HP34-TheClocks

AgathaChristie

PROLOGUE

Theafternoonofthe9thofSeptemberwasexactlylikeanyotherafternoon.Noneofthosewhowereto
beconcernedintheeventsofthatdaycouldlayclaimtohavinghadapremonitionofdisaster.(Withthe
exception,thatis,ofMrsPackerof47,WilbrahamCrescent,whospecializedinpremonitions,andwho
alwaysdescribedatgreatlengthafterwardsthepeculiarforebodingsandtremorsthathadbesether.But
MrsPackeratNo.47,wassofarawayfromNo.19,andsolittleconcernedwiththehappeningsthere,
thatitseemedunnecessaryforhertohavehadapremonitionatall.)

At the Cavendish Secretarial and Typewriting Bureau, Principal, Miss K. Martindale, September 9th
hadbeenadullday,adayofroutine.Thetelephonerang,typewritersclicked,thepressureofbusiness
wasaverage,neitherabovenorbelowitsusualvolume.Noneofitwasparticularlyinteresting.Uptill
2.35,September9thmighthavebeenadaylikeanyotherday.

At 2.35 Miss Martindale’s buzzer went, and Edna Brent in the outer office answered it in her usual
breathyandslightlynasalvoice,asshemanoeuvredatoffeealongthelineofherjaw.

‘Yes,MissMartindale?’

‘Now,Edna–thatisnotthewayI’vetoldyoutospeakwhenansweringthetelephone.Enunciateclearly,
andkeepyourbreathbehindyourtone.’

‘Sorry,MissMartindale.’

‘That’sbetter.Youcandoitwhenyoutry.SendSheilaWebbintome.’

‘She’snotbackfromlunchyet,MissMartindale.’

‘Ah.’ Miss Martindale’s eye consulted the clock on her desk. 2.36. Exactly six minutes late. Sheila
Webbhadbeengettingslacklately.‘Sendherinwhenshecomes.’

‘Yes,MissMartindale.’

Edna restored the toffee to the centre of her tongue and, sucking pleasurably, resumed her typing of
NakedLovebyArmandLevine.Itspainstakingeroticismleftheruninterested–asindeeditdidmostof
Mr Levine’s readers, in spite of his efforts. He was a notable example of the fact that nothing can be
dullerthandullpornography.Inspiteofluridjacketsandprovocativetitles,hissaleswentdownevery
year,andhislasttypingbillhadalreadybeensentinthreetimes.

ThedooropenedandSheilaWebbcamein,slightlyoutofbreath.

‘SandyCat’saskingforyou,’saidEdna.

SheilaWebbmadeaface.

‘Justmyluck–ontheonedayI’mlateback!’

Shesmootheddownherhair,pickeduppadandpencil,andknockedatthePrincipal’sdoor.

MissMartindalelookedupfromherdesk.Shewasawomanofforty-odd,bristlingwithefficiency.Her
pompadourofpalereddishhairandherChristiannameofKatherinehadledtohernicknameofSandy
Cat.

‘You’relateback,MissWebb.’

‘Sorry,MissMartindale.Therewasaterrificbusjam.’

‘Thereisalwaysaterrificbusjamatthistimeofday.Youshouldallowforit.’Shereferredtoanoteon
her pad. ‘A Miss Pebmarsh rang up. She wants a stenographer at three o’clock. She asked for you
particularly.Haveyouworkedforherbefore?’

‘Ican’trememberdoingso,MissMartindale.Notlatelyanyway.’

‘Theaddressis19,WilbrahamCrescent.’Shepausedquestioningly,butSheilaWebbshookherhead.

‘Ican’tremembergoingthere.’

MissMartindaleglancedattheclock.

‘Threeo’clock.Youcanmanagethateasily.Haveyouanyotherappointmentsthisafternoon?Ah,yes,’
her eye ran down the appointment book at her elbow. ‘Professor Purdy at the Curlew Hotel. Five
o’clock.Yououghttobebackbeforethen.Ifnot,IcansendJanet.’

Shegaveanodofdismissal,andSheilawentbacktotheouteroffice.

‘Anythinginteresting,Sheila?’

‘Just another of those dull days. Some old pussy up at Wilbraham Crescent. And at five Professor
Purdy–allthoseawfularchaeologicalnames!HowIwishsomethingexcitingcouldsometimeshappen.’

MissMartindale’sdooropened.

‘IseeIhaveamemohere,Sheila.IfMissPebmarshisnotbackwhenyouarrive,youaretogoin,the
door will not be latched. Go in and go into the room on the right of the hall and wait. Can you
rememberthatorshallIwriteitdown?’

‘Icanrememberit,MissMartindale.’

MissMartindalewentbackintohersanctum.

EdnaBrentfishedunderherchairandbroughtup,secretly,aratherflashyshoeandastilettoheelthat
hadbecomedetachedfromit.

‘HoweveramIgoingtogethome?’shemoaned.

‘Oh,dostopfussing–we’llthinkofsomething,’saidoneoftheothergirls,andresumedhertyping.

Ednasighedandputinafreshsheetofpaper:

‘Desirehadhiminitsgrasp.Withfrenziedfingershetorethefragilechiffonfromherbreastsandforced
herdownonthesoap.’

‘Damn,’saidEdnaandreachedfortheeraser.

Sheilapickedupherhandbagandwentout.

WilbrahamCrescentwasafantasyexecutedbyaVictorianbuilderinthe1880’s.Itwasahalf-moonof
double houses and gardens set back to back. This conceit was a source of considerable difficulty to
persons unacquainted with the locality. Those who arrived on the outer side were unable to find the
lowernumbersandthosewhohittheinnersidefirstwerebaffledastothewhereaboutsofthehigher
numbers.Thehouseswereneat,prim,artisticallybalconiedandeminentlyrespectable.Modernization
hadasyetbarelytouchedthem–ontheoutside,thatistosay.Kitchensandbathroomswerethefirstto
feelthewindofchange.

There was nothing unusual about No. 19. It had neat curtains and a well-polished brass front-door
handle.Therewerestandardrosetreeseachsideofthepathleadingtothefrontdoor.

SheilaWebbopenedthefrontgate,walkeduptothefrontdoorandrangthebell.Therewasnoresponse
and after waiting a minute or two, she did as she had been directed, and turned the handle. The door
openedandshewalkedin.Thedoorontherightofthesmallhallwasajar.Shetappedonit,waited,and
thenwalkedin.Itwasanordinaryquitepleasantsitting-room,alittleover-furnishedformoderntastes.
Theonlythingatallremarkableaboutitwastheprofusionofclocks–agrandfatherclocktickinginthe
corner,aDresdenchinaclockonthemantelpiece,asilvercarriageclockonthedesk,asmallfancygilt
clock on a whatnot near the fireplace and on a table by the window, a faded leather travelling clock,
withROSEMARYinworngiltlettersacrossthecorner.

SheilaWebblookedattheclockonthedeskwithsomesurprise.Itshowedthetimetobealittleafter
tenminutespastfour.Hergazeshiftedtothechimneypiece.Theclocktheresaidthesame.

Sheilastartedviolentlyastherewasawhirandaclickaboveherhead,andfromawoodencarvedclock
onthewallacuckoosprangoutthroughhislittledoorandannouncedloudlyanddefinitely:Cuckoo,
Cuckoo,Cuckoo!Theharshnoteseemedalmostmenacing.Thecuckoodisappearedagainwithasnap
ofhisdoor.

SheilaWebbgaveahalf-smileandwalkedroundtheendofthesofa.Thenshestoppedshort,pullingup
withajerk.

Sprawledonthefloorwasthebodyofaman.Hiseyeswerehalfopenandsightless.Therewasadark
moistpatchonthefrontofhisdarkgreysuit.AlmostmechanicallySheilabentdown.Shetouchedhis
cheek–cold–hishand,thesame...touchedthewetpatchanddrewherhandawaysharply,staringatitin
horror.

At that moment she heard the click of a gate outside, her head turned mechanically to the window.
Throughitshesawawoman’sfigurehurryingupthepath.Sheilaswallowedmechanically–herthroat
wasdry.Shestoodrootedtothespot,unabletomove,tocryout...staringinfrontofher.

The door opened and a tall elderly woman entered, carrying a shopping bag. She had wavy grey hair
pulled back from her forehead, and her eyes were a wide and beautiful blue. Their gaze passed
unseeinglyoverSheila.

Sheila uttered a faint sound, no more than a croak. The wide blue eyes came to her and the woman
spokesharply:

‘Issomebodythere?’

‘I–it’s–’Thegirlbrokeoffasthewomancameswiftlytowardsherroundthebackofthesofa.

Andthenshescreamed.

‘Don’t–don’t...you’lltreadonit–him...Andhe’sdead...’

CHAPTER1

ColinLamb’sNarrative

I

Tousepoliceterms:at2.59p.m.onSeptember9th,IwasproceedingalongWilbrahamCrescentina
westerlydirection.ItwasmyfirstintroductiontoWilbrahamCrescent,andfranklyWilbrahamCrescent

hadmebaffled.

I had been following a hunch with a persistence becoming more dogged day by day as the hunch
seemedlessandlesslikelytopayoff.I’mlikethat.

The number I wanted was 61, and could I find it? No, I could not. Having studiously followed the
numbers from 1 to 35, Wilbraham Crescent then appeared to end. A thoroughfare uncompromisingly
labelled Albany Road barred my way. I turned back. On the north side there were no houses, only a
wall.Behindthewall,blocksofmodernflatssoaredupwards,theentranceofthembeingobviouslyin
anotherroad.Nohelpthere.

IlookedupatthenumbersIwaspassing.24,23,22,21.DianaLodge(presumably20,withanorange
catonthegatepostwashingitsface),19–

Thedoorof19openedandagirlcameoutofitanddownthepathwithwhatseemedtobethespeedof
abomb.Thelikenesstoabombwasintensifiedbythescreamingthataccompaniedherprogress.Itwas
highandthinandsingularlyinhuman.Throughthegatethegirlcameandcollidedwithmewithaforce
thatnearlyknockedmeoffthepavement.Shedidnotonlycollide.Sheclutched–afrenzieddesperate
clutching.

‘Steady,’Isaid,asIrecoveredmybalance.Ishookherslightly.‘Steadynow.’

Thegirlsteadied.Shestillclutched,butshestoppedscreaming.Insteadshegasped–deepsobbinggasps.

I can’t say that I reacted to the situation with any brilliance. I asked her if anything was the matter.
RecognizingthatmyquestionwassingularlyfeebleIamendedit.

‘What’sthematter?’

Thegirltookadeepbreath.

‘Inthere!’shegesturedbehindher.

‘Yes?’

‘There’samanonthefloor...dead...Shewasgoingtosteponhim.’

‘Whowas?Why?’

‘I think–because she’s blind. And there’s blood on him.’ She looked down and loosened one of her
clutchinghands.‘Andonme.There’sbloodonme.’

‘Sothereis,’Isaid.Ilookedatthestainsonmycoatsleeve.‘Andonmeaswellnow,’Ipointedout.I
sighedandconsideredthesituation.‘You’dbettertakemeinandshowme,’Isaid.

Butshebegantoshakeviolently.

‘Ican’t–Ican’t...Iwon’tgointhereagain.’

‘Perhaps you’re right.’ I looked round. There seemed nowhere very suitable to deposit a half-fainting
girl.Iloweredhergentlytothepavementandsatherwithherbackagainsttheironrailings.

‘Youstaythere,’Isaid,‘untilIcomeback.Ishan’tbelong.You’llbeallright.Leanforwardandput
yourheadbetweenyourkneesifyoufeelqueer.’

‘I–IthinkI’mallrightnow.’

Shewasalittledoubtfulaboutit,butIdidn’twanttoparley.Igaveherareassuringpatontheshoulder
andstrodeoffbrisklyupthepath.Iwentinthroughthedoor,hesitatedamomentinthehallway,looked
into the door on the left, found an empty dining-room, crossed the hall and entered the sitting-room
opposite.

ThefirstthingIsawwasanelderlywomanwithgreyhairsittinginachair.Sheturnedherheadsharply
asIenteredandsaid:

‘Who’sthat?’

Irealizedatoncethatthewomanwasblind.Hereyeswhichlookeddirectlytowardsmewerefocused
onaspotbehindmyleftcar.

Ispokeabruptlyandtothepoint.

‘Ayoungwomanrushedoutintothestreetsayingtherewasadeadmaninhere.’

IfeltasenseofabsurdityasIsaidthewords.Itdidnotseempossiblethatthereshouldbeadeadmanin
thistidyroomwiththiscalmwomansittinginherchairwithherhandsfolded.

Butheranswercameatonce.

‘Behindthesofa,’shesaid.

I moved round the angle of the sofa. I saw it then–the outflung arms–the glazed eyes–the congealing
patchofblood.

‘Howdidthishappen?’Iaskedabruptly.

‘Idon’tknow.’

‘But–surely.Whoishe?’

‘Ihavenoidea.’

‘Wemustgetthepolice.’Ilookedround.‘Where’sthetelephone?’

‘Ihavenotgotatelephone.’

Iconcentrateduponhermoreclosely.

‘Youlivehere?Thisisyourhouse?’

‘Yes.’

‘Canyoutellmewhathappened?’

‘Certainly.Icameinfromshopping–’Inotedtheshoppingbagflungonachairnearthedoor.‘Icamein
here.Irealizedatoncetherewassomeoneintheroom.Onedoesveryeasilywhenoneisblind.Iasked
who was there. There was no answer–only the sound of someone breathing rather quickly. I went
towardsthesound–andthenwhoeveritwascriedout–somethingaboutsomeonebeingdeadandthatI
wasgoingtotreadonhim.Andthenwhoeveritwasrushedpastmeoutoftheroomscreaming.’

Inodded.Theirstoriesclicked.

‘Andwhatdidyoudo?’

‘Ifeltmywayverycarefullyuntilmyfoottouchedanobstacle.’

‘Andthen?’

‘Ikneltdown.Itouchedsomething–aman’shand.Itwascold–therewasnopulse...Igotupandcame
over here and sat down–to wait. Someone was bound to come in due course. The young woman,
whoevershewas,wouldgivethealarm.IthoughtIhadbetternotleavethehouse.’

Iwasimpressedwiththecalmofthiswoman.Shehadnotscreamed,orstumbledpanic-strickenfrom
thehouse.Shehadsatdowncalmlytowait.Itwasthesensiblethingtodo,butitmusthavetakensome
doing.

Hervoiceinquired:

‘Whoexactlyareyou?’

‘MynameisColinLamb.Ihappenedtobepassingby.’

‘Whereistheyoungwoman?’

‘Ileftherproppedupbythegate.She’ssufferingfromshock.Whereisthenearesttelephone?’

‘Thereisacall-boxaboutfiftyyardsdowntheroadjustbeforeyoucometothecorner.’

‘Ofcourse.Irememberpassingit.I’llgoandringthepolice.Willyou–’Ihesitated.

Ididn’tknowwhethertosay‘Willyouremainhere?’ortomakeit‘Willyoubeallright?’

Sherelievedmefrommychoice.

‘Youhadbetterbringthegirlintothehouse,’shesaiddecisively.

‘Idon’tknowthatshewillcome,’Isaiddoubtfully.

‘Notintothisroom,naturally.Putherinthedining-roomtheothersideofthehall.TellherIammaking
sometea.’

Sheroseandcametowardsme.

‘But–canyoumanage–’

Afaintgrimsmileshowedforamomentonherface.

‘Mydearyoungman.IhavemademealsformyselfinmyownkitcheneversinceIcametoliveinthis
house–fourteenyearsago.Tobeblindisnotnecessarilytobehelpless.’

‘I’msorry.Itwasstupidofme.PerhapsIoughttoknowyourname?’

‘MillicentPebmarsh–Miss.’

Iwentoutanddownthepath.Thegirllookedupatmeandbegantostruggletoherfeet.

‘I–IthinkI’mmoreorlessallrightnow.’

Ihelpedherup,sayingcheerfully:

‘Good.’

‘There–therewasadeadmaninthere,wasn’tthere?’

Iagreedpromptly.

‘Certainlytherewas.I’mjustgoingdowntothetelephoneboxtoreportittothepolice.Ishouldwaitin
thehouseifIwereyou.’Iraisedmyvoicetocoverherquickprotest.‘Gointothedining-room–onthe
leftasyougoin.MissPebmarshismakingacupofteaforyou.’

‘SothatwasMissPebmarsh?Andshe’sblind?’

‘Yes.It’sbeenashocktoher,too,ofcourse,butshe’sbeingverysensible.Comeon,I’lltakeyouin.A
cupofteawilldoyougoodwhilstyouarewaitingforthepolicetocome.’

Iputanarmroundhershouldersandurgedherupthepath.Isettledhercomfortablybythedining-room
table,andhurriedoffagaintotelephone.

II

Anunemotionalvoicesaid,‘CrowdeanPoliceStation.’

‘CanIspeaktoDetectiveInspectorHardcastle?’

Thevoicesaidcautiously:

‘Idon’tknowwhetherheishere.Whoisspeaking?’

‘Tellhimit’sColinLamb.’

‘Justamoment,please.’

Iwaited.ThenDickHardcastle’svoicespoke.

‘Colin?Ididn’texpectyouyetawhile.Whereareyou?’

‘Crowdean.I’mactuallyinWilbrahamCrescent.There’samanlyingdeadonthefloorofNumber19,
stabbedIshouldthink.He’sbeendeadapproximatelyhalfanhourorso.’

‘Whofoundhim.You?’

‘No, I was an innocent passer-by. Suddenly a girl came flying out of the house like a bat out of hell.
Nearlyknockedmedown.Shesaidtherewasadeadmanonthefloorandablindwomanwastrampling
onhim.’

‘You’renothavingmeon,areyou?’Dick’svoiceaskedsuspiciously.

‘Itdoessoundfantastic,Iadmit.Butthefactsseemtobeasstated.TheblindwomanisMissMillicent
Pebmarshwhoownsthehouse.’

‘Andwasshetramplingonthedeadman?’

‘Notinthesenseyoumeanit.Itseemsthatbeingblindshejustdidn’tknowhewasthere.’

‘I’llsetthemachineryinmotion.Waitformethere.Whathaveyoudonewiththegirl?’

‘MissPebmarshismakingheracupoftea.’

Dick’scommentwasthatitallsoundedverycosy.

CHAPTER2

At19,WilbrahamCrescentthemachineryoftheLawwasinpossession.Therewasapolicesurgeon,a
policephotographer,fingerprintmen.Theymovedefficiently,eachoccupiedwithhisownroutine.

FinallycameDetectiveInspectorHardcastle,atall,poker-facedmanwithexpressiveeyebrows,godlike,
toseethatallhehadputinmotionwasbeingdone,anddoneproperly.Hetookafinallookatthebody,
exchangedafewbriefwordswiththepolicesurgeonandthencrossedtothedining-roomwherethree
peoplesatoveremptytea-cups.MissPebmarsh,ColinLambandatallgirlwithbrowncurlinghairand
wide,frightenedeyes.‘Quitepretty,’theinspectornoted,parentheticallyasitwere.

HeintroducedhimselftoMissPebmarsh.

‘DetectiveInspectorHardcastle.’

HeknewalittleaboutMissPebmarsh,thoughtheirpathshadnevercrossedprofessionally.Buthehad
seenherabout,andhewasawarethatshewasanex-schoolteacher,andthatshehadajobconnected
with the teaching of Braille at the Aaronberg Institute for handicapped children. It seemed wildly
unlikely that a man should be found murdered in her neat, austere house–but the unlikely happened
moreoftenthanonewouldbedisposedtobelieve.

‘Thisisaterriblethingtohavehappened,MissPebmarsh,’hesaid.‘I’mafraiditmusthavebeenagreat
shocktoyou.I’llneedtogetaclearstatementofexactlywhatoccurredfromyouall.Iunderstandthat
it was Miss–’ he glanced quickly at the note-book the constable had handed him, ‘Sheila Webb who
actually discovered the body. If you’ll allow me to use your kitchen, Miss Pebmarsh, I’ll take Miss
Webbintherewherewecanbequiet.’

Heopenedtheconnectingdoorfromthedining-roomtothekitchenandwaiteduntilthegirlhadpassed
through.Ayoungplain-clothesdetectivewasalreadyestablishedinthekitchen,writingunobtrusivelyat
aFormica-toppedsmalltable.

‘This chair looks comfortable,’ said Hardcastle, pulling forward a modernized version of a Windsor
chair.

SheilaWebbsatdownnervously,staringathimwithlargefrightenedeyes.

Hardcastleverynearlysaid:‘Ishan’teatyou,mydear,’butrepressedhimself,andsaidinstead:

‘There’snothingtoworryabout.Wejustwanttogetaclearpicture.NowyournameisSheilaWebb–

andyouraddress?’

‘14,PalmerstoneRoad–beyondthegasworks.’

‘Yes,ofcourse.Andyouareemployed,Isuppose?’

‘Yes.I’mashorthandtypist–IworkatMissMartindale’sSecretarialBureau.’

‘TheCavendishSecretarialandTypewritingBureau–that’sitsfullname,isn’tit?’

‘That’sright.’

‘Andhowlonghaveyoubeenworkingthere?’

‘Aboutayear.Well,tenmonthsactually.’

‘Isee.Nowjusttellmeinyourownwordshowyoucametobeat19,WilbrahamCrescenttoday.’

‘Well, it was this way.’ Sheila Webb was speaking now with more confidence. ‘This Miss Pebmarsh
ranguptheBureauandaskedforastenographertobehereatthreeo’clock.SowhenIcamebackfrom
lunchMissMartindaletoldmetogo.’

‘That was just routine, was it? I mean–you were the next on the list–or however you arrange these
things?’

‘Notexactly.MissPebmarshhadaskedformespecially.’

‘Miss Pebmarsh had asked for you specially.’ Hardcastle’s eye brows registered this point. ‘I see...
Becauseyouhadworkedforherbefore?’

‘ButIhadn’t,’saidSheilaquickly.

‘Youhadn’t?You’requitesureofthat?’

‘Oh,yes,I’mpositive.Imean,she’snotthesortofpersononewouldforget.That’swhatseemssoodd.’

‘Quite.Well,wewon’tgointothatjustnow.Youreachedherewhen?’

‘Itmusthavebeenjustbeforethreeo’clock,becausethecuckooclock–’shestoppedabruptly.Hereyes
widened.‘Howqueer.Howveryqueer.Ineverreallynoticedatthetime.’

‘Whatdidn’tyounotice,MissWebb?’

‘Why–theclocks.’

‘Whatabouttheclocks?’

‘Thecuckooclockstruckthreeallright,butalltheotherswereaboutanhourfast.Howveryodd!’

‘Certainlyveryodd,’agreedtheinspector.‘Nowwhendidyoufirstnoticethebody?’

‘NottillIwentroundbehindthesofa.Andthereit–he–was.Itwasawful,yesawful...’

‘Awful,Iagree.Nowdidyourecognizetheman?Wasitanyoneyouhadseenbefore?’

‘Ohno.’

‘You’requitesureofthat?Hemighthavelookedratherdifferentfromthewayheusuallylooked,you
know.Thinkcarefully.You’requitesurehewassomeoneyou’dneverseenbefore?’

‘Quitesure.’

‘Right.That’sthat.Andwhatdidyoudo?’

‘WhatdidIdo?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why–nothing...nothingatall.Icouldn’t.’

‘Isee.Youdidn’ttouchhimatall?’

‘Yes–yesIdid.Toseeif–Imean–justtosee–Buthewas–quitecold–and–andIgotbloodonmyhand.It
washorrible–thickandsticky.’

Shebegantoshake.

‘There,there,’saidHardcastleinanavuncularfashion.‘It’sallovernow,youknow.Forgetaboutthe
blood.Goontothenextthing.Whathappenednext?’

‘Idon’tknow...Oh,yes,shecamehome.’

‘MissPebmarsh,youmean?’

‘Yes.OnlyIdidn’tthinkaboutherbeingMissPebmarshthen.Shejustcameinwithashoppingbasket.’
Hertoneunderlinedtheshoppingbasketassomethingincongruousandirrelevant.

‘Andwhatdidyousay?’

‘I don’t think I said anything... I tried to, but I couldn’t. I felt all choked up here.’ She indicated her
throat.

Theinspectornodded.

‘Andthen–andthen–shesaid:“Who’sthere?”andshecameroundthebackofthesofaandIthought–I
thoughtshewasgoingto–totreadonIt.AndIscreamed...AndonceIbeganIcouldn’tstopscreaming,
andsomehowIgotoutoftheroomandthroughthefrontdoor–’

‘Likeabatoutofhell,’theinspectorrememberedColin’sdescription.

SheilaWebblookedathimoutofmiserablefrightenedeyesandsaidratherunexpectedly:

‘I’msorry.’

‘Nothingtobesorryabout.You’vetoldyourstoryverywell.There’snoneedtothinkaboutitanymore
now.Oh,justonepoint,whywereyouinthatroomatall?’

‘Why?’Shelookedpuzzled.

‘Yes. You’d arrived here, possibly a few minutes early, and you’d pushed the bell, I suppose. But if
nobodyanswered,whydidyoucomein?’

‘Ohthat.Becauseshetoldmeto.’

‘Whotoldyouto?’

‘MissPebmarshdid.’

‘ButIthoughtyouhadn’tspokentoheratall.’

‘No,Ihadn’t.ItwasMissMartindaleshesaiditto–thatIwastocomeinandwaitinthesitting-roomon
therightofthehall.’

Hardcastlesaid:‘Indeed’thoughtfully.

SheilaWebbaskedtimidly:

‘Is–isthatall?’

‘Ithinkso.I’dlikeyoutowaithereabouttenminuteslonger,perhaps,incasesomethingarisesImight
wanttoaskyouabout.Afterthat,I’llsendyouhomeinapolicecar.Whataboutyourfamily–youhave
afamily?’

‘Myfatherandmotheraredead.Ilivewithanaunt.’

‘Andhernameis?’

‘MrsLawton.’

Theinspectorroseandheldouthishand.

‘Thank you very much, Miss Webb,’ he said. ‘Try and get a good night’s rest tonight. You’ll need it
afterwhatyou’vebeenthrough.’

Shesmiledathimtimidlyasshewentthroughthedoorintothedining-room.

‘LookafterMissWebb,Colin,’theinspectorsaid.‘Now,MissPebmarsh,canItroubleyoutocomein
here?’

Hardcastle had half held out a hand to guide Miss Pebmarsh, but she walked resolutely past him,
verifiedachairagainstthewallwithatouchofherfingertips,drewitoutafootandsatdown.

Hardcastleclosedthedoor.Beforehecouldspeak,MillicentPebmarshsaidabruptly:

‘Who’sthatyoungman?’

‘HisnameisColinLamb.’

‘Soheinformedme.Butwhoishe?Whydidhecomehere?’

Hardcastlelookedatherinfaintsurprise.

‘He happened to be walking down the street when Miss Webb rushed out of this house screaming
murder.Aftercominginandsatisfyinghimselfastowhathadoccurredherangusup,andwasaskedto
comebackhereandwait.’

‘YouspoketohimasColin.’

‘Youareveryobservant,MissPebmarsh–(observant?hardlytheword.Andyetnoneotherfitted)–Colin
Lamb is a friend of mine, though it is some time since I have seen him.’ He added: ‘He’s a marine
biologist.’

‘Oh!Isee.’

‘Now,MissPebmarsh,Ishallbegladifyoucantellmeanythingaboutthisrathersurprisingaffair.’

‘Willingly.Butthereisverylittletotell.’

‘Youhaveresidedhereforsometime,Ibelieve?’

‘Since1950.Iam–was–aschoolmistressbyprofession.WhenIwastoldnothingcouldbedoneabout
myfailingeyesightandthatIshouldshortlygoblind,IappliedmyselftobecomeaspecialistinBraille
andvarioustechniquesforhelpingtheblind.IhaveajobhereattheAaronbergInstituteforBlindand
Handicappedchildren.’

‘Thankyou.Nowastotheeventsofthisafternoon.Wereyouexpectingavisitor?’

‘No.’

‘Iwillreadyouadescriptionofthedeadmantoseeifitsuggeststoyouanyoneinparticular.Height
fivefeetninetoten,ageapproximatelysixty,darkhairgoinggrey,browneyes,cleanshaven,thinface,
firm jaw. Well nourished but not fat. Dark grey suit, well-kept hands. Might be a bank clerk, an
accountant, a lawyer, or a professional man of some kind. Does that suggest to you anyone that you
know?’

MillicentPebmarshconsideredcarefullybeforereplying.

‘I can’t say that it does. Of course it’s a very generalized description. It would fit quite a number of
people. It might be someone I have seen or met on some occasion, but certainly not anyone I know
well.’

‘Youhavenotreceivedanyletterlatelyfromanyoneproposingtocalluponyou?’

‘Definitelynot.’

‘Very good. Now, you rang up the Cavendish Secretarial Bureau and asked for the services of a
stenographerand–’

Sheinterruptedhim.

‘Excuseme.Ididnothingofthekind.’

‘YoudidnotringuptheCavendishSecretarialBureauandask–’Hardcastlestared.

‘Idon’thaveatelephoneinthehouse.’

‘Thereisacall-boxattheendofthestreet,’InspectorHardcastlepointedout.

‘Yes,ofcourse.ButIcanonlyassureyou,InspectorHardcastle,thatIhadnoneedforastenographer
anddidnot–repeatnot–ringupthisCavendishplacewithanysuchrequest.’

‘YoudidnotaskforMissSheilaWebbparticularly?’

‘Ihaveneverheardthatnamebefore.’

Hardcastlestaredather,astonished.

‘Youleftthefrontdoorunlocked,’hepointedout.

‘Ifrequentlydosointhedaytime.’

‘Anybodymightwalkin.’

‘Anybodyseemstohavedonesointhiscase,’saidMissPebmarshdrily.

‘Miss Pebmarsh, this man according to the medical evidence died roughly between 1.30 and 2.45.
Wherewereyouyourselfthen?’

MissPebmarshreflected.

‘At1.30Imusteitherhaveleftorbeenpreparingtoleavethehouse.Ihadsomeshoppingtodo.’

‘Canyoutellmeexactlywhereyouwent?’

‘Letmesee.Iwenttothepostoffice,theoneinAlbanyRoad,postedaparcel,gotsomestamps,thenI
didsomehouseholdshopping,yesandIgotsomepatentfastenersandsafetypinsatthedrapers,Field
andWren.ThenIreturnedhere.Icantellyouexactlywhatthetimewas.Mycuckooclockcuckooed
threetimesasIcametothegate.Icanhearitfromtheroad.’

‘Andwhataboutyourotherclocks?’

‘Ibegyourpardon?’

‘Yourotherclocksseemalltobejustoveranhourfast.’

‘Fast?Youmeanthegrandfatherclockinthecorner?’

‘Notthatonly–alltheotherclocksinthesitting-roomarethesame.’

‘Idon’tunderstandwhatyoumeanbythe“otherclocks”.Therearenootherclocksinthesitting-room.’

CHAPTER3

Hardcastlestared.

‘Ohcome,MissPebmarsh.WhataboutthatbeautifulDresdenchinaclockonthemantelpiece?Anda
smallFrenchclock–ormolu.Andasilvercarriageclock,and–ohyes,theclockwith“Rosemary”across
thecorner.’

ItwasMissPebmarsh’sturntostare.

‘EitheryouorImustbemad,Inspector.IassureyouIhavenoDresdenchinaclock,no–whatdidyou
say–clockwith“Rosemary”acrossit–noFrenchormoluclockand–whatwastheotherone?’

‘Silvercarriageclock,’saidHardcastlemechanically.

‘Notthateither.Ifyoudon’tbelieveme,youcanaskthewomanwhocomestocleanforme.Hername
isMrsCurtin.’

Detective Inspector Hardcastle was taken aback. There was a positive assurance, a briskness in Miss
Pebmarsh’stonethatcarriedconviction.Hetookamomentortwoturningoverthingsinhismind.Then
herosetohisfeet.

‘Iwonder,MissPebmarsh,ifyouwouldmindaccompanyingmeintothenextroom?’

‘Certainly.Frankly,Iwouldliketoseethoseclocksmyself.’

‘See?’Hardcastlewasquicktoquerytheword.

‘Examine would be a better word,’ said Miss Pebmarsh, ‘but even blind people, Inspector, use
conventionalmodesofspeechthatdonotexactlyapplytotheirownpowers.WhenIsayIwouldliketo
seethoseclocks,ImeanIwouldliketoexamineandfeelthemwithmyownfingers.’

Followed by Miss Pebmarsh, Hardcastle went out of the kitchen, crossed the small hall and into the
sitting-room.Thefingerprintmanlookedupathim.

‘I’veaboutfinishedinhere,sir,’hesaid.‘Youcantouchanythingyoulike.’

Hardcastlenoddedandpickedupthesmalltravellingclockwith‘Rosemary’writtenacrossthecorner.
HeputitintoMissPebmarsh’shands.Shefeltitovercarefully.

‘It seems an ordinary travelling clock,’ she said, ‘the leather folding kind. It is not mine, Inspector
Hardcastle,anditwasnotinthisroom,IamfairlysureIcansay,whenIleftthehouseathalfpastone.’

‘Thankyou.’

Theinspectortookitbackfromher.CarefullyheliftedthesmallDresdenclockfromthemantelpiece.

‘Becarefulofthis,’hesaid,asheputitintoherhands,‘it’sbreakable.’

MillicentPebmarshfeltthesmallchinaclockwithdelicateprobingfingertips.Thensheshookherhead.
‘Itmustbeacharmingclock,’shesaid,‘butit’snotmine.Wherewasit,doyousay?’

‘Ontherighthandsideofthemantelpiece.’

‘Thereshouldbeoneofapairofchinacandlesticksthere,’saidMissPebmarsh.

‘Yes,’saidHardcastle,‘thereisacandlestickthere,butit’sbeenpushedtotheend.’

‘Yousaytherewasstillanotherclock?’

‘Twomore.’

HardcastletookbacktheDresdenchinaclockandgaveherthesmallFrenchgiltormoluone.Shefeltit
overrapidly,thenhandeditbacktohim.

‘No.Thatisnotmineeither.’

Hehandedherthesilveroneandthat,too,shereturned.

‘Theonlyclocksordinarilyinthisroomareagrandfatherclockthereinthatcornerbythewindow–’

‘Quiteright.’

‘–andacuckooonthewallnearthedoor.’

Hardcastlefounditdifficulttoknowexactlywhattosaynext.Helookedsearchinglyatthewomanin
frontofhimwiththeadditionalsecurityofknowingthatshecouldnotreturnhissurvey.Therewasa
slightfrownasofperplexityonherforehead.Shesaidsharply:

‘Ican’tunderstandit.Isimplycan’tunderstandit.’

She stretched out one hand, with the easy knowledge of where she was in the room, and sat down.
Hardcastlelookedatthefingerprintmanwhowasstandingbythedoor.

‘You’vebeenovertheseclocks?’heasked.

‘I’vebeenovereverything,sir.Nodabsonthegiltclock,buttherewouldn’tbe.Thesurfacewouldn’t
take it. The same goes for the china one. But there are no dabs on the leather travelling clock or the
silveroneandthatisabitunlikelyifthingswerenormal–thereoughttobedabs.Bytheway,noneof
themarewoundupandtheyareallsettothesametime–thirteenminutespastfour.’

‘Whatabouttherestoftheroom?’

‘There are about three or four different sets of prints in the room, all women’s, I should say. The
contentsofthepocketsareonthetable.’

Byanindicationofhisheadhedrewattentiontoasmallpileofthingsonatable.Hardcastlewentover
and looked at them. There was a notecase containing seven pounds ten, a little loose change, a silk
pocket handkerchief, unmarked, a small box of digestive pills and a printed card. Hardcastle bent to
lookatit.

MrR.H.Curry,

MetropolisandProvincialInsuranceCo.Ltd

7,DenversStreet,L

ONDON

,W2.

HardcastlecamebacktothesofawhereMissPebmarshsat.

‘Wereyoubyanychanceexpectingsomeonefromaninsurancecompanytocalluponyou?’

‘Insurancecompany?No,certainlynot.’

‘TheMetropolisandProvincialInsuranceCompany,’saidHardcastle.

MissPebmarshshookherhead.‘I’veneverheardofit,’shesaid.

‘Youwerenotcontemplatingtakingoutinsuranceofanykind?’

‘No, I was not. I am insured against fire and burglary with the Jove Insurance Company which has a
branch here. I carry no personal insurance. I have no family or near relations so I see no point in
insuringmylife.’

‘I see,’ said Hardcastle. ‘Does the name of Curry mean anything to you? Mr R. H. Curry?’ He was
watchingherclosely.Hesawnoreactioninherface.

‘Curry,’sherepeatedthename,thenshookherhead.‘It’snotaveryusualname,isit?No,Idon’tthink
I’veheardthenameorknownanyoneofthatname.Isthatthenameofthemanwhoisdead?’

‘Itwouldseempossible,’saidHardcastle.

MissPebmarshhesitatedamoment.Thenshesaid:

‘Doyouwantmeto–to–touch–’

Hewasquicktounderstandher.

‘Wouldyou,MissPebmarsh?Ifit’snotaskingtoomuchofyou,thatis?I’mnotveryknowledgeablein
thesematters,butyourfingerswillprobablytellyoumoreaccuratelywhatapersonlookslikethanyou
wouldknowbydescription.’

‘Exactly,’ said Miss Pebmarsh. ‘I agree it is not a very pleasant thing to have to do but I am quite
willingtodoitifyouthinkitmightbeahelptoyou.’

‘Thankyou,’saidHardcastle.‘Ifyouwillletmeguideyou–’

He took her round the sofa, indicated to her to kneel down, then gently guided her hands to the dead
man’sface.Shewasverycalm,displayingnoemotion.Herfingerstracedthehair,theears,lingeringa
momentbehindtheleftear,thelineofthenose,mouthandchin.Thensheshookherheadandgotup.

‘Ihaveaclearideawhathewouldlooklike,’shesaid,‘butIamquitesurethatitisnooneIhaveseen
orknown.’

Thefingerprintmanhadpackeduphiskitandgoneoutoftheroom.Hestuckhisheadbackin.

‘They’vecomeforhim,’hesaid,indicatingthebody.‘Allrighttotakehimaway?’

‘Right,’saidInspectorHardcastle.‘Justcomeandsitoverhere,willyou,MissPebmarsh?’

Heestablishedherinacornerchair.Twomencameintotheroom.TheremovalofthelateMrCurry
wasrapidandprofessional.Hardcastlewentouttothegateandthenreturnedtothesitting-room.Hesat
downnearMissPebmarsh.

‘Thisisanextraordinarybusiness,MissPebmarsh,’hesaid.‘I’dliketorunoverthemainpointswith
youandseeifI’vegotitright.CorrectmeifIamwrong.Youexpectednovisitorstoday,you’vemade
no inquiries re insurance of any kind and you have received no letter from anyone stating that a
representativeofaninsurancecompanywasgoingtocalluponyoutoday.Isthatcorrect?’

‘Quitecorrect.’

‘You did not need the services of a shorthand typist or stenographer and you did not ring up the
CavendishBureauorrequestthatoneshouldbehereatthreeo’clock.’

‘Thatagainiscorrect.’

‘Whenyouleftthehouseatapproximately1.30,therewereinthisroomonlytwoclocks,thecuckoo
clockandthegrandfatherclock.Noothers.’

Abouttoreply,MissPebmarshcheckedherself.

‘IfIamtobeabsolutelyaccurate,Icouldnotsweartothatstatement.NothavingmysightIwouldnot
noticetheabsenceorpresenceofanythingnotusuallyintheroom.Thatistosay,thelasttimeIcanbe
sure of the contents of this room was when I dusted it early this morning. Everything then was in its
place.Iusuallydothisroommyselfascleaningwomenareapttobecarelesswithornaments.’

‘Didyouleavethehouseatallthismorning?’

‘Yes.Iwentatteno’clockasusualtotheAaronbergInstitute.Ihaveclassesthereuntiltwelve-fifteen.I
returnedhereataboutquartertoone,mademyselfsomescrambledeggsinthekitchenandacupoftea
andwentoutagain,asIhavesaid,athalfpastone.Iatemymealinthekitchen,bytheway,anddidnot
comeintothisroom.’

‘Isee,’saidHardcastle.‘Sowhileyoucansaydefinitelythatatteno’clockthismorningtherewereno
superfluousclockshere,theycouldpossiblyhavebeenintroducedsometimeduringthemorning.’

‘As to that you would have to ask my cleaning woman, Mrs Curtin. She comes here about ten and
usuallyleavesabouttwelveo’clock.Shelivesat17,DipperStreet.’

‘Thankyou,MissPebmarsh.NowweareleftwiththesefollowingfactsandthisiswhereIwantyouto
givemeanyideasorsuggestionsthatoccurtoyou.Atsometimeduringtodayfourclockswerebrought
here.Thehandsofthesefourclocksweresetatthirteenminutespastfour.Nowdoesthattimesuggest
anythingtoyou?’

‘Thirteenminutespastfour.’MissPebmarshshookherhead.‘Nothingatall.’

‘Nowwepassfromtheclockstothedeadman.Itseemsunlikelythathewouldhavebeenletinbyyour
cleaningwomanandleftinthehousebyherunlessyouhadtoldheryouwereexpectinghim,butthat
wecanlearnfromher.Hecameherepresumablytoseeyouforsomereason,eitherabusinessoneora
private one. Between one-thirty and two-forty-five he was stabbed and killed. If he came here by
appointment,yousayyouknownothingofit.Presumablyhewasconnectedwithinsurance–butthere
againyoucannothelpus.Thedoorwasunlockedsohecouldhavecomeinandsatdowntowaitfor
you–butwhy?’

‘The whole thing’s daft,’ said Miss Pebmarsh impatiently. ‘So you think that this–what’s-his-name
Curry–broughtthoseclockswithhim?’

‘There’snosignofacontaineranywhere,’saidHardcastle.‘Hecouldhardlyhavebroughtfourclocksin
his pockets. Now Miss Pebmarsh, think very carefully. Is there any association in your mind, any
suggestionyou could possiblymake about anythingto do with clocks,or if notwith clocks, say with
time.4.13.Thirteenminutespastfour?’

Sheshookherhead.

‘I’vebeentryingtosaytomyselfthatitistheworkofalunaticorthatsomebodycametothewrong
house.Buteventhatdoesn’treallyexplainanything.No,Inspector,Ican’thelpyou.’

Ayoungconstablelookedin.Hardcastlewenttojoinhiminthehallandfromtherewentdowntothe
gate.Hespokeforafewminutestothemen.

‘Youcantaketheyoungladyhomenow,’hesaid,‘14PalmerstonRoadistheaddress.’

He went back and into the dining-room. Through the open door to the kitchen he could hear Miss
Pebmarshbusyatthesink.Hestoodinthedoorway.

‘Ishallwanttotakethoseclocks,MissPebmarsh.I’llleaveyouareceiptforthem.’

‘Thatwillbequiteallright,Inspector–theydon’tbelongtome–’

HardcastleturnedtoSheilaWebb.

‘Youcangohomenow,MissWebb.Thepolicecarwilltakeyou.’

SheilaandColinrose.

‘Justseeherintothecar,willyou,Colin?’saidHardcastleashepulledachairtothetableandstartedto
scribbleareceipt.

ColinandSheilawentoutandstarteddownthepath.Sheilapausedsuddenly.

‘Mygloves–Ileftthem–’

‘I’llgetthem.’

‘No–IknowjustwhereIputthem.Idon’tmindnow–nowthatthey’vetakenitaway.’

Sheranbackandrejoinedhimamomentortwolater.

‘I’msorryIwassosilly–before.’

‘Anybodywouldhavebeen,’saidColin.

Hardcastle joined them as Sheila entered the car. Then, as it drove away, he turned to the young
constable.

‘Iwantthoseclocksinthesitting-roompackedupcarefully–allexceptthecuckooclockonthewalland
thebiggrandfatherclock.’

Hegaveafewmoredirectionsandthenturnedtohisfriend.

‘I’mgoingplaces.Wanttocome?’

‘Suitsme,’saidColin.

CHAPTER4

ColinLamb’sNarrative

‘Wheredowego?’IaskedDickHardcastle.

Hespoketothedriver.

‘CavendishSecretarialBureau.It’sonPalaceStreet,uptowardstheEsplanadeontheright.’

‘Yes,sir.’

Thecardrewaway.Therewasquitealittlecrowdbynow,staringwithfascinatedinterest.Theorange
catwasstillsittingonthegatepostofDianaLodgenextdoor.Hewasnolongerwashinghisfacebut
wassittingupverystraight,lashinghistailslightly,andgazingovertheheadsofthecrowdwiththat
completedisdainforthehumanracethatisthespecialprerogativeofcatsandcamels.

‘TheSecretarialBureau,andthenthecleaningwoman,inthatorder,’saidHardcastle,‘becausethetime
is getting on.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘After four o’clock.’ He paused before adding, ‘Rather an
attractivegirl?’

‘Quite,’Isaid.

Hecastanamusedlookinmydirection.

‘Butshetoldaveryremarkablestory.Thesoonerit’scheckedupon,thebetter.’

‘Youdon’tthinkthatshe–’

Hecutmeshort.

‘I’malwaysinterestedinpeoplewhofindbodies.’

‘Butthatgirlwashalfmadwithfright!Ifyouhadheardthewayshewasscreaming...’

Hegavemeanotherofhisquizzicallooksandrepeatedthatshewasaveryattractivegirl.

‘And how did you come to be wandering about in Wilbraham Crescent, Colin? Admiring our genteel
Victorianarchitecture?Orhadyouapurpose?’

‘Ihadapurpose.IwaslookingforNumber61–andIcouldn’tfindit.Possiblyitdoesn’texist?’

‘Itexistsallright.Thenumbersgoupto–88,Ithink.’

‘Butlookhere,Dick,whenIcametoNumber28,WilbrahamCrescentjustpeteredout.’

‘It’salwayspuzzlingtostrangers.Ifyou’dturnedtotherightupAlbanyRoadandthenturnedtothe
rightagainyou’dhavefoundyourselfintheotherhalfofWilbrahamCrescent.It’sbuiltbacktoback,
yousee.Thegardensbackoneachother.’

‘I see,’ I said, when he had explained this peculiar geography at length. ‘Like those Squares and
GardensinLondon.OnslowSquare,isn’tit?OrCadogan.Youstartdownonesideofasquare,andthen
itsuddenlybecomesaPlaceorGardens.Eventaxisarefrequentlybaffled.Anyway,thereisa61.Any
ideawholivesthere?’

‘61?Letmesee...Yes,thatwouldbeBlandthebuilder.’

‘Ohdear,’Isaid.‘That’sbad.’

‘Youdon’twantabuilder?’

‘No.Idon’tfancyabuilderatall.Unless–perhapshe’sonlyjustcomehererecently–juststartedup?’

‘Blandwasbornhere,Ithink.He’scertainlyalocalman–beeninbusinessforyears.’

‘Verydisappointing.’

‘He’saverybadbuilder,’saidHardcastleencouragingly.‘Usesprettypoormaterials.Putsupthekind
of houses that look more or less all right until you live in them, then everything falls down or goes
wrong.Sailsfairlynearthewindsometimes.Sharppractice–butjustmanagestogetawaywithit.’

‘It’snogoodtemptingme,Dick.ThemanIwantwouldalmostcertainlybeapillarofrectitude.’

‘Blandcameintoalotofmoneyaboutayearago–orratherhiswifedid.She’saCanadian,cameover
hereinthewarandmetBland.Herfamilydidn’twanthertomarryhim,andmoreorlesscutheroff
whenshedid.Thenlastyearagreat-uncledied,hisonlysonhadbeenkilledinanaircrashandwhat
withwarcasualtiesandonethingandanother,MrsBlandwastheonlyoneleftofthefamily.Soheleft
hismoneytoher.JustsavedBlandfromgoingbankrupt,Ibelieve.’

‘YouseemtoknowalotaboutMrBland.’

‘Oh that–well, you see, the Inland Revenue are always interested when a man suddenly gets rich
overnight. They wonder if he’s been doing a little fiddling and salting away–so they check up. They
checkedanditwasallO.K.’

‘Inanycase,’Isaid,‘I’mnotinterestedinamanwhohassuddenlygotrich.It’snotthekindofset-up
thatI’mlookingfor.’

‘No?You’vehadthat,haven’tyou?’

Inodded.

‘Andfinishedwithit?Or–notfinishedwithit?’

‘It’s something of a story,’ I said evasively. ‘Are we dining together tonight as planned–or will this
businessputpaidtothat?’

‘No,thatwillbeallright.Atthemomentthefirstthingtodoissetthemachineryinmotion.Wewantto
findoutallaboutMrCurry.Inallprobabilityonceweknowjustwhoheisandwhathedoes,we’llhave
aprettygoodideaastowhowantedhimoutoftheway.’Helookedoutofthewindow.‘Hereweare.’

The Cavendish Secretarial and Typewriting Bureau was situated in the main shopping street, called
rather grandly Palace Street. It had been adapted, like many other of the establishments there, from a
Victorianhouse.TotherightofitasimilarhousedisplayedthelegendEdwinGlen,ArtistPhotographer.
Specialist,Children’sPhotographs,WeddingGroups,etc.Insupportofthisstatementthewindowwas
filled with enlargements of all sizes and ages of children, from babies to six-year-olds. These
presumablyweretolureinfondmammas.Afewcoupleswerealsorepresented.Bashfullookingyoung
men with smiling girls. On the other side of the Cavendish Secretarial Bureau were the offices of an

old-established and old-fashioned coal merchant. Beyond that again the original old-fashioned houses
had been pulled down and a glittering three-storey building proclaimed itself as the Orient Caf and
Restaurant.

HardcastleandIwalkedupthefoursteps,passedthroughtheopenfrontdoorandobeyingthelegend
on a door on the right which said ‘Please Enter,’ entered. It was a good-sized room, and three young
womenweretypingwithassiduity.Twoofthemcontinuedtotype,payingnoattentiontotheentrance
of strangers. The third one who was typing at a table with a telephone, directly opposite the door,
stopped and looked at us inquiringly. She appeared to be sucking a sweet of some kind. Having
arrangeditinaconvenientpositioninhermouth,sheinquiredinfaintlyadenoidaltones:

‘CanIhelpyou?’

‘MissMartindale?’saidHardcastle.

‘Ithinkshe’sengagedatthemomentonthetelephone–’Atthatmomenttherewasaclickandthegirl
pickedupthetelephonereceiverandfiddledwithaswitch,andsaid:‘Twogentlementoseeyou,Miss
Martindale.’Shelookedatusandasked,‘CanIhaveyournames,please?’

‘Hardcastle,’saidDick.

‘A Mr Hardcastle, Miss Martindale.’ She replaced the receiver and rose. ‘This way, please,’ she said,
going to a door which bore the name MISS MARTINDALE on a brass plate. She opened the door,
flattenedherselfagainstittoletuspass,said,‘MrHardcastle,’andshutthedoorbehindus.

MissMartindalelookedupatusfromalargedeskbehindwhichshewassitting.Shewasanefficient-
lookingwomanofaboutfiftywithapompadourofpaleredhairandanalertglance.

Shelookedfromonetotheotherofus.

‘MrHardcastle?’

Dicktookoutoneofhisofficialcardsandhandedittoher.Ieffacedmyselfbytakinganuprightchair
nearthedoor.

MissMartindale’ssandyeyebrowsroseinsurpriseandacertainamountofdispleasure.

‘DetectiveInspectorHardcastle?WhatcanIdoforyou,Inspector?’

‘I have come to you to ask for a little information, Miss Martindale. I think you may be able to help
me.’

Fromhistoneofvoice,IjudgedthatDickwasgoingtoplayitinaroundaboutway,exertingcharm.I
wasratherdoubtfulmyselfwhetherMissMartindalewouldbeamenabletocharm.Shewasofthetype
thattheFrenchlabelsoaptlyafemmeformidable.

Iwasstudyingthegenerallayout.OnthewallsaboveMissMartindale’sdeskwashungacollectionof
signedphotographs.IrecognizedoneasthatofMrsAriadneOliver,detectivewriter,withwhomIwas
slightlyacquainted.Sincerelyyours,AriadneOliver,waswrittenacrossitinaboldblackhand.Yours
gratefully,GarryGregson adorned another photograph of a thriller writer who had died about sixteen
years ago. Yours ever, Miriam adorned the photograph of Miriam Hogg, a woman writer who
specializedinromance.Sexwasrepresentedbyaphotographofatimid-lookingbaldingman,signedin
tinywriting,Gratefully,ArmandLevine. There was a sameness about these trophies. The men mostly
heldpipesandworetweeds,thewomenlookedearnestandtendedtofadeintofurs.

WhilstIwasusingmyeyes,Hardcastlewasproceedingwithhisquestions.

‘IbelieveyouemployagirlcalledSheilaWebb?’

‘Thatiscorrect.Iamafraidsheisnothereatpresent–atleast–’

Shetouchedabuzzerandspoketotheouteroffice.

‘Edna,hasSheilaWebbcomeback?’

‘No,MissMartindale,notyet.’

MissMartindaleswitchedoff.

‘Shewentoutonanassignmentearlierthisafternoon,’sheexplained.‘Ithoughtshemighthavebeen
backbynow.ItispossibleshehasgoneontotheCurlewHotelattheendoftheEsplanadewhereshe
hadanappointmentatfiveo’clock.’

‘Isee,’saidHardcastle.‘CanyoutellmesomethingaboutMissSheilaWebb?’

‘Ican’ttellyouverymuch,’saidMissMartindale.‘Shehasbeenherefor–letmesee,yes,Ishouldsay
closeonayearnow.Herworkhasprovedquitesatisfactory.’

‘Doyouknowwheresheworkedbeforeshecametoyou?’

‘I dare say I could find out for you if you specially want the information, Inspector Hardcastle. Her
referenceswillbefiledsomewhere.AsfarasIcanrememberoff-hand,shewasformerlyemployedin
Londonandhadquiteagoodreferencefromheremployersthere.Ithink,butIamnotsure,thatitwas
somebusinessfirm–estateagentspossibly,thatsheworkedfor.’

‘Yousaysheisgoodatherjob?’

‘Fullyadequate,’saidMissMartindale,whowasclearlynotonetobelavishwithpraise.

‘Notfirst-class?’

‘No,Ishouldnotsaythat.Shehasgoodaveragespeedandistolerablywelleducated.Sheisacareful
andaccuratetypist.’

‘Doyouknowherpersonally,apartfromyourofficialrelations?’

‘No.Shelives,Ibelieve,withanaunt.’HereMissMartindalegotslightlyrestive.‘MayIask,Inspector
Hardcastle,whyyouareaskingallthesequestions?Hasthegirlgotherselfintotroubleinanyway?’

‘Iwouldnotquitesaythat,MissMartindale.DoyouknowaMissMillicentPebmarsh?’

‘Pebmarsh,’saidMissMartindale,wrinklinghersandybrows.‘Nowwhen–oh,ofcourse.ItwastoMiss
Pebmarsh’shousethatSheilawentthisafternoon.Theappointmentwasforthreeo’clock.’

‘Howwasthatappointmentmade,MissMartindale?’

‘Bytelephone.MissPebmarshrangupandsaidshewantedtheservicesofashorthandtypistandwould
IsendherMissWebb.’

‘SheaskedforSheilaWebbparticularly?’

‘Yes.’

‘Whattimewasthiscallputthrough?’

MissMartindalereflectedforamoment.

‘It came through to me direct. That would mean that it was in the lunch hour. As near as possible I
wouldsaythatitwasabouttenminutestotwo.Beforetwoo’clockatallevents.Ahyes,IseeImadea
noteonmypad.Itwas1.49precisely.’

‘ItwasMissPebmarshherselfwhospoketoyou?’

MissMartindalelookedalittlesurprised.

‘Ipresumeso.’

‘Butyoudidn’trecognizehervoice?Youdon’tknowherpersonally?’

‘No.Idon’tknowher.ShesaidthatshewasMissMillicentPebmarsh,gavemeheraddress,anumber
in Wilbraham Crescent. Then, as I say, she asked for Sheila Webb, if she was free, to come to her at
threeo’clock.’

