“Come, Hastings, we must start for Eastbourne.”
The car was waiting and soon we were driving along the coast road that leads through Pevensey to Eastbourne.
“Is it any use asking you anything, Poirot?”
“Not at this moment. Draw your own conclusions as to what I am doing.”
I relapsed into silence.
Poirot, who seemed pleased with himself, hummed a little tune. As we passed through Pevensey he suggested that we stop and have a look over the castle.
As we were returning towards the car, we paused a moment to watch a ring of children—Brownies, I guessed, by their get-up—who were singing a ditty in shrill, untuneful voices….
“What is it that they say, Hastings? I cannot catch the words.”
I listened—till I caught one refrain.
“—And catch a fox
And put him in a box
And never let him go.”
“And catch a fox and put him in a box and never let him go!” repeated Poirot.
His face had gone suddenly grave and stern.
“It is very terrible that, Hastings.” He was silent a minute. “You hunt the fox here?”
“I don’t. I’ve never been able to afford to hunt. And I don’t think there’s much hunting in this part of the world.”
“I meant in England generally. A strange sport. The waiting at the covert side—then they sound the tally-ho, do they not?—and the run begins—across the country—over the hedges and ditches—and the fox he runs—and sometimes he doubles back—but the dogs—”
“Hounds!”
“—hounds are on his trail, and at last they catch him and he dies—quickly and horribly.”
“I suppose it does sound cruel, but really—”
“The fox enjoys it? Do not say les bêtises, my friend. Tout de même—it is better that—the quick, cruel death—than what those children were singing….
“To be shut away—in a box—for ever…No, it is not good, that.”
He shook his head. Then he said, with a change of tone:
“Tomorrow, I am to visit the man Cust,” and he added to the chauffeur:
“Back to London.”
“Aren’t you going to Eastbourne?” I cried.
“What need? I know—quite enough for my purpose.”
Thirty-three
ALEXANDER BONAPARTE CUST
I was not present at the interview that took place between Poirot and that strange man—Alexander Bonaparte Cust. Owing to his association with the police and the peculiar circumstances of the case, Poirot had no difficulty in obtaining a Home Office order—but that order did not extend to me, and in any case it was essential, from Poirot’s point of view, that that interview should be absolutely private—the two men face to face.