Dead Man's Folly Read Free Page A

good-looking in a craggy kind of artistic way. He’s designing a tennis pavilion for Sir George and repairing the Folly.”
    â€œFolly? What is that—a masquerade?”
    â€œNo, it’s architectural. One of those little sort of temple things, white, with columns. You’ve probably seen them at Kew. Then there’s Miss Brewis, she’s a sort of secretary housekeeper, who runs things and writes letters—very grim and efficient. And then thereare the people round about who come in and help. A young married couple who have taken a cottage down by the river—Alec Legge and his wife Sally. And Captain Warburton, who’s the Mastertons’ agent. And the Mastertons, of course, and old Mrs. Folliat who lives in what used to be the lodge. Her husband’s people owned Nasse originally. But they’ve died out, or been killed in wars, and there were lots of death duties so the last heir sold the place.”
    Poirot considered this list of characters, but at the moment they were only names to him. He returned to the main issue.
    â€œWhose idea was the Murder Hunt?”
    â€œMrs. Masterton’s, I think. She’s the local M.P.’s wife, very good at organizing. It was she who persuaded Sir George to have the fête here. You see the place has been empty for so many years that she thinks people will be keen to pay and come in to see it.”
    â€œThat all seems straightforward enough,” said Poirot.
    â€œIt all seems straightforward,” said Mrs. Oliver obstinately; “but it isn’t. I tell you, M. Poirot, there’s something wrong. ”
    Poirot looked at Mrs. Oliver and Mrs. Oliver looked back at Poirot.
    â€œHow have you accounted for my presence here? For your summons to me?” Poirot asked.
    â€œThat was easy,” said Mrs. Oliver. “You’re to give away the prizes for the Murder Hunt. Everybody’s awfully thrilled. I said I knew you, and could probably persuade you to come and that I was sure your name would be a terrific draw—as, of course, it will be,” Mrs. Oliver added tactfully.
    â€œAnd the suggestion was accepted—without demur?”
    â€œI tell you, everybody was thrilled.”
    Mrs. Oliver thought it unnecessary to mention that amongstthe younger generation one or two had asked “Who is Hercule Poirot?”
    â€œ Everybody? Nobody spoke against the idea?”
    Mrs. Oliver shook her head.
    â€œThat is a pity,” said Hercule Poirot.
    â€œYou mean it might have given us a line?”
    â€œA would-be criminal could hardly be expected to welcome my presence.”
    â€œI suppose you think I’ve imagined the whole thing,” said Mrs. Oliver ruefully. “I must admit that until I started talking to you I hadn’t realized how very little I’ve got to go upon.”
    â€œCalm yourself,” said Poirot kindly. “I am intrigued and interested. Where do we begin?”
    Mrs. Oliver glanced at her watch.
    â€œIt’s just teatime. We’ll go back to the house and then you can meet everybody.”
    She took a different path from the one by which Poirot had come. This one seemed to lead in the opposite direction.
    â€œWe pass by the boathouse this way,” Mrs. Oliver explained.
    As she spoke the boathouse came into view. It jutted out on to the river and was a picturesque thatched affair.
    â€œThat’s where the Body’s going to be,” said Mrs. Oliver. “The body for the Murder Hunt, I mean.”
    â€œAnd who is going to be killed?”
    â€œOh, a girl hiker, who is really the Yugoslavian first wife of a young Atom Scientist,” said Mrs. Oliver glibly.
    Poirot blinked.
    â€œOf course it looks as though the Atom Scientist had killed her—but naturally it’s not as simple as that.”
    â€œNaturally not—since you are concerned….”
    Mrs. Oliver accepted the compliment with a wave of the