humour.
'Lawyers?' he said, raising his eyebrows. 'Hate the fellows!
You rouse my curiosity, my dear sir. Pray sit down.'
Poirot did so and then produced one of his professional cards
which he handed to the doctor.
George Lorrimer's white eyelashes blinked.
Poirot leaned forward confidentially. 'A good many of my
clients are women,' he said.
'Naturally,' said Dr George Lorrimer, with a slight twinkle.
'As you say, naturally,' agreed Poirot. 'Women distrust the
182
official police. They prefer private investigations. They do
not want to have theic troubles made public. An elderly
woman came to consult me a few days ago. She was unhappy
about a husband she'd quarrelled with many years before.
This husband of hers was your uncle, the late Mr Gascoigne.'
George Lorrimer's face went purple.
'My uncle? Nonsense! His wife died many years ago.'
'Not your uncle, Mr Anthony Gascoigne. Your uncle, Mr
Henry Gascoigne.'
'Uncle Henry? But he wasn't married!'
'Oh yes, he was,' said Hercule Poirot, lying unblushingly.
'Not a doubt of it. The lady even brought along her marriage
certificate.'
'It's a lie!' cried George Lorrimer. His face Was now as
purple as a plum. 'I don't believe it. You're an impudent
liar.'
'It is too bad, is it not?' said Poirot. 'You have committed
murder for nothing.'
'Murder?' Lorrimer's voice quavered. His pale eyes
bulged with terror.
'By the way,' said Poirot, 'I see you have been eating
blackberry tart again. An unwise habit. Blackberries are said
to be full of vitamins, but they may be deadly in other ways.
On this occasion I rather fancy they have helped to put a rope
round a man's neck- your neck, Dr Lorrimer.'
'You see, mon ami, where you went wrong was over your
fundamental assumption.' Hercule Poirot, beaming placidly
across the table at his friend, waved an expository hand. 'A
man under severe mental stress doesn't choose that time to do
something that he's never done before. His reflexes just
follow the track of least resistance. A man who is upset about
SOmething might conceivably come down to dinner dressed in
his pyjamas - but they will be his own pyjamas - not
somebody else's.
183
'A man who dislikes thick soup, suet pudding and
blackberries suddenly orders all three one evening. You say,
because he is thinking of something else. But I say that a man '
who has got something on his mind will order automatically the
dish he has ordered most often before.
'Eh bien, then, what other explanation could there be? I
simply could not think of a reasonable explanation. And I
was worried! The incident was all wrong. It did not fit! I have
an orderly mind and I like things to fit. Mr Gaacoigne's
dinner order worried me.
'Then you told me that the man had disappeared. He had
missed a Tuesday and a Thursday the first time for years. I
liked that even less. A queer hypothesis sprang up in my
mind. If I were right about it the man was dead. I made
inquiries. The man was dead. And he was very neatly and
tidily dead. In other words the bad fish was covered up with
the sauce!
'He had been seen in the King's Road at seven o'clock. He
had had dinner here at seven-thirty - two hours before he
died. It all fitted in - the evidence of the stomach contents,
the evidence of the lettffr. Much too much sauce! You
couldn't see the fish at all!
'Devoted nephew wrote the letter, devoted nephew had
beautiful alibi for time of death. Death very simple - a fall
down the stairs. Simple accident? Simple murder? Everyone
says the former.
'Devoted nephew only surviving relative. Devoted
nephew will i.herit - but is there anything to inherit? Uncle
,r.
'Nat&
'As you .
182
a brother. And brother in his time had
Ce. And brother lives in a big rich house on
't would seem that rich wife must have
You see the sequence - rich wife leaves
, Anthony leaves money to Henry,
George- a complete chain.'
very pretty in theory,' said Bonnington. 'But what did
you do?'
'Once you know - you can usually get hold of what you
want. Henry had died two hours after a meal- that is all the
inquest really bothered about. But supposing the meal was
not dinner, but lunch. Put yourself in George's place. George
wants money - badly. Anthony Gascoigne is dying - but his
death is no good to George. His money goes to Henry, and
Henry Gascoigne may live for years. So Henry must die too-and
the sooner the better- but his death must take place ajer
Anthony's, and at the same time George mu,st have an alibi.
Henry's habit of dining regularly at a restaurant on two
evenings of the week suggest an alibi to George. Being a
cautious fellow', he tries his plan out first. He impersonates his
uncle on Monday evening at the restaurant in question. It goes
without a hitch. Everyone there accepts him as his uncle. He
is satisfied. He has only to wait till Uncle Anthony shows
definite signs of pegging out. The time comes. He writes a
letter to his uncle on the afternoon of the second November
but dates it the third. He comes up to town on the afternoon
of the third, calls on his uncle, and carries his scheme into
action. A sharp shove and down the stairs goes Uncle Henry.
