Hercule Poirot's Casebook

'Gascoigne?' he said. 'Yes, that's right. Eccentric old bird.

Lived alone in one of those derelict old houses that are being

cleared away in order to build a block of modem flats. I hadn't

attended him before, but I'd seen him about and I knew who he

was. It was the dairy people got the wind up first. The milk

bottles began to pile up outside. In the end the people next door

sent word to the police and they broke the door in and found

him. He'd pitched down the stairs and broken his neck. Had on

an old dressing-gown with a ragged cord - might easily have

tripped himself up with it.'

'I see,' said Hercule Poirot. 'It was quite simple- an accident.'

'That's right.'

'Had he any relations?'

'There's a nephew. Used to come along and see his uncle

about once a month. Lorrimer, his name is, George Lorrimer.

He's a medico himself. Lives at Wimbledon.'

'Was he upset at the old man's death?'

'I don't know that I'd say he was upset. I mean, he had an affection

for the old man, but he didn't really know him very well.'

175

'How long had Mr Gascoigne been dead when you saw

him?'

'Ah!' said Dr MacAndrew. 'This is where we get official.

Not less than forty-eight hours and not more than seventy-two

hours. He was found on the morning of the sixth.

Actually, we got closer than that. He'd got a letter in the

pocket of his dressing-gown- written on the third - posted in

Wimbledon that afternoon - would have been delivered

somewhere around nine-twenty p.m. That puts the time of

death at after nine-twenty on the evening of the third. That

agrees with the contents of the stomach and the processes of

digestion. He had had a meal about two hours before death. I

examined him on the morning of the sixth and his condition

was quite consistent with death having occurred about sixty

hours previously- round about ten p.m. on the third.'

'It all seems very consistent. Tell me, when was he last seen

alive?'

'He was seen in the King's Road about seven o'clock that

same evening, Thursday the third, and he dined at the

Gallant Endeavour restaurant at seven-thirty. It seems he

always dined there on Thursdays. He was by way of being an

artist, you know. An extremely bad one.'

'He had no other relations? Only this nephew?'

'There was a twin brother. The whole story is rather

curious. They hadn't seen each other for years. It seems the

other brother, Anthony Gascoigne, married a very rich

woman and gave up art- and the brothers quarrelled over it.

Hadn't seen each other since, I believe. But oddly enoug, they died on the same day. The elder twin passed away at three

o'clock on the afternoon of the third. Once before I've known

a case of twins dying on the same day - in different parts if

the world! Probably just a coincidence- but there it is.'

'Is the other brother's wife alive?'

'No, she died some years ago.'

'Where did Anthony Gascoigne live?'

176

'He had a house on Kingston Hill. He was, I believe, from

What Dr Lorrimer tells me, very much of a recluse.'

Hercule Poirot nodded thoughtfully.

The Scotsman looked at him keenly.

'What exactly have you got in your mind, M. Poirot?' he

asked bluntly. 'I've answered your questions - as was my

duty seeing the credentials you brought. But I'm in the dark

as to what it's all about.'

Poirot said slowly:

'A simple case of accidental death, that's what you said.

What I have in mind is equally simple-a simple push.'

Dr MacAndrew looked startled.

'In other words, murder! Have you any grounds for that

belief?.'

'No,' said Poirot. 'It is a mere supposition.'

'There must be something-' persisted the other.

Poirot did not speak. MacAndrew said:

'If it's the nephew, Lorrimer, you suspect, I don't mind

telling you here and now that you are barking up the wrong

tree. Lorrimer was phiying bridge in Wimbledon from eight

thirty

till midnight. That came out at the inquest.'

Poirot murmured:

'And presumably it was verified. The police are careful.'

The doctor said:

'Perhaps you know something against him?'

'I didn't know that there was such a person until you

mentioned him.'

'Then you suspect somebody else?'

'No, no. It is not that at all. It's a case of the routine habits

of the human 'animal. That is very important. And the dead

M. Gascoigne does not fit in. It is all wrong, you see.'

'I really don't understand.'

Hercule Poirot murmured:

'The trouble is, there is too much sauce over the bad fish.'

'My dear sir?'

177

Hercule Poirot smiled.

'You will be having me locked up as a lunatic soon, MomleUr

le Docteur. But I am not really a mental case- just a man who has a liking for order and method and who is worried when he

comes across a fact that does notfit in. I must ask you to forgive

me for having given you so much trouble.'

He rose and the doctor rose also.

th iYUstlbt:.'-s.'d' Mac.Andre.w, '.honestly I can't see anything

uslalCaous about me aeath of Henry Gascoigne. I

say he fell - you say somebody pushed him. It's all- well - in

the air.'

Hercule Poirot sighed.

'Yes,' he said. 'It is workmanlike. Somebody has made the

good job of it!'

'You still think-'

The little man spread out his hands.