The Hollow

He said, "The adjourned inquest's the day after tomorrow and where have we got? Nowhere at all. What the hell, that gun must be somewhere! It's this damned country-miles of woods. It would take an army to search them properly. Talk of a needle in a haystack. It may be anywhere. The fact is, we've got to face up to it-we may never find that gun."

"You will find it," said Poirot confidently.

"Well, it won't be for want of trying!"

"You will find it, sooner or later. And I should say sooner. Another cup of tea?"

"I don't mind if I do-no, no hot water."

"It is not too strong?"

"Oh, no, it's not too strong." The Inspector was conscious of understatement.

Gloomily he sipped at the pale straw-coloured beverage.

"This case is making a monkey of me, M.

Poirot-a monkey of me! I can't get the hang of these people. They seem helpful-but everything they tell you seems to lead you away on a wild-goose chase."

"Away?" said Poirot. A startled look came into his eyes. "Yes, I see. Away…"

The Inspector was developing his grievance.

"Take the gun now. Christow was shot-according to the medical evidence-only a minute or two before your arrival. Lady Angkatell had that egg basket. Miss Savernake had a gardening basket full of dead flower heads, and Edward Angkatell was wearing a loose shooting coat with large pockets stuffed with cartridges. Any one of them could have carried the revolver away with them. It wasn't hidden anywhere near the pool-my men have raked the place, so that's definitely out."

Poirot nodded. Grange went on:

"Gerda Christow was framed-by whom?

That's where every clue I follow seems to vanish into thin air."

"Their stories of how they spent the morning are satisfactory?"

"The stories are all right. Miss Savernake was gardening. Lady Angkatell was collecting eggs. Edward Angkatell and Sir Henry were shooting and separated at the end of the morning-Sir Henry coming back to the house and Edward Angkatell coming down here through the woods. The young fellow was up in his bedroom reading. (Funny place to read on a nice day, but he's the indoor bookish kind.) Miss Hardcastle took a book down to the orchard. All sounds very natural and likely 3 and there's no means of checking up on it. Gudgeon took a tray of glasses out to the pavilion about twelve o'clock. He can't say where any of the house party were or what they were doing. In a way, you know, there's something against almost all of them?"

"Really?"

"Of course, the most obvious person is

Veronica Cray; she had quarrelled with Christow, she hated his guts, she's quite likely to have shot him-but I can't find the least iota of proof that she did shoot him.

No evidence as to her having had any opportunity to pinch the revolvers from Sir Henry's collection, no one who saw her going to or from the pool that day. And the missing revolver definitely isn't in her possession now."

"Ah, you have made sure of that?"

"What do you think? The evidence would have justified a search warrant but there was no need. She was quite gracious about it. It's not anywhere in that tin-pot bungalow. After the inquest was adjourned, we made a show of letting up on Miss Cray and Miss Savernake, and we've had a tail on them to see where they went and what they'd do. We've had a man on at the film studios, watching Veronica-no sign of her trying to ditch the gun there."

"And Henrietta Savernake?"

"Nothing there either. She went straight back to Chelsea and we've kept an eye on her ever since. The revolver isn't in her studio or in her possession. She was quite pleasant about the search-seemed amused.

Some of her fancy stuff gave our man quite I a turn. He said it beat him why people wanted to do that kind of thing-statues all lumps and swellings, bits of brass and aluminum twisted into fancy shapes, horses that you wouldn't know were horses-"

Poirot stirred a little.

"Horses, you say?"

"Well, a horse. If you'd call it a horse! If people want to model a horse why don't they go and look at a horse!"

"A horse," repeated Poirot.

Grange turned his head.

"What is there about that that interests you so, M. Poirot? I don't get it."

"Association-a point of the psychology."

"Word association? Horse and cart. Rocking horse? Clothes-horse. No, I don't get it.

Anyway, after a day or two. Miss Savernake packs up and comes down here again. You know that?"

"Yes, I have talked with her and I have seen her walking in the woods."

"Restless, yes. Well, she was having an affair with the doctor all right, and his saying 'Henrietta' as he died is pretty near to an accusation. But it's not quite near enough, M. Poirot."

"No," said Poirot thoughtfully, "it is not near enough."

Grange said heavily:

"There's something in the atmosphere here-it gets you all tangled up! It's as though they all knew something. Lady Angkatell now-she's never been able to put out a decent reason why she took out a gun with her that day. It's a crazy thing to do-sometimes I think she is crazy."

Poirot shook his head very gently.

"No," he said, "she is not crazy."