Thirteen

A CONFERENCE

Conferences!

Much of my memories of the A B C case seem to be of conferences.

Conferences at Scotland Yard. At Poirot’s rooms. Official conferences. Unofficial conferences.

This particular conference was to decide whether or not the facts relative to the anonymousletters should or should not be made public in the press.

The Bexhill murder had attracted much more attention than the Andover one.

It had, of course, far more elements of popularity. To begin with the victim was a young andgood-looking girl. Also, it had taken place at a popular seaside resort.

All the details of the crime were reported fully¹ and rehashed daily in thin disguises. The A B Crailway guide came in for its share of attention. The favourite theory was that it had been boughtlocally by the murderer and that it was a valuable clue to his identity. It also seemed to show thathe had come to the place by train and was intending to leave for London.

The railway guide had not figured at all in the meagre accounts of the Andover murder, so thereseemed at present little likelihood of the two crimes being connected in the public eye.

“We’ve got to decide upon a policy,” said the Assistant Commissioner². “The thing is—whichway will give us the best results? Shall we give the public the facts—enlist their cooperation—after all, it’ll be the cooperation of several million people, looking out for a madman—”

“He won’t look like a madman,” interjected Dr. Thompson.

“—looking out for sales of A B C’s—and so on. Against that I suppose there’s the advantage ofworking in the dark—not letting our man know what we’re up to, but then there’s the fact that heknows very well that we know. He’s drawn³ attention to himself deliberately⁴ by his letters. Eh,Crome, what’s your opinion?”

“I look at it this way, sir. If you make it public, you’re playing A B C’s game. That’s what hewants—publicity⁵—notoriety. That’s what he’s out after. I’m right, aren’t I, doctor? He wants tomake a splash.”

Thompson nodded.

The Assistant Commissioner said thoughtfully:

“So you’re for balking⁶ him. Refusing him the publicity he’s hankering after. What about you,M. Poirot?”

Poirot did not speak for a minute. When he did it was with an air of choosing his wordscarefully.

“It is difficult for me, Sir Lionel,” he said. “I am, as you might say, an interested party. Thechallenge was sent to me. If I say ‘Suppress that fact—do not make it public,’ may it not bethought that it is my vanity that speaks? That I am afraid for my reputation? It is difficult! Tospeak out—to tell all—that has its advantages. It is, at least, a warning…On the other hand, I amas convinced as Inspector⁸ Crome that it is what the murderer wants us to do.”

“H’m!” said the Assistant Commissioner, rubbing his chin. He looked across at Dr. Thompson.

“Suppose we refuse our lunatic the satisfaction of the publicity he craves⁹. What’s he likely to do?”

“Commit another crime,” said the doctor promptly¹⁰. “Force your hand.”

“And if we splash the thing about in headlines. Then what’s his reaction?”

“Same answer. One way you feed his megalomania, the other you balk⁷ it. The result’s the same.

Another crime.”

“What do you say, M. Poirot?”

“I agree with Dr. Thompson.”

“A cleft¹¹ stick—eh? How many crimes do you think this—lunatic has in mind?”

Dr. Thompson looked across at Poirot.

“Looks like A to Z,” he said cheerfully.

“Of course,” he went on, “he won’t get there. Not nearly. You’ll have him by the heels longbefore that. Interesting to know how he’d have dealt with the letter X.” He recalled himself guiltilyfrom this purely¹² enjoyable speculation¹³. “But you’ll have him long before that. G or H, let’s say.”

The Assistant Commissioner struck the table with his fist.

“My God, are you telling me we’re going to have five more murders?”

“It won’t be as much as that, sir,” said Inspector Crome. “Trust me.”

He spoke¹⁴ with confidence.

“Which letter of the alphabet do you place it at, inspector?” asked Poirot.

There was a slight ironic¹⁵ note in his voice. Crome, I thought, looked at him with a tinge¹⁶ ofdislike adulterating the usual calm superiority.

“Might get him next time, M. Poirot. At any rate, I’d guarantee to get him by the time he gets toF.”

He turned to the Assistant Commissioner.

“I think I’ve got the psychology¹⁷ of the case fairly clear. Dr. Thompson will correct me if I’mwrong. I take it that every time A B C brings a crime off, his self-confidence increases about ahundred per cent. Every time he feels ‘I’m clever—they can’t catch me!’ he becomes so over-weeningly confident that he also becomes careless. He exaggerates his own cleverness andeveryone else’s stupidity. Very soon he’d be hardly bothering to take any precautions at all. That’sright, isn’t it, doctor?”

Thompson nodded.

“That’s usually the case. In non-medical terms it couldn’t have been put better. You knowsomething about such things, M. Poirot. Don’t you agree?”

I don’t think that Crome liked Thompson’s appeal to Poirot. He considered that he and he onlywas the expert on this subject.

“It is as Inspector Crome says,” agreed Poirot.

“Paranoia,” murmured the doctor.

Poirot turned to Crome.

“Are there any material facts of interest in the Bexhill case?”

“Nothing very definite. A waiter at the Splendide at Eastbourne recognizes the dead girl’sphotograph as that of a young woman who dined there on the evening of the 24th in company witha middle-aged¹⁸ man in spectacles. It’s also been recognized at a roadhouse place called the ScarletRunner halfway¹⁹ between Bexhill and London. They say she was there about 9 pm on the 24th witha man who looked like a naval²⁰ officer. They can’t both be right, but either of them’s probable. Ofcourse, there’s a host of other identifications, but most of them not good for much. We haven’tbeen able to trace the A B C.”

