Three Act Tragedy

AgathaChristie
ThreeActTragedy
AHerculePoirotMystery
DedicatedtoMyFriends,GeoffreyandVioletShipston
Contents
Cover
TitlePage
Dedication
FirstAct:Suspicion
1Crow’sNest2IncidentBeforeDinner3SirCharlesWonders4AModernElaine5FlightfromaLady
SecondAct:Certainty
1SirCharlesReceivesaLetter2TheMissingButler3WhichofThem?4TheEvidenceoftheServants5IntheButler’sRoom6ConcerninganInkStain7PlanofCampaign
ThirdAct:Discovery
1Mrs.Babbington2LadyMary3ReenterHerculePoirot4AWatchingBrief5DivisionofLabour6CynthiaDacres7CaptainDacres8AngelaSutcliffe9MurielWills10OliverManders11PoirotGivesaSherryParty12DayatGilling13Mrs.DeRushbridger14MissMilray15Curtain
AbouttheAuthor
OtherBooksbyAgathaChristie
Copyright
AboutthePublisher
Directedby
SirCharlesCartwright
AssistantDirectors
Mr.Satterthwaite
MissHermioneLyttonGore
Clothesby
AmbrosineLtd
Illuminationby
HerculePoirot
FIRSTACT
SUSPICION
One
CROW’SNEST
Mr.Satterthwaitesatontheterraceof“Crow’sNest”andwatchedhishost,SirCharlesCartwright,climbingupthepathfromthesea.
Crow’sNestwasamodernbungalowofthebettertype.Ithadnohalf-timbering,nogables,noexcrescencesdeartoathird-classbuilder’sheart.Itwasaplainwhitesolidbuilding—deceptiveastosize,sinceitwasagooddealbiggerthanitlooked.Itoweditsnametoitsposition,highup,overlookingtheharbourofLoomouth.Indeedfromonecorneroftheterrace,protectedbyastrongbalustrade,therewasasheerdroptotheseabelow.ByroadCrow’sNestwasamilefromthetown.Theroadraninlandandthenzigzaggedhighupabovethesea.Onfootitwasaccessibleinsevenminutesbythesteepfisherman’spaththatSirCharlesCartwrightwasascendingatthisminute.
SirCharleswasawell-built,sunburntmanofmiddleage.Heworeoldgreyflanneltrousersandawhitesweater.Hehadaslightrollinggait,andcarriedhishandshalfclosedashewalked.Ninepeopleoutoftenwouldsay,“RetiredNavalman—can’tmistakethetype.”Thetenth,andmorediscerning,wouldhavehesitated,puzzledbysomethingindefinablethatdidnotringtrue.Andthenperhapsapicturewouldrise,unsought:thedeckofaship—butnotarealship—ashipcurtailedbyhangingcurtainsofthickrichmaterial—aman,CharlesCartwright,standingonthatdeck,lightthatwasnotsunlightstreamingdownonhim,thehandshalfclenched,theeasygaitandavoice—theeasypleasantvoiceofanEnglishsailorandgentleman,agreatdealmagnifiedintone.
“No,sir,”CharlesCartwrightwassaying,“I’mafraidIcan’tgiveyouanyanswertothatquestion.”
Andswishfelltheheavycurtains,upsprangthelights,anorchestraplungedintothelatestsyncopatedmeasure,girlswithexaggeratedbowsintheirhairsaid,“Chocolates?Lemonade?”ThefirstactofTheCalloftheSea,withCharlesCartwrightasCommanderVanstone,wasover.
Fromhispostofvantage,lookingdown,Mr.Satterthwaitesmiled.
Adried-uplittlepipkinofaman,Mr.Satterthwaite,apatronofartandthedrama,adeterminedbutpleasantsnob,alwaysincludedinthemoreimportanthousepartiesandsocialfunctions(thewords“andMr.Satterthwaite”appearedinvariablyatthetailofalistofguests).Withalamanofconsiderableintelligenceandaveryshrewdobserverofpeopleandthings.
Hemurmurednow,shakinghishead,“Iwouldn’thavethoughtit.No,really,Iwouldn’thavethoughtit.”
Astepsoundedontheterraceandheturnedhishead.Thebiggrey-hairedmanwhodrewachairforwardandsatdownhadhisprofessionclearlystampedonhiskeen,kindly,middle-agedface.“Doctor”and“HarleyStreet.”SirBartholomewStrangehadsucceededinhisprofession.Hewasawell-knownspecialistinnervousdisorders,andhadrecentlyreceivedaknighthoodintheBirthdayHonourslist.
HedrewhischairforwardbesidethatofMr.Satterthwaiteandsaid:
“Whatwouldn’tyouhavethought?Eh?Let’shaveit.”
WithasmileMr.Satterthwaitedrewattentiontothefigurebelowrapidlyascendingthepath.
“Ishouldn’thavethoughtSirCharleswouldhaveremainedcontentedsolongin—er—exile.”
“ByJove,nomoreshouldI!”Theotherlaughed,throwingbackhishead.“I’veknownCharlessincehewasaboy.WewereatOxfordtogether.He’salwaysbeenthesame—abetteractorinprivatelifethanonthestage!Charlesisalwaysacting.Hecan’thelpit—it’ssecondnaturetohim.Charlesdoesn’tgooutofaroom—he‘makesanexit’—andheusuallyhastohaveagoodlinetomakeiton.Allthesame,helikesachangeofpart—nonebetter.Twoyearsagoheretiredfromthestage—saidhewantedtoliveasimplecountrylife,outoftheworld,andindulgehisoldfancyforthesea.Hecomesdownhereandbuildsthisplace.Hisideaofasimplecountrycottage.Threebathroomsandallthelatestgadgets!Iwaslikeyou,Satterthwaite,Ididn’tthinkitwouldlast.Afterall,Charlesishuman—heneedshisaudience.Twoorthreeretiredcaptains,abunchofoldwomenandaparson—that’snotmuchofahousetoplayto.Ithoughtthe‘simplefellow,withhisloveofthesea,’wouldrunforsixmonths.Then,frankly,Ithoughthe’dtireofthepart.IthoughtthenextthingtofillthebillwouldbethewearymanoftheworldatMonteCarlo,orpossiblyalairdintheHighlands—he’sversatile,Charlesis.”
Thedoctorstopped.Ithadbeenalongspeech.Hiseyeswerefullofaffectionandamusementashewatchedtheunconsciousmanbelow.Inacoupleofminuteshewouldbewiththem.
“However,”SirBartholomewwenton,“itseemswewerewrong.Theattractionofthesimplelifeholds.”
“Amanwhodramatiseshimselfissometimesmisjudged,”pointedoutMr.Satterthwaite.“Onedoesnottakehissinceritiesseriously.”
Thedoctornodded.
“Yes,”hesaidthoughtfully.“That’strue.”
WithacheerfulhallooCharlesCartwrightranupthestepsontotheterrace.
“Mirabellesurpassedherself,”hesaid.“Yououghttohavecome,Satterthwaite.”
Mr.Satterthwaiteshookhishead.HehadsufferedtoooftencrossingtheChanneltohaveanyillusionsaboutthestrengthofhisstomachafloat.HehadobservedtheMirabellefromhisbedroomwindowthatmorning.TherehadbeenastiffsailingbreezeandMr.Satterthwaitehadthankedheavendevoutlyfordryland.
SirCharleswenttothedrawingroomwindowandcalledfordrinks.
“Yououghttohavecome,Tollie,”hesaidtohisfriend.“Don’tyouspendhalfyourlifesittinginHarleyStreettellingyourpatientshowgoodlifeontheoceanwavewouldbeforthem?”
“Thegreatmeritofbeingadoctor,”saidSirBartholomew,“isthatyouarenotobligedtofollowyourownadvice.”
SirCharleslaughed.Hewasstillunconsciouslyplayinghispart—thebluffbreezyNavalman.Hewasanextraordinarilygood-lookingman,beautifullyproportioned,withaleanhumorousface,andthetouchofgreyathistemplesgavehimakindofaddeddistinction.Helookedwhathewas—agentlemanfirstandanactorsecond.
“Didyougoalone?”askedthedoctor.
“No,”SirCharlesturnedtotakehisdrinkfromasmartparlourmaidwhowasholdingatray.“Ihada‘hand.’ThegirlEgg,tobeexact.”
Therewassomething,somefainttraceofself-consciousnessinhisvoicewhichmadeMr.Satterthwaitelookupsharply
“MissLyttonGore?Sheknowssomethingaboutsailing,doesn’tshe?”
SirCharleslaughedratherruefully.
“Shesucceedsinmakingmefeelacompletelandlubber;butI’mcomingon—thankstoher.”
ThoughtsslippedquicklyinandoutofMr.Satterthwaite’smind.
“Iwonder—EggLyttonGore—perhapsthat’swhyhehasn’ttired—theage—adangerousage—it’salwaysayounggirlatthattimeoflife….”
SirCharleswenton:“Thesea—there’snothinglikeit—sunandwindandsea—andasimpleshantytocomehometo.”
Andhelookedwithpleasureatthewhitebuildingbehindhim,equippedwiththreebathrooms,hotandcoldwaterinallthebedrooms,thelatestsystemofcentralheating,thenewestelectricalfittingsandastaffofparlourmaid,housemaid,chef,andkitchenmaid.SirCharles’sinterpretationofsimplelivingwas,perhaps,atrifleexaggerated.
Atallandexceedinglyuglywomanissuedfromthehouseandboredownuponthem.
“Goodmorning,MissMilray.”
“Goodmorning,SirCharles.Goodmorning”(aslightinclinationoftheheadtowardstheothertwo).“Thisisthemenufordinner.Idon’tknowwhetheryouwouldlikeitalteredinanyway?”
SirCharlestookitandmurmured:
“Let’ssee.MelonCantaloupe,BorschtSoup,FreshMackerel,Grouse,SouffléSurprise,CanapéDiane…No,Ithinkthatwilldoexcellently,MissMilray.Everyoneiscomingbythefourthirtytrain.”
“IhavealreadygivenHolgatehisorders.Bytheway,SirCharles,ifyouwillexcuseme,itwouldbebetterifIdinedwithyoutonight.”
SirCharleslookedstartled,butsaidcourteously:
“Delighted,Iamsure,MissMilray—but—er—”
MissMilrayproceededcalmlytoexplain
“Otherwise,SirCharles,itwouldmakethirteenattable;andsomanypeoplearesuperstitious.”
FromhertoneitcouldbegatheredthatMissMilraywouldhavesatdownthirteentodinnereverynightofherlifewithouttheslightestqualm.Shewenton:
“Ithinkeverythingisarranged.IhavetoldHolgatethecaristofetchLadyMaryandtheBabbingtons.Isthatright?”
“Absolutely.JustwhatIwasgoingtoaskyoutodo.”
Withaslightlysuperiorsmileonherruggedcountenance,MissMilraywithdrew
“That,”saidSirCharlesreverently,“isaveryremarkablewoman.I’malwaysafraidshe’llcomeandbrushmyteethforme.”
“Efficiencypersonified,”saidStrange.
“She’sbeenwithmeforsixyears,”saidSirCharles.“FirstasmysecretaryinLondon,andhere,Isuppose,she’sakindofglorifiedhousekeeper.Runsthisplacelikeclockwork.Andnow,ifyouplease,she’sgoingtoleave.”
“Why?”
“Shesays”—SirCharlesrubbedhisnosedubiously—“shesaysshe’sgotaninvalidmother.PersonallyIdon’tbelieveit.Thatkindofwomanneverhadamotheratall.Spontaneouslygeneratedfromadynamo.No,there’ssomethingelse.”
“Quiteprobably,”saidSirBartholomew,“peoplehavebeentalking.”
“Talking?”Theactorstared.“Talking—whatabout?”
“MydearCharles.Youknowwhattalkingmeans.”
“Youmeantalkingabouther—andme?Withthatface?Andatherage?”
“She’sprobablyunderfifty.”
“Isupposesheis,”SirCharlesconsideredthematter.“Butseriously,Tollie,haveyounoticedherface?It’sgottwoeyes,anoseandamouth,butit’snotwhatyouwouldcallaface—notafemaleface.Themostscandal-lovingoldcatintheneighbourhoodcouldn’tseriouslyconnectsexualpassionwithafacelikethat.”
“YouunderratetheimaginationoftheBritishspinster.”
SirCharlesshookhishead.
“Idon’tbelieveit.There’sakindofhideousrespectabilityaboutMissMilraythatevenaBritishspinstermustrecognize.Sheisvirtueandrespectabilitypersonified—andadamnedusefulwoman.Ialwayschoosemysecretariesplainassin.”
“Wiseman.”
SirCharlesremaineddeepinthoughtforsomeminutes.Todistracthim,SirBartholomewasked:“Who’scomingthisafternoon?”
“Angie,forone.”
“AngelaSutcliffe?That’sgood.”
Mr.Satterthwaiteleanedforwardinterestedly,keentoknowthecompositionofthehouseparty.AngelaSutcliffewasawell-knownactress,nolongeryoung,butwithastrongholdonthepublicandcelebratedforherwitandcharm.ShewassometimesspokenofasEllenTerry’ssuccessor.
“ThentherearetheDacres.”
AgainMr.Satterthwaitenoddedtohimself.Mrs.DacreswasAmbrosine,Ltd,thatsuccessfuldressmakingestablishment.Yousawitonprogrammes—“MissBlank’sdressesinthefirstactbyAmbrosineLtd,BrookStreet.”Herhusband,CaptainDacres,wasadarkhorseinhisownracingparlance.Hespentalotoftimeonracecourses—hadriddenhimselfintheGrandNationalinyearsgoneby.Therehadbeensometrouble—nobodyknewexactly—thoughrumourshadbeenspreadabout.Therehadbeennoinquiry—nothingovert,butsomehowatmentionofFreddieDacrespeople’seyebrowswentupalittle.
“Thenthere’sAnthonyAstor,theplaywright.”
“Ofcourse,”saidMr.Satterthwaite.“ShewroteOne-WayTraffic.Isawittwice.Itmadeagreathit.”
HeratherenjoyedshowingthatheknewthatAnthonyAstorwasawoman.
“That’sright,”saidSirCharles.“Iforgetwhatherrealnameis—Wills,Ithink.I’veonlymetheronce.IaskedhertopleaseAngela.That’sthelot—ofthehouseparty,Imean.”
“Andthelocals?”askedthedoctor.
“Oh,thelocals!Well,therearetheBabbingtons—he’stheparson,quiteagoodfellow,nottooparsonical,andhiswife’sareallynicewoman.Lecturesmeongardening.They’recoming—andLadyMaryandEgg.That’sall.Oh,yes,there’sayoungfellowcalledManders,he’sajournalist,orsomething.Good-lookingyoungfellow.Thatcompletestheparty.”
Mr.Satterthwaitewasamanofmethodicalnature.Hecountedheads.
“MissSutcliffe,one,theDacres,three,AnthonyAstor,four,LadyMaryandherdaughter,six,theparsonandhiswife,eight,theyoungfellownine,ourselvestwelve.EitheryouorMissMilraymusthavecountedwrong,SirCharles.”
“Itcouldn’tbeMissMilray,”saidSirCharleswithassurance.“Thatwoman’sneverwrong.Letmesee:Yes,byJove,you’reright.Ihavemissedoutoneguest.He’dslippedmymemory.”
Hechuckled.“Wouldn’tbebestpleasedatthat,either.ThefellowisthemostconceitedlittledevilIevermet.”
Mr.Satterthwaite’seyestwinkled.Hehadalwaysbeenoftheopinionthatthevainestmenincreationwereactors.HedidnotexemptSirCharlesCartwright.Thisinstanceofthepotcallingthekettleblackamusedhim.
“Whoistheegoist?”heasked.
“Rumlittlebeggar,”saidSirCharles.“Ratheracelebratedlittlebeggar,though.Youmayhaveheardofhim.HerculePoirot.He’saBelgian.”
“Thedetective,”saidMr.Satterthwaite.“Ihavemethim.Ratheraremarkablepersonage.”
“He’sacharacter,”saidSirCharles
“I’venevermethim,”saidSirBartholomew,“butI’veheardagooddealabouthim.Heretiredsometimeago,though,didn’the?ProbablymostofwhatI’veheardislegend.Well,Charles,Ihopeweshan’thaveacrimethisweekend.”
“Why?Becausewe’vegotadetectiveinthehouse?Ratherputtingthecartbeforethehorse,aren’tyou,Tollie?”
“Well,it’sbywayofbeingatheoryofmine.”
“Whatisyourtheory,doctor?”askedMr.Satterthwaite.
“Thateventscometopeople—notpeopletoevents.Whydosomepeoplehaveexcitinglivesandotherpeopledullones?Becauseoftheirsurroundings?Notatall.Onemanmaytraveltotheendsoftheearthandnothingwillhappentohim.Therewillbeamassacreaweekbeforehearrives,andanearthquakethedayafterheleaves,andtheboatthathenearlytookwillbeshipwrecked.AndanothermanmayliveatBalhamandtraveltotheCityeveryday,andthingswillhappentohim.Hewillbemixedupwithblackmailinggangsandbeautifulgirlsandmotorbandits.Therearepeoplewithatendencytoshipwrecks—eveniftheygoonaboatonanornamentallakesomethingwillhappentoit.InthesamewaymenlikeyourHerculePoirotdon’thavetolookforcrime—itcomestothem.”
“Inthatcase,”saidMr.Satterthwaite,“perhapsitisaswellthatMissMilrayisjoiningus,andthatwearenotsittingdownthirteentodinner.”
“Well,”saidSirCharleshandsomely,“youcanhaveyourmurder,Tollie,ifyou’resokeenonit.Imakeonlyonestipulation—thatIshan’tbethecorpse.”
And,laughing,thethreemenwentintothehouse.
Two
INCIDENTBEFOREDINNER
TheprincipalinterestofMr.Satterthwaite’slifewaspeople.
Hewasonthewholemoreinterestedinwomenthanmen.Foramanlyman,Mr.Satterthwaiteknewfartoomuchaboutwomen.Therewasawomanishstraininhischaracterwhichlenthiminsightintothefemininemind.Womenallhislifehadconfidedinhim,buttheyhadnevertakenhimseriously.Sometimeshefeltalittlebitteraboutthis.Hewas,hefelt,alwaysinthestallswatchingtheplay,neveronthestagetakingpartinthedrama.Butintruthther?leofonlookersuitedhimverywell.
Thisevening,sittinginthelargeroomgivingontotheterrace,cleverlydecoratedbyamodernfirmtoresembleaship’scabindeluxe,hewasprincipallyinterestedintheexactshadeofhairdyeattainedbyCynthiaDacres.Itwasanentirelynewtone—straightfromParis,hesuspected—acuriousandratherpleasingeffectofgreenishbronze.WhatMrs.Dacresreallylookedlikeitwasimpossibletotell.Shewasatallwomanwithafigureperfectlydisciplinedtothedemandsofthemoment.Herneckandarmswereherusualshadeofsummertanforthecountry—whethernaturallyorartificiallyproduceditwasimpossibletotell.ThegreenishbronzehairwassetinacleverandnovelstylethatonlyLondon’sbesthairdressercouldachieve.Herpluckedeyebrows,darkenedlashes,exquisitivelymade-upface,andmouthlipstickedtoacurvethatitsnaturallystraightlinedidnotpossess,seemedalladjunctstotheperfectionofhereveninggownofadeepandunusualblue,cutverysimplyitseemed(thoughthiswasludicrouslyfarfromthecase)andofanunusualmaterial—dull,butwithhiddenlightsinit.
“That’sacleverwoman,”saidMr.Satterthwaite,eyeingherwithapproval.“Iwonderwhatshe’sreallylike.”
Butthistimehemeantinmind,notinbody.
Herwordscamedrawlingly,inthemodeofthemoment.
“Mydear,itwasn’tpossible.Imean,thingseitherarepossibleorthey’renot.Thiswasn’t.Itwassimplypenetrating.”
Thatwasthenewwordjustnow—everythingwas“penetrating.”
SirCharleswasvigorouslyshakingcocktailsandtalkingtoAngelaSutcliffe,atall,grey-hairedwomanwithamischievousmouthandfineeyes.
DacreswastalkingtoBartholomewStrange.
“Everyoneknowswhat’swrongwitholdLadisbourne.Thewholestableknows.”
Hespokeinahighclippedvoice—alittlered,foxymanwithashortmoustacheandslightlyshiftyeyes.
BesideMr.SatterthwaitesatMissWills,whoseplay,One-WayTraffic,hadbeenacclaimedasoneofthemostwittyanddaringseeninLondonforsomeyears.MissWillswastallandthin,witharecedingchinandverybadlywavedfairhair.Sheworepince-nez,andwasdressedinexceedinglylimpgreenchiffon.Hervoicewashighandundistinguished.
“IwenttotheSouthofFrance,”shesaid.“But,really,Ididn’tenjoyitverymuch.Notfriendlyatall.Butofcourseit’susefultomeinmywork—toseeallthegoings-on,youknow.”
Mr.Satterthwaitethought:“Poorsoul.Cutoffbysuccessfromherspiritualhome—aboardinghouseinBournemouth.That’swhereshe’dliketobe.”Hemarvelledatthedifferencebetweenwrittenworksandtheirauthors.Thatcultivated“man-of-the-world”tonethatAnthonyAstorimpartedtohisplays—whatfaintestsparkofitcouldbeperceivedinMissWills?Thenhenoticedthatthepaleblueeyesbehindthepince-nezweresingularlyintelligent.Theywereturnedonhimnowwithanappraisinglookthatslightlydisconcertedhim.ItwasasthoughMissWillswerepainstakinglylearninghimbyheart.
SirCharleswasjustpouringoutthecocktails.
“Letmegetyouacocktail,”saidMr.Satterthwaite,springingup.
MissWillsgiggled.
“Idon’tmindifIdo,”shesaid.
ThedooropenedandTempleannouncedLadyMaryLyttonGoreandMr.andMrs.BabbingtonandMissLyttonGore.
Mr.SatterthwaitesuppliedMissWillswithhercocktailandthensidledintotheneighbourhoodofLadyMaryLyttonGore.Ashasbeenstatedbefore,hehadaweaknessfortitles.
Also,apartfromsnobbishness,helikedagentlewoman,andthatLadyMarymostundeniablywas.
Leftasawidowverybadlyoffwithachildofthree,shehadcometoLoomouthandtakenasmallcottagewhereshehadlivedwithonedevotedmaideversince.Shewasatallthinwoman,lookingolderthanherfifty-fiveyears.Herexpressionwassweetandrathertimid.Sheadoredherdaughter,butwasalittlealarmedbyher.
HermioneLyttonGore,usuallyknownforsomeobscurereasonasEgg,borelittleresemblancetohermother.Shewasofamoreenergetictype.Shewasnot,Mr.Satterthwaitedecided,beautiful,butshewasundeniablyattractive.Andthecauseofthatattraction,hethought,layinheraboundingvitality.Sheseemedtwiceasaliveasanyoneinthatroom.Shehaddarkhair,andgreyeyesandwasofmediumheight.Itwassomethinginthewaythehaircurledcrisplyinherneck,inthestraightglanceofthegreyeyes,inthecurveofthecheek,intheinfectiouslaughthatgaveonethatimpressionofriotousyouthandvitality.
ShestoodtalkingtoOliverManders,whohadjustarrived.
“Ican’tthinkwhysailingboresyousomuch.Youusedtolikeit.”
“Egg—mydear.Onegrowsup.”
Hedrawledthewords,raisinghiseyebrows.
Ahandsomeyoungfellow,twenty-fiveataguess.Something,perhaps,alittlesleekabouthisgoodlooks.Somethingelse—something—wasitforeign?SomethingunEnglishabouthim.
SomebodyelsewaswatchingOliverManders.Alittlemanwithanegg-shapedheadandveryforeign-lookingmoustaches.Mr.SatterthwaitehadrecalledhimselftoM.HerculePoirot’smemory.Thelittlemanhadbeenveryaffable.Mr.Satterthwaitesuspectedhimofdeliberatelyexaggeratinghisforeignmannerisms.Hissmalltwinklyeyesseemedtosay,“Youexpectmetobethebuffoon?Toplaythecomedyforyou?Bien—itshallbeasyouwish!”
ButtherewasnotwinklenowinHerculePoirot’seyes.Helookedgraveandalittlesad.
TheRev.StephenBabbington,rectorofLoomouth,cameandjoinedLadyMaryandMr.Satterthwaite.Hewasamanofsixtyodd,withkindfadedeyesandadisarmingdiffidentmanner.HesaidtoMr.Satterthwaite:
“WeareveryluckytohaveSirCharleslivingamongus.Hehasbeenmostkind—mostgenerous.Averypleasantneighbourtohave.LadyMaryagrees,Iamsure.”
LadyMarysmiled.
“Ilikehimverymuch.Hissuccesshasn’tspoilthim.Inmanywaysheis,”hersmiledeepened,“achildstill.”
TheparlourmaidapproachedwiththetrayofcocktailsasMr.Satterthwaitereflectedhowunendinglymaternalwomenwere.BeingoftheVictoriangeneration,heapprovedthattrait.
“Youcanhaveacocktail,Mums,”saidEgg,flashinguptothem,glassinhand.“Justone.”
“Thankyou,dear,”saidLadyMarymeekly.
“Ithink,”saidMr.Babbington,“thatmywifewouldallowmetohaveone.”
Andhelaughedalittlegentleclericallaugh.
Mr.SatterthwaiteglancedoveratMrs.Babbington,whowastalkingearnestlytoSirCharlesonthesubjectofmanure.
“She’sgotfineeyes,”hethought.
Mrs.Babbingtonwasabiguntidywoman.Shelookedfullofenergyandlikelytobefreefrompetty-mindedness.AsCharlesCartwrighthadsaid—anicewoman.
“Tellme,”LadyMaryleanedforward.“Whoistheyoungwomanyouweretalkingtowhenwecamein—theoneingreen?”
“That’stheplaywright—AnthonyAstor.”
“What?That—thatanaemic-lookingyoungwoman?Oh!”Shecaughtherselfup.“Howdreadfulofme.Butitwasasurprise.Shedoesn’tlook—Imeanshelooksexactlylikeaninefficientnurserygoverness.”
ItwassuchanaptdescriptionofMissWills’appearancethatMr.Satterthwaitelaughed.Mr.Babbingtonwaspeeringacrosstheroomwithamiableshortsightedeyes.Hetookasipofhiscocktailandchokedalittle.Hewasunusedtococktails,thoughtMr.Satterthwaiteamusedly—probablytheyrepresentedmodernitytohismind—buthedidn’tlikethem.Mr.Babbingtontookanotherdeterminedmouthfulwithaslightlywryfaceandsaid:
“Isittheladyoverthere?Ohdear—”
Hishandwenttohisthroat.
EggLyttonGore’svoicerangout:
“Oliver—youslipperyShylock—”
“Ofcourse,”thoughtMr.Satterthwaite,“that’sit—notforeign—Jew!”
Whatahandsomepairtheymade.Bothsoyoungandgood-looking…andquarrelling,too—alwaysahealthysign….
Hewasdistractedbyasoundathisside.Mr.Babbingtonhadrisentohisfeetandwasswayingtoandfro.Hisfacewasconvulsed.
ItwasEgg’sclearvoicethatdrewtheattentionoftheroom,thoughLadyMaryhadrisenandstretchedoutananxioushand.
“Look,”saidEgg’svoice.“Mr.Babbingtonisill.”
SirBartholomewStrangecameforwardhurriedly,supportingthestrickenmanandhalfliftinghimtoacouchatonesideoftheroom.Theotherscrowdedround,anxioustohelp,butimpotent….
TwominuteslaterStrangestraightenedhimselfandshookhishead.Hespokebluntly,awarethatitwasnousetobeataboutthebush.
“I’msorry,”hesaid.“He’sdead….”
Three
SIRCHARLESWONDERS
“Comeinhereaminute,Satterthwaite,willyou?”
SirCharlespokedhisheadoutofthedoor.
Anhourandahalfhadpassed.Toconfusionhadsucceededpeace.LadyMaryhadledtheweepingMrs.Babbingtonoutoftheroomandhadfinallygonehomewithhertothevicarage.MissMilrayhadbeenefficientwiththetelephone.Thelocaldoctorhadarrivedandtakencharge.Asimplifieddinnerhadbeenserved,andbymutualconsentthehousepartyhadretiredtotheirroomsafterit.Mr.SatterthwaitehadbeenmakinghisownretreatwhenSirCharleshadcalledtohimfromthedooroftheShiproomwherethedeathhadtakenplace.
Mr.Satterthwaitepassedin,repressingaslightshiverashedidso.Hewasoldenoughnottolikethesightofdeath…Forsoon,perhaps,hehimself…Butwhythinkofthat?
“I’mgoodforanothertwentyyears,”saidMr.Satterthwaiterobustlytohimself.
TheonlyotheroccupantoftheShiproomwasBartholomewStrange.HenoddedapprovalatthesightofMr.Satterthwaite.
“Goodman,”hesaid.“WecandowithSatterthwaite.Heknowslife.”
Alittlesurprised,Mr.Satterthwaitesatdowninanarmchairnearthedoctor.SirCharleswaspacingupanddown.Hehadforgottenthesemi-clenchingofhishandsandlookeddefinitelylessnaval.
“Charlesdoesn’tlikeit,”saidSirBartholomew.“PooroldBabbington’sdeath,Imean.”
Mr.Satterthwaitethoughtthesentimentillexpressed.Surelynobodycouldbeexpectedto“like”whathadoccurred.HerealizedthatStrangehadquiteanothermeaningfromthebaldonethewordsconveyed.
“Itwasverydistressing,”saidMr.Satterthwaite,cautiouslyfeelinghisway.“Verydistressingindeed,”headdedwithareminiscentshiver.
“H’m,yes,itwasratherpainful,”saidthephysician,theprofessionalaccentcreepingforamomentintohisvoice.
Cartwrightpausedinhispacing.
“Everseeanyonediequitelikethatbefore,Tollie?”
“No,”saidSirBartholomewthoughtfully.“Ican’tsaythatIhave.
“But,”headdedinamomentortwo,“Ihaven’treallyseenasmanydeathsasyoumightsuppose.Anervespecialistdoesn’tkilloffmanyofhispatients.Hekeeps’emaliveandmakeshisincomeoutofthem.MacDougalhasseenfarmoredeceasesthanIhave,Idon’tdoubt.”
Dr.MacDougalwastheprincipaldoctorinLoomouth,whomMissMilrayhadsummoned.
“MacDougaldidn’tseethismandie.Hewasdeadwhenhearrived.Therewasonlywhatwecouldtellhim,whatyoucouldtellhim.Hesaiditwassomekindofseizure,saidBabbingtonwaselderly,andhishealthwasnonetoogood.Thatdoesn’tsatisfyme.”
“Probablydidn’tsatisfyhim,”gruntedtheother.“Butadoctorhastosaysomething.Seizureisagoodword—meansnothingatall,butsatisfiesthelaymind.And,afterall,Babbingtonwaselderly,andhishealthhadbeengivinghimtroublelately;hiswifetoldusso.Theremayhavebeensomeunsuspectedweaknesssomewhere.”
“Wasthatatypicalfitorseizure,orwhateveryoucallit?”
“Typicalofwhat?”
“Ofanyknowndisease?”
“Ifyou’deverstudiedmedicine,”saidSirBartholomew,“you’dknowthatthereishardlyanysuchthingasatypicalcase.”
“What,precisely,areyousuggesting,SirCharles?”askedMr.Satterthwaite.
Cartwrightdidnotanswer.Hemadeavaguegesturewithhishand.Strangegaveaslightchuckle.
“Charlesdoesn’tknowhimself,”hesaid.“It’sjusthismindturningnaturallytothedramaticpossibilities.”
SirCharlesmadeareproachfulgesture.Hisfacewasabsorbed—thoughtful.Heshookhisheadslightlyinanabstractedmanner.
AnelusiveresemblanceteasedMr.Satterthwaite—thenhegotit.AristideDuval,theheadoftheSecretService,unravellingthetangledplotof“UndergroundWires.”Inanotherminutehewassure.SirCharleswaslimpingunconsciouslyashewalked.AristideDuvalhadbeenknownasTheManWithaLimp.
SirBartholomewcontinuedtoapplyruthlesscommonsensetoSirCharles’sunformulatedsuspicions.
“Yes,whatdoyoususpect,Charles?Suicide?Murder?Whowantstomurderaharmlessoldclergyman?It’sfantastic.Suicide?Well,Isupposethatisapoint.OnemightperhapsimagineareasonforBabbingtonwantingtomakeawaywithhimself—”
“Whatreason?”
SirBartholomewshookhisheadgently.
“Howcanwetellthesecretsofthehumanmind?Justonesuggestion—supposethatBabbingtonhadbeentoldhesufferedfromanincurabledisease—suchascancer.Somethingofthatkindmightsupplyamotive.Hemightwishtosparehiswifethepainofwatchinghisownlong-drawn-outsuffering.That’sonlyasuggestion,ofcourse.There’snothingonearthtomakeusthinkthatBabbingtondidwanttoputanendtohimself.”
“Iwasn’tthinkingsomuchofsuicide,”beganSirCharles.
BartholomewStrangeagaingavehislowchuckle.
“Exactly.You’renotoutforprobability.Youwantsensation—newanduntraceablepoisoninthecocktails.”
SirCharlesmadeanexpressivegrimace.
“I’mnotsosureIdowantthat.Damnitall,Tollie,rememberImixedthosecocktails.”
“Suddenattackofhomicidalmania,eh?Isupposethesymptomsaredelayedinourcase,butwe’llallbedeadbeforemorning.”
“Damnitall,youjoke,but—”SirCharlesbrokeoffirritably.
“I’mnotreallyjoking,”saidthephysician.
Hisvoicehadaltered.Itwasgrave,andnotunsympathetic.
“I’mnotjokingaboutpooroldBabbington’sdeath.I’mcastingfunatyoursuggestions,Charles,because—well—becauseIdon’twantyou,thoughtlessly,todoharm.”
“Harm?”demandedSirCharles.
“PerhapsyouunderstandwhatI’mdrivingat,Mr.Satterthwaite?”
“Ithink,perhaps,Icanguess,”saidMr.Satterthwaite.
“Don’tyousee,Charles,”wentonSirBartholomew,“thatthoseidlesuspicionsofyoursmightbedefinitelyharmful?Thesethingsgetabout.Avaguesuggestionoffoulplay,totallyunfounded,mightcauseserioustroubleandpaintoMrs.Babbington.I’veknownthingsofthatkindhappenonceortwice.Asuddendeath—afewidletongueswagging—rumoursflyingallroundtheplace—rumoursthatgoongrowing—andthatnoonecanstop.Damnitall,Charles,don’tyouseehowcruelandunnecessaryitwouldbe?You’remerelyindulgingyourvividimaginationinagallopoverawhollyspeculativecourse.”
Alookofirresolutionappearedontheactor’sface.
“Ihadn’tthoughtofitlikethat,”headmitted.
“You’reathunderinggoodchap,Charles,butyoudoletyourimaginationrunawaywithyou.Comenow:doyouseriouslybelieveanyone,anyoneatall,wouldwanttomurderthatperfectlyharmlessoldman?”
“Isupposenot,”saidSirCharles.“No,asyousay,it’sridiculous.Sorry,Tollie,butitwasn’treallyamere‘stunt’onmypart.Ididgenuinelyhavea‘hunch’thatsomethingwaswrong.”
Mr.Satterthwaitegavealittlecough.
“MayImakeasuggestion?Mr.Babbingtonwastakenillaveryfewmomentsafterenteringtheroomandjustafterdrinkinghiscocktail.Now,Ididhappentonoticehemadeawryfacewhendrinking.Iimaginedbecausehewasunusedtothetaste.ButsupposingthatSirBartholomew’stentativesuggestioniscorrect—thatMr.Babbingtonmayforsomereasonhavewishedtocommitsuicide.Thatdoesstrikemeasjustpossible,whereasthesuggestionofmurderseemsquiteridiculous.
“Ifeelthatitispossible,thoughnotprobable,thatMr.Babbingtonintroducedsomethingintothatglassunseenbyus.
“NowIseethatnothinghasyetbeentouchedinthisroom.Thecocktailglassesareexactlywheretheywere.ThisisMr.Babbington’s.Iknow,becauseIwassittingheretalkingtohim.IsuggestthatSirBartholomewshouldgettheglassanalysed—thatcanbedonequitequietlyandwithoutcausingany‘talk.’”
SirBartholomewroseandpickeduptheglass.
“Right,”hesaid.“I’llhumouryousofar,Charles,andI’llbetyoutenpoundstoonethatthere’snothinginitbuthonest-to-Godginandvermouth.”
“Done,”saidSirCharles.
Thenheaddedwitharuefulsmile:
“Youknow,Tollie,youarepartlyresponsibleformyflightsoffancy.”
“I?”
“Yes,withyourtalkofcrimethismorning.Yousaidthisman,HerculePoirot,wasakindofstormypetrel,thatwherehewentcrimesfollowed.Nosoonerdoeshearrivethanwehaveasuspiciouslysuddendeath.Ofcoursemythoughtsflytomurderatonce.”
“Iwonder,”saidMr.Satterthwaite,andstopped.
“Yes,”saidCharlesCartwright.“I’dthoughtofthat.Whatdoyouthink,Tollie?Couldweaskhimwhathethinksofitall?Isitetiquette,Imean?”
“Anicepoint,”murmuredMr.Satterthwaite.
“Iknowmedicaletiquette,butI’mhangedifIknowanythingabouttheetiquetteofdetection.”
“Youcan’taskaprofessionalsingertosing,”murmuredMr.Satterthwaite.“Canoneaskaprofessionaldetectivetodetect?Yes,averynicepoint.”
“Justanopinion,”saidSirCharles.
Therewasagentletaponthedoor,andHerculePoirot’sfaceappeared,peeringinwithanapologeticexpression.
“Comein,man,”criedSirCharles,springingup.“Wewerejusttalkingofyou.”
“IthoughtperhapsImightbeintruding.”
“Notatall.Haveadrink.”
“Ithankyou,no.Iseldomdrinkthewhisky.Aglassofsirop,now—”
ButsiropwasnotincludedinSirCharles’sconceptionofdrinkablefluids.Havingsettledhisguestinachair,theactorwentstraighttothepoint.
“I’mnotgoingtobeataboutthebush,”hesaid.“Wewerejusttalkingofyou,M.Poirot,and—and—ofwhathappenedtonight.Lookhere,doyouthinkthere’sanythingwrongaboutit?”
Poirot’seyebrowsrose.Hesaid:
“Wrong?Howdoyoumeanthat—wrong?”
BartholomewStrangesaid,“MyfriendhasgotanideaintohisheadthatoldBabbingtonwasmurdered.”
“Andyoudonotthinkso—eh?”
“We’dliketoknowwhatyouthink.”
Poirotsaidthoughtfully:
“Hewastakenill,ofcourse,verysuddenly—verysuddenlyindeed.”
“Justso.”
Mr.Satterthwaiteexplainedthetheoryofsuicideandhisownsuggestionofhavingacocktailglassanalysed.
Poirotnoddedapproval.
“That,atanyrate,candonoharm.Asajudgeofhumannature,itseemstomeunlikelyintheextremethatanyonecouldwishtodoawaywithacharmingandharmlessoldgentleman.Stilllessdoesthesolutionofsuicideappealtome.However,thecocktailglasswilltellusonewayoranother.”
“Andtheresultoftheanalysis,youthink,willbe—what?”
Poirotshruggedhisshoulders.
“Me?Icanonlyguess.Youaskmetoguesswhatwillbetheresultoftheanalysis?”
“Yes—?”
“ThenIguessthattheywillfindonlytheremainsofaveryexcellentdryMartini.”(HebowedtoSirCharles.)“Topoisonamaninacocktail,oneofmanyhandedroundonatray—well,itwouldbeatechniquevery—very—difficult.Andifthatcharmingoldclergymanwantedtocommitsuicide,Idonotthinkhewoulddoitataparty.Thatwouldshowaverydecidedlackofconsiderationforothers,andMr.Babbingtonstruckmeasaveryconsiderateperson.”Hepaused.“That,sinceyouaskme,ismyopinion.”
Therewasamoment’ssilence.ThenSirCharlesgaveadeepsigh.Heopenedoneofthewindowsandlookedout.
“Wind’sgoneroundapoint,”hesaid
ThesailorhadcomebackandtheSecretServicedetectivehaddisappeared.
ButtotheobservantMr.SatterthwaiteitseemedasthoughSirCharleshankeredslightlyaftertheparthewasnot,afterall,toplay.
Four
AMODERNELAINE
“Yes,butwhatdoyouthink,Mr.Satterthwaite?Reallythink?”
Mr.Satterthwaitelookedthiswayandthat.Therewasnoescape.EggLyttonGorehadgothimsecurelycorneredonthefishingquay.Merciless,thesemodernyoungwomen—andterrifyinglyalive.
“SirCharleshasputthisideaintoyourhead,”hesaid.
“No,hehasn’t.Itwastherealready.It’sbeentherefromthebeginning.Itwassofrightfullysudden.”
“Hewasanoldman,andhishealthwasn’tverygood—”
Eggcuttherecitalshort.
“That’salltripe.Hehadneuritisandatouchofrheumatoidarthritis.Thatdoesn’tmakeyoufalldowninafit.Heneverhadfits.Hewasthesortofgentlecreakinggatethatwouldhavelivedtobeninety.Whatdidyouthinkoftheinquest?”
“Itallseemedquite—er—normal.”
“WhatdidyouthinkofDr.MacDougal’sevidence?Frightfullytechnical,andallthat—closedescriptionoftheorgans—butdidn’titstrikeyouthatbehindallthatbombardmentofwordshewashedging?Whathesaidamountedtothis:thattherewasnothingtoshowdeathhadnotarisenfromnaturalcauses.Hedidn’tsayitwastheresultofnaturalcauses.”
“Aren’tyousplittinghairsalittle,mydear?”
“Thepointisthathedid—hewaspuzzled,buthehadnothingtogoupon,sohehadtotakerefugeinmedicalcaution.WhatdidSirBartholomewStrangethink?”
Mr.Satterthwaiterepeatedsomeofthephysician’sdictums.
“Pooh-poohedit,didhe?”saidEggthoughtfully.“Ofcourse,he’sacautiousman—IsupposeaHarleyStreetbigbughastobe.”
“Therewasnothinginthecocktailglassbutginandvermouth,”Mr.Satterthwaiteremindedher.
“Thatseemstosettleit.Allthesame,somethingthathappenedaftertheinquestmademewonder—”
“SomethingSirBartholomewsaidtoyou?”
Mr.Satterthwaitebegantofeelapleasantcuriosity.
“Nottome—toOliver.OliverManders—hewasatdinnerthatnight,butperhapsyoudon’trememberhim.”
“Yes,Irememberhimverywell.Isheagreatfriendofyours?”
“Usedtobe.Nowwescrapmostofthetime.He’sgoneintohisuncle’sofficeinthecity,andhe’sgetting—well,abitoily,ifyouknowwhatImean.Alwaystalksofchuckingitandbeingajournalist—hewritesratherwell.ButIdon’tthinkit’sanymorethantalknow.Hewantstogetrich.Ithinkeverybodyisratherdisgustingaboutmoney,don’tyou,Mr.Satterthwaite?”
Heryouthcamehometohimthen—thecrude,arrogantchildishnessofher.
“Mydear,”hesaid,“somanypeoplearedisgustingaboutsomanythings.”
“Mostpeopleareswine,ofcourse,”agreedEggcheerfully.“That’swhyI’mreallycutupaboutoldMr.Babbington.Becauseyousee,hereallywasratherapet.Hepreparedmeforconfirmationandallthat,andthoughofcoursealotofthatbusinessisallbunkum,hereallywasrathersweetaboutit.Yousee,Mr.Satterthwaite,IreallybelieveinChristianity—notlikeMotherdoes,withlittlebooksandearlyservice,andthings—butintelligentlyandasamatterofhistory.TheChurchisallclottedupwiththePaulinetradition—infacttheChurchisamess—butChristianityitselfisallright.That’swhyIcan’tbeacommunistlikeOliver.Inpracticeourbeliefswouldworkoutmuchthesame,thingsincommonandownershipbyall,butthedifference—well,Ineedn’tgointothat.ButtheBabbingtonsreallywereChristians;theydidn’tpokeandpryandcondemn,andtheywereneverunkindaboutpeopleorthings.Theywerepets—andtherewasRobin….”
“Robin?”
“Theirson…HewasoutinIndiaandgotkilled…I—IhadratherapashonRobin….”
Eggblinked.Hergazewentouttosea…
ThenherattentionreturnedtoMr.Satterthwaiteandthepresent.
“So,yousee,Ifeelratherstronglyaboutthis.Supposingitwasn’tanaturaldeath….”
“Mydearchild!”
“Well,it’sdamnedodd!Youmustadmitit’sdamnedodd.”
“ButsurelyyouyourselfhavejustpracticallyadmittedthattheBabbingtonshadn’tanenemyintheworld.”
“That’swhat’ssoqueeraboutit.Ican’tthinkofanyconceivablemotive….”
“Fantastic!Therewasnothinginthecocktail.”
“Perhapssomeonejabbedhimwithahypodermic.”
“ContainingthearrowpoisonoftheSouthAmericanIndians,”suggestedMr.Satterthwaite,gentlyridiculing.
Egggrinned.
“That’sit.Thegoodolduntraceablestuff.Oh,well,you’reallverysuperioraboutit.Someday,perhaps,you’llfindoutweareright.”
“We?”
“SirCharlesandI.”Sheflushedslightly.
Mr.SatterthwaitethoughtinthewordsandmetreofhisgenerationwhenQuotationsforAllOccasionswastobefoundineverybookcase.
“Ofmorethantwiceheryears,Seam’dwithanancientswordcutonthecheek,Andbruisedandbronzed,shelifteduphereyesAndlovedhim,withthatlovewhichwasherdoom.”
Hefeltalittleashamedofhimselfforthinkinginquotations—Tennyson,too,wasverylittlethoughtofnowadays.Besides,thoughSirCharleswasbronzed,hewasnotscarred,andEggLyttonGore,thoughdoubtlesscapableofahealthypassion,didnotlookatalllikelytoperishofloveanddriftaboutriversonabarge.TherewasnothingofthelilymaidofAstolatabouther.
