Christie,Agatha - Murder At Hazelmore.doc
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to herself. "This is the second time it's come off. Poor
Aunt Jennifer, does she know, I wonder? Probably not.
I must hurry or I'll keep Charles waiting."
Enderby was waiting in Elmer's Ford at the agreed
rendezvous.
"Any luck?" he asked as he tucked the rug round her.
"In a way, yes. I'm not sure."
Enderby looked at her inquiringly.
"No," said Emily in answer to his glance, "I'm not
going to tell you about it. You see, it may have nothing
whatever to do with it--and if so, it wouldn't be fair."
Enderby sighed.
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Murder at Hazelmoor
"I call that hard," he observed.
"I'm sorry," said Emily firmly. "But there it is."
"Have it your own way," said Charles coldly.
They drove on in silence--an offended silence on
Charles's part--an oblivious one on Emily's.
They were nearly at Exhampton when she broke the
silence by a totally unexpected remark.
"Charles," she said, "are you a bridge player?"
"Yes, I am. Why?"
"I was thinking. You know what they tell you to do
when you're assessing the value of your hand? If you're
defending--count the winners--but if you're attacking
count the losers. Now, we're attacking in this business
of ours--but perhaps we have been doing it the wrong
way."
"How do you mean?"
"Well, we've been counting the winners, haven't we?
I mean going over the people who could have killed
Captain Trevelyan, however improbable it seems. Antl
that's perhaps why we've got so terribly muddled."
"I haven't got muddled," said Charles.
"Well, I have then. I'm so muddled I can't think at
all. Let's look at it the other way round. Let's count the
losers--the people who can't possibly have killed Cap-tain
Trevelyan."
"Well, let's see--" Enderby reflected. "To begin with
there's the Willetts and Burnaby and Rycroft and
Ronnie--Oh! and Duke."
"Yes," agreed Emily. "We know none of them can
have killed him. Because at the time he was killed they
were all at Sittaford House and they all saw each other
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and they can't all be lying. Yes, they're all out of it."
"As a matter of fact everyone in Sittaford is out of it,"
said Enderby. "Even Elmer," he lowered his voice in
deference to the possibility of the driver hearing him.
"Because the road to Sittaford was impassable for cars
on Friday."
"He could have walked," said Emily in an equally low
voice. "If Major Burnaby could have got there that eve-ning
Elmer could have started at lunch time--got to
Exhampton at five, murdered him, and walked back again."
Enderby shook his head.
"I don't think he could have walked back again. Re-member
the snow started to fall about half past six. Any-way,
you're not accusing Elmer, are you?"
"No," said Emily, "though, of course, he might be a
homicidal maniac."
"Hush," said Charles. "You'll hurt his feelings if he
hears you."
"At any rate," said Emily, "you can't say definitely that
he couldn't have murdered Captain Trevelyan."
"Almost," said Charles. "He couldn't walk to Ex-hampton
and back without all Sittaford knowing about
it and saying it was queer."
"It certainly is a place where everyone knows every-thing,"
agreed Emily.
"Exactly," said Charles, "and that's why I say that
everyone in Sittaford is out of it. The only ones that
weren't at the Willetts--Miss Percehouse and Captain
Wyatt are invalids. They couldn't go plowing through
snowstorms. And dear old Curtis and Mrs. C. If any of
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Murder at Hazelmoor
them did it, they must have gone comfortably to Ex-hampton
for the week-end and come back when it was
all over."
Emily laughed.
"You couldn't be absent from Sittaford for the weekend
without its being noticed, certainly," she said.
"Curtis would notice the silence if Mrs. C. was," said
Enderby.
"Of course," said Emily, "the person it ought to be is
Abdul. It would be in a book. He'd be a Lascar really,
and Captain Trevelyan would have thrown his favorite
brother overboard in a mutiny--something like that."
"I docline to believe," said Charles, "that that wretched
depressed looking native ever murdered anybody."
"I know," he said suddenly.
"What?" said Emily eagerly.
"The blacksmith's wife. The one who's expecting her
eighth. The intrepid woman despite her condition walked
all the way to Sittaford and batted him one with the
sandbag."
"And why, pray?"
"Because, of course, although the blacksmith was the
father of the preceding seven, Captain Trevelyan was
the father of her coming cheild."
"Charles," said Emily. "Don't be indelicate."
