‘Do you know if Mrs Allen was in any financial difficulties?’
‘No, I’m sure she wasn’t.’
‘Not in debt—anything of that kind?’
‘Oh, no! I’m sure she wasn’t in that kind of a jam.’
‘Now there’s another question I must ask—and I hope you won’t be upset about it, Miss Plenderleith. Had Mrs Allen any particular man friend or men friends?’
Jane Plenderleith answered coolly:
‘Well, she was engaged to be married if that answers your question.’
‘What is the name of the man she was engaged to?’
‘Charles Laverton-West. He’s M.P. for some place in Hampshire.’
‘Had she known him long?’
‘A little over a year.’
‘And she has been engaged to him—how long?’
‘Two—no—nearer three months.’
‘As far as you know there has not been any quarrel?’
Miss Plenderleith shook her head.
‘No. I should have been surprised if there had been anything of that sort. Barbara wasn’t the quarrelling kind.’
‘How long is it since you last saw Mrs Allen?’
‘Friday last, just before I went away for the weekend.’
‘Mrs Allen was remaining in town?’
‘Yes. She was going out with her fiancé on the Sunday, I believe.’
‘And you yourself, where did you spend the weekend?’
‘At Laidells Hall, Laidells, Essex.’
‘And the name of the people with whom you were staying?’
‘Mr and Mrs Bentinck.’
‘You only left them this morning?’
‘Yes.’
‘You must have left very early?’
‘Mr Bentinck motored me up. He starts early because he has to get to the city by ten.’
‘I see.’
Japp nodded comprehendingly. Miss Plenderleith’s replies had all been crisp and convincing.
Poirot in his turn put a question.
‘What is your own opinion of Mr Laverton-West?’
The girl shrugged her shoulders.
‘Does that matter?’
‘No, it does not matter, perhaps, but I should like to have your opinion.’
‘I don’t know that I’ve thought about him one way or the other. He’s young—not more than thirty-one or two—ambitious—a good public speaker—means to get on in the world.’
‘That is on the credit side—and on the debit?’
‘Well,’ Miss Plenderleith considered for a moment or two. ‘In my opinion he’s commonplace—his ideas are not particularly original—and he’s slightly pompous.’
‘Those are not very serious faults, mademoiselle,’ said Poirot, smiling.
‘Don’t you think so?’
Her tone was slightly ironic.
‘They might be to you.’
He was watching her, saw her look a little disconcerted. He pursued his advantage.
‘But to Mrs Allen—no, she would not notice them.’
‘You’re perfectly right. Barbara thought he was wonderful—took him entirely at his own valuation.’
Poirot said gently:
‘You were fond of your friend?’
He saw the hand clench on her knee, the tightening of the line of the jaw, yet the answer came in a matter-of-fact voice free from emotion.
‘You are quite right. I was.’
Japp said:
‘Just one other thing, Miss Plenderleith. You and she didn’t have a quarrel? There was no upset between you?’
‘None whatever.’
‘Not over this engagement business?’
‘Certainly not. I was glad she was able to be so happy about it.’
There was a momentary pause, then Japp said:
‘As far as you know, did Mrs Allen have any enemies?’
This time there was a definite interval before Jane Plenderleith replied. When she did so, her tone had altered very slightly.
‘I don’t know quite what you mean by enemies?’
‘Anyone, for instance, who would profit by her death?’
‘Oh, no, that would be ridiculous. She had a very small income anyway.’
‘And who inherits that income?’
Jane Plenderleith’s voice sounded mildly surprised as she said:
‘Do you know, I really don’t know. I shouldn’t be surprised if I did. That is, if she ever made a will.’
‘And no enemies in any other sense?’ Japp slid off to another aspect quickly. ‘People with a grudge against her?’
‘I don’t think anyone had a grudge against her. She was a very gentle creature, always anxious to please. She had a really sweet, lovable nature.’
For the first time that hard, matter-of-fact voice broke a little. Poirot nodded gently.
Japp said:
‘So it amounts to this—Mrs Allen has been in good spirits lately, she wasn’t in any financial difficulty, she was engaged to be married and was happy in her engagement. There was nothing in the world to make her commit suicide. That’s right, isn’t it?’
There was a momentary silence before Jane said:
‘Yes.’
Japp rose.
‘Excuse me, I must have a word with Inspector Jameson.’
He left the room.
Hercule Poirot remained tête à tête with Jane Plenderleith.
