"No, but I've heard things about you. They say that you're very clever at rinding out what did happen. Asking people questions and getting them to tell you things." "Whom do you suggest I should question or ask? When you say India, I presume you are not referring to people of Indian nationality. You are speaking of what you might call the mem-sahib days, the days when there were Service communities in India. You are speaking of English people and the gossip in some English station there." "I don't really mean that that would be any good now. I think whoever it was who gossiped, who talked-I mean, it's so long ago now that they'd have forgotten all about it, that they are probably dead themselves. I think that my mother's got a lot of things wrong, that she's heard things and made up more things about them in her mind." "And you still think that I would be capable-" "Well, I don't mean that I want you to go out to India and ask people things. I mean, none of the people would be there now.

"So you think you could not give me names?" "Not those sort of names," said Desmond.

"But some names?" "Well, I'll come out with what I mean. I think there are two people who might know what happened and why. Because, you see, they'd have been there. They'd have known, really known, of their own knowledge." "You do not want to go to them yourself?" "Well, I could. I have in a way, but I don't think, you see, that they-I don't know. I wouldn't like to ask some of the things I want to ask. I don't think Celia would. They're very nice, and that's why they'd know. Not because they're nasty, not because they gossip, but because they might have helped.

They might have done something to make things better, or have tried to do so, only they couldn't. Oh, I'm putting it all so badly." "No," said Poirot, "you are doing it very well, and I am interested and I think you have something definite in your mind. Tell me, does Celia Ravenscroft agree with you?" "I haven't said too much to her. You see, she was very fond of Maddy and of Zeiie." "Maddy and Zeiie?" "Oh, well, that's their names. Oh, I must explain. I haven't done it very well. You see, when Celia was quite a child-at the time when I first knew her, as I say, when we were living next door in the country-she had a French sort of-well, I suppose nowadays we call it an au pair girl, but it was called a governess then. You know, a French governess. A mademoiselle.

And you see, she was very nice. She played with all of us children and Celia always called her Maddy for short-and all the family called her Maddy." "Ah, yes. The mademoiselle." "Yes, you see being French, I thought-I thought perhaps she would tell you things that she knew and wouldn't wish to speak about to other people." "Ah. And the other name you mentioned?" "Zeiie. The same sort of thing, you see. A mademoiselle.

Maddy was there, I think, for about two or three years and then, later, she went back to France, or Switzerland I think it was, and this other one came. Younger than Maddy was and, we didn't call her Maddy. Celia called her Zeiie. All the \ family called her Zeiie. She was very young, pretty and great ' fun. We were all frightfully fond of her. She played games with us and we all loved her. The family did. And General Ravenscroft was very taken with her. They used to play games together, picquet, you know, and lots of things." "And Lady Ravenscroft?" "Oh, she was devoted to Zeiie too, and Zeiie was devoted to her. That's why she came back again after she'd left." "Came back?" "Yes, when Lady Ravenscroft was ill, and had been in hospital, Zeiie came back and was sort of companion to her and looked after her. I don't know, but I believe, I think, I'm almost sure that she was there when it-the tragedy- happened. And so, you see she'd know-what really happened." "And you know her address? You know where she is now?" "Yes. I know where she is. I've got her address. I've got both their addresses. I thought perhaps you could go and see her, or both of them. I know it's a lot to ask-" He broke off.

Poirot looked at him for some minutes. Then he said: "Yes, it is a possibility-certainly-a possibility." Book Two Long Shadows

Superintendent Garroway looked across the table at Poirot. His eyes twinkled. At his side George delivered a whisky and soda. Passing on to Poirot, he put down a glass filled with a dark purple liquid.

"What's your tipple?" said Superintendent Garroway with some interest.

"A syrup of black currant," said Poirot.

"Well, well," said Superintendent Garroway, "everyone to their own taste. What was it Spence told me? He told me you used to drink something called a tisane, wasn't it? What's that, a variant of French piano or something?" "No," said Poirot, "it's useful for reducing fevers." "Ah. Invalid dope of some kind." He drank from his glass.

