Mrs. McGinty's Dead

  whether or not it was an unhappy house. James Bentley

  was thinking objectively.

  Poirot said softly:

  }"You knew them? The mother? The father? The}

  }daughter?"}

  }"Not really. It was the dog. A Sealyham. It got caught in a trap. She couldn't get it undone. I helped her."}

  }There was again something new in Bentley's tone. "I helped her," he had said, and in those words was a faint} }echo of pride.}

  }Poirot remembered what Mrs Oliver had told him of her conversation with Deirdre Henderson.}

  }He said gently:}

  }"You talked together?"}

  }"Yes. She—her mother suffered a lot, she told me. She was very fond of her mother."}

  }"And you told her about yours?"}

  "Yes," said James Bentley simply.

  }Poirot said nothing. He waited.}

  }"Life is very cruel," said James Bentley. "Very un­fair. Some people never seem to get" any happiness."}

  "It is possible,' said Hercule Poirot.

  }"I don't think she had had much. Miss Wetherby."}

  }"Henderson."}

  }"Oh yes. She told me she had a stepfather."}

  }"Deirdre Henderson," said Poirot. "Deirdre of the Sorrows. A pretty name—but not a pretty girl, I under­stand?"}

  }James Bentley flushed.}

  }"I }thought," he said, "she was rather good look­ing. ..."}

  }CHAPTER 19}

  }"Now just you listen to me," said Mrs Sweetiman.}

  }Edna sniffed. She had been listening to Mrs Sweeti­man for some time. It had been a hopeless conversation going round in circles. Mrs Sweetiman had said the same things several times, varying the phraseology, a little, but even that not much. Edna had sniffed and occasionally blubbered and had reiterated her own two contributions to the discussion: first, that she couldn't ever! Second, that Dad would skin her alive, he would.

  "That's as may be," said Mrs Sweetiman, "but mur­der's murder, and what you saw you saw, and you can't get away from it,"

  Edna sniffed.}

  }"And what you did ought to do—"

  Mrs Sweetiman broke off and attended to Mrs Wetherby who had come in for some knitting pins and an­other ounce of wool.}

  }"Haven't seen you about for some time, m'am," said Mrs Sweetiman brightly.}

  }"No, I've been very far from well lately," said Mrs Wetherby, "My heart, you know." She sighed deeply. "I have to lie up a great deal."}

  }"I heard as you've got some help at last," said Mrs Sweetiman. "You'll want dark needles for this light wool."}

  }"Yes. Ouite capable as far as she goes, and cooks not at all badly, but her manners.' And her appearance! Dyed hair and the most unsuitable tight jumpers."}

  }"Ah," said Mrs Sweetiman. "Girls aren't trained

  180}

  }MRS. McGINTY-S DEAD 181

  proper to service nowadays. My mother, she started at

  thirteen and she got up at a quarter to five every morn­ing. Head housemaid, she was, when she finished and three maids under her. And she trained them proper, too. But there's none of that nowadays. Girls aren't trained nowadays—they're just educated, like Edna."}

  }Both women looked at Edna, who leant against the post office counter, sniffing and sucking a peppermint, and looking particularly vacant. As an example of edu­cation, she hardly did the educational system credit.}

  }"Terrible about Mrs Upward, wasn't it?" continued Mrs Sweetiman conversationally, as Mrs Wetherby sorted through various coloured needles.}

  }"Dreadful," said Mrs Wetherby. "They hardly dared tell me. And when they did, I had the most frightful palpitations. I'm so sensitive."}

  }"Shock to all of us, it was," said Mrs Sweetiman. "As for young Mr Upward, he took on something ter­rible. Had her hands full with him, the authoress lady did, until the doctor came and give him a seddytiff or something. He's gone up to Long Meadows now as a paying guest, felt he couldn't stay in the cottage—and I don't know as I blame him. Janet Groom, she's gone home to her niece and the Police have got the key. The lady what writes the murder books has gone back to London, but she'll come down for the inquest."}

