15.
	Strange Behaviour of Frederica


16.
	Interview with Mr. Whiffield


17.
	A Box of Chocolates

18.
	The Face at the Window


19.
	Poirot Produces a Play


20. j.


21. ThePerson, K.


22. The End of the Story


201
213
230
247
269
28O
284
291


I
		1

	The Majestic Hotel


No seaside town in the south of England is,
I think, as attractive as St. Loo. It is well
named the Queen of Watering Places and
reminds one forcibly of the Riviera. The Cor-nish
coast is to my mind every bit as fasci-nating
as that of the south of France.

I remarked as much to my friend, Hercule
Poirot.

"So it said on our menu in the restaurant
car yesterday, mon ami. Your remark is not
original."

"But don't you agree?"

He was smiling to himself and did not at
once answer my question. I repeated it.

"A thousand pardons, Hastings. My
thoughts were wandering. Wandering indeed
to that part of the world you mentioned just


now.


that I spent there and of the events which
occurred."
I remembered. A murder had been committed
on the Blue Train, and the mystery
a complicated and baffling one had been
solved by Poirot with his usual unerring acumen.


"How I wish I had been with you," I said
with deep regret.
"I too," said Poirot. "Your experience
would have been invaluable to me."
I looked at him sideways. As a result of
long habit, I distrust his compliments but he
appeared perfectly serious. And after all, why
not? I have a very long experience of the
methods he employs.
"What I particularly missed was your vivid
imagination, Hastings," he went on dreamily.
"One needs a certain amount of light
relief. My valet, Georges, an admirable man
with whom I sometimes permitted myself to
discuss a point, has no imagination whatever."
This remark seemed to me quite irrelevant.
"Tell me, Poirot," I said. "Are you never
tempted to renew your activities? This passive
life "
"Suits me admirably- rnv frloncl Tn e;t ;,


the sun what could be more channing? To
step from your pedestal at the zenith of your
fame what could be a grander gesture? They
say of me, 'That is Hercule Poirot! the
great the unique! There was never anyone
like him, there never will be!' Eh bien I am
satisfied. I ask no more. I am modest."

I should not myself have used the word
modest. It seemed to me that my little friend's
egotism had certainly not declined with his
years. He leaned back in his chair, caressing
his mustache and almost purring with self-satisfaction.

We were sitting on one of the terraces of
the Majestic Hotel. It is the biggest hotel in
St. Loo and stands in its own grounds on a
headland overlooking the sea. The gardens
of the hotel lay below us freely interspersed
with palm trees. The sea was of a deep and
lovely blue, the sky clear and the sun shining
with all the single-hearted fervor an August
sun should (but in England so often does
not) have. There was a vigorous humming of
bees, a pleasant sound and altogether noth-ing
could have been more ideal.

We had only arrived last night, and this
was the first morning of what we proposed


conditions continued, we should indeed have
a perfect holiday.
I picked up the morning paper which had
fallen from my hand and resumed my perusal
of the morning's news. The political
situation seemed unsatisfactory but uninteresting,
there was trouble in China, there was
a long account of a rumored City swindle
but on the whole there was no news of a
very thrilling order.
"Curious thing, this parrot disease," I remarked
as I turned the sheet.
"Very curious."
"Two more deaths at Leeds, I see."
"'Most regrettable."
I turned a page.
"Still no news of that flying fellow, Seton,
in his round-the-world flight. Pretty plucky,
these fellows. That amphibian machine of his, the Albatross, must be a great invention.
Too bad if he's gone west. Not that they've
given up hope yet. He may have made one
of the Pacific islands."
"The Solomon Islanders are still cannibals,
are they not?" inquired Poirot pleasantly.

"Must be a fine fellow. That sort of thing
makes one feel it's a good thing to be an

Enelishman after all."


"It consoles for the defeats at Wimbledon,"
said Poirot.
"I--I didn't mean," I began.

My friend waved my attempted apology
aside gracefully.
"Me," he announced, "I am not amphibian,
like the machine of the poor Captain
Seton, but I am cosmopolitan. And for the
English I have always had, as you know, a
great admiration. The thorough way, for instance,
in which they read the daily paper."
My attention had strayed to political news.
"They seem to be giving the Home Secretary
a pretty bad time of it," I remarked
with a chuckle.
"The poor man. He has his troubles, that
one. Ah! yes. So much so that he seeks for
help in the most improbable quarters."
I stared at him.
With a slight smile, Poirot drew from his
pocket his morning's correspondence, neatly
secured by a rubber band. From this .he
selected one letter which he tossed across to

me.
"It must have missed us yesterday," he
said.
I read the letter with a pleasurable feeling
nf yiternent-


"But, Poirot," I cried. "This is most flattering!''
'"You think so, my friend?"
"He speaks in the warmest terms of your
ability."
"He is right," said Poirot, modestly averting
his eyes.
"He begs you to investigate this matter for
him puts it as a personal favor."
"Quite so. It is unnecessary to repeat all
this to me. You understand, my dear Hastings,
I have read the letter myself."
"It's too bad," I cried. "This will put an
end to our holiday."
"No, no, calmez-vous there is no question
of that."
"But the Home Secretary says the matter
is urgent."
"He may be right or again he may not.
These politicians they are easily excited. I
have seen myself, in the Chambre des
Deput(s in Paris "
"Yes, yes, but Poirot, surely we ought to
be making arrangements? The express to
London has gone it leaves at twelve o'clock.
The next. "
"Calm yourself, Hastings, calm yourself, I
pray of you! Always the excitement, the


tation. We are not going to London today
nor yet tomorrow."

"But this summons "

"Does not concern me. I do not belong to
your police force, Hastings. I am asked to
undertake a case as a private investigator. I
refuse."

"You refuse?"

"Certainly. I write with perfect politeness,
tender my regrets, my apologies, explain that
I am completely desolated but what will
you? I have retired I am finished."


"You are not finished," I exclaimed
warmly.

Poirot patted my knee.

"There speaks the good friend the faith-ful
dog. And you have reason, too. The grey
cells, they still function the order, the
method it is still there. But when I have
retired, my friend, I have retired! It is fin-ished!
I am not a stage favorite who gives the
world a dozen farewells. In all generosity I
say: Let the young men have a chance. They
may possibly do something creditable. I
doubt it, but they may. Anyway they will do
enough for this doubtless tiresome affair of
the Home Secretary's."

"But, Poirot, the compliment!"

"M I rn h,ve cnmnliments. The Home


Secretary, being a man of sense, realizes that
if he can only obtain my services all will be
successful. What will you? He is unlucky.
Hercule Poirot has solved his last case."

I looked at him. In my heart of hearts I
deplored his obstinacy. The solving of such a
case as was indicated might add still further
luster to his already world-wide reputation.
Nevertheless I could not but admire his
unyielding attitude.

Suddenly a thought struck me and I
smiled.

"I wonder," I said, "that you are not
afraid. Such an emphatic pronouncement will
surely tempt the gods."

"Impossible," he replied, "that anyone
should shake the decision of Hercule Poirot."
"Impossible, Poirot?"

"You are right, mon ami, one should not
use such a word. Eh, ma fo/, I do not say
that if a bullet should strike the wall by my
head, I would not investigate the matter!
One is human after all!"

I smiled. A little pebble had just struck
the terrace beside us, and Poirot's fanciful
analogy from it tickled my fancy. He stooped
now and picked up the pebble as he went


on.

"Yes one is human. One is the .qleenin


dog well and good, but the sleeping dog
can be roused. There is a proverb in your
language that says so."

"In fact," I said, "if you find a dagger
planted by your pillow tomorrow morning

let the criminal who put it there beware!"
He nodded, but rather absently.
Suddenly, to my surprise, he rose and
descended the couple of steps that led from
the terrace to the garden. As he did so, a girl
came into sight hmaTing up toward us.

I had just registered the impression that
she was a decidedly pretty girl when my
attention was drawn to Poirot who, not look-ing
where he was going, had stumbled over a
root and fallen heavily. He was just abreast
of the girl at the time and she and I between
us helped him to his feet. My attention was
naturally on my friend, but I was conscious
of an impression of dark hair, an impish face
and big dark blue eyes.

"A thousand pardons," stammered Poirot.
"Mademoiselle, you are most kind. I regret
exceedingly ouch! my foot, he pains me
considerably. No, no, it is nothing really
the turned ankle, that is all. In a few min-utes
all will be well. But if you could help


tween you, iT she will be so very kind. I am
ashamed to ask it of her."
With me qn the one side and the girl on
the other we soon settled Poirot in a chair on
the terrace. I then suggested fetching a doctor,
but this inv friend regatived sharply.
"It is nothiae', I tell you. The ankle turned,
that xs all. PqLnful for tlae moment, but soon

over." He ade a grinaace. "See in a little
minute I shall have forgotten. Mademoiselle,
I thank you a thousand times. You were
most kind. St down, I l>eg of you."
The girl t%k a chair.

"It's nothihg,,, she sid. "But I wish you
would let it he seen to."

"Mademielle, I assore you, it is a bagatel/e.t In the lleasure of your society the pain
passes alread. .,,
The grl lahaghed.
"That's go)d.,,
"What abo',ut a cocktail?" I suggested. "It's
just about th% time."
"Well " she hesitated, "thanks very
much."
"Martini?",
"Yes, please dry Mwtini."
I went of. On my return,
ordered the

rl on areci

after having
Cclrinks, I found Poirot and the


"Imagine, Hastings," he said, "that house
there the one on the point that we have
admired so much, it belongs to Mademoi-selle
here."

"Indeed?" I said though I was unable to
recall having expressed any admiration. In
fact I had hardly noticed the house. "It looks
rather eerie and imposing standing there by
itself far from anything."

"It's called End House," said the girl. "I
love it but it's a tumble-down old place.
Going to rack and rt."

"You are the last of an old family, Made-moiselle?"

"Oh! we're nothing important. But there
have been Buckleys here for two or three
hundred years. My brother died three years
ago, so I'm the last of the family."

"That is sad. You live there alone, Made-moiselle?"

"Oh! I'm away a good deal and when I'm
at home there's usually a cheery crowd com-ing
and going."

"That is so modern. Me, I was picturing
you in a dark mysterious mansion, haunted
by a family curse."

"How marvelous! What a picturesque
imagination you must have. No, it's not


one. I've had three escapes from sudden
death in as many days so I must bear a
charmed life."

Poirot sat up alertly.

"Escapes from death? That sounds inter-esting,
Mademoiselle."

"Oh! they weren't very thrilling. Just acci-dents,
you know." She jerked her head
sharply as a wasp flew past. "Curse these
wasps. There must be a nest of them round
here."

"The bees and the wasps---you do not like
them, Mademoiselle? You have been stung
yes?"

"No but I hate the way they come fight
past your face."

"The bee in the bonnet," said Poirot,
"your English phrase."

At that moment the cocktails arrived. We
all held up our glasses and made the usual
inane observations.

"I'm due in the hotel for cocktails really,"
said Miss Buckley. "I expect they're wonder-ing
what has become of me."

Poirot cleared his throat and set down his
glass.

"Ah! for a cup of good rich chocolate," he
murmured. "But in England they make it

not. Still. in l.nland vnu haxrnrnr


pleasing customs. The young girls, their hats
they come on and off so prettily--so eas-ily-'

The girl stared at him.

"What do you mean? Why shouldn't
they?"

"You ask that because you are young so
young, Mademoiselle. But to me the natural
i.ng seems to have a coiffure high and
rigid--so--and the hat attached with many
hatpins--/l--l et lti."

He executed four vicious jabs in the air.
"But how frightfully uncomfortable?'
"Ah! I should think so," said Poirot. No
martyred lady could have spoken with more
feeling. "When the wind blew it was the
agony--it gave you the migraine."

Miss Buckley dragged off the simple wide-brimmed
felt she was wearing and cast it
down beside her.

"And now we do this," she laughed.

"Which is sensible and charming," said
Poirot with a little bow.

hair
	looked at her with interest. Her dark
was ruffled and gave her an elfin look.


There was something elfin about her alto-gether.
The small vivid face, pansy shaped,
the enormous dark blue eyes, and something


it a hint of recklessness? There were dark
shadows under the eyes.
The terrace on which we were sitting was
a little used one. The main terrace where
most people sat was just round the corner at
a point where the cliff shelved directly down
to the sea.
From round this corner now there appeared
a man, a redfaced man with a rolling
carriage who carried his hands half clenched
by his side. There was something breezy and
carefree about him--a typical sailor.
"I can't think where the girl's got to," he
was saying in tones that easily carried to
where we sat. "Nick Nick."
Miss Buckley rose.
"I knew they'd be getting in a state.
Attaboy George here I am."
"Freddie's frantic for a drink. Come on,
girl."
He cast a glance of frank curiosity at Poirot
who must have differed considerably from
most of Nick's friends.
The girl performed a wave of introduction.
"This is Commander Challenger er "

But to my surprise Poirot did not supply
the name for which she was waiting. Instead
he 'rn.e- hnwed verst ceremnninl.lv nnd milt
mured, "Of The English Navy. I have a
great regard for the English Navy."

This type of remark is not one that an
Englishman acclaims most readily. Com-mander
Challenger flushed and Nick Buckley
took command of the situation.

"Come on, George. Don't gape. Let's find
Freddie and Jim."

She smiled at Poirot.

"Thanks for the cocktail. I hope the ankle
will be all right."

With a nod to me she slipped her hand
through the sailor's arm and they disappeared
round the corner together.

"So that is one of Mademoiselle's friends,"
murmured Poirot thoughtfully. "One of her
cheery crowd. What about him? Give me
your expert judgment, Hastings. Is he what
you call a good fellow yes?"

Pausing for a moment to try and decide
exactly what Poirot thought I should mean
by a "good fellow," I gave a doubtful assent.

"He seems all rightmyes," I said. "So far

as one can tell by a cursory glance."

"I wonder," said Poirot.

The girl had left her hat behind. Poirot
stooped to pick it up and twirled it round


"Has he a tendresse for her? What do you
think, Hastings?"

"My dear Poirot! How can I tell? Here
give me that hat. The lady will want it. I'll
take it to her."

Poirot paid no attention to my request. He
continued to revolve the hat slowly on his
finger.

"Pas encore. 'a m'amuse."

"Really, Poirot!"

"Yes, my friend, I grow old and childish,
do I not?"

This was so exactly what I was feeling that
I was somewhat disconcerted to have it put
into words. Poirot gave a little chuckle, then,
leaning forward, he laid a finger against the
side of his nose.

"But no I am not so completely imbecile
as you think! We will remm the hat but
assuredly but later. We will return it to
End House and thus we shall have the op-portunity
of seeing the charming Miss Nick
again."

"Poirot," I said, "I believe you have fallen
in love."

"She is a pretty girl eh?"

"Well you saw for yourself. Why ask
me?"


nowadays, anything young is beautiful.
Jeunesse jeunesse .... It is the tragedy of

my years. But you I appeal to you? Your
judgment is not up to date, naturally, having
lived in the Argentine so long. You admire
the figure of five years ago, but you are


.at any rate more modern than I am. She

s pretty--yes? She has the appeal to

	tile


sexes?"

"One sex is sufficient, Poirot. The an-swer,
I should say, is very much in the
affmnative. Why are you so interested in the
lady?"

"Am I interested?"

"Well look at what you've just been
saying."


"You are un. der a misapprehension, mon
ami. I may be mteres.ted in the lady--yes
but I am much more interested in her hat."


I stared at him, but he appeared perfectly
serious.

He nodded his head at me.

"Yes, Hastings, this very hat." He held it
towards me. "You see the reason for my
interest?"

"It's a nice hat," I said bewildered. "But
quite an ordinary hat. Lots of girls have hats
like it."


I looked at it more closely.

"You see, Hastings?"

"A perfectly plain fawn felt. Good style "
"I did not ask you to describe the hat. It
is plain that you do not see. Almost incredi-ble,
my poor Hastings, how you hardly ever
do see! It amazes me every time anew! But
regard, my dear old imbecile it is not nec-essary
to employ the grey cells the eyes will
do. Regard regard "

And then at last I saw to what he had
been trying to draw my attention. The slowly
turning hat was revolving on his finger, and
that finger was stuck neatly through a hole
in the brim of the hat. When he saw that I
had realized his meaning, he drew his finger
out and held the hat towards me. It was a
small neat hole, quite round, and I could not
imagine its purpose, if purpose it had.

"Did you observe the way Mademoiselle
Nick flinched when a bee flew past? The
bee in the bonnet the hole in the hat."

"But a bee couldn't make a hole like that."

"Exactly, Hastings! What acumen! It could

not. But a bullet could, mon cher.t"

"A bullet?"

"Mais oui.t A bullet like this."

He held out his hand with a small object
in the talm of it.


"A spent bullet, mon ami. It was that which
hit the terrace just now when we were talking.
A spent bullet!"
"You mean ?"
"I mean that one inch of difference and
that hole would be not through the hat but
through the head. Now do you see why I am
interested, Hastings? You were fight, my
friend, when you told me not to use the
word 'impossible.' Yes one is human! Ah!
but he made a grave mistake, that would-be
murderer, when he shot at his victim within
a dozen yards of Hercule Poirot! For him, it
is indeed la mauvaise chance. But you see
now why we must make our entry into End
House and get into touch with Mademoiselle?
Three near escapes from death in three
days. That is what she said. We must act
quickly, Hastings. The peril is very close at
hand."


2


End House


"Poirot," I said, "I have been thinking."

"An admirable exercise, my friend. Con-tinue
it."

We were sitting facing each other at lunch
at a small table in the window.

"This shot must have been fired quite
close to us. And yet we did not hear iff"

"And you think that in the peaceful still-ness,
with the rippling waves the only sound,

we should have done so?"

"Well, it's odd."

"No, it is not odd. Some sounds you get
used to them so soon that you hardly notice
they are there. All this morning, my friend,
speedboats have been making trips in the
bay. You complained at first soon, you did
not even notice. But, ma fo/, you could fire a
machine gun almost and not notice it when
one of those boats is on the sea."

"Yes, that's true."


"Ah! voila," murmured Poirot. "Made-moiselle
and her friends. They are to lunch
here, it seems. And therefore I must return
the hat. But no matter. The affair is suffi-ciently
serious to warrant a visit all on its

own.

He leaped up nimbly from his seat, hur-ried
across the room, and presented the hat
with a bow just as Miss Buckley and her
companions were seating themselves at table.

They were a party of four, Nick Buckley,
Commander Challenger, another man and
another girl. From where we sat we had a
very imperfect view of them. From time to
time the Naval man's laugh boomed out. He
seemed a simple likable soul, and I had al-ready
taken a fancy to him.

My friend was silent and distrait during
our meal. He crumbled his bread, made
strange little ejaculations to himself and
straightened everything on the table. I tried
to talk, but meeting with no encouragement,
soon gave it up.

He continued to sit at the table long after


he had finished his cheese. As soon as the
other party had left the room, however, he
too rose to his feet. They were just settling
themselves at a table in the lounee when


Poirot marched up to them in his most mili-tary
fashion, and addressed Nick directly.

"Mademoiselle, may I crave one little word


with you."

The girl frowned. I realized her feelings
clearly enough. She was afraid that this queer
little foreigner was going to be a nuisance. I
could not but sympathize with her, knowing
how it must appear in her eyes. Rather un-willingly,
she moved a few steps aside.

Almost immediately I saw an expression of
surprise pass over her face at the low hurried
words ?oirot was uttering.

In the meantime, I was feeling rather awk-ward
and ill at ease. Challenger with ready
tact came to my rescue, offering me a ciga-rette
and making some commonplace obser-vation.
We had taken each other's measure
and were inclined to be sympathetic to each
other. I fancied that I was more his own
kind than the man with whom he had been
lunching. I now had the opportunity of ob-serving
the latter. A tall, fair, rather exquis-ite
young man, with a somewhat fleshy nose
and overemphasized good looks. He had a
supercilious manner and a tired drawl. There
was a sleekness about him that I especially
disliked.

Then I lnnked at the wnmnn ,qhe


sitting straight opposite me in a big chair
and had just thrown off her hat. She was an
unusual type a weary Madonna describes it
best. She had fair, almost colorless hair,
parted in the middle and drawn straight down
over her ears to a knot on the neck. Her face
was dead white and emaciated yet curiously
attractive. Her eyes were very light grey with
large pupils. She had a curious look of de-tachment.
She was staring at me. Suddenly
she spoke.

"Sit down till your friend has finished
with Nick."

She had an affected voice, languid and
artificial yet which had withal a curious at-traction
a kind of resonant lingering beauty.
She impressed me, I think, as the most tired
person I had ever met. Tired in mind, not in
body, as though she had found everything in
the world to be empty and valueless.

"Miss Buckley very kindly helped my
friend when he twisted his ankle this mom-ing,"
I explained, as I accepted her offer.

"So Nick said." Her eyes considered me,
still detachedly. "Nothing wrong with his
ankle now, is there?"

I felt myself blushing.

"Just a momentary sprain," I explained.
"Oh! well I'm elad to hear Nick didn't


invent the whole thing. She's the most
heaven-sent little liar that ever existed, you
know. Amazing it's quite a gift."

I hardly knew what to say. My discomfi-ture
seemed to amuse her.

"She's one of my oldest friends," she said,
"and I always think loyalty's such a tiresome
virtue, don't you? Principally practiced by
the Scotch like thrift and keeping the Sab-bath.
But Nick is a liar, isn't she, Jim? That
marvelous story about the brakes of the car
and Jim says there was nothing in it at all."

The fair man said in a soft rich voice, "I
know something about cars."

He half turned his head. Outside amongst


other cars was a long red car. It seemed
longer and redder than any car could be. It
had a long gleaming bonnet of polished metal.
A super car!

"Is that your car?" I asked On a sudden
impulse.

He nodded.

"Yes."

I had an insane desire to say, "It would
be!"

Poirot rejoined us at that moment. I rose,
he took me by the arm, gave a quick bow to
the party and drew me rapidly away.

"It ie arranocl my friend We are to call


on Mademoiselle at End House at half past
six. She will be returned from the motoring
by then. Yes, yes, surely she will have returned
in safety."
His face was anxious and his tone was
worried.
"What did you say to her?"
"I asked her to accord me an interview
as soon as possible. She was a little unwilling
naturally. She thinks I can see the
thoughts passing through her mind 'Who is
he this little man? Is he the bounder, the
upstart, the moving-picture director?' If she
could have refused she would but it is difficult
asked like that on the spur of the
moment, it is easier to consent. She admits
that she will be back by six-thirty. 'a y est?'
I remarked that that seemed to be all right
then, but my remark met with little favor.
Indeed Poirot was as jumpy as the proverbial
cat. He walked about our sitting room all
afternoon, murmuring to himself and ceaselessly
rearranging and straightening the ornaments.
When I spoke to him, he waved his
hands and shook his head.
In the end we started out from the hotel at
barely six o'clock.
"It seems incredible," I remarked as we
de.qcended the- .qten.q of the terrace. "to at
tempt to shoot anyone in a hotel garden.
Only a madman would do such a thing."

"I disagree with you. Given one condition,
it would be quite a reasonably safe affair. To
begin with, the garden is deserted. The peo-ple
who come to hotels are like a flock of
sheep. It is customary to sit on the terrace
overlooking the bay eh bien, so everyone
sits on the terrace. Only I Who am an origi-nal
sit overlooking the garden. And even
then, I saw nothing. There is plenty of cover,
you observe trees, groups of palms, flower-ing
shrubs. Anyone could hide himself com-fortably
and be unobserved whilst he waited
for Mademoiselle to pass this way. And she
would come this way. To come round by the
road from End House would be much longer.
Mademoiselle Nick Buckley, she would be
of those who are always late and taking the
short cut?

"All the same, the risk was enormous. He
might have been seen and you can't make

shooting look like an accident."
"Not like an accident no."
"What do you mean?"

"Nothing a little idea. I may or may not
be justified. Leaving it aside for a moment,
there is what I mentioned just now an es

"Which is?"

"Surely you can tall me, Hastings."

"I wouldn't like to deprive you of the
pleasure of being clever at my expense!"

"Oh! The sarcasm! The irony! Well, what
leaps to the eye is this: the motive cannot be
obvious. If it were why then truly the risk
would indeed be too great to be taken! Peo-ple
would say: 'I wonder if it were So and
So. Where was So and So when the shot was
fired?' No, the murderer the would-be mur-derer,
I should say cannot be obvious. And
that, Hastings, is why I am afraid! Yes, at
this minute I am afraid. I reassure myself. I
say 'There are four of them.' I say
'Nothing can happen when they are all to-gether.'
I say 'It would be madness!' And
all the time I am afraid. These 'accidents' I
want to hear about them!"

He turned back abruptly.

"It is still early. We will go the other way
by the road. The garden has nothing to tell
us. Let us inspect the orthodox approach to
End House."

Our way led out of the front gate of the
hotel, up a sharp hill to the right, and at the
top of it a small lane with a notice on the

wall; TO END HOUSE ONLY.

We fnilnwed it and after a few hundred


yards the lane gave an abrupt turn and ended
in a pair of dilapidated entrance gates, which
would have been the better for a coat of
paint.

Inside the gates, to the right, was a small
lodge. This lodge presented a piquant con-trast
to the gates and to the condition of the
grass-grown drive. The small garden round


it was spick-and-span, the window frames
and sashes had been lately painted and there


were clean bright curtains at the windows.

Bending over a flower bed was a man in a
faded Norfolk jacket. He straightened up as
the gate creaked and turned to look at us.
He was a man of about sixty, six feet at least
with a powerful frame and a weather-beaten
face. His head was almost completely bald.
His eyes were a vivid blue and twinkled. He
seemed a genial soul.

"Good afternoon," he observed as we
passed.

I responded in kind, and as we went on


up the .drive I was conscious of those blue
eyes raking our backs inquisitively.


"I wonder," said Poirot thoughtfully.

He left it at that without vouchsafing any
explanation of what it was that he wondered.

The house itself was large and rather dreary


of which actually touched the roof. It was
clearly in bad repair. Poirot swept it with an
appraising glance before ringing the bell an
old-fashioned bell that needed a Herculean
pull to produce any effect and which once
started, echoed mournfully on and on.
The door was opened by a middle-aged
woman "a decent woman in black," so I
felt she should be described. Very respectable,
rather mournful, completely uninterested.
Miss Buckley, she said, had not yet returned.
Poirot explained that we had an appointment.
He had some little difficulty in
gaining his point, she was the type that is apt
to be suspicious of foreigners. Indeed I flatter
myself that it was my appearance which
turned the scale. We were admitted and ushered
into the drawing room to await Miss
Buckley's return.
There was no mournful note here. The
room gave on the sea and was full of sunshine.
It was shabby and betrayed conflicting
styles ultramodern of a cheap variety
superimposed on solid Victorian. The curtains
were of faded brocade, but the covers
were new and gay and the cushions were
positively hectic. On the walls were hung
familv tortraits. Some of them. I thought.


looked remarkably good. There was a
gramophone and some records lying idly
about. There was a portable wireless, practi-cally
no books and one newspaper flung open
on the end of the sofa. Poirot picked it up
then laid it down with a grimace. It was the
St. Loo Weekly Herald and Directory. Some-thing
impelled him to pick it up a second
time and he was glancing at a column when
the door opened and Nick Buckley came
into the room.

"Bring the ice, Ellen," she called over her
shoulder, then addressed herself to us.

"Well, here I am .and I've shaken off the
others. I'm devoured with curiosity. Am I
the long-lost heroine that is badly wanted for
the f'fims? You were so very solemn" (she
addressed herself to Poirot) "that I feel it
can't be anything else. Do make me a hand-some
offer."

"Alas! Mademoiselle "began Poirot.
"Don't say it's the opposite," she begged
him. "Don't say you paint miniatures and
you want me to buy one. But no with that
mustache and staying at the Majestic which
has the nastiest food and the highest prices
in England no, it simply can't be."

The woman who had opened the door to


bottles. Nick mixed cocktails expertly, con-tinuing
to talk. I think at last Poirot's silence
(so unlike him) impressed itself upon her.
She stopped in the very act of filling the
glasses and said sharply: "Well?"

"That is what I wish it to be well, Made-moiselle."
He took the cocktail from her
hand. "To your good health, Mademoiselle
to your continued good health." The girl was
no fool. The significance of his tone was not
lost on her.

"Is anything the matter?"

"Yes, Mademoiselle. This.. ."

He held out his hand to her with the
bullet on the palm of it. She picked it up
with a puzzled frown.

"You know what that is?"

"Yes, of course I know. It's a bullet."
"Exactly. Mademoiselle it was not a wasp
that flew past your face this morning it was
this bullet."

"Do you mean was some criminal idiot

shooting bullets in a hotel garden?"

"It would seem so."

"Well, I'm damned," said Nick frankly.
"I do seem to bear a charmed life. That's
number four."


I want, Mademoiselle, to hear about the other

three accidents."

She stared at him.

"I want to be very sure, Mademoiselle,

that they were accidents."

"Why, of course! What else could they

be?"

"Mademoiselle, prepare yourself, I beg,


for a great shock. What if someone is at-tempting
your e.

All Nick's response to this was a burst of
laughter. The idea seemed to amuse her
hugely.

"What a marvelous ideal My dear man,

who on earth do you think would attempt
my life? I'm not the beautiful young heiress
whose death releases millions. I wish some-body
was trying to kill me--that would be a
thrill if you like but I'm afraid there's not a
hope!"

"Will you tell me, Mademoiselle, about

those accidents?"

"Of course but there's nothing in it.

They were just stupid things. There's a heavy
picture hangs over my bed. It fell in the
night. Just by pure chance I had happened
to hear a door banging somewhere in the


and so I escaped. It would probably have

bashed my head in. That's number one."
Poirot did not smile.

"Continue, Mademoiselle. Let us pass to
number two."

"Oh! that's weaker still. There's a scrambly
cliff path down to the sea. I go down that
way to bathe. There's a rock you can dive
off. A boulder got dislodged somehow and
came roaring down just missing me. The
third thing was quite different. Something
went wrong with the brakes of the car I
don't know quite what the garage man ex-plained
but I didn't follow it. Anyway if I'd
gone through the gate and down that hill,
they wouldn't have held and I suppose I"d
have gone slap into the Town Hall and there
would have been the devil of a smash. Slight
defacement of the Town Hall, complete
obliteration of Me. But owing to my always
leaving something behind, I turned back and
merely ran into the laurel hedge."

"And you cannot tell me what the trouble
was?"

"You can go and ask them at Mott's Ga-rage.
They'll know. It was something quite
simple and mechanical that had been un-screwed,
I think. I wondered if Ellen's boy


[my tand-hv whn nnened the dnnr tn


has got a small boy) had tinkered with it.
Boys do like messing about with cars. Of
course Ellen swore he'd never been near the
car. I think something must just have worked
loose in spite of what Mott said."
"Where is your garage, Mademoiselle?"
"Round the other side of the house."
"Is it kept locked?"
Nick's eyes widened in surprise.
"Oh! no. Of course not."
"Anyone could tamper with the car unobserved?''
"Well yes I suppose so. But it is so silly."
"No, Mademoiselle. It is not silly. You do
not understand. You are in dangermgrave
danger. I tell it to you. I! And you do not
know who I am?"
"No?" said Nick breathlessly.
"I am Hercule Poirot."
"Oh!" said Nick in rather a flat tone.
"Oh! yes."
"You know my name, eh?"
"Oh! yes."

She wriggled uncomfortably. A hunted
look came into her eyes. Poirot observed her
keenly.
"You are not at ease. That means, I sup
"Well no not all of them. But I know
the name, of course."

"Mademoiselle, you are a polite little liar."
(I started, remembering the words spoken at
the Majestic Hotel that day after lunch.) "I
forgot--you are only a child you would not
have heard. So quickly does fame pass. My
friend there he will tell you."

Nick looked at me. I cleared my throat,
somewhat embarrassed.

	"Monsieur Poirot is
	er was a great

detective," I explained.

"Ah! my friend," cried Poirot. "Is that all
you can find to say? Mais dis donc/Say then
to Mademoiselle that I am a detective unique,
unsurpassed, the greatest that ever lived!"

"That is now unnecessary," I said coldly.
"You have told her yourself."

"Ah! yes, but it is more agreeable to have
been able to preserve the modesty. One
should not sing one's own praises."

"One should not keep a dog and have to
bark oneself," agreed Nick with mock sym-pathy.
"Who is the dog, by the way? Dr.
Watson, I presume."

"My name is Hastings," I said coldly.

"Battle of. .... 1066," said Nick. "Who said I
wasn't educated? Well, this is all too, too


wants to do away with me? It would be thrilling. But of course that sort of thing doesn't really happen. Only in books. I expect
Monsieur Poirot is like a surgeon who's
invented an operation or a doctor who's found
an obscure disease and wants everyone to
have it."
"Sacr tonnerre,t'' thundered Poirot. "Will
you be serious? You young people of today,
will nothing make you serious? It would not
have been a joke, Mademoiselle, if you had
been lying in the hotel garden a pretty little
corpse with a nice little hole through your
head instead of your hat. You would not
have laughed then eh?"
"Unearthly laughter heard at a seance,"
said Nick. "But seriously, Monsieur Poirot
it's very kind of you and all that, but the
whole thing must be an accident."
"You are as obstinate as the devil!"
"That's where I get my name from. My
grandfather was popularly supposed to have
sold his soul to the devil. Everyone round
here called him Old Nick. He was a wicked
old man but great fun. I adored him. I
went everywhere with him and so they called
us Old Nick and Young Nick. My real Name
is Magdala."
[{T'l,'nt,;c, ,r 11,rt','mm''rl 1"!m:''


"Yes, it's a kind of family one. There
have been lots of Magdalas in the Buckley

family. There's one up there." She nodded at a picture on the wall.
"Ah!" said Poirot. Then, looking at a portrait
hanging over the mantelpiece, he said:
"Is that your grandfather, Mademoiselle?"
"Yes, rather an arresting portrait, isn't it?
Jim Lazarus offered to buy it, but I wouldn't
sell. I've got an affection for Old Nick."
"Ah!" Poirot was silent for a minute, then
he said very earnestly: "Revenons a nos moutons.
Listen, Mademoiselle. I implore you to
be serious. You are in danger. Today, somebody
shot at you with a Mauser pistol "
"A Mauser pistol?"
For the moment she was startled.
"Yes, why? Do you know of anyone who
has a Mauser pistol?"
She smiled.
"I've got one myself."
"You have?"
"Yes it was Dad's. He brought it back
from the War. It's been knocking round here
ever since. I saw it only the other day in that
drawer."
She had indicated an old-fashioned bureau.
Now, as though suddenly struck by an


open. She turned fatheer blankly. Her voice
held a new note.