Itwasaclear,definitestatement.IthoughtthatMissMartindalewouldmakeanexcellentwitness.

‘Ifyouwouldkindlytellmewhatallthisisabout?’saidMissMartindalewithslightimpatience.

‘Well,yousee,MissMartindale,MissPebmarshherselfdeniesmakinganysuchcall.’

MissMartindalestared.

‘Indeed!Howextraordinary.’

‘You, on the other hand, say such a call was made, but you cannot say definitely that it was Miss
Pebmarshwhomadethatcall.’

‘No,ofcourseIcan’tsaydefinitely.Idon’tknowthewoman.Butreally,Ican’tseethepointofdoing
suchathing.Wasitahoaxofsomekind?’

‘Rathermorethanthat,’saidHardcastle.‘DidthisMissPebmarsh–orwhoeveritwas–giveanyreason
forwantingMissSheilaWebbparticularly?’

MissMartindalereflectedamoment.

‘IthinkshesaidthatSheilaWebbhaddoneworkforherbefore.’

‘Andisthatinfactso?’

‘SheilasaidshehadnorecollectionofhavingdoneanythingforMissPebmarsh.Butthatisnotquite
conclusive,Inspector.Afterall,thegirlsgooutsooftentodifferentpeopleatdifferentplacesthatthey
wouldbeunlikelytorememberifithadtakenplacesomemonthsago.Sheilawasn’tverydefiniteon
thepoint.Sheonlysaidthatshecouldn’trememberhavingbeenthere.Butreally,Inspector,evenifthis
wasahoax,Icannotseewhereyourinterestcomesin?’

‘I am just coming to that. When Miss Webb arrived at 19, Wilbraham Crescent she walked into the
houseandintothesitting-room.Shehastoldmethatthosewerethedirectionsgivenher.Youagree?’

‘Quiteright,’saidMissMartindale.‘MissPebmarshsaidthatshemightbealittlelateingettinghome
andthatSheilawastogoinandwait.’

‘WhenMissWebbwentintothesitting-room,’continuedHardcastle,‘shefoundadeadmanlyingon
thefloor.’

MissMartindalestaredathim.Foramomentshecouldhardlyfindhervoice.

‘Didyousayadeadman,Inspector?’

‘Amurderedman,’saidHardcastle.‘Stabbed,actually.’

‘Dear,dear,’saidMissMartindale.‘Thegirlmusthavebeenveryupset.’

ItseemedthekindofunderstatementcharacteristicofMissMartindale.

‘DoesthenameofCurrymeananythingtoyou,MissMartindale?MrR.H.Curry?’

‘Idon’tthinkso,no.’

‘FromtheMetropolisandProvincialInsuranceCompany?’

MissMartindalecontinuedtoshakeherhead.

‘Youseemydilemma,’saidtheinspector.‘YousayMissPebmarshtelephonedyouandaskedforSheila
Webbtogotoherhouseatthreeo’clock.MissPebmarshdeniesdoinganysuchthing.SheilaWebbgets
there.Shefindsadeadmanthere.’Hewaitedhopefully.

MissMartindalelookedathimblankly.

‘Itallseemstomewildlyimprobable,’shesaiddisapprovingly.

DickHardcastlesighedandgotup.

‘Niceplaceyou’vegothere,’hesaidpolitely.‘You’vebeeninbusinesssometime,haven’tyou?’

‘Fifteen years. We have done extremely well. Starting in quite a small way, we have extended the
businessuntilwehavealmostmorethanwecancopewith.Inowemployeightgirls,andtheyarekept
busyallthetime.’

‘Youdoagooddealofliterarywork,Isee.’Hardcastlewaslookingupatthephotographsonthewall.

‘Yes, to start with I specialized in authors. I had been secretary to the well-known thriller writer, Mr
GarryGregson,formanyyears.Infact,itwaswithalegacyfromhimthatIstartedthisBureau.Iknew
agoodmanyofhisfellowauthorsandtheyrecommendedme.Myspecializedknowledgeofauthors’
requirementscameinveryuseful.Iofferaveryhelpfulserviceinthewayofnecessaryresearch–dates
and quotations, inquiries as to legal points and police procedure, and details of poison schedules. All
thatsortofthing.Thenforeignnamesandaddressesandrestaurantsforpeoplewhosettheirnovelsin
foreignplaces.Inolddaysthepublicdidn’treallymindsomuchaboutaccuracy,butnowadaysreaders
takeituponthemselvestowritetoauthorsoneverypossibleoccasion,pointingoutflaws.’

Miss Martindale paused. Hardcastle said politely: ‘I’m sure you have every cause to congratulate
yourself.’

Hemovedtowardsthedoor.Iopeneditaheadofhim.

In the outer office, the three girls were preparing to leave. Lids had been placed on typewriters. The
receptionist, Edna, was standing forlornly, holding in one hand a stiletto heel and in the other a shoe
fromwhichithadbeentorn.

‘I’ve only had them a month,’ she was wailing. ‘And they were quite expensive. It’s that beastly
grating–theoneatthecornerbythecakeshopquitenearhere.Icaughtmyheelinitandoffitcame.I
couldn’twalk,hadtotakebothshoesoffandcomebackherewithacoupleofbuns,andhowI’llever
gethomeorgetontothebusIreallydon’tknow–’

At that moment our presence was noted and Edna hastily concealed the offending shoe with an
apprehensive glance towards Miss Martindale whom I appreciated was not the sort of woman to
approveofstilettoheels.Sheherselfwaswearingsensibleflat-heeledleathershoes.

‘Thank you, Miss Martindale,’ said Hardcastle. ‘I’m sorry to have taken up so much of your time. If
anythingshouldoccurtoyou–’

‘Naturally,’saidMissMartindale,cuttinghimshortratherbrusquely.

Aswegotintothecar,Isaid:

‘SoSheilaWebb’sstory,inspiteofyoursuspicions,turnsouttohavebeenquitetrue.’

‘Allright,allright,’saidDick.‘Youwin.’

CHAPTER5

‘Mom!’saidErnieCurtin,desistingforamomentfromhisoccupationofrunningasmallmetalmodel
upanddownthewindowpane,accompanyingitwithasemi-zooming,semi-moaningnoiseintendedto
reproducearocketshipgoingthroughouterspaceonitswaytoVenus,‘Mom,whatd’youthink?’

MrsCurtin,astern-facedwomanwhowasbusywashingupcrockeryinthesink,madenoresponse.

‘Mom,there’sapolicecardrawnupoutsideourhouse.’

‘Don’tyoutellnomoreofyerlies,Ernie,’saidMrsCurtinasshebangedcupsandsaucersdownonthe
drainingboard.‘YouknowwhatI’vesaidtoyouaboutthatbefore.’

‘Inever,’saidErnievirtuously.‘Andit’sapolicecarrightenough,andthere’stwomengettin’out.’

MrsCurtinwheeledroundonheroffspring.

‘What’veyoubeendoingnow?’shedemanded.‘Bringingusintodisgrace,that’swhatitis!’

‘CourseIain’t,’saidErnie.‘I’aven’tdonenothin’.’

‘It’s going with that Alf,’ said Mrs Curtin. ‘Him and his gang. Gangs indeed! I’ve told you, and yer
father’stoldyou,thatgangsisn’trespectable.Intheendthere’strouble.Firstit’llbethejuvenilecourt
andthenyou’llbesenttoaremandhomeaslikelyasnot.AndIwon’thaveit,d’youhear?’

‘They’recomin’uptothefrontdoor,’Ernieannounced.

MrsCurtinabandonedthesinkandjoinedheroffspringatthewindow.

‘Well,’shemuttered.

Atthatmomenttheknockerwassounded.Wipingherhandsquicklyonthetea-towel,MrsCurtinwent
out into the passage and opened the door. She looked with defiance and doubt at the two men on her
doorstep.

‘MrsCurtin?’saidthetallerofthetwo,pleasantly.

‘That’sright,’saidMrsCurtin.

‘MayIcomeinamoment?I’mDetectiveInspectorHardcastle.’

MrsCurtindrewbackratherunwillingly.Shethrewopenadoorandmotionedtheinspectorinside.It
wasaveryneat,cleanlittleroomandgavetheimpressionofseldombeingentered,whichimpression
wasentirelycorrect.

Ernie,drawnbycuriosity,camedownthepassagefromthekitchenandsidledinsidethedoor.

‘Yourson?’saidDetectiveInspectorHardcastle.

‘Yes,’saidMrsCurtin,andaddedbelligerently,‘he’sagoodboy,nomatterwhatyousay.’

‘I’msureheis,’saidDetectiveInspectorHardcastle,politely.

SomeofthedefianceinMrsCurtin’sfacerelaxed.

‘I’vecometoaskyouafewquestionsabout19,WilbrahamCrescent.Youworkthere,Iunderstand.’

‘NeversaidIdidn’t,’saidMrsCurtin,unableyettoshakeoffherpreviousmood.

‘ForaMissMillicentPebmarsh.’

‘Yes,IworkforMissPebmarsh.Averynicelady.’

‘Blind,’saidDetectiveInspectorHardcastle.

‘Yes,poorsoul.Butyou’dneverknowit.Wonderfulthewayshecanputherhandonanythingandfind
herwayabout.Goesoutinthestreet,too,andoverthecrossings.She’snotonetomakeafussabout
things,notlikesomepeopleIknow.’

‘Youworkthereinthemornings?’

‘That’sright.Icomeabouthalfpastninetoten,andleaveattwelveo’clockorwhenI’mfinished.’Then
sharply,‘You’renotsayingasanything’asbeenstolen,areyou?’

‘Quitethereverse,’saidtheinspector,thinkingoffourclocks.

MrsCurtinlookedathimuncomprehendingly.

‘What’sthetrouble?’sheasked.

‘Amanwasfounddeadinthesitting-roomat19,WilbrahamCrescentthisafternoon.’

MrsCurtinstared.ErnieCurtinwriggledinecstasy,openedhismouthtosay‘Coo’,thoughtitunwiseto
drawattentiontohispresence,andshutitagain.

‘Dead?’saidMrsCurtinunbelievingly.Andwithevenmoreunbelief,‘Inthesitting-room?’

‘Yes.He’dbeenstabbed.’

‘Youmeanit’smurder?’

‘Yes,murder.’

‘Oomurdered’im?’demandedMrsCurtin.

‘I’mafraidwehaven’tgotquitesofarasthatyet,’saidInspectorHardcastle.‘Wethoughtperhapsyou

maybeabletohelpus.’

‘Idon’tknowanythingaboutmurder,’saidMrsCurtinpositively.

‘No,butthereareoneortwopointsthathavearisen.Thismorning,forinstance,didanymancallatthe
house?’

‘NotthatIcanremember.Nottoday.Whatsortofmanwashe?’

‘Anelderlymanaboutsixty,respectablydressedinadarksuit.Hemayhaverepresentedhimselfasan
insuranceagent.’

‘Iwouldn’thavelethimin,’saidMrsCurtin.‘Noinsuranceagentsandnobodysellingvacuumcleaners
or editions of the Encyclopaedia Britannica. Nothing of that sort. Miss Pebmarsh doesn’t hold with
sellingatthedoorandneitherdoI.’

‘Theman’sname,accordingtoacardthatwasonhim,wasMrCurry.Haveyoueverheardthatname?’

‘Curry?Curry?’MrsCurtinshookherhead.‘SoundsIndiantome,’shesaid,suspiciously.

‘Oh,no,’saidInspectorHardcastle,‘hewasn’tanIndian.’

‘Whofoundhim–MissPebmarsh?’

‘Ayounglady,ashorthandtypist,hadarrivedbecause,owingtoamisunderstanding,shethoughtshe’d
beensentfortodosomeworkforMissPebmarsh.Itwasshewhodiscoveredthebody.MissPebmarsh
returnedalmostatthesamemoment.’

MrsCurtinutteredadeepsigh.

‘Whatato-do,’shesaid,‘whatato-do!’

‘Wemayaskyouatsometime,’saidInspectorHardcastle,‘tolookatthisman’sbodyandtellusifheis
amanyouhaveeverseeninWilbrahamCrescentorcallingatthehousebefore.MissPebmarshisquite

positive he has never been there. Now there are various small points I would like to know. Can you
recalloff-handhowmanyclocksthereareinthesitting-room?’

MrsCurtindidnotevenpause.

‘There’sthatbigclockinthecorner,grandfathertheycallit,andthere’sthecuckooclockonthewall.It
springs out and says “cuckoo”. Doesn’t half make you jump sometimes.’ She added hastily, ‘I didn’t
touchneitherofthem.Ineverdo.MissPebmarshlikestowindthemherself.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with them,’ the inspector assured her. ‘You’re sure these were the only two
clocksintheroomthismorning?’

‘Ofcourse.Whatothersshouldtherebe?’

‘Therewasnot,forinstance,asmallsquaresilverclock,whattheycallacarriageclock,oralittlegilt
clock–onthemantelpiecethatwas,orachinaclockwithflowersonit–oraleatherclockwiththename
Rosemarywrittenacrossthecorner?’

‘Ofcoursetherewasn’t.Nosuchthing.’

‘Youwouldhavenoticedthemiftheyhadbeenthere?’

‘OfcourseIshould.’

‘Each of these four clocks represented a time about an hour later than the cuckoo clock and the
grandfatherclock.’

‘Must have been foreign,’ said Mrs Curtin. ‘Me and my old man went on a coach trip to Switzerland
and Italy once and it was a whole hour further on there. Must be something to do with this Common
Market.Idon’tholdwiththeCommonMarketandnordoesMrCurtin.England’sgoodenoughforme.’

InspectorHardcastledeclinedtobedrawnintopolitics.

‘CanyoutellmeexactlywhenyouleftMissPebmarsh’shousethismorning?’

‘Quarterpasttwelve,nearasnothing,’saidMrsCurtin.

‘WasMissPebmarshinthehousethen?’

‘No, she hadn’t come back. She usually comes back some time between twelve and half past, but it
varies.’

‘Andshehadleftthehouse–when?’

‘BeforeIgotthere.Teno’clock’smytime.’

‘Well,thankyou,MrsCurtin.’

‘Seems queer about these clocks,’ said Mrs Curtin. ‘Perhaps Miss Pebmarsh had been to a sale.
Antiques,werethey?Theysoundlikeitbywhatyousay.’

‘DoesMissPebmarshoftengotosales?’

‘Gotarollofhaircarpetaboutfourmonthsagoatasale.Quitegoodcondition.Verycheap,shetold
me.Gotsomevelourcurtainstoo.Theyneededcuttingdown,buttheywerereallyasgoodasnew.’

‘Butshedoesn’tusuallybuybric-bracorthingslikepicturesorchinaorthatkindofthingatsales?’

MrsCurtinshookherhead.

‘NotthatI’veeverknownher,butofcourse,there’snosayinginsales,isthere?Imean,yougetcarried
away.Whenyougethomeyousaytoyourself“whateverdidIwantwiththat?”Boughtsixpotsofjam
once.WhenIthoughtaboutitIcouldhavemadeitcheapermyself.Cupsandsaucers,too.ThemIcould
havegotbetterinthemarketonaWednesday.’

Sheshookherheaddarkly.Feelingthathehadnomoretolearnforthemoment,InspectorHardcastle
departed.Erniethenmadehiscontributiontothesubjectthathadbeenunderdiscussion.

‘Murder!Coo!’saidErnie.

Momentarilytheconquestofouterspacewasdisplacedinhismindbyapresent-daysubjectofreally
thrillingappeal.

‘MissPebmarshcouldn’thavedone’imin,couldshe?’hesuggestedyearningly.

‘Don’ttalksosilly,’saidhismother.Athoughtcrossedhermind.‘IwonderifIoughttohavetoldhim–’

‘Toldhimwhat,Mom?’

‘Neveryoumind,’saidMrsCurtin.‘Itwasnothing,really.’

CHAPTER6

ColinLamb’sNarrative

I

Whenwehadputourselvesoutsidetwogoodunderdonesteaks,washeddownwithdraughtbeer,Dick
Hardcastlegaveasighofcomfortablerepletion,announcedthathefeltbetterandsaid:

‘To hell with dead insurance agents, fancy clocks and screaming girls! Let’s hear about you, Colin. I
thoughtyou’dfinishedwiththispartoftheworld.Andhereyouarewanderingaboutthebackstreetsof
Crowdean.NoscopeforamarinebiologistatCrowdean,Icanassureyou.’

‘Don’t you sneer at marine biology, Dick. It’s a very useful subject. The mere mention of it so bores
people and they’re so afraid you’re going to talk about it, that you never have to explain yourself
further.’

‘Nochanceofgivingyourselfaway,eh?’

‘Youforget,’Isaidcoldly,‘thatIamamarinebiologist.ItookadegreeinitatCambridge.Notavery
gooddegree,butadegree.It’saveryinterestingsubject,andonedayI’mgoingbacktoit.’

‘I know what you’ve been working on, of course,’ said Hardcastle. ‘And congratulations to you.
Larkin’strialcomesonnextmonth,doesn’tit?’

‘Yes.’

‘Amazingthewayhemanagedtocarryonpassingstuffoutforsolong.You’dthinksomebodywould
havesuspected.’

‘Theydidn’t,youknow.Whenyou’vegotitintoyourheadthatafellowisathoroughlygoodchap,it
doesn’toccurtoyouthathemightn’tbe.’

‘Hemusthavebeenclever,’Dickcommented.

Ishookmyhead.

‘No, I don’t think he was, really. I think he just did as he was told. He had access to very important
documents.Hewalkedoutwiththem,theywerephotographedandreturnedtohim,andtheywereback
again where they belonged the same day. Good organization there. He made a habit of lunching at
differentplaceseveryday.Wethinkthathehunguphisovercoatwheretherewasalwaysanovercoat
exactlylikeit–thoughthemanwhoworetheotherovercoatwasn’talwaysthesameman.Theovercoats
wereswitched,butthemanwhoswitchedthemneverspoketoLarkin,andLarkinneverspoketohim.
We’dliketoknowagooddealmoreaboutthemechanicsofit.Itwasallverywellplannedwithperfect
timing.Somebodyhadbrains.’

‘Andthat’swhyyou’restillhangingroundtheNavalStationatPortlebury?’

‘Yes,weknowtheNavalendofitandweknowtheLondonend.WeknowjustwhenandwhereLarkin
gothispayandhow.Butthere’sagap.Inbetweenthetwothere’saveryprettylittlebitoforganization.
That’sthepartwe’dliketoknowmoreabout,becausethat’sthepartwherethebrainsare.Somewhere
there’saverygoodheadquarters,withexcellentplanning,whichleavesatrailthatisconfusednotonce
butprobablysevenoreighttimes.’

‘WhatdidLarkindoitfor?’askedHardcastle,curiously.‘Politicalidealist?Boostinghisego?Orplain
money?’

‘Hewasnoidealist,’Isaid.‘Justmoney,I’dsay.’

‘Couldn’t you have got on to him sooner that way? He spent the money, didn’t he? He didn’t salt it
away.’

‘Oh,no,hesplasheditaboutallright.Actually,wegotontohimalittlesoonerthanwe’readmitting.’

Hardcastlenoddedhisheadunderstandingly.

‘Isee.Youtumbledandthenyouusedhimforabit.Isthatit?’

‘Moreorless.Hehadpassedoutsomequitevaluableinformationbeforewegotontohim,sowelet
himpassoutmoreinformation,alsoapparentlyvaluable.IntheServiceIbelongto,wehavetoresign
ourselvestolookingfoolsnowandagain.’

‘Idon’tthinkI’dcareforyourjob,Colin,’saidHardcastlethoughtfully.

‘It’s not the exciting job that people think it is,’ I said. ‘As a matter of fact, it’s usually remarkably
tedious.Butthere’ssomethingbeyondthat.Nowadaysonegetstofeelingthatnothingreallyissecret.
We know Their secrets and They know our secrets. Our agents are often Their agents, too, and Their
agents are very often our agents. And in the end who is double-crossing who becomes a kind of
nightmare!SometimesIthinkthateverybodyknowseverybodyelse’ssecretsandthattheyenterintoa
kindofconspiracytopretendthattheydon’t.’

‘Iseewhatyoumean,’Dicksaidthoughtfully.

Thenhelookedatmecuriously.

‘IcanseewhyyoushouldstillbehangingaroundPortlebury.ButCrowdean’sagoodtenmilesfrom
Portlebury.’

‘WhatI’mreallyafter,’Isaid,‘areCrescents.’

‘Crescents?’Hardcastlelookedpuzzled.

‘Yes. Or alternatively, moons. New moons, rising moons and so on. I started my quest in Portlebury
itself.There’sapubtherecalledTheCrescentMoon.Iwastedalongtimeoverthat.Itsoundedideal.
Thenthere’sTheMoonandStars.TheRisingMoon,TheJollySickle,TheCrossandtheCrescent–that
wasinalittleplacecalledSeamede.Nothingdoing.ThenIabandonedmoonsandstartedonCrescents.
Several Crescents in Portlebury. Lansbury Crescent, Aldridge Crescent, Livermead Crescent, Victoria
Crescent.’

IcaughtsightofDick’sbewilderedfaceandbegantolaugh.

‘Don’tlooksomuchatsea,Dick.Ihadsomethingtangibletostartmeoff.’

Itookoutmywallet,extractedasheetofpaperandpasseditovertohim.Itwasasinglesheetofhotel
writingpaperonwhicharoughsketchhadbeendrawn.

‘A chap called Hanbury had this in his wallet. Hanbury did a lot of work in the Larkin case. He was
good–verygood.HewasrunoverbyahitandruncarinLondon.Nobodygotitsnumber.Idon’tknow
what this means, but it’s something that Hanbury jotted down, or copied, because he thought it was
important.Someideathathehad?Orsomethingthathe’dseenorheard?Somethingtodowithamoon
orcrescent,thenumber61andtheinitialM.Itookoverafterhisdeath.Idon’tknowwhatI’mlooking
foryet,butI’mprettysurethere’ssomethingtofind.Idon’tknowwhat61means.Idon’tknowwhatM
means. I’ve been working in a radius from Portlebury outwards. Three weeks of unremitting and
unrewardingtoil.Crowdeanisonmyroute.That’sallthereistoit.Frankly,Dick,Ididn’texpectvery
muchofCrowdean.There’sonlyoneCrescenthere.That’sWilbrahamCrescent.Iwasgoingtohavea
walkalongWilbrahamCrescentandseewhatIthoughtofNumber61beforeaskingyouifyou’dgot
anydopethatcouldhelpme.That’swhatIwasdoingthisafternoon–butIcouldn’tfindNumber61.’

‘AsItoldyou,61isoccupiedbyalocalbuilder.’

‘Andthat’snotwhatI’mafter.Havetheygotaforeignhelpofanykind?’

‘Could be. A good many people do nowadays. If so, she’ll be registered. I’ll look it up for you by
tomorrow.’

‘Thanks,Dick.’

‘I’ll be making routine inquiries tomorrow at the two houses on either side of 19. Whether they saw
anyone come to the house, et cetera. I might include the houses directly behind 19, the ones whose
gardensadjoinit.Iratherthinkthat61isalmostdirectlybehind19.Icouldtakeyoualongwithmeif
youliked.’

Iclosedwiththeoffergreedily.

‘I’llbeyourSergeantLambandtakeshorthandnotes.’

WeagreedthatIshouldcometothepolicestationatninethirtythefollowingmorning.

II

Iarrivedthenextmorningpromptlyattheagreedhourandfoundmyfriendliterallyfumingwithrage.

Whenhehaddismissedanunhappysubordinate,Iinquireddelicatelywhathadhappened.

ForamomentHardcastleseemedunabletospeak.Thenhesplutteredout:‘Thosedamnedclocks!’

‘Theclocksagain?What’shappenednow?’

‘Oneofthemismissing.’

‘Missing?Whichone?’

‘Theleathertravellingclock.Theonewith“Rosemary”acrossthecorner.’

Iwhistled.

‘Thatseemsveryextraordinary.Howdiditcomeabout?’

‘Thedamned fools–I’m oneof them really,I suppose–’ (Dick wasa very honestman) ‘–One’s got to
remember to cross every t and dot every i or things go wrong. Well, the clocks were there all right
yesterday in the sitting-room. I got Miss Pebmarsh to feel them all to see if they felt familiar. She
couldn’thelp.Thentheycametoremovethebody.’

‘Yes?’

‘Iwentouttothegatetosupervise,thenIcamebacktothehouse,spoketoMissPebmarshwhowasin
thekitchen,andsaidImusttaketheclocksawayandwouldgiveherareceiptforthem.’

‘Iremember.Iheardyou.’

‘ThenItoldthegirlI’dsendherhomeinoneofourcars,andIaskedyoutoseeherintoit.’

‘Yes.’

‘I gave Miss Pebmarsh the receipt though she said it wasn’t necessary since the clocks weren’t hers.
Then I joined you. I told Edwards I wanted the clocks in the sitting-room packed up carefully and
broughthere.Allofthemexceptthecuckooclockand,ofcourse,thegrandfather.Andthat’swhereI
wentwrong.Ishouldhavesaid,quitedefinitely,fourclocks.Edwardssayshewentinatonceanddidas
Itoldhim.Heinsiststherewereonlythreeclocksotherthanthetwofixtures.’

‘Thatdoesn’tgivemuchtime,’Isaid.‘Itmeans–’

‘ThePebmarshwomancouldhavedoneit.ShecouldhavepickeduptheclockafterIlefttheroomand
gonestraighttothekitchenwithit.’

‘Trueenough.Butwhy?’

‘We’vegotalottolearn.Isthereanybodyelse?Couldthegirlhavedoneit?’

Ireflected.‘Idon’tthinkso.I–’Istopped,rememberingsomething.

‘Soshedid,’saidHardcastle.‘Goon.Whenwasit?’

‘Wewerejustgoingouttothepolicecar,’Isaidunhappily.‘She’dleftherglovesbehind.Isaid,“I’llget
themforyou”andshesaid,“Oh,IknowjustwhereImusthavedroppedthem.Idon’tmindgoinginto
thatroomnowthatthebody’sgone.”andsheranbackintothehouse.Butshewasonlygoneaminute–’

‘Didshehavehergloveson,orinherhandwhensherejoinedyou?’

Ihesitated.‘Yes–yes,Ithinkshedid.’

‘Obviouslyshedidn’t,’saidHardcastle,‘oryouwouldn’thavehesitated.’

‘Sheprobablystuffedtheminherbag.’

‘Thetroubleis,’saidHardcastleinanaccusingmanner,‘you’vefallenforthatgirl.’

‘Don’tbeidiotic,’Idefendedmyselfvigorously.‘Isawherforthefirsttimeyesterdayafternoon,andit
wasn’texactlywhatyou’dcallaromanticintroduction.’

‘I’mnotsosureofthat,’saidHardcastle.‘Itisn’teverydaythatyoungmenhavegirlsfallingintotheir
arms screaming for help in the approved Victorian fashion. Makes a man feel a hero and a gallant
protector.Onlyyou’vegottostopprotectingher.That’sall.Sofarasyouknow,thatgirlmaybeupto
theneckinthismurderbusiness.’

‘Areyousayingthatthisslipofagirlstuckaknifeintoaman,hiditsomewheresocarefullythatnone
ofyoursleuthscouldfindit,thendeliberatelyrushedoutofthehouseanddidascreamingactallover
me?’

‘You’dbesurprisedatwhatI’veseeninmytime,’saidHardcastledarkly.

‘Don’t you realize,’ I demanded, indignantly, ‘that my life has been full of beautiful spies of every
nationality?AllofthemwithvitalstatisticsthatwouldmakeanAmericanprivateeyeforgetallabout
theshotofryeinhiscollardrawer.I’mimmunetoallfemaleallurements.’

‘Everybody meets his Waterloo in the end,’ said Hardcastle. ‘It all depends on the type. Sheila Webb
seemstobeyourtype.’

‘Anyway,Ican’tseewhyyou’resosetonfasteningitonher.’

Hardcastlesighed.

‘I’mnotfasteningitonher–butI’vegottostartsomewhere.ThebodywasfoundinPebmarsh’shouse.
That involves her. The body was found by the Webb girl–I don’t need to tell you how often the first
persontofindadeadbodyisthesameasthepersonwholastsawhimalive.Untilmorefactsturnup,
thosetworemaininthepicture.’

‘When I went into that room at just after three o’clock, the body had been dead at least half an hour,
probablylonger.Howaboutthat?’

‘SheilaWebbhadherlunchhourfrom1.30to2.30.’

Ilookedathiminexasperation.

‘WhathaveyoufoundoutaboutCurry?’

Hardcastlesaidwithunexpectedbitterness:‘Nothing!’

‘Whatdoyoumean–nothing?’

‘Justthathedoesn’texist–there’snosuchperson.’

‘WhatdotheMetropolisInsuranceCompanysay?’

‘They’venothingtosayeither,becausethere’snosuchthing.TheMetropolisandProvincialInsurance
Companydoesn’texist.AsfarasMrCurryfromDenversStreetgoes,there’snoMrCurry,noDenvers
Street,Number7oranyothernumber.’

‘Interesting,’Isaid.‘Youmeanhejusthadsomeboguscardsprintedwithabogusname,addressand
insurancecompany?’

‘Presumably.’

‘Whatisthebigidea,doyouthink?’

Hardcastleshruggedhisshoulders.

‘At the moment it’s guesswork. Perhaps he collected bogus premiums. Perhaps it was a way of
introducinghimselfintohousesandworkingsomeconfidencetrick.Hemayhavebeenaswindlerora
confidence trickster or a picker-up of unconsidered trifles or a private inquiry agent. We just don’t
know.’

‘Butyou’llfindout.’

‘Oh,yes,we’llknowintheend.Wesentuphisfingerprintstoseeifhe’sgotarecordofanykind.Ifhe
hasit’llbeabigstepontheway.Ifhehasn’t,it’llberathermoredifficult.’

‘Aprivatedick,’Isaidthoughtfully.‘Iratherlikethat.Itopensup–possibilities.’

‘Possibilitiesareallwe’vegotsofar.’

‘When’stheinquest?’

‘Dayaftertomorrow.Purelyformalandanadjournment.’

‘What’sthemedicalevidence?’

‘Oh,stabbedwithasharpinstrument.Somethinglikeakitchenvegetable-knife.’

‘ThatratherletsoutMissPebmarsh,doesn’tit?’Isaidthoughtfully.‘Ablindwomanwouldhardlybe
abletostabaman.Shereallyisblind,Isuppose?’

‘Oh, yes, she’s blind. We checked up. And she’s exactly what she says she is. She was a teacher of
mathematics in a North Country school–lost her sight about sixteen years ago–took up training in
Braille,etc.,andfinallygotapostwiththeAaronbergInstitutehere.’

‘Shecouldbemental,Isuppose?’

‘Withafixationonclocksandinsuranceagents?’

‘Itreallyisalltoofantasticforwords.’Icouldn’thelpspeakingwithsomeenthusiasm.‘LikeAriadne
Oliverinherworstmoments,orthelateGarryGregsonatthetopofhisform–’

‘Go on–enjoy yourself. You’re not the wretched D.I. in charge. You haven’t got to satisfy a
superintendentorachiefconstableandalltherestofit.’

‘Ohwell!Perhapswe’llgetsomethingusefuloutoftheneighbours.’

‘Idoubtit,’saidHardcastlebitterly.‘Ifthatmanwasstabbedinthefrontgardenandtwomaskedmen
carriedhimintothehouse–nobodywouldhavelookedoutofthewindoworseenanything.Thisisn’ta
village,worseluck.WilbrahamCrescentisagenteelresidentialroad.Byoneo’clock,dailywomenwho
mighthaveseensomethinghavegonehome.There’snotevenaprambeingwheeledalong–’

‘Noelderlyinvalidwhositsalldaybythewindow?’

‘That’swhatwewant–butthat’snotwhatwe’vegot.’

‘Whataboutnumbers18and20?’

‘18isoccupiedbyMrWaterhouse,ManagingClerktoGainsfordandSwettenham,Solicitors,andhis
sisterwhospendshersparetimemanaginghim.AllIknowabout20isthatthewomanwholivesthere
keepsabouttwentycats.Idon’tlikecats–’

Itoldhimthatapoliceman’slifewasahardone,andwestartedoff.

CHAPTER7

MrWaterhouse,hoveringuncertainlyonthestepsof18,WilbrahamCrescent,lookedbacknervouslyat
hissister.

‘You’requitesureyou’llbeallright?’saidMrWaterhouse.

MissWaterhousesnortedwithsomeindignation.

‘Ireallydon’tknowwhatyoumean,James.’

Mr Waterhouse looked apologetic. He had to look apologetic so often that it was practically his
prevailingcastofcountenance.

‘Well,Ijustmeant,mydear,consideringwhathappenednextdooryesterday...’

Mr Waterhouse was prepared for departure to the solicitors’ office where he worked. He was a neat,
grey-hairedmanwithslightlystoopingshouldersandafacethatwasalsogreyratherthanpink,though
notintheleastunhealthylooking.

MissWaterhousewastall,angular,andthekindofwomanwithnononsenseaboutherwhoisextremely
intolerantofnonsenseinothers.

‘Is there any reason, James, because someone was murdered in the next door house that I shall be
murderedtoday?’

‘Well, Edith,’ said Mr Waterhouse, ‘it depends so much, does it not, by whom the murder was
committed?’

‘You think, in fact, that there’s someone going up and down Wilbraham Crescent selecting a victim
fromeveryhouse?Really,James,thatisalmostblasphemous.’

‘Blasphemous,Edith?’saidMrWaterhouseinlivelysurprise.Suchanaspectofhisremarkwouldnever
haveoccurredtohim.

‘ReminiscentofthePassover,’saidMissWaterhouse.‘Which,letmeremindyou,isHolyWrit.’

‘Thatisalittlefar-fetchedIthink,Edith,’saidMrWaterhouse.

‘Ishouldliketoseeanyonecominghere,tryingtomurderme,’saidMissWaterhousewithspirit.

Her brother reflected to himself that it did seem highly unlikely. If he himself had been choosing a
victimhewouldnothavechosenhissister.Ifanyoneweretoattemptsuchathingitwasfarmorelikely
thattheattackerwouldbeknockedoutbyapokeroraleaddoorstopanddeliveredovertothepolicein
ableedingandhumiliatedcondition.

‘Ijustmeant,’hesaid,theapologeticairdeepening,‘thatthereare–well–clearlyundesirablecharacters
about.’

‘Wedon’tknowverymuchaboutwhatdidhappenyet,’saidMissWaterhouse.‘Allsortsofrumoursare
goingabout.MrsHeadhadsomeextraordinarystoriesthismorning.’

‘Iexpectso,Iexpectso,’saidMrWaterhouse.Helookedathiswatch.Hehadnorealdesiretohearthe
stories brought in by their loquacious daily help. His sister never lost time in debunking these lurid
flightsoffancy,butneverthelessenjoyedthem.

‘Some people are saying,’ said Miss Waterhouse, ‘that this man was the treasurer or a trustee of the
Aaronberg Institute and that there is something wrong in the accounts, and that he came to Miss
Pebmarshtoinquireaboutit.’

‘And that Miss Pebmarsh murdered him?’ Mr Waterhouse looked mildly amused. ‘A blind woman?
Surely–’

‘Slippedapieceofwireroundhisneckandstrangledhim,’saidMissWaterhouse.‘Hewouldn’tbeon
hisguard,yousee.Whowouldbewithanyoneblind?NotthatIbelieveitmyself,’sheadded.‘I’msure
MissPebmarshisapersonofexcellentcharacter.IfIdonotseeeyetoeyewithheronvarioussubjects,
that is not because I impute anything of a criminal nature to her. I merely think that her views are
bigoted and extravagant. After all, there are other things besides education. All these new peculiar
looking grammar schools, practically built of glass. You might think they were meant to grow
cucumbers in, or tomatoes. I’m sure very prejudicial to children in the summer months. Mrs Head
herselftoldmethatherSusandidn’tliketheirnewclassrooms.Saiditwasimpossibletoattendtoyour
lessonsbecausewithallthosewindowsyoucouldn’thelplookingoutofthemallthetime.’

‘Dear,dear,’saidMrWaterhouse,lookingathiswatchagain.‘Well,well,I’mgoingtobeverylate,I’m
afraid.Goodbye,mydear.Lookafteryourself.Betterkeepthedooronthechainperhaps?’

MissWaterhousesnortedagain.Havingshutthedoorbehindherbrothershewasabouttoretireupstairs

when she paused thoughtfully, went to her golf bag, removed a niblick, and placed it in a strategic
position near the front door. ‘There,’ said Miss Waterhouse, with some satisfaction. Of course James
talkednonsense.Stillitwasalwaysaswelltobeprepared.Thewaytheyletmentalcasesoutofnursing
homesnowadays,urgingthemtoleadanormallife,wasinherviewfraughtwithdangertoallsortsof
innocentpeople.

MissWaterhousewasinherbedroomwhenMrsHeadcamebustlingupthestairs.MrsHeadwassmall
androundandverylikearubberball–sheenjoyedpracticallyeverythingthathappened.

‘A couple of gentlemen want to see you,’ said Mrs Head with avidity. ‘Leastways,’ she added, ‘they
aren’treallygentlemen–it’sthepolice.’

Sheshovedforwardacard.MissWaterhousetookit.

‘DetectiveInspectorHardcastle,’sheread.‘Didyoushowthemintothedrawing-room?’

‘No. I put ’em in the dinin’-room. I’d cleared away breakfast and I thought that that would be more
properaplace.Imean,they’reonlythepoliceafterall.’

MissWaterhousedidnotquitefollowthisreasoning.Howevershesaid,‘I’llcomedown.’

‘Iexpectthey’llwanttoaskyouaboutMissPebmarsh,’saidMrsHead.‘Wanttoknowwhetheryou’ve
noticed anything funny in her manner. They say these manias come on very sudden sometimes and
there’sverylittletoshowbeforehand.Butthere’susuallysomething,somewayofspeaking,youknow.
Youcantellbytheireyes,theysay.Butthenthatwouldn’tholdwithablindwoman,wouldit?Ah–’she
shookherhead.

MissWaterhousemarcheddownstairsandenteredthedining-roomwithacertainamountofpleasurable
curiositymaskedbyherusualairofbelligerence.

‘DetectiveInspectorHardcastle?’

‘Goodmorning,MissWaterhouse.’Hardcastlehadrisen.Hehadwithhimatall,darkyoungmanwhom
MissWaterhousedidnotbothertogreet.Shepaidnoattentiontoafaintmurmurof‘SergeantLamb’.

‘IhopeIhavenotcalledattooearlyanhour,’saidHardcastle,‘butIimagineyouknowwhatitisabout.

You’veheardwhathappenednextdooryesterday.’

‘Murderinone’snextdoorneighbour’shousedoesnotusuallygounnoticed,’saidMissWaterhouse.‘I
evenhadtoturnawayoneortworeporterswhocamehereaskingifIhadobservedanything.’

‘Youturnedthemaway?’

‘Naturally.’

‘Youwerequiteright,’saidHardcastle.‘OfcoursetheyliketowormtheirwayinanywherebutI’msure
youarequitecapableofdealingwithanythingofthatkind.’

MissWaterhouseallowedherselftoshowafaintlypleasurablereactiontothiscompliment.

‘Ihopeyouwon’tmindusaskingyouthesamekindofquestions,’saidHardcastle,‘butifyoudidsee
anythingatallthatcouldbeofinteresttous,Icanassureyouweshouldbeonlytoograteful.Youwere
hereinthehouseatthetime,Igather?’

‘Idon’tknowwhenthemurderwascommitted,’saidMissWaterhouse.

‘Wethinkbetweenhalfpastoneandhalfpasttwo.’

‘Iwasherethen,yes,certainly.’

‘Andyourbrother?’

‘He does not come home to lunch. Who exactly was murdered? It doesn’t seem to say in the short
accounttherewasinthelocalmorningpaper.’

‘Wedon’tyetknowwhohewas,’saidHardcastle.

‘Astranger?’

‘Soitseems.’

‘Youdon’tmeanhewasastrangertoMissPebmarshalso?’

‘MissPebmarshassuresusthatshewasnotexpectingthisparticularguestandthatshehasnoideawho
hewas.’

‘Shecan’tbesureofthat,’saidMissWaterhouse.‘Shecan’tsee.’

‘Wegaveheraverycarefuldescription.’

‘Whatkindofmanwashe?’

Hardcastletookaroughprintfromanenvelopeandhandedittoher.

‘Thisistheman,’hesaid.‘Haveyouanyideawhohecanbe?’

Miss Waterhouse looked at the print. ‘No. No... I’m certain I’ve never seen him before. Dear me. He
looksquitearespectableman.’

‘Hewasamostrespectable-lookingman,’saidtheinspector.‘Helookslikealawyerorabusinessman
ofsomekind.’

‘Indeed.Thisphotographisnotatalldistressing.Hejustlooksasthoughhemightbeasleep.’

Hardcastle did not tell her that of the various police photographs of the corpse this one had been
selectedastheleastdisturbingtotheeye.

‘Deathcanbeapeacefulbusiness,’hesaid.‘Idon’tthinkthisparticularmanhadanyideathatitwas
comingtohimwhenitdid.’

‘WhatdoesMissPebmarshsayaboutitall?’demandedMissWaterhouse.

‘Sheisquiteataloss.’

‘Extraordinary,’commentedMissWaterhouse.

‘Now,canyouhelpusinanyway,MissWaterhouse?Ifyoucastyourmindbacktoyesterday,wereyou
lookingoutofthewindowatall,ordidyouhappentobeinyourgarden,sayanytimebetweenhalfpast
twelveandthreeo’clock?’

MissWaterhousereflected.

‘Yes,Iwasinthegarden...Nowletmesee.Itmusthavebeenbeforeoneo’clock.Icameinabouttento
onefromthegarden,washedmyhandsandsatdowntolunch.’

‘DidyouseeMissPebmarshenterorleavethehouse?’

‘Ithinkshecamein–Iheardthegatesqueak–yes,sometimeafterhalfpasttwelve.’

‘Youdidn’tspeaktoher?’

‘Oh no. It was just the squeak of the gate made me look up. It is her usual time for returning. She
finishesherclassesthen,Ibelieve.SheteachesattheDisabledChildrenasprobablyyouknow.’

‘Accordingtoherownstatement,MissPebmarshwentoutagainabouthalfpastone.Wouldyouagree
tothat?’

‘Well,Icouldn’ttellyoutheexacttimebut–yes,Idorememberherpassingthegate.’

‘Ibegyourpardon,MissWaterhouse,yousaid“passingthegate”.’

‘Certainly.Iwasinmysitting-room.Thatgivesonthestreet,whereasthedining-room,whereweare
sittingnow,givesasyoucansee,onthebackgarden.ButItookmycoffeeintothesitting-roomafter
lunchandIwassittingwithitinachairnearthewindow.IwasreadingTheTimes,andIthinkitwas
when I was turning the sheet that I noticed Miss Pebmarsh passing the front gate. Is there anything
extraordinaryaboutthat,Inspector?’

‘Notextraordinary,no,’saidtheinspector,smiling.‘OnlyIunderstoodthatMissPebmarshwasgoing
outtodoalittleshoppingandtothepostoffice,andIhadanideathatthenearestwaytotheshopsand
thepostofficewouldbetogotheotherwayalongthecrescent.’

‘Dependsonwhichshopsyouaregoingto,’saidMissWaterhouse.‘Ofcoursetheshopsarenearerthat
way,andthere’sapostofficeinAlbanyRoad–’

‘ButperhapsMissPebmarshusuallypassedyourgateaboutthattime?’

‘Well,really,Idon’tknowwhattimeMissPebmarshusuallywentout,orinwhichdirection.I’mnot
really given to watching my neighbours in any way, Inspector. I’m a busy woman and have far too
muchtodowithmyownaffairs.SomepeopleIknowspendtheirentiretimelookingoutofthewindow
andnoticingwhopassesandwhocallsonwhom.Thatismoreahabitofinvalidsorofpeoplewho’ve
gotnothingbettertodothantospeculateandgossipabouttheirneighbours’affairs.’

MissWaterhousespokewithsuchacerbitythattheinspectorfeltsurethatshehadsomeoneparticular
personinmind.Hesaidhastily,‘Quiteso.Quiteso.’Headded,‘SinceMissPebmarshpassedyourfront
gate,shemighthavebeengoingtotelephone,mightshenot?Thatiswherethepublictelephoneboxis
situated?’

‘Yes.It’soppositeNumber15.’

‘TheimportantquestionIhavetoaskyou,MissWaterhouse,isifyousawthearrivalofthisman–the
mysterymanasI’mafraidthemorningpapershavecalledhim.’

MissWaterhouseshookherhead.‘No,Ididn’tseehimoranyothercaller.’

‘Whatwereyoudoingbetweenhalfpastoneandthreeo’clock?’

‘IspentabouthalfanhourdoingthecrosswordinTheTimes,orasmuchofitasIcould,thenIwentout
tothekitchenandwashedupthelunch.Letmesee.Iwroteacoupleofletters,madesomechequesout
forbills,thenIwentupstairsandsortedoutsomethingsIwantedtotaketothecleaners.Ithinkitwas
frommybedroomthatInoticedacertainamountofcommotionnextdoor.Idistinctlyheardsomeone
screaming,sonaturallyIwenttothewindow.Therewasayoungmanandagirlatthegate.Heseemed
tobeembracingher.’

SergeantLambshiftedhisfeetbutMissWaterhousewasnotlookingathimandclearlyhadnoideathat
hehadbeenthatparticularyoungmaninquestion.

‘Icouldonlyseethebackoftheyoungman’shead.Heseemedtobearguingwiththegirl.Finallyhe
satherdownagainstthegatepost.Anextraordinarythingtodo.Andhestrodeoffandwentintothe
house.’

‘YouhadnotseenMissPebmarshreturntothehouseashorttimebefore?’

Miss Waterhouse shook her head. ‘No. I don’t really think I had looked out the window at all until I
heard this extraordinary screaming. However, I didn’t pay much attention to all this. Young girls and
men are always doing such extraordinary things–screaming, pushing each other, giggling or making
some kind of noise–that I had no idea it was anything serious. Not until some cars drove up with
policemendidIrealizeanythingoutoftheordinaryhadoccurred.’

‘Whatdidyoudothen?’

‘Well,naturallyIwentoutofthehouse,stoodonthestepsandthenIwalkedroundtothebackgarden.I
wonderedwhathadhappenedbuttheredidn’tseemtobeanythingmuchtoseefromthatside.WhenI
gotbackagaintherewasquitealittlecrowdgathering.Somebodytoldmethere’dbeenamurderinthe
house.Itseemedtomemostextraordinary.Mostextraordinary!’saidMissWaterhousewithagreatdeal
ofdisapproval.

‘Thereisnothingelseyoucanthinkof?Thatyoucantellus?’

‘Really,I’mafraidnot.’

‘Hasanybodyrecentlywrittentoyousuggestinginsurance,orhasanybodycalleduponyouorproposed
callinguponyou?’

‘No. Nothing of the kind. Both James and I have taken out insurance policies with the Mutual Help
AssuranceSociety.Ofcourseoneisalwaysgettingletterswhicharereallycircularsoradvertisements
ofsomekindbutIdon’trecallanythingofthatkindrecently.’

‘NoletterssignedbyanybodycalledCurry?’

‘Curry?No,certainlynot.’

‘AndthenameofCurrymeansnothingtoyouinanyway?’

‘No.Shouldit?’

Hardcastlesmiled.‘No.Ireallydon’tthinkitshould,’hesaid.‘Itjusthappenstobethenamethatthe
manwhowasmurderedwascallinghimselfby.’

‘Itwasn’thisrealname?’

‘Wehavesomereasontothinkthatitwasnothisrealname.’

‘Aswindlerofsomekind,eh?’saidMissWaterhouse.

‘Wecan’tsaythattillwehaveevidencetoproveit.’

‘Ofcoursenot,ofcoursenot.You’vegottobecareful.Iknowthat,’saidMissWaterhouse.‘Notlike
some of the people around here. They’d say anything. I wonder some aren’t had up for libel all the
time.’

‘Slander,’correctedSergeantLamb,speakingforthefirsttime.

MissWaterhouselookedathiminsomesurprise,asthoughnotawarebeforethathehadanentityofhis
ownandwasanythingotherthananecessaryappendagetoInspectorHardcastle.

‘I’msorryIcan’thelpyou,Ireallyam,’saidMissWaterhouse.

‘I’m sorry too,’ said Hardcastle. ‘A person of your intelligence and judgement with a faculty of
observationwouldhavebeenaveryusefulwitnesstohave.’

‘IwishIhadseensomething,’saidMissWaterhouse.

Foramomenthertonewasaswistfulasayounggirl’s.

‘Yourbrother,MrJamesWaterhouse?’

‘Jameswouldn’tknowanything,’saidMissWaterhousescornfully.‘Heneverdoes.Andanywayhewas
atGainsfordandSwettenhamsintheHighStreet.Ohno,Jameswouldn’tbeabletohelpyou.AsIsay,
hedoesn’tcomebacktolunch.’

‘Wheredoeshelunchusually?’

‘He usually has sandwiches and coffee at the Three Feathers. A very nice respectable house. They
specializeinquicklunchesforprofessionalpeople.’

‘Thankyou,MissWaterhouse.Well,wemustn’tkeepyouanylonger.’

Heroseandwentoutintothehall.MissWaterhouseaccompaniedthem.ColinLambpickedupthegolf
clubbythedoor.

‘Niceclub,this,’hesaid.‘Plentyofweightinthehead.’Heweigheditupanddowninhishand.‘Isee
youareprepared,MissWaterhouse,foranyeventualities.’

MissWaterhousewasslightlytakenaback.

‘Really,’shesaid,‘Ican’timaginehowthatclubcametobethere.’

Shesnatcheditfromhimandreplaceditinthegolfbag.

‘Averywiseprecautiontotake,’saidHardcastle.

MissWaterhouseopenedthedoorandletthemout.

‘Well,’saidColinLamb,withasigh,‘wedidn’tgetmuchoutofher,inspiteofyoubutteringherupso
nicelyallthetime.Isthatyourinvariablemethod?’

‘Itgetsgoodresultssometimeswithapersonofhertype.Thetoughkindalwaysrespondtoflattery.’

‘She was purring like a cat that has been offered a saucer of cream in the end,’ said Colin.
‘Unfortunately,itdidn’tdiscloseanythingofinterest.’

‘No?’saidHardcastle.

Colinlookedathimquickly.‘What’sonyourmind?’

‘Averyslightandpossiblyunimportantpoint.MissPebmarshwentouttothepostofficeandtheshops
but she turned left instead of right, and that telephone call, according to Miss Martindale, was put
throughabouttenminutestotwo.’

Colinlookedathimcuriously.

‘Youstillthinkthatinspiteofherdenialshemighthavemadeit?Shewasverypositive.’

‘Yes,’saidHardcastle.‘Shewasverypositive.’

Histonewasnon-committal.

‘Butifshedidmakeit,why?’

‘Oh, it’s all why,’ said Hardcastle impatiently. ‘Why, why? Why all this rigmarole? If Miss Pebmarsh
made that call, why did she want to get the girl there? If it was someone else, why did they want to
involve Miss Pebmarsh? We don’t know anything yet. If that Martindale woman had known Miss
Pebmarshpersonally,she’dhaveknownwhetheritwashervoiceornot,oratanyratewhetheritwas
reasonably like Miss Pebmarsh’s. Oh well, we haven’t got much from Number 18. Let’s see whether
Number20willdousanybetter.’

CHAPTER8

In addition to its number, 20, Wilbraham Crescent had a name. It was called Diana Lodge. The gates
had obstacles against intruders by being heavily wired on the inside. Rather melancholy speckled

laurels,imperfectlytrimmed,alsointerferedwiththeeffortsofanyonetoenterthroughthegate.

‘IfeverahousecouldhavebeencalledTheLaurels,thisonecould,’remarkedColinLamb.‘Whycallit
DianaLodge,Iwonder?’

Helookedroundhimappraisingly.DianaLodgedidnotruntoneatnessortoflower-beds.Tangledand
overgrown shrubbery was its most salient point together with a strong catty smell of ammonia. The
houseseemedinarathertumbledownconditionwithguttersthatcoulddowithrepairing.Theonlysign
ofanyrecentkindofattentionbeingpaidtoitwasafreshlypaintedfrontdoorwhosecolourofbright
azure blue made the general unkempt appearance of the rest of the house and garden even more
noticeable. There was no electric bell but a kind of handle that was clearly meant to be pulled. The
inspectorpulleditandafaintsoundofremotejanglingwasheardinside.

‘Itsounds,’saidColin,‘liketheMoatedGrange.’

Theywaitedforamomentortwo,thensoundswereheardfrominside.Rathercurioussounds.Akind
ofhighcrooning,halfsinging,halfspeaking.

‘Whatthedevil–’beganHardcastle.

Thesingerorcroonerappearedtobeapproachingthefrontdoorandwordsbegantobediscernible.

‘No, sweet-sweetie. In there, my love. Mindems tailems Shah-Shah-Mimi. Cleo–Cleopatra. Ah de
doodlums.Ahlou-lou.’

Doorswereheardtoshut.Finallythefrontdooropened.Facingthemwasaladyinapalemoss-green,
rather rubbed, velvet tea gown. Her hair, in flaxen grey wisps, was twirled elaborately in a kind of
coiffureofsomethirtyyearsback.Roundherneckshewaswearinganeckletoforangefur.Inspector
Hardcastlesaiddubiously:

‘MrsHemming?’

‘IamMrsHemming.Gently,Sunbeam,gentlydoodleums.’

It was then that the inspector perceived that the orange fur was really a cat. It was not the only cat.
Threeothercatsappearedalongthehall,twoofthemmiaowing.Theytookuptheirplace,gazingatthe

visitors,twirlinggentlyroundtheirmistress’sskirts.Atthesametimeapervadingsmellofcatafflicted
thenostrilsofbothmen.

‘IamDetectiveInspectorHardcastle.’

‘I hope you’ve come about that dreadful man who came to see me from the Prevention of Cruelty to
Animals,’saidMrsHemming.‘Disgraceful!Iwroteandreportedhim.Sayingmycatswerekeptina
conditionprejudicialtotheirhealthandhappiness!Quitedisgraceful!Iliveformycats,Inspector.They
aremyonlyjoyandpleasureinlife.Everythingisdoneforthem.Shah-Shah-Mimi.Notthere,sweetie.’

Shah-Shah-Mimipaidnoattentiontoarestraininghandandjumpedonthehalltable.Hesatdownand
washedhisface,staringatthestrangers.

‘Comein,’saidMrsHemming.‘Ohno,notthatroom.I’dforgotten.’

Shepushedopenadoorontheleft.Theatmosphereherewasevenmorepungent.

‘Comeon,mypretties,comeon.’

Intheroomvariousbrushesandcombswithcathairsinthemlayaboutonchairsandtables.Therewere
fadedandsoiledcushions,andtherewereatleastsixmorecats.

‘Iliveformydarlings,’saidMrsHemming.‘TheyunderstandeverywordIsaytothem.’

InspectorHardcastlewalkedinmanfully.Unfortunatelyforhimhewasoneofthosemenwhohavecat
allergy.Asusuallyhappensontheseoccasionsallthecatsimmediatelymadeforhim.Onejumpedon
hisknee,anotherrubbedaffectionatelyagainsthistrousers.DetectiveInspectorHardcastle,whowasa
braveman,sethislipsandendured.

‘IwonderifIcouldaskyouafewquestions,MrsHemming,about–’

‘Anythingyouplease,’saidMrsHemming,interruptinghim.‘Ihavenothingtohide.Icanshowyouthe
cats’food,theirbedswheretheysleep,fiveinmyroom,theothersevendownhere.Theyhaveonlythe
verybestfishcookedbymyself.’

‘This is nothing to do with cats,’ said Hardcastle, raising his voice. ‘I came to talk to you about the
unfortunateaffairwhichhappenednextdoor.Youhaveprobablyheardaboutit.’

‘Nextdoor?YoumeanMrJoshua’sdog?’

‘No,’saidHardcastle,‘Idonot.ImeanatNumber19whereamanwasfoundmurderedyesterday.’

