Chapter 8 Chapter Seven Mr. Partridge and Mr. Riddle

Inspector Glenn's expression was extremely gloomy.I imagined that he must have been looking for a list all afternoon of those who had been seen in that tobacconist's shop. "Has anyone ever seen anyone in a tobacco shop?" asked Poirot. "Oh, yes. There were three tall, surreptitious-looking men, four short, dark-bearded men--two of them with whiskers, and three fat men, all very strange. If I'm to believe the witnesses, they Grim faces all over the place! I am baffled how no one has ever seen a group of masked men with revolvers appearing around!" Poirot smiled approvingly.

"Anyone claim to have seen that Asher?" "No, no one's seen it. That's good for him. I told the Chief Constable recently that I think it's a Scotland Yard job, and it's not a local case." said Poirot gravely. "I agree with your opinion." The inspector said: "You know, M. Poirot, it's a disgusting case indeed. It's disgusting. I don't like it." We had two more meetings before we returned to London. The first time was with Mr. James Partridge.Partridge was the last person who had seen Mrs. Asher alive, and he had been in her shop at five-thirty to sell.

Partridge was a short man who worked as a bank clerk.He wore a pince-nez, had a dry, thin appearance, and was extremely precise in his speech.The house where he lives is as clean and tidy as he himself is. "Poirot—sir," said he, staring at the card my friend handed him, "introduced by Inspector Glenn? What can I do for you, Mr. Poirot?" "Mr. Partridge, I understand that you are the last person to have seen Mrs. Asher alive." Mr. Partridge put his fingertips together and looked at Poirot as if he were a suspicious cheque. "That question is up for discussion, M. Poirot," said he. "Many people may have bought from her after me."

"If that's the case, they should come out and prove it." Mr. Partridge coughed. "Some people, M. Poirot, have no sense of public responsibility at all." He looked at us gravely through his glasses. "You are quite right," said Poirot in a low voice. "I know that you came to the police station on your own initiative." "I did. As soon as I heard about the heinous incident, I thought maybe my testimony would help the case, so I took the initiative to explain the situation." "That spirit is commendable," said Poirot solemnly. "Perhaps I can repeat what you have learned."

"Of course. At five-thirty, I just came home..." "Excuse me, how can you remember the time so accurately?" Mr. Partridge looked slightly impatient at being interrupted. "The church clock just struck. I looked at my watch and noticed it was a minute behind, just as I was going into Mrs. Ascher's shop." "Are you used to shopping there?" "Very often. It's on my way home. I go there about once or twice a week, and I'm used to going there for two ounces of John Cotton Light." "Do you know Mrs. Ascher? Anything about her or her history?"

"Knows nothing. I've never talked to her except for shopping and the occasional remark about the weather." "Did you realize she had an alcoholic husband who was used to threatening her life." "No, I don't know anything about her." "Anyway, you've seen her. Did she appear unusual to you last night? Did she appear flustered?" Partridge mused. "I think what I noticed was that she was the same as usual," he said. Poirot got up. "Thank you for answering these questions, Mr. Partridge. Do you have an ABC Rail Guide at home? I should like to inquire about trains to and from London."

"On the rack behind you," said Mr. Partridge. On that shelf was an ABC Railroad Guide, a Bradshaw Railroad timetable, the Stock Exchange Almanac, Kelly's Directory, Who's Who, and a local mailing list. Poirot took the ABC from the shelf, pretended to be checking a train, thanked Mr. Partridge, and left. Our next meeting was with Mr. Albert Riddle, who was of a very different character.Albert Riddle was a railway maintenance worker.While we were talking, Mr. Riddle's dog kept barking.Mr. Riddle himself made no secret of his hostility towards us. He was a tall, clumsy, broad-faced man with small, suspicious eyes.He happened to be eating meatloaf, gulping black tea to aid his swallowing.He looked at us angrily over the rim of his teacup.

"I'm going to tell it again, don't I?" he growled. "What the hell does that have to do with me? I've already told those goddamn cops. Now I'm going to confide again, to two goddamn Foreigners listen." Poirot cast a quick and humorous glance in my direction, and said: "I'm sympathizing with you, but what do you think? It's a murder, isn't it? We must be more careful." "Better tell this gentleman all he wants to know, Bert," said the woman uneasily. "Shut your damn mouth," the tall man yelled. "I don't think you took the initiative to go to the police station."

"Why should I take the initiative? It doesn't care about my business." "It's just a different opinion," said Poirot dryly, "because it's a murder—the police want to know who has been in the shop, and what can I say? My own opinion is that if you can Talk about it, and things will seem a lot more natural." "I have my own things to do. You shouldn't say that I didn't take the initiative to explain the situation in my own time." "But the situation is that the police have learned that someone saw you visiting Mrs. Ascher's shop. They must come to you. I wonder if they are satisfied with the situation you have described?"

"Should they be dissatisfied?" Burt asked roughly. Poirot could only shrug his shoulders. "What do you mean by that, sir? Is there anyone who can be against me? Everyone knows who killed the old woman. It was his bastard husband." "But it didn't show up in the street that night, and you went to the store." "Are you trying to frame me? Well, you won't. Why would I want to do something like that? You think I'm trying to get her bloody pack of cigarettes. You think I'm what they call a murderer? thought I was..." He rose menacingly from his chair.His wife tremblingly cried, "Burt, Burt—don't say such things. Burt, they'll think—"

"Be quiet, sir," said Poirot. "I only want you to tell us about your experience. But you refuse to tell. What shall we say—it seems a little strange?" "Who says I refuse to answer?" Mr. Riddle sat down in the chair again, "I don't mind at all." "It was just a minute or two after six when you came in. I wanted to buy a pack of Jinfreys. I opened the door—" "Was the shop door closed then?" "Yeah. I thought the store was closed at first, but it wasn't. When I went in, there was no one there. I knocked on the counter and waited a while. There was no answer, so I walked out. Then That’s the whole situation, you can take your time to think about it.” "Didn't you see the fallen body behind the counter?" "No, I'm not going to pay attention to anything more—unless, you might just be looking for it." "Is there a railroad guide there?" "Yes, on the bottom. It looks to me as if the old lady just happened to catch a train suddenly, and forgot to lock the shop door." "Perhaps you picked up the railroad guide or moved it to the counter?" "I didn't touch the damn thing. Everything I did is said." "Did you see anyone leave the store before you got there?" "I've never seen anyone like that. I mean, why should I be picked on—" Poirot rose to his feet. "No one thinks you did it. Good night, sir." The man opened his mouth in surprise, he left, and I followed it. On the street, he checks his watch. "My friend, we must be very quick to catch the next train. Let us hurry."