Chapter 5

After the Inquest

As Jane left the court after the verdict she found Norman Gale¹ beside her.

He said, ‘I wonder what was on that paper that the coroner wouldn’t have at any price?’

‘I can tell you, I think,’ said a voice behind him.

The couple turned, to look into the twinkling eyes of M. Hercule Poirot.

‘It was a verdict,’ said the little man, ‘of wilful² murder against me.’

‘Oh, surely—’ cried Jane.

Poirot nodded happily.

‘Mais oui. As I came out I heard one man say to the other, “That little foreigner—mark mywords, he done it!” The jury thought the same.’

Jane was uncertain whether to condole³ or to laugh. She decided⁴ on the latter. Poirot laughed insympathy.

‘But, see you,’ he said, ‘definitely I must set to work and clear my character.’

With a smile and a bow he moved away.

Jane and Norman stared after his retreating figure.

‘What an extraordinarily⁵ rum little beggar,’ said Gale. ‘Calls himself a detective. I don’t seehow he could do much detecting. Any criminal could spot him a mile off. I don’t see how he coulddisguise himself.’

‘Haven’t you got a very old-fashioned idea of detectives?’ asked Jane. ‘All the false beard stuffis very out of date. Nowadays detectives just sit and think out a case psychologically.’

‘Rather less strenuous⁶.’

‘Physically, perhaps; but of course you need a cool, clear brain.’

‘I see. A hot muddled⁷ one won’t do.’

They both laughed.

‘Look here,’ said Gale. A slight flush rose in his cheeks and he spoke⁸ rather fast. ‘Would youmind—I mean, it would be frightfully nice of you—it’s a bit late—but how about having some teawith me? I feel—comrades in misfortune—and—’

He stopped. To himself he said:

‘What is the matter with you, you fool? Can’t you ask a girl to have a cup of tea withoutstammering and blushing and making an utter ass⁹ of yourself? What will the girl think of you?’

Gale’s confusion served to accentuate¹⁰ Jane’s coolness and self-possession.

‘Thank you very much,’ she said. ‘I would like some tea.’

They found a tea-shop and a disdainful waitress with a gloomy manner took their order with anair of doubt as of one who might say: ‘Don’t blame me if you’re disappointed. They say we serveteas here, but I never heard of it.’

The tea-shop was nearly empty. Its emptiness served to emphasize the intimacy¹¹ of tea drinkingtogether. Jane peeled off her gloves and looked across the table at her companion. He wasattractive—those blue eyes and that smile. And he was nice too.

‘It’s a queer show, this murder business,’ said Gale, plunging¹² hastily into talk. He was still notquite free from an absurd feeling of embarrassment¹³.

‘I know,’ said Jane. ‘I’m rather worried about it—from the point of view of my job, I mean. Idon’t know how they’ll take it.’

‘Ye-es. I hadn’t thought of that.’

‘Antoine’s mayn’t like to employ a girl who’s been mixed up in a murder case and had to giveevidence, and all that.’

‘People are queer,’ said Norman Gale thoughtfully. ‘Life’s so—so unfair. A thing like this thatisn’t your fault at all—’ He frowned angrily. ‘It’s damnable!’

‘Well, it hasn’t happened yet,’ Jane reminded him. ‘No good getting hot and bothered aboutsomething that hasn’t happened. After all, I suppose there is some point in it—I might be theperson who murdered her! And when you’ve murdered one person they say you usually murder alot more; and it wouldn’t be very comfortable having your hair done by a person of that kind.’

‘Anyone’s only got to look at you to know you couldn’t murder anybody,’ said Norman, gazingat her earnestly.

‘I’m not so sure about that,’ said Jane. ‘I’d like to murder some of my ladies sometimes—if Icould be sure I’d get away with it! There’s one in particular—she’s got a voice like a corncrakeand she grumbles¹⁴ at everything. I really think sometimes that murdering her would be a good deedand not a crime at all. So you see I’m quite criminally minded.’

‘Well, you didn’t do this particular murder, anyway,’ said Gale. ‘I can swear to that.’

‘And I can swear you didn’t do it,’ said Jane. ‘But that won’t help you if your patients think youhave.’

‘My patients, yes—’ Gale looked rather thoughtful. ‘I suppose you’re right—I hadn’t reallythought of that. A dentist who might be a homicidal maniac—no, it’s not a very alluring¹⁵ prospect¹⁶.’

