Third Girl

AgathaChristie
ThirdGirl
AHerculePoirotMystery
ToNorahBlackmore
Contents
Cover
TitlePage
Dedication
ChapterOne
ChapterTwo
ChapterThree
ChapterFour
ChapterFive
ChapterSix
ChapterSeven
ChapterEight
ChapterNine
ChapterTen
ChapterEleven
ChapterTwelve
ChapterThirteen
ChapterFourteen
ChapterFifteen
ChapterSixteen
ChapterSeventeen
ChapterEighteen
ChapterNineteen
ChapterTwenty
ChapterTwenty-One
ChapterTwenty-Two
ChapterTwenty-Three
ChapterTwenty-Four
ChapterTwenty-Five
AbouttheAuthor
OtherBooksbyAgathaChristie
Credits
Copyright
AboutthePublisher
One
HerculePoirotwassittingatthebreakfasttable.Athisrighthandwasasteamingcupofchocolate.Hehadalwayshadasweettooth.Toaccompanythechocolatewasabrioche.Itwentagreeablywithchocolate.Henoddedhisapproval.Thiswasfromthefourthshophehadtried.ItwasaDanishpatisseriebutinfinitelysuperiortotheso-calledFrenchonenearby.Thathadbeennothinglessthanafraud.
Hewassatisfiedgastronomically.Hisstomachwasatpeace.Hismindalsowasatpeace,perhapssomewhattoomuchso.HehadfinishedhisMagnumOpus,ananalysisofgreatwritersofdetectivefiction.HehaddaredtospeakscathinglyofEdgarAllenPoe,hehadcomplainedofthelackofmethodororderintheromanticoutpouringsofWilkieCollins,hadlaudedtotheskiestwoAmericanauthorswhowerepracticallyunknown,andhadinvariousotherwaysgivenhonourwherehonourwasdueandsternlywithhelditwhereheconsidereditwasnot.Hehadseenthevolumethroughthepress,hadlookedupontheresultsand,apartfromareallyincrediblenumberofprinter’serrors,pronouncedthatitwasgood.Hehadenjoyedthisliteraryachievementandenjoyedthevastamountofreadinghehadhadtodo,hadenjoyedsnortingwithdisgustasheflungabookacrossthefloor(thoughalwaysrememberingtorise,pickitupanddisposeofittidilyinthewastepaperbasket)andhadenjoyedappreciativelynoddinghisheadontherareoccasionswhensuchapprovalwasjustified.
Andnow?Hehadhadapleasantinterludeofrelaxation,verynecessaryafterhisintellectuallabour.Butonecouldnotrelaxforever,onehadtogoontothenextthing.Unfortunatelyhehadnoideawhatthenextthingmightbe.Somefurtherliteraryaccomplishment?Hethoughtnot.Doathingwellthenleaveitalone.Thatwashismaxim.Thetruthofthematterwas,hewasbored.Allthisstrenuousmentalactivityinwhichhehadbeenindulging—therehadbeentoomuchofit.Ithadgothimintobadhabits,ithadmadehimrestless….
Vexatious!Heshookhisheadandtookanothersipofchocolate.
Thedooropenedandhiswell-trainedservant,George,entered.Hismannerwasdeferentialandslightlyapologetic.Hecoughedandmurmured,“A—”hepaused,“—a—youngladyhascalled.”
Poirotlookedathimwithsurpriseandmilddistaste.
“Idonotseepeopleatthishour,”hesaidreprovingly.
“No,sir,”agreedGeorge.
Masterandservantlookedateachother.Communicationwassometimesfraughtwithdifficultiesforthem.ByinflexionorinnuendooracertainchoiceofwordsGeorgewouldsignifythattherewassomethingthatmightbeelicitediftherightquestionwasasked.Poirotconsideredwhattherightquestioninthiscasemightbe.
“Sheisgood-looking,thisyounglady?”heinquiredcarefully.
“Inmyview—no,sir,butthereisnoaccountingfortastes.”
Poirotconsideredhisreply.HerememberedtheslightpausethatGeorgehadmadebeforethephrase—younglady.Georgewasadelicatesocialrecorder.Hehadbeenuncertainofthevisitor’sstatusbuthadgivenherthebenefitofthedoubt.
“Youareoftheopinionthatsheisayoungladyratherthan,letussay,ayoungperson?”
“Ithinkso,sir,thoughitisnotalwayseasytotellnowadays.”Georgespokewithgenuineregret.
“Didshegiveareasonforwishingtoseeme?”
“Shesaid—”Georgepronouncedthewordswithsomereluctance,apologisingfortheminadvanceasitwere,“thatshewantedtoconsultyouaboutamurdershemighthavecommitted.”
HerculePoirotstared.Hiseyebrowsrose.“Mighthavecommitted?Doesshenotknow?”
“Thatiswhatshesaid,sir.”
“Unsatisfactory,butpossiblyinteresting,”saidPoirot.
“Itmight—havebeenajoke,sir,”saidGeorge,dubiously.
“Anythingispossible,Isuppose,”concededPoirot,“butonewouldhardlythink—”Heliftedhiscup.“Showherinafterfiveminutes.”
“Yes,sir.”Georgewithdrew.
Poirotfinishedthelastsipofchocolate.Hepushedasidehiscupandrosetohisfeet.Hewalkedtothefireplaceandadjustedhismoustachescarefullyinthemirroroverthechimneypiece.Satisfied,hereturnedtohischairandawaitedthearrivalofhisvisitor.Hedidnotknowexactlywhattoexpect….
Hehadhopedperhapsforsomethingnearertohisownestimateoffemaleattraction.Theoutwornphrase“beautyindistress”hadoccurredtohim.HewasdisappointedwhenGeorgereturnedusheringinthevisitor;inwardlyheshookhisheadandsighed.Herewasnobeauty—andnonoticeabledistresseither.Mildperplexitywouldseemnearerthemark.
“Pha!”thoughtPoirotdisgustedly.“Thesegirls!Dotheynoteventrytomakesomethingofthemselves?Wellmade-up,attractivelydressed,hairthathasbeenarrangedbyagoodhairdresser,thenperhapsshemightpass.Butnow!”
Hisvisitorwasagirlofperhapstwenty-odd.Longstragglyhairofindeterminatecolourstrayedoverhershoulders.Hereyes,whichwerelarge,boreavacantexpressionandwereofagreenishblue.Sheworewhatwerepresumablythechosenclothesofhergeneration.Blackhighleatherboots,whiteopenworkwoollenstockingsofdoubtfulcleanliness,askimpyskirt,andalongandsloppypulloverofheavywool.AnyoneofPoirot’sageandgenerationwouldhavehadonlyonedesire.Todropthegirlintoabathassoonaspossible.Hehadoftenfeltthissamereactionwalkingalongthestreets.Therewerehundredsofgirlslookingexactlythesame.Theyalllookeddirty.Andyet—acontradictioninterms—thisonehadthelookofhavingbeenrecentlydrownedandpulledoutofariver.Suchgirls,hereflected,werenotperhapsreallydirty.Theymerelytookenormouscareandpainstolookso.
Herosewithhisusualpoliteness,shookhands,drewoutachair.
“Youdemandedtoseeme,mademoiselle?Sitdown,Iprayofyou.”
“Oh,”saidthegirl,inaslightlybreathlessvoice.Shestaredathim.
“Ehbien?”saidPoirot.
Shehesitated.“IthinkI’d—ratherstand.”Thelargeeyescontinuedtostaredoubtfully.
“Asyouplease.”Poirotresumedhisseatandlookedather.Hewaited.Thegirlshuffledherfeet.ShelookeddownonthemthenupagainatPoirot.
“You—youareHerculePoirot?”
“Assuredly.InwhatwaycanIbeofusetoyou?”
“Oh,well,it’sratherdifficult.Imean—”
Poirotfeltthatshemightneedperhapsalittleassistance.Hesaidhelpfully,“Mymanservanttoldmethatyouwantedtoconsultmebecauseyouthoughtyou‘mighthavecommittedamurder.’Isthatcorrect?”
Thegirlnodded.“That’sright.”
“Surelythatisnotamatterthatadmitsofanydoubt.Youmustknowyourselfwhetheryouhavecommittedamurderornot.”
“Well,Idon’tknowquitehowtoputit.Imean—”
“Comenow,”saidPoirotkindly.“Sitdown.Relaxthemuscles.Tellmeallaboutit.”
“Idon’tthink—ohdear,Idon’tknowhowto—Yousee,it’sallsodifficult.I’ve—I’vechangedmymind.Idon’twanttoberudebut—well,IthinkI’dbettergo.”
“Comenow.Courage.”
“No,Ican’t.IthoughtIcouldcomeand—andaskyou,askyouwhatIoughttodo—butIcan’t,yousee.It’sallsodifferentfrom—”
“Fromwhat?”
“I’mawfullysorryandIreallydon’twanttoberude,but—”
Shebreathedanenormoussigh,lookedatPoirot,lookedaway,andsuddenlyblurtedout,“You’retooold.Nobodytoldmeyouweresoold.Ireallydon’twanttoberudebut—thereitis.You’retooold.I’mreallyverysorry.”
Sheturnedabruptlyandblunderedoutoftheroom,ratherlikeadesperatemothinlamplight.
Poirot,hismouthopen,heardthebangofthefrontdoor.
Heejaculated:“Nomd’unnomd’unnom….”
Two
I
Thetelephonerang.
HerculePoirotdidnotevenseemawareofthefact.
Itrangwithshrillandinsistentpersistence.
Georgeenteredtheroomandsteppedtowardsit,turningaquestioningglancetowardsPoirot.
Poirotgesturedwithhishand.
“Leaveit,”hesaid.
Georgeobeyed,leavingtheroomagain.Thetelephonecontinuedtoring.Theshrillirritatingnoisecontinued.Suddenlyitstopped.Afteraminuteortwo,however,itcommencedtoringagain.
“AhSapristi!Thatmustbeawoman—undoubtedlyawoman.”
Hesighed,rosetohisfeetandcametotheinstrument.
Hepickedupthereceiver.“’Allo,”hesaid.
“Areyou—isthatM.Poirot?”
“I,myself.”
“It’sMrs.Oliver—yourvoicesoundsdifferent.Ididn’trecogniseitatfirst.”
“Bonjour,Madame—youarewell,Ihope?”
“Oh,I’mallright.”AriadneOliver’svoicecamethroughinitsusualcheerfulaccents.Thewell-knowndetectivestorywriterandHerculePoirotwereonfriendlyterms.
“It’sratherearlytoringyouup,butIwanttoaskyouafavour.”
“Yes?”
“ItistheannualdinnerofourDetectiveAuthors’Club;IwonderedifyouwouldcomeandbeourGuestSpeakerthisyear.Itwouldbeveryverysweetofyouifyouwould.”
“Whenisthis?”
“Nextmonth—thetwenty-third.”
Adeepsighcameoverthetelephone.
“Alas!Iamtooold.”
“Tooold?Whatonearthdoyoumean?You’renotoldatall.”
“Youthinknot?”
“Ofcoursenot.You’llbewonderful.Youcantelluslotsoflovelystoriesaboutrealcrimes.”
“Andwhowillwanttolisten?”
“Everyone.They—M.Poirot,isthereanythingthematter?Hassomethinghappened?Yousoundupset.”
“Yes,Iamupset.Myfeelings—ah,well,nomatter.”
“Buttellmeaboutit.”
“WhyshouldImakeafuss?”
“Whyshouldn’tyou?You’dbettercomeandtellmeallaboutit.Whenwillyoucome?Thisafternoon.Comeandhaveteawithme.”
“Afternoontea,Idonotdrinkit.”
“Thenyoucanhavecoffee.”
“ItisnotthetimeofdayIusuallydrinkcoffee.”
“Chocolate?Withwhippedcreamontop?Oratisane.Youlovesippingtisanes.Orlemonade.Ororangeade.OrwouldyoulikedecaffeinatedcoffeeifIcangetit—”
“Ah?a,non,parexample!Itisanabomination.”
“Oneofthosesiropsyoulikesomuch.Iknow,I’vegothalfabottleofRibenainthecupboard.”
“WhatisRibena?”
“Blackcurrantflavour.”
“Indeed,onehastohandittoyou!Youreallydotry,Madame.Iamtouchedbyyoursolicitude.Iwillacceptwithpleasuretodrinkacupofchocolatethisafternoon.”
“Good.Andthenyou’lltellmeallaboutwhat’supsetyou.”
Sherangoff.
II
Poirotconsideredforamoment.Thenhedialledanumber.Presentlyhesaid:“Mr.Goby?HerculePoirothere.Areyouveryfullyoccupiedatthismoment?”
“Middling,”saidthevoiceofMr.Goby.“Middlingtofair.Buttoobligeyou,MonsieurPoirot,ifyou’reinahurry,asyouusuallyare—well,Iwouldn’tsaythatmyyoungmencouldn’tmanagemostlywhat’sonhandatpresent.Ofcoursegoodboysaren’taseasytogetastheyusedtobe.Thinktoomuchofthemselvesnowadays.Thinktheyknowitallbeforethey’vestartedtolearn.Butthere!Can’texpectoldheadsonyoungshoulders.I’llbepleasedtoputmyselfatyourdisposal,M.Poirot.MaybeIcanputoneortwoofthebetterladsonthejob.Isupposeit’stheusual—collectinginformation?”
HenoddedhisheadandlistenedwhilstPoirotwentintodetailsofexactlywhathewanteddone.WhenhehadfinishedwithMr.Goby,PoirotrangupScotlandYardwhereinduecoursehegotthroughtoafriendofhis.WhenheinturnhadlistenedtoPoirot’srequirements,hereplied,
“Don’twantmuch,doyou?Anymurder,anywhere.Time,placeandvictimunknown.Soundsabitofawildgoosechase,ifyouaskme,oldboy.”Headdeddisapprovingly,“Youdon’tseemreallytoknowanything!”
III
At4:15thatafternoonPoirotsatinMrs.Oliver’sdrawingroomsippingappreciativelyatalargecupofchocolatetoppedwithfoamingwhippedcreamwhichhishostesshadjustplacedonasmalltablebesidehim.Sheaddedasmallplatefulloflanguedechatsbiscuits.
“ChèreMadame,whatkindness.”HelookedoverhiscupwithfaintsurpriseatMrs.Oliver’scoiffureandalsoathernewwallpaper.Bothwerenewtohim.ThelasttimehehadseenMrs.Oliver,herhairstylehadbeenplainandsevere.Itnowdisplayedarichnessofcoilsandtwistsarrangedinintricatepatternsalloverherhead.Itsprolificluxurywas,hesuspected,largelyartificial.HedebatedinhismindhowmanyswitchesofhairmightunexpectedlyfalloffifMrs.Oliverwastogetsuddenlyexcited,aswasherwont.Asforthewallpaper….
“Thesecherries—theyarenew?”hewavedateaspoon.Itwas,hefelt,ratherlikebeinginacherryorchard.
“Aretheretoomanyofthem,doyouthink?”saidMrs.Oliver.“Sohardtotellbeforehandwithwallpaper.Doyouthinkmyoldonewasbetter?”
Poirotcasthismindbackdimlytowhatheseemedtorememberaslargequantitiesofbrightcolouredtropicalbirdsinaforest.Hefeltinclinedtoremark“Plus?achange,plusc’estlamêmechose,”butrestrainedhimself.
“Andnow,”saidMrs.Oliver,asherguestfinallyreplacedhiscuponitssaucerandsatbackwithasighofsatisfaction,wipingremnantsoffoamingcreamfromhismoustache,“whatisallthisabout?”
“ThatIcantellyouverysimply.Thismorningagirlcametoseeme.Isuggestedshemightmakeanappointment.Onehasone’sroutine,youcomprehend.Shesentbackwordthatshewantedtoseemeatoncebecauseshethoughtshemighthavecommittedamurder.”
“Whatanoddthingtosay.Didn’tsheknow?”
“Precisely!C’estinou?!soIinstructedGeorgetoshowherin.Shestoodthere!Sherefusedtositdown.Shejuststoodtherestaringatme.Sheseemedquitehalf-witted.Itriedtoencourageher.Thensuddenlyshesaidthatshe’dchangedhermind.Shesaidshedidn’twanttoberudebutthat—(whatdoyouthink?)—butthatIwastooold.…”
Mrs.Oliverhastenedtouttersoothingwords.“Ohwell,girlsarelikethat.Anyoneoverthirty-fivetheythinkishalfdead.They’venosense,girls,youmustrealisethat.”
“Itwoundedme,”saidHerculePoirot.
“Well,Ishouldn’tworryaboutit,ifIwereyou.Ofcourseitwasaveryrudethingtosay.”
“Thatdoesnotmatter.Anditisnotonlymyfeelings.Iamworried.Yes,Iamworried.”
“Well,IshouldforgetallaboutitifIwereyou,”advisedMrs.Olivercomfortably.
“Youdonotunderstand.Iamworriedaboutthisgirl.Shecametomeforhelp.ThenshedecidedthatIwastooold.Toooldtobeofanyusetoher.Shewaswrongofcourse,thatgoeswithoutsaying,andthenshejustranaway.ButItellyouthatgirlneedshelp.”
“Idon’tsupposeshedoesreally,”saidMrs.Oliversoothingly.“Girlsmakeafussaboutthings.”
“No.Youarewrong.Sheneedshelp.”
“Youdon’tthinkshereallyhascommittedamurder?”
“Whynot?Shesaidshehad.”
“Yes,but—”Mrs.Oliverstopped.“Shesaidshemighthave,”shesaidslowly.“Butwhatcanshepossiblymeanbythat?”
“Exactly.Itdoesnotmakesense.”
“Whodidshemurderordidshethinkshemurdered?”
Poirotshruggedhisshoulders.
“Andwhydidshemurdersomeone?”
AgainPoirotshruggedhisshoulders.
“Ofcourseitcouldbeallsortsofthings.”Mrs.Oliverbegantobrightenasshesethereverprolificimaginationtowork.“Shecouldhaverunoversomeoneinhercarandnotstopped.Shecouldhavebeenassaultedbyamanonacliffandstruggledwithhimandmanagedtopushhimover.Shecouldhavegivensomeonethewrongmedicinebymistake.Shecouldhavegonetooneofthosepurplepillpartiesandhadafightwithsomeone.Shecouldhavecometoandfoundshehadstabbedsomeone.She—”
“Assez,madame,assez!”
ButMrs.Oliverwaswellaway.
“Shemighthavebeenanurseintheoperatingtheatreandadministeredthewronganaestheticor—”shebrokeoff,suddenlyanxiousforclearerdetails.“Whatdidshelooklike?”
Poirotconsideredforamoment.
“AnOpheliadevoidofphysicalattraction.”
“Ohdear,”saidMrs.Oliver.“Icanalmostseeherwhenyousaythat.Howqueer.”
“Sheisnotcompetent,”saidPoirot.“ThatishowIseeher.Sheisnotonewhocancopewithdifficulties.Sheisnotoneofthosewhocanseebeforehandthedangersthatmustcome.Sheisoneofwhomotherswilllookroundandsay‘wewantavictim.Thatonewilldo.’”
ButMrs.Oliverwasnolongerlistening.ShewasclutchingherrichcoilsofhairwithbothhandsinagesturewithwhichPoirotwasfamiliar.
“Wait,”shecriedinakindofagony.“Wait!”
Poirotwaited,hiseyebrowsraised.
“Youdidn’ttellmehername,”saidMrs.Oliver.
“Shedidnotgiveit.Unfortunate,Iagreewithyou.”
“Wait!”imploredMrs.Oliver,againwiththesameagony.Sherelaxedhergriponherheadandutteredadeepsigh.Hairdetacheditselffromitsbondsandtumbledoverhershoulders,asuperimperialcoilofhairdetacheditselfcompletelyandfellonthefloor.Poirotpickeditupandputitdiscreetlyonthetable.
“Nowthen,”saidMrs.Oliver,suddenlyrestoredtocalm.Shepushedinahairpinortwo,andnoddedherheadwhileshethought.“Whotoldthisgirlaboutyou,M.Poirot?”
“Noone,sofarasIknow.Naturally,shehadheardaboutme,nodoubt.”
Mrs.Oliverthoughtthat“naturally”wasnotthewordatall.WhatwasnaturalwasthatPoirothimselfwassurethateveryonehadalwaysheardofhim.ActuallylargenumbersofpeoplewouldonlylookatyoublanklyifthenameofHerculePoirotwasmentioned,especiallytheyoungergeneration.“ButhowamIgoingtoputthattohim,”thoughtMrs.Oliver,“insuchawaythatitwon’thurthisfeelings?”
“Ithinkyou’rewrong,”shesaid.“Girls—well,girlsandyoungmen—theydon’tknowverymuchaboutdetectivesandthingslikethat.Theydon’thearaboutthem.”
“EveryonemusthaveheardaboutHerculePoirot,”saidPoirot,superbly.
ItwasanarticleofbeliefforHerculePoirot.
“Buttheyareallsobadlyeducatednowadays,”saidMrs.Oliver.“Really,theonlypeoplewhosenamestheyknowarepopsingers,orgroups,ordiscjockeys—thatsortofthing.Ifyouneedsomeonespecial,Imeanadoctororadetectiveoradentist—well,then,Imeanyouwouldasksomeone—askwho’stherightpersontogoto?Andthentheotherpersonsays—‘Mydear,youmustgotothatabsolutelywonderfulmaninQueenAnne’sStreet,twistsyourlegsthreetimesroundyourheadandyou’recured,’or‘Allmydiamondswerestolen,andHenrywouldhavebeenfurious,soIcouldn’tgotothepolice,butthere’sasimplyuncannydetective,mostdiscreet,andhegotthembackformeandHenryneverknewathing.’—That’sthewayithappensallthetime.Someonesentthatgirltoyou.”
“Idoubtitverymuch.”
“Youwouldn’tknowuntilyouweretold.Andyou’regoingtobetoldnow.It’sonlyjustcometome.Isentthatgirltoyou.”
Poirotstared.“You?Butwhydidyounotsaysoatonce?”
“Becauseit’sonlyjustcometome—whenyouspokeaboutOphelia—longwet-lookinghair,andratherplain.ItseemedadescriptionofsomeoneI’dactuallyseen.Quitelately.Andthenitcametomewhoitwas.”
“Whoisshe?”
“Idon’tactuallyknowhername,butIcaneasilyfindout.Weweretalking—aboutprivatedetectivesandprivateeyes—andIspokeaboutyouandsomeoftheamazingthingsyouhaddone.”
“Andyougavehermyaddress?”
“No,ofcourseIdidn’t.I’dnoideashewantedadetectiveoranythinglikethat.Ithoughtwewerejusttalking.ButI’dmentionedthenameseveraltimes,andofcourseitwouldbeeasytolookyouupinthetelephonebookandjustcomealong.”
“Wereyoutalkingaboutmurder?”
“NotthatIcanremember.Idon’tevenknowhowwecametobetalkingaboutdetectives—unless,yes,perhapsitwasshewhostartedthesubject….”
“Tellmethen,tellmeallyoucan—evenifyoudonotknowhername,tellmeallyouknowabouther.”
“Well,itwaslastweekend.IwasstayingwiththeLorrimers.Theydon’tcomeintoitexceptthattheytookmeovertosomefriendsoftheirsfordrinks.Therewereseveralpeoplethere—andIdidn’tenjoymyselfmuchbecause,asyouknow,Idon’treallylikedrink,andsopeoplehavetofindasoftdrinkformewhichisratheraboreforthem.Andthenpeoplesaythingstome—youknow—howmuchtheylikemybooks,andhowthey’vebeenlongingtomeetme—anditallmakesmefeelhotandbotheredandrathersilly.ButImanagetocopemoreorless.AndtheysayhowmuchtheylovemyawfuldetectiveSvenHjerson.IftheyknewhowIhatedhim!ButmypublisheralwayssaysI’mnottosayso.Anyway,Isupposethetalkaboutdetectivesinreallifegrewoutofallthat,andItalkedabitaboutyou,andthisgirlwasstandingaroundlistening.WhenyousaidanunattractiveOpheliaitclickedsomehow.Ithought:‘Nowwhodoesthatremindmeof?’Andthenitcametome:‘Ofcourse.Thegirlatthepartythatday.’IratherthinkshebelongedthereunlessI’mconfusingherwithsomeothergirl.”
Poirotsighed.WithMrs.Oliveronealwaysneededalotofpatience.
“Whowerethesepeoplewithwhomyouwenttohavedrinks?”
“Trefusis,Ithink,unlessitwasTreherne.Thatsortofname—he’satycoon.Rich.SomethingintheCity,buthe’sspentmostofhislifeinSouthAfrica—”
“Hehasawife?”
“Yes.Verygood-lookingwoman.Muchyoungerthanheis.Lotsofgoldenhair.Secondwife.Thedaughterwasthefirstwife’sdaughter.Thentherewasanuncleofincredibleantiquity.Ratherdeaf.He’sfrightfullydistinguished—stringsoflettersafterhisname.Anadmiraloranairmarshalorsomething.He’sanastronomertoo,Ithink.Anyway,he’sgotakindofbigtelescopestickingoutoftheroof.ThoughIsupposethatmightbejustahobby.Therewasaforeigngirlthere,too,whosortoftrotsaboutaftertheoldboy.GoesuptoLondonwithhim,Ibelieve,andseeshedoesn’tgetrunover.Ratherpretty,shewas.”
PoirotsortedouttheinformationMrs.Oliverhadsuppliedhimwith,feelingratherlikeahumancomputer.
“TherelivestheninthehouseMr.andMrs.Trefusis—”
“It’snotTrefusis—Iremembernow—It’sRestarick.”
“Thatisnotatallthesametypeofname.”
“Yesitis.It’saCornishname,isn’tit?”
“Therelivestherethen,Mr.andMrs.Restarick,thedistinguishedelderlyuncle.IshisnameRestaricktoo?”
“It’sSirRodericksomething.”
“Andthereistheaupairgirl,orwhateversheis,andadaughter—anymorechildren?”
“Idon’tthinkso—butIdon’treallyknow.Thedaughterdoesn’tliveathome,bytheway.Shewasonlydownfortheweekend.Doesn’tgetonwiththestepmother,Iexpect.She’sgotajobinLondon,andshe’spickedupwithaboyfriendtheydon’tmuchlike,soIunderstand.”
“Youseemtoknowquitealotaboutthefamily.”
“Ohwell,onepicksthingsup.TheLorrimersaregreattalkers.Alwayschatteringaboutsomeoneorother.Onehearsalotofgossipaboutthepeopleallaround.Sometimes,though,onegetsthemmixedup.Iprobablyhave.IwishIcouldrememberthatgirl’sChristianname.Somethingconnectedwithasong…Thora?Speaktome,Thora.Thora,Thora.Somethinglikethat,orMyra?Myra,ohMyramyloveisallforthee.Somethinglikethat.IdreamtIdweltinmarblehalls.Norma?OrdoImeanMaritana?Norma—NormaRestarick.That’sright,I’msure.”Sheaddedinconsequently,“She’sathirdgirl.”
“Ithoughtyousaidyouthoughtshewasanonlychild.”
“Sosheis—orIthinkso.”
“Thenwhatdoyoumeanbysayingsheisthethirdgirl?”
“Goodgracious,don’tyouknowwhatathirdgirlis?Don’tyoureadTheTimes?”
“Ireadthebirths,deaths,andmarriages.AndsucharticlesasIfindofinterest.”
“No,Imeanthefrontadvertisementpage.Onlyitisn’tinthefrontnow.SoI’mthinkingoftakingsomeotherpaper.ButI’llshowyou.”
ShewenttoasidetableandsnatchedupTheTimes,turnedthepagesoverandbroughtittohim.“Hereyouare—look.‘THIRDGIRLforcomfortablesecondfloorflat,ownroom,centralheating,Earl’sCourt.’‘Thirdgirlwantedtoshareflat.5gns.weekownroom.’‘4thgirlwanted.Regent’spark.Ownroom.’It’sthewaygirlslikelivingnow.BetterthanPGsorahostel.Themaingirltakesafurnishedflat,andthensharesouttherent.Secondgirlisusuallyafriend.Thentheyfindathirdgirlbyadvertisingiftheydon’tknowone.And,asyousee,veryoftentheymanagetosqueezeinafourthgirl.Firstgirltakesthebestroom,secondgirlpaysratherless,thirdgirllessstillandisstuckinacat-hole.Theyfixitamongthemselveswhichonehastheflattoherselfwhichnightaweek—orsomethinglikethat.Itworksreasonablywell.”
“AndwheredoesthisgirlwhosenamemightjustpossiblybeNormaliveinLondon?”
“AsI’vetoldyouIdon’treallyknowanythingabouther.”
“Butyoucouldfindout?”
“Ohyes,Iexpectthatwouldbequiteeasy.”
“Youaresuretherewasnotalk,nomentionofanunexpecteddeath?”
“DoyoumeanadeathinLondon—orattheRestaricks’home?”
“Either.”
“Idon’tthinkso.ShallIseewhatIcanrakeup?”
Mrs.Oliver’seyessparkledwithexcitement.Shewasbynowenteringintothespiritofthething.
“Thatwouldbeverykind.”
“I’llringuptheLorrimers.Actuallynowwouldbequiteagoodtime.”Shewenttowardsthetelephone.“Ishallhavetothinkofreasonsandthings—perhapsinventthings?”
ShelookedtowardsPoirotratherdoubtfully.
“Butnaturally.Thatisunderstood.Youareawomanofimagination—youwillhavenodifficulty.But—nottoofantastic,youunderstand.Moderation.”
Mrs.Oliverflashedhimanunderstandingglance.
Shedialledandaskedforthenumbershewanted.Turningherhead,shehissed:“Haveyougotapencilandpaper—oranotebook—somethingtowritedownnamesoraddressesorplaces?”
Poirothadalreadyhisnotebookarrangedbyhiselbowandnoddedhisheadreassuringly.
Mrs.Oliverturnedbacktothereceiversheheldandlaunchedherselfintospeech.Poirotlistenedattentivelytoonesideofatelephoneconversation.
“Hallo.CanIspeakto—Oh,it’syou,Naomi.AriadneOliverhere.Oh,yes—well,itwasratheracrowd…Oh,youmeantheoldboy?…No,youknowIdon’t…Practicallyblind?…IthoughthewasgoinguptoLondonwiththelittleforeigngirl…Yes,itmustberatherworryingforthemsometimes—butsheseemstomanagehimquitewell…OneofthethingsIrangupforwastoaskyouwhatthegirl’saddresswas—No,theRestarickgirl,Imean—somewhereinSouthKen,isn’tit?OrwasitKnightsbridge?Well,IpromisedherabookandIwrotedowntheaddress,butofcourseI’velostitasusual.Ican’tevenrememberhername.IsitThoraorNorma?…Yes,IthoughtitwasNorma:…Waitaminute,I’llgetapencil…Yes,I’mready…67BorodeneMansions…Iknow—thatgreatblockthatlooksratherlikeWormwoodScrubsprison…Yes,Ibelievetheflatsareverycomfortablewithcentralheatingandeverything…Whoaretheothertwogirlssheliveswith?…Friendsofhers?…oradvertisements?…ClaudiaReece-Holland…herfather’stheMP,ishe?Who’stheotherone?…No,Isupposeyouwouldn’tknow—she’squitenice,too,Isuppose…Whatdotheyalldo?Theyalwaysseemtobesecretaries,don’tthey?…Oh,theothergirl’saninteriordecorator—youthink—ortodowithanartgallery—No,Naomi,ofcourseIdon’treallywanttoknow—onejustwonders—whatdoallthegirlsdonowadays?—well,it’susefulformetoknowbecauseofmybooks—onewantstokeepuptodate…Whatwasityoutoldmeaboutsomeboyfriend…Yes,butone’ssohelpless,isn’tone?Imeangirlsdojustexactlyastheylike…doeshelookveryawful?Ishetheunshavendirtykind?Oh,thatkind—Brocadewaistcoats,andlongcurlingchestnuthair—lyingonhisshoulders—yes,sohardtotellwhetherthey’regirlsorboys,isn’tit?—Yes,theydolooklikeVandykessometimesifthey’regood-looking…Whatdidyousay?ThatAndrewRestaricksimplyhateshim?…Yes,menusuallydo…MaryRestarick?…Well,Isupposeyoudousuallyhaverowswithastepmother.IexpectshewasquitethankfulwhenthegirlgotajobinLondon.Whatdoyoumeanaboutpeoplesayingthings…Why,couldn’ttheyfindoutwhatwasthematterwithher?…Whosaid?…Yes,butwhatdidtheyhushup?…Oh—anurse?—talkedtotheJenners’governess?Doyoumeanherhusband?Oh,Isee—Thedoctorscouldn’tfindout…No,butpeoplearesoill-natured.Idoagreewithyou.Thesethingsareusuallyquiteuntrue…Oh,gastric,wasit?…Buthowridiculous.Doyoumeanpeoplesaidwhat’shisname—Andrew—Youmeanitwouldbeeasywithallthoseweedkillersabout—Yes,butwhy?…Imean,it’snotacaseofsomewifehe’shatedforyears—she’sthesecondwife—andmuchyoungerthanheisandgood-looking…Yes,Isupposethatcouldbe—butwhyshouldtheforeigngirlwanttoeither?…YoumeanshemighthaveresentedthingsthatMrs.Restaricksaidtoher…She’squiteanattractivelittlething—IsupposeAndrewmighthavetakenafancytoher—nothingseriousofcourse—butitmighthaveannoyedMary,andthenshemighthavepitchedintothegirland—”
Outofthecornerofhereye,Mrs.OliverperceivedPoirotsignallingwildlytoher.
“Justamoment,darling,”saidMrs.Oliverintothetelephone.“It’sthebaker.”Poirotlookedaffronted.“Hangon.”
Shelaiddownthereceiver,hurriedacrosstheroom,andbackedPoirotintoabreakfastnook.
“Yes,”shedemandedbreathlessly.
“Abaker,”saidPoirotwithscorn.“Me!”
“Well,Ihadtothinkofsomethingquickly.Whatwereyousignallingabout?Didyouunderstandwhatshe—”
Poirotcuthershort.
“Youshalltellmepresently.Iknowenough.WhatIwantyoutodois,withyourrapidpowersofimprovisation,toarrangesomeplausiblepretextformetovisittheRestaricks—anoldfriendofyours,shortlytobeintheneighbourhood.Perhapsyoucouldsay—”
“Leaveittome.I’llthinkofsomething.Shallyougiveafalsename?”
“Certainlynot.Letusatleasttrytokeepitsimple.”
Mrs.Olivernodded,andhurriedbacktotheabandonedtelephone.
“Naomi?Ican’trememberwhatweweresaying.Whydoessomethingalwayscometointerruptjustwhenonehassettleddowntoanicegossip?Ican’tevenremembernowwhatIrangyouupfortobeginwith—Ohyes—thatchildThora’saddress—Norma,Imean—andyougaveittome.ButtherewassomethingelseIwantedto—oh,Iremember.Anoldfriendofmine.Amostfascinatinglittleman.ActuallyIwastalkingabouthimtheotherdaydownthere.HerculePoirothisnameis.He’sgoingtobestayingquiteclosetotheRestaricksandheismosttremendouslyanxioustomeetoldSirRoderick.Heknowsalotabouthimandhasaterrificadmirationforhim,andforsomewonderfuldiscoveryofhisinthewar—orsomescientificthinghedid—anyway,heisveryanxiousto‘calluponhimandpresenthisrespects,’that’showheputit.Willthatbeallright,doyouthink?Willyouwarnthem?Yes,he’llprobablyjustturnupoutoftheblue.Tellthemtomakehimtellthemsomewonderfulespionagestories…He—what?Oh!yourmowers?Yes,ofcourseyoumustgo.Good-bye.”
Sheputbackthereceiverandsankdowninanarmchair.“Goodness,howexhausting.Wasthatallright?”
“Notbad,”saidPoirot.
“IthoughtI’dbetterpinitalltotheoldboy.Thenyou’llgettoseethelotwhichIsupposeiswhatyouwant.Andonecanalwaysbevagueaboutscientificsubjectsifoneisawoman,andyoucanthinkupsomethingmoredefinitethatsoundsprobablebythetimeyouarrive.Now,doyouwanttohearwhatshewastellingme?”
“Therehasbeengossip,Igather.AboutthehealthofMrs.Restarick?”
“That’sit.Itseemsshehadsomekindofmysteriousillness—gastricinnature—andthedoctorswerepuzzled.Theysentherintohospitalandshegotquiteallright,buttheredidn’tseemanyrealcausetoaccountforit.Andshewenthome,anditallbegantostartagain—andagainthedoctorswerepuzzled.Andthenpeoplebegantotalk.Aratherirresponsiblenursestarteditandhersistertoldaneighbour,andtheneighbourwentoutondailyworkandtoldsomeoneelse,andhowqueeritallwas.Andthenpeoplebegansayingthatherhusbandmustbetryingtopoisonher.Thesortofthingpeoplealwayssay—butinthiscaseitreallydidn’tseemtomakesense.AndthenNaomiandIaupairgirl,she’sakindofsecretarycompaniontotheoldboy—soreallythereisn’tanykindofreasonwhysheshouldadministerweedkillertoMrs.Restarick.”
“Iheardyousuggestingafew.”
“Well,thereisusuallysomethingpossible.…”
“Murderdesired…”saidPoirotthoughtfully…“Butnotyetcommitted.”
Three
Mrs.OliverdroveintotheinnercourtofBorodeneMansions.Thereweresixcarsfillingtheparkingspace.AsMrs.Oliverhesitated,oneofthecarsreversedoutanddroveaway.Mrs.Oliverhurriedneatlyintothevacantspace.
Shedescended,bangedthedoorandstoodlookinguptothesky.Itwasarecentblock,occupyingaspaceleftbythehavocofalandmineinthelastwar.Itmight,Mrs.Oliverthought,havebeenliftedenblocfromtheGreatWestRoadand,firstdeprivedofsomesuchlegendasSKYLARK’SFEATHERRAZORBLADES,havebeendepositedasablockofflatsinsitu.Itlookedextremelyfunctionalandwhoeverhadbuiltithadobviouslyscornedanyornamentaladditions.
Itwasabusytime.Carsandpeopleweregoinginandoutofthecourtyardastheday’sworkcametoaclose.
Mrs.Oliverglanceddownatherwrist.Tenminutestoseven.Abouttherighttime,asfarasshecouldjudge.Thekindoftimewhengirlsinjobsmightbepresumedtohavereturned,eithertorenewtheirmakeup,changetheirclothestotightexoticpantsorwhatevertheirparticularaddictionwas,andgooutagain,orelsetosettledowntohomelifeandwashtheirsmallsandtheirstockings.Anyway,quiteasensibletimetotry.Theblockwasexactlythesameontheeastandthewest,withbigswingdoorssetinthecentre.Mrs.Oliverchosetheleft-handsidebutimmediatelyfoundthatshewaswrong.Allthissidewasnumbersfrom100to200.Shecrossedovertotheotherside.
No.67wasonthesixthfloor.Mrs.Oliverpressedthebuttonofthelift.Thedoorsopenedlikeayawningmouthwithamenacingclash.Mrs.Oliverhurriedintotheyawningcavern.Shewasalwaysafraidofmodernlifts.
Crash.Thedoorscametoagain.Theliftwentup.Itstoppedalmostimmediately(thatwasfrighteningtoo!).Mrs.Oliverscuttledoutlikeafrightenedrabbit.
Shelookedupatthewallandwentalongtheright-handpassage.Shecametoadoormarked67inmetalnumbersaffixedtothecentreofthedoor.Thenumeral7detacheditselfandfellonherfeetasshearrived.
“Thisplacedoesn’tlikeme,”saidMrs.Olivertoherselfasshewincedwithpainandpickedthenumberupgingerlyandaffixeditbyitsspiketothedooragain.
Shepressedthebell.Perhapseveryonewasout.
However,thedooropenedalmostatonce.Atallhandsomegirlstoodinthedoorway.Shewaswearingadarkwell-cutsuitwithaveryshortskirt,awhitesilkshirt,andwasverywellshod.Shehadswept-updarkhair,goodbutdiscreetmakeup,andforsomereasonwasslightlyalarmingtoMrs.Oliver.
“Oh,”saidMrs.Oliver,galvanizingherselftosaytherightthing.“IsMissRestarickin,byanychance?”
“No,I’msorry,she’sout.CanIgiveheramessage?”
Mrs.Oliversaid,“Oh”again—beforeproceeding.Shemadeaplayofactionbyproducingaparcelratheruntidilydoneupinbrownpaper.“Ipromisedherabook,”sheexplained.“Oneofminethatshehadn’tread.IhopeI’verememberedactuallywhichitwas.Shewon’tbeinsoon,Isuppose?”
“Ireallycouldn’tsay.Idon’tknowwhatsheisdoingtonight.”
“Oh.AreyouMissReece-Holland?”
Thegirllookedslightlysurprised.
“Yes,Iam.”
“I’vemetyourfather,”saidMrs.Oliver.Shewenton,“I’mMrs.Oliver.Iwritebooks,”sheaddedintheusualguiltystyleinwhichsheinvariablymadesuchanannouncement.
“Won’tyoucomein?”
Mrs.Oliveracceptedtheinvitation,andClaudiaReece-Hollandledherintoasittingroom.Alltheroomsoftheflatswerepaperedthesamewithanartificialrawwoodpattern.Tenantscouldthendisplaytheirmodernpicturesorapplyanyformsofdecorationtheyfancied.Therewasafoundationofmodernbuilt-infurniture,cupboard,bookshelvesandsoon,alargesetteeandapullouttypeoftable.Personalbitsandpiecescouldbeaddedbythetenants.TherewerealsosignsofindividualitydisplayedherebyagiganticHarlequinpastedononewall,andastencilofamonkeyswingingfrombranchesofpalmfrondsonanotherwall.
“I’msureNormawillbethrilledtogetyourbook,Mrs.Oliver.Won’tyouhaveadrink?Sherry?Gin?”
Thisgirlhadthebriskmannerofareallygoodsecretary.Mrs.Oliverrefused
“You’vegotasplendidviewuphere,”shesaid,lookingoutofthewindowandblinkingalittleasshegotthesettingsunstraightinhereyes.
“Yes.Notsofunnywhentheliftgoesoutoforder.”
“Ishouldn’thavethoughtthatliftwoulddaretogooutoforder.It’sso—so—robot-like.”
“Recentlyinstalled,butnonethebetterforthat,”saidClaudia.“Itneedsfrequentadjustingandallthat.”
Anothergirlcamein,talkingassheentered.
“Claudia,haveyouanyideawhereIput—”
Shestopped,lookingatMrs.Oliver.
Claudiamadeaquickintroduction.
“FrancesCary—Mrs.Oliver.Mrs.AriadneOliver.”
“Oh,howexciting,”saidFrances.
Shewasatallwillowygirl,withlongblackhair,aheavilymadeupdead-whiteface,andeyebrowsandeyelashesslightlyslantedupwards—theeffectheightenedbymascara.Sheworetightvelvetpantsandaheavysweater.ShewasacompletecontrasttothebriskandefficientClaudia.
“IbroughtabookI’dpromisedNormaRestarick,”saidMrs.Oliver.
“Oh!—whatapityshe’sstillinthecountry.”
“Hasn’tshecomeback?”
Therewasquitedefinitelyapause.Mrs.Oliverthoughtthetwogirlsexchangedaglance.
“IthoughtshehadajobinLondon,”saidMrs.Oliver,endeavouringtoconveyinnocentsurprise.
“Ohyes,”saidClaudia.“She’sinaninteriordecoratingplace.She’ssentdownwithpatternsoccasionallytoplacesinthecountry.”Shesmiled.“Weliveratherseparateliveshere,”sheexplained.“Comeandgoaswelike—anddon’tusuallybothertoleavemessages.ButIwon’tforgettogiveheryourbookwhenshedoesgetback.”
Nothingcouldhavebeeneasierthanthecasualexplanation.
Mrs.Oliverrose.“Well,thankyouverymuch.”
Claudiaaccompaniedhertothedoor.“IshalltellmyfatherI’vemetyou,”shesaid.“He’sagreatreaderofdetectivestories.”
Closingthedoorshewentbackintothesittingroom.
ThegirlFranceswasleaningagainstthewindow.
“Sorry,”shesaid.“DidIboob?”
“I’djustsaidthatNormawasout.”
Francesshruggedhershoulders.
“Icouldn’ttell.Claudia,whereisthatgirl?Whydidn’tshecomebackonMonday?Wherehasshegone?”
“Ican’timagine.”
“Shedidn’tstayondownwithherpeople?That’swhereshewentfortheweekend.”
“No.Irangup,actually,tofindout.”
“Isupposeitdoesn’treallymatter…Allthesame,sheis—well,there’ssomethingqueerabouther.”
“She’snotreallyqueererthananyoneelse.”Buttheopinionsoundeduncertain.
“Ohyes,sheis,”saidFrances.“Sometimesshegivesmetheshivers.She’snotnormal,youknow.”
Shelaughedsuddenly.
“Normaisn’tnormal!Youknowsheisn’t,Claudia,althoughyouwon’tadmitit.Loyaltytoyouremployer,Isuppose.”
Four
HerculePoirotwalkedalongthemainstreetofLongBasing.Thatis,ifyoucandescribeasamainstreetastreetthatistoallintentsandpurposestheonlystreet,whichwasthecaseinLongBasing.Itwasoneofthosevillagesthatexhibitatendencytolengthwithoutbreadth.Ithadanimpressivechurchwithatalltowerandayewtreeofelderlydignityinitschurchyard.Ithaditsfullquotaofvillageshopsdisclosingmuchvariety.Ithadtwoantiqueshops,onemostlyconsistingofstrippedpinechimneypieces,theotherdisclosingafullhouseofpiledupancientmaps,agooddealofporcelain,mostofitchipped,someworm-eatenoldoakchests,shelvesofglass,someVictoriansilver,allsomewhathamperedindisplaybylackofspace.Thereweretwocafés,bothrathernasty,therewasabasketshop,quitedelightful,withalargevarietyofhomemadewares,therewasapostoffice-cum-greengrocer,therewasadraper’swhichdealtlargelyinmillineryandalsoashoedepartmentforchildrenandalargemiscellaneousselectionofhaberdasheryofallkinds.Therewasastationeryandnewspapershopwhichalsodealtintobaccoandsweets.Therewasawoolshopwhichwasclearlythearistocratoftheplace.Twowhite-hairedseverewomenwereinchargeofshelvesandshelvesofknittingmaterialsofeverydescription.Alsolargequantitiesofdressmakingpatternsandknittingpatternsandwhichbranchedoffintoacounterforartneedlework.Whathadlatelybeenthelocalgrocer’shadnowblossomedintocallingitself“asupermarket”completewithstacksofwirebasketsandpackagedmaterialsofeverycerealandcleaningmaterial,allindazzlingpaperboxes.AndtherewasasmallestablishmentwithonesmallwindowwithLillahwrittenacrossitinfancyletters,afashiondisplayofoneFrenchblouse,labelled“Latestchic,”andanavyskirtandapurplestripedjumperlabelled“separates.”Theseweredisplayedbybeingflungdownasbyacarelesshandinthewindow.
AllofthisPoirotobservedwithadetachedinterest.Alsocontainedwithinthelimitsofthevillageandfacingonthestreetwereseveralsmallhouses,old-fashionedinstyle,sometimesretainingGeorgianpurity,moreoftenshowingsomesignsofVictorianimprovement,asaveranda,bowwindow,orasmallconservatory.Oneortwohouseshadhadacompleteface-liftandshowedsignsofclaimingtobenewandproudofit.Therewerealsosomedelightfulanddecrepitold-worldcottages,somepretendingtobeahundredorsoyearsolderthantheywere,otherscompletelygenuine,anyaddedcomfortsofplumbingorsuchbeingcarefullyhiddenfromanycasualglance.
Poirotwalkedgentlyalongdigestingallthathesaw.Ifhisimpatientfriend,Mrs.Oliver,hadbeenwithhim,shewouldhaveimmediatelydemandedwhyhewaswastingtime,asthehousetowhichhewasboundwasaquarterofamilebeyondthevillagelimits.Poirotwouldhavetoldherthathewasabsorbingthelocalatmosphere;thatthesethingsweresometimesimportant.Attheendofthevillagetherecameanabrupttransition.Ononeside,setbackfromtheroad,wasarowofnewlybuiltcouncilhouses,astripofgreeninfrontofthemandagaynotesetbyeachhousehavingbeengivenadifferentcolouredfrontdoor.Beyondthecouncilhousestheswayoffieldsandhedgesresumeditscourseinterspersednowandthenbytheoccasional“desirableresidences”ofahouseagent’slist,withtheirowntreesandgardensandageneralairofreserveandofkeepingthemselvestothemselves.AheadofhimfartherdowntheroadPoirotdescriedahouse,thetopstoreyofwhichdisplayedanunusualnoteofbulbousconstruction.Somethinghadevidentlybeentackedonuptherenotsomanyyearsago.ThisnodoubtwastheMeccatowardswhichhisfeetwerebent.HearrivedatagatetowhichthenameplateCrosshedgeswasattached.Hesurveyedthehouse.Itwasaconventionalhousedatingperhapstothebeginningofthecentury.Itwasneitherbeautifulnorugly.Commonplacewasperhapsthewordtodescribeit.Thegardenwasmoreattractivethanthehouseandhadobviouslybeenthesubjectofagreatdealofcareandattentioninitstime,thoughithadbeenallowedtofallintodisarray.Itstillhadsmoothgreenlawns,plentyofflowerbeds,carefullyplantedareasofshrubstodisplayacertainlandscapeeffect.Itwasallingoodorder.Agardenerwascertainlyemployedinthisgarden,Poirotreflected.Apersonalinterestwasperhapsalsotaken,sincehenotedinacornernearthehouseawomanbendingoveroneoftheflowerbeds,tyingupdahlias,hethought.Herheadshowedasabrightcircleofpuregoldcolour.Shewastall,slimbutsquare-shouldered.Heunlatchedthegate,passedthroughandwalkeduptowardsthehouse.Thewomanturnedherheadandthenstraightenedherself,turningtowardshiminquiringly
Sheremainedstanding,waitingforhimtospeak,somegardentwinehangingfromherlefthand.Shelooked,henoted,puzzled.
“Yes?”shesaid.
Poirot,veryforeign,tookoffhishatwithaflourishandbowed.Hereyesrestedonhismoustacheswithakindoffascination.
“Mrs.Restarick?”
“Yes.I—”
“IhopeIdonotderangeyou,Madame.”
Afaintsmiletouchedherlips.“Notatall.Areyou—”
“Ihavepermittedmyselftopayavisitonyou.Afriendofmine,Mrs.AriadneOliver—”
“Oh,ofcourse.Iknowwhoyoumustbe.MonsieurPoiret.”
“MonsieurPoirot,”hecorrectedherwithanemphasisonthelastsyllable.“HerculePoirot,atyourservice.IwaspassingthroughthisneighbourhoodandIventuredtocalluponyouhereinthehopethatImightbeallowedtopaymyrespectstoSirRoderickHorsefield.”
“Yes.NaomiLorrimertoldusyoumightturnup.”
“Ihopeitisnotinconvenient?”
“Oh,itisnotinconvenientatall.AriadneOliverwasherelastweekend.ShecameoverwiththeLorrimers.Herbooksaremostamusing,aren’tthey?Butperhapsyoudon’tfinddetectivestoriesamusing.Youareadetectiveyourself,aren’tyou—arealone?”
“Iamallthatthereisofthemostreal,”saidHerculePoirot.
Henoticedthatsherepressedasmile.Hestudiedhermoreclosely.Shewashandsomeinaratherartificialfashion.Hergoldenhairwasstifflyarranged.Hewonderedwhethershemightnotatheartbesecretlyunsureofherself,whethershewerenotcarefullyplayingthepartoftheEnglishladyabsorbedinhergarden.Hewonderedalittlewhathersocialbackgroundmighthavebeen.
“Youhaveaveryfinegardenhere,”hesaid.
“Youlikegardens?”
“NotastheEnglishlikegardens.YouhaveforagardenaspecialtalentinEngland.Itmeanssomethingtoyouthatitdoesnottous.”
“ToFrenchpeople,youmean?Ohyes.IbelievethatMrs.OlivermentionedthatyouwereoncewiththeBelgianPoliceForce?”
“Thatisso.Me,IamanoldBelgianpolicedog.”Hegaveapolitelittlelaughandsaid,wavinghishands,“Butyourgardens,youEnglish,Iadmire.Isitatyourfeet!TheLatinraces,theyliketheformalgarden,thegardensofthechateau,theChateauofVersaillesinminiature,andalsoofcoursetheyinventedthepotager.Veryimportant,thepotager.HereinEnglandyouhavethepotager,butyougotitfromFranceandyoudonotloveyourpotagerasmuchasyouloveyourflowers.Hein?Thatisso?”
“Yes,Ithinkyouareright,”saidMaryRestarick.“Docomeintothehouse.Youcametoseemyuncle.”
“Icame,asyousay,topayhomagetoSirRoderick,butIpayhomagetoyoualso,Madame.AlwaysIpayhomagetobeautywhenImeetit.”Hebowed.
Shelaughedwithslightembarrassment.“Youmustn’tpaymesomanycompliments.”
SheledthewaythroughanopenFrenchwindowandhefollowedher.
“Iknewyouruncleslightlyin1944.”
“Poordear,he’sgettingquiteanoldmannow.He’sverydeaf,I’mafraid.”
“ItwaslongagothatIencounteredhim.Hewillprobablyhaveforgotten.Itwasamatterofespionageandofscientificdevelopmentsofacertaininvention.WeowedthatinventiontotheingenuityofSirRoderick.Hewillbewilling,Ihope,toreceiveme.”
“Oh,I’msurehe’llloveit,”saidMrs.Restarick.“Hehasratheradulllifeinsomewaysnowadays.IhavetobesomuchinLondon—wearelookingforasuitablehousethere.”Shesighedandsaid,“Elderlypeoplecanbeverydifficultsometimes.”
“Iknow,”saidPoirot.“FrequentlyI,too,amdifficult.”
Shelaughed.“Ahno,M.Poirot,comenow,youmustn’tpretendyou’reold.”
“SometimesIamtoldso,”saidPoirot.Hesighed.“Byyounggirls,”headdedmournfully.
“That’sveryunkindofthem.It’sprobablythesortofthingthatourdaughterwoulddo,”sheadded.
“Ah,youhaveadaughter?”
“Yes.Atleast,sheismystepdaughter.”
“Ishallhavemuchpleasureinmeetingher,”saidPoirotpolitely.
“Ohwell,I’mafraidsheisnothere.She’sinLondon.Sheworksthere.”
“Theyounggirls,theyalldojobsnowadays.”
“Everybody’ssupposedtodoajob,”saidMrs.Restarickvaguely.“Evenwhentheygetmarriedthey’realwaysbeingpersuadedbackintoindustryorbackintoteaching.”
“Havetheypersuadedyou,Madame,tocomebackintoanything?”
“No.IwasbroughtupinSouthAfrica.Ionlycameherewithmyhusbandashorttimeago—It’sall—ratherstrangetomestill.”
ShelookedroundherwithwhatPoirotjudgedtobeanabsenceofenthusiasm.Itwasahandsomelyfurnishedroomofaconventionaltype—withoutpersonality.Twolargeportraitshungonthewalls—theonlypersonaltouch.Thefirstwasthatofathinlippedwomaninagreyvelveteveningdress.Facingherontheoppositewallwasamanofaboutthirty-oddwithanairofrepressedenergyabouthim.
“Yourdaughter,Isuppose,findsitdullinthecountry?”
