Hercule Poirot's Casebook

-I see it flow,' salcl l.

thc floor, I mean. Out in that well we started up from the

basement.'

lie heaved on the rope, and the lift shot up. 'We're right this

time.' ,

'I devoutly trust we are, said Jimmy as he stepped out into

,

't

shocks

another inky void. My nerves won stand many more

of this kind.'

But no further nerve strain was imposed. The first click of

the light showed them Pat's kitchen, and in another minute

they were opening the front door and admitting the two girls

wfio were waiting outside.

'You have been a long time,' grumbled Pat. 'Mildred and I

have been waiting here ages.'

'We've had an adventure,' said Donovan. 'We might have

been hauled off to the police-station as dangerous malefactors.'

Pat had passed on into the sitting-room, where she switched

on the light and dropped her wrap on the sofa. She listened

lively interest to Donovan's account of his adventures.

wi''m glad she didn't catch you,' she commented. 'I'm sure

she's an old curmudgeon. I got a note from her this morning wanted

to see me some time - something she had to complain

about - my piano, I suppose, people who don't like pianos over

their heads shouldn't come and live in flats. I say, Donovan,

you've hurt your hand. It's all over blood. Go and wash it

under the tap.'

Donovan looked down at his hand in surprise. He went out

of the room obediently and presently his voice called to Jimmy.

'Hullo,' said the other, 'what's up? You haven't hurt

yourself badly, have you?'

'I haven't hurt myself at all.'

There was something so queer in Donovan's voice that

Jimmy stared at him in surprise. Donovan held out his washed

207

hand and Jimmy saw that there was no mark or cut of any kind

on it.

'That's odd,' he said, frowning. 'There was quite a lot of

blood. There did it come from?' And then suddenly he

realized what his quicker-witted friend had already seen. 'By

Jove,' he said. 'It must have come from that flat.' He stopped,

thinking over the possibilities his word implied. 'You' re sure it

was - er - blood?' he said. 'Not paint?'

Donovan shook his head. 'It was blood, all right,' he said,

and shivered.

They looked at each other. The same thought was clearly in

each of their minds. It was Jimmy who voiced it first.

'I say,' he said awkwardly. 'Do you think we ought to - well

' go down again - and have - a - look around? See it's all right,

you know?'

'What about the girls?'

'We won't say anything to them. Pat's going to put on an

apron and make us an omelette. We'll be back by the time they

wonder where we are.'

'Oh, well, come on,' said Donovan. 'I suppose we've got to

go through with it. I dare say there isn't anything really wrong.'

But his tone lacked conviction. They got into the lift and

descended to the floor below. They found their way across the

kitchen without much difficulty and once more switched on

the sitting-room light.

'It must have been in here,' said Donovan, 'that - that I got

the stuff on me. I never touched anything in the kitchen.'

He looked round him. Jimmy did the same, and they both

frowned. Everything looked neat and commonplace and miles

removed from any suggestion of violence or gore.

Suddenly Jimmy started violently and caught his compan-ion's

arm.

'Look!'

' Donovan followed the pointing finger, and in his turn

uttered an exclamation. From beneath the heavy rep curtains

there protruded a foot - a woman's foot in a gaping patcn.r

leather shoe.

Jimmy went to the curtain.s and drew them sharply apart. In

208

recess of the window a woman's huddled body Iy on the

flor, a sticky dark pool beside it. She was dead, there was no

doubt of that. Jimmy was attempting to raise her up when

Donovan stopped him.

'You'd better not do that. She oughm't to be touched till the

police come.'

'The police. Oh, of course. I say, Donovan, what a ghtly

business. Who do you think she is? Mrs Ernestine Grt?'

'Looks like it. At any rate, if there's anyone else in the flt

they're keeping jolly quiet.'

'What do we do next?' asked Jimmy. 'Run out and get a

policeman or ring up from Pat's fit?'

'I should think ringing up would be best. Come on, we

might as well go out the front door. We can't spend the whole

night going up and down in that evil-smelliug ·

Jimmy agreed. Just as they were passing through the door he

hesitated. 'Look here; do you think one of us ought to stay -just

to keep an eye on things - till the police come?'

'Yes, I think you're right. If you'll stay I'll nm up and

telephone.'

He ran quickly up the stairs and rang the bell of the flat

above. Pat came to open it, a very pretty Pat with a flushed face

' and a cooking apron on. Her eyes widened in surprise.

'You? But how - Donovan, what is it? Is anything the matter?'

He took both her hands in his. 'It's all right, Pat - only we've

made a rather unpleasant discovery in the flat below. A woman - dead.'

'Oh!' She gave a little gasp. 'How horrible.. Has she had a fit

or something?'

'No. It looks - well - it looks rather as though she had been

murdered.'

'Oh, Donovan!'

'I know. It's pretty beastly.'

Her hands were still in his. She had left them there - was

even clinging to him. Darling Pat - how he loved her. Did she

care at all for him? Sometimes he thought she did. Sometimes

209

he was afraid that Jimmy Faulkener- remembrances of Jimmy

waiting patienfiy below made him start guiltily.

'Pat, dear, we must telephone to the police.'

'Monsieur is right,' said a voice behind him. 'And i, the

meantime, while we are waiting their arrival, perhaps I c: be

of some slight assistance.'

They had been standing in the doorway of the flat, anti ao

they peered out on the landing. A figure was standing on the

stairs a little way above them. It moved down and into thei

range of vision.

They stood staring at the little man with a very fierce

moustache and an egg-shaped head. He wore a resplendent

dressing-gown and embroidered slippers. He bowed gallantly

to Patricia.

'Mademoiselle!' he said. 'I am, as perhaps you know, the

tenant of the flat above. I like to be up high - in the air - the

view over London. I take the flat in the name of Mr O'Connor.

But I am not an Irishman. I have another name. That is why

I venture to put myself at your service. Permit me.' With a

flourish he pulled out a card and handed it to Pat. She read it.

'M. Hercule Poirot. Oh? She caught her breath. 'The M.

Poirot! The great detective? And you will really help?'

'That is my intention, mademoiselle. I nearly offered my

help earlier in the evening.'

Pat looked puzzled.

'I heard you discussing how to gain admission to your flat

Me, I am very fever at picking locks. I could, without doubt,

have opened your door for you, but I hesitated to suggest it.

You would have had the grave suspicions of me.'

Pat laughed.

'Now, monsieur,' said Poirot to Donovan. 'Go in, I pray of

you, and telephone to the police. I will descend to the flat

below.'

Pat came down the stairs with him. They found Jimmy on

guard, and Pat explained Poirot's presence, jimmy, in his turn,

explained to Poirot his and Donovan's adventures. The

detective listened attentively.

210

'The lift door was unbolted, you sy? You e ino the

tchcn, but the lihl it would not mrn on.'

I-Ie direcxed his footsteps o the kitchen as he spoke. His

fgers pressed the switch. ,

'Tiens! Voild ce qui est curieux! hesidasthelightfiashedon.

'It functions perfectly now. I wonder -' He held up a finger to

ensure silence and listened. A faint sound broke the stillness the

sound of an unmistakable snore. 'Ah!' said Poirot. 'La charnbre de domestique.'

He tiptoed across the kitchen into a little pmtry, out of

which led a door. He opened the door and switched on the

light. The room was the kind of dog kennel designed by the

builders of flats to accommodate a human being. The floor

space was almost entirely occupied by the bed. In the bed was

a rosy-cheeked girl lying on her back with her mouth wide

open, snoring placidly.

Poirot switched off the light and beat a retreat.

'She will not wake,' he said. 'We will let her sleep till the

police come.'

He went back to the sitting-room. Donovan had joined

them.

'The police will be here almost immediately, they sy' he

rid breathlessly. 'We are to touch nothing.'

Poirot nodded. 'We will not touch,' he said. 'We will look,

· at is all.'

He moved into the room. Mildred had come down with

Donovan, and all four young people stood in the doorway and

watched him with breathless interest.

'What I can't understand, sir, is this,' said Donovaa. 'I never

went near the window - how did the blood come on my hand?'

'My young friend, the answer to that stares you in the face.

Of what colour is the tablecloth? Red, is it not? and doubtless

you did put your band on the table.'

'Yes, I did. Is that - ? He itopped.

Poirot nodded. He was bending over the table. He indicated

with his hand a dark patch on the red.

'It was here that the crime was committed,' he said solemnly.

'The body was moved afterwards.'

211

Then he stood uptight and looked slowly round t3,

He did not move, he handled nothing, but neverth?

four watching felt as though every object in that rather Crows

place gave up ks secret to his observant eye.

Hercule Poirot nodded his head as though satisfied. A 1:

sigh escaped him. 'I see,' he said.

'You see what?' asked Donovan curiously.

'I see,' said Poirot, 'what you doubtless felt - that the ro0

is overfull of furniture.'

Donovan smiled ruefully. 'I did go barging about a bit,' 1

confessed. 'Of course, everything was in a different place

Pat's room, and I couldn't make it out.'

'Not everything,' said Poirot.

Donovan looked at him inq 'mtingly.

'I mean,' said Poirot apologetically, 'that certain things au

always fnted. In a block of flats the door, the window,

fireplace - they are in the same place in the rooms which a

below each other.'

'Isn't that rather splitting hairs?' asked Mildred. She w looking at Poirot with faint disapproval.

'One should always speak with absolute accuracy. That isa

little - how do you say? - fad of mine.'

There was the noise of footsteps on the stairs, and three nm

came in. They were a police inspector, a constable, and

divisional surgeon. The inspector recognized Poirot and

greeted him in an almost reverential manner. Then he turned

to the others.

'I shall want statements from everyone,' he began, 'but in the

first place -'

Poirot interrupted. 'A little suggestion. We will go back to

the flat upstairs and mademoiselle here shall do what she was

planning to do - make us an omelette. Me, I have a passion for

the omelettes. Then, M. l'Inspecteur, when you have finished

here, you will mount to us and ask questions at your leisure.'

It was arranged accordingly, and Poirot went up with them.

'M. Poirot,' said Pat, 'I think you're a perfect dear. And you

shall have a lovely omelette. I really make omelettes frightfully well.'

212

,That is good. Once, mademoiselle, I loved a beaudful youn

· 'ri who resembled you greatly - but alas{ - she could

Enghsh gl ,

·

the best'

not cook. So perhaps everything was for

·

There was a faint sadness in his voice, and Jimmy Faulkener

looked at him curiously.

Once in the flat, however, he exerted himself o please and

amuse. The grim trsgedy below was almost forgotten.

The omelette had been consumed iud duly praised by the

time that Inspector Rice's footsteps were heard, lie cne in

accompanied by the doctor, having left the constable below.

'Well, Monsieur PoiroC he said. 'It all seems dear and

above-board - not much in your line, though we may irmd it

hard to catch the man. I'd just like to hear how the discovery

came to be made.'

Donovan iud Jimmy between them recounted the happen

ings of the evening. The inspector turned reproachfully to Pat.

'You shouldn't leave your lift door unboked, miss. You

really shouldn't.'

'I shan't again,' said Pat, with a shiver. 'Somebody might

come in and murder me like that poor woman below.'

'Ah, but they didn't come in that way, though,' said time

inspector.

·

' 'd

'You will recount to us what you have discovered, yes? sin

Poirot..

'I don't know as I ought to - but seeing it's you, IVl.'

Poirot -'

'Prc/sSne,' said Poirot. 'And these young people- they

'The newspapers will get hold of ii, anyway, soon emaoug, h,'

said the inspeaor. 'There's no real secret about the mater.

Well, the dead woman's lkirs Grant, ifil right. I hsd the porter

up to identify her. Woman of shout thirty-five. She was sittin8

at the table, arid she was shot with an automatic p/stol of small

calibre, probably by someone sitting opposite her ai table. She

fell forward, and that's how the bloodstain came on the table.'

'But wouldn't someone have heard the shot}' asked

Mildred.

'The pistol was fined with a silencer. No, you wouldnk hea

213

anything. By the way, did you hear the screech the maid let out when we told her her mistress was dead? No. Well, that just

shows how unlikely it was that anyone would hear the other.'

'Has the maid no story to tell?' asked Poirot.

'It was her evening out. She's got her own key. She came in

about ten o'clock. Everything was quiet. She thought her

mistress had gone to bed.'

'She did not look in the sitting-room, then?'

'Yes, she took the letters in there which had come by the

evening post, but she saw nothing unusual - any more than Mr

Faulkener and Mr Bailey did. You see, the murderer had

concealed the body rather neatly behind the curtains.'

'But it was a curious thing to do, don't you think?'

Poirot's voice was very gentle, yet it held something that

made the inspector look up quickly.

'Didn't want the crime discovered till he'd had time to make

.his getaway.'

'Perhaps, perhaps - but continue with what you were

saying.'

