The Sittaford Mystery

Agatha Christie

Random House Audio (2010)

Rating:

★★★★☆

Tags:

Fiction, General, Mystery Detective, Suspense, Mystery, Mystery Detective - General, Unabridged Audio - Fiction, Audio Adult: Books On Tape, Audiobooks, Abridged Audio - Fiction, Mystery Detective - Traditional British

Fictionttt Generalttt Mystery Detectivettt Suspensettt Mysteryttt Mystery Detective - Generalttt Unabridged Audio - Fictionttt Audio Adult: Books On Tapettt Audiobooksttt Abridged Audio - Fictionttt Mystery Detective - Traditional Britishttt

SUMMARY:

When a blizzard strikes the village of Sittaford, the guests at Sittaford House gather for a seance that quickly turns to terror--and murder--in a full-cast dramatization, complete with music and sound effects, of the classic mystery. Book available.

The Sittaford Mystery

Book Jacket

Rating:

Tags: Fiction, General, Mystery & Detective, Suspense, Mystery, Mystery & Detective - General, Unabridged Audio - Fiction, Audio Adult: Books On Tape, Audiobooks, Abridged Audio - Fiction, Mystery & Detective - Traditional British

SUMMARY: When a blizzard strikes the village of Sittaford, the guests at Sittaford House gather for a seance that quickly turns to terror--and murder--in a full-cast dramatization, complete with music and sound effects, of the classic mystery. Book available.

Murde

Hazelrnoor

Agatha Christie

On a cold, snowy winter evening,

six members of the tiny community of

Sittaford are engaged in an amusing

seance of table turning when suddenly

there is a loud rap. The name of

T-R-E-V-E-L-Y-A-N is spelled out,

then slowly the table rocks out the

letters M-U-R-D-E-R. One of the par-tieipants

in the seance, retired Major

Burnaby, is an old friend of Captain

Joseph Trevelyan. While protesting

that he "doesn't believe in this tommyrot,''

the Major is sufficiently disturbed

by the eerie incident to slog his'

way on foot through the blizzard to

Captain Trevelyan's cottage in Ex-hampton,

six miles away.

Captain Trevelyan has indeed been

murdered. He has been dead for two,

possibly three hours.., about the

time of the message from the "spirit

world." Inspector Narracott is called

in on the case, and, on circumstantial

evidence, arrests James Pearson, a

nephew of the old Captain. Pearson's fiancee , Emily Trefusis, promptly goes to work to prove his innocence *.. by proving someone else's guilt. Written in 1929, this vintage Christie

remains a thoroughly satisfactory

read. As one of the reviewers said at

the time of its original publication,

"You can't go wrong with this one."

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The Winterbrook Edition

DODD, MEAD & COMPANY

New York

II I II II I II I

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This volume is one in the new,

uniform edition of Agatha Christie's mysteries,

completely reset in a modern typeface.

Copyright 93a by Agatha Christie. Copyright renewed x959

by Agatha Christie Mallowan.

All rights reserved

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form

without permission in writing from the publisher.

Published by Dodd, Mead & Company, Inc.

7x Fifth Avenue, New York, NY ooo3

Distributed in Canada by

McClelland and Stewart Limited, Toronto

Manufactured in the United States of America

First Edition

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Christie, Agatha, 89ox976.

Murder at Hazelmoor.

I. Title.

PR6oo5. H66M64x8 987 823'.9 863835

ISBN 0396090133

17191

TI :ORNCLIFFE BRA? CH LIBRARY

To

MoEoM

With whom I discussed the plot of this

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Contents

.

Sittaford House

2.

The Message

3.

Five and Twenty Past Five

4.

Inspector Narracott

5.

Evans

6.

At the Three Crowns

7. The Will

8. Mr. Charles Enderby

9. The Laurels

o. The Pearson Family

. Emily Sets to Work

2. The Arrest

3. Sittaford

4. The Willetts

5. Visit to Major Burnaby

6. Mr. Rycroft

7. Miss Percehouse

8. Emily Visits Sittaford House

9. Theories

1

2

9

1(5

112

120

129

139

15)

16)

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20. Visit to Aunt Jennifer

170

2x. Conversations

182

22. Nocturnal Adventures of Charles

197

23. At Hazelmoor

203

24. Inspector Narracott Discusses the Case

212

25. At Deller's Caf

222

26. Robert Gardner

228

27. Narracott Acts

235

28. Boots

241

29. The Second Sance

251

3o. Emily Explains

263

31. The Lucky Man

270

Murder at Hazelmoor

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Sittaford House

M A J O R Burnaby drew on his gum boots, buttoned his

overcoat collar round his neck, took from a shelf near

the door a hurricane lantern, and cautiously opened the

front door of his little bungalow and peered out.

The scene that met his eyes was typical of the English

countryside as depicted on Xmas cards and in old-fashioned

melodramas. Everywhere was snow, deep drifts

of it--no mere powdering an inch or two thick. Snow

had fallen all over England for the last four days, and up

here on the fringe of Dartmoor it had attained a depth

of several feet. All over England householders were

groaning over burst pipes, and to have a plumber friend

(or even a plumber's mate) was the most coveted of all

distinctions.

Up here, in the tiny village of Sittaford, at all times

remote from the world, and now almost completely cut

off, the rigors of winter were a very real problem.

Major Burnaby, however, was a hardy soul. He snorted

twice, grunted once, and marched resolutely out into

the snow.

His destination was not far away. A few paces along a

winding lane, then in at a gate, and so up a drive partially swept clear of snow to a house of some considerable size

built of granite.

The door was opened by a neatly clad parlormaid. The

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Agatha Christie

Major was divested of his British Warm, his gum boots

and his aged scarf.

A door was flung open and he passed through it into

a room which conveyed all the illusion of a transformation

scene.

Although it was only half past three the curtains had

been drawn, the electric lights were on and a huge fire

blazed cheerfully on the hearth. Two women in afternoon

frocks rose to greet the stanch old warrior.

"Spendid of you to turn out, Major Burnaby," said the elder of the two.

"Not at all, Mrs. Willett, not at all. Very good of you to ask me." He shook hands with them both.

"Mr. Garfield is coming," went on Mrs. Willett, "and Mr. Duke, and Mr. Byero{i said he would come--but

one can hardly expect him at his age in such weather.

Beally, it is too dreadful. One feels one must do something

to keep oneself cheerful. Violet, put another log

on the fire."

The Major rose gallantly to perform this task.

"Allow me, Miss Violet."

He put the log expertly in the right place and returned

once more to the armchair his hostess had indicated.

Trying not to appear as though he were doing so, he east

surreptitious glances round the room. Amazing how a

couple of women could alter the whole character of a

room--and without doing anything very outstanding that

you could put your finger on.

Sittaford House had been built ten years ago by Captain

Joseph Trevelyan, B.N., on the occasion of his re

Murder at Hazelmoor

tirement from the Navy. He was a man of substance,

and he had a/ways had a great hankering to live on Dart-moor. He had placed his chC/-.'ce on the tiny hamlet of

Sittaford. It was not in a valley like most of the villages

and farms, but perched right on the shoulder of the moor

under the shadow of Sittaibrd Beacon. He had purchased

a large tract of grotmd, had built a comfortable house

with its own electric light plant and an electric pump to

save labor in pumping water. Then, as a speculation, he

had built six small bungalows, each in its quarter acre of

ground, along the laue.

The first of these, the one at his very gates, had been

allotted to his old friend and crony, John Burnabv--th

others had by degrees been sold, there being sti

v people who

l'la fe

from choice or necessity like to live right

out of the world. The village itself consisted of three

picturesque but dilapidated cottages, a forge, and a com b/ned

post office and sweet shop. The nearest town was

Exhampton, six miles away, a steady descent which ne

cessitated the sign, "Motorists engage your lowest gear,"

so familiar on the Dartmoor roads.

Captain Trevelyan, as has been said, was a man of

substance. In spite of this--or perhaps because of it-he was a man who was inordinately fbnd of money. At

the end of October a house-agent in Exhampton wrote

to him asking ffhe would consider letting Sitt'aford House.

A tenant had made inquiries concerning it, wishing to

rent it for the winter.

Captain T ,

'

rex elyan s first impulse was to refuse, his

second to demand further information. The tenant in

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question proved to be a Mrs. Willett, a widow with one

daughter. She had recently arrived from South Africa

and wanted a house on Dartmoor for the winter.

"Damn it all, the woman must be mad," said Captain Trevelyan. "Eh, Burnaby, don't you think so?"

Burnaby did think so, and said so as forcibly as his

friend had done.

"Anyway, you don't want to let," he said. "Let the fool woman go somewhere else if she wants to freeze. Coming

from South Africa too!"

But at this point Captain Trevelyan's money complex

asserted itself. Not once in a hundred times would you

get a chance of letting your house in midwinter. He

demanded what rent the tenant was willing to pay.

An offer of twelve guineas a week clinched matters.

Captain Trevelyan went into Exhampton, rented a small

house on the outskirts at two guineas a week, and handed

over Sittaford House to Mrs. Willet, half the rent to be

paid in advance.

"A fool and her money are soon parted," he growled. But Burnaby was thinking this afternoon as he scanned

Mrs. Willett covertly, that she did not look a fool. She

was a tall woman with a rather silly manner--but her

physiognomy was shrewd rather than foolish. She was

inclined to overdress, had a distinct Colonial accent, and

seemed perfectly content with the transaction. She was

clearly very well off and that, as Burnaby had reflected

more than once, really made the whole affair more odd.

She was not the kind of woman one would credit with a

passion for solitude.

Murder at Hazelraoor

As a neighbor she had proved almost embarrassingly

friendly. Invitations to Sittaford House were rained on

everybody. Captain Trevelyan was constantly urged to

"Treat the house as though we hadn't rented it." Trevelyan, however, was not fond of women. Report went that

he had been jilted in his youth. He persistently refused

all invitations.

Two months had passed since the installation of the

Willetts and the first wonder at their arrival had passed

away.

Burnaby, naturally a silent man, continued to study

his hostess, oblivious to any need for small talk. Liked

to make herself out a fool, but wasn't really. So he summed

up the situation. His glance shifted to Violet Willett.

Pretty girl--scraggy, of course--they all were nowadays.

What was the good of a woman if she didn't look like a

woman? Papers said curves were coming back. About

time too.

He roused himself to the necessity of conversation. "We were afraid at first that you wouldn't be able to come," said Mrs. Willett. "You said so, you remember. We were so pleased when you said that after all you

would."

"Friday," said Major Burnaby, with an air of being explicit.

Mrs. Willett looked puzzled.

"Friday?"

"Every Friday go to Trevelyan's. Tuesday he comes

to me. Both of us done it for years."

"Oh! I see. Of course, living so near--"

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Agatha Christie

"Kind of habit."

"But do you still keep it up? I mean now that he is

living in Exhampton--"

"Pity to break a habit," said Major Burnaby. "We'd both of us miss those evenings."

"You go in for competitions, don't you?" asked Violet.

"Acrostics and crosswords and all those things."

Burnaby nodded.

"I do crosswords. Trevelyan does acrostics. We each

stick to our own line of country. I won three books last

month in a crossword competition," he volunteered.

"Oh! really. How nice. Were they interesting books?"

"Don't know. Haven't read them. Looked pretty hopeless."

"It's the winning them that matters, isn't it?" said Mrs. Willett vaguely.

"How do you get to Exhampton?" asked Violet. "You haven't got a car."

"Walk."

"What? Not really? Six miles."

"Good exercise. What's twelve miles? Keeps a man

fit. Great thing to be fit."

"Fancy! Twelve miles. But both you and Captain Trevelyan were great athletes, weren't you?"

"Used to go to Switzerland together. Winter sports in

winter, climbing in summer. Wonderful man on ice,

Trevelyan. Both too old for that sort of thing nowadays."

"You won the Army Racquets Chmnpionship, too, didn't

you?" asked Violet.

The Major blushed like a girl.

"Who told you that?" he mumbled.

Murder at Hazelmoor

"Captain Trevelyan."

"Joe should hold his tongue," said Burnaby. "He talks too much. What's the weather like now?"

Respecting his embarrassment, Violet followed him to

the window. They dreTM the curtain aside and looked out

over the desolate scene.

"More snow coming," said Burnaby. "A pretty heavy tall too, I should say."

"Oh! how thrilling," said Violet. "I do think snow is so romantic. I've never seen it before."

"It isn't romantic when the pipes freeze, you foolish

child," said her mother.

"Have you lived all your life in South Africa, Miss

Willett?" asked Major Burnaby.

Some of the girl's animation dropped away from her.

She seemed almost constrained in her manner as she

answered.

"Yes--this is the first time I've ever been away. It's

all most frightfully thrilling."

Thrilling to be shut away like this in a remote moorland

village? Funny idea. He couldn't get the hang of these

people.

The door opened and the parlormaid announced:

"Mr. Ryeroft and Mr. Garfield."

There entered a little, elderly, dried-up man and a

fresh-colored, boyish young man. The latter spoke first.

"I brought him along, Mrs. Willett. Said I wouldn't

let him be buried in a snowdrift. Ha, ha. I say, this all

looks simply marvelous. Yule logs burning."

"As he says, my young friend very kindly piloted me

here," said Mr. Byeroft as he shook hands somewhat

:HR

Agatha Christie

ceremoniously. "How do you do, Miss Violet? Very sea-sonable weather--rather too seasonable, I fear."

He moved to the fire talking to Mrs. Willett. Ronald

Garfield buttonholed Violet.

"I say, can't we get up any skating anywhere? Aren't

there some ponds about?"

"I think path digging will be your only sport."

"I've been at it all the morning."

"Oh! you he-man!"

"Don't laugh at me. I've got blisters all over my hands."

"How's your aunt?"

"Oh! she's always the same--sometimes she says she's

better and sometimes she says she's worse, but I think

it's all the same really. It's a ghastly life, you know. Each year, I wonder how I can stick it--but there it is--if

one doesn't rally round the old bird for Xmas--why,

she's quite capable of leaving her money to a Cat's Home.

She's got five of them, you know. I'm always stroking

the brutes and pretending I dote upon them."

"I like dogs much better than cats."

"So do I. Any day. What I mean is a dog is--well, a

dog's a dog, you know."

"Has your aunt always been fond of cats?"

"I think it's just a kind of thing old maids grow into. Ugh! I hate the brutes."

"Your aunt's very nice, but rather frightening."

"I should think she was frightening. Snaps my head

off sometimes. Thinks I've got no brains, you know."

"Not really?"

"Oh! look here, don't say it like that. Lots of fellows look like fools and are laughing underneath."

8

Murder at Hazelmoor

"Mr. Duke," announced the parlormaid.

Mr. Duke was a recent arrival. He had bought the last

of the six bungalows in September. He was a big man,

very quiet and devoted to gardening. Mr. Rycroft who

was an enthusiast on birds and who lived next door to him had taken him up, overruling the section of thought

which voiced the opinion that of course Mr. Duke was

a very nice man, quite unassuming, but was he, after

all, quite--well, quite? Mightn't he, just possibly, be a

retired tradesman?

But nobody liked to ask him--and indeed it was thought

better not to know. Because if one did know, it might

be awkward, and really in such a small community it was

best to know everybody.

"Not walking to Exhampton in this weather?" he asked of Major Burnaby.

"No, I fiincy Trevelyan will hardly expect me tonight."

"It's awful, isn't it?" said Mrs. Willett with a shudder.

"To be buried up here, year after year--it must be

ghastly."

Mr. Duke gave her a quick glance. Major Burnaby too

stared at her curiously.

But at that moment tea was brought in.

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2. The Message

A IF T E R tea, Mrs. Willett suggested bridge.

"There are six of us. Two can cut in."

Bonnie's eyes brightened.

"You four start," he suggested. "Miss Willett and I But Mr. Duke said that he did not play bridge.

Ronnie's face fell.

"We might play a round gmne," said Mrs. Willett.

"Or table turning," suggested Bonnie. "It's a spooky evening. We spoke about it the other day, you remember.

Mr. Bycroff and I were talking about it this evening

as we came along here."

"I am a member of the Psychical Research Society," explained Mr. Bycroff in his precise way. "I was able to put my young {Y=iend right on one or two points.

"Tommy rot," said Major Burnaby very distinctly.

"Oh! but it's great fun, don't you think?" said Violet Willett. "I mean, one doesn't believe in it or anything. It's just an amuselnent. What do you say, Mr. Duke?"

"Anything you like, Miss Willett."

"We must turn the lights out, and we must find a

suitable table. No--not that one, Mother. I'm sure it's

much too heavy."

Things were settled at last to everyone's satisfaction.

A small round table with a polished top was brought from

an adjoining room. It was set in front of the fire and

10

Murder at Hazelmoor

everyone took his place round it with the lights switched

Major Burnaby was between his hostess and Violet.

On the other side of the girl was Ronnie Garfield. A

cynical smile creased the Major's lips. He thought to

himself:

"In my young days it was Up Jenkins." And he tried to recall the name of a girl with fiuf fhir hair whose

hand he had held beneath the table at considerable length.

A long time ago that was. But Up Jenkins had been a

good game.

There were all the usual laughs, whispers, stereotyped

remarks.

"The spirits are a long time."

"Got a long way to come."

"Hush--nothing will happen unless we are serious."

"Oh! do be quiet--everyone."

"Nothing's happening."

"Of course not--it never does at first."

"If only you'd all be quiet."

At last, after some time, the murmur of talk died away.

A silence.

"This table's dead as mutton," murmured Ronnie Gar field

disgustedly.

"Hush."

A tremor ran through the polished surf:ace. The table

began to rock.

"Ask it questions. Who shall ask? You, Ronnie."

"Oh--er--I say--what do I ask it?"

"Is a spirit present?" prompted Violet.

"Oh! Hullo--is a spirit present?"

CHR

Agatha Christie

A sharp rock.

"That means yeS," said Violet.

"Oh! er--who are you?"

No response.

"Ask it to spell its name."

"How can it?"

"We count the number of rocks."

"Oh! I see. will you please spell your name."

The table started rocking violently.

"A B C D E IF G H I--I say, was that I or J?"

"Ask it. Was that I?"

One rock.

"Yes. Next letter, please."

The spirit's naife was Ida.

"Have you a inessage for anyone here?"

"Yes."

"Who is it for? Miss Willett?"

"No."

"Mrs. Willett?"

"No."

"Mr. Rycroft?"

"NO."

"Me?"

"Yes."

"It's for you, Bonnie. Go on. Make it spell it out." The table spelt "Diana."

"Who's Diana? Do you know anyone called Diana?" "No, I don't. At least--"

"There you are. He does."

"Ask her if she's a widow?"

12

Murder at Hazelmoor

The fun went on. Mr. Rycroft smiled indulgently. Young

people must have their jokes. He caught one glance of

his hostess's face in a sudden flicker of the firelight. It

looked worried and abstracted. Her thoughts were some-where

far away.

Major Burnaby was thinking of the snow. It was going

to snow again this evening. Hardest winter he ever re-membered.

Mr. Duke was playing very seriously. The spirits, alas,

paid very little attention to him. All the messages seemed

to be for Violet and Ronnie.

Violet was told she was going to Italy. Someone was

going with her. Not a woman. A man. His name was

Leonard.

More laughter. The table spelt the name of the town.

A

Russian jumble of letters--not in the least Italian.

The usual accusations were leveled.

"Look here, Violet" ("Miss Willett" had been dropped).

"You are shoving."

"I'm not. Look, I take my hands right off the table

and it rocks just the same."

"I like raps. I'm going to ask it to rap. Loud ones."

"There should be raps." Ronnie turned to Mr. Rycroft.

"There ought to be raps, oughtn't there, sir?"

"Under the circumstances, I should hardly think it

likely," said Mr. Rycroft drily.

There was a pause. The table was inert. It returned

no answer to questions.

"Has Ida gone away?"

One languid rock.

x3

Agatha Christie

"Will another spirit come, please?"

Nothing. Suddenly the table began to quiver and rock

violently.

"Hurrah. Are you a new spirit?"

"Yes."

"Have you a message for someone?"

"Yes."

"For me?"

"No."

"For Violet?"

"No."

"For Major Burnaby?"

"Yes. '

"It's for you, Major Burnaby. Will you spell it out

please."

The table started rocking slowly.

"T R E V--are you sure it's V? It ean't be. T R E V

--it doesn't make sense.'

"Trevelyan, of course," said Mrs. Willett. "Captain Trevelyan."

"Do you mean Captain Trevelyan?"

"Yes."

"You've got a message for Captain Trevelyan?"

"No."

"Well, what is it then?"

The table began to roek-slowly, rhythmically. So slowly

that it was easy to count the letters.

"D--" a pause. "E--A D."

"Dead."

"Somebody is dead?"

14

Murder at Hazelmoor

Instead of Yes or No, the table began to rock again till

it reached the letter T.

"T--do you mean Trevelyan?"

"Yes."

"You don't mean Trevelyan is dead?"

A very sharp rock. "Yes."

Somebody gasped. There was a faint stir all around

the table.

Ronnie's voice as he resumed his questions held a

different note--an awed uneasy note.

"You mean--that Captain Trevelyan is dead?"

"Yes."

There was a pause. It was as though no one knew

what to ask next, or how to take this unexpected de-velopment.

And in the pause, the table started rocking again.

Rhythmically and slowly. Ronnie spelled out the let-ters

aloud . . .

M-U-R-D-E-R ....

Mrs. Willett gave a cry and took her hands off the

table.

"I won't go on with this. It's horrible. I don't like it."

Mr. Duke's voice rang out, resonant and clear. He

was questioning the table.

"Do you mean--that Captain Trevelyan has been mur-dered?''

The last word had hardly left his lips when the answer

came. The table rocked so violently and assertively that

it nearly fell over. One rock only.

"Yes . . ."

15

Agatha Christie

"Look here," said Ronnie. He took his hands from the table. "I call this a rotten joke." His voice trembled.

"Turn up the lights," said Mr. Rycroft.

Major Burnaby rose and did so. The sudden glare

revealed a company of pale uneasy taces.

Everyone looked at each other. Somehow--nobody

quite knew what to say.

"All rot, of course," said Ronnie, with an uneasy laugh.

"Silly nonsense," said Mrs. Willett. "Nobody ought to--to make jokes like that."

"Not about people dying," said Violet. "It's--oh! I don't like it."

':I wasn't shoving," said Ronnie, feeling unspoken criticism leveled at him. "I swear I wasn't."

"I can say the same," said Mr. Duke. "And you, Mr. Rycroft?"

"Certainly not," said Mr. Rycroft warmly.

"You don't think I'd make a joke of that kind, do you?" growled Major Burnaby. "Rotten bad taste."

"Violet dear--"

"I didn't, Mother. Indeed I didn't. I wouldn't do such

a thing."

The girl was almost tearful.

Everyone was embarrassed. A sudden blight had come

over the cheerful party.

Major Burnaby pushed back his chair, went to the

window and pulled aside the curtain. He stood there

looking out with his back to the room.

"Twenty-five minutes past five," said Mr. Rycroft

glancing up at the clock. He compared it with his own

16

Murder at Hazelmoor

watch and somehow everyone felt that the action was

significant in some way.

"Let me see," said Mrs. Willett with forced cheerful-ness,

"I think we'd better have cocktails. Will you ring

the bell, Mr. Garfield?"

Ronnie obeyed.

Ingredients for cocktails were brought and Ronnie was

appointed mixer. The situation grew a little easier.

"Well," said Ronnie, raising his glass. "Here's how."

The others responded--all but the silent figure by the

window.

"Major Burnaby. Here's your cocktail."

The Major roused himself with a start. He turned

slowly.

"Thank you, Mrs. Willett. Not for me." He looked

once more out into the night then came slowly back to

the group by the fire. "Many thanks for a very pleasant time. Good night."

"You're not going?"

"Afraid I must."

"Not so soon. And on a night like this."

"Sorry, Mrs. Willett--but it's got to be done. If there

were only a telephone."

"A telephone?"

"Yes--to tell you the truth--I'm--well, I'd like to be

sure that Joe Trevelyan's all right. Silly susperstition and all that--but there it is. Naturally, I don't believe in this tommy rot--but--"

"But you can't telephone from anywhere. There's not

such a thing in Sittaford."

7

CHR

Agatha Christie

"That's just it. As I can't telephone, I'll have to go."

"Go--but you couldn't get a car down that road! Ehner

wouldn't take his car out on such a night."

Ehner was the proprietor of the sole car in the place,

an aged Ford, hired at a handsome price by those who

wished to go into Exhampton.

"No, no--car's out of the question. My two legs will

take me there, Mrs. Willett."

There was a chorus of protest.

"Oh! Major Burnaby--it's impossible. You said yourself

it was going to snow."

"Not for an hour--perhaps longer. I'll get there, never fear."

"Oh! you can't. We can't allow it."

She was seriously disturbed and upset.

But argument and entreaty had no more effbct on

Major Burnaby than if he were a rock. He was an obstinate

man. Once his mind was made up on any point,

no power on earth could nove him.

He had determined to walk to Exhampton and see for

himself' that all was well with his old friend, and he

repeated that simple statement half' a dozen times.

In the end they were brought to realize that he meant

it. He wrapped himself up in his overcoat, lighted the

hurricane lantern, and stepped out into the night.

"I'll just drop into my place for a flask," he said cheerily,

"and then push straight on. Trevelyan will put me

up for the night when I get there. Ridiculous fuss, I

know. Everything sure to be all right. Don't worry, Mrs.

Willett. Snow or no snow--I'll get there in a couple of

hours. Good night."

18

Murder at Hazelmoor

He strode away. The others returned to the fire.

Rycroft had looked up at the sky.

"It is going to snow," he murmured to Mr. Duke.

"And it will begin long before he gets to Exhampton. I

--I hope he gets there all right."

Duke frowned.

"I know. I feel I ought to have gone with him. One

of us ought to have done so."

"Most distressing," Mrs. Willett was saying. "Most distressing. Violet, I will not have that silly game ever

played again. Poor Major Burnaby will probably plunge

into a snowdrift--or if he doesn't he'll die of the cold

and exposure. At his age, too. Very foolish of him to go

off like that. Of course, Captain Trevelyan is perfectly

all right."

Everyone echoed:

"Of course."

But even now they did not feel really too comibrtable.

Supposing something had happened to Captain Trevelyan

....

Supposing...

3. Five and Twenty Past Five

T W O and half hours later, just before eight o'clock,

Major Burnaby, hurricane lantern in hand, his head

dropped forward so as not to meet the blinding drive of

the snow, stumbled up the path to the door of "Hazel-moor," the small house tenanted by Captain Trevelyan.

The snow had begun to fall about an hour ago--great

blinding flakes of it. Major Burnaby was gasping, emit-ting

the loud sighing gasps of an utterly exhausted man.

He was numbed with cold. He stamped his feet, blew,

puffed, snorted and applied a numbed finger to the bell

push.

The bell trilled shrilly.

Burnaby waited. After a pause of a few minutes, as

nothing happened, he pushed the bell again.

Once more there was no stir of life.

Burnaby rang a third time. This time he kept his finger

on the bell.

It trilled on and on--but there was still no sign of life

in the house.

There was a knocker on the door. Major Burnaby seized

it and worked it vigorously, producing a noise like thunder.

And still the little house remained silent as the dead.

The Major desisted. He stood for a moment as though

perplexed--then he slowly went down the path and out

at the gate, continuing on the road he had come towards

Murder at Hazelmoor

Exhampton. A hundred yards brought him to the small

police station.

He hesitated again, then finally made up his mind and

entered.

Constable Graves, who knew the Major well, rose in

astonishment.

"Well, I never, sir, iancy you being out on a night like this."

"Look here," said Burnaby curtly. "I've been ringing and knocking at the Captain's house and I can't get any

answer."

"Why, of course, it's Friday," said Graves who knew the habits of the two pretty well. "But you don't mean

to say you've actually come down from Sittaford on a

night like this? Surely the Captain would never expect

you."

"Whether he's expected me or not, I've come," said Burnaby testily. "And as I'm telling you, I can't get in. I've rung and knocked and nobody answers.'

Some of his uneasiness seemed to communicate itself

to the policeman.

"That's odd," he said, frowning.

"Of course, it's odd," said Burnaby.

"It's not as though he's likely to be out--on a night

like this."

"Of course he's not likely to be out."

"It is odd," said Graves again.

Burnaby displayed impatience at the man's slowness.

"Aren't you going to do something?" he snapped.

"Do something?"

21

Agatha Christie

"Yes, do something."

The policeman ruminated.

"Think he might have been taken bad?" His face

brightened. "I'll try the telephone." It stood at his elbow. He took it up and gave the number.

But to the telephone, as to the front door bell, Captain

Trevelyan gave no reply.

"Looks as though he had been taken bad," said Graves as he replaced the receiver. "And all alone in the house, too. We'd best get hold of Dr. Warren and take him

along with us."

Dr. Warren's house was almost next door to the police

station. The doctor was just sitting down to dinner with

his wife and was not best pleased at the summons. However,

he grudgingly agreed to accompany them, drawing

on an aged British Warm and a pair of rubber boots and

muffling his neck with a knitted scarf.

The snow was still falling.

"Damnable night," murmured the doctor. "Hope you haven't brought me out on a wild goose chase. Trevelyan's

as strong as a horse. Never has anything the matter

with him."

Burnaby did not reply.

Arriving at Hazelmoor once more, they again rang and

knocked, but elicited no response.

The doctor then suggested going round the house to

one of the back windows.

"Easier to force than the door."

Graves agreeing, they went round to the back. There

was a side door which they tried on the way, but it too

was locked, and presently they emerged on the snow

Murder at Hazelmoor

covered lawn that led up to the back windows. Suddenly,

Warren uttered an exclamation.

"The window of the study--it's open."

True enough, the window, a French one, was standing

ajar. They quickened their steps. On a night like this,

no one in his senses would open a window. There was

a light in the room that streamed out in a thin yellow

band.

The three men arrived simultaneously at the

window--Burnaby was the first man to enter, the constable

hard on his heels.

They both stopped dead inside and something like a

muffled cry came from the ex-soldier. In another moment

Warren was beside them, and saw what they had seen.

Captain Trevelyan lay on the floor, face downwards.

His arms sprawled widely. The room was in confusion

--drawers of the bureau pulled out, papers lying about

the floor. The window beside them was splintered where

it had been forced near the lock. Beside Captain Trevelyan

was a dark green baize tube about two inches in

diameter.

Warren sprang forward. He knelt down by the prostrate

figure.

One minute sufficed. He rose to his feet, his face pale.

"He's dead?" asked Burnaby.

The doctor nodded.

Then he turned to Graves.

"It's you to say what's to be done. I can do nothing

except examine the body and perhaps you'd rather I

didn't do that until the Inspector comes. I can tell you

the cause of death now. Fracture of the base of the skull.

3

Agatha Christie

And I think I can make a guess at the weapon."

He indicated the green baize tube.

"Trevelyan always had them along the bottom of the

door--to keep the draft out," said Burnaby.

His voice was hoarse.

"Yes--a very efficient form of sandbag."

"My God!"

"But this here--" the constable broke in, his wits arriving at the point slowly. "You mean--this here is

murder."

The policeman stepped to the table on which stood a

telephone.

Major Burnaby approached the doctor.

"Have you any idea," he said, breathing hard, "how long he's been dead?"

"About two hours, I should say, or possibly three.

That's a rough estimate."

Burnaby passed his tongue over dry lips.

"Would you say," he asked, "that he might have been killed at five twenty-five?"

The doctor looked at him curiously.

"If I had to give a time definitely, that's just about the time I would suggest."

"Oh! my God," said Burnaby.

Warren stared at him.

The Major felt his way blindly to a chair, collapsed on

to it and muttered to himself whilst a kind of staring

terror overspread his face.

"Five and twenty past five--Oh! my God, then it was true after all."

24

4. Inspector Narracott

I T was the morning after the tragedy, and two men

were standing in the little study of Hazehnoor.

Inspector Narraeott looked round him. A little frown

appeared upon his forehead.

"Ye-es," he said thoughtfully. "Yees."

Inspector NarraC/ott was a very efficient officer. He

had a quiet persistence, a logical mind and a keen attention to detail which brought him success where many

another man might have failed.

He was a tall man with a quiet manner, rather far away

gray eyes, and a slow soft Devonshire voice.

Summoned from Exeter to take charge of the case, he

had arrived on the first train that morning. The roads

had been impassable for cars, even with chains, otherwise

he would have arrived the night before. He was

standing now in Captain Trevelyan's study having just

completed his examination of the room. With him was

Sergeant Pollock of the Exhampton police.

"Ye-es," said Inspector Narracott.

A ray of pale wintry sunshine came in through the

window. Outside was the snowy landscape. There was a

fence about a hundred yards from the window and beyond

it the steep ascending slope of the snow-covered

hillside.

Inspector Narracott bent once more over the body

which had been left for his inspection. An athletic man

Agatha Christie

himself, he recognized the athlete's type, the broad

shoulders, narrow flanks, and the good muscular devel-opment. The head was small and well set on the shoul-ders,

and the pointed naval beard was carefully trimmed.

Captain Trevelyan's age, he had ascertained, was sixty,

but he looked not much more than fiftywone or two.

"It's a curious business," said Inspector Narracott.

"Ah!" said Sergeant Pollock.

The other turned on him.

"What is your view of it?"

"Well--" Sergeant Pollock scratched his head. He was a cautious man, unwilling to advance further than nec-essary.

"Well," he said, "as I see it, sir, I should say that the man came to the window, forced the lock, and started

rifling the room. Captain Trevelyan, I suppose, must

have been upstairs. Doubtless the burglar thought the

house was empty--"

"Where is Captain Trevelyan's bedroom situated?"

"Upstairs, sir. Over this room."

"At the present time of year it is dark at ibur o'clock. If Captain Trevelyan was up in his bedroom the electric

light would have beeh on, the burglar would have seen

it as he approached this window."

"You mean he'd have waited."

"No man in his senses would break into a house with

a light in it. If anyone ibrced this window--he did it

because he thought the house was empty."

Sergeant Pollock scratched his head.

"Seems a bit odd, I admit. But there it is."

"We'll let it pass for the moment. Go on."

6

Murder at Hazelmoor

"Well, suppose the Captain hears a noise downstairs.

He comes down to investigate. The burglar hears him

coming. He snatches up that bolster arrangement, gets

behind the door, and as the Captain enters the room

strikes him down from behind."

Inspector Narracott nodded.

"Yes, that's true enough. He was struck down when

he was facing the window. But all the same, Pollock, I

don't like it."

"No, sir?"

"No, as I say, I don't believe in houses that are broken into at five o'clock in the afternoon."

"We-ell, he may have thought it a good opportunity--"

"It is not a question of opportunity--slipping in because he found a window unlatched. It was deliberate

house-breaking--look at the confusion everywhere--what

would a burglar go for first? The pantry where the silver

is kept."

"That's true enough," admitted the Sergeant.

"And this confusion--this chaos," continued Narracott,

"these drawers pulled out and their contents scattered. Pah! It's bunkum."

"Bunkum?"

"Look at the window, Sergeant. That window was not

locked and forced open! It was merely shut and then

splintered from the outside to give the appearance of

forcing."

Pollock examined the latch of the window closely, uttering

an ejaculation to himself as he did so.

"You are right, sir," he said with respect in his voice.

"Who'd have thought of that now!"

27

Agatha Christie

"Someone who wishes to throw dust in our eyes--and

hasn't succeeded."

Sergeant Pollock was grateful for the "our." In such small ways did Inspector Narracott endear himself to his

subordinates.

"Then it wasn't burglary. You mean, sir, it was an

inside job."

Inspector Narracott nodded. "Yes," he said. "The only curious thing is, though, that I think the murderer did

actually enter by the window. As you and Graves reported,

and as I can still see for myself, there are damp

patches still visible where the snow melted and was trodden

in by the murderer's boots. These damp patches are

only in this room. Constable Graves was quite positive

that there was nothing of the kind in the hall when he

and Dr. Warren passed through it. In this room he noticed

them immediately. In that case it seems clear that

the murderer was admitted by Captain Trevelyan through

the window. Therefore it must have been someone whom

Captain Trevelyan knew. You are a local man, Sergeant,

can you tell the if Captain Trevelyan was a man who

made enemies easily?"

"No, sir, I should say he hadn't an enemy in the world. A bit keen on money, and a bit of a martinet--wouldn't

stand for any slackness or incivility--but bless my soul

he was respected for that."

"No enemies," said Narracott thoughtfully.

"Not here, that is."

"Very true--we don't know that enemies he may have

made during his naval career. It's my experience, Sergeant,

that a nan who makes enemies in one place will

z8

Murder at Hazelmoor

make them in another, but I agree that we can't put that

possibility entirely aside. We come logically now to the

next motive--the most common motive for every

crime--gain. Captain Trevelyan was, I understand, a

rich man?"

"Very warm indeed by all accounts. But close. Not an

easy man to touch for a subscription.'

"Ah!" said Narracott thoughtfully.

"Pity it snowed as it did," said the Sergeant. "But for that we'd have had his footprints as something to go on."

"There was no one else in the house?" asked the Inspector.

"No. For the last five years Captain Trevelyan has only had one servant--retired naval chap. Up at Sittaford

House a woman came in daily, but this chap, Evans,

cooked and looked after his master. About a month ago

he got married--much to the Captain's annoyance. I

believe that's one of the reasons he let Sittaford House

to this South African lady. He wouldn't have any woman

living in the house. Evans lives just round the corner here

in Fore Street with his wife, and comes in daily to do

for his master. I've got him here now for you to see. His

statement is that he left here at half past two yesterday

afternoon, the Captain having no further need for him.'

"Yes, I shall want to see him. He may be able to tell

us something--useful."

Sergeant Pollock looked at his superior officer curiously.

There was something so odd about his tone.

"You think--" he began.

"I think," said Inspector Narracott deliberately, "that there's a lot more in this case than meets the eye."

9

Agatha Christie

"In what way, sir?"

But the Inspector refused to be drawn.

"You say this man, Evans, is here now?"

"He's waiting in the dining-room."

"Good, I'll see him straight away. What sort of a fellow is he?"

Sergeant Pollock was better at reporting facts than at

descriptive accuracy.

"He's a retired naval chap. Ugly customer in a scrap, I should say."

"Does he drink?"

"Never been the worse for it that I know of."

"What about this wife of his? Not a fancy of the Cap-rain's or anything of that sort?"

"Oh! no, sir, nothing of that kind about Captain Trevelyan. He wasn't that kind at all. He was known as a

woman hater, if anything."

"And Evans was supposed to be devoted to his master?''

"That's the general idea, sir, and I think it would be

known if he wasn't. Exhampton's a small place."

Inspector Narracott nodded.

"Well," he said, "there's nothing more to be seen here. I'll interview Evans and I'll take a look at the rest of the house and after that we will go over to the Three Crowns

and see this Major Burnaby. That remark of his about

the time was curious. Twenty-five minutes past five, eh?

He must know something he hasn't told, or why should

he suggest the time of the crime so accurately."

The two men moved toward the door.

"It's a rum business," said Sergeant Pollock, his eye

3deg

Murder at Hazelmoor

wandering to the littered floor. "All this burglary fake!"

"It's not that that strikes me as odd," said Narracott,

"under the eiremnstanees it was probably the natural

thing to do. No--what strikes me as odd is the window."

"The window, sir?"

"Yes. Why should the murderer go to the window?

Assuming it was someone Trevelyan knew and admitted

without question, why not go to the front door? To get

round to this window from the road on a night like last

night would have been a difficult and unpleasant pro-ceeding with the snow lying as thick as it does. Yet, there

must have been seine reason."

"Perhaps," suggested Pollock, "the man didn't want to be seen turning into the house from the road."

"There wouldn't be many people about yesterday af-ternoon to see him. Nobody who could help it was out

of doors. No--there's some other reason. Well, perhaps

it will come to light in due course."

31

5. Evans

-r H E Y= found Evans waiting in the dining-room. He

rose respectfully on their entrance.

He was a short thick-set man. He had very long arms

and a habit of standing with his hands half clenched. He

was clean shaven with small, rather piglike eyes, yet he

had a look of cheerfulness and efficiency that redeemed

his bulldog appearance.

Inspector Narracott mentally tabulated his irpressions.

"Intelligent. Shrewd and practical. Looks rattled." Then he spoke:

"You're Evans, eh?"

"Yes, sir."

"Christian names?"

"Robert Henry."

"Ah! Now what do you know about this business?"

"Not a thing, sir. It's fair knocked me over. To think

of the Capting being done in!"

"When did you last see your master?"

"Two o'clock I should say it was, sir. I cleared away

the lunch things and laid the table here as you see for

supper. The Capting, he told me as I needn't come back."

"What do you usually do?"

"As a general rule, I come back about seven for a

couple of hours. Not always--sometimes the Capting

would say as I needn't."

32

Murder at Hazelmoor

"Then you weren't surprised when he told you that

yesterday you wouldn't be wanted again?"

"No, sir. I didn't come back the evening before

either--on account of the weather. Very considerate

gentleman, the Capting was, as long as you didn't try to

shirk things. I knew him and his ways pretty well."

"What exactly did he say?"

"Well, he looked out of the window and he says, 'Not

a hope of Burnaby today.' 'Shouldn't wonder,' he says,

'if Sittaford isn't cut off altogether. Don't remember such

a winter since I was a boy.' That was his friend Major

Burnaby over to Sittaford that he was referring to. Always

comes on a Friday, he does, he and the Capting play

chess and do acrostics. And on Tuesdays the Capting

would go to Major Burnaby's. Very regular in his habits

was the Capting. Then he said to me: 'You can go now,

Evans, and you needn't come till tomorrow morning.'"

"Apart from his reference to Major Burnaby, he didn't

speak of expecting anyone that afternoon?"

"No, sir, not a word."

"There was nothing unusual or different in any way in

"

his manner.

"No, sir, not that I could see."

"Ah! Now I understand, Evans, that you have lately

got married."

"Yes, sir. Mrs. Belling's daughter at the Three Crowns. Matter of two months ago, sir."

"And Captain Trevelyan was not overpleased about

it."

A very faint grin appeared for a moment on Evans'

face.

33

Agatha Christie

"Cut up rough about it, he did, the Captingo My Rebecca is a fine girl, sir, and a very good cook. And I

hoped we might have been able to do for the Capting

together, but he--he wouldn't hear of it. Said he wouldn't

have women servants about his house. In fact, sir, things

were rather at a deadlock when this South African lady

came along and wanted to take Sittaford House for the

winter. The Capting he rented this place, I came in to

do for him every day, and I don't mind telling you, sir,

that I had been hoping that by the end of the winter the

Capting would have come round to the idea; and that

me and Rebecca would go back to Sittaford with him.

Why, he would never even know she was in the house.

She would keep to the kitchen, and she would manage

so that he would never meet her on the stairs."

"Have you any idea what lay behind Captain Trevelyan's

dislike of women?"

"Nothing to it, sir. Just an 'abit, sir, that's all. I have seen many a gentleman like it before. If you ask me, it's

nothing more or less than shyness. Some young lady or

other gives them a snub when they are young--and they

gets the 'abit."

"Captain Trevelyan was not married?"

"No, indeed, sir."

"What relations had he? Do you know?"

