It was six o’clock at Pine Crest1. Hercule Poirot put a piece of sausage into his mouth and followedit up with a sip2 of tea. The tea was strong and to Poirot singularly unpalatable. The sausage, on theother hand, was delicious. Cooked to perfection. He looked with appreciation3 across the table towhere Mrs. McKay presided over the large brown teapot.
Elspeth McKay was as unlike her brother, Superintendent4 Spence, as she could be in every way.
Where he was broad, she was angular. Her sharp, thin face looked out on the world with shrewdappraisal. She was thin as a thread, yet there was a certain likeness5 between them. Mainly the eyesand the strongly marked line of the jaw6. Either of them, Poirot thought, could be relied upon forjudgement and good sense. They would express themselves differently, but that was all.
Superintendent Spence would express himself slowly and carefully as the result of due thoughtand deliberation. Mrs. McKay would pounce7, quick and sharp, like a cat upon a mouse.
“A lot depends,” said Poirot, “upon the character of this child. Joyce Reynolds. This is whatpuzzles me most.”
He looked inquiringly at Spence.
“You can’t go by me,” said Spence, “I’ve not lived here long enough. Better ask Elspeth.”
Poirot looked across the table, his eyebrows8 raised inquiringly. Mrs. McKay was sharp as usualin response.
“I’d say she was a proper little liar,” she said.
“Not a girl whom you’d trust and believe what she said?”
Elspeth shook her head decidedly.
“No, indeed. Tell a tall tale, she would, and tell it well, mind you. But I’d never believe her.”
“Tell it with the object of showing off?”
“That’s right. They told you the Indian story, didn’t they? There’s many as believed that, youknow. Been away for the holidays, the family had. Gone abroad somewhere. I don’t know if it washer father and mother or her uncle and aunt, but they went to India and she came back from thoseholidays with tall tales of how she’d been taken there with them. Made a good story of it, she did.
A Maharajah and a tiger shoot and elephants—ah, it was fine hearing and a lot of those around herhere believed it. But I said straight along, she’s telling more than ever happened. Could be, Ithought at first, she was just exaggerating. But the story got added to every time. There were moretigers, if you know what I mean. Far more tigers than could possibly happen. And elephants, too,for that matter. I’d known her before, too, telling tall stories.”
“Always to get attention?”
“Aye, you’re right there. She was a great one for getting attention.”
“Because a child told a tall story about a travel trip she never took,” said SuperintendentSpence, “you can’t say that every tall tale she told was a lie.”
“It might not be,” said Elspeth, “but I’d say the likelihood was that it usually would be.”
“So you think that if Joyce Reynolds came out with a tale that she’d seen a murder committed,you’d say she was probably lying and you wouldn’t believe the story was true?”
“That’s what I’d think,” said Mrs. McKay.
“You might be wrong,” said her brother.
“Yes,” said Mrs. McKay. “Anyone may be wrong. It’s like the old story of the boy who cried‘Wolf, wolf,’ and he cried it once too often, when it was a real wolf, and nobody believed him,and so the wolf got him.”
“So you’d sum it up—”
“I’d still say the probabilities are that she wasn’t speaking the truth. But I’m a fair woman. Shemay have been. She may have seen something. Not quite so much as she said she saw, butsomething.”
“And so she got herself killed,” said Superintendent Spence. “You’ve got to mind that, Elspeth.
She got herself killed.”
“That’s true enough,” said Mrs. McKay. “And that’s why I’m saying maybe I’ve misjudged her.
And if so, I’m sorry. But ask anyone who knew her and they’ll tell you that lies came natural toher. It was a party she was at, remember, and she was excited. She’d want to make an effect.”
“Indeed, they didn’t believe her,” said Poirot.
Elspeth McKay shook her head doubtfully.
“Who could she have seen murdered?” asked Poirot.
He looked from brother to sister.
“Nobody,” said Mrs. McKay with decision.
“There must have been deaths here, say, over the last three years.”