'The maid went out at five o'clock. The doctor here put:3 the

time of death as - roughly - about four to five hours ago. That's

right, isn't it?'

The doctor, who was a man of few words, contented hiaself

with jerking his head afFmnatively.

'It's a quarter to twelve now. The actual time can, I think, be

narrowed down to a fairly del'mite hour.'

He took out a crumpled sheet of paper.

'We found this in the pocket of the dead woman's dress. You

needn't be afraid of handling it. There are no f'mgerprint$ on

it.'

Poirot smoothed out the sheet. Across it some words were

printed in small, prim capitals.

I

WILL COME TO SEE YOU THIS EVENING AT HALF PAST SEVEN.

'A compromising document to leave behind,' commuted

Poirot, as he handed it back.

214

'Well, he didn't know she'd got it in her pocket,' said the

inspector. 'He probably thought she'd destroyed it. We've

evidence that he was a careful man, though. The pistol she was

shot with we found under the body - and there again no

fingerprints. They'd been wiped off very carefully with a silk

handkerchief.'

'How do you know,' said Poirot, 'that it was a silk

handkerchief?.'

'Because we found it,' said e inspector triumphantly. 'At

the last, as he was drawing the axrtains, he must have let it fall

unnoticed.'

He handed across a big white silk handkerchief - a good-quality

handkerchief. It did not need the inspector's finger to

draw Poirot's attention to the mark on it in the centre. It was

neatly marked and quite legible. Poirot read the name out.

'John Fraser.'

'That's it,' said the inspector. 'John Fraser - J.F. in the note.

We know the name of the man we have to look for, and I dare

say when we f'md out a little about the dead woman, sntl her

relations come forward, we shall soon get a line on him.'

'I wonder,' said Poirot. 'No, mon chef, somehow I do not

think he will be easy to ['md, your John Fraser. He is a strange

man - csreful, since he marks his handkerchiefs and wipes the

pistol with which he has committed the crime - yet careless

since he loses his handkerchiefand does not search for a letter

that might incriminate him.'

'Flurried, that's what he was,' said the inspector.

'It is possible,' said Poirot. 'Yes, it is possible. And he was

not seen entering the building?'

'There are all sorts of people going in and out sll the time.

These are big blocks. I suppose none of you -' he addressed the

four collectively -'saw anyone coming out of the flat?'

Pat shook her head. 'We went out earlier - about seven

o'clock.'

'I see.' The inspector rose. Poirot accompanied him to the

door.

'As a little favour, may I examine the flat below?'

'Why, certainly, M. Poirot. I know what they think of yon at

215

headquarters. I'll leave you a key. I've got two. E

empty. The maid cleared out to some relatives too

stay there alone.' ' oo s.

'I thank you,' said M. Poirot. He went back into ?:¢

thoughtful.

'You're not satisfied, M. Poirot?' said Jimmy.

'No,' said Poirot. 'I am not satisfied.'

Donovan looked at him curiously. 'What is it that well,

worries you?

Poirot did not answer. He remained silent for a minute or

.two, frowning, as though in thought, then he made a sudden

mpatent movemem of the shoulders.

'I will say good night to you, mademoiselle. You must be

tired. You have had much cooking to do - eh?'

Pat laughed. 'Only the omelette. I didn't do dinner.

Donovan and Jimmy came and called for us, and we went out

to a little place in Soho.'

'And then without doubt, you went to a theatre?'

'Yes. The Brown Eyes of Caroline.'

'Ah!' said Poirot. 'It should have been blue eyes - the blue

eyes of mademoiselle.,

He made a sentimental gesture, and then once more wished

Pat good night, also Mildred, who was staying the night by

special request, as Pat admitted fnmkiy that she would get the

horrors if left alone on this Pm'ticular night.

The two young men accompanied Poirot. When the door

was shut, md they were preparing to say goodbye to him on le

landing, Poirot forestalled them.

'My young friends, you heard me say I was not satisfied?/;h

b/eh, it is true - I am not. I go now to make some little

investigations of my own. You would like to accompany me

yes?'

An eager assent greeted this proposal. Poirot led the way

the flat below and inserted the key the inspector had given him

in the lock. On entering, he did not, as the others had expected,

enter the sitting-room. Instead he went straight to the kitchen

In a little recess which served as a scullery a big iron bin was

216

stding. Poirot uncovered this and, doubling himself up,

began to roofie in it with the energy of a ferocious terrier.

Both Jimmy and Donovan stared at him in amazement.

Suddenly with a cry of triumph he emerged. In his hand he

held aloft a small stoppered bottle.

'VoilcW he said. 'I fred what I seek.' He sniffed at it

delicately. 'Alas! I am enrhum - I have the cold in the head.'

Donovan took the bottle from him and sniffed in his turn,

but could smell nothing. He took out the stopper and held the

bottle to his nose before Poirot's warning cry could stop him.

Immediately he fell like a log. Poirot, by springing forward,

partly broke his fall.

'Imbecile!' he cried. 'The idea. To remove the stopper in

that foolhardy manner! Did he not observe how delicately I

'handled it? Monsieur - Faulkener - is it not? Will you be so

good as to get me a little brandy? I observed a decanter in the

sitting-room.'

Jimmy hurried off, but by the time he returned, Donovan

was sitting up and declaring himself quite all fight again. He

had to listen to a short lecture from Poirot on the necessity of

caution in sniff'rog at possibly poisonous substances.

'I think I'll be off home,' said Donovan, rising shakily to his

feet. 'That is, if I can't be any more use here. I feel a bit wonky

still.'

'Assuredly,' said Poirot. 'That is the best thing'you can do.

M. Faulkener, attend me here a little minute. I will return on

the instant.'

He accompanied Donovan to the door and beyond. They

remained outside on the laxaxling talking for some minutes.

When Poirot at last re-entered the flat he found Jimmy

standing in the sitting-room gazing round him with puwled

eyes.

'Well, M. Poirot,' he said, 'what next?'

'There is nothing next. The case is f'mished.'

'What?'

'I know everything - now.'

Jimmy stared at him. 'That little bottle you found?'

'Exactly. That little bottle.'

217

Jimmy shook his head. 'I can't make head or tail of it. For

some reason or other I can see you are dissatisfied ih

evidence against this John Fraser, whoever he may be.

'Whoever he may be,' repeated Poirot soffiy. 'If he is any0

at all - well, I shall be surprised.'

'I don't understand.'

'He is a - that is all - s name carefully marked on

handkerchiefl'

'And the letter?'

'Did you notice that it was printed? Now, why? I will tell

you. Handwriting 'might be recognized, and a typne

letter is more easily traced thlm you would imagine - but if

real John Fraser wrote that letter those two points would not

have appealed to him! No, it was written on purposed put

in the dead woman's pocket for us to find. There is no such

person as John Fraser.'

Jimmy looked at him inquiringly.

'And so,' went on Poirot, 'I went bck to the point that

struck me. You heard me say rkst certain things in a room were

always in the same place under given cirounstances. I gave

three instances. I might hsve mentioned a fourth - the electric-light

switch, my friend.'

Jimmy still stared uncompy. Poirot went on.

'Your friend Donovan did not go nesr the window - it was

by resting his hand on this table that he got it covered in blood!

But I asked myself at once - why did he rest it there? What was

he doing groping about this room in darkness? For remember,

my friend, the electric-light switch is always in the same place - by the door. Why, when he came to this room, did he not at

once feel for the light d mm it on? That was the natural, the

normal thing to do. According to him, he tried to turn on

light in the kitchen, but failed. Yet when I tried the switch it

was in perfect working order. Did he, then, not wish the light

to go on just then? If it hsd gone on you would both have seen

at once that you were in the wrong flat. There would have been

no reason to come into this room.'

'What are you driving at, M. Poirot? I don't understand.

What do you mean?'

218

'I mean - this.'

poirot held up a Yale door hey.

'The key of this flat?'

'No, mort am/, the hey of the flat above. Mademoiselle

from her

pamca key, which M. Donovan Bailey abstracted

bag some time during the evening.'

'But why - why?'

'parbleu! So that he could do what he wanted to do - gain

admission to this flat in a perfectly unsuspidous manner. He

made sure that the lift door was unbolted earlier in the

m '

even g.

'Where did you get the key?'

Poirot's smile broadened. 'I found it just now - where I

looked for it - in M. Donovan's pocket. See you, that little

bottle I pretended to find was a ruse. M. Donovan is taken in.

He does what I knew he would do - unstoppers it and sniffs.

And in that little bottle is ethyl chloride, a very powerful instant

anaesthetic. It gives me just the moment or two of unconsdousness

I need. I take from his pocket the two things that I

knew would be there. This key was one of them - the other -'

Hie stopped and then went on. .

questioned at the time the reason the inspector gave for the

body being concealed behind the curtain. To gain time? No,

there was more than that. And so I thought of just one thing

- ---- friend The evening post that comes at half.p?t

tile post my ,,,

·

'

nine or theresbouts. Say the murderer does not find sometmug

he expects to f'md, but that something may be delivered by post

later. Clearly, then, he must come back. But the crime must not

be discovered by the maid when she comes or the police

would take possession of the flat, so he hides the body behind

the curtsin. And the maid suspects nothing and lays the letters

on the table as usual.'

'The letters?'

'Yes, the letters.' Poirot drew something from his pocket.

'This is the second article I took from M. Donovan when he

was unconscious.' He showed the superscription - a typewritten

envelope addressed to Mrs Ernestine Grant. 'But I will ask

you one thing first. M. Faulkener, before we look at the

219

contents of this letter. Are you or are you not in 1o wi

Mademoiselle Patri?'

'I care for Pat damnably - but I've never thought I had a

chance.'

'You thought that she cmd for M. Donovan? It may be that

she had begun to care for him - but it was only a beginning, my

friend. It is for you to make her forget - to stand by her in her

trouble.'

'Trouble?' said Jimmy sh*ply.

'Yes, trouble. We will do all we can to keep her name out of

it, but it will be impossible to do so entirely. She was, you see,

the motive.'

He ripped open the envelope that he held. An enclosure fell

out. The covering letter was brief, and was from a firm of

solicitors.

Dear Madam,

The document you enclose is quite in order, and the fact

of the marriage having tdn place in a foreign country does

not invalidate it in .ny way.

Yours truly, etc.

Poirot spread out the enclosure, h was a certificate of

marriage between Donovan Bailey Emestine Grant, dated

eight years ago.

'Oh, my God!' said Jimmy. 'Pat said she'd had letter from

the woman asking to see her, but she never dreamed it was

anything important.'

Poirot nodded. 'Donovan knew - he went to see his wife this

evening before going to the flat above - a strange irony, by the

way, that led the unfortunate woman to come to this building

where her rival lived - he murdered her in cold blood, cl then

went on to his evening's amusement. His wife must have told

him that she had sent the marriage certificate to her solicitors

and was expecting to hear from them. Doubtless he himself

had tried to make her believe that there was a flaw in the

220

'He seemed in quite good-spirits, too, all the evening. M.

poirot, you haven't let him escape?' Jimmy shuddered.

· ,

·

' u need

,There is no escape for him, said Potrot gravely. Yo

not fear.'

'It's Pat I'm thinking about mostly,' said ]immy. 'You don't

think - she really cared.'

Then ami, that is your part,' said Poirot gently. 'To make her

turn to you and forget. I do not think you will find it very

difficult!'

221

THE ADVENTURE OF JOHNNIE WAVERLy

'You can understand the feelings of a mother,' said Mrs

Waverly for perhaps the sixth time.

She looked appealing/y at Poirot. My Little friend, always

sympathetic to motherhood in distress, gesticulated

reassuringly.

'But yes, but yes, I comprehend perfectly. Have faith in Papa

Poirot.'

'The police -' began Mr Waverly.

His wife waved the interruption aside. 'I won't have

anything more to do with the poLice. We trusted to them and

look what happened! But I'd heard so much ofM. Poirot and

the wonderful things he'd done, that I felt he might possibly be

able to help us. A mother's feelings -'

Poirot hastily stemmed the reiteration with an eloquent

gegture. Mrs Waverly's emotion was obviously genuine, but it

assorted strangely with her shrewd, rather hard type of

countenance. When I heard later that she was the daughter of

hPe r°minent steel manufacturer who had worked ;

·

world from an office boy to hi

ms way .Up m

o ,,cnt eminence, I realized

that she had inherited many of the paternal qualities.

Mr Waverly was a big, ton'd, jovial-looking man. He stood

with his legs straddled wide apart and looked the type of the

country squire.

'I suppose you know all about this business, M. Poirot?'

The question was almost superfluous. For some days past the papers had been full of the sensational kidnapping of Little

Johnnie Waver/y, the three-year-old son and heir of Marcus

Waverly, Esq., of Waverly Court, Surrey, one of the oldest

families in England.

