万圣节前夜的谋杀17

Sixteen

Hercule Poirot looked with interest at Mrs. Goodbody’s face. It was indeedperfect as a model for a witch. The fact that it almost undoubtedly wentwith extreme amiability of character did not dispel the illusion. She talkedwith relish and pleasure.

“Yes, I was up there right enough, I was. I always does the witchesround here. Vicar he complimented me last year and he said as I’d donesuch a good job in the pageant as he’d give me a new steeple hat. A witch’shat wears out just like anything else does. Yes, I was right up there thatday. I does the rhymes, you know. I mean the rhymes for the girls, usingtheir own Christian name. One for Beatrice, one for Ann and all the rest ofit. And I gives them to whoever is doing the spirit voice and they recite itout to the girl in the mirror, and the boys, Master Nicholas and young Des-mond, they send the phoney photographs floating down. Make me die oflaughing, some of it does. See those boys sticking hair all over their facesand photographing each other. And what they dress up in! I saw MasterDesmond the other day, and what he was wearing you’d hardly believe.

Rose-coloured coat and fawn breeches. Beat the girls hollow, they do. Allthe girls can think of is to push their skirts higher and higher, and that’snot much good to them because they’ve got to put on more underneath. Imean what with the things they call body stockings and tights, which usedto be for chorus girls in my day and none other—they spend all theirmoney on that. But the boys—my word, they look like kingfishers and pea-cocks or birds of paradise. Well, I like to see a bit of colour and I alwaysthink it must have been fun in those old historical days as you see on thepictures. You know, everybody with lace and curls and cavalier hats andall the rest of it. Gave the girls something to look at, they did. And doubletand hose. All the girls could think of in historical times, as far as I can see,was to put great balloon skirts on, crinolines they called them later, andgreat ruffles around their necks! My grandmother, she used to tell me thather young ladies—she was in service, you know, in a good Victorian fam-ily—and her young ladies (before the time of Victoria I think it was)—itwas the time the King what had a head like a pear was on the throne—Silly Billy, wasn’t it, William IVth—well then, her young ladies, I mean mygrandmother’s young ladies, they used to have muslin gowns very longdown to their ankles, very prim but they used to damp their muslins withwater so they stuck to them. You know, stuck to them so it showedeverything there was to show. Went about looking ever so modest, but ittickled up the gentlemen, all right, it did.

“I lent Mrs. Drake my witch ball for the party. Bought that witch ball at ajumble sale somewhere. There it is hanging up there now by the chimney,you see? Nice bright dark blue. I keep it over my door.”

“Do you tell fortunes?”

“Mustn’t say I do, must I?” she chuckled. “The police don’t like that. Notthat they mind the kind of fortunes I tell. Nothing to it, as you might say.

Place like this you always know who’s going with who, and so that makesit easy.”

“Can you look in your witch ball, look in there, see who killed that littlegirl, Joyce?”

“You got mixed up, you have,” said Mrs. Goodbody. “It’s a crystal ballyou look in to see things, not a witch ball. If I told you who I thought it wasdid it, you wouldn’t like it. Say it was against nature, you would. But lots ofthings go on that are against nature.”

“You may have something there.”

“This is a good place to live, on the whole. I mean, people are decent,most of them, but wherever you go, the devil’s always got some of hisown. Born and bred to it.”

“You mean—black magic?”

“No, I don’t mean that.” Mrs. Goodbody was scornful. “That’s nonsense,that is. That’s for people who like to dress up and do a lot of tomfoolery.

Sex and all that. No, I mean those that the devil has touched with his hand.

They’re born that way. The sons of Lucifer. They’re born so that killingdon’t mean nothing to them, not if they profit by it. When they want athing, they want it. And they’re ruthless to get it. Beautiful as angels, theycan look like. Knew a little girl once. Seven years old. Killed her littlebrother and sister. Twins they were. Five or six months old, no more.

Stifled them in their prams.”

“That took place here in Woodleigh Common?”

“No, no, it wasn’t in Woodleigh Common. I came across that up in York-shire, far as I remember. Nasty case. Beautiful little creature she was, too.

You could have fastened a pair of wings on her, let her go on a platformand sing Christmas hymns, and she’d have looked right for the part. Butshe wasn’t. She was rotten inside. You’ll know what I mean. You’re not ayoung man. You know what wickedness there is about in the world.”

“Alas!” said Poirot. “You are right. I do know only too well. If Joycereally saw a murder committed—”

“Who says she did?” said Mrs. Goodbody.

“She said so herself.”

“That’s no reason for believing. She’s always been a little liar.” She gavehim a sharp glance. “You won’t believe that, I suppose?”

“Yes,” said Poirot, “I do believe it. Too many people have told me so, forme to continue disbelieving it.”

“Odd things crop up in families,” said Mrs. Goodbody. “You take theReynolds, for example. There’s Mr. Reynolds. In the estate business he is.

Never cut much ice at it and never will. Never got on much, as you’d say.

And Mrs. Reynolds, always getting worried and upset about things. Noneof their three children take after their parents. There’s Ann, now, she’s gotbrains. She’s going to do well with her schooling, she is. She’ll go to col-lege, I shouldn’t wonder, maybe get herself trained as a teacher. Mind you,she’s pleased with herself. She’s so pleased with herself that nobody canstick her. None of the boys look at her twice. And then there was Joyce.

She wasn’t clever like Ann, nor as clever as her little brother Leopold,either, but she wanted to be. She wanted always to know more than otherpeople and to have done better than other people and she’d say anythingto make people sit up and take notice. But don’t you believe any singleword she ever said was true. Because nine times out of ten it wasn’t.”

“And the boy?”

“Leopold? Well, he’s only nine or ten, I think, but he’s clever all right.

Clever with his fingers and other ways, too. He wants to study things likephysics. He’s good at mathematics, too. Quite surprised about it they were,in school. Yes, he’s clever. He’ll be one of these scientists, I expect. If youask me, the things he does when he’s a scientist and the things he’ll thinkof—they’ll be nasty, like atom bombs! He’s one of the kind that studies andare ever so clever and think up something that’ll destroy half the globe,and all us poor folk with it. You beware of Leopold. He plays tricks onpeople, you know, and eavesdrops. Finds out all their secrets. Where hegets all his pocket money from I’d like to know. It isn’t from his mother orhis father. They can’t afford to give him much. He’s got lots of money al-ways. Keeps it in a drawer under his socks. He buys things. Quite a lot ofexpensive gadgets. Where does he get the money from? That’s what I’dlike to know. Finds people’s secrets out, I’d say, and makes them pay himfor holding his tongue.”

She paused for breath.

“Well, I can’t help you, I’m afraid, in any way.”

“You have helped me a great deal,” said Poirot. “What happened to theforeign girl who is said to have run away?”

“Didn’t go far, in my opinion. ‘Ding dong dell, pussy’s in the well.’ That’swhat I’ve always thought, anyway.”

 

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