Dead Man's Folly hp-31

by Agatha Christie

  Miss Brewis murmured sardonically:

  "Thinks it's the Royal Enclosure at Ascot, evidently!"

  But Poirot complimented her gravely.

  "It is a beautiful creation that you have on, Madame."

  "It is nice, isn't it," said Hattie happily. "I wore it for Ascot."

  The minor film star was arriving and Hattie moved forward to greet her.

  Poirot retreated into the background. He wandered around disconsolately – everything seemed to be proceeding in the normal fashion of fêtes. There was a coconut shy, presided over by Sir George in his heartiest fahion, a skittle alley and a hoop-la. There were various "stalls" displaying local produce of fruit, vegetables, jams and cakes – and others displaying "fancy objects." There were "raffles" of cakes, of baskets of fruit; even, it seemed, of a pig; and a "Lucky Dip" for children at twopence a go.

  There was a good crowd of people by now and an Exhibition of Children's Dancing began. Poirot saw no sign of Mrs Oliver, but Lady Stubbs's cyclamen pink figure showed up amongst the crowd as she drifted rather vaguely about. The focus of attention, however, seemed to be Mrs Folliat. She was quite transformed in appearance – wearing a hydrangea-blue foulard frock and a smart grey hat, she appeared to preside over the proceedings, greeting new arrivals, and directing people to the various side shows.

  Poirot lingered near her and listened to some of the conversations.

  "Amy, my dear, how are you?"

  "Oh, Pamela, how nice of you and Edward to come. Such a long way from Tiverton."

  "The weather's held for you. Remember the year before the war? Cloudburst came down about four o'clock. Ruined the whole show."

  "But it's been a wonderful summer this year. Dorothy! It's ages since I've seen you."

  "We felt we had to come and see Nasse in its glory. I see you've cut back the berberis on the bank."

  "Yes, it shows the hydrangeas better, don't you think?"

  "How wonderful they are. What a blue! But, my dear, you've done wonders in the last year. Nasse is really beginning to look like itself again."

  Dorothy's husband boomed in a deep voice:

  "Came over to see the commandant here during the war. Nearly broke my heart."

  Mrs Folliat turned to greet a humbler visitor.

  "Mrs Knapper, I am pleased to see you. Is this Lucy? How she's grown!"

  "She'll be leaving school next year. Pleased to see you looking so well, ma'am."

  "I'm very well, thank you. You must go and try your luck at hoop-la, Lucy. See you in the tea tent later, Mrs Knapper. I shall be helping with the teas."

  An elderly man, presumably Mr Knapper, said diffidently:

  "Pleased to have you back at Nasse, ma'am. Seems like old times."

  Mrs Folliat's response was drowned as two women and a big beefy man rushed towards her.

  "Amy, dear, such ages. This looks the greatest success! Do tell me what you've done about the rose garden. Muriel told me that you're restocking it with all the new floribundas."

  The beefy man chipped in.

  "Where's Marylin Gale -?"

  "Reggie's just dying to meet her. He saw her last picture."

  "That her in the big hat? My word, that's some get-up."

  "Don't be stupid, darling. That's Hattie Stubbs. You know, Amy, you really shouldn't let her go round quite so like a mannequin."

  "Amy?" Another friend claimed attention. "This is Roger, Edward's boy. My dear, so nice to have you back at Nasse."

  Poirot moved slowly away and absent-mindedly invested a shilling on a ticket that might win him the pig.

  He heard faintly still, the "So good of you to come" refrain from behind him. He wondered whether Mrs Folliat realised how completely she had slipped into the role of hostess or whether it was entirely unconscious. She was, very definitely this afternoon, Mrs Folliat of Nasse House.

  He was standing by the tent labelled "Madame Zuleika will tell your fortune for 2s. 6d." Teas had just begun to be served and there was no longer a queue for the fortune telling. Poirot bowed his head, entered the tent and paid over his half-crown willingly for the privilege of sinking into a chair and resting his aching feet.

  Madame Zuleika was wearing flowing black robes, a gold tinsel scarf wound round her head and a veil across the lower half of her face which slightly ruffled her remarks. A gold bracelet hung with lucky charms tinkled as she took Poirot's hand and gave him a rapid reading, agreeably full of money to come, success with a dark beauty and a miraculous escape from an accident.