“Yes,itismuchbetterforhertobeinLondon.Shedoesn’tlikeithere.”Shepausedabruptly,andthenasthoughthelastwordswerealmostdraggedoutofher,shesaid,“—andshedoesn’tlikeme.”
“Impossible,”saidHerculePoirot,withGallicpoliteness.
“Notatallimpossible!Ohwell,Isupposeitoftenhappens.Isupposeit’shardforgirlstoacceptastepmother.”
“Wasyourdaughterveryfondofherownmother?”
“Isupposeshemusthavebeen.She’sadifficultgirl.Isupposemostgirlsare.”
Poirotsighedandsaid,“Mothersandfathershavemuchlesscontroloverdaughtersnowadays.Itisnotasitusedtobeintheoldgood-fashioneddays.”
“Noindeed.”
“Onedarenotsayso,Madame,butImustconfessIregretthattheyshowsoverylittlediscriminationinchoosingtheir—howdoyousayit?—theirboyfriends?”
“Normahasbeenagreatworrytoherfatherinthatway.However,Isupposeitisnogoodcomplaining.Peoplemustmaketheirownexperiments.ButImusttakeyouuptoUncleRoddy—hehashisownroomsupstairs.”
Sheledthewayoutoftheroom.Poirotlookedbackoverhisshoulder.Adullroom,aroomwithoutcharacter—exceptperhapsforthetwoportraits.Bythestyleofthewoman’sdress,Poirotjudgedthattheydatedfromsomeyearsback.IfthatwasthefirstMrs.Restarick,Poirotdidnotthinkthathewouldhavelikedher.
Hesaid,“Thosearefineportraits,Madame.”
“Yes.Lansbergerdidthem.”
Itwasthenameofafamousandexceedinglyexpensivefashionableportraitpainteroftwentyyearsago.Hismeticulousnaturalismhadnowgoneoutoffashion,andsincehisdeath,hewaslittlespokenof.Hissittersweresometimessneeringlyspokenofas“clothesprops,”butPoirotthoughttheywereagooddealmorethanthat.HesuspectedthattherewasacarefullyconcealedmockerybehindthesmoothexteriorsthatLansbergerexecutedsoeffortlessly.
MaryRestaricksaidasshewentupthestairsaheadofhim:
“Theyhavejustcomeoutofstorage—andbeencleanedupand—”
Shestoppedabruptly—comingtoadeadhalt,onehandonthestairrail.
Aboveher,afigurehadjustturnedthecornerofthestaircaseonitswaydown.Itwasafigurethatseemedstrangelyincongruous.Itmighthavebeensomeoneinfancydress,someonewhocertainlydidnotmatchwiththishouse.
HewasafigurefamiliarenoughtoPoirotindifferentconditions,afigureoftenmetinthestreetsofLondonorevenatparties.Arepresentativeoftheyouthoftoday.Heworeablackcoat,anelaboratevelvetwaistcoat,skintightpants,andrichcurlsofchestnuthairhungdownonhisneck.Helookedexoticandratherbeautiful,anditneededafewmomentstobecertainofhissex.
“David!”MaryRestarickspokesharply.“Whatonearthareyoudoinghere?”
Theyoungmanwasbynomeanstakenaback.“Startledyou?”heasked.“Sosorry.”
“Whatareyoudoinghere—inthishouse?You—haveyoucomedownherewithNorma?”
“Norma?No,Ihopedtofindherhere.”
“Findherhere—whatdoyoumean?She’sinLondon.”
“Oh,butmydear,sheisn’t.Atanyrate,she’snotat67BorodeneMansions.”
“Whatdoyoumean,sheisn’tthere?”
“Well,sinceshedidn’tcomebackthisweekend,Ithoughtshewasprobablyherewithyou.Icamedowntoseewhatshewasupto.”
“ShelefthereSundaynightasusual.”Sheaddedinanangryvoice,“Whydidn’tyouringthebellandletusknowyouwerehere?Whatareyoudoingroamingaboutthehouse?”
“Really,darling,youseemtobethinkingI’mgoingtopinchthespoonsorsomething.Surelyit’snaturaltowalkintoahouseinbroaddaylight.Whyevernot?”
“Well,we’reold-fashionedandwedon’tlikeit.”
“Ohdear,dear.”Davidsighed.“Thefusseveryonemakes.Well,mydear,ifI’mnotgoingtohaveawelcomeandyoudon’tseemtoknowwhereyourstepdaughteris,IsupposeI’dbetterbemovingalong.ShallIturnoutmypocketsbeforeIgo?”
“Don’tbeabsurd,David.”
“Ta-ta,then.”Theyoungmanpassedthem,wavedanairyhandandwentondownandoutthroughtheopenfrontdoor.
“Horriblecreature,”saidMaryRestarick,withasharpnessofrancourthatstartledPoirot.“Ican’tbearhim.Isimplycan’tstandhim.WhyisEnglandabsolutelyfullofthesepeoplenowadays?”
“Ah,Madame,donotdisquietyourself.Itisallaquestionoffashion.Therehavealwaysbeenfashions.Youseelessinthecountry,butinLondonyoumeetplentyofthem.”
“Dreadful,”saidMary.“Absolutelydreadful.Effeminate,exotic.”
“AndyetnotunlikeaVandykeportrait,doyounotthinkso,Madame?Inagoldframe,wearingalacecollar,youwouldnotthensayhewaseffeminateorexotic.”
“Daringtocomedownherelikethat.Andrewwouldhavebeenfurious.Itworrieshimdreadfully.Daughterscanbeveryworrying.It’snotevenasthoughAndrewknewNormawell.He’sbeenabroadsinceshewasachild.Heleftherentirelytohermothertobringup,andnowhefindsheracompletepuzzle.SodoIforthatmatter.Ican’thelpfeelingthatsheisaveryoddtypeofgirl.Onehasnokindofauthorityoverthemthesedays.Theyseemtoliketheworsttypeofyoungmen.She’sabsolutelyinfatuatedwiththisDavidBaker.Onecan’tdoanything.Andrewforbadehimthehouse,andlook,heturnsuphere,walksinascoolasacucumber.Ithink—IalmostthinkI’dbetternottellAndrew.Idon’twanthimtobeundulyworried.IbelieveshegoesaboutwiththiscreatureinLondon,andnotonlywithhim.Therearesomemuchworseoneseven.Thekindthatdon’twash,completelyunshavenfacesandfunnysproutingbeardsandgreasyclothes.”
Poirotsaidcheerfully,“Alas,Madame,youmustnotdistressyourself.Theindiscretionsofyouthpass.”
“Ihopeso,I’msure.Normaisaverydifficultgirl.SometimesIthinkshe’snotrightinthehead.She’ssopeculiar.Shereallylookssometimesasthoughsheisn’tallthere.Theseextraordinarydislikesshetakes—”
“Dislikes?”
“Shehatesme.Reallyhatesme.Idon’tseewhyit’snecessary.Isupposeshewasverydevotedtohermother,butafterallit’sonlyreasonablethatherfathershouldmarryagain,isn’tit?”
“Doyouthinkshereallyhatesyou?”
“Oh,Iknowshedoes.I’vehadampleproofofit.Ican’tsayhowrelievedIwaswhenshewentofftoLondon.Ididn’twanttomaketrouble—”Shestoppedsuddenly.Itwasasthoughforthefirsttimesherealisedthatshewastalkingtoastranger.
Poirothadthecapacitytoattractconfidences.Itwasasthoughwhenpeopleweretalkingtohimtheyhardlyrealisedwhoitwastheyweretalkingto.Shegaveashortlaughnow.
“Dearme,”shesaid,“Idon’treallyknowwhyI’msayingallthistoyou.Iexpecteveryfamilyhastheseproblems.Poorstepmothers,wehaveahardtimeofit.Ah,hereweare.”
Shetappedonadoor.
“Comein,comein.”
Itwasastentorianroar.
“Hereisavisitortoseeyou,Uncle,”saidMaryRestarick,asshewalkedintotheroom,Poirotbehindher.
Abroad-shouldered,square-faced,red-cheeked,irasciblelookingelderlymanhadbeenpacingthefloor.Hestumpedforwardtowardsthem.Atthetablebehindhimagirlwassittingsortinglettersandpapers.Herheadwasbentoverthem,asleek,darkhead.
“ThisisMonsieurHerculePoirot,UncleRoddy,”saidMaryRestarick.
Poirotsteppedforwardgracefullyintoactionandspeech.“Ah,SirRoderick,itismanyyears—manyyearssinceIhavehadthepleasureofmeetingyou.Wehavetogoback,sofarasthelastwar.Itwas,Ithink,inNormandythelasttime.HowwellIremember,therewastherealsoColonelRaceandtherewasGeneralAbercrombyandtherewasAir-MarshalSirEdmundCollingsby.Whatdecisionswehadtotake!Andwhatdifficultieswehadwithsecurity.Ah,nowadays,thereisnolongertheneedforsecrecy.Irecalltheunmaskingofthatsecretagentwhosucceededforsolong—yourememberCaptainHenderson.”
“Ah.CaptainHendersonindeed.Lord,thatdamnedswine!Unmasked!”
“Youmaynotrememberme,HerculePoirot.”
“Yes,yes,ofcourseIrememberyou.Ah,itwasacloseshavethat,acloseshave.YouweretheFrenchrepresentative,weren’tyou?Therewereoneortwoofthem,oneIcouldn’tgetonwith—can’trememberhisname.Ahwell,sitdown,sitdown.Nothinglikehavingachatoverolddays.”
“Ifearedsomuchthatyoumightnotremembermeormycolleague,MonsieurGiraud.”
“Yes,yes,ofcourseIrememberbothofyou.Ah,thosewerethedays,thosewerethedaysindeed.”
Thegirlatthetablegotup.ShemovedachairpolitelytowardsPoirot.
“That’sright,Sonia,that’sright,”saidSirRoderick.“Letmeintroduceyou,”hesaid,“tomycharminglittlesecretaryhere.Makesagreatdifferencetome.Helpsme,youknow,filesallmywork.Don’tknowhowIevergotonwithouther.”
Poirotbowedpolitely.“Enchanté,mademoiselle,”hemurmured.
Thegirlmurmuredsomethinginrejoinder.Shewasasmallcreaturewithblackbobbedhair.Shelookedshy.Herdarkblueeyeswereusuallymodestlycastdown,butshesmiledupsweetlyandshylyatheremployer.Hepattedherontheshoulder.
“Don’tknowwhatIshoulddowithouther,”hesaid.“Idon’treally.”
“Oh,no,”thegirlprotested.“Iamnotmuchgoodreally.Icannottypeveryfast.”
“Youtypequitefastenough,mydear.You’remymemory,too.Myeyesandmyearsandagreatmanyotherthings.”
Shesmiledagainathim.
“Oneremembers,”murmuredPoirot,“someoftheexcellentstoriesthatusedtogotheround.Idon’tknowiftheywereexaggeratedornot.Now,forinstance,thedaythatsomeonestoleyourcarand—”heproceededtofollowupthetale.
SirRoderickwasdelighted.“Ha,ha,ofcoursenow.Yes,indeed,well,bitofexaggeration,Iexpect.Butonthewhole,that’showitwas.Yes,yes,well,fancyyourrememberingthat,afterallthislongtime.ButIcouldtellyouabetteronethanthatnow.”Helaunchedforthintoanothertale.Poirotlistened,applauded.Finallyheglancedathiswatchandrosetohisfeet.
“ButImustdetainyounolonger,”hesaid.“Youareengaged,Icansee,inimportantwork.ItwasjustthatbeinginthisneighbourhoodIcouldnothelppayingmyrespects.Yearspass,butyou,Isee,havelostnoneofyourvigour,ofyourenjoymentoflife.”
“Well,well,perhapsyoumaysayso.Anyway,youmustn’tpaymetoomanycompliments—butsurelyyou’llstayandhavetea.I’msureMarywillgiveyousometea.”Helookedround.“Oh,she’sgoneaway.Nicegirl.”
“Yes,indeed,andveryhandsome.Iexpectshehasbeenagreatcomforttoyouformanyyears.”
“Oh!They’veonlymarriedrecently.She’smynephew’ssecondwife.I’llbefrankwithyou.I’venevercaredverymuchforthisnephewofmine,Andrew—notasteadychap.Alwaysrestless.HiselderbrotherSimonwasmyfavourite.NotthatIknewhimwell,either.AsforAndrew,hebehavedverybadlytohisfirstwife.Wentoff,youknow.Leftherhighanddry.Wentoffwithathoroughlybadlot.Everybodyknewabouther.Buthewasinfatuatedwithher.Thewholethingbrokeupinayearortwo:sillyfellow.Thegirlhe’smarriedseemsallright.NothingwrongwithherasfarasIknow.NowSimonwasasteadychap—damneddull,though.Ican’tsayIlikeditwhenmysistermarriedintothatfamily.Marryingintotrade,youknow.Rich,ofcourse,butmoneyisn’teverything—we’veusuallymarriedintotheServices.IneversawmuchoftheRestaricklot.”
“Theyhave,Ibelieve,adaughter.Afriendofminemetherlastweek.”
“Oh,Norma.Sillygirl.Goesaboutindreadfulclothesandhaspickedupwithadreadfulyoungman.Ahwell,they’reallalikenowadays.Long-hairedyoungfellows,beatniks,Beatles,allsortsofnamesthey’vegot.Ican’tkeepupwiththem.Practicallytalkaforeignlanguage.Still,nobodycarestohearanoldman’scriticisms,sothereweare.EvenMary—Ialwaysthoughtshewasagood,sensiblesort,butasfarasIcanseeshecanbethoroughlyhystericalinsomeways—mainlyaboutherhealth.Somefussaboutgoingtohospitalforobservationorsomething.Whataboutadrink?Whisky?No?Sureyouwon’tstopandhaveadropoftea?”
“Thankyou,butIamstayingwithfriends.”
“Well,ImustsayIhaveenjoyedthischatwithyouverymuch.Nicetoremembersomeofthethingsthathappenedintheolddays.Sonia,dear,perhapsyou’lltakeMonsieur—sorry,what’syourname,it’sgoneagain—ah,yes,Poirot.TakehimdowntoMary,willyou?”
“No,no,”HerculePoirothastilywavedasidetheoffer.“IcouldnotdreamoftroublingMadameanymore.Iamquiteallright.Quiteallright.Icanfindmywayperfectly.Ithasbeenagreatpleasuretomeetyouagain.”
Helefttheroom.
“Haven’tthefaintestideawhothatchapwas,”saidSirRoderick,afterPoirothadgone.
“Youdonotknowwhohewas?”Soniaasked,lookingathiminastartledmanner.
“PersonallyIdon’trememberwhohalfthepeoplearewhocomeupandtalktomenowadays.Ofcourse,Ihavetomakeagoodshotatit.Onelearnstogetawaywiththat,youknow.Samethingatparties.Upcomesachapandsays,‘Perhapsyoudon’trememberme.Ilastsawyouin1939.’Ihavetosay‘OfcourseIremember,’butIdon’t.It’sahandicapbeingnearlyblindanddeaf.Wegotpallywithalotoffrogslikethattowardstheendofthewar.Don’trememberhalfofthem.Oh,he’dbeenthereallright.HeknewmeandIknewagoodmanyofthechapshetalkedabout.Thatstoryaboutmeandthestolencar,thatwastrueenough.Exaggeratedabit,ofcourse,theymadeaprettygoodstoryofitatthetime.Ahwell,Idon’tthinkheknewIdidn’trememberhim.Cleverchap,Ishouldsay,butathoroughfrog,isn’the?Youknow,mincinganddancingandbowingandscraping.Nowthen,wherewerewe?”
Soniapickedupaletterandhandedittohim.Shetentativelyprofferedapairofspectacleswhichheimmediatelyrejected.
“Don’twantthosedamnedthings—Icanseeallright.”
Hescreweduphiseyesandpeereddownattheletterhewasholding.Thenhecapitulatedandthrustitbackintoherhands.
“Well,perhapsyou’dbetterreadittome.”
Shestartedreadingitinherclearsoftvoice.
Five
I
HerculePoirotstooduponthelandingforamoment.Hisheadwasalittleononesidewithalisteningair.Hecouldhearnothingfromdownstairs.Hecrossedtothelandingwindowandlookedout.MaryRestarickwasbelowontheterrace,resuminghergardeningwork.Poirotnoddedhisheadinsatisfaction.Hewalkedgentlyalongthecorridor.Onebyoneinturnheopenedthedoors.Abathroom,alinencupboard,adoublebeddedspareroom,anoccupiedsinglebedroom,awoman’sroomwithadoublebed(MaryRestarick’s?).Thenextdoorwasthatofanadjoiningroomandwas,heguessed,theroombelongingtoAndrewRestarick.Heturnedtotheothersideofthelanding.Thedoorheopenedfirstwas
Therewasawritingtablebuttherewasnothingonit.Heopenedthedeskdrawersverysoftly.Therewereafewoddsandends,aletterortwo,butthelettersweretrivialanddatedsometimeago.Heshutthedeskdrawers.Hewalkeddownstairs,andgoingoutofthehouse,badefarewelltohishostess.Herefusedherofferoftea.Hehadpromisedtogetback,hesaid,ashehadtocatchatraintotownveryshortlyafterwards.
“Don’tyouwantataxi?Wecouldorderyouone,orIcoulddriveyouinthecar.”
“No,no,Madame,youaretookind.”
Poirotwalkedbacktothevillageandturneddownthelanebythechurch.Hecrossedalittlebridgeoverastream.Presentlyhecametowherealargecarwithachauffeurwaswaitingdiscreetlyunderabeechtree.Thechauffeuropenedthedoorofthecar,Poirotgotinside,satdownandremovedhispatentleathershoes,utteringagaspofrelief.
“NowwereturntoLondon,”hesaid.
Thechauffeurclosedthedoor,returnedtohisseatandthecarpurredquietlyaway.Thesightofayoungmanstandingbytheroadsidefuriouslythumbingaridewasnotanunusualone.Poirot’seyesrestedalmostindifferentlyonthismemberofthefraternity,abrightlydressedyoungmanwithlongandexotichair.ThereweremanysuchbutinthemomentofpassinghimPoirotsuddenlysatuprightandaddressedthedriver.
“Ifyouplease,stop.Yes,andifyoucanreversealittle…Thereissomeonerequestingalift.”
Thechauffeurturnedanincredulouseyeoverhisshoulder.Itwasthelastremarkhewouldhaveexpected.However,Poirotwasgentlynoddinghishead,soheobeyed.
TheyoungmancalledDavidadvancedtothedoor.“Thoughtyouweren’tgoingtostopforme,”hesaidcheerfully.“Muchobliged,I’msure.”
Hegotin,removedasmallpackfromhisshouldersandletitslidetothefloor,smootheddownhiscopperbrownlocks.“Soyourecognisedme,”hesaid.
“Youareperhapssomewhatconspicuouslydressed.”
“Oh,doyouthinkso?Notreally.I’mjustoneofabandofbrothers.”
“TheschoolofVandyke.Verydressy.”
“Oh.I’veneverthoughtofitlikethat.Yes,theremaybesomethinginwhatyousay.”
“Youshouldwearacavalier’shat,”saidPoirot,“andalacecollar,ifImightadvise.”
“Oh,Idon’tthinkwegoquiteasfarasthat.”Theyoungmanlaughed.“HowMrs.Restarickdislikesthemeresightofme.ActuallyIreciprocateherdislike.Idon’tcaremuchforRestarick,either.Thereissomethingsingularlyunattractiveaboutsuccessfultycoons,don’tyouthink?”
“Itdependsonthepointofview.Youhavebeenpayingattentionstothedaughter,Iunderstand.”
“Thatissuchanicephrase,”saidDavid.“Payingattentionstothedaughter.Isupposeitmightbecalledthat.Butthere’splentyoffifty-fiftyaboutit,youknow.She’spayingattentiontome,too.”
“WhereisMademoisellenow?”
Davidturnedhisheadrathersharply.“Andwhydoyouaskthat?”
“Ishouldliketomeether.”Heshruggedhisshoulders.
“Idon’tbelieveshe’dbeyourtype,youknow,anymorethanIam.Norma’sinLondon.”
“Butyousaidtoherstepmother—”
“Oh!Wedon’ttellstepmotherseverything.”
“AndwhereissheinLondon?”
“Sheworksinaninteriordecorator’sdowntheKing’sRoadsomewhereinChelsea.Can’trememberthenameofitforthemoment.SusanPhelps,Ithink.”
“Butthatisnotwhereshelives,Ipresume.Youhaveheraddress?”
“Ohyes,agreatblockofflats.Idon’treallyunderstandyourinterest.”
“Oneisinterestedinsomanythings.”
“Whatdoyoumean?”
“Whatbroughtyoutothathouse—(whatisitsname?—Crosshedges)today.Broughtyousecretlyintothehouseandupthestairs.”
“Icameinthebackdoor,Iadmit.”
“Whatwereyoulookingforupstairs?”
“That’smybusiness.Idon’twanttoberude—butaren’tyoubeingrathernosy?”
“Yes,Iamdisplayingcuriosity.Iwouldliketoknowexactlywherethisyoungladyis.”
“Isee.DearAndrewanddearMary—lordrot’em—areemployingyou,isthatit?Theyaretryingtofindher?”
“Asyet,”saidPoirot,“Idonotthinktheyknowthatsheismissing.”
“Someonemustbeemployingyou.”
“Youareexceedinglyperceptive,”saidPoirot.Heleantback.
“Iwonderedwhatyouwereupto,”saidDavid.“That’swhyIhailedyou.Ihopedyou’dstopandgivemeabitofdope.She’smygirl.Youknowthat,Isuppose?”
“Iunderstandthatthatissupposedtobetheidea,”saidPoirotcautiously.“Ifso,youshouldknowwheresheis.Isthatnotso,Mr.—Iamsorry,IdonotthinkIknowyournamebeyond,thatis,thatyourChristiannameisDavid.”
“Baker.”
“Perhaps,Mr.Baker,youhavehadaquarrel.”
“No,wehaven’thadaquarrel.Whyshouldyouthinkwehad?”
“MissNormaRestarickleftCrosshedgesonSundayevening,orwasitMondaymorning?”
“Itdepends.Thereisanearlybusyoucantake.GetsyoutoLondonalittleafterten.Itwouldmakeherabitlateatwork,butnottoomuch.UsuallyshegoesbackonSundaynight.”
“SheleftthereSundaynightbutshehasnotarrivedatBorodeneMansions.”
“Apparentlynot.SoClaudiasays.”
“ThisMissReece-Holland—thatishername,isitnot?—wasshesurprisedorworried?”
“Goodlord,no,whyshouldshebe.Theydon’tkeeptabsoneachotherallthetime,thesegirls.”
“Butyouthoughtshewasgoingbackthere?”
“Shedidn’tgobacktoworkeither.They’refedupattheshop,Icantellyou.”
“Areyouworried,Mr.Baker?”
“No.Naturally—Imean,well,I’mdamnedifIknow.Idon’tseeanyreasonIshouldbeworried,onlytime’sgettingon.Whatisittoday—Thursday?”
“Shehasnotquarrelledwithyou?”
“No.Wedon’tquarrel.”
“Butyouareworriedabouther,Mr.Baker?”
“Whatbusinessisitofyours?”
“Itisnobusinessofminebuttherehas,Iunderstand,beentroubleathome.Shedoesnotlikeherstepmother.”
“Quiterighttoo.She’sabitch,thatwoman.Hardasnails.Shedoesn’tlikeNormaeither.”
“Shehasbeenill,hasshenot?Shehadtogotohospital.”
“Whoareyoutalkingabout—Norma?”
“No,IamnottalkingaboutMissRestarick.IamtalkingaboutMrs.Restarick.”
“Ibelieveshedidgointoanursinghome.Noreasonsheshould.Strongasahorse,I’dsay.”
“AndMissRestarickhatesherstepmother.”
“She’sabitunbalancedsometimes,Norma.Youknow,goesoffthedeepend.Itellyou,girlsalwayshatetheirstepmothers.”
“Doesthatalwaysmakestepmothersill?Illenoughtogotohospital?”
“Whatthehellareyougettingat?”
“Gardeningperhaps—ortheuseofweedkiller.”
“Whatdoyoumeanbytalkingaboutweedkiller?AreyousuggestingthatNorma—thatshe’ddreamof—that—”
“Peopletalk,”saidPoirot.“Talkgoesroundtheneighbourhood.”
“DoyoumeanthatsomebodyhassaidthatNormahastriedtopoisonherstepmother?That’sridiculous.It’sabsolutelyabsurd.”
“Itisveryunlikely,Iagree,”saidPoirot.“Actually,peoplehavenotbeensayingthat.”
“Oh.Sorry.Imisunderstood.But—whatdidyoumean?”
“Mydearyoungman,”saidPoirot,“youmustrealisethattherearerumoursgoingabout,andrumoursarealmostalwaysaboutthesameperson—ahusband.”
“What,pooroldAndrew?MostunlikelyIshouldsay.”
“Yes.Yes,itdoesnotseemtomeverylikely.”
“Well,whatwereyouthereforthen?Youareadetective,aren’tyou?”
“Yes.”
“Well,then?”
“Wearetalkingatcross-purposes,”saidPoirot.“Ididnotgodowntheretoinquireintoanydoubtfulorpossiblecaseofpoisoning.YoumustforgivemeifIcannotansweryourquestion.Itisallveryhush-hush,youunderstand.”
“Whatonearthdoyoumeanbythat?”
“Iwentthere,”saidPoirot,“toseeSirRoderickHorsefield.”
“What,thatoldboy?He’spracticallygaga,isn’the?”
“Heisaman,”saidPoirot,“whoisinpossessionofagreatmanysecrets.Idonotmeanthathetakesanactivepartinsuchthingsnowadays,butheknowsagooddeal.Hewasconnectedwithagreatmanythingsinthepastwar.Heknewseveralpeople.”
“That’salloveryearsago,though.”
“Yes,yes,hispartinthingsisalloveryearsago.Butdoyounotrealisethattherearecertainthingsthatitmightbeusefultoknow?”
“Whatsortofthings?”
“Faces,”saidPoirot.“Awell-knownfaceperhaps,whichSirRoderickmightrecognise.Afaceoramannerism,awayoftalking,awayofwalking,agesture.Peopledoremember,youknow.Oldpeople.Theyremember,notthingsthathavehappenedlastweekorlastmonthorlastyear,buttheyremembersomethingthathappened,say,nearlytwentyyearsago.Andtheymayremembersomeonewhodoesnotwanttoberemembered.Andtheycantellyoucertainthingsaboutacertainmanoracertainwomanorsomethingtheyweremixedupin—Iamspeakingveryvaguely,youunderstand.Iwenttohimforinformation.”
“Youwenttohimforinformation,didyou?Thatoldboy?Gaga.Andhegaveittoyou?”
“LetussaythatIamquitesatisfied.”
Davidcontinuedtostareathim.“Iwondernow,”hesaid.“Didyougotoseetheoldboyordidyougotoseethelittlegirl,eh?Didyouwanttoknowwhatshewasdoinginthehouse?I’vewonderedonceortwicemyself.Doyouthinkshetookthatposttheretogetabitofpastinformationoutoftheoldboy?”
“Idonotthink,”saidPoirot,“thatitwillserveanyusefulpurposetodiscussthesematters.Sheseemsaverydevotedandattentive—whatshallIcallher—secretary?”
“Amixtureofahospitalnurse,asecretary,acompanion,anaupairgirl,anuncle’shelp?Yes,onecouldfindagoodmanynamesforher,couldn’tone?He’sbesottedabouther.Younoticedthat?”
“Itisnotunnaturalunderthecircumstances,”saidPoirotprimly.
“Icantellyousomeonewhodoesn’tlikeher,andthat’sourMary.”
“AndsheperhapsdoesnotlikeMaryRestarickeither.”
“Sothat’swhatyouthink,isit?”saidDavid.“ThatSoniadoesn’tlikeMaryRestarick.Perhapsyougoasfarasthinkingthatshemayhavemadeafewinquiriesastowheretheweedkillerwaskept?Bah,”headded,“thewholething’sridiculous.Allright.Thanksforthelift.IthinkI’llgetouthere.”
“Aha.Thisiswhereyouwanttobe?WearestillagoodsevenmilesoutofLondon.”
“I’llgetouthere.Good-bye,M.Poirot.”
“Good-bye.”
PoirotleantbackinhisseatasDavidslammedthedoor.
II
Mrs.Oliverprowledroundhersittingroom.Shewasveryrestless.Anhouragoshehadparcelledupatypescriptthatshehadjustfinishedcorrecting.Shewasabouttosenditofftoherpublisherwhowasanxiouslyawaitingitandconstantlyproddingheraboutiteverythreeorfourdays.
“Thereyouare,”saidMrs.Oliver,addressingtheemptyairandconjuringupanimaginarypublisher.“Thereyouare,andIhopeyoulikeit!Idon’t.Ithinkit’slousy!Idon’tbelieveyouknowwhetheranythingIwriteisgoodorbad.Anyway,Iwarnedyou.Itoldyouitwasfrightful.Yousaid‘Oh!no,no,Idon’tbelievethatforamoment.’
“Youjustwaitandsee,”saidMrs.Olivervengefully.“Youjustwaitandsee.”
Sheopenedthedoor,calledtoEdith,hermaid,gavehertheparcelanddirectedthatitshouldbetakentothepostatonce.
“Andnow,”saidMrs.Oliver,“whatamIgoingtodowithmyself?”
Shebeganstrollingaboutagain.“Yes,”thoughtMrs.Oliver,“IwishIhadthosetropicalbirdsandthingsbackonthewallinsteadoftheseidioticcherries.Iusedtofeellikesomethinginatropicalwood.Alionoratigeroraleopardoracheetah!WhatcouldIpossiblyfeellikeinacherryorchardexceptabirdscarer?”
Shelookedroundagain.“Cheepinglikeabird,that’swhatIoughttobedoing,”shesaidgloomily.“Eatingcherries…Iwishitwastherighttimeofyearforcherries.I’dlikesomecherries.Iwondernow—”Shewenttothetelephone.“Iwillascertain,Madam,”saidthevoiceofGeorgeinanswertoherinquiry.Presentlyanothervoicespoke
“HerculePoirot,atyourservice,Madame,”hesaid.
“Where’veyoubeen?”saidMrs.Oliver.“You’vebeenawayallday.IsupposeyouwentdowntolookuptheRestaricks.Isthatit?DidyouseeSirRoderick?Whatdidyoufindout?”
“Nothing,”saidHerculePoirot.
“Howdreadfullydull,”saidMrs.Oliver.
“No,Idonotthinkitisreallysodull.ItisratherastonishingthatIhavenotfoundoutanything.”
“Whyisitsoastonishing?Idon’tunderstand.”
“Because,”saidPoirot,“itmeanseithertherewasnothingtofindout,andthat,letmetellyou,doesnotaccordwiththefacts;orelsesomethingwasbeingverycleverlyconcealed.That,yousee,wouldbeinteresting.Mrs.Restarick,bytheway,didnotknowthegirlwasmissing.”
“Youmean—shehasnothingtodowiththegirlhavingdisappeared?”
“Soitseems.Imettheretheyoungman.”
“Youmeantheunsatisfactoryyoungmanthatnobodylikes?”
“Thatisright.Theunsatisfactoryyoungman.”
“Didyouthinkhewasunsatisfactory?”
“Fromwhosepointofview?”
“Notfromthegirl’spointofview,Isuppose.”
“ThegirlwhocametoseemeIamsurewouldhavebeenhighlydelightedwithhim.”
“Didhelookveryawful?”
“Helookedverybeautiful,”saidHerculePoirot.
“Beautiful?”saidMrs.Oliver.“Idon’tknowthatIlikebeautifulyoungmen.”
“Girlsdo,”saidPoirot.
“Yes,you’requiteright.Theylikebeautifulyoungmen.Idon’tmeangood-lookingyoungmenorsmart-lookingyoungmenorwell-dressedorwell-washedlookingyoungmen.ImeantheyeitherlikeyoungmenlookingasthoughtheywerejustgoingoninaRestorationcomedy,orelseverydirtyyoungmenlookingasthoughtheywerejustgoingtotakesomeawfultramp’sjob.”
“Itseemedthathealsodidnotknowwherethegirlisnow—”
“Orelsehewasn’tadmittingit.”
“Perhaps.Hehadgonedownthere.Why?Hewasactuallyinthehouse.Hehadtakenthetroubletowalkinwithoutanyoneseeinghim.Againwhy?Forwhatreason?Washelookingforthegirl?Orwashelookingforsomethingelse?”
“Youthinkhewaslookingforsomething?”
“Hewaslookingforsomethinginthegirl’sroom,”saidPoirot.
“Howdoyouknow?Didyouseehimthere?”
“No,Ionlysawhimcomingdownthestairs,butIfoundaverynicelittlepieceofdampmudinNorma’sroomthatcouldhavecomefromhisshoe.Itispossiblethatsheherselfmayhaveaskedhimtobringhersomethingfromthatroom—therearealotofpossibilities.Thereisanothergirlinthathouse—andaprettyone—Hemayhavecomedowntheretomeether.Yes—manypossibilities.”
“Whatareyougoingtodonext?”demandedMrs.Oliver.
“Nothing,”saidPoirot.
“That’sverydull,”saidMrs.Oliverdisapprovingly.
“Iamgoingtoreceive,perhaps,alittleinformationfromthoseIhaveemployedtofindit;thoughitisquitepossiblethatIshallreceivenothingatall.”
“Butaren’tyougoingtodosomething?”
“Nottilltherightmoment,”saidPoirot.
“Well,Ishall,”saidMrs.Oliver.
“Pray,praybeverycareful,”heimploredher.
“Whatnonsense!Whatcouldhappentome?”
“Wherethereismurder,anythingcanhappen.Itellthattoyou.I,Poirot.”
Six
I
Mr.Gobysatinachair.Hewasasmallshrunkenlittleman,sonondescriptastobepracticallynonexistent.
Helookedattentivelyattheclawfootofanantiquetableandaddressedhisremarkstoit.Heneveraddressedanybodydirect.
“Gladyougotthenamesforme,Mr.Poirot,”hesaid.“Otherwise,youknow,itmighthavetakenalotoftime.Asitis,I’vegotthemainfacts—andabitofgossipontheside…Alwaysuseful,that.I’llbeginatBorodeneMansions,shallI?”
Poirotinclinedhisheadgraciously.
“Plentyofporters,”Mr.Gobyinformedtheclockonthechimneypiece.“Istartedthere,usedoneortwodifferentyoungmen.Expensive,butworthit.Didn’twantitthoughtthattherewasanyonemakinganyparticularinquiries!ShallIuseinitials,ornames?”
“Withinthesewallsyoucanusethenames,”saidPoirot.
“MissClaudiaReece-Hollandspokenofasaveryniceyounglady.FatheranMP.Ambitiousman.Getshimselfinthenewsalot.She’shisonlydaughter.Shedoessecretarialwork.Seriousgirl.Nowildparties,nodrink,nobeatniks.Sharesflatwithtwoothers.NumbertwoworksfortheWedderburnGalleryinBondStreet.Artytype.WhoopsitupabitwiththeChelseaset.Goesaroundtoplacesarrangingexhibitionsandartshows.
“Thethirdoneisyourone.Notbeentherelong.Generalopinionisthatshe’sabit‘wanting.’Notallthereinthetopstorey.Butit’sallabitvague.Oneoftheportersisagossipytype.Buyhimadrinkortwoandyou’llbesurprisedatthethingshe’lltellyou!Whodrinks,andwhodrugs,andwho’shavingtroublewithhisincometax,andwhokeepshiscashbehindthecistern.Ofcourseyoucan’tbelieveitall.Anyway,therewassomestoryaboutarevolverbeingfiredonenight.”
“Arevolverfired?Wasanyoneinjured?”
“Thereseemsabitofdoubtastothat.Hisstoryisheheardashotfiredonenight,andhecomesoutandtherewasthisgirl,yourgirl,standingtherewitharevolverinherhand.Shelookedsortofdazed.Andthenoneoftheotheryoungladies—orbothofthem,infact—theycomerunningalong.AndMissCary(that’stheartyone)says,‘Norma,whatonearthhaveyoudone?’andMissReece-Holland,shesayssharp-like,‘Shutup,can’tyou,Frances.Don’tbeafool!’andshetooktherevolverawayfromyourgirlandsays,‘Givemethat.’SheslamsitintoherhandbagandthenshenoticesthischapMicky,andgoesovertohimandsays,laughing-like,‘Thatmusthavestartledyou,didn’tit?’andMickyhesaysitgavehimquiteaturn,andshesays,‘Youneedn’tworry.Matteroffact,we’dnoideathisthingwasloaded.Wewerejustfoolingabout.’Andthenshesays:‘Anyway,ifanybodyasksyouquestions,tellthemitisquiteallright,’andthenshesays:‘Comeon,Norma,’andtookherarmandledheralongtotheelevator,andtheyallwentupagain.
“ButMickysaidhewasabitdoubtfulstill.Hewentandhadagoodlookroundthecourtyard.”
Mr.Gobyloweredhiseyesandquotedfromhisnotebook:
“‘I’lltellyou,Ifoundsomething,Idid!Ifoundsomewetpatches.SureasanythingIdid.Dropsofbloodtheywere.Itouchedthemwithmyfinger.ItellyouwhatIthink.Somebodyhadbeenshot—somemanashewasrunningaway…IwentupstairsandIaskedifIcouldspeaktoMissHolland.Isaystoher:“Ithinktheremayhavebeensomeoneshot,Miss,”Isays.“Therearesomedropsofbloodinthecourtyard.”“Goodgracious,”shesays,“Howridiculous.Iexpect,youknow,”shesays,“itmusthavebeenoneofthepigeons.”Andthenshesays:“I’msorryifitgaveyouaturn.Forgetaboutit,”andsheslippedmeafivepoundnote.Fivepoundnote,noless!Well,naturally,Ididn’topenmymouthafterthat.’
“Andthen,afteranotherwhisky,hecomesoutwithsomemore.‘Ifyouaskme,shetookapotshotatthatlowclassyoungchapthatcomestoseeher.Ithinksheandhehadarowandshedidherbesttoshoothim.That’swhatIthink.Butleastsaidsoonestmended,soI’mnotrepeatingit.IfanyoneasksmeanythingI’llsayIdon’tknowwhatthey’retalkingabout.’”Mr.Gobypaused.
“Interesting,”saidPoirot.
“Yes,butit’saslikelyasnotthatit’sapackoflies.Nobodyelseseemstoknowanythingaboutit.There’sastoryaboutagangofyoungthugswhocamebargingintothecourtyardonenight,andhadabitofafight—flick-knivesoutandallthat.”
“Isee,”saidPoirot.“Anotherpossiblesourceofbloodinthecourtyard.”
“Maybethegirldidhavearowwithheryoungman,threatenedtoshoothim,perhaps.AndMickyoverhearditandmixedthewholethingup—especiallyiftherewasacarbackfiringjustthen.”
“Yes,”saidHerculePoirot,andsighed,“thatwouldaccountforthingsquitewell.”
Mr.Gobyturnedoveranotherleafofhisnotebookandselectedhisconfidant.Hechoseanelectricradiator.
“JoshuaRestarickLtd.Familyfirm.Beengoingoverahundredyears.WellthoughtofintheCity.Alwaysverysound.Nothingspectacular.FoundedbyJoshuaRestarickin1850.Launchedoutafterthefirstwar,withgreatlyincreasedinvestmentsabroad,mostlySouthAfrica,WestAfricaandAustralia.SimonandAndrewRestarick—thelastoftheRestaricks.Simon,theelderbrother,diedaboutayearago,nochildren.Hiswifehaddiedsomeyearspreviously.AndrewRestarickseemstohavebeenarestlesschap.Hisheartwasneverreallyinthebusinessthougheveryonesayshehadplentyofability.Finallyranoffwithsomewoman,leavinghiswifeandadaughteroffiveyearsold.WenttoSouthAfrica,Kenya,andvariousotherplaces.Nodivorce.Hiswifediedtwoyearsago.Hadbeenaninvalidforsometime.Hetravelledaboutalot,andwhereverhewentheseemstohavemademoney.Concessionsformineralsmostly.Everythinghetouchedprospered.
“Afterhisbrother’sdeath,heseemstohavedecideditwastimetosettledown.He’dmarriedagainandhethoughttherightthingtodowastocomebackandmakeahomeforhisdaughter.They’relivingatthemomentwithhisuncleSirRoderickHorsefield—unclebymarriagethatis.That’sonlytemporary.Hiswife’slookingathousesalloverLondon.Expensenoobject.They’rerollinginmoney.”
Poirotsighed.“Iknow,”hesaid.“Whatyououtlinetomeisasuccessstory!Everyonemakesmoney!Everybodyisofgoodfamilyandhighlyrespected.Theirrelationsaredistinguished.Theyarewellthoughtofinbusinesscircles.
“Thereisonlyonecloudinthesky.Agirlwhoissaidtobe‘abitwanting,’agirlwhoismixedupwithadubiousboyfriendwhohasbeenonprobationmorethanonce.Agirlwhomayquitepossiblyhavetriedtopoisonherstepmother,andwhoeithersuffersfromhallucinations,orelsehascommittedacrime!Itellyou,noneofthataccordswellwiththesuccessstoryyouhavebroughtme.”
Mr.Gobyshookhisheadsadlyandsaidratherobscurely:
“There’soneineveryfamily.”
“ThisMrs.Restarickisquiteayoungwoman.Ipresumesheisnotthewomanheoriginallyranawaywith?”
“Ohno,thatbustupquitesoon.Shewasaprettybadlotbyallaccounts,andatartaraswell.Hewasafoolevertobetakeninbyher.”Mr.GobyshuthisnotebookandlookedinquiringlyatPoirot.“Anythingmoreyouwantmetodo?”
“Yes.IwanttoknowalittlemoreaboutthelateMrs.AndrewRestarick.Shewasaninvalid,shewasfrequentlyinnursinghomes.Whatkindofnursinghomes?Mentalhomes?”
“Itakeyourpoint,Mr.Poirot.”
“Andanyhistoryofinsanityinthefamily—oneitherside?”
“I’llseetoit,Mr.Poirot.”
Mr.Gobyrosetohisfeet.“ThenI’lltakeleaveofyou,sir.Goodnight.”
PoirotremainedthoughtfulafterMr.Gobyhadleft.Heraisedandloweredhiseyebrows.Hewondered,hewonderedverymuch.
ThenherangMrs.Oliver:
“Itoldyoubefore,”hesaid,“tobecareful.Irepeatthat—Beverycareful.”
“Carefulofwhat?”saidMrs.Oliver.
“Ofyourself.Ithinktheremightbedanger.Dangertoanyonewhogoespokingaboutwheretheyarenotwanted.Thereismurderintheair—Idonotwantittobeyours.”
“Haveyouhadtheinformationyousaidyoumighthave?”
“Yes,”saidPoirot,“Ihavehadalittleinformation.Mostlyrumourandgossip,butitseemssomethinghappenedatBorodeneMansions.”
“Whatsortofthing?”
“Bloodinthecourtyard,”saidPoirot
“Really!”saidMrs.Oliver.“That’sjustlikethetitleofanold-fashioneddetectivestory.TheStainontheStaircase.ImeannowadaysyousaysomethingmorelikeSheAskedforDeath.”
“Perhapstheremaynothavebeenbloodinthecourtyard.Perhapsitisonlywhatanimaginative,Irishporterimagined.”
“Probablyanupsetmilkbottle,”saidMrs.Oliver.“Hecouldn’tseeitatnight.Whathappened?”
Poirotdidnotanswerdirectly.
“Thegirlthoughtshe‘mighthavecommittedamurder.’Wasthatthemurdershemeant?”
“Youmeanshedidshootsomeone?”
“Onemightpresumethatshedidshootatsomeone,butforallintentsandpurposesmissedthem.Afewdropsofblood…Thatwasall.Nobody.”
“Ohdear,”saidMrs.Oliver,“it’sallveryconfused.Surelyifanyonecouldstillrunoutofacourtyard,youwouldn’tthinkyou’dkilledhim,wouldyou?”
“C’estdifficile,”saidPoirot,andrangoff.
II
“I’mworried,”saidClaudiaReece-Holland.
Sherefilledhercupfromthecoffeepercolator.FrancesCarygaveanenormousyawn.Bothgirlswerebreakfastinginthesmallkitchenoftheflat.Claudiawasdressedandreadytostartforherday’swork.Franceswasstillindressinggownandpyjamas.Herblackhairfelloveroneeye.
“I’mworriedaboutNorma,”continuedClaudia.
Francesyawned.
“Ishouldn’tworryifIwereyou.She’llringuporturnupsoonerorlater,Isuppose.”
“Willshe?Youknow,Fran,Ican’thelpwondering—”
“Idon’tseewhy,”saidFrances,pouringherselfoutmorecoffee.Shesippeditdoubtfully.“Imean—Norma’snotreallyourbusiness,isshe?Imean,we’renotlookingafterherorspoon-feedingheroranything.Shejustsharestheflat.Whyallthismotherlysolicitude?Icertainlywouldn’tworry.”
“Idaresayyouwouldn’t.Youneverworryoveranything.Butit’snotthesameforyouasitisforme.”
“Whyisn’titthesame?Youmeanbecauseyou’rethetenantoftheflatorsomething?”
“Well,I’minratheraspecialposition,asyoumightsay.”
Francesgaveanotherenormousyawn.
“Iwasuptoolatelastnight,”shesaid.“AtBasil’sparty.Ifeeldreadful.Ohwell,Isupposeblackcoffeewillbehelpful.HavesomemorebeforeI’vedrunkitall?Basilwouldmakeustrysomenewpills—EmeraldDreams.Idon’tthinkit’sreallyworthtryingallthesesillythings.”
“You’llbelateatyourgallery,”saidClaudia.
“Ohwell,Idon’tsupposeitmattersmuch.Nobodynoticesorcares.
“IsawDavidlastnight,”sheadded.“Hewasalldressedupandreallylookedratherwonderful.”
“Nowdon’tsayyou’refallingforhim,too,Fran.Hereallyistooawful.”
“Oh,Iknowyouthinkso.You’resuchaconventionaltype,Claudia.”
“Notatall.ButIcannotsayIcareforallyourartyset.Tryingoutallthesedrugsandpassingoutorgettingfightingmad.”
Franceslookedamused.
“I’mnotadrugfiend,dear—Ijustliketoseewhatthesethingsarelike.Andsomeofthegangareallright.Davidcanpaint,youknow,ifhewantsto.”
“Daviddoesn’tveryoftenwantto,though,doeshe?”
“You’vealwaysgotyourknifeintohim,Claudia…YouhatehimcomingheretoseeNorma.Andtalkingofknives….”
“Well?Talkingofknives?”
“I’vebeenworrying,”saidFrancesslowly,“whethertotellyousomethingornot.”
Claudiaglancedatherwristwatch.
“Ihaven’tgottimenow,”shesaid.“Youcantellmethiseveningifyouwanttotellmesomething.Anyway,I’mnotinthemood.Ohdear,”shesighed,“IwishIknewwhattodo.”
“AboutNorma?”
“Yes.I’mwonderingifherparentsoughttoknowthatwedon’tknowwheresheis….”
“Thatwouldbeveryunsporting.PoorNorma,whyshouldn’tsheslopeoffonherownifshewantsto?”
“Well,Normaisn’texactly—”Claudiastopped.
“No,sheisn’t,isshe?Noncomposmentis.That’swhatyoumeant.Haveyourungupthatterribleplacewheresheworks?‘Homebirds,’orwhateverit’scalled?Ohyes,ofcourseyoudid.Iremember.”
“Sowhereisshe?”demandedClaudia.“DidDavidsayanythinglastnight?”
“Daviddidn’tseemtoknow.Really,Claudia,Ican’tseethatitmatters.”
“Itmattersforme,”saidClaudia,“becausemybosshappenstobeherfather.Soonerorlater,ifanythingpeculiarhashappenedtoher,they’llaskmewhyIdidn’tmentionthefactthatshehadn’tcomehome.”
“Yes,Isupposetheymightpitchonyou.Butthere’snorealreason,isthere,whyNormashouldhavetoreporttouseverytimeshe’sgoingtobeawayfromhereforadayortwo.Orevenafewnights.Imean,she’snotapayingguestoranything.You’renotinchargeofthegirl.”
“No,butMr.Restarickdidmentionhefeltgladtoknowthatshehadgotaroomherewithus.”
“Sothatentitlesyoutogoandtittle-tattleabouthereverytimeshe’sabsentwithoutleave?She’sprobablygotacrushonsomenewman.”
“She’sgotacrushonDavid,”saidClaudia.“Areyousuresheisn’tholedupathisplace?”
“Oh,Ishouldn’tthinkso.Hedoesn’treallycareforher,youknow.”
“You’dliketothinkhedoesn’t,”saidClaudia.“YouarerathersweetonDavidyourself.”
“Certainlynot,”saidFrancessharply.“Nothingofthekind.”
“David’sreallykeenonher,”saidClaudia.“Ifnot,whydidhecomeroundlookingforherheretheotherday?”
“Yousoonmarchedhimoutagain,”saidFrances.“Ithink,”sheadded,gettingupandlookingatherfaceinaratherunflatteringsmallkitchenmirror,“Ithinkitmighthavebeenmehereallycametosee.”
“You’retooidiotic!HecameherelookingforNorma.”
“Thatgirl’smental,”saidFrances.
“SometimesIreallythinksheis!”
“Well,Iknowsheis.Lookhere,Claudia,I’mgoingtotellyouthatsomethingnow.Yououghttoknow.IbrokethestringofmybratheotherdayandIwasinahurry.Iknowyoudon’tlikeanyonefiddlingwithyourthings—”
“Icertainlydon’t,”saidClaudia.
“—butNormaneverminds,ordoesn’tnotice.Anyway,IwentintoherroomandIrootledinherdrawerandI—well,Ifoundsomething.Aknife.”
“Aknife!”saidClaudia,surprised.“Whatsortofaknife?”
“Youknowwehadthatsortofshindythinginthecourtyard?Agroupofbeats,teenagerswho’dcomeinhereandwerehavingafightwithflick-knivesandallthat?AndNormacameinjustafter.”
“Yes,yes,Iremember.”
“Oneoftheboysgotstabbed,soareportertoldme,andheranaway.Well,theknifeinNorma’sdrawerwasaflick-knife.Ithadgotastainonit—lookedlikedriedblood.”
“Frances!You’rebeingabsurdlydramatic.”
“Perhaps.ButI’msurethat’swhatitwas.AndwhatonearthwasthatdoinghiddenawayinNorma’sdrawer,Ishouldliketoknow?”
“Isuppose—shemighthavepickeditup.”
“What—asouvenir?Andhiddenitawayandnevertoldus?”
“Whatdidyoudowithit?”
“Iputitback,”saidFrancesslowly.“I—Ididn’tknowwhatelsetodo…Icouldn’tdecidewhethertotellyouornot.ThenyesterdayIlookedagainanditwasgone,Claudia.Notatraceofit.”
“YouthinkshesentDavidheretogetit?”
“Well,shemighthavedone…Itellyou,Claudia,infutureI’mgoingtokeepmydoorlockedatnight.”
Seven
Mrs.Oliverwokeupdissatisfied.Shesawstretchingbeforeheradaywithnothingtodo.Havingpackedoffhercompletedmanuscriptwithahighlyvirtuousfeeling,workwasover.Shehadnowonly,asmanytimesbefore,torelax,toenjoyherself;toliefallowuntilthecreativeurgebecameactiveoncemore.Shewalkedaboutherflatinaratheraimlessfashion,touchingthings,pickingthemup,puttingthemdown,lookinginthedrawersofherdesk,realisingthattherewereplentyofletterstheretobedealtwithbutfeelingalsothatinherpresentstateofvirtuousaccomplishment,shewascertainlynotgoingtodealwithanythingsotiresomeasthatnow.Shewantedsomethinginterestingtodo.Shewanted—whatdidshewant?
ShethoughtabouttheconversationshehadhadwithHerculePoirot,thewarninghehadgivenher.Ridiculous!Afterall,whyshouldn’tsheparticipateinthisproblemwhichshewassharingwithPoirot?Poirotmightchoosetositinachair,putthetipsofhisfingerstogether,andsethisgreycellswhirringtoworkwhilehisbodyreclinedcomfortablywithinfourwalls.ThatwasnottheprocedurethatappealedtoAriadneOliver.Shehadsaid,veryforcibly,thatsheatleastwasgoingtodosomething.Shewasgoingtofindoutmoreaboutthismysteriousgirl.WherewasNormaRestarick?Whatwasshedoing?Whatmorecouldshe,AriadneOliver,findoutabouther?
Mrs.Oliverprowledabout,moreandmoredisconsolate.Whatcouldonedo?Itwasn’tveryeasytodecide.Gosomewhereandaskquestions?ShouldshegodowntoLongBasing?ButPoirothadalreadybeenthere—andfoundoutpresumablywhattherewastobefoundout.AndwhatexcusecouldsheofferforbargingintoSirRoderickHorsefield’shouse?
SheconsideredanothervisittoBorodeneMansions.Somethingstilltobefoundoutthere,perhaps?Shewouldhavetothinkofanotherexcuseforgoingthere.Shewasn’tquitesurewhatexcuseshewouldusebutanyway,thatseemedtheonlypossibleplacewheremoreinformationcouldbeobtained.Whatwasthetime?Tena.m.Therewerecertainpossibilities….
Onthewaytheresheconcoctedanexcuse.Notaveryoriginalexcuse.Infact,Mrs.Oliverwouldhavelikedtohavefoundsomethingmoreintriguing,butperhaps,shereflectedprudently,itwasjustaswelltokeeptosomethingcompletelyeverydayandplausible.ShearrivedatthestatelyifgrimelevationofBorodeneMansionsandwalkedslowlyroundthecourtyardconsideringit.
Aporterwasconversingwithafurniturevan—Amilkman,pushinghismilkfloat,cametojoinMrs.Oliverneartheservicelift.
Herattledbottles,cheerfullywhistling,whilstMrs.Olivercontinuedtostareabstractedlyatthefurniturevan.
“Number76movingout,”explainedthemilkmantoMrs.Oliver,mistakingherinterest.Hetransferredaclutchofbottlesfromhisfloattothelift.
“Notthatshehasn’tmovedalreadyinamannerofspeaking,”headded,emergingagain.Heseemedacheerykindofmilkman.
Hepointedathumbupwards.
“Pitchedherselfoutofawindow—seventhfloor—onlyaweekago,itwas.Fiveo’clockinthemorning.Funnytimetochoose.”
Mrs.Oliverdidn’tthinkitsofunny.
“Why?”
“Whydidshedoit?Nobodyknows.Balanceofminddisturbed,theysaid.”
“Wasshe—young?”
“Nah!Justanoldtrout.Fiftyifshewasaday.”
Twomenstruggledinthevanwithachestofdrawers.Itresistedthemandtwomahoganydrawerscrashedtotheground—aloosepieceofpaperfloatedtowardMrs.Oliverwhocaughtit.
“Don’tsmasheverything,Charlie,”saidthecheerfulmilkmanreprovingly,andwentupintheliftwithhiscargoofbottles.
Analtercationbrokeoutbetweenthefurnituremovers.Mrs.Oliverofferedthemthepieceofpaper,buttheywaveditaway.
Makinguphermind,Mrs.OliverenteredthebuildingandwentuptoNo.67.Aclankcamefrominsideandpresentlythedoorwasopenedbyamiddle-agedwomanwithamopwhowasclearlyengagedinhouseholdlabours.
“Oh,”saidMrs.Oliver,usingherfavouritemonosyllable.“Goodmorning.Is—Iwonder—isanyonein?”
