The coroner cleared his throat and looked expectantly at the foreman of the jury.
The latter looked down at the piece of paper he held in his hand. His Adam's apple wagged up and down excitedly. He read out in a careful voice:
'We find that the deceased came to his death by wilful murder by some person or persons unknown.'
Poirot nodded his head quietly in his corner by the wall.
There could be no other possible verdict.
Outside, the Angkatells stopped a moment to speak to Gerda and her sister. Gerda was wearing the same black clothes as before.
Her face had the same dazed, unhappy expression. This time there was no Daimler.
The train service, Elsie Patterson explained, was really very good. A fast train to Waterloo and they could easily catch the 1:20 to Bexhill.
Lady Angkatell, clasping Gerda's hand, murmured:
'You must keep in touch with us, my dear. A little lunch, perhaps, one day in London?
I expect you'll come up to do shopping occasionally?'
'I-I don't know,' said Gerda.
Elsie Patterson said:
'We must hurry, dear, our train,' and Gerda turned away with an expression of relief.
Midge said:
'Poor Gerda. The only thing John's death has done for her is to set her free from your terrifying hospitality, Lucy.'
'How unkind you are, Midge. Nobody could say I didn't try.'
'You are much worse when you try, Lucy.'
'Well, it's very nice to think it's all over, isn't it?' said Lady Angkatell, beaming at them. 'Except, of course, for poor Inspector Grange. I do feel so sorry for him. Would it cheer him up, do you think, if we asked him back to lunch? As a friend, I mean.'
'I should let well alone, Lucy,' said Sir Henry.
'Perhaps you are right,' said Lady Angkatell meditatively. 'And anyway it isn't the right kind of lunch today. Partridges au Choux-and that delicious souffle surprise that Mrs. Medway makes so well. Not at all Inspector Grange's kind of lunch. A really good steak, a little underdone, and a good oldfashioned apple tart with no nonsense about it-or perhaps apple dumplings-that's what I should order for Inspector Grange.'
'Your instincts about food are always very sound, Lucy. I think we had better get home to those partridges- they sound delicious.'
'Well, I thought we ought to have some celebration! It's wonderful, isn't it, how everything always seems to turn out for the best?'
'Yees-'
'I know what you're thinking. Henry, but don't worry. I shall attend to it this afternoon.'
'What are you up to now, Lucy?'
Lady Angkatell smiled at him.
'It's quite all right, darling. Just tucking in a loose end.'
Sir Henry looked at her doubtfully.
When they reached The Hollow, Gudgeon came out to open the door of the car.
'Everything went off very satisfactorily, Gudgeon,' said Lady Angkatell. 'Please tell Mrs. Medway and the others. I know how unpleasant it has been for you all, and I should like to tell you now how much Sir Henry and I have appreciated the loyalty you have all shown.'
'We have been deeply concerned for you, m'lady,' said Gudgeon.
'Very sweet of Gudgeon,' said Lucy as she went into the drawing-room, 'but really quite wasted. I have really almost enjoyed it all-so different, you know, from what one is accustomed to. Don't you feel, David, that an experience like this has broadened your mind? It must be so different from Cambridge.'
'I am at Oxford,' said David coldly.
Lady Angkatell said vaguely, 'The dear boat race. So English, don't you think?' and went towards the telephone.
She picked up the receiver and holding it in her hand she went on:
'I do hope, David, that you will come and stay with us again. It's so difficult, isn't it, to get to know people when there is a murder?
And quite impossible to have any really intellectual conversation.'
'Thank you,' said David. 'But when I come down I am going to Athens-to the British School.'
Lady Angkatell turned to her husband.
'Who's got the Embassy now? Oh, of course-Hope-Remmington. No, I don't think David would like them. Those girls of theirs are so terribly hearty. They play hockey and cricket and the funny game where you catch the thing in a net.'
She broke off, looking down at the telephone receiver.
'Now what am I doing with this thing?'
'Perhaps you were going to ring someone up,' said Edward.
'I don't think so.' She replaced it. 'Do you like telephones, David?'
It was the sort of question, David reflected irritably, that she would ask; one to which there could be no intelligent answer. He replied coldly that he supposed they were useful.
'You mean,' said Lady Angkatell, 'like mincing machines? Or elastic bands? All the same, one wouldn't-'
She broke off as Gudgeon appeared in the doorway to announce lunch.
'But you like partridges,' said Lady Angkatell to David anxiously.
David admitted that he liked partridges.
'Sometimes I think Lucy really is a bit touched,' said Midge, as she and Edward strolled over from the house and up towards the woods.
The partridges and the souffle surprise had been excellent and with the inquest over a weight had lifted from the atmosphere.
Edward said thoughtfully:
'I always think Lucy has a brilliant mind that expresses itself like a missing word competition.
To mix metaphors-the hammer jumps from nail to nail and never fails to hit each one squarely on the head.'
'All the same,' Midge said soberly, 'Lucy frightens me sometimes.' She added, with a tiny shiver, 'This place has frightened me lately.'
'The Hollow?'
Edward turned an astonished face to her.
'It always reminds me a little of Ainswick,' he said. 'It's not, of course, the real thing-'
Midge interrupted:
'That's just it, Edward-I'm frightened of things that aren't the real thing… You don't know, you see, what's behind them…
It's like-oh, it's like a mask.'
'You mustn't be fanciful, little Midge.'
It was the old tone, the indulgent tone he had used years ago. She had liked it then, but now it disturbed her. She struggled to make her meaning clearer-to show him that behind what he called fancy, was some shape of dimly apprehended reality.
'I got away from it in London, but now I get back here it all comes over me again. I feel that everyone knows who killed John Christow… That the only person who doesn't know-is me.'
Edward said irritably:
'Must we think and talk about John Christow? He's dead. Dead and gone.'
Midge murmured:
'He is dead and gone, lady,
He is dead and gone;
At his head a grass-green turf
