sallthisabout?”
Helookedfromonetotheotherofthem
Poirotsaid:“YoumayhavereadinthepaperofthedeathofamanatWarmsleyVale?”
Portershookhishead.
“Mayhave.Don’tthinkso.”
“HisnamewasArden.EnochArden?”
Porterstillshookhishead.
“HewasfoundattheStagInnwiththebackofhisheadsmashedin.”
Porterfrowned.
“Letmesee—yes,didseesomethingaboutit,Ibelieve—somedaysago.”
“Yes.Ihavehereaphotograph—itisapressphotographandnotveryclear,I’mafraid!Whatweshouldliketoknow,MajorPorter,iswhetheryouhaveeverseenthismanbefore?”
Hehandedoverthebestreproductionofthedeadman’sfacehehadbeenabletofind.
MajorPortertookitandfrownedatit.
“Waitasec.”TheMajortookouthisspectacles,adjustedthemonhisnoseandstudiedthephotographmoreclosely—thenhegaveasuddenstart.
“Godblessmysoul!”hesaid.“Well,I’mdamned!”
“Youknowtheman,Major?”
“OfcourseIknowhim.It’sUnderhay—RobertUnderhay.”
“You’resureofthat?”TherewastriumphinRowley’svoice.
“OfcourseI’msure.RobertUnderhay!I’dsweartoitanywhere.”
Two
ThetelephonerangandLynnwenttoanswerit.
Rowley’svoicespoke.
“Lynn?”
“Rowley?”
Hervoicesoundeddepressed.Hesaid:
“Whatareyouupto?Ineverseeyouthesedays.”
“Oh,well—it’sallchores—youknow.Runningroundwithabasket,waitingforfishandqueueingupforabitofquitedisgustingcake.Allthatsortofthing.Homelife.”
“Iwanttoseeyou.I’vegotsomethingtotellyou.”
“Whatsortofthing?”
Hegaveachuckle.
“Goodnews.MeetmebyRollandCopse.We’reploughingupthere.”
Goodnews?Lynnputthereceiverdown.WhattoRowleyCloadewouldbegoodnews?Finance?Hadhesoldthatyoungbullatabetterpricethanhehadhopedtoget?
No,shethought,itmustbemorethanthat.AsshewalkedupthefieldtoRollandCopse,Rowleyleftthetractorandcametomeether.
“Hallo,Lynn.”
“Why,Rowley—youlook—different,somehow?”
Helaughed.
“IshouldthinkIdo.Ourluck’sturned,Lynn!”
“Whatdoyoumean?”
“DoyourememberoldJeremymentioningachapcalledHerculePoirot?”
“HerculePoirot?”Lynnfrowned.“Yes,Idoremembersomething—”
“Quitealongtimeago.Whenthewarwason.Theywereinthatmausoleumofaclubofhisandtherewasanairraid.”
“Well?”Lynndemandedimpatiently.
“Fellowhasthewrongclothesandallthat.Frenchchap—orBelgian.Queerfellowbuthe’sthegoodsallright.”
Lynnknitherbrows.
“Wasn’the—adetective?”
“That’sright.Well,youknow,thisfellowwhowasdoneinattheStag.Ididn’ttellyoubutanideawasgettingaroundthathemightjustpossiblybeRosaleenCloade’sfirsthusband.”
Lynnlaughed.
“SimplybecausehecalledhimselfEnochArden?Whatanabsurdidea!”
“Notsoabsurd,mygirl.OldSpencegotRosaleendowntohavealookathim.Andshesworequitefirmlythathewasn’therhusband.”
“Sothatfinishedit?”
“Itmighthave,”saidRowley.“Butforme!”
“Foryou?Whatdidyoudo?”
“IwenttothisfellowHerculePoirot.Itoldhimwewantedanotheropinion.CouldherustleupsomeonewhohadactuallyknownRobertUnderhay?Myword,buthe’sabsolutelywizardthatchap!Justlikerabbitsoutofahat.HeproducedafellowwhowasUnderhay’sbestfriendinafewhours.OldboycalledPorter.”Rowleystopped.ThenhechuckledagainwiththatnoteofexcitementthathadsurprisedandstartledLynn.“Nowkeepthisunderyourhat,Lynn.TheSupersworemetosecrecy—butI’dlikeyoutoknow.ThedeadmanisRobertUnderhay.”
“What?”Lynntookastepback.ShestaredatRowleyblankly.
“RobertUnderhayhimself.Porterhadn’ttheleastdoubt.Soyousee,Lynn”—Rowley’svoiceroseexcitedly—“we’vewon!Afterall,we’vewon!We’vebeatenthosedamnedcrooks!”
“Whatdamnedcrooks?”
“Hunterandhissister.They’relicked—outofit.Rosaleendoesn’tgetGordon’smoney.Wegetit.It’sours!Gordon’swillthathemadebeforehemarriedRosaleenholdsgoodandthatdividesitamongstus.Igetafourthshare.See?IfherfirsthusbandwasalivewhenshemarriedGordon,shewasnevermarriedtoGordonatall!”
“Areyou—areyousureofwhatyou’resaying?”
Hestaredather,forthefirsttimehelookedfaintlypuzzled.
“OfcourseI’msure!It’selementary.Everything’sallrightnow.It’sthesameasGordonmeantittobe.Everything’sthesameasifthatpreciouspairhadneverbuttedin.”
Everything’sthesame…Butyoucouldn’t,Lynnthought,washoutlikethatsomethingthathadhappened.Youcouldn’tpretendthatithadneverbeen.Shesaidslowly:
“Whatwilltheydo?”
“Eh?”ShesawthatuntilthatmomentRowleyhadhardlyconsideredthatquestion.“Idon’tknow.Gobackwheretheycamefrom,Isuppose.Ithink,youknow—”Shecouldseehimslowlyfollowingitout.“Yes,Ithinkweoughttodosomethingforher.Imean,shemarriedGordoninallgoodfaith.Igathershereallybelievedherfirsthusbandwasdead.It’snotherfault.Yes,wemustdosomethingabouther—giveheradecentallowance.Makeitupbetweenusall.”
“Youlikeher,don’tyou?”saidLynn
“Well,yes.”Heconsidered.“Idoinaway.She’sanicekid.Sheknowsacowwhensheseesit.”
“Idon’t,”saidLynn.
“Oh,you’lllearn,”saidRowleykindly.
“Andwhatabout—David?”askedLynn.
Rowleyscowled.
“TohellwithDavid!Itwasneverhismoneyanyway.Hejustcamealongandspongedonhissister.”
“No,Rowley,itwasn’tlikethat—itwasn’t.He’snotasponger.He’s—anadventurer,perhaps—”
“Andaruddymurderer!”
Shesaidbreathlessly:
“Whatdoyoumean?”
“Well,whodoyouthinkkilledUnderhay?”
Shecried:
“Idon’tbelieveit!Idon’tbelieveit!”
“OfcoursehekilledUnderhay!Whoelsecouldhavedoneit?Hewasdownherethatday.Camedownbythefivethirty.Iwasmeetingsomestuffatthestationandcaughtsightofhiminthedistance.”
Lynnsaidsharply:
“HewentbacktoLondonthatevening.”
“AfterhavingkilledUnderhay,”saidRowleytriumphantly.
“Yououghtn’ttosaythingslikethat,Rowley.WhattimewasUnderhaykilled?”
“Well—Idon’tknowexactly.”Rowleyslowedup—considered.“Don’tsupposeweshallknowuntiltheinquesttomorrow.Sometimebetweennineandten,Iimagine.”
“Davidcaughtthenine-twentytrainbacktoLondon.”
“Lookhere,Lynn,howdoyouknow?”
“I—Imethim—hewasrunningforit.”
“Howdoyouknowheevercaughtit?”
“BecausehetelephonedmefromLondonlater.”
Rowleyscowledangrily.
“Whatthehellshouldhetelephoneyoufor?Lookhere,Lynn,I’mdamnedifI—”
“Oh,whatdoesitmatter,Rowley?Anyway,itshowshecaughtthattrain.”
“PlentyoftimetohavekilledUnderhayandthenrunforthetrain.”
“Notifhewaskilledafternineo’clock.”
“Well,hemayhavebeenkilledjustbeforenine.”
Buthisvoicewasalittledoubtful.
Lynnhalf-closedhereyes.Wasthatthetruthofit?When,breathless,swearing,Davidhademergedfromthecopse,haditbeenamurdererfreshfromhiscrimewhohadtakenherinhisarms?Sherememberedhiscuriousexcitement—therecklessnessofhismood.Wasthatthewaythatmurderwouldaffecthim?Itmight.Shehadtoadmitit.WereDavidandmurdersofarremovedfromeachother?Wouldhekillamanwhohadneverdonehimanyharm—aghostfromthepast?AmanwhoseonlycrimewastostandbetweenRosaleenandabiginheritance—betweenDavidandtheenjoymentofRosaleen’smoney.
Shemurmured:
“WhyshouldhekillUnderhay?”
“MyGod,Lynn,canyouask?I’vejusttoldyou!Underhay’sbeingalivemeansthatwegetGordon’smoney!Anyway,Underhaywasblackmailinghim.”
Ah,thatfellmoreintothepattern.Davidmightkillablackmailer—infact,wasn’titjustthewayhewoulddealwithablackmailer?Yes,itallfellintopattern.David’shaste,hisexcitement—hisfierce,almostangry,lovemaking.And,later,hisrenouncementofher.“I’dbetterclearout…”Yes,itfitted.
Fromalongwayaway,sheheardRowley’svoiceasking:
“What’sthematter,Lynn?Areyoufeelingallright?”
“Yes,ofcourse.”
“Well,forheaven’ssake,don’tlooksoglum.”Heturned,lookingdownthehillsidetoLongWillows.“Thankgoodness,wecanhavetheplacesmartenedupabitnow—getsomelabour-savinggadgetsputin—makeitrightforyou.Idon’twantyoutopigit,Lynn.”
Thatwastobeherhome—thathouse.HerhomewithRowley….
Andonemorningateighto’clock,Davidwouldswingbytheneckuntilhewasdead….
Three
Withapaledeterminedfaceandwatchfuleyes,DavidhadhishandsonRosaleen’sshoulders.
“Itwillbeallright,I’mtellingyou,itwillbeallright.ButyoumustkeepyourheadanddoexactlyasItellyou.”
“Andiftheytakeyouaway?Yousaidthat!Youdidsaythattheymighttakeyouaway.”
“It’sapossibility,yes.Butitwon’tbeforlong.Notifyoukeepyourhead.”
“I’lldowhatyoutellme,David.”
“There’sthegirl!Allyouhavetodo,Rosaleen,istosticktoyourstory.Holdtoitthatthedeadmanisnotyourhusband,RobertUnderhay.”
“They’lltrapmeintosayingthingsIdon’tmean.”
“No—theywon’t.It’sallright,Itellyou.”
“No,it’swrong—it’sbeenwrongallalong.Takingmoneythatdoesn’tbelongtous.Ilieawakenightsthinkingofit,David.Takingwhatdoesn’tbelongtous.Godispunishingusforourwickedness.”
Helookedather,frowning.Shewascracking—yes,definitelyshewascracking.Therehadalwaysbeenthatreligiousstreak.Herconsciencehadneverbeenquitestilled.Now,unlesshewasextremelylucky,she’dbreakdowncompletely.Well,therewasonlyonethingtobedone.
“Listen,Rosaleen,”hesaidgently.“Doyouwantmetobehanged?”
Hereyeswidenedinhorror.
“Oh,David,youwouldn’t—theycouldn’t—”
“There’sonlyonepersonwhocanhangme—that’syou.Ifyouonceadmit,bylookorsignorword,thatthedeadmanmightbeUnderhay,youputtheroperoundmyneck!Doyouunderstandthat?”
Yes,thathadgothome.Shegazedathimwithwide,horrifiedeyes.
“I’msostupid,David.”
“No,you’renot.Inanycaseyouhaven’tgottobeclever.You’llhavetoswearsolemnlythatthedeadmanisnotyourhusband.Youcandothat?”
Shenodded.
“Lookstupidifyoulike.Lookasifyoudon’tunderstandquitewhatthey’reaskingyou.Thatwilldonoharm.ButstandfirmonthepointsI’vegoneoverwithyou.Gaythornewilllookafteryou.He’saveryablecriminallawyer—that’swhyI’vegothim.He’llbeattheinquestandhe’llprotectyoufromanyheckling.Buteventohimsticktoyourstory.ForGod’ssakedon’ttrytobecleverorthinkyoucanhelpmebysomelineofyourown.”
“I’lldoit,David.I’lldoexactlywhatyoutellme.”
“Goodgirl.Whenit’salloverwe’llgoaway—totheSouthofFrance—toAmerica.Inthemeantime,takecareofyourhealth.Don’tlieawakeatnightsfrettingandworkingyourselfup.TakethosesleepingsthingsDr.Cloadeprescribedforyou—bromideorsomething.Takeoneeverynight,cheerup,andrememberthere’sagoodtimecoming!
“Now—”helookedathiswatch.“It’stimetogototheinquest.It’scalledforeleven.”
Helookedroundthelongbeautifuldrawingroom.Beauty,comfort,wealth…He’denjoyeditall.Afinehouse,Furrowbank.PerhapsthiswasGoodbye….
He’dgothimselfintoajam—thatwascertain.Butevennowhedidn’tregret.Andforthefuture—well,he’dgoontakingchances.“Andwemusttakethecurrentwhenitservesorloseourventures.”
HelookedatRosaleen.Shewaswatchinghimwithlargeappealingeyesandintuitivelyheknewwhatshewanted.
“Ididn’tkillhim,Rosaleen,”hesaidgently.“Iswearittoyoubyeverysaintinyourcalendar!”
Four
TheInquestwasheldintheCornmarket.
Thecoroner,Mr.Pebmarsh,wasasmallfussymanwithglassesandaconsiderablesenseofhisownimportance.
BesidehimsatthelargebulkofSuperintendentSpence.Inanunobtrusiveseatwasasmallforeign-lookingmanwithalargeblackmoustache.TheCloadefamily:theJeremyCloades,theLionelCloades,RowleyCloade,Mrs.MarchmontandLynn—theywereallthere.MajorPortersatbyhimself,fidgetingandillatease.DavidandRosaleenarrivedlast.Theysatbythemselves.
Thecoronerclearedhisthroatandglancingroundthejuryofninelocalworthies,startedproceedings.
ConstablePeacock—
SergeantVane….
Dr.LionelCloade….
“YouwereattendingapatientprofessionallyattheStag,whenGladysAitkincametoyou.Whatdidshesay?”
“SheinformedmethattheoccupantofNo.5waslyingonthefloordead.”
“InconsequenceyouwentuptoNo.5?”
“Idid.”
“Willyoudescribewhatyoufoundthere?”
Dr.Cloadedescribed.Bodyofaman…facedownwards…headinjuries…backofskull…firetongs.
“Youwereofopinion,thattheinjurieswereinflictedwiththetongsinquestion?”
“Someofthemunquestionablywere.”
“Andthatseveralblowshadbeenstruck?”
“Yes.IdidnotmakeadetailedexaminationasIconsideredthatthepoliceshouldbecalledbeforethebodywastouchedoritspositionaltered.”
“Veryproper.Themanwasdead?”
“Yes.Hehadbeendeadforsomehours.”
“Howlonginyouropinionhadhebeendead?”
“Ishouldhesitatetobeverydefiniteaboutthat.Atleastelevenhours—quitepossiblythirteenorfourteen—letussaybetween7:30and10:30p.m.theprecedingevening.”
“Thankyou,Dr.Cloade.”
Thencamethepolicesurgeon—givingafullandtechnicaldescriptionofthewounds.Therewasanabrasionandswellingonthelowerjawandfiveorsixblowshadbeenstruckonthebaseoftheskull,someofwhichhadbeendeliveredafterdeath.
“Itwasanassaultofgreatsavagery?”
“Exactly.”
“Wouldgreatstrengthhavebeenneededtoinflicttheseblows?”
“N-no,notexactlystrength.Thetongs,graspedbythepincersend,couldbeeasilyswungwithoutmuchexertion.Theheavysteelballwhichformstheheadofthetongsmakesthemaformidableweapon.Quiteadelicatepersoncouldhaveinflictedtheinjuriesif,thatistosay,theywerestruckinafrenzyofexcitement.”
“Thankyou,Doctor.”
Detailsastotheconditionofthebodyfollowed—wellnourished,healthy,ageaboutforty-five.Nosignsofillnessordisease—heart,lungs,etc.,allgood.
BeatriceLippincottgaveevidenceofthearrivalofthedeceased.HehadregisteredasEnochArden,CapeTown.
“Diddeceasedproducearationbook?”
“No,sir.”
“Didyouaskhimforone?”
“Notatfirst.Ididnotknowhowlonghewasstaying.”
“Butyoudideventuallyaskhim?”
“Yes,sir.HearrivedontheFridayandonSaturdayIsaidifhewasstayingmorethanfivedayswouldhepleaseletmehavehisrationbook.”
“Whatdidhesaytothat?”
“Hesaidhewouldgiveittome.”
“Buthedidnotactuallydoso?”
“No.”
“Hedidnotsaythathehadlostit?Orhadnotgotone?”
“Oh,no.Hejustsaid,‘I’lllookitoutandbringitalong.’”
“MissLippincott,didyou,onthenightofSaturday,overhearacertainconversation?”
WithagooddealofelaborateexplanationastothenecessityshewasunderofvisitingNo.4,BeatriceLippincotttoldhertale.Thecoronerguidedherastutely.
“Thankyou.Didyoumentionthisconversationyouhadoverheardtoanybody?”
“Yes,ItoldMr.RowleyCloade.”
“WhydidyoutellMr.Cloade?”
“Ithoughtheoughttoknow.”Beatriceflushed.
Atallthinman(Mr.Gaythorne)roseandaskedpermissiontoputaquestion.
“InthecourseoftheconversationbetweenthedeceasedandMr.DavidHunterdidthedeceasedatanytimementiondefinitelythathehimselfwasRobertUnderhay?”
“No—no—hedidn’t.”
“Infacthespokeof‘RobertUnderhay’asthoughRobertUnderhaywasquiteanotherperson?”
“Yes—yes,hedid.”
“Thankyou,Mr.Coroner,thatwasallIwantedtogetclear.”
BeatriceLippincottstooddownandRowleyCloadewascalled.
HeconfirmedthatBeatricehadrepeatedthestorytohimandthengavehisaccountofhisinterviewwiththedeceased
“Hislastwordstoyouwere,‘Idon’tthinkyou’llprovethatwithoutmycooperation?’‘That’—beingthefactthatRobertUnderhaywasstillalive.”
“That’swhathesaid,yes.Andhelaughed.”
“Helaughed,didhe?Whatdidyoutakethosewordstomean?”
“Well—Ijustthoughthewastryingtogetmetomakehimanoffer,butafterwardsIgotthinking—”
“Yes,Mr.Cloade—butwhatyouthoughtafterwardsishardlyrelevant.ShallweputitthatasaresultofthatinterviewyousetabouttryingtofindsomepersonwhowasacquaintedwiththelateRobertUnderhay?Andthat,withcertainhelp,youweresuccessful.”
Rowleynodded.
“That’sright.”
“Whattimewasitwhenyouleftthedeceased?”
“AsnearlyasIcantellitwasfiveminutestonine.”
“Whatmadeyoufixonthattime?”
“AsIwentalongthestreetIheardthenineo’clockchimesthroughanopenwindow.”
“Didthedeceasedmentionatwhattimehewasexpectingthisclient?”
“Hesaid‘Atanyminute.’”
“Hedidnotmentionanyname?”
“No.”
“DavidHunter!”
TherewasjustafaintsoftbuzzastheinhabitantsofWarmsleyValecranedtheirneckstolookatthetallthinbitter-lookingyoungmanwhostooddefiantlyfacingthecoroner.
Thepreliminarieswentrapidly.Thecoronercontinued:
“YouwenttoseethedeceasedonSaturdayevening?”
“Yes.Ireceivedaletterfromhimaskingforassistanceandstatinghehadknownmysister’sfirsthusbandinAfrica.”
“Youhavegotthatletter?”
“No,Idon’tkeepletters.”
“YouhaveheardtheaccountgivenbyBeatriceLippincottofyourconversationwiththedeceased.Isthatatrueaccount?”
“Quiteuntrue.Thedeceasedspokeofknowingmylatebrother-in-law,complainedofhisownbadluckandofhavingcomedownintheworld,andbeggedforsomefinancialassistancewhich,asisusual,hewasquiteconfidentofbeingabletorepay.”
“DidhetellyouthatRobertUnderhaywasstillalive?”
Davidsmiled:
“Certainlynot.Hesaid,‘IfRobertwerestillaliveIknowhewouldhelpme.’”
“ThatisquitedifferentfromwhatBeatriceLippincotttellsus.”
“Eavesdroppers,”saidDavid,“usuallyhearonlyaportionofwhatgoesonandfrequentlygetthewholethingwrongowingtosupplyingthemissingdetailsfromtheirownfertileimaginations.”
Beatriceflouncedangrilyandexclaimed,“Well,Inever—”Thecoronersaidrepressively,“Silence,please.”
“Now,Mr.Hunter,didyouvisitthedeceasedagainonthenightofTuesday—”
“No,Ididnot.”
“YouhaveheardMr.RowleyCloadesaythatthedeceasedexpectedavisitor?”
“Hemayhaveexpectedavisitor.Ifso,Iwasnotthatvisitor.I’dgivenhimafiverbefore.Ithoughtthatwasquiteenoughforhim.Therewasnoproofthathe’deverknownRobertUnderhay.Mysister,sincesheinheritedalargeincomefromherhusband,hasbeenthetargetofeverybeggingletterwriterandeveryspongerintheneighbourhood.”
QuietlyhelethiseyespassovertheassembledCloades.
“Mr.Hunter,willyoutelluswhereyouwereontheeveningofTuesday?”
“Findout!”saidDavid.
“Mr.Hunter!”Thecoronerrappedthetable.“Thatisamostfoolishandill-advisedthingtosay.”
“WhyshouldItellyouwhereIwas,andwhatIwasdoing?Timeenoughforthatwhenyouaccusemeofmurderingtheman.”
“Ifyoupersistinthatattitudeitmaycometothatsoonerthanyouthink.Doyourecognizethis,Mr.Hunter?”
Leaningforward,Davidtookthegoldcigarettelighterintohishand.Hisfacewaspuzzled.Handingitback,hesaidslowly:“Yes,it’smine.”
“Whendidyouhaveitlast?”
“Imissedit—”Hepaused.
“Yes,Mr.Hunter?”Thecoroner’svoicewassuave.
Gaythornefidgeted,seemedabouttospeak.ButDavidwastooquickforhim.
“IhaditlastFriday—Fridaymorning.Idon’trememberseeingitsince.”
Mr.Gaythornerose.
