Hallowe'en Party

"Well, hurry up," said her mother.

Miranda ran into the sitting-room where the telephone was situated.

Judith and Mrs. Oliver put suitcases into the car.

Miranda came out of the sitting-room.

"I left a message," she said breathlessly.

"That's all right now."

"I think you're mad, Ariadne," said Judith, as they got into the car.

"Quite mad. What's it all about?"

"We shall know in due course, I suppose," said Mrs. Oliver.

"I don't know if I'm mad or he is."

"He? Who?"

"Hercule Poirot," said Mrs. Oliver.

In London Hercule Poirot was sitting in a room with four other men. One was Inspector Timothy Raglan, looking respectful and poker-faced as was his invariable habit when in the presence of his superiors, the second was Superintendent Spence. The third was Alfred Richmond, Chief Constable of the County and the fourth was a man with a sharp, legal face from the Public Prosecutor's office. They looked at Hercule Poirot with varying expressions, or what one might describe as non-expressions.

"You seem quite sure. Monsieur Poirot."

"I am quite sure," said Hercule Poirot.

"When a thing arranges itself so, one realises that it must be so, one only looks for reasons why it should not be so. If one does not find the reasons why it should not be so, then one is strengthened in one's opinion."

"The motives seem somewhat complex, if I may say so."

"No," said Poirot, "not complex really.

But so simple that they are very difficult to see clearly."

The legal gentleman looked sceptical.

"We shall have one piece of definite evidence very soon now," said Inspector Raglan.

"Of course, if there has been a mistake on that point…"

"Ding dong dell, no pussy in the well?" said Hercule Poirot.

"That is what you mean?"

"Well, you must agree it is only a surmise on your part."

"The evidence pointed to it all along.

When a girl disappears, there are not many reasons. The first is that she has gone away with a man. The second is that she is dead.

Anything else is very far-fetched and practically never happens."

"There are no other special points that you can bring to our attention.

Monsieur Poirot?"

"Yes. I have been in touch with a well known firm of estate agents.

Friends of mine, who speciali se in real estate in the West Indies, the Aegean, the Adriatic, the Mediterranean and other places. They speciali se in sunshine and their clients are usually wealthy. Here is a recent purchase that might interest you."

He handed over a folded paper.

"You think this ties up?"

"I'm sure it does."

"I thought the sale of islands was prohibited by that particular government?"

"Money can usually find a way."

"There is nothing else that you would care to dwell upon?"

"It is possible that within twenty-four hours I shall have for you something that will more or less clinch matters."

"And what is that?"

"An eyewitness."

"You mean-?"

"An eye-witness to a crime."

The legal man looked at Poirot with mounting disbelief.

"Where is this eye-witness now?"

"On the way to London, I hope and trust."

"You sound-disturbed."

"That is true. I have done what I can to take care of things, but I will admit to you that I am frightened. Yes, I am frightened in spite of the protective measures I have taken. Because, you see, we are-how shall I describe it?-we are up against ruthlessness, quick reactions, greed pushed beyond an expect able human limit and perhaps-I am not sure but I think it possible-a touch, shall we say, of madness? Not there originally, but cultivated.

A seed that took root and grows fast. And now perhaps has taken charge, inspiring an inhuman rather than a human attitude to life."

"We'll have to have a few extra opinions on this," said the legal man.

"We can't rush into things. Of course, a lot depends on the-er-forestry business. If that's positive, we can go ahead, but if it's negative, we'd have to think again."

Hercule Poirot rose to his feet.

"I will take my leave. I have told you all that I know and all that I fear and envisage as possible. I shall remain in touch with you."

He shook hands all round with foreign precision, and went out.

"The man's a bit of a mountebank," said the legal man.

"You don't think he's a bit touched, do you? Touched in the head himself, I mean? Anyway, he's a pretty good age. I don't know that one can rely on the faculties of a man of that age."

"I think you can rely upon him," said the Chief Constable.

"At least, that is my impression. Spence, I've known you a good many years. You're a friend of his.

Do you think he's become a little senile?"

"No, I don't," said Superintendent Spence.

"What's your opinion, Raglan?"

"I've only met him recently, sir. At first I thought his well, his way of talking, his ideas, might be fantastic. But on the whole I'm converted. I think he's going to be proved right."

MRS. OLIVER had ensconced herself at a table in the window of The Black Boy. It was still fairly early, so the dining-room was not very full. Presently, Judith Butler returned from powdering her nose and sat down opposite her and examined the menu.

"What does Miranda like?" asked Mrs.

Oliver.