Chapter Fiften Sir Carmichael Clarke


          Churston，lying as it does between Brixham on the one side and
     Paignton
     and Torquay on the other，occupies a position about half-way round the
     curve
     of Torbay.Until about ten years ago it was merely a golf links and
     below the
     links a green sweep of countryside dropping down to the sea with only
     a
     farmhouse or two in the way of human occupation.But of late years
     there had
     been big building developments between Churston and Paignton and the
     coastline is new dotted with small houses and bungalows，new roads，
     etc.
         Sir Carmichael Clarke had purchased a site of some two acres
     commanding
     an uninterrupted view of the sea.The house he had built was of modern
     design-a white rectangle that was not unpleasing to the eye.Apart from
     two
     big galleries that housed his collection it was not a large house.
         Our arrival there took place about 8am.A local police officer had
     met us
     at the station and had put us au courant of the situation.
         Sir Carmichael Clarke，it seemed，had been in the habit of taking
     a
     stroll after dinner every evening.When the police rang up-at some time
     after
     eleven-it was ascertained that he had not returned.Since his stroll
     usually
     followed the same course，it was not long before a search-party
     discovered
     his body.Death was due to a crashing blow with some heavy instrument
     on the
     back of the head.An open A B C had been placed face downwards on the
     dead
     body.
         We arrived at Combeside (as the house was called)at about eight
     o'clock.
         The door was opened by an elderly butler whose shaking hands and
     disturbed face showed how much the tragedy had affected him.
         "Good morning，Deveril，"said the police officer.
         "Good morning，Mr Wells."
         "These are the gentlemen from London，Deveril."
         "This way，gentlemen."He ushered us into a long dinning-room where
     breakfast was laid."I'll get Mr Franklin."
         A minute or two later a big fair-haired man with a sunburnt face
     entered
     

     the room.
         This was Franklin Clarke，the dead man's only brother.
         He had the resolute competent manner of a man accustomed to
     meeting with
     emergencies.
         "Good morning，gentlemen."
         Inspector Wells made the introductions.
         "This is Inspector Crome of the CID，Mr Hercule Poirot
     and-er-Captain
     Hayter."
         "Hastings，"I corrected coldly.
         Franklin Clarke shook hands with each of us in turn and in each
     case the
     handshake was accompanied by a piercing look.
         "Let me offer you some breakfast，"he said."We can discuss the
     position
     as we eat."
         There were no dissentient voices and we were soon doing justice to
     excellent eggs and bacon and coffee.
         "Now for it，"said Franklin Clarke."Inspector Wells gave me a
     rough idea
     of the position last night-though I may say it seemed one of the
     wildest
     tales I have ever heard.Am I really to believe，Inspector Crome，that
     my
     poor brother is the victim of a homicidal maniac，that this is the
     third
     murder that has occurred and that in each case an A B C railway guide
     has
     been deposited beside the body?"
         "That is substantially the position，Mr Clarke."
         "But why?What earthly benefit can accrue from such a crime-even in
     the
     most diseased imagination?"
         Poirot nodded his head in approval.
         "You go straight to the point，Mr Franklin，"he said.
         "It's not much good looking for motives at this stage，Mr Clarke，
     "said
     Inspector Crome."That's a matter for an alienist-though I may say that
     I've
     had a certain experience of criminal lunacy and that the motives are
     usually
     grossly inadequate.There is a desire to assert one's personality，to
     make a
     splash in the public eye-in fact，to be a somebody instead of a
     nonentity."
         "Is that true，M.Poirot?"
         Clarke seemed incredulous.His appeal to the older man was not too
     well
     received by Inspector Crome，who frowned.
         "Absolutely true，"replied my friend.
         "At any rate such a man cannot escape detection long，"said Clarke
     thoughtfully.
         "Vous croyez?Ah，but they are cunning-ces gens la!And you must
     remember
     such a type has usually all the outer signs of insignificance-he
     belongs to
     the class of person who is usually passed over and ignored or even
     laughed
     at!"
         "Will you let me have a few facts，please，Mr Clarke，"said
     Crome，
     breaking in on the conversation.
         "Certainly."
         "Your brother，I take it，was in his usual health and spirits
     yesterday?He received no unexpected letters?Nothing to upset him?"
         "No.I should say he was quite his usual self."
         "Not upset and worried in any way."
         "Excuse me，inspector.I didn't say that.To be upset and worried
     was my
     poor brother's normal condition."
