Dead Man's Folly Read Free Page B

hand.
    â€œActually,” she said, “she’s killed by the Country Squire—and the motive is really rather ingenious—I don’t believe many people will get it—though there’s a perfectly clear pointer in the fifth clue.”
    Poirot abandoned the subtleties of Mrs. Oliver’s plot to ask a practical question:
    â€œBut how do you arrange for a suitable body?”
    â€œGirl Guide,” said Mrs. Oliver. “Sally Legge was going to be it—but now they want her to dress up in a turban and do the fortune-telling. So it’s a Girl Guide called Marlene Tucker. Rather dumb and sniffs,” she added in an explanatory manner. “It’s quite easy—just peasant scarves and a rucksack—and all she has to do when she hears someone coming is to flop down on the floor and arrange the cord round her neck. Rather dull for the poor kid—just sticking inside that boathouse until she’s found, but I’ve arranged for her to have a nice bundle of comics—there’s a clue to the murderer scribbled on one of them as a matter of fact—so it all works in.”
    â€œYour ingenuity leaves me spellbound! The things you think of!”
    â€œIt’s never difficult to think of things,” said Mrs. Oliver. “The trouble is that you think of too many, and then it all becomes too complicated, so you have to relinquish some of them and that is rather agony. We go up this way now.”
    They started up a steep zigzagging path that led them back along the river at a higher level. At a twist through the trees they came out on a space surmounted by a small white pilastered temple.Standing back and frowning at it was a young man wearing dilapidated flannel trousers and a shirt of rather virulent green. He spun round towards them.
    â€œMr. Michael Weyman, M. Hercule Poirot,” said Mrs. Oliver.
    The young man acknowledged the introduction with a careless nod.
    â€œExtraordinary,” he said bitterly, “the places people put things! This thing here, for instance. Put up only about a year ago—quite nice of its kind and quite in keeping with the period of the house. But why here? These things were meant to be seen—‘situated on an eminence’—that’s how they phrased it—with a nice grassy approach and daffodils, etcetera. But here’s this poor little devil, stuck away in the midst of trees—not visible from anywhere—you’d have to cut down about twenty trees before you’d even see it from the river.”
    â€œPerhaps there wasn’t any other place,” said Mrs. Oliver.
    Michael Weyman snorted.
    â€œTop of that grassy bank by the house—perfect natural setting. But no, these tycoon fellows are all the same—no artistic sense. Has a fancy for a ‘Folly,’ as he calls it, orders one. Looks round for somewhere to put it. Then, I understand, a big oak tree crashes down in a gale. Leaves a nasty scar. ‘Oh, we’ll tidy the place up by putting a Folly there,’ says the silly ass. That’s all they ever think about, these rich city fellows, tidying up! I wonder he hasn’t put beds of red geraniums and calceolarias all round the house! A man like that shouldn’t be allowed to own a place like this!”
    He sounded heated.
    â€œThis young man,” Poirot observed to himself, “assuredly does not like Sir George Stubbs.”
    â€œIt’s bedded down in concrete,” said Weyman. “And there’s loose soil underneath—so it’s subsided. Cracked all up here—it will be dangerous soon…Better pull the whole thing down and re-erect it on the top of the bank near the house. That’s my advice, but the obstinate old fool won’t hear of it.”
    â€œWhat about the tennis pavilion?” asked Mrs. Oliver.
    Gloom settled even more deeply on the young man.
    â€œHe wants a kind of Chinese pagoda,” he said, with a