Three Act Tragedy (Hercule Poirot 11)

CAPTAIN and MRS. DACRES, 3 St. John’s House, W.1.

(Mrs. Dacres carries on business as Ambrosine, Ltd, Brook Street.)

LADY MARY and MISS HERMIONE LYTTON GORE, Rose Cottage, Loomouth.

MISS MURIEL WILLS, 5 Upper Cathcart Road, Tooting.

MR. OLIVER MANDERS, Messrs Speier & Ross, Old Broad Street, E.C.2.

“H’m,” said Sir Charles. “The Tooting touch was omitted by the papers. I see young Manders was there, too.”

“That’s by way of being an accident, sir,” said Superintendent Crossfield. “The young gentleman ran his car into a wall just by the Abbey, and Sir Bartholomew, who I understood was slightly acquainted with him, asked him to stay the night.”

“Careless thing to do,” said Sir Charles cheerfully.

“It was that, sir,” said the Superintendent. “In fact, I fancy myself the young gentleman must have had one over the eight, as the saying goes. What made him ram the wall just where he did I can’t imagine, if he was sober at the time.”

“Just high spirits, I expect,” said Sir Charles.

“Spirits it was, in my opinion, sir.”

“Well, thank you very much, Superintendent. Any objection to our going and having a look at the Abbey, Colonel Johnson?”

“Of course not, my dear sir. Though I’m afraid you won’t learn much more there than I can tell you.”

“Anybody there?”

“Only the domestic staff, sir,” said Crossfield. “The house party left immediately after the inquest, and Miss Lyndon has returned to Harley Street.”

“We might, perhaps, see Dr.—er—Davis, too?” suggested Mr. Satterthwaite.

“Good idea.”

They obtained the doctor’s address, and having thanked Colonel Johnson warmly for his kindness, they left.

Three

WHICH OF THEM?

As they walked along the street, Sir Charles said:

“Any ideas, Satterthwaite?”

“What about you?” asked Mr. Satterthwaite. He liked to reserve judgment until the last possible moment.

Not so Sir Charles. He spoke emphatically:

“They’re wrong, Satterthwaite. They’re all wrong. They’ve got the butler on the brain. The butler’s done a bunk—ergo, the butler’s the murderer. It doesn’t fit. No, it doesn’t fit. You can’t leave that other death out of account—the one down at my place.”

“You’re still of the opinion that the two are connected?”

Mr. Satterthwaite asked the question, though he had already answered it in the affirmative in his own mind.

“Man, they must be connected. Everything points to it…We’ve got to find the common factor—someone who was present on both occasions—”

“Yes,” said Mr. Satterthwaite. “And that’s not going to be as simple a matter as one might think, on the face of it. We’ve got too many common factors. Do you realize, Cartwright, that practically every person who was present at the dinner at your house was present here?”

Sir Charles nodded.