Murder on the Links hp-2

by Agatha Christie

  'Monsieur Renauld had not the temper of an angel?'

  'Far from it. When he enraged himself, the whole house knew of it. The day that he quarrelled with Monsieur Jack-ma foi they might have been heard in the marketplace, they shouted so loud!'

  'Indeed,' said Poirot. 'And when did this quarrel take place?'

  'Oh, it was lust before Monsieur Jack went to Paris. Almost he missed his train. He came out of the library, and caught up his bag which he had left in the hall. The automobile, it was being repaired, and he had to run for the station. I was dusting the salon, and I saw him pass, and his face was white-white-with two burning spots of red. Ah, but he was angry!'

  Léonie was enjoying her narrative thoroughly.

  'And the dispute, what was it about?'

  'Ah, that I do not know,' confessed Léonie. 'It is true that they shouted, but their voices were so loud and high, and they spoke so fast, that only one well acquainted with English could have comprehended. But monsieur, he was like a thundercloud all day! Impossible to please him!'

  The sound of a door shutting upstairs cut short Léonie's loquacity.

  'And Françoise who awaits me!' she exclaimed, awakening to a tardy remembrance of her duties. 'That old one, she always scolds.'

  'One moment, mademoiselle. The examining magistrate, where is he?'

  'They have gone out to look at the automobile in the garage. Monsieur the commissary had some idea that it might have been used on the night of the murder.'

  'Quite possible,' murmured Poirot, as the girl disappeared.

  'You will go out and join them?'

  'No, I shall await their return in the salon. It is cool there on this hot morning.'

  This placid way of taking things did not quite commend itself to me.

  'If you don't mind-' I said, and hesitated.

  'Not in the least. You wish to investigate on your own account, eh?'

  'Well, I'd rather like to have a look at Giraud, if he's anywhere about, and see what he's up to.'

  'The human foxhound,' murmured Poirot, as he leaned back in a comfortable chair, and closed his eyes. 'By all means, my friend. Au revoir.'

  I strolled out of the front door. It was certainly hot. I walked up the path we had taken the day before. I had a mind to study the scene of the crime myself. I did not go directly to the spot, however, but turned aside into the bushes, so as to come out on the links some hundred yards or so farther to the right. The shrubbery here was much denser, and I had quite a struggle to force my way through. When I emerged at last on the course, it was quite unexpectedly and with such vigour that I cannoned heavily into a young lady who had been standing with her back to the plantation.

  She not unnaturally gave a suppressed shriek, but I, too, uttered an exclamation of surprise. For it was my friend of the train, Cinderella!

  The surprise was mutual.

  'You?' we both exclaimed simultaneously.

  The young lady recovered herself first. 'My only friend!' she exclaimed. 'What are you doing here?'

  'For the matter of that, what are you?' I retorted.

  'When last I saw you, the day before yesterday, you were trotting home to England like a good little boy.'

  'When last I saw you,' I said, 'you were trotting home with your sister, like a good little girl. By the way, how is your sister?'

  A flash of white teeth rewarded me. 'How kind of you to ask! My sister is well, I thank you.'

  'She is here with you?'

  'She remained in town,' said the minx with dignity.

  'I don't believe you've got a sister,' I laughed. 'If you have, her name is Harris!'

  'Do you remember mine?' she asked with a smile.

  'Cinderella. But you're going to tell me the real one now, aren't you?'

  She shook her head with a wicked look.

  'Not even why you're here?'

  'Oh, that. I suppose you've heard of members of my profession "resting".'

  'At expensive French watering places?'

  'Dine cheap if you know where to go.'

  I eyed her keenly. 'Still you'd no intention of coming here when I met you two days ago?'

  'We all have our disappointments,' said Miss Cinderella sententiously. 'There now, I've told you quite as much as is good for you. Little boys should not be inquisitive. You've not yet told me what you're doing here?'

  'You remember my telling you that my great friend was detective?'

  'Yes?'

  'And perhaps you've heard about this crime- at the Villa Geneviève-?'

