AgathaChristie
TheAdventureoftheChristmasPudding
Contents
CoverTitlePageForewordbytheAuthorTheAdventureoftheChristmasPuddingTheMysteryoftheSpanishChestTheUnderDogFour-and-TwentyBlackbirdsTheDreamGreenshaw’sFollyAboutAgathaChristieCreditsTheAgathaChristieCollectionCopyrightAboutthePublisherForewordByAgathaChristie
ThisbookofChristmasfaremaybedescribedas‘TheChef’sSelection’.IamtheChef!
Therearetwomaincourses:TheAdventureoftheChristmasPuddingandTheMysteryoftheSpanishChest;aselectionofEntrees:Greenshaw’sFolly,TheDreamandTheUnderDog,andaSorbet:Four-and-TwentyBlackbirds.
TheMysteryoftheSpanishChestmaybedescribedasaHerculePoirotSpecial.Itisacaseinwhichheconsidershewasathisbest!MissMarple,inherturn,hasalwaysbeenpleasedwithherperspicuityinGreenshaw’sFolly.
TheAdventureoftheChristmasPuddingisanindulgenceofmyown,sinceitrecallstome,verypleasurably,theChristmasesofmyyouth.Aftermyfather’sdeath,mymotherandIalwaysspentChristmaswithmybrother-in-law’sfamilyinthenorthofEngland–andwhatsuperbChristmasestheywereforachildtoremember!AbneyHallhadeverything!Thegardenboastedawaterfall,astream,andatunnelunderthedrive!TheChristmasfarewasofgargantuanproportions.Iwasaskinnychild,appearingdelicate,butactuallyofrobusthealthandperpetuallyhungry!TheboysofthefamilyandIusedtoviewitheachotherastowhocouldeatmostonChristmasDay.OysterSoupandTurbotwentdownwithoutunduezest,butthencameRoastTurkey,BoiledTurkeyandanenormousSirloinofBeef.TheboysandIhadtwohelpingsofallthree!WethenhadPlumPudding,Mince-pies,Trifleandeverykindofdessert.Duringtheafternoonweatechocolatessolidly.Weneitherfelt,norwere,sick!Howlovelytobeelevenyearsoldandgreedy!
Whatadayofdelightfrom‘Stockings’inbedinthemorning,ChurchandalltheChristmashymns,Christmasdinner,Presents,andthefinalLightingoftheChristmasTree!
AndhowdeepmygratitudetothekindandhospitablehostesswhomusthaveworkedsohardtomakeChristmasDayawonderfulmemorytomestillinmyoldage
SoletmededicatethisbooktothememoryofAbneyHall–itskindnessanditshospitality.
AndahappyChristmastoallwhoreadthisbook.
TheAdventureoftheChristmasPudding
I
‘Iregretexceedingly–’saidM.HerculePoirot.
Hewasinterrupted.Notrudelyinterrupted.Theinterruptionwassuave,dexterous,persuasiveratherthancontradictory.
‘Pleasedon’trefuseoffhand,M.Poirot.TherearegraveissuesofState.Yourco-operationwillbeappreciatedinthehighestquarters.’
‘Youaretookind,’HerculePoirotwavedahand,‘butIreallycannotundertaketodoasyouask.Atthisseasonoftheyear–’
AgainMrJesmondinterrupted.‘Christmastime,’hesaid,persuasively.‘Anold-fashionedChristmasintheEnglishcountryside.’
HerculePoirotshivered.ThethoughtoftheEnglishcountrysideatthisseasonoftheyeardidnotattracthim.
‘Agoodold-fashionedChristmas!’MrJesmondstressedit.
‘Me–IamnotanEnglishman,’saidHerculePoirot.‘Inmycountry,Christmas,itisforthechildren.TheNewYear,thatiswhatwecelebrate.’
‘Ah,’saidMrJesmond,‘butChristmasinEnglandisagreatinstitutionandIassureyouatKingsLaceyyouwouldseeitatitsbest.It’sawonderfuloldhouse,youknow.Why,onewingofitdatesfromthefourteenthcentury.’
AgainPoirotshivered.Thethoughtofafourteenth-centuryEnglishmanorhousefilledhimwithapprehension.HehadsufferedtooofteninthehistoriccountryhousesofEngland.Helookedroundappreciativelyathiscomfortablemodernflatwithitsradiatorsandthelatestpatentdevicesforexcludinganykindofdraught.
‘Inthewinter,’hesaidfirmly,‘IdonotleaveLondon.’
‘Idon’tthinkyouquiteappreciate,M.Poirot,whataveryseriousmatterthisis.’MrJesmondglancedathiscompanionandthenbackatPoirot.
Poirot’ssecondvisitorhaduptonowsaidnothingbutapoliteandformal‘Howdoyoudo.’Hesatnow,gazingdownathiswell-polishedshoes,withanairoftheutmostdejectiononhiscoffee-colouredface.Hewasayoungman,notmorethantwenty-three,andhewasclearlyinastateofcompletemisery.
‘Yes,yes,’saidHerculePoirot.‘Ofcoursethematterisserious.Idoappreciatethat.HisHighnesshasmyheartfeltsympathy.’
‘Thepositionisoneoftheutmostdelicacy,’saidMrJesmond.
Poirottransferredhisgazefromtheyoungmantohisoldercompanion.IfonewantedtosumupMrJesmondinaword,thewordwouldhavebeendiscretion.EverythingaboutMrJesmondwasdiscreet.Hiswell-cutbutinconspicuousclothes,hispleasant,well-bredvoicewhichrarelysoaredoutofanagreeablemonotone,hislight-brownhairjustthinningalittleatthetemples,hispaleseriousface.ItseemedtoHerculePoirotthathehadknownnotoneMrJesmondbutadozenMrJesmondsinhistime,allusingsoonerorlaterthesamephrase–‘apositionoftheutmostdelicacy’.
‘Thepolice,’saidHerculePoirot,‘canbeverydiscreet,youknow.’
MrJesmondshookhisheadfirmly.
‘Notthepolice,’hesaid.‘Torecoverthe–er–whatwewanttorecoverwillalmostinevitablyinvoketakingproceedingsinthelawcourtsandweknowsolittle.Wesuspect,butwedonotknow.’
‘Youhavemysympathy,’saidHerculePoirotagain.
Ifheimaginedthathissympathywasgoingtomeananythingtohistwovisitors,hewaswrong.Theydidnotwantsympathy,theywantedpracticalhelp.MrJesmondbeganoncemoretotalkaboutthedelightsofanEnglishChristmas.
‘It’sdyingout,youknow,’hesaid,‘therealold-fashionedtypeofChristmas.Peoplespenditathotelsnowadays.ButanEnglishChristmaswithallthefamilygatheredround,thechildrenandtheirstockings,theChristmastree,theturkeyandplumpudding,thecrackers.Thesnowmanoutsidethewindow–’
Intheinterestsofexactitude,HerculePoirotintervened.
‘Tomakeasnowmanonehastohavethesnow,’heremarkedseverely.‘Andonecannothavesnowtoorder,evenforanEnglishChristmas.’
‘Iwastalkingtoafriendofmineinthemeteorologicalofficeonlytoday,’saidMrJesmond,‘andhetellsmethatitishighlyprobabletherewillbesnowthisChristmas.’
Itwasthewrongthingtohavesaid.HerculePoirotshudderedmoreforcefullythanever.
‘Snowinthecountry!’hesaid.‘Thatwouldbestillmoreabominable.Alarge,cold,stonemanorhouse.’
‘Notatall,’saidMrJesmond.‘Thingshavechangedverymuchinthelasttenyearsorso.Oil-firedcentralheating.’
‘Theyhaveoil-firedcentralheatingatKingsLacey?’askedPoirot.Forthefirsttimeheseemedtowaver.
MrJesmondseizedhisopportunity.‘Yes,indeed,’hesaid,‘andasplendidhotwatersystem.Radiatorsineverybedroom.Iassureyou,mydearM.Poirot,KingsLaceyiscomfortitselfinthewintertime.Youmightevenfindthehousetoowarm.’
‘Thatismostunlikely,’saidHerculePoirot.
WithpractiseddexterityMrJesmondshiftedhisgroundalittle.
‘Youcanappreciatetheterribledilemmawearein,’hesaid,inaconfidentialmanner.
HerculePoirotnodded.Theproblemwas,indeed,notahappyone.Ayoungpotentate-to-be,theonlysonoftherulerofarichandimportantnativeState,hadarrivedinLondonafewweeksago.Hiscountryhadbeenpassingthroughaperiodofrestlessnessanddiscontent.ThoughloyaltothefatherwhosewayoflifehadremainedpersistentlyEastern,popularopinionwassomewhatdubiousoftheyoungergeneration.HisfollieshadbeenWesternonesandassuchlookeduponwithdisapproval.
Recently,however,hisbetrothalhadbeenannounced.Hewastomarryacousinofthesameblood,ayoungwomanwho,thougheducatedatCambridge,wascarefultodisplaynoWesterninfluenceinherowncountry.TheweddingdaywasannouncedandtheyoungprincehadmadeajourneytoEngland,bringingwithhimsomeofthefamousjewelsofhishousetoberesetinappropriatemodernsettingsbyCartier.Thesehadincludedaveryfamousrubywhichhadbeenremovedfromitscumbersomeold-fashionednecklaceandhadbeengivenanewlookbythefamousjewellers.Sofarsogood,butafterthiscamethesnag.Itwasnottobesupposedthatayoungmanpossessedofmuchwealthandconvivialtastes,shouldnotcommitafewfolliesofthepleasantertype.Astothattherewouldhavebeennocensure.Youngprincesweresupposedtoamusethemselvesinthisfashion.FortheprincetotakethegirlfriendofthemomentforawalkdownBondStreetandbestowuponheranemeraldbraceletoradiamondclipasarewardforthepleasureshehadaffordedhimwouldhavebeenregardedasquitenaturalandsuitable,correspondinginfacttotheCadillaccarswhichhisfatherinvariablypresentedtohisfavouritedancinggirlofthemoment.
Buttheprincehadbeenfarmoreindiscreetthanthat.Flatteredbythelady’sinterest,hehaddisplayedtoherthefamousrubyinitsnewsetting,andhadfinallybeensounwiseastoaccedetoherrequesttobeallowedtowearit–justforoneevening!
Thesequelwasshortandsad.Theladyhadretiredfromtheirsuppertabletopowderhernose.Timepassed.Shedidnotreturn.Shehadlefttheestablishmentbyanotherdoorandsincethenhaddisappearedintospace.Theimportantanddistressingthingwasthattherubyinitsnewsettinghaddisappearedwithher.
Thesewerethefactsthatcouldnotpossiblybemadepublicwithoutthemostdireconsequences.Therubywassomethingmorethanaruby,itwasahistoricalpossessionofgreatsignificance,andthecircumstancesofitsdisappearanceweresuchthatanyunduepublicityaboutthemmightresultinthemostseriouspoliticalconsequences.
MrJesmondwasnotthemantoputthesefactsintosimplelanguage.Hewrappedthemup,asitwere,inagreatdealofverbiage.WhoexactlyMrJesmondwas,HerculePoirotdidnotknow.HehadmetotherMrJesmondsinthecourseofhiscareer.WhetherhewasconnectedwiththeHomeOffice,theForeignSecretaryorsomeotherdiscreetbranchofpublicservicewasnotspecified.HewasactingintheinterestsoftheCommonwealth.Therubymustberecovered.
M.Poirot,soMrJesmonddelicatelyinsisted,wasthemantorecoverit.
‘Perhaps–yes,’HerculePoirotadmitted,‘butyoucantellmesolittle.Suggestion–suspicion–allthatisnotverymuchtogoupon.’
‘Comenow,MonsieurPoirot,surelyitisnotbeyondyourpowers.Ah,comenow.’
‘Idonotalwayssucceed.’
Butthiswasmockmodesty.ItwasclearenoughfromPoirot’stonethatforhimtoundertakeamissionwasalmostsynonymouswithsucceedinginit.
‘HisHighnessisveryyoung,’MrJesmondsaid.‘Itwillbesadifhiswholelifeistobeblightedforamereyouthfulindiscretion.’
Poirotlookedkindlyatthedowncastyoungman.‘Itisthetimeforfollies,whenoneisyoung,’hesaidencouragingly,‘andfortheordinaryyoungmanitdoesnotmattersomuch.Thegoodpapa,hepaysup;thefamilylawyer,hehelpstodisentangletheinconvenience;theyoungman,helearnsbyexperienceandallendsforthebest.Inapositionsuchasyours,itishardindeed.Yourapproachingmarriage–’
‘Thatisit.Thatisitexactly.’Forthefirsttimewordspouredfromtheyoungman.‘Youseesheisvery,veryserious.Shetakeslifeveryseriously.ShehasacquiredatCambridgemanyveryseriousideas.Thereistobeeducationinmycountry.Therearetobeschools.Therearetobemanythings.Allinthenameofprogress,youunderstand,ofdemocracy.Itwillnotbe,shesays,likeitwasinmyfather’stime.NaturallysheknowsthatIwillhavediversionsinLondon,butnotthescandal.No!Itisthescandalthatmatters.Youseeitisvery,veryfamous,thisruby.Thereisalongtrailbehindit,ahistory.Muchbloodshed–manydeaths!’
‘Deaths,’saidHerculePoirotthoughtfully.HelookedatMrJesmond.‘Onehopes,’hesaid,‘itwillnotcometothat?’
MrJesmondmadeapeculiarnoiseratherlikeahenwhohasdecidedtolayaneggandthenthoughtbetterofit.
‘No,noindeed,’hesaid,soundingratherprim.‘Thereisnoquestion,Iamsure,ofanythingofthatkind.’
‘Youcannotbesure,’saidHerculePoirot.‘Whoeverhastherubynow,theremaybeotherswhowanttogainpossessionofit,andwhowillnotstickatatrifle,myfriend.’
‘Ireallydon’tthink,’saidMrJesmond,soundingmoreprimthanever,‘thatweneedenterintospeculationofthatkind.Quiteunprofitable.’
‘Me,’saidHerculePoirot,suddenlybecomingveryforeign,‘me,Iexplorealltheavenues,likethepoliticians.’
MrJesmondlookedathimdoubtfully.Pullinghimselftogether,hesaid,‘Well,Icantakeitthatissettled,M.Poirot?YouwillgotoKingsLacey?’
‘AndhowdoIexplainmyselfthere?’askedHerculePoirot.
MrJesmondsmiledwithconfidence.
‘That,Ithink,canbearrangedveryeasily,’hesaid.‘Icanassureyouthatitwillallseemquitenatural.YouwillfindtheLaceysmostcharming.Delightfulpeople.’
‘Andyoudonotdeceivemeabouttheoil-firedcentralheating?’
‘No,no,indeed.’MrJesmondsoundedquitepained.‘Iassureyouyouwillfindeverycomfort.’
‘Toutconfortmoderne,’murmuredPoirottohimself,reminiscently.‘Ehbien,’hesaid,‘Iaccept.’
II
Thetemperatureinthelongdrawing-roomatKingsLaceywasacomfortablesixty-eightasHerculePoirotsattalkingtoMrsLaceybyoneofthebigmullionedwindows.MrsLaceywasengagedinneedlework.Shewasnotdoingpetitpointorembroideredflowersuponsilk.Instead,sheappearedtobeengagedintheprosaictaskofhemmingdishcloths.AsshesewedshetalkedinasoftreflectivevoicethatPoirotfoundverycharming
‘IhopeyouwillenjoyourChristmaspartyhere,M.Poirot.It’sonlythefamily,youknow.MygranddaughterandagrandsonandafriendofhisandBridgetwho’smygreatniece,andDianawho’sacousinandDavidWelwynwhoisaveryoldfriend.Justafamilyparty.ButEdwinaMorecombesaidthatthat’swhatyoureallywantedtosee.Anold-fashionedChristmas.Nothingcouldbemoreold-fashionedthanweare!Myhusband,youknow,absolutelylivesinthepast.Helikeseverythingtobejustasitwaswhenhewasaboyoftwelveyearsold,andusedtocomehereforhisholidays.’Shesmiledtoherself.‘Allthesameoldthings,theChristmastreeandthestockingshungupandtheoystersoupandtheturkey–twoturkeys,oneboiledandoneroast–andtheplumpuddingwiththeringandthebachelor’sbuttonandalltherestofitinit.Wecan’thavesixpencesnowadaysbecausethey’renotpuresilveranymore.Butalltheolddesserts,theElvasplumsandCarlsbadplumsandalmondsandraisins,andcrystallizedfruitandginger.Dearme,IsoundlikeacataloguefromFortnumandMason!’
‘Youarousemygastronomicjuices,Madame.’
‘Iexpectwe’llallhavefrightfulindigestionbytomorrowevening,’saidMrsLacey.‘Oneisn’tusedtoeatingsomuchnowadays,isone?’
Shewasinterruptedbysomeloudshoutsandwhoopsoflaughteroutsidethewindow.Sheglancedout.
‘Idon’tknowwhatthey’redoingoutthere.Playingsomegameorother,Isuppose.I’vealwaysbeensoafraid,youknow,thattheseyoungpeoplewouldbeboredbyourChristmashere.Butnotatall,it’sjusttheopposite.Nowmyownsonanddaughterandtheirfriends,theyusedtoberathersophisticatedaboutChristmas.Sayitwasallnonsenseandtoomuchfussanditwouldbefarbettertogoouttoahotelsomewhereanddance.Buttheyoungergenerationseemtofindallthisterriblyattractive.Besides,’addedMrsLaceypractically,‘schoolboysandschoolgirlsarealwayshungry,aren’tthey?Ithinktheymuststarvethemattheseschools.Afterall,onedoesknowchildrenofthatageeacheataboutasmuchasthreestrongmen.’
Poirotlaughedandsaid,‘Itismostkindofyouandyourhusband,Madame,toincludemeinthiswayinyourfamilyparty.’
‘Oh,we’rebothdelighted,I’msure,’saidMrsLacey.‘AndifyoufindHoracealittlegruff,’shecontinued,‘paynoattention.It’sjusthismanner,youknow.’
Whatherhusband,ColonelLacey,hadactuallysaidwas:‘Can’tthinkwhyyouwantoneofthesedamnedforeignershereclutteringupChristmas?Whycan’twehavehimsomeothertime?Can’tstickforeigners!Allright,allright,soEdwinaMorecombewishedhimonus.What’sitgottodowithher,Ishouldliketoknow?Whydoesn’tshehavehimforChristmas?’
‘Becauseyouknowverywell,’MrsLaceyhadsaid,‘thatEdwinaalwaysgoestoClaridge’s.’
Herhusbandhadlookedatherpiercinglyandsaid,‘Notuptosomething,areyou,Em?’
‘Uptosomething?’saidEm,openingveryblueeyes.‘Ofcoursenot.WhyshouldIbe?’
OldColonelLaceylaughed,adeep,rumblinglaugh.‘Iwouldn’tputitpastyou,Em,’hesaid.‘Whenyoulookyourmostinnocentiswhenyouareuptosomething.’
Revolvingthesethingsinhermind,MrsLaceywenton:‘Edwinasaidshethoughtperhapsyoumighthelpus…I’msureIdon’tknowquitehow,butshesaidthatfriendsofyourshadoncefoundyouveryhelpfulin–inacasesomethinglikeours.I–well,perhapsyoudon’tknowwhatI’mtalkingabout?’
Poirotlookedatherencouragingly.MrsLaceywascloseonseventy,asuprightasaramrod,withsnow-whitehair,pinkcheeks,blueeyes,aridiculousnoseandadeterminedchin.
‘IfthereisanythingIcandoIshallonlybetoohappytodoit,’saidPoirot.‘Itis,Iunderstand,aratherunfortunatematterofayounggirl’sinfatuation.’
MrsLaceynodded.‘Yes.ItseemsextraordinarythatIshould–well,wanttotalktoyouaboutit.Afterall,youareaperfectstranger…’
‘Andaforeigner,’saidPoirot,inanunderstandingmanner.
‘Yes,’saidMrsLacey,‘butperhapsthatmakesiteasier,inaway.Anyhow,Edwinaseemedtothinkthatyoumightperhapsknowsomething–howshallIputit–somethingusefulaboutthisyoungDesmondLee-Wortley.’
PoirotpausedamomenttoadmiretheingenuityofMrJesmondandtheeasewithwhichhehadmadeuseofLadyMorecombetofurtherhisownpurposes.
‘Hehasnot,Iunderstand,averygoodreputation,thisyoungman?’hebegandelicately.
‘No,indeed,hehasn’t!Averybadreputation!Butthat’snohelpsofarasSarahisconcerned.It’sneveranygood,isit,tellingyounggirlsthatmenhaveabadreputation?It–itjustspursthemon!’
‘Youaresoveryright,’saidPoirot.
‘Inmyyoungday,’wentonMrsLacey.(‘Ohdear,that’saverylongtimeago!)Weusedtobewarned,youknow,againstcertainyoungmen,andofcourseitdidheightenone’sinterestinthem,andifonecouldpossiblymanagetodancewiththem,ortobealonewiththeminadarkconservatory–’Shelaughed.‘That’swhyIwouldn’tletHoracedoanyofthethingshewantedtodo.’
‘Tellme,’saidPoirot,‘exactlywhatisitthattroublesyou?’
‘Oursonwaskilledinthewar,’saidMrsLacey.‘Mydaughter-in-lawdiedwhenSarahwasbornsothatshehasalwaysbeenwithus,andwe’vebroughtherup.Perhapswe’vebroughtherupunwisely–Idon’tknow.Butwethoughtweoughtalwaystoleaveherasfreeaspossible.’
‘Thatisdesirable,Ithink,’saidPoirot.‘Onecannotgoagainstthespiritofthetimes.’
‘No,’saidMrsLacey,‘that’sjustwhatIfeltaboutit.And,ofcourse,girlsnowadaysdothesesortofthings.’
Poirotlookedatherinquiringly.
‘Ithinkthewayoneexpressesit,’saidMrsLacey,‘isthatSarahhasgotinwithwhattheycallthecoffee-barset.Shewon’tgotodancesorcomeoutproperlyorbeadeboranythingofthatkind.InsteadshehastworatherunpleasantroomsinChelseadownbytheriverandwearsthesefunnyclothesthattheyliketowear,andblackstockingsorbrightgreenones.Verythickstockings.(Soprickly,Ialwaysthink!)Andshegoesaboutwithoutwashingorcombingherhair.’
‘?a,c’esttoutàfaitnaturelle,’saidPoirot.‘Itisthefashionofthemoment.Theygrowoutofit.’
‘Yes,Iknow,’saidMrsLacey.‘Iwouldn’tworryaboutthatsortofthing.Butyouseeshe’stakenupwiththisDesmondLee-Wortleyandhereallyhasaveryunsavouryreputation.Helivesmoreorlessonwell-to-dogirls.Theyseemtogoquitemadabouthim.HeverynearlymarriedtheHopegirl,butherpeoplegothermadeawardincourtorsomething.Andofcoursethat’swhatHoracewantstodo.Hesayshemustdoitforherprotection.ButIdon’tthinkit’sreallyagoodidea,M.Poirot.Imean,they’lljustrunawaytogetherandgotoScotlandorIrelandortheArgentineorsomewhereandeithergetmarriedorelselivetogetherwithoutgettingmarried.Andalthoughitmaybecontemptofcourtandallthat–well,itisn’treallyananswer,isit,intheend?Especiallyifababy’scoming.Onehastogiveinthen,andletthemgetmarried.Andthen,nearlyalways,itseemstome,afterayearortwothere’sadivorce.Andthenthegirlcomeshomeandusuallyafterayearortwoshemarriessomeonesonicehe’salmostdullandsettlesdown.Butit’sparticularlysad,itseemstome,ifthereisachild,becauseit’snotthesamething,beingbroughtupbyastepfather,howevernice.No,Ithinkit’smuchbetterifwedidaswedidinmyyoungdays.Imeanthefirstyoungmanonefellinlovewithwasalwayssomeoneundesirable.IrememberIhadahorriblepassionforayoungmancalled–nowwhatwashisnamenow?–howstrangeitis,Ican’trememberhisChristiannameatall!Tibbitt,thatwashissurname.YoungTibbitt.Ofcourse,myfathermoreorlessforbadehimthehouse,butheusedtogetaskedtothesamedances,andweusedtodancetogether.Andsometimeswe’descapeandsitouttogetherandoccasionallyfriendswouldarrangepicnicstowhichwebothwent.Ofcourse,itwasallveryexcitingandforbiddenandoneenjoyeditenormously.Butonedidn’tgotothe–well,tothelengthsthatgirlsgonowadays.Andso,afterawhile,theMrTibbittsfadedout.Anddoyouknow,whenIsawhimfouryearslaterIwassurprisedwhatIcouldeverhaveseeninhim!Heseemedtobesuchadullyoungman.Flashy,youknow.Nointerestingconversation.’
‘Onealwaysthinksthedaysofone’sownyoutharebest,’saidPoirot,somewhatsententiously.
‘Iknow,’saidMrsLacey.‘It’stiresome,isn’tit?Imustn’tbetiresome.ButallthesameIdon’twantSarah,who’sadeargirlreally,tomarryDesmondLee-Wortley.SheandDavidWelwyn,whoisstayinghere,werealwayssuchfriendsandsofondofeachother,andwedidhope,HoraceandI,thattheywouldgrowupandmarry.Butofcourseshejustfindshimdullnow,andshe’sabsolutelyinfatuatedwithDesmond.’
‘Idonotquiteunderstand,Madame,’saidPoirot.‘Youhavehimherenow,stayinginthehouse,thisDesmondLee-Wortley?’
‘That’smydoing,’saidMrsLacey.‘Horacewasallforforbiddinghertoseehimandallthat.Ofcourse,inHorace’sday,thefatherorguardianwouldhavecalledroundattheyoungman’slodgingswithahorsewhip!Horacewasallforforbiddingthefellowthehouse,andforbiddingthegirltoseehim.Itoldhimthatwasquitethewrongattitudetotake.“No,”Isaid.“Askhimdownhere.We’llhavehimdownforChristmaswiththefamilyparty.”Ofcourse,myhusbandsaidIwasmad!ButIsaid,“Atanyrate,dear,let’stryit.Letherseehiminouratmosphereandourhouseandwe’llbeverynicetohimandverypolite,andperhapsthenhe’llseemlessinterestingtoher”!’
‘Ithink,astheysay,youhavesomethingthere,Madame,’saidPoirot.‘Ithinkyourpointofviewisverywise.Wiserthanyourhusband’s.’
‘Well,Ihopeitis,’saidMrsLaceydoubtfully.‘Itdoesn’tseemtobeworkingmuchyet.Butofcoursehe’sonlybeenhereacoupleofdays.’Asuddendimpleshowedinherwrinkledcheek.‘I’llconfesssomethingtoyou,M.Poirot.Imyselfcan’thelplikinghim.Idon’tmeanIreallylikehim,withmymind,butIcanfeelthecharmallright.Ohyes,IcanseewhatSarahseesinhim.ButI’manoldenoughwomanandhaveenoughexperiencetoknowthathe’sabsolutelynogood.EvenifIdoenjoyhiscompany.ThoughIdothink,’addedMrsLacey,ratherwistfully,‘hehassomegoodpoints.Heaskedifhemightbringhissisterhere,youknow.She’shadanoperationandwasinhospital.HesaiditwassosadforherbeinginanursinghomeoverChristmasandhewonderedifitwouldbetoomuchtroubleifhecouldbringherwithhim.Hesaidhe’dtakeallhermealsuptoherandallthat.Wellnow,Idothinkthatwasratherniceofhim,don’tyou,M.Poirot?’
‘Itshowsaconsideration,’saidPoirot,thoughtfully,‘whichseemsalmostoutofcharacter.’
‘Oh,Idon’tknow.Youcanhavefamilyaffectionsatthesametimeaswishingtopreyonarichyounggirl.Sarahwillbeveryrich,youknow,notonlywithwhatweleaveher–andofcoursethatwon’tbeverymuchbecausemostofthemoneygoeswiththeplacetoColin,mygrandson.ButhermotherwasaveryrichwomanandSarahwillinheritallhermoneywhenshe’stwenty-one.She’sonlytwentynow.No,IdothinkitwasniceofDesmondtomindabouthissister.Andhedidn’tpretendshewasanythingverywonderfulorthat.She’sashorthandtypist,Igather–doessecretarialworkinLondon.Andhe’sbeenasgoodashiswordanddoescarryuptraystoher.Notallthetime,ofcourse,butquiteoften.SoIthinkhehassomenicepoints.Butallthesame,’saidMrsLaceywithgreatdecision,‘Idon’twantSarahtomarryhim.’
‘FromallIhaveheardandbeentold,’saidPoirot,‘thatwouldindeedbeadisaster.’
‘Doyouthinkitwouldbepossibleforyoutohelpusinanyway?’askedMrsLacey.
‘Ithinkitispossible,yes,’saidHerculePoirot,‘butIdonotwishtopromisetoomuch.FortheMrDesmondLee-Wortleysofthisworldareclever,Madame.Butdonotdespair.Onecan,perhaps,doalittlesomething.Ishallatanyrateputforthmybestendeavours,ifonlyingratitudeforyourkindnessinaskingmehereforthisChristmasfestivity.’Helookedroundhim.‘AnditcannotbesoeasythesedaystohaveChristmasfestivities.’
‘No,indeed,’MrsLaceysighed.Sheleanedforward.‘Doyouknow,M.Poirot,whatIreallydreamof–whatIwouldlovetohave?’
‘Buttellme,Madame.’
‘Isimplylongtohaveasmall,modernbungalow.No,perhapsnotabungalowexactly,butasmall,modern,easytorunhousebuiltsomewhereintheparkhere,andliveinitwithanabsoluteup-to-datekitchenandnolongpassages.Everythingeasyandsimple.’
‘Itisaverypracticalidea,Madame.’
‘It’snotpracticalforme,’saidMrsLacey.‘Myhusbandadoresthisplace.Heloveslivinghere.Hedoesn’tmindbeingslightlyuncomfortable,hedoesn’tmindtheinconveniencesandhewouldhate,simplyhate,toliveinasmallmodernhouseinthepark!’
‘Soyousacrificeyourselftohiswishes?’
MrsLaceydrewherselfup.‘Idonotconsideritasacrifice,M.Poirot,’shesaid.‘Imarriedmyhusbandwiththewishtomakehimhappy.Hehasbeenagoodhusbandtomeandmademeveryhappyalltheseyears,andIwishtogivehappinesstohim.’
‘Soyouwillcontinuetolivehere,’saidPoirot.
‘It’snotreallytoouncomfortable,’saidMrsLacey.
‘No,no,’saidPoirot,hastily.‘Onthecontrary,itismostcomfortable.Yourcentralheatingandyourbathwaterareperfection.’
‘Wespentalotofmoneyonmakingthehousecomfortabletolivein,’saidMrsLacey.‘Wewereabletosellsomeland.Ripefordevelopment,Ithinktheycallit.Fortunatelyrightoutofsightofthehouseontheothersideofthepark.Reallyratheranuglybitofgroundwithnoniceview,butwegotaverygoodpriceforit.Sothatwehavebeenabletohaveasmanyimprovementsaspossible.’
‘Buttheservice,Madame?’
‘Oh,well,thatpresentslessdifficultythanyoumightthink.Ofcourse,onecannotexpecttobelookedafterandwaiteduponasoneusedtobe.Differentpeoplecomeinfromthevillage.Twowomeninthemorning,anothertwotocooklunchandwashitup,anddifferentonesagainintheevening.Thereareplentyofpeoplewhowanttocomeandworkforafewhoursaday.OfcourseforChristmasweareverylucky.MydearMrsRossalwayscomesineveryChristmas.Sheisawonderfulcook,reallyfirst-class.Sheretiredabouttenyearsago,butshecomesintohelpusinanyemergency.ThenthereisdearPeverell.’
‘Yourbutler?’
‘Yes.Heispensionedoffandlivesinthelittlehousenearthelodge,butheissodevoted,andheinsistsoncomingtowaitonusatChristmas.Really,I’mterrified,M.Poirot,becausehe’ssooldandsoshakythatIfeelcertainthatifhecarriesanythingheavyhewilldropit.It’sreallyanagonytowatchhim.AndhisheartisnotgoodandI’mafraidofhisdoingtoomuch.ButitwouldhurthisfeelingsdreadfullyifIdidnotlethimcome.Hehemsandhahsandmakesdisapprovingnoiseswhenheseesthestateoursilverisinandwithinthreedaysofbeinghere,itisallwonderfulagain.Yes.Heisadearfaithfulfriend.’ShesmiledatPoirot.‘Soyousee,weareallsetforahappyChristmas.AwhiteChristmas,too,’sheaddedasshelookedoutofthewindow.‘See?Itisbeginningtosnow.Ah,thechildrenarecomingin.Youmustmeetthem,M.Poirot.’
Poirotwasintroducedwithdueceremony.First,toColinandMichael,theschoolboygrandsonandhisfriend,nicepoliteladsoffifteen,onedark,onefair.Thentotheircousin,Bridget,ablack-hairedgirlofaboutthesameagewithenormousvitality.
‘Andthisismygranddaughter,Sarah,’saidMrsLacey.
PoirotlookedwithsomeinterestatSarah,anattractivegirlwithamopofredhair;hermannerseemedtohimnervyandatrifledefiant,butsheshowedrealaffectionforhergrandmother.
‘AndthisisMrLee-Wortley.’
MrLee-Wortleyworeafisherman’sjerseyandtightblackjeans;hishairwasratherlonganditseemeddoubtfulwhetherhehadshavedthatmorning.IncontrasttohimwasayoungmanintroducedasDavidWelwyn,whowassolidandquiet,withapleasantsmile,andratherobviouslyaddictedtosoapandwater.Therewasoneothermemberoftheparty,ahandsome,ratherintense-lookinggirlwhowasintroducedasDianaMiddleton.
Teawasbroughtin.Aheartymealofscones,crumpets,sandwichesandthreekindsofcake.Theyoungermembersofthepartyappreciatedthetea.ColonelLaceycameinlast,remarkinginanoncommittalvoice:
‘Hey,tea?Ohyes,tea.’
Hereceivedhiscupofteafromhiswife’shand,helpedhimselftotwoscones,castalookofaversionatDesmondLee-Wortleyandsatdownasfarawayfromhimashecould.Hewasabigmanwithbushyeyebrowsandared,weather-beatenface.Hemighthavebeentakenforafarmerratherthanthelordofthemanor.
‘Startedtosnow,’hesaid.‘It’sgoingtobeawhiteChristmasallright.’
Afterteathepartydispersed.
‘Iexpectthey’llgoandplaywiththeirtaperecordersnow,’saidMrsLaceytoPoirot.Shelookedindulgentlyafterhergrandsonashelefttheroom.Hertonewasthatofonewhosays‘Thechildrenaregoingtoplaywiththeirtoysoldiers.’
‘They’refrightfullytechnical,ofcourse,’shesaid,‘andverygrandaboutitall.’
TheboysandBridget,however,decidedtogoalongtothelakeandseeiftheiceonitwaslikelytomakeskatingpossible.
‘Ithoughtwecouldhaveskatedonitthismorning,’saidColin.‘ButoldHodgkinssaidno.He’salwayssoterriblycareful.’
‘Comeforawalk,David,’saidDianaMiddleton,softly.
Davidhesitatedforhalfamoment,hiseyesonSarah’sredhead.ShewasstandingbyDesmondLee-Wortley,herhandonhisarm,lookingupintohisface.
‘Allright,’saidDavidWelwyn,‘yes,let’s.’
Dianaslippedaquickhandthroughhisarmandtheyturnedtowardsthedoorintothegarden.Sarahsaid:
‘Shallwego,too,Desmond?It’sfearfullystuffyinthehouse.’
‘Whowantstowalk?’saidDesmond.‘I’llgetmycarout.We’llgoalongtotheSpeckledBoarandhaveadrink.’
Sarahhesitatedforamomentbeforesaying:
‘Let’sgotoMarketLedburytotheWhiteHart.It’smuchmorefun.’
Thoughforalltheworldshewouldnothaveputitintowords,SarahhadaninstinctiverevulsionfromgoingdowntothelocalpubwithDesmond.Itwas,somehow,notinthetraditionofKingsLacey.ThewomenofKingsLaceyhadneverfrequentedthebaroftheSpeckledBoar.ShehadanobscurefeelingthattogotherewouldbetoletoldColonelLaceyandhiswifedown.Andwhynot?DesmondLee-Wortleywouldhavesaid.ForamomentofexasperationSarahfeltthatheoughttoknowwhynot!Onedidn’tupsetsucholddarlingsasGrandfatheranddearoldEmunlessitwasnecessary.They’dbeenverysweet,really,lettingherleadherownlife,notunderstandingintheleastwhyshewantedtoliveinChelseainthewayshedid,butacceptingit.ThatwasduetoEmofcourse.Grandfatherwouldhavekickedupnoendofarow.
Sarahhadnoillusionsabouthergrandfather’sattitude.ItwasnothisdoingthatDesmondhadbeenaskedtostayatKingsLacey.ThatwasEm,andEmwasadarlingandalwayshadbeen.
WhenDesmondhadgonetofetchhiscar,Sarahpoppedherheadintothedrawing-roomagain.
‘We’regoingovertoMarketLedbury,’shesaid.‘Wethoughtwe’dhaveadrinkthereattheWhiteHart.’
Therewasaslightamountofdefianceinhervoice,butMrsLaceydidnotseemtonoticeit.
‘Well,dear,’shesaid.‘I’msurethatwillbeverynice.DavidandDianahavegoneforawalk,Isee.I’msoglad.IreallythinkitwasabrainwaveonmyparttoaskDianahere.Sosadbeingleftawidowsoyoung–onlytwenty-two–Idohopeshemarriesagainsoon.’
Sarahlookedathersharply.‘Whatareyouupto,Em?’
‘It’smylittleplan,’saidMrsLaceygleefully.‘Ithinkshe’sjustrightforDavid.OfcourseIknowhewasterriblyinlovewithyou,Sarahdear,butyou’dnouseforhimandIrealizethatheisn’tyourtype.ButIdon’twanthimtogoonbeingunhappy,andIthinkDianawillreallysuithim.’
‘Whatamatchmakeryouare,Em,’saidSarah.‘Iknow,’saidMrsLacey.‘Oldwomenalwaysare.Diana’squitekeenonhimalready,Ithink.Don’tyouthinkshe’dbejustrightforhim?’
‘Ishouldn’tsayso,’saidSarah.‘IthinkDiana’sfartoo–well,toointense,tooserious.IshouldthinkDavidwouldfinditterriblyboringbeingmarriedtoher.’
‘Well,we’llsee,’saidMrsLacey.‘Anyway,youdon’twanthim,doyou,dear?’
‘No,indeed,’saidSarah,veryquickly.Sheadded,inasuddenrush,‘YoudolikeDesmond,don’tyou,Em?’
‘I’msurehe’sveryniceindeed,’saidMrsLacey.
‘Grandfatherdoesn’tlikehim,’saidSarah.
‘Well,youcouldhardlyexpecthimto,couldyou?’saidMrsLaceyreasonably,‘butIdaresayhe’llcomeroundwhenhegetsusedtotheidea.Youmustn’trushhim,Sarahdear.Oldpeopleareveryslowtochangetheirmindsandyourgrandfatherisratherobstinate.’
‘Idon’tcarewhatGrandfatherthinksorsays,’saidSarah.‘IshallgetmarriedtoDesmondwheneverIlike!’
‘Iknow,dear,Iknow.Butdotryandberealisticaboutit.Yourgrandfathercouldcausealotoftrouble,youknow.You’renotofageyet.Inanotheryearyoucandoasyouplease.IexpectHoracewillhavecomeroundlongbeforethat.’
‘You’reonmysidearen’tyou,darling?’saidSarah.Sheflungherarmsroundhergrandmother’sneckandgaveheranaffectionatekiss.
‘Iwantyoutobehappy,’saidMrsLacey.‘Ah!there’syouryoungmanbringinghiscarround.Youknow,Iliketheseverytighttrouserstheseyoungmenwearnowadays.Theylooksosmart–only,ofcourse,itdoesaccentuateknockknees.’
Yes,Sarahthought,Desmondhadgotknockknees,shehadnevernoticeditbefore…
‘Goon,dear,enjoyyourself,’saidMrsLacey.
Shewatchedhergoouttothecar,then,rememberingherforeignguest,shewentalongtothelibrary.Lookingin,however,shesawthatHerculePoirotwastakingapleasantlittlenapand,smilingtoherself,shewentacrossthehallandoutintothekitchentohaveaconferencewithMrsRoss.
‘Comeon,beautiful,’saidDesmond.‘Yourfamilycuttinguproughbecauseyou’recomingouttoapub?Yearsbehindthetimeshere,aren’tthey?’
‘Ofcoursethey’renotmakingafuss,’saidSarah,sharplyasshegotintothecar.
‘What’stheideaofhavingthatforeignfellowdown?He’sadetective,isn’the?Whatneedsdetectinghere?’
‘Oh,he’snothereprofessionally,’saidSarah.‘EdwinaMorecombe,mygrandmother,askedustohavehim.Ithinkhe’sretiredfromprofessionalworklongago.’
‘Soundslikeabroken-downoldcabhorse,’saidDesmond.
‘Hewantedtoseeanold-fashionedEnglishChristmas,Ibelieve,’saidSarahvaguely.
Desmondlaughedscornfully.‘Suchalotoftripe,thatsortofthing,’hesaid.‘HowyoucanstanditIdon’tknow.’
Sarah’sredhairwastossedbackandheraggressivechinshotup.
‘Ienjoyit!’shesaiddefiantly.
‘Youcan’t,baby.Let’scutthewholethingtomorrow.GoovertoScarboroughorsomewhere.’
‘Icouldn’tpossiblydothat.’
‘Whynot?’
‘Oh,itwouldhurttheirfeelings.’
‘Oh,bilge!Youknowyoudon’tenjoythischildishsentimentalbosh.’
‘Well,notreallyperhaps,but–’Sarahbrokeoff.SherealizedwithafeelingofguiltthatshewaslookingforwardagooddealtotheChristmascelebration.Sheenjoyedthewholething,butshewasashamedtoadmitthattoDesmond.ItwasnotthethingtoenjoyChristmasandfamilylife.JustforamomentshewishedthatDesmondhadnotcomedownhereatChristmastime.Infact,shealmostwishedthatDesmondhadnotcomedownhereatall.ItwasmuchmorefunseeingDesmondinLondonthanhereathome.
InthemeantimetheboysandBridgetwerewalkingbackfromthelake,stilldiscussingearnestlytheproblemsofskating.Flecksofsnowhadbeenfalling,andlookingupattheskyitcouldbeprophesiedthatbeforelongtherewasgoingtobeaheavysnowfall.
‘It’sgoingtosnowallnight,’saidColin.‘BetyoubyChristmasmorningwehaveacoupleoffeetofsnow.’
Theprospectwasapleasurableone.
‘Let’smakeasnowman,’saidMichael.‘Goodlord,’saidColin,‘Ihaven’tmadeasnowmansince–well,sinceIwasaboutfouryearsold.’
‘Idon’tbelieveit’sabiteasytodo,’saidBridget.‘Imean,youhavetoknowhow.’
‘WemightmakeaneffigyofM.Poirot,’saidColin.‘Giveitabigblackmoustache.Thereisoneinthedressing-upbox.’
‘Idon’tsee,youknow,’saidMichaelthoughtfully,‘howM.Poirotcouldeverhavebeenadetective.Idon’tseehowhe’deverbeabletodisguisehimself.’
‘Iknow,’saidBridget,‘andonecan’timaginehimrunningaboutwithamicroscopeandlookingforcluesormeasuringfootprints.’
‘I’vegotanidea,’saidColin.‘Let’sputonashowforhim!’
‘Whatdoyoumean,ashow?’askedBridget.
‘Well,arrangeamurderforhim.’
‘Whatagorgeousidea,’saidBridget.‘Doyoumeanabodyinthesnow–thatsortofthing?’
‘Yes.Itwouldmakehimfeelathome,wouldn’tit?’
Bridgetgiggled.
‘Idon’tknowthatI’dgoasfarasthat.’
‘Ifitsnows,’saidColin,‘we’llhavetheperfectsetting.Abodyandfootprints–we’llhavetothinkthatoutrathercarefullyandpinchoneofGrandfather’sdaggersandmakesomeblood.’
Theycametoahaltand,oblivioustotherapidlyfallingsnow,enteredintoanexciteddiscussion.
‘There’sapaintboxintheoldschoolroom.Wecouldmixupsomeblood–crimson-lake,Ishouldthink.’
‘Crimson-lake’sabittoopink,Ithink,’saidBridget.‘Itoughttobeabitbrowner.’
‘Who’sgoingtobethebody?’askedMichael.
‘I’llbethebody,’saidBridgetquickly.
‘Oh,lookhere,’saidColin,‘Ithoughtofit.’
‘Oh,no,no,’saidBridget,‘itmustbeme.It’sgottobeagirl.It’smoreexciting.Beautifulgirllyinglifelessinthesnow.’
‘Beautifulgirl!Ah-ha,’saidMichaelinderision.
‘I’vegotblackhair,too,’saidBridget.
‘What’sthatgottodowithit?’
‘Well,it’llshowupsowellonthesnowandIshallwearmyredpyjamas.’
‘Ifyouwearredpyjamas,theywon’tshowthebloodstains,’saidMichaelinapracticalmanner.
‘Butthey’dlooksoeffectiveagainstthesnow,’saidBridget,‘andthey’vegotwhitefacings,youknow,sothebloodcouldbeonthat.Oh,won’titbegorgeous?Doyouthinkhewillreallybetakenin?’
‘Hewillifwedoitwellenough,’saidMichael.‘We’llhavejustyourfootprintsinthesnowandoneotherperson’sgoingtothebodyandcomingawayfromit–aman’s,ofcourse.Hewon’twanttodisturbthem,sohewon’tknowthatyou’renotreallydead.Youdon’tthink,’Michaelstopped,struckbyasuddenidea.Theotherslookedathim.‘Youdon’tthinkhe’llbeannoyedaboutit?’
‘Oh,Ishouldn’tthinkso,’saidBridget,withfacileoptimism.‘I’msurehe’llunderstandthatwe’vejustdoneittoentertainhim.AsortofChristmastreat.’
‘Idon’tthinkweoughttodoitonChristmasDay,’saidColinreflectively.‘Idon’tthinkGrandfatherwouldlikethatverymuch.’
‘BoxingDaythen,’saidBridget.
‘BoxingDaywouldbejustright,’saidMichael.
‘Andit’llgiveusmoretime,too,’pursuedBridget.‘Afterall,therearealotofthingstoarrange.Let’sgoandhavealookatalltheprops.’
Theyhurriedintothehouse.
III
Theeveningwasabusyone.HollyandmistletoehadbeenbroughtininlargequantitiesandaChristmastreehadbeensetupatoneendofthedining-room.Everyonehelpedtodecorateit,toputupthebranchesofhollybehindpicturesandtohangmistletoeinaconvenientpositioninthehall.
‘Ihadnoideaanythingsoarchaicstillwenton,’murmuredDesmondtoSarahwithasneer.
‘We’vealwaysdoneit,’saidSarah,defensively.
‘Whatareason!’
‘Oh,don’tbetiresome,Desmond.Ithinkit’sfun.’
‘Sarahmysweet,youcan’t!’
‘Well,not–notreallyperhapsbut–Idoinaway.’
‘Who’sgoingtobravethesnowandgotomidnightmass?’askedMrsLaceyattwentyminutestotwelve.
‘Notme,’saidDesmond.‘Comeon,Sarah.’
Withahandonherarmheguidedherintothelibraryandwentovertotherecordcase.
‘Therearelimits,darling,’saidDesmond.‘Midnightmass!’
‘Yes,’saidSarah.‘Ohyes.’
Withagooddealoflaughter,donningofcoatsandstampingoffeet,mostoftheothersgotoff.Thetwoboys,Bridget,DavidandDianasetoutforthetenminutes’walktothechurchthroughthefallingsnow.Theirlaughterdiedawayinthedistance.
‘Midnightmass!’saidColonelLacey,snorting.‘Neverwenttomidnightmassinmyyoungdays.Mass,indeed!Popish,thatis!Oh,Ibegyourpardon,M.Poirot.’
Poirotwavedahand.‘Itisquiteallright.Donotmindme.’
‘Matinsisgoodenoughforanybody,Ishouldsay,’saidthecolonel.‘ProperSundaymorningservice.“Harktheheraldangelssing,”andallthegoodoldChristmashymns.AndthenbacktoChristmasdinner.That’sright,isn’tit,Em?’
‘Yes,dear,’saidMrsLacey.‘That’swhatwedo.Buttheyoungonesenjoythemidnightservice.Andit’snice,really,thattheywanttogo.’
‘Sarahandthatfellowdon’twanttogo.’
‘Well,theredear,Ithinkyou’rewrong,’saidMrsLacey.‘Sarah,youknow,didwanttogo,butshedidn’tliketosayso.’
‘Beatsmewhyshecareswhatthatfellow’sopinionis.’
‘She’sveryyoung,really,’saidMrsLaceyplacidly.‘Areyougoingtobed,M.Poirot?Goodnight.Ihopeyou’llsleepwell.’
‘Andyou,Madame?Areyounotgoingtobedyet?’
‘Notjustyet,’saidMrsLacey.‘I’vegotthestockingstofill,yousee.Oh,Iknowthey’reallpracticallygrownup,buttheydoliketheirstockings.Oneputsjokesinthem!Sillylittlethings.Butitallmakesforalotoffun.’
‘YouworkveryhardtomakethisahappyhouseatChristmastime,’saidPoirot.‘Ihonouryou.’
Heraisedherhandtohislipsinacourtlyfashion.
‘Hm,’gruntedColonelLacey,asPoirotdeparted.‘Flowerysortoffellow.Still–heappreciatesyou.’
MrsLaceydimpledupathim.‘Haveyounoticed,Horace,thatI’mstandingunderthemistletoe?’sheaskedwiththedemurenessofagirlofnineteen.
HerculePoirotenteredhisbedroom.Itwasalargeroomwellprovidedwithradiators.Ashewentovertowardsthebigfour-posterbedhenoticedanenvelopelyingonhispillow.Heopeneditanddrewoutapieceofpaper.Onitwasashakilyprintedmessageincapitalletters.
DON’TEATNONEOFTHEPLUMPUDDING.ONEASWISHESYOUWELL
HerculePoirotstaredatit.Hiseyebrowsrose.‘Cryptic,’hemurmured,‘andmostunexpected.’
IV
Christmasdinnertookplaceat2p.m.andwasafeastindeed.Enormouslogscrackledmerrilyinthewidefireplaceandabovetheircracklingrosethebabelofmanytonguestalkingtogether.Oystersouphadbeenconsumed,twoenormousturkeyshadcomeandgone,merecarcassesoftheirformerselves.Now,thesuprememoment,theChristmaspuddingwasbroughtin,instate!OldPeverell,hishandsandhiskneesshakingwiththeweaknessofeightyyears,permittednoonebuthimselftobearitin.MrsLaceysat,herhandspressedtogetherinnervousapprehension.OneChristmas,shefeltsure,Peverellwouldfalldowndead.Havingeithertotaketheriskoflettinghimfalldowndeadorofhurtinghisfeelingstosuchanextentthathewouldprobablyprefertobedeadthanalive,shehadsofarchosentheformeralternative.OnasilverdishtheChristmaspuddingreposedinitsglory.Alargefootballofapudding,apieceofhollystuckinitlikeatriumphantflagandgloriousflamesofblueandredrisingroundit.Therewasacheerandcriesof‘Ooh-ah.’
OnethingMrsLaceyhaddone:prevaileduponPeverelltoplacethepuddinginfrontofhersothatshecouldhelpitratherthanhanditinturnroundthetable.Shebreathedasighofreliefasitwasdepositedsafelyinfrontofher.Rapidlytheplateswerepassedround,flamesstilllickingtheportions.
‘Wish,M.Poirot,’criedBridget.‘Wishbeforetheflamegoes.Quick,Grandarling,quick.’
MrsLaceyleantbackwithasighofsatisfaction.OperationPuddinghadbeenasuccess.Infrontofeveryonewasahelpingwithflamesstilllickingit.Therewasamomentarysilenceallroundthetableaseveryonewishedhard.
Therewasnobodytonoticetherathercuriousexpressiononthefaceof
M.Poirotashesurveyedtheportionofpuddingonhisplate.‘Don’teatnoneoftheplumpudding.’Whatonearthdidthatsinisterwarningmean?Therecouldbenothingdifferentabouthisportionofplumpuddingfromthatofeveryoneelse!Sighingasheadmittedhimselfbaffled–andHerculePoirotneverlikedtoadmithimselfbaffled–hepickeduphisspoonandfork.
‘Hardsauce,M.Poirot?’
Poirothelpedhimselfappreciativelytohardsauce.‘Swipedmybestbrandyagain,ehEm?’saidthecolonelgood-humouredlyfromtheotherendofthetable.MrsLaceytwinkledathim.
‘MrsRossinsistsonhavingthebestbrandy,dear,’shesaid.‘Shesaysitmakesallthedifference.’
‘Well,well,’saidColonelLacey,‘ChristmascomesbutonceayearandMrsRossisagreatwoman.Agreatwomanandagreatcook.’
‘Sheisindeed,’saidColin.‘Smashingplumpudding,this.Mmmm.’Hefilledanappreciativemouth.
Gently,almostgingerly,HerculePoirotattackedhisportionofpudding.Heateamouthful.Itwasdelicious!Heateanother.Somethingtinkledfaintlyonhisplate.Heinvestigatedwithafork.Bridget,onhisleft,cametohisaid.
‘You’vegotsomething,M.Poirot,’shesaid.‘Iwonderwhatitis’
Poirotdetachedalittlesilverobjectfromthesurroundingraisinsthatclungtoit.
‘Oooh,’saidBridget,‘it’sthebachelor’sbutton!M.Poirot’sgotthebachelor’sbutton!’
HerculePoirotdippedthesmallsilverbuttonintothefinger-glassofwaterthatstoodbyhisplate,andwasheditclearofpuddingcrumbs.
‘Itisverypretty,’heobserved.‘Thatmeansyou’regoingtobeabachelor,M.Poirot,’explainedColinhelpfully.
‘Thatistobeexpected,’saidPoirotgravely.‘IhavebeenabachelorformanylongyearsanditisunlikelythatIshallchangethatstatusnow.’
‘Oh,neversaydie,’saidMichael.‘Isawinthepaperthatsomeoneofninety-fivemarriedagirloftwenty-twotheotherday.’
‘Youencourageme,’saidHerculePoirot.
ColonelLaceyutteredasuddenexclamation.Hisfacebecamepurpleandhishandwenttohismouth.
‘Confoundit,Emmeline,’heroared,‘whyonearthdoyouletthecookputglassinthepudding?’
‘Glass!’criedMrsLacey,astonished.
ColonelLaceywithdrewtheoffendingsubstancefromhismouth.‘Mighthavebrokenatooth,’hegrumbled.‘Orswallowedthedamn’thingandhadappendicitis.’
Hedroppedthepieceofglassintothefinger-bowl,rinseditandhelditup.
‘Godblessmysoul,’heejaculated.‘It’saredstoneoutofoneofthecrackerbrooches.’Hehelditaloft.
‘Youpermit?’
VerydeftlyM.Poirotstretchedacrosshisneighbour,tookitfromColonelLacey’sfingersandexamineditattentively.Asthesquirehadsaid,itwasanenormousredstonethecolourofaruby.Thelightgleamedfromitsfacetsasheturneditabout.Somewherearoundthetableachairwaspushedsharplybackandthendrawninagain.
‘Phew!’criedMichael.‘Howwizarditwouldbeifitwasreal.’
‘Perhapsitisreal,’saidBridgethopefully.