"Oh!" she said. 'It's---it's gone."


3


Accidents?


It was from that moment that the conversa-tion
took on a different tone. Up to now,
Poirot and the girl had been at cross pur-poses.
They were separated by a gulf of years.
His fame and reputation meant nothing to
her she was of the generation that knows
only the great names of the immediate mo-ment.
She was, therefore, unimpressed by
his warnings. He was to her only a rather
comic elderly foreigner with an amusingly
melodramatic mind.

And this attitude baffled Poirot. To begin
with, his vanity suffered. It was his constant
dictum that all the world knew Hercule
Poirot. Here was someone who did not. Very
good for him, I could not but feel but not
precisely helpful to the object in view!

With the discovery of the missing pistol,
however, the affair took on a new phase.


joke. She still treated the matter lightly, be-cause
it was her habit and her creed to treat
all occurrences lightly, but there was a dis-tinct
difference in her manner.

She came back and sat down on the arm

of a chair frowning thoughtfully.
"That's odd," she said.
Poirot whirled round on me.

"You remember, Hastings, the little idea I
mentioned? Well, it was correct, my little
ideal Supposing Mademoiselle had been
found shot lying in the hotel garden? She
might not have been found for some hours
few people pass that way. And beside her
hand -just fallen from it is her own pistol.
Doubtless the good Madame Ellen would
identify it. There would be suggestions, no

doubt, of worry or of sleeplessness "
Nick moved uneasily.

"That's true. I have been worried to death.
Everybody's been telling me I'm nervy.
Yes they'd say all that..."

"And bring in a verdict of suicide. Made-moiselle's
fingerprints conveniently on the
pistol and nobody else's but yes, it would
be very simple and convincing."

"How terribly amusing!" said Nick, but
not, I was glad to note, as though she were


Poirot accepted her words in the conven-tional
sense in which they were uttered.

"N'est-ce pas? but you understand, Made-moiselle,
there must be no more of this.
Four failures yes but the fifth time there
may be a success."

"Bring out your rubber-fired hearses,"
murmured Nick.

"But we are here, my friend and I, to
obviate all that!"

I felt grateful for the we. Poirot has a
habit of sometimes ignoring my existence.

"Yes," I put in. "You mustn't be alarmed,
Miss Buckley. We will protect you."

"How frightfully nice of you," said Nick.
"I think the whole thing is perfectly marvel-ous.
Too, too thrilling."

She still preserved her airy detached man-ner,
but her eyes, I thought, looked trou-bled.

"And the first thing to do," said Poirot,
"is to have the consultation."

He sat down and beamed upon her in a
friendly manner.

"To begin with, Mademoiselle, a conven-tional
question---but have you any en-emies?''

Nick shook her head rather regretfully.


"Bon. We will dismiss that possibility then.
And now we ask the question of the cinema,
of the detective novel who profits by your
death, Mademoiselle?"
"I can't imagine," said Nick. "That's why
it all seems such nonsense. There's this
beastly old barn, of course, but it's mortgaged
up to the hilt, the roof leaks and there
can't be a coal mine or anything exciting like
that hidden in the cliff."
"It is mortgaged hein?"
"Yes. I had to mortgage it. You see there
were two lots of death duties quite soon
after each other. First my grandfather died
just six years ago, and then my brother.
That just about put the lid on the financial
position."
"And your father?"
"He was invalided home from the War,
then got pneumonia and died in 1919. My
mother died when I was a baby. I rived here
with Grandfather. He and Dad didn't get on
(I don't wonder), so Dad found it convenient
to park me and go roaming the world on his
own account. Gerald that was my brother
didn't get on with Grandfather either. I dare
say I shouldn't have got on with him if I'd
been a boy. Being a girl saved me. Grand
block and had inherited his spirit." She
laughed. "He was an awful old rip, I believe.
But frightfully lucky. There was a saying
round here that everything he touched turned
to gold..He was a. gambler, though, and
gambled t away again. When he died he left
hardly anything beside the house and land. I
was sixteen when he died and Gerald was
twenty-two. Gerald was killed in a motor
accident just three years ago and the place
came to me."

"And after you, Mademoiselle? Who is
your nearest relation?"

"My cousin, Charles. Charles Vyse. He's a
lawyer down here. Quite good and worthy
but very dull. He gives me good advice and
tries to restrain my extravagant tastes."

"He manages your affairs for you. eh?"
"Well... yes, if you like to put it that way.
I haven't many affairs to manage. He ar-ranged
the mortgage for me and made me let
the lodge."


,, ^ L , lodge. I was going to ask you
about that. It s let?"


"Yes to some Australians. Croft their
name is. Very hearty, you know--and all
that sort of thing. Simply oppressively kind.
Always bringinl UD sticks of colrv


the way I let the garden go. They're rather a

nuisance really at least he is. Too terribly

friendly for words. She's a cripple, poor

thing, and lies on a sofa all day. Anyway

they pay the rent and that's the great thing."

	"How long have they been here?"

	"Oh! about six months."

	"I see. Now beyond this cousin of yours

	on your father's side or your mother's by the

	way?"

	"Mother's. My mother was Amy Vyse."

	"Bien/Now beyond this cousin, as I was

	saying, have you any other relatives?"

	"Some very distant cousins in Yorkshire

	Buckleys."

	"No one else?"

	"No."

	"That is lonely."

	Nick stared at him.

		"Lonely? What a funny idea. I'm not down

	here much, you know. I'm usually in Lon
	don.
Relations are too devastating as a rule.

	They fuss and interfere. It's much more fun

	to be on one's own."

			"I will not waste the sympathy. You are a

	modem, I see, Mademoiselle. Now your

	household."

			"How grand that sounds! Ellen's the
	 '
	I 	'l
--J ...'1..,',-, ,,, ',/' ., 1'
/' "I


gardener not a very good one. I pay them
frightfully little because I let them have the
child here. Ellen does for me when I'm down
here and if I have a party we get in who and
what we can to help. I'm giving a party on
Monday. It's Regatta Week, you know."

"Monday and today is Saturday. Yes.
Yes. And now, Mademoiselle, your friends--the
ones with whom you were lunching to-day,
for instance?"

"Well, Freddie Rice the fair girl is prac-tically
my greatest friend. She's had a rotten
life. Married to a beast of a man who drank
and drugged and was altogether a queer of
the worst description. She had to leave him a
year or two ago. Since then she's drifted
round. I wish to goodness she'd get a divorce
and marry Jim Lazarus."

"Lazarus? The art dealer in Bond Street?"
"Yes. Jim's the only son. Rolling in
money, of course. Did you see that car of
his? And he's devoted to Freddie. They go
about everywhere together. They are staying
at the Majestic over the week end and are
coming to me on Monday."

"And Mrs. Rice's husband?"

"The mess? Oh! he's dropped out of ev-erything.
Nobody knows where he is. It


can't divorce a man when you don't know
where he is."

"Evidemment/"

"Poor Freddie," said Nick pensively.
"She's had rotten luck. The thing was all
fxed once. She got hold of him and put it to
him, and he said he was perfectly willing,
but he simply hadn't got the cash to take a
woman to a hotel. So the end of it all was
she forked out and he took it and off he
went and has never been heard of from that

day to this. Pretty mean, I call it."

"Good heavens," I exclaimed.

"My friend Hastings is shocked," re-marked
Poirot. "You must be more careful,
Mademoiselle. He is out of date, you com-prehend.
He has just returned from those
great clear open spaces, etc., and he has yet
to learn the language of nowadays."

"Well, there's nothing to get shocked
about," said Nick opening her eyes very
wide. "I mean, everybody knows, don't they,
that there are such people. But I call it a
low-down trick all the same. Poor old Freddie
was so damned hard up at the time that she
didn't know where to turn."

"Yes, yes, not a very pretty affair. And
your other friend, Mademoiselle. The good


"George? I've known George all my life
well, for the last five years anyway. He's a
good scout, George."
"He wishes you to marry him eh?"
"He does mention it now and again. In
the small hours of the morning or after the
second glass of port."
"But you remain hardhearted."
"What would be the use of George and
me marrying one another? We've neither of
us got a bean. And one would get terribly
bored with George. That 'playing for one's
side,' 'good old school' manner. After all,
he's forty if he's a day."
The remark made me wince slightly.
"In fact he has one foot in the grave," said
Poirot. "Oh! do not mind me, Mademoiselle.
I am a grandpapa--a nobody. And
now, tell me more about these accidents.
The picture, for instance?"
She led the way out of the room and we
followed her. The picture in question was an
oil painting in a heavy frame. It hung directly
over the bed head.
With a murmured, "You permit, Mademoiselle,"
Poirot removed his shoes and
mounted upon the bed. He examined the
nicture and the cord and eineerlv tested the


weight of the painting. With an eloquent
grimace he descended.

"To have that descend on one's head no,
it would not be pretty. The cord by which it
was hung, Mademoiselle, was it, like this
one, a wire cable?"

"Yes, but not so thick. I got a thicker one
this time."

"That is comprehensible. And you exam-ined
the break the edges were frayed?"

"I think so but I didn't notice particu-larly.
Why should I?"

"Exactly. As you say, why should you?
All the same, I should much like to look at
that piece of wire. Is it about the house
anywhere?"

"It was still on the picture. I expect the
man who put the new wire on just threw the
old one away.

"A pity. I should like to have seen it."
"You don't think it was just an accident
after all? Surely it couldn't have been any-thing
else."

"It may have been an accident. It is im-possible
to say. But the damage to the brakes
of your car that was not an accident. And
the stone that rolled down the cliff I should
like to see the spot where that accident


Nick took us out in the garden and led us
to the cliff edge. The sea glittered blue be-low
us. A rough path led down the face of
the rock. Nick described just where the acci-dent
occurred and Poirot nodded thought-fully.
Then he asked, "How many ways are
there into your garden, Mademoiselle?"

"There's the front way--past the lodge.
And a tradesman's entrance a door in the
wall halfway up that lane. Then there's a
gate just along here on the cliff edge. It leads
out onto a zigzag path that runs up from that
beach to the Majestic Hotd. And then of
course you can go straight through a gap
in the hedge into the Majestic garden that's
the way I went this morning. To go through
the Majestic garden is a short cut to the
town anyway.

"And your gardener where does he usu-ally
work?"

"Well, he usually potters round the kitchen
garden, or else he sits in the potting shed
and pretends to be sharpening the shears."

"Round the other side of the house, that

is to say?"

"Yes."

"So that if anyone were to come in here
and dislodge a boulder he would be very

unlikely to be noticed."


Nick gave a sudden LITTLE shiver.
"Do you . do you really think that is what
happened?" she asked. "I can't believe it
somehow. It seems so perfectly futile."
Poirot drew the bullet from his pocket
again and looked at it.
"That was not futile, Mademoiselle," he
said gently.
"It must have been some madman."
"Possibly. It is an interesting subject of
after-dinner conversation are all criminals
really madmen? There may be a malformation
in their grey cells yes, it is very likely.
That, it is the affair of the doctor. For me
I have different work to perform. I have the
innocent to think of, not the guilty the victim,
not the criminal. It is you I am considering,
Mademoiselle, not your unknown
assailant. You are young and beautiful, and
the sun shines and the world is pleasant, and
there is life and love ahead of you. It is all
that of which I think, Mademoiselle. Tell
me, these friends of yours, Mrs. Rice and
Mr. Lazarus they have been down here,

how long?"
"Freddie came down on Wednesday to
this part of the world. She stopped with


nights. She came on here yesterday. Jim has

been touring round about, I believe."
"And Commander Challenger?"

"He's at Devonport. He comes over in his
car whenever he can--weekends mostly."

Poirot nodded. We were walking back to
the house. There was a silence .and then he
said suddenly: "Have you a friend whom


you can trust, Mademoiselle?"
"There's Freddie."
"Other than Mrs. Rice."

"Well, I don't know. I suppose I have.
Why?"

"Because I want you to have a friend to

stay with you immediately."

"Oh!"

Nick seemed rather taken aback. She was
silent a moment or two thinking. Then she
said doubtfully: "There's Maggie. I could

get hold of her, I expect."

"Who is Maggie?"

"One of my Yorkshire cousins. There's a
large family of them. He's a clergyman, you
know. Maggie's about my age and I usually
have her to stay sometime or other in the
summer. She's no fun, though one of those
painfully pure girls, with the kind of hair


	I was hoping to get out of having her this

	year."

	"Not at all. Your cousin, Mademoiselle,

	will do admirably. Just the type of person I

	had in mind."

	"All right," said Nick with a sigh. "I'll

	wire her. I certainly dotft know who else I

	could get hold of just now. Everybody's fixed

	up. But if it isn't the (hoirboys' Outing or

	the Mothers' Beanfeast she'll come all right."

	"Could you arrange for her to sleep in

	your room?"

	"I suppose so.

	"She would not think that an odd

	request?"

	"Oh! no, Maggie never thinks. She just

	does--earnestly, you low. Christian works

	with faith and perseverance. All right, I'll

	wire her to come on Nlnday."
	"Why not tomorrow."

	"With Sunday trains? She'll think I'm dy
	ing if I suggest that. No, I'll say Monday.

	Are you going to tell hr about the awful fate

	hanging over me?"

	"Nous verrons. You till make a iest of it?

	You have courage, I ar glad to see."

	"It makes a diYersiot anyway," said Nick.

	Something in her the struck me and I
	.... 1	
	1
	-1 ,.-, +


there was something she had left untold. We
had re-entered the drawing room. Poirot was
fingering the newspaper on the sofa.
"You read this, Mademoiselle?" he asked
suddenly.
"The St. Loo Herald? Not seriously. I
opened it to see the tides. It gives them everY week."
"I see. By the way, Mademoiselle, have
you ever made a will?"
"Yes, I did. About six months ago. Just
before my op."
"(2u'est-ce que vous dites? Your op?"
"Operation. For appendicitis. Someone
said I ought to make a will, so I did. It made
me fed quite important."
"And the terms of that will?"
"I left End House to Charles. I hadn't
much else to leave but what there was I left
to Freddie. I should think probably the what
do they call them liabilities would have
exceeded the assets, really."
I0irot nodded absently.
"I will take my leave now. Au revoir, Ma-denoiselle.
Be careful."
"'hat of?." asked Nick.
'qou are intelligent. Yes, that is the weak
point in which direction are you to be care-fill?
Who can saw? But have confidence Ma
demoiselle. In a few days I shall have
discovered the truth.

"Until then beware of poison, bombs, re-volver
shots, motor accidents and arrows
dipped in the secret poison of the South
American Indians," finished Nick glibly.

"Do not mock yourself, Mademoiselle,"
said Poirot gravely.

He paused as he reached the door.

"By the way, he said. "What price did M.
Lazarus offer you for the portrait of your
grandfather?"

"Fifty pounds."

"Ah!" said Poirot.

He looked earnestly back at the dark sat-urnine
face above the mantelpiece.

"But, as I told you, I don't want to sell

the old boy."

"No," said Poirot thoughtfully. "No, I
understand."


4

There Must Be Something!

"Poirot." I said as soon as we were out upon
the road. "there is one thing I think you
ought to know."
"And what is that, mon ami?"
I told him of Mrs. Rice's version of the
trouble with the motor.
"Tiens! C'est intgressant, fa. There is, of
course, a type, vain, hysterical, that seeks to
make itself interesting by having marvelous
escapes from death and which will recount to
you surprising histories that never happened!
Yes, it is well known, that type there. Such
people will even do themselves grave bodily
injury to sustain the fiction."
"You don't think that-"
"That Mademoiselle Nick is of that type?
No, indeed. You observed, Hastings, that
we had great difficulty in convincing her of her da.,.- .. .:...- .,open and folded back at where do you
think? A little paragraph which said, 'Among
the guests staying at the Majestic Hotel are M.
Hercule Poirot and Captain Hastings.' Sup-
posingmjust supposing that someone had
read that paragraph. They know my name

everyone knows my name
"Miss Buckley didn't," I said with a grin.
"She is a scatterbrain she does not count.
A serious man---a criminal would know my
name. And he would be afraid! He would
wonder! He would ask himself questions.
Three times he has attempted the life of
Mademoiselle and now Hercule Poirot arrives
in the neighborhood. 'Is that coincidence?'
he would ask himself. And he would
fear that it might not be a coincidence. What
would he do then?"
"Lie low and hide his tracks," I suggested.
"Yes yes--or else. if he had real audacity,
he would strike quickly without loss of
time. Before I had time to make the inquiries
pouf, Mademoiselle is dead. That is what
a man of audacity would do."

	"But why do you think that somebody
read that paragraph other than Miss
Buckley?"
	.
	"It wa,-s no,,,s,s B.-uc..e-ywhoread tha:t


meant nothing to her. It was not even familiar.
Her face did not change. Besides she
told us she opened the paper to look at the
tides nothing else. Well, there was no ride
table on that page."
"You think someone in the house "
"Someone in the house or who had access
to it. And that last is easy the window
stands open. Without doubt Miss Buckley's
friends pass in and out."
"Have you any idea? Any suspicion?"
Poirot flung out his hands.
"Nothing. Whatever the motive, it is, as I
predicted, not an obvious one. That is the
would-be murderer's security that is why
he could act so daringly this morning. On
the face of it, no one seems to have any
reason for desiring the little Nick's death.
The property? End House? That passes to
the cousin but does he particularly want a
heavily mortgaged and very dilapidated old
house? It is not even a family place so far as
he is concerned. He is not a Buckley, remember.
We must see this M. Charles Vyse,
certainly, but the idea seems fantastic.
"Then there is Madame. the bosom
friend with her strange eyes and her air of
a lost Madonna "
,,'7'-- J I. .1


"What is her concern in the business? She
tells you that her friend is a liar. C'est gentille,
fa.t Why does she tell you? Is she afraid of
something that Nick may say? Is that some-thing
connected with the car? Or did she use
that as an instance and was her real fear of
something rise? Did anyone tamper with the
car, and if so, who? And does she know
about it.?"

"Then the handsome blond M. Lazarus.
Where does he fit in? With his marvelous
automobile and his money. Can he possibly
be concerned in any way? Commander Chal-lenger
"

"He's all right," I put in quickly. "I'm
sure of that. A real pukka sahib."

"Doubtless he has been to what you con-sider
the right school. Happily, being a for-eigner,
I am free from these prejudices, and
can make investigations unhampered by
them. But I will admit that I find it hard to
connect Commander Challenger with the
case. In fact I do not see that he can be so
connected."

"Of course he can't," I said warmly.
Poirot looked at me meditatively.

"You have an extraordinary effect on me,
Hastings. You have so strongly the flair in


to go by it! You are that wholly admirable
type of man, honest, credulous, honorable,
who is invariably taken in by any scoundrel.
You are the type of man who invests in
doubtful oil fields, and non-existent gold
mines. From hundreds like you, the swin-dler
makes his daily bread. Ah well. I shall
study this Commander Challenger. You have
awakened my doubts."

"My dear Poirot," I cried angrily. "You
are perfectly absurd. A man who has knocked
about the world like I have "

"Never learns," said Poirot sadly. "It is
amazing, but there it is."

"Do you suppose I'd have made a success
of my ranch out in the Argentine if I was the
kind of credulous fool you make out?"

"Do not enrage yourself, mon ami. You
have made a great success of it you and
your wife."

"Bella," I said, "always goes by my judg-ment.''

"She is as wise as she is charm!ng," said
Poirot. "Let us not quarrel, my friend. See,
there ahead of us, it says Mott's Garage.
That, I think, is the garage mentioned by
Mademoiselle Buckley. A few inquiries will

soon ive us the truth of that littlr,-,,tt.-.. ,,


troduced himself by explaining that he ha.ad
been recommended there by Miss Bucklesty.
He made some inquiries about hiring a ctr
for some afternoon drives and from there sli:id
easily into the topic of the damage sustained
by Miss Buckley's car not long ago.
Immediately the garage proprietor waxed
voluble. Most extraordinary thing he'd ev.er
seen. He proceeded to be technical. I, alats,
am not mechanically minded. Poirot, I shomdd
imagine, is even less so. But certain facts cllid
emerge unmistakably. The car had been taumpered
with. And the damage had been sone-thing
quite easily done occupying very lit::tle time.
"So that is that," said Poirot as we strollted
away. "The little Nick was right, and w-he
rich M. Lazarus was wrong. Hastings, m'ny
friend, all this is very interesting."
"What do we do now?"
"We visit the post office and send of-:f a
telegram if it is not too late."
"A telegram?" I said hopefully.
"Yes," said Poirot thoughtfully. "A tele-

The post office was still open. Poirot w.ote
out his telegram and dispatched it. He


tents. Feeling that he wanted me to ask him,
I carefully refrained from doing so.

"It is annoying that tomorrow is Sunday,"
he remarked as we strolled back to the hotel.
"We cannot now call upon M. Vyse till Mon-day
morning."

"You could get hold of him at his private
address."

"Naturally. But that is just what I am
anxious not to do. I would prefer, in the first
place, to consult him professionally and to
form my judgment of him from that aspect."

"Yes," I said thoughtfully. "I suppose that
would be best."

"The answer to one simple little question,
for instance, might make a great difference.
If M. Charles Vyse was in his office at
twelve-thirty this morning, then it was not
he who fired the shot in the garden of the
Majestic Hotel."

"Ought we not to examine the alibis of the
three at the hotel?"

"That is much more difficult. It would be
easy enough for one of them to leave the
others for a few minutes, a hasty egress from
one of the innumerable windows lounge,
smoking room, drawing room, writing room,

quickly under cover to the stot whereth


retreat. But as yet, mon ami, we are not even
sure that we have arrived at all the dramatis
personae in the drama. There is the respect-able
Ellen and her so far unseen husband.
Both inmates of the house and possibly, for
all we know, with a grudge against our little
Mademoisdle. There are even the unknown
Australians at the lodge. And there may be
others, friends and intimates of Miss
Buckley's whom she has no reason for sus-pecting
and consequently has not mentioned.
I cannot help feeling, Hastings, that there is
something behind this something that has
not yet come to light. I have a little idea that
Miss Buckley knows more than she told us."

"You think she is keeping something
back?"

"Yes."

"Possibly with an idea of shielding who-ever
it is?"

Poirot shook his head with the utmost
energy.

"No, no. As far as that goes, she gave me


the impression of being utterly frank. I am
convinced that as regards these attempts on
her life, she was telling all she knew. But
there is something else something that she
believes has nothing to do with that at all.


thing is. For I I say it in all modesty., am
a great deal more intelligent than une petite
comme fa. I, Hercule Poirot, might see a
connection where she sees none. It might
give me the clue I .am seeking. For I an-nounce
to you, Hastings, quite frankly and
humbly, that I am as you express it, all on
the sea. Until I can get some glimmering of
the reason behind all this, I am in the dark.
There must be something--some factor in
the case that I do not grasp. What is it? Je

me demande fa sans cesse. Qu'est-ce que c'est?"
"You will find out," I said soothingly.

"So long," he said somberly, "as I do not
find out too late."


Mr. and Mrs. Croft

There was dancing that evening at the hotel.

	Nick Buckley dined there with her friends

	and waved a gay greeting to us.

	She was dressed that evening in a floating

	scarlet chiffon that dragged on the floor. Out

	of it rose her white neck and shoulders and

	her small impudent dark head.

	"An engaging young devil," I remarked.

	"A contrast to her friend eh?"

	Frederica Rice was in white. She danced

	with a languorous weary grace that was as far

	removed from Nick's aimafion as anything

	could be.

		"She is very beautiful," said Poirot sud
	denly.

		"Who? Our Nick?"

		"No .the other. Is she evil? Is she good?

	Is she merely unhappy? One cannot tell. She
	.
	--11


But I tell you, my friend, she is an al-lumeuse."

"What do you mean?" I asked curiously.
He shook his head smiling.

"You will feel it sooner or later. Remem-ber
my words."

Presently to my surprise, he rose. Nick
was dancing with George Challenger.
Frederica and Lazarus had just stopped and
had sat down at their table. Then Lazarus
got up and went away. Mrs. Rice was alone.
Poirot went straight to her table. I followed
him.

His methods were direct and to the point.
"You permit?" He laid a hand on the
back of a chair, then slid into it. "I am
anxious to have a word with you while your
friend is dancing."

"Yes?" Her voice sounded cool, uninter-ested.

"Madame, I do not know whether your
friend has told you. If not, I will. Today her
life has been attempted."

Her great grey eyes widened in horror and
surprise. The pupils, dilated black pupils,
widened too.

"What do you mean?"

"Mademoisdle Buckley was shot at in the


She smiled suddenly--a gentle pitying incredulous
smile.
"Did Nick tell you so?"
"No, Madame, I happened to see it with
my own eyes. Here is the bullet."
He held it out to her and she drew back a LITTLE .
"But then but then---"
"It is no fantasy of Mademoiselle's imagination,
you understand. I vouch for that.
And there is more. Several very curious accidents
have happened in the last few days. You will have heard no, perhaps you will
only arrived yesterday, did you

not. You not?"
"Yes

yesterday."
"Before that you were staying with friends,
I understand. At Tavistock."
"Yes."
"I wonder, Madame, what were the names
of the friends with whom you were staying."
She raised her eyebrows.
"Is there any reason why I should tell you
that?" she asked coldly.
Poirot was immediately all innocent surprise.
"A thousand pardons, Madame. I was
most maladroit. But I rnyself, having friends


met them there . . . Buchanan that is the
name of my friends."

Mrs. Rice shook her head.

"I don't remember them. I don't think I
can have met them." Her tone now was
quite cordial. "Don't let us talk about boring
people. Go on about Nick. Who shot at her?
Why.>"

"I do not know whomas yet," said Poirot.
"But I shall find out. Oh! yes, I shall find
out. I am, you know, a detective. Hercule
Poirot is my name."

"A very famous name."

"Madame is too kind."

She said slowly: "What do you want me
to do?"

I think she surprised us both there. We
had not expected just that.

"I will ask you, Madame, to watch over

your friend."

"I will."

"That is all."

He got up, made a quick bow and we
returned to our own table.

"Poirot," I said, "aren't you showing your
hand very plainly?"

"Mon ami, what else can I do? It lacks


can take no chances. At any rate one thing

emerges plain to see."

"What is that?"

"Mrs. Rice was not at Tavistock. Where
was she? Ah! but I will find out. Impossible
to keep information from Hercule Poirot.
See the handsome Lazarus has returned.
She is telling him. He looks over at us. He is
clever, that one. Note the shape of his head.
Ah! I wish I knew "

"What?" I asked as he came to a stop.

"What I shall know on Monday," he re-turned
ambiguously.

I looked at him but said nothing. He
sighed.

"You have no longer the curiosity, my
friend. In the old days "

"There are some pleasures," I said coldly,

"that it is good for you to do without."
"You mean ?"

"The pleasure of refusing to answer ques-tions.''

"Ah, c'est malin."

"Quite so."

"Ah, well, well," murmured Poirot. "The
strong silent man beloved of novelists in the
Edwardian age."

His eyes twinkled with their old glint.

	'T' I
	
	I I
	I
	.1
	.


She detached herself from her partner and
swooped down on us like a gaily colored
bird.
"Dancing on the edge of death," she said
lightly.
"It is a new sensation, Mademoiselle?"
"Yes. Rather fun."
She was off again with a wave of her
hand.
"I wish she hadn't said that," I said slowly.
"Dancing on the edge of death. I don't like
it."
"I know. It is too near the truth. She has
courage, that little one. Yes, she has courage.
But unfortunately it is not courage that
is needed at this moment. Caution, not courage voila ce qu'il nous faut.t"
The following day was Sunday. We were
sitting on the terrace in front of the hotel
and it was about half past eleven when Poirot
suddenly rose to his feet.
"Come, my friend. We will try a little
experiment. I have ascertained that M.
Lazarus and Madame have gone out in the
car and Mademoiselle with them. The coast
is clear."
"Clear for what?"
"You shall see."


short stretch of grass to where a gate gave
onto the zigzag path leading down to the sea.
A couple of bathers were coming up it. They
passed us laughing and talking.

When they had gone, Poirot walked to the
point where an inconspicuous small gate,
rather rusty on its hinges, bore the words in

half-obliterated letters END HOUSE. PRIVATE.

There was no one in sight. We passed qui-etly
through.

In another minute we came out on the
.stretch of lawn in front of the house. There
was no one about. Po[rot strolled to the edge
of the cliff and looked over. Then he walked
towards the house itself. The French win-dows
onto the veranda were open and we
passed straight into the drawing room. Po[rot
wasted no time there. He opened the door
and went out into the hall. From there he
mounted the stairs, I at his heels. He went
straight to Nick's bedroom sat down on the
edge of the bed and nodded to me with a
twinkle.

"You see, my friend, how easy it is. No
one has seen us come. No one will see us go.
We could do any little affair we had to do in
perfect safety. We could, for instance, fray
through a picture wire so that it would be


And supposing that by chance anyone did
happen to be in front of the house and see us

coming. Then we w.ould have a perfectly
natural excuse, provading that we were
known as friends of the house."
"You mean that we can rule out a
stranger?"
"That is what I mean, Hastings. It is no
stray lunatic who is at the bottom of this.
We must look nearer home than that."
He turned to leave the room and I followed
him. We neither of us spoke. We
were both, I think, troubled in mind.
And then, at the bend of the staircase, we
both stopped abruptly. A man was coming
up.
He, too, stopped. His face was in shadow
but his attitude was of one completely taken
aback. He was the first to speak, in a loud
rather bullying voice.
"What the hell are you doing here, I'd
like to know?"
"Ah!" said Poirot. "Monsieur Croft, I
think?"
"That's my name, but what."
"Shall we go into the drawing room to
converse? It would be better, I think."
The other eave way. turned nhnntlxnrl


short stretch
onto the zig
A couple of I
passed us lat
When thel
point where
rather rusty
half-oblitera
There was
etly througl
In anoth
.stretch of
was no on{
of the cliff
towards tt
dows ontc
passed str
wasted nc
and went
mounted
straight t
edge of t
twinkle.
"You:
one has s
We coul
perfect s
through
bound t

in me

Poirot
"I v
at yom
The
"Oh
tive ch
"In l
"Ehi
Austral
"Bel
friend,
"Gla4 big ide
thing...
"It d, The
looking
advan&
cent. Iq
face., a piercing
able thit
"See
bring lit
toes and
good. b
hound.
mad anc


: arawm.g' room, with the door slt we cant were s,,--:---;,-
	d.e a little bow.
	..a we can .eat. Neighbo. rs snomu
.v'a m. tro,d, uce myself. Hercule Po't you think? I came m,-a:;se dth0row.g
 servace.
	--,indow and dump.ect tn
	--
	w
	.
	nearct
other's face cleared a LITTLE.
	; lust going off.agm w.hen! u ock
I" he said slowlv. "You're tho ,,; and men's voxces overneaa: 2 ?
	'

	,,
	"'
	't deal much in ourgaxs
ap. Ive read about you.
	as odd. We don
	I
the St. Loo Herald?"
	md here--but after all it was possible.
I've read about you way back ught I'd just make sure everything was all
ia. French, aren't you?" hr. Then I met you twO. on the stairs
ian. It makes no mtter. This is ning down. It gave me a bxt of a surprise.
Captain Hastings."
	d now you tel! me you're a bonza detec-
1 to meet ou. Bu
	,
	t s xt all about.
	.
	..
	y
	t look, what s fie. Wha
	.
	.
		 ,-,, ; Poarot, smiling
ar what are you doine here An"It is very smape, o .-

epends
what you call. wron" ,e the other mglat, ix pltctttt.7,

	o- finest. She may have told you ox

Austr.alian .nodded.. He was a ,, "- -mighty fine escape." . .
man m s.p-.te of his bald head an She dad.. A., 	
--romtsed to Drmg
ag years. His physi ue was ma if "To make an sec.m .
	o
	q
	gn	
	'.--'
will not do t
[e---had a he.avy,,, ra. tt}.er underhuner some sp-e..cx-..,Ccheae? he tells me she is.
cruue zace, i canea t myself. Th:peat me occmt,.,
	ome and
	
	
	'
	nm butImay c
blue of his eyes was the most nonceomg out this mot g--c chain will be
lg about him.
	.easure what amount o,,
here," he said. "I came rotmd teeded. Vo//---it is simple.

tie Miss Buckley a handful of toma. Croft drew a deep breath.

a cucumber. That man of hers is nc "So that's all it is?"
	a thin . . "Yes---you have had the s.care for nothing.

one idle doesn't grow. g Laz
	--,
,;;,
citizens, my friend
Mother and I--why, at makes
usYre are very
we feel it's
only
neighborly
to
domd
I."

