Nine

THE BEXHILL-ON-SEA MURDER

I still remember my awakening¹ on the morning of the 25th of July. It must have been about seven-thirty.

Poirot was standing² by my bedside gently shaking me by the shoulder. One glance at his facebrought me from semiconsciousness into the full possession of my faculties³.

“What is it?” I demanded, sitting up rapidly.

His answer came quite simply, but a wealth of emotion lay behind the three words he uttered.

“It has happened.”

“What?” I cried. “You mean—but today is the 25th.”

“It took place last night—or rather in the early hours of this morning.”

As I sprang from bed and made a rapid toilet, he recounted briefly⁴ what he had just learnt overthe telephone.

“The body of a young girl has been found on the beach at Bexhill. She has been identified asElizabeth Barnard, a waitress in one of the cafés, who lived with her parents in a little recentlybuilt bungalow⁵. Medical evidence gave the time of death as between 11:30 and 1 am.”

“They’re quite sure that this is the crime?” I asked, as I hastily lathered⁶ my face.

“An A B C open at the trains to Bexhill was found actually under the body.”

I shivered.

“This is horrible!”

“Faites attention, Hastings. I do not want a second tragedy in my rooms!”

I wiped the blood from my chin rather ruefully.

“What is our plan of campaign?” I asked.

“The car will call for us in a few moments’ time. I will bring you a cup of coffee here so thatthere will be no delay in starting.”

Twenty minutes later we were in a fast police car crossing the Thames on our way out ofLondon.

With us was Inspector⁷ Crome, who had been present at the conference the other day, and whowas officially in charge of the case.

Crome was a very different type of officer from Japp. A much younger man, he was the silent,superior type. Well educated and well read, he was, for my taste, several shades too pleased withhimself. He had lately gained kudos⁸ over a series of child murders, having patiently tracked downthe criminal who was now in Broadmoor.

He was obviously a suitable person to undertake the present case, but I thought that he was justa little too aware of the fact himself. His manner to Poirot was a shade patronising. He deferred⁹ tohim as a younger man to an older one—in a rather self-conscious, “public school” way.

“I’ve had a good long talk with Dr. Thompson,” he said. “He’s very interested in the ‘chain’ or‘series’ type of murder. It’s the product of a particular distorted type of mentality¹⁰. As a laymanone can’t, of course, appreciate the finer points as they present themselves to a medical point ofview.” He coughed. “As a matter of fact—my last case—I don’t know whether you read about it— the Mabel Homer case, the Muswell Hill schoolgirl, you know — that man Capper wasextraordinary. Amazingly difficult to pin the crime on to him—it was his third, too! Looked assane as you or I. But there are various tests—verbal traps, you know—quite modern, of course,there was nothing of that kind in your day. Once you can induce a man to give himself away,you’ve got him! He knows that you know and his nerve goes. He starts giving himself away rightand left.”

“Even in my day that happened sometimes,” said Poirot.

Inspector Crome looked at him and murmured conversationally¹¹: “Oh, yes?”

There was silence between us for some time. As we passed New Cross Station, Crome said:

“If there’s anything you want to ask me about the case, pray do so.”

“You have not, I presume, a description of the dead girl?”

“She was twenty-three years of age, engaged as a waitress at the Ginger¹² Cat café—”

“Pas ?a. I wondered—if she were pretty?”

“As to that I’ve no information,” said Inspector Crome with a hint of withdrawal¹³. His mannersaid: “Really—these foreigners! All the same!”

A faint look of amusement came into Poirot’s eyes.

“It does not seem to you important, that? Yet, pour une femme, it is of the first importance.

Often it decides her destiny!”

Another silence fell.

It was not until we were nearing Sevenoaks that Poirot opened the conversation again.

“Were you informed, by any chance, how and with what the girl was strangled?”

Inspector Crome replied briefly.

“Strangled with her own belt—a thick, knitted affair, I gather.”

Poirot’s eyes opened very wide.

“Aha,” he said. “At last we have a piece of information that is very definite. That tells onesomething, does it not?”

“I haven’t seen it yet,” said Inspector Crome coldly.

I felt impatient with the man’s caution and lack of imagination.

“It gives us the hallmark of the murderer,” I said. “The girl’s own belt. It shows the particularbeastliness of his mind!”

Poirot shot me a glance I could not fathom¹⁴. On the face of it it conveyed humorous impatience¹⁵.

