DEAD MAN'S FOLLY Nasse House--and a Fete in progress, including, not a Treasure Hunt, but a Murder Hunt--devised by that wellknown detective novelist, Mrs. Ariadne Oliver; the prizes to be given away by the celebrated M. Hercule Poirot. That was how it appeared to the public. But what lay behind it? What was the summons that brought Hercule Poirot at a moment's notice from London to Devonshire--to meet there the bluff Sir George Stubbs, his beautiful exotic wife, old Mrs. Folliat whose ancestors had lived at Nasse for generations, and all the other people who were helping to make the Fete a success? And what part did the little white 'Folly', set high in the woods above the river, have to play? Once again, with her habitual ingenuity, Agatha Christie presents a baffling story of murder and suspicion. Even Poirot is bewildered by a misleading tangle of evidence--and more bewildered than ever by Mrs. Oliver's confused exposition of her own plots. An unlikely victim, an incredible disappearance, an impossible murderer... so it seems. But in the end they all make sense to Hercule Poirot. BOOKS BY A(.ATHA CHRIS 111: Tin' ABC Murders After the Funeral Appointment with Death The His Foul By (tic Pricking of My Thumbs A Caribbean Mystery The Clocks Curtain: Poirot's Last Case Death Comes as the End Death on the Nile Dumb Witness Endless Night Experiment wilti Death 4.')0 from Paddingloii Hercule Poirot's Christmas The I lollow The Labours of I lercules 1 .ord Edgwaic Dies Miss Marple's Final Ceases The Moving Finger Murder al llie Vicarage Murder in llie Mews The Murder of Roger Ackroyd The Mysterious Mr Quill Nemesis One, I we, Buckle My Shoe The Pale Horse Passenger to Franklurl A Pocket Full of Rye Postern of 1'ale Tile Seven Dials Mystery Sleeping Murder Taken at the Flood They Do It With Mirrors Thirteen for Luck I hree-Act Tragedy Why Didn't They Ask F.vans? The Adventure of the Christmas Pudding And Then There Were None At Bertram's Hotel 1 lie Body in llie Library ('.aids oil llie Table (.'..it Among (lie Pigeons Crooked House Dead Man's Folly Death in the Clouds Destination Unknown F.lepliaiils Can Remember F.vil Under tlie Sun Five Little Pigs I lallowe'en Party Hickory Dickory Dock The Hound of Death 1 lie I.islerdale Mystery T lie Mirror Cnx k'd from Side to Side Mrs me Ginty's Dead A Murder is Announced Murder in Mesopotamia Murder is Easy Murder on llie Orieni Express The Mystery of llie Blue Train N or M? Ordeal by Innocence Parker Pyne Investigates Peril at End House Pond's Early Cases Sad C;ypiess The Sittalord Mystery Sparkling Cyanide They Came lo Baghdad Third Girl I hirteen Problems Towards Zero n'c:.. Ere. Biography Come Tell Me How You l.ive Agatha Christie: An Autobiography Dead Man's Folly AGATHA CHRISTIE CO LI.INS 8 Grafton Street, London Wl William Collins Sons and Co Ltd London • Glasgow • Sydney • Auckland Toronto • Johannesburg ISBN 0 00 231075 9 Firsi published 1956 This reprint 1986 ©Agatha Christie 1956 Made and Printed in Great Britain by William Collins Sons and Co Ltd, Glasgow I it was Miss Lemon, Poirot's efficient secretary, who took the telephone call. Laying aside her shorthand notebook, she raised the receiver and said without emphasis, "Trafalgar 8137." Hercule Poirot leaned back in his upright chair and closed his eyes. His fingers beat a meditative soft tattoo on the edge of the table. In his head he continued to compose the polished periods of the letter he had been dictating. Placing her hand over the receiver. Miss Lemon asked in a low voice: "Will you accept a personal call from Nassecombe, Devon?" Poirot frowned. The place meant nothing to him. "The name of the caller? " he demanded cautiously. Miss Lemon spoke into the mouthpiece. " Air-raid? " she asked doubtingly. " Oh, yes--what was the last name again ?" Once more she turned to Hercule Poirot. "Mrs. Ariadne Oliver." Hercule Poirot's eyebrows shot up. A memory rose in his mind: windswept grey hair ... an eagle profile . . . He rose and replaced Miss Lemon at the telephone. 7 8 DEAD MAN'S FOLLY "Hercule Poirot speaks," he announced grandiloquently. "Is that Mr. Hercules Porrot speaking personally?" the suspicious voice of the telephone operator demanded. Poirot assured her that that was the case. "You're through to Mr. Porrot," said the voice. It's thin reedy accents were replaced by a magnificent booming contralto which caused Poirot hastily to shift the receiver a couple of inches farther from his ear. "M. Poirot, is that really j/om?" demanded Mrs. Oliver. "Myself in person, Madame." " This is Mrs. Oliver. I don't know if you'll remember me----" "But of course I remember you, Madame. Who could forget you? " "Well, people do sometimes," said Mrs. Oliver. " Quite often, in fact. I don't think that I've got a very distinctive personality. Or perhaps it's because I'm always doing different things to my hair. But all that's neither here nor there. I hope I'm not interrupting you when you're frightfully busy? " "No, no, you do not derange me in the least." " Good gracious--I'm sure I don't want to drive you out of your mind. The fact is, I need you." "Need me?" " Yes, at once. Can you take an aeroplane? *' "I do not take aeroplanes. They make me sick.** DEAD AfAJ^S FOLLY 9 "They do me, too. Anyway, I don't suppose it would be any quicker than the train really, because I think the only airport near here is Exeter which is miles away. So come by train. Twelve o'clock from Paddington to Nassecombe. You can do it nicely. You've got three-quarters of an hour if my watch is right-- though it isn't usually." "But where are you, Madame? What is all this aboutt" "Nasse House, Nassecombe. A car or taxi will meet you at the station at Nassecombe." "But why do you need me? What is all this about} " Poirot repeated frantically. "Telephones are in such awkward places," said Mrs. Oliver. "This one's in the hall .... People passing through and talking ... I can't really hear. But I'm expecting you. Everybody will be so thrilled. Goodbye." There was a sharp click as the receiver was replaced. The line hummed gently. With a baffled air of bewilderment, Poirot put back the receiver and murmured something under his breath. Miss Lemon sat with her pendl poised, incurious. She repeated in muted tones the final phrase of dictation before the interruption. "--allow me to assure you, my dear sir, that the hypothesis you have advanced . . ." Poirot waved aside the advancement of the hypothesis. "That was Mrs. Oliver," he said. "Ariadne Oliver, the detective novelist. You may have read . . ." But io DEAD MAJfS FOLLY he stopped, remembering that Miss Lemon only read improving books and regarded such frivolities as fictional crime with contempt. "She wants me to go down to Devonshire to-day, at once, in "—he glanced at the clock—" thirty-five minutes." Miss Lemon raised disapproving eyebrows. " That will be running it rather fine," she said. " For what reason?" "You may well ask! She did not tell me." " How very peculiar. Why not ? " "Because," said Hercule Poirot thoughtfully, "she was afraid of being overheard. Yes, she made that quite clear." "Well, really," said Miss Lemon, bristling in her employer's defence. "The things people expect 1 Fancy thinking that you'd go rushing off on some wild goose chase like thati An important man like you I I have always noticed that these artists and writers are very unbalanced—no sense of proportion. Shall I telephone through a telegram: Regret unable leave Londoni" Her hand went out to the telephone. Poirot's voice arrested the gesture. " Du tout! " he said. " On the contrary. Be so kind as to summon a taxi immediately." He raised his voice. "Georges! A few necessities of toilet in my small valise. And quickly, very quickly, I have a train to catch." II The train, having done one hundred and eighty-odd miles of its two hundred and twelve miles journey at top speed, puffed gently and apologetically through the last thirty and drew into Nassecombe station. Only one person alighted, Hercule Poirot. He negotiated with care a yawning gap between the step of the train and the platform and looked round him. At the far end of the train a porter was busy inside a luggage compartment. Poirot picked up his valise and walked back along the platform to the exit. He gave up his ticket and walked out through the booking-office. A large Humber saloon was drawn up outside and a chauffeur in uniform came forward. "Mr. Hercule Poirot?" he inquired respectfully. He took Poirot's case from him and opened the door of the car. They drove away from the station over the railway bridge and turned down a country lane which wound between high hedges on either side. Presently the ground fell away on the right and disclosed a very beautiful river view with hills of a misty blue in the distance. The chauffeur drew into the hedge and stopped. "The River Helm, sir," he said. "With Dartmoor in the distance." It was clear that admiration was necessary. Poirot made the necessary noises, murmuring Magnifique! is DEAD MAJ^S FOLLY several times. Actually, Nature appealed to him very little. A well-cultivated neatly arranged kitchen garden was far more likely to bring a murmur of admiration to Poirot's lips. Two girls passed the car, toiling slowly up the hill. They were carrying heavy rucksacks on their backs and wore shorts, with bright coloured scarves tied over their heads. "There is a Youth Hostel next door to us, sir," explained the chauffeur, who had clearly constituted himself Poirot's guide to Devon. "Hoodown Park. Mr. Fletcher's place it used to be. This Youth Hostel Association bought it and it's fairly crammed in summer time. Take in over a hundred a night, they do. They're not allowed to stay longer than a couple of nights—then they've got to move on. Both sexes and mostly foreigners." Poirot nodded absently. He was reflecting, not for the first time, that seen from the back, shorts were becoming to very few of the female sex. He shut his eyes in pain. Why, oh why, must young women array themselves thus ? Those scarlet thighs were singularly unattractive I "They seem heavily laden," he murmured. "Yes, sir, and it's a long pull from the station or the bus stop. Best part of two miles to Hoodown Park." He hesitated. " If you don't object, sir, we could give them a lift?" " By all means, by all means," said Poirot benignantly. There was he in luxury in an almost empty car and here were these two panting and perspiring young women DEAD MAN'S FOLLT 13 weighed down with heavy rucksacks and without the least idea how to dress themselves so as to appear attractive to the other sex. The chauffeur started the car and came to a slow purring halt beside the two girls. Their flushed and perspiring faces were raised hopefully. Poirot opened the door and the girls climbed in. "It is most kind, please," said one of them, a fair girl with a foreign accent. "It is longer way than I think, yes." The other girl, who had a sunburnt and deeply flushed face with bronzed chestnut curls peeping out beneath her head-scarf, merely nodded her head several times, flashed her teeth, and murmured, Grazie. The fair girl continued to talk vivaciously. "I to England come for two week holiday. I come from Holland. I like England very much. I have been Stratford Avon, Shakespeare Theatre and Warwick Castle. Then I have been Clovelly, now I have seen Exeter Cathedral and Torquay—very nice—I come to famous beauty spot here and to-morrow I cross river, go to Plymouth where discovery of New World was made from Plymouth Hoe." "And you, signorina?" Poirot turned to the other girl. But she only smiled and shook her curls. "She does not much English speak," said the Dutch girl kindly. "We both a little French speak—so we talk in train. She is coming from near Milan and has relative in England married to gentleman who keeps shop for much groceries. She has come with friend 14 DEAD MAJ^S FOLLY to Exeter yesterday, but friend has eat veal ham pie not good from shop in Exeter and has to stay there sick. It is not good in hot weather, the veal ham pie." At this point the chauffeur slowed down where the road forked. The girls got out, uttered thanks in two languages and proceeded up the left-hand road. The chauffeur laid aside for a moment his Olympian aloofness and said feelingly to Poirot: "It's not only veal and ham pie--you want to be careful of Cornish pasties too. Put anything in a pasty they will, holiday time! " He restarted the car and drove down the right-hand road which shortly afterwards passed into thick woods. He proceeded to give a final verdict on the occupants of Hoodown Park Youth Hostel. " Nice enough young women, some of 'em, at that hostel," he said; "but it's hard to get them to understand about trespassing. Absolutely shocking the way they trespass. Don't seem to understand that a gentle- man's place is private here. Always coming through our woods, they are, and pretending that they don't understand what you say to them." He shook his head darkly. They went on, down a steep hill through woods, then through big iron gates, and along a drive, winding up finally in front of a big white Georgian house looking out over the river. The chauffeur opened the door of the car as a tall black-haired butler appeared on the steps. DEAD MAN'S FOLLY 15 "Mr. Hercule Poirot?" murmured the latter. "Yes." "Mrs. Oliver is expecting you, sir. You will find her down at the Battery. Allow me to show you the way." Poirot was directed to a winding path that led along the wood with glimpses of the river below. The path descended gradually until it came out at last on an open space, round in shape, with a low battlemented parapet. On the parapet Mrs. Oliver was sitting. She rose to meet him and several apples fell from her lap and rolled in all directions. Apples seemed to be an inescapable motif of meeting Mrs. Oliver. "I can't think why I always drop things," said Mrs. Oliver somewhat indistinctly, since her mouth was full of apple. " How are you, M. Poirot ? " " Trh bien, chere Madame," replied Poirot politely. "And you?" Mrs. Oliver was looking somewhat different from when Poirot had last seen her, and the reason lay, as she had already hinted over the telephone, in the fact that she had once more experimented with her coiffure. The last time Poirot had seen her, she had been adopting a windswept effect. To-day, her hair, richly blued, was piled