"Yes," I said. "I've been inquiring for you at No. 88," he said.
"They told me I might meet you coming along here. Miss Dunn, I have come from Australia specially to find you. Do you happen to know the maiden name of your maternal grandmother?" "Jane Emmott," I said. "Exactly," he said. "Now, Miss Dunn, although you may never have heard of the fact, your grandmother had a great friend, Eliza Leech. This friend went to Australia where she married a very wealthy settler. Her two children died in infancy, and she inherited all her husband's property. She died a few months ago, and by her will you inherit a house in this country and a considerable sum of money."
'You could have knocked me down with a feather,' continued Miss Dunn. 'For a minute, I was suspicious, and he must have seen it, for he smiled. "Quite right to be on your guard, Miss Dunn," he said. "Here are my credentials." He handed me a letter from some lawyers in Melbourne, Hurst and Crotchet, and a card. He was Mr Crotchet. "There are one or two conditions," he said. "Our client was a little eccentric, you know. The bequest is conditional on your taking possession of the house (it is in Cumberland) before twelve o'clock tomorrow. The other condition is of no importance - it is merely a stipulation that you should not be in domestic service." My face fell. "Oh, Mr Crotchet," I said. "I'm a cook. Didn't they tell you at the house?" "Dear, dear," he said. "I had no idea of such a thing. I thought you might possibly be a companion or governess there. This is very unfortunate - very unfortunate indeed." ' "Shall I have to lose all the money?" I said, anxious like. He thought for a minute or two. "There are always ways of getting round the law, Miss Dunn," he said at last. "We lawyers know that. The way out here is for you to have left your employment this afternoon." "But my month?" I said. "My dear Miss Dunn," he said with a smile. "You can leave an employer any minute by forfeiting a month's wages. Your mistress will understand in view of the circumstances. The difficulty is time! It is imperative that you should catch the x.5 from King's Cross to the North. I can advance you ten pounds or so for the fare, and you can write a note at the station to your employer. I will take it to her myself and explain the whole circumstances." I agreed, of course, and an hour later I was in the train, so flustered that I didn't know whether I was on my head or my heels. Indeed by the time I got to Carlisle, I was half inclined to think the whole thing was one of those confidence tricks you read about. But I went to the address he had given me - solicitors they were, and it was all right. A nice little house, and an income of three hundred a year. These lawyers knew very little, they'd just got a letter from a gentleman in London instructing them to hand over the house to me and x5o for the first six months. Mr Crotchet sent up my things to me, but there was no word from Missus. I supposed she was angry and grudged me my bit of luck. She kept back my box too, and sent my clothes in paper parcels. But there, of course if she never had my letter, she might think it a bit cool of me.'?oirot had listened attentively to this long history. Now he nodded his head as though completely satisfied.
'Thank you, mademoiselle. There had been, as you say, a little
muddle. Permit me to recompense you for your trouble.' He handed her an envelope. 'You return to Cumberland immediately? A little word in your ear. Do not forget how to cook. It is always useful to have something to fall back upon in case things go wrong.' 'Credulous,' he murmured, as our visitor departed, 'but perhal not more than most of her class.' His face grew grave. 'Come, Hastings, there is no time to be lost. Get a taxi while I write a note to Japp.' Poirot was waiting on the doorstep when I returned with the taxi.
'Where are we going?' I asked anxiously.
'First, to despatch this note by special messenger.' This was done, and re-entering the taxi Poirot gave the addre to the driver.
'Eighty-eight Prince Albert Road, Clapham.' 'So we are going there?' 'Mai, oui. Though frankly I fear we shall be too late. Our bird will have flown, Hastings.' 'Who is our bird?' Poirot smiled.
'The inconspicuous Mr Simpson.' 'What?' I exclaimed.
'Oh, come now, Hastings, do not tell me that all is not clear to you now?
'The cook was got out of the way, I realize that,' I said, slightly piqued. 'But why? Why should Simpson wish to get her out of the house? Did she know something about him?' 'Nothing whatever.' 'Well, then ' 'But he wanted something that she had.' 'Money? The Australian legacy?' 'No, my friend - something quite different.' He paused a moment and then said gravely: 'q battered tin trunk…' I looked sideways at him. His statement seemed so fantaatic that I suspected him of pulling my leg, but he was perfectly grave and serious.
'Surely he could buy a trunk if he wanted one,' I cried.
'He did not want a new trunk. He wanted a trunk of pedigree.
A trunk of assured respectability.'
'Look here, Poirot,' I cried, 'this really is a bit thick. You're pulling my leg.'
He looked at me.