“Withyourpermission,Mr.Coroner.YouvisitedthedeceasedSaturdayevening.Mightyounothaveleftthelightertherethen?”
“Imighthave,Isuppose,”Davidsaidslowly.“Icertainlydon’trememberseeingitafterFriday—”Headded:“Wherewasitfound?”
Thecoronersaid:
“Weshallgointothatlater.Youcanstanddownnow,Mr.Hunter.”
Davidmovedslowlybacktohisseat.HebenthisheadandwhisperedtoRosaleenCloade.
“MajorPorter.”
Hemmingandhawingalittle,MajorPortertookthestand.Hestoodthere,anerectsoldierlyfigure,asthoughonparade.Onlythewayhemoistenedhislipsshowedtheintensenervousnessfromwhichhewassuffering.
“YouareGeorgeDouglasPorter,lateMajoroftheRoyalAfricanRifles?”
“Yes.”
“HowwelldidyouknowRobertUnderhay?”
Inaparade-groundvoiceMajorPorterbarkedoutplacesanddates.
“Youhaveviewedthebodyofthedeceased?”
“Yes.”
“Canyouidentifythatbody?”
“Yes.ItisthebodyofRobertUnderhay.”
Abuzzofexcitementwentroundthecourt.
“Youstatethatpositivelyandwithouttheleastdoubt?”
“Ido.”
“Thereisnopossibilityofyourbeingmistaken?”
“None.”
“Thankyou,MajorPorter.Mrs.GordonCloade.”
Rosaleenrose.ShepassedMajorPorter.Helookedatherwithsomecuriosity.Shedidnotevenglanceathim.
“Mrs.Cloade,youweretakenbythepolicetoseethebodyofthedeceased?”
Sheshivered.
“Yes.”
“Youstateddefinitelythatitwasthebodyofamancompletelyunknowntoyou?”
“Yes.”
“InviewofthestatementjustmadebyMajorPorterwouldyouliketowithdraworamendyourownstatement?”
“No.”
“Youstillassertdefinitelythatthebodywasnotthatofyourhusband,RobertUnderhay?”
“Itwasnotmyhusband’sbody.ItwasamanIhadneverseeninmylife.”
“Comenow,Mrs.Cloade,MajorPorterhasdefinitelyrecognizeditasthebodyofhisfriendRobertUnderhay.”
Rosaleensaidexpressionlessly:
“MajorPorterismistaken.”
“Youarenotunderoathinthiscourt,Mrs.Cloade.Butitislikelythatyouwillbeunderoathinanothercourtshortly.AreyoupreparedthentoswearthatthebodyisnotthatofRobertUnderhaybutofanunknownstranger?”
“Iampreparedtoswearthatitisnotthebodyofmyhusbandbutofamanquiteunknowntome.”
Hervoicewasclearandunfaltering.Hereyesmetthecoronerunshrinkingly.
Hemurmured:“Youcanstanddown.”
Then,removinghispince-nez,headdressedthejury.
Theyweretheretodiscoverhowthismancametohisdeath.Astothat,therecouldbelittlequestion.Therecouldbenoideaofaccidentorsuicide.Norcouldtherebeanysuggestionofmanslaughter.Thereremainedonlyoneverdict—wilfulmurder.Astotheidentityofthedeadman,thatwasnotclearlyestablished.
Theyhadheardonewitness,amanofuprightcharacterandprobitywhosewordcouldbereliedupon,saythatthebodywasthatofaformerfriendofhis,RobertUnderhay.OntheotherhandRobertUnderhay’sdeathfromfeverinAfricahadbeenestablishedapparentlytothesatisfactionofthelocalauthoritiesandnoquestionhadthenbeenraised.IncontradictionofMajorPorter’sstatement,RobertUnderhay’swidow,nowMrs.GordonCloade,statedpositivelythatthebodywasnotthatofRobertUnderhay.Thesewerediametricallyoppositestatements.Passingfromthequestionofidentitytheywouldhavetodecideiftherewasanyevidencetoshowwhosehandhadmurderedthedeceased.Theymightthinkthattheevidencepointedtoacertainperson,butagooddealofevidencewasneededbeforeacasecouldbemadeout—evidenceandmotiveandopportunity.Thepersonmusthavebeenseenbysomeoneinthevicinityofthecrimeattheappropriatetime.IftherewasnotsuchevidencethebestverdictwasthatofWilfulMurderwithoutsufficientevidencetoshowbywhosehand.Suchaverdictwouldleavethepolicefreetopursuethenecessaryinquiries.
Hethendismissedthemtoconsidertheirverdict.
Theytookthreequartersofanhour.
TheyreturnedaverdictofWilfulMurderagainstDavidHunter.
Five
“Iwasafraidthey’ddoit,”saidthecoronerapologetically.“Localprejudice!Feelingratherthanlogic.”
Thecoroner,theChiefConstable,SuperintendentSpenceandHerculePoirotwereallinconsultationtogetheraftertheinquest.
“Youdidyourbest,”saidtheChiefConstable.
“It’spremature,tosaytheleastofit,”saidSpencefrowning.“Andithampersus.DoyouknowM.HerculePoirot?HewasinstrumentalinbringingPorterforward.”
Thecoronersaidgraciously:
“Ihaveheardofyou,M.Poirot,”andPoirotmadeanunsuccessfulattempttolookmodest.
“M.Poirot’sinterestedinthecase,”saidSpencewithagrin.
“Truly,thatisso,”saidPoirot.“Iwasinit,asyoumightsay,beforetherewasacase.”
AndinanswertotheirinterestedglanceshetoldofthequeerlittlesceneintheclubwhenhehadfirstheardamentionofRobertUnderhay’sname.
“That’sanadditionalpointinPorter’sevidencewhenthecasecomestotrial,”saidtheChiefConstablethoughtfully.“Underhayactuallyplannedapretendeddeath—andspokeofusingthenameofEnochArden.”
TheChiefConstablemurmured:“Ah,butwillthatbeadmissibleasevidence?Wordsspokenbyamanwhoisnowdead?”
“Itmaynotbeadmissibleasevidence,”saidPoirotthoughtfully.“Butitraisesaveryinterestingandsuggestivelineofthought.”
“Whatwewant,”saidSpence,“isnotsuggestion,butafewconcretefacts.SomeonewhoactuallysawDavidHunterattheStagornearitonTuesdayevening.”
“Itoughttobeeasy,”saidtheChiefConstable,frowning.
“Ifitwasabroadinmycountryitwouldbeeasyenough,”saidPoirot.“Therewouldbealittlecaféwheresomeonetakestheeveningcoffee—butinprovincialEngland!”Hethrewuphishands.
TheSuperintendentnodded.
“Someofthefolksareinthepubs,andwillstayinthepubstillclosingtime,andtherestofthepopulationareinsidetheirhouseslisteningtothenineo’clocknews.Ifyouevergoalongthemainstreetherebetweeneightthirtyandtenit’scompletelydeserted.Notasoul.”
“Hecountedonthat?”suggestedtheChiefConstable.
“Maybe,”saidSpence.Hisexpressionwasnotahappyone.
PresentlytheChiefConstableandthecoronerdeparted.SpenceandPoirotwerelefttogether.
“Youdonotlikethecase,no?”askedPoirotsympathetically.
“Thatyoungmanworriesme,”saidSpence.“He’sthekindthatyouneverknowwhereyouarewiththem.Whenthey’remostinnocentofabusiness,theyactasthoughtheywereguilty.Andwhenthey’reguilty—why,you’dtakeyouroaththeywereangelsoflight!”
“Youthinkheisguilty?”askedPoirot.
“Don’tyou?”Spencecountered.
Poirotspreadouthishands.
“Ishouldbeinterestedtoknow,”hesaid,“justexactlyhowmuchyouhaveagainsthim?”
“Youdon’tmeanlegally?Youmeaninthewayofprobability?”
Poirotnodded.
“There’sthelighter,”saidSpence.
“Wheredidyoufindit?”
“Underthebody.”
“Fingerprintsonit?”
“None.”
“Ah,”saidPoirot.
“Yes,”saidSpence.“Idon’tlikethattoomuchmyself.Thenthedeadman’swatchhasstoppedat9:10.Thatfitsinwiththemedicalevidencequitenicely—andwithRowleyCloade’sevidencethatUnderhaywasexpectinghisclientatanyminute—presumablythatclientwasalmostdue.”
Poirotnodded.
“Yes—itisallveryneat.”
“Andthethingyoucan’tgetawayfrom,tomymind,M.Poirot,isthathe’stheonlyperson(heandhissister,thatistosay)whohastheghostorshadowofamotive.EitherDavidHunterkilledUnderhay—orelseUnderhaywaskilledbysomeoutsiderwhofollowedhimhereforsomereasonthatweknownothingabout—andthatseemswildlyimprobable.”
“Oh,Iagree,Iagree.”
“Yousee,there’snooneinWarmsleyValewhocouldpossiblyhaveamotive—unlessbyacoincidencesomeoneislivinghere(otherthantheHunters)whohadaconnectionwithUnderhayinthepast.Ineverruleoutcoincidence,buttherehasn’tbeenahintorsuggestionofanythingofthekind.Themanwasastrangertoeveryonebutthatbrotherandsister.”
Poirotnodded.
“TotheCloadefamilyRobertUnderhaywouldbetheappleoftheireyetobekeptalivebyeverypossibleprecaution.RobertUnderhay,aliveandkicking,meansthecertaintyofalargefortunedividedamongstthem.”
“Again,monami,Iagreewithyouenthusiastically.RobertUnderhay,aliveandkicking,iswhattheCloadefamilyneeds.”
“Sobackwecome—RosaleenandDavidHunteraretheonlytwopeoplewhohaveamotive.RosaleenCloadewasinLondon.ButDavid,weknow,wasinWarmsleyValethatday.Hearrivedat5:30atWarmsleyHeathstation.”
“SonowwehaveMotive,writtenverybigandthefactthatat5:30andonwardtosomeunspecifiedtime,hewasonthespot.”
“Exactly.NowtakeBeatriceLippincott’sstory.Ibelievethatstory.Sheoverheardwhatshesayssheoverheard,thoughshemayhavegingereditupalittle,asisonlyhuman.”
“Onlyhumanasyousay.”
“Apartfromknowingthegirl,Ibelieveherbecauseshecouldn’thaveinventedsomeofthethings.She’dneverheardofRobertUnderhaybefore,forinstance.SoIbelieveherstoryofwhatpassedbetweenthetwomenandnotDavidHunter’s.”
“I,too,”saidPoirot.“Shestrikesmeasasingularlytruthfulwitness.”
“We’veconfirmationthatherstoryistrue.WhatdoyousupposethebrotherandsisterwentofftoLondonfor?”
“Thatisoneofthethingsthathasinterestedmemost.”
“Well,themoneyposition’slikethis.RosaleenCloadehasonlyalifeinterestinGordonCloade’sestate.Shecan’ttouchthecapital—except,Ibelieve,foraboutathousandpounds.Butjewellery,etc.,ishers.ThefirstthingshedidongoingtotownwastotakesomeofthemostvaluablepiecesroundtoBondStreetandsellthem.Shewantedalargesumofcashquickly—inotherwordsshehadtopayablackmailer.”
“YoucallthatevidenceagainstDavidHunter?”
“Don’tyou?”
Poirotshookhishead.
“Evidencethattherewasblackmail,yes.Evidenceofintenttocommitmurder,no.Youcannothaveitbothways,moncher.Eitherthatyoungmanwasgoingtopayup,orelsehewasplanningtokill.Youhaveproducedevidencethathewasplanningtopay.”
“Yes—yes,perhapsthatisso.Buthemayhavechangedhismind.”
Poirotshruggedhisshoulders.
“Iknowhistype,”saidtheSuperintendentthoughtfully.“It’satypethat’sdonewellduringthewar.Anyamountofphysicalcourage.Audacityandarecklessdisregardofpersonalsafety.Thesortthatwillfaceanyodds.It’sthekindthatislikelytowintheV.C.—though,mindyou,it’softenaposthumousone.Yes,inwartime,amanlikethatisahero.Butinpeace—well,inpeacesuchmenusuallyendupinprison.Theylikeexcitementandtheycan’trunstraight,andtheydon’tgiveadamnforsociety—andfinallythey’venoregardforhumanlife.”
Poirotnodded.
“Itellyou,”theSuperintendentrepeated,“Iknowthetype.”
Therewassomefewminutesofsilence.
“Ehbien,”saidPoirotatlast.“Weagreethatwehaveherethetypeofakiller.Butthatisall.Ittakesusnofurther.”
Spencelookedathimwithcuriosity.
“You’retakingagreatinterestinthisbusiness,M.Poirot?”
“Yes.”
“Why,ifImayask?”
“Frankly,”Poirotspreadouthishands,“Idonotquiteknow.Perhapsitisbecausewhentwoyearsago,Iamsittingverysickinmystomach(forIdidnotlikeairraids,andIamnotverybravethoughIendeavourtoputupthegoodappearance)when,asIsay,Iamsittingwithasickfeelinghere,”Poirotclaspedhisstomachexpressively,“inthesmokingroomofmyfriend’sclub,there,droningaway,istheclubbore,thegoodMajorPorter,recountingalonghistorytowhichnobodylistens;butme,Ilisten,becauseIamwishfultodistractmyselffromthebombs,andbecausethefactsheisrelatingseemtomeinterestingandsuggestive.AndIthinktomyselfthatitispossiblethatsomedaysomethingmaycomeofthesituationherecounts.Andnowsomethinghascomeofit.”
“Theunexpectedhashappened,eh?”
“Onthecontrary,”Poirotcorrectedhim.“Itistheexpectedthathashappened—whichinitselfissufficientlyremarkable.”
“Youexpectedmurder?”Spenceaskedsceptically.
“No,no,no!Butawiferemarries.Possibilitythatfirsthusbandisstillalive?Heisalive.Hemayturnup?Hedoesturnup!Theremaybeblackmail.Thereisblackmail!Possibility,therefore,thatblackmailermaybesilenced?Mafoi,heissilenced!”
“Well,”saidSpence,eyeingPoirotratherdoubtfully.“Isupposethesethingsrunprettyclosetotype.It’sacommonsortofcrime—blackmailresultinginmurder.”
“Notinteresting,youwouldsay?Usually,no.Butthiscaseisinteresting,because,yousee,”saidPoirotplacidly,“itisallwrong.”
“Allwrong?Whatdoyoumeanbyallwrong?”
“Noneofitis,howshallIputit,therightshape?”
Spencestared.“ChiefInspectorJapp,”heremarked,“alwayssaidyouhaveatortuousmind.Givemeaninstanceofwhatyoucallwrong?”
“Well,thedeadman,forinstance,heisallwrong.”
Spenceshookhishead.
“Youdonotfeelthat?”Poirotasked.“Oh,well,perhapsIamfanciful.Thentakethispoint.UnderhayarrivesattheStag.HewritestoDavidHunter.Hunterreceivesthatletterthenextmorning—atbreakfasttime?”
“Yes,that’sso.HeadmitsreceivingaletterfromArdenthen.”
“Thatwasthefirstintimation,wasitnot,ofthearrivalofUnderhayinWarmsleyVale?Whatisthefirstthinghedoes—bundleshissisterofftoLondon!”
“That’squiteunderstandable,”saidSpence.“Hewantsaclearhandtodealwiththingshisownway.Hemayhavebeenafraidthewomanwouldhavebeenweak.He’stheleadingspirit,remember.Mrs.Cloadeisentirelyunderhisthumb.”
“Oh,yes,thatshowsitselfplainly.SohesendshertoLondonandcallsonthisEnochArden.WehaveaprettyclearaccountoftheirconversationfromBeatriceLippincott,andthethingthatsticksout,amile,asyousay,isthatDavidHunterwasnotsurewhetherthemanhewastalkingtowasRobertUnderhayornot.Hesuspectedit,buthedidn’tknow.”
“Butthere’snothingoddaboutthat,M.Poirot.RosaleenHuntermarriedUnderhayinCapeTownandwentwithhimstraighttoNigeria.HunterandUnderhaynevermet.Thereforethough,asyousay,HuntersuspectedthatArdenwasUnderhay,hecouldn’tknowitforafact—becausehehadnevermettheman.”
PoirotlookedatSuperintendentSpencethoughtfully.
“Sothereisnothingtherethatstrikesyouas—peculiar?”heasked.
“Iknowwhatyou’redrivingat.Whydidn’tUnderhaysaystraightoutthathewasUnderhay?Well,Ithinkthat’sunderstandable,too.Respectablepeoplewhoaredoingsomethingcrookedliketopreserveappearances.Theyliketoputthingsinsuchawaythatitkeepsthemintheclear—ifyouknowwhatImean.No—Idon’tthinkthatthatissoveryremarkable.You’vegottoallowforhumannature.”
“Yes,”saidPoirot.“Humannature.That,Ithink,isperhapstherealanswerastowhyIaminterestedinthiscase.IwaslookingroundtheCoroner’sCourt,lookingatallthepeople,lookingparticularlyattheCloades—somanyofthem,allboundbyacommoninterest,allsodifferentintheircharacters,intheirthoughtsandfeelings.Allofthemdependentformanyyearsonthestrongman,thepowerinthefamily,onGordonCloade!Idonotmean,perhaps,directlydependent.Theyhadalltheirindependentmeansofexistence.Buttheyhadcome,theymusthavecome,consciouslyorunconsciously,toleanonhim.Andwhathappens—Iwillaskyouthis,Superintendent—Whathappenstotheivywhentheoakroundwhichitclingsisstruckdown?”
“That’shardlyaquestioninmyline,”saidSpence.
“Youthinknot?Ithinkitis.Character,moncher,doesnotstandstill.Itcangatherstrength.Itcanalsodeteriorate.Whatapersonreallyis,isonlyapparentwhenthetestcomes—thatis,themomentwhenyoustandorfallonyourownfeet.”
“Idon’treallyknowwhatyouaregettingat,M.Poirot.”Spencelookedbewildered.“Anyway,theCloadesareallrightnow.Orwillbe,oncethelegalformalitiesarethrough.”
That,Poirotremindedhim,mighttakesometime.“ThereisstillMrs.GordonCloade’sevidencetoshake.Afterall,awomanshouldknowherownhusbandwhensheseeshim?”
HeputhisheadalittleononesideandgazedinquiringlyatthebigSuperintendent.
“Isn’titworthwhiletoawomannottorecognizeherhusbandiftheincomeofacoupleofmillionpoundsdependsonit?”askedtheSuperintendentcynically.“Besides,ifhewasn’tRobertUnderhay,whywashekilled?”
“That,”murmuredPoirot,“isindeedthequestion.”
Six
Poirotleftthepolicestationfrowningtohimself.Hisstepsgrewslowerashewalked.Inthemarketsquarehepaused,lookingabouthim.TherewasDr.Cloade’shousewithitswornbrassplate,andalittlewayalongwasthepostoffice.OntheothersidewasJeremyCloade’shouse.InfrontofPoirot,setbackalittle,wastheRomanCatholicChurchoftheAssumption,asmallmodestaffair,ashrinkingvioletcomparedtotheaggressivenessofSt.Mary’swhichstoodarrogantlyinthemiddleofthesquarefacingtheCornmarket,andproclaimingthedominanceoftheProtestantreligion.
MovedbyanimpulsePoirotwentthroughthegateandalongthepathtothedooroftheRomanCatholicbuilding.Heremovedhishat,genuflectedinfrontofthealtarandkneltdownbehindoneofthechairs.Hisprayerswereinterruptedbythesoundofstifledheartbrokensobs.
Heturnedhishead.Acrosstheaisleawomaninadarkdresswaskneeling,herheadburiedinherhands.Presentlyshegotupand,stillsobbingunderherbreath,wenttowardsthedoor.Poirot,hiseyeswidewithinterest,gotupandfollowedher.HehadrecognizedRosaleenCloade.
Shestoodintheporch,fightingforcontrol,andtherePoirotspoketoher,verygently:
“Madame,canIhelpyou?”
Sheshowednosignsofsurprise,butansweredwiththesimplicityofanunhappychild.
“No,”shesaid.“Noonecanhelpme.”
“Youareinverybadtrouble.Thatisit,isitnot?”
Shesaid:“They’vetakenDavidaway…I’mallalone.Theysayhekilled—Buthedidn’t!Hedidn’t!”
ShelookedatPoirotandsaid:“Youweretheretoday?Attheinquest.Isawyou!”
“Yes.IfIcanhelpyou,Madame,Ishallbeverygladtodoso.”
“I’mfrightened.DavidsaidI’dbesafeaslongashewastheretolookafterme.Butnowthey’vetakenhimaway—I’mafraid.Hesaid—theyallwantedmedead.That’sadreadfulthingtosay.Butperhapsit’strue.”
“Letmehelpyou,Madame.”
Sheshookherhead.
“No,”shesaid.“Noonecanhelpme.Ican’tgotoconfession,even.I’vegottobeartheweightofmywickednessallalone.I’mcutofffromthemercyofGod.”
“Nobody,”saidHerculePoirot,“iscutofffromthemercyofGod.Youknowthatwell,mychild.”
Againshelookedathim—awildunhappylook.
“I’dhavetoconfessmysins—toconfess.IfIcouldconfess—”
“Can’tyouconfess?Youcametothechurchforthat,didyounot?”
“Icametogetcomfort—comfort.Butwhatcomfortisthereforme?I’masinner.”
“Weareallsinners.”
“Butyou’dhavetorepent—I’dhavetosay—totell—”Herhandswentuptoherface.“Oh,theliesI’vetold—theliesI’vetold.”
“Youtoldalieaboutyourhusband?AboutRobertUnderhay?ItwasRobertUnderhaywhowaskilledhere,wasn’tit?”
Sheturnedsharplyonhim.Hereyesweresuspicious,wary.Shecriedoutsharply:
“Itellyouitwasnotmyhusband.Itwasn’ttheleastlikehim!”
“Thedeadmanwasnotintheleastlikeyourhusband?”
“No,”shesaiddefiantly.
“Tellme,”saidPoirot,“whatwasyourhusbandlike?”
Hereyesstaredathim.Thenherfacehardenedintoalarm.Hereyesgrewdarkwithfear.
Shecriedout:
“I’llnottalktoyouanymore!”
Goingswiftlypasthim,sherandownthepathandpassedthroughthegateoutintothemarketsquare.
Poirotdidnottryandfollowher.Insteadhenoddedhisheadwithagooddealofsatisfaction.
“Ah,”hesaid.“Sothatisthat!”
Hewalkedslowlyoutintothesquare.
AfteramomentaryhesitationhefollowedtheHighStreetuntilhecametotheStag,whichwasthelastbuildingbeforetheopencountry.
InthedoorwayoftheStaghemetRowleyCloadeandLynnMarchmont.
Poirotlookedatthegirlwithinterest.Ahandsomegirl,hethought,andintelligentalso.Notthetypehehimselfadmired.Hepreferredsomethingsofter,morefeminine.LynnMarchmont,hethought,wasessentiallyamoderntype—thoughonemight,withequalaccuracy,callitanElizabethantype.Womenwhothoughtforthemselves,whowerefreeinlanguage,andwhoadmiredenterpriseandaudacityinmen.