upward in a multiplicity of rather artificial little curls in a pseudo Marquise style. The Marquise effect ended at her neck, the rest of her could have been definitely labelled " country practical," consisting of a violent yolk-of-egg rough tweed coat and skirt and a rather bilious-looking mustard-coloured jumper. i6 DEAD MAN'S FOLLY "I knew you'd come," said Mrs. Oliver cheerfully. "You could not possibly have known," said Poirot severely. " Oh, yes, I did." " I still ask myself why I am here." "Well, I know the answer. Curiosity." Poirot looked at her and his eyes twinkled a little. "Your famous woman's intuition," he said, "has, perhaps, for once not led you too far astray." "Now, don't laugh at my woman's intuition. Haven't I always spotted the murderer right away ? " Poirot was gallantly silent. Otherwise he might have replied, " At the fifth attempt, perhaps, and not always then!" Instead he said, looking round him: "It is indeed a beautiful property that you have here." " This ? But it doesn't belong to me, M. Poirot. Did you think it did? Oh, no, it belongs to some people called Stubbs." "Who are they?" " Oh, nobody really," said Mrs. Oliver vaguely. "Just rich. No, I'm down here professionally, doing a job." "Ah, you are getting local colour for one of your chefs-d'oeuvre ? " "No, no. Just what I said. I'm doing a. job. I've been engaged to arrange a murder." Poirot stared at her. " Oh, not a real one," said Mrs. Oliver reassuringly. ^ DEAD MAN'S FOLLY 17 "There's a big fete thing on to-morrow, and as a kind of novelty there's going to be a Murder Hunt. Arranged by me. Like a Treasure Hunt, you see; only they've had a Treasure Hunt so often that they thought this would be a novelty. So they offered me a very substantial fee to come down and think it up. Quite fun, really--rather a change from the usual grim routine." "How does it work? " "Well, there'll be a Victim, of course. And Clues. And Suspects. All rather conventional--you know, the Vamp and the Blackmailer and the Young Lovers and the Sinister Butler and so on. Half a crown to enter and you get shown the first Clue and you've got to find the Victim, and the Weapon and say Whodunnit and the Motive. And there are Prizes." "Remarkable! " said Hercule Poirot. "Actually," said Mrs. Oliver ruefully, "it's all much harder to arrange than you'd think. Because you've got to allow for real people being quite intelligent, and in my books they needn't be." "And it is to assist you in arranging this that you have sent for me ? " Poirot did not try very hard to keep an outraged resentment out of his voice. " Oh, no," said Mrs. Oliver. "Of course not! I've done all that. Everything's all set for to-morrow. No, I wanted you for quite another reason." "What reason?" Mrs. Oliver's hands strayed upward to her head. She 18 DEAD MAN'S FOLLY was just about to sweep them frenziedly through her hair in the old familiar gesture when she remembered the intricacy of her hair-do. Instead, she relieved her feelings by tugging at her ear lobes. " I dare say I'm a fool," she said. "But I think there's something wrong." CHAPTER II there was a moment's silence as Poirot stared at her. Then he asked sharply: "Something wrongf How? " " I don't know.... That's what I want^ou to find out. But I've felt—more and more—that I was being—oh! —engineered . . . jockeyed along. . . . Call me a fool if you like, but I can only say that if there was to be a real murder to-morrow instead of a fake one, I shouldn't be surprised! " Poirot stared at her and she looked back at him defiantly. "Very interesting," said Poirot. " I suppose you think I'm a complete fool," said Mrs. Oliver defensively. " I have never thought you a fool," said Poirot. "And I know what you always say—or look—about intuition." "One calls things by different names," said Poirot. "I am quite ready to believe that you have noticed something, or heard something, that has definitely aroused in you anxiety. I think it possible that you yourself may not even know just what it is that you have seen or noticed or heard. You are aware only of the result. If I may so put it, you do not know what it is that you know. You may label that intuition if you like." 19 ao DEAD MAN'S FOLLY "It makes one feel such a fool," said Mrs. Oliver, ruefully, " not to be able to be definite.'11 " We shall arrive," said Poirot encouragingly. " You say that you have had the feeling of being—how did you put it—jockeyed along? Can you explain a little more clearly what you mean by that? " "Well, it's rather difficult. . . . You see, this is my murder, so to speak. I've thought it out and planned it and it all fits in—dovetails. Well, if you know anything at all about writers, you'll know that they can't stand suggestions. People say ' Splendid, but wouldn't it be better if so and so did so and so?' or ' Wouldn't it be a wonderful idea if the victim was A instead of B ? Or the murderer turned out to be D instead of E?' I mean, one wants to say: 'All right then, write it yourself if you want it that way!' " Poirot nodded. " And that is what has been happening ? " " Not quite.... That sort of silly suggestion has been made, and then I've flared up, and they've given in, but have just slipped in some quite minor trivial suggestion and because I've made a stand over the other, I've accepted the triviality without noticing much." " I see," said Poirot. a Yes—it is a method, that. . . . Something rather crude and preposterous is put forward —but that is not really the point. The small minor alteration is really the objective. Is that what you mean?" "That's exactly what I mean," said Mrs. Oliver. DEAD MAJVS FOLLY ai "And, of course, I may be imagining it, but I don't think I am--and none of the things seem to matter anyway. But it's got me worried--that, and a sort of --well--atmosphere." " Who has made these suggestions of alterations to you?" "Different people," said Mrs. Oliver. "If it was just one person I'd be more sure of my ground. But it's not Just one person--although I think it is really. I mean it's one person working through other quite unsuspecting people." "Have you an idea as to who that one person is?" Mrs. Oliver shook her head. "It's somebody very clever and very careful," she said. " It might be anybody." " Who is there ? " asked Poirot. " The cast of characters must be fairly limited? " "Well," began Mrs. Oliver. "There's Sir George Stubbs who owns this place. Rich and plebeian and frightfully stupid outside business, I should think, but probably dead sharp in it. And there's Lady Stubbs-- Hattie--about twenty years younger than he is, rather beautiful, but dumb as a fish--in fact, / think she's definitely half-witted. Married him for his money, of course, and doesn't think about anything but clothes and jewels. Then there's Michael Weyman--he's an architect, quite young, and good-looking in a craggy kind of artistic way. He's designing a tennis pavilion for Sir George and repairing the Folly." ca DEAD MAJ^'S FOLLY " Folly ? What is that--a masquerade ? " "No, it's architectural. One of those little sort of temple things, white, with columns. You've probably seen them at Kew. Then there's Miss Erewis, she's a sort of secretary housekeeper, who runs things and writes letters--very grim and efficient. And then there are the people round about who come in and help. A young married couple who have taken a cottage down by the river--Alee Legge and his wife Sally. And Captain Warburton, who's the Mastertons' agent. And the Mastertons, of course, and old Mrs. Folliat who lives in what used to be the lodge. Her husband's people owned Nasse originally. But they've died out, or been killed in wars, and there were lots of death duties so the last heir sold the place.'* Poirot considered this list of characters, but at the moment they were only names to him. He returned to the main issue. "Whose idea was the Murder Hunt? '* "Mrs. Masterton's, I think. She's the local M.P.'s wife, very good at organising. It was she who persuaded Sir George to have the fete here. You see the place has been empty for so many years that she thinks people will be keen to pay and come in to see it." "That all seems straightforward enough," said Poirot. "It all seems straightforward," said Mrs. Oliver obstinately; "but it isn't. I tell you, M. Poirot, there's something wrong." d^q flfAN'S FOLL1' 33 JPoirot looked at Mrs. Oliver and N1"- 0\[y looked baw^c, thing," dMrs. oliver ruefully- "I must ? it tl-t until I stoted talking to you I hadn't realised h oyy ;ry little ^ I'wgottOgoup^n." 1; "Calni yourself^" said Poirot kindl)'' ^ ^mntrigued 1 nUnter^^- ^here do we begin?" Urs. Ol^c1' Synced at her watch. 'It's just tea-ti^e We'll go back10 the ouse and Ata y^ou can m^'et everybody." 24 DEAD MAN'S FOLLY She took a different path from the one by which Poirot had come. This one seemed to lead in the opposite direction. "We pass by the boathouse this way," Mrs. Oliver explained. As she spoke the boathouse came into view. It jutted out on to the river and was a picturesque thatched affair. "That's where the Body's going to be," said Mrs. Oliver. " The body for the Murder Hunt, I mean." " And -who is going to be killed ? " "Oh, a girl hiker, who is really the Yugoslavian first wife of a young Atom Scientist," said Mrs. Oliver glibly. Poirot blinked. "Of course it looks as though the Atom Scientist had killed her—but naturally it's not as simple as that." "Naturally not—since you are concerned . . ." Mrs. Oliver accepted the compliment with a wave of the hand. "Actually," she said, " she's killed by the Country Squire—and the motive is really rather ingenious—I don't believe many people will get it—though there's a perfectly clear pointer in the fifth clue." Poirot abandoned the subtleties of Mrs. Oliver's plot to ask a practical question: "But how do you arrange for a suitable body? " "Girl Guide," said Mrs. Oliver. "Sally Lcgge was going to be it—but now they want her to dress up in a turban and do the fortune telling. So it's a Girl Guide DEAD MAN'S FOLLY 25 called Marlene Tucker. Rather dumb and sniffs," she added in an explanatory manner. "It's quite easy—just peasant scarves and a rucksack—and all she has to do when she hears someone coming is to flop down on the floor and arrange the cord round her neck. Rather dull for the poor kid—just sticking inside that boathouse until she's found, but I've arranged for her to have a nice bundle of comics—there's a clue to the murderer scribbled on one of them as a matter of fact—so it all works in." "Your ingenuity leaves me spellbound 1 The things you think of! " "It's never difficult to think of things," said Mrs. Oliver. " The trouble is that you think of too many, and then it all becomes too complicated, so you have to relinquish some of them and that is rather agony. We go up this way now." They started up a steep zig-zagging path that led them back along the river at a higher level. At a twist through the trees they came out on a space surmounted by a small white pilastered temple. Standing back and frowning at it was a young man wearing dilapidated flannel trousers and a shirt of rather virulent green. He spun round towards them. "Mr. Michael Weyman, M. Hercule Poirot," said Mrs. Oliver. The young man acknowledged the introduction with a careless nod. " Extraordinary," he said bitterly, " the places people put things! This thing here, for instance. Put up only 26 DEAD MAN'S FOLLY about a year ago—quite nice of its kind and quite in keeping with the period of the house. But why here} These things were meant to be seen—' situated on an eminence '—that's how they phrased it—with a nice grassy approach and daffodils, et cetera. But here's this poor little devil, stuck away in the midst of trees —not visible from anywhere—you'd have to cut down about twenty trees before you'd even see it from the river." "Perhaps there wasn't any other place," said Mrs. Oliver. Michael Weyman snorted. "Top of that grassy bank by the house—perfect natural setting. But no, these tycoon fellows are all the same—no artistic sense. Has a fancy for a ' Folly,' as he calls it, orders one. Looks round for somewhere to put it. Then, I understand, a big oak tree crashes down in a gale. Leaves a nasty scar. ' Oh, we'll tidy the place up by putting a Folly there,' says the silly ass. That's all they ever think about, these rich city fellows, tidying up! I wonder he hasn't put beds of red geraniums and calceolarias all round the house! A man like that shouldn't be allowed to own a place like this!" He sounded heated. "This young man," Poirot observed to himself, " assuredly does not like Sir George Stubbs." " It's bedded down in concrete," said Weyman. " And there's loose soil underneath—so it's subsided. Cracked all up here—it will be dangerous soon. . . . Better pull DEAD MAN'S FOLLY 27 the whole thing down and re-erect it on the top of the bank near the house. That's my advice, but the obstinate old fool won't hear of it." "What about the tennis pavilion?" asked Mrs. Oliver. Gloom settled even more deeply on the young man. | " He wants a kind of Chinese pagoda," he said, with I a groan. "Dragons if you please 1 Just because Lady ' Stubbs fancies herself in Chinese coolie hats. Who'd be an architect? Anyone who wants something decent , built hasn't got the money, and those who have the money want something too utterly goddam awful! " " You have my commiserations," said Poirot gravely. " George Stubbs," said the architect scornfully. " Who does he think he is ? Dug himself in to some cushy Admiralty job in the safe depths of Wales during the war—and grows a beard to suggest he saw active naval service on convoy duty—or that's what they say. Stinking with money—absolutely stinking! " " Well, you architects have got to have someone who's got money to spend, or you'd never have a job," Mrs. Oliver pointed out reasonably enough. She moved on towards the house and Poirot and the dispirited architect prepared to follow her. "These tycoons," said the latter bitterly, "can't understand first principles." He delivered a final kick to the lopsided Folly. " If the foundations are rotten— everything's rotten." "It is profound what you say there," said Poirot. "Yes, it is profound." ,,.. ? -^ a .s. rt ?? a 2 S It ^ y .^^TO ^ ^ ^ t3 iimli r§ ii ^ ^a s^^'^^^s ^ >. <" ^ s. ™ PE<<-'«-.o'rtS --a uu <^ "cs ^u.