"I believe he had a sister living at Exeter, sir, and I think I have heard him mention a nephev or nephews."

"None of them ever came to see him?"

"No, sir. I think he quarreled with his sister at Exeter." "Do you know her name?"

34

Murder at Hazelmoor

"Gardner, I think, sir, but I wouldn't be sure." "You don't know her address?"

"I'm 'afraid I don't, sir."

"Well, doubtless we shall come across that in looking

through Captain Trevelyan's papers. Now, Evans, what

were you yourself doing from four o'clock onwards yesterday afternoon?"

"I was at home, sir."

Where s home?"

"Just round the corner, sir, 85 Fore Street."

"You didn't go out at all?"

"Not likely, sir. Why, the snow was coming down a

Fair treat."

"Yes, yes. Is there anyone who can support your statement?"

"Beg pardon, sir."

"Is there anyone who knows that you were at home

during that time?"

"My wife, sir."

"She and you were alone in the house?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, well, I have no doubt that's all right. That will be all for the present, Evans."

The ex-sailor hesitated. He shifted from one foot to

the other.

"Anything I can do here, sir--in the way of tidying

up?"

"No--the whole place is to be left exactly as it is for the present."

"I see."

CHR

Agatha Christie

"You had better wait, though, until I have had a look

round," said Narracott, "in case there might be any question I want to ask you."

"Very good, sir."

Inspector Narracott transferred his gaze from Evans

to the room.

The interview had taken place in the dining-room. On

the table an evening meal was set out. A cold tongue,

pickles, a Stilton cheese and biscuits, and on a gas ring

by the fire a saucepan containing soup. On the sideboard

was a tantalus, a soda water siphon, and two bottles of

beer. There was also an immense array of silver cups

and with them--a rather incongruous item, three very

new looking novels.

Inspector Narracott examined one or two of the cups

and read the inscriptions on them.

"Bit a sportsman, Captain Trevelyan," he observed.

"Yes, indeed, sir," said Evans. "Been an athlete all his life, he had."

Inspector Narracott read the titles of the novels.

"Love Turns the Key," "The Merry Men of Lincoln,"

"Love's Prisoner."

"H'm," he remarked. "The Captain's taste in literature seems somewhat incongruous."

"Oh! that, sir." Evans laughed. "That's not for reading, sir. That's the prizes he won in these Railway Pictures

Names Competitions. Ten solutions the Capting sent in

under different names, including mine, because he said

85 Fore Street was a likely address to give a prize to!

The commoner your name and address the more likely

you were to get a prize in the Capting's opinion. And

36

Murder at Hazelmoor

sure enough a prize I got--but not the 2, pounds oo, only three new novels--and the kind of novels, in my opinion, that

no one would ever pay money for in a shop."

Narracott smiled, then again mentioning that Evans

was to wait, he proceeded on his tour of inspection.

There was a large kind of cupboard in one corner of the

room. It was almost a small room in itself. Here, packed

in unceremoniously, were two pairs of skis, a pair of sculls mounted, ten or twelve hippopotamus tusks, rods and

lines and various fishing tackle including a book of flies,

a bag of golf clubs, a tennis racket, an elephant's foot

stuffed and mounted and a tiger skin. It was clear that,

when Captain Trevelyan had let Sittaford House fur-nished,

he had removed his most precious possessions,

distrustful of female influence.

"Funny idea--to bring all this with him," said the Inspector. "The house was only let for a few months,

wasn't it?"

"That's right, sir."

"Surely these things could have been locked up at

Sittaford House?"

For the second time in the course of the interview,

Evans grinned.

"That would have been much the easiest way of doing

it," he agreed. "Not that there are many cupboards at Sittaford House. The architect and the Capting planned

it together, and it takes a female to understand the value

of cupboard room. Still, as you say, sir, that would have

been the common-sense thing to do. Carting them down

here was a job--I should say it was a job! But there, the

Capting couldn't bear the idea of anyone messing around

37

Agatha Christie

with his things. And lock things up as you will, he says,

a woman will always find a way of getting in. It's curiosity, he says. Better not lock them up at all if you don't want

her to handle them, he says. But best of all, take them

along, and then you're sure to be on the safe side. So

take 'em along we did, and as I say, it was a job, and

came expensive too. But there, those things of the Cap-ting's was like his children."

Evans paused out of breath.

Inspector Narracott nodded thoughtfully. There was

another point on which he wanted information, and it

seemed to him that this was a good moment when the

subject had arisen naturally.

"This Mrs. Willett," he said casually. "Was she an old friend or acquaintance of the Captain's?"

"Oh! no, sir, she was quite a stranger to him."

"You are sure of that?" said the Inspector, sharply.

"Well--" the sharpness took the old sailor aback. "The Capting never actually said so--but--Oh! yes, I'm sure

of it."

"I ask," explained the Inspector, "because it is a very curious time of year for a let. On the other hand, if this

Mrs. Willett was acquainted with Captain Trevelyan and

knew the house, she might have written to him and

suggested taking it."

Evans shook his head.

"'Twas the agents--Williamsons--that wrote, said they

had an offer from a lady."

Inspector Narracott frowned. He found this business

of the letting of Sittaford House distinctly odd.

38

Murder at Hazelmoor

"Captain Trevelyan and Mrs. Willett met, I suppose2" he asked. '

"Oh! yes. She came to see the house and he took her

over it."

"And you're positive they hadn't met before?"

"Oh! quite, sir."

"Did they--er--" the Inspector paused, as he tried to frame the question naturallv. "Did they get on well

together? Were they friendly?;'

"The lady was." A faint smile crossed Evans' lips. "All over him, as you might say. Admiring the house, and

asking him if he'd planned the building of it. Altogether

laying it on thick, as you might say."

"And the Captain?"

The smile broadened.

"That sort of gushing lady wasn't likely to cut any ice with him. Polite he was, but nothing more. And declined

her invitations."

"Invitations?"

"Yes, to consider the house as his own any time, and

drop in, that's how she put/t--drop in. You don't drop

in to a place when you're living six miles away."

"She seemed anxious to--well--to see something of

the Captain?"

Narracott was wondering. Was that the reason for the

taking of the house? Was it only a prelude to the making

of Captain Trevelyan's acquaintance? Was that the real

game? It would probably not have occurred to her that

the Captain would have gone as far as Exhampton to live.

She might have calculated on his moving into one of the

39

Agatha Christie

small bungalows, perhaps sharing Major Burnaby's.

Evans' answer was not very helpful.

"She's a very hospitable lady, by all accounts. Someone in to lunch or dinner every day."

Narracott nodded. He could learn no more here. But

he determined to seek an interview with this Mrs. Willett

at an early date. Her abrupt arrival needed looking into.

"Come on, Pollock, we'll go upstairs now," he said. They left Evans in the dining-room and proceeded to

the upper story.

"All right, do you think?" asked the Sergeant in a low voice, jerking his head over his shoulder in the direction

of the closed dining-room door.

"He seems so," said the Inspector. "But one never knows. He's no fool, that fellow, whatever else he is." "No, he's an intelligent sort of chap."

"His story seems straightforward enough," went on

the Inspector. "Perfectly clear and above board. Still, as I say, one never knows."

And with this pronouncement, very typical of his careful

and suspicious mind, the Inspector proceeded to search

the rooms on the first floor.

There were three bedrooms and a bathroom. Two of

the bedrooms were empty and had clearly not been entered

for some weeks. The third, Captain Trevelyan's

own room, was in exquisite and apple-pie order. Inspector

Narracott moved about in it, opening drawers

and cupboards. Everything was in its right place. It was

the room of a man almost fanatically tidy and neat in his

habits. Narracott finished his inspection and glanced into

the adjoining bathroom. Here, too, everything was in

40

Murder at Hazelmoor

order. He gave a last glance at the bed, neatly turned

down, with folded pajamas laid ready.

Then he shook his head.

"Nothing here," he said.

"No, everything seems in perfect order."

"There are the papers in the desk in the study. You

had better go through those, Pollock. I'll tell Evans that

he can go. I may call round and see him at his own place

later."

"Very good, sir."

"The body can be removed. I shall want to see Warren,

by the way. He lives near here, doesn't he?"

"Yes, sir."

"This side of the Three Crowns or the other?"

"The other, sir."

"Then I'll take the Three Crowns first. Carry on, Ser-geant."

Pollock went to the dining-room to dismiss Evans. The

Inspector passed out of the front door and walked rapidly

in the direction of the Three Crowns.

41

6. At the Three Crowns

I S P E C T O R Narracott was not destined to see Major

Burnaby until he had had a protracted interview with

Mrs. Belling--licensed proprietor of the Three Crowns.

Mrs. Belling was fat and excitable, and so voluble that

there was nothing to be done but to listen patiently until

Stch time as the stream of conversation should dry up.

"And such a night as never was," she ended up. "And little did any of us think what was happening to the poor

dear gentleman. Those nasty tramps--if I've said it once,

I've said it a dozen times, I can't abear those nasty tramps. Do anybody in they would. The Captain had not so much

as a dog to protect him. Can't abear a dog, tramps can't.

Ah, well, you never know what is happening within a

Stone's throw.

"Yes, Mr. Narracott," she proceeded in answer to his qaestion, "the Major is having his breakfast now. You

will find him in the coffee-room. And what kind of a

night he has passed with no pajamas or anything, and

e a widow woman with nothing to lend him, I can't

S4y, I am sure. Said it made no matter he did--all upset

arid queer he was--and no wonder with his best friend

murdered. Very nice gentlemen the two of them, though

the Captain had the reputation of being close with his

oney. Ah, well, well, I have always thought it dan-gerous

to live up to Sittaford, iniles away from anywhere,

arid here's the Captain struck down in Exhampton itself.

Murder at Hazelmoor

It's always what you don't expect in this life that happens, isn't it, Mr. Narracott?"

The Inspector said that undoubtedly it was. Then he

added:

"Who did you have staying here yesterday, Mrs. Bell-ing?

Any strangers?"

"Now, let me see. There was Mr. Moresby and Mr.

Jones--commercial gentlemen they are, and there was

ayoung gentleman from London. Nobody else. It stands

to reason there wouldn't be this time of year. Very quiet

here in the winter. Oh, and there was another young

gentleman--arrived by the last train. Nosy young fellow

I call him. He isn't up yet."

"The last train?" said the Inspector. "That gets in at ten o'clock, eh? I don't think we need trouble ourselves

about him. What about the other--the one from Lon-don?

Did you know him?"

"Never seen him before in my life. Not a commercial

gentleman, oh, no--a cut above that. I can't remember

his name for the moment--but you'll find it in the reg-ister. Let on the first train to Exeter this morning, he

did. Six ten. Rather curious. What did he want down

here anyway, that's what I'd like to know."

"He didn't mention his business?"

"Not a word."

"Did he go out at all?"

"Arrived at lunch time, went.out about half past fbur

and came in about twenty past six."

"Where did he go when he went out?"

"I haven't the remotest idea, sir. May have been just

for a stroll like. That was before the snow came, but it

43

Agatha Christie

wasn't what you might call a pleasant day for walking."

"Went out at half past four and returned about twenty

past six," said the Inspector thoughtfully. "That's rather

odd. He didn't mention Captain Trevelyan?"

Mrs. Belling shook her head decisively.

"No, Mr. Narracott, he didn't mention anybody at all.

Kept himself to himself he did. A nice looking young

fellow--but worried, I should say."

The Inspector nodded and stepped across to inspect

the register.

"James Pearson, London," said the Inspector. "Well

--that doesn't tell us much. We'll have to make a few

inquiries about Mr. James Pearson."

Then he strode off to the coffee-room in search of

Major Burnaby.

The Major was the only occupant of the room. He was

drinking some rather muddy looking coffee and the Times

was propped up in front of him.

"Major Burnaby?"

"That's my name."

"I am Inspector Narracott from Exeter."

"Good morning, Inspector. Any forrarder?"

"Yes, sir. I think we are a little forrarder. I think I can safely say that."

"Glad to hear it," said the Major drily. His attitude was one of resigned disbelief.

"Now there are just one or two points I would like

some information on, Major Burnaby," said the Inspec-tor,

"and I think you can probably tell me what I want

to know."

"Do what I can," said Burnaby.

44

Murder at Hazelmoor

"Had Captain Trevelyan any enemies to your knowl-edge?''

"Not an enemy in the world." Burnaby was decisive.

"This man, Evans--do you yourself consider him

trustworthy?"

"Should think so. Trevelyan trusted him I know."

"There was no ill feeling about this marriage of his?"

"Not ill feeling, no. Trevelyan was annoyed--didn't

like his habits upset. Old bachelor, you know."

"Talking of bachelors, that's another point. Captain

Trevelyan was unmarried--do you know if he made a

will? And in the event of there being no will, have you

any idea who would inherit his estate?"

"Trevelyan made a will," said Burnaby promptly.

"Ah--you know that."

"Yes. Made me executor. Told me so."

"Do you know how he left his money?"

"That I can't say."

"I understand he was very comfortably off?."

"Trevelyan was a rich man," replied Burnaby. "I should say he was much better off than anyone round here sus-pected."

"What relations had he--do you know?"

"He'd a sister and some nephews and nieces I believe.

Never saw much of any of them, but there was no quar

"About

this will, do you know where he kept it?"

"It's at Walters & Kirkwood--the solicitors here in Exhampton. They drew it up for him."

"Then, perhaps, Major Burnaby, as you are executor,

I wonder if you would come round to Walters & Kirk

45

Agatha Christie

wood with me now. I should like to have an idea of the

contents of that will as soon as possible."

Burnaby looked up alertly.

"What's in the wind?" he said. "What's the will got to do with it?"

Inspector Narracott was not disposed to show his hand

too soon.

"The case isn't such plain sailing as we thought," he said. "By the way, there's another question I want to ask you. I understand, Major Burnaby, that you asked Dr.

Warren whether death had occurred at five and twenty

minutes past five?"

"Well," said the Major gruffly.

"What made you select that exact time, Major?"

"Why shouldn't I?" said Burnaby.

"Well--something must have put it into your head." There was quite a pause before Major Burnaby re-plied.

Inspector Narracott's interest was aroused. The

Major had something which he quite patently wished to

conceal. To watch him doing so was almost ludicrous.

"Why shouldn't I say twenty-five past five?" he de-manded truculently, "or twenty-five to six--or twenty

past four, for that matter?"

"Quite so, sir," said Inspector Narracott soothingly. He did not wish to antagonize the Major just at this

moment. He promised himself that he would get to the

bottom of the matter before the day was out.

"There's one thing that strikes me as curious, sir," he went on.

"Yes?"

"This business of the letting of Sittaford House. I don't

46

Murder at Hazelmoor

know what you think about it, but it seems to me a

curious thing to have happened."

"If you ask me," said Burnaby, "it's damned odd."

"That's your opinion?"

"It's everyone's opinion."

"In Sittaford?"

"In SittaIbrd and Exhampton too. The woman must

be mad."

"Well, I suppose there's no accounting for tastes," said the Inspector.

"Damned odd taste for a woman of that kind."

"You know the lady?"

"I know her. Why, I was at her house when--"

"When what?" asked Narracott as the Major came to

an abrupt halt.

"Nothing," said Burnaby.

Inspector Narracott looked at him keenly. There was

something here he would have liked to get at. The Major's

obvious confusion and embarrassment did not escape

him. He had been on the point of saying--what?

"All in good time," said Narracott to himself. "Now isn't the moment to rub him up the wrong way."

Aloud he said innocently:

"You were at Sittaford House, you say, sir. The lady

has been there now--about how long?"

"A couple of months."

The Major was eager to escape the result of his imprudent

words. It made him more loquacious than usual.

"A widow lady with her daughter?"

"That's it."

47

Agatha Christie

"Does she give any reason for her choice of residence?"

"Well--" the Major rubbed his nose dubiously. "She talks a lot, she's that kind of woman--beauties of

nature--out of the world--that sort of thing. But--"

He paused rather helplessly. Inspector Narracott came

to his rescue.

"It didn't strike you as natural on her part."

"Well, it's like this. She's a fashionable sort of woman. Dressed up to the nines--daughter's a smart, pretty girl.

Natural thing would be for them to be staying at the Ritz

or Claridges, or some other big hotel somewhere. You

know the sort."

Narracott nodded.

"They don't keep themselves to themselves, do they?"

he asked. "You don't think they are--well--hiding?" Major Burnaby shook his head positively.

"Oh! no, nothing of that kind. They're very sociable

--a bit too sociable. I mean, in a little place like Sittaford, you can't have previous engagements, and when invi-tations

are showered on you it's a bit awkward. They're

exceedingly kind, hospitable people, but a bit too hos-pitable for English ideas."

"The Colonial touch," said the Inspector.

"Yes, I suppose so."

"You've no reason to think they were previously

accquainted with Captain Trevelyan?"

"Sure they weren't."

"You seem very positive?"

"Joe would have told me."

"And you don't think their motive could have been--well--to scrape acquaintance with the Captain?"

48

Murder at Hazelmoor

This was clearly a new idea to the Major. He pondered

over it br some minutes.

"Well, I never thought of that. They were very gushing

to him, certainly. Not that they got any change out of

Joe. But no, I think it was just their usual manner. Over

friendly, you know, like Colonials are," added the Super Insular soldier.

"I see. Now, as to the house itself. Captain Trevelyan

built that, I understand?"

"Yes."

"And nobody else has ever lived in it? I mean, it's not

been let before?"

"Never."

"Then it doesn't seem as though it could be anything

in the house itself that was the attraetion. It's a puzzle.

Ten to one it's got nothing to do with the case, but it

just struck me as an odd coincidence. This house that

Captain Trevelyan took, Hazelmoor, whose property was

that?"

"Miss Larpent's. Middle-aged woman, she's gone to a

boarding house at Cheltenham for the winter. Does every

year. Usually shuts the house up, but lets it if she can,

which isn't often."

There seemed nothing promising there. The Inspector

shook his head in a discouraged fashion.

"Williamsons were the agents, I understand?" he said.

"Yes."

"Their office is in Exhampton?"

"Next door to Walters & Kirkwood."

"Ah! then, perhaps, if you don't mind, Major, we might

just drop in on our way."

49

Agatha Christie

"Not at all. You won't find Kirkwood at hi office before

ten anyway. You know what lawyers are."

"Then, shall we go?"

The Major, who had finished his breakt4t some time

ago, nodded assent and rose.

5o

7. The Will

A N alert looking young man rose to receive them in the

office of Messrs. Williamson.

"Good morning, Major Burnaby."

"Morning."

"Terrible business, this," said the young man chattily.

"Not been such a thing in Exhampton for years."

He spoke with gusto and the Major winced.

"This is Inspector Narracott," he said.

"Oh! yes," said the young man, pleasurably excited. "I want some information that I think you can give me," said the Inspector. "I understand that you put through this let of Sittaford House."

"To Mrs. Willet? Yes, we did."

"Can you give me full details, please, of how that came about. Did the lady apply personally, or by letter?"

"By letter. She wrote, let me see--" He opened a

drawer and turned up a file. "Yes, from the Carlton

Hotel, London."

"Did she mention Sittaford House by name?"

"No, she merely said she wanted to rent a house for

the winter, it must be right on Dartmoor and have at

least eight bedrooms. Being near a railway station or a

town was of no consequence."

"Was Sittaford House on your books?"

"No, it was not. But as a matter of fact it was the only house in the neighborhood that at all fulfilled the re51

Agatha C hristie

"Iqot at all. You won't find Ki..

teo anyway. You know, what l'qrkwood at his offie% be

"Then, shall we go?'

awyers are."

The Major, who had finishet,,

tg0, aodded assent and rose. d his brealkfast soMe

7. The Will

A N alert looking young man rose to receive them in the

office of Messrs. Williar0son.

"Good norning, Major Burnaby."

"Morniag."

"Terrible business, this," said the young man chattily.

"Not beer such a thing in Exhampton for years."

He spoke with gusto and the Major winced.

"This is Inspector Narracott," he said.

"Oh! yes," said the yottng man, pleasurably excited. "I want some information that I think you can give me," said the Inspector. "I understand that you put through this let of $ittaford House."

"To Mrs. Willet? Yes, we did."

"Can yot give me full details, please, of how that came about. Did the lady apply personally, or by letter?"

"By letter. She wrote, let me see--" He opened a

drawer and turned up a file. "Yes, from the Carlton

Hotel, London."

"Did she mention Sittaford House by name?"

"No, she merely said she wanted to rent a house for

the winter, it must be right on Dartmoor and have at

least eight bedrooms. Beiog near a railway station or a

town was of no consequence-"

"Was Sittaford House or your books?"

"No, it Was not. But as a matter of fact it was the only house in the neighborhood that at all fulfilled the re,.

Agatha Christie

quirements. The lady mentioned in her letter that she

would be willing to go to twelve guineas, and in these

circumstances I thought it worth while writing to Captain

Trevelyan and asking whether he would consider letting.

He replied in the affirmative, and we fixed the thing up."

"Without Mrs. Willett seeing the house?"

"She agreed to take it without seeing it, and signed

the agreement. Then she came down here for one day,

drove up to Sittaford, saw Captain Trevelyan, arranged

with him about plate and linen, etc. and saw over the

house."

"She was quite satisfied?"

"She came in and said she was delighted with it."

"And what did you think?" asked Inspector Narracott, eyeing him keenly.

The young man shrugged his shoulders.

"You learn never to be surprised at anything in the

house business," he said.

On this note of philosophy they left, the Inspector

thanking the young man for his help.

"Not at all, a pleasure, I'm sure."

He accompanied them politely to the door.

The offices of Messrs. Walters & Kirkwood were, as

Major Burnaby had said, next door to the estate agents.

On reaching there, they were told that Mr. Kirkwood

had just arrived and they were shown into his room.

Mr. Kirkwood was an elderly man with a benign

expression. He was a native of Exhampton and had suc-ceeded

his father and grandfather in the firm.

He rose, put on his mourning face, and shook hands

with the Major.

Murder at Hazelmoor

"Good morning, Major Burnaby," he said. "This is a very shocking affair. Very shocking indeed. Poor Trevelyan." He looked inquiringly at Narracott and Major Burnaby

explained his presence in a few succinct words.

"You are in charge of the case, Inspector Narracott?"

"Yes, Mr. Kirkwood. In pursuance of my investigations,

I have come to ask you for certain information."

"I shall be happy to give you any information if it is

proper for me to do so," said the lawyer.

"It concerns the late Captain Trevelyan's will," said Narracott. "I understand the will is here in your office."

"That is so."

"It was made some time ago?"

"Five or six years ago. I cannot be sure of the exact

date at the moment."

"Ah! I am anxious, Mr. Kirkwood, to know the con~

tents of that will as soon as possible. It may have an

important bearing on the case."

Indeed. said t

'

"

he lawyer. Indeed! I should not have

thought that, but naturally you know your own business

best, Inspector. Well--" he glanced across at the other

man. "Major Burnaby and myself are joint executors of

the will. If he has no objection--"

"None."

"Then I see no reason why I should not accede to your

request, Inspector."

Taking up a telephone that stood on his desk he spoke

a few words down it. In two or three minutes a clerk

entered the room and laid a sealed envelope in front of

the lawyer. The clerk left the room, Mr. Kirkwood picked

53

Agatha Christie

up the envelope, slit it open with a paper knife and drew

out a large and important looking document, cleared his

throat and began to read-

"I, Joseph Arthur Trevelyan, of Sittaford House,

Sittaford, in the County of Devon, declare this to

be my last will and testament which I make this

thirteenth day of August nineteen hundred and

twenty-six.

"(1) I appoint John Edward Burnaby of I The

Cottages, Sittaford, and Frederick Kirkwood of Ex-hampton,

to be the executors and trustees of this,

my will.

"(z) I give to Robert Henry Evans, who has served

me long and faithfully, the sum of pounds o (one hundred

pounds) free of legacy duty for his own benefit ab-solutely, provided that he is in my service at the

time of my death and not under notice to leave

whether given or received.

"(3) I give the said John Edward Burnaby, as a

token of our friendship and of my affection and re-gard

for him, all my trophies of sport, including my

collection of heads and pelts of big game as well as

any challenge cups and prizes awarded to me in any

department of sport and any spoils of the chase in

my possession.

"(4) I give all my real and personal property, not

otherwise disposed of by this, my will, or any codicil

hereto to my Trustees upon Trust that my Trustees

shall sell, call in and convert the same into money.

"(5) My Trustees shall out of the moneys to arise

out of such sale, calling in and conversion pay any

funeral and testamentary expenses and debts, and

54

Murder at Hazelmoor

the legacies given by this, my will, or any codicil

hereto and all death duties and other moneys.

"(6) My Trustees shall hold the residue of such

moneys or the investments for the time being, rep-resenting

the same upon Trust to divide the same

into fbur equal parts or shares.

"(7) Upon such division as aforesaid my Trustees

shall hold one such equal fourth part or share upon

Trust to pay the same to my sister Jennifer Gardner

for her own use and enjoyment absolutely.

"And my Trustees shall hold the remaining three

such equal fourth parts or shares upon Trust to pay

one such equal fourth part or share to each of the

three children of my deceased sister, Mary Pearson

for the benefit of each such child absolutely.

"In Witness whereof I, the said Joseph Arthur

Trevelyan, have hereunto set my hand the day and

year first above written.

"Signed by the above named Testator as his last

will in the presence of us both present at the same

time, who in his presence and at his request and in

the presence of each other have hereunto sub-scribed

our names as witness,"

Mr. Kirkwood handed the document to the Inspector.

"Witnessed by two of my clerks in this office."

The Inspector ran his eye over the will thoughtfully.

"My deceased sister, Mary Pearson," he said. "Can you tell me anything about Mrs. Pearson, Mr. Kirk-wood?"

"Very little. She died about ten years ago, I believe.

Her husband, a stockbroker, had predeceased her. As

far as I know, she never visited Captain Trevelyan here."

55

Agatha Christie

"Pearson," said the Inspector again. Then he added:

"One thing more. The amount of Captain Trevelyan's

estate is not mentioned. To what sum do you think it

will amount?"

"That is difficult to say exactly," said Mr. Kirkwood, enjoying, like all lawyers, making the reply to a simple

question difficult. "It is a question of real or personal estate. Besides Sittaford House, Captain Trevelyan owns some property in the neighborhood of Plymouth, and

various investments he made from time to time have

fluctuated in value."

"I just want an approximate idea," said Inspector Narracott.

"I should not like to commit myself"

"Just the roughest estimate as a guide. For instance

would twenty thousand pounds be out of the way?"

"Twenty thousand pounds. My dear sir! Captain Trevelyan's estate will be worth at least four times as much

as that. Eighty or even ninety thousand pounds will be

much nearer the mark."

"I told you Trevelyan was a rich man," said Burnaby. Inspector Narracott rose.

"Thank you very much, Mr. Kirkwood," he said, "for the information you have given me."

"You think you will find it helpful, eh?"

The laywer very clearly was agog with curiosity,

but Inspector Narracott was in no mood to satisfy it at

present.

"In a case like this we have to take everything into

account," he said, noncommittally. "By the way, have

56

Murder at Hazelmoor

you the names and addresses of this Jennifer Gardner

and of the Pearson family?"

"I know nothing of the Pearson family. Mrs. Gardner's

address is The Laurels, Waldon Road, Exeter."

The Inspector noted it down in his book.

"That will do to get on with," he said. "You don't know how many children the late Mrs. Pearson left?"

"Three, I fancy. Two girls and a boy--or possibly two

boys and a girl--I cannot remember which."

The Inspector nodded and put away his notebook and

thanked the lawyer once more and took his departure.

When they had reached the street, he turned suddenly

and faced his companion.

"And now, sir," he said, "we'll have the truth about that twenty-five past five business."

Major Burnaby's face reddened with annoyance.

"I have told you already--"

"That won't go down with me. Withholding informa-tion,

that is what you are doing, Major Burnaby. You

must have had some {dea in mentioning that specific time

to Dr. Warren--and I think I have a very good idea of

what that something is."

"Well, if you know about it, why ask me?" growled

the Major.

"I take it that you were aware that a certain person

had an appointment with Captain Trevelyan somewhere

about that time. Now, isn't that so?"

Major Burnaby stared at him in surprise.

"Nothing of the kind," he snarled, "nothing of the kind."

57

Agatha Christie

"Be careful, Major Burnaby. What about Mr. James

Pearson?"

"James Pearson? James Pearson, who's he? Do you

mean one of Trevelyan's nephews?"

"I presume it would be a nephew. He had one called

James, hadn't he?"

"Not the least idea. Trevelyan had nephews--I know

that. But what their names were, I haven't the vaguest

idea."

"The young man in question was at the Three Crowns

last night. You probably recognized him there."

"I didn't recognize anybody," growled the Major.

"Shouldn't anyway--never saw any of Trevelyan's neph-ews in my life."

"But you knew that Captain Trevelyan was expecting

a nephew to call upon him yesterday afternoon?"

"I did not," roared the Major.

Several people in the street turned round to stare at

him.

"Damn it, won't you take plain truth! I knew nothing

about any appointment. Trevelyan's nephews may have

been in Timbuctoo for all I knew about them."

Inspector Narracott was a little taken aback. The Ma-jor's

vehement denial bore the mark of truth too plainly

for him to be deceived.

"Then why this twenty-five past five business?"

"Oh! well--I suppose I had better tell you," the Major coughed in an embarrassed fashion. "But mind you--the

whole thing is damned foolishness! Tommy rot, sir.

How any thinking man can believe such nonsense!"

Inspector Narracott looked more and more surprised.

58

Murder' at Hazelmoor

Major Burnaby was looking more uncomfortable and

ashamed of himself every minute.

"You know what it is, Inspector. You have to join in

these things to please a lady. Of course, I never thought

there was anything in it."

"In what, Major Burnaby?"

"Table turning." "Table turning?"

Whatever Narracott had expected he had not expected

this. The Major proceeded to explain himself. Haltingly,

and with many disclaimers to his own belief in the thing,

he described the events of the previous afternoon and

the message that had purported to come through for

himself.

"You mean, Major Burnaby, that the table spelt out

the name of Trevelyan and informed you that he was

dead--murdered?"

Major Burnaby wiped his forehead.

"Yes, that's what happened. I didn't believe in it--naturally, I didn't believe in it." He looked ashamed.

"Well--it was Friday and I thought after all I would

make sure and go along and see if everything was all

right."

The Inspector reflected on the difficulties of that six

mile walk, with the piled up snowdrifts and the prospect

of a heavy snow fall, and he realized that deny it as he

would Major Burnaby must have been deeply impressed

by the spirit message. Narraeott turned it over in his

mind. A queer thing to happen--a very queer thing to

happen. The sort of thing you couldn't explain satistaetorily. There. might be something in this spirit business

59

Agatha Christie

after all. It was the first well authenticated case he had

come across.

A very queer business altogether but, as far as he could

see, though it explained Major Burnaby's attitude, it had

no practical bearing on the case as far as he himself Was

concerned. He had to deal with the physical world and

not the psychic.

It was his job to track down the murderer.

And to do that he required no guidance from the spirit

world.

60

8. Mr. Charles Enderby

G L A N C I N G at his watch, the Inspector realized he

could just catch the train for Exeter if he hurried off. He

was anxious to interview the late Captain Trevelyan's

sister as soon as possible and obtain from her the ad-dresses of the other members of the family. So, with a

hurried word of farewell to Major Burnaby, he raced off

to the station. The Major retraced his steps to the Three

Crowns. He had hardly put a foot across the doorstep

when he was accosted by a bright young man with a very

shiny head and a round, boyish face.

"Major Burnaby?" said the young man.

"Yes."

"Of No. x Sittaford Cottages?"

"Yes," said Major Burnaby.

"I represent the Daily Wire," said the young man,

"and I--"

He got no further. In true military fashion of the old

school, the Major exploded.

"Not another word," he roared. "I know you and your kind. No decency. No reticence. Clustering round a mur-der

like vultures round a carcass, but I can tell you,

young man, you will get no information from me. Not a

word. No story for your damned paper. If you want to

know anything, go and ask the police, and have the de.

cency to leave the friends of the dead man alone."

61

Agatha Christie

The young man seemed not a whit taken aback. He

smiled more encouragingly than ever.

"I say, sir, you know you have got hold of the wrong

end of the stick. I know nothing about this murder busi-ness."

This was not, strictly speaking, the truth. No one in

Exhampton could pretend ignorance of the event that

had shaken the quiet moorland town to its core.

"I am empowered on behalf of the Daily Wire," went on the young man, "to hand you this check for 5, pounds oo and congratulate you on sending in the only correct so-lution of our football competition."

Major Burnaby was completely taken aback.

"I have no doubt," continued the young man, "that you have already received our letter yesterday morning

informing you of the good news."

"Letter?" said Major Burnaby. "Do you realize, young man, that Sittaford is about ten feet deep in snow? What

chance do you think we have had in the last few days of

a regular delivery of letters?"

"But doubtless you saw your name announced as win-ner

in the Daily Wire, this morning?"

"No," said Major Burnaby. "I haven't glanced at the paper this morning."

"Ah! of course not," said the young man. "This sad business. The murdered man was a friend of yours, I

understand."

"My best friend," said the Major.

"Hard lines," said the young man tactfully averting his eyes. Then he drew from his pocket a small folded piece

Murder

at ,:l ze l moo r

of mauve paper and handedil'.,/llt: to Major lUrnaby with ti th

a bow.

"With the compliments 0fei/!li5e Daily Wive,', he said. .I.

Major Burnaby took it andvlthe 9tlbid the only

under the circumstances,

thing possible

[,le

"Have a drink, Mr.--er!'

"Enderby, Charles Endert,',m?n:'! my name is. I got here last night," he explained. "l'iqp.e inquiries about ..

e getting g

to Sittaford. We make it apo:t0a0.t to hand Ch%ks to win-- ners personally. Always pulihati*flgdzh a little inteiew' Interests our readers. Well, e,:e 9?yone told e it was out

of the questionthe snoafflllls falling and it simply y

couldn't be done, and the':h'e the greatest good luck k

I find you are actuly here, sgat tng at the ree Cros." '" He smiled. "No dicultyab::tideobt identification. Everybody seems to know eveb% 1 else in this Part of the e

world."

"What will you have?" said6etlal/e Major.

"Beer for me," said Ende5. ..

The Major ordered two b .s.

"The whole place seems 0{he head with this murder,'' "" remarked Enderby. "Rathersten:(ysterious bsiaess y all [[11

accounts."

The Major grunted. He irs'0an something0fa q un dary. His sentiments towarja,urnalists reained n-changed, but a man who h'hdlst handed You a cc-k

for gS,OOO is in a privilege?:'i010[.sition. You eannot ry

well tell him to go to the de',

"No enemies, had he?" asthe 9fll the young

"No," said the Major.

Agatha Christie

The young man seemed not a whit taken aback. He

smiled more encouragingly than ever.

"I say, sir, you know you have got hold of the wrong

end of the stick. I know nothing about this murder busi-ness."

This was not, strictly speaking, the truth. No one in

Exhampton could pretend ignorance of the event that

had shaken the quiet moorland town to its core.

"I am empowered on behalf of the Daily Wire," went on the young man, "to hand you this check for 5, pounds oo and congratulate you on sending in the only correct so-lution of our football competition."

Major Burnaby was completely taken aback.

"I have no doubt," continued the young man, "that you have already received our letter yesterday morning

informing you of the good news."

"Letter?" said Major Burnaby. "Do you realize, young man, that Sittaford is about ten feet deep in snow? What

chance do you think we have had in the last few days of

a regular delivery of letters?"

"But doubtless you saw your name announced as win-ner

in the Daily Wire, this morning?"

"No," said Major Burnaby. "I haven't glanced at the paper this morning."

"Ah! of course not," said the young man. "This sad business. The murdered man was a friend of yours, I

understand."

"My best friend," said the Major.

"Hard lines," said the young man tactfully averting his eyes. Then he drew from his pocket a small folded piece

Murder at Hazelmoor

of mauve paper and handed it to Major Burnaby with

a bow.

"With the compliments of the Daily Wire," he said.

Major Burnaby took it and said the only thing possible

under the circumstances.

"Have a drink, Mr.--er--?"

"Enderby, Charles Enderby my name is. I got here

last night," he explained. "Made inquiries about getting to Sittaford. We make it a point to hand checks to win-ners

personally. Always publish a little interview. In-terests

our readers. Well, everyone told me it was out

of the question--the snow was falling and it simply

couldn't be done, and then with the greatest good luck

I find you are actually here, staying at the Three Crowns." He smiled. "No difficulty about identification. Every-body seems to know everybody else in this part of the

world."

"What will you have?" said the Major.

"Beer for me," said Enderby.

The Major ordered two beers.

"The whole place seems offits head with this murder," remarked Enderby. "Rather a mysterious business by all

accounts."

The Major grunted. He was in something of a quan-dary.

His sentiments towards journalists remained un-changed,

but a man who has just handed you a check

for 5, pounds oo is in a privileged position. You cannot very well tell him to go to the devil.

"No enemies, had he?" asked the young man.

"No," said the Major.

63

Agatha Christie

"But I hear the police don't think it is robbery," went on Enderby.

"How do you know that?" asked the Major.

Mr. Enderby, however, did not reveal the source of

his information.

"I hear it was you who actually discovered the body,

sir," said the young man.

"Yes. '

"It must have been an awful shock."

The conversation proceeded. Major Burnaby was still

determined to give no information, but he was no match

for the adroitness of Mr. Enderby. The latter made state-ments with which the Major was forced to agree or dis-agree

thereby providing the information the young man

wanted. So pleasant was his manner, however, that the

process was really not painful at all and the Major found

himself taking quite a liking to the ingenuous young man.

Presently, Mr. Enderby rose and observed that he

must go along to the post office.

"If you will just give me a receipt for that check, sir."

The Major went across to the writing table, wrote a

receipt and handed it to him.

"Splendid," said the young man and slipped it into his pocket.

"I suppose," said Major Burnaby, "that you are off back to London today?"

"Oh! no," said the young man. "I want to take a few photographs, you know, of your cottage at Sittaford, and

of you feeding the pigs, or hoeing up dandelions, or doing

anything characteristic that you fancy. You have no idea

how our readers appreciate that sort of thing. Then I

64

Murder at Hazelmoor

would like to have a few words from you on 'What I

intend to cio with the PS5,ooo.' Something snappy. You

have no idea how disappointed our readers would be if

they didn't get that sort of thing."

"Yes, but look here--it's impossible to get to Sittaford in this veather. The fall of snow was exceptionally heavy.

No vehicle has been able to take the road for three days

anyway, and it may be another three before the thaw

sets in properly."

"I kn0w," said the young man, "it is awkward. Well, well, oe will just have to resign oneself to kicking up

one's heels in Exhampton. They do you pretty well at

the Three Crowns. So long, sir, see you later."

Ie ene'ged into the main street of Exhampton and

made his way to the post office and wired his paper that

by the greatest of good luck he would be able to supply

them with tasty and exclusive information on the Ex-harpton

Murder Case.

IIe reflected on his next course of action and decided

on interviewing the late Captain Trevelyan's servant,

Evons, whose name Major Burnaby had incautiously let

slip during their conversation.

A few inquiries brought him to 85 Fore Street. The

servant of the murdered man was a person of importance

today, lveryone was willing and anxious to point out

where he lived.

lndeby beat a smart rat-tat on the door. It was opened

by man so typically an ex-sailor that Enderby had no

doubt of his identity.

"lZvaS, isn't it?" said Mr. Enderby cheerfully. "I have just come along from Major Burnaby."

65

Agatha Christie

"Oh!--" Evans hesitated a moment. "Will you come in, sir."

Enderby accepted the invitation. A buxom young

woman with dark hair and red cheeks hovered in the

background. Enderby judged her as the newly-wed Mrs.

Evans.

"Bad thing this about your late master," said Enderby.

"It's shocking, sir, that's what it is."

"Who do you think did it?" demanded Enderby with

an ingenuous air of seeking information.

"One of these low down tramps, I suppose," said

Evans.

"Oh! no, my dear man. That theory is quite exploded."

"Eh?"

"That's all a put up job. The police saw through that

at once."

"Who told you that, sir?"

Enderby's real informant had been the housemaid at

the Three Crowns whose sister was the legal spouse of

Constable Graves, but he replied:

"Had a tip from headquarters. Yes, the burglary idea

was all a put up job."

"Who do they think did it then?" demanded Mrs.

Evans coming forward. Her eyes looked frightened and

eager.

"Now, Rebecca, don't you take on so," said her hus-band.

"Cruel stupid the police are," said Mrs. Evans. "Don't mind who they take up as long as they get hold of some-one." She cast a quick glance at Enderby.

"Are you connected with the police, sir?"

66

Murder at Hazelmoor

"Me? Oh! no. I am from a newspaper, the Daily Wire. I came down to see Major Burnaby. He has just won our

Free Football Competition for PS5,ooo."

"What?" cried Evans. "Damn it all, then these things are square after all."

"Didn't you think they were?" asked Enderby.

"Well, it's a wicked world, sir." Evans was a little confused, feeling that his exclamation had been wanting

in tact. "I have heard there's a lot of trickery concerned. The late Capting used to say that a prize never

went to a good address. That's why he used mine time

and again."

With a certain na'ivet he described the Captain's winning

of three new novels.

Enderby encouraged him to talk. He saw a very good

story being made out of Evans. The faithful servant--old

sea dog touch. He wondered just a little why Mrs.

Evans seemed so nervous, he put it down to the suspicious

ignorance of her class.

"You find the skunk what done it," said Evans. "Newspapers can do a lot, they say, in hunting down criminals."

"It was a burglar," said Mrs. Evans. "That's what it was."

"Of course, it was a burglar," said Evans. "Why, there's no one in Exhampton would want to harm the Capting."

Enderby rose.

"Well," he said. "I must be going. I will run in now and then and have a little chat if I may. If the Captain

won three new novels in a Daily Wire Competition, the Daily Wire ought to make it a personal matter to hunt

down his murderer."

67

Agatha Christie

"You can't say fairer than that, sir. No, you can't say fairer than that."

Wishing them a cheery good day, Charles Enderby

took his leave.

"I wonder who really did the beggar in?" he murmured to himself. "I don't think our friend Evans. Perhaps it was a burglar! Very disappointing, if so. Doesn't seem

any women in the case, which is a pity. We've got to

have some sensational development soon or the case will

fade into insignificance. Just my luck, if so. First time I

have ever been on the spot in a matter of this kind. I

must make good. Charles, my boy, your chance in life

has come. Make the most of it. Our military friend will,

I see, soon be eating out of my hand if I remember to

be sufficiently respectful and call him 'sir,' often enough. Wonder if he was in the Indian Mutiny. No, of course

not, not old enough for that. The South African War,

that's it. Ask him about the South African War, that will

tame him."

And pondering these good resolutions in his mind Mr.

Enderby sauntered back to the Three Crowns.

68

9. The Laurels

I T takes about half an hour from Exhampton to Exeter

by train. At five minutes to twelve Inspector Narracott

was ringing the front door bell of The Laurels.

The Laurels was a somewhat dilapidated house, badly

in need of a new coat of paint. The garden round it was

unkempt and weedy and the gate hung askew on its

hinges.

"Not too much money about here," thought Inspector Narracott to himself. "Evidently hard up."

