"Oh, yes, he had two of those in the house because he said that no house was safe without. Perhaps he was right there, you know. Not that they'd had any trouble beforehand as far as I know. One afternoon a rather nasty sort of fellow came along to the door. Didn't like the look of him, I didn't. Wanted to see the General. Said he'd been in the General's regiment when he was a young fellow. The General asked him a few questions and I think thought as how he didn't-well, thought he wasn't very reliable. So he sent him off."
"You think then that it was someone outside that did it?"
"Well, I think it must have been, because I can't see any other thing. Mind you, I didn't like the man who came and did the gardening for them very much. He hadn't got a very good reputation and I gather he'd had a few jail sentences earlier in his life. But of course the General took up his references and he wanted to give him a chance."
"So you think the gardener might have killed them?"
"Well, I--I always thought that. But then I'm probably wrong. But it doesn't seem to me- I mean, the people who said there was some scandalous story or something about either her or him and that either he'd shot her or she'd shot him, that's all nonsense, I'd say. No, it was some outsider.
One of these people that-well, it's not as bad as it is nowadays because that, you must remember, was before people began getting all this violence idea. But look at what you read in the papers every day now. Young men, practically only boys still, taking a lot of drugs and going wild and rushing about, shooting a lot of people for nothing at all, asking a girl in a pub to have a drink with them and then they see her home and next day her body's found in a ditch. Stealing children out of prams from their mothers, taking a girl to a dance and murdering her or strangling her on the way back.
If anything, you feel as anyone can do anything. And anyway, there's that nice couple, the General and his wife, out for a nice walk in the evening, and there they were, both shot through the head."
"Was it through the head?"
"Well, I don't remember exactly now and of course I never saw anything myself. But anyway, just went for a walk as they often did."
"And they'd not been on bad terms with each other?"
"Well, they had words now and again, but who doesn't?"
"No boy friend or girl friend?"
"Well, if you can use that term of people of that age, oh, I mean there was a bit of talk here and there, but it was all nonsense. Nothing to it at all. People always want to say something of that kind."
"Perhaps one of them was-ill."
"Well, Lady Ravenscroft had been up to London once or twice consulting a doctor about something and I rather think she was going into hospital, or planning to go into hospital for an operation of some kind, though she never told me exactly what it was. But I think they managed to put her right-she was in this hospital for a short time. No operation, I think.
And when she came back, she looked very much younger.
Altogether, she'd had a lot of face treatment and you know, she looked so pretty in these wigs with curls on them. Rather as though she'd got a new lease of life."
"And General Ravenscroft?"
"He was a very nice gentleman and I never heard or knew of any scandal about him and I don't think there was any.
People say things, but then they want to say something when there's been a tragedy of any kind. It seems to me perhaps as he might have had a blow on the head in India or something like that, I had an uncle or a great-uncle, you know, who fell off his horse there once. Hit it on a cannon or something and he was very queer afterwards. All right for about six months and then they had to put him into an asylum because he wanted to take his wife's life the whole time. He said she was persecuting him and following him and that she was a spy for another nation. Ah, there's no saying what things happen or can happen in families."
"Anyway, you don't think there was any truth in some of the stories about them that I have happened to hear of, bad feeling between them so that one of them shot the other and then shot himself or herself?"
"Oh, no, I don't."
"Were her children at home at the time?"
"No. Miss-er-oh, what was her name now, Rosie? No. Penelope?"
"Celia," said Mrs. Oliver. "She's my goddaughter."
"Oh, of course she is. Yes, I know that now. I remember you coming and taking her out once. She was a high-spirited girl, rather bad-tempered in some ways, but she was very fond of her father and mother, I think. No, she was away at a school in Switzerland when it happened. I'm glad to say, because it would have been a terrible shock to her if she'd been at home and the one who saw them."
"And there was a boy, too, wasn't there?"
"Oh, yes. Master Edward. His father was a bit worried about him, I think. He looked as though he disliked his father."
