Peril at End House Read Free

arresting. Was it a hint of recklessness? There were dark shadows under the eyes.
    The terrace on which we were sitting was a little-used one. The main terrace where most people sat was just round the corner at a point where the cliff shelved directly down to the sea.
    From round this corner now there appeared a man, a red-faced man with a rolling carriage who carried his hands half clenched by his side. There was something breezy and carefree about him—a typical sailor.
    ‘I can’t think where the girl’s got to,’ he was saying in tones that easily carried to where we sat. ‘Nick—Nick.’
    Miss Buckley rose.
    ‘I knew they’d be getting in a state. Attaboy—George—here I am.’
    ‘Freddie’s frantic for a drink. Come on, girl.’
    He cast a glance of frank curiosity at Poirot, who must have differed considerably from most of Nick’s friends.
    The girl performed a wave of introduction.
    ‘This is Commander Challenger—er—’
    But to my surprise Poirot did not supply the name for which she was waiting. Instead he rose, bowed very ceremoniously and murmured:
    ‘Of the English Navy. I have a great regard for the English Navy.’
    This type of remark is not one that an Englishman acclaims most readily. Commander Challenger flushed and Nick Buckley took command of the situation.
    ‘Come on, George. Don’t gape. Let’s find Freddie and Jim.’
    She smiled at Poirot.
    ‘Thanks for the cocktail. I hope the ankle will be all right.’
    With a nod to me she slipped her hand through the sailor’s arm and they disappeared round the corner together.
    ‘So that is one of Mademoiselle’s friends,’ murmured Poirot thoughtfully. ‘One of her cheery crowd. What about him? Give me your expert judgement, Hastings. Is he what you call a good fellow—yes?’
    Pausing for a moment to try and decide exactly what Poirot thought I should mean by a ‘good fellow’, I gave a doubtful assent.
    ‘He seems all right—yes,’ I said. ‘So far as one can tell by a cursory glance.’
    ‘I wonder,’ said Poirot.
    The girl had left her hat behind. Poirot stooped to pick it up and twirled it round absent-mindedly on his finger.
    ‘Has he a tendresse for her? What do you think, Hastings?’
    ‘My dear Poirot! How can I tell? Here—give me that hat. The lady will want it. I’ll take it to her.’
    Poirot paid no attention to my request. He continued to revolve the hat slowly on his finger.
    ‘ Pas encore. Ça m’amuse .’
    ‘Really, Poirot!’
    ‘Yes, my friend, I grow old and childish, do I not?’
    This was so exactly what I was feeling that I was somewhat disconcerted to have it put into words. Poirot gave a little chuckle, then leaning forward he laid a finger against the side of his nose.
    ‘But no—I am not so completely imbecile as you think! We will return the hat—but assuredly—but later! We will return it to End House and thus we shall have the opportunity of seeing the charming Miss Nick again.’
    ‘Poirot,’ I said. ‘I believe you have fallen in love.’
    ‘She is a pretty girl—eh?’
    ‘Well—you saw for yourself. Why ask me?’
    ‘Because, alas! I cannot judge. To me, nowadays, anything young is beautiful. Jeunesse—jeunesse …It is the tragedy of my years. But you—I appeal to you! Your judgement is not up-to-date, naturally, having lived in the Argentine so long. You admire the figure of five years ago, but you are at any rate more modern than I am. She is pretty—yes? She has the appeal to the sexes?’
    ‘One sex is sufficient, Poirot. The answer, I should say, is very much in the affirmative. Why are you so interested in the lady?’
    ‘Am I interested?’
    ‘Well—look at what you’ve just being saying.’
    ‘You are under a misapprehension, mon ami . I may be interested in the lady—yes—but I am much more interested in her hat.’
    I stared at him, but he appeared perfectly serious.
    He nodded his head at me.
    ‘Yes, Hastings, this very hat.’ He held it towards