         "Why was that?"
         "You may not know that my sister-in-law，Lady Clarke，is in very
     bad
     health.Frankly，between ourselves，she is suffering from an incurable
     cancer，
     and cannot live very much longer.Her illness had preyed terribly on my
     brother's mind.I myself returned from the East not long ago and I was
     shocked at the change in him."
         Poirot interpolated a question.
         "Supposing，Mr Clarke，that your brother had been found shot at
     the foot
     of a cliff-or shot with a revolver beside him.What would have been
     your
     first thought?"
         "Quite frankly，I should have jumped to the conclusion that it was
     suicide，"said Clarke.
         "Encore!"said Poirot.
         "What is that?"
         "A fact that repeats itself.It is of no matter."
         "Anyway，it wasn't suicide，"said Crome with a touch of
     curtness."Now I
     believe，Mr Clarke，that it was your brother's habit to go for a
     stroll
     every evening?"
         "Quite right.He always did."
         "Every night?"
         "Well，not if it was pouring with rain，naturally."
         "And everyone in the house knew of this habit?"
         "Of course."
         "And outside?"
         "I don't quite know what you mean by outside.The gardener may have
     been
     aware of it or not，I don't know.
         "And in the village?"
         "Strictly speaking，we haven't got a village.There's a post office
     and
     cottages at Churston Ferrers-but there's no village or shops."
         "I suppose a stranger hanging round the place would be fairly
     easily
     noticed?"
         "On the contrary.In August all this part of the world is a
     seething mass
     of strangers.They come over every day from Brixham and Torquay and
     Paignton
     in cars and buses and on foot.Btoadsands，which is down there (he
     pointed)，
     is a very popular beach and so is Elbury Cove-it's a well-known beauty
     spot
     and people come there and picnic.I wish they didn't!You've no idea how
     beautiful and peaceful this part of the world is in June and the
     beginning
     of July."
         "So you don't think a stranger would be noticed?"
         "Not unless he looked-well，off his head."
         "This man doesn't look off his head，"said Crome with
     certainty."You see
     what I'm getting at，Mr Clarke.This man must have been spying out the
     land
     beforehand and discovered your brother's habit of taking an evening
     stroll.I
     suppose，by the way，that no strange man came up to the house and
     asked to
     see Sir Carmichael yesterday?"
         "Not that I know of-but we'll ask Deveril."
         He rang the bell and put the question to the butler.
         "No，sir，no one came to see Sir Carmichael.And I didn't notice
     anyone
     hanging about the house either.No more did the maids，because I've
     asked
     them."
         The butler waited a moment，then inquired:"Is that all，sir?"
         "Yes，Deveril，you can go."
         The butler withdrew，drawing back in the doorway to let a young
     woman
     pass.
         Franklin Clarke rose as she came in.
         "This is Miss Grey，gentlemen.My brother's secretary."
         My attention was caught at once by the girl's extraordinary
     Scandinavian
     fairness.She had the almost colourless ash hair-light-grey eyes-and
     transparent glowing pallor that one finds amongst Norwegians and
     Swedes.She
     looked about twenty-seven and seemed to be as efficient as she was
     decorative.
         "Can I help you in any way?"she asked as she sat down.
         Clarke brought her a cup of coffee，but she refused any food.
         "Did you deal with Sir Carmichael's correspondence?"asked Crome.
         "Yes，all of it."
         "I suppose he never received a letter or letters signed A B C?"
         "A B C?"She shook her head."No，I'm sure he didn't."
         "He didn't mention having seen anyone hanging about during his
     evening
     walks lately?"
         "No.He never mentioned anything of the kind."
         "And you yourself have noticed no strangers?"
         "Not exactly hanging about.Of course，there are a lot of people
     what you
     might call wandering about at this time of year.One often meets people
     strolling with an aimless look across the golf links or down the lanes
     ot
     the sea.In the same way，practically everyone one sees this time of
     year is
     a stranger."
         Poirot nodded thoughtfully.
         Inspector Crome asked to be taken over the ground of Sir
     Carmichael's
     nightly walk.Franklin Clarke led the way through the french window，
     and Miss
     Grey accompanied us.
         She and I were a little behind the others.
         "All this must have been a terrible shock to you all，"I said.
         "It seems quite unbelievable.I had gone to bed last night when the
     police rang up.I heard voices downstairs and at last I came out and
     asked
     what was the matter.Deveril and Mr Clarke were just setting out with
     lanterns."