“Oh that, naturally,” said Spence. “Just the usual—old folks or invalids9 or what you’d expect—or maybe a hit-and-run motorist—”
“No unusual or unexpected deaths?”
“Well—” Elspeth hesitated. “I mean—”
Spence took over.
“I’ve jotted10 a few names down here.” He pushed the paper over to Poirot. “Save you a bit oftrouble, asking questions around.”
“Are these suggested victims?”
“Hardly as much as that. Say within the range of possibility.”
Poirot read aloud.
“Mrs. Llewellyn-Smythe. Charlotte Benfield. Janet White. Lesley Ferrier—” He broke off,looked across the table and repeated the first name. Mrs. Llewellyn-Smythe.
“Could be,” said Mrs. McKay. “Yes, you might have something there.” She added a word thatsounded like “opera.”
“Opera?” Poirot looked puzzled. He had heard of no opera.
“Went off one night, she did,” said Elspeth, “was never heard of again.”
“Mrs. Llewellyn-Smythe?”
“No, no. The opera girl. She could have put something in the medicine easily enough. And shecame into all the money, didn’t she—or so she thought at the time?”
Poirot looked at Spence for enlightenment.
“And never been heard of since,” said Mrs. McKay. “These foreign girls are all the same.”
The significance of the word “opera” came to Poirot.
“An au pair girl,” he said.
“That’s right. Lived with the old lady, and a week or two after the old lady died, the au pair girljust disappeared.”
“Went off with some man, I’d say,” said Spence.
“Well, nobody knew of him if so,” said Elspeth. “And there’s usually plenty to talk about here.
Usually know just who’s going with who.”
“Did anybody think there had been anything wrong about Mrs. Llewellyn-Smythe’s death?”
asked Poirot.
“No. She’d got heart trouble. Doctor attended her regularly.”
“But you headed your list of possible victims with her, my friend?”
“Well, she was a rich woman, a very rich woman. Her death was not unexpected but it wassudden. I’d say offhand11 that Dr. Ferguson was surprised, even if only slightly surprised. I think heexpected her to live longer. But doctors do have these surprises. She wasn’t one to do as the doctorordered. She’d been told not to overdo12 things, but she did exactly as she liked. For one thing, shewas a passionate13 gardener, and that doesn’t do heart cases any good.”
Elspeth McKay took up the tale.
“She came here when her health failed. She was living abroad before. She came here to be nearher nephew and niece, Mr. and Mrs. Drake, and she bought the Quarry14 House. A big Victorianhouse which included a disused quarry which attracted her as having possibilities. She spentthousands of pounds on turning that quarry into a sunk garden or whatever they call the thing. Hada landscape gardener down from Wisley or one of these places to design it. Oh, I can tell you, it’ssomething to look at.”
“I shall go and look at it,” said Poirot. “Who knows—it might give me ideas.”
“Yes, I would go if I were you. It’s worth seeing.”
“And she was rich, you say?” said Poirot.
“Widow of a big shipbuilder. She had packets of money.”
“Her death was not unexpected because she had a heart condition, but it was sudden,” saidSpence. “No doubts arose that it was due to anything but natural causes. Cardiac failure, orwhatever the longer name is that doctors use. Coronary something.”
“No question of an inquest ever arose?”
Spence shook his head.
“It has happened before,” said Poirot. “An elderly woman told to be careful, not to run up anddown stairs, not to do any intensive gardening, and so on and so on. But if you get an energeticwoman who’s been an enthusiastic gardener all her life and done as she liked in most ways, thenshe doesn’t always treat these recommendations with due respect.”
“That’s true enough. Mrs. Llewellyn-Smythe made a wonderful thing of the quarry—or rather,the landscape artist did. Three or four years they worked at it, he and his employer. She’d seensome garden, in Ireland I think it was, when she went on a National Trust tour visiting gardens.
With that in mind, they fairly transformed the place. Oh yes, it has to be seen to be believed.”
