Peril at End House (12 page)

‘Lastly—Fear. Does Mademoiselle Nick, by any chance, hold somebody’s secret in her power? Does she know something which, if it were known, might ruin another life? If so, I think we can say very definitely,
that she herself is unaware of it
. But that might be, you know. That might be. And if so, it makes it very difficult. Because, whilst she holds the clue in her hands, she holds it unconsciously and will be quite unable to tell us what it is.’

‘You really think that is possible?’

‘It is a hypothesis. I am driven to it by the difficulty of finding a reasonable theory elsewhere. When you have eliminated other possibilities you turn to the one that is left and say—since the other is not—
this must be so
…’

He was silent a long time.

At last, rousing himself from his absorption, he drew a sheet of paper towards him and began to write.

‘What are you writing?’ I asked, curiously.

‘
Mon ami
, I am composing a list. It is a list of people surrounding Mademoiselle Buckley. Within that list, if my theory is correct, there must be the name of the murderer.’

He continued to write for perhaps twenty minutes—then shoved the sheets of paper across to me.

‘
Voilà, monami
. See what you make of it.’

The following is a reproduction of the paper:

1. A. Ellen.
   
2. B. Her gardener husband.
   
3. C. Their child.
   
4. D. Mr Croft.
   
5. E. Mrs Croft.
   
6. F. Mrs Rice.
   
7. G. Mr Lazarus.
   
8. H. Commander Challenger.
   
9. I. Mr Charles Vyse.
   
10. J.
    

1. Ellen
   .—Suspicious circumstances. Her attitude and words on hearing of the crime. Best opportunity of anyone to have staged accidents and to have known
   of pistol,
   but
   unlikely to have tampered with car, and general mentality of crime seems above her level.
   
   • Motive
     .—None—unless hate arising out of some incident unknown.
     
   • Note
     .—Further inquiries as to her antecedents and general relations with N. B.
     
2. Her Husband
   .—Same as above. More likely to have tampered with car.
   
   • Note
     .—Should be interviewed.
     
3. Child
   .—Can be ruled out.
   
   • Note
     .—Should be interviewed. Might give valuable information.
     
4. Mr Croft
   .—Only suspicious circumstance the fact that we met him mounting the stair to bedroom floor. Had ready explanation which may be true. But it may not!
   
   • Nothing known of antecedents.
     
   • Motive
     .—None.
     
5. Mrs Croft
   .—Suspicious circumstances.—None.
   
   • Motive
     .—None.
     
6. Mrs Rice
   .—Suspicious circumstances. Full opportunity. Asked N. B. to fetch wrap. Has deliberately tried to create impression that N. B. is a liar and her account of ‘accidents’ not to be relied on. Was not at Tavistock when accidents occurred. Where was she?
   
   • Motive
     .—
     Gain?
     Very slight.
     Jealousy?
     Possible, but nothing known.
     Fear?
     Also possible, but nothing known.
     
   • Note
     .—Converse with N. B. on subject. See if any light is thrown upon matter. Possibly something to do with F. R.’s marriage.
     
7. Mr Lazarus
   .—Suspicious circumstances. General opportunity. Offer to buy picture. Said brakes of car were quite all right (according to F. R.). May have been in neighbourhood prior to Friday.
   
   • Motive
     .—None—unless profit on picture.
     Fear
     ?—unlikely.
     
   • Note
     .—Find out where J. L. was before arriving at St Loo. Find out financial position of Aaron Lazarus & Son.
     
8. Commander Challenger
   .—Suspicious circumstances. None. Was in neighbourhood all last week, so opportunity for ‘accidents’ good. Arrived half an hour after murder.
   
   • Motive
     .—None.
     
9. Mr Vyse
   .—Suspicious circumstances. Was absent from office at time when shot was fired in garden of hotel. Opportunity good. Statement about selling of End House open to doubt. Of a repressed temperament. Would probably know about pistol.
   
   • Motive
     .—
     Gain?
     (slight)
     Love or Hate?
     Possible with one of his temperament.
     Fear?
     Unlikely.
     
   • Note
     .—Find out who held mortgage. Find out position of Vyse’s firm.
     
10. ?—There
    could
    be a J.,
    e.g.
    an outsider.
    But
    with a link in the form of one of the foregoing. If so, probably
    connected with A. D. and E. or F. The existence of J. would explain (1) Ellen’s lack of surprise at crime and her pleasurable satisfaction. (But that might be due to natural pleasurable excitement of her class over deaths.) (2) The reason for Croft and his wife coming to live in lodge. (3) Might supply motive for F. R.’s
    fear
    of secret being revealed or for
    jealousy
    .
    

Poirot watched me as I read.

‘It is very English, is it not? he remarked, with pride. ‘I am more English when I write than when I speak.’

