Christie,Agatha - Murder At Hazelmore.doc
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"Thank you," said Emily. "I will."
"Good-by, sir," said Enderby. "I shall be along in the
morning with my camera you know."
Burnaby grunted.
Emily and Charles retraced their steps to Mrs. Curtis's.
"Come into my room, I want to talk to you," said
Emily.
She sat on the one chair and Charles sat on the bed.
Emily plucked off her hat and sent it spinning into a
corner of the room.
"Now, listen," she said. "I think I've got a kind of
starting point. I may be wrong and I may be right, at
any rate it's an idea. I think a lot hinges on this table
turning business. You've done table turning, haven't you?"
"Oh, yes, now and then. Not serious you know."
"No, of course not. It's the kind of thing one does oh
a wet afternoon, and everyone accuses everyone else of
Agatha Christie
shoving. Well, if you've played it you know what happens.
The table starts spelling out, say, a name, well,
it's a name somebody knows. Very often they recognize
it at once and hope it isn't going to be that, and all the
time unconsciously they are what one calls shoving. I
mean sort of recognizing things makes one give an involuntary
jerk when the next letter comes and stops the
thing. And the less you want to do that sometimes the
more it happens."
"Yes, that's true," agreed Mr. Enderby.
"I don't believe for a moment in spirits or anything
like that. But supposing that one of those people who
were playing knew that Captain Trevelyan was being
murdered at that minute--"
"Oh, I say," protested Charles, "that's awfully far
fetched."
"Well, it needn't be quite so crude as that. Yes, I think
it must be. We are just taking a hypothesis--that's all.
We are asserting that somebody knew that Captain Trevelyan
was dead and absolutely couldn't hide their
knowledge. The table betrayed them."
"It's awfully ingenious," said Charles, "but I don't believe
for a minute it's true."
"We'll assume that it is true," said Emily firmly. "I
am sure that in detection of crime you mustn't be afraid
to assume things."
"Oh, I'm quite agreeable," said Mr. Enderby. "We'll
assume that it is true--anything you like."
"So what we have to do," said Emily, "is to consider
very carefully the people who were playing. To begin
Murder at Hazelmoor
with there's Major Burnaby and Mr. Rycroft. Well, it
seems wildly unlikely that either of them should have
an accomplice who was the murderer. Then there is this
Mr. Duke. Well, for the moment we know nothing about
him. He has only just arrived here lately and of course,
he might be a sinister stranger--part of a gang or something.
We will put X against his name. And now we come
to the Willetts. Charles, there is something awfully nysterious
about the Willetts."
"What on earth have they got to gain from Captain
Trevelyan's death?"
"Well, on the i:ace of it, nothing. But if my theory is
correct there must be a connection somewhere. We've
got to find what is the connection."
"Right," said Mr. Enderby. "And supposing it's all a
mare's nest?"
"Well, we'll have to start all over again," said Emily.
"Hark!" cried Charles suddenly.
He held up his hand. Then he went over to the window
and opened it, and Emily too, heard the sound which
had aroused his attention. It was the far off booming of
a great bell.
As they stood listening, Mrs. Curtis's voice called excitedly
from below.
"Do you hear the bell, Miss--do you hear it?"
Emily opened the door.
"D'you hear it? Plain as plain, isn't it? Well now, to
think of that!"
"What is it?" asked Emily.
"It's the'bell at Princetown, Miss, near to twelve mile
Agatha Christie
away. It means that a convict's escaped. George, George,
where is that man? D'you hear the bell? There's a convict
loose."
Her voice died away as she went through the kitchen.
Charles shut the window and sat down on the bed
again.
"It's a pity that things happen all wrong," he said
dispassionately. "If only this convict had escaped on Fri-day,
why, there would be our murderer nicely accounted
for. No ]arther to look. Hungry man, desperate criminal
breaks in. Trevelyan defends his Englishman's castle--
and desperate criminal biffs him one. All so simple."
"It would have been," said Emily with a sigh.
"Instead of which," said Charles, "he escapes three
days too late. It's--it's hopelessly inartistic."
He shook his head sadly.
16. Mr. Rycroft
E M I L Y woke early the next morning. Being a sensible
young woman, she realized there was little possibility of
Mr. Enderby's collaboration until the morning was well
advanced. So, feeling restless and unable to lie still she
set out for a brisk walk along the lane in the opposite
direction from which they had come last night.
