V“Nothing like a wood fire,” said Colonel Johnson as he threw on an additional log and then drewhis chair nearer to the blaze. “Help yourself,” he added, hospitably¹ calling attention to the tantalusand siphon that stood near his guest’s elbow.

The guest raised a polite hand in negation². Cautiously he edged his own chair nearer to theblazing logs, though he was of the opinion that the opportunity for roasting the soles of one’s feet(like some mediaeval torture) did not offset³ the cold draught⁴ that swirled⁵ round the back of theshoulders.

Colonel Johnson, Chief Constable⁶ of Middleshire, might be of the opinion that nothing couldbeat a wood fire, but Hercule Poirot was of the opinion that central heating could and did everytime!

“Amazing business that Cartwright case,” remarked the host reminiscently. “Amazing man!

Enormous charm of manner. Why, when he came here with you, he had us all eating out of hishand.”

He shook his head.

“We’ll never have anything like that case!” he said. “Nicotine poisoning is rare, fortunately.”

“There was a time when you would have considered all poisoning unEnglish,” suggestedHercule Poirot. “A device of foreigners! Unsportsmanlike!”

“I hardly think we could say that,” said the chief constable. “Plenty of poisoning by arsenic—probably a good deal more than has ever been suspected.”

“Possibly, yes.”

“Always an awkward business, a poisoning case,” said Johnson. “Conflicting testimony⁷ ofthe experts—then doctors are usually so extremely cautious in what they say. Always a difficultcase to take to a jury. No, if one must have murder (which heaven forbid!) give me astraightforward case. Something where there’s no ambiguity⁸ about the cause of death.”

Poirot nodded.

“The bullet wound, the cut throat, the crushed-in skull⁹? It is there your preference lies?”

“Oh, don’t call it a preference, my dear fellow. Don’t harbour the idea that I like murdercases! Hope I never have another. Anyway, we ought to be safe enough during your visit.”

Poirot began modestly:

“My reputation—”

But Johnson had gone on.

“Christmastime,” he said. “Peace, goodwill¹⁰—and all that kind of thing. Goodwill all round.”

Hercule Poirot leaned back in his chair. He joined his fingertips. He studied his hostthoughtfully.

He murmured: “It is, then, your opinion that Christmastime is an unlikely season for crime?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Why?”

“Why?” Johnson was thrown slightly out of his stride. “Well, as I’ve just said—season ofgood cheer, and all that!”

Hercule Poirot murmured:

“The British, they are so sentimental¹¹!”

Johnson said stoutly¹²: “What if we are? What if we do like the old ways, the old traditionalfestivities? What’s the harm?”

“There is no harm. It is all most charming! But let us for a moment examine facts. You havesaid that Christmas is a season of good cheer. That means, does it not, a lot of eating and drinking?

It means, in fact, the overeating! And with the overeating there comes the indigestion! And withthe indigestion there comes the irritability¹³!”

“Crimes,” said Colonel Johnson, “are not committed from irritability.”

“I am not so sure! Take another point. There is, at Christmas, a spirit of goodwill. It is, as yousay, ‘the thing to do.’ Old quarrels are patched up, those who have disagreed consent to agree oncemore, even if it is only temporarily.”

Johnson nodded.

“Bury the hatchet¹⁴, that’s right.”

Poirot pursued his theme:

“And families now, families who have been separated throughout the year, assemble oncemore together. Now under these conditions, my friend, you must admit that there will occur agreat amount of strain. People who do not feel amiable¹⁵ are putting great pressure on themselves toappear amiable! There is at Christmastime a great deal of hypocrisy¹⁶, honourable¹⁷ hypocrisy,hypocrisy undertaken pour le bon motif¹⁸, c’est entendu, but nevertheless hypocrisy!”

“Well, I shouldn’t put it quite like that myself,” said Colonel Johnson doubtfully.

Poirot beamed upon him.

“No, no. It is I who am putting it like that, not you. I am pointing out to you that under theseconditions—mental strain, physical malaise—it is highly probable that dislikes that were beforemerely mild and disagreements that were trivial might suddenly assume a more serious character.

The result of pretending to be a more amiable, a more forgiving, a more high-minded person thanone really is, has sooner or later the effect of causing one to behave as a more disagreeable, a moreruthless and an altogether more unpleasant person than is actually the case! If you dam the streamof natural behaviour, mon ami, sooner or later the dam bursts and a cataclysm¹⁹ occurs!”

Colonel Johnson looked at him doubtfully.

“Never know when you’re serious and when you’re pulling my leg,” he grumbled²⁰.

Poirot smiled at him.

“I am not serious! Not in the least am I serious! But all the same, it is true what I say—artificial conditions bring about their natural reaction.”

Colonel Johnson’s manservant entered the room.

“Superintendent²¹ Sugden on the phone, sir.”

“Right. I’ll come.”

With a word of apology the chief constable left the room.

He returned some three minutes later. His face was grave and perturbed²².

“Damn it all!” he said. “Case of murder! On Christmas Eve, too!”

Poirot’s eyebrows²³ rose.

“It is that definitely—murder, I mean?”

“Eh? Oh, no other solution possible! Perfectly²⁴ clear case. Murder—and a brutal²⁵ murder atthat!”

“Who is the victim?”

“Old Simeon Lee. One of the richest men we’ve got! Made his money in South Africaoriginally. Gold—no, diamonds, I believe. He sunk an immense fortune in manufacturing someparticular gadget²⁶ of mining machinery²⁷. His own invention, I believe. Anyway, it’s paid him handover fist! They say he’s a millionaire twice over.”

Poirot said: “He was well-liked, yes?”

Johnson said slowly:

“Don’t think anyone liked him. Queer sort of chap. He’s been an invalid²⁸ for some years now.

I don’t know very much about him myself. But of course he is one of the big figures of thecounty.”

“So this case, it will make a big stir?”

“Yes. I must get over to Longdale as fast as I can.”

He hesitated, looking at his guest. Poirot answered the unspoken question:

“You would like that I should accompany you?”

Johnson said awkwardly:

“Seems a shame to ask you. But, well, you know how it is! Superintendent Sugden is a goodman, none better, painstaking²⁹, careful, thoroughly³⁰ sound—but—well, he’s not an imaginativechap in any way. Should like very much, as you are here, benefit of your advice.”

He halted a little over the end part of his speech, making it somewhat telegraphic in style.

Poirot responded quickly.

“I shall be delighted. You can count on me to assist you in any way I can. We must not hurtthe feelings of the good superintendent. It will be his case—not mine. I am only the unofficialconsultant.”

Colonel Johnson said warmly:

“You’re a good fellow, Poirot.”

With those words of commendation, the two men started out.

 

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