The A.B.C. Murders

AgathaChristie
TheA.B.C.Murders
AHerculePoirotMystery
ToJamesWattsOneofmymostsympatheticreaders
Contents
Cover
TitlePage
Dedication
Foreword
1.TheLetter
2.NotfromCaptainHastings’PersonalNarrative
3.Andover
4.Mrs.Ascher
5.MaryDrower
6.TheSceneoftheCrime
7.Mr.PartridgeandMr.Riddell
8.TheSecondLetter
9.TheBexhill-on-SeaMurder
10.TheBarnards
11.MeganBarnard
12.DonaldFraser
13.AConference
14.TheThirdLetter
15.SirCarmichaelClarke
16.NotfromCaptainHastings’PersonalNarrative
17.MarkingTime
18.PoirotMakesaSpeech
19.ByWayofSweden
20.LadyClarke
21.DescriptionofaMurderer
22.NotfromCaptainHastings’PersonalNarrative
23.September11th.Doncaster
24.NotfromCaptainHastings’PersonalNarrative
25.NotfromCaptainHastings’PersonalNarrative
26.NotfromCaptainHastings’PersonalNarrative
27.TheDoncasterMurder
28.NotfromCaptainHastings’PersonalNarrative
29.AtScotlandYard
30.NotfromCaptainHastings’PersonalNarrative
31.HerculePoirotAsksQuestions
32.AndCatchaFox
33.AlexanderBonaparteCust
34.PoirotExplains
35.Finale
AbouttheAuthor
OtherBooksbyAgathaChristie
Copyright
AboutthePublisher
Foreword
byCaptainArthurHastings,O.B.E.
InthisnarrativeofmineIhavedepartedfrommyusualpracticeofrelatingonlythoseincidentsandscenesatwhichImyselfwaspresent.Certainchapters,therefore,arewritteninthethirdperson.
IwishtoassuremyreadersthatIcanvouchfortheoccurrencesrelatedinthesechapters.IfIhavetakenacertainpoeticlicenceindescribingthethoughtsandfeelingsofvariouspersons,itisbecauseIbelieveIhavesetthemdownwithareasonableamountofaccuracy.Imayaddthattheyhavebeen“vetted”bymyfriendHerculePoirothimself
Inconclusion,IwillsaythatifIhavedescribedattoogreatlengthsomeofthesecondarypersonalrelationshipswhicharoseasaconsequenceofthisstrangeseriesofcrimes,itisbecausethehumanandpersonalelementscanneverbeignored.HerculePoirotoncetaughtmeinaverydramaticmannerthatromancecanbeaby-productofcrime.
AstothesolvingoftheA.B.C.mystery,IcanonlysaythatinmyopinionPoirotshowedrealgeniusinthewayhetackledaproblementirelyunlikeanywhichhadpreviouslycomehisway.
One
THELETTER
ItwasinJuneof1935thatIcamehomefrommyranchinSouthAmericaforastayofaboutsixmonths.Ithadbeenadifficulttimeforusoutthere.Likeeveryoneelse,wehadsufferedfromworlddepression.IhadvariousaffairstoseetoinEnglandthatIfeltcouldonlybesuccessfulifapersonaltouchwasintroduced.Mywiferemainedtomanagetheranch.
IneedhardlysaythatoneofmyfirstactionsonreachingEnglandwastolookupmyoldfriend,HerculePoirot.
IfoundhiminstalledinoneofthenewesttypeofserviceflatsinLondon.Iaccusedhim(andheadmittedthefact)ofhavingchosenthisparticularbuildingentirelyonaccountofitsstrictlygeometricalappearanceandproportions.
“Butyes,myfriend,itisofamostpleasingsymmetry,doyounotfinditso?”
IsaidthatIthoughttherecouldbetoomuchsquarenessand,alludingtoanoldjoke,Iaskedifinthissuper-modernhostelrytheymanagedtoinducehenstolaysquareeggs.
Poirotlaughedheartily.
“Ah,yourememberthat?Alas!no—sciencehasnotyetinducedthehenstoconformtomoderntastes,theystilllayeggsofdifferentsizesandcolours!”
Iexaminedmyoldfriendwithanaffectionateeye.Hewaslookingwonderfullywell—hardlyadayolderthanwhenIhadlastseenhim.
“You’relookinginfinefettle,Poirot,”Isaid.“You’vehardlyagedatall.Infact,ifitwerepossible,IshouldsaythatyouhadfewergreyhairsthanwhenIsawyoulast.”
Poirotbeamedonme.
“Andwhyisthatnotpossible?Itisquitetrue.”
“Doyoumeanyourhairisturningfromgreytoblackinsteadoffromblacktogrey?”
“Precisely.”
“Butsurelythat’sascientificimpossibility!”
“Notatall.”
“Butthat’sveryextraordinary.Itseemsagainstnature.”
“Asusual,Hastings,youhavethebeautifulandunsuspiciousmind.Yearsdonotchangethatinyou!Youperceiveafactandmentionthesolutionofitinthesamebreathwithoutnoticingthatyouaredoingso!”
Istaredathim,puzzled.
Withoutawordhewalkedintohisbedroomandreturnedwithabottleinhishandwhichhehandedtome.
Itookit,forthemomentuncomprehending.
Itborethewords:
Revivit.—Tobringbackthenaturaltoneofthehair.Revivitisnotadye.Infiveshades,Ash,Chestnut,Titian,Brown,Black.
“Poirot,”Icried.“Youhavedyedyourhair!”
“Ah,thecomprehensioncomestoyou!”
“Sothat’swhyyourhairlookssomuchblackerthanitdidlasttimeIwasback.”
“Exactly.”
“Dearme,”Isaid,recoveringfromtheshock.“IsupposenexttimeIcomehomeIshallfindyouwearingfalsemoustaches—orareyoudoingsonow?”
Poirotwinced.Hismoustacheshadalwaysbeenhissensitivepoint.Hewasinordinatelyproudofthem.Mywordstouchedhimontheraw.
“No,no,indeed,monami.Thatday,IpraythegoodGod,isstillfaroff.Thefalsemoustache!Quelhorreur!”
Hetuggedatthemvigorouslytoassuremeoftheirgenuinecharacter.
“Well,theyareveryluxuriantstill,”Isaid.
“N’estcepas?Never,inthewholeofLondon,haveIseenapairofmoustachestoequalmine.”
Agoodjobtoo,Ithoughtprivately.ButIwouldnotfortheworldhavehurtPoirot’sfeelingsbysayingso.
InsteadIaskedifhestillpractisedhisprofessiononoccasion.
“Iknow,”Isaid,“thatyouactuallyretiredyearsago—”
“C’estvrai.Togrowthevegetablemarrows!Andimmediatelyamurderoccurs—andIsendthevegetablemarrowstopromenadethemselvestothedevil.Andsincethen—Iknowverywellwhatyouwillsay—Iamliketheprimadonnawhomakespositivelythefarewellperformance!Thatfarewellperformance,itrepeatsitselfanindefinitenumberoftimes!”
Ilaughed.
“Intruth,ithasbeenverylikethat.EachtimeIsay:thisistheend.Butno,somethingelsearises!AndIwilladmitit,myfriend,theretirementIcareforitnotatall.Ifthelittlegreycellsarenotexercised,theygrowtherust.”
“Isee,”Isaid.“Youexercisetheminmoderation.”
“Precisely.Ipickandchoose.ForHerculePoirotnowadaysonlythecreamofcrime.”
“Hastherebeenmuchcreamabout?”
“Pasmal.NotlongagoIhadanarrowescape.”
“Offailure?”
“No,no.”Poirotlookedshocked.“ButI—I,HerculePoirot,wasnearlyexterminated.”
Iwhistled.
“Anenterprisingmurderer!”
“Notsomuchenterprisingascareless,”saidPoirot.“Preciselythat—careless.Butletusnottalkofit.Youknow,Hastings,inmanywaysIregardyouasmymascot.”
“Indeed?”Isaid.“Inwhatways?”
Poirotdidnotanswermyquestiondirectly.Hewenton:
“AssoonasIheardyouwerecomingoverIsaidtomyself:somethingwillarise.Asinformerdayswewillhunttogether,wetwo.Butifsoitmustbenocommonaffair.Itmustbesomething”—hewavedhishandsexcitedly—“somethingrecherche”—delicate—fine…”Hegavethelastuntranslatableworditsfullflavour.
“Uponmyword,Poirot,”Isaid.“AnyonewouldthinkyouwereorderingadinnerattheRitz.”
“Whereasonecannotcommandacrimetoorder?Verytrue.”Hesighed.“ButIbelieveinluck—indestiny,ifyouwill.Itisyourdestinytostandbesidemeandpreventmefromcommittingtheunforgivableerror.”
“Whatdoyoucalltheunforgivableerror?”
“Overlookingtheobvious.”
Iturnedthisoverinmymindwithoutquiteseeingthepoint.
“Well,”Isaidpresently,smiling,“hasthissupercrimeturnedupyet?”
“Pasencore.Atleast—thatis—”
Hepaused.Afrownofperplexitycreasedhisforehead.HishandsautomaticallystraightenedanobjectortwothatIhadinadvertentlypushedawry.
“Iamnotsure,”hesaidslowly.
TherewassomethingsooddabouthistonethatIlookedathiminsurprise.
Thefrownstilllingered.
Suddenlywithabriefdecisivenodoftheheadhecrossedtheroomtoadesknearthewindow.Itscontents,Ineedhardlysay,wereallneatlydocketedandpigeonholedsothathewasableatoncetolayhishanduponthepaperhewanted.
Hecameslowlyacrosstome,anopenletterinhishand.Hereaditthroughhimself,thenpassedittome.
“Tellme,monami,”hesaid.“Whatdoyoumakeofthis?”
Itookitfromhimwithsomeinterest.
Itwaswrittenonthickishwhitenotepaperinprintedcharacters:
Mr.HerculePoirot,—Youfancyyourself,don’tyou,atsolvingmysteriesthataretoodifficultforourpoorthick-headedBritishpolice?Letussee,Mr.CleverPoirot,justhowcleveryoucanbe.Perhapsyou’llfindthisnuttoohardtocrack.LookoutforAndover,onthe21stofthemonth.Yours,etc.,ABC.
Iglancedattheenvelope.Thatalsowasprinted.
“PostmarkedWC1,”saidPoirotasIturnedmyattentiontothepostmark.“Well,whatisyouropinion?”
IshruggedmyshouldersasIhandeditbacktohim.
“Somemadmanorother,Isuppose.”
“Thatisallyouhavetosay?”
“Well—doesn’titsoundlikeamadmantoyou?”
“Yes,myfriend,itdoes.”
Histonewasgrave.Ilookedathimcuriously.
“Youtakethisveryseriously,Poirot.”
“Amadman,monami,istobetakenseriously.Amadmanisaverydangerousthing.”
“Yes,ofcourse,thatistrue…Ihadn’tconsideredthatpoint…ButwhatImeantwas,itsoundsmorelikearatheridiotickindofhoax.Perhapssomeconvivialidiotwhohadhadoneovertheeight.”
“Comment?Nine?Ninewhat?”
“Nothing—justanexpression.Imeantafellowwhowastight.No,damnit,afellowwhohadhadaspottoomuchtodrink.”
“Merci,Hastings—theexpression‘tight’Iamacquaintedwithit.Asyousay,theremaybenothingmoretoitthanthat….”
“Butyouthinkthereis?”Iasked,struckbythedissatisfactionofhistone
Poirotshookhisheaddoubtfully,buthedidnotspeak.
“Whathaveyoudoneaboutit?”Iinquired.
“Whatcanonedo?IshowedittoJapp.Hewasofthesameopinionasyou—astupidhoax—thatwastheexpressionheused.TheygetthesethingseverydayatScotlandYard.I,too,havehadmyshare….”
“Butyoutakethisoneseriously?”
Poirotrepliedslowly.
“Thereissomethingaboutthatletter,Hastings,thatIdonotlike….”
Inspiteofmyself,histoneimpressedme.
“Youthink—what?”
Heshookhishead,andpickinguptheletter,putitawayagaininthedesk.
“Ifyoureallytakeitseriously,can’tyoudosomething?”Iasked.
“Asalways,themanofaction!Butwhatistheretodo?Thecountypolicehaveseentheletterbutthey,too,donottakeitseriously.Therearenofingerprintsonit.Therearenolocalcluesastothepossiblewriter.”
“Infactthereisonlyyourowninstinct?”
“Notinstinct,Hastings.Instinctisabadword.Itismyknowledge—myexperience—thattellsmethatsomethingaboutthatletteriswrong—”
Hegesticulatedaswordsfailedhim,thenshookhisheadagain.
“Imaybemakingthemountainoutoftheanthill.Inanycasethereisnothingtobedonebutwait.”
“Well,the21stisFriday.IfawhackinggreatrobberytakesplacenearAndoverthen—”
“Ah,whatacomfortthatwouldbe—!”
“Acomfort?”Istared.Thewordseemedtobeaveryextraordinaryonetouse.
“Arobberymaybeathrillbutitcanhardlybeacomfort!”Iprotested.
Poirotshookhisheadenergetically.
“Youareinerror,myfriend.Youdonotunderstandmymeaning.Arobberywouldbeareliefsinceitwoulddispossessmymindofthefearofsomethingelse.”
“Ofwhat?”
“Murder,”saidHerculePoirot.
Two
NOTFROMCAPTAINHASTINGS’PERSONALNARRATIVE
Mr.AlexanderBonaparteCustrosefromhisseatandpeerednear-sightedlyroundtheshabbybedroom.Hisbackwasstifffromsittinginacrampedpositionandashestretchedhimselftohisfullheightanonlookerwouldhaverealizedthathewas,inreality,quiteatallman.Hisstoopandhisnear-sightedpeeringgaveadelusiveimpression.
Goingtoawell-wornovercoathangingonthebackofthedoor,hetookfromthepocketapacketofcheapcigarettesandsomematches.Helitacigaretteandthenreturnedtothetableatwhichhehadbeensitting.Hepickeduparailwayguideandconsultedit,thenhereturnedtotheconsiderationofatypewrittenlistofnames.Withapen,hemadeatickagainstoneofthefirstnamesonthelist.
ItwasThursday,June20th.
Three
ANDOVER
IhadbeenimpressedatthetimebyPoirot’sforebodingsabouttheanonymousletterhehadreceived,butImustadmitthatthematterhadpassedfrommymindwhenthe21stactuallyarrivedandthefirstreminderofitcamewithavisitpaidtomyfriendbyChiefInspectorJappofScotlandYard.TheCIDinspectorhadbeenknowntousformanyyearsandhegavemeaheartywelcome.
“Well,Inever,”heexclaimed.“Ifitisn’tCaptainHastingsbackfromthewildsofthewhatdoyoucallit!QuitelikeolddaysseeingyouherewithMonsieurPoirot.You’relookingwell,too.Justalittlebitthinontop,eh?Well,that’swhatwe’reallcomingto.I’mthesame.”
Iwincedslightly.IwasundertheimpressionthatowingtothecarefulwayIbrushedmyhairacrossthetopofmyheadthethinnessreferredtobyJappwasquiteunnoticeable.However,JapphadneverbeenremarkablefortactwhereIwasconcerned,soIputagoodfaceuponitandagreedthatwewerenoneofusgettinganyyounger.
“ExceptMonsieurPoirothere,”saidJapp.“Quiteagoodadvertisementforahairtonic,he’dbe.Facefungussproutingfinerthanever.Comingoutintothelimelight,too,inhisoldage.Mixedupinallthecelebratedcasesoftheday.Trainmysteries,airmysteries,highsocietydeaths—oh,he’shere,thereandeverywhere.Neverbeensocelebratedassinceheretired.”
“IhavealreadytoldHastingsthatIamliketheprimadonnawhomakesalwaysonemoreappearance,”saidPoirot,smiling.
“Ishouldn’twonderifyouendedbydetectingyourowndeath,”saidJapp,laughingheartily.“That’sanidea,thatis.Oughttobeputinabook.”
“ItwillbeHastingswhowillhavetodothat,”saidPoirot,twinklingatme
“Haha!Thatwouldbeajoke,thatwould,”laughedJapp.
Ifailedtoseewhytheideawassoextremelyamusing,andinanycaseIthoughtthejokewasinpoortaste.Poirot,pooroldchap,isgettingon.Jokesabouthisapproachingdemisecanhardlybeagreeabletohim.
Perhapsmymannershowedmyfeelings,forJappchangedthesubject.
“HaveyouheardaboutMonsieurPoirot’sanonymousletter?”
“IshowedittoHastingstheotherday,”saidmyfriend.
“Ofcourse,”Iexclaimed.“Ithadquiteslippedmymemory.Letmesee,whatwasthedatementioned?”
“The21st,”saidJapp.“That’swhatIdroppedinabout.Yesterdaywasthe21standjustoutofcuriosityIrangupAndoverlastnight.Itwasahoaxallright.Nothingdoing.Onebrokenshopwindow—kidthrowingstones—andacoupleofdrunkanddisorderlies.SojustforonceourBelgianfriendwasbarkingupthewrongtree.”
“Iamrelieved,Imustconfess,”acknowledgedPoirot.
“You’dquitegotthewindupaboutit,hadn’tyou?”saidJappaffectionately.“Blessyou,wegetdozensofletterslikethatcomingineveryday!Peoplewithnothingbettertodoandabitweakinthetopstoreysitdownandwrite’em.Theydon’tmeananyharm!Justakindofexcitement.”
“Ihaveindeedbeenfoolishtotakethemattersoseriously,”saidPoirot.“ItisthenestofthehorsethatIputmynoseintothere.”
“You’remixingupmaresandwasps,”saidJapp.
“Pardon?”
“Justacoupleofproverbs.Well,Imustbeoff.Gotalittlebusinessinthenextstreettoseeto—receivingstolenjewellery.IthoughtI’djustdropinonmywayandputyourmindatrest.Pitytoletthosegreycellsfunctionunnecessarily.”
Withwhichwordsandaheartylaugh,Jappdeparted.
“Hedoesnotchangemuch,thegoodJapp,eh?”askedPoirot.
“Helooksmucholder,”Isaid.“Gettingasgreyasabadger,”Iaddedvindictively.
Poirotcoughedandsaid:
“Youknow,Hastings,thereisalittledevice—myhairdresserisamanofgreatingenuity—oneattachesittothescalpandbrushesone’sownhairoverit—itisnotawig,youcomprehend—but—”
“Poirot,”Iroared.“OnceandforallIwillhavenothingtodowiththebeastlyinventionsofyourconfoundedhairdresser.What’sthematterwiththetopofmyhead?”
“Nothing—nothingatall.”
“It’snotasthoughIweregoingbald.”
“Ofcoursenot!Ofcoursenot!”
“Thehotsummersouttherenaturallycausethehairtofalloutabit.Ishalltakebackareallygoodhairtonic.”
“Précisément.”
“And,anyway,whatbusinessisitofJapp’s?Healwayswasanoffensivekindofdevil.Andnosenseofhumour.Thekindofmanwholaughswhenachairispulledawayjustasamanisabouttositdown.”
“Agreatmanypeoplewouldlaughatthat.”
“It’sutterlysenseless.”
“Fromthepointofviewofthemanabouttosit,certainlyitis.”
“Well,”Isaid,slightlyrecoveringmytemper.(IadmitthatIamtouchyaboutthethinnessofmyhair.)“I’msorrythatanonymousletterbusinesscametonothing.”
“Ihaveindeedbeeninthewrongoverthat.Aboutthatletter,therewas,Ithought,theodourofthefish.Insteadamerestupidity.Alas,Igrowoldandsuspiciousliketheblindwatchdogwhogrowlswhenthereisnothingthere.”
“IfI’mgoingtocooperatewithyou,wemustlookaboutforsomeother‘creamy’crime,”Isaidwithalaugh.
“Yourememberyourremarkoftheotherday?Ifyoucouldorderacrimeasoneordersadinner,whatwouldyouchoose?”
Ifellinwithhishumour.
“Letmeseenow.Let’sreviewthemenu.Robbery?Forgery?No,Ithinknot.Rathertoovegetarian.Itmustbemurder—red-bloodedmurder—withtrimmings,ofcourse.”
“Naturally.Thehorsd’oeuvres.”
“Whoshallthevictimbe—manorwoman?Man,Ithink.Somebigwig.Americanmillionaire.PrimeMinister.Newspaperproprietor.Sceneofthecrime—well,what’swrongwiththegoodoldlibrary?Nothinglikeitforatmosphere.Asfortheweapon—well,itmightbeacuriouslytwisteddagger—orsomebluntinstrument—acarvedstoneidol—”
Poirotsighed.
“Or,ofcourse,”Isaid,“there’spoison—butthat’salwayssotechnical.Orarevolvershotechoinginthenight.Thentheremustbeabeautifulgirlortwo—”
“Withauburnhair,”murmuredmyfriend.
“Yoursameoldjoke.Oneofthebeautifulgirls,ofcourse,mustbeunjustlysuspected—andthere’ssomemisunderstandingbetweenherandtheyoungman.Andthen,ofcourse,theremustbesomeothersuspects—anolderwoman—dark,dangeroustype—andsomefriendorrivalofthedeadman’s—andaquietsecretary—darkhorse—andaheartymanwithabluffmanner—andacoupleofdischargedservantsorgamekeepersorsomethings—andadamnfoolofadetectiveratherlikeJapp—andwell—that’saboutall.”
“Thatisyourideaofthecream,eh?”
“Igatheryoudon’tagree.”
Poirotlookedatmesadly.
“Youhavemadethereaveryprettyrésuméofnearlyallthedetectivestoriesthathaveeverbeenwritten.”
“Well,”Isaid.“Whatwouldyouorder?”
Poirotclosedhiseyesandleanedbackinhischair.Hisvoicecamepurringlyfrombetweenhislips.
“Averysimplecrime.Acrimewithnocomplications.Acrimeofquietdomesticlife…veryunimpassioned—veryintime.”
“Howcanacrimebeintime?”
“Supposing,”murmuredPoirot,“thatfourpeoplesitdowntoplaybridgeandone,theoddmanout,sitsinachairbythefire.Attheendoftheeveningthemanbythefireisfounddead.Oneofthefour,whileheisdummy,hasgoneoverandkilledhim,andintentontheplayofthehand,theotherthreehavenotnoticed.Ah,therewouldbeacrimeforyou!Whichofthefourwasit?”
“Well,”Isaid.“Ican’tseeanyexcitementinthat!”
Poirotthrewmeaglanceofreproof.
“No,becausetherearenocuriouslytwisteddaggers,noblackmail,noemeraldthatisthestoleneyeofagod,nountraceableEasternpoisons.Youhavethemelodramaticsoul,Hastings.Youwouldlike,notonemurder,butaseriesofmurders.”
“Iadmit,”Isaid,“thatasecondmurderinabookoftencheersthingsup.Ifthemurderhappensinthefirstchapter,andyouhavetofollowupeverybody’salibiuntilthelastpagebutone—well,itdoesgetabittedious.”
ThetelephonerangandPoirotrosetoanswer.
“’Allo,”hesaid.“’Allo.Yes,itisHerculePoirotspeaking.”
HelistenedforaminuteortwoandthenIsawhisfacechange.
Hisownsideoftheconversationwasshortanddisjointed.
“Maisoui….”
“Yes,ofcourse….”
“Butyes,wewillcome….”
“Naturally….”
“Itmaybeasyousay….”
“Yes,Iwillbringit.Atoutàl’heurethen.”
Hereplacedthereceiverandcameacrosstheroomtome.
“ThatwasJappspeaking,Hastings.”
“Yes?”
“HehadjustgotbacktotheYard.TherewasamessagefromAndover….”
“Andover?”Icriedexcitedly.
Poirotsaidslowly:
“AnoldwomanofthenameofAscherwhokeepsalittletobaccoandnewspapershophasbeenfoundmurdered.”
IthinkIfelteversoslightlydamped.Myinterest,quickenedbythesoundofAndover,sufferedafaintcheck.Ihadexpectedsomethingfantastic—outoftheway!Themurderofanoldwomanwhokeptalittletobaccoshopseemed,somehow,sordidanduninteresting.
Poirotcontinuedinthesameslow,gravevoice:
“TheAndoverpolicebelievetheycanputtheirhandonthemanwhodidit—”
Ifeltasecondthrobofdisappointment
“Itseemsthewomanwasonbadtermswithherhusband.Hedrinksandisbywayofbeingratheranastycustomer.He’sthreatenedtotakeherlifemorethanonce.
“Nevertheless,”continuedPoirot,“inviewofwhathashappened,thepolicetherewouldliketohaveanotherlookattheanonymousletterIreceived.IhavesaidthatyouandIwillgodowntoAndoveratonce.”
Myspiritsrevivedalittle.Afterall,sordidasthiscrimeseemedtobe,itwasacrime,anditwasalongtimesinceIhadhadanyassociationwithcrimeandcriminals.
IhardlylistenedtothenextwordsPoirotsaid.Buttheyweretocomebacktomewithsignificancelater.
“Thisisthebeginning,”saidHerculePoirot.
Four
MRS.ASCHER
WewerereceivedatAndoverbyInspectorGlen,atallfair-hairedmanwithapleasantsmile.
ForthesakeofconcisenessIthinkIhadbettergiveabriefrésuméofthebarefactsofthecase.
ThecrimewasdiscoveredbyPoliceConstableDoverat1amonthemorningofthe22nd.Whenonhisroundhetriedthedooroftheshopandfounditunfastened,heenteredandatfirstthoughttheplacewasempty.Directinghistorchoverthecounter,however,hecaughtsightofthehuddled-upbodyoftheoldwoman.Whenthepolicesurgeonarrivedonthespotitwaselicitedthatthewomanhadbeenstruckdownbyaheavyblowonthebackofthehead,probablywhileshewasreachingdownapacketofcigarettesfromtheshelfbehindthecounter.Deathmusthaveoccurredaboutninetosevenhourspreviously.
“Butwe’vebeenabletogetitdownabitnearerthanthat,”explainedtheinspector.“We’vefoundamanwhowentinandboughtsometobaccoat5:30.Andasecondmanwentinandfoundtheshopempty,ashethought,atfiveminutespastsix.Thatputsthetimeatbetween5:30and6:5.SofarIhaven’tbeenabletofindanyonewhosawthismanAscherintheneighbourhood,but,ofcourse,it’searlyasyet.HewasintheThreeCrownsatnineo’clockprettyfargoneindrink.Whenwegetholdofhimhe’llbedetainedonsuspicion.”
“Notaverydesirablecharacter,inspector?”askedPoirot.
“Unpleasantbitofgoods.”
“Hedidn’tlivewithhiswife?”
“No,theyseparatedsomeyearsago.Ascher’saGerman.Hewasawaiteratonetime,buthetooktodrinkandgraduallybecameunemployable.Hiswifewentintoserviceforabit.Herlastplacewasascook-housekeepertoanoldlady,MissRose.Sheallowedherhusbandsomuchoutofherwagestokeephimself,buthewasalwaysgettingdrunkandcomingroundandmakingscenesattheplaceswhereshewasemployed.That’swhyshetookthepostwithMissRoseatTheGrange.It’sthreemilesoutofAndover,deadinthecountry.Hecouldn’tgetathertheresowell.WhenMissRosedied,sheleftMrs.Ascherasmalllegacy,andthewomanstartedthistobaccoandnewsagentbusiness—quiteatinyplace—justcheapcigarettesandafewnewspapers—thatsortofthing.Shejustaboutmanagedtokeepgoing.Ascherusedtocomeroundandabusehernowandagainandsheusedtogivehimabittogetridofhim.Sheallowedhimfifteenshillingsaweekregular.”
“Hadtheyanychildren?”askedPoirot
“No.There’saniece.She’sinservicenearOverton.Verysuperior,steadyyoungwoman.”
“AndyousaythismanAscherusedtothreatenhiswife?”
“That’sright.Hewasaterrorwhenhewasindrink—cursingandswearingthathe’dbashherheadin.Shehadahardtime,didMrs.Ascher.”
“Whatageofwomanwasshe?”
“Closeonsixty—respectableandhard-working.”
Poirotsaidgravely:
“Itisyouropinion,inspector,thatthismanAschercommittedthecrime?”
Theinspectorcoughedcautiously.
“It’sabitearlytosaythat,Mr.Poirot,butI’dliketohearFranzAscher’sownaccountofhowhespentyesterdayevening.Ifhecangiveasatisfactoryaccountofhimself,wellandgood—ifnot—”
Hispausewasapregnantone.
“Nothingwasmissingfromtheshop?”
“Nothing.Moneyinthetillquiteundisturbed.Nosignsofrobbery.”
“YouthinkthatthismanAschercameintotheshopdrunk,startedabusinghiswifeandfinallystruckherdown?”
“Itseemsthemostlikelysolution.ButImustconfess,sir,I’dliketohaveanotherlookatthatveryoddletteryoureceived.IwaswonderingifitwasjustpossiblethatitcamefromthismanAscher.”
Poirothandedovertheletterandtheinspectorreaditwithafrown.
“Itdoesn’treadlikeAscher,”hesaidatlast.“IdoubtifAscherwouldusetheterm‘our’Britishpolice—notunlesshewastryingtobeextracunning—andIdoubtifhe’sgotthewitsforthat.Thentheman’sawreck—alltopieces.Hishand’stooshakytoprintlettersclearlylikethis.It’sgoodqualitynotepaperandink,too.It’soddthatthelettershouldmentionthe21stofthemonth.Ofcourseitmightbecoincidence.”
“Thatispossible—yes.”
“ButIdon’tlikethiskindofcoincidence,Mr.Poirot.It’sabittoopat.”
Hewassilentforaminuteortwo—afrowncreasinghisforehead.
“ABC.WhothedevilcouldABCbe?We’llseeifMaryDrower(that’stheniece)cangiveusanyhelp.It’sanoddbusiness.ButforthisletterI’dhaveputmymoneyonFranzAscherforacertainty.”
“DoyouknowanythingofMrs.Ascher’spast?”
“She’saHampshirewoman.WentintoserviceasagirlupinLondon—that’swhereshemetAscherandmarriedhim.Thingsmusthavebeendifficultforthemduringthewar.Sheactuallylefthimforgoodin1922.TheywereinLondonthen.Shecamebackheretogetawayfromhim,buthegotwindofwhereshewasandfollowedherdownhere,pesteringherformoney—”Aconstablecamein.“Yes,Briggs,whatisit?”
“It’sthemanAscher,sir.We’vebroughthimin.”
“Right.Bringhiminhere.Wherewashe?”
“Hidinginatruckontherailwaysiding.”
“Hewas,washe?Bringhimalong.”
FranzAscherwasindeedamiserableandunprepossessingspecimen.Hewasblubberingandcringingandblusteringalternately.Hisblearyeyesmovedshiftilyfromonefacetoanother.
“Whatdoyouwantwithme?Ihavenotdonenothing.Itisashameandascandaltobringmehere!Youareswine,howdareyou?”Hismannerchangedsuddenly.“No,no,Idonotmeanthat—youwouldnothurtapooroldman—notbehardonhim.EveryoneishardonpooroldFranz.PooroldFranz.”
Mr.Ascherstartedtoweep.
“That’lldo,Ascher,”saidtheinspector.“Pullyourselftogether.I’mnotchargingyouwithanything—yet.Andyou’renotboundtomakeastatementunlessyoulike.Ontheotherhand,ifyou’renotconcernedinthemurderofyourwife—”
Ascherinterruptedhim—hisvoicerisingtoascream.
“Ididnotkillher!Ididnotkillher!Itisalllies!Youaregod-damnedEnglishpigs—allagainstme.Ineverkillher—never.”
“Youthreatenedtooftenenough,Ascher.”
“No,no.Youdonotunderstand.Thatwasjustajoke—agoodjokebetweenmeandAlice.Sheunderstood.”
“Funnykindofjoke!Doyoucaretosaywhereyouwereyesterdayevening,Ascher?”
“Yes,yes—Itellyoueverything.IdidnotgonearAlice.Iamwithfriends—goodfriends.WeareattheSevenStars—andthenweareattheRedDog—”
Hehurriedon,hiswordsstumblingovereachother.
“DickWillows—hewaswithme—andoldCurdie—andGeorge—andPlattandlotsoftheboys.ItellyouIdonotnevergonearAlice.AchGott,itisthetruthIamtellingyou.”
Hisvoicerosetoascream.Theinspectornoddedtohisunderling.
“Takehimaway.Detainedonsuspicion.”
“Idon’tknowwhattothink,”hesaidastheunpleasant,shakingoldmanwiththemalevolent,mouthingjawwasremoved.“Ifitwasn’tfortheletter,I’dsayhedidit.”
“Whataboutthemenhementions?”
“Abadcrowd—notoneofthemwouldstickatperjury.I’venodoubthewaswiththemthegreaterpartoftheevening.Alotdependsonwhetheranyonesawhimneartheshopbetweenhalfpastfiveandsix.”
Poirotshookhisheadthoughtfully.
“Youaresurenothingwastakenfromtheshop?”
Theinspectorshruggedhisshoulders.
“Thatdepends.Apacketortwoofcigarettesmighthavebeentaken—butyou’dhardlycommitmurderforthat.”
“Andtherewasnothing—howshallIputit—introducedintotheshop?Nothingthatwasoddthere—incongruous?”
“Therewasarailwayguide,”saidtheinspector.
“Arailwayguide?”
“Yes.Itwasopenandturnedfacedownwardonthecounter.LookedasthoughsomeonehadbeenlookingupthetrainsfromAndover.Eithertheoldwomanoracustomer.”
“Didshesellthattypeofthing?”
Theinspectorshookhishead.
“Shesoldpennytimetables.Thiswasabigone—kindofthingonlySmith’sorabigstationerwouldkeep.”
AlightcameintoPoirot’seyes.Heleantforward.
Alightcameintotheinspector’seyealso.
“Arailwayguide,yousay.ABradshaw—oranABC?”
“Bythelord,”hesaid.“ItwasanABC.”
Five
MARYDROWER
IthinkthatIcandatemyinterestinthecasefromthatfirstmentionoftheABCrailwayguide.UptillthenIhadnotbeenabletoraisemuchenthusiasm.Thissordidmurderofanoldwomaninaback-streetshopwassoliketheusualtypeofcrimereportedinthenewspapersthatitfailedtostrikeasignificantnote.InmyownmindIhadputdowntheanonymousletterwithitsmentionofthe21stasamerecoincidence.Mrs.Ascher,Ifeltreasonablysure,hadbeenthevictimofherdrunkenbruteofahusband.Butnowthementionoftherailwayguide(sofamiliarlyknownbyitsabbreviationofABC,listingasitdidallrailwaystationsintheiralphabeticalorder)sentaquiverofexcitementthroughme.Surely—surelythiscouldnotbeasecondcoincidence?
Thesordidcrimetookonanewaspect.
WhowasthemysteriousindividualwhohadkilledMrs.AscherandleftanABCrailwayguidebehindhim?
Whenweleftthepolicestationourfirstvisitwastothemortuarytoseethebodyofthedeadwoman.AstrangefeelingcameovermeasIgazeddownonthatwrinkledoldfacewiththescantygreyhairdrawnbacktightlyfromthetemples.Itlookedsopeaceful,soincrediblyremotefromviolence.
“Neverknewwhoorwhatstruckher,”observedthesergeant.“That’swhatDr.Kerrsays.I’mgladitwasthatway,pooroldsoul.Adecentwomanshewas.”
“Shemusthavebeenbeautifulonce,”saidPoirot.
“Really?”Imurmuredincredulously.
“Butyes,lookatthelineofthejaw,thebones,themouldingofthehead.”
Hesighedashereplacedthesheetandweleftthemortuary.
Ournextmovewasabriefinterviewwiththepolicesurgeon.
Dr.Kerrwasacompetent-lookingmiddle-agedman.Hespokebrisklyandwithdecision.
“Theweaponwasn’tfound,”hesaid.“Impossibletosaywhatitmayhavebeen.Aweightedstick,aclub,aformofsandbag—anyofthosewouldfitthecase.”
“Wouldmuchforcebeneededtostrikesuchablow?”
ThedoctorshotakeenglanceatPoirot
“Meaning,Isuppose,couldashakyoldmanofseventydoit?Oh,yes,it’sperfectlypossible—givensufficientweightintheheadoftheweapon,quiteafeeblepersoncouldachievethedesiredresult.”
“Thenthemurderercouldjustaswellbeawomanasaman?”
Thesuggestiontookthedoctorsomewhataback.
“Awoman,eh?Well,Iconfessitneveroccurredtometoconnectawomanwiththistypeofcrime.Butofcourseit’spossible—perfectlypossible.Only,psychologicallyspeaking,Ishouldn’tsaythiswasawoman’scrime.”
Poirotnoddedhisheadineageragreement.
“Perfectly,perfectly.Onthefaceofit,highlyimprobable.Butonemusttakeallpossibilitiesintoaccount.Thebodywaslying—how?”
Thedoctorgaveusacarefuldescriptionofthepositionofthevictim.Itwashisopinionthatshehadbeenstandingwithherbacktothecounter(andthereforetoherassailant)whentheblowhadbeenstruck.Shehadslippeddowninaheapbehindthecounterquiteoutofsightofanyoneenteringtheshopcasually.
WhenwehadthankedDr.Kerrandtakenourleave,Poirotsaid:
“Youperceive,Hastings,thatwehavealreadyonefurtherpointinfavourofAscher’sinnocence.Ifhehadbeenabusinghiswifeandthreateningher,shewouldhavebeenfacinghimoverthecounter.Insteadshehadherbacktoherassailant—obviouslysheisreachingdowntobaccoorcigarettesforacustomer.”
Igavealittleshiver.
“Prettygruesome.”
Poirotshookhisheadgravely.
“Pauvrefemme,”hemurmured.
Thenheglancedathiswatch.
“Overtonisnot,Ithink,manymilesfromhere.Shallwerunoverthereandhaveaninterviewwiththenieceofthedeadwoman?”
“Surelyyouwillgofirsttotheshopwherethecrimetookplace?”
“Iprefertodothatlater.Ihaveareason.”
Hedidnotexplainfurther,andafewminuteslaterweweredrivingontheLondonroadinthedirectionofOverton.
Theaddresswhichtheinspectorhadgivenuswasthatofagood-sizedhouseaboutamileontheLondonsideofthevillage.
Ourringatthebellwasansweredbyaprettydark-hairedgirlwhoseeyeswereredwithrecentweeping.
Poirotsaidgently:
“Ah!IthinkitisyouwhoareMissMaryDrower,theparlour-maidhere?”
“Yes,sir,that’sright.I’mMary,sir.”
“ThenperhapsIcantalktoyouforafewminutesifyourmistresswillnotobject.Itisaboutyouraunt,Mrs.Ascher.”
“Themistressisout,sir.Shewouldn’tmind,I’msure,ifyoucameinhere.”
Sheopenedthedoorofasmallmorningroom.WeenteredandPoirot,seatinghimselfonachairbythewindow,lookedupkeenlyintothegirl’sface.
“Youhaveheardofyouraunt’sdeath,ofcourse?”
Thegirlnodded,tearscomingoncemoreintohereyes.
“Thismorning,sir.Thepolicecameover.Oh!it’sterrible!Poorauntie!Suchahardlifeasshe’dhad,too.Andnowthis—it’stooawful.”
“ThepolicedidnotsuggestyourreturningtoAndover?”
“TheysaidImustcometotheinquest—that’sonMonday,sir.ButI’venowheretogothere—Icouldn’tfancybeingovertheshop—now—andwhatwiththehousemaidbeingaway,Ididn’twanttoputthemistressoutmorethanmaybe.”
“Youwerefondofyouraunt,Mary?”saidPoirotgently.
“IndeedIwas,sir.Verygoodshe’sbeentomealways,auntiehas.IwenttoherinLondonwhenIwaselevenyearsold,aftermotherdied.IstartedinservicewhenIwassixteen,butIusuallywentalongtoauntie’sonmydayout.AlotoftroubleshewentthroughwiththatGermanfellow.‘Myolddevil,’sheusedtocallhim.He’dneverletherbeinpeaceanywhere.Sponging,cadgingoldbeast.”
Thegirlspokewithvehemence.
“Yourauntneverthoughtoffreeingherselfbylegalmeansfromthispersecution?”
“Well,yousee,hewasherhusband,sir,youcouldn’tgetawayfromthat.”
Thegirlspokesimplybutwithfinality
“Tellme,Mary,hethreatenedher,didhenot?”
“Oh,yes,sir,itwasawfulthethingsheusedtosay.Thathe’dcutherthroat,andsuchlike.Cursingandswearingtoo—bothinGermanandinEnglish.Andyetauntiesayshewasafinehandsomefigureofamanwhenshemarriedhim.It’sdreadfultothink,sir,whatpeoplecometo.”
“Yes,indeed.Andso,Isuppose,Mary,havingactuallyheardthesethreats,youwerenotsoverysurprisedwhenyoulearntwhathadhappened?”
“Oh,butIwas,sir.Yousee,sir,Ineverthoughtforonemomentthathemeantit.Ithoughtitwasjustnastytalkandnothingmoretoit.Anditisn’tasthoughauntiewasafraidofhim.Why,I’veseenhimslinkawaylikeadogwithitstailbetweenitslegswhensheturnedonhim.Hewasafraidofherifyoulike.”
“Andyetshegavehimmoney?”
“Well,hewasherhusband,yousee,sir.”
“Yes,soyousaidbefore.”Hepausedforaminuteortwo.Thenhesaid:“Supposethat,afterall,hedidnotkillher.”
“Didn’tkillher?”
Shestared.
“ThatiswhatIsaid.Supposingsomeoneelsekilledher…Haveyouanyideawhothatsomeoneelsecouldbe?”
Shestaredathimwithevenmoreamazement.
“I’venoidea,sir.Itdoesn’tseemlikely,though,doesit?”
“Therewasnooneyourauntwasafraidof?”
Maryshookherhead.
“Auntiewasn’tafraidofpeople.She’dasharptongueandshe’dstanduptoanybody.”
“Youneverheardhermentionanyonewhohadagrudgeagainsther?”
“No,indeed,sir.”
“Didsheevergetanonymousletters?”
“Whatkindoflettersdidyousay,sir?”
“Lettersthatweren’tsigned—oronlysignedbysomethinglikeABC.”Hewatchedhernarrowly,butplainlyshewasataloss.Sheshookherheadwonderingly.
“Hasyourauntanyrelationsexceptyou?”
“Notnow,sir.Oneoftenshewas,butonlythreelivedtogrowup.MyUncleTomwaskilledinthewar,andmyUncleHarrywenttoSouthAmericaandnoone’sheardofhimsince,andmother’sdead,ofcourse,sothere’sonlyme.”
“Hadyourauntanysavings?Anymoneyputby?”
“She’dalittleintheSavingsBank,sir—enoughtoburyherproper,that’swhatshealwayssaid.Otherwiseshedidn’tmorethanjustmakeendsmeet—whatwithherolddevilandall.”
Poirotnoddedthoughtfully.Hesaid—perhapsmoretohimselfthantoher:
“Atpresentoneisinthedark—thereisnodirection—ifthingsgetclearer—”Hegotup.“IfIwantyouatanytime,Mary,Iwillwritetoyouhere.”
“Asamatteroffact,sir,I’mgivinginmynotice.Idon’tlikethecountry.IstayedherebecauseIfancieditwasacomforttoauntietohavemenearby.Butnow”—againthetearsroseinhereyes—“there’snoreasonIshouldstay,andsoI’llgobacktoLondon.It’sgayerforagirlthere.”
“Iwishthat,whenyoudogo,youwouldgivemeyouraddress.Hereismycard.”
Hehandedittoher.Shelookedatitwithapuzzledfrown.
“Thenyou’renot—anythingtodowiththepolice,sir?”
“Iamaprivatedetective.”
Shestoodtherelookingathimforsomemomentsinsilence.
Shesaidatlast:
“Isthereanything—queergoingon,sir?”
“Yes,mychild.Thereis—somethingqueergoingon.Lateryoumaybeabletohelpme.”
“I—I’lldoanything,sir.It—itwasn’tright,sir,auntiebeingkilled.”
Astrangewayofputtingit—butdeeplymoving.
AfewsecondslaterweweredrivingbacktoAndover.
Six
THESCENEOFTHECRIME
Thestreetinwhichthetragedyhadoccurredwasaturningoffthemainstreet.Mrs.Ascher’sshopwassituatedabouthalfwaydownitontheright-handside
AsweturnedintothestreetPoirotglancedathiswatchandIrealizedwhyhehaddelayedhisvisittothesceneofthecrimeuntilnow.Itwasjustonhalfpastfive.Hehadwishedtoreproduceyesterday’satmosphereascloselyaspossible.
Butifthathadbeenhispurposeitwasdefeated.Certainlyatthismomenttheroadboreverylittlelikenesstoitsappearanceonthepreviousevening.Therewereacertainnumberofsmallshopsinterspersedbetweenprivatehousesofthepoorerclass.Ijudgedthatordinarilytherewouldbeafairnumberofpeoplepassingupanddown—mostlypeopleofthepoorerclasses,withagoodsprinklingofchildrenplayingonthepavementsandintheroad.
Atthismomenttherewasasolidmassofpeoplestandingstaringatoneparticularhouseorshopandittooklittleperspicuitytoguesswhichthatwas.Whatwesawwasamassofaveragehumanbeingslookingwithintenseinterestatthespotwhereanotherhumanbeinghadbeendonetodeath.
Aswedrewnearerthisprovedtobeindeedthecase.Infrontofasmalldingy-lookingshopwithitsshuttersnowclosedstoodaharassed-lookingyoungpolicemanwhowasstolidlyadjuringthecrowdto“passalongthere.”Bythehelpofacolleague,displacementstookplace—acertainnumberofpeoplegrudginglysighedandbetookthemselvestotheirordinaryvocations,andalmostimmediatelyotherpersonscamealongandtookuptheirstandtogazetheirfillonthespotwheremurderhadbeencommitted
Poirotstoppedalittledistancefromthemainbodyofthecrowd.Fromwherewestoodthelegendpaintedoverthedoorcouldbereadplainlyenough.Poirotrepeateditunderhisbreath.
