Poirot Investigates
muffled in a woollen shawl, and was slowly sipping a particularly
noxious tisane which I had prepared according to his directions.
His eye rested with pleasure upon a neatly graduated row of medicine
bottles which adorned the mantelpiece.
“Yes, yes,” my little friend continued. “Once more shall I be
myself again, the great Hercule Poirot, the terror of evil-doers!
Figure to yourself, _mon ami_, that I have a little paragraph to
myself in _Society Gossip_. But yes! Here it is! ‘Go it—criminals—all
out! Hercule Poirot—and believe me, girls, he’s some Hercules!—our
own pet society detective can’t get a grip on you. ’Cause why?
’Cause he’s got _la grippe_ himself’!”
I laughed.
“Good for you, Poirot. You are becoming quite a public character.
And fortunately you haven’t missed anything of particular interest
during this time.”
“That is true. The few cases I have had to decline did not fill me
with any regret.”
Our landlady stuck her head in at the door.
“There’s a gentleman downstairs. Says he must see Monsieur Poirot
or you, Captain. Seeing as he was in a great to-do—and with all
that quite the gentleman—I brought up ’is card.”
She handed me the bit of pasteboard. “Mr. Roger Havering,” I read.
Poirot motioned with his head towards the bookcase, and I obediently
pulled forth “Who’s Who.” Poirot took it from me and scanned the
pages rapidly.
“Second son of fifth Baron Windsor. Married 1913 Zoe, fourth
daughter of William Crabb.”
“H’m!” I said. “I rather fancy that’s the girl who used to act at
the Frivolity—only she called herself Zoe Carrisbrook. I remember
she married some young man about town just before the War.”
“Would it interest you, Hastings, to go down and hear what our
visitor’s particular little trouble is? Make him all my excuses.”
Roger Havering was a man of about forty, well set up and of smart
appearance. His face, however, was haggard, and he was evidently
labouring under great agitation.
“Captain Hastings? You are Monsieur Poirot’s partner, I understand.
It is imperative that he should come with me to Derbyshire to-day.”
“I’m afraid that’s impossible,” I replied. “Poirot is ill in
bed—influenza.”
His face fell.
“Dear me, that is a great blow to me.”
“The matter on which you want to consult him is serious?”
“My God, yes! My uncle, the best friend I have in the world, was
foully murdered last night.”
“Here in London?”
“No, in Derbyshire. I was in town and received a telegram from my
wife this morning. Immediately upon its receipt I determined to
come round and beg Monsieur Poirot to undertake the case.”
“If you will excuse me a minute,” I said, struck by a sudden idea.
I rushed upstairs, and in a few brief words acquainted Poirot with
the situation. He took any further words out of my mouth.
“I see. I see. You want to go yourself, is it not so? Well, why
not? You should know my methods by now. All I ask is that you
should report to me fully every day, and follow implicitly any
instructions I may wire you.”
To this I willingly agreed.
• • • • • • •
An hour later I was sitting opposite Mr. Havering in a first-class
carriage on the Midland Railway, speeding rapidly away from London.
“To begin with, Captain Hastings, you must understand that Hunter’s
Lodge, where we are going, and where the tragedy took place, is
only a small shooting-box in the heart of the Derbyshire moors.
Our real home is near Newmarket, and we usually rent a flat in town
for the season. Hunter’s Lodge is looked after by a housekeeper
who is quite capable of doing all we need when we run down for an
occasional week-end. Of course, during the shooting season, we take
down some of our own servants from Newmarket. My uncle, Mr.
Harrington Pace (as you may know, my mother was a Miss Pace of New
York), has, for the last three years, made his home with us. He
never got on well with my father, or my elder brother, and I
suspect that my being somewhat of a prodigal son myself rather
increased than diminished his affection towards me. Of course I am
a poor man, and my uncle was a rich one—in other words, he paid
the piper! But, though exacting in many ways, he was not really
hard to get on with, and we all three lived very harmoniously
together. Two days ago my uncle, rather wearied with some recent
gaieties of ours in town, suggested that we should run down to
Derbyshire for a day or two. My wife telegraphed to Mrs. Middleton,
the housekeeper, and we went down that same afternoon. Yesterday
evening I was forced to return to town, but my wife and my uncle
remained on. This morning I received this telegram.” He handed it
over to me:
“Come at once uncle Harrington murdered last night bring good
detective if you can but do come—Zoe.”
“Then, as yet you know no details?”
“No, I suppose it will be in the evening papers. Without doubt the
police are in charge.”
It was about three o’clock when we arrived at the little station
of Elmer’s Dale. From there a five-mile drive brought us to a small
grey stone building in the midst of the rugged moors.
“A lonely place,” I observed with a shiver.
Havering nodded.
“I shall try and get rid of it. I could never live here again.”
We unlatched the gate and were walking up the narrow path to the
oak door when a familiar figure emerged and came to meet us.
“Japp!” I ejaculated.
The Scotland Yard inspector grinned at me in a friendly fashion
before addressing my companion.
“Mr. Havering, I think? I’ve been sent down from London to take
charge of this case, and I’d like a word with you, if I may, sir.”
“My wife——”
“I’ve seen your good lady, sir—and the housekeeper. I won’t keep
you a moment, but I’m anxious to get back to the village now that
I’ve seen all there is to see here.”