^u^a uw S^ 0 a .Q . > ^^ ^ | ^ ^ ^ a .a . oci- tSrtSa S1^ 8 *" -' ts 2i o ^6od<5^|||"> 8'2 Q^ cl<. p n i ^.^ISgsl.^t-S Sl it ; 5SSS-§-5^^.§^ gn^^.ll a ^-^Ugl^^l .^||.|.§ ''«; BiyuJ^yi^K-yScata --"Oo.S ^il^ii^lirililll hisiiniii^ii^.r „» ^ri s-? ai^iS S U..l^ U 1|§^ § Isli'8 11 -4^; S ^^'§^"fl bcn l3°M>8 ^ 33-^6s te- "ovti-, -3 og&-g0 Sg y^N-^g % u.n^aci 'S3 ^^^3(3^ ^ 6 'o y § I - S . " -. ^ 'S -Q ^ ^ s S.g?,£ i^al:!1^ 5 ^rji^ §^"^ s llii^l^, it ^^^^"o^s'Sa^.a^'o'i ' trs^i^Jii^i^l ^i.^.i^-^limi ^ ^ ea® |§ s'8^^!!^ § ^lil43^0!^ ^^s^ CT w *" _. » " Well, well..." Alee Legge seemed amused. " Most unexpected coming from you. Do you know what I should like to see done in this country? " Something, no doubt, forceful and unpleasant," said P^rot, smiling. Alee Legge remained serious. €* I should like to see every feeble-minded person put out--right out! Don't let them breed. If, for one generation, only the intelligent were allowed to breed, think what the result would be." A very large increase of patients in the psychiatric ^rds, perhaps," said Poirot dryly. "One needs roots as ^vell as flowers on a plant, M. Legge. However large a^ beautiful the flowers, if the earthy roots are destroyed there will be no more flowers." He added in DEAD MAN'S FOLLr ^ a conversational tone: "Would you consider Lady Stubbs a candidate for the lethal chamber? " " Yes, indeed. What's the good of a woman like that ? What contribution has she ever made to society? Has she ever had an idea in her head that wasn't of clothes or furs or jewels? As I say, what gooci is she? " " You and I," said Poirot blandly," arc certainly much more intelligent than Lady Stubbs. Euc "—^he shook his head sadly—"it is true, I fear, tliat we are not nearly so ornamental." " Ornamental..." Alee was beginning with a fierce snort, but he was interrupted by the re-entry of Mrs. Oliver and Captain Warburton through the window. CHAPTER IV "You must come and see the clues and things for the Murder Hunt, M. Poirot," said Mrs. Oliver breathlessly. Poirot rose and followed them obediently. The three of them went across the hall and into a small room furnished plainly as a business office. "Lethal weapons to your left," observed Captain Warburton waving his hand towards a small baizecovered card table. On it were laid out a small pistol, a piece of lead piping with a rusty sinister stain on it, a blue bottle labelled Poison, a length of clothes line and a hypodermic syringe. "Those are the Weapons," explained Mrs. Oliver, " and these are the Suspects." She handed him a printed card which he read with interest. SUSPECTS Estelle Glynne — a beautiful and mysterious young woman, the guest of Colonel Blunt — the local Squire, whose daughter Joan is married to Peter Gaye — a young Atom Scientist. Miss Willing — a housekeeper. 46 DEAD MAN'S FOLLT 47 Qyiett -- a butler. Maya Stavisky -- a girl hiker. Esteban Loyola -- an uninvited guest. Poirot blinked and looked towards Mrs. O^^ m mute incomprehension. " A magnificent Cast of Characters," he said p>litely. "But permit me to ask, Madame, what d^ the Competitor do ?" " Turn the card over," said Captain Warburto1Poirot did so. On the other side was printed: Name and address............................................ Solution: Name of Murderer:........................................ Weapon: ............................................................ Motive:................................................................ Time and Place:................................................ Reasons for arriving at your conclusions: "Everyone who enters gets one of these," exp^'"^ Captain Warburton rapidly. "Also a notebook an<^ pencil for copying clues. There will be six clues. ^ou go on from one to the other like a Treasure Hun;i an(^ the weapons are concealed in suspicious places, cere's the first clue. A snapshot. Everyone starts with c^ °f these." 48 DEAD MAN'S FOLLY Poirot took the small print from him and studied it with a frown. Then he turned it upside down. He still looked puzzled. Warburton laughed. "Ingenious bit of trick photography, isn't it?" he said complacently. " Quite simple once you know what it is." Poirot, who did not know what it was, felt a mounting annoyance. "Some kind of barred window? " he suggested. " Looks a bit like it, I admit. No, it's a section of a tennis net." " Ah." Poirot looked again at the snapshot. " Yes, it is as you say--quite obvious when you have been told what it is!" "So much depends on how you look at a thing," laughed Warburton. "That is a very profound truth." "The second clue will be found in a box under the centre of the tennis net. In the box are this empty poison bottle--here, and a loose cork." "Only, you see," said Mrs. Oliver rapidly, "it's a screw-topped bottle, so the cork is really the clue." "I know, Madame, that you are always full of ingenuity, but I do not quite see----" Mrs. Oliver interrupted him. " Oh, but of course," she said, " there's a story. Like in a magazine serial--a synopsis." She turned to Captain Warburton. " Have you got the leaflets ? " " They've not come from the printers yet." "But they promised! " DEAD MAN'S F°LLT 49 "I know. I know. Everyone always promises. They'll be ready this evening at six. I'm ^om§ i" to fetch them in the car." "Oh, good." Mrs. Oliver gave a deep sigh ^nd turned to Poirot. "Well, I'll have to tell it you, t^n. Only I'm not very good at telling things. I ^ean H I write things, I get them perfectly clear, but if Italk. k always sounds the most frightful muddle; an'1 that's why I never discuss my plots with anyone, vv^ learnt not to, because if I do, they just look at me blankly and say— er—yes, but—1 don't see what Happened—and surely that can't possibly make a booK-' ^ damping. And not true, because when I write it> lt does! " Mrs. Oliver paused for breath, and then went on: " Well, it's like this. There's Pet^r Gaye who's a. young Atom Scientist and he's suspect^ of being in the pay of the Communists, and he's mafried to this girl, Joan Blunt, and his first wife's dead, but she isn't, and she turns up because she's a secret ^S^, or perhaps not, I mean she may really be a hiker--111^ the wife's having an affair, and this man Loyola tiirns up either to meet Maya, or to spy upon her, and (here's a blackmailing letter which might be from the housekeeper, or again it might be the butler, and the revolver's missing, and as you don't know who the blackmailing letter's to, and the hypodermic syringe fell out at dinner, and after that it disappeared. . . ." Mrs. Oliver came to a full stof» estimating correctly Poirot's reaction. mmmw.nTwsc.t 50 DEAD MAN'S FOLLY "I know," she said sympathetically. "It sounds just a muddle, but it isn't really---not in my head--and when you see the synopsis leaflet, you'll find it's quite clear." « And, anyway," she ended, " the story doesn't really matter, does it ? I mean, not to you. All you've got to do is to present the prizes--very nice prizes, the first's a silver cigarette case shaped like a revolver--and say how remarkably clever the solver has been." Poirot thought to himself that the solver would indeed have been clever. In fact, he doubted very much that there would be a solver. The whole plot and action of the Murder Hunt seemed to him to be wrapped in impenetrable fog. "Well," said Captain Warburton cheerfully, glancing at his wrist-watch. "I'd better be off to the printers and collect." Mrs. Oliver groaned. "If they're not done----" " Oh, they're done all right. I telephoned. So long." He left the room. Mrs. Oliver immediately clutched Poirot by the arm and demanded in a hoarse whisper: "Well?" "Well--what?" "Have you found out anything? Or spotted anybody?" Poirot replied with mild reproof in his tones: « Everybody and everything seems to me completely normal." DEAD MAN'S FOLLT y Nor111^^' «W^> P^haps that is not quite the right word. Lady ^"bbs, as you say, is definitely subnormal, and Mr L^SS^ wou^ appear to be rather abnormal." «0^, he's all right," said Mrs. Oliver impatiently. « TJg»g )iad a nervous breakdown." p ...ot did not question the somewhat doubtful wording of this sentence but accepted it at its face value. (everybody appears to be in the expected state of nervo^ agitation, high excitement, general fatigue, and stC011^ irritation which are characteristic of pre- oarati^ ^or t^ls fo™1 or entertainment. If you could only indicate----" "Sh! " ^rs- O"^1' grasped his arm again. "Some- one's coming." j( yfas just like a bad melodrama, Poirot felt, his own ffritation mounting. T^g pleasant mild face of Miss Brewis appeared round the door« q},, there you are, M. Poirot. I've been looking for you tO ^t^ y011 your room." She ^ ^um "P ^ staircase and along a passage to a bic ^^y ^^m looking out over the river. " Tb^0 is a bathroom just opposite. Sir George talks of add^S m0" bathrooms, but to do so would sadly impaiCtne proportions of the rooms. I hope you'll find everytt11"^ q1111^ comforfable." « Ye?> indeed." Poirot swept an appreciative eye over the si^ bookstand, the reading-lamp and the box 52 DEAD MAN'S FOLLT labelled " Biscuits " by the bedside. " You seem, in this house, to have everything organised to perfection. Am I to congratulate you, or my charming hostess? " "Lady Stubb's time is fully taken up in being charming," said Miss Brewis, a slightly acid note in her voice. "A very decorative young woman," mused Poirot. " As you say." "But in other respects is she not, perhaps . . ." He broke off. " Pardon. I am indiscreet. I comment on something I ought not, perhaps, to mention." Miss Brewis gave him a steady look. She said dryly: " Lady Stubbs knows perfectly well exactly what she is doing. Besides being, as you said, a very decorative young woman, she is also a very shrewd one." She had turned away and left the room before Poirot's eyebrows had fully risen in surprise. So that was what the efficient Miss Brewis thought, was it? Or had she merely said so for some reason of her own? And why had she made such a statement to him--to a newcomer ? Because he was a newcomer, perhaps ? And also because he was a foreigner. As Hercule Poirot had discovered by experience, there were many English people who considered that what one said to foreigners didn't count! He frowned perplexedly, staring absentmindedly at the door out of which Miss Brewis had gone. Then he strolled over to the window and stood looking out. As he did so, he saw Lady Stubbs come out of the house with Mrs. Folliat and they stood for a moment or two z)£^ MAN'S folly 53 talking by the ^S magnolia tr&e. Then Mrs. Folliat nodded » g^-bye, picked up her gardening basket and glov^ and "'"tted off down tfae drive. Lady Stubbs stood wat^^ her f()r a moment then absentmindedly pulled o^ a '^ag110^ flower, smyt it and began slowly to walk d^"the Path that led though the trees to the river. St^ looked Just once ove.r her shoulder before she disap^B^ f^o^l sight. Fronn behind the magnolia tree Mid^1 ^Y^n came quiietly into view, paused a momeU1 irresolutely and then followed the tall slim figure do^ int0 ^e trees. A good"1001"11^ and dynamic young man, Poirot thought. with a "^re attractive; personality, no doubt, than that of sir George Stubbs. But if ?0' what of it? Such ipattems formed themselves et^^y ^ough life. Rich middle-aged unattractiv^ husband, young and Ibeautiful wife with or without sufficient mental development, attractive and susceptib^ Y^g toan. What was there in that to make Ml"5- ol>iver utter a perempltory summons through the telep11011^ M^. Oliver, t^o doubt, had a vivid imagine0"' but . « But ^ter a11'" ^unnured He;rcule Poirot to himself, "I am ti01 a "^Ultant in adiuitery--or in incipient adultery-" Could there ^eally be anythinig in this extraordinary notion of Mrs- Oliver's that something was wrong? Mrs. Oli^ was a singularly rmuddle-headed woman, and ho-vf she "^^aged someho^ or other to turn out coherent detective stories was beyond him, and yet, for 54 DEAD MAN'S FOLLY all her muddle-headedness she often surprised him by her sudden perception of truth. " The time is short--short," he murmured to himself, ^Is there something wrong here, as Mrs. Olivet believes? I am inclined to think there is. But what? Who is there who could enlighten me? I need to know more, much more, about the people in this house. Who is there who could inform me? After a moment's reflection he seized his hat (Poirot never risked going out in the evening air with uncovered head), and hurried out of his room and down the stairs. He heard afar the dictatorial baying of Mrs, Masterton's deep voice. Nearer at hand. Sir George's voice rose with an amorous intonation. "Damned becoming that yasmak thing. Wish I had you in my barem. Sally. I shall come and have my fortune told a good deal to-morrow. What'll you tell me, eh?" There was a slight scuffle and Sally Legge's voice said breathlessly: " George, you mustn't." Poirot raised his eyebrows, and slipped out of a conveniently adjacent side door. He set off at top speed down a back drive which his sense of locality enabled him to predict would at some point join the front drive. His manoeuvre was successful and enabled him--- panting very slightly--to come up beside Mrs. Folliat and relieve her in a gallant manner of her gardening basket. DEAD MAN'S FOL^ 55 "You permit, Madame? " "Oh, thank you, M. Poirot, that's ^'7 kin! of you. But it's not heavy." " Allow me to carry it for you td your ^cne. You live near here? " "I actually live in the lodge by t^ front gate. Sir George very kindly rents it to me." The lodge by the front gate of her ^^w ^ome.... How did she really feel about that, voiTot pondered. Her composure was so absolute that ^e nad "o clue to L. L. her feelings. He changed the subjec1 "V ^"Tving: "Lady Stubbs is much younger th^ her tu^band, is she not?" " Twenty-three years younger." " Physically she is very attractive.