‘Indeed?’ said Mrs Hemming, with polite interest but no more. Her eyes were still straying over her
pets.

‘Wereyouathomeyesterdayafternoon,mayIask?Thatistosaybetweenhalfpastoneandhalfpast
three?’

‘Ohyes,indeed.IusuallydomyshoppingquiteearlyinthedayandthengetbacksothatIcandothe
darlings’lunch,andthencombandgroomthem.’

‘Andyoudidn’tnoticeanyactivitynextdoor?Policecars–ambulance–anythinglikethat?’

‘Well, I’m afraid I didn’t look out of the front windows. I went out of the back of the house into the
gardenbecausedearArabellawasmissing.Sheisquiteayoungcatandshehadclimbeduponeofthe
treesandIwasafraidshemightnotbeabletogetdown.Itriedtotemptherwithasauceroffishbutshe
wasfrightened,poorlittlething.Ihadtogiveupintheendandcomebackintothehouse.Andwould
youbelieveit,justasIwentthroughthedoor,downshecameandfollowedmein.’Shelookedfrom
onemantotheotherasthoughtestingtheirpowersofbelief.

‘Matteroffact,Iwouldbelieveit,’saidColin,unabletokeepsilenceanymore.

‘Ibegyourpardon?’MrsHemminglookedathimslightlystartled.

‘I am much attached to cats,’ said Colin, ‘and I have therefore made a study of cat nature. What you
have told me illustrates perfectly the pattern of cat behaviour and the rules they have made for
themselves.Inthesamewayyourcatsareallcongregatingroundmyfriendwhofranklydoesnotcare
forcats,theywillpaynoattentiontomeinspiteofallmyblandishments.’

IfitoccurredtoMrsHemmingthatColinwashardlyspeakingintheproperroleofsergeantofpolice,
notraceofitappearedinherface.Shemerelymurmuredvaguely:

‘Theyalwaysknow,thedearthings,don’tthey?’

AhandsomegreyPersianputtwopawsonInspectorHardcastle’sknees,lookedathiminanecstasyof
pleasure and dug his claws in hard with a kneading action as though the inspector was a pincushion.
Goadedbeyondendurance,InspectorHardcastlerosetohisfeet.

‘Iwonder,madam,’hesaid,‘ifIcouldseethisbackgardenofyours.’

Colingrinnedslightly.

‘Oh,ofcourse,ofcourse.Anythingyouplease.’MrsHemmingrose.

Theorangecatunwounditselffromherneck.Shereplaceditinanabsent-mindedwaywiththegrey
Persian.Sheledthewayoutoftheroom.HardcastleandColinfollowed.

‘We’ve met before,’ said Colin to the orange cat and added, ‘And you’re a beauty, aren’t you,’
addressinganothergreyPersianwhowassittingonatablebyaChineselamp,swishinghistailslightly.
Colinstrokedhim,tickledhimbehindtheearsandthegreycatcondescendedtopurr.

‘Shutthedoor,please,asyoucomeout,Mr–er–er,’saidMrsHemmingfromthehall.‘There’sasharp
windtodayandIdon’twantmydearstogetcold.Besides,therearethoseterribleboys–it’sreallynot
safetoletthedearthingswanderaboutinthegardenbythemselves.’

Shewalkedtowardsthebackofthehallandopenedasidedoor.

‘Whatterribleboys?’askedHardcastle.

‘MrsRamsay’stwoboys.Theyliveinthesouthpartofthecrescent.Ourgardensmoreorlessbackon
each other. Absolute young hooligans, that’s what they are. They have a catapult, you know, or they
had.IinsistedonitsbeingconfiscatedbutIhavemysuspicions.Theymakeambushesandhide.Inthe
summertheythrowapples.’

‘Disgraceful,’saidColin.

The back garden was like the front only more so. It had some unkempt grass, some unpruned and
crowded shrubs and a great many more laurels of the speckled variety, and some rather gloomy
macrocarpas. In Colin’s opinion, both he and Hardcastle were wasting their time. There was a solid
barrageoflaurels,treesandshrubsthroughwhichnothingofMissPebmarsh’sgardencouldpossiblybe
seen. Diana Lodge could be described as a fully detached house. From the point of view of its
inhabitants,itmighthavehadnoneighbours.

‘Number19,didyousay?’saidMrsHemming,pausingirresolutelyinthemiddleofherbackgarden.
‘ButIthoughttherewasonlyonepersonlivinginthehouse,ablindwoman.’

‘Themurderedmanwasnotanoccupantofthehouse,’saidtheinspector.

‘Oh,Isee,’saidMrsHemming,stillvaguely,‘hecameheretobemurdered.Howodd.’

‘Nowthat,’saidColinthoughtfullytohimself,‘isadamnedgooddescription.’

CHAPTER9

TheydrovealongWilbrahamCrescent,turnedtotherightupAlbanyRoadandthentotherightagain
alongthesecondinstalmentofWilbrahamCrescent.

‘Simplereally,’saidHardcastle.

‘Onceyouknow,’saidColin.

‘61reallybacksonMrsHemming’shouse–butacornerofittoucheson19,sothat’sgoodenough.It
willgiveyouachancetolookatyourMrBland.Noforeignhelp,bytheway.’

‘Sotheregoesabeautifultheory.’Thecardrewupandthetwomengotout.

‘Well,well,’saidColin.‘Somefrontgarden!’

It was indeed a model of surburban perfection in a small way. There were beds of geraniums with
lobelia edging. There were large fleshy-looking begonias, and there was a fine display of garden
ornaments–frogs,toadstools,comicgnomesandpixies.

‘I’m sure Mr Bland must be a nice worthy man,’ said Colin, with a shudder. ‘He couldn’t have these
terribleideasifhewasn’t.’HeaddedasHardcastlepushedthebell,‘Doyouexpecthimtobeinatthis
timeofthemorning?’

‘Irangup,’explainedHardcastle.‘Askedhimifitwouldbeconvenient.’

At that moment a smart little Traveller van drew up and turned into the garage, which had obviously
beenalateadditiontothehouse.MrJosaiahBlandgotout,slammedthedoorandadvancedtowards
them. He was a man of medium height with a bald head and rather small blue eyes. He had a hearty
manner.

‘InspectorHardcastle?Comerightin.’

Heledthewayintothesitting-room.Itevincedseveralproofsofprosperity.Therewereexpensiveand
rather ornate lamps, an Empire writing desk, a coruscated ormolu set of mantelpiece ornaments, a
marquetry cabinet, and a jardinre full of flowers in the window. The chairs were modern and richly
upholstered.

‘Sitdown,’saidMrBlandheartily.‘Smoke?Orcan’tyouwhenyou’reonthejob?’

‘No,thanks,’saidHardcastle.

‘Don’tdrinkeither,Isuppose?’saidMrBland.‘Ahwell,betterforbothofus,Idaresay.Nowwhat’sit
all about? This business at Number 19 I suppose? The corners of our gardens adjoin, but we’ve not
muchrealviewofitexceptfromtheupperfloorwindows.Extraordinarybusinessaltogetheritseemsto
be–atleastfromwhatIreadinourlocalpaperthismorning.IwasdelightedwhenIgotyourmessage.
Achanceofgettingsomeoftherealdope.You’venoideatherumoursthatareflyingabout!It’smade
mywifequitenervous–feelingthere’sakillerontheloose,youknow.Thetroubleistheyletallthese
barmy people out of lunatic asylums nowadays. Send them home on parole or whatever they call it.
Thentheydoinsomeoneelseandtheyclapthembackagain.AndasIsay,therumours!Imean,what
withourdailywomanandthemilkandpaperboy,you’dbesurprised.Onesayshewasstrangledwith
picturewire,andtheothersayshewasstabbed.Someoneelsethathewascoshed.Atanyrateitwasa
he,wasn’tit?Imean,itwasn’ttheoldgirlwhowasdonein?Anunknownman,thepaperssaid.’

MrBlandcametoafullstopatlast.

Hardcastlesmiledandsaidinadeprecatingvoice:

‘Well,astounknown,hehadacardandanaddressinhispocket.’

‘Somuchforthatstorythen,’saidBland.‘Butyouknowwhatpeopleare.Idon’tknowwhothinksup
allthesethings.’

‘Whilewe’reonthesubjectofthevictim,’saidHardcastle,‘perhapsyou’llhavealookatthis.’

Oncemorehebroughtoutthepolicephotograph.

‘Sothat’shim,isit?’saidBland.‘Helooksaperfectlyordinarychap,doesn’the?Ordinaryasyouand
me.IsupposeImustn’taskifhehadanyparticularreasontobemurdered?’

‘It’searlydaystotalkaboutthat,’saidHardcastle.‘WhatIwanttoknow,MrBland,isifyou’veever
seenthismanbefore.’

Blandshookhishead.

‘I’msureIhaven’t.I’mquitegoodatrememberingfaces.’

‘Hehasn’tcalleduponyouforanyparticularpurpose–sellinginsuranceor–vacuumcleanersorwashing
machines,oranythingofthatkind?’

‘No,no.Certainlynot.’

‘Weoughtperhapstoaskyourwife,’saidHardcastle.‘Afterall,ifhecalledatthehouse,it’syourwife
hewouldsee.’

‘Yes, that’s perfectly true. I don’t know, though... Valerie’s not got very good health, you know. I
wouldn’tliketoupsether.WhatImeanis,well,Isupposethat’sapictureofhimwhenhe’sdead,isn’t
it?’

‘Yes,’saidHardcastle,‘thatisquitetrue.Butitisnotapainfulphotographinanyway.’

‘No,no.Verywelldone.Thechapmightbeasleep,really.’

‘Areyoutalkingaboutme,Josaiah?’

Anadjoiningdoorfromtheotherroomwaspushedopenandamiddle-agedwomanenteredtheroom.
Shehad,Hardcastledecided,beenlisteningwithcloseattentionontheothersideofthedoor.

‘Ah,thereyouare,mydear,’saidBland,‘Ithoughtyouwerehavingyourmorningnap.Thisismywife,
DetectiveInspectorHardcastle.’

‘Thatterriblemurder,’murmuredMrsBland.‘Itreallymakesmeshivertothinkofit.’

Shesatdownonthesofawithalittlegaspingsigh.

‘Putyourfeetup,dear,’saidBland.

Mrs Bland obeyed. She was a sandy-haired woman, with a faint whining voice. She looked anaemic,
andhadalltheairsofaninvalidwhoacceptsherinvalidismwithacertainamountofenjoyment.Fora
moment or two, she reminded Inspector Hardcastle of somebody. He tried to think who it was, but
failed.Thefaint,ratherplaintivevoicecontinued.

‘Myhealthisn’tverygood,InspectorHardcastle,somyhusbandnaturallytriestosparemeanyshocks
or worry. I’m very sensitive. You were speaking about a photograph, I think, of the–of the murdered
man.Ohdear,howterriblethatsounds.Idon’tknowthatIcanbeartolook!’

‘Dyingtoseeit,really,’thoughtHardcastletohimself.

Withfaintmaliceinhisvoice,hesaid:

‘PerhapsI’dbetternotaskyoutolookatit,then,MrsBland.Ijustthoughtyoumightbeabletohelpus,
incasethemanhascalledatthishouseatanytime.’

‘Imustdomyduty,mustn’tI,’saidMrsBland,withasweetbravesmile.Sheheldoutherhand.

‘Doyouthinkyou’dbetterupsetyourself,Val?’

‘Don’tbefoolish,Josaiah.OfcourseImustsee.’

Shelookedatthephotographwithmuchinterestand,orsotheinspectorthought,acertainamountof
disappointment.

‘Helooks–really,hedoesn’tlookdeadatall,’shesaid.‘Notatallasthoughhe’dbeenmurdered.Was
he–hecan’thavebeenstrangled?’

‘Hewasstabbed,’saidtheinspector.

MrsBlandclosedhereyesandshivered.

‘Ohdear,’shesaid,‘howterrible.’

‘Youdon’tfeelyou’veeverseenhim,MrsBland?’

‘No,’saidMrsBlandwithobviousreluctance,‘no,no,I’mafraidnot.Washethesortofmanwho–who
callsathousessellingthings?’

‘Heseemstohavebeenaninsuranceagent,’saidtheinspectorcarefully.

‘Oh, I see. No, there’s been nobody of that kind, I’m sure. You never remember my mentioning
anythingofthatkind,doyou,Josaiah?’

‘Can’tsayIdo,’saidMrBland.

‘WasheanyrelationtoMissPebmarsh?’askedMrsBland.

‘No,’saidtheinspector,‘hewasquiteunknowntoher.’

‘Verypeculiar,’saidMrsBland.

‘YouknowMrsPebmarsh?’

‘Oh yes, I mean, we know her as neighbours, of course. She asks my husband for advice sometimes
aboutthegarden.’

‘You’reaverykeengardener,Igather?’saidtheinspector.

‘Notreally,notreally,’saidBlanddeprecatingly.‘Haven’tthetime,youknow.Ofcourse,Iknowwhat’s
what.ButI’vegotanexcellentfellow–comestwiceaweek.Heseesthegarden’skeptwellstocked,and
welltidiedup.I’dsayyoucouldn’tbeatourgardenroundhere,butI’mnotoneofthoserealgardeners
likemyneighbour.’

‘MrsRamsay?’saidHardcastleinsomesurprise.

‘No,no,fartheralong.63.MrMcNaughton.Hejustlivesforhisgarden.Initalldaylong,andmadon
compost.Really,he’squiteaboreonthesubjectofcompost–butIdon’tsupposethat’swhatyouwantto
talkabout.’

‘Notexactly,’saidtheinspector.‘Ionlywonderedifanyone–youoryourwife,forinstance–wereoutin
yourgardenyesterday.Afterall,asyousay,itdoestouchontheborderof19andthere’sjustachance
thatyoumighthaveseensomethinginterestingyesterday–orheardsomething,perhaps?’

‘Midday,wasn’tit?WhenthemurderhappenedImean?’

‘Therelevanttimesarebetweenoneo’clockandthreeo’clock.’

Blandshookhishead.‘Iwouldn’thaveseenmuchthen.Iwashere.SowasValerie,butwe’dbehaving
lunch,youknow,andourdining-roomlooksoutontheroadside.Weshouldn’tseeanythingthatwas
goingoninthegarden.’

‘Whattimedoyouhaveyourmeal?’

‘Oneo’clockorthereabouts.Sometimesit’sone-thirty.’

‘Andyoudidn’tgooutinthegardenatallafterwards?’

Blandshookhishead.

‘Matteroffact,’hesaid,‘mywifealwaysgoesuptorestafterlunchand,ifthingsaren’ttoobusy,Itake
abitofshuteyemyselfinthatchairthere.Imusthaveleftthehouseabout–oh,Isupposeaquarterto
three,butunfortunatelyIdidn’tgooutinthegardenatall.’

‘Oh,well,’saidHardcastlewithasigh,‘wehavetoaskeveryone.’

‘Ofcourse,ofcourse.WishIcouldbemorehelpful.’

‘Niceplaceyouhavehere,’saidtheinspector.‘Nomoneyspared,ifImaysayso.’

Blandlaughedjovially.

‘Ahwell,welikethingsthatarenice.Mywife’sgotalotoftaste.Wehadabitofawindfallayearago.
Mywifecameintosomemoneyfromanuncleofhers.Shehadn’tseenhimfortwenty-fiveyears.Quite
asurpriseitwas!Itmadeabitofdifferencetous,Icantellyou.We’vebeenabletodoourselveswell
and we’re thinking of going on one of these cruises later in the year. Very educational they are, I
believe.Greeceandallthat.Alotofprofessorsonthemlecturing.Well,ofcourse,I’maself-mademan
andIhaven’thadmuchtimeforthatsortofthingbutI’dbeinterested.Thatchapwhowentanddugup
Troy, he was a grocer, I believe. Very romantic. I must say I like going to foreign parts–not that I’ve
donemuchofthat–anoccasionalweekendingayParee,that’sall.I’vetoyedwiththeideaofsellingup
hereandgoingtoliveinSpainorPortugaloreventheWestIndies.Alotofpeoplearedoingit.Saves
incometaxandallthat.Butmywifedoesn’tfancytheidea.’

‘I’m fond of travel, but I wouldn’t care to live out of England,’ said Mrs Bland. ‘We’ve got all our
friendshere–andmysisterliveshere,andeverybodyknowsus. If we went abroad we’d be strangers.
Andthenwe’vegotaverygooddoctorhere.Hereallyunderstandsmyhealth.Ishouldn’tcareatallfor
aforeigndoctor.Iwouldn’thaveanyconfidenceinhim.’

‘We’ll see,’ said Mr Bland cheerfully. ‘We’ll go on a cruise and you may fall in love with a Greek
island.’

MrsBlandlookedasthoughthatwereveryunlikely.

‘There’dbeaproperEnglishdoctoraboard,Isuppose,’shesaiddoubtfully.

‘Suretobe,’saidherhusband.

HeaccompaniedHardcastleandColintothefrontdoor,repeatingoncemorehowsorryhewasthathe
couldn’thelpthem.

‘Well,’saidHardcastle.‘Whatdoyouthinkofhim?’

‘Iwouldn’tcaretolethimbuildahouseforme,’saidColin.‘Butacrookedlittlebuilderisn’twhatI’m
after.I’mlookingforamanwhoisdedicated.Andasregardsyourmurdercase,you’vegotthewrong
kind of murder. Now if Bland was to feed his wife arsenic or push her into the Aegean in order to
inherithermoneyandmarryaslap-upblonde–’

‘We’llseeaboutthatwhenithappens,’saidInspectorHardcastle.‘Inthemeantimewe’vegottogeton
withthismurder.’

CHAPTER10

AtNo.62,WilbrahamCrescent,MrsRamsaywassayingtoherselfencouragingly,‘Onlytwodaysnow.
Onlytwodays.’

She pushed back some dank hair from her forehead. An almighty crash came from the kitchen. Mrs
Ramsayfeltverydisinclinedeventogoandseewhatthecrashportended.Ifonlyshecouldpretendthat
therehadn’tbeenacrash.Ohwell–onlytwodays. She stepped across the hall, flung the kitchen door
openandsaidinavoiceoffarlessbelligerencethanitwouldhaveheldthreeweeksago:

‘Nowwhathaveyoudone?’

‘Sorry, Mum,’ said her son Bill. ‘We were just having a bit of a bowling match with these tins and
somehoworothertheyrolledintothebottomofthechinacupboard.’

‘We didn’t mean them to go into the bottom of the china cupboard,’ said his younger brother Ted
agreeably.

‘Well,pickupthosethingsandputthembackinthecupboardandsweepupthatbrokenchinaandputit
inthebin.’

‘Oh,Mum,notnow.’

‘Yes,now.’

‘Tedcandoit,’saidBill.

‘Ilikethat,’saidTed.‘Alwaysputtingonme.Iwon’tdoitifyouwon’t.’

‘Betyouwill.’

‘BetIwon’t.’

‘I’llmakeyou.’

‘Yahh!’

Theboysclosedinafiercewrestlingmatch.Tedwasforcedbackagainstthekitchentableandabowlof
eggsrockedominously.

‘Oh,getoutofthekitchen!’criedMrsRamsay.Shepushedthetwoboysoutofthekitchendoorand
shutit,andbegantopickuptinsandsweepupchina.

‘Twodays,’shethought,‘andthey’llbebackatschool!Whatalovely,whataheavenlythoughtfora
mother.’

Sherememberedvaguelysomewickedremarkbyawomancolumnist.

Onlysixhappydaysintheyearforawoman.

The first and the last days of the holidays. How true that was, thought Mrs Ramsay, sweeping up

portionsofherbestdinner-service.Withwhatpleasure,whatjoy,hadshecontemplatedthereturnofher
offspring a bare five weeks before! And now? ‘The day after tomorrow,’ she repeated to herself, ‘the
dayaftertomorrowBillandTedwillbebackatschool.Icanhardlybelieveit.Ican’twait!’

How heavenly it had been five weeks ago when she met them at the station. Their tempestuous and
affectionatewelcome!Thewaytheyhadrushedalloverthehouseandgarden.Aspecialcakebakedfor
tea.Andnow–whatwasshelookingforwardtonow?Adayofcompletepeace.Noenormousmealsto
prepare,no incessant clearingup. She lovedthe boys–they were fineboys, no doubtof that. She was
proudofthem.Buttheywerealsoexhausting.Theirappetite,theirvitality,thenoisetheymade.

Atthatmoment,raucouscriesarose.Sheturnedherheadinsharpalarm.Itwasallright.Theyhadonly
goneoutinthegarden.Thatwasbetter,therewasfarmoreroomfortheminthegarden.Theywould
probably annoy the neighbours. She hoped to goodness they would leave Mrs Hemming’s cats alone.
Not, it must be confessed, for the sake of the cats, but because the wired enclosure surrounding Mrs
Hemming’sgardenwasapttoteartheirshorts.Shecastafleetingeyeoverthefirst-aidboxwhichlay
handyonthedresser.Notthatshefussedundulyoverthenaturalaccidentsofvigorousboyhood.Infact
her first inevitable remark was: ‘Now haven’t I told you a hundred times, you are nottobleedinthe
drawing-room!Comestraightintothekitchenandbleedthere,whereIcanwipeoverthelinoleum.’

Aterrificyellfromoutsideseemedtobecutoffmid-wayandwasfollowedbyasilencesoprofound
that Mrs Ramsay felt a real feeling of alarm spring up in her breast. Really, that silence was most
unnatural.Shestooduncertainly,thedust-panwithbrokenchinainherhand.Thekitchendooropened
andBillstoodthere.Hehadanawed,ecstaticexpressionmostunusualonhiseleven-year-oldface.

‘Mum,’hesaid.‘There’sadetectiveinspectorhereandanothermanwithhim.’

‘Oh,’saidMrsRamsay,relieved.‘Whatdoeshewant,dear?’

‘He asked for you,’ said Bill, ‘but I think it must be about the murder. You know, the one at Miss
Pebmarsh’syesterday.’

‘Idon’tseewhyheshouldcomeandwishtoseeme,’saidMrsRamsay,inaslightlyvexedvoice.

Lifewasjustonethingafteranother,shethought.HowwasshetogetthepotatoesonfortheIrishstew
ifdetectiveinspectorscamealongatthisawkwardhour?

‘Ohwell,’shesaidwithasigh.‘IsupposeI’dbettercome.’

Sheshotthebrokenchinaintothebinunderthesink,rinsedherhandsunderthetap,smoothedherhair
andpreparedtofollowBill,whowassayingimpatiently,‘Oh,comeon,Mum.’

Mrs Ramsay, closely flanked by Bill, entered the sitting-room. Two men were standing there. Her
youngerson,Ted,wasinattendanceuponthem,staringatthemwithwideappreciativeeyes.

‘MrsRamsay?’

‘Goodmorning.’

‘IexpecttheseyoungmenhavetoldyouthatIamDetectiveInspectorHardcastle?’

‘It’s very awkward,’ said Mrs Ramsay. ‘Very awkward this morning. I’m very busy. Will it take very
long?’

‘Hardlyanytimeatall,’saidDetectiveInspectorHardcastlereassuringly.‘Maywesitdown?’

‘Oh,yes,do,do.’

MrsRamsaytookanuprightchairandlookedatthemimpatiently.Shehadsuspicionsthatitwasnot
goingtotakehardlyanytimeatall.

‘Noneedforyoutwotoremain,’saidHardcastletotheboyspleasantly.

‘Aw,we’renotgoing,’saidBill.

‘We’renotgoing,’echoedTed.

‘Wewanttohearallaboutit,’saidBill.

‘Surewedo,’saidTed.

‘Wastherealotofblood?’askedBill.

‘Wasitaburglar?’saidTed.

‘Bequiet,boys,’saidMrsRamsay.‘Didn’tyouhearthe–MrHardcastlesayhedidn’twantyouinhere?’

‘We’renotgoing,’saidBill.‘Wewanttohear.’

Hardcastlemovedacrosstothedoorandopenedit.Helookedattheboys.

‘Out,’hesaid.

It was only one word, quietly uttered, but it had behind it the quality of authority. Without more ado
bothboysgotup,shuffledtheirfeetandshuffledoutoftheroom.

‘Howwonderful,’thoughtMrsRamsayappreciatively.‘Nowwhycan’tIbelikethat?’

Butthen,shereflected,shewastheboys’mother.Sheknewbyhearsaythattheboys,whentheywent
out,behavedinamannerentirelydifferentfromathome.Itwasalwaysmotherswhogottheworstof
things.Butperhaps,shereflected,onewouldratherhaveitlikethat.Tohavenicequietattentivepolite
boys at home and to have little hooligans going out, creating unfavourable opinions of themselves,
wouldbeworse–yes,thatwouldbeworse.Sherecalledherselftowhatwasrequiredofher,asInspector
Hardcastlecamebackandsatdownagain.

‘Ifit’saboutwhathappenedatNumber19yesterday,’shesaidnervously,‘Ireallydon’tseethatIcan
tell you anything, Inspector. I don’t know anything about it. I don’t even know the people who live
there.’

‘ThehouseislivedinbyaMissPebmarsh.She’sblindandworksattheAaronbergInstitute.’

‘Oh,Isee,’saidMrsRamsay.‘I’mafraidIknowhardlyanybodyinthelowerCrescent.’

‘Wereyouyourselfhereyesterdaybetweenhalfpasttwelveandthreeo’clock?’

‘Oh,yes,’saidMrsRamsay.‘Therewasdinnertocookandallthat.Iwentoutbeforethree,though.I
tooktheboystothecinema.’

Theinspectortookthephotographfromhispocketandhandedittoher.

‘I’dlikeyoutotellmeifyou’veeverseenthismanbefore.’

MrsRamsaylookedatitwithaslightawakeningofinterest.

‘No,’shesaid,‘no,Idon’tthinkso.I’mnotsureifIwouldrememberifIhadseenhim.’

‘Hedidnotcometothishouseonanyoccasion–tryingtosellyouinsuranceoranythingofthatkind?’

MrsRamsayshookherheadmorepositively.

‘No.No,I’msurehedidn’t.’

‘Hisname,wehavesomereasontobelieve,isCurry.MrR.Curry.’

Helookedinquiringlyather.MrsRamsayshookherheadagain.

‘I’mafraid,’shesaidapologetically,‘Ireallyhaven’ttimetoseeornoticeanythingduringtheholidays.’

‘That’salwaysabusytime,isn’tit,’saidtheinspector.‘Fineboysyou’vegot.Fulloflifeandspirits.
Rathertoomanyspiritssometimes,Iexpect?’

MrsRamsaypositivelysmiled.

‘Yes,’shesaid,‘itgetsalittletiring,butthey’reverygoodboysreally.’

‘I’m sure they are,’ said the inspector. ‘Fine fellows, both of them. Very intelligent, I should say. I’ll
haveawordwiththembeforeIgo,ifyoudon’tmind.Boysnoticethingssometimesthatnobodyelsein
thehousedoes.’

‘Idon’treallyseehowtheycanhavenoticedanything,’saidMrsRamsay.‘It’snotasthoughwewere
nextdoororanything.’

‘Butyourgardensbackoneachother.’

‘Yes,theydo,’agreedMrsRamsay.‘Butthey’requiteseparate.’

‘DoyouknowMrsHemmingatNumber20?’

‘Well,inawayIdo,’saidMrsRamsay,‘becauseofthecatsandonethingandanother.’

‘Youarefondofcats?’

‘Oh,no,’saidMrsRamsay,‘it’snotthat.Imeanit’susuallycomplaints.’

‘Oh,Isee.Complaints.Whatabout?’

MrsRamsayflushed.

‘The trouble is,’ she said, ‘when people keep cats in that way–fourteen, she’s got–they get absolutely
besottedaboutthem.Andit’sallalotofnonsense.Ilikecats.Weusedtohaveacatourselves,atabby.
Verygoodmouser,too.Butallthefussthatwomanmakes,cookingspecialfood–hardlyeverlettingthe
poorthingsouttohavealifeoftheirown.Ofcoursethecatsarealwaystryingtoescape.Iwould,ifI
wasoneofthosecats.Andtheboysareverygoodreally,theywouldn’ttormentacatinanyway.What
Isayiscatscanalwaystakecareofthemselvesverywell.They’reverysensibleanimals,cats,thatisif
theyaretreatedsensibly.’

‘I’msureyou’requiteright,’saidtheinspector.‘Youmusthaveabusylife,’hewenton,‘keepingthose
boysofyoursamusedandfedduringtheholidays.Whenaretheygoingbacktoschool?’

‘Thedayaftertomorrow,’saidMrsRamsay.

‘Ihopeyou’llhaveagoodrestthen.’

‘Imeantotreatmyselftoareallazytime,’shesaid.

Theotheryoungmanwhohadbeensilentlytakingdownnotes,startledheralittlebyspeaking.

‘Yououghttohaveoneofthoseforeigngirls,’hesaid.‘Aupair,don’ttheycallit,comeanddochores
hereinreturnforlearningEnglish.’

‘IsupposeImighttrysomethingofthatkind,’saidMrsRamsay,considering,‘thoughIalwaysfeelthat
foreignersmaybedifficult.Myhusbandlaughsatme.ButthenofcourseheknowsmoreaboutitthanI
do.Ihaven’ttravelledabroadasmuchashehas.’

‘He’sawaynow,isn’the?’saidHardcastle.

‘Yes–hehadtogotoSwedenatthebeginningofAugust.He’saconstructionalengineer.Apityhehad
to go just then–at the beginning of the holidays, too. He’s so good with the children. He really likes
playingwithelectrictrainsmorethantheboysdo.Sometimesthelinesandthemarshallingyardsand
everythinggorightacrossthehallandintotheotherroom.It’sverydifficultnottofalloverthem.’She
shookherhead.‘Menaresuchchildren,’shesaidindulgently.

‘Whendoyouexpecthimback,MrsRamsay?’

‘Ineverknow.’Shesighed.‘Itmakesitrather–difficult.’Therewasatremorinhervoice.Colinlooked
atherkeenly.

‘Wemustn’ttakeupmoreofyourtime,MrsRamsay.’

Hardcastlerosetohisfeet.

‘Perhapsyourboyswillshowusthegarden?’

BillandTedwerewaitinginthehallandfellinwiththesuggestionimmediately.

‘Ofcourse,’saidBillapologetically,‘itisn’taverybiggarden.’

TherehadbeensomeslighteffortmadetokeepthegardenofNo.62,WilbrahamCrescentinreasonable
order.OnonesidetherewasaborderofdahliasandMichaelmasdaisies.Thenasmalllawnsomewhat
unevenly mown. The paths badly needed hoeing, models of aeroplanes, space guns and other
representations of modern science lay about, looking slightly the worse for wear. At the end of the
gardenwasanappletreewithpleasant-lookingredapplesonit.Nexttoitwasapeartree.

‘That’sit,’ said Ted, pointing at the space between the apple and the pear, through which the back of
MissPebmarsh’shouseshowedclearly.‘That’sNumber19wherethemurderwas.’

‘Got quite a good view of the house, haven’t you,’ said the inspector. ‘Better still, I expect, from the
upstairswindows.’

‘That’s right,’ said Bill. ‘If only we’d been up there yesterday looking out, we might have seen
something.Butwedidn’t.’

‘Wewereatthecinema,’saidTed.

‘Weretherefingerprints?’askedBill.

‘Notveryhelpfulones.Wereyououtinthegardenatallyesterday?’

‘Oh, yes, off and on,’ said Bill. ‘All the morning, that is. We didn’t hear anything, though, or see
anything.’

‘Ifwe’dbeenthereintheafternoonwemighthaveheardscreams,’saidTed,wistfully.‘Awfulscreams
therewere.’

‘DoyouknowMissPebmarsh,theladywhoownsthathouse,bysight?’

Theboyslookedateachother,thennodded.

‘She’sblind,’saidTed,‘butshecanwalkaroundthegardenallright.Doesn’thavetowalkwithastick
oranythinglikethat.Shethrewaballbacktousonce.Quiteniceaboutitshewas.’

‘Youdidn’tseeheratallyesterday?’

Theboysshooktheirheads.

‘Wewouldn’tseeherinthemorning.She’salwaysout,’Billexplained.‘Sheusuallycomesoutinthe
gardenaftertea.’

Colinwasexploringalineofhosepipewhichwasattachedtoatapinthehouse.Itranalongthegarden
pathandwaslaiddowninthecornernearthepeartree.

‘Neverknewthatpeartreesneededwatering,’heremarked.

‘Oh,that,’saidBill.Helookedslightlyembarrassed.

‘On the other hand,’ said Colin, ‘if you climbed up in this tree.’ He looked at both boys and grinned
suddenly.‘Youcouldgetaverynicelittlelineofwatertoplayonacat,couldn’tyou?’

BothboysscuffledthegravelwiththeirfeetandlookedineveryotherdirectionbutatColin.

‘That’swhatyoudo,isn’tit?’saidColin.

‘Aw,well,’saidBill,‘itdoesn’thurt’em.It’snot,’hesaidwithanairofvirtue,‘likeacatapult.’

‘Isupposeyouusedtouseacatapultatonetime.’

‘Notproperly,’saidTed.‘Weneverseemedtohitanything.’

‘Anyway, you do have a bit of fun with that hose sometimes,’ said Colin, ‘and then Mrs Hemming
comesalongandcomplains?’

‘She’salwayscomplaining,’saidBill.

‘Youevergetthroughherfence?’

‘Notthroughthatwirehere,’saidTed,unguardedly.

‘Butyoudogetthroughintohergardensometimes,isthatright?Howdoyoudoit?’

‘Well,youcangetthroughthefence–intoMissPebmarsh’sgarden.Thenalittlewaydowntotheright
youcanpushthroughthehedgeintoMrsHemming’sgarden.There’saholethereinthewire.’

‘Can’tyoushutup,youfool?’saidBill.

‘Isupposeyou’vedoneabitofhuntingaboutforcluessincethemurder?’saidHardcastle.

Theboyslookedateachother.

‘Whenyoucamebackfromthecinemaandheardwhathadhappened,Ibetyouwentthroughthefence
intothegardenof19andhadajollygoodlookround.’

‘Well–’Billpausedcautiously.

‘It’salwayspossible,’saidHardcastleseriously,‘thatyoumayhavefoundsomethingthatwemissed.If
youhave–er–acollectionIshouldbemuchobligedifyouwouldshowittome.’

Billmadeuphismind.

‘Get’em,Ted,’hesaid.

Teddepartedobedientlyatarun.

‘I’mafraidwehaven’tgotanythingreallygood,’admittedBill.‘Weonly–sortofpretended.’

HelookedatHardcastleanxiously.

‘Iquiteunderstand,’saidtheinspector.‘Mostofpoliceworkislikethat.Alotofdisappointments.’

Billlookedrelieved.

Ted returned at a run. He passed over a grubby knotted handkerchief which chinked. Hardcastle
unknottedit,withaboyoneithersideofhim,andspreadoutthecontents.

Therewasthehandleoffacup,afragmentofwillowpatternchina,abrokentrowel,arustyfork,acoin,
aclothes-peg,abitofiridescentglassandhalfapairofscissors.

‘Aninterestinglot,’saidtheinspectorsolemnly.

Hetookpityontheeagerfacesoftheboysandpickedupthepieceofglass.

‘I’lltakethis.Itmayjustpossiblytieupwithsomething.’

Colinhadpickedupthecoinandwasexaminingit.

‘It’snotEnglish,’saidTed.

‘No,’saidColin.‘It’snotEnglish.’HelookedacrossatHardcastle.‘Wemightperhapstakethis,too,’he
suggested.

‘Don’tsayawordaboutthistoanyone,’saidHardcastleinaconspiratorialfashion.

Theboyspromiseddelightedlythattheywouldn’t.

CHAPTER11

‘Ramsay,’saidColin,thoughtfully.

‘Whatabouthim?’

‘I like the sound of him, that’s all. He travels abroad–at a moment’s notice. His wife says he’s a
constructionengineer,butthat’sallsheseemstoknowabouthim.’

‘She’sanicewoman,’saidHardcastle.

‘Yes–andnotaveryhappyone.’

‘Tired,that’sall.Kidsaretiring.’

‘Ithinkit’smorethanthat.’

‘Surelythe sort ofperson you wantwouldn’t be burdened witha wife andtwo sons,’ Hardcastle said
sceptically.

‘Youneverknow,’saidColin.‘You’dbesurprisedwhatsomeoftheboysdoforcamouflage.Ahard-up
widowwithacoupleofkidsmightbewillingtocometoanarrangement.’

‘Ishouldn’thavethoughtshewasthatkind,’saidHardcastleprimly.

‘I don’t mean living in sin, my dear fellow. I mean that she’d agree to be Mrs Ramsay and supply a
background.Naturally,he’dspinherayarnoftherightkind.He’dbedoingaspotofespionage,say,on
ourside.Allhighlypatriotic.’

Hardcastleshookhishead.

‘Youliveinastrangeworld,Colin,’hesaid.

‘Yeswedo.Ithink,youknow,I’llhavetogetoutofitoneday...Onebeginstoforgetwhatiswhatand
whoiswho.Halfofthesepeopleworkforbothsidesandintheendtheydon’tknowthemselveswhich
sidetheyarereallyon.Standardsgetgummedup–Oh,well–let’sgetonwiththings.’

‘We’d better do the McNaughtons,’ said Hardcastle, pausing at the gates of 63. ‘A bit of his garden
touches19–sameasBland.’

‘WhatdoyouknowabouttheMcNaughtons?’

‘Notmuch–theycamehereaboutayearago.Elderlycouple–retiredprofessor,Ibelieve.Hegardens.’

Thefrontgardenhadrosebushesinitandathickbedofautumncrocusunderthewindows.

Acheerfulyoungwomaninabrightlyfloweredoverallopenedthedoortothemandsaid:

‘Youwant?–Yes?’

Hardcastlemurmured,‘Theforeignhelpatlast,’andhandedherhiscard.

‘Police,’ said the young woman. She took a step or two back and looked at Hardcastle as though he
weretheFiendinperson.

‘MrsMcNaughton,’saidHardcastle.

‘MrsMcNaughtonishere.’

Sheledthemintothesitting-room,whichoverlookedthebackgarden.Itwasempty.

‘Sheupthestairsis,’saidtheno-longercheerfulyoungwoman.Shewentoutintothehallandcalled,
‘MrsMcNaughton–MrsMcNaughton.’

Avoicefarawaysaid,‘Yes.Whatisit,Gretel?’

‘Itisthepolice–twopolice.Iputtheminsitting-room.’

Therewasafaintscurryingnoiseupstairsandthewords‘Oh,dear.Oh,dear,whatnext?’floateddown.
Then there was a patter of feet and presently Mrs McNaughton entered the room with a worried
expressiononherface.Therewas,Hardcastledecidedquitesoon,usuallyaworriedexpressiononMrs
McNaughton’sface.

‘Oh,dear,’shesaidagain,‘oh,dear.Inspector–whatisit–Hardcastle–oh,yes.’Shelookedatthecard.
‘Butwhydoyouwanttoseeus?Wedon’tknowanythingaboutit.ImeanIsupposeitisthismurder,
isn’tit?Imean,itwouldn’tbethetelevisionlicence?’

Hardcastlereassuredheronthatpoint.

‘It all seems so extraordinary, doesn’t it?’ said Mrs McNaughton, brightening up. ‘And more or less
midday, too. Such an odd time to come and burgle a house. Just the time when people are usually at
home.Butthenonedoesreadofsuchterriblethingsnowadays.Allhappeninginbroaddaylight.Why,
some friends of ours–they were out for lunch and a furniture van drove up and the men broke in and
carried out every stick of furniture. The whole street saw it happen but of course they never thought
therewasanythingwrong.Youknow,IdidthinkIheardsomeonescreamingyesterday,butAngussaid
it was those dreadful boys of Mrs Ramsay’s. They rush about the garden making noises like space-
ships,youknow,orrockets,oratombombs.Itreallyisquitefrighteningsometimes.’

OnceagainHardcastleproducedhisphotograph.

‘Haveyoueverseenthisman,MrsMcNaughton?’

MrsMcNaughtonstaredatitwithavidity.

‘I’malmostsureI’veseenhim.Yes.Yes,I’mpracticallycertain.Now,wherewasit?Wasittheman
whocameandaskedmeifIwantedtobuyanewencyclopediainfourteenvolumes?Orwasittheman
whocamewithanewmodelofvacuumcleaner.Iwouldn’thaveanythingtodowithhim,andhewent
out and worried my husband in the front garden. Angus was planting some bulbs, you know, and he
didn’twanttobeinterruptedandthemanwentonandonsayingwhatthethingwoulddo.Youknow,
howitwouldrunupanddowncurtains,andwouldcleandoorstepsanddothestairsandcushionsand
spring-cleanthings.Everything,hesaid,absolutelyeverything.AndthenAngusjustlookedupathim
andsaid,“Canitplantbulbs?”andImustsayIhadtolaughbecauseittookthemanquiteabackandhe
wentaway.’

‘Andyoureallythinkthatwasthemaninthisphotograph?’

‘Well,no,Idon’treally,’saidMrsMcNaughton,‘becausethatwasamuchyoungerman,nowIcometo
thinkofit.ButallthesameIthinkIhaveseenthisfacebefore.Yes.ThemoreIlookatitthemoresure
Iamthathecamehereandaskedmetobuysomething.’

‘Insuranceperhaps?’

‘No,no,notinsurance.Myhusbandattendstoallthatkindofthing.Wearefullyinsuredineveryway.
No.Butallthesame–yes,themoreIlookatthatphotograph–’

Hardcastlewaslessencouragedbythisthanhemighthavebeen.HeputdownMrsMcNaughton,from
the fund of his experience, as a woman who would be anxious for the excitement of having seen
someoneconnectedwithmurder.Thelongershelookedatthepicture,themoresureshewouldbethat
shecouldremembersomeonejustlikeit.

Hesighed.

‘Hewasdrivingavan,Ibelieve,’saidMrsMcNaughton.‘ButjustwhenIsawhimIcan’tremember.A
baker’svan,Ithink.’

‘Youdidn’tseehimyesterday,didyou,MrsMcNaughton?’

Mrs McNaughton’s face fell slightly. She pushed back her rather untidy grey waved hair from her
forehead.

‘No.No,notyesterday,’shesaid.‘Atleast–’shepaused.‘Idon’tthinkso.’Thenshebrightenedalittle.
‘Perhapsmyhusbandwillremember.’

‘Isheathome?’

‘Oh,he’soutinthegarden.’Shepointedthroughthewindowwhereatthismomentanelderlymanwas
pushingawheelbarrowalongthepath.

‘Perhapswemightgooutandspeaktohim.’

‘Ofcourse.Comethisway.’

She led the way out through a side door and into the garden. Mr McNaughton was in a fine state of
perspiration.

‘These gentlemen are from the police, Angus,’ said his wife breathlessly. ‘Come about the murder at

MissPebmarsh’s.There’saphotographthey’vegotofthedeadman.Doyouknow,I’msureI’veseen
himsomewhere.Itwasn’ttheman,wasit,whocamelastweekandaskedusifwehadanyantiquesto
disposeof?’

‘Let’ssee,’saidMrMcNaughton.‘Justholditforme,willyou,’hesaidtoHardcastle.‘Myhandsare
tooearthytotouchanything.’

Hetookabrieflookandremarked,‘Neverseenthatfellowinmylife.’

‘Yourneighbourtellsmeyou’reveryfondofgardening,’saidHardcastle.

‘Whotoldyouthat–notMrsRamsay?’

‘No.MrBland.’

AngusMcNaughtonsnorted.

‘Bland doesn’t know what gardening means,’ he said. ‘Bedding out, that’s all he does. Shoves in
begonias and geraniums and lobelia edging. That’s not what I call gardening. Might as well live in a
publicpark.Areyouinterestedinshrubsatall,Inspector?Ofcourse,it’sthewrongtimeofyearnow,
butI’veoneortwoshrubsherethatyou’dbesurprisedatmybeingabletogrow.Shrubsthattheysay
onlydowellinDevonandCornwall.’

‘I’mafraidIcan’tlayclaimtobeapracticalgardener,’saidHardcastle.

McNaughtonlookedathimmuchasanartistlooksatsomeonewhosaystheyknownothingofartbut
theyknowwhattheylike.

‘I’mafraidI’vecalledaboutamuchlesspleasantsubject,’Hardcastlesaid.

‘Ofcourse.Thisbusinessyesterday.Iwasoutinthegarden,youknow,whenithappened.’

‘Indeed?’

‘Well,ImeanIwasherewhenthegirlscreamed.’

‘Whatdidyoudo?’

‘Well,’saidMrMcNaughtonrathersheepishly,‘Ididn’tdoanything.AsamatteroffactIthoughtitwas
thoseblastedRamsayboys.Alwaysyellingandscreamingandmakinganoise.’

‘Butsurelythisscreamdidn’tcomefromquitethesamedirection?’

‘Notifthoseblastedboyseverstayedintheirowngarden.Buttheydon’t,youknow.Theygetthrough
people’s fences and hedges. They chase those wretched cats of Mrs Hemming’s all over the place.
There’s nobody to keep a firm hand on them, that’s the trouble. Their mother’s weak as water. Of
course,whenthere’snomaninthehouse,boysdogetoutofhand.’

‘MrRamsayisabroadagooddealIunderstand.’

‘Constructionengineer,Ibelieve,’saidMrMcNaughtonvaguely.‘Alwaysgoingoffsomewhere.Dams,
you know. I’m not swearing, my dear,’ he assured his wife. ‘I mean jobs to do with the building of
dams,orelseit’soilorpipelinesorsomethinglikethat.Idon’treallyknow.HehadtogoofftoSweden
amonthagoatamoment’snotice.Thatlefttheboys’motherwithalottodo–cookingandhousework
and that–and, well–of course they were bound to run wild. They’re not bad boys, mind you, but they
needdiscipline.’

‘Youyourselfdidn’tseeanything–apartImeanfromhearingthescream?Whenwasthat,bytheway?’

‘Noidea,’saidMrMcNaughton.‘ItakemywatchoffalwaysbeforeIcomeouthere.Ranthehoseover
ittheotherdayandhadquiteajobgettingitrepairedafterwards.Whattimewasit,mydear?Youheard
it,didn’tyou?’

‘Itmusthavebeenhalfpasttwoperhaps–itwasatleasthalfanhourafterwefinishedlunch.’

‘Isee.Whattimedoyoulunch?’

‘Halfpastone,’saidMrMcNaughton,‘ifwe’relucky.OurDanishgirlhasgotnosenseoftime.’

‘Andafterwards–doyouhaveanap?’

‘Sometimes.Ididn’ttoday.IwantedtogetonwithwhatIwasdoing.Iwasclearingawayalotofstuff,
addingtothecompostheap,andallthat.’

‘Wonderfulthing,acompostheap,’saidHardcastle,solemnly.

MrMcNaughtonbrightenedimmediately.

‘Absolutely. Nothing like it. Ah! The number of people I’ve converted. Using all these chemical
manures!Suicide!Letmeshowyou.’

HedrewHardcastleeagerlybythearmandtrundlinghisbarrow,wentalongthepathtotheedgeofthe
fence that divided his garden from that of No. 19. Screened by lilac bushes, the compost heap was
displayedinitsglory.MrMcNaughtonwheeledthewheelbarrowtoasmallshedbesideit.Insidethe
shedwereseveralnicelyarrangedtools.

‘Verytidyyoukeepeverything,’remarkedHardcastle.

‘Gottotakecareofyourtools,’saidMcNaughton.

HardcastlewaslookingthoughtfullytowardsNo.19.Ontheothersideofthefencewasarosepergola
whichleduptothesideofthehouse.

‘You didn’t see anyone in the garden at Number 19 or looking out of the window in the house, or
anythinglikethatwhileyouwereatyourcompostheap?’

McNaughtonshookhishead.

‘Didn’tseeanythingatall,’hesaid.‘SorryIcan’thelpyou,Inspector.’

‘Youknow,Angus,’saidhiswife,‘IbelieveIdidseeafigureskulkinginthegardenof19.’

‘Idon’tthinkyoudid,mydear,’saidherhusbandfirmly.‘Ididn’t,either.’

‘Thatwomanwouldsayshe’dseenanything,’Hardcastlegrowledwhentheywerebackinthecar.

‘Youdon’tthinksherecognizedthephotograph?’

Hardcastle shook his head. ‘I doubt it. She just wants to think she’s seen him. I know that type of
witnessonlytoowell.WhenIpinnedherdowntoit,shecouldn’tgivechapterorverse,couldshe?’

‘No.’

‘Ofcourseshemayhavesatoppositehiminabusorsomething.I’llallowyouthat.Butifyouaskme,
it’swishfulthinking.Whatdoyouthink?’

‘Ithinkthesame.’

‘We didn’t get much,’ Hardcastle sighed. ‘Of course there are things that seem queer. For instance, it
seemsalmostimpossiblethatMrsHemming–nomatterhowwrappedupinhercatssheis–shouldknow
so little about her neighbour, Miss Pebmarsh, as she does. And also that she should be so extremely
vagueanduninterestedinthemurder.’

‘Sheisavaguekindofwoman.’

‘Scatty!’saidHardcastle.‘Whenyoumeetascattywoman–well,fires,burglaries,murderscangoonall
roundthemandtheywouldn’tnoticeit.’

‘She’s very well fenced in with all that wire netting, and that Victorian shrubbery doesn’t leave you
muchofaview.’

Theyhadarrivedbackatthepolicestation.Hardcastlegrinnedathisfriendandsaid:

‘Well,SergeantLamb,Icanletyougooffdutynow.’

‘Nomorevisitstopay?’

‘Notjustnow.Imustpayonemorelater,butI’mnottakingyouwithme.’

‘Well, thanks for this morning. Can you get these notes of mine typed up?’ He handed them over.
‘Inquestisthedayaftertomorrowyousaid?Whattime?’

‘Eleven.’

‘Right.I’llbebackforit.’

‘Areyougoingaway?’

‘I’vegottogouptoLondontomorrow–makemyreportuptodate.’

‘Icanguesswhoto.’

‘You’renotallowedtodothat.’

Hardcastlegrinned.

‘Givetheoldboymylove.’

‘Also,Imaybegoingtoseeaspecialist,’saidColin.

‘Aspecialist?Whatfor?What’swrongwithyou?’

‘Nothing–barthick-headedness.Idon’tmeanthatkindofaspecialist.Oneinyourline.’

‘ScotlandYard?’

‘No. A private detective–a friend of my Dad’s–and a friend of mine. This fantastic business of yours
willbejustdownhisstreet.He’llloveit–itwillcheerhimup.I’veanideaheneedscheeringup.’

‘What’shisname?’

‘HerculePoirot.’

‘I’veheardofhim.Ithoughthewasdead.’

‘He’snotdead.ButIhaveafeelinghe’sbored.That’sworse.’

Hardcastlelookedathimcuriously.

‘You’reanoddfellow,Colin.Youmakesuchunlikelyfriends.’

‘Includingyou,’Colinsaid,andgrinned.

CHAPTER12

HavingdismissedColin,InspectorHardcastlelookedattheaddressneatlywritteninhisnote-bookand
nodded his head. Then he slipped the book back in his pocket and started to deal with the routine
mattersthathadpileduponhisdesk.

Itwasabusydayforhim.Hesentoutforcoffeeandsandwiches,andreceivedreportsfromSergeant
Cray–no helpful lead had come up. Nobody at the railway station or buses had recognized the
photographofMrCurry.Thelaboratoryreportsonclothingaddeduptonil.Thesuithadbeenmadeby
agoodtailor,butthetailor’snamehadbeenremoved.DesireforanonymityonthepartofMrCurry?Or
onthepartofhiskiller.Detailsofdentistryhadbeencirculatedtotheproperquartersandwereprobably
themosthelpfulleads–ittookalittletime–butitgotresultsintheend.Unless,ofcourse,MrCurryhad
been a foreigner? Hardcastle considered the idea. There might be a possibility that the dead man was
French–ontheotherhandhisclothesweredefinitelynotFrench.Nolaundrymarkshadhelpedyet.

Hardcastlewasnotimpatient.Identificationwasquiteoftenaslowjob.Butintheend,someonealways
came forward. A laundry, a dentist, a doctor, a landlady. The picture of the dead man would be
circulatedtopolicestations,wouldbereproducedinnewspapers.Soonerorlater,MrCurrywouldbe
knowninhisrightfulidentity.

Inthemeantimetherewasworktobedone,andnotonlyontheCurrycase.Hardcastleworkedwithout
abreakuntilhalfpastfive.Helookedathiswrist-watchagainanddecidedthetimewasripeforthecall

hewantedtomake.

SergeantCrayhadreportedthatSheilaWebbhadresumedworkattheCavendishBureau,andthatat
fiveo’clockshewouldbeworkingwithProfessorPurdyattheCurlewHotelandthatshewasunlikely
toleavethereuntilwellaftersix.

Whatwastheaunt’snameagain?Lawton–MrsLawton.14,PalmerstonRoad.Hedidnottakeapolice
carbutchosetowalktheshortdistance.

Palmerston Road was a gloomy street that had known, as is said, better days. The houses, Hardcastle
noted, had been mainly converted into flats or maisonettes. As he turned the corner, a girl who was
approachinghimalongthesidewalkhesitatedforamoment.Hismindoccupied,theinspectorhadsome
momentaryideathatshewasgoingtoaskhimthewaytosomewhere.However,ifthatwasso,thegirl
thoughtbetterofitandresumedherwalkpasthim.Hewonderedwhytheideaofshoescameintohis
mindsosuddenly.Shoes...No,oneshoe.Thegirl’sfacewasfaintlyfamiliartohim.Whowasitnow–
someonehehadseenjustlately...Perhapsshehadrecognizedhimandwasabouttospeaktohim?

Hepausedforamoment,lookingbackafterher.Shewaswalkingquitefastnow.Thetroublewas,he
thought,shehadoneofthoseindeterminatefacesthatareveryhardtorecognizeunlessthereissome
special reason for doing so. Blue eyes, fair complexion, slightly open mouth. Mouth. That recalled
somethingalso.Somethingthatshe’dbeendoingwithhermouth?Talking?Puttingonlipstick?No.He
felt slightly annoyed with himself. Hardcastle prided himself on his recognition of faces. He never
forgot,he’dbeenapttosay,afacehehadseeninthedockorinthewitness-box,buttherewereafterall
otherplacesofcontact.Hewouldnotbelikelytoremember,forinstance,everywaitresswhohadever
servedhim.Hewouldnotremembereverybusconductress.Hedismissedthematterfromhismind.

He had arrived now at No. 14. The door stood ajar and there were four bells with names underneath.
MrsLawton,hesaw,hadaflatonthegroundfloor.Hewentinandpressedthebellonthedooronthe
leftofthehall.Itwasafewmomentsbeforeitwasanswered.Finallyheheardstepsinsideandthedoor
wasopenedbyatall,thinwomanwithstragglingdarkhairwhohadonanoverallandseemedalittle
shortofbreath.Thesmellofonionswaftedalongfromthedirectionofwhatwasobviouslythekitchen.

‘MrsLawton?’

‘Yes?’Shelookedathimdoubtfully,withslightannoyance.

Shewas,hethought,aboutforty-five.Somethingfaintlygypsyishaboutherappearance.

‘Whatisit?’

‘Ishouldbegladifyoucouldsparemeamomentortwo.’

‘Well,whatabout?I’mreallyratherbusyjustnow.’Sheaddedsharply,‘You’renotareporter,areyou?’

‘Ofcourse,’saidHardcastle,adoptingasympathetictone,‘Iexpectyou’vebeenagooddealworriedby
reporters.’

‘Indeedwehave.Knockingatthedoorandringingthebellandaskingallsortsoffoolishquestions.’

‘Very annoying I know,’ said the inspector. ‘I wish we could spare you all that, Mrs Lawton. I am
DetectiveInspectorHardcastle,bytheway,inchargeofthecaseaboutwhichthereportershavebeen
annoyingyou.We’dputastoptoagooddealofthatifwecould,butwe’repowerlessinthematter,you
know.ThePresshasitsrights.’

‘It’sashametoworryprivatepeopleastheydo,’saidMrsLawton,‘sayingtheyhavetohavenewsfor
thepublic.TheonlythingI’veevernoticedaboutthenewsthattheyprintisthatit’satissueofliesfrom
beginningtoend.They’llcookupanythingsofarasIcansee.Butcomein.’