“No,I’mafraidnot,Madam.They’reallout.They’vegonetowork.”
“Yes,ofcourse…AsamatteroffactwhenIwasherelastIleftalittlediarybehind.Soannoying.Itmustbeinthesittingroomsomewhere.”
“Well,Ihaven’tpickedupanythingofthekind,Madam,asfarasIknow.OfcourseImightn’thaveknownitwasyours.Wouldyouliketocomein?”Sheopenedthedoorhospitably,setasidethemopwithwhichshehadbeentreatingthekitchenfloor,andaccompaniedMrs.Oliverintothesittingroom.
“Yes,”saidMrs.Oliver,determinedtoestablishfriendlyrelations,“yes,Iseehere—that’sthebookIleftforMissRestarick,MissNorma.Isshebackfromthecountryyet?”
“Idon’tthinkshe’slivinghereatthemoment.Herbedwasn’tsleptin.Perhapsshe’sstilldownwithherpeopleinthecountry.Iknowshewasgoingtherelastweekend.”
“Yes,Iexpectthat’sit,”saidMrs.Oliver.“ThiswasabookIbroughther.Oneofmybooks.”
OneofMrs.Oliver’sbooksdidnotseemtostrikeanychordofinterestinthecleaningwoman.
“Iwassittinghere,”wentonMrs.Oliver,pattinganarmchair,“atleastIthinkso.AndthenImovedtothewindowandperhapstothesofa.”
Shedugdownvehementlybehindthecushionsofthechair.Thecleaningwomanobligedbydoingthesamethingtothesofacushions.
“You’venoideahowmaddeningitiswhenonelosessomethinglikethat,”wentonMrs.Oliver,chattily.“Onehasallone’sengagementswrittendownthere.I’mquitesureI’mlunchingwithsomeoneveryimportanttoday,andIcan’trememberwhoitwasorwheretheluncheonwastobe.Only,ofcourse,itmaybetomorrow.Ifso,I’mlunchingwithsomeoneelsequitedifferent.Ohdear.”
“Verytryingforyou,ma’am,I’msure,”saidthecleaningwomanwithsympathy.
“They’resuchniceflats,these,”saidMrs.Oliver,lookinground.
“Alongwayup.”
“Well,thatgivesyouaverygoodview,doesn’tit?”
“Yes,butiftheyfaceeastyougetalotofcoldwindinwinter.Comesrightthroughthesemetalwindowframes.Somepeoplehavehaddoublewindowsputin.Ohyes,Iwouldn’tcareforaflatfacingthiswayinwinter.No,givemeanicegroundfloorflateverytime.Muchmoreconvenienttooifyou’vegotchildren.Forpramsandallthat,youknow.Ohyes,I’mallforthegroundfloor,Iam.Thinkiftherewastobeafire.”
“Yes,ofcourse,thatwouldbeterrible,”saidMrs.Oliver.“Isupposetherearefireescapes?”
“Youcan’talwaysgettoafiredoor.Terrifiedoffire,Iam.Alwayshavebeen.Andthey’reeversoexpensive,theseflats.Youwouldn’tbelievetherentstheyask!That’swhyMissHolland,shegetstwoothergirlstogoinwithher.”
“Ohyes,IthinkImetthemboth.MissCary’sanartist,isn’tshe?”
“Worksforanartgallery,shedoes.Don’tworkatitveryhard,though.Shepaintsabit—cowsandtreesthatyou’dneverrecogniseasbeingwhatthey’remeanttobe.Anuntidyyounglady.Thestateherroomisin—youwouldn’tbelieveit!NowMissHolland,everythingisalwaysasneatasanewpin.ShewasasecretaryintheCoalBoardatonetimebutshe’saprivatesecretaryintheCitynow.Shelikesitbetter,shesays.She’ssecretarytoaveryrichgentlemanjustcomebackfromSouthAmericaorsomewherelikethat.He’sMissNorma’sfather,anditwashewhoaskedMissHollandtotakeherasaboarderwhenthelastyoungladywentofftogetmarried—andshementionedasshewaslookingforanothergirl.Well,shecouldn’tverywellrefuse,couldshe?Notsincehewasheremployer.”
“Didshewanttorefuse?”
Thewomansniffed.
“Ithinkshewouldhave—ifshe’dknown.”
“Knownwhat?”Thequestionwastoodirect.
“It’snotformetosayanything,I’msure.It’snotmybusiness—”
Mrs.Olivercontinuedtolookmildlyinquiring.Mrs.Mopfell.
“It’snotthatsheisn’taniceyounglady.Scattybutthenthey’renearlyallscatty.ButIthinkasadoctoroughttoseeher.Therearetimeswhenshedoesn’tseemtoknowrightlywhatshe’sdoing,orwheresheis.Itgivesyouquiteaturn,sometimes—Looksjusthowmyhusband’snephewdoesafterhe’shadafit.(Terriblefitshehas—youwouldn’tbelieve!)OnlyI’veneverknownherhavefits.Maybeshetakesthings—alotdo.”
“Ibelievethereisayoungmanherfamilydoesn’tapproveof.”
“Yes,soI’veheard.He’scomeheretocallforheronceortwice—thoughI’veneverseenhim.OneoftheseModsbyallaccounts.MissHollanddoesn’tlikeit—butwhatcanyoudonowadays?Girlsgotheirownway.”
“Sometimesonefeelsveryupsetaboutgirlsnowadays,”saidMrs.Oliver,andtriedtolookseriousandresponsible.
“Notbroughtupright,that’swhatIsays.”
“I’mafraidnot.No,I’mafraidnot.OnefeelsreallyagirllikeNormaRestarickwouldbebetterathomethancomingallalonetoLondonandearningherlivingasaninteriordecorator.”
“Shedon’tlikeitathome.”
“Really?”
“Gotastepmother.Girlsdon’tlikestepmothers.FromwhatI’veheardthestepmother’sdoneherbest,triedtopullherup,triedtokeepflashyyoungmenoutofthehouse,thatsortofthing.Sheknowsgirlspickupwiththewrongyoungmanandalotofharmmaycomeofit.Sometimes—”thecleaningwomanspokeimpressively,“—I’mthankfulI’veneverhadanydaughters.”
“Haveyougotsons?”
“Twoboys,we’vegot.One’sdoingverywellatschool,andtheotherone,he’sinaprinter’s,doingwelltheretoo.Yes,veryniceboystheyare.Mindyou,boyscancauseyoutrouble,too.Butgirlsismoreworrying,Ithink.Youfeelyououghttobeabletodosomethingaboutthem.”
“Yes,”saidMrs.Oliver,thoughtfully,“onedoesfeelthat.”
Shesawsignsofthecleaningwomanwishingtoreturntohercleaning.
“It’stoobadaboutmydiary,”shesaid.“Well,thankyouverymuchandIhopeIhaven’twastedyourtime.”
“Well,Ihopeyou’llfindit,I’msure,”saidtheotherwomanobligingly.
Mrs.Oliverwentoutoftheflatandconsideredwhatsheshoulddonext.Shecouldn’tthinkofanythingshecoulddofurtherthatday,butaplanfortomorrowbegantoforminhermind.
Whenshegothome,Mrs.Oliver,inanimportantway,gotoutanotebookandjotteddowninitvariousthingsundertheheading“FactsIhavelearned.”OnthewholethefactsdidnotamounttoverymuchbutMrs.Oliver,truetohercalling,managedtomakethemostofthemthatcouldbemade.PossiblythefactthatClaudiaReece-HollandwasemployedbyNorma’sfatherwasthemostsalientfactofany.Shehadnotknownthatbefore,sheratherdoubtedifHerculePoirothadknowniteither.Shethoughtofringinghimuponthetelephoneandacquaintinghimwithitbutdecidedtokeepittoherselfforthemomentbecauseofherplanforthemorrow.Infact,Mrs.Oliverfeltatthismomentlesslikeadetectivenovelistthanlikeanardentbloodhound.Shewasonthetrail,nosedownonthescent,andtomorrowmorning—well,tomorrowmorningwewouldsee.
Truetoherplan,Mrs.Oliverroseearly,partookoftwocupsofteaandaboiledeggandstartedoutonherquest.OncemoreshearrivedinthevicinityofBorodeneMansions.Shewonderedwhethershemightbegettingabitwellknownthere,sothistimeshedidnotenterthecourtyard,butskulkedaroundeitheroneentrancetoitortheother,scanningthevariouspeoplewhowereturningoutintothemorningdrizzletotrotoffontheirwaytowork.Theyweremostlygirls,andlookeddeceptivelyalike.Howextraordinaryhumanbeingswerewhenyouconsideredthemlikethis,emergingpurposefullyfromtheselargetallbuildings—justlikeanthills,thoughtMrs.Oliver.Onehadneverconsideredananthillproperly,shedecided.Italwayslookedsoaimless,asonedisturbeditwiththetoeofashoe.Allthoselittlethingsrushingaboutwithbitsofgrassintheirmouths,streamingalongindustriously,worried,anxious,lookingasthoughtheywererunningtoandfroandgoingnowhere,butpresumablytheywerejustaswellorganisedasthesehumanbeingshere.Thatman,forinstance,whohadjustpassedher.Scurryingalong,mutteringtohimself.“Iwonderwhat’supsettingyou,”thoughtMrs.Oliver.Shewalkedupanddownalittlemore,thenshedrewbacksuddenly.
ClaudiaReece-Hollandcameoutoftheentrancewaywalkingatabriskbusinesslikepace.Asbefore,shelookedverywellturnedout.Mrs.Oliverturnedawaysothatsheshouldnotberecognised.OnceshehadallowedClaudiatogetasufficientdistanceaheadofher,shewheeledroundagainandfollowedinhertracks.ClaudiaReece-Hollandcametotheendofthestreetandturnedrightintoamainthoroughfare.Shecametoabusstopandjoinedthequeue.Mrs.Oliver,stillfollowingher,feltamomentaryuneasiness.SupposingClaudiashouldturnround,lookather,recogniseher?AllMrs.Olivercouldthinkofwastodoseveralprotractedbutnoiselessblowsofthenose.ButClaudiaReece-Hollandseemedtotallyabsorbedinherownthoughts.Shelookedatnoneofherfellowwaitersforbuses.Mrs.Oliverwasaboutthirdinthequeuebehindher.Finallytherightbuscameandtherewasasurgeforward.Claudiagotonthebusandwentstraightuptothetop.Mrs.Olivergotinsideandwasabletogetaseatclosetothedoorastheuncomfortablethirdperson.WhentheconductorcameroundforfaresMrs.Oliverpressedarecklessoneandsixpenceintohishand.Afterall,shehadnoideabywhatroutethebuswentorindeedhowfarthedistancewastowhatthecleaningwomanhaddescribedvaguelyas“oneofthosenewbuildingsbySt.Paul’s.”Shewasonthealertandreadywhenthevenerabledomewasatlastsighted.Anytimenow,shethoughttoherself,andfixedasteadyeyeonthosewhodescendedfromtheplatformabove.Ahyes,therecameClaudia,neatandchicinhersmartsuit.Shegotoffthebus.Mrs.Oliverfollowedherinduecourseandkeptatanicelycalculateddistance.
“Veryinteresting,”thoughtMrs.Oliver.“HereIamactuallytrailingsomeone!Justlikeinmybooks.And,what’smore,Imustbedoingitverywellbecauseshehasn’ttheleastidea.”
ClaudiaReece-Holland,indeed,lookedverymuchabsorbedinherownthoughts.“That’saverycapablelookinggirl,”thoughtMrs.Oliver,asindeedshehadthoughtbefore.“IfIwasthinkingofhavingagoatguessingamurderer,agoodcapablemurderer,I’dchoosesomeoneverylikeher.”
Unfortunately,nobodyhadbeenmurderedyet,thatistosay,unlessthegirlNormahadbeenentirelyrightinherassumptionthatsheherselfhadcommittedamurder.
ThispartofLondonseemedtohavesufferedorprofitedfromalargeamountofbuildingintherecentyears.Enormousskyscrapers,mostofwhichMrs.Oliverthoughtveryhideous,mountedtotheskywithasquarematchbox-likeair.
Claudiaturnedintoabuilding.“NowIshallfindoutexactly,”thoughtMrs.Oliverandturnedintoitafterher.Fourliftsappearedtobeallgoingupanddownwithfrantichaste.This,Mrs.Oliverthought,wasgoingtobemoredifficult.However,theywereofaverylargesizeandbygettingintoClaudia’soneatthelastminuteMrs.Oliverwasabletointerposelargemassesoftallmenbetweenherselfandthefigureshewasfollowing.Claudia’sdestinationturnedouttobethefourthfloor.ShewentalongacorridorandMrs.Oliver,lingeringbehindtwoofhertallmen,notedthedoorwhereshewentin.Threedoorsfromtheendofthecorridor.Mrs.Oliverarrivedatthesamedoorinduecourseandwasabletoreadthelegendonit.“JoshuaRestarickLtd.”wasthelegenditbore.
HavinggotasfarasthatMrs.Oliverfeltasthoughshedidnotquiteknowwhattodonext.ShehadfoundNorma’sfather’splaceofbusinessandtheplacewhereClaudiaworked,butnow,slightlydisabused,shefeltthatthiswasnotasmuchofadiscoveryasitmighthavebeen.Frankly,didithelp?Probablyitdidn’t.
Shewaitedaroundafewmoments,walkingfromoneendtotheotherofthecorridorlookingtoseeifanybodyelseinterestingwentinatthedoorofRestarickEnterprises.Twoorthreegirlsdidbuttheydidnotlookparticularlyinteresting.Mrs.Oliverwentdownagainintheliftandwalkedratherdisconsolatelyoutofthebuilding.Shecouldn’tquitethinkwhattodonext.Shetookawalkroundtheadjacentstreets,shemeditatedavisittoSt.Paul’s.
“ImightgoupintheWhisperingGalleryandwhisper,”thoughtMrs.Oliver.“IwondernowhowtheWhisperingGallerywoulddoforthesceneofamurder?
“No,”shedecided,“tooprofane,I’mafraid.No,Idon’tthinkthatwouldbequitenice.”ShewalkedthoughtfullytowardstheMermaidTheatre.That,shethought,hadfarmorepossibilities.
Shewalkedbackinthedirectionofthevariousnewbuildings.Then,feelingthelackofamoresubstantialbreakfastthanshehadhad,sheturnedintoalocalcafé.Itwasmoderatelywellfilledwithpeoplehavingextralatebreakfastorelseearly“elevenses.”Mrs.Oliver,lookingroundvaguelyforasuitabletable,gaveagasp.AtatablenearthewallthegirlNormawassitting,andoppositeherwassittingayoungmanwithlavishchestnuthaircurledonhisshoulders,wearingaredvelvetwaistcoatandaveryfancyjacket.
“David,”saidMrs.Oliverunderherbreath.“ItmustbeDavid.”HeandthegirlNormaweretalkingexcitedlytogether.
Mrs.Oliverconsideredaplanofcampaign,madeuphermind,andnoddingherheadinsatisfaction,crossedthefloorofthecafétoadiscreetdoormarked“Ladies.”
Mrs.OliverwasnotquitesurewhetherNormawaslikelytorecogniseherornot.Itwasnotalwaysthevaguestlookingpeoplewhoprovedthevaguestinfact.AtthemomentNormadidnotlookasthoughshewaslikelytolookatanybodybutDavid,butwhoknows?
“IexpectIcandosomethingtomyselfanyway,”thoughtMrs.Oliver.Shelookedatherselfinasmallflyblownmirrorprovidedbythecafé’smanagement,studyingparticularlywhatsheconsideredtobethefocalpointofawoman’sappearance,herhair.NooneknewthisbetterthanMrs.Oliver,owingtotheinnumerabletimesthatshehadchangedhermodeofhairdressing,andhadfailedtoberecognisedbyherfriendsinconsequence.Givingherheadanappraisingeyeshestartedwork.Outcamethepins,shetookoffseveralcoilsofhair,wrappedthemupinherhandkerchiefandstuffedthemintoherhandbag,partedherhairinthemiddle,combeditsternlybackfromherfaceandrolleditupintoamodestbunatshewasfacingDavid.Norma,onthenearside,satwithherbacktoher.Norma,therefore,wouldnotseeherunlesssheturnedherheadrightround.Thewaitressdriftedup.Mrs.OliverorderedacupofcoffeeandaBathbunandsettleddowntobeinconspicuous.
NormaandDaviddidnotevennoticeher.Theyweredeeplyinthemiddleofapassionatediscussion.IttookMrs.Oliverjustaminuteortwototuneintothem.
“…Butyouonlyfancythesethings,”Davidwassaying.“Youimaginethem.They’reallutter,utternonsense,mydeargirl.”
“Idon’tknow.Ican’ttell.”Norma’svoicehadaqueerlackofresonanceinit.
Mrs.OlivercouldnothearheraswellassheheardDavid,sinceNorma’sbackwasturnedtoher,butthedullnessofthegirl’stonestruckherdisagreeably.Therewassomethingwronghere,shethought.Verywrong.SherememberedthestoryasPoirothadfirsttoldittoher.“Shethinksshemayhavecommittedamurder.”Whatwasthematterwiththegirl?Hallucinations?Washermindreallyslightlyaffected,orwasitnomoreandnolessthantruth,andinconsequencethegirlhadsufferedabadshock?
“Ifyouaskme,it’sallfussonMary’spart!She’sathoroughlystupidwomananyway,andsheimaginesshehasillnessesandallthatsortofthing.”
“Shewasill.”
“Allrightthen,shewasill.Anysensiblewomanwouldgetthedoctortogivehersomeantibioticorother,andnotgethetup.”
“ShethoughtIdidittoher.Myfatherthinkssotoo.”
“Itellyou,Norma,youimagineallthesethings.”
“Youjustsaythattome,David.Yousayittometocheermeup.SupposingIdidgiveherthestuff?”
“Whatdoyoumean,suppose?Youmustknowwhetheryoudidoryoudidn’t.Youcan’tbesoidiotic,Norma.”
“Idon’tknow.”
“Youkeepsayingthat.Youkeepcomingbacktothat,andsayingitagainandagain.‘Idon’tknow.’‘Idon’tknow.’”
“Youdon’tunderstand.Youdon’tunderstandintheleastwhathateis.IhatedherfromthefirstmomentIsawher.”
“Iknow.Youtoldmethat.”
“That’sthequeerpartofit.Itoldyouthat,andyetIdon’tevenremembertellingyouthat.D’yousee?EverynowandthenI—Itellpeoplethings.ItellpeoplethingsthatIwanttodo,orthatIhavedone,orthatI’mgoingtodo.ButIdon’tevenremembertellingthemthethings.It’sasthoughIwasthinkingallthesethingsinmymind,andsometimestheycomeoutintheopenandIsaythemtopeople.Ididsaythemtoyou,didn’tI?”
“Well—Imean—lookhere,don’tlet’sharpbacktothat.”
“ButIdidsayittoyou?Didn’tI?”
“Allright,allright!Onesaysthingslikethat.‘IhateherandI’dliketokillher.IthinkI’llpoisonher!’Butthat’sonlykidstuff,ifyouknowwhatImean,asthoughyouweren’tquitegrown-up.It’saverynaturalthing.Childrensayitalot.‘Ihatesoandso.I’llcutoffhishead!’Kidssayitatschool.Aboutsomemastertheyparticularlydislike.”
“Youthinkitwasjustthat?But—thatsoundsasthoughIwasn’tgrown-up.”
“Well,you’renotinsomeways.Ifyou’djustpullyourselftogether,realisehowsillyitallis.Whatcanitmatterifyoudohateher?You’vegotawayfromhomeanddon’thavetolivewithher.”
“Whyshouldn’tIliveinmyownhome—withmyownfather?”saidNorma.“It’snotfair.It’snotfair.Firsthewentawayandleftmymother,andnow,justwhenhe’scomingbacktome,hegoesandmarriesMary.OfcourseIhateherandshehatesmetoo.Iusedtothinkaboutkillingher,usedtothinkofwaysofdoingit.Iusedtoenjoythinkinglikethat.Butthen—whenshereallygotill….”
Davidsaiduneasily:
“Youdon’tthinkyou’reawitchoranything,doyou?Youdon’tmakefiguresinwaxandstickpinsintothemordothatsortofthing?”
“Ohno.Thatwouldbesilly.WhatIdidwasreal.Quitereal.”
“Lookhere,Norma,whatdoyoumeanwhenyousayitwasreal?”
“Thebottlewasthere,inmydrawer.Yes,Iopenedthedrawerandfoundit.”
“Whatbottle?”
“TheDragonExterminator.Selectiveweedkiller.That’swhatitwaslabelled.Stuffinadarkgreenbottleandyouweresupposedtosprayitonthings.AndithadlabelswithCautionandPoison,too.”
“Didyoubuyit?Ordidyoujustfindit?”
“Idon’tknowwhereIgotit,butitwasthere,inmydrawer,anditwashalfempty.”
“Andthenyou—you—remembered—”
“Yes,”saidNorma.“Yes…”Hervoicewasvague,almostdreamy.“Yes…Ithinkitwasthenitallcamebacktome.Youthinksotoo,don’tyou,David?”
“Idon’tknowwhattomakeofyou,Norma.Ireallydon’t.Ithinkinaway,you’remakingitallup,you’retellingittoyourself.”
“Butshewenttohospital,forobservation.Theysaidtheywerepuzzled.Thentheysaidtheycouldn’tfindanythingwrongsoshecamehome—andthenshegotillagain,andIbegantobefrightened.Myfatherbeganlookingatmeinaqueersortofway,andthenthedoctorcameandtheytalkedtogether,shutupinFather’sstudy.Iwentroundoutside,andcreptuptothewindowandItriedtolisten.Iwantedtohearwhattheyweresaying.Theywereplanningtogether—tosendmeawaytoaplacewhereI’dbeshutup!AplacewhereI’dhavea‘courseoftreatment’—orsomething.Theythought,yousee,thatIwascrazy,andIwasfrightened…Because—becauseIwasn’tsurewhatI’ddoneorwhatIhadn’tdone.”
“Isthatwhenyouranaway?”
“No—thatwaslater—”
“Tellme.”
“Idon’twanttotalkaboutitanymore.”
“You’llhavetoletthemknowsoonerorlaterwhereyouare—”
“Iwon’t!Ihatethem.IhatemyfatherasmuchasIhateMary.Iwishtheyweredead.Iwishtheywerebothdead.Then—thenIthinkI’dbehappyagain.”
“Don’tgetallhetup!Lookhere,Norma—”Hepausedinanembarrassedmanner—“I’mnotverysetonmarriageandallthatrubbish…ImeanIdidn’tthinkI’deverdoanythingofthatkind…ohwell,notforyears.Onedoesn’twanttotieoneselfup—butIthinkit’sthebestthingwecoulddo,youknow.Getmarried.Ataregistryofficeorsomething.You’llhavetosayyou’reovertwenty-one.Rollupyourhair,putonsomespectaclesorsomething.Makeyoulookabitolder.Oncewe’remarried,yourfathercan’tdoathing!Hecan’tsendyouawaytowhatyoucalla‘place.’He’llbepowerless.”
“Ihatehim.”
“Youseemtohateeverybody.”
“OnlymyfatherandMary.”
“Well,afterall,it’squitenaturalforamantomarryagain.”
“Lookwhathedidtomymother.”
“Allthatmusthavebeenalongtimeago.”
“Yes.Iwasonlyachild,butIremember.Hewentawayandleftus.HesentmepresentsatChristmas—buthenevercamehimself.Iwouldn’tevenhaveknownhimifI’dmethiminthestreetbythetimehedidcomeback.Hedidn’tmeananythingtomebythen.Ithinkhegotmymothershutup,too.Sheusedtogoawaywhenshewasill.Idon’tknowwhere.Idon’tknowwhatwasthematterwithher.SometimesIwonder…Iwonder,David.Ithink,youknow,there’ssomethingwronginmyhead,andsomedayitwillmakemedosomethingreallybad.Liketheknife.”
“Whatknife?”
“Itdoesn’tmatter.Justaknife.”
“Well,can’tyoutellmewhatyou’retalkingabout?”
“Ithinkithadbloodstainsonit—itwashiddenthere…undermystockings.”
“Doyourememberhidingaknifethere?”
“Ithinkso.ButIcan’trememberwhatI’ddonewithitbeforethat.Ican’trememberwhereI’dbeen…Thereisawholehourgoneoutofthatevening.AwholehourIdidn’tknowwhereI’dbeen.I’dbeensomewhereanddonesomething.”
“Hush!”Hehisseditquicklyasthewaitressapproachedtheirtable.“You’llbeallright.I’lllookafteryou.Let’shavesomethingmore,”hesaidtothewaitressinaloudvoice,pickingupthemenu—“Twobakedbeansontoast.”
Eight
I
HerculePoirotwasdictatingtohissecretary,MissLemon.
“AndwhileImuchappreciatethehonouryouhavedoneme,Imustregretfullyinformyouthat…”
Thetelephonerang.MissLemonstretchedoutahandforit.“Yes?Whodidyousay?”SheputherhandoverthereceiverandsaidtoPoirot,“Mrs.Oliver.”
“Ah…Mrs.Oliver,”saidPoirot.Hedidnotparticularlywanttobeinterruptedatthismoment,buthetookthereceiverfromMissLemon.“’Allo,”hesaid,“HerculePoirotspeaks.”
“Oh,M.Poirot,I’msogladIgotyou!I’vefoundherforyou!”
“Ibegyourpardon?”
“I’vefoundherforyou.Yourgirl!Youknow,theonewho’scommittedamurderorthinksshehas.She’stalkingaboutittoo,agreatdeal.Ithinksheisoffherhead.Butnevermindthatnow.Doyouwanttocomeandgether?”
“Whereareyou,chèreMadame?”
“SomewherebetweenSt.Paul’sandtheMermaidTheatreandallthat.CalthorpeStreet,”saidMrs.Oliver,suddenlylookingoutofthetelephoneboxinwhichshewasstanding.“Doyouthinkyoucangetherequickly?They’reinarestaurant.”
“They?”
“Oh,sheandwhatIsupposeistheunsuitableboyfriend.Heisrathernicereally,andheseemsveryfondofher.Ican’tthinkwhy.Peopleareodd.Well,Idon’twanttotalkbecauseIwanttogetbackagain.Ifollowedthem,yousee.Icameintotherestaurantandsawthemthere.”
“Aha?Youhavebeenveryclever,Madame.”
“No,Ihaven’treally.Itwasapureaccident.Imean,Iwalkedintoasmallcaféplaceandtherethegirlwas,justsittingthere.”
“Ah.Youhadthegoodfortunethen.Thatisjustasimportant.”
“AndI’vebeensittingatthenexttabletothem,onlyshe’sgotherbacktome.AndanywayIdon’tsupposeshe’drecogniseme.I’vedonethingstomyhair.Anway,they’vebeentalkingasthoughtheywerealoneintheworld,andwhentheyorderedanothercourse—bakedbeans—(Ican’tbearbakedbeans,italwaysseemstomesofunnythatpeopleshould)—”
“Nevermindthebakedbeans.Goon.Youleftthemandcameouttotelephone.Isthatright?”
“Yes.Becausethebakedbeansgavemetime.AndIshallgobacknow.OrImighthangaboutoutside.Anway,tryandgetherequickly.”
“Whatisthenameofthiscafé?”
“TheMerryShamrock—butitdoesn’tlookverymerry.Infact,itlooksrathersordid,butthecoffeeisquitegood.”
“Saynomore.Goback.Induecourse,Iwillarrive.”
“Splendid,”saidMrs.Oliver,andrangoff.
II
MissLemon,alwaysefficient,hadprecededhimtothestreet,andwaswaitingbyataxi.Sheaskednoquestionsanddisplayednocuriosity.ShedidnottellPoirothowshewouldoccupyhertimewhilsthewasaway.Shedidnotneedtotellhim.Shealwaysknewwhatshewasgoingtodoandshewasalwaysrightinwhatshedid.
PoirotdulyarrivedatthecornerofCalthorpeStreet.Hedescended,paidthetaxi,andlookedaroundhim.HesawTheMerryShamrockbuthesawnooneinitsvicinitywholookedatalllikeMrs.Oliver,howeverwelldisguised.Hewalkedtotheendofthestreetandback.NoMrs.Oliver.SoeitherthecoupleinwhichtheywereinterestedhadleftthecaféandMrs.Oliverhadgoneonashadowingexpedition,orelse—Toanswer“orelse”hewenttothecafédoor.Onecouldnotseetheinsideverywellfromtheoutside,onaccountofsteam,sohepushedthedoorgentlyopenandentered.Hiseyessweptroundit.
Hesawatoncethegirlwhohadcometovisithimatthebreakfasttable.Shewassittingbyherselfatatableagainstthewall.Shewassmokingacigaretteandstaringinfrontofher.Sheseemedtobelostinthought.No,Poirotthought,hardlythat.Theredidnotseemtobeanythoughtthere.Shewaslostinakindofoblivion.Shewassomewhereelse.
Hecrossedtheroomquietlyandsatdowninthechairoppositeher.Shelookedupthen,andhewasatleastgratifiedtoseethathewasrecognised.
“Sowemeetagain,Mademoiselle,”hesaidpleasantly.“Iseeyourecogniseme.”
“Yes.Yes,Ido.”
“Itisalwaysgratifyingtoberecognisedbyayoungladyonehasonlymetonceandforaveryshorttime.”
Shecontinuedtolookathimwithoutspeaking.
“Andhowdidyouknowme,mayIask?Whatmadeyourecogniseme?”
“Yourmoustache,”saidNormaimmediately.“Itcouldn’tbeanyoneelse.”
Hewasgratifiedbythatobservationandstrokeditwiththeprideandvanitythathewasapttodisplayontheseoccasions.
“Ahyes,verytrue.Yes,therearenotmanymoustachessuchasmine.Itisafineone,hein?”
“Yes—well,yes—Isupposeitis.”
“Ah,youareperhapsnotaconnoisseurofmoustaches,butIcantellyou,MissRestarick—MissNormaRestarick,isitnot?—thatitisaveryfinemoustache.”
Hehaddweltdeliberatelyuponhername.Shehadatfirstlookedsooblivioustoeverythingaroundher,sofaraway,thathewonderedifshewouldnotice.Shedid.Itstartledher.
“Howdidyouknowmyname?”shesaid.
“True,youdidnotgiveyournametomyservantwhenyoucametoseemethatmorning.”
“Howdidyouknowit?Howdidyougettoknowit?Whotoldyou?”
Hesawthealarm,thefear.
“Afriendtoldme,”hesaid.“One’sfriendscanbeveryuseful.”
“Whowasit?”
“Mademoiselle,youlikekeepingyourlittlesecretsfromme.I,too,haveapreferenceforkeepingmylittlesecretsfromyou.”
“Idon’tseehowyoucouldknowwhoIwas.”
“IamHerculePoirot,”saidPoirot,withhisusualmagnificence.Thenhelefttheinitiativetoher,merelysittingtheresmilinggentlyather.
“I—”shebegan,thenstopped.“—Would—”Againshestopped.
“Wedidnotgetveryfarthatmorning,Iknow,”saidHerculePoirot.“Onlysofarasyourtellingmethatyouhadcommittedamurder.”
“Ohthat!”
“Yes,Mademoiselle,that.”
“But—Ididn’tmeanitofcourse.Ididn’tmeananythinglikethat.Imean,itwasjustajoke.”
“Vraiment?Youcametoseemeratherearlyinthemorning,atbreakfasttime.Yousaiditwasurgent.Theurgencywasbecauseyoumighthavecommittedamurder.Thatisyourideaofajoke,eh?”
Awaitresswhohadbeenhovering,lookingatPoirotwithafixedattention,suddenlycameuptohimandprofferedhimwhatappearedtobeapaperboatsuchasismadeforchildrentosailinabath.
“Thisforyou?”shesaid.“Mr.Porritt?Aladyleftit.”
“Ahyes,”saidPoirot.“AndhowdidyouknowwhoIwas?”
“TheladysaidI’dknowbyyourmoustache.SaidIwouldn’thaveseenamoustachelikethatbefore.Andit’strueenough,”sheadded,gazingatit.
“Well,thankyouverymuch.”
Poirottooktheboatfromher,untwisteditandsmootheditout;hereadsomehastilypencilledwords:“He’sjustgoing.She’sstayingbehind,soI’mgoingtoleaveherforyou,andfollowhim.”ItwassignedAriadne.
“Ahyes,”saidHerculePoirot,foldingitandslippingitintohispocket.“Whatwerewetalkingabout?Yoursenseofhumour,Ithink,MissRestarick.”
“Doyouknowjustmynameor—ordoyouknoweverythingaboutme?”
“Iknowafewthingsaboutyou.YouareMissNormaRestarick,youraddressinLondonis67BorodeneMansions.YourhomeaddressisCrosshedges,LongBasing.Youlivetherewithafather,astepmother,agreat-uncleand—ahyes,anaupairgirl.Yousee,Iamquitewellinformed.”
“You’vebeenhavingmefollowed.”
“No,no,”saidPoirot.“Notatall.Astothat,Igiveyoumywordofhonour.”
“Butyouarenotpolice,areyou?Youdidn’tsayyouwere.”
“Iamnotpolice,no.”
Hersuspicionanddefiancebrokedown.
“Idon’tknowwhattodo,”shesaid.
“Iamnoturgingyoutoemployme,”saidPoirot.“ForthatyouhavesaidalreadythatIamtooold.Possiblyyouareright.ButsinceIknowwhoyouareandsomethingaboutyou,thereisnoreasonweshouldnotdiscusstogetherinafriendlyfashionthetroublesthatafflictyou.Theold,youmustremember,thoughconsideredincapableofaction,haveneverthelessagoodfundofexperienceonwhichtodraw.”
Normacontinuedtolookathimdoubtfully,thatwide-eyedstarethathaddisquietedPoirotbefore.Butshewasinasensetrapped,andshehadatthisparticularmoment,orsoPoirotjudged,awishtotalkaboutthings.Forsomereason,Poirothadalwaysbeenapersonitwaseasytotalkto.
“TheythinkI’mcrazy,”shesaidbluntly.“And—andIratherthinkI’mcrazy,too.Mad.”
“Thatismostinteresting,”saidHerculePoirot,cheerfully.“Therearemanydifferentnamesforthesethings.Verygrandnames.Namesrolledouthappilybypsychiatrists,psychologistsandothers.Butwhenyousaycrazy,thatdescribesverywellwhatthegeneralappearancemaybetoordinary,everydaypeople.Ehbien,then,youarecrazy,oryouappearcrazyoryouthinkyouarecrazy,andpossiblyyoumaybecrazy.Butallthesamethatisnottosaytheconditionisserious.Itisathingthatpeoplesufferfromagooddeal,anditisusuallyeasilycuredwiththepropertreatment.Itcomesaboutbecausepeoplehavehadtoomuchmentalstrain,toomuchworry,havestudiedtoomuchforexaminations,havedwelledtoomuchperhapsontheiremotions,havetoomuchreligionorhavealamentablelackofreligion,orhavegoodreasonsforhatingtheirfathersortheirmothers!Or,ofcourse,itcanbeassimpleashavinganunfortunateloveaffair.”
“I’vegotastepmother.IhateherandIratherthinkIhatemyfathertoo.Thatseemsratheralot,doesn’tit?”
“Itismoreusualtohateoneortheother,”saidPoirot.“Youwere,Isuppose,veryfondofyourownmother.Isshedivorcedordead?”
“Dead.Shediedtwoorthreeyearsago.”
“Andyoucaredforherverymuch?”
“Yes.IsupposeIdid.ImeanofcourseIdid.Shewasaninvalid,youknow,andshehadtogotonursinghomesagooddeal.”
“Andyourfather?”
“Fatherhadgoneabroadalongtimebeforethat.HewenttoSouthAfricawhenIwasaboutfiveorsix.IthinkhewantedMothertodivorcehimbutshewouldn’t.HewenttoSouthAfricaandwasmixedupwithminesorsomethinglikethat.Anyway,heusedtowritetomeatChristmas,andsendmeaChristmaspresentorarrangeforonetocometome.Thatwasaboutall.Sohedidn’treallyseemveryrealtome.Hecamehomeaboutayearagobecausehehadtowindupmyuncle’saffairsandallthatsortoffinancialthing.Andwhenhecamehomehe—hebroughtthisnewwifewithhim.”
“Andyouresentedthefact?”
“Yes,Idid.”
“Butyourmotherwasdeadbythen.Itisnotunusual,youknow,foramantomarryagain.Especiallywhenheandhiswifehavebeenestrangedformanyyears.Thiswifehebrought,wasshethesameladyhehadwishedtomarrypreviously,whenheaskedyourmotherforadivorce?”
“Oh,no,thisoneisquiteyoung.Andshe’sverygood-lookingandsheactsasthoughshejustownsmyfather!”
Shewentonafterapause—inadifferent,ratherchildishvoice.“Ithoughtperhapswhenhecamehomethistimehewouldbefondofmeandtakenoticeofmeand—butshewon’tlethim.She’sagainstme.She’scrowdedmeout.”
“Butthatdoesnotmatteratallattheageyouare.Itisagoodthing.Youdonotneedanyonetolookafteryounow.Youcanstandonyourownfeet,youcanenjoylife,youcanchooseyourownfriends—”
“Youwouldn’tthinkso,thewaytheygoonathome!Well,Imeantochoosemyownfriends.”
“Mostgirlsnowadayshavetoendurecriticismabouttheirfriends,”saidPoirot.
“Itwasallsodifferent,”saidNorma.“Myfatherisn’tatalllikeIrememberhimwhenIwasfiveyearsold.Heusedtoplaywithme,allthetime,andbesogay.He’snotgaynow.He’sworriedandratherfierceand—ohquitedifferent.”
“Thatmustbenearlyfifteenyearsago,Ipresume.Peoplechange.”
“Butoughtpeopletochangesomuch?”
“Hashechangedinappearance?”
“Ohno,no,notthat.Ohno!Ifyoulookathispicturejustoverhischair,althoughit’sofhimwhenhewasmuchyounger,it’sexactlylikehimnow.Butitisn’tatallthewayIrememberhim.”
“Butyouknow,mydear,”saidPoirotgently,“peopleareneverlikewhatyourememberthem.Youmakethem,astheyearsgoby,moreandmorethewayyouwishthemtobe,andasyouthinkyourememberthem.Ifyouwanttorememberthemasagreeableandgayandhandsome,youmakethemfarmoresothantheyactuallywere.”
“Doyouthinkso?Doyoureallythinkso?”Shepausedandthensaidabruptly,“ButwhydoyouthinkIwanttokillpeople?”Thequestioncameoutquitenaturally.Itwastherebetweenthem.Theyhad,Poirotfelt,gotatlasttoacrucialmoment.
“Thatmaybequiteaninterestingquestion,”saidPoirot,“andtheremaybequiteaninterestingreason.Thepersonwhocanprobablytellyoutheanswertothatwillbeadoctor.Thekindofdoctorwhoknows.”
Shereactedquickly.
“Iwon’tgotoadoctor.Iwon’tgonearadoctor!Theywantedtosendmetoadoctor,andthenI’llbeshutupinoneofthoseloonyplacesandtheywon’tletmeoutagain.I’mnotgoingtodoanythinglikethat.”Shewasstrugglingnowtorisetoherfeet.
“ItisnotIwhocansendyoutoone!Youneednotbealarmed.Youcouldgotoadoctorentirelyonyourownbehalfifyouliked.Youcangoandsaytohimthethingsyouhavebeensayingtome,andyoumayaskhimwhy,andhewillperhapstellyouthecause.”
“That’swhatDavidsays.That’swhatDavidsaysIshoulddobutIdon’tthink—Idon’tthinkheunderstands.I’dhavetotelladoctorthatI—Imighthavetriedtodothings….”
“Whatmakesyouthinkyouhave?”
“BecauseIdon’talwaysrememberwhatI’vedone—orwhereI’vebeen.Iloseanhouroftime—twohours—andIcan’tremember.Iwasinacorridoronce—acorridoroutsideadoor,herdoor.I’dsomethinginmyhand—Idon’tknowhowIgotit.Shecamewalkingalongtowardsme—Butwhenshegotnearme,herfacechanged.Itwasn’theratall.She’dchangedintosomebodyelse.”
“Youareremembering,perhaps,anightmare.Therepeopledochangeintosomebodyelse.”
“Itwasn’tanightmare.Ipickeduptherevolver—Itwaslyingthereatmyfeet—”
“Inacorridor?”
“No,inthecourtyard.Shecameandtookitawayfromme.”
“Whodid?”
“Claudia.Shetookmeupstairsandgavemesomebitterstufftodrink.”
“Wherewasyourstepmotherthen?”
“Shewasthere,too—No,shewasn’t.ShewasatCrosshedges.Orinhospital.That’swheretheyfoundoutshewasbeingpoisoned—andthatitwasme.”
“Itneednothavebeenyou—Itcouldhavebeensomeoneelse.”
“Whoelsecouldithavebeen?”
“Perhaps—herhusband.”
“Father?WhyonearthshouldFatherwanttopoisonMary.He’sdevotedtoher.He’ssillyabouther!”
“Thereareothersinthehouse,aretherenot?”
“OldUncleRoderick?Nonsense!”
“Onedoesnotknow,”saidPoirot,“hemightbementallyafflicted.Hemightthinkitwashisdutytopoisonawomanwhomightbeabeautifulspy.Somethinglikethat.”
“Thatwouldbeveryinteresting,”saidNorma,momentarilydiverted,andspeakinginaperfectlynaturalmanner.“UncleRoderickwasmixedupagooddealwithspiesandthingsinthelastwar.Whoelseisthere?Sonia?Isupposeshemightbeabeautifulspy,butshe’snotquitemyideaofone.”
“No,andtheredoesnotseemverymuchreasonwhysheshouldwishtopoisonyourstepmother.Isupposetheremightbeservants,gardeners?”
“No,theyjustcomeinforthedays.Idon’tthink—well,theywouldn’tbethekindofpeopletohaveanyreason.”
“Shemighthavedoneitherself.”
“Committedsuicide,doyoumean?Liketheotherone?”
“Itisapossibility.”
“Ican’timagineMarycommittingsuicide.She’sfartoosensible.Andwhyshouldshewantto?”
“Yes,youfeelthatifshedid,shewouldputherheadinthegasoven,orshewouldlieonabednicelyarrangedandtakeanoverdoseofsleepingdraughts.Isthatright?”
“Well,itwouldhavebeenmorenatural.Soyousee,”saidNormaearnestly,“itmusthavebeenme.”
“Aha,”saidPoirot,“thatinterestsme.Youwouldalmost,itwouldseem,preferthatitshouldbeyou.Youareattractedtotheideathatitwasyourhandwhoslippedthefataldoseofthis,thatortheother.Yes,youliketheidea.”
“Howdareyousaysuchathing!Howcanyou?”
“BecauseIthinkitistrue,”saidPoirot.“Whydoesthethoughtthatyoumayhavecommittedmurderexciteyou,pleaseyou?”
“It’snottrue.”
“Iwonder,”saidPoirot.
Shescoopedupherbagandbeganfeelinginitwithshakingfingers.
“I’mnotgoingtostophereandhaveyousaythesehorriblethingstome.”Shesignalledtothewaitresswhocame,scribbledonapadofpaper,detacheditandlaiditdownbyNorma’splate.
“Permitme,”saidHerculePoirot.
Heremovedtheslipofpaperdeftly,andpreparedtodrawhisnotecasefromhispocket.Thegirlsnatcheditbackagain.
“No,Iwon’tletyoupayforme.”
“Asyouplease,”saidPoirot.
Hehadseenwhathewantedtosee.Thebillwasfortwo.ItwouldseemthereforethatDavidofthefinefeathershadnoobjectiontohavinghisbillspaidbyaninfatuatedgirl.
“Soitisyouwhoentertainafriendtoelevenses,Isee.”
“HowdidyouknowthatIwaswithanyone?”
“Itellyou,Iknowagooddeal.”
Sheplacedcoinsonthetableandrose.“I’mgoingnow,”shesaid,“andIforbidyoutofollowme.”
“IdoubtifIcould,”saidPoirot.“Youmustremembermyadvancedage.IfyouweretorundownthestreetIshouldcertainlynotbeabletofollowyou.”
Shegotupandwenttowardsthedoor.
“Doyouhear?Youarenottofollowme.”
“Youpermitmeatleasttoopenthedoorforyou.”Hedidsowithsomethingofaflourish.“Aurevoir,Mademoiselle.”
Shethrewasuspiciousglanceathimandwalkedawaydownthestreetwitharapidstep,turningherheadbackoverhershoulderfromtimetotime.Poirotremainedbythedoorwatchingher,butmadenoattempttogainthepavementortocatchherup.Whenshewasoutofsight,heturnedbackintothecafé.
“Andwhatthedevildoesallthatmean?”saidPoirottohimself.
Thewaitresswasadvancinguponhim,displeasureonherface.Poirotregainedhisseatatthetableandplacatedherbyorderingacupofcoffee.“Thereissomethinghereverycurious,”hemurmuredtohimself.“Yes,somethingverycuriousindeed.”
Acupofpalebeigefluidwasplacedinfrontofhim.Hetookasipofitandmadeagrimace.
HewonderedwhereMrs.Oliverwasatthismoment.
Nine
Mrs.Oliverwasseatedinabus.Shewasslightlyoutofbreaththoughfullofthezestofthechase.WhatshecalledinherownmindthePeacock,hadledasomewhatbriskpace.Mrs.Oliverwasnotarapidwalker.GoingalongtheEmbankmentshefollowedhimatadistanceofsometwentyyardsorso.AtCharingCrosshegotintotheunderground.Mrs.Oliveralsogotintotheunderground.AtSloaneSquarehegotout,sodidMrs.Oliver.Shewaitedinabusqueuesomethreeorfourpeoplebehindhim.Hegotonabusandsodidshe.HegotoutatWorld’sEnd,sodidMrs.Oliver.HeplungedintoabewilderingmazeofstreetsbetweenKing’sRoadandtheriver.Heturnedintowhatseemedabuilder’syard.Mrs.Oliverstoodintheshadowofadoorwayandwatched.Heturnedintoanalleyway,Mrs.Olivergavehimamomentortwoandthenfollowed—hewasnowheretobeseen.Mrs.Oliverreconnoitredhergeneralsurroundings.Thewholeplaceappearedsomewhatdecrepit.Shewanderedfartherdownthealleyway.Otheralleywaysledofffromit—someofthemcul-de-sacs.Shehadcompletelylosthersenseofdirectionwhensheoncemorecametothebuilder’syardandavoicespokebehindher,startlingherconsiderably.Itsaid,politely,“IhopeIdidn’twalktoofastforyou.”
Sheturnedsharply.Suddenlywhathadrecentlybeenalmostfun,achaseundertakenlightheartedlyandinthebestofspirits,nowwasthatnolonger.Whatshefeltnowwasasuddenunexpectedthroboffear.Yes,shewasafraid.Theatmospherehadsuddenlybecometingedwithmenace.Yetthevoicewaspleasant,polite;butbehinditsheknewtherewasanger.Thesuddenkindofangerthatrecalledtoherinaconfusedfashionallthethingsonereadinnewspapers.Elderlywomenattackedbygangsofyoungmen.Youngmenwhowereruthless,cruel,whoweredrivenbyhateandthedesiretodoharm.Thiswastheyoungmanwhomshehadbeenfollowing.Hehadknownshewasthere,hadgivenhertheslipandhadthenfollowedherintothisalleyway,andhestoodtherenowbarringherwayout.AsistheprecariousfashionofLondon,onemomentyouareamongstpeopleallroundyouandthenextmomentthereisnobodyinsight.Theremustbepeopleinthenextstreet,someoneinthehousesnear,butnearerthanthatisamasterfulfigure,afigurewithstrongcruelhands.Shefeltthatinthismomenthewasthinkingofusingthosehands…ThePeacock.Aproudpeacock.Inhisvelvets,histight,elegantblacktrousers,speakinginthatquietironicalamusedvoicethatheldbehinditanger…Mrs.Olivertookthreebiggasps.Then,inalightningmomentofdecisionsheputupaquicklyimagineddefence.Firmlyandimmediatelyshesatdownonadustbinwhichwasagainstthewallquiteclosetoher.
“Goodness,howyoustartledme,”shesaid.“I’dnoideayouwerethere.Ihopeyou’renotannoyed.”
“Soyouwerefollowingme?”
“Yes,I’mafraidIwas.Iexpectitmusthavebeenratherannoyingtoyou.YouseeIthoughtitwouldbesuchanexcellentopportunity.I’msureyou’refrightfullyangrybutyouneedn’tbe,youknow.Notreally.Yousee—”Mrs.Oliversettledherselfmorefirmlyonthedustbin,“youseeIwritebooks.IwritedetectivestoriesandI’vereallybeenveryworriedthismorning.InfactIwentintoacafétohaveacupofcoffeejusttotryandthinkthingsout.I’djustgottothepointinmybookwhereIwasfollowingsomebody.ImeanmyherowasfollowingsomeoneandIthoughttomyself,‘ReallyIknowverylittleaboutfollowingpeople.’Imean,I’malwaysusingthephraseinabookandI’vereadalotofbookswherepeopledofollowotherpeople,andIwonderedifitwasaseasyasitseemstobeinsomepeople’sbooksorifitwasasalmostentirelyimpossibleasitseemedinotherpeople’sbooks.SoIthought‘Well,really,theonlythingwastotryitoutmyself’—becauseuntilyoutrythingsoutyourselfyoucan’treallytellwhatit’slike.Imeanyoudon’tknowwhatyoufeellike,orwhetheryougetworriedatlosingaperson.Asithappened,IjustlookedupandyouweresittingatthenexttabletomeinthecaféandIthoughtyou’dbe—Ihopeyouwon’tbeannoyedagain—butIthoughtyou’dbeanespeciallygoodpersontofollow.”
Hewasstillstaringatherwiththosestrange,coldblueeyes,yetshefeltsomehowthatthetensionhadleftthem.
“WhywasIanespeciallygoodpersontofollow?”
“Well,youweresodecorative,”explainedMrs.Oliver.“Theyarereallyveryattractiveclothes—almostRegency,youknow,andIthought,well,Imighttakeadvantageofyourbeingfairlyeasytodistinguishfromotherpeople.Soyousee,whenyouwentoutofthecaféIwentouttoo.Andit’snotreallyeasyatall.”Shelookedupathim.“DoyoumindtellingmeifyouknewIwasthereallthetime?”
“Notatonce,no.”
“Isee,”saidMrs.Oliverthoughtfully.“ButofcourseI’mnotasdistinctiveasyouare.Imeanyouwouldn’tbeabletotellmeveryeasilyfromalotofotherelderlywomen.Idon’tstandoutverymuch,doI?”
“Doyouwritebooksthatarepublished?HaveIevercomeacrossthem?”
“Well,Idon’tknow.Youmayhave.I’vewrittenforty-threebynow.Myname’sOliver.”
“AriadneOliver?”
“Soyoudoknowmyname,”saidMrs.Oliver.“Well,that’srathergratifying,ofcourse,thoughIdaresayyouwouldn’tlikemybooksverymuch.Youprobablywouldfindthemratherold-fashioned—notviolentenough.”
“Youdidn’tknowmepersonallybeforehand?”
Mrs.Olivershookherhead.“No,I’msureIdon’t—didn’t,Imean.”
“WhataboutthegirlIwaswith?”
“Youmeantheoneyouwerehaving—bakedbeans,wasit—withinthecafé?No,Idon’tthinkso.OfcourseIonlysawthebackofherhead.Shelookedtome—well,Imeangirlsdolookratheralike,don’tthey?”
“Sheknewyou,”saidtheboysuddenly.Histoneinamomenthadasuddenacidsharpness.“Shementionedoncethatshe’dmetyounotlongago.Aboutaweekago,Ibelieve.”
“Where?Wasitataparty?IsupposeImighthavemether.What’shername?PerhapsI’dknowthat.”
Shethoughthewasintwomoodswhethertomentionthenameornot,buthedecidedtoandhewatchedherfaceverykeenlyashedidso.
“Hername’sNormaRestarick.”
“NormaRestarick.Oh,ofcourse,yes,itwasatapartyinthecountry.Aplacecalled—waitaminute—LongNortonwasit?—Idon’trememberthenameofthehouse.Iwenttherewithsomefriends.Idon’tthinkIwouldhaverecognisedheranyway,thoughIbelieveshedidsaysomethingaboutmybooks.IevenpromisedI’dgiveherone.It’sveryodd,isn’tit,thatIshouldmakeupmymindandactuallychoosetofollowapersonwhowassittingwithsomebodyImoreorlessknew.Veryodd.Idon’tthinkIcouldputanythinglikethatinmybook.Itwouldlookrathertoomuchofacoincidence,don’tyouthink?”
Mrs.Oliverrosefromherseat.
“Goodgracious,whathaveIbeensittingon?Adustbin!Really!Notaverynicedustbineither.”Shesniffed.“WhatisthisplaceI’vegotto?”
Davidwaslookingather.Shefeltsuddenlythatshewascompletelymistakenineverythingshehadpreviouslythought.“Absurdofme,”thoughtMrs.Oliver,“absurdofme.Thinkingthathewasdangerous,thathemightdosomethingtome.”Hewassmilingatherwithanextraordinarycharm.Hemovedhisheadslightlyandhischestnutringletsmovedonhisshoulders.Whatfantasticcreaturestherewereinthewayofyoungmennowadays!
“TheleastIcando,”hesaid,“istoshowyou,Ithink,whereyou’vebeenbroughtto,justbyfollowingme.Comeon,upthesestairs.”Heindicatedaramshackleoutsidestaircaserunninguptowhatseemedtobealoft.
“Upthosestairs?”Mrs.Oliverwasnotsocertainaboutthis.Perhapshewastryingtolureheruptherewithhischarm,andhewouldthenknockheronthehead.“It’snogood,Ariadne,”saidMrs.Olivertoherself,“you’vegotyourselfintothisspot,andnowyou’vegottogoonwithitandfindoutwhatyoucanfindout.”
“Doyouthinkthey’llstandmyweight?”shesaid,“theylookfrightfullyrickety.”
“They’requiteallright.I’llgoupfirst,”hesaid,“andshowyoutheway.”
Mrs.Olivermountedtheladderlikestairsbehindhim.Itwasnogood.Shewas,deepdown,stillfrightened.Frightened,notsomuchofthePeacock,asfrightenedofwherethePeacockmightbetakingher.Well,she’dknowverysoon.Hepushedopenthedooratthetopandwentintoaroom.Itwasalarge,bareroomanditwasanartist’sstudio,animprovisedkindofone.Afewmattresseslayhereandthereonthefloor,therewerecanvassesstackedagainstthewall,acoupleofeasels.Therewasapervadingsmellofpaint.Thereweretwopeopleintheroom.Abeardedyoungmanwasstandingataneasel,painting.Heturnedhisheadastheyentered.
“Hallo,David,”hesaid,“bringinguscompany?”
Hewas,Mrs.Oliverthought,quitethedirtiest-lookingyoungmanshe’deverseen.Oilyblackhairhunginakindofcircularbobdownthebackofhisneckandoverhiseyesinfront.Hisfaceapartfromthebeardwasunshaven,andhisclothesseemedmainlycomposedofgreasyblackleatherandhighboots.Mrs.Oliver’sglancewentbeyondhimtoagirlwhowasactingasamodel.Shewasonawoodenchaironadais,halfflungacrossit,herheadbackandherdarkhairdroopingdownfromit.Mrs.Oliverrecognisedheratonce.ItwasthesecondoneofthethreegirlsinBorodeneMansions.Mrs.Olivercouldn’trememberherlastname,butsherememberedherfirstone.Itwasthehighlydecorativeandlanguid-lookinggirlcalledFrances.