I thought that perhaps it was a warning not to be too outspoken¹⁶ in front of the inspector.

I relapsed into silence.

At Bexhill we were greeted by Superintendent¹⁷ Carter. He had with him a pleasant- faced,intelligent-looking young inspector called Kelsey. The latter was detailed¹⁸ to work in with Cromeover the case.

“You’ll want to make your own inquiries¹⁹, Crome,” said the superintendent. “So I’ll just giveyou the main heads of the matter and then you can get busy right away.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Crome.

“We’ve broken the news to her father and mother,” said the superintendent. “Terrible shock tothem, of course. I left them to recover a bit before questioning them, so you can start from thebeginning there.”

“There are other members of the family—yes?” asked Poirot.

“There’s a sister—a typist in London. She’s been communicated with. And there’s a young man—in fact, the girl was supposed to be out with him last night, I gather.”

“Any help from the A B C guide?” asked Crome.

“It’s there,” the superintendent nodded towards the table. “No fingerprints²⁰. Open at the page forBexhill. A new copy, I should say — doesn’t seem to have been opened much. Not boughtanywhere round here. I’ve tried all the likely stationers.”

“Who discovered the body, sir?”

“One of these fresh-air, early-morning colonels. Colonel Jerome. He was out with his dog about6 am. Went along the front in the direction of Cooden, and down on to the beach. Dog went offand sniffed²¹ at something. Colonel called it. Dog didn’t come. Colonel had a look and thoughtsomething queer was up. Went over and looked. Behaved very properly. Didn’t touch her at alland rang us up immediately.”

“And the time of death was round about midnight last night?”

“Between midnight and 1 am—that’s pretty certain. Our homicidal joker is a man of his word.

If he says the 25th, it is the 25th—though it may have been only by a few minutes.”

Crome nodded.

“Yes, that’s his mentality all right. There’s nothing else? Nobody saw anything helpful?”

“Not as far as we know. But it’s early yet. Everyone who saw a girl in white walking with aman last night will be along to tell us about it soon, and as I imagine there were about four or fivehundred girls in white walking with young men last night, it ought to be a nice business.”

“Well, sir, I’d better get down to it,” said Crome. “There’s the café and there’s the girl’s home.

I’d better go to both of them. Kelsey can come with me.”

“And Mr. Poirot?” asked the superintendent.

“I will accompany you,” said Poirot to Crome with a little bow.

Crome, I thought, looked slightly annoyed. Kelsey, who had not seen Poirot before, grinnedbroadly.

It was an unfortunate circumstance that the first time people saw my friend they were alwaysdisposed to consider him as a joke of the first water.

“What about this belt she was strangled with?” asked Crome. “Mr. Poirot is inclined to think it’sa valuable clue. I expect he’d like to see it.”

“Du tout,” said Poirot quickly. “You misunderstood me.”

“You’ll get nothing from that,” said Carter. “It wasn’t a leather belt — might have gotfingerprints if it had been. Just a thick sort of knitted silk—ideal for the purpose.”

I gave a shiver.

“Well,” said Crome, “we’d better be getting along.”

We set out forthwith.

Our first visit was to the Ginger Cat. Situated²² on the sea front, this was the usual type of smalltearoom. It had little tables covered with orange- checked cloths and basket- work chairs ofexceeding discomfort²³ with orange cushions on them. It was the kind of place that specialized²⁴ inmorning coffee, five different kinds of teas (Devonshire, Farmhouse²⁵, Fruit, Carlton and Plain), anda few sparing lunch dishes for females such as scrambled²⁶ eggs and shrimps²⁷ and macaroni augratin.

The morning coffees were just getting under way. The manageress ushered²⁸ us hastily into a veryuntidy back sanctum.

“Miss—eh—Merrion?” inquired Crome.

Miss Merrion bleated²⁹ out in a high, distressed-gentlewoman voice:

“That is my name. This is a most distressing³⁰ business. Most distressing. How it will affect ourbusiness I really cannot think!”

Miss Merrion was a very thin woman of forty with wispy³¹ orange hair (indeed she wasastonishingly like a ginger cat herself). She played nervously³² with various fichus and frills thatwere part of her official costume.

“You’ll have a boom,” said Inspector Kelsey encouragingly. “You’ll see! You won’t be able toserve teas fast enough!”

“Disgusting,” said Miss Merrion. “Truly disgusting. It makes one despair of human nature.”