‘It’s an excellent piece of work,’ I said, warmly. ‘It sets all the possibilities out most clearly.’

‘Yes,’ he said, thoughtfully, as he took it back from me. ‘And one name leaps to the eye, my friend.
Charles Vyse
. He has the best opportunities. We have given him the choice of two motives.
Ma foi
—if that was a list of racehorses, he would start favourite,
n’est-ce pas?
’

‘He is certainly the most likely suspect.’

‘You have a tendency, Hastings, to prefer the least likely. That, no doubt, is from reading too many detective stories. In real life, nine times out of ten, it is the most likely and the most obvious person who commits the crime.’

‘But you don’t really think that is so this time?’

‘There is only one thing that is against it. The
boldness of the crime! That has stood out from the first. Because of that, as I say, the motive
cannot be obvious
.’

‘Yes, that is what you said at first.’

‘And that is what I say again.’

With a sudden brusque gesture he crumpled the sheets of paper and threw them on the floor.

‘No,’ he said, as I uttered an exclamation of protest. ‘That list has been in vain. Still, it has cleared my mind.
Order and method!
That is the first stage. To arrange the facts with neatness and precision. The next stage—’

‘Yes.’

‘The next stage is that of the psychology. The correct employment of the little grey cells! I advise you, Hastings, to go to bed.’

‘No,’ I said. ‘Not unless you do. I’m not going to leave you.’

‘Most faithful of dogs! But see you, Hastings, you cannot assist me to think. That is all I am going to do—think.’

I still shook my head.

‘You might want to discuss some point with me.’

‘Well—well—you are a loyal friend. Take at least, I beg of you, the easy-chair.’

That proposal I did accept. Presently the room began to swim and dip. The last thing I remember was seeing Poirot carefully retrieving the crumpled sheets of paper
from the floor and putting them away tidily in the waste-paper basket.

Then I must have fallen asleep.

It was daylight when I awoke.

Poirot was still sitting where he had been the night before. His attitude was the same, but in his face was a difference. His eyes were shining with that queer cat-like green light that I knew so well.

I struggled to an upright position, feeling very stiff and uncomfortable. Sleeping in a chair is a proceeding not to be recommended at my time of life. Yet one thing at least resulted from it—I awoke not in that pleasant state of lazy somnolence but with a mind and brain as active as when I fell asleep.

‘Poirot,’ I cried. ‘You have thought of something.’

He nodded. He leaned forward, tapping the table in front of him.

‘Tell me, Hastings, the answer to these three questions.
Why has Mademoiselle Nick been sleeping badly lately? Why did she buy a black evening dress—she never
wears black? Why did she say last night, “I have nothing to live for—now”?
’

I stared. The questions seemed beside the point.

‘Answer those questions, Hastings, answer them.’

‘Well—as to the first—she said she had been worried lately.’

‘Precisely. What has she been worried about?’

‘And the black dress—well, everybody wants a change sometimes.’

‘For a married man, you have very little appreciation of feminine psychology. If a woman thinks she does not look well in a colour, she refuses to wear it.’

‘And the last—well, it was a natural thing to say after that awful shock.’

‘No,
mon ami
, it was
not
a natural thing to say. To be horror-struck by her cousin’s death, to reproach herself for it—yes, all that is natural enough. But the other, no. She spoke of life with weariness—as of a thing no longer dear to her. Never before had she displayed that attitude. She had been defiant—yes—she had snapped the fingers, yes—and then, when that broke down, she was afraid. Afraid, mark you, because life was sweet and she did not wish to die. But weary of life—no! That never! Even before dinner that was not so. We have there, Hastings, a
psychological change
. And that is interesting. What was it caused her point of view to change?’

‘The shock of her cousin’s death.’

‘I wonder. It was the shock that loosed her tongue. But suppose the change was before that. Is there anything else could account for it?’

‘I don’t know of anything.’

‘Think, Hastings. Use your little grey cells.’

‘Really—’

‘What was the last moment we had the opportunity of observing her?’

‘Well, actually, I suppose, at dinner.’

‘Exactly. After that, we only saw her receiving guests, making them welcome—purely a formal attitude. What happened at the end of dinner, Hastings?’

‘She went to telephone,’ I said, slowly.

‘
A la bonne heure
. You have got there at last. She went to telephone. And she was absent a long time. Twenty minutes at least. That is a long time for a telephone call. Who spoke to her over the telephone? What did they say? Did she really telephone? We have to find out, Hastings, what happened in that twenty minutes. For there, or so I fully believe, we shall find the clue we seek.’

‘You really think so?’

‘
Mais oui, mais oui!
All along, Hastings, I have told you that Mademoiselle has been keeping something back. She doesn’t think it has any connection with the murder—but I, Hercule Poirot, know better! It
must
have a connection. For, all along, I have been
conscious that there is a factor lacking. If there were not a factor lacking—why then, the whole thing would be plain to me! And as it is not plain to me—
eh bien
—then the missing factor is the keystone of the mystery! I know I am right, Hastings.