“MeetPeter,”saidDavid,indicatingthesomewhatrevoltinglookingartist.“Oneofourbuddinggeniuses.AndFranceswhoisposingasadesperategirldemandingabortion.”
“Shutup,youape,”saidPeter.
“IbelieveIknowyou,don’tI?”saidMrs.Oliver,cheerfully,withoutanyairofconsciouscertainty.“I’msureI’vemetyousomewhere!Somewherequitelately,too.”
“You’reMrs.Oliver,aren’tyou?”saidFrances.
“That’swhatshesaidshewas,”saidDavid.“True,too,isit?”
“Now,wheredidImeetyou,”continuedMrs.Oliver.“Someparty,wasit?No.Letmethink.Iknow.ItwasBorodeneMansions.”
Franceswassittingupnowinherchairandspeakinginwearybuteleganttones.Peterutteredaloudandmiserablegroan.
“Nowyou’veruinedthepose!Doyouhavetohaveallthiswrigglingabout?Can’tyoukeepstill?”
“No,Icouldn’tanylonger.Itwasanawfulpose.I’vegotthemostfrightfulcrickinmyshoulder.”
“I’vebeenmakingexperimentsinfollowingpeople,”saidMrs.Oliver.“It’smuchmoredifficultthanIthought.Isthisanartist’sstudio?”sheadded,lookingroundherbrightly.
“That’swhatthey’relikenowadays,akindofloft—andluckyifyoudon’tfallthroughthefloor,”saidPeter.
“It’sgotallyouneed,”saidDavid.“It’sgotanorthlightandplentyofroomandapadtosleepon,andafourthshareintheloodownstairs—andwhattheycallcookingfacilities.Andit’sgotabottleortwo,”headded.TurningtoMrs.Oliver,butinanentirelydifferenttone,oneofutterpoliteness,hesaid,“Andcanweofferyouadrink?”
“Idon’tdrink,”saidMrs.Oliver.
“Theladydoesn’tdrink,”saidDavid.“Whowouldhavethoughtit!”
“That’sratherrudebutyou’requiteright,”saidMrs.Oliver.“Mostpeoplecomeuptomeandsay,‘Ialwaysthoughtyoudranklikeafish.’”
Sheopenedherhandbag—andimmediatelythreecoilsofgreyhairfellonthefloor.Davidpickedthemupandhandedthemtoher.
“Oh!thankyou.”Mrs.Olivertookthem.“Ihadn’ttimethismorning.IwonderifI’vegotanymorehairpins.”Shedelvedinherbagandstartedattachingthecoilstoherhead.
Peterroaredwithlaughter—“Bullyforyou,”hesaid.
“Howextraordinary,”Mrs.Oliverthoughttoherself,“thatIshouldeverhavehadthissillyideathatIwasindanger.Danger—fromthesepeople?Nomatterwhattheylooklike,they’rereallyveryniceandfriendly.It’squitetruewhatpeoplealwayssaytome.I’vefartoomuchimagination.”
Presentlyshesaidshemustbegoing,andDavid,withRegencygallantry,helpedherdownthericketysteps,andgaveherdefinitedirectionsastohowtorejointheKing’sRoadinthequickestway.
“Andthen,”hesaid,“youcangetabus—orataxiifyouwantit.”
“Ataxi,”saidMrs.Oliver.“Myfeetareabsolutelydead.ThesoonerIfallintoataxithebetter.Thankyou,”sheadded,“forbeingsoveryniceaboutmyfollowingyouinwhatmusthaveseemedaverypeculiarway.ThoughafterallIdon’tsupposeprivatedetectives,orprivateeyesorwhatevertheycallthem,wouldlookanythingatalllikeme.”
“Perhapsnot,”saidDavidgravely.“Lefthere—andthenright,andthenleftagainuntilyouseetheriverandgotowardsit,andthensharprightandstraighton.”
Curiouslyenough,asshewalkedacrosstheshabbyyardthesamefeelingofuneaseandsuspensecameoverher.“Imustn’tletmyimaginationgoagain.”Shelookedbackatthestepsandthewindowofthestudio.ThefigureofDavidstillstoodlookingafterher.“Threeperfectlyniceyoungpeople,”saidMrs.Olivertoherself.“Perfectlyniceandverykind.Lefthere,andthenright.Justbecausetheylookratherpeculiar,onegoesandhassillyideasabouttheirbeingdangerous.Wasitrightagain?orleft?Left,Ithink—Ohgoodness,myfeet.It’sgoingtorain,too.”ThewalkseemedendlessandtheKing’sRoadincrediblyfaraway.Shecouldhardlyhearthetrafficnow—Andwhereonearthwastheriver?Shebegantosuspectthatshehadfollowedthedirectionswrongly.
“Oh!well,”thoughtMrs.Oliver,“I’mboundtogetsomewheresoon—theriver,orPutneyorWandsworthorsomewhere.”SheaskedherwaytotheKing’sRoadfromapassingmanwhosaidhewasaforeigneranddidn’tspeakEnglish.
Mrs.Oliverturnedanothercornerwearilyandthereaheadofherwasthegleamofthewater.Shehurriedtowardsitdownanarrowpassageway,heardafootstepbehindher,halfturned,whenshewasstruckfrombehindandtheworldwentupinsparks.
Ten
I
Avoicesaid:
“Drinkthis.”
Normawasshivering.Hereyeshadadazedlook.Sheshrankbackalittleinthechair.Thecommandwasrepeated.“Drinkthis.”Thistimeshedrankobediently,thenchokedalittle.
“It’s—it’sverystrong,”shegasped.
“It’llputyouright.You’llfeelbetterinaminute.Justsitstillandwait.”
Thesicknessandthegiddinesswhichhadbeenconfusingherpassedoff.Alittlecolourcameintohercheeks,andtheshiveringdiminished.Forthefirsttimeshelookedroundher,notinghersurroundings.Shehadbeenobsessedbyafeelingoffearandhorrorbutnowthingsseemedtobereturningtonormal.Itwasamedium-sizedroomanditwasfurnishedinawaythatseemedfaintlyfamiliar.Adesk,acouch,anarmchairandanordinarychair,astethoscopeonasidetableandsomemachinethatshethoughthadtodowitheyes.Thenherattentionwentfromthegeneraltotheparticular.Themanwhohadtoldhertodrink.
Shesawamanofperhapsthirty-oddwithredhairandaratherattractiveuglyface,thekindoffacethatiscraggybutinteresting.Henoddedatherinareassuringfashion.
“Beginningtogetyourbearings?”
“I—Ithinkso.I—didyou—whathappened?”
“Don’tyouremember?”
“Thetraffic.I—itcameatme—it—”Shelookedathim.“Iwasrunover.”
“Ohno,youweren’trunover.”Heshookhishead.“Isawtothat.”
“You?”
“Well,thereyouwereinthemiddleoftheroad,acarbearingdownonyouandIjustmanagedtosnatchyououtofitsway.Whatwereyouthinkingoftogorunningintothetrafficlikethat?”
“Ican’tremember.I—yes,IsupposeImusthavebeenthinkingofsomethingelse.”
“AJaguarwascomingprettyfast,andtherewasabusbearingdownontheothersideoftheroad.Thecarwasn’ttryingtorunyoudownoranythinglikethat,wasit?”
“I—no,no,I’msureitwasn’t.ImeanI—”
“Well,Iwondered—Itjustmighthavebeensomethingelse,mightn’tit?”
“Whatdoyoumean?”
“Well,itcouldhavebeendeliberate,youknow.”
“Whatdoyoumeanbydeliberate?”
“ActuallyIjustwonderedwhetheryouweretryingtogetyourselfkilled?”Headdedcasually,“Wereyou?”
“I—no—well—no,ofcoursenot.”
“Damn’sillywaytodoit,ifso.”Histonechangedslightly.“Comenow,youmustremembersomethingaboutit.”
Shebeganshiveringagain.“Ithought—Ithoughtitwouldbeallover.Ithought—”
“Soyouweretryingtokillyourself,weren’tyou?What’sthematter?Youcantellme.Boyfriend?Thatcanmakeonefeelprettybad.Besides,there’salwaysthehopefulthoughtthatifyoukillyourselfyoumakehimsorry—butoneshouldnevertrusttothat.Peopledon’tlikefeelingsorryorfeelinganythingistheirfault.Alltheboyfriendwillprobablysayis,‘Ialwaysthoughtshewasunbalanced.It’sreallyallforthebest.’JustrememberthatnexttimeyouhaveanurgetochargeJaguars.EvenJaguarshavefeelingstobeconsidered.Wasthatthetrouble?Boyfriendwalkoutonyou?”
“No,”saidNorma.“Ohno.Itwasquitetheopposite.”Sheaddedsuddenly,“Hewantedtomarryme.”
“That’snoreasonforthrowingyourselfdowninfrontofaJaguar.”
“Yesitis.Ididitbecause—”Shestopped.
“You’dbettertellmeaboutit,hadn’tyou?”
“HowdidIgethere?”askedNorma.
“Ibroughtyouhereinataxi.Youdidn’tseeminjured—afewbruises,Iexpect.Youmerelylookedshakentodeath,andinastateofshock.Iaskedyouyouraddress,butyoulookedatmeasthoughyoudidn’tknowwhatIwastalkingabout.Acrowdwasabouttocollect.SoIhailedataxiandbroughtyouhere.”
“Isthisa—adoctor’ssurgery?”
“Thisisadoctor’sconsultingroomandI’mthedoctor.Stillingfleet,mynameis.”
“Idon’twanttoseeadoctor!Idon’twanttotalktoadoctor!Idon’t—”
“Calmdown,calmdown.You’vebeentalkingtoadoctorforthelasttenminutes.What’sthematterwithdoctors,anyway?”
“I’mafraid.I’mafraidadoctorwouldsay—”
“Comenow,mydeargirl,you’renotconsultingmeprofessionally.Regardmeasamereoutsiderwho’sbeenenoughofabusybodytosaveyoufrombeingkilledor,whatisfarmorelikely,havingabrokenarmorafracturedlegoraheadinjuryorsomethingextremelyunpleasantwhichmightincapacitateyouforlife.Thereareotherdisadvantages.Formerly,ifyoudeliberatelytriedtocommitsuicideyoucouldbehadupinCourt.Youstillcanifit’sasuicidepact.Therenow,youcan’tsayIhaven’tbeenfrank.Youcouldobligenowbybeingfrankwithme,andtellingmewhyonearthyou’reafraidofdoctors.What’sadoctoreverdonetoyou?”
“Nothing.Nothinghasbeendonetome.ButI’mafraidthattheymight—”
“Mightwhat?”
“Shutmeup.”
Dr.Stillingfleetraisedhissandyeyebrowsandlookedather.
“Well,well,”hesaid.“Youseemtohavesomeverycuriousideasaboutdoctors.WhyshouldIwanttoshutyouup?Wouldyoulikeacupoftea,”headded,“orwouldyoupreferapurpleheartoratranquilliser?That’sthekindofthingpeopleofyouragegoinfor.Doneabityourselfinthatline,haven’tyou?”
Sheshookherhead.“Not—notreally.”
“Idon’tbelieveyou.Anyway,whythealarmanddespondency?You’renotreallymental,areyou?Ishouldn’thavesaidso.Doctorsaren’tatallanxioustohavepeopleshutup.Mentalhomesarefartoofullalready.Difficulttosqueezeinanotherbody.Infactlatelythey’vebeenlettingagoodmanypeopleout—indesperation—pushingthemout,youmightsay—whojollywelloughttohavebeenkeptin.Everything’ssoovercrowdedinthiscountry.
“Well,”hewenton,“whatareyourtastes?Somethingoutofmydrugcupboardoragoodsolidold-fashionedEnglishcupoftea?”
“I—I’dlikesometea,”saidNorma.
“IndianorChina?That’sthethingtoask,isn’tit?Mindyou,I’mnotsureifI’vegotanyChina.”
“IlikeIndianbetter.”
“Good.”
Hewenttothedoor,openeditandshouted,“Annie.Potofteafortwo.”
Hecamebackandsatdownandsaid,“Nowyougetthisquiteclear,younglady.What’syourname,bytheway?”
“NormaRes—”shestopped.
“Yes?”
“NormaWest.”
“Well,MissWest,let’sgetthisclear.I’mnottreatingyou,you’renotconsultingme.Youarethevictimofastreetaccident—thatisthewaywe’llputitandthatisthewayIsupposeyoumeantittoappear,whichwouldhavebeenprettyhardonthefellowintheJaguar.”
“Ithoughtofthrowingmyselfoffabridgefirst.”
“Didyou?Youwouldn’thavefoundthatsoeasy.Peoplewhobuildbridgesarerathercarefulnowadays.Imeanyou’dhavehadtoclimbupontotheparapetandit’snotsoeasy.Somebodystopsyou.Well,tocontinuewithmydissertation,Ibroughtyouhomeasyouwereintoomuchofastateofshocktotellmeyouraddress.Whatisit,bytheway?”
“Ihaven’tgotanaddress.I—Idon’tliveanywhere.”
“Interesting,”saidDr.Stillingfleet.“Whatthepolicecall‘ofnofixedabode.’Whatdoyoudo—sitoutontheEmbankmentallnight?”
Shelookedathimsuspiciously.
“Icouldhavereportedtheaccidenttothepolicebuttherewasnoobligationuponmetodoso.Ipreferredtotaketheviewthatinastateofmaidenmeditationyouwerecrossingthestreetbeforelookingleftfirst.”
“You’renotatalllikemyideaofadoctor,”saidNorma.
“Really?Well,I’vebeengettinggraduallydisillusionedinmyprofessioninthiscountry.Infact,I’mgivingupmypracticehereandI’mgoingtoAustraliainaboutafortnight.Soyou’requitesafefromme,andyoucanifyouliketellmehowyouseepinkelephantswalkingoutofthewall,howyouthinkthetreesareleaningouttheirbranchestowraproundandstrangleyou,howyouthinkyouknowjustwhenthedevillooksoutofpeople’seyes,oranyothercheerfulfantasy,andIshan’tdoathingaboutit!Youlooksaneenough,ifImaysayso.”
“Idon’tthinkIam.”
“Well,youmayberight,”saidDr.Stillingfleethandsomely.“Let’shearwhatyourreasonsare.”
“Idothingsanddon’trememberaboutthem…ItellpeoplethingsaboutwhatI’vedonebutIdon’tremembertellingthem….”
“Itsoundsasthoughyouhaveabadmemory.”
“Youdon’tunderstand.They’reall—wickedthings.”
“Religiousmania?Nowthatwouldbeveryinteresting.”
“It’snotreligious.It’sjust—justhate.”
Therewasatapatthedoorandanelderlywomancameinwithateatray.Sheputitdownonthedeskandwentoutagain.
“Sugar?”saidDr.Stillingfleet.
“Yes,please.”
“Sensiblegirl.Sugarisverygoodforyouwhenyou’vehadashock.”Hepouredouttwocupsoftea,sethersathersideandplacedthesugarbasinbesideit.“Nowthen,”hesatdown.“Whatwerewetalkingabout?Ohyes,hate.”
“Itispossible,isn’tit,thatyoucouldhatesomeonesomuchthatyoureallywanttokillthem?”
“Oh,yes,”saidStillingfleet,cheerfullystill.“Perfectlypossible.Infact,mostnatural.Butevenifyoureallywanttodoityoucan’talwaysscrewyourselfuptothepoint,youknow.Thehumanbeingisequippedwithanaturalbrakingsystemanditappliesthebrakesforyoujustattherightmoment.”
“Youmakeitsoundsoordinary,”saidNorma.Therewasadistinctovertoneofannoyanceinhervoice.
“Oh,well,itisquitenatural.Childrenfeellikeitalmosteveryday.Losetheirtempers,saytotheirmothersortheirfathers:‘You’rewicked,Ihateyou,Iwishyouweredead.’Mothers,beingsometimessensiblepeople,don’tusuallypayanyattention.Whenyougrowup,youstillhatepeople,butyoucan’ttakequitesomuchtroublewantingtokillthembythen.Orifyoustilldo—well,thenyougotoprison.Thatis,ifyouactuallybroughtyourselftodosuchamessyanddifficultjob.Youaren’tputtingallthison,areyou,bytheway?”heaskedcasually.
“Ofcoursenot.”Normasatupstraight.Hereyesflashedwithanger.“Ofcoursenot.DoyouthinkIwouldsaysuchawfulthingsiftheyweren’ttrue?”
“Well,again,”saidDr.Stillingfleet,“peopledo.Theysayallsortsofawfulthingsaboutthemselvesandenjoysayingthem.”Hetookheremptycupfromher.“Nowthen,”hesaid,“you’dbettertellmeallabouteverything.Whoyouhate,whyyouhatethem,whatyou’dliketodotothem.”
“Lovecanturntohate.”
“Soundslikeamelodramaticballad.Butrememberhatecanturntolove,too.Itworksbothways.Andyousayit’snotaboyfriend.Hewasyourmanandhedidyouwrong.Noneofthatstuff,eh?”
“No,no.Nothinglikethat.It’s—it’smystepmother.”
“Thecruelstepmothermotif.Butthat’snonsense.Atyourageyoucangetawayfromastepmother.Whathasshedonetoyoubesidesmarryingyourfather?Doyouhatehimtoo,orareyousodevotedtohimthatyoudon’twanttosharehim?”
“It’snotlikethatatall.Notatall.Iusedtolovehimonce.Ilovedhimdearly.Hewas—hewas—Ithoughthewaswonderful.”
“Nowthen,”saidDr.Stillingfleet,“listentome.I’mgoingtosuggestsomething.Youseethatdoor?”
Normaturnedherheadandlookedinapuzzledfashionatthedoor.
“Perfectlyordinarydoor,isn’tit?Notlocked.Opensandshutsintheordinaryway.Goon,tryitforyourself.Yousawmyhousekeepercomeinandgooutthroughit,didn’tyou?Noillusions.Comeon.Getup.DowhatItellyou.”
Normarosefromherchairandratherhesitatinglywenttothedoorandopenedit.Shestoodintheaperture,herheadturnedtowardshiminquiringly.
“Right.Whatdoyousee?Aperfectlyordinaryhallway,wantsredecoratingbutit’snotworthhavingitdonewhenI’mjustofftoAustralia.Nowgotothefrontdoor,openit,alsonotricksaboutit.Gooutsideanddowntothepavementandthatwillshowyouthatyouareperfectlyfreewithnoattemptstoshutyouupinanyway.Afterthat,whenyouhavesatisfiedyourselfthatyoucouldwalkoutofthisplaceatanyminuteyoulike,comeback,sitinthatcomfortablechairoverthereandtellmeallaboutyourself.AfterwhichIwillgiveyoumyvaluableadvice.Youneedn’ttakeit,”headdedconsolingly.“Peopleseldomdotakeadvice,butyoumightaswellhaveit.See?Agreed?”
Normagotupslowly,shewentalittleshakilyoutoftheroom,outinto—asthedoctorhaddescribed—theperfectlyordinaryhallway,openedthefrontdoorwithasimplecatch,downfourstepsandstoodonthepavementinastreetofdecorousbutratheruninterestinghouses.Shestoodthereamoment,unawarethatshewasbeingwatchedthroughalaceblindbyDr.Stillingfleethimself.Shestoodthereforabouttwominutes,thenwithaslightlymoreresolutebearingsheturned,wentupthestepsagain,shutthefrontdoorandcamebackintotheroom.
“Allright?”saidDr.Stillingfleet.“Satisfiedyouthere’snothingupmysleeve?Allclearandaboveboard.”
Thegirlnodded.
“Right.Sitdownthere.Makeyourselfcomfortable.Doyousmoke?”
“Well,I—”
“Onlyreefers—somethingofthatkind?Nevermind,youneedn’ttellme.”
“OfcourseIdon’ttakeanythingofthatkind.”
“Ishouldn’thavesaidtherewasany‘ofcourse’aboutit,butonemustbelievewhatthepatienttellsone.Allright.Nowtellmeaboutyourself.”
“I—Idon’tknow.There’snothingtotellreally.Don’tyouwantmetoliedownonacouch?”
“Oh,youmeanyourmemoryofdreamsandallthatstuff?No,notparticularly.Ijustliketogetabackground.Youknow.Youwereborn,youlivedinthecountryorthetown,youhavebrothersandsistersoryou’reanonlychildandsoon.Whenyourownmotherdied,wereyouveryupsetbyherdeath?”
“OfcourseIwas.”Normasoundedindignant.
“You’remuchtoofondofsayingofcourse,MissWest.Bytheway,Westisn’treallyyourname,isit?Oh,nevermind,Idon’twanttoknowanyotherone.CallyourselfWestorEastorNorthoranythingyoulike.Anyway,whatwentonafteryourmotherdied?”
“Shewasaninvalidforalongtimebeforeshedied.Innursinghomesagooddeal.Istayedwithanaunt,ratheranoldaunt,downinDevonshire.Shewasn’treallyanaunt,shewasMother’sfirstcousin.Andthenmyfathercamehomejustaboutsixmonthsago.It—itwaswonderful.”Herfacelightedupsuddenly.Shewasunawareofthequick,shrewdglancetheapparentlycasualyoungmanshotather.“Icouldhardlyrememberhim,youknow.HemusthavegoneawaywhenIwasaboutfive.Ididn’treallythinkI’deverseehimagain.Motherdidn’tveryoftentalkabouthim.Ithinkatfirstshehopedthathe’dgiveupthisotherwomanandcomeback.”
“Otherwoman?”
“Yes.Hewentawaywithsomeone.Shewasaverybadwoman,Mothersaid.MothertalkedaboutherverybitterlyandverybitterlyaboutFathertoo,butIusedtothinkthatperhaps—perhapsFatherwasn’tasbadasshethought,thatitwasallthiswoman’sfault.”
“Didtheymarry?”
“No.MothersaidshewouldneverdivorceFather.Shewasa—isitanAnglican?—veryHighChurch,youknow.RatherlikeaRomanCatholic.Shedidn’tbelieveindivorce.”
“Didtheygoonlivingtogether?Whatwasthewoman’snameoristhatasecrettoo?”
“Idon’trememberherlastname.”Normashookherhead.“No,Idon’tthinktheylivedtogetherlong,butIdon’tknowmuchaboutitall,yousee.TheywenttoSouthAfricabutIthinktheyquarrelledandpartedquitesoonbecausethat’swhenMothersaidshehopedFathermightcomebackagain.Buthedidn’t.Hedidn’twriteeven.Noteventome.ButhesentmethingsatChristmas.Presentsalways.”
“Hewasfondofyou?”
“Idon’tknow.HowcouldItell?Nobodyeverspokeabouthim.OnlyUncleSimon—hisbrother,youknow.HewasinbusinessintheCityandhewasveryangrythatFatherhadchuckedupeverything.Hesaidhehadalwaysbeenthesame,couldneversettletoanything,buthesaidhewasn’tabadchapreally.Hesaidhewasjustweak.Ididn’toftenseeUncleSimon.ItwasalwaysMother’sfriends.Mostofthemweredreadfullydull.Mywholelifehasbeenverydull….
“Oh,itseemedsowonderfulthatFatherwasreallycominghome.Itriedtorememberhimbetter.Youknow,thingshehadsaid,gameshehadplayedwithme.Heusedtomakemelaughalot.ItriedtoseeifIcouldn’tfindsomeoldsnapshotsorphotographsofhim.Theyseemalltohavebeenthrownaway.IthinkMothermusthavetornthemallup.”
“Shehadremainedvindictivethen.”
“IthinkitwasreallyLouiseshewasvindictiveagainst.”
“Louise?”
Hesawaslightstiffeningonthegirl’spart.
“Idon’tremember—Itoldyou—Idon’trememberanynames.”
“Nevermind.You’retalkingaboutthewomanyourfatherranawaywith.Isthatit?”
“Yes.Mothersaidshedranktoomuchandtookdrugsandwouldcometoabadend.”
“Butyoudon’tknowwhethershedid?”
“Idon’tknowanything.”…Heremotionwasrising.“Iwishyouwouldn’taskmequestions!Idon’tknowanythingabouther!Ineverheardofheragain!I’dforgottenheruntilyouspokeabouther.ItellyouIdon’tknowanything.”
“Well,well,”saidDr.Stillingfleet.“Don’tgetsoagitated.Youdon’tneedtobotheraboutpasthistory.Let’sthinkaboutthefuture.Whatareyougoingtodonext?”
Normagaveadeepsigh.
“Idon’tknow.I’venowheretogo.Ican’t—it’smuchbetter—I’msureit’smuchbetterto—toenditall—only—”
“Onlyyoucan’tmaketheattemptasecondtime,isthatit?Itwouldbeveryfoolishifyoudid,Icantellyouthat,mygirl.Allright,you’venowheretogo,noonetotrust;gotanymoney?”
“Yes,I’vegotabankingaccount,andFatherpayssomuchintoiteveryquarterbutI’mnotsure…Ithinkperhaps,bynow,theymightbelookingforme.Idon’twanttobefound.”
“Youneedn’tbe.I’llfixthatupforyouallright.PlacecalledKenwayCourt.Notasfineasitsounds.It’sakindofconvalescentnursinghomewherepeoplegoforarestcure.It’sgotnodoctorsorcouches,andyouwon’tbeshutupthere,Icanpromiseyou.Youcanwalkoutanytimeyoulike.Youcanhavebreakfastinbed,stayinbedalldayifyoulike.HaveagoodrestandI’llcomedownonedayandtalktoyouandwe’llsolveafewproblemstogether.Willthatsuityou?Areyouwilling?”
Normalookedathim.Shesat,withoutexpression,staringathim;slowlyshenoddedherhead.
II
LaterthateveningDr.Stillingfleetmadeatelephonecall.
“Quiteagoodoperationkidnap,”hesaid.“She’sdownatKenwayCourt.Camelikealamb.Can’ttellyoumuchyet.Thegirl’sfullofdrugs.I’dsayshe’dbeentakingpurplehearts,anddreambombs,andprobablyLSD…She’sbeenallhopped-upforsometime.Shesaysno,butIwouldn’ttrustmuchtowhatshesays.”
Helistenedforamoment.“Don’taskme!Onewillhavetogocarefullythere.Shegetsthewindupeasy…Yes,she’sscaredofsomething,orshe’spretendingtobescaredofsomething….
“Idon’tknowyet,Ican’ttell.Rememberpeoplewhotakedrugsaretricky.Youcan’tbelievewhattheysayalways.Wehaven’trushedthingsandIdon’twanttostartleher….
“Afathercomplexasachild.I’dsaydidn’tcaremuchforhermotherwhosoundsagrimwomanbyallaccounts—theself-righteousmartyrtype.I’dsayFatherwasagayone,andcouldn’tquitestandthegrimnessofmarriedlife—KnowofanyonecalledLouise?…Thenameseemedtofrightenher—Shewasthegirl’sfirsthate,Ishouldsay.ShetookFatherawayatthetimethechildwasfive.Childrendon’tunderstandverymuchatthatage,butthey’reveryquicktofeelresentmentofthepersontheyfeelwasresponsible.Shedidn’tseeFatheragainuntilapparentlyafewmonthsago.I’dsayshe’dhadsentimentaldreamsofbeingherfather’scompanionandtheappleofhiseye.Shegotdisillusionedapparently.Fathercamebackwithawife,anewyoungattractivewife.She’snotcalledLouise,isshe?…Ohwell,Ionlyasked.I’mgivingyouroughlythepicture,thegeneralpicture,thatis.”
Thevoiceattheotherendofthewiresaidsharply,“Whatisthatyousay?Sayitagain.”
“IsaidI’mgivingyouroughlythepicture.”
Therewasapause.
“Bytheway,here’sonelittlefactmightinterestyou.Thegirlmadearatherham-handedattempttocommitsuicide.Doesthatstartleyou?…
“Oh,itdoesn’t…No,shedidn’tswallowtheaspirinbottle,orputherheadinthegasoven.SherushedintothetrafficinthepathofaJaguargoingfasterthanitshouldhavedone…IcantellyouIonlygottoherjustintime…Yes,I’dsayitwasagenuineimpulse…Sheadmittedit.Usualclassicphrase—she‘wantedtogetoutofitall.’”
Helistenedtoarapidflowofwords,thenhesaid:“Idon’tknow.Atthisstage,Ican’tbesure—Thepicturepresentedisclear.Anervygirl,neuroticandinanoverwroughtstatefromtakingdrugsoftoomanykinds.No,Icouldn’ttellyoudefinitelywhatkind.Therearedozensofthesethingsgoingaboutallproducingslightlydifferenteffects.Therecanbeconfusion,lossofmemory,aggression,bewilderment,orsheerfuzzleheadedness!Thedifficultyistotellwhattherealreactionsareasopposedtothereactionsproducedbydrugs.Therearetwochoices,yousee.Eitherthisisagirlwhoisplayingherselfup,depictingherselfasneuroticandnervyandclaimingsuicidaltendencies.Itcouldbeactuallyso.Oritcouldbeawholepackoflies.Iwouldn’tputitpasthertobeputtingupthisstoryforsomeobscurereasonofherown—wantingtogiveanentirelyfalseimpressionofherself.Ifso,she’sdoingitverycleverly.Everynowandthen,thereseemssomethingnotquiterightinthepictureshe’sgiving.Issheaverycleverlittleactressactingapart?Orissheagenuinesemi-moronicsuicidalvictim?Shecouldbeeither…Whatdidyousay?…Oh,theJaguar!…Yes,itwasbeingdrivenfartoofast.Youthinkitmightn’thavebeenanattemptatsuicide?ThattheJaguarwasdeliberatelymeaningtorunherdown?”
Hethoughtforaminuteortwo.“Ican’tsay,”hesaidslowly.“Itjustcouldbeso.Yes,itcouldbeso,butIhadn’tthoughtofitthatway.Thetroubleis,everything’spossible,isn’tit?Anyway,I’mgoingtogetmoreoutofhershortly.I’vegotherinapositionwhereshe’ssemi-willingtotrustme,solongasIdon’tgotoofartooquickly,andmakehersuspicious.She’llbecomemoretrustingsoon,andtellmemore,andifshe’sagenuinecase,she’llpouroutherwholestorytome—forceitonmeintheend.Atthemomentshe’sfrightenedofsomething….
“If,ofcourse,she’sleadingmeupthegardenpathwe’llhavetofindoutthereasonwhy.She’satKenwayCourtandIthinkshe’llstaythere.I’dsuggestthatyoukeepsomeonewithaneyeonitforadayorsoandifshedoesattempttoleave,someoneshedoesn’tknowbysighthadbetterfollowher.”
Eleven
I
AndrewRestarickwaswritingacheque—hemadeaslightgrimaceashedidso.
Hisofficewaslargeandhandsomelyfurnishedintypicalconventionaltycoonfashion—thefurnishingandfittingshadbeenSimonRestarick’sandAndrewRestarickhadacceptedthemwithoutinterestandhadmadefewchangesexceptforremovingacoupleofpicturesandreplacingthembyhisownportraitwhichhehadbroughtupfromthecountry,andawatercolourofTableMountain.
AndrewRestarickwasamanofmiddleage,beginningtoputonflesh,yetstrangelylittlechangedfromthemansomefifteenyearsyoungerinthepicturehangingabovehim.Therewasthesamejuttingoutchin,thelipsfirmlypressedtogether,andtheslightlyraisedquizzicaleyebrows.Notaverynoticeableman—anordinarytypeandatthemomentnotaveryhappyman.Hissecretaryenteredtheroom—sheadvancedtowardshisdesk,ashelookedup.
“AMonsieurHerculePoirotishere.Heinsiststhathehasanappointmentwithyou—butIcanfindnotraceofone.”
“AMonsieurHerculePoirot?”Thenameseemedvaguelyfamiliar,buthecouldnotrememberinwhatcontext.Heshookhishead—“Ican’trememberanythingabouthim—thoughIseemtohaveheardthename.Whatdoeshelooklike?”
“Averysmallman—foreign—FrenchIshouldsay—withanenormousmoustache—”
“Ofcourse!IrememberMarydescribinghim.HecametoseeoldRoddy.Butwhat’sallthisaboutanappointmentwithme?”
“Hesaysyouwrotehimaletter.”
“Can’trememberit—evenifIdid.PerhapsMary—Ohwell,nevermind—bringhimin.IsupposeI’dbetterseewhatthisisallabout.”
AmomentortwolaterClaudiaReece-Hollandreturnedusheringwithherasmallmanwithanegg-shapedhead,largemoustaches,pointedpatentleathershoesandageneralairofcomplacencywhichaccordedverywellwiththedescriptionhehadhadfromhiswife.
“MonsieurHerculePoirot,”saidClaudiaReece-Holland.
ShewentoutagainasHerculePoirotadvancedtowardsthedesk.Restarickrose
“MonsieurRestarick?IamHerculePoirot,atyourservice.”
“Ohyes.Mywifementionedthatyou’dcalleduponusorrathercalleduponmyuncle.WhatcanIdoforyou?”
“Ihavepresentedmyselfinanswertoyourletter.”
“Whatletter?Ididnotwritetoyou,M.Poirot.”
Poirotstaredathim.Thenhedrewfromhispocketaletter,unfoldedit,glancedatitandhandeditacrossthedeskwithabow.
“Seeforyourself,Monsieur.”
Restarickstaredatit.Itwastypewrittenonhisownofficestationery.Hissignaturewaswrittenininkatthebottom.
DearMonsieurPoirot,Ishouldbeverygladifyoucouldcalluponmeattheaboveaddressatyourearliestconvenience.IunderstandfromwhatmywifetellsmeandalsofromwhatIhavelearnedbymakingvariousinquiriesinLondon,thatyouareamantobetrustedwhenyouagreetoacceptamissionthatdemandsdiscretion.Yourstruly,AndrewRestarick
Hesaidsharply:
“Whendidyoureceivethis?”
“Thismorning.IhadnomattersofmomentonmyhandssoIcamealonghere.”
“Thisisanextraordinarything,M.Poirot.Thatletterwasnotwrittenbyme.”
“Notwrittenbyyou?”
“No.Mysignatureisquitedifferent—lookforyourself.”Hecastoutahandasthoughlookingforsomeexampleofhishandwritingandwithoutconsciousthoughtturnedthechequebookonwhichhehadjustwrittenhissignature,sothatPoirotcouldseeit.“Yousee?Thesignatureontheletterisnotintheleastlikemine.”
“Butthatisextraordinary,”saidPoirot.“Absolutelyextraordinary.Whocouldhavewrittenthisletter?”
“That’sjustwhatI’maskingmyself.”
“Itcouldnot—excuseme—havebeenyourwife?”
“No,no.Marywouldneverdoathinglikethat.Andanywaywhyshouldshesignitwithmyname?Ohno,shewouldhavetoldmeifshe’ddonesuchathing,preparedmeforyourvisit.”
“Thenyouhavenoideawhyanyonemighthavesentthisletter?”
“No,indeed.”
“Haveyounoknowledge,Mr.Restarick,astowhatthemattermightbeonwhichinthisletteryouapparentlywanttoengageme?”
“HowcouldIhaveanidea?”
“Excuseme,”saidPoirot,“youhavenotyetcompletelyreadthisletter.Youwillnoticeatthebottomofthefirstpageafterthesignature,thereisasmallp.t.o.”
Restarickturnedtheletterover.Atthetopofthenextpagethetypewritingcontinued.
ThematteronwhichIwishtoconsultyouconcernsmydaughter,Norma.
Restarick’smannerchanged.Hisfacedarkened.
“So,that’sit!Butwhocouldknow—whocouldpossiblymeddleinthismatter?Whoknowsaboutit?”
“Coulditbeawayofurgingyoutoconsultme?Somewell-meaningfriend?Youhavereallynoideawhothewritermayhavebeen?”
“I’venoideawhatever.”
“Andyouarenotintroubleoveradaughterofyours—adaughternamedNorma?”
Restaricksaidslowly:
“IhaveadaughternamedNorma.Myonlydaughter.”Hisvoicechangedslightlyashesaidthelastwords.
“Andsheisintrouble,difficultyofsomekind?”
“NotthatIknowof.”Buthehesitatedslightlyashespokethewords.
Poirotleanedforward.
“Idon’tthinkthatisexactlyright,Mr.Restarick.Ithinkthereissometroubleordifficultyconcerningyourdaughter.”
“Whyshouldyouthinkthat?Hassomeonespokentoyouonthesubject?”
“Iwasgoingentirelybyyourintonation,Monsieur.Manypeople,”addedHerculePoirot,“areintroubleoverdaughtersatthepresentdate.Theyhaveagenius,youngladies,forgettingintovariouskindsoftroubleanddifficulty.Itispossiblethatthesameobtainshere.”
Restarickwassilentforsomefewmoments,drummingwithhisfingersonthedesk.
“Yes,IamworriedaboutNorma,”hesaidatlast.“Sheisadifficultgirl.Neurotic,inclinedtobehysterical.I—unfortunatelyIdon’tknowherverywell.”
“Trouble,nodoubt,overayoungman?”
“Inaway,yes,butthatisnotentirelywhatisworryingme.Ithink—”helookedappraisinglyatPoirot.“AmItotakeitthatyouareamanofdiscretion?”
“IshouldbeverylittlegoodinmyprofessionifIwerenot.”
“Itisacase,yousee,ofwantingmydaughterfound.”
“Ah?”
“Shecamehomelastweekendassheusuallydoestoourhouseinthecountry.ShewentbackonSundaynightostensiblytotheflatwhichsheoccupiesincommonwithtwoothergirls,butInowfindthatshedidnotgothere.Shemusthavegone—somewhereelse.”
“Infact,shehasdisappeared?”
“Itsoundstoomuchofamelodramaticstatement,butitdoesamounttothat.Iexpectthere’saperfectlynaturalexplanation,but—well,Isupposeanyfatherwouldbeworried.Shehasn’trungup,yousee,orgivenanyexplanationtothegirlswithwhomshesharesherflat.”
“Theytooareworried?”
“No,Ishouldnotsayso.Ithink—well,Ithinktheytakesuchthingseasilyenough.Girlsareveryindependent.MoresothanwhenIleftEnglandfifteenyearsago.”
“Whatabouttheyoungmanofwhomyousayyoudonotapprove?Canshehavegoneawaywithhim?”
“Idevoutlyhopenot.It’spossible,butIdon’t—mywifedoesn’tthinkso.Yousawhim,Ibelieve,thedayyoucametoourhousetocallonmyuncle—”
“Ahyes,IthinkIknowtheyoungmanofwhomyouspeak.Averyhandsomeyoungmanbutnot,ifImaysayso,amanofwhomafatherwouldapprove.Inoticedthatyourwifewasnotpleased,either.”
“Mywifeisquitecertainthathecametothehousethatdayhopingtoescapeobservation.”
“Heknows,perhaps,thatheisnotwelcomethere?”
“Heknowsallright,”saidRestarickgrimly.
“Doyounotthenthinkthatitisonlytoolikelyyourdaughtermayhavejoinedhim?”
“Idon’tknowwhattothink.Ididn’t—atfirst.”
“Youhavebeentothepolice.”
“No.”
“Inthecaseofanyonewhoismissing,itisusuallymuchbettertogotothepolice.Theytooarediscreetandtheyhavemanymeansattheirdisposalwhichpersonslikemyselfhavenot.”
“Idon’twanttogotothepolice.It’smydaughter,man,youunderstand?Mydaughter.Ifshe’schosento—togoawayforashorttimeandnotletusknow,well,that’suptoher.There’snoreasontobelievethatshe’sinanydangeroranythinglikethat.I—Ijustwanttoknowformyownsatisfactionwheresheis.”
“Isitpossible,Mr.Restarick—IhopeIamnotundulypresuming,thatthatisnottheonlythingthatisworryingyouaboutyourdaughter?”
“Whyshouldyouthinktherewasanythingelse?”
“Becausethemerefactthatagirlisabsentforafewdayswithouttellingherparents,orthefriendswithwhomsheisliving,wheresheisgoing,isnotparticularlyunusualnowadays.Itisthat,takeninconjunctionwithsomethingelse,Ithink,whichhascausedyouthisalarm.”
“Well,perhapsyou’reright.It’s—”helookeddoubtfullyatPoirot.“Itisveryhardtospeakofthesethingstostrangers.”
“Notreally,”saidPoirot.“Itisinfinitelyeasiertospeaktostrangersofsuchthingsthanitwouldbetospeakofthemtofriendsoracquaintances.Surelyyoumustagreetothat?”
“Perhaps.Perhaps.Icanseewhatyoumean.Well,IwilladmitIamupsetaboutmygirl.Youseeshe—she’snotquitelikeothergirlsandthere’sbeensomethingalreadythathasdefinitelyworriedme—worriedusboth.”
Poirotsaid:“Yourdaughter,perhaps,isatthatdifficultageofyounggirlhood,anemotionaladolescencewhen,quitefrankly,theyarecapableofperformingactionsforwhichtheyarehardlytobeheldresponsible.DonottakeitamissifIventuretomakeasurmise.Yourdaughterperhapsresentshavingastepmother?”
“Thatisunfortunatelytrue.Andyetshehasnoreasontodoso,M.Poirot.ItisnotasthoughmyfirstwifeandIhadrecentlyparted.Thepartingtookplacemanyyearsago.”Hepausedandthensaid,“Imightaswellspeakfranklytoyou.Afterall,therehasbeennoconcealmentaboutthematter.MyfirstwifeandIdriftedapart.Ineednotmincematters.Ihadmetsomeoneelse,someonewithwhomIwasquiteinfatuated.IleftEnglandandwenttoSouthAfricawiththeotherwoman.MywifedidnotapproveofdivorceandIdidnotaskherforone.Imadesuitablefinancialprovisionformywifeandforthechild—shewasonlyfiveyearsoldatthetime—”
Hepausedandthenwenton:
“Lookingback,IcanseethatIhadbeendissatisfiedwithlifeforsometime.I’dbeenyearningtotravel.AtthatperiodofmylifeIhatedbeingtieddowntoanofficedesk.Mybrotherreproachedmeseveraltimeswithnottakingmoreinterestinthefamilybusiness,nowthatIhadcomeinwithhim.HesaidthatIwasnotpullingmyweight.ButIdidn’twantthatsortoflife.Iwasrestless.Iwantedanadventurouslife.Iwantedtoseetheworldandwildplaces….”
Hebrokeoffabruptly.
“Anyway—youdon’twanttohearthestoryofmylife.IwenttoSouthAfricaandLouisewentwithme.Itwasn’tasuccess.I’lladmitthatstraightaway.Iwasinlovewithherbutwequarrelledincessantly.ShehatedlifeinSouthAfrica.ShewantedtogetbacktoLondonandParis—allthesophisticatedplaces.Wepartedonlyaboutayearafterwearrivedthere.”
Hesighed.
“PerhapsIoughttohavegonebackthen,backtothetamelifethatIdislikedtheideaofsomuch.ButIdidn’t.Idon’tknowwhethermywifewouldhavehadmebackornot.Probablyshewouldhaveconsidereditherdutytodoso.Shewasagreatwomanfordoingherduty.”
Poirotnotedtheslightbitternessthatranthroughthatsentence.
“ButIoughttohavethoughtmoreaboutNorma,Isuppose.Well,thereitwas.Thechildwassafelywithhermother.Financialarrangementshadbeenmade.Iwrotetoheroccasionallyandsentherpresents,butIneveroncethoughtofgoingbacktoEnglandandseeingher.Thatwasnotentirelyblameworthyonmypart.IhadadoptedadifferentwayoflifeandIthoughtitwouldbemerelyunsettlingforthechildtohaveafatherwhocameandwent,andperhapsdisturbedherownpeaceofmind.Anyway,let’ssayIthoughtIwasactingforthebest.”
Restarick’swordscamefastnow.Itwasasthoughhewasfeelingadefinitesolaceinbeingabletopourouthisstorytoasympatheticlistener.ItwasareactionthatPoirothadoftennoticedbeforeandheencouragedit.
“Youneverwishedtocomehomeonyourownaccount?”
Restarickshookhisheadverydefinitely.“No.Yousee,IwaslivingthekindoflifeIliked,thekindoflifeIwasmeantfor.IwentfromSouthAfricatoEastAfrica.Iwasdoingverywellfinancially,everythingItouchedseemedtoprosper;projectswithwhichIwasassociated,occasionallywithotherpeople,sometimesonmyown,allwentwell.Iusedtogooffintothebushandtrek.ThatwasthelifeI’dalwayswanted.Iambynatureanout-of-doorman.Perhapsthat’swhywhenIwasmarriedtomyfirstwifeIfelttrapped,helddown.No,IenjoyedmyfreedomandI’dnowishtogobacktotheconventionaltypeoflifethatI’dledhere.”
“Butyoudidcomebackintheend?”
Restaricksighed.“Yes.Ididcomeback.Ahwell,onegrowsold,Isuppose.Also,anothermanandIhadmadeaverygoodstrike.We’dsecuredaconcessionwhichmighthaveveryimportantconsequences.ItwouldneednegotiationinLondon.ThereIcouldhavedependedonmybrothertoact,butmybrotherdied.Iwasstillapartnerinthefirm.IcouldreturnifIchoseandseetothingsmyself.ItwasthefirsttimeIhadthoughtofdoingso.Ofreturning,Imean,toCitylife.”
“Perhapsyourwife—yoursecondwife—”
“Yes,youmayhavesomethingthere.IhadbeenmarriedtoMaryjustamonthortwowhenmybrotherdied.MarywasborninSouthAfricabutshehadbeentoEnglandseveraltimesandshelikedthelifethere.ShelikedparticularlytheideaofhavinganEnglishgarden!
“AndI?Well,forthefirsttimeperhapsIfeltIwouldlikelifeinEngland,too.AndIthoughtofNormaaswell.Hermotherhaddiedtwoyearsearlier.ItalkedtoMaryaboutitall,andshewasquitewillingtohelpmemakeahomeformydaughter.Theprospectsallseemedgoodandso—”hesmiled,“—andsoIcamehome.”
PoirotlookedattheportraitthathungbehindRestarick’shead.Itwasinabetterlightherethanithadbeenatthehouseinthecountry.Itshowedveryplainlythemanwhowassittingatthedesk;therewerethedistinctivefeatures,theobstinancyofthechin,thequizzicaleyebrows,thepoiseofthehead,buttheportraithadonethingthatthemansittinginthechairbeneathitlacked.Youth!
AnotherthoughtoccurredtoPoirot.WhyhadAndrewRestarickmovedtheportraitfromthecountrytohisLondonoffice?Thetwoportraitsofhimandhiswifehadbeencompanionportraitsdoneatthesametimeandbythatparticularfashionableartistofthedaywhosespecialitywasportraitpainting.Itwouldhavebeenmorenatural,Poirotthought,tohaveleftthemtogether,astheyhadbeenmeanttobeoriginally.ButRestarickhadmovedoneportrait,hisown,tohisoffice.Wasitakindofvanityonhispart—awishtodisplayhimselfasaCityman,assomeoneimportanttotheCity?Yethewasamanwhohadspenthistimeinwildplaces,whoprofessedtopreferwildplaces.OrdidheperhapsdoitinordertokeepbeforehismindhimselfinhisCitypersonality?Didhefeeltheneedofreinforcement?
“Or,ofcourse,”thoughtPoirot,“itcouldbesimplevanity!
“EvenImyself,”saidPoirottohimself,inanunusualfitofmodesty,“evenImyselfamcapableofvanityonoccasions.”
Theshortsilence,ofwhichbothmenhadseemedunaware,wasbroken.Restarickspokeapologetically.
“Youmustforgiveme,M.Poirot.Iseemtohavebeenboringyouwiththestoryofmylife.”
“Thereisnothingtoexcuse,Mr.Restarick.Youhavebeentalkingreallyonlyofyourlifeasitmayhaveaffectedthatofyourdaughter.Youaremuchdisquietedaboutyourdaughter.ButIdonotthinkthatyouhaveyettoldmetherealreason.Youwantherfound,yousay?”
“Yes,Iwantherfound.”
“Youwantherfound,yes,butdoyouwantherfoundbyme?Ah,donothesitate.Lapolitesse—itisverynecessaryinlife,butitisnotnecessaryhere.Listen.Itellyou,ifyouwantyourdaughterfoundIadviseyou,I—HerculePoirot—togotothepolicefortheyhavethefacilities.Andfrommyownknowledgetheycanbediscreet.”
“Iwon’tgotothepoliceunless—well,unlessIgetverydesperate.”
“Youwouldrathergotoaprivateagent?”
“Yes.Butyousee,Idon’tknowanythingaboutprivateagents.Idon’tknowwho—whocanbetrusted.Idon’tknowwho—”
“Andwhatdoyouknowaboutme?”
“Idoknowsomethingaboutyou.Iknow,forinstance,thatyouheldaresponsiblepositioninIntelligenceduringthewar,since,infact,myownunclevouchesforyou.Thatisanadmittedfact.”
ThefaintlycynicalexpressiononPoirot’sfacewasnotperceivedbyRestarick.Theadmittedfactwas,asPoirotwaswellaware,acompleteillusion—althoughRestarickmusthaveknownhowundependableSirRoderickwasinthematterofmemoryandeyesight—hehadswallowedPoirot’sownaccountofhimself,hook,lineandsinker.Poirotdidnotdisillusionhim.Itmerelyconfirmedhiminhislong-heldbeliefthatyoushouldneverbelieveanythinganyonesaidwithoutfirstcheckingit.Suspecteverybody,hadbeenformanyyears,ifnothiswholelife,oneofhisfirstaxioms.
“Letmereassureyou,”saidPoirot.“Ihavebeenthroughoutmycareerexceptionallysuccessful.Ihavebeenindeedinmanywaysunequalled.”
Restaricklookedlessreassuredbythisthanhemighthavebeen!Indeed,toanEnglishman,amanwhopraisedhimselfinsuchtermsarousedsomemisgivings.
Hesaid:“Whatdoyoufeelyourself,M.Poirot?Haveyouconfidencethatyoucanfindmydaughter?”
“Probablynotasquicklyasthepolicecoulddo,butyes.Ishallfindher.”
“And—andifyoudo—”
“Butifyouwishmetofindher,Mr.Restarick,youmusttellmeallthecircumstances.”
“ButIhavetoldthemtoyou.Thetime,theplace,wheresheoughttobe.Icangiveyoualistofherfriends….”
Poirotwasmakingsomeviolentshakingsofhishead.“No,no,Isuggestyoutellmethetruth.”
“DoyousuggestIhaven’ttoldyouthetruth?”
“Youhavenottoldmeallofit.OfthatIamassured.Whatareyouafraidof?Whataretheunknownfacts—thefactsthatIhavetoknowifIamtohavesuccess?Yourdaughterdislikesherstepmother.Thatisplain.Thereisnothingstrangeaboutthat.Itisaverynaturalreaction.Youmustrememberthatshemayhavesecretlyidealisedyouformanymanyyears.Thatisquitepossibleinthecaseofabrokenmarriagewhereachildhashadasevereblowinheraffections.Yes,yes,IknowwhatIamtalkingabout.Yousayachildforgets.Thatistrue.Yourdaughtercouldhaveforgottenyouinthesensethatwhenshesawyouagainshemightnotrememberyourfaceoryourvoice.Shewouldmakeherownimageofyou.Youwentaway.Shewantedyoutocomeback.Hermother,nodoubt,discouragedherfromtalkingaboutyou,andthereforeshethoughtaboutyouperhapsallthemore.Youmatteredtoherallthemore.Andbecauseshecouldnottalkaboutyoutoherownmothershehadwhatisaverynaturalreactionwithachild—theblamingoftheparentwhoremainsfortheabsenceoftheparentwhohasgone.Shesaidtoherselfsomethinginthenatureof‘Fatherwasfondofme.It’sMotherhedidn’tlike,’andfromthatwasbornakindofidealisation,akindofsecretliaisonbetweenyouandher.Whathadhappenedwasnotherfather’sfault.Shewillnotbelieveit!
“Ohyes,thatoftenhappens,Iassureyou.Iknowsomethingofthepsychology.Sowhenshelearnsthatyouarecominghome,thatyouandshewillbereunited,manymemoriesthatshehaspushedasideandnotthoughtofforyearsreturn.Herfatheriscomingback!Heandshewillbehappytogether!Shehardlyrealisesthestepmother,perhaps,untilsheseesher.Andthensheisviolentlyjealous.Itismostnatural,Iassureyou.Sheisviolentlyjealouspartlybecauseyourwifeisagood-lookingwoman,sophisticated,andwellpoised,whichisathinggirlsoftenresentbecausetheyfrequentlylackconfidenceinthemselves.Sheherselfispossiblygauchewithperhapsaninferioritycomplex.Sowhensheseeshercompetentandgood-lookingstepmother,quitepossiblyshehatesher;buthatesherasanadolescentgirlwhoisstillhalfachildmightdo.”
“Well—”Restarickhesitated.“Thatismoreorlesswhatthedoctorsaidwhenweconsultedhim—Imean—”
“Aha,”saidPoirot,“soyouconsultedadoctor?Youmusthavehadsomereason,isitnotso,forcallinginadoctor?”
“Nothingreally.”
“Ahno,youcannotsaythattoHerculePoirot.Itwasnotnothing.Itwassomethingseriousandyouhadbettertellme,becauseifIknowjustwhathasbeeninthisgirl’smind,Ishallmakemoreprogress.Thingswillgoquicker.”
Restarickwassilentforseveralmoments,thenhemadeuphismind.
“Thisisinabsoluteconfidence,M.Poirot?Icanrelyonyou—Ihaveyourassuranceastothat?”
“Byallmeans.Whatwasthetrouble?”
“Icannotbe—besure.”
“Yourdaughterenteredintosomeactionagainstyourwife?Somethingmorethanbeingmerelychildishlyrudeorsayingunpleasantthings.Itwassomethingworsethanthat—somethingmoreserious.Didsheperhapsattackherphysically?”
“No,itwasnotanattack—notaphysicalattackbut—nothingwasproved.”
“No,no.Wewilladmitthat.”
“Mywifebecamefarfromwell—”Hehesitated.
“Ah,”saidPoirot.“Yes,Isee…Andwhatwasthenatureofherillness?Digestive,possibly?Aformofenteritis?”
“You’requick,M.Poirot.You’reveryquick.Yes,itwasdigestive.Thiscomplaintofmywife’swaspuzzling,becauseshehadalwayshadexcellenthealth.Finallytheysenthertohospitalfor‘observation,’astheycallit.Acheck-up.”
“Andtheresult?”
“Idon’tthinktheywerecompletelysatisfied…Sheappearedtoregainherhealthcompletelyandwassenthomeinduecourse.Butthetroublerecurred.Wewentcarefullyoverthemealsshehad,thecooking.Sheseemedtobesufferingfromaformofintestinalpoisoningforwhichthereappearedtobenocause.Afurtherstepwastaken,testsweremadeofthedishessheate.Bytakingsamplesofeverything,itwasdefinitelyprovedthatacertainsubstancehadbeenadministeredinvariousdishes.Ineachcaseitwasadishofwhichonlymywifehadpartaken.”
“Inplainlanguagesomebodywasgivingherarsenic.Isthatright?”
“Quiteright.Insmalldoseswhichwouldintheendhaveacumulativeeffect.”
“Yoususpectedyourdaughter?”
“No.”
“Ithinkyoudid.Whoelsecouldhavedoneit?Yoususpectedyourdaughter.”
Restarickgaveadeepsigh.
“Frankly,yes.”
II
WhenPoirotarrivedhome,Georgewasawaitinghim:
“AwomannamedEdithrangup,sir—”
“Edith?”Poirotfrowned.
“Sheis,Igather,intheserviceofMrs.Oliver.SheaskedmetoinformyouthatMrs.OliverisinSt.Giles’sHospital.”