Shesteppedbackandtheinspectorpassedoverthedoorstepandsheshutthedoor.Therewereacouple
of letters which had fallen on the mat. Mrs Lawton bent forward to pick them up, but the inspector
politelyforestalledher.Hiseyessweptoverthemforhalfasecondashehandedthemtoher,addresses
uppermost.

‘Thankyou.’

Shelaidthemdownonthehalltable.

‘Comeintothesitting-room,won’tyou?Atleast–ifyougointhisdoorandgivemejustamoment.I
thinksomething’sboilingover.’

Shebeataspeedyretreattothekitchen.InspectorHardcastletookalastdeliberatelookattheletterson
thehalltable.OnewasaddressedtoMrsLawtonandthetwootherstoMissR.S.Webb.Hewentinto
theroomindicated.Itwasasmallroom,ratheruntidy,shabbilyfurnishedbuthereandthereitdisplayed
somebrightspotofcolourorsomeunusualobject.Anattractive,probablyexpensivepieceofVenetian

glass of moulded colours and an abstract shape, two brightly coloured velvet cushions and an
earthenwareplatterofforeignshells.Eithertheauntortheniece,hethought,hadanoriginalstreakin
hermake-up.

MrsLawtonreturned,slightlymorebreathlessthanbefore.

‘Ithinkthat’llbeallrightnow,’shesaid,ratheruncertainly.

Theinspectorapologizedagain.

‘I’msorryifI’vecalledataninconvenienttime,’hesaid,‘butIhappenedtobeinthisneighbourhood
and I wanted to check over a few further points about this affair in which your niece was so
unfortunately concerned. I hope she’s none the worse for her experience? It must have been a great
shocktoanygirl.’

‘Yes, indeed,’ said Mrs Lawton. ‘Sheila came back in a terrible state. But she was all right by this
morningandshe’sgonebacktoworkagain.’

‘Oh,yes,Iknowthat,’saidtheinspector.‘ButIwastoldshewasoutdoingworkforaclientsomewhere
andIdidn’twanttointerruptanythingofthatkindsoIthoughtitwouldbebetterifIcameroundhere
andtalkedtoherinherownhome.Butshe’snotbackyet,isthatit?’

‘She’llprobablyberatherlatethisevening,’saidMrsLawton.‘She’sworkingforaProfessorPurdyand
fromwhatSheilasays,he’samanwithnoideaoftimeatall.Alwayssays“thiswon’ttakemorethan
another ten minutes so I think we might as well get it finished,” and then of course it takes nearer to
three-quarters of an hour. He’s a very nice man and most apologetic. Once or twice he’s urged her to
stay and have dinner and seemed quite concerned because he’s kept her so much longer than he
realized. Still, it is rather annoying sometimes. Is there something I can tell you, Inspector? In case
Sheilaisdelayedalongtime.’

‘Well,notreally,’saidtheinspectorsmiling.‘Ofcourse,weonlytookdownthebaredetailstheother
dayandI’mnotsurereallywhetherI’veevengotthoseright.’Hemadeashowofconsultinghisnote-
book once more. ‘Let me see. Miss Sheila Webb–is that her full name or has she another Christian
name?Wehavetohavethesethingsveryexact,youknow,fortherecordsattheinquest.’

‘Theinquestisthedayaftertomorrow,isn’tit?Shegotanoticetoattend.’

‘Yes,butsheneedn’tletthatworryher,’saidHardcastle.‘She’lljusthavetotellherstoryofhowshe
foundthebody.’

‘Youdon’tknowwhothemanwasyet?’

‘No.I’mafraidit’searlydaysforthat.Therewasacardinhispocketandwethoughtatfirsthewas
some kind of insurance agent. But it seems more likely now that it was a card he’d been given by
someone.Perhapshewascontemplatinginsurancehimself.’

‘Oh,Isee,’MrsLawtonlookedvaguelyinterested.

‘NowI’lljustgetthesenamesright,’saidtheinspector.‘IthinkI’vegotitdownasMissSheilaWebbor
MissSheilaR.Webb.Ijustcouldn’trememberwhattheothernamewas.WasitRosalie?’

‘Rosemary,’ said Mrs Lawton, ‘she was christened Rosemary Sheila but Sheila always thought
Rosemarywasratherfancifulsoshe’snevercalledanythingbutSheila.’

‘Isee.’TherewasnothinginHardcastle’stonetoshowthathewaspleasedthatoneofhishuncheshad
comeoutright.Henotedanotherpoint.ThenameRosemaryoccasionednodistressinMrsLawton.To
herRosemarywassimplyaChristiannamethatherniecedidnotuse.

‘I’ve got it straight now all right,’ said the inspector smiling. ‘I gather that your niece came from
LondonandhasbeenworkingfortheCavendishBureauforthelasttenmonthsorso.Youdon’tknow
theexactdate,Isuppose?’

‘Well, really, I couldn’t say now. It was last November some time. I think more towards the end of
November.’

‘Quiteso.Itdoesn’treallymatter.Shewasnotlivingwithyouherepreviouslytotakingthejobatthe
CavendishBureau?’

‘No.ShewaslivinginLondonbeforethat.’

‘HaveyougotheraddressinLondon?’

‘Well,I’vegotitsomewhere,’MrsLawtonlookedroundherwiththevagueexpressionofthehabitually
untidy. ‘I’ve got such a short memory,’ she said. ‘Something like Allington Grove, I think it was–out
Fulhamway.Shesharedaflatwithtwoothergirls.TerriblyexpensiveroomsareinLondonforgirls.’

‘Doyourememberthenameofthefirmsheworkedatthere?’

‘Oh,yes.HopgoodandTrent.TheywereestateagentsintheFulhamRoad.’

‘Thankyou.Wellallthatseemsveryclear.MissWebbisanorphan,Iunderstand?’

‘Yes,’saidMrsLawton.Shemoveduneasily.Hereyesstrayedtothedoor.‘DoyoumindifIjustgointo
thekitchenagain?’

‘Ofcourse.’

Heopenedthedoorforher.Shewentout.Hewonderedifhehadbeenrightorwronginthinkingthat
hislastquestionhadinsomewayperturbedMrsLawton.Herreplieshadcomequitereadilyandeasily
uptothen.HethoughtaboutituntilMrsLawtonreturned.

‘I’msosorry,’shesaid,apologetically,‘butyouknowwhatitis–cookingthings.Everything’squiteall
right now. Was there anything else you want to ask me? I’ve remembered, by the way, it wasn’t
AllingtonGrove.ItwasCarringtonGroveandthenumberwas17.’

‘Thankyou,’saidtheinspector.‘IthinkIwasaskingyouwhetherMissWebbwasanorphan.’

‘Yes,she’sanorphan.Herparentsaredead.’

‘Longago?’

‘Theydiedwhenshewasachild.’

Therewassomethinglikedefiancejustperceptibleinhertone.

‘Wassheyoursister’schildoryourbrother’s?’

‘Mysister’s.’

‘Ah,yes.AndwhatwasMrWebb’sprofession?’

MrsLawtonpausedamomentbeforeanswering.Shewasbitingherlips.Thenshesaid,‘Idon’tknow.’

‘Youdon’tknow?’

‘ImeanIdon’tremember,it’ssolongago.’

Hardcastlewaited,knowingthatshewouldspeakagain.Shedid.

‘May I ask what all this has got to do with it–I mean what does it matter who her father and mother
wereandwhatherfatherdidandwherehecamefromoranythinglikethat?’

‘Isupposeitdoesn’tmatterreally,MrsLawton,notfromyourpointofview,thatis.Butyousee,the
circumstancesareratherunusual.’

‘Whatdoyoumean–thecircumstancesareunusual?’

‘Well, we have reason to believe that Miss Webb went to that house yesterday because she had been
specially asked for at the Cavendish Bureau by name. It looks therefore as though someone had
deliberatelyarrangedforhertobethere.Someoneperhaps–’hehesitated‘–withagrudgeagainsther.’

‘Ican’timaginethatanyonecouldhaveagrudgeagainstSheila.She’saverysweetgirl.Anicefriendly
girl.’

‘Yes,’saidHardcastlemildly.‘That’swhatIshouldhavethoughtmyself.’

‘AndIdon’tliketohearanybodysuggestingthecontrary,’saidMrsLawtonbelligerently.

‘Exactly.’Hardcastlecontinuedtosmileappeasingly.‘Butyoumustrealize,MrsLawton,thatitlooksas
thoughyourniecehasbeendeliberatelymadeavictim.Shewasbeing,astheysayonthefilms,puton

thespot.Somebodywasarrangingforhertogointoahousewheretherewasadeadman,andthatdead
manhaddiedveryrecently.Itseemsonthefaceofitamaliciousthingtodo.’

‘You mean–you mean someone was trying to make it appear that Sheila killed him? Oh, no, I can’t
believeit.’

‘Itisratherdifficulttobelieve,’agreedtheinspector,‘butwe’vegottomakequitesureandclearupthe
matter. Could there be, for instance, some young man, someone perhaps who had fallen in love with
yourniece, and whomshe, perhaps, didnot care for? Youngmen sometimes dosome very bitter and
revengefulthings,especiallyifthey’reratherill-balanced.’

‘I don’t think it could be anything of that kind,’ said Mrs Lawton, puckering her eyes in thought and
frowning. ‘Sheila has had one or two boys she’s been friendly with, but there’s been nothing serious.
Nobodysteadyofanykind.’

‘ItmighthavebeenwhileshewaslivinginLondon?’theinspectorsuggested.‘Afterall,Idon’tsuppose
youknowverymuchaboutwhatfriendsshehadthere.’

‘No,no,perhapsnot...Well,you’llhavetoaskheraboutthatyourself,InspectorHardcastle.ButInever
heardofanytroubleofanykind.’

‘Oritmighthavebeenanothergirl,’suggestedHardcastle.‘Perhapsoneofthegirlsshesharedrooms
withtherewasjealousofher?’

‘Isuppose,’saidMrsLawtondoubtfully,‘thattheremightbeagirlwho’dwanttodoherabadturn.But
notinvolvingmurder,surely.’

ItwasashrewdappreciationandHardcastlenotedthatMrsLawtonwasbynomeansafool.Hesaid
quickly:

‘Iknowitallsoundsmostunlikely,butthenthiswholebusinessisunlikely.’

‘Itmusthavebeensomeonemad,’saidMrsLawton.

‘Eveninmadness,’saidHardcastle,‘there’sadefiniteideabehindthemadness,youknow.Something
that’sgivenrisetoit.Andthatreally,’hewenton,‘iswhyIwasaskingyouaboutSheilaWebb’sfather

and mother. You’d be surprised how often motives arise that have their roots in the past. Since Miss
Webb’sfatherandmotherdiedwhenshewasayoungchild,naturallyshecan’ttellmeanythingabout
them.That’swhyI’mapplyingtoyou.’

‘Yes,Isee,but–well...’

Henotedthatthetroubleanduncertaintywerebackinhervoice.

‘Weretheykilledatthesametime,inanaccident,anythinglikethat?’

‘No,therewasnoaccident.’

‘Theybothdiedfromnaturalcauses?’

‘I–well,yes,Imean–Idon’treallyknow.’

‘Ithinkyoumustknowalittlemorethanyouaretellingme,MrsLawton.’Hehazardedaguess.‘Were
they,perhaps,divorced–somethingofthatkind?’

‘No,theyweren’tdivorced.’

‘Comenow,MrsLawton.Youknow–youmustknowofwhatyoursisterdied?’

‘Idon’tseewhat–Imean,Ican’tsay–it’sallverydifficult.Rakingupthings.It’smuchbetternotraking
themup.’Therewasakindofdesperateperplexityinherglance.

Hardcastlelookedatherkeenly.Thenhesaidgently,‘WasSheilaWebbperhaps–anillegitimatechild?’

Hesawimmediatelyamixtureofconsternationandreliefinherface.

‘She’snotmychild,’shesaid.

‘Sheisyoursister’sillegitimatechild?’

‘Yes.Butshedoesn’tknowitherself.I’venevertoldher.Itoldherherparentsdiedyoung.Sothat’s
why–well,yousee...’

‘Oh,yes,Isee,’saidtheinspector,‘andIassureyouthatunlesssomethingcomesofthisparticularline
ofinquirythereisnoneedformetoquestionMissWebbonthissubject.’

‘Youmeanyouneedn’ttellher?’

‘Notunlessthereissomerelevancetothecase,which,Imaysay,seemsunlikely.ButIdowantallthe
factsthatyouknow,MrsLawton,andIassureyouthatI’lldomybesttokeepwhatyoutellmeentirely
betweenourselves.’

‘It’snotanicethingtohappen,’saidMrsLawton,‘andIwasverydistressedaboutit,Icantellyou.My
sister,yousee,hadalwaysbeenthecleveroneofthefamily.Shewasaschoolteacheranddoingvery
well.Highlyrespectedandeverythingelse.Thelastpersonyou’deverthinkwould–’

‘Well,’saidtheinspector,tactfully,‘itoftenhappensthatway.Shegottoknowthisman–thisWebb–’

‘Ineverevenknewwhathisnamewas,’saidMrsLawton.‘Inevermethim.Butshecametomeand
toldme what hadhappened. That shewas expecting a childand that theman couldn’t, or wouldn’t–I
never knew which–marry her. She was ambitious and it would have meant giving up her job if the
wholethingcameout.SonaturallyI–IsaidI’dhelp.’

‘Whereisyoursisternow,MrsLawton?’

‘I’venoidea.Absolutelynoideaatall.’Shewasemphatic.

‘She’salive,though.’

‘Isupposeso.’

‘Butyouhaven’tkeptintouchwithher?’

‘That’sthewayshewantedit.Shethoughtitwasbestforthechildandbestforherthatthereshouldbe

acleanbreak.Soitwasfixedthatway.Webothhadalittleincomeofourownthatourmotherleftus.
Annturnedherhalf-shareovertometobeusedforthechild’sbringingupandkeep.Shewasgoingto
continuewithherprofession,shesaid,butshewouldchangeschools.Therewassomeidea,Ibelieve,of
a year’s exchange with a teacher abroad. Australia or somewhere. That’s all I know, Inspector
Hardcastle,andthat’sallIcantellyou.’

Helookedatherthoughtfully.Wasthatreallyallsheknew?Itwasadifficultquestiontoanswerwith
anycertainty.Itwascertainlyallthatshemeanttotellhim.Itmightverywellbeallsheknew.Slightas
thereferencetothesisterhadbeen,Hardcastlegotanimpressionofaforceful,bitter,angrypersonality.
The sort of woman who was determined not to have her life blasted by one mistake. In a cold hard-
headedwayshehadprovidedfortheupkeepandpresumablehappinessofherchild.Fromthatmoment
onshehadcutherselfadrifttostartlifeagainonherown.

Itwasconceivable,hethought,thatshemightfeellikethataboutthechild.Butwhatabouthersister?
Hesaidmildly:

‘Itseemsoddthatshedidnotatleastkeepintouchwithyoubyletter,didnotwanttoknowhowthe
childwasprogressing?’

MrsLawtonshookherhead.

‘NotifyouknewAnn,’shesaid.‘Shewasalwaysveryclear-cutinherdecisions.AndthensheandI
weren’tveryclose.Iwasyoungerthanshewasbyagooddeal–twelveyears.AsIsay,wewerenever
veryclose.’

‘Andwhatdidyourhusbandfeelaboutthisadoption?’

‘Iwasawidowthen,’saidMrsLawton.‘Imarriedyoungandmyhusbandwaskilledinthewar.Ikepta
smallsweetshopatthetime.’

‘Wherewasallthis?NothereinCrowdean.’

‘No.WewerelivinginLincolnshireatthetime.Icamehereintheholidaysonce,andIlikeditsomuch
thatIsoldtheshopandcameheretolive.Later,whenSheilawasoldenoughtogotoschool,Itooka
job in Roscoe and West, the big drapers here, you know. I still work there. They’re very pleasant
people.’

‘Well,’ said Hardcastle, rising to his feet, ‘thank you very much, Mrs Lawton, for your frankness in
whatyouhavetoldme.’

‘Andyouwon’tsayawordofittoSheila?’

‘Notunlessitshouldbecomenecessary,andthatwouldonlyhappenifsomecircumstancesoutofthe
pastprovedtohavebeenconnectedwiththismurderat19,WilbrahamCrescent.Andthat,Ithink,is
unlikely.’Hetookthephotographfromhispocketwhichhehadbeenshowingtosomanypeople,and
showedittoMrsLawton.‘You’venoideawhothismancouldbe?’

‘They’veshownitmealready,’saidMrsLawton.

Shetookitandscrutinizeditearnestly.

‘No. I’m sure, quite sure, I’ve never seen this man before. I don’t think he belonged round here or I
mighthaverememberedseeinghimabout.Ofcourse–’shelookedclosely.Shepausedamomentbefore
adding,ratherunexpectedly,‘HelooksanicemanIthink.Agentleman,I’dsay,wouldn’tyou?’

It was a slightly outmoded term in the inspector’s experience, yet it fell very naturally from Mrs
Lawton’slips.‘Broughtupinthecountry,’hethought.‘Theystillthinkofthingsthatway.’Helookedat
thephotographagainhimselfreflecting,withfaintsurprise,thathehadnotthoughtofthedeadmanin
quitethatway.Washeaniceman?Hehadbeenassumingjustthecontrary.Assumingitunconsciously
perhaps,orinfluencedperhapsbythefactthatthemanhadacardinhispocketwhichboreanameand
anaddresswhichwereobviouslyfalse.ButtheexplanationhehadgiventoMrsLawtonjustnowmight
havebeenthetrueone.Itmighthavebeenthatthecarddidrepresentsomebogusinsuranceagentwho
hadpressedthecarduponthedeadman.Andthat,hethoughtwryly,wouldreallymakethewholething
evenmoredifficult.Heglancedathiswatchagain.

‘Imustn’tkeepyoufromyourcookinganylonger,’hesaid,‘sinceyournieceisnothomeyet–’

MrsLawtoninturnlookedattheclockonthemantelpiece.‘Onlyoneclockinthisroom,thankheaven,’
thoughttheinspectortohimself.

‘Yes,sheislate,’sheremarked.‘Surprisingreally.It’sagoodthingEdnadidn’twait.’

SeeingaslightlypuzzledexpressiononHardcastle’sface,sheexplained.

‘It’sjustoneofthegirlsfromtheoffice.ShecameheretoseeSheilathiseveningandshewaitedabit
butafterawhileshesaidshecouldn’twaitanylonger.She’dgotadatewithsomeone.Shesaiditwould
dotomorrow,orsomeothertime.’

Enlightenment came to the inspector. The girl he had passed in the street! He knew now why she’d
madehimthinkofshoes.Ofcourse.ItwasthegirlwhohadreceivedhimintheCavendishBureauand
the girl who, when he left, had been holding up a shoe with a stiletto heel torn off it, and had been
discussinginunhappypuzzlementhowonearthshewasgoingtogethomelikethat.Anondescriptkind
of girl, he remembered, not very attractive, sucking some kind of sweet as she talked. She had
recognized him when she passed him in the street, although he had not recognized her. She had
hesitated,too,asthoughshethoughtofspeakingtohim.Hewonderedratheridlywhatshehadwanted
to say. Had she wanted to explain why she was calling on Sheila Webb or had she thought he would
expecthertosaysomething?Heasked:

‘Issheagreatfriendofyourniece’s?’

‘Well,notparticularly,’saidMrsLawton.‘Imeantheyworkinthesameofficeandallthat,butshe’s
ratheradullgirl.NotverybrightandsheandSheilaaren’tparticularfriends.Infact,Iwonderedwhy
shewassokeentoseeSheilatonight.Shesaiditwassomethingshecouldn’tunderstandandthatshe
wantedtoaskSheilaaboutit.’

‘Shedidn’ttellyouwhatitwas?’

‘No,shesaiditwouldkeepanditdidn’tmatter.’

‘Isee.Well,Imustbegoing.’

‘It’sodd,’saidMrsLawton,‘thatSheilahasn’ttelephoned.Sheusuallydoesifshe’slate,becausethe
professorsometimesaskshertostaytodinner.Ah,well,Iexpectshe’llbehereanymomentnow.There
are a lot of bus queues sometimes and the Curlew Hotel is quite a good way along the Esplanade.
There’snothing–nomessage–youwanttoleaveforSheila?’

‘Ithinknot,’saidtheinspector.

Ashewentoutheasked,‘Bytheway,whochoseyourniece’sChristiannames,RosemaryandSheila?
Yoursisteroryourself?’

‘Sheila was our mother’s name. Rosemary was my sister’s choice. Funny name to choose really.
Fanciful.Andyetmysisterwasn’tfancifulorsentimentalinanyway.’

‘Well,goodnight,MrsLawton.’

As the inspector turned the corner from the gateway into the street he thought, ‘Rosemary–hm...
Rosemaryforremembrance.Romanticremembrance?Or–somethingquitedifferent?’

CHAPTER13

ColinLamb’sNarrative

IwalkedupCharingCrossRoadandturnedintothemazeofstreetsthattwisttheirwaybetweenNew
OxfordStreetandCoventGarden.Allsortsofunsuspectedshopsdidbusinessthere,antiqueshops,a
dolls’hospital,balletshoes,foreigndelicatessenshops.

Iresistedthelureofthedolls’hospitalwithitsvariouspairsofblueorbrownglasseyes,andcameat
lasttomyobjective.ItwasasmalldingybookshopinasidestreetnotfarfromtheBritishMuseum.It
hadtheusualtraysofbooksoutside.Ancientnovels,oldtextbooks,oddsandendsofallkinds,labelled
3d.,6d.,1s.,evensomearistocratswhichhadnearlyalltheirpages,andoccasionallyeventheirbinding
intact.

I sidled through the doorway. It was necessary to sidle since precariously arranged books impinged
moreandmoreeverydayonthepassagewayfromthestreet.Inside,itwasclearthatthebooksowned
theshopratherthantheotherwayabout.Everywheretheyhadrunwildandtakenpossessionoftheir
habitat,breedingandmultiplyingandclearlylackinganystronghandtokeepthemdown.Thedistance
between bookshelves was so narrow that you could only get along with great difficulty. There were
pilesofbooksperchedoneveryshelfortable.Onastoolinacorner,hemmedinbybooks,wasanold
maninapork-piehatwithalargeflatfacelikeastuffedfish.Hehadtheairofonewhohasgivenupan
unequal struggle. He had attempted to master the books, but the books had obviously succeeded in
masteringhim.HewasakindofKingCanuteofthebookworld,retreatingbeforetheadvancingbook
tide.Ifheorderedittoretreatitwouldhavebeenwiththesureandhopelesscertaintythatitwouldnot
doso.ThiswasMrSolomon,proprietoroftheshop.Herecognizedme,hisfishlikestaresoftenedfora
momentandhenodded.

‘Gotanythinginmyline?’Iasked.

‘You’llhavetogoupandsee,MrLamb.Stillonseaweedsandthatstuff?’

‘That’sright.’

‘Well,youknowwheretheyare.Marinebiology,fossils,Antarctica–secondfloor.Ihadanewparcelin
daybeforeyesterday.Istartedtounpack’embutIhaven’tgotroundtoitproperlyyet.You’llfindthem
inacornerupthere.’

I nodded and sidled my way onwards to where a small rather rickety and very dirty staircase led up
fromthebackoftheshop.OnthefirstfloorwereOrientalia,artbooks,medicine,andFrenchclassics.
In this room was a rather interesting little curtained corner not known to the general public, but
accessibletoexperts,wherewhatiscalled‘odd’or‘curious’volumesreposed.Ipassedthemandwent
onuptothesecondfloor.

Herearchaeological,naturalhistory,andotherrespectablevolumeswereratherinadequatelysortedinto
categories. I steered my way through students and elderly colonels and clergymen, passed round the
angle of a bookcase, stepped over various gaping parcels of books on the floor and found my further
progress barred by two students of opposite sexes lost to the world in a closely knit embrace. They
stoodthereswayingtoandfro.Isaid:

‘Excuseme,’pushedthemfirmlyaside,raisedacurtainwhichmaskedadoor,andslippingakeyfrom
mypocket,turneditinthelockandpassedthrough.Ifoundmyselfincongruouslyinakindofvestibule
withcleanlydistemperedwallshungwithprintsofHighlandcattle,andadoorwithahighlypolished
knockeronit.Imanipulatedtheknockerdiscreetlyandthedoorwasopenedbyanelderlywomanwith
grey hair, spectacles of a particularly old-fashioned kind, a black skirt and a rather unexpected
peppermint-stripedjumper.

‘It’syou,isit?’shesaidwithoutanyotherformofgreeting.‘Hewasaskingaboutyouonlyyesterday.
He wasn’t pleased.’ She shook her head at me, rather as an elderly governess might do at a
disappointingchild.‘You’llhavetotryanddobetter,’shesaid.

‘Oh,comeoffit,Nanny,’Isaid.

‘Anddon’tcallmeNanny,’saidthelady.‘It’sacheek.I’vetoldyousobefore.’

‘It’syourfault,’Isaid.‘Youmustn’ttalktomeasifIwereasmallboy.’

‘Timeyougrewup.You’dbettergoinandgetitover.’

Shepressedabuzzer,pickedupatelephonefromthedesk,andsaid:

‘MrColin...Yes,I’msendinghimin.’Sheputitdownandnoddedtome.

Iwentthroughadoorattheendoftheroomintoanotherroomwhichwassofullofcigarsmokethatit
wasdifficulttoseeanythingatall.Aftermysmartingeyeshadcleared,Ibeheldtheampleproportions
ofmychiefsittingbackinanaged,derelictgrandfatherchair,bythearmofwhichwasanold-fashioned
reading-orwriting-deskonaswivel.

Colonel Beck took off his spectacles, pushed aside the reading-desk on which was a vast tome and
lookeddisapprovinglyatme.

‘Soit’syouatlast?’hesaid.

‘Yes,sir,’Isaid.

‘Gotanything?’

‘No,sir.’

‘Ah!Well,itwon’tdo,Colin,d’youhear?Won’tdo.Crescentsindeed!’

‘Istillthink,’Ibegan.

‘Allright.Youstillthink.Butwecan’twaitforeverwhileyou’rethinking.’

‘I’lladmititwasonlyahunch,’Isaid.

‘Noharminthat,’saidColonelBeck.

Hewasacontradictoryman.

‘BestjobsI’veeverdonehavebeenhunches.Onlythishunchofyoursdoesn’tseemtobeworkingout.
Finishedwiththepubs?’

‘Yes,sir.AsItoldyouI’vestartedonCrescents.HousesincrescentsiswhatImean.’

‘Ididn’tsupposeyoumeantbakers’shopswithFrenchrollsinthem,though,cometothinkofit,there’s
no reason why not. Some of these places make an absolute fetish of producing French croissants that
aren’t really French. Keep ’em in a deep freeze nowadays like everything else. That’s why nothing
tastesofanythingnowadays.’

I waited to see whether the old boy would enlarge upon this topic. It was a favourite one of his. But
seeingthatIwasexpectinghimtodoso,ColonelBeckrefrained.

‘Washoutallround?’hedemanded.

‘Almost.I’vestillgotalittlewaytogo.’

‘Youwantmoretime,isthatit?’

‘Iwantmoretime,yes,’Isaid.‘ButIdon’twanttomoveontoanotherplacethisminute.There’sbeena
kindofcoincidenceanditmight–onlymight–meansomething.’

‘Don’twaffle.Givemefacts.’

‘Subjectofinvestigation,WilbrahamCrescent.’

‘Andyoudrewablank!Ordidn’tyou?’

‘I’mnotsure.’

‘Defineyourself,defineyourself,boy.’

‘ThecoincidenceisthatamanwasmurderedinWilbrahamCrescent.’

‘Whowasmurdered?’

‘Asyethe’sunknown.Hadacardwithanameandaddressinhispocket,butthatwasbogus.’

‘Hm.Yes.Suggestive.Tieupinanyway?’

‘Ican’tseethatitdoes,sir,butallthesame...’

‘Iknow,Iknow.Allthesame...Well,whathaveyoucomefor?Comeforpermissiontogoonnosing
aboutWilbrahamCrescent–whereverthatabsurd-soundingplaceis?’

‘It’saplacecalledCrowdean.TenmilesfromPortlebury.’

‘Yes,yes.Verygoodlocality.Butwhatareyouherefor?Youdon’tusuallyaskpermission.Yougoyour
ownpigheadedway,don’tyou?’

‘That’sright,sir,I’mafraidIdo.’

‘Well,then,whatisit?’

‘ThereareacoupleofpeopleIwantvetted.’

With a sigh Colonel Beck drew his reading-desk back into position, took a ball-pen from his pocket,
blewonitandlookedatme.

‘Well?’

‘HousecalledDianaLodge.Actually,20,WilbrahamCrescent.WomancalledMrsHemmingandabout
eighteencatslivethere.’

‘Diana? Hm,’ said Colonel Beck. ‘Moon goddess! Diana Lodge. Right. What does she do, this Mrs
Hemming?’

‘Nothing,’Isaid,‘she’sabsorbedinhercats.’

‘Damnedgoodcover,Idaresay,’saidBeckappreciatively.‘Certainlycouldbe.Isthatall?’

‘No,’Isaid.‘There’samancalledRamsay.Livesat62,WilbrahamCrescent.Saidtobeaconstruction
engineer,whateverthatis.Goesabroadagooddeal.’

‘I like the sound of that,’ said Colonel Beck. ‘I like the sound of that very much. You want to know
abouthim,doyou?Allright.’

‘He’sgotawife,’Isaid.‘Quiteanicewife,andtwoobstreperouschildren–boys.’

‘Well,hemighthave,’saidColonelBeck.‘Ithasbeenknown.YourememberPendleton?Hehadawife
and children. Very nice wife. Stupidest woman I’ve ever come across. No idea in her head that her
husbandwasn’tapillarofrespectabilityinorientalbookdealing.Cometothinkofit,nowIremember,
PendletonhadaGermanwifeaswell,andacoupleofdaughters.AndhealsohadawifeinSwitzerland.
Idon’tknowwhatthewiveswere–hisprivateexcessesorjustcamouflage.He’dsayofcoursethatthey
werecamouflage.Well,anyway,youwanttoknowaboutMrRamsay.Anythingelse?’

‘I’m not sure. There’s a couple at 63. Retired professor. McNaughton by name. Scottish. Elderly.
Spendshistimegardening.Noreasontothinkheandhiswifearenotallright–but–’

‘Allright.We’llcheck.We’llput’emthroughthemachinetomakesure.Whatareallthesepeople,by
theway?’

‘They’re people whose gardens verge on or touch the garden of the house where the murder was
committed.’

‘SoundslikeaFrenchexercise,’saidBeck.‘Whereisthedeadbodyofmyuncle?Inthegardenofthe
cousinofmyaunt.WhataboutNumber19itself?’

‘Ablindwoman,aformerschoolteacher,livesthere.Sheworksinaninstitutefortheblindandshe’s
beenthoroughlyinvestigatedbythelocalpolice.’

‘Livebyherself?’

‘Yes.’

‘Andwhatisyourideaaboutalltheseotherpeople?’

‘Myideais,’Isaid,‘thatifamurderwascommittedbyanyoftheseotherpeopleinanyoftheseother
housesthatIhavementionedtoyou,itwouldbeperfectlyeasy,thoughrisky,toconveythedeadbody
intoNumber19atasuitabletimeofday.It’samerepossibility,that’sall.Andthere’ssomethingI’dlike
toshowyou.This.’

BecktooktheearthstainedcoinIheldouttohim.

‘ACzechHaller?Wheredidyoufindit?’

‘Ididn’t.ButitwasfoundinthebackgardenofNumber19.’

‘Interesting. You may have something after all in your persistent fixation on crescents and rising
moons.’Headdedthoughtfully,‘There’sapubcalledTheRisingMooninthenextstreettothis.Why
don’tyougoandtryyourluckthere?’

‘I’vebeentherealready,’Isaid.

‘You’vealwaysgotananswer,haven’tyou?’saidColonelBeck.‘Haveacigar?’

Ishookmyhead.‘Thankyou–notimetoday.’

‘GoingbacktoCrowdean?’

‘Yes.There’stheinquesttoattend.’

‘Itwillonlybeadjourned.Sureit’snotsomegirlyou’rerunningafterinCrowdean?’

‘Certainlynot,’Isaidsharply.

ColonelBeckbegantochuckleunexpectedly.

‘Youmindyourstep,myboy!Sexrearingitsuglyheadasusual.Howlonghaveyouknownher?’

‘Thereisn’tany–Imean–well–therewasagirlwhodiscoveredthebody.’

‘Whatdidshedowhenshediscoveredit?’

‘Screamed.’

‘Verynicetoo,’saidthecolonel.‘Sherushedtoyou,criedonyourshoulderandtoldyouaboutit.Isthat
it?’

‘Idon’tknowwhatyou’retalkingabout,’Isaidcoldly.‘Havealookatthese.’

Igavehimaselectionofthepolicephotographs.

‘Who’sthis?’demandedColonelBeck.

‘Thedeadman.’

‘Tentoonethisgirlyou’resokeenaboutkilledhim.Thewholestorysoundsveryfishytome.’

‘Youhaven’tevenheardityet,’Isaid.‘Ihaven’ttoldittoyou.’

‘Idon’tneedtelling,’ColonelBeckwavedhiscigar.‘Goawaytoyourinquest,myboy,andlookoutfor
thatgirl.IshernameDiana,orArtemis,oranythingcrescentyormoonlike?’

‘No,itisn’t.’

‘Well,rememberthatitmightbe!’

CHAPTER14

ColinLamb’sNarrative

IthadbeenquitealongtimesinceIhadvisitedWhitehavenMansions.Someyearsagoithadbeenan
outstanding building of modern flats. Now there were many other more imposing and even more
modernblocksofbuildingsflankingitoneitherside.Inside,Inoted,ithadrecentlyhadafacelift.It
hadbeenrepaintedinpaleshadesofyellowandgreen.

IwentupintheliftandpressedthebellofNumber203.Itwasopenedtomebythatimpeccableman-
servant,George.Asmileofwelcomecametohisface.

‘MrColin!It’salongtimesincewe’veseenyouhere.’

‘Yes,Iknow.Howareyou,George?’

‘Iamingoodhealth,Iamthankfultosay,sir.’

Iloweredmyvoice.‘Andhow’she?’

George lowered his own voice, though that was hardly necessary since it had been pitched in a most
discreetkeyfromthebeginningofourconversation.

‘Ithink,sir,thatsometimeshegetsalittledepressed.’

Inoddedsympathetically.

‘Ifyouwillcomethisway,sir–’Herelievedmeofmyhat.

‘Announceme,please,asMrColinLamb.’

‘Verygood,sir.’Heopenedadoorandspokeinaclearvoice.‘MrColinLambtoseeyou,sir.’

HedrewbacktoallowmetopasshimandIwentintotheroom.

My friend, Hercule Poirot, was sitting in his usual large, square armchair in front of the fireplace. I
notedthatonebaroftherectangularelectricfireglowedred.ItwasearlySeptember,theweatherwas
warm,butPoirotwasoneofthefirstmentorecognizetheautumnchill,andtotakeprecautionsagainst
it.Oneithersideofhimonthefloorwasaneatpileofbooks.Morebooksstoodonthetableathisleft
side.Athisrighthandwasacupfromwhichsteamrose.Atisane,Isuspected.Hewasfondoftisanes
andoftenurgedthemonme.Theywerenauseatingtotasteandpungenttosmell.

‘Don’t get up,’ I said, but Poirot was already on his feet. He came towards me on twinkling, patent-
leathershodfeetwithoutstretchedhands.

‘Aha, so it is you, it is you, my friend! My young friend Colin. But why do you call yourself by the
nameofLamb?Letmethinknow.Thereisaproverborasaying.Somethingaboutmuttondressedas
lamb. No. That is what is said of elderly ladies who are trying to appear younger than they are. That
doesnotapplytoyou.Aha,Ihaveit.Youareawolfinsheep’sclothing.Isthatit?’

‘Noteventhat,’Isaid.‘It’sjustthatinmylineofbusinessIthoughtmyownnamemightberathera
mistake, that it might be connected too much with my old man. Hence Lamb. Short, simple, easily
remembered.Suiting,Iflattermyself,mypersonality.’

‘OfthatIcannotbesure,’saidPoirot.‘Andhowismygoodfriend,yourfather?’

‘Theoldman’sfine,’Isaid.‘Verybusywithhishollyhocks–orisitchrysanthemums?Theseasonsgo
bysofastIcanneverrememberwhatitisatthemoment.’

‘Hebusieshimselfthen,withthehorticulture?’

‘Everyoneseemstocometothatintheend,’Isaid.

‘Notme,’saidHerculePoirot.‘Oncethevegetablemarrows,yes–butneveragain.Ifyouwantthebest
flowers, why not go to the florist’s shop? I thought the good Superintendent was going to write his
memoirs?’

‘He started,’ I said, ‘but he found that so much would have to be left out that he finally came to the
conclusionthatwhatwasleftinwouldbesounbearablytameasnottobeworthwriting.’

‘Onehastohavethediscretion,yes.Itisunfortunate,’saidPoirot,‘becauseyourfathercouldtellsome
veryinterestingthings.Ihavemuchadmirationforhim.Ialwayshad.Youknow,hismethodswereto
meveryinteresting.Hewassostraightforward.Heusedtheobviousasnomanhasuseditbefore.He
wouldsetthetrap,theveryobvioustrapandthepeoplehewishedtocatchwouldsay“itistooobvious,
that.Itcannotbetrue”andsotheyfellintoit!’

Ilaughed.‘Well,’Isaid,‘it’snotthefashionnowadaysforsonstoadmiretheirfathers.Mostofthem
seemtositdown,venomintheirpens,andrememberallthedirtythingstheycanandputthemdown
withobvioussatisfaction.Butpersonally,I’vegotenormousrespectformyoldman.IhopeI’llevenbe
asgoodashewas.NotthatI’mexactlyinhislineofbusiness,ofcourse.’

‘Butrelatedtoit,’saidPoirot.‘Closelyrelatedtoit,thoughyouhavetoworkbehindthescenesinaway
that he did not.’ He coughed delicately. ‘I think I am to congratulate you on having had a rather
spectacularsuccesslately.Isitnotso?TheaffaireLarkin.’

‘It’sallrightsofarasitgoes,’Isaid.‘Butthere’sagooddealmorethatI’dliketohave,justtoroundit
offproperly.Still,thatisn’treallywhatIcameheretotalktoyouabout.’

‘Ofcoursenot,ofcoursenot,’saidPoirot.Hewavedmetoachairandofferedmesometisane,whichI
instantlyrefused.

Georgeenteredattheappositemomentwithawhiskydecanter,aglassandasiphonwhichheplacedat
myelbow.

‘Andwhatareyoudoingwithyourselfthesedays?’IaskedPoirot.

Casting a look at the various books around him I said: ‘It looks as though you are doing a little
research?’

Poirotsighed.‘Youmaycallitthat.Yes,perhapsinawayitistrue.LatelyIhavefeltverybadlythe
need for a problem. It does not matter, I said to myself, what the problem is. It can be like the good
Sherlock Holmes, the depth at which the parsley has sunk in the butter. All that matters is that there
shouldbeaproblem.ItisnotthemusclesIneedtoexercise,yousee,itisthecellsofthebrain.’

‘Justaquestionofkeepingfit.Iunderstand.’

‘As you say.’ He sighed. ‘But problems, mon cher, are not so easy to come by. It is true that last
Thursdayonepresenteditselftome.Theunwarrantedappearanceofthreepiecesofdriedorangepeelin
myumbrellastand.Howdidtheycomethere?Howcouldtheyhavecomethere?Idonoteatoranges
myself.Georgewouldneverputoldpiecesoforangepeelintheumbrellastand.Norisavisitorlikely
tobringwithhimthreepiecesoforangepeel.Yes,itwasquiteaproblem.’

‘Andyousolvedit?’

‘Isolvedit,’saidPoirot.

Hespokewithmoremelancholythanpride.

‘Itwasnotintheendveryinteresting.Aquestionofaremplacementoftheusualcleaningwomanand
thenew one broughtwith her, strictlyagainst orders, one ofher children. Althoughit does not sound
interesting,neverthelessitneededasteadypenetrationoflies,camouflageandalltherestofit.Itwas
satisfactory,shallwesay,butnotimportant.’

‘Disappointing,’Isuggested.

‘Enfin,’saidPoirot,‘Iammodest.Butoneshouldnotneedtousearapiertocutthestringofaparcel.’

I shook my head in a solemn manner. Poirot continued, ‘I have occupied myself of late in reading
variousreallifeunsolvedmysteries.Iapplytothemmyownsolutions.’

‘YoumeancasesliketheBravocase,AdelaideBartlettandalltherestofthem?’

‘Exactly.Butitwasinawaytooeasy.Thereisnodoubtwhateverinmyownmindastowhomurdered
CharlesBravo.Thecompanionmayhavebeeninvolved,butshewascertainlynotthemovingspiritin
thematter.Thentherewasthatunfortunateadolescent,ConstanceKent.Thetruemotivethatlaybehind
herstranglingofthesmallbrotherwhomsheundoubtedlylovedhasalwaysbeenapuzzle.Butnotto
me.ItwasclearassoonasIreadaboutthecase.AsforLizzieBorden,onewishesonlythatonecould
putafewnecessaryquestionstovariouspeopleconcerned.Iamfairlysureinmyownmindofwhatthe
answerswouldbe.Alas,theyareallbynowdead,Ifear.’

Ithoughttomyself,assooftenbefore,thatmodestywascertainlynotHerculePoirot’sstrongpoint.

‘AndwhatdidIdonext?’continuedPoirot.

Iguessedthatforsometimenowhehadhadnoonemuchtotalktoandwasenjoyingthesoundofhis
ownvoice.

‘FromreallifeIturnedtofiction.Youseemeherewithvariousexamplesofcriminalfictionatmyright
handandmyleft.Ihavebeenworkingbackwards.Here–’hepickedupthevolumethathehadlaidon
thearmofhischairwhenIentered,‘–here,mydearColin,isTheLeavenworthCase.’Hehandedthe
booktome.

‘That’sgoingbackquitealongtime,’Isaid.‘Ibelievemyfathermentionedthathereaditasaboy.I
believeIoncereaditmyself.Itmustseemratherold-fashionednow.’

‘Itisadmirable,’saidPoirot.‘Onesavoursitsperiodatmosphere,itsstudiedanddeliberatemelodrama.
ThoserichandlavishdescriptionsofthegoldenbeautyofEleanor,themoonlightbeautyofMary!’

‘Imustreaditagain,’Isaid.‘I’dforgottenthepartsaboutthebeautifulgirls.’

‘And there is the maid-servant, Hannah, so true to type, and the murderer, an excellent psychological
study.’

IperceivedthatIhadletmyselfinforalecture.Icomposedmyselftolisten.

‘ThenwewilltaketheAdventuresofArseneLupin,’Poirotwenton.‘Howfantastic,howunreal.And
yetwhatvitalitythereisinthem,whatvigour,whatlife!Theyarepreposterous,buttheyhavepanache.
Thereishumour,too.’

HelaiddowntheAdventuresofArseneLupinandpickedupanotherbook.‘AndthereisTheMysteryof
the Yellow Room. That–ah, that is really a classic! I approve of it from start to finish. Such a logical
approach!Therewerecriticismsofit,Iremember,whichsaidthatitwasunfair.Butitisnotunfair,my
dearColin.No,no.Verynearlyso,perhaps,butnotquite.Thereisthehair’sbreadthofdifference.No.
All through there is truth, concealed with a careful and cunning use of words. Everything should be
clear at that supreme moment when the men meet at the angle of three corridors.’ He laid it down
reverently.‘Definitelyamasterpiece,and,Igather,almostforgottennowadays.’

Poirotskippedtwentyyearsorso,toapproachtheworksofsomewhatlaterauthors.

‘Ihavereadalso,’hesaid,‘someoftheearlyworksofMrsAriadneOliver.Sheisbywayofbeinga
friendofmine,andofyours,Ithink.Idonotwhollyapproveofherworks,mindyou.Thehappenings
in them are highly improbable. The long arm of coincidence is far too freely employed. And, being
youngatthetime,shewasfoolishenoughtomakeherdetectiveaFinn,anditisclearthatsheknows
nothingaboutFinnsorFinlandexceptpossiblytheworksofSibelius.Still,shehasanoriginalhabitof
mind, she makes an occasional shrewd deduction, and of later years she has learnt a good deal about
things which she did not know before. Police procedure for instance. She is also now a little more
reliableonthesubjectoffirearms.Whatwasevenmoreneeded,shehaspossiblyacquiredasolicitoror
abarristerfriendwhohasputherrightoncertainpointsofthelaw.’

HelaidasideMrsAriadneOliverandpickedupanotherbook.

‘NowhereisMrCyrilQuain.Ah,heisamaster,MrQuain,ofthealibi.’

‘He’sadeadlydullwriterifIrememberrightly,’Isaid.

‘It is true,’ said Poirot, ‘that nothing particularly thrilling happens in his books. There is a corpse, of
course.Occasionallymorethanone.Butthewholepointisalwaysthealibi,therailwaytime-table,the
busroutes,theplansofthecross-countryroads.IconfessIenjoythisintricate,thiselaborateuseofthe
alibi.IenjoytryingtocatchMrCyrilQuainout.’

‘AndIsupposeyoualwayssucceed,’Isaid.

Poirotwashonest.

‘Notalways,’headmitted.‘No,notalways.Ofcourse,afteratimeonerealizesthatonebookofhisis
almostexactlylikeanother.Thealibisresembleeachothereverytime,eventhoughtheyarenotexactly
thesame.Youknow,moncherColin,IimaginethisCyrilQuainsittinginhisroom,smokinghispipeas
he is represented to do in his photographs, sitting there with around him the A.B.C.s, the continental
Bradshaws,theairlinebrochures,thetime-tablesofeverykind.Eventhemovementsofliners.Saywhat
youwill,Colin,thereisorderandmethodinMrCyrilQuain.’

HelaidMrQuaindownandpickedupanotherbook.

‘Now here is Mr Garry Gregson, a prodigious writer of thrillers. He has written at least sixty-four, I
understand.HeisalmosttheexactoppositeofMrQuain.InMrQuain’sbooksnothingmuchhappens,
inGarryGregson’sfartoomanythingshappen.Theyhappenimplausiblyandinmassconfusion.They
areallhighlycoloured.Itismelodramastirredupwithastick.Bloodshed–bodies–clues–thrillspiledup
andbulgingover.Alllurid,allveryunlikelife.Heisnotquite,asyouwouldsay,mycupoftea.Heis,
infact,notacupofteaatall.HeismorelikeoneoftheseAmericancocktailsofthemoreobscurekind,
whoseingredientsarehighlysuspect.’

Poirotpaused,sighedandresumedhislecture.‘ThenweturntoAmerica.’Hepluckedabookfromthe
left-hand pile. ‘Florence Elks, now. There is order and method there, colourful happenings, yes, but
plentyofpointinthem.Gayandalive.Shehaswit,thislady,thoughperhaps,likesomanyAmerican
writers,alittletooobsessedwithdrink.Iam,asyouknow,monami,aconnoisseurofwine.Aclaretor
a burgundy introduced into a story, with its vintage and date properly authenticated, I always find
pleasing. But the exact amount of rye and bourbon that are consumed on every other page by the
detectiveinanAmericanthrillerdonotseemtomeinterestingatall.Whetherhedrinksapintorahalf-
pintwhichhetakesfromhiscollardrawerdoesnotseemtomereallytoaffecttheactionofthestoryin
anyway.ThisdrinkmotiveinAmericanbooksisverymuchwhatKingCharles’sheadwastopoorMr
Dickwhenhetriedtowritehismemoirs.Impossibletokeepitout.’

‘Whataboutthetoughschool?’Iasked.

Poirotwavedasidethetoughschoolmuchashewouldhavewavedanintrudingflyormosquito.

‘Violenceforviolence’sake?Sincewhenhasthatbeeninteresting?Ihaveseenplentyofviolenceinmy
earlycareerasapoliceofficer.Bah,youmightaswellreadamedicaltextbook.Toutdemme, I give
Americancrimefictiononthewholeaprettyhighplace.Ithinkitismoreingenious,moreimaginative
thanEnglishwriting.Itislessatmosphericandover-ladenwithatmospherethanmostFrenchwriters.
NowtakeLouisaO’Malleyforinstance.’

Hedivedoncemoreforabook.

‘Whatamodeloffinescholarlywritingishers,yetwhatexcitement,whatmountingapprehensionshe
arousesinherreader.ThosebrownstonemansionsinNewYork.Enfinwhatisabrownstonemansion–I
have never known? Those exclusive apartments, and soulful snobberies, and underneath, deep
unsuspectedseamsofcrimeruntheirunchartedcourse.Itcouldhappenso,anditdoeshappenso.Sheis
verygood,thisLouisaO’Malley,sheisverygoodindeed.’

Hesighed,leanedback,shookhisheadanddrankofftheremainderofhistisane.

‘Andthen–therearealwaystheoldfavourites.’

Againhedivedforabook.

‘TheAdventuresofSherlockHolmes,’hemurmuredlovingly,andevenutteredreverentlytheoneword,
‘Matre!’

‘SherlockHolmes?’Iasked.

‘Ah,non,non,notSherlockHolmes!Itistheauthor,SirArthurConanDoyle,thatIsalute.Thesetales
ofSherlockHolmesareinrealityfar-fetched,fulloffallaciesandmostartificiallycontrived.Buttheart
ofthewriting–ah,thatisentirelydifferent.Thepleasureofthelanguage,thecreationaboveallofthat
magnificentcharacter,DrWatson.Ah,thatwasindeedatriumph.’

Hesighedandshookhisheadandmurmured,obviouslybyanaturalassociationofideas:

‘CecherHastings.MyfriendHastingsofwhomyouhaveoftenheardmespeak.ItisalongtimesinceI
have had news of him. What an absurdity to go and bury oneself in South America, where they are
alwayshavingrevolutions.’

‘That’s not confined to South America,’ I pointed out. ‘They’re having revolutions all over the world
nowadays.’

‘LetusnotdiscusstheBomb,’saidHerculePoirot.‘Ifithastobe,ithastobe,butletusnotdiscussit.’

‘Actually,’Isaid,‘Icametodiscusssomethingquitedifferentwithyou.’

‘Ah!Youareabouttobemarried,isthatit?Iamdelighted,moncher,delighted.’

‘Whatonearthputthatinyourhead,Poirot?’Iasked.‘Nothingofthekind.’

‘Ithappens,’saidPoirot,‘ithappenseveryday.’

‘Perhaps,’ I said firmly, ‘but not to me. Actually I came to tell you that I’d run across rather a pretty

littleprobleminmurder.’

‘Indeed?Aprettyprobleminmurder,yousay?Andyouhavebroughtittome.Why?’

‘Well–’Iwasslightlyembarrassed.‘I–Ithoughtyoumightenjoyit,’Isaid.

Poirotlookedatmethoughtfully.Hecaressedhismoustachewithalovinghand,thenhespoke.

‘Amaster,’hesaid,‘isoftenkindtohisdog.Hegoesoutandthrowsaballforthedog.Adog,however,
isalsocapableofbeingkindtoitsmaster.Adogkillsarabbitoraratandhebringsitandlaysitathis
master’sfeet.Andwhatdoeshedothen?Hewagshistail.’

Ilaughedinspiteofmyself.‘AmIwaggingmytail?’

‘Ithinkyouare,myfriend.Yes,Ithinkyouare.’

‘Allrightthen,’Isaid.‘Andwhatdoesmastersay?Doeshewanttoseedoggy’srat?Doeshewantto
knowallaboutit?’

‘Ofcourse.Naturally.Itisacrimethatyouthinkwillinterestme.Isthatright?’

‘Thewholepointofitis,’Isaid,‘thatitjustdoesn’tmakesense.’

‘Thatisimpossible,’saidPoirot.‘Everythingmakessense.Everything.’

‘Well,youtryandmakesenseofthis.Ican’t.Notthatit’sreallyanythingtodowithme.Ijusthappened
tocomeinonit.Mindyou,itmayturnouttobequitestraightforward,oncethedeadmanisidentified.’

‘Youaretalkingwithoutmethodororder,’saidPoirotseverely.‘Letmebegofyoutoletmehavethe
facts.Yousayitisamurder,yes?’

‘It’samurderallright,’Iassuredhim.‘Well,herewego.’

Idescribedtohimindetailtheeventsthathadtakenplaceat19,WilbrahamCrescent.HerculePoirot
leantbackinhischair.Heclosedhiseyesandgentlytappedwithaforefingerthearmofhischairwhile
helistenedtomyrecital.WhenIfinallystopped,hedidnotspeakforamoment.Thenheasked,without
openinghiseyes:

‘Sansblague?’

‘Oh,absolutely,’Isaid.

‘Epatant,’saidHerculePoirot.Hesavouredthewordonhistongueandrepeateditsyllablebysyllable.
‘E-pa-tant.’Afterthathecontinuedhistappingonthearmofhischairandgentlynoddedhishead.

‘Well,’Isaidimpatiently,afterwaitingafewmomentsmore.‘Whathaveyougottosay?’

‘Butwhatdoyouwantmetosay?’

‘Iwantyoutogivemethesolution.I’vealwaysunderstoodfromyouthatitwasperfectlypossibletolie
backinone’schair,justthinkaboutitall,andcomeupwiththeanswer.Thatitwasquiteunnecessaryto
goandquestionpeopleandrunaboutlookingforclues.’

‘ItiswhatIhavealwaysmaintained.’

‘Well,I’mcallingyourbluff,’Isaid.‘I’vegivenyouthefacts,andnowIwanttheanswer.’

‘Justlikethat,hein?Butthenthereisalotmoretobeknown,monami.Weareonlyatthebeginningof
thefacts.Isthatnotso?’

‘Istillwantyoutocomeupwithsomething.’

‘Isee.’Hereflectedamoment.‘Onethingiscertain,’hepronounced.‘Itmustbeaverysimplecrime.’

‘Simple?’Idemandedinsomeastonishment.

‘Naturally.’

‘Whymustitbesimple?’

‘Because it appears so complex. If it has necessarily to appear complex, it must be simple. You
comprehendthat?’

‘Idon’treallyknowthatIdo.’

‘Curious,’musedPoirot,‘whatyouhavetoldme–Ithink–yes,thereissomethingfamiliartomethere.
Nowwhere–when–haveIcomeacrosssomething...’Hepaused.

‘Yourmemory,’Isaid,‘mustbeonevastreservoirofcrimes.Butyoucan’tpossiblyrememberthemall,
canyou?’

‘Unfortunately no,’ said Poirot, ‘but from time to time these reminiscences are helpful. There was a
soapboiler,Iremember,once,atLige.Hepoisonedhiswifeinordertomarryablondestenographer.
Thecrimemadeapattern.Later,muchlater,thatpatternrecurred.Irecognizedit.Thistimeitwasan
affair of a kidnapped Pekinese dog, but the pattern was the same. I looked for the equivalent of the
blondestenographerandthesoapboiler,andvoil!Thatisthekindofthing.Andhereagaininwhatyou
havetoldmeIhavethatfeelingofrecognition.’

‘Clocks?’Isuggestedhopefully.‘Bogusinsuranceagents?’

‘No,no,’Poirotshookhishead.

‘Blindwomen?’

‘No,no,no.Donotconfuseme.’

‘I’mdisappointedinyou,Poirot,’Isaid.‘Ithoughtyou’dgivemetheanswerstraightaway.’

‘But,myfriend,atpresentyouhavepresentedmeonlywithapattern.Therearemanymorethingsto
findout.Presumablythismanwillbeidentified.Inthatkindofthingthepoliceareexcellent.Theyhave
their criminal records, they can advertise the man’s picture, they have access to a list of missing
persons,thereisscientificexaminationofthedeadman’sclothing,andsoonandsoon.Oh,yes,there
areahundredotherwaysandmeansattheirdisposal.Undoubtedly,thismanwillbeidentified.’

‘Sothere’snothingtodoatthemoment.Isthatwhatyouthink?’

