AgathaChristie-HerculePoirotsCasebook

by Hercule Poirot's Casebook (lit)

  Why a presumably sane young woman should want to fling an

  expensively-fitted dressing-case into a lake - d'you know, I

  worried all night because I couldn't get the hang of it.'

  'Mort patwreJaFp! But you need worry no longer. Here is the

  answer coming. The bell has just rung.'

  George, Poirot's immaculate man-servant, opened the door

  and announced:

  'Miss Plenderleith.'

  The girl came into the room with her usual air of complete

  self-assurance. She greeted the two men.

  'I asked you to come here -' explained Poirot. 'Sit here, will

  you not, and you here, Japp - because I have certain news to

  give you.'

  · The girl sat down. She looked from one to the other, pushing

  aside her hat. She took it off and laid it aside impatiently.

  'Well,' she said. 'Major Eustace has been arrested.'

  'You saw that, I expect, in the morning paper?'

  'Yes.'

  'He is at the moment charged with a minor offence,' were on

  Poirot. 'In the meantime we are gathering evidence in

  connection with the murder.'

  'It was murder, then?'

  The girl asked it eagerly.

  Poirot nodded his head.

  'Yes,' he said. 'It was murder. The wilful destruction of one

  human being by another human being.'

  She shivered a little.

  'Don't,' she murmured. 'It sounds horrible when you say it

  like that.'

  'Yes - but it is horrible!'

  He paused - then he said:

  'Now, Miss Plenderleith, I am going to tell you just how I

  arrived at the truth in this matter.'

  She looked, from Poirot to Japp. The latter was smiling.

  109

  'He has his methods, Miss Plenderleith,' he said. 'I humour

  him, you know. I think we'll listen to what he has to say.'

  Poirot began:

  'As you know, mademoiselle, I arrived with my friend at the

  scene of the crime on the morning of November the sixth. Te

  went into the room where the body of Mrs Allen had been

  found and I.was struck at once by several significant details.

  There were things, you see, in that room that were decidedly

  odd.'

  'Go on,' said the girl.

  'To begin with,' said Poirot, 'there w the smell of cigarette

  smoke.'

  'I think you're exaggerating there, Poirot,' said Japp. 'I

  didn't smell anything.'

  Poirot turned on him in a flash.

  'Precisely. You did not smell any stale smoke. No more did I. And that was very, very strange - for the door and the window

  were both closed and on an ashtray there were the stubs of no

  fewer than ten cigarettes. It was odd, very odd, that the room

  should smell - as it did, perfectly fresh.'

  'So that's what you were getting at!' Japp sighed. 'Always

  have to get at things in such a tortuous way.'

  'Your Sherlock Holmes did the same. He drew attention,

  remember, to the curious incident of the dog in the nighttime - and the answer to that was there was no curious incident. The

  dog did nothing in the night-time. To proceed:

  'The next thing that attracted my attention was a wristwatch

  worn by the dead woman.'

  'What about it?'

  'Nothing particular about .it, but it was worn on the

  wrist. Now in my experience it is more usual for a watch to be

  worn on the left wrist.'

  Japp shrugged his shoulders. Before he could speak, Poi,

  hurried on:

  'But as you say, there is nothing very definite about that.

  Some people prefer to wear one on the right hand. And now I

  110

  come to something really interesting - I come, my friends, to

  the writing-bureau.'

  'Yes, I guessed that,' said JapP.

  'That was really very odd - very remarkable! For two

  reasons. The first reason was that something was missing from

  that writing-table.'

  Jane Plenderleith spoke.

  'What was missing?'

  Poirot turned to her.

  '/1 sheet of blotting-paper, mademoiselle. The blotting-book

  had on top a clean, untouched piece of blotting-paper.'

  Jane shrugged her shoulders.

  'Really, M. Poirot. People do occasionally tear off a very

  much used sheet?

  'Yes, but what do they do with it? Throw it into the wastepaper

  basket, do they not? But it was not in the wastepaper basket. I looked.'

  lane Plenderleith seemed impatient.

  'Because it had probably been already thrown away the day

  before. The sheet was clean because Barbara hadn't written

  any letters that day.'

  'That could hardly be the case, mademoiselle. For Mrs Allen

  was seen going to the post-box that evening. Therefore she must

  have been writing letters. She could not write downstairs - there

  were no writing materials. She would be hardly likely to go to your room to write. So, then, what had happened to the sheet

  of paper on which she had blotted her letters? It is true that

  people sometimes throw things in the fire instead of the wastepaper

  basket, but there was only a gas fire in the room. And the fire downstairs had not been alight the previous day, dnce you told

  me it was all laid ready when you put a match to it.'

  He paused.