But her eyes brightened nevertheless.

“What can you tell me about the dead girl, Miss Merrion?”

“Nothing,” said Miss Merrion positively³³. “Absolutely nothing!”

“How long had she been working here?”

“This was the second summer.”

“You were satisfied with her?”

“She was a good waitress—quick and obliging.”

“She was pretty, yes?” inquired Poirot.

Miss Merrion, in her turn, gave him an “Oh, these foreigners” look.

“She was a nice, clean-looking girl,” she said distantly.

“What time did she go off duty last night?” asked Crome.

“Eight o’clock. We close at eight. We do not serve dinners. There is no demand for them.

Scrambled eggs and tea (Poirot shuddered) people come in for up to seven o’clock and sometimesafter, but our rush is over by 6:30.”

“Did she mention to you how she proposed to spend her evening?”

“Certainly not,” said Miss Merrion emphatically. “We were not on those terms.”

“No one came in and called for her? Anything like that?”

“No.”

“Did she seem quite her ordinary self? Not excited or depressed³⁴?”

“Really I could not say,” said Miss Merrion aloofly³⁵.

“How many waitresses do you employ?”

“Two normally, and an extra two after the 20th July until the end of August.”

“But Elizabeth Barnard was not one of the extras?”

“Miss Barnard was one of the regulars.”

“What about the other one?”

“Miss Higley? She is a very nice young lady.”

“Were she and Miss Barnard friends?”

“Really I could not say.”

“Perhaps we’d better have a word with her.”

“Now?”

“If you please.”

“I will send her to you,” said Miss Merrion, rising. “Please keep her as short a time as possible.

This is the morning coffee rush hour.”

The feline³⁶ and gingery³⁷ Miss Merrion left the room.

“Very refined,” remarked Inspector Kelsey. He mimicked³⁸ the lady’s mincing³⁹ tone. “Really Icould not say.”

A plump girl, slightly out of breath, with dark hair, rosy⁴⁰ cheeks and dark eyes goggling⁴¹ withexcitement, bounced in.

“Miss Merrion sent me,” she announced breathlessly.

“Miss Higley?”

“Yes, that’s me.”

“You knew Elizabeth Barnard?”

“Oh, yes, I knew Betty. Isn’t it awful? It’s just too awful! I can’t believe it’s true. I’ve beensaying to the girls all the morning I just can’t believe it! ‘You know, girls,’ I said, ‘it just doesn’tseem real. Betty! I mean, Betty Barnard, who’s been here all along, murdered! I just can’t believeit,’ I said. Five or six times I’ve pinched myself just to see if I wouldn’t wake up. Bettymurdered…It’s—well, you know what I mean—it doesn’t seem real.”

“You knew the dead girl well?” asked Crome.

“Well, she’s worked here longer than I have. I only came this March. She was here last year.

She was rather quiet, if you know what I mean. She wasn’t one to joke or laugh a lot. I don’t meanthat she was exactly quiet—she’d plenty of fun in her and all that—but she didn’t—well, she wasquiet and she wasn’t quiet, if you know what I mean.”

I will say for Inspector Crome that he was exceedingly patient. As a witness the buxom⁴² MissHigley was persistently⁴³ maddening. Every statement she made was repeated and qualified⁴⁴ half adozen times. The net result was meagre in the extreme.

She had not been on terms of intimacy⁴⁵ with the dead girl. Elizabeth Barnard, it could beguessed, had considered herself a cut above Miss Higley. She had been friendly in working hours,but the girls had not seen much of her out of them. Elizabeth Barnard had had a “friend’ whoworked at the estate agents near the station. Court & Brunskill. No, he wasn’t Mr. Court nor Mr.

Brunskill. He was a clerk there. She didn’t know his name. But she knew him by sight well. Good-looking—oh, very good-looking, and always so nicely dressed. Clearly, there was a tinge⁴⁶ ofjealousy in Miss Higley’s heart.

In the end it boiled down to this. Elizabeth Barnard had not confided⁴⁷ in anyone in the café as toher plans for the evening, but in Miss Higley’s opinion she had been going to meet her “friend.”

She had had on a new white dress, “ever so sweet with one of the new necks.”

We had a word with each of the other two girls but with no further results. Betty Barnard hadnot said anything as to her plans and no one had noticed her in Bexhill during the course of theevening.

 

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