Mrs. McGinty's Dead

  }"Some form of it. I shall have to have a permanent}

  }» }Nurse Companion soon, I'm afraid. Such a bore. I like}

  being independent."

  }"Now, darling," said Robin. "Don't work yourself up."}

  }He patted her arm.}

  }She smiled at him with sudden tenderness.}

  }MRS. McGinty's DEAD 99}

  }"Robin's as good as a daughter to me," she said. "He does everything—and thinks of everything. No one could be more considerate."}

  }They smiled at each other.}

  Hercule Poirot rose.

  }"Alas," he said. "I must go. I have another call to make and then a train to catch. Madame, I thank you for your hospitality. Mr Upward, I wish all success to the play."}

  }"And all success to you with your murder," said Mrs} }Oliver.}

  }"Is this really serious, M. Poirot?" asked Robin Up­ward. "Or is it a terrible hoax?"}

  "Of course it isn't a hoax," said Mrs Oliver. "It's deadly serious. He won't tell me who the murderer is, but he knows, don't you?"

  "No, no, Madame." Poirot's protest was just suf­ficiently unconvincing. "I told you that as yet, no, I do not know,"

  "That's what you said, but I think you do know really . . . But you're so frightfully secretive, aren't you?"

  }Mrs Upward said sharply:}

  "Is this really true? It's not a joke?"

  "It is not a joke, Madame," said Poirot.

  }He bowed and departed.}

  }As he went down the path he heard Robin Upward's clear tenor voice:}

  "But Ariadne darling," he said, "it's all very well, but with that moustache and everything, how }can }one take him seriously. Do you really mean he's }good?"}

  Poirot smiled to himself. Good indeed!

  }About to cross the narrow lane, he jumped back just in time.}

  The Summerhayes' station wagon, lurching and

  }100 MRS. McGINTY'S DEAD}

  }bumping, came racing past. him. Summerhayes was driving.}

  }"Sorry," he called. "Got to catch train." And faintly from the distance, "Covent Garden. . . ."}

  }Poirot also intended to take a train—the local train to Kilchester where he had arranged a conference with Superintendent Spence.}

  }He had time, before catching it, for just one last call.}

  }He went to the top of the hill and through gates and up a well kept drive to a modern house of frosted con­crete with a square roof and a good deal of window. This was the home of Mr and Mrs Carpenter. Guy Carpenter was a partner in the big Carpenter Engineer­ing Works—a very rich man who had recently taken to politics. He and his wife had only been married a short time.}

  }The Carpenters' front door was not opened by for­eign help, or an aged faithful. An imperturbable man­servant opened the door and was loth to admit Hercule Poirot. In his view Hercule Poirot was the kind of caller who is left outside. He clearly suspected that Hercule Poirot had come to sell something.}

  }"Mr and Mrs Carpenter are not at home."

  "Perhaps, then, I might wait?"

  "I couldn't say when they will be in."

  He closed the door.}

  }Poirot did not go down the drive. Instead he walked

  round the corner of the house and almost collided with

  a tall young woman in a mink coat. '

  "Hullo," she said. "What the hell do you want?"

  Poirot raised his hat with gallantry.

  "I was hoping," he said, "that I could see Mr or Mrs

  Carpenter. Have I the pleasure of seeing Mrs Carpenter?"}

  }MRS. McGINTY'S DEAD 101}

  }"I'm Mrs Carpenter."}

  }She spoke ungraciously, but there was a faint sugges­tion of appeasement behind her manner.}

  "My name is Hercule Poirot."

  }Nothing registered. Not only was the great, the unique name unknown to her, but he thought that she did not even identify him as Maureen Summerhayes' latest guest. Here, then, the local grapevine did not operate. A small, but significant fact perhaps.}

  }"Yes?"}

  }"I demand to see either Mr or Mrs Carpenter, but you, Madame, will be the best for my purpose. For what I have to ask is of domestic matters."}

  }"We've got a Hoover," said Mrs Carpenter suspi­ciously.}

  }Poirot laughed.}

  "No, no, you misunderstand. It is only a few ques­tions that I ask about a domestic matter."

  }"Oh you mean one of these domestic questionnaires, I do think it's absolutely idiotic—" she broke off, "Per­haps you'd better come inside."}

  }Poirot smiled faintly. She had just stopped herself from uttering a derogatory comment. With her hus­band's political activities, caution in criticising Govern­ment activities was indicated.}

  }She led the way through the hall and into a good sized room giving onto a carefully tended garden. It was a very new looking room, a large brocaded suite of sofa and two wing chairs, three or four reproductions of Chippendale chairs, a bureau, a writing desk. No ex­pense had been spared, the best firms had been em­ployed, and there was absolutely no sign of individual taste. The bride, Poirot thought, had been what? In­different? Careful?}

  He looked at her appraisingly as she turned. An ex-

  }102 MRS. McGINTrS DEAD}

  }pensive and good looking young woman. Platinum blonde hair, carefully applied makeup, but something more—wide cornflower blue eyes—eyes with a wide frozen stare in them—beautiful drowned eyes.}

  }She said—graciously now, but concealing boredom:}

  }"Do sit down."}

  }He sat. He said:}

  }"You are most amiable, Madame. These questions now, that I wish to ask you. They relate to a Mrs McGinty who died—was killed that is to say—last No­vember."}

  }"Mrs McGinty? I don't know what you mean."