'You lack the brains and the imagination of Mr Simpson, Hastings. See here: On Wednesday evening, Simpson decoys away the cook. A printed card and a printed sheet of notepaper re simple matters to obtain, and he is willing to pay I5O and a year's house rent to assure the success of his plan. Miss Dunn does not recognize him - the beard and the hat and the slight colonial accent completely deceive her. That is the end of Wed-nesday - except for the trifling fact that Simpson has helped himself to fifty thousand pounds' worth of negotiable securities.' 'Simpson - but it was Davis - '
'If you will kindly permit me to continue, Hastingsl Simpson knows that the theft will be discovered on Thursday afternoon.
He does not go to the bank on Thursday, but he lies in wait for Davis when he comes out to lunch. Perhaps he admits the theft md tells Davis he will return the securities to him - anyhow he succeeds in getting Davis to come to Clapham with him. It is the maid's day out, and Mrs Todd was at the sales, so there is no one in the house. When the theft is discovered and Davis is missing, the implication will be overwhelming. Davis is the thiefl Mr Simpson will be perfectly safe, and can return to work on the morrow like the honest clerk they think him.'
'And Davis?'
Poirot made an expressive gesture, and slowly shook his head.
'It seems too cold-blooded to be believed, and yet what other explanation can there be, rnon ami. The one difficulty for a murderer is the disposal of the body - and Simpson had planned that out beforehand. I was struck at once by the fact that although Eliza Durra obviously meant to return that' night when she went out (witness her remark about the stewed peaches)yet her trunk oas all ready packed when they came for it. It was Simpson who sent word to Carter Paterson to call on Friday and it was Simpson who corded up the box on Thursday afternoon. What suspicion
could possibly arise? A maid leaves and sends for her box, it is labelled and addressed ready in her name, probably to a railway station within easy reach of London. On Saturday afternoon, Simpson, in his Australian disguise, claims it, he affixes a new label and address and redespatches it somewhere else, again "to be left till called for". When the authorities get suspicious, for excellent reasons, and open it, all that can be elicited will be that a bearded colonial despatched it from some junction near London.
There will be nothing to connect it with 88 Prince Albert Road.
Ahl Here we are.'
Poirot's prognostications had been correct. Simpson had left two days previously. But he was not to escape the consequences of his crime. By the aid of wireless, he was discovered on the Olympia, en route to America.
A tin trunk, addressed to Mr Henry Wintergreen, attracted the attention of railway officials at Glasgow. It was opened and found to contain the body of the unfortunate Davis.
Mrs Todd's cheque for a guinea was never cashed. Instead Poirot had it framed and hung on the wall of our sitting-room.
'It is to me a little reminder, Hastings. Never to despise the trivial - the undignified. A disappearing domestic at one end - a cold-blooded murder at the other. To me, one of the most interesting of my cases.'
Chapter III. The Cornish Mystery
'Mrs Pengelley,' announced our landlady, and withdrew discreetly.
Many unlikely people came to consult Poirot, but to my mind, the woman who stood nervously just inside the door, fingering her feather neck-piece, was the most unlikely of all. She was so extraordinarily commonplace - a thin, faded woman of about fifty, dressed in a braided coat and skirt, some gold jewellery at her neck, and with her grey hair surmounted by a singularly unbecoming hat. In a country town, you pass a hundred Mrs Pengelleys in the street every day.
Poirot came forward and greeted her pleasantly, perceiving her obvious embarrassment.
'Madamel Take a chair, I beg of you. My colleague, Captain Hastings.' The lady sat down, murmuring uncertainly: 'You are M.
Poirot, the detective?' 'At your service, madame.' But our guest was still tongue-tied. She sighed, twisted her fingers, and grew steadily redder and redder.
'There is something I can do for you, eh, madame?' 'Well, I thought - that is - you see - ' 'Proceed, madame, I beg of you - proceed.' Mrs Pengelley, thus encouraged, took a grip on herself.
'It's this way, M. Poirot - I don't want to have anything to do with the police. No, I wouldn't go to the police for anythingl But all the same, I'm sorely troubled about something. And yet I don't know if I ought - ' She stopped abruptly.
The, I have nothing to do with the police. My investigations are strictly private.'
Mrs Pengelley caught at the word.
'Private - that's what I want. I don't want any talk or fuss, or things in the papers. Wicked it is, the way they write things, until the family could never hold up their heads again. And it isn't as though I was even sure - it's just a dreadful idea that's come to me, and put it out of my head I can't.' She paused for breath. 'And all the time I may be wickedly wronging poor Edward. It's a terrible thought for any wife to have. But you do read of such dreadful things nowadays.'
'Permit me - it is of your husband you speak?'
'Yes.'
'And you suspect him of- what?'
'I don't like even to say it, M. Poirot. But you do read of such things happening - and the poor souls suspecting nothing.'
I was beginning to despair of the lady's ever coming to the point, but Poirot's patience was equal to the demand made upon it.