He added suddenly and impulsively¹⁷:

‘I say, you don’t mind my being a dentist, do you?’

Jane raised her eyebrows¹⁸.

‘I? Mind?’

‘What I mean is, there’s always something rather—well, comic about a dentist. Somehow it’snot a romantic profession. Now a doctor everyone takes seriously.’

‘Cheer up,’ said Jane. ‘A dentist is decidedly a cut above a hairdresser’s assistant.’

They laughed, and Gale said, ‘I feel we’re going to be friends. Do you?’

‘Yes, I think I do.’

‘Perhaps you’ll dine with me one night and we might do a show?’

‘Thank you.’

There was a pause, and then Gale said:

‘How did you like Le Pinet?’

‘It was great fun.’

‘Had you ever been there before?’

‘No, you see—’

Jane, suddenly confidential¹⁹, came out with the story of the winning Sweep ticket. They agreedtogether on the general romance and desirability of Sweeps and deplored²⁰ the attitude of anunsympathetic English Government.

Their conversation was interrupted by a young man in a brown suit who had been hoveringuncertainly nearby for some minutes before they noticed him.

Now, however, he lifted his hat and addressed Jane with a certain glib²¹ assurance.

‘Miss Jane Grey?’ he said.

‘Yes.’

‘I represent the Weekly Howl, Miss Grey. I wondered if you would care to do us a short articleon this Air Death Murder? Point of view of one of the passengers.’

‘I think I’d rather not, thanks.’

‘Oh, come now, Miss Grey. We’d pay well for it.’

‘How much?’ asked Jane.

‘Fifty pounds—or, well—perhaps we’d make it a bit more. Say sixty.’

‘No,’ said Jane. ‘I don’t think I could. I shouldn’t know what to say.’

‘That’s all right,’ said the young man easily. ‘You needn’t actually write the article, you know.

One of our fellows will just ask you for a few suggestions and work the whole thing up for you. Itwon’t be the least trouble to you.’

‘All the same,’ said Jane, ‘I’d rather not.’

‘What about a hundred quid? Look here, I really will make it a hundred; and give us aphotograph.’

‘No,’ said Jane. ‘I don’t like the idea.’

‘So you may as well clear out,’ said Norman Gale. ‘Miss Grey doesn’t want to be worried.’

The young man turned to him hopefully.

‘Mr Gale, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘Now look here, Mr Gale, if Miss Grey feels a bit squeamish aboutit, what about your having a shot? Five hundred words. And we’ll pay you the same as I offeredMiss Grey—and that’s a good bargain, because a woman’s account of another woman’s murder isbetter news value. I’m offering you a good chance.’

‘I don’t want it. I shan’t write a word for you.’

‘It’ll be good publicity²² apart from the pay. Rising professional man—brilliant career ahead ofyou—all your patients will read it.’

‘That,’ said Norman Gale, ‘is mostly what I’m afraid of.’

‘Well, you can’t get anywhere without publicity in these days.’

‘Possibly, but it depends on the kind of publicity. I’m hoping that just one or two of my patientsmay not read the papers and may continue in ignorance of the fact that I’ve been mixed up in amurder case. Now you’ve had your answer from both of us. Are you going quietly, or have I got tokick you out of here?’

‘Nothing to get annoyed about,’ said the young man, quite undisturbed by this threat ofviolence. ‘Good evening, and ring me up at the office if you change your mind. Here’s my card.’

He made his way cheerfully out of the tea-shop, thinking to himself as he did so: ‘Not too bad.

Made quite a decent interview.’

And in truth the next issue of the Weekly Howl had an important column on the views of two ofthe witnesses in the Air Murder Mystery. Miss Jane Grey had declared herself too distressed²³ totalk about the matter. It had been a terrible shock to her and she hated to think about it. MrNorman Gale had expressed himself at great length on the effect upon a professional man’s careerof being mixed up in a criminal case, however innocently. Mr Gale had humorously expressed thehope that some of his patients only read the fashion columns and so might not suspect the worstwhen they came for the ordeal²⁴ of ‘the chair’.

When the young man had departed Jane said:

‘I wonder why he didn’t go for the more important people?’

‘Leaves that to his betters, probably,’ said Gale grimly. ‘He’s probably tried there and failed.’