CHAPTER 3
For a few minutes there was silence.
Jane Plenderleith shot a swift appraising glance at the little man, but after that she stared in front of her and did not speak. Yet a consciousness of his presence showed itself in a certain nervous tension. Her body was still but not relaxed. When at last Poirot did break the silence the mere sound of his voice seemed to give her a certain relief. In an agreeable everyday voice he asked a question.
‘When did you light the fire, mademoiselle?’
‘The fire?’ Her voice sounded vague and rather absent-minded. ‘Oh, as soon as I arrived this morning.’
‘Before you went upstairs or afterwards?’
‘Before.’
‘I see. Yes, naturally … And it was already laid—or did you have to lay it?’
‘It was laid. I only had to put a match to it.’
There was a slight impatience in her voice. Clearly she suspected him of making conversation. Possibly that was what he was doing. At any rate he went on in quiet conversational tones.
‘But your friend—in her room I noticed there was a gas fire only?’
Jane Plenderleith answered mechanically.
‘This is the only coal fire we have—the others are all gas fires.’
‘And you cook with gas, too?’
‘I think everyone does nowadays.’
‘True. It is much labour saving.’
The little interchange died down. Jane Plenderleith tapped on the ground with her shoe. Then she said abruptly:
‘That man—Chief Inspector Japp—is he considered clever?’
‘He is very sound. Yes, he is well thought of. He works hard and painstakingly and very little escapes him.’
‘I wonder—’ muttered the girl.
Poirot watched her. His eyes looked very green in the firelight. He asked quietly:
‘It was a great shock to you, your friend’s death?’
‘Terrible.’
She spoke with abrupt sincerity.
‘You did not expect it—no?’
‘Of course not.’
‘So that it seemed to you at first, perhaps, that it was impossible—that it could not be?’
The quiet sympathy of his tone seemed to break down Jane Plenderleith’s defences. She replied eagerly, naturally, without stiffness.
‘That’s just it. Even if Barbara did kill herself, I can’t imagine her killing herself that way.’
‘Yet she had a pistol?’
Jane Plenderleith made an impatient gesture.
‘Yes, but that pistol was a—oh! a hang over. She’d been in out-of-the-way places. She kept it out of habit—not with any other idea. I’m sure of that.’
‘Ah! and why are you sure of that?’
‘Oh, because of the things she said.’
‘Such as—?’
His voice was very gentle and friendly. It led her on subtly.
‘Well, for instance, we were discussing suicide once and she said much the easiest way would be to turn the gas on and stuff up all the cracks and just go to bed. I said I thought that would be impossible—to lie there waiting. I said I’d far rather shoot myself. And she said no, she could never shoot herself. She’d be too frightened in case it didn’t come off and anyway she said she’d hate the bang.’
‘I see,’ said Poirot. ‘As you say, it is odd … Because, as you have just told me, there was a gas fire in her room.’
Jane Plenderleith looked at him, slightly startled.
‘Yes, there was … I can’t understand—no, I can’t understand why she didn’t do it that way.’
Poirot shook his head.
‘Yes, it seems—odd—not natural somehow.’
‘The whole thing doesn’t seem natural. I still can’t believe she killed herself. I suppose it must be suicide?’
‘Well, there is one other possibility.’
‘What do you mean?’
Poirot looked straight at her.
‘It might be—murder.’
‘Oh, no?’ Jane Plenderleith shrank back. ‘Oh no! What a horrible suggestion.’
‘Horrible, perhaps, but does it strike you as an impossible one?’
‘But the door was locked on the inside. So was the window.’
‘The door was locked—yes. But there is nothing to show if it were locked from the inside or the outside. You see, the key was missing.’
‘But then—if it is missing …’ She took a minute or two. ‘Then it must have been locked from the outside. Otherwise it would be somewhere in the room.’
‘Ah, but it may be. The room has not been thoroughly searched yet, remember. Or it may have been thrown out of the window and somebody may have picked it up.’
‘Murder!’ said Jane Plenderleith. She turned over the possibility, her dark clever face eager on the scent. ‘I believe you’re right.’
‘But if it were murder there would have been a motive. Do you know of a motive, mademoiselle?’
Slowly she shook her head. And yet, in spite of the denial, Poirot again got the impression that Jane Plenderleith was deliberately keeping something back. The door opened and Japp came in.
Poirot rose.
‘I have been suggesting to Miss Plenderleith,’ he said, ‘that her friend’s death was not suicide.’
