Three Act Tragedy (Hercule Poirot 11)

“He disappeared that night, I understand?”

“Yes, sir, went to his room like the rest of us, and in the morning he wasn’t there. That’s what set the police on him, of course.”

“Yes, yes, very foolish of him. Have you any idea how he left the house?”

“Not the slightest. It seems the police were watching the house all night, and they never saw him go—but, there, that’s what the police are, human like anyone else, in spite of the airs they give themselves, coming into a gentleman’s house and nosing round.”

“I hear there’s some question of a secret passage,” Sir Charles said.

Mrs. Leckie sniffed.

“That’s what the police say.”

“Is there such a thing?”

“I’ve heard mention of it,” Mrs. Leckie agreed cautiously.

“Do you know where it starts from?”

“No, I don’t, sir. Secret passages are all very well, but they’re not things to be encouraged in the servants’ hall. It gives the girls ideas. They might think of slipping out that way. My girls go out by the back door and in by the back door, and then we know where we are.”

“Splendid, Mrs. Leckie. I think you’re very wise.”

Mrs. Leckie bridled in the sun of Sir Charles’s approval.

“I wonder,” he went on, “if we might just ask a few questions of the other servants?”

“Of course, sir; but they can’t tell you anything more than I can.”

“Oh, I know. I didn’t mean so much about Ellis as about Sir Bartholomew himself—his manner that night, and so on. You see, he was a friend of mine.”

“I know, sir. I quite understand. There’s Beatrice, and there’s Alice. She waited at table, of course.”

“Yes, I’d like to see Alice.”

Mrs. Leckie, however, had a belief in seniority. Beatrice Church, the upper-housemaid, was the first to appear.

She was a tall thin woman, with a pinched mouth, who looked aggressively respectable.

After a few unimportant questions, Sir Charles led the talk to the behaviour of the house party on the fatal evening. Had they all been terribly upset? What had they said or done?

A little animation entered into Beatrice’s manner. She had the usual ghoulish relish for tragedy.

“Miss Sutcliffe, she quite broke down. A very warmhearted lady, she’s stayed here before. I suggested bringing her a little drop of brandy, or a nice cup of tea, but she wouldn’t hear of it. She took some aspirin, though. Said she was sure she couldn’t sleep. But she was sleeping like a little child the next morning when I brought her her early tea.”

“And Mrs. Dacres?”

“I don’t think anything would upset that lady much.”

From Beatrice’s tone, she had not liked Cynthia Dacres.

“Just anxious to get away, she was. Said her business would suffer. She’s a big dressmaker in London, so Mr. Ellis told us.”

A big dressmaker, to Beatrice, meant “trade,” and trade she looked down upon.

“And her husband?”

Beatrice sniffed.