He sat frowning for a minute or two, then he said:

‘Jane (I’m going to call you Jane. You don’t mind, do you?) Jane—who do you think reallymurdered this Giselle woman?’

‘I haven’t the faintest idea.’

‘Have you thought about it? Really thought about it?’

‘Well, no, I don’t suppose I have. I’ve been thinking about my own part in it, and worrying alittle. I haven’t really wondered seriously which—which of the others did it. I don’t think I’drealized until today that one of them must have done it.’

‘Yes, the coroner put it very plainly. I know I didn’t do it, and I know you didn’t do it, because—well, because I was watching you most of the time.’

‘Yes,’ said Jane. ‘I know you didn’t do it—for the same reason. And of course I know I didn’tdo it myself! So it must have been one of the others; but I don’t know which. I haven’t theslightest idea. Have you?’

‘No.’

Norman Gale looked very thoughtful. He seemed to be puzzling out some train of thought. Janewent on:

‘I don’t see how we can have the least idea, either. I mean we didn’t see anything—at least Ididn’t. Did you?’

Gale shook his head.

‘Not a thing.’

‘That’s what seems so frightfully odd. I dare say you wouldn’t have seen anything. You weren’tfacing that way. But I was. I was looking right along the middle. I mean—I could have been—’

Jane stopped and flushed. She was remembering that her eyes had been mostly fixed²⁵ on aperiwinkle-blue pullover, and that her mind, far from being receptive to what was going on aroundher, had been mainly concerned with the personality of the human being inside the periwinkle-blue pullover.

Norman Gale thought:

‘I wonder what makes her blush like that…She’s wonderful…I’m going to marry her…Yes, Iam…But it’s no good looking too far ahead. I’ve got to have some good excuse for seeing heroften. This murder business will do as well as anything else…Besides, I really think it would be aswell to do something—that whipper-snapper of a reporter and his publicity…’

Aloud he said:

‘Let’s think about it now. Who killed her? Let’s go over all the people. The stewards²⁶?’

‘No,’ said Jane.

‘I agree. The women opposite us?’

‘I don’t suppose anyone like Lady Horbury would go killing²⁷ people. And the other one, MissKerr, well, she’s far too county. She wouldn’t kill an old Frenchwoman, I’m sure.’

‘Only an unpopular MFH? I expect you’re not far wrong, Jane. Then there’s moustachios, buthe seems, according to the coroner’s jury, to be the most likely person, so that washes him out.

The doctor? That doesn’t seem very likely, either.’

‘If he’d wanted to kill her he could have used something quite untraceable and nobody wouldever have known.’

‘Ye- es,’ said Norman doubtfully. ‘These untraceable, tasteless, odourless poisons are veryconvenient, but I’m a bit doubtful if they really exist. What about the little man who owned up tohaving a blowpipe?’

‘That’s rather suspicious. But he seemed a very nice little man, and he needn’t have said he hada blowpipe, so that looks as though he were all right.’

‘Then there’s Jameson—no—what’s his name—Ryder?’

‘Yes, it might be him.’

‘And the two Frenchmen?’

‘That’s the most likely of all. They’ve been to queer places. And of course they may have hadsome reason we know nothing about. I thought the younger one looked very unhappy andworried.’

‘You probably would be worried if you’d committed a murder,’ said Norman Gale grimly.

‘He looked nice, though,’ said Jane; ‘and the old father was rather a dear. I hope it isn’t them.’

‘We don’t seem to be getting on very fast,’ said Norman Gale.

‘I don’t see how we can get on without knowing a lot of things about the old woman who wasmurdered. Enemies, and who inherits her money, and all that.’

Norman Gale said thoughtfully:

‘You think this is mere²⁸ idle speculation²⁹?’

Jane said coolly, ‘Isn’t it?’

‘Not quite.’ Gale hesitated, then went on slowly, ‘I have a feeling it may be useful—’

Jane looked at him inquiringly.

‘Murder,’ said Norman Gale, ‘doesn’t concern the victim and the guilty only. It affects theinnocent too. You and I are innocent, but the shadow of murder has touched us. We don’t knowhow that shadow is going to affect our lives.’

Jane was a person of cool common sense, but she shivered suddenly.

‘Don’t,’ she said. ‘You make me feel afraid.’

‘I’m a little afraid myself,’ said Gale.

 

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