Chapter 18 Poirot Makes a Speech

Franklin Clarke arrived at three o’clock on the following afternoon and came straight to the point without beating about the bush.
‘M. Poirot,’ he said, ‘I’m not satisfied.’
‘No, Mr Clarke?’
‘I’ve no doubt that Crome is a very efficient officer, but, frankly¹, he puts my back up. That air of his of knowing best! I hinted something of what I had in mind to your friend here when he was down at Churston, but I’ve had all my brother’s affairs to settle up and I haven’t been free until now. My idea is, M. Poirot, that we oughtn’t to let the grass grow under our feet—’
‘Just what Hastings is always saying!’
‘—but go right ahead. We’ve got to get ready for the next crime.’
‘So you think there will be a next crime?’
‘Don’t you?’
‘Certainly.’
‘Very well, then. I want to get organized.’
‘Tell me your idea exactly?’
‘I propose, M. Poirot, a kind of special legion—to work under your orders—composed of the friends and relatives of the murdered people.’
‘Une bonne idée.’
‘I’m glad you approve. By putting our heads together I feel we might get at something. Also, when the next warning comes, by being on the spot, one of us might—I don’t say it’s probable—but we might recognize some person as having been near the scene of a previous crime.’
‘I see your idea, and I approve, but you must remember, Mr Clarke, the relations and friends of the other victims are hardly in your sphere of life. They are employed persons and though they might be given a short vacation—’
Franklin Clarke interrupted.
‘That’s just it. I’m the only person in a position to foot the bill. Not that I’m particularly well off myself, but my brother died a rich man and it will eventually come to me. I propose, as I say, to enrol³ a special legion, the members to be paid for their services at the same rate as they get habitually⁴, with, of course, the additional expenses.’
‘Who do you propose should form this legion?’
‘I’ve been into that. As a matter of fact, I wrote to Miss Megan Barnard—indeed, this is partly her idea. I suggest myself, Miss Barnard, Mr Donald Fraser, who was engaged to the dead girl. Then there is a niece of the Andover woman—Miss Barnard knows her address. I don’t think the husband would be of any use to us—I hear he’s usually drunk. I also think the Barnards—the father and mother—are a bit old for active campaigning.’

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