The Hollow

"Motive seems so important to policemen," she went on. "Talking of hospital nurses just now, I believe that John Christow-a nurse with red hair and an upturned nose-quite attractive. But, of course, it was a long time ago and the police might not be interested. One doesn't really know how much poor Gerda had to put up with. She is the loyal type, don't you think? Or possibly she believes what is told her. I think if one has not a great deal of intelligence, it is wise to do that."

Quite suddenly. Lady Angkatell flung open the study door and ushered Poirot in, crying brightly, "Here is M. Poirot." She swept round him and out, shutting the door.

Inspector Grange and Gudgeon were sitting by the desk. A young man with a notebook was in a corner. Gudgeon rose respectfully to his feet.

Poirot hastened into apologies.

"I retire immediately. I assure you I had no idea that Lady Angkatell-"

"No, no, you wouldn't have." Grange's moustache looked more pessimistic than ever this morning. Perhaps, thought Poirot, fascinated by Lady Angkatell5 s recent sketch of Grange, there has been too much cleaning or perhaps a Benares brass table has been purchased so that the good Inspector he really cannot have space to move.

Angrily he dismissed these thoughts. Inspector Grange's clean but overcrowded home, his wife, his boys and their addiction to Meccano were all figments of Lady Angkatell's busy brain.

But the vividness with which they assumed concrete reality interested him. It was quite an accomplishment.

"Sit down, M. Poirot," said Grange.

"There's something I want to ask you about, and I've nearly finished here."

He turned his attention back to Gudgeon, who deferentially and almost under protest resumed his seat and turned an expressionless face towards his interlocutor.

"And that's all you can remember?"

"Yes, sir. Everything, sir, was very much as usual. There was no unpleasantness of any kind."

"There's a fur cape thing-out in that summer house by the pool. Which of the ladies did it belong to?"

"Are you referring, sir, to a cape of platinum fox? I noticed it yesterday when I took out the glasses to the pavilion. But it is not the property of anyone in this house, sir."

"Whose is it, then?"

"It might possibly belong to Miss Cray, sir. Miss Veronica Cray, the motion picture actress. She was wearing something of the kind."

"When?"

"When she was here the night before last, sir."

"You didn't mention her as having been a guest here."

"She was not a guest, sir. Miss Cray lives at Dovecotes, the-er-cottage up the lane, and she came over after dinner, having run out of matches, to borrow some."

"Did she take away six boxes?" asked

Poirot.

Gudgeon turned to him.

"That is correct, sir. Her ladyship, after having inquired if we had plenty, insisted on Miss Cray's taking half a dozen boxes."

"Which she left in the pavilion," said

Poirot.

"Yes, sir, I observed them there yesterday morning."

"There is not much that that man does not observe," remarked Poirot as Gudgeon departed, closing the door softly and deferentially behind him.

Inspector Grange merely remarked that servants were the devil!

"However," he said with a little renewed cheerfulness, "there's always the kitchen maid. Kitchen maids talk-not like these stuck-up upper servants."

"I've put a man on to make inquiries at Harley Street," he went on, "and I shall be there myself later in the day. We ought to get something there. Daresay, you know, that wife of Christow's had a good bit to put up with. Some of these fashionable doctors and their lady patients-well, you'd be surprised!

And I gather from Lady Angkatell that there was some trouble over a hospital nurse. Of course, she was very vague about it."

"Yes," Poirot agreed. "She would be vague…"

A skilfully built up picture… John Christow and amorous intrigues with hospital nurses… the opportunities of a doctor's life… plenty of reasons for Gerda Christow's jealousy which had culminated at last in murder…

Yes, a skilfully suggested picture… drawing attention to a Harley Street background-away from The Hollow-away from the moment when Henrietta Savernake, stepping forward, had taken the revolver from Gerda Christow's unresisting hand… away from that other moment when John Christow, dying, had said Henrietta. …

Suddenly opening his eyes, which had been half closed, Hercule Poirot demanded with irresistible curiosity:

"Do your boys play with Meccano?"

"Eh, what?" Inspector Grange came back from a frowning reverie to stare at Poirot.

"Why, what on earth? As a matter of fact, they're a bit young-but I was thinking of giving Teddy a Meccano set for Christmas.

What made you ask?"

Poirot shook his head.

What made Lady Angkatell dangerous, he thought, was the fact that those intuitive wild guesses others might often be right…

With a careless (seemingly careless) word she built up a picture-and if part of the picture was right, wouldn't you, in spite of yourself, believe in the other half of the picture…

Inspector Grange was speaking.

"There's a point I want to put to you, M.