“A.Ascher.Oui,c’estpeut-êtrelà—”
Hebrokeoff.
“Come,letusgoinside,Hastings.”
Iwasonlytooready.
Wemadeourwaythroughthecrowdandaccostedtheyoungpoliceman.Poirotproducedthecredentialswhichtheinspectorhadgivenhim.Theconstablenodded,andunlockedthedoortoletuspasswithin.Wedidsoandenteredtotheintenseinterestofthelookers-on.
Insideitwasverydarkowingtotheshuttersbeingclosed.Theconstablefoundandswitchedontheelectriclight.Thebulbwasalow-poweredonesothattheinteriorwasstilldimlylit.
Ilookedaboutme.
Adingylittleplace.Afewcheapmagazinesstrewnabout,andyesterday’snewspapers—allwithaday’sdustonthem.Behindthecounterarowofshelvesreachingtotheceilingandpackedwithtobaccoandpacketsofcigarettes.Therewerealsoacoupleofjarsofpepperminthumbugsandbarleysugar.Acommonplacelittleshop,oneofmanythousandsuchothers.
TheconstableinhisslowHampshirevoicewasexplainingthemiseenscène
“Downinaheapbehindthecounter,that’swhereshewas.Doctorsaysashowsheneverknewwhathither.Musthavebeenreachinguptooneoftheshelves.”
“Therewasnothinginherhand?”
“No,sir,buttherewasapacketofPlayer’sdownbesideher.”
Poirotnodded.Hiseyessweptroundthesmallspaceobserving—noting.
“Andtherailwayguidewas—where?”
“Here,sir.”Theconstablepointedoutthespotonthecounter.“ItwasopenattherightpageforAndoverandlyingfacedown.SeemsasthoughhemusthavebeenlookingupthetrainstoLondon.Ifso,itmightn’thavebeenanAndovermanatall.Butthen,ofcourse,therailwayguidemighthavebelongedtosomeoneelsewhathadnothingtodowiththemurderatall,butjustforgotithere.”
“Fingerprints?”Isuggested.
Themanshookhishead.
“Thewholeplacewasexaminedstraightaway,sir.Thereweren’tnone.”
“Notonthecounteritself?”askedPoirot.
“Alongsighttoomany,sir!Allconfusedandjumbledup.”
“AnyofAscher’samongthem?”
“Toosoontosay,sir.”
Poirotnodded,thenaskedifthedeadwomanlivedovertheshop.
“Yes,sir,yougothroughthatdoorattheback,sir.You’llexcusemenotcomingwithyou,butI’vegottostay—”
PoirotpassedthroughthedoorinquestionandIfollowedhim.Behindtheshopwasamicroscopicsortofparlourandkitchencombined—itwasneatandcleanbutverydrearylookingandscantilyfurnished.Onthemantelpiecewereafewphotographs.IwentupandlookedatthemandPoirotjoinedme.
Thephotographswerethreeinall.Onewasacheapportraitofthegirlwehadbeenwiththatafternoon,MaryDrower.Shewasobviouslywearingherbestclothesandhadtheself-conscious,woodensmileonherfacethatsooftendisfigurestheexpressioninposedphotography,andmakesasnapshotpreferable.
Thesecondwasamoreexpensivetypeofpicture—anartisticallyblurredreproductionofanelderlywomanwithwhitehair.Ahighfurcollarstooduproundtheneck.
IguessedthatthiswasprobablytheMissRosewhohadleftMrs.Ascherthesmalllegacywhichhadenabledhertostartinbusiness.
Thethirdphotographwasaveryoldone,nowfadedandyellow.Itrepresentedayoungmanandwomaninsomewhatold-fashionedclothesstandingarminarm.Themanhadabuttonholeandtherewasanairofbygonefestivityaboutthewholepose.
“Probablyaweddingpicture,”saidPoirot.“Regard,Hastings,didInottellyouthatshehadbeenabeautifulwoman?”
Hewasright.Disfiguredbyold-fashionedhairdressingandweirdclothes,therewasnodisguisingthehandsomenessofthegirlinthepicturewithherclear-cutfeaturesandspiritedbearing.Ilookedcloselyatthesecondfigure.ItwasalmostimpossibletorecognisetheseedyAscherinthissmartyoungmanwiththemilitarybearing.
Irecalledtheleeringdrunkenoldman,andthetoil-wornfaceofthedeadwoman—andIshiveredalittleattheremorselessnessoftime….
Fromtheparlourastairledtotwoupstairsrooms.Onewasemptyandunfurnished,theotherhadevidentlybeenthedeadwoman’sbedroom.Afterbeingsearchedbythepoliceithadbeenleftasitwas.Acoupleofoldwornblanketsonthebed—alittlestockofwell-darnedunderwearinadrawer—cookeryrecipesinanother—apaper-backednovelentitledTheGreenOasis—apairofnewstockings—patheticintheircheapshininess—acoupleofchinaornaments—aDresdenshepherdmuchbroken,andablueandyellowspotteddog—ablackraincoatandawoollyjumperhangingonpegs—suchweretheworldlypossessionsofthelateAliceAscher.
Iftherehadbeenanypersonalpapers,thepolicehadtakenthem.
“Pauvrefemme,”murmuredPoirot.“Come,Hastings,thereisnothingforushere.”
Whenwewereoncemoreinthestreet,hehesitatedforaminuteortwo,thencrossedtheroad.AlmostexactlyoppositeMrs.Ascher’swasagreengrocer’sshop—ofthetypethathasmostofitsstockoutsideratherthaninside.
InalowvoicePoirotgavemecertaininstructions.Thenhehimselfenteredtheshop.AfterwaitingaminuteortwoIfollowedhimin.Hewasatthemomentnegotiatingforalettuce.Imyselfboughtapoundofstrawberries.
Poirotwastalkinganimatedlytothestoutladywhowasservinghim.
“Itwasjustoppositeyou,wasitnot,thatthismurderoccurred?Whatanaffair!Whatasensationitmusthavecausedyou!”
Thestoutladywasobviouslytiredoftalkingaboutthemurder.Shemusthavehadalongdayofit.Sheobserved:
“Itwouldbeaswellifsomeofthatgapingcrowdclearedoff.Whatistheretolookat,I’dliketoknow?”
“Itmusthavebeenverydifferentlastnight,”saidPoirot.“Possiblyyouevenobservedthemurdererentertheshop—atall,fairmanwithabeard,washenot?ARussian,soIhaveheard.”
“What’sthat?”Thewomanlookedupsharply.“ARussiandidit,yousay?”
“Iunderstandthatthepolicehavearrestedhim.”
“Didyoueverknow?”Thewomanwasexcited,voluble.“Aforeigner.”
“Maisoui.Ithoughtperhapsyoumighthavenoticedhimlastnight?”
“Well,Idon’tgetmuchchanceofnoticing,andthat’safact.Theevening’sourbusytimeandthere’salwaysafairfewpassingalongandgettinghomeaftertheirwork.Atall,fairmanwithabeard—no,Ican’tsayIsawanyoneofthatdescriptionanywhereabout.”
Ibrokeinonmycue.
“Excuseme,sir,”IsaidtoPoirot.“Ithinkyouhavebeenmisinformed.AshortdarkmanIwastold.”
Aninteresteddiscussionintervenedinwhichthestoutlady,herlankhusbandandahoarse-voicedshop-boyallparticipated.Nolessthanfourshortdarkmenhadbeenobserved,andthehoarseboyhadseenatallfairone,“buthehadn’tgotnobeard,”headdedregretfully.
Finally,ourpurchasesmade,welefttheestablishment,leavingourfalsehoodsuncorrected.
“Andwhatwasthepointofallthat,Poirot?”Idemandedsomewhatreproachfully.
“Parbleu,Iwantedtoestimatethechancesofastrangerbeingnoticedenteringtheshopopposite.”
“Couldn’tyousimplyhaveasked—withoutallthattissueoflies?”
“No,monami.IfIhad‘simplyasked,’asyouputit,Ishouldhavegotnoansweratalltomyquestions.YouyourselfareEnglishandyetyoudonotseemtoappreciatethequalityoftheEnglishreactiontoadirectquestion.Itisinvariablyoneofsuspicionandthenaturalresultisreticence.IfIhadaskedthosepeopleforinformationtheywouldhaveshutuplikeoysters.Butbymakingastatement(andasomewhatoutofthewayandpreposterousone)andbyyourcontradictionofit,tonguesareimmediatelyloosened.Weknowalsothatthatparticulartimewasa‘busytime’—thatis,thateveryonewouldbeintentontheirownconcernsandthattherewouldbeafairnumberofpeoplepassingalongthepavements.Ourmurdererchosehistimewell,Hastings.”
Hepausedandthenaddedonadeepnoteofreproach:
“Isitthatyouhavenotinanydegreethecommonsense,Hastings?Isaytoyou:‘Makeapurchasequelconque’—andyoudeliberatelychoosethestrawberries!Alreadytheycommencetocreepthroughtheirbagandendangeryourgoodsuit.”
Withsomedismay,Iperceivedthatthiswasindeedthecase.
Ihastilypresentedthestrawberriestoasmallboywhoseemedhighlyastonishedandfaintlysuspicious.
Poirotaddedthelettuce,thussettingthesealonthechild’sbewilderment.
Hecontinuedtodrivethemoralhome.
“Atacheapgreengrocer’s—notstrawberries.Astrawberry,unlessfreshpicked,isboundtoexudejuice.Abanana—someapples—evenacabbage—butstrawberries—”
“ItwasthefirstthingIthoughtof,”Iexplainedbywayofexcuse.
“Thatisunworthyofyourimagination,”returnedPoirotsternly.
Hepausedonthesidewalk.
ThehouseandshopontherightofMrs.Ascher’swasempty.A“ToLet’signappearedinthewindows.Ontheothersidewasahousewithsomewhatgrimymuslincurtains.
TothishousePoirotbetookhimselfand,therebeingnobell,executedaseriesofsharpflourisheswiththeknocker.
Thedoorwasopenedaftersomedelaybyaverydirtychildwithanosethatneededattention.
“Goodevening,”saidPoirot.“Isyourmotherwithin?”
“Ay?”saidthechild.
Itstaredatuswithdisfavouranddeepsuspicion.
“Yourmother,”saidPoirot.
Thistooksometwelvesecondstosinkin,thenthechildturnedand,bawlingupthestairs“Mum,you’rewanted,”retreatedtosomefastnessinthediminterior.
Asharp-facedwomanlookedoverthebalustersandbegantodescend.
“Nogoodyouwastingyourtime—”shebegan,butPoirotinterruptedher.
Hetookoffhishatandbowedmagnificently.
“Goodevening,madame.IamonthestaffoftheEveningFlicker.Iwanttopersuadeyoutoacceptafeeoffivepoundsandletushaveanarticleonyourlateneighbour,Mrs.Ascher.”
Theiratewordsarrestedonherlips,thewomancamedownthestairssmoothingherhairandhitchingatherskirt.
“Comeinside,please—ontheleftthere.Won’tyousitdown,sir.”
Thetinyroomwasheavilyover-crowdedwithamassivepseudo-Jacobeansuite,butwemanagedtosqueezeourselvesinandontoahard-seatedsofa.
“Youmustexcuseme,”thewomanwassaying.“IamsureI’msorryIspokesosharpjustnow,butyou’dhardlybelievetheworryonehastoputupwith—fellowscomingalongsellingthis,thatandtheother—vacuumcleaners,stockings,lavenderbagsandsuch-likefoolery—andallsoplausibleandcivilspoken.Gotyourname,too,pattheyhave.It’sMrs.Fowlerthis,thatandtheother.”
Seizingadroitlyonthename,Poirotsaid:
“Well,Mrs.Fowler,Ihopeyou’regoingtodowhatIask.”
“Idon’tknow,I’msure.”ThefivepoundshungalluringlybeforeMrs.Fowler’seyes.“IknewMrs.Ascher,ofcourse,butastowritinganything.”
HastilyPoirotreassuredher.Nolabouronherpartwasrequired.Hewouldelicitthefactsfromherandtheinterviewwouldbewrittenup.
Thusencouraged,Mrs.Fowlerplungedwillinglyintoreminiscence,conjectureandhearsay.
Keptherselftoherself,Mrs.Ascherhad.Notwhatyou’dcallreallyfriendly,butthere,she’dhadalotoftrouble,poorsoul,everyoneknewthat.AndbyrightsFranzAscheroughttohavebeenlockedupyearsago.NotthatMrs.Ascherhadbeenafraidofhim—realtartarshecouldbewhenroused!Giveasgoodasshegotanyday.Butthereitwas—thepitchercouldgotothewelloncetoooften.Againandagain,she,Mrs.Fowler,hadsaidtoher:“Oneofthesedaysthatmanwilldoforyou.Markmywords.”Andhehaddone,hadn’the?Andtherehadshe,Mrs.Fowler,beenrightnextdoorandneverheardasound
InapausePoirotmanagedtoinsertaquestion.
HadMrs.Aschereverreceivedanypeculiarletters—letterswithoutapropersignature—justsomethinglikeABC?
Regretfully,Mrs.Fowlerreturnedanegativeanswer.
“Iknowthekindofthingyoumean—anonymousletterstheycallthem—mostlyfullofwordsyou’dblushtosayoutloud.Well,Idon’tknow,I’msure,ifFranzAscherevertooktowritingthose.Mrs.Ascherneverletontomeifhedid.What’sthat?Arailwayguide,anABC?No,Ineversawsuchathingabout—andI’msureifMrs.AscherhadbeensentoneI’dhaveheardaboutit.IdeclareyoucouldhaveknockedmedownwithafeatherwhenIheardaboutthiswholebusiness.ItwasmygirlEdiewhatcametome.‘Mum,’shesays,‘there’seversomanypolicemennextdoor.’Gavemequiteaturn,itdid.‘Well,’Isaid,whenIheardaboutit,‘itdoesshowthatsheoughtnevertohavebeenaloneinthehouse—thatnieceofhersoughttohavebeenwithher.Amanindrinkcanbelikearaveningwolf,’Isaid,‘andinmyopinionawildbeastisneithermorenorlessthanwhatthatolddevilofahusbandofhersis.I’vewarnedher,’Isaid,‘manytimesandnowmywordshavecometrue.He’lldoforyou,’Isaid.Andhehasdoneforher!Youcan’trightlyestimatewhatamanwilldowhenhe’sindrinkandthismurder’saproofofit.”
Shewoundupwithadeepgasp.
“NobodysawthismanAschergointotheshop,Ibelieve?”saidPoirot.
Mrs.Fowlersniffedscornfully.
“Naturallyhewasn’tgoingtoshowhimself,”shesaid.
HowMr.Ascherhadgottherewithoutshowinghimselfshedidnotdeigntoexplain.
SheagreedthattherewasnobackwayintothehouseandthatAscherwasquitewellknownbysightinthedistrict.
“Buthedidn’twanttoswingforitandhekepthimselfwellhid.”
Poirotkepttheconversationalballrollingsomelittletimelonger,butwhenitseemedcertainthatMrs.Fowlerhadtoldallthatsheknewnotoncebutmanytimesover,heterminatedtheinterview,firstpayingoutthepromisedsum.
“Ratheradearfivepounds’worth,Poirot,”Iventuredtoremarkwhenwewereoncemoreinthestreet.
“Sofar,yes.”
“Youthinksheknowsmorethanshehastold?”
“Myfriend,weareinthepeculiarpositionofnotknowingwhatquestionstoask.Wearelikelittlechildrenplayingcache-cacheinthedark.Westretchoutourhandsandgropeabout.Mrs.Fowlerhastoldusallthatshethinkssheknows—andhasthrowninseveralconjecturesforgoodmeasure!Inthefuture,however,herevidencemaybeuseful.ItisforthefuturethatIhaveinvestedthatsumoffivepounds.”
Ididnotquiteunderstandthepoint,butatthismomentweranintoInspectorGlen.
Seven
MR.PARTRIDGEANDMR.RIDDELL
InspectorGlenwaslookingrathergloomy.Hehad,Igathered,spenttheafternoontryingtogetacompletelistofpersonswhohadbeennoticedenteringthetobaccoshop.
“Andnobodyhasseenanyone?”Poirotinquired.
“Oh,yes,theyhave.Threetallmenwithfurtiveexpressions—fourshortmenwithblackmoustaches—twobeards—threefatmen—allstrangers—andall,ifI’mtobelievewitnesses,withsinisterexpressions!Iwondersomebodydidn’tseeagangofmaskedmenwithrevolverswhiletheywereaboutit!”
Poirotsmiledsympathetically.
“DoesanybodyclaimtohaveseenthemanAscher?”
“No,theydon’t.Andthat’sanotherpointinhisfavour.I’vejusttoldtheChiefConstablethatIthinkthisisajobforScotlandYard.Idon’tbelieveit’salocalcrime.”
Poirotsaidgravely:
“Iagreewithyou.”
Theinspectorsaid:
“Youknow,MonsieurPoirot,it’sanastybusiness—anastybusiness…Idon’tlikeit….”
WehadtwomoreinterviewsbeforereturningtoLondon.
ThefirstwaswithMr.JamesPartridge.Mr.PartridgewasthelastpersonknowntohaveseenMrs.Ascheralive.Hehadmadeapurchasefromherat5:30.
Mr.Partridgewasasmallman,abankclerkbyprofession.Heworepince-nez,wasverydryandspare-lookingandextremelypreciseinallhisutterances.Helivedinasmallhouseasneatandtrimashimself.
“Mr—er—Poirot,”hesaid,glancingatthecardmyfriendhadhandedtohim.“FromInspectorGlen?WhatcanIdoforyou,Mr.Poirot?”
“Iunderstand,Mr.Partridge,thatyouwerethelastpersontoseeMrs.Ascheralive.”
Mr.PartridgeplacedhisfingertipstogetherandlookedatPoirotasthoughhewereadoubtfulcheque.
“Thatisaverydebatablepoint,Mr.Poirot,”hesaid.“ManypeoplemayhavemadepurchasesfromMrs.AscherafterIdidso.”
“Ifso,theyhavenotcomeforwardtosayso.”
Mr.Partridgecoughed.
“Somepeople,Mr.Poirot,havenosenseofpublicduty.”
Helookedatusowlishlythroughhisspectacles.
“Exceedinglytrue,”murmuredPoirot.“You,Iunderstand,wenttothepoliceofyourownaccord?”
“CertainlyIdid.AssoonasIheardoftheshockingoccurrenceIperceivedthatmystatementmightbehelpfulandcameforwardaccordingly.”
“Averyproperspirit,”saidPoirotsolemnly.“Perhapsyouwillbesokindastorepeatyourstorytome.”
“Byallmeans.Iwasreturningtothishouseandat5:30precisely—”
“Pardon,howwasitthatyouknewthetimesoaccurately?”
Mr.Partridgelookedalittleannoyedatbeinginterrupted.
“Thechurchclockchimed.IlookedatmywatchandfoundIwasaminuteslow.ThatwasjustbeforeIenteredMrs.Ascher’sshop.”
“Wereyouinthehabitofmakingpurchasesthere?”
“Fairlyfrequently.Itwasonmywayhome.AboutonceortwiceaweekIwasinthehabitofpurchasingtwoouncesofJohnCottonmild.”
“DidyouknowMrs.Ascheratall?Anythingofhercircumstancesorherhistory?”
“Nothingwhatever.Beyondmypurchaseandanoccasionalremarkastothestateoftheweather,Ihadneverspokentoher.”
“Didyouknowshehadadrunkenhusbandwhowasinthehabitofthreateningherlife?”
“No,Iknewnothingwhateverabouther.”
“Youknewherbysight,however.Didanythingaboutherappearancestrikeyouasunusualyesterdayevening?Didsheappearflurriedorputoutinanyway?”
Mr.Partridgeconsidered.
“AsfarasInoticed,sheseemedexactlyasusual,”hesaid.
Poirotrose.
“Thankyou,Mr.Partridge,foransweringthesequestions.Haveyou,byanychance,anABCinthehouse?IwanttolookupmyreturntraintoLondon.”
“Ontheshelfjustbehindyou,”saidMr.Partridge.
OntheshelfinquestionwereanABC,aBradshaw,theStockExchangeYearBook,Kelly’sDirectory,aWho’sWhoandalocaldirectory.
PoirottookdowntheABC,pretendedtolookupatrain,thenthankedMr.Partridgeandtookhisleave.
OurnextinterviewwaswithMr.AlbertRiddellandwasofahighlydifferentcharacter.Mr.AlbertRiddellwasaplatelayerandourconversationtookplacetotheaccompanimentoftheclatteringofplatesanddishesbyMr.Riddell’sobviouslynervouswife,thegrowlingofMr.Riddell’sdogandtheundisguisedhostilityofMr.Riddellhimself.
Hewasabigclumsygiantofamanwithabroadfaceandsmallsuspiciouseyes.Hewasintheactofeatingmeatpie,washeddownbyexceedinglyblacktea.Hepeeredatusangrilyovertherimofhiscup.
“ToldallI’vegottotellonce,haven’tI?”hegrowled.“What’sittodowithme,anyway?Toldittotheblarstedpolice,I’ave,andnowI’vegottospititalloutagaintoacoupleofblarstedforeigners.”
Poirotgaveaquick,amusedglanceinmydirectionandthensaid:
“IntruthIsympathizewithyou,butwhatwillyou?Itisaquestionofmurder,isitnot?Onehastobevery,verycareful.”
“Besttellthegentlemanwhathewants,Bert,”saidthewomannervously.
“Youshutyourblarstedmouth,”roaredthegiant.
“Youdidnot,Ithink,gotothepoliceofyourownaccord.”Poirotslippedtheremarkinneatly.
“WhythehellshouldI?Itwerenobusinessofmine.”
“Amatterofopinion,”saidPoirotindifferently.“Therehasbeenamurder—thepolicewanttoknowwhohasbeenintheshop—Imyselfthinkitwouldhave—whatshallIsay?—lookedmorenaturalifyouhadcomeforward.”
“I’vegotmyworktodo.Don’tsayIshouldn’thavecomeforwardinmyowntime—”
“Butasitwas,thepoliceweregivenyournameasthatofapersonseentogointoMrs.Ascher’sandtheyhadtocometoyou.Weretheysatisfiedwithyouraccount?”
“Whyshouldn’ttheybe?”demandedBerttruculently.
Poirotmerelyshruggedhisshoulders.
“Whatareyougettingat,mister?Nobody’sgotanythingagainstme?Everyoneknowswhodidtheoldgirlin,thatb—ofahusbandofhers.”
“Buthewasnotinthestreetthateveningandyouwere.”
“Tryingtofastenitonme,areyou?Well,youwon’tsucceed.WhatreasonhadIgottodoathinglikethat?ThinkIwantedtopinchatinofherbloodytobacco?ThinkI’mabloodyhomicidalmaniacastheycallit?ThinkI—?”
Herosethreateninglyfromhisseat.Hiswifebleatedout:
“Bert,Bert—don’tsaysuchthings.Bert—they’llthink—”
“Calmyourself,monsieur,”saidPoirot.“Idemandonlyyouraccountofyourvisit.Thatyourefuseitseemstome—whatshallwesay—alittleodd?”
“WhosaidIrefusedanything?”Mr.Riddellsankbackagainintohisseat.“Idon’tmind.”
“Itwassixo’clockwhenyouenteredtheshop?”
“That’sright—aminuteortwoafter,asamatteroffact.WantedapacketofGoldFlake.Ipushedopenthedoor—”
“Itwasclosed,then?”
“That’sright.Ithoughtshopwasshut,maybe.Butitwasn’t.Iwentin,therewasn’tanyoneabout.Ihammeredonthecounterandwaitedabit.Nobodycame,soIwentoutagain.That’sall,andyoucanputitinyourpipeandsmokeit.”
“Youdidn’tseethebodyfallendownbehindthecounter?”
“No,nomorewouldyouhavedone—unlessyouwaslookingforit,maybe.”
“Wastherearailwayguidelyingabout?”
“Yes,therewas—facedownwards.Itcrossedmymindlikethattheoldwomanmighthavehadtogooffsuddenbytrainandforgottolockshopup.”
“Perhapsyoupickeduptherailwayguideormoveditalongthecounter?”
“Didn’ttouchtheb—thing.IdidjustwhatIsaid.”
“Andyoudidnotseeanyoneleavingtheshopbeforeyouyourselfgotthere?”
“Didn’tseeanysuchthing.WhatIsayis,whypitchonme—?”
Poirotrose.
“Nobodyispitchinguponyou—yet.Bonsoir,monsieur.”
HeleftthemanwithhismouthopenandIfollowedhim.
Inthestreetheconsultedhiswatch.
“Withgreathaste,myfriend,wemightmanagetocatchthe7:2.Letusdespatchourselvesquickly.”
Eight
THESECONDLETTER
“Well?”Idemandedeagerly.
Wewereseatedinafirst-classcarriagewhichwehadtoourselves.Thetrain,anexpress,hadjustdrawnoutofAndover.
“Thecrime,”saidPoirot,“wascommittedbyamanofmediumheightwithredhairandacastinthelefteye.Helimpsslightlyontherightfootandhasamolejustbelowtheshoulderblade.”
“Poirot?”Icried.
ForthemomentIwascompletelytakenin.Thenthetwinkleinmyfriend’seyeundeceivedme.
“Poirot!”Isaidagain,thistimeinreproach.
“Monami,whatwillyou?Youfixuponmealookofdog-likedevotionanddemandofmeapronouncementàlaSherlockHolmes!Nowforthetruth—Idonotknowwhatthemurdererlookslike,norwherehelives,norhowtosethandsuponhim.”
“Ifonlyhehadleftsomeclue,”Imurmured.
“Yes,theclue—itisalwaysthecluethatattractsyou.Alasthathedidnotsmokethecigaretteandleavetheash,andthenstepinitwithashoethathasnailsofacuriouspattern.No—heisnotsoobliging.Butatleast,myfriend,youhavetherailwayguide.TheABC,thatisaclueforyou!”
“Doyouthinkheleftitbymistakethen?”
“Ofcoursenot.Heleftitonpurpose.Thefingerprintstellusthat.”
“Butthereweren’tanyonit.”
“ThatiswhatImean.Whatwasyesterdayevening?AwarmJunenight.Doesamanstrollaboutonsuchaneveningingloves?Suchamanwouldcertainlyhaveattractedattention.ThereforesincetherearenofingerprintsontheABC,itmusthavebeencarefullywiped.Aninnocentmanwouldhaveleftprints—aguiltymanwouldnot.Soourmurdererleftitthereforapurpose—butforallthatitisnonethelessaclue.ThatABCwasboughtbysomeone—itwascarriedbysomeone—thereisapossibilitythere.”
“Youthinkwemaylearnsomethingthatway?”
“Frankly,Hastings,Iamnotparticularlyhopeful.Thisman,thisunknownX,obviouslyprideshimselfonhisabilities.Heisnotlikelytoblazeatrailthatcanbefollowedstraightaway.”
“SothatreallytheABCisn’thelpfulatall.”
“Notinthesenseyoumean.”
“Inanysense?”
Poirotdidnotansweratonce.Thenhesaidslowly:
“Theanswertothatisyes.Weareconfrontedherebyanunknownpersonage.Heisinthedarkandseekstoremaininthedark.Butintheverynatureofthingshecannothelpthrowinglightuponhimself.Inonesenseweknownothingabouthim—inanothersenseweknowalreadyagooddeal.Iseehisfiguredimlytakingshape—amanwhoprintsclearlyandwell—whobuysgood-qualitypaper—whoisatgreatneedstoexpresshispersonality.Iseehimasachildpossiblyignoredandpassedover—Iseehimgrowingupwithaninwardsenseofinferiority—warringwithasenseofinjustice…Iseethatinnerurge—toasserthimself—tofocusattentiononhimselfeverbecomingstronger,andevents,circumstances—crushingitdown—heaping,perhaps,morehumiliationsonhim.Andinwardlythematchissettothepowdertrain….”
“That’sallpureconjecture,”Iobjected.“Itdoesn’tgiveyouanypracticalhelp.”
“Youpreferthematchend,thecigaretteash,thenailedboots!Youalwayshave.Butatleastwecanaskourselvessomepracticalquestions.WhytheABC?WhyMrs.Ascher?WhyAndover?”
“Thewoman’spastlifeseemssimpleenough,”Imused.“Theinterviewswiththosetwomenweredisappointing.Theycouldn’ttellusanythingmorethanweknewalready.”
“Totellthetruth,Ididnotexpectmuchinthatline.Butwecouldnotneglecttwopossiblecandidatesforthemurder.”
“Surelyyoudon’tthink—”
“ThereisatleastapossibilitythatthemurdererlivesinornearAndover.Thatisapossibleanswertoourquestion:‘WhyAndover?’Well,hereweretwomenknowntohavebeenintheshopattherequisitetimeofday.Eitherofthemmightbethemurderer.Andthereisnothingasyettoshowthatoneorotherofthemisnotthemurderer.”
“Thatgreathulkingbrute,Riddell,perhaps,”Iadmitted.
“Oh,IaminclinedtoacquitRiddelloff-hand.Hewasnervous,blustering,obviouslyuneasy—”
“Butsurelythatjustshows—”
“AnaturediametricallyopposedtothatwhichpennedtheABCletter.Conceitandself-confidencearethecharacteristicsthatwemustlookfor.”
“Someonewhothrowshisweightabout?”
“Possibly.Butsomepeople,underanervousandself-effacingmanner,concealagreatdealofvanityandself-satisfaction.”
“Youdon’tthinkthatlittleMr.Partridge—”
“Heismoreletype.Onecannotsaymorethanthat.Heactsasthewriteroftheletterwouldact—goesatoncetothepolice—pusheshimselftothefore—enjoyshisposition.”
“Doyoureallythink—?”
“No,Hastings.PersonallyIbelievethatthemurderercamefromoutsideAndover,butwemustneglectnoavenueofresearch.AndalthoughIsay‘he’allthetime,wemustnotexcludethepossibilityofawomanbeingconcerned.”
“Surelynot!”
“Themethodofattackisthatofaman,Iagree.Butanonymouslettersarewrittenbywomenratherthanbymen.Wemustbearthatinmind.”
Iwassilentforafewminutes,thenIsaid:
“Whatdowedonext?”
“MyenergeticHastings,”Poirotsaidandsmiledatme.
“No,butwhatdowedo?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”Mydisappointmentrangoutclearly.
“AmIthemagician?Thesorcerer?Whatwouldyouhavemedo?”
TurningthematteroverinmymindIfounditdifficulttogiveananswer.NeverthelessIfeltconvincedthatsomethingoughttobedoneandthatweshouldnotallowthegrasstogrowunderourfeet.
Isaid:
“ThereistheABC—andthenotepaperandenvelope—”
“Naturallyeverythingisbeingdoneinthatline.Thepolicehaveallthemeansattheirdisposalforthatkindofinquiry.Ifanythingistobediscoveredonthoselineshavenofearbutthattheywilldiscoverit.”
WiththatIwasforcedtorestcontent.
InthedaysthatfollowedIfoundPoirotcuriouslydisinclinedtodiscussthecase.WhenItriedtoreopenthesubjecthewaveditasidewithanimpatienthand.
InmyownmindIwasafraidthatIfathomedhismotive.OverthemurderofMrs.Ascher,Poirothadsustainedadefeat.ABChadchallengedhim—andABChadwon.Myfriend,accustomedtoanunbrokenlineofsuccesses,wassensitivetohisfailure—somuchsothathecouldnotevenendurediscussionofthesubject.Itwas,perhaps,asignofpettinessinsogreataman,buteventhemostsoberofusisliabletohavehisheadturnedbysuccess.InPoirot’scasethehead-turningprocesshadbeengoingonforyears.Smallwonderifitseffectsbecamenoticeableatlonglast.
Understanding,Irespectedmyfriend’sweaknessandImadenofurtherreferencetothecase.Ireadinthepapertheaccountoftheinquest.Itwasverybrief,nomentionwasmadeoftheABCletter,andaverdictwasreturnedofmurderbysomepersonorpersonsunknown.Thecrimeattractedverylittleattentioninthepress.Ithadnopopularorspectacularfeatures.Themurderofanoldwomaninasidestreetwassoonpassedoverinthepressformorethrillingtopics.
Truthtotell,theaffairwasfadingfrommymindalso,partly,Ithink,becauseIdislikedtothinkofPoirotasbeinginanywayassociatedwithafailure,whenonJuly25thitwassuddenlyrevived.
IhadnotseenPoirotforacoupleofdaysasIhadbeenawayinYorkshirefortheweekend.IarrivedbackonMondayafternoonandthelettercamebythesixo’clockpost.Irememberthesudden,sharpintakeofbreaththatPoirotgaveasheslitopenthatparticularenvelope.
“Ithascome,”hesaid.
Istaredathim—notunderstanding.
“Whathascome?”
“ThesecondchapteroftheABCbusiness.”
ForaminuteIlookedathimuncomprehendingly.Thematterhadreallypassedfrommymemory.
“Read,”saidPoirotandpassedmeovertheletter.
Asbefore,itwasprintedongood-qualitypaper.
DearMr.Poirot,—Well,whataboutit?Firstgametome,Ithink.TheAndoverbusinesswentwithaswing,didn’tit?Butthefun’sonlyjustbeginning.LetmedrawyourattentiontoBexhill-on-Sea.Date,the25thinst.Whatamerrytimewearehaving!Yoursetc.ABC
“GoodGod,Poirot,”Icried.“Doesthismeanthatthisfiendisgoingtoattemptanothercrime?”
“Naturally,Hastings.Whatelsedidyouexpect?DidyouthinkthattheAndoverbusinesswasanisolatedcase?Doyounotremembermysaying:‘Thisisthebeginning’?”
“Butthisishorrible!”
“Yes,itishorrible.”
“We’reupagainstahomicidalmaniac.”
“Yes.”
Hisquietnesswasmoreimpressivethananyheroicscouldhavebeen.Ihandedbacktheletterwithashudder.
Thefollowingmorningsawusataconferenceofpowers.TheChiefConstableofSussex,theAssistantCommissioneroftheCID,InspectorGlenfromAndover,SuperintendentCarteroftheSussexpolice,JappandayoungerinspectorcalledCrome,andDr.Thompson,thefamousalienist,wereallassembledtogether.ThepostmarkonthisletterwasHampstead,butinPoirot’sopinionlittleimportancecouldbeattachedtothisfact.
Thematterwasdiscussedfully.Dr.Thompsonwasapleasantmiddle-agedmanwho,inspiteofhislearning,contentedhimselfwithhomelylanguage,avoidingthetechnicalitiesofhisprofession.
“There’snodoubt,”saidtheAssistantCommissioner,“thatthetwolettersareinthesamehand.Bothwerewrittenbythesameperson.”
“AndwecanfairlyassumethatthatpersonwasresponsiblefortheAndovermurder.”
“Quite.We’venowgotdefinitewarningofasecondcrimescheduledtotakeplaceonthe25th—thedayaftertomorrow—atBexhill.Whatstepscanbetaken?”
TheSussexChiefConstablelookedathissuperintendent.
“Well,Carter,whataboutit?”
Thesuperintendentshookhisheadgravely.
“It’sdifficult,sir.There’snottheleastcluetowardswhomthevictimmaybe.Speakingfairandsquare,whatstepscanwetake?”
“Asuggestion,”murmuredPoirot.
Theirfacesturnedtohim.
“IthinkitpossiblethatthesurnameoftheintendedvictimwillbeginwiththeletterB.”
“Thatwouldbesomething,”saidthesuperintendentdoubtfully.
“Analphabeticalcomplex,”saidDr.Thompsonthoughtfully.
“Isuggestitasapossibility—nomore.ItcameintomymindwhenIsawthenameAscherclearlywrittenovertheshopdooroftheunfortunatewomanwhowasmurderedlastmonth.WhenIgottheletternamingBexhillitoccurredtomeasapossibilitythatthevictimaswellastheplacemightbeselectedbyanalphabeticalsystem.”
“It’spossible,”saidthedoctor.“Ontheotherhand,itmaybethatthenameAscherwasacoincidence—thatthevictimthistime,nomatterwhathernameis,willagainbeanoldwomanwhokeepsashop.We’redealing,remember,withamadman.Sofarhehasn’tgivenusanyclueastomotive.”
“Hasamadmananymotive,sir?”askedthesuperintendentsceptically.
“Ofcoursehehas,man.Adeadlylogicisoneofthespecialcharacteristicsofacutemania.Amanmaybelievehimselfdivinelyappointedtokillclergymen—ordoctors—oroldwomenintobaccoshops—andthere’salwayssomeperfectlycoherentreasonbehindit.Wemustn’tletthealphabeticalbusinessrunawaywithus.BexhillsucceedingtoAndovermaybeamerecoincidence.”
“Wecanatleasttakecertainprecautions,Carter,andmakeaspecialnoteoftheB’s,especiallysmallshopkeepers,andkeepawatchonallsmalltobacconistsandnewsagentslookedafterbyasingleperson.Idon’tthinkthere’sanythingmorewecandothanthat.Naturally,keeptabsonallstrangersasfaraspossible.”
Thesuperintendentutteredagroan.
“Withtheschoolsbreakingupandtheholidaysbeginning?Peoplearefairlyfloodingintotheplacethisweek.”
“Wemustdowhatwecan,”theChiefConstablesaidsharply.
InspectorGlenspokeinhisturn.
“I’llhaveawatchkeptonanyoneconnectedwiththeAscherbusiness.Thosetwowitnesses,PartridgeandRiddell,andofcourseAscherhimself.IftheyshowanysignofleavingAndoverthey’llbefollowed.”
Theconferencebrokeupafterafewmoresuggestionsandalittledesultoryconversation.
“Poirot,”Isaidaswewalkedalongbytheriver.“Surelythiscrimecanbeprevented?”
Heturnedahaggardfacetome.
“Thesanityofacityfullofmenagainsttheinsanityofoneman?Ifear,Hastings—Iverymuchfear.Rememberthelong-continuedsuccessesofJacktheRipper.”
“It’shorrible,”Isaid.
“Madness,Hastings,isaterriblething…Iamafraid…Iamverymuchafraid….”
Nine
THEBEXHILL-ON-SEAMURDER
Istillremembermyawakeningonthemorningofthe25thofJuly.Itmusthavebeenaboutseven-thirty.
Poirotwasstandingbymybedsidegentlyshakingmebytheshoulder.Oneglanceathisfacebroughtmefromsemiconsciousnessintothefullpossessionofmyfaculties.
“Whatisit?”Idemanded,sittinguprapidly.
Hisanswercamequitesimply,butawealthofemotionlaybehindthethreewordsheuttered.
“Ithashappened.”
“What?”Icried.“Youmean—buttodayisthe25th.”
“Ittookplacelastnight—orratherintheearlyhoursofthismorning.”
AsIsprangfrombedandmadearapidtoilet,herecountedbrieflywhathehadjustlearntoverthetelephone.
“ThebodyofayounggirlhasbeenfoundonthebeachatBexhill.ShehasbeenidentifiedasElizabethBarnard,awaitressinoneofthecafés,wholivedwithherparentsinalittlerecentlybuiltbungalow.Medicalevidencegavethetimeofdeathasbetween11:30and1am.”
“They’requitesurethatthisisthecrime?”Iasked,asIhastilylatheredmyface.
“AnABCopenatthetrainstoBexhillwasfoundactuallyunderthebody.”
Ishivered.
“Thisishorrible!”
“Faitesattention,Hastings.Idonotwantasecondtragedyinmyrooms!”
Iwipedthebloodfrommychinratherruefully.
“Whatisourplanofcampaign?”Iasked.
“Thecarwillcallforusinafewmoments’time.Iwillbringyouacupofcoffeeheresothattherewillbenodelayinstarting.”
TwentyminuteslaterwewereinafastpolicecarcrossingtheThamesonourwayoutofLondon.
WithuswasInspectorCrome,whohadbeenpresentattheconferencetheotherday,andwhowasofficiallyinchargeofthecase.
CromewasaverydifferenttypeofofficerfromJapp.Amuchyoungerman,hewasthesilent,superiortype.Welleducatedandwellread,hewas,formytaste,severalshadestoopleasedwithhimself.Hehadlatelygainedkudosoveraseriesofchildmurders,havingpatientlytrackeddownthecriminalwhowasnowinBroadmoor.
Hewasobviouslyasuitablepersontoundertakethepresentcase,butIthoughtthathewasjustalittletooawareofthefacthimself.HismannertoPoirotwasashadepatronising.Hedeferredtohimasayoungermantoanolderone—inaratherself-conscious,“publicschool”way.
“I’vehadagoodlongtalkwithDr.Thompson,”hesaid.“He’sveryinterestedinthe‘chain’or‘series’typeofmurder.It’stheproductofaparticulardistortedtypeofmentality.Asalaymanonecan’t,ofcourse,appreciatethefinerpointsastheypresentthemselvestoamedicalpointofview.”Hecoughed.“Asamatteroffact—mylastcase—Idon’tknowwhetheryoureadaboutit—theMabelHomercase,theMuswellHillschoolgirl,youknow—thatmanCapperwasextraordinary.Amazinglydifficulttopinthecrimeontohim—itwashisthird,too!LookedassaneasyouorI.Buttherearevarioustests—verbaltraps,youknow—quitemodern,ofcourse,therewasnothingofthatkindinyourday.Onceyoucaninduceamantogivehimselfaway,you’vegothim!Heknowsthatyouknowandhisnervegoes.Hestartsgivinghimselfawayrightandleft.”
“Eveninmydaythathappenedsometimes,”saidPoirot.
InspectorCromelookedathimandmurmuredconversationally:“Oh,yes?”
Therewassilencebetweenusforsometime.AswepassedNewCrossStation,Cromesaid:
“Ifthere’sanythingyouwanttoaskmeaboutthecase,praydoso.”
“Youhavenot,Ipresume,adescriptionofthedeadgirl?”
“Shewastwenty-threeyearsofage,engagedasawaitressattheGingerCatcafé—”
“Pas?a.Iwondered—ifshewerepretty?”
“AstothatI’venoinformation,”saidInspectorCromewithahintofwithdrawal.Hismannersaid:“Really—theseforeigners!Allthesame!”
AfaintlookofamusementcameintoPoirot’seyes.
“Itdoesnotseemtoyouimportant,that?Yet,pourunefemme,itisofthefirstimportance.Oftenitdecidesherdestiny!”
Anothersilencefell.
ItwasnotuntilwewerenearingSevenoaksthatPoirotopenedtheconversationagain.
“Wereyouinformed,byanychance,howandwithwhatthegirlwasstrangled?”
InspectorCromerepliedbriefly.
“Strangledwithherownbelt—athick,knittedaffair,Igather.”
Poirot’seyesopenedverywide.
“Aha,”hesaid.“Atlastwehaveapieceofinformationthatisverydefinite.Thattellsonesomething,doesitnot?”
“Ihaven’tseenityet,”saidInspectorCromecoldly.
Ifeltimpatientwiththeman’scautionandlackofimagination.
“Itgivesusthehallmarkofthemurderer,”Isaid.“Thegirl’sownbelt.Itshowstheparticularbeastlinessofhismind!”
PoirotshotmeaglanceIcouldnotfathom.Onthefaceofititconveyedhumorousimpatience.Ithoughtthatperhapsitwasawarningnottobetoooutspokeninfrontoftheinspector.
Irelapsedintosilence.
AtBexhillweweregreetedbySuperintendentCarter.Hehadwithhimapleasant-faced,intelligent-lookingyounginspectorcalledKelsey.ThelatterwasdetailedtoworkinwithCromeoverthecase.
“You’llwanttomakeyourowninquiries,Crome,”saidthesuperintendent.“SoI’lljustgiveyouthemainheadsofthematterandthenyoucangetbusyrightaway.”
“Thankyou,sir,”saidCrome.
“We’vebrokenthenewstoherfatherandmother,”saidthesuperintendent.“Terribleshocktothem,ofcourse.Ileftthemtorecoverabitbeforequestioningthem,soyoucanstartfromthebeginningthere.”
“Thereareothermembersofthefamily—yes?”askedPoirot.
“There’sasister—atypistinLondon.She’sbeencommunicatedwith.Andthere’sayoungman—infact,thegirlwassupposedtobeoutwithhimlastnight,Igather.”
“AnyhelpfromtheABCguide?”askedCrome.
“It’sthere,”thesuperintendentnoddedtowardsthetable.“Nofingerprints.OpenatthepageforBexhill.Anewcopy,Ishouldsay—doesn’tseemtohavebeenopenedmuch.Notboughtanywhereroundhere.I’vetriedallthelikelystationers.”
“Whodiscoveredthebody,sir?”
“Oneofthesefresh-air,early-morningcolonels.ColonelJerome.Hewasoutwithhisdogabout6am.WentalongthefrontinthedirectionofCooden,anddownontothebeach.Dogwentoffandsniffedatsomething.Colonelcalledit.Dogdidn’tcome.Colonelhadalookandthoughtsomethingqueerwasup.Wentoverandlooked.Behavedveryproperly
“Andthetimeofdeathwasroundaboutmidnightlastnight?”
“Betweenmidnightand1am—that’sprettycertain.Ourhomicidaljokerisamanofhisword.Ifhesaysthe25th,itisthe25th—thoughitmayhavebeenonlybyafewminutes.”
Cromenodded.
“Yes,that’shismentalityallright.There’snothingelse?Nobodysawanythinghelpful?”
“Notasfarasweknow.Butit’searlyyet.Everyonewhosawagirlinwhitewalkingwithamanlastnightwillbealongtotellusaboutitsoon,andasIimaginetherewereaboutfourorfivehundredgirlsinwhitewalkingwithyoungmenlastnight,itoughttobeanicebusiness.”
“Well,sir,I’dbettergetdowntoit,”saidCrome.“There’sthecaféandthere’sthegirl’shome.I’dbettergotobothofthem.Kelseycancomewithme.”