  She stared at me. Her breast heaved, and her eyes grew wide and round. 'You don't mean-that you're in on it?'

  I nodded. There was no doubt that I had scored heavily. Her emotion, as she regarded me, was only too evident. For some few seconds she remained silent, staring at me. Then she nodded her head emphatically.

  'Well, if that doesn't beat the band! Tote me round. I want to see all the horrors. What I say. Bless the boy, didn't I tell you I doted on crimes? I've been nosing round for hours. It's a real piece of luck happening on you this way. Come on, show me all the sights'.

  'But look here-wait a minute-I can't. Nobody's allowed in'.

  'Aren't you and your friend the big bugs?'

  I was loath to relinquish my position of importance. 'Why are you so keen?' I asked weakly. 'And what is it you want to see?'

  'Oh, everything! The place where it happened, and the weapon, and the body, and any fingerprints or interesting things like that. I've never had a chance before of being right in on a murder like this. It'll last me all my life.'

  I turned away, sickened. What were women coming to nowadays? The girl's ghoulish excitement nauseated me.

  'Come off your high horse,' said the lady suddenly. 'And don't give yourself airs. When you got called to this job, did you put your nose in the air and say it was a nasty business, and you wouldn't be mixed up in it?'

  'No, but I'm-'

  'If you'd been here on a holiday, wouldn't you be nosing round just the same as I am? Of course you would.'

  'I'm a man. You're a woman.'

  'Your idea of a woman is someone who gets on a chair and shrieks if she sees a mouse. That's all prehistoric. But you will show me round, won't you? You see, it might make a big difference to me.'

  'In what way?'

  'They're keeping all the reporters out. I might make a big scoop with one of the papers. You don't know how much they pay for a bit of inside stuff.'

  I hesitated. She slipped a small soft hand into mine. 'Please-there's a dear.'

  I capitulated. Secretly, I knew that I should rather enjoy the part of showman.

  We repaired first to the spot where the body had been discovered. A man was on guard there, who saluted respectfully, knowing me by sight, and raised no questions as to my companion. Presumably he regarded her as vouched for by me. I explained to Cinderella just how the discovery had been made, and she listened attentively, sometimes putting an intelligent question. Then we turned our steps in the direction of the villa. I proceeded rather cautiously, for, truth to tell, I was not at all anxious to meet anyone. I took the girl through the shrubbery round to the back of the house where the small shed was. I recollected that yesterday evening, after relocking the door, M. Bex had left the key with the sergent de ville, Marchaud, 'In case Monsieur Giraud should require it while we are upstairs.' I thought it quite likely that the Sûreté detective, after using it, had returned it to Marchaud again. Leaving the girl out of sight in the shrubbery, I entered the house. Marchaud was on duty outside the door of the salon. From within came the murmur of voices.

  'Monsieur desires Monsieur Hautet? He is within. He is again interrogating Françoise.'

  'No,' I said hastily, 'I don't want him. But I should very much like the key of the shed outside if it is not against regulations.'

  'But certainly, monsieur.' He produced it. 'Here it is. Monsieur Hautet gave orders that all facilities were to be placed at your disposal. You will return it to m
e when you have finished out there, that is all.'

  'Of course.' I felt a thrill of satisfaction as I realized that in Marchaud's eyes, at least, I ranked equally in importance with Poirot.

  The girl was waiting for me. She gave an exclamation of delight as she saw the key in my hand.

  'You've got it then?'

  'Of course,' I said coolly. 'All the same, you know, what I'm doing is highly irregular.'

  'You've been a perfect darling and I shan't forget it. Come along. They can't see us from the house, can they?'

  'Wait a minute.' I arrested her eager advance. 'I won't stop you if you really wish to go in. But do you? You've seen the grave, and the grounds, and you've heard all the details of the affair. Isn't that enough for you? This is going to be gruesome, you know, and-unpleasant.'

  She looked at me for a moment with an expression that I could not quite fathom. Then she laughed.

  'The more for the honours,' she said. 'Come along.'