^ Mrs. Folliat said quietly: " Hattie is a dear good child." It was not an answer he had exp^"- ^s. Folliat went on: " I know her very well, you see. F01' a ^"rt time she was under my care." "I did not know that." "How should you? It is in a waf a sad ^ory. Her people had estates, sugar estates, i:1 ^ ^St Indies. As a result of an earthquake, the hou'6 tnere 'w'as burned down and her parents and brothers an- ^^^s all lost their lives. Hattie herself was at a ci'1^111 in Paris and was thus suddenly left without an^ near reliatives. It was considered advisable by the ext01110118 ^at Hattie should be chaperoned and introduce^ lnt0 soc;iety after le^l^»e^K^ft^^^^^_ ^ ^,.,s^ ^6 DEAD U^S FOLLY ^he had spent a certain time abroad. I accepted ^ charge of her." Mrs. Folli^ adde w1 a ^ ^ile: «I can smarten myself up on occasions and. nature I had the necessary coP"^"0115"1" ^t' the late Oovernor had been a closefriend ours', "Naturally, Madame I understand all t^t." "It suited me very well-1 was goln§ ^"^h a difficult time. My husb^d had - lust before the outbreak of war. My elder son ^ was m the ^avy yyent down with his ship, "^ yo11"^1' ^n, who ^^^ l^een out in Kenya, came back, joined the commai^s ^nd was killed in Italy. Th^ meallt t. lots of d^ath duties and this house had to be put up tor s^ ; m^f was very badly off and I ^as glad of the distractio^ ^ caving someone young to ^ after and travel al^^t With. I became very fond of Hattie, all the mor^ ^ perhaps, because I soon realised that she v^^-sh^ ^ 5ay-not fully capable of f^111^ elf? ^Mefgtand me, M. Poirot, Hattie is notment^y defici^ t^t she is what country folk describe as simple.' g^g is easily imposed upon. o^ dodle' ^"^P^tely ope^ ^ suggestion. I think myself that it was a Messing ^ tliere was practically no ino0^- s had ^n an ^eiress her position migl11 have. been one of "^ch greater difficulty. She was attractive to rn^ and be ^g of an affectionate naiui-e was easily attracted ^ itifluenced-she had definit^yt0 be , ^fter- ^eo, »fter the final winding up of her parents estate'it Was discovered that the plantation was destroy^ and tly^ ^erc more debts than assets, I co^ only be thanl^i DEAD MAJTS FOLLY 57 (hat a man such as Sir George Stubbs had fallen in love with her and wanted to marry her." " Possibly—yes—it was a solution." " Sir George," said Mrs. Folliat, " though he is a selfmade man and—let us face it—a complete vulgarian, is ^indly and fundamentally decent, besides being extremely wealthy. I don't think he would ever ask for mental companionship from a wife, which is just ys well. Hattie is everything he wants. She displays clothes and jewels to perfection, is affectionate and willing, and is completely happy with him. I confess that I am very thankful that that is so, for I admit that I deliberately influenced her to accept him. If it had turned out badly "—her voice faltered a little—" it would have been my fault for urging her to marry a man so many years older than herself. You see, as I told you, Hattie is completely suggestible. Anyone she is with at the time can dominate her." " It seems to me," said Poirot approvingly, " that you made there a most prudent arrangement for her. I am not, like the English, romantic. To arrange a good marriage, one must take more than romance into consideration." He added: " And as for this place here, Nasse House, it is a most beautiful spot. Quite, as the saying goes, out of this world." " Since Nasse had to be sold," said Mrs. Folliat, with a faint tremor in her voice, "I am glad that Sir George bought it. It was requisitioned during the war by the 58 DEAD ^^A•^'S Ftt^y Army and afterwards it ""ght h^g ^^ bough11 ^d made into a guest; house or a scho^ ^g rooms C^P and partitioned, dhstorte^ ^t of^ natural beauty. Our neighbours, the Flet^s. at ^oodown, had ito ^11 their place and it is now a ^th^stel. One i^ S^d that young people shcP^d enj^y themselves—and fortunately Hoodown is l^'^to^, and of no' g^at architectural merit, so tha1: the alterations d<0 ^t matter. I'm afraid some1 of the y^g p^p^g tr^P^ss on our grounds. It make^ ^r Ge^ge very angr^- ^'s true that they have oc^onally ^maged th^ rare shrubs by hacking thend1 about^hey come thfo^ here trying to get a sho^1 ^t to ^g f acro^ ^e k ,, •7 river. L V ^J. • They were standing r^ by ^ ^^ ^^^^ The lodge, a small white one^ryed ending, lay » "^e back from the drive with ^ sl^all r;^ garden roi^dit. Mrs. Folliat took back her basl<^ ^y^ poiro^ with a word of thanks. "I was always very ft^ of t^g lodge," she said, looking at it affectionately- " ^erd^ our head gar'^er for thirty years, used to ^lve here. [ ^^ ^fef it to the top cottage, though ta^ ha^ been enlarge^ ^d modernised by Sir Geor^- It h^ to be- we'V^ got quite a young man now a^ ^ad ga^ener, with a yo^g wife-and these young wfi^Q^ ^yg electric i'•OQs and modern cookers and ^visio^ ^ ^ ^at. ^e must go with the; times. • • •" Skg s^hed. " Tti161'' is hardly a person left now (^n ^e est^e from the oK1 ^s —all new faces." DEAD MAN'S folly 59 "I am glad, Madame," said Poirot, " that you ^ ^ have found a haven." u You know those lines of Spenser's ? ' Sleep ffft^ ^ ^ port after stormie seas, ease after war, death after ly^ ^^ greatly please . . .' " She paused and said without any change o^ ^ "It's a very wicked world, M. Poirot. And th^ ^ very wicked people in the world. You probably ]^q^ that as well as I do. I don't say so before the y^unffp,. people, it might discourage them, but it's tru^ Yes, it's a very wicked world. ..." She gave him a little nod, then turned and we^ ^^ the lodge. Poirot stood still, staring at the stm^ ^ CHAPTER V in a mood of exploration Poirot went through the front gates and down the steeply twisting road that presently emerged on a small quay. A large bell with a chain had a notice upon it: "Ring for the Ferry." There were various boats moored by the side of the quay. A very old man with rheumy eyes, who had been leaning against a bollard, came shuffling towards Poirot. "Du ee want the ferry, sir? " " I thank you, no. I have just come down from Nasse House for a little walk." " Ah, 'tis up at Nasse yu are ? Worked there as a boy, I did, and my son, he were head gardener there. But I did use to look after the boats. Old Squire Folliat, he was fair mazed about boats. Sail in all weathers, he would. The Major now, his son, he didn't care for sailing. Horses, that's all he cared about. And a pretty packet went on 'em. That and the bottle--had a hard time with him, his wife did. Yu've seen her, maybe-- lives at the Lodge now, she du." " Yes, I have just left her there now." "Her be a Folliat, to, second cousin from over Tiverton way. A great one for the garden, she is, all them there flowering shrubs she had put in. Even 60 DEAD MAN'S FOLLt g, when it was took over during the w^ and ^e ^^ young gentlemen was gone to the war, she still looked after they shrubs and kept 'em from b^ng overrun." «It was hard on her, both her sons ^^g killed." 'Ah, she've had a bard life, she have, what ^h this and that. Trouble with her husband, a^d trouble with the young gentlemen, t". Not Mr. H^ry. He was as nice a young gentleman as yu could ^sh, took after his grandfather, fond of sailing and we^ into the navy as a matter of course, but Mr. James, ^ caused her a lot of trouble. Debts and women it we^, and then, to, he were real wild in hi? temper. Bor^ one of they as can't go straight. But the war suited him, as yu might sav--eive him his chance. Ah! Them's miany who J 0 i I 1-- can't go straight in peace who dies lively in war." «So now," said Poirot, "there are qq more; Folliats at Nasse." The old man's flow of talk died abruptly. "Just as yu say, sir." Poirot looked curiously at the old man. "Instead you have Sir George St^bbs. What is thought locally of him? " «Us understands," said the old ma^, "that he be powerful rich." His tone sounded dry and almost a^sed. "And his wife?" "Ab, she's a fine lady from London, she is. No use for gardens, not her. They du say, t^ as her du be wanting up here." He tapped his temple significantly. 6a DEAD MAJ^f'S FOLLY "Not as her isn't always very nice spoken a^ friendly. Just over a year they've been here. Bou^ the place and had it all done up like new. I rememVf as though 'twere yesterday them arriving. Arrived in the evening, they did, day after the worst gale as I e^6 remember. Trees down right and left--one down acr^ the drive and us had to get it sawn away in a hurry to get the drive clear for the car. And the big oak llr along, that come down and brought a lot of oth^ down with it, made a rare mess, it did." " Ah, yes, where the Folly stands now ? " The old man turned aside and spat disgustedly. "Folly 'tis called and Folly 'tis--new-fangled n^°" sense. Never was no Folly in the old Folliats' tnft ' Her ladyship's idea that Folly was. Put up not th^6 weeks after they first come, and I've no doubt she tal^ Sir George into it. Rare silly it looks stuck up th^ among the trees, like a heathen temple. A nice sumrn^ " house now, made rustic like with stained glass. ' have nothing against that." Poirot smiled faintly. "The London ladies," he said, "they must have tb^ fancies. It is sad that the day of the Folliats is ove^' "Don't cc never believe that, sir." The old man g^0 a wheezy chuckle. "Always be Folliats at Nasse." " But the house belongs to Sir George Stubbs." "That's as may be--but there's still a Folliat h^0' Ahl Rare and cunning the Folliats arel " " What do you mean? " The old man gave him a sly sideways glance. DEAD MAN'S \ FOLtr ^ " Mrs. Folliat be living up to l Lodge' bain't she? " he dennanded. " Yes" said Poirot slowly. ^Mrs- l?olliat is ^"S at the Lodge and the world is ve^ wicked' and a11 the peoiple in it are very wicked." The old man stared at him. .. « Ah," he said. "Yu've got so^^S there- "By56" He shuffled away again. " But what have I got? " Poi:111'01 askeld himself with irritation as he slowly walked up the hiu back to the house. II Hercule Poirot made a meticf"10^ tolilet' BPP1^^ a scented pomade to his moustac01165 alld twi^ling them to a ferocious couple of points. Hestw(^ back from the -i ^ \ . i hat he saiw mirror and was satisfied by wh r The sound of a gong resoun^ th^olugh the house' and he descended the stairs. The butler, having finished11 a ftlosst artistic P"formance, crescendo, forte, di^^^ rallentando, was just replacing the gong s5^011 its hook- His dark melancholy face showed f ^ :re' Poirot thought to himself: , A ^mailing letter from the housekeeper-or it may f6 the bu'tkr " This butler looked as though blackn"11"1^ lletters would be well within his scope Poirot ^onde^ ^ ^' 0"^ took her characters from life. S DEAD A^Af^S FOLLY Miss Srewis crossed the hall in an unbecoming Lowered chiffon dress and he caught up with her, asking ^ he did so: "You ^ave a housekeeper here? " u Oh, no, M. Poirot. I'm afraid one doesn't run to "iceties of th9.t kind nowadays, except in a really large ^tablishment, of course. Oh, no, I'm the housekeeper "^-more housekeeper than secretary, sometimes, in this House.*' She gave a short acid laugh. " So you are the housekeeper? " Poirot considered her ^oughtfully. He could not see Miss Brewis writing a blackmailing ^tter. l" he warned them. "No bridge to-night. All h^5 to the P11"1?- There are any amount of notices to P1'1111' and the bi^ card for the Fortune Telling. Wh31 name sha11 we have? Madame Zuleika? Esmera^^ or Rc)many Leigh, the Gipsy Queen? " "The Eastern touch," said SallY- "^T01"" in agricultural districts hates gipsies. Zuleika sounds all right. I brought my paint box o^ and 1 ^""g111 Michael could do us a curling snake to oi'1"11^111 the notice." "Cleopatra rather than Zuleika, ithen?" Henden appeared at the door. " Dinner is served, my lady." They went in. There were candle? on the lon^ table- The room was full of shadows. Warburton and Alee Legge sat on either side of their hostess. Poirot was between Mrs; oliver and Miss Brewis. The latter was engaged in brisk S^"1 conversation about further details of preparation for tomorrow. Mrs. Oliver sat in brooding abstP^1011 and hardly spoke. 66 DEAD MAN'S FOLLY When she did at last break her silence, it was with a somewhat contradictory explanation. "Don't bother about me," she said to Poirot. "I'm just remembering if there's anything I've forgotten." Sir George laughed heartily. "The fatal flaw, eh? " he remarked. "That's just it," said Mrs. Oliver. "There always is one. Sometimes one doesn't realise it until a book's actually in print. And then it's agony \" Her face reflected this emotion. She sighed. " The curious thing is that most people never notice it. I say to myself, ' But of course the cook would have been bound to notice that two cutlets hadn't been eaten.' But nobody else thinks of it at all." "You fascinate me." Michael Weyman leant across the table. " The Mystery of the Second Cutlet. Please, please never explain. I shall wonder about it in my bath** Mrs. Oliver gave him an abstracted smile and relapsed into her preoccupations. Lady Stubbs was also silent. Now and again she yawned. Warburton, Alee Legge and Miss Brewis talked across her. As they came out of the dining-room, Lady Stubbs stopped by the stairs. "I'm going to bed," she announced. "I'm very sleepy." " Oh, Lady Stubbs," exclaimed Miss Brewis, " there's so much to be done. We've been counting on you to help us." DEAD MAN'S FOLLY 67 " Yes, I know," said Lady Stubbs. " But I'm going to bed." She spoke with the satisfaction of a small child. She turned her head as Sir George came out of the dining-room. "I'm tired, George. I'm going to bed. You don't mind?" He came up to her and patted her on the shoulder affectionately. " You go and get your beauty sleep, Hattie. Be fresh for tomorrow." He kissed her lightly and she went up the stairs, waving her hand and calling out: "Good night, all." Sir George smiled up at her. Miss Brewis drew in her breath sharply and turned brusquely away. "Come along, everybody," she said, with a forced cheerfulness that did not ring true. "We've got to work." Presently everyone was set to their tasks. Since Miss Brewis could not be everywhere at once, there were soon some defaulters. Michael Weyman ornamented a placard with a ferociously magnificent serpent and the words, Madame Zuleika will tell your Fortune, and then vanished unobtrusively. Alee Legge did a few nondescript chores and then went out avowedly to measure for the hoop-la and did not reappear. The women, as women do, worked energetically and conscientiously. Hercule Poirot followed his hostess's example and went early to bed. 68 DEAD MAN'S FOLLT in Poirot came down to breakfast on the following morning at nine-thirty. Breakfast was served in prewar fashion. A row of hot dishes on an electric heater. Sir George was eating a full-sized Englishman's breakfast of scrambled eggs, bacon and kidneys. Mrs. Oliver and Miss Brewis had a modified version of the same. Michael Weyman was eating a