She talked to her niece; doubtless she talked to other women friends. Your only difficulty was keeping up separate relations with the two women, and even that was not so difficult as it looked.
You explained to the aunt that, to allay the suspicions of her husband, you had to pretend to pay court to the niece. And the younger lady needed little convincing - she would never seriously consider her aunt as a rival.
'But then Mrs Pengelley made up her mind, without saying anything to you, to consult me. If she could be really assured, beyond any possible doubt, that her husband was trying to poison her, she would feel justified in leaving him, and linking her life with yours - which is what she imagined you wanted her to do.
But that did not suit your book at all. You did not want a detective prying around. A favourable minute occurs. You are in the house when Mr Pengelley is getting some gruel for his wife, and you introduce the fatal dose. The rest is easy. Apparently anxious to hush matters up, you secretly foment them. But you reckoned without Hercule Poirot, my intelligent young friend.'
Radnor was deadly pale, but he still endeavoured to carry off matters with a high hand.
'Very interesting and ingenious, but why tell me all this?' 'Because, monsieur, I represent - not the law, but Mrs Pen-gelley.
For her sake, I give you a chance of escape. Sign this paper, and you shall have twenty-four hours' start - twenty-four hours before I place it in the hands of the police.'
Radnor hesitated.
'You can't prove anything.'
'Can't I? I am Hercule Poirot. Look out of the window, monsieur.
There are two men in the street. They have orders not to lose sight of you.'
Radnor strode across to the window and pulled aside the blind, then shrank back with an oath.
'You see, monsieur? Sign - it is your best chance.'
'What guarantee have I - '
'That I shall keep faith? The word of Hercule Poirot. You will sign? Good. Hastings, be so kind as to pull that left-hand blind half-way up. That is the signal that Mr Radnor may leave unmolested.'
White, muttering oaths. Radnor hurried from the room. Poirot nodded gently.
'A cowardl I always knew it.'
'It seems to me, Poirot, that you've acted in a criminal manner,' I cried angrily. 'You always preach against sentiment. And here you are letting a dangerous criminal escape out of sheer senti-mentality.'
'That was not sentiment - that was business,' replied Poirot.
'Do you not see, my friend, that we have no shadow of proof against him? Shall I get up and say to twelve stolid Cornishmen that/, Hercule Poirot, knova? They would laugh at me. The only chance was to frighten him and get a confession that way. Those two loafers that I noticed out:ide came in very useful. Pull down the blind again, will you, Hastings? Not that there was
any reason for raising it. It was part of the raise en scdne.
'Well, well, we must keep our word. Twenty-four hours, did I say? So much longer for poor Mr Pengelley - and it is not more than he deserves; for mark you, he deceived his wife. I am very strong on the family life, as you know. Ah, well, twenty-four houri - and then? I have great faith in Scotland Yard. They will get him, raon ami; they will get him.'
Chapter IV. The Adventure of Johnnie Waverly
'You can understand the feelings of a mother,' said Mrs Waverly for perhaps the sixth time.
She looked appealingly at Poirot. My little friend, always sympathetic to motherhood in distress, gesticulated reassuringly.
'But yes, but yes, I comprehend perfectly. Have faith in Papa Poirot.'
'The police - ' began Mr Waverly.
His wife waved the interruption aside. 'I won't have anything more to do with the police. We trusted to them and look what happened! But I'd heard so much of M. Poirot and the wonderful things he'd done, that I felt he might possibly be able to help us.
A mother's feelings -'
Poirot hastily stemmed the reiteration with an eloquent gesture.
Mrs Waverly's emotion was obviously genuine, but it assorted strangely with her shrewd, rather hard type of countenance. When I heard later that she was the daughter of a prominent steel manufacturer of Birmingham who had worked his way up in the world from an office boy to his present eminence, I realized that ahe had inherited many of the paternal qualities.
Mr Waverly was a big, florid, jovial-looking man. He stood with his legs straddled wide apart and looked the type of the country squire.
'I suppose you know all about this business, M. Poirot?'
The question was almost superfluous. For some days past the paper had been full of the sensational kidnapping of little Johnnie Waverly, the three-year-old son and heir of Marcus Waverly, Esq., of Waverly Court, Surrey, one of the oldest families in England.
'The main facts I know, of course, but recount to me the whole story, monsieur, I beg of you. And in detail if you please.'
