chapter 17 in wandsworth

mr henry mitchell was just sitting down to a supper of sausage and mash when a visitor called to see him.

somewhat to the steward's astonishment, the visitor in question was the full-mustachioed gentleman who had been one of the passengers on the fatal plane.

m. poirot was very affable, very agreeable in his manner. he insisted on mr mitchell's getting on with his supper, paid a graceful compliment to mrs mitchell, who was standing staring at him open-mouthed.

he accepted a chair, remarked that it was very warm for the time of year and then gently came round to the purpose of his call.

"scotland yard, i fear, is not making much progress with the case," he said.

mitchell shook his head.

"it was an amazing business, sir - amazing. i don't see what they've got to go on. why, if none of the people on the plane saw anything, it's going to be difficult for anyone afterwards."

"truly, as you say."

"terribly worried. henry's been, over it," put in his wife. "not able to sleep of nights."

the steward explained:

"it's lain on my mind, sir, something terrible. the company had been very fair about it. i must say i was afraid at first i might lose my job."

"henry, they couldn't. it would have been cruelly unfair."

his wife sounded highly indignant. she was a buxom highly complexioned woman with snapping dark eyes.

"things don't always happen fairly, ruth. still, it turned out better than i thought. they absolved me from blame. but i felt it, if you understand me. i was in charge, as it were."

"i understand your feelings," said poirot sympathetically. "but i assure you that you are overconscientious. nothing that happened was your fault."

"that's what i say, sir," put in mrs mitchell.

mitchell shook his head.

"i ought to have noticed that the lady was dead sooner. if i'd tried to wake her up when i first took round the bills -"

"it would have made little difference. death, they think, was very nearly instantaneous."

"he worries so," said mrs mitchell. "i tell him not to bother his head so. who's to know what reason foreigners have for murdering each other, and if you ask me, i think it's a dirty trick to have done it in a british aeroplane."

she finished her sentence with an indignant and patriotic snort.

mitchell shook his head in a puzzled way.

"it weighs on me, so to speak. every time i go on duty i'm in a state. and then the gentleman from scotland yard asking me again and again if nothing unusual or sudden occurred on the way over. makes me feel as though i must have forgotten something, and yet i know i haven't. it was a most uneventful voyage in every way until - until it happened."

"blowpipes and darts - heathen, i call it," said mrs mitchell.

"you are right," said poirot, addressing her with a flattering air of being struck by her remarks. "not so is an english murder committed."

"you're right, sir."

"you know, mrs mitchell, i can almost guess what part of england you come from?"

"dorset, sir. not far from bridport. that's my home."

"exactly," said poirot. "a lovely part of the world."

"it is that. london isn't a patch on dorset. my folk have been settled at dorset for over two hundred years, and i've got dorset in the blood, as you might say."

"yes, indeed." he turned to the steward again. "there's one thing i'd like to ask you, mitchell."

the man's brow contracted.

"i've told all that i know; indeed i have, sir?"

"yes, yes, this is a very trifling matter. i only wondered if anything on the table - madame giselle's table, i mean - was disarranged?"

"you mean when - when i found her?"

"yes. the spoons and forks, the saltcellar - anything like that?"

the man shook his head.

"there wasn't anything of that kind on the tables. everything was cleared away, bar the coffee cups. i didn't notice anything myself. i shouldn't, though. i was much too flustered. but the police would know that, sir; they searched the plane through and through."

"ah, well," said poirot, "it is no matter. sometime i must have a word with your colleague davis."

"he's on the early 8:45 a.m. service now, sir."

"has this business upset him much?"

"oh, well, sir, you see, he's only a young fellow. if you ask me, he's almost enjoyed it all. the excitement! and everyone standing him drinks and wanting to hear about it."

"has he, perhaps, a young lady?" asked poirot. "doubtless his connection with the crime would be very thrilling to her."

"he's courting old johnson's daughter at the crown and feathers," said mrs mitchell. "but she's a sensible girl; got her head screwed on the right way. she doesn't approve of being mixed up with a murder."

"a very sound point of view," said poirot, rising. "well, thank you, mr mitchell - and you, mrs mitchell - and i beg of you, my friend, do not let this weigh upon your mind."

when he had departed, mitchell said: "the thick heads in the jury at the inquest thought he'd done it. but if you ask me, he's secret service."

"if you ask me," said mrs mitchell, "there's bolshies at the back of it."

poirot had said that he must have a word with the other steward, davis, sometime. as a matter of fact, he had it not many hours later, in the bar of the crown and feathers.

he asked davis the same question he had asked mitchell.

"nothing disarranged, no, sir. you mean upset? that kind of thing?"

"i mean - well, shall we say something missing from the table, or something that would not usually be there?"

davis said slowly:

"there was something. i noticed it when i was clearing up after the police had done with the place. but i don't suppose that it's the sort of thing you mean. it's only that the dead lady had two coffee spoons in her saucer. it does sometimes happen when we're serving in a hurry. i noticed it because there's a superstition about that; they say two spoons in a saucer means a wedding."

"was there a spoon missing from anyone else's saucer?"

"no, sir, not that i noticed. mitchell or i must have taken the cup and saucer along that way - as i say, one does sometimes, what with the hurry and all. i laid two sets of fish knives and forks only a week ago. on the whole, it's better than laying the table short, for then you have to interrupt yourself and go and fetch the extra knife or whatever it is you've forgotten."

poirot asked one more question - a somewhat jocular one:

"what do you think of french girls, davis?"

"english is good enough for me, sir."

and he grinned at a plump fair-haired girl behind the bar.