"There be ('Bungalow. Do yee want to see t'lnspector?"

"What

Inspector?" asked Poirot sharply; "what do

you mean?"

"Haven't yee heard about t'murder, then? A shocking business t'was seemingly. Pools of blood, they do

say."

"Mow Dieu!" murmured Poirot. "This Inspector of yours, I must see him at once.''

Five minutes later we were closeted with Inspector

Meadows. The Inspector was inclined to be stiff at first, but at the magic name of Inspector Japp of Scotland

Yard, he unbent.

"Yes, sir; murdered this morning. A shocking business. They 'phoned to Moreton, and I came out at once.

Looked a mysterious thing to begin with. The old man

--he was about seventy, you know, and fond of his

glass, from all I hear--was lying on the floor of the

living-room. There was a bruise on his head and his

throat was cut from ear to ear. Blood all over the place, as you can understand. The woman who cooks for him,

Betsy Andrews, she told us that her master had several

little Chinese jade figures, that he'd told her were very valuable, and these had disappeared. That, of course,

looked like assault and robbery; but there were all sorts of difficulties in the way of that solution. The old fellow had two people in the house; Betsy Andrews, who is a

Hoppaton woman, and a rough kind of manservant,

28 Agatha Christie

Robert Grant. Grant had gone to the farm to fetch the

milk, which he does every day, and Betsy had stepped

out to have a chat with a neighbour. She was only away

twenty minutes--between ten and half-past--and the

crime must have been done then. Grant returned to the

house first. He went in by the back door, which was

open--no one locks up doors round here--not in broad

daylight, at all events--put the milk in the larder, and went into his own room to read the paper and have a

smoke. Had no idea anything unusual had occurred--at

least, that's what he says. Then Betsy comes in, goes

into the living-room, sees what's happened, and lets out a screech to wake the dead. That's all fair and square.

Some one got in whilst those two were out, and did the

poor old man in. But it struck me at once that he must

be a pretty cool customer. He'd have to come right up

the village street, or creep through some one's back

yard. Granite Bungalow has got houses all round it, as

you can see. How was it that no one had seen him?"

The Inspector paused with a flourish.

"Aha, I perceive your point," said Poirot. "To continue?"

"Well, sir, fishy, I said to myself--fishy. And I began to look about me. Those jade figures, now. Would a

common tramp ever suspect that they were valuable?

Anyway, it was madness to try such a thing in broad

daylight. Suppose the old man had yelled for help?"

"I suppose. Inspector," said Mr. Ingles, "that the bruise on the head was inflicted before death?"