“AndMr.Poirot?”askedthesuperintendent.
“Iwillaccompanyyou,”saidPoirottoCromewithalittlebow.
Crome,Ithought,lookedslightlyannoyed.Kelsey,whohadnotseenPoirotbefore,grinnedbroadly.
Itwasanunfortunatecircumstancethatthefirsttimepeoplesawmyfriendtheywerealwaysdisposedtoconsiderhimasajokeofthefirstwater.
“Whataboutthisbeltshewasstrangledwith?”askedCrome.“Mr.Poirotisinclinedtothinkit’savaluableclue.Iexpecthe’dliketoseeit.”
“Dutout,”saidPoirotquickly.“Youmisunderstoodme.”
“You’llgetnothingfromthat,”saidCarter.“Itwasn’taleatherbelt—mighthavegotfingerprintsifithadbeen.Justathicksortofknittedsilk—idealforthepurpose.”
Igaveashiver.
“Well,”saidCrome,“we’dbetterbegettingalong.”
Wesetoutforthwith.
OurfirstvisitwastotheGingerCat.Situatedontheseafront,thiswastheusualtypeofsmalltearoom.Ithadlittletablescoveredwithorange-checkedclothsandbasket-workchairsofexceedingdiscomfortwithorangecushionsonthem.Itwasthekindofplacethatspecializedinmorningcoffee,fivedifferentkindsofteas(Devonshire,Farmhouse,Fruit,CarltonandPlain),andafewsparinglunchdishesforfemalessuchasscrambledeggsandshrimpsandmacaroniaugratin.
Themorningcoffeeswerejustgettingunderway.Themanageressusheredushastilyintoaveryuntidybacksanctum.
“Miss—eh—Merrion?”inquiredCrome.
MissMerrionbleatedoutinahigh,distressed-gentlewomanvoice:
“Thatismyname.Thisisamostdistressingbusiness.Mostdistressing.HowitwillaffectourbusinessIreallycannotthink!”
MissMerrionwasaverythinwomanoffortywithwispyorangehair(indeedshewasastonishinglylikeagingercatherself).Sheplayednervouslywithvariousfichusandfrillsthatwerepartofherofficialcostume.
“You’llhaveaboom,”saidInspectorKelseyencouragingly.“You’llsee!Youwon’tbeabletoserveteasfastenough!”
“Disgusting,”saidMissMerrion.“Trulydisgusting.Itmakesonedespairofhumannature.”
Buthereyesbrightenednevertheless.
“Whatcanyoutellmeaboutthedeadgirl,MissMerrion?”
“Nothing,”saidMissMerrionpositively.“Absolutelynothing!”
“Howlonghadshebeenworkinghere?”
“Thiswasthesecondsummer.”
“Youweresatisfiedwithher?”
“Shewasagoodwaitress—quickandobliging.”
“Shewaspretty,yes?”inquiredPoirot.
MissMerrion,inherturn,gavehiman“Oh,theseforeigners”look.
“Shewasanice,clean-lookinggirl,”shesaiddistantly.
“Whattimedidshegooffdutylastnight?”askedCrome.
“Eighto’clock.Wecloseateight.Wedonotservedinners.Thereisnodemandforthem.Scrambledeggsandtea(Poirotshuddered)peoplecomeinforuptoseveno’clockandsometimesafter,butourrushisoverby6:30.”
“Didshementiontoyouhowsheproposedtospendherevening?”
“Certainlynot,”saidMissMerrionemphatically.“Wewerenotonthoseterms.”
“Noonecameinandcalledforher?Anythinglikethat?”
“No.”
“Didsheseemquiteherordinaryself?Notexcitedordepressed?”
“ReallyIcouldnotsay,”saidMissMerrionaloofly.
“Howmanywaitressesdoyouemploy?”
“Twonormally,andanextratwoafterthe20thJulyuntiltheendofAugust.”
“ButElizabethBarnardwasnotoneoftheextras?”
“MissBarnardwasoneoftheregulars.”
“Whatabouttheotherone?”
“MissHigley?Sheisaveryniceyounglady.”
“WeresheandMissBarnardfriends?”
“ReallyIcouldnotsay.”
“Perhapswe’dbetterhaveawordwithher.”
“Now?”
“Ifyouplease.”
“Iwillsendhertoyou,”saidMissMerrion,rising.“Pleasekeepherasshortatimeaspossible.Thisisthemorningcoffeerushhour.”
ThefelineandgingeryMissMerrionlefttheroom.
“Veryrefined,”remarkedInspectorKelsey.Hemimickedthelady’smincingtone.“ReallyIcouldnotsay.”
Aplumpgirl,slightlyoutofbreath,withdarkhair,rosycheeksanddarkeyesgogglingwithexcitement,bouncedin.
“MissMerrionsentme,”sheannouncedbreathlessly.
“MissHigley?”
“Yes,that’sme.”
“YouknewElizabethBarnard?”
“Oh,yes,IknewBetty.Isn’titawful?It’sjusttooawful!Ican’tbelieveit’strue.I’vebeensayingtothegirlsallthemorningIjustcan’tbelieveit!‘Youknow,girls,’Isaid,‘itjustdoesn’tseemreal.Betty!Imean,BettyBarnard,who’sbeenhereallalong,murdered!Ijustcan’tbelieveit,’Isaid.FiveorsixtimesI’vepinchedmyselfjusttoseeifIwouldn’twakeup.Bettymurdered…It’s—well,youknowwhatImean—itdoesn’tseemreal.”
“Youknewthedeadgirlwell?”askedCrome.
“Well,she’sworkedherelongerthanIhave.IonlycamethisMarch.Shewasherelastyear.Shewasratherquiet,ifyouknowwhatImean.Shewasn’tonetojokeorlaughalot.Idon’tmeanthatshewasexactlyquiet—she’dplentyoffuninherandallthat—butshedidn’t—well,shewasquietandshewasn’tquiet,ifyouknowwhatImean.”
IwillsayforInspectorCromethathewasexceedinglypatient.AsawitnessthebuxomMissHigleywaspersistentlymaddening.Everystatementshemadewasrepeatedandqualifiedhalfadozentimes.Thenetresultwasmeagreintheextreme.
Shehadnotbeenontermsofintimacywiththedeadgirl.ElizabethBarnard,itcouldbeguessed,hadconsideredherselfacutaboveMissHigley.Shehadbeenfriendlyinworkinghours,butthegirlshadnotseenmuchofheroutofthem.ElizabethBarnardhadhada“friend’whoworkedattheestateagentsnearthestation.Court&Brunskill.No,hewasn’tMr.CourtnorMr.Brunskill.Hewasaclerkthere.Shedidn’tknowhisname.Butsheknewhimbysightwell.Good-looking—oh,verygood-looking,andalwayssonicelydressed.Clearly,therewasatingeofjealousyinMissHigley’sheart.
Intheenditboileddowntothis.ElizabethBarnardhadnotconfidedinanyoneinthecaféastoherplansfortheevening,butinMissHigley’sopinionshehadbeengoingtomeether“friend.”Shehadhadonanewwhitedress,“eversosweetwithoneofthenewnecks.”
Wehadawordwitheachoftheothertwogirlsbutwithnofurtherresults.BettyBarnardhadnotsaidanythingastoherplansandnoonehadnoticedherinBexhillduringthecourseoftheevening.
Ten
THEBARNARDS
ElizabethBarnard’sparentslivedinaminutebungalow,oneoffiftyorsorecentlyrunupbyaspeculativebuilderontheconfinesofthetown.ThenameofitwasLlandudno.Mr.Barnard,astout,bewildered-lookingmanoffifty-fiveorso,hadnoticedourapproachandwasstandingwaitinginthedoorway.
“Comein,gentlemen,”hesaid.
InspectorKelseytooktheinitiative.
“ThisisInspectorCromeofScotlandYard,sir,”hesaid.“He’scomedowntohelpusoverthisbusiness.”
“ScotlandYard?”saidMr.Barnardhopefully.“That’sgood.Thismurderingvillain’sgottobelaidbytheheels.Mypoorlittlegirl—”Hisfacewasdistortedbyaspasmofgrief.
“AndthisisMr.HerculePoirot,alsofromLondon,ander—”
“CaptainHastings,”saidPoirot.
“Pleasedtomeetyou,gentlemen,”saidMr.Barnardmechanically.“Comeintothesnuggery.Idon’tknowthatmypoorwife’suptoseeingyou.Allbrokenup,sheis.”
However,bythetimethatwewereensconcedinthelivingroomofthebungalow,Mrs.Barnardhadmadeherappearance.Shehadevidentlybeencryingbitterly,hereyeswerereddenedandshewalkedwiththeuncertaingaitofapersonwhohadhadagreatshock.
“Why,mother,that’sfine,”saidMr.Barnard.“You’resureyou’reallright—eh?”
Hepattedhershoulderanddrewherdownintoachair.
“Thesuperintendentwasverykind,”saidMr.Barnard.“Afterhe’dbrokenthenewstous,hesaidhe’dleaveanyquestionstilllaterwhenwe’dgotoverthefirstshock.”
“Itistoocruel.Oh,itistoocruel,”criedMrs.Barnardtearfully.“Thecruellestthingthateverwas,itis.”
Hervoicehadafaintlysing-songintonationthatIthoughtforamomentwasforeigntillIrememberedthenameonthegateandrealizedthatthe“efferwass”ofherspeechwasinrealityproofofherWelshorigin.
“It’sverypainful,madam,Iknow,”saidInspectorCrome.“Andwe’veeverysympathyforyou,butwewanttoknowallthefactswecansoastogettoworkasquickaspossible.”
“That’ssense,thatis,”saidMr.Barnard,noddingapproval.
“Yourdaughterwastwenty-three,Iunderstand.ShelivedherewithyouandworkedattheGingerCatcafé,isthatright?”
“That’sit.”
“Thisisanewplace,isn’tit?Wheredidyoulivebefore?”
“IwasintheironmongerybusinessinKennington.Retiredtwoyearsago.Alwaysmeanttolivenearthesea.”
“Youhavetwodaughters?”
“Yes.MyelderdaughterworksinanofficeinLondon.”
“Weren’tyoualarmedwhenyourdaughterdidn’tcomehomelastnight?”
“Wedidn’tknowshehadn’t,”saidMrs.Barnardtearfully.“DadandIalwaysgotobedearly.Nineo’clock’sourtime.WeneverknewBettyhadn’tcomehometillthepoliceofficercameandsaid—andsaid—”
Shebrokedown.
“Wasyourdaughterinthehabitof—er—returninghomelate?”
“Youknowwhatgirlsarenowadays,inspector,”saidBarnard.“Independent,that’swhattheyare.Thesesummereveningsthey’renotgoingtorushhome.Allthesame,Bettywasusuallyinbyeleven.”
“Howdidshegetin?Wasthedooropen?”
“Leftthekeyunderthemat—that’swhatwealwaysdid.”
“Thereissomerumour,Ibelieve,thatyourdaughterwasengagedtobemarried?”
“Theydon’tputitasformallyasthatnowadays,”saidMr.Barnard.
“DonaldFraserhisnameis,andIlikedhim.Ilikedhimverymuch,”saidMrs.Barnard.“Poorfellow,it’llbetroubleforhim—thisnews.Doesheknowyet,Iwonder?”
“HeworksinCourt&Brunskill’s,Iunderstand?”
“Yes,they’retheestateagents.”
“Washeinthehabitofmeetingyourdaughtermosteveningsafterherwork?”
“Noteveryevening.Onceortwiceaweekwouldbenearer.”
“Doyouknowifshewasgoingtomeethimyesterday?”
“Shedidn’tsay.Bettyneversaidmuchaboutwhatshewasdoingorwhereshewasgoing.Butshewasagoodgirl,Bettywas.Oh,Ican’tbelieve—”
Mrs.Barnardstartedsobbingagain.
“Pullyourselftogether,oldlady.Trytoholdup,mother,”urgedherhusband.“We’vegottogettothebottomofthis.”
“I’msureDonaldwouldnever—wouldnever—”sobbedMrs.Barnard.
“Nowjustyoupullyourselftogether,”repeatedMrBarnard.
“IwishtoGodIcouldgiveyousomehelp—buttheplainfactisIknownothing—nothingatallthatcanhelpyoutofindthedastardlyscoundrelwhodidthis.Bettywasjustamerry,happygirl—withadecentyoungfellowthatshewas—well,we’dhavecalleditwalkingoutwithinmyyoungdays.Whyanyoneshouldwanttomurderhersimplybeatsme—itdoesn’tmakesense.”
“You’reverynearthetruththere,Mr.Barnard,”saidCrome.“ItellyouwhatI’dliketodo—havealookoverMissBarnard’sroom.Theremaybesomething—letters—oradiary.”
“Lookoveritandwelcome,”saidMr.Barnard,rising.
Heledtheway.Cromefollowedhim,thenPoirot,thenKelsey,andIbroughtuptherear.
Istoppedforaminutetoretiemyshoelaces,andasIdidsoataxidrewupoutsideandagirljumpedoutofit.Shepaidthedriverandhurriedupthepathtothehouse,carryingasmallsuitcase.Assheenteredthedoorshesawmeandstoppeddead.
Therewassomethingsoarrestinginherposethatitintriguedme.
“Whoareyou?”shesaid.
Icamedownafewsteps.Ifeltembarrassedastohowexactlytoreply.ShouldIgivemyname?OrmentionthatIhadcomeherewiththepolice?Thegirl,however,gavemenotimetomakeadecision.
“Oh,well,”shesaid,“Icanguess.”
Shepulledoffthelittlewhitewoollencapshewaswearingandthrewitontheground.Icouldseeherbetternowassheturnedalittlesothatthelightfellonher.
MyfirstimpressionwasoftheDutchdollsthatmysistersusedtoplaywithinmychildhood.Herhairwasblackandcutinastraightbobandabangacrosstheforehead.Hercheek-boneswerehighandherwholefigurehadaqueermodernangularitythatwasnot,somehow,unattractive.Shewasnotgood-looking—plainrather—buttherewasanintensity
“YouareMissBarnard?”Iasked.
“IamMeganBarnard.Youbelongtothepolice,Isuppose?”
“Well,”Isaid.“Notexactly—”
Sheinterruptedme.
“Idon’tthinkI’vegotanythingtosaytoyou.Mysisterwasanicebrightgirlwithnomenfriends.Goodmorning.”
Shegavemeashortlaughasshespokeandregardedmechallengingly.
“That’sthecorrectphrase,Ibelieve?”shesaid.
“I’mnotareporter,ifthat’swhatyou’regettingat.”
“Well,whatareyou?”Shelookedaround.“Where’smumanddad?”
“Yourfatherisshowingthepoliceyoursister’sbedroom.Yourmother’sinthere.She’sveryupset.”
Thegirlseemedtomakeadecision.
“Comeinhere,”shesaid.
Shepulledopenadoorandpassedthrough.Ifollowedherandfoundmyselfinasmall,neatkitchen.
Iwasabouttoshutthedoorbehindme—butfoundanunexpectedresistance.ThenextmomentPoirothadslippedquietlyintotheroomandshutthedoorbehindhim.
“MademoiselleBarnard?”hesaidwithaquickbow.
“ThisisM.HerculePoirot,”Isaid.
MeganBarnardgavehimaquick,appraisingglance.
“I’veheardofyou,”shesaid.“You’rethefashionableprivatesleuth,aren’tyou?”
“Notaprettydescription—butitsuffices,”saidPoirot.
Thegirlsatdownontheedgeofthekitchentable.Shefeltinherbagforacigarette.Sheplaceditbetweenherlips,lightedit,andthensaidinbetweentwopuffsofsmoke:
“Somehow,Idon’tseewhatM.HerculePoirotisdoinginourhumblelittlecrime.”
“Mademoiselle,”saidPoirot.“WhatyoudonotseeandwhatIdonotseewouldprobablyfillavolume.Butallthatisofnopracticalimportance.Whatisofpracticalimportanceissomethingthatwillnotbeeasytofind.”
“What’sthat?”
“Death,mademoiselle,unfortunatelycreatesaprejudice.Aprejudiceinfavourofthedeceased.IheardwhatyousaidjustnowtomyfriendHastings.‘Anicebrightgirlwithnomenfriends.’Yousaidthatinmockeryofthenewspapers.Anditisverytrue—whenayounggirlisdead,thatisthekindofthingthatissaid.Shewasbright.Shewashappy.Shewassweet-tempered.Shehadnotacareintheworld.Shehadnoundesirableacquaintances.Thereisagreatcharityalwaystothedead.DoyouknowwhatIshouldlikethisminute?IshouldliketofindsomeonewhoknewElizabethBarnardandwhodoesnotknowsheisdead!Then,perhaps,Ishouldhearwhatisusefultome—thetruth.”
MeganBarnardlookedathimforafewminutesinsilencewhilstshesmoked.Then,atlast,shespoke.Herwordsmademejump.
“Betty,”shesaid,“wasanunmitigatedlittleass!”
Eleven
MEGANBARNARD
AsIsaid,MeganBarnard’swords,andstillmorethecrispbusinessliketoneinwhichtheywereuttered,mademejump
Poirot,however,merelybowedhisheadgravely.
“Alabonneheure,”hesaid.“Youareintelligent,mademoiselle.”
MeganBarnardsaid,stillinthesamedetachedtone:
“IwasextremelyfondofBetty.Butmyfondnessdidn’tblindmefromseeingexactlythekindofsillylittlefoolshewas—andeventellinghersouponoccasions!Sistersarelikethat.”
“Anddidshepayanyattentiontoyouradvice?”
“Probablynot,”saidMegancynically.
“Willyou,mademoiselle,beprecise.”
Thegirlhesitatedforaminuteortwo.
Poirotsaidwithaslightsmile:
“Iwillhelpyou.IheardwhatyousaidtoHastings.Thatyoursisterwasabright,happygirlwithnomenfriends.Itwas—unpeu—theoppositethatwastrue,wasitnot?”
Megansaidslowly:
“Therewasn’tanyharminBetty.Iwantyoutounderstandthat.She’dalwaysgostraight.She’snottheweekendingkind.Nothingofthatsort.Butshelikedbeingtakenoutanddancingand—oh,cheapflatteryandcomplimentsandallthatsortofthing.”
“Andshewaspretty—yes?”
Thisquestion,thethirdtimeIhadheardit,metthistimewithapracticalresponse.
Meganslippedoffthetable,wenttohersuitcase,snappeditopenandextractedsomethingwhichshehandedtoPoirot
Inaleatherframewasaheadandshouldersofafair-haired,smilinggirl.Herhairhadevidentlyrecentlybeenpermed,itstoodoutfromherheadinamassofratherfrizzycurls.Thesmilewasarchandartificial.Itwascertainlynotafacethatyoucouldcallbeautiful,butithadanobviousandcheapprettiness.
Poirothandeditback,saying:
“Youandshedonotresembleeachother,mademoiselle.”
“Oh!I’mtheplainoneofthefamily.I’vealwaysknownthat.”Sheseemedtobrushasidethefactasunimportant.
“Inwhatwayexactlydoyouconsideryoursisterwasbehavingfoolishly?Doyoumean,perhaps,inrelationtoMr.DonaldFraser?”
“That’sit,exactly.Don’saveryquietsortofperson—buthe—well,naturallyhe’dresentcertainthings—andthen—”
“Andthenwhat,mademoiselle?”
Hiseyeswereonherverysteadily.
Itmayhavebeenmyfancybutitseemedtomethatshehesitatedasecondbeforeanswering.
“Iwasafraidthathemight—chuckheraltogether.Andthatwouldhavebeenapity.He’saverysteadyandhard-workingmanandwouldhavemadeheragoodhusband.”
Poirotcontinuedtogazeather.Shedidnotflushunderhisglancebutreturneditwithoneofherownequallysteadyandwithsomethingelseinit—somethingthatremindedmeofherfirstdefiant,disdainfulmanner.
“Soitislikethat,”hesaidatlast.“Wedonotspeakthetruthanylonger.”
Sheshruggedhershouldersandturnedtowardsthedoor.
“Well,”shesaid.“I’vedonewhatIcouldtohelpyou.”
Poirot’svoicearrestedher.
“Wait,mademoiselle.Ihavesomethingtotellyou.Comeback.”
Ratherunwillingly,Ithought,sheobeyed.
Somewhattomysurprise,PoirotplungedintothewholestoryoftheABCletters,themurderofAndover,andtherailwayguidefoundbythebodies.
Hehadnoreasontocomplainofanylackofinterestonherpart.Herlipsparted,hereyesgleaming,shehungonhiswords.
“Isthisalltrue,M.Poirot?”
“Yes,itistrue.”
“Youreallymeanthatmysisterwaskilledbysomehorriblehomicidalmaniac?”
“Precisely.”
Shedrewadeepbreath.
“Oh!Betty—Betty—how—howghastly!”
“Yousee,mademoiselle,thattheinformationforwhichIaskyoucangivefreelywithoutwonderingwhetherornotitwillhurtanyone.”
“Yes,Iseethatnow.”
“Thenletuscontinueourconversation.IhaveformedtheideathatthisDonaldFraserhas,perhaps,aviolentandjealoustemper,isthatright?”
MeganBarnardsaidquietly:
“I’mtrustingyounow,M.Poirot.I’mgoingtogiveyoutheabsolutetruth.Donis,asIsay,averyquietperson—abottled-upperson,ifyouknowwhatImean.Hecan’talwaysexpresswhathefeelsinwords.Butunderneathitallhemindsthingsterribly.Andhe’sgotajealousnature.HewasalwaysjealousofBetty.Hewasdevotedtoher—andofcourseshewasveryfondofhim,butitwasn’tinBettytobefondofonepersonandnotnoticeanybodyelse.Shewasn’tmadethatway.She’dgota—well,aneyeforanynice-lookingmanwho’dpassthetimeofdaywithher.Andofcourse,workingintheGingerCat,shewasalwaysrunningupagainstmen—especiallyinthesummerholidays.Shewasalwaysverypatwithhertongueandiftheychaffedhershe’dchaffbackagain.Andthenperhapsshe’dmeetthemandgotothepicturesorsomethinglikethat.Nothingserious—neveranythingofthatkind—butshejustlikedherfun.Sheusedtosaythatasshe’dgottosettledownwithDononedayshemightaswellhaveherfunnowwhileshecould.”
MeganpausedandPoirotsaid:
“Iunderstand.Continue.”
“ItwasjustthatattitudeofmindofhersthatDoncouldn’tunderstand.Ifshewasreallykeenonhimhecouldn’tseewhyshewantedtogooutwithotherpeople.Andonceortwicetheyhadflamingbigrowsaboutit.”
“M.Don,hewasnolongerquiet?”
“It’slikeallthosequietpeople,whentheydolosetheirtemperstheylosethemwithavengeance.DonwassoviolentthatBettywasfrightened.”
“Whenwasthis?”
“Therewasonerownearlyayearagoandanother—aworseone—justoveramonthago.Iwashomefortheweekend—andIgotthemtopatchitupagain,anditwasthenItriedtoknockalittlesenseintoBetty—toldhershewasalittlefool.Allshewouldsaywasthattherehadn’tbeenanyharminit.Well,thatwastrueenough,butallthesameshewasridingforafall.Yousee,aftertherowayearago,she’dgotintothehabitoftellingafewusefulliesontheprinciplethatwhattheminddoesn’tknowtheheartdoesn’tgrieveover.Thislastflare-upcamebecauseshe’dtoldDonshewasgoingtoHastingstoseeagirlpal—andhefoundoutthatshe’dreallybeenovertoEastbournewithsomeman.Hewasamarriedman,asithappened,andhe’dbeenabitsecretiveaboutthebusinessanyway—andsothatmadeitworse.Theyhadanawfulscene—Bettysayingthatshewasn’tmarriedtohimyetandshehadarighttogoaboutwithwhomshepleasedandDonallwhiteandshakingandsayingthatoneday—oneday—”
“Yes?”
“He’dcommitmurder—”saidMeganinaloweredvoice.
ShestoppedandstaredatPoirot.
Henoddedhisheadgravelyseveraltimes.
“Andso,naturally,youwereafraid….”
“Ididn’tthinkhe’dactuallydoneit—notforaminute!ButIwasafraiditmightbebroughtup—thequarrelandallthathe’dsaid—severalpeopleknewaboutit.”
AgainPoirotnoddedhisheadgravely.
“Justso.AndImaysay,mademoiselle,thatbutfortheegoisticalvanityofakiller,thatisjustwhatwouldhavehappened.IfDonaldFraserescapessuspicion,itwillbethankstoABC’smaniacalboasting.”
Hewassilentforaminuteortwo,thenhesaid:
“Doyouknowifyoursistermetthismarriedman,oranyotherman,lately?”
Meganshookherhead.
“Idon’tknow.I’vebeenaway,yousee.”
“Butwhatdoyouthink?”
“Shemayn’thavemetthatparticularmanagain.He’dprobablysheeroffifhethoughttherewasachanceofarow,butitwouldn’tsurprisemeifBettyhad—well,beentellingDonafewliesagain.Yousee,shedidsoenjoydancingandthepictures,andofcourse,Doncouldn’taffordtotakeherallthetime.”
“Ifso,isshelikelytohaveconfidedinanyone?Thegirlatthecafé,forinstance?”
“Idon’tthinkthat’slikely.Bettycouldn’tbeartheHigleygirl.Shethoughthercommon.Andtheotherswouldbenew.Bettywasn’ttheconfidingsortanyway.”
Anelectricbelltrilledsharplyabovethegirl’shead.
Shewenttothewindowandleanedout.Shedrewbackherheadsharply.
“It’sDon….”
“Bringhiminhere,”saidPoirotquickly.“Iwouldlikeawordwithhimbeforeourgoodinspectortakeshiminhand.”
LikeaflashMeganBarnardwasoutofthekitchen,andacoupleofsecondslatershewasbackagainleadingDonaldFraserbythehand.
Twelve
DONALDFRASER
Ifeltsorryatoncefortheyoungman.Hiswhitehaggardfaceandbewilderedeyesshowedhowgreatashockhehadhad.
Hewasawell-made,fine-lookingyoungfellow,standingcloseonsixfoot,notgood-looking,butwithapleasant,freckledface,highcheek-bonesandflamingredhair.
“What’sthis,Megan?”hesaid.“Whyinhere?ForGod’ssake,tellme—I’veonlyjustheard—Betty….”
Hisvoicetrailedaway.
Poirotpushedforwardachairandhesankdownonit.
Myfriendthenextractedasmallflaskfromhispocket,pouredsomeofitscontentsintoaconvenientcupwhichwashangingonthedresserandsaid:
“Drinksomeofthis,Mr.Fraser.Itwilldoyougood.”
Theyoungmanobeyed.Thebrandybroughtalittlecolourbackintohisface.Hesatupstraighterandturnedoncemoretothegirl.Hismannerwasquitequietandself-controlled.
“It’strue,Isuppose?”hesaid.“Bettyis—dead—killed?”
“It’strue,Don.”
Hesaidasthoughmechanically:
“HaveyoujustcomedownfromLondon?”
“Yes.Dadphonedme.”
“Bythe9:30,Isuppose?”saidDonaldFraser.
Hismind,shrinkingfromreality,ranforsafetyalongtheseunimportantdetails.
“Yes.”
Therewassilenceforaminuteortwo,thenFrasersaid:
“Thepolice?Aretheydoinganything?”
“They’reupstairsnow.LookingthroughBetty’sthings,Isuppose.”
“They’venoideawho—?Theydon’tknow—?”
Hestopped.
Hehadallasensitive,shyperson’sdislikeofputtingviolentfactsintowords.
Poirotmovedforwardalittleandaskedaquestion.Hespokeinabusinesslike,matter-of-factvoiceasthoughwhatheaskedwasanunimportantdetail.
“DidMissBarnardtellyouwhereshewasgoinglastnight?”
Fraserrepliedtothequestion.Heseemedtobespeakingmechanically:
“ShetoldmeshewasgoingwithagirlfriendtoSt.Leonards.”
“Didyoubelieveher?”
“I—”Suddenlytheautomatoncametolife.“Whatthedevildoyoumean?”
Hisfacethen,menacing,convulsedbysuddenpassion,mademeunderstandthatagirlmightwellbeafraidofrousinghisanger.
Poirotsaidcrisply:
“BettyBarnardwaskilledbyahomicidalmurderer.Onlybyspeakingtheexacttruthcanyouhelpustogetonhistrack.”
HisglanceforaminuteturnedtoMegan
“That’sright,Don,”shesaid.“Itisn’tatimeforconsideringone’sownfeelingsoranyoneelse’s.You’vegottocomeclean.”
DonaldFraserlookedsuspiciouslyatPoirot.
“Whoareyou?Youdon’tbelongtothepolice?”
“Iambetterthanthepolice,”saidPoirot.Hesaiditwithoutconsciousarrogance.Itwas,tohim,asimplestatementoffact.
“Tellhim,”saidMegan.
DonaldFrasercapitulated.
“I—wasn’tsure,”hesaid.“Ibelievedherwhenshesaidit.Neverthoughtofdoinganythingelse.Afterwards—perhapsitwassomethinginhermanner.I—I,well,Ibegantowonder.”
“Yes?”saidPoirot.
HehadsatdownoppositeDonaldFraser.Hiseyes,fixedontheotherman’s,seemedtobeexercisingamesmericspell
“Iwasashamedofmyselfforbeingsosuspicious.But—butIwassuspicious…Ithoughtofgoingtothefrontandwatchingherwhensheleftthecafé.Iactuallywentthere.ThenIfeltIcouldn’tdothat.Bettywouldseemeandshe’dbeangry.She’drealizeatoncethatIwaswatchingher.”
“Whatdidyoudo?”
“IwentovertoSt.Leonards.Gotovertherebyeighto’clock.ThenIwatchedthebuses—toseeifshewereinthem…Buttherewasnosignofher….”
“Andthen?”
“I—Ilostmyheadrather.Iwasconvincedshewaswithsomeman.IthoughtitprobablehehadtakenherinhiscartoHastings.Iwentonthere—lookedinhotelsandrestaurants,hungroundcinemas—wentonthepier.Alldamnfoolishness.EvenifshewasthereIwasunlikelytofindher,andanyway,therewereheapsofotherplaceshemighthavetakenhertoinsteadofHastings.”
Hestopped.Preciseashistonehadremained,Icaughtanundertoneofthatblind,bewilderingmiseryandangerthathadpossessedhimatthetimehedescribed.
“IntheendIgaveitup—cameback.”
“Atwhattime?”
“Idon’tknow.Iwalked.ItmusthavebeenmidnightorafterwhenIgothome.”
“Then—”
Thekitchendooropened.
“Oh,thereyouare,”saidInspectorKelsey.
InspectorCromepushedpasthim,shotaglanceatPoirotandaglanceatthetwostrangers.
“MissMeganBarnardandMr.DonaldFraser,”saidPoirot,introducingthem.
“ThisisInspectorCromefromLondon,”heexplained.
Turningtotheinspector,hesaid:
“WhileyoupursuedyourinvestigationsupstairsIhavebeenconversingwithMissBarnardandMr.Fraser,endeavouringifIcouldtofindsomethingthatwillthrowlightuponthematter.”
“Oh,yes?”saidInspectorCrome,histhoughtsnotuponPoirotbutuponthetwonewcomers.
Poirotretreatedtothehall.InspectorKelseysaidkindlyashepassed:
“Getanything?”
Buthisattentionwasdistractedbyhiscolleagueandhedidnotwaitforareply.
IjoinedPoirotinthehall.
“Didanythingstrikeyou,Poirot?”Iinquired.
“Onlytheamazingmagnanimityofthemurderer,Hastings.”
IhadnotthecouragetosaythatIhadnottheleastideawhathemeant.
Thirteen
ACONFERENCE
Conferences!
MuchofmymemoriesoftheABCcaseseemtobeofconferences.
ConferencesatScotlandYard.AtPoirot’srooms.Officialconferences.Unofficialconferences.
Thisparticularconferencewastodecidewhetherornotthefactsrelativetotheanonymouslettersshouldorshouldnotbemadepublicinthepress.
TheBexhillmurderhadattractedmuchmoreattentionthantheAndoverone.
Ithad,ofcourse,farmoreelementsofpopularity.Tobeginwiththevictimwasayoungandgood-lookinggirl.Also,ithadtakenplaceatapopularseasideresort.
Allthedetailsofthecrimewerereportedfullyandrehasheddailyinthindisguises.TheABCrailwayguidecameinforitsshareofattention.Thefavouritetheorywasthatithadbeenboughtlocallybythemurdererandthatitwasavaluablecluetohisidentity.ItalsoseemedtoshowthathehadcometotheplacebytrainandwasintendingtoleaveforLondon.
TherailwayguidehadnotfiguredatallinthemeagreaccountsoftheAndovermurder,sothereseemedatpresentlittlelikelihoodofthetwocrimesbeingconnectedinthepubliceye.
“We’vegottodecideuponapolicy,”saidtheAssistantCommissioner.“Thethingis—whichwaywillgiveusthebestresults?Shallwegivethepublicthefacts—enlisttheircooperation—afterall,it’llbethecooperationofseveralmillionpeople,lookingoutforamadman—”
“Hewon’tlooklikeamadman,”interjectedDr.Thompson.
“—lookingoutforsalesofABC’s—andsoon.AgainstthatIsupposethere’stheadvantageofworkinginthedark—notlettingourmanknowwhatwe’reupto,butthenthere’sthefactthatheknowsverywellthatweknow.He’sdrawnattentiontohimselfdeliberatelybyhisletters.Eh,Crome,what’syouropinion?”
“Ilookatitthisway,sir.Ifyoumakeitpublic,you’replayingABC’sgame.That’swhathewants—publicity—notoriety.That’swhathe’soutafter.I’mright,aren’tI,doctor?Hewantstomakeasplash.”
Thompsonnodded.
TheAssistantCommissionersaidthoughtfully:
“Soyou’reforbalkinghim.Refusinghimthepublicityhe’shankeringafter.Whataboutyou,M.Poirot?”
Poirotdidnotspeakforaminute.Whenhediditwaswithanairofchoosinghiswordscarefully.
“Itisdifficultforme,SirLionel,”hesaid.“Iam,asyoumightsay,aninterestedparty.Thechallengewassenttome.IfIsay‘Suppressthatfact—donotmakeitpublic,’mayitnotbethoughtthatitismyvanitythatspeaks?ThatIamafraidformyreputation?Itisdifficult!Tospeakout—totellall—thathasitsadvantages.Itis,atleast,awarning…Ontheotherhand,IamasconvincedasInspectorCromethatitiswhatthemurdererwantsustodo.”
“H’m!”saidtheAssistantCommissioner,rubbinghischin.HelookedacrossatDr.Thompson.“Supposewerefuseourlunaticthesatisfactionofthepublicityhecraves.What’shelikelytodo?”
“Commitanothercrime,”saidthedoctorpromptly.“Forceyourhand.”
“Andifwesplashthethingaboutinheadlines.Thenwhat’shisreaction?”
“Sameanswer.Onewayyoufeedhismegalomania,theotheryoubalkit.Theresult’sthesame.Anothercrime.”
“Whatdoyousay,M.Poirot?”
“IagreewithDr.Thompson.”
“Acleftstick—eh?Howmanycrimesdoyouthinkthis—lunatichasinmind?”
Dr.ThompsonlookedacrossatPoirot.
“LookslikeAtoZ,”hesaidcheerfully.
“Ofcourse,”hewenton,“hewon’tgetthere.Notnearly.You’llhavehimbytheheelslongbeforethat.Interestingtoknowhowhe’dhavedealtwiththeletterX.”Herecalledhimselfguiltilyfromthispurelyenjoyablespeculation.“Butyou’llhavehimlongbeforethat.GorH,let’ssay.”
TheAssistantCommissionerstruckthetablewithhisfist.
“MyGod,areyoutellingmewe’regoingtohavefivemoremurders?”
“Itwon’tbeasmuchasthat,sir,”saidInspectorCrome.“Trustme.”
Hespokewithconfidence.
“Whichletterofthealphabetdoyouplaceitat,inspector?”askedPoirot.
Therewasaslightironicnoteinhisvoice.Crome,Ithought,lookedathimwithatingeofdislikeadulteratingtheusualcalmsuperiority.
“Mightgethimnexttime,M.Poirot.Atanyrate,I’dguaranteetogethimbythetimehegetstoF.”
HeturnedtotheAssistantCommissioner
“IthinkI’vegotthepsychologyofthecasefairlyclear.Dr.ThompsonwillcorrectmeifI’mwrong.ItakeitthateverytimeABCbringsacrimeoff,hisself-confidenceincreasesaboutahundredpercent.Everytimehefeels‘I’mclever—theycan’tcatchme!’hebecomessoover-weeninglyconfidentthathealsobecomescareless.Heexaggerateshisownclevernessandeveryoneelse’sstupidity.Verysoonhe’dbehardlybotheringtotakeanyprecautionsatall.That’sright,isn’tit,doctor?”
Thompsonnodded.
“That’susuallythecase.Innon-medicaltermsitcouldn’thavebeenputbetter.Youknowsomethingaboutsuchthings,M.Poirot.Don’tyouagree?”
Idon’tthinkthatCromelikedThompson’sappealtoPoirot.Heconsideredthatheandheonlywastheexpertonthissubject.
“ItisasInspectorCromesays,”agreedPoirot.
“Paranoia,”murmuredthedoctor.
PoirotturnedtoCrome.
“ArethereanymaterialfactsofinterestintheBexhillcase?”
“Nothingverydefinite.AwaiterattheSplendideatEastbournerecognizesthedeadgirl’sphotographasthatofayoungwomanwhodinedthereontheeveningofthe24thincompanywithamiddle-agedmaninspectacles.It’salsobeenrecognizedataroadhouseplacecalledtheScarletRunnerhalfwaybetweenBexhillandLondon.Theysayshewasthereabout9pmonthe24thwithamanwholookedlikeanavalofficer.Theycan’tbothberight,buteitherofthem’sprobable.Ofcourse,there’sahostofotheridentifications,butmostofthemnotgoodformuch.Wehaven’tbeenabletotracetheABC.”
“Well,youseemtobedoingallthatcanbedone,Crome,”saidtheAssistantCommissioner.“Whatdoyousay,M.Poirot?Doesanylineofinquirysuggestitselftoyou?”
Poirotsaidslowly:
“Itseemstomethatthereisoneveryimportantclue—thediscoveryofthemotive.”
“Isn’tthatprettyobvious?Analphabeticalcomplex.Isn’tthatwhatyoucalledit,doctor?”
“?a,oui,”saidPoirot.“Thereisanalphabeticalcomplex.Butwhyanalphabeticalcomplex?Amadmaninparticularhasalwaysaverystrongreasonforthecrimeshecommits.”
“Come,come,M.Poirot,”saidCrome.“LookatStonemanin1929.Heendedbytryingtodoawaywithanyonewhoannoyedhimintheslightestdegree.”
Poirotturnedtohim.
“Quiteso.Butifyouareasufficientlygreatandimportantperson,itisnecessarythatyoushouldbesparedsmallannoyances.Ifaflysettlesonyourforeheadagainandagain,maddeningyoubyitstickling—whatdoyoudo?Youendeavourtokillthatfly.Youhavenoqualmsaboutit.Youareimportant—theflyisnot.Youkilltheflyandtheannoyanceceases.Youractionappearstoyousaneandjustifiable.Anotherreasonforkillingaflyisifyouhaveastrongpassionforhygiene.Theflyisapotentialsourceofdangertothecommunity—theflymustgo.Soworksthemindofthementallyderangedcriminal.Butconsidernowthiscase—ifthevictimsarealphabeticallyselected,thentheyarenotbeingremovedbecausetheyareasourceofannoyancetothemurdererpersonally.Itwouldbetoomuchofacoincidencetocombinethetwo.”
“That’sapoint,”saidDr.Thompson.“Irememberacasewhereawoman’shusbandwascondemnedtodeath.Shestartedkillingthemembersofthejuryonebyone.Quiteatimebeforethecrimeswereconnectedup.Theyseemedentirelyhaphazard.ButasM.Poirotsays,thereisn’tsuchathingasamurdererwhocommitscrimesatrandom.Eitherheremovespeoplewhostand(howeverinsignificantly)inhispath,orelsehekillsbyconviction.Heremovesclergymen,orpolicemen,orprostitutesbecausehefirmlybelievesthattheyshouldberemoved.Thatdoesn’tapplyhereeitherasfarasIcansee.Mrs.AscherandBettyBarnardcannotbelinkedasmembersofthesameclass.Ofcourse,it’spossiblethatthereisasexcomplex.Bothvictimshavebeenwomen.Wecantellbetter,ofcourse,afterthenextcrime—”
“ForGod’ssake,Thompson,don’tspeaksogliblyofthenextcrime,”saidSirLionelirritably.“We’regoingtodoallwecantopreventanothercrime.”
Dr.Thompsonheldhispeaceandblewhisnosewithsomeviolence.
“Haveityourownway,”thenoiseseemedtosay.“Ifyouwon’tfacefacts—”
TheAssistantCommissionerturnedtoPoirot.
“Iseewhatyou’redrivingat,butI’mnotquiteclearyet.”
“Iaskmyself,”saidPoirot,“whatpassesexactlyinthemindofthemurderer?Hekills,itwouldseemfromhisletters,pourlesport—toamusehimself.Canthatreallybetrue?Andevenifitistrue,onwhatprincipledoesheselecthisvictimsapartfromthemerelyalphabeticalone?Ifhekillsmerelytoamusehimselfhewouldnotadvertisethefact,since,otherwise,hecouldkillwithimpunity.Butno,heseeks,asweallagree,tomakethesplashinthepubliceye—toasserthispersonality.Inwhatwayhashispersonalitybeensuppressedthatonecanconnectwiththetwovictimshehassofarselected?Afinalsuggestion:Ishismotivedirectpersonalhatredofme,ofHerculePoirot?DoeshechallengemeinpublicbecauseIhave(unknowntomyself)vanquishedhimsomewhereinthecourseofmycareer?Orishisanimosityimpersonal—directedagainstaforeigner?Andifso,whatagainhasledtothat?Whatinjuryhashesufferedataforeigner’shand?”
“Allverysuggestivequestions,”saidDr.Thompson.
InspectorCromeclearedhisthroat.
“Oh,yes?Alittleunanswerableatpresent,perhaps.”
“Nevertheless,myfriend,”saidPoirot,lookingstraightathim,“itisthere,inthosequestions,thatthesolutionlies.Ifweknewtheexactreason—fantastic,perhaps,tous—butlogicaltohim—ofwhyourmadmancommitsthesecrimes,weshouldknow,perhaps,whothenextvictimislikelytobe.”
Cromeshookhishead.
“Heselectsthemhaphazard—that’smyopinion.”
“Themagnanimousmurderer,”saidPoirot.
“What’sthatyousay?”
“Isaid—themagnanimousmurderer!FranzAscherwouldhavebeenarrestedforthemurderofhiswife—DonaldFrasermighthavebeenarrestedforthemurderofBettyBarnard—ifithadnotbeenforthewarninglettersofABC.Ishe,then,sosoft-heartedthathecannotbearotherstosufferforsomethingtheydidnotdo?”
“I’veknownstrangerthingshappen,”saidDr.Thompson.“I’veknownmenwho’vekilledhalfadozenvictimsallbrokenupbecauseoneoftheirvictimsdidn’tdieinstantaneouslyandsufferedpain.Allthesame,Idon’tthinkthatthatisourfellow’sreason.Hewantsthecreditofthesecrimesforhisownhonourandglory.That’stheexplanationthatfitsbest.”
“We’vecometonodecisionaboutthepublicitybusiness,”saidtheAssistantCommissioner.
“IfImaymakeasuggestion,sir,”saidCrome.“Whynotwaittillthereceiptofthenextletter?Makeitpublicthen—specialeditions,etc.Itwillmakeabitofapanicintheparticulartownnamed,butitwillputeveryonewhosenamebeginswithContheirguard,andit’llputABConhismettle.He’llbedeterminedtosucceed.Andthat’swhenwe’llgethim.”
Howlittleweknewwhatthefutureheld
Fourteen
THETHIRDLETTER
IwellrememberthearrivalofABC’sthirdletter.
ImaysaythatallprecautionshadbeentakensothatwhenABCresumedhiscampaignthereshouldbenounnecessarydelays.AyoungsergeantfromScotlandYardwasattachedtothehouseandifPoirotandIwereoutitwashisdutytoopenanythingthatcamesoastobeabletocommunicatewithheadquarterswithoutlossoftime.
Asthedayssucceededeachotherwehadallgrownmoreandmoreonedge.InspectorCrome’saloofandsuperiormannergrewmoreandmorealoofandsuperiorasonebyonehismorehopefulcluespeteredout.ThevaguedescriptionsofmensaidtohavebeenseenwithBettyBarnardproveduseless.VariouscarsnoticedinthevicinityofBexhillandCoodenwereeitheraccountedfororcouldnotbetraced.TheinvestigationofpurchasesofABCrailwayguidescausedinconvenienceandtroubletoheapsofinnocentpeople.
Asforourselves,eachtimethepostman’sfamiliarrat-tatsoundedonthedoor,ourheartsbeatfasterwithapprehension.Atleastthatwastrueforme,andIcannotbutbelievethatPoirotexperiencedthesamesensation.
Hewas,Iknew,deeplyunhappyoverthecase.HerefusedtoleaveLondon,preferringtobeonthespotincaseofemergency.Inthosehotdogdaysevenhismoustachesdrooped—neglectedforoncebytheirowner.
ItwasonaFridaythatABC’sthirdlettercame.Theeveningpostarrivedaboutteno’clock.
Whenweheardthefamiliarstepandthebriskrat-tat,Iroseandwentalongtothebox.Therewerefourorfiveletters,Iremember.ThelastoneIlookedatwasaddressedinprintedcharacters.
“Poirot,”Icried…Myvoicediedaway
“Ithascome?Openit,Hastings.Quickly.Everymomentmaybeneeded.Wemustmakeourplans.”
