'Yes,' said Poirot, 'it is difficult, that. And yet there was some
reason - some urgent reason why Mr Farley received me in his
secretary's room and refused point blank to take me into his
own room. There was something in that room he could not affora to
2ve me see.
'And now I come to the third inexplicable thing that
165
happened on that evening. Mr Farley, just as I was leaving,
requested me to hand him the letter I had received. By
inadvertence I handed him a communication from my
laundress. He glanced at it and laid it down beside him. Jtt
before I left the room I discovered my error- and rectified i:!
After that I left the house and - I admit it- I was completely at seal The whole affair and especially that last inddent seemed to
me quite inexplicable.'
He looked round from one to the other.
'You do not see?'
Stillingfieet said, 'I don't really see how your laundre.,;:;
comes into it, Poirot .'
'My laundress,' said Poirot, 'was very important. That
miserable woman who ruins my collars, was, for the first time in
her life, useful to somebody. Surely you see - it is so obvious.
Mr Farley glanced at that communication - one glance would
have told him that it was the wrong letter - and yet he knew
nothing. Why? Because he could not see it properly,t'
Inspector Barnett said sharply, 'Didn't he have his glasses
on?'
Hercule Poirot smiled. 'Yes,' he said. 'He had his glasses on.
That is what makes it so very interesting.'
He leaned forward.
'Mr Farley's dream was very important. He dreamed, you
see, that he committed suicide. And a little later on, he did
commit suicide. That is to say he was alone in a room and wa
found there with a revolver by him, and no one entered or lei'
the room at the time that he was shot. What does that mean? 1
means, does it not, that it must be suicide!'
'Yes,' said Sfllingfleet.
Hercule Poirot shook his head.
'On the contrary,' he said. 'It was murder. An unusual and:
very cleverly planned murder.'
Again he leaned forward, tapping the table, his eyes green
and shining.
166
'Why did Mr Farley not allow me to go into his own room
that evening? What was there in there that I must not be
allowed to see? I think, my friends, that there was- Benedict
Farley himselfI'
He smiled at the blank faces.
'Yes, yes, it is not nonsense what I say. Why could the Mr
Farley to whom I had been talking not realize the difference
between two totally dissimilar letters? Because, roes amis, he
was a man of nom.l sight wearing a pair of very powerful
glasses. Those glasses would render a man of normal eyesight
practically blind. Isn't that so, Doctor?'
S tillingfieet murmured, 'That's so - of course.'
'Why did I feel that in talking to Mr Farley I was talking to a mountebank, to an actor playing a part! Consider the setting.
The dim room, the green-shaded light turned blindingly
away from the figure in the chair. What did I see- the £amous
patchwork dressing-gown, the beaked nose (faked with that
. useful substance, nose putty) the white crest of hair, the
.i POwerful lenses concealing the eyes. What evidence is there
' "i!i that Mr Farley ever had a dream? Only the story I was told
and the evidence of Mrs Farley. What evidence is there that
Benedict Farley kept a revolver in his desk? Again only the
story told me and the word of Mrs Farley. Two people
carried this fraud through- Mrs Farley and Hugo
Cornworthy. Cornworthy wrote the letter to me, gave instructions
to the butler, went out ostensibly to the cinema,
but let himself in again immediately with a key, went to his
room, made himself up, and played the part of Benedict
Farley.
'And so we come to this afternoon. The opportunity for
which Mr Cornworthy has been waiting arrives. There are
two witnesses on the landing to swear that'no one goes in or
· out of Benedict Farley's room. Cornworthy waits until a
particularly heavy batch of traffic is about to pass. Then he
leans out of his window, and with the lazy-tongs which he has
167
purloined from the desk next door he holds an object against
the window of that room. Benedict Farley comes to t[.
window. Cornworthy snatches back the tongs and as Farle,.
leans out, and the lorries are passing outside, Cornworthy
shoots him with the revolver that he has ready. There is a
blank wall opposite, remember. There can be no witness of
the crime. Cornworthy waits for over half-an hour, then
gathers up some papers, conceals the lazy-tongs and the
revolver between them and gOeS out on to the landing and
into the next room. He replaces the tongs on the desk, lays
down the revolver after pressing the dead man's pounds gers on it,
and hurries out with the news of Mr Farley's "suicide."
'He arranges that the letter to me shall be found and that I
shall arrive with my story- the story I heard from MrFarley's
own lips - of his extraordinary "dream" - the strange com-pulsion
he felt to kill himselE A few credulous people will
discuss the hypnotism theory - but the main result will be to
confirm without a doubt that the actual hand that held the
revolver was Benedict Farley's own.'
