of intelligence passed across Ellen's face. She turned to the cook who gave her back an answering glance.
'That'll be Mr Charles,' she said.
'If you would tell me just who was there -' Poirot suggested.
'Dr Tanios and his wife. Miss Bella that was, and Miss Theresa and Mr Charles.'
'They were all nephews and nieces?'
'That's right, sir. Dr Tanios, of course, is no relation. In fact, he's a foreigner, a Greek or something of the sort, I believe. He married Miss Bella, Miss Arundell's niece, her sister's child. Mr Charles and Miss Theresa are brother and sister.'
'Ah, yes, I see. A family party. And when did they leave?'
'On the Wednesday morning, sir. And Dr Tanios and Miss Bella came down again the next weekend because they were worried about Miss Arundell.'
'And Mr Charles and Miss Theresa?'
'They came the weekend after. The weekend before she died.'
Poirot's curiosity, I felt, was quite insatiable. I could see no point in these continued questions. He got the explanation of his mystery, and in my opinion the sooner he retired with dignity the better.
The thought seemed to go from my brain to his.
'Eh bien,' he said. 'This information you have given me is very helpful. I must consult this – Mr Purvis, I think you said? Thank you very much for all your help.'
He stopped and patted Bob. 'Brave chien, va! You loved your mistress.'
Bob responded amiably to these overtures and hopeful of a little play went and fetched a large piece of coal. For this he was reproved and the coal removed from him. He sent me a glance in search of sympathy.
'These women,' it seemed to say. 'Generous with the food, but not really sportsmen!'
Chapter 9
RECONSTRUCTION OF THE DOG'S BALL INCIDENT
'Well, Poirot,' I said as the gate of Littlegreen House closed behind us. 'You are satisfied now, I hope!'
'Yes, my friend. I am satisfied.'
'Thank Heaven for that! All the mysteries explained! The Wicked Companion and the Rich Old Lady myth exploded. The delayed letter and even the famous incident of the dog's ball shown in their true colours. Everything settled satisfactorily and according to Cocker!'
Poirot gave a dry little cough and said:
'I would not use the word satisfactorily, Hastings.'
'You did a minute ago.'
'No, no. I did not say the matter was satisfactory. I said that, personally, my curiosity was satisfied. I know the truth of the Dog's Ball incident.'
'And very simple it was too!'
'Not quite so simple as you think.' He nodded his head several times. Then he went on: 'You see, I know one little thing which you do not.'
'And what is that?' I asked somewhat sceptically.
'I know that there is a nail driven into the skirting board at the top of the stairs.'
I stared at him. His face was quite grave.
'Well,' I said after a minute or two. 'Why shouldn't there be?'
'The question is, Hastings, why should there be.'
'How do I know. Some household reason, perhaps. Does it matter?'
'Certainly it matters. And I can think of no household reason for a nail to be driven in at the top of the skirting board in that particular place. It was carefully varnished, too, so as not to show.'
'What are you driving at, Poirot? Do you know the reason?'
'I can imagine it quite easily. If you wanted to stretch a piece of strong thread or wire across the top of the stairs about a foot from the ground, you could tie it one side to the banisters, but on the inner wall side you would need something like a nail to attach the thread to.'
'Poirot!' I cried. 'What on earth are you driving at?'
'Mon cher ami, I am reconstructing the incident of the Dog's Ball! Would you like to hear my reconstruction?'
'Go ahead.'
'Eh bien, here it is. Some one had noticed the habit Bob had of leaving his ball at the top of the stairs. A dangerous thing to do – it might lead to an accident.' Poirot paused a minute, then said in a slightly different tone, 'If you wished to kill some one, Hastings, how would you set about it?'
'I – well, really – I don't know. Fake up some alibi or something, I suppose.'
'A proceeding, I assure you, both difficult and dangerous. But then you are not the type of a cold-blooded cautious murderer. Does it not strike you that the easiest way of removing some one you want to remove from your path is to take advantage of accident? Accidents are happening all the time. And sometimes – Hastings – they can be helped to happen!'
He paused a minute, then went on:
'I think the dog's ball left so fortuitously at the top of the stairs gave our murderer an idea. Miss Arundell was in the habit of coming out of her room in the night and wandering about – her eyesight was not good; it was quite within the bounds of probability that she might stumble over it and fall headlong down those stairs. But a careful murderer does not leave things to chance. A thread stretched across the top of the stairs would be a much better way. It would send her pitching head foremost. Then, when the household came rushing out – there, plain to see, is the cause of the accident – Bob's ball.'
'How horrible!' I cried.
Poirot said gravely:
'Yes, it was horrible… It was also unsuccessful… Miss Arundell was very little hurt, though she might easily have broken her neck. Very disappointing for our unknown friend! But Miss Arundell was a sharp-witted old lady. Everyone told her she had slipped on the ball, and there the ball was as evidence, but she herself, recalling the happening, felt that the accident had arisen differently. She had not slipped on the ball. And in addition she remembered something else. She remembered hearing Bob barking for admission at five o'clock the next morning.
'This, I admit, is something in the way of guess-work, but I believe I am right. Miss Arundell had put away Bob's ball herself the evening before in its drawer. After that he went out and did not return. In that case it was not Bob who put that ball on the top of the stairs.'
'That is pure guess-work, Poirot,' I objected.
He demurred.
'Not quite, my friend. There are the significant words uttered by Miss Arundell when she was delirious – something about Bob's ball and a 'picture ajar.' You see the point, do you not?'
'Not in the least.'
'Curious. I know your language well enough to realize that one does not talk of a picture being ajar. A door is ajar. A picture is awry.'
'Or simply crooked.'
'Or simply crooked, as you say. So I realized at once that Ellen has mistaken the meaning of the words she heard. It is not ajar – but a or the jar that was meant. Now in the drawing-room there is a rather noticeable china jar. There is, I have already observed, a picture of a dog on it. With the remembrance of these delirious ravings in my mind I go up and examine it more closely. I find that it deals with the subject of a dog who has been out all night. You see the trend of the feverish woman's thoughts? Bob was like the dog in the picture on the jar – out all night – so it was not he who left the ball on the stairs.'
I cried out, feeling some admiration in spite of myself.
'You're an ingenious devil, Poirot! How you think of these things beats me!'
