For once in a way our first tentative inquiry did not meet with the usual response, “Sorry, but I’m a stranger in these parts.” It would seem indeed probable that there were no strangers in Market Basing! It had that effect! Already, I felt, Poirot and myself (and especially Poirot) were somewhat noticeable.
We tended to stick out from the mellow background of an English market town secure in its traditions.
“Littlegreen House?” The man, a burly, ox-eyed fellow looked us over thoughtfully.
“You go straight up the High Street and you can’t miss it. On your left. There’s no name on the gate, but it’s the first big house after the bank.” He repeated again, “You can’t miss it.” His eyes followed us as we started on our course.
“Dear me,” I complained. “There is something about this place that makes me feel extremely conspicuous. As for you, Poirot, you look positively exotic.” “You think it is noticed that I am a foreigner–yes?” “The fact cries aloud to heaven,” I assured him.
“And yet my clothes are made by an English tailor,” mused Poirot.
“Clothes are not everything,” I said. “It cannot be denied, Poirot, that you have a noticeable personality. I have often wondered that it has not hindered you in your career.” Poirot sighed.
“That is because you have the mistaken idea implanted in your head that a detective is necessarily a man who puts on a false beard and hides behind a pillar! The false beard, it is vieux jeu, and shadowing is only done by the lowest branch of my profession. The Hercule Poirots, my friend, need only to sit I back in a chair and think.” “Which explains why we are walking along this exceedingly hot street on an ex- a I ceedingly hot morning.” “That is very neatly replied, Hastings. For once, I admit, you have made the score off me.” We found Littlegreen House easily enough, but a shock awaited us–a houseagent’s board.
As we were staring at it, a dog’s bark attracted my attention.
The bushes were thin at that point and the dog could be easily seen. He was a wirehaired terrier, somewhat shaggy as to coat.
His feet were planted wide apart, slightly to one side, and he barked with an obvious enjoyment of his own performance that showed him to be actuated by the most amiable motives.
“Good watchdog, aren’t I?” he seemed to be saying. “Don’t mind me! This is just my fun! My duty too, of course. Just have to let ’em know there’s a dog about the place!
Deadly dull morning. Quite a blessing to have something to do. Coming into our place? Hope so. It’s durned dull. I could do with a little conversation.” “Hallo, old man,” I said, and shoved forward a fist.
Craning his neck through the railings, he sniffed suspiciously, then gently wagged his f^} ntt^nncr a fpw short, staccato barks.
“Not been properly introduced, of course, ave to keep this up! But I see you know the proper advances to make.” “Good old boy,” I said.
“Wuff,” said the terrier amiably.
“Well, Poirot?” I said, desisting from this conversation and turning to my friend.
There was an odd expression on his face –one that I could not quite fathom. A kind of deliberately suppressed excitement seems to describe it best.
“The Incident of the Dog’s Ball,” he murmured.
“Well, at least, we have here a dog.” “Wuff,” observed our new friend. Then he sat down, yawned widely and looked at us hopefully.
“What next?” I asked.
The dog seemed to be asking the same question.
“Parbleu, to Messrs.–what is it–Messrs.
Gabler and Stretcher.” “That does seem indicated,^ I agreed.
We turned and retraced oursteps, our canine acquaintance sending a few disgusted barks after us.
The premises of Messrs.1 Gabler and Stretcher were situated in the Market a Square. We entered a dim outer office where we were received by a young woman with adenoids and a lack-lustre eye.
“Good-morning,” said Poirot politely.
The young woman was at the moment speaking into a telephone, but she indicated a chair and Poirot sat down. I found another and brought it forward.
“I couldn’t say, I’m sure,” said the young woman into the telephone vacantly. “No, I don’t know what the rates would be..