“Except,”thoughtMr.Satterthwaite,“heryouth….”
Girlswerealwaysattractedtomiddle-agedmenwithinterestingpasts.Eggseemedtobenoexceptiontothisrule.
“Whyhasn’theevermarried?”sheaskedabruptly.
“Well…”Mr.Satterthwaitepaused.Hisownanswer,putbluntly,wouldhavebeen,“Caution,”butherealizedthatsuchawordwouldbeunacceptabletoEggLyttonGore.
SirCharlesCartwrighthadhadplentyofaffairswithwomen,actressesandothers,buthehadalwaysmanagedtosteerclearofmatrimony.Eggwasclearlyseekingforamoreromanticexplanation.
“Thatgirlwhodiedofconsumption—someactress,namebeganwithanM—wasn’thesupposedtobeveryfondofher?”
Mr.Satterthwaiterememberedtheladyinquestion.RumourhadcoupledCharlesCartwright’snamewithhers,butonlyveryslightly,andMr.SatterthwaitedidnotforamomentbelievethatSirCharleshadremainedunmarriedinordertobefaithfultohermemory.Heconveyedasmuchtactfully.
“Isupposehe’shadlotsofaffairs,”saidEgg.
“Er—h’m—probably,”saidMr.Satterthwaite,feelingVictorian.
“Ilikementohaveaffairs,”saidEgg.“Itshowsthey’renotqueeroranything.”
Mr.Satterthwaite’sVictorianismsufferedafurtherpang.Hewasatalossforareply.Eggdidnotnoticehisdiscomfiture.Shewentonmusingly.
“Youknow,SirCharlesisreallyclevererthanyou’dthink.Heposesalot,ofcourse,dramatiseshimself;butbehindallthathe’sgotbrains.He’sfarbettersailingaboatthanyou’deverthink,tohearhimtalk.You’dthink,tolistentohim,thatitwasallpose,butitisn’t.It’sthesameaboutthisbusiness.Youthinkit’salldoneforeffect—thathewantstoplaythepartofthegreatdetective.AllIsayis:Ithinkhe’dplayitratherwell.”
“Possibly,”agreedMr.Satterthwaite.
Theinflectionofhisvoiceshowedhisfeelingsclearlyenough.Eggpouncedonthemandexpressedtheminwords.
“Butyourviewisthat‘DeathofaClergyman’isn’tathriller.It’smerely‘RegrettableIncidentataDinnerParty.’Purelyasocialcatastrophe.WhatdidM.Poirotthink?Heoughttoknow.”
“M.Poirotadvisedustowaitfortheanalysisofthecocktail;butinhisopinioneverythingwasquiteallright.”
“Oh,well,”saidEgg,“he’sgettingold.He’sabacknumber.”Mr.Satterthwaitewinced.Eggwenton,unconsciousofbrutality:“ComehomeandhaveteawithMother.Shelikesyou.Shesaidso.”
Delicatelyflattered,Mr.Satterthwaiteacceptedtheinvitation.
OnarrivalEggvolunteeredtoringupSirCharlesandexplainthenonappearanceofhisguest.
Mr.Satterthwaitesatdowninthetinysittingroomwithitsfadedchintzesanditswell-polishedpiecesofoldfurniture.ItwasaVictorianroom,whatMr.Satterthwaitecalledinhisownmindalady’sroom,andheapprovedofit.
HisconversationwithLadyMarywasagreeable,nothingbrilliant,butpleasantlychatty.TheyspokeofSirCharles.DidMr.Satterthwaiteknowhimwell?Notintimately,Mr.Satterthwaitesaid.HehadafinancialinterestinoneofSirCharles’splayssomeyearsago.Theyhadbeenfriendseversince.
“Hehasgreatcharm,”saidLadyMary,smiling.“IfeelitaswellasEgg.Isupposeyou’vediscoveredthatEggissufferingbadlyfromhero-worship?”
Mr.Satterthwaitewonderedif,asamother,LadyMarywasnotmadeslightlyuneasybythathero-worship.Butitdidnotseemso.
“Eggseessolittleoftheworld,”shesaid,sighing.“Wearesobadlyoff.Oneofmycousinspresentedherandtookhertoafewthingsintown,butsincethenshehashardlybeenawayfromhere,exceptforanoccasionalvisit.Youngpeople,Ifeel,shouldseeplentyofpeopleandplaces—especiallypeople.Otherwise—well,propinquityissometimesadangerousthing.”
Mr.Satterthwaiteagreed,thinkingofSirCharlesandthesailing,butthatthiswasnotwhatwasinLadyMary’smind,sheshowedamomentortwolater.
“SirCharles’scominghasdonealotforEgg.Ithaswidenedherhorizon.Yousee,thereareveryfewyoungpeopledownhere—especiallymen.I’vealwaysbeenafraidthatEggmightmarrysomeonesimplyfrombeingthrownwithonepersononlyandseeingnooneelse.”
Mr.Satterthwaitehadaquickintuition
“AreyouthinkingofyoungOliverManders?”
LadyMaryblushediningenuoussurprise
“Oh,Mr.Satterthwaite,Idon’tknowhowyouknew!Iwasthinkingofhim.HeandEggweretogetheralotatonetime,andIknowI’mold-fashioned,butIdon’tlikesomeofhisideas.”
“Youthmusthaveitsfling,”saidMr.Satterthwaite.
LadyMaryshookherhead.
“I’vebeensoafraid—it’squitesuitable,ofcourse,Iknowallabouthim,andhisuncle,whohasrecentlytakenhimintohisfirm,isaveryrichman;it’snotthat—it’ssillyofme—but—”
Sheshookherhead,unabletoexpressherselffurther.
Mr.Satterthwaitefeltcuriouslyintimate.Hesaidquietlyandplainly:
“Allthesame,LadyMary,youwouldn’tlikeyourgirltomarryamantwiceherownage.”
Heranswersurprisedhim.
“Itmightbesaferso.Ifyoudothat,atleastyouknowwhereyouare.Atthatageaman’sfolliesandsinsaredefinitelybehindhim;theyarenot—stilltocome….”
BeforeMr.Satterthwaitecouldsayanymore,Eggrejoinedthem.
“You’vebeenalongtime,darling,”saidhermother.
“IwastalkingtoSirCharles,mysweet.He’sallaloneinhisglory.”SheturnedreproachfullytoMr.Satterthwaite.“Youdidn’ttellmethehousepartyhadflitted.”
“Theywentbackyesterday—allbutSirBartholomewStrange.Hewasstayingtilltomorrow,buthewasrecalledtoLondonbyanurgenttelegramthismorning.Oneofhispatientswasinacriticalcondition.”
“It’sapity,”saidEgg.“BecauseImeanttostudythehouseparty.Imighthavegotaclue.”
“Acluetowhat,darling?”
“Mr.Satterthwaiteknows.Oh,well,itdoesn’tmatter.Oliver’sstillhere.We’llropehimin.He’sgotbrainswhenhelikes.”
WhenMr.SatterthwaitearrivedbackatCrow’sNesthefoundhishostsittingontheterraceoverlookingthesea.
“Hullo,Satterthwaite.BeenhavingteawiththeLyttonGores?”
“Yes.Youdon’tmind?”
“Ofcoursenot.Eggtelephoned…Oddsortofgirl,Egg….”
“Attractive,”saidMr.Satterthwaite.
“H’m,yes,Isupposesheis.”
Hegotupandwalkedafewaimlesssteps.
“IwishtoGod,”hesaidsuddenlyandbitterly,“thatI’dnevercometothiscursedplace.”
Five
FLIGHTFROMALADY
Mr.Satterthwaitethoughttohimself:“He’sgotitbadly.”
Hefeltasuddenpityforhishost.Attheageoffifty-two,CharlesCartwright,thegaydebonairbreakerofhearts,hadfalleninlove.And,ashehimselfrealized,hiscasewasdoomedtodisappointment.Youthturnstoyouth.
“Girlsdon’tweartheirheartsontheirsleeves,”thoughtMr.Satterthwaite.“EggmakesagreatparadeofherfeelingforSirCharles.Shewouldn’tifitreallymeantanything.YoungMandersistheone.”
Mr.Satterthwaitewasusuallyfairlyshrewdinhisassumptions.
Still,therewasprobablyonefactorthathedidnottakeintoaccount,becausehewasunawareofithimself.Thatwastheenhancedvalueplacedbyageonyouth.ToMr.Satterthwaite,anelderlyman,thefactthatEggmightpreferamiddle-agedmantoayoungonewasfranklyincredible.Youthwastohimsomuchthemostmagicalofallgifts.
HefeltstrengthenedinhisbeliefswhenEggrangupafterdinneranddemandedpermissiontobringOliveralongand“haveaconsultation.”
Certainlyahandsomelad,withhisdark,heavy-liddedeyesandeasygraceofmovement.Hehad,itseemed,permittedhimselftobebrought—atributetoEgg’senergy;buthisgeneralattitudewaslazilysceptical.
“Can’tyoutalkheroutofit,sir?”hesaidtoSirCharles.“It’sthisappallinglyhealthybucoliclifesheleadsthatmakeshersoenergetic.Youknow,Egg,youreallyaredetestablyhearty.Andyourtastesarechildish—crime—sensation—andallthatbunk.”
“You’reasceptic,Manders?”
“Well,sir,really.Thatdearoldbleatingfellow.It’sfantastictothinkofanythingelsebutnaturalcauses.”
“Iexpectyou’reright,”saidSirCharles.
Mr.Satterthwaiteglancedathim.WhatpartwasCharlesCartwrightplayingtonight.Nottheex-Navalman—nottheinternationaldetective.No,somenewandunfamiliarr?le.
ItcameasashocktoMr.Satterthwaitewhenherealizedwhatthatr?lewas.SirCharleswasplayingsecondfiddle.SecondfiddletoOliverManders.
Hesatbackwithhisheadinshadowwatchingthosetwo,EggandOliver,astheydisputed—Egghotly,Oliverlanguidly
SirCharleslookedolderthanusual—oldandtired.
MorethanonceEggappealedtohim—hotlyandconfidently—buthisresponsewaslacking.
Itwaseleveno’clockwhentheyleft.SirCharleswentoutontheterracewiththemandofferedtheloanofanelectrictorchtohelpthemdownthestonypath.
Buttherewasnoneedofatorch.Itwasabeautifulmoonlitnight.Theysetofftogether,theirvoicesgrowingfainterastheydescended.
Moonlightornomoonlight,Mr.Satterthwaitewasnotgoingtoriskachill.HereturnedtotheShiproom.SirCharlesstayedoutontheterracealittlewhilelonger.
Whenhecameinhelatchedthewindowbehindhim,andstridingtoasidetablepouredhimselfoutawhiskyandsoda.
“Satterthwaite,”hesaid,“I’mleavingheretomorrowforgood.”
“What?”criedMr.Satterthwaite,astonished.
AkindofmelancholypleasureattheeffecthehadproducedshowedforaminuteonCharlesCartwright’sface.
“It’stheOnlyThingToDo,”hesaid,obviouslyspeakingincapitalletters.“Ishallsellthisplace.Whatithasmeanttomenoonewilleverknow.”Hisvoicedropped,lingeringly…effectively.
Afteraneveningofsecondfiddle,SirCharles’segoismwastakingitsrevenge.ThiswasthegreatRenunciationScene,sooftenplayedbyhiminsundryanddiversdramas.GivingUptheOtherMan’sWife,RenouncingtheGirlheLoved.
Therewasabraveflippancyinhisvoiceashewenton.
“Cutyourlosses—it’stheonlyway…Youthtoyouth…They’remadeforeachother,thosetwo…Ishallclearout….”
“Whereto?”askedMr.Satterthwaite.
Theactormadeacarelessgesture.
“Anywhere.Whatdoesitmatter?”Headdedwithaslightchangeofvoice,“ProbablyMonteCarlo.”Andthen,retrievingwhathissensitivetastecouldnotbutfeeltobeaslightanticlimax,“Intheheartofthedesertortheheartofthecrowd—whatdoesitmatter?Theinmostcoreofmanissolitary—alone.Ihavealwaysbeen—alonelysoul….”
Itwasclearlyanexitline.
HenoddedtoMr.Satterthwaiteandlefttheroom.
Mr.Satterthwaitegotupandpreparedtofollowhishosttobed.
“Butitwon’tbetheheartofadesert,”hethoughttohimselfwithaslightchuckle.
OnthefollowingmorningSirCharlesbeggedMr.Satterthwaitetoforgivehimifhewentuptotownthatday.
“Don’tcutyourvisitshort,mydearfellow.Youwerestayingtilltomorrow,andIknowyou’regoingontotheHarbertonsatTavistock.Thecarwilltakeyouthere.WhatIfeelisthat,havingcometomydecision,Imustn’tlookback.No,Imustn’tlookback.”
SirCharlessquaredhisshoulderswithmanlyresolution,wrungMr.Satterthwaite’shandwithfervouranddeliveredhimovertothecapableMissMilray.
MissMilrayseemedpreparedtodealwiththesituationasshehaddealtwithanyother.SheexpressednosurpriseoremotionatSirCharles’sovernightdecision.NorcouldMr.Satterthwaitedrawheroutonthepoint.NeithersuddendeathsnorsuddenchangesofplancouldexciteMissMilray.Sheacceptedwhateverhappenedasafactandproceededtocopewithitinanefficientway.Shetelephonedtothehouseagents,despatchedwiresabroad,andwrotebusilyonhertypewriter.Mr.Satterthwaiteescapedfromthedepressingspectacleofsomuchefficiencybystrollingdowntothequay.Hewaswalkingaimlesslyalongwhenhewasseizedbythearmfrombehind,andturnedtoconfrontawhite-facedgirl.
“What’sallthis?”demandedEggfiercely.
“Allwhat?”parriedMr.Satterthwaite
“It’sallovertheplacethatSirCharlesisgoingaway—thathe’sgoingtosellCrow’sNest.”
“Quitetrue.”
“Heisgoingaway?”
“He’sgone.”
“Oh!”Eggrelinquishedhisarm.Shelookedsuddenlylikeaverysmallchildwhohasbeencruellyhurt.
Mr.Satterthwaitedidnotknowwhattosay.
“Wherehashegone?”
“Abroad.TotheSouthofFrance.”
“Oh!”
Stillhedidnotknowwhattosay.Forclearlytherewasmorethanhero-worshiphere….
Pityingher,hewasturningovervariousconsolatorywordsinhismindwhenshespokeagain—andstartledhim.
“Whichofthosedamnedbitchesisit?”askedEggfiercely.
Mr.Satterthwaitestaredather,hismouthfallenopeninsurprise.Eggtookhimbythearmagainandshookhimviolently.
“Youmustknow,”shecried.“Whichofthem?Thegrey-hairedoneortheother?”
“Mydear,Idon’tknowwhatyou’retalkingabout.”
“Youdo.Youmust.Ofcourseit’ssomewoman.Helikedme—Iknowhelikedme.Oneofthosewomentheothernightmusthaveseenit,too,anddeterminedtogethimawayfromme.Ihatewomen.Lousycats.Didyouseeherclothes—thatonewiththegreenhair?Theymademegnashmyteethwithenvy.Awomanwhohasclotheslikethathasapull—youcan’tdenyit.She’squiteoldanduglyassin,really,butwhatdoesitmatter.Shemakeseveryoneelselooklikeadowdycurate’swife.Isither?Orisittheotheronewiththegreyhair?She’samusing—youcanseethat.She’sgotmassesofS.A.AndhecalledherAngie.Itcan’tbetheonelikeawiltedcabbage.IsitthesmartoneorisitAngie?”
“Mydear,you’vegotthemostextraordinaryideasintoyourhead.He—er—CharlesCartwrightisn’ttheleastinterestedineitherofthosewomen.”
“Idon’tbelieveyou.They’reinterestedinhim,anyway….”
“No,no,no,you’remakingamistake.Thisisallimagination.”
“Bitches,”saidEgg.“That’swhattheyare!”
“Youmustn’tusethatword,mydear.”
“Icanthinkofalotworsethingstosaythanthat.”
“Possibly,possibly,butpraydon’tdoso.Icanassureyouthatyouarelabouringunderamisapprehension.”
“Thenwhyhashegoneaway—likethis?”
Mr.Satterthwaiteclearedhisthroat.
“Ifancyhe—er—thoughtitbest.”
Eggstaredathimpiercingly.
“Doyoumean—becauseofme?”
“Well—somethingofthekind,perhaps.”
“Andsohe’sleggedit.IsupposeIdidshowmyhandabitplainly…Mendohatebeingchased,don’tthey?Mumsisright,afterall…You’venoideahowsweetsheiswhenshetalksaboutmen.Alwaysinthethirdperson—soVictorianandpolite.‘Amanhatesbeingrunafter;agirlshouldalwaysletthemanmaketherunning.’Don’tyouthinkit’sasweetexpression—maketherunning?Soundstheoppositeofwhatitmeans.Actuallythat’sjustwhatCharleshasdone—madetherunning.He’srunningawayfromme.He’safraid.Andthedevilofitis,Ican’tgoafterhim.IfIdidIsupposehe’dtakeaboattothewildsofAfricaorsomewhere.”
“Hermione,”saidMr.Satterthwaite,“areyouseriousaboutSirCharles?”
Thegirlflunghimanimpatientglance.
“OfcourseIam.”
“WhataboutOliverManders?”
EggdismissedOliverManderswithanimpatientwhiskofthehead.Shewasfollowingoutatrainofthoughtofherown
“DoyouthinkImightwritetohim?Nothingalarming.Justchattygirlishstuff…youknow,puthimathisease,sothathe’dgetoverhisscare?”
Shefrowned.
“WhatafoolI’vebeen.Mumswouldhavemanageditmuchbetter.Theyknewhowtodothetrick,thoseVictorians.Allblushingretreat.I’vebeenallwrongaboutit.Iactuallythoughtheneededencouraging.Heseemed—well,heseemedtoneedabitofhelp.Tellme,”sheturnedabruptlyonMr.Satterthwaite,“didheseemedomykissingactwithOliverlastnight?”
“NotthatIknowof.When—?”
“Allinthemoonlight.Asweweregoingdownthepath.Ithoughthewasstilllookingfromtheterrace.IthoughtperhapsifhesawmeandOliver—well,Ithoughtitmightwakehimupabit.Becausehedidlikeme.Icouldswearhelikedme.”
“Wasn’tthatalittlehardonOliver?”
Eggshookherheaddecisively.
“Notintheleast.Oliverthinksit’sanhonourforanygirltobekissedbyhim.Itwasdamnedbadforhisconceit,ofcourse;butonecan’tthinkofeverything.IwantedtogingerupCharles.He’sbeendifferentlately—morestandoffish.”
“Mydearchild,”saidMr.Satterthwaite,“Idon’tthinkyourealizequitewhySirCharleswentawaysosuddenly.HethoughtthatyoucaredforOliver.Hewentawaytosavehimselffurtherpain.”
Eggwhiskedround.ShecaughtholdofMr.Satterthwaitebytheshouldersandpeeredintohisface.
“Isthattrue?Isthatreallytrue?Themutt!Theboob!Oh—!”
ShereleasedMr.Satterthwaitesuddenlyandmovedalongbesidehimwithaskippingmotion.
“Thenhe’llcomeback,”shesaid.“He’llcomeback.Ifhedoesn’t—”
“Well,ifhedoesn’t?”
Egglaughed.
“I’llgethimbacksomehow.YouseeifIdon’t.”
ItseemedasthoughallowingfordifferenceoflanguageEggandthelilymaidofAstolathadmuchincommon,butMr.SatterthwaitefeltthatEgg’smethodswouldbemorepracticalthanthoseofElaine,andthatdyingofabrokenheartwouldformnopartofthem.
SECONDACT
CERTAINTY
One
SIRCHARLESRECEIVESALETTER
Mr.SatterthwaitehadcomeoverforthedaytoMonteCarlo.Hisroundofhousepartieswasover,andtheRivierainSeptemberwasratherafavouritehauntofhis.
Hewassittinginthegardensenjoyingthesunandreadingatwo-days-oldDailyMail.
Suddenlyanamecaughthisattention.Strange.DeathofSirBartholomewStrange.Hereadtheparagraphthrough:
WemuchregrethavingtoannouncethedeathofSirBartholomewStrange,theeminentnervespecialist.SirBartholomewwasentertainingapartyoffriendsathishouseinYorkshire.SirBartholomewappearedtobeinperfecthealthandspirits,andhisdemiseoccurredquitesuddenlyattheendofdinner.Hewaschattingwithhisfriendsanddrinkingaglassofportwhenhehadasuddenseizureanddiedbeforemedicalaidcouldbesummoned.SirBartholomewwillbedeeplyregretted.Hewas….
HerefollowedadescriptionofSirBartholomew’scareerandwork.
Mr.Satterthwaiteletthepaperslipfromhishand.Hewasverydisagreeablyimpressed.Avisionofthephysicianashehadseenhimlastflashedacrosshismind—big,jocund,inthepinkofcondition.Andnow—dead.CertainwordsdetachedthemselvesfromtheircontextandfloatedaboutdisagreeablyinMr.Satterthwaite’smind.“Drinkingaglassofport.”“Suddenseizure…Diedbeforemedicalaidcouldbesummoned….”
Port,notacocktail,butotherwisecuriouslyreminiscentofthatdeathinCornwall.Mr.Satterthwaitesawagaintheconvulsedfaceofthemildoldclergyman….
Supposingthatafterall….
HelookeduptoseeSirCharlesCartwrightcomingtowardshimacrossthegrass
“Satterthwaite,byallthat’swonderful!JustthemanI’dhavechosentosee.HaveyouseenaboutpooroldTollie?”
“Iwasjustreadingitnow.”
SirCharlesdroppedintoachairbesidehim.Hewasimmaculatelygotupinyachtingcostume.Nomoregreyflannelsandoldsweaters.HewasthesophisticatedyachtsmanoftheSouthofFrance.
“Listen,Satterthwaite,Tolliewasassoundasabell.Neverhadanythingwrongwithhim.AmIbeingacompletefancifulass,ordoesthisbusinessremindyouof—of—?”
“OfthatbusinessatLoomouth?Yes,itdoes.Butofcoursewemaybemistaken.Theresemblancemaybeonlysuperficial.Afterall,suddendeathsoccurthewholetimefromavarietyofcauses.”
SirCharlesnoddedhisheadimpatiently.Thenhesaid:
“I’vejustgotaletter—fromEggLyttonGore.”
Mr.Satterthwaiteconcealedasmile.
“Thefirstyou’vehadfromher?”
SirCharleswasunsuspecting.
“No.IhadalettersoonafterIgothere.Itfollowedmeaboutabit.Justgivingmethenewsandallthat.Ididn’tanswerit…Dashitall,Satterthwaite,Ididn’tdareanswerit…Thegirlhadnoidea,ofcourse,butIdidn’twanttomakeafoolofmyself.”
Mr.Satterthwaitepassedhishandoverhismouthwherethesmilestilllingered.
“Andthisone?”heasked.
“Thisisdifferent.It’sanappealforhelp….”
“Help?”Mr.Satterthwaite’seyebrowswentup.
“Shewasthere—yousee—inthehouse—whenithappened.”
“YoumeanshewasstayingwithSirBartholomewStrangeatthetimeofhisdeath?”
“Yes.”
“Whatdoesshesayaboutit?”
SirCharleshadtakenaletterfromhispocket.Hehesitatedforamoment,thenhehandedittoMr.Satterthwaite.
“You’dbetterreaditforyourself.”
Mr.Satterthwaiteopenedoutthesheetwithlivelycuriosity.
“DearSirCharles,—Idon’tknowwhenthiswillgettoyou.Idohopesoon.I’msoworried,Idon’tknowwhattodo.You’llhaveseen,Iexpect,inthepapersthatSirBartholomewStrangeisdead.Well,hediedjustthesamewayasMr.Babbington.Itcan’tbeacoincidence—itcan’t—itcan’t…I’mworriedtodeath….“Lookhere,can’tyoucomehomeanddosomething?Itsoundsabitcrudeputlikethat,butyoudidhavesuspicionsbefore,andnobodywouldlistentoyou,andnowit’syourownfriendwho’sbeenkilled;andperhapsifyoudon’tcomebacknobodywilleverfindoutthetruth,andI’msureyoucould.Ifeelitinmybones….“Andthere’ssomethingelse.I’mworried,definitely,aboutsomeone…Hehadabsolutelynothingtodowithit,Iknowthat,butthingsmightlookabitodd.Oh,Ican’texplaininaletter.Butwon’tyoucomeback?Youcouldfindoutthetruth.Iknowyoucould.“Yoursinhaste,“EGG.”
“Well?”demandedSirCharlesimpatiently.“Abitincoherentofcourse;shewroteitinahurry.Butwhataboutit?”
Mr.Satterthwaitefoldedtheletterslowlytogivehimselfaminuteortwobeforereplying.
Heagreedthattheletterwasincoherent,buthedidnotthinkithadbeenwritteninahurry.Itwas,inhisview,averycarefulproduction.ItwasdesignedtoappealtoSirCharles’svanity,tohischivalry,andtohissportinginstincts.
FromwhatMr.SatterthwaiteknewofSirCharles,thatletterwasacertaindraw.
“Whodoyouthinkshemeansby‘someone,’and‘he’?”heasked.
“Manders,Isuppose.”
“Washethere,then?”
“Musthavebeen.Idon’tknowwhy.Tollienevermethimexceptonthatoneoccasionatmyhouse.Whyheshouldaskhimtostay,Ican’timagine.”
“Didheoftenhavethosebighouseparties?”
“Threeorfourtimesayear.AlwaysonefortheSt.Leger.”
“DidhespendmuchtimeinYorkshire?”
“Hadabigsanatorium—nursinghome,whateveryouliketocallit.HeboughtMelfortAbbey(it’sanoldplace),restoreditandbuiltasanatoriuminthegrounds.”
“Isee.”
Mr.Satterthwaitewassilentforaminuteortwo.Thenhesaid:
“Iwonderwhoelsetherewasinthehouseparty?”
SirCharlessuggestedthatitmightbeinoneoftheothernewspapers,andtheywentofftoinstituteanewspaperhunt.
“Hereweare,”saidSirCharles.
Hereadaloud:
“SirBartholomewStrangeishavinghisusualhousepartyfortheSt.Leger.AmongsttheguestsareLordandLadyEden,LadyMaryLyttonGore,SirJocelynandLadyCampbell,CaptainandMrs.Dacres,andMissAngelaSutcliffe,thewell-knownactress.”
HeandMr.Satterthwaitelookedateachother.
“TheDacresandAngelaSutcliffe,”saidSirCharles.“NothingaboutOliverManders.”
“Let’sgettoday’sContinentalDailyMail,”saidMr.Satterthwaite.“Theremightbesomethinginthat.”
SirCharlesglancedoverthepaper.Suddenlyhestiffened.
“MyGod,Satterthwaite,listentothis:
“SIRBARTHOLOMEWSTRANGE.“AttheinquesttodayonthelateSirBartholomewStrange,averdictofDeathbyNicotinePoisoningwasreturned,therebeingnoevidencetoshowhoworbywhomthepoisonwasadministered.”
Hefrowned.
“Nicotinepoisoning.Soundsmildenough—notthesortofthingtomakeamanfalldowninafit.Idon’tunderstandallthis.”
“Whatareyougoingtodo?”
“Do?I’mgoingtobookaberthontheBlueTraintonight.”
“Well,”saidMr.Satterthwaite,“Imightaswelldothesame.”
“You?”SirCharleswheeledroundonhim,surprised.
“Thissortofthingisratherinmyline,”saidMr.Satterthwaitemodestly.“I’ve—er—hadalittleexperience.Besides,IknowtheChiefConstableinthatpartoftheworldratherwell—ColonelJohnson.Thatwillcomeinuseful.”
“Goodman,”criedSirCharles.“Let’sgoroundtotheWagonLitsoffices.”
Mr.Satterthwaitethoughttohimself:
“Thegirl’sdoneit.She’sgothimback.Shesaidshewould.Iwonderjustexactlyhowmuchofherletterwasgenuine.”
Decidedly,EggLyttonGorewasanopportunist.
WhenSirCharleshadgoneofftotheWagonLitsoffices,Mr.Satterthwaitestrolledslowlythroughthegardens.HismindwasstillpleasantlyengagedwiththeproblemofEggLyttonGore.Headmiredherresourceandherdrivingpower,andstifledthatslightlyVictoriansideofhisnaturewhichdisapprovedofamemberofthefairersextakingtheinitiativeinaffairsoftheheart.
Mr.Satterthwaitewasanobservantman.Inthemidstofhiscogitationsonthefemalesexingeneral,andEggLyttonGoreinparticular,hewasunabletoresistsayingtohimself:
“NowwherehaveIseenthatparticularshapedheadbefore?”
Theowneroftheheadwassittingonaseatgazingthoughtfullyaheadofhim.Hewasalittlemanwhosemoustacheswereoutofproportiontohissize.
Adiscontented-lookingEnglishchildwasstandingnearby,standingfirstononefoot,thentheother,andoccasionallymeditativelykickingthelobeliaedging.
“Don’tdothat,darling,”saidhermother,whowasabsorbedinafashionpaper.
“Ihaven’tanythingtodo,”saidthechild.
Thelittlemanturnedhisheadtolookather,andMr.Satterthwaiterecognizedhim.
“M.Poirot,”hesaid.“Thisisaverypleasantsurprise.”M.Poirotroseandbowed.
“Enchanté,monsieur.”
Theyshookhands,andMr.Satterthwaitesatdown.
“EveryoneseemstobeinMonteCarlo.NothalfanhouragoIranacrossSirCharlesCartwright,andnowyou.”
“SirCharles,healsoishere?”
“He’sbeenyachting.YouknowthathegaveuphishouseatLoomouth?”
“Ah,no,Ididnotknowit.Iamsurprised.”
“Idon’tknowthatIam.Idon’tthinkCartwrightisreallythekindofmanwholikestolivepermanentlyoutoftheworld.”
“Ah,no,Iagreewithyouthere.Iwassurprisedforanotherreason.ItseemedtomethatSirCharleshadaparticularreasonforstayinginLoomouth—averycharmingreason,eh?AmInotright?Thelittledemoisellewhocallsherself,soamusingly,theegg?”
Hiseyesweretwinklinggently.
“Oh,soyounoticedthat?”
“AssuredlyInoticed.Ihavetheheartverysusceptibletolovers—youtoo,Ithink.Andlajeunesse,itisalwaystouching.”
Hesighed.
“Ithink,”saidMr.Satterthwaite,“thatactuallyyouhavehitonSirCharles’sreasonforleavingLoomouth.Hewasrunningaway.”
“FromMademoiselleEgg?Butitisobviousthatheadoresher.Why,then,run?”
“Ah,”saidMr.Satterthwaite,“youdon’tunderstandourAnglo-Saxoncomplexes.”
M.Poirotwasfollowinghisownlineofreasoning.
“Ofcourse,”hesaid,“itisagoodmovetopursue.Runfromawoman—immediatelyshefollows.DoubtlessSirCharles,amanofmuchexperience,knowsthat.”
Mr.Satterthwaitewasratheramused.
“Idon’tthinkitwasquitethatway,”hesaid.“Tellme,whatareyoudoingouthere?Aholiday?”
“Mytimeisallholidaysnowadays.Ihavesucceeded.Iamrich.Iretire.NowItravelaboutseeingtheworld.”
“Splendid,”saidMr.Satterthwaite.
“N’est-cepas?”
“Mummy,”saidtheEnglishchild,“isn’tthereanythingtodo?”
“Darling,”saidhermotherreproachfully,“isn’titlovelytohavecomeabroadandtobeinthebeautifulsunshine?”
“Yes,butthere’snothingtodo.”
“Runabout—amuseyourself.Goandlookatthesea.”
“Maman,”saidaFrenchchild,suddenlyappearing“Joueavecmoi.”
AFrenchmotherlookedupfromherbook
“Amusetoiavectaballe,Marcelle.”
ObedientlytheFrenchchildbouncedherballwithagloomyface.
“Jem’amuse,”saidHerculePoirot;andtherewasaverycuriousexpressiononhisface.
Then,asifinanswertosomethinghereadinMr.Satterthwaite’sface,hesaid:
“Butyet,youhavethequickperceptions.Itisasyouthink—”
Hewassilentforaminuteortwo,thenhesaid:
“Seeyou,asaboyIwaspoor.Thereweremanyofus.Wehadtogetonintheworld.IenteredthePoliceForce.Iworkedhard.SlowlyIroseinthatForce.Ibegantomakeanameformyself.Imadeanameformyself.Ibegantoacquireaninternationalreputation.Atlast,Iwasduetoretire.TherecametheWar.Iwasinjured.Icame,asadandwearyrefugee,toEngland.Akindladygavemehospitality.Shedied—notnaturally;no,shewaskilled.Ehbien,Isetmywitstowork.Iemployedmylittlegreycells.Idiscoveredhermurderer.IfoundthatIwasnotyetfinished.No,indeed,mypowerswerestrongerthanever.Thenbeganmysecondcareer,thatofaprivateinquiryagentinEngland.Ihavesolvedmanyfascinatingandbafflingproblems.Ah,monsieur,Ihavelived!Thepsychologyofhumannature,itiswonderful.Igrewrich.Someday,Isaidtomyself,IwillhaveallthemoneyIneed.Iwillrealizeallmydreams.”
HelaidahandonMr.Satterthwaite’sknee.
“Myfriend,bewareofthedaywhenyourdreamscometrue.Thatchildnearus,doubtlessshetoohasdreamtofcomingabroad—oftheexcitement—ofhowdifferenteverythingwouldbe.Youunderstand?”
“Iunderstand,”saidMr.Satterthwaite,“thatyouarenotamusingyourself.”
Poirotnodded.
“Exactly.”
ThereweremomentswhenMr.SatterthwaitelookedlikePuck.Thiswasoneofthem.Hislittlewrinkledfacetwitchedimpishly.Hehesitated.Shouldhe?Shouldhenot?
Slowlyheunfoldedthenewspaperhewasstillcarrying.
“Haveyouseenthis,M.Poirot?”
Withhisforefingerheindicatedtheparagraphhemeant.
ThelittleBelgiantookthepaper.Mr.Satterthwaitewatchedhimasheread.Nochangecameoverhisface,buttheEnglishmanhadtheimpressionthathisbodystiffened,asdoesthatofaterrierwhenitsniffsarathole.
HerculePoirotreadtheparagraphtwice,thenhefoldedthepaperandreturnedittoMr.Satterthwaite.
“Thatisinteresting,”hesaid.
“Yes.Itlooks,doesitnot,asthoughSirCharlesCartwrighthadbeenrightandwehadbeenwrong.”
“Yes,”saidPoirot.“Itseemsasthoughwehadbeenwrong…Iwilladmitit,myfriend,Icouldnotbelievethatsoharmless,sofriendlyanoldmancouldhavebeenmurdered…Well,itmaybethatIwaswrong…Although,seeyou,thisotherdeathmaybecoincidence.Coincidencesdooccur—themostamazingcoincidences.I,HerculePoirot,haveknowncoincidencesthatwouldsurpriseyou….”
Hepaused,andwenton:
“SirCharlesCartwright’sinstinctmayhavebeenright.Heisanartist—sensitive—impressionable—hefeelsthings,ratherthanreasonsaboutthem…Suchamethodinlifeisoftendisastrous—butitissometimesjustified.IwonderwhereSirCharlesisnow.”
Mr.Satterthwaitesmiled.
“Icantellyouthat.HeisintheofficeoftheWagonLitsCo.HeandIarereturningtoEnglandtonight.”
“Aha!”Poirotputimmensemeaningintotheexclamation.Hiseyes,bright,inquiring,roguish,askedaquestion.“Whatzealhehas,ourSirCharles.Heisdetermined,then,toplaythisr?le,ther?leoftheamateurpoliceman?Oristhereanotherreason?”
Mr.Satterthwaitedidnotreply,butfromhissilencePoirotseemedtodeduceananswer.
“Isee,”hesaid.“ThebrighteyesofMademoiselleareconcernedinthis.Itisnotonlycrimethatcalls?”
“Shewrotetohim,”saidMr.Satterthwaite,“begginghimtoreturn.”
Poirotnodded.
“Iwondernow,”hesaid.“Idonotquiteunderstand—”
Mr.Satterthwaiteinterrupted.
“YoudonotunderstandthemodernEnglishgirl?Well,thatisnotsurprising.Idonotalwaysunderstandthemmyself.AgirllikeMissLyttonGore—”
InhisturnPoirotinterrupted.
“Pardon.Youhavemisunderstoodme.IunderstandMissLyttonGoreverywell.Ihavemetsuchanother—manysuchothers.Youcallthetypemodern;butitis—howshallIsay?—agelong.”
Mr.Satterthwaitewasslightlyannoyed.Hefeltthathe—andonlyhe—understoodEgg.ThispreposterousforeignerknewnothingaboutyoungEnglishwomanhood
Poirotwasstillspeaking.Histonewasdreamy—brooding.
“Aknowledgeofhumannature—whatadangerousthingitcanbe.”
“Ausefulthing,”correctedMr.Satterthwaite.
“Perhaps.Itdependsuponthepointofview.”
“Well—”Mr.Satterthwaitehesitated—gotup.Hewasalittledisappointed.Hehadcastthebaitandthefishhadnotrisen.Hefeltthathisownknowledgeofhumannaturewasatfault.“Iwillwishyouapleasantholiday.”
“Ithankyou.”
“IhopethatwhenyouarenextinLondonyouwillcomeandseeme.”Heproducedacard.“Thisismyaddress.”
“Youaremostamiable,Mr.Satterthwaite.Ishallbecharmed.”
“Good-byeforthepresent,then.”
“Good-bye,andbonvoyage.”
Mr.Satterthwaitemovedaway.Poirotlookedafterhimforamomentortwo,thenoncemorehestaredstraightaheadofhim,lookingoutovertheblueMediterranean.
Sohesatforatleasttenminutes.
TheEnglishchildreappeared.
“I’velookedatthesea,Mummy.WhatshallIdonext?”
“Anadmirablequestion,”saidHerculePoirotunderhisbreath.
Heroseandwalkedslowlyaway—inthedirectionoftheWagonLitsoffices.
Two
THEMISSINGBUTLER
SirCharlesandMr.SatterthwaiteweresittinginColonelJohnson’sstudy.Thechiefconstablewasabigred-facedmanwithabarrack-roomvoiceandaheartymanner.
HehadgreetedMr.SatterthwaitewitheverysignofpleasureandwasobviouslydelightedtomaketheacquaintanceofthefamousCharlesCartwright.
“Mymissusisagreatplaygoer.She’soneofyour—whatdotheAmericanscallit?—fans.That’sit—fans.Ilikeagoodplaymyself—goodcleanstuffthatis,someofthethingstheyputonthestagenowadays—faugh!”
SirCharles,consciousofrectitudeinthisrespect—hehadneverputon“daring”plays,respondedsuitablywithallhiseasycharmofmanner.WhentheycametomentiontheobjectoftheirvisitColonelJohnsonwasonlytooreadytotellthemallhecould.
“Friendofyours,yousay?Toobad—toobad.Yes,hewasverypopularroundhere.Thatsanatoriumofhisisveryhighlyspokenof,andbyallaccountsSirBartholomewwasafirst-ratefellow,aswellasbeingatthetopofhisprofession.Kind,generous,popularallround.Lastmanintheworldyou’dexpecttobemurdered—andmurderiswhatitlookslike.There’snothingtoindicatesuicide,andanythinglikeaccidentseemsoutofthequestion.”
“SatterthwaiteandIhavejustcomebackfromabroad,”saidSirCharles.“We’veonlyseensnippetshereandthereinthepapers.”
“Andnaturallyyouwanttoknowallaboutit.Well,I’lltellyouexactlyhowthematterstands.Ithinkthere’snodoubtthebutler’sthemanwe’vegottolookfor.Hewasanewman—SirBartholomewhadonlyhadhimafortnight,andthemomentafterthecrimehedisappears—vanishesintothinair.Thatlooksabitfishy,doesn’tit?Eh,what?”
“You’venonotionwherehewent?”
ColonelJohnson’snaturallyredfacegotalittleredder.
“Negligenceonourpart,youthink.Iadmititdamn’welllookslikeit.Naturallythefellowwasunderobservation—justthesameaseveryoneelse.Heansweredourquestionsquitesatisfactorily—gavetheLondonagencywhichobtainedhimtheplace.Lastemployer,SirHoraceBird.Allverycivilspoken,nosignsofpanic.Nextthingwashe’dgone—andthehouseunderobservation.I’vehauledmymenoverthecoals,buttheysweartheydidn’tbataneyelid.”
“Veryremarkable,”saidMr.Satterthwaite.
“Apartfromeverythingelse,”saidSirCharlesthoughtfully,“itseemsadamn’foolthingtodo.Asfarasheknew,themanwasn’tsuspected.Byboltinghedrawsattentiontohimself.”
“Exactly.Andnotahopeofescape.Hisdescription’sbeencirculated.It’sonlyamatterofdaysbeforehe’spulledin.”
“Veryodd,”saidSirCharles.“Idon’tunderstandit.”
“Oh,thereason’sclearenough.Helosthisnerve.Gotthewindupsuddenly.”
“Wouldn’tamanwhohadthenervetocommitmurderhavethenervetositstillafterward?”
“Depends.Depends.Iknowcriminals.Chicken-livered,mostofthem.Hethoughthewassuspected,andhebolted.”
“Haveyouverifiedhisownaccountofhimself?”
“Naturally,SirCharles.That’splainroutinework.LondonAgencyconfirmshisstory.HehadawrittenreferencefromSirHoraceBird,recommendinghimwarmly.SirHoracehimselfisinEastAfrica.”
“Sothereferencemighthavebeenforged?”
“Exactly,”saidColonelJohnson,beaminguponSirCharles,withtheairofaschoolmastercongratulatingabrightpupil.“We’vewiredtoSirHorace,ofcourse,butitmaybesomelittletimebeforewegetareply.He’sonsafari.”
“Whendidthemandisappear?”
“Morningafterthedeath.Therewasadoctorpresentatthedinner—SirJocelynCampbell—bitofatoxicologist,Iunderstand;heandDavis(localman)agreedoverthecase,andourpeoplewerecalledinimmediately.Weinterviewedeverybodythatnight.Ellis(that’sthebutler)wenttohisroomasusualandwasmissinginthemorning.Hisbedhadn’tbeensleptin.”
“Heslippedawayundercoverofthedarkness?”
“Seemsso.Oneoftheladiesstayingthere,MissSutcliffe,theactress—youknowher,perhaps?”
“Verywell,indeed.”
“MissSutcliffehasmadeasuggestiontous.Shesuggestedthatthemanhadleftthehousethroughasecretpassage.”Heblewhisnoseapologetically.“SoundsratherEdgarWallacestuff,butitseemstherewassuchathing.SirBartholomewwasratherproudofit.HeshowedittoMissSutcliffe.Theendofitcomesoutamongsomefallenmasonryabouthalfamileaway.”
“Thatwouldbeapossibleexplanation,certainly,”agreedSirCharles.“Only—wouldthebutlerknowoftheexistenceofsuchapassage?”
“That’sthepoint,ofcourse.Mymissusalwayssaysservantsknoweverything.Daresayshe’sright.”
“Iunderstandthepoisonwasnicotine,”saidMr.Satterthwaite.
“That’sright.Mostunusualstufftouse,Ibelieve.Comparativelyrare.Iunderstandifaman’saheavysmoker,suchasthedoctorwas,itwouldtendtocomplicatematters.Imean,hemighthavediedofnicotinepoisoninginanaturalway.Only,ofcourse,thisbusinesswastoosuddenforthat.”
“Howwasitadministered?”
“Wedon’tknow,”admittedColonelJohnson.“That’sgoingtobetheweakpartofthecase.Accordingtomedicalevidence,itcouldonlyhavebeenswallowedafewminutesprevioustodeath.”
“Theyweredrinkingport,Iunderstand?”
“Exactly.Seemsasthoughthestuffwasintheport;butitwasn’t.Weanalysedhisglass.Thatglasshadcontainedport,andnothingbutport.Theotherwineglasseshadbeencleared,ofcourse,buttheywereallonatrayinthepantry,unwashed,andnotoneofthemcontainedanythingitshouldn’t.Asforwhatheate,itwasthesameaseverybodyelsehad.Soup,grilledsole,pheasantandchippedpotatoes,chocolatesoufflé,softroesontoast.Hiscook’sbeenwithhimfifteenyears.No,theredoesn’tseemtobeanywayhecouldhavebeengiventhestuff,andyetthereitisinthestomach.It’sanastyproblem.”
SirCharleswheeledroundonMr.Satterthwaite.
“Thesamething,”hesaidexcitedly.“Exactlythesameasbefore.”
Heturnedapologeticallytothechiefconstable.
“Imustexplain.AdeathoccurredatmyhouseinCornwall—”
ColonelJohnsonlookedinterested.
“IthinkI’veheardaboutthat.Fromayounglady—MissLyttonGore.”
“Yes,shewasthere.Shetoldyouaboutit?”
“Shedid.Shewasverysetonhertheory.But,youknow,SirCharles,Ican’tbelievethere’sanythinginthattheory.Itdoesn’texplaintheflightofthebutler.Yourmandidn’tdisappearbyanychance?”
“Haven’tgotaman—onlyaparlourmaid.”
“Shecouldn’thavebeenamanindisguise?”
ThinkingofthesmartandobviouslyfeminineTemple,SirCharlessmiled.
ColonelJohnsonalsosmiledapologetically.
“Justanidea,”hesaid.“No,Ican’tsayIputmuchrelianceinMissLyttonGore’stheory.Iunderstandthedeathinquestionwasanelderlyclergyman.Whowouldwanttoputanoldclergymanoutoftheway?”
“That’sjustthepuzzlingpartofit,”saidSirCharles.
