Hercule Poirot's Casebook

penholder - a stick of green sealing-wax, a pencil and two

64

stamps. On the right of the blotter was a movable calendar

giving the day of the week, date and month. There was also a

little glass jar of shot and standing in it a flamboyant green quill

pen. Poirot seemed interested in the pen. He took it out and

looked at it but the quill was innocent of ink. It was clearly a

decoration - nothing more. The silver penholder with the ink-stained

nib was the one in use. His eyes strayed to the calendar.

'Tuesday, November fifth,' said Japp. 'Yesterday. That's all

correcT.'

He turned to Brett.

'How long has she been dead?'

'She was killed at eleven thirty-three yesterday evening,'

said Brett promptly.

Then he grinned as he saw Japp's surprised face.

'Sorry, old boy,' he said. 'Had to do the super doctor of

ction! As a matter of fact eleven is about as near as I can put

: - with a margin of about an hour either way.'

'Oh, I thought the wrist-watch might have stopped - or

something.'

'It's stopped all right, but it's stopped at a quarter past four.'

'And I suppose she couldn't have been killed possibly at a

quarter past four.'

'You can put that right out of your mind.'

Poirot had turned back the cover of the blotter.

'Good idea,' said Japp. 'But no luck.'

The blotter showed an innocent white sheet of blotting-

paper. Poirot turned over the leaves but they were all the same.

He turned his attention to the waste-paper basket.

It contained two or three torn-up letters and circulars. They

were only torn once and were easily reconstructed. An appeal

for money from some society for assisting ex-service men, an

invitation to a cocktail party on November 3rd, an appointment

with a dressmaker. The circulars were an announcement of a

furricr's sale and a catalogue from a department store.

'Nothing there,' said Japp.

'Nc), it is odd ...' said Poirot.

'You mean they usually leave a letter when it's suicide?'

65

'Exactly.'

'In fact, one more proof that it isn't suicide.'

He moved away.

'I'll have my men get to work now. We'd better go down ax,!

interview this Miss Plenderleith. Coming, Poirot?'

Poirot still seemed fascinated by the writing-bureau and its

appointments.

He left the room, but at the door his eyes went back once

more to the flaunting emerald quill pen.

CHAPTER2

At the foot of the narrow flight of stairs a door gave admission

to a large-sized living-room - actually the converted stable. In

this room, the walls of which were finished in a roughened

plaster effect and on which hung etchings and woodcuts, two

people were sitting.

One, in a chair near the fireplace, her hand stretched out To

the blaze, was a dark efficient-looking young woman of twenv:.-seven

or eight. The other, an elderly woman of ample

proportions who carried a string bag, was panting and taikirg

when the two men entered the room.

'- and as I said, Miss, such a turn it gave me I nearly dropped

down where I stood. And to think that this morning of all

mornings '

The other cut her short.

'That will do, Mrs Pierce. These gentlemen are polk

officers, I think.'

'Miss Plenderleith?' asked Japp, advancing.

The girl nodded.

'That is my name. This is Mrs Pierce who comes in to w.. k

for us every day.'

The irrepressible Mrs Pierce broke out again.

'And as I was saying to Miss Plenderleith, to think that this

morning of all mornings, my sister's Louisa Maud should have

been took with a fit and me the only one handy and as I say flesh

and blood is flesh and blood, and I didn't think Mrs Allen

would mind, though I never likes to disappoint my ladies -'

Japp broke in with some dexterity.

'Quite so, Mrs Pierce. Now perhaps you would take

Inspector Jameson into the kitchen and give him a brief

statement.'

Having then got rid of the voluble Mrs Pierce, who departed

with Jameson talking thirteen to the dozen, Japp turned his

attention once more to the girl.

'I am Chief Inspector Japp. Now, Miss Plenderleith, I

should like to know all you can tell me about this business.'

'Certainly. Where shall I begin?'

Her self-possession was admirable. There were no signs of

grief or shock save for an almost unnatural rigidity of manner.

'You arrived this morning at what time?'

'I think it was just before half-past ten. Mrs Pierce, the old

liar, wasn't here, I found '

'Is that a frequent occurrence?'

Jane Plenderleith shrugged her shoulders.

'About twice a week she roms up at twelve - or not at all.

She's supposed to come at nine. Actually, as I say, twice a week

she either "comes over queer," or else some member of her

family is overtaken by sickness. All these daily women are like

that - fail you now and again. She's not bad as they go.'

'You've had her long?'

'Just over a month. Our last one pinched things.'

'Please go on, Miss Plenderleith.'

'I paid off the taxi, carried in my suitcase, looked round for

Mrs P., couldn't see her and went upstairs to my room. I tidied

up a bit then I went across to Barbara - Mrs Allen - and found

the door locked. I rattled the handle and knocked but could get

no reply. I came downstairs and rang up the police station.'