Itoreopentheletter(Poirotforoncedidnotreproachmewithuntidiness)andextractedtheprintedsheet.
“Readit,”saidPoirot.
Ireadaloud:
PoorMr.Poirot,—Notsogoodattheselittlecriminalmattersasyouthoughtyourself,areyou?Ratherpastyourprime,perhaps?Letusseeifyoucandoanybetterthistime.Thistimeit’saneasyone.Churstononthe30th.Dotryanddosomethingaboutit!It’sabitdullhavingitallmyownway,youknow!Goodhunting.Everyours,ABC.
“Churston,”Isaid,jumpingtoourowncopyofanABC.“Let’sseewhereitis.”
“Hastings,”Poirot’svoicecamesharplyandinterruptedme.“Whenwasthatletterwritten?Isthereadateonit?”
Iglancedattheletterinmyhand.
“Writtenonthe27th,”Iannounced.
“DidIhearyouaright,Hastings?Didhegivethedateofthemurderasthe30th?”
“That’sright.Letmesee,that’s—”
“BonDieu,Hastings—doyounotrealise?Todayisthe30th.”
Hiseloquenthandpointedtothecalendaronthewall.Icaughtupthedailypapertoconfirmit.
“Butwhy—how—”Istammered.
Poirotcaughtupthetornenvelopefromthefloor.Somethingunusualabouttheaddresshadregistereditselfvaguelyinmybrain,butIhadbeentooanxioustogetatthecontentsofthelettertopaymorethanfleetingattentiontoit.
PoirotwasatthetimelivinginWhitehavenMansions.Theaddressran:M.HerculePoirot,WhitehorseMansions,acrossthecornerwasscrawled:“NotknownatWhitehorseMansions,EC1,noratWhitehorseCourt—tryWhitehavenMansions.”
“MonDieu!”murmuredPoirot.“Doesevenchanceaidthismadman?Vite—vite—wemustgetontoScotlandYard.”
AminuteortwolaterwewerespeakingtoCromeoverthewire.Foroncetheself-controlledinspectordidnotreply“Oh,yes?”Insteadaquicklystifledcursecametohislips.Heheardwhatwehadtosay,thenrangoffinordertogetatrunkconnectiontoChurstonasrapidlyaspossible.
“C’esttroptard,”murmuredPoirot.
“Youcan’tbesureofthat,”Iargued,thoughwithoutanygreathope.
Heglancedattheclock.
“Twentyminutespastten?Anhourandfortyminutestogo.IsitlikelythatABCwillhaveheldhishandsolong?”
IopenedtherailwayguideIhadpreviouslytakenfromitsshelf.
“Churston,Devon,”Iread,“fromPaddington204?miles.Population656.Itsoundsafairlysmallplace.Surelyourmanwillbeboundtobenoticedthere.”
“Evenso,anotherlifewillhavebeentaken,”murmuredPoirot.“Whatarethetrains?Iimaginetrainwillbequickerthancar.”
“There’samidnighttrain—sleepingcartoNewtonAbbot—getsthere6:8am,andthenChurstonat7:15.”
“ThatisfromPaddington?”
“Paddington,yes.”
“Wewilltakethat,Hastings.”
“You’llhardlyhavetimetogetnewsbeforewestart.”
“Ifwereceivebadnewstonightortomorrowmorningdoesitmatterwhich?”
“There’ssomethinginthat.”
IputafewthingstogetherinasuitcasewhilePoirotoncemorerangupScotlandYard.
Afewminuteslaterhecameintothebedroomanddemanded:
“Maisqu’estcequevousfaiteslà?”
“Iwaspackingforyou.Ithoughtitwouldsavetime.”
“Vouséprouveztropd’émotion,Hastings.Itaffectsyourhandsandyourwits.Isthatawaytofoldacoat?Andregardwhatyouhavedonetomypyjamas.Ifthehairwashbreakswhatwillbefallthem?”
“Goodheavens,Poirot,”Icried,“thisisamatteroflifeanddeath.Whatdoesitmatterwhathappenstoourclothes?”
“Youhavenosenseofproportion,Hastings.Wecannotcatchatrainearlierthanthetimethatitleaves,andtoruinone’sclotheswillnotbetheleasthelpfulinpreventingamurder.”
Takinghissuitcasefrommefirmly,hetookthepackingintohisownhands.
HeexplainedthatweweretotaketheletterandenvelopetoPaddingtonwithus.SomeonefromScotlandYardwouldmeetusthere.
WhenwearrivedontheplatformthefirstpersonwesawwasInspectorCrome.
HeansweredPoirot’slookofinquiry.
“Nonewsasyet.Allmenavailableareonthelookout.AllpersonswhosenamebeginswithCarebeingwarnedbyphonewhenpossible.There’sjustachance.Where’stheletter?”
Poirotgaveittohim.
Heexaminedit,swearingsoftlyunderhisbreath.
“Ofallthedamnedluck.Thestarsintheircoursesfightforthefellow.”
“Youdon’tthink,”Isuggested,“thatitwasdoneonpurpose?”
Cromeshookhishead.
“No.He’sgothisrules—crazyrules—andabidesbythem.Fairwarning.Hemakesapointofthat.That’swherehisboastfulnesscomesin.Iwondernow—I’dalmostbetthechapdrinksWhiteHorsewhisky.”
“Ah,c’estingénieux,?a!”saidPoirot,driventoadmirationinspiteofhimself.“Heprintstheletterandthebottleisinfrontofhim.”
“That’sthewayofit,”saidCrome.“We’veallofusdonemuchthesamethingonetimeoranother,unconsciouslycopiedsomethingthat’sjustundertheeye.HestartedoffWhiteandwentonhorseinsteadofhaven….”
Theinspector,wefound,wasalsotravellingbythetrain.
“Evenifbysomeunbelievablelucknothinghappened,Churstonistheplacetobe.Ourmurdereristhere,orhasbeentheretoday.Oneofmymenisonthephonehereuptothelastminuteincaseanythingcomesthrough.”
Justasthetrainwasleavingthestationwesawamanrunningdowntheplatform.Hereachedtheinspector’swindowandcalledupsomething.
AsthetraindrewoutofthestationPoirotandIhurriedalongthecorridorandtappedonthedooroftheinspector’ssleeper.
“Youhavenews—yes?”demandedPoirot
Cromesaidquietly:
“It’saboutasbadasitcanbe.SirCarmichaelClarkehasbeenfoundwithhisheadbashedin.”
SirCarmichaelClarke,althoughhisnamewasnotverywellknowntothegeneralpublic,wasamanofsomeeminence.Hehadbeeninhistimeaverywell-knownthroatspecialist.Retiringfromhisprofessionverycomfortablyoff,hehadbeenabletoindulgewhathadbeenoneofthechiefpassionsofhislife—acollectionofChinesepotteryandporcelain.Afewyearslater,inheritingaconsiderablefortunefromanelderlyuncle,hehadbeenabletoindulgehispassiontothefull,andhewasnowthepossessorofoneofthebest-knowncollectionsofChineseart.HewasmarriedbuthadnochildrenandlivedinahousehehadbuiltforhimselfneartheDevoncoast,onlycomingtoLondononrareoccasionssuchaswhensomeimportantsalewason.
Itdidnotrequiremuchreflectiontorealizethathisdeath,followingthatoftheyoungandprettyBettyBarnard,wouldprovidethebestnewspapersensationforyears.ThefactthatitwasAugustandthatthepaperswerehardupforsubjectmatterwouldmakemattersworse.
“Ehbien,”saidPoirot.“Itispossiblethatpublicitymaydowhatprivateeffortshavefailedtodo.ThewholecountrynowwillbelookingforABC.”
“Unfortunately,”Isaid,“that’swhathewants.”
“True.Butitmay,allthesame,behisundoing.Gratifiedbysuccess,hemaybecomecareless…ThatiswhatIhope—thathemaybedrunkwithhisowncleverness.”
“Howoddallthisis,Poirot,”Iexclaimed,strucksuddenlybyanidea.“Doyouknow,thisisthefirstcrimeofthiskindthatyouandIhaveworkedontogether?Allourmurdershavebeen—well,privatemurders,sotospeak.”
“Youarequiteright,myfriend.Always,uptonow,ithasfallentoourlottoworkfromtheinside.Ithasbeenthehistoryofthevictimthatwasimportant.Theimportantpointshavebeen:‘Whobenefitedbythedeath?Whatopportunitieshadthoseroundhimtocommitthecrime?’Ithasalwaysbeenthe‘crimeintime.’Here,forthefirsttimeinourassociation,itiscold-blooded,impersonalmurder.Murderfromtheoutside.”
Ishivered.
“It’sratherhorrible….”
“Yes.Ifeltfromthefirst,whenIreadtheoriginalletter,thattherewassomethingwrong—misshapen….”
Hemadeanimpatientgesture.
“Onemustnotgivewaytothenerves…Thisisnoworsethananyordinarycrime….”
“Itis…Itis….”
“Isitworsetotakethelifeorlivesofstrangersthantotakethelifeofsomeonenearanddeartoyou—someonewhotrustsandbelievesinyou,perhaps?”
“It’sworsebecauseit’smad….”
“No,Hastings.Itisnotworse.Itisonlymoredifficult.”
“No,no,Idonotagreewithyou.It’sinfinitelymorefrightening.”
HerculePoirotsaidthoughtfully:
“Itshouldbeeasiertodiscoverbecauseitismad.Acrimecommittedbysomeoneshrewdandsanewouldbefarmorecomplicated.Here,ifonecouldbuthitontheidea…Thisalphabeticalbusiness,ithasdiscrepancies.IfIcouldonceseetheidea—theneverythingwouldbeclearandsimple….”
Hesighedandshookhishead.
“Thesecrimesmustnotgoon.Soon,soon,Imustseethetruth…Go,Hastings.Getsomesleep.Therewillbemuchtodotomorrow.”
Fifteen
SIRCARMICHAELCLARKE
Churston,lyingasitdoesbetweenBrixhamontheonesideandPaigntonandTorquayontheother,occupiesapositionabouthalfwayroundthecurveofTorbay.Untilabouttenyearsagoitwasmerelyagolflinksandbelowthelinksagreensweepofcountrysidedroppingdowntotheseawithonlyafarmhouseortwointhewayofhumanoccupation.ButoflateyearstherehadbeenbigbuildingdevelopmentsbetweenChurstonandPaigntonandthecoastlineisnowdottedwithsmallhousesandbungalows,newroads,etc.
SirCarmichaelClarkehadpurchasedasiteofsometwoacrescommandinganuninterruptedviewofthesea.Thehousehehadbuiltwasofmoderndesign—awhiterectanglethatwasnotunpleasingtotheeye.Apartfromtwobiggalleriesthathousedhiscollectionitwasnotalargehouse.
Ourarrivaltheretookplaceabout8am.Alocalpoliceofficerhadmetusatthestationandhadputusaucourantofthesituation.
SirCarmichaelClarke,itseemed,hadbeeninthehabitoftakingastrollafterdinnereveryevening.Whenthepolicerangup—atsometimeaftereleven—itwasascertainedthathehadnotreturned.Sincehisstrollusuallyfollowedthesamecourse,itwasnotlongbeforeasearchpartydiscoveredhisbody.Deathwasduetoacrashingblowwithsomeheavyinstrumentonthebackofthehead.AnopenABChadbeenplacedfacedownwardsonthedeadbody.
WearrivedatCombeside(asthehousewascalled)atabouteighto’clock.Thedoorwasopenedbyanelderlybutlerwhoseshakinghandsanddisturbedfaceshowedhowmuchthetragedyhadaffectedhim.
“Goodmorning,Deveril,”saidthepoliceofficer.
“Goodmorning,Mr.Wells.”
“ThesearethegentlemenfromLondon,Deveril.”
“Thisway,gentlemen.”Heusheredusintoalongdiningroomwherebreakfastwaslaid.“I’llgetMr.Franklin.”
Aminuteortwolaterabigfair-hairedmanwithasunburntfaceenteredtheroom.
ThiswasFranklinClarke,thedeadman’sonlybrother.
Hehadtheresolutecompetentmannerofamanaccustomedtomeetingwithemergencies.
“Goodmorning,gentlemen.”
InspectorWellsmadetheintroductions.
“ThisisInspectorCromeoftheCID,Mr.HerculePoirotand—er—CaptainHayter.”
“Hastings,”Icorrectedcoldly.
FranklinClarkeshookhandswitheachofusinturnandineachcasethehandshakewasaccompaniedbyapiercinglook
“Letmeofferyousomebreakfast,”hesaid.“Wecandiscussthepositionasweeat.”
Therewerenodissentientvoicesandweweresoondoingjusticetoexcellenteggsandbaconandcoffee.
“Nowforit,”saidFranklinClarke.“InspectorWellsgavemearoughideaofthepositionlastnight—thoughImaysayitseemedoneofthewildesttalesIhaveeverheard.AmIreallytobelieve,InspectorCrome,thatmypoorbrotheristhevictimofahomicidalmaniac,thatthisisthethirdmurderthathasoccurredandthatineachcaseanABCrailwayguidehasbeendepositedbesidethebody?”
“Thatissubstantiallytheposition,Mr.Clarke.”
“Butwhy?Whatearthlybenefitcanaccruefromsuchacrime—eveninthemostdiseasedimagination?”
Poirotnoddedhisheadinapproval.
“Yougostraighttothepoint,Mr.Franklin,”hesaid.
“It’snotmuchgoodlookingformotivesatthisstage,Mr.Clarke,”saidInspectorCrome.“That’samatterforanalienist—thoughImaysaythatI’vehadacertainexperienceofcriminallunacyandthatthemotivesareusuallygrosslyinadequate.Thereisadesiretoassertone’spersonality,tomakeasplashinthepubliceye—infact,tobeasomebodyinsteadofanonentity.”
“Isthattrue,M.Poirot?”
Clarkeseemedincredulous.HisappealtotheoldermanwasnottoowellreceivedbyInspectorCrome,whofrowned.
“Absolutelytrue,”repliedmyfriend.
“Atanyratesuchamancannotescapedetectionlong,”saidClarkethoughtfully.
“Vouscroyez?Ah,buttheyarecunning—cesgenslà!Andyoumustremembersuchatypehasusuallyalltheoutersignsofinsignificance—hebelongstotheclassofpersonwhoisusuallypassedoverandignoredorevenlaughedat!”
“Willyouletmehaveafewfacts,please,Mr.Clarke,”saidCrome,breakinginontheconversation.
“Certainly.”
“Yourbrother,Itakeit,wasinhisusualhealthandspiritsyesterday?Hereceivednounexpectedletters?Nothingtoupsethim?”
“No.Ishouldsayhewasquitehisusualself.”
“Notupsetandworriedinanyway.”
“Excuseme,inspector.Ididn’tsaythat.Tobeupsetandworriedwasmypoorbrother’snormalcondition.”
“Whywasthat?”
“Youmaynotknowthatmysister-in-law,LadyClarke,isinverybadhealth.Frankly,betweenourselves,sheissufferingfromanincurablecancer,andcannotliveverymuchlonger.Herillnesshaspreyedterriblyonmybrother’smind.ImyselfreturnedfromtheEastnotlongagoandIwasshockedatthechangeinhim.”
Poirotinterpolatedaquestion.
“Supposing,Mr.Clarke,thatyourbrotherhadbeenfoundshotatthefootofacliff—orshotwitharevolverbesidehim.Whatwouldhavebeenyourfirstthought?”
“Quitefrankly,Ishouldhavejumpedtotheconclusionthatitwassuicide,”saidClarke.
“Encore!”saidPoirot.
“Whatisthat?”
“Afactthatrepeatsitself.Itisofnomatter.”
“Anyway,itwasn’tsuicide,”saidCromewithatouchofcurtness.“NowIbelieve,Mr.Clarke,thatitwasyourbrother’shabittogoforastrolleveryevening?”
“Quiteright.Healwaysdid.”
“Everynight?”
“Well,notifitwaspouringwithrain,naturally.”
“Andeveryoneinthehouseknewofthishabit?”
“Ofcourse.”
“Andoutside?”
“Idon’tquiteknowwhatyoumeanbyoutside.Thegardenermayhavebeenawareofitornot,Idon’tknow.”
“Andinthevillage?”
“Strictlyspeaking,wehaven’tgotavillage.There’sapostofficeandcottagesatChurstonFerrers—butthere’snovillageorshops.”
“Isupposeastrangerhangingroundtheplacewouldbefairlyeasilynoticed?”
“Onthecontrary.InAugustallthispartoftheworldisaseethingmassofstrangers.TheycomeovereverydayfromBrixhamandTorquayandPaigntonincarsandbusesandonfoot.Broadsands,whichisdownthere(hepointed),isaverypopularbeachandsoisElburyCove—it’sawell-knownbeautyspotandpeoplecomethereandpicnic.Iwishtheydidn’t!You’venoideahowbeautifulandpeacefulthispartoftheworldisinJuneandthebeginningofJuly.”
“Soyoudon’tthinkastrangerwouldbenoticed?”
“Notunlesshelooked—well,offhishead.”
“Thismandoesn’tlookoffhishead,”saidCromewithcertainty.“YouseewhatI’mgettingat,Mr.Clarke.Thismanmusthavebeenspyingoutthelandbeforehandanddiscoveredyourbrother’shabitoftakinganeveningstroll.Isuppose,bytheway,thatnostrangemancameuptothehouseandaskedtoseeSirCarmichaelyesterday?”
“NotthatIknowof—butwe’llaskDeveril.”
Herangthebellandputthequestiontothebutler.
“No,sir,noonecametoseeSirCarmichael.AndIdidn’tnoticeanyonehangingaboutthehouseeither.Nomoredidthemaids,becauseI’veaskedthem.”
Thebutlerwaitedamoment,theninquired:“Isthatall,sir?”
“Yes,Deveril,youcango.”
Thebutlerwithdrew,drawingbackinthedoorwaytoletayoungwomanpass.
FranklinClarkeroseasshecamein.
“ThisisMissGrey,gentlemen.Mybrother’ssecretary.”
Myattentionwascaughtatoncebythegirl’sextraordinaryScandinavianfairness.Shehadthealmostcolourlessashhair—light-greyeyes—andtransparentglowingpallorthatonefindsamongstNorwegiansandSwedes.Shelookedabouttwenty-sevenandseemedtobeasefficientasshewasdecorative.
“CanIhelpyouinanyway?”sheaskedasshesatdown.
Clarkebroughtheracupofcoffee,butsherefusedanyfood.
“DidyoudealwithSirCarmichael’scorrespondence?”askedCrome.
“Yes,allofit.”
“IsupposeheneverreceivedaletterorletterssignedABC?”
“ABC?”Sheshookherhead.“No,I’msurehedidn’t.”
“Hedidn’tmentionhavingseenanyonehangingaboutduringhiseveningwalkslately?”
“No.Henevermentionedanythingofthekind.”
“Andyouyourselfhavenoticednostrangers?”
“Notexactlyhangingabout.Ofcourse,therearealotofpeoplewhatyoumightcallwanderingaboutatthistimeofyear.Oneoftenmeetspeoplestrollingwithanaimlesslookacrossthegolflinksordownthelanestothesea.Inthesameway,practicallyeveryoneoneseesthistimeofyearisastranger.”
Poirotnoddedthoughtfully.
InspectorCromeaskedtobetakenoverthegroundofSirCarmichael’snightlywalk.FranklinClarkeledthewaythroughthefrenchwindow,andMissGreyaccompaniedus.
SheandIwerealittlebehindtheothers.
“Allthismusthavebeenaterribleshocktoyouall,”Isaid.
“Itseemsquiteunbelievable.Ihadgonetobedlastnightwhenthepolicerangup.IheardvoicesdownstairsandatlastIcameoutandaskedwhatwasthematter.DeverilandMr.Clarkewerejustsettingoutwithlanterns.”
“WhattimedidSirCarmichaelusuallycomebackfromhiswalk?”
“Aboutaquartertoten.Heusedtolethimselfinbythesidedoorandthensometimeshewentstraighttobed,sometimestothegallerywherehiscollectionswere.Thatiswhy,unlessthepolicehadrungup,hewouldprobablynothavebeenmissedtilltheywenttocallhimthismorning.”
“Itmusthavebeenaterribleshocktohiswife?”
“LadyClarkeiskeptundermorphiaagooddeal.Ithinksheisintoodazedaconditiontoappreciatewhatgoesonroundher.”
Wehadcomeoutthroughagardengateontothegolflinks.Crossingacornerofthem,wepassedoverastileintoasteep,windinglane.
“ThisleadsdowntoElburyCove,”explainedFranklinClarke.“ButtwoyearsagotheymadeanewroadleadingfromthemainroadtoBroadsandsandontoElbury,sothatnowthislaneispracticallydeserted.”
Wewentondownthelane.Atthefootofitapathledbetweenbramblesandbrackendowntothesea.Suddenlywecameoutonagrassyridgeoverlookingtheseaandabeachofglisteningwhitestones.Allrounddarkgreentreesrandowntothesea.Itwasanenchantingspot—white,deepgreen—andsapphireblue.
“Howbeautiful!”Iexclaimed.
Clarketurnedtomeeagerly.
“Isn’tit?WhypeoplewanttogoabroadtotheRivierawhenthey’vegotthis!I’vewanderedallovertheworldinmytimeand,honesttoGod,I’veneverseenanythingasbeautiful.”
Then,asthoughashamedofhiseagerness,hesaidinamorematter-of-facttone:
“Thiswasmybrother’seveningwalk.Hecameasfarashere,thenbackupthepath,andturningtotherightinsteadoftheleft,wentpastthefarmandacrossthefieldsbacktothehouse.”
Weproceededonourwaytillwecametoaspotnearthehedge,halfwayacrossthefieldwherethebodyhadbeenfound
Cromenodded.
“Easyenough.Themanstoodhereintheshadow.Yourbrotherwouldhavenoticednothingtilltheblowfell.”
Thegirlatmysidegaveaquickshiver
FranklinClarkesaid:
“Holdup,Thora.It’sprettybeastly,butit’snouseshirkingfacts.”
ThoraGrey—thenamesuitedher.
Wewentbacktothehousewherethebodyhadbeentakenafterbeingphotographed.
Aswemountedthewidestaircasethedoctorcameoutofaroom,blackbaginhand.
“Anythingtotellus,doctor?”inquiredClarke.
Thedoctorshookhishead.
“Perfectlysimplecase.I’llkeepthetechnicalitiesfortheinquest.Anyway,hedidn’tsuffer.Deathmusthavebeeninstantaneous.”
Hemovedaway.
“I’lljustgoinandseeLadyClarke.”
Ahospitalnursecameoutofaroomfartheralongthecorridorandthedoctorjoinedher.
Wewentintotheroomoutofwhichthedoctorhadcome.
Icameoutagainratherquickly.ThoraGreywasstillstandingattheheadofthestairs.
Therewasaqueerscaredexpressiononherface.
“MissGrey—”Istopped.“Isanythingthematter?”
Shelookedatme.
“Iwasthinking,”shesaid,“aboutD.”
“AboutD?”Istaredatherstupidly.
“Yes.Thenextmurder.Somethingmustbedone.It’sgottobestopped.”
Clarkecameoutoftheroombehindme.
Hesaid:
“What’sgottobestopped,Thora?”
“Theseawfulmurders.”
“Yes.”Hisjawthrustitselfoutaggressively.“IwanttotalktoM.Poirotsometime…IsCromeanygood?”Heshotthewordsoutunexpectedly.
Irepliedthathewassupposedtobeaverycleverofficer.
Myvoicewasperhapsnotasenthusiasticasitmighthavebeen.
“He’sgotadamnedoffensivemanner,”saidClarke.“Looksasthoughheknowseverything—andwhatdoesheknow?NothingatallasfarasIcanmakeout.”
Hewassilentforaminuteortwo.Thenhesaid:
“M.Poirot’sthemanformymoney.I’vegotaplan.Butwe’lltalkofthatlater.”
Hewentalongthepassageandtappedatthesamedoorasthedoctorhadentered.
Ihesitatedamoment.Thegirlwasstaringinfrontofher.
“Whatareyouthinkingof,MissGrey?”
Sheturnedhereyestowardsme.
“I’mwonderingwhereheisnow…themurderer,Imean.It’snottwelvehoursyetsinceithappened…Oh!aren’tthereanyrealclairvoyantswhocouldseewhereheisnowandwhatheisdoing….”
“Thepolicearesearching—”Ibegan.
Mycommonplacewordsbrokethespell.ThoraGreypulledherselftogether.
“Yes,”shesaid.“Ofcourse.”
Inherturnshedescendedthestaircase.Istoodthereamomentlongerconningherwordsoverinmymind.
ABC….
Wherewashenow…?
Sixteen
NOTFROMCAPTAINHASTINGS’PERSONALNARRATIVE
Mr.AlexanderBonaparteCustcameoutwiththerestoftheaudiencefromtheTorquayPalladium,wherehehadbeenseeingandhearingthathighlyemotionalfilm,NotaSparrow….
Heblinkedalittleashecameoutintotheafternoonsunshineandpeeredroundhiminthatlost-dogfashionthatwascharacteristicofhim.
Hemurmuredtohimself:“It’sanidea….”
Newsboyspassedalongcryingout:
“Latest…HomicidalManiacatChurston….”
Theycarriedplacardsonwhichwaswritten:
CHURSTONMURDER.LATEST.
Mr.Custfumbledinhispocket,foundacoin,andboughtapaper.Hedidnotopenitatonce.
EnteringthePrincessGardens,heslowlymadehiswaytoashelterfacingTorquayharbour.Hesatdownandopenedthepaper.
Therewerebigheadlines:
SIRCARMICHAELCLARKEMURDERED.
TERRIBLETRAGEDYATCHURSTON.
WORKOFAHOMICIDALMANIAC.
Andbelowthem:
OnlyamonthagoEnglandwasshockedandstartledbythemurderofayounggirl,ElizabethBarnard,atBexhill.ItmayberememberedthatanABCrailwayguidefiguredinthecase.AnABCwasalsofoundbythedeadbodyofSirCarmichaelClarke,andthepoliceinclinetothebeliefthatbothcrimeswerecommittedbythesameperson.Canitbepossiblethatahomicidalmurdererisgoingtheroundofourseasideresorts?…
AyoungmaninflanneltrousersandabrightblueAertexshirtwhowassittingbesideMr.Custremarked:
“Nastybusiness—eh?”
Mr.Custjumped.
“Oh,very—very—”
Hishands,theyoungmannoticed,weretremblingsothathecouldhardlyholdthepaper.
“Youneverknowwithlunatics,”saidtheyoungmanchattily.“Theydon’talwayslookbarmy,youknow.Oftentheyseemjustthesameasyouorme….”
“Isupposetheydo,”saidMr.Cust.
“It’safact.Sometimesit’sthewarwhatunhingedthem—neverbeenrightsince.”
“I—Iexpectyou’reright.”
“Idon’tholdwithwars,”saidtheyoungman.
Hiscompanionturnedonhim.
“Idon’tholdwithplagueandsleepingsicknessandfamineandcancer…buttheyhappenallthesame!”
“War’spreventable,”saidtheyoungmanwithassurance.
Mr.Custlaughed.Helaughedforsometime.
Theyoungmanwasslightlyalarmed.
“He’sabitbattyhimself,”hethought.
Aloudhesaid:
“Sorry,sir,Iexpectyouwereinthewar.”
“Iwas,”saidMr.Cust.“It—it—unsettledme.Myhead’sneverbeenrightsince.Itaches,youknow.Achesterribly.”
“Oh!I’msorryaboutthat,”saidtheyoungmanawkwardly.
“SometimesIhardlyknowwhatI’mdoing….”
“Really?Well,Imustbegettingalong,”saidtheyoungmanandremovedhimselfhurriedly.Heknewwhatpeoplewereoncetheybegantotalkabouttheirhealth.
Mr.Custremainedwithhispaper.
Hereadandreread….
Peoplepassedtoandfroinfrontofhim.
Mostofthemweretalkingofthemurder….
“Awful…doyouthinkitwasanythingtodowiththeChinese?Wasn’tthewaitressinaChinesecafé….”
“Actuallyonthegolflinks….”
“Ihearditwasonthebeach….”
“—but,darling,wetookourteatoElburyonlyyesterday….”
“—policearesuretogethim….”
“—sayhemaybearrestedanyminutenow….”
“—quitelikelyhe’sinTorquay…thatotherwomanwaswhomurderedthewhatdoyoucall’ems….”
Mr.Custfoldedupthepaperveryneatlyandlaiditontheseat.Thenheroseandwalkedsedatelyalongtowardsthetown.
Girlspassedhim,girlsinwhiteandpinkandblue,insummeryfrocksandpyjamasandshorts.Theylaughedandgiggled.Theireyesappraisedthementheypassed.
NotoncedidtheireyeslingerforasecondonMr.Cust….
HesatdownatalittletableandorderedteaandDevonshirecream….
Seventeen
MARKINGTIME
WiththemurderofSirCarmichaelClarketheABCmysteryleapedintothefullestprominence.
Thenewspaperswerefullofnothingelse.Allsortsof“clues”werereportedtohavebeendiscovered.Arrestswereannouncedtobeimminent.Therewerephotographsofeverypersonorplaceremotelyconnectedwiththemurder.Therewereinterviewswithanyonewhowouldgiveinterviews.TherewerequestionsaskedinParliament.
TheAndovermurderwasnowbracketedwiththeothertwo.
ItwasthebeliefofScotlandYardthatthefullestpublicitywasthebestchanceoflayingthemurdererbytheheels.ThepopulationofGreatBritainturneditselfintoanarmyofamateursleuths.
TheDailyFlickerhadthegrandinspirationofusingthecaption:
HEMAYBEINYOURTOWN!
Poirot,ofcourse,wasinthethickofthings.Theletterssenttohimwerepublishedandfacsimiled.Hewasabusedwholesalefornothavingpreventedthecrimesanddefendedonthegroundthathewasonthepointofnamingthemurderer.
Reportersincessantlybadgeredhimforinterviews.
WhatM.PoirotSaysToday.Whichwasusuallyfollowedbyahalfcolumnofimbecilities.M.PoirotTakesGraveViewofSituation.M.PoirotontheEveofSuccess.CaptainHastings,thegreatfriendofM.Poirot,toldourSpecialRepresentative….
“Poirot,”Iwouldcry.“Praybelieveme.Ineversaidanythingofthekind.”
Myfriendwouldreplykindly:
“Iknow,Hastings—Iknow.Thespokenwordandthewritten—thereisanastonishinggulfbetweenthem.Thereisawayofturningsentencesthatcompletelyreversestheoriginalmeaning.”
“Iwouldn’tlikeyoutothinkI’dsaid—”
“Butdonotworryyourself.Allthisisofnoimportance.Theseimbecilities,even,mayhelp.”
“How?”
“Ehbien,”saidPoirotgrimly.“IfourmadmanreadswhatIamsupposedtohavesaidtotheDailyBlaguetoday,hewillloseallrespectformeasanopponent!”
Iam,perhaps,givingtheimpressionthatnothingpracticalwasbeingdoneinthewayofinvestigations.Onthecontrary,ScotlandYardandthelocalpoliceofthevariouscountieswereindefatigableinfollowingupthesmallestclues.
Hotels,peoplewhokeptlodgings,boarding-houses—allthosewithinawideradiusofthecrimeswerequestionedminutely.
Hundredsofstoriesfromimaginativepeoplewhohad“seenamanlookingveryqueerandrollinghiseyes,”or“noticedamanwithasinisterfaceslinkingalong,”weresiftedtothelastdetail.Noinformation,evenofthevaguestcharacter,wasneglected.Trains,buses,trams,railwayporters,conductors,bookstalls,stationers—therewasanindefatigableroundofquestionsandverifications.
Atleastascoreofpeopleweredetainedandquestioneduntiltheycouldsatisfythepoliceastotheirmovementsonthenightinquestion.
Thenetresultwasnotentirelyablank.Certainstatementswereborneinmindandnoteddownasofpossiblevalue,butwithoutfurtherevidencetheylednowhere.
IfCromeandhiscolleagueswereindefatigable,Poirotseemedtomestrangelysupine.Wearguednowandagain.
“Butwhatisitthatyouwouldhavemedo,myfriend?Theroutineinquiries,thepolicemakethembetterthanIdo.Always—alwaysyouwantmetorunaboutlikethedog.”
“Insteadofwhichyousitathomelike—like—”
“Asensibleman!Myforce,Hastings,isinmybrain,notinmyfeet!Allthetime,whilstIseemtoyouidle,Iamreflecting.”
“Reflecting?”Icried.“Isthisatimeforreflection?”
“Yes,athousandtimesyes.”
“Butwhatcanyoupossiblygainbyreflection?Youknowthefactsofthethreecasesbyheart.”
“ItisnotthefactsIreflectupon—butthemindofthemurderer.”
“Themindofamadman!”
“Precisely.Andthereforenottobearrivedatinaminute.WhenIknowwhatthemurdererislike,Ishallbeabletofindoutwhoheis.AndallthetimeIlearnmore.AftertheAndovercrime,whatdidweknowaboutthemurderer?Nexttonothingatall.AftertheBexhillcrime?Alittlemore.AftertheChurstonmurder?Morestill.Ibegintosee—notwhatyouwouldliketosee—theoutlinesofafaceandformbuttheoutlinesofamind.Amindthatmovesandworksincertaindefinitedirections.Afterthenextcrime—”
“Poirot!”
Myfriendlookedatmedispassionately.
“But,yes,Hastings,Ithinkitisalmostcertaintherewillbeanother.Alotdependsonlachance.Sofarourinconnuhasbeenlucky.Thistimetheluckmayturnagainsthim.Butinanycase,afteranothercrime,weshallknowinfinitelymore.Crimeisterriblyrevealing.Tryandvaryyourmethodsasyouwill,yourtastes,yourhabits,yourattitudeofmind,andyoursoulisrevealedbyyouractions.Thereareconfusingindications—sometimesitisasthoughthereweretwointelligencesatwork—butsoontheoutlinewillclearitself,Ishallknow.”
“Whoitis?”
“No,Hastings,Ishallnotknowhisnameandaddress!Ishallknowwhatkindofamanheis….”
“Andthen?…”
“Etalors,jevaisàlapêche.”
AsIlookedratherbewildered,hewenton:
“Youcomprehend,Hastings,anexpertfishermanknowsexactlywhatfliestooffertowhatfish.Ishalloffertherightkindoffly.”
“Andthen?”
“Andthen?Andthen?YouareasbadasthesuperiorCromewithhiseternal‘Oh,yes?’Ehbien,andthenhewilltakethebaitandthehookandwewillreelintheline….”
“Inthemeantimepeoplearedyingrightandleft.”
“Threepeople.Andthereare,whatisit—about120—roaddeathseveryweek?”
“Thatisentirelydifferent.”
“Itisprobablyexactlythesametothosewhodie.Fortheothers,therelations,thefriends—yes,thereisadifference,butonethingatleastrejoicesmeinthiscase.”
“Byallmeansletushearanythinginthenatureofrejoicing.”
“Inutiletobesosarcastic.Itrejoicesmethatthereisherenoshadowofguilttodistresstheinnocent.”
“Isn’tthisworse?”
“No,no,athousandtimesno!Thereisnothingsoterribleastoliveinanatmosphereofsuspicion—toseeeyeswatchingyouandtheloveinthemchangingtofear—nothingsoterribleastosuspectthosenearanddeartoyou—Itispoisonous—amiasma.No,thepoisoningoflifefortheinnocent,that,atleast,wecannotlayatABC’sdoor.”
“You’llsoonbemakingexcusesfortheman!”Isaidbitterly.
“Whynot?Hemaybelievehimselffullyjustified.Wemay,perhaps,endbyhavingsympathywithhispointofview.”
“Really,Poirot!”
“Alas!Ihaveshockedyou.Firstmyinertia—andthenmyviews.”
Ishookmyheadwithoutreplying.
“Allthesame,”saidPoirotafteraminuteortwo.“Ihaveoneprojectthatwillpleaseyou—sinceitisactiveandnotpassive.Also,itwillentailalotofconversationandpracticallynothought.”
Ididnotquitelikehistone.
“Whatisit?”Iaskedcautiously.
“Theextractionfromthefriends,relationsandservantsofthevictimsofalltheyknow.”
“Doyoususpectthemofkeepingthingsback,then?”
“Notintentionally.Buttellingeverythingyouknowalwaysimpliesselection.IfIweretosaytoyou,recountmeyourdayyesterday,youwouldperhapsreply:‘Iroseatnine,Ibreakfastedathalfpast,Ihadeggsandbaconandcoffee,Iwenttomyclub,etc.’Youwouldnotinclude:‘Itoremynailandhadtocutit.Irangforshavingwater.Ispiltalittlecoffeeonthetablecloth.Ibrushedmyhatandputiton.’Onecannottelleverything.Thereforeoneselects.Atthetimeofamurderpeopleselectwhattheythinkisimportant.Butquitefrequentlytheythinkwrong!”
“Andhowisonetogetattherightthings?”
“Simply,asIsaidjustnow,byconversation.Bytalking!Bydiscussingacertainhappening,oracertainperson,oracertainday,overandoveragain,extradetailsareboundtoarise.”
“Whatkindofdetails?”
“NaturallythatIdonotknoworIshouldnotwanttofindout.Butenoughtimehaspassednowforordinarythingstoreassumetheirvalue.Itisagainstallmathematicallawsthatinthreecasesofmurderthereisnosinglefactnorsentencewithabearingonthecase.Sometrivialhappening,sometrivialremarktheremustbewhichwouldbeapointer!Itislookingfortheneedleinthehaystack,Igrant—butinthehaystackthereisaneedle—ofthatIamconvinced!”
Itseemedtomeextremelyvagueandhazy.
“Youdonotseeit?Yourwitsarenotsosharpasthoseofamereservantgirl.”
Hetossedmeoveraletter.Itwasneatlywritteninaslopingboard-schoolhand.
“DearSir,—IhopeyouwillforgivethelibertyItakeinwritingtoyou.Ihavebeenthinkingalotsincetheseawfultwomurderslikepoorauntie’s.Itseemsasthoughwe’reallinthesameboat,asitwere.Isawtheyounglady’spictureinthepaper,theyounglady,Imean,thatisthesisteroftheyoungladythatwaskilledatBexhill.ImadesoboldastowritetoherandtellherIwascomingtoLondontogetaplaceandaskedifIcouldcometoherorhermotherasIsaidtwoheadsmightbebetterthanoneandIwouldnotwantmuchwages,butonlytofindoutwhothisawfulfiendisandperhapswemightgetatitbetterifwecouldsaywhatweknewsomethingmightcomeofit.“Theyoungladywroteverynicelyandsaidashowsheworkedinanofficeandlivedinahostel,butshesuggestedImightwritetoyouandshesaidshe’dbeenthinkingsomethingofthesamekindasIhad.Andshesaidwewereinthesametroubleandweoughttostandtogether.SoIamwriting,sir,tosayIamcomingtoLondonandthisismyaddress.“HopingIamnottroublingyou,Yoursrespectfully,“MaryDrower.”
“MaryDrower,”saidPoirot,“isaveryintelligentgirl.”
Hepickedupanotherletter.
“Readthis.”
ItwasalinefromFranklinClarke,sayingthathewascomingtoLondonandwouldcalluponPoirotthefollowingdayifnotinconvenient.
“Donotdespair,monami,”saidPoirot.“Actionisabouttobegin.”
Eighteen
POIROTMAKESASPEECH
FranklinClarkearrivedatthreeo’clockonthefollowingafternoonandcamestraighttothepointwithoutbeatingaboutthebush.
“M.Poirot,”hesaid,“I’mnotsatisfied.”
“No,Mr.Clarke?”
“I’venodoubtthatCromeisaveryefficientofficer,but,frankly,heputsmybackup.Thatairofhisofknowingbest!IhintedsomethingofwhatIhadinmindtoyourfriendherewhenhewasdownatChurston,butI’vehadallmybrother’saffairstosettleupandIhaven’tbeenfreeuntilnow.Myideais,M.Poirot,thatweoughtn’ttoletthegrassgrowunderourfeet—”
“JustwhatHastingsisalwayssaying!”
“—butgorightahead.We’vegottogetreadyforthenextcrime.”
“Soyouthinktherewillbeanextcrime?”
“Don’tyou?”
“Certainly.”
“Verywell,then.Iwanttogetorganized.”
“Tellmeyourideaexactly?”
“Ipropose,M.Poirot,akindofspeciallegion—toworkunderyourorders—composedofthefriendsandrelativesofthemurderedpeople.”
“Unebonneidée.”
“I’mgladyouapprove.ByputtingourheadstogetherIfeelwemightgetatsomething.Also,whenthenextwarningcomes,bybeingonthespot,oneofusmight—Idon’tsayit’sprobable—butwemightrecognizesomepersonashavingbeennearthesceneofapreviouscrime.”
“Iseeyouridea,andIapprove,butyoumustremember,Mr.Clarke,therelationsandfriendsoftheothervictimsarehardlyinyoursphereoflife.Theyareemployedpersonsandthoughtheymightbegivenashortvacation—”
FranklinClarkeinterrupted.
“That’sjustit.I’mtheonlypersoninapositiontofootthebill.NotthatI’mparticularlywelloffmyself,butmybrotherdiedarichmananditwilleventuallycometome.Ipropose,asIsay,toenrolaspeciallegion,thememberstobepaidfortheirservicesatthesamerateastheygethabitually,with,ofcourse,theadditionalexpenses.”
“Whodoyouproposeshouldformthislegion?”
“I’vebeenintothat.Asamatteroffact,IwrotetoMissMeganBarnard—indeed,thisispartlyheridea.Isuggestmyself,MissBarnard,Mr.DonaldFraser,whowasengagedtothedeadgirl.ThenthereisanieceoftheAndoverwoman—MissBarnardknowsheraddress.Idon’tthinkthehusbandwouldbeofanyusetous—Ihearhe’susuallydrunk.IalsothinktheBarnards—thefatherandmother—areabitoldforactivecampaigning.”
“Nobodyelse?”
“Well—er—MissGrey.”
Heflushedslightlyashespokethename.
“Oh!MissGrey?”
NobodyintheworldcouldputagentlenuanceofironyintoacoupleofwordsbetterthanPoirot.Aboutthirty-fiveyearsfellawayfromFranklinClarke.Helookedsuddenlylikeashyschoolboy.
“Yes.Yousee,MissGreywaswithmybrotherforovertwoyears.Sheknowsthecountrysideandthepeopleround,andeverything.I’vebeenawayforayearandahalf.”
Poirottookpityonhimandturnedtheconversation.
“YouhavebeenintheEast?InChina?”
“Yes.Ihadakindofrovingcommissiontopurchasethingsformybrother.”
“Veryinterestingitmusthavebeen.Ehbien,Mr.Clarke,Iapproveveryhighlyofyouridea.IwassayingtoHastingsonlyyesterdaythatarapprochementofthepeopleconcernedwasneeded.Itisnecessarytopoolreminiscences,tocomparenotes—enfintotalkthethingover—totalk—totalk—andagaintotalk.Outofsomeinnocentphrasemaycomeenlightenment.”
Afewdayslaterthe“SpecialLegion”metatPoirot’srooms.
AstheysatroundlookingobedientlytowardsPoirot,whohadhisplace,likethechairmanataboardmeeting,attheheadofthetable,Imyselfpassedthem,asitwere,inreview,confirmingorrevisingmyfirstimpressionsofthem.
Thethreegirlswereallofthemstriking-looking—theextraordinaryfairbeautyofThoraGrey,thedarkintensityofMeganBarnard,withherstrangeRedIndianimmobilityofface—MaryDrower,neatlydressedinablackcoatandskirt,withherpretty,intelligentface.Ofthetwomen,FranklinClarke,big,bronzedandtalkative,DonaldFraser,self-containedandquiet,madeaninterestingcontrasttoeachother.
Poirot,unable,ofcourse,toresisttheoccasion,madealittlespeech.
“MesdamesandMessieurs,youknowwhatweareherefor.Thepolicearedoingtheirutmosttotrackdownthecriminal.I,too,inmydifferentway.Butitseemstomeareunionofthosewhohaveapersonalinterestinthematter—andalso,Imaysay,apersonalknowledgeofthevictims—mighthaveresultsthatanoutsideinvestigationcannotpretendtoattain.
“Herewehavethreemurders—anoldwoman,ayounggirl,anelderlyman.Onlyonethinglinksthesethreepeopletogether—thefactthatthesamepersonkilledthem.Thatmeansthatthesamepersonwaspresentinthreedifferentlocalitiesandwasseennecessarilybyalargenumberofpeople.Thatheisamadmaninanadvancedstageofmaniagoeswithoutsaying.Thathisappearanceandbehaviourgivenosuggestionofsuchafactisequallycertain.Thisperson—andthoughIsayhe,rememberitmaybeamanorawoman—hasallthedevilishcunningofinsanity.Hehassucceededsofarincoveringhistracescompletely.Thepolicehavecertainvagueindicationsbutnothinguponwhichtheycanact.
“Nevertheless,theremustexistindicationswhicharenotvaguebutcertain.Totakeoneparticularpoint—thisassassin,hedidnotarriveatBexhillatmidnightandfindconvenientlyonthebeachayoungladywhosenamebeganwithB—”
“Mustwegointothat?”
ItwasDonaldFraserwhospoke—thewordswrungfromhim,itseemed,bysomeinneranguish.
“Itisnecessarytogointoeverything,monsieur,”saidPoirot,turningtohim.“Youarehere,nottosaveyourfeelingsbyrefusingtothinkofdetails,butifnecessarytoharrowthembygoingintothematteraufond.AsIsay,itwasnotchancethatprovidedABCwithavictiminBettyBarnard.Theremusthavebeendeliberateselectiononhispart—andthereforepremeditation.Thatistosay,hemusthavereconnoitredthegroundbeforehand.Therewerefactsofwhichhehadinformedhimself—thebesthourforthecommittingofthecrimeatAndover—themiseenscèneatBexhill—thehabitsofSirCarmichaelClarkeatChurston.Me,forone,Irefusetobelievethatthereisnoindication—noslightesthint—thatmighthelptoestablishhisidentity.
