Taken at the Flood - Agatha Christie [48]
‘Now then,’ he said when all these preliminaries had been accomplished. ‘What’s all this about?’
He looked from one to the other of them.
Poirot said: ‘You may have read in the paper of the death of a man at Warmsley Vale?’
Porter shook his head.
‘May have. Don’t think so.’
‘His name was Arden. Enoch Arden?’
Porter still shook his head.
‘He was found at the Stag Inn with the back of his head smashed in.’
Porter frowned.
‘Let me see — yes, did see something about it, I believe — some days ago.’
‘Yes. I have here a photograph — it is a press photograph and not very clear, I’m afraid! What we should like to know, Major Porter, is whether you have ever seen this man before?’
He handed over the best reproduction of the dead man’s face he had been able to find.
Major Porter took it and frowned at it.
‘Wait a sec.’ The Major took out his spectacles, adjusted them on his nose and studied the photograph more closely — then he gave a sudden start.
‘God bless my soul!’ he said. ‘Well, I’m damned!’
‘You know the man, Major?’
‘Of course I know him. It’s Underhay — Robert Underhay.’
‘You’re sure of that?’ There was triumph in Rowley’s voice.
‘Of course I’m sure. Robert Underhay! I’d swear to it anywhere.’
Chapter 2
The telephone rang and Lynn went to answer it.
Rowley’s voice spoke.
‘Lynn?’
‘Rowley?’
Her voice sounded depressed. He said:
‘What are you up to? I never see you these days.’
‘Oh, well — it’s all chores — you know. Running round with a basket, waiting for fish and queueing up for a bit of quite disgusting cake. All that sort of thing. Home life.’
‘I want to see you. I’ve got something to tell you.’
‘What sort of thing?’
He gave a chuckle.
‘Good news. Meet me by Rolland Copse. We’re ploughing up there.’
Good news? Lynn put the receiver down. What to Rowley Cloade would be good news? Finance? Had he sold that young bull at a better price than he had hoped to get?
No, she thought, it must be more than that. As she walked up the field to Rolland Copse, Rowley left the tractor and came to meet her.
‘Hallo, Lynn.’
‘Why, Rowley — you look — different, somehow?’
He laughed.
‘I should think I do. Our luck’s turned, Lynn!’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Do you remember old Jeremy mentioning a chap called Hercule Poirot?’
‘Hercule Poirot?’ Lynn frowned. ‘Yes, I do remember something — ’
‘Quite a long time ago. When the war was on. They were in that mausoleum of a club of his and there was an air raid.’
‘Well?’ Lynn demanded impatiently.
‘Fellow has the wrong clothes and all that. French chap — or Belgian. Queer fellow but he’s the goods all right.’
Lynn knit her brows.
‘Wasn’t he — a detective?’
‘That’s right. Well, you know, this fellow who was done in at the Stag. I didn’t tell you but an idea was getting around that he might just possibly be Rosaleen Cloade’s first husband.’
Lynn laughed.
‘Simply because he called himself Enoch Arden? What an absurd idea!’
‘Not so absurd, my girl. Old Spence got Rosaleen down to have a look at him. And she swore quite firmly that he wasn’t her husband.’
‘So that finished it?’
‘It might have,’ said Rowley. ‘But for me!’
‘For you? What did you do?’
‘I went to this fellow Hercule Poirot. I told him we wanted another opinion. Could he rustle up someone who had actually known Robert Underhay? My word, but he’s absolutely wizard that chap! Just like rabbits out of a hat. He produced a fellow who was Underhay’s best friend in a few hours. Old boy called Porter.’ Rowley stopped. Then he chuckled again with that note of excitement that had surprised and startled Lynn. ‘Now keep this under your hat, Lynn. The Super swore me to secrecy — but I’d like you to know. The dead man is Robert Underhay.’
‘What?’ Lynn took a step back. She stared at Rowley blankly.
‘Robert Underhay himself. Porter hadn’t the least doubt. So you see, Lynn’ — Rowley’s voice rose excitedly — ‘we’ve won! After all, we’ve won! We’ve beaten those damned crooks!’
‘What damned crooks?’
‘Hunter and his sister. They’re licked — out of it. Rosaleen doesn’t