interests me.'
'Sure you're not down here on work?' inquired Mr Croft, shrewdly. 'Calling it a holiday might be all part of the game.'
'You mustn't ask him embarrassing questions, Bert,' said Mrs Croft. 'Or he won't come again. We're simple people, Mr Poirot, and you're giving us a great treat coming here today-you and your friend. You really don't know the pleasure you're giving us.'
She was so natural and so frank in her gratification that my heart quite warmed to her.
'That was a bad business about that picture,' said Mr Croft.
'That poor little girl might have been killed,' said Mrs Croft, with deep feeling. 'She is a live wire. Livens the place up when she comes down here. Not much liked in the neighbourhood, so I've heard. But that's the way in these stuck English places. They don't like life and gaiety in a girl. I don't wonder she doesn't spend much time down here, and that long-nosed cousin of hers has no more chance of persuading her to settle down here for good and all than-than-well, I don't know what.'
'Don't gossip, Milly,' said her husband.
'Aha!' said Poirot. 'The wind is in that quarter. Trust the instinct of Madame! So M. Charles Vyse is in love with our little friend?'
'He's silly about her,' said Mrs Croft. 'But she won't marry a country lawyer. And I don't blame her. He's a poor stick, anyway. I'd like her to marry that nice sailor-what's his name, Challenger. Many a smart marriage might be worse than that. He's older than she is, but what of that? Steadying-that's what she needs. Flying about all over the place, the Continent even, all alone or with that queer-looking Mrs Rice. She's a sweet girl, Mr Poirot-I know that well enough. But I'm worried about her. She's looked none too happy lately. She's had what I call a haunted kind of look. And that worries me! I've got my reasons for being interested in that girl, haven't I, Bert?'
Mr Croft got up from his chair rather suddenly.
'No need to go into that, Milly,' he said. 'I wonder, Mr Poirot, if you'd care to see some snapshots of Australia?'
The rest of our visit passed uneventfully. Ten minutes later we took our leave.
'Nice people,' I said. 'So simple and unassuming. Typical Australians.'
'You liked them?'
'Didn't you?'
'They were very pleasant-very friendly.'
'Well, what is it, then? There's something, I can see.'
'They were, perhaps, just a shade too “typical”,' said Poirot, thoughtfully. 'That cry of Cooee-that insistence on showing us snapshots-was it not playing a part just a little too thoroughly?'
'What a suspicious old devil you are!'
'You are right, mon ami. I am suspicious of everyone-of everything. I am afraid, Hastings-afraid.'
The Peril at End House
Chapter 6 – A Call Upon Mr Vyse
Poirot clung firmly to the Continental breakfast. To see me consuming eggs and bacon upset and distressed him-so he always said. Consequently he breakfasted in bed upon coffee and rolls and I was free to start the day with the traditional Englishman's breakfast of bacon and eggs and marmalade.
I looked into his room on Monday morning as I went downstairs. He was sitting up in bed arrayed in a very marvellous dressing-gown.
'Bonjour, Hastings. I was just about to ring. This note that I have written, will you be so good as to get it taken over to End House and delivered to Mademoiselle at once.'
I held out my hand for it. Poirot looked at me and sighed.
'If only-if only, Hastings, you would part your hair in the middle instead of at the side! What a difference it would make to the symmetry of your appearance. And your moustache. If you must have a moustache, let it be a real moustache-a thing of beauty such as mine.'
Repressing a shudder at the thought, I took the note firmly from Poirot's hand and left the room.
I had rejoined him in our sitting-room when word was sent up to say Miss Buckley had called. Poirot gave the order for her to be shown up.
She came in gaily enough, but I fancied that the circles under her eyes were darker
'Sure you're not down here on work?' inquired Mr Croft, shrewdly. 'Calling it a holiday might be all part of the game.'
'You mustn't ask him embarrassing questions, Bert,' said Mrs Croft. 'Or he won't come again. We're simple people, Mr Poirot, and you're giving us a great treat coming here today-you and your friend. You really don't know the pleasure you're giving us.'
She was so natural and so frank in her gratification that my heart quite warmed to her.
'That was a bad business about that picture,' said Mr Croft.
'That poor little girl might have been killed,' said Mrs Croft, with deep feeling. 'She is a live wire. Livens the place up when she comes down here. Not much liked in the neighbourhood, so I've heard. But that's the way in these stuck English places. They don't like life and gaiety in a girl. I don't wonder she doesn't spend much time down here, and that long-nosed cousin of hers has no more chance of persuading her to settle down here for good and all than-than-well, I don't know what.'
'Don't gossip, Milly,' said her husband.
'Aha!' said Poirot. 'The wind is in that quarter. Trust the instinct of Madame! So M. Charles Vyse is in love with our little friend?'
'He's silly about her,' said Mrs Croft. 'But she won't marry a country lawyer. And I don't blame her. He's a poor stick, anyway. I'd like her to marry that nice sailor-what's his name, Challenger. Many a smart marriage might be worse than that. He's older than she is, but what of that? Steadying-that's what she needs. Flying about all over the place, the Continent even, all alone or with that queer-looking Mrs Rice. She's a sweet girl, Mr Poirot-I know that well enough. But I'm worried about her. She's looked none too happy lately. She's had what I call a haunted kind of look. And that worries me! I've got my reasons for being interested in that girl, haven't I, Bert?'
Mr Croft got up from his chair rather suddenly.
'No need to go into that, Milly,' he said. 'I wonder, Mr Poirot, if you'd care to see some snapshots of Australia?'
The rest of our visit passed uneventfully. Ten minutes later we took our leave.
'Nice people,' I said. 'So simple and unassuming. Typical Australians.'
'You liked them?'
'Didn't you?'
'They were very pleasant-very friendly.'
'Well, what is it, then? There's something, I can see.'
'They were, perhaps, just a shade too “typical”,' said Poirot, thoughtfully. 'That cry of Cooee-that insistence on showing us snapshots-was it not playing a part just a little too thoroughly?'
'What a suspicious old devil you are!'
'You are right, mon ami. I am suspicious of everyone-of everything. I am afraid, Hastings-afraid.'
The Peril at End House
Chapter 6 – A Call Upon Mr Vyse
Poirot clung firmly to the Continental breakfast. To see me consuming eggs and bacon upset and distressed him-so he always said. Consequently he breakfasted in bed upon coffee and rolls and I was free to start the day with the traditional Englishman's breakfast of bacon and eggs and marmalade.
I looked into his room on Monday morning as I went downstairs. He was sitting up in bed arrayed in a very marvellous dressing-gown.
'Bonjour, Hastings. I was just about to ring. This note that I have written, will you be so good as to get it taken over to End House and delivered to Mademoiselle at once.'
I held out my hand for it. Poirot looked at me and sighed.
'If only-if only, Hastings, you would part your hair in the middle instead of at the side! What a difference it would make to the symmetry of your appearance. And your moustache. If you must have a moustache, let it be a real moustache-a thing of beauty such as mine.'
Repressing a shudder at the thought, I took the note firmly from Poirot's hand and left the room.
I had rejoined him in our sitting-room when word was sent up to say Miss Buckley had called. Poirot gave the order for her to be shown up.
She came in gaily enough, but I fancied that the circles under her eyes were darker
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