“Imaketheassumptionthatone—orpossiblyallofyou—knowssomethingthattheydonotknowtheyknow.
“Soonerorlater,byreasonofyourassociationwithoneanother,somethingwillcometolight,willtakeonasignificanceasyetundreamedof.Itislikethejig-sawpuzzle—eachofyoumayhaveapieceapparentlywithoutmeaning,butwhichwhenreunitedmayshowadefiniteportionofthepictureasawhole.”
“Words!”saidMeganBarnard.
“Eh?”Poirotlookedatherinquiringly.
“Whatyou’vebeensaying.It’sjustwords.Itdoesn’tmeananything.”
ShespokewiththatkindofdesperateintensitythatIhadcometoassociatewithherpersonality.
“Words,mademoiselle,areonlytheouterclothingofideas.”
“Well,Ithinkit’ssense,”saidMaryDrower.“Idoreally,miss.It’softenwhenyou’retalkingoverthingsthatyouseemtoseeyourwayclear.Yourmindgetsmadeupforyousometimeswithoutyourknowinghowit’shappened.Talkingleadstoalotofthingsonewayandanother.”
“If‘leastsaidissoonestmended,’it’stheconversewewanthere,”saidFranklinClarke.
“Whatdoyousay,Mr.Fraser?”
“Iratherdoubtthepracticalapplicabilityofwhatyousay,M.Poirot.”
“Whatdoyouthink,Thora?”askedClarke.
“Ithinktheprincipleoftalkingthingsoverisalwayssound.”
“Suppose,”suggestedPoirot,“thatyouallgooveryourownremembrancesofthetimeprecedingthemurder.Perhapsyou’llstart,Mr.Clarke.”
“Letmesee,onthemorningofthedayCarwaskilledIwentoffsailing.Caughteightmackerel.Lovelyoutthereonthebay.Lunchathome.Irishstew,Iremember.Sleptinthehammock.Tea.Wrotesomeletters,missedthepost,anddroveintoPaigntontopostthem.Thendinnerand—I’mnotashamedtosayit—rereadabookofE.Nesbit’sthatIusedtoloveasakid.Thenthetelephonerang—”
“Nofurther.Nowreflect,Mr.Clarke,didyoumeetanyoneonyourwaydowntotheseainthemorning?”
“Lotsofpeople.”
“Canyourememberanythingaboutthem?”
“Notadamnedthingnow.”
“Sure?”
“Well—let’ssee—Irememberaremarkablyfatwoman—sheworeastripedsilkdressandIwonderedwhy—hadacoupleofkidswithher—twoyoungmenwithafoxterrieronthebeachthrowingstonesforit—Oh,yes,agirlwithyellowhairsqueakingasshebathed—funnyhowthingscomeback—likeaphotographdeveloping.”
“Youareagoodsubject.Nowlaterintheday—thegarden—goingtothepost—”
“Thegardenerwatering…Goingtothepost?Nearlyrandownabicyclist—sillywomanwobblingandshoutingtoafriend.That’sall,I’mafraid.”
PoirotturnedtoThoraGrey.
“MissGrey?”
ThoraGreyrepliedinherclear,positivevoice:
“IdidcorrespondencewithSirCarmichaelinthemorning—sawthehousekeeper.Iwrotelettersanddidneedleworkintheafternoon,Ifancy.Itisdifficulttoremember.Itwasquiteanordinaryday.Iwenttobedearly.”
Rathertomysurprise,Poirotaskednofurther.Hesaid:
“MissBarnard—canyoubringbackyourremembrancesofthelasttimeyousawyoursister?”
“Itwouldbeaboutafortnightbeforeherdeath.IwasdownforSaturdayandSunday.Itwasfineweather.WewenttoHastingstotheswimmingpool.”
“Whatdidyoutalkaboutmostofthetime?”
“Igaveherapieceofmymind,”saidMegan.
“Andwhatelse?Sheconversedofwhat?”
Thegirlfrownedinaneffortofmemory
“Shetalkedaboutbeinghardup—ofahatandacoupleofsummerfrocksshe’djustbought.AndalittleofDon…ShealsosaidshedislikedMillyHigley—that’sthegirlatthecafé—andwelaughedabouttheMerrionwomanwhokeepsthecafé…Idon’trememberanythingelse….”
“Shedidn’tmentionanyman—forgiveme,Mr.Fraser—shemightbemeeting?”
“Shewouldn’ttome,”saidMegandryly.
Poirotturnedtothered-hairedyoungmanwiththesquarejaw.
“Mr.Fraser—Iwantyoutocastyourmindback.Youwent,yousaid,tothecaféonthefatalevening.YourfirstintentionwastowaitthereandwatchforBettyBarnardtocomeout.Canyourememberanyoneatallwhomyounoticedwhilstyouwerewaitingthere?”
“Therewerealargenumberofpeoplewalkingalongthefront.Ican’trememberanyofthem.”
“Excuseme,butareyoutrying?Howeverpreoccupiedthemindmaybe,theeyenoticesmechanically—unintelligentlybutaccurately….”
Theyoungmanrepeateddoggedly:
“Idon’trememberanybody.”
PoirotsighedandturnedtoMaryDrower
“Isupposeyougotlettersfromyouraunt?”
“Oh,yes,sir.”
“Whenwasthelast?”
Marythoughtaminute.
“Twodaysbeforethemurder,sir.”
“Whatdiditsay?”
“Shesaidtheolddevilhadbeenroundandthatshe’dsenthimoffwithafleaintheear—excusetheexpression,sir—saidsheexpectedmeoverontheWednesday—that’smydayout,sir—andshesaidwe’dgotothepictures.Itwasgoingtobemybirthday,sir.”
Something—thethoughtofthelittlefestivityperhaps—suddenlybroughtthetearstoMary’seyes.Shegulpeddownasob.Thenapologizedforit.
“Youmustforgiveme,sir.Idon’twanttobesilly.Crying’snogood.Itwasjustthethoughtofher—andme—lookingforwardtoourtreat.Itupsetmesomehow,sir.”
“Iknowjustwhatyoufeellike,”saidFranklinClarke.“It’salwaysthelittlethingsthatgetone—andespeciallyanythinglikeatreatorapresent—somethingjollyandnatural.Irememberseeingawomanrunoveronce.She’djustboughtsomenewshoes.Isawherlyingthere—andtheburstparcelwiththeridiculouslittlehigh-heeledslipperspeepingout—itgavemeaturn—theylookedsopathetic.”
Megansaidwithasuddeneagerwarmth:
“That’strue—that’sawfullytrue.ThesamethinghappenedafterBetty—died.Mumhadboughtsomestockingsforherasapresent—boughtthemtheverydayithappened.Poormum,shewasallbrokenup.Ifoundhercryingoverthem.Shekeptsaying:‘IboughtthemforBetty—IboughtthemforBetty—andsheneverevensawthem.’”
Herownvoicequiveredalittle.Sheleanedforward,lookingstraightatFranklinClarke.Therewasbetweenthemasuddensympathy—afraternityintrouble.
“Iknow,”hesaid.“Iknowexactly.Thosearejustthesortofthingsthatarehelltoremember.”
DonaldFraserstirreduneasily.
ThoraGreydivertedtheconversation.
“Aren’twegoingtomakeanyplans—forthefuture?”sheasked.
“Ofcourse.”FranklinClarkeresumedhisordinarymanner.“Ithinkthatwhenthemomentcomes—thatis,whenthefourthletterarrives—weoughttojoinforces.Untilthen,perhapswemighteachtryourluckonourown.Idon’tknowwhetherthereareanypointsM.Poirotthinksmightrepayinvestigation?”
“Icouldmakesomesuggestions,”saidPoirot.
“Good.I’lltakethemdown.”Heproducedanotebook.“Goahead,M.Poirot.A—?”
“Iconsideritjustpossiblethatthewaitress,MillyHigley,mightknowsomethinguseful.”
“A—MillyHigley,”wrotedownFranklinClarke.
“Isuggesttwomethodsofapproach.You,MissBarnard,mighttrywhatIcalltheoffensiveapproach.”
“Isupposeyouthinkthatsuitsmystyle?”saidMegandryly.
“Pickaquarrelwiththegirl—sayyouknewsheneverlikedyoursister—andthatyoursisterhadtoldyouallabouther.IfIdonoterr,thatwillprovokeafloodofrecrimination.Shewilltellyoujustwhatshethoughtofyoursister!Someusefulfactmayemerge.”
“Andthesecondmethod?”
“MayIsuggest,Mr.Fraser,thatyoushouldshowsignsofinterestinthegirl?”
“Isthatnecessary.”
“No,itisnotnecessary.Itisjustapossiblelineofexploration.”
“ShallItrymyhand?”askedFranklin.“I’ve—er—aprettywideexperience,M.Poirot.LetmeseewhatIcandowiththeyounglady.”
“You’vegotyourownpartoftheworldtoattendto,”saidThoraGreyrathersharply.
Franklin’sfacefelljustalittle.
“Yes,”hesaid.“Ihave.”
“Toutdemême,Idonotthinkthereismuchyoucandodownthereforthepresent,”saidPoirot.“MademoiselleGreynow,sheisfarmorefitted—”
ThoraGreyinterruptedhim.
“Butyousee,M.Poirot,IhaveleftDevonforgood.”
“Ah?Ididnotunderstand.”
“MissGreyverykindlystayedontohelpmeclearupthings,”saidFranklin.“ButnaturallysheprefersapostinLondon.”
Poirotdirectedasharpglancefromonetotheother.
“HowisLadyClarke?”hedemanded.
IwasadmiringthefaintcolourinThoraGrey’scheeksandalmostmissedClarke’sreply.
“Prettybad.Bytheway,M.Poirot,IwonderifyoucouldseeyourwaytorunningdowntoDevonandpayingheravisit?SheexpressedadesiretoseeyoubeforeIleft.Ofcourse,sheoftencan’tseepeopleforacoupleofdaysatatime,butifyouwouldriskthat—atmyexpense,ofcourse.”
“Certainly,Mr.Clarke.Shallwesaythedayaftertomorrow?”
“Good.I’llletnurseknowandshe’llarrangethedopeaccordingly.”
“Foryou,mychild,”saidPoirot,turningtoMary,“IthinkyoumightperhapsdogoodworkinAndover.Trythechildren.”
“Thechildren?”
“Yes.Childrenwillnotchatreadilytooutsiders.Butyouareknowninthestreetwhereyourauntlived.Therewereagoodmanychildrenplayingabout.Theymayhavenoticedwhowentinandoutofyouraunt’sshop.”
“WhataboutMissGreyandmyself?”askedClarke.“Thatis,ifI’mnottogotoBexhill.”
“M.Poirot,”saidThoraGrey,“whatwasthepostmarkonthethirdletter?”
“Putney,mademoiselle.”
Shesaidthoughtfully:“SW15,Putney,thatisright,isitnot?”
“Forawonder,thenewspapersprinteditcorrectly.”
“ThatseemstopointtoABCbeingaLondoner.”
“Onthefaceofit,yes.”
“Oneoughttobeabletodrawhim,”saidClarke.“M.Poirot,howwoulditbeifIinsertedanadvertisement—somethingaftertheselines:ABC.Urgent,H.P.closeonyourtrack.Ahundredformysilence.X.Y.Z.Nothingquitesocrudeasthat—butyouseetheidea.Itmightdrawhim.”
“Itisapossibility—yes.”
“Mightinducehimtotryandhaveashotatme.”
“Ithinkit’sverydangerousandsilly,”saidThoraGreysharply.
“Whataboutit,M.Poirot?”
“Itcandonoharmtotry.IthinkmyselfthatABCwillbetoocunningtoreply.”Poirotsmiledalittle.“Isee,Mr.Clarke,thatyouare—ifImaysaysowithoutbeingoffensive—stillaboyatheart.”
FranklinClarkelookedalittleabashed
“Well,”hesaid,consultinghisnotebook.“We’remakingastart.
A—MissBarnardandMillyHigley.
B—Mr.FraserandMissHigley.
C—ChildreninAndover.
D—Advertisement.
“Idon’tfeelanyofitismuchgood,butitwillbesomethingtodowhilstwaiting.”
Hegotupandafewminuteslaterthemeetinghaddispersed.
Nineteen
BYWAYOFSWEDEN
Poirotreturnedtohisseatandsathummingalittletunetohimself.
“Unfortunatethatsheissointelligent,”hemurmured.
“Who?”
“MeganBarnard.MademoiselleMegan.‘Words,’shesnapsout.AtoncesheperceivesthatwhatIamsayingmeansnothingatall.Everybodyelsewastaken.”
“Ithoughtitsoundedveryplausible.”
“Plausible,yes.Itwasjustthatsheperceived.”
“Didn’tyoumeanwhatyousaid,then?”
“WhatIsaidcouldhavebeencomprisedintooneshortsentence.InsteadIrepeatedmyselfadlibwithoutanyonebutMademoiselleMeganbeingawareofthefact.”
“Butwhy?”
“Ehbien—togetthingsgoing!Toimbueeveryonewiththeimpressionthattherewasworktobedone!Tostart—shallwesay—theconversations!”
“Don’tyouthinkanyoftheselineswillleadtoanything?”
“Oh,itisalwayspossible.”
Hechuckled.
“Inthemidstoftragedywestartthecomedy.Itisso,isitnot?”
“Whatdoyoumean?”
“Thehumandrama,Hastings!Reflectalittleminute.Herearethreesetsofhumanbeingsbroughttogetherbyacommontragedy.Immediatelyaseconddramacommences—toutàfaitàpart.DoyouremembermyfirstcaseinEngland?Oh,somanyyearsagonow.Ibroughttogethertwopeoplewholovedoneanother—bythesimplemethodofhavingoneofthemarrestedformurder!Nothinglesswouldhavedoneit!Inthemidstofdeathweareinlife,Hastings…Murder,Ihaveoftennoticed,isagreatmatchmaker.”
“Really,Poirot,”Icriedscandalized.“I’msurenoneofthosepeoplewasthinkingofanythingbut—”
“Oh!mydearfriend.Andwhataboutyourself?”
“I?”
“Maisoui,astheydeparted,didyounotcomebackfromthedoorhummingatune?”
“Onemaydothatwithoutbeingcallous.”
“Certainly,butthattunetoldmeyourthoughts.”
“Indeed?”
“Yes.Tohumatuneisextremelydangerous.Itrevealsthesubconsciousmind.Thetuneyouhummeddates,Ithink,fromthedaysofthewar.Comme?a,”Poirotsanginanabominablefalsettovoice:
“SomeofthetimeIloveabrunette,SomeofthetimeIloveablonde(WhocomesfromEdenbywayofSweden).
“Whatcouldbemorerevealing?Maisjecroisquelablondel’emportesurlabrunette!”
“Really,Poirot,”Icried,blushingslightly.
“C’esttoutnaturel.DidyouobservehowFranklinClarkewassuddenlyatoneandinsympathywithMademoiselleMegan?Howheleanedforwardandlookedather?AnddidyoualsonoticehowverymuchannoyedMademoiselleThoraGreywasaboutit?AndMr.DonaldFraser,he—”
“Poirot,”Isaid.“Yourmindisincurablysentimental.”
“Thatisthelastthingmymindis.Youarethesentimentalone,Hastings.”
Iwasabouttoarguethepointhotly,butatthatmomentthedooropened.
TomyastonishmentitwasThoraGreywhoentered.
“Forgivemeforcomingback,”shesaidcomposedly.“ButtherewassomethingthatIthinkIwouldliketotellyou,M.Poirot.”
“Certainly,mademoiselle.Sitdown,willyounot?”
Shetookaseatandhesitatedforjustaminuteasthoughchoosingherwords.
“Itisjustthis,M.Poirot.Mr.ClarkeverygenerouslygaveyoutounderstandjustnowthatIhadleftCombesidebymyownwish.Heisaverykindandloyalperson.Butasamatteroffact,itisnotquitelikethat.Iwasquitepreparedtostayon—thereisanyamountofworktobedoneinconnectionwiththecollections.ItwasLadyClarkewhowishedmetoleave!Icanmakeallowances.Sheisaveryillwoman,andherbrainissomewhatmuddledwiththedrugstheygiveher.Itmakeshersuspiciousandfanciful.ShetookanunreasoningdisliketomeandinsistedthatIshouldleavethehouse.”
Icouldnotbutadmirethegirl’scourage.Shedidnotattempttoglossoverfacts,assomanymighthavebeentemptedtodo,butwentstraighttothepointwithanadmirablecandour.Myheartwentouttoherinadmirationandsympathy.
“Icallitsplendidofyoutocomeandtellusthis,”Isaid.
“It’salwaysbettertohavethetruth,”shesaidwithalittlesmile.“Idon’twanttoshelterbehindMr.Clarke’schivalry.Heisaverychivalrousman.”
Therewasawarmglowinherwords.SheevidentlyadmiredFranklinClarkeenormously.
“Youhavebeenveryhonest,mademoiselle,”saidPoirot.
“Itisratherablowtome,”saidThoraruefully.“IhadnoideaLadyClarkedislikedmesomuch.Infact,Ialwaysthoughtshewasratherfondofme.”Shemadeawryface.“Onelivesandlearns.”
Sherose.
“ThatisallIcametosay.Goodbye.”
Iaccompaniedherdownstairs.
“Icallthatverysportingofher,”IsaidasIreturnedtotheroom.“Shehascourage,thatgirl.”
“Andcalculation.”
“Whatdoyoumean—calculation?”
“Imeanthatshehasthepoweroflookingahead.”
Ilookedathimdoubtfully.
“Shereallyisalovelygirl,”Isaid
“Andwearsverylovelyclothes.Thatcrêpemarocainandthesilverfoxcollar—derniercri.”
“You’reamanmilliner,Poirot.Inevernoticewhatpeoplehaveon.”
“Youshouldjoinanudistcolony.”
AsIwasabouttomakeanindignantrejoinder,hesaid,withasuddenchangeofsubject:
“Doyouknow,Hastings,Icannotridmymindoftheimpressionthatalready,inourconversationsthisafternoon,somethingwassaidthatwassignificant.Itisodd—Icannotpindownexactlywhatitwas…Justanimpressionthatpassedthroughmymind…ThatremindsmeofsomethingIhavealreadyheardorseenornoted….”
“SomethingatChurston?”
“No—notatChurston…Beforethat…Nomatter,presentlyitwillcometome….”
Helookedatme(perhapsIhadnotbeenattendingveryclosely),laughedandbeganoncemoretohum.
“Sheisanangel,isshenot?FromEden,bywayofSweden….”
“Poirot,”Isaid.“Gotothedevil!”
Twenty
LADYCLARKE
TherewasanairofdeepandsettledmelancholyoverCombesidewhenwesawitagainforthesecondtime.Thismay,perhaps,havebeenpartlyduetotheweather—itwasamoistSeptemberdaywithahintofautumnintheair,andpartly,nodoubt,itwasthesemi-shut-upstateofthehouse.Thedownstairsroomswereclosedandshuttered,andthesmallroomintowhichwewereshownsmeltdampandairless.
Acapable-lookinghospitalnursecametoustherepullingdownherstarchedcuffs.
“M.Poirot?”shesaidbriskly.“IamNurseCapstick.IgotMr.Clarke’slettersayingyouwerecoming.”
PoirotinquiredafterLadyClarke’shealth.
“Notatallbadreally,allthingsconsidered.”
“Allthingsconsidered,”Ipresumed,meantconsideringshewasundersentenceofdeath.
“Onecan’thopeformuchimprovement,ofcourse,butsomenewtreatmenthasmadethingsalittleeasierforher.Dr.Loganisquitepleasedwithhercondition.”
“Butitistrue,isitnot,thatshecanneverrecover?”
“Oh,weneveractuallysaythat,”saidNurseCapstick,alittleshockedbythisplainspeaking.
“Isupposeherhusband’sdeathwasaterribleshocktoher?”
“Well,M.Poirot,ifyouunderstandwhatImean,itwasn’tasmuchofashockasitwouldhavebeentoanyoneinfullpossessionofherhealthandfaculties.ThingsaredimmedforLadyClarkeinhercondition.”
“Pardonmyasking,butwasshedeeplyattachedtoherhusbandandhetoher?”
“Oh,yes,theywereaveryhappycouple.Hewasveryworriedandupsetabouther,poorman.It’salwaysworseforadoctor,youknow.Theycan’tbuoythemselvesupwithfalsehopes.I’mafraiditpreyedonhismindverymuchtobeginwith.”
“Tobeginwith?Notsomuchafterwards?”
“Onegetsusedtoeverything,doesn’tone?AndthenSirCarmichaelhadhiscollection.Ahobbyisagreatconsolationtoaman.Heusedtorunuptosalesoccasionally,andthenheandMissGreywerebusyrecataloguingandrearrangingthemuseumonanewsystem.”
“Oh,yes—MissGrey.Shehasleft,hasshenot?”
“Yes—I’mverysorryaboutit—butladiesdotakethesefanciessometimeswhenthey’renotwell.Andthere’snoarguingwiththem.It’sbettertogivein.MissGreywasverysensibleaboutit.”
“HadLadyClarkealwaysdislikedher?”
“No—thatistosay,notdisliked.Asamatteroffact,Ithinksheratherlikedhertobeginwith.Butthere,Imustn’tkeepyougossiping.Mypatientwillbewonderingwhathasbecomeofus.”
Sheledusupstairstoaroomonthefirstfloor.Whathadatonetimebeenabedroomhadbeenturnedintoacheerful-lookingsittingroom.
LadyClarkewassittinginabigarmchairnearthewindow.Shewaspainfullythin,andherfacehadthegrey,haggardlookofonewhosuffersmuchpain.Shehadaslightlyfaraway,dreamylook,andInoticedthatthepupilsofhereyesweremerepinpoints.
“ThisisM.Poirotwhomyouwantedtosee,”saidNurseCapstickinherhigh,cheerfulvoice.
“Oh,yes,M.Poirot,”saidLadyClarkevaguely.
Sheextendedherhand.
“MyfriendCaptainHastings,LadyClarke.”
“Howdoyoudo?Sogoodofyoubothtocome.”
Wesatdownashervaguegesturedirected.Therewasasilence.LadyClarkeseemedtohavelapsedintoadream.
Presentlywithaslighteffortsherousedherself.
“ItwasaboutCar,wasn’tit?AboutCar’sdeath.Oh,yes.”
Shesighed,butstillinafarawaymanner,shakingherhead.
“Weneverthoughtitwouldbethatwayround…IwassosureIshouldbethefirsttogo…”Shemusedaminuteortwo.“Carwasverystrong—wonderfulforhisage.Hewasneverill.Hewasnearlysixty—butheseemedmorelikefifty…Yes,verystrong….”
Sherelapsedagainintoherdream.Poirot,whowaswellacquaintedwiththeeffectsofcertaindrugsandofhowtheygivetheirtakertheimpressionofendlesstime,saidnothing.
LadyClarkesaidsuddenly:
“Yes—itwasgoodofyoutocome.ItoldFranklin.Hesaidhewouldn’tforgettotellyou.IhopeFranklinisn’tgoingtobefoolish…he’ssoeasilytakenin,inspiteofhavingknockedabouttheworldsomuch.Menarelikethat…Theyremainboys…Franklin,inparticular.”
“Hehasanimpulsivenature,”saidPoirot.
“Yes—yes…Andverychivalrous.Menaresofoolishthatway.EvenCar—”Hervoicetailedoff.
Sheshookherheadwithafebrileimpatience.
“Everything’ssodim…One’sbodyisanuisance,M.Poirot,especiallywhenitgetstheupperhand.Oneisconsciousofnothingelse—whetherthepainwillholdoffornot—nothingelseseemstomatter.”
“Iknow,LadyClarke.Itisoneofthetragediesofthislife.”
“Itmakesmesostupid.IcannotevenrememberwhatitwasIwantedtosaytoyou.”
“Wasitsomethingaboutyourhusband’sdeath?”
“Car’sdeath?Yes,perhaps…Mad,poorcreature—themurderer,Imean.It’sallthenoiseandthespeednowadays—peoplecan’tstandit.I’vealwaysbeensorryformadpeople—theirheadsmustfeelsoqueer.Andthen,beingshutup—itmustbesoterrible.Butwhatelsecanonedo?Iftheykillpeople…”Sheshookherhead—gentlypained.“Youhaven’tcaughthimyet?”sheasked.
“No,notyet.”
“Hemusthavebeenhangingroundherethatday.”
“Thereweresomanystrangersabout,LadyClarke.Itistheholidayseason.”
“Yes—Iforgot…Buttheykeepdownbythebeaches,theydon’tcomeupnearthehouse.”
“Nostrangercametothehousethatday.”
“Whosaysso?”demandedLadyClarke,withasuddenvigour.
Poirotlookedslightlytakenaback.
“Theservants,”hesaid.“MissGrey.”
LadyClarkesaidverydistinctly:
“Thatgirlisaliar!”
Istartedonmychair.Poirotthrewmeaglance.
LadyClarkewasgoingon,speakingnowratherfeverishly.
“Ididn’tlikeher.Ineverlikedher.Carthoughtalltheworldofher.Usedtogoonaboutherbeinganorphanandaloneintheworld.What’swrongwithbeinganorphan?Sometimesit’sablessingindisguise.Youmighthaveagood-for-nothingfatherandamotherwhodrank—thenyouwouldhavesomethingtocomplainabout.Saidshewassobraveandsuchagoodworker.Idaresayshedidherworkwell!Idon’tknowwhereallthisbraverycamein!”
“Nowdon’texciteyourself,dear,”saidNurseCapstick,intervening.“Wemustn’thaveyougettingtired.”
“Isoonsentherpacking!Franklinhadtheimpertinencetosuggestthatshemightbeacomforttome.Comforttomeindeed!ThesoonerIsawthelastofherthebetter—that’swhatIsaid!Franklin’safool!Ididn’twanthimgettingmixedupwithher.He’saboy!Nosense!‘I’llgiveherthreemonths’salary,ifyoulike,’Isaid.‘Butoutshegoes.Idon’twantherinthehouseadaylonger.’There’sonethingaboutbeingill—mencan’targuewithyou.HedidwhatIsaidandshewent.Wentlikeamartyr,Iexpect—withmoresweetnessandbravery!”
“Now,dear,don’tgetsoexcited.It’sbadforyou.”
LadyClarkewavedNurseCapstickaway.
“Youwereasmuchofafoolaboutherasanyoneelse.”
“Oh!LadyClarke,youmustn’tsaythat.IdidthinkMissGreyaverynicegirl—soromantic-looking,likesomeoneoutofanovel.”
“I’venopatiencewiththelotofyou,”saidLadyClarkefeebly.
“Well,she’sgonenow,mydear.Gonerightaway.”
LadyClarkeshookherheadwithfeebleimpatiencebutshedidnotanswer.
Poirotsaid:
“WhydidyousaythatMissGreywasaliar?”
“Becausesheis.Shetoldyounostrangerscametothehouse,didn’tshe?”
“Yes.”
“Verywell,then.Isawher—withmyowneyes—outofthiswindow—talkingtoaperfectlystrangemanonthefrontdoorstep.”
“Whenwasthis?”
“InthemorningofthedayCardied—abouteleveno’clock.”
“Whatdidthismanlooklike?”
“Anordinarysortofman.Nothingspecial.”
“Agentleman—oratradesman?”
“Notatradesman.Ashabbysortofperson.Ican’tremember.”
Asuddenquiverofpainshotacrossherface.
“Please—youmustgonow—I’malittletired—Nurse.”
Weobeyedthecueandtookourdeparture.
“That’sanextraordinarystory,”IsaidtoPoirotaswejourneyedbacktoLondon.“AboutMissGreyandastrangeman.”
“Yousee,Hastings?Itis,asItellyou:thereisalwayssomethingtobefoundout.”
“Whydidthegirllieaboutitandsayshehadseennoone?”
“Icanthinkofsevenseparatereasons—oneofthemanextremelysimpleone.”
“Isthatasnub?”Iasked.
“Itis,perhaps,aninvitationtouseyouringenuity.Butthereisnoneedforustoperturbourselves.Theeasiestwaytoanswerthequestionistoaskher.”
“Andsupposeshetellsusanotherlie.”
“Thatwouldindeedbeinteresting—andhighlysuggestive.”
“Itismonstroustosupposethatagirllikethatcouldbeinleaguewithamadman.”
“Precisely—soIdonotsupposeit.”
Ithoughtforsomeminuteslonger.
“Agood-lookinggirlhasahardtimeofit,”Isaidatlastwithasigh.
“Dutout.Disabuseyourmindofthatidea.”
“It’strue,”Iinsisted,“everyone’shandisagainsthersimplybecausesheisgood-looking.”
“Youspeakthebêtises,myfriend.WhosehandwasagainstheratCombeside?SirCarmichael’s?Franklin’s?NurseCapstick’s?”
“LadyClarkewasdownonher,allright.”
“Monami,youarefullofcharitablefeelingtowardsbeautifulyounggirls.Me,Ifeelcharitabletosickoldladies.ItmaybethatLadyClarkewastheclear-sightedone—andthatherhusband,Mr.FranklinClarkeandNurseCapstickwereallasblindasbats—andCaptainHastings.”
“You’vegotagrudgeagainstthatgirl,Poirot.”
Tomysurprisehiseyestwinkledsuddenly.
“PerhapsitisthatIliketomountyouonyourromantichighhorse,Hastings.Youarealwaysthetrueknight—readytocometotherescueofdamselsindistress—good-lookingdamsels,bienentendu.”
“Howridiculousyouare,Poirot,”Isaid,unabletokeepfromlaughing.
“Ah,well,onecannotbetragicallthetime.MoreandmoreIinterestmyselfinthehumandevelopmentsthatariseoutofthistragedy.Itisthreedramasoffamilylifethatwehavethere.FirstthereisAndover—thewholetragiclifeofMrs.Ascher,herstruggles,hersupportofherGermanhusband,thedevotionofherniece.Thatalonewouldmake
“Realize,Hastings,thatintheordinarycourseofeventsthosethreeseparatedramaswouldneverhavetouchedeachother.Theywouldhavepursuedtheircourseuninfluencedbyeachother.Thepermutationsandcombinationsoflife,Hastings—Ineverceasetobefascinatedbythem.”
“ThisisPaddington,”wastheonlyanswerImade.
Itwastime,Ifelt,thatsomeoneprickedthebubble.
OnourarrivalatWhitehavenMansionsweweretoldthatagentlemanwaswaitingtoseePoirot.
IexpectedittobeFranklin,orperhapsJapp,buttomyastonishmentitturnedouttobenoneotherthanDonaldFraser.
Heseemedveryembarrassedandhisinarticulatenesswasmorenoticeablethanever.
Poirotdidnotpresshimtocometothepointofhisvisit,butinsteadsuggestedsandwichesandaglassofwine.
Untilthesemadetheirappearancehemonopolizedtheconversation,explainingwherewehadbeen,andspeakingwithkindlinessandfeelingoftheinvalidwoman.
Notuntilwehadfinishedthesandwichesandsippedthewinedidhegivetheconversationapersonalturn.
“YouhavecomefromBexhill,Mr.Fraser?”
“Yes.”
“AnysuccesswithMillyHigley?”
“MillyHigley?MillyHigley?”Fraserrepeatedthenamewonderingly.“Oh,thatgirl!No,Ihaven’tdoneanythingthereyet.It’s—”
Hestopped.Hishandstwistedthemselvestogethernervously.
“Idon’tknowwhyI’vecometoyou,”heburstout.
“Iknow,”saidPoirot.
“Youcan’t.Howcanyou?”
“Youhavecometomebecausethereissomethingthatyoumusttelltosomeone.Youwerequiteright.Iamtheproperperson.Speak!”
Poirot’sairofassurancehaditseffect.Fraserlookedathimwithaqueerairofgratefulobedience.
“Youthinkso?”
“Parbleu,Iamsureofit.”
“M.Poirot,doyouknowanythingaboutdreams?”
ItwasthelastthingIhadexpectedhimtosay.
Poirot,however,seemedinnowisesurprised.
“Ido,”hereplied.“Youhavebeendreaming—?”
“Yes.Isupposeyou’llsayit’sonlynaturalthatIshould—shoulddreamabout—It.Butitisn’tanordinarydream.”
“No?”
“No?”
“I’vedreameditnowthreenightsrunning,sir…IthinkI’mgoingmad….”
“Tellme—”
Theman’sfacewaslivid.Hiseyeswerestaringoutofhishead.Asamatteroffact,helookedmad.
“It’salwaysthesame.I’monthebeach.LookingforBetty.She’slost—onlylost,youunderstand.I’vegottofindher.I’vegottogiveherherbelt.I’mcarryingitinmyhand.Andthen—”
“Yes?”
“Thedreamchanges…I’mnotlookinganymore.She’sthereinfrontofme—sittingonthebeach.Shedoesn’tseemecoming—It’s—oh,Ican’t—”
“Goon.”
Poirot’svoicewasauthoritative—firm
“Icomeupbehindher…shedoesn’thearme…Islipthebeltroundherneckandpull—oh—pull….”
Theagonyinhisvoicewasfrightful…Igrippedthearmsofmychair…Thethingwastooreal.
“She’schoking…she’sdead…I’vestrangledher—andthenherheadfallsbackandIseeherface…andit’sMegan—notBetty!”
Heleantbackwhiteandshaking.Poirotpouredoutanotherglassofwineandpasseditovertohim.
“What’sthemeaningofit,M.Poirot?Whydoesitcometome?Everynight…?”
“Drinkupyourwine,”orderedPoirot.
Theyoungmandidso,thenheaskedinacalmervoice:
“Whatdoesitmean?I—Ididn’tkillher,didI?”
WhatPoirotansweredIdonotknow,foratthatminuteIheardthepostman’sknockandautomaticallyIlefttheroom
WhatItookoutoftheletterboxbanishedallmyinterestinDonaldFraser’sextraordinaryrevelations.
Iracedbackintothesittingroom.
“Poirot,”Icried.“It’scome.Thefourthletter.”
Hesprangup,seizeditfromme,caughtuphispaperknifeandslititopen.Hespreaditoutonthetable.
Thethreeofusreadittogether.
Stillnosuccess?Fie!Fie!Whatareyouandthepolicedoing?Well,well,isn’tthisfun?Andwhereshallwegonextforhoney?PoorMr.Poirot.I’mquitesorryforyou.Ifatfirstyoudon’tsucceed,try,try,tryagain.We’vealongwaytogostill.Tipperary?No—thatcomesfartheron.LetterT.ThenextlittleincidentwilltakeplaceatDoncasteronSeptember11th.Solong.ABC.Twenty-one
DESCRIPTIONOFAMURDERER
Itwasatthismoment,Ithink,thatwhatPoirotcalledthehumanelementbegantofadeoutofthepictureagain.Itwasasthough,themindbeingunabletostandunadulteratedhorror,wehadhadanintervalofnormalhumaninterests.
Wehad,oneandall,felttheimpossibilityofdoinganythinguntilthefourthlettershouldcomerevealingtheprojectedsceneoftheDmurder.Thatatmosphereofwaitinghadbroughtareleaseoftension.
Butnow,withtheprintedwordsjeeringfromthewhitestiffpaper,thehuntwasuponcemore.
InspectorCromehadcomeroundfromtheYard,andwhilehewasstillthere,FranklinClarkeandMeganBarnardcamein
Thegirlexplainedthatshe,too,hadcomeupfromBexhill.
“IwantedtoaskMr.Clarkesomething.”
Sheseemedratheranxioustoexcuseandexplainherprocedure.Ijustnotedthefactwithoutattachingmuchimportancetoit.
Theletternaturallyfilledmymindtotheexclusionofallelse.
Cromewasnot,Ithink,anytoopleasedtoseethevariousparticipantsinthedrama.Hebecameextremelyofficialandnoncommittal.
“I’lltakethiswithme,M.Poirot.Ifyoucaretotakeacopyofit—”
“No,no,itisnotnecessary.”
“Whatareyourplans,inspector?”askedClarke.
“Fairlycomprehensiveones,Mr.Clarke.”
“Thistimewe’vegottogethim,”saidClarke.“Imaytellyou,inspector,thatwe’veformedanassociationofourowntodealwiththematter.Alegionofinterestedparties.”
InspectorCromesaidinhisbestmanner:
“Oh,yes?”
“Igatheryoudon’tthinkmuchofamateurs,inspector?”
“You’vehardlythesameresourcesatyourcommand,haveyou,Mr.Clarke?”
“We’vegotapersonalaxetogrind—andthat’ssomething.”
“Oh,yes?”
“Ifancyyourowntaskisn’tgoingtobetooeasy,inspector.Infact,IratherfancyoldABChasdoneyouagain.”
Crome,Inoticed,couldoftenbegoadedintospeechwhenothermethodswouldhavefailed.
“Idon’tfancythepublicwillhavemuchtocriticizeinourarrangementsthistime,”hesaid.“Thefoolhasgivenusamplewarning.The11thisn’ttillWednesdayofnextweek.Thatgivesampletimeforapublicitycampaigninthepress.Doncasterwillbethoroughlywarned.EverysoulwhosenamebeginswithaDwillbeonhisorherguard—that’ssomuchtothegood.Also,we’lldraftpoliceintothetownonafairlylargescale.That’salreadybeenarrangedforbyconsentofalltheChiefConstablesinEngland.ThewholeofDoncaster,policeandcivilians,willbeouttocatchoneman—andwithreasonableluck,weoughttogethim!”
Clarkesaidquietly:
“It’seasytoseeyou’renotasportingman,inspector.”
Cromestaredathim.
“Whatdoyoumean,Mr.Clarke?”
“Manalive,don’tyourealizethatonnextWednesdaytheSt.LegerisbeingrunatDoncaster?”
Theinspector’sjawdropped.Forthelifeofhimhecouldnotbringoutthefamiliar“Oh,yes?”Insteadhesaid:
“That’strue.Yes,thatcomplicatesmatters….”
“ABCisnofool,evenifheisamadman.”
Wewereallsilentforaminuteortwo,takinginthesituation.Thecrowdsontheracecourse—thepassionate,sport-lovingEnglishpublic—theendlesscomplications.
Poirotmurmured:
“C’estingénieux.Toutdemêmec’estbienimaginé,?a.”
“It’smybelief,”saidClarke,“thatthemurderwilltakeplaceontheracecourse—perhapsactuallywhiletheLegerisbeingrun.”
Forthemomenthissportinginstinctstookamomentarypleasureinthethought….
InspectorCromerose,takingtheletterwithhim.
“TheSt.Legerisacomplication,”heallowed.“It’sunfortunate.”
Hewentout.Weheardamurmurofvoicesinthehallway.AminutelaterThoraGreyentered.
Shesaidanxiously:
“Theinspectortoldmethereisanotherletter.Wherethistime?”
Itwasrainingoutside.ThoraGreywaswearingablackcoatandskirtandfurs.Alittleblackhatjustpercheditselfonthesideofhergoldenhead.
ItwastoFranklinClarkethatshespokeandshecamerightuptohimand,withahandonhisarm,waitedforhisanswer.
“Doncaster—andonthedayoftheSt.Leger.”
Wesettleddowntoadiscussion.Itwentwithoutsayingthatweallintendedtobepresent,buttherace-meetingundoubtedlycomplicatedtheplanswehadmadetentativelybeforehand.
Afeelingofdiscouragementsweptoverme.Whatcouldthislittlebandofsixpeopledo,afterall,howeverstrongtheirpersonalinterestinthemattermightbe?Therewouldbeinnumerablepolice,keen-eyedandalert,watchingalllikelyspots.Whatcouldsixmorepairsofeyesdo?
Asthoughinanswertomythought,Poirotraisedhisvoice.Hespokeratherlikeaschoolmasterorapriest.
“Mesenfants,”hesaid.“Wemustnotdispersethestrength.Wemustapproachthismatterwithmethodandorderinourthoughts.Wemustlookwithinandnotwithoutforthetruth.Wemustsaytoourselves—eachoneofus—whatdoIknowaboutthemurderer?Andsowemustbuildupacompositepictureofthemanwearegoingtoseek.”
“Weknownothingabouthim,”sighedThoraGreyhelplessly.
“No,no,mademoiselle.Thatisnottrue.Eachoneofusknowssomethingabouthim—ifweonlyknewwhatitisweknow.Iamconvincedthattheknowledgeisthereifwecouldonlygetatit.”
Clarkeshookhishead.
“Wedon’tknowanything—whetherhe’soldoryoung,fairordark!Noneofushaseverseenhimorspokentohim!We’vegoneovereverythingweallknowagainandagain.”
“Noteverything!Forinstance,MissGreyheretoldusthatshedidnotseeorspeaktoanystrangeronthedaythatSirCarmichaelClarkewasmurdered.”
ThoraGreynodded.
“That’squiteright.”
“Isit?LadyClarketoldus,mademoiselle,thatfromherwindowshesawyoustandingonthefrontdoorsteptalkingtoaman.”
“Shesawmetalkingtoastrangeman?”Thegirlseemedgenuinelyastonished.Surelythatpure,limpidlookcouldnotbeanythingbutgenuine.
Sheshookherhead.
“LadyClarkemusthavemadeamistake.Inever—Oh!”
Theexclamationcamesuddenly—jerkedoutofher.Acrimsonwavefloodedhercheeks.
“Iremembernow!Howstupid!I’dforgottenallaboutit.Butitwasn’timportant.Justoneofthosemenwhocomeroundsellingstockings—youknow,ex-armypeople.They’reverypersistent.Ihadtogetridofhim.Iwasjustcrossingthehallwhenhecametothedoor.Hespoketomeinsteadofringingbuthewasquiteaharmlesssortofperson.Isupposethat’swhyIforgotabouthim.”
Poirotwasswayingtoandfro,hishandsclaspedtohishead.Hewasmutteringtohimselfwithsuchvehemencethatnobodyelsesaidanything,butstaredathiminstead.
“Stockings,”hewasmurmuring.“Stockings…stockings…stockings…?avient…stockings…stockings…itisthemotif—yes…threemonthsago…andtheotherday…andnow.BonDieu,Ihaveit!”
Hesatuprightandfixedmewithanimperiouseye.
“Youremember,Hastings?Andover.Theshop.Wegoupstairs.Thebedroom.Onachair.Apairofnewsilkstockings.AndnowIknowwhatitwasthatrousedmyattentiontwodaysago.Itwasyou,mademoiselle—”HeturnedonMegan.“Youspokeofyourmotherwhoweptbecauseshehadboughtyoursistersomenewstockingsontheverydayofthemurder….”
Helookedroundonusall.
“Yousee?Itisthesamemotifthreetimesrepeated.Thatcannotbecoincidence.WhenmademoisellespokeIhadthefeelingthatwhatshesaidlinkedupwithsomething.Iknownowwithwhat.ThewordsspokenbyMrs.Ascher’snext-doorneighbour,Mrs.Fowler.Aboutpeoplewhowerealwaystryingtosellyouthings—andshementionedstockings.Tellme,mademoiselle,itistrue,isitnot,thatyourmotherboughtthosestockings,notatashop,butfromsomeonewhocametothedoor?”
“Yes—yes—shedid…Iremembernow.Shesaidsomethingaboutbeingsorryforthesewretchedmenwhogoroundandtrytogetorders.”
“Butwhat’stheconnection?”criedFranklin.“Thatamancamesellingstockingsprovesnothing!”
“Itellyou,myfriends,itcannotbecoincidence.Threecrimes—andeverytimeamansellingstockingsandspyingouttheland.”
HewheeledroundonThora.
“Avouslaparole!Describethisman.”
Shelookedathimblankly.
“Ican’t…Idon’tknowhow…Hehadglasses,Ithink—andashabbyovercoat….”
“Mieuxque?a,mademoiselle.”
“Hestooped…Idon’tknow.Ihardlylookedathim.Hewasn’tthesortofmanyou’dnotice….”
Poirotsaidgravely:
“Youarequiteright,mademoiselle.Thewholesecretofthemurdersliesthereinyourdescriptionofthemurderer—forwithoutadoubthewasthemurderer!‘Hewasn’tthesortofmanyou’dnotice.’Yes—thereisnodoubtaboutit…Youhavedescribedthemurderer!”
Twenty-two
NOTFROMCAPTAINHASTINGS’PERSONALNARRATIVE
I
Mr.AlexanderBonaparteCustsatverystill.Hisbreakfastlaycoldanduntastedonhisplate.AnewspaperwasproppedupagainsttheteapotanditwasthisnewspaperthatMr.Custwasreadingwithavidinterest.
Suddenlyhegotup,pacedtoandfroforaminute,thensankbackintoachairbythewindow.Heburiedhisheadinhishandswithastifledgroan.
Hedidnothearthesoundoftheopeningdoor.Hislandlady,Mrs.Marbury,stoodinthedoorway.
“Iwaswondering,Mr.Cust,ifyou’dfancyanice—why,whateverisit?Aren’tyoufeelingwell?”
Mr.Custraisedhisheadfromhishands
“Nothing.It’snothingatall,Mrs.Marbury.I’mnot—feelingverywellthismorning.”
Mrs.Marburyinspectedthebreakfasttray.
“SoIsee.Youhaven’ttouchedyourbreakfast.Isityourheadtroublingyouagain?”
“No.Atleast,yes…I—Ijustfeelabitoutofsorts.”
“Well,I’msorry,I’msure.You’llnotbegoingawaytoday,then?”
Mr.Custsprangupabruptly.
“No,no.Ihavetogo.It’sbusiness.Important.Veryimportant.”
Hishandswereshaking.Seeinghimsoagitated,Mrs.Marburytriedtosoothehim.
“Well,ifyoumust—youmust.Goingfarthistime?”
“No.I’mgoingto”—hehesitatedforaminuteortwo—“Cheltenham.”
