The Clocks - Christie Agatha - Страница 27

‘That’s not confined to South America,’ I pointed out. ‘They’re having revolutions all over the world nowadays.’

‘Let us not discuss the Bomb,’ said Hercule Poirot. ‘If it has to be, it has to be, but let us not discuss it.’

‘Actually,’ I said, ‘I came to discuss something quite different with you.’

‘Ah! You are about to be married, is that it? I am delighted,mon cher, delighted.’

‘What on earth put that in your head, Poirot?’ I asked. ‘Nothing of the kind.’

‘It happens,’ said Poirot, ‘it happens every day.’

‘Perhaps,’ I said firmly, ‘but not to me. Actually I came to tell you that I’d run across rather a pretty little problem in murder.’

‘Indeed? A pretty problem in murder, you say? And you have brought it tome. Why?’ 

‘Well-’ I was slightly embarrassed. ‘I-I thought you might enjoy it,’ I said.

Poirot looked at me thoughtfully. He caressed his moustache with a loving hand, then he spoke.

‘A master,’ he said, ‘is often kind to his dog. He goes out and throws a ball for the dog. A dog, however, is also capable of being kind to its master. A dog kills a rabbit or a rat and he brings it and lays it at his master’s feet. And what does he do then? He wags his tail.’

I laughed in spite of myself. ‘Am I wagging my tail?’

‘I think you are, my friend. Yes, I think you are.’

‘All right then,’ I said. ‘And what does master say? Does he want to see doggy’s rat? Does he want to know all about it?’

‘Of course. Naturally. It is a crime that you think will interest me. Is that right?’

‘The whole point of it is,’ I said, ‘that it just doesn’t make sense.’

‘That is impossible,’ said Poirot. ‘Everything makes sense. Everything.’

‘Well, you try and make sense of this.I can’t. Not that it’s really anything to do with me. I just happened to come in on it. Mind you, it may turn out to be quite straightforward, once the dead man is identified.’

‘You are talking without method or order,’ said Poirot severely. ‘Let me beg of you to let me have the facts. You say it is a murder, yes?’

‘It’s a murder all right,’ I assured him. ‘Well, here we go.’

I described to him in detail the events that had taken place at 19, Wilbraham Crescent. Hercule Poirot leant back in his chair. He closed his eyes and gently tapped with a forefinger the arm of his chair while he listened to my recital. When I finally stopped, he did not speak for a moment. Then he asked, without opening his eyes:

‘Sans blague?’

‘Oh, absolutely,’ I said.

‘Epatant,’ said Hercule Poirot. He savoured the word on his tongue and repeated it syllable by syllable. ‘E-patant.’ After that he continued his tapping on the arm of his chair and gently nodded his head.

‘Well,’ I said impatiently, after waiting a few moments more. ‘What have you got to say?’

‘But what do you want me to say?’

‘I want you to give me the solution. I’ve always understood from you that it was perfectly possible to lie back in one’s chair, just think about it all, and come up with the answer. That it was quite unnecessary to go and question people and run about looking for clues.’

‘It is what I have always maintained.’

‘Well, I’m calling your bluff,’ I said. ‘I’ve given you the facts, and now I want the answer.’ 

‘Just like that, hein? But then there is a lot more to be known,mon ami. We are only at thebeginning of the facts. Is that not so?’

‘I still want you to come up withsomething.’

‘I see.’ He reflected a moment. ‘One thing is certain,’ he pronounced. ‘It must be a very simple crime.’

‘Simple?’ I demanded in some astonishment.

‘Naturally.’

‘Why must it be simple?’

‘Because it appears so complex. If it has necessarily to appear complex, itmust be simple. You comprehend that?’

‘I don’t really know that I do.’

‘Curious,’ mused Poirot, ‘what you have told me-I think-yes, there is something familiar to me there. Now where-when-have I come across something…’ He paused.

‘Your memory,’ I said, ‘must be one vast reservoir of crimes. But you can’t possibly remember them all, can you?’

‘Unfortunately no,’ said Poirot, ‘but from time to time these reminiscences are helpful. There was a soap boiler, I remember, once, at Liege. He poisoned his wife in order to marry a blonde stenographer. The crime made a pattern. Later, much later, that pattern recurred. I recognized it. This time it was an affair of a kidnapped Pekinese dog, but thepattern was the same. I looked for the equivalent of the blonde stenographer and the soap boiler, andvoila! That is the kind of thing. And here again in what you have told me I have that feeling of recognition.’

‘Clocks?’ I suggested hopefully. ‘Bogus insurance agents?’

‘No, no,’ Poirot shook his head.

‘Blind women?’

‘No, no, no. Do not confuse me.’

‘I’m disappointed in you, Poirot,’ I said. ‘I thought you’d give me the answer straight away.’

‘But, my friend, at present you have presented me only with apattern. There are many more things to find out. Presumably this man will be identified. In that kind of thing the police are excellent. They have their criminal records, they can advertise the man’s picture, they have access to a list of missing persons, there is scientific examination of the dead man’s clothing, and so on and so on. Oh, yes, there are a hundred other ways and means at their disposal. Undoubtedly, this man will be identified.’

‘So there’s nothing to do at the moment. Is that what you think?’

‘There is always something to do,’ said Hercule Poirot, severely.

‘Such as?’

He wagged an emphatic forefinger at me. 

‘Talk to the neighbours,’ he said.

‘I’ve done that,’ I said. ‘I went with Hardcastle when he was questioning them. They don’t know anything useful.’

‘Ah, tcha, tcha, that is whatyou think. But I assure you, that cannot be so. You go to them, you ask them: “Have you seen anything suspicious?” and they say no, and you think that that is all there is to it. But that is not what I mean when I say talk to the neighbours. I saytalk to them. Let them talk toyou. And from their conversation always, somewhere, you will find a clue. They may be talking about their gardens or their pets or their hairdressing or their dressmaker, or their friends, or the kind of food they like. Always somewhere there will be a word that sheds light. You say there was nothing in those conversations that was useful. I say that cannot be so. If you could repeat them to me word for word…’

‘Well, that’s practically what I can do,’ I said. ‘I took shorthand transcripts of what was said, acting in my role of assistant police officer. I’ve had them transcribed and typed and I’ve brought them along to you. Here they are.’

‘Ah, but you are a good boy, you are a very good boy indeed! What you have done is exactly right. Exactly.Je vous remercie infiniment.’

I felt quite embarrassed. 

‘Have you any more suggestions?’ I asked.

‘Yes, always I have suggestions. There is this girl. You can talk to this girl. Go and see her. Already you are friends, are you not? Have you not clasped her in your arms when she flew from the house in terror?’

‘You’ve been affected by reading Garry Gregson,’ I said. ‘You’ve caught the melodramatic style.’

‘Perhaps you are right,’ Poirot admitted. ‘One gets infected, it is true, by the style of a work that one has been reading.’

‘As for the girl-’ I said, then paused.

Poirot looked at me inquiringly.

‘Yes?’ he said.

‘I shouldn’t like-I don’t want…’

‘Ah, so that is it. At the back of your mind you think she is concerned somehow in this case.’

‘No, I don’t. It was absolutely pure chance that she happened to be there.’

‘No, no,mon ami, it was not pure chance. You know that very well. You’ve told me so. She was asked for over the telephone. Asked for specially.’