Hallowe'en Party by Agatha Christie Page B

bit dishevelled or dampor floury. There doesn’t seem to be any useful clues there at all. I mean, the police didn’t think so.”
    â€œNo,” said Poirot. “I suppose the only clue was the child herself. I hope you will tell me all you know about her.”
    â€œAbout Joyce?”
    Mrs. Drake looked slightly taken aback. It was as though Joyce in her mind had by now retreated so far out of things that she was quite surprised to be reminded of her.
    â€œThe victim is always important,” said Poirot. “The victim, you see, is so often the cause of the crime.”
    â€œWell, I suppose, yes, I see what you mean,” said Mrs. Drake, who quite plainly did not. “Shall we come back to the drawing room?”
    â€œAnd then you will tell me about Joyce,” said Poirot.
    They settled themselves once more in the drawing room.
    Mrs. Drake was looking uncomfortable.
    â€œI don’t know really what you expect me to say, Monsieur Poirot,” she said. “Surely all information can be obtained quite easily from the police or from Joyce’s mother. Poor woman, it will be painful for her, no doubt, but—”
    â€œBut what I want,” said Poirot, “is not a mother’s estimate of a dead daughter. It is a clear, unbiased opinion from someone who has a good knowledge of human nature. I should say, Madame, that you yourself have been an active worker in many welfare and social fields here. Nobody, I am sure, could sum up more aptly the character and disposition of someone whom you know.”
    â€œWell—it is a little difficult. I mean, children of that age—she was thirteen, I think, twelve or thirteen—are very much alike at a certain age.”
    â€œAh no, surely not,” said Poirot. “There are very great differences in character, in disposition. Did you like her?”
    Mrs. Drake seemed to find the question embarrassing.
    â€œWell, of course I—I liked her. I mean, well, I like all children. Most people do.”
    â€œAh, there I do not agree with you,” said Poirot. “Some children I consider are most unattractive.”
    â€œWell, I agree, they’re not brought up very well nowadays. Everything seems left to the school, and of course they lead very permissive lives. Have their own choice of friends and—er—oh, really, Monsieur Poirot.”
    â€œWas she a nice child or not a nice child?” said Poirot insistently.
    Mrs. Drake looked at him and registered censure.
    â€œYou must realize, Monsieur Poirot, that the poor child is dead. ”
    â€œDead or alive, it matters. Perhaps if she was a nice child, nobody would have wanted to kill her, but if she was not a nice child, somebody might have wanted to kill her, and did so—”
    â€œWell, I suppose—Surely it isn’t a question of niceness, is it?”
    â€œIt could be. I also understand that she claimed to have seen a murder committed.”
    â€œOh that, ” said Mrs. Drake contemptuously.
    â€œYou did not take that statement seriously?”
    â€œWell, of course I didn’t. It was a very silly thing to say.”
    â€œHow did she come to say it?”
    â€œWell, I think really they were all rather excited about Mrs. Oliver being here. You are a very famous person, you must remember, dear,” said Mrs. Drake, addressing Mrs. Oliver.
    The word “dear” seemed included in her speech without any accompanying enthusiasm.
    â€œI don’t suppose the subject would ever have arisen otherwise, but the children were excited by meeting a famous authoress—”
    â€œSo Joyce said that she had seen a murder committed,” said Poirot thoughtfully.
    â€œYes, she said something of the kind. I wasn’t really listening.”
    â€œBut you do remember that she said it?”
    â€œOh yes, she said it. But I didn’t believe it,” said Mrs. Drake. “Her sister hushed her up at once, very