“Whathashappenedtoher?”
“Iunderstandshehasbeen—er—coshed.”Georgedidnotaddthelatterpartofthemessage,whichhadbeen—“—andyoutellhimit’sbeenallhisfault.”
Poirotclickedhistongue.“Iwarnedher—IwasuneasylastnightwhenIrangherup,andtherewasnoanswer.LesFemmes!”
Twelve
“Let’sbuyapeacock,”saidMrs.Oliversuddenlyandunexpectedly.Shedidnotopenhereyesasshemadethisremark,andhervoicewasweakthoughfullofindignation.
Threepeoplebroughtstartledeyestobearuponher.Shemadeafurtherstatement.
“Hitonthehead.”
Sheopenedbadlyfocusedeyesandendeavouredtomakeoutwhereshewas.
Thefirstthingshesawwasafaceentirelystrangetoher.Ayoungmanwhowaswritinginanotebook.Heheldthepencilpoisedinhishand.
“Policeman,”saidMrs.Oliverdecisively.
“Ibegyourpardon,Madam?”
“Isaidyouwereapoliceman,”saidMrs.Oliver.“AmIright?”
“Yes,Madam.”
“Criminalassault,”saidMrs.Oliverandclosedhereyesinasatisfiedmanner.Whensheopenedthemagain,shetookinhersurroundingsmorefully.Shewasinabed,oneofthoseratherhighhygienic-lookinghospitalbeds,shedecided.Thekindthatyoushootupanddownandroundandabout.Shewasnotinherownhouse.Shelookedroundanddecidedonherenvironment.
“Hospital,orcouldbenursinghome,”shesaid.
Asisterwasstandingwithanairofauthorityatthedoor,andanursewasstandingbyherbed.Sheidentifiedafourthfigure.“Nobody,”saidMrs.Oliver,“couldmistakethosemoustaches.Whatareyoudoinghere,M.Poirot?”
HerculePoirotadvancedtowardsthebed.“Itoldyoutobecareful,Madame,”hesaid.
“Anyonemightlosetheirway,”saidMrs.Oliver,somewhatobscurely,andadded,“Myheadaches.”
“Withgoodcause.Asyousurmise,youwerehitonthehead.”
“Yes.BythePeacock.”
Thepolicemanstirreduneasilythensaid,“Excuseme,Madam,yousayyouwereassaultedbyapeacock?”
“Ofcourse.I’dhadanuneasyfeelingforsometime—youknow,atmosphere.”Mrs.Olivertriedtowaveherhandinanappropriategesturetodescribeatmosphere,andwinced.“Ouch,”shesaid,“I’dbetternottrythatagain.”
“Mypatientmustnotgetoverexcited,”saidthesisterwithdisapproval.
“Canyoutellmewherethisassaultoccurred?”
“Ihaven’tthefaintestidea.I’dlostmyway.Iwascomingfromakindofstudio.Verybadlykept.Dirty.Theotheryoungmanhadn’tshavedfordays.Agreasyleatherjacket.”
“Isthisthemanwhoassaultedyou?”
“No,it’sanotherone.”
“Ifyoucouldjusttellme—”
“Iamtellingyou,aren’tI?I’dfollowedhim,yousee,allthewayfromthecafé—onlyI’mnotverygoodatfollowingpeople.Nopractice.It’smuchmoredifficultthanyou’dthink.”
Hereyesfocusedonthepoliceman.“ButIsupposeyouknowallaboutthat.Youhavecourses—infollowingpeople,Imean?Oh,nevermind,itdoesn’tmatter.Yousee,”shesaid,speakingwithsuddenrapidity,“it’squitesimple.IhadgotoffatTheWorld’sEnd,Ithinkitwas,andnaturallyIthoughthehadstayedwiththeothers—orgonetheotherway.Butinstead,hecameupbehindme.”
“Whowasthis?”
“ThePeacock,”saidMrs.Oliver,“andhestartledme,yousee.Itdoesstartleyouwhenyoufindthingsarethewrongwayround.Imeanhefollowingyouinsteadofyoufollowinghim—onlyitwasearlier—andIhadasortofuneasyfeeling.Infact,youknow,Iwasafraid.Idon’tknowwhy.HespokequitepolitelybutIwasafraid.Anywaythereitwasandhesaid‘Comeupandseethestudio’andsoIcameupratheraricketystaircase.Akindofladderstaircaseandtherewasthisotheryoungman—thedirtyyoungman—andhewaspaintingapicture,andthegirlwasactingasmodel.Shewasquiteclean.Ratherprettyreally.Andsotherewewereandtheywerequiteniceandpolite,andthenIsaidImustbegettinghome,andtheytoldmetherightwaytogetbacktotheKing’sRoad.Buttheycan’treallyhavetoldmetherightway.OfcourseImighthavemadeamistake.Youknow,whenpeopletellyousecondleftandthirdright,well,yousometimesdoitthewrongwayround.AtleastIdo.Anyway,Igotintoaratherpeculiarslummypartquiteclosetotheriver.Theafraidfeelinghadgoneawaybythen.ImusthavebeenquiteoffmyguardwhenthePeacockhitme.”
“Ithinkshe’sdelirous,”saidthenurseinanexplanatoryvoice.
“No,I’mnot,”saidMrs.Oliver.“IknowwhatI’mtalkingabout.”
Thenurseopenedhermouth,caughtthesister’sadmonitoryeyeandshutitagainquickly.
“Velvetsandsatinsandlongcurlyhair,”saidMrs.Oliver.
“Apeacockinsatin?Arealpeacock,Madam.YouthoughtyousawapeacockneartheriverinChelsea?”
“Arealpeacock?”saidMrs.Oliver.“Ofcoursenot.Howsilly.WhatwouldarealpeacockbedoingdownonChelseaEmbankment?”
Nobodyappearedtohaveananswertothisquestion.
“Hestruts,”saidMrs.Oliver,“that’swhyInicknamedhimapeacock.Showsoff,youknow.Vain,Ishouldthink.Proudofhislooks.Perhapsalotofotherthingsaswell.”ShelookedatPoirot.“Davidsomething.YouknowwhoImean.”
“YousaythisyoungmanofthenameofDavidassaultedyoubystrikingyouonthehead?”
“YesIdo.”
HerculePoirotspoke.“Yousawhim?”
“Ididn’tseehim,”saidMrs.Oliver,“Ididn’tknowanythingaboutit.IjustthoughtIheardsomethingbehindme,andbeforeIcouldturnmyheadtolook—itallhappened!Justasifatonofbricksorsomethingfellonme.IthinkI’llgotosleepnow,”sheadded
Shemovedherheadslightly,madeagrimaceofpain,andrelapsedintowhatappearedtobeaperfectlysatisfactoryunconsciousness.
Thirteen
Poirotseldomusedthekeytohisflat.Instead,inanold-fashionedmanner,hepressedthebellandwaitedforthatadmirablefactotum,George,toopenthedoor.Onthisoccasion,however,afterhisvisittothehospital,thedoorwasopenedtohimbyMissLemon.
“You’vegottwovisitors,”saidMissLemon,pitchinghervoiceinanadmirabletone,notascarryingasawhisperbutagoodmanynoteslowerthanherusualpitch.“One’sMr.GobyandtheotherisanoldgentlemancalledSirRoderickHorsefield.Idon’tknowwhichyouwanttoseefirst.”
“SirRoderickHorsefield,”musedPoirot.Heconsideredthiswithhisheadononeside,lookingratherlikearobinwhilehedecidedhowthislatestdevelopmentwaslikelytoaffectthegeneralpicture.Mr.Goby,however,materialisedwithhisusualsuddennessfromthesmallroomwhichwassacredtoMissLemon’stypewritingandwhereshehadevidentlykepthiminstorage.
Poirotremovedhisovercoat.MissLemonhungituponthehallstand,andMr.Goby,aswashisfashion,addressedthebackofMissLemon’shead.
“I’llhaveacupofteainthekitchenwithGeorge,”saidMr.Goby.“Mytimeismyown.I’llkeep.”
Hedisappearedobliginglyintothekitchen.PoirotwentintohissittingroomwhereSirRoderickwaspacingupanddownfullofvitality.
“Runyoudown,myboy,”hesaidgenially.“Wonderfulthingthetelephone.”
“Yourememberedmyname?Iamgratified.”
“Well,Ididn’texactlyrememberyourname,”saidSirRoderick.“Names,youknow,haveneverbeenmystrongpoint.Neverforgetaface,”heendedproudly.“No.IrangupScotlandYard.”
“Oh!”Poirotlookedfaintlystartled,thoughreflectingthatthatwasthesortofthingthatSirRoderickwoulddo.
“AskedmewhoIwantedtospeakto.Isaid,putmeontothetop.That’sthethingtodoinlife,myboy.Neveracceptsecondincharge.Nogood.Gotothetop,that’swhatIsay.IsaidwhoIwas,mindyou.SaidIwantedtospeaktothetopbrassandIgotontoitintheend.Verycivilfellow.ToldhimIwantedtheaddressofachapinAlliedIntelligencewhowasoutwithmeatacertainplaceinFranceatacertaindate.Thechapseemedabitatsea,soIsaid:‘YouknowwhoImean.’AFrenchman,Isaid,oraBelgian.Belgian,weren’tyou?Isaid:‘He’sgotaChristiannamesomethinglikeAchilles.It’snotAchilles,’Isaid,‘butit’slikeAchilles.Littlechap,’Isaid,‘bigmoustaches.’Andthenheseemedtocatchon,andhesaidyou’dbeinthetelephonebook,hethought.Isaidthat’sallright,butIsaid:‘Hewon’tbelistedunderAchillesorHercules(ashesaiditwas),willhe?andIcan’trememberhissecondname.’Sothenhegaveitme.Verycivilsortoffellow.Verycivil,Imustsay.”
“Iamdelightedtoseeyou,”saidPoirot,sparingahurriedthoughtforwhatmightbesaidtohimlaterbySirRoderick’stelephoneacquaintance.Fortunatelyitwasnotlikelytohavebeenquitethetopbrass.Itwaspresumablysomeonewithwhomhewasalreadyacquainted,andwhosejobitwastoproducecivilityontapfordistinguishedpersonsofabygoneday.
“Anyway,”saidSirRoderick,“Igothere.”
“Iamdelighted.Letmeofferyousomerefreshment.Tea,agrenadine,awhiskyandsoda,somesiropdecassis—”
“Goodlord,no,”saidSirRoderick,alarmedatthementionofsiropdecassis.“I’lltakewhiskyforchoice.NotthatI’mallowedit,”headded,“butdoctorsareallfools,asweknow.Alltheycareforisstoppingyouhavinganythingyou’veafancyfor.”
PoirotrangforGeorgeandgavehimtheproperinstructions.ThewhiskyandthesiphonwereplacedatSirRoderick’selbowandGeorgewithdrew.
“Now,”saidPoirot,“whatcanIdoforyou?”
“Gotajobforyou,oldboy.”
Afterthelapseoftime,heseemedevenmoreconvincedofthecloseliaisonbetweenhimandPoirotinthepast,whichwasaswell,thoughtPoirot,sinceitwouldproduceanevengreaterdependenceonhis,Poirot’s,capabilitiesbySirRoderick’snephew.
“Papers,”saidSirRoderick,droppinghisvoice.“LostsomepapersandI’vegottofind’em,see?SoIthoughtwhatwithmyeyesnotbeingasgoodastheywere,andthememorybeingatrifleoff-keysometimes,I’dbettergotosomeoneintheknow.See?Youcamealonginthenickoftimetheotherday,justintimetobeuseful,becauseI’vegottocough’emup,youunderstand.”
“Itsoundsmostinteresting,”saidPoirot.“Whatarethesepapers,ifImayask?”
“Well,Isupposeifyou’regoingtofindthem,you’llhavetoask,won’tyou?Mindyou,they’reverysecretandconfidential.Topsecret—ortheywereonce.Anditseemsasthoughtheyaregoingtobeagain.Aninterchangeofletters,itwas.Notofanyparticularimportanceatthetime—oritwasthoughttheywereofnoimportance;butthenofcoursepoliticschange.Youknowthewayitis.Theygoroundandfacetheotherway.Youknowhowitwaswhenthewarbrokeout.Noneofusknewwhetherwewereonourheadoronourheels.Onewarwe’repalswiththeItalians,nextwarwe’reenemies.Idon’tknowwhichofthemallwastheworst.FirstwartheJapanesewereourdearallies,andthenextwartheretheyareblowingupPearlHarbor!Neverknewwhereyouwere!StartonewaywiththeRussians,andfinishtheoppositeway.Itellyou,Poirot,nothing’smoredifficultnowadaysthanthequestionofallies.Theycanchangeovernight.”
“Andyouhavelostsomepapers,”saidPoirot,recallingtheoldmantothesubjectofhisvisit.
“Yes.I’vegotalotofpapers,youknow,andI’vedug’emoutlately.Ihad’emputawaysafely.Inabank,asamatteroffact,butIgot’emalloutandIbegansortingthroughthembecauseIthoughtwhynotwritemymemoirs.Allthechapsaredoingitnowadays.We’vehadMontgomeryandAlanbrookeandAuchinleckallshootingtheirmouthsoffinprint,mostlysayingwhattheythoughtoftheothergenerals.We’veevenhadoldMoran,arespectablephysician,blabbingabouthisimportantpatient.Don’tknowwhatthingswillcometonext!Anyway,thereitis,andIthoughtI’dbequiteinterestedmyselfintellingafewfactsaboutsomepeopleIknew!Whyshouldn’tIhaveagoaswellaseveryoneelse?Iwasinitall.”
“Iamsureitcouldbeamatterofmuchinteresttopeople,”saidPoirot.
“Ah-ha,yes!Oneknewalotofpeopleinthenews.Everyonelookedatthemwithawe.Theydidn’tknowtheywerecompletefools,butIknew.Mygoodness,themistakessomeofthosebrasshatsmade—you’dbesurprised.SoIgotoutmypapers,andIhadthelittlegirlhelpmesort’emout.Nicelittlegirl,that,andquitebright.Doesn’tknowEnglishverywell,butapartfromthat,she’sverybrightandhelpful.I’dsaltedawayalotofstuff,buteverythingwasinabitofamuddle.Thepointofthewholethingis,thepapersIwantedweren’tthere.”
“Weren’tthere?”
“No.Wethoughtwe’dgivenitamissbymistaketobeginwith,butwewentoveritagainandIcantellyou,Poirot,alotofstuffseemedtometohavebeenpinched.Someofitwasn’timportant.Actually,thestuffIwaslookingforwasn’tparticularlyimportant—Imean,nobodyhadthoughtitwas,otherwiseIsupposeIshouldn’thavebeenallowedtokeepit.Butanyway,theseparticularlettersweren’tthere.”
“Iwishofcoursetobediscreet,”saidPoirot,“butcanyoutellmeatallthenatureoftheselettersyoureferto?”
“Don’tknowthatIcan,oldboy.ThenearestIcangoisofsomebodywho’sshootingoffhismouthnowadaysaboutwhathedidandwhathesaidinthepast.Buthe’snotspeakingthetruth,andtheselettersjustshowexactlyhowmuchofaliarheis!Mindyou,Idon’tsupposethey’dbepublishednow.We’lljustsendhimnicecopiesofthem,andtellhimthisisexactlywhathedidsayatthetime,andthatwe’vegotitinwriting.Ishouldn’tbesurprisedif—well,thingswentabitdifferentlyafterthat.See?Ihardlyneedaskthat,needI?You’refamiliarwithallthatkindoftalky-talky.”
“You’requiteright,SirRoderick.Iknowexactlythekindofthingyoumean,butyouseealsothatitisnoteasytohelpyourecoversomethingifonedoesnotknowwhatthatsomethingis,andwhereitislikelytobenow.”
“Firstthingsfirst:Iwanttoknowwhopinched’em,becauseyouseethat’stheimportantpoint.Theremaybemoretopsecretstuffinmylittlecollection,andIwanttoknowwho’stamperingwithit.”
“Haveyouanyideasyourself?”
“YouthinkIoughttohave,heh?”
“Well,itwouldseemthattheprincipalpossibility—”
“Iknow.Youwantmetosayit’sthelittlegirl.Well,Idon’tthinkitisthelittlegirl.Shesaysshedidn’t,andIbelieveher.Understand?”
“Yes,”saidPoirotwithaslightsigh,“Iunderstand.”
“Foronethingshe’stooyoung.Shewouldn’tknowthesethingswereimportant.It’sbeforehertime.”
“Someoneelsemighthaveinstructedherastothat,”Poirotpointedout.
“Yes,yes,that’strueenough.Butit’stooobviousaswell.”
Poirotsighed.HedoubtedifitwasanyuseinsistinginviewofSirRoderick’sobviouspartiality.“Whoelsehadaccess?”
“AndrewandMary,ofcourse,butIdoubtifAndrewwouldevenbeinterestedinsuchthings.Anyway,he’salwaysbeenaverydecentboy.Alwayswas.NotthatI’veeverknownhimverywell.Usedtocomefortheholidaysonceortwicewithhisbrotherandthat’saboutall.Ofcourse,heditchedhiswife,andwentoffwithanattractivebitofgoodstoSouthAfrica,butthatmighthappentoanyman,especiallywithawifelikeGrace.NotthatIeversawmuchofher,either
“Ithoughttherewassomethingalittleoddaboutthewayshehadarrangedherhair,”saidPoirot.
“Anyway,thebestsecretagentsneverwearwigs,”SirRoderickinformedhim.“Poordevilshavetogotoplasticsurgeonsandgettheirfacesaltered.Butsomeone’sbeenmuckingaboutwithmyprivatepapers.”
“Youdon’tthinkthatyoumayperhapshaveplacedtheminsomedifferentcontainer—inadraweroradifferentfile.Whendidyouseethemlast?”
“Ihandledthesethingsaboutayearago.IrememberIthoughtthen,they’dmakerathergoodcopy,andInotedthoseparticularletters.Nowthey’regone.Somebody’stakenthem.”
“YoudonotsuspectyournephewAndrew,hiswifeorthedomesticstaff.Whataboutthedaughter?”
“Norma?WellNorma’sabitoffheronion,I’dsay.Imeanshemightbeoneofthosekleptomaniacswhotakepeople’sthingswithoutknowingthey’retakingthembutIdon’tseeherfumblingaboutamongmypapers.”
“Thenwhatdoyouthink?”
“Well,you’vebeeninthehouse.Yousawwhatthehouseislike.Anyonecanwalkinandoutanytimetheylike.Wedon’tlockourdoors.Weneverhave.”
“Doyoulockthedoorofyourownroom—ifyougouptoLondon,forinstance?”
“Ineverthoughtofitasnecessary.Idonowofcourse,butwhat’stheuseofthat?Toolate.Anyway,I’veonlyanordinarykey,fitsanyofthedoors.Someonemusthavecomeinfromoutside.Whynowadaysthat’showalltheburglariestakeplace.Peoplewalkininthemiddleoftheday,stumpupthestairs,gointoanyroomtheylike,riflethejewelbox,gooutagain,andnobodyseesthemorcareswhotheyare.Theyprobablylooklikemodsorrockersorbeatniksorwhatevertheycallthesechapsnowadayswiththelonghairandthedirtynails.I’veseenmorethanoneofthemprowlingabout.Onedoesn’tliketosay‘Whothedevilareyou?’Youneverknowwhichsextheyare,whichisembarrassing.Theplacecrawlswiththem.Isupposethey’reNorma’sfriends.Wouldn’thavebeenallowedintheolddays.Butyouturnthemoutofthehouse,andthenyoufindoutit’sViscountEndersleighorLadyCharlotteMarjoribanks.Don’tknowwhereyouarenowadays.”Hepaused.“Ifanyonecangettothebottomofit,youcan,Poirot.”Heswallowedthelastmouthfulofwhiskyandgotup.
“Well,that’sthat.It’suptoyou.You’lltakeiton,won’tyou?”
“Iwilldomybest,”saidPoirot.
Thefront-doorbellrang.
“That’sthelittlegirl,”saidSirRoderick.“Punctualtotheminute.Wonderful,isn’tit?Couldn’tgoaboutLondonwithouther,youknow.Blindasabat.Can’tseetocrosstheroad.”
“Canyounothaveglasses?”
“I’vegotsomesomewhere,butthey’realwaysfallingoffmynoseorelseIlosethem.Besides,Idon’tlikeglasses.I’veneverhadglasses.WhenIwassixty-fiveIcouldseetoreadwithoutglassesandthat’sprettygood.”
“Nothing,”saidHerculePoirot,“lastsforever.”
GeorgeusheredinSonia.Shewaslookingextremelypretty.Herslightlyshymannerbecameherverywell,Poirotthought.HemovedforwardwithGallicempressement.
“Enchanté,Mademoiselle,”hesaid,bowingoverherhand.
“I’mnotlate,amI,SirRoderick,”shesaid,lookingpasthim.“Ihavenotkeptyouwaiting.PleaseIhopenot.”
“Exactlytotheminute,littlegirl,”saidSirRoderick.“AllshipshapeandBristolfashion,”headded.
Sonialookedslightlyperplexed.
“Madeagoodtea,Ihope,”SirRoderickwenton.“Itoldyou,youknow,tohaveagoodtea,buyyourselfsomebunsoréclairsorwhateveritisyoungladieslikenowadays,eh?Youobeyedorders,Ihope.”
“No,notexactly.Itookthetimetobuyapairofshoes.Look,theyarepretty,aretheynot?”Shestuckoutafoot.
Itwascertainlyaveryprettyfoot.SirRoderickbeamedatit.
“Well,wemustgoandcatchourtrain,”hesaid.“Imaybeold-fashionedbutI’mallfortrains.Starttotimeandgetthereontime,ortheyshoulddo.Butthesecars,theygetinaqueueintherushhourandyoumayidlethetimeawayforaboutanhourandahalfmorethanyouneed.Cars!Pah!”
“ShallIaskGeorgestogetyouataxi?”askedHerculePoirot.“Itwillbenotrouble,Iassureyou.”
“Ihaveataxialreadywaiting,”saidSonia.
“Thereyouare,”saidSirRoderick,“yousee,shethinksofeverything.”Hepattedherontheshoulder.ShelookedathiminawaythatHerculePoirotfullyappreciated.
Poirotaccompaniedthemtothehalldoorandtookapoliteleaveofthem.Mr.Gobyhadcomeoutofthekitchenandwasstandinginthehallgiving,itcouldbesaid,anexcellentperformanceofamanwhohadcometoseeaboutthegas.
Georgeshutthehalldoorassoonastheyhaddisappearedintothelift,andturnedtomeetPoirot’sgaze.
“Andwhatisyouropinionofthatyounglady,Georges,mayIask?”saidPoirot.OncertainpointshealwayssaidGeorgewasinfallible.
“Well,sir,”saidGeorge,“ifImightputitthatway,ifyou’llallowme,Iwouldsayhe’dgotitbadly,sir.Alloverherasyoumightsay.”
“Ithinkyouareright,”saidHerculePoirot.
“It’snotunusualofcoursewithgentlemenofthatage.IrememberLordMountbryan.He’dhadalotofexperienceinhislifeandyou’dsayhewasasflyasanyone.Butyou’dbesurprised.Ayoungwomanascametogivehimmassage.You’dbesurprisedatwhathegaveher.Aneveningfrock,andaprettybracelet.Forget-me-nots,itwas.Turquoiseanddiamonds.Nottooexpensivebutcostingquiteaprettypennyallthesame.Thenafurwrap—notmink,Russianermine,andapettypointeveningbag.Afterthatherbrothergotintotrouble,debtorsomething,thoughwhethersheeverhadabrotherIsometimeswondered.LordMountbryangaveherthemoneytosquareit—shewassoupsetaboutit!Allplatonic,mindyou,too.Gentlemenseemtolosetheirsensethatwaywhentheygettothatage.It’stheclingingonestheygofor,nottheboldtype.”
“Ihavenodoubtthatyouarequiteright,Georges,”saidPoirot.“Itisallthesamenotacompleteanswertomyquestion.Iaskedwhatyouthoughtoftheyounglady.”
“Oh,theyounglady…Well,sir,Iwouldn’tliketosaydefinitely,butshe’squiteadefinitetype.There’sneveranythingthatyoucouldputyourfingeron.Buttheyknowwhatthey’redoing,I’dsay.”
PoirotenteredhissittingroomandMr.Gobyfollowedhim,obeyingPoirot’sgesture.Mr.Gobysatdownonanuprightchairinhisusualattitude.Kneestogether,toesturnedin.Hetookaratherdog-earedlittlenotebookfromhispocket,openeditcarefullyandthenproceededtosurveythesodawatersiphonseverely.
“Rethebackgroundsyouaskedmetolookup.
“Restarickfamily,perfectlyrespectableandofgoodstanding.Noscandal.Thefather,JamesPatrickRestarick,saidtobeasharpmanoverabargain.Businesshasbeeninthefamilythreegenerations.Grandfatherfoundedit,fatherenlargedit,SimonRestarickkeptitgoing.SimonRestarickhadcoronarytroubletwoyearsago,healthdeclined.Diedofcoronarythrombosis,aboutayearago.
“YoungbrotherAndrewRestarickcameintothebusinesssoonafterhecamedownfromOxford,marriedMissGraceBaldwin.Onedaughter,Norma.LefthiswifeandwentouttoSouthAfrica.AMissBirellwentwithhim.Nodivorceproceedings.Mrs.AndrewRestarickdiedtwoandahalfyearsago.Hadbeenaninvalidforsometime.MissNormaRestarickwasaboarderatMeadowfieldGirls’School.Nothingagainsther.”
AllowinghiseyestosweepacrossHerculePoirot’sface,Mr.Gobyobserved,“InfacteverythingaboutthefamilyseemsquiteOKandaccordingtoCocker.”
“Noblacksheep,nomentalinstability?”
“Itdoesn’tappearso.”
“Disappointing,”saidPoirot.
Mr.Gobyletthispass.Heclearedhisthroat,lickedhisfinger,andturnedoveraleafofhislittlebook.
“DavidBaker.Unsatisfactoryrecord.Beenonprobationtwice.Policeareinclinedtobeinterestedinhim.He’sbeenonthefringeofseveralratherdubiousaffairs,thoughttohavebeenconcernedinanimportantartrobberybutnoproof.He’soneoftheartylot.Noparticularmeansofsubsistencebuthedoesquitewell.Prefersgirlswithmoney
Mr.GobyshotasuddenglanceatPoirot
“Youmethim?”
“Yes,”saidPoirot.
“Whatconclusionsdidyouform,ifImayask?”
“Thesameasyou,”saidPoirot.“Agaudycreature,”headdedthoughtfully.
“Appealstowomen,”saidMr.Goby.“Troubleisnowadaystheywon’tlooktwiceatanicehardworkinglad.Theypreferthebadlots—thescroungers.Theyusuallysay‘hehasn’thadachance,poorboy.’”
“Struttingaboutlikepeacocks,”saidPoirot.
“Well,youmightputitlikethat,”saidMr.Goby,ratherdoubtfully.
“Doyouthinkhe’duseacoshonanyone?”
Mr.Gobythought,thenveryslowlyshookhisheadattheelectricfire.
“Nobody’saccusedhimofanythinglikethat.Idon’tsayhe’dbepastit,butIwouldn’tsayitwashisline.Heisasmooth-spokentype,notonefortheroughstuff.”
“No,”saidPoirot,“no,Ishouldnothavethoughtso.Hecouldbeboughtoff?Thatwasyouropinion?”
“He’ddropanygirllikeahotcoalifitwasmadeworthhiswhile.”
Poirotnodded.Hewasrememberingsomething.AndrewRestarickturningachequetowardshimsothathecouldreadthesignatureonit.ItwasnotonlythesignaturethatPoirothadread,itwasthepersontowhomthechequewasmadeout.IthadbeenmadeouttoDavidBakeranditwasforalargesum.WouldDavidBakerdemurattakingsuchacheque,Poirotwondered.Hethoughtnotonthewhole.Mr.Gobyclearlywasofthatopinion.Undesirableyoungmenhadbeenboughtoffinanytimeorage,sohadundesirableyoungwomen.Sonshadswornanddaughtershadweptbutmoneywasmoney.ToNorma,Davidhadbeenurgingmarriage.Washesincere?CoulditbethathereallycaredforNorma?Ifso,hewouldnotbesoeasilypaidoff.Hehadsoundedgenuineenough.Normanodoubtbelievedhimgenuine.AndrewRestarickandMr.GobyandHerculePoirotthoughtdifferently.Theywereverymuchmorelikelytoberight.
Mr.Gobyclearedhisthroatandwenton
“MissClaudiaReece-Holland?She’sallright.Nothingagainsther.Nothingdubious,thatis.FatheraMemberofParliament,welloff.Noscandals.NotlikesomeMPswe’veheardabout.EducatedRoedean,LadyMargaretHall,camedownanddidasecretarialcourse.FirstsecretarytoadoctorinHarleyStreet,thenwenttotheCoalBoard.First-classsecretary.HasbeensecretarytoMr.Restarickforthelasttwomonths.Nospecialattachments,justwhatyou’dcallminorboyfriends.Eligibleandusefulifshewantsadate.Nothingtoshowthere’sanythingbetweenherandRestarick.Ishouldn’tsaythereis,myself.HashadaflatinBorodeneMansionsforthelastthreeyears.Quiteahighrentthere.Sheusuallyhastwoothergirlssharingit,nospecialfriends.Theycomeandgo.Younglady,FrancesCary,thesecondgirl,hasbeentheresometime.WasatRADAforatime,thenwenttotheSlade.WorksfortheWedderburnGallery—well-knownplaceinBondStreet.SpecialisesinarrangingartshowsinManchester,Birmingham,sometimesabroad.GoestoSwitzerlandandPortugal.Artytypeandhasalotoffriendsamongstartistsandactors.”
Hepaused,clearedhisthroatandgaveabrieflookatthelittlenotebook.
“Haven’tbeenabletogetmuchfromSouthAfricayet.Don’tsupposeIshall.Restarickmovedaboutalot.Kenya,Uganda,GoldCoast,SouthAmericaforawhile.Hejustmovedabout.Restlesschap.Nobodyseemstohaveknownhimparticularlywell.He’dgotplentyofmoneyofhisowntogowhereheliked.Hemademoney,too,quitealotofit.Likedgoingtooutofthewayplaces.Everyonewhocameacrosshimseemstohavelikedhim.Justseemsasthoughhewasabornwanderer.Heneverkeptintouchwithanyone.ThreetimesIbelievehewasreporteddead—goneoffintothebushandnotturnedupagain—buthealwaysdidintheend.Fiveorsixmonthsandhe’dpopupinsomeentirelydifferentplaceorcountry.
“ThenlastyearhisbrotherinLondondiedsuddenly.Theyhadabitoftroubleintracinghim.Hisbrother’sdeathseemedtogivehimashock.Perhapshe’dhadenough,andperhapshe’dmettherightwomanatlast.Goodbityoungerthanhim,shewas,andateacher,theysay.Thesteadykind.Anywayheseemstohavemadeuphismindthenandtheretochuckwanderingabout,andcomehometoEngland.Besidesbeingaveryrichmanhimself,he’shisbrother’sheir.”
“Asuccessstoryandanunhappygirl,”saidPoirot.“IwishIknewmoreabouther.Youhaveascertainedformeallthatyoucould,thefactsIneeded.Thepeoplewhosurroundedthatgirl,whomighthaveinfluencedher,whoperhapsdidinfluenceher.Iwantedtoknowsomethingaboutherfather,herstepmother,theboysheisinlovewith,thepeopleshelivedwith,andworkedforinLondon.Youaresurethatinconnectionwiththisgirltherehavebeennodeaths?Thatisimportant—”
“Notasmellofone,”saidMr.Goby.“SheworkedforafirmcalledHomebirds—onthevergeofbankruptcy,andtheydidn’tpayhermuch.Stepmotherwasinhospitalforobservationrecently—inthecountry,thatwas.Alotofrumoursflyingabout,buttheydidn’tseemtocometoanything.”
“Shedidnotdie,”saidPoirot.“WhatIneed,”headdedinabloodthirstymanner,“isadeath.”
Mr.Gobysaidhewassorryaboutthatandrosetohisfeet.“Willtherebeanythingmoreyouarewantingatpresent?”
“Notinthenatureofinformation.”
“Verygood,sir.”Ashereplacedhisnotebookinhispocket,Mr.Gobysaid:“You’llexcuseme,sir,ifI’mspeakingoutofturn,butthatyoungladyyouhadherejustnow—”
“Yes,whatabouther?”
“Well,ofcourseit’s—Idon’tsupposeit’sanythingtodowiththis,butIthoughtImightjustmentionittoyou,sir—”
“Pleasedo.Youhaveseenherbefore,Igather?”
“Yes.Coupleofmonthsago.”
“Wheredidyouseeher?”
“KewGardens.”
“KewGardens?”Poirotlookedslightlysurprised.
“Iwasn’tfollowingher.Iwasfollowingsomeoneelse,thepersonwhomether.”
“Andwhowasthat?”
“Idon’tsupposeasitmattersmentioningittoyou,sir.ItwasoneofthejuniorattachésoftheHertzogovinianEmbassy.”
Poirotraisedhiseyebrows.“Thatisinteresting.Yes,veryinteresting.KewGardens,”hemused.“Apleasantplaceforarendezvous.Verypleasant.”
“Ithoughtsoatthetime.”
“Theytalkedtogether?”
“No,sir,youwouldn’thavesaidtheykneweachother.Theyoungladyhadabookwithher.Shesatdownonaseat.Shereadthebookforalittlethenshelaiditdownbesideher.Thenmyblokecameandsatthereontheseatalso.Theydidn’tspeak—onlytheyoungladygotupandwanderedaway.Hejustsatthereandpresentlyhegetsupandwalksoff.Hetakeswithhimthebookthattheyoungladyhasleftbehind.That’sall,sir.”
“Yes,”saidPoirot.“Itisveryinteresting.”
Mr.Gobylookedatthebookcaseandsaidgoodnighttoit.Hewent.
Poirotgaveanexasperatedsigh.
“Enfin,”hesaid,“itistoomuch!Thereisfartoomuch.Nowwehaveespionageandcounterespionage.AllIamseekingisoneperfectlysimplemurder.Ibegintosuspectthatthatmurderonlyoccurredinadrugaddict’sbrain!”
Fourteen
“ChèreMadame,”PoirotbowedandpresentedMrs.Oliverwithabouquet,verystylised,aposyintheVictorianmanner.
“M.Poirot!Well,really,thatisveryniceofyou,andit’sverylikeyousomehow.Allmyflowersarealwayssountidy.”Shelookedtowardsavaseofrathertemperamental-lookingchrysanthemums,thenbacktotheprimcircleofrosebuds.“Andhowniceofyoutocomeandseeme.”
“Icome,Madame,toofferyoumyfelicitationsonyourrecovery.”
“Yes,”saidMrs.Oliver,“IsupposeIamallrightagain.”Sheshookherheadtoandfrorathergingerly.“Igetheadaches,though,”shesaid.“Quitebadheadaches.”
“Youremember,Madame,thatIwarnedyounottodoanythingdangerous.”
“Nottostickmyneckout,infact.ThatIsupposeisjustwhatIdiddo.”Sheadded,“Ifeltsomethingevilwasabout.Iwasfrightened,too,andItoldmyselfIwasafooltobefrightened,becausewhatwasIfrightenedof?Imean,itwasLondon.RightinthemiddleofLondon.Peopleallabout.Imean—howcouldIbefrightened?Itwasn’tlikealonelywoodoranything.”
Poirotlookedatherthoughtfully.Hewondered,hadMrs.Oliverreallyfeltthisnervousfear,hadshereallysuspectedthepresenceofevil,thesinisterfeelingthatsomethingorsomeonewishedherill,orhadshereaditintothewholethingafterwards?Heknewonlytoowellhoweasilythatcouldbedone.CountlessclientshadspokeninmuchthesamewordsthatMrs.Oliverhadjustused.“Iknewsomethingwaswrong.Icouldfeelevil.Iknewsomethingwasgoingtohappen,”andactuallytheyhadnotfeltanythingofthekind.WhatkindofapersonwasMrs.Oliver?
Helookedatherconsideringly.Mrs.Oliverinherownopinionwasfamousforherintuition.OneintuitionsucceededanotherwithremarkablerapidityandMrs.Oliveralwaysclaimedtherighttojustifytheparticularintuitionwhichturnedouttoberight!
Andyetonesharedveryoftenwithanimalstheuneasinessofadogoracatbeforeathunderstorm,theknowledgethatthereissomethingwrong,althoughonedoesnotknowwhatitisthatiswrong.
“Whendiditcomeuponyou,thisfear?”
“WhenIleftthemainroad,”saidMrs.Oliver.“Uptillthenitwasallordinaryandquiteexcitingand—yes,Iwasenjoyingmyself,thoughvexedatfindinghowdifficultitwastotrailanybody.”
Shepaused,considering.“Justlikeagame.Thensuddenlyitdidn’tseemsomuchlikeagame,becausetherewerequeerlittlestreetsandrathersortofbroken-downplaces,andshedsandopenspacesbeingclearedforbuilding—oh,Idon’tknow,Ican’texplainit.Butitwasalldifferent.Likeadreamreally.Youknowhowdreamsare.Theystartwithonething,apartyorsomething,andthensuddenlyyoufindyou’reinajungleorsomewherequitedifferent—andit’sallsinister.”
“Ajungle?”saidPoirot.“Yet,itisinterestingyoushouldputitlikethat.Soitfelttoyouasthoughyouwereinajungleandyouwereafraidofapeacock?”
“Idon’tknowthatIwasespeciallyafraidofhim.Afterall,apeacockisn’tadangeroussortofanimal.It’s—wellImeanIthoughtofhimasapeacockbecauseIthoughtofhimasadecorativecreature.Apeacockisverydecorative,isn’tit?Andthisawfulboyisdecorativetoo.”
“Youdidn’thaveanyideaanyonewasfollowingyoubeforeyouwerehit?”
“No.No,I’dnoidea—butIthinkhedirectedmewrongallthesame.”
Poirotnoddedthoughtfully.
“ButofcourseitmusthavebeenthePeacockwhohitme,”saidMrs.Oliver.“Whoelse?Thedirtyboyinthegreasyclothes?Hesmeltnastybuthewasn’tsinister.AnditcouldhardlybethatlimpFrancessomething—shewasdrapedoverapackingcasewithlongblackhairstreamingallovertheplace.Sheremindedmeofsomeactressorother.”
“Yousayshewasactingasamodel?”
“Yes.NotforthePeacock.Forthedirtyboy.Ican’trememberifyou’veseenherornot.”
“Ihavenotyethadthatpleasure—ifitisapleasure.”
“Well,she’squitenicelookinginanuntidy,artysortofway.Verymuchmadeup.Deadwhiteandlotsofmascaraandtheusualkindoflimphairhangingoverherface.WorksinanartgallerysoIsupposeit’squitenaturalthatsheshouldbeallamongthebeatniks,actingasamodel.Howthesegirlscan!IsupposeshemighthavefallenforthePeacock.Butit’sprobablythedirtyone.AllthesameIdon’tseehercoshingmeontheheadsomehow.”
“Ihadanotherpossibilityinmind,Madame.SomeonemayhavenoticedyoufollowingDavid—andinturnfollowedyou.”
“SomeonesawmetrailingDavid,andthentheytrailedme?”
“Orsomeonemayhavebeenalreadyinthemewsortheyard,keepingperhapsaneyeonthesamepeoplethatyouwereobserving.”
“That’sanidea,ofcourse,”saidMrs.Oliver.“Iwonderwhotheycouldbe?”
Poirotgaveanexasperatedsigh.“Ah,itisthere.Itisdifficult—toodifficult.Toomanypeople,toomanythings.Icannotseeanythingclearly.Iseeonlyagirlwhosaidthatshemayhavecommittedamurder!ThatisallthatIhavetogoonandyouseeeventheretherearedifficulties.”
“Whatdoyoumeanbydifficulties?”
“Reflect,”saidPoirot.
ReflectionhadneverbeenMrs.Oliver’sstrongpoint.
“Youalwaysmixmeup,”shecomplained.
“Iamtalkingaboutamurder,butwhatmurder?”
“Themurderofthestepmother,Isuppose.”
“Butthestepmotherisnotmurdered.Sheisalive.”
“Youreallyarethemostmaddeningman,”saidMrs.Oliver.
Poirotsatupinhischair.Hebroughtthetipsofhisfingerstogetherandprepared—orsoMrs.Oliversuspected—toenjoyhimself.
“Yourefusetoreflect,”hesaid.“Buttogetanywherewemustreflect.”
“Idon’twanttoreflect.WhatIwanttoknowiswhatyou’vebeendoingabouteverythingwhileI’vebeeninhospital.Youmusthavedonesomething.Whathaveyoudone?”
Poirotignoredthisquestion.
“Wemustbeginatthebeginning.Onedayyouringmeup.Iwasindistress.Yes,Iadmitit,Iwasindistress.Somethingextremelypainfulhadbeensaidtome.You,Madame,werekindnessitself.Youcheeredme,youencouragedme.Yougavemeadelicioustassedechocolat.Andwhatismoreyounotonlyofferedtohelpme,butyoudidhelpme.Youhelpedmetofindagirlwhohadcometomeandsaidthatshethoughtshemighthavecommittedamurder!Letusaskourselves,Madame,whataboutthismurder?Whohasbeenmurdered?Wherehavetheybeenmurdered?Whyhavetheybeenmurdered?”
“Ohdostop,”saidMrs.Oliver.“You’remakingmyheadacheagain,andthat’sbadforme.”
Poirotpaidnoattentiontothisplea.“Havewegotamurderatall?Yousay—thestepmother—butIreplythatthestepmotherisnotdead—soasyetwehavenomurder.Butthereoughttohavebeenamurder.Some,Iinquirefirstofall,whoisdead?Somebodycomestomeandmentionsamurder.Amurderthathasbeencommittedsomewhereandsomehow.ButIcannotfindthatmurder,andwhatyouareabouttosayonceagain,thattheattemptedmurderofMaryRestarickwilldoverywell,doesnotsatisfyHerculePoirot.”
“Ireallycan’tthinkwhatmoreyouwant,”saidMrs.Oliver.
“Iwantamurder,”saidHerculePoirot.
“Itsoundsverybloodthirstywhenyousayitlikethat!”
“IlookforamurderandIcannotfindamurder.Itisexasperating—soIaskyoutoreflectwithme.”
“I’vegotasplendididea,”saidMrs.Oliver.“SupposeAndrewRestarickmurderedhisfirstwifebeforehewentoffinahurrytoSouthAfrica.Hadyouthoughtofthatpossibility?”
“Icertainlydidnotthinkofanysuchthing,”saidPoirotindignantly.
“Well,I’vethoughtofit,”saidMrs.Oliver.“It’sveryinteresting.Hewasinlovewiththisotherwoman,andhewantedlikeCrippentogooffwithher,andsohemurderedthefirstoneandnobodyeversuspected.”
Poirotdrewalong,exasperatedsigh.“Buthiswifedidnotdieuntilelevenortwelveyearsafterhe’dleftthiscountryforSouthAfrica,andhischildcouldnothavebeenconcernedinthemurderofherownmotherattheageoffiveyearsold.”
“ShecouldhavegivenhermotherthewrongmedicineorperhapsRestarickjustsaidthatshedied.Afterall,wedon’tknowthatshe’sdead.”
“Ido,”saidHerculePoirot.“Ihavemadeinquiries.ThefirstMrs.Restarickdiedonthe14thApril,1963.”
“Howcanyouknowthesethings?”
“BecauseIhaveemployedsomeonetocheckthefacts.Ibegofyou,Madame,donotjumptoimpossibleconclusionsinthisrashway.”
“IthoughtIwasbeingratherclever,”saidMrs.Oliverobstinately.“IfIwasmakingithappeninabookthat’showIwouldarrangeit.AndI’dmakethechildhavedoneit.Notmeaningto,butjustbyherfathertellinghertogivehermotheradrinkmadeofpoundedupboxhedge.”
“Nond’unnomd’unnom!”saidPoirot.
“Allright,”saidMrs.Oliver.“Youtellityourway.”
“Alas,Ihavenothingtotell.IlookforamurderandIdonotfindone.”
“NotafterMaryRestarickisillandgoestohospitalandgetsbetterandcomesbackandisillagain,andiftheylookedthey’dprobablyfindarsenicorsomethinghiddenawaybyNormasomewhere.”
“Thatisexactlywhattheydidfind.”
“Well,really,M.Poirot,whatmoredoyouwant?”
“Iwantyoutopaysomeattentiontothemeaningoflanguage.Thatgirlsaidtomethesamethingasshehadsaidtomymanservant,Georges.Shedidnotsayoneitheroccasion‘Ihavetriedtokillsomeone’or‘Ihavetriedtokillmystepmother.’Shespokeeachtimeofadeedthathadbeendone,somethingthathadalreadyhappened.Definitelyhappened.Inthepasttense.”
“Igiveup,”saidMrs.Oliver.“Youjustwon’tbelievethatNormatriedtokillherstepmother.”
“Yes,IbelieveitisperfectlypossiblethatNormamayhavetriedtokillherstepmother.Ithinkitisprobablywhathappened—itisinaccordpsychologically.Withherdistraughtframeofmind.Butitisnotproved.Anyone,remember,couldhavehiddenapreparationofarsenicamongstNorma’sthings.Itcouldevenhavebeenputtherebythehusband.”
“Youalwaysseemtothinkthathusbandsaretheoneswhokilltheirwives,”saidMrs.Oliver.
“Ahusbandisusuallythemostlikelyperson,”saidHerculePoirot,“sooneconsidershimfirst.Itcouldhavebeenthegirl,Norma,oritcouldhavebeenoneoftheservants,oritcouldhavebeentheaupairgirl,oritcouldhavebeenoldSirRoderick.OritcouldhavebeenMrs.Restarickherself.”
“Nonsense.Why?”
“Therecouldbereasons.Ratherfar-fetchedreasons,butnotbeyondtheboundsofbelief.”
“Really,MonsieurPoirot,youcan’tsuspecteverybody.”
“Maisoui,thatisjustwhatIcando.Isuspecteverybody.FirstIsuspect,thenIlookforreasons.”
“Andwhatreasonwouldthatpoorforeignchildhave?”
“Itmightdependonwhatsheisdoinginthathouse,andwhatherreasonsareforcomingtoEnglandandagooddealmorebeside.”
“You’rereallycrazy.”
“OritcouldhavebeentheboyDavid.YourPeacock.”
“Muchtoofar-fetched.Davidwasn’tthere.He’sneverbeennearthehouse.”
“Ohyeshehas.HewaswanderingaboutitscorridorsthedayIwentthere.”
“ButnotputtingpoisoninNorma’sroom.”
“Howdoyouknow?”
“Butsheandthatawfulboyareinlovewitheachother.”
“Theyappeartobeso,Iadmit.”
“Youalwayswanttomakeeverythingdifficult,”complainedMrs.Oliver.
“Notatall.Thingshavebeenmadedifficultforme.Ineedinformationandthereisonlyonepersonwhocangivemeinformation.Andshehasdisappeared.”
“YoumeanNorma.”
“Yes,ImeanNorma.”
“Butshehasn’tdisappeared.Wefoundher,youandI.”
“Shewalkedoutofthatcaféandoncemoreshehasdisappeared.”
“Andyoulethergo?”Mrs.Oliver’svoicequiveredwithreproach.
“Alas!”
“Youlethergo?Youdidn’teventrytofindheragain?”
“IdidnotsayIhadnottriedtofindher.”
“Butsofaryouhavenotsucceeded.M.Poirot,Ireallyamdisappointedwithyou.”
“Thereisapattern,”saidHerculePoirotalmostdreamily.“Yes,thereisapattern.Butbecausethereisonefactormissing,thepatterndoesnotmakesense.Youseethat,don’tyou?”
“No,”saidMrs.Oliver,whoseheadwasaching.
Poirotcontinuedtotalkmoretohimselfthanhislistener.IfMrs.Olivercouldbesaidtobelistening.ShewashighlyindignantwithPoirotandshethoughttoherselfthattheRestarickgirlhadbeenquiterightandthatPoirotwastooold!There,sheherselfhadfoundthegirlforhim,hadtelephonedhimsothathemightarriveintime,hadgoneoffherselftoshadowtheotherhalfofthecouple.ShehadleftthegirltoPoirot,andwhathadPoirotdone—losther!InfactshecouldnotreallyseethatPoirothaddoneanythingatallofanyuseatanytimewhatever.Shewasdisappointedinhim.Whenhestoppedtalkingshewouldtellhimsoagain.
Poirotwasquietlyandmethodicallyoutliningwhathecalled“thepattern.”
“Itinterlocks.Yes,itinterlocksandthatiswhyitisdifficult.Onethingrelatestoanotherandthenyoufindthatitrelatestosomethingelsethatseemsoutsidethepattern.Butitisnotoutsidethepattern.Andsoitbringsmorepeopleagainintoaringofsuspicion.Suspicionofwhat?Thereagainonedoesnotknow.WehavefirstthegirlandthroughallthemazeofconflictingpatternsIhavetosearchtheanswertothemostpoignantofquestions.Isthegirlavictim,issheindanger?Oristhegirlveryastute?Isthegirlcreatingtheimpressionshewantstocreateforherownpurposes?Itcanbetakeneitherway.Ineedsomethingstill.Someonesurepointer,anditistheresomewhere.Iamsureitistheresomewhere.”
Mrs.Oliverwasrummaginginherhandbag.
“Ican’tthinkwhyIcanneverfindmyaspirinwhenIwantit,”shesaidinavexedvoice.
“Wehaveonesetofrelationshipsthathookup.Thefather,thedaughter,thestepmother.Theirlivesareinterrelated.Wehavetheelderlyuncle,somewhatgaga,withwhomtheylive.WehavethegirlSonia.Sheislinkedwiththeuncle.Sheworksforhim.Shehasprettymanners,prettyways.Heisdelightedwithher.Heis,shallwesay,alittlesoftabouther.Butwhatisherroleinthehousehold?”
“WantstolearnEnglish,Isuppose,”saidMrs.Oliver.
“ShemeetsoneofthemembersoftheHerzogovinianEmbassy—inKewGardens.Shemeetshimthere,butshedoesnotspeaktohim.Sheleavesbehindherabookandhetakesitaway—”
“Whatisallthis?”saidMrs.Oliver.
“Hasthisanythingtodowiththeotherpattern?Wedonotasyetknow.Itseemsunlikelybutitmaynotbeunlikely.HadMaryRestarickunwittinglystumbleduponsomethingwhichmightbedangeroustothegirl?”
“Don’ttellmeallthishassomethingtodowithespionageorsomething.”
“Iamnottellingyou.Iamwondering.”
“YousaidyourselfthatoldSirRoderickwasgaga.”
“Itisnotaquestionofwhetherheisgagaornot.Hewasapersonofsomeimportanceduringthewar.Importantpaperspassedthroughhishands.Importantletterscanhavebeenwrittentohim.Letterswhichhewasatperfectlibertytohavekeptoncetheyhadlosttheirimportance.”
“You’retalkingofthewarandthatwasagesago.”
“Quiteso.Butthepastisnotalwaysdonewith,becauseitisagesago.Newalliancesaremade.Publicspeechesaremaderepudiatingthis,denyingthat,tellingvariousliesaboutsomethingelse.Andsupposethereexiststillcertainlettersordocumentsthatwillchangethepictureofacertainpersonality.Iamnottellingyouanything,youunderstand.Iamonlymakingassumptions.AssumptionssuchasIhaveknowntobetrueinthepast.Itmightbeoftheutmostimportancethatsomelettersorpapersshouldbedestroyed,orelsepassedtosomeforeigngovernment.Whobettertoundertakethattaskthanacharmingyoungladywhoassistsandaidsanelderlynotabilitytocollectmaterialforhismemoirs.Everyoneiswritingtheirmemoirsnowadays.Onecannotstopthemfromdoingso!Supposethatthestepmothergetsalittlesomethinginherfoodonthedaythatthehelpfulsecretaryplusaupairgirlisdoingthecooking?AndsupposeitisshewhoarrangesthatsuspicionshouldfallonNorma?”
“Whatamindyouhave,”saidMrs.Oliver.“Tortuous,that’swhatIcallit.Imean,allthesethingscan’thavehappened.”
“Thatisjustit.Therearetoomanypatterns.Whichistherightone?ThegirlNormaleaveshome,goestoLondon.Sheis,asyouhaveinstructedme,athirdgirlsharingaflatwithtwoothergirls.Thereagainyoumayhaveapattern.Thetwogirlsarestrangerstoher.ButthenwhatdoIlearn?ClaudiaReece-HollandisprivatesecretarytoNormaRestarick’sfather.Hereagainwehavealink.Isthatmerechance?Orcouldtherebeapatternofsomekindbehindit?Theothergirl,youtellme,actsasamodel,andisacquaintedwiththeboyyoucall‘thePeacock’withwhomNormaisinlove.Againalink.Morelinks.AndwhatisDavid—thePeacock—doinginallthis?IsheinlovewithNorma?Itwouldseemso.Herparentsdislikeitasisonlyprobableandnatural.”
“It’soddaboutClaudiaReece-HollandbeingRestarick’ssecretary,”saidMrs.Oliverthoughtfully.“Ishouldjudgeshewasunusuallyefficientatanythingsheundertook.Perhapsitwasshewhopushedthewomanoutofthewindowontheseventhfloor.”
Poirotturnedslowlytowardsher.
“Whatareyousaying?”hedemanded.“Whatareyousaying?”
“Justsomeoneintheflats—Idon’tevenknowhername,butshefelloutofawindoworthrewherselfoutofawindowontheseventhfloorandkilledherself.”
Poirot’svoicerosehighandstern.
“Andyounevertoldme?”hesaidaccusingly.
Mrs.Oliverstaredathiminsurprise.
“Idon’tknowwhatyoumean.”
“WhatImean?Iaskyoutotellmeofadeath.ThatiswhatImean.Adeath.Andyousaytherearenodeaths.Youcanthinkonlyofanattemptedpoisoning.Andyethereisadeath.Adeathat—whatisthenameofthosemansions?”
“BorodeneMansions.”
“Yes,yes.Andwhendidithappen?”
“Thissuicide?Orwhateveritwas?Ithink—yes—IthinkitwasaboutaweekbeforeIwentthere.”
“Perfect!Howdidyouhearaboutit?”
“Amilkmantoldme.”
“Amilkman,bonDieu!”
“Hewasjustbeingchatty,”saidMrs.Oliver.“Itsoundedrathersad.Itwasinthedaytime—veryearlyinthemorning,Ithink.”
“Whatwashername?”
“I’venoidea.Idon’tthinkhementionedit.”
“Young,middle-aged,old?”
Mrs.Oliverconsidered.“Well,hedidn’tsayherexactage.Fifty-ish,Ithink,waswhathesaid.”
“Iwondernow.Anyonethethreegirlsknew?”
“HowcanItell?Nobodyhassaidanythingaboutit.”
“Andyouneverthoughtoftellingme.”
“Well,really,M.Poirot,Icannotsaythatithasanythingtodowithallthis.Well,Isupposeitmayhave—butnobodyseemstohavesaidso,orthoughtofit.”
“Butyes,thereisthelink.Thereisthisgirl,Norma,andshelivesinthoseflats,andonedaysomebodycommitssuicide(forthat,Igather,wasthegeneralimpression).Thatis,somebodythrowsherselforfallsoutofaseventh-floorhighwindowandiskilled.Andthen?SomedayslaterthisgirlNorma,afterhavingheardyoutalkaboutmeataparty,comestocalluponmeandshesaystomethatsheisafraidthatshemayhavecommittedamurder.Doyounotsee?Adeath—andnotmanydayslatersomeonewhothinksshemayhavecommittedamurder.Yes,thismustbethemurder.”