“Ithinkyou’llfindit’sjustcoincidence.Dependonit,thebutler’sourman.Verylikelyhe’saregularcriminal.Unluckilywecan’tfindanyofhisfingerprints.Wehadafingerprintexpertgooverhisbedroomandthebutler’spantry,buthehadnoluck.”
“Ifitwasthebutler,whatmotivecanyousuggest?”
“That,ofcourse,isoneofourdifficulties,”admittedColonelJohnson.“Themanmighthavebeentherewithintenttosteal,andSirBartholomewmighthavecaughthimout.”
BothSirCharlesandMr.Satterthwaiteremainedcourteouslysilent.ColonelJohnsonhimselfseemedtofeelthatthesuggestionlackedplausibility.
“Thefactofthematteris,onecanonlytheorize.Oncewe’vegotJohnEllisunderlockandkeyandhavefoundoutwhoheis,andwhetherhe’severbeenthroughourhandsbefore—well,themotivemaybeasclearasday.”
“You’vebeenthroughSirBartholomew’spapers,Isuppose?”
“Naturally,SirCharles.We’vegiventhatsideofthecaseeveryattention.ImustintroduceyoutoSuperintendentCrossfield,whohaschargeofthecase.Amostreliableman.Ipointedouttohim,andhewasquicktoagreewithme,thatSirBartholomew’sprofessionmighthavehadsomethingtodowiththecrime.Adoctorknowsmanyprofessionalsecrets.SirBartholomew’spaperswereallneatlyfiledanddocketed—hissecretary,MissLyndon,wentthroughthemwithCrossfield.”
“Andtherewasnothing?”
“Nothingatallsuggestive,SirCharles.”
“Wasanythingmissingfromthehouse—silver,jewellery,anythinglikethat?”
“Nothingwhatsoever.”
“Whoexactlywasstayinginthehouse?”
“I’vegotalist—nowwhereisit?Ah,IthinkCrossfieldhasit.YoumustmeetCrossfield;asamatteroffact,I’mexpectinghimanyminutenowtoreport”—asabellwent—“that’sprobablythemannow.”
SuperintendentCrossfieldwasalarge,solid-lookingman,ratherslowofspeech,butwithafairlykeenblueeye.
Hesalutedhissuperiorofficer,andwasintroducedtothetwovisitors.
ItispossiblethathadMr.SatterthwaitebeenalonehewouldhavefoundithardtomakeCrossfieldunbend.Crossfielddidn’tholdwithgentlemenfromLondon—amateurscomingdownwith“ideas.”SirCharles,however,wasadifferentmatter.SuperintendentCrossfieldhadachildishreverencefortheglamourofthestage.HehadtwiceseenSirCharlesact,andtheexcitementandraptureofseeingthisheroofthefootlightsinaflesh-and-bloodmannermadehimasfriendlyandloquaciousascouldbewished.
“IsawyouinLondon,sir,Idid.Iwasupwiththewife.LordAintree’sDilemma—that’swhattheplaywas.Inthepit,Iwas—andthehousewascrowdedout—wehadtostandtwohoursbeforehand.Butnothingelsewoulddoforthewife.‘ImustseeSirCharlesCartwrightinLordAintree’sDilemma,’shesaid.AtthePallMallTheatre,itwas.”
“Well,”saidSirCharles,“I’veretiredfromthestagenow,asyouknow.ButtheystillknowmynameatthePallMall.”Hetookoutacardandwroteafewwordsonit.“YougivethistothepeopleattheboxofficenexttimeyouandMrs.Crossfieldarehavingajaunttotown,andthey’llgiveyouacoupleofthebestseatsgoing.”
“Itakethatverykindlyofyou,SirCharles—verykindly,indeed.MywifewillbeallworkedupwhenItellheraboutthis.”
AfterthisSuperintendentCrossfieldwasaswaxintheexactor’shands.
“It’sanoddcase,sir.Nevercomeacrossacaseofnicotinepoisoningbeforeinallmyexperience.NomorehasourDoctorDavis.”
“Ialwaysthoughtitwasakindofdiseaseyougotfromoversmoking.”
“Totellthetruth,sodidI,sir.Butthedoctorsaysthatthepurealkaloidisanodourlessliquid,andthatafewdropsofitareenoughtokillamanalmostinstantaneously.”
SirCharleswhistled.
“Potentstuff.”
“Asyousay,sir.Andyetit’sincommonuse,asyoumightsay.Solutionsareusedtosprayroseswith.Andofcourseitcanbeextractedfromordinarytobacco.”
“Roses,”saidSirCharles.“Now,wherehaveIheard—?”
Hefrowned,thenshookhishead.
“Anythingfreshtoreport,Crossfield?”askedColonelJohnson.
“Nothingdefinite,sir.We’vehadreportsthatourmanEllishasbeenseenatDurham,atIpswich,atBalham,atLand’sEnd,andadozenotherplaces.That’sallgottobesiftedoutforwhatit’sworth.”Heturnedtotheothertwo.“Themomentaman’sdescriptioniscirculatedaswanted,he’sseenbysomeonealloverEngland.”
“Whatistheman’sdescription?”askedSirCharles.
Johnsontookupapaper.
“JohnEllis,mediumheight,sayfive-footseven,stoopsslightly,greyhair,smallsidewhiskers,darkeyes,huskyvoice,toothmissinginupperjaw,visiblewhenhesmiles,nospecialmarksorcharacteristics.”
“H’m,”saidSirCharles.“Verynondescript,barthesidewhiskersandthetooth,andthefirstwillbeoffbynow,andyoucan’trelyonhissmiling.”
“Thetroubleis,”saidCrossfield,“thatnobodyobservesanything.ThedifficultyIhadingettinganythingbutthevaguestdescriptionoutofthemaidsattheAbbey.It’salwaysthesame.I’vehaddescriptionsofoneandthesameman,andhe’sbeencalledtall,thin,short,stout,mediumheight,thickset,slender—notoneinfiftyreallyusestheireyesproperly.”
“You’resatisfiedinyourownmind,Superintendent,thatEllisistheman?…”
“Whyelsedidhebolt,sir?Youcan’tgetawayfromthat.”
“That’sthestumblingblock,”saidSirCharlesthoughtfully.
CrossfieldturnedtoColonelJohnsonandreportedthemeasuresthatwerebeingtaken.TheColonelnoddedapprovalandthenaskedtheSuperintendentforthelistofinmatesoftheAbbeyonthenightofthecrime.Thiswashandedtothetwonewinquirers.Itranasfollows:
MARTHALECKIE,cook.BEATRICECHURCH,upper-housemaid.DORISCOKER,under-housemaid.VICTORIABALL,between-maid.ALICEWEST,parlourmaid.VIOLETBASSINGTON,kitchenmaid.(Abovehaveallbeeninserviceofdeceasedforsometimeandbeargoodcharacter.Mrs.Leckiehasbeenthereforfifteenyears.)
GLADYSLYNDON—secretary,thirty-three,hasbeensecretarytoSirBartholomewStrangeforthreeyears,cangivenoinformationastolikelymotive.Guests:LORDANDLADYEDEN,187CadoganSquare.SIRJOCELYNandLADYCAMPBELL,1256HarleyStreet.MISSANGELASUTCLIFFE,28CantrellMansions,S.W.3.CAPTAINandMRS.DACRES,3St.John’sHouse,W.1.(Mrs.DacrescarriesonbusinessasAmbrosine,Ltd,BrookStreet.)LADYMARYandMISSHERMIONELYTTONGORE,RoseCottage,Loomouth.MISSMURIELWILLS,5UpperCathcartRoad,Tooting.MR.OLIVERMANDERS,MessrsSpeier&Ross,OldBroadStreet,E.C.2.
“H’m,”saidSirCharles.“TheTootingtouchwasomittedbythepapers.IseeyoungManderswasthere,too.”
“That’sbywayofbeinganaccident,sir,”saidSuperintendentCrossfield.“TheyounggentlemanranhiscarintoawalljustbytheAbbey,andSirBartholomew,whoIunderstoodwasslightlyacquaintedwithhim,askedhimtostaythenight.”
“Carelessthingtodo,”saidSirCharlescheerfully.
“Itwasthat,sir,”saidtheSuperintendent.“Infact,Ifancymyselftheyounggentlemanmusthavehadoneovertheeight,asthesayinggoes.WhatmadehimramthewalljustwherehedidIcan’timagine,ifhewassoberatthetime.”
“Justhighspirits,Iexpect,”saidSirCharles.
“Spiritsitwas,inmyopinion,sir.”
“Well,thankyouverymuch,Superintendent.AnyobjectiontoourgoingandhavingalookattheAbbey,ColonelJohnson?”
“Ofcoursenot,mydearsir.ThoughI’mafraidyouwon’tlearnmuchmoretherethanIcantellyou.”
“Anybodythere?”
“Onlythedomesticstaff,sir,”saidCrossfield.“Thehousepartyleftimmediatelyaftertheinquest,andMissLyndonhasreturnedtoHarleyStreet.”
“Wemight,perhaps,seeDr.—er—Davis,too?”suggestedMr.Satterthwaite.
“Goodidea.”
Theyobtainedthedoctor’saddress,andhavingthankedColonelJohnsonwarmlyforhiskindness,theyleft.
Three
WHICHOFTHEM?
Astheywalkedalongthestreet,SirCharlessaid:
“Anyideas,Satterthwaite?”
“Whataboutyou?”askedMr.Satterthwaite.Helikedtoreservejudgmentuntilthelastpossiblemoment.
NotsoSirCharles.Hespokeemphatically:
“They’rewrong,Satterthwaite.They’reallwrong.They’vegotthebutleronthebrain.Thebutler’sdoneabunk—ergo,thebutler’sthemurderer.Itdoesn’tfit.No,itdoesn’tfit.Youcan’tleavethatotherdeathoutofaccount—theonedownatmyplace.”
“You’restilloftheopinionthatthetwoareconnected?”
Mr.Satterthwaiteaskedthequestion,thoughhehadalreadyanswereditintheaffirmativeinhisownmind.
“Man,theymustbeconnected.Everythingpointstoit…We’vegottofindthecommonfactor—someonewhowaspresentonbothoccasions—”
“Yes,”saidMr.Satterthwaite.“Andthat’snotgoingtobeassimpleamatterasonemightthink,onthefaceofit.We’vegottoomanycommonfactors.Doyourealize,Cartwright,thatpracticallyeverypersonwhowaspresentatthedinneratyourhousewaspresenthere?”
SirCharlesnodded.
“OfcourseI’verealizedthat—butdoyourealizewhatdeductiononecandrawfromit?”
“Idon’tquitefollowyou,Cartwright?”
“Dashitall,man,doyousupposethat’scoincidence?No,itwasmeant.Whyareallthepeoplewhowereatthefirstdeathpresentatthesecond?Accident?Notonyourlife.Itwasplan—design—Tollie’splan.”
“Oh!”saidMr.Satterthwaite.“Yes,it’spossible….”
“It’scertain.Youdidn’tknowTollieaswellasIdid,Satterthwaite.Hewasamanwhokepthisowncounsel,andaverypatientman.InalltheyearsI’veknownhimI’veneverknownTolliegiveutterancetoarashopinionorjudgment.
“Lookatitthisway:Babbington’smurdered—yes,murdered—I’mnotgoingtohedge,orminceterms—murderedoneeveninginmyhouse.Tollieridiculesmegentlyformysuspicionsinthematter,butallthetimehe’sgotsuspicionsofhisown.Hedoesn’ttalkaboutthem—that’snothisway.Butquietly,inhisownmind,he’sbuildingupacase.Idon’tknowwhathehadtobuildupon.Itcan’t,Ithink,beacaseagainstanyoneparticularperson.Hebelievedthatoneofthosepeoplewasresponsibleforthecrime,andhemadeaplan,atestofsomekindtofindoutwhichpersonitwas.”
“Whatabouttheotherguests,theEdensandtheCampbells?”
“Camouflage.Itmadethewholethinglessobvious.”
“Whatdoyouthinktheplanwas?”
SirCharlesshruggedhisshoulders—anexaggeratedforeigngesture.HewasAristideDuval,thatmastermindoftheSecretService.Hisleftfootlimpedashewalked.
“Howcanweknow?Iamnotamagician.Icannotguess.Buttherewasaplan…Itwentwrong,becausethemurdererwasjustonedegreeclevererthanTolliethought…Hestruckfirst….”
“He?”
“Orshe.Poisonisasmuchawoman’sweaponasaman’s—moreso.”
Mr.Satterthwaitewassilent.SirCharlessaid:
“Comenow,don’tyouagree?Orareyouonthesideofpublicopinion?‘Thebutler’stheman.Hedoneit.’”
“What’syourexplanationofthebutler?”
“Ihaven’tthoughtabouthim.Inmyviewhedoesn’tmatter…Icouldsuggestanexplanation.”
“Suchas?”
“Well,saythatthepolicearerightsofar—Ellisisaprofessionalcriminal,workingin,shallwesay,withagangofburglars.Ellisobtainsthispostwithfalsecredentials.ThenTollieismurdered.WhatisEllis’sposition?Amaniskilled,andinthehouseisamanwhosefingerprintsareatScotlandYard,andwhoisknowntothepolice.Naturallyhegetsthewindupandbolts.”
“Bythesecretpassage?”
“Secretpassagebedamned.Hedodgedoutofthehousewhileoneofthefatheadedconstableswhowerewatchingthehousewastakingfortywinks.”
“Itcertainlyseemsmoreprobable.”
“Well,Satterthwaite,what’syourview?”
“Mine?”saidMr.Satterthwaite.“Oh,it’sthesameasyours.Ithasbeenallalong.Thebutlerseemstomeaveryclumsyredherring.IbelievethatSirBartholomewandpooroldBabbingtonwerekilledbythesameperson.”
“Oneofthehouseparty?”
“Oneofthehouseparty.”
Therewassilenceforaminuteortwo,andthenMr.Satterthwaiteaskedcasually:
“Whichofthemdoyouthinkitwas?”
“MyGod,Satterthwaite,howcanItell?”
“Youcan’ttell,ofcourse,”saidMr.Satterthwaitemildly.“Ijustthoughtyoumighthavesomeidea—youknow,nothingscientificorreasoned.Justanordinaryguess.”
“Well,Ihaven’t…”Hethoughtforaminuteandthenburstout:“Youknow,Satterthwaite,themomentyoubegintothinkitseemsimpossiblethatanyofthemdidit.”
“Isupposeyourtheoryisright,”musedMr.Satterthwaite.“Astotheassemblingofthesuspects,Imean.We’vegottotakeitintoaccountthattherewerecertaindefiniteexclusions.YourselfandmyselfandMrs.Babbington,forinstance.YoungManders,too,hewasoutofit.”
“Manders?”
“Yes,hisarrivalonthescenewasanaccident.Hewasn’taskedorexpected.Thatletshimoutofthecircleofsuspects.”
“Thedramatistwoman,too—AnthonyAstor.”
“No,no,shewasthere.MissMurielWillsofTooting.”
“Soshewas—I’dforgottenthewoman’snamewasWills.”
Hefrowned.Mr.Satterthwaitewasfairlygoodatreadingpeople’sthoughts.Heestimatedwithfairaccuracywhatwaspassingthroughtheactor’smind.Whentheotherspoke,Mr.Satterthwaitementallypattedhimselfontheback.
“Youknow,Satterthwaite,you’reright.Idon’tthinkitwasdefinitelysuspectedpeoplethatheasked—because,afterall,LadyMaryandEggwerethere…No,hewantedtostagesomereproductionofthefirstbusiness,perhaps…Hesuspectedsomeone,buthewantedothereyewitnessestheretoconfirmmatters.Somethingofthatkind….”
“Somethingofthekind,”agreedMr.Satterthwaite.“Onecanonlygeneralizeatthisstage.Verywell,theLyttonGoresareoutofit,youandIandMrs.BabbingtonandOliverMandersareoutofit.Whoisleft?AngelaSutcliffe?”
“Angie?Mydearfellow.She’sbeenafriendofTollie’sforyears.”
“ThenitboilsdowntotheDacres…Infact,Cartwright,yoususpecttheDacres.YoumightjustaswellhavesaidsowhenIaskedyou.”
SirCharleslookedathim.Mr.Satterthwaitehadamildlytriumphantair.
“Isuppose,”saidCartwrightslowly,“thatIdo.Atleast,Idon’tsuspectthem…Theyjustseemrathermorepossiblethananyoneelse.Idon’tknowthemverywell,foronething.Butforthelifeofme,Ican’tseewhyFreddieDacres,whospendshislifeontheracecourse,orCynthia,whospendshertimedesigningfabulouslyexpensiveclothesforwomen,shouldhaveanydesiretoremoveadear,insignificantoldclergyman….”
Heshookhishead,thenhisfacebrightened.
“There’stheWillswoman.Iforgotheragain.Whatisthereaboutherthatcontinuallymakesyouforgether?She’sthemostdamnablynondescriptcreatureI’veeverseen.”
Mr.Satterthwaitesmiled.
“IratherfancyshemightembodyBurns’sfamousline—‘Achiel’samangyetakin’notes.’IratherfancythatMissWillsspendshertimetakingnotes.Therearesharpeyesbehindthatpairofglasses.Ithinkyou’llfindthatanythingworthnoticinginthisaffairhasbeennoticedbyMissWills.”
“Doyou?”saidSirCharlesdoubtfully
“Thenextthingtodo,”saidMr.Satterthwaite,“istohavesomelunch.Afterthat,we’llgoouttotheAbbeyandseewhatwecandiscoveronthespot.”
“Youseemtobetakingverykindlytothis,Satterthwaite,”saidSirCharles,withatwinkleofamusement.
“Theinvestigationofcrimeisnotnewtome,”saidMr.Satterthwaite.“OncewhenmycarbrokedownandIwasstayingatalonelyinn—”
Hegotnofurther.
“Iremember,”saidSirCharles,inhishigh,clearcarryingactor’svoice,“whenIwastouringin1921….”
SirCharleswon.
Four
THEEVIDENCEOFTHESERVANTS
NothingcouldhavebeenmorepeacefulthanthegroundsandbuildingofMelfortAbbeyasthetwomensawitthatafternoonintheSeptembersunshine.PortionsoftheAbbeywerefifteenthcentury.Ithadbeenrestoredandanewwingaddedontoit.ThenewSanatoriumwasoutofsightofthehouse,withgroundsofitsown.
SirCharlesandMr.SatterthwaitewerereceivedbyMrs.Leckie,thecook,aportlylady,decorouslygownedinblack,whowastearfulandvoluble.SirCharlesshealreadyknew,anditwastohimsheaddressedmostofherconversation.
“You’llunderstand,I’msure,sir,whatit’smeanttome.Themaster’sdeathandall.Policemenallovertheplace,pokingtheirnoseshereandthere—wouldyoubelieveit,eventhedustbinstheyhadtohavetheirnosesin,andquestions!—theywouldn’thavedonewithaskingquestions.Oh,thatIshouldhavelivedtoseesuchathing—thedoctor,suchaquietgentlemanashealwayswas,andmadeSirBartholomew,too,whichaprouddayitwastoallofus,asBeatriceandIwellremember,thoughshe’sbeenheretwoyearslessthanIhave.Andsuchquestionsasthatpolicefellow(forgentlemanIwillnotcallhim,havingbeenaccustomedtogentlemenandtheirwaysandknowingwhat’swhat),fellow,Isay,whetherornotheisasuperintendent—”Mrs.Leckiepaused,tookbreathandextricatedherselffromthesomewhatcomplicatedconversationalmorassintowhichshehadfallen.“Questions,that’swhatIsay,aboutallthemaidsinthehouse,andgoodgirlstheyare,everyoneofthem—notthatI’dsaythatDorisgetsupwhensheshoulddointhemorning.Ihavetospeakaboutitatleastonceaweek,andVickie,she’sinclinedtobeimpertinent,but,there,withtheyoungonesyoucan’texpectthetraining—theirmothersdon’tgiveittothemnowadays—butgoodgirlstheyare,andnopolicesuperintendentshallmakemesayotherwise.‘Yes,’Isaidtohim,‘youneedn’tthinkI’mgoingtosayanythingagainstmygirls.They’regoodgirls,theyare,andastohavinganythingtodowithmurder,whyit’srightdownwickedtosuggestsuchathing.’”
Mrs.Leckiepaused.
“Mr.Ellis,now—that’sdifferent.Idon’tknowanythingaboutMr.Ellis,andcouldn’tanswerforhiminanyway,hehavingbeenbroughtfromLondon,andstrangetotheplace,whileMr.Bakerwasonholiday.”
“Baker?”askedMr.Satterthwaite.
“Mr.BakerhadbeenSirBartholomew’sbutlerforthelastsevenyears,sir.HewasinLondonmostofthetime,inHarleyStreet.You’llrememberhim,sir?”SheappealedtoSirCharles,whonodded.“SirBartholomewusedtobringhimupherewhenhehadaparty.Buthehadn’tbeensowellinhishealth,soSirBartholomewsaid,andhegavehimacoupleofmonths’holiday,paidforhim,too,inaplaceneartheseadownnearBrighton—arealkindgentlemanthedoctorwas—andhetookMr.Ellisontemporaryforthetimebeing,andso,asIsaidtothatsuperintendent,Ican’tsayanythingaboutMr.Ellis,though,fromallhesaidhimself,heseemstohavebeenwiththebestfamilies,andhecertainlyhadagentlemanlywaywithhim.”
“Youdidn’tfindanything—unusualabouthim?”askedSirCharleshopefully.
“Well,it’soddyoursayingthat,sir,because,ifyouknowwhatImean,IdidandIdidn’t.”
SirCharleslookedencouraging,andMrs.Leckiewenton:
“Icouldn’texactlysaywhatitwas,sir,buttherewassomething—”
Therealwaysis—aftertheevent—thoughtMr.Satterthwaitetohimselfgrimly.HowevermuchMrs.Leckiehaddespisedthepolice,shewasnotproofagainstsuggestion.IfEllisturnedouttobethecriminal,well,Mrs.Leckiewouldhavenoticedsomething.
“Foronething,hewasstandoffish.Oh,quitepolite,quitethegentleman—asIsaid,he’dbeenusedtogoodhouses.Buthekepthimselftohimself,spentalotoftimeinhisownroom;andhewas—well,Idon’tknowhowtodescribeit,I’msure—hewas,well,therewassomething—”
“Youdidn’tsuspecthewasn’t—notreallyabutler?”suggestedMr.Satterthwaite.
“Oh,he’dbeeninservice,rightenough,sir.Thethingsheknew—andaboutwell-knownpeopleinsociety,too.”
“Suchas?”suggestedSirCharlesgently.
ButMrs.Leckiebecamevague,andnoncommittal.Shewasnotgoingtoretailservants’hallgossip.Suchathingwouldhaveoffendedhersenseoffitness.
Toputheratherease,Mr.Satterthwaitesaid:
“Perhapsyoucandescribehisappearance.”
Mrs.Leckiebrightened.
“Yes,indeed,sir.Hewasaveryrespectable-lookingman—side-whiskersandgreyhair,stoopedalittle,andhewasgrowingstout—itworriedhim,thatdid.Hehadarathershakyhand,too,butnotfromthecauseyoumightimagine.Hewasamostabstemiousman—notlikemanyI’veknown.Hiseyeswereabitweak,Ithink,sir,thelighthurtthem—especiallyabrightlight,usedtomakethemwatersomethingcruel.Outwithusheworeglasses,butnotwhenhewasonduty.”
“Nospecialdistinguishingmarks?”askedSirCharles.“Noscars?Orbrokenfingers?Orbirthmarks?”
“Oh,no,sir,nothingofthatkind.”
“Howsuperiordetectivestoriesaretolife,”sighedSirCharles.“Infictionthereisalwayssomedistinguishingcharacteristic.”
“Hehadatoothmissing,”saidMr.Satterthwaite.
“Ibelieveso,sir;Inevernoticeditmyself.”
“Whatwashismanneronthenightofthetragedy?”askedMr.Satterthwaiteinaslightlybookishmanner.
“Well,really,sir,Icouldn’tsay.Iwasbusy,yousee,inmykitchen.Ihadn’ttimefornoticingthings.”
“No,no,quiteso.”
“Whenthenewscameoutthatthemasterwasdeadwewerestruckallofaheap.Icriedandcouldn’tstop,andsodidBeatrice.Theyoungones,ofcourse,wereexcitedlike,thoughveryupset.Mr.Ellisnaturallywasn’tsoupsetaswewere,hebeingnew,buthebehavedveryconsiderate,andinsistedonBeatriceandmetakingalittleglassofporttocounteracttheshock.Andtothinkthatallthetimeitwashe—thevillain—”
WordsfailedMrs.Leckie,hereyesshonewithindignation.
“Hedisappearedthatnight,Iunderstand?”
“Yes,sir,wenttohisroomliketherestofus,andinthemorninghewasn’tthere.That’swhatsetthepoliceonhim,ofcourse.”
“Yes,yes,veryfoolishofhim.Haveyouanyideahowheleftthehouse?”
“Nottheslightest.Itseemsthepolicewerewatchingthehouseallnight,andtheyneversawhimgo—but,there,that’swhatthepoliceare,humanlikeanyoneelse,inspiteoftheairstheygivethemselves,comingintoagentleman’shouseandnosinground.”
“Ihearthere’ssomequestionofasecretpassage,”SirCharlessaid.
Mrs.Leckiesniffed.
“That’swhatthepolicesay.”
“Istheresuchathing?”
“I’veheardmentionofit,”Mrs.Leckieagreedcautiously.
“Doyouknowwhereitstartsfrom?”
“No,Idon’t,sir.Secretpassagesareallverywell,butthey’renotthingstobeencouragedintheservants’hall.Itgivesthegirlsideas.Theymightthinkofslippingoutthatway.Mygirlsgooutbythebackdoorandinbythebackdoor,andthenweknowwhereweare.”
“Splendid,Mrs.Leckie.Ithinkyou’reverywise.”
Mrs.LeckiebridledinthesunofSirCharles’sapproval.
“Iwonder,”hewenton,“ifwemightjustaskafewquestionsoftheotherservants?”
“Ofcourse,sir;buttheycan’ttellyouanythingmorethanIcan.”
“Oh,Iknow.Ididn’tmeansomuchaboutEllisasaboutSirBartholomewhimself—hismannerthatnight,andsoon.Yousee,hewasafriendofmine.”
“Iknow,sir.Iquiteunderstand.There’sBeatrice,andthere’sAlice.Shewaitedattable,ofcourse.”
“Yes,I’dliketoseeAlice.”
Mrs.Leckie,however,hadabeliefinseniority.BeatriceChurch,theupper-housemaid,wasthefirsttoappear.
Shewasatallthinwoman,withapinchedmouth,wholookedaggressivelyrespectable.
Afterafewunimportantquestions,SirCharlesledthetalktothebehaviourofthehousepartyonthefatalevening.Hadtheyallbeenterriblyupset?Whathadtheysaidordone?
AlittleanimationenteredintoBeatrice’smanner.Shehadtheusualghoulishrelishfortragedy.
“MissSutcliffe,shequitebrokedown.Averywarmheartedlady,she’sstayedherebefore.Isuggestedbringingheralittledropofbrandy,oranicecupoftea,butshewouldn’thearofit.Shetooksomeaspirin,though.Saidshewassureshecouldn’tsleep.ButshewassleepinglikealittlechildthenextmorningwhenIbroughtherherearlytea.”
“AndMrs.Dacres?”
“Idon’tthinkanythingwouldupsetthatladymuch.”
FromBeatrice’stone,shehadnotlikedCynthiaDacres.
“Justanxioustogetaway,shewas.Saidherbusinesswouldsuffer.She’sabigdressmakerinLondon,soMr.Ellistoldus.”
Abigdressmaker,toBeatrice,meant“trade,”andtradeshelookeddownupon
“Andherhusband?”
Beatricesniffed.
“Steadiedhisnerveswithbrandy,hedid.Orunsteadiedthem,somewouldsay.”
“WhataboutLadyMaryLyttonGore?”
“Averynicelady,”saidBeatrice,hertonesoftening.“MygreatauntwasinservicewithherfatherattheCastle.Aprettyyounggirlshewas,soI’vealwaysheard.Poorshemaybe,butyoucanseeshe’ssomeone—andsoconsiderate,nevergivingtroubleandalwaysspeakingsopleasant.Herdaughter’saniceyounglady,too.Theydidn’tknowSirBartholomewwell,ofcourse,buttheywereverydistressed.”
“MissWills?”
SomeofBeatrice’srigidityreturned.
“I’msureIcouldn’tsay,sir,whatMissWillsthoughtaboutit.”
“Orwhatyouthoughtabouther?”askedSirCharles.“Comenow,Beatrice,behuman.”
AnunexpectedsmiledintedBeatrice’swoodencheeks.TherewassomethingappealinglyschoolboyishinSirCharles’smanner.Shewasnotproofagainstthecharmthatnightlyaudienceshadfeltsostrongly.
“Really,sir,Idon’tknowwhatyouwantmetosay.”
“JustwhatyouthoughtandfeltaboutMissWills.”
“Nothing,sir,nothingatall.Shewasn’t,ofcourse—”
Beatricehesitated.
“Goon,Beatrice.”
“Well,shewasn’tquitethe‘class’oftheothers,sir.Shecouldn’thelpit,Iknow,”wentonBeatricekindly.“Butshedidthingsarealladywouldn’thavedone.Shepried,ifyouknowwhatImean,sir,pokedandpriedabout.”
SirCharlestriedhardtogetthisstatementamplified,butBeatriceremainedvague.MissWillshadpokedandpried,butaskedtoproduceaspecialinstanceofthepoking,Beatriceseemedunabletodoso.ShemerelyrepeatedthatMissWillspriedintothingsthatwerenobusinessofhers.
Theygaveitupatlast,andMr.Satterthwaitesaid:
“YoungMr.Mandersarrivedunexpectedly,didn’the?”
“Yes,sir,hehadanaccidentwithhiscar—justbythelodgegates,itwas.Hesaiditwasabitofluckitshappeningjusthere.Thehousewasfull,ofcourse,butMissLyndonhadabedmadeupforhiminthelittlestudy.”
“Waseveryoneverysurprisedtoseehim?”
“Oh,yes,sir,naturally,sir.”
AskedheropinionofEllis,Beatricewasnoncommittal.She’dseenverylittleofhim.Goingoffthewayhedidlookedbad,thoughwhyheshouldwanttoharmthemastershecouldn’timagine.Nobodycould.
“Whatwashelike,thedoctor,Imean?Didheseemtobelookingforwardtothehouseparty?Hadheanythingonhismind?”
“Heseemedparticularlycheerful,sir.Smiledtohimself,hedid,asthoughhehadsomejokeon.IevenheardhimmakeajokewithMr.Ellis,athinghe’dneverdonewithMr.Baker.Hewasusuallyabitbrusquewiththeservants,kindalways,butnotspeakingtothemmuch.”
“Whatdidhesay?”askedMr.Satterthwaiteeagerly.
“Well,Iforgetexactlynow,sir.Mr.Ellishadcomeupwithatelephonemessage,andSirBartholomewaskedhimifhewassurehe’dgotthenamesright,andMr.Ellissaidquitesure—speakingrespectful,ofcourse.Andthedoctorhelaughedandsaid,‘You’reagoodfellow,Ellis,afirst-classbutler.Eh,Beatrice,whatdoyouthink?’AndIwassosurprised,sir,atthemasterspeakinglikethat—quiteunlikehisusualself—thatIdidn’tknowwhattosay.”
“AndEllis?”
“Helookedkindofdisapproving,sir,asthoughitwasthekindofthinghehadn’tbeenusedto.Stifflike.”
“Whatwasthetelephonemessage?”askedSirCharles.
“Themessage,sir?Oh,itwasfromtheSanatorium—aboutapatientwhohadarrivedthereandhadstoodthejourneywell.”
“Doyourememberthename?”
“Itwasaqueername,sir.”Beatricehesitated.“Mrs.deRushbridger—somethinglikethat.”
“Ah,yes,”saidSirCharlessoothingly.“Notaneasynametogetrightonthetelephone.Well,thankyouverymuch,Beatrice.PerhapswecouldseeAlicenow.”
WhenBeatricehadlefttheroomSirCharlesandMr.Satterthwaitecomparednotesbyaninterchangeofglances.
“MissWillspokedandpried,CaptainDacresgotdrunk,Mrs.Dacresdisplayednoemotion.Anythingthere?Preciouslittle.”
“Verylittleindeed,”agreedMr.Satterthwaite.
“Let’spinourhopesonAlice.”
Alicewasademure,dark-eyedyoungwomanofthirty.Shewasonlytoopleasedtotalk.
Sheherselfdidn’tbelieveMr.Ellishadanythingtodowithit.Hewastoomuchthegentleman.Thepolicehadsuggestedhewasjustacommoncrook.Alicewassurehewasnothingofthesort.
“You’requitecertainhewasanordinaryhonest-to-Godbutler?”askedSirCharles.
“Notordinary,sir.Hewasn’tlikeanybutlerI’veeverworkedwithbefore.Hearrangedtheworkdifferent.”
“Butyoudon’tthinkhepoisonedyourmaster.”
“Oh,sir,Idon’tseehowhecouldhavedone.Iwaswaitingattablewithhim,andhecouldn’thaveputanythinginthemaster’sfoodwithoutmyseeinghim.”
“Andthedrink?”
“Hewentroundwiththewine,sir.Sherryfirst,withthesoup,andthenhockandclaret.Butwhatcouldhehavedone,sir?Ifthere’dbeenanythinginthewinehe’dhavepoisonedeverybody—orallthosewhotookit.It’snotasthoughthemasterhadanythingthatnobodyelsehad.Thesamethingwiththeport.Allthegentlemenhadport,andsomeoftheladies.”
“Thewineglassesweretakenoutonatray?”
“Yes,sir,IheldthetrayandMr.Ellisputtheglassesonit,andIcarriedthetrayouttothepantry,andtheretheywere,sir,whenthepolicecametoexaminethem.Theportglasseswerestillonthetable.Andthepolicedidn’tfindanything.”
“You’requitesurethatthedoctordidn’thaveanythingtoeatordrinkatdinnerthatnobodyelsehad?”
“NotthatIsaw,sir.Infact,I’msurehedidn’t.”
“Nothingthatoneoftheguestsgavehim—”
“Oh,no,sir.”
“Doyouknowanythingaboutasecretpassage,Alice?”
“Oneofthegardenerstoldmesomethingaboutit.Comesoutinthewoodwherethere’ssomeoldwallsandthingstumbleddown.ButI’veneverseenanyopeningtoitinthehouse.”
“Ellisneversaidanythingaboutit?”
“Oh,no,sir,hewouldn’tknowanythingaboutit,I’msure.”
“Whodoyoureallythinkkilledyourmaster,Alice?”
“Idon’tknow,sir.Ican’tbelieveanyonedid…Ifeelitmusthavebeensomekindofaccident.”
“H’m.Thankyou,Alice.”
“Ifitwasn’tforthedeathofBabbington,”saidSirCharlesasthegirllefttheroom,“wecouldmakeherthecriminal.She’sagood-lookinggirl…Andshewaitedattable…No,itwon’tdo.Babbingtonwasmurdered;andanywayTollienevernoticedgood-lookinggirls.Hewasn’tmadethatway.”
“Buthewasfifty-five,”saidMr.Satterthwaitethoughtfully.
“Whydoyousaythat?”
“It’stheageamanloseshisheadbadlyaboutagirl—evenifhehasn’tdonesobefore.”
“Dashitall,Satterthwaite,I’m—er—gettingonforfifty-five.”
“Iknow,”saidSatterthwaite.
AndbeforehisgentletwinklinggazeSirCharles’seyesfell.
Unmistakablyheblushed….
Five
INTHEBUTLER’SROOM
“HowaboutanexaminationofEllis’sroom?”askedMr.Satterthwaite,havingenjoyedthespectacleofSirCharles’sblushtothefull.
Theactorseizedatthediversion.
“Excellent,excellent.JustwhatIwasabouttosuggestmyself.”
“Ofcoursethepolicehavealreadysearcheditthoroughly.”
“Thepolice—”
AristideDuvalwavedthepoliceawayscornfully.Anxioustoforgethismomentarydiscomfiture,heflunghimselfwithrenewedvigourintohispart.
“Thepoliceareblockheads,”hesaidsweepingly.“WhathavetheylookedforinEllis’sroom?Evidencesofhisguilt.Weshalllookforevidencesofhisinnocence—anentirelydifferentthing.”
“You’recompletelyconvincedofEllis’sinnocence?”
“Ifwe’rerightaboutBabbington,hemustbeinnocent.”
“Yes,besides—”
Mr.Satterthwaitedidnotfinishhissentence.HehadbeenabouttosaythatifElliswasaprofessionalcriminalwhohadbeendetectedbySirBartholomewandhadmurderedhiminconsequencethewholeaffairwouldbecomeunbearablydull.JustintimeherememberedthatSirBartholomewhadbeenafriendofSirCharlesCartwright’sandwasdulyappalledbythecallousnessofthesentimentshehadnearlyrevealed.
AtfirstsightEllis’sroomdidnotseemtooffermuchpromiseofdiscovery.Theclothesinthedrawersandhanginginthecupboardwereallneatlyarranged.Theywerewellcut,andboredifferenttailors’marks.Clearlycastoffsgivenhimindifferentsituations.Theunderclothingwasonthesamescale.Thebootswereneatlypolishedandarranged
Mr.Satterthwaitepickedupabootandmurmured,“Nines,justso,nines.”But,sincetherewerenofootprintsinthecase,thatdidn’tseemtoleadanywhere.
ItseemedclearfromitsabsencethatEllishaddepartedinhisbutler’skit,andMr.SatterthwaitepointedouttoSirCharlesthatthatseemedratheraremarkablefact.
“Anymaninhissenseswouldhavechangedintoanordinarysuit.”
“Yes,it’soddthat…Looksalmost,thoughthat’sabsurd,asifhehadn’tgoneatall…Nonsense,ofcourse.”
Theycontinuedtheirsearch.Noletters,nopapers,exceptacuttingfromanewspaperregardingacureforcorns,andaparagraphrelatingtotheapproachingmarriageofaduke’sdaughter.
Therewasasmallblottingbookandapennybottleofinkonasidetable—nopen.SirCharleshelduptheblottingbooktothemirror,butwithoutresult.Onepageofitwasverymuchused—ameaninglessjumble,andtheinklookedtobothmenold.
“Eitherhehasn’twrittenanyletterssincehewashere,orhehasn’tblottedthem,”deducedMr.Satterthwaite.“Thisisanoldblotter.Ah,yes—”Withsomegratificationhepointedtoabarelydecipherable“L.Baker”amidstthejumble.
“IshouldsayEllishadn’tusedthisatall.”
“That’sratherodd,isn’tit?”saidSirCharlesslowly.
“Whatdoyoumean?”
“Well,amanusuallywritesletters….”
“Notifhe’sacriminal.”
“No,perhapsyou’reright…Theremusthavebeensomethingfishyabouthimtomakehimboltashedid…Allwesayisthathedidn’tmurderTollie.”
Theyhuntedroundthefloor,raisingthecarpet,lookingunderthebed.Therewasnothinganywhere,exceptasplashofinkbesidethefireplace.Theroomwasdisappointinglybare.
Theyleftitinasomewhatdisconcertedfashion.Theirzealasdetectiveswasmomentarilydamped.
Possiblythethoughtpassedthroughtheirmindsthatthingswerearrangedbetterinbooks.
Theyhadafewwordswiththeothermembersofthestaff,scared-lookingjuniorsinaweofMrs.LeckieandBeatriceChurch,buttheyelicitednothingfurther.
Finallytheytooktheirleave.
“Well,Satterthwaite,”saidSirCharlesastheystrolledacrossthepark(Mr.Satterthwaite’scarhadbeeninstructedtopickthemupatthelodge)“anythingstrikeyou—anythingatall?”
Mr.Satterthwaitethought.Hewasnottobehurriedintoananswer—especiallyashefeltsomethingoughttohavestruckhim.Toconfessthatthewholeexpeditionhadbeenawasteoftimewasanunwelcomeidea.Hepassedoverinhismindtheevidenceofoneservantafteranother—theinformationwasextraordinarilymeagre.
AsSirCharleshadsummeditupjustnow,MissWillshadpokedandpried,MissSutcliffehadbeenveryupset,Mrs.Dacreshadnotbeenupsetatall,andCaptainDacreshadgotdrunk.Verylittlethere,unlessFreddieDacres’sindulgenceshowedthedeadeningofaguiltyconscience.ButFreddieDacres,Mr.Satterthwaiteknew,quitefrequentlygotdrunk.
“Well?”repeatedSirCharlesimpatiently.
“Nothing,”confessedMr.Satterthwaitereluctantly.“Except—well,IthinkweareentitledtoassumefromtheclippingwefoundthatEllissufferedfromcorns.”
SirCharlesgaveawrysmile.
“Thatseemsquiteareasonablededuction.Doesit—er—getusanywhere?”
Mr.Satterthwaiteconfessedthatitdidnot.
“Theonlyotherthing—”hesaidandthenstopped.
“Yes?Goon,man.Anythingmayhelp.”
“ItstruckmeasalittleoddthewaythatSirBartholomewchaffedhisbutler—youknowwhatthehousemaidtoldus.Itseemssomehowuncharacteristic.”
“Itwasuncharacteristic,”saidSirCharleswithemphasis.“IknewTolliewell—betterthanyoudid—andIcantellyouthathewasn’tafacetioussortofman.He’dneverhavespokenlikethatunless—well,unlessforsomereasonhewasn’tquitenormalatthetime.You’reright,Satterthwaite,thatisapoint.Nowwheredoesitgetus?”
“Well,”beganMr.Satterthwaite;butitwasclearthatSirCharles’squestionhadbeenmerelyarhetoricalone.Hewasanxious,nottohearMr.Satterthwaite’sviews,buttoairhisown.
“Yourememberwhenthatincidentoccurred,Satterthwaite?JustafterEllishadbroughthimatelephonemessage.Ithinkit’safairdeductiontoassumethatitwasthattelephonemessagewhichwasthecauseofTollie’ssuddenunusualhilarity.YoumayrememberIaskedthehousemaidwomanwhatthatmessagehadbeen.”
Mr.Satterthwaitenodded.
“ItwastosaythatawomannamedMrs.deRushbridgerhadarrivedattheSanatorium,”hesaid,toshowthathe,too,hadpaidattentiontothepoint.“Itdoesn’tsoundparticularlythrilling.”
“Itdoesn’tsoundso,certainly.But,ifourreasoningiscorrect,theremustbesomesignificanceinthatmessage.”
“Ye-es,”saidMr.Satterthwaitedoubtfully.
“Indubitably,”saidSirCharles.“We’vegottofindoutwhatthatsignificancewas.Itjustcrossesmymindthatitmayhavebeenacodemessageofsomekind—aharmlesssoundingnaturalthing,butwhichreallymeantsomethingentirelydifferent.IfTolliehadbeenmakinginquiriesintoBabbington’sdeath,thismayhavehadsomethingtodowiththoseinquiries.Say,even,thatheemployedaprivatedetectivetofindoutacertainfact.Hemayhavetoldhimintheeventofthisparticularsuspicionbeingjustifiedtoringupandusethatparticularphrasewhichwouldconveynohintofthetruthtoanyonetakingit.Thatwouldexplainhisjubilation,itmightexplainhisaskingEllisifhewassureofthename—hehimselfknowingwelltherewasnosuchperson,really.Infact,theslightlackofbalanceapersonshowswhentheyhavebroughtoffwhatcanbedescribedasalongshot.”
“Youthinkthere’snosuchpersonasMrs.deRushbridger?”
“Well,Ithinkweoughttofindoutforcertain.”
“How?”
“WemightrunalongtotheSanatoriumnowandasktheMatron.”
“Shemaythinkitratherodd.”
SirCharleslaughed.
“Youleaveittome,”hesaid.
TheyturnedasidefromthedriveandwalkedinthedirectionoftheSanatorium
Mr.Satterthwaitesaid:
“Whataboutyou,Cartwright?Doesanythingstrikeyouatall?Arisingoutofourvisittothehouse,Imean.”
SirCharlesansweredslowly.
“Yes,thereissomething—thedevilofitis,Ican’trememberwhat.”
Mr.Satterthwaitestaredathiminsurprise.Theotherfrowned.
“HowcanIexplain?Therewassomething—somethingwhichatthemomentstruckmeaswrong—asunlikely—only—Ihadn’tthetimetothinkaboutitthen.Iputitasideinmyownmind.”
“Andnowyoucan’trememberwhatitwas?”
“No—onlythatatsomemomentIsaidtomyself,‘That’sodd.’”
“Wasitwhenwewerequestioningtheservants?Whichservant?”
“ItellyouIcan’tremember.AndthemoreIthinkthelessIshallremember…IfIleaveitalone,itmaycomebacktome.”
TheycameintoviewoftheSanatorium,abigwhitemodernbuilding,dividedfromtheparkbypalings.Therewasagatethroughwhichtheypassed,andtheyrangthefrontdoorbellandaskedfortheMatron.
TheMatron,whenshecame,wasatall,middle-agedwoman,withanintelligentfaceandacapablemanner.SirCharlessheclearlyknewbynameasafriendofthelateSirBartholomewStrange.
SirCharlesexplainedthathehadjustcomebackfromabroad,hadbeenhorrifiedtohearofhisfriend’sdeathandoftheterriblesuspicionsentertained,andhadbeenuptothehousetolearnasmanydetailsashecould.TheMatronspokeinmovingtermsofthelossSirBartholomewwouldbetothem,andofhisfinecareerasadoctor.SirCharlesprofessedhimselfanxioustoknowwhatwasgoingtohappentotheSanatorium.TheMatronexplainedthatSirBartholomewhadhadtwopartners,bothcapabledoctors,onewasinresidenceattheSanatorium.
“Bartholomewwasveryproudofthisplace,Iknow,”saidSirCharles.
“Yes,histreatmentswereagreatsuccess.”
“Mostlynervecases,isn’tit?”
“Yes.”
“Thatremindsme—fellowImetoutatMontehadsomekindofrelationcominghere.Iforgethernamenow—oddsortofname—Rushbridger—Rusbrigger—somethinglikethat.”
“Mrs.deRushbridger,youmean?”
