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“Now, now, you must not agitate yourself.”
“But he has. First they pretend that he tried to murder this Mr. Blunt and not content with that they’ve accused him of murdering poor Mr. Morley.”
Hercule Poirot coughed. He said:
“I was down there, you know, at Exsham, when the shot was fired at Mr. Blunt.”
Gladys Nevill said with a somewhat confusing use of pronouns:
“But even if Frank did—did do a foolish thing like that—and he’s one of those Imperial Shirts, you know—they march with banners and have a ridiculous salute, and of course I suppose Mr. Blunt’s wife was a very notorious Jewess, and they just work up these poor young men—quite harmless ones like Frank—until they think they are doing something wonderful and patriotic.”
“Is that Mr. Carter’s defence?” asked Hercule Poirot.
“Oh no. Frank just swears he didn’t do anything and had never seen the pistol before. I haven’t spoken to him, of course—they wouldn’t let me—but he’s got a solicitor acting for him and he told me what Frank had said. Frank just says it’s all a frame-up.”
Poirot murmured:
“And the solicitor is of opinion that his client had better think of a more plausible story?”
“Lawyers are so difficult. They won’t say anything straight out. But it’s the murder charge I’m worrying about. Oh! M. Poirot, I’m sure Frank couldn’t have killed Mr. Morley. I mean really—he hadn’t any reason to.”
“Is it true,” said Poirot, “that when he came round that morning he had not yet got a job of any kind?”
“Well, really, M. Poirot, I don’t see what difference that makes. Whether he got the job in the morning or the afternoon can’t matter.”
Poirot said:
“But his story was that he came to tell you about his good luck. Now, it seems, he had as yet had no luck. Why, then, did he come?”
“Well, M. Poirot, the poor boy was dispirited and upset, and to tell the truth I believe he’d been drinking a little. Poor Frank has rather a weak head—and the drink upset him and so he felt like—like making a row, and he came round to Queen Charlotte Street to have it out with Mr. Morley, because, you see, Frank is awfully sensitive and it had upset him a lot to feel that Mr. Morley disapproved of him, and was what he called poisoning my mind.”
“So he conceived the idea of making a scene in business hours?”
“Well—yes—I suppose that was his idea. Of course it was very wrong of Frank to think of such a thing.”
Poirot looked thoughtfully at the tearful blonde young woman in front of him. He said:
“Did you know that Frank Carter had a pistol—or a pair of pistols?”
“Oh no, M. Poirot. I swear I didn’t. And I don’t believe it’s true, either.”
Poirot shook his head slowly in a perplexed manner.
“Oh! M. Poirot, do help us. If I could only feel that you were on our side—”
Poirot said:
“I do not take sides. I am on the side only of the truth.”
V
After he had got rid of the girl, Poirot rang up Scotland Yard. Japp had not yet returned but Detective Sergeant Beddoes was obliging and informative.
The police had not as yet found any evidence to prove Frank Carter’s possession of the pistol before the assault at Exsham.
Poirot hung up the receiver thoughtfully. It was a point in Carter’s favour. But so far it was the only one.
He had also learned from Beddoes a few more details as to the statement Frank Carter had made about his employment as gardener at Exsham. He stuck to his story of a Secret Service job. He had been given money in advance and some testimonials as to his gardening abilities and been told to apply to Mr. MacAlister, the head gardener, for the post.