"And anyway," she added, "it would be the blacksmith
who did it, not her. A really good case there. Think how
that brawny arm could wield a sandbag! And his wife
would never notice his absence with seven children to
look after. She wouldn't have time to notice a mere man."
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"This is degenerating into mere idiocy," said Charles.
"It is rather," agreed Emily. "Counting losers hasn't
been a great success.
"What about you?" said Charles.
"Me?"
"Where were you when the crime was committed?"
"How extraordinary! I never thought of that. I was in
London, of course. But I don't know that I could prove
it. I was alone in my flat"
"There you are," said Charles. "Motive and everything.
Your young man coming into twenty thousand
pounds. What more do you want?"
"You are clever, Charles," said Emily. "I can see that
really I'm a most suspicious character. I never thought
of it before."
'34
27. Narracott Acts
T W O mornings later Emily was seated in Inspector
Narracott's office. She had come over from Sittaford that
morning.
Inspector Narracott looked at her appraisingly. He
admired Emily's pluck, her courageous determination
not to give in and her resolute cheerfulness. She was a
fighter and Inspector Narracott admired fighters. It was
his private opinion that she was a great deal too good for
Jim Pearson, even if that young man was innocent of the
murder.
"It's generally understood in books," he said, "that the
police are intent on having a victim and don't in the least
care if that victim is innocent or not as long as they have
enough evidence to convict him. That's not the truth,
Miss Trefusis, it's only the guilty man we want."
"Do you honestly believe Jim to be guilty, Inspector
Narracott?"
"I can't give you an official answer to that, Miss Trefusis.
But
i'll tell you this--that we are examining not
only the evidence against him but the evidence against
other people very carefully.'
"You mean against his brother--Brian?"
"A very unsatisfactory gentleman, Mr. Brian Pearson.
Refused to answer questions or to give any information
about himself, but I think--" Inspector Narracott's slow
Devonshire smile widened, "I think I can make a pretty
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Agatha Christie
good guess at some of his activities. If I am right I shall
know in another half hour. Then there's the lady's hus-band,
Mr. Dering."
"You've seen him?" asked linily curiously.
Inspector Narracott looked at her vivid face, and felt
tempted to relax official caution. Leaning back in his chair
he recounted his interview with Mr. Dering, then from
a file at his elbow he took out a copy of the wireless
message he had dispatched to Mr. Rosenkraun. "That's
what I sent," he said. "And here's the reply."
Emily read it.
Narracott Drysdale Road Exeter. Certainly con-firm
Mr. Dering's statement. He was in my COmo
pany all Friday afternoon. Rosenkraun.
"Oh!--bother," said Emily, selecting a milder word
than that she had meant to use knowing that the police
force was old-fashioned and easily shocked,
"Ye-es," said Inspector Narracott reflectively. "It's an-noying,
isn't it?"
And his slow Devonshire smile broke out again.
"But I am a suspicious man, Miss Trefusis. Mr. Der-ing's
reasons sounded very plausible--but I thought it
a pity to play into his hands too completely. So I sent
another wireless message:"
Again he handed her two pieces of paper.
The first ran: Information wanted re murder of
Captain Trevelyan. Do you support Martin Dering's
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Murcer at Hazelmoor
statement of alibi fv Friday afternoon. Divisional
Inspector Narracot Exeter.
The return messag showed agitation and a reckless
disregard for expense.
Had no idea it wa% criminal case did not see Martin
Dering Friday areed support his statement as
one friend to anothr believed his wife was having
him watched for divvrce proceedings.
"Oh," said Emily. "h!--you are clever, Inspector."
The Inspector evidently thought that he had been
rather clever. His smil% was gentle and contented.
"How men do stick t%gether,,, went on Emily looking
over the telegrams. "?or Sylvia. In some ways I really
think that men are beaa ts. That's why," she added, "it's
so nice when one finds
a man on whom one can really
rely."
And she smiled admiringly at the Inspector.
"Now, all this is very oafidential, Miss Trefusis," the
Inspector warned her. "2 have gone further than i should
in letting you know aboht this."
"I think it's adorable of you," said Emily. "I shall never, never forget it."
"Well, mind,", the Insleetor warned her. "Not a word
to anybody."
"You mean that I am not fo tell CharlesMr. Eh-derby."
"Journalists will be jOhraalists,,, said inspector Narracott.