‘Thereisalwayssomethingtodo,’saidHerculePoirot,severely.

‘Suchas?’

Hewaggedanemphaticforefingeratme.

‘Talktotheneighbours,’hesaid.

‘I’ve done that,’ I said. ‘I went with Hardcastle when he was questioning them. They don’t know
anythinguseful.’

‘Ah, tcha, tcha, that is what you think. But I assure you, that cannot be so. You go to them, you ask
them:“Haveyouseenanythingsuspicious?”andtheysayno,andyouthinkthatthatisallthereistoit.
ButthatisnotwhatImeanwhenIsaytalktotheneighbours.Isaytalktothem.Letthemtalktoyou.
Andfromtheirconversationalways,somewhere,youwillfindaclue.Theymaybetalkingabouttheir
gardensortheirpetsortheirhairdressingortheirdressmaker,ortheirfriends,orthekindoffoodthey
like. Always somewhere there will be a word that sheds light. You say there was nothing in those
conversationsthatwasuseful.Isaythatcannotbeso.Ifyoucouldrepeatthemtomewordforword...’

‘Well,that’spracticallywhatIcando,’Isaid.‘Itookshorthandtranscriptsofwhatwassaid,actingin
myroleofassistantpoliceofficer.I’vehadthemtranscribedandtypedandI’vebroughtthemalongto
you.Heretheyare.’

‘Ah, but you are a good boy, you are a very good boy indeed! What you have done is exactly right.
Exactly.Jevousremercieinfiniment.’

Ifeltquiteembarrassed.

‘Haveyouanymoresuggestions?’Iasked.

‘Yes,alwaysIhavesuggestions.Thereisthisgirl.Youcantalktothisgirl.Goandseeher.Alreadyyou
are friends, are you not? Have you not clasped her in your arms when she flew from the house in

terror?’

‘You’vebeenaffectedbyreadingGarryGregson,’Isaid.‘You’vecaughtthemelodramaticstyle.’

‘Perhapsyouareright,’Poirotadmitted.‘Onegetsinfected,itistrue,bythestyleofaworkthatonehas
beenreading.’

‘Asforthegirl–’Isaid,thenpaused.

Poirotlookedatmeinquiringly.

‘Yes?’hesaid.

‘Ishouldn’tlike–Idon’twant...’

‘Ah,sothatisit.Atthebackofyourmindyouthinksheisconcernedsomehowinthiscase.’

‘No,Idon’t.Itwasabsolutelypurechancethatshehappenedtobethere.’

‘No,no,monami,itwasnotpurechance.Youknowthatverywell.You’vetoldmeso.Shewasasked
foroverthetelephone.Askedforspecially.’

‘Butshedoesn’tknowwhy.’

‘Youcannotbesurethatshedoesnotknowwhy.Verylikelyshedoesknowwhyandishidingthefact.’

‘Idon’tthinkso,’Isaidobstinately.

‘It is even possible you may find out why by talking to her, even if she herself does not realize the
truth.’

‘Idon’tseeverywellhow–Imean–Ihardlyknowher.’

HerculePoirotshuthiseyesagain.

‘Thereisatime,’hesaid,‘inthecourseofanattractionbetweentwopersonsoftheoppositesex,when
thatparticularstatementisboundtobetrue.Sheisanattractivegirl,Isuppose?’

‘Well–yes,’Isaid.‘Quiteattractive.’

‘Youwilltalktoher,’Poirotordered,‘becauseyouarealreadyfriends,andyouwillgoagainandsee
thisblindwomanwithsomeexcuse.Andyouwilltalktoher.Andyouwillgotothetypewritingbureau
onthepretenceperhapsofhavingsomemanuscripttyped.Youwillmakefriends,perhaps,withoneof
theotheryoungladieswhoworksthere.Youwilltalktoallthesepeopleandthenyouwillcomeandsee
meagainandyouwilltellmeallthethingsthattheywillsay.’

‘Havemercy!’Isaid.

‘Notatall,’saidPoirot,‘youwillenjoyit.’

‘Youdon’tseemtorealizethatI’vegotmyownworktodo.’

‘Youwillworkallthebetterforhavingacertainamountofrelaxation,’Poirotassuredme.

Igotupandlaughed.

‘Well,’ I said, ‘you’re the doctor! Any more words of wisdom for me? What do you feel about this
strangebusinessoftheclocks?’

Poirotleanedbackinhischairagainandclosedhiseyes.

Thewordshespokewerequiteunexpected.

“Thetimehascome,theWalrussaid,

Totalkofmanythings.

Ofshoesandshipsandsealingwax,

Andcabbagesandkings.

Andwhytheseaisboilinghot

Andwhetherpigshavewings.”

Heopenedhiseyesagainandnoddedhishead.

‘Doyouunderstand?’hesaid.

‘Quotationfrom“TheWalrusandtheCarpenter,”AliceThroughtheLookingGlass.’

‘Exactly.Forthemoment,thatisthebestIcandoforyou,moncher.Reflectuponit.’

CHAPTER15

The inquest was well attended by the general public. Thrilled by a murder in their midst, Crowdean
turnedoutwitheagerhopesofsensationaldisclosures.Theproceedings,however,wereasdryasthey
couldbe.SheilaWebbneednothavedreadedherordeal,itwasoverinacoupleofminutes.

There had been a telephone message to the Cavendish Bureau directing her to go to 19, Wilbraham
Crescent.Shehadgone,actingastoldtodo,byenteringthesitting-room.Shehadfoundthedeadman

thereandhadscreamedandrushedoutofthehousetosummonassistance.Therewerenoquestionsor
elaborations. Miss Martindale, who also gave evidence, was questioned for an even shorter time. She
had received a message purporting to be from Miss Pebmarsh asking her to send a shorthand typist,
preferablyMissSheilaWebb,to19,WilbrahamCrescent,andgivingcertaindirections.Shehadnoted
downtheexacttimeofthetelephonecallas1.49.ThatdisposedofMissMartindale.

MissPebmarsh,callednext,deniedcategoricallythatshehadaskedforanytypisttobesenttoherthat
dayfromtheCavendishBureau.DetectiveInspectorHardcastlemadeashortemotionlessstatement.On
receiptofatelephonecall,hehadgoneto19,WilbrahamCrescentwherehehadfoundthebodyofa
deadman.Thecoronerthenaskedhim:

‘Haveyoubeenabletoidentifythedeadman?’

‘Notasyet,sir.Forthatreason,Iwouldaskforthisinquesttobeadjourned.’

‘Quiteso.’

Then came the medical evidence. Doctor Rigg, the police surgeon, having described himself and his
qualifications,toldofhisarrivalat19,WilbrahamCrescent,andofhisexaminationofthedeadman.

‘Canyougiveusanapproximateideaofthetimeofdeath,Doctor?’

‘Iexaminedhimathalfpastthree.Ishouldputthetimeofdeathasbetweenhalfpastoneandhalfpast
two.’

‘Youcannotputitnearerthanthat?’

‘Ishouldprefernottodoso.Ataguess,themostlikelytimewouldbetwoo’clockorratherearlier,but
therearemanyfactorswhichhavetobetakenintoaccount.Age,stateofhealth,andsoon.’

‘Youperformedanautopsy?’

‘Idid.’

‘Thecauseofdeath?’

‘The man had been stabbed with a thin, sharp knife. Something in the nature, perhaps, of a French
cooking-knifewithataperingblade.Thepointoftheknifeentered...’Herethedoctorbecametechnical
asheexplainedtheexactpositionwheretheknifehadenteredtheheart.

‘Woulddeathhavebeeninstantaneous?’

‘Itwouldhaveoccurredwithinaveryfewminutes.’

‘Themanwouldnothavecriedoutorstruggled?’

‘Notunderthecircumstancesinwhichhewasstabbed.’

‘Willyouexplaintous,Doctor,whatyoumeanbythatphrase?’

‘Imadeanexaminationofcertainorgansandmadecertaintests.Iwouldsaythatwhenhewaskilledhe
wasinastateofcomaduetotheadministrationofadrug.’

‘Canyoutelluswhatthisdrugwas,Doctor?’

‘Yes.Itwaschloralhydrate.’

‘Canyoutellhowthiswasadminstered?’

‘Ishouldsaypresumablyinalcoholofsomekind.Theeffectofchloralhydrateisveryrapid.’

‘KnownincertainquartersasaMickeyFinn,Ibelieve,’murmuredthecoroner.

‘Thatisquitecorrect,’saidDoctorRigg.‘Hewoulddrinktheliquidunsuspectingly,andafewmoments
laterhewouldreeloverandfallunconscious.’

‘Andhewasstabbed,inyouropinion,whileunconscious?’

‘That is my belief. It would account for there being no sign of a struggle and for his peaceful
appearance.’

‘Howlongafterbecomingunconsciouswashekilled?’

‘ThatIcannotsaywithanyaccuracy.Thereagainitdependsonthepersonalidiosyncrasyofthevictim.
Hewouldcertainlynotcomeroundunderhalfanhouranditmightbeagooddealmorethanthat.’

‘Thankyou,DoctorRigg.Haveyouanyevidenceastowhenthismanlasthadameal?’

‘Hehadnotlunchedifthatiswhatyoumean.Hehadeatennosolidfoodforatleastfourhours.’

‘Thankyou,DoctorRigg.Ithinkthatisall.’

Thecoronerthenlookedroundandsaid:

‘Theinquestwillbeadjournedforafortnight,untilSeptember28th.’

Theinquestconcluded,peoplebegantomoveoutofthecourt.EdnaBrentwho,withmostoftheother
girlsattheCavendishBureau,hadbeenpresent,hesitatedasshegotoutsidethedoor.TheCavendish
SecretarialBureauhadbeenclosedforthemorning.MaureenWest,oneoftheothergirls,spoketoher.

‘Whataboutit,Edna?ShallwegototheBluebirdforlunch?We’vegotheapsoftime.Atanyrate,you
have.’

‘I haven’t got any more time than you have,’ said Edna in an injured voice. ‘Sandy Cat told me I’d
bettertakethefirstintervalforlunch.Meanofher.IthoughtI’dgetagoodextrahourforshoppingand
things.’

‘JustlikeSandyCat,’saidMaureen.‘Meanashell,isn’tshe?Weopenupagainattwoandwe’veallgot
tobethere.Areyoulookingforanyone?’

‘OnlySheila.Ididn’tseehercomeout.’

‘Shewentawayearlier,’saidMaureen,‘aftershe’dfinishedgivingherevidence.Shewentoffwitha
youngman–butIdidn’tseewhohewas.Areyoucoming?’

Ednastillhovereduncertainly,andsaid,‘Yougoon–I’vegotshoppingtodoanyway.’

Maureen and another girl went off together. Edna lingered. Finally she nerved herself to speak to the
fair-hairedyoungpolicemanwhostoodattheentrance.

‘CouldIgoinagain?’shemurmuredtimidly,‘andspeakto–totheonewhocametotheoffice–Inspector
something.’

‘InspectorHardcastle?’

‘That’sright.Theonewhowasgivingevidencethismorning.’

‘Well–’theyoungpolicemanlookedintothecourtandobservedtheinspectorindeepconsultationwith
thecoronerandwiththechiefconstableofthecounty.

‘Helooksbusyatthemoment,miss,’hesaid.‘Ifyoucalledroundatthestationlater,orifyou’dliketo
givemeamessage...Isitanythingimportant?’

‘Oh,itdoesn’tmatterreally,’saidEdna.‘It’s–well–justthatIdon’tseehowwhatshesaidcouldhave
beentruebecauseImean...’Sheturnedaway,stillfrowningperplexedly.

ShewanderedawayfromtheCornmarketandalongtheHighStreet.Shewasstillfrowningperplexedly
andtryingtothink.ThinkinghadneverbeenEdna’sstrongpoint.Themoreshetriedtogetthingsclear
inhermind,themoremuddledhermindbecame.

Onceshesaidaloud:

‘Butitcouldn’thavebeenlikethat...Itcouldn’thavebeenlikeshesaid...’

Suddenly,withanairofonemakingaresolution,sheturnedofffromtheHighStreetandalongAlbany
RoadinthedirectionofWilbrahamCrescent.

Since the day that the Press had announced that a murder had been committed at 19, Wilbraham
Crescent,largenumbersofpeoplehadgatheredinfrontofthehouseeverydaytohaveagoodlookatit.
Thefascinationmerebricksandmortarcanhaveforthegeneralpublicundercertaincircumstancesisa
truly mysterious thing. For the first twenty-four hours a policeman had been stationed there to pass
people along in an authoritative manner. Since then interest had lessened; but had still not ceased
entirely. Trades-men’s delivery vans would slacken speed a little as they passed, women wheeling
pramswouldcometoafourorfiveminutestopontheoppositepavementandstaretheireyesoutas
they contemplated Miss Pebmarsh’s neat residence. Shopping women with baskets would pause with
avideyesandexchangepleasurablegossipwithfriends.

‘That’sthehouse–thatonethere...’

‘Thebodywasinthesitting-room...No,Ithinkthesitting-room’stheroomatthefront,theoneonthe
left...’

‘Thegrocer’smantoldmeitwastheoneontheright.’

‘Well,ofcourseitmightbe,I’vebeenintoNumber10onceandthere,Idistinctlyrememberthedining-
roomwasontheright,andthesitting-roomwasontheleft...’

‘Itdoesn’tlookabitasthoughtherehadbeenamurderdonethere,doesit...?’

‘Thegirl,Ibelieve,cameoutofthegatescreamingherheadoff...’

‘Theysayshe’snotbeenrightinherheadsince...Terribleshock,ofcourse...’

‘Hebrokeinbyabackwindow,sotheysay.Hewasputtingthesilverinabagwhenthisgirlcamein
andfoundhimthere...’

‘Thepoorwomanwhoownsthehouse,she’sblind,poorsoul.So,ofcourse,shecouldn’tknowwhat
wasgoingon.’

‘Oh,butshewasn’tthereatthetime...’

‘Oh,Ithoughtshewas.Ithoughtshewasupstairsandheardhim.Oh,dear,Imustgetontotheshops.’

These and similar conversations went on most of the time. Drawn as though by a magnet, the most
unlikely people arrived in Wilbraham Crescent, paused, stared, and then passed on, some inner need
satisfied.

Here,stillpuzzlinginhermind,EdnaBrentfoundherselfjostlingasmallgroupoffiveorsixpeople
whowereengagedinthefavouritepastimeoflookingatthemurderhouse.

Edna,alwayssuggestible,staredalso.

Sothatwasthehousewhereithappened!Netcurtainsinthewindows.Lookedeversonice.Andyeta
manhadbeenkilledthere.Killedwithakitchenknife.Anordinarykitchenknife.Nearlyeverybodyhad
gotakitchenknife...

Mesmerizedbythebehaviourofthepeopleroundher,Edna,too,staredandceasedtothink...

Shehadalmostforgottenwhathadbroughtherhere...

Shestartedwhenavoicespokeinherear.

Sheturnedherheadinsurprisedrecognition.

CHAPTER16

ColinLamb’sNarrative

I

InoticedwhenSheilaWebbslippedquietlyoutoftheCoroner’sCourt.She’dgivenherevidencevery
well. She had looked nervous but not unduly nervous. Just natural, in fact. (What would Beck say?
‘Quiteagoodperformance.’Icouldhearhimsayit!)

I took in the surprise finish of Doctor Rigg’s evidence. (Dick Hardcastle hadn’t told me that, but he
musthaveknown)andthenIwentafterher.

‘Itwasn’tsobadafterall,wasit?’Isaid,whenIhadcaughtherup.

‘No.Itwasquiteeasyreally.Thecoronerwasverynice.’Shehesitated.‘Whatwillhappennext?’

‘He’lladjourntheinquest–forfurtherevidence.Afortnightprobablyoruntiltheycanidentifythedead
man.’

‘Youthinktheywillidentifyhim?’

‘Oh,yes,’Isaid.‘They’llidentifyhimallright.Nodoubtofthat.’

Sheshivered.‘It’scoldtoday.’

Itwasn’tparticularlycold.InfactIthoughtitwasratherwarm.

‘Whataboutanearlylunch?’Isuggested.‘Youhaven’tgottogobacktoyourtypewritingplace,have
you?’

‘No.It’scloseduntiltwoo’clock.’

‘Comealongthen.HowdoyoureacttoChinesefood?Iseethere’salittleChineserestaurantjustdown
thestreet.’

Sheilalookedhesitant.

‘I’vereallygottodosomeshopping.’

‘Youcandoitafterwards.’

‘No,Ican’t–someoftheshopsclosebetweenoneandtwo.’

‘Allrightthen.Willyoumeetmethere?Inhalfanhour’stime?’

Shesaidshewould.

Iwentalongtotheseafrontandsatthereinashelter.Asthewindwasblowingstraightinfromthesea,
Ihadittomyself.

I wanted to think. It always infuriates one when other people know more about you than you know
about yourself. But old Beck and Hercule Poirot and Dick Hardcastle, they all had seen quite clearly
whatIwasnowforcedtoadmittomyselfwastrue.

Imindedaboutthisgirl–mindedinawayIhadnevermindedaboutagirlbefore.

Itwasn’therbeauty–shewaspretty,prettyinratheranunusualway,nomore.Itwasn’thersexappeal–I
hadmetthatoftenenough–hadbeengiventhefulltreatment.

Itwasjustthat,almostfromthefirst,Ihadrecognizedthatshewasmygirl.

AndIdidn’tknowthefirstdamnedthingabouther!

II

Itwasjustaftertwoo’clockthatIwalkedintothestationandaskedforDick.Ifoundhimathisdesk
leafingoverapileofstuff.HelookedupandaskedmewhatIhadthoughtoftheinquest.

ItoldhimIthoughtithadbeenaverynicelymanagedandgentlemanlyperformance.

‘Wedothissortofthingsowellinthiscountry.’

‘Whatdidyouthinkofthemedicalevidence?’

‘Ratherafacer.Whydidn’tyoutellmeaboutit?’

‘Youwereaway.Didyouconsultyourspecialist?’

‘Yes,Idid.’

‘IbelieveIrememberhimvaguely.Alotofmoustache.’

‘Oceansofit,’Iagreed.‘He’sveryproudofthatmoustache.’

‘Hemustbequiteold.’

‘Oldbutnotga-ga,’Isaid.

‘Whydidyoureallygotoseehim?Wasitpurelythemilkofhumankindness?’

‘Youhavesuchasuspiciouspoliceman’smind,Dick!Itwasmainlythat.ButIadmittocuriosity,too.I
wantedtohearwhathehadtosayaboutourownparticularset-up.Yousee,he’salwaystalkedwhatI
callalotofcockaboutitsbeingeasytosolveacasebyjustsittinginyourchair,bringingthetipsof
yourfingerssymmetricallytogether,closingyoureyesandthinking.Iwantedtocallhisbluff.’

‘Didhegothroughthatprocedureforyou?’

‘Hedid.’

‘Andwhatdidhesay?’Dickaskedwithsomecuriosity.

‘Hesaid,’Itoldhim,‘thatitmustbeaverysimplemurder.’

‘Simple,myGod!’saidHardcastle,roused.‘Whysimple?’

‘AsfarasIcouldgather,’Isaid,‘becausethewholeset-upwassocomplex.’

Hardcastleshookhishead.‘Idon’tseeit,’hesaid.‘Itsoundslikeoneofthosecleverthingsthatyoung
peopleinChelseasay,butIdon’tseeit.Anythingelse?’

‘Well,hetoldmetotalktotheneighbours.Iassuredhimwehaddoneso.’

‘Theneighboursareevenmoreimportantnowinviewofthemedicalevidence.’

‘ThepresumptionbeingthathewasdopedsomewhereelseandbroughttoNumber19tobekilled?’

Somethingfamiliaraboutthewordsstruckme.

‘That’smoreorlesswhatMrsWhat’s-her-name,thecatwoman,said.Itstruckmeatthetimeasarather
interestingremark.’

‘Thosecats,’saidDick,andshuddered.Hewenton:‘We’vefoundtheweapon,bytheway.Yesterday.’

‘Youhave?Where?’

‘Inthecattery.Presumablythrowntherebythemurdererafterthecrime.’

‘Nofingerprints,Isuppose?’

‘Carefullywiped.Anditcouldbeanybody’sknife–slightlyused–recentlysharpened.’

‘Soitgoeslikethis.Hewasdoped–thenbroughttoNumber19–inacar?Orhow?’

‘Hecouldhavebeenbroughtfromoneofthehouseswithanadjoininggarden.’

‘Bitrisky,wouldn’tithavebeen?’

‘It would need audacity,’ Hardcastle agreed, ‘and it would need a very good knowledge of the
neighbourhood’shabits.It’smorelikelythathewouldhavebeenbroughtinacar.’

‘Thatwouldhavebeenriskytoo.Peoplenoticeacar.’

‘Nobodydid.ButIagreethatthemurderercouldn’tknowthattheywouldn’t.Passers-bywouldhave
notedacarstoppingatNumber19thatday–’

‘Iwonderiftheywouldnotice,’Isaid.‘Everyone’ssousedtocars.Unless,ofcourse,ithadbeenavery
lushcar–somethingunusual,butthat’snotlikely–’

‘Andofcourseitwasthelunchhour.Yourealize,Colin,thatthisbringsMissMillicentPebmarshback
intothepicture?Itseemsfar-fetchedtothinkofanable-bodiedmanbeingstabbedbyablindwoman–
butifhewasdoped–’

‘Inotherwords“ifhecametheretobekilled,”asourMrsHemmingputit,hearrivedbyappointment
quiteunsuspiciously,wasofferedasherryoracocktail–theMickeyFinntookeffectandMissPebmarsh
gottowork.ThenshewasheduptheMickeyFinnglass,arrangedthebodyneatlyonthefloor,threw
theknifeintoherneighbour’sgarden,andtrippedoutasusual.’

‘TelephoningtotheCavendishSecretarialBureauontheway–’

‘Andwhyshouldshedothat?AndaskparticularlyforSheilaWebb?’

‘Iwishweknew.’Hardcastlelookedatme.‘Doessheknow?Thegirlherself?’

‘Shesaysnot.’

‘Shesaysnot,’Hardcastlerepeatedtonelessly.‘I’maskingyouwhatyouthinkaboutit?’

Ididn’tspeakforamomentortwo.WhatdidIthink?Ihadtodeciderightnowonmycourseofaction.
Thetruthwouldcomeoutintheend.ItwoulddoSheilanoharmifshewerewhatIbelievedhertobe.

WithabrusquemovementIpulledapostcardoutofmypocketandshoveditacrossthetable.

‘Sheilagotthisthroughthepost.’

Hardcastlescannedit.ItwasoneofaseriesofpostcardsofLondonbuildings.ItrepresentedtheCentral
Criminal Court. Hardcastle turned it over. On the right was the address–in neat printing. Miss R. S.
Webb, 14, Palmerston Road, Crowdean, Sussex. On the left hand side, also printed, was the word
REMEMBER!andbelowit4.13.

‘4.13,’saidHardcastle.‘Thatwasthetimetheclocksshowedthatday.’Heshookhishead.‘Apictureof
theOldBailey,theword“Remember”andatime–4.13.Itmusttieupwithsomething.’

‘Shesaysshedoesn’tknowwhatitmeans.’Iadded:‘Ibelieveher.’

Hardcastlenodded.

‘I’mkeepingthis.Wemaygetsomethingfromit.’

‘Ihopeyoudo.’

Therewasembarrassmentbetweenus.Torelieveit,Isaid:

‘You’vegotalotofbumfthere.’

‘All the usual. And most of it no damned good. The dead man hadn’t got a criminal record, his
fingerprintsaren’tonfile.Practicallyallthisstuffisfrompeoplewhoclaimtohaverecognizedhim.’
Heread:

‘“DearSir,thepicturethatwasinthepaperI’malmostsureisthesameasamanwhowascatchinga
train at Willesden Junction the other day. He was muttering to himself and looking very wild and
excited,IthoughtwhenIsawhimtheremustbesomethingwrong.”

‘“DearSir,Ithinkthismanlooksverylikemyhusband’scousinJohn.HewentabroadtoSouthAfrica
butitmaybethathe’scomeback.Hehadamoustachewhenhewentawaybutofcoursehecouldhave
shavedthatoff.”

‘ “Dear Sir, I saw the man in the paper in a tube train last night. I thought at the time there was
somethingpeculiarabouthim.”

‘And of course there are all the women who recognize husbands. Women don’t really seem to know
what their husbands look like! There are hopeful mothers who recognize sons they have not seen for
twentyyears.

‘And here’s the list of missing persons. Nothing here likely to help us. “George Barlow, 65, missing
fromhome.Hiswifethinkshemusthavelosthismemory.”Andanotebelow:“Owesalotofmoney.
Hasbeenseengoingaboutwithared-hairedwidow.Almostcertaintohavedoneabunk.”

‘Nextone:“ProfessorHargraves,expectedtodeliveralecturelastTuesday.Didnotturnupandsentno
wireornoteofexcuse.”’

HardcastledidnotappeartoconsiderProfessorHargravesseriously.

‘Thoughtthelecturewastheweekbeforeortheweekafter,’hesaid.‘Probablythoughthehadtoldhis
housekeeperwherehewasgoingbuthasn’tdoneso.Wegetalotofthat.’

ThebuzzeronHardcastle’stablesounded.Hepickedupthereceiver.

‘Yes?...What?...Whofoundher?Didshegivehername?...Isee.Carryon.’Heputdownthereceiver
again.Hisfaceasheturnedtomewasachangedface.Itwasstern,almostvindictive.

‘They’vefoundagirldeadinatelephoneboxonWilbrahamCrescent,’hesaid.

‘Dead?’Istaredathim.‘How?’

‘Strangled.Withherownscarf!’

Ifeltsuddenlycold.

‘Whatgirl?It’snot–’

Hardcastlelookedatmewithacold,appraisingglancethatIdidn’tlike.

‘It’s not your girl friend,’ he said, ‘if that’s what you’re afraid of. The constable there seems to know
whosheis.Hesaysshe’sagirlwhoworksinthesameofficeasSheilaWebb.EdnaBrenthernameis.’

‘Whofoundher?Theconstable?’

‘ShewasfoundbyMissWaterhouse,thewomanfromNumber18.Itseemsshewenttotheboxtomake
atelephonecallasherphonewasoutoforderandfoundthegirltherehuddleddowninaheap.’

Thedooropenedandapoliceconstablesaid:

‘DoctorRiggtelephonedthathe’sonhisway,sir.He’llmeetyouatWilbrahamCrescent.’

CHAPTER17

It was an hour and a half later and Detective Inspector Hardcastle sat down behind his desk and
acceptedwithreliefanofficialcupoftea.Hisfacestillhelditsbleak,angrylook.

‘Excuseme,sir,Piercewouldlikeawordwithyou.’

Hardcastlerousedhimself.

‘Pierce?Oh,allright.Sendhimin.’

Pierceentered,anervous-lookingyoungconstable.

‘Excuseme,sir,Ithoughtper’apsasIoughttotellyou.’

‘Yes?Tellmewhat?’

‘It was after the inquest, sir. I was on duty at the door. This girl–this girl that’s been killed. She–she
spoketome.’

‘Spoketoyou,didshe?Whatdidshesay?’

‘Shewantedtohaveawordwithyou,sir.’

Hardcastlesatup,suddenlyalert.

‘Shewantedtohaveawordwithme?Didshesaywhy?’

‘Notexactly,sir.I’msorry,sir,ifI–ifIoughttohavedonesomethingaboutit.Iaskedherifshecould
givemeamessageor–orifperhapsshecouldcometothestationlateron.Yousee,youwerebusywith
thechiefconstableandthecoronerandIthought–’

‘Damn!’saidHardcastle,underhisbreath.‘Couldn’tyouhavetoldherjusttowaituntilIwasfree?’

‘I’msorry,sir.’Theyoungmanflushed.‘IsupposeifI’dknown,Ioughttohavedoneso.ButIdidn’t
thinkitwasanythingimportant.Idon’tthinkshethoughtitwasimportant.Itwasjustsomethingshe
saidshewasworriedabout.’

‘Worried?’saidHardcastle.Hewassilentforquiteaminuteturningoverinhismindcertainfacts.This
was the girl he had passed in the street when he was going to Mrs Lawton’s house, the girl who had
wanted to see Sheila Webb. The girl who had recognized him as she passed him and had hesitated a
moment as though uncertain whether to stop him or not. She’d had something on her mind. Yes, that
wasit.Somethingonhermind.He’dslippedup.He’dnotbeenquickenoughontheball.Filledwithhis
ownpurposeoffindingoutalittlemoreaboutSheilaWebb’sbackground,hehadoverlookedavaluable
point.Thegirlhadbeenworried?Why?Now,probably,they’dneverknowwhy.

‘Goon,Pierce,’hesaid,‘tellmeallyoucanremember.’Headdedkindly,forhewasafairman:‘You
couldn’tknowthatitwasimportant.’

Itwasn’t,heknew,anygoodtopassonhisownangerandfrustrationbyblamingitontheboy.How
should the boy have known? Part of his training was to uphold discipline, to make sure that his
superiors were only accosted at the proper times and in the proper places. If the girl had said it was
importantorurgent,thatwouldhavebeendifferent.Butshehadn’tbeen,hethought,rememberinghis
firstviewofherintheoffice,thatkindofgirl.Aslowthinker.Agirlprobablydistrustfulofherown
mentalprocesses.

‘Canyourememberexactlywhathappened,andwhatshesaidtoyou,Pierce?’heasked.

Piercewaslookingathimwithakindofeagergratitude.

‘Well,sir,shejustcomeuptomewheneveryonewasleavingandshesortofhesitatedamomentand
lookedroundjustasthoughshewerelookingforsomeone.Notyou,sir,Idon’tthink.Somebodyelse.
Thenshecomeuptomeandsaidcouldshespeaktothepoliceofficer,andshesaidtheonethathad
givenevidence.So,asIsaid,IsawyouwerebusywiththechiefconstablesoIexplainedtoherthatyou
wereengagedjustnow,couldshegivemeamessageorcontactyoulateratthestation.AndIthinkshe
saidthatwoulddoquitewell.Isaidwasitanythingparticular...’

‘Yes?’Hardcastleleanedforward.

‘Andshesaidwellnotreally.Itwasjustsomething,shesaid,thatshedidn’tseehowitcouldhavebeen
thewayshe’dsaiditwas.’

‘Shedidn’tseehowwhatshesaidcouldhavebeenlikethat?’Hardcastlerepeated.

‘That’sright,sir.I’mnotsureoftheexactwords.Perhapsitwas:“Idon’tseehowwhatshesaidcan
havebeentrue.”Shewasfrowningandlookingpuzzled-like.ButwhenIaskedher,shesaiditwasn’t
reallyimportant.’

Notreallyimportant,thegirlhadsaid.Thesamegirlwhohadbeenfoundnotlongafterwardsstrangled
inatelephonebox...

‘Wasanybodynearyouatthetimeshewastalkingtoyou?’heasked.

‘Well,therewereagoodmanypeople,sir,filingout,youknow.There’dbeenalotofpeopleattending
theinquest.It’scausedquiteastir,thismurderhas,whatwiththewaythePresshavetakenitupand
all.’

‘Youdon’trememberanyoneinparticularwhowasnearyouatthetime–anyofthepeoplewho’dgiven
evidence,forinstance?’

‘I’mafraidIdon’trecallanyoneinparticular,sir.’

‘Well,’saidHardcastle,‘itcan’tbehelped.Allright,Pierce,ifyourememberanythingfurther,cometo
meatoncewithit.’

Leftalonehemadeanefforttosubduehisrisingangerandself-condemnation.Thatgirl,thatrabbity-
looking girl, had known something. No, perhaps not put it as high as known, but she had seen
something,heardsomething.Somethingthathadworriedher;andtheworryhadbeenintensifiedafter
attending the inquest. What could it have been? Something in the evidence? Something, in all
probability, in Sheila Webb’s evidence? Had she gone to Sheila’s aunt’s house two days before on
purposetoseeSheila?SurelyshecouldhavetalkedtoSheilaattheoffice?Whydidshewanttoseeher
privately?DidsheknowsomethingaboutSheilaWebbthatperplexedher?DidshewanttoaskSheila
for an explanation of whatever it was, somewhere in private–not in front of the other girls? It looked
thatway.Itcertainlylookedlikeit.

HedismissedPierce.ThenhegaveafewdirectionstoSergeantCray.

‘WhatdoyouthinkthegirlwenttoWilbrahamCrescentfor?’SergeantCrayasked.

‘I’vebeenwonderingaboutthat,’saidHardcastle.‘It’spossible,ofcourse,thatshejustsufferedfrom
curiosity–wanted to see what the place looked like. There’s nothing unusual about that–half the
populationofCrowdeanseemstofeelthesame.’

‘Don’tweknowit,’saidSergeantCraywithfeeling.

‘Ontheotherhand,’saidHardcastleslowly,‘shemayhavegonetoseesomeonewholivedthere...’

WhenSergeantCrayhadgoneoutagain,Hardcastlewrotedownthreenumbersonhisblottingpad.

‘20,’hewrote,andputaqueryafterit.Headded:‘19?’andthen‘18?’Hewrotenamestocorrespond.
Hemming,Pebmarsh,Waterhouse.Thethreehousesinthehighercrescentwereoutofit.Tovisitoneof
themEdnaBrentwouldnothavegonealongthelowerroadatall.

Hardcastlestudiedthethreepossibilities.

HetookNo.20first.Theknifeusedintheoriginalmurderhadbeenfoundthere.Itseemedmorelikely
thattheknifehadbeenthrowntherefromthegardenofNo.19buttheydidn’tknowthatithad.Itcould
havebeenthrustintotheshrubberybytheownerofNo.20herself.Whenquestioned,MrsHemming’s
only reaction had been indignation. ‘How wicked of someone to throw a nasty knife like that at my
cats!’ she had said. How did Mrs Hemming connect up with Edna Brent? She didn’t, Inspector
Hardcastledecided.HewentontoconsiderMissPebmarsh.

Had Edna Brent gone to Wilbraham Crescent to call on Miss Pebmarsh? Miss Pebmarsh had given
evidence at the inquest. Had there been something in that evidence which had aroused disbelief in
Edna? But she had been worried before the inquest. Had she already known something about Miss
Pebmarsh?Hadsheknown,forinstance,thattherewasalinkofsomekindbetweenMissPebmarshand
SheilaWebb?ThatwouldfitinwithherwordstoPierce.‘Itcouldn’thavebeentruewhatshesaid.’

‘Conjecture,allconjecture,’hethoughtangrily.

AndNo.18?MissWaterhousehadfoundthebody.InspectorHardcastlewasprofessionallyprejudiced
againstpeoplewhofoundbodies.Findingthebodyavoidedsomanydifficultiesforamurderer–itsaved
thehazardsofarranginganalibi,itaccountedforanyoverlookedfingerprints.Inmanywaysitwasa
cast-iron position–with one proviso only. There must be no obvious motive. There was certainly no
apparentmotiveforMissWaterhousetodoawaywithlittleEdnaBrent.MissWaterhousehadnotgiven
evidence at the inquest. She might have been there, though. Did Edna perhaps have some reason for
knowing, or believing, that it was Miss Waterhouse who had impersonated Miss Pebmarsh over the
telephoneandaskedforashorthandtypisttobesenttoNo.19?

Moreconjecture.

Andtherewas,ofcourse,SheilaWebbherself...

Hardcastle’s hand went to the telephone. He got on to the hotel where Colin Lamb was staying.
PresentlyhegotColinhimselfonthewire.

‘Hardcastlehere–whattimewasitwhenyoulunchedwithSheilaWebbtoday?’

TherewasapausebeforeColinanswered:

‘Howdoyouknowthatwelunchedtogether?’

‘Adamnedgoodguess.Youdid,didn’tyou?’

‘Whyshouldn’tIhavelunchwithher?’

‘Noreasonatall.I’mmerelyaskingyouthetime.Didyougoofftolunchstraightfromtheinquest?’

‘No.Shehadshoppingtodo.WemetattheChineseplaceinMarketStreetatoneo’clock.’

‘Isee.’

Hardcastlelookeddownhisnotes.EdnaBrenthaddiedbetween12.30andoneo’clock.

‘Don’tyouwanttoknowwhatwehadforlunch?’

‘Keepyourhairon.Ijustwantedtheexacttime.Fortherecord.’

‘Isee.It’slikethat.’

Therewasapause.Hardcastlesaid,endeavouringtoeasethestrain:

‘Ifyou’renotdoinganythingthisevening–’

Theotherinterrupted.

‘I’moff.Justpackingup.Ifoundamessagewaitingforme.I’vegottogoabroad.’

‘Whenwillyoubeback?’

‘That’sanybody’sguess.Aweekatleast–perhapslonger–possiblynever!’

‘Badluck–orisn’tit?’

‘I’mnotsure,’saidColin,andrangoff.

CHAPTER18

I

HardcastlearrivedatNo.19,WilbrahamCrescentjustasMissPebmarshwascomingoutofthehouse.

‘Excusemeaminute,MissPebmarsh.’

‘Oh.Isit–DetectiveInspectorHardcastle?’

‘Yes.CanIhaveawordwithyou?’

‘Idon’twanttobelateattheInstitute.Willittakelong?’

‘Iassureyouonlythreeorfourminutes.’

Shewentintothehouseandhefollowed.

‘You’veheardwhathappenedthisafternoon?’hesaid.

‘Hasanythinghappened?’

‘Ithoughtyoumighthaveheard.Agirlwaskilledinthetelephoneboxjustdowntheroad.’

‘Killed?When?’

‘Twohoursandthreequartersago.’Helookedatthegrandfatherclock.

‘I’veheardnothingaboutit.Nothing,’saidMissPebmarsh.Akindofangersoundedmomentarilyinher
voice.Itwasasthoughherdisabilityhadbeenbroughthometoherinsomeparticularlywoundingway.
‘Agirl–killed!Whatgirl?’

‘HernameisEdnaBrentandsheworkedattheCavendishSecretarialBureau.’

‘Anothergirlfromthere!Hadshebeensentforlikethisgirl,Sheilawhat’s-her-namewas?’

‘Idon’tthinkso,’saidtheinspector.‘Shedidnotcometoseeyouhere,atyourhouse?’

‘Here?No.Certainlynot.’

‘Wouldyouhavebeeninifshehadcomehere?’

‘I’mnotsure.Whattimedidyousay?’

‘Approximatelytwelve-thirtyoralittlelater.’

‘Yes,’saidMissPebmarsh.‘Iwouldhavebeenhomebythen.’

‘Wheredidyougoaftertheinquest?’

‘Icamestraightbackhere.’Shepausedandthenasked,‘Whydidyouthinkthisgirlmighthavecometo
seeme?’

‘Well,shehadbeenattheinquestthismorningandshehadseenyouthere,andshemusthavehadsome
reasonforcomingtoWilbrahamCrescent.Asfarasweknow,shewasnotacquaintedwithanyonein
thisroad.’

‘Butwhyshouldshecometoseemejustbecauseshehadseenmeattheinquest?’

‘Well–’ the inspector smiled a little, then hastily tried to put the smile in his voice as he realized that
MissPebmarshcouldnotappreciateitsdisarmingquality.‘Oneneverknowswiththesegirls.Shemight
justhavewantedanautograph.Somethinglikethat.’

‘An autograph!’ Miss Pebmarsh sounded scornful. Then she said, ‘Yes... Yes, I suppose you’re right.
That sort of thing does happen.’ Then she shook her head briskly. ‘I can only assure you, Inspector
Hardcastle,thatitdidnothappentoday.NobodyhasbeenheresinceIcamebackfromtheinquest.’

‘Well,thankyou,MissPebmarsh.Wethoughtwehadbettercheckuponeverypossibility.’

‘Howoldwasshe?’askedMissPebmarsh.

‘Ibelieveshewasnineteen.’

‘Nineteen?Veryyoung.’Hervoicechangedslightly.‘Veryyoung...Poorchild.Whowouldwanttokill
agirlofthatage?’

‘Ithappens,’saidHardcastle.

‘Wasshepretty–attractive–sexy?’

‘No,’saidHardcastle.‘Shewouldhavelikedtobe,Ithink,butshewasnot.’

‘Thenthatwasnotthereason,’saidMissPebmarsh.Sheshookherheadagain.‘I’msorry.Moresorry
thanIcansay,InspectorHardcastle,thatIcan’thelpyou.’

Hewentout,impressedashealwayswasimpressed,byMissPebmarsh’spersonality.

II

Miss Waterhouse was also at home. She was also true to type, opening the door with a suddenness
whichdisplayedadesiretotrapsomeonedoingwhattheyshouldnotdo.

‘Oh,it’syou!’shesaid.‘Really,I’vetoldyourpeopleallIknow.’

‘I’msureyou’verepliedtoallthequestionsthatwereaskedyou,’saidHardcastle,‘buttheycan’tallbe
askedatonce,youknow.Wehavetogointoafewmoredetails.’

‘Idon’tseewhy.Thewholethingwasamostterribleshock,’saidMissWaterhouse,lookingathimina

censoriouswayasthoughithadbeenallhisdoing.‘Comein,comein.Youcan’tstandonthematall
day.Comeinandsitdownandaskmeanyquestionsyouwantto,thoughreallywhatquestionsthere
canbe,Icannotsee.AsItoldyou,Iwentouttomakeatelephonecall.Iopenedthedooroftheboxand
therewasthegirl.Neverhadsuchashockinmylife.Ihurrieddownandgotthepoliceconstable.And
afterthat,incaseyouwanttoknow,IcamebackhereandIgavemyselfamedicinaldoseofbrandy.
Medicinal,’saidMissWaterhousefiercely.

‘Verywiseofyou,madam,’saidInspectorHardcastle.

‘Andthat’sthat,’saidMissWaterhousewithfinality.

‘Iwantedtoaskyouifyouwerequitesureyouhadneverseenthisgirlbefore?’

‘Mayhaveseenheradozentimes,’saidMissWaterhouse,‘butnottoremember.Imean,shemayhave
servedmeinWoolworth’s,orsatnexttomeinabus,orsoldmeticketsinacinema.’

‘ShewasashorthandtypistattheCavendishBureau.’

‘I don’t think I’ve ever had occasion to use a shorthand typist. Perhaps she worked in my brother’s
officeatGainsfordandSwettenham.Isthatwhatyou’redrivingat?’

‘Oh,no,’saidInspectorHardcastle,‘thereappearstobenoconnectionofthatkind.ButIjustwondered
ifshe’dcometoseeyouthismorningbeforebeingkilled.’

‘Cometoseeme?No,ofcoursenot.Whyshouldshe?’

‘Well,thatwewouldn’tknow,’saidInspectorHardcastle,‘butyouwouldsay,wouldyou,thatanyone
whosawhercominginatyourgatethismorningwasmistaken?’Helookedatherwithinnocenteyes.

‘Somebodysawhercominginatmygate?Nonsense,’saidMissWaterhouse.Shehesitated.‘Atleast–’

‘Yes?’saidHardcastle,alertthoughhedidnotshowit.

‘Well, I suppose she may have pushed a leaflet or something through the door... There was a leaflet
there at lunch time. Something about a meeting for nuclear disarmament, I think. There’s always

something every day. I suppose conceivably she might have come and pushed something through the
letterbox;butyoucan’tblamemeforthat,canyou?’

‘Ofcoursenot.Nowastoyourtelephonecall–yousayyourowntelephonewasoutoforder.According
totheexchange,thatwasnotso.’

‘Exchangeswillsayanything!Idialledandgotamostpeculiarnoise,nottheengagedsignal,soIwent
outtothecallbox.’

Hardcastlegotup.

‘I’msorry,MissWaterhouse,forbotheringyouinthisway,butthereissomeideathatthisgirldidcome
tocallonsomeoneinthecrescentandthatshewenttoahousenotveryfarfromhere.’

‘And so you have to inquire all along the crescent,’ said Miss Waterhouse. ‘I should think the most
likelythingisthatshewenttothehousenextdoor–MissPebmarsh’s,Imean.’

‘Whyshouldyouconsiderthatthemostlikely?’

‘You said she was a shorthand typist and came from the Cavendish Bureau. Surely, if I remember
rightly,itwassaidthatMissPebmarshaskedforashorthandtypisttocometoherhousetheotherday
whenthatmanwaskilled.’

‘Itwassaidso,yes,butshedeniedit.’

‘Well,ifyouaskme,’saidMissWaterhouse,‘notthatanyoneeverlistenstowhatIsayuntilit’stoolate,
Ishouldsaythatshe’dgonealittlebatty.MissPebmarsh,Imean.Ithink,perhaps,thatshedoesringup
bureauxandaskforshorthandtypiststocome.Then,perhaps,sheforgetsallaboutit.’

‘Butyoudon’tthinkthatshewoulddomurder?’

‘Ineversuggestedmurderoranythingofthatkind.Iknowamanwaskilledinherhouse,butI’mnot
for a moment suggesting that Miss Pebmarsh had anything to do with it. No. I just thought that she
mighthaveoneofthosecuriousfixationslikepeopledo.Iknewawomanoncewhowasalwaysringing
up a confectioner’s and ordering a dozen meringues. She didn’t want them, and when they came she
saidshehadn’torderedthem.Thatsortofthing.’

‘Ofcourse,anythingispossible,’saidHardcastle.HesaidgoodbyetoMissWaterhouseandleft.

Hethoughtshe’dhardlydoneherselfjusticebyherlastsuggestion.Ontheotherhand,ifshebelieved
that the girl had been seen entering her house, and that that had in fact been the case, then the
suggestionthatthegirlhadgonetoNo.19wasquiteanadroitoneunderthecircumstances.

Hardcastle glanced at his watch and decided that he had still time to tackle the Cavendish Secretarial
Bureau.Ithad,heknew,beenreopenedattwoo’clockthisafternoon.Hemightgetsomehelpfromthe
girlsthere.AndhewouldfindSheilaWebbtheretoo.

III

Oneofthegirlsroseatonceasheenteredtheoffice.

‘It’sDetectiveInspectorHardcastle,isn’tit?’shesaid.‘MissMartindaleisexpectingyou.’

Sheusheredhimintotheinneroffice.MissMartindaledidnotwaitamomentbeforeattackinghim.

‘It’sdisgraceful,InspectorHardcastle,absolutelydisgraceful!Youmustgettothebottomofthis.You
mustgettothebottomofitatonce.Nodilly-dallyingabout.Thepolicearesupposedtogiveprotection
andthatiswhatweneedhereatthisoffice.Protection.IwantprotectionformygirlsandImeantoget
it.’

‘I’msure,MissMartindale,that–’

‘Areyougoingtodenythattwoofmygirls,twoofthem,havebeenvictimized?Thereisclearlysome
irresponsible person about who has got some kind of–what do they call it nowadays–a fixture or a
complex–aboutshorthandtypistsorsecretarialbureaux.Theyaredeliberatelymartyrizingthisinstitute.
FirstSheilaWebbwassummonedbyaheartlesstricktofindadeadbody–thekindofthingthatmight
sendanervousgirloffherhead–andnowthis.Aperfectlyniceharmlessgirlmurderedinatelephone
box.Youmustgettothebottomofit,Inspector.’

‘There’snothingIwantmorethantogettothebottomofit,MissMartindale.I’vecometoseeifyou

cangivemeanyhelp.’

‘Help!WhathelpcanIgiveyou?DoyouthinkifIhadanyhelp,Iwouldn’thaverushedtoyouwithit
beforenow?You’vegottofindwhokilledthatpoorgirl,Edna,andwhoplayedthatheartlesstrickon
Sheila.I’mstrictwithmygirls,Inspector,IkeepthemuptotheirworkandIwon’tallowthemtobe
lateorslipshod.ButIdon’tstandfortheirbeingvictimizedormurdered.Iintendtodefendthem,andI
intendtoseethatpeoplewhoarepaidbytheStatetodefendthemdotheirwork.’Sheglaredathimand
lookedratherlikeatigressinhumanform.

‘Giveustime,MissMartindale,’hesaid.

‘Time?Justbecausethatsillychildisdead,Isupposeyouthinkyou’veallthetimeintheworld.The
nextthingthathappenswillbeoneoftheothergirlsismurdered.’

‘Idon’tthinkyouneedfearthat,MissMartindale.’

‘Idon’tsupposeyouthoughtthisgirlwasgoingtobekilledwhenyougotupthismorning,Inspector.If
so, you’d have taken a few precautions, I suppose, to look after her. And when one of my girls gets
killedorisputinsometerriblycompromisingposition,you’llbeequallysurprised.Thewholethingis
extraordinary,crazy!Youmustadmityourselfit’sacrazyset-up.Thatis,ifthethingsonereadsinthe
paper were true. All those clocks for instance. They weren’t mentioned this morning at the inquest, I
noticed.’

‘Aslittleaspossiblewasmentionedthismorning,MissMartindale.Itwasonlyanadjournedinquest,
youknow.’

‘AllIsayis,’saidMissMartindale,glaringathimagain,‘youmustdosomethingaboutit.’

‘Andthere’snothingyoucantellme,nohintEdnamighthavegiventoyou?Shedidn’tappearworried
byanything,shedidn’tconsultyou?’

‘Idon’tsupposeshe’dhaveconsultedmeifshewasworried,’saidMissMartindale.‘Butwhathadshe
tobeworriedabout?’

ThatwasexactlythequestionthatInspectorHardcastlewouldhavelikedtohaveansweredforhim,but
hecouldseethatitwasnotlikelythathewouldgettheanswerfromMissMartindale.Insteadhesaid:

‘I’d like to talk to as many of your girls here as I can. I can see that it is not likely that Edna Brent
would have confided any fears or worries to you, but she might have spoken of them to her fellow
employees.’

‘That’spossibleenough,Iexpect,’saidMissMartindale.‘Theyspendtheirtimegossiping–thesegirls.
Themomenttheyhearmystepinthepassageoutsideallthetypewritersbegintorattle.Butwhathave
theybeendoingjustbefore?Talking.Chat,chat,chitter-chat!’Calmingdownalittle,shesaid,‘There
areonlythreeofthemintheofficeatpresent.Wouldyouliketospeaktothemwhileyou’rehere?The
othersareoutonassignments.Icangiveyoutheirnamesandtheirhomeaddresses,ifyoulike.’

‘Thankyou,MissMartindale.’

‘Iexpectyou’dliketospeaktothemalone,’saidMissMartindale.‘Theywouldn’ttalkasfreelyifIwas
standing there looking on. They’d have to admit, you see, that they had been gossiping and wasting
theirtime.’

Shegotupfromherseatandopenedthedoorintotheouteroffice.

‘Girls,’shesaid,‘DetectiveInspectorHardcastlewantstotalkthingsoverwithyou.Youcanstopwork
for the moment. Try and tell him anything you know that can help him to find out who killed Edna
Brent.’

Shewentbackintoherownprivateofficeandshutthedoorfirmly.Threestartledgirlishfaceslookedat
theinspector.Hesummedthemupquicklyandsuperficially,butsufficientlytomakeuphismindasto
the quality of the material with which he was about to deal. A fair solid-looking girl with spectacles.
Dependable, he thought, but not particularly bright. A rather rakish-looking brunette with the kind of
hair-do that suggested she’d been out in a blizzard lately. Eyes that noticed things here, perhaps, but
probablyhighlyunreliableinherrecollectionofevents.Everythingwouldbesuitablytouchedup.The
thirdwasaborngigglerwhowould,hewassure,agreewithwhateveranyoneelsesaid.

Hespokequietly,informally.

‘Isupposeyou’veallheardwhathashappenedtoEdnaBrentwhoworkedhere?’

Threeheadsnoddedviolently.

‘Bytheway,howdidyouhear?’

They looked at each other as if trying to decide who should be spokesman. By common consent it
appearedtobethefairgirl,whosename,itseemed,wasJanet.

‘Ednadidn’tcometoworkattwoo’clock,assheshouldhavedone,’sheexplained.

‘And Sandy Cat was very annoyed,’ began the dark-haired girl, Maureen, and then stopped herself.
‘MissMartindale,Imean.’

Thethirdgirlgiggled.‘SandyCatisjustwhatwecallher,’sheexplained.

‘Andnotabadname,’theinspectorthought.

‘She’saperfectterrorwhenshelikes,’saidMaureen.‘Fairlyjumpsonyou.SheaskedifEdnahadsaid
anythingtousaboutnotcomingbacktotheofficethisafternoon,andthatsheoughttohaveatleastsent
anexcuse.’

Thefairgirlsaid:‘ItoldMissMartindalethatshe’dbeenattheinquestwiththerestofus,butthatwe
hadn’tseenherafterwardsanddidn’tknowwhereshe’dgone.’

‘Thatwastrue,wasit?’askedHardcastle.‘You’venoideawhereshedidgowhenshelefttheinquest.’

‘Isuggested she shouldcome and havesome lunch with me,’said Maureen, ‘butshe seemed to have
something on her mind. She said she wasn’t sure that she’d bother to have any lunch. Just buy
somethingandeatitintheoffice.’

‘Soshemeant,then,tocomebacktotheoffice?’

‘Oh,yes,ofcourse.Weallknewwe’dgottodothat.’

‘HaveanyofyounoticedanythingdifferentaboutEdnaBrenttheselastfewdays?Didsheseemtoyou
worried at all, as though she had something on her mind? Did she tell you anything to that effect? If
thereisanythingatallyouknow,Imustbegofyoutotellme.’

Theylookedateachotherbutnotinaconspiratorialmanner.Itseemedtobemerelyvagueconjecture.

‘She was always worried about something,’ said Maureen. ‘She gets things muddled up, and makes
mistakes.Shewasabitslowintheuptake.’

‘ThingsalwaysseemedtohappentoEdna,’saidthegiggler.‘Rememberwhenthatstilettoheelofhers
cameofftheotherday?JustthesortofthingthatwouldhappentoEdna.’

‘Iremember,’saidHardcastle.

Herememberedhowthegirlhadstoodlookingdownruefullyattheshoeinherhand.

‘Youknow,IhadafeelingsomethingawfulhadhappenedthisafternoonwhenEdnadidn’tgethereat
twoo’clock,’saidJanet.Shenoddedwithasolemnface.

Hardcastlelookedatherwithsomedislike.Healwaysdislikedpeoplewhowerewiseaftertheevent.
Hewasquitesurethatthegirlinquestionhadthoughtnothingofthekind.Farmorelikely,hethought
tohimself,thatshehadsaid,‘EdnawillcatchitfromSandyCatwhenshedoescomein.’

‘Whendidyouhearwhathadhappened?’heaskedagain.

They looked at each other. The giggler flushed guiltily. Her eyes shot sideways to the door into Miss
Martindale’sprivateoffice.

‘Well,I–er–Ijustslippedoutforaminute,’shesaid.‘IwantedsomepastriestotakehomeandIknew
they’dallbegonebythetimeweleft.AndwhenIgottotheshop–it’sonthecornerandtheyknowme
quitewellthere–thewomansaid,“Sheworkedatyourplace,didn’tshe,ducks?”andIsaid,“Whodo
youmean?”Andthenshesaid,“Thisgirlthey’vejustfounddeadinatelephonebox.”Oh,itgaveme
eversuchaturn!SoIcamerushingbackandItoldtheothersandintheendweallsaidwe’dhaveto
tellMissMartindaleaboutit,andjustatthatmomentshecamebouncingoutofherofficeandsaidto
us,“Nowwhatareyoudoing?Notasingletypewritergoing.”’

Thefairgirltookupthesaga.

‘AndIsaid,“Reallyit’snotourfault.We’veheardsometerriblenewsaboutEdna,MissMartindale.”’

‘AndwhatdidMissMartindalesayordo?’

‘Well,shewouldn’tbelieveitatfirst,’saidthebrunette.‘Shesaid,“Nonsense.You’vejustbeenpicking
upsomesillygossipinashop.Itmustbesomeothergirl.WhyshoulditbeEdna?”Andshemarched
backintoherroomandrangupthepolicestationandfoundoutitwastrue.’

‘ButIdon’tsee,’saidJanetalmostdreamily,‘Idon’tseewhyanyoneshouldwanttokillEdna.’

‘It’snotasthoughshehadaboyoranything,’saidthebrunette.

