Four

“That young woman’s too cocky by half,” Japp complained.

The two men were once more in Mrs.?Allen’s bedroom. The body had been photographedand removed and the fingerprint¹ man had done his work and departed.

“It would be unadvisable to treat her as a fool,” agreed Poirot. “She most emphatically is nota fool. She is, in fact, a particularly clever and competent young woman.”

“Think she did it?” asked Japp with a momentary² ray of hope. “She might have, you know.

We’ll have to get her alibi³ looked into. Some quarrel over this young man—this budding M.P.

She’s rather too scathing⁴ about him, I think! Sounds fishy⁵. Rather as though she were sweet onhim herself and he’d turned her down. She’s the kind that would bump anyone off if she felt likeit, and keep her head while she was doing it, too. Yes, we’ll have to look into that alibi. She had itvery pat and after all Essex isn’t very far away. Plenty of trains. Or a fast car. It’s worthwhilefinding out if she went to bed with a headache for instance last night.”

“You are right,” agreed Poirot.

“In any case,” continued Japp, “she’s holding out on us. Eh? Didn’t you feel that too? Thatyoung woman knows something.”

Poirot nodded thoughtfully.

“Yes, that could be clearly seen.”

“That’s always a difficulty in these cases,” Japp complained. “People will hold their tongues—sometimes out of the most honourable⁶ motives⁷.”

“For which one can hardly blame them, my friend.”

“No, but it makes it much harder for us,” Japp grumbled⁸.

“It merely displays to its full advantage your ingenuity,” Poirot consoled him. “What aboutfingerprints, by the way?”

“Well, it’s murder all right. No prints whatever on the pistol. Wiped clean before beingplaced in her hand. Even if she managed to wind her arm round her head in some marvellousacrobatic fashion she could hardly fire off a pistol without hanging on to it and she couldn’t wipe itafter she was dead.”

“No, no, an outside agency is clearly indicated.”

“Otherwise the prints are disappointing. None on the door-handle. None on the window.

Suggestive, eh? Plenty of Mrs.?Allen’s all over the place.”

“Did Jameson get anything?”

“Out of the daily woman? No. She talked a lot but she didn’t really know much. Confirmedthe fact that Allen and Plenderleith were on good terms. I’ve sent Jameson out to make inquiries⁹ inthe mews. We’ll have to have a word with Mr.?Laverton-West too. Find out where he was andwhat he was doing last night. In the meantime we’ll have a look through her papers.”

He set to without more ado. Occasionally he grunted¹⁰ and tossed something over to Poirot.

The search did not take long. There were not many papers in the desk and what there were wereneatly arranged and docketed.

Finally Japp leant back and uttered a sigh.

“Not very much, is there?”

“As you say.”

“Most of it quite straightforward—receipted bills, a few bills as yet unpaid—nothingparticularly outstanding. Social stuff—invitations. Notes from friends. These—” he laid his handon a pile of seven or eight letters—“and her cheque book and passbook¹¹. Anything strike youthere?”

“Yes, she was overdrawn¹².”

“Anything else?”

Poirot smiled.

“Is it an examination that you put me through? But yes, I noticed what you are thinking of.

Two hundred pounds drawn¹³ to self three months ago—and two hundred pounds drawn outyesterday—”

“And nothing on the counterfoil¹⁴ of the cheque book. No other cheques to self except smallsums—fifteen pounds the highest. And I’ll tell you this—there’s no such sum of money in thehouse. Four pounds ten in a handbag and an odd shilling or two in another bag. That’s pretty clear,I think.”

“Meaning that she paid that sum away yesterday.”

“Yes. Now who did she pay it to?”

The door opened and Inspector¹⁵ Jameson entered.

“Well, Jameson, get anything?”

“Yes, sir, several things. To begin with, nobody actually heard the shot. Two or three womensay they did because they want to think they did—but that’s all there is to it. With all thosefireworks going off there isn’t a dog’s chance.”

Japp grunted.

“Don’t suppose there is. Go on.”

“Mrs.?Allen was at home most of yesterday afternoon and evening. Came in about fiveo’clock. Then she went out again about six but only to the postbox at the end of the mews. Atabout nine-thirty a car drove up—Standard Swallow saloon—and a man got out. Descriptionabout forty-five, well set up military-looking gent, dark blue overcoat, bowler¹⁶ hat, toothbrushmoustache. James Hogg, chauffeur¹⁷ from No. 18 says he’s seen him calling on Mrs.?Allen before.”

“Forty-five,” said Japp. “Can’t very well be Laverton-West.”

“This man, whoever he was, stayed here for just under an hour. Left at about ten-twenty.

Stopped in the doorway¹⁸ to speak to Mrs.?Allen. Small boy, Frederick Hogg, was hanging aboutquite near and heard what he said.”

“And what did he say?”

“ ‘Well, think it over and let me know.’ And then she said something and he answered: ‘Allright. So long.’ After that he got in his car and drove away.”

“That was at ten-twenty,” said Poirot thoughtfully.

Japp rubbed his nose.

“Then at ten-twenty Mrs.?Allen was still alive,” he said. “What next?”

“Nothing more, sir, as far as I can learn. The chauffeur at No. 22 got in at half-past ten andhe’d promised his kids to let off some fireworks for them. They’d been waiting for him—and allthe other kids in the mews too. He let ’em off and everybody around about was busy watchingthem. After that everyone went to bed.”

“And nobody else was seen to enter No. 14?”

“No—but that’s not to say they didn’t. Nobody would have noticed.”

“H’m,” said Japp. “That’s true. Well, we’ll have to get hold of this ‘military gentleman withthe toothbrush moustache.’ It’s pretty clear that he was the last person to see her alive. I wonderwho he was?”

“Miss?Plenderleith might tell us,” suggested Poirot.

“She might,” said Japp gloomily. “On the other hand she might not. I’ve no doubt she couldtell us a good deal if she liked. What about you, Poirot, old boy? You were alone with her for a bit.

Didn’t you trot¹⁹ out that Father Confessor manner of yours that sometimes makes such a hit?”

Poirot spread out his hands.

“Alas, we talked only of gas fires.”

“Gas fires—gas fires.” Japp sounded disgusted. “What’s the matter with you, old cock? Eversince you’ve been here the only things you’ve taken an interest in are quill²⁰ pens and wastepaperbaskets. Oh, yes, I saw you having a quiet look into the one downstairs. Anything in it?”

Poirot sighed.

“A catalogue of bulbs and an old magazine.”

“What’s the idea, anyway? If anyone wants to throw away an incriminating document orwhatever it is you have in mind they’re not likely just to pitch it into a wastepaper basket.”

“That is very true what you say there. Only something quite unimportant would be thrownaway like that.”

Poirot spoke²¹ meekly²². Nevertheless Japp looked at him suspiciously.

“Well,” he said. “I know what I’m going to do next. What about you?”

“Eh bien,” said Poirot. “I shall complete my search for the unimportant. There is still thedustbin.”

He skipped nimbly out of the room. Japp looked after him with an air of disgust.

“Potty,” he said. “Absolutely potty.”

Inspector Jameson preserved a respectful silence. His face said with British superiority:

“Foreigners!”

Aloud he said:

“So that’s Mr.?Hercule Poirot! I’ve heard of him.”

“Old friend of mine,” explained Japp. “Not half as balmy as he looks, mind you. All the samehe’s getting on now.”

“Gone a bit gaga as they say, sir,” suggested Inspector Jameson. “Ah well, age will tell.”

“All the same,” said Japp, “I wish I knew what he was up to.”

He walked over to the writing table and stared uneasily at an emerald green quill pen.

 

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