'The main facts I know, of course, but recount to me the

whole story, monsieur, I beg of you. And in detail if you

please.'

222

'Well, I suppose the beginning of the whole thing was aborn

ten days ago when I got an anonymous letter - beastly things,

qyway - that I couldn't make head or tail of. The writer had

the impudence to demand that I should pay him twenty-five

thousand pounds - twenty-five thousand pounds, M. Poirot!

Failing my agreement, he threatened to kidnap Johnnie. Of

course I threw the thing into the wastepaper basket without

more ado. Thought it was some silly joke. Five days later I got

another letter. "Unless you pay, your son will be kidnapped on

the twenty-ninth." That was on the twenty-seventh. Ada was

worded, but I couldn't bring myself to treat the matter

seriously. Damn it all, we're in England. Nobody goes about

kidnapping children and holding them up to ransom.'

'It is not a common practice, certainly,' said Poirot.

'Proceed, monsieur.'

'Well, Ada gave me no peace, so - feeling a bit of a fool - I

laid the matter before Scotland Yard. They didn't seem to take

the thing very seriously - inclined to my view that it was some

silly joke. On the twenty-eighth I got a third letter. "You have

not paid. Your son will be taken from you at twdve o'clock

noon tomorrow, the twenty-ninth. It will cost you fifty

thousand pounds to recover him." Up I drove to Scotland'

Yard again. This time they were more impressed. They

inc)ined to the view that the letters were written by a lunatic,

and that in all probability an attempt of some kind would be

made at the hour stated. They assured me that they would take

all due precautions. Inspector NcNefl and a sufficient force

would come down to Waverly on the morrow and take charge.

'I went home much relieved in mind. Yet we already had the

feeling of being in a state of siege. I gave orders that'no stranger

was to be admitted, and that no one was to leave the house. The

evening passed off without any untoward incident, but on the

following morning my wife was seriously unwell. Alarmed by

her condition, I sent for Doctor D.ers. Her symptoms

appeared to pn,.,le him. While hesitating to suggest that she

had been poisoned, I could see that that was what was in his

mind. There was no danger, he assured me, but it would be a

day or two before she would be able to get about again.

223

Returning to my own room, I was startled and amazed to a note pinned to my pi/low. It was in the same

the others and contained just three words: "At twelve

'I admit, M. Poirot, that then I saw red! Someone

house was in this - one of the servants. I had them all

blackguarded them right and left. They never split on

other, t was Miss Collins, my wife's companion, who

me that she had ·

that morning seen Johnnie's nurse slip down the drive

· I taxed her with it, and she broke down. She

left the child with the nursery maid and stolen out to meet

friend of hers - a man! Pretty goings on! She denied

pinned the note to my pillow - she may have been

truth, I don't know. I felt I couldn't take the risk of the ck

own nurse being in the plot. One of the servants was implio; ed

- of that I Was sure. Finally I lost my temper and sacked the

whole bunch, nurse and all. I gave them an hour to pack their

boxes and get out of the house.'

Mr Waverly,s face was quite two shades redder as he

remembered his just wrath.

'Was not that little injudicious, monsieur?' suggested

Poirot. 'IF

a

or all you know, you might have been playing into the

enemy's hands.,

Mr Waverly stared at him. 'I don't see that. Send the whole

lot packing, that was my idea. I wired to London for a fresh lot

to be sent down that evening. In the meantime, there'd be only

people I could trust in the house: my wife's secretary, Miss

Collins, and Tredwell, the butler, who has been with me since

I was a boy.'

'And this Miss Collins, how long has she been with you?'

'Just a year,' Said Mrs Waverly. 'She has been invaluable

nc as a secretary-companion, and is also a very efficien

housekeeper.,

'The nurse?'

'She has been with me six months. She came to me with

excellent references. All the same, I never really liked her,

although Johnnie was quite devoted to her.'

'Still, I gather she had already left when the catastrophe

224

occurred. Perhaps, Monsieur Waverly, you will be so kind as to

continue.'

Mr Waverly resumed his narrative.

'Inspector McNeil arrived about ten-thirty. The servants

had all left by then. He declared himself quite satisfied with the

internal arrangements. He had various men posted in the park

outside, guarding all the approaches to the house, and he

assured me that if the whole thing were not a hoax, we should

undoubtedly catch my mysterious correspondent.

'I had Johnnie with me, and he and I and the inspector went

together into the room we call the council chamber. The

igspector 16cked the door. There is a big grandfather clock

tlzre, and as the hands drew near to twelve I don't mind

confessing that I was as nervous as a cat. There was a whirring

sound, and the clock began to strike. I clutched at Johrmie. I

hd a feeling a man might drop from the skies. The last stroke

sounded, and as it did so, there was a great commotion outside

- shouting and running. The inspector flung up the window,

and a constable came running up.

'"We've got him sir," he panted. "He was sneaking up

through the bushes. He's got a wholedope outfit on him."

'We hurried out on the terrace where two constables were

holding a ruffianly-looking fellow in shabby clothes, who was

twisting and turning in a vain endcav0ur to escape. One of the

policemen held out an unrolled parcel which the3;had wrested

from their captive. It contained a pad of cotton wool and a

bottle of chloroform. It made my blood boil to see it. There was

a note, too, addressed to me. I tore it open. It bore the following

words: "You should have paid up. To ransom your son will

now cost you fifty thousand. In spite of all your precautions he

has been abducted on the twenty-ninth as I said."

'I gave a great laugh, the laugh of relief, but as I did so I

heard the hum of a motor and a shout. I turned my head.

Racing down the drive towards the south lodge at a furious

speed was a low, long grey car. It was the man who drove it who

shouted, but that was not what gave me a shock of horror. It

was the sight of Johnnie's flaxen curls. The child was in the car

beside him.

225

'The inspector ripped out an oath. "The child was here not

a minute ago," he cried. His eyes swept over us. We were all

there: myself, Tredwell, Miss Collins. "When did you last see

him, Mr Waverly?"

'I cast my mind back, trying to remember. When the

constable had called us, I had run out with the inspector,

forgetting all about Johnnle.

'And then there came a sound that startled us, the chiming

of a church clock from the village. With an exclamation the

inspector pulled out his watch. It was exactly twelve o'clock.

With one common accord we ran to the council chamber; the

clock there marked the hour as ten minutes past. Someone

must have deliberately tampered with it, for I have never

known it gain or lose before. It is a perfect timekeeper.'

Mr Waverly paused. Poirot smiled to himself and straightened

a little mat which the anxious father had pushed askew.

'A pleasing little problem, obscure and charming,' murmured

Poirot. 'I will investigate it for you with pleasure. Truly

it was planned i mervle.'

Mrs Waverly looked at him reproachfully. 'But my boy,' she

wailed.

Poirot hastily composed his face and looked the picture of

earnest sympathy again. 'He is safe, madame, he is unlmrmed.

Rest assured, these miscreants will take the greatest care of

him. Is he not to them the turkey - no, the goose - that lays the

golden eggs?'

'M. Poirot, I'm sure there's only one thing to be done - pay

up. I was all against it at first- but now! A mother's feelings '

'But we have interrupted monsieur in his history,' cried

Poirot hastily.

'I expect you know the rest pretty well from the papers,' said Me Waverly. 'Of course, Inspector McNeil got on to the

telephone immediately. A description of the car and the man

was circulated all round, and it looked at first as though

everything was going to turn out all right. A car, answering to

the description, with a man and a small boy, had passed

through various villages, apparently making for London. At

one place they had stopped, and it was noticed that the child

226

IllspeCt°'

- - --an and boy detained, I was almost ill with relief. You oW

the sequel. The boy was not ]ohtmie,

ardent motorist, fond of children, who had pickl up a small

child playing in the streets of Edenswcll, a village about fifteen

ailes from us, and was 16ndiy giving him a ride. Thanks to the

cocksure blundering of the police, all traces have disappeared.

Had they not persistently followed the wrong car, they might

go ,

by now have found the .y.

police are a brave and

'Calm yourself, monsieur. The

intelligent force of men. Their mistake was a very natural one.

Ad altogether it was a clever scheme. As to the man they

caught in the grounds, I understand that his defence has

consisted all along of a persistent denial. He declared that the

and arcel were given to him to deliver at Waverly Court.

· note P

- handed him a ten-shllinS note

I The man who gave mere to

and promised him another if it were delivered at exactly ten

· utes to twelve. He was to approach the house tluongh the

- '- ' -r'

'I don't believe a wora ox n,

'It's all a parcel of lies.'

'Eh veritY, it is a thin story,' said Poimt reflectively. 'But so

far they have not shaken it. I understand, also, that he made a

certain accusation?'

His glance interrogated Mr Waverly. The latter got rather

red again,

impertinence to pretend that he

'The fellow had the

recognized in Tredwell the man who gave him the parcel.

"Only the bloke has shaved offhis moustache." Tredwell, who

was born on the estate!' ···

Poirot smiled a little at the country gentleman's 'indignation.

'Yet you yourself suspect an inmate of the house to have been

accessory to the abduction.'

'Yes, but not Tredwell.'

' And you, madame?' asked Poirot, suddenly mining to her.

'It could not have been Tredwell who gave this tramp the

letter and parcel - if anybody ever did, which I don't believe.

227

It was given him at ten o'clock, he says. At ten o'clock Tredve

was with my husband in the smoking-room.'

'Were you able to see the face of the man in the

monsieur? Did it resemble that of Tredwell in any

'It was too far away for me to see his face.'

'Has TredweU a brother, do you know?'

'He had several, but they are all dead. The last one was killed

in the war.'

'I am not yet clear as to the grounds of Waverly Court. The

car was heading for the south lodge. Is there another entranee?'

'Yes, what we call the east lodge. It can be seen from the

other side of the house.'

'It seems to me strange that nobody saw the cat entering the

grounds.'

'There is a right of way through, and access to a small chapel,

A good many cars pass through. The mm must have stopped

the car in a convenient phce and run up to the house just as the

alarm was given and attention attracted elsewhere.'

'Unless he was already inside the house,' mused Poirot 'Is

there any place where he could have hidden?'

'Well, we certainly didn't make a thorough search of the

house beforehand. There seemed no need. I suppose he might

have hidden himself somewhere, but who would have let him

in?'

'We shall come to that later. One thing at a time - let us be

methodical.. There is no special hiding-place in the house?

Waverly Court is an old place, and there are sometimes

"priests' holes", as they call them.'

'By gad, there/s a priest's hole. It opens from one of the

panels in the hall.'

'Near the council chamber?'

'Just outside the door.'

'But nobody knows of its existence except my wife and

myself.'

'Tredwell?'

'Well - he might have heard of it.'

'Miss Collins?'

228

'I have never mentioned it to her.'

poirot reflected for a minute.

,Well, monsieur, the next thing is for me to come down to

averly Court. If I arrive this afternoon, will it suit you:?'

, . soon as sible, please, Monsieur Poirot!' cried

Oh. as

pos

Waverly. 'Read this once more.'

She thrust into his hands the last missive from the enemy

which had reached the Waverlys that morning and which had

sent her post-haste to Poirot. It gave clever and explicit

· ' long for the paying over of the money, and ended .wth

that the boy's life would pay for any treachery. It

dtea

warred with the essential mother love

clear that a love of money

gaining the day.

of Mrs Waverly, and that the latter was at last behind her

Poirot detained Mrs Waverly for a minute

husband.

'Madame, the truth, if you please. Do you share your

husband's faith in the butler, Tredweii?'

nothing against him, Monsieur Poirot, I rmot see

'I have

concerned in this, but - well, I have

how he can have been

never liked him - never?

'One other thing, madame, can you give me the address of

the child's nurse?'

·

don't imagine '

'149 lqetherall Road, Hammersmith. You

grey cells.

'Never do I imagine. Only - I employ the little

And sometimes, inst sometimes, I have a little idea.'

Poirot came back to me as the door dosed.

'So madame has never liked the butler. It is interesting, that,

eh, Hastings?'

I refused to be drawn. Poirot has deceived me so often that

I now go warily. There is always a catch somewhere.

After completing an elaborate outdoor toilet, we set off for

.4etherall Road. We were fortunate enough to find Miss Jessie

Withers at home·She was a pleasant-faced woman of thirty-five,

capable and superior. I could not believe that she could be

mixed up in the affair. She was bitterly resendul of the way she

had been dismissed, but admitted that she hsd been in the

wrong. She was engaged to be married to a painter and

decorator who happened to be in the neighbourhood, and she

229

had run out to meet him. The thing seemed natural eoug.

could not quite understand Poirot. All his questions

me quite irrelevant. They were concerned mainly v ith

daily murine of her life at Waverly Court. I was frankl bored

and glad when Poirot took his departure.