She passed the gates of Sittaford House on her right
and shortly after that the lane took a sharp turn to the
right and ran steeply up hill and came out on the open
moor where it degenerated into a grass track and soon
petered out altogether. The morning was a fine one, cold
and crisp and the view was lovely. Emily ascended to
the very top of Sittaford Tor, a pile of gray rock of a
fantastic shape. From this height she looked down over
an expanse of moorland, unbroken as far as she could
see without any habitation or any road. Below her, on
the opposite side of the Tor, were gray masses of granite
boulders and rocks. After considering the scene for a
minute or two she turned to view the prospect to the
north from which she had come. Just below her lay Sit-taford,
clustering on the flank of the hill, the square gray
blob of Sittaford House, and the dotted cottages beyond
it. In the valley below she could see Exhampton.
"One ought," thought Emily confusedly, "to see things
better when you are high up like this. It ought to be like
lifting off the top of a doll's house and peering in."
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Agatha Christie
She wished with all her heart that she had met the
dead man even if only once. It was so hard to get an idea
of people you had never seen. You had to rely on other
people's judgment, and Emily had never yet acknowl-edged
that any other person's judgment was superior to
her own. Other people's impressions were no good to
you. They might be just as true as yours but you couldn't
act on them. You couldn't, as it were, use another per-son's
angle of attack.
Meditating vexedly on these questions, Emily sighed
impatiently and shifted her position.
She had been so lost in her own thoughts that she had
been oblivious to her immediate surr
oundings. It was
with a shock of surprise that she realized that a small
elderly gentleman was standing a few feet away from
her, his hat held courteously in his hand, while he breathed
rather fast.
"Excuse me," he said. "Miss Trefusis, I believe?"
"Yes," said Emily.
"My name is Rycroft. You must forgive me speaking
to you, but in this little community of ours the smallest
detail is known, and your arrival here yesterday has nat-urally
gone the round. I can assure you that everyone
feels a deep sympathy with your position, Miss Trefusis.
We are all, one and all, anxious to assist you in any way
we can."
"That's very kind of you," said Emily.
"Not at all, not at all," said Mr. Rycroft. "Beauty in
distress, you will pardon lny old-tZashioned manner of
putting it. But seriously, my dear young lady, do count
on me if there is any way in which I can possibly assist
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Murder at Hazelmoor
you. Beautiful view from up here, is it not?"
"Wonderful," agreed Emily. "The moor is a wonderful
place."
"You know that a prisoner must have escaped last night
from Princetown."
"Yes. Has he been recaptured?"
"Not yet, I believe. Ah, well, poor fellow, he will no
doubt be recaptured soon enough. I believe I am right
in saying that no one has escaped successfully from
Princetown for the last twenty years."
"Which direction is Princetown?"
Mr. Rycroft stretched out his arm and pointed south-wards
over the moor.
"It lies over there, about twelve miles as the crow flies
over unbroken moorland. It's sixteen miles by road."
Emily gave a iaint shiver. The idea of the desperate
hunted man impressed her powerfully. Mr. Rycroft was
watching her and gave a little nod.
"Yes," he said. "I feel the same myself. It's curious
how one's instincts rebel at the thought of a man being
hunted down, and yet, these men at Princetown are all
dangerous and violent criminals, the kind of men whom
probably you and I would do our utmost to put there in
the first place."
He gave a little apologetic laugh.
"You must forgive me, Miss Trefhsis, I am deeply
interested in the study of crime. A fascinating study.
Ornithology and criminology are my two subjects." He
paused and then went on:
"That's the reason why, if you will allow me to do so,
I should like to associate myself with you in this matter.
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To study a crime at first hand has long been an unrealized
dream of mine. Will you place your confidence in me,
Miss Trefusis, and allow me to place my experience at
your disposal? I have read and studied this subject deeply."
Emily was silent for a minute. She was congratulating
herself on the way events were playing into her hand.
Here was first-hand knowledge being offered her of life
as it had been lived at Sittaford. "Angle of attack," Emily
repeated the phrase that had crept into her mind so short
a time before. She had had Major Burnaby's angle--matter
of fact--simple--direct. Taking cognizance of facts
and completely oblivious of subtleties. Now, she was
being offered another angle which she suspected might
open up a very different field of vision. This little, shri-veled,
dried-up gentleman had read and studied deeply,
was well versed in human nature, had that devouring
interested curiosity in life displayed by the man of re-flection
as opposed to the man of action.