plateful of cold ham. Only Lady Stubbs was unheedful of the fleshpots and was nibbling thin toast and sipping black coffee. She was wearing a large pale-pink hat which looked odd at the breakfast table. The post had just arrived. Miss Brewis had an enormous pile of letters in front of her which she was rapidly sorting into piles. Any of Sir George's marked " Personal" she passed over to him. The others she opened herself and sorted into categories. Lady Stubbs had three letters. She opened what were clearly a couple of bills and tossed them aside. Then she opened the third letter and said suddenly and clearly: "Oh!" The exclamation was so startled that all heads turned towards her. "It's from Etienne," she said. "My cousin Etienne. He's coming here in a yacht." "Let's see, Hattie." Sir George held out his hand. DEAD MAN'S FOLLY 69 She passed the letter down the table. He smoothed out the sheet and read. "Who's this Etienne de Sousa? A cousin, you say? ** "I think so. A second cousin. I do not remember him very well--hardly at all. He was----" "Yes, my dear?" She shrugged her shoulders. " It does not matter. It is all a long time ago. I was a little girl." "I suppose you wouldn't remember him very well. But we must make him welcome, of course," said Sir George heartily. "Pity in a way it's the fete today, but we'll ask him to dinner. Perhaps we could put him up for a night or two--show him something of the country ?" Sir George was being the hearty country squire. Lady Stubbs said nothing. She stared down into her coffee-cup. Conversation on the inevitable subject of the fete became general. Only Poirot remained detached, watching the slim exotic figure at the head of the table. He wondered just what was going oft in her mind. At that very moment her eyes came up and cast a swift glance along the table to where he sat. It was a look so shrewd and appraising that he was startled. As their eyes met, the shrewd expression vanished-- emptiness returned. But that other look had been there, cold, calculating, watchful. ... Or had he imagined it? In any case, wasn't it true that people who were slightly mentally deficient very 7° DEAD man's FOLLY often had a kind of sly native cunning that sometimes surprised even the people who knew them best. He thought to himself that Lady Stubbs was certainly an enigma. People seemed to hold diametrically opposite ideas concerning her. Miss Brewis had intimated that Lady Stubbs knew very well what she was doing. Yet Mrs. Oliver definitely thought her halfwitted, and Mrs. Folli^t who had known her long and intimately had spoketi of her as someone not quite normal, who needed c^re and watchfulness. Miss Brewis was probably prejudiced. She disliked Lady Stubbs for her indolence and her aloofness. Poirot wondered if Miss Brewis had been Sir George's secretary prior to his marriage, if 50, she might easily resent the coming of the new regime. Poirot himself wou^d have agreed wholeheartedly with Mrs. Folliat and Ivirs. Oliver--until this morning. And, after all, could t^e really rely on what had been only a fleeting impression ? Lady Stubbs got up abruptly from the table. "I have a headache," she said. "I shall go and lie down in my room." Sir George sprang u-p anxiously. "My dear girl. Yoix*re all right, aren't you? n "It's just a headache's.*' " You'll be fit enouglx. for this afternoon, won't you? " "Yes, I think so." "Take some aspirin. Lady Stubbs," said Miss Brewis briskly. "Have you got some or shall I bring it to you?" DEAD MA^'S FOLLT 7, "I've got some." She moved toward? the ^or. As she went she hopped the handker^^ ^e had been squeezing ^t^een her fingers, f01^ moving quietly forward, P^ked it up unobtrusi^--y- Sir George, about to f°llow his wife, was stopped by ^iss Brewis. "About the parkin^ of ^rs this afternoon, Sir ^orge. I'm just goiP^ to Sive Mitchell instructions. ^ you think that tt^ best plan would be, as you s^id----?" foirot, going out of the ''"from, heard no more. He caught up his hoS1^ °n the stairs. "Madame, you dropP^ ^s." He proffered the hai^"011^ with a bow. She took it unheedi^ v* "Did I? Thank you." "I am most distress^' ^dame, that you should b^ suffering. Partiality when your cousin is comiilo." i She answered quicklY' almost violently. "I don't want to see ^lenne. I don't like him. He's ^d. He was always b^' PIn afraid of him. He does ^d things." The door of the dinil1^"1'00"1 opened and Sir George ^me across the hall an4 u? th^ stairs. "Haute, my poor d^^g- Let me come and tuck y°u up." They went up the st^" ^gether, his arm round her ^derly, his face worried and absorbed. ya DEAD MAN'S FOLLY Poirot looked up after them, then turned to encounter Miss Brewis moving fast, and clasping papers. "Lady Stubbs's headache----" he began. "No more headache than my foot," said Miss Brewis crossly, and disappeared into her office, closing the door behind her. Poirot sighed and went out through the front door on to the terrace. Mrs. Masterton had just driven up in a small car and was directing the elevation of a tea marquee, baying out orders in rich full-blooded tones. She turned to greet Poirot. " Such a nuisance, these affairs," she observed. " And they will always put everything in the wrong place. No, Rogers! More to the left--le/t--not right! What do you think of the weather, M. Poirot ? Looks doubtful to me. Rain, of course, would spoil everything. And we've had such a fine summer this year for a change. Where's Sir George? I want to talk to him about car parking." " His wife has a headache and has gone to lie down." " She'll be all right this afternoon," said Mrs. Masterton confidently. "Likes functions, you know. She'll make a terrific toilet and be as pleased about it as a child. Just fetch me a bundle of those pegs over there, will you? I want to mark the places for the clock golf numbers." Poirot, thus pressed into service, was worked by Mrs. Masterton relentlessly, as a useful apprentice. She condescended to talk to him in the intervals of hard labour. DEAD MAN'S FOLLY ^ "Got to do everything yourself, I find. Only way. ... By the way, you're a friend of the Eliots, I believe?" Poirot, after his long sojourn in England, comprehended that this was an indication of social recognitio}i. Mrs. Masterton was in fact saying: "Although a foreigner, I understand you are One of Us." She continued to chat in an intimate manner. "Nice to have Nasse lived in again. We were all ^o afraid it was going to be a hotel. You know what it is nowadays; one drives through the country and passes place after place with the board up ' Guest House' (>r ' Private Hotel' or ' Hotel A.A. Fully Licensed.' ah the houses one stayed in as a girl--or where one went <:o dances. Very sad. Yes, I'm glad about Nasse and so is poor dear Amy Folliat, of course. She's had such a hai'd life--but never complains, I will say. Sir George h\\ tell her you'll be wanting her, shall I ? I don't kno\y where tny wife is. She seems to have disappeared completely from view. Somewhere among the two or three hundred, I suppose—not that she'll be able to tell you much. I mean about the girl or anything like that. \vho would you like to see first?" "I think perhaps your secretary. Miss Brewis, and after that the girl's mother." Sir George nodded an^ left the room. The local police constable Robert Hoskins, opened the door for him and s^ut it after he went out. He then volunteered a statement obviously intended as a commentary on some of sir George's remarks. "Lady Stubbs is a bit wanting," he said, "up here" 96 DEAD MAN'S FOLLY He tapped his forehead. "That's why he said she wouldn't be much help. Scatty, that's what she is." "Did he marry a local girl? " " No. Foreigner of some sort. Coloured, some say, but I don't think that's so myself." Bland nodded. He was silent for a moment, doodling with a pencil on a sheet of paper in front of him. Then he asked a question which was clearly off the record. " Who did it, Hoskins ? " he said. If anyone did have any ideas as to what had been going on, Bland thought, it would be P.O. Hoskins. Hoskins was a man of inquisitive mind with a great interest in everybody and everything. He had a gossiping wife and that, taken with his position as local constable, provided him with vast stores of information of a personal nature. "Foreigner, if you ask me. 'Twouldn't be anyone local. The Fuckers is all right. Nice, respectable family. Nine of 'em all told. Two of the older girls is married, one boy in the Navy, the other one's doing his National Service, another girl's over to a hairdresser's at Torquay. There's three younger ones at home, two boys and a girl." He paused, considering. "None of 'em's what you'd call bright, but Mrs. Tucker keeps her home nice, clean as a pin--youngest of eleven, she was. She's got her old father living with her." Bland received this information in silence. Given in Hoskins's particular idiom, it was an outline of the Fuckers ' social position and standing. DEAD AfAM-'S FOLLY 97 That's why I say it was a foreigner" continued Hoskiris. "One of those that stop up to the Hostel at Hoodown, likely as not. There's sornb queer ones among them—and a lot of goings-on. Be surprised, you would, at what I've seen 'em doing in the bushes and the woods! Every bit as bad as what goes on in parked cars along the Common." P.C. Hoskins was by this time an absolute specialist on the subject of sexual "goings-on." They formed a large portion of his Conversation when off duty and having his pint in the Bull and Bear. Bland said: "I don't think thei-e was anything—well, of that kind. The doctor will tell us, of course, as $oon as he's finished his examination." "Yes, sir, that'll be up to him, that wiilL But what I say i§, you never knc>w with foreigners. Turn nasty, they can, all in a mon^ent." Inspector Bland sighed as he thought to himself that it was not quite as ea^y 35 ^at. It was all very well for Constable Hoskins to put the blame conveniently on "foreigners." Th& door opened and the doctor walked in. "Done my bit," he ^marked. "Shall they take her away now? The other, outfits have packed up." "Sergeant Cottrill vyill attend to that," said Bland. "Well, Doc, what's th& finding? " "Simple and straightforward as it can be," said the doctor. "Nocomplicattions. Garrotted v^ith a piece of clothes line. Nothing . tressing," said the inspector. "The awful thing is," said Mrs. Oliver, "that sh^ wanted to be a sex maniac's victim, and now I suppose she was—is—which should I mean? " "There's no question of a sex maniac," said th^ inspector. "Isn't there?" said Mrs. Oliver. "Well, thank Go^ for that. Or at least, I don't know. Perhaps she woul^ rather have had it that way. But if he wasn't a se^ maniac, why did anybody murder her, Inspector? " "I was hoping," said the inspector, "tliat you couli) help me there." Undoubtedly, he thought, Mrs. Oliver had put hei? finger on the crucial point. Why should anyone murder Marlene ? " I can't help you," said Mrs. Oliver. " I can't imagine who could have done it. At least, of course, I can, imagine—I can imagine anything! That's the trouble with me. I can imagine things now—this minute, ( could even make them sound all right, but of course none of them would be true. I mean, she could liavo. been murdered by someone who just likes murdering girls (but that's too easy)—and, anyway, too much o(' a coincidence that somebody should be at this fete who> wanted to murder a girl. And how would he know that: Marlene was in the boathouse? Or she might hav^ known some secret about somebody's love affairs, or sh^ may have seen someone bury a body at night, or sh^ may have recognised somebody who was concealing hi^ DEAD MAN'S FOLLT ill identity--or she may have known a secret about where some treasure was buried during the war. Or the man in the launch may have thrown somebody into the river and she saw it from the window of the boathouse --or she may even have got hold of some very important message in secret code and not known what it was herself." " Please! " The inspector held up his hand. His head was whirling. Mrs. Oliver stopped obediently. It was clear that she could have gone on in this vein for some time, although it seemed to the inspector that she had already envisaged every possibility, likely or otherwise. Out of the richness of the material presented to him, he seized upon one phrase. " What did you mean, Mrs. Oliver, by the (man in the launch'? Are you just imagining a man in a launch?" "Somebody told me he'd come in a launch," said Mrs. Oliver. "I can't remember who. The one we were talking about at breakfast, I mean," she added. "Please." The inspector's tone was now pleading. He had had no idea before what the writers of detective stories were like. He knew that Mrs. Oliver had written forty-odd books. It seemed to him astonishing at the moment that she had not written a hundred and forty. He rapped out a peremptory inquiry. "What is all this about a man at breakfast who came in a launch?" "He didn't come in the launch at breakfast time," iia DEAD MAJTS FOLLY said Mrs. Oliver," it was a yacht. At least, I don't mean that exactly. It was a letter." "Well, what was it? " demanded Bland. "A yacht or a letter?" " It was a letter," said Mrs. Oliver, " to Lady Stubbs. From a cousin in a yacht. And she was frightened," she ended. "Frightened? What of?" "Of him, I suppose," said Mrs. Oliver. "Anybody could see it. She was terrified of him and she didn't want him to come, and I think that's why she's hiding now." "Hiding?" said the inspector. "Well, she isn't about anywhere," said Mrs. Oliver. "Everyone's been looking for her. And / think she's hiding because she's afraid of him and doesn't want to meet him." "Who is this man? " demanded the inspector. "You'd better ask M. Poirot," said Mrs. Oliver. "Because he spoke to him and I haven't. His name's Estaban—no, it isn't, that was in my plot. De Sousa, that's what his name is, Etienne de Sousa." But another name had caught the inspector's attention. " Who did you say? " he asked. " Mr. Poirot? " "Yes. Hercule Poirot. He was with me when we found the body." "Hercule Poirot. ... I wonder now. Can it be the same man? A Belgian, a small man with a very big moustache." DEAD MAN'S FOLLr 113 "An enormous moustache," agreed Mrs. Oliver. "Yes. Do you know him? " "It's a good many years since I met him. I was a young sergeant at the time." "You met him on