TherewassomethingsopeculiaraboutthetentativewayhesaidthewordthatMrs.Marburylookedathiminsurprise.
“Cheltenham’saniceplace,”shesaidconversationally.“IwenttherefromBristoloneyear.Theshopsareeversonice.”
“Isupposeso—yes.”
Mrs.Marburystoopedratherstiffly—forstoopingdidnotsuitherfigure—topickupthepaperthatwaslyingcrumpledonthefloor.
“Nothingbutthismurderingbusinessinthepapersnowadays,”shesaidassheglancedattheheadlinesbeforeputtingitbackonthetable.“Givesmethecreeps,itdoes.Idon’treadit.It’slikeJacktheRipperalloveragain.”
Mr.Cust’slipsmoved,butnosoundcamefromthem.
“Doncaster—that’stheplacehe’sgoingtodohisnextmurder,”saidMrs.Marbury.“Andtomorrow!Fairlymakesyourfleshcreep,doesn’tit?IfIlivedinDoncasterandmynamebeganwithaD,I’dtakethefirsttrainaway,thatIwould.I’drunnorisks.Whatdidyousay,Mr.Cust?”
“Nothing,Mrs.Marbury—nothing.”
“It’stheracesandall.Nodoubthethinkshe’llgethisopportunitythere.Hundredsofpolice,theysay,they’redraftinginand—Why,Mr.Cust,youdolookbad.Hadn’tyoubetterhavealittledropofsomething?Really,now,yououghtn’ttogotravellingtoday.”
Mr.Custdrewhimselfup.
“Itisnecessary,Mrs.Marbury.Ihavealwaysbeenpunctualinmy—engagements.Peoplemusthave—musthaveconfidenceinyou!WhenIhaveundertakentodoathing,Icarryitthrough.Itistheonlywaytogetonin—in—business.”
“Butifyou’reill?”
“Iamnotill,Mrs.Marbury.Justalittleworriedover—variouspersonalmatters.Isleptbadly.Iamreallyquiteallright.”
HismannerwassofirmthatMrs.Marburygatheredupthebreakfastthingsandreluctantlylefttheroom.
Mr.Custdraggedoutasuitcasefromunderthebedandbegantopack.Pyjamas,spongebag,sparecollar,leatherslippers.Thenunlockingacupboard,hetransferredadozenorsoflattishcardboardboxesaboutteninchesbysevenfromashelftothesuitcase.
Hejustglancedattherailwayguideonthetableandthenlefttheroom,suitcaseinhand.
Settingitdowninthehall,heputonhishatandovercoat.Ashedidsohesigheddeeply,sodeeplythatthegirlwhocameoutfromaroomatthesidelookedathiminconcern.
“Anythingthematter,Mr.Cust?”
“Nothing,MissLily.”
“Youweresighingso!”
Mr.Custsaidabruptly:
“Areyouatallsubjecttopremonitions,MissLily?Topresentiments?”
“Well,Idon’tknowthatIam,really…Ofcourse,therearedayswhenyoujustfeeleverything’sgoingwrong,anddayswhenyoufeeleverything’sgoingright.”
“Quite,”saidMr.Cust.
Hesighedagain.
“Well,goodbye,MissLily.Goodbye.I’msureyou’vebeenverykindtomealwayshere.”
“Well,don’tsaygoodbyeasthoughyouweregoingawayforever,”laughedLily.
“No,no,ofcoursenot.”
“SeeyouFriday,”laughedthegirl.“Whereareyougoingthistime?Seasideagain.”
“No,no—er—Cheltenham.”
“Well,that’snice,too.ButnotquiteasniceasTorquay.Thatmusthavebeenlovely.Iwanttogothereformyholidaynextyear.Bytheway,youmusthavebeenquitenearwherethemurderwas—theABCmurder.Ithappenedwhileyouweredownthere,didn’tit?”
“Er—yes.ButChurston’ssixorsevenmilesaway.”
“Allthesame,itmusthavebeenexciting!Why,youmayhavepassedthemurdererinthestreet!Youmayhavebeenquiteneartohim!”
“Yes,Imay,ofcourse,”saidMr.CustwithsuchaghastlyandcontortedsmilethatLilyMarburynoticedit.
“Oh,Mr.Cust,youdon’tlookwell.”
“I’mquiteallright,quiteallright.Goodbye,MissMarbury.”
Hefumbledtoraisehishat,caughtuphissuitcaseandfairlyhastenedoutofthefrontdoor.
“Funnyoldthing,”saidLilyMarburyindulgently.“Lookshalfbattytomymind.”
II
InspectorCromesaidtohissubordinate:
“Getmeoutalistofallstockingmanufacturingfirmsandcircularizethem.Iwantalistofalltheiragents—youknow,fellowswhoselloncommissionandtoutfororders.”
“ThistheABCcase,sir?”
“Yes.OneofMr.HerculePoirot’sideas.”Theinspector’stonewasdisdainful.“Probablynothinginit,butitdoesn’tdotoneglectanychance,howeverfaint.”
“Right,sir.Mr.Poirot’sdonesomegoodstuffinhistime,butIthinkhe’sabitgaganow,sir.”
“He’samountebank,”saidInspectorCrome.“Alwaysposing.Takesinsomepeople.Itdoesn’ttakeinme.Nowthen,aboutthearrangementforDoncaster….”
III
TomHartigansaidtoLilyMarbury:
“Sawyourolddugoutthismorning.”
“Who?Mr.Cust?”
“Custitwas.AtEuston.Lookinglikealosthen,asusual.Ithinkthefellow’shalfloony.Heneedssomeonetolookafterhim.Firsthedroppedhispaperandthenhedroppedhisticket.Ipickedthatup—hehadn’tthefaintestideahe’dlostit.Thankedmeinanagitatedsortofmanner,butIdon’tthinkherecognizedme.”
“Oh,well,”saidLily.“He’sonlyseenyoupassinginthehall,andnotveryoftenatthat.”
Theydancedonceroundthefloor.
“Youdancesomethingbeautiful,”saidTom.
“Goon,”saidLilyandwriggledyetalittlecloser.
Theydancedroundagain.
“DidyousayEustonorPaddington?”askedLilyabruptly.“WhereyousawoldCust,Imean?”
“Euston.”
“Areyousure?”
“OfcourseI’msure.Whatdoyouthink?”
“Funny.IthoughtyouwenttoCheltenhamfromPaddington.”
“Soyoudo.ButoldCustwasn’tgoingtoCheltenham.HewasgoingtoDoncaster.”
“Cheltenham.”
“Doncaster.Iknow,mygirl!Afterall,Ipickeduphisticket,didn’tI?”
“Well,hetoldmehewasgoingtoCheltenham.I’msurehedid.”
“Oh,you’vegotitwrong.HewasgoingtoDoncasterallright.Somepeoplehavealltheluck.I’vegotabitonFireflyfortheLegerandI’dlovetoseeitrun.”
“Ishouldn’tthinkMr.Custwenttoracemeetings,hedoesn’tlookthekind.Oh,Tom,Ihopehewon’tgetmurdered.It’sDoncastertheABCmurder’sgoingtobe.”
“Cust’llbeallright.Hisnamedoesn’tbeginwithaD.”
“Hemighthavebeenmurderedlasttime.HewasdownnearChurstonatTorquaywhenthelastmurderhappened.”
“Washe?That’sabitofacoincidence,isn’tit?”
Helaughed.
“Hewasn’tatBexhillthetimebefore,washe?”
Lilycrinkledherbrows.
“Hewasaway…Yes,Irememberhewasaway…becauseheforgothisbathing-dress.Motherwasmendingitforhim.Andshesaid:‘There—Mr.Custwentawayyesterdaywithouthisbathing-dressafterall,’andIsaid:‘Oh,nevermindtheoldbathing-dress—there’sbeenthemostawfulmurder,’Isaid,‘agirlstrangledatBexhill.’”
“Well,ifhewantedhisbathing-dress,hemusthavebeengoingtotheseaside.Isay,Lily”—hisfacecrinkledupwithamusement.“Whatpriceyourolddugoutbeingthemurdererhimself?”
“PoorMr.Cust?Hewouldn’thurtafly,”laughedLily.
Theydancedonhappily—intheirconsciousmindsnothingbutthepleasureofbeingtogether.
Intheirunconsciousmindssomethingstirred….
Twenty-three
SEPTEMBER11TH.DONCASTER
Doncaster!
Ishall,Ithink,rememberthat11thofSeptemberallmylife.
Indeed,wheneverIseeamentionoftheSt.Legermymindfliesautomaticallynottohorseracingbuttomurder.
WhenIrecallmyownsensations,thethingthatstandsoutmostisasickeningsenseofinsufficiency.Wewerehere—onthespot—Poirot,myself,Clarke,Fraser,MeganBarnard,ThoraGreyandMaryDrower,andinthelastresortwhatcouldanyofusdo?
Wewerebuildingonaforlornhope—onthechanceofrecognizingamongstacrowdofthousandsofpeopleafaceorfigureimperfectlyseenonanoccasionone,twoorthreemonthsback.
Theoddswereinrealitygreaterthanthat.Ofusall,theonlypersonlikelytomakesucharecognitionwasThoraGrey.
Someofherserenityhadbrokendownunderthestrain.Hercalm,efficientmannerwasgone.Shesattwistingherhandstogether,almostweeping,appealingincoherentlytoPoirot.
“Ineverreallylookedathim…Whydidn’tI?WhatafoolIwas.You’redependingonme,allofyou…andIshallletyoudown.BecauseevenifIdidseehimagainImightn’trecognizehim.I’vegotabadmemoryforfaces.”
Poirot,whateverhemightsaytome,andhoweverharshlyhemightseemtocriticizethegirl,showednothingbutkindnessnow.Hismannerwastenderintheextreme.ItstruckmethatPoirotwasnomoreindifferenttobeautyindistressthanIwas.
Hepattedhershoulderkindly.
“Nowthen,petite,notthehysteria.Wecannothavethat.Ifyoushouldseethismanyouwouldrecognizehim.”
“Howdoyouknow?”
“Oh,agreatmanyreasons—forone,becausetheredsucceedstheblack.”
“Whatdoyoumean,Poirot?”Icried.
“Ispeakthelanguageofthetables.Atroulettetheremaybealongrunontheblack—butintheendredmustturnup.Itisthemathematicallawsofchance.”
“Youmeanthatluckturns?”
“Exactly,Hastings.Andthatiswherethegambler(andthemurderer,whois,afterall,onlyasupremekindofgamblersincewhatherisksisnothismoneybuthislife)oftenlacksintelligentanticipation.Becausehehaswonhethinkshewillcontinuetowin!Hedoesnotleavethetablesingoodtimewithhispocketfull.Soincrimethemurdererwhoissuccessfulcannotconceivethepossibilityofnotbeingsuccessful!Hetakestohimselfallthecreditforasuccessfulperformance—butItellyou,myfriends,howevercarefullyplanned,nocrimecanbesuccessfulwithoutluck!”
“Isn’tthatgoingratherfar?”demurredFranklinClarke.
Poirotwavedhishandsexcitedly.
“No,no.Itisanevenchance,ifyoulike,butitmustbeinyourfavour.Consider!ItmighthavehappenedthatsomeoneentersMrs.Ascher’sshopjustasthemurdererisleaving.Thatpersonmighthavethoughtoflookingbehindthecounter,haveseenthedeadwoman—andeitherlaidhandsonthemurdererstraightawayorelsebeenabletogivesuchanaccuratedescriptionofhimtothepolicethathewouldhavebeenarrestedforthwith.”
“Yes,ofcourse,that’spossible,”admittedClarke.“Whatitcomestoisthatamurderer’sgottotakeachance.”
“Precisely.Amurdererisalwaysagambler.And,likemanygamblers,amurdereroftendoesnotknowwhentostop.Witheachcrimehisopinionofhisownabilitiesisstrengthened.Hissenseofproportioniswarped.Hedoesnotsay‘Ihavebeencleverandlucky!’No,hesaysonly‘Ihavebeenclever!’Andhisopinionofhisclevernessgrowsandthen,mesamis,theballspins,andtherunofcolourisover—itdropsintoanewnumberandthecroupiercallsout‘Rouge.’”
“Youthinkthatwillhappeninthiscase?”askedMegan,drawingherbrowstogetherinafrown.
“Itmusthappensoonerorlater!Sofartheluckhasbeenwiththecriminal—soonerorlateritmustturnandbewithus.Ibelievethatithasturned!Theclueofthestockingsisthebeginning.Now,insteadofeverythinggoingrightforhim,everythingwillgowrongforhim!Andhe,too,willbegintomakemistakes….”
“Iwillsayyou’reheartening,”saidFranklinClarke.“Weallneedabitofcomfort.I’vehadaparalysingfeelingofhelplessnesseversinceIwokeup.”
“Itseemstomehighlyproblematicalthatwecanaccomplishanythingofpracticalvalue,”saidDonaldFraser.
Meganrappedout:
“Don’tbeadefeatist,Don.”
MaryDrower,flushingupalittle,said:
“WhatIsayis,youneverknow.Thatwickedfiend’sinthisplace,andsoarewe—andafterall,youdorunupagainstpeopleinthefunniestwaysometimes.”
Ifumed:
“Ifonlywecoulddosomethingmore.”
“Youmustremember,Hastings,thatthepolicearedoingeverythingreasonablypossible.Specialconstableshavebeenenrolled.ThegoodInspectorCromemayhavetheirritatingmanner,butheisaveryablepoliceofficer,andColonelAnderson,theChiefConstable,isamanofaction.Theyhavetakenthefullestmeasuresforwatchingandpatrollingthetownandtheracecourse.Therewillbeplainclothesmeneverywhere.Thereisalsothepresscampaign.Thepublicisfullywarned.”
DonaldFrasershookhishead.
“He’llneverattemptit,I’mthinking,”hesaidmorehopefully.“Themanwouldjustbemad!”
“Unfortunately,”saidClarkedryly,“heismad!Whatdoyouthink,M.Poirot?Willhegiveituporwillhetrytocarryitthrough?”
“Inmyopinionthestrengthofhisobsessionissuchthathemustattempttocarryouthispromise!Nottodosowouldbetoadmitfailure,andthathisinsaneegoismwouldneverallow.That,Imaysay,isalsoDr.Thompson’sopinion.Ourhopeisthathemaybecaughtintheattempt.”
Donaldshookhisheadagain.
“He’llbeverycunning.”
Poirotglancedathiswatch.Wetookthehint.Ithadbeenagreedthatweweretomakeanall-daysessionofit,patrollingasmanystreetsaspossibleinthemorning,andlater,stationingourselvesatvariouslikelypointsontheracecourse.
Isay“we.”Ofcourse,inmyowncasesuchapatrolwasoflittleavailsinceIwasneverlikelytohaveseteyesonABC.However,astheideawastoseparatesoastocoveraswideanareaaspossibleIhadsuggestedthatIshouldactasescorttooneoftheladies.
Poirothadagreed—Iamafraidwithsomewhatofatwinkleinhiseye.
Thegirlswentofftogettheirhatson.DonaldFraserwasstandingbythewindowlookingout,apparentlylostinthought.
FranklinClarkeglancedoverathim,thenevidentlydecidingthattheotherwastooabstractedtocountasalistener,heloweredhisvoicealittleandaddressedPoirot.
“Lookhere,M.Poirot.YouwentdowntoChurston,Iknow,andsawmysister-in-law.Didshesay—orhint—Imean—didshesuggestatall—?”
Hestopped,embarrassed.
Poirotansweredwithafaceofblankinnocencethatarousedmystrongestsuspicions.
“Comment?Didyoursister-in-lawsay,hint,orsuggest—what?”
FranklinClarkegotratherred.
“Perhapsyouthinkthisisn’tatimeforbuttinginwithpersonalthings—”
“Dutout!”
“ButIfeelI’dliketogetthingsquitestraight.”
“Anadmirablecourse.”
ThistimeIthinkClarkebegantosuspectPoirot’sblandfaceofconcealingsomeinneramusement.Heploughedonratherheavily.
“Mysister-in-law’sanawfullynicewoman—I’vebeenveryfondofheralways—butofcourseshe’sbeenillsometime—andinthatkindofillness—beinggivendrugsandallthat—onetendsto—well,tofancythingsaboutpeople!”
“Ah?”
BynowtherewasnomistakingthetwinkleinPoirot’seye.
ButFranklinClarke,absorbedinhisdiplomatictask,waspastnoticingit.
“It’saboutThora—MissGrey,”hesaid.
“Oh,itisofMissGreyyouspeak?”Poirot’stoneheldinnocentsurprise.
“Yes.LadyClarkegotcertainideasinherhead.Yousee,Thora—MissGreyiswell,ratheragoodlookinggirl—”
“Perhaps—yes,”concededPoirot.
“Andwomen,eventhebestofthem,areabitcattyaboutotherwomen.Ofcourse,Thorawasinvaluabletomybrother—healwayssaidshewasthebestsecretaryheeverhad—andhewasveryfondofher,too.Butitwasallperfectlystraightandaboveboard.Imean,Thoraisn’tthesortofgirl—”
“No?”saidPoirothelpfully.
“Butmysister-in-lawgotitintoherheadtobe—well—jealous,Isuppose.Notthatsheevershowedanything.ButafterCar’sdeath,whentherewasaquestionofMissGreystayingon—well,Charlottecutuprough.Ofcourse,it’spartlytheillnessandthemorphiaandallthat—NurseCapsticksaysso—shesayswemustn’tblameCharlotteforgettingtheseideasintoherhead—”
Hepaused.
“Yes?”
“WhatIwantyoutounderstand,M.Poirot,isthatthereisn’tanythinginitatall.It’sjustasickwoman’simaginings.Lookhere”—hefumbledinhispocket—“here’saletterIreceivedfrommybrotherwhenIwasintheMalayStates.I’dlikeyoutoreaditbecauseitshowsexactlywhattermstheywereon.”
Poirottookit.Franklincameoverbesidehimandwithapointingfingerreadsomeoftheextractsoutloud.
“—thingsgoonheremuchasusual.Charlotteismoderatelyfreefrompain.Iwishonecouldsaymore.YoumayrememberThoraGrey?SheisadeargirlandagreatercomforttomethanIcantellyou.Ishouldnothaveknownwhattodothroughthisbadtimebutforher.Hersympathyandinterestareunfailing.ShehasanexquisitetasteandflairforbeautifulthingsandsharesmypassionforChineseart.Iwasindeedluckytofindher.Nodaughtercouldbeacloserormoresympatheticcompanion.Herlifehadbeenadifficultandnotalwaysahappyone,butIamgladtofeelthathereshehasahomeandtrueaffection.
“Yousee,”saidFranklin,“that’showmybrotherfelttoher.Hethoughtofherlikeadaughter.WhatIfeelsounfairisthefactthatthemomentmybrotherisdead,hiswifepracticallyturnsheroutofthehouse!Womenreallyaredevils,M.Poirot.”
“Yoursister-in-lawisillandinpain,remember.”
“Iknow.That’swhatIkeepsayingtomyself.Onemustn’tjudgeher.Allthesame,IthoughtI’dshowyouthis.Idon’twantyoutogetafalseimpressionofThorafromanythingLadyClarkemayhavesaid.”
Poirotreturnedtheletter.
“Icanassureyou,”hesaid,smiling,“thatIneverpermitmyselftogetfalseimpressionsfromanythinganyonetellsme.Iformmyownjudgments.”
“Well,”saidClarke,stowingawaytheletter.“I’mgladIshowedittoyouanyway.Herecomethegirls.We’dbetterbeoff.”
Aswelefttheroom,Poirotcalledmeback.
“Youaredeterminedtoaccompanytheexpedition,Hastings?”
“Oh,yes.Ishouldn’tbehappystayinghereinactive.”
“Thereisactivityofmindaswellasbody,Hastings.”
“Well,you’rebetteratitthanIam,”Isaid.
“Youareincontestablyright,Hastings.AmIcorrectinsupposingthatyouintendtobeacavaliertooneoftheladies?”
“Thatwastheidea.”
“Andwhichladydidyouproposetohonourwithyourcompany?”
“Well—I—er—hadn’tconsideredyet.”
“WhataboutMissBarnard?”
“She’srathertheindependenttype,”Idemurred.
“MissGrey?”
“Yes.She’sbetter.”
“Ifindyou,Hastings,singularlythoughtransparentlydishonest!Allalongyouhadmadeupyourmindtospendthedaywithyourblondeangel!”
“Oh,really,Poirot!”
“Iamsorrytoupsetyourplans,butImustrequestyoutogiveyourescortelsewhere.”
“Oh,allright.Ithinkyou’vegotaweaknessforthatDutchdollofagirl.”
“ThepersonyouaretoescortisMaryDrower—andImustrequestyounottoleaveher.”
“But,Poirot,why?”
“Because,mydearfriend,hernamebeginswithaD.Wemusttakenochances.”
Isawthejusticeofhisremark.Atfirstitseemedfar-fetched,butthenIrealizedthatifABChadafanaticalhatredofPoirot,hemightverywellbekeepinghimselfinformedofPoirot’smovements.AndinthatcasetheeliminationofMaryDrowermightstrikehimasaverypatfourthstroke.
Ipromisedtobefaithfultomytrust.
IwentoutleavingPoirotsittinginachairnearthewindow.
Infrontofhimwasalittleroulettewheel.HespunitasIwentoutofthedoorandcalledafterme:
“Rouge—thatisagoodomen,Hastings.Theluck,itturns!”
Twenty-four
NOTFROMCAPTAINHASTINGS’PERSONALNARRATIVE
BelowhisbreathMr.Leadbetterutteredagruntofimpatienceashisnext-doorneighbourgotupandstumbledclumsilypasthim,droppinghishatovertheseatinfront,andleaningovertoretrieveit.
AllthisattheculminatingmomentofNotaSparrow,thatall-star,thrillingdramaofpathosandbeautythatMr.Leadbetterhadbeenlookingforwardtoseeingforawholeweek.
Thegolden-hairedheroine,playedbyKatherineRoyal(inMr.Leadbetter’sopiniontheleadingfilmactressintheworld),wasjustgivingventtoahoarsecryofindignation:
“Never.Iwouldsoonerstarve.ButIshan’tstarve.Rememberthosewords:notasparrowfalls—”
Mr.Leadbettermovedhisheadirritablyfromrighttoleft.People!Whyonearthpeoplecouldn’twaittilltheendofafilm…Andtoleaveatthissoul-stirringmoment.
Ah,thatwasbetter.Theannoyinggentlemanhadpassedonandout.Mr.LeadbetterhadafullviewofthescreenandofKatherineRoyalstandingbythewindowintheVanSchreinerMansioninNewYork.
Andnowshewasboardingthetrain—thechildinherarms…WhatcurioustrainstheyhadinAmerica—notatalllikeEnglishtrains.
Ah,therewasSteveagaininhisshackinthemountains….
Thefilmpursueditscoursetoitsemotionalandsemi-religiousend.
Mr.Leadbetterbreathedasighofsatisfactionasthelightswentup.
Heroseslowlytohisfeet,blinkingalittle.
Heneverleftthecinemaveryquickly.Italwaystookhimamomentortwotoreturntotheprosaicrealityofeverydaylife.
Heglancedround.Notmanypeoplethisafternoon—naturally.Theywereallattheraces.Mr.Leadbetterdidnotapproveofracingnorofplayingcardsnorofdrinkingnorofsmoking.Thislefthimmoreenergytoenjoygoingtothepictures.
Everyonewashurryingtowardstheexit.Mr.Leadbetterpreparedtofollowsuit.Themanintheseatinfrontofhimwasasleep—slumpeddowninhischair.Mr.LeadbetterfeltindignanttothinkthatanyonecouldsleepwithsuchadramaasNotaSparrowgoingon.
Anirategentlemanwassayingtothesleepingmanwhoselegswerestretchedoutblockingtheway:
“Excuseme,sir.”
Mr.Leadbetterreachedtheexit.Helookedback.
Thereseemedtobesomesortofcommotion.Acommissionaire…alittleknotofpeople…Perhapsthatmaninfrontofhimwasdeaddrunkandnotasleep….
Hehesitatedandthenpassedout—andinsodoingmissedthesensationoftheday—agreatersensationeventhanNotHalfwinningtheSt.Legerat85to1.
Thecommissionairewassaying:
“Believeyou’reright,sir…He’sill…Why—what’sthematter,sir?”
Theotherhaddrawnawayhishandwithanexclamationandwasexaminingaredstickysmear.
“Blood….”
Thecommissionairegaveastifledexclamation.
Hehadcaughtsightofthecornerofsomethingyellowprojectingfromundertheseat.
“Gorblimey!”hesaid.“It’sab—ABC.”
Twenty-five
NOTFROMCAPTAINHASTINGS’PERSONALNARRATIVE
Mr.CustcameoutoftheRegalCinemaandlookedupatthesky.
Abeautifulevening…Areallybeautifulevening….
AquotationfromBrowningcameintohishead.
“God’sinHisheaven.All’srightwiththeworld.”
Hehadalwaysbeenfondofthatquotation.
Onlythereweretimes,veryoften,whenhehadfeltitwasn’ttrue….
HetrottedalongthestreetsmilingtohimselfuntilhecametotheBlackSwanwherehewasstaying.
Heclimbedthestairstohisbedroom,astuffylittleroomonthesecondfloor,givingoverapavedinnercourtandgarage.
Asheenteredtheroomhissmilefadedsuddenly.Therewasastainonhissleevenearthecuff.Hetouchedittentatively—wetandred—blood….
Hishanddippedintohispocketandbroughtoutsomething—alongslenderknife.Thebladeofthat,too,wasstickyandred….
Mr.Custsattherealongtime.
Oncehiseyesshotroundtheroomlikethoseofahuntedanimal.
Histonguepassedfeverishlyoverhislips….
“Itisn’tmyfault,”saidMr.Cust.
Hesoundedasthoughhewerearguingwithsomebody—aschoolboypleadingtohisheadmaster.
Hepassedhistongueoverhislipsagain….
Again,tentatively,hefelthiscoatsleeve.
Hiseyescrossedtheroomtothewash-basin.
Aminutelaterhewaspouringoutwaterfromtheold-fashionedjugintothebasin.Removinghiscoat,herinsedthesleeve,carefullysqueezingitout….
Ugh!Thewaterwasrednow….
Ataponthedoor.
Hestoodtherefrozenintoimmobility—staring.
Thedooropened.Aplumpyoungwoman—juginhand.
“Oh,excuseme,sir.Yourhotwater,sir.”
Hemanagedtospeakthen.
“Thankyou…I’vewashedincold….”
Whyhadhesaidthat?Immediatelyhereyeswenttothebasin.
Hesaidfrenziedly:“I—I’vecutmyhand….”
Therewasapause—yes,surelyaverylongpause—beforeshesaid:“Yes,sir.”
Shewentout,shuttingthedoor.
Mr.Custstoodasthoughturnedtostone.
Helistened.
Ithadcome—atlast….
Weretherevoices—exclamations—feetmountingthestairs?
Hecouldhearnothingbutthebeatingofhisownheart….
Then,suddenly,fromfrozenimmobilityheleapedintoactivity.
Heslippedonhiscoat,tiptoedtothedoorandopenedit.Nonoisesasyetexceptthefamiliarmurmurarisingfromthebar.Hecreptdownthestairs….
Stillnoone.Thatwasluck.Hepausedatthefootofthestairs.Whichwaynow?
Hemadeuphismind,dartedquicklyalongapassageandoutbythedoorthatgaveintotheyard.Acoupleofchauffeursweretheretinkeringwithcarsanddiscussingwinnersandlosers.
Mr.Custhurriedacrosstheyardandoutintothestreet.
Roundthefirstcornertotheright—thentotheleft—rightagain….
Dareheriskthestation?
Yes—therewouldbecrowdsthere—specialtrains—ifluckwereonhissidehewoulddoitallright….
Ifonlyluckwerewithhim….
Twenty-six
NOTFROMCAPTAINHASTINGS’PERSONALNARRATIVE
InspectorCromewaslisteningtotheexcitedutterancesofMr.Leadbetter.
“Iassureyou,inspector,myheartmissesabeatwhenIthinkofit.Hemustactuallyhavebeensittingbesidemeallthroughtheprogramme!”
InspectorCrome,completelyindifferenttothebehaviourofMr.Leadbetter’sheart,said:
“Justletmehaveitquiteclear?Thismanwentouttowardsthecloseofthebigpicture—”
“NotaSparrow—KatherineRoyal,”murmuredMr.Leadbetterautomatically.
“Hepassedyouandindoingsostumbled—”
“Hepretendedtostumble,Iseeitnow.Thenheleanedovertheseatinfronttopickuphishat.Hemusthavestabbedthepoorfellowthen.”
“Youdidn’thearanything?Acry?Oragroan?”
Mr.Leadbetterhadheardnothingbuttheloud,hoarseaccentsofKatherineRoyal,butinthevividnessofhisimaginationheinventedagroan.
InspectorCrometookthegroanatitsfacevalueandbadehimproceed.
“Andthenhewentout—”
“Canyoudescribehim?”
“Hewasaverybigman.Sixfootatleast.Agiant.”
“Fairordark?”
“I—well—I’mnotexactlysure.Ithinkhewasbald.Asinister-lookingfellow.”
“Hedidn’tlimp,didhe?”askedInspectorCrome.
“Yes—yes,nowyoucometospeakofitIthinkhedidlimp.Verydark,hemighthavebeensomekindofhalf-caste.”
“Washeinhisseatthelasttimethelightscameup?”
“No.Hecameinafterthebigpicturebegan.”
InspectorCromenodded,handedMr.Leadbetterastatementtosignandgotridofhim.
“That’saboutasbadawitnessasyou’llfind,”heremarkedpessimistically.“He’dsayanythingwithalittleleading.It’sperfectlyclearthathehasn’tthefaintestideawhatourmanlookslike.Let’shavethecommissionaireback.”
Thecommissionaire,verystiffandmilitary,cameinandstoodtoattention,hiseyesfixedonColonelAnderson.
“Now,then,Jameson,let’shearyourstory.”
Jamesonsaluted.
“Yessir.Closeoftheperformance,sir.Iwastoldtherewasagentlemantakenill,sir.Gentlemanwasinthetwoandfourpennies,slumpeddowninhisseatlike.Othergentlemenstandingaround.Gentlemanlookedbadtome,sir.Oneofthegentlemenstandingbyputhishandtotheillgentleman’scoatanddrewmyattention.Blood,sir.Itwasclearthegentlemanwasdead—stabbed,sir.MyattentionwasdrawntoanABCrailwayguide,sir,undertheseat.Wishingtoactcorrectly,Ididnottouchsame,butreportedtothepoliceimmediately
“Verygood.Jameson,youactedveryproperly.”
“Thankyou,sir.”
“Didyounoticeamanleavingthetwoandfour-penniesaboutfiveminutesearlier?”
“Therewereseveral,sir.”
“Couldyoudescribethem?”
“Afraidnot,sir.OnewasMr.GeoffreyParnell.Andtherewasayoungfellow,SamBaker,withhisyounglady.Ididn’tnoticeanybodyelseparticular.”
“Apity.That’lldo,Jameson.”
“Yessir.”
Thecommissionairesalutedanddeparted
“Themedicaldetailswe’vegot,”saidColonelAnderson.“We’dbetterhavethefellowthatfoundhimnext.”
Apoliceconstablecameinandsaluted.
“Mr.HerculePoirot’shere,sir,andanothergentleman.”
InspectorCromefrowned.
“Oh,well,”hesaid.“Betterhave’emin,Isuppose.”
Twenty-seven
THEDONCASTERMURDER
CominginhardonPoirot’sheels,IjustcaughtthefagendofInspectorCrome’sremark.
BothheandtheChiefConstablewerelookingworriedanddepressed.
ColonelAndersongreeteduswithanodofthehead.
“Gladyou’vecome,M.Poirot,”hesaidpolitely.IthinkheguessedthatCrome’sremarkmighthavereachedourears.“We’vegotitintheneckagain,yousee.”
“AnotherABCmurder?”
“Yes.Damnedaudaciousbitofwork.Manleanedoverandstabbedthefellowintheback.”
“Stabbedthistime?”
“Yes,varieshismethodsabit,doesn’the?Biffonthehead,strangled,nowaknife.Versatiledevil—what?Herearethemedicaldetailsifyoucaretosee’em.”
HeshovedapapertowardsPoirot.“ABCdownonthefloorbetweenthedeadman’sfeet,”headded.
“Hasthedeadmanbeenidentified?”askedPoirot.
“Yes.ABC’sslippedupforonce—ifthat’sanysatisfactiontous.Deceased’samancalledEarlsfield—GeorgeEarlsfield.Barberbyprofession.”
“Curious,”commentedPoirot.
“Mayhaveskippedaletter,”suggestedthecolonel.
Myfriendshookhisheaddoubtfully.
“Shallwehaveinthenextwitness?”askedCrome.“He’sanxioustogethome.”
“Yes,yes—let’sgeton.”
Amiddle-agedgentlemanstronglyresemblingthefrogfootmaninAliceinWonderlandwasledin.Hewashighlyexcitedandhisvoicewasshrillwithemotion.
“MostshockingexperienceIhaveeverknown,”hesqueaked.“Ihaveaweakheart,sir—averyweakheart,itmighthavebeenthedeathofme.”
“Yourname,please,”saidtheinspector.
“Downes.RogerEmmanuelDownes.”
“Profession?”
“IamamasteratHighfieldSchoolforboys.”
“Now,Mr.Downes,willyoutellusinyourownwordswhathappened.”
“Icantellyouthatveryshortly,gentlemen.AtthecloseoftheperformanceIrosefrommyseat.Theseatonmyleftwasemptybutintheonebeyondamanwassitting,apparentlyasleep.Iwasunabletopasshimtogetoutashislegswerestuckoutinfrontofhim.Iaskedhimtoallowmetopass.AshedidnotmoveIrepeatedmyrequestin—a—er—slightlyloudertone.Hestillmadenoresponse.Ithentookhimbytheshouldertowakenhim.HisbodyslumpeddownfurtherandIbecameawarethathewaseitherunconsciousorseriouslyill.Icalledout:‘Thisgentlemanistakenill.Fetchthecommissionaire.’Thecommissionairecame.AsItookmyhandfromtheman’sshoulderIfounditwaswetandred…Icanassureyou,gentlemen,theshockwasterrific!Anythingmighthavehappened!ForyearsIhavesufferedfromcardiacweakness—”
ColonelAndersonwaslookingatMr.Downeswithaverycuriousexpression.
“Youcanconsiderthatyou’realuckyman,Mr.Downes.”
“Ido,sir.Notevenapalpitation!”
“Youdon’tquitetakemymeaning,Mr.Downes.Youweresittingtwoseatsaway,yousay?”
“ActuallyIwassittingatfirstinthenextseattothemurderedman—thenImovedalongsoastobebehindanemptyseat.”
“You’reaboutthesameheightandbuildasthedeadman,aren’tyou,andyouwerewearingawoollenscarfroundyourneckjustashewas?”
“Ifailtosee—”beganMr.Downesstiffly.
“I’mtellingyou,man,”saidColonelAnderson,“justwhereyourluckcamein.Somehoworother,whenthemurdererfollowedyouin,hegotconfused.Hepickedonthewrongback.I’lleatmyhat,Mr.Downes,ifthatknifewasn’tmeantforyou!”
HoweverwellMr.Downes’hearthadstoodformertests,itwasunabletostanduptothisone.Hesankonachair,gasped,andturnedpurpleintheface.
“Water,”hegasped.“Water….”
Aglasswasbroughthim.Hesippeditwhilsthiscomplexiongraduallyreturnedtothenormal.
“Me?”hesaid.“Whyme?”
“Itlookslikeit,”saidCrome.“Infact,it’stheonlyexplanation.”
“Youmeanthatthisman—this—thisfiendincarnate—thisbloodthirstymadmanhasbeenfollowingmeaboutwaitingforanopportunity?”
“Ishouldsaythatwasthewayofit.”
“Butinheaven’sname,whyme?”demandedtheoutragedschoolmaster.
InspectorCromestruggledwiththetemptationtoreply:“Whynot?”andsaidinstead:“I’mafraidit’snogoodexpectingalunatictohavereasonsforwhathedoes.”
“Godblessmysoul,”saidMr.Downes,soberedintowhispering.
Hegotup.Helookedsuddenlyoldandshaken.
“Ifyoudon’twantmeanymore,gentlemen,IthinkI’llgohome.I—Idon’tfeelverywell.”
“That’squiteallright,Mr.Downes.I’llsendaconstablewithyou—justtoseeyou’reallright.”
“Oh,no—no,thankyou.That’snotnecessary.”
“Mightaswell,”saidColonelAndersongruffly.
Hiseyesslidsideways,askinganimperceptiblequestionoftheinspector.Thelattergaveanequallyimperceptiblenod.
Mr.Downeswentoutshakily.
“Justaswellhedidn’ttumbletoit,”saidColonelAnderson.“There’llbeacoupleofthem—eh?”
“Yes,sir.YourInspectorRicehasmadearrangements.Thehousewillbewatched.”
“Youthink,”saidPoirot,“thatwhenABCfindsouthismistakehemighttryagain?”
Andersonnodded.
“It’sapossibility,”hesaid.“Seemsamethodicalsortofchap,ABC.Itwillupsethimifthingsdon’tgoaccordingtoprogramme.”
Poirotnoddedthoughtfully.
“Wishwecouldgetadescriptionofthefellow,”saidColonelAndersonirritably.“We’reasmuchinthedarkasever.”
“Itmaycome,”saidPoirot.
“Thinkso?Well,it’spossible.Damnitall,hasn’tanyonegoteyesintheirhead?”
“Havepatience,”saidPoirot.
“Youseemveryconfident,M.Poirot.Gotanyreasonforthisoptimism?”
“Yes,ColonelAnderson.Uptonow,themurdererhasnotmadeamistake.Heisboundtomakeonesoon.”
“Ifthat’sallyou’vegottogoon,”begantheChiefConstablewithasnort,buthewasinterrupted.
“Mr.BalloftheBlackSwanisherewithayoungwoman,sir.Hereckonshe’sgotsummattosaymighthelpyou.”
“Bringthemalong.Bringthemalong.Wecandowithanythinghelpful.”
Mr.BalloftheBlackSwanwasalarge,slow-thinking,heavilymovingman.Heexhaledastrongodourofbeer.Withhimwasaplumpyoungwomanwithroundeyesclearlyinastateofhighexcitement.
“HopeI’mnotintrudingorwastingvaluabletime,”saidMr.Ballinaslow,thickvoice.“Butthiswench,Maryhere,reckonsshe’sgotsomethingtotellasyououghttoknow.”
Marygiggledinahalf-heartedway.
“Well,mygirl,whatisit?”saidAnderson.“What’syourname?”
“Mary,sir,MaryStroud.”
“Well,Mary,outwithit.”
Maryturnedherroundeyesonhermaster.
“It’sherbusinesstotakeuphotwatertothegents’bedrooms,”saidMr.Ball,comingtotherescue.“Abouthalfadozengentlemenwe’dgotstaying.Somefortheracesandsomejustcommercials.”
“Yes,yes,”saidAndersonimpatiently
“Geton,lass,”saidMr.Ball.“Tellyourtale.Nowttobeafraidof.”
Marygasped,groanedandplungedinabreathlessvoiceintohernarrative.
“Iknockedondoorandtherewasn’tnoanswer,otherwiseIwouldn’thavegoneinleastwaysnotunlessthegentlemanhadsaid‘Comein,’andashedidn’tsaynothingIwentinandhewastherewashinghishands.”
Shepausedandbreatheddeeply.
“Goon,mygirl,”saidAnderson.
Marylookedsidewaysathermasterandasthoughreceivinginspirationfromhisslownod,plungedonagain.
“‘It’syourhotwater,sir,’Isaid,‘andIdidknock,’but‘Oh,’hesays,‘I’vewashedincold,’hesaid,andso,naturally,Ilooksinbasin,andoh!Godhelpme,sir,itwereallred!”
“Red?”saidAndersonsharply.
Ballstruckin.
“Thelasstoldmethathehadhiscoatoffandthathewasholdingthesleeveofit,anditwasallwet—that’sright,eh,lass?”
“Yes,sir,that’sright,sir.”
Sheplungedon:
“Andhisface,sir,itlookedqueer,mortalqueeritlooked.Gavemequiteaturn.”
“Whenwasthis?”askedAndersonsharply.
“Aboutaquarterafterfive,sonearasIcanreckon.”
“Overthreehoursago,”snappedAnderson.“Whydidn’tyoucomeatonce?”
“Didn’thearaboutitatonce,”saidBall.“Nottillnewscamealongasthere’dbeenanothermurderdone.Andthenthelassshescreamsoutasitmighthavebeenbloodinthebasin,andIasksherwhatshemeans,andshetellsme.Well,itdoesn’tsoundrighttomeandIwentupstairsmyself.Nobodyintheroom.Iasksafewquestionsandoneoftheladsincourtyardsayshesawafellowsneakingoutthatwayandbyhisdescriptionitwastherightone.SoIsaystothemissusasMaryherehadbestgotopolice.Shedoesn’tliketheidea,Marydoesn’t,andIsaysI’llcomealongwithher.”
InspectorCromedrewasheetofpapertowardshim.
“Describethisman,”hesaid.“Asquickasyoucan.There’snotimetobelost.”
“Medium-sizedhewere,”saidMary.“Andstoopedandworeglasses.”
“Hisclothes?”
“AdarksuitandaHomburghat.Rathershabby-looking.”
Shecouldaddlittletothisdescription.
InspectorCromedidnotinsistunduly.Thetelephonewiresweresoonbusy,butneithertheinspectornortheChiefConstablewereover-optimistic.
Cromeelicitedthefactthattheman,whenseensneakingacrosstheyard,hadhadnobagorsuitcase.
“There’sachancethere,”hesaid.
TwomenweredespatchedtotheBlackSwan.
Mr.Ball,swellingwithprideandimportance,andMary,somewhattearful,accompaniedthem.
Thesergeantreturnedabouttenminuteslater.
“I’vebroughttheregister,sir,”hesaid.“Here’sthesignature.”
Wecrowdedround.Thewritingwassmallandcramped—noteasytoread.
“A.B.Case—orisitCash?”saidtheChiefConstable.
“ABC,”saidCromesignificantly.
“Whataboutluggage?”askedAnderson.
“Onegood-sizedsuitcase,sir,fullofsmallcardboardboxes.”
“Boxes?Whatwasin’em?”
“Stockings,sir.Silkstockings.”
CrometurnedtoPoirot.
“Congratulations,”hesaid.“Yourhunchwasright.”
Twenty-eight
NOTFROMCAPTAINHASTINGS’PERSONALNARRATIVE
I
InspectorCromewasinhisofficeatScotlandYard.
Thetelephoneonhisdeskgaveadiscreetbuzzandhepickeditup.
“Jacobsspeaking,sir.There’sayoungfellowcomeinwithastorythatIthinkyououghttohear.”
InspectorCromesighed.Onanaveragetwentypeopleadayturnedupwithso-calledimportantinformationabouttheABCcase.Someofthemwereharmlesslunatics,someofthemwerewell-meaningpersonswhogenuinelybelievedthattheirinformationwasofvalue.ItwasthedutyofSergeantJacobstoactasahumansieve—retainingthegrossermatterandpassingontheresiduetohissuperior.
“Verywell,Jacobs,”saidCrome.“Sendhimalong.”
Afewminuteslatertherewasatapontheinspector’sdoorandSergeantJacobsappeared,usheringinatall,moderatelygood-lookingyoungman.
“ThisisMr.TomHartigan,sir.He’sgotsomethingtotelluswhichmayhaveapossiblebearingontheABCcase.”
Theinspectorrosepleasantlyandshookhands.
“Goodmorning,Mr.Hartigan.Sitdown,won’tyou?Smoke?Haveacigarette?”
TomHartigansatdownawkwardlyandlookedwithsomeaweatwhathecalledinhisownmind“Oneofthebigwigs.”Theappearanceoftheinspectorvaguelydisappointedhim.Helookedquiteanordinaryperson!
“Nowthen,”saidCrome.“You’vegotsomethingtotellusthatyouthinkmayhaveabearingonthecase.Fireahead.”
Tombegannervously.
“Ofcourseitmaybenothingatall.It’sjustanideaofmine.Imaybewastingyourtime.”
AgainInspectorCromesighedimperceptibly.Theamountoftimehehadtowasteinreassuringpeople!
“We’rethebestjudgeofthat.Let’shavethefacts,Mr.Hartigan.”
“Well,it’slikethis,sir.I’vegotayounglady,yousee,andhermotherletsrooms.UpCamdenTownway.Theirsecond-floorbackhasbeenletforoverayeartoamancalledCust.”
“Cust—eh?”
“That’sright,sir.Asortofmiddle-agedblokewhat’srathervagueandsoft—andcomedownintheworldabit,Ishouldsay.Sortofcreaturewhowouldn’thurtaflyyou’dsay—andI’dneverofdreamedofanythingbeingwrongifithadn’tbeenforsomethingratherodd.”
Inasomewhatconfusedmannerandrepeatinghimselfonceortwice,TomdescribedhisencounterwithMr.CustatEustonStationandtheincidentofthedroppedticket.
“Yousee,sir,lookatithowyouwill,it’sfunnylike.Lily—that’smyyounglady,sir—shewasquitepositivethatitwasCheltenhamhesaid,andhermothersaysthesame—sayssheremembersdistincttalkingaboutitthemorninghewentoff.Ofcourse,Ididn’tpaymuchattentiontoitatthetime.Lily—myyounglady—saidashowshehopedhewouldn’tcopitfromthisABCfellowgoingtoDoncaster—andthenshesaysit’sratheracoincidencebecausehewasdownChurstonwayatthetimeofthelastcrime.Laughinglike,IasksherwhetherhewasatBexhillthetimebefore,andshesaysshedon’tknowwherehewas,buthewasawayattheseaside—thatshedoesknow.AndthenIsaidtoheritwouldbeoddifhewastheABChimselfandshesaidpoorMr.Custwouldn’thurtafly—andthatwasallatthetime.Wedidn’tthinknomoreaboutit.Atleast,inasortofwayIdid,sir,underneathlike.IbeganwonderingaboutthisCustfellowandthinkingthat,afterall,harmlessasheseemed,hemightbeabitbatty.”
