Murder on the Links

It was quite a pretty little turn. They danced neatly, and did some clever little acrobatic feats. The words of their songs were crisp and catchy. When the curtain fell, there was a full minute of applause. Evidently the Dulcibella Kids were a success.

Suddenly I felt that I could remain no longer. I must get out into the air. I suggested leaving to Poirot.

'Go by all means, mon ami. I amuse myself, and will stay to the end. I will rejoin you later.'

It was only a few steps from the theatre to the hotel. I went up to the sitting room, ordered a whisky and soda, and sat drinking it, staring meditatively into the empty grate. I heard the door open, and turned my head, thinking it was Poirot. Then I jumped to my feet. It was Cinderella who stood in the doorway. She spoke haltingly, her breath coming in little gasps.

'I saw you in front. You and your friend. When you got up to go, I was waiting outside and followed you. Why are you here-in Coventry? What were you doing there tonight? Is the man who was with you the-the detective?'

She stood there, the cloak she had wrapped round her stage dress slipping from her shoulders. I saw the whiteness of her cheeks under the rouge, and heard the terror in her voice. And in that moment I understood everything-understood why Poirot was seeking her, and what she feared and understood at last my own heart.

'Yes,' I said gently.

'Is he looking for-me?' she half whispered.

Then, as I did not answer for a moment, she slipped down by the big chair, and burst into violent bitter weeping.

I knelt down by her, holding her in my arms, and smoothing the hair back from her face.

'Don't cry, child, don't cry, for God's sake. You're safe here. I'll take care of you. Don't cry, darling. Don't cry. I know-I know everything.'

'Oh, but you don't!'

'I think I do.' And after a moment, as her sobs grew quieter, I asked: 'It was you who took the dagger, wasn't it?'

'Yes.'

'That was why you wanted me to show you round? And why you pretended to faint?'

Again she nodded.

'Why did you take the dagger?' I asked presently.

She replied as simply as a child: 'I was afraid there might be finger-marks on it.'

'But didn't you remember that you had worn gloves?'

She shook her head as though bewildered, and then said slowly: 'Are you going to give me up to-to the police?'

'Good God! no.'

Her eyes sought mine long and earnestly, and then she asked in a little quiet voice that sounded afraid of itself: 'Why not?'

It seemed a strange place and a strange time for a declaration of love-and God knows, in all my imagining, I had never pictured love coming to me in such a guise. But I answered simply and naturally enough: 'Because I love you, Cinderella.'

She bent her head down, as though ashamed, and muttered in a broken voice: 'You can't-you can't-not[garbled] knew-' And then, as though rallying herself, she faced me squarely, and asked: 'What do you know, then?'

'I know that you came to see Mr. Renauld that night. He offered you a cheque and you tore it up indignantly. Then you left the house-' I paused.

'Go on-what next?'

'I don't know whether you knew Jack Renauld would be coming that night, or whether you just waited about on the chance of seeing him, but you did wait about. Perhaps you were just miserable and walked aimlessly-but at any rate… Just before twelve you were still out there, and you saw a man on the golf links-'

Again I paused. I had leap to the truth in a flash as she entered the room, but now the picture rose before me even more convincingly, I saw vividly the peculiar pattern of the overcoat on the dead body of Mr. Renauld, and I remembered the amazing likeness that had startled me into believing for one instant that the dead man had risen from the dead when his son burst into our conclave in the salon.

'Go on,' repeated the girl steadily.

'I fancy his back was to you, you recognized him, or thought you recognized him. The gait and the carriage were familiar to you, and the [garbled] of his overcoat,' I paused. 'You used a threat on one of your letters to Jack Renauld. When you saw him there your anger and jealousy drove you mad-and you struck out, not believing for a minute that you meant to kill him. But you did kill him, Cinderella.'

She had flung up her hands over her face, and in a choked voice she said: 'You're right, you're right. I can see it all as you tell it.' Then she turned on me almost savagely. 'And you love me? Knowing what you do, how can you love me?'

'l don't know,' I said a little wearily. 'I think love is like that-a thing one cannot help. I have tried, I know-ever since the first day I met you. And love has been too strong for me.'

And then suddenly, when I least expected it, she broke down again, casting herself down on the floor and sobbing wildly.

'Oh, I can't!' she cried. 'I don't know what to do. I don't know which way to go. Oh, pity me, pity me, someone, and tell me what to do!'

Again I knelt by her, soothing her as best I could.