AllthreelookedatHardcastlehopefullyasthoughhecouldgivethemtheanswertotheproblem.He
sighed.Therewasnothinghereforhim.Perhapsoneoftheothergirlsmightbemorehelpful.Andthere
wasSheilaWebbherself.

‘WereSheilaWebbandEdnaBrentparticularfriends?’heasked.

Theylookedateachothervaguely.

‘Notspecial,Idon’tthink.’

‘WhereisMissWebb,bytheway?’

HewastoldthatSheilaWebbwasattheCurlewHotel,attendingonProfessorPurdy.

CHAPTER19

ProfessorPurdysoundedirritatedashebrokeoffdictatingandansweredthetelephone.

‘Who?What?Youmeanheisherenow?Well,askhimiftomorrowwilldo?–Oh,verywell–verywell–
Tellhimtocomeup.’

‘Alwayssomething,’hesaidwithvexation.‘Howcanoneeverbeexpectedtodoanyseriousworkwith
these constant interruptions.’ He looked with mild displeasure at Sheila Webb and said: ‘Now where

werewe,mydear?’

Sheila was about to reply when there was a knock at the door. Professor Purdy brought himself back
withsomedifficultyfromthechronologicaldifficultiesofapproximatelythreethousandyearsago.

‘Yes?’hesaidtestily,‘yes,comein,whatisit?ImaysayImentionedparticularlythatIwasnottobe
disturbedthisafternoon.’

‘I’mverysorry,sir,verysorryindeedthatithasbeennecessarytodoso.Goodevening,MissWebb.’

SheilaWebbhadrisentoherfeet,settingasidehernote-book.Hardcastlewonderedifheonlyfancied
thathesawsuddenapprehensioncomeintohereyes.

‘Well,whatisit?’saidtheprofessoragain,sharply.

‘IamDetectiveInspectorHardcastle,asMissWebbherewilltellyou.’

‘Quite,’saidtheprofessor.‘Quite.’

‘WhatIreallywantedwasafewwordswithMissWebb.’

‘Can’t you wait? It is really most awkward at this moment. Most awkward. We were just at a critical
point. Miss Webb will be disengaged in about a quarter of an hour–oh, well, perhaps half an hour.
Somethinglikethat.Oh,dearme,isitsixo’clockalready?’

‘I’mverysorry,ProfessorPurdy,’Hardcastle’stonewasfirm.

‘Oh, very well, very well. What is it–some motoring offence, I suppose? How very officious these
trafficwardensare.OneinsistedtheotherdaythatIhadleftmycarfourandahalfhoursataparking
meter.I’msurethatcouldnotpossiblybeso.’

‘It’salittlemoreseriousthanaparkingoffence,sir.’

‘Oh, yes. Oh, yes. And you don’t have a car, do you, my dear?’ He looked vaguely at Sheila Webb.

‘Yes,Iremember,youcomeherebybus.Well,Inspector,whatisit?’

‘It’saboutagirlcalledEdnaBrent.’HeturnedtoSheilaWebb.‘Iexpectyou’veheardaboutit.’

Shestaredathim.Beautifuleyes.Cornflower-blueeyes.Eyesthatremindedhimofsomeone.

‘EdnaBrent,didyousay?’Sheraisedhereyebrows.‘Oh,yes,Iknowher,ofcourse.Whatabouther?’

‘Iseethenewshasn’tgottoyouyet.Wheredidyoulunch,MissWebb?’

Colourcameupinhercheeks.

‘IlunchedwithafriendattheHoTungrestaurant,if–ifit’sreallyanybusinessofyours.’

‘Youdidn’tgoonafterwardstotheoffice?’

‘TotheCavendishBureau,youmean?IcalledinthereandwastoldithadbeenarrangedthatIwasto
comestraightheretoProfessorPurdyathalfpasttwo.’

‘That’sright,’saidtheprofessor,noddinghishead.‘Halfpasttwo.Andwehavebeenworkinghereever
since.Eversince.Dearme,Ishouldhaveorderedtea.Iamverysorry,MissWebb,I’mafraidyoumust
havemissedhavingyourtea.Youshouldhaveremindedme.’

‘Oh,itdidn’tmatter,ProfessorPurdy,itdidn’tmatteratall.’

‘Veryremissofme,’saidtheprofessor,‘veryremiss.Butthere.Imustn’tinterrupt,sincetheinspector
wantstoaskyousomequestions.’

‘Soyoudon’tknowwhat’shappenedtoEdnaBrent?’

‘Happenedtoher?’askedSheila,sharply,hervoicerising.‘Happenedtoher?Whatdoyoumean?Has
shehadanaccidentorsomething–beenrunover?’

‘Verydangerous,allthisspeeding,’putintheprofessor.

‘Yes,’saidHardcastle,‘something’shappenedtoher.’Hepausedandthensaid,puttingitasbrutallyas
possible,‘Shewasstrangledabouthalfpasttwelve,inatelephonebox.’

‘Inatelephonebox?’saidtheprofessor,risingtotheoccasionbyshowingsomeinterest.

SheilaWebbsaidnothing.Shestaredathim.Hermouthopenedslightly,hereyeswidened.‘Eitherthis
isthefirstyou’veheardofitoryou’readamn’goodactress,’thoughtHardcastletohimself.

‘Dear, dear,’ said the professor. ‘Strangled in a telephone box. That seems very extraordinary to me.
Veryextraordinary.NotthesortofplaceIwouldchoosemyself.Imean,ifIweretodosuchathing.
No,indeed.Well,well.Poorgirl.Mostunfortunateforher.’

‘Edna–killed!Butwhy?’

‘Didyouknow,MissWebb,thatEdnaBrentwasveryanxioustoseeyouthedaybeforeyesterday,that
shecametoyouraunt’shouse,andwaitedforsometimeforyoutocomeback?’

‘Myfaultagain,’saidtheprofessorguiltily.‘IkeptMissWebbverylatethatevening,Iremember.Very
lateindeed.Ireallystillfeelveryapologeticaboutit.Youmustalwaysremindmeofthetime,mydear.
Youreallymust.’

‘Myaunttoldmeaboutthat,’saidSheila,‘butIdidn’tknowitwasanythingspecial.Wasit?WasEdna
introubleofanykind?’

‘Wedon’tknow,’saidtheinspector.‘Weprobablynevershallknow.Unlessyoucantellus?’

‘Itellyou?HowshouldIknow?’

‘Youmighthavehadsomeidea,perhaps,ofwhatEdnaBrentwantedtoseeyouabout?’

Sheshookherhead.‘I’venoidea,noideaatall.’

‘Hasn’tshehintedanythingtoyou,spokentoyouintheofficeatallaboutwhateverthetroublewas?’

‘No.No,indeedshehasn’t–hadn’t–Iwasn’tattheofficeatallyesterday.IhadtogoovertoLandisBay
tooneofourauthorsforthewholeday.’

‘Youdidn’tthinkthatshe’dbeenworriedlately?’

‘Well, Edna always looked worried or puzzled. She had a very–what shall I say–diffident, uncertain
kindofmind.Imean,shewasneverquitesurethatwhatshethoughtofdoingwastherightthingornot.
She missed out two whole pages in typing Armand Levine’s book once and she was terribly worried
aboutwhattodothen,becauseshe’dsentitofftohimbeforesherealizedwhathadhappened.’

‘Isee.Andsheaskedyouallyouradviceastowhatsheshoulddoaboutit?’

‘Yes.Itoldhershe’dbetterwriteanotetohimquicklybecausepeopledon’talwaysstartreadingtheir
typescript at once for correction. She could write and say what had happened and ask him not to
complaintoMissMartindale.Butshesaidshedidn’tquiteliketodothat.’

‘Sheusuallycameandaskedforadvicewhenoneoftheseproblemsarose?’

‘Oh,yes,always.Butthetroublewas,ofcourse,thatwedidn’talwaysallagreeastowhatsheshould
do.Thenshegotpuzzledagain.’

‘Soitwouldbequitenaturalthatsheshouldcometooneofyouifshehadaproblem?Ithappenedquite
frequently?’

‘Yes.Yes,itdid.’

‘Youdon’tthinkitmighthavebeensomethingmoreseriousthistime?’

‘Idon’tsupposeso.Whatsortofseriousthingcoulditbe?’

WasSheilaWebb,theinspectorwondered,quiteasmuchateaseasshetriedtoappear?’

‘Idon’tknowwhatshewantedtotalktomeabout,’shewenton,speakingfasterandratherbreathlessly.
‘I’venoidea.AndIcertainlycan’timaginewhyshewantedtocomeouttomyaunt’shouseandspeak
tomethere.’

‘It would seem, wouldn’t it, that it was something she did not want to speak to you about at the
CavendishBureau?Beforetheothergirls,shallwesay?Something,perhaps,thatshefeltoughttobe
keptprivatebetweenyouandher.Couldthathavebeenthecase?’

‘Ithinkit’sveryunlikely.I’msureitcouldn’thavebeenatalllikethat.’Herbreathcamequickly.

‘Soyoucan’thelpme,MissWebb?’

‘No.I’msorry.I’mverysorryaboutEdna,butIdon’tknowanythingthatcouldhelpyou.’

‘Nothingthatmighthaveaconnectionoratie-upwithwhathappenedonthe9thofSeptember?’

‘Youmean–thatman–thatmaninWilbrahamCrescent?’

‘That’swhatImean.’

‘Howcouldithavebeen?WhatcouldEdnahaveknownaboutthat?’

‘Nothing very important, perhaps,’ said the inspector, ‘but something. And anything would help.
Anything, however small.’ He paused. ‘The telephone box where she was killed was in Wilbraham
Crescent.Doesthatconveyanythingtoyou,MissWebb?’

‘Nothingatall.’

‘WereyouyourselfinWilbrahamCrescenttoday?’

‘No,Iwasn’t,’shesaidvehemently.‘Ineverwentnearit.I’mbeginningtofeelthatit’sahorribleplace.
IwishI’dnevergonethereinthefirstplace,IwishI’dnevergotmixedupinallthis.Whydidthey
sendforme,askformespecially,thatday?WhydidEdnahavetogetkillednearthere?Youmustfind
out,Inspector,youmust,youmust!’

‘Wemeantofindout,MissWebb,’theinspectorsaid.Therewasafaintmenaceinhisvoiceashewent
on:‘Icanassureyouofthat.’

‘You’retrembling,my dear,’saidProfessor Purdy.‘Ithink, Ireally do think that you ought to have a
glassofsherry.’

CHAPTER20

ColinLamb’sNarrative

IreportedtoBeckassoonasIgottoLondon.

Hewavedhiscigaratme.

‘Theremighthavebeensomethinginthatidioticcrescentideaofyoursafterall,’heallowed.

‘I’veturnedupsomethingatlast,haveI?’

‘Iwon’tgoasfarasthat,butI’lljustsaythatyoumayhave.Ourconstructionengineer,MrRamsayof
62, Wilbraham Crescent, is not all he seems. Some very curious assignments he’s taken on lately.
Genuinefirms,butfirmswithoutmuchbackhistory,andwhathistorytheyhave,ratherapeculiarone.
Ramsaywentoffataminute’snoticeaboutfiveweeksago.HewenttoRumania.’

‘That’snotwhathetoldhiswife.’

‘Possiblynot,butthat’swherehewent.Andthat’swhereheisnow.We’dliketoknowabitmoreabout
him.Soyoucanstiryourstumps,mylad,andgetgoing.I’vegotallthevisasreadyforyou,andanice
newpassport.NigelTrenchitwillbethistime.RubupyourknowledgeofrareplantsintheBalkans.
You’reabotanist.’

‘Anyspecialinstructions?’

‘No. We’ll give you your contact when you pick up your papers. Find out all you can about our Mr

Ramsay.’Helookedatmekeenly.‘Youdon’tsoundaspleasedasyoumightbe.’Hepeeredthroughthe
cigarsmoke.

‘It’salwayspleasantwhenahunchpaysoff,’Isaidevasively.

‘RightCrescent,wrongnumber.61isoccupiedbyaperfectlyblamelessbuilder.Blamelessinoursense,
thatis.PooroldHanburygotthenumberwrong,buthewasn’tfaroff.’

‘Haveyouvettedtheothers?OronlyRamsay?’

‘Diana Lodge seems to be as pure as Diana. A long history of cats. McNaughton was vaguely
interesting.He’saretiredprofessor,asyouknow.Mathematics.Quitebrilliant,itseems.Resignedhis
Chairquitesuddenlyonthegroundsofill-health.Isupposethatmay be true–but he seems quite hale
andhearty.Heseemstohavecuthimselfofffromallhisoldfriends,whichisratherodd.’

‘The trouble is,’ I said, ‘that we get to thinking that everything that everybody does is highly
suspicious.’

‘Youmayhavegotsomethingthere,’saidColonelBeck.‘TherearetimeswhenIsuspectyou,Colin,of
havingchangedovertotheotherside.TherearetimeswhenIsuspectmyselfofhavingchangedoverto
theotherside,andthenhavingchangedbackagaintothisone!Allajollymix-up.’

Myplaneleftattenp.m.IwenttoseeHerculePoirotfirst.Thistimehewasdrinkingasiropdecassis
(Black-curranttoyouandme).Heofferedmesome.Irefused.Georgebroughtmewhisky.Everything
asusual.

‘Youlookdepressed,’saidPoirot.

‘Notatall.I’mjustoffabroad.’

Helookedatme.Inodded.

‘Soitislikethat?’

‘Yes,itislikethat.’

‘Iwishyouallsuccess.’

‘Thankyou.Andwhataboutyou,Poirot,howareyougettingalongwithyourhomework?’

‘Pardon?’

‘WhatabouttheCrowdeanClocksMurder–Haveyouleanedback,closedyoureyesandcomeupwith
alltheanswers?’

‘Ihavereadwhatyouleftherewithgreatinterest,’saidPoirot.

‘Notmuchthere,wasthere?Itoldyoutheseparticularneighbourswereawash-out–’

‘Onthecontrary.Inthecaseofatleasttwoofthesepeopleveryilluminatingremarksweremade–’

‘Whichofthem?Andwhatweretheremarks?’

PoirottoldmeinanirritatingfashionthatImustreadmynotescarefully.

‘Youwillseeforyourselfthen–Itleapstotheeye.Thethingtodonowistotalktomoreneighbours.’

‘Therearen’tanymore.’

‘Theremustbe.Somebodyhasalwaysseensomething.Itisanaxiom.’

‘It may be an axiom but it isn’t so in this case. And I’ve got further details for you. There has been
anothermurder.’

‘Indeed?Sosoon?Thatisinteresting.Tellme.’

Itoldhim.Hequestionedmecloselyuntilhegoteverysingledetailoutofme.Itoldhim,too,ofthe
postcardIhadpassedontoHardcastle.

‘Remember–fouronethree–orfourthirteen,’herepeated.‘Yes–itisthesamepattern.’

‘Whatdoyoumeanbythat?’

Poirotclosedhiseyes.

‘Thatpostcardlacksonlyonething,afingerprintdippedinblood.’

Ilookedathimdoubtfully.

‘Whatdoyoureallythinkofthisbusiness?’

‘Itgrowsmuchclearer–asusual,themurderercannotletwellalone.’

‘Butwho’sthemurderer?’

Poirotcraftilydidnotreplytothat.

‘Whilstyouareaway,youpermitthatImakeafewresearches?’

‘Suchas?’

‘TomorrowIshallinstructMissLemontowritealettertoanoldlawyerfriendofmine,MrEnderby.I
shall ask her to consult the marriage records at Somerset House. She will also send for me a certain
overseascable.’

‘I’mnotsurethat’sfair,’Iobjected.‘You’renotjustsittingandthinking.’

‘ThatisexactlywhatIamdoing!WhatMissLemonistodo,istoverifyformetheanswersthatIhave
alreadyarrivedat.Iasknotforinformation,butforconfirmation.’

‘Idon’tbelieveyouknowathing,Poirot!Thisisallbluff.Why,nobodyknowsyetwhothedeadman
is–’

‘Iknow.’

‘What’shisname?’

‘Ihavenoidea.Hisnameisnotimportant.Iknow,ifyoucanunderstand,notwhoheisbutwhoheis.’

‘Ablackmailer?’

Poirotclosedhiseyes.

‘Aprivatedetective?’

Poirotopenedhiseyes.

‘Isaytoyoualittlequotation.AsIdidlasttime.AndafterthatIsaynomore.’

Herecitedwiththeutmostsolemnity:

‘Dilly,dilly,dilly–Comeandbekilled.’

CHAPTER21

DetectiveInspectorHardcastlelookedatthecalendaronhisdesk.20thSeptember.Justovertendays.
Theyhadn’tbeenabletomakeasmuchprogressashewouldhavelikedbecausetheywereheldupwith
thatinitialdifficulty:theidentificationofadeadbody.Ithadtakenlongerthanhewouldhavethought
possible.Alltheleadsseemedtohavepeteredout,failed.Thelaboratoryexaminationoftheclotheshad
broughtinnothingparticularlyhelpful.Theclothesthemselveshadyieldednoclues.Theyweregood
qualityclothes,exportquality,notnewbutwellcaredfor.Dentistshadnothelped,norlaundries,nor
cleaners. The dead man remained a ‘mystery man’! And yet, Hardcastle felt, he was not really a
‘mysteryman’.Therewasnothingspectacularordramaticabouthim.Hewasjustamanwhomnobody
hadbeenabletocomeforwardandrecognize.Thatwasthepatternofit,hewassure.Hardcastlesighed
ashethoughtofthetelephonecallsandlettersthathadnecessarilypouredinafterthepublicationinthe

publicpressofthephotographwiththecaptionbelowit:DOYOUKNOWTHISMAN?Astonishing
theamountofpeoplewhothoughttheydidknowthisman.Daughterswhowroteinahopefulveinof
fathers from whom they’d been estranged for years. An old woman of ninety was sure that the
photographinquestionwashersonwhohadlefthomethirtyyearsago.Innumerablewiveshadbeen
sure that it was a missing husband. Sisters had not been quite so anxious to claim brothers. Sisters,
perhaps,werelesshopefulthinkers.And,ofcourse,therewerevastnumbersofpeoplewhohadseen
thatverymaninLincolnshire,Newcastle,Devon,London,onatube,inabus,lurkingonapier,looking
sinisteratthecornerofaroad,tryingtohidehisfaceashecameoutofthecinema.Hundredsofleads,
themorepromisingofthempatientlyfollowedupandnotyieldinganything.

But today, the inspector felt slightly more hopeful. He looked again at the letter on his desk. Merlina
Rival.Hedidn’tliketheChristiannameverymuch.Nobodyintheirsenses,hethought,couldchristena
childMerlina.Nodoubtitwasafancynameadoptedbytheladyherself.Buthelikedthefeelofthe
letter.Itwasnotextravagantorover-confident.Itmerelysaidthatthewriterthoughtitpossiblethatthe
man in question was her husband from whom she had parted several years ago. She was due this
morning.HepressedhisbuzzerandSergeantCraycamein.

‘ThatMrsRivalnotarrivedyet?’

‘Justcomethisminute,’saidCray.‘Iwascomingtotellyou.’

‘What’sshelike?’

‘Bittheatrical-looking,’saidCray,afterreflectingamoment.‘Lotsofmake-up–notverygoodmake-up.
Fairlyreliablesortofwomanonthewhole,Ishouldsay.’

‘Didsheseemupset?’

‘No.Notnoticeably.’

‘Allright,’saidHardcastle,‘let’shaveherin.’

Craydepartedandpresentlyreturnedsayingashedidso,‘MrsRival,sir.’

Theinspectorgotupandshookhandswithher.Aboutfifty,hewouldjudge,butfromalongwayaway–
quitealongway–shemighthavelookedthirty.Closeathand,theresultofmake-upcarelesslyapplied
madeherlookratherolderthanfiftybutonthewholeheputitatfifty.Darkhairheavilyhennaed.No

hat,mediumheightandbuild,wearingadarkcoatandskirtandawhiteblouse.Carryingalargetartan
bag.Ajinglybraceletortwo,severalrings.Onthewhole,hethought,makingmoraljudgementsonthe
basis of his experience, rather a good sort. Not over-scrupulous, probably, but easy to live with,
reasonablygenerous,possiblykind.Reliable?Thatwasthequestion.Hewouldn’tbankonit,butthen
hecouldn’taffordtobankonthatkindofthinganyway.

‘I’mverygladtoseeyou,MrsRival,’hesaid,‘andIhopeverymuchyou’llbeabletohelpus.’

‘Of course, I’m not at all sure,’ said Mrs Rival. She spoke apologetically. ‘But it did look like Harry.
VerymuchlikeHarry.OfcourseI’mquitepreparedtofindthatitisn’t,andIhopeIshan’thavetaken
upyourtimefornothing.’

Sheseemedquiteapologeticaboutit.

‘Youmustn’tfeelthatinanycase,’saidtheinspector.‘Wewanthelpverybadlyoverthiscase.’

‘Yes,Isee.IhopeI’llbeabletobesure.Yousee,it’salongtimesinceIsawhim.’

‘Shallwegetdownafewfactstohelpus?Whendidyoulastseeyourhusband?’

‘I’vebeentryingtogetitaccurate,’saidMrsRival,‘allthewaydowninthetrain.It’sterriblehowone’s
memorygoeswhenitcomestotime.IbelieveIsaidinmylettertoyouitwasabouttenyearsago,but
it’smorethanthat.D’youknow,Ithinkit’snearerfifteen.Timedoesgosofast.Isuppose,’sheadded
shrewdly,‘thatonetendstothinkit’slessthanitisbecauseitmakesyouyourselffeelyounger.Don’t
youthinkso?’

‘Ishouldthinkitcoulddo,’saidtheinspector.‘Anywayyouthinkit’sroughlyfifteenyearssinceyou
sawhim?Whenwereyoumarried?’

‘Itmusthavebeenaboutthreeyearsbeforethat,’saidMrsRival.

‘Andyouwerelivingthen?’

‘At a place called Shipton Bois in Suffolk. Nice town. Market town. Rather one-horse, if you know
whatImean.’

‘Andwhatdidyourhusbanddo?’

‘Hewasaninsuranceagent.Atleast–’shestoppedherself‘–that’swhathesaidhewas.’

Theinspectorlookedupsharply.

‘Youfoundoutthatthatwasn’ttrue?’

‘Well,no,notexactly...Notatthetime.It’sonlysincethenthatI’vethoughtthatperhapsitwasn’ttrue.
It’dbeaneasythingforamantosay,wouldn’tit?’

‘Isupposeitwouldincertaincircumstances.’

‘Imean,itgivesamananexcuseforbeingawayfromhomeagooddeal.’

‘Yourhusbandwasawayfromhomeagooddeal,MrsRival?’

‘Yes.Ineverthoughtaboutitmuchtobeginwith–’

‘Butlater?’

Shedidnotansweratoncethenshesaid:

‘Can’twegetonwithit?Afterall,ifitisn’tHarry...’

Hewonderedwhatexactlyshewasthinking.Therewasstraininhervoice,possiblyemotion?Hewas
notsure.

‘Icanunderstand,’hesaid,‘thatyou’dliketogetitover.We’llgonow.’

Heroseandescortedheroutoftheroomtothewaitingcar.Hernervousnesswhentheygottowhere
theyweregoing,wasnomorethanthenervousnessofotherpeoplehehadtakentothissameplace.He

saidtheusualreassuringthings.

‘It’llbequiteallright.Nothingdistressing.Itwillonlytakeaminuteortwo.’

Thetraywasrolledout,theattendantliftedthesheet.Shestoodstaringdownforafewmoments,her
breathcamealittlefaster,shemadeafaintgaspingsound,thensheturnedawayabruptly.Shesaid:

‘It’sHarry.Yes.He’salotolder,helooksdifferent...Butit’sHarry.’

Theinspectornoddedtotheattendant,thenhelaidhishandonherarmandtookheroutagaintothecar
and they drove back to the station. He didn’t say anything. He left her to pull herself together. When
theygotbacktohisroomaconstablecameinalmostatoncewithatrayoftea.

‘Thereyouare,MrsRival.Haveacup,it’llpullyoutogether.Thenwe’lltalk.’

‘Thankyou.’

Sheputsugarinthetea,agooddealofit,andgulpeditdownquickly.

‘That’sbetter,’shesaid.‘It’snotthatImindreally.Only–only,wellitdoesturnyouupabit,doesn’tit?’

‘Youthinkthismanisdefinitelyyourhusband?’

‘I’msureheis.Ofcourse,he’smucholder,buthehasn’tchangedreallysomuch.Healwayslooked–
well,veryneat.Nice,youknow,goodclass.’

Yes, thought Hardcastle, it was quite a good description. Good class. Presumably, Harry had looked
muchbetterclassthanhewas.Somemendid,anditwashelpfultothemfortheirparticularpurposes.

MrsRivalsaid,‘Hewasveryparticularalwaysabouthisclothesandeverything.That’swhy,Ithink–
theyfellforhimsoeasily.Theyneversuspectedanything.’

‘Whofellforhim,MrsRival?’Hardcastle’svoicewasgentle,sympathetic.

‘Women,’saidMrsRival.‘Women.That’swherehewasmostofthetime.’

‘Isee.Andyougottoknowaboutit.’

‘Well, I–I suspected. I mean, he was away such a lot. Of course I knew what men are like. I thought
probablytherewasagirlfromtimetotime.Butit’snogoodaskingmenaboutthesethings.They’lllie
toyouandthat’sall.ButIdidn’tthink–Ireallydidn’tthinkthathemadeabusinessofit.’

‘Anddidhe?’

Shenodded.‘Ithinkhemusthavedone.’

‘Howdidyoufindout?’

Sheshruggedhershoulders.

‘Hecamebackonedayfromatriphe’dtaken.ToNewcastle,hesaid.Anyway,hecamebackandsaid
he’d have to clear out quickly. He said that the game was up. There was some woman he’d got into
trouble. A school teacher, he said, and there might be a bit of a stink about it. I asked him questions
then.Hedidn’tmindtellingme.ProbablyhethoughtIknewmorethanIdid.Theyusedtofallforhim,
youknow,easilyenough,justasIdid.He’dgiveheraringandthey’dgetengaged–andthenhe’dsay
he’dinvestmoneyforthem.Theyusuallygaveithimquiteeasily.’

‘Hadhetriedthesamethingwithyou?’

‘Hehad,asamatteroffact,onlyIdidn’tgivehimany.’

‘Whynot?Didn’tyoutrusthimeventhen?’

‘Well,Iwasn’tthekindthattrustsanybody.I’dhadwhatyou’dcallabitofexperience,youknow,of
menandtheirwaysandtheseamiersideofthings.Anyway,Ididn’twanthiminvestingmymoneyfor
me. What money I had I could invest for myself. Always keep your money in your hands and then
you’llbesureyou’vegotit!I’veseentoomanygirlsandwomenmakefoolsofthemselves.’

‘Whendidhewantyoutoinvestmoney?Beforeyouweremarriedorafter?’

‘I think he suggested something of the kind beforehand, but I didn’t respond and he sheered off the
subjectatonce.Then,afterweweremarried,hetoldmeaboutsomewonderfulopportunityhe’dgot.I
said,“Nothingdoing.”Itwasn’tonlybecauseIdidn’ttrusthim,butI’doftenheardmensaythey’reon
tosomethingwonderfulandthenitturnedoutthatthey’dbeenhadforamugthemselves.’

‘Hadyourhusbandeverbeenintroublewiththepolice?’

‘No fear,’ said Mrs Rival. ‘Women don’t like the world to know they’ve been duped. But this time,
apparently,thingsmightbedifferent.Thisgirlorwoman,shewasaneducatedwoman.Shewouldn’tbe
aseasytodeceiveastheothersmayhavebeen.’

‘Shewasgoingtohaveachild?’

‘Yes.’

‘Hadthathappenedonotheroccasions?’

‘Iratherthinkso.’Sheadded,‘Idon’thonestlyknowwhatitwasusedtostarthimoffinthefirstplace.
Whetheritwasonlythemoney–awayofgettingaliving,asyoumightsay–orwhetherhewasthekind
ofmanwhojusthadtohavewomenandhesawnoreasonwhytheyshouldn’tpaytheexpensesofhis
fun.’Therewasnobitternessnowinhervoice.

Hardcastlesaidgently:

‘Youwerefondofhim,MrsRival?’

‘Idon’tknow.Ihonestlydon’tknow.IsupposeIwasinaway,orIwouldn’thavemarriedhim...’

‘Youwere–excuseme–marriedtohim?’

‘Idon’tevenknowthatforsure,’saidMrsRivalfrankly.‘Weweremarriedallright.Inachurch,too,
butIdon’tknowifhehadmarriedotherwomenaswell,usingadifferentname,Isuppose.Hisname
wasCastletonwhenImarriedhim.Idon’tthinkitwashisownname.’

‘HarryCastleton.Isthatright?’

‘Yes.’

‘Andyoulivedinthisplace,ShiptonBois,asmanandwife–forhowlong?’

‘We’d been there about two years. Before that we lived near Doncaster. I don’t say I was really
surprised when he came back that day and told me. I think I’d known he was a wrong ’un for some
time.Onejustcouldn’tbelieveitbecause,yousee,healwaysseemedsorespectable.Soabsolutelythe
gentleman!’

‘Andwhathappenedthen?’

‘He said he’d got to get out of there quick and I said he could go and good riddance, that I wasn’t
standingforallthis!’Sheaddedthoughtfully,‘Igavehimtenpounds.ItwasallIhadinthehouse.He
saidhewasshortofmoney...I’veneverseenorheardofhimsince.Untiltoday.Orrather,untilIsaw
hispictureinthepaper.’

‘He didn’t have any special distinguishing marks? Scars? An operation–or a fracture–anything like
that?’

Sheshookherhead.

‘Idon’tthinkso.’

‘DidheeverusethenameCurry?’

‘Curry?No,Idon’tthinkso.NotthatIknowof,anyway.’Hardcastleslippedthecardacrossthetableto
her.

‘Thiswasinhispocket,’hesaid.

‘Stillsayinghe’saninsuranceagent,Isee,’sheremarked.‘Iexpectheuses–used,Imean–allsortsof
differentnames.’

‘Yousayyou’veneverheardofhimforthelastfifteenyears?’

‘Hehasn’tsentmeaChristmascard,ifthat’swhatyoumean,’saidMrsRival,withasuddenglintof
humour.‘Idon’tsupposehe’dknowwhereIwas,anyway.Iwentbacktothestageforabitafterwe
parted.Ontourmostly.Itwasn’tmuchofalifeandIdroppedthenameofCastletontoo.Wentbackto
MerlinaRival.’

‘Merlina’s–er–notyourrealname,Isuppose?’

Sheshookherheadandafaint,cheerfulsmileappearedonherface.

‘I thought it up. Unusual. My real name’s Flossie Gapp. Florence, I suppose I must have been
christened,buteveryonealwayscallsmeFlossieorFlo.FlossieGapp.Notveryromantic,isit?’

‘Whatareyoudoingnow?Areyoustillacting,MrsRival?’

‘Occasionally,’saidMrsRivalwithatouchofreticence.‘Onandoff,asyoumightsay.’

Hardcastlewastactful.

‘Isee,’hesaid.

‘Idooddjobshereandthere,’shesaid.‘Helpoutatparties,abitofhostesswork,thatsortofthing.It’s
notabadlife.Atanyrateyoumeetpeople.Thingsgetnearthebonenowandagain.’

‘You’veneverheardanythingofHenryCastletonsinceyouparted–orabouthim?’

‘Notaword.Ithoughtperhapshe’dgoneabroad–orwasdead.’

‘TheonlyotherthingIcanaskyou,MrsRival,isifyouhaveanyideawhyHarryCastletonshouldhave
cometothisneighbourhood?’

‘No.OfcourseI’venoidea.Idon’tevenknowwhathe’sbeendoingalltheseyears.’

‘Woulditbelikelythathewouldbesellingfraudulentinsurance–somethingofthatkind?’

‘Isimplydon’tknow.Itdoesn’tseemtometerriblylikely.Imean,Harrywasverycarefulofhimself
always.Hewouldn’tstickhisneckoutdoingsomethingthathemightbebroughttobookfor.Ishould
havethoughtitmorelikelyitwassomeracketwithwomen.’

‘Mightithavebeen,doyouthink,MrsRival,someformofblackmail?’

‘Well,Idon’tknow...Isuppose,yes,inaway.Somewoman,perhaps,thatwouldn’twantsomethingin
herpastrakedup.He’dfeelprettysafeoverthat,Ithink.Mindyou,Idon’tsayitisso,butitmightbe.I
don’tthinkhe’dwantverymuchmoney,youknow.Idon’tthinkhe’ddriveanyonedesperate,buthe
mightjustcollectinasmallway.’Shenoddedinaffirmation.‘Yes.’

‘Womenlikedhim,didthey?’

‘Yes.Theyalwaysfellforhimrathereasily.Mainly,Ithink,becausehealwaysseemedsogoodclass
andrespectable.Theywereproudofhavingmadeaconquestofamanlikethat.Theylookedforwardto
anicesafefuturewithhim.That’sthenearestwayIcanputit.Ifeltthesamewaymyself,’addedMrs
Rivalwithsomefrankness.

‘There’sjustonemoresmallpoint,’Hardcastlespoketohissubordinate.‘Justbringthoseclocksin,will
you?’

Theywerebroughtinonatraywithaclothoverthem.Hardcastlewhippedofftheclothandexposed
themtoMrsRival’sgaze.Sheinspectedthemwithfrankinterestandapprobation.

‘Pretty,aren’tthey?Ilikethatone.’Shetouchedtheormoluclock.

‘Youhaven’tseenanyofthembefore?Theydon’tmeananythingtoyou?’

‘Can’tsaytheydo.Oughttheyto?’

‘CanyouthinkofanyconnectionbetweenyourhusbandandthenameRosemary?’

‘Rosemary?Letmethink.Therewasared-head–No,hernamewasRosalie.I’mafraidIcan’tthinkof
anyone.ButthenIprobablywouldn’tknow,wouldI?Harrykepthisaffairsverydark.’

‘Ifyousawaclockwiththehandspointingtofour-thirteen–’Hardcastlepaused.

MrsRivalgaveacheerfulchuckle.

‘I’dthinkitwasgettingonfortea-time.’

Hardcastlesighed.

‘Well,MrsRival,’hesaid,‘weareverygratefultoyou.Theadjournedinquest,asItoldyou,willbethe
dayaftertomorrow.Youwon’tmindgivingevidenceofidentification,willyou?’

‘No.No,thatwillbeallright.I’lljusthavetosaywhohewas,isthatit?Ishan’thavetogointothings?
Iwon’thavetogointothemannerofhislife–anythingofthatkind?’

‘Thatwillnotbenecessaryatpresent.Allyouwillhavetosweartoisheistheman,HarryCastleton,to
whom you were married. The exact date will be on record at Somerset House. Where were you
married?Canyourememberthat?’

‘Place called Donbrook–St Michael’s, I think was the name of the church. I hope it isn’t more than
twentyyearsago.ThatwouldmakemefeelIhadonefootinthegrave,’saidMrsRival.

She got up and held out her hand. Hardcastle said goodbye. He went back to his desk and sat there
tappingitwithapencil.PresentlySergeantCraycamein.

‘Satisfactory?’heasked.

‘Seemsso,’saidtheinspector.‘NameofHarryCastleton–possiblyanalias.We’llhavetoseewhatwe
can find out about the fellow. It seems likely that more than one woman might have reason to want
revengeonhim.’

‘Lookssorespectable,too,’saidCray.

‘That,’saidHardcastle,‘seemstohavebeenhisprincipalstock-in-trade.’

HethoughtagainabouttheclockwithRosemarywrittenonit.Remembrance?

CHAPTER22

ColinLamb’sNarrative

I

‘Soyouhavereturned,’saidHerculePoirot.

Heplacedabookmarkercarefullytomarkhisplaceinthebookhewasreading.Thistimeacupofhot
chocolatestoodonthetablebyhiselbow.Poirotcertainlyhasthemostterribletasteindrinks!Foronce
hedidnoturgemetojoinhim.

‘Howareyou?’Iasked.

‘Iamdisturbed.Iammuchdisturbed.Theymaketherenovations,theredecorations,eventhestructural
alterationintheseflats.’

‘Won’tthatimprovethem?’

‘Itwillimprovethem,yes–butitwillbemostvexatioustome.Ishallhavetodisarrangemyself.There
willbeasmellofpaint!’Helookedatmewithanairofoutrage.

Then,dismissinghisdifficultieswithawaveofhishand,heasked:

‘Youhavehadthesuccess,yes?’

Isaidslowly:‘Idon’tknow.’

‘Ah–itislikethat.’

‘IfoundoutwhatIwassenttofindout.Ididnotfindthemanhimself.Imyselfdonotknowwhatwas
wanted.Information?Orabody?’

‘Speaking of bodies, I read the account of the adjourned inquest at Crowdean. Wilful murder by a
personorpersonsunknown.Andyourbodyhasbeengivenanameatlast.’

Inodded.

‘HarryCastleton,whoeverhemaybe.’

‘Identifiedbyhiswife.YouhavebeentoCrowdean?’

‘Notyet.Ithoughtofgoingdowntomorrow.’

‘Oh,youhavesomeleisuretime?’

‘Notyet.I’mstillonthejob.Myjobtakesmethere–’Ipausedamomentandthensaid:‘Idon’tknow
muchaboutwhat’sbeenhappeningwhileI’vebeenabroad–justthemerefactofidentification–whatdo
youthinkofit?’

Poirotshruggedhisshoulders.

‘Itwastobeexpected.’

‘Yes–thepoliceareverygood–’

‘Andwivesareveryobliging.’

‘MrsMerlinaRival!Whataname!’

‘Itremindsmeofsomething,’saidPoirot.‘Nowofwhatdoesitremindme?’

HelookedatmethoughtfullybutIcouldn’thelphim.KnowingPoirot,itmighthaveremindedhimof
anything.

‘Avisittoafriend–inacountryhouse,’musedPoirot,thenshookhishead.‘No–itissolongago.’

‘When I come back to London, I’ll come and tell you all I can find out from Hardcastle about Mrs
MerlinaRival,’Ipromised.

Poirotwavedahandandsaid:‘Itisnotnecessary.’

‘Youmeanyouknowallaboutheralreadywithoutbeingtold?’

‘No.ImeanthatIamnotinterestedinher–’

‘You’renotinterested–butwhynot?Idon’tgetit.’Ishookmyhead.

‘One must concentrate on the essentials. Tell me instead of the girl called Edna–who died in the
telephoneboxinWilbrahamCrescent.’

‘Ican’ttellyoumorethanI’vetoldyoualready–Iknownothingaboutthegirl.’

‘Soallyouknow,’saidPoirotaccusingly,‘orallyoucantellmeisthatthegirlwasapoorlittlerabbit,
whomyousawinatypewritingoffice,whereshehadtorntheheeloffhershoeinagrating–’hebroke
off.‘Wherewasthatgrating,bytheway?’

‘Really,Poirot,howshouldIknow?’

‘Youcouldhaveknownifyouhadasked.Howdoyouexpecttoknowanythingifyoudonotaskthe
properquestions?’

‘Buthowcanitmatterwheretheheelcameoff?’

‘Itmaynotmatter.Ontheotherhand,weshouldknowadefinitespotwherethisgirlhadbeen,andthat
might connect up with a person she had seen there–or with an event of some kind which took place
there.’

‘You are being rather far-fetched. Anyway I do know it was quite near the office because she said so
and that she bought a bun and hobbled back on her stocking feet to eat the bun in the office and she
endedupbysayinghowonearthwasshetogethomelikethat?’

‘Ah,andhowdidshegethome?’Poirotaskedwithinterest.

Istaredathim.

‘I’venoidea.’

‘Ah–butitisimpossible,thewayyouneverasktherightquestions!Asaresultyouknownothingof
whatisimportant.’

‘You’dbettercomedowntoCrowdeanandaskquestionsyourself,’Isaid,nettled.

‘Thatisimpossibleatthemoment.Thereisamostinterestingsaleofauthors’manuscriptsnextweek–’

‘Stillonyourhobby?’

‘But,yes,indeed.’Hiseyesbrightened.‘TaketheworksofJohnDicksonCarrorCarterDickson,ashe
callshimselfsometimes–’

Iescapedbeforehecouldgetunderway,pleadinganurgentappointment.Iwasinnomoodtolistento
lecturesonpastmastersoftheartofcrimefiction.

II

IwassittingonthefrontstepofHardcastle’shouse,androseoutofthegloomtogreethimwhenhegot
homeonthefollowingevening.

‘Hallo,Colin?Isthatyou?Soyou’veappearedoutoftheblueagain,haveyou?’

‘Ifyoucalleditoutofthered,itwouldbemuchmoreappropriate.’

‘Howlonghaveyoubeenhere,sittingonmyfrontdoorstep?’

‘Oh,halfanhourorso.’

‘Sorryyoucouldn’tgetintothehouse.’

‘Icouldhavegotintothehousewithperfectease,’Isaidindignantly.‘Youdon’tknowourtraining!’

‘Thenwhydidn’tyougetin?’

‘Iwouldn’tliketoloweryourprestigeinanyway,’Iexplained.‘Adetectiveinspectorofpolicewould
beboundtolosefaceifhishousewereenteredburglariouslywithcompleteease.’

Hardcastletookhiskeysfromhispocketandopenedthefrontdoor.

‘Comeonin,’hesaid,‘anddon’ttalknonsense.’

Heledthewayintothesitting-room,andproceededtosupplyliquidrefreshment.

‘Saywhen.’

Isaidit,nottoosoon,andwesettledourselveswithourdrinks.

‘Thingsaremovingatlast,’saidHardcastle.‘We’veidentifiedourcorpse.’

‘Iknow.Ilookedupthenewspaperfiles–whowasHarryCastleton?’

‘A man of apparently the utmost respectability and who made his living by going through a form of
marriage or merely getting engaged to well-to-do credulous women. They entrusted their savings to
him, impressed by his superior knowledge of finance and shortly afterwards he quietly faded into the
blue.’

‘Hedidn’tlookthatkindofman,’Isaid,castingmymindback.

‘Thatwashischiefasset.’

‘Wasn’theeverprosecuted?’

‘No–we’vemadeinquiriesbutitisn’teasytogetmuchinformation.Hechangedhisnamefairlyoften.
And although they think at the Yard that Harry Castleton, Raymond Blair, Lawrence Dalton, Roger
Byronwerealloneandthesameperson,theynevercouldproveit.Thewomen,yousee,wouldn’ttell.
Theypreferredtolosetheirmoney.Themanwasreallymoreofanamethananything–croppinguphere
and there–always the same pattern–but incredibly elusive. Roger Byron, say, would disappear from
Southend,andamancalledLawrenceDaltonwouldcommenceoperationsinNewcastleonTyne.He
was shy of being photographed–eluded his lady friends’ desire to snapshot him. All this goes quite a
long time back–fifteen to twenty years. About that time he seemed really to disappear. The rumour
spreadaboutthathewasdead–butsomepeoplesaidhehadgoneabroad–’

‘Anyway,nothingwasheardofhimuntilheturnedup,dead,onMissPebmarsh’ssitting-roomcarpet?’
Isaid.

‘Exactly.’

‘Itcertainlyopensuppossibilities.’

‘Itcertainlydoes.’

‘Awomanscornedwhoneverforgot?’Isuggested.

‘Itdoeshappen,youknow.Therearewomenwithlongmemorieswhodon’tforget–’

‘Andifsuchawomanweretogoblind–asecondafflictionontopoftheother–’

‘That’sonlyconjecture.Nothingtosubstantiateitasyet.’

‘Whatwasthewifelike–Mrs–whatwasit?–MerlinaRival?Whataname!Itcan’tbeherown.’

‘HerrealnameisFlossieGapp.Theothersheinvented.Moresuitableforherwayoflife.’

‘Whatisshe?Atart?’

‘Notaprofessional.’

‘Whatusedtobecalled,tactfully,aladyofeasyvirtue?’

‘Ishouldsayshewasagood-naturedwoman,andonewillingtoobligeherfriends.Describedherselfas
anex-actress.Occasionallydid“hostess”work.Quitelikeable.’

‘Reliable?’

‘Asreliableasmost.Herrecognitionwasquitepositive.Nohesitation.’

‘That’sablessing.’

‘Yes. I was beginning to despair. The amount of wives I’ve had here! I’d begun to think it’s a wise
woman who knows her own husband. Mind you, I think Mrs Rival might have known a little more
aboutherhusbandthansheletson.’

‘Hassheherselfeverbeenmixedupincriminalactivities?’

‘Notfortherecord.Ithinkshemayhavehad,perhapsstillhas,someshadyfriends.Nothingserious–
justfiddles–thatkindofthing.’

‘Whatabouttheclocks?’

‘Didn’tmeanathingtoher.Ithinkshewasspeakingthetruth.We’vetracedwheretheycamefrom–
Portobello Market. That’s the ormolu and the Dresden china. And very little help that is! You know
whatit’slikeonaSaturdaythere.BoughtbyanAmericanlady,thestallkeeperthinks–butI’dsaythat’s
just a guess. Portobello Market is full of American tourists. His wife says it was a man bought them.
Shecan’trememberwhathelookedlike.ThesilveronecamefromasilversmithinBournemouth.Atall
ladywhowantedapresentforherlittlegirl!Allshecanrememberaboutherissheworeagreenhat.’

‘Andthefourthclock?Theonethatdisappeared?’

‘Nocomment,’saidHardcastle.

Iknewjustwhathemeantbythat.

CHAPTER23

ColinLamb’sNarrative

ThehotelIwasstayinginwasapokylittleplacebythestation.Itservedadecentgrillbutthatwasall
thatcouldbesaidforit.Except,ofcourse,thatitwascheap.

Atteno’clockthefollowingmorningIrangtheCavendishSecretarialBureauandsaidthatIwanteda
shorthand typist to take down some letters and retype a business agreement. My name was Douglas
Weatherby and I was staying at the Clarendon Hotel (extraordinarily tatty hotels always have grand
names).WasMissSheilaWebbavailable?Afriendofminehadfoundherveryefficient.

Iwasinluck.Sheilacouldcomestraightaway.Shehad,however,anappointmentattwelveo’clock.I
saidthatIwouldhavefinishedwithherwellbeforethatasIhadanappointmentmyself.

IwasoutsidetheswingdoorsoftheClarendonwhenSheilaappeared.Isteppedforward.

‘MrDouglasWeatherbyatyourservice,’Isaid.

‘Wasityourangup?’

‘Itwas.’

‘Butyoucan’tdothingslikethat.’Shelookedscandalized.

‘Whynot?I’mpreparedtopaytheCavendishBureauforyourservices.Whatdoesitmattertothemif
we spend your valuable and expensive time in the Buttercup Caf just across the street instead of
dictatingdulllettersbeginning“Yoursofthe3rdprontissimotohand,”etc.Comeon,let’sgoanddrink
indifferentcoffeeinpeacefulsurroundings.’

TheButtercupCafliveduptoitsnamebybeingviolentlyandaggressivelyyellow.Formicatabletops,
plasticcushionsandcupsandsaucerswereallcanarycolour.

I ordered coffee and scones for two. It was early enough for us to have the place practically to
ourselves.

Whenthewaitresshadtakentheorderandgoneaway,welookedacrossthetableateachother.

‘Areyouallright,Sheila?’

‘Whatdoyoumean–amIallright?’

Hereyeshadsuchdarkcirclesunderthemthattheylookedvioletratherthanblue.

‘Haveyoubeenhavingabadtime?’

‘Yes–no–Idon’tknow.Ithoughtyouhadgoneaway?’

‘Ihad.I’vecomeback.’

‘Why?’

‘Youknowwhy.’

Hereyesdropped.

‘I’mafraidofhim,’shesaidafterapauseofatleastaminute,whichisalongtime.

‘Whoareyouafraidof?’

‘Thatfriendofyours–thatinspector.Hethinks...hethinksIkilledthatman,andthatIkilledEdnatoo...
’

‘Oh,that’sjusthismanner,’Isaidreassuringly.‘Healwaysgoesaboutlookingasthoughhesuspected
everybody.’

‘No,Colin,it’snotlikethatatall.It’snogoodsayingthingsjusttocheermeup.He’sthoughtthatIhad
somethingtodowithitrightfromthebeginning.’

‘Mydeargirl,there’snoevidenceagainstyou.Justbecauseyouwerethereonthespotthatday,because
someoneputyouonthespot...’

Sheinterrupted.

‘HethinksIputmyselfonthespot.Hethinksit’sallatrumped-upstory.HethinksthatEdnainsome
way knew about it. He thinks that Edna recognized my voice on the telephone pretending to be Miss
Pebmarsh.’

‘Wasityourvoice?’Iasked.

‘No,ofcourseitwasn’t.Inevermadethattelephonecall.I’vealwaystoldyouso.’

‘Lookhere,Sheila,’Isaid.‘Whateveryoutellanyoneelse,you’vegottotellmethetruth.’

‘Soyoudon’tbelieveawordIsay!’

‘Yes,Ido.Youmighthavemadethattelephonecallthatdayforsomequiteinnocentreason.Someone
mayhaveaskedyoutomakeit,perhapstoldyouitwaspartofajoke,andthenyougotscaredandonce
you’dliedaboutit,youhadtogoonlying.Wasitlikethat?’

‘No,no,no!HowoftenhaveIgottotellyou?’

‘It’s all very well, Sheila, but there’s something you’re not telling me. I want you to trust me. If
Hardcastlehasgotsomethingagainstyou,somethingthathehasn’ttoldmeabout–’

Sheinterruptedagain.

‘Doyouexpecthimtotellyoueverything?’

‘Well,there’snoreasonwhyheshouldn’t.We’reroughlymembersofthesameprofession.’

Thewaitressbroughtourorderatthispoint.Thecoffeewasaspaleasthelatestfashionableshadeof
mink.

‘Ididn’tknowyouhadanythingtodowiththepolice,’Sheilasaid,slowlystirringhercoffeeroundand
round.

‘It’snotexactlythepolice.It’sanentirelydifferentbranch.ButwhatIwasgettingatwas,thatifDick
doesn’ttellmethingsheknowsaboutyou,it’sforaspecialreason.It’sbecausehethinksI’minterested
inyou.Well,Iaminterestedinyou.I’mmorethanthat.I’mforyou,Sheila,whateveryou’vedone.You
cameoutofthathousethatdayscaredtodeath.Youwerereallyscared.Youweren’tpretending.You
couldn’thaveactedapartthewayyoudid.’

‘OfcourseIwasscared.Iwasterrified.’

‘Wasitonlyfindingthedeadbodythatscaredyou?Orwastheresomethingelse?’

‘Whatelseshouldtherebe?’

Ibracedmyself.

‘WhydidyoupinchthatclockwithRosemarywrittenacrossit?’

‘Whatdoyoumean?WhyshouldIpinchit?’

‘I’maskingyouwhyyoudid.’

‘Inevertouchedit.’

‘Youwentbackintothatroombecauseyou’dleftyourglovesthere,yousaid.Youweren’twearingany
glovesthatday.AfineSeptemberday.I’veneverseenyouweargloves.Allrightthen,youwentback
intothatroomandyoupickedupthatclock.Don’tlietomeaboutthat.That’swhatyoudid,isn’tit?’

Shewassilentforamomentortwo,crumblingupthesconesonherplate.

‘Allright,’shesaidinavoicethatwasalmostawhisper.‘Allright.Idid.IpickeduptheclockandI
shoveditintomybagandIcameoutagain.’

‘Butwhydidyoudoit?’

‘Becauseofthename–Rosemary.It’smyname.’

‘YournameisRosemary,notSheila?’

‘It’sboth.RosemarySheila.’

‘And that was enough, just that? The fact that you’d the same name as was written on one of those
clocks?’

Sheheardmydisbelief,butshestucktoit.

‘Iwasscared,Itellyou.’

Ilookedather.Sheilawasmygirl–thegirlIwanted–andwantedforkeeps.Butitwasn’tanyusehaving
illusionsabouther.Sheilawasaliarandprobablyalwayswouldbealiar.Itwasherwayoffightingfor
survival–thequickeasyglibdenial.Itwasachild’sweapon–andshe’dprobablynevergotoutofusing
it.IfIwantedSheilaImustacceptherasshewas–beathandtopropuptheweakplaces.We’veallgot
ourweakplaces.MineweredifferentfromSheila’sbuttheywerethere.

Imadeupmymindandattacked.Itwastheonlyway.

‘Itwasyourclock,wasn’tit?’Isaid.‘Itbelongedtoyou?’

Shegasped.

‘Howdidyouknow?’

‘Tellmeaboutit.’

Thestorytumbledouttheninahelter-skelterofwords.She’dhadtheclocknearlyallherlife.Untilshe
wasaboutsixyearsoldshe’dalwaysgonebythenameofRosemary–butshehateditandhadinsisted
onbeingcalledSheila.Latelytheclockhadbeengivingtrouble.She’dtakenitwithhertoleaveata
clock-repairingshopnotfarfromtheBureau.Butshe’dleftitsomewhere–inthebus,perhaps,orinthe
milkbarwhereshewentforasandwichatlunchtime.

‘Howlongwasthisbeforethemurderat19,WilbrahamCrescent?’

About a week, she thought. She hadn’t bothered much, because the clock was old and always going
wronganditwouldreallybebettertogetanewone.

Andthen:

‘Ididn’tnoticeitatfirst,’shesaid.‘NotwhenIwentintotheroom.AndthenI–foundthedeadman.I
was paralysed. I straightened up after touching him and I just stood there staring and my clock was
facingmeonatablebythefire–myclock–andtherewasbloodonmyhand–andthenshecameinandI
forgoteverythingbecauseshewasgoingtotreadonhim.And–andso–Ibolted.Togetaway–that’sallI
wanted.’

Inodded.

‘Andlater?’

‘Ibegantothink.Shesaidshehadn’ttelephonedforme–thenwhohad–who’dgotmethereandputmy
clockthere?I–Isaidthataboutleavingglovesand–andstuffeditintomybag.Isupposeitwas–stupid
ofme.’

‘Youcouldn’thavedoneanythingsillier,’Itoldher.‘Insomeways,Sheila,you’vegotnosenseatall.’

‘Butsomeoneistryingtoinvolveme.Thatpostcard.ItmusthavebeensentbysomeonewhoknowsI
tookthatclock.Andthepostcarditself–theOldBailey.Ifmyfatherwasacriminal–’

‘Whatdoyouknowaboutyourfatherandmother?’

‘MyfatherandmotherdiedinanaccidentwhenIwasababy.That’swhatmyaunttoldme,whatI’ve
alwaysbeentold.Butsheneverspeaksaboutthem,shenevertellsmeanythingaboutthem.Sometimes,
onceortwicewhenIasked,she’stoldmethingsaboutthemthataren’tthesameaswhatshe’stoldme
before.SoI’vealwaysknown,yousee,thatthere’ssomethingwrong.’

‘Goon.’

‘SoIthinkthatperhapsmyfatherwassomekindofcriminal–perhapseven,amurderer.Orperhapsit
wasmymother.Peopledon’tsayyourparentsaredeadandcan’torwon’ttellyouanythingaboutthose
parents, unless the real reason is something–something that they think would be too awful for you to
know.’

‘Soyougotyourselfallworkedup.It’sprobablyquitesimple.Youmayjusthavebeenanillegitimate
child.’

‘I thought of that, too. People do sometimes try and hide that kind of thing from children. It’s very
stupid. They’d much better just tell them the real truth. It doesn’t matter as much nowadays. But the
whole point is, you see, that I don’t know. I don’t know what’s behind all this. Why was I called
Rosemary?It’snotafamilyname.Itmeansremembrance,doesn’tit?’

‘Whichcouldbeanicemeaning,’Ipointedout.

‘Yes,itcould...ButIdon’tfeelitwas.Anyway,aftertheinspectorhadaskedmequestionsthatday,I
begantothink.Whyhadsomeonewantedtogetmethere?Togetmetherewithastrangemanwhowas
dead?Orwasitthedeadmanwhohadwantedmetomeethimthere?Washe,perhaps–myfather,and
hewantedmetodosomethingforhim?Andthensomeonehadcomealongandkilledhiminstead.Or
didsomeonewanttomakeoutfromthebeginningthatitwasIwhohadkilledhim?Oh,Iwasallmixed
up,frightened.Itseemedsomehowasifeverythingwasbeingmadetopointatme.Gettingmethere,
andadeadmanandmyname–Rosemary–onmyownclockthatdidn’tbelongthere.SoIgotinapanic
anddidsomethingthatwasstupid,asyousay.’

