Poirot’s Early Cases by Agatha Christie

‘I don’t see that that advances us much,’ I remarked coldly.

‘Au contraire, it advances us enormously, but enormously! If you must wear a tie pin, Hastings, at least let it be in the exact centre of your tie. At present it is at least a sixteenth of an inch too much to the right.’

Waverly Court was a fine old place and had recently been restored with taste and care. Mr Waverly showed us the council chamber, the terrace, and all the various spots connected with the case. Finally, at Poirot’s request, he pressed a spring in the wall, a panel slid aside, and a short passage led us into the priest’s hole.

‘You see,’ said Waverly. ‘There is nothing here.’

The tiny room was bare enough, there was not even the mark of a footstep on the floor. I joined Poirot where he was bending attentively over a mark in the corner.

‘What do you make of this, my friend?’

There were four imprints close together.

‘A dog,’ I cried.

‘A very small dog, Hastings.’

‘A Pom.’

‘Smaller than a Pom.’

‘A griffon?’ I suggested doubtfully.

‘Smaller even than a griffon. A species unknown to the Kennel Club.’

I looked at him. His face was alight with excitement and satisfaction.

‘I was right,’ he murmured. ‘I knew I was right. Come, Hastings.’

As we stepped out into the hall and the panel closed behind us, a young lady came out of a door farther down the passage. Mr Waverly presented her to us.

‘Miss Collins.’

Miss Collins was about thirty years of age, brisk and alert in manner. She had fair, rather dull hair, and wore pince-nez.

At Poirot’s request, we passed into a small morning-room, and he questioned her closely as to the servants and particularly as to Tredwell. She admitted that she did not like the butler.

‘He gives himself airs,’ she explained.

They then went into the question of the food eaten by Mrs Waverly on the night of the 28th. Miss Collins declared that she had partaken of the same dishes upstairs in her sitting-room and had felt no ill effects. As she was departing I nudged Poirot.

‘The dog,’ I whispered.

‘Ah, yes, the dog!’ He smiled broadly. ‘Is there a dog kept here by any chance, mademoiselle?’

‘There are two retrievers in the kennels outside.’

‘No, I mean a small dog, a toy dog.’

‘No—nothing of the kind.’

Poirot permitted her to depart. Then, pressing the bell, he remarked to me, ‘She lies, that Mademoiselle Collins. Possibly I should, also, in her place. Now for the butler.’

Tredwell was a dignified individual. He told his story with perfect aplomb, and it was essentially the same as that of Mr Waverly. He admitted that he knew the secret of the priest’s hole.

When he finally withdrew, pontifical to the last, I met Poirot’s quizzical eyes.

‘What do you make of it all, Hastings?’

‘What do you?’ I parried.

‘How cautious you become. Never, never will the grey cells function unless you stimulate them. Ah, but I will not tease you! Let us make our deductions together. What points strike us specially as being difficult?’

‘There is one thing that strikes me,’ I said. ‘Why did the man who kidnapped the child go out by the south lodge instead of by the east lodge where no one would see him?’

‘That is a very good point, Hastings, an excellent one. I will match it with another. Why warn the Waverlys beforehand? Why not simply kidnap the child and hold him to ransom?’

‘Because they hoped to get the money without being forced to action.’

‘Surely it was very unlikely that the money would be paid on a mere threat?’

‘Also they wanted to focus attention on twelve o’clock, so that when the tramp man was seized, the other could emerge from his hiding-place and get away with the child unnoticed.’

‘That does not alter the fact that they were making a thing difficult that was perfectly easy. If they do not specify a time or date, nothing would be easier than to wait their chance, and carry off the child in a motor one day when he is out with his nurse.’