He paused by the hall stand with its load of umbrellas and coats.
Should he—?
A slight noise from the kitchen decided him . . . .
No, there wasn't time . . . .
Mrs. Marbury might come out . . . .
He opened the front door, passed through and closed it behind [missing].
Where . . . ?
XXIX. At Scotland Yard
Conference again.
The Assistant Commissioner, Inspector Crome, Poirot and myself.
The A.C. was saying: 'A good tip that of yours, M. Poirot, about checking a large sale of stockings.'
Poirot spread out his hands. 'It was indicated. This man could not be a regular agent. He sold outright instead of touting for orders.'
'Got everything clear so far, inspector?'
'I think so, sir.' Crome consulted a file. 'Shall I run over the position to date?'
'Yes, please.'
'I've checked up with Churston, Paignton and Torquay. Got a list of people where he went and offered stockings. I must say he did the thing thoroughly. Stayed at the Pitt, small hotel near Torre Station. Returned to the hotel at 10:30 on the night of the murder. Could have taken a train from Churston at 10:05, getting to Paignton at 10:15. No one answering to his description noticed on train or at stations, but that Thursday was Dartmouth Regatta and the trains back from Kingswear were pretty full.'
'Bexhill much the same. Stayed at the Glove under his own name. Offered stockings to about a dozen addresses, including Mrs. Barnard and including the Ginger Cat. Left hotel early in the evening. Arrived back in London about 11:30 the following morning. As to Andover, same procedure. Stayed at the Feathers. Offered stockings to Mrs. Fowler, next door to Mrs. Ascher, and to half a dozen other people in the street. The pair Mrs. Ascher had I got from the niece (name of Drower)—they're identical with Cust's supply.'
'So far, good,' said the A.C..
'Acting on information received,' said the inspector, 'I went to the address given me by Hartigan, but found that Cust had left the house about half an hour previously. He received a telephone message, I'm told. First time such a thing had happened to him, so his landlady told me.'
'An accomplice?' suggested the Assistant Commissioner.
'Hardly,' said Poirot. 'It is odd that—unless—'
We all looked at him inquiringly as he paused.
He shook his head, however, and the inspector proceeded.
'I made a thorough search of the room he had occupied. That search puts the matter beyond doubt. I found a block of notepaper similar to that on which the letters were written, a large quantity of hosiery and—at the back of the cupboard where the hosiery was stored—a parcel much the same shape and size but which turned out to contain—not hosiery—but eight new A.B.C. railway guides!'
'Proof positive,' said the Assistant Commissioner.
'I've found something else, too,' said the inspector—his voice becoming suddenly almost human with triumph. 'Only found it this morning, sir. Not had time to report yet. There was no sign of the knife in his room—'
'It would be the act of an imbecile to bring that back with him,' remarked Poirot.
'After all, he's not a reasonable human being,' remarked the inspector. 'Anyway, it occurred to me that he might just possibly have brought it back to the house and then realized the danger of hiding it (as M. Poirot points out) in his room, and have looked about elsewhere. What place in the house would he be likely to select? I got it straightaway. The hall stand—no one ever moves a hall stand. With a lot of trouble I got it moved out from the wall—and there it was!'
'The knife?'
''The knife. Not a doubt of it. The dried blood's still on it.'
'Good work, Crome,' said the A.C. approvingly. 'We only need one thing more now.'
'What's that?'
'The man himself.'
'We'll get him, sir. Never fear.'
The inspector's tone was confident.
'What do you say, M. Poirot?'
Poirot started out of a reverie.
'I beg your pardon?'
'We were saying that it was only a matter of time before we get our man. Do you agree?'
'Oh, that—yes. Without a doubt.' His tone was so abstracted that the others looked at him curiously.
'Is there anything worrying you, M. Poirot?'
'There is something that worries me very much. It is the why? The motive?'
'But, my dear fellow, the man's crazy,' said the Assistant Commissioner impatiently.
'I understand what M. Poirot means,' said Crome, coming graciously to the rescue. 'He's quite right. There's got to be some definite obsession. I think we'll find the root of the matter in an intensified inferiority complex. There may be persecution mania, too, and if so he may possibly associate M. Poirot with it. He may have the delusion that M. Poirot is a detective employed on purpose to hunt him down.'
'Hm,' said the A.C.. 'That's the jargon that's talked nowadays. In my day if a man was mad he was mad and we didn't look about for scientific terms to soften it down. I suppose a thoroughly up-to-date doctor would suggest putting a man like A.B.C. in a nursing home, telling him what a fine fellow he was for forty-five days on end and then letting him out as a responsible member of society.'
Poirot smiled but did not answer.
The conference broke up.
'Well,' said the Assistant Commissioner. 'As you say, Crome, pulling him in is only a matter of time.'
'We'd have had him before now,' said the inspector, 'if he wasn't so ordinary-looking. We've worried enough perfectly inoffensive citizens as it is.'
'I wonder where he is at this minute,' said the Assistant Commissioner.
XXX. (Not from Captain Hastings' Personal Narrative)
Mr. Cust stood by a greengrocer's shop.
He stared across the road.
Yes, that was it.
Mrs. Ascher. Newsagent and Tobacconist . . . . In the empty window was a sign.
To Let.
Empty . . . .
Lifeless . . . .
'Excuse me, sir.'
The greengrocer's wife, trying to get at some lemons.
He apologized, moved to one side.
Slowly he shuffled away—back towards the main street of the town . . . .
It was difficult—very difficult—now that he hadn't any money left . . . .
Not having had anything to eat all day made one feel very queer and light-headed . . . .
He looked at a poster outside a newsagent's shop.
