The A.B.C. Murders (Hercule Poirot 13)

“Does anybody claim to have seen the man Ascher?”

“No, they don’t. And that’s another point in his favour. I’ve just told the Chief Constable that I think this is a job for Scotland Yard. I don’t believe it’s a local crime.”

Poirot said gravely:

“I agree with you.”

The inspector said:

“You know, Monsieur Poirot, it’s a nasty business—a nasty business…I don’t like it….”

We had two more interviews before returning to London.

The first was with Mr. James Partridge. Mr. Partridge was the last person known to have seen Mrs. Ascher alive. He had made a purchase from her at 5:30.

Mr. Partridge was a small man, a bank clerk by profession. He wore pince-nez, was very dry and spare-looking and extremely precise in all his utterances. He lived in a small house as neat and trim a

s himself.

“Mr—er—Poirot,” he said, glancing at the card my friend had handed to him. “From Inspector Glen? What can I do for you, Mr. Poirot?”

“I understand, Mr. Partridge, that you were the last person to see Mrs. Ascher alive.”

Mr. Partridge placed his fingertips together and looked at Poirot as though he were a doubtful cheque.

“That is a very debatable point, Mr. Poirot,” he said. “Many people may have made purchases from Mrs. Ascher after I did so.”

“If so, they have not come forward to say so.”

Mr. Partridge coughed.

“Some people, Mr. Poirot, have no sense of public duty.”

He looked at us owlishly through his spectacles.

“Exceedingly true,” murmured Poirot. “You, I understand, went to the police of your own accord?”

“Certainly I did. As soon as I heard of the shocking occurrence I perceived that my statement might be helpful and came forward accordingly.”

“A very proper spirit,” said Poirot solemnly. “Perhaps you will be so kind as to repeat your story to me.”

“By all means. I was returning to this house and at 5:30 precisely—”

“Pardon, how was it that you knew the time so accurately?”

Mr. Partridge looked a little annoyed at being interrupted.

“The church clock chimed. I looked at my watch and found I was a minute slow. That was just before I entered Mrs. Ascher’s shop.”

“Were you in the habit of making purchases there?”

“Fairly frequently. It was on my way home. About once or twice a week I was in the habit of purchasing two ounces of John Cotton mild.”

“Did you know Mrs. Ascher at all? Anything of her circumstances or her history?”

“Nothing whatever. Beyond my purchase and an occasional remark as to the state of the weather, I had never spoken to her.”

“Did you know she had a drunken husband who was in the habit of threatening her life?”