He was a very fair-minded man, but inquiries seemed

to indicate that there was very little possibility of the

Captain's having been done to death by an enemy. On

the other hand, four people, as far as he could make out,

stood to gain a considerable sum by the old man's death.

The movements of each of these four people had got to

be inquired into. The entry in the hotel register was

suggestive, but after all Pearson was quite a common

name. Inspector Narracott was anxious not to come to

any decision too rapidly and to keep a perfectly open

mind whilst covering the preliminary ground as rapidly

as possible.

A somewhat slatternly looking maid answered the bell.

"Good afternoon," said Inspector Narracott. "I want to see Mrs. Gardner, please. It is in connection with the

death of her brother, Captain Trevelyan, at Exhampton." He purposely did not hand his official card to the maid.

Agatha Christie

The mere iact of his being a police officer, as he knew

by experience, would render her awkward and tongue-tied.

"She's heard of her brother's death?" asked the Inspector casually as the maid drew back to let him into

the hall.

"Yes, got a telegram she did. From the lawyer, Mr.

Kirkwood."

"Just so," said Inspector Narracott.

The maid ushered him into the drawing-room--a room

which, like the outside of the house, was badly in need

of a little money spent upon it, but yet, had with all that

an air of charm which the Inspector felt without being

able to particularize the why and wherefore of it.

"Must have been a shock to your mistress," he observed. The girl seemed a little vague about that, he noticed.

"She didn't see much of him," was her answer.

"Shut the door and come here," said Inspector Narracott. He was anxious to try the effect of a surprise attack.

"Did the telegram say that it was murder?" he asked.

"Murder!"

The girl's eyes opened wide, a mixture of horror and

intense enjoyment in them. "Murdered was he?"

"Ah!" said Inspector Narracott, "I thought you hadn't heard that. Mr. Kirkwood didn't want to break the news

too abruptly to your mistress, but you see, my dear--what

is your name, by the way?"

"Beatrice, sir."

7deg

Murder at Hazelmoor

"Well, you see, Beatrice, it will be in the evening

papers tonight."

"Well, I never," said Beatrice. "Murdered. 'orrible, isn't it? Did they bash his head in or shoot him or what?"

The Inspector satisfied her passion for detail, then

added casually, "I believe there was some idea of your

mistress going over to Exhampton yesterday afternoon.

But I suppose the weather was too bad for her."

"I never heard anything about it, sir," said Beatrice.

"I think you must have made a nistake. The mistress

went out in the afternoon to do some shopping and then

she went to the Pictures."

"What time did she get in?"

"About six o'clock."

So that let Mrs. Gardner out.

"I don't know much about the tamily,'' he went on in

a casual tone. "Is Mrs. Gardner a widow?"

"Oh, no, sir, there's master."

"What does he do?"

"He doesn't do anything," said Beatrice staring. "He can't. He's an invalid."

"An invalid, is he? Oh, I'm sorry. I hadn't heard."

"He can't walk. He lies in bed all day. Got a nurse

always in the house we have. It isn't every girl what stays

on with an 'ospital nurse in the house the whole time.

Always wanting trays carried up and pots of tea made."

"Must be very trying," said the Inspector soothingly.

"Now, will you go and tell your mistress please, that I am here from Mr. Kirkwood of Exhampton?"

Beatrice withdrew and a few minutes later the door

71

Agatha Christie

opened and a tall, rather commanding woman came into

the room. She had an unusual looking face, broad about

the brows, and black hair with a touch of gray at the

temples, which she wore combed straight back from her

forehead. She looked at the Inspector inquiringly.

"You have come from Mr. Kirkwood at Exhampton?"

"Not exactly, Mrs. Gardner. I put it that way to your

maid. Your brother, Captain Trevelyan, was murdered

yesterday afternoon and I am Divisional Inspector Narracott

in charge of the case."

Whatever else Mrs. Gardner might be she was certainly

a woman of iron nerve. Her eyes narrowed and

she drew in her breath sharply, then motioning the Inspector to a chair and sitting down herself she said:

"Murdered! How extraordinary! Who in the world would

want to murder Joe?"

"That is what I'm anxious to find out, Mrs. Gardner." "Of course. I hope I shall be able to help you in some

way, but I doubt it. My brother and I have seen very

little of each other in the last ten years. I know nothing

of his friends or of any ties he has formed."

"You'll excuse me, Mrs. Gardner, but had you and

your brother quarreled?"

"No--not quarreled. I think estranged would be a

better word to describe the position between us. I don't

want to go into family details, but my brother rather

resented my marriage. Brothers, I think, seldom approve

of their sisters' choice, but usually, I fancy, they conceal it better than my brother did. My brother, as perhaps

you know, had a large fortune left him by an aunt. Both

my sister and myself married poor men. When my hus

7

Murder at Hazelmoor

band was invalided out of the army 'after the war with

shell shock, a little financial assistance would have been

a wonderful relief---would have enabled me to give him

an expensive course of treatment which was otherwise

denied to him. I asked my brother for a loan which he

refused. That, of course, he was perfectly entitled to do.

But since then we have met at very rare intervals, and

hardly corresponded at all."

It was a clear succinct statement.

An intriguing personality, this Mrs. Gardner's, the

Inspector thought. Somehow, he couldn't quite make

her out. She seemed unnaturally calm, unnaturally ready

with her recital of facts. He also noticed that, with all

her surprise she asked for no details of her brother's

death. That struck him as extraordinary.

"I don't know if you want to hear what exactly

occurred--at Exhampton," he began.

She frowned.

"Must I hear it? My brother was killed, painlessly--I

hope."

"Quite painlessly, I should say."

"Then please spare me any revolting details."

"Unnatural," thought the Inspector, "decidedly un-natural."

As though she had read his mind she used the very

word that he had spoken to himself.

"I suppose you think that very unnatural, Inspector,

but--I have heard a good many horrors. My husband

has told me things when he has had one of his bad

turns--" she shivered. "I think you would understand if you knew my circumstances better."

73

Agatha Christie

"Oh! quite so, quite so, Mrs. Gardner. What I really

came ibr was to get a few family details from you."

"Yes?"

"Do you know how many relatives living your brother

has besides yourself?."

"Of near relations, only the Pearsons. My sister Mary's children."

"And they are?"

"James, Sylvia and Brian."

"James?"

"He is the eldest. He works in an Insurance Office."

"What age is he?"

"Twenty-eight."

"Is he married?"

"No, but he is engaged--to a very nice girl, I believe.

I've not yet met her."

"And his address?"

"Zl Cromwell Street, S. W. 3."

The Inspector noted it down.

"Yes, Mrs. Gardner?"

"Then there's Sylvia. She's married to Martin Dering

--you may have read his books. He's a moderately suc-cessful author."

"Thank you, and their address?"

"The Nook, Surrey Road, Wimbledon."

"Yes?"

"And the youngest is Brian--but he is out in Australia. I am 'afraid I don't know his address, but either his brother or sister would know."

"Thank you, Mrs. Gardner. Just as a natter of form,

74

Murder at Hazelmoor

do you mind my asking you how you spent yesterday

afternoon?"

She looked surprised.

"Let me see. I did some shopping--yes--then I went

to the Pictures. I came home about six and lay down on

my bed until dinner, as the Pictures had given me rather

a headache."

"Thank you, Mrs. Gardner."

"Is there anything else?"

"No, I don't think I have anything further to ask you.

I will now get into communication with your nephew

and niece. I don't know if Mr. Kirkwood has informed

you of the fact yet, but you and the three young Pearsons

are the joint inheritors of Captain Trevelyan's money." The color came into her face in a slow, rich blush.

"That will be wonderful," she said quietly. "It has been so difficult--so terribly difficult--always skimping and

saving and wishing."

She started up as a man's rather querulous voice came

floating down the stairs.

"Jennifer, jennifer, I want you."

"Excuse me," she said.

As she opened the door the call came again, louder

and more imperiously.

"Jennifer, where are you? I want you, Jennifer."

The Inspector had followed her to the door. He stood

in the hall looking after her as she ran up the stairs.

"I am coming, dear," she called.

A hospital nurse who was coming down the stairs stood

aside to let her pass up.

75

Agatha Christie

"Please go to Mr. Gardner, he is getting very excited.

You always manage to calm him."

Inspector Narracott stood deliberately in the nurse's

way as she reached the bottom of the stairs.

"May I speak to you for a moment?" he said. "My conversation with Mrs. Gardner was interrupted."

The nurse came with alacrity into the drawing-room.

"The news of the murder has upset my patient," she explained, adjusting a well-starched cuff. "That foolish girl, Beatrice, came running up and blurted it all out."

"I am sorry," said the Inspector. "I am afraid that was my fault."

"Oh, of course, you couldn't be expected to know," said the nurse graciously.

"Is Mr. Gardner dangerously ill?" inquired the In-spector.

"It's a sad case," said the nurse. "Of course, in a man-ner of speaking, there's nothing the matter with him

really. He's lost the use of his limbs entirely through

nervous shock. There's no visible disability."

"He had no extra strain or shock yesterday afternoon?" inquired the Inspector.

"Not that I know of," the nurse looked somewhat sur-prised.

"You were with him all the afternoon?"

"I intended to be, but, well--as a matter of fact, Cap-tain Gardner was very anxious for me to change two

books for him at the library. He had forgotten to ask his

wife before she went out. So, to oblige him I went out

with them, and he asked me at the same time to get one

or two other little things for him--presents for his wife

76

Murder at Hazelmoor

as a matter of fact. Very nice about it he was, and told

me I was to have tea at his expense at Boots. He said

nurses never liked missing their tea. His little joke, you

know. I didn't get out until past four, and what with the

shops being so full just before Christmas, and one thing

and another, I didn't get back until after six, but the

poor fellow had been quite comfortable. In fact, he told

me he had been asleep most of the time."

"Mrs. Gardner was back by then?"

"Yes, I believe she was lying down."

"She's very devoted to her husband, isn't she?"

"She worships him. I really do believe that woman

would do anything in the world for him. Quite touching,

and very different from some of the cases I have at-tended.

Why, only last month--"

But Inspector Narracott fended off the impending

scandal of last month with considerable skill. He glanced

at his watch and gave a loud exclamation.

"Goodness gracious," he cried, "I shall miss my train. The station is not far away, is it?"

"St. David's is only three minute' walk, if it's St.

David's you want, or did you mean Queen Street?"

"I must run," said the Inspector, "tell Mrs. Gardner I am sorry not to have seen her to say good-by. Very

pleased to have had this little chat with you, nurse."

The nurse bridled ever so slightly.

"Rather a good-looking man," she said to herself as the front door shut after the Inspector. "Really quite

good-looking. Such a nice sympathetic manner."

And with a slight sigh she went upstairs to her patient.

77

10. The Pearson Family

I N S P E C T O R Narracott's next move was to report to his superior, Superintendent Maxwell. The latter listened with interest to the Inspector's narrative.

"It's going to be a big case," he said thoughtfully.

"There'll be headlines in the papers over this."

"I agree with you, sir."

"We've got to be careful. We don't want to make any

mistake. But I think you're on the right tack. You must

get after this James Pearson as soon as possible--find

out where he was yesterday afternoon. As you say, it's

a common enough name, but there's the Christian name

as well. Of course, his signing his own name openly like

that shows there wasn't any premeditation about it. He'd

hardly have been such a fool otherwise. It looks to me

like a quarrel and a sudden blow. If it is the man, he

must have heard of his uncle's death that night. And if

so, why did he sneak off by the six train in the morning

without a word to anyone? No, it looks bad. Always

granting that the whole thing's not a coincidence. You

must clear that up as quickly as possible."

"That's what I thought, sir. I'd better take the .45 to town. Some time or other I want to have a word with

this Willett woman who rented the Captain's house.

There's something fishy there. But I can't get to Sittaford

78

Murder at Hazelmoor

at present, the roads are impassable with snow. And

anyway, she can't have any direct connection with the

crime. She and her daughter were actually--well--table

turning at the time the crime was committed. And, by

the way, rather a queer thing happened--"

'The Inspector narrated the story he had heard

Major Burnaby.

"That's a rum go," ejaculated the Superintendent.

"Think this old fellow was telling the truth? That's the sort of story that gets cooked up afterwards by those

believers in spooks and things of that kind."

"I tancy it's true all right," said Narracott with a grin.

"I had a lot of difficulty getting it out of him. He's not a believer--just the opposite--old soldier, all damned

nonsense attitude."

The Superintendent nodded his comprehension.

"Well, it's odd, but it doesn't get us anywhere," was his conclusion.

"Then I'll take the .45 to London."

The other nodded.

On arrival in town Narracott went straight to a! Crom-well

Street. Mr. Pearson, he was told, was at the office.

He would be back for certain about seven o'clock.

Narracott nodded carelessly as though the information

were of no value to him.

"I'll call back if I can," he said. "It's nothing of im-portance,''

and departed quickly without leaving a name.

He decided not to go to the Insurance Office, but to

visit Wimbledon instead and have an interview with Mrs.

Martin Dering, formerly Miss Sylvia Pearson.

Agatha Chriistie

There were no signs of shabb,iness about The Nook.

"New and shoddy," was how Inspector NarraC/ott de-scribed it to himself.

Mrs. Dering was at home. A rtther pert-looking maid

dressed in lilac color showed him into a rather over-crowded drawing-room. He gave her his official card to

take to her mistress.

Mrs. Dering came to him almost immediately, his card

in her hand.

"I suppose you have come abo ut poor Uncle Joseph," was her greeting. "It's shocking--really shocking! I aR

so dreadfully nervous of burglars myself. I had two extra

bolts put on the back door last week, and new pateat

catches on the windows."

Sylvia Dering, the Inspector krew from Mrs. Gardner,

was only twenty-five, but she looked considerably Over

thirty. She was small and fair anal anemic looking, with

a worried and harassed expression. Her voice had that

faintly complaining note in it which is about the most

annoying sound a human voice can contain, still not

allowing the Inspector to speak she went on:

"If there's anything I can do to help you in any way,

of course, I shall be only too glad to do so, but one

hardly ever saw Uncle Joseph. He wasn't a very nice

man--I am sure he couldn't have been. Not the sort

of person one could go to in trouble, always carping

and criticizing. Not the sort of man who had any

knowledge of what literature meant. Success--true

success is not always measured in terms of money,

Inspector."

At last she paused and theInspector, to whom those

Murder ct Hazelmoor

remarks had opened certain fields of conjecturel was

given his turn to speak. '

"You've heard of the tragedy very quickly, Mrs. Der-ing."

"Aunt Jennifer wired it to me."

"I see."

"But I suppose it will be in the evening papers. Dread-ful, isn't it?"

"I gather you've not seen your uncle of late years."

"I have only seen hina twice since rny marriage. On

the second occasion he was really very rude to Martin.

Of course, he was a regular philistine in every way--devoted to sport. No appreciation, as I said just now, of

literature."

"Husband applied to him for a loan and got refused," was Inspector Narracott's private comment on the situ-ation.

"Just as a matter of form, Mrs. Dering, will you tell

me what your movements were yesterday afternoon?"

"My movements? What a very queer way of putting

it, Inspector. I played bridge most of the afternoon and

a friend came in and spent the evenirg wit me, as my

husband was out."

"Out, was he? Away from home altogether?"

"A literary dinner," explained Mrs. Dering with im-portance.

"He lunched with an American publisher and

had this dinner in the evening."

"I see."

That seemed quite fair and above board. He went on.

"Your younger brother is in Australia, I believe, Mrs.

Dering?"

81

Agatha Christie

"Y=s.'

"You have his address?"

"Oh, yes, I can find it for you if you wish--rather a

peculiar name--I've forgotten it for the minute. Some-where

in New South Wales."

"And now, Mrs. Dering, your elder brother?"

"Jim?"

"Yes. I shall want to get in touch with him."

Mrs. Dering hastened to supply him with the address

--the same as that which Mrs. Gardner had already given

him.

Then, feeling there was no more to be said on either

side, he cut the interview short.

Glancing at his watch, he noted that by the time he

had returned to town it would be seven o'clock--a likely

time, he hoped, for finding Mr. James Pearson at home.

The same superior looking, middle-aged woman opened

the door of No. 2. Yes, Mr. Pearson was at home now.

It was on the second floor, if the gentleman would

walk up.

She preceded him, tapped at a door, and in a mur-mured

and apologetic voice said: "The gentleman to see

you, sir." Ten, standing back allowed the Inspector to

enter.

A young man in evening dress was standing in the

middle of the room. He was good-looking, indeed hand-some,

if you took no account of the rather weak mouth

and the irresolute slant of the eyes. He had a haggard,

worried look and an air of not having had much sleep of

late.

Murder at Hazelmoor

He looked inquiringly at the Inspector as the latter

advanced.

"I am Detective InspEctor Narracott," he began--but got no further.

With a hoarse cry the young man dropped on to a

chair, flung his arms out in front of him on the table,

bowing his head on them and muttering:

"Oh! my God! It's come."

After a minute or two he lifted his head and said,

"Well, why don't you get on with it, man?"

Inspector Narracott looked exceedingly stolid and unintelligent.

"I am investigating the death of your uncle, Captain

Joseph Trevelyan. May I ask you, sir, if you have anything

to say?"

The young man rose slowly to his feet and said in a Low strained voice:

"Are you--arresting me?"

"No, sir, I am not. If I was arresting you I would give you the customary caution. I am simply asking you to

account for your movements yesterday afternoon. You

may reply to my questions or not as you see fit."

"And if I don't reply to them--it will tell against me. Oh, yes, I know your little ways. You've found out then

that I was down there yesterday?"

"You signed your name in the hotel register, Mr. Pear SOYI."

"Oh, I suppose there's no use denying it. I was there--why shouldn't I be?"

"Why indeed?" said the Inspector mildly.

83

Agatha Christie

"I went down there to see my uncle."

"By appointment?"

"What do you mean, by appointment?"

"Did your uncle know you were coming?"

"I--no--he didn't. It--it was a sudden impulse."

"No reason for it?"

"I--reason? No--no, why should there be? I--I just

wanted to see my uncle."

"Quite so, sir. And you did see him?"

There was a pause--a very long pause. Indecision was

written on every feature of the young man's face. In-spector Narracott felt a kind of pity as he watched him.

Couldn't the boy see that his palpable indecision was as

good as an admission of the fact?

At last Jim Pearson drew a deep breath. "I--I suppose

I had better make a clean breast of it. Yes--I did see

him. I asked at the station how I could get to Sittaford.

They told me it was out of the question. The roads were

impassable for any vehicle. I said it was urgent."

"Urgent?" murmured the Inspector.

"I--I wanted to see my uncle very much."

"So it seems, sir."

"The porter continued to shake his head and say that

it was impossible. I mentioned my uncle's name and at

once his face cleared up, and he told me my uncle was

actually in Exhampton, and gave me full directions as to

how to find the house he had rented."

"This was at what time, sir?"

"About one o'clock, I think. I went to the Inn--the

Three Crowns--booked a room and had some lunch there.

Murder at Hazelmoor

Then afterwards I--I went out to see my uncle."

"Immediately afterwards?"

"No, not immediately."

"What time was it?"

"Well, I couldn't say for certain."

"Half past three? Four o'clock? Half past four?"

"I--I--" he stammered worse than ever. "I don't think it could have been as late as that."

"Mrs. Belling, the proprietress, said you went out at

half past four."

"Did I? I--I think she's wrong. It couldn't have been

as late as that."

"What happened next?"

"I found my uncle's house, had a talk with him and

came back to the Inn."

"How did you get into your uncle's house?"

"I rang the bell and he opened the door to me himself."

"Wasn't he surprised to see you?"

"Yes--yes--he was rather surprised."

"How long did you remain with him, Mr. Pearson?"

"A quarter of an hour--twenty minutes. But look here,

he was perfectly all right when I left him. Perfectly all

right. I swear it."

"And what time did you leave him?"

The young man lowered his eyes. Again, the hesitation

was palpable in his tone, "I don't know exactly."

"I think you do, Mr. Pearson."

The assured tone had its effect. The boy replied in a

low tone.

"It was a quarter past five."

85

Agatha Christie

"You returned to the Three Crowns at a quarter to

six. At most it could only take you seven or eight minutes

to walk over from your uncle's house."

"I didn't go straight back. I walked about the town."

"In that icy weather--in the snow!"

"It wasn't actually snowing then. It came on to snow

later."

"I see. And what was the nature of your conversation

with your uncle?"

"Oh! nothing in particular. I--I just wanted to talk to the old boy, look him up, that sort of thing, you know."

"He's a poor liar," thought Inspector Narracott to himself.

"Why, I could manage better than that myself."

Aloud he said:

"Very good, sir. Now, may I ask you why, on hearing

of your uncle's murder, you left Exhampton without disclosing your relationship to the murdered man?"

"I was scared," said the young man frankly. "I heard he had been murdered round about the time I left him.

Now, dash it all, that's enough to scare anyone, isn't it?

I got the wind up and left the place by the first available

train. Oh, I dare say I was a fool to do anything of the

sort. But you know what it is when you are rattled. And

anyone might have been rattled under these circumstances.''

"And that's all you have to say, sir?"

"Yes--yes, of course."

"Then, perhaps you'll have no objection, sir, to coming round with me and having this statement taken down in

writing, after which you will have it read over to you,

and you will sign it."

86

Murder at Hazelmoor

"Is--is that all?"

"I think it possible, Mr. Pearson, that it may be necessary to detain you until after the inquest."

"Oh! my God," said Jim Pearson. "Can nobody help me?" At that moment the door opened and a young woman

walked into the room.

She was, as the observant Inspector Narraeott noted

at once, a very exceptional kind of young woman. She

was not strikingly beautiful, but she had a face which

was arresting and unusual, a face that having once seen

you could not forget. There was about her an atmosphere

of common sense, savoirfaire, invincible determination

and a most tantalizing fascination.

"Oh! Jim," she exclaimed, "What's happened?"

"It's all over, Emily," said the young man. "They think I murdered my uncle."

"Who thinks so?" demanded Emily.

The young man indicated his visitor by a gesture.

"This is Inspector Narracott," he said, and he added with a dismal attempt at introduction, "Miss Emily Trefusis."

"Oh!" said Emily Trefusis.

She studied Inspector Narracott with keen hazel eyes.

"Jim," she said, "is a frightful idiot. But he doesn't murder people."

The Inspector said nothing.

"I expect," said Emily, turning to Jim, "that you've been saying the most frightfully imprudent things. If you

read the papers a little better than you do, Jim, you

would know that you must never talk to policemen unless

87

Agatha Christie

you have a strong solicitor sitting beside you making

objections to every word. What's happened? Are you

arresting him, Inspector Narracott?"

Inspector Narracott explained technically and clearly

exactly what he was doing.

"Emily," cried the young man, "you won't believe I did it? You never will believe it, will you?"

"No, darling," said Emily kindly. "Of course not." And she added in a gentle meditative tone, "You haven't got the guts."

"I don't feel as if I had a friend in the world," groaned Jim.

"Yes, you have," said Emily. "You've got me. Cheer up, Jim, look at the winking diamonds on the third finger

of my left hand. Here stands the faithful fiancee. Go with

the Inspector and leave everything to me."

Jim Pearson rose, still with a dazed expression on his

face. His overcoat was lying over a chair and he put it

on. Inspector Narracott handed him a hat which was lying

on a bureau near by. They moved towards the door and

the Inspector said politely:

"Good evening, Miss Trefusis."

"Au revoir, Inspector," said Emily sweetly.

And if he had known Miss Emily Trefusis better he

would have known that in these three words lay a chal-lenge.

88

Emily Sets to

elyan was held

T H E inquest on the body of Captain Tr 'vfew of sensation

on Monday morning. From the point of'ijmediately adit

was a tame affair, for it was almost iT[ge numbers of

journed for a week, thus disappointing lar[xhampton had

people. Between Saturday and Monday Elae/l dead man's

sprung into fame. The knowledge that ti with the mur-nephew

had been detained in connection ..lere paragraph

der made the whole affair spring from a n<, ntic headlines. in the back pages of the newspapers to gigad Exhampton in

On the Monday, reporters had arrived at d reason once

large numbers. Mr. Charles Enderby ha,ior position he

more to congratulate himself on the super; chance of the

had obtained from the purely fortuitooS

football competition prize, to Major Bur-It

was the journalist's intention to stick if photograph-naby

like a leech. And under the pretext Cfc information

ing the latter's cottage, to obtain exclusi*itions with the

of the inhabitants of Sittaford and their reli

dead man. that at lunch

It did not escape Mr. Enderby's noticc/.ied by a very

time a small table near the door was occuJff, hat she was

attractive girl. Mr. Enderby wondered,... in a demure

doing in Exhampton. She was well dresSe') be a relation

and provocative style, and did not appear tjeledt as one of

of the deceased, and still less could be lab

the idle curious.

89

Agatha Christie

you have a strong solicitor sitting beside you making

objections to every word. What's happened? Are you

arresting him, Inspector Narracott?"

Inspector Narracott explained technically and clearly

exactly what he was doing.

"Emily," cried the young man, "you won't believe I did it? You never will believe it, will you?"

"No, darling," said Emily kindly. "Of course not." And she added in a gentle meditative tone, "You haven't got the guts."

"I don't feel as if I had a friend in the world," groaned Jim.

"Yes, you have," said Emily. "You've got me. Cheer up, Jim, look at the winking diamonds on the third finger

of my left hand. Here stands the faithful fiancee. Go with

the Inspector and leave everything to me."

Jim Pearson rose, still with a dazed expression on his

face. His overcoat was lying over a chair and he put it

on. Inspector Narracott handed him a hat which was lying

on a bureau near by. They moved towards the door and

the Inspector said politely:

"Good evening, Miss Trefusis."

"Au revoir, Inspector," said Emily sweetly.

And if he had known Miss Emily Trefusis better he

would have known that in these three words lay a chal-lenge.

88

Emily Sets to Work

T E inquest on the body of Captain Trevelyan was held

on Monday morning. From the point of view of sensation

it was a tame affair, for it was almost immediately ad-journed for a week, thus disappointing large numbers of

people. Between Saturday and Monday Exhampton had

sprung into fame. The knowledge that the dead man's

nephew had been detained in connection with the mur-der

made the whole affair spring from a mere paragraph

in the back pages of the newspapers to gigantic headlines.

On the Monday, reporters had arrived at Exhampton in

large numbers. Mr. Charles Enderby had reason once

more to congratulate himself on the superior position he

had obtained from the purely fortuitous chance of the

football competition prize.

It was the journalist's intention to stick to Major Bur-naby like a leech. And under the pretext of photograph-ing

the latter's cottage, to obtain exclusive information

of the inhabitants of Sittaford and their relations with the dead man.

It did not escape Mr. Enderby's notice that at lunch

time a small table near the door was occupied by a very

attractive girl. Mr. Enderby wondered what she was

doing in Exhampton. She was well dressed in a demure

and provocative style, and did not appear to be a relation

of the deceased, and still less could be labeled as one of

the idle curious.

89

Agatha Christie

"I wonder how long she's staying?" thought Mr. En-derby.

"Rather a pity I am going up to Sittaford this

afternoon. Just my luck. Well, you can't have it both

ways, I suppose."

But shortly after lunch, Mr. Enderby received an

agreeable surprise. He was standing on the steps of the

Three Crowns observing the fast melting snow, and enjoying

the sluggish rays of wintry sunshine, when he was

aware of a voice, an extremely charming voice, addressing

him.

"I beg your pardon--but could you tell me--if there

is anything to see in Exhampton?"

Charles Enderby rose to the occasion promptly.

"There's a castle, I believe," he said. "Not much to it--but there it is. Perhaps you would allow me to show

you the way to it."

"That would be frightfully kind of you," said the girl. "If you are sure you are not too busy--" Charles Enderby disclaimed immediately the notion

of being busy.

They set out together.

"You are Mr. Enderby, aren't you?" said the girl.

"Yes. How did you know?"

"Mrs. Belling pointed you out to me."

"Oh, I see."

"My name is Emily Trefusis. Mr. Enderby--! want

you to help me."

"To help you?" said Enderby. "Why, certainly--but--"

"You see, I am engaged to Jim Pearson."

9deg

Murder at Hazelmoor

"Oh!" said Mr. Enderby, journalistic ossibilities rising before his mind.

"And the police are going to arrest him. I know they

are. Mr. Enderby, I know that Jim didn't do this thing.

I am down here to prove he didn't. But I must have

someone to help me. One can't do anything without a

man. Men know so much, and are able to get information

in so many ways that are simply impossible to

women."

"Well--I--yes, I suppose that is true," said Mr. Eh-derby complacently.

"I was looking at all these journalists this morning," said Emily. "Such a lot of them I thought had such stupid faces. I picked you out as the one really clever one among

them."

"Oh! I say. I don't think that's true, you know," said Mr. Enderby still more complacently.

"What I want to propose," said Emily Trefusis, "is a kind of partnership. There would, I think, be advantages

on both sides. There are certain things I want to

investigate--to find out about. There you in your eharaeter

of journalist can help me. I want--"

Emily paused. What she really wanted was to engage

Mr. Enderby as a kind of private sleuth of her own. To

go where she told him, to ask the questions she wanted

asked, and in general to be a kind of bond slave. But she

was aware of the necessity of couching these proposals

in terms at once flattering and agreeable. The whole

point was that she was to be the boss, but the matter

needed managing tactfully.

91

Agatha Christie

"I want," said Emily, "to feel that I can depend upon you."

She had a lovely voice, liquid and alluring. As she

uttered the last sentence a feeling rose in Mr. Enderby's

bosom that this lovely helpless girl could depend upon

him to the last ditch.

"It must be ghastly," said Mr. Enderby, and taking her hand he squeezed it with fervor.

"But you know," he went on with a journalistic reaction,

"my time is not entirely my own. I mean, I have

got to go where I am sent, and all that."

"Yes," said Emily. "I have thought of that, and that you see is where I come in. Surely I am what you call

a 'scoop,' aren't I? You can do an interview with me

every day, you can make me say anything that you think

your readers will like. Jim Pearson's fiancee. Girl who

believes passionately in his innocence. Reminiscences of

his childhood which she supplies. I don't really know

about his childhood you know," she added, "but that doesn't matter."

"I think," said Mr. Enderby, "that you are marvelous. You really are marvelous."

"And then," said Emily pursuing her advantage, "I have access naturally to Jim's relations. I can get you in

there as a friend of mine, where quite possibly you might

have the door shut in your face any other way."

"Don't I know that only too well," said Mr. Enderby with feeling, recalling various rebuffs of the past.

A glorious prospect opened out before him. He had

been in luck over this affair all round. First the lucky

chance of the football competition, and now this.

Murder at Hazelmoor

"It's a de," he said fervently.

"Good," sid Emily becoming brisk and businesslike.

"Now, whal' the first move?"

"I'm goingup to Sittaford this afternoon."

He expled the fortunate circumstance which had

put him in such an advantageous position with regard to

Major Burn,by. "Because, mind you, he is the kind of

old buffer that hates newspaper men like poison. But

you can't etly push a chap in the face who has just

handed youlS,ooo, can you?"

"It wouldbe awkward," said Emily. "Well, if you are going to Sittord, I am coming with you."

"Splendid," said Mr. Enderby. "I don't know, though, if there's an!where to stay up there. As far as I know

there's only ittaford House and a few odd cottages be-longing to people like Burnaby."

"We shallnd something," said Emily. "I always find something."

Mr. EndeIby could well believe that. Emily had the

kind of personality that soars triumphantly over all

stacles.

They had rrived by now at the ruined castle, but

paying no attention to it, they sat down on a piece of

wall in the so-called sunshine and Emily proceeded to

develop her ideas.

"I am loolag at this, Mr. Enderby, in an absolutely

unsentimentl and businesslike way. You've got to take

it from me t begin with that Jim didn't do the murder.

I'm not saying that simply because I am in love with

him, or believe in his beautiful character or anything like

that. It's justell--knowledge. You see I have been on

93

Agatha Christie

my own pretty well since I was sixteen. I have never

come into contact with many women and I know very

little about them, but I know really a lot about men. And

unless a girl can size up a man pretty accurately, and

know what's she's got to deal with, she will never get

on. I have got on. I work as a mannequin at Lucie's, and

I can tell you, Mr. Enderby, that to arrive there is a

Feat.

"Well, as I was saying, I can size up men pretty ac-curately. Jim is rather a weak character in many ways.

I am not sure," said Emily, forgetting for a moment her r61e of admirer of strong men, "that that's not why I like him. The feeling that I can run him and make something

of him. There are quite a lot ofwell--even criminal

things that I can imagine him doing if pushed to it--but

not murder. He simply couldn't pick up a sandbag and

hit an old man on the back of the neck with it. He would

make a bosh shot and hit him in the wrong place if he

did. He is a--he is a gentle creature, Mr. Enderby. He

doesn't even like killing wasps. He always tries to put

them out of a window without hurting them and usually

gets stung. However, it's no good my going on like this.

You've got to take my word for it and start on the as-sumption that Jim is innocent."

"Do you think that somebody is deliberately trying to

fasten the crime on him?" asked Charles Enderby in his

best journalistic manner.

"I don't think so. You see nobody knew about Jim

coming down to see his Uncle. Of course, one can't be

certain, but I should put that down as just a coincidence

and bad luck. What we have to find is someone else with

9,4

I

Murder at Hazelmoor

a motive for killing Captain Trevelyan. The police are

quite certain that this is not what they call an 'outside

job'--I mean, it wasn't a burglar. The broken open win-dow

was hked."

"Did the police tell you all this?"

"Practically," said Emily.

"What do you mean by practically?"

"The chambermaid told me, and her sister is married

to Constable Graves, so, of course, she knows everything

the police think."

"Very well," said Mr. Enderby, "it wasn't an outside job. It was an inside one."

"Exactly," said Emily. "The police--that is Inspector Narracott who, by the way, I should think is an awfully

sound nan, have started investigating to find who ben-efits

by Captain Trevelyan's death, and with Jim sticking

out a mile, so to speak, they won't bother to go on with

other investigations much. Well, that's got to be our job."

"What a scoop it would be," said Mr. Enderby, "if you and I discovered the real murderer. The crime ex-pert

of the Daily Wire--that's the way I should be de-scribed.

But it's too good to be true," he added

despondently. "That sort of thing only happens in books."

"Nonsense," said Emily, "it happens with me."

"You're simply marvelous," said Enderby again.

Emily brought out a little notebook.

"Now let's put things down methodically. Jim himself}

his brother and sister, and his Aunt Jennifer benefit equally by Captain Trevelyan's death. Of course Sylvia--that's

Jim's sister--wouldn't hurt a fly, but I wouldn't put it

past her husband, he's what I call a nasty sort of brute.

95

Agatha Christie

You know--the artistic nasty kind, has affairs with

women-all that sort of thing. Very likely to be in a hole

financially-The money they'd come into would actually

be Sylvia's, but that wouldn't matter to him. He would

soon maoage to get it out of her."

"He sounds a most unpleasant person," said Mr. En-derby.

"Oh! yes. Good-looking in a bold sort of way. Women

talk abotxt sex with him in corners. Real men hate him."

"Well, that's suspect No. x," said Mr. Enderby, also writing iq a little book. "Investigate his movements on Fridayeasily done under the guise of interview with

popular qovelist connected with the crime. Is that all

right?"

"Spleodid," said Emily. "Then there's Brian, Jim's younger brother. He's supposed to be in Australia, but

he might quite easily have come back. I mean, people

do sometimes without saying."

"We could send him a cable."

"We will. I suppose Aunt Jennifer is out of it. From

all I've heard she's rather a wonderful person. She's got

character. Still, after all, she wasn't very far away, she

was only at Exeter. She might have come over to see

her brother, and he might have said something nasty

about her husband whom she adores, and she might have

seen red and snatched up a sandbag and biffed him one."

"Do yon really think so?" said Mr. Enderby dubiously.

"No, rot really. But one never knows. Then, of course,

there's the batman. He only gets pounds o under the will

and he seems all right. But there again, one never knows.

His wife is Mrs. Belling's niece. You know Mrs. Belling

Murder at Hazelmoor

who keeps the Three Crowns. I think I shall weep on

her shoulder when I get back. She looks rather a moth-erly

and romantic soul. I think she would be terribly

sorry for me with my young man probably going to prison,

and she might let slip something useful. And then, of

course, there's Sittaford House. Do you know what struck

me as queer?"

"No, what?"

"These people, the Willetts. The ones that took Cap-tain Trevelyan's house furnished in the middle of winter.

It's an awfully queer thing to do."

"Yes, it is odd," agreed Mr. Enderby. "There might be something at the bottom of that--something to do

with Captain Trevelyan's past life.

"That sance business was queer too," he added. "I'm thinking of writing that up for the paper. Get opinions

from Sir Oliver Lodge and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and

a few actresses and people about it."

"What sance business?"

Mr. Enderby recounted it with gusto. There was noth-ing

connected with the murder that he had not managed

somehow or other to hear.

"Bit odd, isn't it?" he finished. "I mean, it makes you think and all that. May be something in these things.

First time I've really ever come across anything authen-tic."

Emily gave a slight shiver. "I hate supernatural things," she said. "Just for once, as you say, it does look as though there was something in it. But how--how gruesome!"

"This sance business never seems very practical, does

it? If the old boy could get through and say he was dead,

97

Aga::tha Christie

why couldn't he say wldegmurdered him? It ought to be

all so simple."

"I feel there may be' a clue in Sittaford,' said Emily

thoughtfully.

"Yes, I think we o''ught to investigate there thoroughly,''

said Enderby. "I've hired a car and I'm starting

there in about half an 1'0degur's time. You had better come

along with me."

"I will," said Emily, "What about Major Burnaby?"

"He's going to tramL9 it," said Enderby. "Started immediately after the inOtnest. If you ask me, he wanted

to get out of having any company on the way there.

Nobody could like trudging there through all this slush."

"Will the car be abl to get up all right?"

"Oh! yes. First day car has been able to get through

though."

"Well," said Emily C/isfig to her feet. "It's about time we went back to the qhree Crowns and I will pack my

suitcase and do a shoY=t Weeping act on Mrs. Belling's

shoulder."

"Don't you worry," said Mr. Enderby rather fatuously.

"You leave everything; to me."

"That's just what I mean to do," said Emily with a complete lack of truth, "It's so wonderfid to have someone you can really rely or."

Emily Trefusis was really a very accomplished young

woman.

98

The Arrest

o N her returnto the Three Crowns, Emily' had the

good fortune to run right into Mrs. Belling who was

standing in the hallway.

"Oh! Mrs. lelling," she exclaimed. "I

afternoon."

am leaving this

"Yes, Miss. By the four ten train to Exeter, Miss?"

"No, I am going up to Sittaford."

"To Sittafor?"

Mrs. Belling's countenance showed the most lively

curiosity.

"Yes, and I Wanted to ask you if you knew of anywhere

there where I could stay."

"You want to stay up there?"

The curiosity was heightened.

"Yes, that is--Oh! Mrs. Belling, is there somewhere

I could speak to you privately for a moment?"

With something like alacrity Mrs. Belling led the way

to her own private sanctum. A small comfortable room

with a large flee burning.

"You won't tell anyone, will you?" began Emily, know-ing well that of all openings on earth this one is the most

certain to provoke interest and sympathy.

"No, indeecl, Miss, that I won't," said Mrs. Belling, her dark eyes aglitter with interest.

"You see, llr. Pearson--you know--"

Agatha Christie

"The young gentleman that stayed here on Friday?

And that the police have arrested?"

"Arrested? Do you mean really arrested?"

"Yes, Miss. Not half an hour ago."

Emily had gone very white.

"You--you're sure of that?"

"Oh! yes, Miss. Our Amy had it from the Sergeant."

"It's too awful!" said Emily. She had been expecting this but it was none the better for that. "You see, Mrs. Belling, I--I'm engaged to him. And he didn't do it,

and, oh dear, it's all too dreadful!"

And here Emily began to cry. She had, earlier in the

day, announced her intentions to Charles Enderby of

doing so, but what appalled her so was with what ease

the tears came. To cry at will is not an easy accomplish-ment. There was something much too real about these

tears. It frightened her. She mustn't really give way.

Giving way wasn't the least use to Jim. To be resolute,

logical and clear sighted--these were the qualities that

were going to count in this game. Sloppy crying had

never helped anyone yet.

But it was a relief all the same, to let yourself go. After

all she had meant to cry. Crying would be an undeniable

passport to Mrs. Belling's sympathy and help. So why

not have a good cry while she was about it. A real orgy

of weeping in which all her troubles, doubts and unack-nowledged fears might find vent and be swept away.

"There, there, my dear, don't ee take on so," said Mrs. Belling.

She put a large motherly arm round Emily's shoulders

and patted her consolingly.

100

Murder at Hazelmoor

"Said from the start I have that he didn't do it. A

regular nice young gentleman. A lot of chuckleheads the

police are, and so I've said befoPSe now. Some thieving

tramp is a great deal more likely. Now, don't ee fret,

my dear, it'll all come right, you see if it don't."

"I am so dreadfully fond of him," wailed Emily.

Dear Jim, dear, sweet, boyish, helpless, impractical

Jim. So utterly to be depended on to do the wrong thing

at the wrong moment. What possible chance had he got

against that steady, resolute Inspector Narracott? "We must save him," she wailed.

"Of course, we will. Of course, we will," Mrs. Belling consoled her.

Emily dabbed her eyes vigorously, gave one last sniff

and gulp, and raising her head demanded fiercely:

"Where can I stay at Sittaford?"

"Up to Sittaford? You're set on going there, my dear?"

"Yes," Emily nodded vigorously.

"Well, now," Mrs. Belling cogitated the matter. "There's only one place for ee to stay. There's not much to Sit-taford. There's the big house, Sittaford House, which

Captain Trevelyan built, and that's let now to a South

African lady. And there's the six cottages he built, and

No. 5 of them cottages had got Curtis, what used to be

gardener at Sittaford House, in it, and Mrs. Curtis. She

lets rooms in the summer time, the Captain allowing her

to do so. There's nowhere else you could stay and that's

a tact. There's the blacksmith's and the post office, but

Mary Hibbert, she's got six children and her sister-in-law

living with her, and the blacksmith's wife she's expecting

her eighth, so there won't be so much as a corner

101

Agatha Christie

there. But, how are you going to get up to Sittaford,

Miss? Have you hired a car?"

"I am going to share Mr. Enderby's."

"Ah, and where will he be staying I wonder?"

"I suppose he will have to be put up at Mrs. Curtis's

too. Will she have room for both of us?"

"I don't know that that will look quite right for a young lady like you," said Mrs. Belling.

"He's my cousin," said Emily.

On no account, she felt, must a sense of propriety

intervene to work against her in Mrs. Belling's mind.

The landlady's brow cleared. "Well, that may be all

right then," she allowed grudgingly, "and likely as not if you're not comfortable with Mrs. Curtis they would

put you up at the big house."

"I'm sorry I've been such an idiot," said Emily mopping once more at her eyes.

"It's only natural, my dear. And you feel better for

it."

"I do," said Emily truthfully. "I feel much better." "A good cry and a good cup of tea--there's nothing to beat them, and a nice cup of tea you shall have at

once, my dear, before you start off on that cold drive."