  In silence we arrived at the door of the shed. I opened it and we passed in. I walked over to the body, and gently pulled down the sheet as Bex had done the preceding afternoon.

  A little gasping sound escaped from the girl's lips, and I turned and looked at her. There was horror on her face now, and those debonair high spirits of hers were quenched utterly. She had not chosen to listen to my advice, and she was punished now for her disregard of it. I felt singularly merciless towards her. She should go through with it now.

  I turned the corpse over gently.

  'You see,' I said. 'He was stabbed in the back.'

  Her voice was almost soundless. 'With what?'

  I nodded towards the glass jar. 'That dagger.'

  Suddenly the girl reeled, and then sank down in a heap. I sprang to her assistance.

  'You are faint. Come out of here. It has been too much for you.'

  'Water,' she murmured. 'Quick. Water.'

  I left her, and rushed into the house. Fortunately none of the servants were about and I was able to secure a glass of water unobserved and add a few drops of brandy from a pocket flask. In a few minutes I was back again. The girl was lying as I had left her, but a few sips of the brandy and water revived her in a marvellous manner.

  'Take me out of here-oh quickly, quickly!' she cried, shuddering.

  Supporting her with my arm, I led her out into the air, and she pulled the door to behind her. Then she drew a deep breath.

  'That's better. Oh, it was horrible! Why did you ever let me go in?'

  I felt this to be so feminine that I could not forbear a smile. Secretly, I was not dissatisfied with her collapse. It proved that she was not quite so callous as I had thought her. After all she was little more than a child, and her curiosity had probably been of the unthinking order.

  'I did my best to stop you, you know,' I said gently.

  'I suppose you did. Well, goodbye.'

  'Look here, you can't start off like that-all alone. You're not fit for it. I insist on accompanying you back to Merlinville.'

  'Nonsense. I'm quite all right now.'

  'Supposing you felt faint again? No, I shall come with you.'

  But this she combated with a good deal of energy. In the end, however, I prevailed so far as to be allowed to accompany her to the outskirts of the town. We retraced our steps over our former route, passing the grave again, and making a detour on to the road. Where the first straggling line of shops began, she stopped and held out her hand.

  'Goodbye, and thank you ever so much for coming with me.'

  'Are you sure you're all right now?'

  'Quite, thanks. I hope you won't get into any trouble over showing me things.'

  I disclaimed the idea lightly.

  'Well, goodbye.'

  'Au revoir,' I corrected. 'If you're staying here, we shall meet again.'

  She flashed a smile at me. 'That's so. Au revoir, then.'

  'Wait a second, you haven't told me your address.'

  'Oh, I'm. staying at the Hotel du Phare. It's a little place, but quite good. Come and look me up tomorrow.'

  'I will,' I said, with perhaps rather unnecessary emphasis.

  I watched her out of sight, then turned and retraced my steps to the villa. I remembered that I had not relocked the door of the shed. Fortunately no one had noticed the oversight, and turning the key I removed it and returned it to the sergent de ville. And, as I did so, it came upon me suddenly that though Cinderella had given me her address I still did not know her name.

  Chapter 9. M. Giraud Finds Some Clues

  IN the salon I found the examining magistrate busily interrogating the old gardener Auguste. Poirot and the commissary, who were both present, greeted me respectively with a smile and a polite bow. I slipped quietly into a seat. M. Hautet was painstaking and meticulous in the extreme, but did not succeed in eliciting anything of importance.

  The gardening gloves Auguste admitted to be his. He wore them when handling a certain species of primula plant which was poisonous to some people. He could not say when he had worn them last. Certainly he had not missed them. Where were they kept? Sometimes in one place, sometimes in another. The spade was usually to be found in the small tool-shed. Was it locked? Of course it was locked.

  Where was the key kept? Parbleu, it was in the door of course. There was nothing of value to steal. Who would have expected a party of bandits, or assassins? Such things did not happen in Madame la Vicomtesse's time.

  M. Hautet signifying that he had finished with him, the old man withdrew, grumbling to the last. Remembering Poirot's unaccountable insistence on the footprints in the flowerbeds, I scrutinized him narrowly as he gave his evidence.

