iv
he reached mr. barnes’ house at ealing at 6:45. he remembered that mr. barnes had called that a
good time of day.
mr. barnes was at work in his garden.
he said by way of greeting:
“we need rain, m. poirot—need it badly.”
he looked thoughtfully at his guest. he said:
“you don’t look very well, m. poirot?”
“sometimes,” said hercule poirot, “i do not like the things i have to do.”
mr. barnes nodded his head sympathetically.
he said:
“i know.”
hercule poirot looked vaguely round at the neat arrangement of the small beds. he murmured:
“it is well-planned, this garden. everything is to scale. it is small but exact.”
mr. barnes said:
“when you have only a small place you’ve got to make the most of it. you can’t afford to make
mistakes in the planning.”
hercule poirot nodded.
barnes went on:
“i see you’ve got your man?”
“frank carter?”
“yes. i’m rather surprised, really.”
“you did not think that it was, so to speak, a private murder?”
“no. frankly i didn’t. what with amberiotis and alistair blunt—i made sure that it was one of
these espionage or counter-espionage mix-ups.”
“that is the view you expounded to me at our first meeting.”
“i know. i was quite sure of it at the time.”
poirot said slowly:
“but you were wrong.”
“yes. don’t rub it in. the trouble is, one goes by one’s own experience. i’ve been mixed-up in
that sort of thing so much i suppose i’m inclined to see it everywhere.”
poirot said:
“you have observed in your time a conjurer offer a card, have you not? what is called—forcing
a card?”
“yes, of course.”
“that is what was done here. every time that one thinks of a private reason for morley’s death,
hey presto—the card is forced on one. amberiotis, alistair blunt, the unsettled state of politics—
of the country—” he shrugged his shoulders. “as for you, mr. barnes, you did more to mislead
me than anybody.”
“oh, i say, poirot, i’m sorry. i suppose that’s true.”
“you were in a position to know, you see. so your words carried weight.”
“well—i believed what i said. that’s the only apology i can make.”
he paused and sighed.
“and all the time, it was a purely private motive?”
“exactly. it has taken me a long time to see the reason for the murder—although i had one very
definite piece of luck.”
“what was that?”
“a fragment of conversation. really a very illuminating fragment if only i had had the sense to
realize its significance at the time.”
mr. barnes scratched his nose thoughtfully with the trowel. a small piece of earth adhered to
the side of his nose.
“being rather cryptic, aren’t you?” he asked genially.
hercule poirot shrugged his shoulders. he said:
“i am, perhaps, aggrieved that you were not more frank with me.”
“i?”
“yes.”
“my dear fellow—i never had the least idea of carter’s guilt. as far as i knew, he’d left the
house long before morley was killed. i suppose now they’ve found he didn’t leave when he said
he did?”
poirot said:
“carter was in the house at twenty-six minutes past twelve. he actually saw the murderer.”
“then carter didn’t—”
“carter saw the murderer, i tell you!”
mr. barnes said:
“did he recognize him?”
slowly hercule poirot shook his head.