Japp looked momentarily put out. He cast a glance of reproach at Poirot.
‘It’s a bit early to say anything definite,’ he remarked. ‘We’ve always got to take all possibilities into account, you understand. That’s all there is to it at the moment.’
Jane Plenderleith replied quietly.
‘I see.’
Japp came towards her.
‘Now then, Miss Plenderleith, have you ever seen this before?’
On the palm of his hand he held out a small oval of dark blue enamel.
Jane Plenderleith shook her head.
‘No, never.’
‘It’s not yours nor Mrs Allen’s?’
‘No. It’s not the kind of thing usually worn by our sex, is it?’
‘Oh! so you recognize it.’
‘Well, it’s pretty obvious, isn’t it? That’s half of a man’s cuff link.’
CHAPTER 4
‘That young woman’s too cocky by half,’ Japp complained.
The two men were once more in Mrs Allen’s bedroom. The body had been photographed and removed and the fingerprint man had done his work and departed.
‘It would be unadvisable to treat her as a fool,’ agreed Poirot. ‘She most emphatically is not a fool. She is, in fact, a particularly clever and competent young woman.’
‘Think she did it?’ asked Japp with a momentary ray of hope. ‘She might have, you know. We’ll have to get her alibi looked into. Some quarrel over this young man—this budding M.P. She’s rather too scathing about him, I think! Sounds fishy. Rather as though she were sweet on him herself and he’d turned her down. She’s the kind that would bump anyone off if she felt like it, and keep her head while she was doing it, too. Yes, we’ll have to look into that alibi. She had it very pat and after all Essex isn’t very far away. Plenty of trains. Or a fast car. It’s worth while finding out if she went to bed with a headache for instance last night.’
‘You are right,’ agreed Poirot.
‘In any case,’ continued Japp, ‘she’s holding out on us. Eh? Didn’t you feel that too? That young woman knows something.’
Poirot nodded thoughtfully.
‘Yes, that could be clearly seen.’
‘That’s always a difficulty in these cases,’ Japp complained. ‘People will hold their tongues—sometimes out of the most honourable motives.’
‘For which one can hardly blame them, my friend.’
‘No, but it makes it much harder for us,’ Japp grumbled.
‘It merely displays to its full advantage your ingenuity,’ Poirot consoled him. ‘What about fingerprints, by the way?’
‘Well, it’s murder all right. No prints whatever on the pistol. Wiped clean before being placed in her hand. Even if she managed to wind her arm round her head in some marvellous acrobatic fashion she could hardly fire off a pistol without hanging on to it and she couldn’t wipe it after she was dead.’
‘No, no, an outside agency is clearly indicated.’
‘Otherwise the prints are disappointing. None on the door-handle. None on the window. Suggestive, eh? Plenty of Mrs Allen’s all over the place.’
‘Did Jameson get anything?’
‘Out of the daily woman? No. She talked a lot but she didn’t really know much. Confirmed the fact that Allen and Plenderleith were on good terms. I’ve sent Jameson out to make inquiries in the mews. We’ll have to have a word with Mr Laverton-West too. Find out where he was and what he was doing last night. In the meantime we’ll have a look through her papers.’
He set to without more ado. Occasionally he grunted and tossed something over to Poirot. The search did not take long. There were not many papers in the desk and what there were were neatly arranged and docketed.
Finally Japp leant back and uttered a sigh.
‘Not very much, is there?’
‘As you say.’
‘Most of it quite straightforward—receipted bills, a few bills as yet unpaid—nothing particularly outstanding. Social stuff—invitations. Notes from friends. These—’ he laid his hand on a pile of seven or eight letters—‘and her cheque book and passbook. Anything strike you there?’
‘Yes, she was overdrawn.’
‘Anything else?’
Poirot smiled.
‘Is it an examination that you put me through? But yes, I noticed what you are thinking of. Two hundred pounds drawn to self three months ago—and two hundred pounds drawn out yesterday—’
‘And nothing on the counterfoil of the cheque book. No other cheques to self except small sums—fifteen pounds the highest. And I’ll tell you this—there’s no such sum of money in the house. Four pounds ten in a handbag and an odd shilling or two in another bag. That’s pretty clear, I think.’
‘Meaning that she paid that sum away yesterday.’
‘Yes. Now who did she pay it to?’
The door opened and Inspector Jameson entered.
‘Well, Jameson, get anything?’