Hercule Poirot's eyes went to the widow's face - he noted
with satisfaction the dismay - the ashy pallor - the blind
fear ....
'And in due course,' he finished gently, 'the happy ending
would have been achieved. A quarter of a million and two
hearts that beat as one .... '
John Stillingfieet, MD, and Hercule Poirot walked along the
side of Northway House. On their right was the towering
wall of the factory. Above them, on their left, were the
windows of Benedict Farley's and Hugo Cornworthy's
rooms. Hercule Poirot stopped and picked up a small object-a
black stuffed cat.
'Voild,' he said. 'That is what Cornworthy held in the
lazy-tongs against Farley's window. You remember, he
hated cats? Naturally he rushed to the window.'
168
'Why on earth didn't Cornworthy come out and pick it up
' after he'd dropped it?'
'How could he? To do so would have been definitely
suspicious. After all, if this object were found what would
anyone think- that some child had wandered round here and
dropped it.'
'Yes,' said Sti!lingfleet with a sigh. 'That's probably what
the ordinary person would have thought. But not good old
Hercule! D'you know, old horse, up to the very last minute I
thought you- were leading up to some Subtle theory of highfalutin'
psychological "suggested" murder? I bet those two
thought so too! Nasty bit of goods, the Farley. Goodness,
how she cracked! Cornworthy might have got away with it if
she hadn't had hysterics and tried to spoil your beauty by
going for you with her nails. I only got her off
you just in
time.'
He paused a minute arid then said:
'I rather like the girl. Grit, you know, and brains. I
suppose I'd be thought to be a fortune hunter if I had a shot at
her . . . ?'
'You are too late, my friend. There is already someone sur
le tapis. Her father's death has opened the way to happiness.'
'Take it all round, she had a pretty good motive for
bumping off the unpleasant parent.'
'Motive and opportunity are not enough,' said Poirot.
'There must also be the criminal temperament!'
'I wonder if you'll ever commit a crime, Poirot?' said
Stillingfieet. 'I bet you could get away with it all right. As a
matter of fact, it would be too easy for you - I mean the thing
would be off as definitely too unsporting.'
'That,' said Poirot, 'is a typical English idea.'
169
FOUR AND TWENTY BLACKBIRDS
Hercule Poirot was dining with his friend, Henry
Bonnington at the Gallant Endeavour in the King's Road,
Chelsea.
Mr Bonnington was fond of the Gallant Endeavour. He
liked the leisurely atmosphere, he liked the food which was
'plain' and 'English' and 'not a lot of made up messes.' He
liked to tell people who dined with him there just exactl
where Augustus John had been wont to sit and draw the
attention to the famous artists' names in the visitors' book
Mr Bonnington was himself the least artistic of men - but b'
took a certain pride in the artistic activities of others.
Molly, the sympathetic waitress, greeted Mr Bonningto;
as an old friend. She prided herself on remembering he
customers' likes and dislikes in the way of food.
'Good evening, sir,' she said, as the two men took their
seats at a corner table. 'You're in luck today - turkey stuffe,¢
with chestnuts - that's your favourite, isn't it? And ever suc}
a nice Stilton we've got I Will you have soup first or fish?'
Mr Bonnington deliberated the point. He said to Poirot
warningly as the latter studied the menu:
'None of your French kickshaws now. Good well-cooked
English food.'
'My friend,' Hercule Poirot waved his hand, 'I ask no
better! I put myself in your hands unreservedly.'
'Ah - hruup - er - hm,' replied Mr Bonnington and gave
careful attention to the matter.
These weighty matters, and the question of wine, settled,
Mr Bonnington leaned back with a sigh and unfolded his
napkin as Molly sped away.
170
'Good girl, that,' he said approvingly. 'Was quite a beauty
once - artists used to paint her. She knows about food, too and
that's a great deal more important. Women are very
unsound on food as a rule. There's many a woman if she goes
out with a fellow she fancies - won't even notice what she
eats. She'll just order the first thing she sees.' Hercule Poirot shookhis head. 'C' est terrible.'
Then aren't like that, thank God? said Mr Bonnington
complacently.
'Never?' There was a twinkle in Hercule Poirot's eye.
'Well, perhaps when they're very young,' conceded Mr
Bonnington. 'Young puppies! Young fellows nowadays are
all the same - no guts - no stamina. I've no use for the young-and
they,' he added with strict impartiality, 'have no use for
me.'Perhaps they're rightI But to hear some of these young
fellows talk you'd think no man had a right to be alive after
sixty! From the way they go on, you'd wonder more of them
didn't help their elderly relations out of the world.'