'Kidnapping is an easy job, mon am/,' he observed, as he

hailed a taxi in the Hammersmith Road and ordered it to drive

to Waterloo. 'That child could have been abducted with greatest ease any day for the last three years.'

'I don't see that that advances us much,' I remarked coldly. 'Au contraire, it advances us enormously, but enonnouslyt If

you must wear a tie pin, Hastings, at least let it be in the eyact

centre of your tie. At present it is at least a sixteenth of an inch

too much to the right.'

Waverly Court was a frae old place and had recently been

restored with taste and care. Mx Waverly showed us the

council chamber, the terrace, and all the various spots

'connected with the case. Finally, at Poirot's request, he pressed

a spring in the wall, a panel slid aside, and a short passage led

us into the priest's hole.

'You see,' said Waverly. 'There is nothing here.'

The tiny room was bare enough, there was not even the mark

of a footstep on the floor. I joined Poirot where he was bending

attentively over a mark in the corner.

'ghat do you make of this, my friend?'

There were four imprints dose together.

'A dog,' I cried.

'A very small dog, Hastings.'

'A Porn.'

'Smaller than a Porn.'

'A griffon?' I suggested doubtfully.

'Smaller even than a griffon. A species unknown to the

Kennel Club.'

I looked at him. His face was alight with excitement

satisfaction.

'I was right,' he murmured. 'I knew I was right. Come, Hastings.'

As we stepped out into the hall and the panel closed behind

230

a our lady came out of a door farther down the passage.

s ./,, resented her to us.

,Miss .onms.

thirty years of age, brisk .and alert in

Miss Collins was about

fair

rather dull hair, and wore pm. ce-nez.

.,saner. She had ,

----a into a small morning-room,

'" At poirOt'S request, we pa,,

· her closely as to the servants and particularly

¢ uesnoned

·

· the butler.

and h q . , o,.. oamitted that she did not like

aS tO Treclweu. of

'He gives himself airs,' she explained.

They then went into the question of the food eaten by Mrs

VsverlY on the night of the 28th. Miss Collins declared that

she had partaken of the same dishes upstairs in her sitting

ora

and had felt no ill effects. As she was departing I nudged

Poirot.

'The dog,' I whispered.

'Ah, yes, the dog!' He smiled broadly. 'Is there a dog kept

here by any chance, mademoiselle?'

'There arc two retrievers in the kennels outside.'

'No, I mean a small dog, a toy dog.'

'No - nothing of the kind.'

Poirot permitted her to depart. Then, pressing the hell, he

remarked to me, 'She lies, that Mademoiselle Collins. Possibly

I should, also, in her place, blow for the butler.'

Tredwell was a dignified individual. He told his story with

perfect aplomb, and it was essentially the same as that of Mr

Waverly. He admitted that he knew the secret of the priest's

hole.

When he finally withdrew, pontifical to the last, I met

Poirot's quizzical eyes.

.

'What do you make of it all, Hastings?

'What do you?' I parried.

'How cautious you become, blever, never will the grey cells

function unless you stimulate them. Ah, but I will not tease

you! Let us make our deductions together. What points strike

us specially as being difficult?'

I said. 'Why did the man

'There s one thing that strikes me;

instead of

who kidnapped the child go out by the south lodge

by the east lodge where no one would see him?'

231

'That is a very good point, ltastis, an excellent

match it with another. Why warn the Waverlys be '. 'and?

Why not simply kidnap the child and hold him to t

'Because they hoped to get the money without be:

to action.'

'Surely it was very unlikely that the money would be paid on

a mere threat?'

'Also they wanted to focus attention on twelve o'clock, so

that when the tramp man was seized, the other could emerge

from his hiding-place and get away with the child unnoticed.,

'That does not alter the fact that they were nmldng a thing

difficult that was perfectly easy. If they do not spe a time or

date, nothing would be easier than to wait their chance, ami

carry off the child in a motor one day when he is out with his

'Ye - es,' I admitted doubtfully.

'In fact, there is a deliberate playing of the farce! Now let us

'approach the question from another side. Everything goes to

show that there was an $ccomplice inside the house. Point

number one, the mysterious poisoning of Mrs Waverly. Point

number two, the letter pinned to the pillow. Point number

three, the putting on of the dock ten minutes - all inside jobs.

And an additional fact that you may not have noticed. There

was no dust in the priest's hole. It had been swept out with a

broom.

'Now then, we have four people in the house. We can

exclude the nurse, since she could not have swept out the

priest's hole, though she could have atteaxied to the other three

points. Four people, Mr and Mrs Waverly, Tredwell, the

butler, and Miss Collins. We will take Miss Collins fa-st. We

have nothing much against herd except that we know very little

about her, that she is obviously an intelligent young woman,

and that she has only been here a year.'

'She lied about the dog, you said,' I reminded him.

'Ah, yes, the dog.' Poirot gave a peculiar smL!e. 'Now let us

pass to Tredwell. There are several suspicious facts against

him. For one thing, the tramp declares that it was Tredwell

who gave him the parcel in the village.'

232

Ii can prove an alibi on that poem..

,0 . Trcdwe

' -ned Mrs waveny, pinned

-. he could have poso

· the pillo ,

mm a o

he , . the other hand, :

-,s,. last degree

priest s s,,-...On ' 't sems unlikely u,

the service of the wavenys. ·

.

·

,t he should co.nmve ,at the abductv of the son of the house

t is not in the ptcture'.

-- n?'

,Well, the ·

'We must proceed logically - however absurd it may see?.

We will briefly consider Mrs Waverly. But she is rich, the

snoneY is hers. It is her money which has ttored this

inapoverished estate. There would he no tnmson for her to

kidnap her son and pay over her money to herself. The

husband, no, is in a different position, lie has a rich wife. It is

as being rich himself- in fact I have a little

not the same thing

of parting with h¢£ money,

idea that the lady is not very fotld

except on a very good pretext. But 1 Waverly, you can see at

once, he is a eur.'

,impossible,' I spluttered.

'blot at all. Who sends away the servants} Mr Waverly. He

can write the notes, drug his wife, put on the hands of the c.,

and establish an excellent alibi for his faithful relmner

Tredwell. Tredwell has never liked Mrs Waverl¥. He is

devoted to his feaster and is willing to ohe¥ his orders

· it. Waverty, Tredwell,

implicitly. There were three of them m

and some friend of WaverlY. That is the mistake the police

made no further inquiries about the maxi who drove

made, they

it. lie was the third nn.

car with the wrong child i. -- -'th tlax curls.

the grey

. . ·

e nea Iy, a 10oy'm

He ctrives tn u,,,----

wavi his hand and

south lodge just at the right moment,

face or the number of the cat' s°

·

e cannot see the child's

obviously th Y. s.,,

a

false trail to Lonaon. ·u u mes to be delivered by a

in arranging for the parcel and note . ··

part man

His master can provide

ronghlootang

gen..c- ' - him, in spt

the unlikely

?se.or the for Mr WaverlY, as soon as the

false moustache

ne wore. r,., ,,

233

qh.byalo?,oc?rs outside, and the ins or ...

runes th .t,a :--t . - pect rushes oK,

Later in the cl,, ... ..... P t s hole, follows him ....

is v,t

--, wacn me inspector is ione ar

,:., 7

,c-, ?' wm we

easy enough to drive ;, 'But

what about the dog?' I asked. 'And Miss Collins lyiag.,

'That

was my little joke. I asked her if there were any toy

dogs in the house, and she said no - but doubtless there

.some - in the nursery! You see, Mr Waverly placed

some toys

m the priest's hole to keep ]ohnnie amused and quiet.'

'M. Po/rot - ' Mr Waverly entered the room - 'have

you

discovered

anyth/ng? Have you any clue to where the boy has

been taken?'

Poirot handed Mm a

piece of paper. 'Here is the address.,

'But this is

a blank sheet.'

'Because I am waiting

for

you to write

it

down

for

..What the -' Mr Waverly's face

turned me.'

I lnow eve . . purple.

rything, monsieur. I

gve you twenty-four hours

to return

the boy. Your ingenuity will be equal

to the task of

explaining his reappearance. Otherw/se, Mrs Waverly will be

informed

of the exact sequence of events.'

Mr Waverly sank down in a chair

and bur/ed Ms if

ce in h/s

hands. 'He is with my old nurse, ten m/les away. He is

happy

and well cared for.'

'I have no doubt of that. iF i did not

believe you to

be a good

father at heart, I should not be

to g/ye you another

chance. '

'The scandal ,

'Exactly.

Your name is an old and honoured one. Do not

jeopardize

it

agaha.

C

ood

evening,

Mr

Waverly.

Ah,

by

the

way,

one word

of

advice.

Always

sweep

in

the

coruera!'

THE KING OF CLUBS

'Truth,' I observed, hying aside the Daily Newsmonger, 'i

stranger than fiction!'

The remark was not, perhaps, an original one. It appeared t,

lincense my friend. Tilting his egg-shaped head on one side, th,

ittle man carefully flied an imaginary fleck of dust from hh

U'carefully creased trousers, and observed: 'How profound

What a thinker is my friend Hastings!'

Without displaying any annoyance at this quite uncailed-fo

gibe, I tapped the sheet I had laid aside.

'You've read this morning's paper?'

'I have. And after reading it, I folded it anew symmetrically

I did not cast it on the floor as you have done, with your sc

lamentable absence of order and method.'

(That is the worst of Poirot. Order and Method are his gods

He goes so far as to attribute all his success to them.)

'Then you saw the account of the murder of Hem3

Reedburn, the impresario? It was that which prompted m

remark. Not only is truth stranger than fiction - it is mor

dramatic. Think of that solid middle-class English family, the

Oglanders. Father. and mother, son and daughter, typical of

thousands of families all over this country. The men of the

family go to the city every day; the women look after the house.

Their lives are perfectly peaceful, and utterly monotonous.

Last night they were sitting in their neat suburban drawing-room

at Daisymead, Streatham, playing bridge. Suddenly,

without any warning, the french window bursts open, and a

woman staggers into the room. Her grey satin frock is marked

with a crimson stain. She utters one word, "Murder!" before

she sinks to the ground insensible. It is possible that they

recognize her from her pictures as Valerie Saintclair, the

famous dancer who has lately take London by storm!'

235

'Is this your eloquence, or that of the Daily

inquired Poirot.

'The Daily Newsmonger was in a hurry to go to press: and

contented itself with bare facts. But the dramatic possibides

of the story struck me at once.'

Poirot nodded thoughtfully. 'Wherever there is huan

nature, there is drama. But - it is not always just where ou

think it is. Remember that. Still, I too am interested in the t

since it is liky that I shall be connected with it.'

'Indeed?'

'Yes. A gentleman rang me up this morning, and made an

appointment with me on behalf of Prince Paul of Maurania.'

'But what has that to do with it?'

'You do not read your pretty little English scandal-papers.

The ones with the funny stories, and % little mouse has heard

- "or % little bird would like to know -" See here.'

I followed his short stubby finger along the paragraph:

- whether the foreign prince and the famous dancer are

really aff'mifies! And if the lady likes her new diamond ring!'

'And now to resume your so dramatic narratives' said Poirot.

'Mademoiselle Saintclair had just fainted on the drawing-room

carpet at Daisymead, you remember.'

I shrugged. 'As a result of Mademoiselle's first murmured

words when she came round, the two male Oglanders stepped

out, one to fetch a doctor to attend to the lady, who was

evidently suffering terribly from shock, and the other to the

police-station - whence after telling his story, he accompanied

the police to Mon Isir, Mr Reedbum's magxxificent villa,

which is situated at no great distance from Daisymead. There

they found the great man, who by the way suffers from

somewhat unsavoury reputation, lying in the library with the

back of his head cracked open like an eggshell.'

'I have cramped your style,' said Poirot kindly. 'Forgive me,

I pray... Ah, here is M. le Prince?

Our distinguished visitor was announced under the title of

Count Feodor. He was a strange-looking youth, tall, eager,

with a weak chin, the famous Mauranberg mouth, and the dark

fiery eyes of a fanatic.

236

'M. Poirot?'

My friend bowed.

'Monsieur, I am in terrible trouble, greater than I can well

express - '

'I

Poiro't waved his hand. comprehend your anxiety. Made.

moiselle Saintclair is a very dear friend, is it not so?'

The prince replied simply: 'I hope to make her my wife.'

Piorot sat up in his chair, and his eyes opened.

The prince continued: 'I should not be the first of my famib

to make a morganatic marriage. My brother Alexander has

defied the Emperor. We are living now in more enlightened

free from the old caste-prejudice. Besides, Mademoiselle

Saintclear, in actual fact, is quite my equal in rank. You have

heard hints as to her history?'