“That’sit.Issheherenow?”
“Oh,yes.ButI’mafraidshewon’tbeabletoseeyou—notforsometimeyet.She’shavingaverystrictrestcure.”TheMatronsmiledjustatriflearchly.“Noletters,noexcitingvisitors….”
“Isay,she’snotverybad,isshe?”
“Ratherabadnervousbreakdown—lapsesofmemory,andseverenervousexhaustion.Oh,weshallgetherrightintime.”
TheMatronsmiledreassuringly.
“Letmesee,haven’tIheardTollie—SirBartholomew—speakofher?Shewasafriendofhisaswellasapatient,wasn’tshe?”
“Idon’tthinkso,SirCharles.Atleastthedoctorneversaidso.ShehasrecentlyarrivedfromtheWestIndies—really,itwasveryfunny,Imusttellyou.Ratheradifficultnameforaservanttoremember—theparlourmaidhereisratherstupid.Shecameandsaidtome,‘Mrs.WestIndiahascome,’andofcourseIsupposeRushbridgerdoessoundratherlikeWestIndia—butitwasratheracoincidenceherhavingjustcomefromtheWestIndies.”
“Rather—rather—mostamusing.Herhusbandover,too?”
“He’sstilloutthere.”
“Ah,quite—quite.Imustbemixingherupwithsomeoneelse.Itwasacasethedoctorwasspeciallyinterestedin?”
“Casesofamnesiaarefairlycommon,butthey’realwaysinterestingtoamedicalman—thevariations,youknow.Twocasesareseldomalike.”
“Seemsallveryoddtome.Well,thankyou,Matron,I’mgladtohavehadalittlechatwithyou.IknowhowmuchTolliethoughtofyou.Heoftenspokeaboutyou,”finishedSirCharlesmendaciously.
“Oh,I’mgladtohearthat.”TheMatronflushedandbridled.“Suchasplendidman—suchalosstousall.Wewereabsolutelyshocked—well,stunnedwoulddescribeitbetter.Murder!WhoeverwouldmurderDr.Strange,Isaid.It’sincredible.Thatawfulbutler.Ihopethepolicecatchhim.Andnomotiveoranything.”
SirCharlesshookhisheadsadlyandtheytooktheirdeparture,goingroundbytheroadtothespotwherethecarawaitedthem.
InrevengeforhisenforcedquiescenceduringtheinterviewwiththeMatron,Mr.SatterthwaitedisplayedalivelyinterestinthesceneofOliverManders’accident,plyingthelodgekeeper,aslow-wittedmanofmiddleage,withquestions.
Yes,thatwastheplace,wherethewallwasbrokenaway.Onamotorcycletheyounggentlemanwas.No,hedidn’tseeithappen.Heheardit,though,andcomeouttosee.Theyounggentlemanwasstandingthere—justwheretheothergentlemanwasstandingnow.Hedidn’tseemtobehurt.Justlookingrueful-likeathisbike—andapropermessthatwas.Justaskedwhatthenameoftheplacemightbe,andwhenhehearditwasSirBartholomewStrange’shesaid,“That’sapieceofluck,”andwentonuptothehouse.Averycalmyounggentlemanheseemedtobe—tiredlike.Howhecometohavesuchanaccident,thelodgekeepercouldn’tsee,buthesupposedthemthingswentwrongsometimes.
“Itwasanoddaccident,”saidMr.Satterthwaitethoughtfully.
Helookedatthewidestraightroad.Nobends,nodangerouscrossroads,nothingtocauseamotorcyclisttoswervesuddenlyintoaten-footwall.Yes,anoddaccident.
“What’sinyourmind,Satterthwaite?”askedSirCharlescuriously.
“Nothing,”saidMr.Satterthwaite,“nothing.”
“It’sodd,certainly,”saidSirCharles,andhe,too,staredatthesceneoftheaccidentinapuzzledmanner.
Theygotintothecaranddroveoff.
Mr.Satterthwaitewasbusywithhisthoughts.Mrs.deRushbridger—Cartwright’stheorywouldn’twork—itwasn’tacodemessage—therewassuchaperson.Butcouldtherebesomethingaboutthewomanherself?Wassheperhapsawitnessofsomekind,orwasitjustbecauseshewasaninterestingcasethatBartholomewStrangehaddisplayedthisunusualelation?Wasshe,perhaps,anattractivewoman?Tofallinloveattheageoffifty-fivedid(Mr.Satterthwaitehadobserveditmanyatime)changeaman’scharactercompletely.Itmight,perhaps,makehimfacetious,wherebeforehehadbeenaloof—
Histhoughtswereinterrupted.SirCharlesleantforward.
“Satterthwaite,”hesaid,“doyoumindifweturnback?”
Withoutwaitingforareply,hetookupthespeakingtubeandgavetheorder.Thecarsloweddown,stopped,andthechauffeurbegantoreverseintoaconvenientlane.Aminuteortwolatertheywerebowlingalongtheroadintheoppositedirection.
“Whatisit?”askedMr.Satterthwaite
“I’veremembered,”saidSirCharles,“whatstruckmeasodd.Itwastheinkstainonthefloorinthebutler’sroom.”
Six
CONCERNINGANINKSTAIN
Mr.Satterthwaitestaredathisfriendinsurprise.
“Theinkstain?Whatdoyoumean,Cartwright?”
“Yourememberit?”
“Iremembertherewasaninkstain,yes.”
“Yourememberitsposition?”
“Well—notexactly.”
“Itwasclosetotheskirtingboardnearthefireplace.”
“Yes,soitwas.Iremembernow.”
“Howdoyouthinkthatstainwascaused,Satterthwaite?”
“Itwasn’tabigstain,”hesaidatlast.“Itcouldn’thavebeenanupsetinkbottle.Ishouldsayinallprobabilitythatthemandroppedhisfountainpenthere—therewasnopenintheroom,youremember.”(HeshallseeInoticethingsjustasmuchashedoes,thoughtMr.Satterthwaite.)“Soitseemsclearthemanmusthavehadafountainpenifheeverwroteatall—andthere’snoevidencethatheeverdid.”
“Yes,thereis,Satterthwaite.There’stheinkstain.”
“Hemayn’thavebeenwriting,”snappedSatterthwaite.“Hemayhavejustdroppedthepenonthefloor.”
“Buttherewouldn’thavebeenastainunlessthetophadbeenoffthepen.”
“Idaresayyou’reright,”saidMr.Satterthwaite.“ButIcan’tseewhat’soddaboutit.”
“Perhapsthereisn’tanythingodd,”saidSirCharles.“Ican’ttelltillIgetbackandseeformyself.”
Theywereturninginatthelodgegates.AfewminuteslatertheyhadarrivedatthehouseandSirCharleswasallayingthecuriositycausedbyhisreturnbyinventingapencilleftbehindinthebutler’sroom.
“Andnow,”saidSirCharles,shuttingthedoorofEllis’sroombehindthem,havingwithsomeskillshakenoffthehelpfulMrs.Leckie,“let’sseeifI’mmakinganinfernalfoolofmyself,orwhetherthere’sanythinginmyidea.”
InMr.Satterthwaite’sopiniontheformeralternativewasbyfarthemoreprobable,buthewasmuchtoopolitetosayso.Hesatdownonthebedandwatchedtheother.
“Here’sourstain,”saidSirCharles,indicatingthemarkwithhisfoot.“Rightupagainsttheskirtingboardattheoppositesideoftheroomtothewritingtable.Underwhatcircumstanceswouldamandropapenjustthere?”
“Youcandropapenanywhere,”saidMr.Satterthwaite.
“Youcanhurlitacrosstheroom,ofcourse,”agreedSirCharles.“Butonedoesn’tusuallytreatone’spenlikethat.Idon’tknow,though.Fountainpensaredamnedannoyingthings.Dryupandrefusetowritejustwhenyouwantthemto.Perhapsthat’sthesolutionofthematter.Ellislosthistemper,said,‘Damnthething,’andhurleditacrosstheroom.”
“Ithinkthereareplentyofexplanations,”saidMr.Satterthwaite.“Hemayhavesimplylaidthepenonthemantelpieceanditrolledoff.”
SirCharlesexperimentedwithapencil.Heallowedittorolloffthecornerofthemantelpiece.Thepencilstruckthegroundatleastafootfromthemarkandrolledinwardstowardsthegasfire
“Well,”saidMr.Satterthwaite.“What’syourexplanation?”
“I’mtryingtofindone.”
FromhisseatonthebedMr.Satterthwaitenowwitnessedathoroughlyamusingperformance.
SirCharlestrieddroppingthepencilfromhishandashewalkedinthedirectionofthefireplace.Hetriedsittingontheedgeofthebedandwritingthereandthendroppingthepencil.Togetthepenciltofallontherightspotitwasnecessarytostandorsitjammedupagainstthewallinamostunconvincingattitude.
“That’simpossible,”saidSirCharlesaloud.Hestoodconsideringthewall,thestainandtheprimlittlegasfire
“Ifhewereburningpapers,now,”hesaidthoughtfully.“Butonedoesn’tburnpapersinagasfire—”
Suddenlyhedrewinhisbreath.
AminutelaterMr.SatterthwaitewasrealizingSirCharles’sprofessiontothefull.
CharlesCartwrighthadbecomeEllisthebutler.Hesatwritingatthewritingtable.Helookedfurtive,everynowandthenheraisedhiseyes,shootingthemshiftilyfromsidetoside.Suddenlyheseemedtohearsomething—Mr.Satterthwaitecouldevenguesswhatthatsomethingwas—footstepsalongthepassage.Themanhadaguiltyconscience.Heattachedacertainmeaningtothosefootsteps.Hesprangup,thepaperonwhichhehadbeenwritinginonehand,hispenintheother.Hedartedacrosstheroomtothefireplace,hisheadhalfturned,stillalert—listening—afraid.Hetriedtoshovethepapersunderthegasfire—inordertousebothhandshecastdownthepenimpatiently.SirCharles’spencil,the“pen”ofthedrama,fellaccuratelyontheinkstain….
“Bravo,”saidMr.Satterthwaite,applaudinggenerously.
SogoodhadtheperformancebeenthathewasleftwiththeimpressionthatsoandonlysocouldEllishaveacted.
“Yousee?”saidSirCharles,resuminghisownpersonalityandspeakingwithmodestelation.“Ifthefellowheardthepoliceorwhathethoughtwasthepolicecomingandhadtohidewhathewaswriting—well,wherecouldhehideit?Notinadrawerorunderthemattress—ifthepolicesearchedtheroom,thatwouldbefoundatonce.Hehadn’ttimetotakeupafloorboard.No,behindthegasfirewastheonlychance.”
“Thenextthingtodo,”saidMr.Satterthwaite,“istoseewhetherthereisanythinghiddenbehindthegasfire.”
“Exactly.Ofcourse,itmayhavebeenafalsealarm,andhemayhavegotthethingsoutagainlater.Butwe’llhopeforthebest.”
Removinghiscoatandturninguphisshirtsleeves,SirCharleslaydownonthefloorandappliedhiseyetothecrackunderthegasfire.
“There’ssomethingunderthere,”hereported.“Somethingwhite.Howcanwegetitout?Wewantsomethinglikeawoman’shatpins.”
“Womendon’thavehatpinsanymore,”saidMr.Satterthwaitesadly.“Perhapsapenknife.”
Butapenknifeprovedunavailing.
IntheendMr.SatterthwaitewentoutandborrowedaknittingneedlefromBeatrice.Thoughextremelycurioustoknowwhathewanteditfor,hersenseofdecorumwastoogreattopermithertoask
Theknittingneedledidthetrick.SirCharlesextractedhalfadozensheetsofcrumpledwritingpaper,hastilycrushedtogetherandpushedin.
WithgrowingexcitementheandMr.Satterthwaitesmoothedthemout.Theywereclearlyseveraldifferentdraftsofaletter—writteninasmall,neatclerklyhandwriting.
Thisistosay(beganthefirst)thatthewriterofthisdoesnotwishtocauseunpleasantness,andmaypossiblyhavebeenmistakeninwhathethoughthesawtonight,but—
Herethewriterhadclearlybeendissatisfied,andhadbrokenofftostartafresh.
JohnEllis,butler,presentshiscompliments,andwouldbegladofashortinterviewtouchingthetragedytonightbeforegoingtothepolicewithcertaininformationinhispossession—
Stilldissatisfied,themanhadtriedagain.
JohnEllis,butler,hascertainfactsconcerningthedeathofthedoctorinhispossession.Hehasnotyetgiventhesefactstothepolice—
Inthenextonetheuseofthethirdpersonhadbeenabandoned.
Iambadlyinneedofmoney.Athousandpoundswouldmakeallthedifferencetome.TherearecertainthingsIcouldtellthepolice,butdonotwanttomaketrouble—
Thelastonewasevenmoreunreserved.
Iknowhowthedoctordied.Ihaven’tsaidanythingtothepolice—yet.Ifyouwillmeetme—
Thisletterbrokeoffinadifferentway—afterthe“me”thepenhadtailedoffinascrawl,andthelastfivewordswereallblurredandblotchy.ClearlyitwaswhenwritingthisthatEllishadheardsomethingthatalarmedhim.Hehadcrumpledupthepapersanddashedtoconcealthem.
Mr.Satterthwaitedrewadeepbreath.
“Icongratulateyou,Cartwright,”hesaid.“Yourinstinctaboutthatinkstainwasright.Goodwork.Nowlet’sseeexactlywherewestand.”
Hepausedaminute.
“Ellis,aswethought,isascoundrel.Hewasn’tthemurderer,butheknewwhothemurdererwas,andhewaspreparingtoblackmailhimorher—”
“Himorher,”interruptedSirCharles.“Annoyingwedon’tknowwhich.Whycouldn’tthefellowbeginoneofhiseffusionsSirorMadam,thenwe’dknowwhereweare.Ellisseemstohavebeenanartisticsortoffellow.Hewastakingalotoftroubleoverhisblackmailingletter.Ifonlyhe’dgivenusoneclue—astowhomthatletterwasaddressed.”
“Nevermind,”saidMr.Satterthwaite.“Wearegettingon.YourememberyousaidthatwhatwewantedtofindinthisroomwasaproofofEllis’sinnocence.Well,we’vefoundit.Theselettersshowthathewasinnocent—ofthemurder,Imean.Hewasathorough-pacedscoundrelinotherways.Buthedidn’tmurderSirBartholomewStrange.Somebodyelsedidthat.SomeonewhomurderedBabbingtonalso.Ithinkeventhepolicewillhavetocomeroundtoourviewnow.”
“You’regoingtotellthemaboutthis?”
SirCharles’svoiceexpresseddissatisfaction.
“Idon’tseethatwecandootherwise.Why?”
“Well—”SirCharlessatdownonthebed.Hisbrowfurroweditselfinthought.“HowcanIputitbest?Atthemomentweknowsomethingthatnobodyelsedoes.ThepolicearelookingforEllis.Theythinkhe’sthemurderer.Everyoneknowsthattheythinkhe’sthemurderer.Sotherealcriminalmustbefeelingprettygood.He(orshe)willbenotexactlyoffhisorherguard,butfeeling—well,comfortable.Isn’titapitytoupsetthatstateofthings?Isn’tthatjustourchance?ImeanourchanceoffindingaconnectionbetweenBabbingtonandoneofthesepeople.Theydon’tknowthatanyonehasconnectedthisdeathwithBabbington’sdeath.They’llbeunsuspicious.It’sachanceinahundred.”
“Iseewhatyoumean,”saidMr.Satterthwaite.“AndIagreewithyou.Itisachance.But,allthesame,Idon’tthinkwecantakeit.Itisourdutyascitizenstoreportthisdiscoveryofourstothepoliceatonce.Wehavenorighttowithholditfromthem.”
SirCharleslookedathimquizzically.
“You’rethepatternofagoodcitizen,Satterthwaite.I’venodoubttheorthodoxthingmustbedone—butI’mnotnearlysuchagoodcitizenasyouare.Ishouldhavenoscruplesinkeepingthisfindtomyselfforadayortwo—onlyadayortwo—eh?No?Well,Igivein.Letusbepillarsoflawandorder.”
“Yousee,”explainedMr.Satterthwaite,“Johnsonisafriendofmine,andhewasverydecentaboutitall—letusintoallthepoliceweredoing—gaveusfullinformation,andallthat.”
“Oh,you’reright,”sighedSirCharles.“Quiteright.Only,afterall,noonebutmethoughtoflookingunderthatgasstove.Theideaneveroccurredtooneofthosethickheadedpolicemen…Buthaveityourownway.Isay,Satterthwaite,wheredoyouthinkEllisisnow?”
“Ipresume,”saidMr.Satterthwaite,“thathegotwhathewanted.Hewaspaidtodisappear,andhediddisappear—mosteffectually.”
“Yes,”saidSirCharles.“Isupposethatistheexplanation.”
Hegaveaslightshiver.
“Idon’tlikethisroom,Satterthwaite.Comeoutofit.”
Seven
PLANOFCAMPAIGN
SirCharlesandMr.SatterthwaitearrivedbackinLondonthefollowingevening.
TheinterviewwithColonelJohnsonhadhadtobeverytactfullyconducted.SuperintendentCrossfieldhadnotbeentoopleasedthatmere“gentlemen”shouldhavefoundwhatheandhisassistantshadmissed.Hewasatsomepainstosavehisface.
“Verycreditable,indeed,sir.IconfessIneverthoughtoflookingunderthegasfire.Asamatteroffact,itbeatsmewhatsetyoulookingthere.”
Thetwomenhadnotgoneintoadetailedaccountofhowtheorizingfromaninkblothadledtothediscovery.“Justnosingaround,”washowSirCharleshadputit.
“Still,lookyoudid,”continuedtheSuperintendent,“andwerejustified.Notthatwhatyou’vefoundismuchsurprisetome.Yousee,itstandstoreasonthatifElliswasn’tthemurderer,hemusthavedisappearedforsomereasonorother,andit’sbeeninthebackofmymindallalongthatblackmailmighthavebeenhislineofbusiness.”
Onethingdidarisefromtheirdiscovery.ColonelJohnsonwasgoingtocommunicatewiththeLoomouthpolice.ThedeathofStephenBabbingtonoughtcertainlytobeinvestigated.
“Andiftheyfindhediedfromnicotinepoisoning,evenCrossfieldwilladmitthetwodeathsareconnected,”saidSirCharleswhentheywerespeedingtowardsLondon.
Hewasstillalittledisgruntledathavinghadtohandoverhisdiscoverytothepolice.
Mr.Satterthwaitehadsoothedhimbypointingoutthattheinformationwasnottobemadepublicorgiventothepress.
“Theguiltypersonwillhavenomisgivings.ThesearchforElliswillstillbecontinued.”
SirCharlesadmittedthatthatwastrue
OnarrivalinLondon,heexplainedtoMr.Satterthwaite,heproposedtogetintouchwithEggLyttonGore.HerletterhadbeenwrittenfromanaddressinBelgraveSquare.Hehopedthatshemightstillbethere.
Mr.Satterthwaitegravelyapprovedthiscourse.HehimselfwasanxioustoseeEgg.ItwasarrangedthatSirCharlesshouldringherupassoonastheyreachedLondon.
Eggprovedtobestillintown.SheandhermotherwerestayingwithrelativesandwerenotreturningtoLoomouthforaboutaweek.Eggwaseasilyprevailedupontocomeoutanddinewiththetwomen.
“Shecan’tcomehereverywell,Isuppose,”saidSirCharles,lookingroundhisluxuriousflat.“Hermothermightn’tlikeit,eh?OfcoursewecouldhaveMissMilray,too—butI’drathernot.Totellthetruth,MissMilraycrampsmystyleabit.She’ssoefficientthatshegivesmeaninferioritycomplex.”
Mr.Satterthwaitesuggestedhishouse.IntheenditwasarrangedtodineattheBerkeley.Afterwards,ifEggliked,theycouldadjournelsewhere.
Mr.Satterthwaitenoticedatoncethatthegirlwaslookingthinner.Hereyesseemedlargerandmorefeverish,herchinmoredecided.Shewaspaleandhadcirclesunderhereyes.Buthercharmwasasgreatasever,herchildisheagernessjustasintense.
ShesaidtoSirCharles,“Iknewyou’dcome….”
Hertoneimplied:“Nowthatyou’vecomeeverythingwillbeallright….”
Mr.Satterthwaitethoughttohimself:“Butshewasn’tsurehe’dcome—shewasn’tsureatall.She’sbeenontenterhooks.She’sbeenfrettingherselftodeath.”Andhethought:“Doesn’tthemanrealize?Actorsareusuallyvainenough…Doesn’theknowthegirl’sheadoverearsinlovewithhim?”
Itwas,hethought,anoddsituation.ThatSirCharleswasoverwhelminglyinlovewiththegirl,hehadnodoubtwhatever.Shewasequallyinlovewithhim.Andthelinkbetweenthem—thelinktowhicheachofthemclungfrenziedly—wasacrime—adoublecrimeofarevoltingnature.
Duringdinnerlittlewassaid.SirCharlestalkedabouthisexperiencesabroad.EggtalkedaboutLoomouth.Mr.Satterthwaiteencouragedthembothwhenevertheconversationseemedlikelytoflag.WhendinnerwasovertheywenttoMr.Satterthwaite’shouse.
Mr.Satterthwaite’shousewasonChelseaEmbankment.Itwasalargehouse,andcontainedmanybeautifulworksofart.Therewerepictures,sculpture,Chineseporcelain,prehistoricpottery,ivories,miniaturesandmuchgenuineChippendaleandHepplewhitefurniture.Ithadanatmosphereaboutitofmellownessandunderstanding.
EggLyttonGoresawnothing,noticednothing.Sheflungoffhereveningcoatontoachairandsaid:
“Atlast.Nowtellmeallaboutit.”
ShelistenedwithvividinterestwhilstSirCharlesnarratedtheiradventuresinYorkshire,drawinginherbreathsharplywhenhedescribedthediscoveryoftheblackmailingletters.
“Whathappenedafterthatwecanonlyconjecture,”finishedSirCharles.“PresumablyElliswaspaidtoholdhistongueandhisescapewasfacilitated.”
ButEggshookherhead.
“Oh,no,”shesaid.“Don’tyousee?Ellisisdead.”
Bothmenwerestartled,butEggreiteratedherassertion.
“Ofcoursehe’sdead.That’swhyhe’sdisappearedsosuccessfullythatnoonecanfindatraceofhim.Heknewtoomuch,andsohewaskilled.Ellisisthethirdmurder.”
Althoughneitherofthetwomenhadconsideredthepossibilitybefore,theywereforcedtoadmitthatitdidnotentirelyringfalse.
“Butlookhere,mydeargirl,”arguedSirCharles,“it’sallverywelltosayEllisisdead.Where’sthebody?There’stwelvestoneorsoofsolidbutlertobeaccountedfor.”
“Idon’tknowwherethebodyis,”saidEgg.“Theremustbelotsofplaces.”
“Hardly,”murmuredMr.Satterthwaite.“Hardly….”
“Lots,”reiteratedEgg.“Letmesee…”Shepausedforamoment.“Attics,therearemassesofatticsthatnooneevergoesinto.He’sprobablyinatrunkintheattic.”
“Ratherunlikely,”saidSirCharles.“Butpossible,ofcourse.Itmightevadediscovery—for—er—atime.”
ItwasnotEgg’swaytoavoidunpleasantness.ShedealtimmediatelywiththepointinSirCharles’smind.
“Smellgoesup,notdown.You’dnoticeadecayingbodyinthecellarmuchsoonerthanintheattic.And,anyway,foralongtimepeoplewouldthinkitwasadeadrat.”
“Ifyourtheorywerecorrect,itwouldpointdefinitelytoamanasthemurderer.Awomancouldn’tdragabodyroundthehouse.Infact,itwouldbeaprettygoodfeatforaman.”
“Well,thereareotherpossibilities.There’sasecretpassagethere,youknow.MissSutcliffetoldmeso,andSirBartholomewtoldmehewouldshowittome.ThemurderermighthavegivenEllisthemoneyandshownhimthewaytogetoutofthehouse—gonedownthepassagewithhimandkilledhimthere.Awomancoulddothat.Shecouldstabhim,orsomething,frombehind.Thenshe’djustleavethebodythereandgoback,andnoonewouldeverknow.”
SirCharlesshookhisheaddoubtfully,buthenolongerdisputedEgg’stheory
Mr.SatterthwaitefeltsurethatthesamesuspicionhadcometohimforamomentinEllis’sroomwhentheyhadfoundtheletters.HerememberedSirCharles’slittleshiver.TheideathatEllismightbedeadhadcometohimthen….
Mr.Satterthwaitethought:“IfEllisisdead,thenwe’redealingwithaverydangerousperson…Yes,averydangerousperson…”Andsuddenlyhefeltacoldchilloffeardownhisspine….
Apersonwhohadkilledthreetimeswouldn’thesitatetokillagain….
Theywereindanger,allthreeofthem—SirCharles,andEgg,andhe….
Iftheyfoundouttoomuch….
HewasrecalledbythesoundofSirCharles’svoice.
“There’sonethingIdidn’tunderstandinyourletter,Egg.YouspokeofOliverMandersbeingindanger—ofthepolicesuspectinghim.Ican’tseethattheyattachtheleastsuspiciontohim.”
ItseemedtoMr.SatterthwaitethatEggwasveryslightlydiscomposed.Heevenfanciedthatsheblushed.
“Aha,”saidMr.Satterthwaitetohimself.“Let’sseehowyougetoutofthis,younglady.”
“Itwassillyofme,”saidEgg.“Igotconfused.IthoughtthatOliverarrivingashedid,withwhatmighthavebeenatrumped-upexcuse—well,Ithoughtthepoliceweresuretosuspecthim.”
SirCharlesacceptedtheexplanationeasilyenough.
“Yes,”hesaid.“Isee.”
Mr.Satterthwaitespoke.
“Wasitatrumped-upexcuse?”hesaid
Eggturnedonhim.
“Whatdoyoumean?”
“Itwasanoddsortofaccident,”saidMr.Satterthwaite.“Ithoughtifitwasatrumped-upexcuseyoumightknow.”
Eggshookherhead.
“Idon’tknow.Ineverthoughtaboutit.ButwhyshouldOliverpretendtohaveanaccidentifhedidn’t?”
“Hemighthavehadreasons,”saidSirCharles.“Quitenaturalones.”
Hewassmilingather.Eggblushedcrimson.
“Oh,no,”shesaid.“No.”
SirCharlessighed.ItoccurredtoMr.Satterthwaitethathisfriendhadinterpretedthatblushquitewrongly.SirCharlesseemedasadderandoldermanwhenhespokeagain.
“Well,”hesaid,“ifouryoungfriendisinnodanger,wheredoIcomein?”
Eggcameforwardquicklyandcaughthimbythecoatsleeve.
“You’renotgoingawayagain.You’renotgoingtogiveup?You’regoingtofindoutthetruth—thetruth.Idon’tbelieveanybodybutyoucouldfindoutthetruth.Youcan.Youwill.”
Shewastremendouslyinearnest.Thewavesofhervitalityseemedtosurgeandeddyintheold-worldairoftheroom.
“Youbelieveinme?”saidSirCharles.Hewasmoved.
“Yes,yes,yes.We’regoingtogetatthetruth.YouandItogether.”
“AndSatterthwaite.”
“Ofcourse,andMr.Satterthwaite,”saidEggwithoutinterest.
Mr.Satterthwaitesmiledcovertly.WhetherEggwantedtoincludehimornot,hehadnointentionofbeingleftout.Hewasfondofmysteries,andhelikedobservinghumannature,andhehadasoftspotforlovers.Allthreetastesseemedlikelytobegratifiedinthisaffair.
SirCharlessatdown.Hisvoicechanged.Hewasincommand,directingaproduction.
“Firstofallwe’vegottoclarifythesituation.Dowe,ordowenot,believethatthesamepersonkilledBabbingtonandBartholomewStrange?”
“Yes,”saidEgg.
“Yes,”saidMr.Satterthwaite.
“Dowebelievethatthesecondmurdersprangdirectlyfromthefirst?Imean,dowebelievethatBartholomewStrangewaskilledinordertopreventhisrevealingthefactsofthefirstmurder,orhissuspicionaboutit?”
“Yes,”saidEggandMr.Satterthwaiteagain,butinunisonthistime.
“Thenitisthefirstmurderwemustinvestigate,notthesecond—”
Eggnodded.
“Inmymind,untilwediscoverthemotiveforthefirstmurder,wecanhardlyhopetodiscoverthemurderer.Themotivepresentsextraordinarydifficulty.Babbingtonwasaharmless,pleasant,gentleoldmanwithout,onewouldsay,anenemyintheworld.Yethewaskilled—andtheremusthavebeensomereasonforthekilling.We’vegottofindthatreason.”
Hepausedandthensaidinhisordinaryeverydayvoice:
“Let’sgetdowntoit.Whatreasonsarethereforkillingpeople?First,Isuppose,gain.”
“Revenge,”saidEgg.
“Homicidalmania,”saidMr.Satterthwaite.“Thecrimepassionelwouldhardlyapplyinthiscase.Butthere’sfear.”
CharlesCartwrightnodded.Hewasscribblingonapieceofpaper.
“Thataboutcoverstheground,”hesaid.“First,Gain.DoesanyonegainbyBabbington’sdeath?Hasheanymoney—orexpectationofmoney?”
“Ishouldthinkitveryunlikely,”saidEgg.
“SoshouldI,butwe’dbetterapproachMrs.Babbingtononthepoint.”
“Thenthere’srevenge.DidBabbingtondoanyinjurytoanyone—perhapsinhisyoungdays?Didhemarrythegirlthatsomeothermanwanted?We’llhavetolookintothat,too.”
“Thenhomicidalmania.WerebothBabbingtonandTolliekilledbyalunatic?Idon’tthinkthattheorywillholdwater.Evenalunatichassomekindofreasonablenessinhiscrimes.Imeanalunaticmightthinkhimselfdivinelyappointedtokilldoctors,ortokillclergymen,butnottokillboth.Ithinkwecanwashoutthetheoryofhomicidalmania.Thereremainsfear.
“Now,frankly,thatseemstomefarthemostlikelysolution.Babbingtonknewsomethingaboutsomebody—orherecognizedsomebody.Hewaskilledtopreventhimtellingwhatthatsomethingwas.”
“Ican’tseewhatsomeonelikeMr.Babbingtoncouldknowthatwasdamagingaboutanybodywhowastherethatnight.”
“Perhaps,”saidSirCharles,“itwassomethingthathedidn’tknowthatheknew.”
Hewenton,tryingtomakehismeaningclear.
“It’sdifficulttosayjustwhatImean.Suppose,forinstance(thisisonlyaninstance)thatBabbingtonsawacertainpersoninacertainplaceatacertaintime.Asfarasheknows,there’snoreasonwhythatpersonshouldn’tbethere.Butsupposealsothatthatpersonhadconcoctedaverycleveralibiforsomereasonshowingthatatthatparticulartimehewassomewhereelseahundredmilesaway.Well,atanyminuteoldBabbington,inthemostinnocentwayintheworld,mightgivetheshowaway.”
“Isee,”saidEgg.“Saythere’samurdercommittedinLondon,andBabbingtonseesthemanwhodiditatPaddingtonStation,butthemanhasprovedthathedidn’tdoitbyhavinganalibishowingthathewasatLeedsatthetime.ThenBabbingtonmightgivethewholeshowaway.”
“That’swhatImeanexactly.Ofcoursethat’sonlyaninstance.Itmightbeanything.Someonehesawthateveningwhomhe’dknownunderadifferentname—”
“Itmightbesomethingtodowithamarriage,”saidEgg.“Clergymendolotsofmarriages.Somebodywho’dcommittedbigamy.”
“Oritmighthavetodowithabirthoradeath,”suggestedMr.Satterthwaite.
“It’saverywidefield,”saidEgg,frowning.“We’llhavetogetatittheotherway.Workbackfromthepeoplewhowerethere.Let’smakealist.Whowasatyourhouse,andwhowasatSirBartholomew’s.”
ShetookthepaperandpencilfromSirCharles.
“TheDacres,theywereatboth.Thatwomanlikeawiltedcabbage,what’shername—Wills.MissSutcliffe.”
“YoucanleaveAngelaoutofit,”saidSirCharles.“I’veknownherforyears.”
Eggfrownedmutinously.
“Wecan’tdothatsortofthing,”shesaid.“Leavepeopleoutbecauseweknowthem.We’vegottobebusinesslike.Besides,Idon’tknowanythingaboutAngelaSutcliffe.She’sjustaslikelytohavedoneitasanyoneelse,sofarasIcansee—morelikely.Allactresseshavepasts.Ithink,onthewhole,she’sthemostlikelyperson.”
ShegazeddefiantlyatSirCharles.Therewasanansweringsparkinhiseyes.
“Inthatcasewemustn’tleaveoutOliverManders.”
“HowcoulditbeOliver?He’dmetMr.Babbingtoneversomanytimesbefore.”
“Hewasatbothplaces,andhisarrivalisalittle—opentosuspicion.”
“Verywell,”saidEgg.Shepaused,andthenadded:“InthatcaseI’dbetterputdownMotherandmyselfaswell…Thatmakessixsuspects.”
“Idon’tthink—”
“We’lldoitproperly,ornotatall.”Hereyesflashed.
Mr.Satterthwaitemadepeacebyofferingrefreshment.Herangfordrinks.
SirCharlesstrolledoffintoafarcornertoadmireaheadofNegrosculpture.EggcameovertoMr.Satterthwaiteandslippedahandthroughhisarm.
“Stupidofmetohavelostmytemper,”shemurmured.“Iamstupid—butwhyshouldthewomanbeexcepted?Whyishesokeensheshouldbe?Oh,dear,whythedevilamIsodisgustinglyjealous?”
Mr.Satterthwaitesmiledandpattedherhand.
“Jealousyneverpays,mydear,”hesaid.“Ifyoufeeljealous,don’tshowit.Bytheway,didyoureallythinkyoungMandersmightbesuspected?”
Egggrinned—afriendlychildishgrin.
“Ofcoursenot.Iputthatinsoasnottoalarmtheman.”Sheturnedherhead.SirCharleswasstillmoodilystudyingNegrosculpture.“Youknow—Ididn’twanthimtothinkIreallyhaveapashforOliver—becauseIhaven’t.Howdifficulteverythingis!He’sgonebacknowtohis‘Blessyou,mychildren,’attitude.Idon’twantthatatall.”
“Havepatience,”counselledMr.Satterthwaite.“Everythingcomesrightintheend,youknow.”
“I’mnotpatient,”saidEgg.“Iwanttohavethingsatonce,orevenquicker.”
Mr.Satterthwaitelaughed,andSirCharlesturnedandcametowardsthem.
Astheysippedtheirdrinks,theyarrangedaplanofcampaign.SirCharlesshouldreturntoCrow’sNest,forwhichhehadnotyetfoundapurchaser.EggandhermotherwouldreturntoRoseCottagerathersoonerthantheyhadmeanttodo.Mrs.BabbingtonwasstilllivinginLoomouth.Theywouldgetwhatinformationtheycouldfromherandthenproceedtoactuponit.
“We’llsucceed,”saidEgg.“Iknowwe’llsucceed.”
SheleanedforwardtoSirCharles,hereyesglowing.Sheheldoutherglasstotouchhis.
“Drinktooursuccess,”shecommanded
Slowly,veryslowly,hiseyesfixedonhers,heraisedhisglasstohislips.
“Tosuccess,”hesaid,“andtotheFuture….”
THIRDACT
DISCOVERY
One
MRS.BABBINGTON
Mrs.Babbingtonhadmovedintoasmallfisherman’scottagenotfarfromtheharbour.ShewasexpectingasisterhomefromJapaninaboutsixmonths.Untilhersisterarrivedshewasmakingnoplansforthefuture.Thecottagechancedtobevacant,andshetookitforsixmonths.ShefelttoobewilderedbyhersuddenlosstomoveawayfromLoomouth.StephenBabbingtonhadheldthelivingofSt.Petroch,Loomouth,forseventeenyears.Theyhadbeen,onthewhole,seventeenhappyandpeacefulyears,inspiteofthesorrowoccasionedbythedeathofhersonRobin.Ofherremainingchildren,EdwardwasinCeylon,LloydwasinSouthAfrica,andStephenwasthirdofficerontheAngolia.Theywrotefrequentlyandaffectionately,buttheycouldofferneitherahomenorcompanionshiptotheirmother.
MargaretBabbingtonwasverylonely….
Notthatsheallowedherselfmuchtimeforthinking.Shewasstillactiveintheparish—thenewvicarwasunmarried,andshespentagooddealoftimeworkinginthetinyplotofgroundinfrontofthecottage.Shewasawomanwhoseflowerswerepartofherlife.
Shewasworkingthereoneafternoonwhensheheardthelatchofthegateclick,andlookeduptoseeSirCharlesCartwrightandEggLyttonGore.
MargaretwasnotsurprisedtoseeEgg.Sheknewthatthegirlandhermotherwereduetoreturnshortly.ButshewassurprisedtoseeSirCharles.Rumourhadinsistedthathehadlefttheneighbourhoodforgood.TherehadbeenparagraphscopiedfromotherpapersabouthisdoingsintheSouthofFrance.Therehadbeenaboard“TOBESOLD”stuckupinthegardenofCrow’sNest.NoonehadexpectedSirCharlestoreturn.Yetreturnhehad.
Mrs.Babbingtonshooktheuntidyhairbackfromherhotforeheadandlookedruefullyatherearth-stainedhands.
“I’mnotfittoshakehands,”shesaid.“Ioughttogardeningloves,Iknow.Idostartinthemsometimes;butIalwaystearthemoffsoonerorlater.Onecanfeelthingssomuchbetterwithbarehands.”
Sheledthewayintothehouse.Thetinysittingroomhadbeenmadecosywithchintz.Therewerephotographsandbowlsofchrysanthemums.
“It’sagreatsurpriseseeingyou,SirCharles.IthoughtyouhadgivenupCrow’sNestforgood.”
“IthoughtIhad,”saidtheactorfrankly.“Butsometimes,Mrs.Babbington,ourdestinyistoostrongforus.”
Mrs.Babbingtondidnotreply.SheturnedtowardsEgg,butthegirlforestalledthewordsonherlips.
“Lookhere,Mrs.Babbington.Thisisn’tjustacall.SirCharlesandIhavegotsomethingveryserioustosay.Only—I—Ishouldhatetoupsetyou.”
Mrs.BabbingtonlookedfromthegirltoSirCharles.Herfacehadgonerathergreyandpinched.
“Firstofall,”saidSirCharles,“IwouldliketoaskyouifyouhavehadanycommunicationfromtheHomeOffice?”
Mrs.Babbingtonbowedherhead.
“Isee—well,perhapsthatmakeswhatweareabouttosayeasier.”
“Isthatwhatyouhavecomeabout—thisexhumationorder?”
“Yes.Isit—I’mafraiditmustbe—verydistressingtoyou.”
Shesoftenedtothesympathyinhisvoice.
“PerhapsIdonotmindasmuchasyouthink.Tosomepeopletheideaofexhumationisverydreadful—nottome.Itisnotthedeadclaythatmatters.Mydearhusbandiselsewhere—atpeace—wherenoonecantroublehisrest.No,itisnotthat.Itistheideathatisashocktome—theidea,aterribleone,thatStephendidnotdieanaturaldeath.Itseemssoimpossible—utterlyimpossible.”
“I’mafraiditmustseemsotoyou.Itdidtome—tous—atfirst.”
“Whatdoyoumeanbyatfirst,SirCharles?”
“Becausethesuspicioncrossedmymindontheeveningofyourhusband’sdeath,Mrs.Babbington.Likeyou,however,itseemedtomesoimpossiblethatIputitaside.”
“Ithoughtso,too,”saidEgg.
“Youtoo,”Mrs.Babbingtonlookedatherwonderingly.“Youthoughtsomeonecouldhavekilled—Stephen?”
Theincredulityinhervoicewassogreatthatneitherofhervisitorsknewquitehowtoproceed.AtlastSirCharlestookupthetale.
“Asyouknow,Mrs.Babbington,Iwentabroad.WhenIwasintheSouthofFranceIreadinthepaperofmyfriendBartholomewStrange’sdeathinalmostexactlysimilarcircumstances.IalsogotaletterfromMissLyttonGore.”
Eggnodded.
“Iwasthere,youknow,stayingwithhimatthetime.Mrs.Babbington,itwasexactlythesame—exactly.Hedranksomeportandhisfacechanged,and—and—well,itwasjustthesame.Hediedtwoorthreeminuteslater.”
Mrs.Babbingtonshookherheadslowly.
“Ican’tunderstandit.Stephen!SirBartholomew—akindandcleverdoctor!Whocouldwanttoharmeitherofthem?Itmustbeamistake.”
“SirBartholomewwasprovedtohavebeenpoisoned,remember,”saidSirCharles.
“Thenitmusthavebeentheworkofalunatic.”
SirCharleswenton:
“Mrs.Babbington,Iwanttogettothebottomofthis.Iwanttofindoutthetruth.AndIfeelthereisnotimetolose.Oncethenewsoftheexhumationgetsaboutourcriminalwillbeonthealert.Iamassuming,forthesakeofsavingtime,whattheresultoftheautopsyonyourhusband’sbodywillbe.Iamtakingitthathe,too,diedofnicotinepoisoning.Tobeginwith,didyouorheknowanythingabouttheuseofpurenicotine?”
“Ialwaysuseasolutionofnicotineforsprayingroses.Ididn’tknowitwassupposedtobepoisonous.”
“Ishouldimagine(Iwasreadingupthesubjectlastnight)thatinbothcasesthepurealkaloidmusthavebeenused.Casesofpoisoningbynicotinearemostunusual.”
Mrs.Babbingtonshookherhead.
“Ireallydon’tknowanythingaboutnicotinepoisoning—exceptthatIsupposeinveteratesmokersmightsufferfromit.”
“Didyourhusbandsmoke?”
“Yes.”
“Nowtellme,Mrs.Babbington,youhaveexpressedtheutmostsurprisethatanyoneshouldwanttodoawaywithyourhusband.Doesthatmeanthatasfarasyouknowhehadnoenemies?”
“IamsureStephenhadnoenemies.Everyonewasfondofhim.Peopletriedtohustlehimsometimes,”shesmiledalittletearfully.“Hewasgettingon,youknow,andratherafraidofinnovations,buteverybodylikedhim.Youcouldn’tdislikeStephen,SirCharles.”
“Isuppose,Mrs.Babbington,thatyourhusbanddidn’tleaveverymuchmoney?”
“No.Nexttonothing.Stephenwasnotgoodatsaving.Hegaveawayfartoomuch.Iusedtoscoldhimaboutit.”
“Isupposehehadnoexpectationsfromanyone?Hewasn’ttheheirtoanyproperty?”
“Oh,no.Stephenhadn’tmanyrelations.HehasasisterwhoismarriedtoaclergymaninNorthumberland,buttheyareverybadlyoff,andallhisunclesandauntsaredead.”
“ThenitdoesnotseemasthoughtherewereanyonewhocouldbenefitbyMr.Babbington’sdeath?”
“No,indeed.”
“Letuscomebacktothequestionofenemiesforaminute.Yourhusbandhadnoenemies,yousay;buthemayhavehadasayoungman.”
Mrs.Babbingtonlookedsceptical.
“Ishouldthinkitveryunlikely.Stephenhadn’taquarrelsomenature.Healwaysgotonwellwithpeople.”
“Idon’twanttosoundmelodramatic,”SirCharlescoughedalittlenervously.“But—er—whenhegotengagedtoyou,forinstance,therewasn’tanydisappointedsuitorintheoffing?”
AmomentarytwinklecameintoMrs.Babbington’seyes.
“Stephenwasmyfather’scurate.HewasthefirstyoungmanIsawwhenIcamehomefromschool.Ifellinlovewithhimandhewithme.Wewereengagedforfouryears,andthenhegotalivingdowninKent,andwewereabletogetmarried.Ourswasaverysimplelovestory,SirCharles—andaveryhappyone.”
SirCharlesbowedhishead.Mrs.Babbington’ssimpledignitywasverycharming.
Eggtookupther?leofquestioner.
“Mrs.Babbington,doyouthinkyourhusbandhadmetanyoftheguestsatSirCharles’sthatnightbefore?”
Mrs.Babbingtonlookedslightlypuzzled
“Well,therewereyouandyourmother,mydear,andyoungOliverManders.”
“Yes,butanyoftheothers?”
“WehadbothseenAngelaSutcliffeinaplayinLondonfiveyearsago.BothStephenandIwereveryexcitedthatwewereactuallygoingtomeether.”
“Youhadneveractuallymetherbefore?”
“No.We’venevermetanyactresses—oractors,forthematterofthat—untilSirCharlescametolivehere.Andthat,”addedMrs.Babbington,“wasagreatexcitement.Idon’tthinkSirCharlesknowswhatawonderfulthingitwastous.Quiteabreathofromanceinourlives.”
“Youhadn’tmetCaptainandMrs.Dacres?”
“Washethelittleman,andthewomanwiththewonderfulclothes?”
“Yes.”
“No.Northeotherwoman—theonewhowroteplays.Poorthing,shelookedratheroutofit,Ithought.”
“You’resureyou’dneverseenanyofthembefore?”
“I’mquitesureIhadn’t—andsoI’mfairlysureStephenhadn’t,either.Yousee,wedoeverythingtogether.”
“AndMr.Babbingtondidn’tsayanythingtoyou—anythingatall,”persistedEgg,“aboutthepeopleyouweregoingtomeet,oraboutthem,whenhesawthem?”
“Nothingbeforehand—exceptthathewaslookingforwardtoaninterestingevening.Andwhenwegotthere—well,therewasn’tmuchtime—”Herfacetwistedsuddenly.
SirCharlesbrokeinquickly.
“Youmustforgiveusbadgeringyoulikethis.But,yousee,wefeelthattheremustbesomething,ifonlywecouldgetatit.Theremustbesomereasonforanapparentlybrutalandmeaninglessmurder.”
“Iseethat,”saidMrs.Babbington.“Ifitwasmurder,theremustbesomereason…ButIdon’tknow—Ican’timagine—whatthatreasoncouldbe.”