“We’reverygratefultoyou,M.Poirot,”saidRowley.“ByJove,itreallywasquitelikeaconjuringtrick.”
Whichwasexactlywhatithadbeen,Poirotreflected!Askedaquestiontowhichyouknewtheanswer,therewasnodifficultywhatsoeverinperformingatrickwiththerequisitefrills.HequiteappreciatedthattothesimpleRowley,theproductionofMajorPorteroutoftheblue,sotospeak,hadbeenasbreathtakingasanynumberofrabbitsproducedfromtheconjurer’shat.
“Howyougoaboutthesethingsbeatsme,”saidRowley.
Poirotdidnotenlightenhim.Hewas,afterall,onlyhuman.Theconjurerdoesnottellhisaudiencehowthetrickwasdone.
“Anyway,LynnandIarenoendgrateful,”Rowleywenton.
LynnMarchmont,Poirotthought,wasnotlookingparticularlygrateful.Therewerelinesofstrainroundhereyes,herfingershadanervoustrickoftwiningandintertwiningthemselves.
“It’sgoingtomakealotofdifferencetoourfuturemarriedlife,”saidRowley.
Lynnsaidsharply:
“Howdoyouknow?Thereareallsortsofformalitiesandthings,I’msure.”
“Youaregettingmarried,when?”askedPoirotpolitely.
“June.”
“Andyouhavebeenengagedsincewhen?”
“Nearlysixyears,”saidRowley.“Lynn’sjustcomeoutoftheWrens.”
“AndisitforbiddentomarryintheWrens,yes?”
Lynnsaidbriefly:
“I’vebeenoverseas.”
PoirotnoticedRowley’sswiftfrown.Hesaidshortly:
“Comeon,Lynn.Wemustgetgoing.IexpectM.Poirotwantstogetbacktotown.”
Poirotsaidsmilingly:
“ButI’mnotgoingbacktotown.”
“What?”
Rowleystoppeddead,givingaqueerwoodeneffect.
“Iamstayinghere,attheStag,forashortwhile.”
“But—butwhy?”
“C’estunbeaupaysage,”Poirotsaidplacidly.
Rowleysaiduncertainly:
“Yes,ofcourse…Butaren’tyou—well,Imean,busy?”
“Ihavemademyeconomies,”saidPoirot,smiling.“Idonotneedtooccupymyselfunduly.No,Icanenjoymyleisureandspendmytimewherethefancytakesme.AndmyfancyinclinestoWarmsleyVale.”
HesawLynnMarchmontraiseherheadandgazeathimintently.Rowley,hethought,wasslightlyannoyed.
“Isupposeyouplaygolf?”hesaid.“There’samuchbetterhotelatWarmsleyHeath.Thisisaveryone-horsesortofplace.”
“Myinterests,”saidPoirot,“lieentirelyinWarmsleyVale.”
Lynnsaid:
“Comealong,Rowley.”
Halfreluctantly,Rowleyfollowedher.Atthedoor,Lynnpausedandthencameswiftlyback.ShespoketoPoirotinaquietlowvoice.
“TheyarrestedDavidHunteraftertheinquest.Doyou—doyouthinktheywereright?”
“Theyhadnoalternative,Mademoiselle,aftertheverdict.”
“Imean—doyouthinkhedidit?”
“Doyou?”saidPoirot.
ButRowleywasbackatherside.Herfacehardenedtoapokersmoothness.Shesaid:
“Goodbye,M.Poirot.I—Ihopewemeetagain.”
“Now,Iwonder,”saidPoirottohimself.
Presently,afterarrangingwithBeatriceLippincottaboutaroom,hewentoutagain.HisstepsledhimtoDr.LionelCloade’shouse.
“Oh!”saidAuntKathie,whoopenedthedoor,takingasteportwobackwards.“M.Poirot!”
“Atyourservice,Madame.”Poirotbowed.“Icametopaymyrespects.”
“Well,that’sveryniceofyou,I’msure.Yes—well—Isupposeyou’dbettercomein.Sitdown—I’llmoveMadameBlavatsky—andperhapsacupoftea—onlythecakeisterriblystale.ImeanttogotoPeacocksforsome,theydohaveSwissrollsometimesonaWednesday—butaninquestputsone’shouseholdroutineout,don’tyouthinkso?”
Poirotsaidthathethoughtthatwasentirelyunderstandable.
HehadfanciedthatRowleyCloadewasannoyedbytheannouncementofhisstayinWarmsleyVale.AuntKathie’smanner,withoutanydoubt,wasfarfromwelcoming.Shewaslookingathimwithsomethingnotfarfromdismay.Shesaid,leaningforwardandspeakinginahoarseconspiratorialwhisper:
“Youwon’ttellmyhusband,willyou,thatIcameandconsultedyouabout—well,aboutweknowwhat?”
“Mylipsaresealed.”
“Imean—ofcourseI’dnoideaatthetime—thatRobertUnderhay,poorman,sotragic—wasactuallyinWarmsleyVale.Thatseemstomestillamostextraordinarycoincidence!”
“Itwouldhavebeensimpler,”agreedPoirot,“iftheOuijaboardhaddirectedyoustraighttotheStag.”
AuntKathiecheeredupalittleatthementionoftheOuijaboard.
“Thewaythingscomeaboutinthespiritworldseemquiteincalculable,”shesaid.“ButIdofeel,M.Poirot,thatthereisapurposeinitall.Don’tyoufeelthatinlife?Thatthereisalwaysapurpose?”
“Yes,indeed,Madame.EventhatIshouldsithere,now,inyourdrawingroom,thereisapurposeinthat.”
“Oh,isthere?”Mrs.Cloadelookedrathertakenaback.“Isthere,really?Yes,Isupposeso…You’reonyourwaybacktoLondon,ofcourse?”
“Notatpresent.IstayforafewdaysattheStag.”
“AttheStag?Oh—attheStag!Butthat’swhere—oh,M.Poirot,doyouthinkyouarewise?”
“IhavebeenguidedtotheStag,”saidPoirotsolemnly.
“Guided?Whatdoyoumean?”
“Guidedbyyou.”
“Oh,butInevermeant—Imean,Ihadnoidea.It’sallsodreadful,don’tyouthinkso?”
Poirotshookhisheadsadly,andsaid:
“IhavebeentalkingtoMr.RowleyCloadeandMissMarchmont.Theyaregettingmarried,Ihear,quitesoon?”
AuntKathiewasimmediatelydiverted.
“DearLynn,sheissuchasweetgirl—andsoverygoodatfigures.Now,Ihavenoheadforfigures—noheadatall.HavingLynnhomeisanabsoluteblessing.IfIgetinaterriblemuddleshealwaysstraightensthingsoutforme.Deargirl,Idohopeshewillbehappy.Rowley,ofcourse,isasplendidperson,butpossibly—well,alittledull.ImeandulltoagirlwhohasseenasmuchoftheworldasLynnhas.Rowley,yousee,hasbeenhereonhisfarmallthroughthewar—oh,quiterightly,ofcourse—ImeantheGovernmentwantedhimto—thatsideofitisquiteallright—notwhitefeathersorthingslikethatastheydidintheBoerWar—butwhatImeanis,it’smadehimratherlimitedinhisideas.”
“Sixyears’engagementisagoodtestofaffection.”
“Oh,itis!ButIthinkthesegirls,whentheycomehome,theygetratherrestless—andifthereissomeoneelseabout—someone,perhaps,whohasledanadventurouslife—”
“SuchasDavidHunter?”
“Thereisn’tanythingbetweenthem,”AuntKathiesaidanxiously.“Nothingatall.I’mquitesureofthat!Itwouldhavebeendreadfuliftherehadbeen,wouldn’tthere,withhisturningoutamurderer?Hisownbrother-in-law,too!Oh,no,M.Poirot,pleasedon’trunawaywiththeideathatthere’sanykindofanunderstandingbetweenLynnandDavid.Really,theyseemedtoquarrelmorethananythingelseeverytimetheymet.WhatIfeltisthat—oh,dear,Ithinkthat’smyhusbandcoming.Youwillremember,won’tyou,M.Poirot,notawordaboutourfirstmeeting?Mypoordearhusbandgetssoannoyedifhethinksthat—oh,Lioneldear,hereisM.PoirotwhosocleverlybroughtthatMajorPorterdowntoseethebody.”
Dr.Cloadelookedtiredandhaggard.Hiseyes,paleblue,withpin-pointpupils,wanderedvaguelyroundtheroom.
“Howdoyoudo,M.Poirot;onyourwaybacktotown?”
“MonDieu,anotherwhopacksmebacktoLondon!”thoughtPoirot.
Aloudhesaidpatiently:
“No,IremainattheStagforadayorso.”
“TheStag?”LionelCloadefrowned.“Oh?Policewanttokeepyouhereforabit?”
“No.Itismyownchoice.”
“Indeed?”Thedoctorsuddenlyflashedaquickintelligentlook.“Soyou’renotsatisfied?”
“Whyshouldyouthinkthat,Dr.Cloade?”
“Come,man,it’strue,isn’tit?”Twitteringabouttea,Mrs.Cloadelefttheroom.Thedoctorwenton:“You’veafeeling,haven’tyou,thatsomething’swrong?”
Poirotwasstartled.
“Itisoddthatyoushouldsaythat.Doyou,then,feelthatyourself?”
Cloadehesitated.
“N-n-o.Hardlythat…perhapsit’sjustafeelingofunreality.Inbookstheblackmailergetsslugged.Doesheinreallife?ApparentlytheanswerisYes.Butitseemsunnatural.”
“Wasthereanythingunsatisfactoryaboutthemedicalaspectofthecase?Iaskunofficially,ofcourse.”
Dr.Cloadesaidthoughtfully:
“No,Idon’tthinkso.”
“Yes—thereissomething.Icanseethereissomething.”
Whenhewished,Poirot’svoicecouldassumeanalmosthypnoticquality.Dr.Cloadefrownedalittle,thenhesaidhesitatingly:
“I’venoexperience,ofcourse,ofpolicecases.Andanywaymedicalevidenceisn’tthehard-and-fast,cast-ironbusinessthatlaymenornovelistsseemtothink.We’refallible—medicalscienceisfallible.What’sdiagnosis?Aguess,basedonaverylittleknowledge,andsomeindefiniteclueswhichpointinmorethanonedirection.I’mprettysound,perhaps,atdiagnosingmeaslesbecause,atmytimeoflife,I’veseenhundredsofcasesofmeaslesandIknowanextraordinarywidevariationofsignsandsymptoms.Youhardlyevergetwhatatextbooktellsyouisa‘typicalcase’ofmeasles.ButI’veknownsomequeerthingsinmytime—I’veseenawomanpracticallyontheoperatingtablereadyforherappendixtobewhippedout—andparatyphoiddiagnosedjustintime!I’veseenachildwithskintroublepronouncedasacaseofseriousvitamindeficiencybyanearnestandconscientiousyoungdoctor—andthelocalvet,comesalongandmentionstothemotherthatthecatthechildishugginghasgotringwormandthatthechildhascaughtit!
“Doctors,likeeveryoneelse,arevictimsofthepreconceivedidea.Here’saman,obviouslymurdered,lyingwithabloodstainedpairoffiretongsbesidehim.Itwouldbenonsensetosayhewashitwithanythingelse,andyet,speakingoutofcompleteinexperienceofpeoplewiththeirheadssmashedin,I’dhavesuspectedsomethingratherdifferent—somethingnotsosmoothandround—something—oh,Idon’tknow,somethingwithamorecuttingedge—abrick,somethinglikethat.”
“Youdidnotsaysoattheinquest?”
“No—becauseIdon’treallyknow.Jenkins,thepolicesurgeon,wassatisfied,andhe’sthefellowwhocounts.Butthere’sthepreconceivedidea—weaponlyingbesidethebody.Couldthewoundhavebeeninflictedwiththat?Yes,itcould.Butifyouwereshownthewoundandaskedwhatmadeit—well,Idon’tknowwhetheryou’dsayit,becauseitreallydoesn’tmakesense—Imeanifyouhadtwofellows,onehittinghimwithabrickandonewiththetongs—”Thedoctorstopped,shookhisheadinadissatisfiedway.“Doesn’tmakesense,doesit?”hesaidtoPoirot.
“Couldhehavefallenonsomesharpobject?”
Dr.Cloadeshookhishead.
“Hewaslyingfacedowninthemiddleofthefloor—onagoodthickold-fashionedAxminstercarpet.”
Hebrokeoffashiswifeenteredtheroom.
“Here’sKathiewiththecatlap,”heremarked.
AuntKathiewasbalancingatraycoveredwithcrockery,halfaloafofbreadandsomedepressing-lookingjaminthebottomofa2-lb.pot.
“Ithinkthekettlewasboiling,”sheremarkeddoubtfullyassheraisedthelidoftheteapotandpeeredinside.
Dr.Cloadesnortedagainandmuttered:“Catlap,”withwhichexplosivewordhelefttheroom.
“PoorLionel,hisnervesareinaterriblestatesincethewar.Heworkedmuchtoohard.Somanydoctorsaway.Hegavehimselfnorest.Outmorning,noon,andnight.Iwonderhedidn’tbreakdowncompletely.Ofcoursehelookedforwardtoretiringassoonaspeacecame.ThatwasallfixedupwithGordon.Hishobby,youknow,isbotanywithspecialreferencetomedicinalherbsintheMiddleAges.He’swritingabookonit.Hewaslookingforwardtoaquietlifeanddoingthenecessaryresearch.Butthen,whenGordondiedlikethat—well,youknowwhatthingsare,M.Poirot,nowadays.Taxationandeverything.Hecan’taffordtoretireandit’smadehimverybitter.Andreallyitdoesseemunfair.Gordon’sdyinglikethat,withoutawill—well,itreallyquiteshookmyfaith.Imean,Ireallycouldn’tseethepurposeinthat.Itseemed,Icouldn’thelpfeeling,amistake.”
Shesighed,thencheeredupalittle.
“ButIgetsomelovelyreassurancesfromtheotherside.‘Courageandpatienceandawaywillbefound.’Andreally,whenthatniceMajorPorterstooduptodayandsaidinsuchafirmmanlywaythatthepoormurderedmanwasRobertUnderhay—well,Isawthatawayhadbeenfound!It’swonderful,isn’tit,M.Poirot,howthingsdoturnoutforthebest?”
“Evenmurder,”saidHerculePoirot.
Seven
PoirotenteredtheStaginathoughtfulmood,andshiveringslightlyfortherewasasharpeastwind.Thehallwasdeserted.Hepushedopenthedooroftheloungeontheright.Itsmeltofstalesmokeandthefirewasnearlyout.Poirottiptoedalongtothedoorattheendofthehalllabelled“ResidentsOnly.”Heretherewasagoodfire,butinalargearmchair,comfortablytoastinghertoes,wasamonumentaloldladywhoglaredatPoirotwithsuchferocitythathebeatanapologeticretreat.
Hestoodforamomentinthehalllookingfromtheglass-enclosedemptyofficetothedoorlabelledinfirmold-fashionedstyleCOFFEEROOM.ByexperienceofcountryhotelsPoirotknewwellthattheonlytimecoffeewasservedtherewassomewhatgrudginglyforbreakfastandthateventhenagooddealofwateryhotmilkwasitsprincipalcomponent.SmallcupsofatreaclyandmuddyliquidcalledBlackCoffeewereservednotintheCOFFEEROOMbutintheLounge.TheWindsorSoup,ViennaSteakandPotatoes,andSteamedPuddingwhichcomprisedDinnerwouldbeobtainableintheCOFFEEROOMatsevensharp.UntilthenadeeppeacebroodedovertheresidentialareaoftheStag.
Poirotwentthoughtfullyupthestaircase.Insteadofturningtotheleftwherehisownroom,No.11,wassituated,heturnedtotherightandstoppedbeforethedoorofNo.5.Helookedroundhim.Silenceandemptiness.Heopenedthedoorandwentin.
Thepolicehaddonewiththeroom.Ithadclearlybeenfreshlycleanedandscrubbed.Therewasnocarpetonthefloor.Presumablythe“old-fashionedAxminster”hadgonetothecleaners.Theblanketswerefoldedonthebedinaneatpile.
Closingthedoorbehindhim,Poirotwanderedroundtheroom.Itwascleanandstrangelybarrenofhumaninterest.Poirottookinitsfurnishings—awritingtable,achestofdrawersofgoodold-fashionedmahogany,anuprightwardrobeofthesame(theonepresumablythatmaskedthedoorintoNo.4),alargebrassdoublebed,abasinwithhotandcoldwater—tributetomodernityandtheservantshortage—alargebutratheruncomfortablearmchair,twosmallchairs,anold-fashionedVictoriangratewithapokerandapiercedshovelbelongingtothesamesetasthefiretongs;aheavymarblemantelpieceandasolidmarblefirecurbwithsquaredcorners.
ItwasattheselastthatPoirotbentandlooked.Moisteninghisfingerherubbeditalongtheright-handcornerandtheninspectedtheresult.Hisfingerwasslightlyblack.Herepeatedtheperformancewithanotherfingerontheleft-handcornerofthecurb.Thistimehisfingerwasquiteclean.
“Yes,”saidPoirotthoughtfullytohimself.“Yes.”
Helookedatthefittedwashbasin.Thenhestrolledtothewindow.Itlookedoutoversomeleads—theroofofagarage,hefancied,andthentoasmallbackalley.AneasywaytocomeandgounseenfromroomNo.5.ButthenitwasequallyeasytowalkupstairstoNo.5unseen.Hehadjustdoneithimself.
Quietly,Poirotwithdrew,shuttingthedoornoiselesslybehindhim.Hewentalongtohisownroom.Itwasdecidedlychilly.Hewentdownstairsagain,hesitated,andthen,drivenbythechilloftheevening,boldlyenteredtheResidentsOnly,drewupasecondarmchairtothefireandsatdown.
Themonumentaloldladywasevenmoreformidableseencloseathand.Shehadiron-greyhair,aflourishingmoustacheand,whenpresentlyshespoke,adeepandawe-inspiringvoice.
“ThisLounge,”shesaid,“isReservedforPersonsstayinginthehotel.”
“Iamstayinginthehotel,”repliedHerculePoirot.
Theoldladymeditatedforamomentortwobeforereturningtotheattack.Thenshesaidaccusingly:
“You’reaforeigner.”
“Yes,”repliedHerculePoirot.
“Inmyopinion,”saidtheoldlady,“youshouldallGoBack.”
“Gobackwhere?”inquiredPoirot.
“Towhereyoucamefrom,”saidtheoldladyfirmly.
Sheaddedasakindofrider,sottovoce:“Foreigners!”andsnorted.
“That,”saidPoirotmildly,“wouldbedifficult.”
“Nonsense,”saidtheoldlady.“That’swhatwefoughtthewarfor,isn’tit?Sothatpeoplecouldgobacktotheirproperplacesandstaythere.”
Poirotdidnotenterintoacontroversy.Hehadalreadylearntthateverysingleindividualhadadifferentversionofthetheme,“Whatdidwefightthewarfor?”
Asomewhathostilesilencereigned.
“Idon’tknowwhatthingsarecomingto,”saidtheoldlady.“Ireallydon’t.EveryyearIcomeandstayinthisplace.Myhusbanddiedheresixteenyearsago.He’sburiedhere.Icomeeveryyearforamonth.”
“Apiouspilgrimage,”saidPoirotpolitely.
“Andeveryyearthingsgetworseandworse.Noservice!Fooduneatable!Viennasteaksindeed!Asteak’seitherrumporfilletsteak—notchopped-uphorse!”
Poirotshookhisheadsadly.
“Onegoodthing—they’veshutdowntheaerodrome,”saidtheoldlady.“Disgracefulitwas,allthoseyoungairmencominginherewiththosedreadfulgirls.Girls,indeed!Idon’tknowwhattheirmothersarethinkingofnowadays.Lettingthemgadaboutastheydo.IblametheGovernment.Sendingthemotherstoworkinfactories.Onlylet’emoffifthey’vegotyoungchildren.Youngchildren,stuffandnonsense!Anyonecanlookafterababy!Ababydoesn’tgorunningroundaftersoldiers.Girlsfromfourteentoeighteen,they’retheonesthatneedlookingafter!Needtheirmothers.Ittakesamothertoknowjustwhatagirlisupto.Soldiers!Airmen!That’salltheythinkabout.Americans!Niggers!Polishriffraff!”
Indignationatthispointmadetheoldladycough.Whenshehadrecovered,shewenton,workingherselfintoapleasurablefrenzyandusingPoirotasatargetforherspleen.
“Whydotheyhavebarbedwireroundtheircamps?Tokeepthesoldiersfromgettingatthegirls?No,tokeepthegirlsfromgettingatthesoldiers!Man-mad,that’swhattheyare!Lookatthewaytheydress.Trousers!Somepoorfoolswearshorts—theywouldn’tiftheyknewwhattheylookedlikefrombehind!”
“Iagreewithyou,Madame,indeedIagreewithyou.”
“Whatdotheywearontheirheads?Properhats?No,atwisted-upbitofstuff,andfacescoveredwithpaintandpowder.Filthystuff,allovertheirmouths.Notonlyrednails—butredtoe-nails!”
TheoldladypausedexplosivelyandlookedatPoirotexpectantly.Hesighedandshookhishead.
“Eveninchurch,”saidtheoldlady.“Nohats.Sometimesnoteventhosesillyscarves.Justthatuglycrimped,permanentlywavedhair.Hair?Nobodyknowswhathairisnowadays.IcouldsitonmyhairwhenIwasyoung.”
Poirotstoleaglanceattheiron-greybands.Itseemedimpossiblethatthisfierceoldwomancouldeverhavebeenyoung!
“Putherheadinheretheothernight,oneofthemdid,”theoldladywenton.“Tiedupinanorangescarfandpaintedandpowdered.Ilookedather.IjustLOOKEDather!Shesoonwentaway!
“Shewasn’taResident,”wentontheoldlady.“Nooneofhertypestayinghere,I’mgladtosay!Sowhatwasshedoingcomingoutofaman’sbedroom?Disgusting,Icallit.IspokeaboutittothatLippincottgirl—butshe’sjustasbadasanyofthem—goamileforanythingthatwearstrousers.”
SomefaintintereststirredinPoirot’smind.
“Comingoutofaman’sbedroom?”hequeried.
Theoldladyfelluponthetopicwithzest.
“That’swhatIsaid.Sawherwithmyowneyes.No.5.”
“Whatdaywasthat,Madame?”
“Thedaybeforetherewasallthatfussaboutamanbeingmurdered.Disgracefulthatsuchathingcouldhappenhere!Thisusedtobeaverydecentold-fashionedtypeofplace.Butnow—”
“Andwhathourofthedaywasthis?”