'It is possible,' said Hercule Poirot, 'that they do.'
'Nice mind you've got, Poirot, I must say. All this police
work saps your ideals.'
Hercule Poirot smiled.
'Tout de mbme,' he said. 'It would be interesting to make a
table of accidental deaths over the age of sixty. I assure you it
would raise some curious speculations in your mind.'
'The trouble with you is that you've started going to look
for crime- instead of waiting for crime to come to you.'
'I apologize,' said Poirot. 'I talk what you call "the shop."
Tell me, my friend, of your own affairs. How does the world
go with you?'
'Mess!' said Mr Bonnington. 'That's what's the matter
with the world nowadays. Too much mess. And too much
tilde language. The fine language helps to conceal the mess.
Like a highly-flavoured sauce concealing the fact that the fish
171
underneath it is none of the best! Give me an honest fillet of
sole and no messy sauce over it.'
It was given him at that moment by Molly and he grunted
approval.
'You know just what I like, my girl,' he said.
'Well, you come here pretty regular, don't you, sir? [
ought to know what you like.'
Hercule Poirot said:
'Do people then always like the same things? Do not th,:,
like a change sometimes?'
'Not gentlemen, sir. Ladies like variety - gentlemen
always like the same thing.'
'What did I tell you?' grunted Bonnington. 'Women are
fundamentally unsound where food is concerned?
He looked round the restaurant.
'The world's a funny place. See that odd-looking old fellow
with a beard in the corner? Molly'll tell you he's always here
Tuesdays and Thursday nights. He has come here for close
on ten years now - he's a kind of landmark in the place. Yet
nobody here knows his name or where he lives or what his
business is. It's odd when you come to think of it.'
When the waitress brought the portions of turkey he said:
'I see you've still got Old Father Time over there?'
'That's right, sir. Tuesdays and Thursdays, his days are.
Not but what he came in here on a Monday last week! It quite
upset me! I felt I'd got my dates wrong and that it must be
Tuesday without my knowing it! But he came in the next
night as well - so the Monday was just a kind of extra, so to
speak.'
'An interesting deviation from habit,' murmured Poirot. 'I
wonder what the reason was?'
'Well, sir, if you ask me, I think he'd had some kind of
upset or worry.'
'Why did you think that? His manner?'
'No, sir - not his manner exactly. He was very quiet as he
172
always is. Never says much except good evening when he
comes and goes. No, it was his order.'
'His order?'
'I dare say you gentlemen will laugh at me,' Molly flushed
up, 'but when a gentleman has been here for ten years, you
get to know his likes and dislikes. He never could bear suet
pudding or blackberries and I've never known him take thick
soup - but on that Monday night he ordered thick tomato
soup, beefsteak and kidney pudding and blackberry tart!
Seemed as though he just didn't notice what he ordered!'
'Do you know,' said Hercule Poirot, 'I fred that ex-traordinarily
interesting.'
Molly looked gratified and departed.
'Well, Poirot,' said Henry Bonnington with a chuckle.
'Let's have a few deductions from y
ou. All in your best
manner.'
'I would prefer to hear yours first.'
i 'Want me to be Watson, eh? Well, old fellow went to a
i doctor and the doctor changed his diet.'
· .'il 'To thick tomato soup, steak and kidney pudding and
i 'i blackberry tart? I cannot imagine any doctor doing that.'
'Don't believe it, old boy. Doctors will put you on to
anything.'
'That is the only solution that occurs to you?'
Henry Bonnington said:
'Well, seriously, I suppose there's only one explanation
possible. Our unknown friend was in the grip of some
powerful mental emotion. He was so perturbed by it that he
literally did not notice what he was ordering or eating.'
He paused a minute and then said:
'You'll be telling me next that you know just what was on
his mind. You'll say perhaps that he was making up his mind
to commit a murder.'
He laughed at his own suggestion.
Hercule Poirot did not laugh.
173
He has admitted that at that moment he was seriously
worried. He claims that he ought then to have had some
inkling of what was likely to occur.
His friends assure him that such an idea is quite fantastic.
It was some three weeks later that Hercule Poirot and
Bonnington met again - this time their meeting was in the
Tube.
They nodded to each other, swaying about, hanging on to
adjacent straps. Then at Piccadilly Circus there was a general
exodus and they found seats right at the forward end of the
AgathaChristie-HerculePoirotsCasebook Page 20
