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

“The police are searching—” I began.

My commonplace words broke the spell. Thora Grey pulled herself together.

“Yes,” she said. “Of course.”

In her turn she descended the staircase. I stood there a moment longer conning her words over in my mind.

A B C….

Where was he now…?

Sixteen

NOT FROM CAPTAIN HASTINGS’ PERSONAL NARRATIVE

Mr. Alexander Bonaparte Cust came out with the rest of the audience from the Torquay Palladium, where he had been seeing and hearing that highly emotional film, Not a Sparrow….

He blinked a little as he came out into the afternoon sunshine and peered round him in that lost-dog fashion that was characteristic of him.

He murmured to himself: “It’s an idea….”

Newsboys passed along crying out:

“Latest…Homicidal Maniac at Churston….”

They carried placards on which was written:

CHURSTON MURDER. LATEST.

Mr. Cust fumbled in his pocket, found a coin, and bought a paper. He did not open it at once.

Entering the Princess Gardens, he slowly made his way to a shelter facing Torquay harbour. He sat down and opened the paper.

There were big headlines:

SIR CARMICHAEL CLARKE MURDERED.

TERRIBLE TRAGEDY AT CHURSTON.

WORK OF A HOMICIDAL MANIAC.

And below them:

Only a month ago England was shocked and startled by the murder of a young girl, Elizabeth Barnard, at Bexhill. It may be remembered that an A B C railway guide figured in the case. An A B C was also found by the dead body of Sir Carmichael Clarke, and the police incline to the belief that both crimes were committed by the same person. Can it be possible that a homicidal murderer is going the round of our seaside resorts?…

A young man in flannel trousers and a bright blue Aertex shirt who was sitting beside Mr. Cust remarked:

“Nasty business—eh?”

Mr. Cust jumped.

“Oh, very—very—”

His hands, the young man noticed, were trembling so that he could hardly hold the paper.

“You never know with lunatics,” said the young man chattily. “They don’t always look barmy, you know. Often they seem just the same as you or me….”

“I suppose they do,” said Mr. Cust.