"Yes. Same ones."
"And what happened to Lesley
Ferrier?"
"He was stabbed in the back. Not far
from the Green Swan Pub. He was said to
have been having an affair with the wife
of the landlord. Harry Griffin. Handsome
piece, she was, indeed still is. Getting
perhaps a bit long in the tooth. Five or six
116
years older than he was, but she liked
them young."
"The weapon?"
"The knife wasn't found. Les was said
to have broken with her and taken up with
some other girl, but what girl was never
satisfactorily discovered.''
"Ah. And who was suspected in this
case? The landlord or the wife?"
"Quite right," said Spence. "Might
have been either. The wife seemed the
more likely. She was half gypsy and a
temperamental piece. But there were other
possibilities. Our Lesley hadn't led a
blameless life. Got into trouble in his early
twenties, falsifying his accounts somewhere.
With a spot of forgery. Was said
to have come from a broken home and all
the rest of it. Employers spoke up for him.
He got a short sentence and was taken on
by Fullerton, Harrison and Leadbetter
when he came out of prison."
"And after that he'd gone straight?"
"Well, nothing proved. He appeared to
do so as far as his employers were
concerned, but he had been mixed up in
a few questionable transactions with his
117
friends. He's what you might call a wrong
'un but a careful one."
"So the alternative was?"
"That he might have been stabbed by
one of his less reputable associates. When
you're in with a nasty crowd you've got it
coming to you with a knife if you let them
down."
"Anything else?"
"Well, he had a good lot of money in
his bank account. Paid in in cash, it had
been. Nothing to show where it came
from. That was suspicious in itself."
"Possibly pinched from Fullerton,
Harrison and Leadbetter?" suggested
Poirot.
"They say not. They had a chartered
accountant to work on it and look into
things."
"And the police had no idea where else
it might have come from?"
"No."
"Again," said Poirot, "not Joyce's
murder, I should think."
He read the last name, "Janet White."
"Found strangled on a footpath which
was a short cut from the schoolhouse
to her home. She shared a flat there
118
with another teacher, Nora Ambrose.
According to Nora Ambrose, Janet White
had occasionally spoken of being nervous
about some man with whom she'd broken
off relations a year ago, but who had
frequently sent her threatening letters.
Nothing was ever found out about this
man. Nora Ambrose didn't know his
name, didn't know exactly where he
lived."
"Aha," said Poirot, "I like this better."
He made a good, thick black tick against
Janet White's name.
"For what reason?" asked Spence.
"It is a more likely murder for a girl of
Joyce's age to have witnessed. She could
have recognised the victim, a schoolteacher
whom she knew and who perhaps
taught her. Possibly she did not know the
attacker. She might have seen a struggle, heard a quarrel between a girl whom she
knew and a strange man. But thought no
more of it than that at that time. When
was Janet White killed?"
"Two and a half years ago."
"That again," said Poirot, "is about the
right time. Both for not realising that the
man she may have seen with his hands
119
round Janet White's neck was not merely
necking her, but might have been killing
her. But then as she grew more mature,
the proper explanation came to her."
He looked at Elspeth. "You agree with
my reasoning?"
"I see what you mean," said Elspeth.
"But aren't you going at all this the wrong
way round? Looking for a victim of a past
murder instead of looking for a man who
killed a child here in Woodleigh Common
not more than three days ago?"
"We go from the past to the future,"
said Poirot. "We arrive, shall we say, from
two and a half years ago to three days ago.
And, therefore, we have to consider—
what you, no doubt, have already
considered—who was there in Woodleigh
Common amongst the people who were at
the party who might have been connected
with an older crime?"
"One can narrow it down a bit more
than that now," said Spence. "That is if
we are right in accepting your assumption
that Joyce was killed because of what she
claimed earlier in the day about seeing
murder committed. She said those words
during the time the preparations for the
120
party were going on. Mind you, we may
be wrong in believing that that was the
motive for killing, but I don't think we are
wrong. So let us say she claimed to have
seen murder, and someone who was
present during the preparations for the
party that afternoon could have heard her
and acted as soon as possible."
"Who was present?" said Poirot. "You
know, I presume."
"Yes, I have the list for you here."
"You have checked it carefully?"