a murder case? " "Yes, I did. What's he doing down here?" "He was to give away the prizes," said Mrs. Oliver. There was a momentary hesitation before she gave this answer, but it went unperceived by the inspector. "And he was with you when you discovered the body," said Bland. "H'm, I'd like to talk to him." " Shall I get him for you? " Mrs. Oliver gathered up her purple draperies hopefully. "There's nothing more that you can add, madam? Nothing more that you think could help us in any way?" " I don't think so," said Mrs. Olivet". " I don't know anything. As I say, I could imagine reasons——" The inspector cut her short. He had no wish to hear any more of Mrs. Oliver's imagined solutions. They were far too confusing. "Thank you very much, madam,'1' he said briskly. " If you'll ask M. Poirot to come and speak to me here I shall be very much obliged to you.'' Mrs. Oliver left the room. P.O. Hoskins inquired with interest: " Who's this Monsieur Poirot, sir ? '* " You'd describe him probably as a scream " said Inspector Bland. "Kind of music hall parody of a Frenchman, but actually he's a Belgian. But in spite M te ii4 DEAD MAN'S FOLLY of his absurdities, he's got brains. He must be a fair age now." "What about this De Sousa?" asked the constable. "Think there's anything in that, sir?" Inspector Bland did not hear the question. He was struck by a fact which, though he had been told it several times, was only now beginning to register. First it had been Sir George, irritated and alarmed. "My wife seems to have disappeared. I can't think where she has got to." Then Miss Brewis, contemptuous: "Lady Stubbs was not to be found. She'd got bored with the show." And now Mrs. Oliver with her theory that Lady Stubbs was hiding. "Eh? What? " he said absently. Constable Hoskins cleared his throat. "I was asking you, sir, if you thought there was anything in this business of De Sousa--whoever he is." Constable Hoskins was clearly delighted at having a specific foreigner rather than foreigners in the mass, introduced into the case. But Inspector Bland's mind was running on a different course. "I want Lady Stubbs," he said curtly. "Get hold of her for me. If she isn't about, look for her." Hoskins looked slightly puzzled but he left the room obediently. In the doorway he paused and fell back a little to allow Hercule Poirot to enter. He looked back over his shoulder with some interest before closing the door behind him. " I don't suppose," said Bland, rising and holding out his hand, " that you remember me, M. Poirot." DEAD MAN'S FOLLY (15 "But assuredly," said Poirot. "It is—now give me a moment,, just a little moment. It is the young sergeant—yes, Sergeant Bland whom I met fourteen— no, fifteen years ago." "Quite right. What a memory! " " Not at all. Since you remember me, why should I not remember you?" It would be difficulty Bland thought, to forget Hercule Poirot, and this not entirely for complimentary reasons. " So here you are, M. Poirot," he said. " Assisting at a murder once again." " You are right," said Poirot. " I was called down here to assist." " Called down to assist ?" Bland looked puzzled. Poirot said quickly: "I mean, I was asked down here to give away the prizes of this murder hunt." " So Mrs. Oliver told me." "She told you nothing else?" Poirot said it with apparent carelessness. He was anxious to discover whether Mrs. Oliver had given the Inspector any hint of the real motives which had led her to insist on Poirot's journey to Devon. "Told me nothing else? She never stopped telling me things. Every possible and impossible motive for the girl's murder. She set my head spinning. Phewl What an imagination! " " She earns her living by her imagination, man ami" said Poirot dryly. n6 DE^ MANIS FOLLr -She mentioned a man called De Sousa-did she imagine that?" "No, that is sob^ fact'" " There was some^^S abovit a Ietter at breakfast and a yacht and coming "P the nver in a launch- I couldntt pounds **. )9 make head or tail ° Poirot embarked ^P011 an emanation. He told of the scene at the break^ table' the letter» Lady Stubbs's headache. "Mrs. Oliver sai^ that Lady stubbs was frightened. Did you think she ^as afraid't00 ? " "That was the impression she gave me" "Afraid of this <;ousin of hers ? Why?" Poirot shrugged ^ shoulders. -I have no idea. An she told me was that he was bad-a bad man. S^ is' V011 understand, a little simple. Subnormal." » Yes, that seemst0 be P^1^ S^^V ^own round here. She didn't ^ ^V she was afraid of this De Sousa?" "No." « But you think ^r fear was rea1 ? " " If it was not, t^" she is a ^^ clever actress," said Poirot dryly. "I'm beginning to have some odd ideas about this case," said Bland. He S01 "P and walked ^^^sly to and fro. "It's that cursed woman's fa^t. I believe." "Mrs. Oliver's?'' " Yes She's out ^ ^ot °^ o^^Qdramatic ideas into my head." DEAD MAN'S FOLLY ^ "And you think they may be true? " " Not all of them—naturally—but one or two of them mightn't be as wild as they sounded. It all depends _ .»» He broke off as the door opened to re-adn^ pp Hoskins. " Don't seem able to find the lady, sir," he said. « she's not about anywhere." u I know that already," said Bland irritably. « j (q}^ you to find her." " Sergeant Farrell and P.C. Lorimer are scarc^ng ^e grounds, sir," said Hoskins. " She's not in the house " he added. "Find out from the man who's taking aq^ggion tickets at the gate if she's left the place. Either, on fyo^ or in a car." "Yes, sir." Hoskins departed. "And find out when she was last seen and where" Bland shouted after him. " So that is the way your mind is working » g^ Poirot. "It isn't working anywhere yet," said Bla^ "but I've just woken up to the fact that a lady who taueht to be on the premises isn't on the premises 1 Any j want to know why. Tell me what more you kno,-^ about what's-his-name De Sousa." Poirot described his meeting with the youing man who had come up the path from the quay. "He is probably still here at the fete," he said. "Shall I tell Sir George that you want to see him? " n8 DEAD MAJ^'S FOLLY "Not for a moment or two," said Bland. "I'd like to find out a little more first. When did you yourself last see Lady Stubbs? " Poirot cast his mind back. He found it difficult to remember exactly. He recalled vague glimpses of her tall, cyclamen-clad figure with the drooping black hat moving about the lawn talking to people, hovering here and there; occasionally he would hear that strange loud laugh of hers, distinctive amongst the many other confused sounds. " I think," he said doubtfully, " it must have been not long before four o'clock." "And where was she then, and who was she with? " " She was in the middle of a group of people near the house." " Was she there when De Sousa arrived ?" "I don't remember. I don't think so, at least I did not see her. Sir George told De Sousa that his wife was somewhere about. He seemed surprised, I remember, that she was not judging the Children's Fancy Dress, as she was supposed to do." " What time was it when De Sousa arrived ? " "It must have been about half-past four, I should think. I did not look at my watch so I cannot tell you exactly." "And Lady Stubbs had disappeared before he arrived?" " It seems so." "Possibly she ran away so as not to meet him," suggested the inspector. DEAD MAN'S FOLLY 119 " possibly," Poirot agreed. "Well, she can't have gone far," said Bland. "\Ve ought to be able to find her quite easily, and when we do . . •" He broke off. "And supposing you don't? " Poirot put the question with a curious intonation in his voice. "That's nonsense," said the inspector vigorously. " Why ? What d'you think's happened to her ? " Poirot shrugged his shoulders. "What indeed 1 One does not know. All one d.oes know is that she has—disappeared! " " Dash it all, M. Poirot, you're making it sound quite sinister." " Perhaps it is sinister." "It's the murder of Marlene Tucker that w,„ from the ferry through the woods. Merdell seeing to have been hanging about the quay all the afternoon so he'd be pretty sure to have seen her ladyship if she'd come that way. Then there's the top gate that leads over the fields to Hoodown Park, but that's been \vired up because of trespassers, so she didn't go throueh there. Seems as though she must be still here, doesn't it?" "That may be so," said the inspector, "but there's nothing to prevent her, is there, from slipping Under a fence and going off across country? Sir Geor&g „ still complaining of trespassing here from the h^ostel next door, I understand. If you can get in the wa^y the trespassers get in, you can get out the same w^y t suppose." " Oh, yes, sir, indubitably, sir. But I've talked t^> h-. 130 DEAD MAN'S FOLLY maid, sir. She's wearing "—Cottrell consulted a paper in his hand—"a dress of cyclamen crepe georgette (whatever that is), a large black hat, black court shoes with four-inch french heels. Not the sort of things you'd wear for a cross-country run." "She didn't change her clothes? " "No. I went into that with the maid. There's nothing missing—nothing whatever. She didn't pack a suitcase or anything of that kind. She didn't even change her shoes. Every pair's there and accounted for." Inspector Bland frowned. Unpleasant possibilities were rising in his mind. He said curtly; "Get me that secretary woman again—Bruce— whatever her name is.'* n Miss Brewis came in looking rather more ruffled than usual, and a little out of breath. "Yes, Inspector?" she said. "You wanted me? If it isn't urgent. Sir George is in a terrible state and——" "What's he in a state about? " "He's only just realised that Lady Stubbs is—well, really missing. I told him she's probably only gone for a walk in the woods or something, but he's got it into his head that something's happened to her. Quite absurd." DEAD MAN'S FOLLy i 131 "It might not be so absurd, Miss ^rewis After all we've had one—murder here this afte.^o „ "You surely don't think that Lady smbbs__? But that's ridiculous! Lady Stubbs can lo^ ^^. herself" -Can she?" "Of course she can! She's a grov^ ^oman, isn't she?" "But rather a helpless one, by all a,ccounts " "Nonsense," said Miss Brewis. "It «^^ ^ady Stubbs now and then to play the helpless niti^ ^ ^ doesn't want to do anything. It takes her h^,and in, I dare say, but it doesn't take me in! " "You don't like her very much, ^iss Brewis?" Bland sounded gently interested. Miss Brewis's lips closed in a thin [,ne "It's not my business either to lik(g or dislike her," she said. The door burst open and Sir Geor^g came in "Look here," he said violently, " 3^,^ g^' ^ ^ something. Where's Hattie? You',yg g^ to ^^ Hattie. What the hell's going on ro^4 here I don't know. This confounded fete-some ^^y homicidal maniac's got in here, paying his half-cr^^ ^ looking like everyone else, spending his aftem^,^ g^g ^^^ murdering people. That's what it lo<^ ^ ^ ^^ „ " I don't think we need take such an. exaggerated view as that. Sir George." "It's all very well for you sitting there behind the table, writing things down. What I v^am is my wife" "I'm having the grounds searched,] gu. Gcoree." 132 DEAD MAN'S FOLLY "Why did nobody tell me she'd disappeared? She's been missing a couple of hours now, it seems. I thought it was odd that she didn't turn up to judge the Children's Fancy Dress stuff, but nobody told me she'd really gone." " Nobody knew," said the inspector. "Well, someone ought to've known. Somebody ought to have noticed." He turned on Miss Brewis. "You ought to have known, Amanda, you were keeping an eye on things." "I can't be everywhere," said Miss Brewis. She sounded suddenly almost tearful. "I've got so much to see to. If Lady Stubbs chose to wander away——" "Wander away? Why should she wander away? She'd no reason to wander away unless she wanted to avoid that dago fellow." Bland seized his opportunity. "There is something I want to ask you," he said. "Did your wife receive a letter from Mr. De Sousa some three weeks ago, telling her he was coming to this country ?" Sir George looked astonished. "No, of course she didn't." " You're sure of that ?" "Oh, quite sure. Hattie would have told me. Why, she was thoroughly startled and upset when she got his letter this morning. It more or less knocked her out. She was lying down most of the morning with a headache." \ DEAD MAN'S FOLLT 133 we11-'^^^ think that'8 alL He added sino0"117'.""1' I 1-- been very kind. We Thank you, ^ ^T^^s^r^n shortly." can only ho^at ^^^^irt -Very thought^ "Ihopeso,^83!^"^011-^^ anxiety" She of the dear ^ ^S us a" ^0 m ^ ^ ^ spoke briskly but the animation^111 DEAD MAN'S FOLLY 155 very natural. "I'm sure," said Mrs. Folliat, " that she's quite all right. Quite all right." At that moment the door opened and an attractive young woman with red hair and a freckled face came in, and said: "I hear you've been asking for me? " "This is Mrs. Legge, Inspector," said Mrs. Folliat. " Sally, dear, I don't know whether you've heard about the terrible thing that has happened? " "Oh, yesi Ghastly, isn't it? " said Mrs. Legge. She uttered an exhausted sigh, and sank down in the chair as Mrs. Folliat left the room. "I'm terribly sorry about all this," she said. "It seems really unbelievable, if you know what I mean. I'm afraid I can't help you in any way. You see, I've been telling fortunes all the afternoon, so I haven't seen anything of what was going on." " I know, Mrs. Legge. But we just have to ask everybody the same routine questions. For instance, just where were you between four-fifteen and five o'clock?" "Well, I went and had tea at four o'clock.'* "In the tea tent?" "Yes." "It was very crowded, I believe? ** " Oh, frightfully crowded." "Did you see anyone you knew there? '* "Oh, a few old people, yes. Nobody to speak to. Goodness, how I wanted that teal That was four o'clock, as I say. I got back to the fortune telling tent *54 DEAD MAN'S FOLLY " ^e doesn't like Lady Stubbs very much ^^ ^,y „ "No," said Mrs. Folliat, "I'm afraid shg doesn't. I don't think these good secretaries ever do ca^g ^ ^ygg much, if you know what I mean. Perhaps i^g natural." "Was it you or Lady Stubbs who asked ^^ ^^ to take cakes and a fruit drink to the girl ^ ^ ^^_ house ? *» Mrs. polliat looked slightly surprised. " I feinember Miss Brewis collecting son^ cakes and things and saying she was taking thei^ ^^g ^ Marlenfe. I didn't know anyone had partiCy^ ^^ her to clo it, or arranged about it. It cert^y ^^ me. "I se^. you say you were in the tea ten^ ^^ ^^. o'clock on. I believe Mrs. Legge was also having tea in the tent at that time." "Mrs. Legge? No, I don't think so. At ^ , ^^ remember seeing her there. In fact, I'm qi^ g^ ^ wasn't there. We'd had a great influx by t^g ^ ^^ Torquay, and I remember looking round .