Twenty-seven

THE DONCASTER MURDER

Coming in hard on Poirot’s heels, I just caught the fag end of Inspector Crome’s remark.

Both he and the Chief Constable were looking worried and depressed.

Colonel Anderson greeted us with a nod of the head.

“Glad you’ve come, M. Poirot,” he said politely. I think he guessed that Crome’s remark mighthave reached our ears. “We’ve got it in the neck again, you see.”

“Another A B C murder?”

“Yes. Damned audacious bit of work. Man leaned over and stabbed the fellow in the back.”

“Stabbed this time?”

“Yes, varies his methods a bit, doesn’t he? Biff on the head, strangled, now a knife. Versatiledevil—what? Here are the medical details if you care to see ’em.”

He shoved a paper towards Poirot. “A B C down on the floor between the dead man’s feet,” headded.

“Has the dead man been identified?” asked Poirot.

“Yes. A B C’s slipped up for once—if that’s any satisfaction to us. Deceased’s a man calledEarlsfield—George Earlsfield. Barber by profession.”

“Curious,” commented Poirot.

“May have skipped a letter,” suggested the colonel.

My friend shook his head doubtfully.

“Shall we have in the next witness?” asked Crome. “He’s anxious to get home.”

“Yes, yes—let’s get on.”

A middle-aged gentleman strongly resembling the frog footman in Alice in Wonderland was ledin. He was highly excited and his voice was shrill with emotion.

“Most shocking experience I have ever known,” he squeaked. “I have a weak heart, sir—a veryweak heart, it might have been the death of me.”

“Your name, please,” said the inspector.

“Downes. Roger Emmanuel Downes.”

“Profession?”

“I am a master at Highfield School for boys.”

“Now, Mr. Downes, will you tell us in your own words what happened.”

“I can tell you that very shortly, gentlemen. At the close of the performance I rose from my seat.

The seat on my left was empty but in the one beyond a man was sitting, apparently asleep. I wasunable to pass him to get out as his legs were stuck out in front of him. I asked him to allow me topass. As he did not move I repeated my request in—a—er—slightly louder tone. He still made noresponse. I then took him by the shoulder to waken him. His body slumped down further and Ibecame aware that he was either unconscious or seriously ill. I called out: ‘This gentleman is takenill. Fetch the commissionaire.’ The commissionaire came. As I took my hand from the man’sshoulder I found it was wet and red… I can assure you, gentlemen, the shock was terrific!

Anything might have happened! For years I have suffered from cardiac weakness—”

Colonel Anderson was looking at Mr. Downes with a very curious expression.

“You can consider that you’re a lucky man, Mr. Downes.”

“I do, sir. Not even a palpitation!”

“You don’t quite take my meaning, Mr. Downes. You were sitting two seats away, you say?”

“Actually I was sitting at first in the next seat to the murdered man—then I moved along so asto be behind an empty seat.”

“You’re about the same height and build as the dead man, aren’t you, and you were wearing awoollen scarf round your neck just as he was?”

“I fail to see—” began Mr. Downes stiffly.

“I’m telling you, man,” said Colonel Anderson, “just where your luck came in. Somehow orother, when the murderer followed you in, he got confused. He picked on the wrong back. I’ll eatmy hat, Mr. Downes, if that knife wasn’t meant for you!”

However well Mr. Downes’ heart had stood former tests, it was unable to stand up to this one.

He sank on a chair, gasped, and turned purple in the face.

“Water,” he gasped. “Water….”

A glass was brought him. He sipped it whilst his complexion gradually returned to the normal.

“Me?” he said. “Why me?”

“It looks like it,” said Crome. “In fact, it’s the only explanation.”

“You mean that this man—this—this fiend incarnate—this bloodthirsty madman has beenfollowing me about waiting for an opportunity?”

“I should say that was the way of it.”

“But in heaven’s name, why me?” demanded the outraged schoolmaster.

Inspector Crome struggled with the temptation to reply: “Why not?” and said instead: “I’mafraid it’s no good expecting a lunatic to have reasons for what he does.”

“God bless my soul,” said Mr. Downes, sobered into whispering.

He got up. He looked suddenly old and shaken.

“If you don’t want me any more, gentlemen, I think I’ll go home. I—I don’t feel very well.”

“That’s quite all right, Mr. Downes. I’ll send a constable with you—just to see you’re all right.”

“Oh, no—no, thank you. That’s not necessary.”

“Might as well,” said Colonel Anderson gruffly.

His eyes slid sideways, asking an imperceptible question of the inspector. The latter gave anequally imperceptible nod.

Mr. Downes went out shakily.

“Just as well he didn’t tumble to it,” said Colonel Anderson. “There’ll be a couple of them—eh?”

“Yes, sir. Your Inspector Rice has made arrangements. The house will be watched.”

“You think,” said Poirot, “that when A B C finds out his mistake he might try again?”