Ishookmyheadather.

‘You’vebeenreadingortypingtoomanythrillersandmysterystories,’Isaidaccusingly.‘Whatabout
Edna?Haven’tyouanyideaatallwhatshe’dgotintoherheadaboutyou?Whydidshecomeallthe
waytoyourhousetotalktoyouwhenshesawyoueverydayattheoffice?’

‘I’venoidea.Shecouldn’thavethoughtIhadanythingtodowiththemurder.Shecouldn’t.’

‘Couldithavebeensomethingsheoverheardandmadeamistakeabout?’

‘Therewasnothing,Itellyou.Nothing!’

Iwondered.Icouldn’thelpwondering...Evennow,Ididn’ttrustSheilatotellthetruth.

‘Have you got any personal enemies? Disgruntled young men, jealous girls, someone or other a bit
unbalancedwhomighthaveitinforyou?’

ItsoundedmostunconvincingasIsaidit.

‘Ofcoursenot.’

Sothereitwas.EvennowIwasn’tsureaboutthatclock.Itwasafantasticstory.413.Whatdidthose
figures mean? Why write them on a postcard with the word: REMEMBER unless they would mean
somethingtothepersontowhomthepostcardwassent?

Isighed,paidthebillandgotup.

‘Don’tworry,’Isaid.(SurelythemostfatuouswordsintheEnglishoranyotherlanguage.)‘TheColin
LambPersonalServiceisonthejob.You’regoingtobeallright,andwe’regoingtobemarriedand
livehappilyeverafteronpracticallynothingayear.Bytheway,’Isaid,unabletostopmyself,thoughI
knew it would have been better to end on the romantic note, but the Colin Lamb Personal Curiosity
drovemeon.‘Whathaveyouactuallydonewiththatclock?Hiddenitinyourstockingdrawer?’

Shewaitedjustamomentbeforeshesaid:

‘Iputitinthedustbinofthehousenextdoor.’

I was quite impressed. It was simple and probably effective. To think of that had been clever of her.
PerhapsIhadunder-estimatedSheila.

CHAPTER24

ColinLamb’sNarrative

I

WhenSheilahadgone,IwentacrosstotheClarendon,packedmybagandleftitreadywiththeporter.
Itwasthekindofhotelwheretheyareparticularaboutyourcheckingoutbeforenoon.

Then I set out. My route took me past the police station, and after hesitating a moment, I went in. I
askedforHardcastleandhewasthere.Ifoundhimfrowningdownataletterinhishand.

‘I’moffagainthisevening,Dick,’Isaid.‘BacktoLondon.’

Helookedupatmewithathoughtfulexpression.

‘Willyoutakeapieceofadvicefromme?’

‘No,’Isaidimmediately.

Hepaidnoattention.Peopleneverdowhentheywanttogiveyouadvice.

‘Ishouldgetaway–andstayaway–ifyouknowwhat’sbestforyou.’

‘Nobodycanjudgewhat’sbestforanyoneelse.’

‘Idoubtthat.’

‘I’lltellyousomething,Dick.WhenI’vetidiedupmypresentassignment,I’mquitting.Atleast–Ithink
Iam.’

‘Why?’

‘I’mlikeanold-fashionedVictorianclergyman.IhaveDoubts.’

‘Giveyourselftime.’

Iwasn’tsurewhathemeantbythat.Iaskedhimwhathehimselfwaslookingsoworriedabout.

‘Readthat.’Hepassedmetheletterhehadbeenstudying.

DearSir,

I’ve just thought of something. You asked me if my husband had any identifying marks and I said he
hadn’t.ButIwaswrong.Actuallyhehasakindofscarbehindhisleftear.Hecuthimselfwitharazor
when a dog we had jumped up at him, and he had to have it stitched up. It was so small and
unimportantIneverthoughtofittheotherday.

Yourstruly,

M

ERLINA

R

IVAL

‘Shewritesanicedashinghand,’Isaid,‘thoughI’veneverreallyfanciedpurpleink.Didthedeceased
haveascar?’

‘Hehadascarallright.Justwhereshesays.’

‘Didn’tsheseeitwhenshewasshownthebody?’

Hardcastleshookhishead.

‘Theearcoversit.Youhavetobendtheearforwardbeforeyoucanseeit.’

‘Thenthat’sallright.Nicepieceofcorroboration.What’seatingyou?’

Hardcastle said gloomily that this case was the devil! He asked if I would be seeing my French or
BelgianfriendinLondon.

‘Probably.Why?’

‘Imentionedhimtothechiefconstablewhosaysheremembershimquitewell–thatGirlGuidemurder
case.Iwastoextendaverycordialwelcometohimifheisthinkingofcomingdownhere.’

‘Nothe,’Isaid.‘Themanispracticallyalimpet.’

II

ItwasaquarterpasttwelvewhenIrangthebellat62,WilbrahamCrescent.MrsRamsayopenedthe
door.Shehardlyraisedhereyestolookatme.

‘Whatisit?’shesaid.

‘CanIspeaktoyouforamoment?Iwashereabouttendaysago.Youmaynotremember.’

Sheliftedhereyestostudymefurther.Afaintfrownappearedbetweenhereyebrows.

‘Youcame–youwerewiththepoliceinspector,weren’tyou?’

‘That’sright,MrsRamsay.CanIcomein?’

‘Ifyouwantto,Isuppose.Onedoesn’trefusetoletthepolicein.They’dtakeaverypoorviewofitif
youdid.’

Sheledthewayintothesitting-room,madeabrusquegesturetowardsachairandsatdownopposite
me.Therehadbeenafaintacerbityinhervoice,buthermannernowresumedalistlessnesswhichIhad
notnotedinitpreviously.

Isaid:

‘Itseemsquietheretoday...Isupposeyourboyshavegonebacktoschool?’

‘Yes.Itdoesmakeadifference.’Shewenton,‘Isupposeyouwanttoasksomemorequestions,doyou,
aboutthislastmurder?Thegirlwhowaskilledinthetelephonebox.’

‘No,notexactlythat.I’mnotreallyconnectedwiththepolice,youknow.’

Shelookedfaintlysurprised.

‘IthoughtyouwereSergeant–Lamb,wasn’tit?’

‘MynameisLamb,yes,butIworkinanentirelydifferentdepartment.’

ThelistlessnessvanishedfromMrsRamsay’smanner.Shegavemeaquick,hard,directstare.

‘Oh,’shesaid,‘well,whatisit?’

‘Yourhusbandisstillabroad?’

‘Yes.’

‘He’sbeengoneratheralongtime,hasn’the,MrsRamsay?Andgoneratheralongway?’

‘Whatdoyouknowaboutit?’

‘Well,he’sgonebeyondtheIronCurtain,hasn’the?’

Shewassilentforamomentortwo,andthenshesaidinaquiet,tonelessvoice:

‘Yes.Yes,that’squiteright.’

‘Didyouknowhewasgoing?’

‘Moreorless.’Shepausedaminuteandthensaid,‘Hewantedmetojoinhimthere.’

‘Hadhebeenthinkingofitforsometime?’

‘Isupposeso.Hedidn’ttellmeuntillately.’

‘Youarenotinsympathywithhisviews?’

‘Iwasonce,Isuppose.Butyoumustknowthatalready...Youcheckupprettythoroughlyonthingslike
that,don’tyou?Gobackintothepast,findoutwhowasafellowtraveller,whowasapartymember,all
thatsortofthing.’

‘Youmightbeabletogiveusinformationthatwouldbeveryusefultous,’Isaid.

Sheshookherhead.

‘No.Ican’tdothat.Idon’tmeanthatIwon’t.Yousee,henevertoldmeanythingdefinite.Ididn’twant
to know. I was sick and tired of the whole thing! When Michael told me that he was leaving this
country, clearing out, and going to Moscow, it didn’t really startle me. I had to decide then, what I
wantedtodo.’

‘Andyoudecidedyouwerenotsufficientlyinsympathywithyourhusband’saims?’

‘No,Iwouldn’tputitlikethatatall!Myviewisentirelypersonal.Ibelieveitalwaysiswithwomenin
the end, unless of course one is a fanatic. And then women can be very fanatical, but I wasn’t. I’ve
neverbeenanythingmorethanmildlyleft-wing.’

‘WasyourhusbandmixedupintheLarkinbusiness?’

‘Idon’tknow.Isupposehemighthavebeen.Henevertoldmeanythingorspoketomeaboutit.’

Shelookedatmesuddenlywithmoreanimation.

‘We’dbettergetitquiteclear,MrLamb.OrMrWolfinLamb’sclothing,orwhateveryouare.Iloved
myhusband,ImighthavebeenfondenoughofhimtogowithhimtoMoscow,whetherIagreedwith
whathispoliticswereornot.Hewantedmetobringtheboys.Ididn’twanttobringtheboys!Itwasas
simpleasthat.AndsoIdecidedI’dhavetostaywiththem.WhetherIshalleverseeMichaelagainor
notIdon’tknow.He’sgottochoosehiswayoflifeandI’vegottochoosemine,butIdidknowone
thing quite definitely. After he talked about it to me. I wanted the boys brought up here in their own

country.They’reEnglish.IwantthemtobebroughtupasordinaryEnglishboys.’

‘Isee.’

‘AndthatIthinkisall,’saidMrsRamsay,asshegotup.

Therewasnowasuddendecisioninhermanner.

‘Itmusthavebeenahardchoice,’Isaidgently.‘I’mverysorryforyou.’

Iwas,too.Perhapstherealsympathyinmyvoicegotthroughtoher.Shesmiledveryslightly.

‘Perhaps you really are... I suppose in your job you have to try and get more or less under people’s
skins,knowwhatthey’refeelingandthinking.It’sbeenratheraknockoutblowforme,butI’moverthe
worstofit...I’vegottomakeplansnow,whattodo,wheretogo,whethertostayhereorgosomewhere
else.Ishallhavetogetajob.Iusedtodosecretarialworkonce.ProbablyI’lltakearefreshercoursein
shorthandandtyping.’

‘Well,don’tgoandworkfortheCavendishBureau,’Isaid.

‘Whynot?’

‘Girlswhoareemployedthereseemtohaveratherunfortunatethingshappentothem.’

‘IfyouthinkIknowanythingatallaboutthat,you’rewrong.Idon’t.’

Iwishedherluckandwent.Ihadn’tlearntanythingfromher.Ihadn’treallythoughtIshould.Butone
hastotidyupthelooseends.

III

GoingoutofthegateIalmostcannonedintoMrsMcNaughton.Shewascarryingashopping-bagand
seemedverywobblyonherfeet.

‘Letme,’Isaidandtookitfromher.Shewasinclinedtoclutchitfrommeatfirst,thensheleanedher
headforward,peeringatme,andrelaxedhergrip.

‘You’retheyoungmanfromthepolice,’shesaid.‘Ididn’trecognizeyouatfirst.’

I carried the shopping-bag to her front door and she teetered beside me. The shopping-bag was
unexpectedlyheavy.Iwonderedwhatwasinit.Poundsofpotatoes?

‘Don’tring,’shesaid.‘Thedoorisn’tlocked.’

Nobody’sdoorseemedevertobelockedinWilbrahamCrescent.

‘And how are you getting on with things?’ she asked chattily. ‘He seems to have married very much
belowhim.’

Ididn’tknowwhatshewastalkingabout.

‘Whodid–I’vebeenaway,’Iexplained.

‘Oh, I see. Shadowing someone, I suppose. I meant that Mrs Rival. I went to the inquest. Such a
common-lookingwoman.Imustsayshedidn’tseemmuchupsetbyherhusband’sdeath.’

‘Shehadn’tseehimforfifteenyears,’Iexplained.

‘AngusandIhavebeenmarriedfortwentyyears.’Shesighed.‘It’salongtime.Andsomuchgardening
nowthatheisn’tattheuniversity...Itmakesitdifficulttoknowwhattodowithoneself.’

Atthatmoment,MrMcNaughton,spadeinhand,cameroundthecornerofthehouse.

‘Oh,you’reback,mydear.Letmetakethethings–’

‘Just put it in the kitchen,’ said Mrs McNaughton to me swiftly–her elbow nudged me. ‘Just the
Cornflakesandtheeggsandamelon,’shesaidtoherhusband,smilingbrightly.

Idepositedthebagonthekitchentable.Itclinked.

Cornflakes,myfoot!Iletmyspy’sinstinctstakeover.Underacamouflageofsheetgelatinewerethree
bottlesofwhisky.

I understood why Mrs McNaughton was sometimes so bright and garrulous and why she was
occasionallyalittleunsteadyonherfeet.AndpossiblywhyMcNaughtonhadresignedhisChair.

It was a morning for neighbours. I met Mr Bland as I was going along the crescent towards Albany
Road.MrBlandseemedinverygoodform.Herecognizedmeatonce.

‘Howareyou?How’scrime?Gotyourdeadbodyidentified,Isee.Seemstohavetreatedthatwifeof
hisratherbadly.Bytheway,excuseme,you’renotoneofthelocals,areyou?’

IsaidevasivelyIhadcomedownfromLondon.

‘SotheYardwasinterested,wasit?’

‘Well–’Idrewthewordoutinanoncommittalway.

‘Iunderstand.Mustn’ttelltalesoutofschool.Youweren’tattheinquest,though.’

IsaidIhadbeenabroad.

‘SohaveI,myboy.SohaveI!’Hewinkedatme.

‘GayParee?’Iasked,winkingback.

‘Wishithadbeen.No,onlyadaytriptoBoulogne.’

Hedugmeinthesidewithhiselbow(quitelikeMrsMcNaughton!).

‘Didn’ttakethewife.Teamedupwithaverynicelittlebit.Blonde.Quiteahotnumber.’

‘Businesstrip?’Isaid.Webothlaughedlikemenoftheworld.

HewentontowardsNo.61andIwalkedontowardsAlbanyRoad.

I was dissatisfied with myself. As Poirot had said, there should have been more to be got out of the
neighbours.Itwaspositivelyunnaturalthatnobodyshouldhaveseenanything!PerhapsHardcastlehad
askedthewrongquestions.ButcouldIthinkofanybetterones?AsIturnedintoAlbanyRoadImadea
mentallistofquestions.Itwentsomethinglikethis:

MrCurry(Castleton)hadbeendoped–When?

dittohadbeenkilled–Where?

MrCurry(Castleton)hadbeentakentoNo.19

–How?

Somebodymusthaveseensomething!–Who?

ditto–What?

I turned to the left again. Now I was walking along Wilbraham Crescent just as I had walked on
September9th.ShouldIcallonMissPebmarsh?Ringthebellandsay–well,whatshouldIsay?

CallonMissWaterhouse?ButwhatonearthcouldIsaytoher?

Mrs Hemming perhaps? It wouldn’t much matter what one said to Mrs Hemming. She wouldn’t be
listening,andwhatshesaid,howeverhaphazardandirrelevant,mightleadtosomething.

Iwalkedalong,mentallynotingthenumbersasIhadbefore.HadthelateMrCurrycomealonghere,
alsonotingnumbers,untilhecametothenumberhemeanttovisit?

WilbrahamCrescenthadneverlookedprimmer.IalmostfoundmyselfexclaiminginVictorianfashion,
‘Oh!ifthesestonescouldspeak!’Itwasafavouritequotationinthosedays,soitseemed.Butstones
don’tspeak,nomoredobricksandmortar,norevenplasternorstucco.WilbrahamCrescentremained
silentlyitself.Old-fashioned,aloof,rathershabby,andnotgiventoconversation.Disapproving,Iwas
sure,ofitinerantprowlerswhodidn’tevenknowwhattheywerelookingfor.

Therewerefewpeopleabout,acoupleofboysonbicyclespassedme,twowomenwithshopping-bags.
Thehousesthemselvesmighthavebeenembalmedlikemummiesforallthesignsoflifetherewerein
them.Iknewwhythatwas.Itwasalready,orcloseupon,thesacredhourofone,anhoursanctifiedby
English traditions to the consuming of a midday meal. In one or two houses I could see through the
uncurtainedwindowsagroupofoneortwopeopleroundadiningtable,buteventhatwasexceedingly
rare. Either the windows were discreetly screened with nylon netting, as opposed to the once popular
Nottinghamlace,or–whichwasfarmoreprobable–anyonewhowasathomewaseatinginthe‘modern’
kitchen,accordingtothecustomofthe1960’s.

Itwas,Ireflected,aperfecthourofdayforamurder.Hadthemurdererthoughtofthat,Iwondered?
Wasitpartofthemurderer’splan?IcameatlasttoNo.19.

LikesomanyothermoronicmembersofthepopulaceIstoodandstared.Therewas,bynow,noother
humanbeinginsight.‘Noneighbours,’Isaidsadly,‘nointelligentonlookers.’

Ifeltasharppaininmyshoulder.Ihadbeenwrong.Therewasaneighbourhere,allright,averyuseful
neighbouriftheneighbourhadonlybeenabletospeak.IhadbeenleaningagainstthepostofNo.20,
andthesamelargeorangecatIhadseenbeforewassittingonthegatepost.Istoppedandexchangeda
fewwordswithhim,firstdetachinghisplayfulclawfrommyshoulder.

‘Ifcatscouldspeak,’Iofferedhimasaconversationalopening.

Theorangecatopenedhismouth,gavealoudmelodiousmiaow.

‘I know you can,’ I said. ‘I know you can speak just as well as I can. But you’re not speaking my
language.Wereyousittingherethatday?Didyouseewhowentintothathouseorcameoutofit?Do
youknowallaboutwhathappened?Iwouldn’tputitpastyou,puss.’

Thecattookmyremarkinpoorpart.Heturnedhisbackonmeandbegantoswitchhistail.

‘I’msorry,yourMajesty,’Isaid.

He gave me a cold look over his shoulder and started industriously to wash himself. Neighbours, I
reflectedbitterly!Therewasnodoubtaboutit,neighbourswereinshortsupplyinWilbrahamCrescent.
What I wanted–what Hardcastle wanted–was some nice gossipy, prying, peering old lady with time
hangingheavyonherhands.Alwayshopingtolookoutandseesomethingscandalous.Thetroubleis
thatthatkindofoldladyseemstohavediedoutnowadays.TheyareallsittinggroupedtogetherinOld
Ladies’ Homes with every comfort for the aged, or crowding up hospitals where beds are needed
urgentlyforthereallysick.Thelameandthehaltandtheolddidn’tliveintheirownhousesanymore,
attended by a faithful domestic or by some half-witted poor relation glad of a good home. It was a
serioussetbacktocriminalinvestigation.

Ilookedacrosstheroad.Whycouldn’ttherebeanyneighboursthere?Whycouldn’ttherebeaneatrow
ofhousesfacingmeinsteadofthatgreat,inhuman-lookingconcreteblock.Akindofhumanbeehive,no
doubt,tenantedbyworkerbeeswhowereoutalldayandonlycamebackintheeveningtowashtheir
smallsormakeuptheirfacesandgoouttomeettheiryoungmen.Bycontrastwiththeinhumanityof
thatblockofflatsIbeganalmosttohaveakindlyfeelingforthefadedVictoriangentilityofWilbraham
Crescent.

Myeyewascaughtbyaflashoflightsomewherehalf-wayupthebuilding.Itpuzzledme.Istaredup.
Yes,thereitcameagain.Anopenwindowandsomeonelookingthroughit.Afaceslightlyobliterated
by something that was being held up to it. The flash of light came again. I dropped a hand into my
pocket.Ikeepagoodmanythingsinmypockets,thingsthatmaybeuseful.You’dbesurprisedatwhat
is useful sometimes. A little adhesive tape. A few quite innocent-looking instruments which are quite
capable of opening most locked doors, a tin of grey powder labelled something which it isn’t and an
insufflatortousewithit,andoneortwootherlittlegadgetswhichmostpeoplewouldn’trecognizefor
whattheyare.AmongstotherthingsIhadapocketbirdwatcher.Notahigh-poweredonebutjustgood
enoughtobeuseful.Itookthisoutandraisedittomyeye.

Therewasachildatthewindow.Icouldseealongplaitofhairlyingoveroneshoulder.Shehadapair
ofsmalloperaglassesandshewasstudyingmewithwhatmighthavebeenflatteringattention.Asthere
wasnothingelseforhertolookat,however,itmightnotbeasflatteringasitseemed.Atthatmoment,
however,therewasanothermiddaydistractioninWilbrahamCrescent.

AveryoldRolls-Roycecamewithdignityalongtheroaddrivenbyaveryelderlychauffeur.Helooked
dignifiedbutratherdisgustedwithlife.Hepassedmewiththesolemnityofawholeprocessionofcars.
Mychildobserver,Inoticed,wasnowtrainingheroperaglassesonhim.Istoodthere,thinking.

It is always my belief that if you wait long enough, you’re bound to have some stroke of luck.
Somethingthatyoucan’tcountuponandthatyouwouldneverhavethoughtof,butwhichjusthappens.
Wasitpossiblethatthismightbemine?Lookingupagainatthebigsquareblock,Inotedcarefullythe
position of the particular window I was interested in, counting from it to each end and up from the
ground.Thirdfloor.ThenIwalkedalongthestreettillIcametotheentrancetotheblockofflats.Ithad
awidecarriage-drivesweepingroundtheblockwithneatlyspacedflower-bedsatstrategicpositionsin
thegrass.

It’s always well, I find, to go through all the motions, so I stepped off the carriage-drive towards the
block,lookedupovermyheadasthoughstartled,bentdowntothegrass,pretendedtohuntaboutand
finallystraightenedup,apparentlytransferringsomethingfrommyhandtomypocket.ThenIwalked
roundtheblockuntilIcametotheentrance.

AtmosttimesofthedayIshouldthinktherewasaporterhere,butbetweenthesacredhourofoneand
twotheentrancehallwasempty.Therewasabellwithalargesignaboveit,sayingPORTER,butIdid
notringit.TherewasanautomaticliftandIwenttoitandpressedabuttonforthethirdfloor.Afterthat
Ihadtocheckthingsprettycarefully.

It looks simple enough from the outside to place one particular room, but the inside of a building is
confusing.However,I’vehadagooddealofpracticeatthatsortofthinginmytime,andIwasfairly
sure that I’d got the right door. The number on it, for better or worse, was No. 77. ‘Well,’ I thought,
‘sevensarelucky.Heregoes.’Ipressedthebellandstoodbacktoawaitevents.

CHAPTER25

ColinLamb’sNarrative

Ihadtowaitjustaminuteortwo,thenthedooropened.

A big blonde Nordic girl with a flushed face and wearing gay-coloured clothing looked at me
inquiringly.Herhandshadbeenhastilywipedbutthereweretracesofflouronthemandtherewasa
slightsmearofflouronhernosesoitwaseasyformetoguesswhatshehadbeendoing.

‘Excuseme,’Isaid,‘butyouhavealittlegirlhere,Ithink.Shedroppedsomethingoutofthewindow.’

Shesmiledatmeencouragingly.TheEnglishlanguagewasnotasyetherstrongpoint.

‘Iamsorry–whatyousay?’

‘Achildhere–alittlegirl.’

‘Yes,yes.’Shenodded.

‘Droppedsomething–outofthewindow.’

HereIdidalittlegesticulation.

‘Ipickeditupandbroughtithere.’

Iheldoutanopenhand.Initwasasilverfruitknife.Shelookedatitwithoutrecognition.

‘Idonotthink–Ihavenotseen...’

‘You’rebusycooking,’Isaidsympathetically.

‘Yes,yes,Icook.Thatisso.’Shenoddedvigorously.

‘Idon’twanttodisturbyou,’Isaid.‘Ifyouletmejusttakeittoher.’

‘Excuse?’

My meaning seemed to come to her. She led the way across the hall and opened a door. It led into a
pleasantsitting-room.Bythewindowacouchhadbeendrawnupandonittherewasachildofabout
nineortenyearsold,withalegdoneupinplaster.

‘Thisgentleman,hesayyou–youdrop...’

Atthismoment,ratherfortunately,astrongsmellofburningcamefromthekitchen.Myguideuttered
anexclamationofdismay.

‘Excuse,pleaseexcuse.’

‘Yougoalong,’Isaidheartily.‘Icanmanagethis.’

Shefledwithalacrity.Ienteredtheroom,shutthedoorbehindmeandcameacrosstothecouch.

‘Howd’youdo?’Isaid.

The child said, ‘How d’you do?’ and proceeded to sum me up with a long, penetrating glance that
almostunnervedme.Shewasratheraplainchildwithstraightmousyhairarrangedintwoplaits.She
hadabulgingforehead,asharpchinandapairofveryintelligentgreyeyes.

‘I’mColinLamb,’Isaid.‘What’syourname?’

Shegavemetheinformationpromptly.

‘GeraldineMaryAlexandraBrown.’

‘Dearme,’Isaid,‘that’squiteabitofaname.Whatdotheycallyou?’

‘Geraldine.SometimesGerry,butIdon’tlikethat.AndDaddydoesn’tapproveofabbreviations.’

Oneofthegreatadvantagesofdealingwithchildrenisthattheyhavetheirownlogic.Anyoneofadult
yearswouldatoncehaveaskedmewhatIwanted.Geraldinewasquitereadytoenterintoconversation
withoutresortingtofoolishquestions.Shewasaloneandboredandtheonsetofanykindofvisitorwas
anagreeablenovelty.UntilIprovedmyselfadullandunamusingfellow,shewouldbequitereadyto
converse.

‘Yourdaddy’sout,Isuppose,’Isaid.

Sherepliedwiththesamepromptnessandfullnessofdetailwhichshehadalreadyshown.

‘CartinghavenEngineeringWorks,Beaverbridge,’shesaid.‘It’sfourteenandthree-quartermilesfrom
hereexactly.’

‘Andyourmother?’

‘Mummy’sdead,’saidGeraldine,withnodiminutionofcheerfulness.‘ShediedwhenIwasababytwo
monthsold.ShewasinaplanecomingfromFrance.Itcrashed.Everyonewaskilled.’

ShespokewithacertainsatisfactionandIperceivedthattoachild,ifhermotherisdead,itreflectsa
certainkudosifshehasbeenkilledinacompleteanddevastatingaccident.

‘Isee,’Isaid.‘Soyouhave–’Ilookedtowardsthedoor.

‘That’s Ingrid. She comes from Norway. She’s only been here a fortnight. She doesn’t know any
Englishtospeakofyet.I’mteachingherEnglish.’

‘AndsheisteachingyouNorwegian?’

‘Notverymuch,’saidGeraldine.

‘Doyoulikeher?’

‘Yes.She’sallright.Thethingsshecooksareratheroddsometimes.Doyouknow,shelikeseatingraw
fish.’

‘I’veeatenrawfishinNorway,’Isaid.‘It’sverygoodsometimes.’

Geraldinelookedextremelydoubtfulaboutthat.

‘Sheistryingtomakeatreacletarttoday,’shesaid.

‘Thatsoundsgood.’

‘Umm–yes,Iliketreacletart.’Sheaddedpolitely,‘Haveyoucometolunch?’

‘Not exactly. As a matter of fact I was passing down below out there, and I think you dropped
somethingoutofthewindow.’

‘Me?’

‘Yes.’Iadvancedthesilverfruitknife.

Geraldinelookedatit,atfirstsuspiciouslyandthenwithsignsofapproval.

‘It’srathernice,’shesaid.‘Whatisit?’

‘It’safruitknife.’

Iopenedit.

‘Oh,Isee.Youmeanyoucanpeelappleswithitandthingslikethat.’

‘Yes.’

Geraldinesighed.

‘It’snotmine.Ididn’tdropit.WhatmadeyouthinkIdid?’

‘Well,youwerelookingoutofthewindow,and...’

‘Ilookoutofthewindowmostofthetime,’saidGeraldine.‘Ifelldownandbrokemyleg,yousee.’

‘Hardluck.’

‘Yes,wasn’tit.Ididn’tbreakitinaveryinterestingway,though.Iwasgettingoutofabusanditwent

onsuddenly.Ithurtratheratfirstanditachedabit,butitdoesn’tnow.’

‘Mustberatherdullforyou,’Isaid.

‘Yes,itis.ButDaddybringsmethings.Plasticine,youknow,andbooksandcrayonsandjigsawpuzzles
andthingslikethat,butyougettiredofdoingthings,soIspendalotoftimelookingoutofthewindow
withthese.’

Sheproducedwithenormousprideasmallpairofoperaglasses.

‘MayIlook?’Isaid.

Itookthemfromher,adjustedthemtomyeyesandlookedoutofthewindow.

‘They’rejollygood,’Isaidappreciatively.

They were indeed, excellent. Geraldine’s daddy, if it had been he who supplied them, had not spared
expense.ItwasastonishinghowclearlyyoucouldseeNo.19,WilbrahamCrescentanditsneighbouring
houses.Ihandedthembacktoher.

‘They’reexcellent,’Isaid.‘First-class.’

‘They’reproperones,’saidGeraldine,withpride.‘Notjustforbabiesandpretending.’

‘No...Icanseethat.’

‘Ikeepalittlebook,’saidGeraldine.

Sheshowedme.

‘Iwritedownthingsinitandthetimes.It’sliketrainspotting,’sheadded.‘I’vegotacousincalledDick
andhedoestrainspotting.Wedomotor-carnumberstoo.Youknow,youstartatoneandseehowfar
youcanget.’

‘It’sratheragoodsport,’Isaid.

‘Yes,itis.Unfortunatelytherearen’tmanycarscomedownthisroadsoI’verathergiventhatupforthe
timebeing.’

‘I suppose you must know all about those houses down there, who lives in them and all that sort of
thing.’

IthrewitoutcasuallyenoughbutGeraldinewasquicktorespond.

‘Oh,yes.OfcourseIdon’tknowtheirrealnames,soIhavetogivethemnamesofmyown.’

‘Thatmustberatherfun,’Isaid.

‘That’stheMarchionessofCarrabasdownthere,’saidGeraldine,pointing.‘Thatonewithalltheuntidy
trees.Youknow,likePussInBoots.Shehasmassesandmassesofcats.’

‘Iwastalkingtoonejustnow,’Isaid,‘anorangeone.’

‘Yes,Isawyou,’saidGeraldine.

‘Youmustbeverysharp,’Isaid.‘Idon’texpectyoumissmuch,doyou?’

Geraldinesmiledinapleasedway.Ingridopenedthedoorandcameinbreathless.

‘Youareallright,yes?’

‘We’requiteallright,’saidGeraldinefirmly.‘Youneedn’tworry,Ingrid.’

Shenoddedviolentlyandpantomimedwithherhands.

‘Yougoback,youcook.’

‘Verywell,Igo.Itisnicethatyouhaveavisitor.’

‘Shegetsnervouswhenshecooks,’explainedGeraldine,‘whenshe’stryinganythingnew,Imean.And
sometimeswehavemealsverylatebecauseofthat.I’mgladyou’vecome.It’snicetohavesomeoneto
distractyou,thenyoudon’tthinkaboutbeinghungry.’

‘Tellmemoreaboutthepeopleinthehousesthere,’Isaid,‘andwhatyousee.Wholivesinthenext
house–theneatone?’

‘Oh,there’sablindwomanthere.She’squiteblindandyetshewalksjustaswellasthoughshecould
see. The porter told me that. Harry. He’s very nice, Harry is. He tells me a lot of things. He told me
aboutthemurder.’

‘Themurder?’Isaid,soundingsuitablyastonished.

Geraldinenodded.Hereyesshonewithimportanceattheinformationshewasabouttoconvey.

‘Therewasamurderinthathouse.Ipracticallysawit.’

‘Howveryinteresting.’

‘Yes, isn’t it? I’ve never seen a murder before. I mean I’ve never seen a place where a murder
happened.’

‘Whatdidyou–er–see?’

‘Well, there wasn’t very much going on just then. You know, it’s rather an empty time of day. The
exciting thing was when somebody came rushing out of the house screaming. And then of course I
knewsomethingmusthavehappened.’

‘Whowasscreaming?’

‘Justawoman.Shewasquiteyoung,ratherprettyreally.Shecameoutofthedoorandshescreamed
andshescreamed.Therewasayoungmancomingalongtheroad.Shecameoutofthegateandsortof

clutched him–like this.’ She made a motion with her arms. She fixed me with a sudden glance. ‘He
lookedratherlikeyou.’

‘Imusthaveadouble,’Isaidlightly.‘Whathappenednext?Thisisveryexciting.’

‘Well, he sort of plumped her down. You know, on the ground there and then he went back into the
houseandtheEmperor–that’stheorangecat,IalwayscallhimtheEmperorbecausehelookssoproud–
stoppedwashinghimselfandhelookedquitesurprised,andthenMissPikestaffcameoutofherhouse–
that’stheonethere,Number18–shecameoutandstoodonthestepsstaring.’

‘MissPikestaff?’

‘IcallherMissPikestaffbecauseshe’ssoplain.She’sgotabrotherandshebullieshim.’

‘Goon,’Isaidwithinterest.

‘And then all sorts of things happened. The man came out of the house again–are you sure it wasn’t
you?’

‘I’maveryordinary-lookingchap,’Isaidmodestly,‘therearelotslikeme.’

‘Yes,Isupposethat’strue,’saidGeraldine,somewhatunflatteringly.‘Well,anyway,thisman,hewent
offdowntheroadandtelephonedfromthecall-boxdownthere.Presentlypolicebeganarriving.’Her
eyes sparkled. ‘Lots of police. And they took the dead body away in a sort of ambulance thing. Of
coursetherewerelotsofpeoplebythattime,staring,youknow.IsawHarrythere,too.That’stheporter
fromtheseflats.Hetoldmeaboutitafterwards.’

‘Didhetellyouwhowasmurdered?’

‘Hejustsaiditwasaman.Nobodyknewhisname.’

‘It’sallveryinteresting,’Isaid.

IprayedferventlythatIngridwouldnotchoosethismomenttocomeinagainwithadelectabletreacle
tartorotherdelicacy.

‘Butgobackalittle,do.Tellmeearlier.Didyouseethisman–themanwhowasmurdered–didyousee
himarriveatthehouse?’

‘No,Ididn’t.Isupposehemusthavebeenthereallalong.’

‘Youmeanhelivedthere?’

‘Oh,no,nobodylivesthereexceptMissPebmarsh.’

‘Soyouknowherrealname?’

‘Oh,yes,itwasinthepapers.Aboutthemurder.AndthescreaminggirlwascalledSheilaWebb.Harry
told me that the man who was murdered was called Mr Curry. That’s a funny name, isn’t it, like the
thingyoueat.Andtherewasasecondmurder,youknow.Notthesameday–later–inthetelephonebox
downtheroad.Icanseeitfromhere,just,butIhavetogetmyheadrightoutofthewindowandturnit
round.OfcourseIdidn’treallyseeit,becauseImeanifI’dknownitwasgoingtohappen,Iwouldhave
lookedout.But,ofcourse,Ididn’tknowitwasgoingtohappen,soIdidn’t.Therewerealotofpeople
thatmorningjuststandingthereinthestreet,lookingatthehouseopposite.Ithinkthat’sratherstupid,
don’tyou?’

‘Yes,’Isaid,‘verystupid.’

HereIngridmadeherappearanceoncemore.

‘Icomesoon,’shesaidreassuringly.‘Icomeverysoonnow.’

Shedepartedagain.Geraldinesaid:

‘Wedon’treallywanther.Shegetsworriedaboutmeals.Ofcoursethisistheonlyoneshehastocook
exceptbreakfast.Daddygoesdowntotherestaurantintheeveningandhehassomethingsentupforme
fromthere.Justfishorsomething.Notarealdinner.’Hervoicesoundedwistful.

‘Whattimedoyouusuallyhaveyourlunch,Geraldine?’

‘Mydinner,youmean?Thisismydinner.Idon’thavedinnerintheevening,it’ssupper.Well,Ireally
havemydinneratanytimeIngridhappenstohavecookedit.She’sratherfunnyabouttime.Shehasto
getbreakfastreadyattherighttimebecauseDaddygetssocross,butmiddaydinnerwehaveanytime.
Sometimeswehaveitattwelveo’clockandsometimesIdon’tgetittilltwo.Ingridsaysyoudon’thave
mealsataparticulartime,youjusthavethemwhenthey’reready.’

‘Well,it’saneasyidea,’Isaid.‘Whattimedidyouhaveyourlunch–dinner,Imean–onthedayofthe
murder?’

‘Thatwasoneofthetwelveo’clockdays.Yousee,Ingridgoesoutthatday.Shegoestothecinemaor
to have her hair done and a Mrs Perry comes and keeps me company. She’s terrible, really. She pats
one.’

‘Patsone?’Isaid,slightlypuzzled.

‘You know, on the head. Says things like “dear little girlie”. She’s not,’ said Geraldine, ‘the kind of
personyoucanhaveanyproperconversationwith.Butshebringsmesweetsandthatsortofthing.’

‘Howoldareyou,Geraldine?’

‘I’mten.Tenandthreemonths.’

‘Youseemtomeverygoodatintelligentconversation,’Isaid.

‘That’sbecauseIhavetotalktoDaddyalot,’saidGeraldineseriously.

‘Soyouhadyourdinnerearlyonthatdayofthemurder?’

‘Yes,soIngridcouldgetwashedupandgooffjustafterone.’

‘Thenyouwerelookingoutofthewindowthatmorning,watchingpeople.’

‘Oh,yes.Partofthetime.Earlier,aboutteno’clock,Iwasdoingacrosswordpuzzle.’

‘I’vebeenwonderingwhetheryoucouldpossiblyhaveseenMrCurryarrivingatthehouse?’

Geraldineshookherhead.

‘No.Ididn’t.Itisratherodd,Iagree.’

‘Well,perhapshegottherequiteearly.’

‘Hedidn’tgotothefrontdoorandringthebell.I’dhaveseenhim.’

‘Perhapshecameinthroughthegarden.Imeanthroughtheothersideofthehouse.’

‘Oh, no,’ said Geraldine. ‘It backs on other houses. They wouldn’t like anyone coming through their
garden.’

‘No,no,Isupposetheywouldn’t.’

‘IwishIknewwhathe’dlookedlike,’saidGeraldine.

‘Well,hewasquiteold.Aboutsixty.Hewasclean-shavenandhehadonadarkgreysuit.’

Geraldineshookherhead.

‘Itsoundsterriblyordinary,’shesaidwithdisapprobation.

‘Anyway,’Isaid,‘Isupposeit’sdifficultforyoutorememberonedayfromanotherwhenyou’relying
hereandalwayslooking.’

‘It’snotatalldifficult.’Sherosetothechallenge.‘Icantellyoueverythingaboutthatmorning.Iknow
whenMrsCrabcameandwhensheleft.’

‘That’sthedailycleaningwoman,isit?’

‘Yes. She scuttles, just like a crab. She’s got a little boy. Sometimes she brings him with her, but she
didn’t that day. And then Miss Pebmarsh goes out about ten o’clock. She goes to teach children at a
blind school. Mrs Crab goes away about twelve. Sometimes she has a parcel with her that she didn’t
have when she came. Bits of butter, I expect, and cheese, because Miss Pebmarsh can’t see. I know
particularlywellwhathappenedthatdaybecauseyouseeIngridandIwerehavingalittlequarrelsoshe
wouldn’t talk to me. I’m teaching her English and she wanted to know how to say “until we meet
again”. She had to tell it me in German. Auf Wiedersehen. I know that because I once went to
Switzerland and people said that there. And they said Grss Gott, too. That’s rude if you say it in
English.’

‘SowhatdidyoutellIngridtosay?’

Geraldinebegantolaughadeepmaliciouschuckle.Shestartedtospeakbutherchucklespreventedher,
butatlastshegotitout.

‘I told her to say “Get the hell out of here”! So she said it to Miss Bulstrode next door and Miss
Bulstrodewasfurious.SoIngridfoundoutandwasverycrosswithmeandwedidn’tmakefriendsuntil
nearlytea-timethenextday.’

Idigestedthisinformation.

‘Soyouconcentratedonyouroperaglasses.’

Geraldinenodded.

‘Sothat’showIknowMrCurrydidn’tgoinbythefrontdoor.Ithinkperhapshegotinsomehowinthe
nightandhidinanattic.Doyouthinkthat’slikely?’

‘Isupposeanythingreallyispossible,’Isaid,‘butitdoesn’tseemtomeveryprobable.’

‘No,’ said Geraldine, ‘he would have got hungry, wouldn’t he? And he couldn’t have asked Miss
Pebmarshforbreakfast,notifhewashidingfromher.’

‘Andnobodycametothehouse?’Isaid.‘Nobodyatall?Nobodyinacar–atradesman–callers?’

‘ThegrocercomesMondaysandThursdays,’saidGeraldine,‘andthemilkcomesathalfpasteightin
themorning.’

Thechildwasapositiveencyclopaedia.

‘The cauliflowers and things Miss Pebmarsh buys herself. Nobody called at all except the laundry. It
wasanewlaundry,’sheadded.

‘Anewlaundry?’

‘Yes. It’s usually the Southern Downs Laundry. Most people have the Southern Downs. It was a new
laundrythatday–theSnowflakeLaundry.I’veneverseentheSnowflakeLaundry.Theymusthavejust
started.’

Ifoughthardtokeepanyundueinterestoutofmyvoice.Ididn’twanttostartherromancing.

‘Diditdeliverlaundryorcallforit?’Iasked.

‘Deliverit,’saidGeraldine.‘Inagreatbigbasket,too.Muchbiggerthantheusualone.’

‘DidMissPebmarshtakeitin?’

‘No,ofcoursenot,she’dgoneoutagain.’

‘Whattimewasthis,Geraldine?’

‘1.35exactly,’saidGeraldine.‘Iwroteitdown,’sheaddedproudly.

She motioned towards a small note-book and opening it pointed with a rather dirty forefinger to an
entry.1.35laundrycame.No.19.

‘YououghttobeatScotlandYard,’Isaid.

‘Dotheyhavewomendetectives?I’dquitelikethat.Idon’tmeanpolicewomen.Ithinkpolicewomen
aresilly.’

‘Youhaven’ttoldmeexactlywhathappenedwhenthelaundrycame.’

‘Nothing happened,’ said Geraldine. ‘The driver got down, opened the van, took out this basket and
staggeredalongroundthesideofthehousetothebackdoor.Iexpecthecouldn’tgetin.MissPebmarsh
probablylocksit,soheprobablyleftitthereandcameback.’

‘Whatdidhelooklike?’

‘Justordinary,’saidGeraldine.

‘Likeme?’Iasked.

‘Oh,no,mucholderthanyou,’saidGeraldine,‘butIdidn’treallyseehimproperlybecausehedroveup
to the house–this way.’ She pointed to the right. ‘He drew up in front of 19 although he was on the
wrongsideoftheroad.Butitdoesn’tmatterinastreetlikethis.Andthenhewentinthroughthegate
bentoverthebasket.Icouldonlyseethebackofhisheadandwhenhecameoutagainhewasrubbing
hisface.Iexpecthefounditabithotandtrying,carryingthatbasket.’

‘Andthenhedroveoffagain?’

‘Yes.Whydoyouthinkitsointeresting?’

‘Well,Idon’tknow,’Isaid.‘Ithoughtperhapshemighthaveseensomethinginteresting.’

Ingridflungthedooropen.Shewaswheelingatrolley.

‘Weeatdinnernow,’shesaid,noddingbrightly.

‘Goody,’saidGeraldine,‘I’mstarving.’

Igotup.

‘Imustbegoingnow,’Isaid.‘Goodbye,Geraldine.’

‘Goodbye. What about this thing?’ She picked up the fruit knife. ‘It’s not mine.’ Her voice became
wistful.‘Iwishitwere.’

‘Itlooksasthoughit’snobody’sinparticular,doesn’tit?’

‘Wouldthatmakeittreasuretrove,orwhateveritis?’

‘Somethingofthekind,’Isaid.‘Ithinkyou’dbetterhangontoit.Thatis,hangontoituntilsomeone
elseclaimsit.ButIdon’tthink,’Isaidtruthfully,‘thatanybodywill.’

‘Getmeanapple,Ingrid,’saidGeraldine.

‘Apple?’

‘Pomme!Apfel!’

Shedidherlinguisticbest.Ileftthemtoit.

CHAPTER26

MrsRivalpushedopenthedoorofthePeacock’sArmsandmadeaslightlyunsteadyprogresstowards
thebar.Shewasmurmuringunderherbreath.Shewasnostrangertothisparticularhostelryandwas
greetedquiteaffectionatelybythebarman.

‘Howdo,Flo,’hesaid,‘how’stricks?’

‘It’snotright,’saidMrsRival.‘It’snotfair.No,it’snotright.IknowwhatI’mtalkingabout,Fred,andI
sayit’snotright.’

‘Ofcourseitisn’tright,’saidFred,soothingly.‘Whatis,I’dliketoknow?Wanttheusual,dear?’

Mrs Rival nodded assent. She paid and began to sip from her glass. Fred moved away to attend to
anothercustomer.HerdrinkcheeredMrsRivalslightly.Shestillmutteredunderherbreathbutwitha
moregood-humouredexpression.WhenFredwasnearheroncemoresheaddressedhimagainwitha
slightlysoftenedmanner.

‘Allthesame,I’mnotgoingtoputupwithit,’shesaid.‘No,I’mnot.Ifthere’sonethingIcan’tbear,
it’sdeceit.Idon’tstandfordeceit,Ineverdid.’

‘Ofcourseyoudidn’t,’saidFred.

Hesurveyedherwithapractisedeye.‘Hadagoodfewalready,’hethoughttohimself.‘Still,shecan
standacouplemore,Iexpect.Something’supsether.’

‘Deceit,’saidMrsRival.‘Prevari–prevari–well,youknowthewordImean.’

‘SureIknow,’saidFred.

He turned to greet another acquaintance. The unsatisfactory performance of certain dogs came under
review.MrsRivalcontinuedtomurmur.

‘Idon’tlikeitandIwon’tstandforit.Ishallsayso.Peoplecan’tthinktheycangoaroundtreatingme
likethat.No,indeedtheycan’t.Imean,it’snotrightandifyoudon’tstickupforyourself,who’llstick
upforyou?Givemeanother,dearie,’sheaddedinaloudervoice.

Fredobliged.

‘Ishouldgohomeafterthatone,ifIwereyou,’headvised.

He wondered what had upset the old girl so much. She was usually fairly even-tempered. A friendly
soul,alwaysgoodforalaugh.

‘It’llgetmeinbad,Fred,yousee,’shesaid.‘Whenpeopleaskyoutodoathing,theyshouldtellyouall
aboutit.Theyshouldtellyouwhatitmeansandwhatthey’redoing.Liars.Dirtyliars,that’swhatIsay.
AndIwon’tstandforit.’

‘I should cut along home, if I were you,’ said Fred, as he observed a tear about to trickle down the
mascaraedsplendour.‘Goingtocomeontorainsoon,itis,andrainhard,too.Spoilthatprettyhatof
yours.’

MrsRivalgaveonefaintappreciativesmile.

‘Ialwayswasfondofcornflowers,’shesaid.‘Oh,dearme,Idon’tknowwhattodo,I’msure.’

‘Ishouldgohomeandhaveanicekip,’saidthebarman,kindly.

‘Well,perhaps,but–’

‘Comeon,now,youdon’twanttospoilthathat.’

‘That’sverytrue,’saidMrsRival.‘Yes,that’sverytrue.That’saveryprof–profumed–noIdon’tmean
that–whatdoImean?’

‘Profoundremarkofyours,Fred.’

‘Thankyouverymuch.’

‘You’rewelcome,’saidFred.

MrsRivalslippeddownfromherhighseatandwentnottoosteadilytowardsthedoor.

‘SomethingseemstohaveupsetoldFlotonight,’saidoneofthecustomers.

‘She’susuallyacheerfulbird–butweallhaveourupsanddowns,’saidanotherman,agloomy-looking
individual.

‘Ifanyonehadtoldme,’saidthefirstman,‘thatJerryGraingerwouldcomeinfifth,waybehindQueen
Caroline, I wouldn’t have believed it. If you ask me, there’s been hanky-panky. Racing’s not straight
nowadays.Dopethehorses,theydo.Allof’em.’

MrsRivalhadcomeoutofthePeacock’sArms.Shelookedupuncertainlyatthesky.Yes,perhapsit
was going to rain. She walked along the street, hurrying slightly, took a turn to the left, a turn to the
rightandstoppedbeforearatherdingy-lookinghouse.Asshetookoutakeyandwentupthefrontsteps
avoicespokefromtheareabelow,andaheadpokedroundacornerofthedoorandlookedupather.

‘Gentlemanwaitingforyouupstairs.’

‘Forme?’

MrsRivalsoundedfaintlysurprised.

‘Well,ifyoucallhimagentleman.Welldressedandallthat,butnotquiteLordAlgernonVeredeVere,
Iwouldsay.’

MrsRivalsucceededinfindingthekeyhole,turnedthekeyinitandentered.

Thehousesmelledofcabbageandfishandeucalyptus.Thelattersmellwasalmostpermanentinthis
particularhall.MrsRival’slandladywasagreatbelieverintakingcareofherchestinwinterweather
and began the good work in mid-September. Mrs Rival climbed the stairs, aiding herself with the
banisters.Shepushedopenthedooronthefirstfloorandwentin,thenshestoppeddeadandtookastep
backwards.

‘Oh,’shesaid,‘it’syou.’

DetectiveInspectorHardcastlerosefromthechairwherehewassitting.

‘Goodevening,MrsRival.’

‘Whatdoyouwant?’askedMrsRivalwithlessfinessethanshewouldnormallyhaveshown.

‘Well,IhadtocomeuptoLondononduty,’saidInspectorHardcastle,‘andtherewerejustoneortwo
thingsIthoughtI’dliketotakeupwithyou,soIcamealongonthechanceoffindingyou.The–er–the
womandownstairsseemedtothinkyoumightbeinbeforelong.’

‘Oh,’saidMrsRival.‘Well,Idon’tsee–well–’

InspectorHardcastlepushedforwardachair.

‘Dositdown,’hesaidpolitely.

Theirpositionsmighthavebeenreversed,hethehostandshetheguest.MrsRivalsatdown.Shestared
athimveryhard.

‘Whatdidyoumeanbyoneortwothings?’shesaid.

‘Littlepoints,’saidInspectorHardcastle,‘littlepointsthatcomeup.’

‘Youmean–aboutHarry?’

‘That’sright.’

‘Now look here,’ said Mrs Rival, a slight belligerence coming into her voice; at the same time as an
aromaofspiritscameclearlytoInspectorHardcastle’snostrils.‘I’vehadHarry.Idon’twanttothinkof
himanymore.Icameforward,didn’tI,whenIsawhispictureinthepaper?Icameandtoldyouabout
him.It’sallalongtimeagoandIdon’twanttoberemindedofit.There’snothingmoreIcantellyou.
I’vetoldyoueverythingIcouldrememberandnowIdon’twanttohearanymoreaboutit.’

‘It’squiteasmallpoint,’saidInspectorHardcastle.Hespokegentlyandapologetically.

‘Oh,verywell,’saidMrsRival,ratherungraciously.‘Whatisit?Let’shaveit.’

‘Yourecognizedthemanasyourhusbandorthemanyou’dgonethroughaformofmarriagewithabout
fifteenyearsago.Thatisright,isitnot?’

‘Ishouldhavethoughtthatbythistimeyouwouldhaveknownexactlyhowmanyyearsagoitwas.’

‘SharperthanIthought,’InspectorHardcastlesaidtohimself.Hewenton.

‘Yes,you’requiterightthere.Welookeditup.YouweremarriedonMay15th,1948.’

‘It’salwaysunluckytobeaMaybride,sotheysay,’saidMrsRivalgloomily.‘Itdidn’tbringmeany
luck.’

‘Inspiteoftheyearsthathaveelapsed,youwereabletoidentifyyourhusbandquiteeasily.’

MrsRivalmovedwithsomeslightuneasiness.

‘Hehadn’tagedmuch,’shesaid,‘alwaystookcareofhimself,Harrydid.’

‘Andyouwereabletogiveussomeadditionalidentification.Youwrotetome,Ithink,aboutascar.’

‘That’sright.Behindhisleftearitwas.Here,’MrsRivalraisedahandandpointedtotheplace.

‘Behindhisleftear?’Hardcastlestressedtheword.

‘Well–’ she looked momentarily doubtful, ‘yes. Well, I think so. Yes I’m sure it was. Of course one
never does know one’s left from one’s right in a hurry, does one? But, yes, it was the left side of his
neck.Here.’Sheplacedherhandonthesamespotagain.

‘Andhediditshaving,yousay?’

‘That’sright.Thedogjumpeduponhim.Averybouncydogwehadatthetime.Hekeptrushingin–
affectionatedog.HejumpeduponHarryandhe’dgottherazorinhishand,anditwentindeep.Itbled
alot.Ithealedupbutheneverlostthemark.’Shewasspeakingnowwithmoreassurance.

‘That’s a very valuable point, Mrs Rival. After all, one man sometimes looks very like another man,
especially when a good many years have passed. But to find a man closely resembling your husband
whohasascarintheidenticalplace–wellthatmakestheidentificationveryniceandsafe,doesn’tit?It
seemsthatwereallyhavesomethingtogoon.’

‘I’mgladyou’repleased,’saidMrsRival.

‘Andthisaccidentwiththerazorhappened–when?’

MrsRivalconsideredamoment.

‘Itmusthavebeenabout–oh,aboutsixmonthsafterweweremarried.Yes,thatwasit.Wegotthedog
thatsummer,Iremember.’

‘SoittookplaceaboutOctoberorNovember,1948.Isthatright?’

‘That’sright.’

‘Andafteryourhusbandleftyouin1951...’

‘Hedidn’tsomuchleavemeasIturnedhimout,’saidMrsRivalwithdignity.

‘Quiteso.Whicheverwayyouliketoputit.Anyway,afteryouturnedyourhusbandoutin1951you
neversawhimagainuntilyousawhispictureinthepaper?’

‘Yes.That’swhatItoldyou.’

‘Andyou’requitesureaboutthat,MrsRival?’

‘OfcourseI’msure.IneverseteyesonHarryCastletonsincethatdayuntilIsawhimdead.’

‘That’sodd,youknow,’saidInspectorHardcastle,‘that’sveryodd.’

‘Why–whatdoyoumean?’

‘Well,it’saverycuriousthing,scartissue.Ofcourse,itwouldn’tmeanmuchtoyouorme.Ascar’sa
scar.Butdoctorscantellalotfromit.Theycantellroughly,youknow,howlongamanhashadascar.’

‘Idon’tknowwhatyou’regettingat.’

‘Well, simply this, Mrs Rival. According to our police surgeon and to another doctor whom we
consulted, that scar tissue behind your husband’s ear shows very clearly that the wound in question
couldnotbeolderthanaboutfivetosixyearsago.’

‘Nonsense,’saidMrsRival.‘Idon’tbelieveit.I–nobodycantell.Anywaythatwasn’twhen...’

‘Soyousee,’proceededHardcastleinasmoothvoice,‘ifthatwoundmadeascaronlyfiveorsixyears
ago,itmeansthatifthemanwasyourhusbandhehadnoscaratthetimewhenheleftyouin1951.’

‘Perhapshedidn’t.ButanywayitwasHarry.’

‘Butyou’veneverseenhimsince,MrsRival.Soifyou’veneverseenhimsince,howwouldyouknow
thathehadacquiredascarfiveorsixyearsago?’

‘You mix me up,’ said Mrs Rival, ‘you mix me up badly. Perhaps it wasn’t as long ago as 1948–You
can’trememberallthesethings.Anyway,HarryhadthatscarandIknowit.’

‘Isee,’saidInspectorHardcastleandherosetohisfeet.‘Ithinkyou’dbetterthinkoverthatstatement
ofyoursverycarefully,MrsRival.Youdon’twanttogetintotrouble,youknow.’

‘Howdoyoumean,getintotrouble?’

‘Well,’InspectorHardcastlespokealmostapologetically,‘perjury.’

‘Perjury.Me!’

