Shakespeare who has said, 'You cannot see the trees for the wood'?'
I did not correct Poirot's literary reminiscences. I was trying to see his point. A glimmer came to me. He went on: 'When do you notice a pin least? When it is in a pincushion! When do you notice an individual murder least? When it is one of a series of related murders.'
'I had to deal with an intensely clever, resourceful murderer—reckless, daring and a thorough gambler. Not Mr. Cust! He could never have committed these murders! No, I had to deal with a very different stamp of man—a man with a boyish temperament (witness the schoolboy-type letters and the railway guide), an attractive man to women, and a man with a ruthless disregard for human life, a man who was necessarily a prominent person in one of the crimes! Consider when a man or woman is killed, what are the questions that the police ask? Opportunity. Where was everybody at the time of the crime? Motive. Who benefited by the deceased's death? If the motive and the opportunity are fairly obvious, what is a would-be murderer to do? Fake an alibi—that is, manipulate time in some way? But that is always a hazardous proceeding. Our murderer thought of a more fantastic defence.'
'Create a homicidal murderer!'
'I had now only to review the various crimes and find the possible guilty person. The Andover crime? The most likely suspect for that was Franz Ascher, but I could not imagine Ascher inventing and carrying out such an elaborate scheme, nor could I see him planning a premeditated murder. The Bexhill crime? Donald Fraser was a possibility.'
'He had brains and ability, and a methodical turn of mind. But his motive for killing his sweetheart could only be jealousy—and jealousy does not tend to premeditation. Also I learned that he had his holiday early in August, which rendered it unlikely that he had anything to do with the Churston crime. We come to the Churston crime next—and at once we are on infinitely more promising ground.'
'Sir Carmichael Clarke was an immensely wealthy man. Who inherits his money? His wife, who is dying, has a life interest in it, and it then goes to his brother Franklin.'
Poirot turned slowly round till his eyes met those of Franklin Clarke.
'I was quite sure then. The man I had known a long time in my secret mind was the same as the man whom I had known as a person.'
'A.B.C. and Franklin Clarke were one and the same. The daring adventurous character, the roving life, the partiality for England that had showed itself, very faintly, in the jeer at foreigners. The attractive free and easy manner—nothing easier for him than to pick up a gift in a café. The methodical tabular mind—he made a list here one day, ticked off over the headings A.B.C.—and finally, the boyish mind—mentioned by Lady Clarke and even shown by his taste in fiction—I have ascertained that there is a book in the library called The Railway Children by E. Nesbit. I had no further doubt in my own mind—A.B.C., the man who wrote the letters and committed the crimes, was Franklin Clarke.'
Clarke suddenly burst out laughing. 'Very ingenious! And what about our friend Cust, caught red- handed?'
'What about the blood on his coat? And the knife he hid in his lodgings? He may deny he committed the crimes—'
Poirot interrupted. 'You are quite wrong. He admits the fact.'
'What?' Clarke looked really startled.
'Oh, yes,' said Poirot gently. 'I had no sooner spoken to him than I was aware that Cust believed himself to be guilty.'
'And even that didn't satisfy M. Poirot?' said Clarke.
'No. Because as soon as I saw him I also knew that he could not be guilty! He has neither the nerve nor the daring—nor, I may add, the brains to plan! All along I have been aware of the dual personality of the murderer. Now I see wherein it consisted. Two people were involved—the real murderer, cunning, resourceful and calculating—and the pseudo murderer, stupid, vacillating and suggestible.'
'Suggestible—it is in that word that the mystery of Mr. Cust consists!'
'It was not enough for you, Mr. Clarke, to devise this plan of a series to distract attention from a single crime. You had also to have a stalking horse.'
'I think the idea first originated in your mind as the result of a chance encounter in a city coffee den with this odd personality with his bombastic Christian names. You were at that time turning over in your mind various plans for the murder of your brother.'
'Really? And why?'
'Because you were seriously alarmed for the future. I do not know whether you realize it, Mr. Clarke, but you played into my hands when you showed me a certain letter written to you by your brother. In it he displayed very clearly his affection and absorption in Miss Thora Grey. His regard may have been a paternal one—or he may have preferred to think it so. Nevertheless, there was a very real danger that on the death of your sister-in-law he might, in his loneliness, turn to this beautiful girl for sympathy and comfort and it might end—as so often happens with elderly men—in his marrying her. Your fear was increased by your knowledge of Miss Grey. You are, I fancy, an excellent, if somewhat cynical judge of character. You judged, whether correctly or not, that Miss Grey was a type of young woman 'on the make.' You had no doubt that she would jump at the chance of becoming Lady Clarke.'
'Your brother was an extremely healthy and vigorous man. There might be children and your chance of inheriting your brother's wealth would vanish.'
'You have been, I fancy, in essence a disappointed man all your life. You have been the rolling stone—and you have gathered very little moss. You were particularly jealous of your brother's wealth.'
'I repeat then that, turning over various schemes in your mind, your meeting with Mr. Cust gave you an idea. His bombastic Christian names, his account of his epileptic seizures and of his headaches, his whole shrinking and insignificant personality, struck you as fitting him for the tool you wanted. The whole alphabetical plan sprang into your mind—Cust's initials—the fact that your brother's name began with a C and that he lived at Churston were the nucleus of the scheme. You even went so far as to hint to Cust at his possible end—though you could hardly hope that that suggestion would bear the rich fruit that it did.'
'Your arrangements were excellent. In Cust's name you wrote for a large consignment of hosiery to be sent to him. You yourself sent a number of A.B.C.'s looking like a similar parcel. You wrote to him—a typed letter purporting to be from the same firm offering him a good salary and commission. Your plans were so well laid beforehand that you typed all the letters that were sent subsequently, and then presented him with the machine on which they had been typed.'
'You had now to look about for two victims whose names began with A and B respectively and who lived at places also beginning with those same letters.'
'You hit on Andover as quite a likely spot and your preliminary reconnaissance there led you to select Mrs. Ascher's shop as the scene of the first crime. Her name was written clearly over the door, and you found by experiment that she was usually alone in the shop. Her murder needed nerve, daring and reasonable luck.'
'For the letter B you had to vary your tactics. Lonely women in shops might conceivably have been warned. I should imagine that you frequented a few cafés and teashops, laughing and joking with the girls there and finding out whose name began with the right letter and who would be suitable for your purpose.'
'In Betty Barnard you found just the type of girl you were looking for. You took her out once or twice, explaining to her that you were a married man, and that outings must therefore take place in a somewhat hole- and-corner manner.'
'Then, your preliminary plans completed, you set to work! You sent the Andover list to Cust, directing him to go there on a certain date and you sent off the first A.B.C. letter to me.'
'On the appointed day, you went to Andover—and killed Mrs. Ascher—without anything occurring to damage your plans.'
'Murder No. 1 was successfully accomplished.'
'For the second murder, you took the precaution of committing it, in reality, the day before. I am fairly certain that Betty Barnard was killed well before midnight on the 24th July.'
'We now come to murder No. 3—the important—in fact, the real murder from your point of view.'
'And here a full measure of praise is due to Hastings, who made a simple and obvious remark to which no attention was paid.'
'He suggested that the third letter went astray intentionally. And he was right! . . .'
