Six

WE GO TO LITTLEGREEN HOUSE

I don’t know what Poirot felt like in his coat and muffler but I myself felt roasted before we gotout of London. An open car in traffic is far from being a refreshing¹ place on a hot summer’s day.

Once we were outside London, however, and getting a bit of pace on the Great West Road myspirits rose.

Our drive took us about an hour and a half, and it was close upon twelve o’clock when we cameinto the little town of Market Basing. Originally on the main road, a modern bypass now left itsome three miles to the north of the main stream of traffic and in consequence it had kept an air ofold-fashioned dignity and quietude about it. Its one wide street and ample market square seemed tosay, “I was a place of importance once and to any person of sense and breeding I am still the same.

Let this modern speeding world dash along their newfangled road; I was built to endure in a daywhen solidarity² and beauty went hand in hand.”

There was a parking area in the middle of the big square, though there were only a few carsoccupying it. I duly parked the Austin, Poirot divested³ himself of his superfluous⁴ garments,assured himself that his moustaches were in their proper condition of symmetrical flamboyanceand we were then ready to proceed.

For once in a way our first tentative inquiry⁵ did not meet with the usual response, “Sorry, butI’m a stranger in these parts.” It would seem indeed probable that there were no strangers inMarket Basing! It had that effect! Already, I felt, Poirot and myself (and especially Poirot) weresomewhat noticeable. We tended to stick out from the mellow⁶ background of an English markettown secure in its traditions.

“Littlegreen House?” The man, a burly, ox-eyed fellow, looked us over thoughtfully. “You gostraight up the High Street and you can’t miss it. On your left. There’s no name on the gate, butit’s the first big house after the bank.” He repeated again, “You can’t miss it.”

His eyes followed us as we started on our course.

“Dear me,” I complained. “There is something about this place that makes me feel extremelyconspicuous. As for you, Poirot, you look positively⁷ exotic.”

“You think it is noticed that I am a foreigner—yes?”

“The fact cries aloud to heaven,” I assured him.

“And yet my clothes are made by an English tailor,” mused⁸ Poirot.

“Clothes are not everything,” I said. “It cannot be denied, Poirot, that you have a noticeablepersonality. I have often wondered that it has not hindered you in your career.”

Poirot sighed.

“That is because you have the mistaken idea implanted in your head that a detective isnecessarily a man who puts on a false beard and hides behind a pillar! The false beard, it is vieuxjeu, and shadowing is only done by the lowest branch of my profession. The Hercule Poirots, myfriend, need only to sit back in a chair and think.”

“Which explains why we are walking along this exceedingly hot street on an exceedingly hotmorning.”

“That is very neatly⁹ replied, Hastings. For once, I admit, you have made the score off me.”

We found Littlegreen House easily enough, but a shock awaited us—a house agent’s board.

As we were staring at it, a dog’s bark attracted my attention.

The bushes were thin at that point and the dog could be easily seen. He was a wirehaired terrier,somewhat shaggy as to coat. His feet were planted wide apart, slightly to one side, and he barkedwith an obvious enjoyment¹⁰ of his own performance that showed him to be actuated by the mostamiable motives¹¹.

“Good watchdog, aren’t I?” he seemed to be saying. “Don’t mind me! This is just my fun! Myduty too, of course. Just have to let ’em know there’s a dog about the place! Deadly dull morning.

Quite a blessing¹² to have something to do. Coming into our place? Hope so. It’s darned dull. Icould do with a little conversation.”

“Hallo, old man,” I said and shoved forward a fist.

Craning his neck through the railings he sniffed¹⁴ suspiciously, then gently wagged his tail,uttering a few short staccato barks.

“Not been properly introduced, of course, have to keep this up! But I see you know the properadvances to make.”

“Good old boy,” I said.

“Wuff,” said the terrier amiably¹⁵.

“Well, Poirot?” I said, desisting from this conversation and turning to my friend.

There was an odd expression on his face — one that I could not quite fathom¹⁶. A kind ofdeliberately suppressed excitement seems to describe it best.

“The Incident of the Dog’s Ball,” he murmured. “Well, at least, we have here a dog.”

“Wuff,” observed our new friend. Then he sat down, yawned widely and looked at us hopefully.

“What next?” I asked.

The dog seemed to be asking the same question.

“Parbleu, to Messrs—what is it—Messrs Gabler and Stretcher.”

“That does seem indicated,” I agreed.

We turned and retraced¹⁷ our steps, our canine¹⁸ acquaintance sending a few disgusted barks afterus.