‘Oh,don’tbeanass,Bridget.Whyarubyofthatsizewouldbeworththousandsandthousandsandthousandsofpounds.Wouldn’tit,M.Poirot?’
‘Itwouldindeed,’saidPoirot.‘ButwhatIcan’tunderstand,’saidMrsLacey,‘ishowitgotintothepudding.’
‘Oooh,’saidColin,divertedbyhislastmouthful,‘I’vegotthepig.Itisn’tfair.’
Bridgetchantedimmediately,‘Colin’sgotthepig!Colin’sgotthepig!Colinisthegreedyguzzlingpig!’
‘I’vegotthering,’saidDianainaclear,highvoice.
‘Goodforyou,Diana.You’llbemarriedfirst,ofusall.’
‘I’vegotthethimble,’wailedBridget.
‘Bridget’sgoingtobeanoldmaid,’chantedthetwoboys.‘Yah,Bridget’sgoingtobeanoldmaid.’
‘Who’sgotthemoney?’demandedDavid.‘There’sarealten-shillingpiece,gold,inthispudding.Iknow.MrsRosstoldmeso.’
‘IthinkI’mtheluckyone,’saidDesmondLeeWortley.
ColonelLacey’stwonext-doorneighboursheardhimmutter,‘Yes,youwouldbe.’
‘I’vegotaring,too,’saidDavid.HelookedacrossatDiana.‘Quiteacoincidence,isn’tit?’
Thelaughterwenton.NobodynoticedthatM.Poirotcarelessly,asthoughthinkingofsomethingelse,haddroppedtheredstoneintohispocket.
Mince-piesandChristmasdessertfollowedthepudding.Theoldermembersofthepartythenretiredforawelcomesiestabeforethetea-timeceremonyofthelightingoftheChristmastree.HerculePoirot,however,didnottakeasiesta.Instead,hemadehiswaytotheenormousold-fashionedkitchen.
‘Itispermitted,’heasked,lookingroundandbeaming,‘thatIcongratulatethecookonthismarvellousmealthatIhavejusteaten?’
Therewasamoment’spauseandthenMrsRosscameforwardinastatelymannertomeethim.Shewasalargewoman,noblybuiltwithallthedignityofastageduchess.Twoleangrey-hairedwomenwerebeyondinthescullerywashingupandatow-hairedgirlwasmovingtoandfrobetweenthesculleryandthekitchen.Butthesewereobviouslymeremyrmidons.MrsRosswasthequeenofthekitchenquarters.
‘Iamgladtohearyouenjoyedit,sir,’shesaidgraciously.
‘Enjoyedit!’criedHerculePoirot.Withanextravagantforeigngestureheraisedhishandtohislips,kissedit,andwaftedthekisstotheceiling.‘Butyouareagenius,MrsRoss!Agenius!NeverhaveItastedsuchawonderfulmeal.Theoystersoup–’hemadeanexpressivenoisewithhislips‘–andthestuffing.Thechestnutstuffingintheturkey,thatwasquiteuniqueinmyexperience.’
‘Well,it’sfunnythatyoushouldsaythat,sir,’saidMrsRossgraciously.‘It’saveryspecialrecipe,thatstuffing.ItwasgivenmebyanAustrianchefthatIworkedwithmanyyearsago.Butalltherest,’sheadded,‘isjustgood,plainEnglishcooking.’
‘Andisthereanythingbetter?’demandedHerculePoirot.
‘Well,it’sniceofyoutosayso,sir.Ofcourse,youbeingaforeigngentlemanmighthavepreferredthecontinentalstyle.NotbutwhatIcan’tmanagecontinentaldishestoo.’
‘Iamsure,MrsRoss,youcouldmanageanything!ButyoumustknowthatEnglishcooking–goodEnglishcooking,notthecookingonegetsinthesecond-classhotelsortherestaurants–ismuchappreciatedbygourmetsonthecontinent,andIbelieveIamcorrectinsayingthataspecialexpeditionwasmadetoLondonintheearlyeighteenhundreds,andareportsentbacktoFranceofthewondersoftheEnglishpuddings.“WehavenothinglikethatinFrance,”theywrote.“ItisworthmakingajourneytoLondonjusttotastethevarietiesandexcellenciesoftheEnglishpuddings.”Andaboveallpuddings,’continuedPoirot,welllaunchednowonakindofrhapsody,‘istheChristmasplumpudding,suchaswehaveeatentoday.Thatwasahome-madepudding,wasitnot?Notaboughtone?’
‘Yes,indeed,sir.OfmyownmakingandmyownrecipesuchasI’vemadeformanyyears.WhenIcamehereMrsLaceysaidthatshe’dorderedapuddingfromaLondonstoretosavemethetrouble.Butno,Madam,Isaid,thatmaybekindofyoubutnoboughtpuddingfromastorecanequalahome-madeChristmasone.Mindyou,’saidMrsRoss,warmingtohersubjectliketheartistshewas,‘itwasmadetoosoonbeforetheday.AgoodChristmaspuddingshouldbemadesomeweeksbeforeandallowedtowait.Thelongerthey’rekept,withinreason,thebettertheyare.ImindnowthatwhenIwasachildandwewenttochurcheverySunday,we’dstartlisteningforthecollectthatbegins“StirupOLordwebeseechthee”becausethatcollectwasthesignal,asitwere,thatthepuddingsshouldbemadethatweek.Andsotheyalwayswere.WehadthecollectontheSunday,andthatweeksureenoughmymotherwouldmaketheChristmaspuddings.Andsoitshouldhavebeenherethisyear.Asitwas,thatpuddingwasonlymadethreedaysago,thedaybeforeyouarrived,sir.However,Ikepttotheoldcustom.Everyoneinthehousehadtocomeoutintothekitchenandhaveastirandmakeawish.That’sanoldcustom,sir,andI’vealwaysheldtoit.’
‘Mostinteresting,’saidHerculePoirot.‘Mostinteresting.Andsoeveryonecameoutintothekitchen?’
‘Yes,sir.Theyounggentlemen,MissBridgetandtheLondongentlemanwho’sstayinghere,andhissisterandMrDavidandMissDiana–MrsMiddleton,Ishouldsay–Allhadastir,theydid.’
‘Howmanypuddingsdidyoumake?Isthistheonlyone?’
‘No,sir,Imadefour.Twolargeonesandtwosmallerones.TheotherlargeoneIplannedtoserveonNewYear’sDayandthesmalleroneswereforColonelandMrsLaceywhenthey’realonelikeandnotsomanyinthefamily.’
‘Isee,Isee,’saidPoirot.
‘Asamatteroffact,sir,’saidMrsRoss,‘itwasthewrongpuddingyouhadforlunchtoday.’
‘Thewrongpudding?’Poirotfrowned.‘Howisthat?’
‘Well,sir,wehaveabigChristmasmould.AchinamouldwithapatternofhollyandmistletoeontopandwealwayshavetheChristmasDaypuddingboiledinthat.Buttherewasamostunfortunateaccident.Thismorning,whenAnniewasgettingitdownfromtheshelfinthelarder,sheslippedanddroppeditanditbroke.Well,sir,naturallyIcouldn’tservethat,couldI?Theremighthavebeensplintersinit.Sowehadtousetheotherone–theNewYear’sDayone,whichwasinaplainbowl.Itmakesaniceroundbutit’snotsodecorativeastheChristmasmould.Really,wherewe’llgetanothermouldlikethatIdon’tknow.Theydon’tmakethingsinthatsizenowadays.Alltiddlybitsofthings.Why,youcan’tevenbuyabreakfastdishthat’lltakeapropereighttoteneggsandbacon.Ah,thingsaren’twhattheywere.’
‘No,indeed,’saidPoirot.‘Buttodaythatisnotso.ThisChristmasDayhasbeenliketheChristmasDaysofold,isthatnottrue?’
MrsRosssighed.‘Well,I’mgladyousayso,sir,butofcourseIhaven’tthehelpnowthatIusedtohave.Notskilledhelp,thatis.Thegirlsnowadays–’sheloweredhervoiceslightly,‘–theymeanverywellandthey’reverywillingbutthey’venotbeentrained,sir,ifyouunderstandwhatImean.’
‘Timeschange,yes,’saidHerculePoirot.‘Itoofinditsadsometimes.’
‘Thishouse,sir,’saidMrsRoss,‘it’stoolarge,youknow,forthemistressandthecolonel.Themistress,sheknowsthat.Livinginacornerofitastheydo,it’snotthesamethingatall.Itonlycomesalive,asyoumightsay,atChristmastimewhenallthefamilycome.’
‘Itisthefirsttime,Ithink,thatMrLee-Wortleyandhissisterhavebeenhere?’
‘Yes,sir.’AnoteofslightreservecreptintoMrsRoss’svoice.‘Averynicegentlemanheisbut,well–itseemsafunnyfriendforMissSarahtohave,accordingtoourideas.Butthere–Londonwaysaredifferent!It’ssadthathissister’ssopoorly.Hadanoperation,shehad.Sheseemedallrightthefirstdayshewashere,butthatveryday,afterwe’dbeenstirringthepuddings,shewastookbadagainandshe’sbeeninbedeversince.Gotuptoosoonafterheroperation,Iexpect.Ah,doctorsnowadays,theyhaveyououtofhospitalbeforeyoucanhardlystandonyourfeet.Why,myveryownnephew’swife…’AndMrsRosswentintoalongandspiritedtaleofhospitaltreatmentasaccordedtoherrelations,comparingitunfavourablywiththeconsiderationthathadbeenlavishedupontheminoldertimes.
Poirotdulycommiseratedwithher.‘Itremains,’hesaid,‘tothankyouforthisexquisiteandsumptuousmeal.Youpermitalittleacknowledgementofmyappreciation?’Acrispfive-poundnotepassedfromhishandintothatofMrsRosswhosaidperfunctorily:
‘Youreallyshouldn’tdothat,sir.’
‘Iinsist.Iinsist.’
‘Well,it’sverykindofyouindeed,sir.’MrsRossacceptedthetributeasnomorethanherdue.‘AndIwishyou,sir,averyhappyChristmasandaprosperousNewYear.’
V
TheendofChristmasDaywasliketheendofmostChristmasDays.Thetreewaslighted,asplendidChristmascakecameinfortea,wasgreetedwithapprovalbutwaspartakenofonlymoderately.Therewascoldsupper.
BothPoirotandhishostandhostesswenttobedearly.
‘Goodnight,M.Poirot,’saidMrsLacey.‘Ihopeyou’veenjoyedyourself.’
‘Ithasbeenawonderfulday,Madame,wonderful.’
‘You’relookingverythoughtful,’saidMrsLacey.
‘ItistheEnglishpuddingthatIconsider.’
‘Youfounditalittleheavy,perhaps?’askedMrsLaceydelicately.
‘No,no,Idonotspeakgastronomically.Iconsideritssignificance.’
‘It’straditional,ofcourse,’saidMrsLacey.‘Well,goodnight,M.Poirot,anddon’tdreamtoomuchofChristmaspuddingsandmince-pies.’
‘Yes,’murmuredPoirottohimselfasheundressed.‘Itisaproblemcertainly,thatChristmasplumpudding.ThereisheresomethingthatIdonotunderstandatall.’Heshookhisheadinavexedmanner.‘Well–weshallsee.’
Aftermakingcertainpreparations,Poirotwenttobed,butnottosleep.
Itwassometwohourslaterthathispatiencewasrewarded.Thedoorofhisbedroomopenedverygently.Hesmiledtohimself.Itwasashehadthoughtitwouldbe.HismindwentbackfleetinglytothecupofcoffeesopolitelyhandedhimbyDesmondLee-Wortley.Alittlelater,whenDesmond’sbackwasturned,hehadlaidthecupdownforafewmomentsonatable.HehadthenapparentlypickeditupagainandDesmondhadhadthesatisfaction,ifsatisfactionitwas,ofseeinghimdrinkthecoffeetothelastdrop.ButalittlesmileliftedPoirot’smoustacheashereflectedthatitwasnothebutsomeoneelsewhowassleepingagoodsoundsleeptonight.‘ThatpleasantyoungDavid,’saidPoirottohimself,‘heisworried,unhappy.Itwilldohimnoharmtohaveanight’sreallysoundsleep.Andnow,letusseewhatwillhappen?’
Helayquitestill,breathinginanevenmannerwithoccasionallyasuggestion,buttheveryfaintestsuggestion,ofasnore.
Someonecameuptothebedandbentoverhim.Then,satisfied,thatsomeoneturnedawayandwenttothedressing-table.BythelightofatinytorchthevisitorwasexaminingPoirot’sbelongingsneatlyarrangedontopofthedressing-table.Fingersexploredthewallet,gentlypulledopenthedrawersofthedressing-table,thenextendedthesearchtothepocketsofPoirot’sclothes.Finallythevisitorapproachedthebedandwithgreatcautionslidhishandunderthepillow.Withdrawinghishand,hestoodforamomentortwoasthoughuncertainwhattodonext.Hewalkedroundtheroomlookinginsideornaments,wentintotheadjoiningbathroomfromwhencehepresentlyreturned.Then,withafaintexclamationofdisgust,hewentoutoftheroom.
‘Ah,’saidPoirot,underhisbreath.‘Youhaveadisappointment.Yes,yes,aseriousdisappointment.Bah!Toimagine,even,thatHerculePoirotwouldhidesomethingwhereyoucouldfindit!’Then,turningoveronhisotherside,hewentpeacefullytosleep.
Hewasarousednextmorningbyanurgentsofttappingonhisdoor.
‘Quiestlà?Comein,comein.’
Thedooropened.Breathless,red-faced,Colinstooduponthethreshold.BehindhimstoodMichael.
‘MonsieurPoirot,MonsieurPoirot.’
‘Butyes?’Poirotsatupinbed.‘Itistheearlytea?Butno.Itisyou,Colin.Whathasoccurred?’
Colinwas,foramoment,speechless.Heseemedtobeunderthegripofsomestrongemotion.InactualfactitwasthesightofthenightcapthatHerculePoirotworethataffectedforthemomenthisorgansofspeech.Presentlyhecontrolledhimselfandspoke.
‘Ithink–M.Poirot,couldyouhelpus?Somethingratherawfulhashappened.’
‘Somethinghashappened?Butwhat?’
‘It’s–it’sBridget.She’soutthereinthesnow.Ithink–shedoesn’tmoveorspeakand–oh,you’dbettercomeandlookforyourself.I’mterriblyafraid–shemaybedead.’
‘What?’Poirotcastasidehisbedcovers.‘MademoiselleBridget–dead!’
‘Ithink–Ithinksomebody’skilledher.There’s–there’sbloodand–ohdocome!’
‘Butcertainly.Butcertainly.Icomeontheinstant.’
WithgreatpracticalityPoirotinsertedhisfeetintohisoutdoorshoesandpulledafur-linedovercoatoverhispyjamas.
‘Icome,’hesaid.‘Icomeonthemoment.Youhavearousedthehouse?’
‘No.No,sofarIhaven’ttoldanyonebutyou.Ithoughtitwouldbebetter.GrandfatherandGranaren’tupyet.They’relayingbreakfastdownstairs,butIdidn’tsayanythingtoPeverell.She–Bridget–she’sroundtheothersideofthehouse,neartheterraceandthelibrarywindow.’
‘Isee.Leadtheway.Iwillfollow.’
Turningawaytohidehisdelightedgrin,Colinledthewaydownstairs.Theywentoutthroughthesidedoor.Itwasaclearmorningwiththesunnotyethighoverthehorizon.Itwasnotsnowingnow,butithadsnowedheavilyduringthenightandeverywherearoundwasanunbrokencarpetofthicksnow.Theworldlookedverypureandwhiteandbeautiful.
‘There!’saidColinbreathlessly.‘I–it’s–there!’Hepointeddramatically.
Thescenewasindeeddramaticenough.AfewyardsawayBridgetlayinthesnow.Shewaswearingscarletpyjamasandawhitewoolwrapthrownroundhershoulders.Thewhitewoolwrapwasstainedwithcrimson.Herheadwasturnedasideandhiddenbythemassofheroutspreadblackhair.Onearmwasunderherbody,theotherlayflungout,thefingersclenched,andstandingupinthecentreofthecrimsonstainwasthehiltofalargecurvedKurdishknifewhichColonelLaceyhadshowntohisguestsonlytheeveningbefore.
‘MonDieu!’ejaculatedM.Poirot.‘Itislikesomethingonthestage!’
TherewasafaintchokingnoisefromMichael.Colinthrusthimselfquicklyintothebreach.
‘Iknow,’hesaid.‘It–itdoesn’tseemrealsomehow,doesit.Doyouseethosefootprints–Isupposewemustn’tdisturbthem?’
‘Ahyes,thefootprints.No,wemustbecarefulnottodisturbthosefootprints.’
‘That’swhatIthought,’saidColin.‘That’swhyIwouldn’tletanyonegonearheruntilwegotyou.Ithoughtyou’dknowwhattodo.’
‘Allthesame,’saidHerculePoirotbriskly,‘first,wemustseeifsheisstillalive?Isnotthatso?’
‘Well–yes–ofcourse,’saidMichael,alittledoubtfully.‘butyousee,wethought–Imean,wedidn’tlike–’
‘Ah,youhavetheprudence!Youhavereadthedetectivestories.Itismostimportantthatnothingshouldbetouchedandthatthebodyshouldbeleftasitis.Butwecannotbesureasyetifitisabody,canwe?Afterall,thoughprudenceisadmirable,commonhumanitycomesfirst.Wemustthinkofthedoctor,mustwenot,beforewethinkofthepolice?’
‘Ohyes.Ofcourse,’saidColin,stillalittletakenaback.
‘Weonlythought–Imean–wethoughtwe’dbettergetyoubeforewedidanything,’saidMichaelhastily.
‘Thenyouwillbothremainhere,’saidPoirot.‘Iwillapproachfromtheothersidesoasnottodisturbthesefootprints.Suchexcellentfootprints,aretheynot–soveryclear?Thefootprintsofamanandagirlgoingouttogethertotheplacewhereshelies.Andthentheman’sfootstepscomebackbutthegirl’s–donot.’
‘Theymustbethefootprintsofthemurderer,’saidColin,withbatedbreath
‘Exactly,’saidPoirot.‘Thefootprintsofthemurderer.Alongnarrowfootwithratherapeculiartypeofshoe.Veryinteresting.Easy,Ithink,torecognize.Yes,thosefootprintswillbeveryimportant.’
AtthatmomentDesmondLee-WortleycameoutofthehousewithSarahandjoinedthem.
‘Whatonearthareyoualldoinghere?’hedemandedinasomewhattheatricalmanner.‘Isawyoufrommybedroomwindow.What’sup?Goodlord,what’sthis?It–itlookslike–’
‘Exactly,’saidHerculePoirot.‘Itlookslikemurder,doesitnot?’
Sarahgaveagasp,thenshotaquicksuspiciousglanceatthetwoboys.
‘Youmeansomeone’skilledthegirl–what’s-her-name–Bridget?’demandedDesmond.‘Whoonearthwouldwanttokillher?It’sunbelievable!’
‘Therearemanythingsthatareunbelievable,’saidPoirot.‘Especiallybeforebreakfast,isitnot?Thatiswhatoneofyourclassicssays.Siximpossiblethingsbeforebreakfast.’Headded:‘Pleasewaithere,allofyou.’
Carefullymakingacircuit,heapproachedBridgetandbentforamomentdownoverthebody.ColinandMichaelwerenowbothshakingwithsuppressedlaughter.Sarahjoinedthem,murmuring‘Whathaveyoutwobeenupto?’
‘GoodoldBridget,’whisperedColin.‘Isn’tshewonderful?Notatwitch!’
‘I’veneverseenanythinglooksodeadasBridgetdoes,’whisperedMichael.
HerculePoirotstraightenedupagain.
‘Thisisaterriblething,’hesaid.Hisvoiceheldanemotionithadnotheldbefore.
Overcomebymirth,MichaelandColinbothturnedaway.InachokedvoiceMichaelsaid:
‘What–whatmustwedo?’
‘Thereisonlyonethingtodo,’saidPoirot.‘Wemustsendforthepolice.Willoneofyoutelephoneorwouldyouprefermetodoit?’
‘Ithink,’saidColin,‘Ithink–whataboutit,Michael?’
‘Yes,’saidMichael,‘Ithinkthejig’supnow.’Hesteppedforward.Forthefirsttimeheseemedalittleunsureofhimself.‘I’mawfullysorry,’hesaid,‘Ihopeyouwon’tmindtoomuch.It–er–itwasasortofjokeforChristmasandallthat,youknow.Wethoughtwe’d–well,layonamurderforyou.’
‘Youthoughtyouwouldlayonamurderforme?Thenthis–thenthis–’
‘It’sjustashowweputon,’explainedColin,‘to–tomakeyoufeelathome,youknow.’
‘Aha,’saidHerculePoirot.‘Iunderstand.YoumakeofmetheAprilfool,isthatit?ButtodayisnotAprilthefirst,itisDecemberthetwenty-sixth.’
‘Isupposeweoughtn’ttohavedoneitreally,’saidColin,‘but–but–youdon’tmindverymuch,doyou,M.Poirot?Comeon,Bridget,’hecalled,‘getup.Youmustbehalf-frozentodeathalready.’
Thefigureinthesnow,however,didnotstir.‘Itisodd,’saidHerculePoirot,‘shedoesnotseemtohearyou.’Helookedthoughtfullyatthem.‘Itisajoke,yousay?Youaresurethisisajoke?’
‘Why,yes.’Colinspokeuncomfortably.‘We–wedidn’tmeananyharm.’
‘ButwhythendoesMademoiselleBridgetnotgetup?’
‘Ican’timagine,’saidColin.
‘Comeon,Bridget,’saidSarahimpatiently.‘Don’tgoonlyingthereplayingthefool.’
‘Wereallyareverysorry,M.Poirot,’saidColinapprehensively.‘Wedoreallyapologize.’
‘Youneednotapologize,’saidPoirot,inapeculiartone.
‘Whatdoyoumean?’Colinstaredathim.Heturnedagain.‘Bridget!Bridget!What’sthematter?Whydoesn’tshegetup?Whydoesshegoonlyingthere?’
PoirotbeckonedtoDesmond.‘You,MrLee-Wortley.Comehere–’
Desmondjoinedhim.
‘Feelherpulse,’saidPoirot.
DesmondLee-Wortleybentdown.Hetouchedthearm–thewrist.
‘There’snopulse…’HestaredatPoirot.‘Herarm’sstill.GoodGod,shereallyisdead!’
Poirotnodded.‘Yes,sheisdead,’hesaid.‘Someonehasturnedthecomedyintoatragedy.’
‘Someone–who?’
‘Thereisasetoffootprintsgoingandreturning.Asetoffootprintsthatbearsastrongresemblancetothefootprintsyouhavejustmade,MrLee-Wortley,comingfromthepathtothisspot.’
DesmondLee-Wortleywheeledround.‘Whatonearth–Areyouaccusingme?ME?You’recrazy!WhyonearthshouldIwanttokillthegirl?’
‘Ah–why?Iwonder…Letussee…’
Hebentdownandverygentlyprisedopenthestifffingersofthegirl’sclenchedhand.
Desmonddrewasharpbreath.Hegazeddownunbelievingly.Inthepalmofthedeadgirl’shandwaswhatappearedtobealargeruby.
‘It’sthatdamn’thingoutofthepudding!’hecried.
‘Isit?’saidPoirot.‘Areyousure?’
‘Ofcourseitis.’
WithaswiftmovementDesmondbentdownandpluckedtheredstoneoutofBridget’shand.
‘Youshouldnotdothat,’saidPoirotreproachfully.‘Nothingshouldhavebeendisturbed.’
‘Ihaven’tdisturbedthebody,haveI?Butthisthingmight–mightgetlostandit’sevidence.Thegreatthingistogetthepolicehereassoonaspossible.I’llgoatonceandtelephone.’
Hewheeledroundandransharplytowardsthehouse.SarahcameswiftlytoPoirot’sside.
‘Idon’tunderstand,’shewhispered.Herfacewasdeadwhite.‘Idon’tunderstand.’ShecaughtatPoirot’sarm.‘Whatdidyoumeanabout–aboutthefootprints?’
‘Lookforyourself,Mademoiselle.’
ThefootprintsthatledtothebodyandbackagainwerethesameastheonesjustmadeaccompanyingPoirottothegirl’sbodyandback.
‘Youmean–thatitwasDesmond?Nonsense!’
Suddenlythenoiseofacarcamethroughtheclearair.Theywheeledround.TheysawthecarclearlyenoughdrivingatafuriouspacedownthedriveandSarahrecognizedwhatcaritwas.
‘It’sDesmond,’shesaid.‘It’sDesmond’scar.He–hemusthavegonetofetchthepoliceinsteadoftelephoning.’
DianaMiddletoncamerunningoutofthehousetojointhem.
‘What’shappened?’shecriedinabreathlessvoice.‘Desmondjustcamerushingintothehouse.HesaidsomethingaboutBridgetbeingkilledandthenherattledthetelephonebutitwasdead.Hecouldn’tgetananswer.Hesaidthewiresmusthavebeencut.Hesaidtheonlythingwastotakeacarandgoforthepolice.Whythepolice?…’
Poirotmadeagesture.
‘Bridget?’Dianastaredathim.‘Butsurely–isn’titajokeofsomekind?Iheardsomething–somethinglastnight.Ithoughtthattheyweregoingtoplayajokeonyou,M.Poirot?’
‘Yes,’saidPoirot,‘thatwastheidea–toplayajokeonme.Butnowcomeintothehouse,allofyou.WeshallcatchourdeathsofcoldhereandthereisnothingtobedoneuntilMrLee-Wortleyreturnswiththepolice.’
‘Butlookhere,’saidColin,‘wecan’t–wecan’tleaveBridgetherealone.’
‘Youcandohernogoodbyremaining,’saidPoirotgently.‘Come,itisasad,averysadtragedy,butthereisnothingwecandoanymoretohelpMademoiselleBridget.Soletuscomeinandgetwarmandhaveperhapsacupofteaorofcoffee.’
Theyfollowedhimobedientlyintothehouse.Peverellwasjustabouttostrikethegong.IfhethoughtitextraordinaryformostofthehouseholdtobeoutsideandforPoirottomakeanappearanceinpyjamasandanovercoat,hedisplayednosignofit.Peverellinhisoldagewasstilltheperfectbutler.Henoticednothingthathewasnotaskedtonotice.Theywentintothedining-roomandsatdown.Whentheyallhadacupofcoffeeinfrontofthemandweresippingit,Poirotspoke.
‘Ihavetorecounttoyou,’hesaid,‘alittlehistory.Icannottellyouallthedetails,no.ButIcangiveyouthemainoutline.Itconcernsayoungprincelingwhocametothiscountry.Hebroughtwithhimafamousjewelwhichhewastohaveresetfortheladyhewasgoingtomarry,butunfortunatelybeforethathemadefriendswithaveryprettyyounglady.Thisprettyyoungladydidnotcareverymuchfortheman,butshedidcareforhisjewel–somuchsothatonedayshedisappearedwiththishistoricpossessionwhichhadbelongedtohishouseforgenerations.Sothepooryoungman,heisinaquandary,yousee.Aboveallhecannothaveascandal.Impossibletogotothepolice.Thereforehecomestome,toHerculePoirot.“Recoverforme,”hesays,“myhistoricruby.”Ehbien,thisyounglady,shehasafriend,andthefriend,hehasputthroughseveralveryquestionabletransactions.Hehasbeenconcernedwithblackmailandhehasbeenconcernedwiththesaleofjewelleryabroad.Alwayshehasbeenveryclever.Heissuspected,yes,butnothingcanbeproved.Itcomestomyknowledgethatthisveryclevergentleman,heisspendingChristmashereinthishouse.Itisimportantthattheprettyyounglady,onceshehasacquiredthejewel,shoulddisappearforawhilefromcirculation,sothatnopressurecanbeputuponher,noquestionscanbeaskedher.Itisarranged,therefore,thatshecomesheretoKingsLacey,ostensiblyasthesisteroftheclevergentleman–’
Sarahdrewasharpbreath.
‘Oh,no.Oh,no,nothere!Notwithmehere!’
‘Butsoitis,’saidPoirot.‘AndbyalittlemanipulationI,too,becomeaguesthereforChristmas.Thisyounglady,sheissupposedtohavejustcomeoutofhospital.Sheismuchbetterwhenshearriveshere.ButthencomesthenewsthatI,too,arrive,adetective–awell-knowndetective.Atonceshehaswhatyoucallthewindup.Shehidestherubyinthefirstplaceshecanthinkof,andthenveryquicklyshehasarelapseandtakestoherbedagain.ShedoesnotwantthatIshouldseeher,fordoubtlessIhaveaphotographandIshallrecognizeher.Itisveryboringforher,yes,butshehastostayinherroomandherbrother,hebringsherupthetrays.’
‘Andtheruby?’demandedMichael.
‘Ithink,’saidPoirot,‘thatatthemomentitismentionedIarrive,theyoungladywasinthekitchenwiththerestofyou,alllaughingandtalkingandstirringtheChristmaspuddings.TheChristmaspuddingsareputintobowlsandtheyoungladyshehidestheruby,pressingitdownintooneofthepuddingbowls.NottheonethatwearegoingtohaveonChristmasDay.Ohno,thatonesheknowsisinaspecialmould.Sheputitintheotherone,theonethatisdestinedtobeeatenonNewYear’sDay.Beforethenshewillbereadytoleave,andwhensheleavesnodoubtthatChristmaspuddingwillgowithher.Butseehowfatetakesahand.OntheverymorningofChristmasDaythereisanaccident.TheChristmaspuddinginitsfancymouldisdroppedonthestonefloorandthemouldisshatteredtopieces.Sowhatcanbedone?ThegoodMrsRoss,shetakestheotherpuddingandsendsitin.’
‘Goodlord,’saidColin,‘doyoumeanthatonChristmasDaywhenGrandfatherwaseatinghispuddingthatthatwasarealrubyhe’dgotinhismouth?’
‘Precisely,’saidPoirot,‘andyoucanimaginetheemotionsofMrDesmondLee-Wortleywhenhesawthat.Ehbien,whathappensnext?Therubyispassedround.IexamineitandImanageunobtrusivelytoslipitinmypocket.InacarelesswayasthoughIwerenotinterested.ButonepersonatleastobserveswhatIhavedone.WhenIlieinbedthatpersonsearchesmyroom.Hesearchesme.Hedoesnotfindtheruby.Why?’
‘Because,’saidMichaelbreathlessly,‘youhadgivenittoBridget.That’swhatyoumean.Andsothat’swhy–butIdon’tunderstandquite–Imean–Lookhere,whatdidhappen?’
Poirotsmiledathim.
‘Comenowintothelibrary,’hesaid,‘andlookoutofthewindowandIwillshowyousomethingthatmayexplainthemystery.’
Heledthewayandtheyfollowedhim.
‘Consideronceagain,’saidPoirot,‘thesceneofthecrime.’
Hepointedoutofthewindow.Asimultaneousgaspbrokefromthelipsofallofthem.Therewasnobodylyingonthesnow,notraceofthetragedyseemedtoremainexceptamassofscuffledsnow.
‘Itwasn’talladream,wasit?’saidColinfaintly.‘I–hassomeonetakenthebodyaway?’
‘Ah,’saidPoirot.‘Yousee?TheMysteryoftheDisappearingBody.’Henoddedhisheadandhiseyestwinkledgently.
‘Goodlord,’criedMichael.‘M.Poirot,youare–youhaven’t–oh,lookhere,he’sbeenhavingusonallthistime!’
Poirottwinkledmorethanever.
‘Itistrue,mychildren,Ialsohavehadmylittlejoke.Iknewaboutyourlittleplot,yousee,andsoIarrangedacounter-plotofmyown.Ah,voilàMademoiselleBridget.Nonetheworse,Ihope,foryourexposureinthesnow?NevershouldIforgivemyselfifyouattrappedunefluxiondepoitrine.’
Bridgethadjustcomeintotheroom.Shewaswearingathickskirtandawoollensweater.Shewaslaughing.
‘Isentatisanetoyourroom,’saidPoirotseverely.‘Youhavedrunkit?’
‘Onesipwasenough!’saidBridget.‘I’mallright.DidIdoitwell,M.Poirot?Goodness,myarmhurtsstillafterthattourniquetyoumademeputonit.’
‘Youweresplendid,mychild,’saidPoirot.‘Splendid.Butsee,alltheothersarestillinthefog.LastnightIwenttoMademoiselleBridget.ItoldherthatIknewaboutyourlittlecomplotandIaskedherifshewouldactapartforme.Shediditverycleverly.ShemadethefootprintswithapairofMrLee-Wortley’sshoes.’
Sarahsaidinaharshvoice:
‘Butwhat’sthepointofitall,M.Poirot?What’sthepointofsendingDesmondofftofetchthepolice?They’llbeveryangrywhentheyfindoutit’snothingbutahoax.’
Poirotshookhisheadgently.
‘ButIdonotthinkforonemoment,Mademoiselle,thatMrLee-Wortleywenttofetchthepolice,’hesaid.‘MurderisathinginwhichMrLee-Wortleydoesnotwanttobemixedup.Helosthisnervebadly.Allhecouldseewashischancetogettheruby.Hesnatchedthat,hepretendedthetelephonewasoutoforderandherushedoffinacaronthepretenceoffetchingthepolice.Ithinkmyselfitisthelastyouwillseeofhimforsometime.Hehas,Iunderstand,hisownwaysofgettingoutofEngland.Hehashisownplane,hashenot,Mademoiselle?’
Sarahnodded.‘Yes,’shesaid.‘Wewerethinkingof–’Shestopped.
‘Hewantedyoutoelopewithhimthatway,didhenot?Ehbien,thatisaverygoodwayofsmugglingajeweloutofthecountry.Whenyouareelopingwithagirl,andthatfactispublicized,thenyouwillnotbesuspectedofalsosmugglingahistoricjeweloutofthecountry.Ohyes,thatwouldhavemadeaverygoodcamouflage.’
‘Idon’tbelieveit,’saidSarah.‘Idon’tbelieveawordofit!’
‘Thenaskhissister,’saidPoirot,gentlynoddinghisheadoverhershoulder.Sarahturnedherheadsharply.
Aplatinumblondestoodinthedoorway.Sheworeafurcoatandwasscowling.Shewasclearlyinafurioustemper.
‘Sistermyfoot!’shesaid,withashortunpleasantlaugh.‘Thatswine’snobrotherofmine!Sohe’sbeatenit,hashe,andleftmetocarrythecan?Thewholethingwashisidea!Heputmeuptoit!Saiditwasmoneyforjam.They’dneverprosecutebecauseofthescandal.IcouldalwaysthreatentosaythatAlihadgivenmehishistoricjewel.DesandIweretohavesharedtheswaginParis–andnowtheswinerunsoutonme!I’dliketomurderhim!’Sheswitchedabruptly.‘ThesoonerIgetoutofhere–Cansomeonetelephoneforataxi?’
‘Acariswaitingatthefrontdoortotakeyoutothestation,Mademoiselle,’saidPoirot.
‘Thinkofeverything,don’tyou?’
‘Mostthings,’saidPoirotcomplacently.
ButPoirotwasnottogetoffsoeasily.Whenhereturnedtothedining-roomafterassistingthespuriousMissLee-Wortleyintothewaitingcar,Colinwaswaitingforhim.
Therewasafrownonhisboyishface.
‘Butlookhere,M.Poirot.Whatabouttheruby?Doyoumeantosayyou’velethimgetawaywithit?’
Poirot’sfacefell.Hetwirledhismoustaches.Heseemedillatease.
‘Ishallrecoverityet,’hesaidweakly.‘Thereareotherways.Ishallstill–’
‘Well,Idothink!’saidMichael.‘Toletthatswinegetawaywiththeruby!’
Bridgetwassharper.
‘He’shavingusonagain,’shecried.‘Youare,aren’tyou,M.Poirot?’
‘Shallwedoafinalconjuringtrick,Mademoiselle?Feelinmyleft-handpocket.’
Bridgetthrustherhandin.Shedrewitoutagainwithascreamoftriumphandheldaloftalargerubyblinkingincrimsonsplendour.
‘Youcomprehend,’explainedPoirot,‘theonethatwasclaspedinyourhandwasapastereplica.IbroughtitfromLondonincaseitwaspossibletomakeasubstitute.Youunderstand?Wedonotwantthescandal.MonsieurDesmondwilltryanddisposeofthatrubyinParisorinBelgiumorwhereveritisthathehashiscontacts,andthenitwillbediscoveredthatthestoneisnotreal!Whatcouldbemoreexcellent?Allfinisheshappily.Thescandalisavoided,myprincelingreceiveshisrubybackagain,hereturnstohiscountryandmakesasoberandwehopeahappymarriage.Allendswell.’
‘Exceptforme,’murmuredSarahunderherbreath.ShespokesolowthatnooneheardherbutPoirot.Heshookhisheadgently.
‘Youareinerror,MademoiselleSarah,inwhatyousaythere.Youhavegainedexperience.Allexperienceisvaluable.AheadofyouIprophesytherelieshappiness.’
‘That’swhatyousay,’saidSarah.
‘Butlookhere,M.Poirot.’Colinwasfrowning.‘Howdidyouknowabouttheshowweweregoingtoputonforyou?’
‘Itismybusinesstoknowthings,’saidHerculePoirot.Hetwirledhismoustache.
‘Yes,butIdon’tseehowyoucouldhavemanagedit.Didsomeonesplit–didsomeonecomeandtellyou?’
‘No,no,notthat.’
‘Thenhow?Tellushow?’
Theyallchorused,‘Yes,tellushow.’
‘Butno,’Poirotprotested.‘Butno.IfItellyouhowIdeducedthat,youwillthinknothingofit.Itisliketheconjurerwhoshowshowhistricksaredone!’
‘Tellus,M.Poirot!Goon.Tellus,tellus!’
‘YoureallywishthatIshouldsolveforyouthislastmystery?’
‘Yes,goon.Tellus.’
‘Ah,IdonotthinkIcan.Youwillbesodisappointed.’
‘Now,comeon,M.Poirot,tellus.Howdidyouknow?’
‘Well,yousee,IwassittinginthelibrarybythewindowinachairafterteatheotherdayandIwasreposingmyself.IhadbeenasleepandwhenIawokeyouwerediscussingyourplansjustoutsidethewindowclosetome,andthewindowwasopenatthetop.’
‘Isthatall?’criedColin,disgusted.‘Howsimple!’
‘Isitnot?’saidHerculePoirot,smiling.‘Yousee?Youaredisappointed!’
‘Ohwell,’saidMichael,‘atanyrateweknoweverythingnow.’
‘Dowe?’murmuredHerculePoirottohimself.‘Idonot.I,whosebusinessitistoknowthings.’
Hewalkedoutintothehall,shakinghisheadalittle.Forperhapsthetwentiethtimehedrewfromhispocketaratherdirtypieceofpaper.
‘DON’TEATNONEOFTHEPLUMPUDDING.ONEASWISHESYOUWELL.’
HerculePoirotshookhisheadreflectively.Hewhocouldexplaineverythingcouldnotexplainthis!Humiliating.Whohadwrittenit?Whyhaditbeenwritten?Untilhefoundthatouthewouldneverknowamoment’speace.Suddenlyhecameoutofhisreverietobeawareofapeculiargaspingnoise.Helookedsharplydown.Onthefloor,busywithadustpanandbrushwasatow-headedcreatureinafloweredoverall.Shewasstaringatthepaperinhishandwithlargeroundeyes.
‘Ohsir,’saidthisapparition.‘Oh,sir.Please,sir.’
‘Andwhomayyoube,monenfant?’inquiredM.Poirotgenially.
‘AnnieBates,sir,pleasesir.IcomeheretohelpMrsRoss.Ididn’tmean,sir,Ididn’tmeanto–todoanythingwhatIshouldn’tdo.Ididmeanitwell,sir.Foryourgood,Imean.’
EnlightenmentcametoPoirot.Heheldoutthedirtypieceofpaper.
‘Didyouwritethat,Annie?’
‘Ididn’tmeananyharm,sir.ReallyIdidn’t.’
‘Ofcourseyoudidn’t,Annie.’Hesmiledather.‘Buttellmeaboutit.Whydidyouwritethis?’
‘Well,itwasthemtwo,sir.MrLee-Wortleyandhissister.Notthatshewashissister,I’msure.Noneofusthoughtso!Andshewasn’tillabit.Wecouldalltellthat.Wethought–weallthought–somethingqueerwasgoingon.I’lltellyoustraight,sir.Iwasinherbathroomtakinginthecleantowels,andIlistenedatthedoor.Hewasinherroomandtheyweretalkingtogether.Iheardwhattheysaidplainasplain.“Thisdetective,”hewassaying.“ThisfellowPoirotwho’scominghere.We’vegottodosomethingaboutit.We’vegottogethimoutofthewayassoonaspossible.”Andthenhesaystoherinanasty,sinistersortofway,loweringhisvoice,“Wheredidyouputit?”Andsheansweredhim,“Inthepudding.”Oh,sir,myheartgavesuchaleapIthoughtitwouldstopbeating.IthoughttheymeanttopoisonyouintheChristmaspudding.Ididn’tknowwhattodo!MrsRoss,shewouldn’tlistentothelikesofme.ThentheideacametomeasI’dwriteyouawarning.AndIdidandIputitonyourpillowwhereyou’dfinditwhenyouwenttobed.’Anniepausedbreathlessly.
Poirotsurveyedhergravelyforsomeminutes.
‘Youseetoomanysensationalfilms,Ithink,Annie,’hesaidatlast,‘orperhapsitisthetelevisionthataffectsyou?Buttheimportantthingisthatyouhavethegoodheartandacertainamountofingenuity.WhenIreturntoLondonIwillsendyouapresent.’
‘Ohthankyou,sir.Thankyouverymuch,sir.’
‘Whatwouldyoulike,Annie,asapresent?’
‘AnythingIlike,sir?CouldIhaveanythingIlike?’
‘Withinreason,’saidHerculePoirotprudently,‘yes.’
‘Ohsir,couldIhaveavanitybox?Arealposhslap-upvanityboxliketheoneMrLee-Wortley’ssister,wotwasn’thissister,had?’
‘Yes,’saidPoirot,‘yes,Ithinkthatcouldbemanaged.
‘Itisinteresting,’hemused.‘IwasinamuseumtheotherdayobservingsomeantiquitiesfromBabylonoroneofthoseplaces,thousandsofyearsold–andamongthemwerecosmeticboxes.Theheartofwomandoesnotchange.’
‘Begyourpardon,sir?’saidAnnie.
‘Itisnothing,’saidPoirot.‘Ireflect.Youshallhaveyourvanitybox,child.’
‘Ohthankyou,sir.Ohthankyouverymuchindeed,sir.’
Anniedepartedecstatically.Poirotlookedafterher,noddinghisheadinsatisfaction.
‘Ah,’hesaidtohimself.‘Andnow–Igo.Thereisnothingmoretobedonehere.’
Apairofarmsslippedroundhisshouldersunexpectedly.
‘Ifyouwillstandjustunderthemistletoe–’saidBridget.
VI
HerculePoirotenjoyedit.Heenjoyeditverymuch.HesaidtohimselfthathehadhadaverygoodChristmas.
TheMysteryoftheSpanishChest
I
Punctualtothemoment,asalways,HerculePoirotenteredthesmallroomwhereMissLemon,hisefficientsecretary,awaitedherinstructionsfortheday.
AtfirstsightMissLemonseemedtobecomposedentirelyofangles–thussatisfyingPoirot’sdemandforsymmetry.
NotthatwherewomenwereconcernedHerculePoirotcarriedhispassionforgeometricalprecisionsofar.Hewas,onthecontrary,old-fashioned.Hehadacontinentalprejudiceforcurves–itmightbesaidforvoluptuouscurves.Helikedwomentobewomen.Helikedthemlush,highlycoloured,exotic.TherehadbeenacertainRussiancountess–butthatwaslongagonow.Afollyofearlierdays.
ButMissLemonhehadneverconsideredasawoman.Shewasahumanmachine–aninstrumentofprecision.Herefficiencywasterrific.Shewasforty-eightyearsofage,andwasfortunateenoughtohavenoimaginationwhatever.
‘Goodmorning,MissLemon.’
‘Goodmorning,M.Poirot.’
PoirotsatdownandMissLemonplacedbeforehimthemorning’smail,neatlyarrangedincategories.Sheresumedherseatandsatwithpadandpencilattheready.
Buttherewastobethismorningaslightchangeinroutine.Poirothadbroughtinwithhimthemorningnewspaper,andhiseyeswerescanningitwithinterest.Theheadlineswerebigandbold.
SPANISHCHESTMYSTERY.LATESTDEVELOPMENTS
‘Youhavereadthemorningpapers,Ipresume,MissLemon?’
‘Yes,M.Poirot.ThenewsfromGenevaisnotverygood.’
PoirotwavedawaythenewsfromGenevainacomprehensivesweepofthearm.
‘ASpanishchest,’hemused.‘Canyoutellme,MissLemon,whatexactlyisaSpanishchest?’
‘Isuppose,M.Poirot,thatitisachestthatcameoriginallyfromSpain.’
‘Onemightreasonablysupposeso.Youhavethen,noexpertknowledge?’
‘TheyareusuallyoftheElizabethanperiod,Ibelieve.Large,andwithagooddealofbrassdecorationonthem.Theylookverynicewhenwellkeptandpolished.Mysisterboughtoneatasale.Shekeepshouseholdlineninit.Itlooksverynice.’
‘Iamsurethatinthehouseofanysisterofyours,allthefurniturewouldbewellkept,’saidPoirot,bowinggracefully.
MissLemonrepliedsadlythatservantsdidnotseemtoknowwhatelbowgreasewasnowadays.Poirotlookedalittlepuzzled,butdecidednottoinquireintotheinwardmeaningofthemysteriousphrase‘elbowgrease’.
Helookeddownagainatthenewspaper,conningoverthenames:MajorRich,MrandMrsClayton,CommanderMcLaren,MrandMrsSpence.Names,nothingbutnamestohim;yetallpossessedofhumanpersonalities,hating,loving,fearing.Adrama,this,inwhichhe,HerculePoirot,hadnopart.Andhewouldhavelikedtohaveapartinit!Sixpeopleataneveningparty,inaroomwithabigSpanishchestagainstthewall,sixpeople,fiveofthemtalking,eatingabuffetsupper,puttingrecordsonthegramophone,dancing,andthesixthdead,intheSpanishchest…
Ah,thoughtPoirot.Howmydearfriend,Hastings,wouldhaveenjoyedthis!Whatromanticflightsofimaginationhewouldhavehad.Whatineptitudeshewouldhaveuttered!Ah,cecherHastings,atthismoment,today,Imisshim…Instead–
HesighedandlookedatMissLemon.MissLemon,intelligentlyperceivingthatPoirotwasinnomoodtodictateletters,haduncoveredhertypewriterandwasawaitinghermomenttogetonwithcertainarrearsofwork.NothingcouldhaveinterestedherlessthansinisterSpanishchestscontainingdeadbodies.
Poirotsighedandlookeddownataphotographedface.Reproductionsinnewsprintwereneververygood,andthiswasdecidedlysmudgy–butwhataface!
MrsClayton,thewifeofthemurderedman…
Onanimpulse,hethrustthepaperatMissLemon.
‘Look,’hedemanded.‘Lookatthatface.’
MissLemonlookedatitobediently,withoutemotion.
‘Whatdoyouthinkofher,MissLemon?ThatisMrsClayton.’
MissLemontookthepaper,glancedcasuallyatthepictureandremarked:
‘She’salittlelikethewifeofourbankmanagerwhenwelivedatCroydonHeath.’
‘Interesting,’saidPoirot.‘Recounttome,ifyouwillbesokind,thehistoryofyourbankmanager’swife.’
‘Well,it’snotreallyaverypleasantstory,M.Poirot.’
‘Itwasinmymindthatitmightnotbe.Continue.’
‘Therewasagooddealoftalk–aboutMrsAdamsandayoungartist.ThenMrAdamsshothimself.ButMrsAdamswouldn’tmarrytheothermanandhetooksomekindofpoison–buttheypulledhimthroughallright;andfinallyMrsAdamsmarriedayoungsolicitor.Ibelievetherewasmoretroubleafterthat,onlyofcoursewe’dleftCroydonHeathbythensoIdidn’thearverymuchmoreaboutit.’
HerculePoirotnoddedgravely.
‘Shewasbeautiful?’
‘Well–notreallywhatyou’dcallbeautiful–Butthereseemedtobesomethingabouther–’
‘Exactly.Whatisthatsomethingthattheypossess–thesirensofthisworld!TheHelensofTroy,theCleopatras–?’
MissLemoninsertedapieceofpapervigorouslyintohertypewriter.
‘Really,M.Poirot,I’veneverthoughtaboutit.Itseemsallverysillytome.Ifpeoplewouldjustgoonwiththeirjobsanddidn’tthinkaboutsuchthingsitwouldbemuchbetter.’
Havingthusdisposedofhumanfrailtyandpassion,MissLemonletherfingershoveroverthekeysofthetypewriter,waitingimpatientlytobeallowedtobeginherwork.
‘Thatisyourview,’saidPoirot.‘Andatthismomentitisyourdesirethatyoushouldbeallowedtogetonwithyourjob.Butyourjob,MissLemon,isnotonlytotakedownmyletters,tofilemypapers,todealwithmytelephonecalls,totypewritemyletters–Allthesethingsyoudoadmirably.Butme,Idealnotonlywithdocumentsbutwithhumanbeings.Andthere,too,Ineedassistance.’
‘Certainly,M.Poirot,’saidMissLemonpatiently.‘Whatisityouwantmetodo?’
‘Thiscaseinterestsme.Ishouldbegladifyouwouldmakeastudyofthismorning’sreportofitinallthepapersandalsoofanyadditionalreportsintheeveningpapers–Makemeaprécisofthefacts.’
‘Verygood,M.Poirot.’
Poirotwithdrewtohissitting-room,aruefulsmileonhisface.
‘Itisindeedtheirony,’hesaidtohimself,‘thataftermydearfriendHastingsIshouldhaveMissLemon.Whatgreatercontrastcanoneimagine?CecherHastings–howhewouldhaveenjoyedhimself.Howhewouldhavewalkedupanddowntalkingaboutit,puttingthemostromanticconstructiononeveryincident,believingasgospeltrutheverywordthepapershaveprintedaboutit.AndmypoorMissLemon,whatIhaveaskedhertodo,shewillnotenjoyatall!’MissLemoncametohiminduecoursewithatype-writtensheet.
‘I’vegottheinformationyouwanted,M.Poirot.I’mafraidthough,itcan’tberegardedasreliable.Thepapersvaryagooddealintheiraccounts.Ishouldn’tliketoguaranteethatthefactsasstatedaremorethansixtypercentaccurate.’
‘Thatisprobablyaconservativeestimate,’murmuredPoirot.‘Thankyou,MissLemon,forthetroubleyouhavetaken.’
Thefactsweresensational,butclearenough.MajorCharlesRich,awell-to-dobachelor,hadgivenaneveningpartytoafewofhisfriends,athisapartment.ThesefriendsconsistedofMrandMrsClayton,MrandMrsSpence,andaCommanderMcLaren.CommanderMcLarenwasaveryoldfriendofbothRichandtheClaytons,MrandMrsSpence,ayoungercouple,werefairlyrecentacquaintances.ArnoldClaytonwasintheTreasury.JeremySpencewasajuniorCivilServant.MajorRichwasforty-eight,ArnoldClaytonwasfifty-five,CommanderMcLarenwasforty-six,JeremySpencewasthirty-seven.MrsClaytonwassaidtobe‘someyearsyoungerthanherhusband’.Onepersonwasunabletoattendtheparty.Atthelastmoment,MrClaytonwascalledawaytoScotlandonurgentbusiness,andwassupposedtohaveleftKing’sCrossbythe8.15train.
Thepartyproceededassuchpartiesdo.Everyoneappearedtobeenjoyingthemselves.Itwasneitherawildpartynoradrunkenone.Itbrokeupabout11.45.Thefourguestslefttogetherandsharedataxi.CommanderMcLarenwasdroppedfirstathisclubandthentheSpencesdroppedMargharitaClaytonatCardiganGardensjustoffSloaneStreetandwentonthemselvestotheirhouseinChelsea.
ThegruesomediscoverywasmadeonthefollowingmorningbyMajorRich’smanservant,WilliamBurgess.Thelatterdidnotlivein.Hearrivedearlysoastoclearupthesitting-roombeforecallingMajorRichwithhisearlymorningtea.ItwaswhilstclearingupthatBurgesswasstartledtofindabigstaindiscolouringthelight-colouredrugonwhichstoodtheSpanishchest.Itseemedtohaveseepedthroughfromthechest,andthevaletimmediatelyliftedupthelidofthechestandlookedinside.HewashorrifiedtofindtherethebodyofMrClayton,stabbedthroughtheneck.
Obeyinghisfirstimpulse,Burgessrushedoutintothestreetandfetchedthenearestpoliceman.
Suchwerethebaldfactsofthecase.Buttherewerefurtherdetails.ThepolicehadimmediatelybrokenthenewstoMrsClaytonwhohadbeen‘completelyprostrated’.Shehadseenherhusbandforthelasttimeatalittleaftersixo’clockontheeveningbefore.Hehadcomehomemuchannoyed,havingbeensummonedtoScotlandonurgentbusinessinconnectionwithsomepropertythatheowned.Hehadurgedhiswifetogotothepartywithouthim.MrClaytonhadthencalledinathisandCommanderMcLaren’sclub,hadhadadrinkwithhisfriend,andhadexplainedtheposition.Hehadthensaid,lookingathiswatch,thathehadjusttimeonhiswaytoKing’sCross,tocallinonMajorRichandexplain.Hehadalreadytriedtotelephonehim,butthelinehadseemedtobeoutoforder.
AccordingtoWilliamBurgess,MrClaytonarrivedattheflatatabout7.55.MajorRichwasoutbutwasduetoreturnanymoment,soBurgesssuggestedthatMrClaytonshouldcomeinandwait.Claytonsaidhehadnotime,butwouldcomeinandwriteanote.HeexplainedthathewasonhiswaytocatchatrainatKing’sCross.Thevaletshowedhimintothesitting-roomandhimselfreturnedtothekitchenwherehewasengagedinthepreparationofcanapésfortheparty.Thevaletdidnothearhismasterreturnbut,abouttenminuteslater,MajorRichlookedintothekitchenandtoldBurgesstohurryoutandgetsomeTurkishcigaretteswhichwereMrsSpence’sfavouritesmoking.Thevaletdidsoandbroughtthemtohismasterinthesitting-room.MrClaytonwasnotthere,butthevaletnaturallythoughthehadalreadylefttocatchhistrain.
MajorRich’sstorywasshortandsimple.MrClaytonwasnotintheflatwhenhehimselfcameinandhehadnoideathathehadbeenthere.NonotehadbeenleftforhimandthefirstheheardofMrClayton’sjourneytoScotlandwaswhenMrsClaytonandtheothersarrived
Thereweretwoadditionalitemsintheeveningpapers.MrsClaytonwhowas‘prostratedwithshock’hadleftherflatinCardiganGardensandwasbelievedtobestayingwithfriends.
Theseconditemwasinthestoppress.MajorCharlesRichhadbeenchargedwiththemurderofArnoldClaytonandhadbeentakenintocustody.
‘Sothatisthat,’saidPoirot,lookingupatMissLemon.‘ThearrestofMajorRichwastobeexpected.Butwhataremarkablecase.Whataveryremarkablecase!Doyounotthinkso?’
‘Isupposesuchthingsdohappen,M.Poirot,’saidMissLemonwithoutinterest.
‘Ohcertainly!Theyhappeneveryday.Ornearlyeveryday.Butusuallytheyarequiteunderstandable–thoughdistressing.’