'There are many romantic stories of her origin - not an

uncommon thing with famous dancers. I have heard that she

the daughter of an Irish charwoman, also the story which

makes her mother a Russian grand duchess.'

'The first story is, of course, nonsense,' said the young man.

'But the second is true. Valerie, though bound to secrecy, ha

let me guess as much. Besides, she proves it unconsciously in a

thousand ways. I believe in heredity, M. Poirot.'

, 'I too believe in heredity,' said Poirot thoughtfully. 'I have

seen some strange things t connection with it - mo/qui

parle ... But to business, M. le Prince. What do you want of

me? What do you fear? I may speak freely, may I not? Is there

anything to connect Mademoiselle Saintclair with the crime?

She knew Reedburn of course?'

'Yes. He professed to be m love with h .

'And she?'

'She would have nothing to say to him.'

Poirot looked at him keenly. 'Had she any reason to fear

him?'

The young man hesitated. 'There was an incident. You

know Zara, the clairvoyant?'

'She is wonderful. You should consult her some time.

Valerie and I went to see her last week. She read the cards for

237

us. She spoke to Valerie of trouble - of gathering clouds; hen

she turned up the last card - the covering card, they call r. It

was the king of clubs. She said m Valerie: "Beware. Ther is

man who holds you in his power. You fear him - you a,

great danger through him. You know whom I mean?"

was white to the lips. She nodded and said: "Yes, yes, I knt ,.,, Shortly afterwards.we left. Eara's last words to Valerie . :e'

· woma tell me nothi - assured

that all was well. But now, after last night, I am more sure tan

ever that in the king of clubs Valerie saw Reedbum, and tha:

was the man she feared.' . e

The Prince paused abruptly. 'Now you understand my

agitation when I opened the paper this morning. Supposing

Valerie, in a fit of madness - oh, it is impossible!'

Poirot rose from his seat, and patted the young man kindly

on the shoulder.

it in my hands.' 'Do not distress yourself, I beg of you. Leave

'You will go to $treatham? I gather she is still there, at

Daisyraead - prostrated bY the shock.'

'I will go at once.'

'I have arranged matters - through the embassy. You will be

allowed access everywhere.,

'Then we will depart

Au revoir, M. le Prince."' Hastings, you will accompany me?

Mon IXsir was an exceptionally £me villa, thoroughly moden

and comfortable. A short carriage-drive led up to it from the

road, and beautiful gardens extended behind the house for SOFtie acres.

On mentioning Prince Paul's name, the butler who answered

the door at once took us to the scene of the tragedy. The library

was a magnificent room, running from back to front of the

whole building, with a window at either end one giving on the

front carriage-drive, and the other on the garden. It was in the

recess of the latter that the body had lain. It had been removed

not long before, the police having concluded their examination.

238

'That is annoying,' I murmured to Poirot. 'Who knows what

clues they may have destroyed?'

My little friend smiled. 'Eh - Eh! How often must I tell you

that clues come from ithin? In the little grey ceils of the brain

lies the solution of every mystery.'

He turned to the butler. 'I suppose, except for the removal

of the body, the room has not been touched?'

'No, sir. It's just as it was when the police came up last

night.'

'These curtains, now. I see they pull right across the wi.dow

recess. They are the same in the other window. Were they

drawn last night?'

'Yes, sir, I draw them every night.'

'Then Reedburn must have drawn them back himse. '

'I suppose so, sir.'

'Did you know your master expected a visitor last night?'

'He did not say so, sir. But he gave orders he was not to be

disturbed after dinner. You see, sir, there is a door leading out

of the library on to the terrace at the side of the house. He could

have admitted anyone that way.'

I? 'Was he in the habit of doing that?'

[: The butler coughed discreetly. 'I believe so, sir.'

t;' Poirot strode to the door in question. It was unlocked. He

stepped through it on to the terrace which joined the drive on

the right; on the left it led up to a red brick wall.

'The fruit garden, sir. There is a door leading into it farther

along, but it was always locked at six o'clock.'

Poirot nodded, and re-entered the library, the butler

following.

'Did you hear nothing of last night's events?'

'Well, sir, we heard voices in the librm3b a little before nine.

But that wasn't .unusual, especially being a lady's voice. But of

course, once we were all in the servants' ha!l, right the other

side, we didn't hear anything at all. And then, about eleven

o'clock, the police came.'

'How many voices did you hear?'

'I couldn't say, sir. I only noticed the lady's.'

'Ah!'

239

'I beg pardon, sir, but Dr Ryan is still in the house, if

would care to see him.'

We jumped at the suggestion, and in a few minutes h¢

doctor, a cheery, middle-aged man, joined us, and gave

all the information he required. Reedburn had been lying ::ear the window, his head by the marble window-seat. There were

two wounds, one between the eyes, and the other, the fatal one,

on the back of the head.

'He was lying on his back?'

'Yes. There is the mark.' He pointed to a small clark stain on

the floor..

'Could not the blow on the back of the head have been

caused by his striking the floor?'

'Impossible. Whatever the weapon was, it penetrated some

distance into the skull.'

Poirot looked thoughtfully in front of him. In the embrasure

of each window was a carved marble seat, the arms being

fashioned in the form of a lion's head. A light came into Poirot's

eyes. 'Supposing he had fallen backwards on this projecting

lion's head, and slipped from there to the ground. Would not

that cause a wound such as you describe?'

'Yes, it would. But the angle at which be was lying makes

that theory impossible. And besides there could not fail to be

traces of blood on the marble of the seat.'

'Unless they were washed away?'

The doctor shrugged his shoulders. 'That is hardly likely.

would be to no one's advantage to give an accident

appearance of murder.'

'Quite so,' acquiesced Poirot. 'Could either of the blm,

have been struck by a woman, do you think?'

'Oh, quite out of the question, I should say. You are thinkix

of Mademoiselle Saintclair, I suppose?'

'I think of no one in particular until I tm sure,' said P0in

gently.

He turned his attention to the open french window, d the

doctor continued:

'It is through here that Mademoiselle Sfintdair fled. You

can just catch a glimpse of Daisymel between the trees. Of

24O

course, there are many houses nearer to the front of house

on the road, but as it happens, Daisymead, though some

distance away, is the only house visible this side.'

'Thank you for your amiability, Doctor,' said Poirnt. 'Come,

we will follow the footsteps of Mademoiselle.'

Poirot led the way down through the garden, out through an

iron gate, across a short stretch of green and in through the

garden gate of Daisymead, which was an unpretentious little

house in about half an acre of grotmd. There was a small flight

of steps leading up to a french window. Poirot nodded in their

direction.

'That is the way Mademoiselle Saintclair went. For us, who

not her urgency to plead, it will be better to go round to

be front door.'

A maid admitted us and took us into the drawing-room, then

went in search of Mrs Oglander. The room had evidently not

been touched since the night before. The ashes were still in the

grate, and the bridge-table was still in the centre of the room,

with a dummy exposed, and the hands thrown down. The place

was somewhat overloaded with gimcrack ornaments, and a

good many family portraits of surpassing ugliness adorned the

walls.

Poirot gazed at them more leniently than I did,

straightened one or two that were han a shade askew. 'La farnille, it is a strong tie, is it not? Sentiment, it takes the place

of beauty.'

I agreed, my eyes being fLxed on a family group comprising

a gentleman with whiskers, a lady with a high 'front' of hair, a

solid, thick-set boy, and two little girls tied up with a good

many unnecessary bows of ribbon. I took this to be the

Oglander family in earlier days, and studied it with interest.

The door opened, and a young woman came in. Her dark

hair was neatly arranged, and she wore a drab-coloured

sportscoat and a tweed skirt.

She looked at us inquiringly. Poirot stepped forward. 'Miss

Oglander? I regret to derange you - especially after all you have

241

been through. The whole affair must have been most

disturbing.'

'It has been rather upsetting,' admitted the young lady

1. to any tragedy. I was confirmed in this -:- .se

cn;aaCl S Sll

continued: 'I must apolog for the state this room is .

Servants get so foolishly excited.'

'It was here that you were sitting last night, n'est-ce pas?'

'Yes, we were playing bridge after supper, when '

'Excuse me - how long had you been playing?'

'Well - ' Miss Oglander considered. 'I really can't say. I

suppose it must have been about ten o'clock. We had had

several rubbers, I know.'

'And you yourself were sitting - where?'

'Facing the window. I was playing with my mother and had

gone one no trump. Suddenly, without any warning, the

window burst open, and Miss Saintclair staggered .into the room.'

'You recognized her?'

'I had a vague idea her face was familiar.'

'She is still here, is she not?'

'Yes, but she refuses to see anyone. She is still quite

prostrated.'

'I think she will see me. Will you tell her that I am here at the

express request of Prince Paul of Maurania?'

I fancied that the mention of'a royal prince rather shook

Miss Oglander's imperturbable calm. But she left the room on

her errand without any further remark, and returned almost

immediately to say that Mademoiselle Saintclair would see us

in her room.

We followed her upstairs, and into a fair-sized light

bedroom. On a couch, by the window a woman was lying who

turned her head as we entered. The contrast between the two

women struck me at once, the more so as in actual features and

colouring they were not unalike - but oh, the difference! Not a

look, not a gesture of Valerie Saintclair's but expressed drama.

She seemed to exhale an atmosphere of romance. A scarlet

242

flannel dressing-gown covered her feet - a homely garment in

all conscience; but the charm of her personality invested it with

a exotic fiavour, and it seemed an Eastern robe of glowing

colour.

Her large dark eyes fastened themselves on Poirot.

'You come from Paul?' Her voice matched her appeanmce it

was full and languid.

es, mademoiselle. I am here to serve him - and you.'

'What do you want to know?'

'Everything that happened last night. But everything? She smiled rather wearily.

Do you think I should lie? I am not stupid. I see well

enough that there can be no concealment. He held a secret of

mine, that man who is dead. He threatened me with it. For

!ul's sake, I endeavoured to make terms with him. I could not

risk losing Paul... Now that he is dead, I am safe. But for all That , I did not kill him.'

Poirot shook his head with a smile. 'It is not necessary to tell

me that, mademoiselle. Now recount to me what happened last

.Right?

'I offered him money. He appeared to be willing to treat with

me. He appointed last night at nine o'clock. I was to go to Mon

Dsir. I knew the place; I had been there before. I was to go

round to the side door into the library, so that the servants

should not see me.

'Excuse me, mademoiselle, but were you not afraid to trust

yourself alone there at night?'

Was it my fancy, or was there a momentary puse before she

answered?

'Perhaps I was. But you see, there was no one I could ask to

go with me. And I was desperate. Reedburn admitted me to the

library. Oh, that man! I am glad he is dead! He played with me,

as a cat does with a mouse. He taunted me. I begged and

implored him on my knees. I offered him eved jewel I have.

All in vain! Then he named his own terms. Perhaps you can

guess what they were. I refused. I told him what I thought of

him. I raved at him. He remained calmly smiling. And then, as

I fell to silence at last, there was a sound - from behind the

243

curtain in the winciow ... He heard it too. He stro to the

curtains and flung them wide aprt. There was a ma,, there,

hiding - a dreadful-looking man, a son of tramp. He !truck at

Mr Reedburn - then he struck again, and he went do,l. The

tramp clutched at me with his bloodstained hand. I toznyself

free, slipped through the window, and ran formy life en I

perceived the lights in this house, and made for the,,. The

blinds were up, and I saw some people playing bridge.

fell into the room. I just managed to gasp out "Murd-;!" and

then everything went black '

'Thank you, Mademoiselle. It must have been a great shock

to your nervous system. As to this tramp, could you describe

him? Do you remember what he was wearing?'

'No - it was all so quick. But I should know the man

anywhere. His face is burnt in on my brain.'

'Just one more question, mademoiselle. The curtains of the other window, the one giving on the drive, were they drawn?'

For the first time a puzzled expression crept over the

dancer's face. She seemed to be trying to remember.

'Eh bien, mademohelle?'

'I think - I am almost sure - yes, quite sure! They were not

drawn.'

'That is curious, since the other ones were. No matter. It is,

I dare say, of no great imporumce. You are remaining here

long, mademoiselle?'

'The doctor thinks I shall be fit to return to town tomorrow.'

She looked round the room. Miss Ogiander had gone out.

'These people, they are very kind - but they are not of my

world. I shock them! And to me - well, I am not fond of the bourgeoisie!'

A faint note of bitterness underlay her words.

Poirot nodded. 'I understand. I hope I have not fatigued you

unduly with my questions?'

'Not at all, monsieur. I am only too anxious Paul should

know all as soon as possible.'

'Then I will wish you good day, mademoiselle.'

As Poirot was leaving the room, he paused, and pounced on

a pair of patent-leather slippers. 'Yours, mademoiselle?'