7A


In the drawing room, with the door shut,
Poirot made a little bow.
"I will introduce myself. Hercule Poirot,
at your service."
The other's face cleared a little.
"Oh!" he said slowly. "You're the detective
chap. I've read about you."
"In the St. Loo Herald?"
"Eh? I've read about you way back in
Australia. French, aren't you?"
"Belgian. It makes no metter. This is my
friend, Captain Hastings."
"Glad to meet you. But look, what's the
big idea? What are you doing here? Anything
wrong?"
"It depends what you call wrong."
The Australian nodded. He was a fine-looking
man in spite of his bald head and
advancing years. His physique was magnificent.
He had a heavy, rather underhung
face a crude face, I called it myself. The
piercing blue of his eyes was the most noticeable
thing about him.
"See here," he said. "I came round to
bring little Miss Buckley a handful of tomatoes
and a cucumber. That man of hers is no
good bone idle doesn't grow a thing. Lazy
hound. Mother and I why, it makes us


what we can! We've got a lot more tomatoes
than we can eat. Neighbors should be matey,
don't you think? I came in, as usual, through
the window and dumped the basket down. I
was just going off again when I heard footsteps
and men's voices overhead. That struck
me as odd. We don't deal much in burglars
round here ...... but after all it was possible. I
thought I'd just make sure everything was all
fight. Then I met you two on the stairs
coming down. It gave me a bit of a surprise.
And now you tell me you're a bonza detec-five.
What's it all about?"
"It is very simple," said Poirot, smiling.
"Mademoiselle had a rather alarming experience
the other night. A picture fell above her
bed. She may have told you of it?"
"She did. A mighty fine escape."
"To make all secure I promised to bring
her some special chain, it will not do to
repeat the occurrence, eh? She tells me she is
going out this morning but I may come and
measure what amount of chain will be
needed. Vo//a it is simple."
Croft drew a deep breath. "So that's all it is?"
"Yes--you have had the scare for nothing.
We are very law-ahlclintr ,.;;,.,,,.


"Didn't I see you yesterday?" said Croft
slowly. "Yesterday evening it was. You
passed our little place."
"Ah! yes, you were working in the garden
and were sa polite as to say good afternoon
when we passed."
"That's right. Well well. And you're the
M. Hercule Poirot I've heard so much about.
Tell me, are you busy, Mr. Poirot? Because
if not, I Wish you'd come back with me
now have a cup of morning tea, Australian
fashion, anct meet my old lady. She's read all
about you i;n the newspapers."
"You are too kind, M. Croft. We have
nothing to 4o and shall be derighted."
"That's fYme."
"You have the measurements correctly,
Hastings?" asked Poirot turning to me.
I assureqt him that I had the measurements
correctly and we accompanied our new
friend.
Croft wats a talker, we soon realized that.
He told us of his home near Melbourne, of
his early s';tmggles, of his meeting with his
wife, of ttheir combined efforts and of his
f'mal good fortune and success.
"Right :away we made up our minds to
travel," he said. "We'd always wanted to


came down to this part of the world tried
to look up some of my wife's people they
came from round about here. But we couldn't
trace any of them. Then we took a trip on
the Continent- Paris, Rome, the Italian
Lakes, Florence all those places. It was
while we were in Italy that we had the train
accident. My poor wife was badly smashed
up. Cruel, isn't it? I've taken her to the best
doctors and they all say the same there's
nothing for it but time time and lying up.
It's an injury to the spine."

"What a misfortune!"

Hard luck, sn t it? Well, there it was.
And she'd only got one kind of fancy to
come down here. She kind of felt if we had a
little place of our own something small it
would make all the difference. We saw a lot
of messy-looking shacks, and then by good
luck we found this. Nice and quiet and
tucked away no cars passing, or gramo-phones
next door. I took it right away."

With the last words we had come to the
lodge itself. He sent his voice echoing forth
in a loud "Cooee" to which came an answer-ing
"Cooee."

"Come in," said Mr. Croft. He passed
through the open door and up the short


on a sofa, was a stout middle-aged woman
with pretty grey hair and a very sweet smile.

"Who do you think this is, Mother?"
said Mr. Croft. "The extraspecial world-celebrated
detective, Mr. Hercule Poirot. I
brought him right along to have a chat with
you."

"If that isn't too exciting for words," cried
Mrs. Croft, shaking Poirot warmly by the
hand. "Read about that Blue Train business,
I did, and you just happening to be on it,
and a lot about your other cases. Since this
trouble with my back, I've read all the detec-tive
stories that ever were, I should think.
Nothing else seems to pass the time away so
quick. Bert dear, call out to Edith to bring
the tea along."

"Right you are, Mother."

"She's a kind of nurse attendant, Edith
is," Mrs. Croft explained. "She comes along
each moning to fnt me up. We're not both-ering
with servants. Bert's as good a cook
and a house-parlor-man as you'd find any-where,
and it gives him occupation., that and
the garden."

"Here we are," cried Mr. Croft reappear-ing
with a tray. "Here's the tea. This is a
great day in our lives, Mother."


Poirot?" Mrs. Croft asked as she leaned over
a little and wielded the tea pot.

"Why yes, Madame, I take the holiday."

"But surely I read that you had retired--that
you'd taken a holiday for good and all."

"Ah! Madame, you must not believe ev-erything
you read in the papers."

"Well, that's tree enough. So you still
carry on business?" .

"When I find a case that interests me."

 "Sure you're not down here on work,"
required Mr. Croft shrewdly. "Calling it a

holiday might be all part of the game."

"You mustn't ask him embarrassing ques-tions,
Bert," said Mrs. Croft. "Or he won't
come again. We're simple people, Mr. Poirot,
and you're giving us a great treat coming
here today--you and your friend. You really
don't know the pleasure you're giving us."

She was so natural and so frank in her
gratification that my heart quite warmed to
her.

"That was a bad business about the
picture," said Mr. Croft.

"That poor little girl might have been
killed," said Mrs. Croft with deep feeling.
"She is a live wire. Livens the place up

when she cnmeclmx,, h,,.., xT^. .... t ,,,. ,


the way in these stuck-up English places.
They don't like life and gaiety in a girl. I
don't wonder she doesn't spend much time
down here. And that long-nosed cousin of
hers has no more chance of persuading her
to settle down here for good and all than
than well, I don't know what."

"Don't gossip, Milly," said her husband.
"Aha," said Poirot. "The wind is in that
quarter. Trust the instinct of Madame! So
M. Charles Vyse is in love with our little
friend?"

"He's silly about her," said Mrs. Croft.
"But she won't marry a country lawyer. And
I don't blame her. He's a poor stick anyway.
I'd like her to marry that nice sailor what's
his name, Challenger. Many a smart mar-riage
might be worse than that. He's older
than she is, but what of that? Steadying
that's what she needs. Flying about all over
the place, the Continent even, all alone or
with that queer-looking Mrs. Rice. She's a
sweet girl, Mr. Poirot I know that well
enough. But I'm worried about her. She's
looked none too happy lately. She's had what
I call a haunted kind of look. And it worries
me! I've got my reasons for being interested


Mr. Croft got up from his chair rather
suddenly.

"No need to go into that, Milly," he said.
"I wonder Mr. Poirot, if you'd care to see
some snapshots of Australia?"

The rest of our visit passed uneventfully.
Ten minutes later we took our leave.


"Nice people," I said. "So simple and
unassuming. Typical Australians."


"You liked them?"

"Didn't you?"

"They were very pleasant very friendly."

"Well, what is it then? There's something,
I can see."

"They were, perhaps, just a shade too
'typical,'" said Poirot thoughtfully. "That
cry of 'Cooee' that insistence on showing us
snapshots, was it not perhaps playing a part
just a little too thoroughly?"

"What a suspicious old devil you are!"
"You are fight, mon ami. I am suspicious
of everyone of everything. I am afraid,
Hastings afraid."


6


A Call Upon Mr. Vyse


Poirot clung firmly to the Continental break-fast.
To see me consuming eggs and bacon
upset and distressed him ,.so he always said.
Consequently he breakfasted in bed upon
coffee and rolls and I was free to start the
day with the traditional Englishman's break-fast
of bacon and eggs and marmalade.

I looked into his room on Monday mom-ing
as I went downstairs. He was sitting up
in bed arrayed in a very marvelous dressing
gown.

 "Bonjour, Hastings. I was just about to
nng. This note that I have written, will you

be so good as to get it taken over to End
House and delivered to Mademoiselle at
once.

I held out my hand for it. Poirot looked at
me and sighed.

"If only .if only, Hastings, you would part

: -t..:.m.. .,tool rff t the side!


What a difference it would make to the sym-metry
of your appearance. And your mus-tache.
If you must have a mustache, let it be
a real mustache a thing of beauty such as
mine."

Repressing a shudder at the thought, I
took the note firmly from Poirot's hand and
left the room.

I had rejoined him in our sitting room
when word was sent up to say Miss Buckley
had called. Poirot gave the order for her to
be shown up.

She came in gaily enough, but I fancied
that the circles under her eyes were darker
than usual. In her hand she held a telegram
which she handed to Poirot.

"There," she said, "I hope that will please
you!"

Poirot read it aloud.

"Arrive 5:30 today Maggie."

"My nurse and guardian!" said Nick. "But
you're wrong, you know. Maggie's got no
kind of brains. Good works is about all she's
fit for. That and never seeing the point of
jokes. Freddie would be ten times better at
spotting hidden assassins. And Jim Lazarus
would be better still. I never feel one has got
to the bottom of Jim."

"And the Commander Challenger?"


"Oh! George! He'd never see anything till
it was under his nose. But he'd let them
have it when he did see. Very useful when it

came to a showdown, George would be."
She tossed off her hat and went on.

"I gave orders for the man you wrote
about to be let in. It sounds mysterious. Is
he installing a dictaphone or something like
that?"

Poirot shook his head.

"No, no, nothing scientific. A very simple
little matter of opinion, Mademoiselle. Some-thing
I wanted to know."

"Oh, well," said Nick, "it's all great fun,
isn't it?"

"Is it, Mademoiselle?" asked Poirot
gently.

She stood for a minute with her back to
us, looking out of the window. Then she
turned. All the brave defiance had gone out
of her face. It was childishly twisted awry, as
she struggled to keep back the tears.

"No," she said. "It it isn't really. I'm
afraid I'm afraid. Hideously afraid. And I
always thought I was brave."

"So you are, mon enfant, so you are. Both
Hastings and I, we have both admired your
courage."


"No," said Nick, shaking her head. "I'm
not brave. It's it's the waiting. Wondering
the whole time if anything more's going to
happen. And how it'll happen! And expecting
it to happen."
"Yes, yes it is the strain."
"Last night I pulled my bed out into the
middle of the room. And I fastened my window
and bolted my door. When I came here

this morning,. I came round by the road. I
couldn't I smaply couldn't come through
the garden. It's as though my nerve had
gone all of a sudden. It's this thing coming
on top of everything else."
"What do you mean exactly by that, Mademoiselle?
On top of everything else?"
There was a momentary pause before she
replied.
"I don't mean anything particular. What
the newspapers call 'the strain of modern
life,' I suppose. Too many cocktails, too
many cigarettes all that sort of thing. It's
just that I've got into a ridiculous sort of ... of state."
She had sunk into a chair and was sitting
there, her small fingers curling and uncurling
themselves nervously.
"You are not being frank with me, Made
	"There isn't there really isn't."

	"There is something you have not told

me.

	"I've told you every single smallest thing."

	She spoke sincerely and earnestly.

	"About these accidents
	about the attacks

upon you, yes."

	"Well then?"

	"But you have not told me everything that

is in your heart in your life 	"

	She
said slowly.
	"Can
anyone do that... ?"
"Ah!
then," said Poirot with triumph. "You
admit it!"
She
shook her head. He watched her keenly.

"Perhaps,"
he suggested shrewdly, "it is not
your secret?"
I
thought I saw a momentary flicker of her
eyelids. But almost immediately she jumped
up.
"Really
and truly, M. Poirot, I've told you every
single thing I know about this stupid business.
If you think I know something about
someone else, or have suspicions, you are
wrong. It's having no suspicions that's driving
me mad! Because I'm not a fool. I can
see that if these 'accidents' weren't acci-

somebody very near at hand somebody
who knows me. And that's what is so awful.
Because I haven't the least idea not the
very least who that somebody might be."
She went over once more to the window
and stood looking out. Poirot signed to me
not to speak. I think he was hoping for some
further revelation, now that the girl's self-control
had broken down.
When she spoke, it was in a different tone
of voice, a dreamy far away voice.
"Do you know a queer wish I've always
had? I love End House. I've always wanted
to produce a play there. It's got an an atmosphere
of drama about it. I've seen all
sorts of plays staged there in my mind. And
now it's as though a dream were being acted
there. Only I'm not producing it... I'm in
it! I'm fight in it! I am, perhaps, the person
who dies in the first act."
Her voice broke.
"Now, now, Mademoiselle." Poirot's voice
was resolutely brisk and cheerful. "This will
not do. This is the hysteria."
She turned and looked at him sharply.
"Did Freddie tell you I was hysterical?"
she asked. "She says I am, sometimes. But you mustn't always believe what Freddie


says. There are times, you knw, when - Wfien she isn't quite herself."
There was a pause, then Pmrot asked a

totally irrelevant question.

		"Tell me, Mademoiselle," he said. "Have

you ever received an offer for End House?"

		"To sell it, do you mean?"

		"That is what I meant."

		"NO."

		"Would you consider selling it if you got a

	good offer?"

		Nick considered for a moment.

		"No, I don't think so. Not, I mean, un
		less it was such a ridiculously good offer that

		it would be perfectly foolish not to."

		"Prcisent."

		"I don't want to sell it, you know, because

		I'm fond of it."

		"c}uite so I understand."

		Nick moved slowly tow.ds the door..

			"By the way, there are fireworks tonight.
	
	-A:eht o'clock. The
	Will you come? Dinner at

	fireworks begin at nme-thirty. You can see

	them splendidly from the garden where it

	overlooks the harbor."

	"I shall be enchanted."

		"Both of you, of course," said Nick.

		"Many thanks," I said.


drooping spirits," remarked Nick. And with
a little laugh she went out.

"Pauvre enfant," said Poirot.

He reached for his hat and carefully flicked
an infinitesimal speck of dust from its sur-face.

"We are going out?" I asked.

"Mais oui, we have legal business to trans-act,
mon ami."

"Of course. I understand."

"One of your brilliant mentality could not
fail to do so, Hastings."

The offices of Messrs. Vyse, Trevannion
& Wynnard were situated in the main street
of the town. We mounted the stairs to the
first floor and entered a room where three
clerks were busily writing. Poirot asked to
see Mr. Charles Vyse.

A clerk murmured a few words down a
telephone, received, apparently, an affma-tire
reply, and remarking that Mr. Vyse
would see us now, he led us across the pas-sage,
tapped on a door and stood aside for us
to pass in.

From behind a large desk covered with
legal papers, Mr. Vyse rose up to greet us.

He was a tall young man, rather pale, with

imnu..ixre fentnre. l-le wa. going a little bald


on either temple and wore glasses. His color- ing was fair and indeterminate.
Poirot had come prepared for the encounter.
Fortunately he had with him an agreement,
as yet unsigned, and on some technical
points in connection with this, he wanted
Mr. Vyse's advice.
Mr. Vyse, speaking carefully and correctly,
was soon able to allay Poirot's alleged doubts,
and to clear up some obscure points of the
wording.
"I am very much obliged to you," murmured
Poirot. "As a foreigner, you comprehend,
these legal matters and phrasing are
most difficult."
It was then that Mr. Vyse asked who had
sent Poirot to him.
"Miss Buckley," said Poirot promptly.
"Your cousin, is she not? A most charming
young lady. I happened to mention that I
was in perplexity and she told me to come to
you. I tried to see you on Saturday morning
about haft past twelve but you were out."
"Yes, I remember. I left early on Saturday.''
"Mademoiselle your cousin must find that
large house very lonely? She lives there alone,


"Quite so."


"Tell me, M. Vyse, if I may ask, is there
any chance of that property being in the
market?"


"Not the least, I should say."

"You understand: I do not ask idly.. I
have a reason! I am m search myself, of lust
such a property. The climate of St. Loo
enchants me. It is tree that the house ap-pears
to be in bad repair, there has not been,
I gather, much money to spend upon it.
Under those circtunstances, is it not possible
that Mademoiselle would consider an offer?"

"Not the least likelihood of it," Charles
Vyse shook his head with the utmost deci-sion.
"My cousin is absolutely devoted to the
place. Nothing would induce her to sell, I

know. It is, you understand, a family place."
"I comprehend that, but--"

"It is absolutely out of the question. I
know my cous'm. She has a fanatical devo-tion
to the house."

A few minutes later we were out in the
street again.

"Well, my friend," said Poirot. "And what
impression did this M. Charles Vyse make
upon you?"


"A very negative one," I said at last. "He
is a curiously negative person."
"Not a strong personality, you would say?"
"No, indeed. The kind of man you would
never remember on meeting him again. A
mediocre person."
"His appearance is certainly not striking.
Did you notice any discrepancy in the course
of our conversation with him?"
"Yes," I said slowly. "I did. With regard
to the selling of End House."
"Exactly. Would you have described Mademoiselle
Buckley's attitude towards End
House as one of 'fanatical devotion'?"
"It is a very strong term."
"Yes--and M. Vyse is not given to using
strong terms. His normal attitude a legal
attitude---is to under- rather than overstate.
Yet he says that Mademoiselle has a fanatical
devotion to the house of her ancestors."
"She did not convey that impression this
morning," I said. "She spoke about it very
sensibly, I thought. She's obviously fond of
the placemjust as anyone in her position
would be but certainly nothing more."
"So, in fact, one of the two is lying," said
Poirot thoughtfully.
"One would not suspect Vyse of lying."


to do.," remarked Poirot. "Yes, he has quite
the air of a George Washington, that one.


Did you notice another thing, Hastings?"
"What was that?"

"He was not in his office at half past
twelve on Saturday."


7

Tragedy

The first person we saw when we arrived at
End House that evening was Nick. She was
dancing about the hall wrapped in a marvelous
kimono covered with dragons.
"Oh! it's only you!"
"Mademoiselle I am desolated!"
"I know. It did sound rude. But you see,
I'm waiting for my dress to arrive. They
promised the brutes promised faithfully!"
"Ah! if it is a matter of la toilette/There is
a dance tonight, is there not?"
"Yes. We are all going on to it after the
fzreworks. That is, I suppose we are."
There was a sudden drop in her voice.
But the next minute she was laughing.
"Never give in! That's my motto. Don't
think of trouble and trouble won't come!
I've got my nerve back tonight. I'm going to


There was a footfall on the stairs. Nick
turned.

"Oh! here's Maggie. Maggie, here are the
sleuths that are protecting me from the se-cret
assassins. Take them into the drawing
room and let them tell you about it."

In turn we shook hands with Maggie
Buckley and as requested she took us into
the drawing room. I formed an immediate
favorable opinion of her.

It was, I think, her appearance of calm
good sense that so attracted me. A quiet girl,
pretty in the old-fashioned sense certainly
not smart. Her face was innocent of makeup
and she wore a simple, rather shabby, black
evening dress. She had frank blue eyes, and
a pleasant slow voice.

"Nick has been telling me the most amaz-ing
things," she said. "Surely she must be
exaggerating? Who ever would want to harm
Nick? She can't have an enemy in the world."

Incredulity showed strongly in' her voice.
She was looking at Poirot in a somewhat
unflattering fashion. I realized that to a girl
like Maggie Buckley, foreigners were always
suspicious.

"Nevertheless, Miss Buckley, I assure you.


She made no reply but her face remained
tmbelieving.

"Nick seems quite fey tonight," she re-marked.
"I don't know what's the matter
with her. She seems in the wildest spirits."

That word fey! It sent a shiver through
me. Also, something in the 'intonation of her
voice had set me wondering.

"Are you Scotch, Miss Buckley?" I asked
abruptly.
"My mother was Scottish," she explained.
She viewed me, I noticed, with more ap-proval
than she viewed Poirot. I felt that my
statement of the case would carry more
weight with her than Poirot's would.

"Your cousin is behaving with great brav-ery,''
I said. "She's determined to carry on

as usual."

"It's the only way, isn't it?" said Maggie.
"I mean whatever one's inward feelings,
are k is no good making a fuss about them.

That's only uncomfortable for everyone else."
She paused and then added in a soft voice,
"I'm very fond of Nick. She's been very
good to me always."

We could say nothing more for at that
moment Frederica Rice drifted into the room.
She was wearing a gown of Madonna blue


soon followed her and then Nick danced in.
She was wearing a black frock and round her
was wrapped a marvelous old Chinese shawl
of vivid lacquer red.
"Hullo, people," she said. "Cocktails."
We all drank and Lazarus raised his glass
to her.
"That's a marvelous shawl, Nick," he said.
"It's an old one, isn't it?"
"Yes brought back by Great-GreatGreat-Uncle
Timothy from his travels."
"It's a beauty a real beauty. You
wouldn't find another to match it if you
tried."
"It's warm," said Nick. "It'll be nice when
we're watching the fireworks. And it's gay.
I I hate black."
"Yes," said Frederica. "I don't believe I've
ever seen you in a black dress before, Nick.
Why did you get it?'"
"Oh! I don't know." The girl flung aside
with a petulant gesture, but I had caught a
curious curl of her lips as though of pain.
"Why does one do anything?"
We went into dinner. A mysterious manservant
had appeared hired, I presume for
the occasion. The food was indifferent. The
champagne, on the other hand, was good.


nuisance his having to go back to Plymouth
last night. He'll get over this evening some
time or other, I expect. In time for the dance,
anyway. I've got a man for Maggie. Present-able,
if not passionately interesting."

A faint roaring sound drifted in through
the window.

"Oh! curse that speedboat," said Lazarus.
"I get so tired of it."

"That's not the speedboat," said Nick.
"That's a seaplane."

"I believe you're right."

"Of course I'm right. The sound's quite
different."

"When are you going to get your Moth,
Nick?"

"When I can raise the money," laughed
Nick.

"And then, I suppose, you'll be off to

Australia like that girl what's her name?"
"I'd love to "

"I admire her enormously," said Mrs. Rice
in her tired voice. "What marvelous nerve!
All by herself too."

"I admire all these flying people," said
Lazarus. "If Michael Seton had succeeded in
his flight round the world he'd have been


sand pities he's come to grief. He's the kind
of man England can't afford to lose."

"He may still be all right," said Nick.

"Hardly. It's a thousand to one against by
now. Poor Mad Seton."

"They always called him Mad Seton, didn't

they?" asked Frederica.

Lazarus nodded.

"He comes of rather a mad family," he
said. "His uncle, Sir Matthew Seton who
died about a week ago. he was as mad as a
hatter."

"He was the mad millionaire who ran bird
sanctuaries, wasn't he?" asked Frederica.

"Yes. Used to buy up islands. He was a
great woman hater. Some girl chucked him
once, I believe, and he took to Natural His-tory
by way of consoling himself."

"Why do you say Michael Seton is dead?"
persisted Nick. "I don't see any reason for
giving up hope--yet."

"Of course, you knew him, didn't you?"
said Lazarus. "I forgot."

"Freddie and I met him at Le Touquet
last year," said Nick. "He was too marvel-ous,
wasn't he, Freddie?"

"Don't ask me, darling. He was your con-quest,
not mine. He tonk vn


"Yes--at Scarborough. It was simply too
wonderful."

"Have you done any flying, Captain
Hastings?" Maggie asked of me in polite
conversational tones.

I had to confess that a trip to Paris and
back was the extent of my acquaintance with
air travel.

Suddenly, with an exclamation, Nick
sprang up.

"There's the telephone. Don't wait for me.
It's getting late. And I've asked lots of
people."

She left the room. I glanced at my watch.
It was just nine o'clock. Dessert was brought,
and port. Poirot and Lazarus were talking
art. Pictures, Lazarus was saying, were a
great drug in the market just now. They
went on to discuss new ideas in furniture
and decoration.

I endeavored to do my duty by talking to
Maggie Buckley, but I had to admit that the
girl was heavy in hand. She answered pleas-antly
but without throwing the ball back. It
was uphill work.

Frederica Rice sat dreamily silent, her el-bows
on the table and smoke from her ciga-rette
curling round her fair head. She looked


It was just twenty past ine when Nick
put her head round the door.

"Come out of it, all of you! The animals
are coming in two by two."

We rose obediently. Nick was busy greet-ing
arrivals. About a dozen people had been
asked. Most of them were rather uninterest-ing.
Nick, I noticed made a good hostess.
She sunk her modernisms and made every-one
welcome in an old-fashioned way.
Amongst the guests I noticed Charles Vyse.

Presently we all moved out into the garden
to a place overlooking the sea and the har-bor.
A few chairs had been placed there for
the elderly people, but most of us stood. The
first rocket flamed to Heaven.

At that moment, I heard a loud familiar
voice and turned my head to see Nick greet-ing
Mr. Croft.

"It's too bad," she was saying, "that Mrs.
Croft can't be here too. We ought to have
carried her on a stretcher or something."

"It's bad luck on poor Mother altogether.
But she never complains that woman's got
the sweetest nature Ha! that's a good one."
This as a shower of golden rain showed up
in the sky.

The night was a dark one there was no

mrrn tho noxxr mr"n hino' dle in three


days' time. It was also, like most stmnner
evenings, cold. Maggie Buckley, who was
next to me, shivered.
"I'll just run in and get a coat," she murmured.
"Let me."
"No, you wouldn't know where to find
it."
She turned towards the house. At that
moment Frederica Rice's voice called.
"Oh! Maggie, get mine too. It's in my
room."
"She didn't hear," said Nick. I'll get it,
Freddie. I want my fur one ..this shawl isn't
nearly hot enough. It's this wind."
There was, indeed, a sharp breeze blowing
off the sea.
Some set pieces started down on the quay.
I fell into conversation with an elderly young
lady standing next me who put me through a
rigorous catechism as to life, career, tastes
and probable length of stay.
Bang! A shower of green stars filled the
sky. They changed to blue, then red, then
silver.
Another and yet another.
"'Oh!' and then 'Ah!' that is what one
says," observed Poirot suddenly close to my


you not f'md? Brrr! The grass, it is damp to
the feet! I shall suffer for this a chill. And

no possibility of obtaining a proper tisane.t"
"A chill? On a lovely night like this?"

"A lovely night! A lovely night! You say
that, because the rain it does not pour down
in sheets! Always when the rain does not
fall, it is a lovely night. But I tell you, my
friend, if there were a little thermometer to
consult you would see."

"Well," I admitted. "I wouldn't mind put-ting
on a coat myself."

"You are very sensible. You have come
from a hot climate."

"I'll bring yours."

Poirot lifted first one, then the other foot
from the ground with a catlike motion.

"It is the dampness of the feet I fear.
Would it, think you, be possible to lay the

hands on a pair of galoshes?"

I repressed a smile.

"Not a hop?," I said. "You understand,
Poirot, that it as no longer done."


"Then I shall sit in the house," he de-clared.
"Just for the Guy Fawkes show, shall
I wantonly enrhumer myself?. And catch, per-haps,
a fluxion de poitrine?"

Poirot still murmuring indignantly, we


clapping drifted up to us from the quay below
where another set piece was being
shown a ship, I believe, with WELCOME TO
OUR vIsrroas displayed across it.
"We are all children at heart," said Poirot
thoughtfully. "Les Feux al'Artifices, the Party, the games with balls yes, and even the conjuror,
the man who deceives the eye, however
carefully it watches mais qu'est-ce que
vous avez?"
I had caught him by the arm, and was
clutching him with one hand while with the
other I pointed.
We were within a hundred yards of the
house and just in front of us, between us and
the open French window, there lay a huddled
figure wrapped in a scarlet Chinese shawl ....
"Mon Dieu.t" whispered Poirot. "Mon
Dieu .... "


The Fatal Shawl


I suppose it was not more than forty seconds
that we stood there, frozen with horror, un-able
to move, but it seemed like an hour.
Then Poirot moved forward shaking off my
hand. He moved stiffly like an automaton.

"It has happened," he murmured, and I
can hardly describe the anguished bitterness
of his voice. "In spite of everything--in spite
of my precautions it has happened. Ah! mis-erable
criminal that I am, why did I not
guard her better. I should have foreseen,
yes- I should have foreseen. Not for one
instant should I have left her side."

"You mustn't blame yourself," I said.

My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth
and I could hardly articulate.


Poirot o.nly responded with a sorrowful

shake of his head. He knelt dcxn 1,, ,


And at that moment we received a second
shock.

For Nick's voice rang out, clear and gay,
and a moment later Nick appeared in the
square of the window silhouetted against the
lighted room behind.

"Sorry I've been so long, Maggie," she
said. "But "

Then she broke off staring at the scene
before her.

With a sharp exclamation Poirot turned
over the body on the lawn and I pressed
forward to see.

I looked down into the dead face of Maggie
Buckley.

In another minute Nick was beside us.
She gave a sharp cry.

"Maggie..Oh! Maggie it it can't "

Poirot was still examiirg the girl's body.
At last very slowly he rose to his feet.

"Is she is "Nick's voice broke off.
"Yes, Mademoiselle. She is dead."

"But why? But why? Who could have
wanted to kill her?"

Poirot's reply came quickly and firmly.
"It was not her they meant to kill, Made-moiselle!
It was you! They were misled by
the shawl."


"Why couldn't it have been me?" she
wailed. "Oh! why couldn't it have been me?
I d so much rather. I. don t want to live-now.
I'd be glad. wilhng--happ3 to die."

She flung up her arms wildly and then
staggered slightly. I passed an arm round her
quickly to support her.

"Take her into the house, Hastings," said

Poirot. "Then ring up the police."

"The police?"

"Mais oui.t Tall them someone has been
shot. And afterwards stay with Mademoiselle
Nick. On no account leave her."

I nodded comprehension of these instruc-tions,
and supporting the half-fainting girl,
made my way through the drawing room
window. I laid the girl on the sofa there,
with a cushion under her head, and then
hurried out into the hall in search of the
telephone.

I gave a slight start on almost running into
Ellen. She was standing there with a most
peculiar expression on her meek respectable
face. Her eyes were glittering and she was
passing her tongue repeatedly over her dry
lips. Her hands were trembling, as though
with excitement. As soon as she saw me, she
spoke.


"Yes," I said curtly. "Where's the telephone?''
"Nothing--nothing wrong, sir?"
"There's been an accident," I said evasively.
"Somebody hurt. I must telephone."
"Who has been hurt, sir?"
There was a positive eagerness in her face.
"Miss Buckley. Miss Maggie Buckley."
"Miss Maggie? Miss Maggie? Are you sure,
sir--I mean are you sure that--that it's Miss
Maggie?"
"I said. "Why?"
"I'm quite sure,
"Oh!--nothing. I .I thought it might be
one of the other ladies. I thought perhaps it

might be ..Mrs. Rice."
"Look here," I said. "Where's the telephone?''
"It's in the little room here, sir." She
opened the door for me and indicated the
instrument.
"Thanks," I said. And as she seemed disposed
to linger, I added, "That's all I want,
thank you."
"If you want Dr. Graham--"
"No, no," I said. "That's all. Go, please."
She withdrew reluctantly, as slowly as she
dared. In all probability :she would listen


After all, she would soon know all there was
to be known.

I got the police station and made my re-port.
Then, on my own initiative, I rang up
the Dr. Graham Ellen had mentioned. I
found his number in the book. Nick, at any
rate, should have medical attention, I felt

even though a doctor could do nothing for
that poor girl lying out there. He promised
to come at once and I hung up the receiver
and came out into the hall again.

If Ellen had been listening outside the door
she had managed to disappear very swiftly.
There was no one in sight when I came out.
Nick


I went back into the drawing room.
was trying to sit up.

"Do you think could you get me
brandy?"

"Of course."


some


I hurried into the dining room, found what
I wanted and came back. A few sips of the
spirit revived the girl. The color began to
come back into her cheeks. I rearranged the
cushion for her head.

"It's all so awfifi." She shivered. "Every-thing
everywhere."

"I know, my dear, I know."


such a waste. If it only were me. It would be
all over "

"You mustn't," I said, "be morbid."

She only shook her head, reiterating: "You
don't know! You don't know!"

Then, suddenly, she began to cry. A quiet,
hopeless sobbing like a child. That, I
thought, was probably the best thing for her,
so I made no effort to stem her tears.

When their first violence had died down a
little, I stole across to the window and looked
out. I had heard an outcry of voices a few
minutes before They were all there by now,
a semicircle round the scene of the tragedy,
with Poirot like a fantastical sentinel, keep-ing
them back.

As I watched, two uniformed figures came
striding across the grass. The police had ar-rived.

I went quietly back to my place by the
sofa. Nick lifted her tearstained face.

"Oughtn't I to be doing something?"

"No, my dear. Poirot will see to it. Leave
it to m.

Nick was silent for a minute or two, then
she said: "Poor Maggie. Poor dear old
Maggie. Such a good sort who never harmed


This must have been a terrible shock."
fingers were on her pulse. "Not too bad. He turned to me.
"Has she had anything?"
"Some brandy," I said.
"I'm all right," said Nick bravely.
"Able to answer a few questions, eh?" "Of course."

her. I feel as though I'd killed her bringing
her down in the way that I did."
I shook my head sadly. How little one can
foresee the future. When Poirot insisted on
Nick's inviting a frien, d, how little did. he
think that he was signing an unknown girl's
death warrant.
We sat in silence. I longed to know what
was going on outside but I loyally fulffiled
Poirot's instructions and stuck to my post.
It seemed hours later when the door
opened and Poirot and a police inspector
entered the room. With them came a man
who was evidently Dr. Graham. He came
over at once to Nick.
"And how are you feeling, Miss Buckley?
His

The police inspector moved forward with
a preliminary cough. Nick greeted him with
a ghost of a smile.
"Not impeding the traffic this time," she


I gathered they were not strangers to each
other.