"However well Yu have got him tamed, Miss
Trefusis--well, news is revs' isn't it?"
Agatha Christie
"I won't tell him then," said Emily. "I think I've got
lailn muzzled all right, but as you say newspaper men
xvill be newspaper men."
"Never part with information unnecessarily. That's my
rule," said Inspector Narracott.
A faint twinkle appeared in Emily's eyes, her unspoken
thought being that Inspector Narracott had infringed this
rule rather badly during the last half hour.
A sudden recollection came into her mind, not of course
that it probably mattered now. Everything seemed to
be pointing in a totally different direction. But still it
would be nice to know.
"Inspector Narracott?" she said suddenly. "Who is Mr.
Duke?"
"Mr. Duke?"
She thought the Inspector was rather taken aback by
her questions.
"You remember," said Emily, "we met you coming
out of his cottage in Sittaford."
"Ah, yes, yes, I remember. To tell you the truth, Miss
Trefusis, I thought I would like to have an independent
account of that table turning business. Major Burnaby is
not a first-rate hand at description."
"And yet," said Emily thoughtfully, "if I had been you,
I should have gone to somebody like Mr. Rycroft for it.
Why Mr. Duke?"
There was a silence and then the Inspector said:
"Just a matter of opinion."
"I wonder. I wonder if the police know something
about Mr. Duke."
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Murder at Hazelmoor
Inspector Narracott didn't answer. He had got his eyes
fixed very steadily on the blotting paper.
"The man who leads a blameless life!" said Emily.
"That seems to describe Mr. Duke awfully accurately,
but perhaps he hasn't always led a blameless life? Perhaps
the police know that?"
She saw a faint quiver on Inspector Narracott's face as
he tried to conceal a smile.
"You like guessing, don't you, Miss Trefusis?" he said
amiably.
"When people don't tell you things you have to guess!"
retaliated Emily.
"If a man, as you say, is leading a blameless life,"
Inspector Narracott said, "and if it would be an annoy-ance
and an inconvenience for him to have his past life
raked up, well, the police are capable of keeping their
oven counsel. We have no wish to give a man away."
"I see," said Emily, "but all the same--you went to
see him, didn't you? That looks as though you thought,
to begin with at any rate, that he might have had a hand
in it. I wish--! wish I knew who Mr. Duke really was?
And what particular branch-of criminology he indulged
in in the past?"
She looked appealingly at Inspector Narracott but the
latter preserved a wooden face, and realizing that on this
point she could not hope to move him, Emily sighed and
took her departure.
When she had gone the Inspector sat staring at the
blotting pad, a trace of a smile still lingering on his lips.
he rang the bell and one of his underlings entered.
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Agatha Christie
"Well?" demanded Inspector Narracott.
"Quite right, sir. But it wasn't the Duchy at Prince-town,
it was the hotel at Two Bridges."
"Ah!" The Inspector took the papers the other handed
to him.
"Well," he said. "That settles that all right. Have you
followed up the other young chap's movements on Fri-day?''
"He certainly arrived at Exhampton by the last train,
but I haven't found out yet what time he left London.
Inquiries are being made."
Narracott nodded.
"Here is the entry from Somerset House, sir."
Narracott unfolded it. It was the record of a marriage
in 894 betwee
n William Martin Dering and Martha
Elizabeth Rycroft.
"Ah!" said the Inspector, "anything else?"
"Yes, sir. Mr. Brian Pearson sailed from Australia on
a Blue Funnel Boat, the Phidias. She touched at Cape
Town but no passengers of the name of Willett were
abroad. No mother and daughter at all from South Africa.
There was a Mrs. and Miss Evans and a Mrs. and Miss
Johnson from Melbourne--the latter answer the de-scription
of the Willetts."
"H'm," said the Inspector--"Johnson. Probably nei-ther
Johnson nor Willett is the right name. I think I've
got them taped out all right. Anything more?"
There was nothing else it seemed.
"Well," said Narracott, "I think we have got enough
to go on with."
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Boots
"B t T, my dear young lady," said Mr. Kirkwood, "what
can you possibly expect to find at Hazelmoor. All Qtptain
Trevelyan's effects have been removed. The polic have
made a thorough search of the house. I quite under:stand
your position and your anxiety that Mr. Pears0r shall
be--er--cleared if possible. But what can you da?"