The premises¹⁹ of Messrs Gabler and Stretcher were situated²⁰ in the Market Square. We entered adim outer office where we were received by a young woman with adenoids and a lacklustre eye.

“Good morning,” said Poirot politely.

The young woman was at the moment speaking into a telephone but she indicated a chair andPoirot sat down. I found another and brought it forward.

“I couldn’t say, I’m sure,” said the young woman into the telephone vacantly. “No, I don’tknow what the rates would be… Pardon? Oh, main water, I think, but, of course, I couldn’t becertain… I’m very sorry, I’m sure… No, he’s out… No, I couldn’t say… Yes, of course I’ll askhim… Yes…8135? I’m afraid I haven’t quite got it. Oh…8935…39… Oh, 5135… Yes, I’ll askhim to ring you…after six… Oh, pardon, before six… Thank you so much.”

She replaced the receiver, scribbled²¹ 5319 on the blotting²² pad and turned a mildly inquiring butuninterested gaze on Poirot.

Poirot began briskly.

“I observe that there is a house to be sold just on the outskirts²³ of this town. Littlegreen House, Ithink is the name.”

“Pardon?”

“A house to be let or sold,” said Poirot slowly and distinctly. “Littlegreen House.”

“Oh, Littlegreen House,” said the young woman vaguely²⁴. “Littlegreen House, did you say?”

“That is what I said.”

“Littlegreen House,” said the young woman, making a tremendous mental effort. “Oh, well, Iexpect Mr. Gabler would know about that.”

“Can I see Mr. Gabler?”

“He’s out,” said the young woman with a kind of faint, anaemic satisfaction as of one who says,“A point to me.”

“Do you know when he will be in?”

“I couldn’t say, I’m sure,” said the young woman.

“You comprehend, I am looking for a house in this neighbourhood,” said Poirot.

“Oh, yes,” said the young woman, uninterested.

“And Littlegreen House seems to me just what I am looking for. Can you give me particulars?”

“Particulars?” The young woman seemed startled.

“Particulars of Littlegreen House.”

Unwillingly²⁵ she opened a drawer and took out an untidy file of papers.

Then she called, “John.”

A lanky²⁶ youth sitting in a corner looked up.

“Yes, miss.”

“Have we got any particulars of—what did you say?”

“Littlegreen House,” said Poirot distinctly.

“You’ve got a large bill of it here,” I remarked, pointing to the wall.

She looked at me coldly. Two to one, she seemed to think, was an unfair way of playing thegame. She called up her own reinforcements.

“You don’t know anything about Littlegreen House, do you, John?”

“No, miss. Should be in the file.”

“I’m sorry,” said the young woman without looking so in the least. “I rather fancy we must havesent all the particulars out.”

“C’est dommage.”

“Pardon?”

“A pity.”

“We’ve a nice bungalow²⁷ at Hemel End, two bed., one sitt.”

She spoke²⁸ without enthusiasm, but with the air of one willing to do her duty by her employer.

“I thank you, no.”

“And a semidetached with small conservatory²⁹. I could give you particulars of that.”

“No, thank you. I desired to know what rent you were asking for Littlegreen House.”

“It’s not to be rented,” said the young woman, abandoning her position of complete ignoranceof anything to do with Littlegreen House in the pleasure of scoring a point. “Only to be soldoutright.”

“The board says, ‘To be Let or Sold.’”

“I couldn’t say as to that, but it’s for sale only.”

At this stage in the battle the door opened and a grey-haired, middle-aged³⁰ man entered with arush. His eye, a militant³¹ one, swept over us with a gleam. His eyebrows³² asked a question of hisemployee.

“This is Mr. Gabler,” said the young woman.

Mr. Gabler opened the door of an inner sanctum with a flourish.

“Step in here, gentlemen.” He ushered³³ us in, an ample gesture swept us into chairs and hehimself was facing us across a flat-topped desk.

“And now what can I do for you?”

Poirot began again perseveringly³⁴.

“I desired a few particulars of Littlegreen House—”

He got no further. Mr. Gabler took command.

“Ah! Littlegreen House—there’s a property! An absolute bargain. Only just come into themarket. I can tell you gentlemen, we don’t often get a house of that class going at the price.

Taste’s swinging round. People are fed up with jerry-building. They want sound stuff. Good,honest building. A beautiful property—character—feeling—Georgian throughout. That’s whatpeople want nowadays—there’s a feeling for period houses if you understand what I mean. Ah,yes, Littlegreen House won’t be long in the market. It’ll be snapped up. Snapped up! A member ofparliament came to look at it only last Saturday. Liked it so much he’s coming down again thisweekend. And there’s a stock exchange gentleman after it too. People want quiet nowadays whenthey come to the country, want to be well away from main roads. That’s all very well for somepeople, but we attract class here. And that’s what that house has got. Class! You’ve got to admit,they knew how to build for gentlemen in those days. Yes, we shan’t have Littlegreen long on ourbooks.”