George hunts about for the letter he has written, and shoves it
in the pocket of his uncle's dressing-gown. At seven-thirty he
is at the Gallant Endeavour, beard, bushy eyebrows all
complete. Undoubtedly Mr Henry Gascoigne is alive at
seven-thirty. Then a rapid metamorphosis in a lavatory and
back full speed in his car to Wimbledon and an evening of
bridge. The perfect alibi.'
Mr Bonnington looked at him.
'But the postmark on the letter?'
'Oh, that was very simple. The postmark was smudg.
Why? It had been altered with lamp black from second
.November to third November. You would not notice it unless
ou zoere looking for it. And finally there Were the blackbirds.'
185
'Blackbirds?'
'Four-and-twenty blackbirds baked in a pie! Or black-berries
if you prefer to be literal! George, you comprehend,
was after all not quite a good enough actor. Do you remember
the fellow who blacked himself all over to play Othello? That
is the kind of actor you have got to be in crime. George looked
like his uncle and walked like his uncle and spoke like his
uncle and had his uncles' beard and eyebrows, but he forgot
to eat like his uncle. He ordered the dishes that he himself
liked. Blackberries discolour the teeth - the corpse's teeth
were not discoloured, and yet Henry Gascoigne ate
blackberries at the Gallant Endeavour that night. But there
were no blackberries
in the stomach. I asked this morning.
And George had been fool enough to keep the beard and the
rest of the make-up. Oh! plenty of evidence once you look for
it. I called on George and rattled him. That finished it! He
had been eating blackberries again, by the way. A greedy
fellow - cared a lot about his food. Eh bien, greed will hang
him all right unless I am very much mistaken.'
A waitress brought them two portions of blackberry and
apple tart.
'Take it away,' said Mr Bonnington. 'One can't be too
careftil. Bring me a small helping of sago pudding.'
186
PROBLEM AT SEA
"lonel Clappertonl' said General Forbes.
He said it with an effect midway between a snort and a sniff.
Miss Ellie Henderson leaned forward, a strand of her soft
grey hair blowing across her face. Her eyes, dark and snapping,
gleamed with a wicked pleasure.
'Such a soldierly-looking man!' she said with malicious
intent, and smoothed back the lock of hair to await the result.
'Soldierly!' exploded General Forbes. He tugged at his
military moustache and his face became bright red.
'In the Guards, wasn't he?' murmured Miss Henderson,
completing her work.
'Guards? Guards? Pack of nonsense. Fellow was on the
music hall stage! Fact! Joined up and was out in France
counting tins of plum and apple. Huns dropped a stray bomb
and he went home with a flesh wound in the arm. Somehow or
other got into Lady Carfington's hospital.'
'So that's how they met.'
'Fact! Fellow played the wounded hero. Lady Carrington
had no sense and oceans of money. Old Carrington had been in
munitions. She'd been a widow only six months. Tiffs fellow
snaps her up in no time. She wangled him a job at the War
Office. Colonel Clapperton! Pah!' he snorted.
'And before the war he was on the music hall stage,' mused
Miss Henderson, trying to reconcile the distinguished greyhaired
Colonel Clapperton with a red-nosed comedian singing
,firth-provoking songs.
'Fact!' said General Forbes. 'Heard it from old Bassingron.
ffrench. And he heard it from old Badger Cotterill who'd got it
from Snooks Parker.'
Miss Henderson nodded brightly. 'That does seem to settle
it!' she said.
lA fleeting smile showed for a minute on the face of a small
man sitting near them. Miss Henderson noticed the smile. She
was observant. It had shown appreciation of the
underlying her last remark - irony which the General new
a moment suspected.
The General himself did not notice the smile. He glanced at
his watch, rose and remarked: 'Exercise. Got to keep oneself fit
on a boat,' and passed out through the open door on to the
deck.
Miss Henderson glanced at the man who had smiled. It was a well-bred glance indicating that she was ready to enter '
conversation with a fellow traveller.
'He is energetic - yes?' said the little man.
'He goes round the deck forty-eight times exactly,' said Mis
Henderson. 'What an old gossip! And they say zve are the
scandal-loving sex.'
'What an impoliteness?
'Frenchmen me always polite,' said Miss Henderson
was the nuance of a question in her voice.
The little man responded promptly. 'Beigian,
moiselle.'
'Oh
'Hercule Poirot. At your service.'
The name aroused some memory. Surely she had heard
before -? 'Are you enjoying this trip, M. Poirot?'
'Frankly, no. It was an imbeciliv m allow myself to
persuaded to come. I detest la me. Never does it
tranquil - no, not for a lit-de minute.'
'Well, you admit it's quite calm now.'
