Inside it was very dark owing to the shutters being closed. The constable found and switched on the electric light. The bulb was a low-powered one so that the interior was still dimly lit.
I looked about me.
A dingy little place. A few cheap magazines strewn about, and yesterdays newspapersall with a days dust on them. Behind the counter a row of shelves reaching to the ceiling and packed with tobacco and packets of cigarettes. There were also a couple of jars of peppermint humbugs and barley sugar. A commonplace little shop, one of many thousand such others.
The constable in his slow Hampshire voice was explaining the mise en scène[81].
Down in a heap behind the counter, thats where she was. Doctor says as how she never knew what hit her. Must have been reaching up to one of the shelves.
There was nothing in her hand?
No, sir, but there was a packet of Players[82] down beside her.
Poirot nodded. His eyes swept round the small space observingnoting.
And the railway guide waswhere?
Here, sir. The constable pointed out the spot on the counter. It was open at the right page for Andover and lying face down. Seems as though he must have been looking up the trains to London. If so, it mightnt have been an Andover man at all. But then, of course, the railway guide might have belonged to someone else what had nothing to do with the murder at all, but just forgot it here.
Fingerprints? I suggested.
The man shook his head.
The whole place was examined straight away, sir. There werent none.
Not on the counter itself?asked Poirot.
A long sight too many, sir! All confused and jumbled up.
Any of Aschers among them?
Too soon to say, sir.
Poirot nodded, then asked if the dead woman lived over the shop.
Yes, sir, you go through that door at the back, sir. Youll excuse me not coming with you, but Ive got to stay
Poirot passed through the door in question and I followed him. Behind the shop was a microscopic sort of parlour and kitchen combinedit was neat and clean but very dreary looking and scantily furnished. On the mantelpiece were a few photographs. I went up and looked at them and Poirot joined me.
The photographs were three in all. One was a cheap portrait of the girl we had been with that afternoon, Mary Drower. She was obviously wearing her best clothes and had the self-conscious, wooden smile on her face that so often disfigures the expression in posed photography, and makes a snapshot preferable.
The second was a more expensive type of picturean artistically blurred reproduction of an elderly woman with white hair. A high fur collar stood up round the neck.
I guessed that this was probably the Miss Rose who had left Mrs Ascher the small legacy which had enabled her to start in business.
The third photograph was a very old one, now faded and yellow. It represented a young man and woman in somewhat old-fashioned clothes standing arm in arm[83]. The man had a button-hole and there was an air of bygone festivity about the whole pose.
Probably a wedding picture, said Poirot. Regard, Hastings, did I not tell you that she had been a beautiful woman?
He was right. Disfigured by old-fashioned hairdressing and weird clothes, there was no disguising the handsomeness of the girl in the picture with her clear-cut features and spirited bearing. I looked closely at the second figure. It was almost impossible to recognise the seedy Ascher in this smart young man with the military bearing.
I recalled the leering drunken old man, and the toil-worn face of the dead womanand I shivered a little at the remorselessness of time
From the parlour a stair led to two upstairs rooms. One was empty and unfurnished, the other had evidently been the dead womans bedroom. After being searched by the police it had been left as it was. A couple of old worn blankets on the beda little stock of well-darned underwear in a drawercookery recipes in anothera paper-backed novel entitled The Green Oasisa pair of new stockingspathetic in their cheap shininessa couple of china ornamentsa Dresden shepherd[84] much broken, and a blue and yellow spotted doga black raincoat and a woolly jumper hanging on pegssuch were the worldly possessions of the late Alice Ascher.
If there had been any personal papers, the police had taken them.
Pauvre femme, murmured Poirot. Come, Hastings, there is nothing for us here.
When we were once more in the street, he hesitated for a minute or two, then crossed the road. Almost exactly opposite Mrs Aschers was a greengrocers shopof the type that has most of its stock outside rather than inside.
In a low voice Poirot gave me certain instructions. Then he himself entered the shop. After waiting a minute or two I followed him in. He was at the moment negotiating for a lettuce. I myself bought a pound of strawberries.
Poirot was talking animatedly to the stout lady who was serving him.
It was just opposite you, was it not, that this murder occurred? What an affair! What a sensation it must have caused you!
The stout lady was obviously tired of talking about the murder. She must have had a long day of it. She observed:
It would be as well if some of that gaping crowd cleared off. What is there to look at, Id like to know?