244

'yes, monsieur. They have just been cleaned and brought

aPAh!' said Poirot, ss we descended the stairs. 'It seems that

domestics are not too excited to clean shoes, though they

forgea grate. Well, mon am/, at fut rJaere appeared.to be one

or two points of interest, but I fear, I very muc fear, that wt

must regard the case as £mished. It all seema straightforward

'Kad the murderer?'

'Hcrcule Poirot does not hunt down traml,' rplled my

friead graadlloquently.

Miss Oglarder agt us in the hall. 'If you will wait in the

I

-drawing-room a miaute, Mamma would to spe to you.'

The room was still untouc3, and Poirot idly gatbeted up

the cards, shutlTu them with his tiny, fastidiously groomed

hands.

'Do you know what I thing, my friend?

'o?' I said eagerly.

'I thinl that Mias Oglaad made a mitake in going one no

trump. She should have gone three spades.'

'Poirot! You ae the limit.'

'Mon D/eu, I maot always be talifng blood and thunder!'

Suddenly he stiffned: 'Hastings - Hast/ng$. See! The 1lng

of clubs is missing from the pacX!'

'Zara? I cried.

'Eh?' he did not seem to umtersta my alluaion. Mec.ically

he stacked the cards and put them away in thei cas. I-

face was very grave.

'Hastings,' he said at last, 'I, Hercole Poirot, have come

to making a big mistake - a very big mistake.'

I gazed at him, impressed, but uterly uncomprhemling.

'We must begin again, Hastings. Yes, we must begin again.

But this time we shall tot err.'

He was interrupted by the enmmc of a hamlaome

middle-aged lady. She carri some bouaehold books in hex

hand. Poirot bowed to her.

245

'Do I understand, sir, that you are a friend of- er - Miss

Saintclair's?'

'I come from a friend of hers, madame.'

'Oh, I see. I thought perhaps -'

Poirot suddenly waved brusquely at the window.

'Your blinds were not pulled down last night?'

'No - I suppose that is why Miss Saintclair saw the light so

plainly.'

'There was moonlight last night. I wonder that you did not

see Mademoiselle Saintclair from your seat here facing the

windows?'

'I suppose we were engrossed with our game. Nothing like

this has ever happened before to us.'

'I can quite believe that, madame. And I will put your mind

at rest. Mademoiselle Saintclair is leaving tomorrow.'

'Oh!' The good lady's face cleared.

'And I will wish you good morning, madame.'

A servant was cleaning the steps as we went out of the front

door. Poirot addressed her.

'Was it you who cleaned the shoes of the young lady

upstairs?'

The maid shook her head. 'No, sir. I don't think they've

been cleaned.'

'Who cleaned them, then?' I inquired of Poirot, as we

walked down the road.

'Nobody. They did not need cleaning.'

'I grant that walking on the mad or path on. a fine night

would not soil them. But surely after going through the long

grass of the garden, they would have been soiled and stained.'

'Yes,' said Poirot with a curious smile. 'In that case, I agree,

they would have been stained.'

'But - '

'Have patience a little half-hour, my friend. We are going

back to Mon D6sir.'

The butler looked surprised at our reappearance, but offered

no objection to our returning to the library.

46

· 'Ii, that's the wrong window, Poirot,' I cried as he made for

¢ one overlool6ng the carriage-drive.

'I think not, my friend. See here.' He pointed to the marble

lion'S head. On it was a faint discoloured smear. He shifted his

pounds er and pointed to a similar sufin on the polished floor.

,Someone struck Reedbum a blow with his clenched fist

le, then slipped to the floor. Afterwards, he was

gaUSs the floor to the other window, and laid there instead, but

nC quite at the same angle, as the Doctor's evidence told us.'

:'But why? It seems utterly unnecessary.'

'On the contras, it was essential. Also, it is the k to the

murderer's identity - though, by the way, he had no intention

of killing Reedbum, and so it is hardly permissible to call him

a murderer. He must be a very strong man?

'Because of having dragged the body across the floor?'

, 'Not altogether. It has been an intcresfing case. I nearly

made an imbecile of myself, though.'

'Do you mean to say it is over, that you know everything?'

'Yes.'

A remembrance smote me. 'No,' I cried. 'There is one thing

you do not know!'

'And that?'

'You do not know where the missing king of clubs is!'

'Eh? Oh, that is droll! That is very droll, my friend.'

'Why?'

'Becziuse it is in my pocMt!' He drew it forth with a flourish.

'Oh!' I said, rather crestfallen. 'Where did you Fred it?

Here?'

'There was nothing sensational about it. It had simply not

been taken out with the other csrds, h was in the box.'

'H'm! All the same, it gave you an ides, didn't it?'

'Yes, my friend. I present my respects to His Majesty.'

'And to Msdsme Zsra!'

'Ah, yes - to the lady also.'

'Well, what are we going to do now?'

'We are going to return to town. But I must have s few words

with a certain lady at Daisymead f'mt.'

l

247

The same little maid opened the door to us.

'They're all at lunch now, sir - unless it's Miss Saintclair you

want to see, and she's resting.'

'It will do if I can see Mrs Oglapxier for a few minutes. Will

you tell her?'

We were led into the ch-awing-room to wait. I had a glimp

of the family in the dining-room as we passed, now reinforced

by the presence of two heavy, solid-looking men, one with a

moustache, the other with a beard also.

In a few minutes Mrs Oglander came into the room, looking

inquiringly at Poirot, who bowed.

'Madame, we, in our country, have a great tenderness, a

great respect for the mother. The nre de famille, she is everything!'

Mrs Oglander looked rather astonished at this opening.

'It is for that reason that I have come - to allay a mother's

anxiety. The murderer of Mr Reedbum will not be discovered.

Have no fear. I, Hercule Poirot, tell you so. I am fight, am I

not? Or is it a wife that I must reassure?'

There was a moment's pause. Mrs Oglander seemed

searching Poirot with her eyes. At last she said quietly: 'I don't

know how you know - but yes, you are right.'

Poirot nodded gravely. 'That is zll, madame. But do not be

uneasy. Your English policemen have not the eyes of Hercuie

Poirot.' He tapped the family portrait on the wall with his

fingernail.

'You had another daughter once. She is dead, madame?'

Again there was a pause, as she searched him with her eyes.

Then she answered: 'Yes, she is dead.'

'Ah!' said Poirot briskly. 'Well, we must return to town. You

permit that I return the king of clubs to the psck? It was your

only slip. You understand, to have played bridge for im hour or

so, with only fifty-one cards - well, no one who knows anything

of the game would credit it for a minute! Bonjour!'

'And now, my friend,' said Poirot as we stepped towards the

.station, 'you see it all!'

'I see nothing! Who killed Reedburn?'

'John Oglander, Junior. I was not quite sure if it was the

. der or the son, but I fixed on the son as being the stronger

d you,gec of the two. It had to be one of them, because of the

,Tere were four exits from the library - two doors, two

evidently only one would do. Three exits gave .on

..Mows; but

.. -r ,,oodv had to occur in

w,,. -'

Ctl¥or mo, lrcc'uy. · -,- --=-a ,

: the

front, dire.

,o it annear that Valcric

came to Daisyme Y

'

'

ad John Oglander carried her across over his shoulders. That

is why I said he must be a strong man.'

'Did they go there together, then?'

·

'Y es. You remember Valerie' s hesitation when I asked her if

. i afraid to go aloneJohn Oglander went with htr -

lshcw, as ,n.i , :---ore Reecibum's temper, I fa.cy.. ,Tbe. Y-

which

dian t mF

.

'

,

the bridge

'

But why

' - -'---ers A simple thing like that

'Bridge presupposes roux pa,·

·alot of conviction. Who would have supposed .tha-tere

carnes · --;- :.- that room all the evenmge

had been onty truce pcot,-. , I

was s611 puzzled.

'There's one thing I don't understand. aat have the

Oglanders to do with the dancer Valerie Saintclair?'

'Ah, that I wonder you did not see. And yet you looked long

Oelandcr's other daughter may. oe.-:-ur,,

wrld knows her as Valerie saintclatr:

'Wtt?'

'Did you not e the resemblance the moment you w the

to sister together?'

'No,' I confessed. 'I only thought how e. xtordinarily

dissimilar they we ·

'That is because your mind is so open to external romantic

impressions, my dear l-Iating. The features re almost

identical. So is the olouring. The interesting thing ia tlt

Valerie is ashamed of her f--mily, and her family is aah-m of

her. Nevertheless, in a moment of peril, she turned to her

249

brother for help, and when things went wrong, they all hung

together in a remarkable way. Family strength is a mamellous

thing. They can aH act, that family. That is where Valefie gets

her histrionic talent from. I, like Prince Paul, believe in

heredity! They deceived me! But for a lucky accident, and test

question to Mrs Oglander by which I got her to contradict her

daughter's account of how they were sitting, the Oglander

family would have put a defeat on Hercule Poirot.'

'What shall you tell the Prince?'

'That Valerie could not possibly have committed the crime,

and that I doubt if that tramp will ever be found. Also, to

convey my compliments to Zara. A curious coincidence, that!

I think I shall call this little affair the Adventure of the King of

Clubs. What do you think, my friend?'

250

THE ADVENTURE OF THE CLAPHAM COOK

At the time that I was sharing rooms with my friend Hercule

Poirot, it was my custom to read aloud to him the headlines in

the morning newspaper, the Daily Blare.

The Daily Blare was a paper that made the most of any

opportunity for sensationalism. Robberies and murders did

not lurk obscurely in its back pages. Instead they hit you in the

eye in large type on the front page.

ABSCONDING BANK CLERK DISAPPEARS WITH FIFTY THOUSAND

POUNDS' WORTH OF NEGOTIABIE SECURITIES) I read.

HUSBAND PUTS HIS HEAD IN GAS-OVEN. UNHAPPY HOME

LIFE. MISSING TYPIST. PREIFY GIRL OF TWENTY-ONE. WHERE

IS EDNA FIELD?

'There you are, Poirot, plenty to choose from. An absconding

bank clerk, a mysterious suidde, a missing typist - which

will you have?'

My friend was in a placid mood. He quietly shook his head.

'I am not greatly attracted to any of them, mon am/. Today I

feel inclined for the life of ease. It would have to be a very

interesting problem to tempt me from my chair. See you, I

have affairs of importance of my own to attend m.'

'Such as?'

'My wardrobe, Hastings. If I mistake not, there is on my

new grey suit the spot of grease - only the unique spot, but it is ,ufficient to trouble me. Then there is my winter overcoat I

must lay him aside in the powder of Keatin. And I think yes,

I think - the moment is ripe for the trimmings of my

moustaches - and afterwards I must apply the pomade.'

'Well,' I said, strolling to the window, 'I doubt if you'll be

able to carry out this delirious programme. That was a ring at

the bell. You have a diem.'

251

'Unless the affair is one of national importance,

not,' declared Poirot with dignity.

I touch it

A moment later our privacy was invaded by a stout

lady who panted audibly as a result of her ran:J

aced

stairs.

,pau aSCent of the

'You're M. Poirot?' she demanded, as she sank into chair.

'I am Hercule Poirot, yes, madame.,

a

'.You.'.re not a bit lie whatI thought,,,., ,.-, .

eyem-g him with some disfavour ,,A."."-u--°? S.d the

paper saying what a clever ---' · ",,u ly tot the bit in

it in themselves?'

,-, u=tccuve you were, or did they

'Madame!' said Poirot, drawing himself up.

'I'm sorry, I'm sure, but you know what these papers are

nowadays. You begin reading a nice micle "What a bride Said

to he.r plain unmarried friend", and it's al/about- :

you buy at the chemist's arid sl,

a

.npie

but puff. But no offence taken I hope? I'll

tell you what I want

you to do for me. I want

you to f'md my cook.'

Poirot stared at her; for once his

ready tongue failed him. I

turned aside to hide the broadening

smile I could not control.

'It's all this wicked dole,'

continued the lady. 'Putting ideas

into servants' heads, wanting to be

typists and what nots. Stop

the dole, that's what I say. I'd li

e to know what my sen'ants

have to complain of

- afternoon and evening off a week,

alternate Sundays, washing put out,

same food as we have - and

never a bit of margarine in

the

house, nothing but the very best

butter.'

She paused for

want of breath and Poirot seized his

opportunity. He spoke

in his haughtiest manner, rising

to

his

feet as he did so. .

'I fear you are making

a mistake, madame. I am not holding an inquiry into the conditions

of domestic

service. I am a private detective.'

'I know that,' said our visitor. 'Didn't

I tell you I wanted you to find my cook for me?

Walked out of the house on Wednesday, without so much as a

word

to

me,

and

never

came

back.'

252

'I am sorry, madame, but I do not touch this particular find

of business. I wish you good morning.'

Our visitor snorted with indignation.

