Aldbury. This, from what I have been able to learn in my inquiries, is somewhat difficult to accept," continued Mr.
Goby. "Miss Fenn had had many relationships, usually with gentlemen of ample means and generous dispositions, but after all, so many people have their price, have they not? I'm afraid this is quite a serious bill I may have to send you in." "Continue," said Hercule Poirot.
"Mrs. Aldbury, as she then was, agreed to adopt the child.
A short while later she married Major Burton-Cox. Miss Kathleen Fenn became, I may say, a most successful actress and pop singer and made a very large amount of money. She then wrote to Mrs. Burton-Cox, saying she would be willing to take back the adopted child. Mrs. Burton-Cox refused.
Mrs. Burton-Cox has been living quite comfortably since, I understand. Major Burton-Cox was killed in Malaya. He left her moderately well off. A further piece of information I have obtained is that Miss Kathleen Fenn, who died a very short while ago-eighteen months, I think-left a will by which her entire fortune, which amounted by then to a considerable sum of money, was left to her natural son Desmond, at present known under the name of Desmond Burton-Cox." "Very generous," said Poirot. "Of what did Miss Fenn die?" "My informant tells me that she contracted leukemia." "And the boy has inherited his mother's money?" "It was left in trust for him to acquire at the age of twenty-five." "So he will be independent, will have a substantial fortune?
And Mrs, Burton-Cox?" "Has not been happy in her investments, it is understood.
She has sufficient to live on but not much more." "Has the boy Desmond made a will?" asked Poirot.
"That," said Mr. Goby, "I fear I do not know as yet. But I have certain means of finding out. If I do, I will acquaint you with the fact without loss of time." Mr. Goby took his leave, absent-mindedly, bowing a farewell to the electric fire.
About an hour and a half later the telephone rang.
Hercule Poirot, with a sheet of paper in front of him, was making notes. Now and then he frowned, twirled his moustaches, crossed something out and rewrote it and then proceeded onward. When the telephone rang, he picked up the receiver and listened.
"Thank you," he said; "that was quick work. Yes… yes, I'm grateful. I really do not know sometimes how you manage these things… Yes, that sets out the position clearly. It makes sense of something that did not make sense before…
Yes… I gather… yes, I'm listening… you are pretty sure that that is the case. He knows he is adopted… but he never has been told who his real mother was… yes. Yes, I see…
Very well. You will clear up the other point, too? Thank you." He replaced the receiver and started once more writing down words. In half an hour the telephone rang once more.
Once again he picked up the phone.
"I'm back from Cheltenham," said a voice which Poirot bad no difficulty in recognizing.
"Ah, chore madame, you have returned? You have seen Mrs.
Rosentelle?" "Yes. She is nice. Very nice. And you were quite right, you know. She is another elephant." "Meaning, chere madame'?" "I mean that she remembered Molly Ravenscroft." "And she remembered her wigs?" "Yes." Briefly she outlined what the retired hairdresser had told her about the wigs.
"Yes," said Poirot, "that agrees. That is exactly what Superintendent Garroway mentioned to me. The four wigs that the police found. Curls, an evening type of headdress, and two other plainer ones. Four." "So I really only told you what you knew already?" "No, you told me something more than that. She said-that is what you told me just now, is it not?-that Lady Ravenscroft wanted two extra wigs to add to the two that she already had and that this was about three weeks to six weeks before the suicide tragedy occurred. Yes, that is interesting, is it not?" "It's very natural," said Mrs. Oliver. "I mean, you know that people, women, I mean, may do awful damage to things.
To false hair and things of that kind. If it can't be redressed and cleaned, if it's got burnt or got stuff spilt on it you can't get out, or it's been dyed and dyed all wrong-something like that-well then, of course you have to get two new wigs or switches or whatever they are. I don't see what makes you excited about that." "Not exactly excited," said Poirot, "no. It is a point, but the more interesting point is what you have just added. It was a French lady, was it not, who brought the wigs to be copied or matched?" "Yes. I gathered some kind of companion or something.
Lady Ravenscroft had been or was in hospital or in a nursing home somewhere and she was not in good health and she could not come herself to make a choice or anything of that kind." "I see." "And so her French companion came." "Do you know the name of that companion, by any chance?" "No. I don't think Mrs. Rosentelle mentioned it. In fact I don't think she knew. The appointment was made by Lady Ravenscroft and the French girl or woman just brought the wigs along for size and matching and all the rest of it, I suppose." "Well," said Poirot, "that helps me towards the further step that I am about to take." "What have you learned?" said Mrs. Oliver. "Have you done anything?" "You are always so skeptical," said Poirot. "You always consider that I do nothing, that I sit in a chair and repose myself." "Well, I think you sit in a chair and think," admitted Mrs.
Oliver, "but I quite agree that you don't often go out and do things." "In the near future I think I may possibly go out and do things," said Hercule Poirot, "and that will please you. I may even cross the Channel, though certainly not in a boat. A plane, I think, is indicated." "Oh," said Mrs. Oliver. "Do you want me to come, too?" "No," said Poirot, "I think it would be better if I went alone on this occasion." "You really will go?" "Oh, yes, oh, yes. I will run about with all activity and so you should be pleased with me, madame." When he had rung off, he dialed another number which he looked up from a note he had made in his pocketbook. Presently he was connected to the person whom he wished to speak to.
"My dear Superintendent Garroway, it is Hercule Poirot who addresses you. I do not derange you too much? You are not very busy at this moment?" "No, I am not busy," said Superintendent Garroway. "I am pruning my roses, that's all." "There is something that I want to ask you. Quite a small thing." "About our problem of the double suicide?" "Yes, about our problem. You said there was a dog in the house. You said that the dog went for walks with the family, or so you understood." "Yes, there was some mention made of a dog. I think it may have been either the housekeeper or someone who said that they went for a walk with the dog as usual that day." "In examination of the body, was there any sign that Lady Ravenscroft had been bitten by a dog? Not necessarily very recently or on that particular day?" "Well, it's odd you should say that. I can't say I'd have remembered about it if you hadn't mentioned such a thing.
But, yes, there were a couple of scars. Not bad ones. But again the housekeeper mentioned that the dog had attacked its mistress more than once and bitten her, though not very severely. Look here, Poirot, there was no rabies about, if that's what you are thinking. There couldn't have been anything of that kind. After all, she was shot-they were both shot. There was no question of any septic poisoning or danger of tetanus." "I do not blame the dog," said Poirot; "it was only something I wanted to know." "One dog bite was fairly recent, about a week before, I think, or two weeks, somebody said. There was no case of necessary injections or anything of that kind. It had healed quite well. What's that quotation?" went on Superintendent Garroway. '"The dog it was that died.' I can't remember where it comes from, but-" "Anyway, it wasn't the dog that died," said Poirot. "That wasn't the point of my question. I would like to have known that dog. He was perhaps a very intelligent dog." After he had replaced the receiver with thanks to the Superintendent, Poirot murmured: "An intelligent dog. More intelligent perhaps than the police were."