  "It is very agreeable all that you tell me, Madame Legge. I only wish that it could come true."

  "Oh!" said Sally. "So you know me, do you?"

  "I had advance information – Mrs Oliver told me that you were originally to be the 'victim' but that you had been snatched from her for the Occult."

  "I wish I was being the 'body,'" said Sally. "Much more peaceful. All Jim Warburton's fault. Is it four o'clock yet? I want my tea. I'm off duty from four to half-past."

  "Ten minutes to go, still," said Poirot, consulting his large old-fashioned watch. "Shall I bring a cup of tea here?"

  "No, no. I want the break. This tent is stifling. Are there a lot of people waiting still?"

  "No, I think they are lining up for tea."

  "Good."

  Poirot emerged from the tent and was immediately challenged by a determined woman and made to pay sixpence and guess the weight of a cake.

  A hoop-la stall presided over by a fat motherly woman urged him to try his luck and, much to discomfiture, he immediately won a large Kewpie doll. Walking sheepishly along with this he encountered Michael Weyman who was standing gloomy on the outskirts near the top of a path that led down to the quay.

  "You seem to have been enjoying yourself, M. Poirot," he said, with a sardonic grin.

  Poirot contemplated his prize.

  "It is truly horrible, is it not?" he said sadly.

  A small child near him suddenly burst out crying. Poirot stooped swiftly and tucked the doll into the child's arm.

  "Voilа, it is for you."

  The tears ceased abruptly.

  "There – Violet – isn't the gentleman kind? Say, Ta, ever so -"

  "Children's Fancy Dress," called out Captain Warburton through a megaphone. "The first class – three to five. Form up, please."

  Poirot moved towards the house, and was cannoned into by a young man who was stepping backwards to take a better aim at a coconut. The young man scowled and Poirot apologised, mechanically, his eye held fascinated by the varied pattern of the young man's shirt. He recognised it as the "turtle" shirt of Sir George's description. Every kind of turtle, tortoise and sea monster appeared to be writhing and crawling over it.

  Poirot blinked and was accosted by the Dutch girl to whom he had given a lift the day before.

  "So you have come to the fête," he said. "And your friend?"

  "Oh, yes, she, too, comes here this afternoon. I have not seen her yet, but we shall leave together by the bus that goes from the gates at five-fifteen. We go to Torquay and there I change to another bus for Plymouth. It is convenient."

  This explained what had puzzled Poirot, the fact that the Dutch girl was perspiring under the weight of a rucksack.

  He said: "I saw your friend this morning."

  "Oh, yes, Elsa, a German girl, was with her and she told me they had tried to get through woods to the river and quay. And the gentleman who owns the house was very angry and made them go back."

  She added, turning her head to where Sir George was urging competitors at the coconut shy:

  "But now – this afternoon, he is very polite."

  Poirot considered explaining that there was a difference between young women who were trespassers and the same young women when they had paid two shillings and sixpence entrance fee and were legally entitled to sample the delights of Nasse House and its grounds. But Captain Warburton and his megaphone bore down upon him. The Captain was looking hot and bothered.

>   "Have you seen Lady Stubbs, Poirot? Anyone seen Lady Stubbs? She's supposed to be judging this Fancy Dress business and I can't find her anywhere."

  "I saw her, let me see – oh, about half an hour ago. But then I went to have my fortune told."

  "Curse the woman," said Warburton angrily. "Where can she have disappeared to? The children are waiting and we're behind schedule as it is."

  He looked round.

  "Where's Amanda Brewis?"

  Miss Brewis, also, was not in evidence.

  "It really is too bad," said Warburton. "One's got to have some co-operation if one's trying to run a show. Where can Hattie be? Perhaps she's gone into the house."

  He strode off rapidly.

  Poirot edged his way towards the roped-off space where teas were being served in a large marquee, but there was a long waiting queue and he decided against it.

  He inspected the Fancy Goods stall where a determined old lady very nearly managed to sell him a plastic collar box, and finally made his way round the outskirts to a place where he could contemplate the activity from a safe distance.