  }Mrs Sweetiman imparted all this information with relish. She prided herself on being well informed. Mrs Wetherby, whose desire for knitting needles had per­haps been prompted by a desire to know what was going on, paid for her purchase.}

  }"It's most upsetting," she said. "It makes the whole village so }dangerous. }There must be a maniac about. When I think that my own dear daughter was out that night, that she herself might have been attacked, per­haps killed." Mrs Wetherby closed both eyes and swayed}

  }182 MRS. McGINTY'S DEAD

  on her feet. Mrs Sweetiman watched her with interest,

  but without alarm. Mrs Wetherby opened her eyes

  again, and said with dignity:}

  }"This place should be patrolled. No young people should go about after dark. And all doors should be locked and bolted. You know that up at Long Meadows, Mrs Summerhayes never locks }any }of her doors. Not even at }night. }She leaves the back door and the drawing room window open so that the dogs and cats can get in and out. I myself consider that is absolute madness, but she says they've always done it and that if burglars want to get in, they always can."}

  }"Reckon there wouldn't be much for a burglar to take up to Long Meadows," said Mrs Sweetiman.}

  }Mrs Wetherby shook her head sadly and departed with her purchase.}

  }Mrs Sweetiman and Edna resumed their argument.}

  }"It's no good your setting yourself up to know best.' said Mrs Sweetiman. "Right's right and murder's mur­der. Tell the truth and shame the devil. That's what I} }say."}

  }"Dad would skin me alive, he would, for sure," said Edna.}

  }"I'd talk to your Dad," said Mrs Sweetiman. "I couldn't ever," said Edna.}

  }"Mrs Upward's dead," said Mrs Sweetiman. "And

  you saw something the Police don't know about. You're employed in the post office, aren't you? You're a Gov­ernment servant. You've got to do your duty. You've got to go along to Bert Hayling—"

  Edna's sobs burst out anew.

  "Not to Bert, I couldn't. However could I go to Bert? It'd be all over the place."

  Mrs Sweetiman said rather hesitantly:

  "There's that foreign gentleman—"

  "Not a foreigner, I couldn't. Not a foreigner."}

  }MRS. McGINTY'S DEAD 183}

  "No, maybe you're right there."

  A car drew up outside the post office with a squealing of brakes.

  }Mrs Sweetiman's face lit up.}

  }"That's Major Summerhayes, that is. You tell it all to him and he'll advise you what to do."}

  }"I couldn't ever," said Edna, but with less convic­tion.}

  }Johnnie Summerhayes came into the post office, stag­gering under the burden of three cardboard boxes.}

  }"Good morning, Mrs Sweetiman," he said cheerfully. "Hope these aren't overweight?"}

  }Mrs Sweetiman attended to the parcels in her official capacity. As Summerhayes was licking the stamps, she spoke.}

  }"Excuse me, sir. I'd like your advice about some­thing."}

  "Yes, Mrs Sweetiman?"

  }"Seeing as you belong here, sir, and will know best what to do."}

  }Summerhayes nodded. He was always curiously touched by the lingering feudal spirit of English villages. The villagers knew little of him personally, but because his father and his grandfather and many great great grandfathers had lived at Long Meadows, they regarded it as natural that he should advise and direct when asked so to do.}

  }"It's about Edna here," said Mrs Sweetiman. Edna sniffed.}

  }Johnnie Summerhayes looked at Edna doubtfully. Never, he thought, had he seen a more unprepossessing girl. Exactly like a skinned rabbit. Seemed half-witted too. Surely she couldn't be in what was known officially as "trouble." But no, Mrs Sweetiman would not have come to him for advice in that case.}

  }"Well," he said kindly, "what's
the difficulty?"}

  }184 MRS. }McGINTY'S }DEAD}

  }"It's about the murder, sir. The night of the murder, Edna saw something."}

  }Johnnie Summerhayes transferred his quick dark gaze from Edna to Mrs Sweetiman and back again to Edna.}