"Please help me," she said simply. "I am so very wor-ried
and unhappy."
"You must be, my dear, you must be. Now, as I un-derstand
the position, Trevelyan's eldest nephew has
been arrested or detained--the evidence against him
being of a somewhat simple and obvious nature, I, of
course, have an open mind. You must allow me that."
"Of course," said Emily. "Why should you believe in
his innocence when you know nothing about him?"
"Most reasonable," said Mr. Rycroft. "Really, Miss
Trefusis, you yourself are a most interesting study. By
the way, your name--is it Cornish like our poor friend
Trevelyan?"
Murder at Hazelmoor
"Yes," said Emily. "My father wasCornish, my mother
was Scottish."
"Ah!" said Mr. Rycroft, "very interesting. Now to approach
our little problem. On the one hand we assume
that young Jim--the name is Jim, is it not? We assume
that young Jim had a pressing need of money, that he
came down to see his uncle, that he asked for money,
that his uncle refused, that in a moment of passion he
picked up a sandbag that was lying at the door and that
he hit his uncle over the head. The crime was
unpremeditated--was in fact a foolish irrational affair
most deplorably conducted. Now, all that may be so, on
the other hand he may have parted with his uncle in
anger and some other person may have stepped in shortly
afterwards and committed the crime. That is what you
believe--and to put it a little difibrently, that is what I
hope. I do not want your fiance to have committed the
crime, for from my point of view it is so uninteresting
that he should have done so. I am therefore backing the
other horse. The crime was committed by someone else.
We will assume that and go at once to a most important
point. Was that someone else aware of the quarrel that
had just taken place? Did that quarrel in fact, actually
precipitate the murder? You see my point? Someone is
meditating doing away with Captain Trevelyan and seizes
this opportunity, realizing that suspicion is bound to fall
on young Jim."
Emily considered the matter from this angle.
"In that case," she said slowly--
Mr. Rycroft took the words out of her mouth.
"In that case," he said briskly, "the murderer would
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Agatha Christie
have to be a person in close association with Captain
Trevelyan. He would have to be domiciled in Exhamp-ton.
In all probability he would have to be in the house,
either during or after the quarrel. And since we are not
in a court of law and can bandy about names freely, the
name of the servant, Evans, leaps to our minds as a
person who could satisi our conditions. A man who quite
possibly might have been in the house. Have overheard
the quarrel and seized the opportunity. Our next point
is to discover whether Evans benefits in any way from
his master's death."
"I believe he gets a small legacy," said Emily.
"That may or may not constitute a sufficient motive.
We shall have to discover whether or not Evans had a
pressing need of money. We must also consider Mrs.
Evans--there is a Mrs. Evans of recent date I understand.
If you had studied criminology, Miss Trefusis, you
would realize the curio
us effect caused by inbreeding,
especially in country districts. There are at least four
young women in Broadmoor, pleasant in manner, but
with that curious kink in their dispositions that human
life is of little or no account to them. No--we must not
leave Mrs. Evans out of account."
"What do you think about this table turning business,
Mr. Rycroft?"
"Now, that is very strange. Most strange. I confess,
Miss Trefusis, that I am powerfully impressed by it. I
am, as perhaps you may have heard, a believer in psychic
things. To a certain degree I am a believer in spiritualism.
I have already written out a full account and sent
it up to the Society of Psychical Research. A well au134
Murder at Hazelmoor
thenticated and amazing case. Five people present, none
of whom could have the least idea or suspicion that Captain
Trevelyan was murdered."
"You don't think--"
Emily stopped. It was not so easy to suggest her own
idea to Mr. Rycroft that one of the five people might have guilty foreknowledge, as he himself had been one
of them. Not that she suspected for a moment that there
was anything whatever to connect Mr. Rycroft with the
tragedy. Still she felt that the suggestion might not be
wholly tactful. She pursued her object in a more roundabout
manner.
"It all interested me very much, Mr. Rycroft, it is, as
you say, an amazing occurrence. You don't think that
any of the people present, with the exception of yourself
of course, were in any way psychic?"