"Oh, there's nothing in that. Boys go through that stage, I think. Was he very devoted to his mother?"
"Well, she fussed over him a bit too much, I think, which he found tiresome. You know, they don't like a mother fussing over them, telling them to wear thicker vests or put an extra pullover on. His father, he didn't like the way he wore his hair. It was-well, they weren't wearing hair like the way they are nowadays, but they were beginning to, if you know what I mean."
"But the boy wasn't at home at the time of the tragedy?"
"No."
"I suppose it was a shock to him?"
"Well, it must have been. Of course, I wasn't going to the house any more at that time, so I didn't hear so much. If you ask me, I didn't like that gardener. What was his name now- Fred, I think. Fred Wizell. Some name like that. Seems to me if he'd done a bit of-well, a bit of cheating or something like that and the General had found him out and was going to sack him, I wouldn't put it past him."
"To shoot the husband and wife?"
"Well, I'd have thought it more likely he'd just have shot the General. If he shot the General and the wife came along, then he'd have had to shoot her, too. You read things like that in books."
"Yes," said Mrs. Oliver thoughtfully, "one does read all sorts of things in books."
"There was the tutor. I didn't like him much."
"What tutor?"
"Well, there was a tutor for the boy earlier. You know, he couldn't pass an exam and things at the earlier school he was at-prep school or something. So they had a tutor for him. He was there for about a year, I think. Lady Ravenscroft liked him very much. She was musical, you know, and so was this tutor. Mr. Edmunds, I think his name was. Rather a nambypamby sort of young man, I thought myself, and it's my opinion that General Ravenscroft didn't care for him much."
"But Mrs. Ravenscroft did."
"Oh, they had a lot in common, I think. And I think she was the one really that chose him rather more than the General. Mind you, he had very nice manners and spoke to everyone nicely and all that-"
"And did-what'shis-name?"
"Edward? Oh, yes, he liked him all right, I think. In fact, he was quite a bit soft on him, I think. Almost a bit of hero worship. Anyway, don't you believe any stories you hear about scandals in the family or her having an affair with anyone or General Ravenscroft with that rather pie-faced girl who did filing work for him and all that sort of thing. No.
Whoever that wicked murderer was, it's one who came from outside. The police never got on to anyone, no car was seen near there and there was nothing to it and they never got any further. But all the same, I think one ought to look about for somebody perhaps who'd known them in Malaya or abroad or somewhere else, or even when they were first living at Bournemouth. One never knows."
"What did your husband think about it?" said Mrs. Oliver. "He wouldn't have known as much about them as you would, of course, but still he might have heard a lot."
"Oh, he heard a lot of talk, of course. In the George and Flag, of an evening, you know. People saying all sorts of things. Said as she drank and that cases of empty bottles had been taken out of the house. Absolutely untrue, that was, I know f
or a fact. And there was a nephew as used to come and see them sometimes. Got into trouble with the police in some way, he did, but I don't think there was anything in that. The police didn't, either. Anyway, it wasn't at that time."
"There was no one else really living in the house, was there, except the General and Lady Ravenscroft?"
"Well, she had a sister as used to come sometimes, Lady Ravenscroft did. She was a half-sister, I think. Something like that. Looked rather like Lady Ravenscroft but not very goodlooking and a year or two older, I should say. She made a bit of trouble between them, I always used to think, when she came for a visit. She was one of those who likes stirring things up, if you know what I mean. Just said things to annoy people."
"Was Lady Ravenscroft fond of her?"
"Well, if you ask me, I don't think she was really. I think the sister more or less wished herself on to them sometimes and she didn't like not to have her, but I think she found it pretty trying to have her there. The General quite liked her because she played cards well. Played chess and things with him and he enjoyed that. And she was an amusing woman in a way. Mrs. Jerryboy or something like that, her name was.
She was a widow, I think. Used to borrow money from them, I think, too."
"Did you like her?"
