Agatha Christie - Peril at End House

Poirot's first visit was to a florist.

'I must send some flowers to Mademoiselle Nick,' he explained.

He proved difficult to suit.

In the end he chose an ornate gold basket to be filled with orange carnations. The whole to be tied up with a large blue bow.

The shopwoman gave him a card and he wrote on it with a flourish: 'With the Compliments of Hercule Poirot.'

'I sent her some flowers this morning,' said Challenger. 'I might send her some fruit.'

'Inutile!' said Poirot.

'What?'

'I said it was useless. The eatable-it is not permitted.'

'Who says so?'

'I say so. I have made the rule. It has already been impressed on Mademoiselle Nick. She understands.'

'Good Lord!' said Challenger.

He looked thoroughly startled. He stared at Poirot curiously.

'So that's it, is it?' he said. 'You're still-afraid.'

The inquest was a dry proceeding-mere bare bones. There was evidence of identification, then I gave evidence of the finding of the body. Medical evidence followed.

The inquest was adjourned for a week.

The St Loo murder had jumped into prominence in the daily press. It had, in fact, succeeded 'Seton Still Missing. Unknown Fate of Missing Airman.'

Now that Seton was dead and due tribute had been paid to his memory, a new sensation was due. The St Loo Mystery was a godsend to papers at their wits' end for news in the month of August.

After the inquest, having successfully dodged reporters, I met Poirot, and we had an interview with the Rev. Giles Buckley and his wife.

Maggie's father and mother were a charming pair, completely unworldly and unsophisticated.

Mrs Buckley was a woman of character, tall and fair and showing very plainly her northern ancestry. Her husband was a small man, grey-haired, with a diffident appealing manner.

Poor souls, they were completely dazed by the misfortune that had overtaken them and robbed them of a well-beloved daughter. 'Our Maggie', as they called her.

'I can scarcely realize it even now,' said Mr Buckley. 'Such a dear child, M. Poirot. So quiet and unselfish-always thinking of others. Who could wish to harm her?'

'I could hardly understand the telegram,' said Mrs Buckley. 'Why it was only the morning before that we had seen her off.'

'In the midst of life we are in death,' murmured her husband.

'Colonel Weston has been very kind,' said Mrs Buckley. 'He assures us that everything is being done to find the man who did this thing. He must be a madman. No other explanation is possible.'

'Madame, I cannot tell you how I sympathize with you in your loss-and how I admire your bravery!'

'Breaking down would not bring Maggie back to us,' said Mrs Buckley, sadly.

'My wife is wonderful,' said the clergyman. 'Her faith and courage are greater than mine. It is all so-so bewildering, M. Poirot.'

'I know-I know, Monsieur.'

'You are a great detective, M. Poirot?' said Mrs Buckley.

'It has been said, Madame.'

'Oh! I know. Even in our remote country village we have heard of you. You are going to find out the truth, M. Poirot?'

'I shall not rest until I do, Madame.'

'It will be revealed to you, M. Poirot,' quavered the clergyman. 'Evil cannot go unpunished.'

'Evil never goes unpunished, Monsieur. But the punishment is sometimes secret.'

'What do you mean by that, M. Poirot?' Poirot only shook his head.

'Poor little Nick,' said Mrs Buckley. 'I am really sorriest of all for her. I had a most pathetic letter. She says she feels she asked Maggie down here to her death.'

'That is morbid,' said Mr Buckley.

'Yes, but I know how she feels. I wish they would let me see her. It seems so extraordinary not to let her own family visit her.'

'Doctors and nurses are very strict,' said Poirot, evasively. 'They make the rules-so-and nothing will change them. And doubtless they fear for her the emotion-the natural emotion-she would experience on seeing you.'

'Perhaps,' said Mrs Buckley, doubtfully. 'But I don't hold with nursing homes. Nick would do much better if they let her come back with me-right away from this place.'

'It is possible-but I fear they will not agree. It is long since you have seen Mademoiselle Buckley?'

'I haven't seen her since last autumn. She was at Scarborough. Maggie went over and spent the day with her and then she came back and spent a night with us. She's a pretty creature-though I can't say I like her friends. And the life she leads-well, it's hardly her fault, poor child. She's had no upbringing of any kind.'

'It is a strange house-End House,' said Poirot thoughtfully.

'I don't like it,' said Mrs Buckley. 'I never have. There's something all wrong about that house. I disliked old Sir Nicholas intensely. He made me shiver.'

'Not a good man, I'm afraid,' said her husband. 'But he had a curious charm.'

'I never felt it,' said Mrs Buckley. 'There's an evil feeling about that house. I wish we'd never let our Maggie go there.'

'Ah! wishing,' said Mr Buckley, and shook his head.

'Well,' said Poirot. 'I must not intrude upon you any longer. I only wished to proffer to you my deep sympathy.'

'You have been very kind, M. Poirot. And we are indeed grateful for all you are doing.'

'You return to Yorkshire -when?'

'Tomorrow. A sad journey. Goodbye, M. Poirot, and thank you again.’

‘Very simple delightful people,' I said, after we had left. Poirot nodded.

'It makes the heart ache, does it not, mon ami? A tragedy so useless-so purposeless. Cette jeune fille – Ah! but I reproach myself bitterly. I, Hercule Poirot, was on the spot and I did not prevent the crime!'

'Nobody could have prevented it.'

'You speak without reflection, Hastings. No ordinary person could have prevented it-but of what good is it to be Hercule Poirot with grey cells of a finer quality than other people's, if you do not manage to do what ordinary people cannot?'

'Well, of course,' I said. 'If you are going to put it like that-’

‘Yes, indeed. I am abased, downhearted-completely abased.'

I reflected that Poirot's abasement was strangely like other people's conceit, but I prudently forbore from making any remark.

'And now,' he said, 'en avant. To London.’

‘ London?'

'Mais oui. We shall catch the two o'clock train very comfortably. All is peaceful here. Mademoiselle is safe in the nursing home. No one can harm her. The watch-dogs, therefore, can take leave of absence. There are one or two little pieces of information that I require.'

Our first proceeding on arriving in London was to call upon the late Captain Seton's solicitors, Messrs Whitfield, Pargiter Whitfield.

Poirot had arranged for an appointment beforehand, and although it was past six o'clock, we were soon closeted with Mr Whitfield, the head of the firm.

He was a very urbane and impressive person. He had in front of him a letter from the Chief Constable and another from some high official at Scotland Yard.

'This is all very irregular and unusual, M.-ah-Poirot,' he said, as he polished his eyeglasses.

'Quite so, M. Whitfield. But then murder is also irregular-and, I am glad to say, sufficiently unusual.'

'True. True. But rather far-fetched-to make a connection between this murder and my late client's bequest-eh?'

'I think not.'

'Ah! you think not. Well-under the circumstances-and I must admit that Sir Henry puts it very strongly in his letter-I shall be-er-happy to do anything that is in my power.'

'You acted as legal adviser to the late Captain Seton?'

'To all the Seton family, my dear sir. We have done so-our firm have done so, I mean-for the last hundred years.'

'Parfaitement. The late Sir Matthew Seton made a will?'