  He wondered where Mrs Oliver was.

  Footsteps behind him made him turn his head. A young man was coming up the path from the quay; a very dark young man, faultlessly attired in yachting costume. He paused as though disconcerted by the scene before him.

  Then he spoke hesitatingly to Poirot.

  "You will excuse me. Is this the house of Sir Georges Stubbs?"

  "It is indeed." Poirot paused and then hazarded a guess. "Are you, perhaps, the cousin of Lady Stubbs?"

  "I am Etienne de Sousa -"

  "My name is Hercule Poirot."

  They bowed to each other. Poirot explained the circumstances of the fête. As he finished, Sir George came across the lawn towards them from the coconut shy.

  "De Sousa? Delighted to see you. Hattie got your letter this morning. Where's your yacht?"

  "It is moored at Helmmouth. I came up the river to the quay here in my launch."

  "We must find Hattie. She's somewhere about… You'll dine with us this evening, I hope?"

  "You are most kind."

  "Can we put you up?"

  "That also is most kind, but I will sleep on my yacht. It is easier so."

  "Are you staying here long?"

  "Two or three days, perhaps. It depends." De Sousa shrugged elegant shoulders.

  "Hattie will be delighted, I'm sure," said Sir George politely. "Where is she? I saw her not long ago."

  He looked round in a perplexed manner.

  "She ought to be judging the children's fancy dress. I can't understand it. Excuse me a moment. I'll ask Miss Brewis."

  He hurried off. De Sousa looked after him. Poirot looked at De Sousa.

  "It is some little time since you last saw your cousin?" he asked.

  The other shrugged his shoulders.

  "I have not seen her since she was fifteen years old. Soon after that she was sent abroad – to school at a convent in France. As a child she promised to have good looks."

  He looked inquiringly at Poirot.

  "She is a beautiful woman," said Poirot.

  "And that is her husband? He seems what they call 'a good fellow,' but not perhaps very polished? Still, for Hattie it might be perhaps a little difficult to find a suitable husband."

  Poirot remained with a politely inquiring expression on his face. The other laughed.

  "Oh, it is no secret. At fifteen Hattie was mentally undeveloped. Feeble minded, do you not call it? She is still the same?"

  "It would seem so – yes," said Poirot cautiously.

  De Sousa shrugged his shoulders.

  "Ah, well! Why should one ask it of women – that they should be intelligent? It is not necessary."

  Sir George was back, fuming. Miss Brewis was with him, speaking rather breathlessly.

  "I've no idea where she is, Sir George. I saw her over by the fortune teller's tent last. But that was at least twenty minutes or half an hour ago. She's not in the house."

  "Is it not possible," asked Poirot, "that she has gone to observe the progress of Mrs Oliver's murder hunt?"

  Sir George's brow cleared.

  "That's probably it. Look here, I can't leave the shows here. I'm in charge. And Amanda's got her hands full. Could you possibly have a look round, Poirot? You know the course."

  But Poirot did not know the course. However, an inquiry of Miss Brewis gave him rough guidance. Miss Brewis took brisk charge of De Sousa and Poirot went off murmuring to himself, like an incantation:

  " Tennis Court, Camellia Garden, The Folly, Upper Nursery Garden, Boathouse…"

  As he passed the coconut shy he was amused to notice Sir George proffering wooden balls with a dazzling smile of welcome to the same young Italian woman whom he had driven off that morning and who was clearly puzzled at his change of attitude.

  He went on his way to the tennis court. But there was no one there but an old gentleman of military aspect who was fast asleep on a garden seat with his hat pulled over his eyes. Poirot retraced his steps to the house and went on down to the camellia garden.

  In the camellia garden Poirot found Mrs Oliver dressed in purple splendour, sitting on a garden seat in a brooding attitude, and looking rather like Mrs Siddons. She beckoned him to the seat beside her.

  "This is only the second clue," she hissed. "I think I've made them too difficult. Nobody's come yet."

  At this moment a young man in shorts, with a prominent Adam's apple, entered the garden. With a cry of satisfaction he hurried to a tree in one corner and a further satisfied cry announced his discovery of the next clue. Passing them, he felt impelled to communicate his satisfaction.

