that,’ said Mrs Drake contemptuously.
‘You did not take that statement seriously?’
‘Well, of course I didn’t. It was a very silly thing to say.’
‘How did she come to say it?’
‘Well, I think really they were all rather excited about Mrs Oliver being here. You are a very famous person, you must remember, dear,’ said Mrs Drake, addressing Mrs Oliver.
The word ‘dear’ seemed included in her speech without any accompanying enthusiasm.
‘I don’t suppose the subject would ever have arisen otherwise, but the children were excited by meeting a famous authoress—’
‘So Joyce said that she had seen a murder committed,’ said Poirot thoughtfully.
‘Yes, she said something of the kind. I wasn’t really listening.’
‘But you do remember that she said it?’
‘Oh yes, she said it. But I didn’t believe it,’ said Mrs Drake. ‘Her sister hushed her up at once, very properly.’
And she was annoyed about that, was she?’
‘Yes, she went on saying that it was true.’
‘In fact, she boasted about it.’
‘When you put it that way, yes.’
‘It might have been true, I suppose,’ said Poirot.
‘Nonsense! I don’t believe it for one minute,’ said Mrs Drake. ‘It’s the sort of stupid thing Joyce would say.’
‘She was a stupid girl?’
‘Well, she was the kind, I think, who liked to show off.’ said Mrs Drake. ‘You know, she always wanted to have seen more or done more than other girls.’
‘Not a very lovable character,’ said Poirot.
‘No indeed,’ said Mrs Drake. ‘Really the kind that you have to be shutting up all the time.’
‘What did the other children who were here have to say about it? Were they impressed?’
‘They laughed at her,’ said Mrs Drake. ‘So, of course, that made her worse.’
‘Well,’ said Poirot, as he rose, ‘I am glad to have your positive assurance on that point.’ He bowed politely over her hand. ‘Good-bye, Madame, thank you so much for allowing me to view the scene of this very unpleasant occurrence. I hope it has not recalled unpleasant memories too definitely to you.’
‘Of course,’ said Mrs Drake, ‘it is very painful to recall anything of this kind. I had so hoped our little party would go off well. Indeed, it was going off well and everyone seemed to be enjoying it so much till this terrible thing happened. However, the only thing one can do is to try and forget it all. of course, it’s very unfortunate that Joyce should have made this silly remark about seeing a murder.’
‘Have you ever had a murder in Woodleigh Com mon?’
‘Not that I can remember,’ said Mrs Drake firmly.
‘In this age of increased crime that we live in,’ said Poirot, ‘that really seems somewhat unusual, does it not?’
‘Well, I think there was a lorry driver who killed a pal of his—something like that—and a little girl whom they found buried in a gravel pit about fifteen miles from here, but that was years ago. They were both rather sordid and uninteresting crimes. Mainly the result of drink, I think.’
‘In fact, the kind of murder unlikely to have been witnessed by a girl of twelve or thirteen.’
‘Most unlikely, I should say. And I can assure you, Monsieur Poirot, this statement that the girl made was solely in order to impress friends and perhaps interest a famous character.’ She looked rather coldly across at Mrs Oliver.
‘In fact,’ said Mrs Oliver, ‘it’s all my fault for being at the party, I suppose.’
‘Oh, of course not, my dear, of course I didn’t mean it that way.’
Poirot sighed as he departed from the house with Mrs Oliver by his side.
‘A very unsuitable place for a murder,’ he said, as they walked down the path to the gate. ‘No atmosphere, no haunting sense of tragedy, no character worth murdering, though I couldn’t help thinking that just occasionally someone might feel like murdering Mrs Drake.’
‘I know what you mean. She can be intensely irritating sometimes. So pleased with herself and so complacent.’
‘What is her husband like?’
‘Oh, she’s a widow. Her husband died a year or two ago. He got polio and had been a cripple for years. He was a banker originally, I think. He was very keen on games and sport and hated having to give all that up and be an invalid.’
‘Yes, indeed.’ He reverted to the subject of the child Joyce. ‘Just tell me this. Did anyone who was listening take this assertion of the child Joyce about murder seriously?’
‘I don’t know. I shouldn’t have thought anyone did.’
‘The other children, for instance?’
‘Well, I was thinking really of them. No, I don’t think they believed what Joyce was saying. They thought she was making up things.’
‘Did you think that, too?’
‘Well, I did really,’ said Mrs Oliver. ‘Of course,’ she added, ‘Mrs Drake would like to believe that the murder never really happened, but she can’t very well go as far as that, can she?’
‘I understand that this may be painful for her.’
‘I suppose it is in a way,’ said Mrs Oliver, ‘but I think that by now, you know, she is actually getting quite pleased to talk about it. I don’t think she likes to have to bottle it up all the time.’
‘Do you like her?’ asked Poirot. ‘Do you think she’s a nice woman?’
‘You do ask the most difficult questions. Embarrassing ones,’ said Mrs Oliver. ‘It seems the only thing you are interested in is whether people are nice or not. Rowena Drake is the bossy type—likes running things and people. She runs this whole place more or less, I should think. But runs it very efficiently. It depends if you like bossy women. I don’t much—’
‘What about Joyce’s mother whom we are on our way to see?’
‘She’s quite a nice woman. Rather stupid, I should think. I’m sorry for her. It’s pretty awful to have your daughter murdered, isn’t it? And everyone here thinks it was a sex crime which makes it worse.’
‘But there was no evidence of sexual assault, or so I understand?’
‘No, but people like to think these things happen. It makes it more exciting. You know what people are like.’
‘One