^ ^ thinking that they must all be summer vis^ . ..i,-- was hardly a face there that I knew. I thini ^^ ^ must h^ve come in to tea later." "Oh, well," said the inspector, "it doesi^ matter" He added smoothly. "Well. I really thin^ ^,g ^ Thank you, Mrs. Folliat, you've been ver ^^ ^ can only hope that Lady Stubbs will retur^ shortly " " I hope so, too," said Mrs. Folliat. " Very^oughtless of the 4ear child giving us all so much an^g( » ghe spoke briskly but the animation in her vc;^ . DEAD MAN'S FOLLt 155 very natural. " I'm sure," said Mrs. Folliat, " that she's quite all right. Quite all right.'* At that moment the door opened and an attractive young woman with red hair and a freckled face came in, and said; "I hear you've been asking for me?" "This is Mrs. Legge, Inspector," said Mrs. Folliat. " Sally, dear, I don't know whether you've heard about the terrible thing that has happened?" "Oh, yes! Ghastly, isn't it?" said Mrs. Legge. She uttered an exhausted sigh, and sank down in the chair as Mrs. Folliat left the room. "I'm terribly sorry about all this," she said. "It seems really unbelievable, if you know what I mean. I'm afraid I can't help you in any way. You s^e, I've been telling fortunes all the afternoon, so I haveii't seen anything of what was going on." "I know, Mrs. Legge. But we just have to ask everybody the same routine questions. For instance, just where were you between four-fifteen and five o'clock?" " Well, I went and had tea at four o'clock.** "In the tea tent?" "Yes." " It was very crowded, I believe ? '* "Oh, frightfully crowded." "Did you see anyone you knew there? " "Oh, a few old people, yes. Nobody to speak to. Goodness, how I wanted that teal That was four o'clock, as I say. I got back to the fortune telling tent 156 DEAD MAN'S POLLY at half-past four and -went on with my job. And goodness knows what I was promising the women in the end. Millionaire husbands, film stardom in Hollywood-- heaven knows what. Mere journeys across the sea, and suspicious dark women seemed too tame." "What happened during the half-hour when you were absent--I mean, supposing people wanted to have their fortunes told?" " Oh, I hung a card up outside the tent. * Back at fourthirty.' " The inspector made a note in his pad. "When did you last see Lady Stubbs?" " Hattie ? I don't really know. She was quite near at hand when I came out of the fortune telling tent to go to tea, but I didn't speak to her. I don't remember seeing her afterwards. Somebody told me just now that she's missing. Is that true? " "Yes, it is." "Oh, well," said Sally Legge cheerfully, "she's a bit queer in the top story, you know. I dare say having a murder here has frightened her. "Well, thank you, Mrs. Legge." Mrs. Legge accepted the dismissal with promptitude. She went out, passing Hercule Poirot in the doorway. in Looking at the ceiling, the inspector spoke. " Mrs. Legge says she was in the tea tent between four DEAD MAN'S FOLLY 157 and four-thirty. Mrs. Folliat says she was helping in the tea tent from four o'clock on but that Mrs. Leggc was not among those present." He paused and then went on, " Miss Brewis says that Lady Stubbs asked her to take a tray of cakes and fruit juice to Mariene Tucker. Michael Weyman says that it's quite impossible Lady Stubbs should have done any such thing—it would be most uncharacteristic of her." "Ah," said Poirot, "the conflicting statements 1 Yes, one always has them." " And what a nuisance they are to clear up, too," said the inspector. "Sometimes they matter but in nine times out of ten they don't. Well, we've got to do a lot of spade work, that's clear." "And what do you think now, nwn chert What arc the latest ideas ? " " I think," said the inspector gravely, " that Mariene Tucker saw something she was not meant to see. I think that it was because of what Mariene Tucker saw that she had to be killed." "I will not contradict you," said Poirot. "The point is what did she see? " " She might have seen a murder," said the inspector. "Or she might have seen the person who did the murder." "Murder?" said Poirot. "The murder of whom? ** "What do you think, Poirot? Is Lady Stubbs alive or dead?" Poirot took a moment or two before he replied. Then he said: -8 DEAD MAN'S FOLLY "I think, mon ami, that Lady Stubbs is dead. And I ^.ill tell you why I think that. It is because Mrs. Folliat thinks she is dead. Yes, whatever she may say now, or -yetend to think, Mrs. Folliat believes that Hattie Stiibbs is dead. Mrs. Folliat," he added, "knows a great ^e»l that we do not." CHAPTER XII HfStCVts poirot came down to the breakfast table on the following morning to a depleted table. Mrs. Oliver, still suffering from the shock of yesterday's occurrence, was having her breakfast in bed. Michael Weyman had had a cup of coffee and gone out early. Only Sir George and the faithful Miss Brewis were at the breakfast table. Sir George was giving indubitable proof of his mental condition by being unable to eat any breakfast. His plate lay almost untasted before him. He pushed aside the small pile of letters which, after opening them, Miss Brewis had placed before him. He drank coffee with an air of not knowing what he was doing. He said: "Morning, M. Poirot," perfunctorily, and then relapsed into his state of preoccupation. At times a few ejaculatory murmurs came from him. " So incredible, the whole damn' thing. Where can she be?" "The inquest will be held at the Institute on Thursday," said Miss Brewis. "They rang up to tell us." Her employer looked at her as if he did not understand. , " Inquest ?" he said. " Oh, yes, of course." He sounded 159 i6o DEAD MAN'S FOLLY dazed and uninterested. After another sip or two of coffee he said, "Women are incalculable. What does she think she's doing? " Miss Brewis pursed her lips. Poirot observed acutely enough that she was in a state of taut nervous tension. "Hodgson's coming to see you this morning," she remarked, "about the electrification of the milking sheds on the farm. And at twelve o'clock there's the----" Sir George interrupted. "I can't see anyone. Put 'em all offi How the devil d'you think a man can attend to business when he's worried half out of his mind about his wife? " "If you say so. Sir George." Miss Brewis gave the domestic equivalent of a barrister saying " as your lordship pleases." Her dissatisfaction was obvious. "Never know," said Sir George, "what women get into their heads, or what fool things they're likely to dol You agree, eh?" He shot the last question at Poirot. " Les femmest They are incalculable," said Poirot, raising his eyebrows and his hands with Gallic fervour. Miss Brewis blew her nose in an annoyed fashion. "She seemed all right," said Sir George. "Damn pleased about her new ring, dressed herself up to enjoy the fete. All just the same as usual. Not as though we'd had words or a quarrel of any kind. Going off without a word." " About those letters. Sir George," began Miss Brewis. DEAD MANVS FOLLr I61 "Damn the bloody letters to he11'" said sir George, and pusher aside his coffee-c^P- He picked up the letters by his P^ and More or less threw the^ at her. " Answer them any way yo^like 'I can't be bothered. He went <^n more or less to l^mse^ m an injured tone, "Doesn't seem to be anything I can d0- Don't even know if that police chap's a^v g00^ very soft ^o\ieQ and all t^at" "The police are, I believe" said Miss Brewis, "very efficient. They have amp^ facilities for tracing the whereabouts of missing pe^"0™-" "They take days sometimes" said sir George' ltt0 find some miserable kid w^018 run off and hidden mm' self in a haystack." "I do^t think Lady Sti^s is ^V to be in a haystack, S^r George." - If oi^iy i could do some^h^g" repeated the unhappy husband. «I think, you kr^w. I'll put an advertisement in the capers. Take it dov^ Amanda, will you? " He paused a moment in th^vght. "Hattie. Please corn home. Desperate about y^- Geor9e' Au the P^"' Amantla." Miss Brewis said addl^y: "La^y Stubbs doesn't? often read the papers, Sir George. She's no interest at all in current affairs or whaf^ going on in th^ world." She added, rather cattily, but Sir George was not in the mood to appreciate cattiness, "(pi course you could put at advertisement in Vogues That might catch her eye," i6a DEAD MAN'S FOLLY Sir George said simply: "Anywhere you think but get on with it." He got up and walked towards the door. With his hand on the handle he paused and came back a few steps. He spoke directly to Poirot. " Look here, Poirot," he said, "you don't think she's dead, do you ? " Poirot fixed his eyes on his coffee-cup as he replied: " I should say it is far too soon. Sir George, to assume anything of that kind. There is no reason as yet to entertain such an idea." "So you do think so," said Sir George, heavily. "Well," he added defiantly. "I don't! /say she's quite all right." He nodded his head several times with increasing defiance, and went out banging the door behind him. Poirot buttered a piece of toast thoughtfully. In cases where there was any suspicion of a wife being murdered, he always automatically suspected the husband. (Similarly, with a husband's demise, he suspected the wife.) But in this case he did not suspect Sir George with having done away with Lady Stubbs. From his brief observation of them he was quite convinced that Sir George was devoted to his wife. Moreover, as far as his excellent memory served him (and it served him pretty well). Sir George had been present on the lawn the entire afternoon until he himself had left with Mrs. Oliver to discover the body. He had been there on the lawn when they had returned with the news. No, it was not Sir Georg-e who was responsible DEAD MA^S FOLLT 163 for Hattie's death. That is, if Hattie were dead. After all, Poirot told himself, there was no reason to believe so as yet. What he had just said to Sir George was true enough. But in his own mind the conviction was unalterable. The pattern, he thought, was the pattern of murder—a double murder. Miss Brewis interrupted his thoughts by speaking with almost tearful venom. "Men are such fools," she said, "such absolute^>o&! They're quite shrewd in most ways, and then they go marrying entirely the wrong sort of woman." Poirot was always willing to let people talk. The more people who talked to him, and the more they said, the better. There was nearly always a grain of wheat among the chaff. "You think it has been an unfortunate marriage? " he demanded, "Disastrous—quite disastrous." " You mean—that they were not happy together ? " " She'd a thoroughly bad influence over him in every way." " Now I find that very interesting. What kind of a bad influence?" "Making him run to and fro at her beck and call, getting expensive presents out of him—far more jewels than one woman could wear. And furs. She's got two mink coats and a Russian ermine. What could any woman want with two mink coats, I'd like to know?" Poirot shook his head. 164 DEAD MAN'S FOLLY "That I would not know," he said. "Sly," continued Miss Brewis. "Deceitful! Always playing the simpleton--especially when people were here. I suppose because she thought he liked her that wayl" " And did he like her that way ? " "Oh, meni" said Miss Brewis, her voice trembling on the edge of hysteria. "They don't appreciate efficiency or unselfishness, or loyalty or any of those qualities! Now with a clever, capable wife Sir George would have got somewhere." "Got where? " asked Poirot. " Well, he could take a prominent part in local affairs. Or stand for Parliament. He's a much more able man than poor Mr. Masterton. I don't know if you've ever heard Mr. Masterton on a platform--a. most halting and uninspired speaker. He owes his position entirely to his wife. It's Mrs. Masterton who's the power behind the throne. She's got all the drive and the initiative and the political acumen." Poirot shuddered inwardly at the thought of being married to Mrs. Masterton, but he agreed quite truthfully with Miss Brewis's words. "Yes," he said, "she is all that you say. A.femme formidable^ he murmured to himself. " Sir George doesn't seem ambitious," went on Miss Brewis; " he seems quite content to live here and potter about and play the country squire, and just go to London occasionally to attend to all his city directorships and all that, but he could make far more of DEAD MAN'S FOLLY 165 himself than that with his abilities. He's really a very remarkable man, M. Poirot. That woman never understood him. She just regards him as a kind of machine for tipping out fur coats and jewels and expensive clothes. If he were married to someone who really appreciated his abilities . . ." She broke off, her voice wavering uncertainly. Poirot looked at her with a real compassion. Miss Brewis was in love with her employer. She gave him a faithful, loyal and passionate devotion of which he was probably quite unaware and in which he would certainly not be interested. To Sir George, Amanda Brewis was an efficient machine who took the drudgery of daily life off his shoulders, who answered telephone calls, wrote letters, engaged servants, ordered meals and generally made life smooth for him. Poirot doubted if he had ever once thought of her as a woman. And that, he reflected, had its dangers. Women could work themselves up, they could reach an alarming pitch of hysteria unnoticed by the oblivious male who was the object of their devotion. " A sly, scheming, clever cat, that's what she is," said Miss Brewis tearfully. "You say is, not was, I observe," said Poirot. "Of course she isn't dead! " said Miss Brewis, scornfully. "Gone off with a man, that's what she^s donel That's her type." " It is possible. It is always possible," said Poirot. He took another piece of toast, inspected the marmalade pot gloomily and looked down the table to see if there 166 DEAD MAN'S FOLLY were any kind of jam. There was none, so he resigned himself to butter. "It's the only explanation," said Miss Brewis. "Of course he wouldn't think of it." " Has there—been any—trouble with men ? " asked Poirot, delicately. " Oh, she's been very clever," said Miss Brewis. " You mean you have not observed anything of the kind?" " She'd be careful that I shouldn't," said Miss Brewis. " But you think that there may have been—what shall I say ?