‘Itiscertainlyaveryunpleasantbusiness.’
‘TobestabbedtodeathandstowedawayinaSpanishchestiscertainlyunpleasantforthevictim–supremelyso.ButwhenIsaythisisaremarkablecase,IrefertotheremarkablebehaviourofMajorRich.’
MissLemonsaidwithfaintdistaste:
‘ThereseemstobeasuggestionthatMajorRichandMrsClaytonwereveryclosefriends…Itwasasuggestionandnotaprovedfact,soIdidnotincludeit.’
‘Thatwasverycorrectofyou.Butitisaninferencethatleapstotheeye.Isthatallyouhavetosay?’
MissLemonlookedblank.Poirotsighed,andmissedtherichcolourfulimaginationofhisfriendHastings.DiscussingacasewithMissLemonwasuphillwork.
‘ConsiderforamomentthisMajorRich.HeisinlovewithMrsClayton–granted…Hewantstodisposeofherhusband–that,too,wegrant,thoughifMrsClaytonisinlovewithhim,andtheyarehavingtheaffairtogether,whereistheurgency?Itis,perhaps,thatMrClaytonwillnotgivehiswifethedivorce?ButitisnotofallthisthatItalk.MajorRich,heisaretiredsoldier,anditissaidsometimesthatsoldiersarenotbrainy.But,toutdemême,thisMajorRich,ishe,canhebe,acompleteimbecile?’
MissLemondidnotreply.Shetookthistobeapurelyrhetoricalquestion.
‘Well,’demandedPoirot.‘Whatdoyouthinkaboutitall?’
‘WhatdoIthink?’MissLemonwasstartled.
‘Maisoui–you!’
MissLemonadjustedhermindtothestrainputuponit.Shewasnotgiventomentalspeculationofanykindunlessaskedforit.Insuchleisuremomentsasshehad,hermindwasfilledwiththedetailsofasuperlativelyperfectfiling-system.Itwasheronlymentalrecreation.
‘Well–’shebegan,andpaused.
‘Tellmejustwhathappened–whatyouthinkhappened,onthatevening.MrClaytonisinthesitting-roomwritinganote,MajorRichcomesback–whatthen?’
‘HefindsMrClaytonthere.They–Isupposetheyhaveaquarrel.MajorRichstabshim.Then,whenheseeswhathehasdone,he–heputsthebodyinthechest.Afterall,theguests,Isuppose,mightbearrivinganyminute.’
‘Yes,yes.Theguestsarrive!Thebodyisinthechest.Theeveningpasses.Theguestsdepart.Andthen–’
‘Well,then,IsupposeMajorRichgoestobedand–Oh!’
‘Ah,’saidPoirot.‘Youseeitnow.Youhavemurderedaman.Youhaveconcealedhisbodyinachest.Andthen–yougopeacefullytobed,quiteunperturbedbythefactthatyourvaletwilldiscoverthecrimeinthemorning.’
‘Isupposeit’spossiblethatthevaletmightneverhavelookedinsidethechest?’
‘Withanenormouspoolofbloodonthecarpetunderneathit?’
‘PerhapsMajorRichdidn’trealizethatthebloodwasthere.’
‘Wasitnotsomewhatcarelessofhimnottolookandsee?’
‘Idaresayhewasupset,’saidMissLemon.
Poirotthrewuphishandsindespair.
MissLemonseizedtheopportunitytohurryfromtheroom.
II
TheMysteryoftheSpanishchestwas,strictlyspeaking,nobusinessofPoirot’s.Hewasengagedatthemomentinadelicatemissionforoneofthelargeoilcompanieswhereoneofthehighupswaspossiblyinvolvedinsomequestionabletransaction.Itwashush-hush,importantandexceedinglylucrative.ItwassufficientlyinvolvedtocommandPoirot’sattention,andhadthegreatadvantagethatitrequiredverylittlephysicalactivity.Itwassophisticatedandbloodless.Crimeatthehighestlevels.
ThemysteryoftheSpanishchestwasdramaticandemotional;twoqualitieswhichPoirothadoftendeclaredtoHastingscouldbemuchoverrated–andindeedfrequentlyweresobythelatter.HehadbeenseverewithcecherHastingsonthispoint,andnowherehewas,behavingmuchashisfriendmighthavedone,obsessedwithbeautifulwomen,crimesofpassion,jealousy,hatredandalltheotherromanticcausesofmurder!Hewantedtoknowaboutitall.HewantedtoknowwhatMajorRichwaslike,andwhathismanservant,Burgess,waslike,andwhatMargharitaClaytonwaslike(thoughthat,hethought,heknew)andwhatthelateArnoldClaytonhadbeenlike(sinceheheldthatthecharacterofthevictimwasofthefirstimportanceinamurdercase),andevenwhatCommanderMcLaren,thefaithfulfriend,andMrandMrsSpence,therecentlyacquiredacquaintances,werelike.
Andhedidnotseeexactlyhowhewasgoingtogratifyhiscuriosity!
Hereflectedonthematterlaterintheday.
Whydidthewholebusinessintriguehimsomuch?Hedecided,afterreflection,thatitwasbecause–asthefactswererelated–thewholethingwasmoreorlessimpossible!Yes,therewasaEuclideanflavour.
Startingfromwhatonecouldaccept,therehadbeenaquarrelbetweentwomen.Cause,presumably,awoman.Onemankilledtheotherintheheatofrage.Yes,thathappened–thoughitwouldbemoreacceptableifthehusbandhadkilledthelover.Still–theloverhadkilledthehusband,stabbedhimwithadagger(?)–somehowaratherunlikelyweapon.PerhapsMajorRichhadhadanItalianmother?Somewhere–surely–thereshouldbesomethingtoexplainthechoiceofadaggerasaweapon.Anyway,onemustacceptthedagger(somepaperscalleditastiletto!).Itwastohandandwasused.Thebodywasconcealedinthechest.Thatwascommonsenseandinevitable.Thecrimehadnotbeenpremeditated,andasthevaletwasreturningatanymoment,andfourguestswouldbearrivingbeforeverylong,itseemedtheonlycourseindicated.
Thepartyisheld,theguestsdepart,themanservantisalreadygone–and–MajorRichgoestobed!
Tounderstandhowthatcouldhappen,onemustseeMajorRichandfindoutwhatkindofamanactsinthatway.
Coulditbethat,overcomewithhorroratwhathehaddoneandthelongstrainofaneveningtryingtoappearhisnormalself,hehadtakenasleeping-pillofsomekindoratranquilizerwhichhadputhimintoaheavyslumberwhichlastedlongbeyondhisusualhourofwaking?Possible.Orwasitacase,rewardingtoapsychologist,whereMajorRich’sfeelingofsubconsciousguiltmadehimwantthecrimetobediscovered?Tomakeupone’smindonthatpointonewouldhavetoseeMajorRich.Itallcamebackto–
Thetelephonerang.Poirotletitringforsomemoments,untilherealizedthatMissLemonafterbringinghimhisletterstosign,hadgonehomesometimeago,andthatGeorgehadprobablygoneout.
Hepickedupthereceiver.
‘M.Poirot?’
‘Speaking!’
‘Ohhowsplendid.’Poirotblinkedslightlyatthefervourofthecharmingfemalevoice.‘It’sAbbieChatterton.’
‘Ah,LadyChatterton.HowcanIserveyou?’
‘BycomingoverasquicklyasyoucanrightawaytoasimplyfrightfulcocktailpartyIamgiving.Notjustforthecocktailparty–it’sforsomethingquitedifferentreally.Ineedyou.It’sabsolutelyvital.Please,please,pleasedon’tletmedown!Don’tsayyoucan’tmanageit.’
Poirothadnotbeengoingtosayanythingofthekind.LordChatterton,apartfrombeingapeeroftherealmandoccasionallymakingaverydullspeechintheHouseofLords,wasnobodyinparticular.ButLadyChattertonwasoneofthebrightestjewelsinwhatPoirotcalledlehautmonde.Everythingshedidorsaidwasnews.Shehadbrains,beauty,originalityandenoughvitalitytoactivatearockettothemoon.
Shesaidagain:
‘Ineedyou.Justgivethatwonderfulmoustacheofyoursalovelytwirl,andcome!’
Itwasnotquitesoquickasthat.Poirothadfirsttomakeameticuloustoilet.Thetwirltothemoustacheswasaddedandhethensetoff.
ThedoorofLadyChatterton’sdelightfulhouseinCheritonStreetwasajarandanoiseasofanimalsmutinyingatthezoosoundedfromwithin.LadyChattertonwhowasholdingtwoambassadors,aninternationalruggerplayerandanAmericanevangelistinplay,neatlyjettisonedthemwiththerapidityofsleightofhandandwasatPoirot’sside.
‘M.Poirot,howwonderfultoseeyou!No,don’thavethatnastyMartini.I’vegotsomethingspecialforyou–akindofsiropthatthesheikhsdrinkinMorocco.It’sinmyownlittleroomupstairs.’
SheledthewayupstairsandPoirotfollowedher.Shepausedtosayoverhershoulder:
‘Ididn’tputthesepeopleoff,becauseit’sabsolutelyessentialthatnooneshouldknowthere’sanythingspecialgoingonhere,andI’vepromisedtheservantsenormousbonusesifnotawordleaksout.Afterall,onedoesn’twantone’shousebesiegedbyreporters.And,poordarling,she’sbeenthroughsomuchalready.’
LadyChattertondidnotstopatthefirst-floorlanding,insteadshesweptonuptothefloorabove.
Gaspingforbreathandsomewhatbewildered,HerculePoirotfollowed.
LadyChattertonpaused,gavearapidglancedownwardsoverthebanisters,andthenflungopenadoor,exclaimingasshedidso:
‘I’vegothim,Margharita!I’vegothim!Hereheis!’
ShestoodasideintriumphtoletPoirotenter,thenperformedarapidintroduction.
‘ThisisMargharitaClayton.She’savery,verydearfriendofmine.You’llhelpher,won’tyou?Margharita,thisisthatwonderfulHerculePoirot.He’lldojusteverythingyouwant–youwill,won’tyou,dearM.Poirot?’
Andwithoutwaitingfortheanswerwhichsheobviouslytookforgranted(LadyChattertonhadnotbeenaspoiltbeautyallherlifefornothing),shedashedoutofthedooranddownthestairs,callingbackratherindiscreetly,‘I’vegottogobacktoalltheseawfulpeople…’
Thewomanwhohadbeensittinginachairbythewindowroseandcametowardshim.HewouldhaverecognizedherevenifLadyChattertonhadnotmentionedhername.Herewasthatwide,thatverywidebrow,thedarkhairthatsprangawayfromitlikewings,thegreyeyessetfarapart.Sheworeaclose-fitting,high-neckedgownofdullblackthatshowedupthebeautyofherbodyandthemagnolia-whitenessofherskin.Itwasanunusualface,ratherthanabeautifulone–oneofthoseoddlyproportionedfacesthatonesometimesseesinanItalianprimitive.Therewasaboutherakindofmedievalsimplicity–astrangeinnocencethatcouldbe,Poirotthought,moredevastatingthananyvoluptuoussophistication.Whenshespokeitwaswithakindofchildlikecandour.
‘Abbiesaysyouwillhelpme…’
Shelookedathimgravelyandinquiringly.
Foramomenthestoodquitestill,scrutinizingherclosely.Therewasnothingill-bredinhismannerofdoingit.Itwasmorethekindbutsearchinglookthatafamousconsultantgivesanewpatient.
‘Areyousure,Madame,’hesaidatlast,‘thatIcanhelpyou?’
Alittleflushrosetohercheeks.
‘Idon’tknowwhatyoumean.’
‘Whatisit,Madame,thatyouwantmetodo?’
‘Oh,’sheseemedsurprised.‘Ithought–youknewwhoIwas?’
‘Iknowwhoyouare.Yourhusbandwaskilled–stabbed,andaMajorRichhasbeenarrestedandchargedwithhismurder.’
Theflushheightened.
‘MajorRichdidnotkillmyhusband.’
QuickasaflashPoirotsaid:
‘Whynot?’
Shestared,puzzled.‘I–Ibegyourpardon?’
‘Ihaveconfusedyou–becauseIhavenotaskedthequestionthateverybodyasks–thepolice–thelawyers…“WhyshouldMajorRichkillArnoldClayton?”ButIasktheopposite.Iaskyou,Madame,whyyouaresurethatMajorRichdidnotkillhim?’
‘Because,’shepausedamoment–‘becauseIknowMajorRichsowell.’
‘YouknowMajorRichsowell,’repeatedPoirottonelessly.
Hepausedandthensaidsharply:
‘Howwell?’
Whethersheunderstoodhismeaning,hecouldnotguess.Hethoughttohimself:Hereiseitherawomanofgreatsimplicityorofgreatsubtlety…Manypeople,hethought,musthavewonderedthataboutMargharitaClayton…
‘Howwell?’Shewaslookingathimdoubtfully.‘Fiveyears–no,nearlysix.’
‘ThatwasnotpreciselywhatImeant…Youmustunderstand,Madame,thatIshallhavetoaskyoutheimpertinentquestions.Perhapsyouwillspeakthetruth,perhapsyouwilllie.Itisverynecessaryforawomantoliesometimes.Womenmustdefendthemselves,andthelie,itcanbeagoodweapon.Buttherearethreepeople,Madame,towhomawomanshouldspeakthetruth.ToherFatherconfessor,toherhairdresser,andtoherprivatedetective–ifshetrustshim.Doyoutrustme,Madame?’
MargharitaClaytondrewadeepbreath.
‘Yes,’shesaid.‘Ido.’Andadded:‘Imust.’
‘Verywell,then.Whatisityouwantmetodo–findoutwhokilledyourhusband?’
‘Isupposeso–yes.’
‘Butitisnotessential?Youwantme,then,toclearMajorRichfromsuspicion?’
Shenoddedquickly–gratefully.
‘That–andthatonly?’
Itwas,hesaw,anunnecessaryquestion.MargharitaClaytonwasawomanwhosawonlyonethingatatime.
‘Andnow,’hesaid,‘fortheimpertinence.YouandMajorRich,youarelovers,yes?’
‘Doyoumean,werewehavinganaffairtogether?No.’
‘Buthewasinlovewithyou?’
‘Yes.’
‘Andyou–wereinlovewithhim?’
‘Ithinkso.’
‘Youdonotseemquitesure?’
‘Iamsure–now.’
‘Ah!Youdidnot,then,loveyourhusband?’
‘No.’
‘Youreplywithanadmirablesimplicity.Mostwomenwouldwishtoexplainatgreatlengthjustexactlywhattheirfeelingswere.Howlonghadyoubeenmarried?’
‘Elevenyears.’
‘Canyoutellmealittleaboutyourhusband–whatkindofamanhewas?’
Shefrowned.
‘It’sdifficult.Idon’treallyknowwhatkindofamanArnoldwas.Hewasveryquiet–veryreserved.Onedidn’tknowwhathewasthinking.Hewasclever,ofcourse–everyonesaidhewasbrilliant–inhiswork,Imean…Hedidn’t–howcanIputit–heneverexplainedhimselfatall…’
‘Washeinlovewithyou?’
‘Oh,yes.Hemusthavebeen.Orhewouldn’thavemindedsomuch–’Shecametoasuddenstop.
‘Aboutothermen?Thatiswhatyouweregoingtosay?Hewasjealous?’
Againshesaid:
‘Hemusthavebeen.’Andthen,asthoughfeelingthatthephraseneededexplanation,shewenton.‘Sometimes,fordays,hewouldn’tspeak…’
Poirotnoddedthoughtfully.‘Thisviolence–thathascomeintoyourlife.Isitthefirstthatyouhaveknown?’
‘Violence?’Shefrowned,thenflushed.‘Isit–doyoumean–thatpoorboywhoshothimself?’
‘Yes,’saidPoirot.‘IexpectthatiswhatImean.’
‘I’dnoideahefeltlikethat…Iwassorryforhim–heseemedsoshy–solonely.Hemusthavebeenveryneurotic,Ithink.AndthereweretwoItalians–aduel–Itwasridiculous!Anyway,nobodywaskilled,thankgoodness…Andhonestly,Ididn’tcareabouteitherofthem!Ineverevenpretendedtocare.’
‘No.Youwerejust–there!Andwhereyouare–thingshappen!Ihaveseenthatbeforeinmylife.Itisbecauseyoudonotcarethatmenaredrivenmad.ButforMajorRichyoudocare.So–wemustdowhatwecan…’
Hewassilentforamomentortwo.
Shesattheregravely,watchinghim.
‘Weturnfrompersonalities,whichareoftenthereallyimportantthings,toplainfacts.Iknowonlywhathasbeeninthepapers.Onthefactsasgiventhere,onlytwopersonshadtheopportunityofkillingyourhusband,onlytwopersonscouldhavekilledhim–MajorRichandMajorRich’smanservant.’
Shesaid,stubbornly:
‘IknowCharlesdidn’tkillhim.’
‘So,then,itmusthavebeenthevalet.Youagree?’
Shesaiddoubtfully:
‘Iseewhatyoumean…’
‘Butyouaredubiousaboutit?’
‘Itjustseems–fantastic!’
‘Yetthepossibilityisthere.Yourhusbandundoubtedlycametotheflat,sincehisbodywasfoundthere.Ifthevalet’sstoryistrue,MajorRichkilledhim.Butifthevalet’sstoryisfalse?Then,thevaletkilledhimandhidthebodyinthechestbeforehismasterreturned.Anexcellentwayofdisposingofthebodyfromhispointofview.Hehasonlygotto“noticethebloodstain”thenextmorningand“discover”it.SuspicionwillimmediatelyfallonRich.’
‘ButwhyshouldhewanttokillArnold?’
‘Ahwhy?Themotivecannotbeanobviousone–orthepolicewouldhaveinvestigatedit.Itispossiblethatyourhusbandknewsomethingtothevalet’sdiscredit,andwasabouttoacquaintMajorRichwiththefacts.DidyourhusbandeversayanythingtoyouaboutthismanBurgess?’
Sheshookherhead.
‘Doyouthinkhewouldhavedoneso–ifthathadindeedbeenthecase?’
Shefrowned.
‘It’sdifficulttosay.Possiblynot.Arnoldnevertalkedmuchaboutpeople.Itoldyouhewasreserved.Hewasn’t–hewasnever–achattyman.’
‘Hewasamanwhokepthisowncounsel…Yes,nowwhatisyouropinionofBurgess?’
‘He’snotthekindofmanyounoticeverymuch.Afairlygoodservant.Adequatebutnotpolished.’
‘Whatage?’
‘Aboutthirty-sevenor-eight,Ishouldthink.He’dbeenabatmaninthearmyduringthewar,buthewasn’taregularsoldier.’
‘HowlonghadhebeenwithMajorRich?’
‘Notverylong.Aboutayearandahalf,Ithink.’
‘Younevernoticedanythingoddabouthismannertowardsyourhusband?’
‘Weweren’ttheresoveryoften.No,Inoticednothingatall.’
‘Tellmenowabouttheeventsofthatevening.Whattimewereyouinvited?’
‘Eight-fifteenforhalfpast.’
‘Andjustwhatkindofapartywasittobe?’
‘Well,therewouldbedrinks,andakindofbuffetsupper–usuallyaverygoodone.Foiegrasandhottoast.Smokedsalmon.Sometimestherewasahotricedish–Charleshadaspecialrecipehe’dgotintheNearEast–butthatwasmoreforwinter.Thenweusedtohavemusic–Charleshadgotaverygoodstereophonicgramophone.BothmyhusbandandJockMcLarenwereveryfondofclassicalrecords.Andwehaddancemusic–theSpenceswereverykeendancers.Itwasthatsortofthing–aquietinformalevening.Charleswasaverygoodhost.’
‘Andthisparticularevening–itwaslikeothereveningsthere?Younoticednothingunusual–nothingoutofplace?’
‘Outofplace?’Shefrownedforamoment.‘WhenyousaidthatI–no,it’sgone.Therewassomething…’Sheshookherheadagain.‘No.Toansweryourquestion,therewasnothingunusualatallaboutthatevening.Weenjoyedourselves.Everybodyseemedrelaxedandhappy.’Sheshivered.‘Andtothinkthatallthetime–’
Poirotheldupaquickhand.
‘Donotthink.ThisbusinessthattookyourhusbandtoScotland,howmuchdoyouknowaboutthat?’
‘Notverymuch.Therewassomedisputeovertherestrictionsonsellingapieceoflandwhichbelongedtomyhusband.Thesalehadapparentlygonethroughandthensomesuddensnagturnedup.’
‘Whatdidyourhusbandtellyouexactly?’
‘Hecameinwithatelegraminhishand.AsfarasIremember,hesaid:“Thisismostannoying.IshallhavetotakethenightmailtoEdinburghandseeJohnstonfirstthingtomorrowmorning…Toobadwhenonethoughtthethingwasgoingthroughsmoothlyatlast.”Thenhesaid:“ShallIringupJockandgethimtocallforyou,”andIsaid“Nonsense,I’lljusttakeataxi,”andhesaidthatJockortheSpenceswouldseemehome.Isaiddidhewantanythingpackedandhesaidhe’djustthrowafewthingsintoabag,andhaveaquicksnackattheclub,beforecatchingthetrain.Thenhewentoffand–andthat’sthelasttimeIsawhim.’
Hervoicebrokealittleonthelastwords.
Poirotlookedatherveryhard.
‘Didheshowyouthetelegram?’
‘No.’
‘Apity.’
‘Whydoyousaythat?’
Hedidnotanswerthatquestion.Insteadhesaidbriskly:
‘Nowtobusiness.WhoarethesolicitorsactingforMajorRich?’
Shetoldhimandhemadeanoteoftheaddress.
‘Willyouwriteafewwordstothemandgiveittome?IshallwanttomakearrangementstoseeMajorRich.’
‘He–it’sbeenremandedforaweek.’
‘Naturally.Thatistheprocedure.WillyoualsowriteanotetoCommanderMcLarenandtoyourfriendstheSpences?Ishallwanttoseeallofthem,anditisessentialthattheydonotatonceshowmethedoor.’
Whensherosefromthewriting-desk,hesaid:
‘Onethingmore.Ishallregistermyownimpressions,butIalsowantyours–ofCommanderMcLarenandofMrandMrsSpence.’
‘Jockisoneofouroldestfriends.I’veknownhimeversinceIwasachild.Heappearstobequiteadourperson,buthe’sreallyadear–alwaysthesame–alwaystobereliedupon.He’snotgayandamusingbuthe’satowerofstrength–bothArnoldandIreliedonhisjudgementalot.’
‘Andhe,also,isdoubtlessinlovewithyou?’Poirot’seyestwinkledslightly.
‘Ohyes,’saidMargharitahappily.‘He’salwaysbeeninlovewithme–butbynowit’sbecomeakindofhabit.’
‘AndtheSpences?’
‘They’reamusing–andverygoodcompany.LindaSpenceisreallyratheraclevergirl.Arnoldenjoyedtalkingwithher.She’sattractive,too.’
‘Youarefriends?’
‘SheandI?Inaway.Idon’tknowthatIreallylikeher.She’stoomalicious.’
‘Andherhusband?’
‘Oh,Jeremyisdelightful.Verymusical.Knowsagooddealaboutpictures,too.HeandIgotopictureshowsagooddealtogether…’
‘Ah,well,Ishallseeformyself.’Hetookherhandinhis,‘Ihope,Madame,youwillnotregretaskingformyhelp.’
‘WhyshouldIregretit?’Hereyesopenedwide.
‘Oneneverknows,’saidPoirotcryptically.
‘AndI–Idonotknow,’hesaidtohimself,ashewentdownthestairs.Thecocktailpartywasstillinfullspate,butheavoidedbeingcapturedandreachedthestreet.
‘No,’herepeated.‘Idonotknow.’
ItwasofMargharitaClaytonhewasthinking.
Thatapparentlychildlikecandour,thatfrankinnocence–Wasitjustthat?Ordiditmasksomethingelse?Therehadbeenwomenlikethatinmedievaldays–womenonwhomhistoryhadnotbeenabletoagree.HethoughtofMaryStuart,theScottishQueen.Hadsheknown,thatnightinKirko’Fields,ofthedeedthatwastobedone?Orwasshecompletelyinnocent?Hadtheconspiratorstoldhernothing?Wassheoneofthosechildlikesimplewomenwhocansaytothemselves‘Idonotknow’andbelieveit?HefeltthespellofMargharitaClayton.Buthewasnotentirelysureabouther…
Suchwomencouldbe,thoughinnocentthemselves,thecauseofcrimes.
Suchwomencouldbe,inintentanddesign,criminalsthemselves,thoughnotinaction.
Theirswasneverthehandthatheldtheknife–
AstoMargharitaClayton–no–hedidnotknow!
III
HerculePoirotdidnotfindMajorRich’ssolicitorsveryhelpful.Hehadnotexpectedtodoso.
Theymanagedtoindicate,thoughwithoutsayingso,thatitwouldbeintheirclient’sbestinterestifMrsClaytonshowednosignofactivityonhisbehalf.
Hisvisittothemwasintheinterestsof‘correctness’.HehadenoughpullwiththeHomeOfficeandtheCIDtoarrangehisinterviewwiththeprisoner.
InspectorMiller,whowasinchargeoftheClaytoncase,wasnotoneofPoirot’sfavourites.Hewasnot,however,hostileonthisoccasion,merelycontemptuous.
‘Can’twastemuchtimeovertheolddodderer,’hehadsaidtohisassistingsergeantbeforePoirotwasshownin.‘Still,I’llhavetobepolite.’
‘You’llreallyhavetopullsomerabbitsoutofahatifyou’regoingtodoanythingwiththisone,M.Poirot,’heremarkedcheerfully.‘NobodyelsebutRichcouldhavekilledthebloke.’
‘Exceptthevalet.’
‘Oh,I’llgiveyouthevalet!Asapossibility,thatis.Butyouwon’tfindanythingthere.Nomotiveswhatever.’
‘Youcannotbeentirelysureofthat.Motivesareverycuriousthings.’
‘Well,hewasn’tacquaintedwithClaytoninanyway.He’sgotaperfectlyinnocuouspast.Andheseemstobeperfectlyrightinhishead.Idon’tknowwhatmoreyouwant?’
‘IwanttofindoutthatRichdidnotcommitthecrime.’
‘Topleasethelady,eh?’InspectorMillergrinnedwickedly.‘She’sbeengettingatyou,Isuppose.Quitesomething,isn’tshe?Cherchezlafemmewithavengeance.Ifshe’dhadtheopportunity,youknow,shemighthavedoneitherself.’
‘That,no!’
‘You’dbesurprised.Ionceknewawomanlikethat.Putacoupleofhusbandsoutofthewaywithoutablinkofherinnocentblueeyes.Broken-heartedeachtime,too.Thejurywouldhaveacquittedherifthey’dhadhalfachance–whichtheyhadn’t,theevidencebeingpracticallycastiron.’
‘Well,myfriend,letusnotargue.WhatImakesoboldastoaskisafewreliabledetailsonthefacts.Whatanewspaperprintsisnews–butnotalwaystruth!’
‘Theyhavetoenjoythemselves.Whatdoyouwant?’
‘Timeofdeathasnearascanbe.’
‘Whichcan’tbeverynearbecausethebodywasn’texamineduntilthefollowingmorning.Deathisestimatedtohavetakenplacefromthirteentotenhourspreviously.Thatis,betweensevenandteno’clockthenightbefore…Hewasstabbedthroughthejugularvein–Deathmusthavebeenamatterofmoments.’
‘Andtheweapon?’
‘AkindofItalianstiletto–quitesmall–razorsharp.Nobodyhaseverseenitbefore,orknowswhereitcomesfrom.Butweshallknow–intheend…It’samatteroftimeandpatience.’
‘Itcouldnothavebeenpickedupinthecourseofaquarrel.’
‘No.Thevaletsaysnosuchthingwasintheflat.’
‘Whatinterestsmeisthetelegram,’saidPoirot.‘ThetelegramthatcalledArnoldClaytonawaytoScotland…Wasthatsummonsgenuine?’
‘No.Therewasnohitchortroubleupthere.Thelandtransfer,orwhateveritwas,wasproceedingnormally.’
‘Thenwhosentthattelegram–Iampresumingtherewasatelegram?’
‘Theremusthavebeen…Notthatwe’dnecessarilybelieveMrsClayton.ButClaytontoldthevalethewascalledbywiretoScotland.AndhealsotoldCommanderMcLaren.’
‘WhattimedidheseeCommanderMcLaren?’
‘Theyhadasnacktogetherattheirclub–CombinedServices–thatwasataboutaquarterpastseven.ThenClaytontookataxitoRich’sflat,arrivingtherejustbeforeeighto’clock.Afterthat–’Millerspreadhishandsout
‘AnybodynoticeanythingatalloddaboutRich’smannerthatevening?’
‘Ohwell,youknowwhatpeopleare.Onceathinghashappened,peoplethinktheynoticedalotofthingsIbettheyneversawatall.MrsSpence,now,shesayshewasdistraitalltheevening.Didn’talwaysanswertothepoint.Asthoughhehad“somethingonhismind”.Ibethehad,too,ifhehadabodyinthechest!Wonderinghowthehelltogetridofit!’
‘Whydidn’thegetridofit?’
‘Beatsme.Losthisnerve,perhaps.Butitwasmadnesstoleaveituntilnextday.Hehadthebestchancehe’deverhavethatnight.There’snonightporteron.Hecouldhavegothiscarround–packedthebodyintheboot–it’sabigboot–drivenoutinthecountryandparkeditsomewhere.Hemighthavebeenseengettingthebodyintothecar,buttheflatsareinasidestreetandthere’sacourtyardyoudriveacarthrough.At,say,threeinthemorning,hehadareasonablechance.Andwhatdoeshedo?Goestobed,sleepslatethenextmorningandwakesuptofindthepoliceintheflat!’
‘Hewenttobedandsleptwellasaninnocentmanmightdo.’
‘Haveitthatwayifyoulike.Butdoyoureallybelievethatyourself?’
‘IshallhavetoleavethatquestionuntilIhaveseenthemanmyself.’
‘Thinkyouknowaninnocentmanwhenyouseeone?It’snotsoeasyasthat.’
‘Iknowitisnoteasy–andIshouldnotattempttosayIcoulddoit.WhatIwanttomakeupmymindaboutiswhetherthemanisasstupidasheseemstobe.’
IV
PoirothadnointentionofseeingCharlesRichuntilhehadseeneveryoneelse
HestartedwithCommanderMcLaren.
McLarenwasatall,swarthy,uncommunicativeman.Hehadaruggedbutpleasantface.Hewasashymanandnoteasytotalkto.ButPoirotpersevered.
FingeringMargharita’snote,McLarensaidalmostreluctantly:
‘Well,ifMargharitawantsmetotellyouallIcan,ofcourseI’lldoso.Don’tknowwhatthereistotell,though.You’vehearditallalready.ButwhateverMargharitawants–I’vealwaysdonewhatshewanted–eversinceshewassixteen.She’sgotawaywithher,youknow.’
‘Iknow,’saidPoirot.Hewenton:‘FirstIshouldlikeyoutoansweraquestionquitefrankly.DoyouthinkMajorRichisguilty?’
‘Yes,Ido.Iwouldn’tsaysotoMargharitaifshewantstothinkhe’sinnocent,butIsimplycan’tseeitanyotherway.Hangitall,thefellow’sgottobeguilty.’
‘WastherebadfeelingbetweenhimandMrClayton?’
‘Notintheleast.ArnoldandCharleswerethebestoffriends.That’swhatmakesthewholethingsoextraordinary.’
‘PerhapsMajorRich’sfriendshipwithMrsClayton–’
Hewasinterrupted.‘Faugh!Allthatstuff.Allthepapersslylyhintingatit…Damnedinnuendoes!MrsClaytonandRichweregoodfriendsandthat’sall!Margharita’sgotlotsoffriends.I’mherfriend.Beenoneforyears.Andnothingthewholeworldmighn’tknowaboutit.SamewithCharlesandMargharita.’
‘Youdonotthenconsiderthattheywerehavinganaffairtogether?’
‘CertainlyNOT!’McLarenwaswrathful.‘Don’tgolisteningtothathell-catSpencewoman.She’dsayanything.’
‘ButperhapsMrClaytonsuspectedtheremightbesomethingbetweenhiswifeandMajorRich.’
‘Youcantakeitfrommehedidnothingofthesort!I’dhaveknownifso.ArnoldandIwereveryclose.’
‘Whatsortofmanwashe?You,ifanyone,shouldknow.’
‘Well,Arnoldwasaquietsortofchap.Buthewasclever–quitebrilliant,Ibelieve.Whattheycallafirst-classfinancialbrain.HewasquitehighupintheTreasury,youknow.’
‘SoIhaveheard.’
‘Hereadagooddeal.Andhecollectedstamps.Andhewasextremelyfondofmusic.Hedidn’tdance,orcaremuchforgoingout.’
‘Wasit,doyouthink,ahappymarriage?’
CommanderMcLaren’sanswerdidnotcomequickly.Heseemedtobepuzzlingitout.
‘Thatsortofthing’sveryhardtosay…Yes,Ithinktheywerehappy.Hewasdevotedtoherinhisquietway.I’msureshewasfondofhim.Theyweren’tlikelytosplitup,ifthat’swhatyou’rethinking.Theyhadn’t,perhaps,alotincommon.’
Poirotnodded.Itwasasmuchashewaslikelytoget.Hesaid:‘Nowtellmeaboutthatlastevening.MrClaytondinedwithyouattheclub.Whatdidhesay?’
‘Toldmehe’dgottogotoScotland.Seemedvexedaboutit.Wedidn’thavedinner,bytheway.Notime.Justsandwichesandadrink.Forhim,thatis.Ionlyhadthedrink.Iwasgoingouttoabuffetsupper,remember.’
‘MrClaytonmentionedatelegram?’
‘Yes.’
‘Hedidnotactuallyshowyouthetelegram?’
‘No.’
‘DidhesayhewasgoingtocallonRich?’
‘Notdefinitely.Infacthesaidhedoubtedifhe’dhavetime.Hesaid“Margharitacanexplainoryoucan.”Andthenhesaid:“Seeshegetshomeallright,won’tyou?”Thenhewentoff.Itwasallquitenaturalandeasy.’
‘Hehadnosuspicionatallthatthetelegramwasn’tgenuine?’
‘Wasn’tit?’CommanderMcLarenlookedstartled.
‘Apparentlynot.’
‘Howveryodd…’CommanderMcLarenwentintoakindofcoma,emergingsuddenlytosay:
‘Butthatreallyisodd.Imean,what’sthepoint?WhyshouldanybodywanthimtogotoScotland?’
‘Itisaquestionthatneedsanswering,certainly.’
HerculePoirotleft,leavingthecommanderapparentlystillpuzzlingonthematter.
V
TheSpenceslivedinaminutehouseinChelsea.
LindaSpencereceivedPoirotwiththeutmostdelight.‘Dotellme,’shesaid.‘TellmeallaboutMargharita!Whereisshe?’
‘ThatIamnotatlibertytostate,Madame.’
‘Shehashiddenherselfwell!Margharitaisverycleveratthatsortofthing.Butshe’llbecalledtogiveevidenceatthetrial,Isuppose?Shecan’twiggleherselfoutofthat.’
Poirotlookedatherappraisingly.Hedecidedgrudginglythatshewasattractiveinthemodernstyle(whichatthatmomentresembledanunderfedorphanchild).Itwasnotatypeheadmired.Theartisticallydisorderedhairfluffedoutroundherhead,apairofshrewdeyeswatchedhimfromaslightlydirtyfacedevoidofmake-upsaveforavividcerisemouth.Sheworeanenormouspale-yellowsweaterhangingalmosttoherknees,andtightblacktrousers.
‘What’syourpartinallthis?’demandedMrsSpence.‘Gettheboy-friendoutofitsomehow?Isthatit?Whatahope!’
‘Youthinkthen,thatheisguilty?’
‘Ofcourse.Whoelse?’
That,Poirotthought,wasverymuchthequestion.Heparrieditbyaskinganotherquestion.
‘WhatdidMajorRichseemtoyoulikeonthatfatalevening?Asusual?Ornotasusual?’
LindaSpencescreweduphereyesjudicially.
‘No,hewasn’thimself.Hewas–different.’
‘How,different?’
‘Well,surely,ifyou’vejuststabbedamanincoldblood–’
‘Butyouwerenotawareatthetimethathehadjuststabbedamanincoldblood,wereyou?’
‘No,ofcoursenot.’
‘Sohowdidyouaccountforhisbeing“different”?Inwhatway?’
‘Well–distrait.Oh,Idon’tknow.ButthinkingitoverafterwardsIdecidedthattherehaddefinitelybeensomething.’
Poirotsighed.
‘Whoarrivedfirst?’
‘Wedid,JimandI.AndthenJock.AndfinallyMargharita.’
‘WhenwasMrClayton’sdepartureforScotlandfirstmentioned?’
‘WhenMargharitacame.ShesaidtoCharles:“Arnold’sterriblysorry.He’shadtorushofftoEdinburghbythenighttrain.”AndCharlessaid:“Oh,that’stoobad.”AndthenJocksaid:“Sorry.Thoughtyoualreadyknew.”Andthenwehaddrinks.’
‘MajorRichatnotimementionedseeingMrClaytonthatevening?Hesaidnothingofhishavingcalledinonhiswaytothestation?’
‘NotthatIheard.’
‘Itwasstrange,wasitnot,’saidPoirot,‘aboutthattelegram?’
‘Whatwasstrange?’
‘Itwasafake.NobodyinEdinburghknowsanythingaboutit.’
‘Sothat’sit.Iwonderedatthetime.’
‘Youhaveanideaaboutthetelegram?’
‘Ishouldsayitratherleapstotheeye.’
‘Howdoyoumeanexactly?’
‘Mydearman,’saidLinda.‘Don’tplaytheinnocent.Unknownhoaxergetsthehusbandoutoftheway!Forthatnight,atallevents,thecoastisclear.’
‘YoumeanthatMajorRichandMrsClaytonplannedtospendthenighttogether.’
‘Youhaveheardofsuchthings,haven’tyou?’Lindalookedamused.
‘Andthetelegramwassentbyoneortheotherofthem?’
‘Itwouldn’tsurpriseme.’
‘MajorRichandMrsClaytonwerehavinganaffairtogetheryouthink?’
‘Let’ssayIshouldn’tbesurprisediftheywere.Idon’tknowitforafact.’
‘DidMrClaytonsuspect?’
‘Arnoldwasanextraordinaryperson.Hewasallbottledup,ifyouknowwhatImean.Ithinkhedidknow.Buthewasthekindofmanwhowouldneverhaveleton.Anyonewouldthinkhewasadrystickwithnofeelingsatall.ButI’mprettysurehewasn’tlikethatunderneath.ThequeerthingisthatIshouldhavebeenmuchlesssurprisedifArnoldhadstabbedCharlesthantheotherwayabout.I’veanideaArnoldwasreallyaninsanelyjealousperson.’
‘Thatisinteresting.’
‘Thoughit’smorelikely,really,thathe’dhavedoneinMargharita.Othello–thatsortofthing.Margharita,youknow,hadanextraordinaryeffectonmen.’
‘Sheisagood-lookingwoman,’saidPoirotwithjudiciousunderstatement.
‘Itwasmorethanthat.Shehadsomething.Shewouldgetmenallhetup–madabouther–andturnroundandlookatthemwithasortofwide-eyedsurprisethatdrovethembarmy.’
‘Unefemmefatale.’
‘That’sprobablytheforeignnameforit.’
‘Youknowherwell?’
‘Mydear,she’soneofmybestfriends–andIwouldn’ttrustheraninch!’
‘Ah,’saidPoirotandshiftedthesubjecttoCommanderMcLaren.
‘Jock?Oldfaithful?He’sapet.Borntobethefriendofthefamily.HeandArnoldwerereallyclosefriends.IthinkArnoldunbenttohimmorethantoanyoneelse.AndofcoursehewasMargharita’stamecat.He’dbeendevotedtoherforyears.’
‘AndwasMrClaytonjealousofhim,too?’
‘JealousofJock?Whatanidea!Margharita’sgenuinelyfondofJock,butshe’snevergivenhimathoughtofthatkind.Idon’tthink,really,thatoneeverwould…Idon’tknowwhy…Itseemsashame.He’ssonice.’
Poirotswitchedtoconsiderationofthevalet.Butbeyondsayingvaguelythathemixedaverygoodsidecar,LindaSpenceseemedtohavenoideasaboutBurgess,andindeedseemedbarelytohavenoticedhim.
Butshewasquitequickintheuptake.
‘You’rethinking,Isuppose,thathecouldhavekilledArnoldjustaseasilyasCharlescould?Itseemstomemadlyunlikely.’
‘Thatremarkdepressesme,Madame.Butthen,itseemstome(thoughyouwillprobablynotagree)thatitismadlyunlikely–notthatMajorRichshouldkillArnoldClayton–butthatheshouldkillhiminjustthewayhedid.’
‘Stilettostuff?Yes,definitelynotincharacter.Morelikelythebluntinstrument.Orhemighthavestrangledhim,perhaps?’
Poirotsighed.
‘WearebackatOthello.Yes,Othello…youhavegivenmetherealittleidea…’
‘HaveI?What–’Therewasthesoundofalatchkeyandanopeningdoor.‘Oh,here’sJeremy.Doyouwanttotalktohim,too?’
JeremySpencewasapleasant-lookingmanofthirty-odd,wellgroomed,andalmostostentatiouslydiscreet.MrsSpencesaidthatshehadbettergoandhavealookatacasseroleinthekitchenandwentoff,leavingthetwomentogether.
JeremySpencedisplayednoneoftheengagingcandourofhiswife.Hewasclearlydislikingverymuchbeingmixedupinthecaseatall,andhisremarkswerecarefullynon-informative.TheyhadknowntheClaytonssometime,Richnotsowell.Hadseemedapleasantfellow.Asfarashecouldremember,Richhadseemedabsolutelyasusualontheeveninginquestion.ClaytonandRichalwaysseemedongoodterms.Thewholethingseemedquiteunaccountable.
ThroughouttheconversationJeremySpencewasmakingitclearthatheexpectedPoirottotakehisdeparture.Hewascivil,butonlyjustso.
‘Iamafraid,’saidPoirot,‘thatyoudonotlikethesequestions?’
‘Well,we’vehadquiteasessionofthiswiththepolice.Iratherfeelthat’senough.We’vetoldallweknoworsaw.Now–I’dliketoforgetit.’
‘Youhavemysympathy.Itismostunpleasanttobemixedupinthis.Tobeaskednotonlywhatyouknoworwhatyousawbutperhapsevenwhatyouthink?’
‘Bestnottothink.’
‘Butcanoneavoidit?Doyouthink,forinstance,thatMrsClaytonwasinit,too.DidsheplanthedeathofherhusbandwithRich?’
‘Goodlord,no.’Spencesoundedshockedanddismayed.‘I’dnoideathattherewasanyquestionofsuchathing?’
‘Hasyourwifenotsuggestedsuchapossibility?’
‘OhLinda!Youknowwhatwomenare–alwaysgottheirknifeintoeachother.Margharitanevergetsmuchofashowfromherownsex–adarnedsighttooattractive.ButsurelythistheoryaboutRichandMargharitaplanningmurder–that’sfantastic!’
‘Suchthingshavebeenknown.Theweapon,forinstance.Itisthekindofweaponawomanmightpossess,ratherthanaman.’
‘Doyoumeanthepolicehavetracedittoher–Theycan’thave!Imean–’
‘Iknownothing,’saidPoirottruthfully,andescapedhastily.
FromtheconsternationonSpence’sface,hejudgedthathehadleftthatgentlemansomethingtothinkabout!
VI
‘Youwillforgivemysaying,M.Poirot,thatIcannotseehowyoucanbeofassistancetomeinanyway.’
Poirotdidnotanswer.Hewaslookingthoughtfullyatthemanwhohadbeenchargedwiththemurderofhisfriend,ArnoldClayton.
Hewaslookingatthefirmjaw,thenarrowhead.Aleanbrownman,athleticandsinewy.Somethingofthegreyhoundabouthim.Amanwhosefacegavenothingaway,andwhowasreceivinghisvisitorwithamarkedlackofcordiality.
‘IquiteunderstandthatMrsClaytonsentyoutoseemewiththebestintentions.Butquitefrankly,Ithinkshewasunwise.Unwisebothforherownsakeandmine.’
‘Youmean?’
Richgaveanervousglanceoverhisshoulder.Buttheattendantwarderwastheregulationdistanceaway.Richloweredhisvoice.
‘They’vegottofindamotiveforthisridiculousaccusation.They’lltrytobringthattherewasan–associationbetweenMrsClaytonandmyself.That,asIknowMrsClaytonwillhavetoldyou,isquiteuntrue.Wearefriends,nothingmore.Butsurelyitisadvisablethatsheshouldmakenomoveonmybehalf?’
HerculePoirotignoredthepoint.Insteadhepickedoutaword.
‘Yousaidthis“ridiculous”accusation.Butitisnotthat,youknow.’
‘IdidnotkillArnoldClayton.’
‘Callitthenafalseaccusation.Saytheaccusationisnottrue.Butitisnotridiculous.Onthecontrary,itishighlyplausible.Youmustknowthatverywell.’
‘Icanonlytellyouthattomeitseemsfantastic.’
‘Sayingthatwillbeofverylittleusetoyou.Wemustthinkofsomethingmoreusefulthanthat.’
‘Iamrepresentedbysolicitors.Theyhavebriefed,Iunderstand,eminentcounseltoappearformydefence.Icannotacceptyouruseoftheword“we”.’
UnexpectedlyPoirotsmiled.
‘Ah,’hesaid,inhismostforeignmanner,‘thatisthefleaintheearyougiveme.Verywell.Igo.Iwantedtoseeyou.Ihaveseenyou.AlreadyIhavelookedupyourcareer.YoupassedhighupintoSandhurst.YoupassedintotheStaffCollege.Andsoonandsoon.Ihavemademyownjudgementofyoutoday.Youarenotastupidman.’
‘Andwhathasallthatgottodowithit?’
‘Everything!Itisimpossiblethatamanofyourabilityshouldcommitamurderinthewaythisonewascommitted.Verywell.Youareinnocent.TellmenowaboutyourmanservantBurgess.’
‘Burgess?’
‘Yes.Ifyoudidn’tkillClayton,Burgessmusthavedoneso.Theconclusionseemsinescapable.Butwhy?Theremustbea“why?”YouaretheonlypersonwhoknowsBurgesswellenoughtomakeaguessatit.Why,MajorRich,why?’
‘Ican’timagine.Isimplycan’tseeit.Oh,I’vefollowedthesamelineofreasoningasyouhave.Yes,Burgesshadopportunity–theonlypersonwhohadexceptmyself.Thetroubleis,Ijustcan’tbelieveit.Burgessisnotthesortofmanyoucanimaginemurderinganybody.’
‘Whatdoyourlegaladvisersthink?’
Rich’slipssetinagrimline.
‘Mylegaladvisersspendtheirtimeaskingme,inapersuasiveway,ifitisn’ttruethatIhavesufferedallmylifefromblackoutswhenIdon’treallyknowwhatIamdoing!’
‘Asbadasthat,’saidPoirot.‘Well,perhapsweshallfinditisBurgesswhoissubjecttoblackouts.Itisalwaysanidea.Theweaponnow.Theyshowedittoyouandaskedyouifitwasyours?’
‘Itwasnotmine.Ihadneverseenitbefore.’
‘Itwasnotyours,no.Butareyouquitesureyouhadneverseenitbefore?’
‘No.’Wasthereafainthesitation?‘It’sakindofornamentaltoy–really–Oneseesthingslikethatlyingaboutinpeople’shouses.’
‘Inawoman’sdrawing-room,perhaps.PerhapsinMrsClayton’sdrawing-room?’
‘CertainlyNOT!’
Thelastwordcameoutloudlyandthewarderlookedup.
‘Trèsbien.Certainlynot–andthereisnoneedtoshout.Butsomewhere,atsometime,youhaveseensomethingverylikeit.Eh?Iamright?’
‘Idonotthinkso…Insomecurioshop…perhaps.’
‘Ah,verylikely.’Poirotrose.‘Itakemyleave.’
VII
‘Andnow,’saidHerculePoirot,‘forBurgess.Yes,atlonglast,forBurgess.’
Hehadlearntsomethingaboutthepeopleinthecase,fromthemselvesandfromeachother.ButnobodyhadgivenhimanyknowledgeofBurgess.Noclue,nohint,ofwhatkindofamanhewas.
WhenhesawBurgessherealizedwhy.
ThevaletwaswaitingforhimatMajorRich’sflat,apprisedofhisarrivalbyatelephonecallfromCommanderMcLaren.
‘IamM.HerculePoirot.’
‘Yes,sir,Iwasexpectingyou.’
BurgessheldbackthedoorwithadeferentialhandandPoirotentered.Asmallsquareentrancehall,adoorontheleft,open,leadingintothesitting-room.BurgessrelievedPoirotofhishatandcoatandfollowedhimintothesitting-room.
‘Ah,’saidPoirotlookinground.‘Itwashere,then,thatithappened?’
‘Yes,sir.’
Aquietfellow,Burgess,white-faced,alittleweedy.Awkwardshouldersandelbows.AflatvoicewithaprovincialaccentthatPoirotdidnotknow.Fromtheeastcoast,perhaps.Ratheranervousman,perhaps–butotherwisenodefinitecharacteristics.Itwashardtoassociatehimwithpositiveactionofanykind.Couldonepostulateanegativekiller?
Hehadthosepaleblue,rathershiftyeyes,thatunobservantpeopleoftenequatewithdishonesty.Yetaliarcanlookyouinthefacewithaboldandconfidenteye.
‘Whatishappeningtotheflat?’Poirotinquired.
‘I’mstilllookingafterit,sir.MajorRicharrangedformypayandtokeepitniceuntil–until–’
Theeyesshifteduncomfortably.
‘Until–’agreedPoirot.
Headdedinamatteroffactmanner:‘IshouldsaythatMajorRichwillalmostcertainlybecommittedfortrial.Thecasewillcomeupprobablywithinthreemonths.’
Burgessshookhishead,notindenial,simplyinperplexity.
‘Itreallydoesn’tseempossible,’hesaid.
‘ThatMajorRichshouldbeamurderer?’
‘Thewholething.Thatchest–’
Hiseyeswentacrosstheroom.
‘Ah,sothatisthefamouschest?’
Itwasamammothpieceoffurnitureofverydarkpolishedwood,studdedwithbrass,withagreatbrasshaspandantiquelock.
‘Ahandsomeaffair.’Poirotwentovertoit.
Itstoodagainstthewallnearthewindow,nexttoamoderncabinetforholdingrecords.Ontheothersideofitwasadoor,halfajar.Thedoorwaspartlymaskedbyabigpaintedleatherscreen.
‘ThatleadsintoMajorRich’sbedroom,’saidBurgess.
Poirotnodded.Hiseyestravelledtotheothersideoftheroom.Thereweretwostereophonicrecordplayers,eachonalowtable,trailingcordsofsnake-likeflex.Therewereeasychairs–abigtable.OnthewallswereasetofJapaneseprints.Itwasahandsomeroom,comfortable,butnotluxurious.
HelookedbackatWilliamBurgess.
‘Thediscovery,’hesaidkindly,‘musthavebeenagreatshocktoyou.’
‘Ohitwas,sir.I’llneverforgetit.’Thevaletrushedintospeech.Wordspouredfromhim.Hefelt,perhaps,thatbytellingthestoryoftenenough,hemightatlastexpungeitfromhismind
‘I’dgoneroundtheroom,sir.Clearingup.Glassesandsoon.I’djuststoopedtopickupacoupleofolivesoffthefloor–andIsawit–ontherug,arustydarkstain.No,therug’sgonenow.Tothecleaners.Thepolicehaddonewithit.Whatever’sthat?Ithought.Sayingtomyself,almostinjokelike:“Reallyitmightbeblood!Butwheredoesitcomefrom?Whatgotspilt?”AndthenIsawitwasfromthechest–downtheside,here,wherethere’sacrack.AndIsaid,stillnotthinkinganything,“Wellwhatever–?”AndIliftedupthelidlikethis’(hesuitedtheactiontotheword)‘andthereitwas–thebodyofamanlyingonhissidedoubledup–likehemightbeasleep.Andthatnastyforeignknifeordaggerthingstickingupoutofhisneck.I’llneverforgetit–never!NotaslongasIlive!Theshock–notexpectingit,youunderstand…’
Hebreatheddeeply.
‘IletthelidfallandIranoutoftheflatanddowntothestreet.Lookingforapoliceman–andlucky,Ifoundone–justroundthecorner.’
Poirotregardedhimreflectively.Theperformance,ifitwasaperformance,wasverygood.Hebegantobeafraidthatitwasnotaperformance–thatitwasjusthowthingshadhappened.
‘YoudidnotthinkofawakeningfirstMajorRich?’heasked.
‘Itneveroccurredtome,sir.Whatwiththeshock.I–Ijustwantedtogetoutofhere–’heswallowed‘and–andgethelp.’
Poirotnodded.
‘DidyourealizethatitwasMrClayton?’heasked.
‘Ioughttohave,sir,butyouknow,Idon’tbelieveIdid.Ofcourse,assoonasIgotbackwiththepoliceofficer,Isaid“Why,it’sMrClayton!”Andhesays“Who’sMrClayton?”AndIsays“Hewasherelastnight.”’
‘Ah,’saidPoirot,‘lastnight…DoyourememberexactlywhenitwasMrClaytonarrivedhere?’
‘Nottotheminute.Butasnearasnotaquartertoeight,I’dsay…’
‘Youknewhimwell?’
‘HeandMrsClaytonhadbeenherequitefrequentlyduringtheyearandahalfI’vebeenemployedhere.’
‘Didheseemquiteasusual?’
‘Ithinkso.Alittleoutofbreath–butItookithe’dbeenhurrying.Hewascatchingatrain,orsohesaid.’
‘Hehadabagwithhim,Isuppose,ashewasgoingtoScotland?’
‘No,sir.Iimaginehewaskeepingataxidownbelow.’
‘WashedisappointedtofindthatMajorRichwasout?’
‘Nottonotice.Justsaidhe’dscribbleanote.HecameinhereandwentovertothedeskandIwentbacktothekitchen.Iwasalittlebehindhandwiththeanchovyeggs.Thekitchen’sattheendofthepassageandyoudon’thearverywellfromthere.Ididn’thearhimgooutorthemastercomein–butthenIwouldn’texpectto.’
‘Andthenextthing?’
‘MajorRichcalledme.Hewasstandinginthedoorhere.Hesaidhe’dforgottenMrsSpence’sTurkishcigarettes.Iwastohurryoutandgetthem.SoIdid.Ibroughtthembackandputthemonthetableinhere.OfcourseItookitthatMrClaytonhadleftbythentogethistrain.’
‘AndnobodyelsecametotheflatduringthetimeMajorRichwasout,andyouwereinthekitchen?’
‘No,sir–noone.’
‘Canyoubesureofthat?’
‘Howcouldanyone,sir?They’dhavehadtoringthebell.’
Poirotshookhishead.Howcouldanyone?TheSpencesandMcLarenandalsoMrsClaytoncould,healreadyknew,accountforeveryminuteoftheirtime.McLarenhadbeenwithacquaintancesattheclub,theSpenceshadhadacoupleoffriendsinforadrinkbeforestarting.MargharitaClaytonhadtalkedtoafriendonthetelephoneatjustthatperiod.Notthathethoughtofanyofthemaspossibilities.TherewouldhavebeenbetterwaysofkillingArnoldClaytonthanfollowinghimtoaflatwithamanservantthereandthehostreturninganymoment.No,hehadhadalastminutehopeofa‘mysteriousstranger’!SomeoneoutofClayton’sapparentlyimpeccablepast,recognizinghiminthestreet,followinghimhere.Attackinghimwiththestiletto,thrustingthebodyintothechest,andfleeing.Puremelodrama,unrelatedtoreasonortoprobabilities!Intunewithromantichistoricalfictions–matchingtheSpanishchest.
