When we left the police station our first visit was to the mortuary to see the body of the dead woman. A strange feeling came over me as I gazed down on that wrinkled old face with the scanty grey hair drawn back tightly from the temples. It looked so peaceful, so incredibly remote from violence.
Never knew who or what struck her, observed the sergeant. Thats what Dr Kerr says. Im glad it was that way, poor old soul. A decent woman she was.
She must have been beautiful once, said Poirot.
Really? I murmured incredulously.
But yes, look at the line of the jaw, the bones, the moulding of the head.
He sighed as he replaced the sheet and we left the mortuary.
Our next move was a brief interview with the police surgeon.
Dr Kerr was a competent-looking middle-aged man. He spoke briskly and with decision.
The weapon wasnt found, he said. Impossible to say what it may have been. A weighted stick, a club, a form of sandbagany of those would fit the case.
Would much force be needed to strike such a blow?
The doctor shot a keen glance at Poirot.
Meaning, I suppose, could a shaky old man of seventy do it? Oh, yes, its perfectly possiblegiven sufficient weight in the head of the weapon, quite a feeble person could achieve the desired result.
Then the murderer could just as well be a woman as a man?
The suggestion took the doctor somewhat aback[67].
A woman, eh? Well, I confess it never occurred to me to connect a woman with this type of crime. But of course its possibleperfectly possible. Only, psychologically speaking, I shouldnt say this was a womans crime.
Poirot nodded his head in eager agreement.
Perfectly, perfectly. On the face of it, highly improbable. But one must take all possibilities into account[68]. The body was lyinghow?
The doctor gave us a careful description of the position of the victim. It was his opinion that she had been standing with her back to the counter (and therefore to her assailant) when the blow had been struck. She had slipped down in a heap behind the counter quite out of sight of anyone entering the shop casually.
When we had thanked Dr Kerr and taken our leave, Poirot said:
You perceive, Hastings, that we have already one further point in favour of Aschers innocence. If he had been abusing his wife and threatening her, she would have been facing him over the counter. Instead she had her back to her assailantobviously she is reaching down tobacco or cigarettes for a customer.
I gave a little shiver.
Pretty gruesome.
Poirot shook his head gravely.
Pauvre femme[69], he murmured.
Then he glanced at his watch.
Overton is not, I think, many miles from here. Shall we run over there and have an interview with the niece of the dead woman?
Surely you will go first to the shop where the crime took place?
I prefer to do that later. I have a reason.
He did not explain further, and a few minutes later we were driving on the London road in the direction of Overton.
The address which the inspector had given us was that of a good-sized house about a mile on the London side of the village.
Our ring at the bell was answered by a pretty dark-haired girl whose eyes were red with recent weeping.
Poirot said gently:
Ah! I think it is you who are Miss Mary Drower, the parlourmaid here?
Yes, sir, thats right. Im Mary, sir.
Then perhaps I can talk to you for a few minutes if your mistress will not object. It is about your aunt, Mrs Ascher.
The mistress is out, sir. She wouldnt mind, Im sure, if you came in here.
She opened the door of a small morning-room[70]. We entered and Poirot, seating himself on a chair by the window, looked up keenly into the girls face.
You have heard of your aunts death, of course?
The girl nodded, tears coming once more into her eyes.
This morning, sir. The police came over. Oh! Its terrible! Poor auntie! Such a hard life as shed had, too. And now thisits too awful.
The police did not suggest your returning to Andover?
They said I must come to the inquestthats on Monday, sir. But Ive nowhere to go thereI couldnt fancy being over the shopnowand what with the housemaid being away, I didnt want to put the mistress out more than may be.
You were fond of your aunt, Mary? said Poirot gently.
Indeed I was, sir. Very good shes been to me always, auntie has. I went to her in London when I was eleven years old, after mother died. I started in service when I was sixteen, but I usually went along to aunties on my day out[71]. A lot of trouble she went through with that German fellow. My old devil, she used to call him. Hed never let her be in peace anywhere. Sponging, cadging old beast.
The girl spoke with vehemence.
Your aunt never thought of freeing herself by legal means from this persecution?
Well, you see, he was her husband, sir, you couldnt get away from that.
The girl spoke simply but with finality[72].
Tell me, Mary, he threatened her, did he not?
Oh, yes, sir, it was awful the things he used to say. That hed cut her throat, and such like. Cursing and swearing tooboth in German and in English. And yet auntie says he was a fine handsome figure of a man when she married him. Its dreadful to think, sir, what people come to.