‘Yes. It’s quite a serious offence in law, you know. You could get into trouble, even go to prison. Of
course, you’ve not been on oath in a coroner’s court, but you may have to swear to this evidence of
yoursinapropercourtsometime.Then–well,I’dlikeyoutothinkitoververycarefully,MrsRival.It
maybethatsomebody–suggestedtoyouthatyoushouldtellusthisstoryaboutthescar?’

MrsRivalgotup.Shedrewherselftoherfullheight,hereyesflashed.Shewasatthatmomentalmost
magnificent.

‘Ineverheardsuchnonsenseinmylife,’shesaid.‘Absolutenonsense.Itryanddomyduty.Icomeand
helpyou,ItellyouallIcanremember.IfI’vemadeamistakeI’msureit’snaturalenough.AfterallI
meet a good many–well, gentlemen friends, and one may get things a little wrong sometimes. But I
don’tthinkIdidmakeamistake.ThatmanwasHarryandHarryhadascarbehindhisleftear,I’mquite
sure of it. And now, perhaps, Inspector Hardcastle, you’ll go away instead of coming here and
insinuatingthatI’vebeentellinglies.’

InspectorHardcastlegotuppromptly.

‘Goodnight,MrsRival,’hesaid.‘Justthinkitover.That’sall.’

Mrs Rival tossed her head. Hardcastle went out of the door. With his departure, Mrs Rival’s attitude
alteredimmediately.Thefinedefianceofherattitudecollapsed.Shelookedfrightenedandworried.

‘Gettingmeintothis,’shemurmured,‘gettingmeintothis.I’ll–I’llnotgoonwithit.I’ll–I’ll–I’mnot
going to get into trouble for anybody. Telling me things, lying to me, deceiving me. It’s monstrous.
Quitemonstrous.Ishallsayso.’

Shewalkedupanddownunsteadily,thenfinallymakinguphermind,shetookanumbrellafromthe
cornerandwentoutagain.Shewalkedalongtotheendofthestreet,hesitatedatacall-box,thenwent
ontoapostoffice.Shewentinthere,askedforchangeandwentintooneofthecall-boxes.Shedialled
Directoryandaskedforanumber.Shestoodtherewaitingtillthecallcamethrough.

‘Goaheadplease.Yourpartyisontheline.’

Shespoke.

‘Hallo...oh,it’syou.Flohere.No,IknowyoutoldmenottobutI’vehadto.You’venotbeenstraight
withme.YounevertoldmewhatIwasgettinginto.Youjustsaiditwouldbeawkwardforyouifthis
man was identified. I didn’t dream for a moment that I would get mixed up in a murder... Well, of
courseyou’dsaythat,butatanyrateitwasn’twhatyoutoldme...Yes,Ido.Ithinkyouaremixedupin
itinsomeway...Well,I’mnotgoingtostandforit,Itellyou...There’ssomethingaboutbeingan–ac–
well, you know the word I mean–accessory, something like that. Though I always thought that was
costumejewellery.Anyway,it’ssomethinglikebeingasomethingafterthefact,andI’mfrightened,I
tellyou...tellingmetowriteandtellthemthatbitaboutascar.Nowitseemshe’donlygotthatscara
yearortwoagoandhere’smeswearinghehaditwhenheleftmeyearsago...Andthat’sperjuryandI
mightgotoprisonforit.Well,it’snogoodyourtryingtotalkmeround...No...Obligingsomeoneis
one thing... Well I know... I know you paid me for it. And not very much either... Well, all right, I’ll

listen to you, but I’m not going to... All right, all right, I’ll keep quiet... What did you say?... How
much?...That’salotofmoney.HowdoIknowthatyou’vegotiteven...Well,yes,ofcourseitwould
makeadifference.Youswearyoudidn’thaveanythingtodowithit?–Imeanwithkillinganyone...No,
well I’m sure you wouldn’t. Of course, I see that... Sometimes you get mixed up with a crowd of
people–andtheygofurtherthanyouwouldandit’snotyourfault...Youalwaysmakethingssoundso
plausible...Youalwaysdid...Well,allright,I’llthinkitoverbutit’sgottobesoon...Tomorrow?What
time?...Yes...yes,I’llcomebutnocheque.Itmightbounce...Idon’tknowreallythatIoughttogoon
gettingmyselfmixedupinthingseven...allright.Well,ifyousayso...Well,Ididn’tmeantobenasty
aboutit...Allrightthen.’

Shecameoutofthepostofficeweavingfromsidetosideofthepavementandsmilingtoherself.

Itwasworthriskingalittletroublewiththepoliceforthatamountofmoney.Itwouldsetherupnicely.
Anditwasn’tverymuchriskreally.She’donlygottosayshe’dforgottenorcouldn’tremember.Lotsof
women couldn’t remember things that had only happened a year ago. She’d say she got mixed up
betweenHarryandanotherman.Oh,shecouldthinkuplotsofthingstosay.

Mrs Rival was a naturally mercurial type. Her spirits rose as much now as they had been depressed
before.Shebegantothinkseriouslyandintentlyofthefirstthingsshewouldspendthemoneyon...

CHAPTER27

ColinLamb’sNarrative

I

‘Youdon’tseemtohavegotmuchoutofthatRamsaywoman?’complainedColonelBeck.

‘Therewasn’tmuchtoget.’

‘Sureofthat?’

‘Yes.’

‘She’snotanactiveparty?’

‘No.’

Beckgavemeasearchingglance.

‘Satisfied?’heasked.

‘Notreally.’

‘Youhopedformore?’

‘Itdoesn’tfillthegap.’

‘Well–we’llhavetolookelsewhere...giveupcrescents–eh?’

‘Yes.’

‘You’reverymonosyllabic.Gotahangover?’

‘I’mnogoodatthisjob,’Isaidslowly.

‘Wantmetopatyouontheheadandsay“There,there”?’

InspiteofmyselfIlaughed.

‘That’sbetter,’saidBeck.‘Nowthen,what’sitallabout?Girltrouble,Isuppose.’

Ishookmyhead.‘It’sbeencomingonforsometime.’

‘As a matter of fact I’ve noticed it,’ said Beck unexpectedly. ‘The world’s in a confusing state
nowadays. The issues aren’t clear as they used to be. When discouragement sets in, it’s like dry rot.

Whacking great mushrooms bursting through the walls! If that’s so, your usefulness to us is over.
You’ve done some first-class work, boy. Be content with that. Go back to those damned seaweeds of
yours.’

Hepausedandsaid:‘Youreallylikethebeastlythings,don’tyou?’

‘Ifindthewholesubjectpassionatelyinteresting.’

‘I should find it repulsive. Splendid variation in nature, isn’t there? Tastes, I mean. How’s that patent
murderofyours?Ibetyouthegirldidit.’

‘You’rewrong,’Isaid.

Beckshookhisfingeratmeinanadmonitoryandavuncularmanner.

‘WhatIsaytoyouis:“Beprepared.”AndIdon’tmeanitintheBoyScoutsense.’

IwalkeddownCharingCrossRoaddeepinthought.

AtthetubestationIboughtapaper.

Ireadthatawoman,supposedtohavecollapsedintherushhouratVictoriaStationyesterday,hadbeen
takentohospital.Onarrivalthereshewasfoundtohavebeenstabbed.Shehaddiedwithoutrecovering
consciousness.

HernamewasMrsMerlinaRival.

II

IrangHardcastle.

‘Yes,’hesaidinanswertomyquestions.‘It’sjustastheysay.’

Hisvoicesoundedhardandbitter.

‘Iwenttoseehernightbeforelast.Itoldherherstoryaboutthescarjustwouldn’tjell.Thatthescar
tissuewascomparativelyrecent.Funnyhowpeopleslipup.Justbytryingtooverdothings.Somebody
paidthatwomantoidentifythecorpseasbeingthatofherhusband,whoranoutonheryearsago.

‘Verywellshedidit,too!Ibelievedherallright.Andthenwhoeveritwastriedtobealittletooclever.
Ifsherememberedthatunimportantlittlescarasanafterthought,itwouldcarryconvictionandclinch
theidentification.Ifshehadplumpedoutwithitstraightaway,itmighthavesoundedabittooglib.’

‘SoMerlinaRivalwasinituptotheneck?’

‘Doyouknow,Iratherdoubtthat.Supposeanoldfriendoracquaintancegoestoherandsays:“Look
here,I’minabitofaspot.AchapI’vehadbusinessdealingswithhasbeenmurdered.Iftheyidentify
himandallourdealingscometolight,itwillbeabsolutedisaster.Butifyouweretocomealongand
sayit’sthathusbandofyours,HarryCastleton,whodidabunkyearsago,thenthewholecasewillpeter
out.”’

‘Surelyshe’djibatthat–sayitwastoorisky?’

‘Ifso,thatsomeonewouldsay:“What’stherisk?Attheworst,you’vemadeamistake.Anywomancan
make a mistake after fifteen years.” And probably at that point a nice little sum would have been
mentioned.AndshesaysO.K.she’llbeasport!anddoit.’

‘Withnosuspicions?’

‘She wasn’t a suspicious woman. Why, good lord, Colin, every time we catch a murderer there are
peoplewho’veknownhimwell,andsimplycan’tbelievehecoulddoanythinglikethat!’

‘Whathappenedwhenyouwentuptoseeher?’

‘Iputthewindupher.AfterIleft,shedidwhatIexpectedshe’ddo–triedtogetintouchwiththeman
or woman who’d got her into this. I had a tail on her, of course. She went to a post office and put
throughacallfromanautomaticcall-box.Unfortunately,itwasn’ttheboxI’dexpectedhertouseatthe

endofherownstreet.Shehadtogetchange.Shecameoutofthecall-boxlookingpleasedwithherself.
Shewaskeptunderobservation,butnothingofinteresthappeneduntilyesterdayevening.Shewentto
Victoria Station and took a ticket to Crowdean. It was half past six, the rush hour. She wasn’t on her
guard. She thought she was going to meet whoever it was at Crowdean. But the cunning devil was a
stepaheadofher.Easiestthingintheworldtogangupbehindsomeoneinacrowd,andpresstheknife
in...Don’tsupposesheevenknewshehadbeenstabbed.Peopledon’t,youknow.Rememberthatcase
ofBartonintheLevittiGangrobbery?Walkedthelengthofastreetbeforehefelldowndead.Justa
sudden sharp pain–then you think you’re all right again. But you’re not. You’re dead on your feet
althoughyoudon’tknowit.’

Hefinishedup:‘Damnanddamnanddamn!’

‘Haveyou–checkedon–anybody?’

Ihadtoask.Icouldn’thelpmyself.

Hisreplycameswiftandsharp.

‘ThePebmarshwomanwasinLondonyesterday.ShedidsomebusinessfortheInstituteandreturnedto
Crowdeanbythe7.40train.’Hepaused.‘AndSheilaWebbtookupatypescripttocheckoverwitha
foreignauthorwhowasinLondononhiswaytoNewYork.ShelefttheRitzHotelat5.30approx.and
tookinacinema–alone–beforereturning.’

‘Lookhere,Hardcastle,’Isaid,‘I’vegotsomethingforyou.Vouchedforbyaneyewitness.Alaundry
vandrewupat19,WilbrahamCrescentat1.35onSeptemberthe9th.Themanwhodroveitdelivereda
biglaundrybasketatthebackdoorofthehouse.Itwasaparticularlylargelaundrybasket.’

‘Laundry?Whatlaundry?’

‘TheSnowflakeLaundry.Knowit?’

‘Notoff-hand.Newlaundriesarealwaysstartingup.It’sanordinarysortofnameforalaundry.’

‘Well–youcheckup.Amandroveit–andamantookthebasketintothehouse–’

Hardcastle’svoicecamesuddenly,alertwithsuspicion.

‘Areyoumakingthisup,Colin?’

‘No.ItoldyouI’vegotaneyewitness.Checkup,Dick.Getonwithit.’

Irangoffbeforehecouldbadgermefurther.

Iwalkedoutfromtheboxandlookedatmywatch.Ihadagooddealtodo–andIwantedtobeoutof
Hardcastle’sreachwhilstIdidit.Ihadmyfuturelifetoarrange.

CHAPTER28

ColinLamb’sNarrative

I

IarrivedatCrowdeanateleveno’clockatnight,fivedayslater.IwenttotheClarendonHotel,gota
room,andwenttobed.I’dbeentiredthenightbeforeandIoverslept.Iwokeupataquartertoten.

Isentforcoffeeandtoastandadailypaper.Itcameandwithitalargesquarenoteaddressedtomewith
thewordsBYHANDinthetopleft-handcorner.

I examined it with some surprise. It was unexpected. The paper was thick and expensive, the
superscriptionneatlyprinted.

Afterturningitoverandplayingwithit,Ifinallyopenedit.

Insidewasasheetofpaper.Printedonitinlargeletterswerethewords:

CURLEWHOTEL11.30

ROOM413

(Knockthreetimes)

Istaredatit,turneditoverinmyhand–whatwasallthis?

Inotedtheroomnumber–413–thesameastheclocks.Acoincidence?Ornotacoincidence.

I had thoughts of ringing the Curlew Hotel. Then I thought of ringing Dick Hardcastle. I didn’t do
either.

My lethargy was gone. I got up, shaved, washed, dressed and walked along the front to the Curlew
Hotelandgotthereattheappointedtime.

Thesummerseasonwasprettywellovernow.Thereweren’tmanypeopleaboutinsidethehotel.

I didn’t make any inquiries at the desk. I went up in the lift to the fourth floor and walked along the
corridortoNo.413.

Istoodthereforamomentortwo:then,feelingacompletefool,Iknockedthreetimes...

Avoicesaid,‘Comein.’

Iturnedthehandle,thedoorwasn’tlocked.Isteppedinsideandstoppeddead.

IwaslookingatthelastpersononearthIwouldhaveexpectedtosee.

HerculePoirotsatfacingme.Hebeamedatme.

‘Unepetitesurprise,n’est-cepas?’hesaid.‘Butapleasantone,Ihope.’

‘Poirot,youoldfox,’Ishouted.‘Howdidyougethere?’

‘IgothereinaDaimlerlimousine–mostcomfortable.’

‘Butwhatareyoudoinghere?’

‘Itwasmostvexing.Theyinsisted,positivelyinsistedontheredecorationofmyapartment.Imaginemy
difficulty.WhatcanIdo?WherecanIgo?’

‘Lotsofplaces,’Isaidcoldly.

‘Possibly,butitissuggestedtomebymydoctorthattheairoftheseawillbegoodforme.’

‘Oneofthoseobligingdoctorswhofindsoutwherehispatientwantstogo,andadviseshimtogothere!
Wasityouwhosentmethis?’IbrandishedtheletterIhadreceived.

‘Naturally–whoelse?’

‘Isitacoincidencethatyouhavearoomwhosenumberis413?’

‘Itisnotacoincidence.Iaskedforitspecially.’

‘Why?’

Poirotputhisheadononesideandtwinkledatme.

‘Itseemedtobeappropriate.’

‘Andknockingthreetimes?’

‘I could not resist it. If I could have enclosed a sprig of rosemary it would have been better still. I
thoughtofcuttingmyfingerandputtingabloodstainedfingerprintonthedoor.Butenoughisenough!I
mighthavegotaninfection.’

‘Isupposethisissecondchildhood,’Iremarkedcoldly.‘I’llbuyyouaballoonandawoollyrabbitthis
afternoon.’

‘Idonotthinkyouenjoymysurprise.Youexpressnojoy,nodelightatseeingme.’

‘Didyouexpectmeto?’

‘Pourquoipas?Come,letusbeserious,nowthatIhavehadmylittlepieceoffoolery.Ihopetobeof
assistance. I have called up the chief constable who has been of the utmost amiability, and at this
momentIawaityourfriend,DetectiveInspectorHardcastle.’

‘Andwhatareyougoingtosaytohim?’

‘Itwasinmymindthatwemightallthreeengageinconversation.’

Ilookedathimandlaughed.Hemightcallitconversation–butIknewwhowasgoingtodothetalking.

HerculePoirot!

II

Hardcastlehadarrived.Wehadhadtheintroductionandthegreetings.Wewerenowsettleddownina
companionablefashion,withDickoccasionallyglancingsurreptitiouslyatPoirotwiththeairofaman
at the Zoo studying a new and surprising acquisition. I doubt if he had ever met anyone quite like
HerculePoirotbefore!

Finally,theamenitiesandpolitenesshavingbeenobserved,Hardcastleclearedhisthroatandspoke.

‘Isuppose,M.Poirot,’hesaidcautiously,‘thatyou’llwanttosee–well,thewholeset-upforyourself?It
won’tbeexactlyeasy–’Hehesitated.‘ThechiefconstabletoldmetodoeverythingIcouldforyou.But
youmustappreciatethattherearedifficulties,questionsthatmaybeasked,objections.Still,asyouhave
comedownherespecially–’

Poirotinterruptedhim–withatouchofcoldness.

‘Icamehere,’hesaid,‘becauseofthereconstructionanddecorationofmyapartmentinLondon.’

IgaveahorselaughandPoirotshotmealookofreproach.

‘M.Poirotdoesn’thavetogoandseethings,’Isaid.‘Hehasalwaysinsistedthatyoucandoitallfrom
anarm-chair.Butthat’snotquitetrue,isit,Poirot?Orwhyhaveyoucomehere?’

Poirotrepliedwithdignity.

‘Isaidthatitwasnotnecessarytobethefoxhound,thebloodhound,thetrackingdog,runningtoand
frouponthescent.ButIwilladmitthatforthechaseadogisnecessary.Aretriever,myfriend.Agood
retriever.’

Heturnedtowardstheinspector.Onehandtwirledhismoustacheinasatisfiedgesture.

‘Let me tell you,’ he said, ‘that I am not like the English, obsessed with dogs. I, personally, can live
withoutthedog.ButIaccept,nevertheless,youridealofthedog.Themanlovesandrespectshisdog.
He indulges him, he boasts of the intelligence and sagacity of his dog to his friends. Now figure to
yourself,theoppositemayalsocometopass!Thedogisfondofhismaster.Heindulgesthatmaster!
He,too,boastsofhismaster,boastsofhismaster’ssagacityandintelligence.Andasamanwillrouse
himselfwhenhedoesnotreallywanttogoout,andtakehisdogforawalkbecausethedogenjoysthe
walksomuch,sowillthedogendeavourtogivehismasterwhatthatmasterpinestohave.

‘ItwassowithmykindyoungfriendColinhere.Hecametoseeme,nottoaskforhelpwithhisown
problem;thathewasconfidentthathecouldsolveforhimself,andhas,Igather,doneso.No,hefelt
concernthatIwasunoccupiedandlonelysohebroughttomeaproblemthathefeltwouldinterestme
and give me something to work upon. He challenged me with it–challenged me to do what I had so
oftentoldhimitwaspossibletodo–sitstillinmychairand–induecourse–resolvethatproblem.Itmay
be,Isuspectitis,thattherewasalittlemalice,justasmallharmlessamount,behindthatchallenge.He
wanted,letussay,toprovetomethatitwasnotsoeasyafterall.Maisoui,monami,itistrue,that!You
wantedtomockyourselfatme–justalittle!Idonotreproachyou.AllIsayis,youdidnotknowyour
HerculePoirot.’

Hethrustouthischestandtwirledhismoustaches.

Ilookedathimandgrinnedaffectionately.

‘Allrightthen,’Isaid.‘Giveustheanswertotheproblem–ifyouknowit.’

‘ButofcourseIknowit!’

Hardcastlestaredathimincredulously.

‘Areyousayingyouknowwhokilledthemanat19,WilbrahamCrescent?’

‘Certainly.’

‘AndalsowhokilledEdna.Brent?’

‘Ofcourse.’

‘Youknowtheidentityofthedeadman?’

‘Iknowwhohemustbe.’

Hardcastle had a very doubtful expression on his face. Mindful of the chief constable, he remained
polite.Buttherewasscepticisminhisvoice.

‘Excuseme,M.Poirot,youclaimthatyouknowwhokilledthreepeople.Andwhy?’

‘Yes.’

‘You’vegotanopenandshutcase?’

‘That,no.’

‘Allyoumeanisthatyouhaveahunch,’Isaid,unkindly.

‘Iwillnotquarrelwithyouoveraword,moncherColin.AllIsayis,Iknow!’

Hardcastlesighed.

‘Butyousee,M.Poirot,Ihavetohaveevidence.’

‘Naturally,butwiththeresourcesyouhaveatyourdisposal,itwillbepossibleforyou,Ithink,toget
thatevidence.’

‘I’mnotsosureaboutthat.’

‘Comenow,Inspector.Ifyouknow–reallyknow–isnotthatthefirststep?Canyounot,nearlyalways,
goonfromthere?’

‘Notalways,’saidHardcastlewithasigh.‘Therearemenwalkingabouttodaywhooughttobeingaol.
Theyknowitandweknowit.’

‘Butthatisaverysmallpercentage,isitnot–’

Iinterrupted.

‘Allright.Allright.Youknow...Nowletusknowtoo!’

‘Iperceiveyouarestillsceptical.Butfirstletmesaythis:Tobesuremeansthatwhentherightsolution
isreached,everythingfallsintoplace.Youperceivethatinnootherwaycouldthingshavehappened.’

‘FortheloveofMike,’Isaid,‘getonwithit!Igrantyouallthepointsyou’vemade.’

Poirotarrangedhimselfcomfortablyinhischairandmotionedtotheinspectortoreplenishhisglass.

‘Onething,mesamis,mustbeclearlyunderstood.Tosolveanyproblemonemusthavethefacts. For

thatoneneedsthedog,thedogwhoisaretriever,whobringsthepiecesonebyoneandlaysthemat–’

‘Atthefeetofthemaster,’Isaid.‘Admitted.’

‘One cannot from one’s seat in a chair solve a case solely from reading about it in a newspaper. For
one’s facts must be accurate, and newspapers are seldom, if ever, accurate. They report something
happenedatfouro’clockwhenitwasaquarterpastfour,theysayamanhadasistercalledElizabeth
when actually he had a sister-in-law called Alexandra. And so on. But in Colin here, I have a dog of
remarkableability–anability,Imaysay,whichhastakenhimfarinhisowncareer.Hehasalwayshada
remarkablememory.Hecanrepeattoyou,evenseveraldayslater,conversationsthathavetakenplace.
He can repeat them accurately–that is, not transposing them, as nearly all of us do, to what the
impressionmadeonhimwas.Toexplainroughly–hewouldnotsay,“Andattwentypasteleventhepost
came” instead of describing what actually happened, namely a knock on the front door and someone
comingintotheroomwithlettersintheirhand.Allthisisveryimportant.ItmeansthatheheardwhatI
wouldhaveheardifIhadbeenthereandseenwhatIwouldhaveseen.’

‘Onlythepoordoghasn’tmadethenecessarydeductions?’

‘So,asfarascanbe,Ihavethefacts–Iam“inthepicture”.Itisyourwar-timeterm,isitnot?To“put
oneinthepicture”.Thethingthatstruckmefirstofall,whenColinrecountedthestorytome,wasits
highlyfantasticcharacter.Fourclocks,eachroughlyanhouraheadoftherighttime,andallintroduced
intothehousewithouttheknowledgeoftheowner,orsoshesaid.Forwemustnever,mustwe,believe
whatwearetold,untilsuchstatementshavebeencarefullychecked?’

‘Yourmindworksthewaythatminedoes,’saidHardcastleapprovingly.

‘Onthefloorliesadeadman–arespectable-lookingelderlyman.Nobodyknowswhoheis(oragainso
they say). In his pocket is a card bearing the name of Mr R. H. Curry, 7, Denvers Street. Metropolis
Insurance Company. But there is no Metropolis Insurance Company. There is no Denvers Street and
there seems to be no such person as Mr Curry. That is negative evidence, but it is evidence. We now
proceedfurther.Apparentlyatabouttenminutestotwoasecretarialagencyisrungup,aMissMillicent
Pebmarsh asks for a stenographer to be sent to 19, Wilbraham Crescent at three o’clock. It is
particularlyaskedthataMissSheilaWebbshouldbesent.MissWebbissent.Shearrivesthereatafew
minutes before three; goes, according to instructions, into the sitting-room, finds a dead man on the
floorandrushesoutofthehousescreaming.Sherushesintothearmsofayoungman.’

Poirotpausedandlookedatme.Ibowed.

‘Enterouryounghero,’Isaid.

‘Yousee,’Poirotpointedout.‘Evenyoucannotresistafarcicalmelodramatictonewhenyouspeakof
it.Thewholethingismelodramatic,fantasticandcompletelyunreal.Itisthekindofthingthatcould
occurinthewritingsofsuchpeopleasGarryGregson,forinstance.Imaymentionthatwhenmyyoung
friendarrivedwiththistaleIwasembarkingonacourseofthrillerwriterswhohadpliedtheircraftover
thelastsixtyyears.Mostinteresting.Onecomesalmosttoregardactualcrimesinthelightoffiction.
ThatistosaythatifIobservethatadoghasnotbarkedwhenheshouldbark,Isaytomyself,“Ha!A
Sherlock Holmes crime!” Similarly, if the corpse is found in a sealed room, naturally I say, “Ha! A
DicksonCarrcase!”ThenthereismyfriendMrsOliver.IfIweretofind–butIwillsaynomore.You
catchmymeaning?Sohereisthesettingofacrimeinsuchwildlyimprobablecircumstancesthatone
feelsatonce,“Thisbookisnottruetolife.Allthisisquiteunreal.”Butalas,thatwillnotdohere,for
thisisreal.Ithappened.Thatgivesonetothinkfuriously,doesitnot?’

Hardcastle would not have put it like that, but he fully agreed with the sentiment, and nodded
vigorously.Poirotwenton:

‘Itis,asitwere,theoppositeofChesterton’s,“Wherewouldyouhidealeaf?Inaforest.Wherewould
you hide a pebble? On a beach.” Here there is excess, fantasy, melodrama! When I say to myself in
imitation of Chesterton, “Where does a middle-aged woman hide her fading beauty?” I do not reply,
“Amongst other faded middle-aged faces.” Not at all. She hides it under make-up, under rouge and
mascara, with handsome furs wrapped round her and with jewels round her neck and hanging in her
ears.Youfollowme?’

‘Well–’saidtheinspector,disguisingthefactthathedidn’t.

‘Because then, you see, people will look at the furs and the jewels and the coiffure and the haute
couture,andtheywillnotobservewhatthewomanherselfislikeatall!SoIsaytomyself–andIsayto
myfriendColin–Sincethismurderhassomanyfantastictrappingstodistractoneitmustreallybevery
simple.DidInot?’

‘Youdid,’Isaid.‘ButIstilldon’tseehowyoucanpossiblyberight.’

‘Forthatyoumustwait.So,then,wediscardthetrappingsofthecrimeandwegototheessentials.A
man has been killed. Why has he been killed? And who is he? The answer to the first question will
obviouslydependontheanswertothesecond.Anduntilyougettherightanswertothesetwoquestions
you cannot possibly proceed. He could be a blackmailer, or a confidence trickster, or somebody’s
husbandwhoseexistencewasobnoxiousordangeroustohiswife.Hecouldbeoneofadozenthings.
ThemoreIheard,themoreeverybodyseemstoagreethathelookedaperfectlyordinary,well-to-do,
reputableelderlyman.AndsuddenlyIthinktomyself,“Yousaythisshouldbeasimplecrime?Very
well, make it so. Let this man be exactly what he seems–a well-to-do respectable elderly man.” ’ He
lookedattheinspector.‘Yousee?’

‘Well–’saidtheinspectoragain,andpausedpolitely.

‘So here is someone, an ordinary, pleasant, elderly man whose removal is necessary to someone. To
whom?And here atlast we cannarrow the field alittle. There islocal knowledge–of Miss Pebmarsh
andherhabits,oftheCavendishSecretarialBureau,ofagirlworkingtherecalledSheilaWebb.Andso
I say to my friend Colin: “The neighbours. Converse with them. Find out about them. Their
backgrounds.Butaboveall,engageinconversation.Becauseinconversationyoudonotgetmerelythe
answerstoquestions–inordinaryconversationalprattlethingsslipout.Peopleareontheirguardwhen
thesubjectmaybedangeroustothem,butthemomentordinarytalkensuestheyrelax,theysuccumbto
thereliefofspeakingthetruth,whichisalwaysverymucheasierthanlying.Andsotheyletslipone
littlefactwhichunbeknowntothemmakesallthedifference.’

‘Anadmirableexposition,’Isaid.‘Unfortunatelyitdidn’thappeninthiscase.’

‘But,moncher,itdid.Onelittlesentenceofinestimableimportance.’

‘What?’Idemanded.‘Whosaidit?When?’

‘Induecourse,moncher.’

‘Youweresaying,M.Poirot?’TheinspectorpolitelydrewPoirotbacktothesubject.

‘IfyoudrawacircleroundNumber19,anybodywithinitmighthavekilledMrCurry.MrsHemming,
the Blands, the McNaughtons, Miss Waterhouse. But more important still, there are those already
positioned on the spot. Miss Pebmarsh who could have killed him before she went out at 1.35 or
thereaboutsandMissWebbwhocouldhavearrangedtomeethimthere,andkilledhimbeforerushing
fromthehouseandgivingthealarm.’

‘Ah,’saidtheinspector.‘You’recomingdowntobrasstacksnow.’

‘Andofcourse,’saidPoirot,wheelinground,‘you,mydearColin.Youwerealsoonthespot.Looking
forahighnumberwherethelownumberswere.’

‘Well,really,’Isaidindignantly.‘Whatwillyousaynext?’

‘Me,Isayanything!’declaredPoirotgrandly.

‘AndyetIamthepersonwhocomesanddumpsthewholethinginyourlap!’

‘Murderersareoftenconceited,’Poirotpointedout.‘Andtheretoo,itmighthaveamusedyou–tohavea
jokelikethatatmyexpense.’

‘Ifyougoon,you’llconvinceme,’Isaid.

Iwasbeginningtofeeluncomfortable.

PoirotturnedbacktoInspectorHardcastle.

‘Here, I say to myself, must be essentially a simple crime. The presence of irrelevant clocks, the
advancingoftimebyanhour,thearrangementsmadesodeliberatelyforthediscoveryofthebody,all
thesemustbesetasideforthemoment.Theyare,asissaidinyourimmortal“Alice”like“shoes and
shipsandsealingwaxandcabbagesandkings”.Thevitalpointisthatanordinaryelderlymanisdead
andthatsomebodywantedhimdead.Ifweknewwhothedeadmanwas,itwouldgiveusapointerto
hiskiller.Ifhewasawell-knownblackmailerthenwemustlookforamanwhocouldbeblackmailed.
Ifhewasadetective,thenwelookforamanwhohasacriminalsecret;ifheisamanofwealth,then
welookamonghisheirs.Butifwedonotknowwhothemanis–thenwehavethemoredifficulttaskof
huntingamongstthoseinthesurroundingcircleforamanwhohasareasontokill.

‘SettingasideMissPebmarshandSheilaWebb,whoistherewhomightnotbewhattheyseemtobe?
The answer was disappointing. With the exception of Mr Ramsay who I understood was not what he
seemed to be?’ Here Poirot looked inquiringly at me and I nodded, ‘everybody’s bona fides were
genuine. Bland was a well-known local builder, McNaughton had had a Chair at Cambridge, Mrs
Hemming was the widow of a local auctioneer, the Waterhouses were respectable residents of long
standing.SowecomebacktoMrCurry.Wheredidhecomefrom?Whatbroughthimto19,Wilbraham
Crescent? And here one very valuable remark was spoken by one of the neighbours, Mrs Hemming.
WhentoldthatthedeadmandidnotliveatNumber19,shesaid,“Oh!Isee.Hejustcametheretobe
killed. How odd.” She had the gift, often possessed by those who are too occupied with their own
thoughtstopayattentiontowhatothersaresaying,tocometotheheartoftheproblem.Shesummedup
thewholecrime.MrCurrycameto19,WilbrahamCrescenttobekilled.Itwasassimpleasthat!’

‘Thatremarkofhersstruckmeatthetime,’Isaid.

Poirottooknonoticeofme.

‘“Dilly,dilly,dilly–comeandbekilled.”MrCurrycame–andhewaskilled.Butthatwasnotall.Itwas
importantthatheshouldnotbeidentified.Hehadnowallet,nopapers,thetailor’smarkswereremoved
fromhisclothes.Butthatwouldnotbeenough.TheprintedcardofCurry,InsuranceAgent,wasonlya
temporary measure. If the man’s identity was to be concealed permanently, he must be given a false
identity.Soonerorlater,Iwassure,somebodywouldturnup,recognizehimpositivelyandthatwould
be that. A brother, a sister, a wife. It was a wife. Mrs Rival–and the name alone might have aroused
suspicion. There is a village in Somerset–I have stayed near there with friends–the village of Curry
Rival–Subconsciously,withoutknowingwhythosetwonamessuggestedthemselves,theywerechosen.
MrCurry–MrsRival.

‘So far–the plan is obvious, but what puzzled me was why our murderer took for granted that there
wouldbenorealidentification.Ifthemanhadnofamily,thereareatleastlandladies,servants,business
associates. That led me to the next assumption–this man was not known to be missing. A further
assumptionwasthathewasnotEnglish,andwasonlyvisitingthiscountry.Thatwouldtieinwiththe
factthatthedentalworkdoneonhisteethdidnotcorrespondwithanydentalrecordshere.

‘I began to have a shadowy picture both of the victim and of the murderer. No more than that. The
crime was well planned and intelligently carried out–but now there came that one piece of sheer bad
luckthatnomurderercanforesee.’

‘Andwhatwasthat?’askedHardcastle.

Unexpectedly,Poirotthrewhisheadback,andreciteddramatically:

‘Forwantofanailtheshoewaslost,

Forwantofashoethehorsewaslost,

Forwantofahorsethebattlewaslost,

ForwantofabattletheKingdomwaslost,

Andallforthewantofahorseshoenail.’

Heleanedforward.

‘AgoodmanypeoplecouldhavekilledMrCurry.Butonlyonepersoncouldhavekilled,orcouldhave
hadreasontokill,thegirlEdna.’

Webothstaredathim.

‘LetusconsidertheCavendishSecretarialBureau.Eightgirlsworkthere.Onthe9thofSeptember,four
ofthosegirlswereoutonassignmentssomelittledistanceaway–thatis,theywereprovidedwithlunch
bytheclientstowhomtheyhadgone.Theywerethefourwhonormallytookthefirstlunchperiodfrom
12.30to1.30.Theremainingfour,SheilaWebb,EdnaBrentandtwogirls,JanetandMaureen,tookthe
second period, 1.30 to 2.30. But on that day Edna Brent had an accident quite soon after leaving the
office.Shetoretheheeloffhershoeinthegrating.Shecouldnotwalklikethat.Sheboughtsomebuns
andcamebacktotheoffice.’

Poirotshookanemphaticfingeratus.

‘WehavebeentoldthatEdnaBrentwasworriedaboutsomething.ShetriedtoseeSheilaWebboutof
the office, but failed. It has been assumed that that something was connected with Sheila Webb, but
thereisnoevidenceofthat.ShemightonlyhavewantedtoconsultSheilaWebbaboutsomethingthat
hadpuzzledher–butifsoonethingwasclear.ShewantedtotalktoSheilaWebbawayfromthebureau.

‘Herwordstotheconstableattheinquestaretheonlycluewehaveastowhatwasworryingher:She
said something like: “I don’t see how what she said can have been true.” Three women had given
evidencethatmorning.EdnacouldhavebeenreferringtoMissPebmarsh.Or,asithasbeengenerally
assumed,shecouldhavebeenreferringtoSheilaWebb.Butthereisathirdpossibility–shecouldhave
beenreferringtoMissMartindale.’

‘MissMartindale?Butherevidenceonlylastedafewminutes.’

‘Exactly.ItconsistedonlyofthetelephonecallshehadreceivedpurportingtobefromMissPebmarsh.’

‘DoyoumeanthatEdnaknewthatitwasn’tfromMissPebmarsh?’

‘Ithinkitwassimplerthanthat.Iamsuggestingthattherewasnotelephonecallatall.’

Hewenton:

‘The heel of Edna’s shoe came off. The grating was quite close to the office. She came back to the
bureau.ButMissMartindale,inherprivateoffice,didnotknowthatEdnahadcomeback.Asfarasshe
knewtherewasnobodybutherselfinthebureau.Allsheneeddowastosayatelephonecallhadcome
throughat1.49.Ednadoesnotseethesignificanceofwhatsheknowsatfirst.SheilaiscalledintoMiss
Martindale and told to go out on an appointment. How and when that appointment was made is not
mentionedtoEdna.Newsofthemurdercomesthroughandlittlebylittlethestorygetsmoredefinite.
MissPebmarshrangupandaskedforSheilaWebbtobesent.ButMissPebmarshsaysitwasnotshe
whorangup.Thecallissaidtohavecomethroughattenminutestotwo.ButEdnaknowsthatcouldn’t
be true. No telephone call came through then. Miss Martindale must have made a mistake–But Miss
Martindale definitely doesn’t make mistakes. The more Edna thinks about it, the more puzzling it is.
ShemustaskSheilaaboutit.Sheilawillknow.

‘And then comes the inquest. And the girls all go to it. Miss Martindale repeats her story of the
telephonecallandEdnaknowsdefinitelynowthattheevidenceMissMartindalegivessoclearly,with
suchprecisionastotheexacttime,isuntrue.Itwasthenthatsheaskedtheconstableifshecouldspeak
to the inspector. I think probably that Miss Martindale, leaving the Cornmarket in a crowd of people,
overheardheraskingthat.PerhapsbythenshehadheardthegirlschaffingEdnaabouthershoeaccident
without realizing what it involved. Anyway, she followed the girl to Wilbraham Crescent. Why did
Ednagothere,Iwonder?’

‘Justtostareattheplacewhereithappened,Iexpect,’saidHardcastlewithasigh.‘Peopledo.’

‘Yes,thatistrueenough.PerhapsMissMartindalespeakstoherthere,walkswithherdowntheroad
and Edna plumps out her question. Miss Martindale acts quickly. They are just by the telephone box.
Shesays,“Thisisveryimportant.Youmustringupthepoliceatonce.Thenumberofthepolicestation
issoandso.Ringupandtellthemwearebothcomingtherenow.”ItissecondnatureforEdnatodo
whatsheistold.Shegoesin,picksupthereceiverandMissMartindalecomesinbehindher,pullsthe
scarfroundherneckandstranglesher.’

‘Andnobodysawthis?’

Poirotshruggedhisshoulders.

‘Theymighthavedone,buttheydidn’t!Itwasjustononeo’clock.Lunchtime.Andwhatpeoplethere
wereintheCrescentwerebusystaringat19.Itwasachanceboldlytakenbyaboldandunscrupulous

woman.’

Hardcastlewasshakinghisheaddoubtfully.

‘MissMartindale?Idon’tseehowshecanpossiblycomeintoit.’

‘No. One does not see at first. But since Miss Martindale undoubtedly killed Edna–oh, yes–only she
couldhavekilledEdna,thenshemustcomeintoit.AndIbegintosuspectthatinMissMartindalewe
havetheLadyMacbethofthiscrime,awomanwhoisruthlessandunimaginative.’

‘Unimaginative?’queriedHardcastle.

‘Oh,yes,quiteunimaginative.Butveryefficient.Agoodplanner.’

‘Butwhy?Where’sthemotive?’

HerculePoirotlookedatme.Hewaggedafinger.

‘So the neighbours’ conversation was no use to you, eh? I found one most illuminating sentence. Do
yourememberthataftertalkingoflivingabroad,MrsBlandremarkedthatshelikedlivinginCrowdean
because she had a sister here. But Mrs Bland was not supposed to have a sister. She had inherited a
largefortuneayearagofromaCanadiangreat-unclebecauseshewastheonlysurvivingmemberofhis
family.’

Hardcastlesatupalertly.

‘Soyouthink–’

Poirot leaned back in his chair and put his fingertips together. He half closed his eyes and spoke
dreamily.

‘Sayyouareaman,averyordinaryandnottooscrupulousman,inbadfinancialdifficulties.Aletter
comes one day from a firm of lawyers to say that your wife has inherited a big fortune from a great-
uncleinCanada.TheletterisaddressedtoMrsBlandandtheonlydifficultyisthattheMrsBlandwho
receivesitisthewrongMrsBland–sheisthesecondwife–notthefirstone–Imaginethechagrin!The

fury!Andthenanideacomes.WhoistoknowthatitisthewrongMrsBland?NobodyinCrowdean
knowsthatBlandwasmarriedbefore.Hisfirstmarriage,yearsago,tookplaceduringthewarwhenhe
wasoverseas.Presumablyhisfirstwifediedsoonafterwards,andhealmostimmediatelyremarried.He
has the original marriage certificate, various family papers, photographs of Canadian relations now
dead–Itwillbeallplainsailing.Anyway,itisworthrisking.Theyriskit,anditcomesoff.Thelegal
formalitiesgothrough.AndtheretheBlandsare,richandprosperous,alltheirfinancialtroublesover–

‘And then–a year later–something happens. What happens? I suggest that someone was coming over
fromCanadatothiscountry–andthatthissomeonehadknownthefirstMrsBlandwellenoughnotto
be deceived by an impersonation. He may have been an elderly member of the family attorneys, or a
closefriendofthefamily–butwhoeverhewas,hewillknow.Perhapstheythoughtofwaysofavoiding
a meeting. Mrs Bland could feign illness, she could go abroad–but anything of that kind would only
arousesuspicion.Thevisitorwouldinsistonseeingthewomanhehadcomeovertosee–’

‘Andso–tomurder?’

‘Yes.Andhere,Ifancy,MrsBland’ssistermayhavebeentherulingspirit.Shethoughtupandplanned
thewholething.’

‘YouaretakingitthatMissMartindaleandMrsBlandaresisters?’

‘Itistheonlywaythingsmakesense.’

‘Mrs Bland did remind me of someone when I saw her,’ said Hardcastle. ‘They’re very different in
manner–butit’strue–thereisalikeness.Buthowcouldtheyhopetogetawaywithit?’Themanwould
bemissed.Inquirieswouldbemade–’

‘Ifthismanweretravellingabroad–perhapsforpleasure,notforbusiness,hisschedulewouldbevague.
Aletterfromoneplace–apostcardfromanother–itwouldbealittletimebeforepeoplewonderedwhy
they had not heard from him. By that time who would connect a man identified and buried as Harry
Castleton, with a rich Canadian visitor to the country who has not even been seen in this part of the
world?IfIhadbeenthemurderer,IwouldhaveslippedoveronadaytriptoFranceorBelgiumand
discardedthedeadman’spassportinatrainoratramsothattheinquirywouldtakeplacefromanother
country.’

Imovedinvoluntarily,andPoirot’seyescameroundtome.

‘Yes?’hesaid.

‘BlandmentionedtomethathehadrecentlytakenadaytriptoBoulogne–withablonde,Iunderstand–’

‘Whichwouldmakeitquiteanaturalthingtodo.Doubtlessitisahabitofhis.’

‘Thisisstillconjecture,’Hardcastleobjected.

‘Butinquiriescanbemade,’saidPoirot.

HetookasheetofhotelnotepaperfromtherackinfrontofhimandhandedittoHardcastle.

‘If you will write to Mr Enderby at 10, Ennismore Gardens, S.W.7 he has promised to make certain
inquiriesformeinCanada.Heisawell-knowninternationallawyer.’

‘Andwhataboutthebusinessoftheclocks?’

‘Oh!Theclocks.Thosefamousclocks!’Poirotsmiled.‘IthinkyouwillfindthatMissMartindalewas
responsible for them. Since the crime, as I said, was a simple crime, it was disguised by making it a
fantasticone.ThatRosemaryclockthatSheilaWebbtooktoberepaired.DidsheloseitintheBureau
ofSecretarialStudies?DidMissMartindaletakeitasthefoundationofherrigmarole,andwasitpartly
becauseofthatclockthatshechoseSheilaasthepersontodiscoverthebody–?’

Hardcastleburstout:

‘Andyousaythiswomanisunimaginative?Whensheconcoctedallthis?’

‘Butshedidnotconcoctit.Thatiswhatissointeresting.Itwasallthere–waitingforher.Fromthevery
first I detected a pattern–a pattern I knew. A pattern familiar because I had just been reading such
patterns.Ihavebeenveryfortunate.AsColinherewilltellyou,Iattendedthisweekasaleofauthors’
manuscripts.AmongthemweresomeofGarryGregson’s.Ihardlydaredhope.Butluckwaswithme.
Here–’Likeaconjurorhewhippedfromadrawerinthedesktwoshabbyexercisebooks‘–itisallhere!
Among the many plots of books he planned to write. He did not live to write this one–but Miss
Martindale,whowashissecretary,knewallaboutit.Shejustlifteditbodilytosuitherpurpose.’

‘Buttheclocksmusthavemeantsomethingoriginally–inGregson’splot,Imean.’

‘Oh,yes.Hisclocksweresetatoneminutepastfive,fourminutespastfiveandsevenminutespastfive.
Thatwasthecombinationnumberofasafe,515457.Thesafewasconcealedbehindareproductionof
theMonaLisa.Insidethesafe,’continuedPoirot,withdistaste,‘weretheCrownjewelsoftheRussian
RoyalFamily.Untasdebtises,thewholething!Andofcoursetherewasastoryofkinds–apersecuted
girl.Oh,yes,itcameinveryhandyforlaMartindale.Shejustchoseherlocalcharactersandadapted
thestorytofitin.Alltheseflamboyantclueswouldlead–where?Exactlynowhere!Ah,yes,anefficient
woman.Onewonders–heleftheralegacy–didhenot?Howandofwhatdidhedie,Iwonder?’

Hardcastlerefusedtobeinterestedinpasthistory.Hegathereduptheexercisebooksandtookthesheet
of hotel paper from my hand. For the last two minutes I had been staring at it, fascinated. Hardcastle
hadscribbleddownEnderby’saddresswithouttroublingtoturnthesheettherightwayup.Thehotel
addresswasupsidedownintheleft-handbottomcorner.

Staringatthesheetofpaper,IknewwhatafoolIhadbeen.

‘Well, thank you, M. Poirot,’ said Hardcastle. ‘You’ve certainly given us something to think about.
Whetheranythingwillcomeofit–’

‘IammostdelightedifIhavebeenofanyassistance.’

Poirotwasplayingitmodestly.

‘I’llhavetocheckvariousthings–’

‘Naturally–naturally–’

Goodbyesweresaid.Hardcastletookhisdeparture.

Poirotturnedhisattentiontome.Hiseyebrowsrose.

‘Ehbien–andwhat,mayIask,isbitingyou?–youlooklikeamanwhohasseenanapparition.’

‘I’veseenwhatafoolI’vebeen.’

‘Aha.Well,thathappenstomanyofus.’

ButpresumablynottoHerculePoirot!Ihadtoattackhim.

‘Justtellmeonething,Poirot.If,asyousaid,youcoulddoallthissittinginyourchairinLondonand
couldhavegotmeandDickHardcastletocometoyouthere,why–oh,why,didyoucomedownhereat
all?’

‘Itoldyou,theymakethereparationinmyapartment.’

‘They would have lent you another apartment. Or you could have gone to the Ritz, you would have
beenmorecomfortabletherethanintheCurlewHotel.’

‘Indubitably,’saidHerculePoirot.‘Thecoffeehere,mondieu,thecoffee!’

‘Well,then,why?’

HerculePoirotflewintoarage.

‘Ehbien,sinceyouaretoostupidtoguess,Iwilltellyou.Iamhuman,amInot?Icanbethemachineif
itisnecessary.Icanliebackandthink.Icansolvetheproblemso.ButIamhuman,Itellyou.Andthe
problemsconcernhumanbeings.’

‘Andso?’

‘Theexplanationisassimpleasthemurderwassimple.Icameoutofhumancuriosity,’saidHercule
Poirot,withanattemptatdignity.

CHAPTER29

ColinLamb’sNarrative

OncemoreIwasinWilbrahamCrescent,proceedinginawesterlydirection.

IstoppedbeforethegateofNo.19.Noonecamescreamingoutofthehousethistime.Itwasneatand
peaceful.

Iwentuptothefrontdoorandrangthebell.

MissMillicentPebmarshopenedit.

‘ThisisColinLamb,’Isaid.‘MayIcomeinandspeaktoyou?’

‘Certainly.’

Sheprecededmeintothesitting-room.

‘Youseemtospendalotoftimedownhere,MrLamb.Iunderstoodthatyouwerenotconnectedwith
thelocalpolice–’

‘Youunderstoodrightly.Ithink,really,youhaveknownexactlywhoIamfromthefirstdayyouspoke
tome.’

‘I’mnotsurequitewhatyoumeanbythat.’

‘I’vebeenextremelystupid,MissPebmarsh.Icametothisplacetolookforyou.Ifoundyouthefirst
dayIwashere–andIdidn’tknowIhadfoundyou!’

‘Possiblymurderdistractedyou.’

‘Asyousay.Iwasalsostupidenoughtolookatapieceofpaperthewrongwayup.’

‘Andwhatisthepointofallthis?’

‘Justthatthegameisup,MissPebmarsh.I’vefoundtheheadquarterswherealltheplanningisdone.
SuchrecordsandmemorandaasarenecessaryarekeptbyyouonthemicrodotsysteminBraille.The
informationLarkingotatPortleburywaspassedtoyou.Fromhereitwenttoitsdestinationbymeansof

Ramsay. He came across when necessary from his house to yours at night by way of the garden. He
droppedaCzechcoininyourgardenoneday–’

‘Thatwascarelessofhim.’

‘We’re all careless at some time or another. Your cover is very good. You’re blind, you work at an
institutefordisabledchildren,youkeepchildren’sbooksinBrailleinyourhouseasisonlynatural–you
are a woman of unusual intelligence and personality. I don’t know what is the driving power that
animatesyou–’

‘SayifyoulikethatIamdedicated.’

‘Yes.Ithoughtitmightbelikethat.’

‘Andwhyareyoutellingmeallthis?Itseemsunusual.’

Ilookedatmywatch.

‘Youhavetwohours,MissPebmarsh.Intwohours’timemembersofthespecialbranchwillcomehere
andtakecharge–’

‘Idon’tunderstandyou.Whydoyoucomehereaheadofyourpeople,togivemewhatseemstobea
warning–’

‘It is a warning. I have come here myself, and shall remain here until my people arrive, to see that
nothingleavesthishouse–withoneexception.Thatexceptionisyouyourself.Youhavetwohours’start
ifyouchoosetogo.’

‘Butwhy?Why?’

Isaidslowly:

‘Because I think there is an off-chance that you might shortly become my mother-in-law... I may be
quitewrong.’

Therewasasilence.MillicentPebmarshgotupandwenttothewindow.Ididn’ttakemyeyesoffher.I
had no illusions about Millicent Pebmarsh. I didn’t trust her an inch. She was blind but even a blind
woman can catch you if you are off guard. Her blindness wouldn’t handicap her if she once got her
chancetojamanautomaticagainstmyspine.

Shesaidquietly:

‘Ishallnottellyouifyou’rerightorwrong.Whatmakesyouthinkthat–thatitmightbeso?’

‘Eyes.’

‘Butwearenotalikeincharacter.’

‘No.’

Shespokealmostdefiantly.

‘IdidthebestIcouldforher.’

‘That’samatterofopinion.Withyouacausecamefirst.’

‘Asitshoulddo.’

‘Idon’tagree.’

Therewassilenceagain.ThenIasked,‘Didyouknowwhoshewas–thatday?’

‘NotuntilIheardthename...Ihadkeptmyselfinformedabouther–always.’

‘Youwereneverasinhumanasyouwouldhavelikedtobe.’

‘Don’ttalknonsense.’

Ilookedatmywatchagain.

‘Timeisgoingon,’Isaid.

Shecamebackfromthewindowandacrosstothedesk.

‘Ihaveaphotographofherhere–asachild...’

I was behind her as she pulled the drawer open. It wasn’t an automatic. It was a small very deadly
knife...

Myhandclosedoverhersandtookitaway.

‘Imaybesoft,butI’mnotafool,’Isaid.

Shefeltforachairandsatdown.Shedisplayednoemotionwhatever.

‘I am not taking advantage of your offer. What would be the use? I shall stay here until–they come.
Therearealwaysopportunities–eveninprison.’

‘Ofindoctrination,youmean?’

‘Ifyouliketoputitthatway.’

Wesatthere,hostiletoeachother,butwithunderstanding.

‘I’ve resigned from the Service,’ I told her. ‘I’m going back to my old job–marine biology. There’s a
postgoingatauniversityinAustralia.’

‘I think you are wise. You haven’t got what it takes for this job. You are like Rosemary’s father. He
couldn’tunderstandLenin’sdictum:“Awaywithsoftness”.’

IthoughtofHerculePoirot’swords.

‘I’mcontent,’Isaid,‘tobehuman...’

Wesatthereinsilence,eachofusconvincedthattheother’spointofviewwaswrong.

LetterfromDetectiveInspectorHardcastletoM.HerculePoirot

DearM.Poirot,

Wearenowinpossessionofcertainfacts,andIfeelyoumaybeinterestedtohearaboutthem.

AMrQuentinDuguesclinofQuebecleftCanadaforEuropeapproximatelyfourweeksago.Hehasno
near relatives and his plans for return were indefinite. His passport was found by the proprietor of a
smallrestaurantinBoulogne,whohandeditintothepolice.Ithasnotsofarbeenclaimed.

Mr Duguesclin was a lifelong friend of the Montresor family of Quebec. The head of that family, Mr
HenryMontresor,diedeighteenmonthsago,leavinghisveryconsiderablefortunetohisonlysurviving
relative,hisgreat-nieceValerie,describedasthewifeofJosaiahBlandofPortlebury,England.Avery
reputablefirmofLondonsolicitorsactedfortheCanadianexecutors.AllcommunicationsbetweenMrs
Bland and her family in Canada ceased from the time of her marriage of which her family did not
approve.MrDuguesclinmentionedtooneofhisfriendsthatheintendedtolookuptheBlandswhilehe
wasinEngland,sincehehadalwaysbeenveryfondofValerie.

The body hitherto identified as that of Henry Castleton has been positively identified as Quentin
Duguesclin.

Certain boards have been found stowed away in a corner of Bland’s building yard. Though hastily
paintedout,thewordsSNOWFLAKELAUNDRYareplainlyperceptibleaftertreatmentbyexperts.

I will not trouble you with lesser details, but the public prosecutor considers that a warrant can be
granted for the arrest of Josaiah Bland. Miss Martindale and Mrs Bland are, as you conjectured,
sisters,butthoughIagreewithyourviewsonherparticipationinthesecrimes,satisfactoryevidence
willbehardtoobtain.Sheisundoubtedlyaverycleverwoman.Ihavehopes,though,ofMrsBland.She
isthetypeofwomanwhorats.

The death of the first Mrs Bland through enemy action in France, and his second marriage to Hilda
Martindale(whowasintheN.A.A.F.I.)alsoinFrancecanbe,Ithink,clearlyestablished,thoughmany
recordswere,ofcourse,destroyedatthattime.

Itwasagreatpleasuremeetingyouthatday,andImustthankyoufortheveryusefulsuggestionsyou
made on that occasion. I hope the alterations and redecorations of your London flat have been
satisfactory.

Yourssincerely,

R

ICHARD

H

ARDCASTLE

FurthercommunicationfromR.H.toH.P.

Good news! The Bland woman cracked! Admitted the whole thing!!! Puts the blame entirely on her
sisterandherhusband.She‘neverunderstooduntiltoolatewhattheymeanttodo’!Thoughttheywere
only‘goingtodopehimsothathewouldn’trecognizeshewasthewrongwoman’!Alikelystory!But
I’dsayit’strueenoughthatshewasn’ttheprimemover.

ThePortobelloMarketpeoplehaveidentifiedMissMartindaleasthe‘American’ladywhoboughttwo
oftheclocks.

MrsMcNaughtonnowsaysshesawDuguesclininBland’svanbeingdrivenintoBland’sgarage.Did
shereally?

OurfriendColinhasmarriedthatgirl.Ifyouaskme,he’smad.Allthebest.

Yours,

R

ICHARD

H

ARDCASTLE