'Well, I suppose the beginning of the whole thing was about ten days ago when I got an anonymous letter - beastly things, anyway - that I couldn't make head or tail of. The writer had the impudence to demand that I should pay him twenty-five thousand pounds - twenty-five thousand pounds, M. Poirotl Failing my agreement, he threatened to kidnap Johnnie. Of course I threw the thing into the wastepaper basket without more ado. Thought it was some silly joke. Five days later I got another letter. "Unless you pay, your son will be kidnapped on the twenty-ninth." That was on the twenty-seventh. Ada was worried, but I couldn't bring myself to treat the matter seriously. Damn it all, we're in England.
Nobody goes about kidnapping children and holding them up to ransom.'
'It is not a common practice, certainly,' said Poirot. 'Proceed, monsieur.'
'Well, Ada gave me no peace, so - feeling a bit of a fool - I laid the matter before Scotland Yard. They didn't seem to take the thing very seriously - inclined to my view that it was some silly joke. On the twenty-eighth I got a third letter. "You have not paid. Your son will be taken from you at twelve o'clock noon tomorrow, the twenty-ninth. It will cost you fifty thousand pounds to recover him." Up I drove to Scotland Yard again. This time they were more impressed. They inclined to the view that the letters were written by a lunatic, and that in all probability an attempt of some kind would be made at the hour stated. They aured me that they would take all due precautions. Inspector McNeil and a sufficient force would come down to Waverly on the morrow and take charge.
'I went home much relieved in my mind. Yet we already had the feeling of being in a state of siege. I gave orders that no stranger was to be admitted, and that no one was to leave the house. The evening passed off without any untoward incident, but on the following morning my wife was seriously unwell. Alarmed by her condition, I sent for Doctor Dakers. Her symptoms appeared to puzzle him. While hesitating to suggest that she had been poisoned, I could see that that was what was in his mind. There was no danger, he assured me, but it would be a day or two
before she would be able to get about again. Returning to my own room, I was startled and amazed to find a note pinned to my pillow. It was in the same handwriting as the others and contained just three words: "At twelve o'clock".
'I admit, M. Po[rot, that then I saw redl Someone in the house was in this - one of the servants. I had them all up, blackguarded them right and left. They never split on each other; it was Miss Collins, my wife's companion, who informed me that she had seen Johnnie's nurse slip down the drive early that morning. I taxed her with it, and she broke down. She had left the child with the nursery maid and stolen out to meet a friend of hers - a manl Pretty goings onl She denied having pinned the note to my pillow - she may have been speaking the truth, I don't know. I felt I couldn't take the risk of the child's own nurse being in the plot. One of the servants was implicated - of that I was sure.
Finally I lost my temper and sacked the whole bunch, nurse and all. I gave them an hour to pack their boxes and get out of the house.'
Mr Waverly's red face was quite two shades redder as he remembered his just wrath.
'Was not that a little injudicious, monsieur?' suggested Poirot.
'For all you know, you might have been playing into the enemy's hands.'
Mr Waverly stared at him. 'I don't see that. Send the whole lot packing, that was my idea. I wired to London for a fresh lot to be sent down that evening. In the meantime, there'd be only people I cod trust in the house: my wife's secretary, Miss Collins, and Tredwell, the butler, who has been with me since I was a boy.'
'And this Miss Collins, how long has she been with you?'
'Just a year,' said Mrs Waverly. 'She has been invaluable to me as a secretary-companion, and is also a very efficient housekeeper.' 'The nurse?'
'She has been with me six months. She came to me with excellent references. All the same, I never really liked her, although Johnnie was quite devoted to her.'
'Still, I gather she had already left when the catastrophe occurred.
Perhaps, Monsieur Waverly, you will be so kind as to continue.' Mr Waverly resumed his narrative.
'Inspector McNeil arrived about ten-thirty. The servants had all left by then. He declared himself quite satisfied with the internal arrangements. He had various men posted in the park outside, guarding all the approaches to the house, and he assured me that if the whole thing were not a hoax, we should undoubtedly catch my mysterious correspondent.
'I had Johnnie with me, and he and I and the inspector went together into a room we call the council chamber. The inspector locked the door. There is a big grandfather clock there, and as the hands drew near to twelve I don't mind confessing that I was as nervous as a cat. There was a whirring sound, and the clock began to strike. I clutched lohnnie. I had a feeling a man might drop from the skies. The last stroke sounded, and as it did so, there was a great commotion outside - shouting and running. The inspector flung up the window, and a constable came running up.
' "We've got him, sir," he panted. "He was sneaking up through the bushes. He's got a whole dope outfit on him."