I must know the answer to those three questions. And, then—and then—I shall begin
to see
…

‘Well,’ I said, stretching my stiffened limbs, ‘I think a bath and a shave are indicated.’

By the time I had had a bath and changed into day clothing I felt better. The stiffness and weariness of a night passed in uncomfortable conditions passed off. I arrived at the breakfast table feeling that one drink of hot coffee would restore me to my normal self.

I glanced at the paper, but there was little news in it beyond the fact that Michael Seton’s death was now definitely confirmed. The intrepid airman had perished. I wondered whether, tomorrow, new headlines would have sprung into being:
‘GIRL MURDERED DURING FIREWORK PARTY. MYSTERIOUS TRAGEDY
.’ Something like that.

I had just finished breakfast when Frederica Rice came up to my table. She was wearing a plain little frock of black marocain with a little soft pleated white collar. Her fairness was more evident than ever.

‘I want to see M. Poirot, Captain Hastings. Is he up yet, do you know?’

‘I will take you up with me now,’ I said. ‘We shall find him in the sitting-room.’

‘Thank you.’

‘I hope,’ I said, as we left the dining-room together, ‘that you didn’t sleep too badly?’

‘It was a shock,’ she said, in a meditative voice. ‘But, of course, I didn’t know the poor girl. It’s not as though it had been Nick.’

‘I suppose you’d never met this girl before?’

‘Once—at Scarborough. She came over to lunch with Nick.’

‘It will be a terrible blow to her father and mother,’ I said.

‘Dreadful.’

But she said it very impersonally. She was, I fancied, an egoist. Nothing was very real to her that did not concern herself.

Poirot had finished his breakfast and was sitting reading the morning paper. He rose and greeted Frederica with all his customary Gallic politeness.

‘Madame,’ he said. ‘
Enchanté!
’

He drew forward a chair.

She thanked him with a very faint smile and sat down. Her two hands rested on the arms of the chair. She sat there very upright, looking straight in front of her. She did not rush into speech. There was something a little frightening about her stillness and aloofness.

‘M. Poirot,’ she said at last. ‘I suppose there is no doubt that this—sad business last night was all part and parcel of the same thing? I mean—that the intended victim was really Nick?’

‘I should say, Madame, that there was no doubt at all.’

Frederica frowned a little.

‘Nick bears a charmed life,’ she said.

There was some curious undercurrent in her voice that I could not understand.

‘Luck, they say, goes in cycles,’ remarked Poirot.

‘Perhaps. It is certainly useless to fight against it.’

Now there was only weariness in her tone. After a moment or two, she went on.

‘I must beg your pardon, M. Poirot. Nick’s pardon, too. Up till last night I did not believe. I never dreamed that the danger was—serious.’

‘Is that so, Madame?’

‘I see now that everything will have to be gone into—carefully. And I imagine that Nick’s immediate circle of friends will not be immune from suspicion. Ridiculous, of couse, but there it is. Am I right, M. Poirot?’

‘You are very intelligent, Madame.’

‘You asked me some questions about Tavistock the other day, M. Poirot. As you will find out sooner or later, I might as well tell you the truth now. I was not at Tavistock.’

‘No, Madame?’

‘I motored down to this part of the world with Mr Lazarus early last weeek. We did not wish to arouse more comment than necessary. We stayed at a little place called Shellacombe.’

‘That is, I think, about seven miles from here, Madame?’

‘About that—yes.’

Still that quiet far-away weariness.

‘May I be impertinent, Madame?’

‘Is there such a thing—in these days?’

‘Perhaps you are right, Madame. How long have you and M. Lazarus been friends?’

‘I met him six months ago.’

‘And you—care for him, Madame?’

Frederica shrugged her shoulders.

‘He is—rich.’

‘Oh!
làlà
,’ cried Poirot. ‘That is an ugly thing to say.’

She seemed faintly amused.

‘Isn’t it better to say it myself—than to have you say it for me?’

‘Well—there is always that, of course. May I repeat, Madame, that you are
very
intelligent.’

‘You will give me a diploma soon,’ said Frederica, and rose.

‘There is nothing more you wish to tell me, Madame?’

‘I do not think so—no. I am going to take some flowers round to Nick and see how she is.’

‘Ah, that is very
aimable
of you. Thank you, Madame, for your frankness.’

She glanced at him sharply, seemed about to speak, then thought better of it and went out of the room, smiling faintly at me as I held the door open for her.

‘She is intelligent,’ said Poirot. ‘Yes, but so is Hercule Poirot!’

‘What do you mean?’

‘That it is all very well and very pretty to force the richness of M. Lazarus down my throat—’

‘I must say that rather disgusted me.’