"Well, if you don't mind my saying so, ma'am, no, I didn't like her. I disliked her very much. I thought she was one of those troublemakers, you know. But she hadn't been down for some time before the tragedy happened. I don't really remember very much what she was like. She had a son as came with her once or twice. Didn't like him very much. Shifty, I thought."
"Well," said Mrs. Oliver. "I suppose nobody will really ever know the truth. Not now. Not after all this time. I saw my goddaughter the other day."
"Did you now, ma'am. I'd be interested to hear about Miss Celia. How is she? All right?"
"Yes. She seems quite all right. I think she's thinking perhaps of getting married. At any rate she's got a-"
"Got a steady boy friend, has she?" said Mrs. Buckle. "Ah, well, we've all got that. Not that we all marry the first one we settle on. Just as well if you don't, nine times out of ten."
"You don't know a Mrs. Burton-Cox, do you?" asked Mrs. Oliver.
"Burton-Cox? I seem to know that name. No, I don't think so. Wasn't living down here or come to stay with them or anything? No, not that I remember. Yet I did hear something.
Some old friend of General Ravenscroft, I think, which he'd known in India. But I don't know." She shook her head.
"Well," said Mrs. Oliver, "I mustn't stay gossiping with you any longer. It's been so nice to see you and Marlene."
Chapter IX. Results Of Elephantine Research
"A telephone call for you," said Hercule Poirot's manservant George. "From Mrs. Oliver."
"Ah, yes, George. And what had she to say?"
"She wondered if she could come and see you this evening, sir, after dinner?"
"That would be admirable," said Poirot. "Admirable. I have had a tiring day. It will be a stimulating experience to see Mrs. Oliver. She is always entertaining as well as being highly unexpected in the things she says. Did she mention elephants, by the way?"
"Elephants, sir? No, I do not think so."
"Ah. Then it would seem perhaps that the elephants have been disappointing." George looked at his master rather doubtfully. There were times when he did not quite understand the relevance of Poirot's remarks.
"Ring her back," said Hercule Poirot. "Tell her I shall be delighted to receive her." George went away to carry out this order, and returned to say that Mrs. Oliver would be there about quarter to nine.
"Coffee," said Poirot. "Let coffee be prepared and some petits fours. I rather think I ordered some in lately from Fortnum and Mason."
"A liqueur of any kind, sir?"
"No, I think not. I myself will have some Sirop de Cassis."
"Yes, sir." Mrs. Oliver arrived exactly on time. Poirot greeted her with every sign of pleasure.
"And how are you, chere madame?"
"Exhausted," said Mrs. Oliver, She sank down into the armchair that Poirot indicated. "Completely exhausted."
"Ah. Qui va a la chasse-oh, I cannot remember the saying."
"I remember it," said Mrs. Oliver. "I learned it as a child. 'Qui va a la chasse perd sa place.' "
"That, I am sure, is not applicable to the chase you have been conducting. I am referring to the pursuit of elephants, unless that was merely a figure of speech."
"Not at all," said Mrs. Oliver. "I have been pursuing elephants madly. Here, there and everywhere. The amount of petrol I have used, the amount of trains I have taken, the amount of letters I've written, the amount of telegrams I've sent-you wouldn't believe how exhausting it all is."
"Then repose yourself. Have some coffee."
"Nice, strong, black coffee-yes, I will. Just what I want."
"Did you, may I ask, get any results?"
"Plenty of results," said Mrs. Oliver. "The trouble is, I don't know whether any of them are any use."
"You learned facts, however?"
"No. Not really. I learned things that people told me were facts, but I strongly doubt myself whether any of them were facts."
"They were heresay?"
"No. They were what I said they would be. They were memories. Lots of people who had memories. The trouble is, when you remember things, you don't always remember them right, do you?"
"No. But they are still what you might describe perhaps as results. Is not that so?"
"And what have you done?" said Mrs. Oliver.