  She was glaring at him, her eyes hard and suspicious.

  "You remember Mrs McGinty?"

  "No, I don't. I don't know anything about her." "

  You remember her murder? Or is murder so com­mon here that you do not even notice it?"}

  }"Oh, the }murder? }Yes, of course. I'd forgotten what the old woman's name was."}

  }"Although she worked for you in this house?"

  "She didn't. I wasn't living here then. Mr Carpenter and I were only married three months ago."}

  }"But she did work for you. On Friday mornings, I think it was. You were then Mrs Selkirk and you lived in Rose Cottage."

  She said sulkily;}

  }"If you know the answers to everything I don't see why you need to ask questions. Anyway, what's it all about?"}

  }"I am making an investigation into the circumstances of the murder."}

  }"Why? What on earth for? Anyway, why come to me?"}

  }"You might know something—that would help me." "I don't know anything at all. Why should I?-She was}

  }MRS. McGINTY'S DEAD 103

  only a stupid old charwoman. She kept her money

  under the floor and somebody robbed and murdered her for it. It was quite disgusting—beastly the whole thing. Like things you read in the Sunday papers."}

  Poirot took that up quickly.

  }"Like the Sunday papers, yes. Like the Sunday Com­panion. You read, perhaps, the Sunday Companion."}

  }She jumped up, and made her way blunderingly to­wards the opened French windows. So uncertainly did she go that she actually collided with the window frame. Poirot was reminded of a beautiful big moth, fluttering blindly against a lamp shade. .}

  She called: "Guy—Guy. . . ."

  }A man's voice a little way away answered,}

  }"Eve?"}

  }"Come here quickly.'}

  }A tall man of about thirty five came into sight. He quickened his pace and came across the terrace to the window. Eve Carpenter said vehemently:}

  }"There's a man here—a foreigner. He's asking me all sorts of questions about that horrid murder last year. Some old charwoman—you remember? I }hate }things like that. You know I do."}

&nb
sp; }Guy Carpenter frowned and came into the drawing room through the window. He had a long face like a horse, he was pale and looked rather supercilious. His manner was pompous. Hercule Poirot found him un­attractive.}

  }"May I ask what this is all about?" he asked. "Have you been annoying my wife?"}

  }Hercule Poirot spread out his hands.}

  }"The last thing I should wish is to annoy so charm­ing a lady. I hoped only that, the deceased woman having worked for her, she might be able to aid me in the investigations I am making,"}

  }104 MRS. }McGINTyS DEAD}

  }"But—what are these investigations?"}

  }"Yes, ask him that," urged his wife.}

  }"A fresh inquiry is being made into the circumstances of Mrs McGinty's death."}

  }"Nonsense—the case is over."}

  }"No, no, there you are in error. It is not over."}

  }"A fresh inquiry you say?" Guy Carpenter frowned. He said suspiciously, "By the Police? Nonsense—you're nothing to do with the Police."}

  }"That is correct. I am working independently of the Police."}

  }"It's the Press," Eve Carpenter broke in. "Some hor­rid Sunday newspaper. He said so."}

  }A gleam of caution came into Guy Carpenter's eye. In his position he was not anxious to antagonise the Press. He said, more amicably:}

  }"My wife is very sensitive. Murders and things like that upset her. I'm sure it can't be necessary for you to bother her. She hardly knew this woman."

  Eve said vehemently:}

  }"She was only a stupid old charwoman. I told him so."}

  }She added:}

  }"And she was a frightful liar, too."}

  }"Ah, that is interesting." Poirot turned a beaming face from one to 'the other of them. "So she told lies. That may give us a very valuable lead."}

  }"I don't see how," said Eve sulkily.}

  }"The establishment of motive," said Poirot. "That is the line I am following up." }

  }"She was robbed of her savings," said Carpenter sharply. "That was the motive of the crime."}

  }"Ah," said Poirot softly. "But was it?"}

  }He rose like an actor who had just spoken a telling line.}

  }MRS. MCGINTY'S DEAD 105}

  }"I regret if I have caused Madame any pain," he said politely. "These affairs are always rather unpleasant."}

  }"The whole business was distressing," said Car­penter quickly. "Naturally my wife didn't like being re­minded of it. I'm sorry we can't help you with any information."}

  }"Oh, but you have."}

  }"I beg your pardon?"}

  }Poirot said softly:}

  }"Mrs} }McGinty told lies. }A valuable fact. What lies,} }exactly, did she tell, Madame?"}

  }He waited politely for Eve Carpenter to speak. She} }said at last:}

  }"Oh nothing particular. I mean—I can't remember." Conscious perhaps, that both men were looking at} }her expectantly, she said:}