“Day?Itwasn’tdayatall.Evening.Lateevening,too.Perfectlydisgraceful.Pastteno’clock.Igouptobedataquarter-pastten.OutshecomesfromNo.5asboldasbrass,staresatme,thendodgesbackinsideagain,laughingandtalkingwiththemanthere.”
“Youheardhimspeak?”
“Aren’tItellingyouso?Shedodgesbackinsideandhecallsout,‘Oh,goon,getoutofhere.I’mfedup.’That’snicewayforamantotalktoagirl.Buttheyaskforit!Hussies!”
Poirotsaid,“Youdidnotreportthistothepolice?”
Shefixedhimwithabasiliskstareandtotteringlyroseoutofherchair.Standingoverhimandglaringdownonhim,shesaid:
“Ihaveneverhadanythingtodowiththepolice.Thepoliceindeed!I,inapolicecourt?”
QuivereringwithrageandwithonelastmalevolentglanceatPoirotshelefttheroom.
Poirotsatforafewminutesthoughtfullycaressinghismoustache,thenhewentinsearchofBeatriceLippincott.
“Oh,yes,M.Poirot,youmeanoldMrs.Leadbetter?CanonLeadbetter’swidow.Shecomeshereeveryyear,butofcoursebetweenourselvessheisratheratrial.She’sreallyfrightfullyrudetopeoplesometimes,andshedoesn’tseemtounderstandthatthingsaredifferentnowadays.She’snearlyeighty,ofcourse.”
“Butsheisclearinhermind?Sheknowswhatsheissaying?”
“Oh,yes.She’squiteasharpoldlady—rathertoomuchsosometimes.”
“DoyouknowwhoayoungwomanwaswhovisitedthemurderedmanonTuesdaynight?”
Beatricelookedastonished.
“Idon’trememberayoungwomancomingtovisithimatanytime.Whatwasshelike?”
“ShewaswearinganorangescarfroundherheadandIshouldfancyagooddealofmakeup.ShewasinNo.5talkingtoArdenataquarterpasttenonTuesdaynight.”
“Really,M.Poirot,I’venoideawhatsoever.”
ThoughtfullyPoirotwentalonginsearchofSuperintendentSpence.
SpencelistenedtoPoirot’sstoryinsilence.Thenheleanedbackinhischairandnoddedhisheadslowly.
“Funny,isn’tit?”hesaid.“Howoftenyoucomebacktothesameoldformula.Cherchezlafemme.”
TheSuperintendent’sFrenchaccentwasnotasgoodasSergeantGraves’,buthewasproudofit.Hegotupandwentacrosstheroom.Hecamebackholdingsomethinginhishand.Itwasalipstickinagiltcardboardcase.
“Wehadthisindicationallalongthattheremightbeawomanmixedupinit,”hesaid.
Poirottookthelipstickandsmearedalittledelicatelyonthebackofhishand.“Goodquality,”hesaid.“Adarkcherryred—wornbyabrunetteprobably.”
“Yes.ItwasfoundonthefloorofNo.5.Ithadrolledunderthechestofdrawersandofcoursejustpossiblyitmighthavebeentheresometime.Nofingerprintsonit.Nowadays,ofcourse,thereisn’ttherangeoflipsticksthereusedtobe—justafewstandardmakes.”
“Andyouhavenodoubtmadeyourinquiries?”
Spencesmiled.
“Yes,”hesaid;“asyouputit,wehavemadeourinquiries.RosaleenCloadeusesthistypeoflipstick.SodoesLynnMarchmont.FrancesCloadeusesamoresubduedcolour.Mrs.LionelCloadedoesn’tuselipstickatall.Mrs.Marchmontusesapalemauveshade.BeatriceLippincottdoesn’tappeartouseanythingasexpensiveasthis—nordoesthechambermaid,Gladys.”
Hepaused.
“Youhavebeenthorough,”saidPoirot
“Notthoroughenough.Itlooksnowasthoughanoutsiderismixedupinit—somewoman,perhaps,thatUnderhayknewinWarmsleyVale.”
“AndwhowaswithhimataquarterpasttenonTuesdayevening?”
“Yes,”saidSpence.Headdedwithasigh,“ThisletsDavidHunterout.”
“Itdoes?”
“Yes.Hislordshiphasconsentedtomakeastatementatlast.Afterhissolicitorhadbeenalongtomakehimseereason.Here’shisaccountofhisownmovements.”
Poirotreadaneattypedmemorandum.
LeftLondon4:16trainforWarmsleyHeath.Arrivedthere5:30.WalkedtoFurrowbankbyfootpath.
“Hisreasonforcomingdown,”theSuperintendentbrokein,“was,accordingtohim,togetcertainthingshe’dleftbehind,lettersandpapers,achequebook,andtoseeifsomeshirtshadcomebackfromthelaundry—which,ofcourse,theyhadn’t!Myword,laundry’saproblemnowadays.Fourruddyweekssincethey’vebeentoourplace—notacleantowelleftinourhouse,andthewifewashesallmythingsherselfnow.”
AfterthisveryhumaninterpolationtheSuperintendentreturnedtotheitineraryofDavid’smovements.
“LeftFurrowbankat7:25andstateshewentforawalkashehadmissedthe7:20trainandtherewouldbenotrainuntilthe9:20.”
“Inwhatdirectiondidhegoforawalk?”askedPoirot.
TheSuperintendentconsultedhisnotes.
“SaysbyDowneCopse,BatsHillandLongRidge.”
“Infact,acompletecirculartourroundtheWhiteHouse!”
“Myword,youpickuplocalgeographyquickly,M.Poirot!”
Poirotsmiledandshookhishead.
“No,Ididnotknowtheplacesyounamed.Iwasmakingaguess.”
“Oh,youwere,wereyou?”TheSuperintendentcockedhisheadononeside.
“Then,accordingtohim,whenhewasuponLongRidge,herealizedhewascuttingitratherfineandfairlyhareditforWarmsleyHeathstation,goingacrosscountry.Hecaughtthetrainbytheskinofhisteeth,arrivedatVictoria10:45,walkedtoShepherd’sCourt,arrivingthereateleveno’clock,whichlatterstatementisconfirmedbyMrs.GordonCloade.”
“Andwhatconfirmationhaveyouoftherestofit?”
“Remarkablylittle—butthereissome.RowleyCloadeandotherssawhimarriveatWarmsleyHeath.ThemaidsatFurrowbankwereout(hehadhisownkeyofcourse)sotheydidn’tseehim,buttheyfoundacigarettestumpinthelibrarywhichIgatherintriguedthemandalsofoundagooddealofconfusioninthelinencupboard.Thenoneofthegardenerswasthereworkinglate—shuttingupgreenhousesorsomethingandhecaughtsightofhim.MissMarchmontmethimup
“Didanyoneseehimcatchthetrain?”
“No—buthetelephonedfromLondontoMissMarchmontassoonashegotback—at11:05.”
“Thatischecked?”
“Yes,we’dalreadyputthroughaninquiryaboutcallsfromthatnumber.TherewasaTollcalloutat11:04toWarmsleyVale34.That’stheMarchmonts’number.”
“Very,veryinteresting,”murmuredPoirot.
ButSpencewasgoingonpainstakinglyandmethodically.
“RowleyCloadeleftArdenatfiveminutestonine.He’squitedefiniteitwasn’tearlier.About9:10LynnMarchmontseesHunterupatMardonWood.Grantedhe’srunallthewayfromtheStag,wouldhehavehadtimetomeetArden,quarrelwithhim,killhimandgettoMardonWood?We’regoingintoitandIdon’tthinkitcanbedone.However,nowwe’restartingagain.FarfromArdenbeingkilledatnineo’clock,hewasaliveattenminutespastten—thatisunlessyouroldladyisdreaming.Hewaseitherkilledbythewomanwhodroppedthelipstick,thewomanintheorangescarf—orbysomebodywhocameinafterthatwomanleft.Andwhoeverdidit,deliberatelyputthehandsofthewatchbacktonine-ten.”
“WhichifDavidHunterhadnothappenedtomeetLynnMarchmontinaveryunlikelyplacewouldhavebeenremarkablyawkwardforhim?”saidPoirot.
“Yes,itwould.The9:20isthelasttrainupfromWarmsleyHeath.Itwasgrowingdark.Therearealwaysgolfersgoingbackbyit.NobodywouldhavenoticedHunter—indeedthestationpeopledon’tknowhimbysight.Andhedidn’ttakeataxiattheotherend.Sowe’donlyhavehissister’swordforitthathearrivedbackatShepherd’sCourtwhenhesaidhedid.”
PoirotwassilentandSpenceasked:
“Whatareyouthinkingabout,M.Poirot?”
Poirotsaid,“AlongwalkroundtheWhiteHouse.AmeetinginMardonWoods.Atelephonecalllater…AndLynnMarchmontisengagedtoRowleyCloade…Ishouldlikeverymuchtoknowwhatwassaidoverthattelephonecall.”
“It’sthehumaninterestthat’sgettingyou?”
“Yes,”saidPoirot.“Itisalwaysthehumaninterest.”
Eight
Itwasgettinglate,buttherewasstillonemorecallthatPoirotwantedtomake.HewentalongtoJeremyCloade’shouse.
TherehewasshownintoJeremyCloade’sstudybyasmall,intelligent-lookingmaid.
Leftalone,Poirotgazedinterestedlyroundhim.Allverylegalanddryasdust,hethought,eveninhishome.TherewasalargeportraitofGordonCloadeonthedesk.AnotherfadedoneofLordEdwardTrentononahorse,andPoirotwasexaminingthelatterwhenJeremyCloadecamein.
“Ah,pardon.”Poirotputthephotoframedowninsomeconfusion.
“Mywife’sfather,”saidJeremy,afaintself-congratulatorynoteinhisvoice.“Andoneofhisbesthorses,ChestnutTrenton.RansecondintheDerbyin1924.Areyouinterestedinracing?”
“Alas,no.”
“Runsawaywithalotofmoney,”saidJeremydryly.“LordEdwardcameacrashoverit—hadtogoandliveabroad.Yes,anexpensivesport.”
Buttherewasstillthenoteofprideinhisvoice.
Hehimself,Poirotjudged,wouldassoonthrowhismoneyinthestreetasinvestitinhorseflesh,buthehadasecretadmirationandrespectforthosewhodid.
Cloadewenton:
“WhatcanIdoforyou,M.Poirot?Asafamily,Ifeelweoweyouadebtofgratitude—forfindingMajorPortertogiveevidenceofidentification.”
“Thefamilyseemsveryjubilantaboutit,”saidPoirot.
“Ah,”saidJeremydryly.“Ratherprematuretorejoice.Lotofwater’sgottopassunderthebridgeyet.Afterall,Underhay’sdeathwasacceptedinAfrica.Takesyearstoupsetathingofthiskind—andRosaleen’sevidencewasverypositive—verypositiveindeed.Shemadeagoodimpressionyouknow.”
ItseemedalmostasthoughJeremyCloadewasunwillingtobankuponanyimprovementinhisprospects.
“Iwouldn’tliketogivearulingonewayortheother,”hesaid.“Couldn’tsayhowacasewouldgo.”
Then,pushingasidesomepaperswithafretful,almostwearygesture,hesaid:
“Butyouwantedtoseeme?”
“Iwasgoingtoaskyou,Mr.Cloade,ifyouarereallyquitecertainyourbrotherdidnotleaveawill?Awillmadesubsequenttohismarriage,Imean?”
Jeremylookedsurprised.
“Idon’tthinkthere’severbeenanyideaofsuchathing.Hecertainlydidn’tmakeonebeforeleavingNewYork.”
“HemighthavemadeoneduringthetwodayshewasinLondon.”
“Gonetoalawyerthere?”
“Orwrittenoneouthimself.”
“Andgotitwitnessed?Witnessedbywhom?”
“Therewerethreeservantsinthehouse,”Poirotremindedhim.“Threeservantswhodiedthesamenighthedid.”
“H’m—yes—butifbyanychancehediddowhatyousuggest,well,thewillwasdestroyedtoo.”
“Thatisjustthepoint.Latelyagreatmanydocumentsbelievedtohaveperishedcompletelyhaveactuallybeendecipheredbyanewprocess.Incineratedinsidehomesafes,forinstance,butnotsodestroyedthattheycannotberead.”
“Well,really,M.Poirot,thatisamostremarkableideaofyours…Mostremarkable.ButIdon’tthink—no,Ireallydon’tbelievethereisanythinginit…SofarasIknowtherewasnosafeinthehouseinSheffieldTerrace.Gordonkeptallvaluablepapers,etc.,athisoffice—andtherewascertainlynowillthere.”
“Butonemightmakeinquiries?”Poirotwaspersistent.“FromtheA.R.P.officials,forinstance?Youwouldauthorizemetodothat?”
“Oh,certainly—certainly.Verykindofyoutooffertoundertakesuchathing.ButIhaven’tanybeliefwhatever,I’mafraid,inyoursuccess.Still—well,itisanoffchance,Isuppose.You—you’llbegoingbacktoLondonatonce,then?”
Poirot’seyesnarrowed.Jeremy’stonehadbeenunmistakablyeager.GoingbacktoLondon…Didtheyallwanthimoutoftheway?
Beforehecouldanswer,thedooropenedandFrancesCloadecamein.
Poirotwasstruckbytwothings.First,bythefactthatshelookedshockinglyill.Secondly,byherverystrongresemblancetothephotographofherfather
“M.HerculePoirothascometoseeus,mydear,”saidJeremyratherunnecessarily.
SheshookhandswithhimandJeremyCloadeimmediatelyoutlinedtoherPoirot’ssuggestionaboutawill.
Franceslookeddoubtful.
“Itseemsaveryoutsidechance.”
“M.PoirotisgoinguptoLondonandwillverykindlymakeinquiries.”
“MajorPorter,Iunderstand,wasanAirRaidWardeninthatdistrict,”saidPoirot.
AcuriousexpressionpassedoverMrs.Cloade’sface.Shesaid:
“WhoisMajorPorter?”
Poirotshruggedhisshoulders.
“AretiredArmyofficer,livingonhispension.”
“HereallywasinAfrica?”
Poirotlookedathercuriously.
“Certainly,Madame.Whynot?”
Shesaidalmostabsently,“Idon’tknow.Hepuzzledme.”
“Yes,Mrs.Cloade,”saidPoirot.“Icanunderstandthat.”
Shelookedsharplyathim.Anexpressionalmostoffearcameintohereyes.
Turningtoherhusbandshesaid:
“Jeremy,IfeelverymuchdistressedaboutRosaleen.SheisallaloneatFurrowbankandshemustbefrightfullyupsetoverDavid’sarrest.WouldyouobjectifIaskedhertocomehereandstay?”
“Doyoureallythinkthatisadvisable,mydear?”Jeremysoundeddoubtful.
“Oh—advisable?Idon’tknow!Butoneishuman.Sheissuchahelplesscreature.”
“Iratherdoubtifshewillaccept.”
“Icanatanyratemaketheoffer.”
Thelawyersaidquietly:“Dosoifitwillmakeyoufeelhappier.”
“Happier!”
Thewordcameoutwithastrangebitterness.ThenshegaveaquickdoubtfulglanceatPoirot.
Poirotmurmuredformally:
“Iwilltakemyleavenow.”
Shefollowedhimoutintothehall.
“YouaregoinguptoLondon?”
“Ishallgouptomorrow,butfortwenty-fourhoursatmost.AndthenIreturntotheStag—whereyouwillfindme,Madame,ifyouwantme.”
Shedemandedsharply:
“WhyshouldIwantyou?”
Poirotdidnotreplytothequestion,merelysaid:
“IshallbeattheStag.”
LaterthatnightoutofthedarknessFrancesCloadespoketoherhusband.
“Idon’tbelievethatmanisgoingtoLondonforthereasonhesaid.Idon’tbelieveallthataboutGordon’shavingmadeawill.Doyoubelieveit,Jeremy?”
Ahopeless,rathertiredvoiceansweredher:
“No,Frances.No—he’sgoingforsomeotherreason.”
“Whatreason?”
“I’venoidea.”
Francessaid,“Whatarewegoingtodo,Jeremy?Whatarewegoingtodo?”
Presentlyheanswered:
“Ithink,Frances,there’sonlyonethingtobedone—”
Nine
ArmedwiththenecessarycredentialsfromJeremyCloade,Poirothadgottheanswerstohisquestions.Theywereverydefinite.Thehousewasatotalwreck.Thesitehadbeenclearedonlyquiterecentlyinpreparationforrebuilding.TherehadbeennosurvivorsexceptforDavidHunterandMrs.Cloade.Therehadbeenthreeservantsinthehouse:FrederickGame,ElizabethGameandEileenCorrigan.Allthreehadbeenkilledinstantly.GordonCloadehadbeenbroughtoutalive,buthaddiedonthewaytohospitalwithoutrecoveringconsciousness.Poirottookthenamesandaddressesofthethreeservants’nextofkin.“Itispossible,”hesaid,“thattheymayhavespokentotheirfriendssomethinginthewayofgossiporcommentthatmightgivemeapointertosomeinformationIbadlyneed.”
Theofficialtowhomhewasspeakinglookedsceptical.TheGameshadcomefromDorset,EileenCorriganfromCountyCork.
PoirotnextbenthisstepstowardsMajorPorter’srooms.HerememberedPorter’sstatementthathehimselfwasaWardenandhewonderedwhetherhehadhappenedtobeondutyonthatparticularnightandwhetherhehadseenanythingoftheincidentinSheffieldTerrace.
Hehad,besides,otherreasonsforwantingawordwithMajorPorter.
AsheturnedthecornerofEdgewayStreethewasstartledtoseeapolicemaninuniformstandingoutsidetheparticularhouseforwhichhewasmaking.Therewasaringofsmallboysandotherpeoplestandingstaringatthehouse.Poirot’sheartsankasheinterpretedthesigns.
TheconstableinterceptedPoirot’sadvance.
“Can’tgoinhere,sir,”hesaid.
“Whathashappened?”
“Youdon’tliveinthehouse,doyou,sir?”Poirotshookhishead.“Whowasityouwerewishingtosee?”
“IwishedtoseeaMajorPorter.”
“Youafriendofhis,sir?”
“No,Ishouldnotdescribemyselfasafriend.Whathashappened?”
“Gentlemanhasshothimself,Iunderstand.Ah,here’stheInspector.”
Thedoorhadopenedandtwofigurescameout.OnewasthelocalInspector,theotherPoirotrecognizedasSergeantGravesfromWarmsleyVale.ThelatterrecognizedhimandpromptlymadehimselfknowntotheInspector.
“Bettercomeinside,”saidthelatter
Thethreemenreenteredthehouse.
“TheytelephonedthroughtoWarmsleyVale,”Gravesexplained.“AndSuperintendentSpencesentmeup.”
“Suicide?”
TheInspectoranswered:
“Yes.Seemsaclearcase.Don’tknowwhetherhavingtogiveevidenceattheinquestpreyeduponhismind.Peoplearefunnythatwaysometimes,butIgatherhe’sbeendepressedlately.Financialdifficultiesandonethingandanother.Shothimselfwithhisownrevolver.”
Poirotasked:“IsitpermittedthatIgoup?”
“Ifyoulike,M.Poirot.TakeM.Poirotup,Sergeant.”
“Yes,sir.”
Gravesledthewayuptothefirst-floorroom.ItwasmuchasPoirotrememberedit:thedimcoloursoftheoldrugs,thebooks.MajorPorterwasinthebigarmchair.Hisattitudewasalmostnatural,justtheheadslumpedforward.Hisrightarmhungdownathisside—belowit,ontherug,laytherevolver.Therewasstillaveryfaintsmellofacridgunpowderintheair.
“Aboutacoupleofhoursago,theythink,”saidGraves.“Nobodyheardtheshot.Thewomanofthehousewasoutshopping.”
Poirotwasfrowning,lookingdownonthequietfigurewiththesmallscorchedwoundintherighttemple.
“Anyideawhyheshoulddoit,M.Poirot?”askedGraves.
HewasrespectfultoPoirotbecausehehadseentheSuperintendentbeingrespectful—thoughhisprivateopinionwasthatPoirotwasoneofthesefrightfulolddugouts.
Poirotrepliedabsently:
“Yes—yes,therewasaverygoodreason.Thatisnotthedifficulty.”
HisglanceshiftedtoasmalltableatMajorPorter’slefthand.Therewasabigsolidglassashtrayonit,withapipeandaboxofmatches.Nothingthere.Hiseyeroamedroundtheroom.Thenhecrossedtoanopenrolltopdesk.
Itwasverytidy.Papersneatlypigeon-holed.Asmallleatherblotterinthecentre,apentraywithapenandtwopencils,aboxofpaperclipsandabookofstamps.Allveryneatandorderly.Anordinarylifeandanorderlydeath—ofcourse—thatwasit—thatwaswhatwasmissing!
HesaidtoGraves:
“Didn’theleaveanynote—anyletterforthecoroner?”
Gravesshookhishead.
“No,hedidn’t—sortofthingonewouldhaveexpectedanex-Armymantodo.”
“Yes,thatisverycurious.”
Punctiliousinlife,MajorPorterhadnotbeenpunctiliousindeath.Itwasallwrong,Poirotthought,thatPorterhadleftnonote.
“BitofablowfortheCloadesthis,”saidGraves.“Itwillsetthemback.They’llhavetohuntaboutforsomeoneelsewhoknewUnderhayintimately.”
Hefidgetedslightly.“Anythingmoreyouwanttosee,M.Poirot?”
PoirotshookhisheadandfollowedGravesfromtheroom.
Onthestairstheymetthelandlady.Shewasclearlyenjoyingherownstateofagitationandstartedavolublediscourseatonce.GravesadroitlydetachedhimselfandleftPoirottoreceivethefullspate.
“Can’tseemtocatchmybreathproperly.’Eart,that’swhatitis.AnginaPectoria,mymotherdiedof—felldowndeadasshewascrossingtheCaledonianMarket.NearlydroppeddownmyselfwhenIfoundhim—oh,itdidgivemeaturn!Neversuspectedanythingofthekind,though’e’adbeenlowin’isspiritsforalongtime.Worriedovermoney,Ithink,anddidn’teatenoughtokeephimselfalive.Notthathe’deveracceptabitefromus.Andthenyesterdayhe’adtogodowntoaplaceinOastshire—WarmsleyVale—togiveevidenceinaninquest.Preyedonhismind,thatdid.Hecomebacklookingawful.Trampedaboutalllastnight.Upanddown—upanddown.Amurderedgentlemanitwasandafriendofhis,byallaccounts.Poordear,itdidupsethim.Upanddown—upanddown.AndwhenIwasoutdoingmybitofshopping—and’avingtoqueueeversolongforthefish,Iwentuptoseeifhe’dlikeanicecuppatea—andtherehewas,poorgentleman,therevolverdroppedoutofhishand,leaningbackinhischair.Gavemeanawfulturnitdid.’Adto’avethepoliceinandeverything.What’stheworldcomingto,that’swhatIsay?”
