'Who says she did?' said Mrs. Goodbody.
'She said so herself.'
'That's no reason for believing. She's always been a little liar.' She gave him a sharp glance. 'You won't believe that, I suppose?'
'Yes,' said Poirot, 'I do believe it. Too many people have told me so, for me to continue disbelieving it.'
'Odd things crops up in families,' said Mrs. Goodbody. 'You take the Reynolds, for example. There's Mr. Reynolds. In the estate business he is. Never cut much ice at it and never will. Never got on much, as you'd say. And Mrs. Reynolds, always getting worried and upset about things.
None of their three children take after their parents. There's Ann, now, she's got brains. She's going to do well with her schooling, she is. She'll go to college, I shouldn't wonder, maybe get herself trained as a teacher. Mind you, she's pleased with herself. She's so pleased with herself that nobody can stick her. None of the boys look at her twice. And then there was Joyce. She wasn't clever like Ann, nor as clever as her little brother Leopold, either, but she wanted to be. She wanted always to know more than other people and to have done better than other people and she'd say anything to make people sit up and take notice. But don't you believe any single word she ever said was true.
Because nine times out of ten it wasn't.'
'And the boy?'
'Leopold? Well, he's only nine or ten, I think, but he's clever all right. Clever with his fingers and other ways, too. He wants to study things like physics. He's good at mathematics, too. Quite surprised about it they were, in school. Yes, he's clever. He'll be one of these scientists, I expect. If you ask me, the things he does when he's a scientist and the things he'll think of-they'll be nasty, like atom bombs! He's one of the kind that studies and are ever so clever and think up something that'll destroy half the globe, and all us poor folk with it. You beware of Leopold. He plays tricks on people, you know, and eavesdrops. Finds out all their secrets. Where he gets all his pocket money from I'd like to know. It isn't from his mother or his father. They can't afford to give him much. He's got lots of money always. Keeps it in a drawer under his socks. He buys things.
Quite a lot of expensive gadgets. Where does he get the money from?
That's what I'd like to know.
Finds people's secrets out, I'd say, and makes them pay him for holding his tongue.'
She paused for breath.
'Well, I can't help you, I'm afraid, in anyway.'
'You have helped me a great deal,' said Poirot. 'What happened to the foreign girl who is said to have run away?'
'Didn't go far, in my opinion. 'Ding dong dell, pussy's in the well.' That's what I've always thought, anyway.'
'EXCUSE me, Ma'am, I wonder if I might speak to you a minute.' Mrs. Oliver, who was standing on the verandah of her friend's house looking out to see if there were any signs of Hercule Poirot approaching he had notified her by telephone that he would be coming round to see her about now looked round.
A neatly attired woman of middle age was standing, twisting her hands nervously in their neat cotton gloves.
'Yes?' said Mrs. Oliver, adding an interrogation point by her intonation.
'I'm sorry to trouble you, I'm sure, Madam, but I thought well, I thought?'
Mrs. Oliver listened but did not attempt to prompt her. She wondered what was worrying the woman so much.
'I take it rightly as you're the lady who writes stories, don't I?
Stories about crimes and murders and things of that kind.'
'Yes,' said Mrs. Oliver, 'I'm the one.'
Her curiosity was now aroused. Was this a preface for a demand for an autograph or even a signed photograph? One never knew. The most unlikely things happened.
'I thought as you'd be the right one to tell me,' said the woman.
'You'd better sit down,' said Mrs. Oliver.
She foresaw that Mrs. Whoever-it-was she was wearing a wedding ring so she was a Mrs. was the type who takes some time in getting to the point. The woman sat down and went on twisting her hands in their gloves.
'Something you're worried about?' said Mrs. Oliver, doing her best to start the flow.
'Well, I'd like advice, and it's true. It's about something that happened a good while ago and I wasn't really worried at the time. But you know how it is. You think things over and you wish you knew someone you could go and ask about it.'
'I see,' said Mrs. Oliver, hoping to inspire confidence by this entirely meretricious statement.
'Seeing the things what have happened lately, you never do know, do you?'
'You mean-?'
'I mean what happened at the Hallowe'en party, or whatever they called it. I mean it shows you there's people who aren't dependable here, doesn't it? And it shows you things before that weren't as you thought they were. I mean, they mightn't have been what you thought they were, if you understand what I mean.'
'Yes?' said Mrs. Oliver, adding an even greater tinge of interrogation to the monosyllable. 'I don't think I know your name,' she added.
'Leaman. Mrs. Leaman. I go out and do cleaning to oblige ladies here. Ever since my husband died, and that was five years ago. I used to work for Mrs. Llewellyn-Smythe, the lady who lived up at the Quarry House, before Colonel and Mrs. Weston came. I don't know if you ever knew her.'
'No,' said Mrs. Oliver, 'I never knew her. This is the first time I have been down to Woodleigh Common.'
'I see. Well, you wouldn't know much about what was going on perhaps at that time, and what was said at that time.'
'I've heard a certain amount about it since I've been down here this time,' said Mrs. Oliver.
'You see, I don't know anything about the law, and I'm worried always when it's a question of law. Lawyers, I mean. They might tangle it up and I wouldn't like to go to the police. It wouldn't be anything to do with the police, being a legal matter, would it?'
'Perhaps not,' said Mrs. Oliver, cautiously.
'You know perhaps what they said at the time about the codi- I don't know, some word like codi. Like the fish I mean.'
'A codicil to the Will?' suggested Mrs. Oliver.
'Yes, that's right. That's what I'm meaning. Mrs. Llewellyn-Smythe, you see, made one of these cod- codicils and she left all her money to the foreign girl what looked after her. And it was a surprise, that, because she'd got relations living here, and she'd come here anyway to live near them. She was very devoted to them, Mr. Drake, in particular. And it struck people as pretty queer, really. And then the lawyers, you see, they began saying things. They said as Mrs. Llewellyn-Smythe hadn't written that codicil at all. That the foreign pair girl had done it, seeing as she got all the money left to her. And they said as they were going to law about it. That Mrs. Drake was going to counter set the Will, if that is the right word.'
'The lawyers were going to contest the Will. Yes, I believe I did hear something about that,' said Mrs. Oliver encouragingly. 'And you know something about it, perhaps?'
'I didn't mean no harm,' said Mrs. Leaman. A slight whine came into her voice, a whine with which Mrs. Oliver had been acquainted several times in the past.
Mrs. Leaman, she thought, was presumably an unreliable woman in some ways, a