'That's it, is it, my frae fellow? Too proud, eh? Only deal

with Government secrets and countesses' jewels? Let mee tell

you a servant's every bit as important as a tiara to a woro. am in

my position. We can't all be fine ladies going out in our motors

with our diamonds and our pearls. A good cook's a good ook - and when you lose her, it's as much to you as her pearl are

to some time lady.'

For a moment or two it appeared to be a toss up bet,,een

Poirot's dignity and his sense of humour. Finally he laughed

and sat down again.

'Madame, you are in the right, and I am in the wrong. ?srour

remarks are just and intelligent. This case will be a novelty.

Never yet have I hunted a missing domestic. Truly here i- s the

.problem of national importance that I was demanding of fate just before your arrival. En avant! You say this jewelofa cook

went out on Wednesday and did not return. That is the day

before yesterday.'

i! 'Yes, it was her day out.'

'But probably, madame, she has met with some acciient.

Have you inquired at any of the hospitals?'

'That's exactly what I thought yesterday, but this motoring,

if you please, she sent for her box. And not so much as a Ii-ne to

me! If I'd been at home, I'd not have let it go - treating m-e like

that! But I'd just stepped out to the butcher.'

'Will you describe her to me?'

'She was middle.-aged, stout, black hair turning grey - most

respectable. She'd been ten years in her last place. Eliza lunn,

her name was.'

'And you had had - no disagreement with her oz' the

Wednesday?'

'None whatsoever. That's what makes it all so queer.'

'How many servants do you keep, madame?'

'Two. The house-parlourmaid, Annie, is a very nice -irl. A

bit forgetful and her head full of young men, but a good servant

if you keep her up to her work.'

253

'Did'she and the cook get on well logether?'

'They had their ups and downs, of course - but on t'r:

very well.'

'And the girl can throw no light on the mystery?'

'She says not o but you know what servants are - they 11

hang together.'

'Well, well, we must look into this. Where did you say you

resided, madame?'

'At Clapham; 88 Prince Albert Road.'

'B/m, madame, I will wish you good morning, and you may could upon seeing me at your residence during the course of

the day.'

Mrs Todd, for such was our new friend's name, then

her departure. Poirot looked at me somewhat ruefully.

'Well, well, Hastings, this is a novel affair that we have here,

The Disappearance of the Clapham Cook! Never, never, must

our friend Inspector Japp get to hear of this!'

He then proceeded to heat an iron ava carefully remove¢i

grease spot from his grey suit by means of a piece of blomag-paper.

His moustaches he regretfully postpov, ed to another

day, and we set out for Clapham.

Prince Albert Road proved to be a street of small prim

houses, all exactly alike, with neat lace curtains re'fling the

windows, and well-polished brass knockers on the doors.

We rang the bell at No. 88, and the door was opened by a

neat maid with a pretty face. Mrs Todd crone out in the hall to

greet us.

'Don't go, Annie,' she cried. 'This genflenmn's a detective

and he'll want to ask you some questions.' '

Annie's face displayed a struggle between alarm and a

'leasurable excitement.

'I thank you, madame,' said Poirot bowing. 'I would like to

question your maid now - and to see her alone, if I may.'

We were shown into a small drawing-room, and when Mrs

Todd, with obvious reluctance, had left the room, Poirot

commenced his cross-examination.

'Voyons, MademoiSelle Ann/e, all that you shall tell us will be

254

im trance. You alone can shed any light on the

fthe greatest po

v.- . assistance

1 am u, ,.,,------.

.

.

case. Wtt Y c

--- ,,, oirl's face and the pleasuramc

The alarm vamsn

excitement became more strongly marked.

'I'm sure, sir,' she said 'I'll tell you anything I can.'

'That is good.' Poirot beamed approval on her. 'Now, first of

all what is your own idea? You are a girl of remarkable

telligence. That can be seen at once! What is your own

explanation of FAi's disappearance?'

Thus encouraged, Annie fairly flowed into excited speech.

'White slavers, sir, I've said so all alongt Cook was always

warning me against them. "Don't you sniff no scent, or est any

sweets - no matter how gentlemanly the fellow!" Those were

her words to me. And now they've got her! I'm sure of it. As

likely as not, she's been shipped to Turkey or one of them

Eastern places where I've heard they like them fat?

Poirot preserved an admirable gravity.

'But in that case - and it is indeed an idea! - would she have

sent roi her trunk?'

'Well, I don't know, sir. She'd want her things - even in

those foreign places.'

'Who came for the mmic - a man?'

'It was Carter Paterson, sir.'

'Did you pack it?'

'Nb, sir, it was already packed and corded.'

'Ah! That's interesting. That shows that when she left the

house on Wednesday, she had already determined not to

return. You see that do you not?'

'Yes, sir.' Annie looked slightly taken aback. 'I hadn't

thought of that. But it might still have been white slaver,

mighm't it, sir? she added wistfully.

'Undoubtedly? said Poirot gravely. He went on: 'Did you

both occupy the same bedroom?'

'No, sir, we had separate rooms.'

'And had Eliza expressed any dissatisfaction with her

present post to you at all? Were you both happy here?'

'She'd never mentioned leaving. The place is all right -' The

girl hesitated. 255

'Speak freely,' said Poirot kindly. 'I shall not our StSS.'

'Well, of course, sir, she's a caution, .Missus is. But t ocl's

good. Plenty of it, and no stinting. Something hot for su:per,

good outings, and as much frying-fat as you like. And anyway,

if Eliza did want to make a change, she'd never have gone off

this way, I'm sure. She'd have stayed her month. Why, Missus

could have a month's wages out of her for doing this!'

'And the work, it is not too hard?'

'Well, she's particular - always poking round in cornen and

looking for dust. And then there's the lodger, or paying guest

as he's always called. But that's only breakfast and dinner, same

as Master. They're out all day in the City.'

'You like your master?'

'He's all right - very quiet and a bit on the stingy side.'

'You can't remember, I suppose, the last thing Eliza said

before she went out?'

'Yes, I can. "If there's any stewed peaches over from The

dining-room," she says, "we'll have them for supper, and a bit

of bacon and some fried potatoes." Mad over stewed peaches,

she was. I shouldn't wonder if they didn't g her that way.'

'Was Wednesday her regular day out?'

'Yes, she had Wednesdays spa I had Thursdays.'

Poirot asked a few more questions, then declared himself

satisfied. Annie departed, and Mrs Todd hurried in, her face

alight with curiosity. She had, I felt certain, bitxerly resented

her exclusion from the room during our conversation with

Annie. Poirot, however, was careful to soothe her feelings

tactfully.

It is difficult,' he explained, 'for s woman of exceptional

iatclligence such as yourself, madame, to bear padendy the

roundabout me, ods we poor detectives arc forced to use. To

have patience with stupidity is difficult for the quick-witted.'

Having thus charmed away any Ut-de resentment on Mrs

Todd's part, he brought the conversation round to her husband

and elicited the information that he worked with a fu'm in the

City and would not be home until after six.

256

,Doubtless

he is very disturbed and won4i by this

..business, eh? Is it not so?'

'lie's never worried; dec. lmeed Mrs Todd.' "Well, well, get

nother. my dear." That's all h said! lie's so calm that it drives

llle lo distraction solnetillles. " ungrateful womsll," he said.

"We are well rid of her."'

'What about the other inmates of the house, madame?'

'You mean Mr Simpson, our paying guest? Well, as long as

he gets his brealffast and his evening meal all right, h doem't worry.'

'What is his profession, madame?'

'He works in a bank.' She mentioned its name, ami I started

lightly, remembering my perusal of the Daily Blare.

'A young man?'

,Twenty-eight, I believe, lqice quiet young fellow.'

'I should like to have a few words with him, and also with

your husband, if I may. I will return for that putlx this

evening. I venture to suggest that you should repose your a

little, madame, you look fatigued.'

'I should just think I am! First the worry about Eliza, and

then I was at the sales practically all yesterday, and you gnow

what that is, M. Poirot, and what with one thing and another

and a lot to do in the house, because of course Annie can't do

it all - and very likely she'll give notice anyway, being unsettled

in this way - well, what with it all, I'm fired out!'

Poirot murmured sympatheticallY, .and we took our leave.

'It's a curious coincidence,' I said, 'but that absconding

clerk, Davis, was from the same bank as Simpson. Can there be

any connection, do you think?'

Poirot smiled.

'At the one end, a defaulting clerk, at the other a vanishing

cook. It is hard to see any relation between the two, unless

possibly Davis visited Simpson, fell in love .with the cook, and

·

--rsuaded her to accompany .him on his flight.

'I laughed. But Poirot remained grave,

reprovingly.

·

'He might have done worse,' he said

'Remember, Hastings, if you are going into exile, a good cook

may be of more comfort than a pretty face!' He paused for a

257

moment ahd then went on. 'It is a curious case, full of

contradictory features. I am interested - yes, I am distinctly

interested.'

That evening we returned to 88 Prince Albert Road and

interviewed both Todd and Simpson. The former was a

melancholy lantern-jawed man of forty-odd.

'Oh! Yes, yes,' he said vaguely. 'Eliza. Yes. A good cook, I

believe. And economical. I make a strong point of economy.,

'Can you imagine any reason for her leaving you so

suddenly?'

'Oh, well,' said Mr Todd vaguely. 'Servants, you know. My

wife worries too much. Worn out from always worrying. The

whole problem's quite simple really. "Get another, my der,"

I say. "Get another." That's all there is to it. No good crying

over spilt milk.'

Mr Simpson was equally unhelpful. He was a quiet

inconspicuous young man with spectacles.

'I must have seen her, I suppose,' he said. 'Elderly woman,

wasn't she? Of course, it's the other one I see always, Annie.

Nice girl. Very obliging.'

'Were those two on good terms with each other?'

so.Mr Simpson said he couldn't say, he was sure. He supposed

'Well, we get nothing of interest there, mon am/,' said Poirot

as we left the house. Our departure had been delayed by a burst

of vociferous repetition from Mrs Todd, Who repeated everything

she had said that morning at rather greater length.

'Are you disappointed?' I asked. 'Did you expect to hear

something?'

Poirot shook his head..

'There was a possibility, of course,' he said. 'But I hardly

thought it likely.'

The next development was a letter which Poirnt received on

the following morning. He read. it, turned purple with

indignation, and handed it to me.

Mrs Todd regrets that after all she will not avail herself

8

of Mr Poirot's services. After talking the matter over with

her husband she sees that it is foolish to call in a detective

about a purely domestic affair. Mrs Todd encloses a

guinea for consultation fee.

'Aha!' cried Poirot angrily. 'And they think to get rid of

Hercule Poirot like that! As a favour- a great favour - I consent

to investigate their miserable little twopeuny-halfpenny affair

o and they dismiss me comme la! Here, I mistake not, is the

hand of Mr Todd. But I say no! - thirty-six times no! I will

spend my own guineas, thirty-six hundred of them if need be,

but I will get to the bottom of this matter?

'Yes,' I said. 'But how?'

Poirot calmed down a little.

'D'abord,' he said, 'we will advertise in the papers. Let me

see - yes - something like this: "If Eliza Dunn will communicate

with this address, she will hear of something to her

'advantage.' Put it in all the papers you can think of, Hastings.

Then I will make some little inquiries of my own. Go, go - all

must be done as quickly as possible?

I did not see him again until the evening, when he

condescended to tell me what he had been doing.

'I have made inquiries at the firm of Mr Todd. He was not

absent on Wednesday, and he bears a good character - so much

for him. Then Simpson, on Thursday he was ill and did not

come to the bank, but he was there on Wednesday. He was

moderately friendly with Davis. Nothing out of the common.

There does not seem to be anything there. No. We must place

our reliance on the advertisement.'

The advertisement duly appeared in all the principal daily

papers. By Poirot's orders it was to be continued every day for

a week. His eagerness over this uninteresting matter of a

defaulting cook was extraordinary, but I realized that he

considered it a point of honour to persevere until he finally

succeeded. Several extremely interesting cases were brought to

him about this time, but he declined them all. Every morning

he would rush at his letters, scrutinize them earnestly and then

lay them down with a sigh.

259

But our patience was rewarded at last. On the

following Mrs Todd's visit, our landlady informed friar a

person of the name of Eliza Dunn had called.

'Enfin!' cried Poirot. 'But make her mount thenf At 'race.

Immediately.'

.

Thus admonished, our landlady hurried out and returned

moment or two later, ushering in Miss Duma. Our quarry was

much as described: tall, stout, and eminently respectable.

'I came in answer to the advertisement,, she explained.

thought there must be some muddle or other, and that perhaps

you didn't know I'd already got my legacy.'

Poirot was studying her attentively. He drew forward a cair

with a flourish.

