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.
his instructions were to listen to the other gardeners’ conversations and sound them as to their
“red” tendencies, and to pretend to be a bit of a “red” himself. he had been interviewed and
instructed in his task by a woman who had told him that she was known as q.h.56, and that he
had been recommended to her as a strong anti-communist. she had interviewed him in a dim light
and he did not think he would know her again. she was a red-haired lady with a lot of makeup on.
poirot groaned. the phillips oppenheim touch seemed to be reappearing.
he was tempted to consult mr. barnes on the subject.
according to mr. barnes these things happened.
the last post brought him something which disturbed him more still.
a cheap envelope in an unformed handwriting, postmarked hertfordshire.
poirot opened it and read:
dear sir,—
hoping as you will forgive me for troubling you, but i am very worried and do
not know what to do. i do not want to be mixed up with the police in any way. i
know that perhaps i ought to have told something i know before, but as they said
the master had shot himself it was all right i thought and i wouldn’t have liked to
get miss nevill’s young man into trouble and never thought really for one
moment as he had done it but now i see he has been took up for shooting at a
gentleman in the country and so perhaps he isn’t quite all there and i ought to say
but i thought i would write to you, you being a friend of the mistress and asking
me so particular the other day if there was anything and of course i wish now i
had told you then. but i do hope it won’t mean getting mixed up with the police
because i shouldn’t like that and my mother wouldn’t like it either. she has
always been most particular.
yours respectfully
agnes fletcher.
poirot murmured:
“i always knew it was something to do with some man. i guessed the wrong man, that is all.”