Mrs.Oliverwantedtosay“Nonsense”butshedidnotquitedaretodoso.Nevertheless,shethoughtit.
“Thisthenmustbetheonepieceofknowledgethathadnotyetcometome.Thisoughttotieupthewholething!Yes,yes,Idonotseeyethow,butitmustbeso.Imustthink.ThatiswhatImustdo.Imustgohomeandthinkuntilslowlythepiecesfittogether—becausethiswillbethekeypiecethattiesthemalltogether…Yes.Atlast.AtlastIshallseemyway.”
Herosetohisfeetandsaid,“Adieu,chèreMadame,”andhurriedfromtheroom.Mrs.Oliveratlastrelievedherfeelings
“Nonsense,”shesaidtotheemptyroom.“Absolutenonsense.Iwonderiffourwouldbetoomanyaspirinstotake?”
Fifteen
AtHerculePoirot’selbowwasatisanepreparedforhimbyGeorge.Hesippedatitandthought.Hethoughtinacertainwaypeculiartohimself.Itwasthetechniqueofamanwhoselectedthoughtsasonemightselectpiecesofajigsawpuzzle.Induecoursetheywouldbereassembledtogethersoastomakeaclearandcoherentpicture.Atthemomenttheimportantthingwastheselection,theseparation.Hesippedhistisane,putdownthecup,restedhishandsonthearmsofhischairandletvariouspiecesofhispuzzlecomeonebyoneintohismind.Onceherecognisedthemall,hewouldselect.Piecesofsky,piecesofgreenbank,perhapsstripedpieceslikethoseofatiger….
Thepainfulnessofhisownfeetinpatentleathershoes.Hestartedthere.Walkingalongaroadsetonthispathbyhisgoodfriend,Mrs.Oliver.Astepmother.Hesawhimselfwithhishandonagate.Awomanwhoturned,awomanbendingherheadcuttingouttheweakgrowthofarose,turningandlookingathim?Whatwasthereforhimthere?Nothing.Agoldenhead,agoldenheadbrightasacornfield,withtwistsandloopsofhairslightlyreminiscentofMrs.Oliver’sowninshape.Hesmiledalittle.ButMaryRestarick’shairwasmoretidilyarrangedthanMrs.Oliver’severwas.Agoldenframeforherfacethatseemedjustalittletoolargeforher.HerememberedthatoldSirRoderickhadsaidthatshehadtowearawig,becauseofanillness.Sadforsoyoungawoman.Therewas,whenhecametothinkofit,somethingunusuallyheavyaboutherhead.Fartoostatic,tooperfectlyarranged.HeconsideredMaryRestarick’swig—ifitwasawig—forhewasbynomeanssurethathecoulddependonSirRoderick.Heexaminedthepossibilitiesofthewigincasetheyshouldbeofsignificance.Hereviewedtheconversationtheyhadhad.Hadtheysaidanythingimportant?Hethoughtnot.Herememberedtheroomintowhichtheyhadgone.Acharacterlessroomrecentlyinhabitedinsomeoneelse’shouse.Twopicturesonthewall,thepictureofawomaninadove-greydress.Thinmouth,lipssetcloselytogether.Hairthatwasgreyishbrown.ThefirstMrs.Restarick.Shelookedasthoughshemighthavebeenolderthanherhusband.Hispicturewasontheoppositewall,facingher.Goodportraits,bothofthem.Lansbergerhadbeenagoodportraitpainter.Hisminddweltontheportraitofthehusband.Hehadnotseenitsowellthatfirstday,ashehadlaterinRestarick’soffice….
AndrewRestarickandClaudiaReece-Holland.Wasthereanythingthere?Wastheirassociationmorethanamerelysecretarialone?Itneednotbe.Herewasamanwhohadcomebacktothiscountryafteryearsofabsence,whohadnonearfriendsorrelatives,whowasperplexedandtroubledoverhisdaughter’scharacterandconduct.ItwasprobablynaturalenoughthatheshouldturntohisrecentlyacquiredeminentlycompetentsecretaryandaskhertosuggestsomewhereforhisdaughtertoliveinLondon.ItwouldbeafavouronherparttoprovidethataccommodationsinceshewaslookingforaThirdGirl.Thirdgirl…ThephrasethathehadacquiredfromMrs.Oliveralwaysseemedtobecomingtohismind.Asthoughithadasecondsignificancewhichforsomereasonhecouldnotsee.
Hismanservant,George,enteredtheroom,closingthedoordiscreetlybehindhim.
“Ayoungladyishere,sir.Theyoungladywhocametheotherday.”
ThewordscametooaptlywithwhatPoirotwasthinking.Hesatupinastartledfashion.
“Theyoungladywhocameatbreakfasttime?”
“Ohno,sir.ImeantheyoungladywhocamewithSirRoderickHorsefield.”
“Ah,indeed.”
Poirotraisedhiseyebrows.“Bringherin.Whereisshe?”
“IshowedherintoMissLemon’sroom,sir.”
“Ah.Yes,bringherin.”
SoniadidnotwaitforGeorgetoannounceher.Shecameintotheroomaheadofhimwithaquickandratheraggressivestep.
“Ithasbeendifficultformetogetaway,butIhavecometotellyouthatIdidnottakethosepapers.Ididnotstealanything.Youunderstand?”
“Hasanybodysaidthatyouhad?”Poirotasked.“Sitdown,Mademoiselle.”
“Idonotwanttositdown.Ihaveverylittletime.Ijustcametotellyouthatitisabsolutelyuntrue.IamveryhonestandIdowhatIamtold.”
“Itakeyourpoint.Ihavealreadytakenit.Yourstatementisthatyouhavenotremovedanypapers,information,letters,documentsofanykindfromSirRoderickHorsefield’shouse?Thatisso,isitnot?”
“Yes,andI’vecometotellyouitisso.Hebelievesme.HeknowsthatIwouldnotdosuchathing.”
“Verywellthen.ThatisastatementandInoteit.”
“Doyouthinkyouaregoingtofindthosepapers?”
“Ihaveotherinquiriesinhand,”saidPoirot.“SirRoderick’spaperswillhavetotaketheirturn.”
“Heisworried.Heisveryworried.ThereissomethingthatIcannotsaytohim.Iwillsayittoyou.Helosesthings.Thingsarenotputawaywherehethinkstheyare.Heputsthemin—howdoyousayit—infunnyplaces.OhIknow.Yoususpectme.EveryonesuspectsmebecauseIamforeign.BecauseIcomefromaforeigncountryandsotheythink—theythinkIstealsecretpaperslikeinoneofyoursillyEnglishspystories.Iamnotlikethat.Iamanintellectual.”
“Aha,”saidPoirot.“Itisalwaysnicetoknow.”Headded:“Isthereanythingelseyouwishtotellme?”
“WhyshouldI?”
“Oneneverknows.”
“Whataretheseothercasesyouspeakof?”
“Ah,Idonotwanttodetainyou.Itisyourdayout,perhaps.”
“Yes.IhaveonedayaweekwhenIcandowhatIlike.IcancometoLondon.IcangototheBritishMuseum.”
“AhyesandtotheVictoriaandAlbertalso,nodoubt.”
“Thatisso.”
“AndtotheNationalGalleryandseethepictures.AndonafinedayyoucangotoKensingtonGardens,orperhapsasfarasKewGardens.”
Shestiffened…Sheshothimanangryquestioningglance.
“WhydoyousayKewGardens?”
“Becausetherearesomeveryfineplantsandshrubsandtreesthere.Ah!youshouldnotmissKewGardens.Theadmissionfeeisverysmall.ApennyIthink,ortwopence.Andforthatyoucangoandseetropicaltrees,oryoucansitonaseatandreadabook.”Hesmiledatherdisarminglyandwasinterestedtonoticethatheruneasinesswasincreased.“ButImustnotdetainyou,Mademoiselle.YouhaveperhapsfriendstovisitatoneoftheEmbassies,maybe.”
“Whydoyousaythat?”
“Noparticularreason.Youare,asyousay,aforeigneranditisquitepossibleyoumayhavefriendsconnectedwithyourownEmbassyhere.”
“Someonehastoldyouthings.Someonehasmadeaccusationsagainstme!Itellyouheisasillyoldmanwhomislaysthings.Thatisall!Andheknowsnothingofimportance.Hehasnosecretpapersordocuments.Heneverhashad.”
“Ah,butyouarenotquitethinkingofwhatyouaresaying.Timepasses,youknow.Hewasonceanimportantmanwhodidknowimportantsecrets.”
“Youaretryingtofrightenme.”
“No,no.Iamnotbeingsomelodramaticasthat.”
“Mrs.Restarick.ItisMrs.Restarickwhohasbeentellingyouthings.Shedoesnotlikeme.”
“Shehasnotsaidsotome.”
“Well,Idonotlikeher.SheisthekindofwomanImistrust.Ithinkshehassecrets.”
“Indeed?”
“Yes,Ithinkshehassecretsfromherhusband.IthinkshegoesuptoLondonortootherplacestomeetothermen.Tomeetatanyrateoneotherman.”
“Indeed,”saidPoirot,“thatisveryinteresting.Youthinkshegoestomeetanotherman?”
“Yes,Ido.ShegoesuptoLondonveryoftenandIdonotthinkshealwaystellsherhusband,orshesaysitisshoppingorthingsshehastobuy.Allthosesortofthings.Heisbusyintheofficeandhedoesnotthinkofwhyhiswifecomesup.SheismoreinLondonthansheisinthecountry.Andyetshepretendstolikegardeningsomuch.”
“Youhavenoideawhothismaniswhomshemeets?”
“HowshouldIknow?Idonotfollowher.Mr.Restarickisnotasuspiciousman.Hebelieveswhathiswifetellshim.Hethinksperhapsaboutbusinessallthetime.And,too,Ithinkheisworriedabouthisdaughter.”
“Yes,”saidPoirot,“heiscertainlyworriedabouthisdaughter.Howmuchdoyouknowaboutthedaughter?Howwelldoyouknowher?”
“Idonotknowherverywell.IfyouaskwhatIthink—well,Itellyou!Ithinksheismad.”
“Youthinksheismad?Why?”
“Shesaysoddthingssometimes.Sheseesthingsthatarenotthere.”
“Seesthingsthatarenotthere?”
“Peoplethatarenotthere.Sometimessheisveryexcitedandothertimessheseemsasthoughsheisinadream.Youspeaktoherandshedoesnothearwhatyousaytoher.Shedoesnotanswer.Ithinktherearepeoplewhoshewouldliketohavedead.”
“YoumeanMrs.Restarick?”
“Andherfather.Shelooksathimasthoughshehateshim.”
“Becausetheyarebothtryingtopreventhermarryingayoungmanofherchoice?”
“Yes.Theydonotwantthattohappen.Theyarequiteright,ofcourse,butitmakesherangry.Someday,”addedSonia,noddingherheadcheerfully,“Ithinkshewillkillherself.Ihopeshewilldonothingsofoolish,butthatisthethingonedoeswhenoneismuchinlove.”Sheshruggedhershoulders.“Well—Igonow.”
“Justtellmeonething.DoesMrs.Restarickwearawig?”
“Awig?HowshouldIknow?”Sheconsideredforamoment.“Shemight,yes,”sheadmitted.“Itisusefulfortravelling.Alsoitisfashionable.Iwearawigmyselfsometimes.Agreenone!OrIdid.”Sheaddedagain,“Igonow,”andwent.
Sixteen
“TodayIhavemuchtodo,”HerculePoirotannouncedasherosefromthebreakfasttablenextmorningandjoinedMissLemon.“Inquiriestomake.Youhavemadethenecessaryresearchesforme,theappointments,thenecessarycontacts?”
“Certainly,”saidMissLemon.“Itisallhere.”Shehandedhimasmallbriefcase.Poirottookaquickglanceatitscontentsandnoddedhishead.
“Icanalwaysrelyonyou,MissLemon,”hesaid.“C’estfantastique.”
“Really,MonsieurPoirot,Icannotseeanythingfantasticaboutit.YougavemeinstructionsandIcarriedthemout.Naturally.”
“Pah,itisnotsonaturalasthat,”saidPoirot.“DoInotgiveinstructionsoftentothegasmen,theelectricians,themanwhocomestorepairthings,anddotheyalwayscarryoutmyinstructions?Very,veryseldom.”
Hewentintothehall.
“Myslightlyheavierovercoat,Georges.Ithinktheautumnchillissettingin.”
Hepoppedhisheadbackinhissecretary’sroom.“Bytheway,whatdidyouthinkofthatyoungwomanwhocameyesterday?”
MissLemon,arrestedasshewasabouttoplungeherfingersonthetypewriter,saidbriefly,“Foreign.”
“Yes,yes.”
“Obviouslyforeign.”
“Youdonotthinkanythingmoreaboutherthanthat?”
MissLemonconsidered.“Ihadnomeansofjudginghercapabilityinanyway.”Sheaddedratherdoubtfully,“Sheseemedupsetaboutsomething.”
“Yes.Sheissuspected,yousee,ofstealing!Notmoney,butpapers,fromheremployer.”
“Dear,dear,”saidMissLemon.“Importantpapers?”
“Itseemshighlyprobable.Itisequallyprobablethough,thathehasnotlostanythingatall.”
“Ohwell,”saidMissLemon,givingheremployeraspeciallookthatshealwaysgaveandwhichannouncedthatshewishedtogetridofhimsothatshecouldgetonwithproperfervourwithherwork.“Well,Ialwayssaythatit’sbettertoknowwhereyouarewhenyouareemployingsomeone,andbuyBritish.”
HerculePoirotwentout.HisfirstvisitwastoBorodeneMansions.Hetookataxi.Alightingatthecourtyardhecasthiseyesaround.Auniformedporterwasstandinginoneofthedoorways,whistlingasomewhatdolefulmelody.AsPoirotadvanceduponhim,hesaid:
“Yes,sir?”
“Iwondered,”saidPoirot,“ifyoucantellmeanythingaboutaverysadoccurrencethattookplacehererecently.”
“Sadoccurrence?”saidtheporter.“NothingthatIknowof.”
“Aladywhothrewherself,orshallwesayfellfromoneoftheupperstoreys,andwaskilled.”
“Oh,that.Idon’tknowanythingaboutthatbecauseI’veonlybeenhereaweek,yousee.Hi,Joe.”
Aporteremergingfromtheoppositesideoftheblockcameover.
“You’dknowabouttheladyasfellfromtheseventh.Aboutamonthago,wasit?”
“Notquiteasmuchasthat,”saidJoe.Hewasanelderly,slow-speakingman.“Nastybusinessitwas.”
“Shewaskilledinstantly?”
“Yes.”
“Whatwashername?Itmay,youunderstand,havebeenarelativeofmine,”Poirotexplained.Hewasnotamanwhohadanyscruplesaboutdepartingfromthetruth.
“Indeed,sir.Verysorrytohearit.ShewasaMrs.Charpentier.”
“Shehadbeenintheflatsometime?”
“Well,letmeseenow.Aboutayear—ayearandahalfperhaps.No,Ithinkitmusthavebeenabouttwoyears.No.76,seventhfloor.”
“Thatisthetopfloor?”
“Yes,sir.AMrs.Charpentier.”
Poirotdidnotpressforanyotherdescriptiveinformationsincehemightbepresumedtoknowsuchthingsabouthisownrelative.Insteadheasked:
“Diditcausemuchexcitement,muchquestioning?Whattimeofdaywasit?”
“Fiveorsixo’clockinthemorning,Ithink.Nowarningoranything.Justdownshecame.Inspiteofbeingsoearlywegotacrowdalmostatonce,pushingthroughtherailingoverthere.Youknowwhatpeopleare.”
“Andthepolice,ofcourse.”
“Ohyes,thepolicecamequitequickly.Andadoctorandanambulance.Alltheusual,”saidtheporterratherinthewearytoneofonewhohadhadpeoplethrowingthemselvesoutofaseventh-storeywindowonceortwiceeverymonth.
“AndIsupposepeoplecamedownfromtheflatswhentheyheardwhathadhappened.”
“Oh,therewasn’tsomanycomingfromtheflatsbecauseforonethingwiththenoiseoftrafficandeverythingaroundheremostofthemdidn’tknowaboutit.Someoneorothersaidshegaveabitofascreamasshecamedown,butnotsothatitcausedanyrealcommotion.Itwasonlypeopleinthestreet,passingby,whosawithappen.Andthen,ofcourse,theycranedtheirnecksovertherailings,andotherpeoplesawthemcraning,andjoinedthem.Youknowwhatanaccidentis!”
Poirotassuredhimheknewwhatanaccidentwas.
“Shelivedalone?”hesaid,makingitonlyhalfaquestion.
“That’sright.”
“Butshehadfriends,Isuppose,amongtheotherflatdwellers?”
Joeshruggedandshookhishead.“Mayhavedone.Icouldn’tsay.Neversawherintherestaurantmuchwithanyofourlot.Shehadoutsidefriendstodinnerheresometimes.No,Iwouldn’tsayshewasspeciallypallywithanybodyhere.You’ddobest,”saidJoe,gettingslightlyrestive,“togoandhaveachatwithMr.McFarlanewho’sinchargehereifyouwanttoknowabouther.”
“Ah,Ithankyou.Yes,thatiswhatImeantodo.”
“Hisofficeisinthatblockoverthere,sir.Onthegroundfloor.You’llseeitmarkeduponthedoor.”
Poirotwentasdirected.HedetachedfromhisbriefcasethetopletterwithwhichMissLemonhadsuppliedhim,andwhichwasmarked“Mr.McFarlane.”Mr.McFarlaneturnedouttobeagood-looking,shrewd-lookingmanofaboutforty-five.Poirothandedhimtheletter.Heopenedandreadit.
“Ahyes,”hesaid,“Isee.”
HelaiditdownonthedeskandlookedatPoirot.
“TheownershaveinstructedmetogiveyouallthehelpIcanaboutthesaddeathofMrs.LouiseCharpentier.Nowwhatdoyouwanttoknowexactly,Monsieur”—heglancedattheletteragain—“MonsieurPoirot?”
“Thisis,ofcourse,allquiteconfidential,”saidPoirot.“Herrelativeshavebeencommunicatedwithbythepoliceandbyasolicitor,buttheywereanxious,asIwascomingtoEngland,thatIshouldgetafewmorepersonalfacts,ifyouunderstandme.Itisdistressingwhenonecangetonlyofficialreports.”
“Yes,quiteso.Yes,Iquiteunderstandthatitmustbe.Well,I’lltellyouanythingIcan.”
“Howlonghadshebeenhereandhowdidshecometotaketheflat?”
“She’dbeenhere—Icanlookitupexactly—abouttwoyears.TherewasavacanttenancyandIimaginethattheladywhowasleaving,beinganacquaintanceofhers,toldherinadvancethatshewasgivingitup.ThatwasaMrs.Wilder.WorkedfortheBBC.HadbeeninLondonforsometime,butwasgoingtoCanada.Verynicelady—Idon’tthinksheknewthedeceasedwellatall.Justhappenedtomentionshewasgivinguptheflat.Mrs.Charpentierlikedtheflat.”
“Youfoundherasuitabletenant?”TherewasaveryfainthesitationbeforeMr.McFarlaneanswered:
“Shewasasatisfactorytenant,yes.”
“Youneednotmindtellingme,”saidHerculePoirot.“Therewerewildparties,eh?Alittletoo—shallwesay—gayinherentertaining?”
Mr.McFarlanestoppedbeingsodiscreet
“Therewereafewcomplaintsfromtimetotime,butmostlyfromelderlypeople.”
HerculePoirotmadeasignificantgesture.
“Abittoofondofthebottle,yes,sir—andinwithquiteagaylot.Itmadeforabitoftroublenowandagain.”
“Andshewasfondofthegentlemen?”
“Well,Iwouldn’tliketogoasfarasthat.”
“No,no,butoneunderstands.”
“Ofcourseshewasn’tsoyoung.”
“Appearancesareveryoftendeceptive.Howoldwouldyouhavesaidshewas?”
“It’sdifficulttosay.Forty—forty-five.”Headded,“Herhealthwasn’tgood,youknow.”
“SoIunderstand.”
“Shedranktoomuch—nodoubtaboutit.Andthenshe’dgetverydepressed.Nervousaboutherself.Alwaysgoingtodoctors,Ibelieve,andnotbelievingwhattheytoldher.Ladiesdogetitintotheirheads—especiallyaboutthattimeoflife—shethoughtthatshehadcancer.Wasquitesureofit.Thedoctorreassuredherbutshedidn’tbelievehim.Hesaidattheinquestthattherewasnothingreallywrongwithher.Ohwell,onehearsofthingslikethateveryday.Shegotallworkedupandonefineday—”henodded.
“Itisverysad,”saidPoirot.“Didshehaveanyspecialfriendsamongtheresidentsoftheflats?”
“NotthatIknowof.Thisplace,yousee,isn’twhatIcallthemateykind.They’remostlypeopleinbusiness,injobs.”
“IwasthinkingpossiblyofMissClaudiaReece-Holland.Iwonderediftheyhadknowneachother.”
“MissReece-Holland?No,Idon’tthinkso.OhImeantheywereprobablyacquaintances,talkedwhentheywentupinthelifttogether,thatsortofthing.ButIdon’tthinktherewasmuchsocialcontactofanykind.Yousee,theywouldbeinadifferentgeneration.Imean—”Mr.McFarlaneseemedalittleflustered.Poirotwonderedwhy.
Hesaid,“OneoftheothergirlswhoshareMissHolland’sflatknewMrs.Charpentier,Ibelieve—MissNormaRestarick.”
“Didshe?Iwouldn’tknow—she’sonlycomeherequiterecently,Ihardlyknowherbysight.Ratherafrightened-lookingyounglady.Notlongoutofschool,I’dsay.”Headded,“IsthereanythingmoreIcandoforyou,sir?”
“No,thankyou.You’vebeenmostkind.IwonderifpossiblyIcouldseetheflat.Justinordertobeabletosay—”Poirotpaused,notparticularisingwhathewantedtobeabletosay.
“Well,now,letmesee.AMr.Travershasgotitnow.He’sintheCityallday.Yes,comeupwithmeifyoulike,sir.”
Theywentuptotheseventhfloor.AsMr.McFarlaneintroducedhiskeyoneofthenumbersfellfromthedoorandnarrowlyavoidedPoirot’spatentleathershoe.Hehoppednimblyandthenbenttopickitup.Hereplacedthespikewhichfixeditonthedoorverycarefully.
“Thesenumbersareloose,”hesaid.
“I’mverysorry,sir.I’llmakeanoteofit.Yes,theywearloosefromtimetotime.Well,hereweare.”
Poirotwentintothelivingroom.Atthemomentithadlittlepersonality.Thewallswerepaperedwithapaperresemblinggrainedwood.Ithadconventionalcomfortablefurniture,theonlypersonaltouchwasatelevisionsetandacertainnumberofbooks.
“Alltheflatsarepartlyfurnished,yousee,”saidMr.McFarlane.“Thetenantsdon’tneedtobringanythingoftheirown,unlesstheywantto.Wecaterverylargelyforpeoplewhocomeandgo.”
“Andthedecorationsareallthesame?”
“Notentirely.Peopleseemtolikethisrawwoodeffect.Goodbackgroundforpictures.Theonlythingsthataredifferentareontheonewallfacingthedoor.Wehaveawholesetoffrescoeswhichpeoplecanchoosefrom.
“Wehaveasetoften,”saidMr.McFarlanewithsomepride.“ThereistheJapaneseone—veryartistic,don’tyouthink?—andthereisanEnglishgardenone;averystrikingoneofbirds;oneoftrees,aHarlequinone,aratherinterestingabstracteffect—linesandcubes,invividlycontrastingcolours,thatsortofthing.They’realldesignsbygoodartists.Ourfurnitureisallthesame.Twochoicesofcolours,orofcoursepeoplecanaddwhattheylikeoftheirown.Buttheydon’tusuallybother.”
“Mostofthemarenot,asyoumightsay,homemakers,”Poirotsuggested.
“No,ratherthebirdofpassagetype,orbusypeoplewhowantsolidcomfort,goodplumbingandallthatbutaren’tparticularlyinterestedindecoration,thoughwe’vehadoneortwoofthedo-it-yourselftype,whichisn’treallysatisfactoryfromourpointofview.We’vehadtoputaclauseintheleasesayingthey’vegottoputthingsbackastheyfoundthem—orpayforthatbeingdone.”
TheyseemedtobegettingratherfarawayfromthesubjectofMrs.Charpentier’sdeath.Poirotapproachedthewindow
“Itwasfromhere?”hemurmureddelicately.
“Yes.That’sthewindow.Theleft-handone.Ithasabalcony.”
Poirotlookedoutdownbelow.
“Sevenfloors,”hesaid.“Alongway.”
“Yes,deathwasinstantaneous,Iamgladtosay.Ofcourse,itmighthavebeenanaccident.”
Poirotshookhishead.
“Youcannotseriouslysuggestthat,Mr.McFarlane.Itmusthavebeendeliberate.”
“Well,onealwayslikestosuggestaneasierpossibility.Shewasn’tahappywoman,I’mafraid.”
“Thankyou,”saidPoirot,“foryourgreatcourtesy.IshallbeabletogiveherrelationsinFranceaveryclearpicture.”
Hisownpictureofwhathadoccurredwasnotasclearashewouldhaveliked.SofartherehadbeennothingtosupporthistheorythatthedeathofLouiseCharpentierhadbeenimportant.HerepeatedtheChristiannamethoughtfully.Louise…WhyhadthenameLouisesomehauntingmemoryaboutit?Heshookhishead.HethankedMr.McFarlaneandleft.
Seventeen
ChiefInspectorNeelewassittingbehindhisdesklookingveryofficialandformal.HegreetedPoirotpolitelyandmotionedhimtoachair.AssoonastheyoungmanwhohadintroducedPoirottothepresencehadleft,ChiefInspectorNeele’smannerchanged.
“Andwhatareyouafternow,yousecretiveolddevil?”hesaid.
“Astothat,”saidPoirot,“youalreadyknow.”
“Ohyes,I’verustledupsomestuffbutIdon’tthinkthere’smuchforyoufromthatparticularhole.”
“Whycallitahole?”
“Becauseyou’resoexactlylikeagoodmouser.Acatsittingoveraholewaitingforthemousetocomeout.Well,ifyouaskme,thereisn’tanymouseinthisparticularhole.Mindyou,Idon’tsaythatyoucouldn’tunearthsomedubioustransactions.Youknowthesefinanciers.Idaresaythere’salotofhoky-pokybusiness,andallthat,aboutmineralsandconcessionsandoilandallthosethings.ButJoshuaRestarickLtd.hasgotagoodreputation.Familybusiness—orusedtobe—butyoucan’tcallitthatnow.SimonRestarickhadn’tanychildren,andhisbrotherAndrewRestarickonlyhasthisdaughter.Therewasanoldauntonthemother’sside.AndrewRestarick’sdaughterlivedwithheraftersheleftschoolandherownmotherdied.Theauntdiedofastrokeaboutsixmonthsago.Mildlypotty,Ibelieve—belongedtoafewratherpeculiarreligioussocieties.Noharminthem.SimonRestarickwasaperfectlyplaintypeofshrewdbusinessman,andhadasocialwife.Theyweremarriedratherlateinlife.”
“AndAndrew?”
“Andrewseemstohavesufferedfromwanderlust.Nothingknownagainsthim.Neverstayedanywherelong,wanderedaboutSouthAfrica,SouthAmerica,Kenyaandagoodmanyotherplaces.Hisbrotherpressedhimtocomebackmorethanonce,buthewasn’thavingany.Hedidn’tlikeLondonorbusiness,butheseemstohavehadtheRestarickfamilyflairformakingmoney.Hewentaftermineraldeposits,thingslikethat.Hewasn’tanelephanthunteroranarchaeologistoraplantmanoranyofthosethings.Allhisdealswerebusinessdealsandtheyalwaysturnedoutwell.”
“Sohealsoinhiswayisconventional?”
“Yes,thataboutcoversit.Idon’tknowwhatmadehimcomebacktoEnglandafterhisbrotherdied.Possiblyanewwife—he’smarriedagain.Good-lookingwomanagooddealyoungerthanheis.Atthemomentthey’relivingwitholdSirRoderickHorsefieldwhosesisterhadmarriedAndrewRestarick’suncle.ButIimaginethat’sonlytemporary.Isanyofthisnewstoyou?Ordoyouknowitallalready?”
“I’veheardmostofit,”saidPoirot.“Isthereanyinsanityinthefamilyoneitherside?”
“Shouldn’tthinkso,apartfromoldAuntieandherfancyreligions.Andthat’snotunusualinawomanwholivesalone.”
“Soallyoucantellmereallyisthatthereisalotofmoney,”saidPoirot
“Lotsofmoney,”saidChiefInspectorNeele.“Andallquiterespectable.Someofit,markyou,AndrewRestarickbroughtintothefirm.SouthAfricanconcessions,mines,mineraldeposits.I’dsaythatbythetimetheseweredeveloped,orplacedonthemarket,there’dbeaverylargesumofmoneyindeed.”
“Andwhowillinheritit?”saidPoirot.
“ThatdependsonhowAndrewRestarickleavesit.It’suptohim,butI’dsaythatthere’snooneobvious,excepthiswifeandhisdaughter.”
“Sotheybothstandtoinheritaverylargeamountofmoneyoneday?”
“Ishouldsayso.Iexpectthereareagoodmanyfamilytrustsandthingslikethat.AlltheusualCitygambits.”
“Thereis,forinstance,nootherwomaninwhomhemightbeinterested?”
“Nothingknownofsuchathing.Ishouldn’tthinkitlikely.He’sgotagood-lookingnewwife.”
“Ayoungman,”saidPoirotthoughtfully,“couldeasilylearnallthis?”
“Youmeanandmarrythedaughter?There’snothingtostophim,evenifshewasmadeawardofCourtorsomethinglikethat.Ofcourseherfathercouldthendisinheritherifhewantedto.”
Poirotlookeddownataneatlywrittenlistinhishand.
“WhatabouttheWedderburnGallery?”
“Iwonderedhowyou’dgotontothat.Wereyouconsultedbyaclientaboutaforgery?”
“Dotheydealinforgeries?”
“Peopledon’tdealinforgeries,”saidChiefInspectorNeelereprovingly.“Therewasaratherunpleasantbusiness.AmillionairefromTexasoverherebuyingpictures,andpayingincrediblesumsforthem.TheysoldhimaRenoirandaVanGogh.TheRenoirwasasmallheadofagirlandtherewassomequeryaboutit.ThereseemednoreasontobelievethattheWedderburnGalleryhadnotboughtitinthefirstplaceinallgoodfaith.Therewasacaseaboutit.Agreatmanyartexpertscameandgavetheirverdicts.Infact,asusual,intheendtheyallseemedtocontradicteachother.Thegalleryofferedtotakeitbackinanycase.However,themillionairedidn’tchangehismind,sincethelatestfashionableexpertsworethatitwasperfectlygenuine.Sohestucktoit.Allthesamethere’sbeenabitofsuspicionhangingroundthegalleryeversince.”
Poirotlookedagainathislist.
“AndwhataboutMr.DavidBaker?Haveyoulookedhimupforme?”
“Oh,he’soneoftheusualmob.Riffraff—goaboutingangsandbreakupnightclubs.Liveonpurplehearts—heroin—Coke—Girlsgomadaboutthem.He’sthekindtheymoanoversayinghislifehasbeensohardandhe’ssuchawonderfulgenius.Hispaintingisnotappreciated.Nothingbutgoodoldsex,ifyouaskme.”
Poirotconsultedhislistagain.
“DoyouknowanythingaboutMr.Reece-Holland,MP?”
“Doingquitewell,politically.Gotthegiftofthegaballright.OneortwoslightlypeculiartransactionsintheCity,buthe’swriggledoutofthemquiteneatly.I’dsayhewasaslipperyone.He’smadequiteagooddealofmoneyoffandonbyratherdoubtfulmeans.”
Poirotcametohislastpoint.
“WhataboutSirRoderickHorsefield?”
“Niceoldboybutgaga.Whatanoseyouhave,Poirot,getitintoeverything,don’tyou?Yes,there’sbeenalotoftroubleintheSpecialBranch.It’sthiscrazeformemoirs.Nobodyknowswhatindiscreetrevelationsaregoingtobemadenext.Alltheoldboys,serviceandotherwise,areracinghardtobringouttheirownparticularbrandofwhattheyrememberoftheindiscretionsofothers!Usuallyitdoesn’tmuchmatter,butsometimes—well,youknow,Cabinetschangetheirpoliciesandyoudon’twanttoafrontsomeone’ssusceptibilitiesorgivethewrongpublicity,sowehavetotryandmuffletheoldboys.Someofthemarenottooeasy.Butyou’llhavetogototheSpecialBranchifyouwanttonoseintoanyofthat.Ishouldn’tthinktherewasmuchwrong.Thetroubleistheydon’tdestroythepaperstheyshould.Theykeepthelot.However,Idon’tthinkthereismuchinthat,butwehaveevidencethatacertainPowerisnosingaround.”
Poirotgaveadeepsigh.
“Haven’tIhelped?”askedtheChiefInspector.
“Iamverygladtogetthereallowdownfromofficialquarters.Butno,Idon’tthinkthereismuchhelpinwhatyouhavetoldme.”Hesighedandthensaid,“Whatwouldbeyouropinionifsomeonesaidtoyoucasuallythatawoman—ayoungattractivewoman—woreawig?”
“Nothinginthat,”saidChiefInspectorNeele,andadded,withaslightasperity,“mywifewearsawigwhenwe’retravellinganytime.Itsavesalotoftrouble.”
“Ibegyourpardon,”saidHerculePoirot.
Asthetwomenbadeeachothergood-bye,theChiefInspectorasked:
“Yougotallthedope,Isuppose,onthatsuicidecaseyouwereaskingaboutintheflats?Ihaditsentroundtoyou.”
“Yes,thankyou.Theofficialfacts,atleast.Abarerecord.”
“Therewassomethingyouweretalkingaboutjustnowthatbroughtitbacktomymind.I’llthinkofitinamoment.Itwastheusual,rathersadstory.Gaywoman,fondofmen,enoughmoneytoliveupon,noparticularworries,dranktoomuchandwentdownthehill.AndthenshegetswhatIcallthehealthbug.Youknow,they’reconvincedtheyhavecancerorsomethinginthatline.Theyconsultadoctorandhetellsthemthey’reallright,andtheygohomeanddon’tbelievehim.Ifyouaskmeit’susuallybecausetheyfindthey’renolongerasattractiveastheyusedtobetomen.That’swhat’sreallydepressingthem.Yes,ithappensallthetime.They’relonely,Isuppose,poordevils.Mrs.Charpentierwasjustoneofthem.Idon’tsupposethatany—”hestopped.“Ohyes,ofcourse,Iremember.YouwereaskingaboutoneofourMPs,Reece-Holland.He’safairlygayonehimselfinadiscreetway.Anyway,LouiseCharpentierwashismistressatonetime.That’sall.”
“Wasitaseriousliaison?”
“OhIshouldn’tsaysoparticularly.Theywenttosomeratherquestionableclubstogetherandthingslikethat.Youknow,wekeepadiscreeteyeonthingsofthatkind.ButtherewasneveranythinginthePressaboutthem.Nothingofthatkind.”
“Isee.”
“Butitlastedforacertaintime.Theywereseentogether,offandon,foraboutsixmonths,butIdon’tthinkshewastheonlyoneandIdon’tthinkhewastheonlyoneeither.Soyoucan’tmakeanythingofthat,canyou?”
“Idonotthinkso,”saidPoirot.
“Butallthesame,”hesaidtohimselfashewentdownthestairs,“allthesame,itisalink.ItexplainstheembarrassmentofMr.McFarlane.Itisalink,atinylink,alinkbetweenEmlynReece-Holland,MP,andLouiseCharpentier.”Itdidn’tmeananythingprobably.Whyshouldit?Butyet—“Iknowtoomuch,”saidPoirotangrilytohimself.“Iknowtoomuch.IknowalittleabouteverythingandeveryonebutIcannotgetmypattern.Halfthesefactsareirrelevant.Iwantapattern.Apattern.Mykingdomforapattern,”hesaidaloud.
“Ibegyourpardon,sir,”saidtheliftboy,turningastartledhead.
“Itisnothing,”saidPoirot.
Eighteen
PoirotpausedatthedoorwayoftheWedderburnGallerytoinspectapicturewhichdepictedthreeaggressive-lookingcowswithvastlyelongatedbodiesovershadowedbyacolossalandcomplicateddesignofwindmills.Thetwoseemedtohavenothingtodowitheachotherortheverycuriouspurplecolouring.
“Interesting,isn’tit?”saidasoftpurringvoice.
Amiddle-agedman,whoatfirstsightseemedtohaveshownasmilewhichexhibitedanalmostexcessivenumberofbeautifulwhiteteeth,wasathiselbow.
“Suchfreshness.”
Hehadlargewhiteplumphandswhichhewavedasthoughhewasusingtheminanarabesque.
“Cleverexhibition.Closedlastweek.ClaudeRaphaelshowopenedthedaybeforeyesterday.It’sgoingtodowell.Verywellindeed.”
“Ah,”saidPoirotandwasledthroughgreyvelvetcurtainsintoalongroom.
Poirotmadeafewcautiousifdoubtfulremarks.Theplumpmantookhiminhandinapractisedmanner.Herewassomeone,heobviouslyfelt,whomustnotbefrightenedaway.Hewasaveryexperiencedmanintheartofsalesmanship.Youfeltatoncethatyouwerewelcometobeinhisgalleryalldayifyoulikedwithoutmakingapurchase.Sheerly,solelylookingatthesedelightfulpictures—thoughwhenyouenteredthegalleryyoumightnothavethoughtthattheyweredelightful.Butbythetimeyouwentoutyouwereconvincedthatdelightfulwasexactlythewordtodescribethem.Afterreceivingsomeusefulartisticinstruction,andmakingafewoftheamateur’sstockremarkssuchas“Iratherlikethatone,”Mr.Boscomberespondedencouraginglybysomesuchphraseas:
“Nowthat’sveryinterestingthatyoushouldsaythat.Itshows,ifImaysayso,greatperspicacity.Ofcourseyouknowitisn’ttheordinaryreaction.Mostpeopleprefersomething—well,shallIsayslightlyobviouslikethat”—hepointedtoablueandgreenstripedeffectarrangedinonecornerofthecanvas—“butthis,yes,you’vespottedthequalityofthething.I’dsaymyself—ofcourseit’sonlymypersonalopinion—thatthat’soneofRaphael’smasterpieces.”
Poirotandhelookedtogetherwithboththeirheadsononesideatanorangelopsideddiamondwithtwohumaneyesdependingfromitbywhatlookedlikeaspiderythread.Pleasantrelationsestablishedandtimeobviouslybeinginfinite,Poirotremarked:
“IthinkaMissFrancesCaryworksforyou,doesshenot?”
“Ahyes.Frances.Clevergirlthat.Veryartisticandverycompetenttoo.JustcomebackfromPortugalwhereshe’sbeenarranginganartshowforus.Verysuccessful.Quiteagoodartistherself,butnotIshouldsayreallycreative,ifyouunderstandme.Sheisbetteronthebusinessside.Ithinksherecognisesthatherself.”
“Iunderstandthatsheisagoodpatronofthearts?”
“Ohyes.She’sinterestedinLesJeunes.Encouragestalent,persuadedmetogiveashowforalittlegroupofyoungartistslastspring.Itwasquitesuccessful—thePressnoticedit—allinasmallway,youunderstand.Yes,shehasherprotégés.”
“Iam,youunderstand,somewhatold-fashioned.Someoftheseyoungmen—vraiment!”Poirot’shandswentup.
“Ah,”saidMr.Boscombeindulgently,“youmustn’tgobytheirappearances.It’sjustafashion,youknow.Beardsandjeansorbrocadesandhair.Justapassingphase.”
“Davidsomeone,”saidPoirot.“Iforgethislastname.MissCaryseemedtothinkhighlyofhim.”
“Sureyoudon’tmeanPeterCardiff?He’sherpresentprotégé.Mindyou,I’mnotquitesosureabouthimassheis.He’sreallynotsomuchavant-gardeasheis—well,positivelyreactionary.Quite—quite—Burne-Jonessometimes!Still,oneneverknows.Youdogetthesereactions.Sheactsashismodeloccasionally.”
“DavidBaker—thatwasthenameIwastryingtoremember,”saidPoirot.
“Heisnotbad,”saidMr.Boscombe,withoutenthusiasm.“Notmuchoriginality,inmyopinion.HewasoneofthegroupofartistsImentioned,buthedidn’tmakeanyparticularimpression.Agoodpainter,mind,butnotstriking.Derivative!”
Poirotwenthome.MissLemonpresentedhimwithletterstosign,anddepartedwiththemdulysigned.Georgeservedhimwithanomellettefinesherbesgarnished,asyoumightsay,withadiscreetlysympatheticmanner.Afterlunch,asPoirotwassettinghimselfinhissquare-backedarmchairwithhiscoffeeathiselbow,thetelephonerang.
“Mrs.Oliver,sir,”saidGeorge,liftingthetelephoneandplacingitathiselbow.
Poirotpickedupthereceiverreluctantly.HedidnotwanttotalktoMrs.Oliver.Hefeltthatshewouldurgeuponhimsomethingwhichhedidnotwanttodo.
“M.Poirot?”
“C’estmoi.”
“Well,whatareyoudoing?Whathaveyoudone?”
“Iamsittinginthischair,”saidPoirot.“Thinking,”headded.
“Isthatall?”saidMrs.Oliver.
“Itistheimportantthing,”saidPoirot.“WhetherIshallhavesuccessinitornotIdonotknow.”
“Butyoumustfindthatgirl.She’sprobablybeenkidnapped.”
“Itwouldcertainlyseemso,”saidPoirot.“AndIhavealetterherewhichcamebythemiddaypostfromherfather,urgingmetocomeandseehimandtellhimwhatprogressIhavemade.”
“Well,whatprogresshaveyoumade?”
“Atthemoment,”saidPoirotreluctantly,“none.”
“Really,M.Poirot,youreallymusttakeagriponyourself.”
“You,too!”
“Whatdoyoumean,metoo?”
“Urgingmeon.”
“Whydon’tyougodowntothatplaceinChelsea,whereIwashitonthehead?”
“Andgetmyselfhitontheheadalso?”
“Isimplydon’tunderstandyou,”saidMrs.Oliver.“Igaveyouacluebyfindingthegirlinthecafé.Yousaidso.”
“Iknow,Iknow.”
“Whataboutthatwomanwhothrewherselfoutofawindow?Haven’tyougotanythingoutofthat?”
“Ihavemadeinquiries,yes.”
“Well?”
“Nothing.Thewomanisoneofmany.Theyareattractivewhenyoung,theyhaveaffairs,theyarepassionate,theyhavestillmoreaffairs,theygetlessattractive,theyareunhappyanddrinktoomuch,theythinktheyhavecancerorsomefataldiseaseandsoatlastindespairandlonelinesstheythrowthemselvesoutofawindow!”
“Yousaidherdeathwasimportant—thatitmeantsomething.”
“Itoughttohavedone.”
“Really!”Atalossforfurthercomment,Mrs.Oliverrangoff.
Poirotleantbackinhisarmchair,asfarashecouldleanbacksinceitwasofanuprightnature,wavedtoGeorgetoremovethecoffeepotandalsothetelephoneandproceededtoreflectuponwhathedidordidnotknow.Toclarifyhisthoughtshespokeoutloud.Herecalledthreephilosophicquestions.
“WhatdoIknow?WhatcanIhope?WhatoughtItodo?”
Hewasnotsurethathegotthemintherightorderorindeediftheywerequitetherightquestions,buthereflecteduponthem.
“PerhapsIamtooold,”saidHerculePoirot,atthebottomdepthsofdespair.“WhatdoIknow?”
Uponreflectionhethoughtthatheknewtoomuch!Helaidthatquestionasideforthemoment.
“WhatcanIhope?”Well,onecouldalwayshope.Hecouldhopethatthoseexcellentbrainsofhis,somuchbetterthananybodyelse’s,wouldcomeupsoonerorlaterwithananswertoaproblemwhichhefeltuneasilythathedidnotreallyunderstand.
“WhatoughtItodo?”Well,thatwasverydefinite.WhatheoughttodowastogoandcalluponMr.AndrewRestarickwhowasobviouslydistraughtabouthisdaughter,andwhowouldnodoubtblamePoirotfornothavingbynowdeliveredthedaughterinperson.Poirotcouldunderstandthat,andsympathisedwithhispointofview,butdislikedhavingtopresenthimselfinsuchaveryunfavourablelight.Theonlyotherthinghecoulddowastotelephonetoacertainnumberandaskwhatdevelopmentstherehadbeen.
Butbeforehedidthat,hewouldgobacktothequestionhehadlaidaside.
“WhatdoIknow?”
HeknewthattheWedderburnGallerywasundersuspicion—sofarithadkeptontherightsideofthelaw,butitwouldnothesitateatswindlingignorantmillionairesbysellingthemdubiouspictures.
HerecalledMr.Boscombewithhisplumpwhitehandsandhisplentifulteeth,anddecidedthathedidnotlikehim.Hewasthekindofmanwhowasalmostcertainlyuptodirtywork,thoughhewouldnodoubtprotecthimselfremarkablywell.ThatwasafactthatmightcomeintousebecauseitmightconnectupwithDavidBaker.ThentherewasDavidBakerhimself,thePeacock.Whatdidheknowabouthim?Hehadmethim,hehadconversedwithhim,andhehadformedcertainopinionsabouthim.Hewoulddoacrookeddealofanykindformoney,hewouldmarryarichheiressforhermoneyandnotforlove,hemightperhapsbeboughtoff.Yes,heprobablycouldbeboughtoff.AndrewRestarickcertainlybelievedsoandhewasprobablyright.Unless—
HeconsideredAndrewRestarick,thinkingmoreofthepictureonthewallhangingabovehimthanofthemanhimself.Herememberedthestrongfeatures,thejuttingoutchin,theairofresolution,ofdecision.ThenhethoughtofMrs.AndrewRestarick,deceased.Thebitterlinesofhermouth…PerhapshewouldgodowntoCrosshedgesagainandlookatthatportrait,soastoseeitmoreclearlybecausetheremightbeacluetoNormainthat.Norma—no,hemustnotthinkofNormayet.Whatelsewasthere?
TherewasMaryRestarickwhomthegirlSoniasaidmusthavealoverbecauseshewentuptoLondonsooften.HeconsideredthatpointbuthedidnotthinkthatSoniawasright.HethoughtMrs.RestarickwasmuchmorelikelytogotoLondoninordertolookatpossiblepropertiestobuy,luxuryflats,housesinMayfair,decorators,allthethingsthatmoneyinthemetropoliscouldbuy.
Money…Itseemedtohimthatallthepointsthathadbeenpassingthroughhismindcametothisintheend.Money.Theimportanceofmoney.Therewasagreatdealofmoneyinthiscase.Somehow,insomewaythatwasnotobvious,moneycounted.Moneyplayeditspart.SofartherehadbeennothingtojustifyhisbeliefthatthetragicdeathofMrs.CharpentierhadbeentheworkofNorma.Nosignofevidence,nomotive;yetitseemedtohimthattherewasanundeniablelink.Thegirlhadsaidthatshe“mighthavecommittedamurder.”Adeathhadtakenplaceonlyadayortwopreviously.Adeaththathadoccurredinthebuildingwhereshelived.Surelyitwouldbetoomuchofacoincidencethatthatdeathshouldnotbeconnectedinanyway?HethoughtagainofthemysteriousillnesswhichhadaffectedMaryRestarick.Anoccurrencesosimpleastobeclassicinitsoutline.Apoisoncasewherethepoisonerwas—mustbe—oneofthehousehold.HadMaryRestarickpoisonedherself,hadherhusbandtriedtopoisonher,hadthegirlSoniaadministeredpoison?OrhadNormabeentheculprit?Everythingpointed,HerculePoirothadtoconfess,toNormaasbeingthelogicalperson.
“Toutdemême,”saidPoirot,“sinceIcannotfindanything,etbienthenthelogicfallsoutofthewindow.”
Hesighed,rosetohisfeetandtoldGeorgetofetchhimataxi.HemustkeephisappointmentwithAndrewRestarick.
Nineteen
ClaudiaReece-Hollandwasnotintheofficetoday.Instead,amiddle-agedwomanreceivedPoirot.ShesaidthatMr.RestarickwaswaitingforhimandusheredhimintoRestarick’sroom.
“Well?”Restarickhardlywaiteduntilhehadcomethroughthedoor.“Well,whataboutmydaughter?”
Poirotspreadouthishands.
“Asyet—nothing.”
“Butlookhere,man,theremustbesomething—someclue.Agirlcan’tjustdisappearintothinair.”
“Girlshavedoneitbeforenowandwilldoitagain.”
“Didyouunderstandthatnoexpensewastobespared,nonewhatever?I—Ican’tgoonlikethis.”
Heseemedcompletelyonedgebythistime.Helookedthinnerandhisred-rimmedeyesspokeofsleeplessnights.
“Iknowwhatyouranxietymustbe,butIassureyouthatIhavedoneeverythingpossibletotraceher.Thesethings,alas,cannotbehurried.”
“Shemayhavelosthermemoryor—orshemay—Imean,shemightbesick.Ill.”
Poirotthoughtheknewwhatthebrokenformofthesentencemeant.Restarickhadbeenabouttosay“shemayperhapsbedead.”
Hesatdownontheothersideofthedeskandsaid:
“Believeme,IappreciateyouranxietyandIhavetosaytoyouonceagainthattheresultswouldbealotquickerifyouconsultedthepolice.”
“No!”Thewordbrokeoutexplosively.
“Theyhavegreaterfacilities,morelinesofinquiry.Iassureyouitisnotonlyaquestionofmoney.Moneycannotgiveyouthesameresultasahighlyefficientorganisationcando.”
“Man,it’snouseyourtalkinginthatsoothingway.Normaismydaughter.Myonlydaughter,theonlyfleshandbloodI’vegot.”
“Areyousurethatyouhavetoldmeeverything—everythingpossible—aboutyourdaughter?”
“WhatmorecanItellyou?”
“Thatisforyoutosay,notme.Havetherebeen,forinstance,anyincidentsinthepast?”
“Suchas?Whatdoyoumean,man?”
“Anydefinitehistoryofmentalinstability.”
“Youthinkthat—that—”
“HowdoIknow?HowcanIknow?”
“AndhowdoIknow?”saidRestarick,suddenlybitter.“WhatdoIknowofher?Alltheseyears.Gracewasabitterwoman.Awomanwhodidnoteasilyforgiveorforget.SometimesIfeel—IfeelthatshewasthewrongpersontohavebroughtNormaup.”
Hegotup,walkedupanddowntheroomandthensatdownagain.
“OfcourseIshouldn’thaveleftmywife.Iknowthat.Ilefthertobringupthechild.ButthenatthetimeIsupposeImadeexcusesformyself.GracewasawomanofexcellentcharacterdevotedtoNorma.Athoroughlygoodguardianforher.Butwasshe?Wasshereally?SomeofthelettersGracewrotetomewereasthoughtheybreathedangerandrevenge.Well,Isupposethat’snaturalenough.ButIwasawayallthoseyears.Ishouldhavecomeback,comebackmoreoftenandfoundouthowthechildwasgettingon.IsupposeIhadabadconscience.Oh,it’snogoodmakingexcusesnow.”
Heturnedhisheadsharply.
“Yes.IdidthinkwhenIsawheragainthatNorma’swholeattitudewasneurotic,indisciplined.IhopedsheandMarywould—wouldgetonbetterafteralittlewhilebutIhavetoadmitthatIdon’tfeelthegirlwasentirelynormal.IfeltitwouldbebetterforhertohaveajobinLondonandcomehomeforweekends,butnottobeforcedintoMary’scompanythewholetime.Oh,IsupposeI’vemadeamessofeverything.Butwhereisshe,M.Poirot?Whereisshe?Doyouthinkshemayhavelosthermemory?Onehearsofsuchthings.”
“Yes,”saidPoirot,“thatisapossibility.Inherstate,shemaybewanderingaboutquiteunawareofwhosheis.Orshemayhavehadanaccident.Thatislesslikely.IcanassureyouthatIhavemadeallinquiriesinhospitalsandotherplaces.”
“Youdon’tthinksheis—youdon’tthinkshe’sdead?”
“Shewouldbeeasiertofinddeadthanalive,Icanassureyou.Pleasecalmyourself,Mr.Restarick.Remembershemayhavefriendsofwhomyouknownothing.FriendsinanypartofEngland,friendswhomshehasknownwhilelivingwithhermother,orwithheraunt,orfriendswhowerefriendsofschoolfriendsofhers.Allthesethingstaketimetosortout.Itmaybe—youmustprepareyourself—thatsheiswithaboyfriendofsomekind.”
“DavidBaker?IfIthoughtthat—”
“SheisnotwithDavidBaker.That,”saidPoirotdryly,“Iascertainedfirstofall.”
“HowdoIknowwhatfriendsshehas?”Hesighed.“IfIfindher,whenIfindher—I’dratherputitthatway—I’mgoingtotakeheroutofallthis.”
“Outofallwhat?”
“Outofthiscountry.Ihavebeenmiserable,M.Poirot,miserableeversinceIreturnedhere.IalwayshatedCitylife.Theboringroundofofficeroutine,continualconsultationswithlawyersandfinanciers.ThelifeIlikedwasalwaysthesame.Travelling,movingaboutfromplacetoplace,goingtowildandinaccessibleplaces.That’sthelifeforme.Ishouldneverhaveleftit.IshouldhavesentforNormatocomeouttomeand,asIsay,whenIfindherthat’swhatI’mgoingtodo.AlreadyI’mbeingapproachedwithvarioustakeoverbids.Well,theycanhavethewholecaboodleonveryadvantageousterms.I’lltakethecashandgobacktoacountrythatmeanssomething,that’sreal.”
“Aha!Andwhatwillyourwifesaytothat?”
“Mary?She’susedtothatlife.That’swhereshecomesfrom.”
“Tolesfemmeswithplentyofmoney,”saidPoirot,“Londoncanbeveryattractive.”
“She’llseeitmyway.”
Thetelephonerangonhisdesk.Hepickeditup.
“Yes?Oh.FromManchester?Yes.Ifit’sClaudiaReece-Holland,putherthrough.”
Hewaitedaminute.
“Hallo,Claudia.Yes.Speakup—it’saverybadline,Ican’thearyou.Theyagreed?…Ah,pity…No,Ithinkyoudidverywell…Right…Allrightthen.Taketheeveningtrainback.We’lldiscussitfurthertomorrowmorning.”
Hereplacedthetelephoneonitsrest.
“That’sacompetentgirl,”hesaid.
“MissReece-Holland?”
“Yes.Unusuallycompetent.Takesalotofbotheroffmyshoulders.IgaveherprettywellcarteblanchetoputthroughthisdealinManchesteronherownterms.IreallyfeltIcouldn’tconcentrate.Andshe’sdoneexceedinglywell.She’sasgoodasamaninsomeways.”
HelookedatPoirot,suddenlybringinghimselfbacktothepresent.
“Ahyes,M.Poirot.Well,I’mafraidI’veratherlostmygrip.Doyouneedmoremoneyforexpenses?”
