everyone running and fetching and carrying. Eats hearty meals, and seems quite strong physically if he likes to make the effort. There's no one in the house after the daily woman goes and no one's allowed into Mr Abernethie's room unless he rings his bell. He was in a very bad temper the morning of the day after the funeral. Swore at Mrs Jones. Ate only a little of his breakfast and said he wouldn't have any lunch – he'd had a bad night. He said the supper she had left out for him was unfit to eat and a good deal more. He was alone in the house and unseen by anybody from 9.30 that morning until the following morning.'
'And Mrs Abernethie?'
'She started off from Enderby by car at the time you mentioned. Arrived on foot at a small local garage in a place called Cathstone and explained her car had broken down a couple of miles away.
'A mechanic drove her out to it, made an investigation and said they'd have to tow it in and it would be a long job – couldn't promise to finish it that day. The lady was very put out, but went to a small inn, arranged to stay the night, and asked for some sandwiches as she said she'd like to see something of the countryside – it's on the edge of the moorland country. She didn't come back to the inn till quite late that evening. My informant said he didn't wonder. It's a sordid little place!'
'And the times?'
'She got the sandwiches at eleven. If she'd walked to the main road, a mile, she could have hitch-hiked into Wallcaster and caught a special South Coast express which stops at Reading West. I won't go into details of buses etcetera. It could just have been done if you could make the – er – attack fairly late in the afternoon.'
'I understand the doctor stretched the time limit to possibly 4.30.'
'Mind you,' said Mr Goby,' I shouldn't say it was likely. She seems to be a nice lady, liked by everybody. She's devoted to her husband, treats him like a child.'
'Yes, yes, the maternal complex.'
'She's strong and hefty, chops the wood and often hauls in great baskets of logs. Pretty good with the inside of a car, too.'
'I was coming to that. What exactly was wrong with the car?'
'Do you want the exact details, M. Poirot?'
'Heaven forbid. I have no mechanical knowledge.'
'It was a difficult thing to spot. And also to put right. And it could have been done maliciously by someone without very much trouble. By someone who was familiar with the insides of a car.'
'C'est magnifique!' said Poirot with bitter enthusiasm. 'All so convenient, all so possible. Bon dieu, can we eliminate nobody? And Mrs Leo Abernethie?'
'She's a very nice lady, too. Mr Abernethie deceased was very fond of her. She came there to stay about a fortnight before he died.'
'After he had been to Lytchett St Mary to see his sister?'
'No, just before. Her income is a good deal reduced since the war. She gave up her house in England and took a small flat in London. She has a villa in Cyprus and spends part of the year there. She has a young nephew whom she is helping to educate, and there seems to be one or two, young artists whom she helps financially from time to time.'
'St Helen of the blameless life,' said Poirot, shutting his eyes. 'And it was quite impossible for her to have left Enderby that day without the servants knowing? Say that that is so, I implore you!'
Mr Goby brought his glance across to rest apologetically on Poirot's polished patent leather shoe, the nearest he had come to a direct encounter, and murmured:
'I'm afraid I can't say that, M. Poirot. Mrs Abernethie went to London to fetch some extra clothes and belongings as she had agreed with Mr Entwhistle to stay on and see to things.'
'Il ne manquait que ca!' said Poirot with strong feeling.
Chapter 13
When the card of Inspector Morton of the Berkshire County Police was brought to Hercule Poirot, his eyebrows went up.
'Show him in, Georges, show him in. And bring – what is it that the police prefer?'
'I would suggest beer, sir.'
'How horrible! But how British. Bring beer, then.'
Inspector Morton came straight to the point.
'I had to come to London,' he said. 'And I got hold of your address, M. Poirot. I was interested to see you at the inquest on Thursday.'
'So you saw me there?'
'Yes. I was surprised – and, as I say, interested. You won't remember me but I remember you very well. In that Pangbourne Case.'
'Ah, you were connected with that?'
'Only in a very junior, capacity. It's a long time ago but I've never forgotten you.'
'And you recognised me at once the other day?'
'That wasn't difficult, sir.' Inspector Morton repressed a slight smile. 'Your appearance is – rather unusual.'
His gaze took in Poirot's sartorial perfection and rested finally on the curving moustaches.
'You stick out in a country place,' he said.
'It is possible, it is possible,' said Poirot with complacency.
'It interested me why you should be there. That sort of crime – robbery – assault – doesn't usually interest you.'
'Was it the usual ordinary brutal type of crime?'
'That's what I've been wondering.'
'You have wondered from the beginning, have you not?'
'Yes, M. Poirot. There were some unusual features. Since then we've worked along the routine lines. Pulled in one or two people for questioning, but everyone has been able to account quite satisfactorily for his time that afternoon. It wasn't what you'd call an ordinary crime, M. Poirot – we're quite sure of that. The Chief Constable agrees. It was done by someone who wished to make it appear that way. It could have been the Gilchrist woman, but there doesn't seem to be any motive – and there wasn't any emotional background. Mrs Lansquenet was perhaps a bit mental – or 'simple,' if yon like to put it that way, but it was a household of mistress and dogsbody with no feverish feminine friendship about it. There are dozens of Miss Gilchrists about, and the're not usually the murdering type.'
He paused.
'So it looks as though we'd have to look farther afield. I came to ask if you could help us at all. Something must have brought you down there, M. Poirot.'
'Yes, yes, something did. An excellent Daimler car. But not only that.'
'You had – information?'
'Hardly in your sense of the word. Nothing that could be used as evidence.'
'But something that could be a pointer?'
'Yes.'
'You see, M. Poirot, there have been developments.'
Meticulously, in detail, he told of the poisoned wedge of wedding cake.
Poirot took a deep, hissing breath.
'Ingenious – yes, ingenious… I warned Mr Entwhistle to look after Miss Gilchrist. An attack on her was always a possibility. But I must confess that I did not expect poison. I anticipated a repetition of the hatchet motif. I merely thought that it would be inadvisable for her to walk alone in unfrequented lanes after dark.'
'But why did you anticipate an attack on her? I think M. Poirot, you ought to tell me that.'
Poirot nodded his head slowly.
'Yes I will tell you. Mr Entwhistle will not tell you, because he is a lawyer and lawyers do not like to speak of
