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

There was silence between us for some time. As we passed New Cross Station, Crome said:

“If there’s anything you want to ask me about the case, pray do so.”

“You have not, I presume, a description of the dead girl?”

“She was twenty-three years of age, engaged as a waitress at the Ginger Cat café—”

“Pas ça. I wondered—if she were pretty?”

“As to that I’ve no information,” said Inspector Crome with a hint of withdrawal. His manner said: “Really—these foreigners! All the same!”

A faint look of amusement came into Poirot’s eyes.

“It does not seem to you important, that? Yet, pour une femme, it is of the first importance. Often it decides her destiny!”

Another silence fell.

It was not until we were nearing Sevenoaks that Poirot opened the conversation again.

“Were you informed, by any chance, how and with what the girl was strangled?”

Inspector Crome replied briefly.

“Strangled with her own belt—a thick, knitted affair, I gather.”

Poirot’s eyes opened very wide.

“Aha,” he said. “At last we have a piece of information that is very definite. That tells one something, does it not?”

“I haven’t seen it yet,” said Inspector Crome coldly.

I felt impatient with the man’s caution and lack of imagination.

“It gives us the hallmark of the murderer,” I said. “The girl’s own belt. It shows the particular beastliness of his mind!”

Poirot shot me a glance I could not fathom. On the face of it it conveyed humorous impatience. I thought that perhaps it was a warning not to be too outspoken in front of the inspector.

I relapsed into silence.

At Bexhill we were greeted by Superintendent Carter. He had with him a pleasant-faced, intelligent-looking young inspector called Kelsey. The latter was detailed to work in with Crome over the case.

“You’ll want to make your own inquiries, Crome,” said the superintendent. “So I’ll just give you the main heads of the matter and then you can get busy right away.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Crome.

“We’ve broken the news to her father and mother,” said the superintendent. “Terrible shock to them, of course. I left them to recover a bit before questioning them, so you can start from the beginning there.”

“There are

other members of the family—yes?” asked Poirot.

“There’s a sister—a typist in London. She’s been communicated with. And there’s a young man—in fact, the girl was supposed to be out with him last night, I gather.”

“Any help from the A B C guide?” asked Crome.

“It’s there,” the superintendent nodded towards the table. “No fingerprints. Open at the page for Bexhill. A new copy, I should say—doesn’t seem to have been opened much. Not bought anywhere round here. I’ve tried all the likely stationers.”

“Who discovered the body, sir?”