There were broomsticks, said Mrs Oliver. They gave prizes for them.
Prizes?
Yes, for who brought the best decorated ones.
Poirot looked at her rather doubtfully. Originally relieved at the mention of a party, he now again felt slightly doubtful. Since he knew that Mrs Oliver did not partake of spirituous liquor , he could not make one of the assumptions that he might have made in any other case.
A childrens party, said Mrs Oliver. Or rather, an eleven-plus party.
Eleven-plus?
Well, thats what they used to call it, you know, in schools. I mean they see how bright you are, and if youre bright enough to pass your eleven-plus, you go on to a grammar school or something. But if youre not bright enough, you go to something called
a Secondary Modern . A silly name. It doesnt seem to mean anything.
I do not, I confess, really understand what you are talking about, said Poirot. They seemed to have got away from parties and entered into the realms of education.
Mrs Oliver took a deep breath and began again.
It started really, she said, with the apples.
Ah yes, said Poirot, it would. It always might with you, mightnt it?
He was thinking to himself of a small car on a hill and a large woman getting out of it, and a bag of apples breaking, and the apples running and cascading down the hill.
Yes, he said encouragingly, apples.
Bobbing for apples, said Mrs Oliver. Thats one of the things you do at a Halloween party.
Ah yes, I think I have heard of that, yes.
You see, all sorts of things were being done. There was bobbing for apples, and cutting sixpence off a tumblerful of flour, and looking in a looking-glass
To see your true loves face? suggested Poirot knowledgeably.
Ah, said Mrs Oliver, youre beginning to under stand at last.
A lot of old folklore, in fact, said Poirot, and this all took place at your party.
Yes, it was all a great success. It finished up with Snapdragon. You know, burning raisins in a great dish. I suppose her voice faltered, I suppose that must be the actual time when it was done.
When what was done?
A murder. After the Snapdragon everyone went home, said Mrs Oliver. That, you see, was when they couldnt find her.
Find whom?
A girl. A girl called Joyce. Everyone called her name and looked around and asked if shed gone home with anyone else, and her mother got rather annoyed and said that Joyce must have felt tired or ill or something and gone off by herself, and that it was very thoughtless of her not to leave word. All the sort of things that mothers say when things like that happen. But anyway, we couldnt find Joyce.
And had she gone home by herself?
No, said Mrs Oliver, she hadnt gone home Her voice faltered. We found her in the endin the library. Thats wherewhere someone did it, you know. Bobbing for apples. the bucket was there. A big, galvanized bucket. they wouldnt have the plastic one. Perhaps if theyd had the plastic one it wouldnt have happened. It wouldnt have been heavy enough. It might have tipped over
What happened? said Poirot. His voice was sharp.
Thats where she was found, said Mrs Oliver. Someone, you know, someone had shoved her head down into the water with the apples. Shoved her down and held her there so that she was dead, of course. Drowned. Drowned. Just in a galvanized iron bucket nearly full of water. Kneeling there, sticking her head down to bob at an apple. I hate apples, said Mrs Oliver. I never want to see an apple again.
Poirot looked at her. He stretched out a hand and filled a small glass with cognac.
Drink this, he said. It will do you good.
CHAPTER 4
You were right, she said. Thatthat helped. I was getting hysterical.
You have had a great shock, I see now. When did this happen?
Last night. Was it only last night? Yes, yes, of course.
And you came to me.
It was not a quite a question, but it displayed a desire for more information than Poirot had yet had.
You came to mewhy?
I thought you could help, said Mrs Oliver. You see, itsits not simple.
It could be and it could not, said Poirot. A lot depends. You must tell me more, you know. The police, I presume, are in charge. A doctor was, no doubt, called. What did he say?
Theres to be an inquest, said Mrs Oliver.
Naturally.
Tomorrow or the next day.
This girl, Joyce, how old was she?
I dont know exactly. I should think perhaps twelve or thirteen.
Small for her age?
No, no, I should think rather mature, perhaps. Lumpy, said Mrs Oliver.
Well developed? You mean sexy-looking?
Yes, that is what I mean. But I dont think that was the kind of crime it wasI mean that would have been more simple, wouldnt it?
It is the kind of crime, said Poirot, of which one reads every day in the paper. A girl who is attacked, a school child who is assaultedyes, every day. This happened in a private house which makes it different, but perhaps not so different as all that. But all the same, Im not sure yet that youve told me everything.