Anderson nodded.

“It’s a possibility,” he said. “Seems a methodical sort of chap, A B C. It will upset him if thingsdon’t go according to programme.”

Poirot nodded thoughtfully.

“Wish we could get a description of the fellow,” said Colonel Anderson irritably. “We’re asmuch in the dark as ever.”

“It may come,” said Poirot.

“Think so? Well, it’s possible. Damn it all, hasn’t anyone got eyes in their head?”

“Have patience,” said Poirot.

“You seem very confident, M. Poirot. Got any reason for this optimism?”

“Yes, Colonel Anderson. Up to now, the murderer has not made a mistake. He is bound to makeone soon.”

“If that’s all you’ve got to go on,” began the Chief Constable with a snort, but he wasinterrupted.

“Mr. Ball of the Black Swan is here with a young woman, sir. He reckons he’s got summat tosay might help you.”

“Bring them along. Bring them along. We can do with anything helpful.”

Mr. Ball of the Black Swan was a large, slow-thinking, heavily moving man. He exhaled astrong odour of beer. With him was a plump young woman with round eyes clearly in a state ofhigh excitement.

“Hope I’m not intruding or wasting valuable time,” said Mr. Ball in a slow, thick voice. “Butthis wench, Mary here, reckons she’s got something to tell as you ought to know.”

Mary giggled in a half-hearted way.

“Well, my girl, what is it?” said Anderson. “What’s your name?”

“Mary, sir, Mary Stroud.”

“Well, Mary, out with it.”

Mary turned her round eyes on her master.

“It’s her business to take up hot water to the gents’ bedrooms,” said Mr. Ball, coming to therescue. “About half a dozen gentlemen we’d got staying. Some for the races and some justcommercials.”

“Yes, yes,” said Anderson impatiently.

“Get on, lass,” said Mr. Ball. “Tell your tale. Nowt to be afraid of.”

Mary gasped, groaned and plunged in a breathless voice into her narrative.

“I knocked on door and there wasn’t no answer, otherwise I wouldn’t have gone in leastwaysnot unless the gentleman had said ‘Come in,’ and as he didn’t say nothing I went in and he wasthere washing his hands.”

She paused and breathed deeply.

“Go on, my girl,” said Anderson.

Mary looked sideways at her master and as though receiving inspiration from his slow nod,plunged on again.

“‘It’s your hot water, sir,’ I said, ‘and I did knock,’ but ‘Oh,’ he says, ‘I’ve washed in cold,’ hesaid, and so, naturally, I looks in basin, and oh! God help me, sir, it were all red!”

“Red?” said Anderson sharply.

Ball struck in.

“The lass told me that he had his coat off and that he was holding the sleeve of it, and it was allwet—that’s right, eh, lass?”

“Yes, sir, that’s right, sir.”

She plunged on:

“And his face, sir, it looked queer, mortal queer it looked. Gave me quite a turn.”

“When was this?” asked Anderson sharply.

“About a quarter after five, so near as I can reckon.”

“Over three hours ago,” snapped Anderson. “Why didn’t you come at once?”

“Didn’t hear about it at once,” said Ball. “Not till news came along as there’d been anothermurder done. And then the lass she screams out as it might have been blood in the basin, and Iasks her what she means, and she tells me. Well, it doesn’t sound right to me and I went upstairsmyself. Nobody in the room. I asks a few questions and one of the lads in courtyard says he saw afellow sneaking out that way and by his description it was the right one. So I says to the missus asMary here had best go to police. She doesn’t like the idea, Mary doesn’t, and I says I’ll comealong with her.”

Inspector Crome drew a sheet of paper towards him.

“Describe this man,” he said. “As quick as you can. There’s no time to be lost.”

“Medium-sized he were,” said Mary. “And stooped and wore glasses.”

“His clothes?”

“A dark suit and a Homburg hat. Rather shabby-looking.”

She could add little to this description.

Inspector Crome did not insist unduly. The telephone wires were soon busy, but neither theinspector nor the Chief Constable were over-optimistic.

Crome elicited the fact that the man, when seen sneaking across the yard, had had no bag orsuitcase.

“There’s a chance there,” he said.

Two men were despatched to the Black Swan.

Mr. Ball, swelling with pride and importance, and Mary, somewhat tearful, accompanied them.

The sergeant returned about ten minutes later.

“I’ve brought the register, sir,” he said. “Here’s the signature.”

We crowded round. The writing was small and cramped—not easy to read.

“A. B. Case—or is it Cash?” said the Chief Constable.

“A B C,” said Crome significantly.

“What about luggage?” asked Anderson.

“One good-sized suitcase, sir, full of small cardboard boxes.”

“Boxes? What was in ’em?”

“Stockings, sir. Silk stockings.”

Crome turned to Poirot.

“Congratulations,” he said. “Your hunch was right.”