M. Poirot admitted this grudgingly. 'A cm,, yes. T
is why I revive. I once more interest myself in what pass'
around me - your very adept handling of the General ForbeL
for instance.'
'You mean -' Miss Henderson paused.
Hcrcule Poirot bowed. 'Your methods of extracting
scandalous matter. Admirable!'
Miss Henderson laughed in an unashamed manner.
touch about the Guards? I knew that would bring
188
-, ..,4.o and asoing.' She leaned forward confidentially.
,Pdmit I liscandal - the more ill-natured, the better.
poirot looked thoughtfully at her - her slim well-preserved figure, her keen dark eyes, her grey hair; a woman of forty-five
who was content to look her age.
Ellie said abruptly: 'I have it! Aren't you the great
detective?' . ·· ,
Poirot bowed. 'You are too tamable, mademotselle. But he.
made no disclaimer.
'How thrilling,' said Miss Henderson. 'Are you "hot on the
trail" as they say in books? Have we a criminal secretly in our
midst? Or am I being indiscreet?'
'Not at all. Not at all. It pains me to disappoint your
expectations, but I am simply here, like everyone else, to amuse
myself.'
He said it in such a gloomy voice that Miss Henderson
laughed.
'0h! Well, you will be able to get ashore tomorrow at
Alexandria. You have been to Egypt before?'
'Never, mademoiselle.'
Miss Henderson rose somewhat abruptly.
'I think I shall join the General on his constitutional,' she
announced.
Poirot sprang politely to his feet.
She gave him a little nod and passed on to the deck.
A faint puzzled look showed for a moment in Poirot's eyes,
then, a little smile creasing his lips, he rose, put his head
through the door mad glanced down the deck. Miss Henderson
was leaning against the rail talking to a tall, soldierly-looking lllall.
Poirot's smile deepened. He drew himself back into the
smoking-room with the same exaggerated care with which a
tortoise withdraws itself into its shell. For the moment he had
the smoking-room to himself, though he rightly conjectured
that that would not last long.
It did not. Mrs Clapperton, her carefully waved platinum
head protected with a net, her massaged and dieted form
dressed in a smart sports suit, came through the door from the
bar with the purposeful air of a woman who has always 13een
able to pay top price for anything she needed.
She said: 'John - ? Oh! Good morning, M. Poirot - have you
seen John?'
'He's on the starboard deck, madame. Shall I - ?'
She arrested him with a gesture. 'I'll sit here a minute.' She
sat down in a regal fashion in the chair opposite him. From the
distance she had looked a possible twenty-eight. Now, in spite
of her exquisitely made-up face, her delicately plucked
eyebrows, she looked not her actual forty-nine years, but a
possible fifty-five. Her eyes were a hard pale blue with tiny
pupils.
'I was sorry not to have seen you at dinner last night,' she
said. 'It was just a shade choppy, of course -' 'Prdabnent,' said Poirot with feeling.
'Luckily, I am an excellent sailor,' said Mrs Clapperton. 'I
say luckily, because, with my weak heart,' seasickness would
probably be the death of me.'
'You have the weak heart, madame?'
'Yes, I have to be most careful. I must not overfire myself. All the specialists say so!' Mrs Clapperton had embarked on the to
her - ever-fascinating topic of her health. 'John, poor
darling, wears himself out trying to prevent me from doing too
much. I live so intensely, if you know what I mean, M. Poirot?'
'Yes, yes.'
'He always says to me: "Try to be more of a vegetable,
Adeline." But I can't. Life was meant to be lived, I feel. ^5. a
matter of fact I wore myself out as a girl in the war. My hosp? d - you've heard of my hospital? Of course I had nurses a:. i
matrons and all that - but I actually ran it.' She sighed.
'Your vitality is marvellous, dear lady,' said Poirot, with l.:
slightly mechanical air of one responding to his cue.
Mrs Clapperton gave a girlish laugh.
'Everyone tells me how young I am! It's absurd. I never try
to pretend I'm a day less than forty-three,' she continued with
slightly mendacious candour, 'but a lot of people fred it hard to
believe. "You're so alive, Adelkne," they say to me. But really,
M. Poirot, what would one be if one wasn't alive?'
190
'Dead,' said Poirot.
Mrs Clapperton frowned. The reply was not to her --hking.
The man, she derided, was trying to be funny. She got up and
said coldly: 'I must f'md John.'
As she stepped through the door she dropped her handbag.
It opened and the contents flew far and wide. Poirot rushed
gallantly to the rescue. It was some few minutes before the
lipsticks, vanity boxes, cigarette case and lighter and other odds
and ends were collected. Mrs Clapperton thanked him politely,
then she swept down the deck and saj.'d, 'John '
Colonel Clapperton was still deep in conversation with Miss
Henderson. He swung round and came quickly to meet his
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