Hewentbackacrosstheroomtothechest.Heraisedthelid.Itcameupeasily,noiselessly.
Inafaintvoice,Burgesssaid:‘It’sbeenscrubbedout,sir,Isawtothat.’
Poirotbentoverit.Withafaintexclamationhebentlower.Heexploredwithhisfingers.
‘Theseholes–atthebackandoneside–theylook–theyfeel,asthoughtheyhadbeenmadequiterecently.’
‘Holes,sir?’Thevaletbenttosee.‘Ireallycouldn’tsay.I’venevernoticedthemparticularly.’
‘Theyarenotveryobvious.Buttheyarethere.Whatistheirpurpose,wouldyousay?’
‘Ireallywouldn’tknow,sir.Someanimal,perhaps–Imeanabeetle,somethingofthatkind.Somethingthatgnawswood?’
‘Someanimal?’saidPoirot.‘Iwonder.’
Hesteppedbackacrosstheroom.
‘Whenyoucameinherewiththecigarettes,wasthereanythingatallaboutthisroomthatlookeddifferent?Anythingatall?Chairsmoved,table,somethingofthatkind?’
‘It’soddyoursayingthat,sir…Nowyoucometomentionit,therewas.Thatscreentherethatcutsoffthedraughtfromthebedroomdoor,itwasmovedoverabitmoretotheleft.’
‘Likethis?’Poirotmovedswiftly.
‘Alittlemorestill…That’sright.’
Thescreenhadalreadymaskedabouthalfofthechest.Thewayitwasnowarranged,italmosthidthechestaltogether.
‘Whydidyouthinkithadbeenmoved?’
‘Ididn’tthink,sir.’
(AnotherMissLemon!)
Burgessaddeddoubtfully:
‘Isupposeitleavesthewayintothebedroomclearer–iftheladieswantedtoleavetheirwraps.’
‘Perhaps.Buttheremightbeanotherreason.’Burgesslookedinquiring.‘Thescreenhidesthechestnow,andithidestherugbelowthechest.IfMajorRichstabbedMrClayton,bloodwouldpresentlystartdrippingthroughthecracksatthebaseofthechest.Someonemightnotice–asyounoticedthenextmorning.So–thescreenwasmoved.’
‘Ineverthoughtofthat,sir.’
‘Whatarethelightslikehere,strongordim?’
‘I’llshowyou,sir.’
Quickly,thevaletdrewthecurtainsandswitchedonacoupleoflamps.Theygaveasoftmellowlight,hardlystrongenougheventoreadby.Poirotglancedupataceilinglight.
‘Thatwasn’ton,sir.It’sverylittleused.’
Poirotlookedroundinthesoftglow.
Thevaletsaid:
‘Idon’tbelieveyou’dseeanybloodstains,sir,it’stoodim.’
‘Ithinkyouareright.So,then,whywasthescreenmoved?’
Burgessshivered.
‘It’sawfultothinkof–anicegentlemanlikeMajorRichdoingathinglikethat.’
‘You’venodoubtthathediddoit?Whydidhedoit,Burgess?’
‘Well,he’dbeenthroughthewar,ofcourse.Hemighthavehadaheadwound,mightn’the?Theydosayassometimesitallflaresupyearsafterwards.Theysuddenlygoallqueeranddon’tknowwhatthey’redoing.Andtheysayasoftenasnot,it’stheirnearestanddearestastheygoesfor.Doyouthinkitcouldhavebeenlikethat?’
Poirotgazedathim.Hesighed.Heturnedaway.
‘No,’hesaid,‘itwasnotlikethat.’
Withtheairofaconjuror,apieceofcrisppaperwasinsinuatedintoBurgess’shand.
‘Ohthankyou,sir,butreallyIdon’t–’
‘Youhavehelpedme,’saidPoirot.‘Byshowingmethisroom.Byshowingmewhatisintheroom.Byshowingmewhattookplacethatevening.Theimpossibleisneverimpossible!Rememberthat.Isaidthattherewereonlytwopossibilities–Iwaswrong.Thereisathirdpossibility.’Helookedroundtheroomagainandgavealittleshiver.‘Pullbackthecurtains.Letinthelightandtheair.Thisroomneedsit.Itneedscleansing.Itwillbealongtime,Ithink,beforeitispurifiedfromwhatafflictsit–thelingeringmemoryofhate.’
Burgess,hismouthopen,handedPoirothishatandcoat.Heseemedbewildered.Poirot,whoenjoyedmakingincomprehensiblestatements,wentdowntothestreetwithabriskstep.
VIII
WhenPoirotgothome,hemadeatelephonecalltoInspectorMiller.
‘WhathappenedtoClayton’sbag?Hiswifesaidhehadpackedone.’
‘Itwasattheclub.Heleftitwiththeporter.Thenhemusthaveforgottenitandgoneoffwithoutit.’
‘Whatwasinit?’
‘Whatyou’dexpect.Pyjamas,extrashirt,washing-things.’
‘Verythorough.’
‘Whatdidyouexpectwouldbeinit?’
Poirotignoredthatquestion.Hesaid:
‘Aboutthestiletto.IsuggestthatyougetholdofwhatevercleaningwomanattendsMrsSpence’shouse.Findoutifsheeversawanythinglikeitlyingaboutthere.’
‘MrsSpence?’Millerwhistled.‘Isthatthewayyourmindisworking?TheSpenceswereshownthestiletto.Theydidn’trecognizeit.’
‘Askthemagain.’
‘Doyoumean–’
‘Andthenletmeknowwhattheysay–’
‘Ican’timaginewhatyouthinkyouhavegotholdof!’
‘ReadOthello,Miller.ConsiderthecharactersinOthello.We’vemissedoutoneofthem.’
Herangoff.NexthedialledLadyChatterton.Thenumberwasengaged.
Hetriedagainalittlelater.Stillnosuccess.HecalledforGeorge,hisvalet,andinstructedhimtocontinueringingthenumberuntilhegotareply.LadyChatterton,heknew,wasanincorrigibletelephoner.
Hesatdowninachair,carefullyeasedoffhispatentleathershoes,stretchedhistoesandleanedback.
‘Iamold,’saidHerculePoirot.‘Itireeasily…’Hebrightened.‘Butthecells–theystillfunction.Slowly–buttheyfunction…Othello,yes.Whowasitsaidthattome?Ahyes,MrsSpence.Thebag…Thescreen…Thebody,lyingtherelikeamanasleep.Aclevermurder.Premeditated,planned…Ithink,enjoyed!…’
GeorgeannouncedtohimthatLadyChattertonwasontheline.
‘HerculePoirothere,Madame.MayIspeaktoyourguest?’
‘Why,ofcourse!OhM.Poirot,haveyoudonesomethingwonderful?’
‘Notyet,’saidPoirot.‘Butpossibly,itmarches.’
PresentlyMargharita’svoice–quiet,gentle.
‘Madame,whenIaskedyouifyounoticedanythingoutofplacethateveningattheparty,youfrowned,asthoughyourememberedsomething–andthenitescapedyou.Wouldithavebeenthepositionofthescreenthatnight?’
‘Thescreen?Why,ofcourse,yes.Itwasnotquiteinitsusualplace.’
‘Didyoudancethatnight?’
‘Partofthetime.’
‘Whodidyoudancewithmostly?’
‘JeremySpence.He’sawonderfuldancer.Charlesisgoodbutnotspectacular.HeandLindadancedandnowandthenwechanged.JockMcLarendoesn’tdance.Hegotouttherecordsandsortedthemandarrangedwhatwe’dhave.’
‘Youhadseriousmusiclater?’
‘Yes.’
Therewasapause.ThenMargharitasaid:
‘M.Poirot,whatis–allthis?Haveyou–isthere–hope?’
‘Doyoueverknow,Madame,whatthepeoplearoundyouarefeeling?’
Hervoice,faintlysurprisedsaid:
‘I–supposeso.’
‘Isupposenot.Ithinkyouhavenoidea.Ithinkthatisthetragedyofyourlife.Butthetragedyisforotherpeople–notforyou.
‘SomeonetodaymentionedtomeOthello.Iaskedyouifyourhusbandwasjealous,andyousaidyouthoughthemustbe.Butyousaiditquitelightly.YousaiditasDesdemonamighthavesaiditnotrealizingdanger.She,too,recognizedjealousy,butshedidnotunderstandit,becausesheherselfneverhad,andnevercould,experiencejealousy.Shewas,Ithink,quiteunawareoftheforceofacutephysicalpassion.Shelovedherhusbandwiththeromanticfervourofheroworship,shelovedherfriendCassio,quiteinnocently,asaclosecompanion…Ithinkthatbecauseofherimmunitytopassion,sheherselfdrovemenmad…AmImakingsensetoyou,Madame?’
Therewasapause–andthenMargharita’svoiceanswered.Cool,sweet,alittlebewildered:
‘Idon’t–Idon’treallyunderstandwhatyouaresaying…’
Poirotsighed.Hespokeinmatteroffacttones.
‘Thisevening,’hesaid,‘Ipayyouavisit.’
IX
InspectorMillerwasnotaneasymantopersuade.ButequallyHerculePoirotwasnotaneasymantoshakeoffuntilhehadgothisway.InspectorMillergrumbled,butcapitulated.
‘–thoughwhatLadyChatterton’sgottodowiththis–’
‘Nothing,really.Shehasprovidedasylumforafriend,thatisall.’
‘AboutthoseSpences–howdidyouknow?’
‘Thatstilettocamefromthere?Itwasamereguess.SomethingJeremySpencesaidgavemetheidea.IsuggestedthatthestilettobelongedtoMargharitaClayton.Heshowedthatheknewpositivelythatitdidnot.’Hepaused.‘Whatdidtheysay?’heaskedwithsomecuriosity.
‘Admittedthatitwasverylikeatoydaggerthey’doncehad.Butithadbeenmislaidsomeweeksago,andtheyhadreallyforgottenaboutit.IsupposeRichpincheditfromthere.’
‘Amanwholikestoplaysafe,MrJeremySpence,’saidHerculePoirot.Hemutteredtohimself:‘Someweeksago…Ohyes,theplanningbeganalongtimeago.’
‘Eh,what’sthat?’
‘Wearrive,’saidPoirot.ThetaxidrewupatLadyChatterton’shouseinCheritonStreet.Poirotpaidthefare.
MargharitaClaytonwaswaitingforthemintheroomupstairs.HerfacehardenedwhenshesawMiller.
‘Ididn’tknow–’
‘YoudidnotknowwhothefriendwasIproposedtobring?’
‘InspectorMillerisnotafriendofmine.’
‘Thatratherdependsonwhetheryouwanttoseejusticedoneornot,MrsClayton.Yourhusbandwasmurdered–’
‘Andnowwehavetotalkofwhokilledhim,’saidPoirotquickly.‘Maywesitdown,Madame?’
SlowlyMargharitasatdowninahigh-backedchairfacingthetwomen.
‘Iask,’saidPoirot,addressingbothhishearers,‘tolistentomepatiently.IthinkInowknowwhathappenedonthatfataleveningatMajorRich’sflat…Westarted,allofus,byanassumptionthatwasnottrue–theassumptionthattherewereonlytwopersonswhohadtheopportunityofputtingthebodyinthechest–thatistosay,MajorRich,orWilliamBurgess.Butwewerewrong–therewasathirdpersonattheflatthateveningwhohadanequallygoodopportunitytodoso.’
‘Andwhowasthat?’demandedMillersceptically.‘Theliftboy?’
‘No.ArnoldClayton.’
‘What?Concealedhisowndeadbody?You’recrazy.’
‘Naturallynotadeadbody–aliveone.Insimpleterms,hehidhimselfinthechest.Athingthathasoftenbeendonethroughoutthecourseofhistory.ThedeadbrideintheMistletoeBough,IachimowithdesignsonthevirtueofImogenandsoon.IthoughtofitassoonasIsawthattherehadbeenholesboredinthechestquiterecently.Why?Theyweremadesothattheremightbeasufficiencyofairinthechest.Whywasthescreenmovedfromitsusualpositionthatevening?Soastohidethechestfromthepeopleintheroom.Sothatthehiddenmancouldliftthelidfromtimetotimeandrelievehiscramp,andhearbetterwhatwenton.’
‘Butwhy?’demandedMargharita,wide-eyedwithastonishment.‘WhyshouldArnoldwanttohideinthechest?’
‘Isityouwhoaskthat,Madame?Yourhusbandwasajealousman.Hewasalsoaninarticulateman.“Bottledup”,asyourfriendMrsSpenceputit.Hisjealousymounted.Ittorturedhim!WereyouorwereyounotRich’smistress?Hedidnotknow!Hehadtoknow!So–a“telegramfromScotland”,thetelegramthatwasneversentandthatnooneeversaw!Theovernightbagispackedandconvenientlyforgottenattheclub.HegoestotheflatatatimewhenhehasprobablyascertainedRichwillbeout–Hetellsthevalethewillwriteanote.Assoonasheisleftalone,heborestheholesinthechest,movesthescreen,andclimbsinsidethechest.Tonighthewillknowthetruth.Perhapshiswifewillstaybehindtheothers,perhapsshewillgo,butcomebackagain.Thatnightthedesperate,jealousy-rackedmanwillknow…’
‘You’renotsayinghestabbedhimself?’Miller’svoicewasincredulous.‘Nonsense!’
‘Ohno,someoneelsestabbedhim.Somebodywhoknewhewasthere.Itwasmurderallright.Carefullyplanned,longpremediated,murder.ThinkoftheothercharactersinOthello.ItisIagoweshouldhaveremembered.SubtlepoisoningofArnoldClayton’smind;hints,suspicions.HonestIago,thefaithfulfriend,themanyoualwaysbelieve!ArnoldClaytonbelievedhim.ArnoldClaytonlethisjealousybeplayedupon,berousedtofeverpitch.WastheplanofhidinginthechestArnold’sownidea?Hemayhavethoughtitwas–probablyhedidthinkso!Andsothesceneisset.Thestiletto,quietlyabstractedsomeweeksearlier,isready.Theeveningcomes.Thelightsarelow,thegramophoneisplaying,twocouplesdance,theoddmanoutisbusyattherecordcabinet,closetotheSpanishchestanditsmaskingscreen.Toslipbehindthescreen,liftthelidandstrike–Audacious,butquiteeasy!’
‘Claytonwouldhavecriedout!’
‘Notifheweredrugged,’saidPoirot.‘Accordingtothevalet,thebodywas“lyinglikeamanasleep”.Claytonwasasleep,druggedbytheonlymanwhocouldhavedruggedhim,themanhehadhadadrinkwithattheclub.’
‘Jock?’Margharita’svoicerosehighinchildlikesurprise.‘Jock?NotdearoldJock.Why,I’veknownJockallmylife!WhyonearthshouldJock…?’
Poirotturnedonher.
‘WhydidtwoItaliansfightaduel?Whydidayoungmanshoothimself?JockMcLarenisaninarticulateman.Hehasresignedhimself,perhaps,tobeingthefaithfulfriendtoyouandyourhusband,butthencomesMajorRichaswell.Itistoomuch!Inthedarknessofhateanddesire,heplanswhatiswellnightheperfectmurder–adoublemurder,forRichisalmostcertaintobefoundguiltyofit.AndwithRichandyourhusbandbothoutoftheway–hethinksthatatlastyoumayturntohim.Andperhaps.Madame,youwouldhavedone…Eh?’
Shewasstaringathim,wideeyedhorrorstruck…
Almostunconsciouslyshebreathed:
‘Perhaps…Idon’t–know…’
InspectorMillerspokewithsuddenauthority.
‘Thisisallverywell,Poirot.It’satheory,nothingmore.There’snotashredofevidence.Probablynotawordofitistrue.’
‘Itisalltrue.’
‘Butthere’snoevidence.There’snothingwecanacton.’
‘Youarewrong.IthinkthatMcLaren,ifthisisputtohim,willadmitit.Thatis,ifitismadecleartohimthatMargharitaClaytonknows…’
Poirotpausedandadded:
‘Because,onceheknowsthat,hehaslost…Theperfectmurderhasbeeninvain.’
TheUnderDog
I
LilyMargravesmoothedherglovesoutonherkneewithanervousgesture,anddartedaglanceattheoccupantofthebigchairoppositeher.
ShehadheardofM.HerculePoirot,thewell-knowninvestigator,butthiswasthefirsttimeshehadseenhimintheflesh.
Thecomic,almostridiculous,aspectthathepresenteddisturbedherconceptionofhim.Couldthisfunnylittleman,withtheegg-shapedheadandtheenormousmoustaches,reallydothewonderfulthingsthatwereclaimedforhim?Hisoccupationatthemomentstruckherasparticularlychildish.Hewaspilingsmallblocksofcolouredwoodoneupontheother,andseemedfarmoreinterestedintheresultthaninthestoryshewastelling.
Athersuddensilence,however,helookedsharplyacrossather.
‘Mademoiselle,continue,Iprayofyou.ItisnotthatIdonotattend;Iattendverycarefully,Iassureyou.’
Hebeganoncemoretopilethelittleblocksofwoodoneupontheother,whilethegirl’svoicetookupthetaleagain.Itwasagruesometale,ataleofviolenceandtragedy,butthevoicewassocalmandunemotional,therecitalwassoconcisethatsomethingofthesavourofhumanityseemedtohavebeenleftoutofit.
Shestoppedatlast.
‘Ihope,’shesaidanxiously,‘thatIhavemadeeverythingclear.’
Poirotnoddedhisheadseveraltimesinemphaticassent.Thenheswepthishandacrossthewoodenblocks,scatteringthemoverthetable,and,leaningbackinhischair,hisfingertipspressedtogetherandhiseyesontheceiling,hebegantorecapitulate.
‘SirReubenAstwellwasmurderedtendaysago.OnWednesday,thedaybeforeyesterday,hisnephew,CharlesLeverson,wasarrestedbythepolice.Thefactsagainsthimasfarasyouknoware:–youwillcorrectmeifIamwrong,Mademoiselle–SirReubenwassittinguplatewritinginhisownspecialsanctum,theTowerroom.MrLeversoncameinlate,lettinghimselfinwithalatch-key.Hewasoverheardquarrellingwithhisunclebythebutler,whoseroomisdirectlybelowtheTowerroom.Thequarrelendedwithasuddenthudasofachairbeingthrownoverandahalf-smotheredcry.
‘Thebutlerwasalarmed,andthoughtofgettinguptoseewhatwasthematter,butasafewsecondslaterheheardMrLeversonleavetheroomgailywhistlingatune,hethoughtnothingmoreofit.Onthefollowingmorning,however,ahousemaiddiscoveredSirReubendeadbyhisdesk.Hehadbeenstruckdownbysomeheavyinstrument.Thebutler,Igather,didnotatoncetellhisstorytothepolice.Thatwasnatural,Ithink,eh,Mademoiselle?’
ThesuddenquestionmadeLilyMargravestart.
‘Ibegyourpardon?’shesaid.
‘Onelooksforhumanityinthesematters,doesonenot?’saidthelittleman.‘Asyourecitedthestorytome–soadmirably,soconcisely–youmadeoftheactorsinthedramamachines–puppets.Butme,Ilookalwaysforhumannature.Isaytomyself,thisbutler,this–whatdidyousayhisnamewas?’
‘HisnameisParsons.’
‘ThisParsons,then,hewillhavethecharacteristicsofhisclass,hewillobjectverystronglytothepolice,hewilltellthemaslittleaspossible.Aboveall,hewillsaynothingthatmightseemtoincriminateamemberofthehousehold.Ahouse-breaker,aburglar,hewillclingtothatideawithallthestrengthofextremeobstinacy.Yes,theloyaltiesoftheservantclassareaninterestingstudy.’
Heleanedbackbeaming.
‘Inthemeantime,’hewenton,‘everyoneinthehouseholdhastoldhisorhertale,MrLeversonamongtherest,andhistalewasthathehadcomeinlateandgoneuptobedwithoutseeinghisuncle.’
‘Thatiswhathesaid.’
‘Andnoonesawreasontodoubtthattale,’musedPoirot,‘except,ofcourse,Parsons.ThentherecomesdownaninspectorfromScotlandYard,InspectorMilleryousaid,didyounot?Iknowhim,Ihavecomeacrosshimonceortwiceinthepast.Heiswhattheycallthesharpman,theferret,theweasel.
‘Yes,Iknowhim!AndthesharpInspectorMiller,heseeswhatthelocalinspectorhasnotseen,thatParsonsisillateaseanduncomfortable,andknowssomethingthathehasnottold.Ehbien,hemakesshortworkofParsons.Bynowithasbeenclearlyprovedthatnoonebrokeintothehousethatnight,thatthemurderermustbelookedforinsidethehouseandnotoutside.AndParsonsisunhappyandfrightened,andfeelsveryrelievedtohavehissecretknowledgedrawnoutofhim.
‘Hehasdonehisbesttoavoidscandal,buttherearelimits;andsoInspectorMillerlistenstoParsons’story,andasksaquestionortwo,andthenmakessomeprivateinvestigationsofhisown.Thecasehebuildsupisverystrong–verystrong.
‘Blood-stainedfingersrestedonthecornerofthechestintheTowerroom,andthefingerprintswerethoseofCharlesLeverson.Thehousemaidtoldhimsheemptiedabasinofblood-stainedwaterinMrLeverson’sroomthemorningafterthecrime.Heexplainedtoherthathehadcuthisfinger,andhehadalittlecutthere,ohyes,butsuchaverylittlecut!Thecuffofhiseveningshirthadbeenwashed,buttheyfoundblood-stainsinthesleeveofhiscoat.Hewashardpressedformoney,andheinheritedmoneyatSirReuben’sdeath.Oh,yes,averystrongcase,Mademoiselle.’Hepaused.
‘Andyetyoucometometoday.’
LilyMargraveshruggedherslendershoulders.
‘AsItoldyou,M.Poirot,LadyAstwellsentme.’
‘Youwouldnothavecomeofyourownaccord,eh?’
Thelittlemanglancedathershrewdly.Thegirldidnotanswer.
‘Youdonotreplytomyquestion.’
LilyMargravebegansmoothingherglovesagain.
‘Itisratherdifficultforme,M.Poirot.IhavemyloyaltytoLadyAstwelltoconsider.Strictlyspeaking,Iamonlyherpaidcompanion,butshehastreatedmemoreasthoughIwereadaughteroraniece.Shehasbeenextraordinarilykindand,whateverherfaults,Ishouldnotliketoappeartocriticizeheractions,or–well,toprejudiceyouagainsttakingupthecase.’
‘ImpossibletoprejudiceHerculePoirot,celanecefaitpas,’declaredthelittlemancheerily.‘IperceivethatyouthinkLadyAstwellhasinherbonnetthebuzzingbee.Comenow,isitnotso?’
‘IfImustsay–’
‘Speak,Mademoiselle.’
‘Ithinkthewholethingissimplysilly.’
‘Itstrikesyoulikethat,eh?’
‘Idon’twanttosayanythingagainstLadyAstwell–’
‘Icomprehend,’murmuredPoirotgently.‘Icomprehendperfectly.’Hiseyesinvitedhertogoon.
‘Shereallyisaverygoodsort,andfrightfullykind,butsheisn’t–howcanIputit?Sheisn’taneducatedwoman.YouknowshewasanactresswhenSirReubenmarriedher,andshehasallsortsofprejudicesandsuperstitions.Ifshesaysathing,itmustbeso,andshesimplywon’tlistentoreason.Theinspectorwasnotverytactfulwithher,anditputherbackup.ShesaysitisnonsensetosuspectMrLeversonandjustthesortofstupid,pig-headedmistakethepolicewouldmake,andthat,ofcourse,dearCharlesdidnotdoit.’
‘Butshehasnoreasons,eh?’
‘Nonewhatever.’
‘Ha!Isthatso?Really,now.’
‘Itoldher,’saidLily,‘thatitwouldbenogoodcomingtoyouwithamerestatementlikethatandnothingtogoon.’
‘Youtoldherthat,’saidPoirot,‘didyoureally?Thatisinteresting.’
HiseyessweptoverLilyMargraveinaquickcomprehensivesurvey,takinginthedetailsofherneatblacksuit,thetouchofwhiteatherthroatandthesmartlittleblackhat.Hesawtheeleganceofher,theprettyfacewithitsslightlypointedchin,andthedark-blue,long-lashedeyes.Insensiblyhisattitudechanged;hewasinterestednow,notsomuchinthecaseasinthegirlsittingoppositehim.
‘LadyAstwellis,Ishouldimagine,Mademoiselle,justatrifleinclinedtobeunbalancedandhysterical?’
LilyMargravenoddedeagerly.‘Thatdescribesherexactly.Sheis,asItoldyou,verykind,butitisimpossibletoarguewithherortomakeherseethingslogically.’
‘Possiblyshesuspectssomeoneonherownaccount,’suggestedPoirot,‘someonequiteabsurd.’
‘Thatisexactlywhatshedoesdo,’criedLily.‘ShehastakenagreatdisliketoSirReuben’ssecretary,poorman.Shesayssheknowshedidit,andyetithasbeenprovedquiteconclusivelythatpoorOwenTrefusiscannotpossiblyhavedoneit.’
‘Andshehasnoreasons?’
‘Ofcoursenot;itisallintuitionwithher.’
LilyMargrave’svoicewasveryscornful.
‘Iperceive,Mademoiselle,’saidPoirot,smiling,‘thatyoudonotbelieveinintuition?’
‘Ithinkitisnonsense,’repliedLily.
Poirotleanedbackinhischair.
‘Lesfemmes,’hemurmured,‘theyliketothinkthatitisaspecialweaponthatthegoodGodhasgiventhem,andforeveryoncethatitshowsthemthetruth,atleastninetimesitleadsthemastray.’
‘Iknow,’saidLily,‘butIhavetoldyouwhatLadyAstwellislike.Yousimplycannotarguewithher.’
‘Soyou,Mademoiselle,beingwiseanddiscreet,camealongtomeasyouwerebidden,andhavemanagedtoputmeaucourantofthesituation.’
Somethinginthetoneofhisvoicemadethegirllookupsharply.
‘Ofcourse,Iknow,’saidLilyapologetically,‘howveryvaluableyourtimeis.’
‘Youaretooflattering,Mademoiselle,’saidPoirot,‘butindeed–yes,itistrue,atthispresenttimeIhavemanycasesofmomentonhand.’
‘Iwasafraidthatmightbeso,’saidLily,rising.‘IwilltellLadyAstwell–’
ButPoirotdidnotrisealso.Insteadhelaybackinhischairandlookedsteadilyupatthegirl.
‘Youareinhastetobegone,Mademoiselle?Sitdownonemorelittlemoment,Iprayofyou.’
Hesawthecolourfloodintoherfaceandebboutagain.Shesatdownoncemoreslowlyandunwillingly.
‘Mademoiselleisquickanddecisive,’saidPoirot.‘Shemustmakeallowancesforanoldmanlikemyself,whocomestohisdecisionsslowly.Youmistookme,Mademoiselle.IdidnotsaythatIwouldnotgodowntoLadyAstwell.’
‘Youwillcome,then?’
Thegirl’stonewasflat.ShedidnotlookatPoirot,butdownattheground,andsowasunawareofthekeenscrutinywithwhichheregardedher.
‘TellLadyAstwell,Mademoiselle,thatIamentirelyatherservice.Iwillbeat–MonRepos,isitnot?–thisafternoon.’
Herose.Thegirlfollowedsuit.
‘I–Iwilltellher.Itisverygoodofyoutocome,M.Poirot.Iamafraid,though,youwillfindyouhavebeenbroughtonawildgoosechase.’
‘Verylikely,but–whoknows?’
Hesawheroutwithpunctiliouscourtesytothedoor.Thenhereturnedtothesitting-room,frowning,deepinthought.Onceortwicehenoddedhishead,thenheopenedthedoorandcalledtohisvalet.
‘MygoodGeorge,prepareme,Iprayofyou,alittlevalise.Igodowntothecountrythisafternoon.’
‘Verygood,sir,’saidGeorge.
HewasanextremelyEnglish-lookingperson.Tall,cadaverousandunemotional.
‘Ayounggirlisaveryinterestingphenomenon,George,’saidPoirot,ashedroppedoncemoreintohisarm-chairandlightedatinycigarette.‘Especially,youunderstand,whenshehasbrains.Toasksomeonetodoathingandatthesametimetoputthemagainstdoingit,thatisadelicateoperation.Itrequiresfinesse.Shewasveryadroit–oh,veryadroit–butHerculePoirot,mygoodGeorge,isofaclevernessquiteexceptional.’
‘Ihaveheardyousayso,sir.’
‘Itisnotthesecretaryshehasinmind,’musedPoirot.‘LadyAstwell’saccusationofhimshetreatswithcontempt.Justthesamesheisanxiousthatnooneshoulddisturbthesleepingdogs.I,mygoodGeorge,Igotodisturbthem,Igotomakethedogfight!Thereisadramathere,atMonRepos.Ahumandrama,anditexcitesme.Shewasadroit,thelittleone,butnotadroitenough.Iwonder–IwonderwhatIshallfindthere?’
IntothedramaticpausewhichsucceededthesewordsGeorge’svoicebrokeapologetically:
‘ShallIpackdressclothes,sir?’
Poirotlookedathimsadly.
‘Alwaystheconcentration,theattentiontoyourownjob.Youareverygoodforme,George.’
II
Whenthe4.55drewupatAbbotsCrossstation,theredescendedfromitM.HerculePoirot,veryneatlyandfoppishlyattired,hismoustacheswaxedtoastiffpoint.Hegaveuphisticket,passedthroughthebarrier,andwasaccostedbyatallchauffeur.
‘M.Poirot?’
Thelittlemanbeameduponhim.‘Thatismyname.’
‘Thisway,sir,ifyouplease.’
HeheldopenthedoorofthebigRolls-Royce.
Thehousewasabarethreeminutesfromthestation.Thechauffeurdescendedoncemoreandopenedthedoorofthecar,andPoirotsteppedout.Thebutlerwasalreadyholdingthefrontdooropen.
Poirotgavetheoutsideofthehouseaswiftappraisingglancebeforepassingthroughtheopendoor.Itwasabig,solidlybuiltred-brickmansion,withnopretensionstobeauty,butwithanairofsolidcomfort.
Poirotsteppedintothehall.Thebutlerrelievedhimdeftlyofhishatandovercoat,thenmurmuredwiththatdeferentialundertoneonlytobeachievedbythebestservants:
‘Herladyshipisexpectingyou,sir.’
Poirotfollowedthebutlerupthesoft-carpetedstairs.This,withoutdoubt,wasParsons,averywell-trainedservant,withamannersuitablydevoidofemotion.Atthetopofthestaircaseheturnedtotherightalongacorridor.Hepassedthroughadoorintoalittleante-room,fromwhichtwomoredoorsled.Hethrewopentheleft-handoneofthese,andannounced:
‘M.Poirot,m’lady.’
Theroomwasnotaverylargeone,anditwascrowdedwithfurnitureandknick-knacks.Awoman,dressedinblack,gotupfromasofaandcamequicklytowardsPoirot.
‘M.Poirot,’shesaidwithoutstretchedhand.Hereyeranrapidlyoverthedandifiedfigure.Shepausedaminute,ignoringthelittleman’sbowoverherhand,andhismurmured‘Madame,’andthen,releasinghishandafterasuddenvigorouspressure,sheexclaimed:
‘Ibelieveinsmallmen!Theyarethecleverones.’
‘InspectorMiller,’murmuredPoirot,‘is,Ithink,atallman?’
‘Heisabumptiousidiot,’saidLadyAstwell.‘Sitdownherebyme,willyou,M.Poirot?’
Sheindicatedthesofaandwenton:‘Lilydidherbesttoputmeoffsendingforyou,butIhavenotcometomytimeoflifewithoutknowingmyownmind.’
‘Arareaccomplishment,’saidPoirot,ashefollowedhertothesettee.
LadyAstwellsettledherselfcomfortablyamongthecushionsandturnedsoastofacehim.
‘Lilyisadeargirl,’saidLadyAstwell,‘butshethinkssheknowseverything,andasoftenasnotinmyexperiencethosesortofpeoplearewrong.Iamnotclever,M.Poirot,Ineverhavebeen,butIamrightwheremanyamorestupidpersoniswrong.Ibelieveinguidance.Nowdoyouwantmetotellyouwhoisthemurderer,ordoyounot?Awomanknows,M.Poirot.’
‘DoesMissMargraveknow?’
‘Whatdidshetellyou?’askedLadyAstwellsharply.
‘Shegavemethefactsofthecase.’
‘Thefacts?Oh,ofcoursetheyaredeadagainstCharles,butItellyou,M.Poirot,hedidn’tdoit.Iknowhedidn’t!’Shebentuponhimanearnestnessthatwasalmostdisconcerting.
‘Youareverypositive,LadyAstwell?’
‘Trefusiskilledmyhusband,M.Poirot.Iamsureofit.’
‘Why?’
‘Whyshouldhekillhim,doyoumean,orwhyamIsure?ItellyouIknowit!Iamfunnyaboutthosethings.Imakeupmymindatonce,andIsticktoit.’
‘DidMrTrefusisbenefitinanywaybySirReuben’sdeath?’
‘Neverlefthimapenny,’returnedLadyAstwellpromptly.‘NowthatshowsyoudearReubencouldn’thavelikedortrustedhim.’
‘HadhebeenwithSirReubenlong,then?’
‘Closeonnineyears.’
‘Thatisalongtime,’saidPoirotsoftly,‘averylongtimetoremainintheemploymentofoneman.Yes,MrTrefusis,hemusthaveknownhisemployerwell.’
LadyAstwellstaredathim.‘Whatareyoudrivingat?Idon’tseewhatthathastodowithit.’
‘Iwasfollowingoutalittleideaofmyown,’saidPoirot.‘Alittleidea,notinteresting,perhaps,butoriginal,ontheeffectsofservice.’
LadyAstwellstillstared.‘Youareveryclever,aren’tyou?’shesaidinratheradoubtfultone.‘Everybodysaysso.’
HerculePoirotlaughed.‘Perhapsyoushallpaymethatcompliment,too,Madame,oneofthesedays.Butletusreturntothemotive.Tellmenowofyourhousehold,ofthepeoplewhowerehereinthehouseonthedayofthetragedy.’
‘TherewasCharles,ofcourse.’
‘Hewasyourhusband’snephew,Iunderstand,notyours.’
‘Yes,CharieswastheonlysonofReuben’ssister.Shemarriedacomparativelyrichman,butoneofthosecrashescame–theydo,inthecity–andhedied,andhiswife,too,andCharlescametolivewithus.Hewastwenty-threeatthetime,andgoingtobeabarrister.Butwhenthetroublecame,Reubentookhimintohisoffice.’
‘Hewasindustrious,M.Charles?’
‘Ilikeamanwhoisquickontheuptake,’saidLadyAstwellwithanodofapproval.‘No,that’sjustthetrouble,Charleswasnotindustrious.Hewasalwayshavingrowswithhisuncleoversomemuddleorotherthathehadmade.NotthatpoorReubenwasaneasymantogetonwith.Many’sthetimeI’vetoldhimhehadforgottenwhatitwastobeyounghimself.Hewasverydifferentinthosedays,M.Poirot.’
LadyAstwellheavedasighofreminiscence.
‘Changesmustcome,Madame,’saidPoirot.‘Itisthelaw.’
‘Still,’saidLadyAstwell,‘hewasneverreallyrudetome.Atleastifhewas,hewasalwayssorryafterwards–poordearReuben.’
‘Hewasdifficult,eh?’saidPoirot.
‘Icouldalwaysmanagehim,’saidLadyAstwellwiththeairofasuccessfulliontamer.‘Butitwasratherawkwardsometimeswhenhewouldlosehistemperwiththeservants.Therearewaysofdoingthat,andReuben’swasnottherightway.’
‘HowexactlydidSirReubenleavehismoney,LadyAstwell?’
‘HalftomeandhalftoCharles,’repliedLadyAstwellpromptly.‘Thelawyersdon’tputitsimplylikethat,butthat’swhatitamountsto.’
Poirotnoddedhishead.
‘Isee–Isee,’hemurmured.‘Now,LadyAstwell,Iwilldemandofyouthatyouwilldescribetomethehousehold.Therewasyourself,andSirReuben’snephew,MrCharlesLeverson,andthesecretary,MrOwenTrefusis,andtherewasMissLilyMargrave.Perhapsyouwilltellmesomethingofthatyounglady.’
‘YouwanttoknowaboutLily?’
‘Yes,shehadbeenwithyoulong?’
‘Aboutayear.Ihavehadalotofsecretary-companionsyouknow,butsomehoworothertheyallgotonmynerves.Lilywasdifferent.Shewastactfulandfullofcommonsenseandbesidesshelookssonice.Idoliketohaveaprettyfaceaboutme,M.Poirot.Iamafunnykindofperson;Itakelikesanddislikesstraightaway.AssoonasIsawthatgirl,Isaidtomyself:“She’lldo.”’
‘Didshecometoyouthroughfriends,LadyAstwell?’
‘Ithinksheansweredanadvertisement.Yes–thatwasit.’
‘Youknowsomethingofherpeople,ofwhereshecomesfrom?’
‘HerfatherandmotherareoutinIndia,Ibelieve.Idon’treallyknowmuchaboutthem,butyoucanseeataglancethatLilyisalady,can’tyou,M.Poirot?’
‘Oh,perfectly,perfectly.’
‘Ofcourse,’wentonLadyAstwell,‘Iamnotaladymyself.Iknowit,andtheservantsknowit,butthereisnothingmean-spiritedaboutme.IcanappreciatetherealthingwhenIseeit,andnoonecouldbenicerthanLilyhasbeentome.IlookuponthatgirlalmostasadaughterM.Poirot,indeedIdo.’
Poirot’srighthandstrayedoutandstraightenedoneortwooftheobjectslyingonatablenearhim.
‘DidSirReubensharethisfeeling?’heasked.
Hiseyeswereontheknick-knacks,butdoubtlesshenotedthepausebeforeLadyAstwell’sanswercame.
‘Withamanit’sdifferent.Ofcoursethey–theygotonverywell.’
‘Thankyou,Madame,’saidPoirot.Hewassmilingtohimself.
‘Andtheseweretheonlypeopleinthehousethatnight?’heasked.‘Excepting,ofcourse,theservants.’
‘Oh,therewasVictor.’
‘Victor?’
‘Yes,myhusband’sbrother,youknow,andhispartner.’
‘Helivedwithyou?’
‘No,hehadjustarrivedonavisit.HehasbeenoutinWestAfricaforthepastfewyears.’
‘WestAfrica,’murmuredPoirot.
HehadlearnedthatLadyAstwellcouldbetrustedtodevelopasubjectherselfifsufficienttimewasgivenher.
‘Theysayit’sawonderfulcountry,butIthinkit’sthekindofplacethathasaverybadeffectuponaman.Theydrinktoomuch,andtheygetuncontrolled.NoneoftheAstwellshasagoodtemper,andVictor’s,sincehecamebackfromAfrica,hasbeensimplytooshocking.Hehasfrightenedmeonceortwice.’
‘DidhefrightenMissMargrave,Iwonder?’murmuredPoirotgently.
‘Lily?Oh,Idon’tthinkhehasseenmuchofLily.’
Poirotmadeanoteortwoinadiminutivenotebook;thenheputthepencilbackinitsloopandreturnedthenote-booktohispocket.
‘Ithankyou,LadyAstwell.Iwillnow,ifImay,interviewParsons.’
‘Willyouhavehimuphere?’
LadyAstwell’shandmovedtowardsthebell.Poirotarrestedthegesturequickly.
‘No,no,athousandtimesno.Iwilldescendtohim.’
‘Ifyouthinkitisbetter–’
LadyAstwellwasclearlydisappointedatnotbeingabletoparticipateintheforthcomingscene.Poirotadoptedanairofsecrecy.
‘Itisessential,’hesaidmysteriously,andleftLadyAstwelldulyimpressed.
HefoundParsonsinthebutler’spantry,polishingsilver.Poirotopenedtheproceedingswithoneofhisfunnylittlebows.
‘Imustexplainmyself,’hesaid.‘Iamadetectiveagent.’
‘Yes,sir,’saidParsons,‘wegatheredasmuch.’
Histonewasrespectfulbutaloof.‘LadyAstwellsentforme,’continuedPoirot.‘Sheisnotsatisfied;no,sheisnotsatisfiedatall.’
‘Ihaveheardherladyshipsaysoonseveraloccasions,’saidParsons.
‘Infact,’saidPoirot,‘Irecounttoyouthethingsyoualreadyknow?Eh?Letusthennotwastetimeonthesebagatelles.Takeme,ifyouwillbesogood,toyourbedroomandtellmeexactlywhatitwasyouheardthereonthenightofthemurder.’
Thebutler’sroomwasonthegroundfloor,adjoiningtheservants’hall.Ithadbarredwindows,andthestrong-roomwasinonecornerofit.Parsonsindicatedthenarrowbed.
‘Ihadretired,sir,ateleveno’clock.MissMargravehadgonetobed,andLadyAstwellwaswithSirReubenintheTowerroom.’
‘LadyAstwellwaswithSirReuben?Ah,proceed.’
‘TheTowerroom,sir,isdirectlyoverthis.Ifpeoplearetalkinginitonecanhearthemurmurofvoices,butnaturallynotanythingthatissaid.Imusthavefallenasleepabouthalfpasteleven.Itwasjusttwelveo’clockwhenIwasawakenedbythesoundofthefrontdoorbeingslammedtoandknewMrLeversonhadreturned.PresentlyIheardfootstepsoverhead,andaminuteortwolaterMrLeverson’svoicetalkingtoSirReuben.
‘Itwasmyfancyatthetime,sir,thatMrLeversonwas–Ishouldnotexactlyliketosaydrunk,butinclinedtobealittleindiscreetandnoisy.Hewasshoutingathisuncleatthetopofhisvoice.Icaughtawordortwohereorthere,butnotenoughtounderstandwhatitwasallabout,andthentherewasasharpcryandaheavythud.’
Therewasapause,andParsonsrepeatedthelastwords.
‘Aheavythud,’hesaidimpressively.
‘IfImistakenot,itisadullthudinmostworksofromance,’murmuredPoirot.
‘Maybe,sir,’saidParsonsseverely.‘ItwasaheavythudIheard.’
‘Athousandpardons,’saidPoirot.
‘Donotmentionit,sir.Afterthethud,inthesilence,IheardMrLeverson’svoiceasplainasplaincanbe,raisedhigh.“MyGod,”hesaid,“myGod,”justlikethat,sir.’
Parsons,fromhisfirstreluctancetotellthetale,hadnowprogressedtoathoroughenjoymentofit.Hefanciedhimselfmightilyasanarrator.Poirotplayeduptohim.
‘MonDieu,’hemurmured.‘Whatemotionyoumusthaveexperienced!’
‘Yes,indeed,sir,’saidParsons,‘asyousay,sir.NotthatIthoughtverymuchofitatthetime.Butitdidoccurtometowonderifanythingwasamiss,andwhetherIhadbettergoupandsee.Iwenttoturntheelectriclighton,andwasunfortunateenoughtoknockoverachair.
‘Iopenedthedoor,andwentthroughtheservants’hall,andopenedtheotherdoorwhichgivesonapassage.Thebackstairsleadupfromthere,andasIstoodatthebottomofthem,hesitating,IheardMrLeverson’svoicefromupabove,speakingheartyandcheery-like.“Noharmdone,luckily,”hesays.“Goodnight,”andIheardhimmoveoffalongthepassagetohisownroom,whistling.
‘OfcourseIwentbacktobedatonce.Justsomethingknockedover,that’sallIthoughtitwas.Iaskyou,sir,wasItothinkSirReubenwasmurdered,withMrLeversonsayinggoodnightandall?’
‘YouaresureitwasMrLeverson’svoiceyouheard?’ParsonslookedatthelittleBelgianpityingly,andPoirotsawclearlyenoughthat,rightorwrong,Parsons’smindwasmadeuponthispoint.
‘Isthereanythingfurtheryouwouldliketoaskme,sir?’
‘Thereisonething,’saidPoirot,‘doyoulikeMrLeverson?’
‘I–Ibegyourpardon,sir?’
‘Itisasimplequestion.DoyoulikeMrLeverson?’
Parsons,frombeingstartledatfirst,nowseemedembarrassed.
‘Thegeneralopinionintheservants’hall,sir,’hesaid,andpaused.
‘Byallmeans,’saidPoirot,‘putitthatwayifitpleasesyou.’
‘Theopinionis,sir,thatMrLeversonisanopen-handedyounggentleman,butnot,ifImaysayso,particularlyintelligent,sir.’
‘Ah!’saidPoirot.‘Doyouknow,Parsons,thatwithouthavingseenhim,thatisalsopreciselymyopinionofMrLeverson.’
‘Indeed,sir.’
‘Whatisyouropinion–Ibegyourpardon–theopinionoftheservants’hallofthesecretary?’
‘Heisaveryquiet,patientgentleman,sir.Anxioustogivenotrouble.’
‘Vraiment,’saidPoirot.
Thebutlercoughed.
‘Herladyship,sir,’hemurmured,‘isapttobealittlehastyinherjudgments.’
‘Then,intheopinionoftheservants’hall,MrLeversoncommittedthecrime?’
‘WenoneofuswishtothinkitwasMrLeverson,’saidParsons.‘We–well,plainly,wedidn’tthinkhehaditinhim,sir.’
‘Buthehasasomewhatviolenttemper,hashenot?’askedPoirot.
Parsonscamenearertohim.
‘Ifyouareaskingmewhohadthemostviolenttemperinthehouse–’
Poirotheldupahand.
‘Ah!ButthatisnotthequestionIshouldask,’hesaidsoftly.‘Myquestionwouldbe,whohasthebesttemper?’Parsonsstaredathimopen-mouthed.
III
Poirotwastednofurthertimeonhim.Withanamiablelittlebow–hewasalwaysamiable–helefttheroomandwanderedoutintothebigsquarehallofMonRepos.Therehestoodaminuteortwointhought,then,ataslightsoundthatcametohim,cockedhisheadononesideinthemannerofaperkyrobin,andfinally,withnoiselesssteps,crossedtooneofthedoorsthatledoutofthehall.
Hestoodinthedoorway,lookingintotheroom;asmallroomfurnishedasalibrary.Atabigdeskatthefartherendofitsatathin,paleyoungmanbusilywriting.Hehadarecedingchin,andworepince-nez.
Poirotwatchedhimforsomeminutes,andthenhebrokethesilencebygivingacompletelyartificialandtheatricalcough.
‘Ahem!’coughedM.HerculePoirot.
Theyoungmanatthedeskstoppedwritingandturnedhishead.Hedidnotappearundulystartled,butanexpressionofperplexitygatheredonhisfaceasheeyedPoirot.
Thelattercameforwardwithalittlebow.
‘IhavethehonourofspeakingtoM.Trefusis,yes?Ah!MynameisPoirot,HerculePoirot.Youmayperhapshaveheardofme.’
‘Oh–er–yes,certainly,’saidtheyoungman.
Poiroteyedhimattentively.
OwenTrefusiswasaboutthirty-threeyearsofage,andthedetectivesawatoncewhynobodywasinclinedtotreatLadyAstwell’saccusationseriously.MrOwenTrefusiswasaprim,properyoungman,disarminglymeek,thetypeofmanwhocanbe,andis,systematicallybullied.Onecouldfeelquitesurethathewouldneverdisplayresentment.
‘LadyAstwellsentforyou,ofcourse,’saidthesecretary.‘Shementionedthatshewasgoingtodoso.IsthereanywayinwhichIcanhelpyou?’
Hismannerwaspolitewithoutbeingeffusive.Poirotacceptedachair,andmurmuredgently:
‘HasLadyAstwellsaidanythingtoyouofherbeliefsandsuspicions?’
OwenTrefusissmiledalittle.
‘Asfarasthatgoes,’hesaid,‘Ibelieveshesuspectsme.Itisabsurd,butthereitis.ShehashardlyspokenacivilwordtomesinceSirReuben’sdeath,andsheshrinksagainstthewallasIpassby.’
Hismannerwasperfectlynatural,andtherewasmoreamusementthanresentmentinhisvoice.Poirotnoddedwithanairofengagingfrankness.
‘Betweenourselves,’heexplained,‘shesaidthesamethingtome.Ididnotarguewithher–me,Ihavemadeitarulenevertoarguewithverypositiveladies.Youcomprehend,itisawasteoftime.’
‘Oh,quite.’
‘Isay,yes,Madame–oh,perfectly,Madame–précisément,Madame.Theymeannothing,thosewords,buttheysootheallthesame.Imakemyinvestigations,forthoughitseemsalmostimpossiblethatanyoneexceptM.Leversoncouldhavecommittedthecrime,yet–well,theimpossiblehashappenedbeforenow.’
‘Iunderstandyourpositionperfectly,’saidthesecretary.‘Pleaseregardmeasentirelyatyourservice.’
‘Bon,’saidPoirot.‘Weunderstandoneanother.Nowrecounttometheeventsofthatevening.Betterstartwithdinner.’
‘Leversonwasnotatdinner,asyoudoubtlessknow,’saidthesecretary.‘Hehadaseriousdisagreementwithhisuncle,andwentofftodineatthegolfclub.SirReubenwasinaverybadtemperinconsequence.’
‘Nottooamiable,ceMonsieur,eh?’hintedPoirotdelicately.
Trefusislaughed.
‘Oh!HewasaTartar!Ihaven’tworkedwithhimfornineyearswithoutknowingmostofhislittleways.Hewasanextraordinarilydifficultman,M.Poirot.Hewouldgetintochildishfitsofrageandabuseanybodywhocamenearhim.
‘Iwasusedtoitbythattime.Igotintothehabitofpayingabsolutelynoattentiontoanythinghesaid.Hewasnotbad-heartedreally,buthecouldbemostfoolishandexasperatinginhismanner.Thegreatthingwasnevertoanswerhimback.’
‘Wereotherpeopleaswiseasyouwereinthatrespect?’
Trefusisshruggedhisshoulders.
‘LadyAstwellenjoyedagoodrow,’hesaid.‘ShewasnotintheleastafraidofSirReuben,andshealwaysstooduptohimandgavehimasgoodasshegot.Theyalwaysmadeitupafterwards,andSirReubenwasreallydevotedtoher.’
‘Didtheyquarrelthatnight?’
Thesecretarylookedathimsideways,hesitatedaminute,thenhesaid:
‘Ibelieveso;whatmadeyouask?’
‘Anidea,thatisall.’
‘Idon’tknow,ofcourse,’explainedthesecretary,‘butthingslookedasthoughtheywereworkingupthatway.’
Poirotdidnotpursuethetopic.
‘Whoelsewasatdinner?’
‘MissMargrave,MrVictorAstwell,andmyself.’
‘Andafterwards?’
‘Wewentintothedrawing-room.SirReubendidnotaccompanyus.Abouttenminuteslaterhecameinandhauledmeoverthecoalsforsometriflingmatteraboutaletter.IwentupwithhimtotheTowerroomandsetthethingstraight;thenMrVictorAstwellcameinandsaidhehadsomethinghewishedtotalktohisbrotherabout,soIwentdownstairsandjoinedthetwoladies.
‘AboutaquarterofanhourlaterIheardSirReuben’sbellringingviolently,andParsonscametosayIwastogouptoSirReubenatonce.AsIenteredtheroom,MrVictorAstwellwascomingout.Henearlyknockedmeover.Somethinghadevidentlyhappenedtoupsethim.Hehasaveryviolenttemper.Ireallybelievehedidn’tseeme.’
‘DidSirReubenmakeanycommentonthematter?’
‘Hesaid:“Victorisalunatic;hewilldoforsomebodysomedaywhenheisinoneoftheserages.”’
‘Ah!’saidPoirot.‘Haveyouanyideawhatthetroublewasabout?’
‘Icouldn’tsayatall.’
Poirotturnedhisheadveryslowlyandlookedatthesecretary.Thoselastwordshadbeenutteredtoohastily.HeformedtheconvictionthatTrefusiscouldhavesaidmorehadhewishedtodoso.ButonceagainPoirotdidnotpressthequestion.
‘Andthen?Proceed,Iprayofyou.’
‘IworkedwithSirReubenforaboutanhourandahalf.Ateleveno’clockLadyAstwellcamein,andSirReubentoldmeIcouldgotobed.’
‘Andyouwent?’
‘Yes.’
‘Haveyouanyideahowlongshestayedwithhim?’
‘Noneatall.Herroomisonthefirstfloor,andmineisonthesecond,soIwouldnothearhergotobed.’
‘Isee.’
Poirotnoddedhisheadonceortwiceandsprangtohisfeet.
‘Andnow,Monsieur,takemetotheTowerroom.’
Hefollowedthesecretaryupthebroadstairstothefirstlanding.HereTrefusisledhimalongthecorridor,andthroughabaizedoorattheendofit,whichgaveontheservants’staircaseandonashortpassagethatendedinadoor.Theypassedthroughthisdoorandfoundthemselvesonthesceneofthecrime.
Itwasaloftyroomtwiceashighasanyoftheothers,andwasroughlyaboutthirtyfeetsquare.Swordsandassagaisadornedthewalls,andmanynativecurioswerearrangedaboutontables.Atthefarend,intheembrasureofthewindow,wasalargewriting-table.Poirotcrossedstraighttoit.
‘ItwashereSirReubenwasfound?’
Trefusisnodded.
‘Hewasstruckfrombehind,Iunderstand?’
Againthesecretarynodded.
‘Thecrimewascommittedwithoneofthesenativeclubs,’heexplained.‘Atremendouslyheavything.Deathmusthavebeenpracticallyinstantaneous.’
‘Thatstrengthenstheconvictionthatthecrimewasnotpremeditated.Asharpquarrel,andaweaponsnatchedupalmostunconsciously.’
‘Yes,itdoesnotlookwellforpoorLeverson.’
‘Andthebodywasfoundfallenforwardonthedesk?’
‘No,ithadslippedsidewaystotheground.’
‘Ah,’saidPoirot,‘thatiscurious.’
‘Whycurious?’askedthesecretary.
‘Becauseofthis.’
Poirotpointedtoaroundirregularstainonthepolishedsurfaceofthewriting-table.
‘Thatisablood-stain,monami.’
‘Itmayhavespatteredthere,’suggestedTrefusis,‘oritmayhavebeenmadelater,whentheymovedthebody.’
‘Verypossibly,verypossibly,’saidthelittleman.‘Thereisonlytheonedoortothisroom?’
‘Thereisastaircasehere.’
Trefusispulledasideavelvetcurtaininthecorneroftheroomnearestthedoor,whereasmallspiralstaircaseleadupwards.
‘Thisplacewasoriginallybuiltbyanastronomer.Thestairsleduptothetowerwherethetelescopewasfixed.SirReubenhadtheplacefittedupasabedroom,andsometimessleptthereifhewasworkingverylate.’
Poirotwentnimblyupthestairs.Thecircularroomupstairswasplainlyfurnished,withacamp-bed,achairanddressing-table.Poirotsatisfiedhimselfthattherewasnootherexit,andthencamedownagaintowhereTrefusisstoodwaitingforhim.
‘DidyouhearMrLeversoncomein?’heasked.
Trefusisshookhishead.
‘Iwasfastasleepbythattime.’
Poirotnodded.Helookedslowlyroundtheroom.
‘Ehbien!’hesaidatlast.‘Idonotthinkthereisanythingfurtherhere,unless–perhapsyouwouldbesokindastodrawthecurtains.’