“Well, you seem to be doing all that can be done, Crome,” said the Assistant Commissioner.

“What do you say, M. Poirot? Does any line of inquiry²¹ suggest itself to you?”

Poirot said slowly:

“It seems to me that there is one very important clue—the discovery of the motive²².”

“Isn’t that pretty obvious? An alphabetical²³ complex. Isn’t that what you called it, doctor?”

“?a, oui,” said Poirot. “There is an alphabetical complex. But why an alphabetical complex? Amadman in particular has always a very strong reason for the crimes he commits.”

“Come, come, M. Poirot,” said Crome. “Look at Stoneman in 1929. He ended by trying to doaway with anyone who annoyed him in the slightest degree.”

Poirot turned to him.

“Quite so. But if you are a sufficiently²⁴ great and important person, it is necessary that youshould be spared small annoyances²⁵. If a fly settles on your forehead again and again, maddeningyou by its tickling—what do you do? You endeavour to kill that fly. You have no qualms²⁷ about it.

You are important—the fly is not. You kill the fly and the annoyance²⁶ ceases. Your action appearsto you sane²⁸ and justifiable²⁹. Another reason for killing³⁰ a fly is if you have a strong passion forhygiene. The fly is a potential source of danger to the community—the fly must go. So works themind of the mentally deranged³¹ criminal. But consider now this case — if the victims arealphabetically selected, then they are not being removed because they are a source of annoyanceto the murderer personally. It would be too much of a coincidence to combine the two.”

“That’s a point,” said Dr. Thompson. “I remember a case where a woman’s husband wascondemned to death. She started killing the members of the jury one by one. Quite a time beforethe crimes were connected up. They seemed entirely³² haphazard³³. But as M. Poirot says, there isn’tsuch a thing as a murderer who commits crimes at random³⁴. Either he removes people who stand(however insignificantly) in his path, or else he kills by conviction. He removes clergymen, orpolicemen, or prostitutes because he firmly believes that they should be removed. That doesn’tapply here either as far as I can see. Mrs. Ascher and Betty Barnard cannot be linked as membersof the same class. Of course, it’s possible that there is a sex complex. Both victims have beenwomen. We can tell better, of course, after the next crime—”

“For God’s sake, Thompson, don’t speak so glibly³⁵ of the next crime,” said Sir Lionel irritably³⁶.

“We’re going to do all we can to prevent another crime.”

Dr. Thompson held his peace and blew his nose with some violence.

“Have it your own way,” the noise seemed to say. “If you won’t face facts—”

The Assistant Commissioner turned to Poirot.

“I see what you’re driving at, but I’m not quite clear yet.”

“I ask myself,” said Poirot, “what passes exactly in the mind of the murderer? He kills, it wouldseem from his letters, pour le sport—to amuse himself. Can that really be true? And even if it istrue, on what principle does he select his victims apart from the merely alphabetical one? If hekills merely to amuse himself he would not advertise the fact, since, otherwise, he could kill withimpunity. But no, he seeks, as we all agree, to make the splash in the public eye—to assert hispersonality. In what way has his personality been suppressed that one can connect with the twovictims he has so far selected? A final suggestion: Is his motive direct personal hatred³⁷ of me, ofHercule Poirot? Does he challenge me in public because I have (unknown to myself) vanquishedhim somewhere in the course of my career? Or is his animosity impersonal—directed against aforeigner? And if so, what again has led to that? What injury has he suffered at a foreigner’shand?”

“All very suggestive questions,” said Dr. Thompson.

Inspector Crome cleared his throat.

“Oh, yes? A little unanswerable at present, perhaps.”

“Nevertheless, my friend,” said Poirot, looking straight at him, “it is there, in those questions,that the solution lies. If we knew the exact reason—fantastic, perhaps, to us—but logical to him—of why our madman commits these crimes, we should know, perhaps, who the next victim is likelyto be.”

Crome shook his head.

“He selects them haphazard—that’s my opinion.”

“The magnanimous murderer,” said Poirot.

“What’s that you say?”

“I said—the magnanimous murderer! Franz Ascher would have been arrested for the murder ofhis wife—Donald Fraser might have been arrested for the murder of Betty Barnard—if it had notbeen for the warning letters of A B C. Is he, then, so soft-hearted that he cannot bear others tosuffer for something they did not do?”

“I’ve known stranger things happen,” said Dr. Thompson. “I’ve known men who’ve killed halfa dozen victims all broken up because one of their victims didn’t die instantaneously and sufferedpain. All the same, I don’t think that that is our fellow’s reason. He wants the credit of thesecrimes for his own honour and glory. That’s the explanation that fits best.”

“We’ve come to no decision about the publicity business,” said the Assistant Commissioner.

“If I may make a suggestion, sir,” said Crome. “Why not wait till the receipt of the next letter?

Make it public then—special editions, etc. It will make a bit of a panic in the particular townnamed, but it will put everyone whose name begins with C on their guard, and it’ll put A B C onhis mettle³⁸. He’ll be determined³⁹ to succeed. And that’s when we’ll get him.”

How little we knew what the future held.

 

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