"Oh, thank you, but I don't think I really want--"

"Never mind what you want, it's what you're going to

have," said Mrs. Belling rising with determination and

moving towards the door. "And you tell Amelia Curtis

from me that she's to look after you and see you take

your food proper and see you don't fret."

"You are kind," said Emily.

"And what's more I shall keep my eyes and ears open

102

Murder at Hazelmoor

down here," said Mrs. Belling entering with relish into her part of the romance. "There's many a little thing that I hear that never goes to the police. And anything I do

hear I'll pass on to you, Miss."

"Will you really?"

"That I will. Don't ee worry, my dear, we'll have your

young gentleman out of his trouble in no time."

"I must go and pack," said Emily rising.

"I'll send the tea up to you," said Mrs. Belling.

Emily went upstairs, packed her few belongings into

her suitcase, sponged her eyes with cold water and ap-plied

a liberal allowance of powder.

"You have made yourself look a sight," she apostro-phized herself in the glass. She added more powder and

a touch of rouge.

"Curious," said Emily, "how much better I feel. It's worth the puffy look."

She rang the bell. The chambermaid (the sympathetic

sister-in-law of Constable Graves) came promptly. Emily

presented her with a pound note and begged her ear-nestly

to pass on any information she might acquire in

roundabout ways from police circles. The girl promised

readily.

"Mrs. Curtis's up to Sittaford? I will indeed, Miss. Do anything that I will. We all feel for you, Miss, more than

I can say. All the time I keep saying to myself, 'Just fancy if it was you and Fred,' I keep saying. I would be

distracted--that I would. The least thing I hears I'll pass

it on to you, Miss."

"You angel," said Emily.

"Just like a sixpenny I got at Woolworth's the other

m3

Agatha Christie

day, The Syringa Murders it was called. And do you

know what led them to find the real murderer, Miss?

Just a bit of common sealing wax. Your gentleman is

good-looking, Miss, isn't he? Quite unlike his picture in

the papers. I'm sure I'll do anything I can, Miss, for you

and for him."

Thus the center of romantic attention, Emily left the

Three Crowns having duly gulped down the cup of tea

prescribed by Mrs. Belling.

"By the way," she said to Enderby as the aged Ford

sprang forward, "you are my cousin, don't forget."

"Why?"

"They've got Slch pure minds in the country," said Emily. "I thought it would be better."

"Splendid. In that case," said Mr. Enderby rising to

his opportunities, "I had better call you Emily."

"All right, cousin--what's your name?"

"Charles."

"All right, Charles."

The car went upwards on the Sittaford road.

104

Sittaford

E M I L Y was rather fascinated by her first view of Sit-taford. Turning off the main road about two miles from

Exhampton, they went upwards over a rough moorland

road until they reached a village that was situated right

on the edge of the moor. It consisted of a smithy, and a

combined post office and sweet shop. From there they

followed a lane and came to a row of newly built small

granite bungalows. At the second of these the car stopped

and the driver volunteered the information that this was

Mrs. Curtis's.

Mrs. Curtis was a small, thin, gray haired woman,

energetic and shrewish in disposition. She was all agog

with the news of the murder which had only penetrated

to Sittaford that morning.

"Yes, of course I can take you in, Miss, and your cousin too, if he can just wait until I shift a few duds. You won't mind having your meals along of us, I don't suppose?

Well, who would have believed it! Captain Trevelyan

murdered and an inquest and all! Cut off from the world

we've been since Friday morning, and this morning when

the news came you could have knocked me down with

a feather. 'The Captain's dead,' I said to Curtis, 'that

hows you the wickedness there is in the world nowa-days.'

But I'm keeping you talking here, Miss. Come

away in and the gentleman too. I have got the kettle on

and you shall have a cup of tea immediately, for you must

o5

,gatha Christie

be perished by the lrive up, though of course, it's warmer

today after what it' been. Eight and ten feet the snow

has been hereabout."

Drowned in this sea of talk, Emily and Charles En-derby

were shown their new quarters. Emily had a small

square room, scrupulously clean, looking out and up to

the slope of Sittaforl Beacon. Charles's room was a small

slit facing the front if the house and the lane, containing

a bed and a micros%pic chest of drawers and washstand.

"The great thing is," he observed after the driver of the car had disposel his suitcase upon the bed, and had

been duly paid an thanked, "that we are here. If we

don't know all there is to be known about everyone living

in Sittaford within the next quarter of an hour, I'll eat

my hat."

Ten minutes later, they were sitting downstairs in the

comfortable kitche being introduced to Curtis, a rather

gruff looking gray haired old man, and being regaled

with strong tea, bread and butter, Devonshire cream

and hard boiled egs. While they ate and drank they

listened. Within half an hour they knew everything there

was to be known about the inhabitants of the small community. First there was lIiss Percehouse, who lived in No. 4

The Cottages, a spinster of uncertain years and temper

who had come dowh here to die, according to Mrs. Curtis,

six years ago.

"But believe it or not, Miss, the air of Sittaford is that healthy that she picked up from the day she came. Wonderfully pure air for lungs it is.

"Miss Percehouse has a nephew who occasionally comes

o6

Murder at Hazelmoor

down to see her," she went on, "and indeed he's staying with her at the present time. Seeing to it that the money

doesn't go out of the amily, that's what he's doing. Very

dull for a young gentleman at this time of year. But there,

there's more ways than one of amusing yourself, and his

coming has been a providence for the young lady at

Sittaford House. Poor young thing, the idea of bringing

her to that great barrack of a house in the winter time.

Selfish is what some mothers are. A very pretty young

lady, too. Mr. Ronald Garfield is up there as often as he

can be without neglecting Miss Percehouse."

Charles Enderby and Emily exchanged glances. Charles

remembered that Ronald Garfield had been mentioned

as one of the party present at the table turning.

"The cottage this side of mine, No. 6," continued Mrs. Curtis, "has only just been took. Gentleman of the name of Duke. That is if you would call him a gentleman. Of

course, he may be and he may not. There's no saying,

folks aren't so particular nowadays as they used to be.

He's been made free of the place in the heartiest manner.

A bashful sort of gentleman he is--might be a military

gentleman from the look of him, but somehow he hasn't

got the manner. Not like Major Burnaby, that you would

know as a military gentleman the first time you clapped

eyes on him.

"No. 3, that's Mr. Rycroft's, little elderly gentleman. They do say that he used to go after birds to outlandish

parts for the British Museum. What they call a naturalist

he is. Always out and roaning over the moor when the

weather permits. And he has a very fine library of books.

His cottage is nearly all bookcases.

to7

Agatha Christie

"ho, z, is an invalid gentleman's, a Captain Wyatt

with ta Indian servant. And poor fellow he does feel the

cold, he does. The servant I mean, not the Captain.

Conig from warm outlandish parts, it's no wonder. The

heat they keev up inside the house would frighten you.

It's like valkig into an oven.

"IN. , is Major Burnaby's cottage. Lives by himself

he does, and I go in to do for him early mornings. He

is a Vry neat gentleman, he is, and very particular. He

and kaptain Trevelyan were as thick as thieves. Friends

of a lifetime they were. And they both have the same

kind if outlandish heads stuck up on the walls. ':

"Afor Mrs. Willett and Miss Willett, that's what no

one etn make out. Plenty of money there. Amos Parker

at Exliampton they deal with, and he tells me their weekly

book comes to well over eight pounds or nine pounds.

You ouldn't believe the eggs that goes into that house!

B.r,degnht their maid servants from Exeter with them, they

did, ut they don't like it and want to leave, and I'm

sure I don't blame them. Mrs. Willet, she sends them

into lxeter twice a week in her car, and what with that

and the living being so good, they agreed to stop on, but

if yoh ask me it's a queer business, burying yourself in

the %untry like this, a smart lady like that. Well, well,

I sUDbose I had better be clearing away these tea things." Sh drew a deep breath and so did Charles and Emily.

The low of information loosened with so little difficulty

had tlmost overwhelmed them.

Charles ventured to put a question.

"Oas Major Burnaby got back yet?" he asked.

108

Murder at Hazdnoor

Mrs. Curtis paused at once, tra)'i n hand. "Yes, indeed, sir, came tramping in just the sre as ever about half

an hour before you arrived. 'Wlqy, sir,' I cried to him.

'You've never walked all the way frm Vxhampton?' And

he says in his stern way, 'Why n0t If a man has got two

legs he doesn't need four wheels. I do it once a week

anyway as you know, Mrs. Curtis.'Oh, yes, sir,' I says,

'but this is different. What with the shock and the murder

and the inquest it's wonderful you've got the strength to

do it.' But he only grunted like ac walked on. He looks

bad though. It's a miracle he ever of through on Friday

night. Brave I call it at his age. ramping off like that

and three miles of it in a snowst0ra. You may say what

you like, but nowadays the youag gentlemen aren't a

patch on the old ones. That Mr. Ronald Garfield he

would never have done it, and it' my opinion, and it's

the opinion of Mrs. Hibbert at the post office, and it's

the opinion of Mr. Pound, the blacksmith, that Mr. Garfield

ought never to have let him go off alone the way

he did. He should have gone with him. If Major Burnaby

had been lost in a snowdrift, everybody would have blamed

Mr. Garfield. And that's a tact."

She disappeared triumphantly ii, to the scullery amid

a clatter of tea things.

Mr. Curtis thoughtfully removed an aged pipe from

the right side of his mouth to the left side.

"Women," he said, "talk a lot."

He paused and then murmured.

"And half the time they don't khow the truth of what

they are talking about."

109

Agatha Christie

Emily and Charles received this announcement in silence.

Seeing that no more was coming, however, Charles murmured approvingly.

"That's very true--yes, very true."

"Ah!" said Mr. Curtis, and relapsed into a pleasant and contemplative silence.

Charles rose. "I think I'll go round and see old Bur-naby,'

he said, "tell him the camera parade will be tomorrow

morning."

"I'll come with you," said Emily. "I want to know what he really thinks about Jim and what ideas he has about

the crime in general."

"Have you got any rubber boots or anything? It's awfully slushy."

"I bought some Wellingtons in Exhampton," said

Emily.

"What a practical girl you are. You think of everything."

"Unfortunate]y," said Emily, "that's not much help to you in finding out who's done a murder. It might help

one to do a murder," she added reflectively.

"Well, don't murder me," said Mr. Enderby.

They went out together. Mrs. Curtis immediately returned.

"They be gone round to the Major's," said Mr. Curtis.

"Ah!" said Mrs. Curtis. "Now, what do you think? Are they sweethearting, or are they not? A lot of harm comes

of cousins marrying so they say. Deaf and dumbs and

half wits and a lot of other evils. He's sweet on her, that

you can see easily enough. As for her, she's a deep one

like my Great Aunt Sarah's Belinda, she is. Got a way

ilo

Murder at Hazelmoor

with her and with the men. I wonder what she's after

now? Do you know what I think, Curtis?"

Mr. Curtis grunted.

"This young gentleman that the police are holding on

account of the murder, it's my belief that-he's the one

she's set on. And she's come up here to nose about and

see what she can find out. And mark my words," said

Mrs. Curtis, rattling china, "if there's anything to find out she will find it!"

111

14. The Willetts

A T the same moment that Charles and Emily started

out to visit Major Burnaby, Inspector Narracott was seated

in the drawing-room of Sittaford House, trying to for-mulate an impression of Mrs. Willett.

He had not been able to interview her sooner as the

roads had been impassable until this morning. He had

hardly known what he had expected to find, but certainly

not what he had found. It was Mrs. Willett who had

taken charge of the situation, not he.

She had come rushing into the room, thoroughly busi-nesslike and efficient. He saw a tall woman, thin faced

and keen eyed. She was wearing rather an elaborate

knitted silk jumper suit that was just over the border

line of unsuitability for country wear. Her stockings were

of very expensive gossamer silk, her shoes high heeled

patent leather. She wore several valuable rings and rather

a large quantity of very good and expensive imitation

pearls.

"Inspector Narracott?" said Mrs. Willett. "Naturally, you want to come over the house. What a shocking trag-edy!

I could hardly believe it. We only heard about it

this morning, you know. We were terribly shocked. Sit

down, won't you, Inspector? This is my daughter, Vi-olet."

He had hardly noticed the girl who had followed her

112

Murder at Hazelmoor

in, and yet, she was a very pretty girl, tall and fair with

big blue eyes.

Mrs. Willett herself took a seat.

"Is there any way in which I can help you, Inspector?

I knew very little of poor Captain Trevelyan, but if there

is anything you can think of"

The Inspector said slowly:

"Thank you, madam. Of course, one never knows what

may be useful or what may not."

"I quite understand. There may possibly be something

in the house that may throw light upon this sad business,

but I rather doubt it. Captain Trevelyan removed all his

personal belongings. He even feared I should tamper

with his fishing rods, poor, dear man."

She laughed a little.

"You were not acquainted with him?"

"Before I took the house, you mean? Oh! no. I've asked

him here several times since, but he never came. Ter-ribly

shy, poor dear. That was what was the matter with

him. I've known dozens of men like it. They are called

women haters and all sorts of silly things, and really all

the time it's only shyness. If I could have got at him," said Mrs. Willett with determination, "I'd soon have got over all that nonsense. That sort of man only wants bring-ing out."

Inspector Narracott began to understand Captain

Trevelyan's strongly defensive attitude towards his ten-ants.

"We both asked him," continued Mrs. Willett. "Didn't we, Violet?"

Agatha Christie

"Oh! yes, mother."

"A real simple sailor at heart," said Mrs. Willett. "Every woman loves a sailor, Inspector Narracott."

It occurred to Inspector Narracott at this juncture that

the interview so far had been run entirely by Mrs. Willett.

He was convinced that she was an exceedingly clever

woman. She might be as innocent as she appeared. On

the other hand she might not.

"The point I am anxious to get information about is

this," he said and paused.

"Yes, Inspector?"

"Major Burnaby, as you doubtless know, discovered

the body. He was led to do so by an accident that occurred

in this house."

"You mean?"

"I mean, the table turning. I beg your pardon--"

He turned sharply.

A faint sound had come from the girl.

"Poor Violet," said her mother. "She was terribly upset--indeed we all were! Most unaccountable. I'm not

superstitious, but really it was the most unaccountable

thing."

"It did occur then?"

Mrs. Willett opened her eyes very wide.

"Occur? Of course it occurred. At the time I thought

it was a jokema most unfeeling joke and one in very bad

taste. I suspected young Ronald Garfield--"

"Oh! no, mother. I'm sure he didn't. He absolutely

swore he didn't."

"I'm saying what I thought at the time, Violet. What

could one think it but a joke?"

Murder at Hazelmoor

"It was curious," said the Inspector slowly. "You were very upset, Mrs. Willett?"

"We all were. Up to then it had been, oh, just light

hearted fooling. You know the sort of thing. Good fun

on a winter's evening. And then suddenly--this! I was

very angry."

"Angry?"

"Well, naturally. I thought someone was doing it

deliberately--for a joke, as I say."

"And now?"

"Now?"

"Yes, what do you think now?"

Mrs. Willett spread her hands out expressively.

"I don't know what to think. It--it's uncanny."

"And you, Miss Willett?"

"I?"

The girl started.

"I--I don't know. I shall never forget it. I dream of it. I shall never dare to do table turning again."

"Mr. Rycroft would say it was genuine, I suppose," said her mother. "He believes in all that sort of thing. Really I'm inclined to believe in it myself. What other

explanation is there except that it was a genuine message

from a spirit?"

The Inspector shook his head. The table turning had

been his red herring. His next remark was most casual

sounding.

"Don't you find it very bleak here in winter, Mrs.

Willett?"

"Oh! we love it. Such a change. We're South AiYicans,

you know."

Agatha Christie

Her tone was brisk and ordinary.

"Really? What part of South Africa?"

"Oh! the Cape. Violet has never been in England be-fore. She is enchanted with it--finds the snow most

romantic. This house is really most comfortable."

"What led you to come to this part of the world?"

There was just gentle curiosity in his voice.

"We've read so many books on Devonshire, and es-pecially on Dartmoor. We were reading one on the

boat--all about Widdecombe Fair. I've always had a

hankering to see Dartmoor."

"What made you fix on Exhampton? It's not a very

well known little town."

"Well--we were reading these books as I told you,

and there was a boy on board who talked about

Exhampton--he was so enthusiastic about it."

"What was his name?" asked the Inspector. "Did he come from this part of the world?"

"Now, what was his name? Cullen--I think. No--it

was Smythe. How stupid of me. I really can't remember.

You know how it is on board ship, Inspector, you get

to know people so well and plan to meet again--and

a week after you've landed, you can't even be sure of

their names!"

She laughed.

"But he was such a nice boy--not good-looking, red-dish hair, but a delightful smile."

"And on the strength of that you decided to take a

house in these parts?" said the Inspector smiling.

"Yes, wasn't it mad of us?"

"Clever," thought Narracott. "Distinctly clever." He

116

Murder at Hazelmoor

began to realise Mrs. Willett's methods. She always car-ried the war into the enemy's country.

"So you wrote to the house agents and inquired about

a house?"

"Yes--and they sent us particulars of Sittaford. It

sounded just what we wanted."

"It wouldn't be my taste at this time of year," said the Inspector with a laugh.

"I daresay it wouldn't be ours if we lived in England,"

said Mrs. Willett brightly.

The Inspector rose.

"How did you know the name of a house agent to write

to in Exhampton?" he asked. "That must have presented a difficulty."

There was a pause. The first pause in the conversation.

He thought he caught a glimpse of vexation, more, of

anger in Mrs. Willett's eyes. He had hit upon something

to which she had not thought out the answer. She turned

towards her daughter.

"How did we, Violet? I can't remember."

There was a different look in the girl's eyes. She looked

frightened.

"Why, of course," said Mrs. Willett. "Delfridges. Their information bureau. It's too wonderful. I always go and

inquire there about everything. I asked them the name

of the best agent here and they told me."

"Quick," thought the Inspector. "Very quick. But not quite quick enough. I had you there, madam."

He made a cursory examination of the house. There

was nothing there. No papers, no locked drawers or

cupboards.

Agatha Christie

Mrs. Willett accompanied him talking brightly. He

took his leave, thanking her politely.

As he departed he caught a glimpse of the girl's face

over her shoulder. There was no mistaking the expression

on her face.

It was fear he saw on her countenance. Fear written

there plainly at this moment when she thought herself

unobserved.

Mrs. Willett was still talking.

"Alas. We have one grave drawback here. The domestic

problem, Inspector. Servants will not stand these

country places. All of mine have been threatening to

leave us for some time, and the news of the murder

seems to have unsettled them utterly. I don't know what

I shall do. Perhaps men servants would answer the case.

That is what the Registery Office in Exeter advised."

The Inspector answered mechanically. He was not listening

to her flow of talk. He was thinking of the expression

he had surprised on the girl's face.

Mrs. Willett had been clever--but not quite clever

enough.

He went away cogitating on his problem.

If the Willetts had nothing to do with Captain Trevelyan's

death, why was Violet Willett afraid?

He fired his last shot. With his foot actually over the

threshold of the front door he turned back.

"By the way," he said, "you know young Pearson, don't you?"

There was no doubt of the pause this time. A dead

silence of about a second. Then Mrs. Willett spoke:

"Pearson?" she said. "I don't think--"

Murder at Hazelraoor

She was interrupted. A queer sighing breath came

from the room behind her and then the sound of a fall.

The Inspector was over the threshold and into the room

in a flash.

Violet Willett had fainted.

"Poor child," cried Mrs. Willett. "All this strain and shock. That dreadful table turning business and the mur-der

on the top of it. She isn't strong. Thank you so much,

Inspector. Yes, on the sofa please. If you would ring the

bell. No, I don't think there is anything more you can

do. Thank you so much."

The Inspector went down the drive with his lips set

in a grim line.

Jim Pearson was engaged he knew, to that extremely

charming looking girl he had seen in London.

Why then should Violet Willett faint at the mention

of his name? What was the connection between Jim Pear-son

and the Willetts?

He paused indecisively as he emerged from the front

gate. Then he took from his pocket a small notebook. In

it was entered a list of the inhabitants of the six bungalows built by Captain Trevelyan with a few brief remarks against

each name. Inspector Narracott's stubby forefinger paused

at the entry against No. 6 The Cottages.

"Yes," he said to himself. "I'd better see him next." He strode briskly down the lane and beat a firm rat-tat

on the knocker of No. 6--the bungalow inhabited by

Mr. Duke.

119

Visit to Major Burnaby

L E ^ O N G the way up the path to the Major's front

door, Mr. Enderby rapped upon it in a cheery fashion.

The door was flung open almost immediately and Major

Burnaby, red in the face, appeared on the threshold.

"It's you, is it?" he observed with no very great fervor in his voice, and was about to go on in the same strain

when he caught sight of Emily and his expression altered.

"This is Miss Trefusis,' said Charles with the air of

one producing the aec of trumps. "She was very anxious

to see you."

"May I come in?" said Emily with her sweetest smile.

"Oh! yes. Certainly. Of course--Oh, yes, of course." Stumbling in his speech the Major backed into the

living-room of his cottage and began pulling forward chairs

and pushing aside tables.

Emily, as was her fashion, came straight to the point.

"You see, Major Burnaby, I am engaged to Jim--Jim

Pearson, you know. And naturally I am terribly anxious

about him."

In the act of pushing a table the Major paused with

his mouth open.

"Oh dear," he said, "that's a bad business. My dear young lady, I am more sorry about it than I can say."

"Major Burnaby, tell me honestly. Do you yourself

believe he is guilty? Oh, you needn't mind saying if you

120

Murder at Hazelmoor

do. I would a hundred times rather people didn't lie to

lYle."

"No, I do not think him guilty," said the Major in a loud assertive voice. He hit a cushion once or twice

vigorously, and then sat down facing Emily. "The chap

is a nice young chap. Mind you, he might be a bit weak.

Don't be offended if I say that he's the kind of young

fellow that might easily go wrong if temptation came in

his way. But murder--no. And mind you, I know what

I am talking aloout--a lot of subalterns have passed through my hands in my time. It's the fashion to poke fun at

retired army officers nowadays, but we know a thing or

two all the same, Miss Tre pounds sis.'

"I'm sure you do," said Emily. "I'm awfully grateful to you for saying what you've done.'

"Have--have a whisky and soda?" said the Major. "I'm

afraid there's nothing else," he said apologetically.

"No, thank you, Major Burnaby."

"Some plain soda then?"

"No, thank you," said Emily.

"I ought to be able to produce tea," said the Major with a touch of wistfulness.

"We've had it," said Charles. "At Mrs. Curtis's," he added.

"Major Burnaby," said Emily, "Who do you think did it,.have you any idea at all?"

No. I am damned--er--bother--if I have," said the

Major. "Took it for granted it was some chap that broke in, but now the police say that can't be so. Well, it's

their job, and I suppose they know best. They say nobody

121

Agatha Christie

broke in, so I suppose nobody did break in. But all the

same it beats me, Miss Trefusis, Trevelyan hadn't an

enemy in the world as far as I know."

"And you would know if anybody did," said Emily.

"Yes, I suppose I knew more of Trevelyan than many

of his relations did."

"And you can't think of anything--anything that would

help, in any way?" asked Emily.

The Major pulled at his short mustache.

"I know what you're thinking. Like in books there

ought to be some little incident that I should remember

that would be a clue. Well, I'm sorry, but there isn't any

such thing. Trevelyan just led an ordinary normal life.

Got very few letters and wrote less. There were no fe-male

complications in his life, I am sure of that. No, it

beats me, Miss Trefusis."

All three were silent.

"What about that servant of his?" asked Charles.

"Been with him for years. Absolutely faithful."

"He had married lately," said Charles.

"Married a perfectly decent respectable girl."

"Major Burnaby," said Emily, "forgive me putting it this way--but didn't you get the wind up rather easily

about him?"

The Major rubbed his nose with the embarrassed air

that always came over him when the table turning was

mentioned.

"Yes, there's no denying it, I did. I knew the whole

thing was tommy rot and yet--"

"You felt somehow it wasn't," said Emily helpfully. The Major nodded.

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Murder at Hazelmoor

"Thaqs why I wonder--" said Emily.

The two men looked at her.

"I can't quite put what I mean in the way I want," said Emily. "What I mean is this: You say that you don't believe in all this table turning business--and yet, in

spite of the awful weather and what must have seemed

to you the absurdity of the whole thing--you felt so

uneasy that you had to set out, no matter what the weather

conditions, and see for yourself that Captain Trevelyan

was all right. Well, don't you think that may have been

because--because there was something in the atmos-phere.

"I mean," she continued desperately as she saw no

trace of comprehension in the Major's face, "that there was something in someone else's mind as well as yours.

And that somehow or other you felt it."

"Well, I don't know," said the Major. He rubbed his nose again. "Of course," he added hopefully, "women do take these things seriously."

"Women!" said Emily. "Yes," she murmured softly to

herself, "I believe somehow or other that's it."

She turned abruptly to Major Burnaby.

"What are they like, these Willetts?"

"Oh, well," Major Burnaby cast about in his mind, he was clearly no good at personal descriptions "Well--they are very kind you know--very helpful and all that."

"Why do they want to take a house like Sittaford House

at this time of year?"

"I can't imagine," said the Major. "Nobody does," he added.

'"Don't you think it's very queer?" persisted Emily.

Agatha Christie

"Of course, it's queer. However, there's no accounting

for tastes. That's what the Inspector said."

"That's nonsense," said Emily. "People don't do things without a reason."

"Well, I don't know," said Major Burnaby cautiously.

"Some people don't. You wouldn't, Miss Trefusis. But

some people--" He sighed and shook his head.

"You are sure they hadn't met Captain Trevelyan be-fore?"

The Major scouted the idea. Trevelyan would have

said something to him. No, he was as astonished himself

as anyone could be.

"So he thought it queer?"

"Of course, I've just told you we all did."

"What was Mrs. Willett's attitude towards Captain

Trevelyan?" asked Emily. "Did she try and avoid him?" A faint chuckle came from the Major.

"No, indeed she didn't. Pestered the life out of him

--always asking him to come and see them."

"Oh!" said Emily thoughtfully. She paused and then said, "So she might--just possibly she might have taken Sittaford House just on purpose to get acquainted with

Captain Trevelyan."

"Well," the Major seemed to turn it over in his mind.

"Yes, I suppose she might have. Rather an expensive

way of doing things."

"I don't know," said Emily. "Captain Trevelyan wouldn't have been an easy person to get to know otherwise."

"No, he wouldn't," agreed the late Captain Trevelyan's friend.

"I wonder," said Emily.

24

Murder at Hazelmoor

"The Inspector thought of that too," said Burnaby. Emily felt a sudden irritation against Inspector Narracott.

Everything that she thought of seemed to have

already been thought of by the Inspector. It was galling

to a young woman who prided herself on being sharper

than other people.

She rose and held out her hand.

"Thank you very much," she said simply.

"I wish I could help you more," said the Major. "I'm rather an obvious sort of person--always have been. If

I were a clever chap I might be able to hit upon something

that might be a clue. At any rate count on me for

anything you want."

"Thank you," said Emily. "I will."

"Good-by, sir," said Enderby. "I shall be along in the morning with my camera you know."

Burnaby grunted.

Emily and Charles retraced their steps to Mrs. Curtis's.

"Come into my room, I want to talk to you," said

Emily.

She sat on the one chair and Charles sat on the bed.

Emily plucked off her hat and sent it spinning into a

corner of the room.

"Now, listen," she said. "I think I've got a kind of starting point. I may be wrong and I may be right, at

any rate it's an idea. I think a lot hinges on this table

turning business. You've done table turning, haven't you?"

"Oh, yes, now and then. Not serious you know."

"No, of course not. It's the kind of thing one does oh

a wet afternoon, and everyone accuses everyone else of

Agatha Christie

shoving. Well, if you've played it you know what happens.

The table starts spelling out, say, a name, well,

it's a name somebody knows. Very often they recognize

it at once and hope it isn't going to be that, and all the

time unconsciously they are what one calls shoving. I

mean sort of recognizing things makes one give an involuntary jerk when the next letter comes and stops the

thing. And the less you want to do that sometimes the

more it happens."

"Yes, that's true," agreed Mr. Enderby.

"I don't believe for a moment in spirits or anything

like that. But supposing that one of those people who

were playing knew that Captain Trevelyan was being

murdered at that minute--"

"Oh, I say," protested Charles, "that's awfully far fetched."

"Well, it needn't be quite so crude as that. Yes, I think it must be. We are just taking a hypothesis--that's all.

We are asserting that somebody knew that Captain Trevelyan

was dead and absolutely couldn't hide their

knowledge. The table betrayed them."

"It's awfully ingenious," said Charles, "but I don't believe for a minute it's true."

"We'll assume that it is true," said Emily firmly. "I am sure that in detection of crime you mustn't be afraid

to assume things."

"Oh, I'm quite agreeable," said Mr. Enderby. "We'll assume that it is true--anything you like."

"So what we have to do," said Emily, "is to consider very carefully the people who were playing. To begin

Murder at Hazelmoor

with there's Major Burnaby and Mr. Rycroft. Well, it

seems wildly unlikely that either of them should have

an accomplice who was the murderer. Then there is this

Mr. Duke. Well, for the moment we know nothing about

him. He has only just arrived here lately and of course,

he might be a sinister stranger--part of a gang or something. We will put X against his name. And now we come

to the Willetts. Charles, there is something awfully nysterious about the Willetts."

"What on earth have they got to gain from Captain

Trevelyan's death?"

"Well, on the i:ace of it, nothing. But if my theory is correct there must be a connection somewhere. We've

got to find what is the connection."

"Right," said Mr. Enderby. "And supposing it's all a mare's nest?"

"Well, we'll have to start all over again," said Emily.

"Hark!" cried Charles suddenly.

He held up his hand. Then he went over to the window

and opened it, and Emily too, heard the sound which

had aroused his attention. It was the far off booming of

a great bell.

As they stood listening, Mrs. Curtis's voice called excitedly from below.

"Do you hear the bell, Miss--do you hear it?"

Emily opened the door.

"D'you hear it? Plain as plain, isn't it? Well now, to

think of that!"

"What is it?" asked Emily.

"It's the'bell at Princetown, Miss, near to twelve mile

Agatha Christie

away. It means that a convict's escaped. George, George,

where is that man? D'you hear the bell? There's a convict

loose."

Her voice died away as she went through the kitchen.

Charles shut the window and sat down on the bed

again.

"It's a pity that things happen all wrong," he said dispassionately. "If only this convict had escaped on Fri-day, why, there would be our murderer nicely accounted

for. No ]arther to look. Hungry man, desperate criminal

breaks in. Trevelyan defends his Englishman's castle-and desperate criminal biffs him one. All so simple."

"It would have been," said Emily with a sigh.

"Instead of which," said Charles, "he escapes three days too late. It's--it's hopelessly inartistic."

He shook his head sadly.

16. Mr. Rycroft

E M I L Y woke early the next morning. Being a sensible

young woman, she realized there was little possibility of

Mr. Enderby's collaboration until the morning was well

advanced. So, feeling restless and unable to lie still she

set out for a brisk walk along the lane in the opposite

direction from which they had come last night.

She passed the gates of Sittaford House on her right

and shortly after that the lane took a sharp turn to the

right and ran steeply up hill and came out on the open

moor where it degenerated into a grass track and soon

petered out altogether. The morning was a fine one, cold

and crisp and the view was lovely. Emily ascended to

the very top of Sittaford Tor, a pile of gray rock of a

fantastic shape. From this height she looked down over

an expanse of moorland, unbroken as far as she could

see without any habitation or any road. Below her, on

the opposite side of the Tor, were gray masses of granite

boulders and rocks. After considering the scene for a

minute or two she turned to view the prospect to the

north from which she had come. Just below her lay Sit-taford, clustering on the flank of the hill, the square gray

blob of Sittaford House, and the dotted cottages beyond

it. In the valley below she could see Exhampton.

"One ought," thought Emily confusedly, "to see things better when you are high up like this. It ought to be like

lifting off the top of a doll's house and peering in."

z9

Agatha Christie

She wished with all her heart that she had met the

dead man even if only once. It was so hard to get an idea

of people you had never seen. You had to rely on other

people's judgment, and Emily had never yet acknowl-edged

that any other person's judgment was superior to

her own. Other people's impressions were no good to

you. They might be just as true as yours but you couldn't

act on them. You couldn't, as it were, use another per-son's angle of attack.

Meditating vexedly on these questions, Emily sighed

impatiently and shifted her position.

She had been so lost in her own thoughts that she had

been oblivious to her immediate surroundings. It was

with a shock of surprise that she realized that a small

elderly gentleman was standing a few feet away from

her, his hat held courteously in his hand, while he breathed rather fast.

"Excuse me," he said. "Miss Trefusis, I believe?"

"Yes," said Emily.

"My name is Rycroft. You must forgive me speaking

to you, but in this little community of ours the smallest

detail is known, and your arrival here yesterday has nat-urally gone the round. I can assure you that everyone

feels a deep sympathy with your position, Miss Trefusis.

We are all, one and all, anxious to assist you in any way

we can."

"That's very kind of you," said Emily.

"Not at all, not at all," said Mr. Rycroft. "Beauty in distress, you will pardon lny old-tZashioned manner of

putting it. But seriously, my dear young lady, do count

on me if there is any way in which I can possibly assist

3o

Murder at Hazelmoor

you. Beautiful view from up here, is it not?"

"Wonderful," agreed Emily. "The moor is a wonderful place."

"You know that a prisoner must have escaped last night

from Princetown."

"Yes. Has he been recaptured?"

"Not yet, I believe. Ah, well, poor fellow, he will no

doubt be recaptured soon enough. I believe I am right

in saying that no one has escaped successfully from

Princetown for the last twenty years."

"Which direction is Princetown?"

Mr. Rycroft stretched out his arm and pointed south-wards

over the moor.

"It lies over there, about twelve miles as the crow flies over unbroken moorland. It's sixteen miles by road."

Emily gave a iaint shiver. The idea of the desperate

hunted man impressed her powerfully. Mr. Rycroft was

watching her and gave a little nod.

"Yes," he said. "I feel the same myself. It's curious how one's instincts rebel at the thought of a man being

hunted down, and yet, these men at Princetown are all

dangerous and violent criminals, the kind of men whom

probably you and I would do our utmost to put there in

the first place."

He gave a little apologetic laugh.

"You must forgive me, Miss Trefhsis, I am deeply

interested in the study of crime. A fascinating study.

Ornithology and criminology are my two subjects." He

paused and then went on:

"That's the reason why, if you will allow me to do so,

I should like to associate myself with you in this matter.

131

Agatha Christie

To study a crime at first hand has long been an unrealized

dream of mine. Will you place your confidence in me,

Miss Trefusis, and allow me to place my experience at

your disposal? I have read and studied this subject deeply."

Emily was silent for a minute. She was congratulating

herself on the way events were playing into her hand.

Here was first-hand knowledge being offered her of life

as it had been lived at Sittaford. "Angle of attack," Emily repeated the phrase that had crept into her mind so short

a time before. She had had Major Burnaby's angle--matter

of fact--simple--direct. Taking cognizance of facts

and completely oblivious of subtleties. Now, she was

being offered another angle which she suspected might

open up a very different field of vision. This little, shri-veled, dried-up gentleman had read and studied deeply,

was well versed in human nature, had that devouring

interested curiosity in life displayed by the man of re-flection as opposed to the man of action.

"Please help me," she said simply. "I am so very wor-ried and unhappy."

"You must be, my dear, you must be. Now, as I un-derstand the position, Trevelyan's eldest nephew has

been arrested or detained--the evidence against him

being of a somewhat simple and obvious nature, I, of

course, have an open mind. You must allow me that."

"Of course," said Emily. "Why should you believe in his innocence when you know nothing about him?"

"Most reasonable," said Mr. Rycroft. "Really, Miss Trefusis, you yourself are a most interesting study. By

the way, your name--is it Cornish like our poor friend

Trevelyan?"

Murder at Hazelmoor

"Yes," said Emily. "My father wasCornish, my mother was Scottish."

"Ah!" said Mr. Rycroft, "very interesting. Now to approach our little problem. On the one hand we assume

that young Jim--the name is Jim, is it not? We assume

that young Jim had a pressing need of money, that he

came down to see his uncle, that he asked for money,

that his uncle refused, that in a moment of passion he

picked up a sandbag that was lying at the door and that

he hit his uncle over the head. The crime was

unpremeditated--was in fact a foolish irrational affair

most deplorably conducted. Now, all that may be so, on

the other hand he may have parted with his uncle in

anger and some other person may have stepped in shortly

afterwards and committed the crime. That is what you

believe--and to put it a little difibrently, that is what I

hope. I do not want your fiance to have committed the

crime, for from my point of view it is so uninteresting

that he should have done so. I am therefore backing the

other horse. The crime was committed by someone else.

We will assume that and go at once to a most important

point. Was that someone else aware of the quarrel that

had just taken place? Did that quarrel in fact, actually

precipitate the murder? You see my point? Someone is

meditating doing away with Captain Trevelyan and seizes

this opportunity, realizing that suspicion is bound to fall

on young Jim."

Emily considered the matter from this angle.

"In that case," she said slowly-Mr. Rycroft took the words out of her mouth.

"In that case," he said briskly, "the murderer would

133

Agatha Christie

have to be a person in close association with Captain

Trevelyan. He would have to be domiciled in Exhamp-ton.

In all probability he would have to be in the house,

either during or after the quarrel. And since we are not

in a court of law and can bandy about names freely, the

name of the servant, Evans, leaps to our minds as a

person who could satisi our conditions. A man who quite

possibly might have been in the house. Have overheard

the quarrel and seized the opportunity. Our next point

is to discover whether Evans benefits in any way from

his master's death."

"I believe he gets a small legacy," said Emily.

"That may or may not constitute a sufficient motive.

We shall have to discover whether or not Evans had a

pressing need of money. We must also consider Mrs.

Evans--there is a Mrs. Evans of recent date I understand.

If you had studied criminology, Miss Trefusis, you

would realize the curious effect caused by inbreeding,

especially in country districts. There are at least four

young women in Broadmoor, pleasant in manner, but

with that curious kink in their dispositions that human

life is of little or no account to them. No--we must not

leave Mrs. Evans out of account."

"What do you think about this table turning business,

Mr. Rycroft?"

"Now, that is very strange. Most strange. I confess,

Miss Trefusis, that I am powerfully impressed by it. I

am, as perhaps you may have heard, a believer in psychic

things. To a certain degree I am a believer in spiritualism. I have already written out a full account and sent

it up to the Society of Psychical Research. A well au134

Murder at Hazelmoor

thenticated and amazing case. Five people present, none

of whom could have the least idea or suspicion that Captain

Trevelyan was murdered."

"You don't think--"

Emily stopped. It was not so easy to suggest her own

idea to Mr. Rycroft that one of the five people might have guilty foreknowledge, as he himself had been one

of them. Not that she suspected for a moment that there

was anything whatever to connect Mr. Rycroft with the

tragedy. Still she felt that the suggestion might not be

wholly tactful. She pursued her object in a more roundabout

manner.

"It all interested me very much, Mr. Rycroft, it is, as you say, an amazing occurrence. You don't think that

any of the people present, with the exception of yourself

of course, were in any way psychic?"

"My dear young lady, I myself am not psychic. I have

no powers in that direction. I am only a very deeply

interested observer."

"What about this Mr. Garfield?"

"A nice lad," said Mr. Rycroft, "but not remarkable in any way."

"Well off, I suppose," said Emily.

"Stony broke, I believe," said Mr. Rycroft. "I hope I am using that idiom correctly. He cones down here to

dance atteadance on an aunt, from whmn he has what I

call 'expectatbns.' Miss Percehouse is a very sharp lady

and I think sle knows what these attentions are worth.

But as she has a sardonic form of humor of her own she

keeps him daacing."

"I shoulcl like to neet her," said Emily.

135

Agatha Christie

"Yes, you must certainly meet her. She will no doubt

insist on meeting you. Curiosity--alas, my dear Miss

Trefusis--curiosity."

"Tell me about the Willetts," said Emily.

"Charming," said Mr. Rycroft, "quite charming. Co-lonial, of course. No real poise, if you understand me.

A little too lavish in their hospitality. Everything a shade on the ornate side. Miss Violet is a charming girl."

"A funny place to come for the winter," said Emily.

"Yes, very odd, is it not? But after all it is only logical. We ourselves living in this country long for the sunshine,

hot climates, waving palm trees. People who live in Aus-tralia or South Africa are enchanted with the idea of an

old-tashioned Christmas with snow and ice."

"I wonder which of them," said Emily to herself, "told him that."

She reflected that it was not necessary to bury yourself

in a moorland village in order to obtain an old-fashioned

Christmas with snow and ice. Clearly, Mr. Rycroft did

not see anything suspicious in the Willetts' choice of a

winter resort. But that, she reflected, was perhaps nat-ural in one who was an ornithologist and a criminologist.

Sittaford clearly appeared an ideal residence to Mr. Ry-croft, and he could not conceive of it as an unsuitable

environment to someone else.

They had been slowly descending the slope of the

hillside and were now wending their way down the lane.

"Who lives in that cottage?" asked Emily abruptly.

"Captain Wyatt--he is an invalid. Rather unsociable

I fear."

"Was he a friend of Captain Trevelyan's?"

136

Murder at Hazelmoor

"Not an intimate i?iend in any way. Trevelyan merely

made a formal visit to him every now and then. As a

matter of fact Wyatt doesn't encourage visitors. A surly

man."

Emily was silent. She was reviewing the possibility of

how she herself might become a visitor. She had no

intention of allowing any angle of attack to remain unex-plored.

She suddenly remembered the hitherto unmentioned

member of the sance.

"What about Mr. Duke?" she asked brightly.

"What about him?"

"Well, who is he?"

"Well," said Mr. Rycroft slowly, "that is what nobody knows."

"How extraordinary," said Emily.

"'As a matter of fact," said Mr. Rycroft, "it isn't. You see, Duke is such an entirely unmysterious individual.

I should imagine that the only mystery about him was

his social origin. Not--not quite, if you understand me.

But a very solid good fellow," he hastened to add.

Emily was silent.

"This is my cottage," said Mr. Rycroft pausing, "per-haps you will do me the honor of coming in and inspect-ing

it."

"I should love to," said Emily.

They went up the small path and entered the cottage.

The interior was charming. Bookcases lined the walls.

Emily went from one to the other glancing curiously

at the titles of the books. One section dealt with occult

phenomena, another with modern detective fiction, but

137

Agatha Christie

by far the greater part of the bookcases was given up to

criminology and to the world's famous trials. Books on

ornithology held a comparatively small position.

"I think it's all delightful," said Emily. "I must get back now. I expect Mr. Enderby will be up and waiting

for me. As a matter of fact I haven't had breakfast yet.

We told Mrs. Curtis half past nine, and I see it's ten

o'clock. I shall be dreadfully late--that's because you've

been so interesting--and so very helpful."

"Anything I can do," burbled Mr. Rycroft as Emily

turned a bewitching glance on him. "You can count on

me. We are collaborators."

Emily gave him her hand and squeezed his warmly.

"It's so wonderful," she said, using the phrase that in the course of her short life she had found so effectual,

"to feel that there's someone on whom one can really

rely."