ObedientlyTrefusispulledtheheavyblackcurtainsacrossthewindowatthefarendoftheroom.Poirotswitchedonthelight–whichwasmaskedbyabigalabasterbowlhangingfromtheceiling
‘Therewasadesklight?’heasked.
Forreplythesecretaryclickedonapowerfulgreen-shadedhandlamp,whichstoodonthewriting-table.Poirotswitchedtheotherlightoff,thenon,thenoffagain.
‘C’estbien!Ihavefinishedhere.’
‘Dinnerisathalfpastseven,’murmuredthesecretary.
‘Ithankyou,M.Trefusis,foryourmanyamiabilities.’
‘Notatall.’
Poirotwentthoughtfullyalongthecorridortotheroomappointedforhim.TheinscrutableGeorgewastherelayingouthismaster’sthings.
‘MygoodGeorge,’hesaidpresently,‘Ishall,Ihope,meetatdinneracertaingentlemanwhobeginstointriguemegreatly.Amanwhohascomehomefromthetropics,George.Withatropicaltemper–soitissaid.AmanwhomParsonstriestotellmeabout,andwhomLilyMargravedoesnotmention.ThelateSirReubenhadatemperofhisown,George.Supposingsuchamantocomeintocontactwithamanwhosetemperwasworsethanhisown–howdoyousayit?Thefurwouldjumpabout,eh?’
‘“Wouldfly”isthecorrectexpression,sir,anditisnotalwaysthecase,sir,notbyalongway.’
‘No?’
‘No,sir.TherewasmyAuntJemima,sir,amostshrewishtongueshehad,bulliedapoorsisterofherswholivedwithher,somethingshockingshedid.Nearlyworriedthelifeoutofher.Butifanyonecamealongwhostooduptoher,well,itwasaverydifferentthing.Itwasmeeknessshecouldn’tbear.’
‘Ha!’saidPoirot,‘itissuggestive–that.’
Georgecoughedapologetically.
‘IsthereanythingIcandoinanyway,’heinquireddelicately,‘to–er–assistyou,sir?’
‘Certainly,’saidPoirotpromptly.‘YoucanfindoutformewhatcoloureveningdressMissLilyMargraveworethatnight,andwhichhousemaidattendsher.’
Georgereceivedthesecommandswithhisusualstolidity.
‘Verygood,sir,Iwillhavetheinformationforyouinthemorning.’
Poirotrosefromhisseatandstoodgazingintothefire.
‘Youareveryusefultome,George,’hemurmured.‘Doyouknow,IshallnotforgetyourAuntJemima?’
IV
Poirotdidnot,afterall,seeVictorAstwellthatnight.AtelephonemessagecamefromhimthathewasdetainedinLondon.
‘Heattendstotheaffairsofyourlatehusband’sbusiness,eh?’askedPoirotofLadyAstwell.
‘Victorisapartner,’sheexplained.‘HewentouttoAfricatolookintosomeminingconcessionsforthefirm.Itwasmining,wasn’tit,Lily?’
‘Yes,LadyAstwell.’
‘Goldmines,Ithink,orwasitcopperortin?Yououghttoknow,Lily,youwerealwaysaskingReubenquestionsaboutitall.Oh,dobecareful,dear,youwillhavethatvaseover!’
‘Itisdreadfullyhotinherewiththefire,’saidthegirl.‘ShallI–shallIopenthewindowalittle?’
‘Ifyoulike,dear,’saidLadyAstwellplacidly.
Poirotwatchedwhilethegirlwentacrosstothewindowandopenedit.Shestoodthereaminuteortwobreathinginthecoolnightair.Whenshereturnedandsatdowninherseat,Poirotsaidtoherpolitely:
‘SoMademoiselleisinterestedinmines?’
‘Oh,notreally,’saidthegirlindifferently.‘IlistenedtoSirReuben,butIdon’tknowanythingaboutthesubject.’
‘Youpretendedverywell,then,’saidLadyAstwell.‘PoorReubenactuallythoughtyouhadsomeulteriormotiveinaskingallthosequestions.’
Thelittledetective’seyeshadnotmovedfromthefire,intowhichhewassteadilystaring,butnevertheless,hedidnotmissthequickflushofvexationonLilyMargrave’sface.Tactfullyhechangedtheconversation.Whenthehourforgoodnightscame,Poirotsaidtohishostess:
‘MayIhavejusttwolittlewordswithyou,Madame?’
LilyMargravevanisheddiscreetly.LadyAstwelllookedinquiringlyatthedetective.
‘YouwerethelastpersontoseeSirReubenalivethatnight?’
Shenodded.Tearssprangintohereyes,andshehastilyheldablack-edgedhandkerchieftothem.
‘Ah,donotdistressyourself,Ibegofyoudonotdistressyourself.’
‘It’sallverywell,M.Poirot,butIcan’thelpit.’
‘Iamatripleimbecilethustovexyou.’
‘No,no,goon.Whatwereyougoingtosay?’
‘Itwasabouteleveno’clock,Ifancy,whenyouwentintotheTowerroom,andSirReubendismissedMrTrefusis.Isthatright?’
‘Itmusthavebeenaboutthen.’
‘Howlongwereyouwithhim?’
‘ItwasjustaquartertotwelvewhenIgotuptomyroom;Irememberglancingattheclock.’
‘LadyAstwell,willyoutellmewhatyourconversationwithyourhusbandwasabout?’
LadyAstwellsankdownonthesofaandbrokedowncompletely.Hersobswerevigorous.
‘We–qua–qua–quarrelled,’shemoaned.
‘Whatabout?’Poirot’svoicewascoaxing,almosttender.
‘L-l-lotsofthings.Itb-b-beganwithL-Lily.Reubentookadisliketoher–fornoreason,andsaidhehadcaughtherinterferingwithhispapers.Hewantedtosendheraway,andIsaidshewasadeargirl,andIwouldnothaveit.Andthenhes-s-startedshoutingmedown,andIwouldn’thavethat,soIjusttoldhimwhatIthoughtofhim.
‘NotthatIreallymeantit,M.Poirot.Hesaidhehadtakenmeoutoftheguttertomarryme,andIsaid–ah,butwhatdoesitallmatternow?Ishallneverforgivemyself.Youknowhowitis,M.Poirot,Ialwaysdidsayagoodrowclearstheair,andhowwasItoknowsomeonewasgoingtomurderhimthatverynight?PooroldReuben.’
Poirothadlistenedsympatheticallytoallthisoutburst.
‘Ihavecausedyousuffering,’hesaid.‘Iapologize.Letusnowbeverybusiness-like–verypractical,veryexact.YoustillclingtoyourideathatMrTrefusismurderedyourhusband?’
LadyAstwelldrewherselfup.
‘Awoman’sinstinct,M.Poirot,’shesaidsolemnly,‘neverlies.’
‘Exactly,exactly,’saidPoirot.‘Butwhendidhedoit?’
‘When?AfterIlefthim,ofcourse.’
‘YouleftSirReubenataquartertotwelve.AtfiveminutestotwelveMrLeversoncamein.Inthattenminutesyousaythesecretarycamealongfromhisbedroomandmurderedhim?’
‘Itisperfectlypossible.’
‘Somanythingsarepossible,’saidPoirot.‘Itcouldbedoneintenminutes.Oh,yes!Butwasit?’
‘Ofcoursehesayshewasinbedandfastasleep,’saidLadyAstwell,‘butwhoistoknowifhewasornot?’
‘Nobodysawhimabout,’Poirotremindedher.
‘Everybodywasinbedandfastasleep,’saidLadyAstwelltriumphantly.‘Ofcoursenobodysawhim.’
‘Iwonder,’saidPoirottohimself.
Ashortpause.
‘Ehbien,LadyAstwell,Iwishyougoodnight.’
V
Georgedepositedatrayofearly-morningcoffeebyhismaster’sbedside.
‘MissMargrave,sir,woreadressoflightgreenchiffononthenightinquestion.’
‘Thankyou,George,youaremostreliable.’
‘ThethirdhousemaidlooksafterMissMargrave,sir.HernameisGladys.’
‘Thankyou,George.Youareinvaluable.’
‘Notatall,sir.’
‘Itisafinemorning,’saidPoirot,lookingoutofthewindow,‘andnooneislikelytobeastirveryearly.Ithink,mygoodGeorge,thatweshallhavetheTowerroomtoourselvesifweproceedtheretomakealittleexperiment.’
‘Youneedme,sir?’
‘Theexperiment,’saidPoirot,‘willnotbepainful.’
ThecurtainswerestilldrawnintheTowerroomwhentheyarrivedthere.Georgewasabouttopullthem,whenPoirotrestrainedhim.
‘Wewillleavetheroomasitis.Justturnonthedesklamp.’
Thevaletobeyed.
‘Now,mygoodGeorge,sitdowninthatchair.Disposeyourselfasthoughyouwerewriting.Trèsbien.Me,Iseizeaclub,Istealupbehindyou,so,andIhityouonthebackofthehead.’
‘Yes,sir,’saidGeorge.
‘Ah!’saidPoirot,‘butwhenIhityou,donotcontinuetowrite.YoucomprehendIcannotbeexact.IcannothityouwiththesameforcewithwhichtheassassinhitSirReuben.Whenitcomestothatpoint,wemustdothemake-believe.Ihityouonthehead,andyoucollapse,so.Thearmswellrelaxed,thebodylimp.Permitmetoarrangeyou.Butno,donotflexyourmuscles.’
Heheavedasighofexasperation.
‘Youpressadmirablythetrousers,George,’hesaid,‘buttheimaginationyoupossessitnot.Getupandletmetakeyourplace.’
Poirotinhisturnsatdownatthewriting-table.
‘Iwrite,’hedeclared,‘Iwritebusily.Youstealupbehindme,youhitmeontheheadwiththeclub.Crash!Thepenslipsfrommyfingers,Idropforward,butnotveryfarforward,forthechairislow,andthedeskishigh,and,moreover,myarmssupportme.Havethegoodness,George,togobacktothedoor,standthere,andtellmewhatyousee.’
‘Ahem!’
‘Yes,George?’encouragingly.
‘Iseeyou,sir,sittingatthedesk.
‘Sittingatthedesk?’
‘Itisalittledifficulttoseeplainly,sir,’explainedGeorge,‘beingsuchalongwayaway,sir,andthelampbeingsoheavilyshaded.IfImightturnonthislight,sir?’
Hishandreachedouttotheswitch.
‘Notatall,’saidPoirotsharply.‘Weshalldoverywellasweare.HereamIbendingoverthedesk,thereareyoustandingbythedoor.Advancenow,George,advance,andputyourhandonmyshoulder.’
Georgeobeyed.
‘Leanonmealittle,George,tosteadyyourselfonyourfeet,asitwere.Ah!Voilà.’
HerculePoirot’slimpbodyslidartisticallysideways.
‘Icollapse–so!’heobserved.‘Yes,itisverywellimagined.Thereisnowsomethingmostimportantthatmustbedone.’
‘Indeed,sir?’saidthevalet.
‘Yes,itisnecessarythatIshouldbreakfastwell.’
Thelittlemanlaughedheartilyathisownjoke.
‘Thestomach,George;itmustnotbeignored.’
Georgemaintainedadisapprovingsilence.Poirotwentdownstairschucklinghappilytohimself.Hewaspleasedatthewaythingswereshaping.AfterbreakfasthemadetheacquaintanceofGladys,thethirdhousemaid.Hewasveryinterestedinwhatshecouldtellhimofthecrime.ShewassympathetictowardsCharles,althoughshehadnodoubtofhisguilt.
‘Pooryounggentleman,sir,itseemshard,itdoes,himnotbeingquitehimselfatthetime.’
‘HeandMissMargraveshouldhavegotonwelltogether,’suggestedPoirot,‘astheonlytwoyoungpeopleinthehouse.’
Gladysshookherhead.‘Verystand-offishMissLilywaswithhim.Shewouldn’thavenocarryings-on,andshemadeitplain.’
‘Hewasfondofher,washe?’
‘Oh,onlyinpassing,sotospeak;noharminit,sir.MrVictorAstwell,nowheisproperlygoneonMissLily.’
Shegiggled.
‘Ahvraiment!’
Gladysgiggledagain.
‘Sweetonherstraightawayhewas.MissLilyisjustlikealily,isn’tshe,sir?Sotallandsuchalovelyshadeofgoldhair.’
‘Sheshouldwearagreeneveningfrock,’musedPoirot.‘Thereisacertainshadeofgreen–’
‘Shehasone,sir,’saidGladys.‘Ofcourse,shecan’twearitnow,beinginmourning,butshehaditontheverynightSirReubendied.’
‘Itshouldbealightgreen,notadarkgreen,’saidPoirot.
‘Itisalightgreen,sir.IfyouwaitaminuteI’llshowittoyou.MissLilyhasjustgoneoutwiththedogs.’
Poirotnodded.HeknewthataswellasGladysdid.Infact,itwasonlyafterseeingLilysafelyoffthepremisesthathehadgoneinsearchofthehousemaid.Gladyshurriedaway,andreturnedafewminuteslaterwithagreeneveningdressonahanger.
‘Exquis!’murmuredPoirot,holdinguphandsofadmiration.‘Permitmetotakeittothelightaminute.’
HetookthedressfromGladys,turnedhisbackonherandhurriedtothewindow.Hebentoverit,thenhelditoutatarm’slength.
‘Itisperfect,’hedeclared.‘Perfectlyravishing.Athousandthanksforshowingittome.’
‘Notatall,sir,’saidGladys.‘WeallknowthatFrenchmenareinterestedinladies’dresses.’
‘Youaretookind,’murmuredPoirot.
Hewatchedherhurryawayagainwiththedress.Thenhelookeddownathistwohandsandsmiled.Intherighthandwasatinypairofnailscissors,intheleftwasaneatlyclippedfragmentofgreenchiffon.
‘Andnow,’hemurmured,‘tobeheroic.’
HereturnedtohisownapartmentandsummonedGeorge.
‘Onthedressing-table,mygoodGeorge,youwillperceiveagoldscarfpin.’
‘Yes,sir.’
‘Onthewashstandisasolutionofcarbolic.Immerse,Iprayyou,thepointofthepininthecarbolic.’
Georgedidashewasbid.Hehadlongagoceasedtowonderatthevagariesofhismaster.
‘Ihavedonethat,sir.’
‘Trèsbien!Nowapproach.Itendertoyoumyfirstfinger;insertthepointofthepininit.’
‘Excuseme,sir,youwantmetoprickyou,sir?’
‘Butyes,youhaveguessedcorrectly.Youmustdrawblood,youunderstand,butnottoomuch.’
Georgetookholdofhismaster’sfinger.Poirotshuthiseyesandleanedback.Thevaletstabbedatthefingerwiththescarfpin,andPoirotutteredashrillyell.
‘Jevousremercie,George,’hesaid.‘Whatyouhavedoneisample.’
Takingasmallpieceofgreenchiffonfromhispocket,hedabbedhisfingerwithitgingerly.
‘Theoperationhassucceededtoamiracle,’heremarked,gazingattheresult.‘Youhavenocuriosity,George?Now,thatisadmirable!’
Thevalethadjusttakenadiscreetlookoutofthewindow.
‘Excuseme,sir,’hemurmured,‘agentlemanhasdrivenupinalargecar.’
‘Ah!Ah!’saidPoirot.Herosebrisklytohisfeet.‘TheelusiveMrVictorAstwell.Igodowntomakehisacquaintance.’
PoirotwasdestinedtohearMrVictorAstwellsometimebeforehesawhim.Aloudvoicerangoutfromthehall.
‘Mindwhatyouaredoing,youdamnedidiot!Thatcasehasgotglassinit.Curseyou,Parsons,getoutoftheway!Putitdown,youfool!’
Poirotskippednimblydownthestairs.VictorAstwellwasabigman.Poirotbowedtohimpolitely.
‘Whothedevilareyou?’roaredthebigman.
Poirotbowedagain.
‘MynameisHerculePoirot.’
‘Lord!’saidVictorAstwell.‘SoNancysentforyou,afterall,didshe?’
HeputahandonPoirot’sshoulderandsteeredhimintothelibrary.
‘Soyouarethefellowtheymakesuchafussabout,’heremarked,lookinghimupanddown.‘Sorryformylanguagejustnow.Thatchauffeurofmineisadamnedass,andParsonsalwaysdoesgetonmynerves,blitheringoldidiot.
‘Idon’tsufferfoolsgladly,youknow,’hesaid,half-apologetically,‘butbyallaccountsyouarenotafool,eh,M.Poirot?’
Helaughedbreezily.‘Thosewhohavethoughtsohavebeensadlymistaken,’saidPoirotplacidly.
‘Isthatso?Well,soNancyhascartedyoudownhere–gotabeeinherbonnetaboutthesecretary.Thereisnothinginthat;Trefusisisasmildasmilk–drinksmilk,too,Ibelieve.Thefellowisateetotaller.Ratherawasteofyourtimeisn’tit?’
‘Ifonehasanopportunitytoobservehumannature,timeisneverwasted,’saidPoirotquietly.
‘Humannature,eh?’
VictorAstwellstaredathim,thenheflunghimselfdowninachair.
‘AnythingIcandoforyou?’
‘Yes,youcantellmewhatyourquarrelwithyourbrotherwasaboutthatevening.’
VictorAstwellshookhishead.
‘Nothingtodowiththecase,’hesaiddecisively.
‘Onecanneverbesure,’saidPoirot.
‘IthadnothingtodowithCharlesLeverson.’
‘LadyAstwellthinksthatCharleshadnothingtodowiththemurder.’
‘Oh,Nancy!’
‘ParsonsassumesthatitwasM.CharlesLeversonwhocameinthatnight,buthedidn’tseehim.Remembernobodysawhim.’
‘It’sverysimple.ReubenhadbeenpitchingintoyoungCharles–notwithoutgoodreason,Imustsay.Lateronhetriedtobullyme.Itoldhimafewhometruthsand,justtoannoyhim,Imadeupmymindtobacktheboy.Imeanttoseehimthatnight,soastotellhimhowthelandlay.WhenIwentuptomyroomIdidn’tgotobed.Instead,Ileftthedoorajarandsatonachairsmoking.Myroomisonthesecondfloor,M.Poirot,andCharles’sroomisnexttoit.’
‘Pardonmyinterruptingyou–MrTrefusis,he,too,sleepsonthatfloor?’
Astwellnodded.
‘Yes,hisroomisjustbeyondmine.’
‘Nearerthestairs?’
‘No,theotherway.’
AcuriouslightcameintoPoirot’sface,buttheotherdidn’tnoticeitandwenton:
‘AsIsay,IwaitedupforCharles.Iheardthefrontdoorslam,asIthought,aboutfiveminutestotwelve,buttherewasnosignofCharlesforabouttenminutes.WhenhedidcomeupthestairsIsawthatitwasnogoodtacklinghimthatnight.’
Heliftedhiselbowsignificantly.
‘Isee,’murmuredPoirot.
‘Poordevilcouldn’twalkstraight,’saidAstwell.‘Hewaslookingprettyghastly,too.Iputitdowntohisconditionatthetime.Ofcourse,now,Irealizethathehadcomestraightfromcommittingthecrime.’
Poirotinterposedaquickquestion.
‘YouheardnothingfromtheTowerroom?’
‘No,butyoumustrememberthatIwasrightattheotherendofthebuilding.Thewallsarethick,andIdon’tbelieveyouwouldevenhearapistolshotfiredfromthere.’
Poirotnodded.
‘Iaskedifhewouldlikesomehelpgettingtobed,’continuedAstwell.‘Buthesaidhewasallrightandwentintohisroomandbangedthedoor.Iundressedandwenttobed.’
Poirotwasstaringthoughtfullyatthecarpet.
‘Yourealize,M.Astwell,’hesaidatlast,‘thatyourevidenceisveryimportant?’
‘Isupposeso,atleast–whatdoyoumean?’
‘YourevidencethattenminuteselapsedbetweentheslammingofthefrontdoorandLeverson’sappearanceupstairs.Hehimselfsays,soIunderstand,thathecameintothehouseandwentstraightuptobed.Butthereismorethanthat.LadyAstwell’saccusationofthesecretaryisfantastic,Iadmit,yetuptonowithasnotbeenprovedimpossible
‘Howisthat?’
‘LadyAstwellsaysthatsheleftherhusbandataquartertotwelve,whilethesecretaryhadgonetobedateleveno’clock.TheonlytimehecouldhavecommittedthecrimewasbetweenaquartertotwelveandCharlesLeverson’sreturn.Now,if,asyousay,yousatwithyourdooropen,hecouldnothavecomeoutofhisroomwithoutyourseeinghim.’
‘Thatisso,’agreedtheother.
‘Thereisnootherstaircase?’
‘No,togetdowntotheTowerroomhewouldhavehadtopassmydoor,andhedidn’t,Iamquitesureofthat.And,anyway,M.Poirot,asIsaidjustnow,themanisasmeekasaparson,Iassureyou.’
‘Butyes,butyes,’saidPoirotsoothingly,‘Iunderstandallthat.’Hepaused.‘AndyouwillnottellmethesubjectofyourquarrelwithSirReuben?’
Theother’sfaceturnedadarkred.
‘You’llgetnothingoutofme.’
Poirotlookedattheceiling.
‘Icanalwaysbediscreet,’hemurmured,‘wherealadyisconcerned.’
VictorAstwellsprangtohisfeet.
‘Damnyou,howdidyou–whatdoyoumean?’
‘Iwasthinking,’saidPoirot,‘ofMissLilyMargrave.’
VictorAstwellstoodundecidedforaminuteortwo,thenhiscoloursubsided,andhesatdownagain.
‘Youaretoocleverforme,M.Poirot.Yes,itwasLilywequarrelledabout.Reubenhadhisknifeintoher;hehadferretedoutsomethingorotheraboutthegirl–falsereferences,somethingofthatkind.Idon’tbelieveawordofitmyself.
‘Andthenhewentfurtherthanhehadanyrighttogo,talkedaboutherstealingdownatnightandgettingoutofthehousetomeetsomefelloworother.MyGod!Igaveittohim;Itoldhimthatbettermenthanhehadbeenkilledforsayingless.Thatshuthimup.ReubenwasinclinedtobeabitafraidofmewhenIgotgoing.’
‘Ihardlywonderatit,’murmuredPoirotpolitely.
‘IthinkalotofLilyMargrave,’saidVictorinanothertone.‘Anicegirlthroughandthrough.’
Poirotdidnotanswer.Hewasstaringinfrontofhim,seeminglylostinabstraction.Hecameoutofhisbrownstudywithajerk.
‘Imust,Ithink,promenademyselfalittle.Thereisahotelhere,yes?’
‘Two,’saidVictorAstwell,‘theGolfHotelupbythelinksandtheMitredownbythestation.’
‘Ithankyou,’saidPoirot.‘Yes,certainlyImustpromenademyselfalittle.’
TheGolfHotel,asbefitsitsname,standsonthegolflinksalmostadjoiningtheclubhouse.ItwastothishostelrythatPoirotrepairedfirstinthecourseofthat‘promenade’whichhehadadvertisedhimselfasbeingabouttotake.Thelittlemanhadhisownwayofdoingthings.ThreeminutesafterhehadenteredtheGolfHotelhewasinprivateconsultationwithMissLangdon,themanageress.
‘Iregrettoincommodeyouinanyway,Mademoiselle,’saidPoirot,‘butyouseeIamadetective.’
Simplicityalwaysappealedtohim.Inthiscasethemethodprovedefficaciousatonce.
‘Adetective!’exclaimedMissLangdon,lookingathimdoubtfully.
‘NotfromScotlandYard,’Poirotassuredher.‘Infact–youmayhavenoticedit?IamnotanEnglishman.No,ImaketheprivateinquiriesintothedeathofSirReubenAstwell.’
‘Youdon’tsay,now!’MissLangdongoggledathimexpectantly.
‘Precisely,’saidPoirot,beaming.‘OnlytosomeoneofdiscretionlikeyourselfwouldIrevealthefact.Ithink,Mademoiselle,youmaybeabletoaidme.Canyoutellmeofanygentlemanstayinghereonthenightofthemurderwhowasabsentfromthehotelthateveningandreturnedtoitabouttwelveorhalfpast?’
MissLangdon’seyesopenedwiderthanever.
‘Youdon’tthink–?’shebreathed.
‘Thatyouhadthemurdererhere?No,butIhavereasontobelievethatagueststayingherepromenadedhimselfinthedirectionofMonReposthatnight,andifsohemayhaveseensomethingwhich,thoughconveyingnomeaningtohim,mightbeveryusefultome.’
Themanageressnoddedherheadsapiently,withanairofonethoroughlywellupintheannalsofdetectivelogic.
‘Iunderstandperfectly.Now,letmesee;whodidwehavestayinghere?’
Shefrowned,evidentlyrunningoverthenamesinhermind,andhelpinghermemorybyoccasionallycheckingthemoffonherfingertips.
‘CaptainSwann,MrElkins,MajorBlyunt,oldMrBenson.No,really,sir,Idon’tbelieveanyonewentoutthatevening.’
‘Youwouldhavenoticediftheyhaddoneso,eh?’
‘Oh,yes,sir,itisnotveryusual,yousee.Imeangentlemengoouttodinnerandallthat,buttheydon’tgooutafterdinner,because–well,thereisnowheretogoto,isthere?’
TheattractionsofAbbotsCrossweregolfandnothingbutgolf.
‘Thatisso,’agreedPoirot.‘Then,asfarasyouremember,Mademoiselle,nobodyfromherewasoutthatnight?’
‘CaptainEnglandandhiswifewereouttodinner.’
Poirotshookhishead.‘ThatisnotthekindofthingImean.Iwilltrytheotherhotel;theMitre,isitnot?’
‘Oh,theMitre,’saidMissLangdon.‘Ofcourse,anyonemighthavegoneoutwalkingfromthere.’
Thedisparagementofhertone,thoughvague,wasevident,andPoirotbeatatactfulretreat.
VI
Tenminuteslaterhewasrepeatingthescene,thistimewithMissCole,thebrusquemanageressoftheMitre,alesspretentioushotelwithlowerprices,situatedclosetothestation.
‘Therewasonegentlemanoutlatethatnight,cameinabouthalfpasttwelve,asfarasIcanremember.Quiteahabitofhisitwas,togooutforawalkatthattimeoftheevening.Hehaddoneitonceortwicebefore.Letmeseenow,whatwashisname?JustforthemomentIcan’trememberit.’
Shepulledalargeledgertowardsherandbeganturningoverthepages.
‘Nineteenth,twentieth,twenty-first,twenty-second.Ah,hereweare.Naylor,CaptainHumphreyNaylor.’
‘Hehadstayedherebefore?Youknowhimwell?’
‘Oncebefore,’saidMissCole,‘aboutafortnightearlier.Hewentoutthenintheevening,Iremember.’
‘Hecametoplaygolf,eh?’
‘Isupposeso,’saidMissCole,‘that’swhatmostofthegentlemencomefor.’
‘Verytrue,’saidPoirot.‘Well,Mademoiselle,Ithankyouinfinitely,andIwishyougoodday.’
HewentbacktoMonReposwithaverythoughtfulface.Onceortwicehedrewsomethingfromhispocketandlookedatit.
‘Itmustbedone,’hemurmuredtohimself,‘andsoon,assoonasIcanmaketheopportunity.’
Hisfirstproceedingonre-enteringthehousewastoaskParsonswhereMissMargravemightbefound.HewastoldthatshewasinthesmallstudydealingwithLadyAstwell’scorrespondence,andtheinformationseemedtoaffordPoirotsatisfaction.
Hefoundthelittlestudywithoutdifficulty.LilyMargravewasseatedatadeskbythewindow,writing.Butforhertheroomwasempty.Poirotcarefullyshutthedoorbehindhimandcametowardsthegirl.
‘Imayhavealittleminuteofyourtime,Mademoiselle,youwillbesokind?’
‘Certainly.’
LilyMargraveputthepapersasideandturnedtowardshim.
‘WhatcanIdoforyou?’
‘Ontheeveningofthetragedy,Mademoiselle,IunderstandthatwhenLadyAstwellwenttoherhusbandyouwentstraightuptobed.Isthatso?’
LilyMargravenodded.
‘Youdidnotcomedownagain,byanychance?’
Thegirlshookherhead.
‘Ithinkyousaid,Mademoiselle,thatyouhadnotatanytimethateveningbeenintheTowerroom?’
‘Idon’tremembersayingso,butasamatteroffactthatisquitetrue.IwasnotintheTowerroomthatevening.’
Poirotraisedhiseyebrows.
‘Curious,’hemurmured.
‘Whatdoyoumean?’
‘Verycurious,’murmuredHerculePoirotagain.‘Howdoyouaccount,then,forthis?’
Hedrewfromhispocketalittlescrapofstainedgreenchiffonandhelditupforthegirl’sinspection.
Herexpressiondidnotchange,buthefeltratherthanheardthesharpintakeofbreath.
‘Idon’tunderstand,M.Poirot.’
‘Youwore,Iunderstand,agreenchiffondressthatevening,Mademoiselle.This–’hetappedthescrapinhisfingers–‘wastornfromit.’
‘AndyoufounditintheTowerroom?’askedthegirlsharply.‘Whereabouts?’
HerculePoirotlookedattheceiling.
‘Forthemomentshallwejustsay–intheTowerroom?’
Forthefirsttime,alookoffearsprangintothegirl’seyes.Shebegantospeak,thencheckedherself.Poirotwatchedhersmallwhitehandsclenchingthemselvesontheedgeofthedesk.
‘IwonderifIdidgointotheTowerroomthatevening?’shemused.‘Beforedinner,Imean.Idon’tthinkso.IamalmostsureIdidn’t.IfthatscraphasbeenintheTowerroomallthistime,itseemstomeaveryextraordinarythingthepolicedidnotfinditrightaway.’
‘Thepolice,’saidthelittleman,‘donotthinkofthingsthatHerculePoirotthinksof.’
‘Imayhaveruninthereforaminutejustbeforedinner,’musedLilyMargrave,‘oritmayhavebeenthenightbefore.Iworethesamedressthen.Yes,Iamalmostsureitwasthenightbefore.’
‘Ithinknot,’saidPoirotevenly.
‘Why?’
Heonlyshookhisheadslowlyfromsidetoside.
‘Whatdoyoumean?’whisperedthegirl.
Shewasleaningforward,staringathim,allthecolourebbingoutofherface
‘Youdonotnotice,Mademoiselle,thatthisfragmentisstained?Thereisnodoubtaboutit,thatstainishumanblood.’
‘Youmean–’
‘Imean,Mademoiselle,thatyouwereintheTowerroomafterthecrimewascommitted,notbefore.Ithinkyouwilldowelltotellmethewholetruth,lestworseshouldbefallyou.’
Hestoodupnow,asternlittlefigureofaman,hisforefingerpointedaccusinglyatthegirl.
‘Howdidyoufindout?’gaspedLily.
‘Nomatter,Mademoiselle.ItellyouHerculePoirotknows.IknowallaboutCaptainHumphreyNaylor,andthatyouwentdowntomeethimthatnight.’
Lilysuddenlyputherheaddownonherarmsandburstintotears.ImmediatelyPoirotrelinquishedhisaccusingattitude.
‘There,there,mylittleone,’hesaid,pattingthegirlontheshoulder.‘Donotdistressyourself.ImpossibletodeceiveHerculePoirot;oncerealizethatandallyourtroubleswillbeatanend.Andnowyouwilltellmethewholestory,willyounot?YouwilltelloldPapaPoirot?’
‘Itisnotwhatyouthink,itisn’t,indeed.Humphrey–mybrother–nevertouchedahairofhishead.’
‘Yourbrother,eh?’saidPoirot.‘Sothatishowthelandlies.Well,ifyouwishtosavehimfromsuspicion,youmusttellmethewholestorynow,withoutreservation.’
Lilysatupagain,pushingbackthehairfromherforehead.Afteraminuteortwo,shebegantospeakinalow,clearvoice.
‘Iwilltellyouthetruth,M.Poirot.Icanseenowthatitwouldbeabsurdtodoanythingelse.MyrealnameisLilyNaylor,andHumphreyismyonlybrother.Someyearsago,whenhewasoutinAfrica,hediscoveredagoldmine,orrather,Ishouldsay,discoveredthepresenceofgold.Ican’ttellyouthispartofitproperly,becauseIdon’tunderstandthetechnicaldetails,butwhatitamountedtowasthis:
‘Thethingseemedlikelytobeaverybigundertaking,andHumphreycamehomewithletterstoSirReubenAstwellinthehopesofgettinghiminterestedinthematter.Idon’tunderstandtherightsofitevennow,butIgatherthatSirReubensentoutanexperttoreport,andthathesubsequentlytoldmybrotherthattheexpert’sreportwasunfavourableandthathe,Humphrey,hadmadeagreatmistake.MybrotherwentbacktoAfricaonanexpeditionintotheinteriorandwaslostsightof.Itwasassumedthatheandtheexpeditionhadperished.
‘ItwassoonafterthatthatacompanywasformedtoexploittheMpalaGoldFields.WhenmybrothergotbacktoEnglandheatoncejumpedtotheconclusionthatthesegoldfieldswereidenticalwiththosehehaddiscovered.SirReubenAstwellhadapparentlynothingtodowiththiscompany,andtheyhadseeminglydiscoveredtheplaceontheirown.Butmybrotherwasnotsatisfied;hewasconvincedthatSirReubenhaddeliberatelyswindledhim.
‘Hebecamemoreandmoreviolentandunhappyaboutthematter.Wetwoarealoneintheworld,M.Poirot,andasitwasnecessarythenformetogooutandearnmyownliving,IconceivedtheideaoftakingapostinthishouseholdandtryingtofindoutifanyconnectionexistedbetweenSirReubenandtheMpalaGoldFields.ForobviousreasonsIconcealedmyrealname,andI’lladmitfranklythatIusedaforgedreference.
‘Thereweremanyapplicantsforthepost,mostofthemwithbetterqualificationsthanmine,so–well,M.Poirot,IwroteabeautifulletterfromtheDuchessofPerthshire,whoIknewhadgonetoAmerica.IthoughtaduchesswouldhaveagreateffectuponLadyAstwell,andIwasquiteright.Sheengagedmeonthespot.
‘SincethenIhavebeenthathatefulthing,aspy,anduntillatelywithnosuccess.SirReubenisnotamantogiveawayhisbusinesssecrets,butwhenVictorAstwellcamebackfromAfricahewaslessguardedinhistalk,andIbegantobelievethat,afterall,Humphreyhadnotbeenmistaken.Mybrothercamedownhereaboutafortnightbeforethemurder,andIcreptoutofthehousetomeethimsecretlyatnight.ItoldhimthethingsVictorAstwellhadsaid,andhebecameveryexcitedandassuredmeIwasdefinitelyontherighttrack.
‘Butafterthatthingsbegantogowrong;someonemusthaveseenmestealingoutofthehouseandhavereportedthemattertoSirReuben.Hebecamesuspiciousandhuntedupmyreferences,andsoondiscoveredthefactthattheywereforged.Thecrisiscameonthedayofthemurder.IthinkhethoughtIwasafterhiswife’sjewels.Whateverhissuspicionswere,hehadnointentionofallowingmetoremainanylongeratMonRepos,thoughheagreednottoprosecutemeonaccountofthereferences.LadyAstwelltookmypartthroughoutandstoodupvaliantlytoSirReuben.’
Shepaused.Poirot’sfacewasverygrave.
‘Andnow,Mademoiselle,’hesaid,‘wecometothenightofthemurder.’
Lilyswallowedhardandnoddedherhead
‘Tobeginwith,M.Poirot,Imusttellyouthatmybrotherhadcomedownagain,andthatIhadarrangedtocreepoutandmeethimoncemore.Iwentuptomyroom,asIhavesaid,butIdidnotgotobed.Instead,IwaitedtillIthoughteveryonewasasleep,andthenstoledownstairsagainandoutbythesidedoor.ImetHumphreyandacquaintedhiminafewhurriedwordswithwhathadoccurred.ItoldhimthatIbelievedthepapershewantedwereinSirReuben’ssafeintheTowerroom,andweagreedasalastdesperateadventuretotryandgetholdofthemthatnight.
‘Iwastogoinfirstandseethatthewaywasclear.IheardthechurchclockstriketwelveasIwentinbythesidedoor.Iwashalf-wayupthestairsleadingtotheTowerroom,whenIheardathudofsomethingfalling,andavoicecriedout,“MyGod!”AminuteortwoafterwardsthedooroftheTowerroomopened,andCharlesLeversoncameout.Icouldseehisfacequiteclearlyinthemoonlight,butIwascrouchingsomewaybelowhimonthestairswhereitwasdark,andhedidnotseemeatall.
‘Hestoodthereamomentswayingonhisfeetandlookingghastly.Heseemedtobelistening;thenwithaneffortheseemedtopullhimselftogetherand,openingthedoorintotheTowerroom,calledoutsomethingabouttherebeingnoharmdone.Hisvoicewasquitejauntyanddebonair,buthisfacegavethelietoit.Hewaitedaminutemore,andthenslowlywentonupstairsandoutofsight.
‘WhenhehadgoneIwaitedaminuteortwoandthencrepttotheTowerroomdoor.Ihadafeelingthatsomethingtragichadhappened.Themainlightwasout,butthedesklampwason,andbyitslightIsawSirReubenlyingonthefloorbythedesk.Idon’tknowhowImanagedit,butInervedmyselfatlasttogooverandkneeldownbyhim.Isawatoncethathewasdead,struckdownfrombehind,andalsothathecouldn’thavebeendeadlong;Itouchedhishandanditwasstillquitewarm.Itwasjusthorrible,M.Poirot.Horrible!’
Sheshudderedagainattheremembrance.
‘Andthen?’saidPoirot,lookingatherkeenly.
LilyMargravenodded.
‘Yes,M.Poirot,Iknowwhatyouarethinking.Whydidn’tIgivethealarmandraisethehouse?Ishouldhavedoneso,Iknow,butitcameovermeinaflash,asIkneltthere,thatmyquarrelwithSirReuben,mystealingouttomeetHumphrey,thefactthatIwasbeingsentawayonthemorrow,madeafatalsequence.TheywouldsaythatIhadletHumphreyin,andthatHumphreyhadkilledSirReubenoutofrevenge.IfIsaidthatIhadseenCharlesLeversonleavingtheroom,noonewouldbelieveme.
‘Itwasterrible,M.Poirot!Ikneltthere,andthoughtandthought,andthemoreIthoughtthemoremynervefailedme.PresentlyInoticedSirReuben’skeyswhichhaddroppedfromhispocketashefell.Amongthemwasthekeyofthesafe,thecombinationwordIalreadyknew,sinceLadyAstwellhadmentioneditonceinmyhearing.Iwentovertothatsafe,M.Poirot,unlockeditandrummagedthroughthepapersIfoundthere.
‘IntheendIfoundwhatIwaslookingfor.Humphreyhadbeenperfectlyright.SirReubenwasbehindtheMpalaGoldFields,andhehaddeliberatelyswindledHumphrey.Thatmadeitalltheworse.ItgaveaperfectlydefinitemotiveforHumphreyhavingcommittedthecrime.Iputthepapersbackinthesafe,leftthekeyinthedoorofit,andwentstraightupstairstomyroom.InthemorningIpretendedtobesurprisedandhorror-stricken,likeeveryoneelse,whenthehousemaiddiscoveredthebody.’
ShestoppedandlookedpiteouslyacrossatPoirot.
‘Youdobelieveme,M.Poirot.Oh,dosayyoubelieveme!’
‘Ibelieveyou,Mademoiselle,’saidPoirot;‘youhaveexplainedmanythingsthatpuzzledme.Yourabsolutecertainty,foronething,thatCharlesLeversonhadcommittedthecrime,andatthesametimeyourpersistenteffortstokeepmefromcomingdownhere.’
Lilynodded.
‘Iwasafraidofyou,’sheadmittedfrankly.‘LadyAstwellcouldnotknow,asIdid,thatCharleswasguilty,andIcouldn’tsayanything.Ihopedagainsthopethatyouwouldrefusetotakethecase.’
‘Butforthatobviousanxietyonyourpart,Imighthavedoneso,’saidPoirotdrily.
Lilylookedathimswiftly,herlipstrembledalittle.
‘Andnow,M.Poirot,what–whatareyougoingtodo?’
‘Asfarasyouareconcerned,Mademoiselle,nothing.Ibelieveyourstory,andIacceptit.ThenextstepistogotoLondonandseeInspectorMiller.’
‘Andthen?’askedLily.
‘Andthen,’saidPoirot,‘weshallsee.’
Outsidethedoorofthestudyhelookedoncemoreatthelittlesquareofstainedgreenchiffonwhichheheldinhishand.
‘Amazing,’hemurmuredtohimselfcomplacently,‘theingenuityofHerculePoirot.’
VII
Detective-InspectorMillerwasnotparticularlyfondofM.HerculePoirot.HedidnotbelongtothatsmallbandofinspectorsattheYardwhowelcomedthelittleBelgian’sco-operation.HewaswonttosaythatHerculePoirotwasmuchover-rated.Inthiscasehefeltprettysureofhimself,andgreetedPoirotwithhighgoodhumourinconsequence.
‘ActingforLadyAstwell,areyou?Well,youhavetakenupamare’snestinthatcase.’
‘Thereis,then,nopossibledoubtaboutthematter?’
Millerwinked.‘Neverwasaclearercase,shortofcatchingamurdererabsolutelyred-handed.’
‘M.Leversonhasmadeastatement,Iunderstand?’
‘Hehadbetterhavekepthismouthshut,’saidthedetective.‘Herepeatsoverandoveragainthathewentstraightuptohisroomandneverwentnearhisuncle.That’safoolstoryonthefaceofit.’
‘Itiscertainlyagainsttheweightofevidence,’murmuredPoirot.‘Howdoeshestrikeyou,thisyoungM.Leverson?’
‘Darnedyoungfool.’
‘Aweakcharacter,eh?’
Theinspectornodded.
‘Onewouldhardlythinkayoungmanofthattypewouldhavethe–howdoyousayit–thebowelstocommitsuchacrime.’
‘Onthefaceofit,no,’agreedtheinspector.‘But,blessyou,Ihavecomeacrossthesamethingmanytimes.Getaweak,dissipatedyoungmanintoacorner,fillhimupwithadroptoomuchtodrink,andforalimitedamountoftimeyoucanturnhimintoafire-eater.Aweakmaninacornerismoredangerousthanastrongman.’
‘Thatistrue;yes;thatistruewhatyousay.’
Millerunbentalittlefurther.
‘Ofcourse,itisallrightforyou,M.Poirot,’hesaid.‘Yougetyourfeesjustthesame,andnaturallyyouhavetomakeapretenceofexaminingtheevidencetosatisfyherladyship.Icanunderstandallthat.’
‘Youunderstandsuchinterestingthings,’murmuredPoirot,andtookhisleave.
HisnextcallwasuponthesolicitorrepresentingCharlesLeverson.MrMayhewwasathin,dry,cautiousgentleman.HereceivedPoirotwithreserve.Poirot,however,hadhisownwaysofinducingconfidence.Intenminutes’timethetwoweretalkingtogetheramicably.
‘Youwillunderstand,’saidPoirot,‘IamactinginthiscasesolelyonbehalfofMrLeverson.ThatisLadyAstwell’swish.Sheisconvincedthatheisnotguilty.’
‘Yes,yes,quiteso,’saidMrMayhewwithoutenthusiasm.
Poirot’seyestwinkled.‘YoudonotperhapsattachmuchimportancetotheopinionsofLadyAstwell?’hesuggested.
‘Shemightbejustassureofhisguilttomorrow,’saidthelawyerdrily.
‘Herintuitionsarenotevidencecertainly,’agreedPoirot,‘andonthefaceofitthecaselooksveryblackagainstthispooryoungman.’
‘Itisapityhesaidwhathedidtothepolice,’saidthelawyer;‘itwillbenogoodhisstickingtothatstory.’
‘Hashestucktoitwithyou?’inquiredPoirot.
Mayhewnodded.‘Itnevervariesaniota.Herepeatsitlikeaparrot.’
‘Andthatiswhatdestroysyourfaithinhim,’musedtheother.‘Ah,don’tdenyit,’headdedquickly,holdingupanarrestinghand.‘Iseeitonlytooplainly.Inyourheartyoubelievehimguilty.Butlistennowtome,tome,HerculePoirot.Ipresenttoyouacase
‘Thisyoungmancomeshome,hehasdrunkthecocktail,thecocktail,andagainthecocktail,alsowithoutdoubttheEnglishwhiskyandsodamanytimes.Heisfullof,whatyoucallit?thecourageDutch,andinthatmoodhelethimselfintothehousewithhislatch-key,andhegoeswithunsteadystepsuptotheTowerroom.Helooksinatthedoorandseesinthedimlighthisuncle,apparentlybendingoverthedesk.
‘M.Leversonisfull,aswehavesaid,ofthecourageDutch.Heletshimselfgo,hetellshisunclejustwhathethinksofhim.Hedefieshim,heinsultshim,andthemorehisuncledoesnotanswerback,themoreheisencouragedtogoon,torepeathimself,tosaythesamethingoverandoveragain,andeachtimemoreloudly.Butatlastthecontinuedsilenceofhisuncleawakensanapprehension.Hegoesnearertohim,helayshishandonhisuncle’sshoulder,andhisuncle’sfigurecrumplesunderhistouchandsinksinaheaptotheground.
‘Heissoberedthen,thisM.Leverson.Thechairfallswithacrash,andhebendsoverSirReuben.Herealizeswhathashappened,helooksathishandcoveredwithsomethingwarmandred.Heisinapanicthen,hewouldgiveanythingonearthtorecallthecrywhichhasjustsprungfromhislips,echoingthroughthehouse.Mechanicallyhepicksupthechair,thenhehastensoutthroughthedoorandlistens.Hefancieshehearsasound,andimmediately,automatically,hepretendstobespeakingtohisunclethroughtheopendoor.
‘Thesoundisnotrepeated.Heisconvincedhehasbeenmistakeninthinkingheheardone.Nowallissilence,hecreepsuptohisroom,andatonceitoccurstohimhowmuchbetteritwillbeifhepretendsnevertohavebeennearhisunclethatnight.Sohetellshisstory.Parsonsatthattime,remember,hassaidnothingofwhatheheard.Whenhedoesdoso,itistoolateforM.Leversontochange.Heisstupid,andheisobstinate,hestickstohisstory.Tellme,Monsieur,isthatnotpossible?’
‘Yes,’saidthelawyer,‘Isupposeinthewayyouputitthatitispossible.’
Poirotrosetohisfeet.
‘YouhavetheprivilegeofseeingM.Leverson,’hesaid.‘PuttohimthestoryIhavetoldyou,andaskhimifitisnottrue.’
Outsidethelawyer’soffice,Poirothailedataxi.
‘Three-four-eightHarleyStreet,’hemurmuredtothedriver.
VIII
Poirot’sdepartureforLondonhadtakenLadyAstwellbysurprise,forthelittlemanhadnotmadeanymentionofwhatheproposeddoing.Onhisreturn,afteranabsenceoftwenty-fourhours,hewasinformedbyParsonsthatLadyAstwellwouldliketoseehimassoonaspossible.Poirotfoundtheladyinherownboudoir.Shewaslyingdownonthedivan,herheadproppedupbycushions,andshelookedstartlinglyillandhaggard;farmoresothanshehaddoneonthedayPoirotarrived.
‘Soyouhavecomeback,M.Poirot?’
‘Ihavereturned,Madame.’
‘YouwenttoLondon?’
Poirotnodded.
‘Youdidn’ttellmeyouweregoing,’saidLadyAstwellsharply.
‘Athousandapologies,Madame,Iaminerror,Ishouldhavedoneso.Laprochainefois–’
‘Youwilldoexactlythesame,’interruptedLadyAstwellwithashrewdtouchofhumour.‘Dothingsfirstandtellpeopleafterwards,thatisyourmottorightenough.’
‘PerhapsithasalsobeenMadame’smotto?’Hiseyestwinkled.
‘Nowandthen,perhaps,’admittedtheother.‘WhatdidyougouptoLondonfor,M.Poirot?Youcantellmenow,Isuppose?’
‘IhadaninterviewwiththegoodInspectorMiller,andalsowiththeexcellentMrMayhew.’
LadyAstwell’seyessearchedhisface.
‘Andyouthink,now–?’shesaidslowly.
Poirot’seyeswerefixedonhersteadily.
‘ThatthereisapossibilityofCharlesLeverson’sinnocence,’hesaidgravely.
‘Ah!’LadyAstwellhalf-sprungup,sendingtwocushionsrollingtotheground.‘Iwasright,then,Iwasright!’
‘Isaidapossibility,Madame,thatisall.’Somethinginhistoneseemedtostrikeher.Sheraisedherselfononeelbowandregardedhimpiercingly.
‘CanIdoanything?’sheasked.
‘Yes,’henoddedhishead,‘youcantellme,LadyAstwell,whyyoususpectOwenTrefusis.’
‘IhavetoldyouIknow–that’sall.’
‘Unfortunately,thatisnotenough,’saidPoirotdrily.‘Castyourmindbacktothefatalevening,Madame.Remembereachdetail,eachtinyhappening.Whatdidyounoticeorobserveaboutthesecretary?I,HerculePoirot,tellyoutheremusthavebeensomething.’
LadyAstwellshookherhead.
‘Ihardlynoticedhimatallthatevening,’shesaid,‘andIcertainlywasnotthinkingofhim.’
‘Yourmindwastakenupbysomethingelse?’
‘Yes.’
‘Withyourhusband’sanimusagainstMissLilyMargrave?’
‘That’sright,’saidLadyAstwell,noddingherhead;‘youseemtoknowallaboutit,M.Poirot.’
‘Me,Iknoweverything,’declaredthelittlemanwithanabsurdlygrandioseair.
‘IamfondofLily,M.Poirot;youhaveseenthatforyourself.Reubenbegankickinguparumpusaboutsomereferenceorotherofhers.Mindyou,Idon’tsayshehadn’tcheatedaboutit.Shehad.But,blessyou,Ihavedonemanyworsethingsthanthatintheolddays.Youhavegottobeuptoallsortsoftrickstogetroundtheatricalmanagers.ThereisnothingIwouldn’thavewritten,orsaid,ordone,inmytime.
‘Lilywantedthisjob,andsheputinalotofslickworkthatwasnotquite–well,quitethething,youknow.Menaresostupidaboutthatsortofthing;Lilyreallymighthavebeenabankclerkabscondingwithmillionsforthefusshemadeaboutit.Iwasterriblyworriedalltheevening,because,althoughIcouldusuallygetroundReubenintheend,hewasterriblypig-headedattimes,poordarling.SoofcourseIhadn’ttimetogonoticingsecretaries,notthatonedoesnoticeMrTrefusismuch,anyway.Heisjustthereandthat’sallthereistoit.’
‘IhavenoticedthatfactaboutM.Trefusis,’saidPoirot.‘Hisisnotapersonalitythatstandsforth,thatshines,thathitsyoucr-r-rack.’
‘No,’saidLadyAstwell,‘heisnotlikeVictor.’
‘M.VictorAstwellis,Ishouldsay,explosive.’
‘Thatisasplendidwordforhim,’saidLadyAstwell.‘Heexplodesalloverthehouse,likeoneofthosethingamajigfireworkthings.’
‘Asomewhatquicktemper,Ishouldimagine?’suggestedPoirot.
‘Oh,he’saperfectdevilwhenroused,’saidLadyAstwell,‘butblessyou,I’mnotafraidofhim.AllbarkandnobitetoVictor.’
Poirotlookedattheceiling.
‘Andyoucantellmenothingaboutthesecretarythatevening?’hemurmuredgently.
‘Itellyou,M.Poirot,Iknow.It’sintuition.Awoman’sintuition–’
‘Willnothangaman,’saidPoirot,‘andwhatismoretothepoint,itwillnotsaveamanfrombeinghanged.LadyAstwell,ifyousincerelybelievethatM.Leversonisinnocent,andthatyoursuspicionsofthesecretaryarewell-founded,willyouconsenttoalittleexperiment?’
‘Whatkindofanexperiment?’demandedLadyAstwellsuspiciously.
‘Willyoupermityourselftobeputintoaconditionofhypnosis?’
‘Whateverfor?’
Poirotleanedforward.
‘IfIweretotellyou,Madame,thatyourintuitionisbasedoncertainfactsrecordedsubconsciously,youwouldprobablybesceptical.Iwillonlysay,then,thatthisexperimentIproposemaybeofgreatimportancetothatunfortunateyoungman,CharlesLeverson.Youwillnotrefuse?’
‘Whoisgoingtoputmeintoatrance?’demandedLadyAstwellsuspiciously.‘You?’
‘Afriendofmine,LadyAstwell,arrives,ifImistakenot,atthisveryminute.Ihearthewheelsofthecaroutside.’
‘Whoishe?’
‘ADrCazaletofHarleyStreet.’
‘Ishe–allright?’askedLadyAstwellapprehensively.
‘Heisnotaquack,Madame,ifthatiswhatyoumean.Youcantrustyourselfinhishandsquitesafely.’
‘Well,’saidLadyAstwellwithasigh,‘Ithinkitisallbunkum,butyoucantryifyoulike.NobodyisgoingtosaythatIstoodinyourway.’
‘Athousandthanks,Madame.’
Poirothurriedfromtheroom.Inafewminuteshereturnedusheringinacheerful,round-facedlittleman,withspectacles,whowasveryupsettingtoLadyAstwell’sconceptionofwhatahypnotistshouldlooklike.Poirotintroducedthem.
‘Well,’saidLadyAstwellgood-humouredly,‘howdowestartthistomfoolery?’
‘Quitesimple,LadyAstwell,quitesimple,’saidthelittledoctor.‘Justleanback,so–that’sright,that’sright.Noneedtobeuneasy.’
‘Iamnotintheleastuneasy,’saidLadyAstwell.‘Ishouldliketoseeanyonehypnotizingmeagainstmywill.’
DrCazaletsmiledbroadly.
‘Yes,butifyouconsent,itwon’tbeagainstyourwill,willit?’hesaidcheerfully.‘That’sright.Turnoffthatotherlight,willyou,M.Poirot?Justletyourselfgotosleep,LadyAstwell.’
Heshiftedhispositionalittle.
‘It’sgettinglate.Youaresleepy–verysleepy.Youreyelidsareheavy,theyareclosing–closing–closing.Soonyouwillbeasleep…’
Hisvoicedronedon,low,soothing,andmonotonous.PresentlyheleanedforwardandgentlyliftedLadyAstwell’srighteyelid.ThenheturnedtoPoirot,noddinginasatisfiedmanner.
‘That’sallright,’hesaidinalowvoice.‘ShallIgoahead?’
‘Ifyouplease.’
Thedoctorspokeoutsharplyandauthoritatively:‘Youareasleep,LadyAstwell,butyouhearme,andyoucananswermyquestions.’
Withoutstirringorraisinganeyelid,themotionlessfigureonthesofarepliedinalow,monotonousvoice:
‘Ihearyou.Icanansweryourquestions.’
‘LadyAstwell,Iwantyoutogobacktotheeveningonwhichyourhusbandwasmurdered.Yourememberthatevening?’
‘Yes.’
‘Youareatthedinnertable.Describetomewhatyousawandfelt.’
Thepronefigurestirredalittlerestlessly.
‘Iamingreatdistress.IamworriedaboutLily.’
‘Weknowthat;telluswhatyousaw.’
‘Victoriseatingallthesaltedalmonds;heisgreedy.TomorrowIshalltellParsonsnottoputthedishonthatsideofthetable.’
‘Goon,LadyAstwell.’
‘Reubenisinabadhumourtonight.Idon’tthinkitisaltogetheraboutLily.Itissomethingtodowithbusiness.Victorlooksathiminaqueerway.’
‘TellusaboutMrTrefusis,LadyAstwell.’
