Postern of Fate

by Agatha Christie

  'The complete confidence trick. The old, old story. Always on the same lines.

  'In the commercial world, in the Services, in political life. Always a man with an honest face - a fellow you can't help liking and trusting. Beyond suspicion. "The last man in the world". Etc., etc., etc. Someone who's a natural for the job, like the man who can sell you a gold brick outside the Ritz.

  'Your present village, Mrs Beresford, became the headquarters of a certain group just before the First World War. It was such a nice old-world village - nice people had always lived there - all patriotic, doing different kinds of war work. A good naval harbour - a good-looking young naval commander - came of a good family, father had been an admiral. A good doctor practising there - much loved by all his patients - they enjoyed confiding their troubles to him. Just in general practice - hardly anyone knew that he had had a special training in chemical warfare - in poison-gases.

  'And later, before the Second World War, Mr Kane - spelt with a K - lived in a pretty thatched cottage by the harbour and had a particular political creed - not Fascist - oh no! Just Peace before Everything to save the world - a creed rapidly gaining a following on the Continent and in numerous other countries abroad.

  'None of that is what you really want to know, Mrs Beresford - but you've got to realizethe background first, a very carefully contrived one. That's where Mary Jordan was sent to find out, if she could, just what was going on.

  'She was born before my time. I admired the work she had done for us when I heard the story of it - and I would have liked to have known her - she obviously had character and personality.

  'Mary was her own Christian name though she was always known as Molly. She did good work. It was a tragedy she should die young.'

  Tuppence had been looking up to the wall at a picture which for some reason looked familiar. It was a mere sketch of a boy's head.

  'Is that - surely -'

  'Yes,' said Mr Robinson. 'That's the boy Alexander Parkinson. He was only eleven then. He was a grandson of a great-aunt of mine. That's how Molly went to the Parkinsons' in the role of a nursery governess. It seemed a good safe observation post. One wouldn't ever have thought -' he broke off, 'what would come of it.'

  'It wasn't - one of the Parkinsons?' asked Tuppence.

  'Oh no, my dear. I understand that the Parkinsons were not involved in any way. But there were others - guests and friends - staying in the house that night. It was your Thomas who found out that the evening in question was the date of a census return. The names of everyone sleeping under that roof had to be entered as well as the usual occupants. One of those names linked up in a significant manner. The daughter of the local doctor about whom I have just told you came down to visit her father as she often did and asked the Parkinsons to put her up that night as she had brought two friends with her. Those friends were all right - but later her father was found to be heavily involved in all that was going on in that part of the world. She herself, it seemed, had helped the Parkinsons in garden work some weeks earlier and was responsible for foxgloves and spinach being planted in close proximity. It was she who hadtaken the mixture of leaves to the kitchen on the fatal day. The illness of all the participants of the meal passed off as one of those unfortunate mistakes that happen sometimes. The doctor explained he had known such a thing happen before. His evidence at the inquest resulted in verdict of Misadventure. The fact that a cocktail glass had been swept off a table and smashed by accident that same night attracted no attention.

  'Perhaps, Mrs Beresford, you would be interested to know that history might have repeated itself. You were shot at from a clump of pampas grass, and later the lady calling herself Miss Mullins tried to add poison to your coffee cup. I understand she is actually a granddaughter or great-niece of the original criminal doctor, and before the Second World War she was a disciple of Jonathan Kane. That's how Crispin knew of her, of course. And your dog definitely diapproved of her and took prompt action. Indeed we now know that it was she who coshed old Isaac.

  'We now have to consider an even more sinister character. The genial kindly doctor was idolized by everyone in the place, but it seems most probable on the evidence that it was the doctor who was responsible for Mary Jordan's death, though at the time no one would have believed it. He had wide scientific interests, and expert knowledge of poisons and did pioneering work in bacteriology. It has taken sixty years before the facts have become known. Only Alexander Parkinson, a schoolboy at the time, began having ideas.'