“I know nothing as yet as to what——”
“Ex-actly,” said Japp soothingly. “But there are just one or two
little points I’d like your opinion about all the same. Captain
Hastings here, he knows me, and he’ll go on up to the house and
tell them you’re coming. What have you done with the little man,
by the way, Captain Hastings?”
“He’s ill in bed with influenza.”
“Is he now? I’m sorry to hear that. Rather the case of the cart
without the horse, your being here without him, isn’t it?”
And on his rather ill-timed jest I went on to the house. I rang
the bell, as Japp had closed the door behind him. After some
moments it was opened to me by a middle-aged woman in black.
“Mr. Havering will be here in a moment,” I explained. “He has been
detained by the inspector. I have come down with him from London
to look into the case. Perhaps you can tell me briefly what occurred
last night.”
“Come inside, sir.” She closed the door behind me, and we stood in
the dimly-lighted hall. “It was after dinner last night, sir, that
the man came. He asked to see Mr. Pace, sir, and, seeing that he
spoke the same way, I thought it was an American gentleman friend
of Mr. Pace’s and I showed him into the gun-room, and then went to
tell Mr. Pace. He wouldn’t give any name, which, of course, was a
bit odd, now I come to think of it. I told Mr. Pace, and he seemed
puzzled like, but he said to the mistress: ‘Excuse me, Zoe, while
I just see what this fellow wants.’ He went off to the gun-room,
and I went back to the kitchen, but after a while I heard loud
voices, as if they were quarrelling, and I came out into the hall.
At the same time, the mistress she comes out too, and just then
there was a shot and then a dreadful silence. We both ran to the
gun-room door, but it was locked and we had to go round to the
window. It was open, and there inside was Mr. Pace, all shot and
bleeding.”
“What became of the man?”
“He must have got away through the window, sir, before we got to
it.”
“And then?”
“Mrs. Havering sent me to fetch the police. Five miles to walk it
was. They came back with me, and the constable he stayed all night,
and this morning the police gentleman from London arrived.”
“What was this man like who called to see Mr. Pace?”
The housekeeper reflected.
“He had a black beard, sir, and was about middle-aged, and had on
a light overcoat. Beyond the fact that he spoke like an American
I didn’t notice much about him.”
“I see. Now I wonder if I can see Mrs. Havering?”
“She’s upstairs, sir. Shall I tell her?”
“If you please. Tell her that Mr. Havering is outside with Inspector
Japp, and that the gentleman he has brought back with him from
London is anxious to speak to her as soon as possible.”
“Very good, sir.”
I was in a fever of impatience to get at all the facts. Japp had
two or three hours’ start of me, and his anxiety to be gone made
me keen to be close at his heels.
Mrs. Havering did not keep me waiting long. In a few minutes I
heard a light step descending the stairs, and looked up to see a
very handsome young woman coming towards me. She wore a
flame-coloured jumper, that set off the slender boyishness of her
figure. On her dark head was a little hat of flame-coloured leather.
Even the present tragedy could not dim the vitality of her
personality.
I introduced myself, and she nodded in quick comprehension.
“Of course I have often heard of you and your colleague, Monsieur
Poirot. You have done some wonderful things together, haven’t you?
It was very clever of my husband to get you so promptly. Now will
you ask me questions? That is the easiest way, isn’t it, of getting
to know all you want to about this dreadful affair?”
“Thank you, Mrs. Havering. Now what time was it that this man
arrived?”
“It must have been just before nine o’clock. We had finished
dinner, and were sitting over our coffee and cigarettes.”
“Your husband had already left for London?”
“Yes, he went up by the 6.15.”
“Did he go by car to the station, or did he walk?”
“Our own car isn’t down here. One came out from the garage in
Elmer’s Dale to fetch him in time for the train.”
“Was Mr. Pace quite his usual self?”
“Absolutely. Most normal in every way.”
“Now, can you describe this visitor at all?”
“I’m afraid not. I didn’t see him. Mrs. Middleton showed him
straight into the gun-room and then came to tell my uncle.”
“What did your uncle say?”
“He seemed rather annoyed, but went off at once. It was about five
minutes later that I heard the sound of raised voices. I ran out
into the hall and almost collided with Mrs. Middleton. Then we
heard the shot. The gun-room door was locked on the inside, and we
had to go right round the house to the window. Of course that took
some time, and the murderer had been able to get well away. My poor
uncle”—her voice faltered—“had been shot through the head. I saw
at once that he was dead. I sent Mrs. Middleton for the police. I
was careful to touch nothing in the room but to leave it exactly
as I found it.”
I nodded approval.
“Now, as to the weapon?”
“Well, I can make a guess at it, Captain Hastings. A pair of
revolvers of my husband’s were mounted upon the wall. One of them
is missing. I pointed this out to the police, and they took the
other one away with them. When they have extracted the bullet, I
suppose they will know for certain.”
“May I go to the gun-room?”
“Certainly. The police have finished with it. But the body has been
removed.”
She accompanied me to the scene of the crime. At that moment Havering
entered the hall, and with a quick apology his wife ran to him. I
was left to undertake my investigations alone.
I may as well confess at once that they were rather disappointing.
In detective novels clues abound, but here I could find nothing
that struck me as out of the ordinary except a large bloodstain on
the carpet where I judged the dead man had fallen. I examined
everything with painstaking care and took a couple of pictures of