Hercule Poirot's Casebook

the ordinary person would have thought. But not good old

Hercule! D'you know, old horse, up to the very last minute I

thought you- were leading up to some Subtle theory of highfalutin'

psychological "suggested" murder? I bet those two

thought so too! Nasty bit of goods, the Farley. Goodness,

how she cracked! Cornworthy might have got away with it if

she hadn't had hysterics and tried to spoil your beauty by

going for you with her nails. I only got her off you just in

time.'

He paused a minute arid then said:

'I rather like the girl. Grit, you know, and brains. I

suppose I'd be thought to be a fortune hunter if I had a shot at

her . . . ?'

'You are too late, my friend. There is already someone sur

le tapis. Her father's death has opened the way to happiness.'

'Take it all round, she had a pretty good motive for

bumping off the unpleasant parent.'

'Motive and opportunity are not enough,' said Poirot.

'There must also be the criminal temperament!'

'I wonder if you'll ever commit a crime, Poirot?' said

Stillingfieet. 'I bet you could get away with it all right. As a

matter of fact, it would be too easy for you - I mean the thing

would be off as definitely too unsporting.'

'That,' said Poirot, 'is a typical English idea.'

169

FOUR AND TWENTY BLACKBIRDS

Hercule Poirot was dining with his friend, Henry

Bonnington at the Gallant Endeavour in the King's Road,

Chelsea.

Mr Bonnington was fond of the Gallant Endeavour. He

liked the leisurely atmosphere, he liked the food which was

'plain' and 'English' and 'not a lot of made up messes.' He

liked to tell people who dined with him there just exactl

where Augustus John had been wont to sit and draw the

attention to the famous artists' names in the visitors' book

Mr Bonnington was himself the least artistic of men - but b'

took a certain pride in the artistic activities of others.

Molly, the sympathetic waitress, greeted Mr Bonningto;

as an old friend. She prided herself on remembering he

customers' likes and dislikes in the way of food.

'Good evening, sir,' she said, as the two men took their

seats at a corner table. 'You're in luck today - turkey stuffe,¢

with chestnuts - that's your favourite, isn't it? And ever suc}

a nice Stilton we've got I Will you have soup first or fish?'

Mr Bonnington deliberated the point. He said to Poirot

warningly as the latter studied the menu:

'None of your French kickshaws now. Good well-cooked

English food.'

'My friend,' Hercule Poirot waved his hand, 'I ask no

better! I put myself in your hands unreservedly.'

'Ah - hruup - er - hm,' replied Mr Bonnington and gave

careful attention to the matter.

These weighty matters, and the question of wine, settled,

Mr Bonnington leaned back with a sigh and unfolded his

napkin as Molly sped away.

170

'Good girl, that,' he said approvingly. 'Was quite a beauty

once - artists used to paint her. She knows about food, too and

that's a great deal more important. Women are very

unsound on food as a rule. There's many a woman if she goes

out with a fellow she fancies - won't even notice what she

eats. She'll just order the first thing she sees.' Hercule Poirot shookhis head. 'C' est terrible.'

Then aren't like that, thank God? said Mr Bonnington

complacently.

'Never?' There was a twinkle in Hercule Poirot's eye.

'Well, perhaps when they're very young,' conceded Mr

Bonnington. 'Young puppies! Young fellows nowadays are

all the same - no guts - no stamina. I've no use for the young-and

they,' he added with strict impartiality, 'have no use for

me.'Perhaps they're rightI But to hear some of these young

fellows talk you'd think no man had a right to be alive after

sixty! From the way they go on, you'd wonder more of them

didn't help their elderly relations out of the world.'

'It is possible,' said Hercule Poirot, 'that they do.'

'Nice mind you've got, Poirot, I must say. All this police

work saps your ideals.'

Hercule Poirot smiled.

'Tout de mbme,' he said. 'It would be interesting to make a

table of accidental deaths over the age of sixty. I assure you it

would raise some curious speculations in your mind.'

'The trouble with you is that you've started going to look

for crime- instead of waiting for crime to come to you.'

'I apologize,' said Poirot. 'I talk what you call "the shop."

Tell me, my friend, of your own affairs. How does the world

go with you?'

'Mess!' said Mr Bonnington. 'That's what's the matter

with the world nowadays. Too much mess. And too much

tilde language. The fine language helps to conceal the mess.

Like a highly-flavoured sauce concealing the fact that the fish

171

underneath it is none of the best! Give me an honest fillet of

sole and no messy sauce over it.'

It was given him at that moment by Molly and he grunted

approval.

'You know just what I like, my girl,' he said.

'Well, you come here pretty regular, don't you, sir? [

ought to know what you like.'

Hercule Poirot said:

'Do people then always like the same things? Do not th,:,

like a change sometimes?'

'Not gentlemen, sir. Ladies like variety - gentlemen

always like the same thing.'

'What did I tell you?' grunted Bonnington. 'Women are