—surreptitious episodes ? " "She's done her best to make a fool of Michael Weyman," said Miss Brewis. "Taking him down to see the camellia gardens at this time of year! Pretending she's so interested in the tennis pavilion." "After all, that is his business for being here and I understand Sir George is having it built principally to please his wife." " She's no good at tennis," said Miss Brewis. " She's no good at any games. Just wants an attractive setting to sit in, while other people run about and get hot. Oh, yes, she's done her best to make a fool of Michael Weyman. She'd probably have done it too, it he hadn't had other fish to fry." "Ah," said Poirot, helping himself to a very little marmalade, placing it on the corner of a piece of toast and taking a mouthful dubiously. "So he has other fish to fry, M. Weyman?" "It was Mrs. Legge who recommended him to Sir DEAD MAN'S FOLLY ,67 George," said Miss Brewis. " She knew him before she was married. Chelsea, I understand, and all thai. She used to paint, you know." "She seems a very attractive and intelligent young woman," said Poirot tentatively. "Oh, yes, she's very intelligent," said Miss Brewis. " She's had a university education and I dare say could have made a career for herself if she hadn't married." "Has she been married long? " "About three years, I believe. I don't thii^k the marriage has turned out very well." " There is--the incompatibility ? " " He's a queer young man, very moody. Wanders off a lot by himself and I've heard him very bad-ternpered with her sometimes." " Ah, well," said Poirot, " the quarrels, the reconciliations, they are a part of early married life. Without them it is possible that life would be drab." "She's spent a good deal of time with Michael Weyman since he's been down here," said Miss I$rewis. "I think he was in love with her before she niarried Alee Legge. I dare say it's only a flirtation »in her side." " But Mr. Legge was not pleased about it, perhaps ? " "One never knows with him, he's so vague. but ; think he's been even moodier than usual, lately," " Did he admire Lady Stubbs, perhaps ? " " I dare say she thought he did. She thinks she only has to hold up a finger for any man to fall in love with her!" ,68 DEAD MAN'S FOLLY «in an< case^ 11 ^e has gone off with a man, as you suggest yls aot Mr- Weyman, for Mr. Weyman is sdll here." "It's sc^^ody she's been meeting on the sly, I've no doubt»" ^d Miss Brewis. "She often slips out of the hous^ on ^e quiet and goes off into the woods by herself. i?he was out the night before last. Yawning and sayine sb® was going "P to hed. I caught sight of her not half an hour later slipping out by the side door with a sba^ over her head." Poirot looked thoughtfully at the woman opposite him. W wondered if any reliance at all was to be placed in M"8 Brewis's statements where Lady Stubbs was con^"1^, or whether it was entirely wishful thinking on her part. Mrs. Folliat, he was sure, did not shar^ Miss Brewis's ideas and Mrs. Folliat knew Hattie iiW^h better than Miss Brewis could do. If Lady Stubbs had run away with a lover it would clearly suit Miss Brewis's book very well. She would be left to console (he bereaved husband and to arrange for him efficiently ^e details of divorce. But that did not make it true of probable, or even likely. If Hattie Stubbs had left with a lover, she had chosen a very curious time to do so, Poirot thought. For his own part he did not believe s^ had. Miss I^ewis sniffed through her nose and gathered together various scattered correspondence. " If Sir George really wants those advertisements put in, I suppose I'd better see about it," she said. " Complete nol^s^G aBd waste of time. Oh, good morning, DEAD MAN'S FOLLY 169 Mrs. Masterton," she added, as the door opened with authority and Mrs. Masterton walked in. "Inquest is set for Thursday, I hear," she boomed. "'Morning, M. Poirot." Miss Brewis paused, her hand full of letters. "Anything I can do for you, Mrs. Masterton? " she asked. " No, thank you. Miss Brewis. I expect you've plenty on your hands this morning, but I do want to thank you for all the excellent work you put in yesterday. You're such a good organiser and such a hard worker. We're all very grateful." "Thank you, Mrs. Masterton." "Now don't let me keep you. I'll just sit down and have a word with M. Poirot." " Enchanted, Madame," said Poirot. He had risen to his feet and he bowed. Mrs. Masterton pulled out a chair and sat down. Miss Brewis left the room, quite restored to her usual efficient self. "Marvellous woman, that," said Mrs. Masterton. " Don't know what the Stubbses would do without her. Running a house takes some doing nowadays. Poor Hattie couldn't have coped with it. Extraordinary business, this, M. Poirot. I came to ask you what you thought about it." "What do you yourself think, Madame? " " Well, it's an unpleasant thing to face, but I should say we've got some pathological character in this part of the world. Not a native, I hope. Perhaps been let 170 DEAD MAN'S FOLLY out of an asylum--they're always letting 'em out halfcured nowadays. What I mean is, no one would ever want to strangle that Tucker girl. There couldn't be any motive, I mean, except some abnormal one. And if this man, whoever he is, is abnormal I should say he's probably strangled that poor girl, Hattie Stubbs, as well. She hasn't very much sense you know, poor child. If she met an ordinary-looking man and he asked her to come and look at something in the woods she'd probably go like a lamb, quite unsuspecting and docile." "You think her body is somewhere on the estate? " "Yes, M, Poirot, I do. They'll find it once they search around. Mind you, with about sixty-five acres of woodland here, it'll take some finding, if it's been dragged into the bushes or tumbled down a slope into the trees. What they need is bloodhounds," said Mrs. Masterton, looking, as she spoke, exactly like a bloodhound herself. " Bloodhounds! I shall ring up the Chief Constable myself and say so." "It is very possible that you are right, Madame," said Poirot. It was clearly the only thing one could say to Mrs. Masterton. "Of course I'm right," said Mrs. Masterton; "but I must say, you know, it makes me very uneasy because the fellow is somewhere about. I'm calling in at the village when I leave here, telling the mothers to be very careful about their daughters--not let 'em go about alone. It's not a nice thought, M. Poirot, to have a killer in our midst." DEAD MAN'S FOLLT -A little point, Madame. How could a strange man have obtained admission to the boathouse? That mid need a key." " Oh, that," said Mrs. Masterton,"that's g^ enough. She came out, of course." " Came out of the boathouse?" "Yes. I expect she got bored, like girls go probably wandered out and looked about her. The> ^ . likelv thing, I think, is that she actually saw ^attie Stubbs murdered. Heard a struggle or someth^g^ ^^ ^ see and the man having disposed of Jadv Sr i^hs naturally had to kill her too. Easy enoug^ r l; .. take her back to the boathouse, dump hg- ^he^p ^a come out, pulling the door behind him. ^ ^g y jg lock. It would pull to, and lock." Poirot nodded gently. It was not his purpo^ ^ ^ with Mrs. Masterton or to point out to he^. »u interesting fact which she had completely overlc:,o]^ ^^ ^ Marlene Tucker had been killed away fr^ry. ..i, y.^. house, somebody must have known enough ahQ,i<. the murder game to put her back in the ex<^ ^g ^ position which the victim was supposeq *.- o,,,,,,mp Instead, he said gently: "Sir George Stubbs is confident that hig ^g ^ g^^ alive." "That's what he says, man, because ^p wants to believe it. He was very devoted to her, yoi^ know " She added, rather unexpectedly, "I like Geor,g.p c.-,.lk spite of his origins and his city backgrounq 3 j i, ., he goes down very well in the county. T^g worst that 172 DEAD MAN'S FOLLT can be said about him Is that be's a blt °f a sa6^' And after all, sodal snobbery's harmless enough." Poirot said somewhat cynically: "In these days, Madame, surely money has become as acceptable as good birth." "My dear man, I couldn't agree with you more. There's no need for hin't know- wrapped up in himself. I don't know what^ the matter with him. He's so nervy and on edge. ^oye ring him up and leave queer messages for him and ^g won't tell me anything. That's what makes me naa^ ^g won't tell me anything! I thought at first it vva^ go^g ^^ woman, but I don't think it is. Not really i» But her voice held a certain doubt whic^ poirot was quick to notice. "Did you enjoy your tea yesterday afternoon, Madame?" he asked. " Enjoy my tea? " She frowned at him, ^ thoughts seeming to come back from a long way ^ay. Then she said hastily, " Oh, yes. You've no idea ^ exhausting it was, sitting in that tent muffled up ^ ^ those veils. It was stifling." "The tea tent also must have bee^ somewhat stifling?" i8o DEAD MAN'S FOLLT "Oh, yes, it was. However, there's nothing like a cuppa, is there?" " You were searching for something just now, were you not, Madame? Would it, by any possibility, be this ? " He held out in his hand the little gold charm. "I—oh, yes. Oh, thank you, M. Poirot. Where did you find it ? " " It was here, on the floor, in that crack over there." "I must have dropped it some time." "Yesterday?" " Oh, no, not yesterday. It was before that." "But surely, Madame, I remember seeing that particular charm on your wrist when you were telling me my fortune." Nobody could tell a deliberate lie better than Hercule Poirot. He spoke with complete assurance and before that assurance. Sally Legge's eyelids dropped. "I don't really remember," she said. "I only noticed this morning that it was missing." "Then I am happy," said Poirot gallantly, "to be able to restore it to you." She was turning the little charm over nervously in her fingers. Now she rose. " Well, thank you, M. Poirot, thank you very much," she said. Her breath was coming rather unevenly and her eyes were nervous. She hurried out of the Folly. Poirot leaned back in the seat and nodded his head slowly. No, he said to himself, no, you did not go to the tea tent yesterday afternoon. It was not because you DEAD MAJ^S FOLLT i8t wanted your tea that you were so anxious to know if it was four o'clock. It was here you came yesterday afternoon. Here, to the Folly. Half-way to the boathoiuse. You came here to meet someone. Once again he heard footsteps approaching. Rapid, impatient footsteps. "And here perhaps," said Poirot, smiling in anticipation, "comes whoever it was that Mrs. Legge came up here to meet." But then, as Alee Legge came round the corner of the Folly, Poirot ejaculated: "Wrong again." "Eh? What's that?" Alee Legge looked startled. " I said," explained Poirot, " that I was wrong again. I am not often wrong," he explained, "and it exasperates me. It was not you I expected to see." "Whom did you expect to see? " asked Alee Legge. Poirot replied promptly. " A young man--a boy almost--in one of these gailypatterned shirts with turtles on it." He was pleased at the effect of his words. Alee Le-gge took a step forward. He said rather incoherently: "How do you know? How did--what d'you, mean?" "I am psychic," said Hercule Poirot, and closed, his eyes. Alee Legge took another couple of steps forward. Poirot was conscious that a very angry man was standing in front of him. " What the devil did you mean? " he demanded. "Your friend has, I think," said Poirot, "gone back i8a DEAD MAN'S FOLLY to the Youth Hostel. If you want to see him you will have to go there to find him." " So that's it," muttered Alee Legge. He dropped down at the other end of the stone bench- "So that's why you're down here? It wasn't a question of ' giving away the prizes.' I might have known better." He turned towards Poirot. His fa^ was haggard and unhappy. "I know what it mu?t seem like," he said. "I know what the whole thing looks like. But it isn't as you think it is. I'm being victimised. I tell you that once you get into these people's clutches, it isn't so easy to get out of theil1- And I want to get out of them. That's the point, i want to get out of them. You get desperate, you kno^- You feel like taking desperate measures. You f^el you're caught like a rat in a trap and there's nothing you can do. Oh, well, what's the good of talking 1 You know what you want to know now, I suppose. You've got your evidence." He got up, stumbled a little as though he could hardly see his way, then rushed off energetically without a backward look. Hercule Poirot remained behind with his eyes very wide open and his eyebrows rising. "All this is very curious," he murmured. "Curi01" and interesting. I have the evidence I need, hs^vc I? Evidence of what? Murder?" CHAPTER XIV inspector bland sat in Helmmouth Police Station. Superintendent Baldwin, a large comfortable-looking man, sat on the other side of the table. Between the two men, on the table, was a black sodden mass. Inspector Bland poked at it with a cautious forefinger. "That's her hat all right," he said. "I'm sure of it, though I don't suppose I could swear to it. She fancied that shape, it seems. So her maid told me. She'd got one or two of them. A pale pink and a sort of puce colour, but yesterday she was wearing the black one. Yes, this is it. And you fished it out of the river ? That makes it look as though it's the way we think it is." "No certainty yet," said Baldwin. "After all," he added, " anyone could throw a hat into the river." " Yes," said Bland, " they could throw it in from the boathouse, or they could throw it in off a yacht." "The yacht's sewed up, all right," said Baldwin. "If she's there, alive or dead, she's still there." "He hasn't been ashore to-day? " "Not so far. He's on board. He's been sitting out in a deck-chair smoking a cigar." Inspector Bland glanced at the clock. " Almost time to go aboard," he said. "Think you'll find her? " asked Baldwin. "I wouldn't bank on it," said Bland. "I've got the 183 ,84 DEAD MAN'S FOLLY reeling, you know, that he's a clever devil." He was lost in thought for a moment, poking again at the hat. 'fhen he said, "What about the body--if there was a pody? Any ideas about that? " "Yes," said Baldwin, "I talked to Otterweight this