III

To Hercule Poirot, sitting on the ledge overlooking the sea, came Inspector Colgate.

Poirot liked Inspector Colgate. He liked his rugged face, his shrewd eyes, and his slowunhurried manner.

Inspector Colgate sat down. He said, glancing down at the typewritten sheets in Poirot’s hand:

“Done anything with those cases, sir?”

“I have studied them—yes.”

Colgate got up, he walked along and peered into the next niche. He came back, saying:

“One can’t be too careful. Don’t want to be overheard.”

Poirot said:

“You are wise.”

Colgate said:

“I don’t mind telling you, M. Poirot, that I’ve been interested in those cases myself—thoughperhaps I shouldn’t have thought about them if you hadn’t asked for them.” He paused: “I’ve beeninterested in one case in particular.”

“Alice Corrigan?”

“Alice Corrigan.” He paused. “I’ve been on to the Surrey police about that case—wanted to getall the ins and outs of it.”

“Tell me, my friend. I am interested—very interested.”

“I thought you might be. Alice Corrigan was found strangled in Caesar’s Grove on BlackridgeHeath—not ten miles from Marley Copse where Nellie Parsons was found—and both those placesare within twelve miles of Whiteridge where Mr. Lane was vicar.”

Poirot said:

“Tell me more about the death of Alice Corrigan.”

Colgate said:

“The Surrey police didn’t at first connect her death with that of Nellie Parsons. That’s becausethey’d pitched on the husband as the guilty party. Don’t quite know why except that he was a bitof what the Press calls a ‘mystery man’—not much known about him—who he was or where hecame from. She’d married him against her people’s wishes, she’d a bit of money of her own—andshe’d insured her life in his favour—all that was enough to raise suspicion, as I think you’ll agree,sir?”

Poirot nodded.

“But when it came down to brass tacks the husband was washed right out of the picture. Thebody was discovered by one of these women hikers—hefty young women in shorts. She was anabsolutely competent and reliable witness—games mistress at a school in Lancashire. She notedthe time when she found the body—it was exactly four-fifteen—and gave it as her opinion that thewoman had been dead quite a short time—not more than ten minutes. That fitted in well enoughwith the police surgeon’s view when he examined the body at 5:45. She left everything as it wasand tramped across country to Bagshot police station where she reported the death. Now fromthree o’clock to four-ten, Edward Corrigan was in the train coming down from London where he’dgone up for the day on business. Four other people were in the carriage with him. From the stationhe took the local bus, two of his fellow passengers travelling by it also. He got off at the PineRidge Café where he’d arranged to meet his wife for tea. Time then was four twenty-five. Heordered tea for them both, but said not to bring it till she came. Then he walked about outsidewaiting for her. When, by five o’clock she hadn’t turned up, he was getting alarmed—thought shemight have sprained her ankle. The arrangement was that she was to walk across the moors fromthe village where they were staying to the Pine Ridge Café and go home by bus. Caesar’s Grove isnot far from the café, and it’s thought that as she was ahead of time she sat down there to admirethe view for a bit before going on, and that some tramp or madman came upon her there andcaught her unawares. Once the husband was proved to be out of it, naturally they connected up herdeath with that of Nellie Parsons—that rather flighty servant girl who was found strangled inMarley Copse. They decided that the same man was responsible for both crimes, but they nevercaught him—and what’s more they never came near to catching him! Drew a blank everywhere.”

He paused and then he said slowly:

“And now—here’s a third woman strangled—and a certain gentleman we won’t name right onthe spot.”

He stopped.

His small shrewd eyes came round to Poirot. He waited hopefully.

Poirot’s lips moved. Inspector Colgate leaned forward.

Poirot was murmuring:

“—so difficult to know which pieces are part of the fur rug and which are the cat’s tail.”

“I beg pardon, sir?” said Inspector Colgate, startled.

Poirot said quickly:

“I apologize. I was following a train of thought of my own.”

“What’s this about a fur rug and a cat?”

“Nothing—nothing at all.” He paused. “Tell me, Inspector Colgate, if you suspected someoneof telling lies—many, many lies but you had no proof, what would you do?”

Inspector Colgate considered.

“It’s difficult, that is. But it’s my opinion that if anyone tells enough lies, they’re bound to tripup in the end.”

Poirot nodded.

“Yes, that is very true. You see, it is only in my mind that certain statements are lies. I think thatthey are lies, but I cannot know that they are lies. But one might perhaps make a test—a test of onelittle not very noticeable lie. And if that were proved to be a lie—why then, one would know thatall the rest were lies, too!”

Inspector Colgate looked at him curiously.

“Your mind works a funny way, doesn’t it, sir? But I dare say it comes out all right in the end. Ifyou’ll excuse me asking, what put you on to asking about strangulation cases in general?”

Poirot said slowly:

“You have a word in your language—slick. This crime seemed to me a very slick crime! Itmade me wonder if, perhaps, it was not a first attempt.”

Inspector Colgate said:

“I see.”

Poirot went on:

“I said to myself, let us examine past crimes of a similar kind and if there is a crime that closelyresembles this one—eh bien, we shall have there a very valuable clue.”

“You mean using the same method of death, sir?”

“No, no, I mean more than that. The death of Nellie Parsons for instance tells me nothing. Butthe death of Alice Corrigan—tell me, Inspector Colgate, do you not notice one striking form ofsimilarity in this crime?”

Inspector Colgate turned the problem over in his mind. He said at last.

“No, sir, I can’t say that I do really. Unless it’s that in each case the husband has got a cast-ironalibi.”

Poirot said softly:

“Ah, so you have noticed that?”