‘
Mon cher
, always you have the right reaction in the wrong place. It is not, for the moment, a question of good taste or otherwise. If Madame Rice has a devoted friend who is rich and can give her all she needs—why then obviously Madame Rice would not need to murder her dearest friend for a mere pittance.’

‘Oh!’ I said.

‘
Précisément!
“Oh!”’

‘Why didn’t you stop her going to the nursing home?’

‘Why should I show my hand? Is it Hercule Poirot who prevents Mademoiselle Nick from seeing her friends?
Quelle idée!
It is the doctors and the nurses. Those tiresome nurses! So full of rules and regulations and “doctor’s’ orders”.’

‘You’re not afraid that they may let her in after all? Nick may insist.’

‘Nobody will be let in, my dear Hastings, but you and me. And for that matter, the sooner we make our way there, the better.’

The sitting-room door flew open and George Challenger barged in. His tanned face was alive with indignation.

‘Look here, M. Poirot,’ he said. ‘What’s the meaning of this? I rang up that damned nursing home where Nick is. Asked how she was and what time I could come round and see her. And they say the doctor won’t allow any visitors. I want to know the meaning of that. To put it plainly, is this your work? Or is Nick really ill from shock?’

‘I assure you, Monsieur, that I do not lay down rules for nursing homes. I would not dare. Why not ring up the good doctor—what was his name now?—Ah, yes, Graham.’

‘I have. He says she’s going on as well as could be expected—usual stuff. But I know all the tricks—my uncle’s a doctor. Harley Street. Nerve specialist. Psychoanalysis—all the rest of it. Putting relations and friends off with soothing words. I’ve heard about it all. I don’t believe Nick isn’t up to seeing any one. I believe you’re at the bottom of this, M. Poirot.’

Poirot smiled at him in a very kindly fashion. Indeed,
I have always observed that Poirot has a kindly feeling for a lover.

‘Now listen to me,
mon ami
,’ he said. ‘If one guest is admitted, others cannot be kept out. You comprehend? It must be all or none. We want Mademoiselle’s safety, you and I, do we not? Exactly. Then, you understand—it must be
none
.’

‘I get you,’ said Challenger, slowly. ‘But then—’

‘
Chut
! We will say no more. We will forget even what we have said. The prudence, the extreme prudence, is what is needed at present.’

‘I can hold my tongue,’ said the sailor quietly.

He turned away to the door, pausing as he went out to say:

‘No embargo on flowers, is there? So long as they are not white ones.’

Poirot smiled.

‘And now,’ he said, as the door shut behind the impetuous Challenger, ‘whilst M. Challenger and Madame and perhaps M. Lazarus all encounter each other in the flower shop, you and I will drive quietly to our destination.’

‘And ask for the answer to the three questions?’ I said.

‘Yes. We will ask. Though, as a matter of fact, I know the answer.’

‘What?’ I exclaimed.

‘Yes.’

‘But when did you find out?’

‘Whilst I was eating my breakfast, Hastings. It stared me in the face.’

‘Tell me.’

‘No, I will leave you to hear it from Mademoiselle.’

Then, as if to distract my mind, he pushed an open letter across to me.

It was a report by the expert Poirot had sent to examine the picture of old Nicholas Buckley. It stated definitely that the picture was worth at most twenty pounds.

‘So that is one matter cleared up,’ said Poirot.

‘No mouse in that mousehole,’ I said, remembering a metaphor of Poirot’s on one past occasion.

‘Ah! you remember that? No, as you say, no mouse in that mousehole. Twenty pounds and M. Lazarus offered fifty. What an error of judgement for a seemingly astute young man. But there, there, we must start on our errand.’

The nursing home was set high on a hill overlooking the bay. A white-coated orderly received us. We were put into a little room downstairs and presently a brisk-looking nurse came to us.

One glance at Poirot seemed to be enough. She had clearly received her instructions from Dr Graham together with a minute description of the little detective. She even concealed a smile.

‘Miss Buckley has passed a very fair night,’ she said. ‘Come up, will you?’

In a pleasant room with the sun streaming into it, we found Nick. In the narrow iron bed, she looked like a tired child. Her face was white and her eyes were suspiciously red, and she seemed listless and weary.

‘It’s good of you to come,’ she said in a flat voice.

Poirot took her hand in both of his.

‘Courage, Mademoiselle. There is always something to live for.’

The words startled her. She looked up in his face.

‘Oh!’ she said. ‘Oh!’

‘Will you not tell me now, Mademoiselle, what it was that has been worrying you lately? Or shall I guess? And may I offer you, Mademoiselle, my very deepest sympathy.’

Her face flushed.

‘So you know. Oh, well, it doesn’t matter who knows now. Now that it’s all over. Now that I shall never see him again.’