Well, its rather difficult You see, this is my murder, so to speak. Ive thought it out and planned it and it all fits indovetails[19]. Well, if you know anything at all about writers, youll know that they cant stand suggestions. People say Splendid, but wouldnt it be better if so and so did so and so? or Wouldnt it be a wonderful idea if the victim was A instead of B? Or the murderer turned out to be D instead of E? I mean, one wants to say: All right then, write it yourself if you want it that way!
Poirot nodded.
And that is what has been happening?
Not quite That sort of silly suggestion has been made, and then Ive flared up, and theyve given in, but have just slipped in some quite minor trivial suggestion and because Ive made a stand over the other, Ive accepted the triviality without noticing much.
I see, said Poirot. Yesit is a method, that Something rather crude and preposterous is put forwardbut that is not really the point. The small minor alteration is really the objective. Is that what you mean?
Thats exactly what I mean, said Mrs Oliver. And, of course, I may be imagining it, but I dont think I amand none of the things seem to matter anyway. But its got me worriedthat, and a sort ofwellatmosphere.
Who has made these suggestions of alterations to you?
Different people, said Mrs Oliver. If it was just one person Id be more sure of my ground. But its not just one personalthough I think it is really. I mean its one person working through other quite unsuspecting people.
Have you an idea as to who that one person is?
Mrs Oliver shook her head.
Its somebody very clever and very careful, she said. It might be anybody.
Who is there? asked Poirot. The cast of characters must be fairly limited?
Well, began Mrs Oliver. Theres Sir George Stubbs who owns this place. Rich and plebeian[20] and frightfully stupid outside business, I should think, but probably dead sharp in it. And theres Lady StubbsHattieabout twenty years younger than he is, rather beautiful, but dumb as a fishin fact, I think shes definitely halfwitted. Married him for his money, of course, and doesnt think about anything but clothes and jewels. Then theres Michael Weymanhes an architect, quite young, and good-looking in a craggy kind of artistic way. Hes designing a tennis pavilion for Sir George and repairing the Folly.
Folly? What is thata masquerade?
No, its architectural. One of those little sort of temple things, white, with columns. Youve probably seen them at Kew. Then theres Miss Brewis, shes a sort of secretary housekeeper, who runs things and writes lettersvery grim and efficient. And then there are the people round about who come in and help. A young married couple who have taken a cottage down by the riverAlec Legge and his wife Sally. And Captain Warburton, whos the Mastertons agent. And the Mastertons, of course, and old Mrs Folliat who lives in what used to be the lodge. Her husbands people owned Nasse originally. But theyve died out, or been killed in wars, and there were lots of death duties[21] so the last heir sold the place.
Poirot considered this list of characters, but at the moment they were only names to him. He returned to the main issue.
Whose idea was the Murder Hunt?
Mrs Mastertons, I think. Shes the local M.P.s wife, very good at organizing. It was she who persuaded Sir George to have the fête here. You see the place has been empty for so many years that she thinks people will be keen to pay and come in to see it.
That all seems straightforward enough, said Poirot.
It all seems straightforward, said Mrs Oliver obstinately; but it isnt. I tell you, M. Poirot, theres something wrong.
Poirot looked at Mrs Oliver and Mrs Oliver looked back at Poirot.
How have you accounted for my presence here? For your summons to me? Poirot asked.
That was easy, said Mrs Oliver. Youre to give away the prizes for the Murder Hunt. Everybodys awfully thrilled. I said I knew you, and could probably persuade you to come and that I was sure your name would be a terrific drawas, of course, it will be, Mrs Oliver added tactfully.
And the suggestion was acceptedwithout demur?
I tell you, everybody was thrilled.
Mrs Oliver thought it unnecessary to mention that amongst the younger generation one or two had asked Who is Hercule Poirot?
Everybody? Nobody spoke against the idea?
Mrs Oliver shook her head.
That is a pity, said Hercule Poirot.
You mean it might have given us a line?
A would-be criminal could hardly be expected to welcome my presence.
I suppose you think Ive imagined the whole thing, said Mrs Oliver ruefully. I must admit that until I started talking to you I hadnt realized how very little Ive got to go upon.
Calm yourself, said Poirot kindly. I am intrigued and interested. Where do we begin?
Mrs Oliver glanced at her watch.
Its just tea-time. Well go back to the house and then you can meet everybody.
She took a different path from the one by which Poirot had come. This one seemed to lead in the opposite direction.
We pass by the boathouse this way, Mrs Oliver explained.
As she spoke the boathouse came into view. It jutted out on to the river and was a picturesque thatched affair.[22]
Thats where the Bodys going to be, said Mrs Oliver. The body for the Murder Hunt, I mean.
And who is going to be killed?
Oh, a girl hiker, who is really the Yugoslavian first wife of a young Atom Scientist, said Mrs Oliver glibly.
Poirot blinked.
Of course it looks as though the Atom Scientist had killed herbut naturally its not as simple as that.
Naturally notsince you are concerned
Mrs Oliver accepted the compliment with a wave of the hand.
Actually, she said, shes killed by the Country Squire[23]and the motive is really rather ingeniousI dont believe many people will get itthough theres a perfectly clear pointer in the fifth clue.
Poirot abandoned the subtleties of Mrs Olivers plot to ask a practical question:
But how do you arrange for a suitable body?
Girl Guide, said Mrs Oliver. Sally Legge was going to be itbut now they want her to dress up in a turban and do the fortune telling[24]. So its a Girl Guide called Marlene Tucker. Rather dumb and sniffs,[25] she added in an explanatory manner. Its quite easyjust peasant scarves and a rucksackand all she has to do when she hears someone coming is to flop down on the floor and arrange the cord round her neck. Rather dull for the poor kidjust sticking inside that boathouse until shes found, but Ive arranged for her to have a nice bundle of comicstheres a clue to the murderer scribbled on one of them as a matter of factso it all works in.
Your ingenuity leaves me spellbound! The things you think of!
Its never difficult to think of things, said Mrs Oliver. The trouble is that you think of too many, and then it all becomes too complicated, so you have to relinquish some of them and that is rather agony. We go up this way now.
They started up a steep zig-zagging path that led them back along the river at a higher level. At a twist through the trees they came out on a space surmounted by a small white pilastered temple. Standing back and frowning at it was a young man wearing dilapidated flannel trousers and a shirt of rather virulent green. He spun round towards them.
Mr Michael Weyman, M. Hercule Poirot, said Mrs Oliver.
The young man acknowledged the introduction with a careless nod.
Extraordinary, he said bitterly, the places people put things! This thing here, for instance. Put up only about a year agoquite nice of its kind and quite in keeping with the period of the house. But why here? These things were meant to be seensituated on an eminencethats how they phrased itwith a nice grassy approach and daffodils, et cetera. But heres this poor little devil, stuck away in the midst of treesnot visible from anywhereyoud have to cut down about twenty trees before youd even see it from the river.