“Here is a natural death, then,” said Poirot, “certified as such by the local doctor. Is that thesame doctor who is here now? And whom I am shortly going to see?”
“Dr. Ferguson—yes. He’s a man of about sixty, good at his job and well-liked here.”
“But you suspect that her death might have been murder? For any other reason than those thatyou’ve already given me?”
“The opera girl, for one thing,” said Elspeth.
“Why?”
“Well, she must have forged the Will. Who forged the Will if she didn’t?”
“You must have more to tell me,” said Poirot. “What is all this about a forged Will?”
“Well, there was a bit of fuss when it came to probating, or whatever you call it, the old lady’sWill.”
“Was it a new Will?”
“It was what they call—something that sounded like fish—a codi—a codicil15.”
Elspeth looked at Poirot, who nodded.
“She’d made Wills before,” said Spence. “All much the same. Bequests16 to charities, legacies17 toold servants, but the bulk of her fortune always went to her nephew and his wife, who were hernear relatives.”
“And this particular codicil?”
“Left everything to the opera girl,” said Elspeth, “because of her devoted18 care and kindness.
Something like that.”
“Tell me, then, more about the au pair girl.”
“She came from some country in the middle of Europe. Some long name.”
“How long had she been with the old lady?”
“Just over a year.”
“You call her the old lady always. How old was she?”
“Well in the sixties. Sixty-five or six, say.”
“That is not so very old,” said Poirot feelingly.
“Made several Wills, she had, by all accounts,” said Elspeth. “As Bert has told you, all of themmuch the same. Leaving money to one or two charities and then perhaps she’d change the charitiesand some different souvenirs to old servants and all that. But the bulk of the money always went toher nephew and his wife, and I think some other old cousin who was dead, though, by the time shedied. She left the bungalow19 she’d built to the landscape man, for him to live in as long as he liked,and some kind of income for which he was to keep up the quarry garden and let it be walked in bythe public. Something like that.”
“I suppose the family claimed that the balance of her mind had been disturbed, that there hadbeen undue20 influence?”
“I think probably it might have come to that,” said Spence. “But the lawyers, as I say, got on tothe forgery21 sharply. It was not a very convincing forgery, apparently22. They spotted23 it almost atonce.”
“Things came to light to show that the opera girl could have done it quite easily,” said Elspeth.
“You see, she wrote a great many of Mrs. Llewellyn-Smythe’s letters for her and it seems Mrs.
Llewellyn-Smythe had a great dislike of typed letters being sent to friends or anything like that. Ifit wasn’t a business letter, she’d always say ‘write it in handwriting and make it as much like mineas you can and sign it with my name.’ Mrs. Minden, the cleaning woman, heard her say that oneday, and I suppose the girl got used to doing it and copying her employer’s handwriting and then itcame to her suddenly that she could do this and get away with it. And that’s how it all came about.
But as I say, the lawyers were too sharp and spotted it.”
“Mrs. Llewellyn-Smythe’s own lawyers?”
“Yes. Fullerton, Harrison and Leadbetter. Very respectable firm in Medchester. They’d alwaysdone all her legal business for her. Anyway, they got experts on to it and questions were asked andthe girl was asked questions and got the wind up. Just walked out one day leaving half her thingsbehind her. They were preparing to take proceedings24 against her, but she didn’t wait for that. Shejust got out. It’s not so difficult, really, to get out of this country, if you do it in time. Why, you cango on day trips on the Continent without a passport, and if you’ve got a little arrangement withsomeone on the other side, things can be arranged long before there is any real hue25 and cry. She’sprobably gone back to her own country or changed her name or gone to friends.”
“But everyone thought that Mrs. Llewellyn-Smythe died a natural death?” asked Poirot.
“Yes, I don’t think there was ever any question of that. I only say it’s possible because, as I say,these things have happened before where the doctor has no suspicion. Supposing that girl Joycehad heard something, had heard the au pair girl giving medicines to Mrs. Llewellyn-Smythe, andthe old lady saying ‘this medicine tastes different to the usual one.’ Or ‘this has got a bitter taste’
or ‘it’s peculiar26.’”