‘Hisleftshirtcuffisfrayed.Heputsalotofgreaseonhishair.Iwishmendidn’t,itruinsthecoversinthedrawing-room.’
CazaletlookedatPoirot;theothermadeamotionwithhishead.
‘Itisafterdinner,LadyAstwell,youarehavingcoffee.Describethescenetome.’
‘Thecoffeeisgoodtonight.Itvaries.Cookisveryunreliableoverhercoffee.Lilykeepslookingoutofthewindow,Idon’tknowwhy.NowReubencomesintotheroom;heisinoneofhisworstmoodstonight,andburstsoutwithaperfectfloodofabusetopoorMrTrefusis.MrTrefusishashishandroundthepaperknife,thebigonewiththesharpbladelikeaknife.Howhardheisgraspingit;hisknucklesarequitewhite.Look,hehasdugitsohardinthetablethatthepointsnaps.Heholdsitjustasyouwouldholdadaggeryouweregoingtostickintosomeone.There,theyhavegoneouttogethernow.Lilyhasgothergreeneveningdresson;shelookssoprettyingreen,justlikealily.Imusthavethecoverscleanednextweek.’
‘Justaminute,LadyAstwell.’
ThedoctorleanedacrosstoPoirot.
‘Wehavegotit,Ithink,’hemurmured;‘thatactionwiththepaperknife,that’swhatconvincedherthatthesecretarydidthething.’
‘LetusgoontotheTowerroomnow.’
Thedoctornodded,andbeganoncemoretoquestionLadyAstwellinhishigh,decisivevoice.
‘Itislaterintheevening;youareintheTowerroomwithyourhusband.Youandhehavehadaterriblescenetogether,haveyounot?’
Againthefigurestirreduneasily.
‘Yes–terrible–terrible.Wesaiddreadfulthings–bothofus.’
‘Nevermindthatnow.Youcanseetheroomclearly,thecurtainsweredrawn,thelightswereon.’
‘Notthemiddlelight,onlythedesklight.’
‘Youareleavingyourhusbandnow,youaresayinggoodnighttohim.’
‘No,Iwastooangry.’
‘Itisthelasttimeyouwillseehim;verysoonhewillbemurdered.Doyouknowwhomurderedhim,LadyAstwell?’
‘Yes.MrTrefusis.’
‘Whydoyousaythat?’
‘Becauseofthebulge–thebulgeinthecurtain.’
‘Therewasabulgeinthecurtain?’
‘Yes.’
‘Yousawit?’
‘Yes.Ialmosttouchedit.’
‘Wasthereamanconcealedthere–MrTrefusis?’
‘Yes.’
‘Howdoyouknow?’
Forthefirsttimethemonotonousansweringvoicehesitatedandlostconfidence.
‘I–I–becauseofthepaperknife.’
Poirotandthedoctoragaininterchangedswiftglances.
‘Idon’tunderstandyou,LadyAstwell.Therewasabulgeinthecurtain,yousay?Someoneconcealedthere?Youdidn’tseethatperson?’
‘No.’
‘YouthoughtitwasMrTrefusisbecauseofthewayheheldthepaperknifeearlier?’
‘Yes.’
‘ButMrTrefusishadgonetobed,hadhenot?’
‘Yes–yes,that’sright,hehadgoneawaytohisroom.’
‘Sohecouldn’thavebeenbehindthecurtaininthewindow?’
‘No–no,ofcoursenot,hewasn’tthere.’
‘Hehadsaidgoodnighttoyourhusbandsometimebefore,hadn’the?’
‘Yes.’
‘Andyoudidn’tseehimagain?’
‘No.’
Shewasstirringnow,throwingherselfabout,moaningfaintly.
‘Sheiscomingout,’saidthedoctor.‘Well,Ithinkwehavegotallwecan,eh?’
Poirotnodded.ThedoctorleanedoverLadyAstwell.
‘Youarewaking,’hemurmuredsoftly.‘Youarewakingnow.Inanotherminuteyouwillopenyoureyes.’
Thetwomenwaited,andpresentlyLadyAstwellsatuprightandstaredatthemboth.
‘HaveIbeenhavinganap?’
‘That’sit,LadyAstwell,justalittlesleep,’saidthedoctor.
Shelookedathim.
‘Someofyourhocus-pocus,eh?’
‘Youdon’tfeelanytheworse,Ihope,’heasked.
LadyAstwellyawned.
‘Ifeelrathertiredanddoneup.’
Thedoctorrose.
‘Iwillaskthemtosendyouupsomecoffee,’hesaid,‘andwewillleaveyouforthepresent.’
‘DidI–sayanything?’LadyAstwellcalledafterthemastheyreachedthedoor.
Poirotsmiledbackather.
‘Nothingofgreatimportance,Madame.Youinformedusthatthedrawing-roomcoversneededcleaning.’
‘Sotheydo,’saidLadyAstwell.‘Youneedn’thaveputmeintoatrancetogetmetotellyouthat.’Shelaughedgood-humouredly.‘Anythingmore?’
‘DoyourememberM.Trefusispickingupapaperknifeinthedrawing-roomthatnight?’askedPoirot.
‘Idon’tknow,I’msure,’saidLadyAstwell.‘Hemayhavedoneso.’
‘Doesabulgeinthecurtainconveyanythingtoyou?’
LadyAstwellfrowned.
‘Iseemtoremember,’shesaidslowly.‘No–it’sgone,andyet–’
‘Donotdistressyourself,LadyAstwell,’saidPoirotquickly;‘itisofnoimportance–ofnoimportancewhatever.’
ThedoctorwentwithPoirottothelatter’sroom.
‘Well,’saidCazalet,‘Ithinkthisexplainsthingsprettyclearly.NodoubtwhenSirReubenwasdressingdownthesecretary,thelattergrabbedtightholdonapaperknife,andhadtoexerciseagooddealofself-controltopreventhimselfansweringback.LadyAstwell’sconsciousmindwaswhollytakenupwiththeproblemofLilyMargrave,buthersubconsciousmindnoticedandmisconstruedtheaction.
‘ItimplantedinherthefirmconvictionthatTrefusismurderedSirReuben.Nowwecometothebulgeinthecurtain.Thatisinteresting.ItakeitfromwhatyouhavetoldmeoftheTowerroomthatthedeskwasrightinthewindow.Therearecurtainsacrossthatwindow,ofcourse?’
‘Yes,monami,blackvelvetcurtains.’
‘Andthereisroomintheembrasureofthewindowforanyonetoremainconcealedbehindthem?’
‘Therewouldbejustroom,Ithink.’
‘Thenthereseemsatleastapossibility,’saidthedoctorslowly,‘thatsomeonewasconcealedintheroom,butifsoitcouldnotbethesecretary,sincetheybothsawhimleavetheroom.ItcouldnotbeVictorAstwell,forTrefusismethimgoingout,anditcouldnotbeLilyMargrave.WhoeveritwasmusthavebeenconcealedtherebeforeSirReubenenteredtheroomthatevening.Youhavetoldmeprettywellhowthelandlies.NowwhataboutCaptainNaylor?Couldithavebeenhewhowasconcealedthere?’
‘Itisalwayspossible,’admittedPoirot.‘Hecertainlydinedatthehotel,buthowsoonhewentoutafterwardsisdifficulttofixexactly.Hereturnedabouthalfpasttwelve.’
‘Thenitmighthavebeenhe,’saidthedoctor,‘andifso,hecommittedthecrime.Hehadthemotive,andtherewasaweaponnearathand.Youdon’tseemsatisfiedwiththeidea,though?’
‘Me,Ihaveotherideas,’confessedPoirot.‘Tellmenow,M.leDocteur,supposingforoneminutethatLadyAstwellherselfhadcommittedthiscrime,wouldshenecessarilybetraythefactinthehypnoticstate?’
Thedoctorwhistled.
‘Sothat’swhatyouaregettingat?LadyAstwellisthecriminal,eh?Ofcourse–itispossible;Ineverthoughtofittillthisminute.Shewasthelasttobewithhim,andnoonesawhimaliveafterwards.Astoyourquestion,Ishouldbeinclinedtosay–no.LadyAstwellwouldgointothehypnoticstatewithastrongmentalreservationtosaynothingofherownpartinthecrime.Shewouldanswermyquestionstruthfully,butshewouldbedumbonthatonepoint.YetIshouldhardlyhaveexpectedhertobesoinsistentonMrTrefusis’sguilt.’
‘Icomprehend,’saidPoirot.‘ButIhavenotsaidthatIbelieveLadyAstwelltobethecriminal.Itisasuggestion,thatisall.’
‘Itisaninterestingcase,’saidthedoctorafteraminuteortwo.‘GrantingCharlesLeversonisinnocent,therearesomanypossibilities:HumphreyNaylor,LadyAstwell,andevenLilyMargrave.’
‘Thereisanotheryouhavenotmentioned,’saidPoirotquietly,‘VictorAstwell.Accordingtohisownstory,hesatinhisroomwiththedooropenwaitingforCharlesLeverson’sreturn,butwehaveonlyhisownwordsforit,youcomprehend?’
‘Heisthebad-temperedfellow,isn’the?’askedthedoctor.‘Theoneyoutoldmeabout?’
‘Thatisso,’agreedPoirot.
Thedoctorrosetohisfeet.
‘Well,Imustbegettingbacktotown.Youwillletmeknowhowthingsshape,won’tyou?’
Afterthedoctorhadleft,PoirotpulledthebellforGeorge.
‘Acupoftisane,George.Mynervesaremuchdisturbed.’
‘Certainly,sir,’saidGeorge.‘Iwillprepareitimmediately.’
Tenminuteslaterhebroughtasteamingcuptohismaster.Poirotinhaledthenoxiousfumeswithpleasure.Ashesippedit,hesoliloquizedaloud.
‘Thechaseisdifferentallovertheworld.Tocatchthefoxyouridehardwiththedogs.Youshout,yourun,itisamatterofspeed.Ihavenotshotthestagmyself,butIunderstandthattodosoyoucrawlformanylong,longhoursuponyourstomach.MyfriendHastingshasrecountedtheaffairtome.Ourmethodhere,mygoodGeorge,mustbeneitherofthese.Letusreflectuponthehouseholdcat.Formanylong,wearyhours,hewatchesthemousehole,hemakesnomovement,hebetraysnoenergy,but–hedoesnotgoaway.’
Hesighedandputtheemptycupdownonitssaucer.
‘Itoldyoutopackforafewdays.Tomorrow,mygoodGeorge,youwillgotoLondonandbringdownwhatisnecessaryforafortnight.’
‘Verygood,sir,’saidGeorge.Asusualhedisplayednoemotion.
IX
TheapparentlypermanentpresenceofHerculePoirotatMonReposwasdisquietingtomanypeople.VictorAstwellremonstratedwithhissister-in-lawaboutit
‘It’sallverywell,Nancy.Youdon’tknowwhatfellowsofthatkindarelike.Hehasfoundjollycomfortablequartershere,andheisevidentlygoingtosettledowncomfortablyforaboutamonth,chargingyouseveralguineasadayallthewhile.’
LadyAstwell’sreplywastotheeffectthatshecouldmanageherownaffairswithoutinterference.
LilyMargravetriedearnestlytoconcealherperturbation.Atthetime,shehadfeltsurethatPoirotbelievedherstory.Nowshewasnotsocertain.
Poirotdidnotplayanentirelyquiescentgame.Onthefifthdayofhissojournhebroughtdownasmallthumbographalbumtodinner.Asamethodofgettingthethumbprintsofthehousehold,itseemedaratherclumsydevice,yetnotperhapssoclumsyasitseemed,sincenoonecouldaffordtorefusetheirthumbprints.OnlyafterthelittlemanhadretiredtobeddidVictorAstwellstatehisviews.
‘Youseewhatitmeans,Nancy.Heisoutafteroneofus.’
‘Don’tbeabsurd,Victor.’
‘Well,whatothermeaningcouldthatblinkinglittlebookofhishave?’
‘M.Poirotknowswhatheisdoing,’saidLadyAstwellcomplacently,andlookedwithsomemeaningatOwenTrefusis.
Onanotheroccasion,Poirotintroducedthegameoftracingfootprintsonasheetofpaper.Thefollowingmorning,goingwithhissoftcat-liketreadintothelibrary,thedetectivestartledOwenTrefusis,wholeapedfromhischairasthoughhehadbeenshot.
‘Youmustreallyexcuseme,M.Poirot,’hesaidprimly,‘butyouhaveusonthejump.’
‘Indeed,howisthat?’demandedthelittlemaninnocently.
‘Iwilladmit,’saidthesecretary,‘thatIthoughtthecaseagainstCharlesLeversonutterlyoverwhelming.Youapparentlydonotfinditso.’
Poirotwasstandinglookingoutofthewindow.Heturnedsuddenlytotheother
‘Ishalltellyousomething,M.Trefusis–inconfidence.’
‘Yes?’
Poirotseemedinnohurrytobegin.Hewaitedaminute,hesitating.Whenhedidspeak,theopeningwordswerecoincidentwiththeopeningandshuttingofthefrontdoor.Foramansayingsomethinginconfidence,hespokeratherloudly,hisvoicedrowningthesoundofafootstepinthehalloutside.
‘Ishalltellyouthisinconfidence,MrTrefusis.Thereisnewevidence.ItgoestoprovethatwhenCharlesLeversonenteredtheTowerroomthatnight,SirReubenwasalreadydead.’
Thesecretarystaredathim.
‘Butwhatevidence?Whyhavewenotheardofit?’
‘Youwillhear,’saidthelittlemanmysteriously.‘Inthemeantime,youandIaloneknowthesecret.’
Heskippednimblyoutoftheroom,andalmostcollidedwithVictorAstwellinthehalloutside.
‘Youhavejustcomein,eh,Monsieur?’
Astwellnodded.
‘Beastlydayoutside,’hesaid,breathinghard,‘coldandblowy.’
‘Ah,’saidPoirot,‘Ishallnotpromenademyselftoday–me,Iamlikeacat,Isitbythefireandkeepmyselfwarm.’
‘?amarche,George,’hesaidthateveningtothefaithfulvalet,rubbinghishandsashespoke,‘theyareonthetenterhooks–thejump!Itishard,George,toplaythegameofthecat,thewaitinggame,butitanswers,yes,itanswerswonderfully.Tomorrowwemakeafurthereffect.’
Onthefollowingday,Trefusiswasobligedtogouptotown.HewentupbythesametrainasVictorAstwell.NosoonerhadtheyleftthehousethanPoirotwasgalvanizedintoafeverofactivity.
‘Come,George,letushurrytowork.Ifthehouse-maidshouldapproachtheserooms,youmustdelayher.Speaktohersweetnothings,George,andkeepherinthecorridor.’
Hewentfirsttothesecretary’sroom,andbeganathoroughsearch.Notadrawerorashelfwasleftuninspected.Thenhereplacedeverythinghurriedly,anddeclaredhisquestfinished.George,onguardinthedoorway,gavewaytoadeferentialcough.
‘Ifyouwillexcuseme,sir?’
‘Yes,mygoodGeorge?’
‘Theshoes,sir.Thetwopairsofbrownshoeswereonthesecondshelf,andthepatentleatheroneswereontheshelfunderneath.Inreplacingthemyouhavereversedtheorder.’
‘Marvellous!’criedPoirot,holdinguphishands.‘Butletusnotdistressourselvesoverthat.Itisofnoimportance,Iassureyou,George.NeverwillM.Trefusisnoticesuchatriflingmatter.’
‘Asyouthink,sir,’saidGeorge.
‘Itisyourbusinesstonoticesuchthings,’saidPoirotencouraginglyasheclappedtheotherontheshoulder.‘Itreflectscredituponyou.’
Thevaletdidnotreply,andwhen,laterintheday,theproceedingwasrepeatedintheroomofVictorAstwell,hemadenocommentonthefactthatMrAstwell’sunderclothingwasnotreturnedtoitsdrawersstrictlyaccordingtoplan.Yet,inthesecondcaseatleast,eventsprovedthevalettoberightandPoirotwrong.VictorAstwellcamestormingintothedrawing-roomthatevening.
‘Now,lookhere,youblastedlittleBelgianjackanapes,whatdoyoumeanbysearchingmyroom?Whatthedevildoyouthinkyouaregoingtofindthere?Iwon’thaveit,doyouhear?That’swhatcomesofhavingaferretinglittlespyinthehouse.’
Poirot’shandsspreadthemselvesouteloquentlyashiswordstumbledoneovertheother.Heofferedahundredapologies,athousand,amillion.Hehadbeenmaladroit,officious,hewasconfused.Hehadtakenanunwarrantedliberty.Intheendtheinfuriatedgentlemanwasforcedtosubside,stillgrowling.
Andagainthatevening,sippinghistisane,PoirotmurmuredtoGeorge:
‘Itmarches,mygoodGeorge,yes–itmarches.’
X
‘Friday,’observedHerculePoirotthoughtfully,‘ismyluckyday.’
‘Indeed,sir.’
‘Youarenotsuperstitious,perhaps,mygoodGeorge?’
‘Iprefernottositdownthirteenattable,sir,andIamadversetopassingunderladders.IhavenosuperstitionsaboutaFriday,sir.’
‘Thatiswell,’saidPoirot,‘for,seeyou,todaywemakeourWaterloo.’
‘Really,sir.’
‘Youhavesuchenthusiasm,mygoodGeorge,youdonotevenaskwhatIproposetodo.’
‘Andwhatisthat,sir?’
‘Today,George,ImakeafinalthoroughsearchoftheTowerroom.’
Trueenough,afterbreakfast,Poirot,withthepermissionofLadyAstwell,wenttothesceneofthecrime.There,atvarioustimesofthemorning,membersofthehouseholdsawhimcrawlingaboutonallfours,examiningminutelytheblackvelvetcurtainsandstandingonhighchairstoexaminethepictureframesonthewall.LadyAstwellforthefirsttimedisplayeduneasiness.
‘Ihavetoadmitit,’shesaid.‘Heisgettingonmynervesatlast.Hehassomethinguphissleeve,andIdon’tknowwhatitis.Andthewayheiscrawlingaboutontheflooruptherelikeadogmakesmedownrightshivery.Whatishelookingfor,I’dliketoknow?Lily,mydear,Iwishyouwouldgoupandseewhatheisuptonow.No,onthewhole,I’dratheryoustayedwithme.’
‘ShallIgo,LadyAstwell?’askedthesecretary,risingfromthedesk.
‘Ifyouwould,MrTrefusis.’
OwenTrefusislefttheroomandmountedthestairstotheTowerroom.Atfirstglance,hethoughttheroomwasempty,therewascertainlynosignofHerculePoirotthere.Hewasjustreturningtogodownagainwhenasoundcaughthisears;hethensawthelittlemanhalf-waydownthespiralstaircasethatledtothebedroomabove.
Hewasonhishandsandknees;inhislefthandwasalittlepocketlens,andthroughthishewasexaminingminutelysomethingonthewoodworkbesidethestaircarpet.
Asthesecretarywatchedhim,heutteredasuddengrunt,andslippedthelensintohispocket.Hethenrosetohisfeet,holdingsomethingbetweenhisfingerandthumb.Atthatmomenthebecameawareofthesecretary’spresence.
‘Ah,hah!M.Trefusis,Ididn’thearyouenter.’
Hewasinthatmomentadifferentman.Triumphandexultationbeamedalloverhisface.Trefusisstaredathiminsurprise.
‘Whatisthematter,M.Poirot?Youlookverypleased.’
Thelittlemanpuffedouthischest.
‘Yes,indeed.SeeyouIhaveatlastfoundthatwhichIhavebeenlookingforfromthebeginning.Ihaveherebetweenmyfingerandthumbtheonethingnecessarytoconvictthecriminal.’
‘Then,’thesecretaryraisedhiseyebrows,‘itwasnotCharlesLeverson?’
‘ItwasnotCharlesLeverson,’saidPoirot.‘Untilthismoment,thoughIknowthecriminal,Iamnotsureofhisname,butatlastallisclear.’
Hesteppeddownthestairsandtappedthesecretaryontheshoulder.
‘IamobligedtogotoLondonimmediately.SpeaktoLadyAstwellforme.WillyourequestofherthateveryoneshouldbeassembledintheTowerroomthiseveningatnineo’clock?Ishallbetherethen,andIshallrevealthetruth.Ah,me,butIamwellcontent.’
And,breakingintoafantasticlittledance,heskippedfromtheTowerroom.Trefusiswasleftstaringafterhim.
AfewminuteslaterPoirotappearedinthelibrary,demandingifanyonecouldsupplyhimwithalittlecardboardbox.
‘Unfortunately,Ihavenotsuchathingwithme,’heexplained,‘andthereissomethingofgreatvaluethatitisnecessaryformetoputinside.’
FromoneofthedrawersinthedeskTrefusisproducedasmallbox,andPoirotprofessedhimselfhighlydelightedwithit.
Hehurriedupstairswithhistreasure-trove;meetingGeorgeonthelanding,hehandedtheboxtohim.
‘Thereissomethingofgreatimportanceinside,’heexplained.‘Placeit,mygoodGeorge,intheseconddrawerofmydressing-table,besidethejewelcasethatcontainsmypearlstuds.’
‘Verygood,sir,’saidGeorge.
‘Donotbreakit,’saidPoirot.‘Beverycareful.Insidethatboxissomethingthatwillhangacriminal.’
‘Youdon’tsay,sir,’saidGeorge.
Poirothurrieddownthestairsagainand,seizinghishat,departedfromthehouseatabriskrun.
XI
Hisreturnwasmoreunostentatious.ThefaithfulGeorge,accordingtoorders,admittedhimbythesidedoor.
‘TheyareallintheTowerroom?’inquiredPoirot.
‘Yes,sir.’
Therewasamurmuredinterchangeofafewwords,andthenPoirotmountedwiththetriumphantstepofthevictortothatroomwherethemurderhadtakenplacelessthanamonthago.Hiseyessweptaroundtheroom.Theywereallthere:LadyAstwell,VictorAstwell,LilyMargrave,thesecretary,andParsons,thebutler.Thelatterwashoveringbythedooruncertainly.
‘George,sir,saidIshouldbeneededhere,’saidParsonsasPoirotmadehisappearance.‘Idon’tknowifthatisright,sir?’
‘Quiteright,’saidPoirot.‘Remain,Iprayofyou.’
Headvancedtothemiddleoftheroom.
‘Thishasbeenacaseofgreatinterest,’hesaidinaslow,reflectivevoice.‘ItisinterestingbecauseanyonemighthavemurderedSirReubenAstwell.Whoinheritshismoney?CharlesLeversonandLadyAstwell.Whowaswithhimlastthatnight?LadyAstwell.Whoquarrelledwithhimviolently?AgainLadyAstwell.’
‘Whatareyoutalkingabout?’criedLadyAstwell.‘Idon’tunderstand,I–’
‘ButsomeoneelsequarrelledwithSirReuben,’continuedPoirotinapensivevoice.‘Someoneelselefthimthatnightwhitewithrage.SupposingLadyAstwellleftherhusbandaliveataquartertotwelvethatnight,therewouldbetenminutesbeforeMrCharlesLeversonreturned,tenminutesinwhichitwouldbepossibleforsomeonefromthesecondfloortostealdownanddothedeed,andthenreturntohisroomagain.’
VictorAstwellsprangupwithacry.
‘Whatthehell–?’Hestopped,chokingwithrage.
‘Inarage,MrAstwell,youoncekilledamaninWestAfrica.’
‘Idon’tbelieveit,’criedLilyMargrave.
Shecameforward,herhandsclenched,twobrightspotsofcolourinhercheeks
‘Idon’tbelieveit,’repeatedthegirl.ShecameclosetoVictorAstwell’sside.
‘It’strue,Lily,’saidAstwell,‘buttherearethingsthismandoesn’tknow.ThefellowIkilledwasawitchdoctorwhohadjustmassacredfifteenchildren.IconsiderthatIwasjustified.’
LilycameuptoPoirot.
‘M.Poirot,’shesaidearnestly,‘youarewrong.Becauseamanhasasharptemper,becausehebreaksoutandsaysallkindsofthings,thatisnotanyreasonwhyheshoulddoamurder.Iknow–Iknow,Itellyou–thatMrAstwellisincapableofsuchathing.’
Poirotlookedather,averycurioussmileonhisface.Thenhetookherhandinhisandpatteditgently.
‘Yousee,Mademoiselle,’hesaidgently,‘youalsohaveyourintuitions.SoyoubelieveinMrAstwell,doyou?’
Lilyspokequietly.
‘MrAstwellisagoodman,’shesaid,‘andheishonest.HehadnothingtodowiththeinsideworkoftheMpalaGoldFields.Heisgoodthroughandthrough,and–Ihavepromisedtomarryhim.’
VictorAstwellcametohersideandtookherotherhand.
‘BeforeGod,M.Poirot,’hesaid,‘Ididn’tkillmybrother.’
‘Iknowyoudidnot,’saidPoirot.
Hiseyessweptaroundtheroom.
‘Listen,myfriends.Inahypnotictrance,LadyAstwellmentionedhavingseenabulgeinthecurtainthatnight.’
Everyone’seyesswepttothewindow.
‘Youmeantherewasaburglarconcealedthere?’exclaimedVictorAstwell.‘Whatasplendidsolution!’
‘Ah,’saidPoirotgently.‘Butitwasnotthatcurtain.’
Hewheeledaroundandpointedtothecurtainthatmaskedthelittlestaircase.
‘SirReubenusedthebedroomthenightpriortothecrime.Hebreakfastedinbed,andhehadMrTrefusisuptheretogivehiminstructions.Idon’tknowwhatitwasthatMrTrefusisleftinthatbedroom,buttherewassomething.WhenhesaidgoodnighttoSirReubenandLadyAstwell,herememberedthisthingandranupthestairstofetchit.Idon’tthinkeitherthehusbandorwifenoticedhim,fortheyhadalreadybegunaviolentdiscussion.TheywereinthemiddleofthisquarrelwhenMrTrefusiscamedownthestairsagain.
‘ThethingstheyweresayingtoeachotherwereofsointimateandpersonalanaturethatMrTrefusiswasplacedinaveryawkwardposition.Itwascleartohimthattheyimaginedhehadlefttheroomsometimeago.FearingtoarouseSirReuben’sangeragainsthimself,hedecidedtoremainwherehewasandslipoutlater.Hestayedtherebehindthecurtain,andasLadyAstwelllefttheroomshesubconsciouslynoticedtheoutlineofhisformthere.
‘WhenLadyAstwellhadlefttheroom,Trefusistriedtostealoutunobserved,butSirReubenhappenedtoturnhishead,andbecameawareofthesecretary’spresence.Alreadyinabadtemper,SirReubenhurledabuseathissecretary,andaccusedhimofdeliberatelyeavesdroppingandspying.
‘MessieursandMesdames,Iamastudentofpsychology.AllthroughthiscaseIhavelooked,notforthebad-temperedmanorwoman,forbadtemperisitsownsafetyvalve.Hewhocanbarkdoesnotbite.No,Ihavelookedforthegood-temperedman,forthemanwhoispatientandself-controlled,forthemanwhofornineyearshasplayedthepartoftheunderdog.Thereisnostrainsogreatasthatwhichhasenduredforyears,thereisnoresentmentlikethatwhichaccumulatesslowly.
‘FornineyearsSirReubenhasbulliedandbrowbeatenhissecretary,andfornineyearsthatmanhasenduredinsilence.Buttherecomesadaywhenatlastthestrainreachesitsbreakingpoint.Somethingsnaps!Itwassothatnight.SirReubensatdownathisdeskagain,butthesecretary,insteadofturninghumblyandmeeklytothedoor,picksuptheheavywoodenclub,andstrikesdownthemanwhohadbulliedhimoncetoooften.’
HeturnedtoTrefusis,whowasstaringathimasthoughturnedtostone.
‘Itwassosimple,youralibi.MrAstwellthoughtyouwereinyourroom,butnoonesawyougothere.YouwerejuststealingoutafterstrikingdownSirReubenwhenyouheardasound,andyouhastenedbacktocover,behindthecurtain.YouwerebehindtherewhenCharlesLeversonenteredtheroom,youweretherewhenLilyMargravecame.Itwasnottilllongafterthatthatyoucreptupthroughasilenthousetoyourbedroom.Doyoudenyit?’
Trefusisbegantostammer.
‘I–Inever–’
‘Ah!Letusfinishthis.FortwoweeksnowIhaveplayedthecomedy.Ihaveshowedyouthenetclosingslowlyaroundyou.Thefingerprints,footprints,thesearchofyourroomwiththethingsartisticallyreplaced.Ihavestruckterrorintoyouwithallofthis;youhavelainawakeatnightfearingandwondering;didyouleaveafingerprintintheroomorafootprintsomewhere?
‘Againandagainyouhavegoneovertheeventsofthatnightwonderingwhatyouhavedoneorleftundone,andsoIbroughtyoutothestatewhereyoumadeaslip.IsawthefearleapintoyoureyestodaywhenIpickedupsomethingfromthestairswhereyouhadstoodhiddenthatnight.ThenImadeagreatparade,thelittlebox,theentrustingofittoGeorge,andIgoout.’
Poirotturnedtowardsthedoor.
‘George?’
‘Iamhere,sir.’
Thevaletcameforward.
‘Willyoutelltheseladiesandgentlemenwhatmyinstructionswere?’
‘Iwastoremainconcealedinthewardrobeinyourroom,sir,havingplacedthecardboardboxwhereyoutoldmeto.Athalfpastthreethisafternoon,sir,MrTrefusisenteredtheroom;hewenttothedrawerandtookouttheboxinquestion.’
‘Andinthatbox,’continuedPoirot,‘wasacommonpin.Me,Ispeakalwaysthetruth.Ididpickupsomethingonthestairsthismorning.ThatisyourEnglishsaying,isitnot?“Seeapinandpickitup,allthedayyou’llhavegoodluck.”Me,Ihavehadgoodluck,Ihavefoundthemurderer.’
Heturnedtothesecretary.
‘Yousee?’hesaidgently.‘Youbetrayedyourself.’
SuddenlyTrefusisbrokedown.Hesankintoachairsobbing,hisfaceburiedinhishands.
‘Iwasmad,’hegroaned.‘Iwasmad.But,oh,myGod,hebadgeredandbulliedmebeyondbearing.ForyearsIhadhatedandloathedhim.’
‘Iknew!’criedLadyAstwell.
Shesprangforward,herfaceirradiatedwithsavagetriumph.
‘Iknewthatmanhaddoneit.’
Shestoodthere,savageandtriumphant.
‘Andyouwereright,’saidPoirot.‘Onemaycallthingsbydifferentnames,butthefactremains.Your“intuition”,LadyAstwell,provedcorrect.Ifelicitateyou.’
Four-and-TwentyBlackbirds
I
HerculePoirotwasdiningwithhisfriend,HenryBonningtonattheGallantEndeavourintheKing’sRoad,Chelsea.
MrBonningtonwasfondoftheGallantEndeavour.Helikedtheleisurelyatmosphere,helikedthefoodwhichwas‘plain’and‘English’and‘notalotofmadeupmesses’.HelikedtotellpeoplewhodinedwithhimtherejustexactlywhereAugustusJohnhadbeenwonttositanddrawtheirattentiontothefamousartists’namesinthevisitors’book.MrBonningtonwashimselftheleastartisticofmen–buthetookacertainprideintheartisticactivitiesofothers.
Molly,thesympatheticwaitress,greetedMrBonningtonasanoldfriend.Shepridedherselfonrememberinghercustomers’likesanddislikesinthewayoffood.
‘Goodevening,sir,’shesaid,asthetwomentooktheirseatsatacornertable.‘You’reinlucktoday–turkeystuffedwithchestnuts–that’syourfavourite,isn’tit?AndeversuchaniceStiltonwe’vegot!Willyouhavesoupfirstorfish?’
MrBonningtondeliberatedthepoint.HesaidtoPoirotwarninglyasthelatterstudiedthemenu:
‘NoneofyourFrenchkickshawsnow.Goodwell-cookedEnglishfood.’
‘Myfriend,’HerculePoirotwavedhishand,‘Iasknobetter!Iputmyselfinyourhandsunreservedly.’
‘Ah–hruup–er–hm,’repliedMrBonningtonandgavecarefulattentiontothematter.
Theseweightymatters,andthequestionofwine,settled,MrBonningtonleanedbackwithasighandunfoldedhisnapkinasMollyspedaway.
‘Goodgirl,that,’hesaidapprovingly.‘Wasquiteabeautyonce–artistsusedtopainther.Sheknowsaboutfood,too–andthat’sagreatdealmoreimportant.Womenareveryunsoundonfoodasarule.There’smanyawomanifshegoesoutwithafellowshefancies–won’tevennoticewhatsheeats.She’lljustorderthefirstthingshesees.’
HerculePoirotshookhishead.
‘C’estterrible.’
‘Menaren’tlikethat,thankGod!’saidMrBonningtoncomplacently.
‘Never?’TherewasatwinkleinHerculePoirot’seye.
‘Well,perhapswhenthey’reveryyoung,’concededMrBonnington.‘Youngpuppies!Youngfellowsnowadaysareallthesame–noguts–nostamina.I’venousefortheyoung–andthey,’headdedwithstrictimpartiality,‘havenouseforme.Perhapsthey’reright!Buttohearsomeoftheseyoungfellowstalkyou’dthinknomanhadarighttobealiveaftersixty!Fromthewaytheygoon,you’dwondermoreofthemdidn’thelptheirelderlyrelationsoutoftheworld.’
‘Itispossible,’saidHerculePoirot,‘thattheydo.’
‘Nicemindyou’vegot,Poirot,Imustsay.Allthispoliceworksapsyourideals.’
HerculePoirotsmiled.
‘Toutdemême,’hesaid.‘Itwouldbeinterestingtomakeatableofaccidentaldeathsovertheageofsixty.Iassureyouitwouldraisesomecuriousspeculationsinyourmind.’
‘Thetroublewithyouisthatyou’vestartedgoingtolookforcrime–insteadofwaitingforcrimetocometoyou.’
‘Iapologize,’saidPoirot.‘Italkwhatyoucall“theshop”.Tellme,myfriend,ofyourownaffairs.Howdoestheworldgowithyou?’
‘Mess!’saidMrBonnington.‘That’swhat’sthematterwiththeworldnowadays.Toomuchmess.Andtoomuchfinelanguage.Thefinelanguagehelpstoconcealthemess.Likeahighly-flavouredsauceconcealingthefactthatthefishunderneathitisnoneofthebest!Givemeanhonestfilletofsoleandnomessysauceoverit.’
ItwasgivenhimatthatmomentbyMollyandhegruntedapproval.
‘YouknowjustwhatIlike,mygirl,’hesaid.
‘Well,youcomehereprettyregular,don’tyou,sir?Ioughttoknowwhatyoulike.’
HerculePoirotsaid:
‘Dopeoplethenalwayslikethesamethings?Donottheylikeachangesometimes?’
‘Notgentlemen,sir.Ladieslikevariety–gentlemenalwayslikethesamething.’
‘WhatdidItellyou?’gruntedBonnington.‘Womenarefundamentallyunsoundwherefoodisconcerned!’
Helookedroundtherestaurant.
‘Theworld’safunnyplace.Seethatodd-lookingoldfellowwithabeardinthecorner?Molly’lltellyouhe’salwayshereTuesdaysandThursdaynights.Hehascomehereforcloseontenyearsnow–he’sakindoflandmarkintheplace.Yetnobodyhereknowshisnameorwherehelivesorwhathisbusinessis.It’soddwhenyoucometothinkofit.’
Whenthewaitressbroughttheportionsofturkeyhesaid:
‘Iseeyou’vestillgotOldFatherTimeoverthere?’
‘That’sright,sir.TuesdaysandThursdays,hisdaysare.NotbutwhathecameinhereonaMondaylastweek!Itquiteupsetme!IfeltI’dgotmydateswrongandthatitmustbeTuesdaywithoutmyknowingit!Buthecameinthenextnightaswell–sotheMondaywasjustakindofextra,sotospeak.’
‘Aninterestingdeviationfromhabit,’murmuredPoirot.‘Iwonderwhatthereasonwas?’
‘Well,sir,ifyouaskme,Ithinkhe’dhadsomekindofupsetorworry.’
‘Whydidyouthinkthat?Hismanner?’
‘No,sir–nothismannerexactly.Hewasveryquietashealwaysis.Neversaysmuchexceptgoodeveningwhenhecomesandgoes.No,itwashisorder.’
‘Hisorder?’
‘Idaresayyougentlemenwilllaughatme,’Mollyflushedup,‘butwhenagentlemanhasbeenherefortenyears,yougettoknowhislikesanddislikes.HenevercouldbearsuetpuddingorblackberriesandI’veneverknownhimtakethicksoup–butonthatMondaynightheorderedthicktomatosoup,beefsteakandkidneypuddingandblackberrytart!Seemedasthoughhejustdidn’tnoticewhatheordered!’
‘Doyouknow,’saidHerculePoirot,‘Ifindthatextraordinarilyinteresting.’
Mollylookedgratifiedanddeparted.
‘Well,Poirot,’saidHenryBonningtonwithachuckle.‘Let’shaveafewdeductionsfromyou.Allinyourbestmanner.’
‘Iwouldprefertohearyoursfirst.’
‘WantmetobeWatson,eh?Well,oldfellowwenttoadoctorandthedoctorchangedhisdiet.’
‘Tothicktomatosoup,steakandkidneypuddingandblackberrytart?Icannotimagineanydoctordoingthat.’
‘Don’tbelieveit,oldboy.Doctorswillputyouontoanything.’
‘Thatistheonlysolutionthatoccurstoyou?’
HenryBonningtonsaid:
‘Well,seriously,Isupposethere’sonlyoneexplanationpossible.Ourunknownfriendwasinthegripofsomepowerfulmentalemotion.Hewassoperturbedbyitthatheliterallydidnotnoticewhathewasorderingoreating.’
Hepausedaminuteandthensaid:
‘You’llbetellingmenextthatyouknowjustwhatwasonhismind.You’llsayperhapsthathewasmakinguphismindtocommitamurder.’
Helaughedathisownsuggestion.
HerculePoirotdidnotlaugh.
Hehasadmittedthatatthatmomenthewasseriouslyworried.Heclaimsthatheoughtthentohavehadsomeinklingofwhatwaslikelytooccur.
Hisfriendsassurehimthatsuchanideaisquitefantastic.
ItwassomethreeweekslaterthatHerculePoirotandBonningtonmetagain–thistimetheirmeetingwasintheTube
Theynoddedtoeachother,swayingabout,hangingontoadjacentstraps.ThenatPiccadillyCircustherewasageneralexodusandtheyfoundseatsrightattheforwardendofthecar–apeacefulspotsincenobodypassedinoroutthatway.
‘That’sbetter,’saidMrBonnington.‘Selfishlot,thehumanrace,theywon’tpassupthecarhowevermuchyouask’emto!’
HerculePoirotshruggedhisshoulders.
‘Whatwillyou?’hesaid.‘Lifeistoouncertain.’
‘That’sit.Heretoday,gonetomorrow,’saidMrBonningtonwithakindofgloomyrelish.‘Andtalkingofthat,d’yourememberthatoldboywenoticedattheGallantEndeavour?Ishouldn’twonderifhe’dhoppedittoabetterworld.He’snotbeenthereforawholeweek.Molly’squiteupsetaboutit.’
HerculePoirotsatup.Hisgreeneyesflashed.
‘Indeed?’hesaid.‘Indeed?’
Bonningtonsaid:
‘D’yourememberIsuggestedhe’dbeentoadoctorandbeenputonadiet?Diet’snonsenseofcourse–butIshouldn’twonderifhehadconsultedadoctorabouthishealthandwhatthedoctorsaidgavehimabitofajolt.Thatwouldaccountforhimorderingthingsoffthemenuwithoutnoticingwhathewasdoing.Quitelikelythejolthegothurriedhimoutoftheworldsoonerthanhewouldhavegoneotherwise.Doctorsoughttobecarefulwhattheytellachap.’
‘Theyusuallyare,’saidHerculePoirot.
‘Thisismystation,’saidMrBonnington.‘Bye,bye.Don’tsupposeweshalleverknownowwhotheoldboywas–notevenhisname.Funnyworld!’
Hehurriedoutofthecarriage.
HerculePoirot,sittingfrowning,lookedasthoughhedidnotthinkitwassuchafunnyworld.
Hewenthomeandgavecertaininstructionstohisfaithfulvalet,George.
II
HerculePoirotranhisfingerdownalistofnames.Itwasarecordofdeathswithinacertainarea.
Poirot’sfingerstopped.
‘HenryGascoigne.Sixty-nine.Imighttryhimfirst.’
Laterintheday,HerculePoirotwassittinginDrMacAndrew’ssurgeryjustofftheKing’sRoad.MacAndrewwasatallred-hairedScotsmanwithanintelligentface.
‘Gascoigne?’hesaid.‘Yes,that’sright.Eccentricoldbird.Livedaloneinoneofthosederelictoldhousesthatarebeingclearedawayinordertobuildablockofmodernflats.Ihadn’tattendedhimbefore,butI’dseenhimaboutandIknewwhohewas.Itwasthedairypeoplegotthewindupfirst.Themilkbottlesbegantopileupoutside.Intheendthepeoplenextdoorsentwordtothepoliceandtheybrokethedoorinandfoundhim.He’dpitcheddownthestairsandbrokenhisneck.Hadonanolddressing-gownwitharaggedcord–mighteasilyhavetrippedhimselfupwithit.’
‘Isee,’saidHerculePoirot.‘Itwasquitesimple–anaccident.’
‘That’sright.’
‘Hadheanyrelations?’
‘There’sanephew.Usedtocomealongandseehisuncleaboutonceamonth.Lorrimer,hisnameis,GeorgeLorrimer.He’samedicohimself.LivesatWimbledon.’
‘Washeupsetattheoldman’sdeath?’
‘Idon’tknowthatI’dsayhewasupset.Imean,hehadanaffectionfortheoldman,buthedidn’treallyknowhimverywell.’
‘HowlonghadMrGascoignebeendeadwhenyousawhim?’
‘Ah!’saidDrMacAndrew.‘Thisiswherewegetofficial.Notlessthanforty-eighthoursandnotmorethanseventy-twohours.Hewasfoundonthemorningofthesixth.Actually,wegotcloserthanthat.He’dgotaletterinthepocketofhisdressing-gown–writtenonthethird–postedinWimbledonthatafternoon–wouldhavebeendeliveredsomewherearoundnine-twentyp.m.Thatputsthetimeofdeathatafternine-twentyontheeveningofthethird.Thatagreeswiththecontentsofthestomachandtheprocessesofdigestion.Hehadhadamealabouttwohoursbeforedeath.Iexaminedhimonthemorningofthesixthandhisconditionwasquiteconsistentwithdeathhavingoccurredaboutsixtyhourspreviously–roundabouttenp.m.onthethird.’
‘Itallseemsveryconsistent.Tellme,whenwashelastseenalive?’
‘HewasseenintheKing’sRoadaboutseveno’clockthatsameevening,Thursdaythethird,andhedinedattheGallantEndeavourrestaurantatseven-thirty.ItseemshealwaysdinedthereonThursdays.Hewasbywayofbeinganartist,youknow.Anextremelybadone.’
‘Hehadnootherrelations?Onlythisnephew?’
‘Therewasatwinbrother.Thewholestoryisrathercurious.Theyhadn’tseeneachotherforyears.Itseemstheotherbrother,AnthonyGascoigne,marriedaveryrichwomanandgaveupart–andthebrothersquarrelledoverit.Hadn’tseeneachothersince,Ibelieve.Butoddlyenough,theydiedonthesameday.Theeldertwinpassedawayatthreeo’clockontheafternoonofthethird.OncebeforeI’veknownacaseoftwinsdyingonthesameday–indifferentpartsoftheworld!Probablyjustacoincidence–butthereitis.’
‘Istheotherbrother’swifealive?’
‘No,shediedsomeyearsago.’
‘WheredidAnthonyGascoignelive?’
‘HehadahouseonKingstonHill.Hewas,Ibelieve,fromwhatDrLorrimertellsme,verymuchofarecluse.’
HerculePoirotnoddedthoughtfully.
TheScotsmanlookedathimkeenly.
‘Whatexactlyhaveyougotinyourmind,M.Poirot?’heaskedbluntly.‘I’veansweredyourquestions–aswasmydutyseeingthecredentialsyoubrought.ButI’minthedarkastowhatit’sallabout.’
Poirotsaidslowly:
‘Asimplecaseofaccidentaldeath,that’swhatyousaid.WhatIhaveinmindisequallysimple–asimplepush.’
DrMacAndrewlookedstartled.
‘Inotherwords,murder!Haveyouanygroundsforthatbelief?’
‘No,’saidPoirot.‘Itisameresupposition.’
‘Theremustbesomething–’persistedtheother.
Poirotdidnotspeak.MacAndrewsaid:
‘Ifit’sthenephew,Lorrimer,yoususpect,Idon’tmindtellingyouhereandnowthatyouarebarkingupthewrongtree.LorrimerwasplayingbridgeinWimbledonfromeight-thirtytillmidnight.Thatcameoutattheinquest.’
Poirotmurmured:
‘Andpresumablyitwasverified.Thepolicearecareful.’
Thedoctorsaid:
‘Perhapsyouknowsomethingagainsthim?’
‘Ididn’tknowthattherewassuchapersonuntilyoumentionedhim.’
‘Thenyoususpectsomebodyelse?’
‘No,no.Itisnotthatatall.It’sacaseoftheroutinehabitsofthehumananimal.Thatisveryimportant.AndthedeadM.Gascoignedoesnotfitin.Itisallwrong,yousee.’
‘Ireallydon’tunderstand.’
HerculePoirotmurmured:
‘Thetroubleis,thereistoomuchsauceoverthebadfish.’
‘Mydearsir?’
HerculePoirotsmiled.
‘Youwillbehavingmelockedupasalunaticsoon,MonsieurleDocteur.ButIamnotreallyamentalcase–justamanwhohasalikingfororderandmethodandwhoisworriedwhenhecomesacrossafactthatdoesnotfitin.Imustaskyoutoforgivemeforhavinggivenyousomuchtrouble.’
Heroseandthedoctorrosealso.
‘Youknow,’saidMacAndrew,‘honestlyIcan’tseeanythingtheleastbitsuspiciousaboutthedeathofHenryGascoigne.Isayhefell–yousaysomebodypushedhim.It’sall–well–intheair.’
HerculePoirotsighed.
‘Yes,’hesaid.‘Itisworkmanlike.Somebodyhasmadethegoodjobofit!’
‘Youstillthink–’
Thelittlemanspreadouthishands.
‘I’manobstinateman–amanwithalittleidea–andnothingtosupportit!Bytheway,didHenryGascoignehavefalseteeth?’
‘No,hisownteethwereinexcellentpreservation.Verycreditableindeedathisage.’
‘Helookedafterthemwell–theywerewhiteandwellbrushed?’
‘Yes,Inoticedthemparticularly.Teethtendtogrowalittleyellowasonegrowsolder,buttheywereingoodcondition.’
‘Notdiscolouredinanyway?’
‘No.Idon’tthinkhewasasmokerifthatiswhatyoumean.’
‘Ididnotmeanthatprecisely–itwasjustalongshot–whichprobablywillnotcomeoff!Goodbye,DrMacAndrew,andthankyouforyourkindness.’
Heshookthedoctor’shandanddeparted.
‘Andnow,’hesaid,‘forthelongshot.’
III
AttheGallantEndeavour,hesatdownatthesametablewhichhehadsharedwithBonnington.ThegirlwhoservedhimwasnotMolly.Molly,thegirltoldhim,wasawayonaholiday.
ItwasonlyjustsevenandHerculePoirotfoundnodifficultyinenteringintoconversationwiththegirlonthesubjectofoldMrGascoigne.
‘Yes,’shesaid.‘He’dbeenhereforyearsandyears.Butnoneofusgirlseverknewhisname.Wesawabouttheinquestinthepaper,andtherewasapictureofhim.“There,”IsaidtoMolly.“Ifthatisn’tour‘OldFatherTime’”asweusedtocallhim.’
‘Hedinedhereontheeveningofhisdeath,didhenot?’
‘That’sright,Thursday,thethird.HewasalwayshereonaThursday.TuesdaysandThursdays–punctualasaclock.’
‘Youdon’tremember,Isuppose,whathehadfordinner?’
‘Nowletmesee,itwasmulligatawnysoup,that’sright,andbeefsteakpuddingorwasitthemutton?–nopudding,that’sright,andblackberryandapplepieandcheese.Andthentothinkofhimgoinghomeandfallingdownthosestairsthatverysameevening.Afrayeddressing-gowncordtheysaiditwasascausedit.Ofcourse,hisclotheswerealwayssomethingawful–old-fashionedandputonanyhow,andalltattered,andyethehadakindofair,allthesame,asthoughhewassomebody!Oh,wegetallsortsofinterestingcustomershere.’
Shemovedoff.
HerculePoirotatehisfilletedsole.Hiseyesshowedagreenlight.
‘Itisodd,’hesaidtohimself,‘howthecleverestpeopleslipoverdetails.Bonningtonwillbeinterested.’
ButthetimehadnotyetcomeforleisurelydiscussionwithBonnington.
IV
Armedwithintroductionsfromacertaininfluentialquarter,HerculePoirotfoundnodifficultyatallindealingwiththecoronerforthedistrict.
‘Acuriousfigure,thedeceasedmanGascoigne,’heobserved.‘Alonely,eccentricoldfellow.Buthisdeceaseseemstoarouseanunusualamountofattention?’
Helookedwithsomecuriosityathisvisitorashespoke.
HerculePoirotchosehiswordscarefully.‘Therearecircumstancesconnectedwithit,Monsieur,whichmakeinvestigationdesirable.’
‘Well,howcanIhelpyou?’
‘Itis,Ibelieve,withinyourprovincetoorderdocumentsproducedinyourcourttobedestroyed,ortobeimpounded–asyouthinkfit.AcertainletterwasfoundinthepocketofHenryGascoigne’sdressing-gown,wasitnot?’
‘Thatisso.’
‘Aletterfromhisnephew,DrGeorgeLorrimer?’
‘Quitecorrect.Theletterwasproducedattheinquestashelpingtofixthetimeofdeath.’
‘Whichwascorroboratedbythemedicalevidence?’
‘Exactly.’
‘Isthatletterstillavailable?’
HerculePoirotwaitedratheranxiouslyforthereply.Whenheheardthattheletterwasstillavailableforexaminationhedrewasighofrelief.
Whenitwasfinallyproducedhestudieditwithsomecare.Itwaswritteninaslightlycrampedhandwritingwithastylographicpen.
Itranasfollows:
DearUncleHenry,IamsorrytotellyouthatIhavehadnosuccessasregardsUncleAnthony.Heshowednoenthusiasmforavisitfromyouandwouldgivemenoreplytoyourrequestthathewouldletbygonesbebygones.Heis,ofcourse,extremelyill,andhismindisinclinedtowander.Ishouldfancythattheendisverynear.Heseemedhardlytorememberwhoyouwere.Iamsorrytohavefailedyou,butIcanassureyouthatIdidmybest.Youraffectionatenephew,GeorgeLorrimer
Theletteritselfwasdated3rdNovember.Poirotglancedattheenvelope’spostmark–4.30p.m.3Nov.
Hemurmured:
‘Itisbeautifullyinorder,isitnot?’
V
KingstonHillwashisnextobjective.Afteralittletrouble,withtheexerciseofgood-humouredpertinacity,heobtainedaninterviewwithAmeliaHill,cook-housekeepertothelateAnthonyGascoigne.
MrsHillwasinclinedtobestiffandsuspiciousatfirst,butthecharminggenialityofthisstrange-lookingforeignerwouldhavehaditseffectonastone.MrsAmeliaHillbegantounbend.
Shefoundherself,ashadsomanyotherwomenbeforeher,pouringouthertroublestoareallysympatheticlistener.
ForfourteenyearsshehadhadchargeofMrGascoigne’shousehold–notaneasyjob!No,indeed!Manyawomanwouldhavequailedundertheburdensshehadhadtobear!Eccentricthepoorgentlemanwasandnodenyingit.Remarkablyclosewithhismoney–akindofmaniawithhimitwas–andheasrichagentlemanasmightbe!ButMrsHillhadservedhimfaithfully,andputupwithhisways,andnaturallyshe’dexpectedatanyratearemembrance.Butno–nothingatall!Justanoldwillthatleftallhismoneytohiswifeandifshepredeceasedhimtheneverythingtohisbrother,Henry.Awillmadeyearsago.Itdidn’tseemfair!
GraduallyHerculePoirotdetachedherfromhermainthemeofunsatisfiedcupidity.Itwasindeedaheartlessinjustice!MrsHillcouldnotbeblamedforfeelinghurtandsurprised.ItwaswellknownthatMrGascoignewastight-fistedaboutmoney.Ithadevenbeensaidthatthedeadmanhadrefusedhisonlybrotherassistance.MrsHillprobablyknewallaboutthat.
‘WasitthatthatDrLorrimercametoseehimabout?’askedMrsHill.‘Iknewitwassomethingabouthisbrother,butIthoughtitwasjustthathisbrotherwantedtobereconciled.They’dquarrelledyearsago.’
‘Iunderstand,’saidPoirot,‘thatMrGascoignerefusedabsolutely?’
‘That’srightenough,’saidMrsHillwithanod.‘“Henry?”hesays,ratherweaklike.“What’sthisaboutHenry?Haven’tseenhimforyearsanddon’twantto.Quarrelsomefellow,Henry.”Justthat.’
TheconversationthenrevertedtoMrsHill’sownspecialgrievances,andtheunfeelingattitudeofthelateMrGascoigne’ssolicitor.
WithsomedifficultyHerculePoirottookhisleavewithoutbreakingofftheconversationtooabruptly.
Andso,justafterthedinnerhour,hecametoElmcrest,DorsetRoad,Wimbledon,theresidenceofDrGeorgeLorrimer.
Thedoctorwasin.HerculePoirotwasshownintothesurgeryandtherepresentlyDrGeorgeLorrimercametohim,obviouslyjustrisenfromthedinnertable.
‘I’mnotapatient,Doctor,’saidHerculePoirot.‘Andmycominghereis,perhaps,somewhatofanimpertinence–butI’manoldmanandIbelieveinplainanddirectdealing.Idonotcareforlawyersandtheirlong-windedroundaboutmethods.’
HehadcertainlyarousedLorrimer’sinterest.Thedoctorwasaclean-shavenmanofmiddleheight.Hishairwasbrownbuthiseyelasheswerealmostwhitewhichgavehiseyesapale,boiledappearance.Hismannerwasbriskandnotwithouthumour.
‘Lawyers?’hesaid,raisinghiseyebrows.‘Hatethefellows!Yourousemycuriosity,mydearsir.Praysitdown.’
Poirotdidsoandthenproducedoneofhisprofessionalcardswhichhehandedtothedoctor.
GeorgeLorrimer’swhiteeyelashesblinked.
Poirotleanedforwardconfidentially.‘Agoodmanyofmyclientsarewomen,’hesaid.
‘Naturally,’saidDrGeorgeLorrimer,withaslighttwinkle.
‘Asyousay,naturally,’agreedPoirot.‘Womendistrusttheofficialpolice.Theypreferprivateinvestigations.Theydonotwanttohavetheirtroublesmadepublic.Anelderlywomancametoconsultmeafewdaysago.Shewasunhappyaboutahusbandshe’dquarrelledwithmanyyearsbefore.Thishusbandofherswasyouruncle,thelateMrGascoigne.’GeorgeLorrimer’sfacewentpurple.
‘Myuncle?Nonsense!Hiswifediedmanyyearsago.’
‘Notyouruncle,MrAnthonyGascoigne.Youruncle,MrHenryGascoigne.’