"You are always so stern, madame," said Poirot. "You demand that I run about, that I also do things."
"Well, have you run about?"
"I have not run about, but I have had a few consultations with others of my own profession."
"It sounds far more peaceful than what I have been doing," said Mrs. Oliver. "Oh, this coffee is nice. It's really strong.
You wouldn't believe how tired I am. And how muddled."
"Come, come. Let us have good expectancy. You have got things. You have got something, I think."
"I've got a lot of different suggestions and stories. I don't know whether any of them are true."
"They could be not true, but still be of use," said Poirot.
"Well, I know what you mean," said Mrs. Oliver, "and that's what I think too. I mean, that's what I thought when I went about it. When people remember something and tell you about it-I mean, it's often not quite actually what occurred, but it's what they themselves thought occurred."
"But they must have had something on which to base it," said Poirot.
"I've brought you a list of a kind," said Mrs. Oliver. "I don't need to go into details of where I went or what I said or why, I went out deliberately for-well, information one couldn't perhaps get from anybody in this country now. But it's all from people who knew something about the Ravenscrofts, even if they hadn't known them very well."
"News from foreign places, do you mean?"
"Quite a lot of them were from foreign places. Other people who knew them here rather slightly or from people whose aunts or cousins or friends knew them long ago."
"And each one that you've noted down had some story to tell-some reference to the tragedy or to people involved?"
"That's the idea," said Mrs. Oliver. "I'll tell you roughly, shall I?"
"Yes. Have a petit four."
"Thank you," said Mrs. Oliver.
She took a particularly sweet and rather bilious-looking one and champed it with energy.
"Sweet things," she said, "really give you a lot of vitality, I always think. Well, now, I've got the following suggestions.
These things have usually been said to me starting by: 'Oh, yes, of course!' 'How sad it was, that whole story!' 'Of course, I think everyone knows really what happened.' That's the sort of thing."
"Yes."
"These people thought they knew what happened. But there weren't really any very good reas
ons. It was just something someone had told them, or they'd heard either from friends or servants or relations or things like that. The suggestions, of course, are all the kind that you might think they were. A.
That General Ravenscroft was writing his memoirs of his Indian days and that he had a young woman who acted as his secretary and took dictation and typed things for him and was helping him, that she was a nice-looking girl and no doubt there was something there. The result being-well, there seemed to be two schools of thought. One school of thought was that he shot his wife because he hoped to marry the girl, and then when he had shot her, immediately was horror-stricken at what he'd done and shot himself…"
"Exactly," said Poirot. "A romantic explanation."
"The other idea was that there had been a tutor who came to give lessons to the son who had been ill and away from his prep school for six months or so-a good-looking young man."
"Ah, yes. And the wife had fallen in love with the young man. Perhaps had an affair with him?"
"That was the idea," said Mrs. Oliver. "No kind of evidence.
Just romantic suggestion again."
"And therefore?"
"Therefore I think the idea was that the General probably shot his wife and then in a fit of remorse shot himself. There was another story that the General had had an affair, and his wife found out about it, that she shot him and then herself.
It's always been slightly different every time. But nobody really knew anything. I mean, it's always just a likely story every time. I mean, the General may have had an affair with a girl or lots of girls or just another married woman, or it might have been the wife who had an affair with someone.
It's been a different someone in each story I've been told.
There was nothing definite about it or any evidence for it. It's just the gossip that went around about twelve or thirteen years ago, which people have rather forgotten about now. But they remember enough about it to tell one a few names and get things only moderately wrong about what happened. There was an angry gardener who happened to live on the place, there was a nice elderly cook-housekeeper who was rather blind and rather deaf, but nobody seems to suspect that she had anything to do with it. And so on. I've got all the names and possibilities written down. The names of some of them wrong and some of them right. It's all very difficult. His wife had been ill, I gather, for some short time. I think it was some kind of fever that she had. A lot of her hair must have fallen out because she bought four wigs. There were at least four new wigs found among her things."
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