IV

He reached Mr. Barnes’ House at Ealing at 6:45. He remembered that Mr. Barnes had called that agood time of day.

Mr. Barnes was at work in his garden.

He said by way of greeting:

“We need rain, M. Poirot—need it badly.”

He looked thoughtfully at his guest. He said:

“You don’t look very well, M. Poirot?”

“Sometimes,” said Hercule Poirot, “I do not like the things I have to do.”

Mr. Barnes nodded his head sympathetically.

He said:

“I know.”

Hercule Poirot looked vaguely¹ round at the neat arrangement of the small beds. He murmured:

“It is well-planned, this garden. Everything is to scale. It is small but exact.”

Mr. Barnes said:

“When you have only a small place you’ve got to make the most of it. You can’t afford to makemistakes in the planning.”

Hercule Poirot nodded.

Barnes went on:

“I see you’ve got your man?”

“Frank Carter?”

“Yes. I’m rather surprised, really.”

“You did not think that it was, so to speak, a private murder?”

“No. Frankly² I didn’t. What with Amberiotis and Alistair Blunt—I made sure that it was one ofthese Espionage³ or Counter-Espionage mix-ups.”

“That is the view you expounded⁴ to me at our first meeting.”

“I know. I was quite sure of it at the time.”

Poirot said slowly:

“But you were wrong.”

“Yes. Don’t rub it in. The trouble is, one goes by one’s own experience. I’ve been mixed-up inthat sort of thing so much I suppose I’m inclined to see it everywhere.”

Poirot said:

“You have observed in your time a conjurer offer a card, have you not? What is called—forcinga card?”

“Yes, of course.”

“That is what was done here. Every time that one thinks of a private reason for Morley’s death,hey presto—the card is forced on one. Amberiotis, Alistair Blunt, the unsettled state of politics—of the country—” He shrugged⁵ his shoulders. “As for you, Mr. Barnes, you did more to misleadme than anybody.”

“Oh, I say, Poirot, I’m sorry. I suppose that’s true.”

“You were in a position to know, you see. So your words carried weight.”

“Well—I believed what I said. That’s the only apology I can make.”

He paused and sighed.

“And all the time, it was a purely⁶ private motive⁷?”

“Exactly. It has taken me a long time to see the reason for the murder—although I had one verydefinite piece of luck.”

“What was that?”

“A fragment of conversation. Really a very illuminating⁸ fragment if only I had had the sense torealize its significance at the time.”

Mr. Barnes scratched his nose thoughtfully with the trowel. A small piece of earth adhered tothe side of his nose.

“Being rather cryptic⁹, aren’t you?” he asked genially¹⁰.

Hercule Poirot shrugged his shoulders. He said:

“I am, perhaps, aggrieved¹¹ that you were not more frank with me.”

“I?”

“Yes.”

“My dear fellow—I never had the least idea of Carter’s guilt¹². As far as I knew, he’d left thehouse long before Morley was killed. I suppose now they’ve found he didn’t leave when he saidhe did?”

Poirot said:

“Carter was in the house at twenty-six minutes past twelve. He actually saw the murderer.”

“Then Carter didn’t—”

“Carter saw the murderer, I tell you!”

Mr. Barnes said:

“Did he recognize him?”

Slowly Hercule Poirot shook his head.

 

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