Taken at the Flood - Agatha Christie [78]
‘No,’ said Poirot. ‘The accident was the death of Charles Trenton — otherwise Enoch Arden.’
‘Accident!’ The Superintendent exploded. ‘Accident? You say that a particularly brutal murder, where a man’s head is stove in by repeated blows, is an accident!’
Quite unmoved by the Superintendent’s vigour, Poirot replied calmly:
‘When I say an accident, I mean that there was no intent to kill.’
‘No intent to kill — when a man’s head is battered in! Do you mean that he was attacked by a lunatic?’
‘I think that that is very near the truth — though not quite in the sense you mean it.’
‘Mrs Gordon was the only batty woman in this case. I’ve seen her looking very queer sometimes. Of course, Mrs Lionel Cloade is a bit bats in the belfry — but she’d never be violent. Mrs Jeremy has got her head screwed on the right way if any one has. By the way, you say that it was not Mrs Jeremy who bribed Porter?’
‘No. I know who it was. As I say, it was Porter himself who gave it away. One simple little remark — ah, I could kick myself, as you say, all round the town, for not noticing it at the time.’
‘And then your anonymous A B C lunatic murdered Rosaleen Cloade?’ Spence’s voice was more and more sceptical.
Poirot shook his head vigorously.
‘By no means. This is where the First Murderer exits and Second Murderer enters. Quite a different type of crime this, no heat, and no passion. Cold deliberate murder and I intend Superintendent Spence, to see that her murderer is hanged for that murder.’
He got up as he spoke and moved towards the door.
‘Hi!’ cried Spence. ‘You’ve got to give me a few names. You can’t leave it like this.’
‘In a very little while — yes, I will tell you. But there is something for which I wait — to be exact, a letter from across the sea.’
‘Don’t talk like a ruddy fortune-teller! Hi — Poirot.’
But Poirot had slipped away.
He went straight across the square and rang the bell of Dr Cloade’s house. Mrs Cloade came to the door and gave her usual gasp at seeing Poirot. He wasted no time.
‘Madame, I must speak to you.’
‘Oh, of course — do come in — I’m afraid I haven’t had much time to dust, but — ’
‘I want to ask you something. How long has your husband been a morphia addict?’
Aunt Kathie immediately burst into tears.
‘Oh dear, oh dear — I did so hope nobody would ever know — it began in the war. He was so dreadfully overtired and had such dreadful neuralgia. And since then he’s been trying to lessen the dose — he has indeed. But that’s what makes him so dreadfully irritable sometimes — ’
‘That is one of the reasons why he has needed money, is it not?’
‘I suppose so. Oh, dear, M. Poirot. He has promised to go for a cure — ’
‘Calm yourself, Madame, and answer me one more little question. On the night when you telephoned to Lynn Marchmont, you went out to the call-box outside the post office, did you not? Did you meet anybody in the square that night?’
‘Oh, no, M. Poirot, not a soul.’
‘But I understood you had to borrow twopence because you had only halfpennies.’
‘Oh, yes. I had to ask a woman who came out of the box. She gave me two pennies for one halfpenny — ’
‘What did she look like, this woman?’
‘Well, rather actressy, if you know what I mean. An orange scarf round her head. The funny thing was that I’m almost sure I’d met her somewhere. Her face seemed very familiar. She must, I think, have been someone who had passed over. And yet, you know, I couldn’t remember where and how I had known her.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Cloade,’ said Hercule Poirot.
Chapter 15
Lynn came out of the house and glanced up at the sky.
The sun was getting low, there was no red in the sky but a rather unnatural glow of light. A still evening with a breathless feel about it. There would be, she thought, a storm later.
Well, the time had come now. She couldn’t put things off any longer. She must go to Long Willows and tell Rowley. She owed him that at least — to tell him herself. Not to choose the easy way of the written