“No,Monsieur.IassureyouthatIwilldomyutmosttorestoreyourdaughtersoundandwell.Ihavetakenallpossibleprecautionsforhersafety.”
Hewentoutthroughtheouteroffice.Whenhereachedthestreethelookedupatthesky.
“Adefiniteanswertoonequestion,”hesaid,“thatiswhatIneed.”
Twenty
HerculePoirotlookedupatthefa?adeofthedignifiedGeorgianhouseinwhathadbeenuntilrecentlyaquietstreetinanold-fashionedmarkettown.Progresswasrapidlyovertakingit,butthenewsupermarket,theGifteShoppe,Margery’sBoutique,Peg’sCafé,andapalatialnewbank,hadallchosensitesinCroftRoadandnotencroachedonthenarrowHighStreet.
Thebrassknockeronthedoorwasbrightlypolished,Poirotnotedwithapproval.Hepressedthebellattheside.
Itwasopenedalmostatoncebyatalldistinguished-lookingwomanwithupsweptgreyhairandanenergeticmanner.
“M.Poirot?Youareverypunctual.Comein.”
“MissBattersby?”
“Certainly.”Sheheldbackthedoor.Poirotentered.Shedepositedhishatonthehallstandandledthewaytoapleasantroomoverlookinganarrowwalledgarden.
Shewavedtowardsachairandsatdownherselfinanattitudeofexpectation.ItwasclearthatMissBattersbywasnotonetolosetimeinconventionalutterances.
“Youare,Ithink,theformerPrincipalofMeadowfieldSchool?”
“Yes.Iretiredayearago.IunderstandyouwishedtoseemeonthesubjectofNormaRestarick,aformerpupil.”
“Thatisright.”
“Inyourletters,”saidMissBattersby,“yougavemenofurtherdetails.”Sheadded,“ImaysaythatIknowwhoyouare,M.Poirot.IshouldthereforelikealittlemoreinformationbeforeIproceedfurther.Areyou,forinstance,thinkingofemployingNormaRestarick?”
“Thatisnotmyintention,no.”
“KnowingwhatyourprofessionisyouunderstandwhyIshouldwantfurtherdetails.Haveyou,forinstance,anintroductiontomefromanyofNorma’srelations?”
“Again,no,”saidHerculePoirot.“Iwillexplainmyselffurther.”
“Thankyou.”
“Inactualfact,IamemployedbyMissRestarick’sfather,AndrewRestarick.”
“Ah.HehasrecentlyreturnedtoEngland,Ibelieve,aftermanyyears’absence.”
“Thatisso.”
“Butyoudonotbringmealetterofintroductionfromhim?”
“Ididnotaskhimforone.”
MissBattersbylookedathiminquiringly.
“Hemighthaveinsistedoncomingwithme,”saidHerculePoirot.“ThatwouldhavehamperedmeinaskingyouthequestionsthatIwishtoask,becauseitislikelythattheanswerstothemmightcausehimpainanddistress.Thereisnoreasonwhyheshouldbecausedfurtherdistressthanheisalreadysufferingatthismoment.”
“HasanythinghappenedtoNorma?”
“Ihopenot…Thereis,however,apossibilityofthat.Yourememberthegirl,MissBattersby?”
“Irememberallmypupils.Ihaveanexcellentmemory.Meadowfield,inanycase,isnotaverylargeschool.Twohundredgirls,nomore.”
“Whyhaveyouresignedfromit,MissBattersby?”
“Really,M.Poirot,Icannotseethatthatisanyofyourbusiness.”
“No,Iammerelyexpressingmyquitenaturalcuriosity.”
“Iamseventy.Isthatnotareason?”
“Notinyourcase,Ishouldsay.Youappeartometobeinfullvigourandenergy,fullycapableofcontinuingyourheadmistressshipforagoodmanyyearstocome.”
“Timeschange,M.Poirot.Onedoesnotalwayslikethewaytheyarechanging.Iwillsatisfyyourcuriosity.IfoundIwashavinglessandlesspatiencewithparents.Theiraimsfortheirdaughtersareshortsightedandquitefranklystupid.”
MissBattersbywas,asPoirotknewfromlookingupherqualifications,averywell-knownmathematician.
“DonotthinkthatIleadanidlelife,”saidMissBattersby.“Ileadalifewheretheworkisfarmorecongenialtome.Icoachseniorstudents.Andnow,please,mayIknowthereasonforyourinterestinthegirl,NormaRestarick?”
“Thereissomeoccasionforanxiety.Shehas,toputitbaldly,disappeared.”
MissBattersbycontinuedtolookquiteunconcerned.
“Indeed?Whenyousay‘disappeared,’Ipresumeyoumeanthatshehaslefthomewithouttellingherparentswhereshewasgoing.Oh,Ibelievehermotherisdead,sowithouttellingherfatherwhereshewasgoing.Thatisreallynotatalluncommonnowadays,M.Poirot.Mr.Restarickhasnotconsultedthepolice?”
“Heisadamantonthatsubject.Herefusesdefinitely.”
“IcanassureyouthatIhavenoknowledgeastowherethegirlis.Ihaveheardnothingfromher.Indeed,IhavehadnonewsfromhersincesheleftMeadowfield.SoIfearIcannothelpyouinanyway.”
“ItisnotpreciselythatkindofinformationthatIwant.Iwanttoknowwhatkindofagirlsheis—howyouwoulddescribeher.Notherpersonalappearance.Idonotmeanthat.Imeanastoherpersonalityandcharacteristics.”
“Norma,atschool,wasaperfectlyordinarygirl.Notscholasticallybrilliant,butherworkwasadequate.”
“Notaneurotictype?”
MissBattersbyconsidered.Thenshesaidslowly:“No,Iwouldnotsayso.Notmore,thatis,thanmightbeexpectedconsideringherhomecircumstances.”
“Youmeanherinvalidmother?”
“Yes.Shecamefromabrokenhome.Thefather,towhomIthinkshewasverydevoted,lefthomesuddenlywithanotherwoman—afactwhichhermotherquitenaturallyresented.Sheprobablyupsetherdaughtermorethansheneedhavedonebyvoicingherresentmentwithoutrestraint.”
“PerhapsitmaybemoretothepointifIaskyouyouropinionofthelateMrs.Restarick?”
“Whatyouareaskingmeforismyprivateopinion?”
“Ifyoudonotobject?”
“No,Ihavenohesitationatallinansweringyourquestion.Homeconditionsareveryimportantinagirl’slifeandIhavealwaysstudiedthemasmuchasIcanthroughthemeagreinformationthatcomestome.Mrs.Restarickwasaworthyanduprightwoman,Ishouldsay.Self-righteous,censoriousandhandicappedinlifebybeinganextremelystupidone!”
“Ah,”saidPoirotappreciatively.
“Shewasalso,Iwouldsay,amaladeimaginaire.Atypethatwouldexaggerateherailments.Thetypeofwomanwhoisalwaysinandoutofnursinghomes.Anunfortunatehomebackgroundforagirl—especiallyagirlwhohasnoverydefinitepersonalityofherown.Normahadnomarkedintellectualambitions,shehadnoconfidenceinherself,shewasnotagirltowhomIwouldrecommendacareer.AniceordinaryjobfollowedbymarriageandchildrenwaswhatIwouldhavehopedforher.”
“Yousaw—forgivemeforasking—nosignsatanytimeofmentalinstability?”
“Mentalinstability?”saidMissBattersby.“Rubbish!”
“Sothatiswhatyousay.Rubbish!Andnotneurotic?”
“Anygirl,oralmostanygirl,canbeneurotic,especiallyinadolescence,andinherfirstencounterswiththeworld.Sheisstillimmature,andneedsguidanceinherfirstencounterswithsex.Girlsarefrequentlyattractedtocompletelyunsuitable,sometimesevendangerousyoungmen.Thereare,itseems,noparentsnowadays,orhardlyany,withthestrengthofcharactertosavethemfromthis,sotheyoftengothroughatimeofhystericalmisery,andperhapsmakeanunsuitablemarriagewhichendsnotlongafterindivorce.”
“ButNormashowednosignsofmentalinstability?”Poirotpersistedwiththequestion.
“Sheisanemotionalbutnormalgirl,”saidMissBattersby.“Mentalinstability!AsIsaidbefore—rubbish!She’sprobablyrunawaywithsomeyoungmantogetmarried,andthere’snothingmorenormalthanthat!”
Twenty-one
Poirotsatinhisbigsquarearmchair.Hishandsrestedonthearms,hiseyeslookedatthechimneypieceinfrontofhimwithoutseeingit.Byhiselbowwasasmalltableandonit,neatlyclippedtogether,werevariousdocuments.ReportsfromMr.Goby,informationobtainedfromhisfriend,ChiefInspectorNeele,aseriesofseparatepagesundertheheadingof“Hearsay,gossip,rumour”andthesourcesfromwhichithadbeenobtained.
Atthemomenthehadnoneedtoconsultthesedocuments.Hehad,infact,readthemthroughcarefullyandlaidthemthereincasetherewasanyparticularpointhewishedtorefertooncemore.Hewantednowtoassembletogetherinhismindallthatheknewandhadlearnedbecausehewasconvincedthatthesethingsmustformapattern.Theremustbeapatternthere.Hewasconsideringnow,fromwhatexactangletoapproachit.Hewasnotonetotrustinenthusiasmforsomeparticularintuition.Hewasnotanintuitiveperson—buthedidhavefeelings.Theimportantthingwasnotthefeelingsthemselves—butwhatmighthavecausedthem.Itwasthecausethatwasinteresting,thecausewassooftennotwhatyouthoughtitwas.Youhadveryoftentoworkitoutbylogic,bysenseandbyknowledge.
Whatdidhefeelaboutthiscase—whatkindofacasewasit?Lethimstartfromthegeneral,thenproceedtotheparticular.Whatwerethesalientfactsofthiscase?
Moneywasoneofthem,hethought,thoughhedidnotknowhow.Somehoworother,money…Healsothought,increasinglyso,thattherewasevilsomewhere.Heknewevil.Hehadmetitbefore.Heknewthetangofit,thetasteofit,thewayitwent.Thetroublewasthatherehedidnotyetknowexactlywhereitwas.Hehadtakencertainstepstocombatevil.Hehopedtheywouldbesufficient.Somethingwashappening,somethingwasinprogress,thatwasnotyetaccomplished.Someone,somewhere,wasindanger.
Thetroublewasthatthefactspointedbothways.Ifthepersonhethoughtwasindangerwasreallyindanger,thereseemedsofarashecouldseenoreasonwhy.Whyshouldthatparticularpersonbeindanger?Therewasnomotive.Ifthepersonhethoughtwasindangerwasnotindanger,thenthewholeapproachmighthavetobecompletelyreversed…Everythingthatpointedonewayhemustturnroundandlookatfromthecompleteoppositepointofview.
Heleftthatforthemomentinthebalance,andhecamefromtheretothepersonalities—tothepeople.Whatpatterndidtheymake?Whatpartweretheyplaying?
First—AndrewRestarick.HehadaccumulatedbynowafairamountofinformationaboutAndrewRestarick.Ageneralpictureofhislifebeforeandaftergoingabroad.Arestlessman,neverstickingtooneplaceorpurposelong,butgenerallyliked.Nothingofthewastrelabouthim,nothingshoddyortricky.Not,perhaps,astrongpersonality?Weakinmanyways?
Poirotfrowned,dissatisfied.ThatpicturedidnotsomehowfittheAndrewRestarickthathehimselfhadmet.Notweaksurely,withthatthrust-outchin,thesteadyeyes,theairofresolution.Hehadbeenasuccessfulbusinessman,too,apparently.Goodathisjobintheearlieryears,andhehadputthroughgooddealsinSouthAfricaandinSouthAmerica.Hehadincreasedhisholdings.Itwasasuccessstorythathehadbroughthomewithhim,notoneoffailure.Howthencouldhebeaweakpersonality?Weak,perhaps,onlywherewomenwereconcerned.Hehadmadeamistakeinhismarriage—marriedthewrongwoman…Pushedintoitperhapsbyhisfamily?Andthenhehadmettheotherwoman.Justthatonewoman?Orhadtherebeenseveralwomen?Itwashardtofindarecordofthatkindaftersomanyyears.Certainlyhehadnotbeenanotoriouslyunfaithfulhusband.Hehadhadanormal
Buthadit,perhaps,matchedupwithanyadditionalmotive?Dislikeofofficework,theCity,thedailyroutineofLondon?Hethoughtitmight.Itmatchedthepattern.Heseemed,too,tohavebeenasolitarytype.Everyonehadlikedhimbothhereandabroad,butthereseemednointimatefriends.Indeed,itwouldhavebeendifficultforhimtohaveintimatefriendsabroadbecausehehadneverstoppedinanyonespotlongenough.Hehadplungedintosomegamble,attemptedacoup,hadmadegood,thentiredofthethingandgoneonsomewhereelse.Nomadic!Awanderer.
Itstilldidnotquiteaccordwithhisownpictureoftheman…Apicture?ThewordstirredinhismindthememoryofthepicturethathunginRestarick’soffice,onthewallbehindhisdesk.Ithadbeenaportraitofthesamemanfifteenyearsago.Howmuchdifferencehadthosefifteenyearsmadeinthemansittingthere?Surprisinglylittle,onthewhole!Moregreyinthehair,aheaviersettotheshoulders,butthelinesofcharacteronthefaceweremuchthesame.Adeterminedface.Amanwhoknewwhathewanted,whomeanttogetit.Amanwhowouldtakerisks.Amanwithacertainruthlessness.
Why,hewondered,hadRestarickbroughtthatpictureuptoLondon?Theyhadbeencompanionportraitsofahusbandandwife.Strictlyspeakingartistically,theyshouldhaveremainedtogether.WouldapsychologisthavesaidthatsubconsciouslyRestarickwantedtodissociatehimselffromhisformerwifeoncemore,toseparatehimselffromher?Washethenmentallystillretreatingfromherpersonalityalthoughshewasdead?Aninterestingpoint….
Thepictureshadpresumablycomeoutofstoragewithvariousotherfamilyarticlesoffurnishing.MaryRestarickhadnodoubtselectedcertainpersonalobjectstosupplementthefurnitureofCrosshedgesforwhichSirRoderickhadmaderoom.HewonderedwhetherMaryRestarick,thenewwife,hadlikedhangingupthatparticularpairofportraits.Morenatural,perhaps,ifshehadputthefirstwife’sportraitinanattic!ButthenhereflectedthatshewouldprobablynothavehadanattictostowawayunwantedobjectsatCrosshedges.PresumablySirRoderickhadmaderoomforafewfamilythingswhilstthereturnedcouplewerelookingaboutforasuitablehouseinLondon.Soithadnotmatteredmuch,anditwouldhavebeeneasiertohangbothportraits.Besides,MaryRestarickseemedasensibletypeofwoman—notajealousoremotionaltype.
“Toutdemême,”thoughtHerculePoirottohimself,“lesfemmes,theyareallcapableofjealousy,andsometimestheoneyouwouldconsidertheleastlikely!”
HisthoughtspassedtoMaryRestarick,andheconsideredherinturn.Itstruckhimthatwhatwasreallyoddwasthathehadsofewthoughtsabouther!Hehadseenheronlytheonce,andshehad,somehoworother,notmademuchimpressiononhim.Acertainefficiency,hethought,andalsoacertain—howcouldheputit?—artificiality?(“Butthere,myfriend,”saidHerculePoirot,againinparenthesis,“thereyouareconsideringherwig!”)
Itwasabsurdreallythatoneshouldknowsolittleaboutawoman.Awomanwhowasefficientandwhoworeawig,andwhowasgood-looking,andwhowassensible,andwhocouldfeelanger.Yes,shehadbeenangrywhenshehadfoundthePeacockBoywanderinguninvitedinherhouse.Shehaddisplayeditsharplyandunmistakably.Andtheboy—hehadseemedwhat?Amused,nomore.Butshehadbeenangry,veryangryatfindinghimthere.Well,thatwasnaturalenough.Hewouldnotbeanymother’schoiceforherdaughter—
Poirotstoppedshortinhisthoughts,shakinghisheadvexedly.MaryRestarickwasnotNorma’smother.Notforhertheagony,theapprehensionaboutadaughtermakinganunsuitableunhappymarriage,orannouncinganillegitimatebabywithanunsuitablefather!WhatdidMaryfeelaboutNorma?Presumably,tobeginwith,thatshewasathoroughlytiresomegirl—whohadpickedupwithayoungmanwhowasgoingtobeobviouslyasourceofworryandannoyancetoAndrewRestarick.Butafterthat?Whathadshethoughtandfeltaboutastepdaughterwhowasapparentlydeliberatelytryingtopoisonher?
Herattitudeseemedtohavebeenthesensibleone.ShehadwantedtogetNormaoutofthehouse,herselfoutofdanger;andtocooperatewithherhusbandinsuppressinganyscandalaboutwhathadhappened.Normacamedownforanoccasionalweekendtokeepupappearances,butherlifehenceforwardwasboundtocentreinLondon.EvenwhentheRestaricksmovedintothehousetheywerelookingfor,theywouldnotsuggestNormalivingwiththem.Mostgirls,nowadays,livedawayfromtheirfamilies.Sothatproblemhadbeensettled.
Exceptthat,forPoirot,thequestionofwhohadadministeredpoisontoMaryRestarickwasveryfarfromsettled.Restarickhimselfbelieveditwashisdaughter—
ButPoirotwondered….
HismindplayedwiththepossibilitiesofthegirlSonia.Whatwasshedoinginthathouse?Whyhadshecomethere?ShehadSirRoderickeatingoutofherhandallright—perhapsshehadnowishtogobacktoherowncountry?Possiblyherdesignswerepurelymatrimonial—oldmenofSirRoderick’sagemarriedprettyyounggirlseverydayoftheweek
HadMaryRestarickbecomesuspiciousofher—ofheractivities,ofherloyalties,ofwhereshewentonherdaysoff,andofwhomshemet?AndhadSonia,then,administeredthesubstanceswhich,incumulativesmalldoses,wouldarousenosuspicionofanythingbutordinarygastroenteritis?
Forthetimebeing,heputthehouseholdatCrosshedgesoutofhismind.
Hecame,asNormahadcome,toLondon,andproceededtotheconsiderationofthreegirlswhosharedaflat.
ClaudiaReece-Holland,FrancesCary,NormaRestarick.ClaudiaReece-Holland,daughterofawell-knownMemberofParliament,well-off,capable,well-trained,good-looking,afirst-classsecretary.FrancesCary,acountrysolicitor’sdaughter,artistic,hadbeentodramaschoolforashorttime,thentotheSlade,chuckedthatalso,occasionallyworkedfortheArtsCouncil,nowemployedbyanartgallery.Earnedagoodsalary,wasartisticandhadbohemianassociations.Sheknewtheyoungman,DavidBaker,thoughnotapparentlymorethancasually.Perhapsshewasinlovewithhim?Hewasthekindofyoungman,Poirotthought,dislikedgenerallybyparents,membersoftheEstablishmentandalsothepolice.WheretheattractionlayforwellborngirlsPoirotfailedtosee.Butonehadtoacknowledgeitasafact.WhatdidhehimselfthinkofDavid?
Agood-lookingboywiththeimpudentandslightlyamusedairwhomhehadfirstseenintheupperstoreysofCrosshedges,doinganerrandforNorma(orreconnoitringonhisown,whoshouldsay?).Hehadseenhimagainwhenhegavehimaliftinhiscar.Ayoungmanofpersonality,givingindeedanimpressionofabilityinwhathechosetodo.Andyettherewasclearlyanunsatisfactorysidetohim.Poirotpickeduponeofthepapersonthetablebyhissideandstudiedit.Abadrecordthoughnotpositivelycriminal.Smallfraudsongarages,hooliganism,smashingupthings,onprobationtwice.Allthosethingswerethefashionoftheday.TheydidnotcomeunderPoirot’scategoryofevil.Hehadbeenapromisingpainter,buthadchuckedit.Hewasthekindthatdidnosteadywork.Hewasvain,proud,apeacockinlovewithhisownappearance.Washeanythingmorethanthat?Poirotwondered.
HestretchedoutanarmandpickedupasheetofpaperonwhichwasscribbleddowntheroughheadsoftheconversationheldbetweenNormaandDavidinthecafé—thatis,aswellasMrs.Olivercouldrememberthem.Andhowwellwasthat,Poirotthought?Heshookhisheaddoubtfully.OneneverknewquiteatwhatpointMrs.Oliver’simaginationwouldtakeover!DidtheboycareforNorma,reallywanttomarryher?Therewasnodoubtaboutherfeelingsforhim.Hehadsuggestedmarryingher.HadNormagotmoneyofherown?Shewasthedaughterofarichman,butthatwasnotthesamething.Poirotmadeanexclamationofvexation.HehadforgottentoinquirethetermsofthelateMrs.Restarick’s
Hewouldsaythen,thatDaviddidcareforher,sincehewaswillingtomarryher.Andyet—Poirotshookhishead.Itwasaboutthefifthtimehehadshakenit.Allthesethingsdidnottieup,theydidnotmakeasatisfactorypattern.HerememberedRestarick’sdesk,andthechequehehadbeenwriting—apparentlytobuyofftheyoungman—andtheyoungman,apparently,wasquitewillingtobeboughtoff!Sothatagaindidnottally.ThechequehadcertainlybeenmadeouttoDavidBakeranditwasforaverylarge—reallyapreposterous—sum.Itwasasumthatmighthavetemptedanyimpecuniousyoungmanofbadcharacter.Andyethehadsuggestedmarriagetoheronlyadaybefore.That,ofcourse,mighthavebeenjustamoveinthegame—amovetoraisethepricehewasasking.PoirotrememberedRestaricksittingthere,hislipshard.Hemustcareagreatdealforhisdaughtertobewillingtopaysohighasum;andhemusthavebeenafraidtoothatthegirlherselfwasquitedeterminedtomarryhim.
FromthoughtsofRestarick,hewentontoClaudia.ClaudiaandAndrewRestarick.Wasitchance,sheerchance,thatshehadcometobehissecretary?Theremightbealinkbetweenthem.Claudia.Heconsideredher.Threegirlsinaflat,ClaudiaReece-Holland’sflat.Shehadbeentheonewhohadtakentheflatoriginally,andshareditfirstwithafriend,agirlshealreadyknew,andthenwithanothergirl,thethirdgirl.Thethirdgirl,thoughtPoirot.Yes,italwayscamebacktothat.Thethirdgirl.Andthatiswherehehadcomeintheend.Wherehehadhadtocome.Whereallthisthinkingoutofpatternshadled.ToNormaRestarick.
Agirlwhohadcometoconsulthimashesatatbreakfast.Agirlwhomhehadjoinedatatableinacaféwhereshehadrecentlybeeneatingbakedbeanswiththeyoungmansheloved.(Healwaysseemedtoseeheratmealtimes,henoted!)Andwhatdidhethinkabouther?First,whatdidotherpeoplethinkabouther?Restarickcaredforherandwasdesperatelyanxiousabouther,desperatelyfrightenedforher.Henotonlysuspected—hewasquitesure,apparently,thatshehadtriedtopoisonhisrecentlymarriedwife.Hehadconsultedadoctorabouther.Poirotfelthewouldlikedearlytotalktothatdoctorhimself,buthedoubtedifhewouldgetanywhere.Doctorswereverycharyofpartingwithmedicalinformationtoanyonebutadulyaccreditedpersonsuchastheparents.ButPoirotcouldimaginefairlywellwhatthedoctorhadsaid.Hehadbeencautious,Poirotthought,asdoctorsareapttobe.He’dhemmedandhawedandspokenperhapsofmedicaltreatment.Hehadnotstressedtoopositivelyamentalangle,buthadcertainlysuggesteditorhintedatit.Infact,thedoctorprobablywasprivatelysurethatthatwaswhathadhappened.Buthealsoknewagooddealabouthystericalgirls,andthattheysometimesdidthingsthatwerenotreallytheresultofmentalcauses,butmerelyoftemper,jealousy,emotion,andhysteria.Hewouldnotbeapsychiatristhimselfnoraneurologist.HewouldbeaGPwhotooknorisksofmakingaccusationsaboutwhichhecouldnotbesure,butsuggestedcertainthingsoutofcaution.Ajobsomewhereorother—ajobinLondon,laterperhapstreatmentfromaspecialist?
WhatdidanyoneelsethinkofNormaRestarick?ClaudiaReece-Holland?Hedidn’tknow.Certainlynotfromthelittlethatheknewabouther.Shewascapableofhidinganysecret,shewouldcertainlyletnothingescapeherwhichshedidnotmeantoletescape.Shehadshownnosignsofwantingtoturnthegirlout—whichshemighthavedoneifshehadbeenafraidofhermentalcondition.TherecouldnothavebeenmuchdiscussionbetweenherandFrancesonthesubjectsincetheothergirlhadsoinnocentlyletescapethefactthatNormahadnotreturnedtothemafterherweekendathome.Claudiahadbeenannoyedaboutthat.ItwaspossiblethatClaudiawasmoreinthepatternthansheappeared.Shehadbrains,Poirotthought,andefficiency…HecamebacktoNorma,camebackonceagaintothethirdgirl.Whatwasherplaceinthepattern?Theplacethatwouldpullthewholethingtogether.Ophelia,hethought?Butthereweretwoopinionstothat,justasthereweretwoopinionsaboutNorma.WasOpheliamadorwasshepretendingmadness?Actresseshadbeenvariouslydividedastohowthepartshouldbeplayed—orperhaps,heshouldsay,producers.Theyweretheoneswhohadtheideas.WasHamletmadorsane?Takeyourchoice.WasOpheliamadorsane?
Restarickwouldnothaveusedtheword“mad”eveninhisthoughtsabouthisdaughter.Mentallydisturbedwasthetermthateveryonepreferredtouse.TheotherwordthathadbeenusedofNormahadbeen“batty.”“She’sabitbatty.”“Notquiteallthere.”“Abitwanting,ifyouknowwhatImean.”Were“dailywomen”goodjudges?Poirotthoughttheymightbe.TherewassomethingoddaboutNorma,certainly,butshemightbeoddinadifferentwaytowhatsheseemed.Herememberedthepictureshehadmadeslouchingintohisroom,agirloftoday,themoderntypelookingjustassomanyothergirlslooked.Limphairhangingonhershoulders,thecharacterlessdress,askimpylookabouttheknees—alltohisold-fashionedeyeslookinglikeanadultgirlpretendingtobeachild.
“I’msorry,youaretooold.”
Perhapsitwastrue.He’dlookedatherthroughtheeyesofsomeoneold,withoutadmiration,tohimjustagirlwithoutapparentlywilltoplease,withoutcoquetry.Agirlwithoutanysenseofherownfemininity—nocharmormysteryorenticement,whohadnothingtooffer,perhaps,butplainbiologicalsex.Soitmaybethatshewasrightinhercondemnationofhim.Hecouldnothelpherbecausehedidnotunderstandher,becauseitwasnotevenpossibleforhimtoappreciateher.Hehaddonehisbestforher,butwhathadthatmeantuptodate?Whathadhedoneforhersincethatonemomentofappeal?Andinhisthoughtstheanswercamequickly.Hehadkepthersafe.Thatatleast.If,indeed,sheneededkeepingsafe.Thatwaswherethewholepointlay.Didsheneedkeepingsafe?Thatpreposterousconfession!Really,notsomuchaconfessionasanannouncement:“IthinkImayhavecommittedamurder.”
Holdontothat,becausethatwasthecruxofthewholething.Thatwashismétier.Todealwithmurder,toclearupmurder,topreventmurder!Tobethegooddogwhohuntsdownmurder.Murderannounced.Murdersomewhere.Hehadlookedforitandhadnotfoundit.Thepatternofarsenicinthesoup?Apatternofyounghooligansstabbingeachotherwithknifes?Theridiculousandsinisterphrase,bloodstainsinthecourtyard.Ashotfiredfromarevolver.Atwhom,andwhy?
Itwasnotasitoughttobe,aformofcrimethatwouldfitwiththewordsshehadsaid:“Imayhavecommittedamurder.”Hehadstumbledoninthedark,tryingtoseeapatternofcrime,tryingtoseewherethethirdgirlfittedintothatpattern,andcomingbackalwaystothesameurgentneedtoknowwhatthisgirlwasreallylike.
Andthenwithacasualphrase,AriadneOliverhad,ashethought,shownhimthelight.ThesupposedsuicideofawomanatBorodeneMansions.Thatwouldfit.Itwaswherethethirdgirlhadherlivingquarters.Itmustbethemurderthatshehadmeant.Anothermurdercommittedaboutthesametimewouldhavebeentoomuchofacoincidence!Besidestherewasnosignortraceofanyothermurderthathadbeencommittedaboutthen.Nootherdeaththatcouldhavesentherhotfoottoconsulthim,afterlisteningatapartytothelavishadmirationofhisownachievementswhichhisfriend,Mrs.Oliver,hadgiventotheworld.Andso,whenMrs.Oliverhadinformedhiminacasualmannerofthewomanwhohadthrownherselfoutofthewindow,ithadseemedtohimthatatlasthehadgotwhathehadbeenlookingfor.
Herewastheclue.Theanswertohisperplexity.Herehewouldfindwhatheneeded.Thewhy,thewhen,thewhere.
“Quelledéception,”saidHerculePoirot,outloud.
Hestretchedouthishand,andsortedouttheneatlytypedrésuméofawoman’slife.ThebaldfactsofMrs.Charpentier’sexistence.Awomanofforty-threeofgoodsocialposition,reportedtohavebeenawildgirl—twomarriages—twodivorces—awomanwholikedmen.Awomanwhooflateyearshaddrunkmorethanwasgoodforher.Awomanwholikedparties.Awomanwhowasnowreportedtogoaboutwithmenagoodmanyyearsyoungerthanherself.LivinginaflataloneinBorodeneMansions,Poirotcouldunderstandandfeelthesortofwomanshewas,andhadbeen,andhecouldseewhysuchawomanmightwishtothrowherselfoutofahighwindowoneearlymorningwhensheawoketodespair.
Becauseshehadcancerorthoughtshehadcancer?Butattheinquest,themedicalevidencehadsaidverydefinitelythatthatwasnotso.
WhathewantedwassomekindofalinkwithNormaRestarick.Hecouldnotfindit.Hereadthroughthedryfactsagain.
Identificationhadbeensuppliedattheinquestbyasolicitor.LouiseCarpenter,thoughshehadusedaFrenchifiedformofhersurname—Charpentier.BecauseitwentbetterwithherChristianname?Louise?WhywasthenameLouisefamiliar?Somecasualmention?—aphrase?—hisfingersriffledneatlythroughtypewrittenpages.Ah!thereitwas!Justthatonereference.ThegirlforwhomAndrewRestarickhadlefthiswifehadbeenagirlnamedLouiseBirell.SomeonewhohadprovedtobeoflittlesignificanceinRestarick’slaterlife.Theyhadquarrelledandpartedafteraboutayear.Thesamepattern,Poirotthought.Thesamethingobtainingthathadprobablyobtainedallthroughthisparticularwoman’slife.Toloveamanviolently,tobreakuphishome,perhaps,tolivewithhim,andthenquarrelwithhimandleavehim.Hefeltsure,absolutelysure,thatthisLouiseCharpentierwasthesameLouise.
Evenso,howdidittieupwiththegirlNorma?HadRestarickandLouiseCharpentiercometogetheragainwhenhereturnedtoEngland?Poirotdoubtedit.Theirliveshadpartedyearsago.Thattheyhadbyanychancecometogetheragainseemedunlikelytothepointofimpossibility!Ithadbeenabriefandinrealityunimportantinfatuation.Hispresentwifewouldhardlybejealousenoughofherhusband’spasttowishtopushhisformermistressoutofawindow.Ridiculous!Theonlypersonsofarashecouldseewhomighthavebeenthetypetoharbouragrudgeovermanylongyears,andwishtoexecuterevengeuponthewomanwhohadbrokenupherhome,mighthavebeenthefirstMrs.Restarick.Andthatsoundedwildlyimpossiblealso,andanyway,thefirstMrs.Restarickwasdead!
Thetelephonerang.Poirotdidnotmove.Atthisparticularmomenthedidnotwanttobedisturbed.Hehadafeelingofbeingonatrailofsomekind…Hewantedtopursueit…Thetelephonestopped.Good.MissLemonwouldbecopingwithit.
ThedooropenedandMissLemonentered.
“Mrs.Oliverwantstospeaktoyou,”shesaid.
Poirotwavedahand.“Notnow,notnow,Iprayyou!Icannotspeaktohernow.”
“Shesaysthereissomethingthatshehasjustthoughtof—somethingsheforgottotellyou.Aboutapieceofpaper—anunfinishedletter,whichseemstohavefallenoutofablotterinadeskinafurniturevan.Aratherincoherentstory,”addedMissLemon,allowinganoteofdisapprovaltoenterhervoice.
Poirotwavedmorefrantically.
“Notnow,”heurged.“Ibegofyou,notnow.”
“Iwilltellheryouarebusy.”
MissLemonretreated.
Peacedescendedoncemoreupontheroom.Poirotfeltwavesoffatiguecreepingoverhim.Toomuchthinking.Onemustrelax.Yes,onemustrelax.Onemustlettensiongo—inrelaxationthepatternwouldcome.Heclosedhiseyes.Therewereallthecomponentsthere.Hewassureofthatnow,therewasnothingmorehecouldlearnfromoutside.Itmustcomefrominside.
Andquitesuddenly—justashiseyelidswererelaxinginsleep—itcame.…
Itwasallthere—waitingforhim!Hewouldhavetoworkitallout.Butheknewnow.Allthebitswerethere,disconnectedbitsandpieces,allfittingin.Awig,apicture,5a.m.,womenandtheirhairdos,thePeacockBoy—allleadingtothephrasewithwhichithadbegun:
ThirdGirl…
“Imayhavecommittedamurder…”Ofcourse!
Aridiculousnurseryrhymecameintohismind.Herepeateditaloud.
Rubadubdub,threemeninatubAndwhodoyouthinktheybe?Abutcher,abaker,acandlestickmaker….
Toobad,hecouldn’trememberthelastline.Abaker,yes,andinafar-fetchedway,abutcher—Hetriedoutafeminineparody:
Patacake,pat,threegirlsinaflatAndwhodoyouthinktheybe?APersonalAideandagirlfromtheSladeAndtheThirdisa—
MissLemoncamein.
“Ah—Iremembernow—‘AndtheyallcameoutofaweeniePOTATO.’”
MissLemonlookedathiminanxiety.
“Dr.Stillingfleetinsistsonspeakingtoyouatonce.Hesaysitisurgent.”
“TellDr.Stillingfleethecan—Dr.Stillingfleet,didyousay?”
Hepushedpasther,caughtupthereceiver.“Iamhere.Poirotspeaking!Somethinghashappened?”
“She’swalkedoutonme.”
“What?”
“Youheardme.She’swalkedout.Walkedoutthroughthefrontgate.”
“Youlethergo?”
“WhatelsecouldIdo?”
“Youcouldhavestoppedher.”
“No.”
“Tolethergowasmadness.”
“No.”
“Youdon’tunderstand.”
“Thatwasthearrangement.Freetogoatanytime.”
“Youdon’tunderstandwhatmaybeinvolved.”
“Allrightthen,Idon’t.ButIknowwhatI’mdoing.AndifIdon’tlethergo,alltheworkI’vedoneonherwouldgofornothing.AndIhaveworkedonher.Yourjobandmyjobaren’tthesame.We’renotoutforthesamething.ItellyouIwasgettingsomewhere.Gettingsomewhere,sothatIwasquitesureshewouldn’twalkoutonme.”
“Ahyes.Andthen,monami,shedid.”
“Frankly,Ican’tunderstandit.Ican’tseewhythesetbackcame.”
“Somethinghappened.”
“Yes,butwhat?”
“Somebodyshesaw,somebodywhospoketoher,somebodywhofoundoutwhereshewas.”
“Idon’tseehowthatcouldhavehappened…Butwhatyoudon’tseemtoseeisthatshe’safreeagent.Shehadtobeafreeagent.”
“Somebodygotather.Somebodyfoundoutwhereshewas.Didshegetaletter,atelegram,atelephonecall?”
“No,nothingofthatkind.ThatIamquitesureof.”
“Thenhow—ofcourse!Newspapers.Youhavenewspapers,Isuppose,inthatestablishmentofyours?”
“Certainly.Normaleverydaylife,that’swhatIstandforinmyplaceofbusiness.”
“Thenthatishowtheygotather.Normal,everydaylife.Whatpapersdoyoutake?”
“Five.”Henamedthefive.
“Whendidshego?”
“Thismorning.Halfpastten.”
“Exactly.Aftershereadthepapers.Thatisgoodenoughtostarton.Whichpaperdidsheusuallyread?”
“Idon’tthinkshehadanyspecialchoice.Sometimesone,sometimesanother,sometimesthewholelotofthem—sometimesonlyglancedatthem.”
“Well,Imustnotwastetimetalking.”
“Youthinkshesawanadvertisement.Somethingofthatkind?”
“Whatotherexplanationcantherebe?Good-bye,Icansaynomorenow.Ihavetosearch.Searchforthepossibleadvertisementandthengetonquickly.”
Hereplacedthereceiver.
“MissLemon,bringmeourtwopapers.TheMorningNewsandtheDailyComet.SendGeorgesoutforalltheothers.”
AsheopenedoutthepaperstothePersonaladvertisementsandwentcarefullydownthem,hefollowedhislineofthought.
Hewouldbeintime.Hemustbeintime…Therehadbeenonemurderalready.Therewouldbeanotheronetocome.Buthe,HerculePoirot,wouldpreventthat…Ifhewasintime…HewasHerculePoirot—theavengeroftheinnocent.Didhenotsay(andpeoplelaughedwhenhesaidit),“Idonotapproveofmurder.”Theyhadthoughtitanunderstatement.Butitwasnotanunderstatement.Itwasasimplestatementoffactwithoutmelodrama.Hedidnotapproveofmurder.
Georgecameinwithasheafofnewspapers.
“Thereareallthismorning’s,sir.”
PoirotlookedatMissLemon,whowasstandingbywaitingtobeefficient.
“LookthroughtheonesthatIhavesearchedincaseIhavemissedanything.”
“ThePersonalcolumn,youmean?”
“Yes.IthoughttherewouldbethenameDavidperhaps.Agirl’sname.Somepetnameornickname.TheywouldnotuseNorma.Anappealforhelp,perhaps,ortoameeting.”
MissLemontookthepapersobedientlywithsomedistaste.Thiswasnotherkindofefficiency,butforthemomenthehadnootherjobtogiveher.HehimselfspreadouttheMorningChronicle.Thatwasthebiggestfieldtosearch.Threecolumnsofit.Hebentovertheopensheet.
Aladywhowantedtodisposeofherfurcoat…Passengerswantedforacartripabroad…Lovelyperiodhouseforsale…Payingguests…Backwardchildren…Homemadechocolates…“Julia.Shallneverforget.Alwaysyours”Thatwasmorethekindofthing.Heconsideredit,butpassedon.LouisXVthfurniture…Middle-agedladytohelprunahotel…“Indesperatetrouble.Mustseeyou.Cometoflat4:30withoutfail.OurcodeGoliath.”
Heheardthedoorbellringjustashecalledout:“Georges,ataxi,”slippedonhisovercoat,andwentintothehalljustasGeorgewasopeningthefrontdoorandcollidingwithMrs.Oliver.Allthreeofthemstruggledtodisentanglethemselvesinthenarrowhall.
Twenty-two
I
FrancesCary,carryingherovernightbag,walkeddownMandevilleRoad,chatteringwiththefriendshehadjustmetonthecorner,towardsthebulkofBorodeneMansions.
“Really,Frances,it’slikelivinginaprisonblock,thatbuilding.WormwoodScrubsorsomething.”
“Nonsense,Eileen.Itellyou,they’refrightfullycomfortable,theseflats.I’mveryluckyandClaudiaisasplendidpersontosharewith—neverbothersyou.Andshe’sgotawonderfuldaily.Theflat’sreallyverynicelyrun.”
“Aretherejustthetwoofyou?Iforget.Ithoughtyouhadathirdgirl?”
“Oh,well,sheseemstohavewalkedoutonus.”
“Youmeanshedoesn’tpayherrent?”
“Oh,Ithinktherent’sallright.Ithinkshe’sprobablyhavingsomeaffairwithaboyfriend.”
Eileenlostinterest.Boyfriendsweretoomuchamatterofcourse.
“Whereareyoucomingbackfromnow?”
“Manchester.Privateviewwason.Greatsuccess.”
“AreyoureallygoingtoViennanextmonth?”
“Yes,Ithinkso.It’sprettywellfixedupbynow.Ratherfun.”
“Wouldn’titbeawfulifsomeofthepicturesgotstolen?”
“Oh,they’reallinsured,”saidFrances.“Allthereallyvaluableones,anyway.”
“HowdidyourfriendPeter’sshowgo?”
“Notterriblywell,I’mafraid.ButtherewasquiteagoodreviewbythecriticofTheArtist,andthatcountsalot.”
FrancesturnedintoBorodeneMansions,andherfriendwentonherwaytoherownsmallmewshousefartherdowntheroad.Francessaid“Goodevening”totheporter,andwentupinthelifttothesixthfloor.Shewalkedalongthepassage,hummingalittletunetoherself.
Sheinsertedherkeyinthedooroftheflat.Thelightinthehallwasnotonyet.Claudiawasnotduebackfromtheofficeforanotherhourandahalf.Butinthesittingroom,thedoorofwhichwasajar,thelightwason.
Francessaidaloud:“Light’son.That’sfunny.”
Sheslippedoutofhercoat,droppedherovernightbag,pushedthesittingroomdoorfartheropenandwentin….
Thenshestoppeddead.Hermouthopenedandthenshut.Shestiffenedallover—hereyesstaringatthepronefigureonthefloor;thentheyroseslowlytothemirroronthewallthatreflectedbackatherherownhorror-strickenface….
Thenshedrewadeepbreath.Themomentaryparalysisover,sheflungbackherheadandscreamed.Stumblingoverherbagonthehallfloorandkickingitaside,sheranoutoftheflatandalongthepassageandbeatfrenziedlyatthedoorofthenextflat.
Anelderlywomanopenedit.
“Whatonearth—”
“There’ssomeonedead—someonedead.AndIthinkit’ssomeoneIknow…DavidBaker.He’slyingthereonthefloor…Ithinkhe’sstabbed…hemusthavebeenstabbed.There’sblood—bloodeverywhere.”
Shebegantosobhysterically.MissJacobsshovedaglassintoherhand.“Staythereanddrinkit.”
Francessippedobediently.MissJacobswentrapidlyoutofthedooralongthepassageandthroughtheopendoorfromwhichthelightwaspouringout.ThelivingroomdoorwaswideopenandMissJacobswentstraightthroughit.
Shewasnotthekindofwomanwhoscreams.Shestoodjustwithinthedoorway,herlipspursedhardtogether.
Whatshewaslookingathadanightmarishquality.Onthefloorlayahandsomeyoungman,hisarmsflungwide,hischestnuthairfallingonhisshoulders.Heworeacrimsonvelvetcoat,andhiswhiteshirtwasdappledwithblood….
Shewasawarewithastartthattherewasasecondfigurewithherintheroom.Agirlwasstandingpressedbackagainstthewall,thegreatHarlequinaboveseemingtobeleapingacrossthepaintedsky.
Thegirlhadawhitewoollenshiftdresson,andherpalebrownhairhunglimponeithersideofherface.Inherhandshewasholdingakitchenknife.
MissJacobsstaredatherandshestaredbackatMissJacobs.
Thenshesaidinaquietreflectivevoice,asthoughshewasansweringwhatsomeonehadsaidtoher:
“Yes,I’vekilledhim…Thebloodgotonmyhandsfromtheknife…Iwentintothebathroomtowashitoff—butyoucan’treallywashthingslikethatoff,canyou?AndthenIcamebackinheretoseeifitwasreallytrue…Butitis…PoorDavid…ButIsupposeIhadtodoit.”
ShockforcedunlikelywordsfromMissJacobs.Asshesaidthem,shethoughthowridiculoustheysounded!
“Indeed?Whydidyouhavetodoanythingofthekind?”
“Idon’tknow…Atleast—IsupposeIdo—really.Hewasingreattrouble.Hesentforme—andIcame…ButIwantedtobefreeofhim.Iwantedtogetawayfromhim.Ididn’treallylovehim.”
Shelaidtheknifecarefullyonthetableandsatdownonachair.
“Itisn’tsafe,isit?”shesaid.“Tohateanyone…Itisn’tsafebecauseyouneverknowwhatyoumightdo…LikeLouise….”
Thenshesaidquietly,“Hadn’tyoubetterringupthepolice?”
Obediently,MissJacobsdialled999.
II
ThereweresixpeoplenowintheroomwiththeHarlequinonthewall.Alongtimehadpassed.Thepolicehadcomeandgone.
AndrewRestaricksatlikeamanstunned.Onceortwicehesaidthesamewords.“Ican’tbelieveit…”Telephonedfor,hehadcomefromhisoffice,andClaudiaReece-Hollandhadcomewithhim.Inherquietway,shehadbeenceaselesslyefficient.Shehadputthroughtelephonecallstolawyers,hadrungCrosshedgesandtwofirmsofestateagentstotryandgetintouchwithMaryRestarick.ShehadgivenFrancesCaryasedativeandsenthertoliedown.
HerculePoirotandMrs.Oliversatsidebysideonasofa.Theyhadarrivedtogetheratthesametimeasthepolice.
Lastofalltoarrive,whennearlyeveryoneelsehadgone,hadbeenaquietmanwithgreyhairandagentlemanner,ChiefInspectorNeeleofScotlandYard,whohadgreetedPoirotwithaslightnod,andbeenintroducedtoAndrewRestarick.Atallred-hairedyoungmanwasstandingbythewindowstaringdownintothecourtyard.
Whatweretheyallwaitingfor?Mrs.Oliverwondered.Thebodyhadbeenremoved,thephotographersandotherpoliceofficershaddonetheirwork,theythemselves,afterbeingherdedintoClaudia’sbedroom,hadbeenreadmittedintothesittingroom,wheretheyhadbeenwaiting,shesupposed,fortheScotlandYardmantoarrive.
“Ifyouwantmetogo,”Mrs.Oliversaidtohimuncertainly—
“Mrs.AriadneOliver,aren’tyou?No,ifyouhavenoobjection,I’dratheryouremained.Iknowithasn’tbeenpleasant—”
“Itdidn’tseemreal.”
Mrs.Olivershuthereyes—seeingthewholethingagain.ThePeacockBoy,sopicturesquelydeadthathehadseemedlikeastagefigure.Andthegirl—thegirlhadbeendifferent—nottheuncertainNormafromCrosshedges—theunattractiveOphelia,asPoirothadcalledher—butsomequietfigureoftragicdignity—acceptingherdoom.
Poirothadaskedifhemightmaketwotelephonecalls.OnehadbeentoScotlandYard,andthathadbeenagreedto,afterthesergeanthadmadeapreliminarysuspiciousinquiryonthephone.ThesergeanthaddirectedPoirottotheextensioninClaudia’sbedroom,andhehadmadehiscallfromthere,closingthedoorbehindhim.
Thesergeanthadcontinuedtolookdoubtful,murmuringtohissubordinate,“Theysayit’sallright.Wonderwhoheis?Odd-lookinglittlebloke.”
“Foreign,isn’the?MightbeSpecialBranch?”
“Don’tthinkso.ItwasChiefInspectorNeelehewanted.”
Hisassistantraisedhiseyebrowsandsuppressedawhistle.
Aftermakinghiscalls,PoirothadreopenedthedoorandbeckonedMrs.Oliverfromwhereshewasstandinguncertainlyinsidethekitchen,tojoinhim.TheyhadsatdownsidebysideonClaudiaReece-Holland’sbed.
“Iwishwecoulddosomething,”saidMrs.Oliver—alwaysoneforaction.
“Patience,chèreMadame.”
“Surelyyoucandosomething?”
“Ihave.Ihaverungupthepeopleitisnecessarytoringup.Wecandonothinghereuntilthepolicehavefinishedtheirpreliminaryinvestigations.”
“Whodidyouringupaftertheinspectorman?Herfather?Couldn’thecomeandbailheroutorsomething?”
“Bailisnotlikelytobegrantedwheremurderisconcerned,”saidPoirotdryly.“Thepolicehavealreadynotifiedherfather.TheygothisnumberfromMissCary.”
“Whereisshe?”
“HavinghystericsintheflatofaMissJacobsnextdoor,Iunderstand.Shewastheonewhodiscoveredthebody.Itseemstohaveupsether.Sherushedoutofherescreaming.”
“She’stheartyone,isn’tshe?Claudiawouldhavekeptherhead.”
“Iagreewithyou.Avery—poisedyoungwoman.”
“Whodidyouringup,then?”
“First,asperhapsyouheard,ChiefInspectorNeeleofScotlandYard.”
“Willthislotlikehiscomingandmeddling?”
“Heisnotcomingtomeddle.Hehasoflatebeenmakingcertaininquiriesforme,whichmaythrowlightonthismatter.”
“Oh—Isee…Whoelsedidyouringup?”
“Dr.JohnStillingfleet.”
“Who’she?TosaythatpoorNormaispottyandcan’thelpkillingpeople?”
“Hisqualificationswouldentitlehimtogiveevidencetothateffectincourtifnecessary.”
“Doesheknowanythingabouther?”
“Agooddeal,Ishouldsay.ShehasbeeninhiscaresincethedayyoufoundherintheShamrockcafé.”
“Whosentherthere?”
Poirotsmiled.“Idid.ImadecertainarrangementsbytelephonebeforeIcametojoinyouatthecafé.”
“What?AllthetimeIwassodisappointedinyouandkepturgingyoutodosomething—youhaddonesomething?Andyounevertoldme!Really,Poirot!Notaword!Howcouldyoubeso—somean.”
“Donotenrageyourself,Madame,Ibeg.WhatIdid,Ididforthebest.”
“Peoplealwayssaythatwhentheyhavedonesomethingparticularlymaddening.Whatelsedidyoudo?”
“Iarrangedthatmyservicesshouldberetainedbyherfather,sothatIcouldmakethenecessaryarrangementsforhersafety.”
“MeaningthisDoctorStillingwater?”
“Stillingfleet.Yes.”
“Howonearthdidyoumanagethat?Ishouldn’thavethoughtforamomentthatyouwouldbethekindofpersonthatherfatherwouldchoosetomakeallthesearrangements.Helooksthekindofmanwhowouldbeverysuspiciousofforeigners.”
“Iforcedmyselfuponhim—asaconjurerforcesacard.Icalleduponhim,purportingtohavereceivedaletterfromhimaskingmetodoso.”
“Anddidhebelieveyou?”
“Naturally.Ishowedthelettertohim.Itwastypedonhisofficestationeryandsignedwithhisname—thoughashepointedouttome,thehandwritingwasnothis.”
“Doyoumeanyouhadactuallywrittenthatletteryourself?”
“Yes.Ijudgedcorrectlythatitwouldawakenhiscuriosity,andthathewouldwanttoseeme.Havinggotsofar,Itrustedtomyowntalents.”
“YoutoldhimwhatyouweregoingtodoaboutthisDr.Stillingfleet?”
“No.Itoldnoone.Therewasdanger,yousee.”
“DangertoNorma?”
“ToNorma,orNormawasdangeroustosomeoneelse.Fromtheverybeginningtherehavealwaysbeenthetwopossibilities.Thefactscouldbeinterpretedineitherway.TheattemptedpoisoningofMrs.Restarickwasnotconvincing—itwasdelayedtoolong,itwasnotaseriousattempttokill.ThentherewasanindeterminatestoryofarevolvershotfiredhereinBorodeneMansions—andanothertaleofflick-knivesandbloodstains.Everytimethesethingshappen,Normaknowsnothingaboutthem,cannotremember,etcetera.Shefindsarsenicinadrawer—butdoesnotrememberputtingitthere.Claimstohavehadlapsesofmemory,tohavelostlongperiodsoftimewhenshedoesnotrememberwhatshehadbeendoing.Soonehastoaskoneself—iswhatshesaystrue,ordidshe,forsomereasonofherown,inventit?Issheapotentialvictimofsomemonstrousandperhapscrazyplot—orisitsheherselfwhoisthemovingspirit?Isshepaintingapictureofherselfasagirlsufferingfrommentalinstability,orhasshemurderinmind,withadefenceofdiminishedresponsibility?”
“Shewasdifferenttoday,”saidMrs.Oliverslowly.“Didyounotice?Quitedifferent.Not—notscattyanylonger.”
Poirotnodded.
“NotOphelia—Iphigeneia.”
Asoundofaddedcommotionoutsideintheflatdivertedtheattentionofbothofthem.
“Doyouthink—”Mrs.Oliverstopped.Poirothadgonetothewindowandwaslookingdowntothecourtyardfarbelow.Anambulancewasdrawnupthere.
“AretheygoingtotakeItaway?”askedMrs.Oliverinashakyvoice.Andthenaddedinasuddenrushofpity:“PoorPeacock.”
“Hewashardlyalikeablecharacter,”saidPoirotcoldly.
“Hewasverydecorative…Andsoyoung,”saidMrs.Oliver.
“Thatissufficientforlesfemmes.”Poirotwasopeningthebedroomdooracarefulcrack,ashepeeredout.
“Excuseme,”hesaid,“ifIleaveyouforamoment.”
“Whereareyougoing?”demandedMrs.Oliversuspiciously.
“Iunderstoodthatthatwasnotaquestionconsidereddelicateinthiscountry,”saidPoirotreproachfully.
“Oh,Ibegyourpardon.
“Andthat’snotthewaytotheloo,”shebreathedsottovoceafterhim,asshetooappliedaneyetothecrackofthedoor.
Shewentbacktothewindowtoobservewhatwasgoingonbelow.
“Mr.Restarickhasjustdrivenupinataxi,”sheobservedwhenPoirotslippedbackquietlyintotheroomafewminuteslater,“andClaudiahascomewithhim.DidyoumanagetogetintoNorma’sroom,orwhereveryoureallywantedtogo?”
“Norma’sroomisintheoccupationofthepolice.”
“Howannoyingforyou.Whatareyoucarryinginthatkindofblackfolderthingyou’vegotinyourhand?”
Poirotinhisturnaskedaquestion.
“WhathaveyougotinthatcanvasbagwithPersianhorsesonit?”
“Myshoppingbag?OnlyacoupleofAvocadopears,asithappens.”
“ThenifImay,Iwillentrustthisfoldertoyou.Donotberoughwithit,orsqueezeit,Ibeg.”
“Whatisit?”
“SomethingthatIhopedtofind—andthatIhavefound—Ah,thingsbegintopassthemselves—”Hereferredtoincreasedsoundsofactivities.
Poirot’swordsstruckMrs.OliverasbeingmuchmoreexactlydescriptivethanEnglishwordswouldhavebeen.Restarick,hisvoiceloudandangry.Claudiacomingintotelephone.AglimpseofapolicestenographeronanexcursiontotheflatnextdoortotakestatementsfromFrancesCaryandamythicalpersoncalledMissJacobs.Acomingandgoingoforderedbusiness,andafinaldepartureoftwomenwithcameras.
ThenunexpectedlythesuddenincursionintoClaudia’sbedroomofatallloosely-jointedyoungmanwithredhair.
WithouttakinganynoticeofMrs.Oliver,hespoketoPoirot.
“What’sshedone?Murder?Whoisit?Theboyfriend?”
“Yes.”
“Sheadmitsit?”
“Itwouldseemso.”
“Notgoodenough.Didshesaysoindefinitewords?”
