two arguments against Mrs Upward, as Eva Kane, having killed Mrs McGinty. First, she suffers from arhritis, and spends most of her time in a wheeled chair -'
'In a book,' said Spence enviously, 'that wheeled chair business would be phony, but in real life it's probably all according to Cocker.'
'Secondly,' continued Poirot, 'Mrs Upward seems of a dogmatic and forceful disposition, more inclined to bully than to coax, which does not agree with the accounts of our young Eva. On the other hand, people's characters do develop and self-assertiveness is a quality that often comes with age.'
'That's true enough,' conceded Spence. 'Mrs Upward – not impossible but unlikely. Now the other possibilities. Janice Courtland?'
'Can, I think, be ruled out. There is no one in Broadhinny the right age.'
'Unless one of the younger women is Janice Courtland with her face lifted. Don't mind me – just my little joke.'
'There are three women of thirty-odd. There is Deirdre Henderson. There is Dr Rendell's wife, and there is Mrs Guy Carpenter. That is to say, any one of these could be Lily Gamboll or alternatively Eva Kane's daughter as far as age goes.'
'And as far as possibility goes?'
Poirot sighed.
'Eva Kane's daughter may be tall or short, dark or fair – we have no guide to what she looks like. We have considered Deirdre Henderson in that role. Now for the other two. First of all I will tell you this: Mrs Rendell is afraid of something.'
'Afraid of you?'
'I think so.'
'That might be significant,' said Spence slowly. 'You're suggesting that Mrs Rendell might be Eva Kane's daughter or Lily Gamboll. Is she fair or dark?'
'Fair.'
'Lily Gamboll was a fair-haired child.'
'Mrs Carpenter is also fair-haired. A most expensively made-up young woman. Whether she is actually good- looking or not, she has very remarkable eyes. Lovely wide-open dark-blue eyes.'
'Now, Poirot -' Spence shook his head at his friend.
'Do you know what she looked like as she ran out of the room to call her husband? I was reminded of a lovely fluttering moth. She blundered into the furniture and stretched her hands out like a blind thing.'
Spence looked at him indulgently.
'Romantic, that's what you are, M. Poirot,' he said. 'You and your lovely fluttering moths and wide-open blue eyes.'
'Not at all,' said Poirot. 'My friend Hastings, was romantic and sentimental, me never! Me, I am severely practical. What I am telling you is that if a girl's claim to beauty depend principally on the loveliness of her eyes, then, no matter how short-sighted she is, she will take off her spectacles and learn to feel her way round even if outlines are blurred and distances hard to judge.'
And gently, with his forefinger, he tapped the photograph of the child, Lily Gamboll in her thick disfiguring spectacles.
'So thats what you think? Lily Gamboll?'
'No, I speak only of what might be. At the time Mrs McGinty died Mrs Carpenter was not yet Mrs Carpenter. She was a young war widow, very badly off, living in a labourer's cottage. She was engaged to be married to the rich man of the neighbourhood – a man with political ambitions and a great sense of his own importance. If Guy Carpenter had found out that he was about to marry, say, a child of low origin who had attained notoriety by hitting her aunt on the head with a chopper, or alternatively the daughter of Craig, one of the most notorious criminals of the century – prominently placed in your Chamber of Horrors – well, one asks would he have gone through with it? You say perhaps, if he loved the girl, yes! But he is not quite that kind of man. I would put him down as selfish, ambitious, and a man very nice in the manner of his reputation. I think that if young Mrs Selkirk, as she was then, was anxious achieve the match she would have been very very anxious that no hint of an unfortunate nature got her fiance's ears.'
'I see, you think it's her, do you?'
'I tell you again, mon cher, I do not know. I examine only possibilities. Mrs Carpenter was on her guard against me, careful, alarmed.'
'That looks bad.'
'Yes, yes, but it is all very difficult. Once I stayed with some friends in the country and they went out to do the shooting. You know the way it goes? One walks with the dogs and the guns, and the dogs, they put up the game – it flies out of the woods, up into the air and you go bang bang. That is like us. It is not only one bird we put up, perhaps, there are other birds in the cover. Birds, perhaps, with which we have nothing to do. But the birds themselves do not know that. We must make very sure, cher ami, which is our bird. During Mrs Carpenter's widowhood, there may have been indiscretions – no worse than that, but still inconvenient. Certainly there must be some reason why she says to me quickly that Mrs McGinty was a liar!'
Superintendent Spence rubbed his nose.
'Let's get this clear, Poirot. What do you really think?'
'What I think does not matter. I must know. And as yet, the dogs have only just gone into the covert.'
Spence murmured:
'If we could get anything at all definite. One really suspicious circumstance. As it is, it's all theory and rather far-fetched theory at that. The whole thing's thin, you know, as I said. Does anyone really murder for the reasons we've been considering?'
'That depends,' said Poirot. 'It depends on a lot of family circumstances we do not know. But the passion for respectability is very strong. These are not artists or Bohemians. Very nice people live in Broadhinny. My postmistress said so. And nice people like to preserve their niceness. Years of happy married life, maybe, no suspicion that you were once a notorious figure in one of the most sensational murder trials, no suspicion that your child is the child of a famous murderer. One might say 'I would rather die than have my husband know!' Or 'I would rather die than my daughter discover who she is!' And then you would go on to reflect that it would be better, perhaps, if Mrs McGinty died…'
Spence said quietly:
'So you think it's the Wetherbys.'
'No. They fit the best, perhaps, but that is all. In actual character, Mrs Upward is a more likely killer than Mrs Wetherby. She has determination and willpower and she fairly dotes on her son. To prevent his learning of what happened before she married his father and settled down to respectable married bliss, I think she might go far.'
'Would it upset him so much?'
'Personally I do not think so. Young Robin has a modern sceptical point of view, is thoroughly selfish, and in any case is less devoted, I should say, to his mother than she to him. He is not another James Bentley.'
'Granting Mrs Upward was Eva Kane, her son Robin wouldn't kill Mrs McGinty to prevent that fact coming out?'
'Not for a moment, I should say. He would probably capitalise it. Use the fact for publicity for his plays! I can't see Robin Upward comitting a murder for respectability, or devotion, or in fact for anything but a good solid gain to Robin Upward.'
Spence sighed. He said, 'It's a wide field. We may be able to get something on the past history of these people. But it will take time. The war has complicated things. Records destroyed – endless opportunities for people who want to cover their traces doing so by means of other people's identity cards etc., especially after 'incidents' when nobody could know which corpse was which! If we could concentrate on just one lot, but you've got so many possibles, M. Poirot!'
'We may be able to cut them down soon.'
Poirot left the Superintendent's office with less cheerfulness in his heart than he had shown in his manner. He was obsessed as Spence was, by the urge of time. If only he could have time…
And further back still was one teasing doubt – was the edifice he and Spence had built up really sound?