Poirotsaidslowly:
“Theworldisbecomingadifficultplacetolivein—exceptforthestrong.”
Ten
Itwaspasteighto’clockwhenPoirotgotbacktotheStag.HefoundanotefromFrancesCloadeaskinghimtocomeandseeher.Hewentoutatonce.
Shewaswaitingforhiminthedrawingroom.Hehadnotseenthatroombefore.Theopenwindowsgaveonawalledgardenwithpeartreesinbloom.Therewerebowlsoftulipsonthetables.Theoldfurnitureshonewithbeeswaxandelbowgreaseandthebrassofthefenderandcoalscuttlewerebrightlygleaming.
Itwas,Poirotthought,averybeautifulroom.
“YousaidIshouldwantyou,M.Poirot.Youwerequiteright.Thereissomethingthatmustbetold—andIthinkyouarethebestpersontotellitto.”
“Itisalwayseasier,Madame,totellathingtosomeonewhoalreadyhasaverygoodideaofwhatitis.”
“YouthinkyouknowwhatIamgoingtosay?”
Poirotnodded.
“Sincewhen—”
Sheleftthequestionunfinished,butherepliedpromptly:
“SincethemomentwhenIsawthephotographofyourfather.Thefeaturesofyourfamilyareverystronglymarked.Onecouldnotdoubtthatyouandhewereofthesamefamily.TheresemblancewasequallystronginthemanwhocameherecallinghimselfEnochArden.”
Shesighed—adeepunhappysigh.
“Yes—yes,you’reright—althoughpoorCharleshadabeard.Hewasmysecondcousin,M.Poirot,somewhattheblacksheepofthefamily.Ineverknewhimverywellbutweplayedtogetheraschildren—andnowI’vebroughthimtohisdeath—anuglysordiddeath—”
Shewassilentforamomentortwo.Poirotsaidgently:
“Youwilltellme—”
Sherousedherself.
“Yes,thestoryhasgottobetold.Weweredesperateformoney—that’swhereitbegins.Myhusband—myhusbandwasinserioustrouble—theworstkindoftrouble.Disgrace,perhapsimprisonmentlayaheadofhim—stillliesaheadofhimforthatmatter.Nowunderstandthis,M.Poirot,theplanImadeandcarriedoutwasmyplan;myhusbandhadnothingtodowithit.Itwasn’thissortofplaninanycase—itwouldhavebeenfartoorisky.ButI’venevermindedtakingrisks.AndI’vealwaysbeen,Isuppose,ratherunscrupulous.Firstofall,letmesay,IappliedtoRosaleenCloadeforaloan.Idon’tknowwhether,lefttoherself,shewouldhavegivenittomeornot.Butherbrothersteppedin.Hewasinanuglymoodandhewas,orsoIthought,unnecessarilyinsulting.WhenIthoughtofthisschemeIhadnoscruplesatallaboutputtingitintooperation.
“Toexplainmatters,Imusttellyouthatmyhusbandhadrepeatedtomelastyeararatherinterestingpieceofinformationwhichhehadheardathisclub.Youwerethere,Ibelieve,soIneedn’trepeatitindetail.ButitopenedupthepossibilitythatRosaleen’sfirsthusbandmightnotbedead—andofcourseinthatcaseshewouldhavenorightatalltoanyofGordon’smoney.Itwas,ofcourse,onlyavaguepossibility,butitwasthereatthebackofourminds,asortofoutsidechancethatmightpossiblycometrue.Anditflashedintomymindthatsomethingcouldbedonebyusingthatpossibility.Charles,mycousin,wasinthiscountry,downonhisluck.He’sbeeninprison,I’mafraid,andhewasn’tascrupulousperson,buthedidwellinthewar.Iputthepropositionbeforehim.Itwas,ofcourse,blackmail,neithermorenorless.Butwethoughtthatwehadagoodchanceofgettingawaywithit.Atworst,Ithought,DavidHunterwouldrefusetoplay.Ididn’tthinkthathewouldgotothepoliceaboutit—peoplelikehimaren’tfondofthepolice.”
Hervoicehardened.
“Ourschemewentwell.Davidfellforitbetterthanwehoped.Charles,ofcourse,couldnotdefinitelyposeas‘RobertUnderhay.’Rosaleencouldgivethatawayinamoment.ButfortunatelyshewentuptoLondonandthatleftCharlesachanceofatleastsuggestingthathemightbeRobertUnderhay.Well,asIsay,Davidappearedtobefallingforthescheme.HewastobringthemoneyonTuesdayeveningatnineo’clock.Instead—”
Hervoicefaltered.
“WeshouldhaveknownthatDavidwas—adangerousperson.Charlesisdead—murdered—andbutformehewouldbealive.Isenthimtohisdeath.”
Afteralittleshewentoninadryvoice:
“YoucanimaginewhatIhavefeltlikeeversince.”
“Nevertheless,”saidPoirot,“youwerequickenoughtoseeafurtherdevelopmentofthescheme?ItwasyouwhoinducedMajorPortertoidentifyyourcousinas‘RobertUnderhay?’”
Butatonceshebrokeoutvehemently:
“No,Isweartoyou,no.Notthat!Noonewasmoreastonished…Astonished?Weweredumbfounded!whenthisMajorPortercamedownandgaveevidencethatCharles—Charles!—wasRobertUnderhay.Icouldn’tunderstandit—Istillcan’tunderstandit!”
“ButsomeonewenttoMajorPorter.Someonepersuadedhimorbribedhim—toidentifythedeadmanasUnderhay?”
Francessaiddecisively:
“ItwasnotI.AnditwasnotJeremy.Neitherofuswoulddosuchathing.Oh,Idaresaythatsoundsabsurdtoyou!YouthinkthatbecauseIwasreadytoblackmail,thatIwouldstoopjustaseasilytofraud.Butinmymindthetwothingsareworldsapart.YoumustunderstandthatIfelt—indeedIstillfeel—thatwehavearighttoaportionofGordon’smoney.WhatIhadfailedtogetbyfairmeansIwaspreparedtogetbyfoul.ButdeliberatelytoswindleRosaleenoutofeverything,bymanufacturingevidencethatshewasnotGordon’swifeatall—oh,no,indeed,M.Poirot,Iwouldnotdoathinglikethat.Please,please,believeme.”
“Iwillatleastadmit,”saidPoirotslowly,“thateveryonehastheirownparticularsins.Yes,Iwillbelievethat.”
Thenhelookedathersharply.
“Doyouknow,Mrs.Cloade,thatMajorPortershothimselfthisafternoon?”
Sheshrankback,hereyeswideandhorrified.
“Oh,no,M.Poirot—no!”
“Yes,Madame.MajorPorter,yousee,wasaufondanhonestman.Financiallyhewasinverylowwater,andwhentemptationcamehe,likemanyothermen,failedtoresistit.Itmayhaveseemedtohim,hecanhavemadehimselffeel,thathisliewasalmostmorallyjustified.HewasalreadydeeplyprejudicedinhismindagainstthewomanhisfriendUnderhayhadmarried.Heconsideredthatshehadtreatedhisfrienddisgracefully.Andnowthisheartlesslittlegolddiggerhadmarriedamillionaireandhadgotawaywithhersecondhusband’sfortunetothedetrimentofhisownfleshandblood.Itmusthaveseemedtemptingtohimtoputaspokeinherwheel—nomorethanshedeserved.Andmerelybyidentifyingadeadmanhehimselfwouldbemadesecureforthefuture.WhentheCloadesgottheirrights,hewouldgethiscut…Yes—Icanseethetemptation…Butlikemanymenofhistypehelackedimagination.Hewasunhappy,veryunhappy,attheinquest.Onecouldseethat.Inthenearfuturehewouldhavetorepeathislieuponoath.Notonlythat;amanwasnowarrested,chargedwithmurder—andtheidentityofthedeadmansuppliedaverypotentmotiveforthatcharge.
“Hewentbackhomeandfacedthingssquarely.Hetookthewayoutthatseemedbesttohim.”
“Heshothimself?”
“Yes.”
Francesmurmured:“Hedidn’tsaywho—who—”
SlowlyPoirotshookhishead.
“Hehadhiscode.Therewasnoreferencewhateverastowhohadinstigatedhimtocommitperjury.”
Hewatchedherclosely.Wasthereaninstantflashofrelief,ofrelaxedtension?Yes,butthatmightbenaturalenoughinanycase….
Shegotupandwalkedtothewindow.Shesaid:
“Sowearebackwherewewere.”
Poirotwonderedwhatwaspassinginhermind.
Eleven
SuperintendentSpence,thefollowingmorning,usedalmostFrances’words:
“Sowe’rebackwherewestarted,”hesaidwithasigh.“We’vegottofindwhothisfellowEnochArdenreallywas.”
“Icantellyouthat,Superintendent,”saidPoirot.“HisnamewasCharlesTrenton.”
“CharlesTrenton!”TheSuperintendentwhistled.“H’m!OneoftheTrentons—Isupposesheputhimuptoit—Mrs.Jeremy,Imean…However,weshan’tbeabletoproveherconnectionwithit.CharlesTrenton?Iseemtoremember—”
Poirotnodded.
“Yes.Hehasarecord.”
“Thoughtso.SwindlinghotelsifIrememberrightly.UsedtoarriveattheRitz,gooutandbuyaRolls,subjecttoamorning’strial,goroundintheRollstoallthemostexpensiveshopsandbuystuff—andIcantellyouamanwho’sgothisRollsoutsidewaitingtotakehispurchasesbacktotheRitzdoesn’tgethischequesqueried!Besides,hehadthemannerandthebreeding.He’dstayaweekorsoandthen,justwhensuspicionsbegantoarise,he’dquietlydisappear,sellingthevariousitemscheaptothepalshe’dpickedup.CharlesTrenton.H’m—”HelookedatPoirot.“Youfindoutthings,don’tyou?”
“HowdoesyourcaseprogressagainstDavidHunter?”
“Weshallhavetolethimgo.TherewasawomantherethatnightwithArden.Itdoesn’tonlydependonthatoldtartar’sword.JimmyPiercewasgoinghome,gotpushedoutoftheLoadofHay—hegetsquarrelsomeafteraglassortwo.HesawawomancomeoutoftheStagandgointothetelephoneboxoutsidethepostoffice—thatwasjustafterten.Saiditwasn’tanyoneheknew,thoughtitwassomeonestayingattheStag.‘AtartfromLondon,’iswhathecalledher.”
“Hewasnotverynearher?”
“No,rightacrossthestreet.Whothedevilwasshe,M.Poirot?”
“Didhesayhowshewasdressed?”
“Tweedcoat,hesaid,orangescarfroundherhead.Trousersandalotofmakeup.Fitswiththeoldlady’sdescription.”
“Yes,itfits.”Poirotwasfrowning.
Spenceasked:
“Well,whowasshe,wheredidshecomefrom,wheredidshego?Youknowourtrainservice.The9:20’sthelasttrainuptoLondon—andthe10:03theotherway.Didthatwomanhangaboutallnightandgouponthe6:18inthemorning?Hadshegotacar?Didshehitch-hike?We’vesentoutallovertheplace—butnoresults.”
“Whataboutthe6:18?”
“It’salwayscrowded—mostlymen,though.Ithinkthey’dhavenoticedawoman—thattypeofwoman,that’stosay.Isupposeshemighthavecomeandleftbycar,butacar’snoticedinWarmsleyValenowadays.We’reoffthemainroad,yousee.”
“Nocarsnoticedoutthatnight?”
“OnlyDr.Cloade’s.Hewasoutonacase—overMiddlinghamway.You’dthinksomeonewouldhavenoticedastrangewomaninacar.”
“Itneednothavebeenastranger,”Poirotsaidslowly.“Amanslightlydrunkandahundredyardsawaymightnotrecognizealocalpersonwhomhedidnotknowverywell.Someone,perhaps,dressedinadifferentwayfromtheirusualway.”
Spencelookedathimquestioningly.
“WouldthisyoungPiercerecognize,forinstance,LynnMarchmont?Shehasbeenawayforsomeyears.”
“LynnMarchmontwasattheWhiteHousewithhermotheratthattime,”saidSpence.
“Areyousure?”
“Mrs.LionelCloade—that’sthescattyone,thedoctor’swife—saysshetelephonedtoherthereattenminutespastten.RosaleenCloadewasinLondon.Mrs.Jeremy—well,I’veneverseenherinslacksandshedoesn’tusemuchmakeup.Anyway,sheisn’tyoung.”
“Oh,moncher.Poirotleanedforward.“Onadimnight,withfeeblestreetlights,canonetellyouthorageunderamaskofmakeup?”
“Lookhere,Poirot,”saidSpence,“whatareyougettingat?”
Poirotleanedbackandhalf-closedhiseyes.
“Slacks,atweedcoat,anorangescarfenvelopingthehead,agreatdealofmakeup,adroppedlipstick.Itissuggestive.”
“Thinkyou’retheoracleatDelphi,”growledtheSuperintendent.“NotthatIknowwhattheoracleatDelphiwas—sortofthingyoungGravesgiveshimselfairsaboutknowing—doesn’thelphispoliceworkany.Anymorecrypticpronnouncements,M.Poirot?”
“Itoldyou,”saidPoirot,“thatthiscasewasthewrongshape.AsaninstanceIsaidtoyouthatthedeadmanwasallwrong.Sohewas,asUnderhay.Underhaywasclearlyaneccentric,chivalrousindividual,old-fashionedandreactionary.ThemanattheStagwasablackmailer;hewasneitherchivalrous,old-fashioned,norreactionary,norwasheparticularlyeccentric—thereforehewasnotUnderhay.HecouldnotbeUnderhay,forpeopledonotchange.TheinterestingthingwasthatPortersaidhewasUnderhay.”
“LeadingyoutoMrs.Jeremy?”
“ThelikenessledmetoMrs.Jeremy.Averydistinctivecastofcountenance,theTrentonprofile.Topermitmyselfalittleplayonwords,asCharlesTrentonthedeadmanistherightshape.Buttherearestillquestionstowhichwerequireanswers.WhydidDavidHunterpermithimselftobeblackmailedsoreadily?Ishethekindofmanwholetshimselfbeblackmailed?Onewouldsayverydecidedly,no.Sohetooactsoutofcharacter.ThenthereisRosaleenCloade.Herwholebehaviourisincomprehensible—butthereisonethingIshouldliketoknowverymuch.Whyissheafraid?Whydoesshethinkthatsomethingwillhappentohernowthatherbrotherisnolongertheretoprotecther?Someone—orsomethinghasgivenherthatfear.Anditisnotthatshefearslosingherfortune—no,itismorethanthat.Itisforherlifethatsheisafraid….”
“GoodLord,M.Poirot,youdon’tthink—”
“Letusremember,Spence,thatasyousaidjustnow,wearebackwherewestarted.Thatistosay,theCloadefamilyarebackwheretheystarted.RobertUnderhaydiedinAfrica.AndRosaleenCloade’slifestandsbetweenthemandtheenjoymentofGordonCloade’smoney—”
“Doyouhonestlythinkthatoneofthemwoulddothat?”
“Ithinkthis.RosaleenCloadeistwenty-six,andthoughmentallysomewhatunstable,physicallysheisstrongandhealthy.Shemaylivetobeseventy,shemaylivelongerstill.Forty-fouryears,letussay.Don’tyouthink,Superintendent,thatforty-fouryearsmaybetoolongforsomeonetocontemplate?”
Twelve
WhenPoirotleftthepolicestationhewasalmostatonceaccostedbyAuntKathie.Shehadseveralshoppingbagswithherandcameuptohimwithabreathlesseagernessofmanner.
“SoterribleaboutpoorMajorPorter,”shesaid.“Ican’thelpfeelingthathisoutlookonlifemusthavebeenverymaterialistic.Armylife,youknow.Verynarrowing,andthoughhehadspentagooddealofhislifeinIndia,I’mafraidhenevertookadvantageofthespiritualopportunities.Itwouldbeallpukkaandchotahazriandtiffinandpigsticking—thenarrowArmyround.Tothinkthathemighthavesatasachelaatthefeetofsomeguru!Ah,themissedopportunities,M.Poirot,howsadtheyare!”
AuntKathieshookherheadandrelaxedhergripononeoftheshoppingbags.Adepressed-lookingbitofcodslippedoutandslitheredintothegutter.PoirotretrieveditandinheragitationAuntKathieletasecondbagslip,whereuponatinofgoldensyrupbeganagaycareerrollingalongtheHighStreet.
“Thankyousomuch,M.Poirot.”AuntKathiegraspedthecod.Heranafterthegoldensyrup.“Oh,thankyou—soclumsyofme—butreallyIhavebeensoupset.Thatunfortunateman—yes,itissticky,butreallyIdon’tliketouseyourcleanhandkerchief.Well,it’sverykindofyou—asIwassaying,inlifeweareindeath—andindeathweareinlife—Ishouldneverbesurprisedtoseetheastralbodyofanyofmydearfriendswhohavepassedover.Onemight,youknow,justpasstheminthestreet.Why—onlytheothernightI—”
“Youpermit?”Poirotrammedthecodfirmlyintothedepthsofthebag.“Youweresaying—yes?”
“Astralbodies,”saidAuntKathie.“Iasked,youknow,fortwopence—becauseIonlyhadhalfpennies.ButIthoughtatthetimethefacewasfamiliar—onlyIcouldn’tplaceit.Istillcan’t—butIthinknowitmustbesomeonewhohasPassedOver—perhapssometimeago—sothatmyremembrancewasveryuncertain.Itiswonderfulthewaypeoplearesenttooneinone’sneed—evenifit’sonlyamatterofpenniesfortelephones.Oh,dear,quiteaqueueatPeacocks—theymusthavegoteithertrifleorSwissroll!IhopeI’mnottoolate!”
Mrs.LionelCloadeplungedacrosstheroadandjoinedherselftothetailendofaqueueofgrim-facedwomenoutsidetheconfectioner’sshop.
PoirotwentondowntheHighStreet.HedidnotturninattheStag.InsteadhebenthisstepstowardstheWhiteHouse.
HewantedverymuchtohaveatalkwithLynnMarchmont,andhesuspectedthatLynnMarchmontwouldnotbeaversetohavingatalkwithhim.
Itwasalovelymorning—oneofthosesummermorningsinspringthathaveafreshnessdeniedtoarealsummer’sday.
Poirotturnedofffromthemainroad.HesawthefootpathleadinguppastLongWillowstothehillsideaboveFurrowbank.CharlesTrentonhadcomethatwayfromthestationontheFridaybeforehisdeath.Onhiswaydownthehill,hehadmetRosaleenCloadecomingup.Hehadnotrecognizedher,whichwasnotsurprisingsincehewasnotRobertUnderhay,andshe,naturally,hadnotrecognizedhimforthesamereason.Butshehadswornwhenshownthebodythatshehadnotevenglancedatthefaceofthemanshehadpassedonthefootpath?Ifso,whathadshebeenthinkingabout?Hadshe,byanychance,beenthinkingofRowleyCloade?
PoirotturnedalongthesmallsideroadwhichledtotheWhiteHouse.ThegardenoftheWhiteHousewaslookingverylovely.Itheldmanyfloweringshrubs,lilacsandlaburnums,andinthecentreofthelawnwasabigoldgnarledappletree.Underit,stretchedoutinadeckchair,wasLynnMarchmont.
ShejumpednervouslywhenPoirot,inaformalvoice,wishedher“Goodmorning!”
“Youdidstartleme,M.Poirot.Ididn’thearyoucomingacrossthegrass.Soyouarestillhere—inWarmsleyVale?”
“Iamstillhere—yes.”
“Why?”
Poirotshruggedhisshoulders.
“Itisapleasantout-of-the-worldspotwhereonecanrelax.Irelax.”
“I’mgladyouarehere,”saidLynn.
“Youdonotsaytomeliketherestofyourfamily,“WhendoyougobacktoLondon,M.Poirot?”andwaitanxiouslyfortheanswer.”
“DotheywantyoutogobacktoLondon?”
“Itwouldseemso.”
“Idon’t.”
“No—Irealizethat.Why,Mademoiselle?”
“Becauseitmeansthatyou’renotsatisfied.Notsatisfied,Imean,thatDavidHunterdidit.”
“Andyouwanthimsomuch—tobeinnocent?”
Hesawafaintflushcreepupunderherbronzedskin.
“Naturally,Idon’twanttoseeamanhangedforwhathedidn’tdo.”
“Naturally—oh,yes!”
“Andthepolicearesimplyprejudicedagainsthimbecausehe’sgottheirbacksup.That’stheworstofDavid—helikesantagonizingpeople.”
“Thepolicearenotsoprejudicedasyouthink,MissMarchmont.Theprejudiceagainsthimwasinthemindsofthejury.Theyrefusedtofollowthecoroner’sguidance.Theygaveaverdictagainsthimandsothepolicehadtoarresthim.ButImaytellyouthattheyareveryfarfromsatisfiedwiththecaseagainsthim.”
Shesaideagerly:
“Thentheymaylethimgo?”
Poirotshruggedhisshoulders.
“Whodotheythinkdiddoit,M.Poirot?”
Poirotsaidslowly:“TherewasawomanattheStagthatnight.”
Lynncried:
“Idon’tunderstandanything.WhenwethoughtthemanwasRobertUnderhayitallseemedsosimple.WhydidMajorPortersayitwasUnderhayifitwasn’t?Whydidheshoothimself?We’rebacknowwherewestarted.”
“Youarethethirdpersontousethatphrase!”
“AmI?”Shelookedstartled.“Whatareyoudoing,M.Poirot?”
“Talkingtopeople.ThatiswhatIdo.Justtalktopeople.”
“Butyoudon’taskthemthingsaboutthemurder?”
Poirotshookhishead.
“No,Ijust—whatshallwesay—pickupgossip.”
“Doesthathelp?”
“Sometimesitdoes.YouwouldbesurprisedhowmuchIknowoftheeverydaylifeofWarmsleyValeinthelastfewweeks.Iknowwhowalkedwhere,andwhotheymet,andsometimeswhattheysaid.Forinstance,IknowthatthemanArdentookthefootpathtothevillagepassingbyFurrowbankandaskingthewayofMr.RowleyCloade,andthathehadapackonhisbackandnoluggage.IknowthatRosaleenCloadehadspentoveranhouratthefarmwithRowleyCloadeandthatshehadbeenhappythere,unlikeherusualself.”
“Yes,”saidLynn,“Rowleytoldmethat.Hesaidshewaslikesomeonehavinganafternoonout.”
“Aha,hesaidthat?”Poirotpausedandwenton,“Yes,Iknowalotofthecomingsandgoings.AndIhaveheardalotaboutpeople’sdifficulties—yoursandyourmother’s,forexample.”
“There’snosecretaboutanyofus,”saidLynn.“We’vealltriedtocadgemoneyoffRosaleen.That’swhatyoumean,isn’tit?”