Therewassilenceforaminuteortwo,thenSirCharlessaid:
“Canyougivemeaslightbiographicalsketchofyourhusband’scareer?”
Mrs.Babbingtonhadagoodmemoryfordates.SirCharles’sfinalnotesranthus:
“StephenBabbington,bornIslington,Devon,1868.EducatedSt.Paul’sSchoolandOxford.OrdainedDeaconandreceivedatitletotheParishofHoxton,1891.Priested1892.WasCurateEslington,Surrey,toRev.VernonLorrimer,1894–1899.MarriedMargaretLorrimer,1899,andpresentedtothelivingofGilling,Kent.TransferredtolivingofSt.Petroch,Loomouth,1916.”
“Thatgivesussomethingtogoupon,”saidSirCharles.“OurbestchanceseemstomethetimeduringwhichMr.BabbingtonwasVicarofSt.Mary’s,Gilling.Hisearlierhistoryseemsratherfarbacktoconcernanyofthepeoplewhowereatmyhousethatevening.”
Mrs.Babbingtonshuddered.
“Doyoureallythink—thatoneofthem—?”
“Idon’tknowwhattothink,”saidSirCharles.“Bartholomewsawsomethingorguessedsomething,andBartholomewStrangediedthesameway,andfive—”
“Seven,”saidEgg.
“—ofthesepeoplewerealsopresent.Oneofthemmustbeguilty.”
“Butwhy?”criedMrs.Babbington.“Why?WhatmotivecouldtherebeforanyonekillingStephen?”
“That,”saidSirCharles,“iswhatwearegoingtofindout.”
Two
LADYMARY
Mr.SatterthwaitehadcomedowntoCrow’sNestwithSirCharles.WhilsthishostandEggLyttonGorewerevisitingMrs.Babbington,Mr.SatterthwaitewashavingteawithLadyMary.
LadyMarylikedMr.Satterthwaite.Forallhergentlenessofmanner,shewasawomanwhohadverydefiniteviewsonthesubjectofwhomshedidordidnotlike.
Mr.SatterthwaitesippedChinateafromaDresdencup,andateamicroscopicsandwichandchatted.Onhislastvisittheyhadfoundmanyfriendsandacquaintancesincommon.Theirtalktodaybeganonthesamesubject,butgraduallydriftedintomoreintimatechannels.Mr.Satterthwaitewasasympatheticperson—helistenedtothetroublesofotherpeopleanddidnotintrudehisown.EvenonhislastvisitithadseemednaturaltoLadyMarytospeaktohimofherpreoccupationwithherdaughter’sfuture.Shetalkednowasshewouldhavetalkedtoafriendofmanyyears’standing.
“Eggissoheadstrong,”shesaid.“Sheflingsherselfintoathingheartandsoul.Youknow,Mr.Satterthwaite,Idonotlikethewaysheis—well,mixingherselfupinthisdistressingbusiness.It—Eggwouldlaughatme,Iknow—butitdoesn’tseemtobeladylike.”
Sheflushedasshespoke.Herbrowneyes,gentleandingenuous,lookedwithchildishappealatMr.Satterthwaite.
“Iknowwhatyoumean,”hesaid.“IconfessthatIdon’tquitelikeitmyself.Iknowthatit’ssimplyanold-fashionedprejudice,butthereitis.Allthesame,”hetwinkledather,“wecan’texpectyoungladiestositathomeandsewandshudderattheideaofcrimesofviolenceintheseenlighteneddays.”
“Idon’tliketothinkofmurder,”saidLadyMary.“Inever,neverdreamedthatIshouldbemixedupinanythingofthatkind.Itwasdreadful.”Sheshivered.“PoorSirBartholomew.”
“Youdidn’tknowhimverywell?”hazardedMr.Satterthwaite.
“IthinkI’donlymethimtwice.Thefirsttimeaboutayearago,whenhecamedowntostaywithSirCharlesforaweekend,andthesecondtimewasonthatdreadfuleveningwhenpoorMr.Babbingtondied.Iwasreallymostsurprisedwhenhisinvitationarrived.IacceptedbecauseIthoughtEggwouldenjoyit.Shehasn’tmanytreats,poorchild,and—well,shehadseemedalittledowninthemouth,asthoughshedidn’ttakeanyinterestinanything.Ithoughtabighousepartymightcheerherup.”
Mr.Satterthwaitenodded.
“TellmesomethingaboutOliverManders,”hesaid.“Theyoungfellowratherinterestsme.”
“Ithinkhe’sclever,”saidLadyMary.“Ofcourse,thingshavebeendifficultforhim….”
Sheflushed,andtheninanswertotheplaininquiryofMr.Satterthwaite’sglanceshewenton.
“Yousee,hisfatherwasn’tmarriedtohismother….”
“Really?Ihadnoideaofthat.”
“Everyoneknowsaboutitdownhere,otherwiseIwouldn’thavesaidanythingaboutit.OldMrs.Manders,Oliver’sgrandmother,livesatDunboyne,thatbiggishhouseonthePlymouthroad.Herhusbandwasalawyerdownhere.Hersonwentintoacityfirmanddidverywell.He’squitearichman.Thedaughterwasagood-lookinggirl,andshebecameabsolutelyinfatuatedwithamarriedman.Iblamehimverymuchindeed.Anyway,intheend,afteralotofscandal,theywentofftogether.Hiswifewouldn’tdivorcehim.ThegirldiednotlongafterOliverwasborn.HisuncleinLondontookchargeofhim.Heandhiswifehadnochildrenoftheirown.Theboydividedhistimebetweenthemandhisgrandmother.Healwayscamedownhereforhissummerholidays.”
Shepausedandthenwenton:
“Ialwaysfeltsorryforhim.Istilldo.Ithinkthatterriblyconceitedmannerofhisisagooddealputon.”
“Ishouldn’tbesurprised,”saidMr.Satterthwaite.“It’saverycommonphenomenon.IfIeverseeanyonewhoappearstothinkalotofthemselvesandboastsunceasingly,Ialwaysknowthatthere’sasecretsenseofinferioritysomewhere.”
“Itseemsveryodd.”
“Aninferioritycomplexisaverypeculiarthing.Crippen,forinstance,undoubtedlysufferedfromit.It’satthebackofalotofcrimes.Thedesiretoassertone’spersonality.”
“Itseemsverystrangetome,”murmuredLadyMary.
Sheseemedtoshrinkalittle.Mr.Satterthwaitelookedatherwithanalmostsentimentaleye.Helikedhergracefulfigurewiththeslopingshoulders,thesoftbrownofhereyes,hercompleteabsenceofmakeup.Hethought:
“Shemusthavebeenabeautywhenshewasyoung….”
Notaflauntingbeauty,notarose—no,amodest,charmingviolet,hidingitssweetness….
Histhoughtsranserenelyintheidiomofhisyoungdays….
Herememberedincidentsinhisownyouth.
PresentlyhefoundhimselftellingLadyMaryabouthisownloveaffair—theonlyloveaffairhehadeverhad.Ratherapoorloveaffairbythestandardsoftoday,butverydeartoMr.Satterthwaite.
HetoldherabouttheGirl,andhowprettyshewas,andofhowtheyhadgonetogethertoseethebluebellsatKew.Hehadmeanttoproposetoherthatday.Hehadimagined(soheputit)thatshereciprocatedhissentiments.Andthen,astheywerestandinglookingatthebluebells,shehadconfidedinhim…Hehaddiscoveredthatshelovedanother.Andhehadhiddenthethoughtssurginginhisbreastandhadtakenupther?leofthefaithfulFriend.
Itwasnot,perhaps,averyfull-bloodedromance,butitsoundedwellinthedim-fadedchintzandeggshellchinaatmosphereofLadyMary’sdrawingroom.
AfterwardsLadyMaryspokeofherownlife,ofhermarriedlife,whichhadnotbeenveryhappy.
“Iwassuchafoolishgirl—girlsarefoolish,Mr.Satterthwaite.Theyaresosureofthemselves,soconvincedtheyknowbest.Peoplewriteandtalkalotofa‘woman’sinstinct.’Idon’tbelieve,Mr.Satterthwaite,thatthereisanysuchthing.Theredoesn’tseemtobeanythingthatwarnsgirlsagainstacertaintypeofman.Nothinginthemselves,Imean.Theirparentswarnthem,butthat’snogood—onedoesn’tbelieve.Itseemsdreadfultosayso,butthereissomethingattractivetoagirlinbeingtoldanyoneisabadman.Shethinksatoncethatherlovewillreformhim.”
Mr.Satterthwaitenoddedgently.
“Oneknowssolittle.Whenoneknowsmore,itistoolate.”
Shesighed.
“Itwasallmyownfault.Mypeopledidn’twantmetomarryRonald.Hewaswellborn,buthehadabadreputation.Myfathertoldmestraightoutthathewasawrong’un.Ididn’tbelieveit.Ibelievedthat,formysake,hewouldturnoveranewleaf….”
Shewassilentamomentortwo,dwellingonthepast.
“Ronaldwasaveryfascinatingman.Myfatherwasquiterightabouthim.Isoonfoundthatout.It’sanold-fashionedthingtosay—buthebrokemyheart.Yes,hebrokemyheart.Iwasalwaysafraid—ofwhatmightcomeoutnext.”
Mr.Satterthwaite,alwaysintenselyinterestedinotherpeople’slives,madeacautioussympatheticnoise.
“Itmayseemaverywickedthingtosay,Mr.Satterthwaite,butitwasareliefwhenhegotpneumoniaanddied…NotthatIdidn’tcareforhim—Ilovedhimuptotheend—butIhadnoillusionsabouthimanylonger.AndtherewasEgg—”
Hervoicesoftened.
“Suchafunnylittlethingshewas.Aregularlittleroly-poly,tryingtostandupandfallingover—justlikeanegg;that’showthatridiculousnicknamestarted….”
Shepausedagain.
“SomebooksthatI’vereadtheselastfewyearshavebroughtalotofcomforttome.Booksonpsychology.Itseemstoshowthatinmanywayspeoplecan’thelpthemselves.Akindofkink.Sometimes,inthemostcarefullybroughtupfamiliesyougetit.AsaboyRonaldstolemoneyatschool—moneythathedidn’tneed.Icanfeelnowthathecouldn’thelphimself…Hewasbornwithakink….”
Verygently,withasmallhandkerchief,LadyMarywipedhereyes.
“Itwasn’twhatIwasbroughtuptobelieve,”shesaidapologetically.“Iwastaughtthateveryoneknewthedifferencebetweenrightandwrong.Butsomehow—Idon’talwaysthinkthatisso.”
“Thehumanmindisagreatmystery,”saidMr.Satterthwaitegently.“Asyet,wearegoinggropingourwaytounderstanding.WithoutacutemaniaitmayneverthelessoccurthatcertainnatureslackwhatIshoulddescribeasbrakingpower.IfyouorIweretosay,‘Ihatesomeone—Iwishheweredead,’theideawouldpassfromourmindsassoonasthewordswereuttered.Thebrakeswouldworkautomatically.But,insomepeopletheidea,orobsession,holds.Theyseenothingbuttheimmediategratificationoftheideaformed.”
“I’mafraid,”saidLadyMary,“thatthat’srathertoocleverforme.”
“Iapologize.Iwastalkingratherbookishly.”
“Didyoumeanthatyoungpeoplehavetoolittlerestraintnowadays?Itsometimesworriesme.”
“No,no,Ididn’tmeanthatatall.Lessrestraintis,Ithink,agoodthing—wholesome.IsupposeyouarethinkingofMiss—er—Egg.”
“Ithinkyou’dbettercallherEgg,”saidLadyMary,smiling.
“Thankyou.MissEggdoessoundratherridiculous.”
“Egg’sveryimpulsive,andonceshehassethermindonathingnothingwillstopher.AsIsaidbefore,Ihatehermixingherselfupinallthis,butshewon’tlistentome.”
Mr.SatterthwaitesmiledatthedistressinLadyMary’stone.Hethoughttohimself:
“IwonderifsherealizesforoneminutethatEgg’sabsorptionincrimeisneithermorenorlessthananewvariantofthatold,oldgame—thepursuitofthemalebythefemale?No,she’dbehorrifiedatthethought.”
“EggsaysthatMr.Babbingtonwaspoisonedalso.Doyouthinkthatistrue,Mr.Satterthwaite?OrdoyouthinkitisjustoneofEgg’ssweepingstatements?”
“Weshallknowforcertainaftertheexhumation.”
“Thereistobeanexhumation,then?”LadyMaryshivered.“HowterribleforpoorMrs.Babbington.Icanimaginenothingmoreawfulforanywoman.”
“YouknewtheBabbingtonsfairlyintimately,Isuppose,LadyMary?”
“Yes,indeed.Theyare—were—verydearfriendsofours.”
“Doyouknowofanyonewhocouldpossiblyhavehadagrudgeagainstthevicar?”
“No,indeed.”
“Heneverspokeofsuchaperson?”
“No.”
“Andtheygotonwelltogether?”
“Theywereperfectlymated—happyineachotherandintheirchildren.Theywerebadlyoff,ofcourse,andMr.Babbingtonsufferedfromrheumatoidarthritis.Thoseweretheironlytroubles.”
“HowdidOliverMandersgetonwiththevicar?”
“Well—”LadyMaryhesitated,“theydidn’thititoffverywell.TheBabbingtonsweresorryforOliver,andheusedtogotothevicarageagooddealintheholidaystoplaywiththeBabbingtonboys—thoughIdon’tthinkhegotonverywellwiththem.Oliverwasn’texactlyapopularboy.Heboastedtoomuchofthemoneyhehadandthetuckhetookbacktoschool,andallthefunhehadinLondon.Boysarerathermercilessaboutthatsortofthing.”
“Yes,butlater—sincehe’sbeengrownup?”
“Idon’tthinkheandthevicaragepeoplehaveseenmuchofeachother.AsamatteroffactOliverwasratherrudetoMr.Babbingtononedayhere,inmyhouse.Itwasabouttwoyearsago.”
“Whathappened?”
“Olivermadearatherill-bredattackonChristianity.Mr.Babbingtonwasverypatientandcourteouswithhim.ThatonlyseemedtomakeOliverworse.Hesaid,‘Allyoureligiouspeoplelookdownyournosesbecausemyfatherandmotherweren’tmarried.Isupposeyou’dcallmethechildofsin.Well,Iadmirepeoplewhohavethecourageoftheirconvictionsanddon’tcarewhatalotofhypocritesandparsonsthink.’Mr.Babbingtondidn’tanswer,butOliverwenton:‘Youwon’tanswerthat.It’secclesiasticismandsuperstitionthat’sgotthewholeworldintothemessit’sin.I’dliketosweepawaythechurchesallovertheworld.’Mr.Babbingtonsmiledandsaid,‘Andtheclergy,too?’IthinkitwashissmilethatannoyedOliver.Hefelthewasnotbeingtakenseriously.Hesaid,‘IhateeverythingtheChurchstandsfor.Smugness,securityandhypocrisy.Getridofthewholecantingtribe,Isay!’AndMr.Babbingtonsmiled—hehadaverysweetsmile—andhesaid,‘Mydearboy,ifyouweretosweepawayallthechurcheseverbuiltorplanned,youwouldstillhavetoreckonwithGod.’”
“WhatdidyoungManderssaytothat?”
“Heseemedtakenaback,andthenherecoveredhistemperandwentbacktohisusualsneeringtiredmanner.
“Hesaid,‘I’mafraidthethingsI’vebeensayingareratherbadform,padre,andnotveryeasilyassimilatedbyyourgeneration.’”
“Youdon’tlikeyoungManders,doyou,LadyMary?”
“I’msorryforhim,”saidLadyMarydefensively.
“Butyouwouldn’tlikehimtomarryEgg.”
“Oh,no.”
“Iwonderwhy,exactly?”
“Because—because,heisn’tkind…andbecause—”
“Yes?”
“Becausethere’ssomethinginhim,somewhere,thatIdon’tunderstand.Somethingcold—”
Mr.Satterthwaitelookedatherthoughtfullyforaminuteortwo,thenhesaid:
“WhatdidSirBartholomewStrangethinkofhim?Didheevermentionhim?”
“Hesaid,Iremember,thathefoundyoungMandersaninterestingstudy.Hesaidthatheremindedhimofacasehewastreatingatthemomentinhisnursinghome.IsaidthatIthoughtOliverlookedparticularlystrongandhealthy,andhesaid,‘Yes,hishealth’sallright,buthe’sridingforafall.’”
Shepausedandthensaid:
“IsupposeSirBartholomewwasaveryclevernervespecialist.”
“Ibelievehewasveryhighlythoughtofbyhisowncolleagues.”
“Ilikedhim,”saidLadyMary.
“DidheeversayanythingtoyouaboutBabbington’sdeath?”
“No.”
“Henevermentioneditatall?”
“Idon’tthinkso.”
“Doyouthink—it’sdifficultforyoutotell,notknowinghimwell—butdoyouthinkhehadanythingonhismind?”
“Heseemedinverygoodspirits—evenamusedbysomething—someprivatejokeofhisown.Hetoldmeatdinnerthatnightthathewasgoingtospringasurpriseonme.”
“Oh,hedid,didhe?”
Onhiswayhome,Mr.Satterthwaiteponderedthatstatement.
WhathadbeenthesurpriseSirBartholomewhadintendedtospringonhisguests?
Wouldit,whenitcame,havebeenasamusingashepretended?
Ordidthatgaymannermaskaquietbutindomitablepurpose?Wouldanyoneeverknow?
Three
REENTERHERCULEPOIROT
“Frankly,”saidSirCharles,“areweanyforrader?”
Itwasacouncilofwar.SirCharles,Mr.SatterthwaiteandEggLyttonGoreweresittingintheShiproom.Afireburnedinthegrate,andoutsideanequinoctialgalewashowling.
Mr.SatterthwaiteandEggansweredthequestionsimultaneously.
“No,”saidMr.Satterthwaite.
“Yes,”saidEgg.
SirCharleslookedfromonetotheotherofthem.Mr.Satterthwaiteindicatedgracefullythattheladyshouldspeakfirst.
Eggwassilentamomentortwo,collectingherideas.
“Wearefurtheron,”shesaidatlast.“Wearefurtheronbecausewehaven’tfoundoutanything.Thatsoundsnonsense,butitisn’t.WhatImeanisthatwehadcertainvaguesketchyideas;weknownowthatcertainofthoseideasaredefinitelywashouts.”
“Progressbyelimination,”saidSirCharles.
“That’sit.”
Mr.Satterthwaiteclearedhisthroat.Helikedtodefinethings.
“Theideaofgainwecannowputdefinitelyaway,”hesaid.“Theredoesnotseemtobeanybodywho(indetectivestoryparlance)couldbenefitbyStephenBabbington’sdeath.Revengeseemsequallyoutofthequestion.Apartfromhisnaturallyamiableandpeace-lovingdisposition,Idoubtifhewereimportantenoughtomakeenemies.Sowearebackatourlastrathersketchyidea—fear.BythedeathofStephenBabbington,someonegainssecurity.”
“That’sratherwellput,”saidEgg.
Mr.Satterthwaitelookedmodestlypleasedwithhimself.SirCharleslookedalittleannoyed.Hiswasthestarpart,notSatterthwaite’s.
“Thepointis,”saidEgg,“whatarewegoingtodonext—actuallydo,Imean.Arewegoingtosleuthpeople,orwhat?Arewegoingtodisguiseourselvesandfollowthem?”
“Mydearchild,”saidSirCharles,“Ialwaysdidsetmyfaceagainstplayingoldmeninbeards,andI’mnotgoingtobeginnow.”
“Thenwhat—?”beganEgg.
Butshewasinterrupted.Thedooropened,andTempleannounced:
“Mr.HerculePoirot.”M.Poirotwalkedinwithabeamingfaceandgreetedthreehighlyastonishedpeople.
“Itispermitted,”hesaidwithatwinkle,“thatIassistatthisconference?Iamright,amInot—itisaconference?”
“Mydearfellow,we’redelightedtoseeyou.”SirCharles,recoveringfromhissurprise,shookhisguestwarmlybythehandandpushedhimintoalargearmchair.“Wherehaveyousprungfromsosuddenly?”
“IwenttocalluponmygoodfriendMr.SatterthwaiteinLondon.Theytellmeheisaway—inCornwall.Ehbien,itleapstotheeyewherehehasgone.ItakethefirsttraintoLoomouth,andhereIam.”
“Yes,”saidEgg.“Butwhyhaveyoucome?”
“Imean,”shewenton,flushingalittleassherealizedthepossiblediscourtesyofherwords,“youhavecomeforsomeparticularreason?”
“Ihavecome,”saidHerculePoirot,“toadmitanerror.”
WithanengagingsmileheturnedtoSirCharlesandspreadouthishandsinaforeigngesture.
“Monsieur,itwasinthisveryroomthatyoudeclaredyourselfnotsatisfied.AndI—Ithoughtitwasyourdramaticinstinct—Isaidtomyself,heisagreatactor,atallcostshemusthavedrama.Itseemed,Iwilladmitit,incrediblethataharmlessoldgentlemanshouldhavediedanythingbutanaturaldeath.EvennowIdonotseehowpoisoncouldhavebeenadministeredtohim,norcanIguessatanymotive.Itseemsabsurd—fantastic.Andyet—sincethen,therehasbeenanotherdeath,adeathundersimilarcircumstances.Onecannotattributeittocoincidence.No,theremustbealinkbetweenthetwo.Andso,SirCharles,Ihavecometoyoutoapologize—tosayI,HerculePoirot,waswrong,andtoaskyoutoadmitmetoyourcouncils.”
SirCharlesclearedhisthroatrathernervously.Helookedalittleembarrassed.
“That’sextraordinarilyhandsomeofyou,M.Poirot.Idon’tknow—takingupalotofyourtime—I—”
Hestopped,somewhatataloss.HiseyesconsultedMr.Satterthwaite.
“Itisverygoodofyou—”beganMr.Satterthwaite.
“No,no,itisnotgoodofme.Itisthecuriosity—and,yes,thehurttomypride.Imustrepairmyfault.Mytime—thatisnothing—whyvoyageafterall?Thelanguagemaybedifferent,buteverywherehumannatureisthesame.ButofcourseifIamnotwelcome,ifyoufeelthatIintrude—”
Bothmenspokeatonce.
“No,indeed.”
“Rathernot.”
Poirotturnedhiseyestothegirl.
“AndMademoiselle?”
ForaminuteortwoEggwassilent,andonallthreementhesameimpressionwasproduced.EggdidnotwanttheassistanceofM.Poirot….
Mr.Satterthwaitethoughtheknewwhy.ThiswastheprivateployofCharlesCartwrightandEggLyttonGore.Mr.Satterthwaitehadbeenadmitted—onsufferance—ontheclearunderstandingthathewasanegligiblethirdparty.ButHerculePoirotwasdifferent.Hiswouldbetheleadingr?le.Perhaps,even,SirCharlesmightretireinhisfavour.AndthenEgg’splanswouldcometonaught.
Hewatchedthegirl,sympathizingwithherpredicament.Thesemendidnotunderstand,buthe,withhissemi-femininesensitiveness,realizedherdilemma.Eggwasfightingforherhappiness….
Whatwouldshesay?
Afterallwhatcouldshesay?Howcouldshespeakthethoughtsinhermind?“Goaway—goaway—yourcomingmayspoileverything—Idon’twantyouhere….”
EggLyttonGoresaidtheonlythingshecouldsay.
“Ofcourse,”shesaidwithalittlesmile.“We’dlovetohaveyou.”
Four
AWATCHINGBRIEF
“Good,”saidPoirot.“WearecolleaguesEhbien,youwillputme,ifyouplease,aucourantofthesituation.”
HelistenedwithcloseattentionwhilstMr.SatterthwaiteoutlinedthestepstheyhadtakensincereturningtoEngland.Mr.Satterthwaitewasagoodnarrator.Hehadthefacultyofcreatinganatmosphere,ofpaintingapicture.HisdescriptionoftheAbbey,oftheservants,oftheChiefConstablewasadmirable.PoirotwaswarminhisappreciationofthediscoverybySirCharlesoftheunfinishedlettersunderthegasfire.
“Ah,maisc’estmagnifique,?a!”heexclaimedecstatically.“Thededuction,thereconstruction—perfect!Youshouldhavebeenagreatdetective,SirCharles,insteadofagreatactor.”
SirCharlesreceivedtheseplauditswithbecomingmodesty—hisownparticularbrandofmodesty.Hehadnotreceivedcomplimentsonhisstageperformancesformanyyearswithoutperfectingamannerofacknowledgingthem.
“Yourobservation,too,itwasveryjust,”saidPoirot,turningtoMr.Satterthwaite.“Thatpointofyoursabouthissuddenfamiliaritywiththebutler.”
“DoyouthinkthereisanythinginthisMrs.deRushbridgeridea?”askedSirCharleseagerly.
“Itisanidea.Itsuggests—well,itsuggestsseveralthings,doesitnot?”
Nobodywasquitesureabouttheseveralthings,butnobodylikedtosayso,sotherewasmerelyanassentingmurmur.
SirCharlestookupthetalenext.HedescribedhisandEgg’svisittoMrs.Babbingtonanditsrathernegativeresult.
“Andnowyou’reuptodate,”hesaid.“Youknowwhatwedo.Tellus:howdoesitallstrikeyou?”
Heleanedforward,boyishlyeager.
Poirotwassilentforsomeminutes.Theotherthreewatchedhim.
Hesaidatlast:
“Canyourememberatall,mademoiselle,whattypeofportglassSirBartholomewhadonhistable?”
SirCharlesinterposedjustasEggwasshakingherheadvexedly.
“Icantellyouthat.”
Hegotupandwenttoacupboard,wherehetookoutsomeheavycutglasssherryglasses.
“Theywereaslightlydifferentshape,ofcourse—morerounded—properportshape.HegotthematoldLammersfield’ssale—awholesetoftableglass.Iadmiredthem,andasthereweremorethanheneeded,hepassedsomeofthemontome.They’regood,aren’tthey?”
Poirottooktheglassandturneditaboutinhishand.
“Yes,”hesaid.“Theyarefinespecimens.Ithoughtsomethingofthatkindhadbeenused.”
“Why?”criedEgg.
Poirotmerelysmiledather.
“Yes,”hewenton,“thedeathofSirBartholomewStrangecouldbeexplainedeasilyenough;butthedeathofStephenBabbingtonismoredifficult.Ah,ifonlyithadbeentheotherwayabout!”
“Whatdoyoumean,theotherwayabout?”askedMr.Satterthwaite.
Poirotturnedtohim.
“Consider,myfriend.SirBartholomewisacelebrateddoctor.Theremightbemanyreasonsforthedeathofacelebrateddoctor.Adoctorknowssecrets,myfriend,importantsecrets.Adoctorhascertainpowers.Imagineapatientontheborderlineofsanity.Awordfromthedoctor,andhewillbeshutawayfromtheworld—whatatemptationtoanunbalancedbrain!Adoctormayhavesuspicionsaboutthesuddendeathofoneofhispatients—oh,yes,wecanfindplentyofmotivesforthedeathofadoctor.
“Now,asIsay,ifonlyithadbeentheotherwayabout.IfSirBartholomewStrangehaddiedfirstandthenStephenBabbington.ForStephenBabbingtonmighthaveseensomething—mighthavesuspectedsomethingaboutthefirstdeath.”
Hesighedandthenresumed.
“Butonecannothaveacaseasonewouldliketohaveit.Onemusttakeacaseasitis.JustonelittleideaIshouldliketosuggest.IsupposeitisnotpossiblethatStephenBabbington’sdeathwasanaccident—thatthepoison(ifpoisontherewas)wasintendedforSirBartholomewStrange,andthat,bymistake,thewrongmanwaskilled.”
“That’saningeniousidea,”saidSirCharles.Hisface,whichhadbrightened,fellagain.“ButIdon’tbelieveitwillwork.Babbingtoncameintothisroomaboutfourminutesbeforehewastakenill.Duringthattimetheonlythingthatpassedhislipswashalfacocktail—therewasnothinginthatcocktail—”
Poirotinterruptedhim.
“Thatyouhavealreadytoldme—butsuppose,forthesakeofargument,thattherewassomethinginthatcocktail.CouldithavebeenintendedforSirBartholomewStrangeanddidMr.Babbingtondrinkitbymistake?”
SirCharlesshookhishead.
“NobodywhoknewTollieatallwellwouldhavetriedpoisoninghiminacocktail.”
“Why?”
“Becauseheneverdrankthem.”
“Never?”
“Never.”
Poirotmadeagestureofannoyance.
“Ah—thisbusiness—itgoesallwrong.Itdoesnotmakesense….”
“Besides,”wentonSirCharles,“Idon’tseehowanyoneglasscouldhavebeenmistakenforanother—oranythingofthatkind.Templecarriedthemroundonatrayandeveryonehelpedthemselvestoanyglasstheyfancied.”
“True,”murmuredPoirot.“Onecannotforceacocktaillikeoneforcesacard.Whatisshelike,thisTempleofyours?Sheisthemaidwhoadmittedmetonight—yes?”
“That’sright.I’vehadherthreeorfouryears—nicesteadygirl—knowsherwork.Idon’tknowwhereshecamefrom—MissMilraywouldknowallaboutthat.”
“MissMilray,thatisyoursecretary?Thetallwoman—somewhatoftheGrenadier?”
“VerymuchoftheGrenadier,”agreedSirCharles.
“Ihavedinedwithyoubeforeonvariousoccasions,butIdonotthinkImetheruntilthatnight.”
“No,shedoesn’tusuallydinewithus.Itwasaquestionofthirteen,yousee.”
SirCharlesexplainedthecircumstances,towhichPoirotlistenedveryattentively.
“Itwasherownsuggestionthatsheshouldbepresent?Isee.”
Heremainedlostinthoughtaminute,thenhesaid:
“MightIspeaktothisparlourmaidofyours,thisTemple?”
“Certainly,mydearfellow.”
SirCharlespressedabell.Itwasansweredpromptly.
“Yourang,sir?”
Templewasatallgirlofthirty-twoorthree.Shehadacertainsmartness—herhairwaswellbrushedandglossy,butshewasnotpretty.Hermannerwascalmandefficient.
“M.Poirotwantstoaskyouafewquestions,”saidSirCharles.
TempletransferredhersuperiorgazetoPoirot.
“WearetalkingofthenightwhenMr.Babbingtondiedhere,”saidPoirot.“Yourememberthatnight?”
“Oh,yes,sir.”
“Iwanttoknowexactlyhowcocktailswereserved.”
“Ibegyourpardon,sir.”
“Iwanttoknowaboutthecocktails.Didyoumixthem?”
“No,sir,SirCharleslikesdoingthathimself.Ibroughtinthebottles—thevermouth,thegin,andallthat.”
“Wheredidyouputthem?”
“Onthetablethere,sir.”
Sheindicatedatablebythewall.
“Thetraywiththeglassesstoodhere,sir.SirCharles,whenhehadfinishedmixingandshaking,pouredoutthecocktailsintotheglasses.ThenItookthetrayroundandhandedittotheladiesandgentlemen.”
“Wereallthecocktailsonthetrayyouhanded?”
“SirCharlesgaveonetoMissLyttonGore,sir;hewastalkingtoheratthetime,andhetookhisown.AndMr.Satterthwaite”—hereyesshiftedtohimforamoment—“cameandfetchedoneforalady—MissWills,Ithinkitwas.”
“Quiteright,”saidMr.Satterthwaite
“TheothersIhanded,sir;IthinkeveryonetookoneexceptSirBartholomew.”
“Willyoubesoveryobliging,Temple,astorepeattheperformance.Letusputcushionsforsomeofthepeople.Istoodhere,Iremember—MissSutcliffewasthere.”
WithMr.Satterthwaite’shelp,thescenewasreconstructed.Mr.Satterthwaitewasobservant.Herememberedfairlywellwhereeveryonehadbeenintheroom.ThenTempledidherround.TheyascertainedthatshehadstartedwithMrs.Dacres,goneontoMissSutcliffeandPoirot,andhadthencometoMr.Babbington,LadyMaryandMr.Satterthwaite,whohadbeensittingtogether.
ThisagreedwithMr.Satterthwaite’srecollection.
FinallyTemplewasdismissed.
“Pah,”criedPoirot.“Itdoesnotmakesense.Templeisthelastpersontohandlethosecocktails,butitwasimpossibleforhertotamperwiththeminanyway,and,asIsay,onecannotforceacocktailonaparticularperson.”
“It’sinstinctivetotaketheonenearesttoyou,”saidSirCharles.
“Possiblythatmightworkbyhandingthetraytothepersonfirst—buteventhenitwouldbeveryuncertain.Theglassesareclosetogether;onedoesnotlookparticularlynearerthananother.No,no,suchahaphazardmethodcouldnotbeadopted.Tellme,Mr.Satterthwaite,didMr.Babbingtonputhiscocktaildown,ordidheretainitinhishand?”
“Heputitdownonthistable.”
“Didanyonecomenearthattableafterhehaddoneso?”
“No.Iwasthenearestpersontohim,andIassureyouIdidnottamperwithitinanyway—evenifIcouldhavedonesounobserved.”
Mr.Satterthwaitespokeratherstiffly.Poirothastenedtoapologize.
“No,no,Iamnotmakinganaccusation—quelleidée!ButIwanttobeverysureofmyfacts.Accordingtotheanalysistherewasnothingoutofthewayinthatcocktail—nowitseemsthat,apartfromthatanalysistherecouldhavebeennothingputinit.Thesameresultsfromtwodifferenttests.ButMr.Babbingtonateordranknothingelse,andifhewaspoisonedbypurenicotine,deathwouldhaveresultedveryrapidly.Youseewherethatleadsus?”
“Nowhere,damnitall,”saidSirCharles.
“Iwouldnotsaythat—no,Iwouldnotsaythat.Itsuggestsaverymonstrousidea—whichIhopeandtrustcannotbetrue.No,ofcourseitisnottrue—thedeathofSirBartholomewprovesthat…Andyet—”
Hefrowned,lostinthought.Theotherswatchedhimcuriously.Helookedup.
“Youseemypoint,doyounot?Mrs.BabbingtonwasnotatMelfortAbbey,thereforeMrs.Babbingtonisclearedofsuspicion.”
“Mrs.Babbington—butnoonehasevendreamedofsuspectingher.”
Poirotsmiledbeneficently.
“No?Itisacuriousthingthat.Theideaoccurredtomeatonce—butatonce.Ifthepoorgentlemanisnotpoisonedbythecocktail,thenhemusthavebeenpoisonedaveryfewminutesbeforeenteringthehouse.Whatwaycouldtherebe?Acapsule?Something,perhaps,topreventindigestion.Butwho,then,couldtamperwiththat?Onlyawife.Whomight,perhaps,haveamotivethatnooneoutsidecouldpossiblysuspect?Againawife.”
“Buttheyweredevotedtoeachother,”criedEggindignantly.“Youdon’tunderstandabit.”
Poirotsmiledkindlyather.
“No.Thatisvaluable.Youknow,butIdonot.Iseethefactsunbiasedbyanypreconceivednotions.Andletmetellyousomething,mademoiselle—inthecourseofmyexperienceIhaveknownfivecasesofwivesmurderedbydevotedhusbands,andtwenty-twoofhusbandsmurderedbydevotedwives.Lesfemmes,theyobviouslykeepupappearancesbetter.”
“Ithinkyou’reperfectlyhorrid,”saidEgg.“IknowtheBabbingtonsarenotlikethat.It’s—it’smonstrous!”
“Murderismonstrous,mademoiselle,”saidPoirot,andtherewasasuddensternnessinhisvoice.
Hewentoninalightertone.
“ButI—whoseeonlythefacts—agreethatMrs.Babbingtondidnotdothisthing.Yousee,shewasnotatMelfortAbbey.No,asSirCharleshasalreadysaid,theguiltmustlieonapersonwhowaspresentonbothoccasions—oneofthesevenonyourlist.”
Therewasasilence.
“Andhowdoyouadviseustoact?”askedSatterthwaite.
“Youhavedoubtlessalreadyyourplan?”suggestedPoirot.
SirCharlesclearedhisthroat.
“Theonlyfeasiblethingseemstobeaprocessofelimination,”hesaid.“Myideawastotakeeachpersononthatlistandconsiderthemguiltyuntiltheyareprovedinnocent.ImeanthatwearetofeelconvincedourselvesthatthereisaconnectionbetweenthatpersonandStephenBabbington,andwearetouseallouringenuitytofindoutwhatthatconnectioncanbe.Ifwefindnoconnection,thenwepassontothenextperson.”
“Itisgoodpsychology,that,”approvedPoirot.“Andyourmethods?”
“Thatwehavenotyethadtimetodiscuss.Weshouldwelcomeyouradviceonthatpoint,M.Poirot.Perhapsyouyourself—”
Poirotheldupahand.
“Myfriend,donotaskmetodoanythingofanactivenature.Itismylifelongconvictionthatanyproblemisbestsolvedbythought.Letmeholdwhatiscalled,Ibelieve,thewatchingbrief.ContinueyourinvestigationswhichSirCharlesissoablydirecting—”
“Andwhataboutme?”thoughtMr.Satterthwaite.“Theseactors!Alwaysinthelimelightplayingthestarpart!”
“Youwill,perhaps,fromtimetotimerequirewhatwemaydescribeasCounsel’sopinion.Me,IamtheCounsel.”
HesmiledatEgg.
“Doesthatstrikeyouasthesense,mademoiselle?”
“Excellent,”saidEgg.“I’msureyourexperiencewillbeveryusefultous.”
Herfacelookedrelieved.Sheglancedatherwatchandgaveanexclamation.
“Imustgohome.Motherwillhaveafit.”
“I’lldriveyouhome,”saidSirCharles.
Theywentouttogether.
Five
DIVISIONOFLABOUR
“Soyousee,thefishhasrisen,”saidHerculePoirot.
Mr.Satterthwaite,whohadbeenlookingatthedoorwhichhadjustclosedbehindtheothertwo,gaveastartasheturnedtoPoirot.Thelatterwassmilingwithahintofmockery.
“Yes,yes,donotdenyit.DeliberatelyyoushowedmethebaitthatdayinMonteCarlo.Isitnotso?Youshowedmetheparagraphinthepaper.Youhopedthatitwouldarousemyinterest—thatIshouldoccupymyselfwiththeaffair.”
“Itistrue,”confessedMr.Satterthwaite.“ButIthoughtthatIhadfailed.”
“No,no,youdidnotfail.Youareashrewdjudgeofhumannature,myfriend.Iwassufferingfromennui—Ihad—inthewordsofthechildwhowasplayingnearus—‘nothingtodo.’Youcameatthepsychologicalmoment.(And,talkingofthat,howmuchcrimedepends,too,onthatpsychologicalmoment.Thecrime,thepsychology,theygohandinhand.)Butletuscomebacktoourmuttons.Thisisacrimeveryintriguing—itpuzzlesmecompletely.”
“Whichcrime—thefirstorthesecond?”
“Thereisonlyone—whatyoucallthefirstandsecondmurderareonlythetwohalvesofthesamecrime.Thesecondhalfissimple—themotive—themeansadopted—”
Mr.Satterthwaiteinterrupted.
“Surelythemeanspresentanequaldifficulty.Therewasnopoisonfoundinanyofthewine,andthefoodwaseatenbyeverybody.”
“No,no,itisquitedifferent.InthefirstcaseitdoesnotseemasthoughanybodycouldhavepoisonedStephenBabbington.SirCharles,ifhehadwantedto,couldhavepoisonedoneofhisguests,butnotanyparticularguest.Templemightpossiblyhaveslippedsomethingintothelastglassonthetray—butMr.Babbington’swasnotthelastglass.No,themurderofMr.BabbingtonseemssoimpossiblethatIstillfeelthatperhapsitisimpossible—thathediedanaturaldeathafterall…Butthatweshallsoonknow.Thesecondcaseisdifferent.Anyoneoftheguestspresent,orthebutlerorparlourmaid,couldhavepoisonedBartholomewStrange.Thatpresentsnodifficultywhatever.”
“Idon’tsee—”beganMr.Satterthwaite.
Poirotswepton:
“Iwillprovethattoyousometimebyalittleexperiment.Letuspassontoanotherandmostimportantmatter.Itisvital,yousee(andyouwillsee,Iamsure,youhavethesympatheticheartandthedelicateunderstanding),thatImustnotplaythepartofwhatyoucallthespoilsport.”
“Youmean—”beganMr.Satterthwaitewiththebeginningofasmile.
“ThatSirCharlesmusthavethestarpart!Heisusedtoit.And,moreover,itisexpectedofhimbysomeoneelse.AmInotright?ItdoesnotpleasemademoiselleatallthatIcometoconcernmyselfinthismatter.”
“Youarewhatwecall‘quickintheuptake,’M.Poirot.”
“Ah,that,itleapstotheeye!Iamofaverysusceptiblenature—Iwishtoassistaloveaffair—nottohinderit.YouandI,myfriend,mustworktogetherinthis—tothehonourandgloryofCharlesCartwright;isitnotso?Whenthecaseissolved—”
“If—”saidMr.Satterthwaitemildly.
“When!Idonotpermitmyselftofail.”
“Never?”askedMr.Satterthwaitesearchingly.
“Therehavebeentimes,”saidPoirotwithdignity,“whenforashorttime,IhavebeenwhatIsupposeyouwouldcallslowinthetakeup.IhavenotperceivedthetruthassoonasImighthavedone.”
“Butyou’veneverfailedaltogether?”
ThepersistenceofMr.Satterthwaitewascuriosity,pureandsimple.Hewondered….
“Ehbien,”saidPoirot.“Once.Longago,inBelgium.Wewillnottalkofit….”
Mr.Satterthwaite,hiscuriosity(andhismalice)satisfied,hastenedtochangethesubject.
“Justso.Youweresayingthatwhenthecaseissolved—”
“SirCharleswillhavesolvedit.Thatisessential.Ishallhavebeenalittlecoginthewheel,”hespreadouthishands.“Nowandthen,hereandthere,Ishallsayalittleword—justonelittleword—ahint,nomore.Idesirenohonour—norenown.IhavealltherenownIneed.”
Mr.Satterthwaitestudiedhimwithinterest.Hewasamusedbythena?veconceit,theimmenseegoismofthelittleman.Buthedidnotmaketheeasymistakeofconsideringitmereemptyboasting.AnEnglishmanisusuallymodestaboutwhathedoeswell,sometimespleasedwithhimselfoversomethinghedoesbadly;butaLatinhasatruerappreciationofhisownpowers.Ifheiscleverheseesnoreasonforconcealingthefact.
“Ishouldliketoknow,”saidMr.Satterthwaite,“itwouldinterestmeverymuch—justwhatdoyouyourselfhopetogetoutofthisbusiness?Isittheexcitementofthechase?”
Poirotshookhishead.
“No—no—itisnotthat.Likethechiendechasse,Ifollowthescent,andIgetexcited,andonceonthescentIcannotbecalledoffit.Allthatistrue.Butthereismore…Itis—howshallIputit?—apassionforgettingatthetruth.Inalltheworldthereisnothingsocuriousandsointerestingandsobeautifulastruth….”
TherewassilenceforalittlewhileafterPoirot’swords.
ThenhetookupthepaperonwhichMr.Satterthwaitehadcarefullycopiedoutthesevennames,andreadthemaloud.
“Mrs.Dacres,CaptainDacres,MissWills,MissSutcliffe,LadyMaryLyttonGore,MissLyttonGore,OliverManders.
“Yes,”hesaid,“suggestive,isitnot?”
“Whatissuggestiveaboutit?”
“Theorderinwhichthenamesoccur.”
“Idon’tthinkthereisanythingsuggestiveaboutit.Wejustwrotethenamesdownwithoutanyparticularorderaboutit.”
“Exactly.ThelistisheadedbyMrs.Dacres.Ideducefromthatthatsheisconsideredthemostlikelypersontohavecommittedthecrime.”
“Notthemostlikely,”saidMr.Satterthwaite.“Theleastunlikelywouldexpressitbetter.”
“Andathirdphrasewouldexpressitbetterstill.Sheisperhapsthepersonyouwouldallprefertohavecommittedthecrime.”
Mr.Satterthwaiteopenedhislipsimpulsively,thenmetthegentlequizzicalgazeofPoirot’sshininggreeneyes,andalteredwhathehadbeenabouttosay
“Iwonder—perhaps,M.Poirot,youareright—unconsciouslythatmaybetrue.”
“Iwouldliketoaskyousomething,Mr.Satterthwaite.”
“Certainly—certainly,”Mr.Satterthwaiteansweredcomplacently.
“Fromwhatyouhavetoldme,IgatherthatSirCharlesandMissLyttonGorewenttogethertointerviewMrs.Babbington.”
“Yes.”
“Youdidnotaccompanythem?”
“No.Threewouldhavebeenratheracrowd.”
Poirotsmiled.
“Andalso,perhaps,yourinclinationsledyouelsewhere.Youhad,astheysay,differentfishtofry.Wheredidyougo,Mr.Satterthwaite?”
“IhadteawithLadyMaryLyttonGore,”saidMr.Satterthwaitestiffly.
“Andwhatdidyoutalkabout?”
“Shewassogoodastoconfideinmesomeofthetroublesofherearlymarriedlife.”
HerepeatedthesubstanceofLadyMary’sstory.Poirotnoddedhisheadsympathetically.
“Thatissotruetolife—theidealisticyounggirlwhomarriesthebadhatandwilllistentonobody.Butdidyoutalkofnothingelse?Didyou,forinstance,notspeakofMr.OliverManders?”
“Asamatteroffactwedid.”
“Andyoulearntabouthim—what?”
Mr.SatterthwaiterepeatedwhatLadyMaryhadtoldhim.Thenhesaid:
“Whatmadeyouthinkwehadtalkedofhim?”
“Becauseyouwentthereforthatreason.Oh,yes,donotprotest.YoumayhopethatMrs.Dacresorherhusbandcommittedthecrime,butyouthinkthatyoungMandersdid.”
HestilledMr.Satterthwaite’sprotests.
