Hercule Poirot's Casebook

was at ten forty-five. We came along at once and forced the

door open. Mrs Allen was lying in a heap on the ground shot

through the head. There was an automatic in her hand - a

Webley .25 - and it looked a clear case of suicide.'

'Where is Miss Plenderleith now?'

'She's downstairs in the sitting-room, sir. A very cool,

efficient young lady, I should say. Got a head on her.'

'I'll talk to her presently. I'd better see Brett now.'

Accompanied by Poirot he crossed the landing and entered

the opposite room. A tall, elderly man looked up and nodded.

'Hallo, Japp, glad you've got here. Funny business, this.'

Japp advanced towards him. Hercule Poirot sent a quick

searching glance round the room.

It was much larger than the room they had just quitted It

had a built-out bay window, and whereas the other room had

been a bedroom pure and simple, this was emphatically a

bedroom disguised as a sitting-room.

The wails were silver and the ceiling emerald green. There

were curtains of a modernistic pattern in silver and green.

There was a divan covered with a shimmering emerald green

silk quilt and numbers of gold and silver cushions. There ,'as

a tall antique walnut bureau, a walnut tallboy, and sev cal

modem chairs of gleaming chromium. On a low glass

there was a big ashtray full of cigarette stubs.

Delicately Hercule Poirot sniffed the air. Then he joined

Japp where the latter stood looking down at the body.

62

In a heap on the floor, lying as she had fallen from one of the chromium chairs, was the body of a young woman of perhaps

twenty-seven. She had fair hair and delicate features. There

was very little make-up on the face. It was a pretty, wistful,

perhaps slightly stupid face. On the left side of the head was a

mass of congealed blood. The £mgers of the right hand were

clasped round a small pistol. The woman was dressed in a

simple frock of dark green high to the neck.

'Well, Brett, what's the trouble?'

Japp was looking down also at the huddled figure.

'Position's all right,' said the doctor. 'If she shot herself she'd

probably have slipped from the chair into just that position.

The door was locked and the window was fastened on the

inside.'

'That's all right, you say. Then what's wrong?'

'Take a look at the pistol. I haven't handled it - waiting for

the £mgerprint men. But you can see quite well what I mean.'

Together Poirot and Japp knelt down and examined the

pistol closely.

'I see what you mean,' said Japp rising. 'It's in the curve of

her hand. It looks as though she's holding it - but as a matter of

fact she isn't holding it. Anything else?'

'Plenty. She's got the pistol in her fight hsmd. Now take a

look at the wound. The pistol was held close to the head just

above the left ear - the left ear, mark you.'

'H'm,' said Japp. 'That does seem to settle it. She couldn't

hold a pistol and fire it in that position with her right hand?'

'Plumb impossible, I should say. You might get your arm

round but I doubt if you could fire the shot.'

'That seems pretty obvious then. Someone else shot her and

tried to make it look like suicide. What about the locked door

and window, though?'

Inspector Jameson answered this.

'Window was closed and bolted, sir, but although the door

was locked we haven't been able to find the key.'

Japp nodded.

'Yes, that was a bad break. Whoever did it locked the door

63

when he left and hoped the absence of the key wouldn't be

noticed.'

Poirot murmured:

'C'est bte, fa!'

'Oh, come now, Poirot, old man, you mustn't judge

everybody else by the light of your shining intellect! As a

matter of fact that's the sort of little detail that's quite apt to be

overlooked. Door's locked. People break in. Woman foux:t

dead - pistol in her hand - clear case of suicide - she locked

herself in to do it. They don't go hunting about for keys. As a

matter of fact, Miss Plenderleith's sending for the police was lucky. She might have got one or two of the chauffeurs to come

and burst in the door - and then the key question would have

been overlooked altogether.'

'Yes, I suppose that is true,' said Hercule Poirot. 'It would

have been many people's natural reaction. The police, they are

the last resource, are they not?'

He was still staring down at the body.

'Anything strike you?' Japp asked.

The question was careless but his eyes were keen and

attentive.

Hercule Poirot shook his head slowly.

'I was looking at her wristwatch.'

He bent over and just touched it with a finger-tip. It was a

dainty jewelled affair on a black moir strap on the wrist of tlc

hand that held the pistol.

'Rather a swell piece that,' observed Japp. 'Must have co,t

money!' He cocked his head inquiringly at Poirot. 'Somethitg

in that maybe?'

'It is possible - yes.'

Poirot strayed across to the writing-bureau. It was the kixd

that has a front flap that lets down. This WaS daintily set out

match the general colour scheme.

There was a somewhat massive silver inkstand in the centre,

in front of it a handsome green lacquer blotter. To the left of the

blotter was an emerald glass pen-tray containing a silver