“Ididnotsayso.”
“Well,it’strue!AndIsupposeyou’veheardthingsaboutmeandRowleyandDavid.”
“ButyouaregoingtomarryRowleyCloade?”
“AmI?IwishIknew…That’swhatIwastryingtodecidethatday—whenDavidburstoutofthewood.Itwaslikeagreatquestionmarkinmybrain.ShallI?ShallI?Eventhetraininthevalleyseemedtobeaskingthesamething.Thesmokemadeafinequestionmarkinthesky.”
Poirot’sfacetookonacuriousexpression.Lynnmisunderstoodit.Shecriedout:
“Oh,don’tyousee,M.Poirot,it’sallsodifficult.Itisn’taquestionofDavidatall.It’sme!I’vechanged.I’vebeenawayforthree—fouryears.NowI’vecomebackI’mnotthesamepersonwhowentaway.That’sthetragedyeverywhere.Peoplecominghomechanged,havingtoreadjustthemselves.Youcan’tgoawayandleadadifferentkindoflifeandnotchange!”
“Youarewrong,”saidPoirot.“Thetragedyoflifeisthatpeopledonotchange.”
Shestaredathim,shakingherhead.Heinsisted:
“Butyes.Itisso.Whydidyougoawayinthefirstplace?”
“Why?IwentintotheWrens.Iwentonservice.”
“Yes,yes,butwhydidyoujointheWrensinthefirstplace?Youwereengagedtobemarried.YouwereinlovewithRowleyCloade.Youcouldhaveworked,couldyounot,asalandgirl,hereinWarmsleyVale?”
“Icouldhave,Isuppose,butIwanted—”
“Youwantedtogetaway.Youwantedtogoabroad,toseelife.Youwanted,perhaps,togetawayfromRowleyCloade…Andnowyouarerestless,youstillwant—togetaway!Oh,no,Mademoiselle,peopledonotchange!”
“WhenIwasoutEast,Ilongedforhome,”Lynncrieddefensively.
“Yes,yes,whereyouarenot,thereyouwillwanttobe!Thatwillalwaysbeso,perhaps,withyou.Youmakeapicturetoyourself,yousee,apictureofLynnMarchmontcominghome…Butthepicturedoesnotcometrue,becausetheLynnMarchmontwhomyouimagineisnottherealLynnMarchmont.SheistheLynnMarchmontyouwouldliketobe.”
Lynnaskedbitterly:
“So,accordingtoyou,Ishallneverbesatisfiedanywhere?”
“Idonotsaythat.ButIdosaythat,whenyouwentaway,youweredissatisfiedwithyourengagement,andthatnowyouhavecomeback,youarestilldissatisfiedwithyourengagement.”
Lynnbrokeoffaleafandcheweditmeditatively.
“You’reratheradevilatknowingthings,aren’tyou,M.Poirot?”
“Itismymétier,”saidPoirotmodestly.“Thereisafurthertruth,Ithink,thatyouhavenotyetrecognized.”
Lynnsaidsharply:
“YoumeanDavid,don’tyou?YouthinkIaminlovewithDavid?”
“Thatisforyoutosay,”murmuredPoirotdiscreetly.
“AndI—don’tknow!There’ssomethinginDavidthatI’mafraidof—butthere’ssomethingthatdrawsme,too…”Shewassilentamomentandthenwenton:“IwastalkingyesterdaytohisBrigadier.HecamedownherewhenheheardDavidwasarrestedtoseewhathecoulddo.He’sbeentellingmeaboutDavid,howincrediblydaringhewas.HesaidDavidwasoneofthebravestpeoplehe’deverhadunderhim.Andyet,youknow,M.Poirot,inspiteofallhesaidandhispraise,Ihadthefeelingthathewasn’tsure,notabsolutelysurethatDavidhadn’tdonethis!”
“Andareyounotsure,either?”
Lynngaveacrooked,ratherpatheticsmile.
“No—yousee,I’venevertrustedDavid.Canyoulovesomeoneyoudon’ttrust?”
“Unfortunately,yes.”
“I’vealwaysbeenunfairtoDavid—becauseIdidn’ttrusthim.I’vebelievedquitealotofthebeastlylocalgossip—hintsthatDavidwasn’tDavidHunteratall—butjustaboyfriendofRosaleen’s.IwasashamedwhenImettheBrigadierandhetalkedtomeabouthavingknownDavidasaboyinIreland.”
“C’estépatant,”murmuredPoirot,“howpeoplecangetholdofthewrongendofastick!”
“Whatdoyoumean?”
“JustwhatIsay.Tellme,didMrs.Cloade—thedoctor’swife,Imean—didsheringuponthenightofthemurder?”
“AuntKathie?Yes,shedid.”
“Whatabout?”
“Someincrediblemuddleshehadgotintooversomeaccounts.”
“Didshespeakfromherownhouse?”
“Whyno,actuallyhertelephonewasoutoforder.Shehadtogoouttoacallbox.”
“Attenminutespastten?”
“Thereabouts.Ourclocksneverkeepparticularlygoodtime.”
“Thereabouts,”saidPoirotthoughtfully.Hewentondelicately:
“Thatwasnottheonlytelephonecallyouhadthatevening?”
“No.”Lynnspokeshortly.
“DavidHunterrangyouupfromLondon?”
“Yes.”Sheflaredoutsuddenly,“Isupposeyouwanttoknowwhathesaid?”
“Oh,indeedIshouldnotpresume—”
“You’rewelcometoknow!Hesaidhewasgoingaway—clearingoutofmylife.Hesaidhewasnogoodtomeandthatheneverwouldrunstraight—notevenformysake.”
“Andsincethatwasprobablytrueyoudidnotlikeit,”saidPoirot.
“Ihopehewillgoaway—thatis,ifhegetsacquittedallright…Ihopethey’llbothgoawaytoAmericaorsomewhere.Then,perhaps,weshallbeabletostopthinkingaboutthem—we’lllearntostandonourownfeet.We’llstopfeelingillwill.”
“Illwill?”
“Yes.IfeltitfirstonenightatAuntKathie’s.Shegaveasortofparty.PerhapsitwasbecauseIwasjustbackfromabroadandratheronedge—butIseemedtofeelitintheaireddyingallroundus.Illwilltoher—toRosaleen.Don’tyousee,wewerewishingherdead—allofus!Wishingherdead…Andthat’sawful,towishthatsomeonewho’sneverdoneyouanyharm—maydie—”
“Herdeath,ofcourse,istheonlythingthatcandoyouanypracticalgood.”Poirotspokeinabriskandpracticaltone.
“Youmeandousgoodfinancially?Hermerebeingherehasdoneusharminallthewaysthatmatter!Envyingaperson,resentingthem,cadgingoffthem—itisn’tgoodforone.Now,theresheis,atFurrowbank,allalone.Shelookslikeaghost—shelooksscaredtodeath—shelooks—oh!shelooksasthoughshe’sgoingoffherhead.Andshewon’tletushelp!Notoneofus.We’vealltried.Mumsaskedhertocomeandstaywithus,AuntFrancesaskedherthere.EvenAuntKathiewentalongandofferedtobewithheratFurrowbank.Butshewon’thaveanythingtodowithusnowandIdon’tblameher.Shewouldn’tevenseeBrigadierConroy.Ithinkshe’sill,illwithworryandfrightandmisery.Andwe’redoingnothingaboutitbecauseshewon’tletus.”
“Haveyoutried?You,yourself?”
“Yes,”saidLynn.“Iwentupthereyesterday.Isaid,wasthereanythingIcoulddo?Shelookedatme—”Suddenlyshebrokeoffandshivered.“Ithinkshehatesme.Shesaid,‘You,leastofall.’Davidtoldher,Ithink,tostoponatFurrowbank,andshealwaysdoeswhatDavidtellsher.RowleytookherupeggsandbutterfromLongWillows.Ithinkhe’stheonlyoneofusshelikes.Shethankedhimandsaidhe’dalwaysbeenkind.Rowley,ofcourse,iskind.”
“Therearepeople,”saidPoirot,“forwhomonehasgreatsympathy—greatpity,peoplewhohavetooheavyaburdentobear.ForRosaleenCloadeIhavegreatpity.IfIcould,Iwouldhelpher.Evennow,ifshewouldlisten—”
Withsuddenresolutionhegottohisfeet.
“Come,Mademoiselle,”hesaid,“letusgouptoFurrowbank.”
“Youwantmetocomewithyou?”
“Ifyouarepreparedtobegenerousandunderstanding—”
Lynncried:
“Iam—indeedIam—”
Thirteen
IttookthemonlyaboutfiveminutestoreachFurrowbank.Thedrivewoundupaninclinethroughcarefullymassedbanksofrhododendrons.NotroubleorexpensehadbeensparedbyGordonCloadetomakeFurrowbankashowplace.
TheparlourmaidwhoansweredthefrontdoorlookedsurprisedtoseethemandalittledoubtfulastowhethertheycouldseeMrs.Cloade.Madam,shesaid,wasn’tupyet.However,sheusheredthemintothedrawingroomandwentupstairswithPoirot’smessage.
Poirotlookedroundhim.HewascontrastingthisroomwithFrancesCloade’sdrawingroom—thelattersuchanintimateroom,socharacteristicofitsmistress.ThedrawingroomatFurrowbankwasstrictlyimpersonal—speakingonlyofwealthtemperedbygoodtaste.GordonCloadehadseentothelatter—everythingintheroomwasofgoodqualityandofartisticmerit,buttherewasnosignofanyselectiveness,nocluetothepersonaltastesoftheroom’smistress.Rosaleen,itseemed,hadnotstampedupontheplaceanyindividualityofherown.
ShehadlivedinFurrowbankasaforeignvisitormightliveattheRitzorattheSavoy.
“Iwonder,”thoughtPoirot,“iftheother—”
Lynnbrokethechainofhisthoughtbyaskinghimofwhathewasthinking,andwhyhelookedsogrim.
“Thewagesofsin,Mademoiselle,aresaidtobedeath.Butsometimesthewagesofsinseemtobeluxury.Isthatanymoreendurable,Iwonder?Tobecutofffromone’sownhomelife.Tocatch,perhaps,asingleglimpseofitwhenthewaybacktoitisbarred—”
Hebrokeoff.Theparlourmaid,hersuperiormannerlaidaside,amerefrightenedmiddle-agedwoman,camerunningintotheroom,stammeringandchokingwithwordsshecouldhardlygetout.
“OhMissMarchmont!Oh,sir,themistress—upstairs—she’sverybad—shedoesn’tspeakandIcan’trouseherandherhand’ssocold.”
Sharply,Poirotturnedandranoutoftheroom.Lynnandthemaidcamebehindhim.Heraceduptothefirstfloor.Theparlourmaidindicatedtheopendoorfacingtheheadofthestairs.
Itwasalargebeautifulbedroom,thesunpouringinthroughtheopenwindowsontopalebeautifulrugs.
InthebigcarvedbedsteadRosaleenwaslying—apparentlyasleep.Herlongdarklasheslayonhercheeks,herheadturnednaturallyintothepillow.Therewasacrumpled-uphandkerchiefinonehand.Shelookedlikeasadchildwhohadcrieditselftosleep.
Poirotpickedupherhandandfeltforthepulse.Thehandwasice-coldandtoldhimwhathealreadyguessed.
HesaidquietlytoLynn:
“Shehasbeendeadsometime.Shediedinhersleep.”
“Oh,sir—oh—whatshallwedo?”Theparlourmaidburstoutcrying.
“Whowasherdoctor?”
“UncleLionel,”saidLynn.
Poirotsaidtotheparlourmaid:“GoandtelephonetoDr.Cloade.”Shewentoutoftheroom,stillsobbing.Poirotmovedhereandthereabouttheroom.Asmallwhitecardboardboxbesidethebedborealabel,“Onepowdertobetakenatbedtime.”Usinghishandkerchief,hepushedtheboxopen.Therewerethreepowdersleft.Hemovedacrosstothemantelpiece,thentothewriting-table.Thechairinfrontofitwaspushedaside,theblotterwasopen.Asheetofpaperwasthere,withwordsscrawledinanunformedchildishhand.
“Idon’tknowwhattodo…Ican’tgoon…I’vebeensowicked.Imusttellsomeoneandgetpeace…Ididn’tmeantobesowickedtobeginwith.Ididn’tknowallthatwasgoingtocomeofit.Imustwritedown—”
Thewordssprawledoffinadash.Thepenlaywhereithadbeenflungdown.Poirotstoodlookingdownatthosewrittenwords.Lynnstillstoodbythebedlookingdownatthedeadgirl.
ThenthedoorwaspushedviolentlyopenandDavidHunterstrodebreathlesslyintotheroom.
“David,”Lynnstartedforward.“Havetheyreleasedyou?I’msoglad—”
Hebrushedherwordsaside,ashebrushedheraside,thrustingheralmostroughlyoutofthewayashebentoverthestillwhitefigure.
“Rosa!Rosaleen…”Hetouchedherhand,thenheswungroundonLynn,hisfaceblazingwithanger.Hiswordscamehighanddeliberate!
“Soyou’vekilledher,haveyou?You’vegotridofheratlast!Yougotridofme,sentmetogaolonatrumped-upcharge,andthen,amongstyouall,youputheroutoftheway!Allofyou?Orjustoneofyou?Idon’tcarewhichitis!Youkilledher!Youwantedthedamnedmoney—nowyou’vegotit!Herdeathgivesittoyou!You’llallbeoutofQueerStreetnow.You’llallberich—alotofdirtymurderingthieves,that’swhatyouare!Youweren’tabletotouchhersolongasIwasby.Iknewhowtoprotectmysister—shewasneveronetobeabletoprotectherself.Butwhenshewasalonehere,yousawyourchanceandyoutookit.”Hepaused,swayedslightly,andsaidinalowquiveringvoice,“Murderers.”
Lynncriedout:
“No,David.No,you’rewrong.Noneofuswouldkillher.Wewouldn’tdosuchathing.”
“Oneofyoukilledher,LynnMarchmont.AndyouknowthataswellasIdo!”
“Iswearwedidn’t,David.Iswearwedidnothingofthekind.”
Thewildnessofhisgazesoftenedalittle.
“Maybeitwasn’tyou,Lynn—”
“Itwasn’t,David,Iswearitwasn’t—”
HerculePoirotmovedforwardastepandcoughed.Davidswungroundonhim.
“Ithink,”saidPoirot,“thatyourassumptionsarealittleoverdramatic.Whyjumptotheconclusionthatyoursisterwasmurdered?”
“Yousayshewasn’tmurdered?Doyoucallthis”—heindicatedthefigureonthebed—“anaturaldeath?Rosaleensufferedfromnerves,yes,butshehadnoorganicweakness.Herheartwassoundenough.”
“Lastnight,”saidPoirot,“beforeshewenttobed,shesatwritinghere—”
Davidstrodepasthim,bentoverthesheetofpaper.
“Donottouchit,”Poirotwarnedhim.
Daviddrewbackhishand,andreadthewordsashestoodmotionless.
HeturnedhisheadsharplyandlookedsearchinglyatPoirot.
“Areyousuggestingsuicide?WhyshouldRosaleencommitsuicide?”
ThevoicethatansweredthequestionwasnotPoirot’s.SuperintendentSpence’squietOastshirevoicespokefromtheopendoorway:
“SupposingthatlastTuesdaynightMrs.Cloadewasn’tinLondon,butinWarmsleyVale?Supposeshewenttoseethemanwhohadbeenblackmailingher?Supposethatinanervousfrenzyshekilledhim?”
Davidswungroundonhim.Hiseyeswerehardandangry.
“MysisterwasinLondononTuesdaynight.ShewasthereintheflatwhenIgotinateleveno’clock.”
“Yes,”saidSpence,“that’syourstory,Mr.Hunter.AndIdaresayyou’llsticktoit.ButI’mnotobligedtobelievethatstory.Andinanycase,isn’titalittlelate”—hegesturedtowardsthebed—“thecasewillnevercometocourtnow.”
Fourteen
“Hewon’tadmitit,”saidSpence.“ButIthinkheknowsshedidit.”SittinginhisroomatthepolicestationhelookedacrossthetableatPoirot.“Funnyhowitwashisalibiweweresocarefulaboutchecking.Wenevergavemuchthoughttohers.Andyetthere’snocorroborationatallforherbeingintheflatinLondonthatnight.We’veonlygothiswordthatshewasthere.WeknewallalongthatonlytwopeoplehadamotivefordoingawaywithArden—DavidHunterandRosaleenCloade.Iwentbald-headedforhimandpassedherby.Factis,sheseemedsuchagentlething—evenabithalf-witted—butIdaresaythatpartlyexplainsit.VerylikelyDavidHunterhustledheruptoLondonforjustthatreason.Hemayhaverealizedthatshe’dloseherhead,andhemayhaveknownthatshe’sthekindwhogetsdangerouswhentheypanic.Anotherfunnything:I’veoftenseenhergoingaboutinanorangelinenfrock—itwasafavouritecolourofhers.Orangescarves—astripedorangefrock,anorangeberet.Andyet,evenwhenoldMrs.LeadbetterdescribedayoungwomanwithherheadtiedupinanorangescarfIstilldidn’ttumbletoitthatitmusthavebeenMrs.Gordonherself.Istillthinkthegirlwasn’tquiteallthere—wasn’twhollyresponsible.ThewayyoudescribeherashauntingtheR.C.churchheresoundsasthoughshewashalfoffherheadwithremorseandasenseofguilt.”
“Shehadasenseofguilt,yes,”saidPoirot.
Spencesaidthoughtfully,“ShemusthaveattackedArdeninakindoffrenzy.Idon’tsupposehehadtheleastideaofwhatwascomingtohim.Hewouldn’tbeonhisguardwithaslipofagirllikethat.”Heruminatedforamomentortwoinsilence,thenheremarked,“There’sstillonethingI’mnotquiteclearabout.WhogotatPorter?Yousayitwasn’tMrs.Jeremy?Betyouitwasallthesame!”
“No,”saidPoirot.“ItwasnotMrs.Jeremy.SheassuredmeofthatandIbelieveher.Ihavebeenstupidoverthat.Ishouldhaveknownwhoitwas.MajorPorterhimselftoldme.”
“Hetoldyou?”
“Oh,indirectly,ofcourse.Hedidnotknowthathehaddoneso.”
“Well,whowasit?”
Poirotputhisheadalittleononeside.
“Isitpermitted,first,thatIaskyoutwoquestions?”
TheSuperintendentlookedsurprised.
“Askanythingyoulike.”
“ThosesleepingpowdersinaboxbyRosaleenCloade’sbed.Whatwerethey?”
TheSuperintendentlookedmoresurprised.
“Those?Oh,theywerequiteharmless.Bromide.Soothingtothenerves.Shetookoneeverynight.Weanalysedthem,ofcourse.Theywerequiteallright.”
“Whoprescribedthem?”
“Dr.Cloade.”
“Whendidheprescribethem?”
“Oh,sometimeago.”
“Whatpoisonwasitthatkilledher?”
“Well,wehaven’tactuallygotthereportyet,butIdon’tthinkthere’smuchdoubtaboutit.Morphiaandaprettyheftydoseofit.”
“Wasanymorphiafoundinherpossession?”
Spencelookedcuriouslyattheotherman.
“No.Whatareyougettingat,M.Poirot?”
“Iwillpassnowtomysecondquestion,”saidPoirotevasively.“DavidHunterputthroughacallfromLondontoLynnMarchmontat11:5onthatTuesdaynight.Yousayyoucheckeduponcalls.ThatwastheonlyoutgoingcallfromtheflatinShepherd’sCourt.Werethereanyincomingcalls?”
“One.At10:15.AlsofromWarmsleyVale.Itwasputthroughfromapubliccallbox.”
“Isee.”Poirotwassilentforamomentortwo.
“What’sthebigidea,M.Poirot?”
“Thatcallwasanswered?Theoperator,Imean,gotaresponsefromtheLondonnumber.”
“Iseewhatyoumean,”saidSpenceslowly.“Theremusthavebeensomeoneintheflat.Itcouldn’tbeDavidHunter—hewasinthetrainonhiswayback.Itlooks,then,asifitmusthavebeenRosaleenCloade.Andifso,RosaleenCloadecouldn’thavebeenattheStagafewminutesearlier.Whatyou’regettingat,M.Poirot,isthatthewomanintheorangescarf,wasn’tRosaleenCloade.Andifso,itwasn’tRosaleenCloadewhokilledArden.Butthenwhydidshecommitsuicide?”
“Theanswertothat,”saidPoirot,“isverysimple.Shedidnotcommitsuicide.RosaleenCloadewaskilled!”
“What?”
“Shewasdeliberatelyandcold-bloodedlymurdered.”
“ButwhokilledArden?We’veeliminatedDavid—”
“ItwasnotDavid.”
“AndnowyoueliminateRosaleen?Butdashitall,thosetwoweretheonlyoneswithashadowofamotive!”
“Yes,”saidPoirot.“Motive.Itwasthatwhichhasledusastray.IfAhasamotiveforkillingCandBhasamotiveforkillingD—well,itdoesnotseemtomakesense,doesit,thatAshouldkillDandBshouldkillC?”
Spencegroaned.“Goeasy,M.Poirot,goeasy.Idon’tevenbegintounderstandwhatyouaretalkingaboutwithyourA’sandB’sandC’s.”
“Itiscomplicated,”saidPoirot,“itisverycomplicated.Because,yousee,youhaveheretwodifferentkindsofcrime—andconsequentlyyouhave,youmusthave,twodifferentmurderers.EnterFirstMurderer,andenterSecondMurderer.”
“Don’tquoteShakespeare,”groanedSpence.“Thisisn’tElizabethanDrama.”
“Butyes,itisveryShakespearean—thereareherealltheemotions—thehumanemotions—inwhichShakespearewouldhaverevelled—thejealousies,thehates—theswiftpassionateactions.Andhere,too,issuccessfulopportunism.‘Thereisatideintheaffairsofmenwhichtakenatitsfloodleadsontofortune…’Someoneactedonthat,Superintendent.Toseizeopportunityandturnittoone’sownends—thathasbeentriumphantlyaccomplished—underyournosesotospeak!”
Spencerubbedhisnoseirritably.
“Talksense,M.Poirot,”hepleaded.“Ifit’spossible,justsaywhatyoumean.”
“Iwillbeveryclear—clearascrystal.Wehavehere,havewenot,threedeaths?Youagreetothat,doyounot?Threepeoplearedead.”
Spencelookedathimcuriously.
“Ishouldcertainlysayso…You’renotgoingtomakemebelievethatoneofthethreeisstillalive?”
“No,no,”saidPoirot.“Theyaredead.Buthowdidtheydie?How,thatistosay,wouldyouclassifytheirdeaths?”
“Well,astothat,M.Poirot,youknowmyviews.Onemurder,andtwosuicides.Butaccordingtoyouthelastsuicideisn’tasuicide.It’sanothermurder.”
