Agatha Christie - Dead Man's Folly

"I have been wondering, Mrs Tucker, whether Marlene was already acquainted with this – er – homicidal maniac."

"She wouldn't know nobody like that," said Mrs Tucker virtuously.

"Ah," said Poirot, "but as your husband has just observed, these maniacs are very difficult to spot. They look the same as – er – you and me. Someone may have spoken to Marlene at the fête, or even before it. Made friends with her in a perfectly harmless manner. Given her presents, perhaps."

"Oh, no, sir, nothing of that kind. Marlene wouldn't take presents from a stranger. I brought her up better than that."

"But she might see no harm in it," said Poirot, persisting. "Supposing it had been some nice lady who had offered her things."

"Someone, you mean, like young Mrs Legge down to the Mill Cottage."

"Yes," said Poirot. "Someone like that."

"Give Marlene a lipstick once, she did," said Mrs Tucker. "Ever so mad, I was. I won't have you putting that muck on your face, Marlene, I said. Think what your father would say. Well, she says, perky as may be, 'tis the lady down at Lawder's Cottage as give it me. Said as how it would suit me, she did. Well, I said, don't you listen to what no London ladies say. 'Tis all very well for them, painting their faces and blacking their eyelashes and everything else. But you're a decent girl, I said, and you wash your face with soap and water until you're a good deal older than what you are now."

"But she did not agree with you, I expect," said Poirot, smiling.

"When I say a thing I mean it," said Mrs Tucker.

The fat Marilyn suddenly gave an amused giggle. Poirot shot her a keen glance.

"Did Mrs Legge give Marlene anything else?" he asked.

"Believe she gave her a scarf or summat – one she hadn't no more use for. A showy sort of thing, but not much quality. I know quality when I see it," said Mrs Tucker, nodding her head. "Used to work at Nasse House as a girl, I did. Proper stuff the ladies wore in those days. No gaudy colours and all this nylon and rayon; real good silk. Why, some of their taffeta dresses would have stood up by themselves."

"Girls like a bit of finery," said Mr Tucker indulgently. "I don't mind a few bright colours myself, but I won't have this 'ere mucky lipstick."

"A bit sharp I was with her," said Mrs Tucker, her eyes suddenly misty, "and her gorn in that terrible way. Wished afterwards I hadn't spoken so sharp. Ah, nought but trouble and funerals lately, it seems. Troubles never come singly, so they say, and 'tis true enough."

"You have had other losses?" inquired Poirot politely.

"The wife's father," explained Mr Tucker. "Come across the ferry in his boat from the Three Dogs late at night, and must have missed his footing getting on to the quay and fallen in the river. Of course he ought to have stayed quiet at home at his age. But there, yu can't do anything with the old 'uns. Always pottering about on the quay, he was."

"Father was a great one for the boats always," said Mrs Tucker. "Used to look after them in the old days for Mr Folliat, years and years ago that was. Not," she added brightly, "as father's much loss, as you might say. Well over ninety, he was, and trying in many of his ways. Always babbling some nonsense or other. 'Twas time he went. But, of course, us had to bury him nice – and two funerals running costs a lot of money."

These economic reflections passed Poirot by – a faint remembrance was stirring.

"An old man – on the quay? I remember talking to him. Was his name -?"

"Merdell, sir. That was my name before I married."

"Your father, if I remember rightly, was head gardener at Nasse?"

"No, that was my eldest brother. I was the youngest of the family – eleven of us, there were." She added with some pride. "There's been Merdells at Nasse for years, but they're all scattered now. Father was the last of us."

Poirot said softly:

"There'll always be Folliats at Nasse House."

"I beg your pardon, sir?"

"I am repeating what your old father said to me on the quay."

"Ah, talked a lot of nonsense, father did. I had to shut him up pretty sharp now and then."

"So Marlene was Merdell's granddaughter," said Poirot. "Yes, I begin to see." He was silent for a moment, an immense excitement was surging within him. "Your father was drowned, you say, in the river?"

"Yes, sir. Took a drop too much, he did. And where he got the money from, I don't know. Of course he used to get tips now and again on the quay helping people with boats or with parking their cars. Very cunning he was at hiding his money from me. Yes, I'm afraid as he'd had a drop too much. Missed his footing, I'd say, getting off his boat on to the quay. So he fell in and was drowned. His body was washed up down to Helmmouth the next day. 'Tis a wonder, as you might say, that it never happened before, him being ninety-two and half blinded anyway."

"The fact remains that it did not happen before -"

"Ah, well, accidents happen, sooner or later -"

"Accident," mused Poirot. "I wonder."

He got up. He murmured:

"I should have guessed. Guessed long ago. The child practically told me -"

"I beg your pardon, sir?"

"It is nothing," said Poirot. "Once more I tender you my condolences both on the death of your daughter and on that of your father."

He shook hands with them both and left the cottage. He said to himself:

"I have been foolish – very foolish. I have looked at everything the wrong way round."

"Hi – mister."

It was a cautious whisper. Poirot looked round. The fat child Marilyn was standing in the shadow of the cottage wall. She beckoned him to her and spoke in a whisper.

"Mum don't know everything," she said. "Marlene didn't get that scarf off of the lady down at the cottage."

"Where did she get it?"

"Bought it in Torquay. Bought some lipstick, too, and some scent – Newt in Paris – funny name. And a jar of foundation cream, what she'd read about in an advertisement." Marilyn giggled. "Mum doesn't know. Hid it at the back of her drawer, Marlene did, under her winter vests. Used to go into the convenience at the bus stop and do herself up, when she went to the pictures."

Marilyn giggled again.

"Mum never knew."

"Didn't your mother find these things after your sister died?"

Marilyn shook her fair fluffy head.

"No," she said. "I got 'em now – in my drawer. Mum doesn't know."

Poirot eyed her consideringly, and said:

"You seem a very clever girl, Marilyn."

Marilyn grinned rather sheepishly.

"Miss Bird says it's no good my trying for the grammar school."

"Grammar school is not everything," said Poirot. "Tell me, how did Marlene get the money to buy these things?"

Marilyn looked with close attention at a drainpipe.

"Dunno," she muttered.

"I think you do know," said Poirot.

Shamelessly he drew out a half-crown from his pocket and added another half-crown to it.

"I believe," he said, "there is a new, very attractive shade of lipstick called 'Carmine Kiss.'"

"Sounds smashing," said Marilyn, her hand advanced towards the five shillings. She spoke in a rapid whisper. "She used to snoop about a bit, Marlene did. Used to see goings-on – you know what. Marlene would promise not to tell and then they'd give her a present, see?"

Poirot relinquished the five shillings.

"I see," he said.

He nodded to Marilyn and walked away. He murmured again under his breath, but this time with intensified meaning:

"I see."

So many things now fell into place. Not all of it. Not clear yet by any means – but he was on the right track. A perfectly clear trail all the way if only he had had the wit to see it. That first conversation with Mrs Oliver, some casual words of Michael Weyman's, the significant conversation with old Merdell on the quay, an illuminating phrase spoken by Miss Brewis – the arrival of Etienne De Sousa.