“Anyone would think you’d been there listening to things yourself, Elspeth,” saidSuperintendent Spence. “This is all your imagination.”
“When did she die?” said Poirot. “Morning, evening, indoors, out of doors, at home or awayfrom home?”
“Oh, at home. She’d come up from doing things in the garden one day, breathing rather heavily.
She said she was very tired and she went to lie down on her bed. And to put it in one sentence, shenever woke up. Which is all very natural, it seems, medically speaking.”
Poirot took out a little notebook. The page was already headed “Victims.” Under, he wrote,“No. 1. suggested, Mrs. Llewellyn-Smythe.” On the next pages of his book he wrote down theother names that Spence had given him. He said, inquiringly:
“Charlotte Benfield?”
Spence replied promptly27. “Sixteen-year-old shop assistant. Multiple head injuries. Found on afootpath near the Quarry Wood. Two young men came under suspicion. Both had walked out withher from time to time. No evidence.”
“They assisted the police in their inquiries29?” asked Poirot.
“As you say. It’s the usual phrase. They didn’t assist much. They were frightened. Told a fewlies, contradicted themselves. They didn’t carry conviction as likely murderers. But either of themmight have been.”
“What were they like?”
“Peter Gordon, twenty-one. Unemployed30. Had had one or two jobs but never kept them. Lazy.
Quite good-looking. Had been on probation31 once or twice for minor32 pilferings, things of that kind.
No record before of violence. Was in with a rather nasty lot of likely young criminals, but usuallymanaged to keep out of serious trouble.”
“And the other one?”
“Thomas Hudd. Twenty. Stammered33. Shy. Neurotic34. Wanted to be a teacher, but couldn’t makethe grade. Mother a widow. The doting35 mother type. Didn’t encourage girlfriends. Kept him asclose to her apron36 strings37 as she could. He had a job in a stationer’s. Nothing criminal knownagainst him, but a possibility psychologically, so it seems. The girl played him up a good deal.
Jealousy38 a possible motive39, but no evidence that we could prosecute40 on. Both of them had alibis42.
Hudd’s was his mother’s. She would have sworn to kingdom come that he was indoors with herall that evening, and nobody can say he wasn’t or had seen him elsewhere or in the neighbourhoodof the murder. Young Gordon was given an alibi41 by some of his less reputable friends. Not worthmuch, but you couldn’t disprove it.”
“This happened when?”
“Eighteen months ago.”
“And where?”
“In a footpath28 in a field not far from Woodleigh Common.”
“Three quarters of a mile,” said Elspeth.
“Near Joyce’s house—the Reynolds’ house?”
“No, it was on the other side of the village.”
“It seems unlikely to have been the murder Joyce was talking about,” said Poirot thoughtfully.
“If you see a girl being bashed on the head by a young man you’d be likely to think of murderstraight away. Not to wait for a year before you began to think it was murder.”
Poirot read another name.
“Lesley Ferrier.”
Spence spoke43 again. “Lawyer’s clerk, twenty-eight, employed by Messrs Fullerton, Harrisonand Leadbetter of Market Street, Medchester.”
“Those were Mrs. Llewellyn-Smythe’s solicitors44, I think you said.”
“Yes. Same ones.”
“And what happened to Lesley Ferrier?”
“He was stabbed in the back. Not far from the Green Swan Pub. He was said to have beenhaving an affair with the wife of the landlord, Harry45 Griffin. Handsome piece, she was, indeed stillis. Getting perhaps a bit long in the tooth. Five or six years older than he was, but she liked themyoung.”
“The weapon?”
“The knife wasn’t found. Les was said to have broken with her and taken up with some othergirl, but what girl was never satisfactorily discovered.”
“Ah. And who was suspected in this case? The landlord or the wife?”