“Accordingtome,”saidPoirot,“therehasbeenonesuicide,oneaccidentandonemurder.”
“Accident?DoyoumeanMrs.Cloadepoisonedherselfbyaccident?OrdoyoumeanMajorPorter’sshootinghimselfwasanaccident?”
“No,”saidPoirot.“TheaccidentwasthedeathofCharlesTrenton—otherwiseEnochArden.”
“Accident!”TheSuperintendentexploded.“Accident?Yousaythataparticularlybrutalmurder,whereaman’sheadisstoveinbyrepeatedblows,isanaccident!”
QuiteunmovedbytheSuperintendent’svigour,Poirotrepliedcalmly:
“WhenIsayanaccident,Imeanthattherewasnointenttokill.”
“Nointenttokill—whenaman’sheadisbatteredin!Doyoumeanthathewasattackedbyalunatic?”
“Ithinkthatthatisverynearthetruth—thoughnotquiteinthesenseyoumeanit.”
“Mrs.Gordonwastheonlybattywomaninthiscase.I’veseenherlookingveryqueersometimes.Ofcourse,Mrs.LionelCloadeisabitbatsinthebelfry—butshe’dneverbeviolent.Mrs.Jeremyhasgotherheadscrewedontherightwayifanyonehas.Bytheway,yousaythatitwasnotMrs.JeremywhobribedPorter?”
“No.Iknowwhoitwas.AsIsay,itwasPorterhimselfwhogaveitaway.Onesimplelittleremark—ah,Icouldkickmyself,asyousay,allroundthetown,fornotnoticingitatthetime.”
“AndthenyouranonymousABClunaticmurderedRosaleenCloade?”Spence’svoicewasmoreandmoresceptical.
Poirotshookhisheadvigorously.
“Bynomeans.ThisiswheretheFirstMurdererexitsandSecondMurdererenters.Quiteadifferenttypeofcrimethis,noheat,andnopassion.ColddeliberatemurderandIintendSuperintendentSpence,toseethathermurdererishangedforthatmurder.”
Hegotupashespokeandmovedtowardsthedoor.
“Hi!”criedSpence.“You’vegottogivemeafewnames.Youcan’tleaveitlikethis.”
“Inaverylittlewhile—yes,Iwilltellyou.ButthereissomethingforwhichIwait—tobeexact,aletterfromacrossthesea.”
“Don’ttalklikearuddyfortune-teller!Hi—Poirot.”
ButPoirothadslippedaway.
HewentstraightacrossthesquareandrangthebellofDr.Cloade’shouse.Mrs.CloadecametothedoorandgaveherusualgaspatseeingPoirot.Hewastednotime.
“Madame,Imustspeaktoyou.”
“Oh,ofcourse—docomein—I’mafraidIhaven’thadmuchtimetodust,but—”
“Iwanttoaskyousomething.Howlonghasyourhusbandbeenamorphiaaddict?”
AuntKathieimmediatelyburstintotears.
“Ohdear,ohdear—Ididsohopenobodywouldeverknow—itbeganinthewar.Hewassodreadfullyovertiredandhadsuchdreadfulneuralgia.Andsincethenhe’sbeentryingtolessenthedose—hehasindeed.Butthat’swhatmakeshimsodreadfullyirritablesometimes—”
“Thatisoneofthereasonswhyhehasneededmoney,isitnot?”
“Isupposeso.Oh,dear,M.Poirot.Hehaspromisedtogoforacure—”
“Calmyourself,Madame,andanswermeonemorelittlequestion.OnthenightwhenyoutelephonedtoLynnMarchmont,youwentouttothecallboxoutsidethepostoffice,didyounot?Didyoumeetanybodyinthesquarethatnight?”
“Oh,no,M.Poirot,notasoul.”
“ButIunderstoodyouhadtoborrowtwopencebecauseyouhadonlyhalfpennies.”
“Oh,yes.Ihadtoaskawomanwhocameoutofthebox.Shegavemetwopenniesforonehalfpenny—”
“Whatdidshelooklike,thiswoman?”
“Well,ratheractressy,ifyouknowwhatImean.Anorangescarfroundherhead.ThefunnythingwasthatI’malmostsureI’dmethersomewhere.Herfaceseemedveryfamiliar.Shemust,Ithink,havebeensomeonewhohadpassedover.Andyet,youknow,Icouldn’trememberwhereandhowIhadknownher.”
“Thankyou,Mrs.Cloade,”saidHerculePoirot.
Fifteen
Lynncameoutofthehouseandglancedupatthesky.
Thesunwasgettinglow,therewasnoredintheskybutaratherunnaturalglowoflight.Astilleveningwithabreathlessfeelaboutit.Therewouldbe,shethought,astormlater.
Well,thetimehadcomenow.Shecouldn’tputthingsoffanylonger.ShemustgotoLongWillowsandtellRowley.Sheowedhimthatatleast—totellhimherself.Nottochoosetheeasywayofthewrittenword.
Hermindwasmadeup—quitemadeup—shetoldherselfandyetshefeltacuriousreluctance.Shelookedroundherandthought:“It’sgoodbyetoallthis—tomyownworld—myownwayoflife.”
Forshehadnoillusions.LifewithDavidwasagamble—anadventurethatwasaslikelytoturnoutbadlyastoturnoutwell.Hehimselfhadwarnedher….
Thenightofthemurder,overthetelephone.
Andnow,afewhoursago,hehadsaid:
“Imeanttogooutofyourlife.Iwasafool—tothinkIcouldleaveyoubehindme.We’llgotoLondonandbemarriedbyspeciallicence—oh,yes,I’mnotgoingtogiveyouthechanceofshilly-shallyingabout.You’vegotrootshere,rootsthatholdyoudown.I’vegottopullyouupbytheroots.”Hehadadded:“We’llbreakittoRowleywhenyou’reactuallyMrs.DavidHunter.Poordevil,it’sthebestwaytobreakittohim.”
Buttothatshedidnotagree,thoughshehadnotsaidsoatthetime.No,shemusttellRowleyherself.
ItwastoRowleyshewasgoingnow!
ThestormwasjuststartingasLynntappedatthedoorofLongWillows.Rowleyopeneditandlookedastonishedtoseeher.
“Hallo,Lynn,whydidn’tyouringupandsayyouwerecoming?Imighthavebeenout.”
“Iwanttotalktoyou,Rowley.”
Hestoodasidetoletherpassandfollowedherintothebigkitchen.Theremainsofhissupperwereonthetable.
“I’mplanningtogetanAgaoranEsseputinhere,”hesaid.“Easierforyou.Andanewsink—steel—”
Sheinterrupted.“Don’tmakeplans,Rowley.”
“Youmeanbecausethatpoorkidisn’tburiedyet?Isupposeitdoesseemratherheartless.Butsheneverstruckmeasaparticularlyhappyperson.Sickly,Isuppose.Nevergotoverthatdamnedairraid.Anyway,thereitis.She’sdeadandinhergraveandohthedifferencetome—orrathertous—”
Lynncaughtherbreath.
“No,Rowley.Thereisn’tany‘us.’That’swhatIcametotellyou.”
Hestaredather.Shesaidquietly,hatingherself,butsteadfastinherpurpose:
“I’mgoingtomarryDavidHunter,Rowley.”
Shedidnotknowquitewhatsheexpected—protests,perhapsanangryoutburst—butshecertainlydidnotexpectRowleytotakeitashedid.
Hestaredatherforaminuteortwo,thenhewentacrossandpokedatthestove,turningatlastinanalmostabsentmindedmanner.
“Well,”hesaid,“let’sgetitclear.You’regoingtomarryDavidHunter.Why?”
“BecauseIlovehim.”
“Youloveme.”
“No.Ididloveyou—whenIwentaway.Butit’sbeenfouryearsandI’ve—I’vechanged.We’vebothchanged.”
“You’rewrong…”hesaidquietly.“Ihaven’tchanged.”
“Well,perhapsyouhaven’tchangedsomuch.”
“Ihaven’tchangedatall.Ihaven’thadmuchchancetochange.I’vejustgoneploddingonhere.Ihaven’tdroppedfromparachutesorswarmedupcliffsbynightorwoundanarmroundamaninthedarknessandstabbedhim—”
“Rowley—”
“Ihaven’tbeentothewar.Ihaven’tfought.Idon’tknowwhatwaris!I’veledanicesafelifehere,downonthefarm.LuckyRowley!Butasahusband,you’dbeashamedofme!”
“No,Rowley—oh,no!Itisn’tthatatall.”
“ButItellyouitis!”Hecamenearertoher.Thebloodwaswellingupinhisneck,theveinsofhisforeheadwerestartingout.Thatlookinhiseyes—shehadseenitonceasshepassedabullinafield.Tossingitshead,stampingitsfoot,slowlyloweringitsheadwiththegreathorns.Goadedtoadullfury,ablindrage….
“Bequiet,Lynn,you’lllistentomeforachange.I’vemissedwhatIoughttohavehad.I’vemissedmychanceoffightingformycountry.I’veseenmybestfriendgoandbekilled.I’veseenmygirl—mygirl—dressupinuniformandgooverseas.I’vebeenJusttheManSheLeftBehindHer.Mylife’sbeenhell—don’tyouunderstand,Lynn?It’sbeenhell.Andthenyoucameback—andsincethenit’sbeenworsehell.EversincethatnightatAuntKathie’swhenIsawyoulookingatDavidHunteracrossthetable.Buthe’snotgoingtohaveyou,doyouhear?Ifyou’renotforme,thennooneshallhaveyou.WhatdoyouthinkIam?”
“Rowley—”
Shehadrisen,wasretreatingastepatatime.Shewasterrified.Thismanwasnotamananylonger,hewasabrutebeast.
“I’vekilledtwopeople,”saidRowleyCloade.“DoyouthinkIshallstickatkillingathird?”
“Rowley—”
Hewasuponhernow,hishandsroundherthroat….
“Ican’tbearanymore,Lynn—”
Thehandstightenedroundherneck,theroomwhirled,blackness,spinningblackness,suffocation—everythinggoingdark….
Andthen,suddenlyacough.Aprim,slightlyartificialcough.
Rowleypaused,hishandsrelaxed,felltohissides.Lynn,released,sankinacrumpledheaponthefloor.
Justinsidethedoor,HerculePoirotstoodapologeticallycoughing.
“Ihope,”hesaid,“thatIdonotintrude?Iknocked.Yes,indeed,Iknocked,butnooneanswered…Isupposeyouwerebusy?”
Foramomenttheairwastense,electric.Rowleystared.ItlookedforamomentasthoughhemightflinghimselfonHerculePoirot,butfinallyheturnedaway.Hesaidinaflatemptyvoice:
“Youturnedup—justinthenickoftime.”
Sixteen
IntoanatmospherequiveringwithdangerHerculePoirotbroughthisownatmosphereofdeliberateanticlimax.
“Thekettle,itisboiling?”heinquired.
Rowleysaidheavily—stupidly—“Yes,it’sboiling.”
“Thenyouwill,perhaps,makesomecoffee?Orsometeaifitiseasier.”
LikeanautomatonRowleyobeyed.
HerculePoirottookalargecleanhandkerchieffromhispocket;hesoakeditincoldwater,wrungitoutandcametoLynn.
“There,Mademoiselle,ifyoufastenthatroundyourthroat—so.Yes,Ihavethesafetypin.There,thatwillatonceeasethepain.”
Croakinghoarsely,Lynnthankedhim.ThekitchenofLongWillows,Poirotfussingabout—itallhadforherthequalityofanightmare.Shefelthorriblyill,andherthroatwaspainingherbadly.ShestaggeredtoherfeetandPoirotguidedhergentlytoachairandputherintoit.
“There,”hesaid,andoverhisshoulder:
“Thecoffee?”hedemanded.
“It’sready,”saidRowley.
Hebroughtit.PoirotpouredoutacupandtookittoLynn.
“Lookhere,”saidRowley,“Idon’tthinkyouunderstand.ItriedtostrangleLynn.”
“Tscha,tscha,”saidPoirotinavexedvoice.HeseemedtobedeploringalapseofbadtasteonRowley’spart.
“TwodeathsI’vegotonmyconscience,”saidRowley.“Herswouldhavebeenthethird—ifyouhadn’tarrived.”
“Letusdrinkupourcoffee,”saidPoirot,“andnottalkofdeaths.ItisnotagreeableforMademoiselleLynn.”
“MyGod!”saidRowley.HestaredatPoirot.
Lynnsippedhercoffeewithdifficulty.Itwashotandstrong.Presentlyshefeltherthroatlesspainful,andthestimulantbegantoact.
“There,thatisbetter,yes?”saidPoirot.
Shenodded.
“Nowwecantalk,”saidPoirot.“WhenIsaythat,Imean,really,thatIshalltalk.”
“Howmuchdoyouknow?”saidRowleyheavily.“DoyouknowthatIkilledCharlesTrenton?”
“Yes,”saidPoirot.“Ihaveknownthatforsometime.”
Thedoorburstopen.ItwasDavidHunter.
“Lynn,”hecried.“Younevertoldme—”
Hestopped,puzzled,hiseyesgoingfromonetotheother.
“What’sthematterwithyourthroat?”
“Anothercup,”saidPoirot.Rowleytookonefromthedresser.Poirotreceivedit,filleditwithcoffeeandhandedittoDavid.Oncemore,Poirotdominatedthesituation.
“Sitdown,”hesaidtoDavid.“Wewillsithereanddrinkcoffee,andyoushallallthreelistentoHerculePoirotwhilehegivesyoualectureoncrime.”
Helookedroundonthemandnoddedhishead.
Lynnthought:
“Thisissomefantasticnightmare.Itisn’treal!”
Theywereall,itseemed,undertheswayofthisabsurdlittlemanwiththebigmoustaches.Theysatthere,obediently—Rowleythekiller;she,hisvictim;David,themanwholovedher—allholdingcupsofcoffee,listeningtothislittlemanwhoinsomestrangewaydominatedthemall.
“Whatcausescrime?”HerculePoirotdemandedrhetorically.“Itisaquestion,that.Whatstimulusisneeded?Whatinbredpredispositiondoestherehavetobe?Iseveryonecapableofcrime—ofsomecrime?Andwhathappens—thatiswhatIhaveaskedmyselffromthebeginning,whathappenswhenpeoplewhohavebeenprotectedfromreallife—fromitsassaultsandravages—aresuddenlydeprivedofthatprotection?”
“Iamspeaking,yousee,oftheCloades.ThereisonlyoneCloadehere,andsoIcanspeakveryfreely.Fromthebeginningtheproblemhasfascinatedme.Hereisawholefamilywhocircumstanceshavepreventedfromeverhavingtostandontheirownfeet.Thougheachoneofthefamilyhadalifeofhisorherown,aprofession,yetreallytheyhaveneverescapedfromtheshadowofabeneficentprotection.Theyhavehad,always,freedomfromfear.Theyhavelivedinsecurity—andasecuritywhichwasunnaturalandartificial.GordonCloadewasalwaystherebehindthem.
“WhatIsaytoyouisthis,thereisnotellingwhatahumancharacteris,untilthetestcomes.Tomostofusthetestcomesearlyinlife.Amanisconfrontedquitesoonwiththenecessitytostandonhisownfeet,tofacedangersanddifficultiesandtotakehisownlineofdealingwiththem.Itmaybethestraightway,itmaybethecrookedway—whicheveritis,amanusuallylearnsearlyjustwhatheismadeof.
“ButtheCloadeshadnoopportunityofknowingtheirownweaknessesuntilthetimewhentheyweresuddenlyshornofprotectionandwereforced,quiteunprepared,tofacedifficulty.Onething,andonethingonly,stoodbetweenthemandtheresumptionofsecurity,thelifeofRosaleenCloade.IamquitecertaininmyownmindthateverysingleoneoftheCloadesthoughtatonetimeoranother,‘IfRosaleenwastodie—’”
Lynnshivered.Poirotpaused,lettingthewordssinkin,thenwenton:
“Thethoughtofdeath,herdeath,passedthrougheverymind—ofthatIamcertain.Didthefurtherthoughtofmurderpassthroughalso?Anddidthethought,inoneparticularinstance,gobeyondthinkingandbecomeaction.”
WithoutachangeofvoiceheturnedtoRowley:
“Didyouthinkofkillingher?”
“Yes,”saidRowley.“Itwasthedayshecametothefarm.Therewasnooneelsethere.Ithoughtthen—Icouldkillherquiteeasily.Shelookedpathetic—andverypretty—likethecalvesI’dsenttomarket.Youcanseehowpathetictheyare—butyousendthemoffjustthesame.Iwondered,really,thatshewasn’tafraid…Shewouldhavebeen,ifshe’dknownwhatwasinmymind…Yes,itwasinmymindwhenItookthelighterfromhertolighthercigarette.”
“Sheleftitbehind,Isuppose.That’showyougotholdofit.”
Rowleynodded.
“Idon’tknowwhyIdidn’tkillher,”hesaidwonderingly.“Ithoughtofit.Onecouldhavefakeditupasanaccident,orsomething.”
“Itwasnotyourtypeofcrime,”saidPoirot.“Thatistheanswer.Themanyoudidkill,youkilledinarage—andyoudidnotreallymeantokillhim,Ifancy?”
“GoodLord,no.Ihithimonthejaw.Hewentoverbackwardsandhithisheadonthatmarblefender.Icouldn’tbelieveitwhenIfoundhewasdead.”
ThensuddenlyheshotastartledglanceatPoirot:
“Howdidyouknowthat?”
“Ithink,”saidPoirot,“thatIhavereconstructedyouractionsfairlyaccurately.YoushalltellmeifIamwrong.YouwenttotheStag,didyounot,andBeatriceLippincotttoldyouabouttheconversationshehadoverheard?Thereuponyouwent,asyouhavesaid,toyouruncle’s,JeremyCloade,togethisopinionasasolicitorupontheposition.Nowsomethinghappenedthere,somethingthatmadeyouchangeyourmindaboutconsultinghim.IthinkIknowwhatthatsomethingwas.Yousawaphotograph—”
Rowleynodded.
“Yes,itwasonthedesk.Isuddenlyrealizedthelikeness.Irealizedtoowhythefellow’sfacehadseemedsofamiliar.ItumbledtoitthatJeremyandFrancesweregettingsomerelationofherstoputupastuntandgetmoneyoutofRosaleen.Itmademeseered.IwentheadlongbacktotheStaganduptoNo.5andaccusedthefellowofbeingafraud.Helaughedandadmittedit—saidDavidHunterwasgoingtocomeacrossallrightwiththemoneythatveryevening.IjustsawredwhenIrealizedthatmyownfamilywas,asIsawit,double-crossingme.Icalledhimaswineandhithim.HewentdownasIsaid.”
Therewasapause.Poirotsaid:“Andthen?”
“Itwasthelighter,”saidRowleyslowly.“Itfelloutofmypocket.I’dbeencarryingitaboutmeaningtogiveitbacktoRosaleenwhenIsawher.Itfelldownonthebody,andIsawtheinitials,D.H.ItwasDavid’s,nothers.
“EversincethatpartyatAuntKathie’sI’drealized—well,nevermindallthat.I’vesometimesthoughtI’mgoingmad—perhapsIamabitmad.FirstJohnniegoing—andthenthewar—I—Ican’ttalkaboutthingsbutsometimesI’dfeelblindwithrage—andnowLynn—andthisfellow.Idraggedthedeadmanintothemiddleoftheroomandturnedhimoveronhisface.ThenIpickedupthoseheavysteeltongs—well,Iwon’tgointodetails.Iwipedofffingerprints,cleanedupthemarblecurb—thenIdeliberatelyputthehandsofthewristwatchattenminutespastnineandsmashedit.Itookawayhisrationbookandhispapers—Ithoughthisidentitymightbetracedthroughthem.ThenIgotout.ItseemedtomethatwithBeatrice’sstoryofwhatshe’doverheard,Davidwouldbeforitallright.”
“Andthen,”saidPoirot,“youcametome.Itwasaprettylittlecomedythatyouplayedthere,wasitnot,askingmetoproducesomewitnessesthatknewUnderhay?ItwasalreadycleartomethatJeremyCloadehadrepeatedtohisfamilythestorythatMajorPorterhadtold.FornearlytwoyearsallthefamilyhadcherishedasecrethopethatUnderhaymightturnup.ThatwishinfluencedMrs.LionelCloadeinhermanipulationoftheOuijaboard—unconsciously,butitwasaveryrevealingaccident.
“Ehbien,Iperformmy‘conjuringtrick.’IflattermyselfthatIimpressyouandreallyitisIwhoamthecompletemug.YesandthereinMajorPorter’sroom,hesays,afterheoffersmeacigarette,hesaystoyou,‘Youdon’t,doyou?’
“Howdidheknowthatyoudidnotsmoke?Heissupposedonlythatmomenttohavemetyou.ImbecilethatIam,Ishouldhaveseenthetruththen—thatalreadyyouandMajorPorter,youhadmadeyourlittlearrangementtogether!Nowonderhewasnervousthatmorning.Yes,Iamtobethemug,IamtobringMajorPorterdowntoidentifythebody.ButIdonotgoonbeingthemugforever—no,Iamnotthemugnow,amI?”
Helookedroundangrilyandthenwenton:
“Butthen,MajorPorterwentbackonthatarrangement.Hedoesnotcaretobeawitnessuponoathinamurdertrial,andthestrengthofthecaseagainstDavidHunterdependsverylargelyupontheidentityofthedeadman.SoMajorPorterbacksout.”
“Hewrotetomehewouldn’tgothroughwithit,”saidRowleythickly.“Thedamnedfool.Didn’theseewe’dgonetoofartostop?Icameuptotrytodrivesomesenseintohim.Iwastoolate.He’dsaidhe’drathershoothimselfthanperjurehimselfwhenitwasaquestionofmurder.Thefrontdoorwasn’tlocked—Iwentupandfoundhim.
“Ican’ttellyouwhatIfeltlike.ItwasasthoughIwasamurderertwiceover.Ifonlyhe’dwaited—ifhe’donlyletmetalktohim.”
“Therewasanotethere?”Poirotasked.“Youtookitaway?”
“Yes—Iwasinforthingsnow.Mightaswellgothewholehog.Thenotewastothecoroner.Itsimplysaidthathe’dgivenperjuredevidenceattheinquest.ThedeadmanwasnotRobertUnderhay.Itookthenoteawayanddestroyedit.”
Rowleystruckhisfistonthetable.“Itwaslikeabaddream—ahorriblenightmare!I’dbegunthisthingandI’dgottogoonwithit.IwantedthemoneytogetLynn—andIwantedHuntertohang.Andthen—Icouldn’tunderstandit—thecaseagainsthimbrokedown.Somestoryaboutawoman—awomanwhowaswithArdenlater.Icouldn’tunderstand,Istillcan’tunderstand.Whatwoman?HowcouldawomanbeintheretalkingtoArdenafterhewasdead?”
“Therewasnowoman,”saidPoirot.
