Nine
RECONSTRUCTION OF THE DOG’S BALL INCIDENT
“Well, Poirot,” I said, as the gate of Littlegreen House closed behind us. “You are satisfied now, I hope!”
“Yes, my friend. I am satisfied.”
“Thank heavens for that! All the mysteries explained! The Wicked Companion and the Rich Old Lady myth exploded. The delayed letter and even the famous incident of the dog’s ball shown in their true colours. Everything settled satisfactorily and according to Cocker!”
Poirot gave a dry little cough and said:
“I would not use the word satisfactorily, Hastings.”
“You did a minute ago.”
“No, no. I did not say the matter was satisfactory. I said that, personally, my curiosity was satisfied. I know the truth of the Dog’s Ball incident.”
“And very simple it was too!”
“Not quite so simple as you think.” He nodded his head several times. Then he went on: “You see, I know one little thing which you do not.”
“And what is that?” I asked somewhat sceptically.
“I know that there is a nail driven into the skirting board at the top of the stairs.”
I stared at him. His face was quite grave.
“Well,” I said after a minute or two. “Why shouldn’t there be?”
“The question is, Hastings, why should there be.”
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“How do I know. Some household reason, perhaps. Does it matter?”
“Certainly it matters. And I think of no household reason for a nail to be driven in at the top of the skirting board in that particular place. It was carefully varnished, too, so as not to show.”
“What are you driving at, Poirot? Do you know the reason?”
“I can imagine it quite easily. If you wanted to stretch a piece of strong thread or wire across the top of the stairs about a foot from the ground, you could tie it on one side to the balusters, but on the inner wall side you would need something like a nail to attach the thread to.”
“Poirot!” I cried. “What on earth are you driving at?”
“Mon cher ami, I am reconstructing the incident of the Dog’s Ball! Would you like to hear my reconstruction?”
“Go ahead.”
“Eh bien, here it is. Someone had noticed the habit Bob had of leaving his ball at the top of the stairs. A dangerous thing to do—it might lead to an accident.” Poirot paused a minute, then said in a slightly different tone. “If you wished to kill someone, Hastings, how would you set about it?”
“I—well really—I don’t know. Fake up some alibi or something, I suppose.”
“A proceeding, I assure you, both difficult and dangerous. But then you are not the type of a cold-blooded cautious murderer. Does it not strike you that the easiest way of removing someone you want to remove from your path is to take advantage of accident? Accidents are happening all the time. And sometimes—Hastings—they can be helped to happen!”
He paused a minute then went on:
“I think the dog’s ball left so fortuitously at the top of the stairs gave our murderer an idea. Miss Arundell was in the habit of coming out of her room in the night and wandering about—her eyesight was not good, it was quite within the bounds of probability that she might stumble over it and fall headlong down those stairs. But a careful murderer does not leave things to chance. A thread stretched across the top of the stairs would be a much better way. It would send her pitching head foremost. Then, when the household come rushing out—there, plain to see, is the cause of the accident—Bob’s ball!”
“How horrible!” I cried.