“Yes,yes,youhavethesecretivenature.Youhaveyourideas,butyoulikekeepingthemtoyourself.Ihavesympathywithyou.Idothesamemyself….”
“Idon’tsuspecthim—that’sabsurd.ButIjustwantedtoknowmoreabouthim.”
“ThatisasIsay.Heisyourinstinctivechoice.I,too,aminterestedinthatyoungman.Iwasinterestedinhimonthenightofthedinnerhere,becauseIsaw—”
“Whatdidyousee?”askedMr.Satterthwaiteeagerly.
“Isawthatthereweretwopeopleatleast(perhapsmore)whowereplayingapart.OnewasSirCharles.”Hesmiled.“Hewasplayingthenavalofficer,amInotright?Thatisquitenatural.Agreatactordoesnotceasetoactbecauseheisnotonthestageanymore.ButyoungManders,hetoowasacting.Hewasplayingthepartoftheboredandblaséyoungman—butinrealityhewasneitherborednorblasé—hewasverykeenlyalive.Andtherefore,myfriend,Inoticedhim.”
“HowdidyouknowI’dbeenwonderingabouthim?”
“Inmanylittleways.YouhadbeeninterestedinthataccidentofhisthatbroughthimtoMelfortAbbeythatnight.YouhadnotgonewithSirCharlesandMissLyttonGoretoseeMrs.Babbington.Why?Becauseyouwantedtofollowoutsomelineofyourownunobserved.YouwenttoLadyMary’stofindoutaboutsomeone.Who?Itcouldonlybesomeonelocal.OliverManders.Andthen,mostcharacteristic,youputhisnameatthebottomofthelist.Whoarereallytheleastlikelysuspectsinyourmind—LadyMaryandMademoiselleEgg—butyouputhisnameaftertheirs,becauseheisyourdarkhorse,andyouwanttokeephimtoyourself.”
“Dearme,”saidMr.Satterthwaite.“AmIreallythatkindofman?”
“Précisément.Youhaveshrewdjudgmentandobservation,andyoulikekeepingitsresultstoyourself.Youropinionsofpeopleareyourprivatecollection.Youdonotdisplaythemforalltheworldtosee.”
“Ibelieve,”beganMr.Satterthwaite,buthewasinterruptedbythereturnofSirCharles.
Theactorcameinwithaspringingbuoyantstep.
“Brrr,”hesaid.“It’sawildnight.”
Hepouredhimselfoutawhiskyandsoda
Mr.SatterthwaiteandPoirotbothdeclined.
“Well,”saidSirCharles,“let’smapoutourplanofcampaign.Where’sthatlist,Satterthwaite?Ah,thanks.NowM.Poirot,Counsel’sopinion,ifyouplease.Howshallwedivideupthespadework?”
“Howwouldyousuggestyourself,SirCharles?”
“Well,wemightdividethesepeopleup—divisionoflabour—eh?First,there’sMrs.Dacres.Eggseemsratherkeentotakeheron.Sheseemstothinkthatanyonesoperfectlyturnedoutwon’tgetimpartialtreatmentfrommeremales.Itseemsquiteagoodideatoapproachherthroughtheprofessionalside.SatterthwaiteandImightworktheothergambitaswellifitseemedadvisable.Thenthere’sDacres.Iknowsomeofhisracingpals.IdaresayIcouldpickupsomethingthatway.Thenthere’sAngelaSutcliffe.”
“Thatalsoseemstobeyourwork,Cartwright,”saidMr.Satterthwaite.“Youknowherprettywell,don’tyou?”
“Yes.That’swhyI’drathersomebodyelsetackledher…Firstly,”hesmiledruefully,“Ishallbeaccusedofnotputtingmybackintothejob,andsecondly—well—she’safriend—youunderstand?”
“Parfaitement,parfaitement—youfeelthenaturaldelicacy.Itismostunderstandable.ThisgoodMr.Satterthwaite—hewillreplaceyouinthetask.”
“LadyMaryandEgg—theydon’tcount,ofcourse.WhataboutyoungManders?HispresenceonthenightofTollie’sdeathwasanaccident;still,Isupposeweoughttoincludehim.”
“Mr.SatterthwaitewilllookafteryoungManders,”saidPoirot.“ButIthink,SirCharles,youhavemissedoutanameonyourlist.YouhavepassedoverMissMurielWills.”
“SoIhave.Well,ifSatterthwaitetakesonManders,I’lltakeonMissWills.Isthatsettled?Anysuggestions,M.Poirot?”
“No,no—Idonotthinkso.Ishallbeinterestedtohearyourresults.”
“Ofcourse—thatgoeswithoutsaying.Anotheridea:IfweprocuredphotographsofthesepeoplewemightusetheminmakinginquiriesinGilling.”
“Excellent,”approvedPoirot.“Therewassomething—ah,yes,yourfriend,SirBartholomew,hedidnotdrinkcocktails,buthediddrinktheport?”
“Yes,hehadaparticularweaknessforport.”
“Itseemsoddtomethathedidnottasteanythingunusual.Purenicotinehasamostpungentandunpleasanttaste.”
“You’vegottoremember,”saidSirCharles,“thatthereprobablywasn’tanynicotineintheport.Thecontentsoftheglasswereanalysed,remember.”
“Ah,yes—foolishofme.But,howeveritwasadministered—nicotinehasaverydisagreeabletaste.”
“Idon’tknowthatthatwouldmatter,”saidSirCharlesslowly.“Tolliehadaverybadgoofinfluenzalastspring,anditlefthimwithhissenseoftasteandsmellagooddealimpaired.”
“Ah,yes,”saidPoirotthoughtfully.“Thatmightaccountforit.Thatsimplifiesthingsconsiderably.”
SirCharleswenttothewindowandlookedout.
“Stillblowingagale.I’llsendforyourthings,M.Poirot.TheRoseandCrownisallverywellforenthusiasticartists,butIthinkyou’dpreferpropersanitationandacomfortablebed.”
“Youareextremelyamiable,SirCharles.”
“Notatall.I’llseetoitnow.”
Helefttheroom.
PoirotlookedatMr.Satterthwaite.
“IfImaypermitmyselfasuggestion.”
“Yes?”
Poirotleanedforward,andsaidinalowvoice:
“AskyoungManderswhyhefakedanaccident.Tellhimthepolicesuspecthim—andseewhathesays.”
Six
CYNTHIADACRES
TheshowroomsofAmbrosine,Ltd,wereverypureinappearance.Thewallswereashadejustoff-white—thethickpilecarpetwassoneutralastobealmostcolourless—sowastheupholstery.Chromiumgleamedhereandthere,andononewallwasagiganticgeometricdesigninvividblueandlemonyellow.TheroomhadbeendesignedbyMr.SydneySandford—thenewestandyoungestdecoratorofthemoment.
EggLyttonGoresatinanarmchairofmoderndesign—faintlyreminiscentofadentist’schair,andwatchedexquisitesnakelikeyoungwomenwithbeautifulboredfacespasssinuouslybeforeher.Eggwasprincipallyconcernedwithendeavouringtoappearasthoughfiftyorsixtypoundswasamerebagatelletopayforadress.
Mrs.Dacres,lookingasusualmarvellouslyunreal,was(asEggputittoherself)doingherstuff.
“Now,doyoulikethis?Thoseshoulderknots—ratheramusing,don’tyouthink?Andthewaistline’sratherpenetrating.Ishouldn’thavetheredleadcolour,though—Ishouldhaveitinthenewcolour—Espanol—mostattractive—likemustard,withadashofcayenneinit.HowdoyoulikeVinOrdinaire?Ratherabsurd,isn’tit?Quitepenetratingandridiculous.Clothessimplymustnotbeseriousnowadays.”
“It’sverydifficulttodecide,”saidEgg.“Yousee”—shebecameconfidential—“I’veneverbeenabletoaffordanyclothesbefore.Wewerealwayssodreadfullypoor.IrememberedhowsimplymarvellousyoulookedthatnightatCrow’sNest,andIthought,‘NowthatI’vegotmoneytospend,IshallgotoMrs.Dacresandaskhertoadviseme.’Ididadmireyousomuchthatnight.”
“Mydear,howcharmingofyou.Isimplyadoredressingayounggirl.It’ssoimportantthatgirlsshouldn’tlookraw—ifyouknowwhatImean.”
“Nothingrawaboutyou,”thoughtEggungratefully.“Cookedtoaturn,youare.”
“You’vegotsomuchpersonality,”continuedMrs.Dacres.“Youmustn’thaveanythingatallordinary.Yourclothesmustbesimpleandpenetrating—andjustfaintlyvisible.Youunderstand?Doyouwantseveralthings?”
“Ithoughtaboutfoureveningfrocks,andacoupleofdaythings,andasportssuitortwo—thatsortofthing.”
ThehoneyofMrs.Dacres’smannerbecamesweeter.ItwasfortunatethatshedidnotknowthatatthatmomentEgg’sbankbalancewasexactlyfifteenpoundstwelveshillings,andthatthesaidbalancehadgottolastheruntilDecember.
MoregirlsingownsfiledpastEgg.Intheintervalsoftechnicalconversation,Egginterspersedothermatters.
“Isupposeyou’veneverbeentoCrow’sNestsince?”shesaid.
“No.Mydear,Icouldn’t.Itwassoupsetting—and,anyway,IalwaysthinkCornwallisratherterriblyartisty…Isimplycannotbearartists.Theirbodiesarealwayssuchacuriousshape.”
“Itwasashatteringbusiness,wasn’tit?”saidEgg.“OldMr.Babbingtonwasratherapet,too.”
“Quiteaperiodpiece,Ishouldimagine,”saidMrs.Dacres.
“You’dmethimbeforesomewhere,hadn’tyou?”
“Thatdearolddug-out?HadI?Idon’tremember.”
“IthinkIrememberhissayingso,”saidEgg.“NotinCornwall,though.IthinkitwasataplacecalledGilling.”
“Wasit?”Mrs.Dacres’seyeswerevague.“No,Marcelle—PetiteScandaleiswhatIwant—theJennymodel—andafterthatbluePatou.”
“Wasn’titextraordinary,”saidEgg,“aboutSirBartholomewbeingpoisoned?”
“Mydear,itwastoopenetratingforwords!It’sdonemeaworldofgood.Allsortsofdreadfulwomencomeandorderfrocksfrommejustforthesensation.NowthisPatoumodelwouldbeperfectforyou.Lookatthatperfectlyuselessandridiculousfrill—itmakesthewholethingadorable.Youngwithoutbeingtiresome.Yes,poorSirBartholomew’sdeathhasbeenratheragodsendtome.There’sjustanoffchance,yousee,thatImighthavemurderedhim.I’veratherplayeduptothat.Extraordinaryfatwomencomeandpositivelygoggleatme.Toopenetrating.Andthen,yousee—”
ButshewasinterruptedbytheadventofamonumentalAmerican,evidentlyavaluedclient.
WhiletheAmericanwasunburdeningherselfofherrequirements,whichsoundedcomprehensiveandexpensive,Eggmanagedtomakeanunobtrusiveexit,tellingtheyoungladywhohadsucceededMrs.Dacresthatshewouldthinkitoverbeforemakingafinalchoice.
AssheemergedintoBrutonStreet,Eggglancedatherwatch.Itwastwentyminutestoone.Beforeverylongshemightbeabletoputhersecondplanintooperation.
ShewalkedasfarasBerkeleySquare,andthenslowlybackagain.Atoneo’clockshehadhernosegluedtoawindowdisplayingChineseobjetsd’art.
MissDorisSimscamerapidlyoutintoBrutonStreetandturnedinthedirectionofBerkeleySquare.Justbeforeshegotthereavoicespokeatherelbow.
“Excuseme,”saidEgg,“butcanIspeaktoyouaminute?”
Thegirlturned,surprised.
“You’reoneofthemannequinsatAmbrosine’s,aren’tyou?Inoticedyouthismorning.Ihopeyouwon’tbefrightfullyoffendedifIsayIthinkyou’vegotsimplythemostperfectfigureI’veeverseen.”
DorisSimswasnotoffended.Shewasmerelyslightlyconfused.
“It’sverykindofyou,I’msure,madam,”shesaid.
“Youlookfrightfullygood-natured,too,”saidEgg.“That’swhyI’mgoingtoaskyouafavour.WillyouhavelunchwithmeattheBerkeleyortheRitzandletmetellyouaboutit?”
Afteramoment’shesitationDorisSimsagreed.Shewascuriousandshelikedgoodfood.
Onceestablishedatatableandlunchordered,Eggplungedintoexplanations.
“Ihopeyou’llkeepthistoyourself,”shesaid.“Yousee,I’vegotajob—writingupvariousprofessionsforwomen.Iwantyoutotellmeallaboutthedressmakingbusiness.”
Dorislookedslightlydisappointed,butshecompliedamiablyenough,givingbaldstatementsastohours,ratesofpay,conveniencesandinconveniencesofheremployment.Eggenteredparticularsinalittlenotebook.
“It’sawfullykindofyou,”shesaid.“I’mverystupidatthis.It’squitenewtome.YouseeI’mfrightfullybadlyoff,andthislittlebitofjournalisticworkwillmakeallthedifference.”
Shewentonconfidentially.
“Itwasrathernerveonmypart,walkingintoAmbrosine’sandpretendingIcouldbuylotsofyourmodels.Really,I’vegotjustafewpoundsofmydressallowancetolastmetillChristmas.IexpectMrs.Dacreswouldbesimplywildifsheknew.”
Dorisgiggled.
“Ishouldsayshewould.”
“DidIdoitwell?”askedEgg.“DidIlookasthoughIhadmoney?”
“Youdiditsplendidly,MissLyttonGore.Madamthinksyou’regoingtogetquitealotofthings.”
“I’mafraidshe’llbedisappointed,”saidEgg.
Dorisgiggledmore.Shewasenjoyingherlunch,andshefeltattractedtoEgg.“ShemaybeaSocietyyounglady,”shethoughttoherself,“butshedoesn’tputonairs.She’sasnaturalascanbe.”
Thesepleasantrelationsonceestablished,Eggfoundnodifficultyininducinghercompaniontotalkfreelyonthesubjectofheremployer.
“Ialwaysthink,”saidEgg,“thatMrs.Dacreslooksafrightfulcat.Isshe?”
“Noneofuslikeher,MissLyttonGore,andthat’safact.Butshe’sclever,ofcourse,andshe’sgotarareheadforbusiness.NotlikesomeSocietyladieswhotakeupthedressmakingbusinessandgobankruptbecausetheirfriendsgetclothesanddon’tpay.She’sashardasnails,Madamis—thoughIwillsayshe’sfairenough—andshe’sgotrealtaste—sheknowswhat’swhat,andshe’scleveratgettingpeopletohavethestylethatsuitsthem.”
“Isupposeshemakesalotofmoney?”
AqueerknowinglookcameintoDoris’seye.
“It’snotformetosayanything—ortogossip.”
“Ofcoursenot,”saidEgg.“Goon.”
“Butifyouaskme—thefirm’snotfaroffQueerStreet.TherewasaJewishgentlemancametoseeMadam,andtherehavebeenoneortwothings—it’smybeliefshe’sbeenborrowingtokeepgoinginthehopethattradewouldrevive,andthatshe’sgotindeep.Really,MissLyttonGore,shelooksterriblesometimes.Quitedesperate.Idon’tknowwhatshe’dlooklikewithouthermakeup.Idon’tbelieveshesleepsofnights.”
“What’sherhusbandlike?”
“He’saqueerfish.Bitofabadlot,ifyouaskme.Notthatweeverseemuchofhim.Noneoftheothergirlsagreewithme,butIbelieveshe’sverykeenonhimstill.Ofcoursealotofnastythingshavebeensaid—”
“Suchas?”askedEgg.
“Well,Idon’tliketorepeatthings.Ineverhavebeenoneforthat.”
“Ofcoursenot.Goon,youweresaying—?”
“Well,there’sbeenalotoftalkamongthegirls.Aboutayoungfellow—veryrichandverysoft.Notexactlybalmy,ifyouknowwhatImean—sortofbetwixtandbetween.Madam’sbeenrunninghimforallshewasworth.Hemighthaveputthingsright—hewassoftenoughforanything—butthenhewasorderedonaseavoyage—suddenly.”
“Orderedbywhom—adoctor?”
“Yes,someoneinHarleyStreet.IbelievenowthatitwasthesamedoctorwhowasmurderedupinYorkshire—poisoned,sotheysaid.”
“SirBartholomewStrange?”
“Thatwasthename.Madamwasatthehouseparty,andwegirlssaidamongourselves—justlaughing,youknow—well,wesaid,supposingMadamdidhimin—outofrevenge,youknow!Ofcourseitwasjustfun—”
“Naturally,”saidEgg.“Girlishfun.Iquiteunderstand.Youknow,Mrs.Dacresisquitemyideaofamurderess—sohardandremorseless.”
“She’seversohard—andshe’sgotawickedtemper!Whensheletsgo,there’snotoneofusdarestocomenearher.Theysayherhusband’sfrightenedofher—andnowonder.”
“HaveyoueverheardherspeakofanyonecalledBabbingtonorofaplaceinKent—Gilling?”
“Really,now,Ican’tcalltomindthatIhave.”
Dorislookedatherwatchandutteredanexclamation.
“Oh,dear,Imusthurry.Ishallbelate.”
“Good-bye,andthankssomuchforcoming.”
“It’sbeenapleasure,I’msure.Good-bye,MissLyttonGore,andIhopethearticlewillbeagreatsuccess.Ishalllookoutforit.”
“You’lllookinvain,mygirl,”thoughtEgg,assheaskedforherbill.
Then,drawingalinethroughthesupposedjottingsforthearticle,shewroteinherlittlenotebook:
“CynthiaDacres.Believedtobeinfinancialdifficulties.Describedashavinga‘wickedtemper.’Youngman(rich)withwhomshewasbelievedtobehavinganaffairwasorderedonseavoyagebySirBartholomewStrange.ShowednoreactionatmentionofGillingoratstatementthatBabbingtonknewher.”
“Theredoesn’tseemmuchthere,”saidEggtoherself.“ApossiblemotiveforthemurderofSirBartholomew,butverythin.M.Poirotmaybeabletomakesomethingofthat.Ican’t.”
Seven
CAPTAINDACRES
Egghadnotyetfinishedherprogrammefortheday.HernextmovewastoSt.John’sHouse,inwhichbuildingtheDacreshadaflat.St.John’sHousewasanewblockofextremelyexpensiveflats.Thereweresumptuouswindowboxesanduniformedportersofsuchmagnificencethattheylookedlikeforeigngenerals.
Eggdidnotenterthebuilding.Shestrolledupanddownontheoppositesideofthestreet.Afteraboutanhourofthisshecalculatedthatshemusthavewalkedseveralmiles.Itwashalfpastfive.
ThenataxidrewupattheMansions,andCaptainDacresalightedfromit.Eggallowedthreeminutestoelapse,thenshecrossedtheroadandenteredthebuilding.
EggpressedthedoorbellofNo.3.Dacreshimselfopenedthedoor.Hewasstillengagedintakingoffhisovercoat.
“Oh,”saidEgg.“Howdoyoudo?Youdorememberme,don’tyou?WemetinCornwall,andagaininYorkshire.”
“Ofcourse—ofcourse.Inatthedeathbothtimes,weren’twe?Comein,MissLyttonGore.”
“Iwantedtoseeyourwife.Isshein?”
“She’sroundinBrutonStreet—atherdressmakingplace.”
“Iknow.Iwastheretoday.Ithoughtperhapsshe’dbebackbynow,andthatshewouldn’tmind,perhaps,ifIcamehere—only,ofcourse,IsupposeI’mbeingafrightfulbother—”
Eggpausedappealingly.
FreddieDacressaidtohimself:
“Nice-lookingfilly.Damnedprettygirl,infact.”
Aloudhesaid:
“Cynthiawon’tbebacktillwellaftersix.I’vejustcomebackfromNewbury.Hadarottendayandleftearly.ComeroundtotheSeventy-TwoClubandhaveacocktail?”
Eggaccepted,thoughshehadashrewdsuspicionthatDacreshadalreadyhadquiteasmuchalcoholaswasgoodforhim
SittingintheundergrounddimnessoftheSeventy-TwoClub,andsippingaMartini,Eggsaid:“Thisisgreatfun.I’veneverbeenherebefore.”
FreddieDacressmiledindulgently.Helikedayoungandprettygirl.Notperhapsasmuchashelikedsomeotherthings—butwellenough.
“Upsettin’sortoftime,wasn’tit?”hesaid.“UpinYorkshire,Imean.Somethingratheramusin’aboutadoctorbeingpoisoned—youseewhatImean—wrongwayabout.Adoctor’sachapwhopoisonsotherpeople.”
Helaugheduproariouslyathisownremarkandorderedanotherpinkgin.
“That’srathercleverofyou,”saidEgg.“Ineverthoughtofitthatwaybefore.”
“Onlyajoke,ofcourse,”saidFreddieDacres.
“It’sodd,isn’tit,”saidEgg,“thatwhenwemeetit’salwaysatadeath.”
“Bitodd,”admittedCaptainDacres.“Youmeantheoldclergymanchapatwhat’shisname’s—theactorfellow’splace?”
“Yes.Itwasveryqueerthewayhediedsosuddenly.”
“Damn’disturbin’,”saidDacres.“Makesyoufeelabitgruey,fellowspoppingoffallovertheplace.Youknow,youthink‘myturnnext,’anditgivesyoutheshivers.”
“YouknewMr.Babbingtonbefore,didn’tyou,atGilling?”
“Don’tknowtheplace.No,Ineverseteyesontheoldchapbefore.FunnythingishepoppedoffjustthesamewayasoldStrangedid.Bitodd,that.Can’thavebeenbumpedoff,too,Isuppose?”
“Well,whatdoyouthink?”
Dacresshookhishead.
“Can’thavebeen,”hesaiddecisively.“Nobodymurdersparsons.Doctorsaredifferent.”
“Yes,”saidEgg.“Isupposedoctorsaredifferent.”
“’Coursetheyare.Standstoreason.Doctorsareinterferingdevils.”Heslurredthewordsalittle.Heleantforward.“Won’tletwellalone.Understand?”
“No,”saidEgg.
“Theymonkeyaboutwithfellows’lives.They’vegotadamnedsighttoomuchpower.Oughtn’ttobeallowed.”
“Idon’tquiteseewhatyoumean.”
“M’deargirl,I’mtellingyou.Getafellowshutup—that’swhatImean—puthiminhell.God,they’recruel.Shuthimupandkeepthestufffromhim—andhowevermuchyoubegandpraytheywon’tgiveityou.Don’tcareadamnwhattortureyou’rein.That’sdoctorsforyou.I’mtellingyou—andIknow.”
Hisfacetwitchedpainfully.Hislittlepinpointpupilsstaredpasther.
“It’shell,Itellyou—hell.Andtheycallitcuringyou!Pretendthey’redoingadecentaction.Swine!”
“DidSirBartholomewStrange—?”beganEggcautiously.
Hetookthewordsoutofhermouth.
“SirBartholomewStrange.SirBartholomewHumbug.I’dliketoknowwhatgoesoninthatpreciousSanatoriumofhis.Nervecases.That’swhattheysay.You’reinthereandyoucan’tgetout.Andtheysayyou’vegoneofyourownfreewill.Freewill!Justbecausetheygetholdofyouwhenyou’vegotthehorrors.”
Hewasshakingnow.Hismouthdroopedsuddenly.
“I’malltopieces,”hesaidapologetically.“Alltopieces.”Hecalledtothewaiter,pressedEggtohaveanotherdrink,andwhensherefused,orderedonehimself.
“That’sbetter,”hesaidashedrainedtheglass.“Gotmynervebacknow.Nastybusinesslosingyournerve.Mustn’tmakeCynthiaangry.Shetoldmenottotalk.”Henoddedhisheadonceortwice.“Wouldn’tdototellthepoliceallthis,”hesaid.“TheymightthinkI’dbumpedoldStrangeoff.Eh?Yourealize,don’tyou,thatsomeonemusthavedoneit?Oneofusmusthavekilledhim.That’safunnythought.Whichofus?That’sthequestion.”
“Perhapsyouknowwhich,”saidEgg.
“Whatd’yousaythatfor?WhyshouldIknow?”
Helookedatherangrilyandsuspiciously.
“Idon’tknowanythingaboutit,Itellyou.Iwasn’tgoingtotakethatdamnable‘cure’ofhis.NomatterwhatCynthiasaid—Iwasn’tgoingtotakeit.Hewasuptosomething—theywerebothuptosomething.Buttheycouldn’tfoolme.”
Hedrewhimselfup.
“I’mashtrongman,MishLyttonGore.”
“I’msureyouare,”saidEgg.“Tellme,doyouknowanythingofaMrs.deRushbridgerwhoisattheSanatorium?”
“Rushbridger?Rushbridger?OldStrangesaidsomethingabouther.Nowwhatwasit?Can’trememberanything.”
Hesighed,shookhishead.
“Memory’sgoing,that’swhatitis.AndI’vegotenemies—alotofenemies.Theymaybespyingonmenow.”
Helookedrounduneasily.ThenheleantacrossthetabletoEgg.
“Whatwasthatwomandoinginmyroomthatday?”
“Whatwoman?”
“Rabbit-facedwoman.Writesplays.Itwasthemorningafter—afterhedied.I’djustcomeupfrombreakfast.Shecameoutofmyroomandwentthroughthebaizedoorattheendofthepassage—wentthroughintotheservants’quarters.Odd,eh?Whydidshegointomyroom?Whatdidshethinkshe’dfindthere?Whatdidshewanttogonosingaboutfor,anyway?What’sitgottodowithher?”Heleanedforwardconfidentially.“Ordoyouthinkit’struewhatCynthiasays?”
“WhatdoesMrs.Dacressay?”
“SaysIimaginedit.SaysIwas‘seeingthings.’”Helaugheduncertainly.“Idoseethingsnowandagain.Pinkmice—snakes—allthatsortofthing.Butseein’awoman’sdifferent…Ididseeher.She’saqueerfish,thatwoman.Nastysortofeyeshe’sgot.Goesthroughyou.”
Heleanedbackonthesoftcouch.Heseemedtobedroppingasleep.
Egggotup.
“Imustbegoing.Thankyouverymuch,CaptainDacres.”
“Don’tthankme.Delighted.Absolutelydelighted….”
Hisvoicetailedoff.
“I’dbettergobeforehepassesoutaltogether,”thoughtEgg.
SheemergedfromthesmokyatmosphereoftheSeventy-TwoClubintothecooleveningair.
Beatrice,thehousemaid,hadsaidthatMissWillspokedandpried.NowcamethisstoryfromFreddieDacres.WhathadMissWillsbeenlookingfor?Whathadshefound?WasitpossiblethatMissWillsknewsomething?
WasthereanythinginthisrathermuddledstoryaboutSirBartholomewStrange?HadFreddieDacressecretlyfearedandhatedhim?
Itseemedpossible.
ButinallthisnohintofanyguiltyknowledgeintheBabbingtoncase.
“Howodditwouldbe,”saidEggtoherself,“ifhewasn’tmurderedafterall.”
Andthenshecaughtherbreathsharplyasshecaughtsightofthewordsonanewspaperplacardafewfeetaway:
“CORNISHEXHUMATIONCASE—RESULT.”
Hastilysheheldoutapennyandsnatchedapaper.Asshedidsoshecollidedwithanotherwomandoingthesamething.AsEggapologizedsherecognizedSirCharles’ssecretary,theefficientMissMilray.
Standingsidebyside,theybothsoughtthestop-pressnews.Yes,thereitwas
“RESULTOFCORNISHEXHUMATION.”
ThewordsdancedbeforeEgg’seyes.Analysisoftheorgans…Nicotine….
“Sohewasmurdered,”saidEgg.
“Oh,dear,”saidMissMilray.“Thisisterrible—terrible—”
Herruggedcountenancewasdistortedwithemotion.Egglookedatherinsurprise.ShehadalwaysregardedMissMilrayassomethinglessthanhuman.
“Itupsetsme,”saidMissMilray,inexplanation.“Yousee,I’veknownhimallmylife.”
“Mr.Babbington?”
“Yes.Yousee,mymotherlivesatGilling,whereheusedtobevicar.Naturallyit’supsetting.”
“Oh,ofcourse.”
“Infact,”saidMissMilray,“Idon’tknowwhattodo.”
SheflushedalittlebeforeEgg’slookofastonishment.
“I’dliketowritetoMrs.Babbington,”shesaidquickly.“Onlyitdoesn’tseemquite—well,quite…Idon’tknowwhatIhadbetterdoaboutit.”
Somehow,toEgg,theexplanationwasnotquitesatisfying.
Eight
ANGELASUTCLIFFE
“Now,areyouafriendorareyouasleuth?Isimplymustknow.”
MissSutcliffeflashedapairofmockingeyesasshespoke.Shewassittinginastraight-backedchair,hergreyhairbecominglyarranged,herlegswerecrossedandMr.Satterthwaiteadmiredtheperfectionofherbeautifullyshodfeetandherslenderankles.MissSutcliffewasaveryfascinatingwoman,mainlyowingtothefactthatsheseldomtookanythingseriously.
“Isthatquitefair?”askedMr.Satterthwaite.
“Mydearman,ofcourseit’sfair.Haveyoucomehereforthesakeofmybeautifuleyes,astheFrenchsaysocharmingly,orhaveyou,younastyman,comejusttopumpmeaboutmurders?”
“Canyoudoubtthatyourfirstalternativeisthecorrectone?”askedMr.Satterthwaitewithalittlebow.
“IcanandIdo,”saidtheactresswithenergy.“Youareoneofthosepeoplewholooksomild,andreallywallowinblood.”
“No,no.”
“Yes,yes.TheonlythingIcan’tmakeupmymindaboutiswhetheritisaninsultoracomplimenttobeconsideredapotentialmurderess.Onthewhole,Ithinkit’sacompliment.”
Shecockedherheadalittleononesideandsmiledthatslowbewitchingsmilethatneverfailed.
Mr.Satterthwaitethoughttohimself:
“Adorablecreature.”
Aloudhesaid,“Iwilladmit,dearlady,thatthedeathofSirBartholomewStrangehasinterestedmeconsiderably.Ihave,asyouperhapsknow,dabbledinsuchdoingsbefore….”
Hepausedmodestly,perhapshopingthatMissSutcliffewouldshowsomeknowledgeofhisactivities.However,shemerelyasked:
“Tellmeonething—isthereanythinginwhatthatgirlsaid?”
“Whichgirl,andwhatdidshesay?”
“TheLyttonGoregirl.TheonewhoissofascinatedbyCharles.(WhatawretchCharlesis—hewilldoit!)ShethinksthatthatniceoldmandowninCornwallwasmurdered,too.”
“Whatdoyouthink?”
“Well,itcertainlyhappenedjustthesameway…She’sanintelligentgirl,youknow.Tellme—isCharlesserious?”
“Iexpectyourviewsonthesubjectarelikelytobemuchmorevaluablethanmine,”saidMr.Satterthwaite.
“Whatatiresomelydiscreetmanyouare,”criedMissSutcliffe.“NowI”—shesighed—“amappallinglyindiscreet….”
Sheflutteredaneyelashathim.
“IknowCharlesprettywell.Iknowmenprettywell.Heseemstometodisplayallthesignsofsettlingdown.There’sanairofvirtueabouthim.He’llbehandingroundtheplateandfoundingafamilyinrecordtime—that’smyview.Howdullmenarewhentheydecidetosettledown!Theylosealltheircharm.”
“I’veoftenwonderedwhySirCharleshasnevermarried,”saidMr.Satterthwaite.
“Mydear,henevershowedanysignsofwantingtomarry.Hewasn’twhattheycallamarryingman.Buthewasaveryattractiveman…”Shesighed.AslighttwinkleshowedinhereyesasshelookedatMr.Satterthwaite.“HeandIwereonce—well,whydenywhateverybodyknows?Itwasverypleasantwhileitlasted…andwe’restillthebestoffriends.Isupposethat’sthereasontheLyttonGorechildlooksatmesofiercely.ShesuspectsIstillhaveatendresseforCharles.HaveI?PerhapsIhave.ButatanyrateIhaven’tyetwrittenmymemoirsdescribingallmyaffairsindetailasmostofmyfriendsseemtohavedone.IfIdid,youknow,thegirlwouldn’tlikeit.She’dbeshocked.Moderngirlsareeasilyshocked.Hermotherwouldn’tbeshockedatall.Youcan’treallyshockasweetmid-Victorian.Theysaysolittle,butalwaysthinktheworst….”
Mr.Satterthwaitecontentedhimselfwithsaying:
“IthinkyouarerightinsuspectingthatEggLyttonGoremistrustsyou.”
MissSutcliffefrowned.
“I’mnotatallsurethatI’mnotalittlejealousofher…wewomenaresuchcats,aren’twe?Scratch,scratch,miauw,miauw,purr,purr….”
Shelaughed.
“Whydidn’tCharlescomeandcatechizemeonthisbusiness?Toomuchnicefeeling,Isuppose.Themanmustthinkmeguilty…AmIguilty,Mr.Satterthwaite?Whatdoyouthinknow?”
Shestoodupandstretchedoutahand.
“AlltheperfumesofArabiawillnotsweetenthislittlehand—”
Shebrokeoff.
“No,I’mnotLadyMacbeth.Comedy’smyline.”
“Thereseemsalsoacertainlackofmotive,”saidMr.Satterthwaite.
“True.IlikedBartholomewStrange.Wewerefriends.Ihadnoreasonforwishinghimoutoftheway.BecausewewerefriendsI’dratherliketotakeanactivepartinhuntingdownhismurderer.TellmeifIcanhelpinanyway.”
“Isuppose,MissSutcliffe,youdidn’tseeorhearanythingthatmighthaveabearingonthecrime?”
“NothingthatIhaven’talreadytoldthepolice.Thehousepartyhadonlyjustarrived,youknow.Hisdeathoccurredonthatfirstevening.”
“Thebutler?”
“Ihardlynoticedhim.”
“Anypeculiarbehaviouronthepartoftheguests?”
“No.Ofcoursethatboy—what’shisname?Mandersturnedupratherunexpectedly.”
“DidSirBartholomewStrangeseemedsurprised?”
“Yes,Ithinkhewas.Hesaidtomejustbeforewewentintodinnerthatitwasanoddbusiness,‘anewmethodofgatecrashing,’hecalledit.‘Only,’hesaid,‘it’smywallhe’scrashed,notmygate.’”
“SirBartholomewwasingoodspirits?”
“Verygoodspirits!”
“Whataboutthissecretpassageyoumentionedtothepolice?”
“Ibelieveitledoutofthelibrary.SirBartholomewpromisedtoshowittome—butofcoursethepoormandied.”
“Howdidthesubjectcomeup?”
“Wewerediscussingarecentpurchaseofhis—anoldwalnutbureau.Iaskedifithadasecretdrawerinit.ItoldhimIadoredsecretdrawers.It’sasecretpassionofmine.Andhesaid,‘No,therewasn’tasecretdrawerthatheknewof—buthehadgotasecretpassageinthehouse.’”
“Hedidn’tmentionapatientofhis,aMrs.deRushbridger?”
“No.”
“DoyouknowaplacecalledGilling,inKent?”
“Gilling?Gilling,no,Idon’tthinkIdo.Why?”
“Well,youknewMr.Babbingtonbefore,didn’tyou?”
“WhoisMr.Babbington?”
“Themanwhodied,orwhowaskilled,attheCrow’sNest.”
“Oh,theclergyman.I’dforgottenhisname.No,I’dneverseenhimbeforeinmylife.WhotoldyouIknewhim?”
“Someonewhooughttoknow,”saidMr.Satterthwaiteboldly.
MissSutcliffeseemedamused.
“Dearoldman,didtheythinkI’dhadanaffairwithhim?Archdeaconsaresometimesverynaughty,aren’tthey?Sowhynotvicars?There’sthemaninthebarrel,isn’tthere?ButImustclearthepoorman’smemory.I’dneverseenhimbeforeinmylife.”
AndwiththatstatementMr.Satterthwaitewasforcedtorestcontent.
Nine
MURIELWILLS
FiveUpperCathcartRoad,Tooting,seemedanincongruoushomeforasatiricplaywright.TheroomintowhichSirCharleswasshownhadwallsofaratherdraboatmealcolourwithafriezeoflaburnumroundthetop.Thecurtainswereofrose-colouredvelvet,therewerealotofphotographsandchinadogs,thetelephonewascoylyhiddenbyaladywithruffledskirts,therewereagreatmanylittletablesandsomesuspicious-lookingbrassworkfromBirminghamviatheFarEast.
MissWillsenteredtheroomsonoiselesslythatSirCharles,whowasatthemomentexaminingaridiculouslyelongatedpierrotdolllyingacrossthesofa,didnothearher.Herthinvoicesaying,“Howd’youdo,SirCharles.Thisisreallyagreatpleasure,”madehimspinround.
MissWillswasdressedinalimpjumpersuitwhichhungdisconsolatelyonherangularform.Herstockingswereslightlywrinkled,andshehadonveryhigh-heeledpatentleatherslippers.
SirCharlesshookhands,acceptedacigarette,andsatdownonthesofabythepierrotdoll.MissWillssatoppositehim.Thelightfromthewindowcaughtherpince-nezandmadethemgiveofflittleflashes.
“Fancyyoufindingmeouthere,”saidMissWills.“Mymotherwillbeeversoexcited.Shejustadoresthetheatre—especiallyanythingromantic.ThatplaywhereyouwereaPrinceataUniversity—she’softentalkedofit.Shegoestomatinées,youknow,andeatschocolates—she’soneofthatkind.Andshedoesloveit.”
“Howdelightful,”saidSirCharles.“Youdon’tknowhowcharmingitistoberemembered.Thepublicmemoryisshort!”Hesighed.
“She’llbethrilledatmeetingyou,”saidMissWills.“MissSutcliffecametheotherday,andMotherwasthrilledatmeetingher.”
“Angelawashere?”
“Yes.She’sputtingonaplayofmine,youknow:LittleDogLaughed.”
“Ofcourse,”saidSirCharles.“I’vereadaboutit.Ratherintriguingtitle.”
“I’msogladyouthinkso.MissSutcliffelikesit,too.It’sakindofmodernversionofthenurseryrhyme—alotoffrothandnonsense—Heydiddlediddleandthedishandthespoonscandal.Ofcourse,itallrevolvesroundMissSutcliffe’spart—everyonedancestoherfiddling—that’stheidea.”
SirCharlessaid:
“Notbad.Theworldnowadaysisratherlikeamadnurseryrhyme.Andthelittledoglaughedtoseesuchsport,eh?”Andhethoughtsuddenly:“Ofcoursethiswoman’stheLittleDog.Shelooksonandlaughs.”
ThelightshiftedfromMissWills’spince-nez,andhesawherpale-blueeyesregardinghimintelligentlythroughthem.
“Thiswoman,”thoughtSirCharles,“hasafiendishsenseofhumour.”
Aloudhesaid:
“Iwonderifyoucanguesswhaterrandhasbroughtmehere?”
“Well,”saidMissWillsarchly,“Idon’tsupposeitwasonlytoseepoorlittleme.”
SirCharlesregisteredforamomentthedifferencebetweenthespokenandthewrittenword.OnpaperMissWillswaswittyandcynical,inspeechshewasarch.
“ItwasreallySatterthwaiteputtheideaintomyhead,”saidSirCharles.“Hefancieshimselfasbeingagoodjudgeofcharacter.”
“He’sverycleveraboutpeople,”saidMissWills.“It’sratherhishobby,Ishouldsay.”
“AndheisstronglyofopinionthatiftherewereanythingworthnoticingthatnightatMelfortAbbeyyouwouldhavenoticedit.”
“Isthatwhathesaid?”
“Yes.”
“Iwasveryinterested,Imustadmit,”saidMissWillsslowly.“Yousee,I’dneverseenamurderatclosehandbefore.Awriter’sgottotakeeverythingascopy,hasn’tshe?”
“Ibelievethat’sawell-knownaxiom.”
“Sonaturally,”saidMissWills,“ItriedtonoticeeverythingIcould.”
ThiswasobviouslyMissWills’sversionofBeatrice’s“pokingandprying.”
“Abouttheguests?”
“Abouttheguests.”
“Andwhatexactlydidyounotice?”
Thepince-nezshifted.
“Ididn’treallyfindoutanything—ifIhadI’dhavetoldthepolice,ofcourse,”sheaddedvirtuously.
“Butyounoticedthings.”
“Ialwaysdonoticethings.Ican’thelpit.I’mfunnythatway.”Shegiggled.
“Andyounoticed—what?”
“Oh,nothing—thatis—nothingthatyou’dcallanything,SirCharles.Justlittleoddsandendsaboutpeople’scharacters.Ifindpeoplesoveryinteresting.Sotypical,ifyouknowwhatImean.”
“Typicalofwhat?”
“Ofthemselves.Oh,Ican’texplain.I’meversosillyatsayingthings.”
Shegiggledagain.
“Yourpenisdeadlierthanyourtongue,”saidSirCharles,smiling.
“Idon’tthinkit’sveryniceofyoutosaydeadlier,SirCharles.”
“MydearMissWills,admitthatwithapeninyourhandyou’requitemerciless.”
“Ithinkyou’rehorrid,SirCharles.It’syouwhoaremercilesstome.”
“Imustgetoutofthisbogofbadinage,”saidSirCharlestohimself.Hesaidaloud:
“Soyoudidn’tfindoutanythingconcrete,MissWills?”
“No—notexactly.Atleast,therewasonething.SomethingInoticedandoughttohavetoldthepoliceabout,onlyIforgot.”
“Whatwasthat?”
“Thebutler.Hehadakindofstrawberrymarkonhisleftwrist.Inoticeditwhenhewashandingmevegetables.Isupposethat’sthesortofthingwhichmightcomeinuseful.”
“Ishouldsayveryusefulindeed.ThepolicearetryinghardtotrackdownthatmanEllis.Really,MissWills,youareaveryremarkablewoman.Notoneoftheservantsorguestsmentionedsuchamark.”
“Mostpeopledon’tusetheireyesmuch,dothey?”saidMissWills.
“Whereexactlywasthemark?Andwhatsizewasit?”
“Ifyou’lljuststretchoutyourownwrist—”SirCharlesextendedhisarm.“Thankyou.Itwashere.”MissWillsplacedanunerringfingeronthespot.“Itwasaboutthesize,roughly,ofasixpence,andrathertheshapeofAustralia.”
“Thankyou,that’sveryclear,”saidSirCharles,removinghishandandpullingdownhiscuffsagain.
“YouthinkIoughttowritetothepoliceandtellthem?”
“CertainlyIdo.Itmightbemostvaluableintracingtheman.Dashitall,”wentonSirCharleswithfeeling,“indetectivestoriesthere’salwayssomeidentifyingmarkonthevillain.Ithoughtitwasabithardthatreallifeshouldprovesolamentablybehindhand.”
“It’susuallyascarinstories,”saidMissWillsthoughtfully.
“Abirthmark’sjustasgood,”saidSirCharles.
Helookedboyishlypleased.
“Thetroubleis,”hewenton,“mostpeoplearesoindeterminate.There’snothingaboutthemtotakeholdof.”
MissWillslookedinquiringlyathim.
“OldBabbington,forinstance,”wentonSirCharles,“hehadacuriouslyvaguepersonality.Verydifficulttolayholdof.”
“Hishandswereverycharacteristic,”saidMissWills.“WhatIcallascholar’shands.Alittlecrippledwitharthritis,butveryrefinedfingersandbeautifulnails.”
“Whatanobserveryouare.Ah,but—ofcourse,youknewhimbefore.”
“KnewMr.Babbington?”
“Yes,Irememberhistellingmeso—wherewasithesaidhehadknownyou?”
MissWillsshookherheaddecisively.
“Notme.Youmusthavebeenmixingmeupwithsomeoneelse—orhewas.I’dnevermethimbefore.”
“Itmustbeamistake.Ithought—atGilling—”
Helookedatherkeenly.MissWillsappearedquitecomposed.
“No,”shesaid.
“Diditeveroccurtoyou,MissWills,thathemighthavebeenmurdered,too?”
“IknowyouandMissLyttonGorethinkso—orratheryouthinkso.”
“Oh—and—er—whatdoyouthink?”
“Itdoesn’tseemlikely,”saidMissWills.
AlittlebaffledbyMissWills’sclearlackofinterestinthesubjectSirCharlesstartedonanothertack.
“DidSirBartholomewmentionaMrs.deRushbridgeratall?”
“No,Idon’tthinkso.”
“ShewasapatientinhisHome.Sufferingfromnervousbreakdownandlossofmemory.”
“Hementionedacaseoflostmemory,”saidMissWills.“Hesaidyoucouldhypnotizeapersonandbringtheirmemoryback.”
“Didhe,now?Iwonder—couldthatbesignificant?”
SirCharlesfrownedandremainedlostinthought.MissWillssaidnothing.
“There’snothingelseyoucouldtellme?Nothingaboutanyoftheguests?”
ItseemedtohimtherewasjusttheslightestpausebeforeMissWillsanswered
“No.”
“AboutMrs.Dacres?OrCaptainDacres?OrMissSutcliffe?OrMr.Manders?”
Hewatchedherveryintentlyashepronouncedeachname.
Oncehethoughthesawthepince-nezflicker,buthecouldnotbesure.
“I’mafraidthere’snothingIcantellyou,SirCharles.”
“Oh,well!”Hestoodup.“Satterthwaitewillbedisappointed.”
“I’msosorry,”saidMissWillsprimly.
“I’msorry,too,fordisturbingyou.Iexpectyouwerebusywriting.”
“Iwas,asamatteroffact.”
“Anotherplay?”
“Yes.Totellyouthetruth,IthoughtofusingsomeofthecharactersatthehousepartyatMelfortAbbey.”
“Whataboutlibel?”
“That’squiteallright,SirCharles,Ifindpeopleneverrecognizethemselves.”Shegiggled.“Notif,asyousaidjustnow,oneisreallymerciless.”
“Youmean,”saidSirCharles,“thatweallhaveanexaggeratedideaofourownpersonalitiesanddon’trecognizethetruthifit’ssufficientlybrutallyportrayed.Iwasquiteright,MissWills,youareacruelwoman.”