It must have been very different last night, said Poirot. Possibly you even observed the murderer enter the shopa tall, fair man with a beard, was he not? A Russian, so I have heard.
Whats that? The woman looked up sharply. A Russian did it, you say?
I understand that the police have arrested him.
Did you ever know? The woman was excited, voluble. A foreigner.
Mais oui[85]. I thought perhaps you might have noticed him last night?
Well, I dont get much chance of noticing, and thats a fact. The evenings our busy time and theres always a fair few passing along and getting home after their work. A tall, fair man with a beardno, I cant say I saw anyone of that description anywhere about.
Whats that? The woman looked up sharply. A Russian did it, you say?
I understand that the police have arrested him.
Did you ever know? The woman was excited, voluble. A foreigner.
Mais oui[85]. I thought perhaps you might have noticed him last night?
Well, I dont get much chance of noticing, and thats a fact. The evenings our busy time and theres always a fair few passing along and getting home after their work. A tall, fair man with a beardno, I cant say I saw anyone of that description anywhere about.
I broke in on my cue[86].
Excuse me, sir, I said to Poirot. I think you have been misinformed. A short dark man I was told.
An interested discussion intervened in which the stout lady, her lank husband and a hoarse-voiced shop-boy all participated. No less than four short dark men had been observed, and the hoarse boy had seen a tall fair one, but he hadnt got no beard, he added regretfully.
Finally, our purchases made, we left the establishment, leaving our falsehoods uncorrected.
And what was the point of all that, Poirot? I demanded somewhat reproachfully.
Parbleu[87], I wanted to estimate the chances of a stranger being noticed entering the shop opposite.
Couldnt you simply have askedwithout all that tissue of lies[88]?
No, mon ami. If I had simply asked, as you put it, I should have got no answer at all to my questions. You yourself are English and yet you do not seem to appreciate the quality of the English reaction to a direct question. It is invariably one of suspicion and the natural result is reticence. If I had asked those people for information they would have shut up like oysters. But by making a statement (and a somewhat out of the way and preposterous one) and by your contradiction of it, tongues are immediately loosened. We know also that that particular time was a busy timethat is, that everyone would be intent on their own concerns and that there would be a fair number of people passing along the pavements. Our murderer chose his time well, Hastings.
He paused and then added on a deep note of reproach:
Is it that you have not in any degree the common sense[89], Hastings? I say to you: Make a purchase quelconque[90]and you deliberately choose the strawberries! Already they commence to creep through their bag and endanger your good suit.
With some dismay, I perceived that this was indeed the case.
I hastily presented the strawberries to a small boy who seemed highly astonished and faintly suspicious.
Poirot added the lettuce, thus setting the seal on[91] the childs bewilderment.
He continued to drive the moral home.
At a cheap greengrocersnot strawberries. A strawberry, unless fresh picked, is bound to exude juice. A bananasome appleseven a cabbagebut strawberries
It was the first thing I thought of, I explained by way of excuse.
That is unworthy of your imagination, returned Poirot sternly.
He paused on the sidewalk.
The house and shop on the right of Mrs Aschers was empty. A To Let[92] sign appeared in the windows. On the other side was a house with somewhat grimy muslin curtains.
To this house Poirot betook himself and, there being no bell, executed a series of sharp flourishes with the knocker.
The door was opened after some delay by a very dirty child with a nose that needed attention.
Good evening, said Poirot. Is your mother within?
Ay? said the child.
It stared at us with disfavour and deep suspicion.
Your mother, said Poirot.
This took some twelve seconds to sink in, then the child turned and, bawling up the stairs Mum, youre wanted, retreated to some fastness in the dim interior.
A sharp-faced woman looked over the balusters and began to descend.
No good[93] you wasting your time she began, but Poirot interrupted her.
He took off his hat and bowed magnificently.
Good evening, madame. I am on the staff of the Evening Flicker. I want to persuade you to accept a fee of five pounds and let us have an article on your late neighbour, Mrs Ascher.
The irate words arrested on her lips, the woman came down the stairs smoothing her hair and hitching at her skirt.
Come inside, pleaseon the left there. Wont you sit down, sir.
The tiny room was heavily over-crowded with a massive pseudo-Jacobean suite[94], but we managed to squeeze ourselves in and on to a hard-seated sofa.