"This is a terrible business, Miss Buckley,"
said the inspector. "I'm very sorry about it.
Now Mr. Poirot here whose name I'm very
familiar with (and proud we are to have him
with us, I'm sure) tells me that to the best of
his belief you were shot at in the grounds of

the Majestic Hotel the other morning?"
Nick nodded.

"I thought it was just a wasp," she ex-plained.
"But it wasn't."

"And you'd had some rather peculiar acci-dents
before that?"

"Yes at least it was odd their happening


account of the various


so close together."

She gave a brief
circumstances.


"Just so. Now how came it that your
cousin was wearing your shawl tonight?"

"We came in to fetch her coat it was
rather cold watching the fireworks. I flung
off the shawl on the sofa here. Then I went
upstairs and put on the coat I'm wearing
now a light nutria one. I also got a wrap
for my friend Mrs. Rice out of her room.
There it is on the floor by the window.
Then Maggie called out that she couldn't


She went down and called up she still
couldn't find it. I said it must have been left


in the car it was a tweed coat .she was
looking for she hasn't got an evemng furry
one and I said I'd bring her down some-thing
of mine. But she said it didn't mat-ter
she'd take my shawl if I didn't want it.


And I said of course but would that be
enough? And she said, Oh! yes, because she
really didn't feel it particularly cold after
Yorkshire She just wanted something. And
I said all right, I'd be out in a minute. And


when I did. did come out .... "

She stopped, her voice breaking...
"Now, don't distress yourself,


Buckley. Just tell me this: Did you hear a
shot or two shots?"

Nick shook her head.

"No only just the fireworks popping and
the squibs going off."

"That's just it," said the inspector. "You'd


never notice a s. hot with all that going on.
It's no good asking you, I suppose, if you've
any clue to who is making these attacks upon
you?"

"I haven't the least idea," said Nick. "I
can't imagine."

"And you wouldn't be likely to," said the


	xWvrh it looks like to me. Nasty business.

	'i won't need to ask you any more
w u,.
	. -:--+ i I'm more sorry about
	quesuons tomgm, -,- ....

	this than I can say."

	Dr. Graham stepped forward.

	',T,,, ning to suggest, Miss Buckley., that

	---- ^--'t stay here. Ive been talking t over
yuu u,x
	. J
			"--' nuts-
	with M. Porot. I know of an excenent

	ing home. You've had a shock, ,y, ou know.

	What you need is complete rest

		Nick was not looking at him. Her eyes
gone to Poirot.
ha,al'Is it--because of the shock?" she asked.
He came forward.
"I want you to feel safe, mon enfant. And I
want to feel, too, that you are safe. There
will be a nurse there--a nice practical
unimaginative nurse. She will be near you all
night. When you wake up and cry out ..she
will be there, close at hand. You understand?"
"Yes," said Nick. "I understand. But you
don't. I'm not afraid any longer. I don't care
one way or another. If anyone wants to murder
me, they can."
"Hush, hush," I said. "You're over-sxrung.
"You don't know. None of you know!"


good one," the doctor broke in soothingly.
"I will take you in my car. And we will give
you a little something to ensure a good night's
rest. Now what do you say?"

"I don't mind," said Nick. "Anything you
like. It doesn't matter."

Poirot laid his hand on hers.

"I know, Mademoiselle. I know what you
must feel. I stand before you ashamed and
stricken to the heart. I, who promised pro-tection,
have not been able to protect. I have
failed. I am a miserable. But believe me,
Mademoiselle, my heart is in agony because
of that failure. If you knew what I am suffer-ing,
you would forgive me, I am sure."

"That's all right," said Nick, still in the
same dull voice. "You mustn't blame your-self.
I'm sure you did the best you could.
Nobody could have helped it or done more,
I'm sure. Please don't be unhappy."

"You are very generous, Mademoiselle."
"No, I "

There was an interruption. The door flew
open and George Challenger rushed into the


room.

"What's all this?" he cried. "I've just ar-rived.
To find a policeman at the gate and a


lll

llllr


about? For God's sake, tell me. Is it is it
Nick?"

The anguish in his tone was dreadful to
hear. I suddenly realized that Poirot and the
doctor between them completely blotted out
Nick from his sight.

Before anyone had time to answer, he re-peated
his question.

"Tell me it can't be true Nick isn't
dead?"

"No, mon ami," said Poirot gently. "She is
alive."

And he drew back so that Challenger could
see the little figure on the sofa.

For a moment or two Challenger stared at
her incredulously. Then, staggering a little,
like a drunken man, he muttered: "Nick
Nick."

And suddenly dropping on his knees be-side
the sofa and hiding his head in his hands,
he cried in a muffled voice, "Nick my dar-ling
I thought that you were dead."


Nick tried to sit up.

"It's all right, George.
I'm quite safe."

He raised his head
wildly.

"But


Don't be an idiot.


and looked round


somebody's dead? The policeman


"Yes," said Nick. "Maggie. Poor old
Maggie. Oh! ."
A spasm twasted her face. The doctor and

Poirot came forward. Graham helped her to
her feet. He and Poirot, one on each side,
helped her from the room.
"The sooner you get to your bed the
better," remarked the doctor. "I'll take you
along at once in my car. I've asked Mrs.
Rice to pack a few things ready for you to
take."
They disappeared through the door. Challenger
caught my arm.
"I don't understand. Where are they taking
her?"
I explained.
"Oh! I see. Now then, Hastings, for God's
sake give me the hang of this thing. What a
ghastly tragedy! That poor girl."
"Come and have a drink," I said. "You're
all to pieces."
"I don't mind if I do."
We adjourned to the dining room.
"You see," he explained as he put away a
stiff whiskey and soda, "I thought it was
Nick."
There was very little doubt as to the feelings
of Commander George Challenger. A
more transparent lover never lived.


A. toJ.

I doubt if I shall ever forget the night that followed. Poirot was a prey to such an agony
of self-reproach that I was really alarmed.
Ceaselessly he strode up and down the room
heaping anathemas on his own head and deaf
to my well-meant remonstrances.
"What is it to have too good an opinion of
oneself?. I am punished yes, I am punished.
I,
	Hercule Poirot. I was too sure of myself."
"No, no," I interpolated.
"But who would imagine who could
imagine such unparalleled audacity? I had
taken, as I thought, all possible precautions.
I had warned the murderer "
"Warned the murderer?"
"Mais oui. I had drawn attention to myself.
I had let him see that I suspected
someone. I had made it, or so I thought, too
dangerous for him to dare to repeat his at
round Mademoiselle. And he slips through
it! Boldly under our very eyes almost, he
slips through it! In spite of us all of everyone
being on the alert, he achieves his
object."
"Only he doesn't," I reminded him.
"That is the chance only! From my point
of view, it is the same. A human life has
been taken, Hastings whose life is nonessenfial?"
"Of course," I said, "I didn't meant that."
"But on the other hand, what you say is
true. And that makes it worse ten times
worse. For the murderer is still as far as ever
from achieving his object. Do you understand,
my friend? The position is changed
for the worse. It may mean that not one
life but two will be sacrificed."
"Not while you're about," I said stoutly.
He stopped and wrung my hand.
"Merci, mon ami.t Merci.t You still have
confidence in the old one you still have the
faith. You put new courage into me. Hercule
Poirot will not fail again. No second life shall
be taken. I will rectify my error for, see
you, there must have been an error! Somewhere
there has been a lack of order and
mothnci in my mnllv n ullnrnnocl


I will start again. Yes, I will start at the
beginning. And this time I will not fail."


"You really think, then," I said, "that
Nick Bucldey's life is still in danger?"

"My friend, for what other reason did I

send her to this nursing home?"

"Then it wasn't the shock "

"The shock! Pah! One can recover from
shock as well in one's own home as in a
nursing home better for that matter. It is
not amusing there, the floors of green lino-leum,
the conversation of the nurses the
meals on trays, the ceaseless washing. No,
no, it is for safety and safety only. I take the
doctor into my confidence. He agrees. He
will make all arrangements. No one, mon
ami, not even her dearest friend, will be
admitted to see Miss Buckley. You and I are
the only ones permitted. Pour les autres eh
b/en.t 'Doctor's orders,' they will be told. A
phrase very convenient and one not to be
gainsaid."

"Yes," I said. "Only."
"Only what, Hastings?"
"That can't go on for ever."

"A very true observation. But it gives us a
little breathing space. And you realize, do
you not, that the character of our operations


"In what way?"
"Our original task was to ensure the safety
of Mademoiselle. Our task now is a much
simpler one. a task with which we are well
acquainted. It is neither more or less than
the hunting down of a murderer."
"You call that simpler?"
"Certainly it is simpler. The murderer has,
as I said the other day, signed his name to
the crime. He has come out into the open."
"You don't think--" I hesitated, then went
on. "You don't think that the police are
right? That this is the work of a madman,
some wandering lunatic with homicidal
mania?"
"I am more than ever convinced that such
is not the case."
"You really think that"
I stopped. Poirot took up my sentence,
speaking very gravely.
"That the murderer is someone in Mademoiselle's
own circle? Yes, mon ami, I do."
"But surely last night must almost rule
out that possibility. We were all together
and- "
He interrupted.

 "Could you swear, Hastings,
ttcular terscn h,-i ,,,,..,. ,4: tha.,any par
any one person there whom you could swear
you had seen all the time?"

"No," I said slowly, struck by his words.
"I don't think I could. It was dark. We all
moved about, more or less. On different oc-casions
I noticed Mrs. Rice, Lazarus, you,

Croft, Vyse but all the time no."

Poirot nodded his head.

"Exactly. It would be a matter of a very
few minutes. The two girls go to the house.
The murderer slips away unnoticed, hides
behind that sycamore tree in the middle of
the lawn. Nick Buckley, or so he thinks,
comes out of the window, passes within a
foot of him, he fires three shots in rapid
succession "

"Three?" I interjected.

"Yes. He was taking no chances this time.

We found three bullets in the body."
"That was risky, wasn't it?"

"Less risky in all probability than one shot
would have been. A Mauser pistol does not
make a great deal of noise. It would resem-ble
more or less the popping of the fireworks
and blend in very well with the noise of
them."

"Did you find the pistol?" I asked.

"No. And there, Hastings, lies to my mind


responsible for this. We agree, do we not,
that Miss Buckley's own pistol was taken in
the f'zrst place for one reason .o.nly,, to give
her death the appearance of stucde.
"Yes."

"That is the only possible rea.son, is it
not? But now, you observe, there s no pretense of suicide. The murderer knows that
we should not any longer be deceived by it.
He knows, in fact what we know!"
I reflected, admitting to myself the logic
of Poirot's deduction.
"What did he do with the pistol do you
think?"
Poirot shrugged his shoulders.
"For that, it is difficult to say. But the sea
was exceedingl.y handy. A good toss of the arm , and the pstol sinks, never to be recovered.
We cannot, of course, be absolutely
sure but that is what I should have done."
His matter-of-fact tone made me shiver a
little.
"Do you think do you think he realized
that he'd killed the wrong person?"
"I am quite sure he did not," said Poirot
grimly. "Yes, that must have been an unpleasant

little surprise for he
earned the truth. To kerh;,,hic,.wh..en


At that moment I beth.ought me of the
strange attitude of the mind, Ellen. I gave
Poirot an account of her peculiar demeanor.
He seemed much interested.

"She betrayed surprise, did she, that it

was Maggie who was dead?"

"Great surprise."

"That is curious. And yet, the fact of a
tragedy was clearly .not a surprise to her.
Yes, there is something there that must be
looked into. Who is she, this Ellen? So quiet,
so respectable in the English manner? Could
it be she who -?" he broke off.

"If you're going to include the accidents,"
I said, "surely it would take a man to have
rolled that heavy boulder down the cliff."

"Not necessarily. It is very largely a ques-tion
of leverage. Oh, yes! It could be done."

He continued his slow pacing up and down
the room.

"Anyone who was at End House last night
comes under suspicion. But those guests
no, I do not think it was one of them. For
the most part, I should say, they were mere

cquaintances. There was no intimacy be
a
tween

them and the young mistress of the
house."

"Charles Vyse was there," I remarked.


logically, our strongest suspect." He made a
gesture of despair and threw himself into a
chair opposite mine. "Vo// it is always that
we come back to! Motive! We must find the
motive if we are to understand this crime.
And it is there, Hastings, that I am continu-ally
baffled. Who can possibly have a motive
for doing away with Mademoiselle Nick? I
have let myself go to the most absurd suppo-sitions.
I, Hercule Poirot, have descended to
the most ignominious flights of fancy. I have
adopted the mentality of the cheap thriller.
The grandfather the 'Old Nick' he who is
supposed to have gambled his money away.
Did he really do so, I have asked myself?.
Did he, on the contrary, hide it away? Is it
hidden somewhere in End House? Buried
somewhere in the grounds? With that end in
view (I am ashamed to say it) I inquired of
Mademoiselle Nick whether there had ever
been any offers to buy the house."

"Do you know, Poirot," I said, "I call
that rather a bright idea. There may be some-thing
in it."

Poirot groaned.

"You would say that! It would appeal, I
knew, to your romantic but slightly medio-cre
mind. Buried treasure yes, you would


"ell I don't see why not .... "

"B, ecause, my friend, the more prosaic ex-planafion
is nearly always the more probable.
Ther Mademoiselle's father. I have played
with even more degrading ideas concerning
him. He was a traveler. Supposing, I say to
myself, that he has stolen a jewel .. the eye of
a god. Jealous priests are on his track. Yes,
I, Hercule Poirot, have descended to depths
such as these.

"I have had other ideas concerning this
father," he went on. "Ideas at once more
dignified and more probable. Did he, in the
course of his wanderings, contract a second
marage? Is there a nearer heir than M.
Charles Vyse? But again, that leads nowhere,
for we are up against the same difficulty that
there is really nothing of value to inherit.

"I have neglected no possibility. Even that
chaxace reference of Mademoiselle Nick's to
the offer made her by M. Lazarus. You
remember? The offer to purchase her grand-faer's
portrait. I telegraphed on Saturday
for an expert to come down and examine
that picture. He was the man about whom I
wrote to Mademoiselle this morning. Sup-posing,
for instance, it were worth several


"You surely don't think a rich man like
young Lazarus.. ?"

"Is he rich? Appearances are not every-thing.
Even an old established finn with pa-latial
showrooms and every appearance of
prosperity may rest on a rotten basis. And
what does one do then? Does one run about
crying out .that times are hard? No, one buys
a new and luxurious car. One spends a little
more money than usual. One lives a little
more ostentatiously. For credit, see you, is
everything! But sometimes a monumental
business has crashed for no more than a
few thousand pounds of ready money.

"Oh! I know," he continued forestalling
my protests. "It is farfetched but it is not
so bad as revengeful priests or buried trea-sure.
It bears, at any rate, some relationship
to things as they happen. And we can ne-glect
nothing, nothing that might bring us
nearer the truth."

With careful fingers he straightened the
objects on the table in front of him. When
he spoke, his voice was grave and, for the
fa:st time, calm.

"Motive!" he said. "Let us come back to
that, and regard this problem calmly and
methodically. To begin with, how manv


are the motives which lead one human being
to take another human being's life?
"We exclude for the moment homicidal
mania. Because I am absolutely convinced
that the solution of our problem does not lie
there. We also exclude killing done on the
spur of the moment under the impulse of an
ungovernable temper. This is a cold-blooded
deliberate murder. What are the motives that
actuate such a murder as that?
"There is, first, Gain. Who stood to gain
by Mademoiselle Buckley's death? Directly
or indirectly. Well, we can put down Charles
Vyse. He inherits a property that, from the
financial point of view, is probably not worth
inheriting. He might, perhaps, pay off the
mortgage, build small villas on the land and
eventually make a small profit. It is possible.
The place might be worth something to him
if he had any deeply cherished love of it if
it were, for instance, a family place. That is,
undoubtedly an instinct very deeply implanted
in some human beings, and it has, in
caes I have known, actually led to crime.

But ,I cannot see any such motive in M.
V3se s case.

"The only other person who would benefit
at all by Mademoiselle Bucklev's death is


would clearly be a very small one. Nobody
else, as far as I can see, gains by Mademoiselle
Buckley's death.
	"What is another motive? Hate 	or
love
	that
has turned to hate. The ct/me passionnel.
	Well,
there again we have the word of the
	observant
Madame Croft that both Charles
	Vyse
and Commander Challenger are in love
	with
the young lady."
				"I think we can say that we have observed
	the
latter phenomenon for ourselves," I re
	marked
with a smile.
			"Yes
he tends to wear his heart on his
	sleeve,
the honest sailor. For the other, we
	rely
on the word of Madame Croft. Now, if
	Charles
Vyse felt that he was supplanted,
	would
he be so powerfully affected that he
	would
kill his cousin rather than let her be
	come
the wife of another man?"
		"It
sounds very melodramatic," I said
	doubtfully.

	"It
sounds, you would say, un-English. I
	agree.
But even the English have emotions.
	And
a type such as Charles Vyse is the most
	likely
to have them. He is a repressed young
	m
. One who does not show his
feelings
	easily. Such often have the most violent
feel
No, no, he is not the type. But with Charles

Vyse--yes, it is possible. But it does not
entirely satisfy me.
"Another motive for crime Jealousy. I
separate it from the last, because Jealousy
may not, necessarily, be a sexual emotion.
There is envy envy of possession of supremacy.
Such a jealousy as drove the Iago
of your great Shakespeare to one of the cleverest
crimes (speaking from the professional
point of view) that has ever been committed."
"Why was it so clever?" I asked, momen-tartly
diverted.
"Parbleu because he got others to execute
it. Imagine a criminal nowadays on
whom one was unable to put the handcuffs
because he had never done anything himself.
But this is not the subject we were discussing.
Can jealousy, of any kind, be responsible
for this crime? Who has reason to envy
Mademoiselle? Another woman? There is
only Madame Rice, and as far as we can see,
there was no rivalry between the two women.
But again, that is only 'as far as we can see.'
There may be something there.
"Lastly Fear. Does Mademoiselle Nick, by any chance, hold somebody's secret in


if it were known, might ruin another life? If
so, I think we can say very definitely, that
she herself is unaware of it. But that might
be, you know. That might be. And if so, it
makes it very difficult. Because, whilst she
holds the clue in her hands, she holds it
unconsciously and will be quite unable to tell
us what it is."
"You really think that is possible?"
"It is a hypothesis. I am driven to it by
the difficulty of finding a reasonable theory
elsewhere. When you have eliminated other
possibilities you turn to the one that is left
and say--since the other is not--this must
be so .... "

He was silent a long time.
At last, rousing himself from his absorption,
he drew a sheet of paper towards him
and began to write.
"What are you writing?" I asked curiously.
"Mort ami, I am composing a list. It is a
list of people surrounding Mademoiselle
Buckley. Within that list, if my theory is
correct, there must be the name of the murderer."

.He co--n,tinued to write for perhaps twenty
minutes thvn eh,,,..,4 .t..--t--.


"Voile, mort ami. See what you make of
it."
The following is a reproduction of the paper.

A.
	Ellen.
B.
	Her gardener husband.
C.
	Their child.
D.
	Mr. Croft.
E.
	Mrs. Croft.
IF.
	Mrs. Rice.
G.
	Mr. Lazarus.
H.
	Commander Challenger.
I.
	Mr. Charles Vyse.
J.
	?

REMARKSi

A.
	Ellen. Suspicious circumstances. Her
attitude and words on hearing of the
crime. Best opportunity of anyone to
have staged accidents and to have
known of pistol but unlikely to have
tampered with car, and general mentality
of crime seems above her level. Motive. None---unless Hate arising out
of some incident unknown.


cedents and general relations with N.B.
B.
	Her husband. Same as above. More
likely to have tampered with car. Note. Should be interviewed.
C.
	Child. Can be ruled out.
Note. Should be interviewed. Might
give valuable information.
D.
	Mr. Croft. Only suspicious circumstance.
The fact that we met him
mounting the stair to bedroom floor.
Had ready explanation which may be
true. But it may not! Nothing known
of antecedents. Motive. None.
E.
	Mrs. Cro. Suspicious circumstances.
None. Motive. None.
IF.
	Mrs. Rice. Suspicious circumstances.
Full opportunity. Asked N. B. to fetch
wrap. Has deliberately tried to create
impression that N. B. is a liar and her
account of "accidents" not to be relied
on. Was not at Tavistock when accidents
occurred. Where was she? Motive. G'ain? Very slight. Jealousy? Possible, but nothing known. Fear? Also possible, but nothing known. Mata. Converse with N. B. on subject.


See if any light is thrown upon matter.
Possibly something to do with IF. R.'s
marriage.
G.
	Mr. Lazarus. Suspicious circumstances.
General opportunity. Offer to
buy picture. Said brakes of car were
quite all right (according to IF. R.).
May have been in neighborhood prior
to Friday.
Motive. None, ,unless profit on picture. Fear? ulikely.
Note. Find out where J. L. was before
arriving at St. Loo. Find out financial
position of Aaron Lazarus and Son. Commander Challenger. Suspicious circumstances.
None. Was in neighborhood
all last week, so opportunity for
"accidents" good. Arrived half an hour
after murder. Motive. None.
I.
	Mr. Vyse. Suspicious circumstances.
Was absent from office at time when
shot was fired in garden of hotel. Opportunity
good. Statement about selling
of End House open to doubt. Of a
repressed temperament. Would probably
know about pistol.
Motive. Gain? Slight. Love or Hate?


Fear? Unlikely.
Note. Find out who held mortgage.
Find out position of Vyse's f'n'rn.
? There could be a J.: e.g., an outsider. But with a link in the form of
one of the foregoing. If so, probably
connected with A., D. and E. or IF.
The existence of J. would explain (1)
Ellen's lack of surprise at crime and
her pleasurable satisfaction. (But that
might be due to natural pleasurable
excitement of her class over deaths.)
(2) The reason for Croft and his wife
coming to live in lodge. (3) Might supply
motive for IF. R.'s fear of secret
being revealed or for jealousy.

Poirot watched me as I read.
"It is very English, is it not?" he remarked
with pride. "I am more English when I write
than when I speak."
"It's an excellent piece of work," I said
warmly. "It sets all the possibilities out most
clearly."
"Yes," he said thoughtfully, as he took
it back from me. "And one name leaps to
the eye, my friend, Charles Vyse. He has the
best opportunities. We have iwn him


list of racehorses, he would start favorite,
n' est-ce pas?"

"He is certainly the most likely suspect."
"You have a tendency, Hastings, to prefer
the least likely. That, no doubt, is from read-lng
too many detective stories. In real life,
nine times out of ten, it is the most likely
and the most obvious person who commits
the crime."

"But you don't really think that is so this
time?"

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

"Yes, that is what you said at first."
"And that is what I say again."

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

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

"Yes?"


The correct employment of the little grey
cells! I advise you, Hastings, to go to bed."
"No," I said. "Not unless you do. I'm not
going to leave you."
"Most faithful of dogs! But see you,
Hastings, you cannot assist me to think. That
s all I am going to do- think."
I still shook my head.
"You might want to discuss some point
with me."
"Well--well---you are a loyal friend. Take
at least, I beg of you, the easy chair."
That proposal I did accept. Presently the
room began to swim and dip. The last thing
I remember was seeing Poirot carefully retrieving
the crumpled sheets of paper from
the floor and putting them away tidily in the
wastepaper basket.
Then I must have fallen asleep.


10


Nick's Secret


It was daylight when I awoke.

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

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

"Poirot," I cried. "You have thought of
something."

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

"Tell me, Hastings, the answer to these
three questions. Why has Mademoiselle Nick


	a black evening dress--she

	black? Wh- did s
	never wears

	
	.y.
	he say last night, 'I have

	nothing to live for--now'?"


I stared. The question seemed beside the
point.

"Answer those questions, Hastings, answer
them!"

"Well--as to the first--she said she had
been worried lately."

"Precisely. What has she been worried
about?"


"And the black dress--well, everybody
wants a change sometimes."

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

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

"No, mon ami, it was not a natural thing
to say. To be horror-struck by her cousin's
death, to reproach herself for it--yes, all that
is natural enough. But the other, no. She
spoke of life with weariness as of a thing
no longer dear to her. Never before had she
displayed that attitude. She had been deft-ant--yes,
she had snapped the fingers, yes--

and then. wh,n 'that I.,..-.1. a ....


weet and she did not wish to die. But weary
of life no! That never! Even before dinner
that was not so. We have here, Hastings, a
psychological change. And that is interesting.
What was it caused her point of view to
change?"

"The shock of her cousin's death?"

"I wonder. It was the shock that loosed
her tongue. But suppose the change was be-fore
that. Is there anyflfing else could ac-count
for it?"

"I don't know of anything."

"Think, Hastings. Use your little grey

cells."

"Really "

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

"Well, actually, I suppose, at dinner."
"Exactly. After that, we only saw her re-ceiving
guests, making them welcome
purely a formal attitude. What happened at
the end of dinner, Hastings?"

"She went to telephone," I said slowly.
".4 la bonheur. You have got there at last.
She wSnt to telephone. And she was absent a
long time. Twenty minutes at least. That is a
long time for a telephone call. Who spoke to
her over the telethone? What did they say?


f'md out, Hastings, what happened in that
.twenty minutes. For there, or so I fully believe,
we shall find the clue we seek."
"You really think so?"
"Mais oui, ma/s oui! All along, Hastings, I

ave. told you .that Mademoiselle has been
eepmg somethig, g ba.ck. She doesn't think it
has any co .nnecuon with the murder--but I,
Hercule Pozrot, know better! It must have a
connection. For .all along, I have been con-scaous
that there as a factor lacking. If there
were not a factor lacking why then, the
whole thing would be plain to me! And as it
is not plain to me--eh b/en--then the missing
factor is the keystone.of the mystery! I
know I am right, Hastings
"!.must know. the answer to those three
q.uesuons. And men--and then--I shall be-
gm to see .... '

-. "Well," I said, stretching my stiffenea
clteb.,,"I thinks bath and a sha(,e are ini--
 By the time. I had had a bath and changed
into day clothing I felt better. The stiffness
and wearines.s, of a night passed in .uncomfortable
conditions passed off. I arrived at
the breakfast table feeling that one drink of
hot nfo ,,,.,,,


I glanced at the paper, but there was little
news in it beyond the fact that Michael
Seton's death was now definitely confirmed.
The intrepid airman had perished. I wondered
whether, tomorrow, new headlines
would have sprung into being. "GmL MtmDERED
DURING FIREWORK PARTY. MYSTERIOUS
TRAGEDY." Something like that.
I had just finished breakfast when
Frederica Rice came up to my table. She was
wearing a plain little frock of black marocain
with a little soft pleated white collar. Her
fairness was more evident than ever.
"I wanted to see M. Poirot, Captain
Hastings. Is he up yet, do you know?"
"I will take you up with me now," I said.
"We shall find him in the sitting room."
"Thank you."
"I hope," I said, as we left the dining room together, "that you didn't sleep too
badly?"
"It was a shock," she said in a meditative
voice. "But of course I didn't know the poor
girl. It's not as though it had been Nick."
"I suppose you'd never met this girl
before?"
"Once -at Scarborough. She came over to


"It will be a terrible blow to her father

and mother," I said.

"Dreadful."

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

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

"Madame," he said. "Enchant.t"

He drew forward a chair.

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


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

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

Frederica frowned a little.


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

"Luck, they say, goes in cycles," remarked
Poirot.

"Perhaps. It is certainly useless to fight
against it."

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

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

"Is that so, Madame?"

"I see now that everything will have to be
gone into carefully. And I imagine that
Nick's immediate circle of friends will not be
immune from suspicion. Ridiculous, of

but there it is. Am I right, M.


course,

Poirot?"


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

"No, Madame?"

"I motored down to this part of the world
with Mr. Lazarus early last week. We did


essary. We stayed at a little place called
Shellacombe."
"That is, I think, about seven miles from
here, Madame?"
"About that- yes."
Still that quiet faraway weariness.
"May I be impertinent, Madame?"
"Is there such a thing--in these days?"
"Perhaps you are right, Madame. How
long have you and M. Lazarus been friends?"
"I met him six months ago."
"And you care for him, Madame?"
Frederica shrugged her shoulders.
"He is. rich."
"Oh! l,, l,," cried Poirot. "That is an
ugly thing to say."
She seemed faintly amused.
"Isn't it better to say it myself. -than to
have you say it for me?"
"Well--there is always that, of course.
May I repeat, Madame, that you are very
intelligent."

"You will give me a diploma soon," said
Frederica and rose.
"There is nothing more you wish to tell
me, Madame?"
"I do not think so- no. I am going to
take some flower.q rnnci if,-, kT;,l. --.a


"Ah, that is very amiable of you. Thank
you, Madame, for your frankness."
She glanced at him sharply, seemed about
to speak, then thought, bette.r of it and went
out of the room, smiling faintly at me as I
held the door open for her.
"She is intelligent," said Poirot. "Yes, but
so is Hercule Poirot!"
"What do you mean?"
"That it is all very well and very pretty to
force the richness of M. Lazarus down my
throat--"
"I must say that rather disgusted me." "Mort chef, always you have the right reaction
in the wrong place. It is not, for the
moment, a question of good taste or otherwise.
If Madame Rice has a devoted friend
who is rich and can give her all she needs--why
then obviously Madame Rice would not
need to murder her dearest friend for a mere
pittance."
"Oh!" I said.
"Prcis&nent! 'Oh!'"
"Why didn't you stop her going to the
nursing home?"
"Why should I show my hand? Is it Hercule Poirot who prevents Mademoiselle
Nick from seeing her friends?,Q/?.:/dt2t


nurses! So full of rules and regulations and
'doctor's orders.'"

"You're not afraid that they may let her in
after all? Nick might insist."

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

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

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

"I assure you, Monsieur, that I do not lay
down rules for nursing homes. I would not
dare. Why not ring up the good doctor

what was his name now? Ah! yes, Graham."
"I have. He says she's going on as well as
could be expected usual stuff. But I know
all the tricks my uncle's a doctor. Harley
Street. Nerve specialist. Psychoanalysis all
the rest of it. Putting relations and friends
off with soothing words. I've heard about it


anyone. I believe you're at the bottom of
this, M. Poirot."

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

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

"I get you," said Challenger slowly. "But
then "

"Chut! We will say no more. We will
forget even what we have said. The pru-dence,
the extreme prudence, is what is
needed at present."

"I can hold my tongue," said the sailor
quietly.

He turned away to the door, pausing as he
went out to say: "No embargo on flowers, is

there? So long as they are not white ones."
Poirot smiled.

"And now," he said as the door shut be-hind
the impetuous Challenger. "Whilst M.
Challenger and Madame and perhaps M.
Lazarus all encounter each other in the flower
shoo, you and I will drive quietly to our


			"And ask for the answer to the three ques
	tions?'' I said.

			"Yes. We will ask. Though, as a matter of

	fact, I know the answer."

			"What?" I exclaimed.

			"Yes.',

			"But when did you f'md out?"

			"Whilst I was e.ating my breakfast, Has
	tings.
It stared me m the face."

		"Tell me."

	"No, I will leave you to hear it from Ma
	demoiselle."

	Then, as if to distract my mind, he pushed

	an open letter across to me.

	It was a report by the expert Poirot had

	sent to examine the picture of old Nicholas

	Buckley. It stated definitely that the picture

	was worth at most twenty pounds.

	"So that is one matter cleared up," said

Poirot.

	"No mouse in that mousehole," I said

remembering a metaphor of Poirot's on one

past occasion.

	"Ah! you remember that? No, as you say,

no mouse in that mousehole. Twenty pounds

and M. Lazarus offered fifty. What an error

of judgment for a seemin I astut
	-	g
y
	e young
man. But there, there- ,,,o. o.n...


The nursing home was set high on a hill
overlooking the bay. A white-coated orderly
received us. We were put into a little room
downstairs and presently a brisk-looking
nurse came to us.
One glance at Poirot seemed to be enough.
She had clearly received her instructions from
Dr. Graham together with a minute description
of the little detective. She even concealed
a smile.
"Miss Buckley has passed a very fair
night," she said. "Come up, will you?"
In a pleasant room with the sun streaming
into it, we found Nick. In the narrow iron
bed, she looked like a tired child. Her face
was white and her eyes were suspiciously
red, and she seemed listless and weary.
"It's good of you to come," she said in a
flat voice.
Poirot took her hand in both of his.
"Courage, Mademoiselle. There is always
something to live for."
The words startled her. She looked up in
his face.
"Oh!" she said. "Oh!"
"Will you not tell me now, Mademoiselle,
what it was that has been worrying you lately?
Or shall I guess? And may I offer you, Ma
Her face flushed.

"So you know. 0h! well, it doesn't matter
who knows now. Now that it's all over. Now

that I shall never see him again."
Her voice broke.
"Courage, Mademoiselle."

"I haven't got any courage left. I've used
up every bit in these last weeks. Hoping and
hoping and just lately hoping against
hope."

I stared. I could not understand one word.
"Regard the poor Hastings," said Poirot.
"He does not know what we are talking
about."

Her unhappy eyes met mine.

"Michael Seton, the airman," she said. "I
was engaged to him and he's dead."


11


The Motive


I was dumbfounded.

I turned to Poirot.

"Is that what you meant?"

"Yes, mon arm. This moming--I knew."
"How did you know? How did you guess?
You said it stared you in the face at break-fast."

"So it did, my frien From the front
page of .the newspaper.  remembered the
conversauon at dinner last fight--and I saw


	everymmg
	-' - al
	He
turned to Nxct ag n. . ,,

	,,you heard the .news last mght?

	Yes. On the wtreless. I made an excuse

	about the telephone. I wanted to hear the

	swallowed

	news alone--in case.
She
has,,d
I. "And I heard n. -/e'took her hand in
know. I know."


pie arriving. I don't know how I got through
it. It all felt like a dream. I could see myself
from outside behaving just as usual. It was
queer somehow."