‘Yes, sir, several things. To begin with, nobody actually heard the shot. Two or three women say they did because they want to think they did—but that’s all there is to it. With all those fireworks going off there isn’t a dog’s chance.’
Japp grunted.
‘Don’t suppose there is. Go on.’
‘Mrs Allen was at home most of yesterday afternoon and evening. Came in about five o’clock. Then she went out again about six but only to the post box at the end of the mews. At about nine-thirty a car drove up—Standard Swallow saloon—and a man got out. Description about forty-five, well set up military-looking gent, dark blue overcoat, bowler hat, toothbrush moustache. James Hogg, chauffeur from No. 18 says he’s seen him calling on Mrs Allen before.’
‘Forty-five,’ said Japp. ‘Can’t very well be Laverton-West.’
‘This man, whoever he was, stayed here for just under an hour. Left at about ten-twenty. Stopped in the doorway to speak to Mrs Allen. Small boy, Frederick Hogg, was hanging about quite near and heard what he said.’
‘And what did he say?’
‘“Well, think it over and let me know.” And then she said something and he answered: “All right. So long.” After that he got in his car and drove away.’
‘That was at ten-twenty,’ said Poirot thoughtfully.
Japp rubbed his nose.
‘Then at ten-twenty Mrs Allen was still alive,’ he said. ‘What next?’
‘Nothing more, sir, as far as I can learn. The chauffeur at No. 22 got in at half-past ten and he’d promised his kids to let off some fireworks for them. They’d been waiting for him—and all the other kids in the mews too. He let ’em off and everybody around about was busy watching them. After that everyone went to bed.’
‘And nobody else was seen to enter No. 14?’
‘No—but that’s not to say they didn’t. Nobody would have noticed.’
‘H’m,’ said Japp. ‘That’s true. Well, we’ll have to get hold of this “military gentleman with the toothbrush moustache.” It’s pretty clear that he was the last person to see her alive. I wonder who he was?’
‘Miss Plenderleith might tell us,’ suggested Poirot.
‘She might,’ said Japp gloomily. ‘On the other hand she might not. I’ve no doubt she could tell us a good deal if she liked. What about you, Poirot, old boy? You were alone with her for a bit. Didn’t you trot out that Father Confessor manner of yours that sometimes makes such a hit?’
Poirot spread out his hands.
‘Alas, we talked only of gas fires.’
‘Gas fires—gas fires.’ Japp sounded disgusted. ‘What’s the matter with you, old cock? Ever since you’ve been here the only things you’ve taken an interest in are quill pens and waste-paper baskets. Oh, yes, I saw you having a quiet look into the one downstairs. Anything in it?’
Poirot sighed.
‘A catalogue of bulbs and an old magazine.’
‘What’s the idea, anyway? If anyone wants to throw away an incriminating document or whatever it is you have in mind they’re not likely just to pitch it into a waste-paper basket.’
‘That is very true what you say there. Only something quite unimportant would be thrown away like that.’
Poirot spoke meekly. Nevertheless Japp looked at him suspiciously.
‘Well,’ he said. ‘I know what I’m going to do next. What about you?’
‘Eh bien,’ said Poirot. ‘I shall complete my search for the unimportant. There is still the dustbin.’
He skipped nimbly out of the room. Japp looked after him with an air of disgust.
‘Potty,’ he said. ‘Absolutely potty.’
Inspector Jameson preserved a respectful silence. His face said with British superiority: ‘Foreigners!’
Aloud he said:
‘So that’s Mr Hercule Poirot! I’ve heard of him.’
‘Old friend of mine,’ explained Japp. ‘Not half as balmy as he looks, mind you. All the same he’s getting on now.’
‘Gone a bit gaga as they say, sir,’ suggested Inspector Jameson. ‘Ah well, age will tell.’
‘All the same,’ said Japp, ‘I wish I knew what he was up to.’
He walked over to the writing-table and stared uneasily at an emerald green quill pen.
CHAPTER 5
Japp was just engaging his third chauffeur’s wife in conversation when Poirot, walking noiselessly as a cat, suddenly appeared at his elbow.
‘Whew, you made me jump,’ said Japp. ‘Got anything?’
‘Not what I was looking for.’
Japp turned back to Mrs James Hogg.
‘And you say you’ve seen this gentleman before?’
‘Oh, yes sir. And my husband too. We knew him at once.’
