THE UNDER DOG

Lily Margrave smoothed her gloves out on her knee with a nervous gesture, and darted a glance atthe occupant of the big chair opposite her.

She had heard of M. Hercule Poirot, the well-known investigator, but this was the first time shehad seen him in the flesh.

The comic, almost ridiculous, aspect that he presented disturbed her conception of him. Could thisfunny little man, with the egg-shaped head and the enormous mustaches, really do the wonderfulthings that were claimed for him? His occupation at the moment struck her as particularly childish.

He was piling small blocks of colored wood one upon the other, and seemed far more interested inthe result than in the story she was telling.

At her sudden silence, however, he looked sharply across at her.

"Mademoiselle, continue, I pray of you. It is not that I do not attend; I attend very carefully, Iassure you."He began once more to pile the little blocks of wood one upon the other, while the girl's voice tookup the tale again. It was a gruesome tale, a tale of violence and tragedy, but the voice was so calmand unemotional, the recital was so concise that something of the savor of humanity seemed tohave been left out of it.

She stopped at last.

"I hope," she said anxiously, "that I have made everything clear."Poirot nodded his head several times in emphatic assent. Then he swept his hand across thewooden blocks, scattering them over the table, and, leaning back in his chair, his fingertips pressedtogether and his eyes on the ceiling, he began to recapitulate.

"Sir Reuben Astwell was murdered ten days ago. On Wednesday, the day before yesterday, hisnephew, Charles Leverson, was arrested by the police. The facts against him as far as you knoware - you will correct me if I am wrong, Mademoiselle.

"Sir Reuben was sitting up late writing in his own special sanctum, the Tower room. Mr Leversoncame in late, letting himself in with a latch key. He was overheard quarreling with his uncle by thebutler, whose room was directly below the Tower room. The quarrel ended with a sudden thud asof a chair being thrown over and a half-smothered cry.

"The butler was alarmed, and thought of getting up to see what was the matter, but as a fewseconds later he heard Mr Leverson leave the room gaily whistling a tune, he thought nothingmore of it. On the following morning, however, a housemaid discovered Sir Reuben dead by hisdesk. He had been struck down by some heavy instrument. The butler, I gather, did not at once tellthe story to the police. That was natural, I think, eh, Mademoiselle?"The sudden question made Lily Margrave start.

"I beg your pardon?" she said.

"One looks for humanity in these matters, does one not?" said the little man. "As you recited thestory to me - so admirably, so concisely - you made of the actors in the drama machines - puppets.

But me, I look always for human nature. I say to myself, this butler, this - what did you say hisname was?""His name is Parsons."

"This Parsons, then, he will have the characteristics of his class, he will object very strongly to thepolice, he will tell them as little as possible. Above all, he will say nothing that might seem toincriminate a member of the household. A housebreaker, a burglar, he will cling to that idea withall the strength of extreme obstinacy. Yes, the loyalties of the servant class are an interestingstudy."He leaned back beaming.

"In the meantime," he went on, "everyone in the household has told his or her tale, Mr Leversonamong the rest, and his tale was that he had come in late and gone up to bed without seeing hisuncle.""That is what he said."

"And no one saw reason to doubt that tale," mused Poirot, "except, of course, Parsons. Then therecomes down an inspector from Scotland Yard, Inspector Miller you said, did you not? I know him,I have come across him once or twice in the past. He is what they call the sharp man, the ferret, theweasel.

"Yes I know him! And the sharp Inspector Miller, he sees what the local inspector has not seen,that Parsons is ill at ease and uncomfortable, and knows something that he has not told. Eh bien,he makes short work of Parsons. By now it has been clearly proved that no one broke into thehouse that night, that the murderer must be looked for inside the house and not outside. AndParsons is unhappy and frightened, and feels very relieved to have his secret knowledge drawn outof him.

"He has done his best to avoid scandal, but there are limits; and so Inspector Miller listens toParsons' story, and asks a question or two, and then makes some private investigations of his own.

The case he builds up is very strong - very strong.

"Blood-stained fingers rested on the corner of the chest in the Tower room and the fingerprintswere those of Charles Leverson. The housemaid told him she emptied a basin of blood-stainedwater in Mr Leverson's room the morning after the crime. He explained to her that he had cut hisfinger, and he had a little cut there, oh yes, but such a very little cut! The cuff of his evening shirthad been washed, but they found blood stains in the sleeve of his coat. He was hard pressed formoney, and he inherited money at Sir Reuben's death. Oh, yes, a very strong case, Mademoiselle,"He paused.

"And yet you come to me today."

Lily Margrave shrugged her slender shoulders.

"As I told you, M. Poirot, Lady Astwell sent me.""You would not have come of your own accord, eh?"The little man glanced at her shrewdly. The girl did not answer.

"You do not reply to my question."

Lily Margrave began smoothing her gloves again.

"It is rather difficult for me, M. Poirot. I have my loyalty to Lady Astwell to consider. Strictlyspeaking, I am only her paid companion, but she has treated me more as though I were a daughteror a niece. She has been extraordinarily kind, and whatever her faults, I should not like to appearto criticise her actions, or - well, to prejudice you against taking up the case.""Impossible to prejudice Hercule Poirot, cela ne se fait pas," declared the little man cheerily. Iperceive that you think Lady Astwell has in her bonnet the buzzing bee. Come now, is it not so?""If I must say -""Speak, Mademoiselle."

"I think the whole thing is simply silly."

"It strikes you like that, eh?"

"I don't want to say anything against Lady Astwell -""I comprehend," murmured Poirot gently. "I comprehend perfectly." His eyes invited her to go on.