“Quite right,” said Spence. “Might have been either. The wife seemed the more likely. She washalf gypsy and a temperamental piece. But there were other possibilities. Our Lesley hadn’t led ablameless life. Got into trouble in his early twenties, falsifying his accounts somewhere. With aspot of forgery. Was said to have come from a broken home and all the rest of it. Employers spokeup for him. He got a short sentence and was taken on by Fullerton, Harrison and Leadbetter whenhe came out of prison.”
“And after that he’d gone straight?”
“Well, nothing proved. He appeared to do so as far as his employers were concerned, but he hadbeen mixed up in a few questionable46 transactions with his friends. He’s what you might call awrong ’un but a careful one.”
“So the alternative was?”
“That he might have been stabbed by one of his less reputable associates. When you’re in with anasty crowd you’ve got it coming to you with a knife if you let them down.”
“Anything else?”
“Well, he had a good lot of money in his bank account. Paid in in cash, it had been. Nothing toshow where it came from. That was suspicious in itself.”
“Possibly pinched from Fullerton, Harrison and Leadbetter?” suggested Poirot.
“They say not. They had a chartered accountant to work on it and look into things.”
“And the police had no idea where else it might have come from?”
“No.”
“Again,” said Poirot, “not Joyce’s murder, I should think.”
He read the last name, “Janet White.”
“Found strangled on a footpath which was a short cut from the schoolhouse to her home. Sheshared a flat there with another teacher, Nora Ambrose. According to Nora Ambrose, Janet Whitehad occasionally spoken of being nervous about some man with whom she’d broken off relations ayear ago, but who had frequently sent her threatening letters. Nothing was ever found out aboutthis man. Nora Ambrose didn’t know his name, didn’t know exactly where he lived.”
“Aha,” said Poirot, “I like this better.”
He made a good, thick black tick against Janet White’s name.
“For what reason?” asked Spence.
“It is a more likely murder for a girl of Joyce’s age to have witnessed. She could haverecognized the victim, a schoolteacher whom she knew and who perhaps taught her. Possibly shedid not know the attacker. She might have seen a struggle, heard a quarrel between a girl whomshe knew and a strange man. But thought no more of it than that at the time. When was JanetWhite killed?”
“Two and a half years ago.”
“That again,” said Poirot, “is about the right time. Both for not realizing that the man she mayhave seen with his hands round Janet White’s neck was not merely necking her, but might havebeen killing47 her. But then as she grew more mature, the proper explanation came to her.”
He looked at Elspeth. “You agree with my reasoning?”
“I see what you mean,” said Elspeth. “But aren’t you going at all this the wrong way round?
Looking for a victim of a past murder instead of looking for a man who killed a child here inWoodleigh Common not more than three days ago?”
“We go from the past to the future,” said Poirot. “We arrive, shall we say, from two and a halfyears ago to three days ago. And, therefore, we have to consider—what you, no doubt, havealready considered—who was there in Woodleigh Common amongst the people who were at theparty who might have been connected with an older crime?”
“One can narrow it down a bit more than that now,” said Spence. “That is if we are right inaccepting your assumption that Joyce was killed because of what she claimed earlier in the dayabout seeing murder committed. She said those words during the time the preparations for theparty were going on. Mind you, we may be wrong in believing that that was the motive for killing,but I don’t think we are wrong. So let us say she claimed to have seen a murder, and someone whowas present during the preparations for the party that afternoon could have heard her and acted assoon as possible.”
“Who was present?” said Poirot. “You know, I presume.”
“Yes, I have the list for you here.”
“You have checked it carefully?”
“Yes, I’ve checked and re-checked, but it’s been quite a job. Here are the eighteen names.”