‘Now look here, Mrs Hogg, you’re a shrewd woman, I can see. I’ve no doubt that you know all about everyone in the mews. And you’re a woman of judgment—unusually good judgment, I can tell that—’ Unblushingly he repeated this remark for the third time. Mrs Hogg bridled slightly and assumed an expression of superhuman intelligence. ‘Give me a line on those two young women—Mrs Allen and Miss Plenderleith. What were they like? Gay? Lots of parties? That sort of thing?’
‘Oh, no sir, nothing of the kind. They went out a good bit—Mrs Allen especially—but they’re class, if you know what I mean. Not like some as I could name down the other end. I’m sure the way that Mrs Stevens goes on—if she is a Mrs at all which I doubt—well I shouldn’t like to tell you what goes on there—I—’
‘Quite so,’ said Japp, dexterously stopping the flow. ‘Now that’s very important what you’ve told me. Mrs Allen and Miss Plenderleith were well liked, then?’
‘Oh yes, sir, very nice ladies, both of them—especially Mrs Allen. Always spoke a nice word to the children, she did. Lost her own little girl, I believe, poor dear. Ah well, I’ve buried three myself. And what I say is—’
‘Yes, yes, very sad. And Miss Plenderleith?’
‘Well, of course she was a nice lady too, but much more abrupt if you know what I mean. Just go by with a nod, she would, and not stop to pass the time of day. But I’ve nothing against her—nothing at all.’
‘She and Mrs Allen got on well together?’
‘Oh, yes sir. No quarrelling—nothing like that. Very happy and contented they were—I’m sure Mrs Pierce will bear me out.’
‘Yes, we’ve talked to her. Do you know Mrs Allen’s fiancé by sight?’
‘The gentleman she’s going to marry? Oh, yes. He’s been here quite a bit off and on. Member of Parliament, they do say.’
‘It wasn’t he who came last night?’
‘No, sir, it was not.’ Mrs Hogg drew herself up. A note of excitement disguised beneath intense primness came into her voice. ‘And if you ask me, sir, what you are thinking is all wrong. Mrs Allen wasn’t that kind of lady, I’m sure. It’s true there was no one in the house, but I do not believe anything of the kind—I said so to Hogg only this morning. “No, Hogg,” I said, “Mrs Allen was a lady—a real lady—so don’t go suggesting things”—knowing what a man’s mind is, if you’ll excuse my mentioning it. Always coarse in their ideas.’
Passing this insult by, Japp proceeded:
‘You saw him arrive and you saw him leave—that’s so, isn’t it?’
‘That’s so, sir.’
‘And you didn’t hear anything else? Any sounds of a quarrel?’
‘No, sir, nor likely to. Not, that is to say, that such things couldn’t be heard—because the contrary to that is well known—and down the other end the way Mrs Stevens goes for that poor frightened maid of hers is common talk—and one and all we’ve advised her not to stand it, but there, the wages is good—temper of the devil she may have but pays for it—thirty shillings a week …’
Japp said quickly:
‘But you didn’t hear anything of the kind at No. 14?’
‘No, sir. Nor likely to with fireworks popping off here, there and everywhere and my Eddie with his eyebrows singed off as near as nothing.’
‘This man left at ten-twenty—that’s right, is it?’
‘It might be, sir. I couldn’t say myself. But Hogg says so and he’s a very reliable, steady man.’
‘You actually saw him leave. Did you hear what he said?’
‘No, sir. I wasn’t near enough for that. Just saw him from my window, standing in the doorway talking to Mrs Allen.’
‘See her too?’
‘Yes, sir, she was standing just inside the doorway.’
‘Notice what she was wearing?’
‘Now really, sir, I couldn’t say. Not noticing particularly as it were.’
Poirot said:
‘You did not even notice if she was wearing day dress or evening dress?’
‘No, sir, I can’t say I did.’
Poirot looked thoughtfully up at the window above and then across to No. 14. He smiled and for a moment his eye caught Japp’s.
‘And the gentleman?’
‘He was in a dark-blue overcoat and a bowler hat. Very smart and well set up.’
Japp asked a few more questions and then proceeded to his next interview. This was with Master Frederick Hogg, an impish-faced, bright-eyed lad, considerably swollen with self-importance.
‘Yes, sir. I heard them talking. “Think it over and let me know,” the gent said. Pleasant like, you know. And then she said something and he answered, “All right. So long.” And he got into the car—I was holding the door open but he didn’t give me nothing,’ said Master Hogg with a slight tinge of depression in his tone. ‘And he drove away.’