138

?. Miss Percehouse

E M I L Y returned to find eggs and bacon, and Charles

waiting for her.

Mrs. Curtis was still agog with excitement over the

escape of the convict.

"Two years it is since the last one escaped," she said,

"and three days it was before they found him. Near to

Moretonhampstead he was."

"Do you think he'll come this way?" asked Charles. Local knowledge vetoed this suggestion.

"They never comes this way, all bare moorland it is,

and only small towns when you do come off the moor.

He'll make for Plymouth that's the most likely. But they'll

catch him long before that."

"You could find a good hiding place among these rocks

on the other side of the Tor," said Emily.

"You're right, Miss, and there is a hiding place there, the Pixie's Cave they call it. As narrow an opening be-tween two rocks as you could find, but it widens out

inside. They say one of King Charles's men hid there

once for a fortnight with a serving maid from a farm

bringing him food."

"I must take a look at that Pixie's Cave," said Charles.

"You'll be surprised how hard it is to find, sir. Many

a picnic party in summer looks for it the whole afternoon

and doesn't find it, but if you do find it be sure you leave a pin inside it for luck."

139

Agatha Christie

"I wonder," said Charles when breakfast was over and he and Emily had strolled out into the small bit of garden,

"if I ought to go off to Princetown? Amazing how things pile up once you have a bit of luck. Here I am--I start

with a simple football competition prize, and before I

know where I am I run straight into an escaped convict

and a murderer. Marvelous!"

"What about this photographing of Major Burnaby's

cottage?"

Charles looked up at the sky.

"H'm," he said. "I think I shall say the weather is wrong. I have got to hang on to my raison d'etre of being

in Sittaford as long as possible, and it's coming over

misty. Er--I hope you don't mind, I have just posted

off an interview with you?"

"Oh! that's all right," said Emily mechanically. "What have you made me say?"

"Oh, the usual sort of things people like to hear," said Mr. Enderby. "Our special representative records his

interview with Miss Emily Trefusis, the fiancee of Mr.

James Pearson who has been arrested by the police and

charged with the murder of Captain Trevelyan--Then

my impression of you as a high-spirited, beautiful girl."

"Thank you," said Emily.

"Shingled," went on Charles.

"What do you mean by shingled?"

"You are," said Charles.

"Well, of course I am," said Emily. "But why mention it?"

"Women readers always like to know," said Charles

Enderby. "It was a splendid interview. You've no idea

4o

Murder at Hazelmoor

what fine womanly touching things you said about stand-ing

by your man, no matter if the whole world was against

him."

"Did I really say that?" said Emily wincing slightly.

"Do you mind?" said Mr. Enderby anxiously.

"Oh! no," said Emily. "Enjoy yourself, darling." Mr. Enderby looked slightly taken aback.

"It's all right," said Emily. "That's a quotation. I had it on my bib when I was small--my Sunday bib. The

weekday one had 'Don't be a glutton' on it."

"Oh! I see. I put in a very good bit about Captain

Trevelyan's sea career and just a hint at foreign idols

looted and a possibility of a strange priest's revenge--only a hint you know."

"Well, you Seem to have done your day's good deed," said Emily.

"What have you been up to? You were up early enough

heaven knows."

Emily described her meeting with Mr. Rycroft.

She broke off suddenly and Enderby, glancing over

his shoulders and following the direction of her eyes,

became aware of a pink, healthy looking young man lean-ing

over the gate and making various apologetic noises

to attract attention.

"I say," said the young man, "frightfully sorry to butt in and all that. I mean, it is awfully awkward, but my

aunt sent me along."

Emily and Charles both said, "Oh," in an inquiring tone, not being much the wiser for the explanation.

"Yes," said the young man. "To tell the truth my aunt's rather a Tartar. What she says goes, if you know what I

Agatha Christie

mean. Of course, I think it's frightfully bad form coming

along at a time like this but if you knew my aunt--and

if you do as she wants, you will know her in a few

minutes--"

"Is your aunt Miss Percehouse?" broke in Emily.

"That's right," said the young man much relieved. "So you know all about her? Old Mother Curtis has been

talking I suppose. She can wag a tongue, can't she? Not

that she's a bad sort, mind you. Well, the fact is, my

aunt said she wanted to see you, and I was to come along

and tell you so. Compliments, and all that, and would

it be troubling you too much--she was an invalid and

quite unable to get out and it would be a great

kindness--well, you know the sort of thing. I needn't

say it all. It's curiosity really, of course, and if you say you've got a headache, or have got letters to write it will

be quite all right and you needn't bother."

"Oh, but I should like to bother," said Emily. "I'll come with you at once. Mr. Enderby has got to go along

and see Major Burnaby."

"Have I?" said Enderby in a low voice.

"You have," said Emily firmly.

She dismissed him with a brief nod and joined her

new friend in the road.

"I suppose you're Mr. Garfield," she said.

"That's right. I ought to have told you."

"Oh, well," said Emily, "it wasn't very difficult to guess."

"Splendid of you coming along like this," said Mr. Garfield. "Lots of girls would have been awfully of-fended. But you know what old ladies are."

42

Murder at Hazelmoor

"You don't live down here, do you Mr. Garfield?"

"You bet your life I don't," said Ronnie Garfield with fervor. "Did you ever see such a god-forsaken spot? Not so much as the Pictures to go to. I wonder someone

doesn't commit a murder to--"

He paused appalled by what he had said.

"I say, I am sorry. I am the most unlucky devil that

ever lived. Always coming out with the wrong thing. I

never meant it for a moment."

"I'm sure you didn't," said Emily soothingly.

"Here we are," said Mr. Garfield. He pushed open a gate and Emily passed through and went up the path

leading to a small cottage identical with the rest. In the

living-room giving on the garden was a couch and on it

was lying an elderly lady with a thin wrinkled face and

with one of the sharpest and most interrogative noses

that Emily had ever seen. She raised herself on an elbow

with a little difficulty.

"So you've brought her," she said. "Very kind of you, my dear, to come along to see an old woman. But you

know what it is when you are an invalid. You must have

a finger in every pie going and if you can't go to the pie,

then, the pie has got to come to you. And you needn't

think it's all curiosity--it's more than that. Ronnie, go

out and paint the garden furniture. In the shed at the

end of the garden. Two basket chairs and a bench. You'll

find the paint there all ready."

"Right oh, Aunt Caroline."

The obedient nephew disappeared.

"Sit down," said Miss Percehouse.

Emily sat on the chair indicated. Strange to say she

143

Agatha Christie

had immediately felt conscious of a distinct liking and

sympathy for this rather sharp-tongued middle-aged invalid.

She felt indeed a kind of kinship with her.

"Here is someone," thought Emily, "who goes straight to the point and means to have her own way and bosses

everybody she can. Just like me only I happen to be

rather good-looking and she has to do it all by force of

character."

"I understand you are the girl who is engaged to Trevelyan's nephew," said Miss Percehouse. "I've heard all about you and now I have seen you I understand exactly what you are up to. And I wish you good luck."

"Thank you," said Emily.

"I hate a slobbering female," said Miss Percehouse.

"I like one who gets up and does things."

She looked at Emily sharply.

"I suppose you pity me--lying here never able to get

up and walk about?"

"No," said Emily thoughtfully. "I don't know that I do. I suppose that one can, if one has the determination,

always get something out of life. If you can't get it in one way you get it in another."

"Quite right," said Miss Percehouse. "You've got to take life from a different angle, that's all."

"Angle of attack," murmured Emily.

"What's that you say?"

As clearly as she was able, Emily outlined the theory

that she had evolved that morning and the application

of it she had made to the matter in hand.

"Not bad," said Miss Percehouse nodding her head.

144

Murder at Hazelmoor

ing

"Now, my dear--we will get down to business. Not beini/e to a born fool, I suppose you've come up to this village I see

find out what you can about the people here, and to

if what you find out has any bearing on the -nurde-.,er'

- me

Well, if there's anything you want to know about tl

people here, I can tell it to you."

Emily wasted no time. Concise and businesslike slhe

came to the point.

"Major Burnaby?" she asked.

"Typical retired army officer, narrow-minded and livmired in outlook, jealous disposition Credulous in monefi

matters. Kind of man who invests in a South Sea

because he can't see a yard in front of his own noseho

Likes to pay his debts promptly and dislikes people

don't wipe their feet on the mat."

"Mr. Rycroft?" said Emily.

to

"Queer little man, enormous egoist. Cranky. Likes! -d

think himselfa wonderful fellow. I suppose he has offerd/u!

to help you solve the case aright owing to his wonderfi

knowledge of criminology."

Emily admitted that that was the case.

"Mr. Duke?" she asked. 't

"Don't know a thing about the man--and yet I ought

to. Most ordinary type. I ought to know--and yet I don

It's queer. It's like a name on the tip of your tongue ar

yet for the life of you, you can't remember it."

"The Willetts?" asked Emily.

if

"Ah! the Willetts!" Miss Percehouse hoisted hers t

up on an elbow again in some excitement. "What abotJt

the Willetts indeed? Now, I'll tell you something abotJ

145

Agatha Christie

them, my dear. It may be useful to you, or it may not.

Go over to my writing table there and pull out the little

top drawer--the one to the left--that's right. Bring me

the blank envelope that's there."

Emily brought the envelope as directed.

"I don't say it's important--it probably isn't," said Miss Pereehouse. "Everybody tells lies one way or another

and Mrs. Willett is perfectly entitled to do the same as

everybody else."

She took the envelope and slipped her hand inside.

"I will tell you all about it. When the Willetts arrived here, with their smart clothes and their maids and their

innovation trunks, she and Violet came up in Forder's

car and the maids and the innovation trunks came by

the station bus. And naturally, the whole thing being an

event as you might say, I was looking out as they passed

and I saw a colored label blow off from one of the trunks

and dive down on to one of my borders. Now, if' there

is one thing I hate more than another it is a litter of

paper or mess of any kind, so I sent Ronnie out to pick

it up, and I was going to throw it away when it struck

me it was a bright, pretty thing, and I might as well keep

it for the scrap-books I make for the children's hospital.

Well, I wouldn't have thought about it again except for

Mrs. Willett deliberately mentioning on two or three

occasions that Violet had never been out of South Africa

and that she herself had only been to South Africa, Eng

land,

and the Riviera."

"Yes?" said Emily.

"Exactly. Now--look at this."

146

Murder at Hazelmoor

Miss Percehouse thrust a luggage label into Emily's

hand. It bore the inscription, Mendle's Hotel, Melbourne.

"Australia," said Miss Percehouse, "isn't South Africa--or it wasn't in my young days. I daresay it isn't

important but there it is for what it is worth. And I'll tell you another thing, I have heard Mrs. Willett calling to

her daughter and she called Coo-ee and that again is

more typical of Australia than South Africa. And what I

say is, it is queer. Why shouldn't you wish to admit that

you come from Australia if you do?"

"It's certainly curious," said Emily. "And it's curious that they should come to live here in winter time as they

have."

"That leaps to the eye," said Miss Percehouse. "Have you met them yet?"

"No. I thought of going there this morning. Only I

didn't know quite what to say."

"I'll provide you with an excuse," said Miss Perce-house briskly. "Fetch me my fountain pen and some

notepaper and an envelope. That's right. Now, let ne

see." She paused deliberately, then without the least

warning raised her voice in a hideous scream.

"Bonnie, Bonnie, Bonnie! Is the boy deaf? Why can't

he come when h&'s called? Bonnie! Ronnie!"

Bonnie arrived at a brisk trot, paint brush in hand.

"Is there anything the matter, Aunt Caroline?"

"What should be the matter? I was calling you, that

was all. Did you have any particular cake for tea when

you were at the Willetts yesterday?"

147

Agatha Christie

"Cake?"

"Cake, sandwiches--anything. How slow you are, boy.

What did you have to eat for tea?"

"There was a coffee cake," said Ronnie very much

puzzled, "and some ptsandwiches--"

"Coffee cake," said Miss Percehouse. "That'll do." She began to write briskly. "You can go back to your painting, Ronnie. Don't hang about, and don't stand there with

your mouth open. You had your adenoids out when you

were eight years old, so there is no excuse for it."

She continued to write:

DEAR MRS. WILLETT,--I hear you had the most

delicious coffee cake for tea yesterday afternoon.

Will you be so very kind as to give me the recipe

for it. I know you'll not mind my asking you this--an

invalid has so little variety except in her diet.

Miss Trefusis has kindly promised to take this note

for me as Ronnie is busy this morning. Is not this

news about the convict too dreadful?

Yours very sincerely,

CAROLINE PERCEHOUSE.

She put it in an envelope, sealed it down and ad-dressed

it.

"There you are, young woman. You will probably find

the doorstep littered with reporters. A lot of them passed

along the lane in Forder's charabanc. I saw them. But

you ask for Mrs. Willett and say you have brought a note

from me and you'll sail in. I needn't tell you to keep your

eyes open and make the most you can of your visit. You

will do that anyway."

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Murder at Hazelmoor

"You are kind," said Emily. "You really are."

"I help those who can help themselves," said Miss

Percehouse. "By the way, you haven't asked me what I

think of Ronnie yet. I presume he is on your list of the

village. He is a good lad in his way, but pitifully weak.

I am sorry to say he would do almost anything for money.

Look at what he stands from me! And he hasn't got the

brains to see that I would like him just ten times better

if he stood up to me now and again, and told me to go

to the devil.

"The only other person in the village is Captain Wyatt. He smokes opium, I believe. And he's easily the worst-tempered man in England. Anything more you want to

know?"

"I don't think so," said Emily. "What you have told me seems pretty comprehensive."

149

Emily Visits Sittaford House

A s Emily walked briskly along the lane she noticed once

more how the character of the morning was changing.

The mist was closing up and round.

"What an awful place to live in England is," thought Emily. "If it isn't snowing or raining or blowing it's misty. And if the sun does shine it's so cold that you can't feel

your fingers or toes."

She was interrupted in these reflections by a rather

hoarse voice speaking rather close to her right ear.

"Excuse me," it said, "but do you happen to have seen a bull terrier?"

Emily started and turned. Leaning over a gate was a

tall thin man with a very brown complexion, bloodshot

eyes and gray hair. He was propped up with a crutch on

one side, and was eyeing Emily with enormous interest.

She had no difficulty in identifying him as Captain Wyatt,

the invalid owner of No. 3 The Cottages.

"No, I haven't," said Emily.

"She's got out," said Captain Wyatt. "An affectionate creature, but an absolute fool. With all these cars and

things--"

"I shouldn't think many motors come up this lane," said Emily.

"Charabancs do in the summer time," said Captain

Wyatt grimly. "It's the three and sixpenny morning run

from Exhampton. Ascent of Sittaford Beacon with a halt

150

Murder at Hazelmoor

halfway up from Exhampton for light refreshments."

"Yes, but this isn't summer time," said Emily.

"All the same a charabanc came along just now. Reporters, I suppose, going to have a look at Sittaford House."

"Did you know Captain Trevelyan well?" asked Emily. She was of the opinion that the incident of the bull terrier had been a mere subterfuge on Captan Wyatt's part

dictated by a very natural curiosity. She was, she was well

aware, the principal object of attention in Sittaford at

present, and it was only natural that Captain Wyatt should

wish to have a look at her as well as everyone else.

"I don't know about well," said Captain Wyatt. "He sold me this cottage."

"Yes," said Emily encouragingly.

"A skinflint, that's what he was," said Captain Wyatt.

"The arrangement was that he was to do the place up to

suit the purchaser's taste, and just because I had the

window sashes in chocolate picked out in lemon, he wanted

me to pay half. Said the arrangement was for a uniform

color."

"You didn't like him," said Emily.

"I was always having rows with him," said Captain

Wyatt. "But I always have rows with everyone," he added as an afterthought. "In a place like this you have to teach people to leave a man alone. Always knocking at the door

and dropping in and chattering. I don't mind seeing

people when I am in the mood--but it has got to be my

mood not theirs. No good Trevelyan giving me his Lord

of the Manor airs and dropping in whenever he felt like

it. There's not a soul in the place comes near me now," he added with satisfaction.

151

Agatha Christie

"Oh!" said Emily.

"That's the best of having a native servant," said Cap-tain Wyatt. "They understand orders. Abdul," he roared.

A tall Indian in a turban came out of the cottage and

waited attentively.

"Come in and have something," said Captain Wyatt.

"And see my little cottage."

"I'm sorry," said Emily, "but I have to hurry on."

"Ohno, you haven't," said Captain Wyatt.

"Yes, I have," said Emily. "I've got an appointment."

"Nobody understands the art of living nowadays," said Captain Wyatt. "Catching trains, making appointments,.

fixing times for everything--all nonsense. Get up with

the sun I say, have your meals when you feel like it, and

never tie yourself to a time or a date. I could teach people how to live if they would listen to me."

The results of this exalted idea of living were not too

hopeful, Emily reflected. Anything more like a battered

wreck of a man than Captain Wyatt she had never seen.

However, feeling that his curiosity had been sufficiently

satisfied for the time being she insisted once more on

her appointment and went on her way.

Sittaford House had a solid oak front door, a neat bell

pull, an immense wire mat, and a brilliantly polished

brass letter box. It represented, as Emily could not fail

to see, comfort and decorum. A neat and conventional

parlormaid answered the bell.

Emily deduced the journalist evil had been before her

as the parlormaid said at once in a distant tone, "Mrs. Willett is not seeing anyone this morning."

152

Murder at Hazelmoor

"I have brought a note from Miss Percehouse," said Emily.

This clearly altered matters. The parlormaid's face expressed indecision, then she shifted her ground.

"Will you come inside, please."

Emily was ushered into what house agents describe

as "a well-appointed hall," and from there into a large drawing-room. A fire was burning brightly and there

were traces of feminine occupation in the room. Some

glass tulips, an elaborate workbag, a girl's hat, and a

Pierrot doll with very long legs, were lying about. There

were, she noticed, no photographs.

Having taken in all there was to see, Emily was warming

her hands in front of the fire when the door opened

and a girl about her own age came in. She was a very

pretty girl, Emily noticed, smartly and expensively

dressed, and she also thought that she had never seen a

girl in a greater state of nervous apprehension. Not that

this was apparent on the surface however. Miss Willett

was making a gallant appearance of being entirely at her

ease.

"Good morning," she said advancing and shaking hands. "I'm so sorry mother isn't down, but she's spending the

morning in bed."

"Oh, I am so sorry, I'm afraid I have come at an unfortunate time."

"No, of course not. The cook is writing out the recipe

for that c.ake now. We are only too delighted for Miss

Percehouse to have it. Are you staying with her?"

Emily reflected with an inward smile that this was

153

Agatha Christie

perhaps the only house in Sittaford whose members were

not exactly aware of who she was and why she was there.

Sittaford House had a definite regime of employers and

employed. The employed might know about her--the

employers clearly did not.

"I am not exactly staying with her," said Emily. "In fact, I'm at Mrs. Curtis's."

"Of course the cottage is terribly small and she has

her nephew, Ronnie, with her, hasn't she? I suppose

there wouldn't be room for you too. She's a wonderful

person, isn't she? So much character, I always think, but

I am rather afraid of her really."

"She's a bully, isn't she?" agreed Emily cheerfully.

"But it's an awful temptation to be a bully, especially if people won't stand up to you."

Miss Willett sighed.

"I wish I could stand up to people," she said. "We've had the most awful morning absolutely pestered by reporters."

"Oh, of course," said Emily. "This is Captain Trevelyan's house really, isn't it?--the man who was murdered

at Exhampton."

She was trying to determine the exact cause of Violet

Willett's nervousness. The girl was clearly on the jump.

Something was frightening her--and frightening her

badly. She mentioned Captain Trevelyan's name bluntly

on purpose. The girl didn't noticeably react to it in any

way, but then she was probably expecting some such

reference.

"Yes, wasn't it dreadful?"

154

Murder at Hazelmoor

"Do tell me--that's if you don't mind talking about

it?"

"No--no--of course not--why should I?"

"There's something very wrong with this girl," thought Emily. "She hardly knows what she's saying. What has

made her get the wind up this morning particularly?"

"About that table turning," went on Emily. "I heard about it in a casual sort of way and it seemed to me so

frightfully interesting--I mean so absolutely gruesome."

"Girlish thrills," she thought to herself, "that's my line."

"Oh, it was horrid," said Violet. "That evening--I shall never forget it! We thought, of course, that it was some-body just fooling--only it seemed a very nasty kind of

joke."

"Yes?"

"I shall never forget when we turned the lights on--everybody looked so queer. Not Mr. Duke and Major

Burnaby--they are the stolid kind, they would never

like to admit that they were impressed by anything of

that kind. But you could see that Major Burnaby was

really awfully rattled by it. I think that actually he be-lieved in it more than anybody else. But I thought poor

little Mr. Rycroft was going to have a heart attack or

something, yet he must be used to that kind of thing

because he does a lot of psychic research, and as for

Ronnie, Ronnie Garfield you know--he looked as though

he had seen a ghost--actually seen one. Even mother

was awfully upet--more than I have ever seen her be-fore."

Agatha Christie

"It must have been most spooky," said Emily. "I wish I had been there to see."

"It was rather horrid really. We all pretended that it

was--just fun, you know, but it didn't seem like that.

And then Major Burnaby suddenly made up his mind to

go over to Exhampton and we all tried to stop him, and

said he would be buried in a snowdrift, but he would

go. And there we sat, after he had gone, all feeling dread-ful and worried. And then, last night--no, yesterday

morning--we got the news."

"You think it was Captain Trevelyan's spirit?" said Emily in an awed voice. "Or do you think it was clair-voyance or telepathy?"

"Oh, I don't know. But I shall never, never laugh at

these things again."

The parlormaid entered with a folded piece of paper

on a salver which she handed to Violet.

The parlormaid withdrew and Violet unfolded the pa-per,

glanced over it and handled it to Emily.

"There you are," she said. "As a matter of fact you are just in time. This murder business has upset the servants.

They think it's dangerous to live in this out of the way

part. Mother lost her temper with them yesterday eve-ning

and has sent them all packing. They are going after

lunch. We are going to get two men instead--a house-parlorman and a kind of butler chauffeur. I think it will

answer much better."

"Servants are silly, aren't they?" said Emily.

"It isn't even as if Captain Trevelyan had been killed

in this house."

156

llurder at Hazelmoor

"What made Y= uu think of coming to live here?" asked Emily, trying to make the question sound artless and

girlishly natural.

"Oh, we thmht it would be rather fun," said Violet.

"Don't you ad it rather dull?"

"Oh, no, I 10v th country."

But her eyes avoidC/d Emily's. Just for a moment she

looked suspici0a and afraid.

She stirred m, "-in her chair and Emily rose rather

'easily

reluctantly to leY= feet.

"I must be g0ihg noW," she said. "Thank you so much, Miss Willett. I du hope your mother will be all right."

"Oh, she's quite well really. It's only the servants-and all the worr ,,

"Of course.'

Adroitly, unpe mewed by the others, Emily managed

to discard her gove on a small table. Violet Willett

accompanied hee to the front door and they took leave

of each other with a few pleasant remarks.

The padormail wlo had opened the door to Emily

had unlocked it, but as violet Willett closed it behind

her retreating gtest [Z inily caught no sound of the key

being turned. V/hen she reached the gate therefore, she

retraced her stegs slo,vlY.

Her visit had aore thaa confirmed the theories she

held about Sittaf%d Iouse. There was something queer

going on here. S he didn't think Violet Willett was directly implicate&-thtt is unless she was a very clever

actress indeed. Bht there was something wrong, and that

something must h%e a conraection with the tragedy. There

157

Agatha Christie

must be some link between the Willetts and Captain

Trevelyan, and in that link there might lie the clue to

the whole mystery.

She came up to the front door, turned the handle very

gently and passed across the threshold. The hall was

deserted. Emily paused uncertain what to do next. She

had her excuse--the gloves left thoughtfully behind in

the drawing-room. She stood stock still listening. There

was no sound anywhere except a very faint murmur of

voices from upstairs. As quietly as possible Emily crept

to the foot of the stairs and stood looking up. Then, very

gingerly she ascended a step at a time. This was rather

more risky. She could hardly pretend that her gloves

had walked of their own accord to the first floor, but she

had a burning desire to overhear something of the con-versation that was going on upstairs. Modern builders

never made their doors fit well, in Emily's opinion. You

could hear a murmur of voices down here. Therefbre, if

you reached the door itself you would hear plainly the

conversation that was going on inside the room. Another

step--one more again .... Two women's voices--Violet

and her mother without doubt.

Suddenly there was a break in the conversation--a

sound of footsteps. Emily retreated rapidly.

When Violet Willett opened her mother's door and

came down the stairs she was surprised to find her late

guest standing in the hall peering about her in a lost dog

kind of way.

"My gloves," she explained. "I must have left them. I came back for them."

"I expect they are in here," said Violet.

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Murder at Hazelmoor

They went into the drawing-rooln and there, sure

enough, on a little table near where Emily had been

sitting lay the missing gloves.

"Oh, thank you," said Emily. "It's so stttpid of me. I am always leaving things."

"And you want gloves in this weather," said Violet.

"It's so cold." Once again they parted at the hall door, and this time Emily heard the key being turned in the

lock.

She went down the drive with plenty to think about

for, as that door on the upper landing had opened, she

had heard distinctly one sentence spoken in an older

woman's fretful and plaintive voice:

"My God," the voice had wailed, "I can't bear it. Will tonight never come?"

159

9. Theories

E M I L Y arrived back at the cottage to find her boy

friend absent. He had, Mrs. Curtis explained, gone off

with several other young gentlemen, but two telegrams

had come for the young lady. Emily took them, opened

them, and put them in the pocket of her sweater, Mrs.

Curtis eyeing them hungrily the while.

"Not bad news, I hope?" said Mrs. Curtis.

"Oh, no," said Emily.

"Always gives me a turn a telegram does," said Mrs. Curtis.

"I know," said Emily. "Very disturbing."

At the moment she felt disinclined for anything but

solitude. She wanted to sort out and arrange her own

ideas. She went up to her own room, and taking pencil

and notepaper she set to work on a system of her own.

After twenty minutes of this exercise she was interrupted

by Mr. Enderby.

"Hullo, hullo, hullo, there you are. Fleet Street has

been hard on your tracks all morning but they have just

missed you everywhere. Anyway they have had it from

me that you are not to be worried. As far as you're

concerned, I am the big noise."

He sat down on the chair, Emily was occupying the

bed, and chuckled.

"Envy and malice isn't in it!" he said. "I have been handing them out the goods. I know everyone and I am

x6o

Murder at Hazelmoor

right in it. It's too good to be true. I keep pinching myself and feeling I will wake up in a minute. I say, have you

noticed the fog?"

"It won't stop me going to Exeter this afternoon, will

it?" said Emily.

"Do you want to go to Exeter?"

"Yes. I have to meet Mr. Dacres there. My solicitor,

you know--the one who is undertaking Jim's defence.

He wants to see me. And I think I shall pay a visit to

Jim's Aunt Jennifer, while I am there. After all, Exeter

is only half an hour away."

"Meaning she might have nipped over by train and

batted her brother over the head and nobody would have

noticed her absence."

"Oh, I know it sounds rather improbable but one has

to go into everything. Not that I want it to be Aunt

Jennifer--I don't. I would much rather it was Martin

Dering. I hate the sort of man who presumes on going

to be a brother-in-law and does things in public that you

can't smack his face for."

"Is he that kind?"

"Very much that kind. He's an ideal person for a

murderer--always getting telegrams from bookmakers

and losing money on horses. It's annoying that he's got

such a good alibi. Mr. Dacres told me about it. A pub-lisher and a literary dinner seems so very unbreakable

and respectable."

"A literary dinner," said Enderby. "Friday night. Mar-tin Dering--let me see--Martin Dering--why, yes--I

am almost sure of it. Dash it all I am quite sure of it,

but I can clinch things by wiring to Carruthers."

161

Agatha Christie

"What are you talking about?" said Emily.

"Listen. You know I came down to Exhampton on

Friday evening. Well, there was a bit of information I

was going to get from a pal of mine, another newspaper

man, Carruthers his name is. He was coming round to

see me about half past six if he could--before he went

on to some literary dinner--he is rather a big bug, Car-ruthers, and if he couldn't make it he would send me a

line to Exhampton. Well, he didn't make it and he did

send me a line."

"What has all this got to do with it?" said Emily.

"Don't be so impatient, I am coming to the point. The

old chap was rather screwed when he wrote it--done

himself well at the dinner--after giving me the item I

wanted, he went on to waste a good bit of juicy descrip-tion on me. You know--about the speeches, and what

asses so and so, a tamous novelist and a amous play-wright,

were. And he said he had been rottenly placed

at the dinner. There was an empty seat on one side of

him where the sex specialist, Martin Dering, ought to

have been, but he moved up near to a poet, who is very

well known in Blackheath, and tried to make the best of

things. Now, do you see the point?"

"Charles! Darling!" Emily became lyrical with excite-ment.

"How marvelous. Then the brute wasn't at the

dinner at all?"

"Exactly."

"You are sure you've remembered the name right?"

"I'm positive. I have torn up the letter, worse luck,

but I can always wire to Carruthers to make sure. But I

absolutely know that I'm not mistaken."

162

Murder at Hazelmoor

"There's the publisher still, of course," said Emily.

"The one he spent the afternoon with. But I rather think it was a publisher who was just going back to America,

and if so, that looks fishy. I mean it looks as though he

had selected someone who couldn't be asked without

rather a lot of trouble."

"Do you really think we have hit it?" said Charles Enderby.

"Well, it looks like it. I think the best thing to be done is--to go straight to that nice Inspector Narracott and

just tell him these new facts. I mean, we can't tackle an

American publisher who is on the Mauretania or the

Berengaria or somewhere. That's a job for the police."

"My word if this comes off. What a scoop!" said Mr. Enderby. "If it does, I should think the Daily Wire couldn't offer me less than--"

Emily broke in ruthlessly into his dreams of advance-ment.

"But we mustn't lose our heads," she said, "and throw everything else to the wind. I must go to Exeter. I don't

suppose I shall be able to be back here until tomorrow.

But I've got a job for you."

"What kind of a job?"

Emily described her visit to the Willetts and the strange

sentence she had overheard on leaving.

"We have got absolutely and positively to find out what is going to happen tonight. There's something in the

wind."

"What an extraordinary thing!"

"Wasn't it? But of course it may be a coincidence. Or

it may not--but you observe that the servants are being

163

Agatha Christie

cleared out of the way. Something queer is going to

happen there tonight, and you have to be on the spot to

see what it is."

"You mean I have to spend the whole night shivering

under a bush in the garden?"

"Well, you don't mind that, do you? Journalists don't

mind what they do in a good cause."

"Who told you that?"

"Never mind who told me, I know it. You will do it,

won't you?"

"Oh, rather," said Charles. "I am not going to miss anything. If anything queer goes on at Sittaford House

tonight, I shall be in it."

Emily then told him about the luggage label.

"It's odd," said Mr. Enderby. "Australia is where the third Pearson is, isn't it?--the youngest one. Not, of

course, that that means anything, but still it--well, there

might be a connection."

"H'm," said Emily. "I think that's all. Have you any-thing to report on your side?"

"Well," said Charles, "I've got an idea."

"Yes?"

"The only thing is I don't know how you'll like it."

"What do you mean--how I'll like it?"

"You won't fly out over it, will you?"

"I don't suppose so. I mean I hope I can listen sensibly and quietly to anything."

"Well, the point is," said Charles Enderby eyeing her doubtfully, "don't think I mean to be offensive or any-thing like that, but do you think that lad of yours is to

be depended on for the strict truth?"

164

Murder at Hazelmoor

"Do you mean," said Emily, "that he did murder him after all? You are quite welcome to that view if you like.

I said to you at the beginning that that was the natural

view to take, but I said we had to work on the assumption

that he didn't."

"I don't mean that," said Enderby. "I am with you in assuming that he didn't do the old boy in. What I mean

is, how far is his own story of what happened true? He

says that he went there, had a chat with the old fellow,

and came away leaving him alive and well."

"Yes."

"Well, it just occurred to me, you don't think it's pos-sible that he went there and actually found the old man

dead? I mean, he might have got the wind up and been

scared and not liked to say so."

Charles had propounded this theory rather dubiously

but he was relieved to find that Emily showed no signs

of flying out at him over it. Instead, she frowned and

creased her brow in thought.

"I am not going to pretend," she said. "It is possible. I hadn't thought of it before. I know Jim wouldn't murder

anyone, but he might quite well get rattled and tell a

silly lie and then, of course, he would have to stick to

it. Yes, it is quite possible."

"The awkward thing is that you can't go and ask him

about it now. I mean they wouldn't let you see him alone,

would they?"

"I can put Mr. Dacres on to him," said Emily. "You see your solicitor alone, I believe. The worst of Jim is

that he is frightfully obstinate, if he has once said a thing he sticks to it.'

65

Agatha Christie

"That's my story and I'm going to stick to it," said Mr. Enderby comprehendingly.

"Yes. I am glad you mentioned that possibility to me,

Charles, it hadn't occurred to me. We have been looking

for someone who came in after Jim had left--but if it

was before--"

She paused, lost in thought. Two very different the-ories

stretched out in opposite directions. There was the

one suggested by Mr. Rycroft, in which Jim's quarrel

with his uncle was the determining point. The other

theory, however, took no cognizance of Jim whatsoever.

The first thing to do, Emily felt, was to see the doctor

who had first examined the body. If it were possible that

Captain Trevelyan had been murdered at--say--four

o'clock, it might make a considerable difference to the

question of alibis. And the other thing to do was to make

Mr. Dacres urge most strongly on his client the absolute

necessity of speaking the truth on this point.

She rose from the bed.

"Well," she said, "you had better find out how I can get to Exhampton. The man at the smithy has a car of a

kind I believe. Will you go and settle with him about it?

I'll start immediately after lunch. There's a train at three ten to Exeter. That will give me time to see the doctor

first. What's the time now?"

"Half past twelve," said Mr. Enderby, consulting his watch.

"Then we will both go up and fix up about that car," said Emily. "And there's just one other thing I want to do before leaving Sittaford."

"What's that?" *.

166

Murder at Hazelmoor

"I am going to pay a call on Mr. Duke. He's the only

person in Sittaford I haven't seen. And he was one of

the people at the table turning."

"Oh, we'll pass his cottage on the way to the smithy." Mr. Duke's cottage was the last of the row. Emily and

Charles unlatched the gate and walked up the path. And

then something rather surprising occurred. For the door

opened and a man came out. And that man was Inspector

Narracott.

He, too, looked surprised and, Emily fancied, em-barrassed.

Emily abandoned her original intention.

"I am so glad to have meet you, Inspector Narracott," she said. "There are one or two things I want to talk to you about if I may."

"Delighted, Miss Trefusis." He drew out a watch. "I'm afraid you will have to look sharp, I've a car waiting. I've got to go back to Exhampton almost immediately."

"How extraordinarily fortunate," said Emily, "you might give me a lift, will you, Inspector?"

The Inspector said rather woodenly that he would be

very pleased to do so.

"You might go and get my suitcase, Charles," said

Emily. "It's packed up and ready."

Charles departed immediately.

"It's a great surprise meeting you here, Miss Trefusis," said Inspector Narracott.

"I said au revoir," Emily reminded him.

"I didn't notice it at the time."

"You've not seen the last of me by a long way," said Emily candidly. "You know, Inspector Narracott, you've

167

Agatha Christie

made a mistake. Jim's not the man you're after."

"Indeed!"

"And what's more," said Emily, "I believe in your heart that you agree with me."

"What makes you think that, Miss Trefusis?"

"What were you doing in Mr. Duke's cottage?" retal-iated Emily.

Narracott looked embarrassed and she was quick to

follow it up.

"You're doubtful, Inspector--that's what you are--doubtful. You thought you had got the right man and

now you are not so sure, and so you are making a few

investigations. Well, I have got something to tell you

that may help. I'll tell it to you on the way to Ex-hampton."

Footsteps sounded down the road, and Ronnie Gar-field

appeared. He had the air of a truant, breathless and

guilty.

"I say, Miss Trefusis," he began. "What about a walk this afternoon? While my aunt has a nap, you know."

"Impossible," said Emily. "I'm going away. To Exe-ter."

"What,,not really! For good you mean?"

"Oh, no," said Emily. "I shall be back again tomor-row."

"Oh, that's splendid."

Emily took something from the pocket of her sweater

and handed it to him. "Give that to your aunt, will you?

It's a recipe for coffee cake, and tell her that she was just in time, the cook is leaving today and so are the other

servants. Be sure you tell her, she will be interested."

168

Murder at Hazelmoor

A far off scream was borne on the breeze. "Ronnie," it said, "Ronnie, Ronnie."

"There's my aunt," said Ronnie starting nervously. "I had better go."

"I think you had," said Emily. "You've got green paint on your left cheek," she called after him. Ronnie Garfield disappeared through his aunt's gate.

"Here's my boy friend with my suitcase," said Emily.

"Come on, Inspector. I'll tell you everything in the car."

169

Visit to Aunt Jennifer

A T half past two Dr. Warren received a call from Emily.

He took an immediate fancy to this businesslike and

attractive girl. Her questions were blunt and to the point.

"Yes, Miss Trefusis, I see exactly what you mean.

You'll understand that contrary to the popular belief in

novels it is extremely difficult to fix the time of death

accurately. I saw the body at eight o'clock. I can say

decidedly that Captain Trevelyan had been dead at least

two hours. How much longer than that would be difficult

to say. If you were to tell me that he was killed at four

o'clock, I should say that it was possible, though my own

opinion inclines to a later time. On the other hand he

could certainly not have been dead for much longer than

that. Four and a half hours would be the outside limit."

"Thank you," said Emily, "that's all that I wanted to know."

She caught the three ten train at the station and drove

straight to the hotel where Mr. Dacres was staying.

Their interview was business-like and unemotional.

Mr. Dacres had known Emily since she was a small child,

and had managed her affairs for her since she came of

age.

"You must prepare yourself for a shock, Emily," he said. "Things are much worse for Jim Pearson than we

imagined."

"Worse?"

x7o

Murder at Hazelmoor

"Yes. It's no good beating about the bush. Certain

Facts have come to light which are bound to show him

up in a most unfavorable light. It is those facts which

led the police actually to charge him with the crime. I

should not be acting in your interests if I withheld these

Facts from you."

"Please tell me," said Emily.

Her voice was perfectly calm and composed. Whatever

the inward shock she might have felt, she had no inten-tion

of making an outward display of her feelings. It was

not feelings that were going to help Jim Pearson, it was

brains. She must keep all her wits about her.

"There is no doubt that he was in urgent and imme-diate need of money. I am not going to enter into the

ethics of the situation at the moment. Pearson had ap-parently before now occasionally borrowed money--to

use a euphemism--from his firm--I may say without

their knowledge. He was fond of speculating in shares,

and on one occasion previously, knowing that certain

dividends were to be paid into his account in a week's

time, he anticipated them by using the firm's money to

buy certain shares which he had pretty certain knowl-edge

were bound to go up. The transaction was quite

satisfactory, the money was replaced and Pearson really

doesn't seem to have had any doubts as to the honesty

of the transaction. Apparently he repeated this just over

a week ago. This time an unforeseen thing occurred. The

books of the firm are examined at certain stated times,

but for some reason or other this date was advanced and

Pearson was faced with a very unpleasant dilemma. He

was quite aware of the construction that would be put

Agatha Christie

on his action and he was quite unable to raise the sum

of money involved. He admits himself that he had tried

in various quarters and failed when as a last resource he

rushed down to Devonshire to lay the matter before his

uncle and persuade him to help him. This Captain Trevelyan

absolutely refused to do.

"Now, my dear Emily, we shall be quite unable to

prevent these facts from being brought to light. The

police have already unearthed the matter. And you see,

don't you, that we have here a very pressing and urgent

motive for the crime? The moment Captain Trevelyan

was dead Pearson could easily have obtained the necessary

sum as an advance from Mr. Kirkwood and saved

himself from disaster and possibly criminal prosecution." "Oh, the idiot," said Emily helplessly.

"Quite so," said Mr. Dacres dryly. "It seems to me that our only chance lies in proving that Jim Pearson was

quite unaware of the provisions of his uncle's will."

There was a pause while Emily considered the matter.

Then she said quietly:

"I'm 'afraid that's impossible. All three of them knew

--Sylvia, Jim and Brian. They often discussed it and

laughed and joked about the rich uncle in Devonshire."

"Dear, dear," said Mr. Dacres. "That's unfortunate."

"You don't think him guilty, Mr. Dacres?" asked

Emily.

"Curiously enough I do not," replied the lawyer. "In some ways Jim Pearson is a most transparent young man.

He hasn't, if you will allow me to say so, Emily, a very

high standard of commercial honesty, but I do not believe

for one minute that his hand sandbagged his uncle."

Murder at Hazelmoor

"Well, that's a good thing," said Emily. "I wish the police thought the same."

"Quite so. Our own impressions and ideas are of no

practical use. The case against him is unfortunately strong. I am not going to disguise from you, my dear child, that

the outlook is bad. I should suggest Lorimer, K.C., as

the defence. Forlorn hope man they call him," he added

cheerfully.

"There is one thing I should like to know," said Emily.

"You have, of course, seen Jim?"

"Certainly."

"I want you to tell me honestly if you think he has

told the truth in other respects." She outlined to,him

the idea that Enderby had suggested to her. '

The lawyer considered the matter carefully before re-plying.

"It's my impression," he said, "that he is speaking the truth when he describes his interview with his uncle.

But there is little doubt that he has got the wind up

badly, and if he went round to the window, entered that

way and came across his uncle's dead body--he might

just possibly be too scared to admit the fact and have

concocted this other story."

"That's what I thought," said Emily. "Next time you see him, Mr. Dacres, will you urge him to speak the

truth? It may make the most tremendous difference."

"I will do so. All the same," he said after a moment or two's pause, "I think you are mistaken in this idea. The news of Captain Trevelyan's death was bandied around

in Exhampton about eight thirty. At that time the last

train had left for Exeter but Jim Pearson got the first

173

Agatha Christie

traiVa available in the morning--a thoroughly unwise pro-cee6:ling by the way as it called attention to his move-mets

which without, would not have been aroused if

he 1ad left by a train at a more conventional hour. Now

if, aS you suggest, he discovered his uncle's dead body

sorrve time after half past four, I think he would have left Exlvampton straight away. There's a train which leaves

shofftly after six and another at a quarter to eight."

"Fhat's a point," admitted Emily, "I didn't think of

that '"

"1[ have questioned him narrowly about his method of

entering his uncle's house," went on Mr. Dacres. "He says that Captain Trevelyan made him remove his boots,

and leave them on the doorstep. That accounts for no

wet marks being discovered in the hall."

"Ie doesn't speak of having heard any sound--anythir}g

at all--that gives him the idea that there might

havre been someone else in the house?"

"-Ie didn't mention it to me. But I will ask him."

'"Thank you," said Emily. "If I write a note can you tak it to him?"

"ubject to its being read, of course."

"Oh, it will be a very discreet one."

she crossed to the writing table and scribbled a few

worl2ls.

"DEAREST JIM,--Everything's going to be all right,

sO cheer up. I am working like fnry to find out the

truth. What an idiot you've been, darling.

"Love from

"EMILY."