‘UncleHenry?Buthewasn’tmarried!’
‘Ohyes,hewas,’saidHerculePoirot,lyingunblushingly.‘Notadoubtofit.Theladyevenbroughtalonghermarriagecertificate.’
‘It’salie!’criedGeorgeLorrimer.Hisfacewasnowaspurpleasaplum.‘Idon’tbelieveit.You’reanimpudentliar.’
‘Itistoobad,isitnot?’saidPoirot.‘Youhavecommittedmurderfornothing.’
‘Murder?’Lorrimer’svoicequavered.Hispaleeyesbulgedwithterror.
‘Bytheway,’saidPoirot,‘Iseeyouhavebeeneatingblackberrytartagain.Anunwisehabit.Blackberriesaresaidtobefullofvitamins,buttheymaybedeadlyinotherways.OnthisoccasionIratherfancytheyhavehelpedtoputaroperoundaman’sneck–yourneck,DrLorrimer.’
VI
‘Yousee,monami,whereyouwentwrongwasoveryourfundamentalassumption.’HerculePoirot,beamingplacidlyacrossthetableathisfriend,wavedanexpositoryhand.‘Amanunderseverementalstressdoesn’tchoosethattimetodosomethingthathe’sneverdonebefore.Hisreflexesjustfollowthetrackofleastresistance.Amanwhoisupsetaboutsomethingmightconceivablycomedowntodinnerdressedinhispyjamas–buttheywillbehisownpyjamas–notsomebodyelse’s.
‘Amanwhodislikesthicksoup,suetpuddingandblackberriessuddenlyordersallthreeoneevening.Yousay,becauseheisthinkingofsomethingelse.ButIsaythatamanwhohasgotsomethingonhismindwillorderautomaticallythedishhehasorderedmostoftenbefore
‘Ehbien,then,whatotherexplanationcouldtherebe?Isimplycouldnotthinkofareasonableexplanation.AndIwasworried!Theincidentwasallwrong.Itdidnotfit!IhaveanorderlymindandIlikethingstofit.MrGascoigne’sdinnerorderworriedme.
‘Thenyoutoldmethatthemanhaddisappeared.HehadmissedaTuesdayandaThursdaythefirsttimeforyears.Ilikedthatevenless.Aqueerhypothesissprangupinmymind.IfIwererightaboutitthemanwasdead.Imadeinquiries.Themanwasdead.Andhewasveryneatlyandtidilydead.Inotherwordsthebadfishwascoveredupwiththesauce!
‘HehadbeenseenintheKing’sRoadatseveno’clock.Hehadhaddinnerhereatseven-thirty–twohoursbeforehedied.Itallfittedin–theevidenceofthestomachcontents,theevidenceoftheletter.Muchtoomuchsauce!Youcouldn’tseethefishatall!
‘Devotednephewwrotetheletter,devotednephewhadbeautifulalibifortimeofdeath.Deathverysimple–afalldownthestairs.Simpleaccident?Simplemurder?Everyonesaystheformer.
‘Devotednephewonlysurvivingrelative.Devotednephewwillinherit–butisthereanythingtoinherit?Unclenotoriouslypoor.
‘Butthereisabrother.Andbrotherinhistimehadmarriedarichwife.AndbrotherlivesinabigrichhouseonKingstonHill,soitwouldseemthatrichwifemusthavelefthimallhermoney.Youseethesequence–richwifeleavesmoneytoAnthony,AnthonyleavesmoneytoHenry,Henry’smoneygoestoGeorge–acompletechain.’
‘Allveryprettyintheory,’saidBonnington.‘Butwhatdidyoudo?’
‘Onceyouknow–youcanusuallygetholdofwhatyouwant.Henryhaddiedtwohoursafterameal–thatisalltheinquestreallybotheredabout.Butsupposingthemealwasnotdinner,butlunch.PutyourselfinGeorge’splace.Georgewantsmoney–badly.AnthonyGascoigneisdying–buthisdeathisnogoodtoGeorge.HismoneygoestoHenry,andHenryGascoignemayliveforyears.SoHenrymustdietoo–andthesoonerthebetter–buthisdeathmusttakeplaceafterAnthony’s,andatthesametimeGeorgemusthaveanalibi.Henry’shabitofdiningregularlyatarestaurantontwoeveningsoftheweeksuggestsanalibitoGeorge.Beingacautiousfellow,hetrieshisplanoutfirst.HeimpersonateshisuncleonMondayeveningattherestaurantinquestion.Itgoeswithoutahitch.Everyonethereacceptshimashisuncle.Heissatisfied.HehasonlytowaittillUncleAnthonyshowsdefinitesignsofpeggingout.Thetimecomes.HewritesalettertohisuncleontheafternoonofthesecondNovemberbutdatesitthethird.Hecomesuptotownontheafternoonofthethird,callsonhisuncle,andcarrieshisschemeintoaction.AsharpshoveanddownthestairsgoesUncleHenry.Georgehuntsaboutfortheletterhehaswritten,andshovesitinthepocketofhisuncle’sdressing-gown.Atseven-thirtyheisattheGallantEndeavour,beard,bushyeyebrowsallcomplete.UndoubtedlyMrHenryGascoigneisaliveatseven-thirty.ThenarapidmetamorphosisinalavatoryandbackfullspeedinhiscartoWimbledonandaneveningofbridge.Theperfectalibi.’
MrBonningtonlookedathim.
‘Butthepostmarkontheletter?’
‘Oh,thatwasverysimple.Thepostmarkwassmudgy.Why?IthadbeenalteredwithlampblackfromsecondNovembertothirdNovember.Youwouldnotnoticeitunlessyouwerelookingforit.Andfinallythereweretheblackbirds.’
‘Blackbirds?’
‘Four-and-twentyblackbirdsbakedinapie!Orblackberriesifyouprefertobeliteral!George,youcomprehend,wasafterallnotquiteagoodenoughactor.DoyourememberthefellowwhoblackedhimselfallovertoplayOthello?Thatisthekindofactoryouhavegottobeincrime.Georgelookedlikehisuncleandwalkedlikehisuncleandspokelikehisuncleandhadhisuncles’beardandeyebrows,butheforgottoeatlikehisuncle.Heorderedthedishesthathehimselfliked.Blackberriesdiscolourtheteeth–thecorpse’steethwerenotdiscoloured,andyetHenryGascoigneateblackberriesattheGallantEndeavourthatnight.Buttherewerenoblackberriesinthestomach.Iaskedthismorning.AndGeorgehadbeenfoolenoughtokeepthebeardandtherestofEhbien,greedwillhanghimallrightunlessIamverymuchmistaken.’
Awaitressbroughtthemtwoportionsofblackberryandappletart.
‘Takeitaway,’saidMrBonnington.‘Onecan’tbetoocareful.Bringmeasmallhelpingofsagopudding.’
TheDream
I
HerculePoirotgavethehouseasteadyappraisingglance.Hiseyeswanderedamomenttoitssurroundings,theshops,thebigfactorybuildingontheright,theblocksofcheapmansionflatsopposite.
ThenoncemorehiseyesreturnedtoNorthwayHouse,relicofanearlierage–anageofspaceandleisure,whengreenfieldshadsurroundeditswell-bredarrogance.Nowitwasananachronism,submergedandforgotteninthehecticseaofmodernLondon,andnotonemaninfiftycouldhavetoldyouwhereitstood
Furthermore,veryfewpeoplecouldhavetoldyoutowhomitbelonged,thoughitsowner’snamewouldhavebeenrecognizedasoneoftheworld’srichestmen.Butmoneycanquenchpublicityaswellasflauntit.BenedictFarley,thateccentricmillionaire,chosenottoadvertisehischoiceofresidence.Hehimselfwasrarelyseen,seldommakingapublicappearance.Fromtimetotime,heappearedatboardmeetings,hisleanfigure,beakednose,andraspingvoiceeasilydominatingtheassembleddirectors.Apartfromthat,hewasjustawell-knownfigureoflegend.Therewerehisstrangemeannesses,hisincrediblegenerosities,aswellasmorepersonaldetails–hisfamouspatchworkdressing-gown,nowreputedtobetwenty-eightyearsold,hisinvariabledietofcabbagesoupandcaviare,hishatredofcats.Allthesethingsthepublicknew.
HerculePoirotknewthemalso.Itwasallhedidknowofthemanhewasabouttovisit.Theletterwhichwasinhiscoatpockettoldhimlittlemore.
Aftersurveyingthismelancholylandmarkofapastageforaminuteortwoinsilence,hewalkedupthestepstothefrontdoorandpressedthebell,glancingashedidsoattheneatwrist-watchwhichhadatlastreplacedanoldfavourite–thelargeturnip-facedwatchofearlierdays.Yes,itwasexactlynine-thirty.Asever,HerculePoirotwasexacttotheminute.
Thedooropenedafterjusttherightinterval.Aperfectspecimenofthegenusbutlerstoodoutlinedagainstthelightedhall.
‘MrBenedictFarley?’askedHerculePoirot.
Theimpersonalglancesurveyedhimfromheadtofoot,inoffensivelybuteffectively.
Engrosetendétail,thoughtHerculePoirottohimselfwithappreciation.
‘Youhaveanappointment,sir?’askedthesuavevoice.
‘Yes.’
‘Yourname,sir?’
‘MonsieurHerculePoirot.’
Thebutlerbowedanddrewback.HerculePoirotenteredthehouse.Thebutlerclosedthedoorbehindhim.
Buttherewasyetonemoreformalitybeforethedefthandstookhatandstickfromthevisitor.
‘Youwillexcuseme,sir.Iwastoaskforaletter.’WithdeliberationPoirottookfromhispocketthefoldedletterandhandedittothebutler.Thelattergaveitamereglance,thenreturneditwithabow.HerculePoirotreturnedittohispocket.Itscontentsweresimple.
NorthwayHouse,W.8M.HerculePoirotDearSir,MrBenedictFarleywouldliketohavethebenefitofyouradvice.Ifconvenienttoyourselfhewouldbegladifyouwouldcalluponhimattheaboveaddressat9.30tomorrow(Thursday)evening.Yourstruly,HugoCornworthy(Secretary)P.S.Pleasebringthisletterwithyou.
DeftlythebutlerrelievedPoirotofhat,stickandovercoat.Hesaid:
‘WillyoupleasecomeuptoMrCornworthy’sroom?’
Heledthewayupthebroadstaircase.Poirotfollowedhim,lookingwithappreciationatsuchobjetsd’artaswereofanopulentandfloridnature!Histasteinartwasalwayssomewhatbourgeois.
Onthefirstfloorthebutlerknockedonadoor.
HerculePoirot’seyebrowsroseveryslightly.Itwasthefirstjarringnote.Forthebestbutlersdonotknockatdoors–andyetindubitablythiswasafirst-classbutler!
Itwas,sotospeak,thefirstintimationofcontactwiththeeccentricityofamillionaire.
Avoicefromwithincalledoutsomething.Thebutlerthrewopenthedoor.Heannounced(andagainPoirotsensedthedeliberatedeparturefromorthodoxy):
‘Thegentlemanyouareexpecting,sir.’
Poirotpassedintotheroom.Itwasafair-sizedroom,veryplainlyfurnishedinaworkmanlikefashion.Filingcabinets,booksofreference,acoupleofeasy-chairs,andalargeandimposingdeskcoveredwithneatlydocketedpapers.Thecornersoftheroomweredim,fortheonlylightcamefromabiggreen-shadedreadinglampwhichstoodonasmalltablebythearmofoneoftheeasy-chairs.Itwasplacedsoastocastitsfulllightonanyoneapproachingfromthedoor.HerculePoirotblinkedalittle,realizingthatthelampbulbwasatleast150watts.Inthearm-chairsatathinfigureinapatchworkdressing-gown–BenedictFarley.Hisheadwasstuckforwardinacharacteristicattitude,hisbeakednoseprojectinglikethatofabird.Acrestofwhitehairlikethatofacockatooroseabovehisforehead.Hiseyesglitteredbehindthicklensesashepeeredsuspiciouslyathisvisitor.
‘Hey,’hesaidatlast–andhisvoicewasshrillandharsh,witharaspingnoteinit.‘Soyou’reHerculePoirot,hey?’
‘Atyourservice,’saidPoirotpolitelyandbowed,onehandonthebackofthechair.
‘Sitdown–sitdown,’saidtheoldmantestily.
HerculePoirotsatdown–inthefullglareofthelamp.Frombehindittheoldmanseemedtobestudyinghimattentively.
‘HowdoIknowyou’reHerculePoirot–hey?’hedemandedfretfully.‘Tellmethat–hey?’
OncemorePoirotdrewtheletterfromhispocketandhandedittoFarley.
‘Yes,’admittedthemillionairegrudgingly.‘That’sit.That’swhatIgotCornworthytowrite.’Hefoldeditupandtosseditback.‘Soyou’rethefellow,areyou?’
WithalittlewaveofhishandPoirotsaid:
‘Iassureyouthereisnodeception!’
BenedictFarleychuckledsuddenly.
‘That’swhattheconjurersaysbeforehetakesthegoldfishoutofthehat!Sayingthatispartofthetrick,youknow!’
Poirotdidnotreply.Farleysaidsuddenly:
‘ThinkI’masuspiciousoldman,hey?SoIam.Don’ttrustanybody!That’smymotto.Can’ttrustanybodywhenyou’rerich.No,no,itdoesn’tdo.’
‘Youwished,’Poirothintedgently,‘toconsultme?’
Theoldmannodded.
‘Gototheexpertanddon’tcountthecost.You’llnotice,M.Poirot,Ihaven’taskedyouyourfee.I’mnotgoingto!Sendmeinthebilllater–Ishan’tcutuproughoverit.Damnedfoolsatthedairythoughttheycouldchargemetwoandnineforeggswhentwoandseven’sthemarketprice–lotofswindlers!Iwon’tbeswindled.Butthemanatthetop’sdifferent.He’sworththemoney.I’matthetopmyself–Iknow.’
HerculePoirotmadenoreply.Helistenedattentively,hisheadpoisedalittleononeside.
Behindhisimpassiveexteriorhewasconsciousofafeelingofdisappointment.Hecouldnotexactlyputhisfingeronit.SofarBenedictFarleyhadruntruetotype–thatis,hehadconformedtothepopularideaofhimself;andyet–Poirotwasdisappointed.
‘Theman,’hesaiddisgustedlytohimself,‘isamountebank–nothingbutamountebank!’
Hehadknownothermillionaires,eccentricmentoo,butinnearlyeverycasehehadbeenconsciousofacertainforce,aninnerenergythathadcommandedhisrespect.Iftheyhadwornapatchworkdressing-gown,itwouldhavebeenbecausetheylikedwearingsuchadressing-gown.Butthedressing-gownofBenedictFarley,orsoitseemedtoPoirot,wasessentiallyastageproperty.Andthemanhimselfwasessentiallystagy.Everywordhespokewasuttered,soPoirotfeltassured,sheerlyforeffect.
Herepeatedagainunemotionally,‘Youwishedtoconsultme,MrFarley?’
Abruptlythemillionaire’smannerchanged.
Heleanedforward.Hisvoicedroppedtoacroak.
‘Yes.Yes…Iwanttohearwhatyou’vegottosay–whatyouthink…Gotothetop!That’smyway!Thebestdoctor–thebestdetective–it’sbetweenthetwoofthem.’
‘Asyet,Monsieur,Idonotunderstand.’
‘Naturally,’snappedFarley.‘Ihaven’tbeguntotellyou.’
Heleanedforwardoncemoreandshotoutanabruptquestion.
‘Whatdoyouknow,M.Poirot,aboutdreams?’
Thelittleman’seyebrowsrose.Whateverhehadexpected,itwasnotthis.
‘Forthat,M.Farley,IshouldrecommendNapoleon’sBookofDreams–orthelatestpractisingpsychologistfromHarleyStreet.’
BenedictFarleysaidsoberly,‘I’vetriedboth…’
Therewasapause,thenthemillionairespoke,atfirstalmostinawhisper,thenwithavoicegrowinghigherandhigher.
‘It’sthesamedream–nightafternight.AndI’mafraid,Itellyou–I’mafraid…It’salwaysthesame.I’msittinginmyroomnextdoortothis.Sittingatmydesk,writing.There’saclockthereandIglanceatitandseethetime–exactlytwenty-eightminutespastthree.Alwaysthesametime,youunderstand.
‘AndwhenIseethetime,M.Poirot,IknowI’vegottodoit.Idon’twanttodoit–Iloathedoingit–butI’vegotto…’
Hisvoicehadrisenshrilly.
Unperturbed,Poirotsaid,‘Andwhatisitthatyouhavetodo?’
‘Attwenty-eightminutespastthree,’BenedictFarleysaidhoarsely,‘Iopentheseconddrawerdownontherightofmydesk,takeouttherevolverthatIkeepthere,loaditandwalkovertothewindow.Andthen–andthen–’
‘Yes?’
BenedictFarleysaidinawhisper:
‘ThenIshootmyself…’
Therewassilence.
ThenPoirotsaid,‘Thatisyourdream?’
‘Yes.’
‘Thesameeverynight?’
‘Yes.’
‘Whathappensafteryoushootyourself?’
‘Iwakeup.’
Poirotnoddedhisheadslowlyandthoughtfully.‘Asamatterofinterest,doyoukeeparevolverinthatparticulardrawer?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
‘Ihavealwaysdoneso.Itisaswelltobeprepared.’
‘Preparedforwhat?’
Farleysaidirritably,‘Amaninmypositionhastobeonhisguard.Allrichmenhaveenemies.’
Poirotdidnotpursuethesubject.Heremainedsilentforamomentortwo,thenhesaid:
‘Whyexactlydidyousendforme?’
‘Iwilltellyou.FirstofallIconsultedadoctor–threedoctorstobeexact.’
‘Yes?’
‘Thefirsttoldmeitwasallaquestionofdiet.Hewasanelderlyman.Thesecondwasayoungmanofthemodernschool.Heassuredmethatitallhingedonacertaineventthattookplaceininfancyatthatparticulartimeofday–threetwenty-eight.Iamsodetermined,hesays,nottoremembertheevent,thatIsymbolizeitbydestroyingmyself.Thatishisexplanation.’
‘Andthethirddoctor?’askedPoirot.
BenedictFarley’svoiceroseinshrillanger.
‘He’sayoungmantoo.Hehasapreposteroustheory!HeassertsthatI,myself,amtiredoflife,thatmylifeissounbearabletomethatIdeliberatelywanttoendit!ButsincetoacknowledgethatfactwouldbetoacknowledgethatessentiallyIamafailure,Irefuseinmywakingmomentstofacethetruth.ButwhenIamasleep,allinhibitionsareremoved,andIproceedtodothatwhichIreallywishtodo.Iputanendtomyself.’
‘Hisviewisthatyoureallywish,unknowntoyourself,tocommitsuicide?’saidPoirot.
BenedictFarleycriedshrilly:
‘Andthat’simpossible–impossible!I’mperfectlyhappy!I’vegoteverythingIwant–everythingmoneycanbuy!It’sfantastic–unbelievableeventosuggestathinglikethat!’
Poirotlookedathimwithinterest.Perhapssomethingintheshakinghands,thetremblingshrillnessofthevoice,warnedhimthatthedenialwastoovehement,thatitsveryinsistencewasinitselfsuspect.Hecontentedhimselfwithsaying:
‘AndwheredoIcomein,Monsieur?’
BenedictFarleycalmeddownsuddenly.Hetappedwithanemphaticfingeronthetablebesidehim.
‘There’sanotherpossibility.Andifit’sright,you’rethemantoknowaboutit!You’refamous,you’vehadhundredsofcases–fantastic,improbablecases!You’dknowifanyonedoes.’
‘Knowwhat?’
Farley’svoicedroppedtoawhisper.
‘Supposingsomeonewantstokillme…Couldtheydoitthisway?Couldtheymakemedreamthatdreamnightafternight?’
‘Hypnotism,youmean?’
‘Yes.’
HerculePoirotconsideredthequestion.
‘Itwouldbepossible,Isuppose,’hesaidatlast.‘Itismoreaquestionforadoctor.’
‘Youdon’tknowofsuchacaseinyourexperience?’
‘Notpreciselyonthoselines,no.’
‘YouseewhatI’mdrivingat?I’mmadetodreamthesamedream,nightafternight,nightafternight–andthen–onedaythesuggestionistoomuchforme–andIactuponit.IdowhatI’vedreamedofsooften–killmyself!’
SlowlyHerculePoirotshookhishead.
‘Youdon’tthinkthatispossible?’askedFarley.
‘Possible?’Poirotshookhishead.‘ThatisnotawordIcaretomeddlewith.’
‘Butyouthinkitimprobable?’
‘Mostimprobable.’
BenedictFarleymurmured.‘Thedoctorsaidsotoo…’Thenhisvoicerisingshrillyagain,hecriedout,‘ButwhydoIhavethisdream?Why?Why?’
HerculePoirotshookhishead.BenedictFarleysaidabruptly,‘You’resureyou’venevercomeacrossanythinglikethisinyourexperience?’
‘Never.’
‘That’swhatIwantedtoknow.’
Delicately,Poirotclearedhisthroat.
‘Youpermit,’hesaid,‘aquestion?’
‘Whatisit?Whatisit?Saywhatyoulike.’
‘Whoisityoususpectofwantingtokillyou?’Farleysnappedout,‘Nobody.Nobodyatall.’
‘Buttheideapresenteditselftoyourmind?’Poirotpersisted.
‘Iwantedtoknow–ifitwasapossibility.’
‘Speakingfrommyownexperience,IshouldsayNo.Haveyoueverbeenhypnotized,bytheway?’
‘Ofcoursenot.D’youthinkI’dlendmyselftosuchtomfoolery?’
‘ThenIthinkonecansaythatyourtheoryisdefinitelyimprobable.’
‘Butthedream,youfool,thedream.’
‘Thedreamiscertainlyremarkable,’saidPoirotthoughtfully.Hepausedandthenwenton.‘Ishouldliketoseethesceneofthisdrama–thetable,theclock,andtherevolver.’
‘Ofcourse,I’lltakeyounextdoor.’
Wrappingthefoldsofhisdressing-gownroundhim,theoldmanhalf-rosefromhischair.Thensuddenly,asthoughathoughthadstruckhim,heresumedhisseat.
‘No,’hesaid.‘There’snothingtoseethere.I’vetoldyouallthereistotell.’
‘ButIshouldliketoseeformyself–’
‘There’snoneed,’Farleysnapped.‘You’vegivenmeyouropinion.That’stheend.’
Poirotshruggedhisshoulders.‘Asyouplease.’Herosetohisfeet.‘Iamsorry,MrFarley,thatIhavenotbeenabletobeofassistancetoyou.’
BenedictFarleywasstaringstraightaheadofhim.‘Don’twantalotofhanky-pankyingaround,’hegrowledout.‘I’vetoldyouthefacts–youcan’tmakeanythingofthem.Thatclosesthematter.Youcansendmeabillfortheconsultationfee.’
‘Ishallnotfailtodoso,’saidthedetectivedrily.Hewalkedtowardsthedoor.
‘Stopaminute.’Themillionairecalledhimback.‘Thatletter–Iwantit.’
‘Theletterfromyoursecretary?’
‘Yes.’
Poirot’seyebrowsrose.Heputhishandintohispocket,drewoutafoldedsheet,andhandedittotheoldman.Thelatterscrutinizedit,thenputitdownonthetablebesidehimwithanod.
OncemoreHerculePoirotwalkedtothedoor.Hewaspuzzled.Hisbusymindwasgoingoverandoverthestoryhehadbeentold.Yetinthemidstofhismentalpreoccupation,anaggingsenseofsomethingwrongobtrudeditself.Andthatsomethinghadtodowithhimself–notwithBenedictFarley.
Withhishandonthedoorknob,hismindcleared.He,HerculePoirot,hadbeenguiltyofanerror!Heturnedbackintotheroomoncemore.
‘Athousandpardons!IntheinterestofyourproblemIhavecommittedafolly!ThatletterIhandedtoyou–bymischanceIputmyhandintomyright-handpocketinsteadoftheleft–’
‘What’sallthis?What’sallthis?’
‘TheletterthatIhandedyoujustnow–anapologyfrommylaundressconcerningthetreatmentofmycollars.’Poirotwassmiling,apologetic.Hedippedintohisleft-handpocket.‘Thisisyourletter.’
BenedictFarleysnatchedatit–grunted:‘Whythedevilcan’tyoumindwhatyou’redoing?’
Poirotretrievedhislaundress’scommunication,apologizedgracefullyoncemore,andlefttheroom.
Hepausedforamomentoutsideonthelanding.Itwasaspaciousone.Directlyfacinghimwasabigoldoaksettlewitharefectorytableinfrontofit.Onthetableweremagazines.Therewerealsotwoarm-chairsandatablewithflowers.Itremindedhimalittleofadentist’swaiting-room.
Thebutlerwasinthehallbelowwaitingtolethimout.
‘CanIgetyouataxi,sir?’
‘No,Ithankyou.Thenightisfine.Iwillwalk.’
HerculePoirotpausedamomentonthepavementwaitingforalullinthetrafficbeforecrossingthebusystreet.
Afrowncreasedhisforehead.‘No,’hesaidtohimself.‘Idonotunderstandatall.Nothingmakessense.Regrettabletohavetoadmitit,butI,HerculePoirot,amcompletelybaffled.’
Thatwaswhatmightbetermedthefirstactofthedrama.Thesecondactfollowedaweeklater.ItopenedwithatelephonecallfromoneJohnStillingfleet,MD.
Hesaidwitharemarkablelackofmedicaldecorum:
‘Thatyou,Poirot,oldhorse?Stillingfleethere.’
‘Yes,myfriend.Whatisit?’
‘I’mspeakingfromNorthwayHouse–BenedictFarley’s.’
‘Ah,yes?’Poirot’svoicequickenedwithinterest.‘Whatof–MrFarley?’
‘Farley’sdead.Shothimselfthisafternoon.’
Therewasapause,thenPoirotsaid:
‘Yes…’
‘Inoticeyou’renotovercomewithsurprise.Knowsomethingaboutit,oldhorse?’
‘Whyshouldyouthinkthat?’
‘Well,itisn’tbrilliantdeductionortelepathyoranythinglikethat.WefoundanotefromFarleytoyoumakinganappointmentaboutaweekago.’
‘Isee.’
‘We’vegotatamepoliceinspectorhere–gottobecareful,youknow,whenoneofthesemillionaireblokesbumpshimselfoff.Wonderedwhetheryoucouldthrowanylightonthecase.Ifso,perhapsyou’dcomeround?’
‘Iwillcomeimmediately.’
‘Goodforyou,oldboy.Somedirtyworkatthecrossroads–eh?’
Poirotmerelyrepeatedthathewouldsetforthimmediately.
‘Don’twanttospillthebeansoverthetelephone?Quiteright.Solong.’
AquarterofanhourlaterPoirotwassittinginthelibrary,alowlongroomatthebackofNorthwayHouseonthegroundfloor.Therewerefiveotherpersonsintheroom:InspectorBarnett,DrStillingfleet,MrsFarley,thewidowofthemillionaire,JoannaFarley,hisonlydaughter,andHugoCornworthy,hisprivatesecretary.
Ofthese,InspectorBarnettwasadiscreetsoldierly-lookingman.DrStillingfleet,whoseprofessionalmannerwasentirelydifferentfromhistelephonicstyle,wasatall,long-facedyoungmanofthirty.MrsFarleywasobviouslyverymuchyoungerthanherhusband.Shewasahandsomedark-hairedwoman.Hermouthwashardandherblackeyesgaveabsolutelynocluetoheremotions.Sheappearedperfectlyself-possessed.JoannaFarleyhadfairhairandafreckledface.Theprominenceofhernoseandchinwasclearlyinheritedfromherfather.Hereyeswereintelligentandshrewd.HugoCornworthywasagood-lookingyoungfellow,verycorrectlydressed.Heseemedintelligentandefficient.
Aftergreetingsandintroductions,PoirotnarratedsimplyandclearlythecircumstancesofhisvisitandthestorytoldhimbyBenedictFarley.Hecouldnotcomplainofanylackofinterest.
‘MostextraordinarystoryI’veeverheard!’saidtheinspector.‘Adream,eh?Didyouknowanythingaboutthis,MrsFarley?’
Shebowedherhead.
‘Myhusbandmentionedittome.Itupsethimverymuch.I–Itoldhimitwasindigestion–hisdiet,youknow,wasverypeculiar–andsuggestedhiscallinginDrStillingfleet.’
Theyoungmanshookhishead.‘Hedidn’tconsultme.FromM.Poirot’sstory,IgatherhewenttoHarleyStreet.’
‘Iwouldlikeyouradviceonthatpoint,Doctor,’saidPoirot.‘MrFarleytoldmethatheconsultedthreespecialists.Whatdoyouthinkofthetheoriestheyadvanced?’
Stillingfleetfrowned.
‘It’sdifficulttosay.You’vegottotakeintoaccountthatwhathepassedontoyouwasn’texactlywhathadbeensaidtohim.Itwasalayman’sinterpretation.’
‘Youmeanhehadgotthephraseologywrong?’
‘Notexactly.Imeantheywouldputathingtohiminprofessionalterms,he’dgetthemeaningalittledistorted,andthenrecastitinhisownlanguage.’
‘Sothatwhathetoldmewasnotreallywhatthedoctorssaid.’
‘That’swhatitamountsto.He’sjustgotitallalittlewrong,ifyouknowwhatImean.’
Poirotnoddedthoughtfully.‘Isitknownwhomheconsulted?’heasked.
MrsFarleyshookherhead,andJoannaFarleyremarked:
‘Noneofushadanyideahehadconsultedanyone.’
‘Didhespeaktoyouabouthisdream?’askedPoirot.
Thegirlshookherhead.
‘Andyou,MrCornworthy?’
‘No,hesaidnothingatall.Itookdownalettertoyouathisdictation,butIhadnoideawhyhewishedtoconsultyou.Ithoughtitmightpossiblyhavesomethingtodowithsomebusinessirregularity.’
Poirotasked:‘AndnowastotheactualfactsofMrFarley’sdeath?’
InspectorBarnettlookedinterrogativelyatMrsFarleyandatDrStillingfleet,andthentookuponhimselftheroleofspokesman.
‘MrFarleywasinthehabitofworkinginhisownroomonthefirstflooreveryafternoon.Iunderstandthattherewasabigamalgamationofbusinessinprospect–’
HelookedatHugoCornworthywhosaid,‘ConsolidatedCoachlines.’
‘Inconnectionwiththat,’continuedInspectorBarnett,‘MrFarleyhadagreedtogiveaninterviewtotwomembersofthePress.Heveryseldomdidanythingofthekind–onlyaboutonceinfiveyears,Iunderstand.Accordinglytworeporters,onefromtheAssociatedNewsgroups,andonefromAmalgamatedPress-sheets,arrivedataquarterpastthreebyappointment.TheywaitedonthefirstflooroutsideMrFarley’sdoor–whichwasthecustomaryplaceforpeopletowaitwhohadanappointmentwithMrFarley.AttwentypastthreeamessengerarrivedfromtheofficeofConsolidatedCoachlineswithsomeurgentpapers.HewasshownintoMrFarley’sroomwherehehandedoverthedocuments.MrFarleyaccompaniedhimtothedoor,andfromtherespoketothetwomembersofthePress.Hesaid:
‘“I’msorry,gentlemen,tohavetokeepyouwaiting,butIhavesomeurgentbusinesstoattendto.IwillbeasquickasIcan.”
‘Thetwogentlemen,MrAdamsandMrStoddart,assuredMrFarleythattheywouldawaithisconvenience.Hewentbackintohisroom,shutthedoor–andwasneverseenaliveagain!’
‘Continue,’saidPoirot.
‘Atalittleafterfouro’clock,’wentontheinspector,‘MrCornworthyherecameoutofhisroomwhichisnextdoortoMrFarley’sandwassurprisedtoseethetworeportersstillwaiting.HewantedMrFarley’ssignaturetosomelettersandthoughthehadalsobetterremindhimthatthesetwogentlemenwerewaiting.HeaccordinglywentintoMrFarley’sroom.TohissurprisehecouldnotatfirstseeMrFarleyandthoughttheroomwasempty.Thenhecaughtsightofabootstickingoutbehindthedesk(whichisplacedinfrontofthewindow).HewentquicklyacrossanddiscoveredMrFarleylyingtheredead,witharevolverbesidehim.
‘MrCornworthyhurriedoutoftheroomanddirectedthebutlertoringupDrStillingfleet.Bythelatter’sadvice,MrCornworthyalsoinformedthepolice.’
‘Wastheshotheard?’askedPoirot.
‘No.Thetrafficisverynoisyhere,thelandingwindowwasopen.Whatwithlorriesandmotorhornsitwouldbemostunlikelyifithadbeennoticed.’
Poirotnoddedthoughtfully.‘Whattimeisitsupposedhedied?’heasked.
Stillingfleetsaid:
‘IexaminedthebodyassoonasIgothere–thatis,atthirty-twominutespastfour.MrFarleyhadbeendeadatleastanhour.’
Poirot’sfacewasverygrave.
‘Sothen,itseemspossiblethathisdeathcouldhaveoccurredatthetimehementionedtome–thatis,attwenty-eightminutespastthree.’
‘Exactly,’saidStillingfleet.
‘Anyfingermarksontherevolver?’
‘Yes,hisown.’
‘Andtherevolveritself?’
Theinspectortookupthetale.
‘Wasonewhichhekeptinthesecondright-handdrawerofhisdesk,justashetoldyou.MrsFarleyhasidentifieditpositively.Moreover,youunderstand,thereisonlyoneentrancetotheroom,thedoorgivingontothelanding.ThetworeportersweresittingexactlyoppositethatdoorandtheyswearthatnooneenteredtheroomfromthetimeMrFarleyspoketothem,untilMrCornworthyentereditatalittleafterfouro’clock.’
‘SothatthereiseveryreasontosupposethatMrFarleycommittedsuicide.’
InspectorBarnettsmiledalittle.
‘Therewouldhavebeennodoubtatallbutforonepoint.’
‘Andthat?’
‘Theletterwrittentoyou.’
Poirotsmiledtoo.
‘Isee!WhereHerculePoirotisconcerned–immediatelythesuspicionofmurderarises!’
‘Precisely,’saidtheinspectordrily.‘However,afteryourclearingupofthesituation–’
Poirotinterruptedhim.‘Onelittleminute.’HeturnedtoMrsFarley.‘Hadyourhusbandeverbeenhypnotized?’
‘Never.’
‘Hadhestudiedthequestionofhypnotism?Washeinterestedinthesubject?’
Sheshookherhead.‘Idon’tthinkso.’
Suddenlyherself-controlseemedtobreakdown.‘Thathorribledream!It’suncanny!Thatheshouldhavedreamedthat–nightafternight–andthen–it’sasthoughhewere–houndedtodeath!’
PoirotrememberedBenedictFarleysaying–‘IproceedtodothatwhichIreallywishtodo.Iputanendtomyself.’
Hesaid,‘Haditeveroccurredtoyouthatyourhusbandmightbetemptedtodoawaywithhimself?’
‘No–atleast–sometimeshewasveryqueer…’
JoannaFarley’svoicebrokeinclearandscornful.‘Fatherwouldneverhavekilledhimself.Hewasfartoocarefulofhimself.’
DrStillingfleetsaid,‘Itisn’tthepeoplewhothreatentocommitsuicidewhousuallydoit,youknow,MissFarley.That’swhysuicidessometimesseemunaccountable.’
Poirotrosetohisfeet.‘Isitpermitted,’heasked,‘thatIseetheroomwherethetragedyoccurred?’
‘Certainly.DrStillingfleet–’
ThedoctoraccompaniedPoirotupstairs.
BenedictFarley’sroomwasamuchlargeronethanthesecretary’snextdoor.Itwasluxuriouslyfurnishedwithdeepleather-coveredarm-chairs,athickpilecarpet,andasuperboutsizewriting-desk.
Poirotpassedbehindthelattertowhereadarkstainonthecarpetshowedjustbeforethewindow.Herememberedthemillionairesaying,‘Attwenty-eightminutespastthreeIopentheseconddrawerontherightofmydesk,takeouttherevolverthatIkeepthere,loadit,andwalkovertothewindow.Andthen–andthenIshootmyself.’
Henoddedslowly.Thenhesaid:
‘Thewindowwasopenlikethis?’
‘Yes.Butnobodycouldhavegotinthatway.’
Poirotputhisheadout.Therewasnosillorparapetandnopipesnear.Notevenacatcouldhavegainedaccessthatway.Oppositerosetheblankwallofthefactory,adeadwallwithnowindowsinit.
Stillingfleetsaid,‘Funnyroomforarichmantochooseashisownsanctum,withthatoutlook.It’slikelookingoutontoaprisonwall.’
‘Yes,’saidPoirot.Hedrewhisheadinandstaredattheexpanseofsolidbrick.‘Ithink,’hesaid,‘thatthatwallisimportant.’
Stillingfleetlookedathimcuriously.‘Youmean–psychologically?’
Poirothadmovedtothedesk.Idly,orsoitseemed,hepickedupapairofwhatareusuallycalledlazy-tongs.Hepressedthehandles;thetongsshotouttotheirfulllength.Delicately,Poirotpickedupaburntmatchstumpwiththemfrombesideachairsomefeetawayandconveyeditcarefullytothewaste-paperbasket.
‘Whenyou’vefinishedplayingwiththosethings…’saidStillingfleetirritably.
HerculePoirotmurmured,‘Aningeniousinvention,’andreplacedthetongsneatlyonthewriting-table.Thenheasked:
‘WherewereMrsFarleyandMissFarleyatthetimeofthe–death?’
‘MrsFarleywasrestinginherroomonthefloorabovethis.MissFarleywaspaintinginherstudioatthetopofthehouse.’
HerculePoirotdrummedidlywithhisfingersonthetableforaminuteortwo.Thenhesaid:
‘IshouldliketoseeMissFarley.Doyouthinkyoucouldaskhertocomehereforaminuteortwo?’
‘Ifyoulike.’
Stillingfleetglancedathimcuriously,thenlefttheroom.InanotherminuteortwothedooropenedandJoannaFarleycamein.
‘Youdonotmind,Mademoiselle,ifIaskyouafewquestions?’
Shereturnedhisglancecoolly.‘Pleaseaskanythingyouchoose.’
‘Didyouknowthatyourfatherkeptarevolverinhisdesk?’
‘No.’
‘Wherewereyouandyourmother–thatistosayyourstepmother–thatisright?’
‘Yes,Louiseismyfather’ssecondwife.SheisonlyeightyearsolderthanIam.Youwereabouttosay–?’
‘WherewereyouandsheonThursdayoflastweek?Thatistosay,onThursdaynight.’
Shereflectedforaminuteortwo.‘Thursday?Letmesee.Oh,yes,wehadgonetothetheatre.ToseeLittleDogLaughed.’
‘Yourfatherdidnotsuggestaccompanyingyou?’
‘Heneverwentouttotheatres.’
‘Whatdidheusuallydointheevenings?’
‘Hesatinhereandread.’
‘Hewasnotaverysociableman?’
Thegirllookedathimdirectly.‘Myfather,’shesaid,‘hadasingularlyunpleasantpersonality.Noonewholivedincloseassociationwithhimcouldpossiblybefondofhim.’
‘That,Mademoiselle,isaverycandidstatement.’
‘Iamsavingyoutime,M.Poirot.Irealizequitewellwhatyouaregettingat.Mystepmothermarriedmyfatherforhismoney.IliveherebecauseIhavenomoneytoliveelsewhere.ThereisamanIwishtomarry–apoorman;myfathersawtoitthathelosthisjob.Hewantedme,yousee,tomarrywell–aneasymattersinceIwastobehisheiress!’
‘Yourfather’sfortunepassestoyou?’
‘Yes.Thatis,heleftLouise,mystepmother,aquarterofamillionfreeoftax,andthereareotherlegacies,buttheresiduegoestome.’Shesmiledsuddenly.‘Soyousee,M.Poirot,Ihadeveryreasontodesiremyfather’sdeath!’
‘Isee,Mademoiselle,thatyouhaveinheritedyourfather’sintelligence.’
Shesaidthoughtfully,‘Fatherwasclever…Onefeltthatwithhim–thathehadforce–drivingpower–butithadallturnedsour–bitter–therewasnohumanityleft…’
HerculePoirotsaidsoftly,‘GrandDieu,butwhatanimbecileIam…’
JoannaFarleyturnedtowardsthedoor.‘Isthereanythingmore?’
‘Twolittlequestions.Thesetongshere,’hepickedupthelazy-tongs,‘weretheyalwaysonthetable?’
‘Yes.Fatherusedthemforpickingupthings.Hedidn’tlikestooping.’
‘Oneotherquestion.Wasyourfather’seyesightgood?’
Shestaredathim.
‘Oh,no–hecouldn’tseeatall–Imeanhecouldn’tseewithouthisglasses.Hissighthadalwaysbeenbadfromaboy.’
‘Butwithhisglasses?’
‘Oh,hecouldseeallrightthen,ofcourse.’
‘Hecouldreadnewspapersandfineprint?’
‘Oh,yes.’
‘Thatisall,Mademoiselle.’
Shewentoutoftheroom.
Poirotmurmured,‘Iwasstupid.Itwasthere,allthetime,undermynose.AndbecauseitwassonearIcouldnotseeit.’
Heleanedoutofthewindowoncemore.Downbelow,inthenarrowwaybetweenthehouseandthefactory,hesawasmalldarkobject.
HerculePoirotnodded,satisfied,andwentdownstairsagain.
Theotherswerestillinthelibrary.Poirotaddressedhimselftothesecretary:
‘Iwantyou,MrCornworthy,torecounttomeindetailtheexactcircumstancesofMrFarley’ssummonstome.When,forinstance,didMrFarleydictatethatletter?’
‘OnWednesdayafternoon–atfive-thirty,asfarasIcanremember.’
‘Werethereanyspecialdirectionsaboutpostingit?’
‘Hetoldmetopostitmyself.’
‘Andyoudidso?’
‘Yes.’
‘Didhegiveanyspecialinstructionstothebutleraboutadmittingme?’
‘Yes.HetoldmetotellHolmes(Holmesisthebutler)thatagentlemanwouldbecallingatnine-thirty.Hewastoaskthegentleman’sname.Hewasalsotoasktoseetheletter.’
‘Ratherpeculiarprecautiontotake,don’tyouthink?’
Cornworthyshruggedhisshoulders.
‘MrFarley,’hesaidcarefully,‘wasratherapeculiarman.’
‘Anyotherinstructions?’
‘Yes.Hetoldmetotaketheeveningoff.’
‘Didyoudoso?’
‘Yes,immediatelyafterdinnerIwenttothecinema.’
‘Whendidyoureturn?’
‘Iletmyselfinaboutaquarterpasteleven.’
‘DidyouseeMrFarleyagainthatevening?’
‘No.’
‘Andhedidnotmentionthematterthenextmorning?’
‘No.’
Poirotpausedamoment,thenresumed,‘WhenIarrivedIwasnotshownintoMrFarley’sownroom.’
‘No.HetoldmethatIwastotellHolmestoshowyouintomyroom.’
‘Whywasthat?Doyouknow?’
Cornworthyshookhishead.‘IneverquestionedanyofMrFarley’sorders,’hesaiddrily.‘HewouldhaveresenteditifIhad.’
‘Didheusuallyreceivevisitorsinhisownroom?’
‘Usually,butnotalways.Sometimeshesawtheminmyroom.’
‘Wasthereanyreasonforthat?’
HugoCornworthyconsidered.
‘No–Ihardlythinkso–I’veneverreallythoughtaboutit.’
TurningtoMrsFarley,Poirotasked:
‘YoupermitthatIringforyourbutler?’
‘Certainly,M.Poirot.’
Verycorrect,veryurbane,Holmesansweredthebell.
‘Yourang,madam?’
MrsFarleyindicatedPoirotwithagesture.Holmesturnedpolitely.‘Yes,sir?’
‘Whatwereyourinstructions,Holmes,ontheThursdaynightwhenIcamehere?’
Holmesclearedhisthroat,thensaid:
‘AfterdinnerMrCornworthytoldmethatMrFarleyexpectedaMrHerculePoirotatnine-thirty.Iwastoascertainthegentleman’sname,andIwastoverifytheinformationbyglancingataletter.ThenIwastoshowhimuptoMrCornworthy’sroom.’
‘Wereyoualsotoldtoknockonthedoor?’
Anexpressionofdistastecrossedthebutler’scountenance.
‘ThatwasoneofMrFarley’sorders.Iwasalwaystoknockwhenintroducingvisitors–businessvisitors,thatis,’headded.
‘Ah,thatpuzzledme!Wereyougivenanyotherinstructionsconcerningme?’
‘No,sir.WhenMrCornworthyhadtoldmewhatIhavejustrepeatedtoyouhewentout.’
‘Whattimewasthat?’
‘Tenminutestonine,sir.’
‘DidyouseeMrFarleyafterthat?’
‘Yes,sir,Itookhimupaglassofhotwaterasusualatnineo’clock.’
‘WashetheninhisownroomorinMrCornworthy’s?’
‘Hewasinhisownroom,sir.’
‘Younoticednothingunusualaboutthatroom?’
‘Unusual?No,sir.’
‘WherewereMrsFarleyandMissFarley?’
‘Theyhadgonetothetheatre,sir.’
‘Thankyou,Holmes,thatwilldo.’
Holmesbowedandlefttheroom.Poirotturnedtothemillionaire’swidow.
‘Onemorequestion,MrsFarley.Hadyourhusbandgoodsight?’
‘No.Notwithouthisglasses.’
‘Hewasveryshort-sighted?’
‘Oh,yes,hewasquitehelplesswithouthisspectacles.’
‘Hehadseveralpairsofglasses?’
‘Yes.’
‘Ah,’saidPoirot.Heleanedback.‘Ithinkthatthatconcludesthecase…’
Therewassilenceintheroom.Theywerealllookingatthelittlemanwhosattherecomplacentlystrokinghismoustache.Ontheinspector’sfacewasperplexity,DrStillingfleetwasfrowning,Cornworthymerelystareduncomprehendingly,MrsFarleygazedinblankastonishment,JoannaFarleylookedeager.
MrsFarleybrokethesilence.
‘Idon’tunderstand,M.Poirot.’Hervoicewasfretful.‘Thedream–’
‘Yes,’saidPoirot.‘Thatdreamwasveryimportant.’
MrsFarleyshivered.Shesaid:
‘I’veneverbelievedinanythingsupernaturalbefore–butnow–todreamitnightafternightbeforehand–’
‘It’sextraordinary,’saidStillingfleet.‘Extraordinary!Ifwehadn’tgotyourwordforit,Poirot,andifyouhadn’thaditstraightfromthehorse’smouth–’hecoughedinembarrassment,andreadoptinghisprofessionalmanner,‘Ibegyourpardon,MrsFarley.IfMrFarleyhimselfhadnottoldthatstory–’
‘Exactly,’saidPoirot.Hiseyes,whichhadbeenhalf-closed,openedsuddenly.Theywereverygreen.‘IfBenedictFarleyhadn’ttoldme–’
Hepausedaminute,lookingroundatacircleofblankfaces.
‘Therearecertainthings,youcomprehend,thathappenedthateveningwhichIwasquiteatalosstoexplain.First,whymakesuchapointofmybringingthatletterwithme?’
‘Identification,’suggestedCornworthy.
‘No,no,mydearyoungman.Reallythatideaistooridiculous.Theremustbesomemuchmorevalidreason.FornotonlydidMrFarleyrequiretoseethatletterproduced,buthedefinitelydemandedthatIshouldleaveitbehindme.Andmoreovereventhenhedidnotdestroyit!Itwasfoundamonghispapersthisafternoon.Whydidhekeepit?’
JoannaFarley’svoicebrokein.‘Hewanted,incaseanythinghappenedtohim,thatthefactsofhisstrangedreamshouldbemadeknown.’
Poirotnoddedapprovingly.
‘Youareastute,Mademoiselle.Thatmustbe–thatcanonlybe–thepointofthekeepingoftheletter.WhenMrFarleywasdead,thestoryofthatstrangedreamwastobetold!Thatdreamwasveryimportant.Thatdream,Mademoiselle,wasvital!
‘Iwillcomenow,’hewenton,‘tothesecondpoint.AfterhearinghisstoryIaskMrFarleytoshowmethedeskandtherevolver.Heseemsabouttogetuptodoso,thensuddenlyrefuses.Whydidherefuse?’
Thistimenooneadvancedananswer.
‘Iwillputthatquestiondifferently.WhatwasthereinthatnextroomthatMrFarleydidnotwantmetosee?’
Therewasstillsilence.
‘Yes,’saidPoirot,‘itisdifficult,that.Andyettherewassomereason–someurgentreasonwhyMrFarleyreceivedmeinhissecretary’sroomandrefusedpointblanktotakemeintohisownroom.Therewassomethinginthatroomhecouldnotaffordtohavemesee
‘AndnowIcometothethirdinexplicablethingthathappenedonthatevening.MrFarley,justasIwasleaving,requestedmetohandhimtheletterIhadreceived.ByinadvertenceIhandedhimacommunicationfrommylaundress.Heglancedatitandlaiditdownbesidehim.JustbeforeIlefttheroomIdiscoveredmyerror–andrectifiedit!AfterthatIleftthehouseand–Iadmitit–Iwascompletelyatsea!Thewholeaffairandespeciallythatlastincidentseemedtomequiteinexplicable.’
Helookedroundfromonetotheother.
‘Youdonotsee?’
Stillingfleetsaid,‘Idon’treallyseehowyourlaundresscomesintoit,Poirot.’
‘Mylaundress,’saidPoirot,‘wasveryimportant.Thatmiserablewomanwhoruinsmycollars,was,forthefirsttimeinherlife,usefultosomebody.Surelyyousee–itissoobvious.MrFarleyglancedatthatcommunication–oneglancewouldhavetoldhimthatitwasthewrongletter–andyetheknewnothing.Why?Becausehecouldnotseeitproperly!’
InspectorBarnettsaidsharply,‘Didn’thehavehisglasseson?’
HerculePoirotsmiled.‘Yes,’hesaid.‘Hehadhisglasseson.Thatiswhatmakesitsoveryinteresting.’
Heleanedforward.
‘MrFarley’sdreamwasveryimportant.Hedreamed,yousee,thathecommittedsuicide.Andalittlelateron,hedidcommitsuicide.Thatistosayhewasaloneinaroomandwasfoundtherewitharevolverbyhim,andnooneenteredorlefttheroomatthetimethathewasshot.Whatdoesthatmean?Itmeans,doesitnot,thatitmustbesuicide!’
‘Yes,’saidStillingfleet.
HerculePoirotshookhishead.
‘Onthecontrary,’hesaid.‘Itwasmurder.Anunusualandaverycleverlyplannedmurder.’
Againheleanedforward,tappingthetable,hiseyesgreenandshining.
‘WhydidMrFarleynotallowmetogointohisownroomthatevening?WhatwasthereintherethatImustnotbeallowedtosee?Ithink,myfriends,thattherewas–BenedictFarleyhimself!’
Hesmiledattheblankfaces.
‘Yes,yes,itisnotnonsensewhatIsay.WhycouldtheMrFarleytowhomIhadbeentalkingnotrealizethedifferencebetweentwototallydissimilarletters?Because,mesamis,hewasamanofnormalsightwearingapairofverypowerfulglasses.Thoseglasseswouldrenderamanofnormaleyesightpracticallyblind.Isn’tthatso,Doctor?’
Stillingfleetmurmured,‘That’sso–ofcourse.’
‘WhydidIfeelthatintalkingtoMrFarleyIwastalkingtoamountebank,toanactorplayingapart!Considerthesetting.Thedimroom,thegreen-shadedlightturnedblindinglyawayfromthefigureinthechair.WhatdidIsee–thefamouspatchworkdressing-gown,thebeakednose(fakedwiththatusefulsubstance,noseputty)thewhitecrestofhair,thepowerfullensesconcealingtheeyes.WhatevidenceistherethatMrFarleyeverhadadream?OnlythestoryIwastoldandtheevidenceofMrsFarley.WhatevidenceistherethatBenedictFarleykeptarevolverinhisdesk?AgainonlythestorytoldmeandthewordofMrsFarley.Twopeoplecarriedthisfraudthrough–MrsFarleyandHugoCornworthy.Cornworthywrotethelettertome,gaveinstructionstothebutler,wentoutostensiblytothecinema,butlethimselfinagainimmediatelywithakey,wenttohisroom,madehimselfup,andplayedthepartofBenedictFarley.
‘Andsowecometothisafternoon.TheopportunityforwhichMrCornworthyhasbeenwaitingarrives.TherearetwowitnessesonthelandingtoswearthatnoonegoesinoroutofBenedictFarley’sroom.Cornworthywaitsuntilaparticularlyheavybatchoftrafficisabouttopass.Thenheleansoutofhiswindow,andwiththelazy-tongswhichhehaspurloinedfromthedesknextdoorheholdsanobjectagainstthewindowofthatroom.BenedictFarleycomestothewindow.CornworthysnatchesbackthetongsandasFarleyleansout,andthelorriesarepassingoutside,Cornworthyshootshimwiththerevolverthathehasready.Thereisablankwallopposite,remember.Therecanbenowitnessofthecrime.Cornworthywaitsforoverhalfanhour,thengathersupsomepapers,concealsthelazy-tongsandtherevolverbetweenthemandgoesoutontothelandingandintothenextroom.Hereplacesthetongsonthedesk,laysdowntherevolverafterpressingthedeadman’sfingersonit,andhurriesoutwiththenewsofMrFarley’s“suicide”.
‘HearrangesthatthelettertomeshallbefoundandthatIshallarrivewithmystory–thestoryIheardfromMrFarley’sownlips–ofhisextraordinary“dream”–thestrangecompulsionhefelttokillhimself!Afewcredulouspeoplewilldiscussthehypnotismtheory–butthemainresultwillbetoconfirmwithoutadoubtthattheactualhandthatheldtherevolverwasBenedictFarley’sown.’
HerculePoirot’seyeswenttothewidow’sface–henotedwithsatisfactionthedismay–theashypallor–theblindfear…
‘Andinduecourse,’hefinishedgently,‘thehappyendingwouldhavebeenachieved.Aquarterofamillionandtwoheartsthatbeatasone…’
II
JohnStillingfleet,MD,andHerculePoirotwalkedalongthesideofNorthwayHouse.Ontheirrightwasthetoweringwallofthefactory.Abovethem,ontheirleft,werethewindowsofBenedictFarley’sandHugoCornworthy’srooms.HerculePoirotstoppedandpickedupasmallobject–ablackstuffedcat.
‘Voilà,’hesaid.‘ThatiswhatCornworthyheldinthelazy-tongsagainstFarley’swindow.Youremember,hehatedcats?Naturallyherushedtothewindow.’
‘Whyonearthdidn’tCornworthycomeoutandpickitupafterhe’ddroppedit?’
‘Howcouldhe?Todosowouldhavebeendefinitelysuspicious.Afterall,ifthisobjectwerefoundwhatwouldanyonethink–thatsomechildhadwanderedroundhereanddroppedit.’
‘Yes,’saidStillingfleetwithasigh.‘That’sprobablywhattheordinarypersonwouldhavethought.ButnotgoodoldHercule!D’youknow,oldhorse,uptotheverylastminuteIthoughtyouwereleadinguptosomesubtletheoryofhigh-falutin’psychological“suggested”murder?Ibetthosetwothoughtsotoo!Nastybitofgoods,theFarley.Goodness,howshecracked!Cornworthymighthavegotawaywithitifshehadn’thadhystericsandtriedtospoilyourbeautybygoingforyouwithhernails.Ionlygotheroffyoujustintime.’