'The truth of the matter is,' he explained, 'that your late

mistress, Mrs Todd, was much concerned about you. She

feared some accident might have befallen you.'

Eliza Dunn seemed very much surprised.

'Didn't she get my letter then?'

'She got no word of any kind.' He paused, and then said

persuasively: 'Recount to me the whole story, wi you not.)'

Eliza Dunn needed no encouragement. She plunged at once

into a lengthy narrative.

'I was just coming home on Wednesday night and had near!y

got to the house, when a gentleman stopped me. A tag

gentleman he was, with a beard and a big hat. "Miss ElV:a

Dunn?" he said. "Yes," I said. "I've been inquiring for you at

No. 88," he .said. "They told me I might meet you coming

along here. Miss Dunn, I have come from Australia specially to

find you. Do you happen to know th -

c

mmaen name oI your

maternal

grandmother? lane Emmott,"

I said. "Exactly,"

he said.

"Now, Miss Dunn, although you may never have

heard of

the fact, your grandmother had a great friend, El/za

Leech. This

friend ·

went

to

Australia where she married a very

wealthy

rtler. Her two children died in infancy, and she

'--' all her husband's property. She died a few months

It her will you inherit a house in

,

le sum of money."

figs country and a

258

,Id have knocked wp down with a feather,' con

t/hued Miss Duma. 'For a minute, I was suspicious, and he

must have seen it, for he smiled. "Quite right to be on your

guard, Miss Dunn," he said. "Here are my credentials." He

handed me a letter from some lawyers in Melbourne, Hurst

and Crotchet, and a card. He was Mr Crotchet. "There are one

or two conditions," he said. "Our client was a little eccentric,

you know. The bequest is conditional on your taking posses-sion

of the house (it is in Cumberland) before twelve o'clock

tomorrow. The other condition is of no importance - it is

merely a stipulation that you should not be in domestic

service." My face fell. "Oh, Mr Crotchet," I said. "I'm a cook.

Didn't they tell you at the house?" "Dear, dear," he said. "I

had no idea of such a thing. I thought you might possibly be a

companion or governess there. This is very unfortunate - very

unfortunate indeed."

' "Shall I have to lose all the money?" I said, anxious like. He'

thought for a minute or two. "There are always ways of getting

round the law, Miss Duma," he said at last. "We as lawyers

know that. The way out here is for you to have left your

employment this afternoon." "But my month?" I said. "My

dear Miss Durra,' he said with a smile. "You can leave an.

employer any minute by forfeiting a month's wages. Your

mistress will understand in view of the circum.tances. The

difficulty is time! It is/mperative that you should catch the 11.5

from King's Cross to the north. I can advance you ten pounds

or so for the fare, and you can write a note at the station to your

employer. I will take it to her myself and explain the whole

circumstances." I agreed, of course, and an hour later I was in

the train, so flustered that I didn't know whether I was on my

head or heels. Indeed by the time I got to Carlisle, I was half

inclined to think the whole thing was one of those confidence

tri 'cks you read about. But I went to the address he had given

me - solidtors they were, and it was all right. A nice little

house, and an income of tlu'ee hundred a year. These lawyers

knew very little, they'd just got a letter from a gentleman in

London instructing them to hand over the house to me and

150 pounds for the first six months. Mr Crotchet sent up my things

to me, but there was no word from Missus. I supposed she was

261

angry and grudged me my bit of luck. She kept back my box

too, and sent my clothes in paper parcels. But there, of coucs¢

if she never had my letter, she might think it a bit cool of me.'

Poirot had listened attentively to this long history. Now he

nodded his head as though completely satisfied.

'Thank you, mademoiselle. There had been, as you say, a

little muddle. Permit me to recompense you for your trouble.'

He handed her an envelope. 'You return to Cumberland

immediately? A little word in your ear. Do not forget h to

cook. It is always useful to have something to fall back upon in

'Credulous,' he murmured, as our visitor departed, 'but

perhaps not more than most of her cls.' His face grew grave.

'Come, Hastings, there is no time to be lost. Get a taxi while I

write a note to Japp.'

Poirot was waiting on the doorstep when I returned with e

taxi.

'Where are we going?' I asked anxiously.

'First, to despatch this note by spec/al .',

This was done, and re-entering the taxi Poirot gave the

address to the driver.

'Eighty-eight Prince Albert Road, Clapham.'

'So we are going there?'

'Mais oui. Though frankly I fear we shall be too late. Our

bird will have flown, Hastings.'

'Who is our bird?'

Poirot smiled.

'The inconspicuous Mr Simpson.'

'What?' I exclaimed.

'Oh, come now, Hastings, do not tell me that all is not dear

to you now?

'The cook --s got out of the Way, I realize that,' I said,

sI;'''

'But why? Why should Simpson wish to get

se? Did she know something about him?'

258

'No, my friend - something quite different.' He paused a and then said gravely: 'A battered tin trunk...'

I looked sideways at him. His statement seemed so fantastic

I suspected him of pulling my leg, but he was perfectly

i'$rave and serious.

'Surely he could buy a trunk if he wanted one,' I cried.

'He did not want a new trunk. He wanted a trunk of

pedigree. A trunk of assured respectability.'

'Look here, Poitot,' I cried, 'this really is a bit thick. You're

pulling my leg.'

He looked at me.

'You lack the brains and the imagination of Mr Simpson,

Hastings. See here: On Wednesday evening, Simpson decoys

away the cook. A printed card and a printed sheet of notepaper

are simple matters to obtain, and he is willing to pay £150 and

a year's house rem to assure the success of his plan. Miss Dunn

does not recognize him - the beard the hat and the slight

colonial accent completely deceive her. That is the end of

Wednesday - except for the trifling fact that Simpson has

helped himself to fty thousand pounds' worth of negotiable

securities.'

'Simpson - but it was Dads '

'If you will kindly permit me to continue, Hastings!

Simpson knows that the theft will be discovered on Thursday

afternoon. He does not go to the bank on Thursday, but he lies

in wait for Davis when he comes out to lunch, perhaps he

admits the theft and tells Davis he will return the securities to

him - anyhow he succeeds .in getting Davis to come to

Clapham with him. It is the maid's day out, and Mrs Todd was.

at the sales, so there is no one in the house. When the theft is

.discovered and Davis is missing, the implication will be

overwhelming. Davis is the thiefl Mr Simpsgn will be perfectly

safe, and can return to work on the morrow like the honest clerk

they think him.'

'And Davis?'

Poirot made an expressive gesture, and slowly shook his

head.

'It seems too cold-blooded to be believed, and yet what oe6;

explanation can there be, mon am/. The one difficulty for a

murderer is the disposal of the body - and Simpson had

planned that out beforehand. I was struck at once by the fact

that although Eliza Dunn obviously meant to return that night

when she went out (witness her remark about the stewed

peaches) yet her trunk vxt$ all ready tnzcked vahen they came for

it. It was Simpson who sent word to Carter Paterson to call on

Friday and it was Simpson who corded up the box on

Thursday afternoon. What suspicion could possibly arise? A

maid leaves and sends for her box, it is labelled and addressed

ready in her name, probably to a railway station within easy

reach of London. On Saturday afternoon, Simpson, in his

Australian disguise, claims it, he afl'utes a new label and address

and redespatches it somewhere else, again "to be left till called

for". When the authorities get suspicious, for excellent reasons,

and open it, all that can be elicited will be that a bearded

colonial despatched it from some junction near London. There

will be nothing to connect it with 88 Prince Albert Road. Ah!

Here we are.'

Poirot's prognostications had been correa. Simpson had left

days previously. But he was not to escape the consequences of

his crime. By the a/d of wireless, he was discovered on the Olympia, en route to America.

A tin trunk, addreai to Mr Henry Wintergreen, attracted

the attention of railway offidals at Glasgow. It was opened and

found to contain the body of the unfortunate Davis.

Mrs Todd's cheque for a guinea was never cashed. Instead

Poirot had it framed and hung on, the wall of our sitting-room.

'It is to me a little reminder, Hastings. Never to deapiae the

trivial - the undignified. A disappearing domestic at one end a

cold-blooded murder at the other. To me one of the most i,,y cases.'

258 '

ALSO BY AGATHA CHRISTIE

Murder in

Mesopotamia

Nurse Amy Leatheran had a most unusual patient.

Louise, according to her husband, celebrated

archaeologist Dr Leiclner, suffered from 'nervous

terror'. Her fantasies were vivid and horrifying: a

disembodied hand, a yellow, dead face pressed

against the window. Who or what did she fear?

At the site of a dig in the Iraqi desert, surely she was

safe from danger. Most of the expedition were old

colleagues and friends. Yet they seemed an unnatu-rally

formal group - there was tension, uneasiness

even, in the air. Something very sinister was going

on, and it involved ... murder.

258

ALSO BY AGATHA CHRISTIE

Ordeal by Innocence

The verdict is murder...

And while serving a life sentence for killing his

mother, Jacko Argyle dies. Two years later, a

stranger shatters the peace of the Argyle household.

Can Arthur Calgary provide the missing link in

Jacko's defence? Was ]acko sentenced for a murder

he didn't commit?

And if Jacko didn't murder his mother.., who did?

ALSO BY AGATHA CHRISTIE

The ABC Murders

A is for Andover - and Mrs Ascher battered to

death.

B is for Bexhill - and Betty Barnard is strangled.

C is for Sir Carmichael Clarke clubbed and killed.

Beside each body lay a copy of the ABC Railway

Guide - open at the relevant page. The police were

baffled. But the murderer had already made a grave

mistake. He had challenged Hercule Poirot to

unmask him...

'The acknowledged queen of detective fiction.'

OBSERVER

ALSO BY AGATHA CHRISTIE

Taken at

the Flood

Gordon Cloade is killed in an air-raid on London.

He has left no will and his vast fortune passes to his

young wife, Rosaleen.

But five other people have been promised a share in

that fortune - five people who desperately need the

money. Now it can only become theirs if Rosaleen

should happen to die before them.

There are five people with a strong motive for

murder and violent murder is committed.

But Rosaleen is not the victim.

'Miss Christie is a master of the art of the cosy

murder story told briskly, vivaciously, and with

ever-fertile imagination.'

MANCHESTER EVENING NEWS

ALSO BY AGATHA CHRISTIE

Elephants Can

Remember

Hercule Poirot stood on the cliff overlooking the

rocks below and the sea breaking against them.

Here, where he stood, the bodies of a husband and

wife had been found. Here, three weeks before that,

a woman had walked in her sleep and fallen to her

death.

Why had these things happened ... ?

'A classic example of the ingenious three-card trick

that she has been playing on us for so many years.'

SUNDAY EXPRESS

'Splendid ... she tells us all we want to know and

nothing that is irrelevant.'

THE TIMES

ALSO BY AGATHA CHRISTIE

The Seven

Dials Mystery

Seven clocks ticking ominously in a suicide's room

and a dying friend whose last words are 'seven dials'

lead dapper Jimmy Thesiger and his irrepressible

girlfriend to a Soho club.

There they learn of the Seven Dials Society: seven

masked conspirators who meet in a secret room to

talk about stealing scientific secrets - and plan the

next murder...

'Her gift is pure genius.'

OBSERVER

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desire?" -.w Yo. TMs HERCULE POIROT MYSTERIES --APPOINTMENT WITH DEATH --FIVE LITTLE PIGS (Also published as MURDER IN RETROSPECT) --LORD EDGWARE DIES 042E091.X/e.0

(Also published as THIRTEEN AT DINNER)

ELEPHANTS CAN REMEMBER

THE MURDER ON THE LINKS

--MURDER IN THE MEWS 0-426-1043HI/$E.99

(Also published as DEAD MAN'S MIRROR)

--THE WITNESS FOR THE PROSECUTION 04.0

AND OTHER STORIES

--CARDS ON THE TABLE

--ONE, TWO, BUCKLE MY SHOE

(Also published as THE PATRIOTIC MURDERS)

--MURDER IN MESOPOTAMIA 0425103633/$.0

--THREE ACT TRAGEDY o42r09180-r.o

(Also published as MURDER IN THREE ACTS)

...-TAKEN AT THE FLOOD

(Also published as THERE IS A TIDE...)

--THE UNDERDOG AND OTHER STORIES 0-42EiNiS080/$E.

--SAD CYPRESS O-42/$E.EO DUMB WITNESS

bllshed as POIROT LOSES A CLIENT. Pw'e u.s. fts. No ca aed. Pa;t & haxf $15 rme bmk, 75 fa'ch adk Maximum postage $5.50. Prices, postage md handing charges may change without notice. Amex, MasterCard cai 1-800-78&6262, ext. 1, or fa 1-201-932316; refer to ad # 194b Or,check above boolm Bill mlc. I'lsa rlMadarCan:l r'lAma--.(aq3j) and lend thll oder fomt to:

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