Oliver, “but I quite agree that you don’t often go out and do things.” “In the near future I think I may possibly go out and do things,” said Hercule Poirot, “and that will please you. I may even cross the Channel, though certainly not in a boat. A plane, I think, is indicated.” “Oh,” said Mrs. Oliver. “Do you want me to come, too?” “No,” said Poirot, “I think it would be better if I went alone on this occasion.” “You really will go?” “Oh, yes, oh, yes. I will run about with all activity and so you should be pleased with me, madame.” When he had rung off, he dialed another number which he looked up from a note he had made in his pocketbook. Presently he was connected to the person whom he wished to speak to.
“My dear Superintendent Garroway, it is Hercule Poirot who addresses you. I do not derange you too much? You are not very busy at this moment?” “No, I am not busy,” said Superintendent Garroway. “I am pruning my roses, that’s all.” “There is something that I want to ask you. Quite a small thing.” “About our problem of the double suicide?” “Yes, about our problem. You said there was a dog in the house. You said that the dog went for walks with the family, or so you understood.” “Yes, there was some mention made of a dog. I think it may have been either the housekeeper or someone who said that they went for a walk with the dog as usual that day.” “In examination of the body, was there any sign that Lady Ravenscroft had been bitten by a dog? Not necessarily very recently or on that particular day?” “Well, it’s odd you should say that. I can’t say I’d have remembered about it if you hadn’t mentioned such a thing.
But, yes, there were a couple of scars. Not bad ones. But again the housekeeper mentioned that the dog had attacked its mistress more than once and bitten her, though not very severely. Look here, Poirot, there was no rabies about, if that’s what you are thinking. There couldn’t have been anything of that kind. After all, she was shot–they were both shot. There was no question of any septic poisoning or danger of tetanus.” “I do not blame the dog,” said Poirot; “it was only something I wanted to know.” “One dog bite was fairly recent, about a week before, I think, or two weeks, somebody said. There was no case of necessary injections or anything of that kind. It had healed quite well. What’s that quotation?” went on Superintendent Garroway. ‘”The dog it was that died.’ I can’t remember where it comes from, but–” “Anyway, it wasn’t the dog that died,” said Poirot. “That wasn’t the point of my question. I would like to have known that dog. He was perhaps a very intelligent dog.” After he had replaced the receiver with thanks to the Superintendent, Poirot murmured: “An intelligent dog. More intelligent perhaps than the police were.”
CHAPTER XVII Poirot Announces Departure
Miss Livingstone showed in a guest. “Mr. Hercules Poirot.” As soon as Miss Livingstone had left the room, Poirot shut the door after her and sat down by his friend, Mrs. Ariadne Oliver.
He said, lowering his voice slightly, “I depart.” “You do what?” said Mrs. Oliver, who was always slightly startled by Poirot’s methods of passing on information.
“I depart. I make the departure. I take a plane to Geneva.” “You sound as though you were UNO or UNESCO or something.” “No. It is just a private visit that I make.” “Have you got an elephant in Geneva?” “Well, I suppose you might look at it that way. Perhaps two of them.” “I haven’t found out anything more,” said Mrs. Oliver. “In fact, I don’t know who I can go to to find out any more.” “I believe you mentioned, or somebody did, that your goddaughter, Celia Ravenscroft, had a young brother.” “Yes, He’s called Edward, I think. I’ve hardly ever seen him. I took him out once or twice from school, I remember.
But that was years ago.” “Where is he now?” “He’s at university, in Canada, I think. Or he’s taking some engineering course there. Do you want to go and ask him things?” “No, not at the moment. I should just like to know where he is now. But I gather he was not in the house whpen this suicide happened?” i “You’re not thinking–you’re not thinking for a moment that fee did it, are you? I mean, shot his father and his mother, both of them. I know boys do sometimes. Very queer they are sometimes when they’re at a funny age.” “He was not in the house,” said Poirot. “That I know already from my police reports.” “Have you found out anything else interesting? You look quite excited.” “I am excited, in a way. I have found out certain things that may throw light upon what we already know.” “Well, what throws light on what?” “It seems to me possible now that I can understand why Mrs. Burton-Cox approached you as she did and tried to get you to obtain information for her about the facts of the suicide of the Ravenscrofts.” “You mean she wasn’t just being a nosey-parker?” “No. I think there was some motive behind it. This is where, perhaps, money comes in.” “Money? What’s money got to do with that? She’s quite well off, isn’t she?” “She has enough to live upon, yes. But it seems that her adopted son, whom she regards apparently as her true son–he knows that he was adopted although he knows nothing about the family from which he really came. It seems that when he came of age he made a will, possibly urged by his adopted mother to do so. Perhaps it was merely hinted to him by some friends of hers or possibly by some lawyer that she had consulted. Arayway, on coming of age he may have felt that he might as welU leave everything to her, to his adopted mother.