"Yes, I've checked and re-checked, but
it's been quite a job. Here are the eighteen
names."
List of people present during preparation
for Hallowe'en Party Mrs. Drake (owner of house)
Mrs. Butler
Mrs. Oliver
Miss Whittaker (schoolteacher)
Rev. Charles Cotterell (Vicar)
Simon Lampton (Curate)
Miss Lee (Dr. Ferguson's dispenser) Arm Reynolds
Joyce Reynolds
Leopold Reynolds
121
HP9
Nicholas Ransom
Desmond Holland
Beatrice Ardley
Cathie Grant
Diana Brent
Mrs. Garlton (household help)
Mrs. Minden (cleaning woman)
Mrs. Goodbody (helper)
"You are sure these are all?"
"No," said Spence. "I'm not sure. I
can't really be sure. Nobody can. You see, odd people brought things. Somebody
brought some coloured light bulbs. Somebody
else supplied some mirrors. There
were some extra plates. Someone lent a
plastic pail. People brought things, exchanged a word or two and went away
again. They didn't remain to help. Therefore
such a person could have been overlooked
and not remembered as being
present. But that somebody, even if they
had only just deposited a bucket in the
hall, could have overheard what Joyce was
saying in the sitting-room. She was
shouting, you know. We can't really limit
it to this list, but it's the best we can do.
Here you are. Take a look at it. I've made
122
a brief descriptive note against the
names."
"I thank you. Just one question. You
must have interrogated some of these
people, those for instance who were also
at the party. Did anyone, anyone at all,
mention what Joyce had said about seeing
a murder?"
"I think not. There is no record of it
officially. The first I heard of it is what
you told me."
"Interesting," said Poirot. "One might
also say remarkable."
"Obviously no-one took it seriously,"
said Spence.
Poirot nodded thoughtfully.
"I must go now to keep my appointment
with Dr. Ferguson, after his surgery," he
said.
He folded up Spence's list and put it in
his pocket.
123
9
sixty, of Scottish extraction with a
brusque manner. He looked Poirot
up and down, with shrewd eyes under
bristling eyebrows, and said:
"Well, what's all this about? Sit down.
Mind that chair leg. The castor's loose."
"I should perhaps explain—" said
Poirot.
"You needn't explain," said Dr.
Ferguson. "Everybody knows everything
in a place like this. That authoress woman
brought you down here as God's greatest
detective to puzzle police officers. That's
more or less right, isn't it?"
"In part," said Poirot. "I came here to
visit an old friend, ex-Superintendent
Spence, who lives with his sister here."
"Spence? Hm. Good type, Spence.
Bull-dog breed. Good honest police officer
of the old type. No graft. No violence. Not
stupid either. Straight as a die."
"You appraise him correctly."
124
"Well," said Ferguson, "what did you
tell him and what did he tell you?"
"Both he and Inspector Raglan have
been exceedingly kind to me. I hope you
will likewise."
"I've nothing to be kind about," said
Ferguson. "I don't know what happened.
Child gets her head shoved in a bucket and
is drowned in the middle of a party. Nasty
business. Mind you, doing in a child isn't
anything to be startled about nowadays.
I've been called out to look at too many
murdered children in the last seven to ten
years—far too many. A lot of people who
ought to be under mental restraint aren't
under mental restraint. No room in the
asylums. They go about, nicely spoken,
nicely got up and looking like everybody
else, looking for somebody they can do in.
And enjoy themselves. Don't usually do it
at a party, though. Too much chance of
getting caught, I suppose, but novelty
appeals even to a mentally disturbed
killer."
"Have you any idea who killed her?"
"Do you really suppose that's a question
I can answer just like that? I'd have to
125
have some evidence, wouldn't I? I'd have
to be sure."
"You could guess," said Poirot.
"Anyone can guess. If I'm called in to
a case I have to guess whether the chap's
going to have measles or whether it's a case
of an allergy to shell-fish or to feather
pillows. I have to ask questions to find out
what they've been eating, or drinking, or
sleeping on, or what other children they've
been meeting. Whether they've been in a
crowded bus with Mrs. Smith's or Mrs.
Robinson's children who've all got the
measles, and a few other things. Then I
advance a tentative opinion as to which it
is of the various possibilities, and that, let
me tell you, is what's called diagnosis. You
don't do it in a hurry and you make sure."