  }"What did you see, Edna?" he said.}

  }Edna began to sob. Mrs Sweetiman took over,}

  }"Of course we've been hearing this and that. Some's rumour and some's true. But it's said definite as that there were a lady there that night who drank coffee with Mrs Upward. That's so isn't it, sir?"}

  }"Yes, I believe so."}

  }"I know as that's true, because we had it from Bert Hayling."}

  }Albert Hayling was the local constable whom Sum­merhayes knew well. A slow speaking man with a sense of his own importance.}

  }"I see," said Summerhayes.}

  }"But they don't know, do they, who the lady is? Well, Edna here }saw }her."}

  }Johnnie Summerhayes looked at Edna. He pursed his lips as though to whistle.}

  }"You saw her, did you, Edna? Going in—or coming out?"}

  }"Going in," said Edna. A faint sense of importance loosened her tongue. "Across the road I was, under the trees. Just by the turn of the lane where it's dark. I saw her. She went in at the gate and up to the door and she stood there a bit, and then—and then she went in,"

  Johnnie Summerhayes' brow cleared.

  "That's all right," he said. "It was Miss Henderson. The Police know all about that. She went and told them."}

  }Edna shook her head.}

  }"It wasn't Miss Henderson,' she said.}

  }"It wasn't—then who was it?"}

  }"I dunno. I didn't see her face. Had her back to me,}

  }MRS. McGINTY'S DEAD 185

  she had, going up the path and standing there. But it

  wasn't Miss Henderson."}

  }"But how do you know it wasn't Miss Henderson if you didn't see her face?"}

  }"Because she had fair hair. Miss Henderson's is dark."}

  }Johnnie Summerhayes looked disbelieving.}

  }"It was a very dark night. You'd hardly be able to see the colour of anyone's hair."}

  }"But I did, though. That light was on over the porch. Left like that, it was, because Mr Robin and the detec­tive lady had gone out together to the theatre. And she was standing right under it, A dark coat she had on, and no hat, and her hair was shining fair as could be. I saw it."}

  }Johnnie gave a slow whistle. His eyes were serious now.}

  }"What time was it?" he asked.}

  }Edna sniffed.}

  "I don't rightly know."

  }"You know about what time," said Mrs Sweetiman.}

  }"It wasn't nine o'clock. I'd have heard the church. And it was after half past eight."}

  }"Between half past eight and nine. How long did she stop?"}

  }"I dunno, sir. Because I didn't wait no longer. And I didn't hear nothing. No groans or cries or nothing like that."}

  }Edna sounded slightly aggrieved.}

  }But there would have been no groans and no cries, Johnnie Summerhayes knew that. He said gravely:}

  }"Well, there's only one thing to be done. The Police have got to hear about this."}

  }Edna burst into long sniffling sobs.

  "Dad'll skin me alive," she whimpered. "He will, for sure."}

  186 MRS. McGinty's} }DEAD

  }She cast an imploring look at Mrs Sweetiman and bolted into the back room. Mrs Sweetiman took over with competence.}

  }"It's like this, sir," she said in answer to Summerhayes' inquiring glance. "Edna's been behaving very foolish like. Very strict her Dad is, maybe a bit over strict, but it's hard to say what's best nowadays. There's a nice young fellow over to Cullavon and he and Edna have been going together nice and steady, and her Dad was quite pleased about it, but Reg he's on the slow side, and you know what girls are. Edna's taken up lately with Charlie Masters."}

  }"Masters? One of Farmer Cole's men, isn't he?"