MissWillstittered.
“Youneedn’tbeafraid,SirCharles.Womenaren’tusuallycrueltomen—unlessit’ssomeparticularman—they’reonlycrueltootherwomen.”
“Meaningyou’vegotyouranalyticalknifeintosomeunfortunatefemale.Whichone?Well,perhapsIcanguess.Cynthia’snotbelovedbyherownsex.”
MissWillssaidnothing.Shecontinuedtosmile—ratheracatlikesmile.
“Doyouwriteyourstuffordictateit?”
“Oh,Iwriteitandsendittobetyped.”
“Yououghttohaveasecretary.”
“Perhaps.HaveyoustillgotthatcleverMiss—MissMilray,wasn’tit?”
“Yes,I’vegotMissMilray.Shewentawayforatimetolookafterhermotherinthecountry,butshe’sbackagainnow.Mostefficientwoman.”
“SoIshouldthink.Perhapsalittleimpulsive.”
“Impulsive?MissMilray?”
SirCharlesstared.NeverinhiswildestflightsoffancyhadheassociatedimpulsewithMissMilray.
“Onlyonoccasions,perhaps,”saidMissWills.
SirCharlesshookhishead.
“MissMilray’stheperfectrobot.Good-bye,MissWills.Forgivemeforbotheringyou,anddon’tforgettoletthepoliceknowaboutthatthingummybob.”
“Themarkonthebutler’srightwrist?No,Iwon’tforget.”
“Well,good-bye—halfasec.—didyousayrightwrist?Yousaidleftjustnow.”
“DidI?Howstupidofme.”
“Well,whichwasit?”
MissWillsfrownedandhalfclosedhereyes.
“Letmesee.Iwassittingso—andhe—wouldyoumind,SirCharles,handingmethatbrassplateasthoughitwasavegetabledish.Leftside.”
SirCharlespresentedthebeatenbrassatrocityasdirected.
“Cabbage,madam?”
“Thankyou,”saidMissWills,“I’mquitesurenow.Itwastheleftwrist,asIsaidfirst.Stupidofme.”
“No,no,”saidSirCharles.“Leftandrightarealwayspuzzling.”
Hesaidgood-byeforthethirdtime.
Asheclosedthedoorhelookedback.MissWillswasnotlookingathim.Shewasstandingwherehehadlefther.Shewasgazingatthefire,andonherlipswasasmileofsatisfiedmalice.
SirCharleswasstartled.
“Thatwomanknowssomething,”hesaidtohimself.“I’llswearsheknowssomething.Andshewon’tsay…Butwhatthedevilisitsheknows?”
Ten
OLIVERMANDERS
AttheofficeofMessrsSpeier&Ross,Mr.SatterthwaiteaskedforMr.OliverMandersandsentinhiscard.
Presentlyhewasusheredintoasmallroom,whereOliverwassittingatawritingtable.
Theyoungmangotupandshookhands.
“Goodofyoutolookmeup,sir,”hesaid.
Histoneimplied:
“Ihavetosaythat,butreallyit’sadamnedbore.”
Mr.Satterthwaite,however,wasnoteasilyputoff.Hesatdown,blewhisnosethoughtfully,and,peeringoverthetopofhishandkerchief,said:
“Seenthenewsthismorning?”
“Youmeanthenewfinancialsituation?Well,thedollar—”
“Notdollars,”saidMr.Satterthwaite.“Death.TheresultoftheLoomouthexhumation.Babbingtonwaspoisoned—bynicotine.”
“Oh,that—yes,Isawthat.OurenergeticEggwillbepleased.Shealwaysinsisteditwasmurder.”
“Butitdoesn’tinterestyou?”
“Mytastesaren’tsocrude.Afterall,murder—”heshruggedhisshoulders.“Soviolentandinartistic.”
“Notalwaysinartistic,”saidMr.Satterthwaite.
“No?Well,perhapsnot.”
“Itdepends,doesitnot,onwhocommitsthemurder.You,forinstance,would,Iamsure,commitamurderinaveryartisticmanner.”
“Niceofyoutosayso,”drawledOliver.
“Butfrankly,mydearboy,Idon’tthinkmuchoftheaccidentyoufaked.Nomoredothepolice,Iunderstand.”
Therewasamoment’ssilence—thenapendroppedtothefloor.
Oliversaid:
“Excuseme,Idon’tquiteunderstandyou.”
“ThatratherinartisticperformanceofyoursatMelfortAbbey.Ishouldbeinterestedtoknow—justwhyyoudidit.”
Therewasanothersilence,thenOliversaid:
“Yousaythepolice—suspect?”
Mr.Satterthwaitenodded.
“Itlooksalittlesuspicious,don’tyouthink?”heaskedpleasantly.“Butperhapsyouhaveaperfectlygoodexplanation.”
“I’vegotanexplanation,”saidOliverslowly.“Whetherit’sagoodoneornot,Idon’tknow.”
“Willyouletmejudge?”
Therewasapause,thenOliversaid:
“Icamethere—thewayIdid—atSirBartholomew’sownsuggestion.”
“What?”Mr.Satterthwaitewasastonished.
“Abitodd,isn’tit?Butit’strue.IgotaletterfromhimsuggestingthatIshouldhaveashamaccidentandclaimhospitality.Hesaidhecouldn’tputhisreasonsinwriting,buthewouldexplainthemtomeatthefirstopportunity.”
“Anddidheexplain?”
“No,hedidn’t…Igottherejustbeforedinner.Ididn’tseehimalone.Attheendofdinnerhe—hedied.”
ThewearinesshadgoneoutofOliver’smanner.HisdarkeyeswerefixedonMr.Satterthwaite.Heseemedtobestudyingattentivelythereactionsarousedbyhiswords.
“You’vegotthisletter?”
“No,Itoreitup.”
“Apity,”saidMr.Satterthwaitedryly.“Andyousaidnothingtothepolice?”
“No,itallseemed—well,ratherfantastic.”
“Itisfantastic.”
Mr.Satterthwaiteshookhishead.HadBartholomewStrangewrittensuchaletter?Itseemedhighlyuncharacteristic.Thestoryhadamelodramatictouchmostunlikethephysician’scheerfulcommonsense.
Helookedupattheyoungman.Oliverwasstillwatchinghim.Mr.Satterthwaitethought:“He’slookingtoseeifIswallowthisstory.”
Hesaid,“AndSirBartholomewgaveabsolutelynoreasonforhisrequest?”
“Nonewhatever.”
“Anextraordinarystory.”
Oliverdidnotspeak.
“Yetyouobeyedthesummons?”
Somethingofthewearymannerreturned.
“Yes,itseemedrefreshinglyoutofthewaytoasomewhatjadedpalate.Iwascurious,Imustconfess.”
“Isthereanythingelse?”askedMr.Satterthwaite.
“Whatdoyoumean,sir,anythingelse?”
Mr.Satterthwaitedidnotreallyknowwhathemeant.Hewasledbysomeobscureinstinct.
“Imean,”hesaid,“isthereanythingelsethatmighttell—againstyou?”
Therewasapause.Thentheyoungmanshruggedhisshoulders.
“IsupposeImightaswellmakeacleanbreastofit.Thewomanisn’tlikelytoholdhertongueaboutit.”
Mr.Satterthwaitelookedaquestion.
“Itwasthemorningafterthemurderstuff.IwastalkingtotheAnthonyArmstrongwoman.Itookoutmypocketbookandsomethingfelloutofit.Shepickeditupandhandeditbacktome.”
“Andthissomething?”
“Unfortunatelysheglancedatitbeforereturningittome.Itwasacuttingfromanewspaperaboutnicotine—whatadeadlypoisonitwas,andsoon.”
“Howdidyoucometohavesuchaninterestinthesubject?”
“Ididn’t.IsupposeImusthaveputthatcuttinginmywalletsometimeorother,butIcan’trememberdoingso.Bitawkward,eh?”
Mr.Satterthwaitethought:“Athinstory.”
“Isuppose,”wentonOliverManders,“shewenttothepoliceaboutit?”
Mr.Satterthwaiteshookhishead.
“Idon’tthinkso.Ifancyshe’sawomanwholikes—well,tokeepthingstoherself.She’sacollectorofknowledge.”
OliverMandersleanedforwardsuddenly.
“I’minnocent,sir,absolutelyinnocent.”
“Ihaven’tsuggestedthatyouareguilty,”saidMr.Satterthwaitemildly.
“Butsomeonehas—someonemusthavedone.Someonehasputthepoliceontome.”
Mr.Satterthwaiteshookhishead.
“No,no.”
“Thenwhydidyoucomeheretoday?”
“Partlyastheresultofmy—er—investigationsonthespot.”Mr.Satterthwaitespokealittlepompously.“Andpartlyatthesuggestionof—afriend.”
“Whatfriend?”
“HerculePoirot.”
“Thatman!”TheexpressionburstfromOliver.“IshebackinEngland?”
“Yes.”
“Whyhashecomeback?”
Mr.Satterthwaiterose.
“Whydoesadoggohunting?”heinquired.
And,ratherpleasedwithhisretort,helefttheroom.
Eleven
POIROTGIVESASHERRYPARTY
I
SittinginacomfortablearmchairinhisslightlyfloridsuiteattheRitz,HerculePoirotlistened.
Eggwasperchedonthearmofachair,SirCharlesstoodinfrontofthefireplace,Mr.Satterthwaitesatalittlefartherawayobservingthegroup.
“It’sfailureallalongtheline,”saidEgg.
Poirotshookhisheadgently.
“No,no,youexaggerate.AsregardsalinkwithMr.Babbington,youhavedrawntheblank—yes;butyouhavecollectedothersuggestiveinformation.”
“TheWillswomanknowssomething,”saidSirCharles.“I’llswearsheknowssomething.”
“AndCaptainDacres,hetoohasnottheclearconscience.AndMrs.Dacreswasdesperatelyinwantofmoney,andSirBartholomewspoiltherchanceoflayingholdofsome.”
“WhatdoyouthinkofyoungManders’sstory?”askedMr.Satterthwaite.
“ItstrikesmeaspeculiarandasbeinghighlyuncharacteristicofthelateSirBartholomewStrange.”
“Youmeanit’salie?”askedSirCharlesbluntly.
“Therearesomanykindsoflies,”saidHerculePoirot.
Hewassilentforaminuteortwo,thenhesaid:
“ThisMissWills,shehaswrittenaplayforMissSutcliffe?”
“Yes.ThefirstnightisWednesdaynext.”
“Ah!”
Hewassilentagain.Eggsaid:
“Tellus:Whatshallwedonow?”
Thelittlemansmiledather.
“Thereisonlyonethingtodo—think.”
“Think?”criedEgg.Hervoicewasdisgusted.
Poirotbeamedonher.
“Butyes,exactlythat.Think!Withthought,allproblemscanbesolved.”
“Can’twedosomething?”
“Foryoutheaction,eh,mademoiselle?Butcertainly,therearestillthingsyoucando.Thereis,forinstance,thisplace,Gilling,whereMr.Babbingtonlivedforsomanyyears.Youcanmakeinquiriesthere.YousaythatthisMissMilray’smotherlivesatGillingandisaninvalid.Aninvalidknowseverything.Shehearseverythingandforgetsnothing.Makeyourinquiriesofher,itmayleadtosomething—whoknows?”
“Aren’tyougoingtodoanything?”demandedEggpersistently.
Poirottwinkled.
“YouinsistthatI,too,shallbeactive?Ehbien.Itshallbeasyouwish.Onlyme,Ishallnotleavethisplace.Iamverycomfortablehere.ButIwilltellyouwhatIwilldo:Iwillgivetheparty—theSherryParty—thatisfashionable,isitnot?”
“ASherryParty?”
“Précisément,andtoitIwillaskMrs.Dacres,CaptainDacres,MissSutcliffe,MissWills,Mr.Mandersandyourcharmingmother,mademoiselle.”
“Andme?”
“Naturally,andyou.Thepresentcompanyisincluded.”
“Hurrah,”saidEgg.“Youcan’tdeceiveme,M.Poirot.Somethingwillhappenatthatparty.Itwill,won’tit?”
“Weshallsee,”saidPoirot.“Butdonotexpecttoomuch,mademoiselle.NowleavemewithSirCharles,forthereareafewthingsaboutwhichIwanttoaskhisadvice.”
AsEggandMr.Satterthwaitestoodwaitingforthelift,Eggsaidecstatically:
“It’slovely—justlikedetectivestories.Allthepeoplewillbethere,andthenhe’lltelluswhichofthemdidit.”
“Iwonder,”saidMr.Satterthwaite.
II
TheSherryPartytookplaceonMondayevening.Theinvitationhadbeenacceptedbyall.ThecharmingandindiscreetMissSutcliffelaughedmischievouslyassheglancedround.
“Quitethespider’sparlour,M.Poirot.Andhereallwepoorlittleflieshavewalkedin.I’msureyou’regoingtogiveusthemostmarvellousrésuméofthecaseandthensuddenlyyou’llpointatmeandsay,‘Thouartthewoman,’andeveryonewillsay,‘Shedoneit,’andIshallburstintotearsandconfessbecauseI’mtooterriblysuggestibleforwords.Oh,M.Poirot,I’msofrightenedofyou.”
“Quellehistoire,”criedPoirot.Hewasbusywithadecanterandglasses.Hehandedheraglassofsherrywithabow.“Thisisafriendlylittleparty.Donotletustalkofmurdersandbloodshedandpoison.Là,là!thesethings,theyspoilthepalate.”
HehandedaglasstothegrimMissMilray,whohadaccompaniedSirCharlesandwasstandingwithaforbiddingexpressiononherface.
“Voilà,”saidPoirotashefinisheddispensinghospitality.“Letusforgettheoccasiononwhichwefirstmet.Letushavethepartyspirit.Eat,drinkandbemerry,fortomorrowwedie.Ah,malheur,Ihaveagainmentioneddeath.Madame,”hebowedtoMrs.Dacres,“mayIbepermittedtowishyougoodluckandcongratulateyouonyourverycharminggown.”
“Here’stoyou,Egg,”saidSirCharles.
“Cheerio,”saidFreddieDacres.
Everybodymurmuredsomething.Therewasanairofforcedgaietyabouttheproceedings.Everyonewasdeterminedtoappeargayandunconcerned.OnlyPoirothimselfseemednaturallyso.Herambledonhappily….
“Thesherry,Ipreferittothecocktail—andathousandtimestothewhisky.Ah,quelhorreur,thewhisky.Bydrinkingthewhisky,youruin,absolutelyruin,thepalate.ThedelicatewinesofFrance,toappreciatethem,youmustnevernever—ahqu’est-cequ’ilya—?”
Astrangesoundhadinterruptedhim—akindofchokingcry.EveryeyewenttoSirCharlesashestoodswaying,hisfaceconvulsed.Theglassdroppedfromhishandontothecarpet,hetookafewstepsblindly,thencollapsed.
Therewasamoment’sstupefiedsilence,thenAngelaSutcliffescreamedandEggstartedforward.
“Charles,”criedEgg.“Charles.”
Shefoughtherwayblindlyforward.Mr.Satterthwaitegentlyheldherback.
“Oh,dearGod,”criedLadyMary.“Notanother!”
AngelaSutcliffecriedout:
“He’sbeenpoisoned,too…Thisisawful.Oh,myGod,thisistooawful….”
Andsuddenlycollapsingontoasofa,shebegantosobandlaugh—ahorriblesound.
Poirothadtakenchargeofthesituation.Hewaskneelingbytheprostrateman.Theothersdrewbackwhilehemadehisexamination.Herosetohisfeet,mechanicallydustingthekneesofhistrousers.Helookedroundattheassembly.Therewascompletesilence,exceptforthesmotheredsobsofAngelaSutcliffe.
“Myfriends,”beganPoirot.
Hegotnofurther,forEggspatoutathim:
“Youfool.Youabsurdplayactinglittlefool!Pretendingtobesogreatandsowonderful,andtoknowallabouteverything.Andnowyouletthishappen.Anothermurder.Underyourverynose…Ifyou’dletthewholethingalonethiswouldn’thavehappened…It’syouwhohavemurderedCharles—you—you—you….”
Shestopped,unabletogetoutthewords.
Poirotnoddedhisheadgravelyandsadly.
“Itistrue,mademoiselle.Iconfessit.ItisIwhohavemurderedSirCharles.ButI,mademoiselle,amaveryspecialkindofmurderer.Icankill—andIcanrestoretolife.”Heturnedandinadifferenttoneofvoice,anapologeticeverydayvoice,hesaid:
“Amagnificentperformance,SirCharles,Icongratulateyou.Perhapsyouwouldnowliketotakeyourcurtain.”
Withalaughtheactorsprangtohisfeetandbowedmockingly.
Egggaveagreatgasp.
“M.Poirot,you—youbeast.”
“Charles,”criedAngelaSutcliffe.“Youcompletedevil….”
“Butwhy—?”
“How—?”
“Whatonearth—?”
Bymeansofhisupraisedhand,Poirotobtainedsilence.
“Messieurs,mesdames.Idemandpardonofyouall.Thislittlefarcewasnecessarytoprovetoyouall,andincidentally,toprovetomyselfafactwhichmyreasonalreadytoldmeistrue.
“Listen.OnthistrayofglassesIplacedinoneglassateaspoonfulofplainwater.Thatwaterrepresentedpurenicotine.TheseglassesareofthesamekindasthosepossessedbySirCharlesCartwrightandbySirBartholomewStrange.Owingtotheheavycutglass,asmallquantityofacolourlessliquidisquiteundetectable.Imagine,then,theportglassofSirBartholomewStrange.Afteritwasputonthetablesomebodyintroducedintoitasufficientquantityofpurenicotine.Thatmighthavebeendonebyanybody.Thebutler,theparlourmaid,oroneoftheguestswhoslippedintothediningroomonhisorherwaydownstairs.Dessertarrived,theportistakenround,theglassisfilled.SirBartholomewdrinks—anddies.
“Tonightwehaveplayedathirdtragedy—ashamtragedy—IaskedSirCharlestoplaythepartofthevictim.Thishedidmagnificently.Nowsupposeforaminutethatthiswasnotafarce,buttruth.SirCharlesisdead.Whatwillbethestepstakenbythepolice?”
MissSutcliffecried:
“Why,theglass,ofcourse.”ShenoddedtowheretheglasslayonthefloorasithadfallenfromSirCharles’shand.“Youonlyputwaterin,butifithadbeennicotine—”
“Letussupposeitwasnicotine.”Poirottouchedtheglassgentlywithhistoe.“Youareofopinionthatthepolicewouldanalysetheglass,andthattracesofnicotinewouldbefound?”
“Certainly.”
Poirotshookhisheadgently.
“Youarewrong.Nonicotinewouldbefound.”
Theystaredathim.
“Yousee,”hesmiled,“thatisnottheglassfromwhichSirCharlesdrank.”Withanapologeticgrinheextendedaglassfromthetailpocketofhiscoat.“Thisistheglassheused.”
Hewenton:
“Itis,yousee,thesimpletheoryoftheconjuringtrick.Theattentioncannotbeintwoplacesatonce.TodomyconjuringtrickIneedtheattentionfocusedelsewhere.Well,thereisamoment,apsychologicalmoment.WhenSirCharlesfalls—dead—everyeyeintheroomisonhisdeadbody.Everyonecrowdsforwardtogetnearhim,andnoone,nooneatall,looksatHerculePoirot,andinthatmomentIexchangetheglassesandnoonesees….
“Soyousee,Iprovemypoint…TherewassuchamomentatCrow’sNest,therewassuchamomentatMelfortAbbey—andso,therewasnothinginthecocktailglassandnothingintheportglass….”
Eggcried:
“Whochangedthem?”
Lookingather,Poirotreplied:
“That,wehavestilltofindout….”
“Youdon’tknow?”
Poirotshruggedhisshoulders.
Ratheruncertainly,theguestsmadesignsofdeparture.Theirmannerwasalittlecold.Theyfelttheyhadbeenbadlyfooled.
Withagestureofthehand,Poirotarrestedthem.
“Onelittlemoment,Iprayofyou.ThereisonethingmorethatIhavetosay.Tonight,admittedly,wehaveplayedthecomedy.Butthecomedymaybeplayedinearnest—itmaybecomeatragedy.Undercertainconditionsthemurderermaystrikeathirdtime…Ispeaknowtoallofyouherepresent.Ifanyoneofyouknowssomething—somethingthatmaybearinanywayonthiscrime,Iimplorethatpersontospeaknow.Tokeepknowledgetooneselfatthisjuncturemaybedangerous—sodangerousthatdeathmaybetheresultofsilence.ThereforeIbegagain—ifanyoneknowsanything,letthatpersonspeaknow….”
ItseemedtoSirCharlesthatPoirot’sappealwasaddressedespeciallytoMissWills.Ifso,ithadnoresult.Nobodyspokeoranswered.
Poirotsighed.Hishandfell.
“Beitso,then.Ihavegivenwarning.Icandonomore.Remember,tokeepsilenceisdangerous….”
Butstillnobodyspoke.
Awkwardlytheguestsdeparted.
Egg,SirCharlesandMr.Satterthwaitewereleft.
EgghadnotyetforgivenPoirot.Shesatverystill,hercheeksflushedandhereyesangry.Shewouldn’tlookatSirCharles.
“Thatwasadamnedcleverbitofwork,Poirot,”saidSirCharlesappreciatively.
“Amazing,”saidMr.Satterthwaitewithachuckle.“Iwouldn’thavebelievedthatIwouldn’thaveseenyoudothatexchange.”
“Thatiswhy,”saidPoirot,“Icouldtakenooneintoanyconfidence.Theexperimentcouldonlybefairthisway.”
“Wasthattheonlyreasonyouplannedthis—toseewhetheritcouldbedoneunnoticed?”
“Well,notquite,perhaps.Ihadoneotheraim.”
“Yes?”
“Iwantedtowatchtheexpressionononeperson’sfacewhenSirCharlesfelldead.”
“Whichperson’s?”saidEggsharply.
“Ah,thatismysecret.”
“Andyoudidwatchthatperson’sface?”askedMr.Satterthwaite.
“Yes.”
“Well?”
Poirotdidnotreply.Hemerelyshookhishead.
“Won’tyoutelluswhatyousawthere?”
Poirotsaidslowly:
“Isawanexpressionoftheutmostsurprise….”
Eggdrewherbreathinsharply.
“Youmean,”shesaid,“thatyouknowwhothemurdereris?”
“Youcanputitthatwayifyoulike,mademoiselle.”
“Butthen—butthen—youknoweverything?”
Poirotshookhishead.
“No;onthecontraryIknownothingatall.For,yousee,IdonotknowwhyStephenBabbingtonwaskilled.UntilIknowthatIcanprovenothing,Icanknownothing…Itallhingesonthat—themotiveforStephenBabbington’sdeath….”
Therewasaknockatthedoorandapageenteredwithatelegramonatray.
Poirotopenedit.Hisfacechanged.HehandedthetelegramtoSirCharles.LeaningoverSirCharles’sshoulder,Eggreaditaloud:
“PleasecomeandseemeatoncecangiveyouvaluableinformationastoBartholomewStrange’sdeath—MargaretRushbridger.”
“Mrs.deRushbridger!”criedSirCharles.“Wewererightafterall.Shehasgotsomethingtodowiththecase.”
Twelve
DAYATGILLING
I
Atonceanexciteddiscussionsprangup.AnA.B.C.wasproduced.Itwasdecidedthatanearlytrainwouldbebetterthangoingbycar.
“Atlast,”saidSirCharles,“we’regoingtogetthatparticularpartofthemysteryclearedup.”
“Whatdoyouthinkthemysteryis?”askedEgg.
“Ican’timagine.Butitcan’tfailtothrowsomelightontheBabbingtonaffair.IfTolliegotthosepeopletogetheronpurpose,asIfeelprettysurehedid,thenthe‘surprise’hetalkedofspringingonthemhadsomethingtodowiththisRushbridgerwoman.Ithinkwecanassumethat,don’tyou,M.Poirot?”
Poirotshookhisheadinaperplexedmanner.
“Thistelegramcomplicatestheaffair,”hemurmured.“Butwemustbequick—extremelyquick.”
Mr.Satterthwaitedidnotseetheneedforextremehaste,butheagreedpolitely.
“Certainly,wewillgobythefirsttraininthemorning.Er—thatistosay,isitnecessaryforusalltogo?”
“SirCharlesandIhadarrangedtogodowntoGilling,”saidEgg.
“Wecanpostponethat,”saidSirCharles.
“Idon’tthinkweoughttopostponeanything,”saidEgg.“ThereisnoneedforallfourofustogotoYorkshire.It’sabsurd.Massformation.M.PoirotandMr.SatterthwaitegotoYorkshireandSirCharlesandIgotoGilling.”
“I’dratherliketolookintothisRushbridgerbusiness,”saidSirCharleswithatraceofwistfulness.“Yousee,I—er—talkedtotheMatronbefore—gotmyfootin,sotospeak.”
“That’sjustwhyyou’dbetterkeepaway,”saidEgg.“Youinvolvedyourselfinalotoflies,andnowthisRushbridgerwomanhascometoherselfyou’llbeexposedasathorough-pacedliar.It’sfarfarmoreimportantthatyoushouldcometoGilling.IfwewanttoseeMissMilray’smothershe’llopenouttoyoumuchmorethanshewouldtoanyoneelse.You’reherdaughter’semployer,andshe’llhaveconfidenceinyou.”
SirCharleslookedintoEgg’sglowing,earnestface.
“I’llcometoGilling,”hesaid.“Ithinkyou’requiteright.”
“IknowI’mright,”saidEgg.
“Inmyopinionanexcellentarrangement,”saidPoirotbriskly.“Asmademoisellesays,SirCharlesispreeminentlythepersontointerviewthisMrs.Milray.Whoknows,youmaylearnfromherfactsofmuchmoreimportancethanthoseweshalllearninYorkshire.”
Matterswerearrangedonthisbasis,andthefollowingmorningSirCharlespickedupEgginhiscarataquartertoten.PoirotandMr.SatterthwaitehadalreadyleftLondonbytrain.
Itwasalovelycrispmorning,withjustatouchoffrostintheair.EggfeltherspiritsrisingastheyturnedandtwistedthroughthevariousshortcutswhichSirCharles’sexperiencehaddiscoveredsouthoftheThames.
Atlast,however,theywereflyingsmoothlyalongtheFolkestoneroad.AfterpassingthroughMaidstone,SirCharlesconsultedamap,andtheyturnedofffromthemainroadandwereshortlywindingthroughcountrylanes.Itwasaboutaquartertotwelvewhentheyatlastreachedtheirobjective.
Gillingwasavillagewhichtheworldhadleftbehind.Ithadanoldchurch,avicarage,twoorthreeshops,arowofcottages,threeorfournewcouncilhousesandaveryattractivevillagegreen.
MissMilray’smotherlivedinatinyhouseontheothersideofthegreentothechurch.
AsthecardrewupEggasked:
“DoesMissMilrayknowyouaregoingtoseehermother?”
“Oh,yes.Shewrotetopreparetheoldlady.”
“Doyouthinkthatwasagoodthing?”
“Mydearchild,whynot?”
“Oh,Idon’tknow…Youdidn’tbringherdownwithyou,though.”
“Asamatteroffact,Ithoughtshemightcrampmystyle.She’ssomuchmoreefficientthanIam—she’dprobablytrytopromptme.”
Egglaughed.
Mrs.Milrayturnedouttobealmostludicrouslyunlikeherdaughter.WhereMissMilraywashard,shewassoft,whereMissMilraywasangular,shewasround.Mrs.Milraywasanimmensedumplingofawomanimmovablyfixedinanarmchairconvenientlyplacedsothatshecould,fromthewindow,observeallthatwentonintheworldoutside.
Sheseemedpleasurablyexcitedbythearrivalofhervisitors.
“Thisisveryniceofyou,I’msure,SirCharles.I’veheardsomuchaboutyoufrommyViolet.”(Violet!SingularlyincongruousnameforMissMilray.)“Youdon’tknowhowmuchsheadmiresyou.It’sbeenmostinterestingforherworkingwithyoualltheseyears.Won’tyousitdown,MissLyttonGore?You’llexcusemynotgettingup.I’velosttheuseofmylimbsformanyyearsnow.TheLord’swill,andIdon’tcomplain,andwhatIsayisonecangetusedtoanything.Perhapsyou’dlikealittlerefreshmentafteryourdrivedown?”
BothSirCharlesandEggdisclaimedtheneedofrefreshment,butMrs.Milraypaidnoattention.SheclappedherhandsinanOrientalmanner,andteaandbiscuitsmadetheirappearance.Astheynibbledandsipped,SirCharlescametotheobjectoftheirvisit.
“Iexpectyou’veheard,Mrs.Milray,allaboutthetragicdeathofMr.Babbingtonwhousedtobevicarhere?”
Thedumplingnoddeditsheadinvigorousassent.
“Yes,indeed.I’vereadallabouttheexhumationinthepaper.AndwhoevercanhavepoisonedhimIcan’timagine.Averyniceman,hewas,everyonelikedhimhere—andher,too.Andtheirlittlechildrenandall.”
“Itisindeedagreatmystery,”saidSirCharles.“We’reallindespairaboutit.Infact,wewonderedifyoucouldpossiblythrowanylightuponthematter.”
“Me?ButIhaven’tseentheBabbingtons—letmesee—itmustbeoverfifteenyears.”
“Iknow,butsomeofushavetheideathattheremightbesomethinginthepasttoaccountforhisdeath.”
“I’msureIdon’tknowwhattherecouldbe.Theyledveryquietlives—verybadlyoff,poorthings,withallthosechildren.”
Mrs.Milraywaswillingenoughtoreminisce,butherreminiscencesseemedtoshedlittlelightontheproblemtheyhadsetouttosolve.
SirCharlesshowedhertheenlargementofasnapshotwhichincludedtheDacres,alsoanearlyportraitofAngelaSutcliffeandasomewhatblurredreproductionofMissWillscutfromanewspaper.Mrs.Milraysurveyedthemallwithgreatinterest,butwithnosignsofrecognition.
“Ican’tsayIrememberanyofthem—ofcourseit’salongtimeago.Butthisisasmallplace.There’snotmuchcomingandgoing.TheAgnewgirls,thedoctor’sdaughters—they’reallmarriedandoutintheworld,andourpresentdoctor’sabachelor—he’sgotanewyoungpartner.ThenthereweretheoldMissCayleys—satinthebigpew—they’realldeadmanyyearsback.AndtheRichardsons—hediedandshewenttoWales.Andthevillagepeople,ofcourse.Butthere’snotmuchchangethere.Violet,Iexpect,couldtellyouasmuchasIcould.ShewasayounggirlthenandoftenoverattheVicarage.”
SirCharlestriedtoenvisageMissMilrayasayounggirlandfailed.
HeaskedMrs.MilrayifsherememberedanyoneofthenameofRushbridger,butthenamefailedtoevokeanyresponse.
Finallytheytooktheirleave.
Theirnextmovewasascratchlunchinthebaker’sshop.SirCharleshadhankeringsforfleshpotselsewhere,butEggpointedoutthattheymightgetholdofsomelocalgossip.
“Andboiledeggsandsconeswilldoyounoharmforonce,”shesaidseverely.“Menaresofussyabouttheirfood.”
“Ialwaysfindeggssodepressing,”saidSirCharlesmeekly.
Thewomanwhoservedthemwascommunicativeenough.She,too,hadreadoftheexhumationinthepaperandhadbeenproportionatelythrilledbyitsbeing“oldvicar.”“Iwereachildatthetime,”sheexplained.“ButIrememberhim.”
Shecouldnot,however,tellthemmuchabouthim.
Afterlunchtheywenttothechurchandlookedthroughtheregisterofbirths,marriagesanddeaths.Hereagainthereseemednothinghopefulorsuggestive.
Theycameoutintothechurchyardandlingered.Eggreadthenamesonthetombstones.
“Whatqueernamesthereare,”shesaid.“Listen,here’sawholefamilyofStavepennysandhere’saMaryAnnSticklepath.”
“Noneofthemsoqueerasmine,”murmuredSirCharles.
“Cartwright?Idon’tthinkthat’saqueernameatall.”
“Ididn’tmeanCartwright.Cartwright’smyactingname,andIfinallyadopteditlegally.”
“What’syourrealname?”
“Icouldn’tpossiblytellyou.It’smyguiltysecret.”
“Isitasterribleasallthat?”
“It’snotsomuchterribleashumorous.”
“Oh—tellitme.”
“Certainlynot,”saidSirCharlesfirmly.
“Please.”
“No.”
“Whynot?”
“You’dlaugh.”
“Iwouldn’t.”
“Youwouldn’tbeabletohelplaughing.”
“Oh,pleasetellme.Please,please,please.”
“Whatapersistentcreatureyouare,Egg.Whydoyouwanttoknow?”
“Becauseyouwon’ttellme.”
“Youadorablechild,”saidSirCharlesalittleunsteadily.
“I’mnotachild.”
“Aren’tyou?Iwonder.”
“Tellme,”whisperedEggsoftly.
AhumorousandruefulsmiletwistedSirCharles’smouth.
“Verywell,heregoes.Myfather’snamewasMugg.”
“Notreally?”
“Reallyandtruly.”
“H’m,”saidEgg.“Thatisabitcatastrophic.TogothroughlifeasMugg—”
“Wouldn’thavetakenmefarinmycareer,Iagree.Iremember,”wentonSirCharlesdreamily,“Iplayedwiththeidea(Iwasyoungthen)ofcallingmyselfLudovicCastiglione—butIeventuallycompromisedonBritishalliterationasCharlesCartwright.”
“AreyoureallyCharles?”
“Yes,mygodfathersandgodmotherssawtothat.”Hehesitated,thensaid,“Whydon’tyousayCharles—anddroptheSir?”
“Imight.”
“Youdidyesterday.When—when—youthoughtIwasdead.”
“Oh,then.”Eggtriedtomakehervoicenonchalant.
SirCharlessaidabruptly:“Egg,somehoworotherthismurderbusinessdoesn’tseemrealanymore.Todayespecially,itseemsfantastic.Imeanttoclearthethingupbefore—beforeanythingelse.I’vebeensuperstitiousaboutit.I’veassociatedsuccessinsolvingproblemswith—withanotherkindofsuccess.Oh,damn,whydoIbeataboutthebush?I’vemadeloveonthestagesooftenthatI’mdiffidentaboutitinreallife…IsitmeorisityoungManders,Egg?Imustknow.YesterdayIthoughtitwasme….”
“Youthoughtright….”
“Youincredibleangel,”criedSirCharles.
“Charles,Charles,youcan’tkissmeinachurchyard….”
“IshallkissyouanywhereIplease….”
II
“We’vefoundoutnothing,”saidEgglater,astheywerespeedingbacktoLondon.
“Nonsense,we’vefoundouttheonlythingworthfindingout…WhatdoIcareaboutdeadclergymenordeaddoctors?You’retheonlythingthatmatters…Youknow,mydear,I’mthirtyyearsolderthanyou—areyousureitdoesn’tmatter?”
Eggpinchedhisarmgently.
“Don’tbesilly…Iwonderiftheothershavefoundoutanything?”
“They’rewelcometoit,”saidSirCharlesgenerously.
“Charles—youusedtobesokeen.”
ButSirCharleswasnolongerplayingthepartofthegreatdetective.
“Well,itwasmyownshow.NowI’vehandedovertoMoustachios.It’shisbusiness.”
“Doyouthinkhereallyknowswhocommittedthecrimes?Hesaidhedid.”
“Probablyhasn’tthefaintestidea,buthe’sgottokeepuphisprofessionalreputation.”
Eggwassilent.SirCharlessaid:
“Whatareyouthinkingabout,darling?”
“IwasthinkingaboutMissMilray.ShewassooddinhermannerthateveningItoldyouabout.Shehadjustboughtthepaperabouttheexhumation,andshesaidshedidn’tknowwhattodo.”
“Nonsense,”saidSirCharlescheerfully.“Thatwomanalwaysknowswhattodo.”
“Dobeserious,Charles.Shesounded—worried.”
“Egg,mysweet,whatdoIcareforMissMilray’sworries?WhatdoIcareforanythingbutyouandme?”
“You’dbetterpaysomeattentiontothetrams!”saidEgg.“Idon’twanttobewidowedbeforeI’mawife.”
TheyarrivedbackatSirCharles’sflatfortea.MissMilraycameouttomeetthem.
“Thereisatelegramforyou,SirCharles.”
“Thankyou,MissMilray.”Helaughed,anervousboyishlaugh.“Lookhere,Imusttellyouournews.MissLyttonGoreandIaregoingtogetmarried.”
Therewasamoment’spause,andthenMissMilraysaid:
“Oh!I’msure—I’msureyou’llbeveryhappy.”
Therewasaqueernoteinhervoice.Eggnoticedit,butbeforeshecouldformulateherimpressionCharlesCartwrighthadswungroundtoherwithaquickexclamation.
“MyGod,Egg,lookatthis.It’sfromSatterthwaite.”
Heshovedthetelegramintoherhands.Eggreadit,andhereyesopenedwide.
Thirteen
MRS.DERUSHBRIDGER
BeforecatchingtheirtrainHerculePoirotandMr.SatterthwaitehadhadabriefinterviewwithMissLyndon,thelateSirBartholomewStrange’ssecretary.MissLyndonhadbeenverywillingtohelp,buthadhadnothingofimportancetotellthem.Mrs.deRushbridgerwasonlymentionedinSirBartholomew’scasebookinapurelyprofessionalfashion.SirBartholomewhadneverspokenofhersaveinmedicalterms.
ThetwomenarrivedattheSanatoriumabouttwelveo’clock.Themaidwhoopenedthedoorlookedexcitedandflushed.Mr.SatterthwaiteaskedfirstfortheMatron.
“Idon’tknowwhethershecanseeyouthismorning,”saidthegirldoubtfully.
Mr.Satterthwaiteextractedacardandwroteafewwordsonit.
“Pleasetakeherthis.”
Theywereshownintoasmallwaitingroom.InaboutfiveminutesthedooropenedandtheMatroncamein.Shewaslookingquiteunlikeherusualbriskefficientself.
Mr.Satterthwaiterose.
“Ihopeyourememberme”hesaid.“IcameherewithSirCharlesCartwrightjustafterthedeathofSirBartholomewStrange.”
“Yes,indeed,Mr.Satterthwaite,ofcourseIremember;andSirCharlesaskedafterpoorMrs.deRushbridgerthen,anditseemssuchacoincidence.”
“LetmeintroduceM.HerculePoirot.”
PoirotbowedandtheMatronrespondedabsently.Shewenton:
“Ican’tunderstandhowyoucanhavehadatelegramasyousay.Thewholethingseemsmostmysterious.Surelyitcan’tbeconnectedwiththepoordoctor’sdeathinanyway?Theremustbesomemadmanabout—that’stheonlywayIcanaccountforit.Havingthepolicehereandeverything.It’sreallybeenterrible.”
“Thepolice?”saidMr.Satterthwaite,surprised.
“Yes,sinceteno’clockthey’vebeenhere.”
“Thepolice?”saidHerculePoirot.
“PerhapswecouldseeMrs.deRushbridgernow,”suggestedMr.Satterthwaite.“Sincesheaskedustocome—”
TheMatroninterruptedhim.
“Oh,Mr.Satterthwaite,thenyoudon’tknow!”
“Knowwhat?”demandedPoirotsharply.
“PoorMrs.deRushbridger.She’sdead.”
“Dead?”criedPoirot.“MilleTonnerres!Thatexplainsit.Yes,thatexplainsit.Ishouldhaveseen—”Hebrokeoff.“Howdidshedie?”
“It’smostmysterious.Aboxofchocolatescameforher—liqueurchocolates—bypost.Sheateone—itmusthavetastedhorrible,butshewastakenbysurprise,Isuppose,andsheswallowedit.Onedoesn’tlikespittingathingout.”
“Oui,oui,andifaliquidrunssuddenlydownyourthroat,itisdifficult.”
“SosheswalloweditandcalledoutandNursecamerushing,butwecouldn’tdoanything.Shediedinabouttwominutes.Thendoctorsentforthepolice,andtheycameandexaminedthechocolates.Allthetoplayerhadbeentamperedwith,theunderneathoneswereallright.”
“Andthepoisonemployed?”
“Theythinkit’snicotine.”
“Yes,”saidPoirot.“Againnicotine.Whatastroke!Whatanaudaciousstroke!”
“Wearetoolate,”saidMr.Satterthwaite.“Weshallneverknownowwhatshehadtotellus.Unless—unless—sheconfidedinsomeone?”HeglancedinterrogativelyattheMatron.
Poirotshookhishead.
“Therewillhavebeennoconfidences,youwillfind.”
“Wecanask,”saidMr.Satterthwaite.“Oneofthenurses,perhaps?”
“Byallmeansask,”saidPoirot;buthedidnotsoundhopeful.
Mr.SatterthwaiteturnedtotheMatronwhoimmediatelysentforthetwonurses,ondayandnightdutyrespectively,whohadbeeninattendanceonMrs.deRushbridger,butneitherofthemcouldaddanyinformationtothatalreadygiven.Mrs.deRushbridgerhadnevermentionedSirBartholomew’sdeath,andtheydidnotevenknowofthedespatchingofthetelegram.
OnarequestfromPoirot,thetwomenweretakentothedeadwoman’sroom.TheyfoundSuperintendentCrossfieldincharge,andMr.SatterthwaiteintroducedhimtoPoirot.
Thenthetwomenmovedovertothebedandstoodlookingdownonthedeadwoman.Shewasaboutforty,dark-hairedandpale.Herfacewasnotpeaceful—itstillshowedtheagonyofherdeath.
Mr.Satterthwaitesaidslowly:
“Poorsoul….”
HelookedacrossatHerculePoirot.TherewasastrangeexpressiononthelittleBelgian’sface.SomethingaboutitmadeMr.Satterthwaiteshiver….
Mr.Satterthwaitesaid:
“Someoneknewshewasgoingtospeak,andkilledher…Shewaskilledinordertopreventherspeaking….”
Poirotnodded.
“Yes,thatisso.”
“Shewasmurderedtopreventhertellinguswhatsheknew.”
“Orwhatshedidnotknow…Butletusnotwastetime…Thereismuchtobedone.Theremustbenomoredeaths.Wemustseetothat.”
Mr.Satterthwaiteaskedcuriously:
“Doesthisfitinwithyourideaofthemurderer’sidentity?”
“Yes,itfits…ButIrealizeonething:ThemurdererismoredangerousthanIthought…Wemustbecareful.”
SuperintendentCrossfieldfollowedthemoutoftheroomandlearntfromthemofthetelegramwhichhadbeenreceivedbythem.ThetelegramhadbeenhandedinatMelfortPostOffice,andoninquirythereitwaselicitedthatithadbeenhandedinbyasmallboy.Theyoungladyinchargerememberedit,becausethemessagehadexcitedherverymuch,mentioning,asitdid,SirBartholomewStrange’sdeath.
Aftersomelunchincompanywiththesuperintendent,andafterdespatchingatelegramtoSirCharles,thequestwasresumed.
Atsixo’clockthateveningthesmallboywhohadhandedinthetelegramwasfound.Hetoldhisstorypromptly.Hehadbeengiventhetelegrambyamandressedinshabbyclothes.Themantoldhimthatthetelegramhadbeengivenhimbya“loonylady”inthe“HouseinthePark.”Shehaddroppeditoutofthewindowwrappedroundtwohalf-crowns.Themanwasafraidtobemixedupinsomefunnybusiness,andwastrampingintheotherdirection,sohehadgiventheboytwoandsixandtoldhimtokeepthechange.
Asearchwouldbeinstitutedfortheman.Inthemeantimethereseemednothingmoretobedone,andPoirotandMr.SatterthwaitereturnedtoLondon.
Itwascloseonmidnightwhenthetwomenarrivedbackintown.Egghadgonebacktohermother,butSirCharlesmetthem,andthethreemendiscussedthesituation.
“Monami,”saidPoirot,“beguidedbyme.Onlyonethingwillsolvethiscase—thelittlegreycellsofthebrain.TorushupanddownEngland,tohopethatthispersonandthatwilltelluswhatwewanttoknow—allsuchmethodsareamateurishandabsurd.Thetruthcanonlybeseenfromwithin.”
SirCharleslookedslightlysceptical.
“Whatdoyouwanttodo,then?”
“Iwanttothink.Iaskofyoutwenty-fourhours—inwhichtothink.”
SirCharlesshookhisheadwithaslightsmile.
“Willthinkingtellyouwhatitwasthiswomancouldhavesaidifshelived?”
“Ibelieveso.”
“Ithardlyseemspossible.However,M.Poirot,youmusthaveityourownway.Ifyoucanseethroughthismystery,it’smorethanIcan.I’mbeaten,andIconfessit.Inanycase,I’veotherfishtofry.”
Perhapshehopedtobequestioned,butifsohisexpectationwasdisappointed.Mr.Satterthwaitedidindeedlookupalertly,butPoirotremainedlostinthought.
“Well,Imustbeoff,”saidtheactor.“Oh,justonething.I’mratherworriedabout—MissWills.”
“Whatabouther?”
“She’sgone.”
Poirotstaredathim.
“Gone?Gonewhere?”
“Nobodyknows…IwasthinkingthingsoverafterIgotyourtelegram.AsItoldyouatthetime,Ifeltconvincedthatthatwomanknewsomethingshehadn’ttoldus.IthoughtI’dhavealastshotatgettingitoutofher.Idroveouttoherhouse—itwasabouthalfpastninewhenIgotthere—andaskedforher.Itappearsshelefthomethismorning—wentuptoLondonfortheday—that’swhatshesaid.Herpeoplegotatelegramintheeveningsayingshewasn’treturningforadayorsoandnottoworry.”
“Andweretheyworrying?”
“Igathertheywere,rather.Yousee,shehadn’ttakenanyluggagewithher.”
“Odd,”murmuredPoirot.
“Iknow.Itseemsasthough—Idon’tknow.Ifeeluneasy.”
“Iwarnedher,”saidPoirot.“Iwarnedeveryone.YourememberIsaidtothem,‘Speaknow.’”