  Either he had nothing to do with the crime or he was a consummate actor. Suddenly just as he was going out of the door an idea struck me.

  'Pardon, Monsieur Hautet,' I cried, 'but will you permit me to ask him one question?'

  'But certainly monsieur.'

  Thus encouraged, I turned to Auguste. 'Where do you keep your boots?'

  'On my feet,' growled the old man. 'Where else?'

  'But when you go to bed at night?'

  'Under my bed.'

  'But who cleans them?'

  'Nobody. Why should they be cleaned? Is it that I promenade myself on the front like a young man? On Sunday I wear the Sunday boots, but otherwise-' He shrugged his shoulders.

  I shook my head, discouraged.

  'Well, well,' said the magistrate, 'we do not advance very much. Undoubtedly we are held up until we get the return cable from Santiago. Has anyone seen Giraud? In verity that one lacks politeness! I have a very good mind to send for him and-'.

  'You will not have to send far.'

  The quiet voice startled us. Giraud was standing outside looking in through the open window.

  He leapt lightly into the room and advanced to the table. 'Here I am, at your service. Accept my excuses for not presenting myself sooner.'

  'Not at all-not at all!' said the magistrate, rather confused.

  'Of course I am only a detective,' continued the other. 'I know nothing of interrogatories. Were I conducting one, I should be inclined to do so without an open window. Anyone standing outside can so easily hear all that passes. But no matter.'

  M. Hautet flushed angrily. There was evidently going to be no love lost between the examining magistrate and the detective in charge of the case. They had fallen foul of each ether at the start. Perhaps in any event it would have been much the same. To Giraud, all examining magistrates were fools, and to M. Hautet, who took himself seriously, the casual manner of the Paris detective could not fail to give offence.

  'Et bien, Monsieur Giraud,' said the magistrate rather sharply. 'Without doubt you have been employing your time to a marvel! You have the names of the assassins for us, have you not? And also the precise spot where they find themselves now?'

  Unmoved by this irony, M. Giraud replied: 'I know at least where they have come from.'

  Giraud took two small objects fr
om his pocket and laid them down on the table. We crowded round. The objects were very simple ones: the stub of a cigarette and an unlighted match. The detective wheeled round on Poirot.

  'What do you see there?' he asked.

  There was something almost brutal in his tone. It made my cheeks flush. But Poirot remained unmoved. He shrugged his shoulders.

  'A cigarette end and a match.'

  'And what does that tell you?'

  Poirot spread out his hands. 'It tells me-nothing.'

  'Ah!' said Giraud, in a satisfied voice. 'You haven't made a study of these things. That's not an ordinary match-not in this country at least. It's common enough in South America. Luckily it's unlighted. I mightn't have recognized it otherwise. Evidently one of the men threw away his cigarette and lit another, spilling one match out of the box as he did so.'

  'And the other match?' asked Poirot.

  'Which match?'

  'The one he did light his cigarette with. You have found that also?'

  'No.'

  'Perhaps you didn't search very thoroughly.'

  'Not search thoroughly-' For a moment it seemed as though the detective was going to break out angrily, but with an effort he controlled himself. 'I see you love a joke, Monsieur Poirot. But in any case, match or no match, the cigarette end would be sufficient. It is a South American cigarette with liquorice pectoral paper.'

  Poirot bowed. The commissary spoke: 'The cigarette end and match might have belonged to Monsieur Renauld. Remember, it is only two years since he returned from South America.'

  'No,' replied the other confidently. 'I have already searched among the effects of Monsieur Renauld. The cigarettes he smoked and the matches he used are quite different.'

  'You do not think it odd,' asked Poirot, 'that these strangers should come unprovided with a weapon, with gloves, with a spade, and that they should so conveniently find all these things?'

  Giraud smiled in a rather superior manner. 'Undoubtedly it is strange. Indeed, without the theory that I hold, it would be inexplicable.'

  'Aha!' said M. Hautet. 'An accomplice within the house!'