'We hurried out on the terrace where two constables were holding a ruffianly-looking fellow in shabby clothes, who was twisting and turning in a vain endeavour to escape. One of the policemen held out an unrolled parcel which they had wrested from their captive. It contained a pad of cotton wool and a bottle of chloroform. It made my blood boil to see it. There was a note, too, addressed to me. I tore it open. It bore the following words: "You should have paid up. To ransom your son will now cost you fifty thousand. In spite of all your precautions he has been abducted at twelve o'clock on the twenty-ninth as I said."
'I gave a great laugh, the laugh of relief, but as I did so I heard the hum of a motor and a shout. I turned my head. Racing down the drive towards the south lodge at a furious speed was a low, long grey car. It was the man who drove it who had shouted, but that was not what gave me a shock of horror. It was the sight of Johnnie's flaxen curls. The child was in the car beside him.
'The inspector ripped out an oath. "The child was here not a minute ago," he cried. His eyes swept over us. We were all there:
myself, Tredwell, Miss Collins. "When did you see him last, Mr Waverly?"
'I cast my mind back, trying to remember. When the constable had called us, I had run out with the inspector, forgetting all about Johnnie.
'And then there came a sound that startled us, the chiming of a church clock from the village. With an exclamation the inspector pulled out his watch. It was exactly twelve o'clock. With one common accord we ran to the council chamber; the clock there marked the hour as ten minutes past. Someone must have deliber-ately tampered with it, for I have never known it gain or lose before. It is a perfect timekeeper.'
Mr Waverly paused. Poirot smiled to himself and straightened a little mat which the anxious father had pushed askew.
'A pleasing little problem, obscure and charming,' murmured Poirot. 'I will investigate it for you with pleasure. Truly it was planned d merveille.'
Mrs Waverly looked at him reproachfully. 'But my boy,' she wailed.
Poirot hastily composed his face and looked the picture of earnest sympathy again. 'He is safe, madame, he is unharmed.
Rest assured, these miscreants will take the greatest care of him.
I he not to them the turkey - no, the goose - that lays the golden egg?'
'M. Poirot, I'm sure there's only one thing to be done - pay up.
I was all against it at first - but hOWl A mother's feelings - '
'But we have interrupted monsieur in his history,' cried Poirot hastily.
'I expect you know the rest pretty well from the papers,' said Mr Waverly. 'Of course, Inspector McNeil got on to the telephone immediately. A description of the car and the man was circulated all round, and it looked at first as though everything was going to turn out all right. A car, answering to the description, with a man and a small boy, had passed through various villages, apparently making for London. At one place they had stopped, and it wa noticed that the child was crying and obviously afraid of his companion. When Inspector McNeil announced that the car had
been stopped and the man and boy detained, I was almost ill with relief. You know the sequel. The boy was not Johnnie, and the man was an ardent motorist, fond of children, who had picked up a small child playing in the streets of Edenswell, a village about fifteen miles from us, and was kindly giving him a ride. Thanks to the cocksure blundering of the police, all traces have disappeared.
Had they not persistently followed the wrong car, they might by now have found the boy.'
'Calm yourself, monsieur. The police are a brave and intelligent force of men. Their mistake was a very natural one. And altogether it was a clever scheme. As to the man they caught in the grounds, I understand that his defence has consisted all along of a persistent denial. He declares that the note and parcel were given to him to deliver at Waverly Court. The man who gave them to him handed him a ten-shilling note and promised him another if it were delivered at exactly ten minutes to twelve. He was to approach the house through the grounds and knock at the side door.'
'I don't bdieve a word of it,' declared Mrs Waverly hotly. 'It's all a parcel of lies.'
'Eh vritg, it is a thin story,' said Poirot reflectively. 'But so far they have not shaken it. I understand, also, that he made a certain accusation?'
His glance interrogated Mr Waverly. The latter got rather red again.
'Tlle fellow had the impertinence to pretend that he recognized in Tredwell the man who gave him the parcel. "Only the bloke has shaved off his moustache." Tredwell, who was born on the estatel'
Poirot smiled a little at the country gentleman's indignation.
'Yet you yourself suspect an inmate of the house to have been accessory to the abduction.'
'Yes, but not Tredwell.'
'And you, madame?' asked Poirot, suddenly turning to her.
'It could not have been Tredwell who gave this tramp the letter and parcel - if anybody ever did, which I don't believe. It was given him at ten o'clock, he says. At ten o'clock Tredwell waa with my husband in the smoking-room.'
'Were you able to see the face of the man in the car, monsieur?
Did it resemble that of Tredwell in any way?' 'It was too far away for me to see his face.' 'Has Tredwell a brother, do you know?'
'He had several, but they are all dead. The last one was killed in the war.'
'I am not yet clear as to the grounds of Waverly Court. The car was heading for the south lodge. Is there another entrance?'