"Yes, yes, I understand."

"And then, when I went to fetch Freddie's
wrap I broke down for a minute. I pulled
myself together quite quickly. But Maggie
kept calling up about her coat. And then at
last she took my shawl and went, and I put
on some powder and some rouge and fol-lowed
her out. And there she was
dead .... "


"Yes, yes, it must have been a terrible
shock."

"You don't understand. I was angry! I
wished it had been me! I wanted to be dead
and there I was alive and perhaps to live
for years! And Michael dead drowned far

away in the Pacific."

"Pauvre enfant."

"I don't want to be alive. I don't want to
live, I tell you!" she cried rebelliously.

"I know I know. To all of us, Mademoi-selle,
there comes a time when death is pref-erable
to life. But it passes sorrow passes
and grief. You cannot believe that now, I
know. It is useless for an old man like me to


talk. Idle words that's what you think
idle words."
"You think I'll forget ,and marry someone
else. Never I"
She looked rather lovely as she sat up in
bed, her two hands clenched and her cheeks
bunaing.
Poirot said gently, "No, no. I am not
thinking anything of the kind. You are very
lucky, Mademoiselle. You have been loved
by a brave man .. a hero. How did you come
to meet him?"
"It was at Le Touquet last September.
Nearly a year ago."
"And you became engaged when?"
"Just after Christmas. But it had to be a
secret."
"Why was that?"
"Michael's uncle old Sir Matthew Seton.
He loved birds and hated women."
"Ah, ce West pas raisonnable,t''
"Well I don't mean quite that. He was a
complete .crank. Thought women ruined a
man's life. And Michael was absolutely dependent
on him. He was frightfully proud of
Michael and it was he who financed the
building of the Albatross and the expenses of
the round-the-world flieht. It was the dear
If .Mi.'c.hael ha-d pull.ed it off--well, then he
c.o.ct,hav, e. .ke.his. uncle anything. And
vc, u oJc] zr matthew had still cut up
rough, well, it wouldn't have really mattered.
w-C,hae!- woul.d-.have been made--a kind of
,u .nero. s uncle would have come
round m the end."

"Yes, yes, I see."

. ut Michael smd t would be fatal if any.
thing leaked o.u.t. We must keep it a dead
secret. And I did. I never told anyone--not
even Freddie."
Po[rot groaned.
"If only you had told me, Mademoiselle."
Nick stared at him.
"But what difference would it have made?
It couldn't have anything to do with these
mysterious attacks on me? No, I'd promised
Michael--and I. kept my word. But it .was
.awful--the .anxiety, wo.ndering and getting
tn a state the whole time. And everyone
saying one was so nervy. And being unable
to explain."
"Yes, I comprehend all that."
"He was missing once before, you know.
Crossing the desert on the way to India.
That was pretty awful, and then after all. it


saying to myself that it would be the same
this time. Everyone said he must be dead--and
I kept telling myself that he must be all

right really. And then last night..."
Her voice trailed away.

"You had hoped up till then?"

"I don't know. I think it was more that I
refused to believe. It was awful never being
able to talk to anyone."

"Yes, I can imagine that. Were you never

tempted to tell Madame Rice, for instance."
"Sometimes I wanted to frightfully."
"You do not think she guessed?"

"I don't think so." Nick considered the
idea carefully. "She never said anything. Of
course she used to hint things sometimes.
About our being great friends and all that."

"You never considered telling her when
M. Seton's uncle died? You knew that he
died about a week ago?"

"I know. He had an operation or some-thing.
I suppose I might have told anybody
then. But it wouldn't have been a nice way
of doing it, would it? I mean it would have
seemed rather boastful to do it just then
when all the papers were full of Michael.
And reporters would have come and inter-viewed
me. It would all have been rather


"I agree with you, Mademoiselle. You
could not have announced it publicly. I only
meant that you could have spoken of it pri-vately
to a friend."

"I did sort of hint to one person," said
Nick. "I- thought it was only fair. But I
don't know how much he--the person took


Poirot nodded.

"Are you on good terms with your cousin,
M. Vyse?" he asked with a rather abrupt
change of subject.

"Charles? What put him into your head?"
"I was just wondering, that was all."
"Charles means well," said Nick. "He's a
frightful stick, of course. Never moves out of
his place. He disa. pproves of me, I think."

"Oh! Mademoaselle, Mademoiselle. And I
hear that he has laid all his devotion at your
feet!"


"Disapproving of a person doesn't keep
you from having a .?.ash. for them..Charles
thinks my mode of life as reprehensable and
he disapproves of my cocktails, my complex-ion,
my friends and my conversation. But he
still feels my fatal fasc.ination. He always
hol3es to reform m, l th,.t. ,,


a twinkle, "Who have you been pumping to
get the local information?"

"You must not give me away, Mademoi-selle.
I had a little conversation with the
Australian lady, Madame Croft."

"She's rather an old dear when one has
time for her. Terribly sentimental. Love and
home and children you know the sort of
thing."

"I am old-fashioned and sentimental my-self,
Mademoiselle."

"Are you? I should have said that Captain
Hastings was the sentimental one of you

tWO."


I blushed indignantly.

"He is furious," said Poirot eyeing my
discomfiture with a good deal of pleasure.
"But you are right, Mademoiselle. Yes, you
are right."

"Not at all," I said angrily.

"Hastings has a singularly beautiful na-ture.
It has been the greatest hindrance to
me at times."

"Don't be absurd, Poirot."

"He is, to begin with, reluctant to see evil
anywhere, and when he does see it his righ-teous
indignation is so great that he is inca

beautiful nature. No, mon ami, I will not
permit you to contradict me. It is as I say."
"You've both been very kind to me," said
Nick gently.
"I, lti, Mademoiselle. That is nothing.
We have much more to do. To begin with,
you will remain here. You will obey orders.
You will do what I tell you. At this juncture
I must not be hampered."
Nick sighed wearily.
"I'll do anything you like. I don't care
what I do."
"You will see no friends for the present."
"I don't care. I don't want to see anyone."
"For you the passive part for us the ac-five
one. Now, Mademoiselle, I am going to
leave you. I will not intrude longer upon
your sorrow."
He moved towards the door, pausing with
his hand on the handle to say over his shoulder:
"By the way, you once mentioned a will
you made. Where is it, this will?"
"Oh! it's knocking round somewhere."
"At End House?"
"Yes."
"In a safe? Locked up in your desk?"
"Well, I really don't know. It's somewhere


tidy, you know. Papers and things like that
would be mostly in the writing table in the
library. That's where most of the bills are.
The will is probably with them. Or it might
be in my bedroom."

"You permit me to make the search
yes?"

"If you want to--yes.

you like."

"Merci, Mademoiselle. I

of your permission."


Look at anything


will avail myself


12


Ellen


Poirot said no word till we had emerged
from the nursing home into the outer air.
Then he caught me by the arm.

"You see, Hastings? You see? Ah! Sacr
tonnerre! I was right! I was right! Always I
knew there was something lacking some
piece of the puzzle that was not there. And
without that missing piece the whole thing
was meaningless."

His almost despairing triumph was double
Dutch to me. I could not see that anything
very epoch-making had occurred.

"It was there all the time. And I could not
see it. But how should I? To know there is
something that, yes but to know what that
something is. Ah! c'est bien plus difficile."

"Do you mean that this has some direct
bearing on the crime?"

"Ma foi, do you not see?"

"A. n rnntter nf fnct. I clan't"


"Is it possible? Why, it gives us what we
have been looking for the motive the hidden
obscure motive!"
"I may be very dense, but I can't see it.
Do you mean jealousy of some kind?"
"Jealousy? No, no, my friend. The usual
motive the inevitable motive. Money, my
friend, money!"
I stared. He went on, speaking more
calmly.
"Listen, mon ami. Just over a week ago
Sir Matthew Seton dies. And Sir Matthew
Seton was a millionaire one of the richest
men in England."
"Yes, but "
"Attende. One step at a time. He has a
nephew whom he idolizes and to whom, we
may safely assume, he has left his vast fortune."
"But "
"Mais emi legacies, yes, an endowment to
do with his hobby, yes, but the bulk of the
money would go to Michael Seton. Last
Tuesday, Michael Seton is reported missing
and on Wednesday the attacks on Mademoiselle's
life begin. Supposing, Hastings, that
Michael Seton made a will before he started
on this flight, and that in that will he left all


"That's pure supposition."

"It is supposition yes. But it must be so.
Because, if it is not so, there is no meaning
in anything that has happened. It is no pal-try
inheritance that is at stake. It is an enor-mous
fortune."

I was silent for some minutes turning the
matter over in my mind. It seemed to me
that Poirot was leaping at conclusions in a
most reckless manner, and yet I was secretly
convinced that he was right. It was his ex-traordinary
flair for being right that influ-enced
me. Yet it seemed to me that there
was a good deal to be proved still.

"But if nobody knew of the engagement,"
I argued.

"Pah! Somebody did know. For the mat-ter
of that, somebody always does know. If
they do not know, they guess. Madame Rice
suspected. Mademoiselle Nick admitted as
much. She may have had means of turning

those suspicions into certainties."

"How?"

"Well, for one thing, there must have been
letters from Michael Seton to Mademoiselle
Nick. They had been engaged some time.
And her best friend could not call that young
lady anything but careless. She leaves thins


she has ever locked up anything in her life.
Oh! yes, there would be means of making sure."
"And ,Frederica Rice would know about
the will that her friend had made?"

"Doubtless. Oh! yes, it narrows down
now. You remember my list a list of persons
numbered from A. to J. It has narrowed
down to only two persons. I dismiss
the servants. I dismiss the Commander Challenger
even though he did take one hour
and a half to reach here from Plymouth
and the distance is only thirty miles. I dismiss
M. Lazarus who offered fifty pounds
for a picture that was only worth twenty. I
dismiss the Australians so hearty and so
pleasant. I keep two people on my list still."
"One is Frederica Rice," I said slowly.
I had a vision of her face, the golden hair,
the white fragility of the features.
"Yes. She is indicated very clearly. However
carelessly worded Mademoiselle's will
may have been, she would be plainly indicated
as a residuary legatee. Apart from End
House, everything was to go to her. If Mademoiselle
Nick instead of Mademoiselle
Maggie had been shot last night, Madame
Rice would be a rich woman today."


"You mean that you can hardly believe
that a beautiful woman can be a murderess?
One often has a little difficulty with mem-bers
of a jury on that account. But you may

be right. There is still another suspect."
"Who?"
"Charles Vyse."

"But he only inherits the house."

"Yes but he may not know that. Did he
make Mademoiselle's will for her? .I think
not. If so, t would be in his keeping, not
'knocking around somewhere' or whatever
the phrase was that Mademoiselle used. So,
you see, Hastings, it is quite probable that
he knows nothing about that will. He may
believe that she has never made a will and
that, in that case, he will inherit as next of


"You know," I said. "That really seems to
be much more probable."

"That is your romantic mind, Hastings.
The wicked solicitor! A familiar figure in
fiction. If as well as being a solicitor he has
an impassive face, it makes the matter almost
certain. It is tree that, in some ways, he is
more in the picture than Madame. He would
be more likely to know about the pistol and
more likely to use one."


"Perhaps. Though, as I have told you,
much can be done by leverage. And the fact
that the boulder was dislodged at the wrong
minute, and consequently missed Mademoi-selle,
is more suggestive of feminine agency.
The idea of tampering with the interior of a
car seems masculine in conception though
many women are as good mechanics as men
nowadays. On the other hand, there are one

or two gaps in the theory against M. Vyse."
"Such as ?"

"He is less likely to have known of the
engagement than Madame. And there is an-other
point. His action was rather precipi

"What
do you mean?"

"Well, until last night there was no certi-tude
that Seton was dead. To act rashly,
without due assurance, seems very uncharac-teristic
of the legal mind."

"Yes," I said. "A woman would jump to
conclusions."

"Exactly. Ce que femme veut, Dieu veut.
That is the attitude."

"It's really amazing the way Nick has
caped. It seems almost incredible."

And suddenly I remembered the tone in
Frederica's voice as she had said: "Nick bears


I shivered a little.

"Yes," said Poirot thoughtfully. "And I
can take no credit to myself. Which is hu-miliating."

"Providence," I murmured.

"Ah! mon ami, I would not put on the
shoulders of the good (]od the burden of


men's wrongdoing. You say that in your Sun-day
morning voice of thankfulness. ,. without
reflecting that what you are really saying is
that le bon Dieu has killed Miss Maggie
Buckley."

"Really, Poirot!"

"Really, my friend! But I will not sit. back
and say 'le bon Dieu has arranged everything,
I will not interfere.' Because I am convinced
that le bon Dieu created Hercule Poirot for
the express purpose of interfering. It is my


We had been slowly ascending the zigzag
path up the cliff. It was at this juncture that
we passed through the little gate into the
grounds of End House.

"Pouf," said Poirot. "That ascent is a steep
one. I am hot. My mustaches are limp. Yes,
as I was saying just now, I am on the side of
the innocent. I am on the side of Mademoi

"You
husband
house."


the side of Mademoiselle Maggie because she
has been killed."

"And you are against Frederica Rice and
Charles Vyse."

"No, no, Hastings. I keep an open mind.
I say only that at the moment one of those
two is indicated. Chut!"

We had come out on the strip of lawn by
the house and a man was driving a mowing
machine. He had a long stupid face and
lackluster eyes. Beside him was a small boy
of ten, ugly but intelligent looking.

It crossed my mind that we had not heard
the mowing machine in action, but I pre-sumed
that the gardener was not overwork-ing
himself. He had probably been resting
from his labors, and had sprung into action

on hearing our voices approaching.
"Good morning," said Poirot.
"Good morning, sir."

are the gardener, I suppose. The

of Madame who works in the


"He's my dad," said the small boy.
"That's right, sir," said the man. "You'll
be the foreign gentleman, I take it, that's
really a detective. Is there any news of the


moment. She has passed a satisfactory night"
"We've had policemen here," saig' te
-small boy. "That's where the la. dy .w..as killed.
Here by the steps. I seen a pg killed once,
haven't I, D. ad?"
	' [,,
	
	Ah. smd his .father unemouonally.

	"Dad used to kill pgs when he worked on

	a farm. Didn't you, Dad? I seen a pig killed.

	I liked it."

	"Young 'uns like to see pigs killed," said

	the man, as though stating one of the unal
	terable facts of nature.

	"Shot with a pistol, the lady was," contin
	ued the boy. "She didn't have her throat

	cut. No."

	We passed on to the house, and I felt

	thankful to get away from the ghoulish child.

	Poirot entered the drawing room, the win
	dows of which were open, and rang the bell.

	Ellen, neatly attired in black, came in answer

	to the bell. She showed no surprise at seeing

	US.

"I come from seeing her at the immediate

Poirot explained that we were here by permission
of Miss Buckley to make a search of
the house.
"Very good, sir."
"The tolice have fini.hocl;"


wanted, sir. They've been about the garden
since very early in the morning. I don't know
whether they've found anything."

She was about to leave the room when
Poirot stopped her with a question.

"Were you very surprised last night when
you heard Miss Bucldey had been shot?"

"Yes, sir, very surprised. Miss Maggie was
a nice young lady, sir. I can't imagine any-one
being so wicked as to want to harm
her."

"If it had been anyone rise, you would not
have been so surprised--eh?"

"I don't know what you mean, sir?"
"When I came into the hall last night," I
said, "you asked at once whether anyone had
been hurt. Were you expecting anything of
the kind?"

She was silent. Her fingers pleated a cor-ner
of her apron. She shook her head and
murmured:

"You gentlemen wouldn't understand."
"Yes, yes," said Poirot, "I would under-stand.
However fantastic what you may say,
I would understand."

She looked at him doubtfully, then seemed
to make up her mind to trust him.

"You see, sir," she said, "this isn't a good


I was surprised and a little contemptuous.
Poirot, however, seemed to f'md the remark
not in the least unusual.'

"You mean it is an old house."
"Yes, sir, not a good house."
"You have been here long?"

"Six years, sir. But I was here as a girl. In
the kitchen as kitchen maid. That was in the
time of old Sir Nicholas. It was the same
then."

Poirot looked at her attentively.

"In an old house," he said, "there is some-times
an atmosphere of evil."

"That's it, sir," said Ellen eagerly. "Evil.
Bad thoughts and bad deeds too. It's like dry
rot in a house, sir, you can't get it out. It's a
sort of feeling in the air. I always knew
something bad would happen in this house,
someday."

"Well, you have been proved right."
"Yes, sir."

There was a very slight underlying saris-faction
in her tone, the satisfaction of one
whose gloomy prognostications have been
shown to be correct.

"But you didn't think it would be Miss
Maggie."

"No, indeed, I didn't, sir. Nobody hated


It seemed to me that in those words was a
clue. I expected Poirot to follow it up, but to
my surprise he shifted to quite a different
subject.

"You didn't hear the shots fired?"

"I couldn't have told with the fireworks
going on. Very noisy they were."


"You weren't out watching them?"

"No, I hadn't finished clearing up dinner."
"Was the waiter helping you?"

"No, sir, he'd gone out into the garden to

have a look at the fireworks."
"But you didn't go."
"No, sir."
"Why was that?"

"I wanted to get finished."

"You don't care for fireworks?"

"Oh, yes, sir, it wasn't that. But you see,
there's two nights of them, and William and
I get the evening off tomorrow and go down
into the town and see them from there."

"I comprehend. And you heard Mademoi-selle
Maggie asking for her coat and unable
to f'md it?"

"I heard Miss Nick run upstairs, sir, and
Miss Buckley call up from the front hall
saying she couldn't fred somefixing and I
heard her say, all right, she'd take the


				"Pardon- "Poirot interrupted. "You did

	not endeavor to search for the coat for her

	or get it from the car where it had been

	left."

			"I had my work to do, sir."

			"Quite so. -and doubtless neither of the

	two young ladies asked you because they

	thought you were out looking at the fire
	works?"

		"Yes, sir."

		"So that, other years, you have been out

	looking at the fireworks?"

	A sudden flush came into her pale cheeks.

	"I don't know what you mean, sir. We're

	always allowed to go out into the garden. If I

	didn't feel like it this year, and would rather

	get on with my work and go to bed, well,

	that's my business, I imagine."

	"Mais oui. Mais oui. I did not intend to

	offend you. /hy should you not do as you

prefer? To make a change, it is pleasant."

	He paused and then added: "Now another

little matter in which I wonder whether you

can help me. This is an old house. Are there,

do you know, any secret chambers in it?"

	"Well--there's a kind of sliding panel in
this very room. I romemh- 1,;... 	,.


	where it is. Or was it in the library? I can't

	say,,'BIineoUruei fora per,on, t.ede.?;oard

	"Oh! no, indeed, sir. A
	P

place--a kind of niche. About a foot square,
sir, not more than that."

"Oh! that is not what I meant at all."
The blush rose to her face again. , 1
"If you think I was hiding anywhere
wasn't! I heard Miss Nick run down the
stairs and out and I heard her cry out---and
I came into the hall to see d--if anything
was the matter. And that's the gospel truth,
sir. That's the gospel truth."


13

Letters

Having successfully got rid of Een, Poirot
turned a somewhat thoughtful face towards
me.
"I wonder now did she hear those shots?
I think she did. She heard them, she opened
the kitchen door. She heard Nick rash down
the stairs and out and she herself came
into the hall to find out what had happened.
That is natural enough. But why did she not
go out and watch the fireworks that evening?
That is what I should like to know,
Hastings."
"What was your idea in asking about a
secret hiding place?"
"A mere fanciful idea that, after all, we
might not have disposed of J."
,,j.?,,
"Yes. The last person on .my list. The
problematical outsider. Supposing for some


to the house last night. He (I assume a he)
conceals himself in a secret chamber in this
room. A girl passes through whom he takes
to be Nick. He follows her out and shoots
her. Non c'est idiot,t And anyway, we know
that there is no hiding place. Ellen's decision
to remain in the kitchen last night was a
pure hazard. Come, let us search for the will
of Mademoiselle Nick."

There were no papers in the drawing room.
We adjourned to the library, a rather dark
room looking out on 'the drive. Here there
was a large old-fashioned walnut bureau writ-ing
table.

It took us some time to go through it.
Everything was in complete confusion. Bills
and receipts were mixed up together. Letters
of invitation, letters pressing for payment of
accounts, letters from friends.

"We will arrange these papers," said Poirot
sternly, "with order and method."

He was as good as his word. Half an hour
later, he sat back with a pleased expression
on his face. Everything was neatly sorted,
docketed and filed.

"C'est bien, a. One thing is at least to the
good. We have had to go through everything
so thoroughly that there is no possibility of


"No, indeed. Not that there's been much
to find."
"Except possibly this."
He tossed across a letter. It was written in
large sprawling handwriting, almost indecipherable.

Darling, Party was too, too marvellous.

Feel rather a worm today. You were wise

not to touch that
sniff---A---, ...... .
tts.tx- taOll t t:ver start,
darling. It's too damned hard to give u .
I'
	"
	
	P
	m writing the boy frie..n.d to hurry up
the supply. What Hell life is.

Yours, Freddie.

"Dated last Febru." :
thoughtfully. "She takes d"'Jrgs, ourrs,Zr
knew that as soon as I looked at her.".
"Really? .I never s. uspected such a thing."
"It is fairly obvious. You have only to
look at her eyes. And then there are her
extraordinary variations of mood. Sometimes
she is all on edge, stnmg up. sometimes she
is lifeless inert."
"Drug-taking affects the moral sense, does
it not?"

"Inevitably. But I. do not t,-.--M.-rs-. Rice
is a real addict. 1 , o, ,t,


"And Nick?"
"There are no signs of it. She may have
attended a dope party now and then for fun,
but she is no taker of drugs."
"I'm glad of that."
I remembered suddenly what Nick 'had
said about Frederica that she was not always
herself. Poirot nodded and tapped the letter
he held.
"This is what she was referring to, undoubtedly.
Well, we have drawn the blank,
as you say, here. Let us go up to Mademoiselle's
room."
There was a desk in Nick's room also, but
comparatively little was kept in it. Here
again, there was no sign of a will. We found
the registration book of her car and a perfectly
good. dividend warrant of a month
back. Otherwise there was nothing of importance.
Poirot sighed in an exasperated fashion.
"The young girls they are not properly
trained nowadays. The order, the method, it
is left out of their bringing up. She is charming,
Mademoiselle Nick, but she is a
featherhead. Decidedly she is a feather
rassment, "those are underclothes."
He paused in surprise.
"And why not, my friend?"

"Don't you think--I mean we
hardly "


He was now going through the contents of
a chest of drawers.

"Surely, Poirot," I said with some embar

Can


He
broke into a roar of laughter.
"Decidedl.y., my poor Hastings, you be-long
to the Victorian era. Mademoiselle Nick
would tell you so if she were here. In all
probability she would say that you had the
mind like the sink! Young ladies are not
ashamed of their underclothes nowadays. The
camisole, the camiknicker, it is no longer a
shameful secret. Every day, on the beach, all
these garments will be discarded within a
few feet of you. And why not?"

"I don't see any need for what you are
doing."

"Ecoutez, my friend. Clearly, she does not
lock up her treasures, Mademoiselle Nick. If
she wished to hide anything from sight--where
would she hide it? Underneath the
stockings and the petticoats. Ah! what have
we here?"

He held up a tacket of lettortis4


"The love letters of M. Michael Seton, if I
mistake not."
Quite calmly, he untied the ribbon and
began to open out the letters.
"Poirot," I cried scandalized. "You really
can't do that. It isn't playing the game."
"I am not playing a game, mon ami." His
voice rang out suddenly harsh and stem. "I
am hunting down a murderer."
"Yes, but private.letters "
"May have nothing to tell me--On the
other hand, they may. I must take every
chance, my friend. Come, you might as well
read them with me. Two pairs of eyes are no
worse than one pair. Console yourself with
the thought that the stanch Ellen knows them
by heart."
I did not..like it. Still I realized that in
Poirot's posmon he could not afford to be
squ..eamish, and I consoled myself by the
quibble that Nick's last word had been "Look
at anything you like."
The letters spread over several dates, beginning
last winter. New Year's Day.

DARLING,
The New Year is in and I'm making good
resolutions. It seems too wonderful to be


You've made all the difference to my life.
I believe we both knew from the very
first moment we met. Happy New Year,
my lovely girl.
Yours for ever,
MICHAEL

Feb. 8th
DEAREST Love,
How I wish I could see you more often.
This is pretty rotten, isn't it? I hate all
this beastly concealment but I explained
to you how things are. I know how much
you hate lies and concealment. I do too.
But honestly, it might upset the whole
apple cart. Uncle Matthew has got an
absolute bee in his bonnet about early
marriages and the way they wreck a
man's career. As though you could wreck
mine, you dear angel.
Cheer up, darling. Everything will
come right.
Yours,
MI-IL

March 2nd
I oughtn't to write to you two days
running, I know. But I must. When I
was ut vesterdav I thought of you. I flew


over Scarborough. Blessed, blessed,
blessed Scarborough the most wonderful
place in the world. Darling, you don't

know how I love you.

Yours,

MICHAEL


April 18th

DEAREST,

The whole thing is fixed up.
Definitely. If I pull this off (and I shall
pull it off) I shall be able to take a firm
line with Uncle Matthew and if he
doesn't like it .-well, what do I care? It's
adorable of you to be so interested in my
long technical descriptions of the
Albatross. How I long to take you up in
her. Someday! Don't for goodness sake,
worry about me. The thing isn't half so
risky as it sounds, I simply couldn't get
killed now that I know you care for me.
Everything will be all right, sweetheart.
Trust your MICHAEL


April 20th

You angel--every word you say is true
and I shall treasure that letter always. I'm


different from everybody else. I adore
you.

Yours,

MICHAEL


The last was undated.


Dearest,

Well I'm off tomorrow. Feeling
tremendously keen and excited and
absolutely certain of success. The old
Albatross is all tuned up. She won't let me
down.

Cheer up, sweetheart, and don't worry.
There's a risk, of course, but all life's risk
really. By the way, somebody said I ought
to make a will (tactful fellow but he
meant well) so I have on a half sheet of
notepaper and sent it to old Whitfield. I'd
no time to go round there. Somebody
once told me that a man made a will of
three words, "All to Mother," and it was
legal all right. My will was rather like
that I remembered your name was really
Magdala which was clever of me! A
couple of the fellows witnessed it.

Don't take all this solemn talk about
wills to heart, will you? (I didn't mean
that nun. An accident.'} I shall be as rieht


as rain. I'll send you telegrams from India
and Australia and so on. And keep up
heart. It's going to be all right. See?

Good night and God bless you,
Michael


Poirot folded the letters together again.

"You see, Hastings? I had to read them
to make sure. It is as I told you."

"Surely you could have found out some
other way?"

"No, mon chef, that is just what I could
not do. It had to be this way. We have now

some very valuable vidence."

"In what way?"

"We now know that the fact of Michael's
having made a will in favor of Mademoiselle
Nick is actually recorded in writing. Anyone
who had read those letters would know the
fact. And with letters carelessly hidden like
that, anyone could read them."

"Ellen?"


"Ellen, al[n. ost certain, y, I should say. We
will try a little experiment on her before


passing out.'

"There is no sign of the will."

"No, that is curious. But in all probability
it is thrown on top of a bookcase, or inside a


selle's memory on that point. At any rate,
there is nothing more to be found here."
Ellen was dusting the hall as we descended.
Poirot wished her good morning very
pleasantly as we passed. He turned back from
the front door to say: "You knew, I suppose,
that Miss Buckley was engaged to the airman,
Michael Seton?"
She stared.
"What? The one there's all the fuss in the
papers about?"
"Yes."
"Well, I never. To think of that. Engaged
to Miss Nick."
"Complete and absolute surprise registered
very convincingly," I remarked as we got
outside.
"Yes. It really seemed genuine."
"Perhaps it was," I suggested.
"And that packet of letters reclining for
months under the lingerie? No, mon ami."
"All very well," I thought to myself. "But
we are not all Hercule Poirots. We do not all
go nosing into what does not concern us."
But I said nothing.
"This Ellen she is an enigma," said
Poirot. "I do not like it. There is something
here that I do not understand"


14


The Mystery of the Missing

Will


We went straight back to the nursing home.
Nick looked rather surprised to see us.
"Yes, Mademoiselle," said Poirot, answer-ing
her look. "I am like the Jack in the Case.
I pop up again. To begin with I will tell you
that I have put the order in your affairs.
Everything is now neatly arranged."

"Well, I expect it was about time," said
Nick unable to help smiling. "Are you very
tidy, M. Poirot?"

"Ask my friend Hastings here."

The girl turned an inquiring gaze on me.
I detailed some of Poirot's minor peculiar-ities-toast
that had to be made from a square
loaf--eggs matching in size -hi.s objection to
golf as a game "shapel?s and haphazard"
whose only redeeming teature was the tee


which Poirot had solved by his habit of

straightening ornaments on the mantelpiece.
Poirot sat by, smiling.

"He makes the good tale of it, yes," he
said when I had finished. "But on the whole
it is true. Figure to yourself, Mademoiselle,
that I never cease trying to persuade Hastings
to part his hair in the middle instead of on
the side. See what an air lopsided and
unsymmetrical it gives him."

"Then you must disapprove of me, M.
Poirot," said Nick. "I wear a side parting.
And you must approve of Freddie who parts
her hair in the middle."

"He was certainly admiring her the other
evening," I put in maliciously. "Now I know
the reason."

"C'est assez," said Poirot. "I am here on
serious business. Mademoiselle, this will of
yours, I find it not."

"Oh!" She wrinkled her brows. "But does
it matter so much? After all, I'm not dead.
And wills aren't really important till you are
dead, are they?"

"That is correct. All the same, I interest
myself in this will of yours. I have various
little ideas concerning it. Think, Mademoi-selle.
Try to remember where you placed


"I don't suppose I put it anywhere patti
ular," said Nick. "I never do put things:
places. I probably shoved it into a drawer.'

"You did not put it in the secret panel t
any chance?"

"The secret what?"

"Your maid, Ellen, says that there is
secret panel in the drawing room or tl
library."

"Nonsense," said Nick. "I've never hem
of such a thing. Ellen said so?"

"Mais oui. It seems she was in service
End House as a young girl. The cook show{
it to her."

"It's the first I've ever heard of it. I su
pose Grandfather must have known about i
but, if so, he didn't tell me. And I'm sure 1
would have told me. M. Poirot, are you su
Ellen isn't making it all up?"

"No, Mademoiselle, I am not at all sur
Il me semble that there is something o
about this Ellen of yours."

"Oh! I wouldn't call her odd. William's
half-wit, and the child is a nasty little bmr
but Ellen's all right. The essence of respe
ability."

"Did you give her leave to go out and s.


"Of course. They always do. They clear
up afterwards."


"Yet she did not go out."

"Oh! yes, she did."

"How do you know, Mademoiselle?"
"Well--well- I suppose I don't know. I
told her to go and she thanked me and so
of course I assumed that she did go."

"On the contrary she remained in the
house."

"But--how very odd!"

"You think it odd?"

"Yes, I do. I'm sure she's never done such
a thing before. Did she say why.>"

"She did not tell me the real reason of
that I am sure."

Nick looked at him questioningly.

"Is it important?"

Poirot flung out his hands.

"That is just what I cannot say, Mademoi-selle.
C'est curieux. I leave it like that."

"This panel business too," said Nick re-flectively.
"I can't help thinking that's fright-fully
queer--and unconvincing. Did she
show you where it was?"

"I don't believe there is such a thing."
"She said she couldn't remember."
"It certainlv locl. li it ,,


"She certainly recounts the histories! She
said also that End House was not a good
house to live in."
Nick gave a little shiver.
"Perhaps she's right there," she said
slowly. "Sometimes I've felt that way myself.
There's a queer feeling in that house .... "
Her eyes grew large and dark. They had a
fated look. Poirot hastened to recall her to
other topics.
"We have wandered from our subject, Mademoiselle.
The will. The last will and testament
of Magdala Buckley."
"I put that," said Nick with some pride.
"I remember putting that, and I said pay all
debts and testamentary expenses. I remembered
that out of a book I'd read." '
"You did not use a will form, then?"
"No, there wasn't time for that. I was just
going off to the nursing home, and besides
Mr. Croft said will forms were very dangerous.
It was better to make a simple will and
not try to be too legal."
"M. Croft. He was there?"
"Yes. It was he who asked me if I'd made
one. I'd never have thought of it myself. He
said if you died in in "
"Intestate," I said.


tate, the Crown pinched a lot and that would
be a pity."
"Very helpful, the excellent M. Croft!"
"Oh! he was," said Nick warmly. "He got
Ellen in and her husband to witness it. Oh!
of course! What an idiot I've been!"
,We looked at her inquiringl,,.
we t>een a perfect diot. Letting you
hunt round End House. Charles has got it,
of course! My cousin, Charles Vyse."
"Ah! so that is the explanation."
"Mr. Croft said a lawyer was the proper
person to have charge of it."
"Trs correct, ce bon M. Croft."
"Men are useful sometimes," said Nick.
"A lawyer or the bank--that's what he said.
And I said Charles would be best. So we
stuck it in an envdope and sent it off to him
straight away."
She lay back on her pillows with a sigh.
"I'm sorry I've been so frightfully stupid.
But it is all fight now. Charles has got it,
and if you really want to see it, of course
he'll show it to you."
"Not without an authorization from you,"
said Poirot, smiling.
"How silly."


of paper from a little stack that lay beside
her bed. "What shall I say? Let the dog see

the rabbit?"
"Comment?"
I laughed at his startled face.
He dictated a form of words, and Nick
wrote obediently.
"Thank you, Mademoiselle," said Poirot
as he took it.
"I'm sorry to have given you such a lot of
trouble. But I really had forgotten. You know
how one forgets things almost at once?"
"With order and method in the mind one
does not forget."
"I'll have to have a course of some kind,"
said Nick. "You're giving me quite an inferiority
complex."
"That is impossible. Au revoir, Mademoiselle.''
He looked round the room. "Your
flowers are lovely."
"Aren't they? The carnations are from
Freddie and the roses from George and the
lilies from Jim Lazarus. And look here "
She pulled the wrapping from a large basket
of hothouse grapes by her side.
Poirot's face changed. He stepped forward
sharply.
"You have not eaten any of them?"