Yes, indeed. And so, I suppose, Mary, having actually heard these threats, you were not so very surprised when you learnt what had happened?
Oh, but I was, sir. You see, sir, I never thought for one moment that he meant it. I thought it was just nasty talk and nothing more to it. And it isnt as though auntie was afraid of him. Why, Ive seen him slink away like a dog with its tail between its legs when she turned on him[73]. He was afraid of her if you like.
And yet she gave him money?
Well, he was her husband, you see, sir.
Yes, so you said before. He paused for a minute or two. Then he said: Suppose that, after all, he did not kill her.
Didnt kill her?
She stared.
That is what I said. Supposing someone else killed her Have you any idea who that someone else could be?
She stared at him with even more amazement.
Ive no idea, sir. It doesnt seem likely, though, does it?
There was no one your aunt was afraid of?
Mary shook her head.
Auntie wasnt afraid of people. Shed a sharp tongue and shed stand up to anybody[74].
You never heard her mention anyone who had a grudge against her[75]?
No, indeed, sir.
Did she ever get anonymous letters?
What kind of letters did you say, sir?
Letters that werent signedor only signed by something like ABC. He watched her narrowly, but plainly she was at a loss[76]. She shook her head wonderingly.
Has your aunt any relations except you?
Not now, sir. One of ten she was, but only three lived to grow up. My Uncle Tom was killed in the war, and my Uncle Harry went to South America and no ones heard of him since, and mothers dead, of course, so theres only me.
Had your aunt any savings? Any money put by?
Shed a little in the Savings Bank, sirenough to bury her proper, thats what she always said. Otherwise she didnt more than just make ends meet[77]what with her old devil and all.
Poirot nodded thoughtfully. He saidperhaps more to himself than to her:
At present one is in the darkthere is no directionif things get clearer He got up. If I want you at any time, Mary, I will write to you here.
As a matter of fact, sir, Im giving in my notice[78]. I dont like the country. I stayed here because I fancied it was a comfort to auntie to have me near by. But nowagain the tears rose in her eyestheres no reason I should stay, and so Ill go back to London. Its gayer for a girl there.
I wish that, when you do go, you would give me your address. Here is my card.
He handed it to her. She looked at it with a puzzled frown.
Then youre notanything to do with the police, sir?
I am a private detective.
She stood there looking at him for some moments in silence.
She said at last:
Is there anythingqueer going on, sir?
Yes, my child. There issomething queer going on. Later you may be able to help me.
IIll do anything, sir. Itit wasnt right, sir, auntie being killed.
A strange way of putting itbut deeply moving.
A few seconds later we were driving back to Andover.
Chapter 6
The Scene of the Crime
The street in which the tragedy had occurred was a turning off the main street. Mrs Aschers shop was situated about halfway down it on the right-hand side.
As we turned into the street Poirot glanced at his watch and I realized why he had delayed his visit to the scene of the crime until now. It was just on half-past five. He had wished to reproduce yesterdays atmosphere as closely as possible.
But if that had been his purpose it was defeated. Certainly at this moment the road bore very little likeness to its appearance on the previous evening. There were a certain number of small shops interspersed between private houses of the poorer class. I judged that ordinarily there would be a fair number of people passing up and downmostly people of the poorer classes, with a good sprinkling of children playing on the pavements and in the road.
At this moment there was a solid mass of people standing staring at one particular house or shop and it took little perspicuity to guess which that was. What we saw was a mass of average human beings looking with intense interest at the spot where another human being had been done to death.
As we drew nearer this proved to be indeed the case. In front of a small dingy-looking shop with its shutters now closed stood a harassed-looking young policeman who was stolidly adjuring the crowd to pass along there. By the help of a colleague, displacements took placea certain number of people grudgingly sighed and betook themselves to their ordinary vocations, and almost immediately other persons came along and took up their stand to gaze their fill on the spot where murder had been committed.
Poirot stopped a little distance from the main body of the crowd. From where we stood the legend painted over the door could be read plainly enough. Poirot repeated it under his breath[79].
A. Ascher. Oui, cest peut-être là[80]
He broke off.
Come, let us go inside, Hastings.
I was only too ready.
We made our way through the crowd and accosted the young policeman. Poirot produced the credentials which the inspector had given him. The constable nodded, and unlocked the door to let us pass within. We did so and entered to the intense interest of the lookers-on.