List of people present during preparation for Hallowe’en PartyMrs. Drake (owner of house)
Mrs. Butler
Mrs. Oliver
Miss Whittaker (schoolteacher)
Rev48. Charles Cotterell (Vicar)
Simon Lampton (Curate)
Miss Lee (Dr. Ferguson’s dispenser)
Ann Reynolds
Joyce Reynolds
Leopold Reynolds
Nicholas Ransom49
Desmond Holland
Beatrice Ardley
Cathie Grant
Diana Brent
Mrs. Garlton (household help)
Mrs. Minden (cleaning woman)
Mrs. Goodbody (helper)
“You are sure these are all?”
“No,” said Spence. “I’m not sure. I can’t really be sure. Nobody can. You see, odd peoplebrought things. Somebody brought some coloured light bulbs. Somebody else supplied somemirrors. There were some extra plates. Someone lent a plastic pail. People brought things,exchanged a word or two and went away again. They didn’t remain to help. Therefore such aperson could have been overlooked and not remembered as being present. But that somebody,even if they had only just deposited a bucket in the hall, could have overheard what Joyce wassaying in the sitting room. She was shouting, you know. We can’t really limit it to this list, but it’sthe best we can do. Here you are. Take a look at it. I’ve made a brief descriptive note against thenames.”
“I thank you. Just one question. You must have interrogated50 some of these people, those forinstance who were also at the party. Did anyone, anyone at all, mention what Joyce had said aboutseeing a murder?”
“I think not. There is no record of it officially. The first I heard of it is what you told me.”
“Interesting,” said Poirot. “One might also say remarkable51.”
“Obviously no one took it seriously,” said Spence.
Poirot nodded thoughtfully.
“I must go now to keep my appointment with Dr. Ferguson, after his surgery,” he said.
He folded up Spence’s list and put it in his pocket.
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crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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sip
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| v.小口地喝，抿，呷；n.一小口的量 | |
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appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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superintendent
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| n.监督人，主管，总监；(英国)警务长 | |
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likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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pounce
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| n.猛扑；v.猛扑，突然袭击，欣然同意 | |
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eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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invalids
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| 病人，残疾者( invalid的名词复数 ) | |
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jotted
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| v.匆忙记下( jot的过去式和过去分词 )；草草记下，匆匆记下 | |
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offhand
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| adj.临时，无准备的；随便，马虎的 | |
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overdo
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| vt.把...做得过头，演得过火 | |
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passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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quarry
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| n.采石场；v.采石；费力地找 | |
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codicil
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| n.遗嘱的附录 | |
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bequests
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| n.遗赠( bequest的名词复数 )；遗产，遗赠物 | |
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legacies
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| n.遗产( legacy的名词复数 )；遗留之物；遗留问题；后遗症 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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bungalow
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| n.平房，周围有阳台的木造小平房 | |
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undue
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| adj.过分的；不适当的；未到期的 | |
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forgery
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| n.伪造的文件等，赝品，伪造（行为） | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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spotted
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| adj.有斑点的，斑纹的，弄污了的 | |
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proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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hue
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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footpath
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| n.小路，人行道 | |
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inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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unemployed
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| adj.失业的，没有工作的；未动用的，闲置的 | |
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probation
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| n.缓刑(期)，(以观后效的)察看；试用(期) | |
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minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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neurotic
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| adj.神经病的，神经过敏的；n.神经过敏者，神经病患者 | |
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doting
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| adj.溺爱的，宠爱的 | |
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apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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strings
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| n.弦 | |
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jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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prosecute
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| vt.告发；进行；vi.告发，起诉，作检察官 | |
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alibi
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| n.某人当时不在犯罪现场的申辩或证明；借口 | |
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alibis
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| 某人在别处的证据( alibi的名词复数 )； 不在犯罪现场的证人； 借口； 托辞 | |
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43
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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solicitors
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| 初级律师( solicitor的名词复数 ) | |
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harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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questionable
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| adj.可疑的，有问题的 | |
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killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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rev
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| v.发动机旋转，加快速度 | |
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49
ransom
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| n.赎金，赎身；v.赎回，解救 | |
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interrogated
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| v.询问( interrogate的过去式和过去分词 )；审问；（在计算机或其他机器上）查询 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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