Chapter Eleven Megan Barnard


          As I said，Megan Barnard's words，and still more the crisp
     businesslike
     tone in which they were uttered，made me jump.
         Poirot，however，merely bowed his head gravely.
         "A la bonne heure，"he said."You are intelligent，mademoiselle."
         Megan Barnard said，still in the same detached tone:
         "I was extremely fond of Betty.But my fondness didn't blind me
     from
     seeing exactly the kind of silly little fool she was-and even telling
     her so
     upon occasions!Sisters are like that."
         "And did she pay any attention to your advice?"
         "Probably not，"said Megan cynically.
         "Will you，mademoiselle，be precise."
         The girl hesitated for a minute or two.
         Poirot said with a slight smile:
         "I will help you.I heard what you said to Hastings.That your
     sister was
     a bright，happy girl with no men friends.It was-un peu-the opposite
     that was
     true，was it not?"
         Megan said slowly:
         "There wasn't any harm in Betty.I want you to understand
     that.She'd
     always go straight.She's not the weekending kind.
         Nothing of that sort.But she liked being taken out and dancing
     and-oh，
     cheap flattery and compliments and all that sort of thing."
         "And she was pretty-yes?"
         This question，the third time I had heard it，met this time with a
     practical response.
         Megan slipped off the table，went to her suitcase，snapped it open
     and
     extracted something which she handed to Poirot.
         In a leather frame was a head and shoulders of a fair-haried，
     smiling
     girl.Her hair had evidently recently been permed，it stood out from
     her head
     in a mass of rather frizzy curls.The smile was arch and artificial.It
     was
     certainly not a face that you could call beautiful，but it had an
     obvious
     and cheap prettiness.
         Poirot handed it back，saying:
         "You and she do not resemble each other，mademoiselle."
         "Oh!I'm the plain one of the family.I've always known that."She
     seemed
     