“Ihavenotheardherdoso.Ihavehadnochanceofaskingheranythingmyself.”
Apolicemanlookedin.
“Dr.Stillingfleet?”heasked.“Thepolicesurgeonwouldlikeawordwithyou.”
Dr.Stillingfleetnoddedandfollowedhimoutoftheroom.
“Sothat’sDr.Stillingfleet,”saidMrs.Oliver.Sheconsideredforamomentortwo.“Quitesomething,isn’the?”
Twenty-three
ChiefInspectorNeeledrewasheetofpapertowardshim,jottedoneortwonotesonit;andlookedroundattheotherfivepeopleintheroom.Hisvoicewascrispandformal.
“MissJacobs?”hesaid.Helookedtowardsthepolicemanwhostoodbythedoor.“SergeantConolly,Iknow,hastakenherstatement.ButI’dliketoaskherafewquestionsmyself.”
MissJacobswasusheredintotheroomafewminuteslater.Neelerosecourteouslytogreether.
“IamChiefInspectorNeele,”hesaid,shakinghandswithher.“Iamsorrytotroubleyouforasecondtime.Butthistimeitisquiteinformal.Ijustwanttogetaclearerpictureofexactlywhatyousawandheard.I’mafraiditmaybepainful—”
“Painful,no,”saidMissJacobs,acceptingthechairheofferedher.“Itwasashock,ofcourse.Butnoemotionswereinvolved.”Sheadded:“Youseemtohavetidiedupthings.”
Hepresumedshewasreferringtotheremovalofthebody.
Hereyes,bothobservantandcritical,passedlightlyovertheassembledpeople,registering,forPoirot,frankastonishment(Whatonearthisthis?),forMrs.Oliver,mildcuriosity;appraisementforthebackofDr.Stillingfleet’sredhead,neighbourlyrecognitionforClaudiatowhomshevouchsafedaslightnod,andfinallydawningsympathyforAndrewRestarick.
“Youmustbethegirl’sfather,”shesaidtohim.“There’snotmuchpointtocondolencesfromatotalstranger.They’rebetterleftunsaid.It’sasadworldweliveinnowadays—orsoitseemstome.Girlsstudytoohardinmyopinion.”
ThensheturnedherfacecomposedlytowardsNeele.
“Yes?”
“Iwouldlikeyou,MissJacobs,totellmeinyourownwordsexactlywhatyousawandheard.”
“IexpectitwillvaryfromwhatIsaidbefore,”saidMissJacobsunexpectedly.“Thingsdo,youknow.Onetriestomakeone’sdescriptionasaccurateaspossible,andsooneusesmorewords.Idon’tthinkoneisanymoreaccurate;Ithink,unconsciously,oneaddsthingsthatyouthinkyoumayhaveseenoroughttohaveseen—orheard.ButIwilldomybest.
“Itstartedwithscreams.Iwasstartled.Ithoughtsomeonemusthavebeenhurt.SoIwasalreadycomingtothedoorwhensomeonebeganbeatingonit,andstillscreaming.Iopeneditandsawitwasoneofmynext-doorneighbours—thethreegirlswholivein67.I’mafraidIdon’tknowhername,thoughIknowherbysight.”
“FrancesCary,”saidClaudia.
“Shewasquiteincoherent,andstammeredoutsomethingaboutsomeonebeingdead—someonesheknew—DavidSomeone—Ididn’tcatchhislastname.Shewassobbingandshakingallover.Ibroughtherin,gavehersomebrandy,andwenttoseeformyself.”
EveryonefeltthatthroughoutlifethatwouldbewhatMissJacobswouldinvariablydo.
“YouknowwhatIfound.NeedIdescribeit?”
“Justbriefly,perhaps.”
“Ayoungman,oneofthesemodernyoungmen—gaudyclothesandlonghair.Hewaslyingonthefloorandhewasclearlydead.Hisshirtwasstiffwithblood.”
Stillingfleetstirred.HeturnedhisheadandlookedkeenlyatMissJacobs.
“ThenIbecameawarethattherewasagirlintheroom.Shewasholdingakitchenknife.Sheseemedquitecalmandself-possessed—really,mostpeculiar.”
Stillingfleetsaid:“Didshesayanything?”
“Shesaidshehadbeenintothebathroomtowashthebloodoffherhands—andthenshesaid,‘Butyoucan’twashthingslikethatoff,canyou?’”
“Out,damnédspot,infact?”
“IcannotsaythatsheremindedmeparticularlyofLadyMacbeth.Shewas—howshallIputit?—perfectlycomposed.Shelaidtheknifedownonthetableandsatdownonachair.”
“Whatelsedidshesay?”askedChiefInspectorNeele,hiseyesdroppingtoascrawlednoteinfrontofhim.
“Somethingabouthate.Thatitwasn’tsafetohateanybody.”
“Shesaidsomethingabout‘poorDavid,’didn’tshe?OrsoyoutoldSergeantConolly.Andthatshewantedtobefreeofhim.”
“I’dforgottenthat.Yes.Shesaidsomethingabouthismakinghercomehere—andsomethingaboutLouise,too.”
“WhatdidshesayaboutLouise?”ItwasPoirotwhoasked,leaningforwardsharply.MissJacobslookedathimdoubtfully.
“Nothing,really,justmentionedthename.‘LikeLouise,’shesaid,andthenstopped.Itwasaftershehadsaidaboutitsnotbeingsafetohatepeople….”
“Andthen?”
“Thenshetoldme,quitecalmly,Ihadbetterringupthepolice.WhichIdid.Wejust—satthereuntiltheycame…IdidnotthinkIoughttoleaveher.Wedidnotsayanything.Sheseemedabsorbedinherthoughts,andI—well,frankly,Icouldn’tthinkofanythingtosay.”
“Youcouldsee,couldn’tyou,thatshewasmentallyunstable?”saidAndrewRestarick.“Youcouldseethatshedidn’tknowwhatshehaddoneorwhy,poorchild?”
Hespokepleadingly—hopefully.
“Ifitisasignofmentalinstabilitytoappearperfectlycoolandcollectedaftercommittingamurder,thenIwillagreewithyou.”
MissJacobsspokeinthevoiceofonewhoquitedecidedlydidnotagree.
Stillingfleetsaid:
“MissJacobs,didsheatanytimeadmitthatshehadkilledhim?”
“Ohyes.Ishouldhavementionedthatbefore—Itwastheveryfirstthingshedidsay.AsthoughshewasansweringsomequestionIhadaskedher.Shesaid,‘Yes.I’vekilledhim.’Andthenwentonabouthavingwashedherhands.”
Restarickgroanedandburiedhisfaceinhishands.Claudiaputherhandonhisarm.
Poirotsaid:
“MissJacobs,yousaythegirlputdowntheknifeshewascarryingonthattable.Itwasquitenearyou?Yousawitclearly?Diditappeartoyouthattheknifealsohadbeenwashed?”
MissJacobslookedhesitantlyatChiefInspectorNeele.ItwasclearthatshefeltthatPoirotstruckanalienandunofficialnoteinthispresumablyofficialinquiry.
“Perhapsyouwouldbekindenoughtoanswerthat?”saidNeele.
“No—Idon’tthinktheknifehadbeenwashedorwipedinanyway.Itwasstainedanddiscolouredwithsomethickstickysubstance.”
“Ah.”Poirotleanedbackinhischair
“Ishouldhavethoughtyouwouldhaveknownallabouttheknifeyourself,”saidMissJacobstoNeeleaccusingly.“Didn’tyourpoliceexamineit?Itseemstomeverylaxiftheydidn’t.”
“Ohyes,thepoliceexaminedit,”saidNeele.“Butwe—er—alwaysliketogetcorroboration.”
Shedartedhimashrewdglance.
“Whatyoureallymean,Isuppose,isthatyouliketofindouthowaccuratetheobservationofyourwitnessesis.Howmuchtheymakeup,orhowmuchtheyactuallysee,orthinktheyhaveseen.”
Hesmiledslightlyashesaid:
“Idon’tthinkweneedhavedoubtsaboutyou,MissJacobs.Youwillmakeanexcellentwitness.”
“Ishan’tenjoyit.Butit’sthekindofthingonehastogothroughwith,Isuppose.”
“I’mafraidso.Thankyou,MissJacobs.”Helookedround.“Noonehasanyadditionalquestions?”
Poirotindicatedthathehad.MissJacobspausednearthedoorway,displeased.
“Yes?”shesaid.
“AboutthismentionofsomeonecalledLouise.Didyouknowwhoitwasthegirlmeant?”
“HowshouldIknow?”
“Isn’titpossiblethatshemighthavemeantMrs.LouiseCharpentier?YouknewMrs.Charpentier,didn’tyou?”
“Ididnot.”
“Youknewthatsherecentlythrewherselfoutofawindowinthisblockofflats?”
“Iknewthat,ofcourse.Ididn’tknowherChristiannamewasLouise,andIwasnotpersonallyacquaintedwithher.”
“Nor,perhaps,particularlywishedtobe?”
“Ihavenotsaidso,sincethewomanisdead.ButIwilladmitthatthatisquitetrue.Shewasamostundesirabletenant,andIandotherresidentshavefrequentlycomplainedtothemanagementhere.”
“Ofwhatexactly?”
“Tospeakfrankly,thewomandrank.Herflatwasactuallyonthetopfloorabovemineandtherewerecontinualdisorderlyparties,withbrokenglass,furnitureknockedover,singingandshouting,alotof—er—comingandgoing.”
“Shewas,perhaps,alonelywoman,”suggestedPoirot.
“Thatwashardlytheimpressionsheconveyed,”saidMissJacobsacidly.“Itwasputforwardattheinquestthatshewasdepressedoverthestateofherhealth.Entirelyherownimagination.Sheseemstohavehadnothingthematterwithher.”
AndhavingdisposedofthelateMrs.Charpentierwithoutsympathy,MissJacobstookherdeparture.
PoirotturnedhisattentiontoAndrewRestarick.Heaskeddelicately:
“AmIcorrectinthinking,Mr.Restarick,thatyouwereatonetimewellacquaintedwithMrs.Charpentier?”
Restarickdidnotanswerforamomentortwo.ThenhesigheddeeplyandtransferredhisgazetoPoirot.
“Yes.Atonetime,manyyearsago,Iknewherverywellindeed…Not,Imaysay,underthenameofCharpentier.ShewasLouiseBirellwhenIknewher.”
“Youwere—er—inlovewithher!”
“Yes,Iwasinlovewithher…Headoverearsinlovewithher!Ileftmywifeonheraccount.WewenttoSouthAfrica.Afterbarelyayearthewholethingblewup.ShereturnedtoEngland.Ineverheardfromheragain.Ineverevenknewwhathadbecomeofher.”
“Whataboutyourdaughter?Didshe,also,knowLouiseBirell?”
“Nottorememberher,surely.Achildoffiveyearsold!”
“Butdidsheknowher?”Poirotpersisted.
“Yes,”saidRestarickslowly.“SheknewLouise.Thatistosay,Louisecametoourhouse.Sheusedtoplaywiththechild.”
“Soitispossiblethatthegirlmightrememberher,evenafteralapseofyears?”
“Idon’tknow.Isimplydon’tknow.Idon’tknowwhatshelookedlike;howmuchLouisemighthavechanged.Ineversawheragain,asItoldyou.”
Poirotsaidgently,“Butyouheardfromher,didn’tyou,Mr.Restarick?Imean,youhaveheardfromhersinceyourreturntoEngland?”
Againtherecamethatpause,andthedeepunhappysigh:
“Yes—Iheardfromher…”saidRestarick.Andthen,withsuddencuriosity,heasked:“Howdidyouknowthat,M.Poirot?”
Fromhispocket,Poirotdrewaneatlyfoldedpieceofpaper.HeunfoldeditandhandedittoRestarick.
Thelatterlookedatitwithafaintlypuzzledfrown.
DearAndyIseefromthepapersyou’rehomeagain.Wemustmeetandcomparenotesastowhatwe’vebothbeendoingalltheseyears—
Itbrokeoffhere—andstartedagain.
Andy—Guesswhothisisfrom!Louise.Don’tdaretosayyou’veforgottenme!—DearAndy,Asyouwillseebythisletterhead,I’mlivinginthesameblockofflatsasyoursecretary.Whatasmallworlditis!Wemustmeet.CouldyoucomeforadrinkMondayorTuesdaynextweek?Andydarling,Imustseeyouagain…Nobodyhasevermatteredtomebutyou—youhaven’treallyforgottenme,either,haveyou?
“Howdidyougetthis?”askedRestarickofPoirot,tappingitcuriously.
“Fromafriendofmineviaafurniturevan,”saidPoirot,withaglanceatMrs.Oliver.
Restaricklookedatherwithoutfavour.
“Icouldn’thelpit,”saidMrs.Oliver,interpretinghislookcorrectly.“Isupposeitwasherfurniturebeingmovedout,andthemenletgoofadesk,andadrawerfelloutandscatteredalotofthings,andthewindblewthisalongthecourtyard,soIpickeditupandtriedtogiveitbacktothem,buttheywerecrossanddidn’twantit,soIjustputitinmycoatpocketwithoutthinking.AndIneverevenlookedatituntilthisafternoonwhenIwastakingthingsoutofpocketsbeforesendingthecoattothecleaners.Soitreallywasn’tmyfault.”
Shepaused,slightlyoutofbreath.
“Didshegetherlettertoyouwrittenintheend?”Poirotasked.
“Yes—shedid—oneofthemoreformalversions!Ididn’tanswerit.Ithoughtitwouldbewisernottodoso.”
“Youdidn’twanttoseeheragain?”
“ShewasthelastpersonIwantedtosee!Shewasaparticularlydifficultwoman—alwayshadbeen.AndI’dheardthingsabouther—foronethatshehadbecomeaheavydrinker.Andwell—otherthings.”
“Didyoukeepherlettertoyou?”
“No,Itoreitup!”
Dr.Stillingfleetaskedanabruptquestion.
“Didyourdaughtereverspeakabouthertoyou?”
Restarickseemedunwillingtoanswer.
Dr.Stillingfleeturgedhim:
“Itmightbesignificantifshedid,youknow.”
“Youdoctors!Yes,shedidmentionheronce.”
“Whatdidshesayexactly?”
“Shesaidquitesuddenly:‘IsawLouisetheotherday,Father.’Iwasstartled.Isaid:‘Wheredidyouseeher?’Andshesaid:‘Intherestaurantofourflats.’Iwasabitembarrassed.Isaid:‘Ineverdreamedyou’drememberedher.’Andshesaid:‘I’veneverforgotten.Motherwouldn’thaveletmeforget,evenifIwantedto.’”
“Yes,”saidDr.Stillingfleet.“Yes,thatcouldcertainlybesignificant.”
“Andyou,Mademoiselle,”saidPoirot,turningsuddenlytoClaudia.“DidNormaeverspeaktoyouaboutLouiseCarpenter?”
“Yes—itwasafterthesuicide.Shesaidsomethingaboutherbeingawickedwoman.Shesaiditinratherachildishway,ifyouknowwhatImean.”
“Youwerehereintheflatsyourselfonthenight—ormorecorrectlytheearlymorningwhenMrs.Carpenter’ssuicideoccurred?”
“Iwasnotherethatnight,no!Iwasawayfromhome.Irememberarrivingbackherethenextdayandhearingaboutit.”
ShehalfturnedtoRestarick…“Youremember?Itwasthetwenty-third.IhadgonetoLiverpool.”
“Yes,ofcourse.YouweretorepresentmeattheHeverTrustmeeting.”
Poirotsaid:
“ButNormasleptherethatnight?”
“Yes.”Claudiaseemeduncomfortable.
“Claudia?”Restaricklaidhishandonherarm.“WhatisityouknowaboutNorma?There’ssomething.Somethingthatyou’reholdingback.”
“Nothing!WhatshouldIknowabouther?”
“Youthinkshe’soffherhead,don’tyou?”saidDr.Stillingfleetinaconversationalvoice.“Andsodoesthegirlwiththeblackhair.Andsodoyou,”headded,turningsuddenlyonRestarick.“Allofusbehavingnicelyandavoidingthesubjectandthinkingthesamething!Except,thatis,thechiefinspector.He’snotthinkinganything.He’scollectingthefacts:madoramurderess.Whataboutyou,Madam?”
“Me?”Mrs.Oliverjumped.“I—don’tknow.”
“Youreservejudgment?Idon’tblameyou.It’sdifficult.Onthewhole,mostpeopleagreeonwhattheythink.Theyusedifferenttermsforit—that’sall.BatsintheBelfry.Wantinginthetopstorey.Offheronion.Mental.Delusions.Doesanyonethinkthatgirlissane?”
“MissBattersby,”saidPoirot.
“WhothedevilisMissBattersby?”
“Aschoolmistress.”
“IfIeverhaveadaughterIshallsendhertothatschool…OfcourseI’minadifferentcategory.Iknow.Iknoweverythingaboutthatgirl!”
Norma’sfatherstaredathim.
“Whoisthisman?”hedemandedofNeele.“Whatcanhepossiblymeanbysayingthatheknowseverythingaboutmydaughter?”
“Iknowabouther,”saidStillingfleet,“becauseshe’sbeenundermyprofessionalcareforthelasttendays.”
“Dr.Stillingfleet,”saidChiefInspectorNeele,“isahighlyqualifiedandreputablepsychiatrist.”
“Andhowdidshecomeintoyourclutches—withoutsomeonegettingmyconsentfirst?”
“AskMoustaches,”saidDr.Stillingfleet,noddingtowardsPoirot.
“You—you…”
Restarickcouldhardlyspeakhewassoangry.
Poirotspokeplacidly.
“Ihadyourinstructions.Youwantedcareandprotectionforyourdaughterwhenshewasfound.Ifoundher—andIwasabletointerestDr.Stillingfleetinhercase.Shewasindanger,Mr.Restarick,verygravedanger.”
“Shecouldhardlybeinanymoredangerthansheisnow!Arrestedonachargeofmurder!”
“Technicallysheisnotyetcharged,”murmuredNeele.
Hewenton:
“Dr.Stillingfleet,doIunderstandthatyouarewillingtogiveyourprofessionalopinionastoMissRestarick’smentalcondition,andastohowwellsheknowsthenatureandmeaningofheracts?”
“WecansavetheM’Naughtenactforcourt,”saidStillingfleet.“Whatyouwanttoknownowis,quitesimply,ifthegirlismadorsane?Allright,I’lltellyou.Thatgirlissane—assaneasanyoneofyousittinghereinthisroom!”
Twenty-four
I
Theystaredathim.
“Didn’texpectthat,didyou?”
Restaricksaidangrily:“You’rewrong.Thatgirldoesn’tevenknowwhatshe’sdone.She’sinnocent—completelyinnocent.Shecan’tbeheldresponsibleforwhatshedoesn’tknowshe’sdone.”
“Youletmetalkforawhile.IknowwhatI’mtalkingabout.Youdon’t.Thatgirlissaneandresponsibleforheractions.Inamomentortwowe’llhaveherinandletherspeakforherself.She’stheonlyonewhohasn’thadthechanceofspeakingforherself!Ohyes,they’vegotherherestill—lockedupwithapolicematroninherbedroom.Butbeforeweaskheraquestionortwo,I’vegotsomethingtosaythatyou’dbetterhearfirst.
“Whenthatgirlcametomeshewasfullofdrugs.”
“Andhegavethemtoher!”shoutedRestarick.“Thatdegenerate,miserableboy.”
“Hestartedheronthem,nodoubt.”
“ThankGod,”saidRestarick.“ThankGodforit.”
“WhatareyouthankingGodfor?”
“Imisunderstoodyou.Ithoughtyouweregoingtothrowhertothelionswhenyoukeptharpingonherbeingsane.Imisjudgedyou.Itwasthedrugsthatdidit.Drugsthatmadeherdothingsshewouldneverhavedoneofherownvolition,andleftherwithnoknowledgeofhavingdonethem.”
Stillingfleetraisedhisvoice:
“Ifyouletmetalkinsteadoftalkingsomuchyourself,andbeingsosureyouknowallabouteverything,wemightgetonabit.Firstofall,she’snotanaddict.Therearenomarksofinjections.Shedidn’tsniffsnow.Someoneorother,perhapstheboy,perhapssomeoneelse,wasadministeringdrugstoherwithoutherknowledge.Notjustapurpleheartortwointhemodernfashion.Aratherinterestingmedleyofdrugs—LSDgivingvividdreamsequences—nightmaresorpleasurable.Hempdistortingthetimefactor,sothatshemightbelieveanexperiencehaslastedanhourinsteadofafewminutes.AndagoodmanyothercurioussubstancesthatIhavenointentionoflettinganyofyouknowabout.Somebodywhowascleverwithdrugsplayedmerryhellwiththatgirl.Stimulants,sedatives,theyallplayedtheirpartincontrollingher,andshowinghertoherselfasacompletelydifferentperson.”
Restarickinterrupted:“That’swhatIsay.Normawasn’tresponsible!Someonewashypnotisinghertodothesethings.”
“Youstillhaven’tgotthepoint!Nobodycouldmakethegirldowhatshedidn’twanttodo!Whattheycoulddo,wasmakeherthinkshehaddoneit.Nowwe’llhaveherinandmakeherseewhat’sbeenhappeningtoher.”
HelookedinquiringlyatChiefInspectorNeele,whonodded.
StillingfleetspokeoverhisshouldertoClaudia,ashewentoutofthesittingroom.“Where’dyouputthatothergirl,theoneyoutookawayfromJacobs,gaveasedativeto?Inherroomonherbed?Bettershakeherupabit,anddragheralong,somehow.We’llneedallthehelpwecanget.”
Claudiaalsowentoutofthesittingroom.
Stillingfleetcameback,propellingNorma,andutteringroughencouragement.
“There’sagoodgirl…Nobody’sgoingtobiteyou.Sitthere.”
Shesatobediently.Herdocilitywasstillratherfrightening.
Thepolicewomanhoveredbythedoorlookingscandalised.
“AllI’maskingyoutodoistospeakthetruth.Itisn’tnearlyasdifficultasyouthink.”
ClaudiacameinwithFrancesCary.Franceswasyawningheavily.Herblackhairhunglikeacurtainhidinghalfhermouthassheyawnedandyawnedagain.
“Youneedapick-me-up,”saidStillingfleettoher.
“Iwishyou’dallletmegotosleep,”murmuredFrancesindistinctly.
“Nobody’sgoingtohaveachanceofsleepuntilI’vedonewiththem!Now,Norma,youanswermyquestions—ThatwomanalongthepassagesaysyouadmittedtoherthatyoukilledDavidBaker.Isthatright?”
Herdocilevoicesaid:
“Yes.IkilledDavid.”
“Stabbedhim?”
“Yes.”
“Howdoyouknowyoudid?”
Shelookedfaintlypuzzled.“Idon’tknowwhatyoumean.Hewasthereonthefloor—dead.”
“Wherewastheknife?”
“Ipickeditup.”
“Ithadbloodonit?”
“Yes.Andonhisshirt.”
“Whatdiditfeellike—thebloodontheknife?Thebloodthatyougotonyourhandandhadtowashoff—Wet?Ormorelikestrawberryjam?”
“Itwaslikestrawberryjam—sticky.”Sheshivered.“Ihadtogoandwashitoffmyhands.”
“Verysensible.Well,thattiesupeverythingverynicely.Victim,murderer—you—allcompletewiththeweapon.Doyourememberactuallydoingit?”
“No…Idon’trememberthat…ButImusthavedoneit,mustn’tI?”
“Don’taskme!Iwasn’tthere.It’syouaretheonewho’ssayingit.Buttherewasanotherkillingbeforethat,wasn’tthere?Anearlierkilling.”
“Youmean—Louise?”
“Yes.ImeanLouise…Whendidyoufirstthinkofkillingher?”
“Yearsago.Oh,yearsago.”
“Whenyouwereachild.”
“Yes.”
“Hadtowaitalongtime,didn’tyou?”
“I’dforgottenallaboutit.”
“Untilyousawheragainandrecognisedher?”
“Yes.”
“Whenyouwereachild,youhatedher.Why?”
“BecauseshetookFather,myfather,away.”
“Andmadeyourmotherunhappy?”
“MotherhatedLouise.ShesaidLouisewasareallywickedwoman.”
“Talkedtoyouaboutheralot,Isuppose?”
“Yes.Iwishshehadn’t…Ididn’twanttogoonhearingabouther.”
“Monotonous—Iknow.Hateisn’tcreative.Whenyousawheragaindidyoureallywanttokillher?”
Normaseemedtoconsider.Afaintlyinterestedlookcameintoherface.
“Ididn’t,really,youknow…Itseemedallsolongago.Icouldn’timaginemyself—that’swhy—”
“Whyyouweren’tsureyouhad?”
“Yes.IhadsomequitewildideathatIhadn’tkilledheratall.Thatithadbeenalladream.Thatperhapsshereallyhadthrownherselfoutofthewindow.”
“Well—whynot?”
“BecauseIknewIhaddoneit—IsaidIhaddoneit.”
“Yousaidyouhaddoneit?Whodidyousaythatto?”
Normashookherhead.“Imustn’t…Itwassomeonewhotriedtobekind—tohelpme.Shesaidshewasgoingtopretendtohaveknownnothingaboutit.”Shewenton,thewordscomingfastandexcitedly:“IwasoutsideLouise’sdoor,thedoorof76,justcomingoutofit.IthoughtI’dbeenwalkinginmysleep.They—she—saidtherehadbeenanaccident.Downinthecourtyard.Shekepttellingmeithadbeennothingtodowithme.Nobodywouldeverknow—AndIcouldn’trememberwhatIhaddone—buttherewasstuffinmyhand—”
“Stuff?Whatstuff?Doyoumeanblood?”
“No,notblood—torncurtainstuff.WhenI’dpushedherout.”
“Yourememberpushingherout,doyou?”
“No,no.That’swhatwassoawful.Ididn’trememberanything.That’swhyIhoped.That’swhyIwent—”SheturnedherheadtowardsPoirot—“tohim—”
SheturnedbackagaintoStillingfleet.
“IneverrememberedthethingsI’ddone,noneofthem.ButIgotmoreandmorefrightened.Becausethereusedtobequitelongtimesthatwereblank—quiteblank—hoursIcouldn’taccountfor,orrememberwhereI’dbeenandwhatI’dbeendoing.ButIfoundthings—thingsImusthavehiddenawaymyself.Marywasbeingpoisonedbyme,theyfoundoutshewasbeingpoisonedatthehospital.AndIfoundtheweedkillerI’dhiddenawayinthedrawer.Intheflatheretherewasaflick-knife.AndIhadarevolverthatIdidn’tevenknowI’dbought!Ididkillpeople,butIdidn’trememberkillingthem,soI’mnotreallyamurderer—I’mjust—mad!Irealisedthatatlast.I’mmad,andIcan’thelpit.Peoplecan’tblameyouifyoudothingswhenyouaremad.IfIcouldcomehereandevenkillDavid,itshowsIammad,doesn’tit?”
“You’dliketobemad,verymuch?”
“I—yes,Isupposeso.”
“Ifso,whydidyouconfesstosomeonethatyouhadkilledawomanbypushingheroutofthewindow?Whowasityoutold?”
Normaturnedherhead,hesitated.Thenraisedherhandandpointed.
“ItoldClaudia.”
“Thatisabsolutelyuntrue.”Claudialookedatherscornfully.“Youneversaidanythingofthekindtome!”
“Idid.Idid.”
“When?Where?”
“I—don’tknow.”
“Shetoldmethatshehadconfesseditalltoyou,”saidFrancesindistinctly.“Frankly,Ithoughtshewashystericalandmakingthewholethingup.”
StillingfleetlookedacrossatPoirot.
“Shecouldbemakingitallup,”hesaidjudicially.“Thereisquiteacaseforthatsolution.Butifso,wewouldhavetofindthemotive,astrongmotive,forherdesiringthedeathofthosetwopeople,LouiseCarpenterandDavidBaker.Achildishhate?Forgottenanddonewithyearsago?Nonsense.David—justtobe‘freeofhim?’Itisnotforthatthatgirlskill!Wewantbettermotivesthanthat.Awhackinggreatlotofmoney—say!—Greed!”Helookedroundhimandhisvoicechangedtoaconventionaltone.
“Wewantalittlemorehelp.There’sstillonepersonmissing.Yourwifeisalongtimejoiningushere,Mr.Restarick?”
“Ican’tthinkwhereMarycanbe.I’verungup.Claudiahasleftmessagesineveryplacewecanthinkof.Bynowsheoughttohaverungupatleastfromsomewhere.”
“Perhapswehavethewrongidea,”saidHerculePoirot.“PerhapsMadameisatleastpartlyherealready—inamannerofspeaking.”
“Whatonearthdoyoumean?”shoutedRestarickangrily.
“MightItroubleyou,chèreMadame?”
PoirotleanedtowardsMrs.Oliver.Mrs.Oliverstared.
“TheparcelIentrustedtoyou—”
“Oh.”Mrs.Oliverdivedintohershoppingbag.Shehandedtheblackfoldertohim.
Heheardasharplyindrawnbreathnearhim,butdidnotturnhishead.
Heshookoffthewrappingsdelicatelyandheldup—awigofbouffantgoldenhair.
“Mrs.Restarickisnothere,”hesaid,“butherwigis.Interesting.”
“Wherethedevildidyougetthat,Poirot?”askedNeele.
“FromtheovernightbagofMissFrancesCaryfromwhichshehadasyetnoopportunityofremovingit.Shallweseehowitbecomesher?”
Withasingledeftmovement,hesweptasidetheblackhairthatmaskedFrances’sfacesoeffectively.Crownedwithagoldenaureolebeforeshecoulddefendherself,sheglaredatthem.
Mrs.Oliverexclaimed:
“Goodgracious—itisMaryRestarick.”
Franceswastwistinglikeanangrysnake.Restarickjumpedfromhisseattocometoher—butNeele’sstronggriprestrainedhim.
“No.Wedon’twantanyviolencefromyou.Thegame’sup,youknow,Mr.Restarick—orshallIcallyouRobertOrwell—”
Astreamofprofanitycamefromtheman’slips.Frances’svoicewasraisedsharply:
“Shutup,youdamnedfool!”shesaid.
II
Poirothadabandonedhistrophy,thewig.HehadgonetoNorma,andtakenherhandgentlyinhis.
“Yourordealisover,mychild.Thevictimwillnotbesacrificed.Youareneithermad,norhaveyoukilledanyone.Therearetwocruelandheartlesscreatureswhoplottedagainstyou,withcunninglyadministereddrugs,withlies,doingtheirbesttodriveyoueithertosuicideortobeliefinyourownguiltandmadness.”
Normawasstaringwithhorrorattheotherplotter.
“Myfather.Myfather?Hecouldthinkofdoingthattome.Hisdaughter.Myfatherwholovedme—”
“Notyourfather,monenfant—amanwhocamehereafteryourfather’sdeath,toimpersonatehimandlayhandsonanenormousfortune.Onlyonepersonwaslikelytorecognisehim—orrathertorecognisethatthismanwasnotAndrewRestarick—thewomanwhohadbeenAndrewRestarick’smistressfifteenyearsago.”
Twenty-five
FourpeoplesatinPoirot’sroom.Poirotinhissquarechairwasdrinkingaglassofsiropdecassis.NormaandMrs.Oliversatonthesofa.Mrs.Oliverwaslookingparticularlyfestiveinunbecomingapplegreenbrocade,surmountedbyoneofhermorepainstakingcoiffures.Dr.Stillingfleetwassprawledoutinachairwithhislonglegsstretchedout,sothattheyseemedtoreachhalfacrosstheroom.
“Nowthen,therearelotsofthingsIwanttoknow,”saidMrs.Oliver.Hervoicewasaccusatory.
Poirothastenedtopouroilontroubledwaters.
“But,chèreMadame,consider.WhatIowetoyouIcanhardlyexpress.All,butallmygoodideasweresuggestedtomebyyou.”
Mrs.Oliverlookedathimdoubtfully.
“Wasitnotyouwhointroducedtomethephrase‘ThirdGirl?’ItistherethatIstarted—andthere,too,thatIended—atthethirdgirlofthreelivinginaflat.Normawasalwaystechnically,Isuppose,theThirdGirl—butwhenIlookedatthingstherightwayrounditallfellintoplace.Themissinganswer,thelostpieceofthepuzzle,everytimeitwasthesame—thethirdgirl.
“Itwasalways,ifyoucomprehendme,thepersonwhowasnotthere.Shewasanametome,nomore.”
“IwonderIneverconnectedherwithMaryRestarick,”saidMrs.Oliver.“I’dseenMaryRestarickatCrosshedges,talkedtoher.OfcoursethefirsttimeIsawFrancesCary,shehadblackhairhangingalloverherface.Thatwouldhaveputanyoneoff!”
“Againitwasyou,Madame,whodrewmyattentiontohoweasilyawoman’sappearanceisalteredbythewayshearrangesherhair.FrancesCary,remember,hadhaddramatictraining.Sheknewallabouttheartofswiftmakeup.Shecouldalterhervoiceatneed.AsFrances,shehadlongblackhair,framingherfaceandhalfhidingit,heavydeadwhitemaquillage,darkpencilledeyebrowsandmascara,withadrawlinghuskyvoice.MaryRestarick,withherwigofformallyarrangedgoldenhairwithcrimpedwaves,herconventionalclothes,herslightColonialaccent,herbriskwayoftalking,presentedacompletecontrast.Yetonefelt,fromthebeginning,thatshewasnotquitereal.Whatkindofawomanwasshe?Ididnotknow.
“Iwasnotcleverabouther—No—I,HerculePoirot,wasnotcleveratall.”
“Hear,hear,”saidDr.Stillingfleet.“FirsttimeI’veeverheardyousaythat,Poirot!Wonderswillnevercease!”
“Idon’treallyseewhyshewantedtwopersonalities,”saidMrs.Oliver.“Itseemsunnecessarilyconfusing.”
“No.Itwasveryvaluabletoher.Itgaveher,yousee,aperpetualalibiwhenevershewantedit.Tothinkthatitwasthere,allthetime,beforemyeyes,andIdidnotseeit!Therewasthewig—Ikeptbeingsubconsciouslyworriedbyit,butnotseeingwhyIwasworried.Twowomen—never,atanytime,seentogether.Theirlivessoarrangedthatnoonenoticedthelargegapsintheirtimescheduleswhentheywereunaccountedfor.MarygoesoftentoLondon,toshop,tovisithouseagents,todepartwithasheafoforderstoview,supposedlytospendhertimethatway.FrancesgoestoBirmingham,toManchester,evenfliesabroad,frequentsChelseawithherspecialcoterieofartyyoungmenwhomsheemploysinvariouscapacitieswhichwouldnotbelookedonwithapprovalbythelaw.SpecialpictureframesweredesignedfortheWedderburnGallery.Risingyoungartistshad‘shows’there—theirpicturessoldquitewell,andwereshippedabroadorsentonexhibitionwiththeirframesstuffedwithsecretpacketsofheroin—Artrackets—skilfulforgeriesofthemoreobscureOldMasters—Shearrangedandorganisedallthesethings.DavidBakerwasoneoftheartistssheemployed.Hehadthegiftofbeingamarvellouscopyist.”
Normamurmured:“PoorDavid.WhenIfirstmethimIthoughthewaswonderful.”
“Thatpicture,”saidPoirotdreamily.“Always,always,Icamebacktothatinmymind.WhyhadRestarickbroughtituptohisoffice?Whatspecialsignificancedidithaveforhim?Enfin,Idonotadmiremyselfforbeingsodense.”
“Idon’tunderstandaboutthepictures.”
“Itwasaverycleveridea.Itservedasakindofcertificateofidentity.Apairofportraits,husbandandwife,byacelebratedandfashionableportraitpainterofhisday.DavidBaker,whentheycomeoutofstore,replacesRestarick’sportraitwithoneofOrwell,makinghimabouttwentyyearsyoungerinappearance.Nobodywouldhavedreamedthattheportraitwasafake;thestyle,thebrushstrokes,thecanvas,itwasasplendidlyconvincingbitofwork.Restarickhungitoverhisdesk.AnyonewhoknewRestarickyearsago,mightsay:‘I’dhardlyhaveknownyou!’Or‘You’vechangedquitealot,’wouldlookupattheportrait,butwouldonlythinkhehimselfhadreallyforgottenwhattheothermanhadlookedlike!”
“ItwasagreatriskforRestarick—orratherOrwell—totake,”saidMrs.Oliverthoughtfully.
“Lessthanyoumightthink.Hewasneveraclaimant,yousee,intheTichbornesense.Hewasonlyamemberofawell-knownCityfirm,returninghomeafterhisbrother’sdeathtosettleuphisbrother’saffairsafterhavingspentsomeyearsabroad.Hebroughtwithhimayoungwiferecentlyacquiredabroad,andtookupresidencewithanelderly,halfblindbutextremelydistinguishedunclebymarriage
“Shehadmethim,itseems,inKenyaabouttwoyearsago.Theywerebothcrooks,thoughwithentirelydifferentinterests.Hewentinforvariousshoddydealsasaprospector—RestarickandOrwellwenttogethertoprospectformineraldepositsinsomewhatwildcountry.TherewasarumourofRestarick’sdeath(probablytrue)whichwaslatercontradicted.”
“Alotofmoneyinthegamble,Isuspect?”saidStillingfleet.
“Anenormousamountofmoneywasinvolved.Aterrificgamble—foraterrificstake.Itcameoff.AndrewRestarickwasaveryrichmanhimselfandhewashisbrother’sheir.Nobodyquestionedhisidentity.Andthen—thingswentwrong.Outoftheblue,hegotaletterfromawomanwho,ifsheevercamefacetofacewithhim,wouldknowatoncethathewasn’tAndrewRestarick.Andasecondpieceofbadfortuneoccurred—DavidBakerstartedtoblackmailhim.”
“Thatmighthavebeenexpected,Isuppose,”saidStillingfleetthoughtfully.
“Theydidn’texpectit,”saidPoirot.“Davidhadneverblackmailedbefore.Itwastheenormouswealthofthismanthatwenttohishead,Iexpect.Thesumhehadbeenpaidforfakingtheportraitseemedtohimgrosslyinadequate.Hewantedmore.SoRestarickwrotehimlargecheques,andpretendedthatitwasonaccountofhisdaughter—topreventherfrommakinganundesirablemarriage.Whetherhereallywantedtomarryher,Idonotknow—hemayhavedone.ButtoblackmailtwopeoplelikeOrwellandFrancesCarywasadangerousthingtodo.”
“Youmeanthosetwojustcold-bloodedlyplannedtokilltwopeople—quitecalmly—justlikethat?”demandedMrs.Oliver.
Shelookedrathersick.
“Theymighthaveaddedyoutotheirlist,Madame,”saidPoirot.
“Me?Doyoumeanthatitwasoneofthemwhohitmeonthehead?Frances,Isuppose?NotthepoorPeacock?”
“IdonotthinkitwasthePeacock.ButyouhadbeenalreadytoBorodeneMansions.NowyouperhapsfollowFrancestoChelsea,orsoshethinks,witharatherdubiousstorytoaccountforyourself.Sosheslipsoutandgivesyouanicelittletapontheheadtoputpaidtoyourcuriosityforawhile.YouwouldnotlistenwhenIwarnedyoutherewasdangerabout.”
“Icanhardlybelieveitofher!LyingaboutinattitudesofaBurne-Jonesheroineinthatdirtystudiothatday.Butwhy—”ShelookedatNorma—thenbackatPoirot.“Theyusedher—deliberately—workeduponher,druggedher,madeherbelievethatshehadmurderedtwopeople.Why?”
“Theywantedavictim…”saidPoirot.
HerosefromhischairandwenttoNorma.
“Monenfant,youhavebeenthroughaterribleordeal.Itisathingthatneedneverhappentoyouagain.Rememberthatnow,youcanhaveconfidenceinyourselfalways.Tohaveknown,atclosequarters,whatabsoluteevilmeans,istobearmouredagainstwhatlifecandotoyou.”
“Isupposeyouareright,”saidNorma.“Tothinkyouaremad—reallytobelieveit,isafrighteningthing…”Sheshivered.“Idon’tsee,evennow,whyIescaped—whyanyonemanagedtobelievethatIhadn’tkilledDavid—notwhenevenIbelievedIhadkilledhim?”
“Bloodwaswrong,”saidDr.Stillingfleetinamatter-of-facttone.“Startingtocoagulate.Shirtwas‘stiffwithit,’asMissJacobssaid,notwet.YouweresupposedtohavekilledhimnotmorethanaboutfiveminutesbeforeFrances’sscreamingact.”
“Howdidshe—”Mrs.Oliverbegantoworkthingsout.“ShehadbeentoManchester—”
“Shecamehomebyanearliertrain,changedintoherMarywigandmakeuponthetrain.WalkedintoBorodeneMansionsandwentupintheliftasanunknownblonde.WentintotheflatwhereDavidwaswaitingforher,asshehadtoldhimtodo.Hewasquiteunsuspecting,andshestabbedhim.Thenshewentoutagain,andkeptwatchuntilshesawNormacoming.Sheslippedintoapubliccloakroom,changedherappearance,andjoinedafriendattheendoftheroadandwalkedwithher,saidgood-byetoheratBorodeneMansionsandwentupherselfanddidherstuff—quiteenjoyingdoingit,Iexpect.Bythetimethepolicehadbeencalledandgotthere,shedidn’tthinkanyonewouldsuspectthetimelag.Imustsay,Norma,yougaveusallahellofatimethatday.Insistingonhavingkilledeveryonethewayyoudid!”
“Iwantedtoconfessandgetitallover…Didyou—didyouthinkImightreallyhavedoneit,then?”
“Me?Whatdoyoutakemefor?Iknowwhatmypatientswilldoorwon’tdo.ButIthoughtyouweregoingtomakethingsdamneddifficult.Ididn’tknowhowfarNeelewasstickinghisneckout.Didn’tseemproperpoliceproceduretome.LookatthewayhegavePoirotherehishead.”
Poirotsmiled.
“ChiefInspectorNeeleandIhaveknowneachotherformanyyears.Besides,hehadbeenmakinginquiriesaboutcertainmattersalready.YouwereneverreallyoutsideLouise’sdoor.Franceschangedthenumbers.Shereversedthe6andthe7onyourowndoor.Thosenumberswereloose,stuckonwithspikes.Claudiawasawaythatnight.Francesdrugged
“Isawthetruthsuddenly.TheonlyotherpersonwhocouldhavekilledLouisewasthereal‘thirdgirl,’FrancesCary.”
“Youkepthalfrecognisingher,youknow,”saidStillingfleet,“whenyoudescribedtomehowonepersonseemedtoturnintoanother.”
Normalookedathimthoughtfully.
“Youwereveryrudetopeople,”shesaidtoStillingfleet.Helookedslightlytakenaback.
“Rude?”
“Thethingsyousaidtoeveryone.Thewayyoushoutedatthem.”
“Ohwell,yes,perhapsIwas…I’vegotinthewayofit.Peoplearesodamnedirritating.”
HegrinnedsuddenlyatPoirot.
“She’squiteagirl,isn’tshe?”
Mrs.Oliverrosetoherfeetwithasigh.
“Imustgohome.”ShelookedatthetwomenandthenatNorma.“Whatarewegoingtodowithher?”sheasked.
Theybothlookedstartled.
“Iknowshe’sstayingwithmeatthemoment,”shewenton.“Andshesaysshe’squitehappy.ButImeanthereitis,quiteaproblem.Lotsandlotsofmoneybecauseyourfather—therealone,Imean—leftitalltoyou.Andthatwillcausecomplications,andbegginglettersandallthat.ShecouldgoandlivewitholdSirRoderick,butthatwouldn’tbefunforagirl—he’sprettydeafalreadyaswellasblind—andcompletelyselfish.Bytheway,whatabouthismissingpapers,andthegirl,andKewGardens?”
“Theyturnedupwherehethoughthe’dalreadylooked—Soniafoundthem,”saidNorma,andadded,“UncleRoddyandSoniaaregettingmarried—nextweek—”
“Nofoollikeanoldfool,”saidStillingfleet.
“Aha!”saidPoirot.“SotheyoungladypreferslifeinEnglandtobeingembroiledinlapolitique.Sheisperhapswise,thatlittleone.”
“Sothat’sthat,”saidMrs.Oliverwithfinality.“ButtogoonaboutNorma,onehastobepractical.One’sgottomakeplans.Thegirlcan’tknowwhatshewantstodoallbyherself.She’swaitingforsomeonetotellher.”
Shelookedatthemseverely.
Poirotsaidnothing.Hesmiled.
“Oh,her?”saidDr.Stillingfleet.“Well,I’lltellyou,Norma.I’mflyingtoAustraliaTuesdayweek.Iwanttolookaroundfirst—seeifwhat’sbeenfixedupformeisgoingtowork,andallthat.ThenI’llcableyouandyoucanjoinme.Thenwegetmarried.You’llhavetotakemywordforitthatit’snotyourmoneyIwant.I’mnotoneofthosedoctorswhowanttoendowwhackinggreatresearchestablishmentsandallthat.I’mjustinterestedinpeople.Ithink,too,thatyou’dbeabletomanagemeallright.Allthataboutmybeingrudetopeople—Ihadn’tnoticeditmyself.It’sodd,really,whenyouthinkofallthemessyou’vebeenin—helplessasaflyintreacle—yetit’snotgoingtobemerunningyou,it’sgoingtobeyourunningme.”
Normastoodquitestill.ShelookedatJohnStillingfleetverycarefully,asthoughshewasconsideringsomethingthatsheknewfromanentirelydifferentpointofview.
Andthenshesmiled.Itwasaverynicesmile—likeahappyyoungnannie.
“Allright,”shesaid.
ShecrossedtheroomtoHerculePoirot.
“Iwasrude,too,”shesaid.“ThedayIcameherewhenyouwerehavingbreakfast.Isaidtoyouthatyouweretoooldtohelpme.Thatwasarudethingtosay.Anditwasn’ttrue.…”
Sheputherhandsonhisshouldersandkissedhim.
“You’dbettergetusataxi,”shesaidtoStillingfleet.
Dr.Stillingfleetnoddedandlefttheroom.Mrs.OlivercollectedahandbagandafurstoleandNormaslippedonacoatandfollowedhertothedoor.
“Madame,unpetitmoment—”
Mrs.Oliverturned.Poirothadcollectedfromtherecessesofthesofaahandsomecoilofgreyhair.
Mrs.Oliverexclaimedvexedly:“It’sjustlikeeverythingthattheymakenowadays,nogoodatall!Hairpins,Imean.Theyjustslipout,andeverythingfallsoff!”
Shewentoutfrowning.
Amomentortwolatershepokedherheadroundthedooragain.Shespokeinaconspiratorialwhisper:
“Justtellme—it’sallright,I’vesentherondown—didyousendthatgirltothisparticulardoctoronpurpose?”
“OfcourseIdid.Hisqualificationsare—”
“Nevermindhisqualifications.YouknowwhatImean.Heandshe—Didyou?”
“Ifyoumustknow,yes.”
“Ithoughtso,”saidMrs.Oliver.“Youdothinkofthings,don’tyou.”
TheAgathaChristieCollection
THEHERCULEPOIROTMYSTERIES
MatchyourwitswiththefamousBelgiandetective.
TheMysteriousAffairatStylesTheMurderontheLinksPoirotInvestigatesTheMurderofRogerAckroydTheBigFourTheMysteryoftheBlueTrainPerilatEndHouseLordEdgwareDiesMurderontheOrientExpressThreeActTragedyDeathintheCloudsTheA.B.C.MurdersMurderinMesopotamiaCardsontheTableMurderintheMewsDumbWitnessDeathontheNileAppointmentwithDeathHerculePoirot’sChristmasSadCypressOne,Two,BuckleMyShoeEvilUndertheSunFiveLittlePigsTheHollowTheLaborsofHerculesTakenattheFloodTheUnderdogandOtherStoriesMrs.McGinty’sDeadAftertheFuneralHickoryDickoryDockDeadMan’sFollyCatAmongthePigeonsTheClocksThirdGirlHallowe’enPartyElephantsCanRememberCurtain:Poirot’sLastCase
Exploremoreatwww.AgathaChristie.com
TheAgathaChristieCollection
THEMISSMARPLEMYSTERIES
JointhelegendaryspinstersleuthfromSt.MaryMeadinsolvingmurdersfarandwide.
TheMurderattheVicarageTheBodyintheLibraryTheMovingFingerAMurderIsAnnouncedTheyDoItwithMirrorsAPocketFullofRye4:50FromPaddingtonTheMirrorCrack’dfromSidetoSideACaribbeanMysteryAtBertram’sHotelNemesisSleepingMurderMissMarple:TheCompleteShortStories
THETOMMYANDTUPPENCEMYSTERIES
Jumponboardwiththeentertainingcrime-solvingcouplefromYoungAdventurersLtd.
TheSecretAdversaryPartnersinCrimeNorM?BythePrickingofMyThumbsPosternofFate
Exploremoreatwww.AgathaChristie.com
TheAgathaChristieCollection
Don’tmissasingleoneofAgathaChristie’sstand-alonenovelsandshort-storycollections.
TheManintheBrownSuitTheSecretofChimneysTheSevenDialsMysteryTheMysteriousMr.QuinTheSittafordMysteryParkerPyneInvestigatesWhyDidn’tTheyAskEvans?MurderIsEasyTheRegattaMysteryandOtherStoriesAndThenThereWereNoneTowardsZeroDeathComesastheEndSparklingCyanideTheWitnessfortheProsecutionandOtherStoriesCrookedHouseThreeBlindMiceandOtherStoriesTheyCametoBaghdadDestinationUnknownOrdealbyInnocenceDoubleSinandOtherStoriesThePaleHorseStaroverBethlehem:PoemsandHolidayStoriesEndlessNightPassengertoFrankfurtTheGoldenBallandOtherStoriesTheMousetrapandOtherPlaysTheHarlequinTeaSet
Exploremoreatwww.AgathaChristie.com
AbouttheAuthor
AgathaChristieisthemostwidelypublishedauthorofalltimeandinanylanguage,outsoldonlybytheBibleandShakespeare.HerbookshavesoldmorethanabillioncopiesinEnglishandanotherbillioninahundredforeignlanguages.Sheistheauthorofeightycrimenovelsandshort-storycollections,nineteenplays,twomemoirs,andsixnovelswrittenunderthenameMaryWestmacott.
ShefirsttriedherhandatdetectivefictionwhileworkinginahospitaldispensaryduringWorldWarI,creatingthenowlegendaryHerculePoirotwithherdebutnovelTheMysteriousAffairatStyles.WithTheMurderintheVicarage,publishedin1930,sheintroducedanotherbelovedsleuth,MissJaneMarple.Additionalseriescharactersincludethehusband-and-wifecrime-fightingteamofTommyandTuppenceBeresford,privateinvestigatorParkerPyne,andScotlandYarddetectivesSuperintendentBattleandInspectorJapp.
ManyofChristie’snovelsandshortstorieswereadaptedintoplays,films,andtelevisionseries.TheMousetrap,hermostfamousplayofall,openedin1952andisthelongest-runningplayinhistory.Amongherbest-knownfilmadaptationsareMurderontheOrientExpress(1974)andDeathontheNile(1978),withAlbertFinneyandPeterUstinovplayingHerculePoirot,respectively.OnthesmallscreenPoirothasbeenmostmemorablyportrayedbyDavidSuchet,andMissMarplebyJoanHicksonandsubsequentlyGeraldineMcEwanandJuliaMcKenzie.
ChristiewasfirstmarriedtoArchibaldChristieandthentoarchaeologistSirMaxMallowan,whomsheaccompaniedonexpeditionstocountriesthatwouldalsoserveasthesettingsformanyofhernovels.In1971sheachievedoneofBritain’shighesthonorswhenshewasmadeaDameoftheBritishEmpire.Shediedin1976attheageofeighty-five.Heronehundredandtwentiethanniversarywascelebratedaroundtheworldin2010.
www.AgathaChristie.com
Visitwww.AuthorTracker.comforexclusiveinformationonyourfavoriteHarperCollinsauthors.
THEAGATHACHRISTIECOLLECTION
TheManintheBrownSuit
TheSecretofChimneys
TheSevenDialsMystery
TheMysteriousMr.Quin
TheSittafordMystery
ParkerPyneInvestigates
WhyDidn’tTheyAskEvans?
MurderIsEasy
TheRegattaMysteryandOtherStories
AndThenThereWereNone
TowardsZero
DeathComesastheEnd
SparklingCyanide
TheWitnessfortheProsecutionandOtherStories
CrookedHouse
ThreeBlindMiceandOtherStories
TheyCametoBaghdad
DestinationUnknown
OrdealbyInnocence
DoubleSinandOtherStories
ThePaleHorse
StaroverBethlehem:PoemsandHolidayStories
EndlessNight
PassengertoFrankfurt
TheGoldenBallandOtherStories
TheMousetrapandOtherPlays
TheHarlequinTeaSet
TheHerculePoirotMysteries
TheMysteriousAffairatStyles
TheMurderontheLinks
PoirotInvestigates
TheMurderofRogerAckroyd
TheBigFour
TheMysteryoftheBlueTrain
PerilatEndHouse
LordEdgwareDies
MurderontheOrientExpress
ThreeActTragedy
DeathintheClouds
TheA.B.C.Murders
MurderinMesopotamia
CardsontheTable
MurderintheMews
DumbWitness
DeathontheNile
AppointmentwithDeath
HerculePoirot’sChristmas
SadCypress
One,Two,BuckleMyShoe
EvilUndertheSun
FiveLittlePigs
TheHollow
TheLaborsofHercules
TakenattheFlood
TheUnderdogandOtherStories
Mrs.McGinty’sDead
AftertheFuneral
HickoryDickoryDock
DeadMan’sFolly
CatAmongthePigeons
TheClocks
ThirdGirl
Hallowe’enParty
ElephantsCanRemember
Curtain:Poirot’sLastCase
TheMissMarpleMysteries
TheMurderattheVicarage
TheBodyintheLibrary
TheMovingFinger
AMurderIsAnnounced
TheyDoItwithMirrors
APocketFullofRye
4:50fromPaddington
TheMirrorCrack’dfromSidetoSide
ACaribbeanMystery
AtBertram’sHotel
Nemesis
SleepingMurder
MissMarple:TheCompleteShortStories
TheTommyandTuppenceMysteries
TheSecretAdversary
PartnersinCrime
NorM?
BythePrickingofMyThumbs
PosternofFate
Memoirs
AnAutobiography
Come,TellMeHowYouLive
Credits
CoverdesignandillustrationbyFaithLaurel
Copyright
Thisbookisaworkoffiction.Thecharacters,incidents,anddialoguearedrawnfromtheauthor’simaginationandarenottobeconstruedasreal.Anyresemblancetoactualeventsorpersons,livingordead,isentirelycoincidental.
AGATHACHRISTIE?POIROT?THIRDGIRL?.Copyright?1966AgathaChristieLimited(aChorioncompany).Allrightsreserved.
THIRDGIRL?1967.PublishedbypermissionofG.P.Putnam’sSons,amemberofPenguinGroup(USA)Inc.AllrightsreservedunderInternationalandPan-AmericanCopyrightConventions.Bypaymentoftherequiredfees,youhavebeengrantedthenonexclusive,nontransferablerighttoaccessandreadthetextofthise-bookon-screen.Nopartofthistextmaybereproduced,transmitted,downloaded,decompiled,reverse-engineered,orstoredinorintroducedintoanyinformationstorageandretrievalsystem,inanyformorbyanymeans,whetherelectronicormechanical,nowknownorhereinafterinvented,withouttheexpresswrittenpermissionofHarperCollinse-books.