"Do not do so. You must eat nothing,
Mademoiselle, that comes in from outside.

You comprehend?"

"Oh!"

She stared at him, the color ebbing slowly
from her face.

"I see. You think you think it isn't over
yet. You think that they're still uying?" she
whispered.

He took her hand.

"Do not think of it. You are safe here.
But remember nothing that comes in from
outside."

I was conscious of that white frightened

face on the pillow as we left the room.
Poirot looked at his watch.

"Bon. We have just time to catch M. Vyse
at his office before he leaves it for lunch."

On arrival we were shown into Charles
Vyse's office after the briefest of delays.

The young lawyer rose to greet us. He
was as formal and unemotional as ever.

"Good morning, M. Poirot. What can I
do for you?"

Without more ado Poirot presented the
letter Nick had written. He took it and read
it, then gazed over the top of it at us in a


"I beg your pardon. I really am at a loss
to understand--"
"Has not Mademoiselle Buckley made her
meaning clear?"
"In this letter," he tapped it with his fingernail,
"she asks me to hand over to you, a
will made by her and entrusted to my keep-
ing in February last."
"Yes, Monsieur.".
"But, my dear sir, no will has been entrusted
to my keeping."
"Comment?"
"As far as I know my cousin never made a
will. I certainly never made one for her."
"She wrote this herself, I understand, on a
sheet of notepaper and posted it to you.
The lawyer shook his head.
"In that case all I can say is that I never
received it."
:;iReally, M. Vyse--"
never received anything of the kind, M.
Poirot."
There was a pause, then Poirot rose to his

fee't'n that case, M. Vyse, there is nothing
more to be said. There must be some
mistake."
"Certainly there must be some mistake."


"Good day, M. Vyse."

"Good day, M. Poirot."

"And that is that," I remarked when we

were out in the street once more.
"Prcisknent."

"Is he lying, do you think?"

"Impossible to tell. He has the good poker
face, M. Vyse, besides looking as though he
had swallowed one. One thing is clear, he
will not budge from the position he has taken
up. He never received the will. That is his
point."

"Surely Nick will have a written acknowl-edgement
of its receipt."

"Cette petite, she would never bother her
head about a thing like that. She dispatched
it. It was off her mind. Voil& Besides, on
that very day, she went into a nursing home
to have her appendix out. She had her emo-tions,
in all probability."

"Well, what do we do now?"

"Parbleu, we go and see M. Croft. Let us
see what he can remember about this busi-ness.
It seems to have been very much his
doing."

"He didn't profit by it in any way," I said
thoughtfully.

"No. No, I cannot see anything in it from
his toint of view. He is trobablv merely the


busybody the man who likes to arrange his
neighbor's affairs."

Such an attitude was indeed typical of Mr.
Croft, I felt. He was the kindly know-all
who causes so much exasperation in this
world of ours.

We found him busy in his shirt sleeves
over a steaming pot in the kitchen. A most
savory smell pervaded the little lodge.

He relinquished his cookery with enthusi-asm
being clearly eager to talk about the
murder.

"Half a jiffy," he said. "Walk upstairs.
Mother will want to be in on this. She'd
never forgive us for talking down here.
Cooee Milly. Two friends are coming up."

Mrs. Croft greeted us warmly and was
eager for news of Nick. I liked her much
better than her husband.

"That poor dear girl," she said. "In a
nursing home, you say? Had a complete
breakdown, I shouldn't wonder. A dreadful
business, Mr. Poirot perfectly dreadful. An
innocent young girl like that shot dead. It
doesn't bear thinking about it doesn't in-deed.
And no lawless wild part of the world
either. Right here in the heart of the old
country. Kept me awake all night, it did."


and leaving you, old lady," said her husband,
who had put on his coat and joined
us. "I don't like to think of your having
b.een left all alone here yesterday evening. It
gxves me the shivers."

"You're not going to leave me again, I can
tell you," said Mrs. Croft. "Not after dark,
anyway. And I'm thinking I'd like to leave
this part of the world as soon as possible. I
shall never feel the same about it. I shouldn't
think poor Nicky Buckley could ever bear to
sleep in that house again."
It was a LITTLE difficult to reach the object
of our visit. Both Mr. and Mrs. Croft talked
so much and were so anxious to know all
about everything. Were the poor dead girl's
relations coming down? When was the funeral?
Was there to be an inquest? What did
the police think? Had they any clue yet?
Was it true that a man had been arrested in
Plymouth?
Then, having answered all these questions,
they were insistent on offering us lunch. Only
Poirot's mendacious statement that we were
obliged to hurry back to lunch with the Chief
Constable saved us.
At last a momentary pause occurred and
Poirot got in the cuestion he had been


"Why, of course," said Mr. Croft. He
pulled the blind cord up and down twice,
frowning at it abstractedly. "I remember all
about it. Must have been when we first came
here. I remember. Appendicitis that's what
the doctors said "
"And probably not appendicitis at all,"
interrupted Mrs. Croft. "These doctors
they always like cutting you up if they can.
It wasn't the kind you have to operate on
anyhow. She'd had indigestion and one thing
and another and they'd X-rayed her and they
said out it had better come. And there she
was, poor LITTLE soul just going off to one of
those nasty homes."
"I just asked her," said Mr. Croft, "if
she'd made a will. More as a joke than anything
else."
"Yes?"
"And she wrote it out then and there.
Talked about getting a will form at the post
office but I advised her not to. Lot of trouble
they cause sometimes, so a man told me.
Anyway, her cousin is a lawyer. He could
draw her out a proper one afterwards if everything
was right as of course I knew it
would be. This was just a precautionary
matter."


"Oh! Ellen, the maid, and her husband."
"And afterwards? What

it?"

"Oh! we posted it to

you know."

"You know that it was posted?"

"My dear M. Poirot, I posted it myself.
Right in this box here by the gate."


was done with


Vyse. The lawyer,


"So if M. Vyse says he never got it "
Croft stared.

"Do you mean that it got lost in the post?
Oh! but surely that's impossible."

"Anyway, you are certain that you posted
it."

"Certain sure," said Mr. Croft heartily.
"I'll take my oath on that any day."

"Ah! well," said Poirot. "Fortunately it
does not matter. Mademoiselle is not likely
to die just yet awhile."

We made our escape.

"Et voil&t" said Poirot when we were out
of earshot and walking down to the hotel.
"Who is lying? M. Croft? Or M. Charles
Vyse? I must confess I see no reason why M.
Croft should be lying. To suppress the will
would be of no advantage to him especially
when he had been instrumental in getting it


and tallies exactly with what was told us by

Mademoiselle Nick. But all the same "
"Yes?"
"All the same, I am glad that M. Croft
was doing the cooking when we arrived. He
left an excellent impression of a greasy thumb
and first finger on a corner of the newspaper
that covered the kitchen table. I managed to
tear it off unseen by him. We will send it to
our good friend Inspector Japp of Scotland
Yard. There is just a chance that he might
know something about it."
"Yes?"
"You know, Hastings, I cannot help feeling
that our genial M. Croft is a little too
good to be genuine."
"And now," he added. "Le dgjeuner. I faint with hunger."


Strange Behaviour of Frederica

Poirot's inventions about the Chief Constable
were proved not to have been so mendacious
after all. Colonel Weston called upon us soon
after lunch.
He was a tall man of military carriage with
considerable good looks. He had a suita.ble
reverence for Poirot's achievements with
which he seemed to be well acquainted.
"Marvelous piece of luck for us having
you down here, M. Poirot," he said again
and again.
His one fear was that he should be compelled
to call in the assistance of Scotland
Yard. He was anxious to solve the mystery
and catch the criminal without their aid.
Hence his delight at Poirot's presence in the
neighborhood.
Poirot, as far as I could judge, took him
completely into his confidence.


"Never heard of anything like it. Well, the
girl ought to be safe enough in a nursing
home. Still, you can't keep her there for
ever?
"That, M. le Colonel, is just the difficulty.
There is only one way of dealing with
i
to
"And that is?"
"We must lay our hands on the person
responsible."
"If what you suspect is true, that isn't
going to be so easy."
"Ah.t je le sais bien."
"Evidence! Getting evidence is going to be
the devil."
He frowned abstractedly.
"Always difficult, these cases, where
there's no routine work. If we could get hold
of the pistol "
"In all probability it is at the bottom of
the sea. That is, if the murderer had any sense."
"Ah!" said Colonel Weston. "But often
they haven't. You'd be surprised at the fool
things people do. I'm not talking of murderers
we don't have many murderers down
in these parts, I'm glad to say but in ordinary
police court cases. The sheer damn fool
"They are of a different mentality,
though."

"Yes-. perhaps. If Vyse is the chap, well,
we'll have our work cut out. He's a cautious
man and a sound lawyer. He'll not give him-self
away. The woman--well, there would be
more hope there. Ten to one she'll try again.

Women have no patience."

He rose.

"Inquest tomorrow morning. Coroner will
work in with us and give away as little as
possible. We want to keep things dark at
present."

He was turning towards the door when he
suddenly came back.

"Upon my soul, I'd forgotten the very
thing that will interest you most, and that I
want your opinion about."

Sitting down again, he drew from his
pocket a torn scrap of paper with writing on
it and handed it to Poirot.

"My police found this when they were
searching the grounds. Not far from where
you were all watching the fireworks. It's the
only suggestive thing they did find."

Poirot smoothed it out. The writing was
large and stralinm


" must have money at once. If not
you

what will happen. I'm warning you"


Poirot frowned. He read and re-read it.

"That is interesting," he said. "I may keep
it?"

"Certainly. There are no fingerprints on
it. I'll be glad if you can make anything of
it."

Colonel Weston got to his feet again.

"I really must be off. Inquest tomorrow,
as I said. By the way, you are not being
called as witness only Captain Hastings.
Don't want the newspaper people to get wise
to your being on the job."

"I comprehend. What of the relations of
the poor young lady?"


"The father and mother are coming from
Yorkshire today. They'll arrive about half
past five. Poor souls. I'm heartily sorry for
him. They are taking the body back with

them the following day."

He shook his head.

"Unpleasant business. I'm not enjoying
this, M. Poirot."

"Who could, M. le Colonel? It is, as you


When he had gone, Poirot examined the
scrap of paper once more.

"An important clue?" I asked.

He shrugged his shoulders.

"How can one tel!? There is a hint of
blackmail about !t. Some one of our party
that night was being pressed for money in a
very unpleasant way. Of course, it is possible
that it was one of the strangers."

He looked at the writing through a little
magnifying glass.

"Does this writing look at all familiar to
you, Hastings?"

"It reminds me a little of something--ah!
I have it. that note of Mrs. Rice's."

"Yes," said Poirot slowly. "There are
resemblanc.es. D. ecidedly there are resem-b.l.anc,
es. It s curious. Yet I do not think that
.this s th.e writing of Madame Rice. Com

aa," he said as a knock came at the door.

It was Comm.ander Challenger.

"Just looked aa," he explained. "Wanted
to know if you were any further forward."

"Parb. leu," said Poirot. "A.t this moment I
am feeling that I am considerably,, further
back. I seem to progress en reculant.


and what a wonderful chap you are. Never
had a failure, they say."

"That is not true," said Poirot. "I had a
bad failure in Belgium in 1893. You recol-lect,
Hastings? I recounted it to you. The

affair of the box of chocolates."

"I remember," I said.

And I smiled, for at the time that Poirot
told me that tale, he had instructed me to
say "chocolate box" to him if ever I should
fancy he was growing conceited! He was then
bitterly offended when I used the magical
words only a minute and a quarter later.

"Oh! well," said Challenger. "That is such
a long time ago it hardly counts. You are
going to get to the bottom of this, aren't
you?"

"That I swear. On the word of Hercule
Poirot. I am the dog who stays on the scent
and does not leave it."

"Good. Got any ideas?"

"I have suspicions of two people."

"I suppose I mustn't ask who they are?"

"I should not tell you! You see, I might
possibly be in error."

"My alibi is satisfactory, I trust," said
Challenger with a faint twinkle.

Poirot smiled indulgently at the bronzed


a few minutes past 8:30. You arrived here at
five minutes past ten ... twenty minutes after
the crime had been committed. But the dis-tance
from Devonport is only just over thirty
miles and you have often done it in an hour
since the road is good. So, you see, your

alibi is not good at all!"

"Well, I'm "

"You comprehend, I inquire into every-thing.
Your alibi, as I say, is not good. But
there are other things beside alibis. You
would like, I think, to marry Mademoiselle
Nick?"

The sailor's face flushed.

"I've always wanted to marry her," he
said huskily.

"Precisely. Eh bien Mademoiselle Nick
was engaged to another man. A reason, per-haps,
for killing the other man. But that is
unnecessary he dies the death of a hero."

"So it is true that Nick was engaged to
Michael Seton? There's a rumor to that ef-fect
all over the town this morning."

"Yes it is interesting how soon news
spreads. You never suspected it before?"

"I knew Nick was engaged to someone
she told me so two days ago. But she didn't
give me a clue as to who it was."


left her, I fancy, a very pretty fortune. Ah!
assuredly, it is not a moment for killing Ma-demoiselle
Nick from your point of view.
She weeps for her lover now, but the heart
consoles itself. She is young. And I think,
Monsieur, that she is very fond of you ....

Challenger was silent for a moment or two.
"If it should be..." he murmured.
There was a tap on the door.


It was Frederica Rice.

"I've been looking for you," she said to
Challenger. "They told me you were here. I
wanted to know if you'd got my wrist watch
back yet."

"Oh! yes, I called for it this morning."
He took it from his pocket and handed it
to her. It was a watch of rather an unusual
shape .round, like a globe, set on a strap of
plain black moir6. I remembered that I had
seen one much the same shape on Nick
Buckley's wrist.

"I hope it will keep better time now."

"It's rather a bore. Something is always
going wrong with it."

"It is for beauty, Madame, and not for
utility," said Poirot.

"Can't one have both?" She looked from
one to the other of us. "Am I interrupting a


"No, indeed, Madame. We were talking
the gossip not the crime. We were saying
how quickly news spreads how that every-one
now knows that Mademoiselle Nick was
engaged to that brave airman who perished."

"So Nick was engaged to Michad Seton!"
exclaimed Frederica.

"It surprises you, Madame?"

"It does a little. I don't know why. Cer-tainly
I did think he was very taken with her
last autumn. They went about a lot together.
And then, after Christmas, they both seemed
to cool off. As far as I know, they hardly
met."

"The secret, they kept it very well."

"That was because of old Sir Matthew. I
suppose. He was really a little off his head, I


"You had no suspicion, Madame? And yet
Mademoiselle Nick was such an intimate
friend."

"Nick's a close little devil when she likes,"
murmured Frederica. "But I understand now
why she's been so nervy lately. Oh! and I
ought to have guessed from something she
said only the other day."

"Your little friend is very attractive,
Madame."

"Old Tim l .7.1< n<cl 1'n thlnlr n 11' ntl


time," said Challenger with his loud rather
tactless laugh.

"Oh! Jim ." She shrugged her shoulders,


but I thought she was annoyed.
She turned to Poirot.

"Tell me, M. Poirot, did you


She stopped. Her tall figure swayed and
her face turned whiter still. Her eyes were
fixed on the center of the table.

"You are not well, Madame."

I pushed forward a chair, helped her to
sink into it. She shook her head, murmured:
"I'm all right," and leaned forward, her face
between her hands. We watched her awk-wardly.

She sat up in a minute.

"How absurd! George darling, don't look
so worried. Let's talk about murders. Some-thing
exciting. I want to know if M. Poirot
is on the track."

"It is early to say, Madame," said Poirot
noncommittally.

"But you have ideas yes?"

"Perhaps. But I need a great deal more
evidence."

"Oh!" She sounded uncertain.

Suddenly she rose.


down. Perhaps tomorrow they'll let me see
Nick."
She left the room abruptly. Challenger
frowned.

"yo.u never know what that woman's up
to. Nack may have been fond of her, but I
don't believe she was fond of Nick. But
there you can't tell with women. It's dar	ling-
darling 	darling
all the time. and
	'damn
you' would probably express it much
	better.
Are you going out, M. Poirot?" For
	Poirot
had risen and was carefully brushing a
	speck
off Ms hat.
	"Yes,
I am going into the town."
	"I've
got nothing to do. May I come with
	you?"

	"Assuredly.
It will be a pleasure."
	We
left the room. Poirot, with an apology,
	went
back.
	"My
stick," he explained as he rejoined
	US.

Challenger
winced slightly. And indeed the stick,
with its embossed gold band, was somewhat
ornate.
Poirot's
first visit was to a florist.
"I
must send some flowers to Mademoiselle
Nick," he explained.


to be filled with orange carnations. The whole
to be tied up with a large blue bow.

The shopwoman gave him a card and he
wrote on it with a flourish, "With the Com-pliments
of Hercule Poirot."

"I sent her some flowers this morning,"
said Challenger. "I might send her some
fruit."

"Inutile.t" said Poirot.

"Why.>"

"I said it was useless. The eatables it is
not permitted."

"Who says so?"

"I say so. I have made the rule. It has
already been impressed on Mademoiselle
Nick. She understands."

"Good Lord!" said Challenger.

He looked thoroughly startled. He stared
at Poirot curiously.

"So that's it, is it?" he said. "You're still
afraid."


16


Interview with Mr. Whitfield


The inquest was a dry proceeding--mere
bare bones. There was evidence of identifica-tion,
then I gave evidence of the finding of
the body. Medical evidence followed.

The inquest was adjourned for a week.
The St. Loo murder had jumped into
prominence in the daily press. It had, in
fact, succeeded "SExos STZLL MZSSSG.

KNOWN FaTE OF MISSING AIRMAN."

Now that Seton was dead and due tribute
had been paid to his memory, a new sensa-tion
was due. The St. Loo Mystery was a
godsend to papers at their wits' end for news
in the month of August.

After the inquest, having successfully
dodged reporters, I met Poirot and we had
an in.terview with the Rev. 6iles Buckley
and his wife.


ing pair, completely unworldly and unsophisticated.
Mrs. Buckley was a woman of character,
tall and fair and showing very plainly her
northern ancestry. Her husband was a small
man, grey-headed, with a diffident appealing
manner.
Poor souls, they were completely dazed by
the misfortune that had overtaken them and
robbed them of a well-loved daughter, "Our
Maggie" as they called her.
"I can scarcely realize it even now," said
Mr. Buckley. "Such a dear child, M. Poirot.
So quiet and unselfish always thinking of
others. Who could wish to harm her?"
"I could hardly understand the telegram,"
said Mrs. Buckley. "Why it was only the
morning before that we had seen her off."
"In the midst of life we are in death,"
murmured her husband.
"Colonel Weston has been very kind," said
Mrs. Buckley. "He assures us that everything
is being done to find the man who did
this thing. He must be a madman. No other
explanation is possible."
"Madame, I cannot tell you how I sympathize with vnu in vnur in.. and hnw I ad
						"Breaking down would not bring Maggie

					back to us," said Mrs. Buckley sadly.

						"My wife is wonderful,"

							said the clergy
				m.an. "Her faith and courage are greater than

				mme. It is all so--so bewildering, M.

				Poirot."

						"I know---I know, Monsieur."

						"You are a great detective, M. Poirot?"

			said Mrs. Buckley.

						"It has been said, Madame."

						"Oh! I know. Even in our remote country

		village we have heard of you. You are going

		to find out the truth, M. Poirot?"

						"I sh .all not rest until I do, Madame."

						"It will be revealed to you, M. Pirot,,,

	qua.ye, red the clergyman. "Evil c .....
		,,
	tumor go un

	pumshed.
			'

"Evil never goes .unpunished, Monsieur.
But the PUnishment :s sometimes secret."
"What do you mean by that, M. Poirot?"
Poirot only shook his head.
	,,
	
	o
	.
	Poor little Nick," smd Mrs. Bucklev. "I
am really sorriest of all for hew  ,-- 	

	-.  naa a most
	pathe.uc letter. She says she feels she asked

	Maggie down here to her death."

	"That is morbid," said Mr. Buckley.

	"V--c, 'L... I


traordinary not to let her own family visit
her."

"Doctors and nurses are very strict," said
Poirot evasively. "They make the rules
so and nothing will change them. And
doubtless they fear for her the emotion the
natural emotion she would experience on
seeing you."

"Perhaps," said Mrs. Buckley doubtfully.
"But I don't hold with nursing homes. Nick
would do much better if they let her come
back with me right away from this place."

"It is possible but I fear they will not
agree. It is long since you have seen Made-moiselle
Buckley?"

"I haven't seen her since last autumn. She
was at Scarborough. Maggie went over and
spent the day with her and then she came
back and spent a night with us. She's a
pretty creature though I can't say I like her
friends. And the life she leads well, it's
hardly her fault, poor child. She's had no
upbringing of any kind."

"It is a strange house End House," said
Poirot thoughtfully.

"I don't like it," said Mrs. Buckley. "I
never have. There's something all wrong
about that house. I disliked old Sir Nicholas


"Not a good man, I'm .afraid," said her
husband. "But he had a cunous charm."

"I never felt it," said Mrs. Buckley.
"There's an evil feeling about that house. I
wish we'd never let our Maggie go there."
"Ah! wishing," said Mr. Buckley and
shook his head.
"Well," said Poirot. "I must not intrude
upon you any longer. I only wished to proffer
to you my deep sympathy."
"You have been very kind, Mal1. Poirot.
And we are indeed grateful for you are
doing."

"You return to Yorkshire--when?"
"Tomorrow. A sad journey. Goodby, M.
Poirot, and thank you again."
"Very simple delightful people," I said
after we had left.
Po[rot nodded.
"It makes the heart ache, does it not, mon ami? A tragedy so useless- so purposeless.
Cette jeune fille Ah!
	.
	but I reproach myself
	btterly. I, Hercule Po[rot, was on the spot

	and I did not prevent the crime!"

		"Nobody could have prevented it."

		"You. speak without reflection, Hastings.

	.No ordinary person could, have prevented

	It--but of what cr,,,q ;o . - t-


other people's, if you do not manage to do
what ordinary people cannot?"
"Well, of course," I said. "If you are going
to put it like that"
"Yes, indeed. I am abashed, downhearted
completely abased."

I reflected that Poirot's abasement was
strangely like other people's conceit, but I

prudently forbore making any remark.
"And now," he said. "En avant. To
London."
"London?"
"lV/a/s oui. We shall catch the two o'clock
train very comfortably. All is peaceful here.
Mademoiselle is safe in the nursing home.
No one can harm her. The watchdogs therefore
can take leave of absence. There are one
or two little pieces of information that I
require."
Our first proceeding on arriving in London
was to call upon the late Captain Seton's
solicitors, Messrs. Whitfield, Pargiter &
Whitfield.
Poirot 'had arranged for an appointment
beforehand, and although it was past six
o'clock, we were soon closeted with Mr.
Whitfield, the head of the firm.
He was a very urbane and impressive per
Chief Constable and another from some high
official at Scotland Yard.

"This is all very irregular and unusual,
M... ah Poirot," he said, as he polished his
eyeglasses.

"Quite so, M. Whiffield. But then murder
is also irregular.., and I am glad to say, suffi-ciently
unusual."

"True. True. But rather farfetched--to
make a connection between this murder and

my late client's bequest--eh?"

"I think not."

"Ah! you think not. Well under the cir-cumstances-and
I must admit that Sir
Henry puts it very strongly in his letter I
shall be er- happy to do anything that is in
my power."

"You acted as legal adviser to the late
Captain Seton?"

"To all the Seton family, my dear sir. We
have done so our firm have done so, I
mean. for the last hundred years."

"Parfaitement. The late Sir Matthew Seton
made a will?"

"We made it for him."

"And he left his fortune--how?"

"There were several bequests, one to the

Natural History Museum. hut the


he left to Captain Michael Seton absolutely.
He had no other near relations."

"A very large fomme you say?"

"The late Sir Matthew was the second
richest man in England," replied Mr.
Whiffield composedly.

"He had somewhat peculiar views, had he
not?"

Mr. Whitfield looked at Poirot severely.

"A millionaire, M. Poirot, is allowed to be
eccentric. It is almost expected of him."

Poirot received this correction meekly and
asked another question.

"His death was unexpected, I under-stand?"

"Most unexpected. Sir Matthew enjoyed
remarkably good health. He had an internal


growth, however, which
pected. It reached a vital
mediate operation was


no one had sus-tissue
and an im
necessary.
The


operation was, as always on these occasions,
completely successful. But Sir Matthew
died."

"And his forume passed to Captain Seton."
"That is so."

"Captain Seton had, I understand, made a
will before leaving England?"

"If you can call it a will yes," said Mr.


"Is it legal?"

"It is .perfectly legal. The intention of the
testator s plain and it is properly witnessed.
Oh! yes, it is legal."

"But you do not approve of it?"

"My dear sir, what are we for?"

I had often wondered. Having once had
occasion to make a perfectly simple will my-self,
I had been appalled at the length and
verbiage that resulted from my solicitor's of-fice.

"The truth of the matter was," continued
Mr. Whitfield, "that at the time Captain
Seton had little or nothing to leave. He was
dependent on the allowance he received from
his uncle. ,,He felt, I suppose, that Anything
would Do.

And he thought correctly, I whispered to
myself.

"And the terms of this will?" asked Poirot.
"He leaves everything of which he dies
possessed to his affianced wife, Miss Magdala
Buckley, absolutely. He names me as his
executor."


"Then Miss Buckley inherits?"
"Certainly Miss Buckley inherits."

"And if Miss Buckley had happened to
die last


the money would go to whoever she had
named in her will as residuary legatee or
failing a will, to her next of kin.

"I may say," added Mr. Whitfield with an
air of enjoyment, "that the death duties
would have been enormous. Enormous!
Three deaths, remember, in rapid succes-sion.''
He shook his head. "Enormous!"

"But there would have been something
left?" murmured Poirot meekly.

"My dear sir, as I told you, Sir Matthew

was the second richest man in England."
Poirot rose.

"Thank you, Mr. Whitfield, very much
for the information that you have given me."

"Not at all. Not at all. I may say that I
shall be in communication with Miss
Buckley indeed I believe the letter has al-ready
gone. I shall be happy to be of any
service I can to her."

"She is a young lady," said Poirot, "who
could do with some sound legal advice."

"There will be fortune hunters, I am
afraid," said Mr. Whitfield, shaking his head.

"It seems indicated," agreed Poirot. "Good
day, Monsieur."

"Goodby, M. Poirot. Glad to have been of
service to you. Your name is ah!---familiar


He said this kindly with an air of one
making a valuable admission.

"It is all exactly as you thought, Poirot," I
said when we were outside.

"Mort ami, it was bound to be. It could
not be any other way. We will go now to the
Cheshire Cheese where Japp meets us for an
early dinner."

We found Inspector Japp of Scotland Yard
awaiting us at the chosen rendezvous. He
greeted Poirot with every sign of warmth.

"Years since I've seen you, Moosior Poirot!
Thought you were growing vegetable mar-rows
in the country."

"I tried, Japp, I tried. But even when you
grow vegetable marrows you cannot get away
from murder."

He sighed. I knew of what he was think-ing
that strange affair at Femley Park. How
I regretted that I had been far away at that

time.

"And Captain Hastings too," said Japp.
"How are you, sir?"

"Very fit, thanks," I said.

"And now there are more murders?" con-tinued
Japp facetiously.

"As you say more murders."

"Well, you mustn't be denre..ocl ,.1,4


your way clear well you can't go about at
your time of life and expect to have the
success you used to do. We all of us get stale
as the years go by. Got to give the young
'uns a chance, you know."

"And yet the old dog is the one who
knows the tricks," murmured Poirot. "He is
cunning. He does not leave the scent."

"Oh! well we're talking about human be-ings,
not dogs."

"Is there so much difference?"

"Well, it depends how you look at things.
But you're a caution, isn't he, Captain
Hastings? Always' was. Looks much the
same .-hair a bit thinner on top but the face
fungus fuller than ever."

"Eh?" said Poirot. "What is that?"

"He's congratulating you on your mus-t:aches,''
I said soothingly.

"They are luxuriant, yes," said Poirot
complacently caressing them.

app went off into a roar of laughter.
"Well," he said, after a minute or two.
"I've done your bit of business. These fin-gerprints
you sent me "

"Yes?" said Poirot eagerly.

"Nothing doing. Whoever the gentleman
may be .... he hasn't assed through our hands.


nobody of that description or name is known
there."


"So there may be something fishy after
all. But he's not one of the lads.

"As to the other business," went on Japp.
"Yes?"

"Lazarus and Son have a good reputation.
Quite straight and honorable in their deal-ings.
Sharp, of course.-- but that's another
matter. You've got to be sharp in business.
But they're all right. They're in a bad way,

though financially, I mean."

"Oh!--is that so?"

"Yes. the slump in pictures has hit them
badly. And antique furniture too. All this
modern continental stuff coming into fash-ion.
They built new premises last year and
well. as I say, they're not far from Queer
Street."

"I am much obliged to you."

"Not at all. That sort of thing isn't my
line, as you know. But I made a point of
finding out as you wanted to know. We can
always get information."

"My good Japp, what should I do without


an old friend. I let you in on some pretty
good cases in the old days, didn't I?"
This, I re8lized, was Japp's way of acknowledging
indebtedness to Poirot who had
solved many a case which had baffled the
Inspector.
"They were the good days--yes."
"I wouldn't mind having a chat with you
now and again even in these days. Your
methods may be old-fashioned but you've
got your head screwed on the right way, M.
Poirot."
"What about my other question. The Dr.
MacAllister?"
"Oh! him. He's a woman's doctor. I don't
mean a gyneco-logist. I mean one of these
nerve doctors tell you to sleep in purple
walls and an orange ce'fling talk to you
about your libido whatever that is--tells you
to let it rip. He's a bit of a quack if you ask
me--but he gets the women all right. They
flock to him. Goes abroad a good deal--does
kind of medical work in Paris, I

some
believe."
"Why Dr. MacAllister?"
dered. I had never heard
"Where does he come in?"
"Dr. MacAllister is the

I asked bewil-of
the name.

uncle of Com
remember he referred to an uncle who was a
doctor?"

"How thorough you are," I said. "Did
you think he had operated on Sir Matthew?"
"He's not a surgeon," said Japp.

"Mon ami," said Poirot, "I like to inquire
into everything. Hercule Poirot is a good
dog. The dog follows the scent, and if, re-grettably,
there is no scent to follow, he
noses around seeking always something that
is not very nice. So also, does Hercule Poirot.
And often oh! so often does he find it!"


"It's not a nice profession, ours," said
Japp. "Stilton, did you say? I don't mind if I


do. No, it's not a nice profession. And yours
is worse than mine not official, you see,
and therefore a lot more worming yourself
into places in underhand ways."

"I do not disguise myself, Japp. Never
have I disguised myself."

"You couldn't," said Japp. "You're
unique. Once seen, never forgotten."

Poirot looked at him rather doubtfully.

"Only my fun," said Japp. "Don't mind
me. Glass of port? Xgrell, if you say so .... "

The eveirg became thoroughly harmoni-ous.
XVre were soon in the middle of reminis
	This
	that
	and
the other. I

cences.

	case,

		case,


past. Those had been good days. How old
and experienced I felt now!

Poor old Poirot. He was perplexed by this
case I could see that. His powers were not
what they were. I had the feeling that he was
going to fail that the murderer of Maggie
Buckley would never be brought to book.

"Courage, my friend," said Poirot slap-ping
me on the shoulder. "All is not lost. Do

not pull the long face, I beg of you."
"That's all right. I'm all right."
"And so am I. And so is Japp."

"We're all all right," declared Japp hilari-ously.

And on this pleasant note we parted.

The following morning we journeyed back
to St. Loo. On arrival at the hotel Poirot
rang up the nursing home and asked to speak
to Nick.

Suddenly I saw his face change he al-most
dropped the instrument.

"Comment? What is that? Say it again, I
beg."

He waited for a minute or two listening.
Then he said, "Yes, yes, I will come at


once.


He turned a pale face to me.

"Why did I go away, Hastings? Mon D/eu.t


17


A Box of Chocolates


All the way to the nursing home Poirot mur-mured
and muttered to himself. He was full
of self-reproach.

"I should have known," he groaned. "I
should have known! And yet, what could I
do? I took every precaution. It is impossi-ble
impossible. No one could get to her!
Who has disobeyed my orders?"

At the nursing home we were shown into
a little room downstairs and after a few min-utes
Dr. Graham came to us. He looked
exhausted and white.

"She'll do," he said. "It's going to be all
right. The trouble was knowing how much

she's taken of the damned stuff."
"What was k?"
"Cocaine."
"She will live?"

"Yes, yes, she'll live."


get at her? Who has been allowed in?" Poirot

fairly danced with .impotent excitement.
"Nobody has been allowed in."
"Impossible."
"It's true."
"But then ."

"It was a box of chocolates."

"Ah, sacra. And I told her to eat noth-ing
nothing that came from outside."

"I don't know about that. It's hard work
keeping a girl from a box of chocolates. She
ate only one, thank goodness."