Tomtookabreathandthenwenton.InspectorCromewaslisteningintentlynow
“AndthenaftertheDoncastermurder,sir,itwasinallthepapersthatinformationwaswantedastothewhereaboutsofacertainABCaseorCash,anditgaveadescriptionthatfittedwellenough.FirsteveningoffIhad,IwentroundtoLily’sandaskedherwhatherMr.Cust’sinitialswere.Shecouldn’trememberatfirst,buthermotherdid.SaidtheywereABrightenough.ThenwegotdowntoitandtriedtofigureoutifCusthadbeenawayatthetimeofthefirstmurderatAndover.Well,asyouknow,sir,itisn’ttooeasytorememberthingsthreemonthsback.Wehadajobofit,butwegotitfixeddownintheend,becauseMrs.MarburyhadabrothercomefromCanadatoseeheronJune21st.Hearrivedunexpectedlikeandshewantedtogivehimabed,andLilysuggestedthatasMr.CustwasawayBertSmithmighthavehisbed.ButMrs.Marburywouldn’t
InspectorCromehadlistenedveryattentively,jottingdownanoccasionalnote
“That’sall?”heasked.
“That’sall,sir.Ihopeyoudon’tthinkI’mmakingalotofnothing.”
Tomflushedslightly.
“Notatall.Youwerequiterighttocomehere.Ofcourse,it’sveryslightevidence—thesedatesmaybemerecoincidenceandthelikenessofthename,too.ButitcertainlywarrantsmyhavinganinterviewwithyourMr.Cust.Isheathomenow?”
“Yes,sir.”
“Whendidhereturn?”
“TheeveningoftheDoncastermurder,sir.”
“What’shebeendoingsince?”
“He’sstayedinmostly,sir.Andhe’sbeenlookingveryqueer,Mrs.Marburysays.Hebuysalotofnewspapers—goesoutearlyandgetsthemorningones,andthenafterdarkhegoesoutandgetstheeveningones.Mrs.Marburysayshetalksalottohimself,too.Shethinkshe’sgettingqueerer.”
“WhatisthisMrs.Marbury’saddress?”
Tomgaveittohim.
“Thankyou.Ishallprobablybecallingroundinthecourseoftheday.IneedhardlytellyoutobecarefulofyourmannerifyoucomeacrossthisCust.”
Heroseandshookhands.
“Youmaybequitesatisfiedyoudidtherightthingincomingtous.Goodmorning,Mr.Hartigan.”
“Well,sir?”askedJacobs,reenteringtheroomafewminuteslater.“Thinkit’sthegoods?”
“It’spromising,”saidInspectorCrome.“Thatis,ifthefactsareastheboystatedthem.We’vehadnoluckwiththestockingmanufacturersyet.Itwastimewegotholdofsomething.Bytheway,givemethatfileoftheChurstoncase.”
Hespentsomeminuteslookingforwhathewanted.
“Ah,hereitis.It’samongstthestatementsmadetotheTorquaypolice.YoungmanofthenameofHill.DeposeshewasleavingtheTorquayPalladiumafterthefilmNotaSparrowandnoticedamanbehavingqueerly.Hewastalkingtohimself.Hillheardhimsay‘That’sanidea.’NotaSparrow—that’sthefilmthatwasonattheRegalinDoncaster?”
“Yes,sir.”
“Theremaybesomethinginthat.Nothingtoitatthetime—butit’spossiblethattheideaofthemodusoperandiforhisnextcrimeoccurredtoourmanthen.We’vegotHill’snameandaddress,Isee.HisdescriptionofthemanisvaguebutitlinksupwellenoughwiththedescriptionsofMaryStroudandthisTomHartigan….”
Henoddedthoughtfully.
“We’regettingwarm,”saidInspectorCrome—ratherinaccurately,forhehimselfwasalwaysslightlychilly.
“Anyinstructions,sir?”
“PutonacoupleofmentowatchthisCamdenTownaddress,butIdon’twantourbirdfrightened.ImusthaveawordwiththeAC.ThenIthinkitwouldbeaswellifCustwasbroughtalonghereandaskedifhe’dliketomakeastatement.Itsoundsasthoughhe’squitereadytogetrattled.”
OutsideTomHartiganhadrejoinedLilyMarburywhowaswaitingforhimontheEmbankment.
“Allright,Tom?”
Tomnodded.
“IsawInspectorCromehimself.Theonewho’sinchargeofthecase.”
“What’shelike?”
“Abitquietandlah-di-dah—notmyideaofadetective.”
“That’sLordTrenchard’snewkind,”saidLilywithrespect.“Someofthemareeversogrand.Well,whatdidhesay?”
Tomgaveherabriefrésuméoftheinterview.
“Sotheythinkasitreallywashim?”
“Theythinkitmightbe.Anyway,they’llcomealongandaskhimaquestionortwo.”
“PoorMr.Cust.”
“It’snogoodsayingpoorMr.Cust,mygirl.Ifhe’sABC,he’scommittedfourterriblemurders.”
Lilysighedandshookherhead.
“Itdoesseemawful,”sheobserved.
“Well,nowyou’regoingtocomeandhaveabiteoflunch,mygirl.Justyouthinkthatifwe’rerightIexpectmynamewillbeinthepapers!”
“Oh,Tom,willit?”
“Rather.Andyours,too.Andyourmother’s.AndIdaresayyou’llhaveyourpictureinit,too.”
“Oh,Tom.”Lilysqueezedhisarminanecstasy.
“AndinthemeantimewhatdoyousaytoabiteattheCornerHouse?”
Lilysqueezedtighter.
“Comeonthen!”
“Allright—halfaminute.Imustjusttelephonefromthestation.”
“Whoto?”
“AgirlIwasgoingtomeet.”
Sheslippedacrosstheroad,andrejoinedhimthreeminuteslater,lookingratherflushed.
“Nowthen,Tom.”
Sheslippedherarminhis.
“TellmemoreaboutScotlandYard.Youdidn’tseetheotheronethere?”
“Whatotherone?”
“TheBelgiangentleman.TheonethatABCwritestoalways.”
“No.Hewasn’tthere.”
“Well,tellmeallaboutit.Whathappenedwhenyougotinside?Whodidyouspeaktoandwhatdidyousay?”
II
Mr.Custputthereceiverbackverygentlyonthehook.
HeturnedtowhereMrs.Marburywasstandinginthedoorwayoftheroom,clearlydevouredwithcuriosity.
“Notoftenyouhaveatelephonecall,Mr.Cust?”
“No—er—no,Mrs.Marbury.Itisn’t.”
“Notbadnews,Itrust?”
“No—no.”Howpersistentthewomanwas.Hiseyescaughtthelegendonthenewspaperhewascarrying.
Births—Marriages—Deaths….
“Mysister’sjusthadalittleboy,”heblurtedout.
He—whohadneverhadasister!
“Oh,dear!Now—well,thatisnice,Iamsure.(‘Andneveroncementionedasisteralltheseyears,’washerinwardthought.‘Ifthatisn’tjustlikeaman!’)Iwassurprised,I’lltellyou,whentheladyaskedtospeaktoMr.Cust.JustatfirstIfancieditwasmyLily’svoice—somethinglikehers,itwas—buthaughtierifyouknowwhatImean—sortofhighupintheair.Well,Mr.Cust,mycongratulations,I’msure.Isitthefirstone,orhaveyouotherlittlenephewsandnieces?”
“It’stheonlyone,”saidMr.Cust.“TheonlyoneI’veeverhadorlikelytohave,and—er—IthinkImustgooffatonce.They—theywantmetocome.I—IthinkIcanjustcatchatrainifIhurry.”
“Willyoubeawaylong,Mr.Cust?”calledMrs.Marburyasheranupthestairs.
“Oh,no—twoorthreedays—that’sall.”
Hedisappearedintohisbedroom.Mrs.Marburyretiredintothekitchen,thinkingsentimentallyof“thedearlittlemite.”
Herconsciencegaveherasuddentwinge
LastnightTomandLilyandallthehuntingbackoverdates!TryingtomakeoutthatMr.Custwasthatdreadfulmonster,ABC.Justbecauseofhisinitialsandbecauseofafewcoincidences.
“Idon’tsupposetheymeantitseriously,”shethoughtcomfortably.“AndnowIhopethey’llbeashamedofthemselves.”
Insomeobscurewaythatshecouldnothaveexplained,Mr.Cust’sstatementthathissisterhadhadababyhadeffectuallyremovedanydoubtsMrs.Marburymighthavehadofherlodger’sbonafides
“Ihopeshedidn’thavetoohardatimeofit,poordear,”thoughtMrs.Marbury,testinganironagainsthercheekbeforebeginningtoironoutLily’ssilkslip.
Hermindrancomfortablyonawell-wornobstetrictrack.
Mr.Custcamequietlydownthestairs,abaginhishand.Hiseyesrestedaminuteonthetelephone.
Thatbriefconversationreechoedinhisbrain.
“Isthatyou,Mr.Cust?Ithoughtyoumightliketoknowthere’saninspectorfromScotlandYardmaybecomingtoseeyou….”
Whathadhesaid?Hecouldn’tremember
“Thankyou—thankyou,mydear…verykindofyou….”
Somethinglikethat.
Whyhadshetelephonedtohim?Couldshepossiblyhaveguessed?Ordidshejustwanttomakesurehewouldstayinfortheinspector’svisit?
Buthowdidsheknowtheinspectorwascoming?
Andhervoice—she’ddisguisedhervoicefromhermother….
Itlooked—itlooked—asthoughsheknew….
Butsurelyifsheknew,shewouldn’t…
Shemight,though.Womenwereveryqueer.Unexpectedlycruelandunexpectedlykind.He’dseenLilyoncelettingamouseoutofamousetrap.
Akindgirl….
Akind,prettygirl….
Hepausedbythehallstandwithitsloadofumbrellasandcoats.
Shouldhe…?
Aslightnoisefromthekitchendecidedhim….
No,therewasn’ttime….
Mrs.Marburymightcomeout….
Heopenedthefrontdoor,passedthroughandcloseditbehindhim….
Where…?
Twenty-nine
ATSCOTLANDYARD
Conferenceagain.
TheAssistantCommissioner,InspectorCrome,Poirotandmyself.
TheACwassaying:
“Agoodtipthatofyours,M.Poirot,aboutcheckingalargesaleofstockings.”
Poirotspreadouthishands.
“Itwasindicated.Thismancouldnotbearegularagent.Hesoldoutrightinsteadoftoutingfororders.”
“Goteverythingclearsofar,inspector?”
“Ithinkso,sir.”Cromeconsultedafile.“ShallIrunoverthepositiontodate?”
“Yes,please.”
“I’vecheckedupwithChurston,PaigntonandTorquay.Gotalistofpeoplewherehewentandofferedstockings.Imustsayhedidthethingthoroughly.StayedatthePitt,smallhotelnearTorreStation.Returnedtothehotelat10:30onthenightofthemurder.CouldhavetakenatrainfromChurstonat9.57,gettingtoTorreat10.20.Nooneansweringtohisdescriptionnoticedontrainoratstation,butthatFridaywasDartmouthRegattaandthetrainsbackfromKingswearwereprettyfull.
“Bexhillmuchthesame.StayedattheGlobeunderhisownname.Offeredstockingstoaboutadozenaddresses,includingMrs.BarnardandincludingtheGingerCat.Lefthotelearlyintheevening.ArrivedbackinLondonabout11.30thefollowingmorning.AstoAndover,sameprocedure.StayedattheFeathers.OfferedstockingstoMrs.Fowler,nextdoortoMrs.Ascher,andtohalfadozenotherpeopleinthestreet.ThepairMrs.AscherhadIgotfromtheniece(nameofDrower)—they’reidenticalwithCust’ssupply.”
“Sofar,good,”saidtheAC.
“Actingoninformationreceived,”saidtheinspector,“IwenttotheaddressgivenmebyHartigan,butfoundthatCusthadleftthehouseabouthalfanhourpreviously.Hereceivedatelephonemessage,I’mtold.Firsttimesuchathinghadhappenedtohim,sohislandladytoldme.”
“Anaccomplice?”suggestedtheAssistantCommissioner.
“Hardly,”saidPoirot.“Itisoddthat—unless—”
Wealllookedathiminquiringlyashepaused.
Heshookhishead,however,andtheinspectorproceeded.
“Imadeathoroughsearchoftheroomhehadoccupied.Thatsearchputsthematterbeyonddoubt.Ifoundablockofnotepapersimilartothatonwhichtheletterswerewritten,alargequantityofhosieryand—atthebackofthecupboardwherethehosierywasstored—aparcelmuchthesameshapeandsizebutwhichturnedouttocontain—nothosiery—buteightnewABCrailwayguides!”
“Proofpositive,”saidtheAssistantCommissioner.
“I’vefoundsomethingelse,too,”saidtheinspector—hisvoicebecomingsuddenlyalmosthumanwithtriumph.“Onlyfounditthismorning,sir.Nothadtimetoreportyet.Therewasnosignoftheknifeinhisroom—”
“Itwouldbetheactofanimbeciletobringthatbackwithhim,”remarkedPoirot.
“Afterall,he’snotareasonablehumanbeing,”remarkedtheinspector.“Anway,itoccurredtomethathemightjustpossiblyhavebroughtitbacktothehouseandthenrealizedthedangerofhidingit(asM.Poirotpointsout)inhisroom,andhavelookedaboutelsewhere.Whatplaceinthehousewouldhebelikelytoselect?IgotitstraightawayThehallstand—nooneevermovesahallstand.WithalotoftroubleIgotitmovedoutfromthewall—andthereitwas!”
“Theknife?”
“Theknife.Notadoubtofit.Thedriedblood’sstillonit.”
“Goodwork,Crome,”saidtheACapprovingly.“Weonlyneedonethingmorenow.”
“What’sthat?”
“Themanhimself.”
“We’llgethim,sir.Neverfear.”
Theinspector’stonewasconfident.
“Whatdoyousay,M.Poirot?”
Poirotstartedoutofareverie.
“Ibegyourpardon?”
“Weweresayingthatitwasonlyamatteroftimebeforewegotourman.Doyouagree?”
“Oh,that—yes.Withoutadoubt.”
Histonewassoabstractedthattheotherslookedathimcuriously.
“Isthereanythingworryingyou,M.Poirot?”
“Thereissomethingthatworriesmeverymuch.Itisthewhy?Themotive.”
“But,mydearfellow,theman’scrazy,”saidtheAssistantCommissionerimpatiently.
“IunderstandwhatM.Poirotmeans,”saidCrome,cominggraciouslytotherescue.“He’squiteright.There’sgottobesomedefiniteobsession.Ithinkwe’llfindtherootofthematterinanintensifiedinferioritycomplex.Theremaybeapersecutionmania,too,andifsohemaypossiblyassociateM.Poirotwithit.HemayhavethedelusionthatM.Poirotisadetectiveemployedonpurposetohunthimdown.”
“H’m,”saidtheAC.“That’sthejargonthat’stalkednowadays.Inmydayifamanwasmadhewasmadandwedidn’tlookaboutforscientifictermstosoftenitdown.Isupposeathoroughlyup-to-datedoctorwouldsuggestputtingamanlikeABCinanursinghome,tellinghimwhatafinefellowhewasforforty-fivedaysonendandthenlettinghimoutasaresponsiblememberofsociety.”
Poirotsmiledbutdidnotanswer.
Theconferencebrokeup.
“Well,”saidtheAssistantCommissioner.“Asyousay,Crome,pullinghiminisonlyamatteroftime.”
“We’dhavehadhimbeforenow,”saidtheinspector,“ifhewasn’tsoordinary-looking.We’veworriedenoughperfectlyinoffensivecitizensasitis.”
“Iwonderwhereheisatthisminute,”saidtheAssistantCommissioner.
Thirty
NOTFROMCAPTAINHASTINGS’PERSONALNARRATIVE
Mr.Custstoodbyagreengrocer’sshop.
Hestaredacrosstheroad.
Yes,thatwasit.
Mrs.Ascher.NewsagentandTobacconist…
Intheemptywindowwasasign.
ToLet.
Empty….
Lifeless….
“Excuseme,sir.”
Thegreengrocer’swife,tryingtogetatsomelemons.
Heapologized,movedtooneside.
Slowlyheshuffledaway—backtowardsthemainstreetofthetown….
Itwasdifficult—verydifficult—nowthathehadn’tanymoneyleft….
Nothavinghadanythingtoeatalldaymadeonefeelveryqueerandlight-headed….
Helookedataposteroutsideanewsagent’sshop.
TheABCCase.MurdererStillatLarge.InterviewswithM.HerculePoirot.
Mr.Custsaidtohimself:
“HerculePoirot.Iwonderifheknows….”
Hewalkedonagain.
Itwouldn’tdotostandstaringatthatposter….
Hethought:
“Ican’tgoonmuchlonger….”
Footinfrontoffoot…whatanoddthingwalkingwas….
Footinfrontoffoot—ridiculous.
Highlyridiculous….
Butmanwasaridiculousanimalanyway….
Andhe,AlexanderBonaparteCust,wasparticularlyridiculous.
Hehadalwaysbeen….
Peoplehadalwayslaughedathim….
Hecouldn’tblamethem….
Wherewashegoing?Hedidn’tknow.He’dcometotheend.Henolongerlookedanywherebutathisfeet.
Footinfrontoffoot.
Helookedup.Lightsinfrontofhim.Andletters….
PoliceStation.
“That’sfunny,”saidMr.Cust.Hegavealittlegiggle.
Thenhesteppedinside.Suddenly,ashedidso,heswayedandfellforward.
Thirty-one
HERCULEPOIROTASKSQUESTIONS
ItwasaclearNovemberday.Dr.ThompsonandChiefInspectorJapphadcomeroundtoacquaintPoirotwiththeresultofthepolicecourtproceedingsinthecaseofRexv.AlexanderBonaparteCust.
Poirothimselfhadhadaslightbronchialchillwhichhadpreventedhisattending.Fortunatelyhehadnotinsistedonhavingmycompany.
“Committedfortrial,”saidJapp.“Sothat’sthat.”
“Isn’titunusual?”Iasked,“foradefencetobeofferedatthisstage?Ithoughtprisonersalwaysreservedtheirdefence.”
“It’stheusualcourse,”saidJapp.“IsupposeyoungLucasthoughthemightrushitthrough.He’satrier,Iwillsay.Insanity’stheonlydefencepossible.”
Poirotshruggedhisshoulders.
“Withinsanitytherecanbenoacquittal.ImprisonmentduringHisMajesty’spleasureishardlypreferabletodeath.”
“IsupposeLucasthoughttherewasachance,”saidJapp.“Withafirst-classalibifortheBexhillmurder,thewholecasemightbeweakened.Idon’tthinkherealizedhowstrongourcaseis.Anyway,Lucasgoesinfororiginality.He’sayoungman,andhewantstohitthepubliceye.”
PoirotturnedtoThompson.
“What’syouropinion,doctor?”
“OfCust?Uponmysoul,Idon’tknowwhattosay.He’splayingthesanemanremarkablywell.He’sanepileptic,ofcourse.”
“Whatanamazingdénouementthatwas,”Isaid.
“HisfallingintotheAndoverpolicestationinafit?Yes—itwasafittingdramaticcurtaintothedrama.ABChasalwaystimedhiseffectswell.”
“Isitpossibletocommitacrimeandbeunawareofit?”Iasked.“Hisdenialsseemtohavearingoftruthinthem.”
Dr.Thompsonsmiledalittle.
“Youmustn’tbetakeninbythattheatrical‘IswearbyGod’pose.It’smyopinionthatCustknowsperfectlywellhecommittedthemurders.”
“Whenthey’reasferventasthattheyusuallydo,”saidCrome.
“Astoyourquestion,”wentonThompson,“it’sperfectlypossibleforanepilepticsubjectinastateofsomnambulismtocommitanactionandbeentirelyunawareofhavingdoneso.Butitisthegeneralopinionthatsuchanactionmust‘notbecontrarytothewillofthepersoninthewakingstate.’”
Hewentondiscussingthematter,speakingofgrandmalandpetitmaland,totellthetruth,confusingmehopelesslyasisoftenthecasewhenalearnedpersonholdsforthonhisownsubject.
“However,I’magainstthetheorythatCustcommittedthesecrimeswithoutknowinghe’ddonethem.Youmightputthattheoryforwardifitweren’tfortheletters.Thelettersknockthetheoryonthehead.Theyshowpremeditationandacarefulplanningofthecrime.”
“Andoftheletterswehavestillnoexplanation,”saidPoirot.
“Thatinterestsyou?”
“Naturally—sincetheywerewrittentome.AndonthesubjectofthelettersCustispersistentlydumb.UntilIgetatthereasonforthoselettersbeingwrittentome,Ishallnotfeelthatthecaseissolved.”
“Yes—Icanunderstandthatfromyourpointofview.Theredoesn’tseemtobeanyreasontobelievethatthemanevercameupagainstyouinanyway?”
“Nonewhatever.”
“Imightmakeasuggestion.Yourname!”
“Myname?”
“Yes.Custissaddled—apparentlybythewhimofhismother(Oedipuscomplexthere,Ishouldn’twonder!)—withtwoextremelybombasticChristiannames:AlexanderandBonaparte.Youseetheimplications?Alexander—thepopularlysupposedundefeatablewhosighedformoreworldstoconquer.Bonaparte—thegreatEmperoroftheFrench.Hewantsanadversary—anadversary,onemightsay,inhisclass.Well—thereyouare—Herculesthestrong.”
“Yourwordsareverysuggestive,doctor.Theyfosterideas….”
“Oh,it’sonlyasuggestion.Well,Imustbeoff.”
Dr.Thompsonwentout.Jappremained.
“Doesthisalibiworryyou?”Poirotasked.
“Itdoesalittle,”admittedtheinspector.“Mindyou,Idon’tbelieveinit,becauseIknowitisn’ttrue.Butitisgoingtobethedeucetobreakit.ThismanStrangeisatoughcharacter.”
“Describehimtome.”
“He’samanofforty.Atough,confident,self-opinionatedminingengineer.It’smyopinionthatitwashewhoinsistedonhisevidencebeingtakennow.HewantstogetofftoChile.Hehopedthethingmightbesettledoutofhand.”
“He’soneofthemostpositivepeopleI’veeverseen,”Isaid.
“Thetypeofmanwhowouldnotliketoadmithewasmistaken,”saidPoirotthoughtfully.
“Hestickstohisstoryandhe’snotonetobeheckled.Heswearsbyallthat’sbluethathepickedupCustintheWhitecrossHotelatEastbourneontheeveningofJuly24th.Hewaslonelyandwantedsomeonetotalkto.AsfarasIcansee,Custmadeanideallistener.Hedidn’tinterrupt!AfterdinnerheandCustplayeddominoes.ItappearsStrangewasawhaleondominoesandtohissurpriseCustwasprettyhotstufftoo.Queergame,dominoes.Peoplegomadaboutit.They’llplayforhours.That’swhatStrangeandCustdidapparently.CustwantedtogotobedbutStrangewouldn’thearofit—sworethey’dkeepitupuntilmidnightatleast.Andthat’swhattheydiddo.Theyseparatedattenminutespastmidnight.AndifCustwasintheWhitecrossHotelatEastbourneattenminutespastmidnightonthemorningofthe25thhecouldn’tverywellbestranglingBettyBarnardonthebeachatBexhillbetweenmidnightandoneo’clock.”
“Theproblemcertainlyseemsinsuperable,”saidPoirotthoughtfully.“Decidedly,itgivesonetothink.”
“It’sgivenCromesomethingtothinkabout,”saidJapp.
“ThismanStrangeisverypositive?”
“Yes.He’sanobstinatedevil.Andit’sdifficulttoseejustwheretheflawis.SupposingStrangeismakingamistakeandthemanwasn’tCust—whyonearthshouldhesayhisnameisCust?Andthewritinginthehotelregisterishisallright.Youcan’tsayhe’sanaccomplice—homicidallunaticsdon’thaveaccomplices!Didthegirldielater?Thedoctorwasquitefirminhisevidence,andanywayitwouldtakesometimeforCusttogetoutofthehotelatEastbournewithoutbeingseenandgetovertoBexhill—aboutfourteenmilesaway—”
“Itisaproblem—yes,”saidPoirot.
“Ofcourse,strictlyspeaking,itoughtn’ttomatter.We’vegotCustontheDoncastermurder—thebloodstainedcoat,theknife—notaloopholethere.Youcouldn’tbounceanyjuryintoacquittinghim.Butitspoilsaprettycase.HedidtheDoncastermurder.HedidtheChurstonmurder.HedidtheAndovermurder.Then,byhell,hemusthavedonetheBexhillmurder.ButIdon’tseehow!”
Heshookhisheadandgotup.
“Now’syourchance,M.Poirot,”hesaid.“Crome’sinafog.ExertthosecellulararrangementsofyoursIusedtohearsomuchabout.Showusthewayhedidit.”
Jappdeparted.
“Whataboutit,Poirot?”Isaid.“Arethelittlegreycellsequaltothetask?”
Poirotansweredmyquestionbyanother.
“Tellme,Hastings,doyouconsiderthecaseended?”
“Well—yes,practicallyspeaking.We’vegottheman.Andwe’vegotmostoftheevidence.It’sonlythetrimmingsthatareneeded.”
Poirotshookhishead.
“Thecaseisended!Thecase!Thecaseistheman,Hastings.Untilweknowallabouttheman,themysteryisasdeepasever.Itisnotvictorybecausewehaveputhiminthedock!”
“Weknowafairamountabouthim.”
“Weknownothingatall!Weknowwherehewasborn.Weknowhefoughtinthewarandreceivedaslightwoundintheheadandthathewasdischargedfromthearmyowingtoepilepsy.WeknowthathelodgedwithMrs.Marburyfornearlytwoyears.Weknowthathewasquietandretiring—thesortofmanthatnobodynotices.Weknowthatheinventedandcarriedoutanintenselycleverschemeofsystemizedmurder.Weknowthathemadecertainincrediblystupidblunders.Weknowthathekilledwithoutpityandquiteruthlessly.Weknow,too,thathewaskindlyenoughnottoletblamerestonanyotherpersonforthecrimeshecommitted.Ifhewantedtokillunmolested—howeasytoletotherpersonssufferforhiscrimes.Doyounotsee,Hastings,thatthemanisamassofcontradictions?Stupidandcunning,ruthlessandmagnanimous—andthattheremustbesomedominatingfactorthatreconcileshistwonatures.”
“Ofcourse,ifyoutreathimlikeapsychologicalstudy,”Ibegan.
“Whatelsehasthiscasebeensincethebeginning?AllalongIhavebeengropingmyway—tryingtogettoknowthemurderer.AndnowIrealize,Hastings,thatIdonotknowhimatall!Iamatsea.”
“Thelustforpower—”Ibegan.
“Yes—thatmightexplainagooddeal…Butitdoesnotsatisfyme.TherearethingsIwanttoknow.Whydidhecommitthesemurders?Whydidhechoosethoseparticularpeople—?”
“Alphabetically—”Ibegan.
“WasBettyBarnardtheonlypersoninBexhillwhosenamebeganwithaB?BettyBarnard—Ihadanideathere…Itoughttobetrue—itmustbetrue.Butifso—”
Hewassilentforsometime.Ididnotliketointerrupthim.
Asamatteroffact,IbelieveIfellasleep.
IwoketofindPoirot’shandonmyshoulder.
“MoncherHastings,”hesaidaffectionately.“Mygoodgenius.”
Iwasquiteconfusedbythissuddenmarkofesteem.
“Itistrue,”Poirotinsisted.“Always—always—youhelpme—youbringmeluck.Youinspireme.”
“HowhaveIinspiredyouthistime?”Iasked.
“WhileIwasaskingmyselfcertainquestionsIrememberedaremarkofyours—aremarkabsolutelyshimmeringinitsclearvision.DidInotsaytoyouoncethatyouhadageniusforstatingtheobvious.ItistheobviousthatIhaveneglected.”
“Whatisthisbrilliantremarkofmine?”Iasked.
“Itmakeseverythingasclearascrystal.Iseetheanswerstoallmyquestions.ThereasonforMrs.Ascher(that,itistrue,Iglimpsedlongago),thereasonforSirCarmichaelClarke,thereasonfortheDoncastermurder,andfinallyandsupremelyimportant,thereasonforHerculePoirot.”
“Couldyoukindlyexplain?”Iasked.
“Notatthemoment.Irequirefirstalittlemoreinformation.ThatIcangetfromourSpecialLegion.Andthen—then,whenIhavegottheanswertoacertainquestion,IwillgoandseeABC.Wewillbefacetofaceatlast—ABCandHerculePoirot—theadversaries.”
“Andthen?”Iasked.
“Andthen,”saidPoirot.“Wewilltalk!Jevousassure,Hastings—thereisnothingsodangerousforanyonewhohassomethingtohideasconversation!Speech,soawiseoldFrenchmansaidtomeonce,isaninventionofman’stopreventhimfromthinking.Itisalsoaninfalliblemeansofdiscoveringthatwhichhewishestohide.Ahumanbeing,Hastings,cannotresisttheopportunitytorevealhimselfandexpresshispersonalitywhichconversationgiveshim.Everytimehewillgivehimselfaway.”
“WhatdoyouexpectCusttotellyou?”
HerculePoirotsmiled.
“Alie,”hesaid.“Andbyit,Ishallknowthetruth!”
Thirty-two
ANDCATCHAFOX
DuringthenextfewdaysPoirotwasverybusy.Hemademysteriousabsences,talkedverylittle,frownedtohimself,andconsistentlyrefusedtosatisfymynaturalcuriosityastothebrillianceIhad,accordingtohim,displayedinthepast.
Iwasnotinvitedtoaccompanyhimonhismysteriouscomingsandgoings—afactwhichIsomewhatresented.
Towardstheendoftheweek,however,heannouncedhisintentionofpayingavisittoBexhillandneighbourhoodandsuggestedthatIshouldcomewithhim.Needlesstosay,Iacceptedwithalacrity.
Theinvitation,Idiscovered,wasnotextendedtomealone.ThemembersofourSpecialLegionwerealsoinvited.
TheywereasintriguedbyPoirotasIwas.Nevertheless,bytheendoftheday,IhadatanyrateanideaastothedirectioninwhichPoirot’sthoughtsweretending.
HefirstvisitedMr.andMrs.BarnardandgotanexactaccountfromherastothehouratwhichMr.Custhadcalledonherandexactlywhathehadsaid.HethenwenttothehotelatwhichCusthadputupandextractedaminutedescriptionofthatgentleman’sdeparture.AsfarasIcouldjudge,nonewfactswereelicitedbyhisquestionsbuthehimselfseemedquitesatisfied.
Nexthewenttothebeach—totheplacewhereBettyBarnard’sbodyhadbeendiscovered.Herehewalkedroundincirclesforsomeminutesstudyingtheshingleattentively.Icouldseelittlepointinthis,sincethetidecoveredthespottwiceaday.
HoweverIhavelearntbythistimethatPoirot’sactionsareusuallydictatedbyanidea—howevermeaninglesstheymayseem.
Hethenwalkedfromthebeachtothenearestpointatwhichacarcouldhavebeenparked.FromthereagainhewenttotheplacewheretheEastbournebuseswaitedbeforeleavingBexhill.
FinallyhetookusalltotheGingerCatcafé,wherewehadasomewhatstaleteaservedbytheplumpwaitress,MillyHigley.
HerhecomplimentedinaflowingGallicstyleontheshapeofherankles.
“ThelegsoftheEnglish—alwaystheyaretoothin!Butyou,mademoiselle,havetheperfectleg.Ithasshape—ithasanankle!”
MillyHigleygiggledagooddealandtoldhimnottogoonso.SheknewwhatFrenchgentlemenwerelike.
Poirotdidnottroubletocontradicthermistakeastohisnationality.HemerelyogledherinsuchawaythatIwasstartledandalmostshocked.
“Voilà,”saidPoirot,“IhavefinishedinBexhill.PresentlyIgotoEastbourne.Onelittleinquirythere—thatisall.Unnecessaryforyoualltoaccompanyme.Inthemeantimecomebacktothehotelandletushaveacocktail.ThatCarltontea,itwasabominable!”
AsweweresippingourcocktailsFranklinClarkesaidcuriously:
“Isupposewecanguesswhatyouareafter?You’reouttobreakthatalibi.ButIcan’tseewhatyou’resopleasedabout.Youhaven’tgotanewfactofanykind.”
“No—thatistrue.”
“Well,then?”
“Patience.Everythingarrangesitself,giventime.”
“Youseemquitepleasedwithyourselfanyway.”
“Nothingsofarhascontradictedmylittleidea—thatiswhy.”
Hisfacegrewserious.
“MyfriendHastingstoldmeoncethathehad,asayoungman,playedagamecalledTheTruth.Itwasagamewhereeveryoneinturnwasaskedthreequestions—twoofwhichmustbeansweredtruthfully.Thethirdonecouldbebarred.Thequestions,naturally,wereofthemostindiscreetkind.Buttobeginwitheveryonehadtoswearthattheywouldindeedspeakthetruth,andnothingbutthetruth.”
Hepaused.
“Well?”saidMegan.
“Ehbien—me,Iwanttoplaythatgame.Onlyitisnotnecessarytohavethreequestions.Onewillbeenough.Onequestiontoeachofyou.”
“Ofcourse,”saidClarkeimpatiently.“We’llansweranything.”
“Ah,butIwantittobemoreseriousthanthat.Doyouallsweartospeakthetruth?”
Hewassosolemnaboutitthattheothers,puzzled,becamesolemnthemselves.Theyallsworeashedemanded.
“Bon,”saidPoirotbriskly.“Letusbegin—”
“I’mready,”saidThoraGrey.
“Ah,butladiesfirst—thistimeitwouldnotbethepoliteness.Wewillstartelsewhere.”
HeturnedtoFranklinClarke.
“What,moncherM.Clarke,didyouthinkofthehatstheladiesworeatAscotthisyear?”
FranklinClarkestaredathim.
“Isthisajoke?”
“Certainlynot.”
“Isthatseriouslyyourquestion?”
“Itis.”
Clarkebegantogrin.
“Well,M.Poirot,Ididn’tactuallygotoAscot,butfromwhatIcouldseeofthemdrivingincars,women’shatsforAscotwereanevenbiggerjokethanthehatstheywearordinarily.”
“Fantastic?”
“Quitefantastic.”
PoirotsmiledandturnedtoDonaldFraser.
“Whendidyoutakeyourholidaythisyear,monsieur?”
ItwasFraser’sturntostare.
“Myholiday?ThefirsttwoweeksinAugust.”
Hisfacequiveredsuddenly.Iguessedthatthequestionhadbroughtthelossofthegirlhelovedbacktohim.
Poirot,however,didnotseemtopaymuchattentiontothereply.HeturnedtoThoraGreyandIheardtheslightdifferenceinhisvoice.Ithadtightenedup.Hisquestioncamesharpandclear.
“Mademoiselle,intheeventofLadyClarke’sdeath,wouldyouhavemarriedSirCarmichaelifhehadaskedyou?”
Thegirlsprangup.
“Howdareyouaskmesuchaquestion.It’s—it’sinsulting!”
“Perhaps.Butyouhavesworntospeakthetruth.Ehbien—Yesorno?”
“SirCarmichaelwaswonderfullykindtome.Hetreatedmealmostlikeadaughter.Andthat’showIfelttohim—justaffectionateandgrateful.”
“Pardonme,butthatisnotansweringYesorNo,mademoiselle.”
Shehesitated.
“Theanswer,ofcourse,isno!”
Hemadenocomment.
“Thankyou,mademoiselle.”
HeturnedtoMeganBarnard.Thegirl’sfacewasverypale.Shewasbreathinghardasthoughbracedupforanordeal.
Poirot’svoicecameoutlikethecrackofawhiplash.
“Mademoiselle,whatdoyouhopewillbetheresultofmyinvestigations?Doyouwantmetofindoutthetruth—ornot?”
Herheadwentbackproudly.Iwasfairlysureofheranswer.Megan,Iknew,hadafanaticalpassionfortruth.
Heranswercameclearly—anditstupefiedme.
“No!”
Wealljumped.Poirotleantforwardstudyingherface.
“MademoiselleMegan,”hesaid,“youmaynotwantthetruthbut—mafoi—youcanspeakit!”
Heturnedtowardsthedoor,then,recollecting,wenttoMaryDrower.
“Tellme,monenfant,haveyouayoungman?”
Mary,whohadbeenlookingapprehensive,lookedstartledandblushed.
“Oh,Mr.Poirot.I—I—well,I’mnotsure.”
Hesmiled.
“Alorsc’estbien,monenfant.”
Helookedroundforme.
“Come,Hastings,wemuststartforEastbourne.”
ThecarwaswaitingandsoonweweredrivingalongthecoastroadthatleadsthroughPevenseytoEastbourne.
“Isitanyuseaskingyouanything,Poirot?”
“Notatthismoment.DrawyourownconclusionsastowhatIamdoing.”
Irelapsedintosilence.
Poirot,whoseemedpleasedwithhimself,hummedalittletune.AswepassedthroughPevenseyhesuggestedthatwestopandhavealookoverthecastle.
Aswewerereturningtowardsthecar,wepausedamomenttowatcharingofchildren—Brownies,Iguessed,bytheirget-up—whoweresingingadittyinshrill,untunefulvoices….
“Whatisitthattheysay,Hastings?Icannotcatchthewords.”
Ilistened—tillIcaughtonerefrain.
“—AndcatchafoxAndputhiminaboxAndneverlethimgo.”
“Andcatchafoxandputhiminaboxandneverlethimgo!”repeatedPoirot
Hisfacehadgonesuddenlygraveandstern.
“Itisveryterriblethat,Hastings.”Hewassilentaminute.“Youhuntthefoxhere?”
“Idon’t.I’veneverbeenabletoaffordtohunt.AndIdon’tthinkthere’smuchhuntinginthispartoftheworld.”
“ImeantinEnglandgenerally.Astrangesport.Thewaitingatthecovertside—thentheysoundthetally-ho,dotheynot?—andtherunbegins—acrossthecountry—overthehedgesandditches—andthefoxheruns—andsometimeshedoublesback—butthedogs—”
“Hounds!”
“—houndsareonhistrail,andatlasttheycatchhimandhedies—quicklyandhorribly.”
“Isupposeitdoessoundcruel,butreally—”
“Thefoxenjoysit?Donotsaylesbêtises,myfriend.Toutdemême—itisbetterthat—thequick,crueldeath—thanwhatthosechildrenweresinging….
“Tobeshutaway—inabox—forever…No,itisnotgood,that.”
Heshookhishead.Thenhesaid,withachangeoftone:
“Tomorrow,IamtovisitthemanCust,”andheaddedtothechauffeur:
“BacktoLondon.”
“Aren’tyougoingtoEastbourne?”Icried.
“Whatneed?Iknow—quiteenoughformypurpose.”
Thirty-three
ALEXANDERBONAPARTECUST
IwasnotpresentattheinterviewthattookplacebetweenPoirotandthatstrangeman—AlexanderBonaparteCust.Owingtohisassociationwiththepoliceandthepeculiarcircumstancesofthecase,PoirothadnodifficultyinobtainingaHomeOfficeorder—butthatorderdidnotextendtome,andinanycaseitwasessential,fromPoirot’spointofview,thatthatinterviewshouldbeabsolutelyprivate—thetwomenfacetoface.
Hehasgivenme,however,suchadetailedaccountofwhatpassedbetweenthemthatIsetitdownwithasmuchconfidenceonpaperasthoughIhadactuallybeenpresent.
Mr.Custseemedtohaveshrunk.Hisstoopwasmoreapparent.Hisfingerspluckedvaguelyathiscoat.
Forsometime,Igather,Poirotdidnotspeak.
Hesatandlookedatthemanoppositehim.
Theatmospherebecamerestful—soothing—fullofinfiniteleisure….
Itmusthavebeenadramaticmoment—thismeetingofthetwoadversariesinthelongdrama.InPoirot’splaceIshouldhavefeltthedramaticthrill.
Poirot,however,isnothingifnotmatter-of-fact.Hewasabsorbedinproducingacertaineffectuponthemanoppositehim.
Atlasthesaidgently:
“DoyouknowwhoIam?”
Theothershookhishead.
“No—no—Ican’tsayIdo.UnlessyouareMr.Lucas’s—whatdotheycallit?—junior.OrperhapsyoucomefromMr.Maynard?”
(Maynard&Colewerethedefendingsolicitors.)
Histonewaspolitebutnotveryinterested.Heseemedabsorbedinsomeinnerabstraction.
“IamHerculePoirot….”
Poirotsaidthewordsverygently…andwatchedfortheeffect.
Mr.Custraisedhisheadalittle.
“Oh,yes?”
HesaiditasnaturallyasInspectorCromemighthavesaidit—butwithoutthesuperciliousness.
Then,aminutelater,herepeatedhisremark.
“Oh,yes?”hesaid,andthistimehistonewasdifferent—itheldanawakenedinterest.HeraisedhisheadandlookedatPoirot.
HerculePoirotmethisgazeandnoddedhisownheadgentlyonceortwice.
“Yes,”hesaid.“Iamthemantowhomyouwrotetheletters.”
Atoncethecontactwasbroken.Mr.Custdroppedhiseyesandspokeirritablyandfretfully.
“Ineverwrotetoyou.Thoselettersweren’twrittenbyme.I’vesaidsoagainandagain.”
“Iknow,”saidPoirot.“Butifyoudidnotwritethem,whodid?”
“Anenemy.Imusthaveanenemy.Theyareallagainstme.Thepolice—everyone—allagainstme.It’sagiganticconspiracy.”
Poirotdidnotreply.
Mr.Custsaid:
“Everyone’shandhasbeenagainstme—always.”
“Evenwhenyouwereachild?”
Mr.Custseemedtoconsider.
“No—no—notexactlythen.Mymotherwasveryfondofme.Butshewasambitious—terriblyambitious.That’swhyshegavemethoseridiculousnames.ShehadsomeabsurdideathatI’dcutafigureintheworld.Shewasalwaysurgingmetoassertmyself—talkingaboutwill-power…sayinganyonecouldbemasterofhisfate…shesaidIcoulddoanything!”
Hewassilentforaminute.
“Shewasquitewrong,ofcourse.Irealizedthatmyselfquitesoon.Iwasn’tthesortofpersontogetoninlife.Iwasalwaysdoingfoolishthings—makingmyselflookridiculous.AndIwastimid—afraidofpeople.Ihadabadtimeatschool—theboysfoundoutmyChristiannames—theyusedtoteasemeaboutthem…Ididverybadlyatschool—ingamesandworkandeverything.”
Heshookhishead.
“Justaswellpoormotherdied.She’dhavebeendisappointed…EvenwhenIwasattheCommercialCollegeIwasstupid—ittookmelongertolearntypingandshorthandthananyoneelse.AndyetIdidn’tfeelstupid—ifyouknowwhatImean.”
Hecastasuddenappealinglookattheotherman.
“Iknowwhatyoumean,”saidPoirot.“Goon.”
“Itwasjustthefeelingthateverybodyelsethoughtmestupid.Veryparalyzing.Itwasthesamethinglaterintheoffice.”
“Andlaterstillinthewar?”promptedPoirot.
Mr.Cust’sfacelightenedupsuddenly.
“Youknow,”hesaid,“Ienjoyedthewar.WhatIhadofit,thatwas.Ifelt,forthefirsttime,amanlikeanybodyelse.Wewereallinthesamebox.Iwasasgoodasanyoneelse.”
Hissmilefaded.
“AndthenIgotthatwoundonthehead.Veryslight.ButtheyfoundoutIhadfits…I’dalwaysknown,ofcourse,thatthereweretimeswhenIhadn’tbeenquitesurewhatIwasdoing.Lapses,youknow.Andofcourse,onceortwiceI’dfallendown.ButIdon’treallythinktheyoughttohavedischargedmeforthat.No,Idon’tthinkitwasright.”
“Andafterwards?”askedPoirot.
“Igotaplaceasaclerk.Ofcoursetherewasgoodmoneytobegotjustthen.AndIdidn’tdosobadlyafterthewar.Ofcourse,asmallersalary…And—Ididn’tseemtogeton.Iwasalwaysbeingpassedoverforpromotion.Iwasn’tgo-aheadenough.Itgrewverydifficult—reallyverydifficult….Especiallywhentheslumpcame.Totellyouthetruth,I’dgothardlyenoughtokeepbodyandsoultogether(andyou’vegottolookpresentableasaclerk)whenIgottheofferofthisstockingjob.Asalaryandcommission!”
Poirotsaidgently:
“Butyouareaware,areyounot,thatthefirmwhomyousayemployedyoudenythefact?”
Mr.Custgotexcitedagain.
“That’sbecausethey’reintheconspiracy—theymustbeintheconspiracy.”
Hewenton:
“I’vegotwrittenevidence—writtenevidence.I’vegottheirletterstome,givingmeinstructionsastowhatplacestogotoandalistofpeopletocallon.”
“Notwrittenevidenceexactly—typewrittenevidence.”
“It’sthesamething.Naturallyabigfirmofwholesalemanufacturerstypewritetheirletters.”
“Don’tyouknow,Mr.Cust,thatatypewritercanbeidentified?Allthoselettersweretypedbyoneparticularmachine.”
“Whatofit?”
“Andthatmachinewasyourown—theonefoundinyourroom.”
“Itwassentmebythefirmatthebeginningofmyjob.”
“Yes,buttheseletterswerereceivedafterwards.Soitlooks,doesitnot,asthoughyoutypedthemyourselfandpostedthemtoyourself?”