“Yes,yes.Doyouthinkthatshe,too—?”
“Ihavemyideas,”saidPoirot.“ForthemomentIprefernottodiscussthem.”
“First,thebutler—Ellis—thenMissWills.WhereisEllis?It’sincrediblethatthepolicehaveneverbeenabletolayhandsonhim.”
“Theyhavenotlookedforhisbodyintherightplace,”saidPoirot.
“ThenyouagreewithEgg.Youthinkheisdead?”
“Elliswillneverbeseenaliveagain.”
“MyGod,”burstoutSirCharles.“It’sanightmare—thewholethingisutterlyincomprehensible.”
“No,no.Itissaneandlogical,onthecontrary.”
SirCharlesstaredathim.
“Yousaythat?”
“Certainly.Yousee,Ihavetheorderlymind.”
“Idon’tunderstandyou.”
Mr.Satterthwaite,too,lookedcuriouslyatthelittledetective.
“WhatkindofamindhaveI?”demandedSirCharles,slightlyhurt.
“Youhavetheactor’smind,SirCharles,creative,original,seeingalwaysdramaticvalues.Mr.Satterthwaitehere,hehastheplaygoer’smind,heobservesthecharacters,hehasthesenseofatmosphere.Butme,Ihavetheprosaicmind.Iseeonlythefactswithoutanydramatictrappingsorfootlights.”
“Thenwe’retoleaveyoutoit?”
“Thatismyidea.Fortwenty-fourhours.”
“Goodlucktoyou,then.Goodnight.”
AstheywentawaytogetherSirCharlessaidtoMr.Satterthwaite:
“Thatchapthinksalotofhimself.”
Hespokerathercoldly.
Mr.Satterthwaitesmiled.Thestarpart!Sothatwasit.Hesaid:
“Whatdidyoumeanbysayingyouhadotherfishtofry,SirCharles?”
OnSirCharles’sfaceappearedthesheepishexpressionthatMr.SatterthwaiteknewsowellfromattendingweddingsinHanoverSquare.
“Well,asamatteroffact,I—er—well,EggandI—”
“I’mdelightedtohearit,”saidMr.Satterthwaite.“Mybestcongratulations.”
“OfcourseI’myearstoooldforher.”
“Shedoesn’tthinkso—andshe’sthebestjudge.”
“That’sveryniceofyou,Satterthwaite.Youknow,I’dgotitintomyheadshewasfondofyoungManders.”
“Iwonderwhatmadeyouthinkthat,”saidMr.Satterthwaiteinnocently.
“Anyway,”saidSirCharlesfirmly,“sheisn’t….”
Fourteen
MISSMILRAY
Poirotdidnothavequitetheuninterruptedtwenty-fourhoursforwhichhehadstipulated.
AttwentyminutespastelevenonthefollowingmorningEggwalkedinunannounced.Toheramazementshefoundthegreatdetectiveengagedinbuildingcardhouses.HerfaceshowedsuchlivelyscornthatPoirotwasimpelledtodefendhimself.
“Itisnot,mademoiselle,thatIhavebecomechildishinmyoldage.No.Butthebuildingofcardhouses,Ihavealwaysfounditmoststimulatingtothemind.Itisanoldhabitofmine.Thismorning,firstthing,Igooutandbuythepackofcards.UnfortunatelyImakeanerror,theyarenotrealcards.Buttheydojustaswell.”
Egglookedmorecloselyattheerectiononthetable.
Shelaughed.
“Goodheavens,they’vesoldyouHappyFamilies.”
“Whatisthatyousay,theHappyFamily?”
“Yes,it’sagame.Childrenplayitinthenursery.”
“Ah,well,onecancomposethehousesjustinthesamemanner.”
Egghadpickedupsomeofthecardsfromthetableandwaslookingatthemaffectionately.
“MasterBun,thebaker’sson—Ialwayslovedhim.Andhere’sMrs.Mug,themilkman’swife.Oh,dear,Isupposethat’sme.”
“Whyisthatfunnypictureyou,mademoiselle?”
“Becauseofthename.”
Egglaughedathisbewilderedfaceandthenbeganexplaining.Whenshehadfinishedhesaid:
“Ah,itwasthatthatSirCharlesmeantlastnight.Iwondered…Mugg—ah,yes,onesaysinslang,doesonenot,youareamug—afool?Naturallyyouwouldchangeyourname.YouwouldnotliketobetheLadyMugg,eh?”
Egglaughed.Shesaid:
“Well,wishmehappiness.”
“Idowishyouhappiness,mademoiselle.Notthebriefhappinessofyouth,butthehappinessthatendures—thehappinessthatisbuiltuponarock.”
“I’lltellCharlesyoucallhimarock,”saidEgg.“AndnowforwhatIcametoseeyouabout.I’vebeenworryingandworryingaboutthatcuttingfromthepaperthatOliverdroppedfromhiswallet.Youknow,theoneMissWillspickedupandhandedbacktohim.ItseemstomethateitherOliveristellingadownrightliewhenhesayshedoesn’trememberitsbeingthere,orelseitneverwasthere.Hedroppedsomeoddbitofpaper,andthatwomanpretendeditwasthenicotinecutting.”
“Whyshouldshehavedonethat,mademoiselle?”
“Becauseshewantedtogetridofit.SheplanteditonOliver.”
“Youmeansheisthecriminal?”
“Yes.”
“Whatwashermotive?”
“It’snogoodaskingmethat.Icanonlysuggestthatshe’salunatic.Cleverpeopleoftenarerathermad.Ican’tseeanyotherreason—infactIcan’tseeanymotiveanywhere.”
“Decidedly,thatistheimpasse.Ishouldnotaskyoutoguessatamotive.ItisofmyselfthatIaskthatquestionwithoutceasingWhatwasthemotivebehindMr.Babbington’sdeath?WhenIcananswerthatthecasewillbesolved.”
“Youdon’tthinkjustmadness—?”suggestedEgg.
“No,mademoiselle—notmadnessinthesenseyoumean.Thereisareason.Imustfindthatreason.”
“Well,good-bye,”saidEgg.“I’msorrytohavedisturbedyou,buttheideajustoccurredtome.Imusthurry.I’mgoingwithCharlestothedressrehearsalofLittleDogLaughed—youknow,theplayMissWillshaswrittenforAngelaSutcliffe.It’sthefirstnighttomorrow.”
“Mondieu!”criedPoirot.
“Whatisit?Hasanythinghappened?”
“Yes,indeedsomethinghashappened.Anidea.Asuperbidea.Oh,butIhavebeenblind—blind—”
Eggstaredathim.Asthoughrealizinghiseccentricity,Poirottookaholdonhimself.HepattedEggontheshoulder
“YouthinkIammad.Notatall.Iheardwhatyousaid.YougotoseeTheLittleDogLaughed,andMissSutcliffeactsinit.Gothen,andpaynoattentiontowhatIhavesaid.”
RatherdoubtfullyEggdeparted.Lefttohimself,Poirotstrodeupanddowntheroommutteringunderhisbreath.Hiseyesshonegreenasanycat’s.
“Maisoui—thatexplainseverything.Acuriousmotive—averycuriousmotive—suchamotiveasIhavenevercomeacrossbefore,andyetitisreasonable,and,giventhecircumstances,natural.Altogetheraverycuriouscase.”
Hepassedthetablewherehiscardhousestillreposed.Withasweepofhishandshesweptthecardsfromthetable.
“Thehappyfamily,Ineeditnolonger,”hesaid.“Theproblemissolved.Itonlyremainstoact.”
Hecaughtuphishatandputonhisovercoat.Thenhewentdownstairsandthecommissionairecalledhimataxi.PoirotgavetheaddressofSirCharles’sflat.
Arrivedthere,hepaidoffthetaxi,andsteppedintothehall.Theporterwasabsenttakingupthelift.Poirotwalkedupthestairs.JustashearrivedonthesecondfloorthedoorofSirCharles’sflatopenedandMissMilraycameout.
ShestartedwhenshesawPoirot.
“You!”
Poirotsmiled.
“Me!OrisitI?Enfin,moi!”
MissMilraysaid:
“I’mafraidyouwon’tfindSirCharles.He’sgonetotheBabylonTheatrewithMissLyttonGore.”
“ItisnotSirCharlesIseek.ItismystickthatIthinkIhaveleftbehindoneday.”
“Oh,Isee.Well,ifyou’llring,Templewillfinditforyou.I’msorryIcan’tstop.I’monmywaytocatchatrain.I’mgoingdowntoKent—tomymother.”
“Icomprehend.Donotletmedelayyou,mademoiselle.”
HestoodasideandMissMilraypassedrapidlydownthestairs.Shewascarryingasmallattachécase.
ButwhenshehadgonePoirotseemedtoforgetthepurposeforwhichhehadcome.Insteadofgoingonuptothelanding,heturnedandmadehiswaydownstairsagain.HearrivedatthefrontdoorjustintimetoseeMissMilraygettingintoataxi.Anothertaxiwascomingslowlyalongthekerb.Poirotraisedahandanditcametorest.Hegotinanddirectedthedrivertofollowtheothertaxi.
NosurpriseshowedonhisfacewhenthefirsttaxiwentnorthandfinallydrewupatPaddingtonStation,thoughPaddingtonisanoddstationfromwhichtoproceedtoKent.Poirotwenttothefirst-classbookingwindowanddemandedareturntickettoLoomouth.Thetrainwasduetodepartinfiveminutes.Pullinguphisovercoatwellabouthisears,forthedaywascold,Poirotensconcedhimselfinthecornerofafirst-classcarriage.
TheyarrivedatLoomouthaboutfiveo’clock.Itwasalreadygrowingdark.Standingbackalittle,PoirotheardMissMilraybeinggreetedbythefriendlyporteratthelittlestation.
“Well,now,miss,wedidn’texpectyou.IsSirCharlescomingdown?”
MissMilrayreplied:
“I’vecomedownhereunexpectedly.Ishallbegoingbacktomorrowmorning.I’vejustcometofetchsomethings.No,Idon’twantacab,thankyou.I’llwalkupbythecliffpath.”
Theduskhaddeepened.MissMilraywalkedbrisklyupthesteepzigzagpath.AgoodwaybehindcameHerculePoirot.Hetrodsoftlylikeacat.MissMilray,onarrivalatCrow’sNest,producedakeyfromherbagandpassedthroughthesidedoor,leavingitajar.Shereappearedaminuteortwolater.Shehadarustydoorkeyandanelectrictorchinherhand.Poirotdrewbackalittlebehindaconvenientbush.
MissMilraypassedroundbehindthehouseandupascramblingovergrownpath.HerculePoirotfollowed.UpandupwentMissMilrayuntilshecamesuddenlytoanoldstonetowersuchasisfoundoftenonthatcoast.Thisonewasofhumbleanddilapidatedappearance.Therewas,however,acurtainoverthedirtywindow,andMissMilrayinsertedherkeyinthebigwoodendoor.
Thekeyturnedwithaprotestingcreak.Thedoorswungwithagroanonitshinges.MissMilrayandhertorchpassedinside.
WithanincreaseofpacePoirotcaughtup.Hepassed,inhisturn,noiselesslythroughthedoor.ThelightofMissMilray’storchgleamedfitfullyonglassretorts,abunsenburner—variousapparatus.
MissMilrayhadpickedupacrowbar.Shehadraiseditandwasholdingitovertheglassapparatuswhenahandcaughtherbythearm.Shegaspedandturned.
Thegreen,catlikeeyesofPoirotlookedintohers.
“Youcannotdothat,mademoiselle,”hesaid.“Forwhatyouseektodestroyisevidence.”
Fifteen
CURTAIN
HerculePoirotsatinabigarmchair.Thewalllightshadbeenturnedout.Onlyarose-shadedlampsheditsglowonthefigureinthearmchair.Thereseemedsomethingsymbolicaboutit—healoneinthelight—andtheotherthree,SirCharles,Mr.SatterthwaiteandEggLyttonGore—Poirot’saudience—sittingintheouterdarkness.
HerculePoirot’svoicewasdreamy.Heseemedtobeaddressinghimselftospaceratherthantohislisteners.
“Toreconstructthecrime—thatistheaimofthedetective.Toreconstructacrimeyoumustplaceonefactuponanotherjustasyouplaceonecardonanotherinbuildingahouseofcards.Andifthefactswillnotfit—ifthecardwillnotbalance—well—youmuststartyourhouseagain,orelseitwillfall…
“AsIsaidtheotherday,therearethreedifferenttypesofmind:Thereisthedramaticmind—theproducer’smind,whichseestheeffectofrealitythatcanbeproducedbymechanicalappliances—thereisalsothemindthatreactseasilytodramaticappearances—andthereistheyoungromanticmind—andfinally,myfriends,thereistheprosaicmind—themindthatseesnotblueseaandmimosatrees,butthepaintedbackclothofstagescenery.
“SoIcome,mesamis,tothemurderofStephenBabbingtoninAugustlast.OnthateveningSirCharlesCartwrightadvancedthetheorythatStephenBabbingtonhadbeenmurdered.Ididnotagreewiththattheory.Icouldnotbelieve(a)thatsuchamanasStephenBabbingtonwaslikelytohavebeenmurdered,and(b)thatitwaspossibletoadministerpoisontoaparticularpersonunderthecircumstancesthathadobtainedthatevening.
“NowhereIadmitthatSirCharleswasrightandIwaswrong.IwaswrongbecauseIwaslookingatthecrimefromanentirelyfalseangle.Itisonlytwenty-fourhoursagothatIsuddenlyperceivedtheproperangleofvision—andletmesaythatfromthatangleofvisionthemurderofStephenBabbingtonisbothreasonableandpossible.
“ButIwillpassfromthatpointforthemomentandtakeyoustepbystepalongthepathImyselfhavetrodden.ThedeathofStephenBabbingtonImaycallthefirstactofourdrama.ThecurtainfellonthatactwhenwealldepartedfromCrow’sNest.
“WhatImightcallthesecondactofthedramabeganinMonteCarlowhenMr.SatterthwaiteshowedmethenewspaperaccountofSirBartholomew’sdeath.ItwasatonceclearthatIhadbeenwrongandSirCharleshadbeenright.BothStephenBabbingtonandSirBartholomewStrangehadbeenmurderedandthetwomurdersformedpartofoneandthesamecrime.Laterathirdmurdercompletedtheseries—themurderofMrs.deRushbridger.Whatweneed,therefore,isareasonablecommonsensetheorywhichwilllinkthosethreedeathstogether—inotherwordsthosethreecrimeswerecommittedbyoneandthesameperson,andweretotheadvantageandbenefitofthatparticularperson.
“NowImaysayatoncethattheprincipalthingthatworriedmewasthefactthatthemurderofSirBartholomewStrangecameafterthatofStephenBabbington.LookingatthosethreemurderswithoutdistinctionoftimeandplacetheprobabilitiespointedtothemurderofSirBartholomewStrangebeingwhatonemightcallthecentralorprincipalcrime,andtheothertwomurdersassecondaryincharacter—thatis,arisingfromtheconnectionofthosetwopeoplewithSirBartholomewStrange.However,asIremarkedbefore—onecannothaveone’scrimeasonewouldliketohaveit.StephenBabbingtonhadbeenmurderedfirstandSirBartholomewStrangesometimelater.Itseemed,therefore,asthoughthesecondcrimemustnecessarilyariseoutofthefirstandthataccordinglyitwasthefirstcrimewemustexamineforthecluetothewhole.
“IdidindeedsofarinclinetothetheoryofprobabilitythatIseriouslyconsideredtheideaofamistakehavingarisen.WasitpossiblethatSirBartholomewStrangewasintendedasthefirstvictim,andthatMr.Babbingtonwaspoisonedbymistake?Iwasforced,however,toabandonthatidea.AnybodywhoknewSirBartholomewStrangewithanydegreeofintimacyknewthathedislikedthecocktailhabit.
“Anothersuggestion:HadStephenBabbingtonbeenpoisonedinmistakeforanyothermemberoftheoriginalparty?Icouldnotfindanyevidenceofsuchathing.IwasthereforeforcedbacktotheconclusionthatthemurderofStephenBabbingtonhadbeendefinitelyintended—andatonceIcameupagainstacompletestumblingblock—theapparentimpossibilityofsuchathinghavinghappened.
“Oneshouldalwaysstartaninvestigationwiththesimplestandmostobvioustheories.GrantingthatStephenBabbingtonhaddrunkapoisonedcocktail,whohadhadtheopportunityofpoisoningthatcocktail?Atfirstsight,itseemedtomethattheonlytwopeoplewhocouldhavedoneso(e.g.,whohandledthedrinks)wereSirCharlesCartwrighthimselfandtheparlourmaidTemple.Butthougheitherofthemcouldpresumablyhaveintroducedthepoisonintotheglass,neitherofthemhadhadanyopportunityofdirectingthatparticularglassintoMr.Babbington’shand.Templemighthavedonesobyadroithandingofthetraysoastoofferhimtheoneremainingglass—(noteasy,butitmighthavebeendone).SirCharlescouldhavedonesobydeliberatelypickinguptheparticularglassandhandingittohim.Butneitherofthesethingshadoccurred.ItlookedasthoughchanceandchancealonedirectedthatparticularglasstoStephenBabbington.
“SirCharlesCartwrightandTemplehadthehandlingofthecocktails.WereeitherofthosetwoatMelfortAbbey?Theywerenot.WhohadthebestchanceoftamperingwithSirBartholomew’sportglass?Theabscondingbutler,Ellis,andhishelper,theparlourmaid.Buthere,however,thepossibilitythatoneoftheguestshaddonesocouldnotbelaidaside.Itwasrisky,butitwaspossible,foranyofthehousepartytohaveslippedintothediningroomandputthenicotineintotheportglass.
“WhenIjoinedyouatCrow’sNestyoualreadyhadalistdrawnupofthepeoplewhohadbeenatCrow’sNestandatMelfortAbbey.Imaysaynowthatthefournameswhichheadedthelist—CaptainandMrs.Dacres,MissSutcliffeandMissWills—Idiscardedimmediately.
“ItwasimpossiblethatanyofthosefourpeopleshouldhaveknownbeforehandthattheyweregoingtomeetStephenBabbingtonatdinner.Theemploymentofnicotineasapoisonshowedacarefullythought-outplan,notonethatcouldbeputintooperationonthespurofthemoment.Therewerethreeothernamesonthatlist—LadyMaryLyttonGore,MissLyttonGoreandMr.OliverManders.Althoughnotprobable,thosethreewerepossible.Theywerelocalpeople,theymightconceivablyhavemotivesfortheremovalofStephenBabbington,andhavechosentheeveningofthedinnerpartyforputtingtheirplansintooperation.
“Ontheotherhand,Icouldfindnoevidencewhatsoeverthatanyofthemhadactuallydonesuchathing.
“Mr.Satterthwaite,Ithink,reasonedonmuchthesamelinesasIhaddone,andhefixedhissuspicionsonOliverManders.ImaysaythatyoungManderswasbyfarthemostpossiblesuspect.HedisplayedallthesignsofhighnervoustensiononthateveningatCrow’sNest—hehadasomewhatdistortedviewoflifeowingtohisprivatetroubles—hehadastronginferioritycomplex,whichisafrequentcauseofcrime,hewasatanunbalancedage,hehadactuallyhadaquarrel,orshallwesayhaddisplayedanimosityagainstMr.Babbington.ThentherewerethecuriouscircumstancesofhisarrivalatMelfortAbbey.AndlaterwehadhissomewhatincrediblestoryoftheletterfromSirBartholomewStrangeandtheevidenceofMissWillsastohishavinganewspapercuttingonthesubjectofnicotinepoisoninginhispossession.
“OliverManders,then,wasclearlythepersonwhoshouldbeplacedattheheadofthelistofthosesevensuspects.
“Butthen,myfriends,Iwasvisitedbyacurioussensation.Itseemedclearandlogicalenoughthatthepersonwhohadcommittedthecrimesmusthavebeenapersonwhohadbeenpresentonbothoccasions;inotherwordsapersononthatlistofseven—butIhadthefeelingthatthatobviousnesswasanarrangedobviousness.Itwaswhatanysaneandlogicalpersonwouldbeexpectedtothink.IfeltthatIwas,infact,lookingnotatrealitybutatanartfullypaintedbitofscenery.Areallyclevercriminalwouldhaverealizedthatanyonewhosenamewasonthatlistwouldnecessarilybesuspect,andthereforeheorshewouldarrangeforitnottobethere.
“Inotherwords,themurdererofStephenBabbingtonandSirBartholomewStrangewaspresentonbothoccasions—butwasnotapparentlyso.
“Whohadbeenpresentonthefirstoccasionandnotonthesecond?SirCharlesCartwright,Mr.Satterthwaite,MissMilrayandMr.Babbington.
“Couldanyofthosefourhavebeenpresentonthesecondoccasioninsomecapacityotherthantheirown?SirCharlesandMr.SatterthwaitehadbeenintheSouthofFrance,MissMilrayhadbeeninLondon,Mrs.BabbingtonhadbeeninLoomouth.Ofthefour,then,MissMilrayandMrs.Babbingtonseemedindicated.ButcouldMissMilrayhavebeenpresentatMelfortAbbeyunrecognizedbyanyofthecompany?MissMilrayhasverystrikingfeaturesnoteasilydisguisedandnoteasilyforgotten.IdecidedthatitwasimpossiblethatMissMilraycouldhavebeenatMelfortAbbeyunrecognized.ThesameappliedtoMrs.Babbington.
“ForthematterofthatcouldMr.SatterthwaiteorSirCharlesCartwrighthavebeenatMelfortAbbeyandnotbeenrecognized?Mr.Satterthwaitejustpossibly;butwhenwecometoSirCharlesCartwrightwecometoaverydifferentmatter.SirCharlesisanactoraccustomedtoplayingapart.Butwhatpartcouldhehaveplayed?
“AndthenIcametotheconsiderationofthebutlerEllis.
“Averymysteriousperson,Ellis.Apersonwhoappearsfromnowhereafortnightbeforethecrimeandvanishesafterwardswithcompletesuccess.WhywasEllissosuccessful?BecauseEllisdidnotreallyexist.Ellis,again,wasathingofpasteboardandpaintandstagecraft—Elliswasnotreal.
“Butwasitpossible?Afterall,theservantsatMelfortAbbeyknewSirCharlesCartwright,andSirBartholomewStrangewasanintimatefriendofhis.TheservantsIgotovereasilyenough.Theimpersonationofthebutlerriskednothing—iftheservantsrecognizedhim—why,noharmwouldbedone—thewholethingcouldbepassedoffasajoke.If,ontheotherhand,afortnightpassedwithoutanysuspicionbeingaroused,well,thethingwassafeashouses.AndIrecalledwhatIhadbeentoldoftheservants’remarksaboutthebutler.Hewas‘quitethegentleman,’andhadbeen‘ingoodhouses,’andknewseveralinterestingscandals.Thatwaseasyenough.ButaverysignificantstatementwasmadebytheparlourmaidAlice.Shesaid,‘HearrangedtheworkdifferentfromanybutlerIeverknewbefore.’Whenthatremarkwasrepeatedtome,itbecameaconfirmationofmytheory.
“ButSirBartholomewStrangewasanothermatter.Itishardlytobesupposedthathisfriendcouldtakehimin.Hemusthaveknownoftheimpersonation.Hadweanyevidenceofthat?Yes.TheacuteMr.Satterthwaitepouncedononepointquiteearlyintheproceedings—thefacetiousremarkofSirBartholomew(totallyuncharacteristicofhismannertoAperfectlyunderstandableremarkifthebutlerwereSirCharlesCartwrightandSirBartholomewwasinonthejoke.
“BecausethatisundoubtedlyhowSirBartholomewsawthematter.TheimpersonationofElliswasajoke,possiblyevenawager,itsculminationwasdesignedtobethesuccessfulspoofingofthehouseparty—henceSirBartholomew’sremarkaboutasurpriseandhischeerfulhumour.Note,too,thattherewasstilltimetodrawback.IfanyofthehousepartyhadspottedCharlesCartwrightthatfirsteveningatthedinnertable,nothingirrevocablehadyetoccurred.Thewholethingcouldhavebeenpassedoffasajoke.Butnobodynoticedthestoopingmiddle-agedbutler,withhisbelladonnadarkenedeyes,andhiswhiskers,andthepaintedbirthmarkonhiswrist.Averysubtleidentifyingtouchthat—whichcompletelyfailed,owingtothelackofobservationofmosthumanbeings!ThebirthmarkwasintendedtobulklargelyinthedescriptionofEllis—andinallthatfortnightnoonenoticedit!Theonlypersonwhodidwasthesharp-eyedMissWills,towhomweshallcomepresently.
“Whathappenednext?SirBartholomewdied.Thistimethedeathwasnotputdowntonaturalcauses.Thepolicecame.TheyquestionedEllisandtheothers.Laterthatnight‘Ellis’leftbythesecretpassage,resumedhisownpersonality,andtwodayslaterwasstrollingaboutthegardensatMonteCarloreadytobeshockedandsurprisedbythenewsofhisfriend’sdeath.
“This,mindyou,wasalltheory.Ihadnoactualproof,buteverythingthatarosesupportedthattheory.Myhouseofcardswaswellandtrulybuilt.TheblackmailinglettersdiscoveredinEllis’sroom?ButitwasSirCharleshimselfwhodiscoveredthem!
“AndwhatofthesupposedletterfromSirBartholomewStrangeaskingyoungManderstoarrangeanaccident?Well,whatcouldbeeasierthanforSirCharlestowritethatletterinSirBartholomew’sname?IfMandershadnotdestroyedthatletterhimself,SirCharlesinther?leofElliscaneasilydosowhenhevaletstheyounggentleman.InthesamewaythenewspapercuttingiseasilyintroducedbyEllisintoOliverManders’swallet.
“Andnowwecometothethirdvictim—Mrs.deRushbridger.WhendowefirsthearofMrs.deRushbridger?ImmediatelyafterthatveryawkwardchaffingreferencetoEllisbeingtheperfectbutler—thatextremelyuncharacteristicutteranceofSirBartholomewStrange.AtallcostsattentionmustbedrawnawayfromSirBartholomew’smannertohisbutler.SirCharlesquicklyaskswhatwasthemessagethebutlerhadbrought.Itisaboutthiswoman—thispatientofthedoctor’s.AndimmediatelySirCharlesthrowsallhispersonalityintodirectingattentiontothisunknownwomanandawayfromthebutler.HegoestotheSanatoriumandquestionstheMatron.HerunsMrs.deRushbridgerforallheisworthasaredherring.
“WemustnowexaminethepartplayedbyMissWillsinthedrama.MissWillshasacuriouspersonality.Sheisoneofthosepeoplewhoarequiteunabletoimpressthemselvesontheirsurroundings.Sheisneithergood-lookingnorwittynorclever,notevenparticularlysympathetic.Sheisnondescript.Butsheisextremelyobservantandextremelyintelligent.Shetakesherrevengeontheworldwithherpen.Shehasthegreatartofbeingabletoreproducecharacteronpaper.IdonotknowiftherewasanythingaboutthebutlerthatstruckMissWillsasunusual,butIdothinkthatshewastheonlypersonatthetablewhonoticedhimatall.Onthemorningafterthemurderherinsatiablecuriosityledhertopokeandpry,asthehousemaidputit.ShewentintoDacres’sroom,shewentthroughthebaizedoorintotheservants’quarters,led,Ithink,bythemongooseinstinctforfindingout.
“ShewastheonlypersonwhooccasionedSirCharlesanyuneasiness.Thatiswhyhewasanxioustobetheonetotackleher.Hewasfairlyreassuredbyhisinterviewanddistinctlygratifiedthatshehadnoticedthebirthmark.Butafterthatcamecatastrophe.Idon’tthinkthatuntilthatminuteMissWillshadconnectedEllisthebutlerwithSirCharlesCartwright.IthinkshehadonlybeenvaguelystruckbysomeresemblancetosomeoneinEllis.Butshewasanobserver.Whendisheswerehandedtohershehadautomaticallynoted—nottheface—butthehandsthatheldthedishes.
“ItdidnotoccurtoherthatElliswasSirCharles.ButwhenSirCharleswastalkingtoheritdidsuddenlyoccurtoherthatSirCharleswasEllis!Andsosheaskedhimtopretendtohandheradishofvegetables.Butitwasnotwhetherthebirthmarkwasontherightorleftwristthatinterestedher.Shewantedapretexttostudyhishands—handsheldinthesamepositionasthoseofEllisthebutler.
“Andsosheleapedtothetruth.Butshewasapeculiarwoman.Sheenjoyedknowledgeforitsownsake.Besides,shewasbynomeanssurethatSirCharleshadmurderedhisfriend.Hehadmasqueradedasabutler,yes—butthatdidnotnecessarilymakehimamurderer.Manyaninnocentmanhaskeptsilencebecausespeechwouldplacehiminanawkwardposition.
“SoMissWillskeptherknowledgetoherself—andenjoyedit.ButSirCharleswasworried.Hedidnotlikethatexpressionofsatisfiedmaliceonherfacethathesawashelefttheroom.Sheknewsomething.What?Diditaffecthim?Hecouldnotbesure.ButhefeltthatitwassomethingconnectedwithEllisthebutler.FirstMr.Satterthwaite—nowMissWills.Attentionmustbedrawnawayfromthatvitalpoint.Itmustbefocuseddefinitelyelsewhere.Andhethoughtofaplan—simple,audaciousand,ashefancied,definitelymystifying.
“OnthedayofmySherryPartyIimagineSirCharlesroseveryearly,wenttoYorkshireand,disguisedinshabbyclothes,gavethetelegramtoasmallboytosendoff.ThenhereturnedtotownintimetoactthepartyIhadindicatedinmylittledrama.Hedidonemorething.Hepostedaboxofchocolatestoawomanhehadneverseenandofwhomheknewnothing….
“Youknowwhathappenedthatevening.FromSirCharles’suneasinessIwasfairlysurethatMissWillshadcertainsuspicions.WhenSirCharlesdidhis‘deathscene’IwatchedMissWills’sface.Isawthelookofastonishmentthatshowedonit.IknewthenthatMissWillsdefinitelysuspectedSirCharlesofbeingthemurderer.Whenheappearedtodiepoisonedliketheothertwoshethoughtherdeductionsmustbewrong.
“ButifMissWillssuspectedSirCharles,thenMissWillswasinseriousdanger.Amanwhohaskilledtwicewillkillagain.Iutteredaverysolemnwarning.LaterthatnightIcommunicatedwithMissWillsbytelephone,andonmyadviceshelefthomesuddenlythenextday.Sincethenshehasbeenlivinghereinthishotel.ThatIwaswiseisprovedbythefactthatSirCharleswentouttoTootingonthefollowingeveningafterhehadreturnedfromGilling.Hewastoolate.Thebirdhadflown.
“Inthemeantime,fromhispointofview,theplanhadworkedwell.Mrs.deRushbridgerhadsomethingofimportancetotellus.Mrs.deRushbridgerwaskilledbeforeshecouldspeak.Howdramatic!Howlikethedetectivestories,theplays,thefilms!Againthecardboardandthetinselandthepaintedcloth.
“ButI,HerculePoirot,wasnotdeceived.Mr.Satterthwaitesaidtomeshewaskilledinorderthatsheshouldnotspeak.Iagreed.Hewentontosayshewaskilledbeforeshecouldtelluswhatsheknew.Isaid,‘OrwhatshedidNOTknow.’Ithinkhewaspuzzled.Butheshouldhaveseenthenthetruth.Mrs.deRushbridgerwaskilledbecauseshecould,inactualfact,havetoldusnothingatall.Becauseshehadnoconnectionwiththecrime.IfsheweretobeSirCharles’ssuccessfulredherring—shecouldonlybesodead.AndsoMrs.deRushbridger,aharmlessstranger,wasmurdered….
“YeteveninthatseemingtriumphSirCharlesmadeacolossal—achildish—error!Thetelegramwasaddressedtome,HerculePoirot,attheRitzHotel.ButMrs.deRushbridgerhadneverheardofmyconnectionwiththecase!Nooneupinthatpartoftheworldknewofit.Itwasanunbelievablychildisherror.
“Ehbien,thenIhadreachedacertainstage.Iknewtheidentityofthemurderer.ButIdidnotknowthemotivefortheoriginalcrime.
“Ireflected.
“Andonceagain,moreclearlythanever,IsawthedeathofSirBartholomewStrangeastheoriginalandpurposefulmurder.WhatreasoncouldSirCharlesCartwrighthaveforthemurderofhisfriend?CouldIimagineamotive?IthoughtIcould.”
Therewasadeepsigh.SirCharlesCartwrightroseslowlytohisfeetandstrolledtothefireplace.Hestoodthere,hishandonhiship,lookingdownatPoirot.Hisattitude(Mr.Satterthwaitecouldhavetoldyou)wasthatofLordEaglemountashelooksscornfullyattherascallysolicitorwhohassucceededinfasteninganaccusationoffrauduponhim.Heradiatednobilityanddisgust.Hewasthearistocratlookingdownattheignoblecanaille.
“Youhaveanextraordinaryimagination,M.Poirot,”hesaid.“It’shardlyworthwhilesayingthatthere’snotonesinglewordoftruthinyourstory.HowyouhavethedamnedimpertinencetodishupsuchanabsurdfandangleofliesIdon’tknow.Butgoon,Iaminterested.WhatwasmymotiveformurderingamanwhomIhadknowneversinceboyhood?”
HerculePoirot,thelittlebourgeois,lookedupatthearistocrat.Hespokequicklybutfirmly.
“SirCharles,wehaveaproverbthatsays,‘Cherchezlafemme.’ItwastherethatIfoundmymotive.IhadseenyouwithMademoiselleLyttonGore.Itwasclearthatyoulovedher—lovedherwiththatterribleabsorbingpassionthatcomestoamiddle-agedmanandwhichisusuallyinspiredbyaninnocentyounggirl.
“Youlovedher.She,Icouldsee,hadthehero-worshipforyou.Youhadonlytospeakandshewouldfallintoyourarms.Butyoudidnotspeak.Why?
“Youpretendedtoyourfriend,Mr.Satterthwaite,thatyouwerethedenseloverwhocannotrecognizehismistress’sansweringpassion.YoupretendedtothinkthatMissLyttonGorewasinlovewithOliverManders.ButIsay,SirCharles,thatyouareamanoftheworld.Youareamanwithagreatexperienceofwomen.Youcannothavebeendeceived.YouknewperfectlywellthatMissLyttonGorecaredforyou.Why,then,didyounotmarryher?Youwantedtodoso.
“Itmustbethattherewassomeobstacle.Whatcouldthatobstaclebe?Itcouldonlybethefactthatyoualreadyhadawife.Butnobodyeverspokeofyouasamarriedman.Youpassedalwaysasabachelor.Themarriage,then,hadtakenplacewhenyouwereveryyoung—beforeyoubecameknownasarisingyoungactor.
“Whathadhappenedtoyourwife?Ifshewerestillalive,whydidnobodyknowabouther?Ifyouwerelivingaparttherewastheremedyofdivorce.IfyourwifewasaCatholic,oronewhodisapprovedofdivorce,shewouldstillbeknownaslivingapartfromyou.
“Buttherearetwotragedieswherethelawgivesnorelief.Thewomanyoumarriedmightbeservingalifesentenceinsomeprison,orshemightbeconfinedinalunaticasylum.Inneithercasecouldyouobtainadivorce,andifithadhappenedwhileyouwerestillaboynobodymightknowaboutit.
“Ifnobodyknew,youmightmarryMissLyttonGorewithouttellingherthetruth.Butsupposingonepersonknew—afriendwhohadknownyouallyourlife?SirBartholomewStrangewasanhonourable,uprightphysician.Hemightpityyoudeeply,hemightsympathizewithaliaisonoranirregularlife,buthewouldnotstandbysilentandseeyouenterintoabigamousmarriagewithanunsuspectingyounggirl.
“BeforeyoucouldmarryMissLyttonGore,SirBartholomewStrangemustberemoved….”
SirCharleslaughed.
“AnddearoldBabbington?Didheknowallaboutit,too?”
“Ifanciedsoatfirst.ButIsoonfoundthattherewasnoevidencetosupportthattheory.Besides,myoriginalstumblingblockremained.Evenifitwasyouwhoputthenicotineintothecocktailglass,youcouldnothaveensureditsreachingoneparticularperson.
“Thatwasmyproblem.AndsuddenlyachancewordfromMissLyttonGoreshowedmelight.
“ThepoisonwasnotintendedespeciallyforStephenBabbington.Itwasintendedforanyoneofthosepresent,withthreeexceptions.TheseexceptionswereMissLyttonGore,towhomyouwerecarefultohandaninnocentglass,yourself,andSirBartholomewStrange,who,youknew,didnotdrinkcocktails.”
Mr.Satterthwaitecriedout:
“Butthat’snonsense!What’sthepointofit?Thereisn’tany.”
Poirotturnedtowardshim.Triumphcameintohisvoice.
“Oh,yes,thereis.Aqueerpoint—averyqueerpoint.TheonlytimeIhavecomeacrosssuchamotiveformurder.ThemurderofStephenBabbingtonwasneithermorenorlessthanadressrehearsal.”
“What?”
“Yes,SirCharleswasanactor.Heobeyedhisactor’sinstinct.Hetriedouthismurderbeforecommittingit.Nosuspicioncouldpossiblyattachtohim.Notoneofthosepeople’sdeathscouldbenefithiminanyway,and,moreover,aseveryonehasfound,hecouldnothavebeenprovedtohavepoisonedanyparticularperson.And,myfriends,thedressrehearsalwentwell.Mr.Babbingtondies,andfoulplayisnotevensuspected.ItislefttoSirCharlestourgethatsuspicionandheishighlygratifiedatourrefusaltotakeitseriously.Thesubstitutionoftheglass,too,thathasgonewithoutahitch.Infact,hecanbesurethat,whentherealperformancecomes,itwillbe‘allrightonthenight.’
“Asyouknow,eventstookaslightlydifferentturn.Onthesecondoccasionadoctorwaspresentwhoimmediatelysuspectedpoison.ItwasthentoSirCharles’sintereststostressthedeathofBabbington.SirBartholomew’sdeathmustbepresumedtobetheoutcomeoftheearlierdeath.AttentionmustbefocusedonthemotiveforBabbington’smurder,notonanymotivethatmightexistforSirBartholomew’sremoval.
“ButtherewasonethingthatSirCharlesfailedtorealize—theefficientwatchfulnessofMissMilray.MissMilrayknewthatheremployerdabbledinchemicalexperimentsinthetowerinthegarden.MissMilraypaidbillsforrosesprayingsolution,andrealizedthatquitealotofithadunaccountablydisappeared.WhenshereadthatMr.Babbingtonhaddiedofnicotinepoisoning,hercleverbrainleapedatoncetotheconclusionthatSirCharleshadextractedthepurealkaloidfromtherosesolution.
“AndMissMilraydidnotknowwhattodo,forshehadknownMr.Babbingtonasalittlegirl,andshewasinlove,deeplyanddevotedlyasanuglywomancanbe,withherfascinatingemployer.
“IntheendshedecidedtodestroySirCharles’sapparatus.SirCharleshimselfhadbeensococksureofhissuccessthathehadneverthoughtitnecessary.ShewentdowntoCornwall,andIfollowed.”
AgainSirCharleslaughed.Morethaneverhelookedafinegentlemandisgustedbyarat.
“Issomeoldchemicalapparatusallyourevidence?”hedemandedcontemptuously.
“No,”saidPoirot.“ThereisyourpassportshowingthedateswhenyoureturnedtoandleftEngland.AndthereisthefactthatintheHarvertonCountyAsylumthereisawoman,GladysMaryMugg,thewifeofCharlesMugg.”
Egghadsofarsatsilent—afrozenfigure.Butnowshestirred.Alittlecry—almostamoan—camefromher.
SirCharlesturnedsuperbly.
“Egg,youdon’tbelieveawordofthisabsurdstory,doyou?”
Helaughed.Hishandswereoutstretched
Eggcameslowlyforwardasthoughhypnotized.Hereyes,appealing,tortured,gazedintoherlover’s.Andthen,justbeforeshereachedhim,shewavered,herglancefell,wentthiswayandthatasthoughseekingforreassurance.
ThenwithacryshefellonherkneesbyPoirot.
“Isthistrue?Isthistrue?”
Heputbothhandsonhershoulders,afirm,kindlytouch.
“Itistrue,mademoiselle.”
TherewasnosoundthenbutEgg’ssobs
SirCharlesseemedsuddenlytohaveaged.Itwasanoldman’sface,aleeringsatyr’sface.
“Goddamnyou,”hesaid.
Andnever,inallhisactingcareer,hadwordscomewithsuchutterandcompellingmalignancy.
Thenheturnedandwentoutoftheroom
Mr.Satterthwaitehalfsprangupfromhischair,butPoirotshookhishead,hishandstillgentlystrokingthesobbinggirl.
“He’llescape,”saidMr.Satterthwaite.
Poirotshookhishead.
“No,hewillonlychoosehisexit.Theslowonebeforetheeyesoftheworld,orthequickoneoffstage.”
Thedooropenedsoftlyandsomeonecamein.ItwasOliverManders.Hisusualsneeringexpressionwasgone.Helookedwhiteandunhappy.
Poirotbentoverthegirl.
“See,mademoiselle,”hesaidgently.“Hereisafriendcometotakeyouhome.”
Eggrosetoherfeet.ShelookeduncertainlytowardsOliverthenmadeastepstumblinglytowardshim.
“Oliver…TakemetoMother.Oh,takemetoMother.”
Heputanarmroundheranddrewhertowardsthedoor.
“Yes,dear,I’lltakeyou.Come.”
Egg’slegsweretremblingsothatshecouldhardlywalk.BetweenthemOliverandMr.Satterthwaiteguidedherfootsteps.Atthedoorshetookaholduponherselfandthrewbackherhead.
“I’mallright.”
Poirotmadeagesture,andOliverManderscamebackintotheroom.
“Beverygoodtoher,”saidPoirot.
“Iwill,sir.She’sallIcareaboutintheworld—youknowthat.Loveforhermademebitterandcynical.ButIshallbedifferentnow.I’mreadytostandby.Andsomeday,perhaps—”
“Ithinkso,”saidPoirot.“Ithinkshewasbeginningtocareforyouwhenhecamealonganddazzledher.Hero-worshipisarealandterribledangertotheyoung.SomedayEggwillfallinlovewithafriend,andbuildherhappinessuponrock.”
Helookedkindlyaftertheyoungmanashelefttheroom.
PresentlyMr.Satterthwaitereturned.
“M.Poirot,”hesaid.“Youhavebeenwonderful—absolutelywonderful.”
Poirotputonhismodestlook.
“Itisnothing—nothing.Atragedyinthreeacts—andnowthecurtainhasfallen.”
“You’llexcuseme—”saidMr.Satterthwaite.
“Yes,thereissomepointyouwantexplainedtoyou?”
“ThereisonethingIwanttoknow.”
“Askthen.”
“WhydoyousometimesspeakperfectlygoodEnglishandatothertimesnot?”
Poirotlaughed.
“Ah,Iwillexplain.ItistruethatIcanspeaktheexact,theidiomaticEnglish.But,myfriend,tospeakthebrokenEnglishisanenormousasset.Itleadspeopletodespiseyou.Theysay—aforeigner—hecan’tevenspeakEnglishproperly.Itisnotmypolicytoterrifypeople—insteadIinvitetheirgentleridicule.AlsoIboast!AnEnglishmanhesaysoften,‘Afellowwhothinksasmuchofhimselfasthatcannotbeworthmuch.’ThatistheEnglishpointofview.Itisnotatalltrue.Andso,yousee,Iputpeopleofftheirguard.Besides,”headded,“ithasbecomeahabit.”
“Dearme,”saidMr.Satterthwaite,“quitethecunningoftheserpent.”
Hewassilentforamomentortwo,thinkingoverthecase.
“I’mafraidIhavenotshoneoverthismatter,”hesaidvexedly.
“Onthecontrary.Youappreciatedthatimportantpoint—SirBartholomew’sremarkaboutthebutler—yourealizedtheastuteobservationofMissWills.Infact,youcouldhavesolvedthewholethingbutforyourplaygoer’sreactiontodramaticeffect.”
Mr.Satterthwaitelookedcheerful.
Suddenlyanideastruckhim.Hisjawfell.
“Mygoodness,”hecried,“I’veonlyjustrealizedit.Thatrascal,withhispoisonedcocktail!Anyonemighthavedrunkit.Itmighthavebeenme.”
“Thereisanevenmoreterriblepossibilitythatyouhavenotconsidered,”saidPoirot.
“Eh?”
“ItmighthavebeenME,”saidHerculePoirot.
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
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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
Copyright
Thisbookisaworkoffiction.Thecharacters,incidents,anddialoguearedrawnfromtheauthor’simaginationandarenottobeconstruedasreal.Anyresemblancetoactualeventsorpersons,livingordead,isentirelycoincidental.
ThistitlewaspreviouslypublishedasMurderinThreeActs.
AGATHACHRISTIE?POIROT?THREEACTTRAGEDY?.Copyright?1934AgathaChristieLimited(aChorioncompany).Allrightsreserved.
THREEACTTRAGEDY?1934.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.
LibraryofCongressCataloging-in-PublicationDataisavailableuponrequest.
ISBN:978-0-06-207383-9
EPubEdition?MAY2011ISBN:978-0-06-175403-6
1112131415
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TableofContents
TitlePage
Dedication
Contents
FirstAct:Suspicion
1Crow’sNest2IncidentBeforeDinner3SirCharlesWonders4AModernElaine5FlightfromaLady
SecondAct:Certainty
1SirCharlesReceivesaLetter2TheMissingButler3WhichofThem?4TheEvidenceoftheServants5IntheButler’sRoom6ConcerninganInkStain7PlanofCampaign
ThirdAct:Discovery
1Mrs.Babbington2LadyMary3ReenterHerculePoirot4AWatchingBrief5DivisionofLabour6CynthiaDacres7CaptainDacres8AngelaSutcliffe9MurielWills10OliverManders11PoirotGivesaSherryParty12DayatGilling13Mrs.DeRushbridger14MissMilray15Curtain
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