"Did you know this child?"
"Of course. She was one of my patients.
There are two of us here. Myself and
Worrall. I happen to be the Reynolds'
doctor. She was quite a healthy child,
Joyce. Had the usual small childish
ailments. Nothing peculiar or out of the
way. Ate too much, talked too much.
Talking too much hadn't done her any
harm. Eating too much gave her what used
126
to be called in the old days a bilious attack
from time to time. She'd had mumps and
chicken pox. Nothing else."
"But she had perhaps talked too much
on one occasion, as you suggest she might
be liable to do."
"So that's the tack you're on? I heard
some rumour of that. On the lines of 'what
the butler saw'--only tragedy instead of
comedy. Is that it?"
"It could form a motive, a reason."
"Oh yes. Grant you that. But there are other reasons. Mentally disturbed seems
the usual answer nowadays. At any rate, it does always in the Magistrates' courts.
Nobody gained by her death, nobody
hated her. But it seems to me with children
nowadays you don't need to look for
the reason. The reason's in another place.
The reason's in the killer's mind. His
disturbed mind or his evil mind or his
call it. I'm not a psychiatrist. There are
times when I get tired of hearing those
words: 'Remanded for a psychiatrist's
report,' after a lad has broken in somewhere, smashed the looking-glasses, pinched bottles of whisky, stolen the
127
silver 5 knocked an old woman on the head.
Doesn't much matter what it is now.
Remand them for the psychiatrists
report."
"And who would you favour, in this
case, to remand for a psychiatrist's
report?"
"You mean of those there at the ^o' the
other night?"
"Yes."
"The murderer would have had to be
there, wouldn't he? Otherwise there
wouldn't have been a murder. Right? He
was among the guests, he was among the
helpers or he walked in through the
window with malice aforethought. Probably
he knew the fastenings of that house.
Might have been in there before, looking
round. Take your man or boy. He wants
to kill someone. Not at all unusual. Over
in Medchester we had a case of that. Came
to light after about six or seven years. Boy
of thirteen. Wanted to kill someone, so he
killed a child of nine, pinched a car, drove
it seven or eight miles into a copse, burned
her there, went away, and as far as we
know led a blameless life until he was
twenty-one or two. Mind you, we have
128
only his word for th
at, he may have gone
on doing it. Probably did. Found he liked
killing people. Don't suppose he's killed
too many, or some police force would have
been on to him before now. But every now
and then he felt the urge. Psychiatrist's
report. Committed murder while mentally
disturbed. I'm trying to say myself that
that's what happened here. That sort of
thing, anyway. I'm not a psychiatrist
myself, thank goodness. I have a few
psychiatrist friends. Some of them are
sensible chaps. Some of them--well, I'll
go as far as saying they ought to be
remanded for a psychiatrist's report themselves.
This chap who killed Joyce probably
had nice parents, ordinary manners, good appearance. Nobody'd dream anything
was wrong with him. Ever had a
bite at a nice red juicy apple and there,
down by the core, something rather nasty
rears itself up and wags its head at you?
Plenty of human beings about like that.
More than there used to be I'd say
nowadays."
"And you've no suspicion of your
own?"
129
"I can't stick my neck out and diagnose
a murderer without some evidence."
"Still, you admit it must have been
someone at the party. You cannot have a
murder without a murderer."
"You can easily in some detective stories
that are written. Probably your pet
authoress writes them like that. But in this
case I agree. The murderer must have
been there. A guest, a domestic help,
someone who walked in through the
window. Easily done if he'd studied the
catch of the window beforehand. It might
have struck some crazy brain that it would
be a novel idea and a bit of fun to have a
murder at a Hallowe'en party. That's all
you've got to start off with, isn't it? Just
someone who was at the party."
Under bushy brows a pair of eyes
twinkled at Poirot.
"I was there myself," he said. "Came in
late, just to see what was doing."
He nodded his head vigorously.
"Yes, that's the problem, isn't it? Like
a social announcement in the papers:
'Amongst those present was—
A Murderer.9"
130
10
POIROT looked up at The Elms and
approved of it.
He was admitted and taken
promptly by what he judged to be a
secretary to the head-mistress's study.
Miss Ernlyn rose from her desk to greet