     to brush aside the fact as umimportant.
         "In what way exactly do you consider your sister was behaving
     foolishly?
         Do you mean，perhaps，in relation to Mr Donald Fraser?"
         "That's it，exactly.Don's a very quiet sort of person-but
     he-well，
     naturally he'd resent certain things-and then-""And then what，
     mademoiselle?"
         His eyes were on her very steadily.
         It may have been my fancy but it seemed to me that she hesitated a
     second before answering.
         "I was afraid that he might-chuck her altogether.And that would
     have
     been a pity.He's a very steady and hard-working man and would have
     made her
     a good husband."
         Poirot continued to gaze at her.She did not flush under his glance
     but
     returned it with one of her own equally steady and with something else
     in
     it-something that reminded me of her first defiant，disdainful manner.
         "So it is like that，"he said at last.
         "We do not speak the truth any longer."
         She shrugged her shoulders and turned towards the door.
         "Well，"she said."I've done what I could to help you."
         Poirot's voice arrested her.
         "Wait，mademoiselle.I have something to tell you.Come back."
         Rather unwillingly，I thought，she obeyed.
         Somewhat to my surprise，Poirot plunged into the whole story of
     the A B
     C letters，the murder of Andover，and the railway guide found by the
     bodies.
         He had no reason to complain of any lack of interest on her
     part.Her
     lips parted，her eyes gleaming，she hung on his words.
         "Is this all true，M.Poirot?"
         "Yes，it is true."
         "You really mean that my sister was killed by some horrible
     homicidal
     maniac?"
         "Precisely?"
         She drew a deep breath.
         "Oh!Betty-Betty-how-how ghastly!"
         "You see，mademoiselle，that the information for which I ask you
     can
     give freely without wondering whether or not it will hurt anyone."
         "Yes，I see that now."
         "Then let us continue our conversation.I have formed the idea that
     this
     Donald Fraser has，perhaps，a violent and jealous temper，is that
     right?"
         Megan Barnard said quietly:
         "I'm trusting you now，M.Poirot.I'm going to give you the absolute
     truth.Don is，as I say，a very quiet person-a bottled-up person，if
     you know
     what I mean.He can't always express what he feels in words.But
     underneath it
     all he minds things terribly.And he's got a jealous nature.
         He was always jealous of Betty.He was devoted to her-and of course
     she
     was very fond of him，but it wasn't in Betty to be fond of one person
     and
     not notice anybody else.She wasn't made that way.She'd got a -well，an
     eye
     for any nice-looking man who'd pass the time of day with her.And of
     course，
     working in the Ginger Cat，she was always running up against
     men-especially
     in the summer holidays.She was always very pat with her tongue and if
     they
     chaffed her she'd chaff back again.And then perhaps she'd meet them
     and go
     to the pictures or something like that.Nothing serious-never anything
     of
     that kind-but she just liked her fun.She used to say that as she'd got
     to
     settle down with Don one day she might as well have her fun now while
     she
     could."
         Megan paused and Poirot said:
         "I understand.Continue."
         "It was just that attitude of mind of hers that Don couldn't
     understand.
         If she was really keen on him he couldn't see why she wanted to go
     out
     with other people.And once or twice they had flaming big rows about
     it."
         "M.Don，he was no longer quiet?"
         "It's like all those quiet people，when they do lose their tempers
     they
     lose them with a vengeance.Don was so violent that Betty was
     frightened."
         "When was this?"
         "There was one row nearly a year ago and another-a worse one-just
     over a
     month ago.I was home for the weekend-and I got them to patch it up
     again，
     and it was then I tried to knock a little sense into Betty-told her
     she was
     a little fool.All she would say was that there hadn't been any harm in
     it.
         Well，that was true enough，but all the same she was riding for a
     fall.You see，after the row a year ago，she'd got into the habit of
     telling
     a few useful lies on the principle that what the mind doesn't know the
     heart
     doesn't grieve over.This last flare-up came because she'd told Don she
     was
     going to Hastings to see a girl pal-and he found out that she'd really
     been
     over to Eastbourne with some man.He was a married man，as it
     happened，and
     that made it worse.They had an awful scene-Betty saying that she
     wasn't
     married to him yet and she had a right to go about with whom she
     pleased and
     Don all white and shaking and saying that one day-one day-""Yes?"
         "He'd commit murder-"said Megan in a lowered voice.
         She stopped and stared at Poirot.
         He nodded his head gravely several times.
         "And so，naturally，you were afraid......"
         "I didn't think he'd actually done it-not for a minute!But I was
     afraid
     it might be brought up-the quarrel and all that he'd said-several
     people
     knew about it."
         Again Poirot nodded his head gravely.
         "Just so.And I may say，mademoiselle，that but for the egoistical
     vanity
     of a killer，that is just what would have happened.
         If Donald Fraser escapes suspicion，it will be thanks to A B C's
     maniacal boasting."
         He was silent for a minute or two，then he said:
         "Do you know if your sister met this married man，or any other
     man，
     lately?"
         Megan shook her head.
         "I don't know.I've been away，you see."
         "But what do you think?"
         "She mayn't have met that particular man again.
         He'd probably sheer off if he thought there was a chance of a
     row，but
     it wouldn't surprise me if Betty had-well，been telling Don a few lies
     again.You see，she did so enjoy dancing and the pictures，and of
     course，Don
     couldn't afford to take her all the time."
         "If so，is she likely to have confided in anyone?The girl at the
     cafe，
     for instance?"
         "I don't think that's likely.Betty couldn't bear the Hegley
     girl.She
     thought her common.And the others would be new.
         Betty wasn't the confiding sort anyway."
         An electric bell trilled sharply above the girl's head.
         She went to the window and leaned out.She drew back her head
     sharply.
         "It's Don......"
         "Bring him in here，"said Poirot quickly.
         "I would like a word with him before our good inspector takes him
     in
     hand."
         Like a flash Megan Barnard was out of the kitchen，and a couple of
     seconds later she was back again leading Donald Fraser by the hand.

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