"Well," he said, "here's to suicide!" "It was suicide?" Poirot asked.

"What else can it be?" said Superintendent Garroway. "The things you wanted to know!" He shook his head. His smile grew more pronounced.

"I am sorry," said Poirot, "to have troubled you so much. I am like the animal or the child in one of your stories by Mr.

Kipling. I suffer from insatiable curiosity." "Insatiable curiosity," said Superintendent Garroway. "Nice stories he wrote, Kipling. Knew his stuff, too. They told me once that that man could go for one short tour round a destroyer and know more about it than one of the top engineers in the Royal Navy." "Alas," said Hercule Poirot, "I do not know everything. Therefore, you see, I have to ask questions. I am afraid that I sent you rather a long list of questions." "What intrigued me," said Superintendent Garroway, "is the way you jumped from one thing to another. Psychiatrists, doctors' reports, how money was left, who had money, who got money. Who expected money and didn't get money, particulars of ladies' hairdressing, wigs, name of the supplier of wigs, charming rose-colored cardboard boxes they came in, by the way." "You knew all these things," said Poirot. "That has amazed me, I can assure you." "Ah, well, it was a puzzling case and of course we made full notes on the subject. None of this was any good to us, but we kept the files and it was all there if one wanted to look for it." He pushed a piece of paper across the table.

"Here you are. Hairdressers. Bond Street, Expensive firm.

Eugene and Rosentelle was the name of it. They moved later.

Same firm but went into business in Sloane Street. Here's the address, but it's a pet shop now. Two of their assistants retired some years ago now, but they were the top assistants serving people then, and Lady Ravenscroft was on their list.

Rosentelle lives in Cheltenham now. Still in the same line of business. Calls herself a hair stylist-that's the up-to-date term-and you add beautician. Same man, different hat, as one used to say in my young days." "Ah-ha!" said Poirot.

"Why ah-ha?" asked Garroway.

"I am immensely obliged to you," said Hercule Poirot. "You have presented me with an idea. How strange it is the way ideas arrive into one's head." "You've too many ideas in your head already," said the Superintendent. "That's one of your troubles-you don't need any more. Now then, I've checked up as well as I could on the family history-nothing much there. Alistair Ravenscroft was of Scottish extraction. Father was a clergyman-two uncles in the Army-both quite distinguished. Married Margaret Preston-Grey-well-born girl-presented at Court and all the rest of it. No family scandals. You were quite right about her being one of twin sisters. Don't know where you picked that up-Dorothea and Margaret Preston-Grey-known colloquially as Dolly and Molly. Preston-Gr^ys lived at Hatters Green in Sussex. Identical twins-usual kind of history of that kind of twin. Cut their first tooth the same day-both got scarlet fever the same month-wore the same kind of clothes-fell in love with the same kind of man-got married about the same time-both husbands in the Army. Family doctor who attended the family when they were young died some years ago, so there's nothing of interest to be got out of him. There was an early tragedy, though, connected with one of them." "Lady Ravenscroft?" "No, the other one-she married a Captain Jarrow-had two children; the younger one, a boy of four, was knocked down by a wheelbarrow or some kind of a child's garden toy-or a spade or a child's hoe. Hit him on his head and he fell into an artificial pond or something and drowned. Apparently it was the older child, a girl of nine, who did it. They were playing together and quarreled, as children do. Doesn't seem much doubt, but there was another story. Someone said the mother did it-got angry and hit him-and someone else said it was a woman who lived next door who hit him. Don't suppose it's of any interest to you-no bearing on a suicide pact entered into by the mother's sister and her husband years after." "No," said Poirot, "it does not seem to. But one likes to know background." "Yes," said Garroway, "as I told you, one has to look into the past. I can't say we'd thought of looking into the past as long ago as this. I mean, as I've said, all this was twenty years before the suicide." "Were there any proceedings at the time?" "Yes. I managed to look up the case. Accounts of it.