174

Murder at Hazelmoor

"There," she said.

Mr. Dacres read it but made no comment.

"I have taken pains with my handwriting," said Emily,

"so that the prison authorities can read it easily. Now, I must be off."

"You will allow me to offer you a cup of tea."

"No, thank you, Mr. Dacres. I have no time to lose.

I am going to see Jim's Aunt Jennifer."

At The Laurels, Emily was informed that Mrs. Gardner

was out but would be home shortly.

Emily smiled upon the parlormaid.

"I'll come in and wait then."

"Would you like to see Nurse Davis?"

Emily was always ready to see anybody. "Yes," she

said promptly.

A few minutes later Nurse Davis, starched and curious,

arrived.

"How do you do," said Emily. "I am Emily Trefusis

--a kind of niece of Mrs. Gardner's. That is I am going

to be a niece but my fiance, Jim Pearson, has been arrested

as I expect you know."

"Oh, it's been too dreadful," said Nurse Davis. "We saw it all in the papers this morning. What a terrible

business. You seem to be bearing up wonderfully, Miss

Trefusis--really wonderfully."

There was a faint note of disapproval in the Nurse's

voice. Hospital nurses, she implied, were able to bear

up owing to their force of character, but lesser mortals

were expected to give way.

"Well, one mustn't sag at the knees," said Emily. "I hope you don't mind very much. I mean, it must be

175

Agatha Christie

awkward for you to be associated with a family that has

got a murder in it."

"It's very unpleasant, of course," said Nurse Davis unbending at this proof of consideration. "But one's duty to one's patient comes before everything."

"How splendid," said Emily. "It must be wonderful for Aunt Jennifer to feel she has somebody upon whom

she can rely."

"Oh, really," said the Nurse simpering, "you are too kind. But, of course, I have had curious experiences

before this. Why, at the last case I attended--" Emily

listened patiently to a long and scandalous anecdote com

prising complicated divorce and paternity questions. After

complimenting Nurse Davis on her tact, discretion

and savoir faire, Emily slid back to the topic of the

Gardners.

"I don't know Aunt Jennifer's husband at all,' she said.

"I've never met him. He never goes away from home,

does he?"

"No, poor fellow."

"What exactly is the matter with him?"

Nurse Davis embarked on the subject with professional

gusto.

"So, really he might get well again any minute," Emily murmured thoughtfully.

"He would be terribly weak," said the Nurse.

"Oh, of course. But it makes it seem more hopeful,

doesn't it?"

The Nurse shook her head with firm professional despondency.

"I don't suppose there will be any cure in his case."

76

Murder at Hazelmoor

Emily had copied down in her little notebook the time-table

of what she called Aunt Jennifer's alibi. She now

murmured tentatively:

"How queer it seems to think that Aunt Jennifer was

actually at the Pictures when her brother was being killed."

"Very sad, isn't it?" said Nurse Davis. "Of course, she couldn't tell--but it gives one such a shock afterwards."

Emily cast about in her mind to find out what she

wanted to know without asking a direct question.

"Didn't she have some queer kind of vision or pre-monition?" she inquired. "Wasn't it you who met her in

the hall when she came in and exclaimed that she looked

quite queer?"

"Oh, no," said the Nurse. "It wasn't me. I didn't see her until we were sitting down to dinner together, and

she seemed quite her ordinary self then. How very in-teresting.''

"I expect I am mixing it up with something else," said Emily.

"Perhaps it was some other relation," suggested Nurse Davis. "I came in rather late myself. I felt rather guilty about leaving my patient so long, but he himself had

urged me to go."

She suddenly looked at her watch.

"Oh, dear. He asked me for another hot water bottle.

I must see about it at once. Will you excuse me, Miss

Trefusis?"

Emily excused her and going over to the fireplace she

put her finger on the bell.

The slipshod maid came with rather a frightened face.

"What's your name?" said Emily.

177

.4gatha Christie

"Beatrice, Miss."

"Oh, Beatrice, I rday not be able to wait to see my

er all--I wanted to ask her about

aunt--Mrs Gardner,

*

'it{ on Friday. Do you know if she

some shopping she d .......

brought a big parcel back with her.e

"No, Miss, I didn't see her come in."

"I thought you said he came in at six o'clock."

,

. J I didn't see her come in, but

'Yes, Miss, she did'

-,ac hot water to her room at seven

when I went to take so'r

* .

h0ck to hnd her lying in the dark

o'clock it gave me a '"

Va,am,' I said to her, 'You gave me

the

bed.

on

,,

e in quite a long time ago. At six

quite a shock* I ca.n't see a big parcel anywhere,"

o'clock,' she said* I dw

, t.d

hardest to be helpful.

saict Beatrice trying t,

t, thought Emily* "One has to

"It's all very diffictt

*

' *s. I we already invented a premon ]iennat

; ? Y tah;cnegl, lut sO far as I can see degne has tO

.g.P . ,Oe doesn't want to sound suspi

invent

something n ,,

,

, ,aetly anu SalCl:

claus." he smitect sw

"That's all right, Beatrice,

it

doesn't

matter."

Beatrice left the rd00' Emily took a small local time-and

consulted it.

table out of her handbaavid,s, three ten," she mur "Leave Exeter, St, oton, three forty-two. Time al mured, "Arrive ExhaWr , . other s house and murdering him

lowed for going to br

how beastly and c0ld'tldegdegded it sounds--and such

an hour to three quarters. What

half

nonsenSeare the trainstdegdegsaYbaek? 2,bere-s one at four twenty-five and there's one Mr. DacreS mentioned at six ten, that gets

in at twenty-three riotes to seven. Yes, it's actually

possible either way. It'S a pity there's nothing to suspect

78

Murder at Hazelmoor

the Nurse for. She was out all the afternoon and 0body

knows where she was. But you can't have arurdeovith'

out any motive at all, Of course, I don't redly believe

anybody in this house murdered Captain Trevelybut

in a way it's comforting to know that they could have.

Hello--there's the front door."

There was a murmur of voices in the hall aad the door

opened and Jennifer Gardner came into the from.

"I'm Emily Trefusis," said Emily. "You kno''-'-the one who is engaged to Jim Pearson."

"So you are Emily," said Mrs. Gardner shakinglands'

"Well, this is a surprise."

Suddenly Enily felt very weak and small. Bather like

a little girl in the act of doing something very sillY' An

extraordinary person, Aunt Jennifer. Charaeter--tlat was

what it was. Aunt Jennifer had about enough character

for two and three quarter people instead of one.

"Have you had tea, my dear? No? Then We'll have it

here. Just a moment--I must go up and see Bobert {irst." A strange expression flitted over her face as she mere

tioned her husband's name. The hard, beautiful voice

softened. It was like a light passing over dark ripples

water.

"She does adore him," thought Emily left done in

drawing-room. "All the same there's sm'nething fright/

ening about Aunt Jennifer. I wonder iF u0cle Bdegberl

likes being adored quite as nuch as that."

oi

When Jennifer Gardner returned, she had talen

her hat. Emily admired the smooth sweep of the haii

back from her forehead.

"Do you want to talk about things, IErnily, or ddegn'l

179

Agatha Christie

"Beatrice, Miss."

"Oh, Beatrice, I may not be able to wait to see my

aunt--Mrs. Gardner, after all--I wanted to ask her about

some shopping she did on Friday. Do you know if she

brought a big parcel back with her?"

"No, Miss, I didn't see her come in."

"I thought you said she came in at six o'clock."

"Yes, Miss, she did, I didn't see her come in, but

when I went to take some hot water to her room at seven

o'clock it gave me a shock to find her lying in the dark

on the bed. 'Well, ma'am,' I said to her, 'You gave me

quite a shock.' 'I came in quite a long time ago. At six

o'clock,' she said. I didn't see a big parcel anywhere," said Beatrice trying her hardest to be helpful.

"It's all very difficult," thought Emily. "One has to invent so many things. I've already invented a premon-ition

and a big parcel, but so far as I can see one has to

invent something if one doesn't want to sound suspi-cious.''

She smiled sweetly and said:

"That's all right, Beatrice, it doesn't matter."

Beatrice left the room. Emily took a small local time-table

out of her handbag and consulted it.

"Leave Exeter, St. David's, three ten," she mur-mured,

"Arrive Exhampton, three forty-two. Time al-lowed

for going to brother's house and murdering him

--how beastly and cold-blooded it sounds--and such

nonsense too--say half an hour to three quarters. What

are the trains back? There's one at four twenty-five and

there's one Mr. Dacres mentioned at six ten, that gets

in at twenty-three minutes to seven. Yes, it's actual]y

possible either way. It's a pity there's nothing to suspect

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Murder at Hazelmoor

the Nurse for. She was out all the afternoon and nobody

knows where she was. But you can't have a murder within

out any motive at all. Of course, I don't really believe

anybody in this house murdered Captain Trevelyan but

in a way it's comforting to know that they could have.

Hello--there's the front door."

There was a murmur of voices in the hall and the door

opened and Jennifer Gardner came into the room.

"I'm Emily Trefusis," said Emily. "You know--the one who is engaged to Jim Pearson."

"So you are Emily," said Mrs. Gardner shaking hands.

"Well, this is a surprise."

Suddenly Emily felt very weak and small. Rather like

a little girl in the act of doing something very silly. An

extraordinary person, Aunt Jennifer. Character--that was

what it was. Aunt Jennifer had about enough character

for two and three quarter people instead of one.

"Have you had tea, my dear? No? Then we'll have it

here. Just a moment--I must go up and see Robert first." A strange expression flitted over her face as she mentioned

her husband's name. The hard, beautiful voice

softened. It was like a light passing over dark ripples of

water.

"She does adore him," thought Emily left alone in the drawing-room. "All the same there's something frightening about Aunt Jennifer. I wonder if Unele Robert

likes being adored quite as much as that.'

When Jennifer Gardner returned, she had taken off

her hat. Emily admired the smooth sweep of the hair

back from her forehead.

"Do you want to talk about things, Emily, or don't

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Agatha Christie

you? If you don't I shall quite understand."

"It isn't much good talking about them, is it?"

"We can only hope," said Mrs. Gardner, "that they will find the real murderer quickly. Just press the bell,

will you, Emily? I'll send Nurse's tea up to her. I don't

want her chattering down here. How I hate hospital

nurses."

"Is she a good one?"

"I suppose she is. Bobert says she is anyway. I dislike her intensely and always have. But Bobert says she's far

and away the best nurse we've had."

"She's rather good-looking," said Emily.

"Nonsense. With her ugly beefy hands?"

Emily watched her aunt's long white fingers as they

touched the milk jug and the sugar tongs.

Beatrice came, took the cup of tea and a plate of eatables

and left the room.

"Robert has been very upset over all this," said Mrs. Gardner. "He works himself into such curious states. I

suppose it's all part of his illness really."

"He didn't know Captain Trevelyan well, did he?"

Jennifer Gardner shook her head.

"He neither knew him nor cared about him. To be

honest, I, myself can't pretend any great sorrow over his

death. He was a cruel grasping man, Emily. He knew

the struggle we have had. The poverty! He knew that a

loan of money at the right tine might have given Robert

special treatment that would have made all the difference.

Well, retribution has overtaken him."

She spoke in a deep brooding voice.

"What a strange woman she is," thought Emily. "Beau180

Her face was glowing, lit up as though by a lamp.

Emily was tired. She had had a long day, little or

nothing to eat, and she was worn out by suppressed

emotion. The room kept going away and coming back

again.

"Aren't you feeling well, dear?"

"It's all right," gasped Emily, and to her own surprise, annoyance and humiliation burst into tears.

Mrs. Gardner did not attempt to rise and console her,

for which Emily was grateful. She just sat silently until

Emily's tears should subside. She murmured in a

thoughtful voice:

"Poor child. It's very unlucky that Jim Pearson should

have been arrested--very unlucky. I wish--something

could be done about it."

Conversations

L E IF T to his own devices Charles Enderby did not relax

his efforts. To familiarize hinself with life as lived in

Sittaford village he had only to turn on Mrs. Curtis much

as you would turn on the tap of a hydrant. Listening

slightly dazed to a stream of anecdote, reminiscence,

rumors, surmise and meticulous detail he endeavored

valiantly to sift the grain from the chaff. He then mentioned another name and immediately the force of the

water was directed in that direction. He heard all about

Captain Wyatt, his tropical temper, his rudeness, his

quarrels with his neighbors, his occasional amazing graciousness, usually to personable young wonen. The life

he led his Indian servant, the peculiar times he had his

meals and the exact diet that composed them. He heard

about Mr. Rycroft's library, his hair tonics, his insistence on strict tidiness and punctuality, his inordinate curiosity over other people's doings, his recent selling of a few

old prized personal possessions, his inexplicable fondness

for birds, and the prevalent idea that Mrs. Willett was

setting her cap at him. He heard about Miss Percehouse

and her tongue and the way she bullied her nephew,

and of the rumors of the gay life that same nephew led

in London. He heard all over again of Major Burnaby's

friendship with Captain Trevelyan, their reminiscences

of the past and their fondness for chess. He heard every

8z

Murder at Hazelmoor

thing that was known about the Willetts, including the

belief that Miss Violet Willett was leading on Mr. Ronnie

Garfield and that she didn't really mean to have him. It

was hinted that she made mysterious excursions to the

moor and that she had been seen walking there with a young man. And it was doubtless for that reason, so

Mrs. Curtis had surmised, that they had come to this

desolate spot. Her mother had taken her right away, "to get right over it like." But there--"girls can be far more artful than ladies ever dream of." About Mr. Duke, there was curiously little to hear. He had been there only a

short time and his activities seemed to be solely horticultural. It was half past three and with his head spinning from

the effects of Mrs. Curtis's conversation, Mr. Enderby

went out for a stroll. His intention was to cultivate the

acquaintance of Miss Percehouse's nephew more closely.

Prudent reconnaissance in the neighborhood of Miss

Percehouse's cottage proved unavailing but by a stroke

of good fortune he ran into that young man just as he

was emerging disconsolately from the gates of Sittaford

House. He had all the appearance of having been sent

away with a flea in his ear.

"Hello," said Charles, "I say, isn't that Captain Trevelyan's house?"

"That's right," said Ronnie.

"I was hoping to get a snapshot of it this morning. For my paper, you know," he added. "But this weather is hopeless for photography."

Ronnie accepted this statement in all good taith with183

Agatha Christie

out reflecting that if photography was only possible on

days of brilliant sunshine, the pictures appearing in the

daily papers would be few.

"It must be a very interesting job--yours," he said.

"A dog's life," said Charles t:aithful to the convention of never showing enthusiasm about one's work. He looked

over his shoulder at Sittaford House. "Rather a gloomy

place I should imagine."

"No end of a difference there since the Willetts moved

in," said Ronnie. "I was down here last year about the same time and really you would hardly take it for the

same place, and yet, I don't know quite what they have

done. Moved the furniture about a bit, I suppose, got

cushions and things of that sort about. It's been a godsend

to me their being here, I can tell you."

"Can't be a very jolly spot as a rule I suppose," said Charles.

"Jolly? If I lived here a fortnight I should pass out

altogether. How my aunt manages to cling on to life in

the way she does beats me. You haven't seen her cats,

have you? I had to comb one of them this morning and

look at the way the brute scratched me." He held out a

hand and an arm for inspection.

"Rather rough luck," said Charles.

"I should say it was. I say, are you doing any sleuthing?

If so, can I help? Be the Watson to your Sherlock, or

anything of that kind?"

"Any clues in Sittaford House?" inquired Charles cas-ually.

"I mean did Captain Trevelyan leave any of his

things there?"

"I don't think so. My aunt was saying he moved lock,

184

Murder at Hazelmoor

stock and barrel. Took his elephant's trotters and his

hippopotamus's toothy pegs and all the sporting rifles

and what nots."

"Almost as though he didn't mean to come back," said Charles.

"I say--that's an idea. You don't think it was suicide, do you?"

"A man who can hit himself correctly on the back of

the head with a sandbag would be something of an artist

in the suicide world," said Charles.

"Yes, I thought there wasn't much in that idea. Looks

as if he had had a premonition though," Ronnie's face

brightened. "Look here, what about this? Enemies on

his track, he knows they're coming, so he clears out and

passes the buck, as it were, to the Willetts."

"The Willetts were a bit of a miracle by themselves," said Charles.

"Yes, I can't make it out. Fancy planting yourself down here in the country like this. Violet doesn't seem to

mind--actually says she likes it. I don't know what's the

matter with her today, I suppose it's the domestic trou-ble. I can't think why women worry so about servants.

If they cut up nasty, just push them out."

"That's just what they have done, isn't it?" said Charles.

"Yes, I know. But they are in a great stew about it all. Mother lying down with screaming hysterics or some-thing

and daughter snapping like a turtle. Fairly pushed

me out just now."

"They haven't had the police there, have they?"

Ronnie stared.

"The police, no, why would they?"

185

Agatha Christie

"Well, I wondered. Seeing Inspector Narracott in Sit-taford this morning."

Ronnie dropped his stick with a clatter and stooped

to pick it up.

"Who did you say was in Sittaford this morning--Inspector Narracott?"

"Yes."

"Is he--is he the man in charge of the Trevelyan case?"

"That's right."

"What was he doing in Sittaford? Where did you see

him?"

"Oh, I suppose he was just nosing about," said Charles,

"checking up Captain Trevelyan's past life so to speak."

"You think that's all?"

"I suppose so."

"He doesn't think anyone in Sittaford had anything to

do with it?"

"That would be very unlikely, wouldn't it?"

"Oh frightfully. But then you know what the police

are--always butting in on the wrong tack. At least that's

what it says in detective novels."

"I think they are really rather an intelligent body of

men," said Charles. "Of course, the Press does a lot to help them," he added. "But if you really read a case carefully it's amazing the way they track down murderers

with practically no evidence to go on."

"Oh--well--it's nice to know that, isn't it? They have

certainly got on to this man Pearson pretty quick. It

seems a pretty clear case."

"Crystal clear," said Charles. "A good thing it wasn't you or me, eh? Well, I must be sending off a few wires.

186

Murder at Hazelmoor

They don't seem very used to telegrams in this place. If

you send more than half a crown's worth at one go they

seem to think you are an escaped lunatic."

Charles sent his telegrams, bought a packet of ciga-rettes,

a few doubtful looking bull's eyes and two very

aged paper backed novelettes. He then returned to the

cottage, threw himself on his bed and slept peacefully,

blissfully unaware that he and his affairs, particularly

Miss Emily Trefusis, were being discussed in various

places all around him.

It is fairly safe to say that there were only three topics

of conversation at present in Sittaford. One was the mur-der, one was the escape of the convict, and the other

was Miss Emily Trefusis and her cousin. Indeed, at a

certain moment, four separate conversations were going

on with her as their main theme.

Conversation No. was at Sittaford House where Vi-olet

Willett and her mother had just washed up their

own tea things owing to the domestic retreat.

"It was Mrs. Curtis who told me," said Violet.

She still looked pale and wan.

"It's almost a disease the way that woman talks," said her mother.

"I know. It seems the girl is actually stopping there

with a cousin or something. She did mention this morn-ing

that she was at Mrs. Curtis's, but I thought that that

was simply because Miss Percehouse hadn't room for

her. And now it seems that she'd never even seen Miss

Percehouse till this morning!"

"I dislike that woman intensely," said Mrs. Willett.

"Mrs. Curtis?"

187

Agatha Christie

"No, no, the Percehouse woman. That kind of woman

is dangerous. They live for what they can find out about

other people. Sending that girl along here for a recipe

for coffee cake! I'd like to have sent her a poisoned cake.

That would have stopped her interfering for good and

all!"

"I suppose I ought to have realized--" began Violet. But her mother interrupted her.

"How could you, my dear! And anyway what harm is

done?"

"Why do you think she came here?"

"I don't suppose she had anything definite in mind.

She was just spying out the land. Is Mrs. Curtis sure

about her being engaged to Jim Pearson?"

"The girl told Mr. Rycroft so, I believe. Mrs. Curtis

said she suspected it from the first."

"Well, then the whole thing's natural enough. She's

just looking about aimlessly for something that might

help."

"You didn't see her, mother," said Violet. "She isn't aimless."

"I wish I had seen her," said Mrs. Willett. "But my nerves were all to pieces this morning. Reaction, I sup-pose, after that interview with the police inspector yes-terday."

"You were wonderful, mother. If only I hadn't been

such an utter fool--to go and faint. Oh! I'm ashamed of

myself for giving the whole show away. And there were

you perfectly calm and collected--not turning a hair."

"I'm in pretty good training," said Mrs. Willett in a hard dry voice. "If you'd been through what I've been

188

Murder at Hazelmoor

through--but there, I hope you never will, my child. I

trust and believe that you've got a happy, peaceful li

ahead of you."

Violet shook her head.

"I'm afraid--I'm afraid--"

"Nonsense--and as for saying you gave the show away

by fainting yesterday--nothing of the kind. Don't worry."

"But that Inspector--he's bound to think--"

"That it was the mention of Jim Pearson made you

faint? Yes--he'll think that all right. He's no fool, that

Inspector Narracott. But what if he does? He'll suspect

a connection--and he'll look for it--and he won't find

it."

"You think not?"

"Of course not! How can he? Trust me, Violet dear.

That's cast-iron certainty and, in a way, perhaps that faint of yours was a lucky happening. We'll think so, anyway."

Conversation No. z was in Major Burnaby's cottage.

It was a somewhat one-sided one, the brunt of it being

borne by Mrs. Curtis, who had been poised for depar-tures

for the last half hour, having dropped in to collect

Major Burnaby's laundry.

"Like my Great Aunt Sarah's Belinda, that's what I

said to Curtis this morning," said Mrs. Curtis trium-phantly.

"A deep one--and one that can twist all the

men round her little finger."

A great grunt from Major Burnaby.

"Engaged to one young man and carrying on with

another," said Mrs. Curtis. "That's my Great Aunt Sar-ah's Belinda all over. And not for the fun of it, mark you.

It's not just flightiness--she's a deep one. And now young

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Agatha Christie

Mr. Garfield--she'll have him roped ir before you can

say knife. Never have I seen a young gentleman look

more like a sheep than he did this morning--and that's

a sure sign."

She paused for breath.

"Well, well," said Major Burnaby. "Ion't let me keep you, Mrs. Curtis."

"Curtis will be wanting his tea and tbaat's a fact," said Mrs. Curtis without moving. "I was nexer one to stand

about gossiping. Get on with your job--tlhat's what I say.

And talking about jobs, what do you say, sir, to a good

turn out."

"No!" said Major Burnaby with force.

"It's a month since it's been done."

"No. I like to know where to lay my and on every-thing. After one of these turn outs notling's ever put

back in its place."

Mrs. Curtis sighed. She was an impassioned cleaner

and turner out.

"It's Captain Wyatt as could do with a Spring cleaning," she observed. "That nasty native of his--what does he

know about cleaning, I should like to know? Nasty black

fellow."

"Nothing better than a native servart," said Major Burnaby. "They know their job and they don't talk."

Any hint the last sentence might have contained was

lost upon Mrs. Curtis. Her mind had rever'ted to a former

topic.

"Two telegrams she got--two arriving iN half an hour.

Gave me quite a turn it did. But she real them as cool

as anything. And then she told me she was going to

Murder at Hazelmoor

Exeter and wouldn't be back till tomorrow."

"Did she take her young man with her?" inquired the Major with a gleam of hope.

"No, he's still here. A pleasant spoken young gentleman. He and she'd make a nice pair."

Grunt from Major Burnaby.

"Well," said Mrs. Curtis. "I'll be getting along." The Major hardly dared breathe for fear he might

distract her from her purpose. But this time Mrs. Curtis was as good as her word. The door closed behind her.

With a sigh of relief the Major drew forth a pipe and

legan to peruse a prospectus of a certain mine which

yeas couched in terms so blatantly optimistic that it would

have aroused suspicion in any heart but that of a widow

or a retired soldier.

"Twelve per cent," murmured Major Burnaby. "That sounds pretty good .... "

Next door Captain Wyatt was laying down the law to

Mr. Rycroft.

"Fellows like you," he said, "don't know anything of tile world. You've never lived. You've never roughed it." Mr. Rycroft said nothing. It was so difficult not to say

the wrong thing to Captain Wyatt that it was usually

sar not to reply at all.

The Captain leaned over the side of his invalid chair.

"Where's that bitch got to? Nice looking girl," he added. The association of ideas in his mind was quite natural.

It was less so to Mr. Ryeroft who looked at him in a

scandalized fashion.

"What's she doing here? That's what I want to know?" demanded Captain Wyatt. "Abdull"

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Agatha Christie

"Sahib?"

"Where's Bully? Has she got out again?"

"She in kitchen, Sahib."

"Well, don't feed her." He sank back in his chair again and proceeded on his second tack. "What does she want

here? Who's she going to talk to in a place like this? All

you old fogies will bore her stiff. I had a word with her

this morning. Expect she was surprised to find a man

like me in a place like this."

He twisted his mustache.

"She's James Pearson's fiancee," said Mr. Rycroft. "You know--the man who has been arrested for Trevelyan's

murder."

Wyatt dropped a glass of whiskey he was just raising

to his lips with a crash upon the floor. He immediately

roared for Abdul and cursed him in no measured terms

for not placing a table at a convenient angle to his chair.

He then resumed the conversation.

"So that's who she is. Too good for a counter jumper

like that. A girl like that wants a real man."

"Young Pearson is very good looking," said Mr. Ry-croft.

"Good looking--good looking--a girl doesn't want a

barber's block. What does that sort of young man who

works in an office every day know of life? What expe-rience

has he had of reality?"

"Perhaps the experience of being tried for murder will

be sufficient reality to last him for some time," said Mr. Rycroft drily.

"Police sure he did it, eh?"

Murder at Hazelmoor

"They must be fairly sure or they wouldn't have arrested him."

"Country bumpkins," said Captain Wyatt contemptuously.

"Not quite," said Mr. Rycroft. "Inspector Narracott struck me this morning as an able and efficient man."

"Where did you see him this morning?"

"He called at my house."

"He didn't call at mine," said Captain Wyatt in an injured fashion.

"Well, you weren't a close friend of Trevelyan's or

anything like that."

"I don't know what you mean. Trevelyan was a skinflint

and I told him so to his face. He couldn't come bossing

it over me. I didn't kowtow to him like the rest of the

people here. Always dropping in--dropping in--too much

dropping in. If I don't choose to see anyone for a week,

or a month, or a year, that's my business."

"You haven't seen anyone for a week now, have you?" said Mr. Rycroft.

"No, and why should I?" The irate invalid banged the table. Mr. Rycroft was aware, as usual, of having said

the wrong thing. "Why the bloody hell should I? Tell

me that?"

Mr. Rycroft was prudently silent. The Captain's wrath

subsided.

"All the same," he growled, "if the police want to know about Trevelyan I'm the man they should have come to.

I've knocked about the world, and I've got judgment. I

can size a man up for what he's worth. What's the good

193

Agatha Christie

of going to a lot of dodderers and old women. What they

want is a man's judgment."

He banged the table again.

"Well," said Mr. Rycroft, "I suppose they think they know themselves what they are after."

"They inquired about me," said Captain Wyatt. "They would naturally."

"Well--er--I don't quite remember," said Mr. Ry-croft cautiously.

"Why can't you remember? You're not in your dotage

yet."

"I expect I was--er--rattled," said Mr. Rycroft sooth-ingly.

"Rattled, were you? Afraid of the police? I'm not afraid of the police. Let 'em come here. That's what I say. I'll

show them. Do you know I shot a cat at a hundred yards

the other night?"

"Did you?" said Mr. Rycroft.

The Captain's habit of letting off a revolver at real or

imaginary cats was a sore trial to his neighbors.

"Well, I'm tired," said Captain Wyatt suddenly. "Have another drink before you go?"

Rightly interpreting his hint, Mr. Rycroft rose to his

feet. Captain Wyatt continued to urge a drink upon him.

"You'd be twice the man if you drank a bit more. A

man who can't enjoy a drink isn't a man at all."

But Mr. Rycroft continued to decline the offer. He

had already consumed one whiskey and soda of most

unusual strength.

"What tea do you drink?" asked Wyatt. "I don't know anything about tea. Told Abdul to get some. Thought

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Murder at Hazelmoor

that girl might like to come in to tea one day. Darned

pretty girl. Must do something for her. She must be

bored to death in a place like this with no one to talk

to."

"There's a young man with her," said Mr. Rycroft.

"The young men of the present day make me sick,"

said Captain Wyatt. "What's the good of them?"

This being a difficult query to answer suitably, Mr.

ltycroft did not attempt it, he took his departure.

The bull terrier bitch accompanied him to the gate

and caused him acute alarm.

In No. 4 The Cottages, Miss Percehouse was speaking

to her nephew, Ronald.

"If you like to moon about after a girl who doesn't want you, that is your affair, Ronald," she was saying. "Better stick to the Willett girl. You may have a chance there,

though I think it is extremely unlikely."

"Oh, I say," protested Ronnie.

"The other thing I have to say is, that if there was a

police officer in Sittaford I should have been informed

of it. Who knows, I might have been able to give him

valuable information."

"I didn't know about it myself till after he had gone."

"That is so like you, Ronnie. Absolutely typical."

"Sorry, Aunt Caroline."

"And when you are painting the garden furniture, there

is no need to paint your face as well. It doesn't improve

it and it wastes the paint."

"Sorry, Aunt Caroline."

"And now," said Miss Percehouse closing her eyes,

"don't argue with me any more. I'm tired."

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Agatha Christie

Ronnie shuffled his feet and looked uncomfortable.

"Well?" said Miss Percehouse sharply.

"Oh! nothing--only--"

"Yes?"

"Well, I was wondering if you'd mind if I blew in to

Exeter tomorrow?"

"Why?"

"Well, I want to meet a fellow there."

"What kind of a fellow?"

"Oh! just a fellow."

"If a young man wishes to tell lies, he should do so

well," said Miss Percehouse.

"Oh! I say--but--"

"Don't apologize."

"It's all right then? I can go?"

"I don't know what you mean by saying, 'I can go?' as

though you were a small child. You are over twenty-one."

"Yes, but what I mean is, I don't want--"

Miss Percehouse closed her eyes again.

"I have asked you once before not to argue. I am tired

and wish to rest. If the 'fellow' you are meeting in Exeter

wears skirts and is called Emily Trefusis, more fool

you--that is all I have to say."

"But look here--"

"I am tired, Ronald. That's enough."

196

Nocturnal Adventures of Charles

c ^ R L E S was not looking forward with any relish to

the prospect of his night's vigil. He privately considered

that it was likely to be a wild goose chase. Emily, he

considered, was possessed of a too vivid imagination.

He was convinced that she had read into the few words

she had overheard a meaning that had its origin in her

own brain. Probably sheer weariness had induced Mrs.

Willett to yearn for night to come.

Charles looked out of his window and shivered. It was

a piercingly cold night, raw and foggy--the last night

one would wish to spend in the open hanging about and

waiting for something, very nebulous in nature, to hap-pen.

Still he dared not yield to his intense desire to remain

comfortably indoors. He recalled the liquid melodious-ness

of Emily's voice as she said, "It's wonderful to have

someone you can really rely on."

She relied on him, Charles, and she should not rely

in vain. What? Fail that beautiful, helpless girl? Never.

Besides, he reflected as he donned all the spare un-derclothes he possessed before encasing himself in two

pullovers and his overcoat, things were likely to be

deucedly unpleasant if Emily on her return found out

that he had not carried out his promise.

She would probably say the most unpleasant things.

No, he couldn't risk it. But as for anything happening-

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Agatha Christie

And anyway, when and how was it going to happen?

He couldn't be everywhere at once. Probably whatever

was going to happen would happen inside Sittaford House

and he would never know a thing about it.

"Just like a girl," he grumbled to himself, "waltzing off to Exeter and leaving me to do the dirty work."

And then he remembered once more the liquid tones

of Emily's voice as she expressed her reliance on him,

and he felt ashamed of his outburst.

He completed his toilet, rather after the model of

Tweedledee, and effected a surreptitious exit from the

cottage.

The night was even colder and more unpleasant than

he had thought. Did Emily realize all he was about to

suffer on her behalf?. He hoped so.

His hand went tenderly to a pocket and caressed a

hidden flask concealed in a near pocket.

"The boy's best friend," he murmured. "It would be a night like this of course."

With suitable precautions he introduced himself into

the grounds of Sittaford House. The Willetts kept no dog

so there was no fear of alarm from that quarter. A light

in the gardener's cottage showed that it was inhabited.

Sittaford House itself was in darkness save for one lighted

window on the first floor.

"Those two women are alone in the house," thought

Charles. "I shouldn't care for that myself. A bit creepy!"

He supposed Emily had really overheard that sen-tence,

"Will tonight never come?" What did it really

mean ?

"I wonder," he thought to himself, "if they mean to

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Murder at Hazelmoor

do a flit? Well, whatever happens, little Charles is going

to be here to see it."

He circled the house at a discreet distance. Owing to

the foggy nature of the night he had no fears of being

observed. Everything as far as he could see appeared to

be as usual. A cautious visiting of the out-buildings showed them to be locked.

"I hope something does happen," said Charles as the hours passed. He took a prudent sip from his flask. "I've never known anything like this cold. 'What did you do

in the Great War, Daddy,' can't have been any worse

than this."

He glanced at his watch and was surprised to find that

it was still only twenty minutes to twelve. He had been

convinced that it must be nearly dawn.

An unexpected sound made him prick up his ears

excitedly. It was the sound of a bolt being very gently

drawn back in its socket, and it came from the direction

of the house. Charles made a noiseless spring from

bush to bush. Yes, he had been quite right, the small

side door was slowly opening. A dark figure stood on

the threshold. It was peering anxiously out into the

night.

"Mrs. or Miss Willett," said Charles to himself. "The fair Violet, I think."

After waiting a minute or two, the figure stepped out

on the path and closed the door noiselessly behind her

and started to walk away from the house in the opposite

direction to the front drive. The path in question led up

behind Sittaford House, passing through a small plan-tation

of trees and so out on to the open moor.

199

Agatha Christie

The path wound quite near the bushes where Charles

was concealed, so near that Charles was able to recognize

the woman as she passed. He had been quite right, it

was Violet Willett. She was wearing a long dark coat and

had a beret on her head.

She went on up and as quietly as possible Charles

followed her. He had no fears of being seen, but he was

alive to the danger of being overheard. He was partic-ularly anxious not to alarm the girl. Owing to his care in

this respect she outdistanced him. For a moment or two

he was afraid lest he should lose her, but as he in his

turn wound his way anxiously through the plantation of

trees he saw her standing a little way ahead of him. Here

the low wall which surrounded the estate was broken by

a gate. Violet Willett was standing by this gate, leaning

over it peering out into the night.

Charles crept up as near as he dared and waited. The

time passed. The girl had a small pocket torch with her

and once she switched it on for a moment or two, di-recting

it, Charles thought, to see the time by the wrist

watch she was wearing, then she leant over the gate again

in the same attitude of expectant interest. Suddenly,

Charles heard a low whistle twice repeated.

He saw the girl start to sudden attention. She leant

farther over the gate and from her lips came the same

signal--a low whistle twice repeated.

Then with startling suddenness a man's figure loomed

out of the night. A low exclamation came from the girl.

She moved back a pace or two, the gate swung inward

and the man joined her. She spoke to him in a low hurried

voice. Unable to catch what they said, Charles moved

'2,00

Murder at Hazelmoor

forward somewhat imprudently. A twig snapped beneath

his feet. The man swung round instantly.

"What's that?" he said.

He caught sight of Charles's retreating figure.

"Hie, you stop! What are you doing here?"

With a bound he sprang after Charles. Charles turned

and tackled him adroitly. The next moment they were

rolling over and over together locked in a tight embrace.

The tussle was a short one. Charles's assailant was by

far the heavier and stronger of the two. He rose to his

feet jerking his captive with him.

"Switch on that light, Violet," he said, "let's have a look at this fellow."

The girl who had been standing terrified a few paces

away came forward and switched on the torch obediently.

"It must be the man who is staying in the village," she said. "A journalist."

"A journalist, eh?" exclaimed the other. "I don't like the breed. What are you doing, you skunk, nosing round

private grounds at this time of night?"

The torch wavered in Violet's hand. For the first time

Charles was given a full view of his antagonist. For a few

minutes he had entertained the wild idea that the visitor

might have been the escaped convict. One look at the

other dispelled any such fancy. This was a young man

not more than twenty-four or -five years of age. Tall,

good-looking and determined, with none of the hunted

criminal about him.

"Now then," he said sharply, "What's your name?"

"My name is Charles Enderby," said Charles. "You haven't told me yours," he continued.

201

Agatha Christie

"Confound your cheek!"

A sudden flash of inspiration came to Charles. An inspired

guess had saved him more than once. It was a

long shot but he believed that he was right.

"I think, however," he said quietly, "that I can guess it."

"Eh?"

The other was clearly taken aback.

"I think," said Charles, "that I have the pleasure of addressing Mr. Brian Pearson from Australia. Is that so?" There was a silence--rather a long silence. Charles

had a feeling that the tables were turned.

"How the devil you knew that I can't think," said the other at last, "but you're right. My name is Brian Pear son."

"In that case," said Charles, "supposing we adjourn to the house and talk things over!"

202

23. At Hazel oor

M A J o ]R Burnaby was doing his accounts or--to use a

more Dickens-like phrase, he was looking into his affairs.

The Major was an extremely methodical man. In a calf-bound

book he kept a record of shares bought, shares

sold and the accompanying loss or profit--usually a loss,

for in common with most retired army men the Major

was attracted by a high rate of iaterest rather than a

modest percentage coupled with safety.

"These oil wells looked all right," he was muttering.

"Seems as though there ought to have been a fortune in

it. Almost as bad as that diamond lnine! Canadian land,

that ought to be sound now."

His cogitations were interrupted as the head of Mr.

Ronald Garfield appeared at the open window.

"Hello," said Ronnie cheerfully, "I hope I'm not but-ting in?"

"If you are coming in go round to the front door," said Major Burnaby. "Mind the rock plants. I believe you are standing on them at the moment."

Ronnie retreated with an apology and presently pre-sented

himself at the front door.

"Wipe your feet on the mat, if you don't mind," cried the Major.

He found young men extremely trying. Indeed, the

only young man towards whom he had felt any kindliness

for a long time was the journalist, Charles Enderby.

203

Agatha Christie

"A nice young chap," the Major had said to himself.

"And very interested, too, in what I have told him about the Boer War."

Towards Ronnie Garfield the Major felt no such kind-liness.

Practically everything that the unfortunate Ronnie

said or did managed to rub the Major up the wrong way.

Still, hospitality is hospitality.

"Have a drink?" said the Major loyal to that tradition.

"No thanks. As a matter of fact I just dropped in to

see if we couldn't get together. I wanted to go to Ex-hampton today and I hear Elmer is booked to take you

in."

Burnaby nodded.

"Got to go over Trevelyan's things," he explained.

"The police have done with the place now."

"Well, you see," said Ronnie rather awkwardly, "I particularly wanted to go into Exhampton today. I thought

if we could get together and share and share alike as it

were. Eh? What about it?"

"Certainly," said the Major. "I am agreeable. Do you a lot more good to walk," he added. "Exercise. None of you young chaps nowadays take any exercise. A brisk six

miles there and a brisk six miles back would do you all

the good in the world. If it weren't that I needed the

car to bring some of Trevelyan's things back here, I

should be walking myself. Getting soft--that's the curse

of the present day."

"Oh, well," said Ronnie, "I don't believe in being strenuous myself. But I'm glad we've settled that all

right. Elmer said you were starting at eleven o'clock. Is

that right?"

204

Murder at Hazelmoor

"That's it."

"Good. I'll be there."

Ronnie was not quite so good as his word, his idea of

being on the spot was to be ten minutes late and he

found Major Burnaby fuming and fretting and not at all

inclined to be placated by a careless apology.

"What a fuss old buffers make," thought Ronnie to

himself. "They have no idea what a curse they are to

everybody with their punctuality, and everything done

on the dot of the minute, and their cursed exercise and

keeping fit."

His mind played agreeably for a few minutes with the

idea of a marriage between Major Burnaby and his aunt.

Which, he wondered, would get the better of it? He

thought his aunt every time. Rather amusing to think of

her clapping her hands and uttering piercing cries to

summon the Major to her side.

Banishing these reflections from his mind he proceeded

to enter into cheerful conversation.

"Sittaford has become a pretty gay spot--what? Miss

Trefusis and this chap Enderby and the lad from

Australia--by the way when did he blow in? There he

was as large as life this morning and nobody knew where

he had come from. It's been worrying my aunt blue in

the face."

"He is staying with the Willetts," said Major Burnaby tartly.

"Yes, but where did he blow in from? Even the Willetts

haven't got a private aerodrome. You know, I think

there's something deuced mysterious about this lad Pearson.

He's got what I call a nasty gleam in his eye--a very

zo5

Agatha Christie

"A nice young chap," the Major had said to himself.

"And very interested, too, in what I have told him about the Boer War."

Towards Ronnie Garfield the Major felt no such kindliness.

Practically everything that the unfortunate Ronnie

said or did managed to rub the Major up the wrong way.

Still, hospitality is hospitality.

"Have a drink?" said the Major loyal to that tradition. "No thanks. As a matter of fact I just dropped in to

see if we couldn't get together. I wanted to go to Ex-hampton today and I hear Elmer is booked to take you

in."

Burnaby nodded.

"Got to go over Trevelyan's things," he explained.

"The police have done with the place now."

"Well, you see," said Ronnie rather awkwardly, "I particularly wanted to go into Exhampton today. I thought

if we could get together and share and share alike as it

were. Eh? What about it?"

"Certainly," said the Major. "I am agreeable. Do you a lot more good to walk," he added. "Exercise. None of you young chaps nowadays take any exercise. A brisk six

miles there and a brisk six miles back would do you all

the good in the world. If it weren't that I needed the

car to bring some of Trevelyan's things back here, I

should be walking myself. Getting soft--that's the curse

of the present day."

"Oh, well," said Ronnie, "I don't believe in being strenuous myself. But I'm glad we've settled that all

right. Elmer said you were starting at eleven o'clock. Is

that right?"

204

Murder at Hazelmoor

"That's it."

"Good. I'll be there."

Ronnie was not quite so good as his word, his idea of

being on the spot was to be ten minutes late and he

found Major Burnaby fuming and fretting and not at all inclined to be placated by a careless apology.

"What a fuss old buffers make," thought Ronnie to

himself. "They have no idea what a curse they are to

everybody with their punctuality, and everything done

on the dot of the minute, and their cursed exercise and

keeping fit."

His mind played agreeably for a few minutes with the

idea of a marriage between Major Burnaby and his aunt.

Which, he wondered, would get the better of it? He

thought his aunt every time. Rather amusing to think of

her clapping her hands and uttering piercing cries to

summon the Major to her side.

Banishing these reflections from his mind he proceeded

to enter into cheerful conversation.

"Sittaford has become a pretty gay spot--what? Miss

Trefusis and this chap Enderby and the lad from

Australia--by the way when did he blow in? There he

was as large as life this morning and nobody knew where

he had come from. It's been worrying my aunt blue in

the face."

"He is staying with the Willetts," said Major Burnaby tartly.

