清洁女工之死24

Twenty-four

I“This way to Bedlam,” said Spence.

“It is not as bad as that,” said Poirot soothingly¹.

“That’s what you say. Every single bit of information that comes in makes things moredifficult. Now you tell me that Mrs. Upward rang up three women. Asked them to come thatevening. Why three? Didn’t she know herself which of them was Lily Gamboll? Or isn’t it a caseof Lily Gamboll at all? Take that book with the name of Evelyn Hope in it. It suggests, doesn’t it,that Mrs. Upward and Eva Kane are one and the same.”

“Which agrees exactly with James Bentley’s impression of what Mrs. McGinty said to him.”

“I thought he wasn’t sure.”

“He was not sure. It would be impossible for James Bentley to be sure of anything. He didnot listen properly to what Mrs. McGinty was saying. Nevertheless, if James Bentley had animpression that Mrs. McGinty was talking about Mrs. Upward, it may very well be true.

Impressions often are.”

“Our latest information from Australia (it was Australia she went to, by the way, notAmerica) seems to be to the effect that the ‘Mrs. Hope’ in question died out there twenty yearsago.”

“I have already been told that,” said Poirot.

“You always know everything, don’t you, Poirot?”

Poirot took no notice of this gibe². He said:

“At the one end we have ‘Mrs. Hope’ deceased in Australia—and at the other?”

“At the other end we have Mrs. Upward, the widow of a rich North Country manufacturer.

She lived with him near Leeds, and had a son. Soon after the son’s birth, her husband died. Theboy was inclined to be tubercular and since her husband’s death she lived mostly abroad.”

“And when does this saga³ begin?”

“The saga begins four years after Eva Kane left England. Upward met his wife somewhereabroad and brought her home after the marriage.”

“So actually Mrs. Upward could be Eva Kane. What was her maiden⁴ name?”

“Hargraves, I understand. But what’s in a name?”

“What indeed. Eva Kane, or Evelyn Hope, may have died in Australia—but she may havearranged a convenient decease and resuscitated⁵ herself as Hargraves and made a wealthy match.”

“It’s all a long time ago,” said Spence. “But supposing that it’s true. Supposing she kept apicture of herself and supposing that Mrs. McGinty saw it—then one can only assume that shekilled Mrs. McGinty.”

“That could be, could it not? Robin⁶ Upward was broadcasting that night. Mrs. Rendellmentions going to the cottage that evening, remember, and not being able to make herself heard.

According to Mrs. Sweetiman, Janet Groom⁷ told her that Mrs. Upward was not really as crippledas she made out.”

“That’s all very well, Poirot, but the fact remains⁸ that she herself was killed — afterrecognizing a photograph. Now you want to make out that the two deaths are not connected.”

“No, no. I do not say that. They are connected all right.”

“I give it up.”

“Evelyn Hope. There is the key to the problem.”

“Evelyn Carpenter? Is that your idea? Not Lily Gamboll—but Eva Kane’s daughter! Butsurely she wouldn’t kill her own mother.”

“No, no. This is not matricide.”

“What an irritating devil you are, Poirot. You’ll be saying next that Eva Kane and LilyGamboll, and Janice Courtland and Vera Blake are all living in Broadhinny. All four suspects.”

“We have more than four. Eva Kane was the Craigs’ nursery governess, remember.”

“What’s that got to do with it?”

“Where there is a nursery governess, there must be children— or at least a child. Whathappened to the Craig children?”

“There was a girl and a boy, I believe. Some relative took them.”

“So there are two more people to take into account. Two people who might have kept aphotograph for the third reason I mentioned—revenge.”

“I don’t believe it,” said Spence.

Poirot sighed.

“It has to be considered, all the same. I think I know the truth—though there is one fact thatbaffles me utterly⁹.”

“I’m glad something baffles you,” said Spence.

“Confirm one thing for me, mon cher Spence. Eva Kane left the country before Craig’sexecution, that is right?”

“Quite right.”

“And she was, at that time, expecting a child?”

“Quite right.”

“Bon Dieu, how stupid I have been,” said Hercule Poirot. “The whole thing is simple, is itnot?”

It was after that remark that there was very nearly a third murder—the murder of HerculePoirot by Superintendent¹⁰ Spence in Kilchester Police Headquarters.

II

“I want,” said Hercule Poirot, “a personal call. To Mrs. Ariadne Oliver.”

A personal call to Mrs. Oliver was not achieved without difficulties. Mrs. Oliver was workingand could not be disturbed. Poirot, however, disregarded all denials. Presently he heard theauthoress’s voice.

It was cross and rather breathless.

“Well, what is it?” said Mrs. Oliver. “Have you got to ring me up just now? I’ve thought of amost wonderful idea for a murder in a draper’s shop. You know, the old-fashioned kind that sellscombinations and funny vests with long sleeves.”

“I do not know,” said Poirot. “And anyway what I have to say to you is far more important.”

“It couldn’t be,” said Mrs. Oliver. “Not to me, I mean. Unless I get a rough sketch¹¹ of my ideajotted down, it will go!”

Hercule Poirot paid no attention to this creative agony. He asked sharp imperative¹² questionsto which Mrs. Oliver replied somewhat vaguely¹³.

“Yes—yes—it’s a little Repertory Theatre—I don’t know its name .?.?. Well, one of them wasCecil Something, and the one I was talking to was Michael.”

“Admirable. That is all I need to know.”

“But why Cecil and Michael?”

“Return to the combinations and the long-sleeved vests, madame.”

“I can’t think why you don’t arrest Dr. Rendell,” said Mrs. Oliver. “I would, if I were theHead of Scotland Yard.”

“Very possibly. I wish you luck with the murder in the draper’s shop.”

“The whole idea has gone now,” said Mrs. Oliver. “You’ve ruined it.”

Poirot apologized handsomely.

He put down the receiver and smiled at Spence.

“We go now—or at least I will go—to interview a young actor whose Christian¹⁴ name isMichael and who plays the less important parts in the Cullenquay Repertory Theatre. I pray onlythat he is the right Michael.”

“Why on earth—”

Poirot dexterously¹⁵ averted¹⁶ the rising wrath¹⁷ of Superintendent Spence.

“Do you know, cher ami, what is a secret de Polichinelle?”

“Is this a French lesson?” demanded the superintendent wrathfully.

“A secret de Polichinelle is a secret that everyone can know. For this reason the people whodo not know it never hear about it—for if everyone thinks you know a thing, nobody tells you.”

“How I manage to keep my hands off you I don’t know,” said Superintendent Spence.

 

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