  }"Stupid things—about people. Things that couldn't} }be true."}

  }Still there was a silence, then Poirot said: -}

  }"I see—she had a dangerous tongue."}

  }Eve Carpenter made a quick movement.}

  }"Oh no—I didn't mean as much as that She was just a gossip, that was all."}

  }"Just a gossip," said Poirot softly.}

  }He made a gesture of farewell.}

  }"This paper of yours—this Sunday paper—which} }is it?"}

  }"The paper I mentioned to Madame," replied Poirot} }carefully, "was the Sunday Companion."}

  }He paused. Guy Carpenter repeated thoughtfully:

  "The Sunday Companion. I don't very often see that,} }I'm afraid."}

  }"It has interesting articles sometimes. And interest­ing illustrations.. .."}

  }Before the pause could be too long, he bowed, and}

  }said quickly:}

  }106 }MRS. McGinty's }DEAD}

  }"Au revoir, Mr Carpenter. I am sorry if I have— disturbed you."}

  }Outside the gate, he looked back at the house. "I wonder," he said. "Yes, I wonder...."}

  }CHAPTER 11 }S}uperintendent spence sat opposite Hercule Poirot }and sighed,

  }"I'm not saying you haven't got anything, M. Poirot," he said slowly. "Personally, I think you have. But it's thin. It's terribly thin!"}

  }Poirot nodded.}

  }"By itself it will not do. There must be more."}

  }"My Sergeant or I ought to have spotted that news­paper."}

  }"No, no, you cannot blame yourself. The crime was so obvious. Robbery with violence. The room all pulled about, the money missing. Why should there be sig­nificance "to you in a torn newspaper amongst the other confusion?"}

  }Spence repeated obstinately:}

  }"I should have got that. And the bottle of ink—"}

  }"I heard of that by the merest chance."}

  }"Yet it meant something to you—why?"}

  }"Only because of that chance phrase about writing a letter. You and I, Spence, we write so many letters— to us it is such a matter of course."}

  }MRS. McGinty's DEAD 107

  Superintendent Spence sighed. Then he laid out on

  the table four photographs.}

  }"These are the photos you asked me to get—the original photos that the Sunday Companion used. At any rate they're a little clearer than the reproductions. But upon my word, they're not much to go upon. Old, faded—and with women the hairdo makes a difference. There's nothing definite in any of them to go upon like ears or a profile. That cloche hat and that arty hair and the roses! Doesn't give you a chance."}

  }"You agree with me that we can discard Vera Blake?"

  "I should think so. If Vera Blake was in Broadhinny, everyone would know it—telling the sad story of her life seems to have been her speciality."}

  }"What can you tell me about the others?"

  "I've got what I could for you in the time. Eva Kane left the country after Craig was sentenced. And I can tell you the name she took. It was Hope. Symbolic, perhaps?"}

  }Poirot murmured:}

  }"Yes, yes—the romantic approach. }'Beautiful Evelyn Hope is} }dead.' }A line from one of your poets. I daresay she thought of that. Was her name Evelyn, by the way?"

  "Yes, I believe it was. But Eva was what she was known as always. And by the way, M. Poirot, now that we're on the subject, the Police opinion of Eva Kane doesn't quite square with this article here. Very far from it."}

  }Poirot smiled.}

  }"What the Police think—it is not evidence. But it is usually a very sound guide. What did the Police think of Eva Kane?"}

  }"That she was by no means the innocent victim that the public thought her. I was quite a young chap at the time and remember hearing it discussed by my old Chief and Inspector Traill who was in charge of the}

  }108 MRS. McGINTY'S DEAD

  case. Traill believed (no evidence mind you) that the

  pretty little idea of putting Mrs Craig out of the way

  was all Eva Kane's idea—and that she not only thought of it, but she did it. Craig came home one day and found his little friend had taken a short cut. She thought it would all pass off as natural death, I daresay. But Craig knew better. He got the wind up and disposed of the body in the cellar and elaborated the plan of having Mrs Craig die abroad. Then, when the whole thing came out, he was frantic in his asseverations that he'd done it alone, that Eva Kane had known nothing about it Well," Superintendent Spence shrugged his shoulders, "nobody could prove anything else. The stuff was in the house. Either of them could have used it. Pretty Eva Kane was all innocence and horror. Very well she did it, too: a clever little actress. Inspector Traill had his

  doubts—but there was nothing to go upon. I'm giving

  you that for what it's worth, M. Poirot. It's not evi­dence."}

  }"But it suggests the possibility that one, at least, of these 'tragic women' was something more than a tragic woman—that she was a murderess and that, if the in­centive was strong enough she might murder again . . . And now the next o
ne, Janice Courtland, what can you tell me about her?"}

  }"I've looked up the files. A nasty bit of goods. If we hanged Edith Thompson we certainly ought to have hanged Janice Courtland. An unpleasant pair, she and her husband, nothing to choose between them, and she worked on that young man until she had him all up in arms. But all the time, mark you, there was a rich man in the background, and it was to marry him she wanted her husband out of the way."