"Yes, but where did he blow in from? Even the Willetts

haven't got a private aerodrome. You know, I think

there's something deuced mysterious about this lad Pearson.

He's got what I call a nasty gleam in his eye--a very

:zo5

Agatha Christie

nasty glint. It's my impression that he's the chap who

did in loor old Trevelyan."

The Nlajor made no reply.

"The way I look at it is this," continued Ronnie, "fellows that go off to the Colonies are usually bad hats. Their rlations don't like them and push them out there

for that reason. Very well then--there you are. The bad

hat comes back, short of money, visits wealthy uncle in

the neighborhood of Christmas time, wealthy relative

won't cough up to impecunious nephew--and impecunious

nphew bats him one. That's what I call a theory."

"You should mention it to the police," said Major

Burnaby.

"I thotght you might do that," said Mr. Garfield. "You're Narracott's little pal, aren't you? By the way he hasn't

been nosing about Sittaford again, has he?"

"Not that I know about."

"Not aeeting you at the house today, is he?" "No." The slortness of the Major's answers seemed to strike

Ronnie at last.

"Well," he said vaguely, "that's that," and relapsed into a thoughtful silence.

At Exhampton the car drew up outside the Three

Crowns. Ronnie alighted and after arranging with the

Major that they would rendezvous there at half past four

for the return journey, he strode off in the direction of

such shops as Exhampton offered.

The Major went first to see Mr. Kirkwood, after a brief

conversation with him, he took the keys and started off

for Hazelmoor.

o6

Murder at Hazelmoor

He had told Evans to meet him there at twelve o'clock

and he found the faithful retainer waiting on the door-step. With a rather grim face, Major Burnaby inserted

the key into the front door and passed into the empty

house, Evans at his heels. He had not been in it since

the night of the tragedy, and in spite of his iron deter-mination to show no weakness, he gave a slight shiver

as he passed the drawing-room.

Evans and the Major worked together in sympathy

and silence. When either of them made a brief remark

it was duly appreciated and understood by the other.

"Unpleasant job this, but it has to be done," said Major Burnaby and Evans, sorting out socks into neat piles,

and counting pajamas, responded.

"It seems rather unnatural like, but as you say, sir,

it's got to be done."

Evans was deft and efficient at his work. Everything

was neatly sorted and arranged and classified in heaps.

At one o'clock they repaired to the Three Crowns for a

short midday meal When they returned to the house

the Major suddenly caught Evans by the arm as the latter

closed the front door behind him.

"Hush," he said. "Do you hear that footstep overhead?

It's--it's in Joe's bedroom."

"My Gawd, sir. So it is."

A kind of superstitious terror held them both for a

minute and then breaking loose from it, and with an

angry squaring of the shoulders the Major strode to the

foot of the stairs and shouted in a stentorian voice:

"Who's that? Come out of there I say."

To his intense surprise and annoyance and yet, be it

zo7

Agatha Christie

confessed, to his slight relief, Ronnie Garfield appeared

at the top of the stairs. He looked embarrassed and

sheepish.

"Hello," he said. "I have been looking for you."

"What do you mean, looking for me?"

"Well, I wanted to tell you that I shan't be ready at

half past four. I've got to go into Exeter. So don't wait

for me. I'll have to get a car up from Exhampton."

"How did you get into this house?" asked the Major.

"The door was open," exclaimed Ronnie. "Naturally I thought you were here."

The Major turned to Evans sharply.

"Didn't you lockit when you came out?"

"N, sir, I hadn't got the key."

"Stupid of me," muttered the Major.

"You don't mind, do you?" said Ronnie. "I couldn't see aryone downstairs so I went upstairs and had a look

round."

"Of course, it doesn't matter," snapped the Major.

"You startled me, that's all."

"Well," said Bonnie airily. "I shall be pushing along now. So 10ng."

The Major grunted. Ronnie came down the stairs.

"I say," he said boyishly, "do you mind telling me er--er--vhere it happened?"

The Major jerked a thumb in the direction of the draw-ing-room.

"Oh, may I look inside?"

"If you like," growled the Major.

Ronie0pened the drawing-room door. He was absent

a few minutes and then returned.

208

MUrder at Hazelnoor

The Major had gone up t the stairs but Evans was in

the hall. He had the air of a bulldog on guard, his small

deep-set eyes wat'hed Ron?tnie ith a somewhat mali

cious scrutiny.

"I say," said Bonnie. "I th,Pdegghtydegu could never wash.

out blood staias. I thought, OW?er much you washed

them, they always came ba.pC,k'.0h, of course--the old

fellow was sandbagged, wasn t he? Stupid of me. It was

one of these, wasryt it?" H htdegdegk. uPa long narrow -bol

ster that lay against one of t[,ne other doors. He weighed

it thoughtfully anq balancec1 it in his hand. "Nice little toy, eh?" He maqe a few

tentative swings with it in

the air.

Evans was silent.

,., zing that the silence was not

"Well," said Bonnie rean I'd h t

etter be get 'ng along.

a wholly appreciative one, tactless, eh?" He jerked his

I'm afraid I'*e been a bit

head towards the hpper stor'Y' '? forgot about them being

such pals and all that. Two cTM kind, weren't they? Well,

I'm really going how. SoreTM if I've said all the wrong

things."

He walked aC%ss the h'11 a,nd out through the front

.

.. stw . .

,ivety in the hall, and only

door. .vam rect lmpas

when he had hetrd the la:ch, of the gate close behind

Mr. Garfield did he mounhe Stairs and rejoin Major

Burnaby. Withdeghr any wof or comment he resumed

' ' -d lef

straight across the room and

where ne na

on, going, .

kneeling down itq front of /ae, o0t eupboara.

At half past theee their ask Was finished. One trunk

of clothes aad ultderelothgwas allotted to Evans, and

another was straDped up repdy to Ie sent to the Seamen's

to9

Agatha Christie

confessed, to his slight relief, Ronnie Garfield appeared

at the top of the stairs. He looked embarrassed and

sheepish.

"Hello," he said. "I have been looking for you."

"What do you mean, looking for me?"

"Well, I wanted to tell you that I shan't be ready at

half past four. I've got to go into Exeter. So don't wait

for me. I'll have to get a car up from Exhampton."

"How did you get into this house?" asked the Major.

"The door was open," exclaimed Ronnie. "Naturally I thought you were here."

The Major turned to Evans sharply.

"Didn't you lock' it when you came out?"

"No, sir, I hadn't got the key."

"Stupid of me," muttered the Major.

"You don't mind, do you?" said Ronnie. "I couldn't see anyone downstairs so I went upstairs and had a look

round."

"Of course, it doesn't matter," snapped the Major.

"You startled me, that's all."

"Well," said Bonnie airily. "I shall be pushing along now. So long."

The Major grunted. Bonnie came down the stairs.

"I say," he said boyishly, "do you mind telling me er--er--where it happened?"

The Major jerked a thumb in the direction of the draw-ing-room.

"Oh, may I look inside?"

"If you like," growled the Major.

Bonnie opened the drawing-room door. He was absent

a few minutes and then returned.

208

Murder at Hazelmoor

The Major had gone up the stairs but Evans was in

the hall. He had the air of a bulldog on guard, his small

deep-set eyes watched Ronnie with a somewhat mali-cious

scrutiny.

"I say," said Ronnie. "I thought you could never wash out blood stains. I thought, however much you washed

them, they always came back. Oh, of course--the old

fellow was sandbagged, wasn't he? Stupid of me. It was

one of these, wasn't it?" He took up a long narrow bol-ster that lay against one of the other doors. He weighed

it thoughtfully and balanced it in his hand. "Nice little toy, eh?" He made a few tentative swings with it in

the air.

Evans was silent.

"Well," said Ronnie realizing that the silence was not a wholly appreciative one, "I'd better be getting along. I'm afraid I've been a bit tactless, eh?" He jerked his head towards the upper story. "I forgot about them being such pals and all that. Two of a kind, weren't they? Well,

I'm really going now. Sorry if I've said all the wrong

things."

He walked across the hall and out through the front

door. Evans stayed impassively in the hall, and only

when he had heard the latch of the gate close behind

Mr. Garfield did he mount the stairs and rejoin Major

Burnaby. Without any word or comment he resumed

where he had left off, going straight across the room and

kneeling down in front of the boot cupboard.

At half past three their task was finished. One trunk

of clothes and underclothes was allotted to Evans, and

another was strapped up ready to be sent to the Seamen's

209

Agatha Christie

Orphanage. Papers and bills were packed into an attache

case and Evans was given instructions to see a local firm

of removers about the storage of the various sporting

trophies and heads, as there was no room for them in

Major Burnaby's cottage. Since Hazelmoor was only rented

furnished no other questions arose.

When all this was settled Evans cleared his throat

nervously once or twice and then said:

"Beg pardon, sir, but--I'll be wanting a job to look

after a gentleman, same as I did to look after the Capting."

"Yes, yes, you can tell anyone to apply to me for a

recommendation. That will be quite all right."

"Begging your pardon, sir, that wasn't quite what I

meant. Rebecca and me, sir, we've talked it over and

we was wondering if, sir--if maybe you would give us

a trial?"

"Oh! but--well--I look after myself as you know. That

old what's her name comes in and cleans for me once a

day and cooks a few things. That's--er--about all I can

afford."

"It isn't the money that matters so much, sir," said Evans quickly. "You see, sir, I was very fond of the

Capting and--well, if I could do for you, sir, the same

as I did for him, well, it would be almost like the same

thing, if you know what I mean."

The Major cleared his throat and averted his eyes.

"Very decent of you, pon my word. I'll--I'll think

about it." And escaping with alacrity he almost bolted

down the road. Evans stood looking after him an understanding smile upon his face.

210

Murder at Hazelmoor

"Like as two peas, him and the Capting," he mur-inured.

And then a puzzled expression came over his face.

"Where can they have got to?" he murmured. "It's a bit queer that. I must ask Rebecca what she thinks."

24. Inspector Narracott Discusses the

Case

"I A M not entirely happy about it, sir," said Inspector Narracott.

The Chief Constable looked at him inquiringly.

"No," said Inspector Narracott. "I'm not nearly as happy about it as I was."

"You don't think we've got the right man?"

"I'm not satisfied. You see, to start with, everything

pointed the one way but now--it's different."

"The evidence against Pearson remains the same."

"Yes, but there's a good deal of further evidence come

to light, sir. There's the other Pearson--Brian. Feeling

that we had no further to look I accepted the statement

that he was in Australia. Now, it turns out that he was

in England all the time. It seems he arrived back in

England two months ago--traveled on the same boat as

these Willetts apparently. Looks as though he had got

sweet on the girl on the voyage. Anyway, for whatever

reason he didn't communicate with any of his family.

Neither his sister nor his brother had any idea he was

in England. On Thursday of last week he left the Ormsby

Hotel in Russell Square and drove to Paddington, from

there until Tuesday night, when Enderby ran across

him, he refuses to account for his movements in any way."

"You pointed out to him the gravity of such a course

of action?"

212

Murder at Hazelmoor

"Said he didn't give a damn. He had had rothing to

do with the murder and it was up to us to proxe he had.

The way he had employed his time was his owr business

and none of ours, and he declined definitely to state

where he had been and what he had been doing."

"Most extraordinary," said the Chief Constable.

"Yes, sir. It's an extraordinary case. You see, there's no use getting away from the facts, this man's far more

the type than the other. There's something incongruous

about James Pearson hitting an old man on the head with

a sandbag--but in a manner of speaking it might be all

in the day's work to Brian Pearson. He's a hot-tempered,

high-handed young man--and he profits to exactly the

same extent remember. Yes--he came over with Mr.

Enderby this morning, very bright and breezy, quite

square and above-board, that was his attitude. But it

won't wash, sir, it won't wash."

"H'm--you mean--"

"It isn't borne out by the facts. Why didn't he come

forward before? His uncle's death was in all the papers

Saturday. His brother was arrested Monday. And he

doesn't give a sign of life. And he wouldn't have, either,

if that journalist hadn't run across him in the garden of

Sittaford House at midnight last night."

"What was he doing there? Enderby, I mean?"

"You know what journalists are," said Narracott, "al-ways nosing round. They're uncanny."

"They are a darned nuisance very often," said the Chief Constable. "Though they have their uses too."

"I fancy it was the young lady put him up to it," said Narracott.

Agatha Christie

"The young lady?"

"Miss Emily Trefusis."

"How did she know anything about it?"

"She was up at Sittaford nosing around. And she's what

you'd call a sharp young lady. There's not much gets past

her."

"What was Brian Pearson's own account of his movements?''

"Said he came to Sittaford House to see his young

lady, Miss Willett, that is. She came out of the house to

meet him when everyone was asleep because she didn't

want her mother to know about it. That's their story."

Inspector Narracott's voice expressed distinct disbelief.

"It's my belief, sir, that if Enderby hadn't run him to earth, he never would have come forward. He'd have

gone back to Australia and claimed his inheritance from

there."

A taint smile crossed the Chief Constable's lips.

"How he must have cursed these pestilential prying

journalists," he murmured.

"There's something else come to light," continued the Inspector. "There are three Pearsons, you remember,

and Sylvia Pearson is married to Martin Dering, the

novelist. He told me that he lunched and spent the afternoon with an American publisher and went to a literary

dinner in the evening, but it now seems that he

wasn't at that dinner at all."

"Who says so?"

"Enderby again."

"I think I must meet Enderby," said the Chief Con214

Murder at Hazelmoor

stable. "He appears to be one of the live wires of this investigation. No doubt about it the Daily Wire does

have some bright young men on their staff."

"Well, of course, that may mean little or nothing," continued the Inspector. "Captain Trevelyan was killed

before six o'clock, so where Dering spent his evening is

really of no consequence--but why should he have deliberately lied about it? I don't like it, sir."

"No," agreed the Chief Constable. "It seems a little unnecessary."

"It makes one think that the whole thing may be false.

It's a far-fetched supposition, I suppose, but Dering might have left Paddington by the twelve ten train--arrived at

Exhampton some time after five, have kilied the old man,

got the six ten train and been back home again before

midnight. At any rate it's got to be looked into, sir. We've got to investigate his financial position, see if he was

desperately hard up. Any money his wife came into he

would have the handling of--you've only got to look at

her to know that. We've got to make perfectly sure that

the afternoon alibi holds water."

"The whole thing is extraordinary," commented the

Chief Constable. "But I still think the evidence against Pearson is pretty conclusive. 1 see that you don't agree

with me--you've a feeling you've got hold of the wrong

"The evidence is all right," admitted Inspector Narracott,

"circumstantial and all that, and any jury ought

to convict on it. Still, what you say is true enough--I

don't see him as a murderer."

Agatha Christie

"And his young lady is very active in the case," said the Chief Constable.

"Miss Trefusis, yes, she's a one and no mistake. A real fine young lady. And absolutely determined to get him

off. She's got hold of that journalist, Enderby, and she's

working him for all she's worth. She's a great deal too

good for Mr. James Pearson. Beyond his good looks I

wouldn't say there was much to him in the way of character."

"But if she's a managing young woman that's what she

likes," said the Chief Constable.

"Ah well," said Inspector Narracott, "there's no accounting for tastes. Well, you agree, sir, that I had better

take up this alibi of Dering's without any more delay."

"Yes, get on to it at once. What about the fourth interested party in the will? There's a fourth, isn't there?"

"Yes, the sister. That's perfectly all right. I have made inquiries there. She was at home at six o'clock all right,

sir. I'll get right on with the Dering business."

It was about five hours later that Inspector Narracott

found himself once more in the small sitting-room of The

Nook. This time Mr. Dering was at home. He couldn't

be disturbed as he was writing, the maid had said at first,

but the Inspector had produced an official card and bade

her take it to her master without delay. Whilst waiting

he strode up and down the room. His mind was working

actively. Every now and then he picked up a small object

from a table, looked at it almost unseeingly, and then

replaced it. The cigarette box of Australian fiddleback--a

present from Brian Pearson possibly. He picked up a

Z16

Murder at Hazelmoor

rather battered old book. "Pride and Prejudice." He opened the cover and saw scrawled on the fly-leaf in

rather faded ink the name, Martha Rycroft. Somehow,

the name of Rycroft seemed familiar, but he could not

for the moment remember why. He was interrupted as

the door opened and Martin Dering came into the room.

The novelist was a man of middle height with thick

rather heavy chestnut hair. He was good-looking in a

somewhat heavy fashion, with lips that were rather full

and red.

Inspector Narracott was not prepossessed by his ap-pearance.

"Good morning, Mr. Dering. Sorry to trouble you all

here again."

"Oh, it doesn't matter, Inspector, but really I can't

tell you any more than you've been told already."

"We were led to understand that your brother-in-law,

Mr. Brian Pearson, was in Australia. Now, we find that

he has been in England for the last two months. I might

have been given an inkling of that I think. Your wife

distinctly told me that he was in New South Wales."

"Brian in England!" Dering seemed genuinely aston-ished.

"I can assure you, Inspector, that I had no knowl-edge

of the fact--nor, I'm sure, had my wife."

"He has not communicated with you in any way?"

"No, indeed, I know for a fact that Sylvia has twice

written him letters to Australia during that time."

"Oh, well, in that case I apologize, sir. But naturally I thought he would have communicated with his relations

and I was a bit sore with you for holding out on me."

Agatha Christie

"Well, as I tell you we knew nothing. Have a cigarette, Inspector? By the way, I see you've recaptured your

escaped convict."

"Yes, got him late Tuesday night. Rather bad luck for

him the mist coming down. He walked right round in a

circle. Did about twenty miles to find himself about half

a mile from Princetown at the end of it."

"Extraordinary how everyone goes round in circles in

a fog. Good thing he didn't escape on the Friday. I

suppose he would have had this murder put down to

him as a certainty."

"He's a dangerous man. Freemantle Freddy, they used

to call him. Robbery with violence, assault--led the most

extraordinary double life. Half the time he passed as an

educated, respectable wealthy man. I am not at all sure

myself that Broadmoor wasn't the place for him. A kind

of criminal mania used to come over him from time to

time. He would disappear and consort with the lowest

characters."

"I suppose many people don't escape from Prince-town?"

"It's well-nigh impossible, sir. But this particular es-cape was extraordinarily well planned and carried out.

We haven't nearly got to the bottom of it yet."

"Well," Dering rose and glanced at his watch, "if there's nothing more, Inspector--I'm afraid I am rather a busy

man--"

"Oh, but there is something more, Mr. Dering. I want

to know why you told me that you were at a literary

dinner at the Cecil Hotel on Friday night?"

"I--I don't understand you, Inspector."

Murder at Hazelmoor

"I think you do, sir. You weren't at that dinner, Mr.

Dering."

Martin Dering hesitated. His eyes ran uncertainly from

the Inspector's face, up to the ceiling, then to the door,

and then to his feet.

The Inspector waited calm and stolid.

"Well," said Martin Dering at last, "supposing I wasn't. What the hell has that got to do with you? What have

my movements, five hours after my uncle was murdered,

got to do with you or anyone else?"

"You made a certain statement to us, Mr. Dering, and

I want that statement verified. Part of it has already

proved to be untrue. I've got to check up on the other

half. You say you lunched and spent the afternoon with

a friend."

"Yes--my American publisher."

"His name?"

"Rosenkraun, Edgar Rosenkraun."

"Ah, and his address?"

"He's left England. He left last Saturday."

"For New York?"

"Yes."

"Then he'll be on the sea at the present moment. What

boat is he on?"

"I--I really can't remember."

"You know the line? Was it a Cunard or White Star?"

"I--I really don't remember."

"Ah well," said the Inspector, "we'll cable his firm in New York. They'll know."

"It was the Gargantua," said Dering sullenly.

"Thank you, Mr. Dering, I thought you could remem.'Zl9

Agatha Christie

her if you tried, Now, your statement is that you lunched

with Mr. Rosenkraun and that you spent the afternoon

with him. At what time did you leave him?"

"About five o'clock I should say."

"And then?"

"I decline to state. It's no business of yours. That's all you want surely."

Inspector Narracott nodded thoughtfully. If Rosenkraun

confirmed Dering's statement then any case against

Dering must fall to the ground. Whatever his mysterious

activities had been that evening could not affect the case.

"What are you going to do?" demanded Dering uneasily.

"Wireless Mr. Rosenkraun on board the Gargantua."

"Damn it all," cried Dering, "you'll involve me in all sorts of publicity. Look here--"

He went across to his desk, scribbled a few words on

a bit of paper, then took it to the Inspector.

"I suppose you've got to do what you're doing," he said ungraciously, "but at least you might do it in my

way. It's not tair to run a chap in for a lot of trouble." On the sheet of paper was written:

Rosenkraun S.S. "Gargantua." Please confirm my

statement I was with you lunch-time until five o'clock

Friday 14th. Martin Dering.

"Have the reply sent straight to youmI don't mind.

But don't have it sent to Scotland Yard or a Police Station. You don't know what these Americans are like. Any hint

of me being mixed up in a police case and this new

contract that I've been discussing will go to the winds.

Keep it a private matter, Inspector."

Murder at Hazelmoor

"I've no objection to that, Mr. Dering. All I want is

the truth. I'll send this reply paid, the reply to be sent

to my private address in Exeter."

"Thank you, you are a good chap. It's not such easy

going earning your living by literature, Inspector. You'll

see the answer will be all right. I did tell you a lie about the dinner, but as a matter of fact I had told my wife

that that was where I had been, and I thought I might

as well stick to the same story to you. Otherwise I would

have let myself in for a lot of trouble."

"If Mr. Rosenkraun confirms your statement, Mr.

Dering, you will have nothing else to fear."

"An unpleasant character," the Inspector thought, as he left the house. "But he seems pretty certain that this American publisher will confirm the truth of his story."

A sudden remembrance came to the Inspector, as he

hopped into the train which would take him back to

Devon.

"Rycroft," he said, "of course--that's the name of the old gentleman who lives in one of the cottages at Sitta-ford. A curious coincidence."

221

At Deller's Caf

E M I L Y= Trefusis and Charles Enderby were seated at

a small table in Deller's Caf in Exeter. It was half past

three and at that hour there was comparative peace and

quiet. A few people were having a quiet cup of tea, but

the restaurant on the whole was deserted.

"Well," said Charles, "what do you think of him?" Emily frowned.

"It's difficult," she said.

After his interview with the police, Brian Pearson had

lunched with them. He had been extremely polite to

Emily, rather too polite in her opinion.

To that astute girl it seemed a shade unnatural. Here

was a young man conducting a clandestine love affair and

an officious stranger butts in.

Brian Pearson had taken it like a lamb, had fallen in

with Charles's suggestion of having a car and driving over

to see the police.

Why this attitude of meek acquiescence? It seemed

to Emily entirely untypical of the natural Brian Pearson

as she read his character.

"I'll see you in hell first!" would, she felt sure, have been far more his attitude.

This lamb-like demeanor was suspicious. She tried to

convey something of her feelings to Enderby.

"I get you," said Enderby. "Our Brian has got some Murder at Hazelmoor

thing to conceal, therefore he can't be his ratural highhanded self."

"That's it exactly."

"Do you think he might possibly have killed old Trevelyan?"

"Brian," said Emily thoughtfully, "is--well, a person to be reckoned with. He is rather unscrupulous, I should

think, and if he wanted anything, I don't think he would

let ordinary conventional standards stand in his way. He's

not plain tame English."

"Putting all personal considerations on one side, he's

a more likely starter than Jim?" said Enderby.

Emily nodded.

"Much more likely. He would carry a thing through

well--because he would never lose his nerve."

"Honestly, Emily, do you think he did it?"

"I--I don't know. He fulfils the conditions--the only

person who does."

"What do you mean by fulfils the conditions?"

"Well (x) Motive." She ticked off the items on her fingers. "The same motive. Twenty thousand pounds. () Opportunity. Nobody knows where he was on Friday

afternoon, and if he was anywhere that he could say--well--surely he would say it? So we assume that he was

actually in the neighborhood of Hazelmoor on Friday."

"They haven't found anyone who save him in Ex-hampton," Charles pointed out, "and he's a Fairly noticeable

person."

Emily shook her head scornfully.

"He wasn't in Exhampton. Don't you see, Charles, if

Agatha Christie

he committed the murder, he planned it beforehand.

It's only poor innocent Jim who came down like a mug

and stayed there. There's Lydford and Chagford or perhaps

Exeter. He might have walked over from Lydford

--that's a main road and the snow wouldn't have been

impassable. It would have been pretty good going."

"I suppose we ought to make inquiries all round."

"The police are doing that," said Emily, "and they'll do it a lot better than we shall. All public things are

much better done by the police. It's private and personal

things like listening to Mrs. Curtis and picking up a hint

from Miss Percehouse and watching the Willetts--that's

where we score."

"Or don't, as the case may be," said Charles.

"To go back to Brian Pearson fulfilling the conditions," said Emily. "We've done two, motive and opportunity,

and there's the third--the one that in a way I think is

the most important of all."

"What's that?" ,

"Well, I have felt from the beginning that we couldn't

ignore that queer business of the table turning. I have

tried to look at it as logically and clearsightedly as possible. There are just three solutions of it. (2) That it was

supernatural. Well, of course, that may be so, but personally I am ruling it out. (2) That it was deliberate--someone

did it on purpose, but as one can't arrive at any

conceivable reason, we can rule that out also. (3) Accidental. Someone gave himself away without meaning to

do so--indeed quite against his will. An unconscious

piece of self-revelation. If so, someone among those six

people either knew definitely that Captain Trevelyan was

224

Murder at Hazelmoor

going to be killed at a certain time that afternoon, or that someone was having an interview with him from which

violence might result. None of those six people could

have been the actual murderer, but one of them must

have been in collusion with the murderer. There's no

link between Major Burnaby and anybody else, or Mr.

Rycroft and anybody else, or Ronald Garfield and anyone

else, but when we come to the Willetts it's different.

There's a link between Violet Willett and Brian Pearson.

Those two are on very intimate terms and that girl was

all on the jump after the murder."

"You think she knew?" said Charles.

"She or her mother--one or other of them."

"There's one person you haven't mentioned," said

Charles. "Mr. Duke."

"I know," said Emily. "It's queer. He's the one person we know absolutely nothing about. I've tried to see him

twice and failed. There seems no connection between

him and Captain Trevelyan, or between him and any of

Captain Trevelyan's relations, there's absolutely nothing

to connect him with the case in any way, and yet--"

"Well?" said Charles Enderby as Emily paused.

"And yet we inet Inspector Narracott coining out of

his cottage. What does Inspector Narracott know about

him that we don't? I wish I knew."

"You think--"

"Supposing Duke is a suspicious character and the

police know it. Supposing Captain Trevelyan had found

out something about Duke. He was particular about his

tenants, remember, and supposing he was going to tell

the police what he knew. And Duke arranges with an

Agatha Christie

accomplice to have him killed. Oh, I know it all sounds

dreadfully melodramatic put like that, and yet, after all,

something of the kind might be possible."

"It's an idea certainly," said Charles slowly.

They were both silent, each one deep in thought.

Suddenly Emily said:

"Do you know that queer feeling you get when somebody

is looking at you. I feel now as though someone's

eyes were burning the back of my neck. Is it all tancy

or is there really someone staring at me now?"

Charles moved his chair an inch or two and looked

round the caf in a casual manner.

"There's a woman at a table in the window," he reported.

"Tall, dark and handsome. She's staring at you."

"Young?"

"No, not very young. Hello!"

"What is it?"

"Ronnie Garfield. He has just come in and he's shaking

hands with her and he's sitting down at her table. I think

she's saying something about us."

Emily opened her handbag. Rather ostentatiously she

powdered her nose, adjusting the small pocket mirror

to a convenient angle.

"It's Aunt Jennifer," she said softly. "They are getting up.'

"They are going," said Charles. "Do you want to speak to her?"

"No," said Emily. "I think it's better for me to pretend that I haven't seen her."

"After all," said Charles, "why shouldn't Aunt Jennifer know Ronnie Garfield and ask him to tea?"

Murder at Hazelmoor

"Why should she?" said Emily.

"Why shouldn't she?"

"Oh, for goodness sake, Charles, don't let's go on and

on like this, should--shouldn't--should--shouldn't. Of

course it's all nonsense, and it doesn't mean anything!

But we were just saying that nobody else at the sance

had any relation with the family, and not five minutes

later we see Ronnie Garfield having tea with Captain

Trevelyan's sister."

"It shows," said Charles, "that you never know."

"It shows," said Emily, "that you are always having to begin again."

"In more ways than one," said Charles.

Emily looked at him.

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing at present," said Charles.

He put his hand over hers. She did not draw it away.

"We've got to put this through," said Charles.

"Afterwards--"

"Afterwards?" said Emfiy softly.

"I'd do anything for you, Emily," said Charles. "Sim-ply anything--"

"Would you?" said Emily. "That's rather nice of you, Charles dear."

26. Robert Gardner

I T was just twenty minutes later when Emily rang the

front door bell of The Laurels. It had been a sudden

impulse. She smiled beamingly on Beatrice when the

latter opened the door to her.

"It's me again," said Emily. "Mrs. Gardner's out, I know, but can I see Mr. Gardner?"

Such a request was clearly unusual. Beatrice seemed

doubtful.

"Well, I don't know. I'll go up and see, shall I?"

"Yes, do," said Emily.

Beatrice went upstairs leaving Emily alone in the hall.

She returned in a few minutes to ask the young lady to

please step this way.

Robert Gardner was lying on a couch by the window

in a big room on the first floor. He was a big man, blue

eyed and fair haired. He looked, Emily thought, as Tristran

ought to look in the third act of Tristran and Isolde and as no Wagnerian tenor has ever looked yet.

"Hello," he said. "You are the criminal's spouse to be, aren't you?"

"That's right, Uncle Robert," said Emily. "I suppose I do call you Uncle Robert, don't I?" she asked.

"If Jennifer will allow it. What's it like having a young man languishing in prison?"

A cruel man, Emily decided. A man who would take

a malicious joy in giving you sharp digs in painful places.

Murder at Hazelmoor

But she was a match for him. She said smilingly:

"Very thrilling."

"Not so thrilling for Master Jim, eh?"

"Oh, well," said Emily, "it's an experience, isn't it?"

"Teach him life can't be all beer and skittles," said Robert Gardner maliciously. "Too young to fight in the

Great War, wasn't he? Able to live soft and take it easily.

Well, well .... He got it in the neck from another source." He looked at her curiously.

"What did you want to come and see me for, eh?"

There was a tinge of something like suspicion in his

voice.

"If you are going to marry into a family it's just as well to see all your relations-in-law beforehand."

"Know the worst before it's too late. So you really

think you are going to marry young Jim, eh?"

"Why not?"

"In spite of this murder charge?"

"In spite of this murder charge."

"Well," said Robert Gardner, "I have never seen anybody less cast down. Anyone would think you were enjoying

yourself."

"I am. Tracking down a murderer is frightfully thrilling."

"Eh?"

"I said tracking down a murderer is frightfully thrilling,''

said Emily.

Robert Gardner stared at her then he threw himself

back on his pillows.

"I am tired," he said in a fretful voice. "I can't talk any more. Nurse, where's Nurse? Nurse, I'm tired."

Agatha Christie

Nurse Davis had come swiftly at his call from an ad-joining

room. "Mr. Gardner gets tired very easily. I think

you had better go now if you don't mind, Miss Trefusis." Emily rose to her feet. She nodded brightly and said:

"Good-by, Uncle Robert. Perhaps I'll come back some

day."

"What do you mean?"

"Au revoir," said Emily.

She was going out of the front door when she stopped.

"Oh!" she said to Beatrice. "I have left my gloves."

"I will get them, Miss."

"Oh, no," said Emily. "I'll do it." She ran lightly up the stairs and entered without knocking.

"Oh," said Emily. "I beg your pardon. I am so sorry. It was my gloves." She took them up ostentatiously and

smiling sweetly at the two occupants of the room who

were sitting hand in hand ran down the stairs and out

of the house.

"This glove leaving is a terrific scheme," said Emily to herself. "This is the second time it's come off. Poor Aunt Jennifer, does she know, I wonder? Probably not.

I must hurry or I'll keep Charles waiting."

Enderby was waiting in Elmer's Ford at the agreed

rendezvous.

"Any luck?" he asked as he tucked the rug round her.

"In a way, yes. I'm not sure."

Enderby looked at her inquiringly.

"No," said Emily in answer to his glance, "I'm not going to tell you about it. You see, it may have nothing

whatever to do with it--and if so, it wouldn't be fair."

Enderby sighed.

z3o

Murder at Hazelmoor

"I call that hard," he observed.

"I'm sorry," said Emily firmly. "But there it is."

"Have it your own way," said Charles coldly.

They drove on in silence--an offended silence on

Charles's part--an oblivious one on Emily's.

They were nearly at Exhampton when she broke the

silence by a totally unexpected remark.

"Charles," she said, "are you a bridge player?"

"Yes, I am. Why?"

"I was thinking. You know what they tell you to do

when you're assessing the value of your hand? If you're

defending--count the winners--but if you're attacking

count the losers. Now, we're attacking in this business

of ours--but perhaps we have been doing it the wrong

way."

"How do you mean?"

"Well, we've been counting the winners, haven't we?

I mean going over the people who could have killed

Captain Trevelyan, however improbable it seems. Antl

that's perhaps why we've got so terribly muddled."

"I haven't got muddled," said Charles.

"Well, I have then. I'm so muddled I can't think at

all. Let's look at it the other way round. Let's count the

losers--the people who can't possibly have killed Cap-tain

Trevelyan."

"Well, let's see--" Enderby reflected. "To begin with there's the Willetts and Burnaby and Rycroft and

Ronnie--Oh! and Duke."

"Yes," agreed Emily. "We know none of them can have killed him. Because at the time he was killed they

were all at Sittaford House and they all saw each other

z3

Agatha Christie

and they can't all be lying. Yes, they're all out of it."

"As a matter of fact everyone in Sittaford is out of it," said Enderby. "Even Elmer," he lowered his voice in deference to the possibility of the driver hearing him.

"Because the road to Sittaford was impassable for cars

on Friday."

"He could have walked," said Emily in an equally low voice. "If Major Burnaby could have got there that eve-ning Elmer could have started at lunch time--got to

Exhampton at five, murdered him, and walked back again." Enderby shook his head.

"I don't think he could have walked back again. Re-member the snow started to fall about half past six. Any-way,

you're not accusing Elmer, are you?"

"No," said Emily, "though, of course, he might be a homicidal maniac."

"Hush," said Charles. "You'll hurt his feelings if he hears you."

"At any rate," said Emily, "you can't say definitely that he couldn't have murdered Captain Trevelyan."

"Almost," said Charles. "He couldn't walk to Ex-hampton and back without all Sittaford knowing about

it and saying it was queer."

"It certainly is a place where everyone knows every-thing," agreed Emily.

"Exactly," said Charles, "and that's why I say that everyone in Sittaford is out of it. The only ones that

weren't at the Willetts--Miss Percehouse and Captain

Wyatt are invalids. They couldn't go plowing through

snowstorms. And dear old Curtis and Mrs. C. If any of

z3z

Murder at Hazelmoor

them did it, they must have gone comfortably to Ex-hampton

for the week-end and come back when it was

all over."

Emily laughed.

"You couldn't be absent from Sittaford for the weekend

without its being noticed, certainly," she said.

"Curtis would notice the silence if Mrs. C. was," said Enderby.

"Of course," said Emily, "the person it ought to be is Abdul. It would be in a book. He'd be a Lascar really,

and Captain Trevelyan would have thrown his favorite

brother overboard in a mutiny--something like that."

"I docline to believe," said Charles, "that that wretched depressed looking native ever murdered anybody."

"I know," he said suddenly.

"What?" said Emily eagerly.

"The blacksmith's wife. The one who's expecting her

eighth. The intrepid woman despite her condition walked

all the way to Sittaford and batted him one with the

sandbag."

"And why, pray?"

"Because, of course, although the blacksmith was the

father of the preceding seven, Captain Trevelyan was

the father of her coming cheild."

"Charles," said Emily. "Don't be indelicate."

"And anyway," she added, "it would be the blacksmith who did it, not her. A really good case there. Think how

that brawny arm could wield a sandbag! And his wife

would never notice his absence with seven children to

look after. She wouldn't have time to notice a mere man."

z33

Agatha Christie

"This is degenerating into mere idiocy," said Charles.

"It is rather," agreed Emily. "Counting losers hasn't been a great success.

"What about you?" said Charles.

"Me?"

"Where were you when the crime was committed?"

"How extraordinary! I never thought of that. I was in

London, of course. But I don't know that I could prove

it. I was alone in my flat"

"There you are," said Charles. "Motive and everything. Your young man coming into twenty thousand

pounds. What more do you want?"

"You are clever, Charles," said Emily. "I can see that really I'm a most suspicious character. I never thought

of it before."

'34

27. Narracott Acts

T W O mornings later Emily was seated in Inspector

Narracott's office. She had come over from Sittaford that

morning.

Inspector Narracott looked at her appraisingly. He

admired Emily's pluck, her courageous determination

not to give in and her resolute cheerfulness. She was a

fighter and Inspector Narracott admired fighters. It was

his private opinion that she was a great deal too good for

Jim Pearson, even if that young man was innocent of the

murder.

"It's generally understood in books," he said, "that the police are intent on having a victim and don't in the least

care if that victim is innocent or not as long as they have

enough evidence to convict him. That's not the truth,

Miss Trefusis, it's only the guilty man we want."

"Do you honestly believe Jim to be guilty, Inspector

Narracott?"

"I can't give you an official answer to that, Miss Trefusis. But i'll tell you this--that we are examining not

only the evidence against him but the evidence against

other people very carefully.'

"You mean against his brother--Brian?"

"A very unsatisfactory gentleman, Mr. Brian Pearson.

Refused to answer questions or to give any information

about himself, but I think--" Inspector Narracott's slow Devonshire smile widened, "I think I can make a pretty

235

Agatha Christie

good guess at some of his activities. If I am right I shall

know in another half hour. Then there's the lady's hus-band, Mr. Dering."

"You've seen him?" asked linily curiously.

Inspector Narracott looked at her vivid face, and felt

tempted to relax official caution. Leaning back in his chair he recounted his interview with Mr. Dering, then from

a file at his elbow he took out a copy of the wireless

message he had dispatched to Mr. Rosenkraun. "That's

what I sent," he said. "And here's the reply."

Emily read it.

Narracott Drysdale Road Exeter. Certainly con-firm

Mr. Dering's statement. He was in my COmo

pany all Friday afternoon. Rosenkraun.

"Oh!--bother," said Emily, selecting a milder word than that she had meant to use knowing that the police

force was old-fashioned and easily shocked,

"Ye-es," said Inspector Narracott reflectively. "It's an-noying, isn't it?"

And his slow Devonshire smile broke out again.

"But I am a suspicious man, Miss Trefusis. Mr. Der-ing's reasons sounded very plausible--but I thought it

a pity to play into his hands too completely. So I sent

another wireless message:"

Again he handed her two pieces of paper.

The first ran: Information wanted re murder of

Captain Trevelyan. Do you support Martin Dering's

236

Murcer at Hazelmoor

statement of alibi fv Friday afternoon. Divisional

Inspector Narracot Exeter.

The return messag showed agitation and a reckless

disregard for expense.

Had no idea it wa% criminal case did not see Martin

Dering Friday areed support his statement as

one friend to anothr believed his wife was having

him watched for divvrce proceedings.

"Oh," said Emily. "h!--you are clever, Inspector." The Inspector evidently thought that he had been

rather clever. His smil% was gentle and contented.

"How men do stick t%gether,,, went on Emily looking

over the telegrams. "?or Sylvia. In some ways I really

think that men are beaa ts. That's why," she added, "it's so nice when one finds

a man on whom one can really

rely."

And she smiled admiringly at the Inspector.

"Now, all this is very oafidential, Miss Trefusis," the Inspector warned her. "2 have gone further than i should in letting you know aboht this."

"I think it's adorable of you," said Emily. "I shall never, never forget it."

"Well, mind,", the Insleetor warned her. "Not a word to anybody."

"You mean that I am not fo tell CharlesMr. Eh-derby."

"Journalists will be jOhraalists,,, said inspector Narracott.

"However well Yu have got him tamed, Miss

Trefusis--well, news is revs' isn't it?"

Agatha Christie

"I won't tell him then," said Emily. "I think I've got lailn muzzled all right, but as you say newspaper men

xvill be newspaper men."

"Never part with information unnecessarily. That's my

rule," said Inspector Narracott.

A faint twinkle appeared in Emily's eyes, her unspoken

thought being that Inspector Narracott had infringed this

rule rather badly during the last half hour.

A sudden recollection came into her mind, not of course

that it probably mattered now. Everything seemed to

be pointing in a totally different direction. But still it

would be nice to know.

"Inspector Narracott?" she said suddenly. "Who is Mr. Duke?"

"Mr. Duke?"

She thought the Inspector was rather taken aback by

her questions.

"You remember," said Emily, "we met you coming out of his cottage in Sittaford."

"Ah, yes, yes, I remember. To tell you the truth, Miss

Trefusis, I thought I would like to have an independent

account of that table turning business. Major Burnaby is

not a first-rate hand at description."

"And yet," said Emily thoughtfully, "if I had been you, I should have gone to somebody like Mr. Rycroft for it.

Why Mr. Duke?"

There was a silence and then the Inspector said:

"Just a matter of opinion."

"I wonder. I wonder if the police know something

about Mr. Duke."

38

Murder at Hazelmoor

Inspector Narracott didn't answer. He had got his eyes

fixed very steadily on the blotting paper.

"The man who leads a blameless life!" said Emily.

"That seems to describe Mr. Duke awfully accurately,

but perhaps he hasn't always led a blameless life? Perhaps

the police know that?"

She saw a faint quiver on Inspector Narracott's face as

he tried to conceal a smile.

"You like guessing, don't you, Miss Trefusis?" he said amiably.

"When people don't tell you things you have to guess!" retaliated Emily.

"If a man, as you say, is leading a blameless life," Inspector Narracott said, "and if it would be an annoy-ance and an inconvenience for him to have his past life

raked up, well, the police are capable of keeping their

oven counsel. We have no wish to give a man away."

"I see," said Emily, "but all the same--you went to see him, didn't you? That looks as though you thought,

to begin with at any rate, that he might have had a hand

in it. I wish--! wish I knew who Mr. Duke really was?

And what particular branch-of criminology he indulged

in in the past?"

She looked appealingly at Inspector Narracott but the

latter preserved a wooden face, and realizing that on this

point she could not hope to move him, Emily sighed and

took her departure.

When she had gone the Inspector sat staring at the

blotting pad, a trace of a smile still lingering on his lips. he rang the bell and one of his underlings entered.

239

Agatha Christie

"Well?" demanded Inspector Narracott.

"Quite right, sir. But it wasn't the Duchy at Prince-town, it was the hotel at Two Bridges."

"Ah!" The Inspector took the papers the other handed to him.

"Well," he said. "That settles that all right. Have you followed up the other young chap's movements on Fri-day?''

"He certainly arrived at Exhampton by the last train,

but I haven't found out yet what time he left London.

Inquiries are being made."

Narracott nodded.

"Here is the entry from Somerset House, sir."