“No,no!It’sallpartoftheplotagainstme!”
Headdedsuddenly:
“Besides,theirletterswouldbewrittenonthesamekindofmachine.”
“Thesamekind,butnotthesameactualmachine.”
Mr.Custrepeatedobstinately:
“It’saplot!”
“AndtheABC’sthatwerefoundinthecupboard?”
“Iknownothingaboutthem.Ithoughttheywereallstockings.”
“WhydidyoutickoffthenameofMrs.AscherinthatfirstlistofpeopleinAndover?”
“BecauseIdecidedtostartwithher.Onemustbeginsomewhere.”
“Yes,thatistrue.Onemustbeginsomewhere.”
“Idon’tmeanthat!”saidMr.Cust.“Idon’tmeanwhatyoumean!”
“ButyouknowwhatImeant?”
Mr.Custsaidnothing.Hewastrembling
“Ididn’tdoit!”hesaid.“I’mperfectlyinnocent!It’sallamistake.Why,lookatthatsecondcrime—thatBexhillone.IwasplayingdominoesatEastbourne.You’vegottoadmitthat!”
Hisvoicewastriumphant.
“Yes,”saidPoirot.Hisvoicewasmeditative—silky.“Butit’ssoeasy,isn’tit,tomakeamistakeofoneday?Andifyou’reanobstinate,positiveman,likeMr.Strange,you’llneverconsiderthepossibilityofhavingbeenmistaken.Whatyou’vesaidyou’llstickto…He’sthatkindofman.Andthehotelregister—it’sveryeasytoputdownthewrongdatewhenyou’resigningit—probablynoonewillnoticeitatthetime.”
“Iwasplayingdominoesthatevening!”
“Youplaydominoesverywell,Ibelieve.”
Mr.Custwasalittleflurriedbythis.
“I—I—well,IbelieveIdo.”
“Itisaveryabsorbinggame,isitnot,withalotofskillinit?”
“Oh,there’salotofplayinit—alotofplay!Weusedtoplayalotinthecity,inthelunchhour.You’dbesurprisedthewaytotalstrangerscometogetheroveragameofdominoes.”
Hechuckled.
“Irememberoneman—I’veneverforgottenhimbecauseofsomethinghetoldme—wejustgottalkingoveracupofcoffee,andwestarteddominoes.Well,IfeltaftertwentyminutesthatI’dknownthatmanallmylife.”
“Whatwasitthathetoldyou?”askedPoirot.
Mr.Cust’sfacecloudedover.
“Itgavemeaturn—anastyturn.Talkingofyourfatebeingwritteninyourhand,hewas.Andheshowedmehishandandthelinesthatshowedhe’dhavetwonearescapesofbeingdrowned—andhehadhadtwonearescapes.Andthenhelookedatmineandhetoldmesomeamazingthings.SaidIwasgoingtobeoneofthemostcelebratedmeninEnglandbeforeIdied.Saidthewholecountrywouldbetalkingaboutme.Buthesaid—hesaid….”
Mr.Custbrokedown—faltered….
“Yes?”
Poirot’sgazeheldaquietmagnetism.Mr.Custlookedathim,lookedaway,thenbackagainlikeafascinatedrabbit.
“Hesaid—hesaid—thatitlookedasthoughImightdieaviolentdeath—andhelaughedandsaid:‘Almostlooksasthoughyoumightdieonthescaffold,’andthenhelaughedandsaidthatwasonlyhisjoke….”
Hewassilentsuddenly.HiseyesleftPoirot’sface—theyranfromsidetoside….
“Myhead—Isufferverybadlywithmyhead…theheadachesaresomethingcruelsometimes.AndthentherearetimeswhenIdon’tknow—whenIdon’tknow….”
Hebrokedown.
Poirotleantforward.Hespokeveryquietlybutwithgreatassurance.
“Butyoudoknow,don’tyou,”hesaid,“thatyoucommittedthemurders?”
Mr.Custlookedup.Hisglancewasquitesimpleanddirect.Allresistancehadlefthim.Helookedstrangelyatpeace
“Yes,”hesaid,“Iknow.”
“But—Iamright,amInot?—youdon’tknowwhyyoudidthem?”
Mr.Custshookhishead.
“No,”hesaid.“Idon’t.”
Thirty-four
POIROTEXPLAINS
WeweresittinginastateoftenseattentiontolistentoPoirot’sfinalexplanationofthecase.
“Allalong,”hesaid,“Ihavebeenworriedoverthewhyofthiscase.Hastingssaidtometheotherdaythatthecasewasended.Irepliedtohimthatthecasewastheman!Themysterywasnotthemysteryofthemurders,butthemysteryofABC.Whydidhefinditnecessarytocommitthesemurders?Whydidheselectmeashisadversary?
“Itisnoanswertosaythatthemanwasmentallyunhinged.Tosayamandoesmadthingsbecauseheismadismerelyunintelligentandstupid.Amadmanisaslogicalandreasonedinhisactionsasasaneman—givenhispeculiarbiasedpointofview.Forexample,ifamaninsistsongoingoutandsquattingaboutinnothingbutaloinclothhisconductseemseccentricintheextreme.ButonceyouknowthatthemanhimselfisfirmlyconvincedthatheisMahatmaGandhi,thenhisconductbecomesperfectlyreasonableandlogical.
“WhatwasnecessaryinthiscasewastoimagineamindsoconstitutedthatitwaslogicalandreasonabletocommitfourormoremurdersandtoannouncethembeforehandbyletterswrittentoHerculePoirot.
“MyfriendHastingswilltellyouthatfromthemomentIreceivedthefirstletterIwasupsetanddisturbed.Itseemedtomeatoncethattherewassomethingverywrongabouttheletter.”
“Youwerequiteright,”saidFranklinClarkedryly.
“Yes.Butthere,attheverystart,Imadeagraveerror.Ipermittedmyfeeling—myverystrongfeelingabouttheletter—toremainamereimpression.Itreateditasthoughithadbeenanintuition.Inawell-balanced,reasoningmindthereisnosuchthingasanintuition—aninspiredguess!Youcanguess,ofcourse—andaguessiseitherrightorwrong.Ifitisrightyoucallitanintuition.Ifitiswrongyouusuallydonotspeakofitagain.Butwhatisoftencalledanintuitionisreallyanimpressionbasedonlogicaldeductionorexperience.Whenanexpertfeelsthatthereissomethingwrongaboutapictureorapieceoffurnitureorthesignatureonachequeheisreallybasingthatfeelingonahostofsmallsignsanddetails.Hehasnoneedtogointothemminutely—hisexperienceobviatesthat—thenetresultisthedefiniteimpressionthatsomethingiswrong.Butitisnotaguess,itisanimpressionbasedonexperience
“Ehbien,IadmitthatIdidnotregardthatfirstletterinthewayIshould.Itjustmademeextremelyuneasy.Thepoliceregardeditasahoax.Imyselftookitseriously.IwasconvincedthatamurderwouldtakeplaceinAndoverasstated.Asyouknow,amurderdidtakeplace.
“Therewasnomeansatthatpoint,asIwellrealized,ofknowingwhothepersonwaswhohaddonethedeed.Theonlycourseopentomewastotryandunderstandjustwhatkindofapersonhaddoneit.
“Ihadcertainindications.Theletter—themannerofthecrime—thepersonmurdered.WhatIhadtodiscoverwas:themotiveofthecrime,themotiveoftheletter.”
“Publicity,”suggestedClarke.
“Surelyaninferioritycomplexcoversthat,”addedThoraGrey.
“Thatwas,ofcourse,theobviouslinetotake.Butwhyme?WhyHerculePoirot?GreaterpublicitycouldbeensuredbysendingtheletterstoScotlandYard.Moreagainbysendingthemtoanewspaper.Anewspapermightnotprintthefirstletter,butbythetimethesecondcrimetookplace,ABCcouldhavebeenassuredofallthepublicitythepresscouldgive.Why,then,HerculePoirot?Wasitforsomepersonalreason?Therewas,discernibleintheletter,aslightanti-foreignbias—butnotenoughtoexplainthemattertomysatisfaction.
“Thenthesecondletterarrived—andwasfollowedbythemurderofBettyBarnardatBexhill.Itbecameclearnow(whatIhadalreadysuspected)thatthemurdersweretoproceedonanalphabeticalplan,butthefact,whichseemedfinaltomostpeople,leftthemainquestionunalteredtomymind.WhydidABCneedtocommitthesemurders?”
MeganBarnardstirredinherchair.
“Isn’ttheresuchathingas—asabloodlust?”shesaid.
Poirotturnedtoher.
“Youarequiteright,mademoiselle.Thereissuchathing.Thelusttokill.Butthatdidnotquitefitthefactsofthecase.Ahomicidalmaniacwhodesirestokillusuallydesirestokillasmanyvictimsaspossible.Itisarecurringcraving.Thegreatideaofsuchakilleristohidehistracks—nottoadvertisethem.Whenweconsiderthefourvictimsselected—oratanyratethreeofthem(forIknowverylittleofMr.DownesorMr.Earlsfield),werealizethatifhehadchosen,themurderercouldhavedoneawaywiththemwithoutincurringanysuspicion.FranzAscher,DonaldFraserorMeganBarnard,possiblyMr.Clarke—thosearethepeoplethepolicewouldhavesuspectedeveniftheyhadbeenunabletogetdirectproof.Anunknownhomicidalmurdererwouldnothavebeenthoughtof!Why,then,didthemurdererfeelitnecessarytocallattentiontohimself?WasitthenecessityofleavingoneachbodyacopyofanABCrailwayguide?Wasthatthecompulsion?Wastheresomecomplexconnectedwiththerailwayguide?
“Ifounditquiteinconceivableatthispointtoenterintothemindofthemurderer.Surelyitcouldnotbemagnanimity?Ahorrorofresponsibilityforthecrimebeingfastenedonaninnocentperson?
“AlthoughIcouldnotanswerthemainquestion,certainthingsIdidfeelIwaslearningaboutthemurderer.”
“Suchas?”askedFraser.
“Tobeginwith—thathehadatabularmind.Hiscrimeswerelistedbyalphabeticalprogression—thatwasobviouslyimportanttohim.Ontheotherhand,hehadnoparticulartasteinvictims—Mrs.Ascher,BettyBarnard,SirCarmichaelClarke,theyalldifferedwidelyfromeachother.Therewasnosexcomplex—noparticularagecomplex,andthatseemedtometobeaverycuriousfact.Ifamankillsindiscriminatelyitisusuallybecauseheremovesanyonewhostandsinhiswayorannoyshim.Butthealphabeticalprogressionshowedthatsuchwasnotthecasehere.Theothertypeofkillerusuallyselectsaparticulartypeofvictim—nearlyalwaysoftheoppositesex.TherewassomethinghaphazardabouttheprocedureofABCthatseemedtometobeatwarwiththealphabeticalselection.
“OneslightinferenceIpermittedmyselftomake.ThechoiceoftheABCsuggestedtomewhatImaycallarailway-mindedman.Thisismorecommoninmenthanwomen.Smallboyslovetrainsbetterthansmallgirlsdo.Itmightbethesign,too,ofaninsomewaysundevelopedmind.The‘boy’motifstillpredominated.
“ThedeathofBettyBarnardandthemannerofitgavemecertainotherindications.Themannerofherdeathwasparticularlysuggestive.(Forgiveme,Mr.Fraser.)Tobeginwith,shewasstrangledwithherownbelt—thereforeshemustalmostcertainlyhavebeenkilledbysomeonewithwhomshewasonfriendlyoraffectionateterms.WhenIlearntsomethingofhercharacterapicturegrewupinmymind.
“BettyBarnardwasaflirt.Shelikedattentionfromapersonablemale.ThereforeABC,topersuadehertocomeoutwithhim,musthavehadacertainamountofattraction—oflesexappeal!Hemustbeable,asyouEnglishsay,to‘getoff.’Hemustbecapableoftheclick!Ivisualizethesceneonthebeachthus:themanadmiresherbelt.Shetakesitoff,hepassesitplayfullyroundherneck—says,perhaps,‘Ishallstrangleyou.’Itisallveryplayful.Shegiggles—andhepulls—”
DonaldFrasersprangup.Hewaslivid.
“M.Poirot—forGod’ssake.”
Poirotmadeagesture.
“Itisfinished.Isaynomore.Itisover.Wepasstothenextmurder,thatofSirCarmichaelClarke.Herethemurderergoesbacktohisfirstmethod—theblowonthehead.Thesamealphabeticalcomplex—butonefactworriesmealittle.Tobeconsistentthemurderershouldhavechosenhistownsinsomedefinitesequence.
“IfAndoveristhe155thnameunderA,thentheBcrimeshouldbethe155thalso—oritshouldbethe156thandtheCthe157th.Hereagainthetownsseemedtobechoseninrathertoohaphazardafashion.”
“Isn’tthatbecauseyou’reratherbiasedonthatsubject,Poirot?”Isuggested.“Youyourselfarenormallymethodicalandorderly.It’salmostadiseasewithyou.”
“No,itisnotadisease!Quelleidée!ButIadmitthatImaybeover-stressingthatpoint.Passons!
“TheChurstoncrimegavemeverylittleextrahelp.Wewereunluckyoverit,sincetheletterannouncingitwentastray,hencenopreparationscouldbemade.
“ButbythetimetheDcrimewasannounced,averyformidablesystemofdefencehadbeenevolved.ItmusthavebeenobviousthatABCcouldnotmuchlongerhopetogetawaywithhiscrimes.
“Moreover,itwasatthispointthattheclueofthestockingscameintomyhand.Itwasperfectlyclearthatthepresenceofanindividualsellingstockingsonandnearthesceneofeachcrimecouldnotbeacoincidence.Hencethestockingsellermustbethemurderer.Imaysaythathisdescription,asgivenmebyMissGrey,didnotquitecorrespondwithmyownpictureofthemanwhostrangledBettyBarnard.
“Iwillpassoverthenextstagesquickly.Afourthmurderwascommitted—themurderofamannamedGeorgeEarlsfield—itwassupposedinmistakeforamannamedDownes,whowassomethingofthesamebuildandwhowassittingnearhiminthecinema.
“Andnowatlastcomestheturnofthetide.EventsplayagainstABCinsteadofintohishands.Heismarkeddown—hunted—andatlastarrested.
“Thecase,asHastingssays,isended!
“Trueenoughasfarasthepublicisconcerned.Themanisinprisonandwilleventually,nodoubt,gotoBroadmoor.Therewillbenomoremurders.Exit!Finis!R.I.P.
“Butnotforme!Iknownothing—nothingatall!Neitherthewhynorthewherefore
“Andthereisonesmallvexingfact.ThemanCusthasanalibiforthenightoftheBexhillcrime.”
“That’sbeenworryingmeallalong,”saidFranklinClarke.
“Yes.Itworriedme.Forthealibi,ithastheairofbeinggenuine.Butitcannotbegenuineunless—andnowwecometotwoveryinterestingspeculations.
“Supposing,myfriends,thatwhileCustcommittedthreeofthecrimes—theA,C,andDcrimes—hedidnotcommittheBcrime.”
“M.Poirot.Itisn’t—”
PoirotsilencedMeganBarnardwithalook.
“Bequiet,mademoiselle.Iamforthetruth,Iam!Ihavedonewithlies.Supposing,Isay,thatABCdidnotcommitthesecondcrime.Ittookplace,remember,intheearlyhoursofthe25th—thedayhehadarrivedforthecrime.Supposingsomeonehadforestalledhim?Whatinthosecircumstanceswouldhedo?Commitasecondmurder,orlielowandacceptthefirstasakindofmacabrepresent?”
“M.Poirot!”saidMegan.“That’safantasticthought!Allthecrimesmusthavebeencommittedbythesameperson!”
Hetooknonoticeofherandwentsteadilyon:
“Suchahypothesishadthemeritofexplainingonefact—thediscrepancybetweenthepersonalityofAlexanderBonaparteCust(whocouldneverhavemadetheclickwithanygirl)andthepersonalityofBettyBarnard’smurderer.Andithasbeenknown,beforenow,thatwould-bemurderershavetakenadvantageofthecrimescommittedbyotherpeople.NotallthecrimesofJacktheRipperwerecommittedbyJacktheRipper,forinstance.Sofar,sogood.
“ButthenIcameupagainstadefinitedifficulty.
“UptothetimeoftheBarnardmurder,nofactsabouttheABCmurdershadbeenmadepublic.TheAndovermurderhadcreatedlittleinterest.Theincidentoftheopenrailwayguidehadnotevenbeenmentionedinthepress.ItthereforefollowedthatwhoeverkilledBettyBarnardmusthavehadaccesstofactsknownonlytocertainpersons—myself,thepolice,andcertainrelationsandneighboursofMrs.Ascher.
“Thatlineofresearchseemedtoleadmeupagainstablankwall.”
Thefacesthatlookedathimwereblanktoo.Blankandpuzzled.
DonaldFrasersaidthoughtfully:
“Thepolice,afterall,arehumanbeings.Andthey’regood-lookingmen—”
Hestopped,lookingatPoirotinquiringly.
Poirotshookhisheadgently.
“No—itissimplerthanthat.Itoldyouthattherewasasecondspeculation.
“SupposingthatCustwasnotresponsibleforthekillingofBettyBarnard?Supposingthatsomeoneelsekilledher.Couldthatsomeoneelsehavebeenresponsiblefortheothermurderstoo?”
“Butthatdoesn’tmakesense!”criedClarke.
“Doesn’tit?IdidthenwhatIoughttohavedoneatfirst.IexaminedthelettersIhadreceivedfromatotallydifferentpointofview.Ihadfeltfromthebeginningthattherewassomethingwrongwiththem—justasapictureexpertknowsapictureiswrong….
“Ihadassumed,withoutpausingtoconsider,thatwhatwaswrongwiththemwasthefactthattheywerewrittenbyamadman.
“NowIexaminedthemagain—andthistimeIcametoatotallydifferentconclusion.Whatwaswrongwiththemwasthefactthattheywerewrittenbyasaneman!”
“What?”Icried.
“Butyes—justthatprecisely!Theywerewrongasapictureiswrong—becausetheywereafake!Theypretendedtobethelettersofamadman—ofahomicidallunatic,butinrealitytheywerenothingofthekind.”
“Itdoesn’tmakesense,”FranklinClarkerepeated.
“Maissi!Onemustreason—reflect.Whatwouldbetheobjectofwritingsuchletters?Tofocusattentiononthewriter,tocallattentiontothemurders!Envérité,itdidnotseemtomakesenseatfirstsight.AndthenIsawlight.Itwastofocusattentiononseveralmurders—onagroupofmurders…IsitnotyourgreatShakespearewhohassaid‘Youcannotseethetreesforthewood.’”
IdidnotcorrectPoirot’sliteraryreminiscences.Iwastryingtoseehispoint.Aglimmercametome.Hewenton:
“Whendoyounoticeapinleast?Whenitisinapincushion!Whendoyounoticeanindividualmurderleast?Whenitisoneofaseriesofrelatedmurders
“Ihadtodealwithanintenselyclever,resourcefulmurderer—reckless,daringandathoroughgambler.NotMr.Cust!Hecouldneverhavecommittedthesemurders!No,Ihadtodealwithaverydifferentstampofman—amanwithaboyishtemperament(witnesstheschoolboy-likelettersandtherailwayguide),anattractivemantowomen,andamanwitharuthlessdisregardforhumanlife,amanwhowasnecessarilyaprominentpersoninoneofthecrimes!
“Considerwhenamanorwomaniskilled,whatarethequestionsthatthepoliceask?Opportunity.Whereeverybodywasatthetimeofthecrime?Motive.Whobenefitedbythedeceased’sdeath?Ifthemotiveandtheopportunityarefairlyobvious,whatisawould-bemurderertodo?Fakeanalibi—thatis,manipulatetimeinsomeway?Butthatisalwaysahazardousproceeding.Ourmurdererthoughtofamorefantasticdefence.Createahomicidalmurderer!
“Ihadnowonlytoreviewthevariouscrimesandfindthepossibleguiltyperson.TheAndovercrime?ThemostlikelysuspectforthatwasFranzAscher,butIcouldnotimagineAscherinventingandcarryingoutsuchanelaboratescheme,norcouldIseehimplanningapremeditatedmurder.TheBexhillcrime?DonaldFraserwasapossibility.Hehadbrainsandability,andamethodicalturnofmind.Buthismotiveforkillinghissweetheartcouldonlybejealousy—andjealousydoesnottendtopremeditation.AlsoIlearnedthathehadhisholidaysearlyinAugust,whichrendereditunlikelyhehadanythingtodowiththeChurstoncrime.WecometotheChurstoncrimenext—andatonceweareoninfinitelymorepromisingground.
“SirCarmichaelClarkewasanimmenselywealthyman.Whoinheritshismoney?Hiswife,whoisdying,hasalifeinterestinit,anditthengoestohisbrotherFranklin.”
PoirotturnedslowlyroundtillhiseyesmetthoseofFranklinClarke.
“Iwasquitesurethen.ThemanIhadknownalongtimeinmysecretmindwasthesameasthemanwhomIhadknownasaperson.ABCandFranklinClarkewereoneandthesame!Thedaringadventurouscharacter,therovinglife,thepartialityforEnglandthathadshoweditself,veryfaintly,inthejeeratforeigners.Theattractivefreeandeasymanner—nothingeasierforhimthantopickupagirlinacafé.Themethodicaltabularmind—hemadealisthereoneday,tickedoffovertheheadingsABC—andfinally,theboyishmind—mentionedbyLadyClarkeandevenshownbyhistasteinfiction—IhaveascertainedthatthereisabookinthelibrarycalledTheRailwayChildrenbyE.Nesbit.Ihadnofurtherdoubtinmyownmind—ABC,themanwhowrotethelettersandcommittedthecrimes,wasFranklinClarke.”
Clarkesuddenlyburstoutlaughing.
“Veryingenious!AndwhataboutourfriendCust,caughtred-handed?Whataboutthebloodonhiscoat?Andtheknifehehidinhislodgings?Hemaydenyhecommittedthecrimes—”
Poirotinterrupted.
“Youarequitewrong.Headmitsthefact.”
“What?”Clarkelookedreallystartled
“Oh,yes,”saidPoirotgently.“IhadnosoonerspokentohimthanIwasawarethatCustbelievedhimselftobeguilty.”
“Andeventhatdidn’tsatisfyM.Poirot?”saidClarke.
“No.BecauseassoonasIsawhimIalsoknewthathecouldnotbeguilty!Hehasneitherthenervenorthedaring—nor,Imayadd,thebrainstoplan!AllalongIhavebeenawareofthedualpersonalityofthemurderer.NowIseewhereinitconsisted.Twopeoplewereinvolved—therealmurderer,cunning,resourcefulanddaring—andthepseudomurderer,stupid,vacillatingandsuggestible.
“Suggestible—itisinthatwordthatthemysteryofMr.Custconsists!Itwasnotenoughforyou,Mr.Clarke,todevisethisplanofaseriestodistractattentionfromasinglecrime.Youhadalsotohaveastalkinghorse.
“IthinktheideafirstoriginatedinyourmindastheresultofachanceencounterinacitycoffeedenwiththisoddpersonalitywithhisbombasticChristiannames.Youwereatthattimeturningoverinyourmindvariousplansforthemurderofyourbrother.”
“Really?Andwhy?”
“Becauseyouwereseriouslyalarmedforthefuture.Idonotknowwhetheryourealizeit,Mr.Clarke,butyouplayedintomyhandswhenyoushowedmeacertainletterwrittentoyoubyyourbrother.InithedisplayedveryclearlyhisaffectionandabsorptioninMissThoraGrey.Hisregardmayhavebeenapaternalone—orhemayhavepreferredtothinkitso.Nevertheless,therewasaveryrealdangerthatonthedeathofyoursister-in-lawhemight,inhisloneliness,turntothisbeautifulgirlforsympathyandcomfortanditmightend—assooftenhappenswithelderlymen—inhismarryingher.YourfearwasincreasedbyyourknowledgeofMissGrey.Youare,Ifancy,anexcellent,ifsomewhatcynicaljudgeofcharacter.Youjudged,whethercorrectlyornot,thatMissGreywasatypeofyoungwoman‘onthemake.’YouhadnodoubtthatshewouldjumpatthechanceofbecomingLadyClarke.Yourbrotherwasanextremelyhealthyandvigorousman.Theremightbechildrenandyourchanceofinheritingyourbrother’swealthwouldvanish.
“Youhavebeen,Ifancy,inessenceadisappointedmanallyourlife.Youhavebeentherollingstone—andyouhavegatheredverylittlemoss.Youwerebitterlyjealousofyourbrother’swealth
“Irepeatthenthat,turningovervariousschemesinyourmind,yourmeetingwithMr.Custgaveyouanidea.HisbombasticChristiannames,hisaccountofhisepilepticseizuresandofhisheadaches,hiswholeshrinkingandinsignificantpersonality,struckyouasfittinghimforthetoolyouwanted.Thewholealphabeticalplansprangintoyourmind—Cust’sinitials—thefactthatyourbrother’snamebeganwithaCandthathelivedatChurstonwerethenucleusofthescheme.YouevenwentsofarastohinttoCustathispossibleend—thoughyoucouldhardlyhopethatthatsuggestionwouldbeartherichfruitthatitdid!
“Yourarrangementswereexcellent.InCust’snameyouwroteforalargeconsignmentofhosierytobesenttohim.YouyourselfsentanumberofABC’slookinglikeasimilarparcel.Youwrotetohim—atypedletterpurportingtobefromthesamefirmofferinghimagoodsalaryandcommission.Yourplansweresowelllaidbeforehandthatyoutypedallthelettersthatweresentsubsequently,andthenpresentedhimwiththemachineonwhichtheyhadbeentyped
“YouhadnowtolookaboutfortwovictimswhosenamesbeganwithAandBrespectivelyandwholivedatplacesalsobeginningwiththosesameletters.
“YouhitonAndoverasquitealikelyspotandyourpreliminaryreconnaissancethereledyoutoselectMrs.Ascher’sshopasthesceneofthefirstcrime.Hernamewaswrittenclearlyoverthedoor,andyoufoundbyexperimentthatshewasusuallyaloneintheshop.Hermurderneedednerve,daringandreasonableluck.
“FortheletterByouhadtovaryyourtactics.Lonelywomeninshopsmightconceivablyhavebeenwarned.Ishouldimaginethatyoufrequentedafewcafésandteashops,laughingandjokingwiththegirlsthereandfindingoutwhosenamebeganwiththerightletterandwhowouldbesuitableforyourpurpose.
“InBettyBarnardyoufoundjustthetypeofgirlyouwerelookingfor.Youtookheroutonceortwice,explainingtoherthatyouwereamarriedman,andthatoutingsmustthereforetakeplaceinasomewhathole-and-cornermanner.
“Then,yourpreliminaryplanscompleted,yousettowork!YousenttheAndoverlisttoCust,directinghimtogothereonacertaindate,andyousentoffthefirstABClettertome.
“OntheappointeddayyouwenttoAndover—andkilledMrs.Ascher—withoutanythingoccurringtodamageyourplans.
“MurderNo.1wassuccessfullyaccomplished.
“Forthesecondmurder,youtooktheprecautionofcommittingit,inreality,thedaybefore.IamfairlycertainthatBettyBarnardwaskilledwellbeforemidnightonthe24thJuly.
“WenowcometomurderNo.3—theimportant—infact,therealmurderfromyourpointofview.
“AndhereafullmeedofpraiseisduetoHastings,whomadeasimpleandobviousremarktowhichnoattentionwaspaid.
“Hesuggestedthatthethirdletterwentastrayintentionally!
“Andhewasright!…
“Inthatonesimplefactliestheanswertothequestionthathaspuzzledmesoallalong.WhywerethelettersaddressedinthefirstplacetoHerculePoirot,aprivatedetective,andnottothepolice?
“ErroneouslyIimaginedsomepersonalreason.
“Notatall!Thelettersweresenttomebecausetheessenceofyourplanwasthatoneofthemshouldbewronglyaddressedandgoastray—butyoucannotarrangeforaletteraddressedtotheCriminalInvestigationDepartmentofScotlandYardtogoastray!Itisnecessarytohaveaprivateaddress.Youchosemeasafairlywell-knownperson,andapersonwhowassuretotaketheletterstothepolice—andalso,inyourratherinsularmind,youenjoyedscoringoffaforeigner.
“Youaddressedyourenvelopeverycleverly—Whitehaven—Whitehorse—quiteanaturalslip.OnlyHastingswassufficientlyperspicacioustodisregardsubtletiesandgostraightfortheobvious!
“Ofcoursetheletterwasmeanttogoastray!Thepoliceweretobesetonthetrailonlywhenthemurderwassafelyover.Yourbrother’snightlywalkprovidedyouwiththeopportunity.AndsosuccessfullyhadtheABCterrortakenholdonthepublicmindthatthepossibilityofyourguiltneveroccurredtoanyone.
“Afterthedeathofyourbrother,ofcourse,yourobjectwasaccomplished.Youhadnowishtocommitanymoremurders.Ontheotherhand,ifthemurdersstoppedwithoutreason,asuspicionofthetruthmightcometosomeone.
“Yourstalkinghorse,Mr.Cust,hadsosuccessfullyliveduptohisroleoftheinvisible—becauseinsignificant—man,thatsofarnoonehadnoticedthatthesamepersonhadbeenseeninthevicinityofthethreemurders!Toyourannoyance,evenhisvisittoCombesidehadnotbeenmentioned.ThematterhadpassedcompletelyoutofMissGrey’shead.
“Alwaysdaring,youdecidedthatonemoremurdermusttakeplacebutthistimethetrailmustbewellblazed.
“YouselectedDoncasterforthesceneofoperations.
“Yourplanwasverysimple.Youyourselfwouldbeonthesceneinthenatureofthings.Mr.CustwouldbeorderedtoDoncasterbyhisfirm.Yourplanwastofollowhimroundandtrusttoopportunity.Everythingfelloutwell.Mr.Custwenttoacinema.Thatwassimplicityitself.Yousatafewseatsawayfromhim.Whenhegotuptogo,youdidthesame.Youpretendedtostumble,leanedoverandstabbedadozingmanintherowinfront,slidtheABContohiskneesandmanagedtocollideheavilywithMr.Custinthedarkeneddoorway,wipingtheknifeonhissleeveandslippingitintohispocket.
“YouwerenotintheleastatpainstochooseavictimwhosenamebeganwithD.Anyonewoulddo!Youassumed—andquiterightly—thatitwouldbeconsideredtobeamistake.TherewassuretobesomeonewhosenamebeganwithDnotfaroffintheaudience.Itwouldbeassumedthathehadbeenintendedtobethevictim.
“Andnow,myfriends,letusconsiderthematterfromthepointofviewofthefalseABC—fromthepointofviewofMr.Cust.
“TheAndovercrimemeansnothingtohim.HeisshockedandsurprisedbytheBexhillcrime—why,hehimselfwasthereaboutthetime!ThencomestheChurstoncrimeandtheheadlinesinthenewspapers.AnABCcrimeatAndoverwhenhewasthere,anABCcrimeatBexhill,andnowanothercloseby…Threecrimesandhehasbeenatthesceneofeachofthem.Personssufferingfromepilepsyoftenhaveblankswhentheycannotrememberwhattheyhavedone…RememberthatCustwasanervous,highlyneuroticsubjectandextremelysuggestible.
“ThenhereceivestheordertogotoDoncaster.
“Doncaster!AndthenextABCcrimeistobeinDoncaster.Hemusthavefeltasthoughitwasfate.Heloseshisnerve,fancieshislandladyislookingathimsuspiciously,andtellsherheisgoingtoCheltenham.
“HegoestoDoncasterbecauseitishisduty.Intheafternoonhegoestoacinema.Possiblyhedozesoffforaminuteortwo.
“Imaginehisfeelingswhenonhisreturntohisinnhediscoversthatthereisbloodonhiscoatsleeveandablood-stainedknifeinhispocket.Allhisvagueforebodingsleapintocertainty.
“He—hehimself—isthekiller!Heremembershisheadaches—hislapsesofmemory.Heisquitesureofthetruth—he,AlexanderBonaparteCust,isahomicidallunatic
“Hisconductafterthatistheconductofahuntedanimal.HegetsbacktohislodgingsinLondon.Heissafethere—known.TheythinkhehasbeeninCheltenham.Hehastheknifewithhimstill—athoroughlystupidthingtodo,ofcourse.Hehidesitbehindthehallstand.
“Then,oneday,heiswarnedthatthepolicearecoming.Itistheend!Theyknow!
“Thehuntedanimaldoeshislastrun…
“Idon’tknowwhyhewenttoAndover—amorbiddesire,Ithink,togoandlookattheplacewherethecrimewascommitted—thecrimehecommittedthoughhecanremembernothingaboutit….
“Hehasnomoneyleft—heiswornout…hisfeetleadhimofhisownaccordtothepolicestation.
“Butevenacorneredbeastwillfight.Mr.Custfullybelievesthathedidthemurdersbuthesticksstronglytohispleaofinnocence.Andheholdswithdesperationtothatalibiforthesecondmurder.Atleastthatcannotbelaidtohisdoor.
“AsIsay,whenIsawhim,Iknewatoncethathewasnotthemurdererandthatmynamemeantnothingtohim.Iknew,too,thathethoughthimselfthemurderer!
“Afterhehadconfessedhisguilttome,Iknewmorestronglythaneverthatmyowntheorywasright.”
“Yourtheory,”saidFranklinClarke,“isabsurd!”
Poirotshookhishead.
“No,Mr.Clarke.Youweresafeenoughsolongasnoonesuspectedyou.Onceyouweresuspectedproofswereeasytoobtain.”
“Proofs?”
“Yes.IfoundthestickthatyouusedintheAndoverandChurstonmurdersinacupboardatCombeside.Anordinarystickwithathickknobhandle.Asectionofwoodhadbeenremovedandmeltedleadpouredin.YourphotographwaspickedoutfromhalfadozenothersbytwopeoplewhosawyouleavingthecinemawhenyouweresupposedtobeontheracecourseatDoncaster.YouwereidentifiedatBexhilltheotherdaybyMillyHigleyandagirlfromtheScarletRunnerRoadhouse,whereyoutookBettyBarnardtodineonthefatalevening.Andfinally—mostdamningofall—youoverlookedamostelementaryprecaution.YouleftafingerprintonCust’stypewriter—thetypewriterthat,ifyouareinnocent,youcouldneverhavehandled.”
Clarkesatquitestillforaminute,thenhesaid:
“Rouge,impair,manque!—youwin,M.Poirot!Butitwasworthtrying!”
Withanincrediblyrapidmotionhewhippedoutasmallautomaticfromhispocketandheldittohishead.
IgaveacryandinvoluntarilyflinchedasIwaitedforthereport.
Butnoreportcame—thehammerclickedharmlessly.
Clarkestaredatitinastonishmentandutteredanoath.
“No,Mr.Clarke,”saidPoirot.“YoumayhavenoticedIhadanewmanservanttoday—afriendofmine—anexpertsneakthief.Heremovedyourpistolfromyourpocket,unloadedit,andreturnedit,allwithoutyoubeingawareofthefact.”
“Youunutterablelittlejackanapesofaforeigner!”criedClarke,purplewithrage.
“Yes,yes,thatishowyoufeel.No,Mr.Clarke,noeasydeathforyou.YoutoldMr.Custthatyouhadhadnearescapesfromdrowning.Youknowwhatthatmeans—thatyouwerebornforanotherfate.”
“You—”
Wordsfailedhim.Hisfacewaslivid.Hisfistsclenchedmenacingly.
TwodetectivesfromScotlandYardemergedfromthenextroom.OneofthemwasCrome.Headvancedandutteredhistime-honouredformula:“Iwarnyouthatanythingyousaymaybeusedasevidence.”
“Hehassaidquiteenough,”saidPoirot,andheaddedtoClarke:“Youareveryfullofaninsularsuperiority,butformyselfIconsideryourcrimenotanEnglishcrimeatall—notaboveboard—notsporting—”
Thirty-five
FINALE
I
IamsorrytorelatethatasthedoorclosedbehindFranklinClarkeIlaughedhysterically.
Poirotlookedatmeinmildsurprise.
“It’sbecauseyoutoldhimhiscrimewasnotsporting,”Igasped.
“Itwasquitetrue.Itwasabominable—notsomuchthemurderofhisbrother—butthecrueltythatcondemnedanunfortunatemantoalivingdeath.Tocatchafoxandputhiminaboxandneverlethimgo!Thatisnotlesport!”
MeganBarnardgaveadeepsigh.
“Ican’tbelieveit—Ican’t.Isittrue?”
“Yes,mademoiselle.Thenightmareisover.”
Shelookedathimandhercolourdeepened.
PoirotturnedtoFraser.
“MademoiselleMegan,allalong,washauntedbyafearthatitwasyouwhohadcommittedthesecondcrime.”
DonaldFrasersaidquietly:
“Ifanciedsomyselfatonetime.”
“Becauseofyourdream?”Hedrewalittlenearertotheyoungmananddroppedhisvoiceconfidentially.“Yourdreamhasaverynaturalexplanation.Itisthatyoufindthatalreadytheimageofonesisterfadesinyourmemoryandthatitsplaceistakenbytheothersister.MademoiselleMeganreplaceshersisterinyourheart,butsinceyoucannotbeartothinkofyourselfbeingunfaithfulsosoontothedead,youstrivetostiflethethought,tokillit!Thatistheexplanationofthedream.”
Fraser’seyeswenttowardsMegan.
“Donotbeafraidtoforget,”saidPoirotgently.“Shewasnotsowellworthremembering.InMademoiselleMeganyouhaveoneinahundred—uncoeurmagnifique!”
DonaldFraser’seyeslitup.
“Ibelieveyouareright.”
WeallcrowdedroundPoirotaskingquestions,elucidatingthispointandthat.
“Thosequestions,Poirot?Thatyouaskedofeverybody.Wasthereanypointinthem?”
“Someofthemweresimplementuneblague.ButIlearntonethingthatIwantedtoknow—thatFranklinClarkewasinLondonwhenthefirstletterwasposted—andalsoIwantedtoseehisfacewhenIaskedmyquestionofMademoiselleThora.Hewasoffhisguard.Isawallthemaliceandangerinhiseyes.”
“Youhardlysparedmyfeelings,”saidThoraGrey.
“Idonotfancyyoureturnedmeatruthfulanswer,mademoiselle,”saidPoirotdryly.“Andnowyoursecondexpectationisdisappointed.FranklinClarkewillnotinherithisbrother’smoney.”
Sheflungupherhead.
“Isthereanyneedformetostayhereandbeinsulted?”
“Nonewhatever,”saidPoirotandheldthedooropenpolitelyforher.
“Thatfingerprintclinchedthings,Poirot,”Isaidthoughtfully.“Hewentalltopieceswhenyoumentionedthat.”
“Yes,theyareuseful—fingerprints.”
Headdedthoughtfully:
“Iputthatintopleaseyou,myfriend.”
“But,Poirot,”Icried,“wasn’tittrue?”
“Notintheleast,monami,”saidHerculePoirot.
II
ImustmentionavisitwehadfromMr.AlexanderBonaparteCustafewdayslater.AfterwringingPoirot’shandandendeavouringveryincoherentlyandunsuccessfullytothankhim,Mr.Custdrewhimselfupandsaid:
“Doyouknow,anewspaperhasactuallyofferedmeahundredpounds—ahundredpounds—forabriefaccountofmylifeandhistory—I—Ireallydon’tknowwhattodoaboutit.”
“Ishouldnotacceptahundred,”saidPoirot.“Befirm.Sayfivehundredisyourprice.Anddonotconfineyourselftoonenewspaper.”
“Doyoureallythink—thatImight—”
“Youmustrealize,”saidPoirot,smiling,“thatyouareaveryfamousman.PracticallythemostfamousmaninEnglandtoday.”
Mr.Custdrewhimselfupstillfurther.Abeamofdelightirradiatedhisface.
“Doyouknow,Ibelieveyou’reright!Famous!Inallthepapers.Ishalltakeyouradvice,M.Poirot.Themoneywillbemostagreeable—mostagreeable.Ishallhavealittleholiday…AndthenIwanttogiveaniceweddingpresenttoLilyMarbury—adeargirl—reallyadeargirl,M.Poirot.”
Poirotpattedhimencouraginglyontheshoulder.
“Youarequiteright.Enjoyyourself.And—justalittleword—whataboutavisittoanoculist?Thoseheadaches,itisprobablythatyouwantnewglasses.”
“Youthinkthatitmayhavebeenthatallthetime?”
“Ido.”
Mr.Custshookhimwarmlybythehand.
“You’reaverygreatman,M.Poirot.”
Poirot,asusual,didnotdisdainthecompliment.Hedidnotevensucceedinlookingmodest.
WhenMr.Custhadstruttedimportantlyout,myoldfriendsmiledacrossatme.
“So,Hastings—wewenthuntingoncemore,didwenot?Vivelesport.”
TheAgathaChristieCollection
THEHERCULEPOIROTMYSTERIES
MatchyourwitswiththefamousBelgiandetective.
TheMysteriousAffairatStyles
TheMurderontheLinks
PoirotInvestigates
TheMurderofRogerAckroyd
TheBigFour
TheMysteryoftheBlueTrain
PerilatEndHouse
LordEdgwareDies
MurderontheOrientExpress
ThreeActTragedy
DeathintheClouds
TheA.B.C.Murders
MurderinMesopotamia
CardsontheTable
MurderintheMewsandOtherStories
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
Exploremoreatwww.AgathaChristie.com
TheAgathaChristieCollection
THEMISSMARPLEMYSTERIES
JointhelegendaryspinstersleuthfromSt.MaryMeadinsolvingmurdersfarandwide.
TheMurderattheVicarage
TheBodyintheLibrary
TheMovingFinger
AMurderIsAnnounced
TheyDoItwithMirrors
APocketFullofRye
4:50FromPaddington
TheMirrorCrack’d
ACaribbeanMystery
AtBertram’sHotel
Nemesis
SleepingMurder
MissMarple:TheCompleteShortStoryCollection
THETOMMYANDTUPPENCEMYSTERIES
Jumponboardwiththeentertainingcrime-solvingcouplefromYoungAdventurersLtd.
TheSecretAdversaryPartnersinCrimeNorM?BythePrickingofMyThumbsPosternofFate
Exploremoreatwww.AgathaChristie.com
TheAgathaChristieCollection
Don’tmissasingleoneofAgathaChristie’sstand-alonenovelsandshort-storycollections.
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
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
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THEAGATHACHRISTIECOLLECTION
TheManintheBrownSuitTheSecretofChimneysTheSevenDialsMysteryTheMysteriousMr.QuinTheSittafordMysteryParkerPyneInvestigatesWhyDidn’tTheyAskEvans?MurderIsEasyTheRegattaMysteryandOtherStoriesAndThenThereWereNoneTowardsZeroDeathComesastheEndSparklingCyanideTheWitnessfortheProsecutionandOtherStoriesCrookedHouseThreeBlindMiceandOtherStoriesTheyCametoBaghdadDestinationUnknownOrdealbyInnocenceDoubleSinandOtherStoriesThePaleHorseStaroverBethlehem:PoemsandHolidayStoriesEndlessNightPassengertoFrankfurtTheGoldenBallandOtherStoriesTheMousetrapandOtherPlaysTheHarlequinTeaSet
TheHerculePoirotMysteries
TheMysteriousAffairatStylesTheMurderontheLinksPoirotInvestigatesTheMurderofRogerAckroydTheBigFourTheMysteryoftheBlueTrainPerilatEndHouseLordEdgwareDiesMurderontheOrientExpressThreeActTragedyDeathintheCloudsTheA.B.C.MurdersMurderinMesopotamiaCardsontheTableMurderintheMewsandOtherStoriesDumbWitnessDeathontheNileAppointmentwithDeathHerculePoirot’sChristmasSadCypressOne,Two,BuckleMyShoeEvilUndertheSunFiveLittlePigsTheHollowTheLaborsofHerculesTakenattheFloodTheUnderdogandOtherStoriesMrs.McGinty’sDeadAftertheFuneralHickoryDickoryDockDeadMan’sFollyCatAmongthePigeonsTheClocksThirdGirlHallowe’enPartyElephantsCanRememberCurtain:Poirot’sLastCase
TheMissMarpleMysteries
TheMurderattheVicarageTheBodyintheLibraryTheMovingFingerAMurderIsAnnouncedTheyDoItwithMirrorsAPocketFullofRye4:50fromPaddingtonTheMirrorCrack’dACaribbeanMysteryAtBertram’sHotelNemesisSleepingMurderMissMarple:TheCompleteShortStoryCollection
TheTommyandTuppenceMysteries
TheSecretAdversaryPartnersinCrimeNorM?BythePrickingofMyThumbsPosternofFateCopyright
Thisbookisaworkoffiction.Thecharacters,incidents,anddialoguearedrawnfromtheauthor’simaginationandarenottobeconstruedasreal.Anyresemblancetoactualeventsorpersons,livingordead,isentirelycoincidental.
AGATHACHRISTIE?POIROT?THEA.B.C.MURDERS?.Copyright?2011AgathaChristieLimited(aChorioncompany).Allrightsreserved.TheA.B.C.Murderswasfirstpublishedin1936.
THEA.B.C.MURDERS?1936.PublishedbypermissionofG.P.Putnam’sSons,amemberofPenguinGroup(USA)Inc.AllrightsreservedunderInternationalandPan-AmericanCopyrightConventions.Bypaymentoftherequiredfees,youhavebeengrantedthenonexclusive,nontransferablerighttoaccessandreadthetextofthise-bookon-screen.Nopartofthistextmaybereproduced,transmitted,downloaded,decompiled,reverse-engineered,orstoredinorintroducedintoanyinformationstorageandretrievalsystem,inanyformorbyanymeans,whetherelectronicormechanical,nowknownorhereinafterinvented,withouttheexpresswrittenpermissionofHarperCollinse-books.
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ISBN978-0-06-207358-7