We’ve gone forward and back to the right, to the left, to the west, to the east.” “Quite right,” said Mrs. Oliver. “Everywhere. We haven’t been to the North Pole yet,” she added.
“Nor to the South Pole,” said Poirot.
“So what is there, when it all comes to it?” “Various things,” said Poirot. “I have made here a list. Do you want to read it?” Mrs. Oliver came over and sat beside him and looked over his shoulder.
“Wigs,” she said, pointing to the first item. “Why wigs first?” “Four wigs,” said Poirot, “seem to be interesting. Interesting and rather difficult to solve.” “I believe the shop she got her wigs from has gone out of the trade now. People go to quite different places for wigs and they’re not wearing so many as they did just then. People used to wear wigs to go abroad. You know, because it saves bother in traveling.” “Yes, yes,” said Poirot, “we will do what we can with wigs.
Anyway, that is one thing that interests me. And then there are other stories. Stories of mental disturbance in the family.
Stories of a twin sister who was mentally disturbed and spent a good many years of her life in a mental home.” “It doesn’t seem to lead anywhere,” said Mrs. Oliver. “I mean to say, I suppose she could have come and shot the two of them, but I don’t really see why.” “No,” said Poirot, “the fingerprints on the revolver were definitely only the fingerprints of General Ravenscroft and his wife, I understand. Then there are stories of a child. A child in India was murdered or attacked, possibly by this twin sister of Lady Ravenscroft. Possibly by some quite different woman–possibly by an ayah or a servant. Point two. You know a little more about money.” “Where does money come into it?” said Mrs. Oliver in some surprise.
“It does not come into it,” said Poirot. “That is what is so interesting. Money usually comes in. Money someone got as a result of that suicide. Money lost as a result of it. Money somewhere causing difficulties, causing trouble, causing covetousness and desire. It is difficult, that. Difficult to see.
There does not seem to have been any large amount of money anywhere. There are various stories of love affairs, women who were attractive to the husband, men who were attractive to the wife. An affair there one side or the other could have led to suicide or to murder. It very often does. Then we come to what at the moment inclines me to the most interest. That is why I am so anxious to meet Mrs. Burton-Cox.” “Oh. That awful woman. I don’t see why you think she’s important. All she did was to go being a nosey-parker and wanting me to find out things.” “Yes, but why did she want you to find out things? It seems to me very odd, that. It seems to me that that is something that one has to find out about. She is the link, you see.” “The link?” “Yes. We do not know what the link was, where it was, how it was. All we know is that she wants desperately to learn more about this suicide. Being a link, she connects both with your godchild, Celia Ravenscroft, and with the son who is not her son.” “What do you mean—not her son?” “He is an adopted son,” said Poirot. “A son she adopted because her own son died,” “How did her own child die? Why? When?” “All these things I asked myself. She could be a link, a link of emotion, a wish for revenge through hatred, through some love affair. At any rate I must see her. I must make up my mind about her. Yes. I cannot help but think that is very important.” There was a ring at the bell and Mrs. Oliver went out of the room to answer it.
“This, I think, could be Celia,” she said. “You’re sure it’s all right?” “By me, yes,” said Poirot. “By her also, I hope.” Mrs. Oliver came back a few minutes later. Celia Ravenscroft was with her. She had a doubtful, suspicious look.