Narracott unfolded it. It was the record of a marriage

in 894 between William Martin Dering and Martha

Elizabeth Rycroft.

"Ah!" said the Inspector, "anything else?"

"Yes, sir. Mr. Brian Pearson sailed from Australia on

a Blue Funnel Boat, the Phidias. She touched at Cape

Town but no passengers of the name of Willett were

abroad. No mother and daughter at all from South Africa.

There was a Mrs. and Miss Evans and a Mrs. and Miss

Johnson from Melbourne--the latter answer the de-scription

of the Willetts."

"H'm," said the Inspector--"Johnson. Probably nei-ther Johnson nor Willett is the right name. I think I've

got them taped out all right. Anything more?"

There was nothing else it seemed.

"Well," said Narracott, "I think we have got enough to go on with."

240

Boots

"B t T, my dear young lady," said Mr. Kirkwood, "what can you possibly expect to find at Hazelmoor. All Qtptain

Trevelyan's effects have been removed. The polic have

made a thorough search of the house. I quite under:stand

your position and your anxiety that Mr. Pears0r shall

be--er--cleared if possible. But what can you da?"

"I don't expect to find anything," Emily replied, "or to notice anything that the police have overlooked. [ can't

explain to you, Mr. Kirkwood, I want--I want to get the

atmosphere of the place. Please let me have th key.

There's no harm in it."

"Certainly there's no harm in it," said Mr. Kir'lwood with dignity.

"Then, please be kind," said Emily.

So Mr. Kirkwood was kind and handed over the

with an indulgent smile. He did his best to COl with

her which catastrophe was only averted by great tact and

firmness on Emily's part.

That morning Emily had received a letter. It was

couched in the following terms:

"D,AR MISS Tlv.Y=usIs,"--wrote Mrs. Belling "You said as how you would like to hear if anything

at all should happen that was in any way out of the

common even if not important, and, as this is pe-culiar,

though not in any way important, I thought

Agatha Christie

it my duty Miss to let you know at once, hoping

this will catch you by the last post tonight or by the

first post tomorrow. My niece she come round and

said it wasn't of any importance but peculiar which

I agreed with her. The police said, and it was gen-erally

thought that nothing was taken from Captain

Trevelyan's house and nothing was in a manner of

speaking nothing that is of any value, but something

there is missing though not noticed at the time being

unimportant. But it seems Miss that a pair of the

Captain's boots is missing which Evans noticed when

he went over the things with Major Burnaby. Though

I don't suppose it is of any importance Miss I thought

you would like to know. It was a pair of boots Miss

the thick kind you rubs oil into and which the Cap-tain

would have worn if he had gone out in the snow

but as he didn't go out in the snow it doesn't seem

to make sense. But missing they are and who took

them nobody knows and though I well know it's of

no importance I felt it my duty to write and hoping

this finds you as it leaves me at present and hoping

you are not worrying too much about the young

gentleman I remain Miss Yours truly--Mrs. J. Bell-ing."

Emily had read and reread this letter. She had dis-cussed

it with Charles.

"Boots," said Charles thoughtfully. "It doesn't seem to make sense."

"It must mean something," Emily pointed out. "I

mean--why should a pair of boots be missing?"

"You don't think Evans is inventing?"

"Why should he? And after all if people do invent,

242

Murder at Hazelmoor

they invent something sensible. Not a silly pointless thing

like this."

"Boots suggests something to do with footprints," said Charles thoughtfully.

"I know. But footprints don't seem to enter into this

case at all. Perhaps if it hadn't come on to snow again--"

"Yes, perhaps, but even then."

"Could he have given them to some tramp," suggested Charles, "and then the tramp did him in."

"I suppose that's possible," said Emily, "but it doesn't sound very like Captain Trevelyan. He might perhaps

have found a man some work to do or given him a shilling,

but he wouldn't have pressed his best winter boots on

him."

"Well, I give it up," said Charles.

"I'm not going to give it up," said Emily. "By hook or by crook I'm going to get to the bottom of it"

Accordingly she came to Exhampton and went first to

the Three Crowns where Mrs. Belling received her with

great enthusiasm.

"And your young gentleman still in prison, Miss! Well,

it's a cruel shame and none of us don't believe it was

him at least I would like to hear them say so when I am

about. So you got my letter? You'd like to see Evans?

Well, he lives right round the corner, 85 Fore Street it

is. I wish I could come with you, but I can't leave the

place, but you can't mistake it."

Emily did not mistake it. Evans himself was out, but

Mrs. Evans received her and invited her in. Emily sat

down and induced Mrs. Evans to do so also and plunged

straight into the matter on hand.

243

Agatha Christie

"I've come to talk about what your husband told Mrs.

Belling. I mean about a pair of Captain Trevelyan's boots

being missing."

"It's an odd thing, to be sure," said the girl.

"Your husband is quite certain about it?"

"Oh, yes. Wore these boots most of the time in winter,

the Captain did. Big ones they were, and he wore a

couple of pairs of socks inside them."

Emily nodded.

"They can't have gone to be mended or anything like

that?" she suggested.

"Not without Evans knowing, they couldn't," said his wife boastfully.

"No, I suppose not."

"It's queer like," said Mrs. Evans, "but I don't suppose it had anything to do with the murder, do you, Miss?" "It doesn't seem likely," agreed Emily.

"Have they found out anything new, Miss?" The girl's voice was eager.

"Yes, one or two things--nothing very important."

"Seeing as that the Inspector from Exeter was here

again today, I thought as though they might."

"Inspector Narracott?'

"Yes, that's the one, Miss."

"Did he come by my train?"

"No, he came by car. He went to the Three Crowns

first and asked about the young gentleman's luggage."

"What young gentleman's luggage?"

"The gentleman you go about with, Miss."

Emily stared.

"They asked Torn," went on the girl, "I was passing

244

Murder at Hazelmoor

by just after and he told me about it. He's a one for

noticing is Torn. He remembered there were two labels

on the young gentleman's luggage, one to Exeter and

one to Exhampton."

A sudden smile illuminated Emily's face as she pictured

the crime being committed by Charles in order to

provide a scoop for himself. One could, she decided,

write a gruesome little story on that theme. But she

admired Inspector Narracott's thoroughness in checking

every detail to do with anyone, however remote their

connection with the crime. He must have left Exeter

almost immediately after his interview with her. A fast

car would easily beat the train and in any case she had

lunched in Exeter.

"Where did the Inspector go afterwards?" she asked. "To Sittaford, Miss. Torn heard him tell the driver."

"To Sittaford House?" '

Brian Pearson was, she knew, still staying at Sittaford

House with the Willetts.

"No, Miss, to Mr. Duke's."

Duke again. Emily felt irritated and baffled. Always

Duke--the unknown factor. She ought, she felt, to be

able to deduce him from the evidence but he seemed to

have produced the same effect on everyone--a normal,

ordinary, pleasant man.

"I've got to see hims" said Enily to herself. "I'll go straight there as soon as I get back to Sittaford."

Then she had thanked Mrs. Evans, gone on to Mr.

Kirkwood's and obtained the key and was now standing

in the hall of Hazelmoor and wondering how and what

she had expected to feel there.

z45

Agatha Christie

She mounted the stairs slowly and went into the first

room at the top of the stairs. This was quite clearly Captain Trevelyan's bedroom. It had, as Mr. Kirkwood had

said, been emptied of personal effects. Blankets were

folded in a neat pile, the drawers were empty, there was

not so much as a hanger left in the cupboard. The boot

cupboard showed a row of bare shelves.

Emily sighed and then turned and went downstairs.

Here was the sitting-room where the dead man had lain,

the snow blowing in from the open window.

She tried to visualize the scene. Whose hand had struck

Captain Trevelyan down, and why? Had he been killed

at five and twenty past five as everyone believed--or

had Jim really lost his nerve and lied? Had he failed to

make anyone hear at the front door and gone round to

the window, looked in and seen his dead uncle's body

and dashed away in an agony of fear? If only she knew.

According to Mr. Dacres, Jim stuck to his story. Yes--but

Jim might have lost his nerve. She couldn't be sure.

Had there been, as Mr. Rycroft had suggested, someone

else in the house--someone who had overheard the

quarrel and seized his chance?

If so--did that throw any light on the boot problem?

Had someone been upstairs--perhaps in Captain Trevelyan's

bedroom? Emily passed through the hall again.

She took a quick look into the dining-room, there were

a couple of trunks there neatly strapped and labeled. The

sideboard was bare. The silver cups were at Major Bur-naby's bungalow.

She noticed, however, that the prize of three new

246

Murder at Hazelmoor

novels, an account of which Charles had had from Evans'

and had reported with amusing embellishments to her,

had been forgotten and lay dejectedly on a chair.

She looked round the room and shook her head. There

was nothing here.

She went up the stairs again and once more entered

the bedroom.

She must know why these boots were missing! Until

she could concoct some theory reasonably satisfactory to

her herself which would account for their disappearance,

she felt powerless to put them out of her mind. They

were soaring to ridiculous proportions, dwarfing every-thing else to do with the case. Was there nothing to help

her?

She took each drawer out and felt behind it. In de-tective

stories there was always an obliging scrap of pa-per.

But evidently in real life one could not expect such

fortunate accidents, or else Inspector Narracott and his

men had been wonderfully thorough. She felt for loose

boards, she felt round the edge of the carpet with her

fingers. She investigated the spring mattress. What she

expected to find in all these places she hardly knew but

she went on looking with dogged perseverance.

And then, as she straightened her back and stood up-right,

her eye was caught by the one incongruous touch

in this room of apple pie order, a little pile of soot in the grate.

Emily looked at it with the fascinated gaze of a bird

for a snake. She drew nearer eyeing it. It was no logical

deduction, no reasoning of cause and effect, it was simply

z47

Agatha Christie

that the sight of soot as such, suggested a certain possibility. Emily rolled up her sleeves and thrust both arms

up the chimney.

A moment later she was staring with incredulous delight

at a parcel wrapped loosely in newspaper. One

shake detached the newspaper and there, before her,

were The missing pair of boots.

"But why?" said Emily. "Here they are. But why?

Why? Why? Why?"

She stared at them. She turned them over. She examined

them outside and inside and the same question

beat monotonously in her brain. Why?

Granted that someone had removed Captain Trevelyan's

boots and hidden them up the chimney. Why had

they done so?

"Oh!" cried Emily desperately, "I shall go mad!" She put the boots carefully in the middle of the floor

and drawing up a chair opposite them she sat down. And

then deliberately she set herself to think out things from

the beginning, going over every detail that she knew

herself or had learned by hearsay from other people. She

considered every actor in the drama and outside the

drama.

And suddenly, a queer nebulous idea began to take

shape--an idea suggested by that pair of innocent boots

that stood there dumbly on the floor.

"But if so," said Emily--"if so--"

She picked up the boots in her hand and hurried downstairs.

She pushed open the dining-room door and went

to the cupboard in the corner. Here was Captain Trevelyan's

motley array of sporting trophies and sporting

z48

Murder at Hazelmoor

outfits, all the things he had not trusted within reach of

the female tenants. The skis, the sculls, the elephant's

foot, the tusks, the fishing rods--everything still waiting

for Messrs. Young and Peabody to pack them expertly

for store.

Emily bent down boots in hand.

In a minute or two she stood upright, flushed, incre-dulous.

"So that was it," said Emily. "So that was it."

She sank into a chair. There was still much that she

did not understand.

After some minutes she rose to her feet. She spoke

aloud.

"I know who killed Captain Trevelyan," she said. "But I don't know why. I still can't think why. But I mustn't

lose time."

She hurried out of Hazelmoor. To find a car to drive

her to Sittaford was the work of a few minutes. She

ordered it to take her to Mr. Duke's bungalow. Here

she paid the man and then walked up the path as the

car drove away.

She lifted the knocker and gave a loud rat-tat.

After a moment or two's interval the door was opened

by a big burly man with a rather impassive face.

For the first time, Emily met Mr. Duke face to face.

"Mr. Duke?" she asked.

"Yes."

"I am Miss Trefusis. May I come in, please?"

There was a momentary hesftation. Then he stood

aside to let her pass. Emily walked into the living-room.

He closed the front door and followed her.

249

Agatha Christie

"I want to see Inspector Narracott," said Emily. "Is he here?"

Again there was a pause. Mr. Duke seemed uncertain

how to answer. At last he appeared to make up his mind.

He smiled--a rather curious smile.

"Inspector Narracott is here," he said. "What do you want to see him about?"

Emily took the parcel she was carrying and unwrapped

it. She took out a pair of boots and placed them on the

table in front of him.

"I want," she said, "to see him about those boots."

a5o

9. The Second S 'ance

"H tJ . x o, hullo, hullo," said Ronnie Garfield.

Mr. Rycroft, slowly ascending the steep slope of the

lane from the post office, paused, till Ronnie overtook

him.

"Been to the local Harrods, eh?" said Ronnie. "Old Mother Hibbert."

"No," said Mr. Rycroft. "I have been for a short walk

along past the forge. Very delightful weather today."

Ronnie looked up at the blue sky.

"Yes, a bit of a difference from last week. By the way,

you're going to the Willetts, I suppose?"

"I am. You also?"

"Yes. Our bright spot in Sittaford--the Willetts. Mustn't let yourself get downhearted, that's their motto. Carry

on as usual. My aunt says it is unfeeling of them to ask

people to tea so soon after the funeral and all that, but

that's all bunkum. She just says that because she's feeling

rattled about the Emperor of Peru."

"The Emperor of Peru?" said Mr. Rycroft surprised.

"One of the blinking cats. It's turned out to be an

Empress instead and Aunt Caroline's naturally annoyed

about it. She doesn't like these sex problems--so, as I

say, she got her feelings off her chest by making catty

remarks about the Willetts. Why shouldn't they ask peo-ple

to tea? Trevelyan wasn't a relation, or anything like

that."

251

Agatha Christie

"Very true," said Mr. Rycroft turning his head and examining a bird which flew past and in which he thought

he recognized a rare species.

"How annoying," he murmured. "I haven't got my glasses with me."

"Eh! I say, talking of Trevelyan, do you think Mrs.

Willett can have known the old boy better than she says?"

"Why do you ask that?"

"Because of the change in her. Have you ever seen

anything like it? She's aged about twenty years in the

last week. You must have noticed it."

"Yes," said Mr. Rycroft. "I have noticed it."

"Well, there you are. Trevelyan's death must have

been the most frightful shock to her in some way or other.

Queer if she turned out to be the old man's long lost

wife whom he deserted in his youth and didn't recog-nize."

"I hardly think that likely, Mr. Garfield."

"Bit too much of a Movie stunt, eh? All the same very

odd things happen. I've read some really amazing things

in the Daily Wire--things you wouldn't credit if a news-paper didn't print them."

"Are they any more to be credited on that account?" inquired Mr. Rycroft acidly.

"You have got a down on young Enderby, haven't

you?" said Ronnie.

"I dislike ill-bred nosing into affairs that do not concern you," said Mr. Rycroft.

"Yes, but then they do concern him," Ronnie per-sisted.

"I mean nosing about is the poor chap's job. He

seems to have tamed old Burnaby all right. Funny, the

MUrder at Hazelmoor

old boy can hardly bear the sight of me. I'm like a red

rag to a bull to him."

Mr. Rycroft did not reply.

"By Jove," said Ronnie again glancing up at the sky. "Do you realize it's Friday? Just a week ago today at

about this time we were trudging up to the Willetts

just as we are now. But a bit of a change in the

weather."

"A week ago," said Mr. Rycroft. "It seems infinitely longer."

"More like a bally year, doesn't it? Hullo, Abdul." They were passing Captain Wyatt's gate over which

the melancholy Indian was leaning.

"Good afternoon, Abdul," said Mr. Rycroft. "How's your master?"

The native shook his head.

"Master bad today, Sahib. Not see anyone. Not see

anyone for long time."

"You know," said Ronnie as they passed on, "that chap could murder Wyatt quite easily and no one would know.

He could go on for weeks shaking his head and saying

the master wouldn't see anyone and no one would think

it the least odd."

Mr. Rycroft admitted the truth if the statement.

"But there would still be the problem of the disposal

of the body," he pointed out.

"Yes, that's always the snag, isn't it? Inconvenient thing, a human body." They passed Major Burnaby's cottage. The Major was

in his garden looking sternly at a weed which was growing

where no weed should be.

z53

Agatha Christie

"Good afternoon, Major," said Mr. Rycroft. "Are you

also coming to Sittaford House?"

Burnaby rubbed his nose.

"Don't think so. They sent a note asking me. But--well--I don't feel like it. Expect you'll understand."

Mr. Rycroft bowed his head in token of understanding.

"All the same," he said, "I wish you'd come. I've got a reason."

"A reason. What sort of a reason?"

Mr. Bycroft hesitated. It was clear that the presence

of Bonnie Garfield constrained him. But Bonnie, com-pletely

oblivious of the i:act, stood his ground listening

with ingenuous interest.

"I'd like to try an experiment," he said at last slowly.

"What sort of experiment?" demanded Burnaby.

Mr. Bycroft hesitated.

"I'd rather not tell you before-hand. But if you come,

I'll ask you to back me up in anything I suggest."

Burnaby's curiosity was aroused.

"All right," he said. "I'll come. You can count on me. Where's my hat?"

He rejoined them in a minute, hat on head and all

three turned in at the gates of Sittaford House.

"Hear you are expecting company, Bycroft," said Bur-naby conversationally.

A shade of vexation passed over the older man's face.

"Who told you that?"

"That chattering magpie of a woman, Mrs. Curtis.

She's clean and she's honest, but her tongue never stops,

and she pays no attention to whether you listen or whether

you don't."

254

Murder at Hazelmoor

"It's quite true," admitted Mr. Rycroft. "I am ex-pecting my niece, Mrs. Dering, and her husband, to-morrow."

They had arrived at the front door by now, and on

pressing the bell it was opened to them by Brian Pearson.

As they removed their overcoats in the hall, Mr. Ry-croft

observed the tall broad-shouldered young man with

an interested eye.

"Fine specimen," he thought. "Very fine specimen. Strong temper. Curious angle of the jaw. Might be a

nasty customer to tackle in certain circumstances. What

you might call a dangerous young nan."

A queer feeling of unreality stole over Major Burnaby

as he entered the drawing-room, and Mrs. Willett rose

to greet him.

"Splendid of you to turn out."

The same words as last week. The same blazing fire

on the hearth. He fancied, but was not sure, the same

gowns on the two women.

It did give one a queer feeling. As though it were last

week again--as though Joe Trevelyan hadn't died--as

though nothing had happened or were changed. Stop,

that was wrong. The Willett woman had changed. A

wreck, that was the only way of describing her. No longer

the prosperous determined woman of the world, but a

broken nervy creature making an obvious and pathetic

effort to appear as usual. deg

"But I'm hanged if I can see what Joe's death meant

to her," thought the Major.

For the hundredth time he registered the impression

that there was something deuced odd about the Willetts.

z55

Agatha Christie

As usual, he awoke to the realization that he was being

silent and that someone was speaking to him.

"Our last little gathering, I am afraid," Mrs. Willett was saying.

"What's that?" Ronnie Garfield looked up suddenly.

"Yes." Mrs. Willett shook her head with a would-be smile. "We have got to forego the rest of the winter in Sittaford. Personally, of course, I love it--the snow and

the tors and the wildness of it all, But the domestic

problem! The domestic problem is too difficult--it de-feats

me!"

"I thought you were going to get a chauffeur butler

and a handy man," said Major Burnaby.

A sudden shiver shook Mrs. Willett's frame.

"No," she said, "I--I have had to give up that idea."

"Dear, dear," said Mr. Rycroft. "This is a great blow to us all. Very sad indeed. We will sink back into our

little rut after you have gone. When do you go, by the

way?"

"On Monday, I expect," said Mrs. Willett. "Unless I can get away tomorrow. It's so very awkward with no

servants. Of course, I must arrange things with Mr. Kirk-wood. I took the house for four months."

"You are going to London?" inquired Mr. Rycroft.

"Yes, probably, to start with anyway. Then I expect

we shall go abroad to the Riviera."

"A great loss," said Mr. Rycroft bowing gallantly. Mrs. Willett gave a queer aimless little titter.

"Too kind of you, Mr. Rycroft. Well, shall we have

tea?"

Tea was laid ready. Mrs. Willett poured out. Ronnie

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Murder at Hazelmoor

and Brian handed things. A queer kind of embarrassment

lay over the party.

"What about you?" said Burnaby abruptly to Brian

Pearson. "You off too?"

"To London, yes. Naturally I shan't go abroad till this business is over."

"This business?"

"I mean until my brother is cleared of this ridiculous

charge."

He flung the words at them defiantly in such a chal-lenging

manner that nobody knew quite what to say.

Major Burnaby relieved the situation.

"Never have believed he did it. Not for a moment," he said.

"None of us think so," said Violet, flinging him a grate-ful glance.

The tinkle of a bell broke the ensuing pause.

"That's Mr. Duke," said Mrs. Willett. "Let him in, Brian."

Young Pearson had gone to the window.

"It's not Duke," he said. "It's that damned journalist."

"Oh! dear," said Mrs. Willett. "Well, I suppose we must let him in all the same."

Brian nodded and reappeared in a few minutes with

Charles Enderby.

Enderby entered with his usual ingenuous air of beam-ing

satisfaction. The idea that he might not be welcome

did not seem to occur to him.

"Hullo, Mrs. Willett. How are you? Thought I'd just

drop in and see how things were. I wondered where

everyone in Sittaford had got to. Now, I see."

257

Agatha Christie

"Have some tea, Mr. Enderby?"

"Awfully kind of you. I will. I see Emily isn't here. I suppose she's with your aunt, Mr. Garfield."

"Not that I know of," said Ronnie staring. "I thought she'd gone to Exhampton."

"Ah! but she's back from there. How do I know? A

little bird told me. The Curtis bird, to be accurate. Saw

the car pass the post office and go up the lane and come

back empty. She is not in No. 5 and she's not in Sittaford

House. Puzzle--where is she? Failing Miss Percehouse,

she must be sipping tea with that determined lady killer,

Captain Wyatt."

"She may have gone up Sittaford Beacon to see the

sunset," suggested Mr. Rycroft.

"Don't think so," said Burnaby. "Should have seen her pass. I've been in the garden for the last hour."

"Well, I don't think it's a very vital problem," said Charles cheerfully. "I mean I don't think she's been

kidnapped or murdered or anything."

"That's a pity from the point of view of your paper,

isn't it?" sneered Brian.

"Even for copy, I wouldn't sacrifice Emily," said Charles.

"Emily," he added thoughtfully, "is unique."

"Very charming," said Mr. Rycroft. "Very charming. We are--er--collaborators, she and I."

"Has everyone finished?" said Mrs. Willett. "What about some bridge?"

"Er--one moment," said Mr. Rycroft.

He cleared his throat importantly. Everyone looked

at him.

"Mrs. Willett, I am, as you know, deeply interested

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Murder at Hazelmoor

in psychic phenomena. A week ago today, in this very

room, we had an amazing, indeed an awe inspiring experience." There was a faint sound from Violet Willtt. He turned

to her.

"I know, my dear Miss Willett, I know. The experience

upset you, it was upsetting. I do not deny it. Now, ever

since the crime the police force have been seeking the

murderer of Captain Trevelyan. They have made an arrest.

But some of us, at least, in this room, do not believe

that Mr. James Pearson is the guilty party. What I propose

is this, that we repeat the experiment of last Friday,

though approaching it this time in a rather different spirit." "No," cried Violet.

"Oh! I say," said Ronnie. "That's a bit too thick. I'm not going to join in anyway."

Mr. Rycroft took no notice of him.

"Mrs. Willett, what do you say?"

She hesitated.

"Frankly, Mr. Rycroft, I do not like the idea. I don't

like it at all. That miserable business last week made a

most disagreeable impression on me. It will take me a

long time to forget it."

"What are you getting at exactly?" asked Enderby interestedly.

"Do you propose that the spirits should tell

us the name of Captain Trevelyan's murderer? That seems

a pretty tall order."

"It was a pretty tall order, as you call it, when last

week a message came through saying that Captain Trevelyan

was dead."

"That's true," agreed Enderby. "But--well--you know

259

Agatha Christie

this idea of yours might have consequences you haven't

considered."

"Such as?"

"Supposing a name was mentioned? Could you be sure

that someone present did not deliberately--"

He paused and Ronnie Garfield tendered the word.

"Shove. That's what he means. Supposing somebody

goes and shoves."

"This is a serious experiment, sir," said Mr. Rycroft warmly. "Nobody would do such a thing."

"I don't know," said Ronnie dubiously. "I wouldn't put it past them. I don't mean myself. I swear I wouldn't,

but suppose everyone turns on me and says I have. Jolly

awkward, you know."

"Mrs. Willett, I am in earnest." The little old gentle-man disregarded Ronnie. "I beg of you, let us make the

experiment."

She wavered.

"I don't like it. I really don't. I--" She looked round her uneasily, as though for a way of escape. "Major Bur-naby, you were Captain Trevelyan's friend. What do you

say?"

The Major's eyes met those of Mr. Rycroft. This, he

understood, was the contingency which the latter had

foreshadowed.

"Why not?" he said gruffly.

It had all the decision of a casting vote.

Ronnie went into the adjoining room and brought the

small table which had been used before. He set it in the

middle of the floor and chairs were drawn up round it.

No one spoke. The experiment was clearly not popular.

260

Murder at Hazelmoor

"That is correct, I think," said Mr. Rycroft. "We are about to repeat the experiment of last Friday under pre-cisely similar conditions."

"Not precisely similar," objected Mrs. Willett. "Mr. Duke is missing."

"True," said Mr. Rycroft. "A pity he is not here. A great pity. Well--er--we must consider him as replaced

by Mr. Pearson."

"Don't take part in it, Brian. I beg of you. Please

don't," cried Violet.

"What does it matter? It's all nonsense anyway."

"That is quite the wrong spirit," said Mr. Rycroft se-verely.

Brian Pearson did not reply but took his place beside

Violet.

"Mr. Enderby," began Mr. Rycroft, but Charles in-terrupted him.

"I was not in on this. I'm a journalist and you mistrust me. I'll take notes in shorthand of any phenomena--that's

the word isn't it?--that occur."

Matters were settled like that. The other six took their

places round the table. Charles turned off the lights and

sat down on the fender.

"One minute," he said. "What's the time?" He peered

at his wrist watch in the firelight.

"That's odd," he said.

"What's odd?"

"It's just twenty-five minutes past five .... "

Violet uttered a little cry.

Mr. Rycroft said severely:

"Silence."

26x

Agatha Christie

t The iautes assed. A very differentatmosphere this

o me e a week ago. There was no muffled laughter,

no whi?ered comments--only silence, broken at last

oy a snot cracl from the table

Mr

'

,, ' ,croft's voice rose,

tis tre anyone there?"

Anot

.

. . r faint crack--somehow an eerie sound in that

oarKen

"is" room,

.ttre anyone there?"

27. %aok t',is time but a deafening tremendous rap.

wmetserearoed and Mrs. Willett gave a cry.

,,Bi, anpearsoO'S voice rose reassuringly.

lr s ll right. That's a knock at the front door. I'll go

ano open it."

I-t.e,,stde from the room.

5tiu t

oke

body P *

onSUddly the door flew open, the lights were switched

In thloorwaY stood Inspector Narracott. Behind him

were ily Trfusis and Mr. Duke.

,arr%tt took a step into the room and spoke.

jonn

.

BurnaDY, I charge you with the murder of Jo seph TrI:velyan on Friday the 14th instant, and I hereby

warn Y(h that anything you may sa will be taken down

and m% be usd in evidence.'

262

3deg. Emily Explains

I T was a crowd of people almost too surprised for words

that crowded round Emily Trefusis.

Inspector Narracott had led his prisoner from the room.

Charles Enderby found his voice first.

"For heaven's sake, cough it up, Emily," he said. "I want to get to the telegraph office. Every mmnent's vital."

"It was Major Burnaby who killed Captain Trevelyan."

"Well, I saw Narracott arrest him. And I suppose Narracott's sane--hasn't gone off his-nut suddenly. But how can Burnaby have killed Trevelyan? I mean how is it humanly possible? If Trevelyan was killed at five and

twenty past five--"

"He wasn't. He was killed at about a quarter to six."

"Well, but even then--"

"I know. You'd never guess unless you just happened

to think of it. Skis--that's the explanation--skis." "Skis?" repeated everyone. '

Emily nodded.

"Yes. He deliberately engineered that table turning.

It wasn't accident and done unconsciously as we thought,

Charles. It was the second alternative that we rejected

--done on purpose. He saw it was going to snow before

very long. That would make it perfectly safe and wipe

out all tracks. He created the impression that Captain

Trevelyan was dead--got everyone all worked up. Then

z63

Agatha Christie

he pretended to be very upset and insisted on starting

off for Exhampton.

"He went home, buckled on his skis (they were kept

in a shed in the garden with a lot of other tackle) and

started. He was an expert on skis. It's all down hill to

Exhampton--a wonderful run. It would only take about

ten minutes.

"He arrived at the window and rapped. Captain Trevelyan let him in, all unsuspecting. Then, when Captain

Trevelyan's back was turned he seized his opportunity,

picked up that sandbag thing and--and killed him. Ugh!

It makes me sick to think of it."

She shuddered.

"It was all quite easy. He had plenty of time. He must

have wiped and cleaned the skis and then put them into

the cupboard in the dining-room, pushed in among all

the other things. Then, I suppose he forced the window

and pulled out all the drawers and things--to make it

look as though someone had broken in.

"Then just before eight o'clock, all he had to do was

to go out, make a detour on to the road higher up and

come puffing and panting into Exhampton as though he'd

walked all the way from Sittaford. So long as no one

suspected about the skis, he'd be perfectly safe. The

doctor couldn't fail to say that Captain Trevelyan had

been dead at least two hours. And, as I say, so long as

no one thought of skis, Major Burnaby would have a

perfect alibi."

"But they were friends--Burnaby and Trevelyan," said Mr. Rycroft. "Old friends--they've always been friends. It's incredible."

e64

Murder at Hazelmoor

"I know," said Emily. "That's what I thought. I couldn't see why. I puzzled and I puzzled and at last I had to

come to Inspector Narracott and Mr. Duke."

She paused and looked at the impassive Mr. Duke.

"May I tell them?" she said.

Mr. Duke smiled.

"If you like, Miss Trefusis."

"Anyway--no, perhaps you'd rather I didn't. I went

to them, and we got the thing clear. Do you remember

telling me, Charles, that Evans mentioned that Captain

Trevelyan used to send in solutions of competitions in

his name? He thought Sittaford House was too grand an

address. Well--that's what he did in that Football Com-petition that you gave Major Burnaby five thousand pounds

for. It was Captain Trevelyan's solution really, and he

sent it in in Burnaby's name. No. 1, The Cottages, Sit-taford, sounded much better, he thought. Well, you see

what happened? On Friday morning Major Burnaby got

the letter saying he'd won five thousand pounds (and by

the way, that ought to have made us suspicious. He told

you he never got the letter--that nothing had come

through on Friday owing to the weather. That was a lie.

Friday morning was the last day things did come through).

Where was I? Oh!--Major Burnaby getting the letter.

He wanted that five thousand--wanted it badly. He'd

been investing in some rotten shares or other and had

lost a terrible lot of money.

"The idea must have come into his head quite sud-denly, I should think. Perhaps when he realized it was

going to snow that evening. If Trevelyan were dead-he could keep that money and no one would ever know."

z65

Agatha Christie

"Amazing," murmured Mr. Rycroft. "Quite amazing. I never dreamed--But my dear young lady, how did you

learn all this? What put you on the right track?"

For answer, Emily explained Mrs. Belling's letter, and

told how she had discovered the boots in the chimney.

"It was looking at them that put it into my mind. They

were ski boots, you see, and it made me think of skis.

And suddenly I wondered if perhaps--I rushed down-stairs

to the cupboard, and sure enough there were two

pairs of skis there. One pair was longer than the other.

And the boots fitted the long pair--but they didn't fit

the other. The toe clip things were adjusted for a much

smaller pair of boots. The shorter pair of skis belonged

to a different person."

"He ought to have hidden the skis somewhere else," said Mr. Rycroft with artistic disapproval.

"No--no," said Emily. "Where else could he hide them? It was a very good place really. In a day or two

the whole collection would have been stored, and in the

meantime it wasn't likely that the police would bother

whether Captain Trevelyan had had one or two pairs of

skis."

"But why did he hide the boots?"

"I suppose," said Emily, "that he was afraid the police might do exactly what I did--The sight of ski boots might

have suggested skis to them. So he stuffed them up the

chimney. And that's really, of course, where he made

his mistake, because Evans noticed that they'd gone and

I got to know of it."

"Did he deliberately mean to fasten the crime on Jim?" demanded Brian Pearson angrily.

266

Murder at Hazelmoor

"Oh! no. That was just Jim's usual idiotic luck. He was an idiot, poor lamb."

"He's all right now," said Charles. "You needn't worry about him. Have you told me everything, Emily, because

if so, I want to rush to the telegraph office. You'll excuse me everybody."

He dashed out of the room.

"The live wire," said Emily.

Mr. Duke spoke in his deep voice.

"You've been rather a live wire yourself, Miss Trefusis."

"You have," said Ronnie admiringly.

"Oh! dear," said Emily suddenly and dropped limply on a chair.

"What you need is a pick-me-up," said Ronnie. "A cocktail, eh?" Emily shook her head.

"A little brandy," suggested Mr. Rycroft solicitiously. "A cup of tea," suggested Violet.

"I'd like a spot of face powder," said Emily wistfully.

"I've left my powder puff in the car. And I know I'm

simply shining with excitement."

Violet led her upstairs in search of this sedative to the

nerves.

"That's better," said Emily dabbing her nose firmly.

"What a nice kind. I feel much better now. Have you

got any lipstick? I feel almost human."

"You've been wonderful," said Violet. "So brave."

"Not really," said Emily. "Underneath this camouflage I've been as wobbly as a jelly, with a sort of sick feeling

in my middle."

Agatha Christie

"I know," said Violet. "I've felt much the same myself. I have been so terrified this last few days--about Brian,

you know. They couldn't hang him for murdering Captain

Trevelyan, of course but if once he had said where

he was during that time, they would soon have ferreted

out that it was he who engineered father's escape."

"What's that?" said Emily pausing in her facial repairs.

"Father was the convict who escaped. That's why we

came here. Mother and I. Poor father, he's always--been

queer at times. Then he does these dreadful things.

We met Brian on the way over from Australia, and he

and I--well--he and I--"

"I see," said Emily helpfully. "Of course you did." "I told him everything and between us we concocted a plan. Brian was wonderful. We had got plenty of money

fortunately, and Brian made all the plans. It's awfully

hard to get away from Princetown, you know, but Brian

engineered it. Really it was a kind of miracle. The arrangement was that after father got away he was to go

straight across country here and hide in the Pixie's Cave

and then later he and Brian were to be our two men

servants. You see with our arriving so long beforehand

we imagined we would be quite free from suspicion. It

was Brian who told us about this place, and suggested

us offering a big rent to Captain Trevelyan."

"I'm awfully sorry," said Emily--"I mean that it all went wrong."

"It's broken mother up completely," said Violet. "I think Brian's wonderful. It isn't everybody who would want to marry a convict's daughter. But I don't think it's

really father's fault, he had an awful kick on the head

268

Murder at Hazelmoor

from a horse about fifteen years ago, and since then he

has been a bit queer. Brian says if he had a good counsel

he would have got off. But don't let's talk about me any

more."

"Can't anything be done?"

Violet shook her head.

"He's very ill--the exposure, you know. That awful

cold. It's pneumonia. I can't help feeling that if he

dies--well--it may be the best for him really. It sounds

dreadful to say so, but you know what I mean."

"Poor Violet," said Emily. "It is a rotten shame." The girl shook her head.

"I've got Brian," she said. "And you've got--" She stopped embarrassed.

"Ye-es," said Emily thoughtfully, "That's just it."

269

3 The Lucky Man

T v, N minutes later Emily was hurrying down the lane.

Captain Wyatt, leaning over his gate, tried to arrest her

progress.

"Hie," he said, "Miss Trefusis. What's all this I hear?"

"It's all true," said Emily hurrying on.

"Yes, but look here. Come in--have a glass of wine

or a cup of tea. There's plenty of time. No need to hurry.

That's the worst of you civilized people."

"We're awful, I know," said Emily and sped on.

She burst in on Miss Percehouse with the explosive

force of a bomb.

"I've come to tell you all about it," said Emily.

And straightway she poured forth the complete story.

It was punctuated by various ejaculations of "Bless us,"

"You don't say so? Well,

I declare," from Miss Perce house.

When

Emily had finished her narrative, Miss Perce-house raised

herself on her elbow and wagged a finger portentously.

"What did

I

say?" she demanded. "I told you Burnaby was ajealous man. Friends indeed! For more than twenty years Trevelyan has

done everything a bit better than Burnaby. He skied

better, and he climbed better and he shot better

and he did Cross Word Puzzles better. Burnaby wasn't a

big enough man to stand it. Trevelyan was rich and

he was poor.

27deg

Murder at Hazelmoor

"It's been going on a long time. I can tell you it's a

difficult thing to go on really liking a man who can do

everything just a little better than you can. Burnaby was

a narrow-minded, small-natured man. He let it get on

his nerves."

"I expect you're right," said Emily. "Well, I had to come and tell you. It seemed so unfair you should be

out of everything. By the way, did you know that your

nephew knew my Aunt Jennifer? They were having tea

together at Deller's on Wednesday."

"She's his godmother," said Miss Percehouse. "So that's the 'fellow' he wanted to see in Exeter. Borrowing money,

if I know Ronnie. I'll speak to him."

"I forbid you to bite anyone on a joyful day like this," said Emily. "Good-by. I nust fly. I've got a lot to do."

"What have you got to do, young woman? I should

say you'd done your bit."

"Not quite. I must go up to London and see Jim's

Insurance Company people and persuade them not to

prosecute him over that little matter of the borrowed

money."

"H'm," said Miss Percehouse.

"It's all right," said Emily. "Jim will keep straight enough in future. He's had his lesson."

"Perhaps. And you think you'll be able to persuade

them?"

"Yes," said Emily firmly.

"Well," said Miss Percehouse. "Perhaps you will. And after that?"

"After that," said Emily. "I've finished. I'll have done all I can for Jim."

Agatha Christie

"Then suppose we say--what next?" said Miss Perce-house.

"You mean?"

"What next? Or if you want it put clearer: Which of

them?"

"Oh!" said Emily.

"Exactly. That's what I want to know. Which of them

is to be the unfortunate man?"

Emily laughed. Bending over she kissed the old lady.

"Don't pretend to be an idiot," she said. "You know perfectly well which it is."

Miss Percehouse chuckled.

Emily ran lightly out of the house and down to the

gate just as Charles came racing up the lane.

He caught her by both hands.

"Emily darling!"

"Charles! Isn't everything marvelous?"

"I shall kiss you," said Mr. Enderby and did.

"I'm a made man, Emily," he said. "Now, look here,

darling, what about it?"

"What about what?"

"Well--I mean--well, of course, it wouldn't have been

playing the game with poor old Pearson in prison and

all the rest of it. But he's cleared now and--well, he has

got to take his medicine just like anybody else."

"What are you talking about?" said Emily.

"You know well enough I am crazy about you," said

Mr. Enderby, "and you like me. Pearson was just a

mistake. What I mean is--well--you and I, we are made

for each other. All this time, we have known it, both of

Murder at Hazelmoor

us, haven't we? Do you like a Registry Office or a Church,

or what?"

"If you are referring to marriage," said Emily, "there's nothing doing."

"What--but I say--"

"No," said Emily.

"But--Emily--"

"If you will have it," said Emily. "I love Jim. Passion-ately!"

Charles stared at her in speechless bewilderment.

"You can't!"

"I can! And I do! And I always have! And I always

shall!"

"You--you made me think--"

"I said," said Emily demurely, "that it was wonderful

to have someone one could rely on."

"Yes, but I thought--"

"I can't help what you thought."

"You are an unscrupulous devil, Emily."

"I know, Charles darling. I know. I'm everything you

like to call me. But never mind. Think how great you

are going to be. You've got your scoop! Exclusive news

for the Daily Wire. You're a made man. What's a woman

anyway? Less than the dust. No really strong man needs

a woman. She only hampers him by clinging to him like

the ivy. Every great man is one who is independent of

women. A career--there's nothing so fine, so absolutely

satisfying to a man, as a great career. You are a strong

man, Charles, one who can stand alone--"

"Will you stop talking, Emily? It's like a talk to Young

73

Agatha Christie

Men on the Wireless! You've broken my heart. You

don't know how lovely you looked as you came into that

room with Narracott. Just like something triumphant and

avenging off an arch."

A footstep crunched on the lane, and Mr. Duke ap-peared.

"Oh! there you are, Mr. Duke," said Emily. "Charles, I want to tell you. This is Ex-Chief Inspector Duke of

Scotland Yard."

"What?" cried Charles recognizing the famous name.

"Not the Inspector Duke?"

"Yes," said Emily. "When he retired, he came here to live, and being nice and modest he didn't want his

renown to get about. I see now why Inspector Narracott

twinkled so when I wanted him to tell me what kind of

crimes Mr. Duke had committed."

Mr. Duke laughed.

Charles wavered. There was a short tussle between

the lover and the journalist. The journalist won.

"I'm delighted to meet you, Inspector," he said. "Now, I wonder if we could persuade you to do us a short article,

say eight hundred words, on the Trevelyan Case."

Emily stepped quickly up the lane and into Mrs. Cur-tis's

cottage. She ran up to her bedroom and pulled out

her suitcase. Mrs. Curtis had followed her up.

"You're not going, Miss?"

"I am. I've got a lot to do--London, and my young

man." '.

Mrs. Curtis drew nearer.

"Just tell me, Miss, which of 'em is it?"

Emily was throwing clothes haphazard into the suitcase.

74

Murder at Hazelmoor

"The one in prison, of course. There's never been any

other."

"Ah! You don't think, Miss, that maybe you're making

a mistake. You're sure the other young gentleman is

worth as much as this one?"

"Oh! no," said Emily. "He isn't. This one will get on." She glanced out of the window where Charles was still

holding Ex-Chief Inspector Duke in earnest parley. "He's the kind of young man who's simply born to get on--but

I don't know what would happen to the other one if

I weren't there to look after him. Look where he would

be now if it weren't for me!"

"And you can't say more than that, Miss," said Mrs. Curtis.

She retreated downstairs to where her lawful spouse

was sitting and staring into vacancy.

"The living image of my Great Aunt Sarah's Belinda

she is," said Mrs. Curtis. "Threw herself away she did on that miserable George Plunket down at the Three

Cows. Mortaged and all it was. And in two years she

had the mortgage paid offand the place a going concern."

"Ah!" said Mr. Curtis and shifted his pipe slightly.

"He was a handsome fellow, George Plunket," said

Mrs. Curtis reminiscently.

"Ah!" said Mr. Curtis.

"But after he married Belinda he never so much as

looked at another woman."

"Ah!" said Mr. Curtis.

"She never gave him the chance," said Mrs. Curtis.

"Ah!" said Mr. Curtis.

z75

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