  "Lots of people don't know about cork trees," he said confidentially. "Clever photograph, the first clue, but I spotted what it was – section of a tennis net. There was a poison bottle, empty, and a cork. Most of 'em will go all out after the bottle clue – I guessed it was a red herring. Very delicate, cork trees, only hardy in this part of the world. I'm interested in rare shrubs and trees. Now where does one go, I wonder?"

  He frowned over the entry in the notebook he carried.

  "I've copied the next clue but it doesn't seem to make sense." He eyed them suspiciously. "You competing?"

  "Oh, no," said Mrs Oliver. "We're just – looking on."

  "Righty-ho… 'When lovely woman stoops to folly.'… I've an idea I've heard that somewhere."

  "It is a well-known quotation," said Poirot.

  "A Folly can also be a building," said Mrs Oliver helpfully. "White – with pillars," she added.

  "That's an idea! Thanks a lot. They say Mrs Ariadne Oliver is down here herself somewhere about. I'd like to get her autograph. You haven't seen her about, have you?"

  "No," said Mrs Oliver firmly.

  "I'd like to meet her. Good yarns she writes." He lowered his voice. "But they say she drinks like a fish."

  He hurried off and Mrs Oliver said indignantly:

  "Really! That's most unfair when I only like lemonade!"

  "And have you not just perpetrated the great unfairness in helping that young man towards the next clue?"

  "Considering he's the only one who's got here so far, I thought he ought to be encouraged."

  "But you wouldn't give him your autograph."

  "That's different," said Mrs Oliver. "Sh! Here come some more."

  But these were not clue hunters. They were two women who having paid for admittance were determined to get their money's worth by seeing the grounds thoroughly.

  They were hot and dissatisfied.

  "You'd think they'd have some nice flower-beds," said one to the other. "Nothing but trees and more trees. It's not what I call a garden."

  Mrs Oliver nudged Poirot, and they slipped quietly away.

  "Supposing," said Mrs Oliver distractedly, "that nobody ever finds my body?"

  "Patience, Madame, and courage," said Poirot. "The afternoon is still young."

  "That's
true," said Mrs Oliver brightening. "And it's half-price admission after four-thirty, so probably lots of people will flock in. Let's go and see how that Marlene child is getting on. I don't really trust that girl, you know. No sense of responsibility. I wouldn't put it past her to sneak away quietly, instead of being a corpse, and go and have tea. You know what people are like about their teas."

  They proceeded amicably along the woodland path and Poirot commented on the geography of the property.

  "I find it very confusing," he said. "So many paths, and one is never sure where they lead. And trees, trees everywhere."

  "You sound like that disgruntled woman we've just left."

  They passed the Folly and zig-zagged down the path to the river. The outlines of the boathouse showed beneath them.

  Poirot remarked that it would be awkward if the murder searchers were to light upon the boathouse and find the body by accident.

  "A sort of short cut? I thought of that. That's why the last clue is just a key. You can't unlock the door without it. It's a Yale. You can only open it from the inside."

  A short steep slope led down to the door of the boathouse which was built out over the river, with a little wharf and a storage place for boats underneath. Mrs Oliver took a key from a pocket concealed amongst her purple folds and unlocked the door.

  "We've just come to cheer you up, Marlene," she said brightly as she entered.

  She felt slightly remorseful at her unjust suspicions of Marlene's loyalty, for Marlene, artistically arranged as "the body," was playing her part nobly, sprawled on the floor by the window.

  Marlene made no response. She lay quite motionless. The wind blowing gently through the open window rustled a pile of "comics" spread out on the table.

  "It's all right," said Mrs Oliver impatiently. "It's only me and M. Poirot. Nobody's got any distance with the clues yet."

  Poirot was frowning. Very gently he pushed Mrs Oliver aside and went and bent over the girl on the floor. A suppressed exclamation came from his lips. He looked up at Mrs Oliver.

  "So…" he said. "That which you expected has happened."

  "You don't mean…" Mrs Oliver's eyes widened in horror. She grasped for one of the basket chairs and sat down. "You can't mean… She isn't dead?"

  Poirot nodded.

  "Oh, yes," he said. "She is dead. Though not very long dead."