Mr. Gabler, who, it occurred to me, lived up to his name very happily, paused for breath.

“Has it changed hands often in the last few years?” inquired Poirot.

“On the contrary. Been in one family over fifty years. Name of Arundell. Very much respectedin the town. Ladies of the old school.”

He shot up, opened the door and called:

“Particulars of Littlegreen House, Miss Jenkins. Quickly now.”

He returned to the desk.

“I require a house about this distance from London,” said Poirot. “In the country, but not in thedead country, if you understand me—”

“Perfectly—perfectly. Too much in the country doesn’t do. Servants don’t like it for one thing.

Here, you have the advantages of the country but not the disadvantages.” Miss Jenkins flitted inwith a typewritten sheet of paper which she placed in front of her employer who dismissed herwith a nod.

“Here we are,” said Mr. Gabler, reading with practised rapidity. “Period House of character:

four recep., eight bed and dressing³⁵, usual offices, commodious³⁶ kitchen premises, ampleoutbuildings, stables, etc. Main water, old-world gardens, inexpensive upkeep, amounting in all tothree acres, two summerhouses, etc., etc. Price ?2,850 or near offer.”

“You can give me an order to view?”

“Certainly, my dear sir.” Mr. Gabler began writing in a flourishing fashion. “Your name andaddress?”

Slightly to my surprise, Poirot gave his name as Mr. Parotti.

“We have one or two other properties on our books which might interest you,” Mr. Gabler wenton.

Poirot allowed him to add two further additions.

“Littlegreen House can be viewed anytime?” he inquired.

“Certainly, my dear sir. There are servants in residence. I might perhaps ring up to make certain.

You will be going there immediately? Or after lunch?”

“Perhaps after lunch would be better.”

“Certainly—certainly. I’ll ring up and tell them to expect you about two o’clock—eh? Is thatright?”

“Thank you. Did you say the owner of the house—a Miss Arundell, I think you said?”

“Lawson. Miss Lawson. That is the name of the present owner. Miss Arundell, I am sorry tosay, died a short time ago. That is how the place has come into the market. And I can assure you itwill be snapped up. Not a doubt of it. Between you and me, just in confidence, if you do think ofmaking an offer I should make it quickly. As I’ve told you, there are two gentlemen after italready, and I shouldn’t be surprised to get an offer for it any day from one or other of them. Eachof them knows the other’s after it, you see. And there’s no doubt that competition spurs a man on.

Ha, ha! I shouldn’t like you to be disappointed.”

“Miss Lawson is anxious to sell, I gather.”

Mr. Gabler lowered his voice confidentially³⁷.

“That’s just it. The place is larger than she wants—one middle-aged lady living by herself. Shewants to get rid of this and take a house in London. Quite understandable. That’s why the place isgoing so ridiculously cheap.”

“She would be open, perhaps, to an offer?”

“That’s the idea, sir. Make an offer and set the ball rolling. But you can take it from me thatthere will be no difficulty in getting a price very near the figure named. Why, it’s ridiculous! Tobuild a house like that nowadays would cost every penny of six thousand, let alone the land valueand the valuable frontages.”

“Miss Arundell died very suddenly, didn’t she?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. Anno domini—anno domini. She had passed her threescore and tensome time ago. And she’d been ailing¹³ for a long time. The last of her family — you knowsomething about the family, perhaps?”

“I know some people of the same name who have relations in this part of the world. I fancy itmust be the same family.”

“Very likely. Four sisters there were. One married fairly late in life and the other three lived onhere. Ladies of the old school. Miss Emily was the last of them. Very highly thought of in thetown.”

He leant forward and handed Poirot the orders.

“You’ll drop in again and let me know what you think of it, eh? Of course, it may need a littlemodernizing here and there. That’s only to be expected. But I always say, ‘What’s a bathroom ortwo? That’s easily done.’”

We took our leave and the last thing we heard was the vacant voice of Miss Jenkins saying:

“Mrs. Samuels rang up, sir. She’d like you to ring her—Holland 5391.”

As far as I could remember that was neither the number Miss Jenkins had scribbled on her padnor the number finally arrived at through the telephone.

I felt convinced that Miss Jenkins was having her revenge for having been forced to find theparticulars of Littlegreen House.

 

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