'Speak without fear, madame. Think what joy will be yours if we are able to prove your suspicions unfounded.'
'That's true - anything's better than this wearing uncertainty.
Oh, M. Poirot, I'm dreadfully afraid I'm being poisoned.'
'What makes you think so?'
Mrs Pengelley, her reticence leaving her, plunged into a full recital more suited to the ears of her medical attendant.
'Pain and sickness after food, eh?' said Poirot thoughtfully.
'You have a doctor attending you, madame? What does he say?'
'He says it's acute gastritis, M. Poirot. But I can see that he's puzzled and uneasy, and he's always altering the medicine, but nothing does any good.'
'You have spoken of your - fears, to him?'
'No, indeed, M. Poirot. It might get about in the town. And perhaps it/s gastritis. All the same, it's very odd that whenever Edward is away for the week-end, I'm quite all right again. Even Freda noticed that - my niece, M. Poirot. And then there's that bottle of weed-killer, never used, the gardener says, and yet it's half-empty.'
She looked appealingly at Poirot. He smiled reassuringly at her, and reached for a pencil and notebook.
'Let us be businesslike, madame. Now, then, you and your husband reside - where?' 'Polgarwith, a small market town in Cornwall.' 'You have lived there long?' 'Fourteen years.' 'And your household consists of you and your husband. Any children?' 'NO,' 'But a niece, I think you said?' 'Yes, Freda Stanton, the child of my husband's only sister. She has lived with us for the iast eight years - that is, until a week go.' 'Oho, and what happened a week ago?' 'Things hadn't been very pleasant for some time; I don't know what had come over Freda. She was so rude and impertinent, and her temper something shocking, and in the end she flared up one day, and out she walked and took rooms of her own in the town. I've not seen her since. Better leave her to come to her senses, so Mr Radnor says.' 'Who is Mr Radnor?' Some of Mrs Pengelley's initial embarrassment returned.
'Oh, he's - he's just a friend. Very pleasant young fellow.' 'Anything between him and your niece?' 'Nothing whatever,' said Mrs Pengelley emphatically.
Poirot shifted his ground.
'You and your husband are, I presume, in comfortable circumstances?' 'Yes, we're very nicely off.' 'The money, is it yours or your husband's?' 'Oh, it's all IF. dward's. I've nothing of my own.' 'You see, madame, to be businesslike, we must be brutal. We must seek for a motive. Your husband, he would not poison you just pour passer]e temps[Do you know of any reason why he should wish you out of the way?' There's the yellow-haired hussy who works for Him,' said
Mrs Pengelley, with a flash of temper. 'My husband's a dentist, M. Poirot, and nothing would do but he must have a smart girl, as he said, with bobbed hair and a white overall, to make his appointments and mix his fillings for him. It's come to my ears that there have been fine goings-on, though of course he swears it's all right.'
'This bottle of weed-killer, madame, who ordered it?'
'My husband - about a year ago.'
'Your niece, now, has she any money of her own?'
'About fifty pounds a year, I should say. She'd be glad enough to come back and keep house for Edward if I left him.'
'You have contemplated leaving him, then?'
'I don't intend to let him have it all his own way. Women aren't the downtrodden slaves they were in old days, M. Poirot.'
'I congratulate you on YOur independent spirit, madame; but let us be practical. You return to Polgarwith today?'
'Yes, I came up by an excursion. Six this morning the train started, and the train goes back at five this afternoon.'
'Bienl I have nothing of great moment on hand. I can devote myself to your little affair. Tomorrow I shall be in Polgarwith.
Shall we say that Hastings, here, is a distant relative of yours, the son of your second cousin? Me, I am his eccentric foreign friend. In the meantime, eat only what is prepared by your own hands, or under your eye. You have a maid whom you trust?'
'Jessie is a very good girl, I am sure.'
'Till tomorrow then, madame, and be of good courage.'
Poirot bowed the lady out, and returned thoughtfully to his chair.
His absorption was not so great, however, that he failed to see two minute strands of feather scarf wrenched off by the lady's agitated fingers. He collected them carefully and consigned them to the wastepaper basket.
'What do you make of the case, Hastings?'
'A nasty business, I should say.'
'Yes, if what the lady suspects be true. But is it? Woe betide any husband who orders a bottle of weed-killer nowadays. If his
wife suffers from gastritis, and is inclined to be of a hysterical temperament, the fat is in the fire.'
'You think that is all there is to it?'
'Ah - vo//d - I do not know, Hastings. But the case interests me - it interests me enormously. For, see you, it has positively no new features. Hence the hysterical theory, and yet Mrs Pengelley did not strike me as being a hysterical woman. Yes, if I mistake not, we have here a very poignant human drama. Tell me, Hastings, what do you consider Mrs Pengelley's feelings towards her husband to be?'