  'A curious little problem. I looked everywhere, in the wastepaper

  baskets, in the dustbin, but I could not fred a sheet of

  used blotting-paper - and that seemed to me very important. It

  looked as though someone had deliberately taken that sheet of

  111

  blotting paper away. Why? Because there was writing on it that

  could easily have been read by holding it up to a mirror.

  'But there was a second curious point about the writing-table.

  Perhaps, Japp, you remember roughly the arrangement

  of it? Blotter and inkstand in the centre, pen tray to the left,

  calendar and quill pen to the right. Eh b/en? You do not see?

  The quill pen, remember, I examined, it was for show only - it

  had not been used. Ah! still you do not see? I will say it again.

  Blotter in the centre, pen tray to the left - to the left, Japp. But

  is it not usual to find a pen tray on the right, convenient to the

  right hand?.

  'Ah, now it comes to you, does it not? The pen tray on the left

  - the wrist-watch on the right wrist - the blotting-paper

  removed - and something else brought into the room - the

  ashtray with the cigarette ends!

  'That room was fresh and pure smelling, Japp, a room in

  which the window had been open, not closed all night... Anti

  I made myself a picture.'

  He spun round and faced Jane.

  'A picture of you, mademoiselle, driving up in your taxi,

  paying it off, running up the stairs, calling perhaps, 'Barbara'

  - and you open the door and you fred your friend there lying

  dead with the pistol clasped in her hand - the left hand,

  naturally, since she is left-handed and therefore, too, the bullet

  has entered on the left ride of the head. There is a note there

  addressed to you. It tells you what it is that has driven her to

  take her own life. It was, I fancy, a very moving letter ...

  young, gentle, unhappy woman driven by blackma
il to take/tar

  life...

  'I think that, almost at once, the idea flashed into your head.

  This was a certain man's doing. Let him be punished - fully

  and adequately punished! You take the pistol, wipe it and ?!ace

  it in the right hand. You take the note and you tear off thop

  sheet of the blotting-paper on which the note has been blowd.

  You go down, light the fire and put them both on the flay

  Then you carry up the ashtray - to further the illusion that

  people sat there talking - and you also take up a fragme:'

  112

  enamel cuff link that is on the floor. That is a lucky fred and you

  expect it to clinch matters. Then you close the window and lock

  the door. There must be no suspicion that you have tampered

  with the room. The police must see it exactly as it is - so you do

  not seek help in the mews but ring up the police straightaway.

  'And so it goes on. You play your chosen rtle with judgment

  and coolness. You refuse at first to say anything but cleverly

  you suggest doubts of suicide. Later you are quite ready to set

  us on the trail of Major Eustace...

  'Yes, mademoiselle, it was clever - a very clever murder - for

  that is what it is. The attempted murder of Major Eustace.'

  Jane Plenderleith sprang to her feet.

  'It wasn't murder - it was justice. That man hounded poor Barbara to her death! She was so sweet and helpless. You see,

  poor kid, she got involved with a man in India when she first

  went out. She was only seventeen and he was a married man

  years older than her. Then she had a baby. She could have put

  it in a home but she wouldn't hear of that. She went offto some

  out of the way spot and came back calling herself Mrs Allen.

  Later the child died. She came back here and she fell in love

  with Charles - that pompous, stuffed owl; she adored him and

  he took her adoration very complacently. If he had been a

  different kind of man I'd have advised her to tell him

  everything. But as it was, I urged her to hold her tongue. After

  all, nobody knew anything about that business except me.

  ' 'And then that devil Eustace turned up! You know the rest.

  He began to bleed her systematically, but it wasn't till that last

  evening that she realised that she was exposing Charles too, to

  the risk of scandal. Once married to Charles, Eustace had got

  he wanted her - married to a rich man with a horror

  scandal! When Eustace had gone with the money she

  it over. Then she came up and

  wrote a letter to me. She said she loved Charles and couldn't

  live without him, but that for his own sake she mustn't marry

  him. She was taking the best way out, she said.'

  Jane flung her head back.

  113

  'Do you wonder I did what I did? And you stand there

  calling it murder!'

  'Because it is murder,' Poirot's voice was stem. 'Murder can

  sometimes seem justified, but it is murder all the same. You are

  truthful and clear-minded - face the truth, mademoiselle!

  Your friend died, in the last resort, because she had not the

  courage to live. We may sympathize with her. We may pity her.

  But the fact remains - the act was hers - not another.'

  He paused.

  'And you? That man is now in prison, he will serve a ',g

  sentence for other matters. Do you really wish, of your ,., n

  volition, to destroy the life - the life, mind - of any hu?. :,n

  being?'

  She stared at him. Her eyes darkened. Suddenly .;ne

  muttered:

  'No. You're right. I don't.'

