Just as the train was leaving the station we saw a man running down the platform. He reached the inspectors window and called up something.
As the train drew out of the station Poirot and I hurried along the corridor and tapped on the door of the inspectors sleeper.
You have newsyes? demanded Poirot.
Crome said quietly:
Its about as bad as it can be. Sir Carmichael Clarke has been found with his head bashed in.
Sir Carmichael Clarke, although his name was not very well known to the general public, was a man of some eminence. He had been in his time a very well-known throat specialist. Retiring from his profession very comfortably off, he had been able to indulge what had been one of the chief passions of his lifea collection of Chinese pottery and porcelain. A few years later, inheriting a considerable fortune from an elderly uncle, he had been able to indulge his passion to the full, and he was now the possessor of one of the best-known collections of Chinese art. He was married but had no children and lived in a house he had built for himself near the Devon coast, only coming to London on rare occasions such as when some important sale was on.
It did not require much reflection to realize that his death, following that of the young and pretty Betty Barnard, would provide the best newspaper sensation for years. The fact that it was August and that the papers were hard up for subject matter[175] would make matters worse.
Eh bien[176], said Poirot. It is possible that publicity may do what private efforts have failed to do. The whole country now will be looking for А В C.
Unfortunately, I said, thats what he wants.
True. But it may, all the same, be his undoing. Gratified by success, he may become careless That is what I hopethat he may be drunk with his own cleverness.
How odd all this is, Poirot, I exclaimed, struck suddenly by an idea. Do you know, this is the first crime of this kind that you and I have worked on together? All our murders have beenwell, private murders, so to speak.
You are quite right, my friend. Always, up to now, it has fallen to our lot[177] to work from the inside. It has been the history of the victim that was important. The important points have been: Who benefited by the death? What opportunities had those round him to commit the crime? It has always been the crime intime. Here, for the first time in our association, it is cold-blooded, impersonal murder. Murder from the outside.
I shivered.
Its rather horrible
Yes. I felt from the first, when I read the original letter, that there was something wrongmisshapen
He made an impatient gesture.
One must not give way to the nerves This is no worse than any ordinary crime
It is It is
Is it worse to take the life or lives of strangers than to take the life of someone near and dear to yousomeone who trusts and believes in you, perhaps?
Its worse because its mad
No, Hastings. It is not worse. It is only more difficult.
No, no, I do not agree with you. Its infinitely more frightening.
Hercule Poirot said thoughtfully:
It should be easier to discover because it is mad. A crime committed by someone shrewd and sane would be far more complicated. Here, if one could but hit on the idea This alphabetical business, it has discrepancies. If I could once see the ideathen everything would be clear and simple
He sighed and shook his head.
These crimes must not go on. Soon, soon, I must see the truth Go, Hastings. Get some sleep. There will be much to do tomorrow.
Chapter 15
Sir Carmichael Clarke
Churston, lying as it does between Brixham on the one side and Paignton and Torquay on the other, occupies a position about halfway round the curve of Torbay. Until about ten years ago it was merely a golf links[178] and below the links a green sweep of countryside dropping down to the sea with only a farmhouse or two in the way of human occupation. But of late years there had been big building developments between Churston and Paignton and the coastline is now dotted with small houses and bungalows, new roads, etc.
Sir Carmichael Clarke had purchased a site of some two acres[179] commanding an uninterrupted view of the sea. The house he had built was of modern designa white rectangle that was not unpleasing to the eye. Apart from two big galleries that housed his collection it was not a large house.
Our arrival there took place about 8 a.m. A local police officer had met us at the station and had put us au courant[180] of the situation.
Sir Carmichael Clarke, it seemed, had been in the habit of taking a stroll after dinner every evening. When the police rang upat some time after elevenit was ascertained that he had not returned. Since his stroll usually followed the same course, it was not long before a search-party discovered his body. Death was due to a crashing blow with some heavy instrument on the back of the head. An open ABC bad been placed face downwards on the dead body.
We arrived at Combeside (as the house was called) at about eight oclock. The door was opened by an elderly butler whose shaking hands and disturbed face showed how much the tragedy had affected him.