Agatha Christie - The Clocks

‘So Merlina Rival was in it up to the neck?’

‘Do you know, I rather doubt that. Suppose an old friend or acquaintance goes to her and says: “Look here, I’m in a bit of a spot. A chap I’ve had business dealings with has been murdered. If they identify him and all our dealings come to light, it will be absolute disaster. But if you were to come along and say it’s that husband of yours, Harry Castleton, who did a bunk years ago, then the whole case will peter out.” ’

‘Surely she’d jib at that-say it was too risky?’

‘If so, that someone would say: “What’s the risk? At the worst, you’ve made a mistake. Any woman can make a mistake after fifteen years.” And probably at that point a nice little sum would have been mentioned. And she says O.K. she’ll be a sport! and do it.’

‘With no suspicions?’

‘She wasn’t a suspicious woman. Why, good lord, Colin, every time we catch a murderer there are people who’ve known him well, and simply can’t believe he could do anything like that!’

‘What happened when you went up to see her?’

‘I put the wind up her. After I left, she did what I expected she’d do-tried to get in touch with the man or woman who’d got her into this. I had a tail on her, of course. She went to a post office and put through a call from an automatic call-box. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the box I’d expected her to use at the end of her own street. She had to get change. She came out of the call-box looking pleased with herself. She was kept under observation, but nothing of interest happened until yesterday evening. She went to Victoria Station and took a ticket to Crowdean. It was half past six, the rush hour. She wasn’t on her guard. She thought she was going to meet whoever it was at Crowdean. But the cunning devil was a step ahead of her. Easiest thing in the world to gang up behind someone in a crowd, and press the knife in…Don’t suppose she even knew she had been stabbed. People don’t, you know. Remember that case of Barton in the Levitti Gang robbery? Walked the length of a street before he fell down dead. Just a sudden sharp pain-then you think you’re all right again. But you’re not. You’re dead on your feet although you don’t know it.’

He finished up: ‘Damn and damn and damn!’

‘Have you-checked on-anybody?’

I had to ask. I couldn’t help myself.

His reply came swift and sharp.

‘The Pebmarsh woman was in London yesterday. She did some business for the Institute and returned to Crowdean by the 7.40 train.’ He paused. ‘And Sheila Webb took up a typescript to check over with a foreign author who was in London on his way to New York. She left the Ritz Hotel at 5.30 approx. and took in a cinema-alone-before returning.’

‘Look here, Hardcastle,’ I said, ‘I’ve got something for you. Vouched for by an eye witness. A laundry van drew up at 19, Wilbraham Crescent at 1.35 on September the 9th. The man who drove it delivered a big laundry basket at the back door of the house. It was a particularly large laundry basket.’

‘Laundry? What laundry?’

‘The Snowflake Laundry. Know it?’

‘Not off-hand. New laundries are always starting up. It’s an ordinary sort of name for a laundry.’

‘Well-you check up. A man drove it-and a man took the basket into the house-’

Hardcastle’s voice came suddenly, alert with suspicion.

‘Are you making this up, Colin?’

‘No. I told you I’ve got an eye witness. Check up, Dick. Get on with it.’

I rang off before he could badger me further.

I walked out from the box and looked at my watch. I had a good deal to do-and I wanted to be out of Hardcastle’s reach whilst I did it. I had my future life to arrange.

Colin Lamb’s Narrative

I arrived at Crowdean at eleven o’clock at night, five days later. I went to the Clarendon Hotel, got a room, and went to bed. I’d been tired the night before and I overslept. I woke up at a quarter to ten.

I sent for coffee and toast and a daily paper. It came and with it a large square note addressed to me with the words BY HAND in the top left-hand corner.

I examined it with some surprise. It was unexpected. The paper was thick and expensive, the superscription neatly printed.

After turning it over and playing with it, I finally opened it.

Inside was a sheet of paper. Printed on it in large letters were the words:

(Knock three times)

I stared at it, turned it over in my hand-what was all this?

I noted the room number-413-the same as the clocks. A coincidence? Or not a coincidence.

I had thoughts of ringing the Curlew Hotel. Then I thought of ringing Dick Hardcastle. I didn’t do either.

My lethargy was gone. I got up, shaved, washed, dressed and walked along the front to the Curlew Hotel and got there at the appointed time.

The summer season was pretty well over now. There weren’t many people about inside the hotel.

I didn’t make any inquiries at the desk. I went up in the lift to the fourth floor and walked along the corridor to No. 413.

I stood there for a moment or two: then, feeling a complete fool, I knocked three times…

A voice said, ‘Come in.’

I turned the handle, the door wasn’t locked. I stepped inside and stopped dead.

I was looking at the last person on earth I would have expected to see.

Hercule Poirot sat facing me. He beamed at me.

‘Une petite surprise, n’est-ce pas?’ he said. ‘But a pleasant one, I hope.’

‘Poirot, you old fox,’ I shouted. ‘How did you get here?’

‘I got here in a Daimler limousine-most comfortable.’

‘But what are you doing here?’

‘It was most vexing. They insisted, positively insisted on the redecoration of my apartment. Imagine my difficulty. What can I do? Where can I go?’

‘Lots of places,’ I said coldly.

‘Possibly, but it is suggested to me by my doctor that the air of the sea will be good for me.’

‘One of those obliging doctors who finds out where his patient wants to go, and advises him to go there! Was it you who sent me this?’ I brandished the letter I had received.

‘Naturally-who else?’

‘Is it a coincidence that you have a room whose number is 413?’

‘It is not a coincidence. I asked for it specially.’

‘Why?’

Poirot put his head on one side and twinkled at me.

‘It seemed to be appropriate.’

‘And knocking three times?’

‘I could not resist it. If I could have enclosed a sprig of rosemary it would have been better still. I thought of cutting my finger and putting a bloodstained fingerprint on the door. But enough is enough! I might have got an infection.’

‘I suppose this is second childhood,’ I remarked coldly. ‘I’ll buy you a balloon and a woolly rabbit this afternoon.’

‘I do not think you enjoy my surprise. You express no joy, no delight at seeing me.’

‘Did you expect me to?’

‘Pourquoi pas? Come, let us be serious, now that I have had my little piece of foolery. I hope to be of assistance. I have called up the chief constable who has been of the utmost amiability, and at this moment I await your friend, Detective Inspector Hardcastle.’

‘And what are you going to say to him?’

‘It was in my mind that we might all three engage in conversation.’

I looked at him and laughed. He might call it conversation-but I knew who was going to do the talking.

Hercule Poirot!

Hardcastle had arrived. We had had the introduction and the greetings. We were now settled down in a companionable fashion, with Dick occasionally glancing surreptitiously at Poirot with the air of a man at the Zoo studying a new and surprising acquisition. I doubt if he had ever met anyone quite like Hercule Poirot before!