Taken at the Flood - Agatha Christie [83]
‘What do you mean?’ David asked sharply.
‘It is now to you that I will tell a story. You come along to the Stag at nine o’clock or thereabouts. You come not to murder, but to pay. What do you find? You find the man who had been blackmailing you lying on the floor, murdered in a particularly brutal manner. You can think fast, Mr Hunter, and you realize at once that you are in imminent danger. You have not been seen entering the Stag by any one as far as you know and your first idea is to clear out as soon as possible, catch the 9.20 train back to London and swear hard that you have not been near Warmsley Vale. To catch the train your only chance is to run across country. In doing so you run unexpectedly into Miss Marchmont and you also realize that you cannot catch the train. You see the smoke of it in the valley. She too, although you do not know it, has seen the smoke, but she has not consciously realized that it indicates that you cannot catch the train, and when you tell her that the time is nine-fifteen she accepts your statement without any doubt.
‘To impress on her mind that you do catch the train, you invent a very ingenious scheme. In fact, you now have to plan an entirely new scheme to divert suspicion from yourself.
‘You go back to Furrowbank, letting yourself in quietly with your key and you help yourself to a scarf of your sister’s, you take one of her lipsticks, and you also proceed to make up your face in a highly theatrical manner.
‘You return to the Stag at a suitable time, impress your personality on the old lady who sits in the Residents Only room and whose peculiarities are common gossip at the Stag. Then you go up to No. 5. When you hear her coming to bed, you come out into the passage, then withdraw hurriedly inside again, and proceed to say loudly, “You’d better get out of here, my girl.”’
Poirot paused.
‘A very ingenious performance,’ he observed.
‘Is that true, David?’ cried Lynn. ‘Is it true?’
David was grinning broadly.
‘I think a good deal of myself as a female impersonator. Lord, you should have seen that old gorgon’s face!’
‘But how could you be here at ten o’clock and yet telephone to me from London at eleven?’ demanded Lynn perplexedly.
David Hunter bowed to Poirot.
‘All explanations by Hercule Poirot,’ he remarked. ‘The man who knows everything. How did I do it?’
‘Very simply,’ said Poirot. ‘You rang up your sister at the flat from the public call-box and gave her certain precise instructions. At eleven-four exactly she put through a toll call to Warmsley Vale 34. When Miss Marchmont came to the phone the operator verified the number, then saying no doubt “A call from London,” or “Go ahead London,” something of that kind?’
Lynn nodded.
‘Rosaleen Cloade then replaced the receiver. You,’ Poirot turned to David, ‘carefully noting the time, dialled 34, got it, pressed Button A, said “London wants you” in a slightly disguised voice and then spoke. The lapse of a minute or two would be nothing strange in a telephone call these days, and would only strike Miss Marchmont as a reconnection.’
Lynn said quietly:
‘So that’s why you rang me up, David?’
Something in her tone, quiet as it was, made David look at her sharply.
He turned to Poirot and made a gesture of surrender.
‘No doubt about it. You do know everything! To tell the truth I was scared stiff. I had to think up something. After I’d rung Lynn, I walked five miles to Dasleby and went up to London by the early milk train. Slipped into the flat in time to rumple the bed and have breakfast with Rosaleen. It