Chapter 28 Chapter 27 The Doncaster Murder

As I followed Poirot in, I heard only a few words from Inspector Crome. He and the chief of police looked a little anxious, and the two were sullen. Colonel Anderson nodded to us. "I'm glad you're here, M. Poirot," he said politely—I think he guessed we had heard Crome say, "You see, we've had another disaster." "Another ABC murder?" "Yes, damn it, very bold. The guy leaned over and stabbed the dead man in the back." "It was stabbed to death this time?" "Yes. Slightly different from his, isn't it? Blows to the head, strangulation, and now a knife. A demon of many talents—what? Here's the forensic detail if you want to see it."

He handed Poirot a sheet of paper. "There was the ABC on the ground between the dead man's legs," he added. "Has the deceased been identified?" asked Poirot. "Yes. ABC has gone awry this time, if that is any satisfaction to us. The dead man's name was Earsfield—George Earsfield, a barber by trade." "Strange," commented Poirot. "Maybe a letter was skipped," the colonel reminded. My friend shook his head suspiciously. "Can we call in the next witness?" Crome asked. "He's in a hurry to get home." "Okay, okay, let's get on with it."

A middle-aged man was brought in who looked uncannily like the Frog Soldier from Alice in Wonderland.He was extremely excited, and his voice was excited and harsh. "This is the most shocking experience I've ever known," he screamed. "Sir, I have a weak heart—very weak, and this thing might kill me." "What is your name, please?" said the inspector. "Downes. Roger Emanuel Downes." "Your Job?" "I am the Headmaster of Highfield Boys' School." "Now, Mr. Downs, please tell us in your own words what happened."

"Gentlemen, I can tell you briefly. At the end of the film, I got up from my seat. The seat to my left was empty, but the seat next to it was occupied by a man, apparently asleep. Because His legs were stretched out in front of me and I couldn't get through. I asked him to let me pass, but he didn't respond at all. So I touched his shoulder to wake him up. He slid down a little more , I became aware that he was either delirious or seriously ill. I yelled, 'This gentleman is sick. Please call the security.' The security came. When I took my hand back from the man's shoulder, I found my hands wet and red... I can assure you, gentlemen, the scare was horrible! Anything could happen! I have suffered from a weak heart for years."

Colonel Anderson looked at Mr Downes with a rather curious expression. "You may consider yourself a lucky man, Mr. Downes." "Yes, sir. I think so without hesitation." "You don't quite understand me, Mr. Downs. You mean, there are two seats between you?" "In fact, at first I sat in the seat next to the murdered man - then I moved to sit behind an empty seat." "You're about the same height and build as the deceased, aren't you? And you, like him, have a woolen scarf around your neck?" "I didn't notice—" Mr. Downs began stiffly.

"Let me tell you," said Colonel Anderson, "where is your luck? When the murderer followed you in, he made a mistake. He mistook the back. If the knife wasn't aimed at you, Mr. Downs, I dare eat this hat!" Although Mr. Downs' heart has experienced the previous test, but this time he can't bear it.He fell on the chair, breathless and purple in the face. "Water," he said, "Water..." A glass of water was handed to him, and after he drank it, his expression returned to normal. "Me?" he said. "Why me?" "It seems so," said Crome. "In fact, it's the only explanation."

"You mean to say that this man—this—this devil incarnate, this bloodthirsty lunatic has been stalking me, waiting for an opportunity?" "I think so." "But in the name of God, why should it be me?" said the school principal indignantly. Crome deliberately retorted: "Why not?" Then said, "I don't think it's good to hope that there is a reason for what a madman does." "God bless me," said Mr. Downs, hushed with sobs. He stood up, looking suddenly old and frail. "Gentlemen, if there are no more questions, I think it's time for me to go home. I'm not feeling well."

"Yes, Mr. Downes. I'll send a policeman with you—just to make sure you're all right." "Oh, no, no, thanks. No need." "Perhaps that's all right," said Colonel Anderson grumpily. His eyes squinted sideways, asking the Inspector a delicate question.The latter also nodded subtly. Mr. Downs staggered out. "He didn't notice either," said Colonel Anderson, "that there were several of them?" "Yes, sir. Arrangements have been made by Inspector Rice that the house is to be watched." "Do you think," said Poirot, "that if the ABC found out that he had made a mistake, he might try again?"