  Then, turning on her heel, she went swiftly from the

  The outer door banged...

  Japp gave a long - a very prolonged - whistle.

  'Well, I'm damned? he said.

  Poirot sat down and smiled at him amiably. It was qu: a

  long time before the silence was broken. Then Japp said:

  'Not murder disguised as suicide, but suicide made to

  like murder!'

  'Yes, and very cleverly done, too. Nothing

  emphasized.'

  Japp said suddenly:

  'But the attache-case? Where did that come in?'

  'But, my dear, my very dear friend, I have already told you

  that it did not come in.'

  'Then why '

  'The golf clubs. The golf clubs, Japp. They were the golf..

  of a left-handed person. Jane Plenderleith kept her clul at

  Wentworth. Those were Barbara Allen's clu3s. No wonde

  girl got, as you say, the wind up when we opened at

  cupboard. Her whole plan might have been ruined. But she is

  114

  quick, she realized that she had, for one short moment, given

  herself away. She saw that we saw. So she does the best thing

  she can think of on the spur of the moment. She tries to focus

  our attention on the wrong object. She says of the attache-case

  "That's mine. I - it came back with me this morning. So there

  can't be anything there." And, as she hoped, away you go on

  the false trail. For the same reason, when she sets out the

  following day to get rid of the golf clubs, she continues to use

  the attache-case as a - what is it - kippered herring?'

  'Red herring. Do you mean that her real object was ?'

  'Consider, my friend. Where is the best place to get rid of a

  bag of golf clubs? One cannot burn them or put them in a

  dustbin. If one leaves them somewhere they may be returned

  to you. Miss Plenderleith took them to a golf course. She leaves

  them in the clubhouse while she gets a couple of irons from her

  own bag, and then she goes round without a caddy. Doubtless

  at judicious intervals she breaks a club in half and throws it into

  some deep undergrowth, and ends by throwing the empty bag

  away. If anyone should f'md a broken golf club here and there

  it will not create surprise. People have been known to break and

  throw away all their clulas in a mood of intense exasperation

  over the game! It is, in fact, that kind of game!

  'But since she realizes that her actions may still be a matter

  0finterest, she throws that useful red herring - the attache-case

  - in a somewhat spectacular manner into the lake - and that, my

  friend, is the truth of "The Mystery of the Attache-Case."'

  Japp looked at his friend for some moments in silence. Then

  he rose, clapped him on the shoulder, and burst out laughing.

  'Not so bad for an old dog! Upon my word, you take the

  cake! Come out and have a spot of lunch?'

  'With pleasure, my friend, but we will not have the cake.

  Indeed, an Omelette aux Champignons, Blanquette de Veau,

  Petits pois la Francaise, and - to follow - a Baba au Rhum.'

  :'Lead me to it,' said Japp.

  115

  TRI'qqE AT RHODES

  CHAFI J R l

  1

  P ' g lb ,Ste'i '

  s carefully dressed in a andified

  fashion in i:.'ff . annels and a large nanama . -

  h

  ute/. ,.,

  k o

  '"- v'' x'ted

  his

  ead.

  He

  -,Ae;-d to the old-fashioned enerafi0 ·

  g a

  which

  believed lZvo


  ,

  h g itself carefully from the sun. Mi

  L w

  *

  '

  '

  ' ' sPamela

  yall, het ach

  ,lde him and talked

  ceaselessly,

  re,re

  t m

  '' · sented

  he oden

  bl of thought m that she was

  w ·

  b st . .v, . ekfng

  the

  are

  mm: 17 clothing on

  her sun-browned

  person.

  occasio

  ly

  e

  r flow of conversation stopped Whilst she

  reanointed

  r from a bottle of oily fluid

  which stood beside

  her.

  On the l

  alt

  ,lde of

  Miss Pamela Lyall her ·

  · %e

  ,. . great fnen(,

  Mss Sara

  ltffq lay face downwards on a gaudily

  -st4?e,j

  towel. Mis,

  -' o: s tanning was as.perfect

  as

  ssible

  if ' d

  ar

  ,

  . , po and ier

  hen

  cast%y .tiea gmnces at her more than once

  I

  m so atch j

  ll, she murmured

  regretfully

  M,

  Poirot -

  would you .djti ist belo ,w the

  right shoulder-blade - I can't

  reach to ruhi.. li roperly.

  M. Poir

  thpi.

  d and then wiped his oil hand car

  h'

  o,

  ,/ · .

  . ?

  ffully on

  is handkethi(,ati?hss Lyall, whose pnncipal

  interests

  in

  life

  were

  the

  oh w 4nl)n

  of

  people

  round

  her

  and

  the

  souhd

  of

  her

  own

  voice, ed