Really on top of his profession. I cannot tell you how many friends of mine he has assisted and how many, well, I can really call them mysteries, he has elucidated. And this was such a tragic thing to have happened." "Yes, indeed," said Mrs. Burton-Cox. Her eyes were still somewhat doubtful. Mrs. Oliver indicated chairs and remarked: "Now what will you have? A glass of sherry? It's too late for tea, of course. Or would you prefer a cocktail of some kind?" "Oh, a glass of sherry. You are very kind." "Monsieur Poirot?" "I, too," said Poirot.

Mrs. Oliver could not help being thankful that he had not asked for Sirop de Cassis or one of his favorite fruit drinks.

She got out glasses and a decanter.

"I have already indicated to Monsieur Poirot the outlines of the inquiry you want to make." "Oh, yes," said Mrs. Burton-Cox.

She seemed rather doubtful and not so sure of herself as it would seem she was in the natural habit of being.

"These young people," she said to Poirot, "so difficult nowadays. These young people. My son, such a dear boy^we have great hopes of his doing well in the future. And then there is this girl, a very charming girl, who, as probably Mrs.

Oliver told you, is her goddaughter, and-well, of course one never knows. I mean these friendships spring up and very often they don't last. They are what we used to call calf love, you know, years ago, and it is very important to know a little at least about the-antecedents of people. You know, what their families are like. Oh, of course I know Celia's a very well-born girl and all that, but there was this tragedy. Mutual suicide, I believe, but nobody has been really able to enlighten me at all on what led to it or what led up to it, shall we say. I have no actual friends who were friends in common with the Ravenscrofts and so it is very difficult for me to have ideas. I know Celia is a charming girl and all that, but one would like to know, to know more." "I understand from my friend, Mrs. Oliver, that you wanted to know something specifically. You wanted to know, in fact-" "What you said you wanted to know," said Mrs. Oliver, chipping in with some firmness, "was whether Celia's father shot her mother and then himself or whether Celia's mother shot her father and then herself." "I feel it makes a difference," said Mrs. Burton-Cox. "Yes, definitely I feel it makes a difference." "A very interesting point of view," said Poirot.

His tone was not very encouraging.

"Oh, the emotional background, shall I say, the emotional events that led up to all this. In a marriage, you must admit, one had to think of the children. The children, I mean, that are to come. I mean heredity. I think now we realize that heredity does more than environment. It leads to certain formation of character and certain very grave risks that one might not want to take." "True," said Poirot. "The people who undertake the risks are the ones that have to make the decision. Your son and this young lady, it will be their choice." "Oh, I know, I know. Not mine. Parents are never allowed to choose, are they, or even to give any advice. Bdt I would like to know something about it. Yes, I would like to know very much. If you feel that you could undertake any-investigation I suppose is the word you would use. But perhaps- perhaps I am being a very foolish mother. You know. Overanxious about my dear son. Mothers are like that." She gave a little whinny of laughter, putting her head slightly on one side.

"Perhaps," she said, as she tipped up the sherry glass, "perhaps you will think about it and I also will let you know.

Perhaps the exact points and things that I am worried about." She looked at her watch.

"Oh, dear. Oh, dear, I'm late for another appointment. I shall have to go. I am so sorry, dear Mrs. Oliver, to have to run away so soon, but you know what it is. I had great difficulties finding a taxi this afternoon. One after another just turned his head aside and drove straight past me. Ah, very, very difficult, isn't it? I think Mrs. Oliver has your address, has she not?" "I will give you my address," said Poirot. He removed a card from his pocket and handed it to her.

"Oh, yes, yes. I see. Monsieur Hercule Poirot. You are French, is that right?" "I am Belgian," said Poirot.

"Oh, yes, yes. Belgique. Yes, yes. I quite understand. I am so pleased to have met you and I feel so hopeful. Oh, dear, I must go very, very fast." Shaking Mrs. Oliver warmly by the hand, then extending the same hand to Poirot, she left the room and the door sounded in the hall.

"Well, what do you think of that?" said Mrs. Oliver.

"What do you?" said Poirot.

"She ran away," said Mrs. Oliver. "She ran away. You frightened her in some way." "Yes," said Poirot, "I think you've judged quite right." "She wanted me to get things out of Celia, she wanted me to get some knowledge out of Celia, some expression, some sort of secret she suspected was there, but she doesn't want a real proper investigation, does she?" "I think not," said Poirot. "That is interesting. Very interesting. She is well-to-do, you think?" "I should say so. Her clothes are expensive, she lives at an expensive address, she is-it's difficult to make out. She's a pushing woman and a bossy woman. She sits on a lot of committees. There's nothing, I mean, suspicious about her.

I've asked a few people. Nobody likes her very much. But she's a sort of public-spirited woman who takes part in politics, all those sorts of things." "Then what is wrong with her?" said Poirot.

"You think there is something wrong with her. Or do you just not like her, like I do?" "I think there is something there that she does not want to come to light," said Poirot.

"Oh. And are you going to find out what it is?" "Naturally, if I can," said Poirot. "It may not be easy. She is in retreat. She was in retreat when she left us here. She was afraid of what questions I was going to ask her. Yes. It is interesting." He sighed. "One will have to go back, you know, even further than one thought." "What, back into the past again?" "Yes. Somewhere in the past, in more cases than one, there is something that one will have to know before we can come back again to what happened-what is it now?-fifteen years ago, twenty years ago, at a house called Overcliffe. Yes. One will have to go back again." "Well, that's that," said Mrs. Oliver. "And now, what is there to do? What is this list of yours?" "I have heard a certain amount of information through police records on what was found in the house. You will remember that among the things there were four wigs." "Yes," said Mrs. Oliver, "you said that four wigs were too many." "It seemed to be a little excessive," said Poirot. "I have also got certain useful addresses. The address of a doctor that might be helpful." "The doctor? You mean, the family doctor?" "No, not the family doctor. The doctor who gave evidence at an inquest on a child who met with an accident. Either pushed by an older child or possibly by someone else." "You mean by the mother?" "Possibly the mother, possibly by someone else who was in the house at the time. I know the part of England where that happened, and Superintendent Garroway has been able, through sources known to him and also through journalistic friends of mine, who were interested in this particular case, to get some information about the doctor." "And you're going to see him. He must be a very old man by now." "It is not him I shall go to see. It is his son. His son is also qualified as a specialist in various forms of mental disorders.

I have an introduction to him and he might be able to tell me something interesting. There have also been inquiries into a case of money." "What do you mean by money?" "Well, there are certain things we have to find out. That is one of the things in anything which might be a crime. Money.

Who has money to lose by some happening, who has money to gain by something happening. That, one has to find out." "Well, they must have found out in the case of the Ravenscrofts." "Yes, that was all quite natural, it seems. They had both made normal wills leaving, in each case, the money to the other partner. The wife left her money to the husband and the husband left his money to his wife. Neither of them benefited by what happened because they both died. So that the people who did profit were the daughter, Celia, and a younger child, Edward, who I gather is now at a university abroad." "Well, that won't help. Neither of the children were there or could have had anything to do with it." "Oh, no, that is quite true. One must go further-further back, further forward, further sideways, to find out if there is some financial motive somewhere that is-well, shall we say, significant." "Well, don't ask me to do that sort of thing," said Mrs.