“But,M.Poirot,”Lynncroaked.“Thatoldlady.Shesawher.Sheheardher.”
“Aha,”saidPoirot.“Butwhatdidshesee?Andwhatdidshehear?Shesawsomeoneintrousers,withalighttweedcoat.Shesawaheadcompletelyenvelopedinanorangescarfarrangedturban-wiseandafacecoveredwithmakeupandalipstickedmouth.Shesawthatinadimlight.Andwhatdidshehear?Shesawthe‘hussy’drawbackintoNo.5andfromwithintheroomsheheardaman’svoicesaying,‘Getoutofhere,mygirl.’Ehbien,itwasamanshesawandamansheheard!Butitwasaveryingeniousidea,Mr.Hunter,”Poirotadded,turningplacidlytoDavid.
“Whatdoyoumean?”Davidaskedsharply.
“ItisnowtoyouthatIwilltellastory.YoucomealongtotheStagatnineo’clockorthereabouts.Youcomenottomurder,buttopay.Whatdoyoufind?Youfindthemanwhohadbeenblackmailingyoulyingonthefloor,murderedinaparticularlybrutalmanner.Youcanthinkfast,Mr.Hunter,andyourealizeatoncethatyouareinimminentdanger.YouhavenotbeenseenenteringtheStagbyanyoneasfarasyouknowandyourfirstideaistoclearoutassoonaspossible,catchthe9:20trainbacktoLondonandswearhardthatyouhavenotbeennearWarmsleyVale.Tocatchthetrainyouronlychanceistorunacrosscountry.IndoingsoyourununexpectedlyintoMissMarchmontandyoualsorealizethatyoucannotcatchthetrain.Youseethesmokeofitinthevalley.Shetoo,althoughyoudonotknowit,hasseenthesmoke,butshehasnotconsciouslyrealizedthatitindicatesthatyoucannotcatchthetrain,andwhenyoutellherthatthetimeisnine-fifteensheacceptsyourstatementwithoutanydoubt.
“Toimpressonhermindthatyoudocatchthetrain,youinventaveryingeniousscheme.Infact,younowhavetoplananentirelynewschemetodivertsuspicionfromyourself.
“YougobacktoFurrowbank,lettingyourselfinquietlywithyourkeyandyouhelpyourselftoascarfofyoursister’s,youtakeoneofherlipsticks,andyoualsoproceedtomakeupyourfaceinahighlytheatricalmanner.
“YoureturntotheStagatasuitabletime,impressyourpersonalityontheoldladywhositsintheResidentsOnlyroomandwhosepeculiaritiesarecommongossipattheStag.ThenyougouptoNo.5.Whenyouhearhercomingtobed,youcomeoutintothepassage,thenwithdrawhurriedlyinsideagain,andproceedtosayloudly,‘You’dbettergetoutofhere,mygirl.’”
Poirotpaused.
“Averyingeniousperformance,”heobserved.
“Isthattrue,David?”criedLynn.“Isittrue?”
Davidwasgrinningbroadly.
“Ithinkagooddealofmyselfasafemaleimpersonator.Lord,youshouldhaveseenthatoldgorgon’sface!”
“Buthowcouldyoubehereatteno’clockandyettelephonetomefromLondonateleven?”demandedLynnperplexedly.
DavidHunterbowedtoPoirot.
“AllexplanationsbyHerculePoirot,”heremarked.“Themanwhoknowseverything.HowdidIdoit?”
“Verysimply,”saidPoirot.“Yourangupyoursisterattheflatfromthepubliccallboxandgavehercertainpreciseinstructions.Ateleven-fourexactlysheputthroughatollcalltoWarmsleyVale34.WhenMissMarchmontcametothephonetheoperatorverifiedthenumber,thensayingnodoubt‘AcallfromLondon,’or‘GoaheadLondon,’somethingofthatkind?”
Lynnnodded.
“RosaleenCloadethenreplacedthereceiver.You,”PoirotturnedtoDavid,“carefullynotingthetime,dialled34,gotit,pressedButtonA,said‘Londonwantsyou’inaslightlydisguisedvoiceandthenspoke.Thelapseofaminuteortwowouldbenothingstrangeinatelephonecallthesedays,andwouldonlystrikeMissMarchmontasareconnection.”
Lynnsaidquietly:
“Sothat’swhyyourangmeup,David?”
Somethinginhertone,quietasitwas,madeDavidlookathersharply.
HeturnedtoPoirotandmadeagestureofsurrender.
“Nodoubtaboutit.Youdoknoweverything!TotellthetruthIwasscaredstiff.Ihadtothinkupsomething.AfterI’drungLynn,IwalkedfivemilestoDaslebyandwentuptoLondonbytheearlymilktrain.SlippedintotheflatintimetorumplethebedandhavebreakfastwithRosaleen.Itneverenteredmyheadthatthepolicewouldthinkshe’ddoneit.
“AndofcourseIhadn’ttheremotestideawhohadkilledhim!Isimplycouldn’timaginewhocouldhavewantedtokillhim.AbsolutelynobodyhadamotiveasfarasIcouldsee,exceptformyselfandRosaleen.”
“That,”saidPoirot,“hasbeenthegreatdifficulty.Motive.YouandyoursisterhadamotiveforkillingArden.EverymemberoftheCloadefamilyhadamotiveforkillingRosaleen.”
Davidsaidsharply:
“Shewaskilled,then?Itwasn’tsuicide?”
“No.Itwasacarefullypremeditatedwell-thought-outcrime.Morphiawassubstitutedforbromideinoneofhersleeping-powders—onetowardsthebottomofthebox.”
“Inthepowders.”Davidfrowned.“Youdon’tmean—youcan’tmeanLionelCloade?”
“Oh,no,”saidPoirot.“Yousee,practicallyanyoftheCloadescouldhavesubstitutedthemorphia.AuntKathiecouldhavetamperedwiththepowdersbeforetheyleftthesurgery.RowleyherecameuptoFurrowbankwithbutterandeggsforRosaleen.Mrs.Marchmontcamethere.SodidMrs.JeremyCloade.EvenLynnMarchmontcame.Andoneandalltheyhadamotive.”
“Lynndidn’thaveamotive,”criedDavid.
“Weallhadmotives,”saidLynn.“That’swhatyoumean?”
“Yes,”saidPoirot.“Thatiswhathasmadethecasedifficult.DavidHunterandRosaleenCloadehadamotiveforkillingArden—buttheydidnotkillhim.AllofyouCloadeshadamotiveforkillingRosaleenCloadeandyetnoneofyoukilledher.Thiscaseis,alwayshasbeen,thewrongwayround.RosaleenCloadewaskilledbythepersonwhohadmosttolosebyherdeath.”Heturnedhisheadslightly.“Youkilledher,Mr.Hunter….”
“I?”Davidcried.“WhyonearthshouldIkillmyownsister?”
“Youkilledherbecauseshewasn’tyoursister.RosaleenCloadediedbyenemyactioninLondonnearlytwoyearsago.ThewomanyoukilledwasayoungIrishhousemaid,EileenCorrigan,whosephotographIreceivedfromIrelandtoday.”
Hedrewitfromhispocketashespoke.WithlightningswiftnessDavidsnatcheditfromhim,leapttothedoor,jumpedthroughit,andbangingitbehindhim,wasgone.WitharoarofangerRowleychargedheadlongafterhim.
PoirotandLynnwereleftalone.
Lynncriedout,“It’snottrue.Itcan’tbetrue.”
“Oh,yes,itistrue.YousawhalfthetruthoncewhenyoufanciedDavidHunterwasnotherbrother.Putittheotherwayanditallfallsintoshape.ThisRosaleenwasaCatholic(Underhay’swifewasnotaCatholic),troubledbyconscience,wildlydevotedtoDavid.ImaginehisfeelingsonthatnightoftheBlitz,hissisterdead,GordonCloadedying—allthatnewlifeofeaseandmoneysnatchedawayfromhim,andthenheseesthisgirl,verymuchthesameage,theonlysurvivorexceptforhimself,blastedandunconscious.Alreadynodoubthehasmadelovetoherandhehasnodoubthecanmakeherdowhathewants.
“Hehadawaywithwoman,”Poirotaddeddryly,withoutlookingatLynnwhoflushed.
“Heisanopportunist,hesnatcheshischanceoffortune.Heidentifiesherashissister.Shereturnstoconsciousnesstofindhimatherbedside.Hepersuadesandcajolesherintoacceptingtherole.
“Butimaginetheirconsternationwhenthefirstblackmailingletterarrives.AllalongIhavesaidtomyself,‘IsHunterreallythetypeofmantolethimselfbeblackmailedsoeasily?’Itseemed,too,thathewasactuallyuncertainwhetherthemanblackmailinghimwasUnderhayornot.Buthowcouldhebeuncertain?RosaleenCloadecouldtellhimatonceifthemanwereherhusbandornot.WhyhurryheruptoLondonbeforeshehasachancetocatchaglimpseoftheman?Because—therecouldonlybeonereason—becausehecouldnotriskthemangettingaglimpseofher.IfthemanwasUnderhay,hemustnotdiscoverthatRosaleenCloadewasnotRosaleenCloadeatall.No,therewasonlyonethingtobedone.Payupenoughtokeeptheblackmailerquiet,andthen—doaflit—goofftoAmerica.
“Andthen,unexpectedly,theblackmailingstrangerismurdered—andMajorPorteridentifieshimasUnderhay.NeverinhislifehasDavidHunterbeeninatighterplace!Worsestill,thegirlherselfisbeginningtocrack.Herconscienceisbecomingincreasinglyactive.Sheisshowingsignsofmentalbreakdown.Soonerorlatershewillconfess,give
“Thatwashistrumpcard:lackofmotive.AsItoldyou—thiscasewasalwaysthewrongwayround.”
ThedooropenedandSuperintendentSpencecamein.
Poirotsaidsharply,“Ehbien?”
Spencesaid,“It’sallright.We’vegothim.”
Lynnsaidinalowvoice:
“Didhe—sayanything?”
“Saidhe’dhadagoodrunforhismoney—”
“Funny,”addedtheSuperintendent,“howtheyalwaystalkatthewrongmoment…Wecautionedhim,ofcourse.Buthesaid,‘Cutitout,man.I’magambler—butIknowwhenI’velostthelastthrow.’”
Poirotmurmured:
“‘ThereisatideintheaffairsofmenWhich,takenatitsflood,leadsontofortune….’
“Yes,thetidesweepsin—butitalsoebbs—andmaycarryyououttosea.”
Seventeen
ItwasaSundaymorningwhenRowleyCloade,answeringaknockatthefarmdoor,foundLynnwaitingoutside.
Hesteppedbackapace.
“Lynn!”
“CanIcomein,Rowley?”
Hestoodbackalittle.Shepassedhimandwentintothekitchen.Shehadbeenatchurchandwaswearingahat.Slowly,withanalmostritualair,sheraisedherhands,tookoffthehatandlaiditdownonthewindowsill.
“I’vecomehome,Rowley.”
“Whatonearthdoyoumean?”
“Justthat.I’vecomehome.Thisishome—here,withyou.I’vebeenafoolnottoknowitbefore—nottoknowjourney’sendwhenIsawit.Don’tyouunderstand,Rowley,I’vecomehome!”
“Youdon’tknowwhatyou’resaying,Lynn.I—Itriedtokillyou.”
“Iknow.”Lynngaveagrimaceandputherfingersgingerlytoherthroat.“Actually,itwasjustwhenIthoughtyouhadkilledme,thatIbegantorealizewhatareallythunderingfoolI’dbeenmakingofmyself!”
“Idon’tunderstand,”saidRowley.
“Oh,don’tbestupid.Ialwayswantedtomarryyou,didn’tI?AndthenIgotoutoftouchwithyou—youseemedtomesotame—someek—Ifeltlifewouldbesosafewithyou—sodull.IfellforDavidbecausehewasdangerousandattractive—and,tobehonest,becauseheknowswomenmuchtoowell.Butnoneofthatwasreal.WhenyoucaughtholdofmebythethroatandsaidifIwasn’tforyou,nooneshouldhaveme—well—IknewthenthatIwasyourwoman!UnfortunatelyitseemedthatIwasgoingtoknowit—justtoolate…LuckilyHerculePoirotwalkedinandsavedthesituation.AndIamyourwoman,Rowley!”
Rowleyshookhishead.
“It’simpossible,Lynn.I’vekilledtwomen—murderedthem—”
“Rubbish,”criedLynn.“Don’tbepigheadedandmelodramatic.Ifyouhavearowwithahulkingbigmanandhithimandhefallsdownandhitshisheadonafender—thatisn’tmurder.It’snotevenlegallymurder.”
“It’smanslaughter.Yougotoprisonforit.”
“Possibly.Ifso,Ishallbeonthestepwhenyoucomeout.”
“Andthere’sPorter.I’mmorallyresponsibleforhisdeath.”
“No,you’renot.Hewasafullyadultresponsibleman—hecouldhaveturneddownyourproposition.Onecan’tblameanyoneelseforthethingsonedecidestodowithone’seyesopen.Yousuggesteddishonestytohim,heaccepteditandthenrepentedandtookaquickwayout.Hewasjustaweakcharacter.”
Rowleyshookhisheadobstinately.
“It’snogood,oldgirl.Youcan’tmarryagaolbird.”
“Idon’tthinkyou’regoingtogaol.Apolicemanwouldhavebeenroundforyoubeforenowifso.”
Rowleystared.
“Butdamnitall,manslaughter—bribingPorter—”
“Whatmakesyouthinkthepoliceknowanythingaboutallthatoreverwill?”
“ThatfellowPoirotknows.”
“Heisn’tthepolice.I’lltellyouwhatthepolicethink.TheythinkDavidHunterkilledArdenaswellasRosaleen,nowtheyknowhewasinWarmsleyValethatevening.Theywon’tchargehimwithitbecauseitisn’tnecessary—andbesides,Ibelieveyoucan’tbearrestedtwiceonthesamecharge.Butaslongastheythinkhedidit,theywon’tlookforanyoneelse.”
“ButthatchapPoirot—”
“HetoldtheSuperintendentitwasanaccident,andIgathertheSuperintendentjustlaughedathim.IfyouaskmeIthinkPoirotwillsaynothingtoanyone.He’sratheradear—”
“No,Lynn.Ican’tletyouriskit.ApartfromanythingelseI—well,Imean,canItrustmyself?WhatImeanis,itwouldn’tbesafeforyou.”
“Perhapsnot…Butyousee,Rowley,Idoloveyou—andyou’vehadsuchahellofatime—andI’venever,really,caredverymuchforbeingsafe—”
TheAgathaChristieCollection
THEHERCULEPOIROTMYSTERIES
MatchyourwitswiththefamousBelgiandetective.
TheMysteriousAffairatStylesTheMurderontheLinksPoirotInvestigatesTheMurderofRogerAckroydTheBigFourTheMysteryoftheBlueTrainPerilatEndHouseLordEdgwareDiesMurderontheOrientExpressThreeActTragedyDeathintheCloudsTheA.B.C.MurdersMurderinMesopotamiaCardsontheTableMurderintheMewsDumbWitnessDeathontheNileAppointmentwithDeathHerculePoirot’sChristmasSadCypressOne,Two,BuckleMyShoeEvilUndertheSunFiveLittlePigsTheHollowTheLaborsofHerculesTakenattheFloodTheUnderdogandOtherStoriesMrs.McGinty’sDeadAftertheFuneralHickoryDickoryDockDeadMan’sFollyCatAmongthePigeonsTheClocksThirdGirlHallowe’enPartyElephantsCanRememberCurtain:Poirot’sLastCase
Exploremoreatwww.AgathaChristie.com
TheAgathaChristieCollection
THEMISSMARPLEMYSTERIES
JointhelegendaryspinstersleuthfromSt.MaryMeadinsolvingmurdersfarandwide.
TheMurderattheVicaragTheBodyintheLibraryTheMovingFingerAMurderIsAnnouncedTheyDoItwithMirrorsAPocketFullofRye4:50FromPaddingtonTheMirrorCrack’dfromSidetoSideACaribbeanMysteryAtBertram’sHotelNemesisSleepingMurderMissMarple:TheCompleteShortStories
THETOMMYANDTUPPENCEMYSTERIES
Jumponboardwiththeentertainingcrime-solvingcouplefromYoungAdventurersLtd.
TheSecretAdversaryPartnersinCrimeNorM?BythePrickingofMyThumbsPosternofFate
Exploremoreatwww.AgathaChristie.com
TheAgathaChristieCollection
Don’tmissasingleoneofAgathaChristie’sstand-alonenovelsandshort-storycollections.
TheManintheBrownSuitTheSecretofChimneysTheSevenDialsMysteryTheMysteriousMr.QuinTheSittafordMysteryParkerPyneInvestigatesWhyDidn’tTheyAskEvans?MurderIsEasyTheRegattaMysteryandOtherStoriesAndThenThereWereNoneTowardsZeroDeathComesastheEndSparklingCyanideTheWitnessfortheProsecutionandOtherStoriesCrookedHouseThreeBlindMiceandOtherStoriesTheyCametoBaghdadDestinationUnknownOrdealbyInnocenceDoubleSinandOtherStoriesThePaleHorseStaroverBethlehem:PoemsandHolidayStoriesEndlessNightPassengertoFrankfurtTheGoldenBallandOtherStoriesTheMousetrapandOtherPlaysTheHarlequinTeaSet
Exploremoreatwww.AgathaChristie.com
AbouttheAuthor
AgathaChristieisthemostwidelypublishedauthorofalltimeandinanylanguage,outsoldonlybytheBibleandShakespeare.HerbookshavesoldmorethanabillioncopiesinEnglishandanotherbillioninahundredforeignlanguages.Sheistheauthorofeightycrimenovelsandshort-storycollections,nineteenplays,twomemoirs,andsixnovelswrittenunderthenameMaryWestmacott.
ShefirsttriedherhandatdetectivefictionwhileworkinginahospitaldispensaryduringWorldWarI,creatingthenowlegendaryHerculePoirotwithherdebutnovelTheMysteriousAffairatStyles.WithTheMurderintheVicarage,publishedin1930,sheintroducedanotherbelovedsleuth,MissJaneMarple.Additionalseriescharactersincludethehusband-and-wifecrime-fightingteamofTommyandTuppenceBeresford,privateinvestigatorParkerPyne,andScotlandYarddetectivesSuperintendentBattleandInspectorJapp.
ManyofChristie’snovelsandshortstorieswereadaptedintoplays,films,andtelevisionseries.TheMousetrap,hermostfamousplayofall,openedin1952andisthelongest-runningplayinhistory.Amongherbest-knownfilmadaptationsareMurderontheOrientExpress(1974)andDeathontheNile(1978),withAlbertFinneyandPeterUstinovplayingHerculePoirot,respectively.OnthesmallscreenPoirothasbeenmostmemorablyportrayedbyDavidSuchet,andMissMarplebyJoanHicksonandsubsequentlyGeraldineMcEwanandJuliaMcKenzie.
ChristiewasfirstmarriedtoArchibaldChristieandthentoarchaeologistSirMaxMallowan,whomsheaccompaniedonexpeditionstocountriesthatwouldalsoserveasthesettingsformanyofhernovels.In1971sheachievedoneofBritain’shighesthonorswhenshewasmadeaDameoftheBritishEmpire.Shediedin1976attheageofeighty-five.Heronehundredandtwentiethanniversarywascelebratedaroundtheworldin2010.
www.AgathaChristie.com
Visitwww.AuthorTracker.comforexclusiveinformationonyourfavoriteHarperCollinsauthors.
THEAGATHACHRISTIECOLLECTION
TheManintheBrownSuit
TheSecretofChimneys
TheSevenDialsMystery
TheMysteriousMr.Quin
TheSittafordMystery
ParkerPyneInvestigates
WhyDidn’tTheyAskEvans?
MurderIsEasy
TheRegattaMysteryandOtherStories
AndThenThereWereNone
TowardsZero
DeathComesastheEnd
SparklingCyanide
TheWitnessfortheProsecutionandOtherStories
CrookedHouse
ThreeBlindMiceandOtherStories
TheyCametoBaghdad
DestinationUnknown
OrdealbyInnocence
DoubleSinandOtherStories
ThePaleHorse
StaroverBethlehem:PoemsandHolidayStories
EndlessNight
PassengertoFrankfurt
TheGoldenBallandOtherStories
TheMousetrapandOtherPlays
TheHarlequinTeaSet
TheHerculePoirotMysteries
TheMysteriousAffairatStyles
TheMurderontheLinks
PoirotInvestigates
TheMurderofRogerAckroyd
TheBigFour
TheMysteryoftheBlueTrain
PerilatEndHouse
LordEdgwareDies
MurderontheOrientExpress
ThreeActTragedy
DeathintheClouds
TheA.B.C.Murders
MurderinMesopotamia
CardsontheTable
MurderintheMews
DumbWitness
DeathontheNile
AppointmentwithDeath
HerculePoirot’sChristmas
SadCypress
One,Two,BuckleMyShoe
EvilUndertheSun
FiveLittlePigs
TheHollow
TheLaborsofHercules
TakenattheFlood
TheUnderdogandOtherStories
Mrs.McGinty’sDead
AftertheFuneral
HickoryDickoryDock
DeadMan’sFolly
CatAmongthePigeons
TheClocks
ThirdGirl
Hallowe’enParty
ElephantsCanRemember
Curtain:Poirot’sLastCase
TheMissMarpleMysteries
TheMurderattheVicarage
TheBodyintheLibrary
TheMovingFinger
AMurderIsAnnounced
TheyDoItwithMirrors
APocketFullofRye
4:50fromPaddington
TheMirrorCrack’dfromSidetoSide
ACaribbeanMystery
AtBertram’sHotel
Nemesis
SleepingMurder
MissMarple:TheCompleteShortStories
TheTommyandTuppenceMysteries
TheSecretAdversary
PartnersinCrime
NorM?
BythePrickingofMyThumbs
PosternofFate
Memoirs
AnAutobiography
Come,TellMeHowYouLive
Credits
CoverdesignbyFaithLaurel
Copyright
Thisbookisaworkoffiction.Thecharacters,incidents,anddialoguearedrawnfromtheauthor’simaginationandarenottobeconstruedasreal.Anyresemblancetoactualeventsorpersons,livingordead,isentirelycoincidental.
ThistitlewaspreviouslypublishedasThereIsaTide…
AGATHACHRISTIE?POIROT?TAKENATTHEFLOOD?.Copyright?1948AgathaChristieLimited(aChorioncompany).Allrightsreserved.
TAKENATTHEFLOOD?1948.PublishedbypermissionofG.P.Putnam’sSons,amemberofPenguinGroup(USA)Inc.AllrightsreservedunderInternationalandPan-AmericanCopyrightConventions.Bypaymentoftherequiredfees,youhavebeen
© Copyright Notice
The copyright of the article belongs to the author. Please do not reprint without permission.
THE END
No comments yet