  "That's right, sir. Farm labourer. And a married man with two children. Always after the girls, he is, and a bad fellow in every way. Edna hasn't got any sense, and her Dad, he put a stop to it. Quite right. So, you see, Edna was going into Cullavon that night to go to the pictures with Reg—at least that's what she told her Dad, But really she went out to meet this Masters. Waited for him, she did, at the turn of the lane where it seems they used to meet. Well, he didn't come. Maybe his wife kept him at home, or maybe he's after another girl, but there it is. Edna waited but at last she gave up. But it's awkward for her, as you can see, explaining what she was doing there, when she ought to have taken the bus into Cullavon."}

  }Johnnie Summerhayes nodded. Suppressing an ir­relevant feeling of wonder that the unprepossessing Edna could have sufficient sex appeal to attract the at­tention of two men, he dealt with the practical aspect of the situation.}

  }"She doesn't want to go to Bert Hayling about it," he said with quick comprehension.

  "That's right, sir."

  Summerhayes reflected rapidly.}

  }MRS. }McGINTY'S }DEAD 187}

  }"I'm afraid the Police have got to know," he said gently.}

  }"That's what I told her, sir," said Mrs Sweetiman.}

  }"But they will probably be quite tactful about—er— the circumstances. Possibly she mayn't have to give evidence. And what she tells them, they'll keep to them­selves. I could ring up Spence and ask him to come over here—no, better still, I'll take young Edna into Kilchester with me in my car. If she goes to the police station there, nobody here need know anything about it. I'll just ring them up first and warn them we're com­ing."}

  }And so, after a brief telephone call, the sniffing Edna, buttoned firmly into her coat and encouraged by a pat on the back from Mrs Sweetiman, stepped into the sta­tion wagon and was driven rapidly away in the direc­tion of Kilchester.}

  }CHAPTER 20 }H}ercule Poirot was in Superintendent Spence's office in Kilchester. He was leaning back in a chair, his eyes closed and the tips of his fingers just touching each other in front of him.}

  }The Superintendent received some reports, gave in­structions to. a Sergeant, and finally looked across at the other man.}

  }"Getting a brainwave, M. Poirot?" he demanded.}

  }"I reflect," said Poirot. "I review."}

  }188 MRS. McGinty's DEAD}

  "I forgot to ask you. Did you get anything useful from James Bentley when you saw him?"

  Poirot shook his head. He frowned.

  }It was indeed of James Bentley he had been think­ing.}

  }It was annoying, thought Poirot, with exasperation, that on a case such as this where he had offered his services without reward, solely out of friendship and respect for an upright police officer, that the victim of circumstances should so lack any romantic appeal. A lovely young girl, now, bewildered and innocent, or a fine upstanding young man, also bewildered, but whose "head is bloody but unbowed," thought Poirot who had been reading a good deal of English poetry in an an­thology lately. Instead, he had James Bentley, a path­ological case if there ever was one, a self centred creature who had never thought much of anyone but himself. A man ungrateful for the efforts that were being made to save him—almost, one might say, uninterested in them.}

  }Really, thought Poirot, one might as well let him be hanged since he does not seem to care....}

  }No, he would not go quite as far as that.}

  }Superintendent Spence's voice broke into these reflec­tions.}

  }"Our interview," said Poirot, "was, if I might say so, singularly unproductive. Anything useful that Bentley might have remembered he did not remember—what he did remember is so vague and uncertain that one cannot build upon it. But at any rate it seems fairly certain that Mrs McGinty was excited by the article in the Sunday Companion and spoke about it to Bentley with special reference to 'someone connected with the case,' living in Broadhinny."}

  }"With which case?" asked Superintendent Spence sharply.}

  }MRS. McGin
ty's DEAD 189}

  }"Our friend could not be sure," said Poirot. "He said, rather doubtfully, the Craig case—but the Craig case being the only one he had ever heard of, it would, pre­sumably, be the only one he could remember. But the 'someone' was a woman. He even quoted Mrs McGinty's words. Somebody who had 'not so much to be proud of if all's known.' "}

  }"Proud?"}

  }"Mais oui," Poirot nodded his appreciation. "A sug­gestive word, is it not?"}