The Hollow

"Nonsense, Midge. Henry and I are going to give you your trousseau. And Henry, of course, will give you away. I do hope the band of his trousers won't be too tight. It's nearly two years since he last went to a wedding.

And I shall wear-"

Lady Angkatell paused and closed her eyes.

"Yes, Lucy?"

"Hydrangea blue," announced Lady Angkatell in a rapt voice. "I suppose, Edward, you will have one of your own friends for best man; otherwise, of course, there is David. I cannot help feeling it would be frightfully good for David. It would give him poise, you know, and he would feel we all liked him. That, I am sure is very important with David. It must be so disheartening, you know, to feel you are clever and intellectual and yet nobody likes you any the better for it! But, of course, it would be rather a risk.

He would probably lose the ring, or drop it at the last minute. I expect it would worry Edward too much. But it would be nice in a way to keep it to the same people we've had here for the murder."

Lady Angkatell uttered the last few words in the most conversational of tones.

"Lady Angkatell has been entertaining a few friends for a murder this Autumn,"

Midge could not help saying.

"Yes," said Lucy meditatively. "I suppose it did sound like that. A party for the shooting… You know, when you come to think of it, that's just what it has been!"

Midge gave a faint shiver and said:

"Well, at any rate, it's over now."

"It's not exactly over-the inquest was only adjourned. And that nice Inspector Grange has got men all over the place simply crashing through the chestnut woods and startling all the pheasants, and springing up like jacks-in-the-box in the most unlikely places."

"What are they looking for?" asked Edward.

"The revolver that Christow was shot with?"

B "I imagine that must be it. They even came to the house with a search warrant-the Inspector was most apologetic about it, quite shy-but, of course, I told him we should be delighted. It was really most interesting.

They looked absolutely everywhere. I followed them round, you know, and I suggested one or two places which even they hadn't thought of. But they didn't find anything. It was most disappointing. Poor Inspector Grange, he is growing quite thin and he pulls and pulls at that moustache of his. His wife ought to give him specially nourishing meals with all this worry he is having-but I have a vague idea that she must be one of those women who care more about having the linoleum really well-polished than in cooking a tasty little meal.

Which reminds me, I must go and see Mrs.

Medway. Funny how servants cannot bear the police. Her cheese souffle last night was quite uneatable. Souffles and pastry always show if one is off balance. If it weren't for Gudgeon keeping them all together, I really believe half the servants would leave. Why don't you two go and have a nice walk and help the police look for the revolver?"

Hercule Poirot sat on the bench overlooking the chestnut groves above the pool. He had no sense of trespassing since Lady Angkatell had very sweetly begged him to wander where he would at any time. It was Lady Angkatell5 s sweetness which Hercule Poirot was considering at this moment.

From time to time he heard the cracking of twigs in the woods above or caught sight of a figure moving through the chestnut groves below him.

Presently, Henrietta came along the path from the direction of the lane. She stopped for a moment when she saw Poirot, then she came and sat down by him.

"Good morning, M. Poirot. I have just been to call upon you. But you were out.

You look very Olympian. Are you presiding over the hunt? The Inspector seems very active. What are they looking for? The revolver?"

"Yes, Miss Savernake."

"Will they find it, do you think?"

"I think so. Quite soon now, I should say?"

She looked at him inquiringly.

"Have you an idea, then, where it is?"

"No. But I think it will be found soon. It is time for it to be found."

"You do say odd things, M. Poirot!"

"Odd things happen here. You have come back very soon from London, Mademoiselle."

Her face hardened. She gave a short, bitter laugh.

"The murderer returns to the scene of the crime? That is the old superstition, isn't it?

So you do think that I-did it! You don't believe me when I tell you that I wouldn't -that I couldn't kill anybody?"

Poirot did not answer at once. At last he said thoughtfully: