Chapter 23 Chapter Twenty-Two (not from Captain Hastings' autobiography)

Monsieur Alexander Bonaparte Cust sat quietly, his breakfast long cold and untouched on his plate.There was a newspaper propped against the teapot, and Mr Custer was reading it with keen interest. Suddenly he stood up, walked back and forth for a while, and then sat down again in a chair by the window.He buried his head in his hands and let out a muffled groan. He didn't hear the door being opened.His landlady, Mrs Marbury, stood at the door. "I was wondering, Mr. Cust, if you'd like something good to eat, what's the matter, what's the matter? Don't you feel well?"

Mr Cust looked up from his hands. "It's all right, nothing at all, Mrs. Marbury. I'm not feeling well this morning." Mrs Marbury inspected the breakfast tray. "I see. You haven't touched breakfast yet, is your headache bothering you again?" "No. But, also... I—I'm just a little uncomfortable." "Oh, I think I'm sorry. So you're not going out today, are you?" Mr Cust spoke suddenly. "No, no, I have to go. It's business, something important. Very important." His hands were shaking constantly.Seeing him so agitated, Mrs. Marbury tried to comfort him.

"Oh, if you have to go—if you have to go, is it going to be far this time?" "No, I'm going to—" He hesitated for a minute or two, "Cheltenham." He uttered the word with such peculiar hesitation that Mrs Marbury looked at him in surprise. "Cheltenham is a great place," she said chattyly. "I went there one year from Bristol and the shops are really nice." "I think so too—yes." Mrs. Marbury stooped very stiffly, which did not suit her figure, and picked up the crumpled newspaper from the floor. "It's been all about that murder these days," she said, glancing at the headlines, before putting the paper back on the table. "This case really looks like a reissue of Jack the Dismemberer."

Mr. Cust's lips moved, but no sound came out. "Doncaster—he's going to do his next murder there," said Mrs. Marbury. "Tomorrow! That's creepy for you, isn't it? If I lived in Doncaster and my name began with a D, I'd take the first train and I wouldn't take any chances. Cass Mr. Te, what do you think?" "Nothing, Mrs Marbury, I'm not thinking about anything." "There's going to be a race there. He must have thought he'd get his chance there. They say a few hundred policemen will be sent there—Why, Mr. Custer, you don't look quite right. You better have something to eat, don't you? Really, now, you shouldn't be traveling today."

Mr Cust stopped shaking. "It's necessary, Mrs. Marbury. I've got to have confidence in you about appointments—always very punctual, people have to. When I set out to do something, I give my all. It's the only way to do business." "But are you ill?" "I'm not ill, Mrs. Marbury. I'm just a little worried about a lot of personal stuff. I'm a poor sleeper, and I'm really all right." He was so determined that Mrs. Marbury gathered the breakfast things, and reluctantly left the room. Mr Cust pulled a box from under the bed and began packing.Pajamas, sponge bag, spare shirt, leather slippers.He then opened a cabinet and removed a dozen or so flat cartons from the shelves.These cartons are about ten inches long and seven inches wide, and they go inside the boxes.

He glanced at the railroad guide on the table, then left the room, case in hand. He put down the suitcases in the living room, put on his hat and coat.He sighed deeply, so deep that the girl ran out of a room to look at him with concern. "What's the matter, Mr. Cust?" "It's all right, Miss Lily." "But you're sighing." Mr Cust said roughly: "Do you have any omens, Miss Lily? Or premonitions?" "Oh, I don't know I'm, really...Of course, sometimes you feel like everything is out of order, and other times you feel like everything is in order."

"That's true," said Mr. Custer. He sighed again. "Well, goodbye, Miss Lily. Goodbye. I'm sure you've been kind to me here." "Oh, don't say goodbye, as if you're gone and never come back." Lily laughed. "No, no, of course not." "Then I'll see you on Friday," the girl smiled. "Where are you going this time? Are you going to the beach again?" "No, no—it's Cheltenham." "Oh, that would be nice, but not as good as Torquay. It must be pleasant there, and I'd like to go on holiday there next year. Also, you must have been pretty close to that murder—the ABC Murder. You happened to be there when the murder happened, didn't you?"

"Yes, Chesston is six or seven miles away." "Anyway, it must be exciting! Well, you might pass the murderer in the street! You might be very close to him." "Yes, of course," said Mr. Cust, with a horrified and twisted smile, which Lily Marbury noticed. "Oh, Mr. Custer, you look bad." "I'm all right, all right. Good-bye, Miss Marbury." He put his hat on awkwardly, picked up his suitcase, and walked out the front door in a rather hasty manner. "A very interesting old man," said Lily Marbury indulgently, "just a little eccentric."

Inspector Crome said to his subordinates: "Give me a list of the manufacturers of stockings, and inform them. I want a list of all their agents--you know, and all their commission and order salesmen." "Is this an ABC case, sir?" "Yes, M. Hercule Poirot's opinion." The inspector's tone was contemptuous and condescending. "It may not matter at all, but we must not overlook any opportunity, however small." "Yes, sir. M. Poirot did a good deal of fine work in his day, but I think he's old now, sir." "He's a charlatan," said Inspector Crome. "He's always put on airs, and he can fool other people, but not me. Now, about Doncaster's arrangement..."

Tom Hartinger on Lily Marbury: "I saw that old fellow of yours this morning." "Who? Mr. Custer?" "It's Custer. Met him at Euston. He looked like a lost lamb, as usual. I think the fellow is half-crazy and needs someone to look after. He dropped the paper first, then the I picked it up—he still hadn't the slightest idea that he had lost it. He thanked me with an anxious air. But I don't think he recognized me." "Oh, yes," Lily said, "he just sees you walking by in the living room, and he doesn't see you very often." They danced in a circle on the floor.

"You dance beautifully," said Tom. "Go ahead then," Lily said, wiggling a little closer. They dance in circles again. "You mean Euston or Paddington?" Lily asked suddenly. "I mean, where did you meet old Custer?" "At Euston." "are you sure?" "Of course I'm sure. What do you think?" "Very interesting. I thought you were going from Paddington to Cheltenham." "You think so, but old Custer isn't going to Cheltenham, he's going to Doncaster." "To Cheltenham." "Yes. I know, girl! Besides, I picked up his ticket, didn't I?" "Oh, he told me he was going to Cheltenham. I'm sure he will." "No, you're mistaken. He's on his way to Doncaster, that's all right. Some people are always lucky. I bought a bit for Marseilles too, bet on the Firefly. I really I want to go to a horse race." "I don't think Mr. Custer's going to a race meeting, he doesn't look like one. Oh, Tom, I hope he doesn't get murdered. Next up for the ABC murders is Doncaster..." "Caster must be fine, and his name doesn't start with D." "He could have been murdered the last time. He happened to be in Torquay, near Chesterston, when the last murder happened." "Really? That's kind of a coincidence, isn't it?" he laughs. "He wasn't at Bexhill last time, was he?" Lily frowned. "He was out. Yes, I remember he was out ... because he forgot his bathrobe. Mom seemed to be mending that bathrobe for him, and she said, 'Mr. 'Oh, forget about that old bathrobe—there's been a most horrible murder ever.' And I said, 'There's a girl in Bexhill who was strangled to death.'" "Oh, if he didn't bring his bathrobe, he must have gone to the beach. I said, Lily—" His face wrinkled with a grin, "How much do you bet if your old guy is the murderer?" "Poor Mr Cust? He won't hurt a fly," said Lily. They danced happily on--their mind was nothing but the joy of mutual love. What they don't realize is that something is causing a stir...