"Was there cocaine in all the chocolates?"
"No. The girl ate one. There were two
others in the top layer. The rest were all
right."

"How was it done?"

"Quite clumsily. Chocolate cut in half
the cocaine mixed with the filling and the
chocolate stuck together again. Amateurishly.

What you might call a homemade job."
Poirot groaned.

"Ah! if I knew if I knew. Can I see
Mademoiselle?"


you come back m an hour I think you
can see her," said th.e doctor. "Pull yourself
together, man. She asn't going to die."

For another hour we walked the streets of


mind ..pointing out to him that all was well,
that, after all, no mischief had been done.

But he only shook his head, and repeated
at intervals:

"I am afraid, Hastings, I am afraid...."

And the strange way he said it made me,
too, feel afraid.

Once he caught me by the arm.

"Listen, my friend. I am all wrong. I have
been all wrong from the beginning."


"You mean it isn't the money... ."
"No, no, I am right about that. Oh! yes.
But those two .it is too simple too easy,
that. There is another twist still. Yes, there
is something!"

And then in an outburst of indignation:
"Ah! cette petite! Did I not forbid her? Did
I not say 'Do not touch anything from out-side'?
And she disobeys me me, Hercule
Poirot. Are not four escapes from death
enough for her? Must she take a fifth chance?
Ah, c'est inou!"

At last we made our way back. After a
brief wait we were conducted upstairs.

Nick was sitting up in bed. The pupils of
her eyes were widely dilated. She looked
feverish and her hands kept twitching vio-lently.


of her. He cleared his throat and took
hand in his.
"Ah! Mademoiselle--Mademoiselle."
"I shouldn't care," she said defiantly,

Poirot experienced real emotion at the sight
her

they had got me this time. I'm sick of it
all---sick of it!"
	"Pauvre petite.t"
"Something in me doesn't like to give them
best!"
	"That is the spirit, le sport 	you
must be
the
good sport, Mademoiselle."
"Your
old nursing home hasn't been so safe
after all," said Nick.
"If
you had obeyed orders, Mademoiselle...
"She

looked faintly astonished.
"But
I have."
"Did
I not impress upon you that you
were
to eat nothing that came from outside?" "No
more I did."
"But
these chocolates--"
"Well,
they were all right. You sent them." "What
is that you say, Mademoiselle?" "You
sent them!"
"Me?
Never. Never anything of the kind." "But you
did. Your card was in the box." "What?"


the table by the bed. The nurse came for-ward.

"You want the card that was in the box?"
"Yes, please, nurse."

There was a moment's pause. The nurse

returned to the room with it in her hand.
"Here it is."

I gasped. So did Poirot. For on the card,
in flourishing handwriting, were written the
same words that I had seen Poirot inscribe
on the card that accompanied the basket of
flowers: "With the Compliments of Hercule
Poirot."

"S acr tonnerre.t"

"You see," said Nick accusingly.
"I did not write this!" cried Poirot.
"What?"

"And yet," murmured Poirot, "and yet it
is my handwriting."

"I know. It's exactly the same as the card
that came with the orange carnations. I never

doubted that the chocolates came from you."
Poirot shook his head.

"How should you doubt? Oh! the devil!
The clever cruel devil! To think of that! Ah!
but he has genius, this man, genius! 'With
the Compliments of Hercule Poirot.' So simple.
Yes, but one had to think of it. And I I did


Nick moved restlessly.

"Do not agitate yourself, Mademoiselle.
You are blameless, blameless. It is I that
am to blame, rmserable imbecile that I am! I
should have foreseen this move. Yes, I should
have foreseen it."

His chin dropped on his breast. He looked
the picture of misery.

"I really think "said the nurse.

She had been hovering nearby, a disap-proving
expression on her face.

"Eh? Yes, yes, I will go. Courage, Made-moiselle.
This is the last mistake I will make.
I am ashamed, desolated I have been
tricked, outwitted, as though I were a little
schoolboy. But it shall not happen again.
No. I promise you. Come, Hastings."

Poirot's first proceeding was to interview
the matron. She was, naturally, terribly up-set
over the whole business.

"It seems incredible to me, M. Poirot,
absolutely incredible. That a thing like that
should happen in my nursing home."

Poirot was sympathetic and tactful. Hav-ing
soothed her sufficiently, he began to in-quire
into the circumstance of the arrival of

the fatal packet. Here. the matrnn cloc, lvoA


who had been on duty at the time of its
arrival.
The man in question, whose name was
Hodd, was a stupid but honest-looking young
fellow of about twenty-two. He looked nervous
and frightened. Poirot put him at his
ease, however.
"No blame can be attached to you," he
said kindly. "But I want you to tell me
exactly when and how this parcd arrived."
The orderly looked puzzled.
"It's difficult to say, sir," he said slowly.
"Lots of people come and inquire and leave
things for the different patients."
"The nurse says this came last night," I
said. "About six o'clock."
The lad's face brightened.
"I do remember, now, sir. A gentleman
brought it."
"A thin-faced gentleman fair-haired?"
"He was fa/r-haired but I don't know
about thin-faced."
"Would Charles Vyse bring it himself?." I
murmured to Poirot.
I had forgotten that the lad would know a
local name.
"It wasn't Mr. Vyse," he said. "I know
him. It was a bigger gentleman handsome
"Lazarus," I exclaimed.

patients."
"Do you remember what
was left?"
"Must have been about

Poirot shot me .a warning glance and I
regretted my precipitance.
"He came in a large car and he left this
parcel. It was addressed to Miss Buckley?"
"Yes, sir."
"And what did you do with it?"
"I didn't touch it, sir. Nurse took it up."
"Quite so, but you touched it when you
took it from the gentleman, n'est-ce pas?"
"Oh! that, yes, of course, sir. I took it
from him and put it on the table."
"Which table? Show me if you please."
The orderly led us into the hall. The front
door was open. Close to it, in the hall, was a
long marble-topped table on which lay letters
and parcels.
"Everything that comes is put on here,
sir. Then the nurses take things up to the

time this parcel

five-thirty, or a
little after. I know the post had just been,
and that's usually at about half-past five. It
was a pretty busy afternoon, a lot of people
leaving flowers and coming to see patients."
"Thank vmM,,,,, T .,.:-. --,,


This proved to be one of the probationers,

a fluffy little person all agog with excitement.
She remembered taking the parcel up

at six o'clock when she came on duty.
"Six o'clock," murmured Poirot. "Then it
must have been twenty minutes or so that
the parcel was lying on the table downstairs."
"Pardon?"
"Nothing, Mademoiselle. Continue. You
took the parcel to Miss Bucldey?"
"Yes, there were several things for her.
There was this box and some flowers also
sweet peas from a Mx. and Mrs. Croft, I
think. I took them up at the same time. And
there was a parcel that had come by post
and curiously enough that was a box of Fuller's
chocolates also."
"Comment? A second box?"
"Yes, rather a coincidence. Miss Buckley
opened them both. She said: 'Oh! what a
shame. I'm not allowed to eat them.' Then
she opened the lids to look inside and see if
they were both just the same, and your card
was in one and she said, 'Take the other
impure box away, nurse. I might get them
mixed up.' Oh! dear, whoever would have
thought of such a th/ng? Seems like an Edgar
Wallace, doesn't it?"


"Two boxes, you say? From whom was
the other box?"
"There was no name inside."
"And which was the one that came that
had the appearance of coming ... from me?
The one by post or the other?"
"I declare now--I can't remember. Shall I
go up and ask Miss Buckley?"
"If you would be so amiable."
She ran up the stairs.
"Two boxes," murmured Poirot. "There
is confusion for you."
The nurse returned breathless.
"Miss Buckley isn't sure. She unwrapped
them both before she looked inside. But she
thinks it wasn't the box that came by post."
"Eh?" said Poirot a little confused.
"The box from you was the one that didn't
come by post. At least she thinks so, but she
isn't quite sure."
"Diable?' said Poirot as we walked away.
"Is no one ever quite sure? In detective
books -yes. But life real life is always full
of muddle. Am I sure, myself, about anything
at all? No, no--a thousand times, no."
"Lazarus," I said.
"Yes, that is a surprise, is it not?"
"Shall you say anything to him about it?"


how he takes it. By the way, we might as
well exaggerate the serious condition of Ma-demoiselle.
It will do no harm to let it be
assumed that she is at death's door. You
comprehend? The solemn face Yes, admi-rable.
You resemble closely an undertaker.
C'est tout fait bien."

We were lucky in finding Lazarus. He
was bending over the bonnet of his car out-side
the hotel.

Poirot went straight up to him.
"Yesterday evening, M. Lazarus, you left
a box of chocolates for Mademoiselle," he
began without preamble.

Lazarus looked rather surprised.

"Yes?"

"That was very amiable of you."

"As a matter of fact they were from
Freddie, from Mrs. Rice. She asked me to
get them."

"Oh! I see."

"I took them round there in the car."
"I comprehend."

Poirot was silent for a minute or two and

then said: "Madame Rice, where is she?"
"I think she's in the lounge."

We found Frederica having tea. She looked


"What is this I hear about Nick being
taken ill?"
"It is a most mysterious affair, Madame.
Tell me, did you send her a box of chocolates
yesterday?"
"Yes. At least she asked me to get them
for her."
"She asked you to get them for her?"
"Yes."
"But she was not allowed to see anyone.
How did you see her?"
"I didn't. She telephoned."
"Ah! And she said what?"
"Would I get her a two-pound box of
Fuller's chocolates."
"How did her voice sound weak?"
"No not at all. Quite strong. But different
somehow. I didn't realize it was she
speaking at first."
"Until she told you who she was?"
"Yes."
"Are you sure, Madame, that it was your
friend?"
Frederica looked startled.
"I I why, of course it was. Who else
could it have been?"
"That is an interesting question, Madame."


"Could you swear, Madame, that it was
your friend's voice apart from what she
said?"

"No," said Frederica slowly. "I couldn't.
Her voice was certainly different. I thought
it was the phone or perhaps being ill .... "

"If she had not told you who she was, you
would not have recognized her?"

"No, no, I don't think I should. Who was
it, M. Poirot? Who was it?"

"That is what I mean to know, Madame."

The graveness of his face seemed to awaken
her suspicions.

"Is Nick has anything happened?" she

asked breathlessly.

Poirot nodded.

"She is ill dangerously ill. Those choco-lates,
Madame were poisoned."

"The chocolates I sent her? But that's im-possible
impossible!"

"Not impossible, Madame, since Made-moiselle
is at death's door."

"Oh! my God." She hid her face in her
hands, then raised it white and quivering. "I
don't understand I don't understand. The
other, yes, but not this. They couldn't be
poisoned. Nobody ever touched them but
me and Jim. You're making some dreadful


t xs not I that m. ade a mistakeeven
though my name was m the box."

She stared at him blankly.
"If Mademoiselle Nick dies- "he said,
and made a threatening gesture with his
hand.
She gave a low cry.
He turned away, and taking me by the
arm, went up to the sitting room.
He flung his hat on the table.
"I understand nothing but nothing! I am
in the dark. I am a LITTLE child. Who stands
to gain by Mademoiselle's death? Madame
Rice. Who buys the chocolates and admits it
and tells a .story of being rung up on the
telephone mat cannot hold water for a
minute? Madame Rice. It is too simple--too
stupid. And she is not stupid no."
"Well, then "
"But she takes cocaine, Hastings. I am
certain she takes cocaine. There is no mistaking
it. And there was cocaine in those
chocolates. And what does she mean when
she said, 'The other, yes, but not this.' It
needs explaining, that! And the sleek M.
Lazarus what is he doing in all this? What
does she know, Madame Rice? She knows
smething. But I cannot make her sneal-


speech. But she knows something, Hastings.
Is her tale of the telephone true, or did she
invent it? If it is true, whose voice was it?
"I tell you, Hastings, this is all very
black--very black."
"Always darkest before dawn," I said reassuringly.
He shook his head.
"Then the other box that came by post.
Can we rule that out? No, we cannot, because
Mademoiselle is not sure. It is an annoyance,
that?
He groaned.
I was about to speak when he stopped me.
"No, no. Not another proverb. I cannot
bear it. If you would be the good friend
the good helpful friend "
"Yes," I said eagerly.
"Go out, I beg of you, and buy me some
playing cards."
I stared.
"Very well," I said coldly.
I could not but suspect that he was making
a deliberate excuse to get rid of me.
Here, however, I misjudged him. That
night, when I came into the sitting room
about ten o'clock, I found Poirot carefully


It was an old trick of his soothing his
nerves. He smiled at me.

"Yes you remember. One needs the pre-cision.
One card on another so in exactly
the right place and that supports the weight
of the card on top and so on, up and up. Go
to bed, Hastings. Leave me here, with my
house of cards. I clear the mind."

It was about five in the morning when I
was shaken awake.

Poirot was standing by my bedside. He
looked pleased and happy.

"It was very just what you said, mon ami
Oh! it was very just. More, it was spirituel,t''

I blinked at him, being imperfectly awake.
"Always darkest before dawn that is what
you said. It has been very dark and now it
is dawn."

I looked at the window. He was perfectly
right.

"No, no, Hastings. In the head! The mind!
The little grey cells!"

He paused and then said quietly.

"You see, Hastings, Mademoiselle is
dead."

"What?" I cried, suddenly wide awake.

"Hush hush. It is as I say. Not really
bien entendu but it can be arraneed. Yes,


for twenty-four hours it can be arranged. I
arrange it with the doctors, with the nurses.

"You comprehend, Hastings? The mur-derer
has been successful. Four times he has
tried and failed. The fifth time he has suc-ceeded.

"And now, we shall see what happens
next ....

"It will be very interesting."


18


The Face at the Window


The events of the next day are completely
hazy in my memory. I was unfortunate
enough to awake with fever on me. I have
been liable to these bouts of fever at inconve-nient
times ever since I once contracted ma-laria.

In consequence, the events of that day
take on in my memory the semblance of a
nightmare with Poirot coming and going as
a kind of fantastic clown, making a periodic
appearance in a circus.

He was, I fancy, enjoying himself to the
full. His pose of baffled despair was admira-ble.
How he achieved the end he had in view
and which he had disclosed to me in the
early hours of the morning, I cannot say.
But achieve it, he did.

It cannot have been easy. The amount of
deception and subterfuge involved must have

boon r'nln..l The nfrli.h character is averse


to lying on a wholesale scale and that, no
less, was what Poirot's plan required. He
had, first, to get Dr. Graham converted to
the scheme. With Dr. Graham on his side,
he had to persuade the Matron and some
members of the staff of the nursing home to
conform to the plan. There again, the diffi-culties
must have been immense. It was
probably Dr. Graham's influence that turned
the scale.

Then there was the Chief Constable and
the police. Here, Poirot would be up against
officialdom. Nevertheless he wrung at last an
unwilling consent out of Colonel Weston.
The Colonel made it clear that it was in no
way his responsibility. Poirot and Poirot alone
was responsible for the spreading abroad of
these lying reports. Poirot agreed. He would
have agreed to anything so long as he was
permitted to carry out his plan.

I spent most of the day dozing in a large
armchair with a rug over my knees. Every
two or three hours or so, Poirot would burst
in and report progress.

"Gomment fa va, mon ami? How I com-miserate
you. But it is as well, perhaps. The
farce, you do not play it as well as I do. I
come this moment from ordering a wreath


friend large quantifies of lilies. 'With heartfelt
regret. From Hercule Poirot.' Ah! what a
comedy."
He departed again.
"I come from a most poignant conversation
with Madame Rice," was his next piece
of information. "Very well dressed in the
black, that one. Her poor. friend .what a
tragedy! I groan sympatheucally. Nck, she
says, was so joyous, so full of life. Impossible
to think of her as dead. I agree. 'It is,' I say,
'the irony of death that it takes one like that.
The old and useless are left.' Oh! 1/ 1/ I
groan again."
"How you are enjoying this," I murmured
feebly.
"Du tout. It is part of my plan, that is all.
To play the comedy successfully, you must
put the heart into it. Well, then, the conventional
expressions of regret over, .Madame
comes to matters nearer home. All mght she
has lain awake wondering about those sweets.
It is impossible impossible. 'Madame,' I
say. 'It is not impossible. You can see the
analyst's report.' Then she says, and her voice
is far from steady, 'It was cocaine, you
say?' I assent. And she says, 'Oh! my God. I
don't understand.'"


"She understands well enough that she is
in danger. She is intelligent. I told you that
before. Yes, she is in danger, and she knows
it."

"And yet it seems to me that for the first
time you don't believe her guilty."

Poirot frowned. The excitement of his
manner abated.

"It is profound what you say there,
Hastings. No it seems to me that some-how
the facts no longer fit. These crimes

so far what has marked them most the sub-tlety,
is it not? And here is no subtlety at
all only the crudity, pure and simple. No,


it does not fit."

He sat down at the table.

"Voila let us examine the facts.
are three possibilities. There are the


There
sweets
bought by Madame and delivered by M.
Lazarus. And in that case the guilt rests with
one or the other or both. And the telephone
call, supposedly from Mademoiselle Nick,
that is an invention pure and simple. That is
the straightforward the obvious solution.

"Solution 2. The other box of sweets
that which came by post. Anyone may have
sent those. Any of the suspects on our list
from A. to J. (You remember? A very wide


is the point of the telephone call? Why com-plicate
matters with a second box?"

I shook my head feebly. With a tempera-ture
of 102, any complication seemed to me
quite unnecessary and absurd.

"Solution 3. A poisoned box was substi-tuted
for the innocent box bought by Ma-dame.
In that case the telephone call is
ingenious and understandable. Madame is to
be what you call the kitten's paw. She is to
pull the roasting chestnuts out of the fire. So
Solution 3 is the most logical, but, alas, it is
also the most difficult. How be sure of sub-sfituting
a box at the right moment? The
orderly might take the box straight upstairs
a hundred and one possibilities might pre-vent
the substitution being effected. No, it
does not seem sense."

"Unless it were Lazarus," I said.

Poirot looked at me.

"You have the fever, my friend. It mounts,

does it not?"

I nodded.

"Curious how a few degrees of heat should
stimulate the intellect. You have uttered there
an observation of profound simplicity. So
simple, was it, that I had failed to consider
it. But it would suppose averv curious state


Madame, doing his best to get her hanged.
It opens up possibilities of a very curious
nature. But complex very complex."

I closed my eyes I was glad I had been
brilliant, but I did not want to think of
anything complex I wanted to go to sleep.

Poirot, I think, went on talking, but I
did not listen. His voice was vaguely sooth

It
was late afternoon when I saw him next.
"My little plan, it has made the fortune of
the flower shops," he announced. "Ev-erybody
orders wreaths. M. Croft, M. Vyse,
Commander Challenger "

The last name awoke a chord of compunc-tion
in my mind.

"Look here, Poirot," I said. "You must
let him in on this. Poor fellow, he will be
distracted with grief. It isn't fair."

"You have always the tenderness for him,
Hastings."

"I like him. He's a thoroughly decent chap

You've got to take him into the secret"
Poirot shook his head

"No, mon ami. I do not make the excep-tions.''

"But you don't suspect him of having any-thing
to do with it?"


"Think how he must be suffering.".
"On .the contras., I prefer to .think of
what a joyful surprise I prepare for him. To
think the loved one dead and find her alive!
It is a sensation unique stupendous."
"What a pig-headed old devil you are.
He'd keep the secret all right."
"I am not so sure."
"He's the soul of honor. I'm certain of it."
"That makes it all the more difficult to
keep a secret. Keeping a secret is an art that
requires many lies magnificently told, and a
great aptitude for playing the comedy and enjoying it. Could he dissemble, the Commander
Challenger? If he is what you say he
is, he certainly could not."
"Then you won't tell him?"
"I certainly refuse to imperil my little idea
for the sake of the sentiment. It is life and
death we play with, mon cher. Anyway, the
suffering, it is good for the character. Many
of our famous clergymen have said so- even
a bishop if I am not mistaken."
I made no further attempt to shake his
decision. His mind, I could see, was made
up.
"I shall not dress for dinner," he murmured.
"I am too mch th hv,b,. ,IA .n.


serf-confidence has crashed I am broken. I
have failed. I shall eat hardly any dinner

the food untasted on the plate. That is the
attitude, I think. In my own apartment I will
consume some brioches and some chocolate
ficlairs (so called) which I had the foresight
to buy at a confectioner's. Et vous?"

"Some more quinine, I think," I said
sadly.

"Alas, my poor Hastings. But courage, all
will be well tomorrow."

"Very likely. These attacks often last only
twenty-four hours."

I did not hear him return to the room. I
must have been asleep.

When I awoke, he was sitting at the table
writing. In front of him was a crumpled
sheet of paper smoothed out. I recognized it
for the paper on which he had written that
list of people A. to J.... which he had after-wards
crumpled up and thrown away.

He nodded in answer to my unspoken
thought.

"Yes, my friend, I have resurrected it. I
am at work upon it from a different angle. I
compile a list of questions concerlaing each
person. The questions may have no bearing
on the crime they are just things that I do


and for which I seek to supply the answer
from my own brain."

"How far have you got?"

"I have finished. You would like to hear?
You are strong enough?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I am feeling a
great deal better."

"A la bonheur.t Very well, I will read them
to you. Some of them, no doubt, you will
consider puerile."

He cleared his throat.


Ellen. Why did she remain in the house
and not go out to see fireworks? (Un-usual,
as Mademoiselle's evidence and
surprise make clear.) What did she think
or suspect might happen? Did she ad-mit
anyone (J. for instance) to the
house? Is she speaking the truth about
the secret panel? If there is such a thing
why is she unable to remember where it
is? (Mademoiselle seems very certain
there is no such thing and she would
surely know.) If she invented it, why
did she invent it? Had she read Michael
Seton's love letters or was her surprise
at Mademoiselle Nick's engagement
genuine?


seems? Does he share Ellen's knowl-edge
whatever it is, or does he not? Is
he, in any respect, a mental case?

The child. Is his delight in blood a natu-ral
instinct common to his age and de-velopment,
or is it morbid, and is that
morbidity inherited from either parent?
Has he ever shot with a toy pistol?

Who is Mr. Croft? Where does he really
come from? Did he post the will as he
swears he did? What motive could he
have in not posting it?

Same as above. Who are Mr. and Mrs.
Croft? Are they in hiding for some rea-son
and if so, what reason? Have they
any connection with the Buckley family?
Mrs. Rice. Was she really aware of the
engagement between Nick and Michael
Seton? Did she merely guess it, or had
she actually read the letters which passed
between them? (In that case she would
know Mademoiselle was Seton's heir.)
Did she know that she herself was Ma-demoiselle's
residuary legatee? (This, I
think, is likely. Mademoiselle would
probably tell her so, adding perhaps that
she would not get much out of it.) Is
there any truth in Commander Chal

tracted by Mademoiselle Nick? (This
might explain a certain lack of cordial-ity
between the two friends which seems
to have shown itself in the last few
months.) Who is the 'boy friend' men-tioned
in her note as supplying the drug?
Could this possibly be J.? Why did she
turn faint one day in this room? Was it
something that had been said or was
it something she saw? Is her account of
the telephone message asking her to buy
chocolates correct or is it a deliberate
lie? What did she mean by 'I can un-derstand
the other but not this'? If
she is not herself guilty, what knowl-edge
has she got that she is keeping to
herself?.


"You perceive," said Poirot, suddenly
breaking off, "That the questions concerning
Madame Rice are almost innumerable. From
beginning to end, she is an enigma. And that
forces me to a conclusion. Either Madame
Rice is guilty, or she knows, or shall we
say, thinks she knows .. who is guilty. But is
she right? Does she know or does she merely
suspect? And how is it possible to make her
speak?"


"Well, I will go on with my list of ques-tions.


Mr. Lazarus. Curious there are practi-cally
no questions to ask concerning
him except the crude one, 'Did he
substitute the poisoned sweets?' Other-wise
I find only one totally irrelevant
question. But I have put it down. 'Why
did M. Lazarus offer fifty pounds for a
picture that was only worth twenty?'"


"He wanted to do Nick a good turn," I
suggested.

"He would not do it that way. He is a
dealer. He does not buy to sell at a loss. If
he wished to be amiable he would lend her
money as a private individual."

"It can't have any beating on the crime,
anyway."

"No, that is true but all the same, I
should like to know. I am a student of the
psychology, you understand.

"Now we came to H.


Commander Challenger. Why did Made-moiselle
Nick tell him she was engaged
to someone else? What necessitated her


else. Had he proposed to her? What are
his relations with his uncle?"

"His uncle, Poirot?"
"Yes, the doctor. That rather questionable
character. Did any private news of Michael
Seton's death come through to the Admiralty
before it was announced publicly?"
"I don't quite see what you're driving at,
Poirot. Even if Challenger knew beforehand
about Seton's death, it does not seem to get
us anywhere. It provides no earthly motive
for killing the girl he loved."
"I quite agree. What you say is perfectly
reasonable. But these are just things I should
like to know. I am still the dog, you see,
nosing about for the things that are not very
nice!"

Mr. Vyse. Why did he say what he did
about his cousin's fanatical devotion to
End House? What possible motive could
he have in saying that? Did he, or did
he not, receive the will? Is he, in fact,
an honest man or is he not an honest man?


before a giant question mark. Is there such
a person, or is there not

"Mort Dieu.t my friend, what have you?"
I had started from my chair with a sudden
shriek. With a shaking hand I pointed at the
window.

"A face, Poirot!" I cried. "A face pressed
against the glass. A dreadful face! It's gone
now but I saw it."

Poirot strode to the window and pushed it
open. He leant out.

"There is no one there now," he said
thoughtfully. "You are sure you did not
imagine it, Hastings?"

"Quite sure. It was a horrible face."
"There is a balcony, of course. Anyone
could reach there quite easily if they wanted
to hear what we were saying. When you say
a dreadful face, Hastings, just what do you
mean?"

"A white staring face, hardly human."
"Mon ami, that is the fever. A face, yes.
An unpleasant face, yes. But a face hardly
human no. What you saw was the effect
of a face pressed closely against the glass
that allied to the shock of seeing it there at


"It was not the face of anyone you
knew?"

"No, indeed."

"Mm. it might have been, though! I
doubt if you would recognize it under these
circumstances. I wonder now yes, I very
much wonder."

He gathered up his papers thoughtfully.
"One thing at least is to the good. If the
owner of that face overheard our conversa-tion
we did not mention that Mademoiselle
Nick was alive and well. Whatever else our
visitor may have heard, that at least escaped


"But surely," I said, "the results of this
er brilliant maneuver of yours have been
slightly disappointing up to date. Nick is
dead and no startling developments have
occurred!"

"I did not expect them yet awhile. Twenty-four
hours, I said. Mort ami, tomorrow, if I
am not mistaken, certain things will arise.
Otherwise I am wrong from start to finish.
There is the post, you see. I have hopes of
tomorrow's post."

I awoke in the morning feeling weak but
with the fever abated. I also felt hungry.
Poirot and I had breakfast served in our


"Well?" I said maliciously, as he sorted
his letters. "Has the post done what you
expected of it?"

Poirot, who had just opened two enve-lopes
which patently contained bills, did not
reply. I thought he looked rather cast down
and not his usual cock-a-hoop self.

I opened my own mail. The first was a
notice of a Spiritualist meeting.

"If all else fails, we must go to the Spiritu,
alists," I remarked. "I often wonder that
more tests of this kind aren't made. The
spirit of the victim comes back and names
the murderer. That would be proof."

"It would hardly help us," said Poirot
absently. "I doubt if Maggie Buckley knew
whose hand it was shot her down. Even if
she could speak she would have nothing of

value to tell us. Tiens, that is odd."

"What is?"

"You talk of the dead speaking, and at
that moment I open this letter."

He tossed it across to me. It was from
Mrs. Buckley.


Langley Rectory

DEAR M. POIROT,

On my return here I found a letter


at St. Loo. There is nothing in it of
interest to you, I'm afraid, but I thought
perhaps you would care to see it.

Thanking you for your kindness,

Yours sincerely,

JEAN BUCKLEY


The enclosure brought a lump to my
throat. It was so terribly commonplace and
so completely untouched by any apprehen-sion
of tragedy.


DEAR MOTHER

I arrived safely. Quite a comfortable
journey. Only two other people in the
carriage all the way to Exeter.

It is lovely weather here. Nick seems
very well and gay a little restless
perhaps, but I cannot see why she should
have telegraphed for me in the way she
did. Tuesday would have done just as
well.

No more now. We are going to have
tea with some neighbors. They are
Australians and have rented the lodge.
Nick says they are kind but rather awful.
Mrs. Rice and Mr. Lazarus are coming
to stay. He is the art dealer. I will post


will catch the post. Will write tomor-row.


Your loving daughter,
MAGGIE
P.S. Nick says there is a reason for her
wire. She will tell me after tea. She is
very queer and jumpy.


"The voice of the dead," said Poirot
quietly. "And it tells us ..nothing."

"The box by the gate," I remarked idly.
"That's where Croft said he posted the will."
"Said so yes. I wonder. How I wonder!"
"There is nothing else of interest among
your letters?"

"Nothing, Hastings, I am very unhappy. I
am in the dark. Still in the dark. I compre-hend
nothing."

At that moment the telephone rang. Poirot
went to it.

Immediately I saw a change come over his
face. His manner was very restrained, never-theless
he could not disguise from my eyes
his intense excitement.

His own contributions to the conversation
were entirely noncommittal so that I could
not gather what it was all about.

Presently, however with a "Trs bien. Je
vous remercie," he put back the receiver and


came back to where I was sitting. His eyes
were sparkling with excitement.

"Mon ami," he said. "What did I tell you?

Things have begun to happen."

"What was it?"

"That was M. Charles Vyse on the tele-phone.
He informs me that this morning,
through the post, he has received a will signed
by his cousin, Miss Buckley, and dated the
25th of February, last."

"What? The will?"

"Evidemment."

"It has turned up?"

"Just at the right moment, West-ce pas?"
"Do you think he is speaking the truth?"
"Or do I think he has had the will all
along? Is that what you say? Well, it is all a
little curious. But one thing is certain. I told
you that if Mademoiselle Nick was supposed
to be dead, we should have developments-and
sure enough, here they are!"

"Extraordinary," I said. "You were right.
I suppose this is the will making Frederica
Rice residuary legatee?"

"M. Vyse said nothing about the contents
of the will. He was far too correct. But there
seems very little reason to doubt that this is
the same will. It is witnessed, he tells me, by
Ellen Wilson and her husband."


"So we are back at the old problem," I

said. "Frederica Rice."

"The enigma?

"Frederica Rice," I murmured inconse-quently.
"It's a pretty name."

"Prettier than what her friends call her.
Freddie" he made a face "ce n'est pas


jolie for a young lady."

"There aren't many
Frederica," I said. "It's


abbreviations of
not like Margaret


where you can have half a dozen Maggie,
Margot, Madge, Peggie "

"True. Well, Hastings, are you happier
now? That things have begun to happen?"

-"Yes, of course. Tell me did you expect
this to happen?"

"No not exactly. I had formulated noth-ing
very precise to myself. All I had said was
that given a certain result, the causes of that

result must make themselves evident."
"Yes," I said respectfully.

"What was it that I was going to say just
as that telephone rang?" mused Poirot. "Oh!
yes, that letter from Mademoiselle Maggie. I
wanted to look at it once again. I have an
idea in the back of my mind that something
in it struck me as rather curious."

I picked it up from where I had tossed it,

uncl handed it tn him.


He read it over to himself. I moved about
the room, looking out of the window and
observing the yachts racing on the bay.
Suddenly an exclamation startled me. I
turned around.
Poirot was holding his head in his hands
and rocking himself to and fro apparently in
an agony of woe.
"Oh!" he groaned, "but I have been
blind blind."
"What's the matter?"
"Complex, I have said? Complicated? Mais non. Of a simplicity extreme extreme. And
miserable one that I am, I saw nothing
nothing."
"Good gracious, Poirot, what is this light
that has suddenly burst upon you?"
"Wait wait do not speak. I must arrange
my ideas. Rearrange them in the light
of this discovery so stupendous."
Seizing his list of questions, he ran over
them silently, his lips moving busily. Once
or twice he nodded his head emphatically.
Then he laid them down and leaning back
in his chair he shut his eyes. I thought at last
that he had gone to sleep.
Suddenly he sighed and opened his eyes.
"But yes!" he said. "It all fits in! All the
thin.that have n7?led rn All th


that have seemed to me a little unnatural.
They all have their place."

"You mean--you know everything?"
"Nearly everything. All that matters. In
some respects I have been right in my de-ductions.
In other ways ludicrously far from
the truth. But now it is all clear. I shall send
today a telegram asking two questions but
the answers to them I know already I know
here? He tapped his forehead.

"And when you receive the answers?" I
asked curiously.

He sprang to his feet.

"My friend, do you remember that Made-moiselle
Nick said she wanted to stage a play
at End House? Tonight, we stage such a
play in End House. But it will be a play
produced by Hercule Poirot. Mademoiselle
Nick will have a part to play in it." He
grinned suddenly. "You comprehend, Has-tings,
there will be a ghost in this play. Yes,
a ghost! End House has never seen a ghost.
It will have one tonight. No "as I tried to
ask a question, "I will say no more. Tonight,
Hastings, we will produce our comedy and
reveal the truth. But now, there is much to
do much to do."

He hurried from the room.


19


Poirot Produces a PI, ay


It was a curious gathering that met that night
at End House.

I had hardly seen Po[rot all day. He had
been out for dinner but had left me a mes-sage
that I was to be at End House at nine
o'clock. Evening dress, he had added, was
not necessary.

The whole thing was like a rather ridicu-lous
dream.

On arrival I was ushered into the dining
room, and when I looked around I realized
that every person on Po[rot's list from A. to
I. (J. was necessarily excluded, being in the
Mrs. Harris-like position of "there ain't no
sich person") was present.

