The Adventure of the Christmas Pudding

‘Beats me. Lost his nerve, perhaps. But it was madness to leave it until next day. He had the best chance he'd ever have that night. There's no night porter on. He could have got his car round — packed the body in the boot — it's a big boot — driven out in the country and parked it somewhere. He might have been seen getting the body into the car, but the flats are in a side street and there's a courtyard you drive a car through. At, say, three in the morning, he had a reasonable chance. And what does he do? Goes to bed, sleeps late the next morning and wakes up to find the police in the flat!’

‘He went to bed and slept well as an innocent man might do.’

‘Have it that way if you like. But do you really believe that yourself?’

‘I shall have to leave that question until I have seen the man myself.’

‘Think you know an innocent man when you see one? It's not so easy as that.’

‘I know it is not easy — and I should not attempt to say I could do it. What I want to make up my mind about is whether the man is as stupid as he seems to be.’

IV

Poirot had no intention of seeing Charles Rich until he had seen everyone else.

He started with Commander McLaren.

McLaren was a tall, swarthy, uncommunicative man. He had a rugged but pleasant face. He was a shy man and not easy to talk to. But Poirot persevered.

Fingering Margharita's note, McLaren said almost reluctantly:

‘Well, if Margharita wants me to tell you all I can, of course I'll do so. Don't know what there is to tell, though. You've heard it all already. But whatever Margharita wants — I've always done what she wanted — ever since she was sixteen. She's got a way with her, you know.’

‘I know,’ said Poirot. He went on: ‘First I should like you to answer a question quite frankly. Do you think Major Rich is guilty?’

‘Yes, I do. I wouldn't say so to Margharita if she wants to think he's innocent, but I simply can't see it any other way. Hang it all, the fellow's got to be guilty.’

‘Was there bad feeling between him and Mr Clayton?’

‘Not in the least. Arnold and Charles were the best of friends. That's what makes the whole thing so extraordinary.’

‘Perhaps Major Rich's friendship with Mrs Clayton —’

He was interrupted.

‘Faugh! All that stuff. All the papers slyly hinting at it… Damned innuendoes! Mrs Clayton and Rich were good friends and that's all! Margharita's got lots of friends. I'm her friend. Been one for years. And nothing the whole world mightn't know about it. Same with Charles and Margharita.’

‘You do not then consider that they were having an affair together?’

‘Certainly NOT!’ McLaren was wrathful. ‘Don't go listening to that hell cat Spence woman. She'd say anything.’

‘But perhaps Mr Clayton suspected there might be something between his wife and Major Rich.’

‘You can take it from me he did nothing of the sort! I'd have known if so. Arnold and I were very close.’

‘What sort of man was he? You, if anyone, should know.’

‘Well, Arnold was a quiet sort of chap. But he was clever — quite brilliant, I believe. What they call a first-class financial brain. He was quite high up in the Treasury, you know.’

‘So I have heard.’

‘He read a good deal. And he collected stamps. And he was extremely fond of music. He didn't dance, or care much for going out.’

‘Was it, do you think, a happy marriage?’

Commander McLaren's answer did not come quickly. He seemed to be puzzling it out.

‘That sort of thing's very hard to say… Yes, I think they were happy. He was devoted to her in his quiet way. I'm sure she was fond of him. They weren't likely to split up, if that's what you're thinking. They hadn't, perhaps, a lot in common.’

Poirot nodded. It was as much as he was likely to get. He said: ‘Now tell me about that last evening. Mr Clayton dined with you at the club. What did he say?’

‘Told me he'd got to go to Scotland. Seemed vexed about it. We didn't have dinner, by the way. No time. Just sandwiches and a drink. For him, that is. I had only the drink. I was going out to a buffet supper, remember.’

‘Mr Clayton mentioned a telegram?’

‘Yes.’

‘He did not actually show you the telegram?’

‘No.’

‘Did he say he was going to call on Rich?’

‘Not definitely. In fact he said he doubted if he'd have time. He said “Margharita can explain or you can.” And then he said: “See she gets home all right, won't you?” Then he went off. It was all quite natural and easy.’

‘He had no suspicion at all that the telegram wasn't genuine?’

‘Wasn't it?’ Commander McLaren looked startled.

‘Apparently not.’

‘How very odd…’ Commander McLaren went into a kind of coma, emerging suddenly to say:

‘But that really is odd. I mean, what's the point? Why should anybody want him to go to Scotland?’

‘It is a question that needs answering, certainly.’

Hercule Poirot left, leaving the commander apparently still puzzling on the matter.

V

The Spences lived in a minute house in Chelsea.

Linda Spence received Poirot with the utmost delight.

‘Do tell me,’ she said. ‘Tell me all about Margharita! Where is she?’

‘That I am not at liberty to state, Madame.’