“As they will if I stay put,” said Jennie. There was a blank, faraway look in her eyes. “It’s all right, Mr. Catchpool, you needn’t be sorry for me. I am prepared.”

Her words, no doubt intended to reassure me, filled me with dread. She had the manner of one who had looked into the future and seen terrible events contained within it. Whatever they were, I knew that I was not prepared and did not wish to be.

21. All the Devils Are Here

All the Devils Are Here

APART FROM TELLING ME twice that we must go to Great Holling without delay, Poirot remained silent all the way home. He looked preoccupied, and it was clear that he did not want to talk.

We arrived at the lodging house to find young Stanley Beer waiting for us. “What is the matter?” Poirot asked him. “Are you here about the work of art I created?”

“Pardon, sir? Oh, your crest? No, that was perfectly all right, sir. As a matter of fact . . .” Beer reached into his pocket and handed over an envelope. “You’ll find your answer in there.”

“Thank you, Constable. But then it must be that something else is wrong? You are anxious, non?”

“Yes, sir. We’ve had word at Scotland Yard from an Ambrose Flowerday, the Great Holling village doctor. He’s asked for Mr. Catchpool to go there immediately. He says he’s needed.”

Poirot looked at me, then turned back to Stanley Beer. “It was our intention to go there immediately. Do you know what has provoked Dr. Flowerday to request Catchpool’s presence?”

“I’m afraid I do. It’s not a happy business, sir. A woman by the name of Margaret Ernst has been attacked. She is likely to die—”

“Oh, no,” I murmured.

“—and she says she needs to see Mr. Catchpool before she does. After speaking to Dr. Flowerday, I would advise you to hurry, sir. There’s a car waiting outside to take you to the station.”

Thinking of Poirot’s methodical nature and his dislike of any hectic activity, I said, “Might we take half an hour to ready ourselves?”

Beer looked at his watch. “Five, ten minutes at a stretch, but no longer, sir—not if you want to catch the next train.”

I must admit with some shame that, in the event, Poirot was downstairs with his suitcase before I was. “Hurry, mon ami,” he urged.

In the car, I decided that I needed to speak, even if Poirot was not feeling talkative. “If I had only stayed away from that infernal village, Margaret Ernst would not have been attacked,” I said grimly. “Someone must have seen me go to her cottage and noticed how long I stayed.”

“You stayed long enough for her to tell you everything, or nearly everything. What is achieved by trying to kill her when she has already shared her knowledge with the police?”