Even Mrs. Croft was there in a kind of
invalid chair. She smiled and nodded at me.


"This is a surprise, isn't it?" she said
cheerfully. "It makes a change for me, I


and again. All M. Poirot's idea. Come and
sit by me, Captain Hastings. Somehow I feel
this is rather a gruesome business but Mr.
Vyse made a point of it."

"Mr. Vyse?" I said rather surprised.
Charles Vyse was standing by the mantel-piece.
Poirot was beside him talking ear-nestly
to him in an undertone.

I looked round the room. Yes, they were
all there. After showing me in (I had been a
minute or two late) Ellen had taken her place
on a chair just beside the door. On another
chair, sitting painfully straight and breathing
hard, was her husband. The child, Alfred,
squirmed uneasily between his father and
mother.

The rest sat round the dining-table.
Frederica in her black dress, Lazarus beside
her, George Challenger and Croft on the other
side of the table. I sat a little away from it
near Mrs. Croft. And now Charles Vyse with
a final nod of the head took his place at the
head of the table and Poirot slipped unob-trusively
into a seat next to Lazarus.

Clearly the producer, as Poirot had styled
himself, did not propose to take a prominent
part in the play. Charles Vyse was apparently
in charge of the proceedings. I wondered


The young lawyer cleared his throat and
stood up. He lOOked just the same as ever,
impassive, formal and unemotional.

"This is rather an unconventional gather-ing
we have here tonight," he said. "But the
circumstances are very peculiar. I refer, of
course, to the circumstances surrounding the
death of my cousin, Miss Buckley. There
will have, of course, to be an autopsy., there
seems to be no doubt that she met her death
by poison, and that that Poison was adminis-tered
with the intent to kill. This is police
business and I need not go into it. The
police would doubtless prefer me not to do


SO.


"In an ordinary case, ee will of a de-ceased
person is read after funeral, but in
deference to M. Poirot's especial wish, I am
proposing to read it before the funeral takes
place. In fact, I am proposing to read it here
and now. That is why everyone has been
asked to come here. As I said just now, the
circumstances are unusual and justify a de-parture
from precedent.

"The will itself came into my possession
in a somewhat unusual manner. Although
dated last February, it only reached me by
post this morning. However, it is undoubt

no doubt on that point, and though a most
informal document, it is properly attested."

He paused and cleared his throat once


more.


Every eye was upon his face.


From a long envelope in his hand, he
drew out an enclosure. It was, as we could
see, an ordinary piece of End House note-paper
with writing on it.

"It is quite short," said Vyse. He made a
suitable pause, then began to read.


"This is the last Will and Testament of
Magdala Buckley. I direct that all my
funeral expenses should be paid and I
appoint my cousin Charles Vyse as my
executor. I leave everything of which I
die possessed to Mildred Croft in grateful
recognition of the services rendered by
her to my father Philip Buckley which

services nothing can ever repay.
"Signed Magdala Buckley
"Witnesses Ellen Wilson

"William Wilson"


I was dumbfounded! So I think was every-one
else. Only Mrs. Croft nodded her head
in quiet understanding.


ever meant to let on about it. Philip Buckley
was out in Australia, and if it hadn't been for
me well, I'm not going into that. A secret
it's been and a secret it had better remain.
She knew about it, though. Nick did, I mean.
Her father must have told her. We came
down here because we wanted to have a look
at the place. I'd always been curious about
this End House Philip Buckley talked of.
And that dear girl knew all about it, and
couldn't do enough for us. Wanted us to
come and live with her, she did. But we
wouldn't do that. And so she insisted on our
having the lodge and not a penny of rent
would she take. We pretended to pay it, of
course, so as not to cause talk, but she handed
it back to us. And now this! Well, if any-one
says there is no gratitude in the world,
I'll tell them they're wrong! This proves it."

There was still an amazed silence. Poirot
looked at Vyse.

"Had you any idea of this?"

Vyse shook his head.

"I knew Philip Buckley had been in Aus-tralia.
But I never heard any rmnors of a
scand'al there."

He looked inquiringly at Mrs. Croft.
She shook her head.


never have said a word and I never shall.
The secret goes to the grave with me."
Vyse said nothing. He sat QUIETLY tapping
the table with a pencil.
"I presume, M. Vyse" Poirot leaned forward
"that as next of kin, you could contest
that will? There is, I understand, a vast
fortune at stake which was not the case when
the will was made."
Vyse looked at him oddly.
"The will is perfectly valid. I should not
dream of contesting my cousin's disposal of
her property."
"You're an honest fellow," said Mrs. Croft
approvingly, "and I'll see you don't lose by
it."
Charles shrank a little from this well-meant
but slightly embarrassing remark.
"Well, Mother," said Mr. Croft, with an
elation he could not quite keep out of his
voice. "This is a surprise! Nick didn't tell
me what she was doing."
"The dear sweet girl," murmured Mrs.
Croft putting her handkerchief to her eyes.
"I wish she could look down and see us
now. Perhaps she does who knows?"
"Perhaps," agreed Poirot.
Suddenly an idea seemed to strike him.
He looked round.


"An ideal We are all here seated round a
table. Let us hold a sance."

"A sgance?" said Mrs. Croft somewhat
shocked. "But surely "

"Yes, yes, it will be most interesting.
Hastings, here, has pronounced mediumisfic


powers." (Why fx on me, I thought.) "To
get through a message from the other world
the opportunity is unique! I feel the condi-tions
are propitious. You feel the same,
Hastings?"

"Yes," I said resolutely, playing up.
"Good. I knew it. Quick, the lights."

In another minute he had risen and
switched them off. The whole thing had been
rushed on the company before they had the
energy to protest, had they wanted to do so.
As a matter of fact they were, I think, still
dazed with astonishment over the will.

The room was not quite dark. The cur-tains
were drawn back and the window was
open for it was a hot night, and through
those windows came a faint light. After a
minute or two, as we sat in silence, I began
to be able to make out the faint outlines of
the furniture. I wondered very much what I
was supposed to do and cursed Poirot heart-ily
for not having given me any instructions
beforehand:


However, I closed my eyes and breathed
in a rather stertorous manner.

Presently Poirot rose and tiptoed to my
chair. Then returning to his own, he mur-mured:
"Yes, he is already in a trance.
Soon things will begin to happen."

There is something about sitting in the
dark, waiting, that fills one with unbearable
apprehension. I know that I myself was a
prey to nerves and so, I am sure, was every-one
else. And yet I had at least an idea of
what was about to happen. I knew the one
vital fact that no one else knew.

And yet in spite of all that, my heart leapt
into my mouth as I saw the dining-room
door slowly opening.

It did so quite soundlessly (it must have
been oiled) and the effect was horribly grisly.
It swung slowly open and for a minute or
two that was all. With its opening a cold
blast of air seemed to enter the room. It was,
I suppose, a common or garden draft owing
to the open window, but it felt like the icy
chill mentioned in all the ghost stories I have
ever read.

And then we all saw it.t Framed in the
doorway was a white shadowy figure. Nick
Buckley ....


a kind of floating ethereal motion that certainly
conveyed the impression of nothing

I realized then what an actress the world
had missed. Nick had wanted to play a part
at End House. Now she was playing it, and
I felt convinced that she was enjoying herself
to the core. She did it perfectly.
She floated forward into the room and
the silence was broken.
There was a gasping cry from the invalid
chair beside me. A kind of gurgle from Mr.
Croft. A startled oath from Challenger.
Charles Vyse drew back his chair, I think.
Lazarus leaned forward. Frederica alone
made no sound or movement.
And then a scream rent the room. Ellen
sprang up from her chair.
"It's her!" she shrieked. "She's come back.
She's walking! Them that's murdered always
walks. It's her! It' her!"
And then, with a click the lights went on.
I saw Poirot standing by them, the smile
of the ringmaster on his face. Nick stood in
the middle of the room in her white draperies.
It was Frederica who spoke first. She
stretched out an unbelieving hand touched
her friend


"Nick," she said. "You're you're real."
It was almost a whisper.
Nick laughed. She advanced.
"Yes," she said. "I'm real enough. Thank
you so much for what you did for my father,
Mrs. Croft. But I'm afraid you won't-be able
to enjoy the benefit of that will just yet."
"Oh! my God," gasped Mrs. Croft. "Oh!
my God." She twisted to and fro in her
chair. "Take me away, Bert. Take me away.
It was all a joke, my dear all a joke, that's
all it was. Honest."
"A queer sort of joke," said Nick.
The door had opened again and a man
had entered so quietly that I had not heard
him. To my surprise I saw that it was Japp.
He exchanged a quick nod with Poirot as
though satisfying him of something. Then
his face suddenly lit up and he took a step
forward towards the squirming figure in the
invalid chair.
"Hullo-ullo-ullo," he said. "What's this?
An old friend! Milly Merton, I declare! And
at your old tricks again, my dear."
He turned round in an explanatory way to
the company, disregarding Mrs. Croft's shrill
protests.
"Cleverest forger we've ever had, Milly
Mertnn- We knew there hd been n cei-


dent to the car they made their last gtaway
in. But there! Even an injury to the spine
wouldn't keep Milly from her tricks. She's
an artist, she is!"

"Was that will a forgery?" said Vyse.
He spoke in tones of amazement.

"Of course it was a forgery," said Nick
scornfully. "You don't think I'd make a silly
will like that, do you? I left you End Ftouse,
Charles, and everything else to Frederiea."

She crossed as she spoke and stood by her
friend, and just at that moment it hapPened.t

A spurt of flame from the window d the
hiss of a bullet. Then another and e sound
of a groan and a fall outside ....

And Frederica on her feet with a thin
trickle of blood running down her atm.


20


It was all so sudden that for a moment no
one knew what had happened.

Then, with a violent exclamation, Poirot
ran to the window. Challenger was with him.

A moment later they reappeared, carrying
with them the limp body of a man. As they
lowered him carefully into a big leather arm-chair
and his face came into view, I uttered a
cry. "The face the face at the window."

It was the man I had seen looking in on us
the previous evening. I recognized him at
once. I realized that when I had said he was
hardly human I had exaggerated as Poirot
had accused me of doing.

Yet there was something about his face
that justified my impression. It was a lost
face the face of one removed from ordinary
humanity.

White, weak, depraved, it seemed a mere


mask as though the spirit within had fled
long ago.

Down the side of it there trickled a stream
of blood.

Frederica came slowly forward till she
stood by the chair.

Poirot intercepted her.
"You are hurt, Madame?"
She shook her head.

"The bullet grazed my shoulder that is


She put him aside with a gentle hand and
bent down.

The man's eyes opened and he saw her
looking down at him.

"I've done for you this time, I hope," he
said, in a low vicious snarl, and then, his
voice changing suddenly till it sounded like a
child's, "Oh! Freddie, I didn't mean it. I
didn't mean it. You've always been so decent
to me ....

"It's all right "

She knelt down beside him.

"I didn't mean "

His head dropped. The sentence was never
finished.

Frederica looked up at Poirot.

"Yes, Madame, he is dead," he said
gently.


	She rose slowly from her knees and stood

	looking down at him. With one hand she

	touched his forehead ..pitifully, it seemed.

	Then she sighed and turned to the rest of us.

	"He was my husband," she said quietly.

	"J.," I murmured.

	Poirot caught my remark and nodded a

	quick assent.

		"Yes," he said softly. "Always I felt that

	there was a J. I said so from the beginning,

	did I not?"

		"He was my husband," said Frederica

	again. Her voice was terribly tired. She sank

	into a chair that Lazarus brought for her. "I

	might as well tell you everything now.

		"He was completely debased. He was a

	drug fiend. He taught me to take drags. I

	have been fighting the habit ever since I left

	him. I think at last I am nearly cured.

	But it has been difficult. Oh! so horribly

	difficult. Nobody knows how difficult!

			"I could never escape from him. He used

	to turn up and demand money with threats.

	A kind of blackmail. If I did not give him

	money he would shoot himself. That was

	always his threat. Then he took to threaten
	ing to shoot me. He was not responsible. He

	was mad crazy ....
	T
	1. ,T.,o h xxrht Ghat Mro'{


Buckley. He didn't mean to shoot her, of
course. He must have thought it was me.

"I ought to have said, I suppose. But after
all, I wasn't sure. And those queer accidents
Nick had that made me fed that perhaps it
wasn't him after all. It might have been
someone quite different.

"And then one day I saw a bit of his
handwriting on a torn piece of paper on M.
Poirot's table. It was a part of a letter he had
sent me. I knew then that M. Poirot was on
the track.

"Since then I have felt that it was only a
matter of time ....

"But I don't understand about the sweets.
He wouldn't have wanted to poison Nick.
And anyway, I don't see how he could have
had anything to do with that. I've puzzled
and puzzled."

She put both hands to her face, then took
them away and said with a queer pathetic
finality:

"That's all .... "


21


The Person K.


Lazarus came quickly to her side.

"My dear," he said. "My dear."

Poirot went to the sideboard, poured out a
glass of wine and brought it to her, standing
over her while she drank it.

She handed the glass back to him and
smiled.

"I'm all right now," she said. "What..
what had we better do next?"

She looked at Japp, but the Inspector
shook his head.

"I'm on holiday, Mrs. Rice. Just obliging
an old friend that's all I'm doing. The St.

Loo police are in charge of the case."

She looked at Poirot.

"And M. Poirot is in charge of the St.
Loo police?"

"Oh! quelle idle, Madame/ I am a mere

1-..11...1..'..... ,,


"M. Poirot," said Nick, "can't we hush it

up?"

"You wish that, Mademoiselle?"

"Yes. After all I'm the person most con-cerned.
And there will be no more attacks
on me now."

"No, that is true. There will be no more
attacks on you now."

"You're thinking of Maggie. But, M.
Poirot, nothing will bring Maggie back to
life again. If you make all this public, you'll
only bring a terrible lot of suffering and
publicity on Frederica and she hasn't de-served
it."

"You say she has not deserved it?"

"Of course she hasn't! I told you right at
the beginning that she had a brute of a hus-band.
You've seen tonight what he was.
Well, he's dead. Let that be the end of
things. Let the police go on looking for the
man who shot Maggie. They just won't find
him, that's all."

"So that is what you say, Mademoiselle?
Hush it all up."


"Yes. Please. Oh! please. Please, dear M.
Poirot."

Poirot looked slowly round.

"What do you all say?"


"I agree," I said as Poirot looked at me.
"I too," said Lazarus.
"Best thing to do," from Challenger.
"Let's forget everything that's passed in
this room tonight." This very determinedly
from Croft.
"You would say that? interpolated Japp.
"Don't be hard on me, dearie," his wife
sniffed to Nick, who looked at her scornfully
but made no reply.
"Ellen?"
"Me and William won't say a word, sir.
Least said, soonest mended."
"And you, Mr. Vyse?"
"A thing like this can't be hushed up,"
said Charles Vyse. "The facts must be made
known in the proper quarter."
"Charles," cried Nick.
"I'm sorry, dear. I look at it from the
legal aspect."
Poirot gave a sudden laugh.
"So you are seven to one. The good Japp
is neutral."
"I'm on holiday," said Japp with a grin.
"I don't count."
"Seven to one. Only M. Vyse holds out
on the side of law and order! You know, M.
Vyse, you are a man of character!"


"The position is quite clear. There is only
one thing to do."
"Yes you are an honest man. Eh bien I, too, range myself on the side of the minority.
I, too, am for the troth."
"M. Poirot!" cried Nick.
"Mademoiselle you dragged me into the
case. I came into it at your wish. You cannot
silence me now."
He raised a

threatening forefinger in a
gesture that I knew well.
"Sit down, all of you, and I will tell you
the troth."
Silenced by his imperious attitude, we sat
down meekly and turned attentive faces towards
him.
"lcoutez.t I have a list here a list of persons
connected with the crime. I numbered
them with the letters of the alphabet including
the letter J. J. stood for a person unknown
linked to the crime by one of the

oth.ers. I did not know who J. was until
tomght, but I knew that there was such a

person. The events of tonight have proved
that I was right.
"But yesterday, I suddenly realized that I
had made a grave error. I had made an
omission. I added another letter to my list.
The letter K-"


"Another person unknown?" asked Vyse
with a slight sneer.
"Not exactly. I adopted J. as the symbol
for a person unknown. Another person unknown
would be merely another J. K. has a
different significance. It stands for a person
who should have been included in the original
list, but who was overlooked."
He bent over Frederica.
"Reassure yourself, Madame. Your husband
was not guilty of murder. It was the
person K. who shot Mademoiselle Maggie."
She stared.
"But who is K.?"
Poirot nodded to Japp. He stepped forward
and spoke in tones reminiscent of the
days when he had given evidence in police
courts.
"Acting on information received, I took
up a position here early in the evening, haw
ing been introduced secretly into the house
by M. Poirot. I was concealed behind the
curtains in the drawing room. When everyone
was assembled in this room, a young
lady entered the drawing room and switched
on the light. She made her way to the fireplace,
and opened a small recess in the paneling
that appeared to be operated with a
	&'11 	I

'--	.1
	' .
	I


With this in her hand she left the room. I
followed her and opening the door a crack I

was able to observe her further movements.
Coats and wraps had been left in the hall by
the visitors on arrival. The young lady carefully
wiped the pistol with a handkerchief
and then placed it in the pocket of a grey
wrap, the property of Mrs. Rice "
A cry burst from Nick.
"This is untrue every word of it!"
Poirot pointed a hand at her.
"Voil&t" he said. "The person K..t It was
Mademoiselle Nick who shot her cousin, Maggie
Buckley. "
"Are you mad?" cried Nick. "Why should
I kill Maggie?"
"In order to inherit the money left to her
by Michael Seton! Her name too was Magdala
Buckley and it was to her he was engaged .not
you."
"You,,, you "

She stood there trembling
speak. Poirot turned to Japp.
"You telephoned the police?"
"Yes, they are waiting in the hall now.
They've got the warrant."
"You're all mad!" cried Nick contemptu-

unable to


"Freddie, give me your wrist watch as as a
souvenir, will you?"

Slowly Frederica unclasped the jeweled
watch from her wrist and handed it to Nick.

"Thanks. And now I suppose we must
go through with this perfectly ridiculous

comedy.

"The comedy you planned and produced
in End House. Yes but you should not
have given the star part to Hercule Poirot.
That, Mademoiselle, was your mistake your
very grave mistake."


22

The End of the Story

"You want me to explain?"
Poirot looked round with a gratified smile
and the air of mock humility I knew so well.
We had moved into the drawing room and
our numbers had lessened. The domestics
had withdrawn tactfully, and the Crofts had
been asked to accompany the police. Frederica,
Lazarus, Challenger, Vyse and I remained.
"Eh b/en I confess it I was fooled
fooled completely and absolutely. The little
Nick, she had me where she wanted me, as
your idiom so well expresses it. Ah! Madame,
when you said that your friend was a
clever little liar how right you were! How
right!"
"Nick always told lies," said Frederica
composedly. "That's why I didn't really believe
in these marvelous escapes of hers."
"And I imbecile that I was did!"


"Didn't they really happen?" I asked. I
was, I admit, still hopelessly confused.

"They were invented very cleverly to

give just the impression they did."

"What was that?"

"They gave the impression that Mademoi-selle
Nick's life was in danger. But I will
begin earlier than that. I will tell you the
story as I have pieced it out not as it came
to me imperfectly and in flashes.

"At the beginning of the business then,
we have this girl, this Nick Buckley, young
and beautiful, unscrupulous, and passionately

and fanatically devoted to her home."
Charles Vyse nodded.
"I told you that."

"And you were right. Mademoiselle Nick
loved End House. But she had no money.
The house was mortgaged. She wanted
money she wanted it feverishly and she
could not get it. She met this young Seton at
Le Touquet, he is attracted to her. She knows
that in all probability he is his uncle's heir
and that that uncle is worth millions. Good,
her star is in the ascendant, she thinks. But
he is not really seriously attracted. He thinks
her good fun, that is all. They meet at
Scarborough, he takes her up in his machine


Maggie and falls in love with her at first
sight.

"Mademoiselle Nick is dumbfounded. Her
cousin Maggie whom she has never even
considered pretty! But to young Seton she is
'different.' The one girl in the world for
him. They become secrefiy engaged. Only
one person knows has to know. That per-son
is Mademoiselle Nick. The poor Mag-gie
she is glad that there is one person she
can talk to. Doubtless she reads to her cousin
parts of her fianc(fs letters. So it is that
Mademoiselle gets to hear of the will. She
pays no attention to it at the time. But it
remains in her mind.

"Then comes the sudden and unexpected
death of Sir Matthew Seton and hard upon
that the rumors of Michael Seton's being
missing. And straight away an outrageous
plan comes into our young lady's head. Seton
does not know that her name is Magdala
also. He only knows her as Nick. His will is
clearly quite informal a mere mention of a
name. But in the eyes of the world Seton is
her friend! It is with her that his name has
been coupled. If she were to claim to be
engaged to him, no one would be surprised.
But to do that successfully Maggie must be


"Time is short. She arranges for Maggie
to come and stay in a few days' time. Then
she has her escapes from death. The picture
whose cord she cut through. The brake of
the car that she tampers with. The boul-der
that perhaps was natural and she merely
invented the story of being underneath on
the path.

"And then she sees my name in the pa-per
(I told you, Hastings, everyone knew
Hercule Poirot!) and she has the audacity to
make me an accomplice! The bullet through
the hat that falls at my feet. Oh! the pretty
comedy. And I am taken in! I believe in the
peril that menaces her! Bon.t She has got a
valuable witness on her side. I play into her
hands by asking her to send for a friend.

"She seizes the chance and sends for
Maggie to come a day earlier.

"How easy the crime is actually. She leaves
us at the dinner table and after hearing on
the wireless that Seton's death is a fact, she
starts to put her plan into action. She has
plenty of time then to take Seton's letters to
Maggie look through them and select the
few that will answer her purpose. These she
places in her own room. Then, later, she and
Maggie leave the fireworks and go back to


shawl. Then stealing out after her, she shoots
her. Quick, into the house, the pistol con-cealed
in the secret panel (of whose existence
she thinks nobody knows). Then upstairs.
There she waits till voices are heard. The
body is discovered. It is her cue.

"Down she rushes and out through the
window.

"How well she played her part! Magnifi-cently!
Oh! yes, she staged a fine drama
here. The maid, Ellen, said this was an evil
house. I am inclined to agree with her. It
was from the house that Mademoiselle took
her inspiration."

"But those poisoned sweets," said
Frederica. "I still don't understand about
that."

"It was all part of the same scheme. Do
you not see that if Nick's life was attempted
after Maggie was dead that absolutely settled
the question that Maggie's death had been a
mistake.

"When she thought the time was ripe she
rang up Madame Rice and asked her to get
her a box of chocolates."

"Then it was her voice?"

"But, yes! How often the simple explana-tion
is the true one! N'est-ce pas? She made

hr xrnlennd n little different that was


all. So that you might be in doubt when
questioned. Then, when the box arrived
again how simple. She fills three of the choc-olates
with cocaine (she had cocaine with
her, cleverly concealed), eats one of them
and is ill but not too ill. She knows very
well how much cocaine to take and just what
symptoms to exaggerate.

"And the card my card! Ah! Sapristi
she has a nerve! It was my card the one I
sent with the flowers. Simple, was it not?
Yes, but it had to be thought of...."

There was a pause and then Frederica
asked, "Why did she put the pistol in my
coat?"

"I thought you would ask that, Madame.
It was bound to occur to you in time. Tell
me had it ever entered your head that Ma-demoiselle
Nick no longer liked you? Did
you ever feel that she might hate you?"

"It's difficult to say," said Frederica
slowly. "We lived an insincere life. She used
to be fond of me."

"Tell me, M. Lazarus it is not a time for
false modesty, you understand was there
anything between you and her?"

"No," Lazarus shook his head. "I was
attracted to her at one time. And then I


"Ah!" said Poirot nodding his head sagely.
"That was her tragedy. She attracted people
and then they 'went off her.' Instead of
liking her better and better you fell in love
with her friend. She began to hate Madame
Madame who had a rich friend behind her.
Last winter when she made a will, she was
fond of Madame. Later it was different.
"She remembered that will. She did not
know that Croft had suppressed it that it
had never reached its destination. Madame
(or so the world would say) had got a motive
for desiring her death. So it was to Madame
she telephoned asking her to get the chocolates.
Tonight, the will would have been read,
naming Madame her residuary legatee and
then the pistol would be found in her coat
the pistol with which Maggie Buckley was
shot. If Madame found it, she might incriminate
herself by trying to get rid of it."
"She must have hated me," murmured
Frederica.
"Yes, Madame. You had what she had
not the knack of winning love, and keeping
it."
"I'm rather dense," said Challenger, "but
I haven't quite fathomed the will business
yet."
"Run That'.q a different business alto
gether a very simple one. The Crofts are
lying low down here. Mademoiselle Nick has


to have an operation. She has made no will.
The Crofts see a chance. They persuade her
to make one and take charge of it for the
post. Then, if anything happens to her if
she dies they produce a cleverly forged
will leaving the money to Mrs. Croft with a
reference to Australia and Philip Buckley
whom they know once visited that country.

"But Mademoiselle Nick has her appendix
removed quite satisfactorily so the forged will
is no good. For the moment, that is. Then
the attempts on her life begin. The Crofts
are hopeful once more. Finally, I announce
her death. The chance is too good to be
missed. The forged will is immediately posted
to M. Vyse. Of course, to begin with, they
naturally thought her much richer than she
is. They knew nothing about the mortgage."

"What I really want to know, M. Poirot,"
said Lazarus, "is how you actually got wise
to all this. When did you begin to suspect?"

"Ah! there I am ashamed. I was so long--so
long There were things that worried
me yes. Things that seemed not quite right,
Discrepancies between what Mademoiselle


me. Unfortunately, I always believed Made-moiselle
Nick.

"And then, suddenly, I got a revelation.
Mademoiselle Nick made one mistake. She
was too clever. When I urged her to send for
a friend she promised to do so and sup-pressed
the fact that she had already sent for
Mademoiselle Maggie. It seemed to her less
suspicious but it was a mistake.

"For Maggie Buckley wrote a letter home
immediately on arrival and in it she used one
innocent phrase that puzzled me. 'I cannot
see why she should have telegraphed for me in
the way she did. Tuesday would have done just
as well.' What did that mention of Tuesday
mean? It could only mean one thing. Maggie
had been coming to stay on Tuesday any-way.
But in that case Mademoiselle Nick
had lied or had at any rate suppressed the


"And for the first time I looked at her in a
different light. I criticized her statements.
Instead of believing them, I said, 'Suppose
this were not tree.' I remembered the dis-crepancies.
'How would it be if every time it
was Mademoiselle Nick who was lying and
not the other person?'

"I said to myself, 'Let us be simple. What

hoc rllxz


"And I saw that what had really happened
,s that Maggie Buckley had been killed.
st that! But who could want Maggie
tckley dead?
"And then I thought of something else a
, foolish remarks that Hastings had made

,t five minutes before He had said that
ere were plenty of abbreviations for
argaret Maggie, Margot, etc. And it sudnly
occurred to me to wonder what was
ademoiselle Maggie's real name?
"Then, tout d'un coup, it came to me! Sup,sing
her name was Magdala.t It was a
xckley name, Mademoiselle Nick had told
e so. Two Magdala Buckleys. Suppos-

"In my mind I ran over the letters of
ichael Seton's that I had read. Yes there
ts nothing impossible. There was a men,n
of Scarborough but Maggie had been
Scarborough with Nick her mother had
[d me so.
"And it explained one thing which had
)rried me. Why were there so few letters?
a girl keeps her love letters at all, she
:eps all of them. Why these select few?
'as there any peculiarity about them?
"And I remembered that there was no


differently but they began with a term of
endearment. Nowhere in them was there the
name--Nick.

"And there was something else, something
that I ought to have seen at once that cried
the troth aloud."

"What was that?"

"Why this. Mademoiselle Nick under-went
an operation for appendicitis on Febru-ary
27th last. There is a letter of Michael
Seton's dated March 2nd, and no mention of
anxiety, of illness or anything unusual. That
ought to have shown me that the letters were
written to a different person altogether.

"Then I went through a list of questions
that I had made. And I answered them in
the light of my new idea.

"In all but a few isolated questions the
result was simple and convincing. And I an-swered,
too, another question which I had
asked myself earlier. Why did Mademoiselle
Nick buy a black dress? The answer was that
she and her cousin had to be dressed alike,
with the scarlet shawl as an additional touch.
That was the true and convincing answer,
not the other. A girl would not buy mourn-ing
before she knew her lover was dead. She
would be unreal unnatural.


And the thing I hoped for happened! Nick
Buckley had been very vehement about the
question of a secret panel. She had declared
there was no such thing. But if there were

and I did not see why Ellen should have
invented it Nick must know of it. Why
was she so vehement? Was it possible that
she had hidden the pistol there? With the
secret intention of using it to throw suspicion
on somebody later?

"I let her see that appearances were very
black against Madame. That was as she had
planned. As I foresaw, she was unable to
resist the crowning proof. Besides it was safer
for herself. That secret panel might be found
by Ellen and the pistol in it!

"We are all safely in here. She is waiting
outside for her cue. It is absolutely safe, she
thinks, to take the pistol from its hiding
place and put it in Madame's coat ....


"And so at the last she failed... ."
Frederica shivered.

"All the same," she said, "I'm glad I gave
her my watch."

"Yes, Madame."

She looked up at him quickly.

"You know that too?"

"What about Ellen?" I asked, breaking in.


lici chh lrnn, xr nr ccnc.t anxrthlna)))


"No. I asked her. She told me that she
decided to stay in the house that night be-cause
in her own phrase she 'thought some-thing
was up.' Apparently Nick urged her to
see the fireworks rather too decisively. She
had fathomed Nick's dislike of Madame. She
told me that 'she felt in her bones something
was going to happen' but she thought it was
going to happen to Madame. She knew Miss
Nick's temper, she said, and she was always
a queer little girl."

"Yes," murmured Frederica. "Yes, let us
think of her like. that. A queer little girl. A
queer little girl who couldn't help herself.
 . . I shall anyway."

Poirot took her hand and raised it gently
to his lips

Charles Vyse stirred uneasily.

"It's going to be a very unpleasant busi-ness,''
he said quietly. "I must see about
some kind of defense for her, I suppose."

"There will be no need, I think," said
Poirot gently. "Not if I am correct in my
assumptions."

He turned suddenly on Challenger.

"That's where you put the stuff, isn't it?"
he said. "In those wrist watches."

"I I "the sailor stammered at a loss


hearty good-fellow manner. It has deceived
Hastings but it does not deceive me. You
make a good thing out of it, do you not the
traffic in drugs You and your uncle in
Harley Street."
"M. Poirot!"
Challenger rose to his feet.
My little friend blinked up at him placidly.
"You are the useful 'boy friend.' Deny it
if you like. But I advise you if you do not
want the facts put in the hands of the police
to go."
And to my utter amazement, Challenger
did go. He went from the room like a flash.
I stared after him openmouthed.
Poirot laughed.
"I told you so, mon ami. Your ins 'tincts are
always wrong. C'est patant.t''
"Cocaine was in the wrist watch "I began.
"Yes, yes. That is how Mademoiselle Nick
had it with her so conveniently at the nursing
home. And having finished her supply in
the chocolate box she asked Madame just
now for hers which was full."
"You mean she can't do without it?" "Non, non. Mademoisdle Nick is not an


tonight she needed it for a different purpose.

It will be a full dose this time."

"You mean ?" I gasped.

"It is the best way. Better than the
hangman's rope. But pst! we must not say so
before M. Vyse who is all law and order.
Officially I know nothing. The contents of


the wrist watch
my part."

"Your guesses


it is the merest guess on


are always right, M.


Poirot," said Frederica.

"I must be going," said Charles Vyse, cold'

disapproval in his attitude as he left the room.
Poirot looked from Frederica to Lazarus.
"You are going to get married eh?"
"As soon as we can."

"And indeed, M. Poirot," said Frederica,
"I am not the drug taker you think. I h.ave
cut myself down to a tiny dose. I think
now with happiness in front of me I shall
not need a wrist watch any more."

"I hope you will have happiness,
Madame," said Poirot gently. "You have suf-fered
a great deal. And in spite of everything
you have suffered, you have still the quality
of mercy in your heart... ."

"I will look after her," said Lazarus. "My

hinee ie in n hnci rnxr ht I holiovo I ehnll


pull through. And if I don't well, Frederica
does not mind being poor with me."
She shook her head smiling.
"It is late," said Poirot, looking at the
clock.
We all rose.
"We have spent a strange night in this
strange house," Poirot went on. "It is, I think, as Ellen says, an evil house .... "
He looked up at the picture of old Sir
Nicholas.
Then, with a sudden gesture, he drew
Lazarus aside.
"I ask your pardon, but, of all my questions,
there is one still unanswered. Tell me,
why did you offer fifty pounds for that picture?
It would give me much pleasure to
know so as, you comprehend, to leave
nothing unanswered."
Lazarus looked at him with an impassive
face for a minute or two. Then he smiled.
"You see, M. Poirot," he said, "I am a
dealer."
"Exactly."
"That picture is not worth a penny more
than twenty pounds. I knew that if I offered
Nick fifty, she would immediately suspect it
was worth more and would get it valued
I I .... l'ql-----1- ....... 1 J ,2-- ..1 4.1--.,.  1- 1


offered her far more than it was worth. The
next time I offered to buy a picture she

would not have got it valued."

"Yes, and then?"

"The picture on the far wall is worth at
least five thousand pounds," said Lazarus

dryly.

"Ah!" Poirot drew a long breath.

"Now I know everything," he said hap-pily.


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