Anderson nodded. "It's just a possibility," he said. "ABC seems to be a guy with a plan. If things don't go his way, he'll be uncomfortable." Poirot nodded thoughtfully. "Wish we knew what that guy looked like," said Colonel Anderson impatiently. "We're still in the dark." "Perhaps there will be," said Poirot. "You think so? Yes, it's possible. Damn, doesn't everyone have eyes in their heads?" "Be patient," said Poirot. "You seem very confident, Monsieur Poirot. What makes you so optimistic?"

"Yes, Colonel Anderson. So far, the murderer has made no mistakes. He will surely make mistakes soon." "If that's the case, you have to keep working hard." The chief of police snorted, but his words were cut off. "Sir, Mr. Ball from the Black Swan Hotel is here with a young lady. He thinks he has some clues to help us." "Bring him in. Bring them in. We need something helpful." Mr. Ball of the Black Swan Hotel is a huge man, slow in thinking and heavy in action.He smelled strongly of beer.With him was a buxom young lady with round eyes who was clearly in high arousal.

"I hope I haven't disturbed you or wasted your precious time," said Mr. Ball hoarsely and slowly, "but this woman, Mary has decided that there is something to tell you that you should know." Mary chuckled absently. "Hey, my girl, what's the matter?" Anderson said, "What's your name?" "Mary, Mary Stroud, sir." "Okay, Mary, please speak up." Mary's round eyes turned to her employer. "His task is to supply hot water to the men's room." Mr. Ball rescued her. "There are about six men living there. Some of them are here for horse racing, and some are for business." "Oh, oh," Anderson said impatiently. "Go on, girl," Ball said. "Tell us your story. Don't be afraid." Mary held her breath and began her narrative with a moan of nervous difficulty. "I knocked on the door, but there was no answer, otherwise I would only go in if the gentleman inside said, 'Come in.' As he said something, I went in, and he happened to be washing his hands." She paused and took a deep breath. "Go ahead, my girl," Anderson said. Mary's eyes slanted to her employer's, and as if encouraged by his slow nod, she continued. "'Your hot water, sir.' I said, 'I knocked on the door.' But he said, 'Oh, I've washed in cold water.' When he said that, I'd look at the sink. Oh my God , the water is all red!" "Red?" Anderson screamed. Ball interjected: "She told me the guy took off his shirt and was holding the cuffs, and the sleeves were all wet. Hey. Right, girl?" "Yes, sir, indeed." She went on: "His face looked weird, very weird and it took me by surprise." "When did this happen?" Anderson asked sharply. "About a quarter past five, as close as I can remember, I suppose." "That was more than three hours ago," snapped Anderson. "Why didn't you come right away?" "We didn't hear the news right away," Ball said, "until the news came that there had been another murder. Mary screamed because there might be blood in the basin. When I asked her how When it happened, she told me. I didn't believe it, so I went upstairs to see. There was no one in the room, so I asked someone, and a driver in the yard said he had seen a man sneaking around. Slip away. According to his description, that’s the man. So I said to my wife, it’s better to let Mary go to the police station. She disagreed with this opinion, and Mary didn’t want to, so I said I would come with her.” Inspector Crome handed him a piece of paper. "Please describe what that man looks like," he said, "as quickly as you can, without wasting any more time." "He's of medium height," said Mary, "a little stooped, and wears spectacles." "What clothes is he wearing?" "A black jacket and a cocked hat, looking shabby." There was only so much she could say. Inspector Crome was not overly persistent.After a while the telephone line became busy, but neither the superintendent nor the chief constable was overly optimistic. Crome deduced that the man seen running out of the yard was not carrying a bag or case. "There's still a chance," he said. The two were sent to the Black Swan Hotel. Mr Ball, full of pride and pride, and Mary, a little tearful, accompanied them back. About ten minutes later, the officer returned. "I have the register, sir," said he, "here is his signature." We squeezed over to read, but the handwriting was small and hard to read. "The signature is AB Case—or Cash?" said the Director. "How about the luggage?" Anderson asked. "There's a big box full of little cardboard boxes." "Carton? What's inside?" "Stockings, sir. Silky stockings." Crome turned to Poirot. "Congratulations," he said, "your hunch was right."