         "What time did Sir Carmichael usually come back from his walk?"
         "About a quarter to ten.He used to let himself in by the side door
     and
     them sometimes he went straight to bed，sometimes to the gallery where
     his
     collections were.That is why，unless the police had rung up，he would
     probably not have been missed till they went to call him this
     morning."
         "It must have been a terrible shock to his wife?"
         "Lady Clarke is kept under morphia a good deal.I think she is in
     too
     dazed a condition to appreciate what goes on round her."
         We had come out through a garden gate on to the golf
     links.Crossing a
     corner of them，we passed over a stile into a steep，winding lane.
         "This leads down to Elbury Cove，"explained Franklin Clarke."But
     two
     years ago they made a new road leading from the main road to
     Broadsands and
     on to Elbury，so that now this lane is practically deserted."
         We went on down the lane.At the foot of it a path led between
     brambles
     and bracken down to the sea.Suddenly we came out on a grassy ridge
     overlooking the sea and a beach of glistening white stones.All round
     dark
     green trees ran down to the sea.It was an enchanting spot-white，deep
     green-and sapphire blue.
         "How beautiful!"I exclaimed.
         Clarke turned to me eagerly.
         "Isn't it?Why people want to go abroad to the Riviera when they've
     got
     this!I've wandered all over the world in my time and，honest to God，
     I've
     never seen anything as beautiful."
         Then，as though ashamed of his eagerness，he said in a more
     matter-of-fact tone:
         "This was my brother's evening walk.He came as far as here，then
     back up
     the path，and turning to the right instead of the left，went past the
     farm
     and across the fields back to the house."
         We proceeded on our way till we came to a spot near the hedge，
     half-way
     across the field where the body had been found.
         Crome nodded.
         "Easy enough.The man stood here in the shadow.Your brother would
     have
     noticed nothing till the blow fell."
         The girl at my side gave a quick shiver.
         Franklin Clarke said:
         "Hold up，Thora.It's pretty beastly，but it's no use shirking
     facts."
         Thora Grey-the name suited her.
         We went back to the house where the body had been taken after
     being
     photographed.
         As we mounted the wide staircase the doctor came out of a room，
     black
     bag in hand.
         "Anything to tell us，doctor?"inquired Clarke.
         The doctor shook his head.
         "Perfectly simple case.I'll keep the technicalities for the
     inquest.
         Anyway，he didn't suffer.Death must have been instantaneous."
         He moved away.
         "I'll just go in and see Lady Clarke."
         A hospital nurse came out of a room farther along the corridor and
     the
     doctor joined her.
         We went into the room out of which the doctor had come.
         I came out again rather quickly.Thora Grey was still standing at
     the
     head of the stairs.
         There was a queer scared expression on her face.
         "Miss Grey-"I stopped."Is anything the matter?"
         She looked at me.
         "I was thinking，"she said，"about D."
         "About D?"I stared at her stupidly.
         "Yes.The next murder.Something must be done.It's got to be
     stopped."
         Clarke came out of the room behind me.
         He said:
         "What's got to be stopped，Thora?"
         "These awful murders."
         "Yes."His jaw thrust itself out aggressively."I want to talk to M.
         Poirot some time......Is Crome any good?"He shot the words out
     unexpectedly.
         I replied that he was supposed to be a very clever officer.
         My voice was perhaps not as enthusiastic as it might have been.
         "HE's got a damned offensive manner，"said Clarke."Looks as though
     he
     knows everything-and what does he know?Nothing at all as far as I can
     make
     out."
         He was silent for a minute or two.Then he said:
         "M.Poirot's the man for my money.I've got a plan.But we'll talk of
     that
     later."
         He went along the passage and tapped at the same door as the
     doctor had
     entered.
         I hesitated a moment.The girl was staring in front of her.
         "What are you thinking of，Miss Grey?"
         She turned her eyes towards me.
         "I'm wondering where he is now......the murderer，I mean.It's not
     twelve
     hours yet since it happened......Oh!aren't there any real clairvoyants
     who
     could see where he is now and what he is doing......"
         "The police are searching-"I began.
         My commonplace words broke the spell.Thora Grey pulled herself
     together.
         "Yes，"she said."Of course."
         In her turn she descended the staircase.I stood there a moment
     longer
     conning her words over in my mind.
         A B C......
         Where was he now......?

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