The ABC Murders by Agatha Christie Read Free Book Online Page B

two possible candidates for the murder.”
    â€œSurely you don’t think—”
    â€œThere is at least a possibility that the murderer lives in or near Andover. That is a possible answer to our question: ‘Why Andover?’ Well, here were two men known to have been in the shop at the requisite time of day. Either of them might be the murderer. And there is nothing as yet to show that one or other of them is not the murderer.”
    â€œThat great hulking brute, Riddell, perhaps,” I admitted.
    â€œOh, I am inclined to acquit Riddell off-hand. He was nervous, blustering, obviously uneasy—”
    â€œBut surely that just shows—”
    â€œA nature diametrically opposed to that which penned theA B C letter. Conceit and self-confidence are the characteristics that we must look for.”
    â€œSomeone who throws his weight about?”
    â€œPossibly. But some people, under a nervous and self-effacing manner, conceal a great deal of vanity and self-satisfaction.”
    â€œYou don’t think that little Mr. Partridge—”
    â€œHe is more le type . One cannot say more than that. He acts as the writer of the letter would act—goes at once to the police—pushes himself to the fore—enjoys his position.”
    â€œDo you really think—?”
    â€œNo, Hastings. Personally I believe that the murderer came from outside Andover, but we must neglect no avenue of research. And although I say ‘he’ all the time, we must not exclude the possibility of a woman being concerned.”
    â€œSurely not!”
    â€œThe method of attack is that of a man, I agree. But anonymous letters are written by women rather than by men. We must bear that in mind.”
    I was silent for a few minutes, then I said:
    â€œWhat do we do next?”
    â€œMy energetic Hastings,” Poirot said and smiled at me.
    â€œNo, but what do we do?”
    â€œNothing.”
    â€œNothing?” My disappointment rang out clearly.
    â€œAm I the magician? The sorcerer? What would you have me do?”
    Turning the matter over in my mind I found it difficult to give an answer. Nevertheless I felt convinced that something ought to be done and that we should not allow the grass to grow under our feet.
    I said:
    â€œThere is the A B C—and the notepaper and envelope—”
    â€œNaturally everything is being done in that line. The police have all the means at their disposal for that kind of inquiry. If anything is to be discovered on those lines have no fear but that they will discover it.”
    With that I was forced to rest content.
    In the days that followed I found Poirot curiously disinclined to discuss the case. When I tried to reopen the subject he waved it aside with an impatient hand.
    In my own mind I was afraid that I fathomed his motive. Over the murder of Mrs. Ascher, Poirot had sustained a defeat. A B C had challenged him—and A B C had won. My friend, accustomed to an unbroken line of successes, was sensitive to his failure—so much so that he could not even endure discussion of the subject. It was, perhaps, a sign of pettiness in so great a man, but even the most sober of us is liable to have his head turned by success. In Poirot’s case the head-turning process had been going on for years. Small wonder if its effects became noticeable at long last.
    Understanding, I respected my friend’s weakness and I made no further reference to the case. I read in the paper the account of the inquest. It was very brief, no mention was made of the A B C letter, and a verdict was returned of murder by some person or persons unknown. The crime attracted very little attention in the press. It had no popular or spectacular features. The murder of an old woman in a side street was soon passed over in the press for more thrilling topics.
    Truth to tell, the affair was fading from my mind also, partly, I think, because I disliked to think of Poirot as