Agatha Christie - Hallowe'en Party

The man said "Nonsense," and they went on. I saw there was blood on a scarf and there was a knife with blood on that and I thought perhaps someone had tried to kill themselves and I went on keeping very still."

"Because you were frightened?"

"Yes, but I don't know why."

"You didn't tell your mother?"

"No. I thought perhaps I oughtn't to have been there watching. And then the next day nobody said anything about an accident, so I forgot about it. I never thought about it again until-" She stopped suddenly. The Chief Constable opened his mouth-then shut it.

He looked at Poirot and made a very slight gesture.

"Yes, Miranda," said Poirot, "until what?"

"It was as though it was happening all over again. It was a green woodpecker this time, and I was being very still, watching it from behind some bushes. And those two were sitting there talking-about an island-a Greek island. She said something like, "It's all signed up.

It's ours, we can go to it whenever we like. But we'd better go slow still-not rush things." And then the woodpecker flew away, and I moved. And she said- "Hush-be quiet -somebody's watching us." It was just the way she'd said it before, and she had just the same look on her face, and I was frightened again, and I remembered. And this time I knew. I knew it had been a murder I had seen and it had been a dead body they were carrying away to hide somewhere. You see, I wasn't a child any more. I knew-things and what they must mean the blood and the knife and the dead body all limp "

"When was this?" asked the Chief Constable. "How long ago?"

Miranda thought for a moment.

"Last March just after Easter."

"Can you say definitely who these people were, Miranda?"

"Of course I can." Miranda looked bewildered.

"You saw their faces?"

"Of course."

"Who were they?"

"Mrs. Drake and Michael?"

It was not a dramatic denunciation. Her voice was quiet, with something in it like wonder, but it carried conviction.

The Chief Constable said, "You did not tell anyone. Why not?"

"I thought- I thought it might have been a sacrifice."

"Who told you that?"

"Michael told me. He said sacrifices were necessary."

Poirot said gently, "You loved Michael?"

"Oh yes," said Miranda, "I loved him very much."

"I've got you here at last," said Mrs. Oliver, "I want to know all about everything."

She looked at Poirot with determination and asked severely:

"Why haven't you come sooner?"

"My excuses, Madame, I have been much occupied assisting the police with their inquiries."

"It's criminals who do that. What on earth made you think of Rowena Drake being mixed up in a murder? Nobody else would have dreamed of it?"

"It was simple as soon as I got the vital clue."

"What do you call the vital clue?"

"Water. I wanted someone who was at the party and who was wet, and who shouldn't have been wet. Whoever killed Joyce Reynolds would necessarily have got wet. You hold down a vigorous child with its head in a full bucket of water, and there will be struggling and splashing and you are bound to be wet. So something has got to happen to provide an innocent explanation of how you got wet. When everyone crowded into the dining-room for the Snapdragon, Mrs. Drake took Joyce with her to the library. If your hostess asks you to come with her, naturally you go. And certainly Joyce had no suspicion of Mrs. Drake. All Miranda had told her was that she had once seen a murder committed.

And so Joyce was killed and her murderer was fairly well soaked with water. There must be a reason for that and she set about creating a reason. She had to get a witness as to how she got wet. She waited on the landing with an enormous vase of flowers filled with water. In due course Miss Whittaker came out from the Snapdragon room - it was hot in there. Mrs. Drake pretended to start nervously, and let the vase go, taking care that it flooded her person as it crashed down to the hall below. She ran down the stairs and she and Miss Whittaker picked up the pieces and the flowers while Mrs. Drake complained at the loss of her beautiful vase. She managed to give Miss Whittaker the impression that she had seen something or someone coming out of the room where a murder had been committed. Miss Whittaker took the statement at its face value, but when she mentioned it to Miss Ernlyn, Miss Ernlyn realised the really interesting thing about it. And so she urged Miss Whittaker to tell me the story.

"And so," said Poirot, twirling his moustaches, "I, too, knew who the murderer of Joyce was."

"And all the time Joyce had never seen any murder committed at all!"

"Mrs. Drake did not know that. But she had always suspected that someone had been there in the Quarry Wood when she and Michael Garfield had killed Olga Seminoff, and might have seen it happen."

"When did you know it had been Miranda and not Joyce?"

"As soon as common sense forced me to accept the universal verdict that Joyce was a liar. Then Miranda was clearly indicated.

She was frequently in the Quarry Wood, observing birds and squirrels.

Joyce was, as Miranda told me, her best friend. She said: "We tell each other everything."

Miranda was not at the party, so the compulsive liar Joyce could use the story her friend her told her of having once seen a murder committed-probably in order to impress you, Madame, the well-known crime writer."

"That's right, blame it all on me."

"No, no."

"Rowena Drake," mused Mrs. Oliver. "I still can't believe it of her."

"She had all the qualities necessary. I have always wondered," he added, "exactly what sort of a woman Lady MacBeth was. What would she be like if you met her in real life? Well, I think I have met her."

"And Michael Garfield? They seem such an unlikely pair."

"Interesting-Lady Macbeth and Narcissus, an unusual combination."

"Lady Macbeth," Mrs. Oliver murmured thoughtfully.

"She was a handsome woman-efficient and competent-a born administrator-an unexpectedly good actress. You should have heard her lamenting over the death of the little boy Leopold and weeping large sobs into a dry handkerchief."

"Disgusting."

"You remember I asked you who, in your opinion, were or were not nice people."

"Was Michael Garfield in love with her?"

"I doubt if Michael Garfield has ever loved anyone but himself. He wanted money-a lot of money. Perhaps he believed at first he could influence Mrs. Llewellyn-Smythe to dote upon him to the extent of making a Will in his favour-but Mrs. Llewellyn-Smythe was not that kind of woman."

"What about the forgery? I still don't understand that. What was the point of it all?"

"It was confusing at first. Too much forgery, one might say. But if one considered it, the purpose of it was clear.

You had only to consider what actually happened.

"Mrs. Llewellyn-Smythe's fortune all went to Rowena Drake. The codicil produced was so obviously forged that any lawyer would spot it.

It would be contested, and the evidence of experts would result in its being upset, and the original Will would stand. As Rowena Drake's husband had recently died she would inherit everything."

"But what about the codicil that the cleaning woman witnessed?"

"My surmise is that Mrs. Llewellyn-Smythe discovered that Michael Garfield and Rowena Drake were having an affair -probably before her husband died. In her anger Mrs. Llewellyn-Smythe made a codicil to her Will leaving everything to her au pair girl. Probably the girl told Michael about this-she was hoping to marry him."

"I thought it was young Ferrier?"

"That was a plausible tale told me by Michael. There was no confirmation of it."

"Then if he knew there was a real codicil why didn't he marry Olga and get hold of the money that way?"