  'Mary Jordan did not die naturally,' quoted Tuppence softly. 'It must have been one of us.' She asked: 'Was it the doctor who found out what Mary was doing?'

  'No. The doctor had not suspected. But somebody had. Up till then she had been completely successful. The Naval commander had worked with her as planned. The information she passed to him was genuine and he didn't realize that it was mainly stuff that didn't matter - though it had been made to sound important. So-called naval plans and secrets which he passed to her, she duly delivered on her days off in London, obeying instructions as to when and where. Queen Mary's Garden in Regent's Park was one, I believe - and the Peter Pan statue in Kensington Gardens was another. We learned a good deal from these meetings and the minor officials in certain embassies concerned.

  'But all that's in the past, Mrs Beresford, long, long in the past.'

  Colonel Pikeaway coughed and suddenly took over. 'But history repeats itself, Mrs Beresford. Everyone learns that sooner or later. A nucleus recently reformed in Hollowquay. People who knew about it set things up again. Perhaps that's why Miss Mullins returned. Certain hiding-places were used again. Secret meetings took place. Once more money became significant - where it came from, where it went to. Mr Robinson here was called in. And then our old friend Beresford came along and started giving me some very interesting information. It fitted in with what we had already suspected. Background scenery, being set up in anticipation. A future being prepared to be controlled and run by one particular political figure in this country. A man with a certain reputation and making more converts and followers every day. The Confidence Trick in action once again. Man of Great Integrity - Lover of Peace. Not Fascism - oh no! Just something that looks like Fascism. Peace for all - and financial rewards to those who cooperate.'

  'Do you mean it's still going on?' Tuppence's eyes opened wide.

  'Well, we know more or less all we want and need to know now. And that's partly because of what you two have contributed - the operation of a surgical nature on a rocking-horse was particularly informative -'

  'Mathilde!' exclaimed Tuppence. 'I am glad! I can hardly believe it. Mathilde's stomach!'

  'Wonderful things, horses,' said Colonel Pikeaway. 'Never know what they will do, or won't do. Ever since the wooden horse of Troy.'

  'Even Truelove helped, I hope,' said Tuppence. 'But, I mean, if it's all going on still. With children about -'

  'It isn't,' said Mr Crispin. 'You don't need to worry. That area of England is purified - the wasps' nest cleared up. It's suitable for private living again. We've reason to believe they've shifted operations to the neighbourhood of Bury St Edmunds. And we'll be keeping an eye on you, so you needn't worry at all.'

  Tuppence gave a sigh of relief. 'Thank you for telling me. You see, my daughter Deborah comes to stay from time to time and brings her three children -'

  'You needn't worry,' said Mr Robinson. 'By the way, after the N and M business, didn't you adopt the child that figured in the case - the one that had the nursery rhyme books, Goosey Gander and all the rest of it?'

  'Betty?' said Tuppence. 'Yes. She's done very well at university and she's gone off now to Africa to do research on how people live - that sort of thing. A lot of young people are very keen on that. She's a darling - and very happy.'

  Mr Robinson cleared his throat and rose to his feet. 'I want to propose a toast. To Mr and Mrs Thomas Beresford in acknowledgement of the service they have rendered to their country.'

  It was drun
k enthusiastically.

  'And if I may, I will propose a further toast,' said Mr Robinson. 'To Hannibal.'

  'There, Hannibal,' said Tuppence, stroking his head 'You've had your health drunk. Almost as good as being knighted or having a medal. I was reading Stanley Weyman's Count Hannibal only the other day.'

  'Read it as a boy, I remember,' said Mr Robinson. '"Who touches my brother touches Tavanne," if I've got it right. Pikeaway, don't you think? Hannibal, may I be permitted to tap you on the shoulder?'

  Hannibal took a step towards him, received a tap on the shoulder and gently wagged his tail.

  'I hereby create you a Count of this Realm.'

  'Count Hannibal. Isn't that lovely?' said Tuppence. 'What a proud dog you ought to be!'