Hercule Poirot.

IV

Ashley Lodge, the residence of General

Grant, was not a large house. It was situated

on the side of a hill, had good stables, and

a straggling, rather neglected, garden.

Inside, it was what a house agent would

have described as "fully furnished". Crosslegged Buddhas leered down from convenient

niches, brass Benares trays and

tables encumbered the floor space. Processional

elephants garnished the mantelpieces

and more tortured brasswork

adorned the walls.

In the midst of this Anglo-Indian home

from home. General Grant was ensconced

in a large, shabby armchair with his leg, swathed in bandages, reposing on another chair.

"Gout," he explained. "Ever had the

gout, Mr. --er --Poirot ? Makes a feller

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damned bad tempered! All my father's

fault. Drank port all his life --so did my

grandfather. It's played the deuce with me.

Have a drink? Ring that bell, will you, for that feller of mine ?" A turbaned servant appeared. General

Grant addressed him as Abdul and ordered

him to bring whisky and soda. When it

came he poured out such a generous portion

that Poirot was moved to protest.

"Can't join you, I'm afraid, Mr.

Poirot." The General eyed the tantalus

sadly. "My doctor wallah says it's poison

to me to touch the stuff. Don't suppose

he knows for a minute. Ignorant chaps

doctors. Spoil-sports. Enjoy knocking a

man off his food and drink and putting

him on some pap like steamed fish.

Steamed fish --pah I"

In his indignation the General incautiously

moved his bad foot and uttered

a yelp of agony at the twinge that ensued.

He apologised for his language.

"Like a bear with a sore head, that's

what I am. My girls give me a wide berth

when I've got an attack of gout. Don't

know that I blame them. You've met one

of'em, I hear."

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"I have had that pleasure, yes. You have

several daughters, have you not ?"

"Four," said the General gloomily. "Not

a boy amongst 'em. Four blinking girls.

Bit of a thought, these days."

"They are all four very charming,

I hear ?"

"Not too bad — not too bad. Mind you,

I never know what they're up to. You

can't control girls nowadays. Lax times —

too much laxity everywhere. What can

a man do ? Can't lock 'em up, can I ?"

"They are popular in the neighbourhood,

I gather."

"Some of the old cats don't like 'em,"

said General Grant.

"A good deal of mutton dressed as lamb

round here. A man's got to be careful. One

of these blue-eyed widows nearly caught

me—used to come round here purring

like a kitten. 'Poor General Grant —you

must have had such an interesting life9 "

The General winked and placed one finger

against his nose. "A little bit too obvious,

Mr. Poirot. Oh well, take it all round,

I suppose it's not a bad part of the world.

A bit go ahead and noisy for my taste.

I liked the country when it was the country