Hepausedaminuteandthensaid:
‘Iratherlikethegirl.Grit,youknow,andbrains.IsupposeI’dbethoughttobeafortunehunterifIhadashotather…?’
‘Youaretoolate,myfriend.Thereisalreadysomeonesurletapis.Herfather’sdeathhasopenedthewaytohappiness.’
‘Takeitallround,shehadaprettygoodmotiveforbumpingofftheunpleasantparent.’
‘Motiveandopportunityarenotenough,’saidPoirot.‘Theremustalsobethecriminaltemperament!’
‘Iwonderifyou’llevercommitacrime,Poirot?’saidStillingfleet.‘Ibetyoucouldgetawaywithitallright.Asamatteroffact,itwouldbetooeasyforyou–Imeanthethingwouldbeoffasdefinitelytoounsporting.’
‘That,’saidPoirot,‘isatypicalEnglishidea.’
Greenshaw’sFolly
I
Thetwomenroundedthecorneroftheshrubbery.
‘Well,thereyouare,’saidRaymondWest.‘That’sit.’
HoraceBindlertookadeep,appreciativebreath.
‘Butmydear,’hecried,‘howwonderful.’Hisvoiceroseinahighscreechof?stheticdelight,thendeepenedinreverentawe.‘It’sunbelievable.Outofthisworld!Aperiodpieceofthebest.’
‘Ithoughtyou’dlikeit,’saidRaymondWest,complacently.
‘Likeit?Mydear–’WordsfailedHorace.Heunbuckledthestrapofhiscameraandgotbusy.‘Thiswillbeoneofthegemsofmycollection,’hesaidhappily.‘Idothink,don’tyou,thatit’sratheramusingtohaveacollectionofmonstrosities?Theideacametomeonenightsevenyearsagoinmybath.MylastrealgemwasintheCampoSantoatGenoa,butIreallythinkthisbeatsit.What’sitcalled?’
‘Ihaven’ttheleastidea,’saidRaymond.
‘Isupposeit’sgotaname?’
‘Itmusthave.Butthefactisthatit’sneverreferredtoroundhereasanythingbutGreenshaw’sFolly.’
‘Greenshawbeingthemanwhobuiltit?’
‘Yes.Ineighteen-sixtyorseventyorthereabouts.Thelocalsuccessstoryofthetime.Barefootboywhohadrisentoimmenseprosperity.Localopinionisdividedastowhyhebuiltthishouse,whetheritwassheerexuberanceofwealthorwhetheritwasdonetoimpresshiscreditors.Ifthelatter,itdidn’timpressthem.Heeitherwentbankruptorthenextthingtoit.Hencethename,Greenshaw’sFolly.’
Horace’scameraclicked.‘There,’hesaidinasatisfiedvoice.‘RemindmetoshowyouNo.310inmycollection.AreallyincrediblemarblemantelpieceintheItalianmanner.’Headded,lookingatthehouse,‘Ican’tconceiveofhowMrGreenshawthoughtofitall.’
‘Ratherobviousinsomeways,’saidRaymond.‘HehadvisitedthechateauxoftheLoire,don’tyouthink?Thoseturrets.Andthen,ratherunfortunately,heseemstohavetravelledintheOrient.TheinfluenceoftheTajMahalisunmistakable.IratherliketheMoorishwing,’headded,‘andthetracesofaVenetianpalace.’
‘Onewondershowheevergotholdofanarchitecttocarryouttheseideas.’
Raymondshruggedhisshoulders.
‘Nodifficultyaboutthat,Iexpect,’hesaid.‘ProbablythearchitectretiredwithagoodincomeforlifewhilepooroldGreenshawwentbankrupt.’
‘Couldwelookatitfromtheotherside?’askedHorace,‘orarewetrespassing!’
‘We’retrespassingallright,’saidRaymond,‘butIdon’tthinkitwillmatter.’
HeturnedtowardsthecornerofthehouseandHoraceskippedafterhim.
‘Butwholiveshere,mydear?Orphansorholidayvisitors?Itcan’tbeaschool.Noplaying-fieldsorbriskefficiency.’
‘Oh,aGreenshawlivesherestill,’saidRaymondoverhisshoulder.‘Thehouseitselfdidn’tgointhecrash.OldGreenshaw’ssoninheritedit.Hewasabitofamiserandlivedhereinacornerofit.Neverspentapenny.Probablyneverhadapennytospend.Hisdaughterlivesherenow.Oldlady–veryeccentric.’
AshespokeRaymondwascongratulatinghimselfonhavingthoughtofGreenshaw’sFollyasameansofentertaininghisguest.Theseliterarycriticsalwaysprofessedthemselvesaslongingforaweek-endinthecountry,andwerewonttofindthecountryextremelyboringwhentheygotthere.TomorrowtherewouldbetheSundaypapers,andfortodayRaymondWestcongratulatedhimselfonsuggestingavisittoGreenshaw’sFollytoenrichHoraceBindler’swell-knowncollectionofmonstrosities.
Theyturnedthecornerofthehouseandcameoutonaneglectedlawn.Inonecornerofitwasalargeartificialrockery,andbendingoveritwasafigureatsightofwhichHoraceclutchedRaymonddelightedlybythearm.
‘Mydear,’heexclaimed,‘doyouseewhatshe’sgoton?Aspriggedprintdress.Justlikeahouse-maid–whentherewerehousemaids.OneofmymostcherishedmemoriesisstayingatahouseinthecountrywhenIwasquiteaboywherearealhousemaidcalledyouinthemorning,allcracklinginaprintdressandacap.Yes,myboy,really–acap.Muslinwithstreamers.No,perhapsitwastheparlour-maidwhohadthestreamers.Butanywayshewasarealhousemaidandshebroughtinanenormousbrasscanofhotwater.Whatanexcitingdaywe’rehaving.’
Thefigureintheprintdresshadstraightenedupandhadturnedtowardsthem,trowelinhand.Shewasasufficientlystartlingfigure.Unkemptlocksofiron-greyfellwispilyonhershoulders,astrawhatratherlikethehatsthathorseswearinItalywascrammeddownonherhead.Thecolouredprintdresssheworefellnearlytoherankles.Outofaweatherbeaten,nottoocleanface,shrewdeyessurveyedthemappraisingly.
‘Imustapologizefortrespassing,MissGreenshaw,’saidRaymondWest,asheadvancedtowardsher,‘butMrHoraceBindlerwhoisstayingwithme–’
Horacebowedandremovedhishat.
‘–ismostinterestedin–er–ancienthistoryand–er–finebuildings.’
RaymondWestspokewiththeeaseofawell-knownauthorwhoknowsthatheisacelebrity,thathecanventurewhereotherpeoplemaynot.
MissGreenshawlookedupatthesprawlingexuberancebehindher.
‘Itisafinehouse,’shesaidappreciatively.‘Mygrandfatherbuiltit–beforemytime,ofcourse.Heisreportedashavingsaidthathewishedtoastonishthenatives.’
‘I’llsayhedidthat,ma’am,’saidHoraceBindler.
‘MrBindleristhewell-knownliterarycritic,’saidRaymondWest.
MissGreenshawhadclearlynoreverenceforliterarycritics.Sheremainedunimpressed.
‘Iconsiderit,’saidMissGreenshaw,referringtothehouse,‘asamonumenttomygrandfather’sgenius.Sillyfoolscomehere,andaskmewhyIdon’tsellitandgoandliveinaflat.WhatwouldIdoinaflat?It’smyhomeandIliveinit,’saidMissGreenshaw.‘Alwayshavelivedhere.’Sheconsidered,broodingoverthepast.‘Therewerethreeofus.Lauramarriedthecurate.Papawouldn’tgiveheranymoney,saidclergymenoughttobeunworldly.Shedied,havingababy.Babydiedtoo.Nettieranawaywiththeridingmaster.Papacutheroutofhiswill,ofcourse.Handsomefellow,HarryFletcher,butnogood.Don’tthinkNettiewashappywithhim.Anyway,shedidn’tlivelong.Theyhadason.Hewritestomesometimes,butofcourseheisn’taGreenshaw.I’mthelastoftheGreenshaws.’Shedrewupherbentshoulderswithacertainpride,andreadjustedtherakishangleofthestrawhat.Then,turning,shesaidsharply,
‘Yes,MrsCresswell,whatisit?’
Approachingthemfromthehousewasafigurethat,seensidebysidewithMissGreenshaw,seemedludicrouslydissimilar.MrsCresswellhadamarvellouslydressedheadofwell-bluedhairtoweringupwardsinmeticulouslyarrangedcurlsandrolls.ItwasasthoughshehaddressedherheadtogoasaFrenchmarquisetoafancydressparty.Therestofhermiddle-agedpersonwasdressedinwhatoughttohavebeenrustlingblacksilkbutwasactuallyoneoftheshiniervarietiesofblackrayon.Althoughshewasnotalargewoman,shehadawell-developedandsumptuousbust.Hervoicewhenshespoke,wasunexpectedlydeep.Shespokewithexquisitediction,onlyaslighthesitationoverwordsbeginningwith‘h’andthefinalpronunciationofthemwithanexaggeratedaspirategaverisetoasuspicionthatatsomeremoteperiodinheryouthshemighthavehadtroubleoverdroppingherh’s.
‘Thefish,madam,’saidMrsCresswell,‘thesliceofcod.Ithasnotarrived.IhaveaskedAlfredtogodownforitandherefusestodoso.’
Ratherunexpectedly,MissGreenshawgaveacackleoflaughter.
‘Refuses,doeshe?’
‘Alfred,madam,hasbeenmostdisobliging.’
MissGreenshawraisedtwoearth-stainedfingerstoherlips,suddenlyproducedanear-splittingwhistleandatthesametimeyelled:
‘Alfred.Alfred,comehere.’
Roundthecornerofthehouseayoungmanappearedinanswertothesummons,carryingaspadeinhishand.Hehadabold,handsomefaceandashedrewnearhecastanunmistakablymalevolentglancetowardsMrsCresswell.
‘Youwantedme,miss?’hesaid.
‘Yes,Alfred.Ihearyou’verefusedtogodownforthefish.Whataboutit,eh?’
Alfredspokeinasurlyvoice.
‘I’llgodownforitifyouwantsit,miss.You’veonlygottosay.’
‘Idowantit.Iwantitformysupper.’
‘Rightyouare,miss.I’llgorightaway.’
HethrewaninsolentglanceatMrsCresswell,whoflushedandmurmuredbelowherbreath:
‘Really!It’sunsupportable.’
‘NowthatIthinkofit,’saidMissGreenshaw,‘acoupleofstrangevisitorsarejustwhatweneedaren’tthey,MrsCresswell?’
MrsCresswelllookedpuzzled.
‘I’msorry,madam–’
‘Foryou-know-what,’saidMissGreenshaw,noddingherhead.‘Beneficiarytoawillmustn’twitnessit.That’sright,isn’tit?’SheappealedtoRaymondWest.
‘Quitecorrect,’saidRaymond.
‘Iknowenoughlawtoknowthat,’saidMissGreenshaw.‘Andyoutwoaremenofstanding.’
Sheflungdownhertrowelonherweeding-basket.‘Wouldyoumindcominguptothelibrarywithme?’
‘Delighted,’saidHoraceeagerly.
Sheledthewaythroughfrenchwindowsandthroughavastyellowandgolddrawing-roomwithfadedbrocadeonthewallsanddustcoversarrangedoverthefurniture,thenthroughalargedimhall,upastaircaseandintoaroomonthefirstfloor.
‘Mygrandfather’slibrary,’sheannounced.
Horacelookedroundtheroomwithacutepleasure.Itwasaroom,fromhispointofview,quitefullofmonstrosities.Theheadsofsphinxesappearedonthemostunlikelypiecesoffurniture,therewasacolossalbronzerepresenting,hethought,PaulandVirginia,andavastbronzeclockwithclassicalmotifsofwhichhelongedtotakeaphotograph.
‘Afinelotofbooks,’saidMissGreenshaw.
Raymondwasalreadylookingatthebooks.Fromwhathecouldseefromacursoryglancetherewasnobookhereofanyrealinterestor,indeed,anybookwhichappearedtohavebeenread.Theywereallsuperblyboundsetsoftheclassicsassuppliedninetyyearsagoforfurnishingagentleman’slibrary.Somenovelsofabygoneperiodwereincluded.Buttheytooshowedlittlesignsofhavingbeenread.
MissGreenshawwasfumblinginthedrawersofavastdesk.Finallyshepulledoutaparchmentdocument.
‘Mywill,’sheexplained.‘Gottoleaveyourmoneytosomeone–orsotheysay.IfIdiedwithoutawillIsupposethatsonofahorse-coperwouldgetit.Handsomefellow,HarryFletcher,butarogueifthereeverwasone.Don’tseewhyhissonshouldinheritthisplace.No,’shewenton,asthoughansweringsomeunspokenobjection,‘I’vemadeupmymind.I’mleavingittoCresswell.’
‘Yourhousekeeper?’
‘Yes.I’veexplainedittoher.ImakeawillleavingherallI’vegotandthenIdon’tneedtopayheranywages.Savesmealotincurrentexpenses,anditkeepsheruptothemark.Nogivingmenoticeandwalkingoffatanyminute.Veryla-di-dahandallthat,isn’tshe?Butherfatherwasaworkingplumberinaverysmallway.She’snothingtogiveherselfairsabout.’
Shehadbynowunfoldedtheparchment.Pickingupapenshedippeditintheinkstandandwrotehersignature,KatherineDorothyGreenshaw.
‘That’sright,’shesaid.‘You’veseenmesignit,andthenyoutwosignit,andthatmakesitlegal.’
ShehandedthepentoRaymondWest.Hehesitatedamoment,feelinganunexpectedrepulsiontowhathewasaskedtodo.Thenhequicklyscrawledthewell-knownsignature,forwhichhismorning’smailusuallybroughtatleastsixdemandsaday.
Horacetookthepenfromhimandaddedhisownminutesignature.
‘That’sdone,’saidMissGreenshaw.
Shemovedacrosstothebookcaseandstoodlookingatthemuncertainly,thensheopenedaglassdoor,tookoutabookandslippedthefoldedparchmentinside.
‘I’vemyownplacesforkeepingthings,’shesaid.
‘LadyAudley’sSecret,’RaymondWestremarked,catchingsightofthetitleasshereplacedthebook.
MissGreenshawgaveanothercackleoflaughter.
‘Best-sellerinitsday,’sheremarked.‘Notlikeyourbooks,eh?’
ShegaveRaymondasuddenfriendlynudgeintheribs.Raymondwasrathersurprisedthatsheevenknewhewrotebooks.AlthoughRaymondWestwasquiteanameinliterature,hecouldhardlybedescribedasabest-seller.Thoughsofteningalittlewiththeadventofmiddle-age,hisbooksdealtbleaklywiththesordidsideoflife.
‘Iwonder,’Horacedemandedbreathlessly,‘ifImightjusttakeaphotographoftheclock?’
‘Byallmeans,’saidMissGreenshaw.‘Itcame,Ibelieve,fromtheParisexhibition.’
‘Veryprobably,’saidHorace.Hetookhispicture.
‘Thisroom’snotbeenusedmuchsincemygrand-father’stime,’saidMissGreenshaw.‘Thisdesk’sfullofolddiariesofhis.Interesting,Ishouldthink.Ihaven’ttheeyesighttoreadthemmyself.I’dliketogetthempublished,butIsupposeonewouldhavetoworkonthemagooddeal.’
‘Youcouldengagesomeonetodothat,’saidRaymondWest.
‘CouldIreally?It’sanidea,youknow.I’llthinkaboutit.’
RaymondWestglancedathiswatch.
‘Wemustn’ttrespassonyourkindnessanylonger,’hesaid.
‘Pleasedtohaveseenyou,’saidMissGreenshawgraciously.‘ThoughtyouwerethepolicemanwhenIheardyoucomingroundthecornerofthehouse.’
‘Whyapoliceman?’demandedHorace,whonevermindedaskingquestions.
MissGreenshawrespondedunexpectedly.
‘Ifyouwanttoknowthetime,askapoliceman,’shecarolled,andwiththisexampleofVictorianwit,nudgedHoraceintheribsandroaredwithlaughter.
‘It’sbeenawonderfulafternoon,’sighedHoraceastheywalkedhome.‘Really,thatplacehaseverything.Theonlythingthelibraryneedsisabody.Thoseold-fashioneddetectivestoriesaboutmurderinthelibrary–that’sjustthekindoflibraryI’msuretheauthorshadinmind.’
‘Ifyouwanttodiscussmurder,’saidRaymond,‘youmusttalktomyAuntJane.’
‘YourAuntJane?DoyoumeanMissMarple?’Hefeltalittleataloss.
Thecharmingold-worldladytowhomhehadbeenintroducedthenightbeforeseemedthelastpersontobementionedinconnectionwithmurder.
‘Oh,yes,’saidRaymond.‘Murderisaspecialityofhers.’
‘Butmydear,howintriguing.Whatdoyoureallymean?’
‘Imeanjustthat,’saidRaymond.Heparaphrased:‘Somecommitmurder,somegetmixedupinmurders,othershavemurderthrustuponthem.MyAuntJanecomesintothethirdcategory.’
‘Youarejoking.’
‘Notintheleast.IcanreferyoutotheformerCommissionerofScotlandYard,severalChiefConstablesandoneortwohard-workinginspectorsoftheCID.’
Horacesaidhappilythatwonderswouldnevercease.OvertheteatabletheygaveJoanWest,Raymond’swife,LouOxleyherniece,andoldMissMarple,arésuméoftheafternoon’shappenings,recountingindetaileverythingthatMissGreenshawhadsaidtothem.
‘ButIdothink,’saidHorace,‘thatthereissomethingalittlesinisteraboutthewholeset-up.Thatduchess-likecreature,thehousekeeper–arsenic,perhaps,intheteapot,nowthatsheknowshermistresshasmadethewillinherfavour?’
‘Tellus,AuntJane,’saidRaymond.‘Willtherebemurderorwon’tthere?Whatdoyouthink?’
‘Ithink,’saidMissMarple,windingupherwoolwitharathersevereair,‘thatyoushouldn’tjokeaboutthesethingsasmuchasyoudo,Raymond.Arsenicis,ofcourse,quiteapossibility.Soeasytoobtain.Probablypresentinthetoolshedalreadyintheformofweedkiller.’
‘Oh,really,darling,’saidJoanWest,affectionately.‘Wouldn’tthatberathertooobvious?’
‘It’sallverywelltomakeawill,’saidRaymond,‘Idon’tsupposereallythepooroldthinghasanythingtoleaveexceptthatawfulwhiteelephantofahouse,andwhowouldwantthat?’
‘Afilmcompanypossibly,’saidHorace,‘orahoteloraninstitution?’
‘They’dexpecttobuyitforasong,’saidRaymond,butMissMarplewasshakingherhead.
‘Youknow,dearRaymond,Icannotagreewithyouthere.Aboutthemoney,Imean.Thegrandfatherwasevidentlyoneofthoselavishspenderswhomakemoneyeasily,butcan’tkeepit.Hemayhavegonebroke,asyousay,buthardlybankruptorelsehissonwouldnothavehadthehouse.Nowtheson,asissooftenthecase,wasanentirelydifferentcharactertohisfather.Amiser.Amanwhosavedeverypenny.Ishouldsaythatinthecourseofhislifetimeheprobablyputbyaverygoodsum.ThisMissGreenshawappearstohavetakenafterhim,todislikespendingmoney,thatis.Yes,Ishouldthinkitquitelikelythatshehadquiteagoodsumtuckedaway.’
‘Inthatcase,’saidJoanWest,‘Iwondernow–whataboutLou?’
TheylookedatLouasshesat,silent,bythefire.
LouwasJoanWest’sniece.Hermarriagehadrecently,assheherselfputit,comeunstuck,leavingherwithtwoyoungchildrenandabaresufficiencyofmoneytokeepthemon.
‘Imean,’saidJoan,‘ifthisMissGreenshawreallywantssomeonetogothroughdiariesandgetabookreadyforpublication…’
‘It’sanidea,’saidRaymond.
Lousaidinalowvoice:
‘It’sworkIcoulddo–andI’denjoyit.’
‘I’llwritetoher,’saidRaymond.
‘Iwonder,’saidMissMarplethoughtfully,‘whattheoldladymeantbythatremarkaboutapoliceman?’
‘Oh,itwasjustajoke.’
‘Itremindedme,’saidMissMarple,noddingherheadvigorously,‘yes,itremindedmeverymuchofMrNaysmith.’
‘WhowasMrNaysmith?’askedRaymond,curiously.
‘Hekeptbees,’saidMissMarple,‘andwasverygoodatdoingtheacrosticsintheSundaypapers.Andhelikedgivingpeoplefalseimpressionsjustforfun.Butsometimesitledtotrouble.’
Everybodywassilentforamoment,consideringMrNaysmith,butastheredidnotseemtobeanypointsofresemblancebetweenhimandMissGreenshaw,theydecidedthatdearAuntJanewasperhapsgettingalittlebitdisconnectedinheroldage.
II
HoraceBindlerwentbacktoLondonwithouthavingcollectedanymoremonstrositiesandRaymondWestwrotealettertoMissGreenshawtellingherthatheknewofaMrsLouisaOxleywhowouldbecompetenttoundertakeworkonthediaries.Afteralapseofsomedays,aletterarrived,writteninspideryold-fashionedhandwriting,inwhichMissGreenshawdeclaredherselfanxioustoavailherselfoftheservicesofMrsOxley,andmakinganappointmentforMrsOxleytocomeandseeher.
Loudulykepttheappointment,generoustermswerearrangedandshestartedworkonthefollowingday.
‘I’mawfullygratefultoyou,’shesaidtoRaymond.‘Itwillfitinbeautifully.Icantakethechildrentoschool,goontoGreenshaw’sFollyandpickthemuponmywayback.Howfantasticthewholeset-upis!Thatoldwomanhastobeseentobebelieved.’
Ontheeveningofherfirstdayatworkshereturnedanddescribedherday.
‘I’vehardlyseenthehousekeeper,’shesaid.‘Shecameinwithcoffeeandbiscuitsathalfpastelevenwithhermouthpursedupveryprunesandprisms,andwouldhardlyspeaktome.Ithinkshedisapprovesdeeplyofmyhavingbeenengaged.’Shewenton,‘Itseemsthere’squiteafeudbetweenherandthegardener,Alfred.He’salocalboyandfairlylazy,Ishouldimagine,andheandthehousekeeperwon’tspeaktoeachother.MissGreenshawsaidinherrathergrandway,“TherehavealwaysbeenfeudsasfarasIcanrememberbetweenthegardenandthehousestaff.Itwassoinmygrandfather’stime.Therewerethreemenandaboyinthegardenthen,andeightmaidsinthehouse,buttherewasalwaysfriction.”’
OnthefollowingdayLoureturnedwithanotherpieceofnews.
‘Justfancy,’shesaid,‘Iwasaskedtoringupthenephewthismorning.’
‘MissGreenshaw’snephew?’
‘Yes.Itseemshe’sanactorplayinginthecompanythat’sdoingasummerseasonatBorehamonSea.Irangupthetheatreandleftamessageaskinghimtolunchtomorrow.Ratherfun,really.Theoldgirldidn’twantthehousekeepertoknow.IthinkMrsCresswellhasdonesomethingthat’sannoyedher.’
‘Tomorrowanotherinstalmentofthisthrillingserial,’murmuredRaymond.
‘It’sexactlylikeaserial,isn’tit?Reconciliationwiththenephew,bloodisthickerthanwater–anotherwilltobemadeandtheoldwilldestroyed.’
‘AuntJane,you’relookingveryserious.’
‘WasI,mydear?Haveyouheardanymoreaboutthepoliceman?’
Loulookedbewildered.‘Idon’tknowanythingaboutapoliceman.’
‘Thatremarkofhers,mydear,’saidMissMarple,‘musthavemeantsomething.’
Louarrivedatherworkthenextdayinacheerfulmood.Shepassedthroughtheopenfrontdoor–thedoorsandwindowsofthehousewerealwaysopen.MissGreenshawappearedtohavenofearofburglars,andwasprobablyjustified,asmostthingsinthehouseweighedseveraltonsandwereofnomarketablevalue.
LouhadpassedAlfredinthedrive.Whenshefirstcaughtsightofhimhehadbeenleaningagainstatreesmokingacigarette,butassoonashehadcaughtsightofherhehadseizedabroomandbegundiligentlytosweepleaves.Anidleyoungman,shethought,butgoodlooking.Hisfeaturesremindedherofsomeone.AsshepassedthroughthehallonherwayupstairstothelibrarysheglancedatthelargepictureofNathanielGreenshawwhichpresidedoverthemantelpiece,showinghimintheacmeofVictorianprosperity,leaningbackinalargearm-chair,hishandsrestingonthegoldalbertacrosshiscapaciousstomach.Asherglancesweptupfromthestomachtothefacewithitsheavyjowls,itsbushyeyebrowsanditsflourishingblackmoustache,thethoughtoccurredtoherthatNathanielGreenshawmusthavebeenhandsomeasayoungman.Hehadlooked,perhaps,alittlelikeAlfred
Shewentintothelibrary,shutthedoorbehindher,openedhertypewriterandgotoutthediariesfromthedraweratthesideofthedesk.ThroughtheopenwindowshecaughtaglimpseofMissGreenshawinapuce-colouredspriggedprint,bendingovertherockery,weedingassiduously.Theyhadhadtwowetdays,ofwhichtheweedshadtakenfulladvantage.
Lou,atownbredgirl,decidedthatifsheeverhadagardenitwouldnevercontainarockerywhichneededhandweeding.Thenshesettleddowntoherwork.
WhenMrsCresswellenteredthelibrarywiththecoffeetrayathalfpasteleven,shewasclearlyinaverybadtemper.Shebangedthetraydownonthetable,andobservedtotheuniverse:
‘Companyforlunch–andnothinginthehouse!WhatamIsupposedtodo,Ishouldliketoknow?AndnosignofAlfred.’
‘HewassweepinginthedrivewhenIgothere,’Louoffered.
‘Idaresay.Anicesoftjob.’
MrsCresswellsweptoutoftheroomandbangedthedoorbehindher.Lougrinnedtoherself.Shewonderedwhat‘thenephew’wouldbelike.
Shefinishedhercoffeeandsettleddowntoherworkagain.Itwassoabsorbingthattimepassedquickly.NathanielGreenshaw,whenhestartedtokeepadiary,hadsuccumbedtothepleasureoffrankness.Tryingoutapassagerelatingtothepersonalcharmofabarmaidintheneighbouringtown,Loureflectedthatagooddealofeditingwouldbenecessary.
Asshewasthinkingthis,shewasstartledbyascreamfromthegarden.Jumpingup,sherantotheopenwindow.MissGreenshawwasstaggeringawayfromtherockerytowardsthehouse.HerhandswereclaspedtoherbreastandbetweenthemthereprotrudedafeatheredshaftthatLourecognizedwithstupefactiontobetheshaftofanarrow.
MissGreenshaw’shead,initsbatteredstrawhat,fellforwardonherbreast.ShecalleduptoLouinafailingvoice:‘…shot…heshotme…withanarrow…gethelp…’
Lourushedtothedoor.Sheturnedthehandle,butthedoorwouldnotopen.Ittookheramomentortwooffutileendeavourtorealizethatshewaslockedin.Sherushedbacktothewindow.
‘I’mlockedin.’
MissGreenshaw,herbacktowardsLou,andswayingalittleonherfeetwascallinguptothehousekeeperatawindowfartheralong.
‘Ringpolice…telephone…’
Then,lurchingfromsidetosidelikeadrunkard,shedisappearedfromLou’sviewthroughthewindowbelowintothedrawing-room.AmomentlaterLouheardacrashofbrokenchina,aheavyfall,andthensilence.Herimaginationreconstructedthescene.MissGreenshawmusthavestaggeredblindlyintoasmalltablewithaSèvresteasetonit.
DesperatelyLoupoundedonthedoor,callingandshouting.Therewasnocreeperordrain-pipeoutsidethewindowthatcouldhelphertogetoutthatway.
Tiredatlastofbeatingonthedoor,shereturnedtothewindow.Fromthewindowofhersitting-roomfartheralong,thehousekeeper’sheadappeared.
‘Comeandletmeout,MrsOxley.I’mlockedin.’
‘SoamI.’
‘Ohdear,isn’titawful?I’vetelephonedthepolice.There’sanextensioninthisroom,butwhatIcan’tunderstand,MrsOxley,isourbeinglockedinIneverheardakeyturn,didyou?’
‘No.Ididn’thearanythingatall.Ohdear,whatshallwedo?PerhapsAlfredmighthearus.’Loushoutedatthetopofhervoice,‘Alfred,Alfred.’
‘Gonetohisdinneraslikelyasnot.Whattimeisit?’
Louglancedatherwatch.
‘Twenty-fivepasttwelve.’
‘He’snotsupposedtogountilhalfpast,buthesneaksoffearlierwheneverhecan.’
‘Doyouthink–doyouthink–’
Loumeanttoask‘Doyouthinkshe’sdead?’butthewordsstuckinherthroat.
Therewasnothingtodobutwait.Shesatdownonthewindow-sill.Itseemedaneternitybeforethestolidhelmetedfigureofapoliceconstablecameroundthecornerofthehouse.Sheleantoutofthewindowandhelookedupather,shadinghiseyeswithhishand.Whenhespokehisvoiceheldreproof.
‘What’sgoingonhere?’heaskeddisapprovingly.
Fromtheirrespectivewindows,LouandMrsCresswellpouredafloodofexcitedinformationdownonhim.
Theconstableproducedanote-bookandpencil.‘Youladiesranupstairsandlockedyourselvesin?CanIhaveyournames,please?’
‘No.Somebodyelselockedusin.Comeandletusout.’
Theconstablesaidreprovingly,‘Allingoodtime,’anddisappearedthroughthewindowbelow.
Onceagaintimeseemedinfinite.Louheardthesoundofacararriving,and,afterwhatseemedanhourbutwasactuallythreeminutes,firstMrsCresswellandthenLouwerereleasedbyapolicesergeantmorealertthantheoriginalconstable.
‘MissGreenshaw?’Lou’svoicefaltered.‘What–what’shappened?’
Thesergeantclearedhisthroat.
‘I’msorrytohavetotellyou,madam,’hesaid,‘whatI’vealreadytoldMrsCresswellhere.MissGreenshawisdead.’
‘Murdered,’saidMrsCresswell.‘That’swhatitis–murder.’
Thesergeantsaiddubiously:
‘Couldhavebeenanaccident–somecountryladsshootingwithbowsandarrows.’
Againtherewasthesoundofacararriving.Thesergeantsaid:
‘That’llbetheMO,’andstarteddownstairs.
ButitwasnottheMO.AsLouandMrsCresswellcamedownthestairsayoungmansteppedhesitatinglythroughthefrontdoorandpaused,lookingroundhimwithasomewhatbewilderedair.
Then,speakinginapleasantvoicethatinsomewayseemedfamiliartoLou–perhapsithadafamilyresemblancetoMissGreenshaw’s–heasked:
‘Excuseme,does–er–doesMissGreenshawlivehere?’
‘MayIhaveyournameifyouplease,’saidthesergeantadvancinguponhim.
‘Fletcher,’saidtheyoungman.‘NatFletcher.I’mMissGreenshaw’snephew,asamatteroffact.’
‘Indeed,sir,well–I’msorry–I’msure–’
‘Hasanythinghappened?’askedNatFletcher.
‘There’sbeenan–accident–yourauntwasshotwithanarrow–penetratedthejugularvein–’
MrsCresswellspokehystericallyandwithoutherusualrefinement:
‘Yourh’auntsbeenmurdered,that’swhat’s’appened.Youh’aunt’sbeenmurdered.’
III
InspectorWelchdrewhischairalittlenearertothetableandlethisgazewanderfromonetotheotherofthefourpeopleintheroom.Itwastheeveningofthesameday.HehadcalledattheWests’housetotakeLouOxleyoncemoreoverherstatement.
‘Youaresureoftheexactwords?Shot–heshotme–withanarrow–gethelp?’
Lounodded.
‘Andthetime?’
‘Ilookedatmywatchaminuteortwolater–itwasthentwelvetwenty-five.’
‘Yourwatchkeepsgoodtime?’
‘Ilookedattheclockaswell.’
TheinspectorturnedtoRaymondWest.
‘Itappears,sir,thataboutaweekagoyouandaMrHoraceBindlerwerewitnessestoMissGreenshaw’swill?’
Briefly,RaymondrecountedtheeventsoftheafternoonvisitthatheandHoraceBindlerhadpaidtoGreenshaw’sFolly.
‘Thistestimonyofyoursmaybeimportant,’saidWelch.‘MissGreenshawdistinctlytoldyou,didshe,thatherwillwasbeingmadeinfavourofMrsCresswell,thehousekeeper,thatshewasnotpayingMrsCresswellanywagesinviewoftheexpectationsMrsCresswellhadofprofitingbyherdeath?’
‘Thatiswhatshetoldme–yes.’
‘WouldyousaythatMrsCresswellwasdefinitelyawareofthesefacts?’
‘Ishouldsayundoubtedly.MissGreenshawmadeareferenceinmypresencetobeneficiariesnotbeingabletowitnessawillandMrsCresswellclearlyunderstoodwhatshemeantbyit.Moreover,MissGreenshawherselftoldmethatshehadcometothisarrangementwithMrsCresswell.’
‘SoMrsCresswellhadreasontobelieveshewasaninterestedparty.Motive’sclearenoughinhercase,andIdaresayshe’dbeourchiefsuspectnowifitwasn’tforthefactthatshewassecurelylockedinherroomlikeMrsOxleyhere,andalsothatMissGreenshawdefinitelysaidamanshother–’
‘Shedefinitelywaslockedinherroom?’
‘Ohyes.SergeantCayleyletherout.It’sabigold-fashionedlockwithabigold-fashionedkey.Thekeywasinthelockandthere’snotachancethatitcouldhavebeenturnedfrominsideoranyhanky-pankyofthatkind.No,youcantakeitdefinitelythatMrsCresswellwaslockedinsidethatroomandcouldn’tgetout.AndtherewerenobowsandarrowsintheroomandMissGreenshawcouldn’tinanycasehavebeenshotfromawindow–theangleforbidsit–no,MrsCresswell’soutofit.’
Hepausedandwenton:
‘WouldyousaythatMissGreenshaw,inyouropinion,wasapracticaljoker?’
MissMarplelookedupsharplyfromhercorner.
‘Sothewillwasn’tinMrsCresswell’sfavourafterall?’shesaid.
InspectorWelchlookedoveratherinarathersurprisedfashion.
‘That’saverycleverguessofyours,madam,’hesaid.‘No.MrsCresswellisn’tnamedasbeneficiary.’
‘JustlikeMrNaysmith,’saidMissMarple,noddingherhead.‘MissGreenshawtoldMrsCresswellshewasgoingtoleavehereverythingandsogotoutofpayingherwages;andthenshelefthermoneytosomebodyelse.Nodoubtshewasvastlypleasedwithherself.NowondershechortledwhensheputthewillawayinLadyAudley’sSecret.’
‘ItwasluckyMrsOxleywasabletotellusaboutthewillandwhereitwasput,’saidtheinspector.‘Wemighthavehadalonghuntforitotherwise.’
‘AVictoriansenseofhumour,’murmuredRaymondWest.‘Soshelefthermoneytohernephewafterall,’saidLou.
Theinspectorshookhishead.
‘No,’hesaid,‘shedidn’tleaveittoNatFletcher.Thestorygoesaroundhere–ofcourseI’mnewtotheplaceandIonlygetthegossipthat’ssecond-hand–butitseemsthatintheolddaysbothMissGreenshawandhersisterweresetonthehandsomeyoungridingmaster,andthesistergothim.No,shedidn’tleavethemoneytohernephew–’Hepaused,rubbinghischin,‘SheleftittoAlfred,’hesaid.
‘Alfred–thegardener?’Joanspokeinasurprisedvoice.
‘Yes,MrsWest.AlfredPollock.’
‘Butwhy?’criedLou.
MissMarplecoughedandmurmured:
‘Ishouldimagine,thoughperhapsIamwrong,thattheremayhavebeen–whatwemightcallfamilyreasons.’
‘Youcouldcallthemthatinaway,’agreedtheinspector.‘It’squitewellknowninthevillage,itseems,thatThomasPollock,Alfred’sgrandfather,wasoneofoldMrGreenshaw’sbyblows.’
‘Ofcourse,’criedLou,‘theresemblance!Isawitthismorning.’
SherememberedhowafterpassingAlfredshehadcomeintothehouseandlookedupatoldGreenshaw’sportrait.
‘Idaresay,’saidMissMarple,‘thatshethoughtAlfredPollockmighthaveaprideinthehouse,mightevenwanttoliveinit,whereashernephewwouldalmostcertainlyhavenouseforitwhateverandwouldsellitassoonashecouldpossiblydoso.He’sanactor,isn’the?Whatplayexactlyisheactinginatpresent?’
Trustanoldladytowanderfromthepoint,thoughtInspectorWelch,butherepliedcivilly:
‘Ibelieve,madam,theyaredoingaseasonofJamesBarrie’splays.’
‘Barrie,’saidMissMarplethoughtfully.
‘WhatEveryWomanKnows,’saidInspectorWelch,andthenblushed.‘Nameofaplay,’hesaidquickly.‘I’mnotmuchofatheatre-goermyself,’headded,‘butthewifewentalongandsawitlastweek.Quitewelldone,shesaiditwas.’
‘Barriewrotesomeverycharmingplays,’saidMissMarple,‘thoughImustsaythatwhenIwentwithanoldfriendofmine,GeneralEasterly,toseeBarrie’sLittleMary–’sheshookherheadsadly,‘–neitherofusknewwheretolook.’
Theinspector,unacquaintedwiththeplayLittleMary,lookedcompletelyfogged.MissMarpleexplained:
‘WhenIwasagirl,Inspector,nobodyevermentionedthewordstomach.’
Theinspectorlookedevenmoreatsea.MissMarplewasmurmuringtitlesunderherbreath.
‘TheAdmirableCrichton.Veryclever.MaryRose–acharmingplay.Icried,IrememberQualityStreetIdidn’tcareforsomuch.ThentherewasAKissforCinderella.Oh,ofcourse.’
InspectorWelchhadnotimetowasteontheatricaldiscussion.Hereturnedtothematterinhand.
‘Thequestionis,’hesaid,‘didAlfredPollockknowthattheoldladyhadmadeawillinhisfavour?Didshetellhim?’Headded:‘Yousee–there’sanarcherycluboveratBorehamLovellandAlfredPollock’samember.He’saverygoodshotindeedwithabowandarrow.’
‘Thenisn’tyourcasequiteclear?’askedRaymondWest.‘Itwouldfitinwiththedoorsbeinglockedonthetwowomen–he’dknowjustwheretheywereinthehouse.’
Theinspectorlookedathim.Hespokewithdeepmelancholy.
‘He’sgotanalibi,’saidtheinspector.
‘Ialwaysthinkalibisaredefinitelysuspicious.’
‘Maybe,sir,’saidInspectorWelch.‘You’retalkingasawriter.’
‘Idon’twritedetectivestories,’saidRaymondWest,horrifiedatthemereidea.
‘Easyenoughtosaythatalibisaresuspicious,’wentonInspectorWelch,‘butunfortunatelywe’vegottodealwithfacts.’
Hesighed.
‘We’vegotthreegoodsuspects,’hesaid.‘Threepeoplewho,asithappened,wereverycloseuponthesceneatthetime.Yettheoddthingisthatitlooksasthoughnoneofthethreecouldhavedoneit.ThehousekeeperI’vealreadydealtwith–thenephew,NatFletcher,atthemomentMissGreenshawwasshot,wasacoupleofmilesawayfillinguphiscaratagarageandaskinghisway–asforAlfredPollocksixpeoplewillswearthatheenteredtheDogandDuckattwentypasttwelveandwasthereforanhourhavinghisusualbreadandcheeseandbeer.’
‘Deliberatelyestablishinganalibi,’saidRaymondWesthopefully.
‘Maybe,’saidInspectorWelch,‘butifso,hedidestablishit.’
Therewasalongsilence.ThenRaymondturnedhisheadtowhereMissMarplesatuprightandthoughtful.
‘It’suptoyou,AuntJane,’hesaid.‘Theinspector’sbaffled,thesergeant’sbaffled,I’mbaffled,Joan’sbaffled,Louisbaffled.Buttoyou,AuntJane,itiscrystalclear.AmIright?’
‘Iwouldn’tsaythat,dear,’saidMissMarple,‘notcrystalclear,andmurder,dearRaymond,isn’tagame.Idon’tsupposepoorMissGreenshawwantedtodie,anditwasaparticularlybrutalmurder.Verywellplannedandquitecoldblooded.It’snotathingtomakejokesabout!’
‘I’msorry,’saidRaymond,abashed.‘I’mnotreallyascallousasIsound.Onetreatsathinglightlytotakeawayfromthe–well,thehorrorofit.’
‘Thatis,Ibelieve,themoderntendency,’saidMissMarple.‘Allthesewars,andhavingtojokeaboutfunerals.Yes,perhapsIwasthoughtlesswhenIsaidyouwerecallous.’
‘Itisn’t,’saidJoan,‘asthoughwe’dknownheratallwell.’
‘Thatisverytrue,’saidMissMarple.‘You,dearJoan,didnotknowheratall.Ididnotknowheratall.Raymondgatheredanimpressionofherfromoneafternoon’sconversation.Louknewherfortwodays.’
‘Comenow,AuntJane,’saidRaymond,‘tellusyourviews.Youdon’tmind,Inspector?’
‘Notatall,’saidtheinspectorpolitely.
‘Well,mydear,itwouldseemthatwehavethreepeoplewhohad,ormighthavethoughttheyhad,amotivetokilltheoldlady.Andthreequitesimplereasonswhynoneofthethreecouldhavedoneso.ThehousekeepercouldnothavedonesobecauseshewaslockedinherroomandbecauseMissGreenshawdefinitelystatedthatamanshother.ThegardenercouldnothavedoneitbecausehewasinsidetheDogandDuckatthetimethemurderwascommitted,thenephewcouldnothavedoneitbecausehewasstillsomedistanceawayinhiscaratthetimeofthemurder.’
‘Veryclearlyput,madam,’saidtheinspector.
‘Andsinceitseemsmostunlikelythatanyoutsidershouldhavedoneit,where,then,arewe?’
‘That’swhattheinspectorwantstoknow,’saidRaymondWest.
‘Onesooftenlooksatathingthewrongwayround,’saidMissMarpleapologetically.‘Ifwecan’talterthemovementsorthepositionofthosethreepeople,thencouldn’tweperhapsalterthetimeofthemurder?’
‘Youmeanthatbothmywatchandtheclockwerewrong?’askedLou.
‘Nodear,’saidMissMarple,‘Ididn’tmeanthatatall.Imeanthatthemurderdidn’toccurwhenyouthoughtitoccurred.’
‘ButIsawit,’criedLou.
‘Well,whatIhavebeenwondering,mydear,waswhetheryouweren’tmeanttoseeit.I’vebeenaskingmyself,youknow,whetherthatwasn’ttherealreasonwhyyouwereengagedforthisjob.’
‘Whatdoyoumean,AuntJane?’
‘Well,dear,itseemsodd.MissGreenshawdidnotlikespendingmoney,andyetsheengagedyouandagreedquitewillinglytothetermsyouasked.Itseemstomethatperhapsyouweremeanttobethereinthatlibraryonthefirstfloor,lookingoutofthewindowsothatyoucouldbethekeywitness–someonefromoutsideofirreproachablegoodfaith–tofixadefinitetimeandplaceforthemurder.’
‘Butyoucan’tmean,’saidLou,incredulously,‘thatMissGreenshawintendedtobemurdered.’
‘WhatImean,dear,’saidMissMarple,‘isthatyoudidn’treallyknowMissGreenshaw.There’snorealreason,isthere,whytheMissGreenshawyousawwhenyouwentuptothehouseshouldbethesameMissGreenshawthatRaymondsawafewdaysearlier?Oh,yes,Iknow,’shewenton,topreventLou’sreply,‘shewaswearingthepeculiarold-fashionedprintdressandthestrangestrawhat,andhadunkempthair.ShecorrespondedexactlytothedescriptionRaymondgaveuslastweek-end.Butthosetwowomen,youknow,weremuchofanageandheightandsize.Thehousekeeper,Imean,andMissGreenshaw.’
‘Butthehousekeeperisfat!’Louexclaimed.‘She’sgotanenormousbosom.’
MissMarplecoughed.
‘Butmydear,surely,nowadaysIhaveseen–er–themmyselfinshopsmostindelicatelydisplayed.Itisveryeasyforanyonetohavea–abust–ofanysizeanddimension.’
‘Whatareyoutryingtosay?’demandedRaymond.
‘Iwasjustthinking,dear,thatduringthetwoorthreedaysLouwasworkingthere,onewomancouldhaveplayedthetwoparts.Yousaidyourself,Lou,thatyouhardlysawthehousekeeper,exceptfortheonemomentinthemorningwhenshebroughtyouinthetraywithcoffee.Oneseesthosecleverartistsonthestagecominginasdifferentcharacterswithonlyaminuteortwotospare,andIamsurethechangecouldhavebeeneffectedquiteeasily.Thatmarquisehead-dresscouldbejustawigslippedonandoff.’
‘AuntJane!DoyoumeanthatMissGreenshawwasdeadbeforeIstartedworkthere?’
‘Notdead.Keptunderdrugs,Ishouldsay.Averyeasyjobforanunscrupulouswomanlikethehousekeepertodo.Thenshemadethearrangementswithyouandgotyoutotelephonetothenephewtoaskhimtolunchatadefinitetime.TheonlypersonwhowouldhaveknownthatthisMissGreenshawwasnotMissGreenshawwouldhavebeenAlfred.Andifyouremember,thefirsttwodaysyouwereworkingthereitwaswet,andMissGreenshawstayedinthehouse.Alfrednevercameintothehousebecauseofhisfeudwiththehousekeeper.AndonthelastmorningAlfredwasinthedrive,whileMissGreenshawwasworkingontherockery–I’dliketohavealookatthatrockery.’
‘DoyoumeanitwasMrsCresswellwhokilledMissGreenshaw?’
‘Ithinkthatafterbringingyouyourcoffee,thewomanlockedthedooronyouasshewentout,carriedtheunconsciousMissGreenshawdowntothedrawing-room,thenassumedher“MissGreenshaw”disguiseandwentouttoworkontherockerywhereyoucouldseeherfromthewindow.Induecourseshescreamedandcamestaggeringtothehouseclutchinganarrowasthoughithadpenetratedherthroat.Shecalledforhelpandwascarefultosay“heshotme”soastoremovesuspicionfromthehousekeeper.Shealsocalleduptothehousekeeper’swindowasthoughshesawherthere.Then,onceinsidethedrawing-room,shethrewoveratablewithporcelainonit–andranquicklyupstairs,putonhermarquisewigandwasableafewmomentslatertoleanherheadoutofthewindowandtellyouthatshe,too,waslockedin.’
‘Butshewaslockedin,’saidLou.
‘Iknow.Thatiswherethepolicemancomesin.’
‘Whatpoliceman?’
‘Exactly–whatpoliceman?Iwonder,Inspector,ifyouwouldmindtellingmehowandwhenyouarrivedonthescene?’
Theinspectorlookedalittlepuzzled.
‘Attwelvetwenty-ninewereceivedatelephonecallfromMrsCresswell,housekeepertoMissGreenshaw,statingthathermistresshadbeenshot.SergeantCayleyandmyselfwentoutthereatonceinacarandarrivedatthehouseattwelvethirty-five.WefoundMissGreenshawdeadandthetwoladieslockedintheirrooms.’
‘So,yousee,mydear,’saidMissMarpletoLou.‘Thepoliceconstableyousawwasn’tarealpoliceconstable.Youneverthoughtofhimagain–onedoesn’t–onejustacceptsonemoreuniformaspartofthelaw.’
‘Butwho–why?’
‘Astowho–well,iftheyareplayingAKissforCinderella,apolicemanistheprincipalcharacter.NatFletcherwouldonlyhavetohelphimselftothecostumehewearsonthestage.He’daskhiswayatagaragebeingcarefultocallattentiontothetime–twelvetwenty-five,thendriveonquickly,leavehiscarroundacorner,sliponhispoliceuniformanddohis“act”.’
‘Butwhy?–why?’
‘Someonehadtolockthehousekeeper’sdoorontheoutside,andsomeonehadtodrivethearrowthroughMissGreenshaw’sthroat.Youcanstabanyonewithanarrowjustaswellasbyshootingit–butitneedsforce.’
‘Youmeantheywerebothinit?’
‘Ohyes,Ithinkso.Motherandsonaslikelyasnot.’
‘ButMissGreenshaw’ssisterdiedlongago.’
‘Yes,butI’venodoubtMrFletchermarriedagain.Hesoundsthesortofmanwhowould,andIthinkitpossiblethatthechilddiedtoo,andthatthisso-callednephewwasthesecondwife’schild,andnotreallyarelationatall.Thewomangotapostashousekeeperandspiedouttheland.Thenhewroteashernephewandproposedtocalluponher–hemayhavemadesomejokingreferencetocominginhispoliceman’suniform–oraskedherovertoseetheplay.ButIthinkshesuspectedthetruthandrefusedtoseehim.Hewouldhavebeenherheirifshehaddiedwithoutmakingawill–butofcourseonceshehadmadeawillinthehousekeeper’sfavour(astheythought)thenitwasclearsailing.’
‘Butwhyuseanarrow?’objectedJoan.‘Soveryfarfetched.’
‘Notfarfetchedatall,dear.Alfredbelongedtoanarcheryclub–Alfredwasmeanttotaketheblame.Thefactthathewasinthepubasearlyastwelvetwentywasmostunfortunatefromtheirpointofview.Healwaysleftalittlebeforehispropertimeandthatwouldhavebeenjustright–’Sheshookherhead.‘Itreallyseemsallwrong–morally,Imean,thatAlfred’slazinessshouldhavesavedhislife.’
Theinspectorclearedhisthroat.
‘Well,madam,thesesuggestionsofyoursareveryinteresting.Ishallhave,ofcourse,toinvestigate–’
IV
MissMarpleandRaymondWeststoodbytherockeryandlookeddownatthatgardeningbasketfullofdyingvegetation.
MissMarplemurmured:
‘Alyssum,saxifrage,cytisus,thimblecampanula…Yes,that’salltheproofIneed.Whoeverwasweedinghereyesterdaymorningwasnogardener–shepulledupplantsaswellasweeds.SonowIknowI’mright.Thankyou,dearRaymond,forbringingmehere.Iwantedtoseetheplaceformyself.’
SheandRaymondbothlookedupattheoutrageouspileofGreenshaw’sFolly.
Acoughmadethemturn.Ahandsomeyoungmanwasalsolookingatthehouse.
‘Plagueybigplace,’hesaid.‘Toobigfornowadays–orsotheysay.Idunnoaboutthat.IfIwonafootballpoolandmadealotofmoney,that’sthekindofhouseI’dliketobuild.’
Hesmiledbashfullyatthem.
‘ReckonIcansaysonow–thattherehousewasbuiltbymygreat-grandfather,’saidAlfredPollock.‘Andafinehouseitis,foralltheycallitGreenshaw’sFolly!’
AboutAgathaChristie
AgathaChristieisknownthroughouttheworldastheQueenofCrime.HerbookshavesoldoverabillioncopiesinEnglishandanotherbillionin100foreignlanguages.Sheisthemostwidelypublishedauthorofalltimeandinanylanguage,outsoldonlybytheBibleandShakespeare.MrsChristieistheauthorofeightycrimenovelsandshortstorycollections,nineteenplays,andsixnovelswrittenunderthenameofMaryWestmacott.
AgathaChristie’sfirstnovel,TheMysteriousAffairatStyles,waswrittentowardstheendofWorldWarI(duringwhichsheservedintheVoluntaryAidDetachments).InitshecreatedHerculePoirot,thelittleBelgianinvestigatorwhowasdestinedtobecomethemostpopulardetectiveincrimefictionsinceSherlockHolmes.Afterhavingbeenrejectedbyanumberofhouses,TheMysteriousAffairatStyleswaseventuallypublishedbyTheBodleyHeadin1920.
In1926,nowaveragingabookayear,AgathaChristiewrotehermasterpiece.TheMurderofRogerAckroydwasthefirstofherbookstobepublishedbyWilliamCollinsandmarkedthebeginningofanauthor-publisherrelationshipthatlastedforfiftyyearsandproducedoverseventybooks.TheMurderofRogerAckroydwasalsothefirstofAgathaChristie’sworkstobedramatised—asAlibi—andtohaveasuccessfulruninLondon’sWestEnd.TheMousetrap,hermostfamousplay,openedin1952andrunstothisdayatStMartin’sTheatreintheWestEnd;itisthelongest-runningplayinhistory.
AgathaChristiewasmadeaDamein1971.Shediedin1976,sincewhenanumberofherbookshavebeenpublished:thebestsellingnovelSleepingMurderappearedin1976,followedbyAnAutobiographyandtheshortstorycollectionsMissMarple’sFinalCases;ProblematPollensaBay;andWhiletheLightLasts.In1998,BlackCoffeewasthefirstofherplaystobenovelisedbyCharlesOsborne,MrsChristie’sbiographer.
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CoverbyNickCastle?HarperCollins/AgathaChristieLtd2007
TheAgathaChristieCollection
ChristieCrimeClassics
TheManintheBrownSuit
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TheSevenDialsMystery
TheMysteriousMrQuin
TheSittafordMystery
TheHoundofDeath
TheListerdaleMystery
WhyDidn’tTheyAskEvans?
ParkerPyneInvestigates
MurderIsEasy
AndThenThereWereNone
TowardsZero
DeathComesastheEnd
SparklingCyanide
CrookedHouse
TheyCametoBaghdad
DestinationUnknown
Spider’sWeb*
TheUnexpectedGuest*
OrdealbyInnocence
ThePaleHorse
EndlessNight
PassengerToFrankfurt
ProblematPollensaBay
WhiletheLightLasts
HerculePoirotInvestigates
TheMysteriousAffairatStyles
TheMurderontheLinks
PoirotInvestigates
TheMurderofRogerAckroyd
TheBigFour
TheMysteryoftheBlueTrain
BlackCoffee*
PerilatEndHouse
LordEdgwareDies
MurderontheOrientExpress
Three-ActTragedy
DeathintheClouds
TheABCMurders
MurderinMesopotamia
CardsontheTable
MurderintheMews
DumbWitness
DeathontheNile
AppointmentwithDeath
HerculePoirot’sChristmas
SadCypress
One,Two,BuckleMyShoe
EvilUndertheSun
FiveLittlePigs
TheHollow
TheLaboursofHercules
TakenattheFlood
MrsMcGinty’sDead
AftertheFuneral
HickoryDickoryDock
DeadMan’sFolly
CatAmongthePigeons
TheAdventureoftheChristmasPudding
TheClocks
ThirdGirl
Hallowe’enParty
ElephantsCanRemember
Poirot’sEarlyCases
Curtain:Poirot’sLastCase
MissMarpleMysteries
TheMurderattheVicarage
TheThirteenProblems
TheBodyintheLibrary
TheMovingFinger
AMurderIsAnnounced
TheyDoItwithMirrors
APocketFullofRye
4.50fromPaddington
TheMirrorCrack’dfromSidetoSide
ACaribbeanMystery
AtBertram’sHotel
Nemesis
SleepingMurder
MissMarple’sFinalCases
Tommy&Tuppence
TheSecretAdversary
PartnersinCrime
NorM?
BythePrickingofMyThumbs
PosternofFate
PublishedasMaryWestmacott
Giant’sBread
UnfinishedPortrait
AbsentintheSpring
TheRoseandtheYewTree
ADaughter’saDaughterTheBurden
Memoirs
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